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kithtaehyung · 4 months

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broken, pt. 2 (3tan) (m) | myg

title: broken (pt. 2) pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series:masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken (pt. 1) rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: the championship game lights up... and everything goes down. note: not too much to say other than thank you. this part is definitely another very, very close one to my heart. please buckle up and enjoy the ride. warnings: [spice warnings under the cut] language, angst, tension, alcohol mention & consumption, fights, basketball!yoongi🧍‍♀️, cocky!yoongi, jimin😳, tense situations, did i say angst?, long hair yoongi, crying, bro😀, reader is a real one i don’t make the rules, arguments, the chains stay on(???), …bad boy yoongi😀👍, saying softhours puts some of this lightly, bro🥲, blood/wound mentions, hurt/comfort, there’s just a lot in here y’all idek, taehyung being the best ever, …angst. drop date: february 9th, 2024, 10:37pm est word count: 17.7k my god

smut warnings: cursing, choking, light slapping, breast play, angry s*x a ha ha, crying, multiple explicit scenes y'all istg don't perceive me lol, c*nt slapping, penetrative s*x, brat!reader, protected s*x, edging, consent king ofc :), rough s*x, b*cksh*ts and a lot of them, ...unprotected s*x (yeah it's here and y'all better be responsible or so help me!!!), f*ngering, or*l (m/f rec), brat tamer!3tan yoongi!!!, reader loses themselves for a sec, but yoongi is a king, pain k*nk whewwww, kissing, so much kissing lmfao, c*m play, slight bond*ge (yoongi hands), spanking, aftercare ofc :'))

There’s no way.

How the fuck is he here? When did that horrible excuse of a guy even join a team? Had he been playing intramurals this whole time?

“No fuckin’ way.”

Your eyes find your brother standing rigid at your side, wrists tensed to hell and shoulders spiked. Did he not know he was playing, either? Judging by his smoldering question, you’re going to guess he wasn’t aware.

“Were they always on this team?”

“No.”

“I don’t remember them being on any teams.”

They? Them? So they recognize more from the court on that day you try to not think about. Shifting your vision, you start gauge reactions under sounds of the growing crowd.

It’s Yoongi that looks at you first, eyes lowering to the hand you still have on your arm damn it you should be okay about that night already. But you can’t seem to let your limb go, your fingers covering it in a weak attempt at protection and resilience.

The blaze in his eyes makes you shake. Even as you swallow your pleas for everyone to just go home, he doesn’t look away. Instead, he walks over to stand in front of your knees, motioning for you to scoot over one so he can take the end seat.

Normally, you would slightly question why he wouldn’t just sit next to you. But this time, you’re hyper aware of what he’s doing—and why. It’s so obvious that you wanna reach out and grip his sweaty hand.

Yoongi absolutely sat there to shield you.

And your heart burns and burns.

If only he could do more, be more, show more. Because with a rattled ego and tainted mind, you’re already yearning for his touch, wanting him to whisk you out of here and bring you back to the comfort of his home—just like he did that night.

God, he makes you dizzy doing absolutely nothing.

“What’s the plan,” he asks, eyes on the court and palms between his knees.

“Dunno yet.” Your brother shakes his head before looking back, eyes narrowing at the laughs on the other bench. “But I might get my ass thrown out if we—”

“Play.”

Immediately, all three of them snap their heads your way. Fuck, your arm is still…

One person cannot have this hold on you. There’s no way you’re going to let him control your every waking moment, and your determination bubbles into your commands. “Play the game and beat his ass,” you seethe, holding yourself together and aiming daggers everywhere. “Just make it quick.”

Yoongi gives you a look before Jimin snags him with an eyebrow raise.

“And you’re paying me double.”

Looking at the man beside you, it’s almost comforting seeing his attention fully on your face. If it weren’t for your ghost on the other side of the scoring table and your brother standing there, you wouldn’t hesitate to kiss him.

But you only nod, getting a huff and a lopsided curve in response before you watch him lock eyes with your brother, “What do you wanna do?”

After a long, resigned sigh, your sibling finally relents, “Fuck this shit up.”

Good. Yes. This is what you want—for you and them. “Exactly.”

Scanning around the tight circle, you notice that you have everyone’s attention.

But one person seems to send a question without any words at all. In kind, you answer the same way, wings battering your stomach when all of them send thunder to the court with lightning in their eyes.

Yoongi scoffs through a slant, carrying the air of someone you never want to mess with in your fucking life. “The fuckin’ nerve.”

Jimin hums, sliding a finger along his flexed to hell jaw. “Bold,” he adds. And his voice drop sends shivers when he turns to you,

“Don’t worry, love.”

You stare.

“This will be over soon.”

The game is… just a game. For now.

No one’s taunted hard other than a few smirks and winks, and right now it seems as if both teams are just being competitive more than antagonistic. Which relaxes you to the point where you’re cheering from the bench with the other players—and their coach that arrived late—jumping and yelling and clapping when things go in their favor.

Your brother’s slamming down dunks. Jimin’s been playing amazing defense with his quick reflexes and high stamina.

And Yoongi? Has gotten sickeningly sharp. All those late nights at the rec center are paying off in this championship and, when he scores a hard shot, the pride you feel launches you to your feet.

“Nice job, b—” Oh fuck you almost shout something that should never be public knowledge. Holding your tongue, you quickly switch it up with a hasty, “Let’s go!”

That was close. Way too close.

Get it together.

But you cannot help it right now. Seeing Yoongi facing off against the man you both wanna square up against? And making it look easy? The fluttering you feel in your belly grows double. Triple. Tenfold. His gestures, the way he acts like it’s nothing, his shrugs at their failed attempts to stop him—everything’s making you scratch proverbial walls and kick bench chairs.

And it’s not just him—the whole team has been playing excellently. Each play seems intentional; every pass and movement is strategic. If you didn’t know this was a casual rec game, you would think they’re gunning for a real, prestigious trophy.

However.

When it’s starting to be very clear who the better squad is, that’s when things start getting more than tense.

On a foul call, both sides start getting in each others’ faces. And you peg that as normal until someone on your team gets shoved and your brother immediately gets between the action.

Both you and the coach shoot up from your seats.

