#working out if she won’t have a kid with him

[starsjulia]

baby fever // alexia putellas

a/n : maybe it’s because i’m ovulating, but i feel like im having withdrawals from my child (i don’t have a child)

warnings : none!!

“Alexia,” you said, flopping onto the couch dramatically, your phone clutched in one hand. “Look at this baby. Look. Isn’t this proof we should have one?”

She glanced up from her iPad, one brow raised. “That’s the fifth baby you’ve shown me today.”

“Because they’re soooo cute! And we could have one!” You shoved the phone under her nose, showing her a TikTok of a giggling infant in a tiny onesie. “Imagine our baby. They’d have your eyes, my—”

Alexia cut you off with an amused smirk. “We’ve talked about this, cariño.”

“No, you’ve talked about logistics,” you shot back, sitting cross-legged beside her. “I’ve talked about how I want a baby, like, yesterday.”

She sighed, setting the iPad down. “I’m not saying no. I’m saying it’s a big decision. And with everything we have going on—your work, my schedule—it’s not the right time.”

“Then I’ll carry!” you declared, your voice rising with excitement. “You can keep playing, and I’ll do all the hard parts. It’s perfect!”

Alexia blinked at you, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You’ve… really thought about this, haven’t you?”

“For months,” you said earnestly, grabbing her hand. “I don’t care about logistics or timing. I just know I want to do this with you.”

Her gaze softened, but there was still hesitation. “I’m not against it, amor. I just want to make sure we’re ready. Both of us.”

You groaned, flopping backward into her lap. “If you won’t listen to me, I’ll get backup.”

Alexia frowned. “What does that mean?”



————————

It meant enlisting Mapi and Ingrid.

“Finally!” Mapi said when you brought up your idea at training. She threw her hands in the air dramatically. “I’ve been telling Alexia for years she needs to let loose a little. Having a baby is perfect.”

“Right?” you said, clutching Mapi’s arm. “Imagine her as a mamá. So nurturing, so responsible—”

“And terrifying,” Mapi added, smirking. “Disciplining kids with that captain energy? Iconic.”

Ingrid chimed in from beside her. “Honestly, we’re on board. Do it, and we’ll be the godparents.”

“You’d have to fight Mariona for it,” you teased.

Mapi scoffed, draping an arm over Ingrid’s shoulder. “Please. I’m already the cool tía. It’s a done deal.”

Ingrid smiled softly, giving you a nudge. “Besides, we think you’re for perfect carrying the baby. You’re already glowing just talking about it.”

“You get it,” you said dramatically, pointing at Ingrid like she’d solved world hunger. “Why can’t Alexia see it?”

“Oh, she does,” Mapi said knowingly. “She’s just pretending to be logical about it. She’ll come around. Trust me.”

—————————

The breakthrough came at a team barbecue, thanks to Ingrid and Mapi’s nephew, little Liam, who’d stolen your heart the moment you met him.

“You’re so perfect,” you cooed, holding him close as he gurgled in your arms. “The cutest baby ever.”

Across the yard, Alexia watched you from a distance. Mapi elbowed her lightly, smirking. “You’re staring, capi. You look like you’re about to cry.”

“I’m not crying,” Alexia muttered, though her gaze softened as she watched you bounce Liam gently.

“You’re thinking about it, though,” Ingrid said, stepping up beside them.

Alexia sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I just—”

“You’re overthinking,” Mapi interrupted. “Classic Alexia. Look, you’re already a leader. A protector. It’s who you are. Being a mom? You’d be incredible. And (Y/N)? She’s ready. You can see it in her face.”

Alexia didn’t answer, but her thoughtful expression spoke volumes.

Later, as you cradled Liam, Alexia finally approached.

“Look at him,” you said, smiling as Liam giggled and reached for her. “He’s perfect. And soon, he’ll have a little friend. Isn’t that right, Ale?”

Alexia raised a brow. “What?”

“Our baby!” you explained, beaming. “He’s gonna have a friend, and they’ll grow up together, and it’ll be so cute.”

Alexia reached out hesitantly, letting Liam grab her finger. She froze, visibly melting at the tiny hand gripping hers. Mapi and Ingrid exchanged smug looks from across the yard.

Alexia sighed, her voice quiet. “You’re really not letting this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you said, grinning. “Come on, Ale. Let’s do it. I’ll carry, you’ll be the hot football mum, and Mapi and Ingrid are already fighting to be the godparents.”

“We’re winning,” Mapi called from nearby, raising a beer.

Alexia laughed softly, shaking her head. “Fine.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait. Fine?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling at your stunned expression. “But we’re doing this properly. No rushing.”

“Whatever you say, mamá,” you teased, setting Liam in his stroller before throwing your arms around her. “Let’s go make a baby!”

“That’s… not how it works,” she said, pulling back slightly.

“Oh, right,” you said, blushing. “I knew that.”

Her laughter was warm as she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “I can’t wait to see you glowing, amor. And for the record… Mapi and Ingrid are not automatically the godparents.”

“We’ll see about that!” Mapi shouted, earning another laugh from both of you.

As Alexia’s hand rested gently on your stomach, you knew everything was about to change. But for the first time, it felt like a change you were both ready for.

[fancyfeathers]

Another prompt/ask for Fancy! Scenario where Daughter!Darling gets into a courtyard fight with somebody from her school?

Like I’m talking fists flying, scratching, maybe even hair pulling!

Like, who in the Batfam would be horrified to see her come home bruised and who would be immensely proud to see that she beat the other kid to a bloody pulp?

From 🪼

Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling Masterlist

The question is who would be the least horrified/concerned

Bruce gets the call from the principal right around lunch time, he is supposed to be in a meeting but then he gets told his daughter was in a fight and he immediately goes to the school only to find his daughter sitting outside the principal’s office with Damian next to her because the principal left him to watch her. Bruce honestly expected a trip to the hospital to check for concussions, but his daughter looked fine besides a few bruises, and then the other kid and his parents come out of the office, the parents look pissed and the kid looked terrified and was the one who probably needed stitches.

Bruce definitely looked like he got a few grays sitting in the principal’s office with Damian and his daughter. She had gotten in a fight at lunch, apparently the other kid said something to her that pissed her off and it ended up in that kid getting beat up, really beat up. Then when she was being brought to the office Damian spotted her and tagged along, demanding an explanation for her, and Damian was pissed because no she is not supposed to get in fights, he was supposed to protect her, she is supposed to be helpless.

Bruce pays for the other kid’s medical bills and takes her home after she was suspended and oh my she is very much in trouble. It is that type of scene where he scolds her in the car, she is a member of their family now, she has to behave. Damian does not pick fights at school, and he was raised by assassins, so there is no justification that she should either. She is sent to her room and needless to say she is grounded for a very long time.

Seeing as she already spends most of her time in her room in the manor and her mother does not side with Bruce on her actions, it really won’t get the point across. So after some mulling it over, Bruce talks to Dick and she is told that she is going to be staying with Dick in Blüdhaven during the rest of her suspension and probably then some, doing online classes.

The punishment isn’t the fact that she has to stay with Dick but the fact that she won’t have her mom with her. Dick is not as harsh on his little sister, actually getting her to let her guard down and have fun, especially with a little help from Haley. Honestly he understands, her whole life had changed because of them in the blink of an eye, she is not a vigilante in a family full of them, she just is a child and she deserves to be a child instead of just having a bunch of pent of rage and that kid was just the one who popped the lid on the enviable. Honestly for awhile she forgets about a lot her problems with Dick taking her out to see the city during the day and bond with her and tucking her into bed with Haley before he going off on patrols during the night, he doesn’t really need to worry about her running away, he lives in the middle of the city of Blüdhaven, the crime is bad enough that she won’t go running off.

Tim will probably stop by to watch their little sister during the day when Dick has to go into his day job and he is definitely a bit torn up. He certainly is not happy about the fact that do to her actions she is out of the manor until she learns her lesson (not like she wants to be there anyway), but he understands she needs to learn to let her guard down around them so she does not keep her emotions so pent up so this does not happen again. When she starts school work online again, Tim is the one making sure she does it, sending reminders to Dick to check up on her work (he would text her but her phone was taken after she got suspended), or sitting by her when Dick is busy and he is watching her and making sure she is working and helping her out. He is the one who is trying her to break down her walls the most so this can all be over with and she can come back home and…

It doesn’t work that easily.

When she is out at the park with Dick and Tim, taking Haley on a walk after Dick got back from work and before they went on patrol, Dick brought up the idea of family traditions since she must have had some with her mother and since they all are a family now…

“No, we’re not a… you’re not my family.”

Just when they thought they have made so much progress, her hand threatens to slip away from Dick’s grasp, but he squeezes her hand tight and he drags her back to his apartment, Tim trailing closely behind.

Jason is the last to have to deal with this situation after this last incident. He comes to see her while everyone is out on patrol, climbing through the window of Dick’s apartment, taking off his helmet, and sitting down next to her and breaking down for her as much as he can. He knows she does not want to be here and there is no changing the fact that she is not going to be leaving them, if she just pretends to be happy and get along with people things will actually be happier for her, they will never be totally ideal, but they could be flexible if she follows the rules like no fighting at school, let them be older brothers and a father to her, just behave, act her age, and be a part of the family. Just work with them and they will work with her.

She agrees, Jason isn’t one to keep up the delusion, he just does not want to see her hurt anymore, he is a protective yandere by the very definition. Because she agrees he may or may not teach her some self defense moves that Bruce didn’t want her knowing, just to be able to hold her own when need be and not give a kid a bloody nose, if he really deserves that her brothers will take care of it.

(I am also imagining the aftermath of the meeting with the principal, Bruce stressed out and Mother!Darling being like, “hm, maybe she would be a better Robin than your boys-“ “no.”)

[skzhocomments]

1437 - “I need your help; I have money to pay you.” - Lee Know (Stray Kids) - Hitman AU

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---

1437 - “I need your help; I have money to pay you.” - Lee Know (Stray Kids) - Hitman AU

Word count: 4k words

Wattpad | AO3

~

Writing Prompt 1437: “I need your help; I have money to pay you.” - Lee Know

~

This sucks. Minho thinks, letting out a large sigh and picking up some painkillers.

He hasn’t eaten much today, or the past few days, really, so it probably isn’t a good idea to take another ibuprofen on an empty stomach. He’s surely going to regret it, already feeling an impending stomach ache, but his head just hurts so badly. It won’t stop pounding.

He’s already tried drinking water, but oh, God, the white light coming from the ceiling is making everything worse. He really needs to take this pill.

The one thing he hasn’t tried is sleeping, but how could he sleep when there’s so much work to do?

A new file came in just today.

~

Kim Soo-ah, 25 years old. Picture attached.

Waitress: Mon-Fri 8:00-14:00 Endstreet 34, Cornerstone Diner

Maid: Mon-Sat 16:00-12:00 Client’s residence

Requirements: Eliminate target during Diner shift. Target wears a silver ring, has a small brown mole underneath. Send finger and ring as proof once you finish the job.

~

What did this girl do? Minho wonders. It’s the second request to finish off a maid he’s received from this client, but he was too busy for the first one, so he passed it over to one of his associates.

Although he dislikes working for this particular client, he always pays generously, so this time, he decides to accept it.

He’s a bit curious to know why his client keeps wanting to get rid of his maids. In case they heard something they shouldn’t have, it’d be much easier to silence them through other ways rather than killing them. Less of a hassle for Minho, at least. However, he can’t ask. That’s not his job.

His job is to simply follow these instructions to the best of his abilities and get paid. Nothing more, nothing less. Curiosity has no place in his line of business, and he’s better off not knowing any other details.

Before having enough time to flip the page and look at her photo, though, his door opens, making him raise his eyes from the papers.

“Boss, someone’s here to see you.” His assistant enters the room with haste, making Minho raise an eyebrow.

No one should know of this location, so he is taken aback for a few short moments, before clearing his throat and deciding that he must know who found him, and why.

“Show them in.” Minho instructs, and his assistant rushes outside.

Damn, this fucking white light. He groans again and decides to end his suffering and simply turn on the lamp on his desk, even though he forgot his glasses God knows where and he can barely see the papers in front of him.

Moments later, his assistant comes back with a woman small in stature. She has blonde, wavy hair reaching her shoulders, and her eyes are a deep shade of emerald green.

She is intimidated, Minho observes, as he sees the way this woman is trembling in front of him, anxiously playing with her fingers and looking left and right just to not look him in the eyes.

“Take a seat.” He orders, and the girl is quick to sit down in the chair he offered on the other side of his desk.

“Thank you…” She says, her voice so small, it almost comes out in a whisper.

“Now, who might you be?” Minho asks confidently, his tone slightly bored, although he’s actually brimming with curiosity.

“Uhm… my name is Soo-ah. Kim Soo-ah.” She replies hesitantly, and Minho immediately looks at the papers on his desk and grabs her picture, and oh, what a pleasant surprise.

It’s not every day that the prey comes directly to your doorstep.

“Are you perhaps… Lee Know? And if not… could you please take me to him?” She asks, and Minho raises his eyebrow again.

He notices her clutching her bag tightly. She is quite literally trembling with fear, which makes him want to laugh. She is so painfully afraid of being in the same room as him, he can’t help but want to play with her.

“That would be me.” He replies with a cocky smirk. “Why did you want to see me, pretty?”

“I… uhm… if I understood your… profession… correctly, that must mean you are a… hitman of some sort?” She tries to thread carefully, and Minho can’t help himself anymore. He lets out a chuckle at this girl’s innocence.

“You are correct, doll. So, what brings you here?”

“I need your help. There’s someone I’d like you to… uhm… to k- to kill. I-I have money to pay you. Uhm…” She stutters and starts rummaging through her bag, pulling out a few stacks of rolled hundreds. “I’m not sure how much your services cost, but…”

“How much is in there?” He asks, his eyes sparkling with excitement. The rolls are far too small, and too few. It can’t be more than a couple thousands, if that.

“Around $3000. It’s not much, but… it’s all I’ve managed to save up so far. If it costs more, I could get a loan, or-”

“$3000?” Minho cuts her off with a laugh. “You can’t be serious!”

The woman’s expression falls, her eyebrows furrowing in a frown.

“Pretty, that much isn’t enough for me to even cut off someone’s finger, let alone kill a whole person.”

“Oh… how much would it be, then?”

“That depends. Who’s the target?”

“My boss…” She clutches the bag tighter, telling him his name and address. Of course, he expected it to be his client, so this doesn’t really surprise him.

“Oh, love.” Minho chuckles again. “That man is one of the most powerful in the country, you must know since you’re working for him. Taking him out would cost millions. You wouldn’t afford it in this lifetime.”

Soo-ah looks away.

“Why don’t you tell me why you want this man dead?”

“I think he’s planning to get rid of me… Actually, I’m sure of it.”

“Why?” Minho inquires further.

“I… I saw something I shouldn’t have.” She replies, clenching her fists.

“Be more explicit, doll.” He says, and Soo-ah shifts in her seat uncomfortably. By her mannerisms, Minho can tell she finds this hard to talk about, or she doesn’t know if she should tell him at all.

She hesitates for a few more moments until she eventually starts speaking again.

“I am a live-in maid… I woke up to go to the bathroom and his room is on the way… the door was opened, and there were some very influential people and a large stack of cash on top of his desk. They saw me, so I ran away and hid. There was this other maid that told me about something she’s seen, and one day, she simply disappeared, so I was scared… I think that's what's going to happen to me too.”

“I see.” Minho nods. “Wrong place wrong time, huh?”

“Yeah…”

“So, how did you find me?”

“Much like last night, I went to the bathroom a few months ago and overheard a conversation-

“Damn, you should really stop going to the bathroom at night.” Minho jokes, cutting her off. She doesn’t seem too amused and resumes immediately.

“I overheard a conversation about hitmen, and my boss told someone a couple of names and addresses.”

“My name? What exactly did he say?”

“Yes. Your name and many others. Lee Know, Hwang, Yongbok…”

“Alright. And this address?”

“Yes. This is the only one I could remember… Considering this… topic… I didn’t really want to hear much else or risk him catching me overhear anything I shouldn’t, so I ran back to my room.” Soo-ah nods, and Minho leans back in his chair.

They found out where he is, which is bad news. Of course, he has many other secret hideouts throughout the city in case something like this would happen, but still. The fact that he didn’t know about it is dangerous. And apparently, this man also has some sort of information about his associates.

This is bad news.

The most relevant thing in his profession is secrecy. If anyone would know where to find him, he would’ve been dead long ago.

“Thank you, Soo-ah. That’s great information you offered me right there. However, just for future reference, information is not free. You just missed out on your chance to negotiate with me.” He chuckles menacingly, and her expression only falls more.

She doesn’t know what to say, but noticing Minho’s piercing gaze on hers, she decides to look him right in the eyes and do something she never thought she would.

She stands up and walks slowly around the desk, his eyes fixed on her, and she kneels in front of him, beginning to tear up.

“Please. I’m begging you. Please help me. I’ll do anything. I… I don’t want to die… I’m so scared, Mister Lee Know. Please.”

Minho is taken aback, and something in his heart stirs at the sight.

Memories he’s long-ago repressed start surfacing back, and instead of seeing her kneeling in front of him, he sees a young boy with bruises all over his body begging for his life.

~

“Mister, please. I’ll do anything. Please help me! I’m begging you, please! I want to live!” Minho was barely able to get out between his tears, his forehead pressing against the cold, bloodied tiles.

“And why would I help you, kid?” The man in front of him laughed. “You’re young and stupid. You’re good for nothing. What can you give me?”

“Anything! I’ll do anything!”

“Anything?” The man laughed one more. “Will you kill someone for me, then?”

“K-kill? Mister…”

“If you’re not ready to lead such a life, you have no use to me, kid. You’re better off dead.”

“N-no! I will! I will kill! Please teach me what to do, Mister! I will do it!”

“What an obedient child.” The man cackled. “You know what, kiddo? I admire your fighting spirit. Even though life dealt you shitty hands, you still want to live?”

“I do! I want to live, so please…”

“Get up. From now on, your name will be Lee Know. And Lee Know, your first lesson is to never kneel in front of anyone, no matter the reason. That’s how we do things around here. Got it?”

~

“What can you give me, Soo-ah?” He asks, but this time, his voice doesn’t come off amused or menacing. It’s soft and filled with slight concern, and more than anything, with curiosity.

“Anything. I will do anything…” She cries.

“Anything?” Minho asks, and it’s such a contrast to how his former boss treated him. He is not being unnecessarily mean about it, and he is not forcing an answer out of her, although their circumstances are much the same.

He stands up and walks towards her, noticing how bad she’s still shaking.

He knows she’s desperate. However… how desperate is she, really? She’s been trembling ever since she came through the door. It’s clear to him that she doesn’t have it in her to ever be a killer. But still, would she give up her principles to stay alive, or will she stick to them?

He didn’t have the power to stick to his principles on that cursed day way too many years ago, and his whole life changed afterwards. He could never back down.

Would she do the same?

“Anything.” She replies determined, still looking at the floor.

“Will you kill someone for me, then?” Minho asks closing his eyes, his former boss’ words ringing in his head.

“K-kill?” Soo-ah shakes. It’s so difficult to see his past self in this trembling woman.

“If you’re not ready to lead such a life, you have no use to me, Soo-ah. You’re better off dead.”

The words are burning his tongue as he notices all the air disappear from the woman’s lungs.

She begins crying even louder, her hands moving on top of his shoes, holding tightly. Still, she is still not looking up at him.

“I… I can’t. I can’t… I can’t kill anyone. Please understand. I can’t…” She keeps repeating like a broken record, and Minho’s eyes widen.

She decided to stick to her principles, after all. She is better than him.

“Then-” He starts, but she immediately cuts him off.

“He will kill me. I’m so scared… I’m so scared of him, Mister. What can I do if you won’t help me? What if he’ll torture me to find out exactly how much I heard and if I told anyone else? Fuck, what do I do now? My life must be worth at least $3000. Please… please help me…” She speaks weakly, clutching his shoes tighter.

“Soo-ah, look at me.” He requests, but she just keeps shaking and crying.

Minho grabs her arms and helps her stand up, forcing her to look him in the eyes.

“Do you really want to live?” He asks, and she nods her head rapidly.

“I do. I want to live.” She cries.

“I want you to listen to me very carefully. I can’t let Kim Soo-ah live.”

“What?” She blinks, confused for a short moment, until it clicks. “Did… did my boss ask you to kill me?”

“He did. I received your file just this morning.” Minho smiles softly, his eyes filled with sadness.

“Then… I guess this is it for me. I was… I was a fool to come here. I thought… I thought I still had a chance…” She replies dejected. “Months ago, when I heard those names, I didn’t think much of it. However, today… I didn’t know where to go or what to do. I ended up coming here and hoped that maybe, just maybe… if I were to randomly pick one of those names...” She stops speaking, wiping away her tears from her cheeks.

“How did you remember my name and address, though? If it was months ago…”

“My memory is pretty good. Not that it matters anymore.” She smiles sadly and averts her gaze. “I came to the wrong person. It’s alright. It’s… If there’s no other way, will you at least make it quick, Mister? I don’t want it to hurt…”

“Soo-ah.” He places his hands on her shoulders, making her look at him again. “I said, I can’t let Kim Soo-ah live. We’re going to kill her tonight, do you understand?”

“I’m… not sure I do.” She tilts her head.

“From this moment forwards, Kim Soo-ah is dead. You will have to change your hair and your eye colour, and I will give you a new name… What about… Lee Saera?” He suggests after thinking for a few moments, his eyes rolling up.

“Lee… Saera?”

“Mhm. Isn’t it pretty?”

“I like it… but… why? Why are you helping me?” She asks, confusion lacing her tone. “Why are you helping me when you’ve been ordered to kill me?”

“Pretty, no one can order me to do anything.” He chuckles. “I was hired to kill you. But let’s just say… there’s something of me I found in you. Something long forgotten…” Minho replies, separating himself from her and putting his hands in his pockets. “I can’t kill your boss, but I can make sure he believes you’re dead, and in return… you will tell me everything you know about him, and everything he knows about us. You will stay here and help me.”

“Mister Lee Know, I can’t… I can’t kill people.” She whispers with a frown.

“And you won’t. You won’t walk down this path. I will do the killing, and you will do everything else I ask you to, in exchange for your life. How does that sound?”

He extends a hand towards her, and she doesn’t hesitate to grab it with both her hands and shake it.

“Thank you, Mister Lee Know. Thank you. Truly.” She looks him in the eyes, and Minho can tell she’s genuinely grateful. A small thought passed through his head that she could be a spy, but her feelings seem so genuine, he doesn’t doubt her one bit. She is just an unfortunate, young woman, who happened to work for the wrong people and heard and saw too much.

“Minho… Call me Minho, Soo-ah.”

“Minho?”

“Mhm. That’s my real name. Lee Minho. Use it only when we’re alone, and I will call you Kim Soo-ah. When anyone else is present, though, you are Saera and I am Lee Know, got it?”

“Yes, sir.” She nods.

“Good girl.” He smiles and pats her head two times. “Now, the first lesson you must learn if you are to join me, is… never kneel in front of anyone, no matter the reason. Not even me. Got it?”

“Okay... But Minho… how will you make my boss think I died?”

“Oh, right.” He sighs, grabbing her hand and dragging his fingers on top of her silver ring, taking it off and looking at the small mole underneath. “Soo-ah, your boss asked me to give him your finger as proof of killing you.”

“My… my finger?” She immediately snatches her hand back and looks at how closely Minho is examining her ring.

“Mhm. However…” Since she is now one of his people, he doesn’t want to hurt her. Not even a scratch. He doesn’t tell her that, though, because he doesn’t think he’ll have a choice.

How should he navigate this? Should he try and find a body with a matching mole? But what if they were to run any DNA tests?

“My ring… is a family heirloom. It’s extremely precious to me.” She speaks, interrupting his train of thoughts. “What if we would burn something and put the ring in the ashes as proof?”

“Oh?” Minho raises an eyebrow. “But what would we tell him to be convincing enough?”

“You found me hiding somewhere, and… I don’t know. You killed me, took my body to be incinerated to remove evidence, but almost got caught, so you burned it and brought back the ashes as proof?”

“I’m not sure that’ll fly with this guy, Soo-ah…”

“Then…” She raises her hand hesitantly in the air, and Minho sees how much she’s trembling. “Cut it… cut it off. It’s okay. It’ll hurt, but I’ll be alive, so…”

He shakes his head. He truly doesn’t want to hurt this woman for some reason. She doesn’t deserve to be hurt like this, not by him, not by anyone.

Still, there’s nothing he can do. Her former boss is a ruthless man, and he won’t believe him one bit if he were to just bring him her ring. He needs more proof than that.

“Soo-ah, will you forgive me if I hurt you deliberately?” He asks after a little while.

“Yes.” She answers without missing a beat. “You spared my life. You can cut it off, Minho. I will survive this.”

Despite her determined words, Minho knows she is just putting on a façade. She is scared, she is shaking, and he feels so bad. He’s never felt like this before, no matter who he had to kill. However, the prospect of causing this woman any sort of physical pain makes him feel terrible. He doesn’t want to do it, but if he is to prove he’s killed her, he must hurt her.

Minho grabs his phone from the desk and calls his assistant to bring in the doctor, and after ending the call, he grabs her hand and holds onto it tightly for a moment.

“I’m sorry. I am so sorry.” He speaks softly as he pulls out a knife from his pocket.

Her whole body is shaking, and she shuts her eyes tight.

“I won’t cut off your whole finger. I’ll only cut off enough skin to use as proof, and I’ll take your ring. Alright?”

“... Yes.” She whispers, anticipating the impending pain.

Minho takes in a deep breath as he presses the blade into her skin, listening closely to Soo-ah’s sounds. She places her other hand on top of her mouth and tries to be as quiet as possible as the blade rips through her skin.

She fights the urge to jerk her hand back, not that it would be possible with Minho’s strong hold of her wrist and finger.

“There. We’re done.” He speaks hurriedly as he grabs a clean cloth and covers her hand, pressing tightly on the wound. “The doctor will be here soon. Are you alright?”

“It hurts so bad.” She cries out in pain and Minho pulls her closer, hugging her tightly.

“It hurts, I know. But you are alive, and that’s all that matters. You are alive.”

“I am alive.” She repeats and hugs him back, and she can’t believe that so much could happen to her in a span of a day.

She wishes she would’ve never applied to that job. She wishes she would’ve never worked for that terrible man, but she got blinded by the large sum of money he offered, and she took the offer without any further thoughts on the matter, and she truly regrets it now. She always seems to only make bad choices.

The doctor comes in and cleans the wound, informing both of them that thankfully, it’s not large enough to require a skin graft. He is able to stitch it shut, although he informs Soo-ah that it will inevitably scar.

A scar is a small price to pay for her life, she thinks.

