#when there's such unfair scrutiny on him

[starryjkoo]

that drop for Who was just nasty. the countries/people who give these massive drops need to be called out more because they're actually just causing harm...

[pucksandpower]

Fairytale

Charles Leclerc x Princess of Monaco!Reader

Summary: Charles Leclerc has everything he could ask for (off the track, at least) including a fairytale romance … except no one actually believes that his girlfriend is really his girlfriend

Charles sighs as he walks into the drivers’ lounge, bracing himself for the inevitable teasing. Ever since he had casually mentioned having a girlfriend, and more specifically who the girlfriend in question is, his friends have been merciless.

“Wow, if it isn’t Prince Charles in the flesh! Back from another romantic getaway with his imaginary princess,” Max laughs as he enters.

“Come on mates, lay off,” Charles pleads half-heartedly. He knows it is useless.

“I just don’t get it,” Lando chimes in. “There’s no shame in admitting that you’re single. We’re racing drivers, we don’t exactly always have time for relationships.”

“Maybe his standards are too high,” Pierre suggests. “He’s actually holding out for real royalty or something.”

The others laugh as Charles feels his face grow warm. If only they believed him.

“You know what you need?” Carlos grins. “A nice Spanish girl to set you up with. My sister’s friend Elena is single, I could give you her number.”

Charles rolls his eyes. “I told you, I have a girlfriend. Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Because we’ve never seen her!” Max exclaims. “You talk about her all the time but she never comes to races or appears in photos. She might as well be a unicorn.”

“Maybe she’s just embarrassed to be seen with Charles,” Lando teases.

Charles frowns, stung by Lando’s words. If only they knew the truth. The reality is that his girlfriend is extremely famous in her own right and values the little privacy she has left too much to be seen at races. Her life is already public enough without adding the scrutiny that anyone connected to a Formula 1 driver inevitably receives on top of it. Besides, she has her own royal duties to attend to.

“Come on guys, that’s unfair,” Pierre says gently, noticing Charles’ discomfort. “If Charles says he has a girlfriend, we should believe him.”

“Thank yo—” Charles starts to say with relief. At least someone is on his side.

“Even if she is imaginary,” Pierre adds with a smirk.

Charles groans and puts his head in his hands as the laughter starts up again. He can’t really blame them for not believing him.

You are basically a fairytale princess — beautiful, elegant, and kind. Not to mention an actual member of the royal family. Her Serene Highness Princess Y/N Grace Stephanie Caroline of Monaco is the type of girl people write epic poems and songs about. Charles can hardly believe his luck that you had chosen him.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Daniel interrupts, taking pity on Charles. “Leave the poor man alone.”

“We’re just joking,” Max says defensively. “Charles knows we don’t mean anything by it.”

Charles gives Max a tight smile. “Sure.”

“Tell you what,” Daniel says, clapping Charles on the shoulder. “Bring your mystery girl to a race soon. We’ll all get to meet her and then you can finally prove these jokers wrong.”

Charles sighs. If only it were that simple. You have been tempted to attend races in the past but the scrutiny both of them would come under is just too much. You treasure the privacy your relationship allows. But maybe Daniel is right. Maybe it is time for you to finally meet his friends. After all, you are the love of his life. There is nothing to hide.

“Alright, deal,” Charles says finally. “I’ll ask her.”

The others exchange surprised looks, not expecting him to agree.

“Can’t wait to meet her,” Carlos says with a wink.

Charles rolls his eyes again but smiles. One way or another, he is going to prove to them that his amazing girlfriend isn’t just a figment of his imagination.

***

Charles is still thinking about you when he is suddenly accosted by Silvia, Ferrari’s Head of Communications, after practice.

“Charles! Just who I was looking for,” she says briskly. “I need to discuss something rather important with you.”

Charles suppresses a groan. Conversations with Silvia are never fun. “What’s up?” He asks with forced cheerfulness.

Silvia lowers her voice. “It’s about your relationship status. We feel it would be beneficial if you were seen dating someone … compatible.”

Charles’ eyebrows shoot up. “Compatible?”

“Yes. A model. Or perhaps an actress. Someone who would look good on your arm and boost your image.”

Charles folds his arms defensively. “What’s wrong with my girlfriend?”

Silvia waves a hand impatiently. “Yes yes, this alleged princess you keep mentioning. The problem, Charles, is that no one has seen her. No one knows if she is actually connected to you in any way. So, as far as we are concerned, for all intents and purposes, you are single.”

Charles frowns. This again. “I keep telling you that she’s really my girlfriend. Y/N is just very private.”

“Private women don’t date Formula 1 drivers,” Silvia says bluntly. “If she really was in a relationship with you, she would be here. But since that is clearly a figment of your imagination, we need to take steps.”

Charles feels his blood boil. How dare Silvia insult his relationship with Y/N? Question their connection?

“Here are profiles of suitable options,” Silvia continues, shoving a surprisingly heavy folder at him. Charles doesn’t open it.

“No.”

Silvia blinks. “No?”

“My relationship with Y/N is off limits,” Charles says firmly. “My personal life is exactly that — personal. Not to be exploited for PR.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Silvia snaps. “This is bigger than you. Your image reflects on Ferrari. We need to be able to control it.”

“No. What you need to do is back off,” Charles shoots back.

Silvia’s nostrils flare. Clearly she isn’t used to such defiance. “Charles, be reasonable—”

“I am being reasonable,” Charles interrupts. “I won’t pretend to date someone just because the team wants me to. I’m with Y/N. I don’t care if you believe me or not.”

Silvia shakes her head in disgust. “You’re making a big mistake. Don’t come crying to me when this blows up in your face.”

She storms off, heels clicking angrily against the floor.

Charles takes a deep breath, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He can’t remember the last time he stood up to Silvia like that. It felt good but also nerve-wracking. He knows she won’t let this go easily.

His phone buzzes and his heart leaps when he sees it’s a text from you.

Heard you had a rough day. Wish I could be there to make it better. I love you 💋

Charles smiles, the tension in his shoulders easing. You always knew just what to say and when to say it.

He quickly types back.

I wish you were here too. No matter what anyone says, they can’t change my feelings for you. I love you so much ❤️

He hits send, imagining your smile as you read his text. It doesn’t matter what his team, the media, or even his fellow drivers think. His relationship with you is real and authentic. Someday he’ll find a way for you to be by his side. But for now, your private moments together are enough.

Charles knows staying with you is the right decision, PR be damned. You are his soulmate — the fairytale princess he never expected to find but thanks God every single day that he did. Your love is worth fighting for. And someday, when the time is right, he’ll finally be able to show the world that what you have together is very real.

***

Charles groans as he notices multiple missed calls from his brothers. He has been avoiding their calls lately, knowing they would just tease him mercilessly about his girlfriend. But he knows he can’t dodge them forever.

Taking a deep breath, he calls Arthur back.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Prince Charles himself, taking time away from his busy schedule of dating princesses to spare a chat with us commoners,” Arthur says slyly upon answering.

Charles rolls his eyes. “Very funny. What do you want?”

“We just wanted to check in on our brother and see how life with Monegasque royalty is treating you,” Lorenzo chimes in. Charles realizes he must be on speaker.

“Oh yes, Princess Y/N,” Arthur says in an exaggerated swoony voice. “Our brother’s one true love since he was 15 years old and had that giant poster of her plastered on his wall.”

Charles feels his face flush. He knows exactly what poster Arthur is referencing — a stunning photo of you in a ballgown from a high society event years ago. Teenage Charles has ripped it out of a magazine and hung it up reverently in his room, gazing at it longingly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he sputters. “I never had a poster.”

“Oh really?” Lorenzo laughs. “I seem to recall you cutting out every picture you could find of her and keeping a little scrapbook.”

Charles cringes internally. Okay, maybe his teenage obsession had been a bit … enthusiastic. But he can’t help that he had recognized you as his dream girl even then.

“Alright, so maybe I had a tiny crush on her,” Charles admits. “But it is not crazy that we ended up together.”

Arthur cackles. “You used to kiss her photos goodnight before going to bed! You were completely obsessed!”

“Remember how he tried to sneak into that royal gala at Salle des Etoiles to see her?” Lorenzo adds. “He was totally insane.”

Charles grimaces at the memory. Okay, not his finest moment.

“Face it Charles, you’ve been in love with the imaginary idea of Princess Y/N since you were in nappies,” Arthur teases. “No shame in admitting she wouldn't even give you the time of day now.”

Charles feels his frustration rising. Why does no one believe him?

“Because your so-called relationship makes no sense!” Lorenzo says, accurately reading his silence. “She’s a literal princess and you’re … you.”

“Gee, thanks,” Charles grumbles. He knows his brothers are just teasing but it still stings.

“Come on, just admit you made the whole thing up to get everyone off your back,” Arthur prods.

Charles sighs loudly. “For the millionth time, what we have is 100 percent real! Just because it seems unlikely doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. I don’t care if none of you believe me, I love her and she loves me.”

His brothers are silent for a moment.

“You alright there?” Arthur asks, his voice softening.

“Yes, I just wish everyone would stop questioning my relationship all the time,” Charles admits. “It hurts.”

“We’re only joking Charles, we don’t mean any harm,” Lorenzo says gently.

“I know,” Charles replies. “Doesn’t make it any easier to hear constantly though.”

“You’re right, we took the teasing too far,” Arthur says. “We’ll lay off from now on.”

Charles smiles slightly. “Thanks. And someday soon I will prove to you that it is real.”

His brothers are silent for a moment.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Arthur finally laughs.

Charles groans and runs a hand through his hair in frustration. Clearly nothing he says would convince his stubborn brothers that his relationship with you was real and not merely a childhood fantasy.

“Alright, well, I should get going,” Charles mumbles, eager to get off the phone.

“Chin up, we’re only teasing,” Lorenzo says lightly. “Have fun with your imaginary princess!”

Arthur and Lorenzo explode into more laughter as Charles quickly hangs up, his face burning. Someday, he will prove to them and everyone else that his amazing girlfriend isn’t just a figment of his imagination. No matter how long it takes.

***

Charles sinks into the familiar couch in his sports psychologist’s office, exhausted after a long day on the simulator and endless teasing from his team.

“Rough day out there?” Dr. Anderson asks kindly, noticing the strain on Charles’ face.

“That’s an understatement,” Charles sighs. “The car is just so slow this year. We keep trying new setups and tweaks but nothing helps. And the strategy is somehow even worse than the pace. It’s like the team wants me to fail.”

Dr. Anderson nods sympathetically. “That must be very frustrating. Tell me more about how it’s impacting you.”

Charles launches into a tirade about the endless issues with the car, the incompetent strategists, and the lack of proper communication from his engineers. Dr. Anderson listens patiently, letting him vent his pent-up anger and disappointment.

After a lengthy rant, Charles finally runs out of steam. “Anyway, it’s just been a terrible season,” he concludes glumly.

“I can certainly understand why you feel that way,” Dr. Anderson says. “It sounds like the team is letting you down in many ways.”

Charles nods, feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders after unloading. It helps to talk about it with someone whose job is not to judge.

“Is there anything else bothering you lately?” Dr. Anderson asks gently. “Any other sources of stress?”

Charles hesitates. He and Dr. Anderson have been working together for years, ever since he joined Ferrari. He knows he can open up to her.

“It’s just … well, besides the team stuff, no one believes me about my girlfriend,” he admits.

Dr. Anderson raises her eyebrows. “I see. Tell me more about that.”

Charles explains the endless teasing from his fellow drivers, the manipulation attempts by the PR team, and the doubtful reactions from his own family. How despite his best efforts, no one seems willing to accept that he is really dating Princess Y/N of Monaco.

“It’s so frustrating!" He bursts out at the end. “I don’t know what else I can do to convince them that we are actually together.”

Dr. Anderson purses her lips, jotting down notes. “I can understand why their doubt would upset you. It must be painful to have your relationship questioned.”

“Exactly!" Charles exclaims, throwing his hands up. “You get it. I knew I could talk to you.”

Dr. Anderson gives him a sympathetic smile.

Charles leaves the appointment feeling much better, confident that his psychologist believes him and is on his side.

As he is exiting, Charles notices Dr. Anderson’s notebook left open on her desk. Before he can stop himself, his eyes scan the page and focus on his name.

He feels his heart sink as he reads.

Charles Leclerc: deflecting from pain of difficult season by creating elaborate fantasy relationship. Fixation on celebrity crush indicates deeper self-esteem issues. Recommend to confront delusion directly in next session.

Charles reels, shock and anger swirling through him. Not even his own psychologist believes him! She thinks he is living in some weird fantasy.

Swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth, Charles straightens his shoulders and walks out. He has never felt more alone and frustrated in his conviction. But he refuses to give up. No matter what anyone says, his love for you is real. And one day, somehow, he will prove it to the world.

***

Charles is back at his family home in Monaco during a rare few days off. He is puttering around the kitchen while his mother cooks dinner.

“Oh, by the way, Y/N is coming over for dinner tonight,” Charles mentions casually. “I want you all to finally meet her.”

Pascale laughs lightly without looking up from the stove. “Of course, sweetie.”

Charles frowns. “I’m serious, maman. She’ll be here in an hour.”

“Mhmm, I’m sure she will,” Pascale replies indulgently. Charles huffs in annoyance.

Just then, his brothers come into the kitchen, freshly showered after playing football outside.

“Hey Charles, how’s life with your imaginary girlfriend?” Lorenzo immediately teases.

“She’s actually coming over for dinner tonight,” Charles says tersely.

Arthur lets out a loud laugh. “Yeah right! Good one.” He grabs a piece of bread from the counter, still chuckling.

Charles throws his hands up in exasperation. “Why does no one ever believe me about her?”

“Boys, that’s enough,” Pascale chides gently. “Let your brother dream.”

Charles opens his mouth to retort but just then, the doorbell rings. His eyes widen.

“I’ll get it!" He yells, dashing for the door. He takes a deep breath before swinging it open to reveal you standing there casually in jeans and a sweater, looking effortlessly gorgeous.

“Surprise!" You laugh, pulling him into a tight hug. Charles melts into your embrace, all his stress and frustration fading away.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you right now,” he murmurs into your hair.

You pull back to smile at him tenderly. “I’ve been looking forward to this for ages. I want your family to know how much I love you.”

Charles grins and takes your hand, leading your into the kitchen where his stunned family waits.

Pascale’s mouth is hanging open in shock. The piece of bread Arthur is holding falls to the floor with a dull thump.

“Y-your Serene Highness,” Pascale finally manages to stammer out, hastily wiping her hands on a towel. “What an honor, we weren’t expecting you ...”

She shoots an accusatory look at Charles, who throws up his hands defensively. “I told you she was coming!”

Pascale flushes. “Yes, well, I didn’t think … that is … we would have prepared ...”

You step forward gracefully, immediately putting Pascale at ease. “Please, just call me Y/N. I’ve been dying to meet Charles’ family.”

As you effortlessly charm his mother and brothers, Charles stands back watching with a satisfied smile. The shock and sheepishness on his family’s faces is vindicating after so many months of teasing and disbelief.

Charles has never been one to say “I told you so” but … I told you so.

***

The cheers of the crowd are deafening as the chequered flag waves for Charles at the Monaco Grand Prix. He can hardly believe it — finally, a win at his home race!

As he pulls into parc fermé and jumps out of the car, the emotions hit him. Pure elation at ending the long wait for a home victory. Relief at overcoming the team’s doubts. But most of all, excitement for what comes next.

The podium ceremony.

And with the Monegasque royal family presenting the trophies as usual, Charles knows exactly who will be handing him the winner’s trophy.

He can barely stand still through the anthems, eager for his moment with you. The weekend has been agony, so close to you yet having to pretend that there is nothing between the two of you.

But not anymore.

At last, the royal family walks onto the podium led by none other than Princess Y/N. Charles’ heart skips a beat at the sight of you gliding towards him in a figure-hugging red midi dress, sunlight glinting off your carefully styled hair. You somehow manage to become more and more beautiful every time he sees you.

Stopping in front of him, you give him a subtle wink before launching into the customary congratulatory speech. Charles nods along, not hearing a word as he zones out while admiring the stunning woman he gets to call his own.

At last, you turn to pick up the trophy. “It is my honor to present this trophy to our victor, who represents Monaco with pride in everything he does, Charles Leclerc,” you announce, holding it out to him with a brilliant smile.

In that moment, Charles throws all caution to the wind. As he accepts the trophy, he reaches out and pulls you into a passionate kiss.

The crowd below erupts in shocked cheers and screams. You melt into the kiss for a blissful moment before gently pulling back, your eyes sparkling. Charles grins at you breathlessly.

“Worth the wait?” He murmurs.

“Absolutely,” you whisper back, squeezing his hand. “I’m so proud of you, mon amour.”

Turning back to the roaring crowd, Charles wraps an arm around your waist and thrusts your linked hands into the air in triumph.

Looking out at the paddock, Charles sees the priceless dumbfounded looks on his fellow drivers’ faces. The Ferrari PR team looks ready to pass out in horror. Reporters are screaming questions and snapping photos frantically.

But Charles only has eyes for the radiant princess at his side. At long last, he has made your love public for the whole world to see.

Later, after celebrations around the circuit have started winding down in favor of moving to lounges and clubs for the night, Charles and you escape for a private moment together.

“That was quite the reveal,” you say with an amused quirk of your eyebrow.

Charles laughs. “I know, subtlety has never been my strong suit. I hope you don’t mind.”

You caress his face tenderly. “Of course not. I’m happy to finally be by your side. No more hiding.”

Charles kisses you deeply, all the love and longing of the past months pouring into it.

When you finally break apart, foreheads touching, he murmurs, “No more doubts. No more teasing. They all know now that you’re real and all mine.”

“Forever yours,” you whisper back. And seal it with another perfect kiss.

***

“I can’t believe it. I just … actually can’t believe it,” Max mutters, staring at the large screens around the paddock that are showing you and Charles gazing adoringly into each other’s eyes during the post-race interviews.

“Lord Perceval … dating an actual princess,” Carlos muses in disbelief.

“And not just any princess, his teenage celebrity crush!" Lando exclaims.

“I guess we owe him an apology,” Pierre says sheepishly.

“Big time,” Daniel agrees. “We gave him so much crap for making her up.”

“Speak of the devil,” Max mutters as Charles strides into the room, hand-in-hand with you.

An awkward silence descends on the group. Charles clears his throat, enjoying their obvious discomfort.

“I believe you all know my girlfriend, Her Serene Highness Y/N Grace Stephanie Caroline, Hereditary Princess of Monaco and Marquise of Baux. But you can just call her Your Serene Highness or Princess Y/N,” he says politely.

The guys mumble greetings, not quite meeting your eyes. You smile graciously. “You can just call me Y/N. Any friend of Charles is a friend of mine and there’s no need for titles around friends.”

Charles narrows his eyes. “Actually I don’t think that will be necessary. I believe they should maintain protocol and address you properly.”

You shoots him a look. “Darling, it’s fine, really. I want your friends to feel comfortable around me.”

But Charles crosses his arms, not budging. “No, it’s not fine. I must insist that they observe the formal mode of address for royalty.”

The drivers shift awkwardly again. You pull Charles aside with a soothing smile.

“What are you doing?” You whisper. “I’m trying to put them at ease.”

“I know but they deserve to squirm for a bit after how much they mocked us,” Charles whispers back petulantly.

You bite back a smile. “Don’t be silly. I know their teasing hurt but let’s move past it. Can you really blame them for thinking it sounds like a made up fairytale? Put yourself in their shoes.”

Charles sighs. “I guess you’re right ... I just want them to respect you.”

“They will, in time,” you say gently. “But forcing them to be overly formal won’t accomplish that. I’m still just me.”

Charles nods reluctantly. “Okay fine, we’ll do it your way.”

You turn back to the drivers who are trying to act natural and pretending that they didn’t just listen in on your conversation with a bright smile. “I’ve heard so much about all of you,” you say. “Charles speaks very highly of his fellow drivers.”

“We’re, uh, happy to finally meet you too,” Max manages to get out.

“Yeah, congrats mate,” Daniel offers weakly.

More awkward silence follows. Charles smirks, deciding to twist the knife a bit more.

“I know you all had your doubts about me landing a catch like Y/N,” he says casually. “But I can’t blame you. Even I can hardly believe someone so incredible would fall for me.”

He gazes at you adoringly as you blush prettily while the drivers fidget uneasily.

“Anyway, as you can now see, she’s real and we are happier than ever!" Charles concludes brightly.

“We’re really sorry for not believing you,” Lando bursts out sincerely. “And all the teasing.”

The others chime in with apologies and congratulations. Charles graciously accepts, reassuring them no hard feelings.

After you have throughly charmed them all and departed, the group surrounds Charles excitedly.

“Alright, you have to give us all the details,” Max demands. “How did you meet? How did you get her to go out with you? When did it get serious?”

Charles just laughs. “It’s a long story. But the important thing is that she’s the only one for me. Despite everyone doubting us, our love was real from the start.”

“Pretty epic to have a real life princess as your soulmate,” Pierre says dreamily.

“Just remember you knew me back when you all thought she was imaginary,” Charles jokes.

“We’ll never live it down,” Carlos groans goodnaturedly.

Charles smiles, feeling lighter and happier than he has in ages. The long struggle to prove himself has been worth it. Now he has everything — the win, the girl, and the utter shock and joy of proving to the world that even his wildest dreams can come true.

And this is only the beginning for him and his beloved princess.

[disneyprincemuke]

5 times * mv1

there are five times max almost caught himself saying he loves you, and then there's the time that he finally let you know

pairings: max verstappen x horner's niece!reader

warnings: i... don't know?

notes: yes, i'm making a comeback because i've gotten back into the mood of writing (i'm single) and because f1 has got me screaming, crying and throwing up. also, this took me 3 days to write, and i have grown attached. lmk if you guys want the counterpart (basically the same concept, but it's from your eyes???)

one.

"fucking," max cuts himself off, grabbing the closest thing to him. lucky for him, and his team, it's just his racing gloves, "bitch!"

it's just so infuriating to be so close to that podium. he crashed with 5 laps left of the race. his left rear decided to fail him stupidly near the end, after he'd poured his heart and soul to get on that podium. but here he is, moping in his driver's room.

after constantly being in the scrutiny of the public, especially with the way he handled losing, he'd resided here immediately. there's a bubbling anger rising up from him. he's so infuriated.

until a soft knock lands on his door. snapping him out of his thoughts, he knew what he wanted this time. "please leave me alone."

"okay. but christian just wants to know if you're alright." your voice sounds small. he could barely hear you with the door in the way.

he takes a deep breath, then walks over to the door. it reveals you with a hesitant smile on your face.

but he's always had a soft spot for you. all of the anger he'd been feeling merely 5 seconds ago dissipated. "oh. you're not in my room at the circuit often."

"i know. i'm sorry to intrude." you look down at the ground, your often confident self absolutely nowhere to be seen. "christian sent me to check in on you. i'll leave you alone, but i can't go back without an answer."

for starters, you're not a stranger to the signature max verstappen temper. but never has he directed it at you once. it's surely raised the eyebrows of christian horner the first time it happened when you joined the team.

one second he was all over the garage, only rude words coming out of his mouth. the next, he was silently raging as he sat on the tire of his car while you discussed dinner plans with your uncle.

"please, don't worry about it." he takes a step back, gesturing for you to enter the room. you do just that, although a bit hesitant. and he doesn't blame you for that. "come in."

there's a moment of silence between you two. for a moment, the engines from the cars outside start to die down, and the frequency of the fireworks is slowing down, and there are more footsteps in the gravel that surround the trailer.

"i'm okay." he leans on the massage table in the middle of the room. he still hasn't changed out of his race suit. his helmet, balaclava and gloves are all thrown in different directions of the room. they had all been victims of his uncontrollable rage.

it's apparent that he's not even close to being okay. he just has to bank on the fact that you don't probe with more questions.

"it's okay if you're not," you answer in a gentle tone. a soft audible sigh passes your lips as you sit on the couch in the opposite side of the small room. "it's just you and me. i'm not part of your racing team."

his eyes do the speaking again. the heaving of his chest is enough to tell you that he's actually contemplating it. without another moment's hesitation, he starts to go at it. all of the emotions he's been feeling lately, the frustration from just being 5 laps shy of being on that podium.

he's just ranting, throwing his hands in the air while he paces all over the room. he makes a mental note to find a way to make it up to you after this - you're just sitting there patiently, nodding your head empathetically while he talks.

it’s as if you knew and understood all that he’s talking about.