Shit, shit, shit. If there’s one thing your older sibling’s gonna do in this game, it’ll be finding any excuse to deck that man in the face. And once that happens, there’s no telling how many injuries are gonna walk off polished floors.

Thankfully, everyone separates without a ruckus, and timeout is called on your side. The crowd starts to yell in favor of either team, and that’s when you notice that Taehyung has been joined by Shiv and your friends. From the looks of things, all five of them are laser focused on you.

You hold a quick thumbs-up before you’re covered by hot and sweaty men huddling around the bench. And you immediately agree with their coach when he barks,

“I need you all to calm down.”

“No can do, coach.”

“Not if they aren’t.”

Shit. All of them look fucking livid, not giving any shits whatsoever if they’re willing to talk back to their leader. What’s really been happening on the court? Has it been even more tense than you perceived?

Oblivious to the context behind this matchup, their coach keeps yelling, “Look, I don’t give a shit if you have something to settle. Play the game and leave it on the floor. Understood?” When there’s charged silence, he yells it even louder.

And a smattering of agreement comes out before all of you hear an even bigger yelling session booming from the other bench. When you look over, it’s quickly noticeable that they’re getting reamed over there, too.

Jimin watches before speaking, and it seems like your coach’s pleas fell on deaf ears, “Fifteen went for my legs.”

“Saw that. Let’s switch cus he can’t guard me.”

“K.” Park swivels his head to address someone else. “You good to keep playing?”

Your brother responds with a nod, wiping his never-ending sweat. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Huh. Even though you know he’s mad, the man seems… Calm. Eerily calm. It’s reminding you of the way he acted after you came home from Yoongi’s.

And you don’t like it one bit.

But the timeout is over, and both teams eye each other on their walk back onto the court. As it continues, the gym erupts into life again, with a bit of back and forth shots racking the scoreboard up.

And Yoongi keeps scoring. And scoring. And scoring.

Which lands him in a bit of trouble when the same idiot from Dalo pushes him during a layup. After he manages to make the shot, Yoongi immediately flicks him off—which gets a whistle blown. Which also means he has to sit on the bench for a second because his coach is pissed.

Ignoring the scathing remarks being thrown, he dumps himself next to you. And you immediately feel the heat roll off of him in waves, trying hard to focus on the game. “Don’t be stupid,” you jut out.

“What?”

“Don’t be stupid. These guys aren’t worth it.”

“After what he did to you?”

The way those words leave his mouth ice you over, flares spiraling through every fiber of your being. Your reaction is so visceral that you can barely get your response out, “Yeah, but…”

Leaning on his knees, Yoongi wipes his forehead with a crinkled to hell jersey, excess sweat pinging onto his sneakers. The crowd is loud and the buzzers even louder, but they aren’t enough to drown out his bite,

“I can’t let that shit go.”

“Yoongi.”

“Sorry, doll.”

“Please just—”

Yoongi leaves the bench before you can finish, and you whip your head in a rush, hands jutting out in a desperate attempt to hold him back.

Only for him to be just out of reach.

After halftime, it’s a whole different game.

From an outside perspective, it’s as if everyone was using the first half to sniff each other out, circling around each other before deciding how and when to go in for the kill.

And Yoongi isn’t the only one that you’re starting to worry about. Jimin, your brother, and even Rohan and the other guys are on edge, playing hard and doing everything they can to keep their scoring lead.

Both you and their coach know you can’t stop whatever’s going on out there. And you’re starting to feel yourself getting angry at how your brother and them are egging the guys on.

Why are they taunting? What the hell is making them so bent on making the other team pissed? Yes, all that went down with you, but nothing else had happened since then. And they clearly aren’t listening to anyone telling them to calm down.

If they end up starting shit you are going to—the fuck!

Yoongi gets straight shoved again as he goes for a layup, and you shoot up in your chair as he hits the back wall with a thud. While the players at your side are yelling and everyone on the court starts grouping in shouts, you stay rigid, solely watching Yoongi eye his attacker—the same idiot from Dalo.

Fuck everything, you wanna rush into the fray and throw hands yourself because that looked painful.

The only thing that’s stopping you is the chilling fact that Yoongi is… Grinning.

Wiping his curved lips, he waits while the refs break up the squabble, still looking triumphant as he walks to the line to shoot his free throws. When both of them are made, he stares directly at your assaulter—as you finally call it like it is—and doesn’t stop even when the coward looks away.

A whistle blows, and the game continues to be close. Too close, too close, too close. A couple more timeouts let you see just how laser-focused everyone is, and you’re a little shaken when it feels like they forgot you were even occupying their bench.

What the hell is being said on the court? Even Jimin is brimming with anger.

But after a few back and forths, Yoongi passes to your brother for a hard dunk, basket ringing from his throwdown and shaking when he lands.

Thank god. Those points are enough. They’re gonna win.

All the pent up anxiety you’ve harbored all game releases as everyone starts cheering, and your pride soars as your boys stare down their opponents while the clock winds down.

It’s over. The game is over, nothing too serious happened, and you can all go the fuck home to eat dinner and celebrate.

Your eyes catch Yoongi throwing a rudely lopsided curve across the court. Even when Jimin comes up to push him back in excitement, his expression doesn’t change.

And you find that wildly, unfathomably attractive.

Then, as it goes, your brother comes up and they all share quick daps, eyes ablaze and not letting the losers out of their sight.

Well. All of them are infamous for a reason. You would guess their energy altogether certainly contributes to that. Because the aura you feel oozing from them fills the gymnasium all the way up to your knees.

And the sigh you let out mingles with their coach’s shake of his head.

Things are still tense as they all shake hands—or at least offer hands to shake—with the other team. The atmosphere is even a little iced when they receive their trophy.

But the way you’re currently being surrounded as your guys converse hides you from plain sight, so you feel heavily protected. Even Jimin, who’s usually cheerful even when exhausted, wields sharp eyes as he keeps glancing over his shoulder.

Honestly? You wouldn’t know what to do without them. Both your brother and all his friends, good pasts or not, are great people. They didn’t need to shield you like this. But they’re doing it anyway, because they won’t give that lowlife another reason or chance to approach you.

Yeah. Your older sibling knows how to choose his circle.

It’s making you wonder if…

Nah.

That’s still too big a reach.

When it seems like all of them and their cheering squad are gone, everyone starts making their way over to the bleachers—and you’re acutely reminded of what went down under similar looking ones the other night.