Left alone once more with Minho, she doesn’t know what to do. She stays silent and tries her hardest to stop crying and observes as he begins clearing off his desk.

“Soo-ah, you can sit down until I’m done.” He informs her, so she nods and heads back to the chair she sat in previously.

“What are you doing?” She asks after a little while.

“We need to go. This place is no longer safe, since your boss knows about it. I will also need to call my associates and let them know they should relocate.”

“And then… what?”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“What will happen to me?”

“I told you, haven’t I? We’ll get you a fake ID, change your appearance completely, and then… we’ll see. I still need to think about which tasks to give you, since you’re so…” Minho looks at her and stops, making her raise her eyebrows in surprise.

“I’m so… what?” She tilts her head to the side.

“So… righteous and innocent. I don’t even know what to do with you. You seem like you’d tremble and cry at the slightest mention of a murder.” He replies, and as if on cue, a shiver runs down her spine at the thought of potentially seeing a dead body, and she shakes.

“I’m sorry, I…”

“Don’t apologise for being this way, Soo-ah. There’s nothing wrong with you.” He sighs. There really isn’t. Not everyone is made for this life, and he knows it. But unfortunately, some good people are forced into living like this, and she is one of them.

“I’ll do my best to not inconvenience you…”

“You can do some housework or… I don’t know. We’ll see.”

“Or… as I told you, my memory is pretty good. If you’re stumped with work and have too many documents to check, or information about anyone… I can read all of them for you and just summarize. I will certainly remember everything.” She suggests, and Minho smiles softly.

“That's good to know. But for now, let’s just get out of here, hm? We’ll see what tomorrow brings.”

“Alright.” She nods and smiles back. "Once we go to the new hideout... you should get some rest, Minho."

"Hm?"

"You seem tired... like you haven't slept in a while." She says, and Minho can't help but smile. She is observant.

"Alright. I'll make sure to sleep once we leave this place." He replies, and she smiles satisfied.

Soo-ah is glad that coming to him ended up being the good choice – the only good choice she’s ever made, she believes. She wonders how she could trust him so much in such a short amount of time.

Still, she trusts him, and he seems to trust her too, and she is alive. That’s all that matters.

~The End~

[jiyoos]

a lot of the time when 2 ppl are together for a super long time and break up it’s bc one wanted to get married or have kids and the other didn’t and the other didn’t want to wait forever or never have it happen

[cuteniarose]

It’s almost 6 a.m and I can’t sleep because I’m being plagued by thoughts of The Latest OC

[jewishbarbies]

born to live my life in peace forced to see tiktoks making the mom from hereditary a feminist example of female rage

[prcttylittlebirds]

“no— i mean the kid. she’s always wanted kids and now she’s getting it. that’s what mean. i’m happy for her, despite how things have been going with the whole divorce thing and the scare. i’m ok with the outcome now.” the way rafael invisions becoming a father never matched olivia’s because she was always ready to become a mother and rafael felt like he needed to get ready, be prepared. the pregnacy scare did just that— scare him. on the brightside, it did make him think about where he saw himself in a few years time. he wants to be a father of course, but his career is doing so well now and he wouldn’t want to have to divide his time between family and work. if he ever becomes a father he plans to be there for everything, and if olivia’s baby was his, there would’ve been so much traveling back-and-forth. “i wouldn’t want you to lie about it. i want to know the whole thing, even if it sucks to hear. i promise i won’t freak out like that again. i don’t plan on having any issues with christopher in the future, i haven’t had any with him before this so, why I start now just because i like you, right? i can be… cordial with anybody if i put enough effort into it.” the rain sounds nice, even though it’s inconveniencing them and he is getting hungry now. “i have trail mix and other snacks in my bag. the trail mix doesn’t have any fruit in it though cause i hate raisins…oh, there’s a bag of popcorn in there, it’s just salted.” he knows she most likely has her own snacks, but he can’t help but offer his own. “ I don’t mind being trapped in here with you, it’s basically exactly what i asked for. that got me teased by gavin of course, but it’s fine.”

"the olivia thing, that's resolved the most it can be. she got what she's been wanting since we got married. the divorce was going to happen, it was inevitable, really. " and it was, after olivia saw those emails that was her last straw. he can't blame her for moving on so quickly, though initially, he did feel like zachary was better than he was, for her. zachary had always had a thing for olivia and he never hid it. olivia would always laugh it off whenever raf brought it up in passing, and he let it go. that is, until olivia told him she slept with him after finding the emails between him and a woman he met online. he felt he was slighted, but he knows that he deserved that. she knew for awhile and waited to figure out her next move, is what she calmly said when she broke the news and slid the papers across the table during dinner in front of his family. raf's starting to think that's why christopher is bothering him to this degree. "i could've joked about it, yeah. you're right. normally, i would do that. that was the better reaction." he doesn't like that those feelings of uncertainty are resurfacing, it's not the same. "i know that I'm being ridiculous, i don't know what you and christopher's relationship is like, i shouldn't assume." rafael appreciates the conversation that they're having even though there's still tension looming. "i prefer to not be drunk around you, i fear I'll start reciting shakespeare like lyrics. alright, well.. i can't cook... i like your cooking anyway. it's never charred."

[roturo]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ OH! SO YOU'RE INTO OLDER MEN?

˚₊·➳❥ JJK MEN SHOWING YOU HOW A REAL MEN FUCKS! satoru gojo, suguru geto, kento nanami, toji fushiguro ✧˚ · .

tags: afab!reader, reader is mentioned as a female, use of nicknames (baby, princess, doll, slut, whore), cheating, degradation, caught cheating, getting caught, unprotected sex, blowjob, pussy slapping, mating press, breeding, age-gaps, virginity loss [...] rbs are appreciated!

satoru gojo (Daddy’s girl)

well, that’s the word he used for the little girl you're babysitting right now. he’s a great dad and husband. there’s just this tiny whiny little thing he couldn’t do right– and that’s loving his wife as he should.

like– it’s not that he doesn’t feel guilty, it’s just… well, you looked really cute in that mini dress, he and his wife have been fighting lately anddd– he could tell his daughter liked you more than her fatality of mother she has these days. she even called you mommy by accident once! and that was the last water drop gojo needed for the glass to break.

“Oh- I bet you’d love to be full of me right now.” His thrusts became messier each time he pounded on you, “Mhh, fill you up ‘n make me a daddy again– you’d like that princess?” you couldn’t even talk anymore with how good he’s making you feel– he had your legs pressed on the bed thanks to his arms, almost bending you in half, he was making sure that mating press works.

“Ffffuckk- You feel s’good baby” He felt your walls clenching again, no matter how many times he made you come, he’s making sure you’re coming again after he does. A not ending cycle for him. “Such a slut for me hm? Coming all nice and pretty to this house just to be ruined at night–” his words made you feel dirty, but the euphoria of it was stronger, “such” slap, “a nasty” slap, “slut” slap– “and all f’me” with those last thrusts your body couldn’t take it anymore, spasming and trembling while your poor hole was filled up again. gojo’s wife didn’t even bothered to break your little encounter, she suspected it long time ago.

all that was left was a wide grinning gojo satoru and some divorce papers.

suguru geto (Daddy’s best-friend)

you didn’t intend this to happen… you always knew your dad’s best-friend was hot. he’s geto, ‘cmon. he brings a new girl every weekend whispering in your dad’s ear swearing she’s the one this time.

he saw you grow up, turn into this beautiful and strong woman. so how he couldn’t love you? you were like a doll for him, so beautiful and radiant in every way. a porcelain doll he needed to protect, he couldn’t lose you to any dangerous or stupid man, he swears he would beat the shit out of the guy who breaks your heart first.

“Shhiiiitt– Heh– I can tell how tight your pussy is princess–” His cock was stretching the living shit out of you, touching places never in a thousand years you could imagine you would feel. “what d’ya think daddy would say if he saw his little girl being fucked by his best-friend huh?” your brain was a fuzzy mess, you couldn’t make coherent words to say, and just feel how good geto is making you feel. you couldn’t remember how many times he had made you cum with his toungue and he’s just starting to fuck your pussy.

“ ‘m such a lucky guy if i'm the first you’re giving this pussy to, don’t ya think so doll? marking it as mine, baby I swear you’ll need no man to ever fuck this pussy of yours again– shit I won’t need another woman for myself, you’re the one baby” those words filled your heart of a tingly feeling, making more butterflies roam around your tummy, touching yourself you could sense geto’s cock coming and leaving with every thrust, your brain full of air and in need of more of his cock.

he couldn’t resist himself anymore when he was next to you, his cock would get hard the minute he enters your house, and thankfully he has a pretty doll to release himself with.

kento nanami (Big Boss)

Nanami thinks he’s a good and mature guy– At least for his wife and kids… He has this aura of a serious and mature guy but inside every time he’s just this close to breaking it, just to say what he really thinks or feels.

the first time he saw you at work with your tiny skirts and tight blouses he didn’t mind any type of attention to it, you were another cute worker, that’s all. One of another– he can think other women are pretty too right? maybe even prettier than his wife… and nicer, and cuter, and more homely feeling to be a mom. but he wouldn't do anything he would later regret right?...

“You’re s’pretty baby, such a dirty whore for my cock mhm?” he had you pounding from behind, his desk becoming even messier than it was before, one of his hands keeping you laid down on the desk arching your back like if he’s trying to break it– a sudden ringing brought you back from your unconsciousness of nanami’s cock– he answered the call, not a single sing of him trying to stop thrusting into you.

“Yeah?” his voice was out of breath, almost sounding like a sigh when he answered the call, “Where am I? Huh– I’m at the office r-right now…?” he wasn’t even sure if he could keep this act, losing himself more in the feeling of your pussy clenching on his cock– “Oh yeah- I’m okay, uhh- the kids? yyeah, yeah, they’re with my mom right now–” the feeling of keeping up a call with his wife while fucking you made his cock twitch inside of you, feeling like a teenager kissing their crush for the first time. it was no surprise for him that his wife was cheating, but he wanted to keep it like that for the sanity of his kids. 

“Quit the act Kento– I know you’re fucking somebody else right now. See ya at home.”

toji fushiguro (Step-Daddy)

you hated when your mother started dating new guys. they just kept breaking her heart– but you just stopped telling her that it's okay to live without a partner, that she had you by her side, but well… this new man was something else i guess and you didn’t say anything for the sake of your own good mother.

you didn’t like him, but for the sake of your mother you pretended like you do– and let’s be honest, toji doesn’t like children, so when he first met you he wasn’t as social as others… your mom was just too good to simply let go– but the way you moved, talked, dressed caught his attention, and as time passes and he spends more time with your mom– he's no longer drawn to your house just to see your mother, but to see you. 

“Sshhiit- You’re making me feel s’good baby” the lack of air was making you feel giddy, but the way his cock twitched inside your mouth made your core get even wetter. “C’mon baby, ride my shoe,” you wasted no time before your hips started moving, trying to gain some friction and release that tingly feeling coming from your core. 

“D’ya think your mother would like to see her daughter being full of his step-daddy’s cum?” he gets one of his arms behind himself trying to gain some support while his other free hand caresses your cheeks while you continue sucking– this same hand moves out your head and frees his cock out of your mouth, a small strand of saliva connecting your mouth with it–

“Fuck– guess i choose the wrong out of you two”

[inkoutsidethelines]

Thinking about how I would write an adult Scooby-Doo series, because I think it can be done.

The first thing I’d do is make the characters actually be adults.  Still young, but adults, in the mid to late 20s range.  Mystery Inc. is a private detective type business that they run together.  In this universe, the supernatural/ghosts/etc are real, but not necessarily common, so when they take on a case, the culprit might be a person disguised as a monster, or it might actually be a real ghost.  The stakes can be higher; sometimes a bad guy is legitimately trying to kill them.  Sometimes the mystery they’re trying to solve is a murder.  Sometimes they actually get hurt on their cases.

Fred: the core of Fred’s character should be that he’s incredibly kind.  Like, give a stranger the shirt off his back kind.  The “Fred can’t talk to potential clients because he might take a case for free and we need to eat” kind.  He’s an honest and good person and sometimes gets himself into trouble because he assumes other people are too.  While he’s not very good at reading people or noticing ulterior motives, he’s brilliant when it comes to mechanical or engineering type stuff, so he’s the one who keeps the mystery machine running, builds their gadgets, and of course, designs the traps.

Daphne: she comes from old money, and her parents absolutely despise her life choices, to the point where they haven’t officially disowned her, but they have basically cut her off, so she doesn’t actually have access to any family money.  Growing up wealthy has granted her a variety of skills, including speaking multiple languages, horseback riding, and fencing.  She’s very into fashion and jewelry (even if she can’t afford it anymore) and has extensive knowledge of both that can occasionally provide a vital clue in a case. And even though her parents have cut her off, Daphne still has a wide network of contacts she can ask for favors sometimes, because she’s personable, and people tend to like her.  Daphne is also very emotionally intelligent, and is usually the one who can spot when someone is lying to them.

Side note - I ship Fred and Daphne, so I think I would start them off as an established couple for this universe.  Dating, engaged, married, I don’t care.  They are stupidly in love, ride or die for each other.  There’s no will they, won’t they, no worries about cheating.  They are in a healthy, happy, loving relationship, and no one (not even Daphne’s disapproving parents) are going to mess that up for them.

Velma: she is the forensics nerd who sometimes gets super excited about the wrong thing at the wrong time (”He was mummified in seconds? That’s so cool!” “Velma!  His wife is standing right there!” “Oh.  Sorry.”).  She’s not purposely insensitive, she just gets laser focused on her work and forgets to filter herself sometimes.  She’s also the one who can get so fixated on solving whatever mystery they’re working on, she’s willing to bend or maybe break laws.  Is breaking and entering really so bad?  Not if it gets them answers.

Shaggy: he is still the comic relief, but he’s the comic relief by being the only person in the group that actually has common sense.  He manages the business’s finances, he’s the only one who knows how to cook, and the others tease him for being a coward sometimes, but Shaggy maintains that if a ghost with an axe is coming for you, running is the only sensible option.  He should also have a range of random knowledge that sounds useless, but sometimes saves the day (ex ventriloquism, origami, the history of spoons, etc).

Scooby: as this is a universe where supernatural creatures exist, Scooby is an ancient eldritch type being that took a shine to Shaggy when he was a kid, and took the form of a talking dog to befriend and hang out with him.  Aside from the talking dog bit and not aging, he never uses his powers in a way that anyone notices.  The audience is not told upfront that Scooby is an ancient eldritch being; it should slowly be hinted at throughout the series so the audience put it together, but the characters never realize it.  Scooby genuinely considers Shaggy to be his best friend, and cares about the rest of the gang too.

[adastra-rising]

Adding Onto this, I’m thinking of working on this as an AU/fanfic. I’ve drawn a concept sketch for the kid, (unfortunately, I don’t really like it) her name is Marcee Mayvelle (Aliteration!) and she’s like 9. If she was ever officially adopted, she’d take on the name Mayvelle Tsurugi. (Because I refuse to believe Felix would pass on the Fathom surname. That shit DIES with him.)

Name Notes: I chose the name “Marcee” (pronounced like Marcy) because it’s not something I could see Felix or Kagami choosing for their own child. Most Fankids I see for them have fancy rich-kid British names or Japanese names. I think it’s really important for this AU that Marcee is not the kind of kid they would have through normal means. In terms of name, interests, appearance, etc.

The ✨Found Family✨ of it all feels stronger to me if it’s not someone who’s necessarily just like them. What brought them together was not fate but circumstances!

- A victim of child neglect rather than what Felix or Kagami went through. She was never really forced into behaving a specific way or meeting expectations, because her parents were literally not present.

- They stopped driving her to school and everything. So she is a year or so behind in education.

- She pretty much raised herself. Outwardly, she appears immature and naive, but is definitely aware of a lot more than she lets on.

- Ryuko and Argos busted her parents after Argos picked up on Marcee’s negative emotions after her parents got into a fight. They called CPS but Marcee refused to leave Ryuko’s side, eventually the two of them let her stay over their place in Lieu of foster care. The rest is history.

- She never really got a chance to do much as a kid and IMMEDIATELY latches onto Kagami’s fencing (“While you were having a normal childhood, I WAS STUDYING THE BLADE.”) and becomes obsessed with it.

F: Is it reasonable to give a 9 year old a sword?

K: Yes. I got one when I was 7.

- The entire reason why she got so attached to Ryuko was the cool looking sword. “The cool sword lady will protect me, I am safe.” (Kagami is not used to being admired like this, by anyone other than Felix)

M: I LOVE COOL SWORD LADIES!!!

F: Understandable, I also love cool sword ladies.

- Marcee’s initial impression of Argos is a bit more… mixed, at first she thinks his eyes are a little bit scary but then she realizes that if she gets the scary bird man to like her, nobody will hurt her because the scary bird man will scare the bad people away. (11/10 logic. Her plan is successful!)

- Then she realizes that Felix is kind of a loser and that’s when she really comes to like him. She thinks he’s awkward af but super funny because of it.

- Rather than being known as an adopted daughter, Marcee is technically just Kagami’s fencing protege. (This is also what Kagami tells herself when she starts to get attached: “She’s just my student I won’t get attached. I will not get attached. I won’t.”)

- She’s not good at fencing but she’s got the spirit! After a few years, her efforts do pay off and by the time she’s a teenager she’s pretty much kicking everyone’s ass because Marcee was really persistent and Kagami never gave up on her!

- Marcee is a little bit of an IPAD kid but can you blame her? She had nowhere to go as a kid (sorta like Adrien) and had to make her own fun.

- She has an emotional dependence on Roblox and Minecraft Pocket Edition and knew she had found her family when Felix (in an attempt to show that he cares about her interests, because his father never cared about his) downloads her favorite games and tries to make her a Minecraft House. It was literally just a square made out of dirt.

- (In which a Minecraft house made of dirt is symbolic of letting a lonely abused kid know they are safe and at home!)

- Duusu and Longg realize she’s here to stay way before Kagami or Felix do. They’re both in denial, meanwhile Duusu and Longg are just like “yeah hell nahhh”

- Duusu and Marcee cannot be left alone in a room together or else someone might die. Chaotic ass duo. Longg is usually the one to babysit the two of them.

Feligami Brainrot at 6:30 am (Have not Slept)

Whenever I see art/descriptions of adult/married Feligami, they are either happily childless or have like three kids.

Generally speaking, I think it’s more canon compliant for them to not give a crap about having a nuclear family, and just focus on spending time together.

But I also want to suggest:

✨Found Family Feligami✨

Like to me the only way I could EVER see them starting a family is if they were out on patrol one day as Argos and Ryuko, and just randomly found a lost, scared, ab*sed kid and sorta just claimed them? Probably like an older kid too, at least 6. And they’d never have any other kids it would just be the one.

Like at first they just wanted to get the kid out of their toxic household and neither intended to get attached, but they totally do. Now it’s too late and suddenly they’re parents. Like the kid prolly doesn’t address them as mom or dad but they’re totally family now!

Meanwhile the kid, who’s prolly never felt safe at home, is finally able to sleep peacefully at night because they know if anyone tried to hurt them, both of their new guardians are superheroes! And even without powers, Kagami would prolly still manage to beat the crap outta anyone who came near them! Truly, there is no safer place!

I feel like both Felix and Kagami would struggle to adjust, but they’re both trying really hard! Felix especially is prolly a very…. Awkward parent in the sense that he is just. PROFOUNDLY ANXIOUS. All of the time. Bro wants the kid to be happy but doesn’t exactly have any normal childhood memories to use as reference and tries to connect with the kid using the stuff he grew up with, and quickly realizes the shit he was interested as a kid are not common at all.

“Would you, uhm, like to play a round of chess?”

“No, but I’d love to play monopoly jr: Disney edition!!”

“?????”

Meanwhile Kagami doesn’t register that they’re starting to act like a family, that she truly wants to protect this kid, and tries to convince herself they are merely a roommate or guest until Marinette shows up one day and haphazardly comments that Kagami is such a kind and considerate parent and she’s just like?????

[kentopedia]

nanami kento, who hates dating, and didn’t do much of it in his early twenties. but now, he’s almost thirty, watching all the people he works with settle down, have kids, and he thinks he wants that. so he might as well try.

so satoru sets him up on a few dates — friends of friends, he calls them. and at the end of every one of the dinners, kento goes home empty, exhausted, because he knows what they want is not the same.

still; he thinks maybe he’s being a little self-destructive, maybe too picky, maybe he just got so used to being alone. with satoru’s insistence, he gives all the women another call, invites them over to his apartment.

the first time was a disaster… kento had barely set the dinner on the table before his cat had hissed at her, scratched her down the arm in a thin gash. and though it did draw blood, it was hardly enough to warrant that reaction.

he didn’t even try to stop her as she picked up her bag and left, huffing like she’d been morally offend. kento, though, could only smile to himself in amusement.

because maybe kento was a poor judge of character, a man who was secretly hoping nothing would pan out — but his cat could certainly tell the good from the bad.

it became a little game to him, after that. seeing if anyone could win his pet over, and if they could, perhaps they were the one. his darling animal was a fickle thing anyway. a bit too defensive, quick to bite anything threatening after years on the streets.

naturally, no one came back twice.

he was close to giving up, accepting his solitude because he was tired of empty conversations over dinner. but then, he ventured out over the weekend to a new coffee shop, during hours he normally didn’t spend out of his home, and met you.

though you only talked for a moment, kento felt like maybe he’d known you in a past life. a part of him thought maybe it was strange, the way he kept coming back to talk to you, catching you at the end of your shift to see if you wanted to grab a coffee sometime.

by the second date, kento started to think you could turn out to be his best friend.

by the third date, kento wondered if soulmates were real.

on the fourth date, almost two months later, an appropriate time to get to know someone when you were as reserved as kento, he invited you over for dinner. it was, perhaps, the final confirmation he needed to let himself be with you.

he let you through the door, smiling softly as you told him about the book you were reading, and hung his coat on the rack. a moment later, you stopped, distracted, hands covering your mouth in a gasp.

“kento! she’s the cutest cat i’ve ever seen, you didn’t even show me pictures!” you exclaim, and, a few feet away, crouched down. “look at her pretty eyes…”

“careful,” kento said, “she’s not very—“

but the cat approached your outstretched hand, sniffed once, before letting you scratch her under her chin, purring loud enough for kento to hear across the room.

“shes such a sweetheart, you told me she was mean!” you smiled, making a cooing noise as you threaded your fingers through her fur. “kento’s a liar, isn’t he… you’re so precious.”

a few moments later, she snapped her jaw at you in a biting motion, and you only laughed, withdrawing your hand. “alright, i get it, i won’t bother you anymore.”

though she still brushed against your legs, just as she did kento’s, and seemed to communicate some sort of message to him.

“do you want any help cooking?” you ask, tucking your hair behind your ears. “i’m a disaster in the kitchen, but—“

“sure,” kento said, his chest tightening as he blinked back at you, only in his apartment for minutes and already looking as at home there. he wondered if it was possible to fall in love so quickly. “but only if you want to.”

[unluckiestmember]

YAY, YOU'RE BACK TO WRITING FOR ARCANE. How would the arcane characters react (mainly vi, ekko, and jinx because i would marry, marry, and marry them all!!) to a reader who is sooo affectionate and finds every last thing they do so cute they get cuteness aggression and just jump at them like a cuddle bug often? thank you so much!!

Coming right up!

Arcane x Cuddle Bug! Reader

Characters: Powder/Jinx, Violet "Vi", Ekko, Caitlyn Kiramman, Viktor, Jayce Talis, Mel Medarda, Sevika and Ran.

Warning: None really. SFW.

A/N: Am I the only one who wants to snuggle into Caitlyn? Ugh, I love her so much.

Powder/Jinx

“Oh! Hey there, sugar! You want to cuddle? Don’t have to ask me twice! I’ll cuddle you so much that you get tired of me! But you’d never get tired of me, right?”

Jinx is a super clingy person, so for you to be as clingy as her it’s like you two are a match made in heaven. There’s barely any time that passes when you two are not touching each other and she lives for your cuddles. It doesn’t matter if you hug her out of nowhere or she sees you about to embrace her, she is stopping everything she is doing and pulling you into the tightest of hugs.

Most of the time if she isn’t causing mayhem in the streets of Zaun or busy with her inventions, she will spend her time just holding you so close and showering your face with the cutest but most childish of kisses. She doesn’t care if it’s in private or public, she will make it known that you two can’t keep your hands off each other. You are her cuddlebug and she is yours and that won’t ever change.

Violet “Vi”

“Woah there, cuddle bug! You’re gonna make me screw up my workout… Oh forget it. How can I say no to you?”

Because Violet is absolutely touch starved, she will never decline your cuddles, even if you take her by surprise a few times with how you hug her so suddenly. She finds it adorable how you fangirl around her and find everything she does to be awesome or cute. Granted she does wish you’d call her hot or sexy, but knows that isn’t really in tune with your personality.

Regardless, she tries to make sure you know how adorable you are, always telling you while you two are cuddled up together how lucky she is to have you and how you are so adorable. Even when you visit her at work, she’ll try to drop everything and have you run into her arms to pick you up. And every time she’s got time off work or is coming back from a job, she’s automatically looking for you so she could hook you in her arms and never let go.

Ekko

“Y/N, haha! You know we gotta keep this private, babe- The kids are gonna pounce on us any second now!”

Does Ekko love hugging you? Absolutely. The warmth of your arms around his body makes him stop everything he’s doing and just hug you while calling you his firelight or firefly. Unless he’s calling you an angel or lovebug, which never fails to make Scar either look at you two in awe or roll their eyes in mock annoyance. Unfortunately, Ekko does try his best to make sure you two don’t get super affectionate around the children, especially when it comes to hugs.

Why? Because as soon as you hug him, the children find this as an invitation to gather around him and have him nearly die under a cuteness overload of a group hug. It’s nice as a once in a while occurrence, but all the time? Maybe not. Outside of the reactions you two garnish and even the teasing of you being the firelight king/queen, Ekko lives for your cuddlebug energy, wanting to be in your arms after a long day’s work. It’s always the best way to end the night… 

Caitlyn Kiramman

“And that’s why if I am able to block this end of the road, I’ll- Oh!... Oh come here, sweetheart. If you wanted to cuddle so badly, you could’ve asked.”

Caitlyn has always been someone who was more subtle with her love, pulling you into brief kisses, cupping your cheek and holding you by your waist. She usually leaves the more out there gestures like hugging and cuddling for you to initiate. But when you do? It might be harder for you to get her off of you instead of the other way around. It can be at work, in her home, outside of work or at an event. As soon as she feels your arms wrap around her slender body, she’s stopping for a second to hold you back and kiss your forehead.

She will continue working if you interrupt her during a briefing or in the middle of cracking a case, but the entire time, she will have at least one arm around your body and make sure you are comfortable. Her comrades tease her about it and she’ll scowl a bit, but she doesn’t care. As far as she can tell, she’s extremely lucky to have you as a lover.