"it's just unfair! i did everything right this time!" he exclaims, hands clenched up into a fist. "i should have been up there! i deserved to be on that podium!"

there's one more thing that bothers him. you. whatever he feels for you. the way his heart races whenever you're around, or the way he's always thinking of the way you fix his hair for marketing promotion material - he can't get you out of his mind. for years, now.

he'd met you when he was 18, fresh into red bull racing as christian's new prodigy. he had only seen you a total of 15 times within the span of 3 and a half years. the transition from crumbs of your presence to full-out spending the whole racing season with you was more than his heart could handle.

now that he's gotten to know you better, the 22-year-old is almost convinced that he might actually have feelings for you. "and-"

he looks up from the ground, flinching back slightly when you're staring directly into his eyes from across the room. your eyes dart down to his hands and it's only then he notices how his hands are clenched into fists next to him.

he almost slipped up about his feelings for you. good thing he caught himself at the last second. his chest heaves as he looks at you, shoulders tensed up and eyebrows furrowed.

you raise an eyebrow, slowly nodding. you make a gesture with your hand to encourage him to continue saying whatever is on his mind. "and?"

"and," i have feelings for you, "it's just so unfair."

he feels his body melt at your stare. his shoulders slump, his breathing starts to regulate and his hands slowly unravel from a fist. it's just so unfair that he's so hopelessly smitten with his principal's niece.

"i know." you push yourself off the couch and walk over to him. stopping just a few steps from him, he looks at you sigh. "i'm sorry that it happened to you, max."

then a small grin slowly stretches his lips. the race is over - there is absolutely nothing he can do to change the result. he shrugs, "it's just racing."

"you can still feel angry about it," you grin, "it's just me."

max shakes his head with a soft chuckle. "i know. it's okay; i'm okay."

you drop your head slightly. max knows you don't buy his lie. of course, he's still angry about what happened. but there is still some truth to what he said - he got unlucky today with the car.

you take a deep breath. he's caught completely by surprise when your arms spread out, taking a step forward and engulfing him in the warmest hug.

he catches a whiff of all your scents - your shampoo, your perfume, and creepily enough, the soap you use for your clothes. and he completely basks in your embrace, his arms wrapping themselves around your smaller frame. his neck rests on your shoulder, silently straining his back just to take you in.

"i know you're not," you whisper. you lean your head into his as you rub circles on his clothed back. "i'm here for you, okay?"

and he wants to say it to you. he gets an inkling, after you just spent the better part of 20 minutes letting him scream about his feelings, that this is bigger than himself.

"i," he trails off, arms tightening around you. he closes his eyes, repeatedly reminding himself that he's not willing to risk it. he releases the breath he's been holding. "thank you."

two.

max can barely keep himself upright in the seat. he's clutching onto his balaclava, eyes following the light shone into his eyes as per the doctor's request.

he had a bad crash with lewis during the race that sent him flying into the walls. he blacked out for a couple of seconds, and he's been in pain since they escorted him to the medical centre.

there's a soft knock on the door, before he hears the creak followed by footsteps. "i'll be back with results, okay?" the doctor straightens up before walking away from him. he acknowledges the presence of someone new, then proceeded to walk out of the room.

the relief max immediately felt when he sees you standing shyly by the door, hands clasped together.

"are you okay?" you ask softly, slowly making your way over to him. "i came as soon as i heard what happened to you. that was horrible, what happened to you."

he tilts his head at you, ignoring the strain in his neck and the pounding in his head. "as soon as you heard?"

you chuckle, glancing down at the floor in what could only be described as embarrassment. "i was in the bathroom taking a piss when geri ran in yelling for me," you admit.

your eyes roam his body, your eyes matching the empathetic stares of everyone he has looked at since he was helped out of that stupid car. he hates it. he hates being on the receiving end of those stares, but it was strangely comforting coming from you.

"are you alright? do you have any more injuries?" you ask. you look at him, hands hovering above his hand that rests on his knee. max gives you a small nod of consent.

"it's just a concussion, from what i can feel," max admits. though, it hurts everywhere. when you crash into a wall at that speed and black out, it's definitely going to hurt everywhere that it can.

he's watching you intently. you're lifting his sleeves to scan for bruises and moving about the neckline of his race suit to look for any injuries. there's a tingling sensation that you leave behind as your fingers graze over his now exposed skin.

"i'm okay."

"i don't buy that at all," you scoff. you reach over for the empty plastic chair and pull it to his side. you take a seat. "i'm glad you're okay. i was really worried something bad had happened."

he smiles. the way you care for him never fails to make his stomach churn and his heart start to race. "it could've been worse. i'm glad it's just a concussion i've got."

you turn your head to look at him. god, he wishes he can just take you in for an embrace and reassure you that he's perfectly fine. because he is. it's just some body aches - nothing he hasn't had to go through before as an athlete.

"i'm sorry about the race." you take his towel into your hands and fold it up. you gently tap on his face, wiping away the sweat that had formed on his face. "let me know if you need anything, okay? water, ice... food..."

"i will handle," he grins, his gaze following your hands' movements. "thank you, though."

you don't say anything. you just smile at him as you put the towel back down on his knee. you rest your hand just above the damp material and tilt your head at him. "how do you feel, though?"

"g-"

"about the points," you cut him off. "it's a close fight for the driver's championship. how do you feel about that?"

he shrugs, pouting his lips out. you widen your eyes at him as you anticipate the next thing coming from his mouth. "it's just racing. i'll come back next weekend."

you roll your eyes and lean back into the chair. both of your eyes are on the tv, watching the broadcast of the race together. "i believe in you. there's still a long season ahead of you."

he moves his eyes to look at you. not his head fully - he doesn't need you catching him stare at you. your unconditional support for him just made him want to jump for joy.

thought, sometimes he does wonder if you're only doing it because you work for the team. but other times you're just so believable that he thinks it's him as a person you're rooting for.

and god, he wants it to him so bad.

"it feels like forever - this pain," he admits. without thinking, his hand instinctively reaches forward. he puts his hand above yours. he squeezes your hand.

he sees you shake your head. you manoeuvre your hand. now your palms are touching. he could have sworn it was the concussion making him see and feel things when you intertwine your fingers.

if he were to be honest with you, he feels like this could the lowest point of the season for him. that rear failure earlier on felt minuscule compared to this crash. deep down inside, there's a fear that there's no coming back from this.

you squeeze his hand, slightly tighter than he had done to you just a few seconds prior. "i wish i could make it better. i'm sorry, max."

your voice wavers as you speak to him. and it kills him that you’re so worried for him. he does have a healthy support system, as much as the public wants to make it out that he’s too cold for that.

max wants to reassure you, just as you'd done with him. but he doesn't even know how to do that. your presence now, while he's still slightly out of it from the crash, is enough to put him at ease.

he sighs, squeezing your hand once more. it's at the tip of his tongue. if he could just convince himself to say it to you.

yet, he settles with, "you're the best."

three.

max leans back into the wall, arms folded over his chest. the strobing lights, the music bouncing off the walls, and a plethora of bodies surround him.

next to him, sebastian is deep in conversation with daniel. a conversation that he had tuned out of a few minutes ago. when he found you on the dance floor, terrorising alex and lily with your dance moves.

if you asked him, he would've told you that you're a natural at many things. dancing, unfortunately, is not one of them.

his silent pining comes to a halt when he meets lily's gaze from across the room. a knowing smile on the girl's face, he feels his cheeks heat up when she drags alex down to whisper something in his ear while pointing at max accusingly. alex turns his head in max's direction and his body shakes with a laugh.

great. they've caught on.

alex nods and raises his eyebrows at max teasingly. alex glances at you, shocked to find out that you've managed to shimmy your way 5 metres down the dance floor to now terrorise george and carmen.

max smiles to him, watching alex bend over backwards to get your attention. it's proven a challenge when you sandwich yourself between them.

when alex manages to finally get your attention, you just smile at him. you hand him the empty glass in your hand and grab carmen's hands. it's a wonderful sight - alex struggling to get your attention. but when he did, max swears his heart skips a beat.

because you lean into alex, listening to what he says into your ear. alex points in his direction and your face lights up when your eyes meets his.

you stride across the room and push yourself through the crowd. before he knew it, you're staring up at him with a toothy grin and wide eyes.

from the corner of his eyes, he notices sebastian and daniel have stopped their conversation. across the room, lily and carmen have flagged their boyfriends down. all eyes are on the two of you.

"what are you doing here all by yourself? you should be out on the dance floor celebrating!" you shout over the music, tiptoeing slightly to meet max's height. "you just won a race!"

"i'm good here, thanks!" max laughs, moreso at your state. your cheeks are puffed up and your lips are swollen. even your voice sounds damaged from all the screaming you've done. "enjoy your evening, please! don't worry about me!"

you shake your head in urgency. "no! you have to celebrate!"

he continues to look down at you, genuinely considering if he should let your persuasion tactics work on him tonight. who is he kidding; he can never say no to you.

"okay, but i'm driving us back to the hotel. so no drinks for me." before he could finish his sentence, you've managed to yank him off the wall. your hand has a firm grip around his wrist as you guide him through the crowd towards the bar counter.

"we'll get a cab!" you stop right at the bar and turn around to look at him. "you won the race today! aren't you excited? are you not at least a little bit prideful that you're leading the driver's championship again?"

max supposes you have a point. he should be excited. here he is in his 6th year in formula 1, being so close to clinching the world champion title for the first time in his life. it's just one night, right?

he can't possibly let you be more excited for his achievements than himself. that's just not right. did he not believe in himself?

he watches you prop yourself up on the bar stool, carefully telling the bartender your order. max's hands hover over your body, just in case you'd fall.

once again, you have managed to make his heart race by putting so much emphasis on his achievements. he's made his way onto the podium several times now that it seems almost mundane for him to end up there.

he wants the next big thing; he wants the world championship title. but why exactly is he waiting a whole few months just to celebrate again?

"come on, max! let loose a little. you don't have to wait for the season to be over to celebrate," you answer genuinely. for a moment there, max almost thinks you're sober. "if you don't want to celebrate your small wins, at least let me do it for you?"

he huffs. you're a lot more convincing when you pretend to be sober, after having downed a couple glasses of cocktails.

you tilt the unscrewed bottle of beer towards him, a freshly mixed glass of cocktail in your other. "congrats on winning the race today, max. i'm so proud of you."

max takes the bottle out of your hands. he willingly taps the neck of the bottle onto the rim of your glass. "cheers," he grins, watching you excitedly sipping away on your mojito.

if he could guess, you’re 6 glasses in. you’re definitely going to regret it in the morning.

you swiftly intertwine your fingers with his and start to pull him towards the dance floor. "let's go celebrate!"

you stop abruptly, your cocktail almost spilling all over your dress as he plants his feet into the ground. you squeeze his hand and look up at him shyly with your chests almost touching. even in the sea of people in the club, you managed to make it feel so intimate.

just you and him.

can he really excuse the words threatening to slip out of his mouth with half the bottle of beer in his system? can he just say it without you remembering it the next day?

but you beat him to saying something. "i'm so proud of you, max."

he smiles, letting a small breath out. he squeezes your hand. "thank you. you're the best."

four.

it's upsetting, really, not having you in the paddock all weekend. what you'd thought to be a simple itchy throat from all the sweets you've consumed had turned into a covid scare. you're isolated in the hotel, albeit having tested negative, already better.

the team couldn't risk getting either driver contracting a sickness. especially not max, a clear contender for the title this year.

max has not seen you since tuesday. the photos of him on the red bull racing social media platforms are just not as good when it's not you taking them. nobody else on the marketing team ever tells him his hair is a mess. neither do you - you always just reach in to fix his hair for him.

max huffs, adjusting his shirt as he stood in front of your hotel room. the small bouquet of flowers suffocate in the grip of his hands. a plastic hangs on his fingers.

the lock clicks. the door is slowly pulled open. there you are, in all your glory. your hair is up in a ponytail, you're in your pyjamas with juice in your hand. your eyes widen. "max! what are you doing here?"

with flowers in his hands, there's really only so many excuses he can make up. he tilts his head and his eyes narrow down. he's searching his brain for an excuse - something that doesn't scream the fact that he is hopelessly in love with you. "um..."

he stays in the hallway of the hotel, and you stay inside with your hand still on the door handle.

when he had gotten off the race track, alex had celebrated with him. at some point, max expected someone to bring it up. it just shocked him that it had taken this long.

alex gave him a firm pat on the back as they strolled the paddock after media commitments. and the question finally came up. "so are you ever going to ask (y/n) out?"

the question should not have even shocked him in the first place. he had been sitting around waiting for someone to ask him this. nevertheless, he was still dumbfounded by the question.

he started explaining - how he can never get around to asking you out. you're christian's beloved niece. first of the next generation. christian even introduced you as the daughter he had to raise before he ever thought about having kids of his own.

and alex gave him the weirdest stare. because everyone on the paddock could easily tell max had feelings for you. he didn't do much to hide it either. it'd apparently been so bad that even toto wolff sneaks around the paddock with questions if there's been progress.

and so, here he is, standing in front of your hotel room after having won his home race. when he managed to escape his pr manager, he took a shower and immediately bought flowers, some food and came straight to you.

he missed you all week.

"max?"

his answer comes out in a ramble. if you hadn't spent so much time with him, you probably wouldn't have understood. but in your week of absence, the driver doted on you with video messages, voice messages and pictures. endless updates with the grid, the drama, the placements.

anything to make it feel like you were still there with him.

"can i take you out on a date?"

his heart races. beads of sweat form on his forehead. the hallway, that had once felt so icy suddenly became so warm.

"what?" your jaw drops, eyebrows are raised in shock. the silence is deafening.

is this some kind of sick prank alex is pulling on him?

immediately, max goes into defensive mode. "i mean, it's okay if you don't! i just thought if i don't shoot my shot now, then i'll never know. i won't take it personally!" he lifts up the plastic filled with tupperwares of food. "i even brought you supper!"

you scoff with a laugh bubbling up from your stomach. you leap up from your spot, throwing yourself onto max. you lift your feet off the ground. his available arm wraps around your waist to stabilise you. his other arm, already busy with gifts for you, darts out to hold the door ajar.

and what does this mean, exactly? max verstappen has never been one to take these things for an answer. he needs is in black and white - in the clearest of clarifications.

"yes, of course!" you squeal into his shoulder. okay, now he can celebrate. it had taken you a solid 10 seconds in a tight embrace before you decided that the hotel's hallways were too exposing for your liking.

finally, he lets you guide him into the hotel room. he can't stop the wide grin forming on his face either. by the looks of it, neither can you.

"right. these are for you," max finally says, holding out the bouquet of flowers to you. "and i'm sorry i'm late. i could have gotten here earlier if it weren't for alex and lando fighting me over what flowers to get you."

your eyebrow raises, willingly receiving the flowers. "you were in cahoots with those two?"

"and george," max shrugs simply, scrunching up his nose. "but he was easier to deal with than those two."

you smile, if it's possible to get even bigger than what's already there, as your fingers lightly graze over the petals of the flowers. max simply stands back while he watches you admire the brightly coloured bouquet.

he's confident about one thing that night: what kind of flowers to get you. so when lando and alex were fighting him over which flowers to get you, they were simply debating over the roses.

but he is in the netherlands. what else could have been the right choice of flowers but the tulips? and he's in an expensive sport, after all. it would be so uncharacteristic of him to undermine the way he felt for you.

long story short, he got the most gigantic bouquet filled with striped tulips. he spent 150 euros. that's not even near the amount he knows he feels for you.

if you asked him for the world, he'd simply exhaust every single resource he has to give it to you.

"thank you so much," you coo, finally looking up at him. you lean in, pressing a firm kiss to his cheek. and he will absolutely spend the rest of his night thinking of this exact moment.

this is quite possibly the furthest he's gone with you. and he almost slips up again. he should've just said it, but he's just not quite sure he should. it's just going to scare you off.

"oh! and, congrats on the race win today," you cheer before pressing your lips against his cheek again.

max grins. he doesn’t know why he put it past you. you’ve made it clear you’re going to be his biggest fan. “oh, you watched the race?”

you’re gently laying the bouquet on top of the table in the corner of your room. “of course. it was a brilliant race. i'm so proud of you."

he just squeezes your shoulder. "thank you. you're the best."

five.

in his dark hotel room, the tv illuminates your face as your eyes lock on the movie you've chosen. it's the only way max can see your face. he'd love to be able to pay attention to this movie, but how could be when you're all tangled up with him.

"are you scared?" you suddenly mutter. your first words in almost 20 minutes, almost making him question if you're making conversation because you're falling asleep.

"what?" he's genuinely dumbfounded with the question. he glances at the tv, curious if he had dozed off long enough for you to choose another movie. but no. it's still mamma mia playing. "we're watching a musical."

max watches your body heave up, then down. "for tomorrow."

he tenses up. he's been trying his hardest not to think about it at all, actually. since he'd finished up his evening with media commitments, he just went straight to you in the garage office. he packed his bags and took you out to dinner.

he's secured pole position for tomorrow. he didn't want to think of anything else right now.

he doesn't want that stress passed on to you.

max hums, suddenly feeling an interest in the musical. it's meryl streep singing abba, after all. how can he not be any more interested? he shrugs. "okay, i guess."

he avoids your eyes. all eyes and remaining attention of the evening is on the actress belting out a song. and it's rudely interrupted when you pause it.

you stumble around, propping yourself up to your elbow to give him a stern look. "okay?" sometimes max forgets you're now his girlfriend. he forgets that he doesn't have to put up a front to shield you from his real emotions. "what do you mean 'okay'?"

he sighs. he turns his head back to face you, almost flinching at the glare you're giving him. he clears his throat as he pushes himself up against the arm of the couch. he sits cross-legged and you mirror his posture. he shrugs again. "i can't overthink it now. i just have to do my best tomorrow."

you throw your hands up in the air, scoffing. "what?"

max is at a loss for words. what response, exactly, did you expect out of him? "what?" he says back, hands also thrown up into the air. from the amount of time you've spent around him on the race track, he expected you to know his mindset when stepping into a race.

he can't overthink it before he even gets on the track. in fact, there is no room for that at all.

you resign to the other end of the couch and fold your arms over your chest. you even pull your feet back, not wanting to be in the range of his touch.

"(y/n), i don't know what you want me to say, darling," max responds gently. he's slightly annoyed, yes, but he doesn't want that to triumph your relationship. "you know the clear mind i need to get into a race. if i overthink, that's when it's over for me."

you roll your eyes. "no. it's just you and me. there is absolutely no way you have no opinions about the race tomorrow. not even a single thought? seriously, max?" you tear your eyes from him. "i'm not christian."

max sighs. he scooches over to you on the over end of the couch. though you squeeze yourself further into the armrest away from him.

he huffs, wrapping his arms around you. he pulls you in and presses a kiss to the top of your head. "of course, i have a thought in my head about the race. but if i let it get to me, darling, it can cost me the championship."

you hum, but there's a hint of annoyance. though, you give in. because you drop your head back on his shoulder and pout. "okay, fine. race your heart out, max. i just know you've got this."

he gives you a slight squeeze. a weaker one compared to others. honestly? he's terrified of screwing up tomorrow. he just wants that title so bad. all his life, he's worked for it.

he's simply afraid to let christian down. more importantly, he's afraid to let you down. though his handful of mental breaks about being so close to the final race of the season, you'd reassure him that you'll always be proud of him no matter what.

it's just not enough for him.

the movie starts to play again. you coddle up into his lap and he rests his cheeks on your head. i love you.

thank you, you're the best.

max has not been able to get the ringing out of his head since he crossed the checkered flag. he has not been able to think straight since then.

he just won his first world championship title. he's on his knees, his head resting on the tire. all 58 laps, all he could think of is how is he going to win? how will the season play out?

he finally lifts his head, dropping himself back to sit on the track of the abu dhabi track. he groans loudly, almost into a scream, as he unclips his helmet. he yanks it off his head, then his balaclava almost immediately.

he is feeling so many things.

then across the barrier, he sees you. eyes filled with tears, hair pulled back into a ponytail, in your very own red bull racing uniform. his stare down with you doesn't last long. christian is quick to yank you away.

and he spends the next 5 minutes scanning the crowd for you. sure, he wants to celebrate with the people that made it possible for him to even be there in the first place. but there is you.

"max!" your voice makes him whirl around. a sigh of relief slumps his shoulder. it's you.

his face lights up at the sight of you. just a minute ago, he felt so drained. he barely found it in himself to walk to his team for cheers. yet here he is jogging towards you.

"world champion, max verstappen!" you scream. you leap off the ground, legs quickly wrapping around his waist.

his arms wrap around your torso, just holding you close to his body. "i'm so proud of you," you cry into his already wet neck. you wrap your arms around his shoulders tighter. "i fucking told you."

he doesn't even know what to think. his mind is in a jumble of thoughts. it's undeniable that you had pushed him to his best this season. just having you there, reassuring him every single weekend. even when he crashed, even when he'd retired out of a race.

your legs slowly drop back down to the ground, and he finally gets a good look at your face. for some reason, you're just as sweaty as he is. the ponytail on your head is falling apart and the makeup running down your face almost makes him laugh.

then the excitement obviously hits you again. because you give him a firm and strong pat on his shoulder. "you proved them all wrong, max! you're a world champion!"

his chin is held high and his chest is puffed out. you'd never doubted him. it almost brings him to his knees how much support you had for him.

max is so full of emotion. the race, the title; you. you jump in your spot and clap, nose scrunching up in delight. "i told you this was your season! i knew it all along!"

and he just blurts it out. "(y/n), i love you."

you don't even hesitate. it's like you'd been waiting around to say it too. "i'm so fucking proud of you. i love you."

[justinssportscorner]

Anna Merlan at Mother Jones:

By the time J.K. Rowling, Elon Musk, and Donald Trump were falsely referring to her as a man, the lies about Imane Khelif had already traveled halfway around the world. Last week, two Olympic boxers—Khelif, from Algeria, and Lin Yu-ting of Taiwan—were subjected to brutal international scrutiny about their sex and gender, and whether they were entitled to compete in women’s events; the attention on Khelif became particularly acrid after her opponent, Italian Angela Carini, quit 46 seconds into their bout, declaring that she had “never been hit so hard in my life.” A photo of the two women exiting the ring, Carini in tears, Khelif casting a glance, was widely shared, with people like Rowling—who’s promoted transphobic views for years, but has denied being transphobic—offering heated and derogatory commentary about Khelif.   “Could any picture sum up our new men’s rights movement better?” Rowling tweeted. “The smirk of a male who’s [sic] knows he’s protected by a misogynist sporting establishment enjoying the distress of a woman he’s just punched in the head, and whose life’s ambition he’s just shattered.” 

While the attacks on Khelif are of a piece with familiar recent Western controversies over who is allowed to participate in girls’ and women’s sports, many of the articles and individuals magnifying the debate relied on or relayed the claims of a discredited group with strong ties to the Russian government, a deep grudge against the International Olympic Committee, and a seemingly vested interest in proving that the IOC-run games are, as the group’s leader has claimed, a venue for “sodomy.”

In trying to unravel what led up to this moment, many individuals and news outlets cited a statement released by the official-sounding International Boxing Association, which stated that both Khelif and Yu-Ting had previously been disqualified from competing in the IBA-administered Women’s World Boxing Championships in March 2023. The women were barred from that competition, which took place in New Delhi, following tests the organization has not publicly clarified, citing privacy rules. At the time, IBA president Umar Kremlev told a Russian state news agency that the women had been found to have “XY chromosomes” and claimed the two had “pretended to be women” and “tried to deceive their colleagues.” Even if the IBA’s findings were true, having XY chromosomes does not automatically make someone male—women with Swyer syndrome, a rare genetic condition, have XY for instance. Nor are XY chromosomes proven to constitute an “unfair advantage,” although that is exactly what an IBA official claimed in a press conference on Monday. One pediatrics expert told NBC in 2009—one of the innumerable times this issue has been raised in women’s sports—that such a claim was “malarkey.”

[...] When Khelif and Yu-Ting were disqualified by the IBA back in New Delhi, skeptics questioned how it benefited Azalia Amineva, a Russian fighter. The women were not ruled ineligible until after they’d already competed and Khelif had won a bout against the previously undefeated Amineva. While IBA officials said the sequence of events was due to a week’s delay in being provided testing results, as the Associated Press has pointed out, the decision meant the Russian fighter’s perfect record was retroactively restored. Kremlev isn’t shy about expressing a broad fixation on gender and sexuality, with him, as the sports website Defector has pointed out, decrying the IOC on YouTube for promoting “outright sodomy and the destruction of traditional values.” In the wake of the Paris games’ opening ceremony, he blasted the spectacle, which featured queer performers, as “pure sodomy,” while saying the IOC “burns from pure devilry” and that its president is a “chief sodomite.” He also claimed that “men with changed gender are allowed to fight with women in boxing at the Olympics.” (Videos with such remarks have been helpfully subtitled in English to draw a wider, Western audience.) Last week, Kremlev announced the IBA would give $50,000 in prize money to the defeated opponents of Khelif and Yu-Ting.