Your shivers are overshadowed by Yuri’s telltale screams to Rohan, “You were so good, baby! Are you okay?”

Reia and Dom shake their heads before focusing on you, the latter being the spokeswoman, “So what was all that for?”

“Don’t ask,” you sigh, knowing exactly what she’s referring to. “I’m just glad they won and that we can go home.”

“You’re not coming to Yuri’s?” Reia asks. “I thought we planned on that, no?”

Ah, shit. Earlier this week, you did make plans with them without really thinking about what day they were gonna fall on. But now you’re so mentally drained that you kinda just wanna go—

“Is anyone else starving? I’m hungry as fuck!”

Right. Food. Adrenaline made you forget you were starving. Glancing towards your brother, you quickly remind him, “Yeah, me. And you’re paying.”

“Ah, shit, that’s right.” As he lets out a hard groan and deals with Jimin and Yoongi’s comments, your sibling relents, “Alright, where are we going.”

“Up to you,” you shrug, stealing a little look at the man you want to kiss like hell for his performance tonight.

God, Yoongi’s so handsome. As Jimin leaves his side, he silently wipes his forehead of any excess sweat, hands and shoulders shining in the lights wait wait wait. Hold on.

Walking over, you toss any care about who notices you out the window. And as he eyes your approach, you murmur with care and concern, “Is your back okay?”

Blinking once, twice, the man nods. “Yeah, it’s all good.”

“You sure? That looked…”

Of course he decides that now is the perfect time to rake his sweaty locks back. Speaking so low that only you can hear, Yoongi reassures with a fist full of hair, “I’m fine, doll.”

Motherfucker.

Pinning down your urge to reach out and smother him, you only breathe relief. And before you move away to put some distance between, you whisper, “Thank you.”

Yoongi looks your way again. “For what?”

Swallowing what’s left of your anxiety, you sigh. “For not getting into it out there. I was about to get mad as hell, but.. Looks like they were all talk.”

“Mm.”

Honestly? It’s a miracle. The game’s over without any hitches or brawls? More relief starts blossoming in your chest, prompting a smile to grace your features. “You looked so good out there, by the way. I almost called you ba—”

“What are y’all talking about over there!”

Your mouth snaps shut as soon as you see your brother watching, but Yoongi is quick to fire off an insult, “The way you always take so long to pick something.”

“I picked already!”

“Then let’s go then.”

Laughing, you join the whole crew as you’re all the last ones to walk out. Your friends and Shiv parked in another lot since one side was already full, so you tell them you’ll meet at the restaurant.

Some other teammates decide to join, with jerseys being shucked off as everyone heads out the door. Immediately, body odor swoops into your nose, making you welcome the crisp, fresh air of night.

Scratch that. You smell oncoming rain.

Conversations cease, which only leaves the sound confirming your observation: booming, rolling thunder. Stopping at the edge of the gym’s awning, multiple heads turn up at the rumbles, watching lightning crack the sky.

In front of you, Jimin shifts his head to the side. “Still?”

And when you look at who he’s asking, you see Yoongi nod.

Weird.

But it’s not raining just yet, so all of you make your way into the lot and to your cars. As you do, you check your phone while making your way over, aiming a question at Tae, “You know where we’re going?”

“Yeah, it’s not far,” he responds, fishing out his own device. “I think we’ve been there before.”

We? Looks like things are progressing nicely over there. Since you’re lingering behind the guys, you start to take a small jab, “We, huh? Cute.”

Lips spread as tight as his eyes, Taehyung parries. “Cute? Look who’s talking, miss whipped.”

“You’re whipped.”

“No, you.”

“No, you,” you giggle out, reaching out to tickle Tae’s side and laughing as he flinches away. You chase him for a few seconds before you see his whole body freeze completely, asking a small question before going quiet.

And when you slowly follow his line of vision, your heart freefalls to your gut, smashing it so hard you feel bile sting the back of your throat.

The man from Dalo. And all the guys from the court plus some.

Surround both Jimin’s and your brother’s cars.

Fuck. Oh, fuck, there’s so many of them, standing and waiting and unflinching in the bursts of thunder inching closer and closer what the fuck are you gonna do—

“Taehyung.”

Your eyes shake.

“Get her out of here. Now.”

And you’ve never screamed so loud.

Every word rips out of your mouth before you’re promptly shushed by large fingers, icicles pinging around your heart and holding it down, “Don’t fucking do thi—!”

To your horror, Tae’s already hauling you back, voice low and firm in your ear, “Come on.”

“No! What the fuck—”

“We’re leaving.”

“Please—!”

There are so many of them. So, so many of them. Panic drowns out your words and excess leaks out of your eyes, your own storm preventing you from seeing that your best friend is just as torn apart.

“Babe, we have to go now.”

“No, let me go!”

They’re outnumbered. What if they have weapons? What if the police are called? What if something happens that you aren’t prepared for?

You’re screaming. Curses, their names, or whatever whatever you don’t even know what the fuck you’re saying because your toes are kissing the edge of madness.

Dragged a good distance away, your yells devolve into incoherency, your nose and eye sockets smashing into Taehyung’s solid forearm so hard it hurts.

Make it out, make it out, make it out. For the love of everything in the fucking universe and beyond it, make it out alive.

Some movements and backs straightening are the last things you see before getting pulled around the corner.

And when Yoongi calmly rolls one of his shoulders, you feel a wick of your soul burn out.

Panic. Worry. Panic and more panic. The car ride that Tae paid for is the blurriest muddy water you’ve ever waded through.

Truthfully, you don’t even remember blankets being pulled over your shoulder. Where even are you? Oh, you’re in a bed. Whose bed are you in because this isn’t yours. But what does it matter anyway what does anything matter anyway nothing matters there’s nothing you can do you gotta get up and go back over there get up get up go—

As soon as you yank his bedroom door open, Taehyung is there, holding you back and pushing your frantic energy back inside. “Tae, if you don’t let me—”

“Do what!”

“I’m going back!” Wrestling out of his strong hold, you bolt down his hallway, head clanging as your shoulder bumps into a wall. “We need to go back—”

“Stop!” You hear running as you burst through the living room, whizzing past the glowing television. “We have to stay here—”

No no no. There’s no way you’re staying here when you need to be back at that lot. Who the fuck would call for help if anyone needs it? When they’re gonna need it? Your vision proves so blurry you can’t even find your shoes—

Arms wrap around your waist and you fight back with a scream, “Let me go!”