Viktor

“Ah! Oh, it is just you, zolotse. Remember, you have to warn me of these cute little hugs of yours.”

At first, Viktor wasn’t used to your physical affection and how you were in awe of everything he did. He actually thought you were mocking him at first or being silly. But after a while, especially when the two of you became a couple, he grew accustomed to your affections. He does get a bit startled when you hug him out of nowhere and he does have moments where you cheering him on does make him a bit bashful, but he enjoys your sweet gestures regardless.

He does find it difficult to be as outgoing with his love for you as you are with him, but he does try his best to make you realize he loves you, especially in the form of quality time and calling you by sweet pet names bound to make you blush. Viktor has a tendency to pass out from working too hard and waking up in your arms. And though he’d never say it out loud, you know based on the way he snuggles into you, he adores it and adores you.

Jayce Talis

“I know what you want and I want it too- So bring it in! I’ve waited all day to be in your arms!”

Because Jayce is always out at work, it’s kind of hard for you two to be around one another all the time. That’s why when he does reunite with you after hours or you two can be together on days off, he’s spending the majority of his free time with you or wrapped around you. He sort of craves for your praise and compliments as much as he craves your cuddles.

Many would compare the councilman to a needy dog wanting his owner’s undivided attention and he definitely gets that through you. Though he may try to act all cool or play coy, everyone knows that you mean so much to him and that he becomes putty around you. Even if they don’t, you’re not afraid to say it aloud. Just make sure Jayce isn’t around or that man will become redder than a beet.

Mel Medarda

“What’s wrong?... I know that look. You want to- Ah! Well looks like you beat me to the punch, darling. How about we take this to the bed, hmm?”

Mel wasn’t really given physical affection when she was younger. She was more someone who preferred verbal affection with words of affirmation. So when it came to you and how affectionate you are, she found herself adapting and loving physical affection as much as telling you how much she loved you.

Your cuddles and sweet gestures are her personal heaven she loves returning to after a long day’s work, especially if she can spend an evening with you platonically in your shared bed. In your arms, she feels she can air out anything that’s bothering her or interests her, especially when you admit how cute it is when she does. Though this kind of intimate affection is delegated to private quarters, anyone can know from the way Mel speaks of you outside of home and at events that you mean so much to her.

Sevika

“Yeah! So then I was like screw you, I can do whatever- Hold on. Uh, Y/N. I thought we agreed to not do this at work?”

Sevika is considered the Right Hand of Zaun, a woman who is feared if not respected by her peers. And she’d like to keep it that way. Which means that while you two are at work, she prefers it if you don’t cuddle her around co-workers and give them something to tease her about. You two can only flirt and kiss and even then, it has to be sexy…

But alone, when both of you are away from the public eye, Sevika is at your beck and call wishing for nothing else but to hear your sweet praises and melt into your arms and touch. Expect her to call you the cutest thing ever and tease you on occasion, but afterwards she’s basically a big needy cat, or as she prefers to be called, a panther. It’s moments like these where you can really consider yourself lucky to see a raw side of Sevika. And it was only preserved for you.

If you got any requests for Arcane or X-Men '97, send them my way!

Likes and retweets are always appreciated! I love you all, stay hydrated and have a good day! <3

[fleurdov]

i ran out of tags room that’s how you know this is serious krkdkdkkdlx but i was thinking!

actually you know what rory is that girl!!

bc think about it this rich kids could of definitely just paid each other to lie and get her out expeditiously like they obviously have the resources for that and blackmail! it makes no sense to attack rory?? but i guess? she bothers yeji sooooo much they got this whole elaborate plan to pay off the houses, take her man, make her crash out by taking her friends, spy on her and all the other things i’m forgetting to mention not to mention during this plan seonghwa definitely gets something outta this, she’s still got guys to be at her beck and call, she’s maintaining good grades and her scholarship, two situationships (1 whole is a snake and the other is a rat and is in love with her but okay)and 2 heartbreaks,all while being in a house full of rats and then sneaking out to go into another house full of snakes praying on her downfall. and on top of that! the girls are still telling her she should be president! yea she is that girl! she’s not thriving and she’s definitely falling down fighting for her life but she’s like that girl to cause all that conversation nonetheless kfkcklclclx

That one fucked you over last year, this one is fucking you over this year, you had no idea she was involved with him, someone over here has been lying to you, you didn't mean to end up in that ones bed, he told you he loved you... Does anyone even trust anyone anymore?

👫 -> college!teez x fem!reader/oc {frat/sorority} #️⃣ -> 16k exact. (part SEVEN of ???) good luck. ‼️ -> 18+, sexual content, drugs/alcohol, college life, all the drama, heavy angst, infidelity adjacent moments, mean boys, mean girls, mentions of anxiety/depression… IF I MISSED ANYTHING PLEASE LET ME KNOW!

{ there are names & faces in here that come from NMWID <3 }

september 23rd ~ monday ~ 11:20 a.m.

“I’ll take a shot of vodka, or something else, whatever you’ve got.”

Theo smiled, then shook his head, leaning over the counter toward you.

“You can get that later down the street,” he said. “Want me to surprise you if you aren’t gonna make a decision?”

Clasping your hand over your hoodie you shrugged. “Please.”

Getting to work, he sent the occasional glance over his shoulder. “You’re in a weird mood, what happened?” He wrapped his hand around a large sized cup and took it to the espresso machine. “What’s happened since Friday, I should say.”

A lot, you wanted to say. You’ve realized you’ve fallen in love with a boy who was your best friend, said boy has snuck onto your roof and confessed his love for you, you’re both set to ‘break up’ with people you aren’t even together with, and all the meanwhile the boys girl has started a lie that has now spread throughout the ITZ house.

Nothing has been said to Yunho or Tori as of yet, you were meeting Tori for lunch after your noon classes so you would tell her there. The video had to still be up on Chan's profile, those things lasted for twenty four hours. She was a liar, Mina was. Though you can’t piece together at the moment why she would lie about something like this. Chan is her brother, and he’s apparently been through many struggles in his lifetime.

Your father has been through many struggles in his lifetime, never once do you ever use his shit as an excuse for your behavior, nor would you ever use his shit as a way to warp people’s minds, their feelings. The beings in both houses knew little of your dad, aside from Yunho, Tori and unfortunately Wooyoung. You’re sure Mingi knew a little something, he’s dating Tori, but you don’t care what he knew. If he’s trustworthy enough to date Tori, he’s trustworthy to know who and what your father is.

Mina’s pretty, she’s smart, she comes from a good family. Why would she lie?

Pulling out your phone you open a thread of messages and type away.

[you]: we have to talk about something questionable

It took him three seconds to respond.

[youknow everythin]: This is how you answer my good morning text? What did you just wake up?

[you]: i’m at blend i have a class in thirty

[you]: i’m sorry i didn’t answer, i read it before i got in the shower

[youknow everythin]: Take me in the shower with you, duh

[you]: you are such a boy

[you]: any mina updates

[youknow everythin]: She’s hurting. I told you last night what she was saying, her brother and all that. I got the full run down. She was keeping a lot from me this summer.

You tried real hard to not let those words tug at your heart.

[youknow everythin]: You know what it made me think of? That psych thing or whatever it is, the invisible child thing? Where one childs needs are so great that the other kid kind of goes unnoticed? But… Not totally unnoticed, they’re just more self sufficient? I feel like that’s Mina. She just needs someone to see her.

That made your stomach feel weird.

And not because of his last sentence.

Because you understood.

You didn’t have any siblings, but you had to grow up pretty self-sufficient.

[you]: damn i didn’t think of it like that

[you]: makes me feel like a bitch for what i’m about to say

[youknow everythin]: Tell me

“You are so out of it,” Theo said, handing the beautifully decorated coffee over to you. With whipped cream on the top he swirled caramel around it. Looking up at him, he gave you a smile and stepped away from the counter to take care of another customer who had appeared beside you while you were focused on your screen. 

“I’m sorry,” you sighed.

[you]: i think she’s lying about her brother

“The drama never ends,” you whispered, picking up the coffee to take a sip of it. It was equally sweet as it was caffeinated. “Oh my god,” you groaned after a swallow. Theo smirked over his shoulder. “I’ll text you the money,” you said, tapping away to open his messages, but he stopped you.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, flipping the other person's coffee over to shake it. “Someone left you an allowance. I think you’re good for the rest of the semester to be honest.” He chuckled as your brows rose. “You have another friend down at ATZ, and I assume he’s told you all about me.”

“Soul,” you mumbled, and Theo shot you a look that did little to warm your heart. “Yeah, he, uh, he told me.”

Popping a lid on the small sized cup in his hand, he slid it over the counter to the person next to you and muttered, “Three eighty seven,” and took the cash as they handed it over. “I don’t want to tell you to stay away from him,” Theo said to you, giving the person their change, “He’s really not that bad of a guy.” Shifting back over to your side of the counter, he leaned over on his elbows and looked up at you. “He’s just been through some shit.”

Rolling your eyes, you sipped your drink and tried not to laugh. “Seems to be the theme of the day.” Theo flattened his lips into some sort of smile. “What was her name?”

He closed his eyes and released a breath. “Soojin.” When his eyes met yours he laughed at your pout. “Don’t, it’s okay. She was a year below me in school, they had another year of high school together, I was here, it wasn’t a big deal.”

With another sip, you tried to hide behind your straw when you asked, “When did it happen?”

Theo smirked, assessed his surroundings and the little people that were inside his cafe. “She was a senior, he was a sophomore, I was a freshman trying to get into the prestigious ATZ. I was upset when it happened of course, she and I were still dating, but, when you really look at it, what kind of senior in high school takes an interest in a sophomore…”

“Oh my god,” you sighed, your eyes going wide. Theo grinned.

“Yeah, so I ended that quick,” he nodded once, standing up to clean up behind his counter. “And, I made sure Shota was okay, even though he was all smug about it. He was sixteen, he had every right to think he was hot shit for sleeping with a senior, but brotha’ was a victim.”

Soul’s dark eyes that never seemed to have a thought behind them came to mind, and you were gutted. “Tae, oh my god,” you said and he shrugged, wiping down his machines. “He told me that you hate him for it.”

Theo huffed a laugh, then hung his head for a few seconds. “If that’s what he wants to believe, I’ll take it. I don’t hate him,” he turned to give you a look. “He’s impressionable. Don’t take this the wrong way, but he’s not… all there,” he came closer to you. “His parents are… were… kinda messed up. You can’t tell him I said any of this,” Theo pointed at you, his eyes going stern.

“Promise,” you whispered, holding up a hand.

Theo tapped his fingers on the counter, watching them for a moment. “He was in therapy for a while.”

“Weren’t we all?” you attempted to lighten the air, smiling, and he laughed.

“I guess at some point,” he breathed. “I mean, I was after my parents got divorced, so… No, but, Shota, he’s been into a lot of things kids shouldn’t get into. This ability for him to… attract… that kind of attention, like with Soojin, I don’t know, it’s…” 

“His eyes,” you whispered, and Theo never looked at you faster. Sheepishly smiling, you said, “He’s been following me around for a little bit now, Tae. He showed up to ITZ one night.” Theo’s eyes shot open wide. You nodded. “Yeah, he’s persistent. I can kinda see why he’d so easily coerce someone… Not saying that’s what he did, or has done, but… Yanno?”

Theo thought about it, then asked, “So, you were catchin’ a crush?”

“No,” you said, hushed and rushed. “I have way too much happening to have a crush on a freshman. That makes me Soojin, just many years later.” He smiled, popping his brows. “And, now that I know he’s your little brother? That’d be weird. You and I were dates at Date Night last winter, my allegiance is to you, Taeyang.”

“I’ll never forget Wooyoung's face when we got picked,” he said, and you both shared a smile. “He was pissed.”

Names were chosen at random between the sorority and the fraternity, pairs made for the night. Date Night, one of the more exciting events thrown between the houses, kicked off with a bang though neither house raised enough to put toward this current year. Still, it was fun, and you were paired with Theo who drank your required liquor when you couldn’t stomach anymore. The two of you danced, you laughed, you hung out with Tori and Yeosang, her randomly chosen date, and you partied until the next morning. 

The kicker… You were strapped together at the wrist. You physically could not leave your date alone, and if someone else wanted to talk to you, you had to talk to their date, too.

Vernon was paired with Isla.

Yuna and Jongho were matched up.

Ryujin and San.

Chaeryeong was paired with a senior, as well as Mingi, like you and Theo.

Hongjoong had a senior from ITZ on his wrist.

Seonghwa and Lia both had freshman recruits.

Yunho got lucky enough to have Mina follow him around.

And, Wooyoung had Yeji.

You could say that was the start of the downfall, that Yeji and Wooyung were paired up together, so who knows if that night they hooked up as well, but you’ve stopped letting the thought bother you.

“It was fun,” you gave him a small smile.

“It was.” He returned it. “Are you guys gonna do that again? I know that one’s like tradition, right?”

“Tori has it on the schedule,” you said. “She’s stuck it sometime in October now, I think around Halloween? It might land on her birthday, I’m not so sure.”

“Well,” he stood up straight, having leaned over the counter again, and slapped his hands on the vinyl. “If you get paired with Shota, keep an eye on him.”

“Think I might do that regardless now, Tae,” you said, lifting your drink a bit to signal your exit. “Thanks again.”

Theo smirked and watched you leave the cafe. “Thank my brother.”

september 23rd ~ monday ~ 1:47 p.m.

[youknow everythin]: Rory there’s nothing there though, we can’t just assume, can we?

“It was here yesterday!”

Sitting forward, you laid your phone on the table beside your plate and groaned in frustration. Tori, cross legged with her waves over her shoulders, watched you with a raised brow.

“He deleted it, he had to have deleted it,” you whispered, refreshing Chan's profile three times before giving Tori a look of dismay. “When we were at the library, he posted it.”

“It’s been a day, it’s not going to be there anymore,” she said, picking up her fork. “I want to believe you, though.”

Eyes bugging out of your head, you attempted to refresh the page again. “You don’t believe me? How?” When you met her eyes again the taste in your mouth went sour. “Tori, I’m not lying to you, I swear to God, she is lying to us.”

“What person would lie about their brother like that?”

“That’s what I’m saying!” you shouted, and many heads turned your way. The two of you were at a small table toward the front of the sushi restaurant you stormed out of over a week ago. “Yunho thinks she’s got that invisible child thing. You know, where they pry for attention, or something.”

Tori, sipping her water, rolled her eyes. “Listen, I want to believe you, Ror, but now that you’ve got this thing with Yunho, it looks like you’re trying to make her the bad guy.”

Right, she was still miffed about the whole situation.

“I know what it looks like, okay?” You squeezed your eyes shut. “I’m not trying to… Win the boy, or whatever it is you think I’m doing. I have the boy. It’s not about that.”

Tori sat back in her chair and folded her arms. “You do, do you?” You nodded and she pursed her lips. “Then, what is it about? If she is lying like you say she is, what’s the point of calling her out for it? Just let it go, all shit comes out eventually.”

She was right.

Letting her go back to her sushi, you swiped back to your messages.

[youknow everythin]: She has been giving me specific updates, Rory

[youknow everythin]: I don’t think she’s lying

september 24th ~ tuesday ~ 2:44 p.m.

In four days you and your sisters would be walking through the doors of ATZ with your recruits. The two houses would come together for dinner, an introduction of sorts, a welcome to the life type of night. There have been freshmen in and out of the house since yesterday morning, touring the property, meeting the board, sucking up to Yeji who spoke to them all with the fakest smile you’ve ever seen.

Standing in the foyer now, your new dark blue ITZ t-shirt on and tucked into the waist of your jeans, two girls walking through the door in sundresses caught your eye. Wide eyed and excited, they gasped to themselves as they gaped up at the ceiling, the two of them arm in arm, linked together. It reminded you of you and Tori. They joined the few girls already walking the first floor, taking in the photos on the wall, reading every description, every story that lived on the white paint.

Ryujin, in the same t-shirt, stood beside you. Nudging her side, you gestured toward the girls.

“Those are the two I met at ATZ,” you whispered. Ryujin scanned the group, then found them and squinted. “They’re freshmen, and I think they come as a pair. Can’t buy them separately.”

“Like you and Tor,” Ryujin mumbled, and you smiled. “My gaydar is going off looking at the shorter one, I can probably make some magic happen.” Fluffing her shaggy hair, she adjusted her shirt to be a bit more frumpy, letting it hang over the waist of her wide legged jeans. She was gone in seconds, flashing a sideways smile to both girls who shook Ryujin’s hand with caution. Sure enough, the shorter one let her eyes slip up and down the seniors frame, but that could mean anything. Ryujin was walking sex appeal, if you swung that way you’d be sneaking out of her room every morning instead of an ATZ bedroom.

Taking a quiet moment for yourself, not being bothered by freshman looking to kiss ass, you pulled out your phone and checked your messages.

[youknow everythin]: How's it going over there? These freshman are ridiculous

Smiling, you worked your fingers on the keys.

[you]: at least you don’t have to listen to a trillion female empowerment stories

[you]: think every girl in this house right now has told the same story

[you]: i think i love it though, they all have something to prove, it’s admirable

[youknow everythin]: Does it remind you of your recruitment? 

[you]: totally, i was coming from a single father who lived paycheck to paycheck, i had to be obnoxious and prove myself. i’m seeing a lot of yeji’s and chaeryeong’s in this crowd. money money money

[youknow everythin]: Same over here, lots of guys flashing their bank accounts. And why is everyone a business major?

[you]: hey, don’t diss

[youknow everythin]: Not what I meant <3 <3 <3

[youknow everythin]: Have you talked to Seonghwa about anything yet? I assume not because he’s been nice to me all day

[you]: no, we should just wait a little bit. shit isn’t hitting the fan right now, we’ll be better off later. you haven’t said anything to mina yet?

[youknow everythin]: Not with this brother thing happening. Plus, she's VP so she’s got a lot on her plate at the moment.

Glancing up at her now, the Vice President, it was written on her t-shirt that she tucked into her denim skirt. Jeans were the dress code for this day, but apparently any denim was acceptable. She was smiling ear to ear while she spoke to a group of girls that gazed up at her with starry eyes. Admitting to yourself that it was impressive she was Vice President already, a sophomore, it didn’t make the feeling in your gut lessen.

Something was off.

It made you wonder if she heard your conversation with Tori the other day.

[you]: understood. keeping shit undercover

[youknow everythin]: It’s been hard to keep Mingi quiet. He’s so nosey. He wants to talk about us all the time.

[you]: us

[youknow everythin]: Us

[youknow everythin]: <3

“Great turn out today, don’t you think?”

Chills ran down your spine. Shoving your phone into your pocket, you turned over your shoulder and plastered a smile onto your face.

“So great,” you said. “I was just thinking about how there are so many like minded girls in here that have something to prove.”

Yeji pierced you with her fox-like gaze, attempting to look through you, into you. In all of the past weeks you’ve never had to be one on one with her, you’ve only had to deal with her in meetings. Her ombre hair curled perfectly laid over her shoulders, tucked behind one ear, showed off the diamonds she was wearing in her lobes. In her t-shirt and skinny jeans, she topped off the fit with strappy black heels and thin silver and gold bracelets on her wrists.

“Like minded?” Yeji asked, letting her eyes leave you for only a second to take in the group. “Explain.”

Swallowing, your mouth had gone dry, you nodded. “Their grades are fantastic, first of all, which you know to me is the most important of all.” Yeji narrowed her eyes. “But, the stories they’re telling us, what they’ve gone through to get here, some being told they’ll never make it to this school, that they’ll never get far… And, they’re here.” She bobbed her head, and smiled once you said, “It makes me think of Mina.”

“Does it?” she questioned, taking a peek at her second speaking with the girls.

“It does,” you whispered. “Everything with her family, yanno? She’s here, at Nasara, and she did that for herself. It’s incredible. I mean, even Isla, she wanted to do something for herself and she’s-”

“Leaving us in a day or two,” Yeji muttered, and your heart stopped. Taking in the shock on your face, she nodded, her stone cold expression never changing. “Don’t worry, she’s not being kicked out. Her brother has been in contact with us. He’s going to come get her, she needs his help. I’ll be sharing the news with Ryujin tonight, so if you could do me a solid and not tell anybody?”

Looking for the senior, the unsuspecting girl laughing it up with the two girls you met at the party, the walls seemed to tighten around you a smidge. She had no idea she was losing her roommate of the last three years. The two met on this day, Ryujin a sophomore, Isla a freshman. They clicked, they understood one another, they became best friends. Ryujin has done so much for Isla within the last year, and now she’d have to go through her most important year alone.

“She’s withdrawing?” you asked Yeji.

“She’s done,” the president nodded. “Withdrawn from classes, from the sorority, from Nasara entirely.”

“Where will she go?”

“With DK,” Yeji shrugged. “We don’t have the ability to help her here. She needs her family. That’s important, you know that, right? Family?” The look she gave you before she scampered away to greet some more freshmen wandering into the house was unreadable. 

february 14th ~ thursday ~ last semester ~ 11:21 p.m.

The ball hit the edge of the cup and bounced onto the floor, a choir of groans echoing throughout the crowded living room. Bumping into Tori, your pong partner, you grabbed onto her arm and voiced your own disappointment. Across the table, the two boys you were playing simply laughed.

“Leave us alone!” Tori shouted playfully. “She’s not good at this, okay, we know this!”

Blushing, you laughed aloud, too drunk to care that she had half roasted you while trying to defend you. “I suck!”

“You do, is that the best you’ve got?” Yunho grilled, wearing a devious smirk on his lips. Poking his tongue out the corner when you looked at him, he raised his brows and motioned toward himself with his fingers. 

Mingi elbowed him, smiling at his girl from across the table doused in beer and liquor. The room was dark, people in the crowd around you were using their flashlights on their phones to light up the table for you four. You were both down to the last three ups on either side.

“She doesn’t seem so bad, you guys are tied.” A voice that wrapped around your heart made you smile. Turning around you bump into Wooyoung who wrapped an arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his chest. Bringing his lips to your ear he said, “Stand up straight, keep your elbows to yourself and throw without thinking too hard.”

Pulling away from him, he kept a hand on your back, he smiled at you and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. Following his instructions, standing up straight, you made eye contact with Yunho who now wore a scowl. Music flooded your ears, peoples shouts from everywhere in the house threatened to pull your liquor fueled brain elsewhere. Wooyoung took his hand around your waist and gave you a squeeze.

“Breathe,” he said, and you listened. “Look at the cup… Good.” You turned your chin to look at him and he laughed, using his other hand to maneuver your focus back to the table. “Look at the cup, baby, you can do this, prove them wrong, I know you can.”

“Don’t think someone’s allowed to touch the player while they throw,” Yunho called out, and Mingi laughed. Tori shut him up with a glare. 

Wooyoung curled his lip. “Shut up.” Moving behind you, putting both hands on your waist, he cradled his chin into your neck. “Throw it. Show them.” His lips ghosted your skin and you longed to drop the ball and spin around in his arms, but the way Yunho was glaring at you made you want to throw the ball at his head instead of the red cups waiting for you.

“Any day now,” Yunho complained, tipping his chin backward.

“Ro, shut this guy up,” Wooyoung said loud enough for him to hear. Smiling, feeling his hands press into your waist, you pulled your hand back and released the ball. It went into a cup and swirled around in circles, and the three of you on your end of the table cheered for half a second.

Yunho dipped his fingers inside and flicked it out, both him and Mingi laughing together. The crowd was impartial, no one knew who to be happy for.

“Are you kidding me?” Wooyoung spat, pulling you away from the table, planting his hands on the edge. Yunho raised a brow, a shiteating smirk on his lips.

“That’s the game,” he said.

“You’re a piece of shit, just let her have it,” Wooyoung said, throwing a hand toward the cups left in front of the boy many inches taller than him. “It’s one cup.”

Yunho glanced down, then scoffed. “Yeah, it’s one cup,” he parroted, and Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “She’ll get it again, though she’s missed the last ten shots.”

Tori circled the table and ended up somewhere around Mingi, her boyfriend craning his neck down to press kisses to her cheek. Waiting behind Wooyoung, not knowing what the hell was going to happen, you turned around and found San making his way through the crowd. Raising your hands in the air, you shouted for him.

“Sannie!”

His face lit up. “Ror!” Elbowing past bodies, he found your side and groaned. “Oh no,” he slung himself over your back when you turned around to face the table. “What happened? Why’s he mad?”

Pointing at Yunho, your best friend giving you two ounces of attention, scrunching his nose at San, you said, “He was talkin’ shit, I threw the ball like Wooyoung said, I made it in, but Yo knocked it out.”

San shook his head. “No, you’re kidding, shit move, Yunho!” He looked back at you and San at the sound of his name. “You always play girls like that?” 

Wooyoung smiled at San and held up a hand. “Hang on.” Pointing at Yunho, he said, “Own up to it. Or, you give me the balls, and if I make it in the other two cups, the girls win and you both forfeit for the night. I’m tired of seeing you both standing over here.”

Yunho and Mingi shared a look. From beneath his arm Tori said, “You don’t have to be a jerk, Wooyoung.”

Giving your roommate a look, he quirked a brow. “You wanna take their side over your own sisters? Damn, Tori, that says a lot about you doesn’t it?” San snickered behind you, his hands tangling over your chest. Wooyoung turned back to Yunho. “Balls,” he wiggled his fingers, and the boy obeyed, rolling them across the table. Clutching them both, Wooyoung rolled them in his hands and smirked. “I make it in those two, the ones she didn’t touch, they win. You’re done.”

Yunho crossed his arms and tilted his head back, the smug look in his face doing something to you. “Do it,” he scoffed. “If you don’t make it you have to leave for the rest of the night, how about that?”

Wooyoung threw both balls, one right after the other. They landed in both cups, the ones you didn’t touch, with a splash. The room lost their minds. Yunho and Mingi dropped their arms in shock.

Wrapping an arm around you, acquiring you from San, Wooyoung flashed them a sweet smile. “I was planning on leaving anyway.” And he whisked you out of the living room, leaving the boys dumbfounded behind you.

Barreling through people, both of you laughing, you babbling on about how crazy of a shot that was, you were seconds away from telling him he got lucky when he pressed you against the wall in the hallway, just short of the stairs. 

Almost nose to nose, he placed a hand on the wallpaper and the other to your cheek, dragging his thumb over your skin. He wore a smile, his lips closed hiding his perfect teeth. His hair hung over his forehead, the waves having been pushed side to side all night.

“Did you like the way he was talking to you?” he asked, letting his fingers dance into your hair, pushing it gently off your shoulders that were bare in Tori’s strapless top you borrowed.

Blinking, getting lost in the depths of almond eyes, you took a breath. “Who, Yunho?” Wooyoung nodded, the smallest gesture. “Not really, but it’s Yunho, he never really means what he says. He could talk all the shit in the world and then seconds later his mood changed.”