[...] The Khelif affair captures English-speaking transphobes with rigid ideas about the nature of womanhood picking up on a politically motivated campaign from a discredited organization at open war with the IOC. Indeed, right-wing organizations in the United States, including the Independent Women’s Forum and CPAC, via its chair Matt Schlapp, have paid for sponsored posts on Musk’s X platform, calling her “a man“—posts that appear when users search for information on the controversy.

The International Boxing Association, which is a Kremlin-led body led by Umar Kremlev that is permanently banned from being the sanctioning body for Olympic boxers, has instigated a transphobic war against cis women boxers Lin Yu-ting and Imane Khelif.

The IBA issued politically-motivated disqualifications of the pair in 2023 that don’t stand up to scrutiny.

[coco-loco-nut]

How Did It End?

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

summary: charles can’t shake the reputation of not being able to hold a relationship

masterlist ttpd masterlist

—————————

Sure, Charles dated around, but he was in his 20s, and it wasn’t like those relationships were super short. He thought the reputation assigned to him was unfair. So when he met you, he thought things would be different. How did things die so quickly?

He was used to the scrutiny at that point, so he did his best to protect you, like you were a flower that he needed to take care of. Maybe that’s what let a disease sink in.

“Charlie, we can’t hide. I don’t care what people say, I want everyone to know how much I adore my boyfriend,” you begged.

“Mon amour, they are ruthless. I don’t want you getting attacked because you are with me,” Charles frets.

“Charles, I can’t keep hiding,” you say, moving away from his touch as he reaches for you.

That became more and more frequent. Charles wasn’t wrong, the attention you got from the media was overbearing at times, but you were happy to be with him.

Charles could tell you were subconsciously pulling away. You shared love language is touch, and it was less and less frequent. It started to feel foreign rather than comforting.

That’s not to say that it was all bad. You and Charles truly believed that you were it for each other and this was just a low spot to work through. You were blind to what was to come.

The downfall really happened during a post-race party. You and Charles had been separated from each other, and people decided that that was the correct time to plant seeds of doubt in both your minds.

“God, Pierre. I don’t know what to do. She deserves better than me, I think things are ending,” Charles says on the phone with his childhood best friend, running a hand through his hair. Little did he know that you were having the same conversation with some of your friends, asking for advice.

“I think it’s time to call it off,” you and Charles get the same reply. As much as neither of you wanted to, the seeds had been planted, and that comment was like a good rain that helps it grow.

Not even a week later, you are moving your things out of Charles’ apartment and back to your apartment in London. You thought you had some peace and quiet at the start of your separation, but then the gossip pages got pictures of you and Charles. You were out shopping, feeling absolutely lost without him, you didn’t even realize that

Charles could hear the hungry voices around him, vultures waiting for the next bit of gossip. Former friends sending him pictures of you shopping and looking miserable, people whispering around him when walking around Monaco. It was all too much, and it was always the same question.

“How did it end?” like his life was a circus, and he was reaching his breaking point. The more he is asked that question, the more he can’t hold onto his PR filter.

“I can’t pretend like I understand how it ended. She was my everything, we had dreams together. It feels like her ghost and I are sitting in a tree, like that nursery rhyme. D-y-i-n-g,” Charles rants to Max, one of the few people to not offer the fake sympathy.

Charles was miserable attending Silverstone. Knowing you were so close but so far, it was torture. He just wanted to hold you in his arms, show you off to the paddock.

��Mate, he looks awful. What happened, where’s Y/n?” Lando asks Carlos, observing the Monégasque driver.

“Didn’t you hear? They called it all off,” Carlos says as Lando’s head whips over to look at Carlos in shock.

“How did it end?” Lando asks. Charles wants to rage at everyone and everything. It’s never asking how he is doing, only how it ended.

“I don’t know,” Carlos shrugs.

Charles knows how it goes, if he tells someone what happened, they will promise to keep it to themselves but end up telling all of their friends. It’s a spectacle, every time a failed relationship of his makes light.

You show up to the race in disguise, having been dragged out of your apartment by your friends.

“He looks miserable,” you say, watching Charles on the screens. It’s not too noticeable to anyone who doesn’t know him well.

“The same as you. Maybe you should reach out,” one of your friends suggests as you stand at the front of the barriers for the Ferrari fan zone.

“I, I shouldn’t. We broke up for a reason,” you tell her, not noticing Charles’ gaze on you.

“Maybe so, but it seems like you two need to talk,” she says and you look up at Charles who holds your gaze for a second.

“Maybe,” you can’t help the slight blush that appears on your cheeks. After the event, you see a text from him in your messages. You never blocked Charles’ number, you couldn’t bring yourself to.

You meet Charles at a park nearby, and it’s starting to feel like a bad idea.

“I’m sorry for all the media attention that came with the breakup,” Charles starts and you feel anger flare up.

“That’s what you are sorry for?”

“No! Well, yes, but I’m also sorry that I never publicly showed you off. All I could think about the past few weeks is how much I wanted you by my side. I love you, you are different than anyone I’ve dated before,” Charles corrects himself.

“Charles, don’t say that. Of course, I love you too, but I know how this goes. You will try and change, and things will be okay for a little, but then they will revert to how they were,” you sit on the bench nearby.

“No, they won’t,” he rebuts, but you don’t believe it.

“I hate seeing you miserable, but I can’t be in a relationship that makes me miserable in the long run,” you say, grabbing his hand.

“Y/n,” he trails off, unsure of what to say.

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t opt in to be your odd man out, Charlie. I was going down with the ship. You said you loved me but where were the clues? You never showed me off, I was stuck at home while you were out,” you go on a slight tangent.

“I never meant to cage you, I just wanted to keep you safe. I realize how wrong that was, now. I put the weight of the relationship on you, I’m so sorry,” Charles begins to realize you won’t budge, that you need to protect yourself.

“I’m just getting color back into my face, and you will too. You and I will find someone who meets our needs, and this will be just a small blip in your life,” you smile ruefully, removing your hand from his.

“I’m not the one,” Charles exhales, and you shake your head. You know what’s bothering him and why he’s fighting for you now.

“Ignore them. Those who truly know you don’t believe the reputation the media has spun of you. I’ll be cheering for you, Charlie. Maybe we can be friends one day,” you stand up, taking in the sight of him one last time. Charles watches as you walk away.

Neither of you saw the camera trained on you, but Charles took your advice. When the photo was published with the caption “how did it end?”, he ignored it. And when he finally met the one, he realized you were right once again.

[f1fnatic]

SCRUTINY ⤿ f1 grid

→ ( in which. . . ) you are a woman on the f1 grid. you face criticism and digs almost every day from toxic fans, specifically the men. but, you shut them up after a rewarding race.

→ ( fanfic genre. . . ) written

→ ( pairing. . . ) 2023 f1 grid x female!reader

→ ( content warnings/disclaimers. . . ) cyberbullying, misogyny, sexism/sexist comments, overall a shitty environment. not based on this year's monaco grand prix or the season so far just has the drivers of this year's grid at this moment except alonso he is a reserve for aston martin, jumps around a little, not a completely solid plot, other pilots make subtle mentions, but mainly reader focused.

→ ( author's note. . . ) i enjoyed writing this one a lot. with being a woman myself and seeing how we are perceived in sports, especially a male-dominated field like motorsport, it was not very difficult to keep writing. anyways, i hope you enjoy! see end for more.

→ ( masterlist )

sunday, pre-race interview ↴

scrutiny. a word that you are familiar with. a word that has so much meaning but so little at the same time. you had recently joined your dream team, aston martin. after a challenging run in f3 and f2, you finally got recognized for your talent. you knew the comments would only get worse as you moved up the ranks, but you didn't expect them to be this bad.

it was the monaco grand prix. your least favorite track to race. the tight corners haunted you. without fail, you always almost crashed and cost your team everything. but it mainly cost you your dignity.

you were sat along a crisp white sofa that sat your teammate lance stroll, along with charles leclerc, lewis hamilton, lando norris, daniel ricciardo, and lastly max verstappen. you had all become acquainted when you first got to f1. lance and you got along swell and were close to inseparable. the rest were like brothers to you. these types of conferences were your personal least favorite. you enjoyed being with your friends, but the questions that were asked were downright embarrassing.

"y/n, coming over to you." the interviewer voiced, all attention was shifted onto you. "monaco in the past years has not treated you well, do you think you will have another devastating grand prix? and do you think your difference has to do with your performance?" you felt the scoff bubble in your throat. was he serious? you knew what he was playing at. your difference being your gender.

"well, first of all, i do not think my quote en quote 'difference' has anything to do with my performance." you start, putting finger quotes to emphasize the word difference. "if anything, it would be a difference in the car. in past monaco grand prix's the aston martin car has struggled. there are no real straights for the car to get its usual speed from. the differences in the care have nothing to do with me as a driver." this was unbelievable. were they really questioning whether you could hold your own as a woman in motorsport?

"you are starting p7 in today's race. do you think you performed well enough in qualifying? what could you have done differently?" finally. a normal question. you were excited to answer.

"uh, yeah. i think considering the conditions in qualifying and the nature of the track i did well. i am happy with how i performed but there is always room for improvement. and i am open to that." you answered, smiling. you looked over to lewis and saw him smiling at you. he knew how the media worked. he himself was getting pushed under the bus with racist remarks and 'concern' around his piercings. he was always supportive of you, and you were supportive of him. there were often times when you would text or call him ranting about how unfair it was that you were being treated the way you were. he would join in with his own stories and you would listen.

"y/n, i am sure you have seen the scrutiny online about being a woman competing in the pinnacle of motorsport. do you believe you should be here competing with men?" another reporter asks.

you are stunned. you couldn't believe what you were hearing.

"are you serious?" lance scoffs beside you. "what is with these questions?"

"why do we get questions about normal things like our literal jobs and y/n's questions are always about her gender?" daniel adds. the couch breaks out in murmurs. the reporters visibly get uncomfortable with what has happened and end the interview.

standing up you walk out of the office and to your drivers room, ignorning the voices calling after you. these interviews were always bullshit. daniel was right, why were you always getting questioned about your gender and how that effects your performance? what does gender have to do with racing?

this was only the beginning.

sunday, day of monaco grand prix ↴

you were exhausted. exhausted by the comments, the bullshit interviews, and the stupid prick men that felt the need to voice their opinion about a woman in f1.

you could this year's grand prix was going to be a tough one. mentally and physically. you wanted to be done. done with the bullying, the sexism, the misogyny, everything. you knew you worked hard to get where you are, and you will continue to. you dreaded the after-race interviews. no matter your result, you would always get at least 4 sexist remarks.

you didn't know what else you needed to do to be able to prove yourself worthy of your seat. you shouldn't have to prove yourself anymore than you have. you are in f1, and all of these assholes are not.

your pr manager, bless his soul, had to listen to your rants after interviews. lewis always got brunt end of it as well. he had experience with degradating comments. he always knew what to say and when to say it. fernando has been a huge help as well. he was like a father to you, always there when you needed someone. he would defend you when you needed defending. he always knew what to say and when to say it.

race start, p7 ↴

p7 was not a bad place to start, at all. but the internet and crowd thought differently. you were sat in your car, ready for the formation lap when someone yelled at you, "c'mon pretty lady! get back to cleaning! this is a man's sport!" you resisted the urge to quip back at him, instead you raised your left hand and flipped him off. your pr manager would have your head later but you couldn't care less. you needed to do something to voice your annoyance.

concentration is what you needed, but you couldn't seem to gain it with more comments being shouted your way. "hot momma!" followed by a cat call whistle, "sweetheart take off that suit! let's see what's underneath!", "YOU CAN'T HANDLE THIS JOB!" were only some of the handfuls thrown at you. they also seemed to be the ones that bothered you the most. your grip on your steering wheel tightened, anger bubbling in your gut. these people knew nothing. they don't know how hard you work. they don't know how much blood, sweat, and tears you poured into achieving your dream. and they never would.

before you knew it, the formation lap started. it went quickly. you got back into your respective starting positions and stared down the lights. you took a deep breath to attempt to ground yourself. it is just a race, you have done this before y/n.

the lights lit up red, until they didn't. you flew forward in your aston martin, pushing it for a decent start. you ended up gaining two positions, going from p7 to p5. the rest of the race was uneventful, until it wasn't.

"y/n, caution on the chicane. hamilton, perez, and leclerc crashed. yellow flag, safety car." your race engineer voiced over the radio. "that moves you into a fortunate p2."

"okay, copy." you were ecstatic. this was your chance to prove yourself to everyone. to those men who scrutinized you before the formation lap, to the trolls online, and to those misogynistic pricks known as reporters. this was your moment.

"gap to verstappen 1.6 seconds, push." you did as you were told. you pushed, and you pushed hard. this was for all of the girls that wanted to be you. "oh my days y/n! p1! p1! you just won the monaco grand prix!"

"yes! oh my god! fuck me! we did it!" you had done it.

you did your victory lap and parked behind the p1 tower. when you got out of your seat tears stung at your eyes. you ran over to where the aston martin team was and hugged them over the barrier. team members were banging on your helmet. lance had managed p2 and came up behind you and hugged you, along with the team.

the podium was a blur. you could not describe the emotions you were feeling. pride, excitement, and most of all, happiness were swirling within you. you stood tall as aston martin's anthem played and even taller when yours sounded shortly after. the champagne spray was the best part. carelessly spraying lance as giggles sounded on the podium. you also sprayed your team below, this would not have been possible without them. you would never forget this moment. it is forever engraved into your mind.

this was it, this was what you needed to prove them all wrong.

not feeling super happy w this one. i like the beginning but i feel it gets away from me in the middle and end. feedback and requests are welcome! make sure to leave a comment and kudos as well, only if u want to tho! lmk if you like it :)

[gacha-incels]

do you have a post debunking the tsunul video about projmoon? i claimed projmoon is misogynistic and people keep linking the video 🙄 iirc you debunked it before but u know how the tumblr search function is

yeah sorry I was in the hospital for a bit unexpectedly and I’m just trying to recover from this stupid fucking illness flare up thats kicking my ass 😭✌️so I haven’t posted in a while and I’ll probably remain offline for a bit after this check in. I don’t do this like tit for tat debunking where I watch these “fandom” videos, so personally I think the best way is for you to be presented with the straight facts of what happened, then what’s going on with South Korean society, how this all affects one another , etc, and with this knowledge you can then formulate your own arguments because you’ll actually understand what you’re saying.instead of just repeating it. Like you get what I mean? I think this works pretty well… When someone sends u a video as a response, you never really know if they understand what they’re sending or if they just see it as an “I win” or a “now I can keep playing my gacha guilt free” button lol. uh my basic post regarding PM fans making these videos or linking to them, I wrote it here

Reply from when he for some reason mentioned my blog and misrepresented it (unfortunately and weirdly would not be the first time for some reason, I did not know this person existed before people told me about him here? lol)

Twitter user citrussalt’s replies to him & her translation of the IT Union chairman’s tweets regarding the real meaning of unfair dismissal. This I believe is one of the most important aspects to the case, and one that, if you’re simply looking at this situation to exonerate PM, you will completely blind yourself to the country’s systemic misogyny and how it relates to the case so that you can simply say “it was ruled that this was not an unfair dismissal”

I posted something similar here

and responded to the overblown claims regarding the kgcs here

Post with some of the earliest article links of the event in korean

PM pressing criminal charges against various unions/labor activists have been dismissed. they never pressed any against the incels that accosted them I guess! lol

Mimi (Wonderlab) taking her webcomic down and no longer wishing to be associated with project moon. She has faced mass harassment by both western and eastern fans, and has said she has more grievances with PM she has not mentioned.

Monggeu reveals PM told her to not make her work (Leviathan) “Too PC”

Project Moon references DCinside jokes

Continued with Ilbe jokes

monggeu (Leviathan) extremely poor treatment working at Project moon

if you’re talking to someone who only understands this style of arguing I mean one of their VAs had misogynistic social media posts but he was not subject to scrutiny and firing like vellmori was for hers

Newer: SK limbus fans ideologically verify, stalk, and bring one girl to a suicide attempt because they only want “pure” fans returning to the game, not anyone who questioned PM or KJH’s leadership

I think those are all the basics, I hope it can be helpful, if you are looking for any other post in particular lmk!

[kitasgloves]

Happy Together

tracklist

— ♬ "Me and you, and you and me. No matter how they toss the dice, it has to be. The only one for me is you, and you for me"

— ♬ Akutagawa Ryuunosuke x Reader, SFW, female reader, graphic depictions of violence and murder, mentions of stalking, brief depiction of SA, Akutagawa having unresolved anger issues, 3.04k words, no beta

— ♬ NOTE: I DO NOT CONDONE NOR ROMANTISIZE WHAT IS DEPICTED IN THIS STORY. EVERYTHING IS A WORK OF FICTION. READER'S DESCRETION IS ADVISED.

No child should indeed experience the brutality and unforgiving side of the world. A child has the right to preserve their innocence and revel in their blissful youth. To run around carelessly and play with their friends. But for Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, only the ones who are privileged get to experience the luxuries of a perfect childhood. Akutagawa was already unfortunate, being birthed in this cruel and unfair world. His eyes opened to the harsh reality around him in the slumps. Barely having anything to eat or getting enough sleep, all Akutagawa had was his dearest sister, Gin.

The siblings barely got by trying to survive. A child shouldn't be trying to survive, they should be taken care of. But The Akutagawas had nothing but each other as they learned how to fend for themselves or look out for one another. Being the oldest, Akutagawa became naturally protective of his sister. Even in this weak body that was given to him, it became his priority to try and protect the only thing he had left. Even if it meant he couldn't defend himself.

However, after suffering for the majority of his childhood, a man dressed in black, and bandages decided to pick him up along with his sister. To think someone had taken pity on him made Akutagawa scoff. That man, Dazai Osamu, only picked him out of the slumps because he saw the potential bloodthirst in him—a bloodthirst a child should never have. Dazai never cared for him or looked upon him with pity; he looked at him for his potential for violence.

As he continued his growth in the Port Mafia where Dazai has taken him, Akutagawa and Gin slowly drifted apart to be put in different trainings. To stay in the Port Mafia means you have to prove your worth. Akutagawa's ability, Rashōmon, had the potential to secure his place in the Port Mafia. But he needed to polish his ability, and that's where Dazai came in.

Akutagawa was exposed to more violence and scrutiny from the bandaged man. He was bested and beaten down as a lesson. But he kept trying and trying despite his weak body which was prone to illness. Akutagawa found himself striving upon Dazai's approval which was rarer than the rain gracing the desert. When he thought he had full control and understanding of Rashōmon, it seemed like it was never enough for the man who he deemed as his mentor.

If that wasn't cruel enough, Dazai has decided to betray the Port Mafia. He left Akutagawa seemingly stranded and still seeking his brutal guidance. It only rubbed salt in the wound when it was later discovered that his ex-mentor had joined the Armed Detective Agency. Since that bitter experience, Akutagawa has learned not to expect so much from people.

After all, he was used to being on his own. He needed nobody and he has grown stronger than the feeble child that he used to be. Slowly, Akutagawa climbed the ranks with this mindset. People began fearing and admiring him for his violent reputation, but he couldn't care less. For a while, he was content. He was satisfied with the hatred and anger in him that he used as fuel to continue his brutality. That's all that he saw in himself anyway, a beast of destruction.

However, you entered into the picture. Akutagawa viewed you as a pathetic woman in the first encounter. It was his day off when he went for groceries at the grocery store you worked at. You flashed him a beaming smile that day when you scanned his items. He raised a brow; did you always give customers that obnoxious smile? As soon as you bagged all his groceries, he immediately left, paying too much of what was needed and not waiting for the change.

Akutagawa went to the grocery store when he needed something since it was the nearest to the Port Mafia headquarters. He wasn't fond of you, and he constantly avoided encountering you often. From what he can observe, you seemed like a pushover, always letting your co-workers shit talk and walk over you. And you'd always smile and laugh it off as if it was no big deal. If Akutagawa was in your position, he would've either quit the job or gave everyone a piece of his fucking mind.

Somehow, you were resilient. You never wavered and behaved calmly even when there was a disaster at work. When your superior scolded you or when a customer kept hurling complaints at you, Akutagawa never saw you lash out. A part of him found it impressive but he was interested in finding your breaking point. So, he decided to play a little game.

Every time Akutagawa would go to that grocery store, he made sure to cause inconvenience for you. He tested you by making complaints, knocking off stacked products in an aisle, and even holding out the line to make other customers angry. And yet, after all the cruelty he has done, you have never called or cussed him out. All you did was smile, and he hated it.

Was it possible for someone to be too kind for their own good? Maybe you had a different upbringing when you were growing up. Maybe you never got to experience fighting to earn your right to live. Or sleeping off the starvation you felt. Or being beaten senselessly just to earn your place. You were probably sheltered from every violence Akutagawa has witnessed. He despised blissfully ignorant people like you.

He stopped bothering you thinking it was no use, and he'd only get filled with worthless frustration. Akutagawa doesn't return to the grocery store for a month. However, he encounters you outside of your workplace on the night of Halloween. He has recently finished defeating a few enemies when he sees you getting harassed in the streets. He doesn't recognize you at first because you're wearing a skimpy Halloween costume than the modest uniform, the one he usually saw you in. He watched you shaking your head and saying 'No' to a bunch of drunk men trying to take you home. When one of them grabs your ass and you ended up slapping them in the face, the situation takes a grim turn.

One of the men pulled you by the hair and started to undo the first buttons of your costume. Akutagawa felt his body freeze in newfound horror. To think you were probably only trying to get home but these drunken bastards didn't know what boundaries are thought they could have their way with you. He clenched his fists but decided to turn around. Akutagawa didn't want to get involved; it was unnecessary. But all of a sudden, your high-pitched scream echoed in the empty street, and it resembled so much of his sister's voice. Akutagawa stops in his tracks and turns around sprinting towards your direction.

It was a blur. All the men were knocked out on the pavement with a few broken bones or dislocated joints. When Akutagawa got a clear look at you after beating the shit out of those men (without even using Rashōmon), he notices the tears streaming down your eyes. Your hair and clothes were a mess when you reached out to take his hands and thank him profusely. His eyes might be playing tricks with him because he sees a parallel of his little sister's crying face over yours. To think you reminded him of Gin made Akutagawa's chest clench involuntarily.

"Go home"

Akutagawa sternly told you as he took his hand back from your warm hold. You sniffed and nodded your head. But before you could part, Akutagawa shrugs off his coat to cover your shivering figure. You looked endearing in it despite the coat almost swallowing you whole. The evening was turning cold, and he figured he'd temporarily lend his coat.

"Thank you! What's your name?"

"Akutagawa. I want you to return my coat tomorrow and it better be washed"

Akutagawa demanded before turning his heel and disappearing. He visits the grocery store the following day to fetch his coat and to buy a few things, he was mildly surprised when you handed back his coat all washed and decided to pay for all of his expenses.

"Now we're even!"

You explained and he only scoffed. When he exited the grocery store, his face felt usually warm. Akutagawa found himself frequenting more at that grocery store, he'd pick up only an item or two so that he could get to talk to you. You look so happy to see him, and he starts to think that you only reserve that beaming smile for him. 

Akutagawa found himself conflicted with the complicated feelings he discovered when talking to you more. That contempt he usually had for your innocence was replaced with fondness. Suddenly, he's interested in your interests. He's invested in the little stories you tell him about your day. What the fuck is going on with him? Why is he suddenly hooked on you? You're nothing but an unremarkable woman and yet you flood his thoughts with your smile. You distract him with your laugh echoing in his mind. Why did you even decide to crawl into his life?

He convinces himself that he doesn't need you. He doesn't want to pursue a relationship with you. But to think about you seeking somebody else than him makes his blood run hot. What have you done with him? Akutagawa feels himself yearning painfully each day to see you. He's itching to find an excuse to see your face. He's finding reasons to justify his need to know if you're safe. For a violent man, Akutagawa has an urge to protect you.