“Stop and just think for a second—”

“Why aren’t you with me on this, they’re—”

“Dumb as fuck!”

Your friend’s quick comment is so sharp it cuts your breath. As you still in his firm but comforting hold, you finally stop to breathe. Breathe, breathe, breathe as you’re turned to level a look with his eyes.

Eyes that are red-rimmed and so, so raw. “They’re idiots,” Taehyung grits out. “But they will be alright.”

From the shake of his voice, you find that neither of you think that for sure.

“I need to.. To…” Your breaths are ragged, energy spent and head dizzy from your quick exit from his bed. As you come down from your volcanic high, every weight the world places on your back proves too much.

“You need to relax,” Tae advises, guiding you further back inside. And you don’t speak as he leads you past the couch, past the pictures on his hallway wall, and into the dark of his bedroom.

Maybe it’s over. Right? Maybe someone will answer if you ring them up. “Call. I need to call…”

“Shh,” he soothes again, walking you backwards away from his door. When the bends of your knees hit his bed, Taehyung lets you down slowly until you’re sitting. “I’ll do it.”

Brain fried from hyperactivity, you can only nod.

Your friend steps away to fiddle with his phone, the light illuminating his beautiful features in the night. When he holds it to his ear, this is when you hear rain and the television in the living room, noticing that it’s playing a movie he watches for comfort.

Shit. He’s going through it just like you are, and yet he’s still finding energy to calm your nerves? What have you even done to deserve him?

Guess you know how to choose your circle, too.

Going unanswered, Taehyung lowers his hand, thumb rubbing the homescreen before gripping the device hard.

Both of you are in the same boat. So steer when he can’t do it anymore. Soft but assertive, you rise to your feet, offering your embrace while calling his name, “..Tae.”

When he turns, the man wastes no time in dropping his phone to bring you in close. “It’ll be okay,” he murmurs, and you hear his words on your head but feel the trembles in his chest. “Okay?”

Feeble fingers grab at his soft shirt, and you bury into his scent while soaked and tired eyes shut.

You want to believe him. You do. You do.

But hope may be a bitch.

So you don’t.

Forever passes while you both lie still in his bed, with Taehyung holding you close and keeping you subdued with notes of honey and wood. You both try to have conversation, but it’s disjointed and manufactured, so giving up is a group effort.

You’re about to give up on a lot of things before you both jolt at Tae’s phone vibrating.

The world shifts quick as you both sit up, the call immediately being accepted and a low greeting whooshing at your side, “Hey.”

With bated breath, you hear Jimin on the line. “Hey.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, we’re all alright, but…”

We. We, we, we, all of them thank the fucking world. As your breath is held, Taehyung’s voice is solid, “Say it.”

“My eye is pretty fucked. Yoongi’s face is cut up and he’s got some nasty bruises on his—”

You don’t even remember yanking the phone to your mouth. “Where is he.”

Jimin audibly pauses on the line before having the audacity to chuckle. Irked and feeling ire bubble back to the surface, you seethe, “This isn’t funny, Park. Where the fuck is he?”

“With us.” Us. Shit. “In the car.”

Oh.

“Your brother’s here, too.”

“Ah.” That means they’re all there. They’re all heading home. “Am I on speaker.”

“Umm.. Yeah.”

As much as you’re relieved they’re all okay, stockpiled anxiety transforms into anger, your limit striking the thundering sky. “Actually, you know what? Good. Now I can say you’re all idiots and immature as fuck.”

It’s your sibling that responds first. “Hey, wait a damn minute—”

“I waited long enough!” you scream, ignoring Taehyung’s wide eyes.

You know you need to relax. But you can’t help what’s happening right now and all you feel is pain. “I know this shit isn’t new to y’all, but really? You didn’t need to do this.”

“He was gonna—”

“All you had to do was play the game! Why’d you have to make them mad? Do you even know what could’ve happened back there?” Damn it, you weren’t supposed to cry during this part, not when you just want them to know they fucked up.

And the response is dead silence. Because of course it is. But if they won’t answer you here, they’re gonna answer another, “Just tell me one thing,” you plead. “Is this gonna happen again?”

That one your brother answers with finality. “They won’t be coming around anymore.”

Gulping, you give Taehyung a glossy-eyed look before staring at his lit screen again. Trying not to let your voice waver, you accept his response, “Okay… Are you okay?”

“Me? Yeah, the hits I took were weak as fuck. I’ll get home soon so if you wanna order in tonight we can.”

“Fuck that.”

“Huh?”

What an idiot. “Bro, you don’t even know how fucking mad I am,” you accuse through gritted teeth. There’s no way in hell you wanna deal with their bullshit. Ignoring your pleas and staring harm in the face? Forget it. “I’m going to Yuri’s.”

“What? Nah, come home tonight and we’ll talk.”

“I just—No.” Taehyung has to grip your shoulder before pulling you into a hug. And you’re still steel in his arms because you haven’t been this upset in ages. “I’m not talking to any of you for awhile.”

And you mean that.

“…Fine. But go asap then. I don’t want you out late on your own.”

So you gotta listen to what he wants but when it comes to what you say, it’s crickets? Goddamn, you’re furious. “…Of course you don’t.”

And you hang up before anyone can say anything else.

You open the front door to your brother leaning against the hallway wall.

Both of you eye each other, one of you with a perfectly fine face and the other that isn’t so lucky because he’s a fool.

And no words are exchanged as you trudge your frustration to the kitchen.

Ice. Bandages. Dinner. Anger propels you through it all.

Whipping up a quick but hearty meal, you let your brother patch himself up after demanding he showered. The smells of comfort food waft through your nose as things sizzle on the stove and, through the whole process, you don’t think about anything except how upset you are.

They’re all okay. But like Taehyung so abruptly put it, they’re all stupid.

As you turn off your burner, you transfer everything to a bowl, sighing so loud it seasons the top with fire. When you approach the bar, your actions speak pretty damn loud—the dish clank shoving out a question from your sibling,

“Is there something you wanna say to me?”

“There’s a bunch of shit I wanna say to you.”