“It wasn’t cool, Ro,” he said, his hand taking to your shoulder, not dropping any further. “I didn’t like it.” His lips formed a pout. “He was talking about my girl.” Your cheeks warmed, and he smiled, flashing you his perfect teeth. His beauty was indescribable, you couldn’t put words to it. So unique, so undeniably gorgeous. He was a wanted man, and he was here in your arms.

“Your girl,” you whispered, eyes flickering down to his lips. “Since when am I your girl?”

Laughing to himself, he brought both of his hands over your neck, his hands taking to your chin, tilting you upward. His grip was gentle, everything about how he dealt with you was gentle. “I want you to be my girl,” he whispered. “But you get hung up on jackasses, just pay attention to me, Ro, these other guys don’t matter.”

Blinking a few times, you muttered, “Wooyo, I’m drunk.” Exhaling heavily, you wiggled in his grip and he let you go. “I pay attention to you, what’re you talking about?”

Having taken a step backward, his hands were to himself. “You do,” he said. “I just mean… Nevermind.”

This time you came closer to him, sliding your arms around his neck, pulling him in. He walked backward so he could lean against the wall. Taking his arms around your back, he gazed down at you, studying you, taking in every little piece of you.

“We can talk when you’re not drunk,” he whispered, dipping his chin down to brush his nose against your own. Whispering your agreement, he smiled, then tilted his chin and pressed his lips to yours. In mere seconds your hands were in his hair, holding onto him like he’d soon run away. You yearned to melt into him, to stay here forever with his lips on yours, taking your time as if it was the first time you’ve found yourself here.

He treated each kiss like it was fragile, like if he moved too fast the moment would end. Soft lips pulling you under, his tongue meeting yours to deepen it further. There was no rush, no hurriedness about it. By now one would figure you’d be pulled upstairs and stripped to nothing, but, not with Wooyoung. Not now.

Neither of you crossed that line. Neither of you wanted to, not yet. Though many, many make outs, like this one, have ended with sweaty skin and the need to change your pants, both of you, the drive to go further always pulled you both back. Wooyoung had always been quicker to stop it, to stop you if your hand fell to the button of his pants, or if you seemed to fall into some sort of conditioned way of moving about him. 

At first it was strange, him wanting to take his time, but for a couple months now you’ve both been reeling in the build up, in the excitement of what’s to come, the two of you unspokenly going about this thing like it were your first time ever.

“Aurora,” Wooyoung whispered, touching his forehead to yours. Looking up at him through your lashes you smiled. “So beautiful,” he kept his voice low, just for you. “Promise me,” he said, and you lowered your brows. “Promise me you’ll stay away from them.”

“Away from who?”

“Don’t let them pull you into their games,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s how this shit works, this life. They won’t stop until they win.” His hands slipped into your hair, pushing it away. Pausing, he studied you once more and kissed you. “They’ll snuff out anything standing in their way.”

september 25th ~ wednesday ~ 7:15 p.m.

[you]: hey, hope its okay tae gave me your number… you didnt have to do this, but thank you. i’ll blame you for the caffeine addiction next semester

[soul]: come to atz to thank me in person

[you]: too much to do, sorry friend. i’ll see you on saturday, right?? you used your brain instead of your wallet, yeah?

[soul]: yeah…… something like that.

[you]: good. keep it up.

[you]: do me a solid?

[soul]: anything for you

[you]: tell yunho to answer his phone if you can find him, he’s supposed to meet me somewhere and i think he’s drowning in books right now

[you]: hope those boys arent giving you too much of a hard time

[soul]: not at all :)

He was fifteen minutes late. That’s extremely unlike him. Yunho was a cluster fuck, but he was a punctual cluster fuck. 

The two of you were finally meeting at Blend. You had secured a booth in the farthest corner, not that the place was buzzing with life anyway. Away from the windows, away from the door. You weren’t looking to create any problems. All of your board members were busy situating girls to rooms anyways, all of the details needing to be mapped out by Friday morning when all of the new recruits would arrive.

Tori let you in on the secret, there were maybe ten at max that made it through all the way. There were only a couple set aside for now, needing a couple more details set in stone before they could move forward. 

Not needed around the house, actually trying to stay out of everybody's way, you were able to corral Yunho to agree to come out this evening. Unfortunately it looks like homework may win again, however. You wanted to unpack this month with him, unpack what had happened on the roof, discuss Mina when you both weren’t delirious and half asleep.

Sending him the second ‘where are you’ text, you locked your phone and tossed it to the table as the door to Blend swung open. Heart hoping it was Yunho waltzing inside with a hilarious apology, you’re surprised to see Seonghwa, in all black of course. He had his hair pulled back in a tie, hanging low on his neck. It took him three seconds to find you, his eyes scanning the room as if he smelled you the second he walked in. 

“Ror,” he said, his voice and his smile giving you some sort of comfort.

“Hey,” you said quietly, toying with the straw in your cup. Seonghwa gave the smallest wave, if you could call it that, to Theo, then he changed his course and came over to you, leaving the barista dumbfounded as his eyes followed him over to you. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know,” Seonghwa half laughed, sliding into the booth across from you, leaving his legs dangling out the side, his feet touching the floor. He slid his hand across the table and brushed his fingers over yours. “I’ve been feeling a little off, think I wanted something warm to drink.”

Raising a finger, letting him slip one beneath yours, you tilted your head. “Feeling sick?”

He shifted in his seat, swinging his legs underneath the table, his knees bumping into yours. His height was unreal. “No, not sick,” he muttered. “Just… off.”

Hooking your finger onto his, you pouted. “Is there anything I can do to help?” Nodding toward the counter where Theo worked behind it without a sound, Seonghwa glanced over there. “Get a drink,” you smiled. “It’s on me.”

Blinking once, he moved his eyes to you, then he released a laugh. “Now that I can’t do.”

“Why not?” you asked, watching him lace his fingers within yours.

“Because,” he whispered, his lashes fluttering as he spoke.

Leaning over the table, you lowered your voice and flipped your brows. “You helped me, now let me help you.”

Seonghwa mainted face. “Did I?” His voice was a whisper. Eyes sharp, the sudden vulnerability swallowed you. A lot has happened since you slept with him. 

At least it felt like a lot.

“I mean, yeah,” you said with a small shrug. Clenching his jaw he glanced at your hands.

“Then you won’t be upset if I tell you he went to see Mina tonight?”

You yanked your hand back, tucking it into your lap with the other. Nausea filled your gut, you could get sick in front of him right here.

“She’s been having a hard time, I've heard, they talk everyday.”

Gulping away the lump in your throat you dropped your eyes to the table and sucked in a shaky breath.

He told you he’d be here.

He promised you that you would talk, about everything.

He hasn’t said that word since he snuck onto your roof.

“Ror?” Seonghwa tapped one of his fingers on the table, pulling you from your thoughts that didn’t circle as much as you thought they would. It was simple. “You okay?”

Rolling your shoulders back, sitting up straight, you sighed and smiled at him. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Seonghwa tried to smile, but his lips could only crinkle as the corners lifted.

“You sure?” he whispered.

The space between your lungs tightened. “No,” you breathed, lifting your hand back onto the table, touching your finger tip to his. Seonghwa looked down at them for half a second. “I thought…”

He bit the bullet and folded his hand within yours again. “Tell me.”

The rub of his thumb over the back of your hand soothed the hurt. “Just thought I really had him this time.”

His brows lowered ever so slightly. “What do you mean?”

Tightening your grip on his hand, his thumb stopped moving. “Hwa, you can’t get mad,” you whispered, poking out your bottom lip a bit, praying your shining eyes would persuade him enough.

“Why would I be mad?” he questioned, his voice going deep.

“Because,” you said, and he narrowed his eyes. “Tori told me you do this… thing. Well, really, Mingi told her.” Seonghwa blew air out his lips and let his eyes close for a second. “I’m serious. You gave me a crazy ass hickey, Hwa. Apparently that means I belong to you.” Ignoring how his eyes darkened, you smiled when he did.

“A man can’t just do it ‘cause he likes it?” he snickered, shaking his head. Shrugging your shoulders, his thumb resumed its dance over your skin. “Ror, you don’t belong to me. Did I love our night together, fuck yes, you know how to ride a dick.”

“Hwa!” you giggled, glancing around the cafe, taking a peek at Theo making a drink behind the counter for a customer not present. He didn’t hear him.

“You're cute when your cheeks go all pink,” he mumbled, bringing your attention back to him. “When did you guys happen? At the next one?”

“Jesus, Seonghwa, I’m not an animal.”

“I am,” he smirked, getting the exact reaction out of you he was hoping.

Calming your smile, you squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head vigorously. “Stop,” you laughed, “I think it was like a week after, or something. You picked me up and brought me to the party where it all… went to shit, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“No, it’s not your fault, come on.” Wiggling your hand in his you forced his eyes to yours and you smiled what you could. “I should’ve listened to you.”

Seonghwa took a breath and adjusted himself in his seat. “I mean,” he smirked, “Technicaly you did, I said fuck him.”

Laughing with him, you groaned. “Bad idea. Bad idea.”

“It was?” he asked, leaning forward. “I thought you really liked him.”

“Unfortunately I think I do,” you said. “But, at the same time, and I said this to Tori… I don’t know what that feels like.” Seonghwa zoned in his focus and slowly nodded. “I’m… attracted and all that, but I don’t know what it feels like to… be in love with somebody.”

“Love, sheesh,” he muttered. “Who uses that word anymore?”

“Yunho,” you whispered, giving him a sheepish look, one he raised his brows at. “Yeah,” you sighed. “Don’t spill that to anybody. I trust you.”

Seonghwa smiled. “I know you do, that’s why you let me-“

“Stop,” you cut him off with a wide smile, your tone singing a song. Laying your other hand on top of his, you took a deep breath. “We’re not gonna talk about that, okay?”

“Okay,” he said with a bow of his head.

The door to Blend opened, not nearly as confident as when Seonghwa came in. Turning a bit to peek at who it was, your nerves shook themselves awake.

He didn’t see you until he was at the counter, grabbing onto the small white cup that Theo slid over to him.

“Wooyoung,” Seonghwa said loud enough to get the boy to turn. He wore a leather jacket, one hand shoved inside a pocket, and dark blue denim jeans. The shirt on the inside was black.

Kicking your foot into his shin, you shot Seonghwa a glare. Wooyoung turned, confused as hell, but once he processed it was the two of you, you swore he rolled his eyes.

“Since when did you come here?” Seonghwa asked, sharing an equally confused look with his brother.

Wooyoung sipped his drink and lifted the cup in answer. “I’m here every Wednesday night. Last semester I was here every Tuesday night.”

“And the semester before that?” you questioned, slightly teasing him. He moved his eyes over to you and you felt the earth shake beneath you. Both of you were sober, facing one another for the first time since the end of last year.

“I was here every Monday night.” His gaze hardened.

“Why?” Seonghwa twisted his brows, looking the boy up and down. Wooyoung took two steps closer to the table.

“‘Cause,” he started, lowering his chin, balancing his cup in his hand against his bottom lip.

“Chai tea,” you mumbled, and both Seonghwa and Wooyoung looked at you. The boy across from you raised an eyebrow. “And Blend has the honey your mom uses at home.” Glancing at Wooyoung, he watched you. Subtle shock lived in his face, but he wouldn’t show it.

“You remember that?” he asked quietly.

Nodding with a shrug, you said, “Yeah, you told me about it when she called you to yell at you about your psych grade last year.” Seonghwa, in awe, released your hand. Wooyoung took notice.

“Why these specific days though?” Seonghwa shook his head.

You spoke before either of them could. “It means his hardest classes are today…”

It took you a couple seconds to work up the courage to look at Wooyoung again, but you did, and you found him thinking, his brows pointed and his eyes somewhat soft. Parting his lips as if to speak, he bit down on his bottom one instead and turned to walk out the door, telling Theo, “Thanks, Tae, I sent the money.” 

Seonghwa’s eyes were on you, hot. The moment the door was closed and Wooyoung was gone, he started to laugh.

“Don’t start,” you whispered, looking up at him.

“How can I not?” He shook his hair and sat backward. “That was entirely too adorable, Ror. Remembering his order? Remembering why he came here? You’re a real lover girl, aren’t you?”

Averting your eyes to the table, you pushed your drink aside, feeling too sick to drink anymore. “I just remember,” you shrugged. “It’s important to me. Remembering. Especially things like that.” You looked at him. “If you care about somebody, you tend to remember those things.”

At the word care he scrunched his nose.

Your phone buzzed on the table, both of you glancing at the screen that lit up with Tori’s name. Beneath her message was one from Yunho. Picking it up, you opened his first.

[youknow everythin]: Oh my god, I forgot. Rory. I’m so sorry, holy shit.

You flickered your eyes up at Seonghwa momentarily.

“What happened?” he asked.

He went to see Mina tonight.

“Nothing,” you whispered, focusing back on your screen.

[honey sweetie light of my life (no she didn’t make this her own name in your phone)]: get to the house NOW

[honey sweetie light of my life (no she didn’t make this her own name in your phone)]: ryujin losing her shit hurry hurry i cant get her to stop yelling at yeji

[honey sweetie light of my life (no she didn’t make this her own name in your phone)]: isla is gone, no one knows when she left, her stuff is gone

“Seonghwa, I gotta go,” you mumbled, barely giving him another look, leaving him at the table. Not a word was spoken elsewise. He let you go.

It took ten minutes to walk back to ITZ. Placing a hand over your racing heart, you barreled up the stairs and paused. Through the door, through the walls, Ryujins voice echoed into the outside. It sounded like things were being thrown, there were voices on voices and bangs on bangs.

Pushing the door open you’re greeted by a shoe falling to the floor in front of you from the second floor. Shutting the door with your back, you snapped your neck up and found the back of Yeji, standing against the railing with her arms folded over her chest. The shouting was coming from up there, Ryujin.

“YOU NEVER SAID SHIT YEJI! She’s GONE, where the FUCK did she GO!?”

Bending to pick her shoe up, finding many more littered about the floor, a hand grabbed your wrist and stood you up. Tori, eyes wide and brows high, shook her head and gestured toward the upstairs. “Don’t bother, she launches them back down. Yeji’s dodged almost every sneaker she owns, if we bring them back we’re only supplying her ammo.” She pulled you toward the stairs, out of the way of unidentified flying objects.

“What the hell is happening?” you asked, keeping your voice low. Ryujin still screamed, every profanity possible. Turning to Tori, she cringed. She had been crying, her eyes were glassy. Glancing upstairs, the other girls were either in their doorways or on the other side of the staircase, out of the way of Ryujin’s rage.

“Isla’s gone,” Tori whispered, the tears welling up in her eyes. “All of her things are gone, all of her belongings, her furniture, it’s gone. There isn’t a trace of her in that room. Ryujin came home from class and lost her shit.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” you muttered. “No one’s tried to stop her?”

Tori gave you a look. “That’s her best friend, Ror. If this happened to you, and I suddenly disappeared, wouldn’t you freak the fuck out?”

Your heart sank. “Suddenly? What do you mean suddenly?”

She shrugged, a few tears falling down her cheeks. “No one knew, she didn’t tell anybody.”

“Who?” you whispered. Tori gave you another look, her brows meeting in the middle of her forehead. 

“Isla,” she sighed. “She didn’t say anything, she just… left. Quietly, too, no one knows how she did it.”

Gritting your teeth you took a breath and turned your attention to the senior on the second floor telling Yeji exactly what she thinks about her, and the president was unmoving. Still, not frozen, but still, Yeji watched her. Watched her scream, watched her sob, watched her throw whatever she could at her, and she didn’t say a word.

Now you could be sick. Now you could fall to the floor, your knees weak. Grabbing onto Tori, your best friend wrapped a hand around your back, laying her chin on top of your head, sniffling. 

Yeji knew how she did it. Yeji knew how she left. She knew when she left.

And so did you.

september 28th ~ saturday ~ 6:00 p.m.

Twenty five boys stood on the front steps of the ATZ house. Most of them wore smiles, and neatly buttoned shirts and pants, their hair styled to perfection, standing tall as you and your sisters approached the porch. Whispers moved through their group, the boys excited, and hungry. They had outdone you. ITZ was only bringing ten more girls.

Nineteen of you. There would’ve been more, but those girls you met at the party, and some others, didn’t make it past the cut. Turned down, Yeji signed five letters telling them they weren’t eligible for advancement into the sorority. You weren’t even able to protest without exposing to Yeji what you’d done, having attended the party, and met them in the kitchen when you were plastered. As much as you’d love to have those girls here with you, have them add a little more muscle to your sisterhood, this past month has been too much. You couldn’t risk anything at this point.

Tori, beside you in a little white dress, she slid her arm beneath one of yours and smiled. Her boyfriend was on the porch, standing in front with the original nine of ATZ. He’d already spotted her, the way he teetered back and forth on his feet shifting his weight while he waited patiently for her to find him entirely too adorable. They hadn’t seen one another in a few days, none of you have been here for a few days, both houses have been too busy preparing for this moment, and thankfully so.

Yunho stood next to Mingi, his shirt buttoned in totality, unlike his best friend who left the to one undone. The corners of his lips were turned up. A smile of sorts, but he seemed nervous. His eyes gave him away. The text he sent you Wednesday night, before rushing home to calm Ryujin- which you did- you never answered. He’s sent you a message everyday since, only two, you didn’t get one today, but it didn’t matter.

He forgot to meet you, or he was lying like his stupid girlfriend and he went out with her instead, comforting her and her allegedly real situation. For days she’s moped around the house, taking longer to talk on the phone, hanging around Yeji more than she’s ever had. She’s even taken Tori from you on a few occasions, and your roommate would come back in twenty minutes with some sort of update, telling you that Mina wasn’t feeling any better about the situation.

If she was telling the truth, she had every right to be upset. You understood that more than anybody. You’d go days without hearing from your dad sometimes, it was scary, even if you knew they were coming back. Some days it felt like they never were. Since he’s been back from his work trip in Contramano you’ve heard from him twice. A text when he returned, and then the shortest video call so he could see your smiling face.

Some days you wished you could tell him everything, that he’d be the kind of dad who would listen, and understand. Maybe he’d even give you some advice, tell you how to handle the shitshow you were swept inside of, but no. He’s taught you how to wear false emotion on your face and gave you the skill of juggling multiple situationships at once. Like you, your father didn’t know what love was. You like to think he gave you the best he could, that whenever he told you he loved you, that you were his everything, that he was telling the truth.

Maybe that was enough. The two of you trying your best to be the best people you could be for one another, knowing that at the end of the day it was just you and him. He didn’t want anything to happen to you, and though you longed for him to be detained maybe just one more time so he’d change his life, you didn’t want anything to happen to him either. He did try his hardest to be the best dad, and you could admit you gave him too much shit, but he couldn’t blame you for that. Your father has been through hell and back, a hell that he’s somewhat protected you from, a hell that he’s been learning from. Almost.

Old habits die hard.

Hongjoong stepped down from the porch with his head held high, extending a hand toward Yeji who stood at the front of your group. Smiling, his confidence exuding him, he took her hand and shook it, bowing his head as he did. Yeji returned his smile, matching his energy, and smiled. They exchanged a few words between themselves, the presidents moving with poise and juxtaposition. Hongjoong in a dark suit, his jacket buttoned with no shirt beneath it, and Yeji in a baby blue dress, her hair curled and her skin covered properly. Two halves of a whole, their knowing eyes reading one another with a careful tenacity. No one could deny their power, their own energy almost too much for themselves.

Up on the porch on the other side of the stairs stood Seonghwa, a being most of the girls behind you whispered about. A being that could have any girl in this group. All he’d have to do is point to one, and he’d have them crawling up the stairs. But, his eyes were on you, gentle and soft. When you met them he smiled. Trying to return it, your eyes fell to Vernon standing in front of him.

Brows low, his eyes were sharp, on alert, scanning your group from left to right, and back again. He tilted slightly side to side to get a glimpse of some of the girls hiding behind others. He was looking for something. Someone. When he met your eyes he questioned you with a raise of his brows, the action so small it’d go unnoticed by someone out of the know. Shaking your head, pulling your lips into a frown, you could feel the hurt that cracked his usual stoic expression in half.

Quickly composing himself, he glanced away, focusing on Hongjoong who turned back to his house, but then he narrowed his glare and shot it toward Yeji. Beside him, Wooyoung put a hand on his arm and whispered something to him. The boys spoke back and forth for a second while Hongjoong introduced himself to your sisters and new recruits, Wooyoung taking a peek at you every now and again while Vernon whispered to him.

Yeji introduced herself to the boys on the porch, the majority of the newbies visibly drooling over her. Some took their time with each face, marking their prey before it even stepped through their door. Soul was up there, leaning over the railing to the left of Seonghwa, his two freshman friends with him. The cocky one, Jongseob with his eyes set on Tori, and the shy one, Intak, who wore a smirk, eyes set on a girl somewhere behind you. 

Soul had his eyes on you. Smiling at him, his smirk deepend and he stood up straight, ripping his eyes from you to look at your president.

Both houses recited their mission statements for one another, whipping you into shape quickly, pulling your attention off the boys, and then, you were in the house. 

Dinner for the most part went smooth, to plan, as it should have. The boys let you and your sisters into the house first, their greetings respectful and kind, likely the doing of Hongjoong and Seonghwa. It was how they all moved through dinner as well, respectful and kind, treating the nineteen of you like important guests in their home, serving you, proving themselves. Soul had been the one to bring you a drink, something without alcohol in it.

That was for later.

This was all an act.

The recruits with you expressed their shock, their surprise that the frat house wasn’t a mess, not dirty in the slightest, and you wanted to let them in on a secret, but figured they’d see it soon enough. As soon as the clock struck ten the house flipped over.

For the majority of dinner Yunho kept to himself, hanging around Yeosang who gave you nothing more than a smile, though he hugged Tori. The first of many questionable things to happen within the hours before the party started.

Yunho didn’t say hello, he was actively trying to keep his eyes off of you. Finding something else to occupy him if the two of you got too close, usually another boy or a plate to clean up or a drink to fill.

Seonghwa checked in with you, noticing how Yunho avoided any interaction with you. In front of a group of his freshmen following him around, Soul included, he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and smiled. Soul made sure to touch your shoulder, giving you a shake before they walked away.

Vernon hovered in a corner focused on his phone for most of the dinner, his nails finding themselves between his teeth as he tried to listen to people speak, the higher ups giving tours and sharing makeshift speeches with anyone who’d listen. He couldn’t even entertain the ATZ freshmen when they’d ask him about baseball, he was totally disconnected, and he hadn’t been able to get you alone to ask you what had happened, at least not yet.

Tori and Mingi hung onto one another with class, answering the freshmen’s questions of ‘Are you together?’ with smiles and happy nods. Mina found herself beside them often, Mingi now involved in the comfort Mina project.

Wooyoung hung around the outskirts of the dinner, like he would at any of his parties this semester it seemed. A complete change from how he’d act in the past, outgoing, loud, the center of attention. It didn’t click with you until you heard your friends speak about not being able to find him when they’d come here, that he’d hide. Hide, or just know how to not be seen. Even on social media he’s gone quiet, only the occasional post going up to his story, nothing big, not since that first party when he got you in trouble.

Hongjoong walked around with Jongho, the two of them seemingly becoming partners in crime this semester more so than Hongjoong and Seonghwa. The pair were almost comical, the muscle behind the beauty, like a bodyguard, stopping anybody if they got too close to his president. The sophomore did find himself with Yuna at some point, her chocolate brown curls melting his hardened exterior in seconds. Sharing a job, Yuna would often argue, since last year, that they spoke mainly about work, but the eyes never lie. There was something there.

San, well, he was San. A polite dinner party would not stop him from waltzing around the house without a care, taking after his president, wearing no shirt beneath his suit jacket that he unbuttoned as the night drew on and on. Shamelessly flirting with anybody who’d entertain him, not even knowing he was flirting, he accidentally collected a following, boys and girls alike who some would fall victim to later on.

Somehow you collected your own following. A few of the ITZ recruits found it comfortable at your side, asking you questions about the house, about the boys whenever one would pass by you and shoot you a wink. Ryujin accompanied you, lingering close by with a scowl on her face, and rightfully so. She didn’t want to come tonight, but contractually she had too. Avoiding Vernon for now, she unspokenly clung to you.

When the clock did strike ten, however, everybody changed. The entire house flipped over, and it happened fast.

Red cups littered the place within the hour of the party starting. The lights were shut off, the music had been turned up to a volume one had to shout over, and boys jackets and girls sweaters were draped over any furniture in the vicinity. Pong tables were going in the back of the living room, shouts coming from there, Mingi and Tori’s included. Both you and Ryujin didn’t know what to do, sipping your first drinks of the night, gathering some of the girl's belongings that had been strewn about, you weren’t sure whether to chaperone or drink away your sorrows.

As the first hour progressed, Ryujin decided on the latter. Flopping onto a couch amongst the brothers and sisters chattering away, dancing around the living room, she requested a full cup from an ATZ recruit and he obliged. At least you’d know where to find her, but now this meant you were on your own.

september 28th ~ saturday ~ 11:23 p.m.

“How is Yeji okay with any of this?” Vernon said, walking with you toward the living room, dodging drunk recruits wandering to the kitchen latched to one another's arms. Glancing over your shoulder at the boy and the girl laughing, you sighed.

“It’s tradition,” you suggested, giving him a shrug. “But, it’s funny though, right? She can ban us, but then allow everybody to run free tonight. It’s a tease to these new girls, they’re gonna be so disappointed.”

Taking up a spot on the vacant stairs the two of you sat side by side, Vernon sipping from his cup, his first and only of the night. You were on your second, taking your time, not wanting to be delirious for the whirlwind that already was this night.

“You know,” Vernon started, looking over into the archway of the living room. 

San was on the back of the couch, shirtless, with his tongue down an ITZ recruits throat. You believed she was a sophomore so you didn’t feel the need to run in there and put an end to the way her hands ran over his muscled chest without a care. Even if she was, you weren’t Yeji. The fun would commence, but you’d still keep a watchful eye over your sisters, old and new.

Vernon shook his head. “I don’t even remember what I was gonna say,” he turned to you, “I thought this night was gonna go one way, but it’s gone the exact opposite since you guys got here.” 

Twisting your cup around in your hands, you took a breath. “I know,” you said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s not your fault,” he mumbled, knocking back what was left in his cup. “I just don’t know why she wouldn’t tell me she was leaving.”

Thinking about that night and Ryujins freak out, you circle back to the day before, when Yeji told you that Isla was withdrawing from Nasara and leaving with her brother. It was supposed to make sense, it should make sense, but for some reason, like the rest of the vague bullshit that occurred around here, it didn’t.

“She didn’t tell you anything at all?” you asked, and he shook his head, his brown curls dancing on his forehead.