He wants to know if he's the sole reason why you smile every day because the thought of you is enough to make him breathe properly. Akutagawa finds himself longing to be a part of your happiness, a kind of happiness that is so unique that you couldn't find it with anybody else. He wants to achieve that happiness with you because he's convinced you were made for him.

Imagine him and you, he does. He thinks about you day and night. It's only right to think about the girl he loves and hold her tight. So happy together. Akutagawa thinks if he should call you up, invest a dime. And you say you belong to him and ease his mind. Imagine how the world could be, so very fine. So happy together.

Yes, he'd want that. Akutagawa wants to be happy together with you. He can't see loving nobody but you for all his life. When he's with you the skies are all blue for all his life. You and him. Him and you. You and him, him and you.

Truthfully, you thought Akutagawa was an odd man. After he saved you that Halloween night, he's suddenly interested in getting close to you. Back then, he seemed rude or dismissive. You wondered what changed his mind. He was an awkward guy, you admit. He'd make attempts to start a conversation with you whenever he's purchasing something, but it comes across as stiff as if he has no idea what to say.

Although Akutagawa had a handsome face, he gave off the impression that he was hiding something. His pale and almost sickly appearance made him look he was not taking good care of himself. You assumed that Akutagawa was far from an average man considering that on Halloween night he effortlessly beat up a group of men. Ever since you returned his coat, the man seemed persistent in getting to know you.

Yes, Akutagawa did want to know about you more, that's why he decided to follow you to your home. He'd watch you moving between rooms from the outside of your windows. And when you go to sleep, he'll pick the lock from the backdoor so he can watch you sleep in your bedroom. If he felt particularly desperate, he'd caress your face during your slumber or steal used items that you own.

A month has gone by and you're starting to get creeped out by Akutagawa. Your skin crawled whenever you saw him enter the grocery store. His movements seemed calculating as if he was plotting something. And the gaze he would give whenever you'd scan his items sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes were dark as he stared at you as if stuck in a trance. His hand would linger on yours whenever he'd give his money to pay, you can still remember how freezing cold his hands felt. He started giving you a smirk, your initial thought was that it was an awkward smile, he does seem the type who doesn't smile often. But the longer you thought about it, the more you were beginning to feel uncomfortable around him. But you'd convince yourself that Akutagawa was harmless.

Everyone at the Port Mafia notices how unusually violent Akutagawa is today. He was taking his time torturing and killing his enemies. He's eerily quiet too. It was as if something had deeply upset him. And something did, but only Akutagawa knew what it was. To think he bathed himself in romantic fantasies about you; to imagine the happiness he deserves with you, and to be convinced that your smile was only meant for him only to find out it was only one-sided. He got his heart violently torn into smithereens upon seeing you affectionate with another guy the previous day.

What makes that man more worthy than him? Why does he get the privilege of holding your hand when he was the one who saved you that night?! Akutagawa can feel the power of Rashōmon intensifying from his rising anger. He couldn't comprehend it for the first few seconds until the reality dawned on him. It was the cruelest thing you could've done to him, to capture his heart only to tear it apart. He couldn't stand it. In his eyes, you'll never find happiness if it wasn't with him. No matter what angle he looked at, Akutagawa was unable to see himself loving somebody else. His infatuation has grown out of proportion that it almost makes him delirious.

Akutagawa was a bloody mess both literally and emotionally. His eyes viewed the world as crimson as he traveled from the headquarters to that man's house, the one you showered your affections with. Rashōmon was on a rampage as he busted through that man's door and tore him limb by limb. He didn't register the brutality of the killing that he committed as he left and made his journey towards your home.

You received rapid knocking at your front door only to open it and reveal Akutagawa drenched in blood. Your body goes cold as you gaze at him with horror, a million terrifying thoughts race through your head. You staggered back, breathless and petrified as Akutagawa took a step closer.

"[Name]"

He calls out to you in a low voice. Instinctively, you tried to shut the door on his face, but his hand swiftly prevented it. You immediately made a run towards your stairs only to be stopped by Rashōmon grabbing you by the arm before wrapping itself around your body, restraining you. Tears prickled in your lash line as you tried to wiggle your way out of the restraint. You turn to Akutagawa and yell.

"Why are you doing this to me?!"

The man scowls as he reaches to grab your jaw with a bloody hand, effectively shutting you up. You whimpered as you bit your lip trying to hold your tears at bay. A part of Akutagawa felt his chest tighten at the sight of your glassy eyes, but he kept his stoic gaze.

"Don't think you can get away fucking with my emotions"

"What? What did I ever do to you?"

Akutagawa lets out a chilling laugh. He explains how he has fallen for you that Halloween night that he has saved you. He describes how much you have affected his life with that smile of yours. He tells you how you will only obtain true happiness with him. Because he will be the only one strong enough to protect you. He will grant you his endless devotion and you will give him the privilege of your affection.

"Me and you, and you and me. No matter how they toss the dice, it has to be. The only one for me is you, and you for me"

You and he must be happy together. Akutagawa leans close enough to your face that you can feel his passionate breath tickling your face. After everything that he has said, all you can think is how twisted this man is. You tearfully scoffed at him.

"I will never be happy with you"

You remarked. This stirs a violent reaction from him. He clenches his jaw as his grip on your jaw tightens, he merely holds himself back from slapping your face. Akutagawa's eyes bore holes into yours through gritted teeth.

"Then I'll make sure you will never be happy with anybody else but me"

His threat instantly etched into your brain, further inciting horror in you. Akutagawa was prepared to cause a bloodbath just so nobody could take you away from him. He would go to unspeakable lengths for you and him to be together, to be happy together. 

"You don't love me, you're... you're insane!"

"I do love you, [Name]. I can't see me loving nobody but you for all my life. When you're with me, [Name], the skies will be blue for all my life"

Rashōmon squeezes your body tighter slowly making it difficult for you to breathe. All you could do was gaze at Akutagawa scornfully through tears as his bloody hands gently touched your face, smearing the blood on your skin as he stared at you with a delirious smile on his face. His head was only filled with thoughts of you and him, him and you. You and him, him and you. You and him. Him and you. You and him... him and you. He was unable to register your bloodcurdling scream as he took you away with him.

©kitasgloves (do not steal or copy)

[yangqism]

we can't be friends | liu yangyang

actor!liu yangyang x actress!femreader

synopsis.yangyang is born to be a star, the kind of talent that lights up the screen. you, on the other hand, is a nepo baby who everyone believed got the lead role because of your family’s influence. he fought all these years to be the man that he is while you are still busy proving yourself to the populace. you believe you’re more than just your parents. he believes he’s less than without his fans. when your lives become intertwined, things get messy–one has never tasted consequences while the other lies awake at night, haunted by the thought of it.

genre. romance, angst

warnings. there's pretend kissing then there's real kissing where yangyang doesn't ask you, he just goes for it, i do not know the difference between drama and series so sorry <3

words. 8,812

eternal sunshine. masterlist

a/n. it gets better at the ending part so plZ just bear w me. HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! I'm turning 20 this year lol feels so scary if you think about it but whatever

The universe is unfair, but Yangyang has learned to live with that. 

It was unfair that he always played second to someone else. The second male lead, the second-best choice, the second most important. But he was never really bothered about it. Not until you waltzed your way into the picture. 

You still remember it vividly. It was a Monday afternoon, the first read through with the cast of Eternal Sunshine–a week before filming. He was already sitting beside the chair assigned to you, practicing his lines diligently while you took a sip from your coffee you ordered to-go. 

You greeted him with a warm smile but he only replied with a small and rushed one. Sure, he was your second lead in the drama but during that time, he made you feel unwanted. But who are you kidding? Of course, you were everything he wasn’t supposed to want. You’re the female lead, the one who would be with the male lead in the end. The center of attention. Realistically, you’re a nepo baby whose life had been handed to her on a silver platter, complete with designer shoes and an unearned (still) spotlight. But God, did you wear it well.

Whereas Yangyang had to work his way up. Every step of his journey was carved out of his determination and long nights filled with self-doubt, management’s uncertainty, and the media’s scrutiny. He wasn’t handed anything the first time he breathed in the land of showbiz. Every opportunity, recognition, and spotlight he’s getting right now is because he persevered. 

That’s what made sitting next to you on that Monday afternoon so excruciating. 

While he did smile to your way in a rushed manner, he viewed you as a person far differently than other people did when they looked your way. You were effortless in his eyes. Effortless in a manner that he could never be. Even in the most mundane moments like you sipping on your coffee, standing up to bow to anyone who comes in the script room, scrolling through your phone–you carried yourself with an air of belonging, like you had been born to inhabit the world he had clawed his way into. 

And yet, it wasn’t jealousy that twisted his chest when he looked at you. Heck, it was something worse. 

No matter how much he tried to deny it, when your mouth opened to read the script, Yangyang knew exactly what you were capable of. You weren’t just a nepo baby or some random female lead that the crew casted. You were the kind of actress everyone aspires to be. And also the kind of person who could uproot everything he’d worked so hard to build.

You first met Yangyang at a press conference after an award show your parents were invited for and you were their plus one. The journalist decided to pick on you, asking you pressing questions regarding your status in the industry. 

“What do you feel that everyone’s calling you a nepo baby, Ms. Y/N?” Well, you almost wish the journalist hadn’t called you ‘Miss’ if his question was like that. 

You just smiled at him awkwardly, never giving in to their pressing questions about your relevance in the acting industry. Afterall, you believe you’re more than just your parents. Sure, they opened this path for you but you’re working hard to show to everyone that you deserve that spot. 

You never really paid attention to the young actor during that time but you saw him looking at you while you were being interrogated by the rude journalist. Your eyes met for a brief moment before he broke it to talk to another actor. 

At first, Yangyang didn’t feel bad for you during that time, considering how he thought you were an annoying actress, like what he had heard from rumors. 

“Miss Y/N, what’s with you today? You keep on failing the scene,” the director yells another disappointed ‘cut!’ after you fumbled your lines with a scene with Sicheng. “Let’s take 5!” 

“I’m sorry, Sicheng,” you gave an apologetic smile to the star actor but he just shrugged and went to his assistant to freshen up. 

If there was one thing you loved about working with Sicheng, it was because he doesn’t really care about where you came from or what you did to become his female lead. He’s just there for work. A bonus is that he treats you nicely, he’s just nonchalant at times. Especially when that pop star comes into the set. 

“You’re too stiff, Y/N,” the sudden voice from behind your back startled you. You whip around to see Yangyang leaning casually against a prop stand, arms crossed and an amused grin tugging at his lips. 

“Your body’s too tense, that’s why you keep messing up,” he points out, tilting his head. “I saw it when you were delivering your lines.”  

“Oh, Yangyang-sunbaenim! I see, I’ll try to deliver these lines as smoothly as possible,” you replied, giving him a small smile.

“Practice it to me.” 

“Huh?”

“Practice your line to me and I can give you feedback, dummy,” Yangyang reiterated, his tone filled with playful impatience.

“O-oh! Uhm…” You focus, taking a deep breath before looking directly into his eyes, “Lei… I don’t think you can understand me… I don’t think we’re… we’re…” Your voice falters right where it did before. You clench your jaw, trying to force the words out, but they just won’t come. 

Your shoulders drop as you let out a sigh of defeat, “I don’t think I can do this,” you admit, your voice barely a whisper but Yangyang heard it. 

“You think you can’t because you want Lei and Riko to be together. You’re so immersed in your role right now, Y/N,” Yangyang scolded, giving you a bottle of water from his staff. 

“This isn't real, Y/N. You need to separate work and your personal feelings. If you want Lei and Riko to be together, they will in the end. Just not in this scene. Get yourself together and wrap this scene up so we can all go home,” he reaches up, ruffling your hair like you’re a little kid on the set, and before you can even process what he did, he’s already walking away, hands shoved in his pockets heading straight to annoy Kun.

“Separate work and personal feelings, huh?” You muttered, staring at the water he gave you. His words echo in your mind, louder than the busy mumbles of the crew around you. Maybe what he said is true considering how you can’t bear to think that Lei, Sicheng’s character, and Riko, your character, will end their love escapade for a few episodes before rekindling again.

“Y/N, Sicheng, back on stage!” The director yelled, giving you a brief smile before instructing the cameraman. “Do your best.” 

You nod, tightening your grip on the water bottle before setting it aside. Your feet move automatically, carrying you toward the place you’ll be delivering your line in. As you’re heading to your place, you can feel Yangyang’s eyes on you. 

You looked in his direction and he already had his signature gummy smile plastered on his face, “Do your best,” he mimicked the director’s voice, making you giggle.

It was a week after the first shooting for Eternal Sunshine that the director called you in her office for an emergency revision for the later episodes. 

You were wearing your favorite faded jeans with a long sleeve and a coffee on your hand. At first, you thought it was just gonna be you and the director but a sleepy Yangyang came into her office like it’s his second home.

“Greetings, Yangyang!” The director annoyingly scolded him, throwing a pillow at him when he immediately latched himself onto the sofa. 

“Hello, noona. Hello, Y/N.” 

“I’m very sorry about him, Ms. Y/N,” his manager, Huang Renjun, apologized on behalf of the second male lead. “He just came from an overnight shooting with Mr. Qian Kun. The two of them had to shoot their scenes more than once because the rookie actor kept messing up and they didn’t want to be assholes on set.” 

“Hey! What about an apology for me?” The director playfully demanded even though she had known the reason for Yangyang’s behavior beforehand. The director was like family for Yangyang and Renjun. This isn’t the first project they did together hence they’re comfortable with each other.

“As he said, Kun-ge,” Yangyang mentioned the golden boy and the three immediately saw the flabbergasted reaction of the director. “Kun-ge, Kun-ge, Kun-ge, Kun-” Yangyang teased, his smile grew wider as the director’s face became more embarrassed before having enough of his ministries. 

“Enough, second lead!” The director sassed, “I called you here today because there’s a change in the storyline we’re going to record for tomorrow,” she started as her assistant gave you and Yangyang the copy of the revised script and concept for the shoot. 

As you skimmed the pages, you realized that you and Yangyang’s character will be in close proximity, fully giving justice to his second male lead role. “As you can see, Riko and Jun will be closer to each other after Lei’s and Riko’s fall out. Of course, this will be brief as the latter couple will get back together,” she explained. “I just want the both of you to prepare yourselves. I know that the both of you have the least interaction throughout this series but you need to prepare… like, prepare,” she emphasized before adjourning the meeting, leaving you dazed. 

“After reading this script, I think Riko will fall harder for Jun than Lei,” you joked, already feeling the pressure as you saw a scene where you and Yangyang had to kiss. 

“Will you?” Yangyang asked, his tone was interrogating. 

You tilted your head, confused with what he meant, “Will I what, sunbaenim?”

But he just shrugged, telling you to prepare for tomorrow before leaving the office.

The ride on the way home was unusually quiet. 

“What do you think of him?” Your manager, Chenle, asked you.

“Of who?”

“Of Yangyang.”

You tried to think about what to say for a moment, “Well, he’s nice to me.” 

“That’s it?” Chenle glanced at you through the rearview mirror, one brow arched. “Nice? He’s Yangyang, Y/N. Everyone I heard who worked with him can’t get him out of their heads after.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning your head against the window. “He’s good at what he does. Professional. Maybe those people can’t separate work from their personal lives or whatever.”

“Professional, huh?” You can hear the smirk from Chenle’s tone.

“Just stop overthinking things, Chenle,” You sighed, dumping all of your body weight on the car seat. “Tomorrow’s gonna be a long day with him so you better not make any weird comments like whatever this conversation is.” “There’s nothing weird with the conversation we’re having, Y/N.” Chenle retorted, “I’m just hoping you could come to your senses tomorrow and do your best as an actress. You still have a lot to prove in the industry.”

“I know that.”

It’s tiring, honestly. For you, it’s a never ending quest of ‘proving’ yourself to the industry, general public, and your own family. It’s sad to think about how as a child, everyone was looking forward to your acting debut but once you did, all the nepotism news bombarded your career hence, you’re now known as the ‘nepo’ baby. 

You used to think of it as a positive thing, you never forgot to thank your parents in every interview for this opportunity as an actress because you know, since as a kid, that this is the path meant for you. It’s like you’re honoring them every chance you have but the public deemed it as ‘rubbing your nepotism face’ every chance you get. 

In the end, this whole issue got out of hand and you don’t mention your parents as much as you used to, even coming as close to declining films where they are starring in or in affiliation with in fear of the nepotism thing getting even bigger. 

The next day on set had this heavy atmosphere not usually there when it’s you and Sicheng filming. You think it’s probably with the revised script that got everyone on their edge because the crew were everywhere, ensuring all of the props and sets are nice and perfect for your shoot. 

It was also during this time that you realized the scene you’re about to do. 

It’s the middle part of Riko and Jun’s relationship where they kiss because they realized they love each other, only for a short period of time, and it ought to feel magical or else people would believe that Riko’s still in love with Lei and is using Jun but in the script, Riko’s in love with Jun, even if it’s just for a brief period. 

The director deemed it easier for the both of you to finish the hard scenes first before the others so as to ensure smooth filming in the later days of the schedule, considering that Yangyang and other actors in this series also has other schedules. 

“Relax,” Yangyang’s voice broke through your thoughts as you couldn’t shake your nerves.

First day with Yangyang as your character’s lover and you’re already about to kiss. What’s there to not be nervous about? 

He was leaning against the makeup station, dressed amazingly by his stylist. You think of his presence as effortless but right now, there’s a glint of something in his eyes–quiet yet intense. 

“I’m trying, sunbae,” you replied, turning to face him.

He stepped closer to where you are, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “You’re overthinking it, Y/N. It’s just a scene. We’re professionals, remember?” 

You nodded, but your hands were still trembling slightly. Yangyang saw your state and sighed. “Nepo babies,” he teased as he shook his head before giving you again a bottle of water. “Take a sip, madam. It will make you feel better.”

“I’m sorry for feeling nervous, sunbae.” You apologized as you took a sip from the water he gave you. “It’s just that… it’s my first kissing scene ever and I’m not familiar with the grounds for kissing in a scene.” you admitted. 

Yangyang’s smile was wide and charming as he listened to your confession, “Don’t worry, sunbae will guide you.”

It was show time and the director called you and Yangyang in for a brief summary again. 

“Look,” Yangyang said to catch your attention, “Think of this scene as an important moment for Jun and Riko. They came from heartbreaks and found comfort from each other,” he gave you an advice, “It’s like their enlightenment scene where they kiss and suddenly, all is well.”

You stared at him, trying to gauge what he had just said. “I’ll do my best,” you said shyly, offering him a small smile before walking to the center.

“I know you will,” Yangyang replied, his gummy smile returning. 

“Okay, lovebirds for a glimpse,” the director called. Lovebirds for a glimpse is you and Yangyang’s new nickname on set because of this RikoJun scene you’re doing. “Kiss your way!” was all she said before giving the both of you the cue. 

As the scene began, you convinced yourself that this isn’t about you. This is about Riko finding love again after what happened with Lei. This is her first kiss with someone who comforted her. And with that, you found yourself more at ease. 

Yangyang’s character approached yours, his eyes showed vulnerability and it almost felt too real when his orbs directly looked into yours. The lines flowing out of his mouth smoothly, as if he meant them. 

And when the moment came, when Jun leaned in and Riko didn’t pull away, it was like the rest of the world disappeared. 

The kiss was soft, hesitant, and lingering–exactly as it was supposed to be. Yangyang held your head with such gentleness while your hands found their way to his back, trying to get him closer to your body. 

You know it’s just pretend kissing but part of you wished it was real with the way Yangyang was holding you and your proximity, his warmth made you feel small in a way that is not condescending. He made you feel safe. 

When the two of you break the kiss, your eyes meet again. This time, you definitely went out of character as you looked at him deeply, fully portraying Riko’s yearning for him. Her ‘I found you’ moment. 

“Cut!” The director yelled ecstatically. “That was such a good scene!” 

You thanked the director while your mind was still in a daze as Yangyang gave you a small, reassuring nod–as if saying that you did well. You couldn’t help but give the actor a smile in return. 

As the crew buzzed around you again, you caught Chenle’s gaze from the sidelines. He raised a brow, smirking at your direction as if he knew something you didn’t. 

And maybe, he did. 

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Between the countless takes, script changes, and the director’s endless feedback, you barely had time to process anything. Except when Yangyang was in the same room as yours. You admire how his presence seems to fill every corner, tugging at your attention no matter how hard you try to focus on anything else. 

By the time you wrapped up for the day, your body ached from exhaustion, and all you wanted was to crawl into bed. At this time, you thoroughly expected a grumpy Chenle waiting for you in your dressing room but you were taken aback with what you got instead.

It was Yangyang, leaning against the wall near your dressing room, scrolling through his phone like he’s your boyfriend waiting for you to finish your shoot… you mean, what?

You hesitated to greet him but he looked up at you before you could even decide.

“Y/N,” he greeted, “Chenle’s out with Renjun. Figured I’ll wait for you instead, considering how late it is now.”

“Oh,” you mentally cursed your manager, your inner monologues filled with ‘How dare he’ and ‘How could he’. “It’s fine, sunbae. I can manage on my own.” 

Yangyang slipped his phone into his pocket, standing up straight in the process. “No, nepo baby. You’re gonna be with me until you enter the backdoor of your apartment.” 

You’re too tired to decline a persistent Yangyang that you just nodded before heading to the parking lot. “Long day,” you sighed, leaning into the car seat of Renjun’s van. 

“Tell me about it,” he responded as he started driving. 

You glanced at him, surprised, “I almost forgot! Aren’t you supposed to be staying for the night shoot?”

“Nah, Kun’s taking over because of changes again. Figured the director would have also preferred it that way,” he laughed as his hands smoothly maneuvered the steering wheel. 

You giggled at his response, “Sounds about right.” 

The two of you drove in an awkward silence for a while, the cold air conditioning of the van touches your body, making you shiver. 

“So,” he said eventually, looking at you for a brief period in his rearview mirror. “How’d it feel? The scene, I mean.”

You bit your lip, avoiding his brief glances at your place. “I don’t know,” you started, “It felt different… I don’t think I can find the right words to describe it right now, really.” 

You try to brush off his question with a laugh but you know deep inside your heart that you couldn’t just tell him you wished that the kiss was real. That you wish there was something more and that his glances at you earlier meant something. 

“But your advice did help a lot!” You tried changing the topic which you think was effective after he gave you a smug chuckle in return. 

“Told you.”

There was something easy about talking to him like this, away from the cameras and the crew and everything.

While driving, Yangyang made sure to take all the precautions he needed so as to not get caught with you in his manager’s van. Sure, he’s being friendly and acting like a dependable sunbae to you but he can’t afford being caught in a scandal, not with you. 

When you reached your destination, he made sure to contact the security to ensure no one was there before letting you go. 

“Thanks for earlier, sunbae! I don’t think I would’ve gotten through it without your reassurance.” 

He tilted his head, studying you for a moment before giving you a soft smile. “You would’ve been fine, with or without my advice. Give yourself some credit.” 

You stood frozen in the middle of your apartment’s parking lot at the sudden compliment. “Anyway, Y/N, get some good rest as tomorrow will be just as crazy as today.” 

“Yeah,” you nodded, “You too, sunbae, you too.”

By the time you reached your unit, you were surprised to see Chenle’s outdoor shoes in the entryway. 

“Yangyang said you’re out with Renjun,” your face turned sour at the sight of Chenle chilling on your sofa. “What a bad manager you are!”

“Yeah, yeah whatever. I left the restaurant earlier than Renjun.”

You didn’t mind what he said and went directly to your room to change. When you come back to your living room, he’s still in the same spot you left him a while ago. 

“What do you think of him now?” He asked again. This time, you already know who he was referring to. 

“He’s still fine and I still don’t understand why you’re doing this,” you rolled your eyes, joining him at your sofa. 

“He looks at you like you’re the lead of more than just the show, Y/N,” Chenle said slyly. 

“You’re overthinking things again, Chenle. Yangyang-sunbae is nice. I think we just have a good hoobae-sunbae relationship that’s why you’re acting like that,” you defended the actor. 

“I hope you’re right,” was all he said before placing all of his attention back to the television. 

At this point, you hope you’re right. 

It’s been a week since you spent time with Yangyang, filming the scenes for RikoJun and today, you guys are wrapping it all up–they’re gonna end their relationship and Lei will come back into the picture. 

“Missed me, Y/N?” Sicheng teased you. 

It’s also been a week since you last saw Sicheng, considering how busy he had gotten with his modelling gigs and sneaking out the pop star every night to his condominium. 

“You wish,” you retorted. 