“It’s about Yoongi,” he asks, the absence of hesitation making your insides squeeze. “Isn’t it.”

But luckily for you, your rage is so potent that it overruns your fear. As soon as your brother stands up and starts to repeat his question, your correction clangs through the room,

“It’s about all of you! You say you wanna be there for me but what the fuck will doing this shit do?”

Freezing, the man waits in shock as you keep going, “Yes, that guy deserves hell. I was so scared when he grabbed me at the club.” You stop to swallow. “But I had them both there and we left.”

Fuck, this is hard. Having to relive that shit is difficult but you need your brother—and all of them, for that matter—to know how hurt you feel right now. Mustering up enough bravery to get to the goddamn point, you finally squeak out,

“If I lose them? Lose you? Because of something as stupid as a fight?” Your eyes search his, and your heart cracks when you see glassy sheen amongst his bruises. “What would I do then?”

You expect silence. And silence is what you get. It’s drawn out, loud, and telling. “We know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” he whispers, eyes lifting to meet yours with sincerity. “And we’re sorry.”

Another moment passes between the two of you, the food you made left uneaten on the counter and the rest sitting still on the stove. But you know your sibling will eat it all tonight, whether you’re there or not.

And you step forward at the same time he holds his battered arms out.

Freshly showered, he still smells like rain and exertion. But his heart beats under your chest, he’s present, and back home—things you need to stop taking for granted.

But you’re still mad. And getting things off your chest has only made you tired, so you decide that it’s finally time to go before you circle back to other scary territory brought up tonight. “I’m leaving now,” you announce as you step away. “But just think about that.”

“I will.”

“I’m serious.”

“I will.”

Staring, you take note of his cuts and injuries, wondering how the others are faring even though you don’t wanna deal with anything else. Because it hurts too much, and if you see who you’re thinking about, there’s no telling what you’d do if you were like this with your brother. There’s no telling how you’d…

No. You choose to go the easy route this time. Everyone can simmer in their sore, swelling consequences while you have a night of de-stressing with your friends.

So you leave to go pack without another word.

It’s raining.

Hard.

And even though your car is heading to Yuri’s, your heart is beating backwards. Tugging you somewhere else and not letting up.

With a ping of chill, you can’t shake it. Braking at a stop sign close to your destination, you sit in silence, letting the rain pelt every side of your vehicle and wondering what the hell to do.

Truthfully? Your brother looked like shit. But your body isn’t telling you to go back to the house, which can only mean one other place. And you know for a fact you don’t wanna talk to him, either.

So fucking upsetting. They did all that for what? You can barely keep your thoughts in a row because they keep yelling at jostling each other just like everybody did on the court. If anyone had to fight the dipshit, it should've been you.

Fuck! Your head connects with the wheel, an inner monster rumbling with the thunder because you’re so fed up with everything that happened.

Your brain is the one yelling. But your heart is begging for it to listen. Go to Yuri’s? Go to Yoongi’s. Find shelter in that warm bed of hers and sink in her plushies to comfort you?

A sigh. Maybe you can at least call him to tell him off one more time. He needs to hear what you told your brother because if you ever, ever lose him—

Your eyes burn.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

No answer.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

Pick up. What the fuck.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

…Turn the fuck around shit, shit, shit.

Curses flying, you whip your vehicle in a flash, heart pounding so loud it’s blocking out the storm. Which is morbidly impressive considering how horridly it’s pouring.

Thinking in leaps, you pivot and make another decision. Tell her and make it all quick.

Yuri: Outgoing Call

“Hello?”

“Hey, I’m not coming.”

“You okay?”

“I’m going to Yoongi’s.”

“Yoongi’s? Why?”

Ah, shit. Oh, fuck. She doesn’t know.

Banging the steering wheel, you smash your teeth, stressed as hell from braving the rain in the dark and now snitching on yourself to someone else.

Damn it. What do you say? What can you possibly even say when you’re so mad and stressed and conflicted and worried—

“Hello?”

“Because he’s the one,” you whoosh out, your vision quivering twice as much as it should. “And things went down after the game and now something feels wrong.”

“Oh, shit. Is that why y’all didn’t come to—”

“Yes.” When you say all this out loud, now it has weight. Horrifying weight on your chest and a block pushing down on the gas. You hear a bit of shuffling on the line, and you’re starting to get so anxious that you blurt, “Please don’t say anything. Please.”

“I won’t. Not about this.”

“Thank you.”

“Hang up, babe. Make it safe.”

“Okay.”

Go, go, go. Please, just get there.

Letting up, you change your speed, hoping to everything good in the world that this feeling you have is only a feeling and nothing more.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

What a strange emotion, wanting his reason for not picking up solely being because he doesn’t wanna talk to you. That is an answer you can deal with.

But you still can’t fight off the jagged pulses telling you it’s something else.

After an agonizing drive, you finally see his complex, tensing harder the further and further away you have to park.

Whipping into a spot, you screech into it before hauling your bag out, popping the trunk and desperately grabbing a plastic box you always keep inside.

And the mad dash drenches you long before you seek cover, your bones shivering shivering shivering from the chill.

Yoongi has to be home. His car is here.

But he still won’t pick up the fucking phone.

Skidding at his door, your knocks are rapid, knuckles singed from the ice cold wraps.

Answer, answer, answer. For fuck’s sake, he better answer.

After a haunting moment of silence, you decide to call one more time, head wet and bones shivering as you press the phone to your damp ear.

Finally. “Hello.”

“Open the door,” you jump into commanding, hearing nothing other than a voice that sounds so crushed and low that it crumples you inside.

“You’re here?”

“Yeah, let me in.” Fuck, your teeth are clattering against each other, whether it’s from the rain, the cold, or anger, you can’t tell.

But the reply you get is the coldest thing imaginable. And it sets your whole body aflame.

“Not tonight.”

Hell no. Hell fucking no Yoongi is not going to get rid of you that easily. Not when you have a boatload of things to say and only one dock to dump them all on, “Yoongi, I swear to god—”

“Not tonight—”

“—you don’t let me in I’m—”

“Go home—”

“I’m fucking staying out here until you open the goddamn door!”

Oh, you’re pissed. You’re so fucking pissed because this all could’ve been avoided if none of them were stupid. Or prideful. Or whatever the fuck boys decide to be when they can’t let something go.