“Nothing,” he nearly whispered. “I mean, I get it, she doesn’t owe me anything, we only hooked up once and she leaned on me for help, even though I genuinely wanted to help her…”

Letting him vent, you smiled once it was over. “She was still your friend, Vernon. That stuff hurts, and her not telling you that she was leaving should hurt.” He bobbed his head, letting it hang. “When did you guys… If you don’t mind me asking? I didn’t know you guys were like that.”

“Me either,” he admitted with a huff. “She, uh, showed up at my practice Monday night, and you know my coach keeps me late because of the scouting and wants to make sure I’m ready before I go up to triple A. She stayed and watched me hit, watched me work first base, bullying me the entire time- though she has no right ‘cause her brother is a pitcher and I am not, but whatever,” you both laughed, “It was really late, she helped me get my stuff together, followed me into the locker room which she’s done before, but… Something about this time she just… She got me.”

“I’m going to ask you something, please don’t take it the wrong way, okay?” you said, and he nodded. “Was she sober?”

“Completely,” he spoke fast. “Trust me, Ror. Wouldn’t have let her undress me if she wasn’t.”

“You two were really out there living every high schoolers fantasy,” you said with a giggle. “Sex in the locker rooms after baseball practice.”

He shared in your laugh for only a second. “Yeah, and now she’s gone.”

“You can always track her down,” you offered, bumping him with your elbow. “Instagram? Text? She’s with her brother, work your baseball magic and get her.”

He looked at you, his eyebrows lowering over his big brown eyes. “She’s with her brother?” A tiny spark of nerves ignited in your chest. “How do you know that, you’ve heard from her?”

“No, she hasn’t talked to any of us.”

His tone was slowly turning sharp. “Then how do you know she’s with her brother?”

“Yeji,” you whispered, unable to lie to his pretty face. “No, Vernon, wait!”

Leaping from the stairs, Vernon dropped his cup to the ground and barreled into the living room, ignoring your shouts for him to come back. Following him, jumping onto your feet, a hand landed on your shoulder before you could cross under the archway.

“Let me go,” you spat, turning around in haste. “Oh,” you sighed, and the spark of nerves turned into a flame. “What do you want?”

Yunho parted his lips as you tugged your shoulder from his grip. “Can I talk to you?”

“I don’t think so,” you said, and he scrunched up his face. “Go talk to Mina.” Spinning around to follow after Vernon, Yunho yanked you back again. “Let me go, Yo!” Facing him, he tried to put both hands on your shoulders but you swatted him away.

“Rory, can I just-”

“She said to let her go.”

Shooting a glare over your shoulder, Yunho dropped his hands to his sides and said, “You think you really have room to speak here?” Backing up from between them, you glanced at Wooyoung who glanced at you at the same time before piercing Yunho with his glare.

“A girl just told you to take your hands off of her twice, Yunho,” he said. “You think Hongjoong would be pleased to hear that?”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you Wooyoung, you really think he’ll listen to you?”

Wooyoung smiled. “Regardless of what my supposed reputation says about me, what all these people will say about me, never once have I ever been involved in a situation like the one you’re presuming I’ve been.” Yunho clenched his jaw. He caught a glimpse of you, but you were locked in on the boy speaking. “Maybe I’ve done some shitty things, but I know basic respect and consent.”

“Wooyoung, it was only this once,” you muttered, and he looked at you, his eyes swallowing you whole.

“It doesn’t matter, Ro,” he said, his tone calm as he spoke to you. “This is how it starts.” Gesturing behind him with his head, telling you to move along, you listened, and heard Yunho protest as you wandered off into the living room.

“Aurora! Aurora!” San shouted at you from the couch he was on, the sophomore in his lap now, waving for you to join them. There were bodies around them, everyone talking over everyone, taking shots they’d pour with any of the multiple bottles of liquor on the table in the center of the furniture, offering you one as you stepped over their bare legs and sweaty bodies.

“How the fuck did this turn into this so fast?” you breathed, taking the cup from an ATZ recruit, flopping onto the sofa beside San who slung an arm around you. Pressing the cup to your lips you gulped down the, you think, vodka, with a cringe.

“You’re not drunk enough,” San said, grabbing the sophomore by the waist, lifting her with him as he reached for the bottle on the table. She yelped and giggled, grabbing onto him in some way to stay on his front. In the extremely dim light you could make out her pretty face and the several purple marks on her neck from San already. “Why are you not drunk enough? There’s no rules tonight, Ror. Look at what’s happening.”

“I’ve seen what’s happening, Sannie, half of our recruits are being corrupted by yours,” you smirked and he laughed, pouring straight vodka into the cup you held out for him. “You’ve taught them well.”

“I haven’t taught them a thing,” he said, giving you a look. “They came that way. It’s not our fault every single one of you is fuckable.” Twisting the cap on the bottle he tossed it to the other side of the couch and settled his hands on his girl's hips, digging his fingers into her curves. “You know, your girls aren’t totally innocent, they know what they’re doing. They want it too.”

Sipping the liquor, you licked your lips and leaned into him, your noses centimeters apart. His breath hitched in his throat, his eyes darting down to watch your tongue. “It’s not our fault every single one of you is fuckable.” With parted lips, he sighed.

“Wanna join us?” he whispered, poking his tongue out to wet his lips. Honestly weighing the possibilities, the liquor doing nothing to keep you logical, it was possible. “Holy fuck, Aurora,” he muttered. San had an unnatural ability to figure you out, to figure anyone out. It’s how he always got what he wanted, most of the time. That and his physical appearance alone.

“Find me after I finish another drink,” you whispered, and he started to smile. Reading your mind, he met you in the middle and kissed you, your tongues moving in between it all. You’ve kissed him before, once on a dare, and then again on your own. It was all purely platonic, a fact he knew as well.

Ryujin, still planted on the couch across from the other with a girl on her lap now, she watched the three of you.

“Wait, are you serious?” he asked, calling after you as you parted from him and rose from the couch.

Sipping from the cup, you shrugged and said, “Don’t know yet, just come find.” Winking at the girl on his lap smiling at you, you spun around and continued your venture through the house, almost tripping over feet and shoes thrown about, giving them their moment back. If tonight went to shit, if you ended up with nobody, which you were somewhat hoping for now that you were on drink number three, you could possibly want to end up with San. For nothing more than just pure fun.

Tonight was a night for that, for fun. Legal, allowed to be having, type of fun.

Approaching the archway into the second half of the living room, you almost froze. Yeji was coming toward you, her eyes on watch, patrolling the property. As you passed one another her smile grew, and it was anything but comforting like your president's smile should be. It was menacing, the liquor twisting it into something to be afraid of.

“There she is, Ror!”

That was Soul’s voice. Escaping from Yeji you turned to follow the freshmans call, finding him holed up in a corner with a few others, his friends included.

“Come here,” he said, waving you forward with his hand not holding a can. Wandering toward him slightly sideways, he laughed and shook his head, holding open an arm for you to tumble into. “Where’ve you been?”

“Around,” you said, sipping your drink. Soul gave a look to Jongseob to his left and smiled.

“What are you drinking, babe?” he asked, taking the cup from you easily, tipping his chin back to take a sip. “Jesus,” he groaned. “Straight?”

“No, gay,” you said, narrowing your eyes and the boys around you laughed. Soul smirked, pressing you into his chest for a few seconds. “Here’s your fuel.” Handing the cup back to you, he watched you take a bigger sip this time around. “Where are you on your way to? Seonghwa?” Two of the boys snickered, Jongseob and Intak. Turning in Souls arms you gave a look to Jongseob, but then took your time with Intak, watching him clam up beneath your interrogation. 

He wore a suit tonight like the rest of the boys, his hair styled neatly on top of his head. His white button up beneath the black jacket was slightly disheveled, a few buttons undone from the top, not like it was hours ago. Holding a drink, he sipped it and blinked feverishly, his cheeks flushing as you pushed yourself out of Souls arms and wobbled over to him.

“Intak, catch her,” Jongseob muttered, and the boy listened, holding open his arms. Latching onto him, you smiled up at his brown eyes. 

“Is this the chick you were telling us about?” An unknown voice said from behind you. One of the boys they were standing here with. Twisting in Intaks arms, pressing your back to his front, giggling at how he tensed, you found the stranger's face and audibly sighed, expressing your contentment with his appearance. Curly ginger hair shamelessly let his eyes roam about your body.

“Who are you?” you asked. “I’ve never seen you before.”

The boy looked into your eyes and smiled, his even more charming than Jongseobs. “Jiung,” he said, and the name flowed off his tongue with grace. His suit was tailored perfectly to his form, showing off exactly what you’d get beneath it.

“Damn,” you breathed, laying your head onto Intak’s chest. “Why are you all hot?”

The boys broke out in laughter, making you smile. Intak slid an arm around your waist, keeping you close to him.

“Yeah, this is the chick you were telling me about,” Jiung said to Soul.

Looking at him, you asked, “What’s that mean?”

Soul faced you, put a hand on your cheek and pinched your skin. “Don’t worry about it.” Sharing a look with his friend that you pushed your ass against, he raised a brow. “Remember what you said about Intak?”

“I do,” you said. “How could I forget, Soul, he’s so cute.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly, with a smirk, “So are you.” Soul’s smile was satisfied. Looking at Jongseob you said, “And so are you, and you.” You added a glance to Jiung as well.

“Aurora, where’s your friend?” Jongseob asked, ignoring your compliment. “The tall one, brown hair, big eyes… Boyfriend.”

Your brows shot up. “Tori?” you snickered, putting your hand over Intaks, sliding it higher on your torso. Soul and Jiung watched it move, both shocked and disappointed you stopped before it reached your chest.

“Yeah, Tori,” Seob’s eyes flashed with something dark.

“Me?” Her voice was heard before she was seen, and in a flash she was glaring around at the boys and snatching onto your wrist, pulling you off of Intak. “What’s going on here?”

“We’re just talking,” Soul said, tucking his hands behind his back. Intak shoved a hand into his pocket quickly. Tori looked him up and down and scoffed.

“You guys are disgusting,” she sneered. “Welcome to ATZ, you fit right in.” Her eyes found Jongseob last, and when he winked at her her entire body reacted, shivering as she held onto you. “I can have Mingi over here in seconds.”

“Do it,” Jongseob challenged, and Tori’s eyes shot open wide.

“Leave me alone, Seob,” she said, her tone packing a punch. “Come on,” she said to you. “How are you messed up already, who’s making you drinks?”

Watching her while the two of you walked toward the back of the living room, rather, while Tori supported your body weight as she walked toward the other room, she didn’t seem all that drunk. She could hold her drinks better than you could, that was a fact, but at this point in the night she’d be a giggling mess under Mingi’s arm.

“Are you drinking?” you asked.

“Of course I am,” she said. “I’m just not drinking fast,” she glanced down at you. “I didn’t think you wanted to get drunk tonight.” Moving around the crowd around the tables focused on the dual games going on, Mingi towering over the crowd around one end, Tori maneuvered you onto one of the leather couches pushed against a wall. A couple of other girls sat close by.

“Not drunk,” you mumbled, and Tori sat next to you with a laugh.

“Okay, then what are you?” Her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Horny now,” you said, laughing and she slapped a hand to her mouth, holding back her own laugh. “Have you seen all of these boys?”

“I have,” she said. “Jongseob has been flirting with me all night, and unfortunately he’s really good at it. I’m seconds away from telling Mingi to stand in front of me for the rest of the night.”

“Where have you been? In here?” you asked, taking a bigger gulp from your cup, almost finishing the liquor in it. Tori nodded, her eyes scanning the room.

“Me and Mina were playing over here not too long ago,” she said and your stomach sunk. “She’s still upset, I’m trying to keep it fun for her tonight.”

The light feeling your drunkenness was giving you fell flat, like you just crashed through several floors of a building. “She’s a liar.”

Groaning, Tori tipped her chin back. “Don’t start with this, Ror.”

“No,” you said, a little louder. “I think I will start with this, ‘cause it’s all… screwy, Tor.”

“How?” Your best friend pressed her lips together and put her hands in her lap.

Holding up a finger, you said, “First of all, I saw that video, her brother is at home.”

“Okay?” Tori shrugged. “Maybe he was missing that morning, and then he came back home. She can still be upset.”

“For this long, though?” you questioned, twisting on the couch to face her entirely. “Get over it already, man, it’s been a week. I once didn’t hear from my dad for a month, you think I let that hang over me once he came back? No!”

Tori tilted her head, sliding a hand over your leg. Not picking up on her attempt to comfort you, you continued.

“And, not for nothing, but it really seems like she’s milking the whole thing. Her brother had problems, we know this, don’t we all have problems?”

Tori glanced up behind you, behind the end of the couch and sat up straight. “Ror, hang on, Ror.” Grabbing onto a hand she held out to you, you shook your head. “No! She’s, like, using it for attention. Who in their right, conscience mind would use their own brother for their own personal gain? He has problems, Tor, and she’s using them to her advantage. My god, she’s already Vice President, what, does she want to take Yeji’s job? No one wants Yeji’s job. Either way, she’s lying!”

“Aurora,” Tori whispered, her eyes wide. “Stop talking.”

“Everyone wants to shut me up,” you grumbled, messily slipping out of her grip. “Can’t do anything, or anyone in this place without being burned at the stake for it.” Standing to your feet you turned to walk out of the room, but froze in place. 

Her eyes were as wide as Tori’s, but not as full of shock. Instead they were pointed, and angry.

“You think I’m lying?” Mina spoke through her teeth.

Downing the rest of the contents in your cup, you dropped it to the floor and started to smile. “I don’t think you’re lying, I know you’re lying.”

“Aurora,” she said. “You think I would do that?” Nodding without a care, you crossed your arms. “Why?” Breathless, she spared Tori a glance who stood up behind you.

“Because,” you started, then laughed when Yunho conveniently appeared behind her. “Of course,” you threw a hand toward him, “Thanks for showing up.” Looking at Mina you pointed at Yunho. “That’s why.” 

Mina looked at him, her brows screwing up on her forehead. “What!?” She whipped her head back to you, her bob swinging beneath her chin. “You think I would lie for Yunho? He has nothing to do with this.” The boy's eyes shot open, catching on.

“Not for him, Mina, to have him,” you said, speaking slowly, chopping up your words like she was a child. “You need his attention so bad that you’ll lie to keep it, ‘cause you have some sixth sense that tells you that he’s been-” “Aurora!” Tori shouted, taking your wrist, tugging you backward.

Mina grit her teeth. “You’ve been jealous since last year, Aurora.” She threw a hand behind her to touch Yunho’s chest. “He would tell me all about it.” 

You met his eyes, his worried, anxious gaze.

“The complaints, ugh,” Mina rolled her eyes, looking up at him. “Don’t deny it, Yo. Remember in the summer?” She looked at you, her glare hot. “You wouldn’t leave him alone, Ror, it was pretty desperate.” 

You felt like you’d been kicked in the gut. Yunho couldn’t say a word, he could only watch his world burn in front of him.

“I’d have left him alone if he told me he was with you,” you spat, testing your limits in Tori’s grasp, attempting to lunge forward. “Your boyfriend didn’t tell me a thing.” Mina shared a look with him.

“Aurora, don’t you dare say anything you’re gonna regret,” Tori whispered to you. Some people had their heads turned toward you and Mina’s shouting, watching the scene take place. “Don’t be stupid.”

“You know he complained about you too, Mina,” you said, cocking your head to the side. Grinning, you laughed aloud. “Is she why you always needed two rounds, Yo?” Something flashed across her face, but you couldn’t read what. Yunho, though, looked like he’d been shot. “He’s been fucking me since May, Mina,” you curled your lip. Her face went unchanged. Gasps were heard around you. Lunging in Tori’s hold again, you laughed. “He kisses you but he’s inside of me.”

Tori attempted to walk away with you, but your feet dug into the floor. This was entirely too much fun, better than joining San and his latest conquest into his bedroom. She spoke to someone behind you, but your ears were ringing, you could hear your blood pumping.

“Just wait till you get him like that,” you said. “If you ever get over yourself and let a boy touch you.” Stumbling over your feet you headed toward the archway with Tori. “Ask him to get on top, you’ll love the face he makes!”

september 28th ~ saturday ~ 1:10 a.m.

[hbic]: She confessed. Straight up. Word for word.

[seonghwa]: What the fuck, now what? If she outed herself, no sense in us doing it all over again.

[hbic]: Yeji is expecting it from us. I’ll tell her what happened. Will let you know what we’re doing.

september 28th ~ saturday ~ 1:13 a.m.

“Stay here.” Tori’s tone was stern, her hands firm on your shoulders as she propped you in the corner of the empty kitchen. Everybody danced about the living room, or the hallway, even the upstairs. There wasn’t much for them here except for a quiet space. “You’re insane, Ror, insane.” She hurried from the corner, your voice stopping her for a few seconds.

“Where are you going?” you asked, peeking at her from around the fridge. Her hair flipped over her shoulder, her eyes ablaze.

“To clean up your mess.”

Laughing as she walked away toward Mingi waiting in the doorway glaring at you, you attempted to run through what had just happened, what you threw in Mina’s face, what you had done to you and Yunho’s relationship, and you couldn’t comprehend it. You couldn’t figure out why you did it, why you said what you said, but it felt really good to say it to her face. To finally be rid of a secret that was becoming too heavy to carry. Last you heard, he was with her anyway. He could comfort her if she was upset, if she was hurt. Though, she didn’t show much of that.

She didn’t show much of anything.

Sliding down to the tiled floor, your smile dropped, and you took in the quiet. A sound so loud, even with the bumping of the music across the house. Alone with the room spinning, you took a shaky breath and felt the familiar lump in your throat.

“Why am I gonna cry?” you mumbled to yourself, attempting to blink away the tears welling up in your eyes.

Don’t cry, you thought. She deserved it.

You suppose Yunho deserved it, too. This whole time, bouncing back and forth between the two of you, even if he made the whole thing out to be him not so interested in Mina, and very much interested in you. Your closest friend of almost three years now, playing you like a fool. Confused, because it didn’t seem like he wanted to be playing you, you’re reminded of what you thought of when Mina was telling you about how good Yunho was that first week back.

Yes, him.

Yes, Yunho.

You should’ve taken your own advice.

Tears fell steadily now, staining your cheeks, falling onto the sundress you wore. You could’ve stopped it, you had all the power in the world to put an end to you and Yunho, but something kept you going, and you’re not sure if it was him or if it was your own fucked up perception of love. He spoke empty words, and you took it like he was giving you the stars from the sky. Depth didn’t exist. He didn’t remember. He never remembered.

You took his crumbs and were content with starving. For what?

“Ro?”

Lifting your head, going dizzy, you tried to wipe your cheeks but it was no use, the tears were replaced in seconds. Blinking, you found Wooyoung making his way through the kitchen, a certain hurriedness in his walk.

“You’re gonna make this worse,” you cried, squeezing your eyes shut.

He paused in front of you, squatting down. “Ro, I don’t want to make it worse, I want to help.” His voice mimicked the way he was just walking, quick and rushed, all while trying to stay calm.

“Why do you want to help me?” Opening your eyes, he wore that face he’d give you months ago.

“Because you’re really drunk,” he said carefully. Reaching out a hand, two of his fingers touched the hem of your dress and tugged it over your legs where your knees were pulled into your chest. “You don’t have to like me, you can hate me all you want right now, but please, just trust me. Let’s go outside.”

Sliding your legs out straight, your feet touched his ankles. Sighing, you shook your head and let out a cry. “It’s because of you.” Wooyoung raised a brow. “You did this.”

He held back his smile. “I got you trashed and on the floor of the kitchen?”

Holding back your own smile, you sniffled and whined. “It started with you, all of this, you’re why it’s a mess, you’re why this is happening. I was trying to get over you, and I made a mess.”

Glancing away for a second, Wooyoung held out a hand and released a breath. “Okay, let me make it up to you then, please. Come outside with me.”

“Why?” Giving him a look, he returned it.

“Because,” he said, looking toward the entrance of the kitchen. “There’s people who aren’t nice in this house.”

“And you are nice?”

Wooyoung sighed, shaking his outstretched hand he wanted you to take. “I’m trying to be nice.”

Scoffing, you shook your head. “Nice for what?”

He took a breath and looked you dead in the eyes. “Because you may have gotten over me, but I am not over you.”

He may as well have sucker punched you in the chest. You couldn’t feel your body. You were drunk, but you were not expecting those words to come out of him.

“I don’t believe you,” you whispered, and he cringed.

“I don’t expect you too, not after what you’ve been through,” he muttered, shaking his hand for the last time. “Not after what they’ve put you through.”

What?

“I told you, Ro,” he said, his voice tiny. “These people will snuff out anything standing in their way of what they want. They will get what they want, that’s why we need to leave.”

“What are you talking about?” Finally taking his hand, he sighed in relief and helped you to your feet, but it was too late.

“Oh, good,” Yeji said, turning into the kitchen with Mina and the rest of the board, from both houses, behind her. Even Tori. Even Yunho, and Mingi. “You’ve got her, good work, Wooyoung.”

He shook his head and moved in front of you. “No, I didn’t get her, I didn’t find her. We’re leaving.” 

Hongjoong, with his hands folded in front of him, laughed. “I don’t think so.”

“Aurora,” Yeji took the attention back. Peeking at her from over Wooyoung's shoulder, you stepped to his side and tightened your grip on his hand. Tori’s tear filled eyes glanced at them, then let out a quiet cry. “Something has been brought to my attention.”

Taking in the other girls, Yuna was in shock, her hands planted to her chest. Chaeryeong and Mina though, they were smiling. Tori clamped a hand over her mouth and looked at Mingi for help. Her boyfriend could only shake his head. In disappointment? In disapproval? You weren’t sure.

“What has?” you asked, hoping to play dumb, but these girls were smarter than that. Yeji was smarter than that.

Towering in the archway, Seonghwa hung his head low, piercing you with his gaze. Jongho stood behind Hongjoong as usual, wearing some form of shock like Yuna. Then Yunho, jaw tight, eyes glassy, he couldn’t look at you.

“Not only have you broken a brand new rule that’s been set into place, you’ve also broken the trust of several members of both houses,” she took a few steps into the kitchen. “Not only that, but it’s been going on for a while. Since we’ve been back, is that right Mina?” She glanced over her shoulder and the sleek brown bob gave her a nod.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, throat tightening. Grabbing onto Wooyoung's arms with your other hand, you pressed your fingers into his skin. A few recruits wandered up behind the board members, curious. “I promise, I didn’t mean to.”

“That doesn’t matter, unfortunately,” Yeji said, a ghost of a smile haunting her lips. “There are consequences.” She shifted her eyes over to Wooyoung and batted her lashes. “Wooyoung, you’re not needed any longer, you can leave.”

Your heart burst into pieces. Tears thickened, you let go of him, but he didn’t let go of you. Looking at you, Wooyoung gulped, then shook his head.

“No,” he said, and Yeji’s demeanor faltered.

“Wooyoung,” she said, her voice dripping with venom. He shot her a look and fully laced his fingers with yours.

Shaking his head again, he said, “No.” Taking a few steps forward with you, he said, “Let us through. We’re leaving.” Jongho stepped around Hongjoong, coming closer to the two of you. Wooyoung looked up at him and snickered. “Come on, man, let us through. I don’t feel like making a mess of anyone's kitchen tonight.”

“Wooyoung,” Yeji snapped. “Let her go, and leave the room.”

He half listened to her. Taking his hands off of you, he clenched his jaw and walked up to her. Entirely vulnerable before all of them, you wrapped your arms around yourself and dug your nails into your skin.

“Good job,” Yeji smiled at him. She lifted a hand to touch the bottom of his chin. “Your work here is done.”

Smacking her hand away before it could touch him, Chaeryeong gasped and Mina narrowed her eyes as Wooyoung opened his mouth. “It is, Yeji. My work here is done. I’m done playing your game. I’m done being a puppet.”

“Wooyoung,” Yeji whispered, her fists clenching at her sides. “Watch it, you know what’s going to happen.”

Looking back at you, Wooyoung shrugged. “I think it’s pretty worth it.”

“You don’t even know if she’ll want you,” Yeji said, her voice never breaking. “You’ll lose all of this,” she gestured to everyone behind her. “You could make it out of this with nothing, or, you could walk out of here with us on your side. You take your pick.”

He smiled at her. Looking at his brothers, he nodded. Hongjoong stared him down, his eyes flickering to Yeji for a few seconds. When Wooyoung turned to come back to your side, you let him take your hand. He was wearing that face again. That I care about you face.

“Wooyoung,” Hongjoong almost shouted.

“You have several other pawns to play with,” Wooyoung snapped at him. Then he looked at you. He made sure you were looking at him when he nodded. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and you couldn’t feel your knees. “I want you to believe me, but I understand if you don’t, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered.

“Last semester,” he started, and the nausea must’ve been apparent on your face because he slid a hand over your cheek as tears fell. “What you thought happened? What you think we did? Me and Yeji?” You took a shaky breath and he brushed away tears beneath your lashes. “It didn’t happen. It never happened.”

The boys in the archway whispered to one another, turning into a circle while Yeji, Chaeryeong and Mina watched them, waiting for something.

“What?” you gasped, eyes shooting open wide.

Wooyoung nodded. “It wasn’t real. It was made up, it was a lie. I never slept with her, she made it seem like we did.” Making sure you kept your eyes on him, he squeezed your hand. “Aurora, I was hurting. You were clearly in love with him, and I was watching it happen. I wanted to give you… everything. I’ve never felt like this about somebody, ever, and I barely even had you.”

There weren’t any words you could piece together to give him any sort of answer. Beside yourself, you could only coach yourself to take deep breaths.

“I fell into their game, and it was easy to do, you know what everybody thinks of me,” he said, and that hurt your heart more than it should. “I don’t understand how I’m sluttier than San, but that’s besides the point.”

“What’s the point?” you whispered.

Wooyoung took a breath. “You were supposed to be the president, Ro.” Your legs almost gave out. Moving his arms to your waist, he held onto you. “She paid them off. They wanted you. The others wanted you. When the houses came together to decide who’d move up, who’d get the spot, your name was on the list.” He gestured his head toward the archway. “They still have the fucking papers, I’ve seen them.”

“Tori,” you whispered, and Wooyoung listened. “Tori knew? Yuna?” You both lifted your heads to look their way. Chaeryeong, Mina and Yeji joined the group of boys. Tori and Yuna were against the wall, holding onto each other. They didn’t know. Your best friend pleaded with you with her eyes to believe her. Mingi moved from the group, his own eyes wide, joining his girlfriend who pushed him away.

“Ro, they wanted to get you out,” Wooyoung whispered. “I’ve been watching all of this happen since last semester. I know that makes me not a great person right now, I could’ve told you, but there was a lot at stake. A lot that I’m not afraid to risk right now, because this is ridiculous.”

“What is it? What’s going to happen?”