“I heard you and Yangyang have a great chemistry,” he said again, his arms crossed to his chest.

“I like to think we do, too!” You gleefully replied, “His advice helped me a lot, especially during the heavy scenes we have together.”

Sicheng looked at you, “Mhm. I hope we still have that spark together after your time with him.”

Everyone on set was perplexed as to why Yangyang’s watching your scenes with Sicheng now, considering how he doesn’t have any upcoming shoots with you or with other actors of the drama today.

“Yang? Why are you here?” The director asked, completely puzzled to see the young man on set.

“Just wanna watch some of my colleagues, noona,” he showed off his gummy smile before proceeding to sit at the chair where the intern is supposed to sit. 

“Back off, Liu. The intern’s assigned there,” Hendery hissed, giving Yangyang a side eye before watching the younger one go away from the seat.

“Chill, Wong.” 

But Hendery didn’t give him any more attention, walking back to his van again to wait for the director’s orders. 

“Woah! What a tense situation you got there, Yang!” The director saw what happened, grinning ear to ear at Yangyang. 

“Shut up, noona. Why you gotta hire that man, anyways?”

“Well, he’s a good actor and he’s not rude to me,” 

“Whatever,” was all he said before looking for another seat to conquer.

After your shoot, you saw Yangyang outside your van, leaning against it while busying himself with his cellphone.

“Sunbae?” 

“Oh, Y/N. Already finished?” He asked, his eyes filled with joy as soon as he saw you in front of him. 

“Yeah. Why are you here, sunbae?” 

“N-nothing, Y/N. Have a great day.” 

You found it weird that Yangyang’s in front of your van yet left when you arrived but you didn’t divulge deep into the thought as your manager’s already waiting for you inside. 

“He was waiting for you,” Chenle told you the moment you sat on the leathered seat. “I thought he’s going to ask you out or something.”

“Please stop, Chenle. I know you like joking about stuff like that but he’s just a nice sunbae, that’s all!” 

“Drop the act, Y/N. I know you like him.”

This time, he’s right.

It started with the kiss scenes then the lovey-dovey shootings then came the drive-you-home extravaganza. Everything about Yangyang screams boyfriend for you. When he’d smile at you like you’re his most favorite thing in his world or when you’d be the only one he’d give techniques and advice on set, you knew what Chenle said about the man is right. 

At first, you were in-denial about it. Thinking that maybe you’re thinking this way about Yangyang because you can’t get your shit together and that you’re acting unprofessional. But, you know yourself. All this time, you are professional and diligent but his acts towards you aren't. 

Now, you’re here watching his character meet up with a new character the director added on a whim, saying something along the lines of ‘I’m sad Yangyang’s character didn’t have a partner.’

“Cut!” The director shouted, “That was a good run! Thank you, everyone!” 

The moment your eyes locked in with Yangyang, he immediately walked your way, not minding the new female character in his vicinity. 

“You were great out there,” you complimented. 

“Thanks,” he looked up before looking right into your eyes again, “But that’s just an act you know, what you saw earlier.”

“...I know?” You laughed. Of course, you know. You’re an actress for god’s sake!

“Just… saying,” he responded. “Anyways, are you free? Do you want to hangout with Sicheng and the rest?” 

You thought he’s about to ask you out on a date but Sicheng’s name flew out of his mouth and made your mood a bit down. 

“Sure, I’d love to,” you replied, opening your SMS app to message your manager about the said gathering.

You were about to sit beside Yangyang when the new actress beat you to it and told you to sit between Sicheng and Hendery. 

“It’s more fun if we sat beside our partners in the drama!” She suggested but you knew she just wanted to sit besides Yangyang. 

The table was tense, with the actress giving Yangyang a lot of food on his plate while you and the rest were quietly looking at the both of them. 

“I told Yangyang not to invite the newbie,” Hendery murmured. 

“Wouldn’t that be bad?” You asked, surprised he even talked to you. 

“So what? He could tell her I’m the one who suggested it.”

“That would be bad for you, then.”

“Everyone knows I’m bad. Much better for her to experience it sooner.’ 

You wanted to continue the conversation with Hendery more but he was clearly preoccupied with his ramen.

“That’s Hendery for you,” Sicheng smiled. “Here, get some of the beef I cooked.” 

“Thank you, Sicheng,” you thanked him as he put some cooked beef into your plate. 

From time to time, Yangyang kept on glancing at you while the new addition to the crew kept on pushing herself to the man. He was being uncomfortable because even though they rented a private section of this restaurant, rumors can still go and he can’t afford to have that. 

“He’s looking at you, Y/N,” Sicheng said, as if you hadn’t noticed it earlier. 

“I know, oppa. It feels weird.”

“Miss Y/N, you haven’t been touching your plate. Is everything alright?” Dejun asked rather loudly and everyone’s eyes on you now which made you feel small, especially when Yangyang’s gaze turned concerned. 

“Yes, Dejun-sunbae. I just feel full now,” you smiled at his direction which is a bit to the left whereas you were in the middle. 

“I’ll finish your food, Y/N. Give it to me,” Yangyang suddenly said, his right hand in your direction, waiting for you to give him your plate. 

“But–”

“Sicheng-ge, give me her plate,” you swear you could hear the newbie disagreeing with Yangyang but he didn’t mind.

Sicheng, being the biggest shipper of you and Yangyang, gladly followed the younger’s request. 

“Thank you, Yangyang-sunbae,” you said, eyes glinting with affection that everyone on the table didn’t miss. 

Of course, the both of you may not notice your deep fondness towards each other but everyone around you can feel it–they just don’t want to meddle with it. 

After everyone finished eating, you guys decided it would be better to part ways with each other and when the cast vanished into the busy streets of Seoul, you found yourself alone with Yangyang. 

“At last,” Yangyang jokingly said, nudging you playfully with his elbow while grinning from ear to ear. “At last, I can be with you alone!” 

Your heartbeat raced as you tried finding a reasonable response to him. “Don’t say that, sunbae!” 

“Why? Don’t you want to spend time with me?” 

“I like being with you, Yangyang-sunbae,” you responded, your tone was heartfelt but your execution was shy. 

Yangyang glanced at you for a while before forcing you to look back up at him, his fingers found your chin, racing it up so you could meet eye to eye. “I’ve been meaning to tell you this, Y/N.” 

“Mhm?” 

“You can stop calling me sunbae, you know,” he continued, “Just call me Yangyang, like everyone does.”

“But I don’t like calling you the way they do,” you argued, your lips forming a firm line. 

He just laughed at your stubbornness before ruffling your hair. 

“Okay, nepo baby. Just call me whatever you want,” he smiles at you genuinely, never getting tired of your little habits. 

“Okay, my dearest sunbae,” he laughs again this time but you truly meant what you had said. 

Sure, you might have other sunbae than him that you look up to and respect the most but none of them is Yangyang. None of them can make you feel the way he makes you feel. To you, he’s irreplaceable. 

Yangyang’s presence is a constant in your day as an actress. He’s always there, watching your scenes and cheering you on every chance he gets. He would also lean over your script, pointing out notes with an exaggerated seriousness that makes you not pay attention to him.

“You know, I could just ask the director,” you say, snatching the paper back.

“But I’m more fun,” he whines, leaning back with a pout. 

Then there are the quieter moments, like when you’re both reviewing scenes on his tablet, shoulder’s brushing as you sit close enough to share the screen. Or the way his hands would instinctively hand you a water bottle before you could even realize you’re thirsty. 

Or when he would always stay up late at night, waiting for you to wrap up your shoot before bidding you goodbye, watching you go inside your van before minding his own way home.

“Sunbae, you don’t have to wait for me everytime,” you say one evening as he lingers beside the director’s chair, watching you finish your last take for the day.

“And miss seeing you trip over your lines when you’re tired? No thanks,” he teased, flashing you a mischievous grin. 

You rolled your eyes at him, tossing a tissue towards his direction which he dodges with a dramatic flair. 

Moments like this have become the norm, not just to you but to everyone else. 

Everyone on set notices it. The way Yangyang’s eyes soften when he talks to you, the way your laughter is always louder in his presence. It’s in how he seems to move with you, like gravity itself pulls him into your orbit. 

“They’re so obvious,” the director complains jokingly. 

“Would you say anything, though?” Kun asked with a hushed tone, glancing at you both from across the room.

“Hell no.” 

To the crew, it’s an open secret that no one dares to talk about. To you and Yangyang, it’s just the way things are. 

And Chenle’s really worried for you.

You’re sitting in the dressing room, scrolling mindlessly on your phone while Chenle organizes your schedule for the following months. The buzzing voices and footsteps of the crew fades as you stand up for a while to close the door, creating a rare moment of peace and solitude in your otherwise hectic day, before sitting comfortably again. 

Chenle sets his laptop down on the table with a deliberate thud, breaking the comforting silence.

“We need to talk, Y/N,” he says, his tone filled with urgency.

You glance up, already sensing the shift in his usual sunny demeanor. “What is it this time?” You asked, trying to lift his mood up but it seems like your manager has no time for jokes or any of your ministrations. 

“It’s about Yangyang.”

You look at him puzzled, “What about him?” 

Chenle crossed his arms, his expression was stern. “Whatever’s going on between you two, it’s too much. Everyone on set sees it.” 

“So what if they do? People talk all the time,”you counter, feigning nonchalance, though your heartbeat races and you feel a knot tightening in your stomach. 

“This is serious, Y/N,” his tone now direct, “This isn’t just about people talking. You’re putting your reputation and his career at risk!” 

You roll your eyes at what he had said, leaning back in your chair. “Chenle, it’s not that serious. Even if something happens, my parents can fix it. They’ve done it before. Don’t worry.” 

“See? That’s exactly the problem Y/N,” he snaps, “You’re so used to your parents cleaning up after you that you don’t even see how dangerous this is for him,” you could tell his frustration is boiling over but you don’t seem to understand why he’s angry. “Sure, you can tell everyone how you’re so much more of your name or your parents. You can decline any movies or series with their name, but that action of yours. This action of yours is why people still think you’re a nepo baby.” 

Your eyebrows furrow, feeling confused. “I’m not doing anything wrong, Chenle. I’m sure Yangyang knows how to handle himself.”

“Does he?” Chenle laughs at your naivety. “Do you have any idea how hard he’s worked to get here? He doesn’t have the privilege of a safety net like you, Y/N,” he pauses for a moment, trying to catch his breath. “One scandal, one rumor, and everything he’s built is gone.”

You’re quiet for a moment. The weight of his words made you understand where he’s coming from but your response only deepened the rift. “Okay, fine. If it comes to that, I’ll handle it. My parents will definitely make sure nothing happens to him either. I’m sure of it.” 

Chenle was cynical after hearing what you have just said. “You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t about who your parents can pay off. It’s about respect. Respect for his work, his sacrifices, his entire life!” 

Outside the door, Yangyang stands frozen, his hand stuck on the knob. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on you and Chenle’s conversation, he just wanted to hang out with you today but instead, he got to hear your careless and out of touch words, making his chest tighten. 

He hears Chenle’s voice lower, ultimately giving off the vibes that he’s intensely irritated at what you have said. “You’re so caught up in thinking everything will be fine because it always is for you. But for him? It’s not. And if you really care about him, you’d stop pretending this isn’t a big deal. Stop whatever is going on with you two, Y/N.” 

Yangyang doesn’t want to hear anymore of what you guys are talking about. His stomach churns as he walks away, Chenle’s words and your indifference playing over and over in his head.

The ride home was quiet but not the quiet you wanted to have with Chenle. You genuinely can’t understand why he’s so exasperated with you when you’re just telling the truth. You can’t seem to find the problem with your parents paying off tabloids and threatening news agencies to keep the rumors about you and Yangyang out of the public eye.

And maybe, just maybe, the reason why you can’t find the problem with what you have said is because you’d never truly had to worry about the consequences of your actions. For you, it was simple: if things went wrong, you had the means to make it right.

“Chenle,” you finally broke the silence, your voice softer now. “I didn’t mean to upset you earlier. I thought I was being practical, you know? Looking out for everyone… I don’t know. Maybe I’ve missed something.” 

Chenle’s hand tightened around the steering wheel of the van and you could see the tension in his shoulders. “It’s not just about you, Y/N,” he said, “It’s about Yangyang too. You have no idea how much risk he had put out on himself just so you could be close with him the way you are with him now. How he’d probably be in his bed every night, thinking when or where news would break out about you two but still continue to act like your lover day by day. You have no idea how much he’s risked for you and here you are, thinking everything can be handled with a few phone calls from your parents.” 

His words stung more now, the sharpness of them cutting through your confusion. You tried to open your mouth to speak but nothing came out. This time, you knew Chenle was right. You have no idea. 

“Do you really think this is just a game for him, Y/N?” Chenle continued, “I know, it’s partly my fault for letting him drive you home that night and for not giving you a heads up but I didn’t think it could go deeper. I didn’t think it could end up like this.”

“It’s not your fault, Chenle. I just… I just didn’t think of it like that,” you murmured, your voice almost too quiet for him to hear. “I just thought that… that it’s the way things work for me. I didn’t realize our situation could put him in a worse situation than me.” 

Chenle’s expression softened at your confession, “I know you didn’t. But that’s why I need you to start seeing it from his side. From his perspective. This isn’t about what you can fix or what you think you can get away with.”

Betrayed is an understatement of how Yangyang feels right now. Hearing Chenle’s frustration and your clueless words earlier made his heart twist uncomfortably. Just when he thought everything was okay. Just when he thought it was okay to let his guard down for you. You just had to let him feel different from you. 

“What are you going to do, Yang?” Renjun asked, sighing as he saw his talent leaning against the window of his car. He had heard about you and your manager’s dispute from Yangyang. The young man was already on the verge of crying when Renjun calmed him down, even just for a moment.

“I knew we shouldn’t have gone that far into whatever we had, ge.” 

“I’m sure Y/N had her reasons as to why she said those things, Yang,” Renjun tried to save you from Yangyang but he knew it’s no use. 

Knowing Yangyang, Renjun’s too sure that the boy will completely distance himself from you, considering how he just realized how dangerous it is for him to fall for someone like you. 

“No, ge. This has to stop. Whatever this is. Chenle’s right. Even if I hadn’t heard her talking with her manager, I can’t let things go that far, ge. I have a career to uphold,” Yangyang sighed, “What would the public think if they learned about us? It’s so scary.”

“You’re overthinking again. Try to talk things with her tomorrow, maybe it’ll clear your mind.”

Tomorrow came and Yangyang dreaded it the most. You, on the other hand, are oblivious to the fact that your potential significant other potentially heard your conflict with Chenle last night. 

“Yang-sunbae!” You greeted, still clueless. 

With you greeting him with a huge smile that could cure the world, Yangyang wished he hadn’t heard what you had said yesterday. Yangyang wished this could go on. Yangyang wished you guys were just ordinary people. 

“I heard your conversation with Chenle,” he wasted no time. Yangyang spoke to you with the coldest tone he could muster but his insides were shaking. 

“Hm?” You were confused. 

What conversation with Chenle? You thought. 

Oh. You realized. 

Oh.

“Must be nice for you, huh? To not be worried about your career because your parents can clean your mess up,” his words cut you like a knife. He swore to himself to become calm once you met him but Yangyang felt overwhelmed. 

“What are you-” you couldn’t even continue what you were about to say because he interrupted you again, his disappointment in you evident in his eyes.

“I like you, Y/N.”

Those were the words you hoped Yangyang would one day say to you but his tone wasn’t the way to put it. You felt no butterflies in your stomach because you know this is not the confession where the both of you would end up together. More like a confession where you’d end up alone. 

“I like you too, Yangyang-sunbae,” you try. You hoped that he would calm down. That this revelation of feelings would soothe him and make him realize that everything is okay. That he’d realize you’re ready to risk everything for him.

But deep down, you know you’re just a fool for even confessing. 

Yangyang shook his head, “I like you, Y/N,” he repeated, “But we should stop. Your manager is right. What we have right now shouldn’t continue. We’re not allowed to be like this,” his voice cracks at the end of his sentence. 

A confession and a closure at the same dialogue? Yangyang is the only one who could do that.

“Yang…” but he didn’t respond. You look at his figure walking out of the set. 

You cried at where he had left you. You look like a fool there, with the director coming at your direction, completely confused as to why Yangyang left so suddenly and why you were left there, sobbing. 

“No amount of public hate could make me hurt the way his words did,” you cry at the director’s shoulder. You were almost shaking. 

It was your first ever rejection you have received your whole life. Sure, some individuals do not accept you in this field but his rejection of you was personal. 

“Why’d you do that to her?” Yangyang found it surprising that Hendery was the one to ask him why. Out of all the people in the set, this young and rude man was the first one to ask him why. 

“She can’t understand me or my situation. She can never understand it,” Yangyang just replied as he brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply as smoke curled up in the air. 

“You should have known that from the start, considering she’s a product of nepotism,” Hendery replied. Him, too, lighting up his own cig. 

“She’s more than what the public thinks of her,” Yangyang argued, “But, I think I have overestimated her.” 

Yangyang didn’t mean to leave you crying, he felt hurt himself. When he saw you earlier, memories of yesterday flooded his mind, overwhelming him and causing him to say whatever came to mind in that moment.

He was terrified that he would become nothing once the news about you two broke. The thought of a dating scandal uprooting all the sacrifices he had made for his career filled him with dread. In truth, he was afraid of you.

From the first time he saw you at the read-throughs, he sensed something about you could destroy him. Still, he tried until all that remained was the painful realization that you couldn’t be with him.

Hendery didn’t respond to Yangyang anymore. Instead, he just stood there while Yangyang found himself sitting with his truth in silence, grappling with the weight of his emotions. It was just him, Hendery, and the unspoken fears that lingered between you two, a reminder of what could never be.

“I know this is bad timing but the editing team accidentally deleted a kissing scene from Riko and Jun and now–” the director was frantic, almost worried for you and Yangyang but Kun calmed her down.

“Breathe,” he said, patting the back of the director to soothe her.

“Thank you,” she smiled before continuing, “I need the two of you to get your act together and film this one, just one, scene again.”

Yangyang didn’t reply, as if he’s distracted with something. You, on the other hand, gave the director a small nod. 

It was the day after the confession-closure thing and you kinda accepted to yourself that while he has become wary with you, you’re still willing to accept him. Even if it takes a lifetime. 

“Good morning, sunbae!” You gave him your best, energetic smile but he just gave you a nod. 

“At least, he acknowledged you,” Sicheng’s makeup artist felt bad for you so she tried to cheer you up. 

“Okay, Y/N and Yangyang! Give us your best shot!” The director calls, you breathe deeply before looking straight into Yangyang’s, you mean, Jun’s eyes. 

Be professional, Y/N! You scold yourself.

Yangyang immediately dives into the kissing scene, leaving you no room to mentally prepare for it. 

The kiss was fierce and desperate. You feel as if you’re trying to consume each other, pouring all your unspoken words and pent-up feelings into this single moment.

Your hands find their way to his hair, pulling him closer as if afraid he might disappear. He responds by deepening the kiss, his hands gripping your waist tightly, grounding you both in this whirlwind of passion.

It’s as if you guys weren’t Riko and Jun. The pretend kiss was extremely intense, everyone on set felt that it was genuine than it was supposed to be. But the director liked it. 

“Cut!” The director shouted and Yangyang was quick enough to detach himself from you. “That was a good one-take!”

You weren’t able to respond because Yangyang was already leading you to a secluded place.

“Hey! Wait!” You try to make him stop, “The director’s not finished talking, sunbae.”

Once he deems it’s safe enough, he looks at you before sighing deeply. He leans into you, kissing you for real this time. 

Yangyang doesn’t know if this is your first kiss but you don’t care at all. You close your eyes, feeling the moment. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says, breathless.

“I should be the one apologizing, sunbae.”

Yangyang inhales, looking straight into your eyes, “It’s just… it’s just I’m afraid to disappoint them, Y/N. My fans. The public. I don’t like the way they’d paint me if we’re revealed.” 

“It’s okay, really. At least, you told me now,” you give him a half smile. 

In that instant, you realize how much you’re willing to risk for him. You were so easy to forgive him that you’d already forgotten what he had made you feel yesterday. But there’s this thought that has been eating you since then… that Yangyang’s not ready to risk what you’re ready to give him. 

“Look,” you were determined to make this right. “I know it’s complicated but–” 

He shakes his head harshly, cutting you off. “No, Y/N. You don’t understand this ‘complicated’ you’re talking about. I like you, Y/N. I genuinely, deeply fell for you but I can’t afford to risk my career or put you in danger of being even more hated by the general public.” 

“Yangyang-sunbae,” your voice was trembling but you still gave him a forced smile, “We can still be friends, you know?” You don’t want to be friends with him but if that’s the only way to keep him around, you’re willing. 

“No, Y/N. We can’t be friends.” 

“Why not?” You plead, desperate for him to explain whatever he has on his mind because he’s been puzzling you since earlier. 

“Because I like you more than friends do,” he admits, his voice betraying him again. 

The confession sends a rush of emotions through you, “So what does this mean for us?”

“It means…” He hesitates again, his brow furrowing, knowing that whatever comes out of his mouth next will change his relationship with you. “It means I have to lose you to protect you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the face. You want to scream that it’s not fair, that love shouldn’t come with conditions or sacrifices, but only a shaky breath left your lips.

“Yangyang-sunbae,” you say softly, stepping closer again despite the chasm between your desires and his fears. “I don’t want to lose you.”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like time stands still. In those gaze of his lies everything unspoken: the love that burns fiercely but is overpowered by his fear.

“I wish things were different,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

You reach out, fingers brushing against his hand, wishing for him to reconsider. But deep down, you know he’s already made up his mind.

“It’s premiere day!” The director gleamed. 

“Sicheng, you ready?” You ask your lead partner.

“Ask yourself first if you’re ready,” he replied. And he’s right about it, considering how this is the first time you’re going to see Yangyang again after your closure. 

The venue was filled with energy, cameras flashing from left to right, fans cheering for every cast member, and the buzz of excitement filling every corner of the room. You take a deep breath before diving in with Sicheng at the stage, reminding yourself of the work you had put into this series. 

The lights were blinding you and Sicheng and you can’t even hear the cheers of your fans with your heart thumping incredibly loud and fast. As you pose for photos, your eyes can’t help but wander to Yangyang. And when you did? Your heart almost dropped.

Yangyang looked dapper in his suit, standing with his partner in the drama as well as the other cast members. He catches your gaze for a second before continuing to smile at the cameras pointed at him. You can’t help but feel a pang in your chest. 

You mean, what’s the point of looking that good if there’s a distance between the both of you?

After the dashing and successful premiere of Eternal Sunshine, you find yourself at the after-party where only the crew and the cast were invited. 

The atmosphere was celebratory, filled with laughter and clinking of glasses. Heck, you even heard someone say that this drama is going to be a hit and that you deeply hope. But your mind wanders to Yangyang, sitting at the side with Hendery, exchanging small talks with the man every once in a while. 

You don’t know what came to you at that exact moment but you can’t help yourself. Your feet found its way towards an unsuspecting Yangyang. 

You first greeted Hendery, who even though feels the atmosphere didn’t need his presence there, didn’t give a single care and continued to eat. 

“Y/N,” Yangyang greeted you first.

“Hey,” you smile softly at him before leaning to his level, whispering, “I just want you to know that I’ll wait for your love, Yang.” 

It was the first time Yangyang had heard you call him without honorifics, making him flustered and shocked. He was about to respond to you but you shushed him, walking towards the area where the director is to talk with her. 

You know that there’s no need for further explanation because deep down inside, you're resolute: you’ll absolutely wait for his love. You like this man deeply, more than words can explain, and no matter how long it takes you're willing to endure it all for him.

COMING UP NEXT. “Yeah, but it’s so weird because you can feel the tension and I think it’d be even weirder now because they’re wrapping up the first season and Ten has to get the interesting bits while the makeup artist has to make sure Sicheng is the interesting bit.”

[crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf]

“Are you hungry or not?”

Crosshair x F!Reader One Shot

Summary:

Prison life is already unfair as it is, but when a clone guard ends up being your solitary warden you may have no choice but to do what ever he says.

WC: 4405- Read on Ao3

*this is just my general "mature rating" specifics:

Content Warning:

Smut. Coercion/Questionable consent, Uneven power dynamic, Unethical Dom Crosshair, Oral (f receiving), Orgasm denial, begging, humiliation (?... sure), Unprotected PiV and creampie, Light restraining, mind games. Rough all around.