And this man still has the audacity to give you the stiff arm, silence on the line before he rasps out another short, “I’m serious.”

“No.”

“Go home.”

“No!”

He says your name. So, so softly, before a gut-wrenching,

“Please.”

Breath shaken, you rest your forehead against chilly wood, hoping it quells the fire you feel rising from your rib cage.

You can’t give up. Not when you have so much to say. Not when you have to check on him and make sure he’s fine.

Not when you give into the strongest premonition that you need to be nowhere else but with him tonight.

You will stay. Stay, stay, stay. Even if he doesn’t want to see you.

Voice trembling in rage and concern and everything in between, you feel your eyes sear through when they close, mission boiling down to one more desperate choice,

“…No.”

You’re cold. And wet. But you will stand out here for as long as it takes him to let you inside—a night, a day, no matter what.

And for a moment. Or a few. You think he’s dead set on making you prove that.

But you finally, finally, finally hear a sigh before a lock turn, and you try to prepare yourself for what you see but he opens the door and his face comes into view holy shit he looks like a wreck—

“What the fuck,” you grit out as you rush in with vision swimming, digging into your bag for the medkit you hastily stashed and swinging off your sandals because you gotta get something in the—

A hand grips you hard, tugging you back before you even register what’s happening.

As your feet stumble back onto linoleum, your gaze snaps to the ground.

And your breath cuts like it’s your last.

Shards.

Pieces.

Thousands of wood and glass chips litter the entire open area of the living room.

And realizing where they came from strikes like lightning.

Fuck. Oh, fuck, what did Yoongi do?

“I told you, doll.”

You choke on a sob.

“Go home.”

Your breaths return before you straighten, tears flowing freely as you don’t know whether to start cleaning up the chaos or finally facing the one who caused it.

No, no, no. Get rid of it.

Throw it out, all of it, all of it.

A new fire roars to life, forging your steeling commitment as you wrestle out of Yoongi’s hold.

What did he do, what did he do?

Revving with smoke out of your ears, you burn a path to the kitchen, grabbing a trash bag before marching into the wreckage. Up go the biggest pieces first, chucked into plastic before the smaller ones follow.

Throw it all. This one, this one, and this one.

Yoongi isn’t even wearing shoes. He can cut himself up even more if this all stays where it is.

Shit, this is everywhere.

When you realize you’re gonna need a broom, you storm back into his laundry closet to yank one out and keep going. When you go to sweep, the sharpest voice cuts through your fingers.

“Stop.”

Your grit grips the tool even tighter. Because you won’t. Don’t dare look into his expression, either, because you know that one glance will melt every scream on your tongue. So you stay resolute and shoot rejection to the ground, “No.”

“Just go, please.”

“No.”

This hurts.

This really, really hurts.

Yoongi has never, ever said these things to you and it feels like a knife jabbing into the same spot over, and over again. You almost prefer three new months of no contact over whatever the hell this is.

But you have to keep going. Eyes clenching, lips wobbling, you must keep going.

Because you came here for a reason other than this mess. And he’s gonna have to do better than this to kick you back out into the rain.

“I got it.”

“Let me do it.”

“Your brother needs you.”

“Yeah, well, I already tore the fuck into him and I’m gonna do the same to you.” You harden your fist on the sweeper, tugging it more towards your shoulder with finality. And you gather all the energy you need to leave no more room for arguments, because Yoongi is going to listen, “So sit down.”

It hurts.

He wants to say shit. You know he wants to.

But he only breathes hard with eyes closed, following your orders and carrying his dark clouds to the dining room.

When he finally leaves you alone, this is when you look his way.

In sweats and a shirt, he appears fine. But with a deep pang, you notice he’s slightly limping. Judging from those knuckles, you wonder if they’re red from the fight or from hitting another wall of his apartment.

Or from whatever the fuck happened around your feet.

Shit.

While he dumps himself at his table, you clean up the pieces of his rampage, mentally noting that one plan of yours has now changed.

This one. These, too. A string here. A metal piece there.

You don’t know how long it takes you. All you know is that you’re burning inside, determined to clean everything and sweep this chaotic energy away.

One more. Two more. Another one here.

As soon as you’re done, you lug the trash bag out of the front door and don’t give a shit what happens to it now.

Keep going. There’s more that you need to take care of.

The fuel inside of you rages on, anger conflicting with anxiety and past worries and sadness for something that didn’t even happen. As you spin, you vow yourself to keep pushing until you can’t anymore.

Sniffling. Shivering. But staying strong because things could’ve gone a lot worse.

Yoongi meets you by the table, messy, damp hair shielding his features. “You’ve done enough.”

“I still need to—”

“Just.” He looks away. “Go home, doll. I can’t do this tonight.”

“Do what? I’m helping you.”

That’s what you do for each other, right? You both help each other. But now you’re not so sure because Yoongi comes back with not an acknowledgement, nor a way of relenting.

But ice.

“Who said I needed it?”

And in all the time you’ve spent with this man, this is the first time you’ve felt downright cold. “Yoongi, what?” Your eyes travel across his face, chest caving in when there’s barely any hints of vitality. “Are you serious?”

“You think I’m joking?”

“You’re kicking me out? What happened to saying you’d never do that, huh?”

“I say a lot of things.”

…Oh.

That hurt. That… That physically couldn’t have hurt any harder.

Nodding, you look away, shaking your head in disbelief because you are on the verge of losing it. “You know what? You do say a lot of things.”

Walking away, you start rearranging pillows on the couch pushed askew. “Like how perfect I am.” Picking up his books from the now non-existent coffee table. “And how there’s no one else.”

As you give the volumes a new home on his intact tv stand, you turn to face him again. “Those are just words, too, huh?”

Yoongi kicks his head back with a smile, one that cuts instead of mends. “Nah… Not tonight.”

“Not tonight what.”

“We aren’t doing this tonight.”

“The fuck we aren’t.” It’s his turn to walk away, with a slow head shake that you really don’t like. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere.” Yoongi shifts his head to the side, but not enough for you to fully see him. It’s almost as if he doesn’t want you to. “But you’re going home.”

Something’s off. There’s something completely off but all you feel is sadness and rejection in your ribcage. “So this is how it happens, huh. Now I’m just like everyone else.”