“He’s done, Aurora,” Hongjoong said, loud enough to cut into the bubble you and Wooyoung were creating around yourselves. “He’s out. No more ATZ for Wooyoung.”

NU home ✧ nice for what masterlist ✧ talk to me ✧ thank you for reading <3

you do not have permission to copy or translate my works without my consent.

[pucksandpower]

To Have a Heart

CEO!Max Verstappen x single mother!Reader

Summary: Max is a titan of industry, used to making grown men cry with one glance … then you and your daughter turn his carefully controlled life upside down

Warnings: descriptions of pediatric cancer

Max strides into his corner office, his Italian leather shoes clicking sharply on the marble floors. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the Manhattan skyline, but he pays it no mind as he makes his way to the large mahogany desk.

His assistant, Clara, follows a few steps behind, her heels clacking nervously. “Sir, Mr. Henderson is waiting in the conference room per your request.”

Max doesn’t bother responding as he unbuttons his suit jacket and takes a seat behind the desk. With a flick of his wrist, he motions for Clara to leave. She gives the tiniest of nods and scurries out, closing the double doors behind her.

Taking a deep breath, Max presses the intercom button. “Send him in.”

A moment later, the doors reopen and a balding, paunchy man in an ill-fitting suit enters. Even from across the room, Max can see the bead of sweat rolling down the man’s forehead.

Good.

He should be nervous.

“Mr. Henderson.” Max says, his tone clipped. “Do you know why I called you here?”

The man — Henderson — fidgets with his tie. “Y-Yes, sir. The, uh, the Brighton acquisition ...”

“The $3.75 billion deal that was supposed to be finalized yesterday.” Max interjects, leaning back in his chair. “A deal that the company has been meticulously negotiating for over six months. A deal that would have been the largest hostile takeover in our firm’s history.”

Henderson gives a somber nod, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Max fights the urge to roll his eyes at the sad display.

“Because of your incompetence, that deal is now in jeopardy.” Max continues, his voice dropping to a menacing register. “Please explain to me how someone with three decades of accounting experience could possibly make the amateur mistake of misplacing a decimal point on the binding purchase agreement?”

“I … I missed it in the final review.” Henderson stammers out, sweat now visibly staining the armpits of his shirt. “The numbers, they all start to blur together after-”

“Do not insult my intelligence with your pitiful excuses.” Max cuts him off, slamming a fist down on the desk. He takes no small amount of satisfaction in the way the man flinches. “Because of your idiocy, we offered $235 million over the agreed purchase price. An overpayment to the tune of $2.5 billion with a ‘B’!”

Henderson seems to shrink into himself with each biting word. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Verstappen. It won’t happen again, I swear-”

“You’re damn right it won’t happen again.” Max growls, rising from his chair so quickly that it goes clattering backwards. He leans across the desk, getting directly in Henderson’s ashen face. “Because you’re fired. Effective immediately.”

The words seem to take a moment to register in Henderson’s mind. When they do, his eyes widen in panic and he starts shaking his head rapidly.

“No, no, please! You can’t fire me!” he cries, any veneer of professionalism crumbling. “I-I’ll work double shifts, triple shifts! I’ll volunteer for all the weekend audits, no overtime pay! J-Just don’t fire me, I’m begging you!”

Max recoils slightly at the outburst of blubbering, his lip curling in disgust. How pathetic, to see a grown man so thoroughly debased. He almost feels pity for the wretch … almost.

“This conversation is over.” Max says, his tone resolute as he straightens his tie. “You have one hour to collect your things and get out of my building. After that, security will escort you out.”

“B-But I have three kids!” Henderson sputters, tears streaming down his face now. “A mortgage. Alimony payments! You can’t just-”

In a burst of rage, Max sweeps his arm across the desk, sending papers, files, and office supplies clattering to the floor in a violent clutter.

“I am Max Verstappen!” He bellows, his face flushed crimson. “I do not make empty threats, Mr. Henderson. You are a miserable, costly disappointment. A failure. And I will not allow failures to remain under my employ.”

The words seem to drain what little fight was left in Henderson. His shoulders slump in defeat, and he lets out a pitiful whimper. Max feels his anger deflate, replaced with a tired disdain.

“One hour.” he repeats, falling back into his chair in exhaustion. “Get out of my sight.”

Henderson doesn’t need to be told twice. With trembling hands, he begins collecting the various objects scattered across the floor — pencils, paperclips, manila folders now slightly crumpled. His motions are slow, pained, like those of a man having just received a terminal diagnosis.

Max watches impassively as the sniveling accountant gathers his belongings. Part of him feels a twinge of … not quite guilt, but maybe the faintest pangs of empathy for the broken man before him. He quickly smothers that flicker of sympathy. This is the cost of doing business in the world of high-stakes acquisitions and mergers. There is no room for weakness or mistakes. Only results matter.

Finally, with his meager pile of office supplies clutched to his chest, Henderson straightens up. His face is blotchy and tear-stained, but he seems to have regained some small scrap of dignity. He meets Max’s cold stare for just a moment before turning on his heel and shuffling out of the office.

The double doors close behind him with a hollow thud that hangs in the air. Max lets out a slow exhale, suddenly aware of the tension that had been coiling inside him. He runs a hand over his face, then taps a button on his phone intercom.

“Clara, get me William Evans from legal on the line immediately.” he says, his voice steady once more. “We need to do damage control on the Brighton situation before it becomes irreparable.”

“Right away, sir.” comes the reply, his assistant’s voice tightly professional.

Max leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he stares out at the New York City skyline. This is far from the first firing he has issued, and it certainly won’t be the last. He is a great white shark, always needing to move forward or else he will drown in the depths of his own ambition.

There is a soft rap at the door, pulling Max from his reverie.

“Come in.” he calls out. Clara enters, her face schooled into a mask of polite disinterest. So much the better — he respects discretion.

“I have Mr. Evans on line two for you.” she says crisply.

Max gives a succinct nod. “Thank you, Clara. That will be all.”

As his assistant withdraws, Max takes a fortifying breath. He is Max Verstappen. He is the master of the corporate ocean. And he will not allow one flailing failure to capsize his empire.

Squaring his shoulders, he picks up the phone and begins issuing a stern series of orders and demands. After all, there is little time for rest when one aims to be a modern day titan of industry.

***

You take a deep breath and rap firmly on the door to the HR director’s office. “Come in.” a flat voice calls out.

Steeling yourself, you twist the handle and step inside the dingy, fluorescent-lit room. Janet, the red-haired HR manager, looks up from her computer with a practiced smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Ah, Y/N. What can I do for you today?” She asks in an overly saccharine tone.

You take a seat across from her cluttered desk, your knee bouncing with nervous energy. “I … I need to request some personal leave. Family medical reasons.”

Janet’s perfectly penciled eyebrows rise in bland surprise. “I see. And how much time were you hoping to take?”

Your throat tightens as you force out the words. “At least a month. Maybe more, depending on … on how things progress.”

The HR manager clucks her tongue as she shakes her head. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. We’re in our busiest quarter and you know the company policy — no extended leave during crunch periods unless it’s a valid health emergency.”

You feel panic fluttering in your chest. This has to be a valid emergency! “But it is an emergency! My daughter, she’s ...” Your voice cracks and you swallow hard, desperate to maintain your composure. “She’s very sick, potentially terminal. I need to be with her right now.”

Janet’s face remains stubbornly impassive. “I’m sorry to hear about your daughter’s illness. Truly, I am. But unless you can provide official documentation from a medical professional, my hands are tied.”

The words hit you like a slap across the face. Of course they would require documentation to approve leave — it’s standard corporate policy. But how can mentally collect yourself to get paperwork in order when you’ve been spending every waking moment by your little girl’s hospital bedside?

Unbidden, your mind flashes back to two nights ago, watching in helpless terror as your daughter’s tiny body was racked with another severe seizure. You had screamed yourself hoarse calling for the nurses as the meds they pumped into her did little to stop the violent convulsions ...

You’re vaguely aware of Janet still speaking across from you, something about company guidelines and productivity expectations. But the words sound muffled and far away, as if you’re underwater.

How naive you were to think they might bend the rules, just this once. To think the faceless corporation you pour your life into might actually show a shred of human compassion during your hour of desperate need.

No. That’s not how companies like this operate.

They don’t care about you or your daughter’s life. All they care about is the bottom line, and you’re just an expendable number in their organizational flowchart.

You’re jolted back to reality as Janet raps her lacquered nails impatiently on the desk. “Well? Is there anything else or can I get back to work?”

Is there anything else? Oh, there’s so much more you want to scream at this unfeeling paper-pusher. You want to cry and rage and beg her to just show an ounce of basic human decency.

But you know it would be pointless. Janet is just a cog, same as you. There’s only one person here with the power and influence to authorize what you need.

Only one person who strikes abject terror into the heart of every employee with his infamous volcanic temper and uncompromising expectations.

The thought makes your stomach twist into knots, but you know what you have to do. For your little girl’s sake, you have to try.

So you rise from the chair, willing your legs not to shake. “Thank you for your time.” you mutter tightly, already turning on your heel and storming out of the office.

You don’t look back as Janet calls out something about proper procedure. You just keep moving, your footsteps fueled by a mother’s desperation.

The elevator seems to take an eternity, each second feeling like a little bit more of your daughter’s life trickling away. By the time the doors finally open with a mocking ding, you’re practically vibrating with pent-up nervous energy.

As the mirrored box ascends, your heart feels like it’s trying to batter its way out of your chest. You can hardly breathe past the constriction in your lungs. What if the infamous Max Verstappen laughs in your face? Or has you fired on the spot for daring to interrupt his billion-dollar dealings?

No, you can’t afford to think like that. This may be your only chance to get the time off you so desperately need. For your daughter’s sake, you have to be brave.

The elevator seems to crawl upward at a glacial pace. By the time the doors finally part with a soft chime, you feel like you’re going to be sick from anxiety. This is it, the executive floor — the lair of the terrifying Max Verstappen himself.

You step out into the plush, mahogany-accented lobby with shaking legs. Behind a curved desk, Max’s assistant Clara looks up, her expression instantly hardening when she recognizes you as some inconsequential employee.

“I’m sorry, but Mr. Verstappen is not accepting any visitors at the moment.” she says, her tone brooking no argument. “If you’d like to schedule an appointment for next week ...”

“Please.” you blurt out, hating how your voice trembles. “It’s an emergency. I … I need to see him. Just for five minutes.”

Clara’s manicured eyebrow arches skeptically. “I extremely doubt Mr. Verstappen would consider your issue important enough to warrant an unscheduled meeting. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a million things to-”

“It’s about my sick daughter!” The words burst from your lips before you can stop them. Immediately, you regret being so unprofessional, but desperation has eroded your self-control.

For a split second, Clara’s expression flickers with something that might be pity. But it’s quickly subsumed by her usual cool mask of professionalism as she shakes her head.

“I’m very sorry to hear about your daughter’s illness. But those are still not grounds for me to disturb Mr. Verstappen while he’s-”

“Please!” You plead, tears of frustration pricking your eyes. “I’m begging you. This could be my last chance! If he says no, I’ll leave, I promise. But I have to try!”

Clara regards you appraisingly for a long moment. Then, letting out a weary sigh, she presses the intercom button. “Sir? There’s someone here requesting an urgent meeting with you. A … personal matter.”

The line crackles with static for several tense seconds. You hold your breath, praying beyond hope that the infamous Max has a rare charitable impulse today.

Then, his unmistakable baritone growls through the small speaker. “This had better be good. Send them in.”

Clara winces almost imperceptibly before gesturing towards the double oak doors to Max’s corner office. “Good luck.” she murmurs.

You don’t need any further prompting. Drawing a shuddering breath, you straighten your spine and make your way to the doors. You pause just briefly, hands trembling, before rapping your knuckles firmly against the lacquered wood.

There’s no going back now. Either Max Verstappen is about to grant you a miracle … or utterly crush your last, fragile hope.

***

Max scowls as the intercom crackles to life, Clara’s hesitant voice filtering through the speaker. “Sir? There’s someone here requesting an urgent meeting with you. A … personal matter.”

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. Surely whatever this is can wait until tomorrow. Max is elbow-deep in paperwork and holding patterns, trying to do damage control on the Brighton acquisition fumble. He has no time for frivolous “personal” disruptions.

“This had better be good.” he growls into the intercom. “Send them in.”

With an irritated huff, Max leans back in his buttery leather chair as the doors to his office swing open. He’s already opening his mouth to berate whoever dares disturb him over something as trivial as a “personal matter.”

Then you tentatively step into the room and Max’s words die in his throat.

Even with your shoulders hunched inward and your makeup smudged from crying, you are utterly breathtaking. A fragile beauty drowning in an oversized blazer, your wide eyes darting around his opulent office with obvious intimidation.

An unwelcome jolt of attraction lances through Max’s chest and he quickly squashes it down. He cannot afford such distractions, especially from a lowly employee like yourself who should know better than to interrupt him during work hours.

“Well?” He finally finds his voice, aiming for a brusque tone to remind you both of your respective places. “You’re hardly someone important enough to be granted an audience. This had better be worth my time.”

The harshness of his words seems to make you flinch. You worry your lip between your teeth, shrinking back slightly.

“I … I’m so sorry to disturb you, Mr. Verstappen.” you begin haltingly. Already Max can feel his patience waning. He hates fumbling fragility and wants only confident decisiveness.

But then your next words come tumbling out in a desperate rush. “It’s about my daughter, sir. My little girl … she’s in the hospital. She has a brain tumor and her condition is deteriorating rapidly. I asked Janet in HR for some personal leave to be with her, but she denied my request and said I need official medical documentation which could take days I don’t have!”

Tears are welling in your eyes now, your voice rising to nearly hysterical levels. “Please, Mr. Verstappen! She’s only three years old and I’m a single mom. I’m all she has right now! I’m begging you … please just give me some time to be with her before … before ...”

You seem unable to voice whatever terrifying possibility lurks in the back of your mind. Instead, you dissolve into shoulder-shaking sobs, burying your face in your hands as you break down completely.

Max feels his earlier irritation softening in spite of himself. He’s seen grown men thrice your age become blubbering messes under his withering glare. But there’s something distinctly vulnerable and gut-wrenching about your anguished tears.

Part of him recognizes this as a prime opportunity to regain control, to berate you for such an unseemly display of emotion. His reputation as a merciless taskmaster practically demands he put you in your place.

But another part of Max … a part he barely recognizes … feels a rare pang of empathy pierce through his calloused exterior.

Perhaps it’s the thought of a scared little girl lying crippled in a hospital bed, scared and missing her mother. Or perhaps it’s the way you wear your devastation so plainly, managing to humanize yourself in a way most people never achieve in his eyes.

Whatever the reason, when Max finally speaks, his tone has lost its earlier bite.

“I did not realize the full severity of the situation.” he says, slowly rising from his chair. He moves around the desk, not missing the way you tense as he approaches.

Up close, he can see the puffy redness rimming your eyes, the despair etched into every line of your face. It stirs something inside him … an ancient ghost of an emotion he can’t quite place.

“I’m sorry you were dismissed so carelessly by HR.” Max continues, struggling to keep his voice even. “Perhaps if you had led with mentioning your daughter’s condition, instead of being so oblique ...”

He trails off as you sniff loudly, dragging the sleeve of your blazer across your nose. The motion is equal parts endearing and mortifying for him to witness.

“Here.” he says impulsively, plucking a crisp linen handkerchief from his suit pocket. He presses it into your hand, watching as you blink owlishly at the unexpected gesture. “Allow me to make things right.”

Without waiting for a response, Max turns and strides over to his desk. He snatches up the phone and rapidly punches in a extension code, holding the receiver to his ear as it begins to ring.

“Janet? Yes, it’s Max Verstappen.” he says crisply when the line picks up. “I’ve just been informed about an ... employee situation that requires your immediate attention.”

He pauses, glancing over at where you’re clutching his handkerchief like a lifeline. Your eyes are still glistening with tears, but you’ve gone utterly still — hanging on his every word.

“One of our marketing staff came to me in quite a state about needing extended leave to be with their hospitalized child.” Max continues, his voice hardening slightly. “A matter you seemed to dismiss without proper consideration for the … nuances of the circumstances.”

There’s a sputtering on the other end of the line, undoubtedly Janet trying to make excuses. Max doesn’t give her the chance.

“The decision has been made to grant the employee’s leave request, effective immediately.” he cuts her off. “They will be excused for … two months, with full pay and benefits.”

His announcement seems to render you momentarily stunned. You simply stare at him, eyes wide and unblinking, like you can’t quite process what you’re hearing.

Max clears his throat self-consciously, refocusing on Janet’s flustered response filtering through the receiver. “B-But sir, we have very strict policies about-”

“Which is precisely why I’m instructing you to make an exception.” Max interjects, his voice brokering no arguments. “This leave is to be coded as paid health and wellness time. I expect no push-back or foot-dragging on this, understood?”

There’s a meek murmur of assent from Janet’s end. Max can’t resist a tight smile of satisfaction.

“Good. I’ll leave the paperwork in your capable hands then. That will be all.” He punctuates the statement by firmly hanging up the phone.

As the clatter of the receiver breaks the tense silence, Max turns to find you staring at him with an utterly inscrutable expression. For a long moment, neither of you speak or move. He finds himself paralyzed under the weight of your intense, unblinking gaze.

Then, with a strangled cry, you suddenly surge forward and throw your arms around him. Max goes ramrod stiff as your slight frame collides with his, your tears dampening the front of his crisp dress shirt.

“Thank you!” You’re whispering over and over like a prayer, clinging to him with a desperation that should be uncomfortable. And yet ... “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Max feels utterly transfixed, like a statue too stunned to react. He can’t remember the last time someone dared to encroach so boldly on his personal space, much less make actual physical contact. He’s not accustomed to such … warmth.

But before the unfamiliar embrace can start to grate on him, you suddenly pull back. Swiping at your eyes, you manage a watery smile up at him.

“You have no idea how much this means, sir. I … I can’t thank you enough for your kindness and understanding.”

He wants to scoff at the notion, to remind you that he is Max Verstappen — merciless and uncompromising in his corporate dealings. That this was merely an isolated instance of pragmatism to avoid a PR incident or workplace lawsuit, nothing more.

But something in your earnest gaze stops the curt rebuttal in his throat. For once, the infamously brusque Max Verstappen finds himself momentarily at a loss for words.

So instead, he gives a terse nod of acknowledgment. Already, his mind is starting to analyze how best to re-allocate your responsibilities for the next two months, which temporary hires to bring in for supplemental coverage.

But one stray thought continues to nag at the back of his mind, an errant curveball amongst the dizzying calculations.

For the first time in years — perhaps his entire adult life — Max feels almost … human.

It’s a strange and deeply unsettling realization, but luckily one he doesn’t have to dwell on.

Because in the next breath, you’re sweeping out of his office, a renewed vigor in your step and a brilliant smile lighting up your features. Max watches you go, an odd tightness settling into his chest.

He doesn’t have words — or perhaps doesn’t want to admit to any words to describe what he’s feeling in this moment. But one thing is for certain, for better or worse, you’ve well and truly upended Max Verstappen’s world.

***

Max remains rooted in place long after you’ve departed, his office now eerily silent in your absence. He should feel relieved to have some peace and quiet again after that … emotional encounter.

Yet instead of settling back into his usual all-consuming work flow, he finds his mind stubbornly replaying the scene on an endless, maddening loop.

The desperation etched onto your delicate features. The way your frame practically vibrated with barely-constrained anguish. The broken, pleading sound of your voice as you begged for his mercy ...

Despite his best efforts to dismiss it, the memory of your raw vulnerability has burrowed its way under Max’s skin, taking up an unwelcome residence. It picks and nags at the edges of his consciousness no matter how much he wills it away.

He has witnessed similar breakdowns from countless employees over the years — grown men and women brought to sniveling tatters by his uncompromising demands. But none of them elicited the same … response within him.

None of them made something twist so peculiarly in Max’s chest, unleashing that brief yet startling flicker of empathy from whatever dark crevice it lurks.

Gritting his teeth, Max paces behind his desk in tight, agitated circles. He prides himself on being a merciless pragmatist, unmoved by emotional pleas or babelling outbursts. Whatever decisions he makes are calculated toward the maximum profit potential and bottom line, end of story.

So why does this one case, this one instance of showing a bare modicum of human compassion, insist on gnawing at him so persistently? It makes no logical sense, no matter how he tries to mentally contort it.

Perhaps that’s the core issue — that for once in his life, Max’s motivations weren’t born strictly of logic or financial incentive. Something else had escaped from beneath, something primal and indefinable, when you broke down so nakedly in front of him.

The realization causes Max’s steps to stutter to a halt. His jaw works tensely as he runs a frustrated hand through his brown hair, disheveling the meticulously groomed coif.

He can admit to himself that some base part of his brain had been … affected by the rawness of your emotion. The way you had stripped away all artifice and propriety to plead so urgently and authentically.

Not many people manage to disarm Max Verstappen’s carefully curated expectation filters. But you had blown straight through them without even realizing it, battering down the reinforced walls he builds around his life. Just by being horrifically, unguardedly human.

It’s both impressive and deeply unsettling in equal measure.

Before Max can spiral any further down this rabbit hole of self-reflection, a sharp rap of knuckles against the door jolts him back to awareness. He straightens and clears his throat roughly.

“Come in.” he calls out, already retaking his seat and trying to project an aura of resolute control.

Clara slips into the office, her usual unflappable poise slightly ruffled as she catches the tense atmosphere. “You asked to see me right away, sir?”

“Yes.” Max says brusquely, watching her over steepled fingers. “I need you to do some … discreet digging for me into a personal matter.”

Clara’s perfectly groomed eyebrow arches inquisitively. But to her credit, she doesn’t comment on his evasive phrasing.

“And what exactly am I looking into?”

“The employee who was just in my office seeking leave.” he explains curtly. “The one with the hospitalized child. I need you to find out everything you can — where the child is being treated, their condition, prognosis, all of it.”

Clara’s perfectly glossed lips purse ever so slightly. “You’re aware I can’t exactly go through official medical channels without violating all sorts of privacy laws ...”

“I’m fully aware.” Max interjects with a curt wave of his hand. “Which is why you’ll have to take a more … unconventional approach. I don’t particularly care what methods you have to employ, just get me those details by the end of the day.”

His assistant regards him silently for a long beat, as if trying to suss out his motivations. Max meets her contemplative look with an unwavering stare of his own.

Finally, Clara gives a tight nod of understanding. “Consider it done, sir.”

With that, she pivots on the towering heel of her Louboutin and sees herself out of the office, the click of her footsteps rapidly retreating down the hall.

Max lets out a slow exhale, alone with his thoughts once more.

What is he doing? This bizarre crusade is so wildly outside of his typical conduct and practices. The lengths he’s going to, all for the sake of some random underling’s personal crisis ...

A smart, calculated part of his brain recognizes this entire situation as a fool’s errand, a waste of time and resources. He should be devoting every ounce of his focus toward extricating the Chinese investment group from the Brighton deal before their next earnings call.

And yet, he can’t seem to fully let this go. Your haunted, hopeless expression keeps flickering through his mind’s eye. The memory of your tears soaking into his suit lapel as you clung to him with a desperation that shook something deep within him.

It’s almost as if his body is acting of its own accord, driven by some urge he can’t fully parse or control. Like a murmured voice insistently compelling him to … to what? Help you? Offer some vague sense of solace or security?

The thought is patently ludicrous, and Max scoffs audibly at his own melodrama. Get a grip, he chides himself sternly. Since when do you care about coddling your peons?

He forcefully shakes off the uncharacteristic reverie and turns back to the stacks of paperwork and documents splayed across his desk. Focusing intently on running new financial projections for Q3, he manages to bury himself in the work for a solid two hours.

He’s in the midst of furiously scribbling margin and revenue notes when the trill of the phone line cuts through his concentration. A glance at the caller ID has him resisting the urge to sigh.

“Clara.” he answers crisply, leaning back in his leather chair. “I trust you’ve made progress?”

“Indeed.” comes the smooth reply, devoid of inflection as always. “Though I should warn you, some of these details are … concerning.”

Something tightens in Max’s chest, but he quickly tamps it down. ��Just lay it all out for me. No need to editorialize.”

“Very well.” Clara acquiesces. “So the child, a three-year-old daughter, is currently a patient at Lennox Hill Hospital here in the city. According to my sources, she was admitted five weeks ago after experiencing severe seizures and hallucinations. An MRI revealed she has a large mass-”

“Let me stop you right there.” Max interjects, his brows furrowing. Even he can recognize those are less than encouraging signs. “What’s the official diagnosis then?”

“Grade IV glioblastoma.” Clara replies flatly. “One of the most aggressive malignant brain tumors, especially in children her age.”

A terse silence falls between them as the weight of that diagnosis sinks in. Grade IV … practically a death sentence wrapped up in clinical terminology. Max finds his hand unconsciously clenching the arm of his chair.

“And her prospects?” He finally prompts gruffly. “What’s the … prognosis for her case?”

Clara doesn’t answer right away. Over the line, he can hear her exhale slowly, a rare tell of emotional discomfort from his typically unflappable assistant.

“From what my contact at Lennox Hill said … if we’re talking full disclosure?” Her customary professionalism wavers slightly as her voice grows hushed. “They’ve given her three months at most, sir. Maybe less, if another seizure or bleed occurs before then.”

The words hang in the air like a guillotine blade against Max’s neck. Suddenly, all those intrusive mental flashes of your inconsolable despair take on a sharper, even more heartrending clarity.

Of course you were devastated, he realizes with startling empathy. How could any mother face their child’s death sentence with any measure of composure?

An unexpected swell of emotion rises in Max’s throat and he has to blink rapidly to keep it at bay. Now isn’t the time for such indulgences.

“Thank you, Clara.” he manages in a rough baritone. “That will be all for now.”

He ends the call without waiting for a response, abruptly severing the connection.

Alone once more, Max slumps back against the leather upholstery, an uncharacteristic weariness settling into his bones. He reaches up to loosen his already disheveled tie, suddenly feeling stifled within the confines of his suit.

Three months. Three paltry months for a precious young life to be snatched away before it ever really began. His jaw clenches hard.

That’s unacceptable. Not just unfair, but a complete and total injustice to all that is right and good in this world.

No child should have to suffer like that … and certainly no mother should have to face a future of unimaginable grief and emptiness once her only family is gone. Not if there was anything to be done about it.

And, at the end of the day, Max Verstappen has the means to quite literally move mountains with his wealth and influence.

An idea begins to blossom in his mind — one that feels daring and reckless and so utterly unlike his usual business-oriented self. But he finds himself drawn to it with a singleminded resolve he can’t quite explain.

Jaw set, Max snatches up his phone and punches in a number he never thought he’d use outside of donor galas.

“Roland? Max Verstappen here.” he says gruffly when the line picks up. “I need you to connect me directly with someone in Sloan Kettering’s pediatric oncology department ...”