Authors Note: I was not able to make in universe swearing work with this one, so FUCK it is. Also, I took all of One Shot Cross's ethic points and gave them to Disgrace Crosshair so now this one is just an utter menace. Hope that helps.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Hours had passed. 

Normally, there'd be an orderly with a food tray, then the inquisitors with their scowling guard, but today…

You sprawled on the bunk and  looked at the clock in your plain cell and your stomach growled. Hours since the usual meal time. 

Are they trying to starve a confession out of me?

It wouldn't help, you weren't an insurrectionist. Just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Didn't stop them from locking you away. They had no intention of letting anyone suspected of treason see trial anytime soon. Stuck in holding limbo while they questioned you day after day... Till days became months. 

But not today. 

You jumped as the door swished open without the usual warning clamor of boots or the rattle of the food cart. Bolting upright you turned on your bed to face the door. 

A single clone trooper was framed in the doorway holding a tray of food casually in one hand. 

This one was odd; Overly tall, slim with narrow features and a shock of white hair. He was a familiar sight, usually standing behind the Lieutenant that was leading the questioning for the day. He was the one that snickered when you suggested your inquisitor eat his own testicles. 

The light glinted off the ominous black armor as he paced through the harsh white room and set the tray on the metal table in the middle with a sharp clatter. Then he stepped back, twirling the toothpick between his lips as he observed you,

“Well?”

“Well… what?”

“Are you hungry or not?”

You were, but you eyed the soldier suspiciously,

“Where’s everyone else? Why's it just you?”

He smirked,

“Seems they forgot about you… guess that makes you my problem,”

You weren't sure what that meant, but it looked like the best answer you'd get for now. Standing, you cautiously crossed the few feet to the table and perched on one of the attached metal seats by the tray. 

It had the usual: protein gel, fresh piece of fruit, portion of hard grain bread and water… and…a dessert. 

That's new…

You eyed the small canister of sweet custard before flicking your gaze to the soldier. 

“You… sticking around?”

“Mm”

You picked up the utensils on the tray and poked at the jelly mass that represented most of your daily calories. With only him standing there it felt… awkward. 

“If it's just you, why don't you sit?... This feels too… watched.”

It wasn't just the situation. He was watching you. Intently. You could feel his eyes boring into the top of your skull every time you looked down. You offered again,

“Sit.”

“You're in no position to be giving orders…”

…

He sat. Elbows on the table, hands folded under rested chin, eyes… focused on your face. 

You gave up trying to eat the undignified nutrient paste under such scrutiny and picked up the stone fruit instead, biting into its soft flesh to fill your mouth with tangy juice that ran down your chin. 

He watched. 

“Seriously… What are you doing here, Trooper?”

“Commander.”

“Commander trooper.”

“Crosshair.”

You glanced over the tattoo around his eye. 

Yeah, that makes sense. 

“You still haven't answered me Commander.”

“I already did. They. Forgot. You. Fallen between the cracks.”

“But you didn't?”

His cheeks tinged the most subtle shade of pink. He didn't answer. 

“So, now I'm your problem…”

“Indeed. No one will be coming to feed you, No more questions, Just you, this cell… and me,”

There was a growl to his voice that sent a shiver up your spine. You didn't want to guess at what he was implying, though you didn't need to. He stood leaning on his palms against the table top, a devilish look in his eyes. 

“Do you want to keep eating, inmate?”

You gulped, taking in his posture, his expression, his eyes boring hungrily into you. 

“You're not suggesti-”

“I am.”

“You can't be serious.”

“I am.”

You sat straight, shifting uncomfortably. There wasn't denying you had looked at the soldier before, even had the intrusive thought to ask him to stay behind once or twice… but this…

“This is an abuse of your position, soldier…”

He snatched out, fingers digging into your cheeks as he roughly turned your face up to look at him. 

“It's a risk, sneaking food down here, what's a little… mutual benefit? I bring you food, you give me whatever I want,”

He leaned in breath hot against your ear,

“You get to eat… and so do I.”

Your breath caught as an unbidden heat warmed your inner thighs… those long months of isolation making you easy to tease. This was unfair and you bit your cheek in indignation. 

“Think about it. I'll be back tomorrow… but if I stick around after that… that's up to you.”

He moved from the table, punching a code into the door and slipping out in a fluid motion leaving you to stew with what might possibly be your second to last meal. 

~~~

You sat at the edge of the bunk, leg bouncing in distress as you looked over the dirty tray from yesterday. No one had come for it. The automated lights clicked out and then back on again and no one had come to get the tray. They always came to get the tray. 

The door swished open. Crosshair, laden with food, scanning till he saw your jittery form on the bunk. 

“Hey, asshole, what's the big idea?”

They can't have really… 

But he just shrugged,

“I told you the deal,”

He placed the tray on the table, more carefully than before, and lowered himself to the bench opposite it. Elbows up, chin on folded hands… watching you. 

“Eat.”

…

“And if I do?”

His lip twitched into that mirthless smirk again,

“Then I'll take it you've come to terms with your… predicament.”

You stifled a shiver, already feeling naked under his intense gaze. 

“Wh-when… how soon… after?”

Your voice wobbled slightly and his eyebrow rose, like he wasn't expecting you to play along so easily. You flushed and turned from his staring.  

I can't believe I'm even-

“Tomorrow.”

Your heart fluttered, confusing you, and you turned back to him.

“I'll be back tomorrow… be ready for me,”

He left quickly, leaving you with your conflicted thoughts and lackluster meal.

You could swear this was… anticipation. 

Your thighs clenched against the warmth pooling through you. 

~~~

Your heart was in your throat. You could feel it, you knew that if you just opened your mouth in the mirror you would see it beating there. So you stared at your reflection with your jaw clenched, hair dripping cold rivlettles down your skin.

You looked at your last pair of clean prison scrubs and wondered what it was gonna cost to get a fresh set from your new clone warden. 

Speaking of,

The door swished open, and you looked up to catch his eyes in the open fresher mirror. He was looking bemused over your toweled, dripping visage. 

“I said be ready but I wasn't expecting you so… eager,”

You flushed, snatching the scrubs and slipping them on over the towel, dropping the damp cloth once you were properly clothed. He snickered, and you spun back to face him. Crosshair took a measured step towards you but hesitated, turning instead to gesture at the tray that had appeared on the table. 

“This… is your half,”

“I'm not exactly hungry, right this second…”

He shrugged, then rushed you. You felt the cold panels of the walls against your back as you were pinned to them. 

“My half then.”

“Wait!”

He rocked back, letting you slide out from under him to catch your breath. 

“Don't just… come at me like that,”

His hand closed on your wrist, tugging you back around.

“The food is for you, inmate. This,”

He tugged you into him squeezing your ass through the rough fabric,

“This is for me, My pleasure. Don't mistake that,”

You were tossed roughly into the bunk, the matress hitting the back of your knees to buckle them and you sat with a thump. He loomed over you, tugging off his gloves, a dangerous fire in his sharp eyes. 

“The only thing you decide is who gets theirs first,”

You trembled, looking up at the man knowing with all assuredness that he was going to take you. You knew it would be rough. You knew from every little intrusive thought you had when your eyes would meet his over some suit shoulder or another the past few months. 

…

“Take yours,”

A wicked smile broke his intensity, and he stripped off more armor. You noticed he hadn't brought a gun today… Clever. 

His outer shell dropped away, leaving him in his tight black under suit and boots. 

“On your knees,”

You made to protest but he caught your jaw, hooking his thumb between your teeth to hold you by your pallet. 

“Not your decision, On. Your. Knees. ”

You made a noise in your throat, all you could really manage. He nodded your head for you with a flick of his wrist before releasing you to position yourself, tugging you by your hair when you made to angle your ass to him; instead, he positioned you parallel to the edge. Pressure on the back of your neck and you collapsed, cheek pressed to the sheets and ass high over your knees. 

“Perfect,”

He purred. The mattress dipped as he sat behind you, firm hands brushing over the fabric guarding your rump to rest on your pelvis just before the small of your back. Fingers toyed with the hem of your useless scrubs, before slipping into them; feeling your hips, he traced them down your navel till he could feel the heat of you. You gasped as he brushed against the tender lips at the apex of your thighs. He ventured further, dipping his fingertip into the warmth of you to slide the evidence of your arousal back over the petals. 

A groan escaped him when he felt how wet you were. Dipping into your again, too shallow, but you wouldn't admit you needed more even as a small moan played across your lips. 

“Have you been wanting this?”

You didn't answer, hiding your flushed cheeks against the mattress. 

His hands withdrew and the bottoms were yanked down to your knees. 

You couldn't see him from this angle, just his legs casually sitting behind your exposed thighs… and his fingers, gripping those thighs hard. You could tell he was looking you over and you flushed even hotter. This was no good, it had been too long…

The muscles of your sex twitched in need, and you could feel slick fluid drip down your heated cunt to fall from your lips onto the sheets. You were growing more sensitive with your increased pulse alone. Not good.  

You felt him reach for your wrists, pulling your arms to fold behind your back. He held them like that one handed, and you could feel him shift closer to you, sitting on your calves to pin them, legs draping over yours and face almost even with your raised buttock. You felt his breath stir against your quim and you whimpered. 

“Remember, inmate,”

He had sensed your eagerness for what he was possitioning himself for.

“My pleasure, not yours.”

His leg wrapped around your arched back, bringing the distinct feeling of a boot sole against the back of your head. You almost turned to look but your head was pushed back down, ground under his heel. You whimpered again, unable to move with him restraining your body so efficiently with his own. 

“My pleasure.”

And then his tongue plunged into you, making you jerk and gasp as the sudden intrusion. 

He worked his tongue in and out of your cunt with slow, even drags that had you moaning weakly into the sheet. Groans rumbled through the sensitive skin whenever your walls would clench around his flexing muscle and he’d push deeper, digging his nose and teeth against you as he attempted to reach fully into your depths. 

Anytime you jerked too violently his boot would crush you down again, arms tugged tighter together to pull your hips firmer against his face. His lips moved lower, sucking your sensitive bud into his mouth with a whisper of satisfaction that made you squirm. A soft sob choked from you.

He held you tight as he flicked his tongue against your clit, making you jolt and tremble. Your legs began to shake as the mounting pressure started to build up to a crescendo…

And he pulled back, eliciting a pathetic whine from your lips. 

“You'll come when I want you to.”

Teeth sank into your ass and you cried out only for it to be muffled by his boot shoving your face into the mattress. Then he was working your cunt again, lapping at the dripping petals to make you gasp. 

Torture. 

They had sent him to torture you. 

The seemingly endless cycle of being licked to an edge just to have him stop cold, lean back and watch as you shook and squirmed for some semblance of relief… it was torture. 

You're not sure when you started to beg, but as another climax was yanked from you a choked pleading tore from your throat. 

“Please, Crosshair, let me cum!”

Boot. Mattress. Then his mouth back to your folds, lapping hard against your swollen and sensitive clit. 

You groaned lustily against the sheet without that pesky dignity from before, he wasn't gonna be able to keep you from going over for long. Every brush, every lick felt like it could be your undoing. 

You felt weak, trying to twist your wrists away from his grip but it was useless; his hand closed over them like a vice. Your body had started to shake and wouldn't stop. He pulled away again and you bucked against his hold, 

“Krriffff, Crosshair, please,”

He chuckled, drawing his tongue across the length of your slit from front to back making you sob and your pelvis to clench. 

“What do you want, sweetheart?”

“I want t-to cum… please,”

He pressed his thumb to your entrance with his free hand, adding the smallest hint of pressure to make you moan. 

“Be more specific.”

“Please, I want to cum… make me cum,”

It wasn't exactly coherent, the words spilling from you,

He clicked his tongue,

“If you just want to cum you can do that yourself,”

Another jolt of pressure, his thumb pulling your lips open slightly to expose your opening more clearly. 

“What. Do. You. Want?”

You whined under his boot heel, trying to wiggle your ass to push against his thumb, desperate for any contact. 

“I want you to make me cum, Crosshair, please make me cum! Kriff, please?”

He made a contented noise that rumbled through his chest, sliding his thumb forward to spread your petals, lifting the hood over your clit… and blew. 

Your senses exploded, all your muscles going tight at once and he lunged, sucking your button roughly, nipping his teeth against the bundled nerves driving the climax deeper through your brain. You came, rigid against his firm hold, unable to even cry out as your lungs were crushed by your own spasming. Fluid ran down your legs, chased by his tongue. There were sparkles in your vision, your synapsis on fire… and then you were spent, falling limp and gasping against him. 

He kissed your ass cheek, then bit it lightly before pulling your bottoms back up and untangling himself from your numb limbs. 

Crosshair rose from the bed, stretched, then reached for his discarded armor… confusing you,

“Was that really all you wanted?”

He looked over his shoulder at you, now sprawled prone over the bed, and smirked. A triumphant look danced behind his eyes. 

“What else might I want?”

Your gaze roved over his tight muscles, barely hidden under the tight black fabric of his under clothing. Down his shoulders to his hips, the tight buttock and thighs. Your appraisal wasn't unnoticed and he turned slightly, letting you look at him more. His chest, his abs… your eyes darted down to the straining fabric at his groin and a small, needy moan escaped you as your pussy twitched. 

“Don't you want to fuck me?”

A slight smile played across his lips, dancing behind his eyes. 

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Stars yes…”

There was no use denying it. Now that he was here, partially stripped and hard for you there was no way you were letting him leave. 

“Fuck me, Crosshair,”

He turned fully towards you, stroking himself thoughtfully through the fabric of his pants. 

“I suppose I could fuck you, How ba~dly… do you want me to fuck you, inmate?”

“Badly… awfully, Please take me, Crosshair,”

You ground your hips into the mattress, watching him standing there, stroking himself lazily…so nonchalant…

Damn it…

“Take your close off, inmate.”

He stepped back, leaning himself against the table. 

 You obediently say up, tugging the hem of your shirt up.

“Slower.”

The command hit you in your core, and your breath came shaky as you, slowly, tugged the shirt up over your breasts, then head… and it was off. Your nipples hardened at the sudden cold air, having dressed too hastily to find under things. Next came the pants, and you hooked your thumbs into the band. 

“Stand for those.”

You stood with a wobble, legs still feeling more like jelly than flesh and bone. The waistband slipped down your hips, your thighs, then fell to the floor. 

He palmed his covered cock as he took in your nudity. 

“Be a good girl and give me a little turn,”

His fingers made a spin motion and you swallowed, waiting for a sense of indignation, an urge to stop this that never came. You obeyed. Turning slowly, letting him see your back and ass, then facing him again. 

“Very good… now get on all fours, facing me,”

You flushed, but did as he said, lowering yourself to your hands and knees to look at him from the floor. 

“Come here, like that. Crawl to me, sweetheart.”

You balked for the first time in this new routine, flushing a deep red at the humiliating command. He cocked an eyebrow,

“If you don't want to I could always leave…”

You gritted your teeth, knowing you weren't likely to deny anything he asked from this point, and crawled forward. The bare panel flooring was hard against your knees but you closed the distance, coming even with his legs casually leaning against the table. 

“Now tell me… what do you want?”

You gulped, your vision completely dominated by his visage poised over you. Relaxed, in control, slowly stroking the outline of his length to tease you more than himself. 

“I-i want you to fuck me, Crosshair,”

“You can do better than that… what exactly do you want?”

He gripped himself pointedly through his blacks and your vision blurred with need. Lips trembling, a hint of pleading back in your voice,

“I want your cock…”

“Where do you want it?”

…

“Inside me.”

Flushing, you looked away, his knee nudged your chin to meet his eyes again. 

“All together now, from the top…”

“I want you to fuck me, Crosshair, I want your… cock inside of me.”

Your eyes stayed obediently on his, his knee still pressed to your cheek. 

“You can be nicer than that,”

Exasperation forced a frustrated sigh from you, causing his eyebrows to raise again and your jaw to clench. 

“Please, fuck me, Crosshair… I want your cock inside me… please…”

As the first plea left you a shiver went down your spine, a small thrill from the submissive action. You nuzzled the knee pressed to your chin, forcing his eyes to widen for a brief second. 

“If you want it so badly, darling, why don't you just take it then?”

He slid to sit on the bench proper, legs spread wide to either side of you, crotch jutted towards your eager, lustful expression. 

“Why don't you fuck yourself on my cock?”

He smirked down, rolling his hips subtly to challenge you into action. 

Perhaps he didn't expect you to take the invitation, but as your hands lashed out to hook his waistband, the fasteners pulled open with a sharp snap… he stilled. Elbows on the table behind him, still leaned in a relaxed posture, but frozen in a temporary trance. You tugged the fly the rest of the way open and his heavy cock sprang free, bopping you lightly in the nose making you flinch involuntarily. 

This broke the spell as he failed to repress a snort of amusement. You narrowed your eyes at him and he composed himself as well as he could with that glint in his eye.

“Sorry, go on,”

You nipped at the head of his bobbing member making him hiss between his teeth. A hand roughly caught the back of your neck pulling you up off your knees and into his lap. 

“I believe I told you to fuck yourself, inmate,”

His free hand grabbed your hip, grinding your bare sex against his shaft for emphasis eliciting a needy groan from your chest. 

You decided to comply, tucking your feet over his thighs for leverage, you angled your torso up over him. He rested his arms back on the table once more as you balanced your hands on his shoulders. His length slid along your folds as you moved and you shivered, poised with him resting against your entrance. Rivulets of arousal trickled down his velvety skin to catch in the soft brush of pubic hair nested around its base. 

“Well, I'm waiting…”

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath counting a heartbeat before opening them again. Meeting his eyes you couldn't help but think his features seemed softer from up here. 

Easing your thigh muscles down, you carefully pushed him into yourself, slowly… an inch, then withdrawing, dropping an inch further, making sure he was lubricated with you from base to tip. When he was fully docked inside you ground your hips into him, feeling his hard length pushing deep against your inner limit and you moaned in satisfaction. 

Finally, 

He was biting his lip, keeping his reactions to a minimum as you began to move on him. Desperate little hops with your hips to bounce yourself. He seemed to enjoy you doing all the work, eyes dropping to watch how your breasts bobbed in front of him. A sliver of his tongue darted across his lips but he didn't move, didn't react, as he watched you ride him, desperately using him to get your self off. 

You were frustrated, wanting it harder but knowing better than to ask for help. That wasn't what you were told to do. So you rolled your hips, bucking against him to find that bliss yourself. 

Leaning back, you put your hands on his knees, tightening your pelvis and putting more power into your hips. His calm veneer broke and he grabbed onto your hips, keeping you anchored on his shaft as climax started to cloud your vision. Your motions and breathing became erratic, taking his guiding force on your hips as permission to let go you ground against him with reckless abandon, hurtling yourself over the edge,

“F~u~...”

Your voice cut out with a strangled cry and he pulled you down on him, sheathing himself in you with an ecstatic groan as your muscles convulsed and clamped down on his shaft. 

He lifted you up, carrying you back to the bunk, plunking your ass against the mattress before pushing you over to lay on your stomach. 

Your arms were grabbed and held behind your back once more as he angled himself back into your warm cunt. His weight dropped onto your back and you were pressed flat under him. His hips started to pump into you, quick and sharp as he grew comfortable with your shape under him and he started to ramp up the force. 

A vulgar clapping of skin echoed through the room as he pounded into you, grunting from exertion as he took you hard. His free hand turned your head to look over your shoulder at him before dropping to grip your neck. 

“Do you like this, sweetheart?”

All he got for an answer was a series of sharp, high pitched gasps from the rapid snapping of his hips. 

“Getting wet for me like that…”

He groaned in his throat, grinding deeply into you making you sob in pleasure.

“You like the thought of being my cock slave?”

“Yes… kriffs sake yes…”

“That's right.”

Your breathing went ragged as he pushed himself up on his knees, pulling your waist with him. He moved his arms and hips in tandem to pump his full length in and out of you and you broke, orgasm driving your walls to slam around his thrusting rod until he couldn't take it any more himself. 

He pulled your shoulders up, arms sliding around your chest and hand cupping your jaw hooking fingers into your mouth. You were held against his chest as his cock twitched violently inside of you, a throb for every spurt of seed he shot into your warmth. 

He nuzzled into your neck breathless, tone softer than it had been,

“You were so good for me, darling… so good…”