He finally faces you, miles away even though you’re just rooms apart. “You’re gonna go there?”

“I am.”

“Wow.”

That’s what he comes back with? This is gutting you from the inside out and you have no idea what’s happening but now rage is flaring into your mouth, “You think I wanted to come here? After what all of you did?”

“Do you even know?”

“No! But how the fuck would I? You don’t tell me shit!”

“That’s cus—”

Your response sears over his floors, “I can take care of myself. But none of you told me about that dude from the court. None of you.” Breath shaken, you continue dumping out all your thoughts and previous concerns, “If I had known? That whole Dalo thing could’ve been avoided and I would’ve ran.”

For a person that you’ve come to know as so warm, Yoongi’s entire aura freezes you over as you keep talking. “And today? You know how fucking scared I was? If I… I…”

All he does is stare. Why isn’t he doing anything else? Is he really flipping the switch and choosing to legitimately let you leave this time?

Fine then.

“You know what?” Giving up, you laugh—harsh, and breathy, and without any joy at all. “Forget it. You’re not even listening anyway.”

“I swear to—I just said not tonight.”

Frustration from the game, fear from the ambush after, anxiety from not hearing from them. All of it coalesces into something you can’t even control anymore. Your buffer shuts off, the monster you created seizing the reins, “No, I get it. I do! You want me gone. Sure. See you in three more months.”

Stunned, Yoongi huffs in disbelief, jaw working overtime. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I am. Trying to help you but it looks like you don’t even want that. So good fucking bye.”

And it looks like he has a beast of his own because his next response to your last attempt has you reeling back in shock,

“Who asked you?”

Dark liquid drips onto your soul.

You can only stare, unblinking and feeling like you’re in an entirely different universe. “Who asked me? Who asked me.”

“That’s what I said.”

Forget the question of who asked you because… Who are you even talking to? Who is this person standing in front of you because it’s not the Yoongi you know. It’s so jarring and hurtful and strange that you truly feel thrust into the middle of a nightmare.

You’re gonna do it. You’re actually gonna leave this time.

“You know what? Kiss my ass, Yoongi.”

God, it hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

It hurts.

You don’t even know where this is all coming from. All you know is that you’re angry and there’s no stopping the hot magma bubbling in your center.

Silence fills the room.

And it rains. It pours.

But finally, you hold a sob back before burning a shaky path to his door, wrestling with the lock before yanking it open—

Only to have it shut back in your face, so thrown when you realize you’re getting spun. Air whooshes out of you before your shoulder blades connect with wood—

And this is the goddamn breaking point. The walls you haphazardly built to keep you upright collapse and tumble. It’s so potent and blinding that you don’t even realize your hands are connecting with his chest in the weakest, saddest ways and you are outright screaming.

“God, what the fuck! I told you to—We didn’t hear from you for hours and I—I didn’t know if you were okay—”

“Whoa, hold u—”

“I thought the worst and I—didn’t even get a chance to—I finally told you want I wanted and you—Fuck—”

“Just listen—”

“Don’t ever do that again! I don’t wanna lose you and today was so fucking scary and I’m not, fucking, leaving—”

Your lips are smashed to hell, his lips bruising so hard you feel it in the back of your skull. And it’s a whole storm as Yoongi pins you against the door, leg wedging between yours and his hands gripping you like a vice. It’s intense. It’s overwhelming.

“I swear to—”

You don’t know what to do. What to do what to do what to do, and all your madness jangles as you’re yanked and slammed against another wall, breath leaping into his open mouth before you tug at his hair, digging anger through his shoulders.

“Can’t fucking listen, can you?”

“No,” you rip from your throat, shoving him back only to gravitate right back and lock lips again.

And he rips at your clothes, tearing the front of your shirt so far your chest emerges on full display. Before you can even react to the cuts on his face, Yoongi’s hand clenches around your throat, making you gargle just how you fucking want to right now.

“Shouldn’t even fucking be here.”

“When has that ever stopped us.” You groan as you get rapidly led back into something hard, and you realize it’s the dining table digging into your ass.

“He’s still home.”

“So?”

“Shouldn’t you—”

“Then kick me out!” you taunt. “For real. Let me go. Fucking do it then.”

Yoongi works his jaw before gripping tighter, making you groan and your gut flare into something primal. Nostrils flaring, he moves to grip your head hard enough to make your stomach flip but not firm enough to scare you.

Never to scare you. “You aren’t gonna leave me alone.”

Your eyes are ice.

“Are you.”

You solely watch in determination, breath harsh from your nose and billowing out like steam. Drilling your answer into his eyes, you charge the surrounding air enough to spark like the flashing sky outside.

And Yoongi cracks like lightning.

“Goddamn it.”

Everything happens at once and in quick succession. Teeth grit to hell, Yoongi pulls you upward before fast stepping you to his bedroom, slamming you through the door before you shove him right into his desk.

Things teeter and shake and clang with each impact, your storm disrupting everything in its path and creating a tornado of desire and thoughts in your brain.

Something swirls and twists between your souls, tightening and condensing into emotions darker than midnight. And as angry as you are, it’s slipping into a dangerous mania, and you’ve never been this excited for anything in your life.

“Stubborn.”

“Coward.”

Your back stings as you’re pushed back into his door, the wood smacking into the spackle of his wall. Rough lips smother yours as you claw at his shoulders, neck, hair, and you hear him growl into your mouth,

“Want me to kiss your ass? Suck my dick then we’ll talk.”

“Fuck you. I give better head than you anyway.”

His words rival the deepest growl, “Prove it.”

“Make me.”

Whirlwind. Storm. Tempest. At this point, it’s a whole goddamn high. Your body is thrumming and the only way to feed your anger is to channel it through actions.

And truth be told, you need this. You both do. With all the high strung emotions that had nowhere to go until you collided?

This is liberation.

You’re shoved onto your knees before Yoongi dives into his pants, and you’re already hungry and impatient enough to help him shrug his sweats down before he can do it himself.

“Choke on it,” he commands, holding his dick and watching as you note how hard he already is. When you waste no time taking him in, you elicit the deepest groan you’ve ever pulled from him when you fling spit onto his length.

Maybe his reaction is to your face. Because you’re still mad as fuck and you aren’t done letting him know that.