Half an hour and multiple calls later, Max is finally patched through to one of the top clinical researchers in the field: Dr. Spencer Paulson.

“Dr. Paulson, thank you for making time on such short notice.” Max says, his tone polished yet clipped. “To cut right to it, I was recently made aware of a … sensitive case involving a terminal pediatric patient and some rather bleak estimated survival rates.”

Without preamble, he lays out what little he knows about your daughter — the diagnosis, the staging, the Lennox Hill prognosis that has already written her off for dead. All throughout, the doctor on the other end of the line remains grimly silent.

“So in your expert opinion.” Max finishes, realizing his hand has unconsciously tightened into a white-knuckled fist. “What would you say her realistic prospects for meaningful treatment or survival are?”

There’s a pregnant pause, then a grim sigh filters through the tinny line. “Based on what you’ve told me … I’m afraid the prognosis does indeed sound dire. Grade IV glioblastomas in children under five have approximately a 5% survival rate past twelve months with conventional treatment regimens.”

Max clenches his teeth, brutally unsurprised yet still floored by the frank assessment. Moments ago, he had still been clinging to a fool’s hope.

“However.” Dr. Paulson continues, his tone brightening slightly. “We do currently have an … experimental trial ongoing that might be an outside option to explore.”

Something akin to hope flutters in Max’s chest. “I’m listening.”

“Well, to put it simply, we’ve had some promising early results adapting viral gene therapies to target and destroy these aggressive brain tumor cells in young patients.” the doctor explains, shifting into a more clinical, lecture-style delivery.

“By modifying and re-engineering certain viruses to bind only to the specific mutated RNA and protein markers found in diseases like glioblastomas, we can theoretically use those same viruses as a delivery vector. One that can slip past the blood-brain barrier and directly infect the cancerous cells with a sort of … controlled payload, if you will.”

Max nods along, his mind working furiously to keep up with the technical jargon. “Some kind of treatment regimen then? Drugs or radiation therapy delivered directly to the tumor site?”

“Precisely.” Dr. Paulson confirms approvingly. “Only we’ve expanded past just chemo and gamma rays as the options. Thanks to the pioneering work of doctors like Bert Jacobs, we’ve now created an entirely new frontier of cancer treatments centered around gene therapy and mRNA editing.”

He rattles off a dizzying litany of polysyllabic scientific terminology that sails completely over Max’s head. Not that it matters — his focus is fully captured by the notes of guarded optimism finally creeping into Paulson’s voice.

“Of course, this is all still highly experimental. We’ve only managed to achieve remission in a handful of trial cases thus far.” the doctor cautions. “And we have no idea if the viral vector we’ve engineered will be equally effective against every variation of cancerous mutation out there.”

Max nods impatiently, waving a hand as if to physically shoo away the vague caveats. “I appreciate the need for clinical hedging, doctor. But let’s cut right to the heart of the matter.”

He draws in a fortifying breath. “If you were to take on this little girl as a patient, deploy these … gene therapy regimens of yours … would you give her a legitimate chance? At treatment, remission, survival?”

There’s a pregnant pause, as if Dr. Paulson is carefully considering the ethical ramifications of his answer. Then, “If she meets the selection criteria and baseline health conditions … and we get a bit of luck on our side ...” Another sigh, heavy with the weight of his responsibilities. “Then I’d say we would have a fighting chance, yes.”

Those five simple words crash over Max with the force of a tidal wave, hitting him squarely in the chest.

A chance. At life. At making it past those grim, dire prognoses.

After several moments of stunned silence, Max finally finds his voice.

“Say no more, doctor. Whatever it costs — money, time, logistics — none of it matters. I want this treatment option fully activated and prioritized immediately. Spare no expense, I’ll take care of the bill.” He utters the words with the same decisive confidence he handles his billion-dollar business dealings.

Because in this moment, it doesn’t feel like just some impulsive, emotionally-driven whim. Helping your innocent child — ensuring she gets the fighting chance she deserves?

It feels like the only choice he can possibly make.

***

You sit hunched in the hard, plastic visitor’s chair, your body angled protectively towards the small hospital bed. Despite the tubes and wires snaking from her fragile limbs, your daughter appears almost peaceful in her restless slumber.

She always was such a sound sleeper as a baby, you reminisce wistfully. Remembering how you’d regularly creep into the nursery just to watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest, assuring yourself she was still breathing.

Even back then, the ever-present fear of something going horribly wrong never truly left you. The world is far too cruel a place to let a mother relax, no matter how deeply you wish you could.

One slender hand rests atop the thin bedsheet covering your little girl, your thumb tracing soothing circles along her tiny knuckles. A silent, simple gesture of tenderness you hope she can feel even in sleep. If only you could so easily soothe away her pain and suffering as you could your own.

The quiet flutter of the heart rate monitor keeps beat, each mechanical beep another hammer striking your already shattered soul. You want to feel relieved, blessed even, that it continues that steady cadence. Instead, you only feel exhausted hollowness.

Because this morning, the doctors came to “discuss options.” As if their clinical detachment could soften the blow of learning your child is well and truly out of miracles.

“We’ve run every available scan and lab test.” Dr. Rhodes had said, failing to meet your desperate gaze. “I’m so very sorry, but the tumor isn’t responding to any of our treatments. At this point, we have to start considering ...”

You hadn’t let him finish, couldn’t let those hateful, unthinkable words pass his lips. Palliative care. Hospice. Just give up and let nature take its inevitable, brutal course while they pumped her full of numbing opiates so she could “comfortably” slip away.

The rage and anguish had bubbled up from some primal pit within your guts, hot and viscous like magma erupting from deep beneath the earth’s crust. You’d screamed incoherent denials until your voice was hoarse, begging and pleading through sobs for them not to take away your only hope.

In the end, they’d sedated your daughter fully so you could “calm down” and “process things rationally.” You know they meant well, trying to spare her from your outburst. But it only compounded your devastation, feeling like they were already treating her as a lost cause no longer worth fighting for.

So here you sit, after untold hours of cycling through various stages of grief, left only with bone-deep weariness cloaked by a fragile veneer of numb acceptance. You dimly wonder if you’ll ever truly feel anything else ever again.

Through the blur of tears constantly stinging your eyes, you keep a silent vigil over your daughter’s bedside. You memorize every delicate sweep of her sooty lashes, the tiny smattering of freckles across her upturned nose. Desperate to commit every last precious detail of her existence to memory before … before ...

A choked sob bubbles up from your chest at the thought, hot and acidic at the back of your throat. You quickly muffle it with the crook of your elbow, determined not to disturb your resting girl with the outward manifestations of your agony.

In through the nose, out through the mouth. An old meditative mantra you try to focus on, struggling to regain control of your tenuous grip on composure. You know your tears and hiccupping gasps for air are only harming yourself at this point. Better to conserve what little physical and mental strength you have left to simply be with your daughter while you still can.

The grief is an ever-churning sea just waiting to drag you under its dark, icy depths. But still you stubbornly tread water, unwilling to fully surrender just yet. Not as long as you can still feel the reassuring thrum of her pulse against your fingertips, a solitary lifeline keeping you tethered to the present.

You aren’t sure how much time stretches in that manner — minutes or hours, you cannot say. The days have all started blurring into one long, endless haze of sleeplessness and overwhelming sorrow.

So when the door to the hospital room suddenly clicks open, the sound manages to penetrate the cotton-muffled fog shrouding your senses.Instantly, you stiffen and blink rapidly, as if only just now awakening to your surroundings.

A stranger stands in the doorway — a tall, slender man in an impeccably tailored suit that looks distinctly out of place amongst the bland, sterile patient rooms. His face is sharp and angular, almost harsh in its sternness if not for the way his brow is furrowed with evident concern.

You open your mouth to ask who he is and what he wants, but he raises a placating hand before you can find your voice.

“Please, don’t be alarmed.” he says, words clipped yet softened slightly. “I know this is a terrible situation, and the absolute last setting you’d want an uninvited visitor.”

Now that he’s closer, you can see behind his obvious affluence lurks a cultured, aloof sort of demeanor. There’s no outward malice or disrespect in his manner, but he carries himself like someone long accustomed to privileges and deference. The sight of him sets you even more on edge amid your emotional rawness.

“My name is Spencer Paulson.” the man presses on, taking a few measured steps further into the room. “I’m actually a doctor, Ms ...”

“Y/N.” you automatically supply, dredging up the remnants of social graces. “Y/N L/N. And this is … this is my daughter, Olivia.”

Your voice cracks ever so slightly on her name, heated moisture already welling behind your eyes once more. You quickly dab at their corners with the sleeve of your worn cardigan, determined not to dissolve into fresh hysterics in front of this absolute stranger.

“Well, Ms. Y/L/N.” the man — Dr. Paulson — says, tone measured. “I realize I’m intruding on a highly stressful situation for you and your family right now. And for that, I truly am sorry.”

His apology seems sincere enough. But wariness still prickles along your nape as your overtired, over-protective instincts flare up. You clutch your daughter’s limp hand in yours a fraction tighter.

“Then if you don’t mind my asking.” you begin in a calculated tone, scrutinizing Paulson carefully. “Why are you here? And what business could possibly bring you to Olivia’s bedside unannounced?”

He regards you silently for a long moment, something inscrutable flickering across his features. When he speaks again, his words are deliberately precise, weighted down by their momentous gravity.

“I was recently contacted by … an interested third party about your daughter’s case.” Paulson explains, clasping his hands behind his back. “I was filled in on the specifics of her diagnosis — glioblastoma, grade four, extremely aggressive and largely unresponsive to standard treatment. Am I correct so far?”

You can only numbly nod, a chill prickling across your flesh. The man’s crisp, clinical recitation of your worst nightmare forces a painful convulsion of renewed heartache.

Paulson seems to catch your distress and quickly presses on. “Right, well, I’m actually here in an official capacity as the Chief of Pediatric Oncology over at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center.”

The words hit you with all the force of a defibrillator charge, jolting your entire frame upright in the hard plastic chair. Your jaw drops open, already fumbling for a desperate reply that will somehow make this all make sense.

But Paulson continues before you can vocalize any of the hundreds of jumbled questions flooding your mind.

“I’ll keep this relatively simple, Ms. Y/L/N.” he says, holding up a forestalling hand. “My team at Sloan Kettering recently received permission to transfer your daughter over to our care as soon as logistically possible. You see, we’ve been working on an experimental new treatment protocol — a form of gene therapy designed to treat even the most aggressive, mutation-riddled forms of cancers like Olivia’s brain tumor.”

You blink owlishly, unable to fully process the onslaught of technical jargon being leveled at you. All you can do is continue sitting there, stunned into silence as the doctor launches into an almost dizzying explanation of re-engineered viruses, targeted gene editing, and “controlled payloads” being essentially the extent of modern medicine.

“... And while the trial is still in its early stages, we’ve actually already achieved partial and even full remission in a few key pediatric cases remarkably similar to that of your daughter.” Paulson continues, his tone growing faintly tinged with optimism and something akin to pride. “Which is why we’re reasonably confident Olivia could be an excellent candidate for our experimental therapies, if you allow it.”

He lets the weight of that statement hang in the air between you, watching you carefully for any visible reaction. But you’re frozen, fighting between warring tides of soul-rending hope and knee-jerk cynicism.

After all, you’ve come to reflexively distrust when desperation-stoking scenarios sound too good to be true over the past several torturous weeks. A small, rational voice in the back of your mind pipes up to remind you that you can’t afford to get your hopes up, only to be gutted yet again by the crushing inevitability of disappointment.

But another part of your wearied brain — the part that’s grown so fatigued by the oppressive feeling of hopelessness — recoils at dismissing any potential reprieve from the nightmare, no matter how fanciful or far-fetched.

So instead you hear yourself croaking out a single, wobbling syllable.

“How ...”

Paulson tilts his head inquisitively. “I’m sorry?”

You clear your throat, igniting the spark of desperate yearning flickering to life inside your chest. “How much would … would a treatment like this cost?”

For the first time since barging his way into your fragile world, Paulson’s aristocratic features twist into an unmistakable grimace. He lets out a tight sigh, clearly recognizing the gravity behind your simple question.

“Unfortunately, due to the experimental and intensive nature of this therapy … the baseline costs do run relatively high.” he explains in a precise tone, as if trying to distance himself from the crass logistical realities. “If approved for the trial and full treatment regimen, we’re looking at around $1.4 million in projected costs over the first six months alone.”

The astronomical number hits you squarely between the eyes, setting your head swimming with disbelief. One point four … million? The amount is so ludicrously exorbitant that it almost doesn’t seem real.

You open your mouth, fully intending to spit out the derisive scoff that such an impossible ask deserves. No amount of desperate wishing could ever make that attainable for a single, working-class parent already drowning in tens of thousands of medical debt.

But Paulson clearly recognizes the crestfallen defeat settling over your features. Because he quickly rushes ahead with his next words, effectively cutting off any vocal dismissal on your end.

“However, as I mentioned earlier, we did get some … special circumstances greenlighted regarding your daughter’s case.” he says, tone brightening with carefully cultivated hopefulness. “You see, there’s an anonymous benefactor who’s agreed to cover the full cost of treatment on a … philanthropic basis, let’s call it.”

The words punch you directly in the gut, momentarily robbing your lungs of oxygen like a cruel sucker-punch. You blink dazedly up at Paulson, struggling to make sense of what he’s saying through the roaring static in your ears.

“I … I don’t understand.” you manage to stammer out. “Someone wants to … pay for my daughter? All of it? But why? How could they possibly-”

“Hey now, none of that.” Paulson cuts you off, his voice softening with what might be the first hints of empathy and warmth creeping in. “The why doesn’t matter right now — only that it’s been arranged at no cost to you or your family.”

He moves closer then, resting one hand on your shoulder in an unexpected gesture of kindness that makes you flinch despite yourself. Up close, you can see the sincerity shining in his hazel eyes, pleading for you to simply accept this incredible parting of the dark clouds that have shrouded your existence.

“I know this is … well, frankly astounding news on top of everything else you’re already dealing with.” Paulson continues, giving your shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “And please, believe me, we want to avoid overwhelming you with undue complications. For now, I think it’s enough to simply feel that spark of hope again, yes?”

Despite your best efforts to tamp down the desperate yearning swelling in your chest, you find yourself nodding mutely in agreement. Because in this moment, you understand exactly the miraculous implications of his words.

After so many agonizing weeks of feeling utterly powerless, of watching your baby girl’s life slowly ebb away before your very eyes … there is a chance. An opportunity, a fighting possibility that everything won’t end in crushing grief and irredeemable sorrow.

And even just that single glowing ember of hope, no matter how faint, is enough to shatter the dam holding back your turbulent sea of pent-up emotion. Paulson watches in quiet acceptance as you finally break down in great, shuddering sobs — only this time, they’re threaded with the catharsis of relief.

Happy tears stream down your blotchy cheeks, unchecked and convulsive. You press your face into the cool, starchy sheets of Olivia’s bed, body wracked with a release of tension weeks in the making. It feels as though you’re being simultaneously unmade and reborn in this singular, messy instance.

Through the storm of your breakdown, you’re dimly aware of Paulson stepping away to give you privacy. And then, just before he slips from the room entirely, his composed baritone rings out one last time.

“We’ll make all the arrangements to transport Olivia to Sloan Kettering as soon as possible. Get her started on this treatment regimen right away, alright?”

You can’t even summon the words to respond, only nodding rapidly between hiccuping bursts of gasping and sobbing. But just before he exits, shutting the door silently behind him, you catch Paulson’s murmur.

“There’s a fighting chance now. That’s all any of us can really ask for ...”

***

Max rakes a hand through his meticulously styled hair as he strides down the sterile hallway of Sloan Kettering’s pediatric oncology ward. His eyes scan the room numbers tacked to each door, searching for the one he was provided.

456 … 458… ah, there — 460. Max pauses outside the closed entry, squaring his shoulders as he tries to tamp down the uncharacteristic fluttering of nerves in his stomach. Taking a fortifying breath, he gives the door a perfunctory series of raps with his knuckles.

Almost immediately, a muffled voice filters through from inside — your voice, he recognizes with a start. “Come in!”

Max’s brow furrows momentarily at the warm, chipper lilt to your tone. So unlike the brittle, devastated one he had heard that fateful day in his office. Though he supposes that’s only fitting, given the radically shifted circumstances these past several weeks.

Pushing his hesitation aside, Max takes the invitation and pushes into the hospital room. You’re seated in one of the uncomfortable plastic visitor’s chairs, wearing a soft cardigan and jeans — by all appearances the very portrait of a typical doting mother.

Well, not entirely typical. Because curled up on the bed next to you is a tiny, doe-eyed little girl whose resemblance leaves no question as to her relation to you.

Olivia.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, you glance up — and immediately do a double-take, eyes going comically wide. “M-Mr. Verstappen?” You splutter out, frozen halfway out of your chair like a hostess belatedly remembered her manners. “I … I didn’t realize you were-”

Max holds up a hand to stop the tide of nervous rambling, inexplicably touched by your visible shock. The effect is only compounded when Olivia shifts on the bed, eyeing him owlishly from beneath the cuddly weight of a stuffed unicorn nearly as large as she is.

“It’s quite alright, Ms. Y/L/N.” he says, offering you the barest hint of a disarming smile. An expression he finds shockingly easy to produce given the scene before him. “I admit I hadn’t warned you about my visit in advance.”

He pauses there, suddenly realizing the reason for his impromptu trip isn’t entirely certain, even to himself. It had begun as little more than a nagging impulse tugging at him throughout his days, growing more persistent and insistent until he finally gave in and scheduled some time away from the office.

And now that he’s here, standing in this dimly-lit hospital room, Max feels strangely … unmoored. Adrift in a situation his renowned business acumen didn’t even begin to equip him for handling.

But then your daughter is shifting again, curiosity winning out over her bashfulness as she props herself up on her elbows. “Who’re you?” She pipes up in a tiny, raspy voice that somehow bypasses Max’s usually implacable defenses.

Something pangs oddly in his chest at the innocent inquiry. He finds himself crouching into an automatic squat, bringing himself level with the bedside so he can better meet Olivia’s inquisitive gaze.

“You can just call me Max.” he says, injecting a gentle warmth into his tone that he didn’t even realize he was capable of. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

It occurs to him then that he’s been subconsciously clutching the bouquet of flowers still in his off-hand — an overly ornate spray of exotic lilies and birds of paradise blooms that probably cost more than a month’s rent for most families. He had ordered them from the city’s most exclusive florist boutique on pure aesthetic impulse, without pausing to consider the message such an excessive display might send.

This morning, holding the massive arrangement felt appropriate, a reflection of Max’s stature as a dominant business magnate. But now, watching Olivia’s large eyes track the oversized bouquet with open-mouthed awe, he feels suddenly self-conscious.

Hoping to recover some sense of propriety, Max clears his throat and holds the flowers out in front of him.

“These are, ah, for your mother.” he explains gruffly, avoiding your questioning gaze burning against the side of his face. “A small token of … of appreciation, one might say.”

He isn’t quite sure what prompts the carefully worded addition — perhaps an instinctive reflex to avoid showing any overt sentimentality. But either way, you seem to simply accept the generous offering with bemused grace.

“Thank you, Mr. Versta-” You quickly correct yourself at his mild arched brow. “Er, Max. They’re absolutely lovely.”

You bend to inhale the rich floral perfume, eyelids fluttering in evident delight at the fragrance. Max watches the childlike awe play out across your soft features, feeling an odd sort of satisfaction settle in his chest.

Having given you the flowers, he rises to his feet once more with a put-upon sigh of effort. Every bit of spoiled opulence and bravado that usually comes as second-nature to Max.

And yet, none of it lands quite with the affected solemnity he’s accustomed to projecting. Not when Olivia’s sweet-faced attention is still utterly transfixed by his every move and micro-expression.

Your daughter still hasn’t looked away from him even as you arrange the flower vase on her bedside table, entranced in a way only the very young can be. It’s … disarming, to say the least. But not entirely unpleasant, Max finds himself admitting.

“I, ah, got something for you as well, Olivia.” he announces impulsively. From behind his back, he produces a floppy-limbed teddy bear easily half her size.

He’s not even sure what prompted him to purchase such a pedestrian sort of toy. All he knows is that he saw the stuffed creature in the hospital gift shop window on his way in, and some impulse compelled him to acquire it for reasons he still can’t understand.

But any lingering uncertainty fades from his mind like a passing cloud when Olivia lets out an audible gasp of delight. Her little hands instantly shoot out, making desperate grabbing motions at the plush offering.

“Ohmygosh, thank you!” The words tumble out in a breathless, childish rush. Before Max can even react, she leans precariously over the edge of the bed, arms outstretched and grasping imploringly.

On instinct, Max takes a half-step forward, carefully depositing the stuffed bear into Olivia’s waiting embrace to avoid any accidents. She immediately snatches it to her chest, burying her face in the softness of its soft fabric with a contented hum that seems to vibrate in Max’s very soul.

He swallows hard past the unexpected lump that forms in his throat, watching a child delight in something so simple and innocent. How long has it been since he allowed himself to find joy in the pure, unbridled way that Olivia does? Far too long, he’s forced to admit.

Clearing his throat with an awkward rumble, Max tears his gaze away from your daughter’s cuddling. He levels his focus back onto you instead. Only then does he realize you’ve been staring at him throughout the entire interaction, an unreadable look painted across your face.

“I trust the medical team has kept you informed of Olivia’s progress so far.” he prompts in his usual clipped tone, struggling to reassert some sense of distancing professionalism. “I don’t have any special insight into the procedural specifics, but from what I’ve gathered, positive results are steadily accumulating, yes?”

You blink once, almost like shaking yourself out of a reverie, before offering a slow nod in response. “Y-Yes, you could definitely say that.”

Something sparks behind your gaze then — some dawning realization creeping over your delicate features. “In fact, Dr. Paulson himself said Olivia seems to have responded better to the gene therapy than almost any other patient yet. Her tumor reduction trend is so far exceeding their best models that they’re actually considering tweaking the formula for future tria-”

You abruptly cut yourself off, lips pursing into a tight line as you turn your focus back to Max. He holds your stare evenly, waiting for whatever it is you seem to be mustering the courage to say.

Then, almost in a whisper, “Max … are you the anonymous donor paying for all of this?”

The words hang in the air like a physical force between you, so full of implication and unvoiced emotion that even Max can’t find a way to deflect them. He stares back at you, utterly disarmed beneath the intensity of your scrutinizing gaze.

For a long beat, only the hum of hospital machines and equipment fills the weighty silence. Max’s jaw works tensely as he considers how best to respond. He wants to shrug it off, make some sardonic quip to reestablish the carefully curated aloofness that serves him so well in the business world.

But then Olivia lets out another joyous giggle as she squishes the plush bear’s paw, completely enraptured and undistracted by the silent standoff occurring across her bedside. And all of Max’s formidable defenses and calculated denials abruptly dissolve in the face of such childlike innocence.

So instead of evasion, he answers your question with a small, barely perceptible nod and a softly murmured, “Yes.”

He doesn’t have time to brace himself before you’re suddenly surging up out of the chair with a wounded cry. And then your arms are flung around his neck, your body slamming against his chest as you pull Max into a fierce and entirely unexpected hug.

The impact momentarily stuns him, freezing Max in place with his arms held useless at his sides. He can’t remember the last time someone dared to initiate such a brazen display of physical contact — perhaps ever, now that he racks his brain.

But just as he contemplates gently extricating himself from your clutches, your ragged voice rises to his ear in a trembling whisper.

“Thank you.” you’re whispering over and over like a fevered prayer. “Thank you, thank you, thank you ...”

With each impassioned repetition, Max can feel more of the tension slowly leeching from his frame. He finds himself sinking bonelessly into your embrace, one hand coming to rest against the small of your back in an automatic gesture of soothing.

Soon enough, heaving sobs are wracking your entire body against his. Hot tears quickly begin to soak through the fabric of his expensive dress shirt as you cling to him with the desperation of a fallen angel clawing her way back into grace. But Max doesn’t pull away, doesn’t extricate himself or put distance between your respective roles as worker and corporate king.

Instead, in a move even he can’t fully explain or justify, his free hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, pulling you in even tighter as you keen your grateful relief against the column of his throat.

“It’s … quite alright.” he finds himself rumbling in a low, soothing voice completely at odds with his usual persona. “No thanks are necessary. All that matters now is ensuring your daughter’s full and complete recovery … at whatever cost required.”

He isn’t sure whether his throwaway platitude is meant more for his benefit or yours at this point. But either way, you show no signs of releasing him from the crushing strength of your desperate clutch anytime soon. So Max does the only thing left available to him — he simply lets you cry and shake and cling to him for as long as you need.

Until finally, with a handful of watery hiccups and sniffles, you manage to tilt your blotchy face up towards his.

“I … I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for this.” you murmur throatily. “For giving Olivia more than just some faint hope, but an actual chance to grow up and live the life she deserves.”

Tenderness isn’t something that often breaks through Max Verstappen’s shroud of callous indifference. He can count on one hand the number of times in his adult life he’s allowed himself to indulge in such sentimental trivialities.

But gazing into your puffy, reddened eyes, he finds he can’t quite summon any bitter cynicism. Instead, his voice remains low with a soothing gentleness that feels almost foreign falling from his lips.

“The only form of repayment I’ll require.” he says finally, “is your permission to take you to dinner.”

He blinks once, almost taken aback by the words that slipped unbidden from his throat. But you, for your part, seem equally dazed as your brows knit in bewilderment.

“Dinner? But … I haven’t left Olivia in weeks.”

At that, Max manages a wry smile, feeling as if he’s regained at least some fraction of his footing and composure. “Of course I don’t expect you to. I simply meant for the three of us to dine together … here, in the hospital. My treat, naturally.”

Your fingers unconsciously clench tighter into the fabric of his ruined dress shirt. But even with the hint of embarrassment pinkening your cheeks, he can see what looks almost like … excitement? Perhaps even coyness sparking behind your gaze before you avert your eyes demurely.

“I … yes, of course.” you murmur, sounding almost bashful. “We would be honored.”

Max simply nods, committing every little part of the interaction to his increasingly scattered memory for later dissection. For now, he withdraws himself from the gentle circle of your arms with what he hopes appears a natural sort of casualness.

“Very good then,” is all he finds himself able to say in response. “I shall make the necessary arrangements and return shortly with something to eat.”

With that, he turns on his heel and strides towards the exit, throwing one final look over his shoulder. You’re already back in your chair at Olivia’s bedside, shooting him another shy little smile as you start to idly stroke your now dozing daughter’s hair.

And before Max even fully processes the impulse, he feels the corner of his mouth tugging upwards into a warm half-grin in response.

A expression so unfamiliar on his usually dour features that it renders him momentarily unrecognizable, even to himself.