You couldn't answer around his fingers, so you sucked them, sliding your tongue between them as he groaned. 

~~~

The last piece of his armor latched on with a click as you dried your hair, thinking about this new arrangement as you looked at the food still on the table… you weren't sure you could complain. Well you could but…

You glanced over at him, adjusting something at his wrist before he looked up, finding you fully dressed as well. 

…

…

“Alright… come on then,”

“What? C’mon where?”

He paced over to the door, tapping at the panel. 

“You’ve been released. The doors been unlocked for days,”

“Wha-”

As the realization hit you anger washed through your senses and with out thinking you grabbed the fruit from the tray, chucking it at his head. 

He caught it deftly and with a smirk in your direction, took a big bite out of the flesh, letting the juice run down his chin. 

[anon-e-miss]

Reformation - 5

“Ori?” Jazz took his bass off the wall and strummed it, playing scales as a means to steady his processor as he opened the comm link he shared with his originator.

“What do ya need, Love?” Punch asked as he answered.

“Got good site to order some forgivin’ armour off of?” Jazz asked. 

“Get in some trouble?” Punch asked.

“Went through my rut wit an Omega Bot,” Jazz explained. “Got’m wit spark. Now even his low cut scrap is pinchin’ ‘n ‘m thinking’ it ain’t gonna get better.”

“Probably didn’t get a proper fittin’,” Punch replied. “ I’ll sent ya a link. Get somethin’ wit adjustable panels for now.”

“Thanks,” Jazz told him. “I told’m ya’d help’m when he’s ready to talk ‘bout all the stuff wit carryin’. He ain’t ready yet. He’s been through Pit.”

“I know my bitty so I know ya weren’t the one to put��m through it,” Punch said.

“No,” Jazz replied. “Don’t mean it’s any easier for’m.”

Because the armour had removable panels, Jazz could order it straight off the shelf. He paid for a rush delivery, which meant it would be delivered by the light-cycle. It was fast enough. A visit to Ratchet was in order but it could wait a couple of mega-cycles. What Prowl needed right now was to rest away from prying optics. He was going to be under even more scrutiny when they returned to duty. Jazz would have to make sure the line was toed. Prowl would not come to ruin because Jazz sparked him up in a heat. Optimus had shown himself to be protective of his Omega Autobots and that would be helpful, to a point. It would be Ironhide and how he responded who would be the deciding factor, Jazz thought. The weapons master was a Beta and the primary disciplinarian for the drops stationed at the base and he always made a point of showing the cockiest of Alpha Autobots their afts. Jazz had not seen one beat him yet when dared to spare. But he was old, ancient even and he might yet have some opinions on where a gravid Omega was meant to be, home brooding, as an example. If he was slow to enforce Prime’s will, Prowl would have a deeply unfair fight on his servos and it seemed to Jazz he had been through enough.

He had the makings of a good originator, though Jazz did not think it would be a comfort to him to hear that right now. The knowledge he was carrying was a deep psychological blow. Jazz knew his originator, a natural Omega, had not be happy to learn he was carrying after an unexpected heat and the whole carrying had been a miserable ordeal that had nearly killed him. Though a difficult delivery had rendered Punch sterile, it had not spared him heats and the attention of entitled Alphas, at least not until Jazz and Ricochet had been old enough to chase them off, giving Punch the ability to choose who he spent his heats with versus who got to him first. To a point, Ori would be able to empathize with the pain of Prowl’s position and he would also understand that Prowl’s pain was also different, layered, which would make him a good shoulder to lean on, once Prowl was ready.

Jazz was not entirely glad to be in this mess but he was relieved to a point that he had decided to go to the centre to manage his rut. He did not know what sorts of Alphas Prowl had been with before, beyond Lockdown but the enforcer at least seemed to have been a nasty sort of scrap. Just having a heat was traumatizing to Prowl and Jazz might have been arrogant but he did not think another Alpha would have noticed to care. Using aft fragging to help Prowl’s pleasure and his mood had been effective. Would another Alpha have bothered? Would Prowl have felt safe enough to ask? Jazz did not believe they could have been called friends but even when they argued, they worked well together. Prowl was wicked smart and sometimes overcautious so far as ops were concerned. When they worked on something together, they tended to have the most success. In any case, Jazz thought Prowl liked him arguing, it meant he was not dismissing his opinion like many Alphas tried.

“Ready to come out?” Jazz asked. “Maybe have a nap?”

***

The ruby tea was calming. Prowl left the collar on, not ready yet for Jazz to see how thoroughly Lockdown had owned him. It was humiliating. Everything about this was humiliating. He knew he was an Omega, a full Omega as true as one who had emerged with this presentation but he still wondered, still feared that his frame would not be able to give emergence. Would his valve really stretch that much? True an Alpha’s knot was big but a bitlet was bigger. Was his pelvis wide enough? Since Lockdown had broken it before Prowl had even been properly bitched, he did not know if it had widened to allow for such a thing. True, his hips were wider than they had been but some of that was just… pudge. He had never asked if his frame was formatted correctly for emergence because he had never wanted to be kindled. Now he was going to have to ask. He was going to know. It was distressing. An Omega’s carrying was a stellar-cycle long. In that time, his frame would demand contributions. The only Alpha to have spike Prowl out of heat had been Lockdown. Could he even do it? Was he going to waste away because he was too afraid to frag?

“Ready to come out?” Jazz asked. “Maybe have a nap?”

“I do not know,” Prowl replied. “I do not think I could nap. I am tired but my processor is… in turmoil.”

“Can I join ya?” Jazz asked. Prowl nodded. He did not leer when Jazz stripped. He had seen the Alpha’s frame from every angle. It was an attractive frame. Even out of heat Prowl could acknowledge that. “Did ya wanna turn around so I can rub yer back? It might help ya relax.”

“That could help,” Prowl said.

Jazz was gentle and firm as he handled Prowl’s doorwings. He listened, Prowl realized to the joint as he cracked and popped it before activating his magnets. Prowl was overloading, moaning opening before he even realized it. Every drop of tension fled from them and his back and shoulders bled away and the Omega sagged, limp in Jazz’s lap. As Jazz continued to massage the oil from the bath into Prowl’s sentio-metallico, he realized the Alpha’s spike was not hard. The observation let Prowl relax even more. He did not think he could be safer with anyone. Jazz had always been the Autobot Prowl felt safest with, safest to argue with, safest to be alone with. Even after breeding him, Jazz was not acting like he felt free to use Prowl’s frame as it suited him.

“I think a nap would be good now,” Jazz told him. “Don’t ya think?”

“Mhm,” Prowl replied. Jazz lifted him from the bath and towel-dried him. He did not put his own armour back on or Prowl’s on him. With the same ease he had in rut, Jazz lifted Prowl up and he carried him from the washracks and into his berthroom and tucked him into the berth.

“How long did ya want me to leave ya to recharge?” Jazz asked.

“Do not leave me,” Prowl asked. His Omega coding basked in the reassuring field of the Alpha that had bred him. “I am safe with you.”

Jazz cupped his cheekplate: “You are Sweetspark.”

Prowl curled into his side as soon as Jazz laid down and in nanokliks, he was in recharge.

[writingsofwesteros]

https://www.tumblr.com/legally-heartbroken/758540752401858561/if-otto-was-smart?source=share

Rhaenyra Targaryen x Gwayne Hightower is 🤤

Okay, but imagine instead of Harwin Strong, Rhaenyras sworn shield and secret lover and the father of Jace, Luke, and Joffrey was actually Gwayne 👀 the boys being redheads instead of brunettes. Laenor ignores the looks of lords he gets as he's out with the boys, uncaring of their opinions, making some excuse of their red hair perhaps coming from Rhaenyras Arryn blood through her mother Aemma and grandfather Rodrik Arryn. Rhaenyra has found a way to give them children, he cares not who with.. they no longer have to do the misery of trying together, both unliking it. Allowed to simply be friends and co-parents now. He gets along with the green knight well enough over the years. Yes, her choice of sworn shield has been good for them both... perhaps Otto gets scrutiny from the small council as Lyonel would've when Harwin beat Criston, and attempted to order Gwayne, as his heir, to go back to Oldtown, perhaps take Daeron there and foster him, get away from court... Rhaenyra stops him in the courtyard ^^^^...

YES PLEASE

Those two would just be so good together , it's unfair.

Otto would have such a headache ;)

Imagine if it's Gwayne whose the brat and doesn't want to marry the Princess.

[obae-me]

Omg Hi!!! It has been so long since I have seen you on my dash! How are you doing love? I hope you are doing super well ^.^ I recently saw your Mc with trauma post. I loved it so much, and it has also given me a lot to mull over the past few days lol.

Honestly I love the idea of a traumatized Mc and the brothers feeling like absolute shit for the way they treated them in the beginning... but yk another part of me wonders when I imagine my own traumas in that scenario... that for people (the bros- literal demons) who have faced so many things and traumas in their own lives, whether my feelings or pain is even comparable to that. Ik you can't compare things like that and the brothers would probably even be mad if I think of my feelings this way since it's the "Ohhhh someone always has it worse. It's not even that bad so just suck it up" self-deprecating part of me. Despite knowing ALL THAT I can't help but think that I am not traumatized enough to deserve empathy lmao (I realize how stupid it sounds saying it out loud).

So that is what REALLY got me thinking. What about an Mc that is genuinely terrified of scrutiny, being a nuisance and just basically inconveniencing anyone for things that are just basic needs. Idk if I am explaining it well enough oof and a mc like that (like me lmao) certainly won't bode well with Lucifer. Atleast not in the beginning. I could hate him (I could never but if I did) but still be terrified of disappointing him. This is what I mean when I say I love him but he reminds me too much of my father habits wise 🤢.

I am thinking a Mc who is afraid of asking even their basic needs at the beginning once Lucifer mumbled about them being too much trouble. Mc who feels so extremely guilty when the brothers get anything for them, cuz they feel like they have to work for it or they don't deserve it. Mc whose blood freezes over when they break something and try to replace it as quick as possible so no one blames them. Mc who never expresses their concerns so as to not add to the brothers' already full plates or worry them. It hurts to bottle it all up but seeing the brothers' concerned faces with so much PITY is a thousand times worse. Mc who never complains and adjusts to even unfair situations so as to not be a bother. Mc who just takes, takes and takes everything bad and doesn't say a word cuz they feel like they deserve it. Mc who tells little white lies to hide their flaws and be the perfect exchange student and avoid scoldings and criticisms ; only to stew in shame, disgust, self-loathing when someone eventually catches up on one of the lies (the person probably didn't even make a big deal of it/ was only mildly disappointed but Mc feels their heart breaking in two as they think they have broken their trust forever and would never be trusted again)

Gosh this got way longer than I was expecting >.< and a lot of signs like these aren't really obvious until you are close to that person. I think so many of us are so hard and rutheless to ourselves when sometimes the thing we need the most is a little compassion and understanding ;-;

Hi! I love seeing you in my inbox and thank you! I've been in recovery mode for the last few months but am finally coming back out of that cave and working on my hobbies again (seriously going too long without writing almost feels like going without food for me)! I hope you've been doing well too!

And oof, yes, I understand what you're saying completely. I'm like that too in a lot of ways, keeping certain details or complaints to myself because "Oh surely what I've been to is really nothing". And sometimes I let something slip and people get very concerned. Which is validating in a way, not that I need to be validated for it, everyone goes through their own pain and awful things SUCK no matter to what extent it is and I've had to learn that through my life.

(Wow that MC really is just me, huh? Calling me out are you? /j)

Honestly this type of MC is just canon to me. (I mean, the more pithy responses the MC has in original OM might just be due to writing but to me it just seems like the calm and general response of someone throwing out NPC answers as a survival tactic.)

They suck things up and soak up everything that's been said to them and work hard to remain a normal functioning being.

And of course Lucifer is an interesting character to think about with this MC because on one hand the human could absolutely despise him for the way he treats them. Or on the other hand (if you're like me I guess, which I realize is hella unhealthy, oops) the MC could look up to him and work extra hard to try to gain his validation, because getting praise from someone like that means you must not be a failure, right?

And just...the dynamic of that is so appealing to me, because Lucifer loves when people work hard and do what they're told, but then if he finally comes to the realization that they're burning out and actually almost putting themselves in more danger and harm because of HIM? And at the end of the day he's doing more damage than any of his chaotic brothers? (I like to have him spiral and be humbled just a bit)

Just all of the brothers doing some deep introspection once they come to care for MC and needing to sit down and realize that probably made their human feel so much worse and then spending the rest of eternity trying to fix that. And then the "I can fix him" mentality from MC turns into the "I can fix them" from every other character. A special Uno Reverse, if you will.

Oops, this turned into a fairly long ramble of my own...

Thanks for popping into my inbox with your thoughts! Traumatized MC deserves some extreme love

[slutforpringles]

What do you think is actually behind the Danny bashing on social media and Reddit lately?

I find it really puzzling, to put it mildly. As if the decision over an RBR or VCARB seat is simple enough to decide 4 races into a 24-race season, which it certainly isn’t.

Some of the Yuki and Liam fans seem to be really young, and for some of them, there seems to be some sort of weird ageism involved in their anti-Ricciardo ranting.

But some of it seems to be an enjoyment of tearing someone down who’s always been popular, despite him not misusing or abusing that popularity

IDK - what are your thoughts, please?

Hey anon! This is actually a really interesting question, and I’d be really interested to hear other people’s thoughts and opinions on too. I think probably how much time you spend online and on which online platforms does probably affect your viewpoint, and obviously this is just my take on the growing anti-DR sentiment based on what I’ve seen/ experienced. 

I think it’s definitely multi-faceted, which is partly why there’s so much of it at the moment, because multiple situations/things have fed into the Daniel hatred. 

I think a very large percentage of it is simply the influx of new fans into the sport that have only seen Daniel drive from the McL era onwards. 

I think a lot of people are consuming more and more F1 content from non-trustworthy sources (e.g. instagram and twitter update accounts, non-reputable websites) that use clickbait and unsubstantiated rumours to create maximum drama. I think this has been particularly tricky for Daniel, because his popularity has made him a super target since 2021 for this.

I think there's a growing sentiment of annoyance at the limited number of seats available to enter F1, particularly for fans of younger drivers who have watched them go through the feeder series and feel it is unfair that they aren’t being given a chance in F1. I think this has become even louder since F1 rejected Andretti’s bid, and I think struggling or older drivers become a much easier target for expressing that frustration than an entire sport/regulatory body.

I think the more recent wave of fans being more critical of driver’s public opinions and thoughts on social/political/moral issues has probably increased scrutiny on Daniel, too. And while I completely agree with fans expecting more and better from drivers, I think there’s a huge amount of hypocrisy and recency bias when it comes to some very vocal online fans and fanbases, which I think also underscores how many of them are part of the new wave of F1 fans. (E.g. I see ample criticism of Daniel from fans of driver’s who refused to kneel during 2020 that are clearly totally unaware that Daniel was one of the loudest supporters of Lewis during 2020 and BLM protests)

I think it’s also just part and parcel of the growing extreme polarisation of the internet. It seems people are becoming far more used to extreme polarisation in general, and the echo chambers of social media and the wider internet algorithms are only continuing to exaggerate that. People also seem to be less and less civil online, and while places like twitter have been a toxic wasteland for a long time, that toxicity and complete lack of normal human interaction has started to affect other online spaces too.

And yeah I do agree that there seems to be a certain percentage of fans that just seem to enjoy revelling in a driver’s struggles, and love to tear down someone who seems to be a happy bubbly person. And while some of that is maybe inherent sports tribalism (which I’m not really on board with tbh), I really think it’s reached a whole new low.

OK sorry I didn't mean for this to be such a long response! Hope that answers your question and I’d love to hear if anyone else has other thoughts/opinions too!! 🙂

[darcytaylor]

I'm aware this is unfair and you don't have to entertain it, but I resent Antonia a little bit for making me think less of Luke because of her actions. Whenever she posts, I reexamine my opinion of him, not because of anything he's done, but because him being with her doesn't square with the opinion I've formed of him based on how he shows up in the world. I know it's not his responsibility to fit in with my view of him, I'm just tired of this. I don't know what to think of him at all anymore. I want to be a fan but she's making it hard. There's always that niggling feeling in the back of my mind of, what if he's in on the trolling, y'know? I just hope it isn't the case.

Thank you for sharing this - it’s an honest and vulnerable perspective, and I know people can relate to the dissonance you’re describing. It’s natural to form an opinion of someone based on how they present themselves publicly, and when their personal choices seem at odds with that image, it can feel weird (I’ve brought this up in another post a while back). I think your self-awareness about this is important, especially in acknowledging that it’s not his responsibility to fit into the image you’ve formed of him, even if it’s frustrating at times.

I also get why you may be questioning if he’s in on the trolling (if there is any trolling to begin with - I mean, there probably is some, but most of it seems pretty harmless). That said, I do think things tend to get blown way out of proportion by the fandom. However, unless there’s clear evidence of something more intentional, try to remind yourself that it might just be social media noise and not reflective of any deeper meaning on his part (and even hers).

On a more personal note, I’ve realized that I wouldn’t likely be friends with Luke or his type of friends (sorry, but it’s true, haha). Theatre aside, I can tell they’re not a group I’d naturally connect with - and honestly, that includes Luke. Have I seen some questionable things done by Antonia and her mother? Yes. But again, I don’t know any of the people involved. Who knows? Maybe I’d actually be best friends with all of them, haha! It’s entirely possible my preconceived notions are shaping this belief.

So again, I can’t stress this enough: it’s important to remember that we don’t actually know any of the people involved, and that includes Antonia (we don't actually know what kind of person she is). The image she’s curated within the fandom is partly her own doing, but at the end of the day, maybe she just doesn’t care about how she’s perceived in these spaces. While that might bother some people, it could also be seen as a good thing. If she’s happy and living her life on her own terms, then maybe that’s all that matters to her - and that could be valid.

I’ll admit, I’m way more of a people-pleaser. I hate confrontation, and I’d feel emotionally crushed if I had thousands of people hating me online. But just because I’d approach things differently doesn’t mean her way is wrong or ultimately makes her a bad person. It might just reflect different priorities, values, or ways of dealing with public scrutiny.

She is also very young, and what she posts is on brand for her and her friend group - which includes Luke. This doesn’t make me hate Luke, though. I think he’s super talented, and I find myself more invested in his career choices than his personal ones.

I think this all comes back to the complicated nature of para-social relationships. It’s okay to feel conflicted or even disappointed - it’s a natural part of navigating these dynamics. But maybe it’s worth considering whether entertaining her social media is really helping you. If it’s becoming too frustrating, it might be easier to block her and remove that source of stress for yourself. I know people on the internet tend to repost things, so it can be hard to avoid her altogether, but there are definitely spaces that don’t focus on her actions and posts. Maybe try to find a community like that (even just for a little while), because at the end of the day, she’s just a person who might be dating Luke.

[nekohime19]

Bimawen # 11 : Pondering

Mengai is understably frazzled after Wukong unexpected confession, like always he overthink everything. Wukong just wants to spend time with him and doesn't know the meaning of personal space.

Mengai weighted the piece of flint in his hand, he rubbed the rough surface with the pad of his thumb, kindly caressing the rock's cold skin. It was small. As large as one eye. He lowered the rock above a candle and rubbed it against a small piece of metal. Sparks poured down on the candle, they glided on the yellowed body made of animal's fat. The wick ignited. Mengai took the golden cup holding the candle and brought it closer, the wavering flame cut the darkness enveloping the assistant's room, brightening its surroundings with a meager golden halo. 

The night was dark, darker than usual, entirely moonless. The stars didn't even deign to peek from the ink-black clouds covering the sky. Usually, the moonlight was enough to illuminate his room, but tonight he had to ask for candles. The clones were happy to obey. They scurried to stasify his wishes and brought him all sorts of candles. He didn't ask for this much but somehow he didn't have the strength to squander their efforts. So he nodded and dropped the outrageous amount of candles besides his study.

Mengai sighed and leaned over the pile of scrolls crawling on his study. He resumed his reading, using the candle frail light to illuminate the paper's old skin. 

Mengai was a cautious individual. He knew he didn't have the strength to break through any walls, nor the body to seduce his way out of problems. The only thing he had was his ears. Information. He relied heavily on their power. But sometimes whispers weren't enough. He needed to dive in old papers. Know everything beforehand to assure his safety. Mengai knew the stories of the Yellow Emperor and the God of War but he believed it wasn't enough. He wanted to know everything. To know them inside and out. Only then would he feel reassured at having them under his orders. 

Of course he knew those two wouldn't try anything dangerous with the bimawen around. But Mengai couldn't help himself. It was in his nature to fret, to think, to plan. He was broken out of his reading by a peculiar sound. Something rattling. Mengai took his candle and went towards his window, a familiar shape was standing on the other side of the oiled paper. The assistant slid the window aside and sighed at the sight. A familiar tailed songbird was standing there, hopping innocently on the windowsill. The black-furred monkey looked down at the bead-eyed bird and reluctantly allowed it to enter. Wukong hopped inside. He fluttered down Mengai's bed and picked at his ruffled feathers. 

Mengai should have expected it. He didn't go to work today, too engrossed in his research. He used his bleeding ears as an excuse, even if they weren't in pain anymore. When Wukong proposed to stay with him, Mengai refused. Partially because he knew he wouldn't be able to do his research properly with the bimawen around but also because he needed some space after his boss's confession. He couldn't help but worry about it. Love? He didn't know anything about love. He didn't even have friends before Wukong. 

It happened that, when he was stealing people's lives, he imitated romantics or husbands. But it wasn't the same. Back then, he was pretending to feel love. Pretending to feel his stomach flutter under coy eyes, pretending to be tongue tied before a renowned beauty. His understanding of love was limited to his scrutiny. It was a phenomenon he was able to fake. But he never truly felt it. He never had those desires. He liked Wukong, even if he wasn't willing to admit it. But was he in love with him? He didn't know. And, of course, Wukong didn't even seem to fret about it. As calm as ever. He was the one who confessed, yet why was Mengai the one stressing about it? It was truly unfair. 

Curse this mogwai and his carefree attitude! 

Wukong chirped and perched himself on Mengai's shoulder. He buried himself in the black-furred monkey neck, glued to him. The assistant sighed. He raised his hand, about to remove the leech latching on his neck, but gave up halfway. Wukong was a clingy person. It was impossible to tear him apart from those he wanted to latch on. Mengai decided to ignore him. He went back to his study and resumed his research. 

Of course, the bimawen couldn't sit still for long. He nipped at Mengai's ears after not even an incense time. The assistant turned towards the bird perched on his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. Wukong chirped in indignation, as if it was preposterous for Mengai to not give him his undivided attention. The assistant rubbed the bird's belly. Wukong calmed down and huffed, eyes half lidded in pleasure. Mengai spent a few minutes indulging his boss, then he returned to his papers. Wukong sat still for a bit, but then he nipped at his assistant's ears, again. 

“Really, birdie ? You're going to be like that?” Groaned Mengai, he glared at his boss, daring him to nip at his ears. Wukong looked at him, unashamed, and slowly leaned over the ear, he nipped at it without breaking eye contact. Mengai huffed. His eyebrow twitched in annoyance. “You want my attention, huh?” Asked the black-furred monkey. He smirked at the bird and grabbed him. Wukong squeaked, greatly surprised.

Mengai smooched the bird all over. Ruffling all of his precious feathers. When he put Wukong down, the bird wobbled a bit, unsteady. Once he regained his spirit, the bimawen glared at his assistant and angrily smoothed out his ruffled feathers. Yet he couldn't hide his tail's happy twitch. Mengai snorted at the sight. It was fun to tease his boss. Especially since he was unaware that Mengai knew of his true identity. The black-furred monkey happily went back to his research. But it didn't last. Wukong observed him from the study's corner, plotting his revenge. After an incense time the bird hopped on Mengai's scroll and glared up at him. 

“I can't read if you're on the papers.” Sighed Mengai. Wukong huffed and preened himself, happily obstructing his assistant's research. The black-furred monkey squinted. Well if Wukong wanted to be annoying then perhaps it was time to employ drastic measures. Mengai grabbed his boss and tickled him. The bird squeaked. His high-pitched trills echoed all around the room. He squirmed, trying to escape his assistant's deft hands but Mengai had an iron grip.

Wukong laughed so much he accidently turned back. His weight made the study crack, the candle was spilled on the floor and the scrolls flew around. Mengai blinked in surprise, he didn't expect that. Wukong heaved, trying to catch his breath. 

“How dare you tickle this bimawen?” Huffed the blonde-furred monkey. 

Mengai was wholly unimpressed. “How dare you turn into a bird to spy on me?”

Wukong brushed the accusation off with a flick of the wrist. Mengai snorted at his nonchalant attitude. He bent down and scooped up the broken candle. He put it on the study and picked up another fresh one. Wukong hopped off the desk and leisurely walked around the room, letting his eyes wander everywhere. Mengai took the piece of flint and ignited the fresh candle, the flame illuminated the room anew, chasing the darkness away. When he turned, Mengai found his boss sitting on the bed, legs sprawled without a care in the world.

“You knew I was the bird.” Observed Wukong, his gaze lingered on the macaque before wandering on the pile of scrolls gathered on the study. He frowned at the sight. Frustrated that those papers had his assistant's attention.

“You're not discreet.” Chuckled Mengai. “So what do you want?”

“Can't I just see you because I want to?” Huffed the bimawen, he had this infuriating smile on his lips, as if he had already won. Mengai rolled his eyes, he put down the candle on his study and sat down.

“You missed me.” Teased the black-furred monkey, his boss averted his eyes and crossed his arms, unwilling to admit it. Mengai snorted. This guy was really too clingy. 

Wukong leaned on the wall, the candle's golden luster glided on his face, making his eyes twinkle. “You didn't wanna see me today…” Mengai flinched, it was well-hidden but he could hear the hint of hurt lingering in his boss's voice. The assistant sighed and raked his hand in his fuzzy fur. He didn't want to hurt his boss. But… the confession really messed with his head. Mengai turned towards the candle, eyebrows furrowed. 

“You're too carefree.” Sighed the assistant, he didn't understand how his boss could be this calm? Especially after confessing… Shouldn't he wallow in nervosity and awkwardness? “You can't just say something like that and act like nothing happened.”

“You're talking about?” Tentatively asked Wukong. 

“Your confession.” Mumbled Mengai as he averted his eyes. Embarrassed to even mention it. Wukong chuckled, he had this look on his face, the one he had when he thought Mengai was acting silly. 

“Yeah, I love you.” Hummed Wukong. Mengai's fur puffed out in alarm, he sprang on his feet and glared at his boss. Wukong snickered at his reaction.

“It's not funny!” Hissed Mengai, he began to pace around the room, tail twitching nervously. “It's a big deal. You can't just… say it like that. Besides we are working together, it would be very improper to have this kind of relationship! And what if the other gods heard you? They'll call you a cut-sleeve and…and your reputation will suffer. And I don't even know what I'm feeling but because you confessed I have to answer somewhat and… and I feel awkward.” Wukong patiently listened to his rambling, when he saw that Mengai's words were slowly fading he opened his arms, a silent invitation. 

Mengai side-eyed his boss, still frustrated by the situation. He wanted to lash out. His claws were itching to scratch at something, to let go of the frustration, the helplessness building inside of him. But the need disappeared in a sigh. It disappeared with Wukong's silent invitation. Mengai hesitated for a short instant before slowly crawling over his boss. He let Wukong tug him in his arms. The black-furred monkey put his head on Wukong's shoulder and closed his eyes, inhaling the familiar scent of sun and grass. 

“You don't have to worry so much.” Hummed Wukong. He cupped Mengai's head and softly caressed his ears, the appendages fluttered under his fingers. “Focus on you. And if I do something you don't like, just tell me, I'll stop. You think too much.”

“I think normally, you're the one who doesn't think enough.” Huffed Mengai, nonetheless he felt reassured by this. His boss didn't seem to expect an answer. He knew he would have to give one eventually but at least he had time to think about it. In truth, Mengai wasn't even sure if his boss knew what a romantic relationship was like. Wukong was a mystery on many things and Mengai long since gave up on understanding him. “Anyway, I should go to sleep.”

Wukong hummed in agreement but didn't release his assistant. His arms were firm around the other's waist, holding him tight, not willing to let even one inch of him go. Mengai looked up at him and sighed. “You're not going to let go, are you?”

“You didn't spend the day with me, so to compensate you have to spend the night with me.” Nothing in this sentence made sense but Mengai knew better than to argue with his boss on this matter. This monkey would create the most unbelievable excuses if it gave him the opportunity to latch on the six-eared macaque. Occasionally, Mengai wondered if the times when Wukong had been nervous about touching him were a figment of his imagination. It seemed like it with how unnervous the other was now.

“Whatever.” Huffed Mengai, he pushed Wukong down the bed and laid at his side, Wukong latched on him, arms snaking around his waist. 

“Are your ears better?” Asked the great sage, his voice was incredibly soft, as if he was suddenly worried about his own loudness. 

“They're fine.” Mumbled the black-furred monkey. “Now shut up and sleep.” Mengai closed his eyes and drifted unconscious, finding the stern face of Zhou Gong in his dreams. 

He was unaware of the sun-kissed eyes closely watching him. Wukong didn't sleep. He spent the night looking at the other, occasionally letting his fingers graze his assistant's ears, making them flutter. He missed him during the day, he didn't want to waste one second he had with him to sleep during the night.

Occasionally, Wukong would lean down and bury his nose in the other's hair, smacking his lips repeatedly. 

***

Mengai woke up in the early morning, the sun was barely peeking from the horizon, its frail light falling upon the quiet lands. This morning felt colder than usual. The sky was bleak, shrouded in milk-white fog. The dew was thicker than normal, ice-cold drops falling from browning leaves. Birds were retreating in their nests, huddled close together for warmth. Mengai huffed and dived deeper in his boss's luscious mane, he buried his nose in the blonde hair, searching for warmth. Wukong's fur was abundant, so much that one could drown in it. It was soft and, most of all, warm. At this point, Mengai was used to his boss's touch, he no longer flinched at being embraced by steady arms, nor did he shy away from heavy caresses. Wukong's body was familiar. Of course, he didn't know every valley and hill of his boss's body, but he knew enough to find comfort in it. 

Wukong's hands were on his waist, holding him tight. His fingers pressed against Mengai, heavy, but not oppressing. The black-furred monkey could easily free himself if he wished to. Wukong was still asleep. His breath softly brushing against the assistant's head. Warm. Smelling of peaches. Mengai didn't mind it, but he did roll his eyes at the smell, not surprised. The black-furred monkey looked up, peeking at his boss through his lashes. Wukong seemed to be in deep slumber. His face completely relaxed. He looked different in his sleep. 

He looked calm. Serene. His cheeks lacked the subtle dimples dug by his large smile. His nose wasn't scrunched up, like it often was when the other thought of troubles to make. He looked quiet. His face, without the trademark spark of mischievousness, looked gentler, softer. Perhaps in a moment of profound disillusion, Mengai could even say that it looked vulnerable. Not vulnerable in the sense of weakness, but in the sense of openness. As if Wukong was letting him see something he didn't like to show. It was a window to the softness locked inside. Mengai wanted to cradle that face, the urge bursted inside of him, encompassing. His fingers twitched in want. But he didn't dare to. Instead he huffed a silent laugh at the line of drool dropping from the other's lips and dived back in the sea of blonde fur. 

He felt his boss's move minutes after. Wukong's body creaked, he tightened his hold on Mengai and woke up with a groan, voice still veiled by drowsiness. The black-furred monkey looked up once more, his boss yawned, sharp teeth on full display. Mengai looked at those thick fangs and couldn't help but frown, not for the first time, he wished his fangs were as long, as dangerous, as beautiful as his boss's. 

“I fell asleep.” Mumbled Wukong, looking as if he was upset that he let sleep get the better of him. 

“Yeah, it's a thing, to fall asleep on beds.” Snorted Mengai. His boss huffed and looked down at him. 

“I didn't want to sleep. I wanted to watch you.”

“That's very creepy.” Grimaced Mengai.

“No, it's normal. I missed you, that's why.” It was in no way normal, but Mengai didn't feel like arguing. He long since knew how odd his boss could be. 

The black-furred monkey slowly removed himself from his boss's embrace and crawled towards his closet, he took his thickest robe and wrapped it over his body. He made sure to hide himself behind the closet's door. Even if Wukong already saw him naked quite a number of times, Mengai was still quite shy about showing himself, especially his manhood. Not that he was ashamed of it but it was embarrassing to expose it like that. Wukong knew about his hangups, so he quietly averted his eyes and offered him a semblance of intimacy. Once Mengai was ready, he opened his door and asked a nearby clone for food. 

“And peaches!” Yelled Wukong from inside the room. The clone flinched at his voice but heeded his order anyway and scrambled away to search for peaches. 

Mengai huffed a laugh. “You're not gonna change?” Wukong looked down at himself, his robe was completely wrinkled, mussed up by his night of sleep. He didn't even have his futou, it probably laid forgotten in his own room. The bimawen slightly straightened it, smoothing the wrinkles with his claws, and nodded, satisfied. The black-furred monkey turned away, hiding the smile invading his lips, he wasn't even surprised by his boss's carelessness. As long as his robe wasn't heavily strained, he wouldn't change it. 

The clones came back with baskets of fruits, Wukong almost threw himself on the peaches, he grabbed the roundest for himself and sunk his fangs in the rosy skin. He had the courtesy to spare the second roundest for Mengai. The assistant graciously took the peach and nipped at it. It wasn't his favorite fruit, but Wukong's orchard was worth it. The fruits there were all blessed by loving sunlight and cradling rain. Once he finished his peach, Mengai picked up his oranges and ate them with a joyous sway of tail. Wukong intently watched him, he noticed how Mengai was enjoying his oranges and tentatively reached for one, seeing Mengai enjoy himself so much tempted him. He tried to pry it open but ended up pressing too hard, the orange's skin exploded, juice flowed. 

Wukong grimaced while Mengai bursted out laughing. The black-furred monkey crouched down by Wukong's side, on the bed. He offered one hand, gesturing for the orange. Wukong grumbled, he gave the orange to Mengai and cleaned himself with a piece of cloth he conjured with his hair. The assistant delicately pried the orange open, it was bruised but still very much edible. Wukong watched him intently, as if fascinated by the measle act of peeling an orange. Once he was finished Mengai handed him his freshly peeled orange, Wukong took one piece and threw it in his mouth. He immediately grimaced. 

“Why did you eat it if you don't like it?” Chuckled Mengai, he ate the rest of the orange, enjoying the fruit's sourness. 

“You looked like you enjoyed it so I wanted to try.” Grumbled the bimawen, he grabbed a peach to wash away the taste of the orange. 

Once their stomachs were round with fruits they headed towards the stable. Mengai immediately began to work, he checked the horses food, noted which one needed grooming and began his shoveling. The dragon horses were long since used to him, they neighed at him in greeting and went back to their own business. On the contrary the heavenly horses were very excited at the sight of him, sniffing him all over when he approached them. For them, he was brand-new, someone they never saw in the stables before. 

Mengai pushed away the snout of one of the heavenly horses, this one was particularly excited, wings fluttering in curiosity. His name was Pea, and he resembled a peacock on all points. Pea hopped his way and sniffed him again, pressing his snout against the monkey's chest. 

“I can't do my job if you're all over me.” Groaned Mengai, he didn't like to be this close to the horses but he long since learned how clingy the heavenly horses were. It was nearly impossible to not be smothered when he entered one of their stalls. Mengai somehow managed to clean the stall despite Pea smothering. He removed the soiled bedding, dumped it in the barrow made for this, and replaced it with a fresh one made of straws and pellets. One clone was charged to empty the barrow once it was full, while another came with barrows full of fresh beddings. It was a familiar come and go. The stables were always busy. 

When he left, the horse neighed pitiful, wanting his company. Mengai awkwardly patted him on the head to comfort him. Pea seemed to be satisfied with the meager act of affection and let Mengai go without any more whines. 

Mengai sighed and removed the feathers stuck in his fur, if he didn't remove them early on he'll have a new coat of feathers by the time he was finished with the stalls cleaning. Of course, Mengai didn't handle all of the stalls, there were hundreds of them, instead he had his own corner that changed every week or so. Once he was finished with all the stalls in his corner for the week, he went to check the equipements. Wukong wasn't fond of saddles, but as a stable they still needed to have them and take care of them properly. He crossed paths with Wukong on the way, the bimawen was checking the food and grooming one heavenly horse’s feathers. The blonde-furred monkey was often in charge of food and grooming. He knew best how to cut the dragon horses sharp claws or how to clean the heavenly horses tender hooves. Mengai was too stressed to even handle the claws sharpener. 

The black-furred monkey entered the equipment room and went to check everything. The room was dim-lighted and quite dry. Humidity and overexposure to sunlight were bad for the equipements. Some clones were already inside, diligently wiping the saddles with a cloth. Mengai joined them. He also checked for any signs of rust on all the metallic parts. It was a repetitive job but Mengai didn't mind it. In fact, he even started to enjoy it, especially since he got better at it. He felt proud of himself when he saw how well he cleaned one saddle. 

As usual, Wukong came for him at the start of the sheep's hour. He always dragged him out to eat when the sun hit midday. 

“Oh you did very well with this saddle.”Praised Wukong, it wasn't odd anymore to receive the bimawen's praises, but no matter how much he received them he still felt as fluttery as the first time. Mengai hummed, tail twitching happily, and followed his boss's outside. The clones watched them leave with smirks on their faces. Teasing. Mengai paid them no mind. 

Wukong dragged him to the river. “Let's eat fish! It's been a while and I haven't had my fill.”

Now that he thought about it, it's been a while since he went fishing in the river. His frequent nightly escapades had been put on hold for nightly freaking outs, first because Wukong wasn't behaving like normal, then because he said he loved him. Huh. It was Wukong's fault if he truly thought about it. This damn mogwai was messing with his head!

“Did you become obsessed with fish or something?” Chuckled Mengai as he rolled up his pants and sleeves, it was quite cold today, he didn't want to be wet. 

Wukong gasped, as if the mere idea was outrageous. “I'm not obsessed! You have just been lacking in your duty of feeding me fishes.” Mengai snorted, so it was a duty then? What was he? The fish catcher? He pictured the proud image of Wukong in his songbird form, acting all proud and mighty, ordering him around with one flap of wing. Cute, but wholly impossible. He wasn't going to be bossed around so easily. Not when he knew how silly his boss truly was. 

Mengai entered the river and crouched down. He signaled for Wukong to shut his mouth, loud shouts would scare the fishes away. The bimawen huffed but obediently obeyed, he wanted his fishes after all. Mengai stopped moving altogether. He hovered over the clear surface of the river without moving an inch. He was like a statue. Eyes narrowed on the water's flow. His ears all turned towards the water, concentrated on its sounds, its feel, its life. Then suddenly a shadow approached, a finicky little thing trying to swim by him. Mengai lurched at the shadow. His hand gripped the slippery body of the fish, clutching it tightly. He teared it from the water and smiled, the carp was fat, its scale glistening under the sun's cold stare. He dropped the fish in the basket Wukong conjured and went back to his hunt. 

Once the basket was filled, Mengai left the river and dried himself up by the fire Wukong put on. He took the knife conjured by his boss and prepared the fishes. He raked the fine blade over their scales, removing them, and cut their bellies open to pull out the guts. He cleaned the fishes, added some salt, and planted them by the fire. Wukong gaze zeroed on the fishes, drool falling from his mouth. Mengai chuckled. This guy was really becoming obsessed with fishes. 

Wukong jumped on the fishes once they were ready, he happily took one and sank his fangs in the white flesh. Mengai ate more cleanly. Meticulously eating his fish while removing any fishbones. 

“By the way, did you finally come up with a name for Bean's foal?” Asked Wukong once he satisfied his hunger. He wiped the crumbs latching on his mouth with one hand. 

“Not yet. It takes time to choose the perfect name.” Hummed Mengai, he knew how important names could be, he didn't want to mess that up. 

“At this rate, the foal will be an adult long before he gets a name.”

“At least he'll have the perfect name.” Huffed Mengai, Wukong bursted out laughing at his comeback. 

Once they were done eating, Wukong dispersed what he conjured with his hair while Mengai put out the fire. But, before he could take the path to the stables, Wukong reached forward and grabbed his wrist. 

“I have something planned for us this afternoon!” Chirped the blonde-furred monkey. Mengai raised an eyebrow, it's not as if he didn't trust his boss, but Wukong's ideas of good plans were admittedly questionable. Like the time he tried to teach Mengai how to ride by slapping the horse on its butt, making it lurge forward. The black-furred monkey still had a bad memory of this moment. Nonetheless, he didn't truly have the heart to refuse and he knew the other would drag him no matter what he said. 

Wukong tugged him along, they dived deeper in the forest, passing beneath the centuries-old trees. The bimawen tentatively let his hand fall off of Mengai’s wrist, brushing against his fingers. Wukong's touch was unsure, too light to be really felt. Mengai wondered what this sudden shyness was all about. The black-furred monkey, annoyed by Wukong's hesitance, grabbed his boss's hand and intertwined their fingers. Wukong's tail twitched happily and his smile widened. Oh. So this is what it was about. Wukong wanted to hold hands. Truly his boss was shy for the oddest of things, he was fine with squeezing the life out of Mengai during a hug but holding hands made him nervous?

Mengai huffed at the lack of logic, ignoring the soft warmth bubbling in his chest. 

Wukong led him to an open meadow hidden within the forest, some wooden staffs were prepared, standing against a rack. The bimawen reluctantly let go of Mengai's hand and gestured to the space with pride. The black-furred monkey didn't fully understand what he was getting at. 

“I did promise to teach you self-defense, didn't I?” Huffed Wukong. “This place is perfect, it's flat and the grass is soft so you won't hurt yourself if you fall!”

“I see. I didn't actually expect you to do it.” Hummed Mengai, he wasn't that excited at the thought of exercising, it sounded terribly tiring. Besides, he wasn't one to fight, he prefered to flee rather than barge in conflicts. 

“Come on.” Wukong put one of his arms on Mengai's shoulders. “Think about it, if you know how to fight, you'll be more confident! Besides, wouldn't it be great to be more powerful~” Wukong breath brushed against the shell of his ears, the appendages fluttered slightly. It sounded tempting… He did like power. “And who knows? Maybe you'll grow to be more powerful than some of the gods?”

The black-furred monkey perked up at the idea. He didn't think it was possible but Wukong said it with so much confidence he was tempted to believe it. “Really?”

“With this mighty bimawen as your teacher, it's not impossible.” Proudly huffed Wukong with a puffed out chest. Mengai snorted at his arrogance, but ultimately he was convinced by it. The thought of being stronger than some of the gods filled him with giddiness. It would be satisfying to see them cower at his feet in fear of his might! Besides, he lost nothing by trying. 

Wukong pushed his assistant towards the rack, he then removed his clothes, that long robe of his wasn't ideal for martial arts, and put on shorter ones he conjured with his hair. Mengai wasn't as embarrassed as before about Wukong's naked body, he saw it enough during their grooming sessions to not be as bashful as he once had been. He did avert his eyes when Wukong shimmied out of his pants, that part of his boss's anatomy was still a bit awkward to stare at. Once Wukong was in more comfortable clothes, he hummed in satisfaction and turned towards Mengai. The black-furred monkey didn't really need to change clothes, his own linen tunic was ample enough to allow movements without being obstructive and he felt quite comfortable in it. 

“I'll teach you my own martial art, created by yours truly.” Proudly huffed the bimawen. Mengai was a bit skeptical about an art created by his boss but, considering how strong Wukong was, his martial art was probably legit. “Let's start with stretching.”

The blonde-furred monkey crouched down and straightened his legs, stretching himself. Mengai imitated him. He bent forward and backward, unfolding limbs one after the other. Once they were both well-stretched, feeling the burn of their own muscles, they rose from the ground. 

“Alright. Let's start with light stances and footworks.” Wukong showed him some of his personal movements, as he called them. Some were easy to replicate, like the so-called “monkey crouch”, others were more challenging to say the least, like the “drunken stance”. 

As they tried different stances, Wukong quickly adjusted in his teaching, abandoning the flasher and quicker moves (for now) and focusing on the easier to make. The bimawen's moves were oddly natural; they mimicked the innate movements carved in monkeys, low crouches close to the ground with sudden shifts. Mengai quickly got used to it. Wukong made him do leaps and rolls, pauses and shifts. The blonde-furred monkey insisted on unpredictability. On being impossible to read. 

“You're doing good.” Praised Wukong, he had this spark in his eyes, as if he was proud. He grabbed one of the wooden staff and threw it to Mengai. The black-furred monkey rushed to catch it, he glared at his boss once he had the staff, why was he throwing it without saying anything beforehand? Wukong chuckled at his frustration. 

Wukong first made him hold the staff, familiarizing him with the weapon. Then the bimawen grabbed a staff of his own and they did basic exercises together. Mengai was actually better when he had someone to copy by his side. When he was acting as a mirror. He was a great imitator after all, even if he struggled to keep up when Wukong's excitement pushed him to do more difficult (but flashier) techniques. 

They attempted a sparring match, it couldn't really be called a match in itself, Wukong moves were slower (to let Mengai see) and weaker than normal. Mengai's goal was to become used to evading quickly. 

“Why aren't you doing this with your own staff?” Asked Mengai, he leaned on the staff to catch his breath, sweat was rolling on his temples. 

“You silly Mengmeng.” Laughed Wukong. “You're a beginner, I'm not gonna use my staff on you. Besides, I don't wanna hurt you.”

Mengai felt grateful for the consideration, warm for the tenderness and a tiny bit insulted for being called weak. They kept going for a few more hours before deciding to stop. Mengai collapsed on the grass and looked up, exhausted. Wukong sat beside him, not a drop of sweat on his face.

“You're good?” Asked the bimawen. Mengai heaved, he brushed aside his boss's concern with a flick of hand. He didn't like to appear weak. “Let's go back to the river.” Hummed Wukong as he offered his assistant a hand, Mengai took it and hauled himself on his feet. They leisurely made their way back to the river. 

The black-furred monkey crouched by the river and cupped a handful of clear fresh water. He drank it whole. The liquid appeased his burning throat, settling inside him like a cooling embrace. He breathed a sigh of relief and collapsed by his boss's side, relishing on the shade provided by the thick foliage of centuries-old trees. Mengai felt his muscles burn, but it wasn't painful, in fact it almost felt good.

“You did good for your first time.” Hummed Wukong, the black-furred monkey managed to act as if the praise didn’t affect him, but he was secretly happy about it. He liked being praised. 

They stayed still for a few moments, relishing in the peaceful atmosphere. At least until Wukong began to tap his fingers against his knee, as if he was incapable of controlling his energy. Mengai frowned, he glanced at the annoying fingers and scowled, the sound was disrupting his peace. 

“Our training didn't tire you enough?” Scoffed the black-furred monkey, he felt better after relaxing, he wasn't as tired as before. 

“Not really…” Sighed Wukong, he was shifting around, as if his body wasn't able to contain his excitement. Then suddenly his face brightened, he turned towards his assistant with sparkling eyes. “Let's play! A good old game of tag.” He proposed as if it was the greatest idea ever. 

“No thank you.” Refused Mengai, he actually quite liked the position he was in right now, he didn't want to move, even less playing. 

Wukong huffed, annoyed at being refused. But then he smiled mischievously. He hopped on his feet and crouched before Mengai, he then pinched his ears. The black-furred monkey yelped and pushed his hand away. He glared at the cackling mogwai while rubbing his reddening ears. Once he was done laughing, Wukong rose and said :

“If you want revenge you'll have to catch me!” He then added teasingly : “Not that you're able to anyway.” Mengai frowned, how dare this mogwai say he wouldn't be able to catch him? He was perfectly able to! Pride wounded, the macaque hopped on his feet and lurched at his boss. Wukong side-stepped, avoiding him, he then scurried away while laughing. 

Mengai ran after him. He wasn't going to let this slide! They ran through the forest, leaping above roots and bushes, uncaring of the fauna scurrying away in their wake. Unfortunately for Mengai, Wukong was a fast opponent. He wouldn't be able to take him down easily. Luckily, Mengai had many tricks up his sleeves. 

“I BET YOU CAN'T SOMERSAULT!” Shouted the black-furred monkey, Wukong ears perked up, he glared at his assistant, offended by the mere idea. Mengai smirked, trying to look as smug as possible, the bimawen fell for it. Hook. Line. Sinker. Wukong stopped running and proudly showed off his ability to somersault. Mengai used the momentum to sprint towards his boss and tackle him down. “And I won.” Cheerfully hummed Mengai as he leaned over the bimawen's surprised face. 

Wukong frowned, but before he could whine about his defeat, he got an idea and transformed into a tiny monkey-tailed mouse. The bimawen easily scurried away from his assistant's grasp, hiding in the forest lush flora. Mengai huffed. This should be considered cheating. But he knew Wukong would never acknowledge that using spells was, in fact, cheating. Instead he'll be smug about his victory for days to come. Mengai couldn't have that! He'd never leave it down. 

The black-furred monkey closed his eyes and concentrated, he was good at transformations, in fact he spent most of his life perfecting his craft at imitations. Granted he never tried to turn into animals before but it couldn't be that different, no? The assistant controlled his breath, his ears fluttered, bringing him scattered words of old lessons lost across time. He tried to shift. The feeling of shedding his skin was familiar, something he did times and times again when he stole others’ appearances. When he opened his eyes, he was closer to the ground. He meowed happily. He successfully turned into a cat! Well… he was pretty certain that his six ears remained but, even if imperfect, he still managed to transform. 

Mengai sniffed his surroundings, his sense of smell was better in this form, it was a bit disorienting to be honest, but he quickly got the hang of it. The six-eared macaque silently crept closer to his prey. His eyes narrowed at the golden mouse leisurely sprawled on a sun-drenched rock. Without hesitation, he pounced. The mouse shrieked, surprised by his attack. Wukong seemed greatly shocked by his new form; he probably didn't expect him to have this ability. Yet Mengai could smell his boss's excitement. After all, the transformations added fun to their game. 

Wukong turned into a snake and slithered away, his skin too slippery to be pinned down by Mengai's paws. The assistant groaned and turned into a six-eared mongoose, he chased after the snake and battled him, quickly avoiding his whips and pinning him down. Wukong managed to free himself by transforming into a tiger, he teasingly pressed his snout against Mengai's mongoose belly (a clear provocation) and ran away cackling. Mengai turned into a cheetah and caught up with his boss, the two felines hissed at each other, circling their opponent. Then Wukong lurched forward, but instead of pouncing on Mengai he turned into an eagle and escaped in the sky. The assistant took the exact same form and chased after his boss's shadow. 

They collided into each other like two unstoppable forces. Flying in an intimate dance of feathers and laughter. Their talons were entangled as they held onto each other. Wukong was still able to free himself and he dived in the river, turning into a fish. Mengai followed after him and they resumed their dance in the water, swimming around the other like the two forces of Yin and Yang embracing one another. The black-furred monkey finally broke their intimate dance, he turned into a heron and caught Wukong in his beak. The fish struggled in his assistant's beak, twisting around, before assuming the form of a deer and kicking the bird away. Mengai shrieked, surprised by the kick, but he quickly regained his spirit and turned into a wolf. He ran after the scurrying deer and pounced on him. They both tumbled on the ground, they laughed so much they broke their spells, returning to monkeys. 

Mengai looked down at his boss and smiled. Wukong was still in the throes of his laughter, unable to calm down. His face was brightened by the frail sunlight, cheeks dug by two lovely subtle dimples, eyes shining with nothing but pure unadulterated joy. The assistant felt warmth bloom in his chest. Something so very soft. So very delicate. As fluttering as a flower petal lost in the wind yet as encompassing as the sea. It cradled his very being. Caressed him with a touch barely there yet so very delicious. It was like falling asleep by the hearthstone in the dead of winter, nestled in cozy blankets. Warm yet not burning. 

Mengai had the sudden urge to dive in his boss's fur, press his nose against his skin and squeeze him tight. He let himself be possessed by the need. He leaned down and hugged Wukong. Diving in his fur. And there, pressed against the familiar warmth of his skin, surrounded by the embrace of his fur, he smacked his lips. He didn't even know why he wanted to do it. He just did. 

Wukong perked up at the sound, he looked down at him with something akin to awe, then he squeezed him so tight he knocked the breath out of his lungs. 

“I love you.” Muttered Wukong as he pressed his head against Mengai's hair. 

The black-furred didn't answer, instead he smacked his lips once more.

+ voc

Incense time : the time it takes to burn an incense stick, around 30 min.

Duke of Zhou : also called the god of dreams, saying we see the face of the Duke of Zhou in our dreams is a metaphor for falling asleep.

Cut-sleeve : slang for homosexual

Concerning the type of martial arts Wukong is teaching our Mengmeng, it's actually the Monkey King Fu (Hou Quan) and the Drunken Monkey style. While both martial arts doesn't properly exist yet at the time the story takes place, they're both inspired by Sun Wukong (the Drunken Monkey boxing being inspired by the time he got wasted on celestial wine) sooo I thought it was the most fitting.

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