Shaking his head as if to cast off the dizzy sense of displacement, Max continues out into the hallway. He stubbornly refuses to dwell too much on the stirrings of contentment radiating through his chest.

Such indulgent notions are highly unseemly for a man of his stature and influence, after all. Better to ignore them entirely, as he always has.

Though even as the thought crosses his mind, Max finds himself picking up his pace with a renewed sense of purpose and determination. Because somewhere along the way, he realizes ...

Denial doesn’t appear to be an option anymore.

***

Two Years Later

The ornate grandfather clock in the corner ticks rhythmically, its pendulum swinging with measured precision. Max’s gaze flicks over to it briefly before returning to the stack of documents before him. Numbers and figures blur together as his eyes scan the pages, his brow furrowed in concentration.

A giggle from the corner of the room breaks his focus. He glances up to see Olivia sitting cross-legged on the plush carpet, curls bouncing as she plays with her Barbie dolls. A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips at the sight of her innocent joy.

“What are you up to over there, kleine muis?” He asks, his voice gruff but tinged with affection.

Olivia looks up, her eyes sparkling. “I’m having a tea party with Barbie and Ken.” she explains, brandishing the dolls. “Would you like to join us, Maxie?”

Max chuckles softly. “Thank you for the invitation, but I’m afraid I have a bit too much work to do for a tea party right now.”

“Okay.” Olivia says cheerfully, returning to her imaginary festivities.

You had dropped Olivia off at Max’s office after her kindergarten class, needing to rush to an urgent marketing meeting. Max had insisted on keeping her company until you returned, despite the mountain of paperwork on his desk.

He watches Olivia play, mesmerized by her ability to create entire worlds from mere toys and her vibrant imagination. Her carefree laughter is a soothing balm against the chaos of his day.

After a while, Olivia looks up again. “Maxie, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, lieverd. What is it?”

Olivia fidgets with one of the doll’s dresses. “Today at school, we had to draw pictures of our families.”

Max’s heart constricts slightly at the innocuous statement, but he manages a reassuring smile. “Did you have fun with that activity?”

Olivia nods enthusiastically. “Uh-huh. I drew me, Mommy, and you.”

The words hit Max like a physical blow, stealing his breath away. He stares at Olivia, his eyes widening as a storm of emotions swirls within him.

Olivia, oblivious to his inner turmoil, continues, “But then Timmy said that you’re not really my daddy since we don’t have the same last name. Is that true, Maxie? Are you not my daddy?”

Max swallows hard, his throat constricting. He had grown to love this child as if she were his own flesh and blood, but he had never dared to assume the sacred title of father. The realization that Olivia saw him that way, despite the lack of biological ties, threatens to shatter his carefully constructed walls.

Pushing back from his desk, he rises to his feet and makes his way over to where Olivia sits. He lowers himself to the floor, his movements stiff and hesitant. Olivia watches him with curious eyes, still clutching her dolls.

“Olivia.” he begins, his voice thick with emotion he struggles to contain. “Even though we don’t share the same name, and I didn’t ...” He pauses, swallowing hard. “I didn’t have a hand in bringing you into this world, you are every bit as much my daughter as if you were my own.”

Olivia tilts her head slightly, considering his words. “So, I can call you Daddy?”

The simple question unlocks something deep within Max’s core, a part of himself he had locked away long ago. He feels moisture prickling at the corners of his eyes, an unfamiliar sting that he doesn’t fight.

“Yes, kleine muis.” he whispers, his voice wavering. “I would be honored if you called me Daddy.”

Without warning, Olivia drops her dolls and flings her small arms around Max’s neck, hugging him tightly. Max freezes for a moment, unaccustomed to such open displays of affection, before melting into the hug. He wraps his arms around Olivia’s tiny frame, holding her close as if she might slip away at any moment.

They stay like that for long minutes, Max’s shoulders trembling slightly as the dam he had so carefully constructed finally cracks. Tears slip silently down his cheeks, mingling with the softness of Olivia’s hair as he buries his face against her.

At last, Olivia pulls back, her eyes shining with joy. “I love you, Daddy.” she says simply, the words reverberating through Max’s very soul.

He manages a watery smile, brushing away the dampness on his cheeks. “And I love you, lieverd. More than you could ever know.”

Olivia beams at him before scrambling to her feet. “Oh! I almost forgot!” She darts over to her little backpack, rummaging through it eagerly.

Max watches her, his heart still thundering in his chest from the whirlwind of emotions coursing through him. He had built an empire, commanded boardrooms with an iron fist, and struck fear into the hearts of grown men … yet this innocent child had disarmed him completely.

“Here it is!” Olivia exclaims, returning with a piece of paper clutched in her small fist. She holds it out to Max, beaming. “For you, Daddy.”

With trembling hands, Max takes the drawing. A bright smile breaks across his face as he studies the crude but endearing figures — stick figures, but he can clearly make out Olivia, you, and himself, joined by vibrant swirls of color.

“It’s beautiful.” he murmurs, his fingers tracing over the lines with a tenderness he reserves only for her. “Thank you.”

Over the next few days, Max has the drawing professionally framed, the simple piece of artwork taking pride of place on the wall of his office. Whenever his gaze falls upon it, his heart swells with a love and sense of purpose that had been missing for far too long.

Beside the framed drawing hangs his business degree, a symbol of his power and influence in the corporate world. Yet, it is Olivia’s artwork that holds the most meaning, a reminder of what truly matters in this life.

Because Max is many things — a captain of industry, a force to be reckoned with, a man who has clawed his way to the top through sheer grit and determination.

But most importantly, he is a father.

And he has never been more proud of any achievement than to call himself Olivia’s daddy.

[sunrizef1]

Girl back home

Pairing: Logan Sargeant x wife!reader

Warnings: cursing (I think)

Authors note: this took forever, but now I can actually work on whiv now that I’ve finished this

Summary: Everyone keeps trying to set Logan up, but no one bothers to ask if he's already got a girl (surprise! he does!)

Word Count: 4.2k (jesus)

“What about her? she’s pretty,” Alex asks as he points at the five hundredth model to walk past the Williams garage that day.

If it hadn’t been his home race, Logan might have walked away an hour ago when Alex’s pointing started but instead, he stayed, choosing to endure Alex’s unrelenting matchmaking.

“No, Alex. I’ve already said no to about 50 other girls you’ve pointed out, what makes you think she’d be different,” Logan groans, his head leaning back to rest against the wall behind them.

Alex purses his lips, a frown on his face, “Why won’t you let me get you a girlfriend?”

Logan pauses to stare at the ceiling of the garage for a second before he turns his head to face the man next to him, “I don’t need a girlfriend.”

“Yeah sure man, I’ve seen you stare quietly at a wall by yourself more times than you’d probably admit. If that doesn’t scream “I need a girlfriend” then I don’t know what does,” Alex shrugs before turning back to face away from his friend, his hand coming back up to point at a pretty-faced blonde girl making her way past the garage, even smiling when she locks eyes with Logan, “Ooh what about her? She seems to like you!”

Logan just hums in response, his eyes closing as he leaves Alex to talk to himself.

In reality, Logan truly didn’t need a girlfriend. He had something even better, a wife. Who also happened to be you. You had met when you were kids and had been in love ever since. You liked to joke that it was love at first sight but every time you said it, Logan would wonder how much of a joke it really was.

You had been there for every step in his career, through the wins and the losses, through karting to Formula racing. So when he proposed after the end of the f3 season in 2020, no one close to you was really surprised.

You got married shortly after, neither one of you wanting a big, flashy wedding. Instead, the wedding was small but still nice, just some close friends and family in attendance. Even Oscar had been there and he made sure to reference the event to everyone who wouldn’t understand when around Logan. He loved to talk about the “party” Logan had in 2020 to the other drivers who, frankly, had no idea what he meant.

When he got his move to Formula One, you were over the moon for him. You didn’t worry about long-distance. You had made it work in the past and you both had total confidence in each other to make it work. You continued your degree in engineering and he continued his career in racing. You tried to make it to races when school would let you, which wasn’t often, and he was more than happy to fly you out when he could.

Logan genuinely loved you more than anything. With that being said, this meant that he did not have the time of day for anyone trying to set him up with the Instagram model of the week who had decided to visit a garage.

But at the same time, he also didn’t feel the pressure to share your marriage with anyone. He didn’t really know any of the other drivers very well and if they wanted to know more about him, they could ask. It’s just that no one ever did.

Except, it seems, when they wanted to set him up.

“Hey, Logan!” A British voice calls out to the American, whose head shoots up at the uncommon voice.

“What’s up, mate?” The blonde asks Lando, pocketing the phone where he had just been texting you to ask about your engineering final.

Lando grins and places a hand on the American's shoulder, raising his voice to be heard above the sounds of the paddock, “I was talking to Oscar and he mentioned something about your love life and something about you being lonely, I don’t really remember what he said but anyway, I’m talking to this girl and she has this friend who I think would be perfect for you.”

Logan’s face drops at the brunette's words, a frown replacing his smile, “I’m cool Lando, thanks though.”

Lando furrows his eyebrows, disbelief written on his features, “You sure, mate? She’s sooooo fine.”

Logan just nods his head in response, backing away from the McLaren driver slowly, “Yeah I’m sure Lando, you have fun thinking about your girlfriend’s friend though.”

Lando doesn’t seem to catch the diss as he just glances up and down at Logan before shaking his head and turning on his heel to head back to his garage. Logan sighs before taking his phone back out of his pocket to see another text from you. A grin breaks out on his face as he sees your name.

Logan hadn’t talked to very many of the drivers on the grid, often feeling on the outs of a lot of conversations. So he’s even more surprised to see Charles Leclerc making his way toward him at a club. A club he had only agreed to come to so he coule be Oscar's designated driver, by the way.

“Eyyy, it’s the American!” Charles says, the alcohol clearly present in his voice. The lights are too dimmed but if they were brighter, Logan would be able to see the lipstick smudges around his white collar.

“Hey, Charles,” Logan replies, scepticism laced in his voice. The Monegasque leans closer to him, the drink in his hand sloshing around in the cup.

“I have something to tell you,” Charles slurs a bit, leaning dangerously before a pretty brunette comes up and grabs him, based on her lipstick shade compared to Charles’ shirt, she had already been more than acquaintances with him before this conversation.

Logan glances at the pair before responding dryly, “Oh no.”

Charles grins before pointing back to where he had come from, a dark-haired girl sitting at the table, “That’s Natalie.”

“Navaeh,” the brunette pipes up to correct Charles as he nods in response.

“Yeah, Nivia. Anyway, she’s a friend of mine and she’s been eyeing you all night, thought you’d want her number.”

Logan rolls his eyes at the very clearly drunk couple in front of him, increasing his headache from the pounding EDM, “What an assumption there Charles. I’m actually good though.”

“What?” Charles asks, squinting to see the blonde under the club lights.

“No thanks,” Logan smiles tightly before moving to step around the couple and probably tell Oscar that either they were both leaving or Oscar was getting an Uber, “You guys have a good night though.”

The couple is already too busy sucking face to realize he’s left.

“I just don’t understand why they keep trying to set me up, I’m perfectly happy with you,” Logan complains to you over the phone a few nights later.

You were sat in your dorm, engineering work strewn across your desk and your roommate at a party somewhere. You were trying to get as much work done as possible before Logan came to Austin for the GP so you could spend the weekend with him.

“I mean, have you told them you’re married?” You ask, trying to stifle a yawn as your hand moves to write down the equation for the problem in front of you.

Logan shakes his head, the movement almost imperceptible through the small phone screen, “Nah, but it’s just that no one’s asked you know? I’m just waiting for someone to say “Hey Logan, you got a girl back home?” Before they try and set me up with some Instagram model they know.”

You smile softly as he talks, his hands moving to mess with his blond hair periodically. He eventually looks back to the screen once he’s done ranting and is met with your smiling face filling his phone screen, “What?”

“I love you,” you say warmly, your grin practically splitting your face.

Logan blushes before laughing and shaking his head to hide the redness on his face, “I love you too. I’ll see you next week yeah?”

You look down at the now-completed homework in front of you. Homework that could’ve taken about 2 fewer hours if you weren’t on call.

“Yeah I’m done with this. I’ll turn it into my professor tomorrow and after that I am free. When do you get in?” You ask, shuffling the papers together and sliding them into your bag before moving out of your chair and flopping onto your bunk, sleep clouding your eyes.

“Uhh,” Logan pauses, glancing at his suitcase. In reality, he was supposed to get in twenty two hours and six minutes from when he hung up the call, his flight leaving in three hours and arriving in Austin after a 16 hour flight and a 2 hour layover in DFW followed by an hour long flight to Austin. He would effectively be arriving about a week before any of the other drivers. Besides maybe Daniel. But he couldn’t say any of that. He wanted to surprise you, especially now that you had no work to do. So instead he just hums, “Next week I think.”

“That’s great, babe,” you yawn, a small smile on your lips at the idea of him being back with you again, “I can’t wait to see you.”

“Yeah?” Logan grins.

You hum, your eyes drifting closed slightly, “Yeah.”

Logan notices your less-than-awake state and finally decides to end the call, “Goodnight, I love you.”

You yawn again, your eyes fluttering shut, “Good morning Logan, I love you too.”

The call ends quickly after and Logan glances at the time, grinning when he sees the 8:24 am displayed on his phone screen. You’d both had to deal with the difference in time zones for so long, you probably had all the time zones memorized. Or at least you remembered enough to call out good morning instead of goodnight while he was in Qatar.

His flight touches down twenty-two hours later and the first thing he does is call you.

“Hey what's up?” It's about 10:30 in Austin and the only thing you were doing was picking up barbeque from this place on the edge of campus that your roommate had been raving about.

“Not much, just bored,” Logan replies, his eyes scanning the background of the face time call for where you could possibly be this late.

You glance down at your phone for a second to do the same, eyebrows furrowing, “Where are you? It looks dark.”

Logan glances around slightly before replying, “In a car,” he wasn't lying, he really was in a car. Just one that was ubering to your campus instead of one with his team in Qatar, “Where are you? It's like 10 pm over there.”

“Just picking up some food,” you reply, eyes looking over the moonlit sidewalk that threads through the well-kept grass that surrounds you.

“This late?”

You laugh, “I slept through dinner.”

Logan smiles before sliding forward slightly when the car stops, “Are you just going back to your dorm?”

You look around quickly, “Yeah it's like a quarter mile back though.” You tighten your grip on the bag in your hand, the plastic having started to slip. Maybe your Ugg slides hadn't been the best choice for this walk but you'd manage.

“Oh yeah I know where you are, I remember eating at that place last time I was there,” Logan pulls his suitcase out of the trunk and tips the driver, checking periodically to make sure you hadn't clocked him.

“Yeah yeah, really good stuff and the owner remembered me today, guess I've been there enough times,” You laugh, starting to move back in the direction of your dorm once again.

By the time you had stopped to readjust the bag of food and your shoes, Logan had already started to speedwalk in the direction of your dorm. As he walks he passes enough drunk college kids to fill the football stadium they had all visited so many times.

You're walking pretty slowly, enjoying the moonlight shining brightly on the campus. Your shoes definitely weren't making you any faster to be fair.

“You turn your assignment in?” Logan asks, hoping you don't notice his eyes darting around the campus in search of you.

You nod, reaching a hand up to rub at your sleepy eyes, “Yeah, he even gave me extra credit for turning it in so early.”

Logan nods absentmindedly and you raise an eyebrow as you watch him do it before his eyes lock on something and he abruptly ends the call, “I've got to go, love you!”

You stand staring at your phone with a confused look on your face for a moment, words dying on the tip of your tongue. Weird.

You shake your head before moving to walk again, Logan's weird actions at the forefront of your mind.

Before you can even take a step, someone calls out your name and you turn quickly to see Logan standing there with the biggest grin on his face.

You gasp and wrap him in a bone-crushing hug warmth spreading through you from his arms. You move to spread kisses all across his face and for a few minutes, you both just stand there, not having seen each other in a few months and taking the time to readjust.

“I missed you,” you mumble into his shoulder, unexpected tears starting to spring from your eyes.

He just sets you down before wrapping a hand around the side of your face, “I missed you too.”

You bring a sweater-clad hand up to wipe away a tear before grabbing the food in one hand and grabbing his hand in the other, starting to lead him back to your dorm.

He grabs his suitcase as you start moving, “Is your roommate here?”

“No, you know how she is. She'll be with her new boyfriend for a few weeks so we're fine,” you wave away his question as you walk toward the building a few hundred feet away.

He smiles in response, “Hope you got enough food for two.”

You just laugh joyously.

A week and a half later, you’re stood in the hotel room Logan’s team had provided him, the room much nicer than your cramped dorm room. You had spent the last 12 days exploring Austin with your husband, making up for the time spent away from each other.

You had accidentally slept through Logan’s departure for the morning, waking up to a text explaining that, with your busy class schedule, he wanted you to get as many days of sleeping in as possible but he had gotten you breakfast and it was currently sitting in the kitchen.

You smiled at the text, appreciating Logan’s thoughtfulness. In the kitchen was a coffee from your favourite coffee shop as well as a McGriddle from McDonalds, which, no doubt, hurt Logan to order considering he wasn’t allowed to eat them.

You quickly ate the food, texting Logan to thank him. He texts back surprisingly quickly, considering he was supposed to be in a meeting.

He filled you in on how his morning had gone before asking when you’d get to the paddock for the race. You replied that you’d be there soon, quickly sliding on a light jacket over your tank top and jean shorts, preparing for the Austin heat.

Considering you had never been in the COTA paddock before, you would rather be in any situation other than your current one. There were about three hours until the race and you had no idea where the Williams garage was. You had gotten in just fine but, for some reason, you couldn’t find the blue of the Williams employees anywhere.

Logan wasn’t answering his phone, which you expected considering he had already been reprimanded for being on his phone during a meeting once this morning. Now you were left by yourself, trying to navigate the busy paddock.

You were somehow in a sea of orange, eyebrows furrowed. You turn in a quick circle, eyes setting on a curly-haired man in an orange polo who you take a few quick steps towards, hoping he can help you with directions.

“Excuse me,” you call out to the man who turns around swiftly, eyes pulling across your figure before landing on your face.

“How can I help you, love?” The man replies, a British accent laced through his voice and a sharp grin on his rosy lips.

You glance around slightly, leaning away from the man’s hungry gaze, “Do you know where the Williams garage is?”

He nods his head but keeps his eyes locked on your face, his smirk unfaltering, “Yeah, yeah, it’s just down that way.”

He points to nowhere in particular, moving to lean against the wall you’re standing near, “What’s your name, darling?”

You have to hide the smirk that tries to escape you at the fact that this man clearly has no idea you were married and also clearly thought you’d be an easy girl to flirt with considering his unwavering confidence.

You tell him your name and a grin breaks out on his face, “Pretty name, I’m Lando.”

Ah, so this was Lando. You had only ever seen him with his helmet on and from what you heard from Logan, his current behaviour made perfect sense. Logan hadn’t talked a lot about the Brit but he had mentioned him a few times considering he was Oscars teammate.

You hum, glancing around amusedly around the garage. You and Lando talk for a few more moments before a shorter figure clasps a hand on his shoulder. You lock eyes with the newcomer, grinning when you see a familiar boy standing behind Lando.

"Hey Osc," You smile at the Aussie. Oscar glances sideways at Lando, eyes shifting across his face before they turn to you. You just smile sweetly at the man who reciprocates the grin back at you.

"Hey," Lando glances confusedly between the two of you at Oscar's response. When Lando's confusion goes on a bit too long, Oscar turns and swings an arm around your shoulder, effectively moving the both of you away from the still-confused McLaren driver.

"I assume you're looking for Williams, then?" Oscar asks, running his free hand through his hair which had already begun to stick to his forehead from the Austin heat.

You hum in affirmation, sliding your sunglasses down your nose as the two of you step into the sun to make your way to your husband's garage.

Oscar makes conversation as he pulls you along, talking to you about how his season had gone and also asking a lot of questions about your engineering classes.

“I’d do a video for you, shock all your classmates,” Oscar says when you tell him you had to do a presentation explaining the engineering behind a piece of machinery and you had chosen a Formula 1 car.

You laugh, shaking your head as you do, “Yeah? I'd take you up on that, but I have a driver who'd be much easier to get a video from.”

Oscar snorts, smiling as you reach the Williams garage, “Lando?”

You roll your eyes as the name leaves his lips, hitting the back of his head with the small bag in your hands, “Don't get me started on Lando. You know he tried to set Logan up with one of his friends?”

Oscar furrows his eyebrows, “What?”

“Yeah, Lando said you told him Logan’s love life was lonely or something like that,” You reply, glancing around passively in search of your husband.

Oscar somehow manages to furrow his eyebrows even deeper, mouth opening and closing in disbelief, “That’s not what I said at all.”

“Tell him that.”

You both walk into the garage after that, you move to make conversation with Benny who’s sat to the side, surprise crossing his face as he sees you.

Oscar, though, spots Logan and makes his way to him quickly. He clasps a hand on the blonde's back who turns to face him with a grin, “What’s up Osc?”

“Lando was flirting with your wife,” Oscar states flatly, trying to push down the grin on his face.

Logan blinks a few times in an attempt to understand what the Aussie just said, “What- why?”

“Don’t think he knew she was your wife, mate.”

Logan rolls his eyes before turning around slightly to resume his conversation with his engineer. He stops mid-turn and swings back around to Oscar quickly, eyes wide, “My wife’s here?”

Oscar laughs at the American's face, stepping out of his line of sight so he can see you conversing with Benny.

Logan grins, sliding past the other boy to step toward you as quick as he can, wrapping his arms around you from behind. Oscar can’t hear what you two say to each other but he can see the love painting your faces as Logan plants a kiss on the top of your head. Benny smiles at the two of you, walking away to let you two talk.

As Oscar leaves the Williams garage, he briefly debates telling Lando you were married, especially to Logan, but he eventually decides not to. He’d figure it out eventually. Also might help to have him learn the hard way.

You sat in the garage for the entire race. But when Logan ends the race in eight, you’re jumping up happily to follow the Williams employee guiding you to where he’ll be.

The moment he’s done being weighed, he runs over to you, pulling his helmet off and unzipping his suit to his hips.

He grasps the side of your face, pulling you to him as he kisses you softly. He pulls away slightly and rests his forehead against yours, lifting a hand to grab the one you have against the side of his face, fingers brushing over your wedding ring.

“Thank you for being here. I love you.”

You can’t help the lovely laugh that escapes you, throwing your head back a bit to escape the heat rising on your cheeks, “I love you too, dork. I’m so proud of you.”

He smiles before leaning to catch you in another kiss.

Lando had finished the race in 4th. Not bad considering who had finished in front of him. He’d already talked to his team so he was now just roaming around, looking for someone to talk to.

He locks eyes on you and takes a few steps toward you before someone comes running past him. He looks over to see Logan grasping your face in his hands before pulling you down into a kiss.

He can’t help but stand in shock for a few moments although he can sense a couple people walking up next to him. He glances beside him to see Charles and Alex, both also staring at Logan in disbelief.

“What the hell?” Lando asks, to no one in particular. Luckily, or unfortunately, for him, someone has an answer.

“Are you lot staring at Logan and his wife?” Lando doesn’t look over to catch the amused look on Oscar’s face as he asks the question. But Alex does, and he furrows his eyebrows at the younger man.

“Sorry?” Alex asks the Aussie who just smiles and turns back to the couple, still smiling in each other's embrace.

Charles is the first one to notice anything and he smacks the other two on the head when he does, “They’re both wearing wedding rings.”

Alex blinks for a second, caught in the strange reality that he hadn’t noticed his teammate wearing a wedding ring the whole season. He pulls out his phone to go through old photos and low-and-behold, Logan’s wearing a ring in every single one.

“Jesus Christ,” Lando mumbles, running a hand through his damp curls, “I flirted with her.”

“Yeah,” Oscar nods, hands on his hips, “I probably wouldn’t talk to Logan for a while if I were you. Unless you want to find out how they do it in Florida.”

Lando gulps at the boy's words, of course, having no idea how they “do it” in Florida but only assuming he’d end up with a black eye. Oscar has to stifle a laugh, knowing Logan would most likely just laugh it off if Lando genuinely apologized. Not that Lando would.

Oscar's eyes drift across the trio of confused drivers, most likely all going through their memories of the times they had tried to set Logan up.

“You told me he was lonely,” Lando finally whines out, turning back to Oscar who shakes his head.

“I told you he was lonely because his girlfriend couldn’t make it to any of the races. If you would listen, you would’ve heard that part.”

Lando has no defence to that and turns his head back again to watch as Logan laughs at something you said, fingers intertwined together.

When the news spread across the paddock the next day, Logan received a lot of incredulous texts from drivers and employees alike, all shocked that he was in a relationship, let alone married.

Logan didn’t read any of them, he was too busy hanging out with you.

Except, of course, the message from Oscar that included three specific drivers all with their eyes wide as they stared at him and you.

——————————————————

Tags: @casperlikej @evie-119

[torasplanet]

tojis fav part of his day has to be when he gets those little videos from you of you and the kids. he had a whole album dedicated to it and sometimes will stop what he’s doing to watch one of the video.

the one you sent today has to be his favorite. it’s a cute little video of megumi trying to eat your face.

“toji your son won’t stop trying to eat me.” you said through giggles while looking at him through the screen. then you flipped the camera and baby megumi was in his little blue onesie propped up on the bottoms of your feet with your legs in the air while trying to reach for something. he was trying to reach for you.

he was babbling nonsense to you as you laughed but your laughter turned to noises of concern when megumi started to lean forward and fell on you. “oh sh—megs are you okay?” you asked. toji laughs extra hard at that because of how quick you were going to curse but took it back. you didn’t want to put anything in the swear jar.

megumi didn’t say anything and just hiked his way up until he was on your chest. he look at the camera with his wide dark eyes and you looked at the camera too but your laughs came back once megumi opened his toothless mouth wide and put it on your cheek.

he began to make raspberries all over your face while trying to bite the fat of your face but clearly it wasn’t working. he even grabbed hold of your head to get a better chance but it didn’t seem to work. “megs! you’re getting drool all on me.” you laughed loudly and wait, this is toji’s favorite part.

when you realized it was too quite for a house of two kids. “wait, tsumiki what are you doing?” you asked grabbing megumi and pulling him off you ignoring the wet spot on your face as you stood up. you walked through the house to try and find the little girl and she was on the kitchen floor with flour practically nowhere else but on her.

“oh tsumiki…haha!” you said starting to laugh at the situation as megumi sat on your hip confused but beginning to leave toothless bites on your shoulder. you kneeled and showed tsumiki in the camera “say hi to daddy…” you muttered barely able to get your words out because of your laughter.

tsumiki smiled with her face covered in flour and waved “hi daddy.” you laughed even more at this and then looked at the camera “okay bye toji we have to clean this up.” throughout the whole day that was the one thing that stayed in his mind. his wife and his messy children.