With a passing thought, you realize that this is all new. But you’re welcoming it because it’s working. Only Yoongi can bring out this passion even in anger, or maybe the two of you were going to get to this point no matter what.

“Fuck.” He steadies the bottom of your chin while you suck him off. “Uh huh. Got anything else to say?”

You flick him off, and he hums with a rumble, his cock reacting and hitting the back of your prideful throat.

“Fuck you, too, doll.” His talks devolve into hisses, grunts, moans when you slobber all over yourself, and your cunt is already dripping with your own slick. “There you go. Gonna take it all? Or are you gonna keep running that mouth?”

And you pop off before taunting, “Find out, pussy.”

And you’re swallowing him before he shoves you all the way forward, your body arching up in a gag but filled with him him him, your nose flat against his pelvis and his dick squeezing tears from your eyes and your throat overstuffed to hell and there’s no way he’s gonna forget this moment. You’re making damn sure of it.

Another middle finger raises as you’re tensing around him, and you can barely hear him above you but you do know he’s massively pleased. Tears stream down your eyes when you’re yanked off, gasping for air and being pulled off the ground.

“Holy fuck.”

Throat hoarse, you attempt speech but it doesn’t matter anyway, because his lips steal them all. And your cunt is slapped with a whole palm, making you flinch and shoot out a whine into his kiss.

Before you know it, your body hits the bed before he joins you, arms bulging as he rips your top open completely. You can’t even think straight as he teases your earlier efforts, “I’ve had better.”

“Oh, you fucking—Shut the fuck up,” you growl, a moan leaving without permission as he palms your cunt again. Just when you think he’s gonna top you, Yoongi hauls you up, hastily leading you around the bed until your back connects with another wall.

You love that shit. And you’re starting to think Yoongi is very, very aware of this fact.

“Take those fuckin’ pants off,” he orders. “And hands on the wall before I put them there.”

“Can’t make me do shit—”

Fingers grip your chin before Yoongi gets right into your face, primal instinct making you go on full alert. As his tongue prods his cheek, your whole lower body quivers. “I can. And I will, if you don’t behave.” Tapping your jaw in a warning, he hums. “Now do what I fucking say.”

Holy shit, he’s not playing around. Which only heightens your desire to peaks previously unreached, and you’re shucking your bottoms off while he yanks his drawer open for condoms. Hurrying, you fling your clothes away before planting—

Yoongi smashes his whole front against your back—pinning your whole body against the cold, rough wall—before intertwining long fingers with yours. “Good girl.”

Hitching your hips back, he sticks your ass out as you slip, and you feel his cock tease your entrance. Groaning, you grip your hands into fists as he continues to rub your cunt but never enter. Denying, denying, denying. Smacking your pussy and still not letting you feel him inside.

And it’s maddening. “Please!”

“Please what,” he asks, giving your ass a spank that has you flinching into the wall.

And, without any shred of mercy, this goes on for longer than he’s ever held out. It’s so sickening that tears start flowing from your eyes, and you devolve into saying anything to get him to fuck your brains out. Between spanks on your ass, slaps on your tits, and aggravating kisses on your back, Yoongi doesn’t let you phase him for minutes.

It’s when you choke on a sob that he finally, finally squeezes inside of you, checking for your nod before wrecking you completely.

“Oh, fuck—” Your eyes shut tight as you try to keep yourself upright, hands pushing against the wall as your legs shift with every thrust.

“This ass. Fuck.” Yoongi’s pace is relentless, hands bruising your hips and your cheeks smacking into his pelvis over and over and over. “It’s a goddamn problem.”

You’re trying so hard. So, so hard to stay on the wall. But your hands are too sweaty; they're starting to slip with each attempt. “Bed,” you command. “Bed now.”

And he obliges immediately, pulling out and yanking you back. Mouth to your ear, he both checks in while making your legs jelly, “You tapping out?”

“Break my fucking back,” you rasp in return, hearing him growl in satisfaction before burying you facedown into his bed. As he plunges inside again, you grip at his sheets, driven to the brink and reveling in all the things he’s saying to you while feeling him in your stomach.

Suddenly, you feel your arms pulled back, and you yell into his mattress as he buries himself even deeper. Everything you’re screaming makes no sense, but the phenomenal sensation you feel as you go limp renders you speechless anyway.

Yoongi knows exactly what he’s doing as he pushes his thumb into your asshole, because you clench so hard around him that he chuckles darker than dark. Careening into space, you kiss the edge of euphoria before he inconveniently pulls out, launching a sling of insults from your mouth.

“What was that?”

“I said fuck you!”

“Thought so.”

Not done in the slightest, Yoongi hauls your thighs so flush against him that you have to use your fingertips for support. Just as you’re about to argue, he rams into you from a new and impossibly enticing angle and holy fuck it feels so good you want to weep.

“Put that fucking hand down,” he growls, smacking away the fingers you didn’t even know were on your mouth. “If you wanna talk shit.”

“Fuck—!”

“Uh huh. Let it out, baby girl.”

You’ve never felt this out of control. This wild. This out of body. Your head is yanked back, your back pressing into the front of his shirt before you feel him so far into your guts that you quiver.

Now at the mercy of his tongue in close range, you hear his gravelly tone in your ear, “What’s my fuckin’ name.”

“Asshole—”

A hard smack to your tits has you crumpling with a whine. “Say it.”

“I’ll say it if I wanna say it—”

Another spank to your inner thigh and you’re gone. Eyes roll as he tweaks your nipple, and your words are almost garbled when he grips your chin from behind. “This what we’re doing? Hmm?”

You laugh breathy before you taunt, “Uh huh.”

“Mm…” Despite your laugh, you shake. “I wouldn’t do that, doll.”

“Make me. Bet you can’t.”

Tensed and veins angry, Yoongi grips both your tits before snarling, “That’s enough.”

Swiftly, he shoves you down into the sheets, muscular frame pinning you as he strokes up into you just right. Again. Again. It’s all too slow and too effective and you’re trying to stay mad but all you can feel is perfection, your back arching at his thrusts and mewling at his low growls in your ear.

“You wanted this.” Another thrust. “Talking shit.” Your jaw goes slack. “Pissing me off.”

Your groan is downright erotic. Why why why? Just knowing you’re making him this mad flutters your cunt and, from the sinister chuckle shooting into your neck, Yoongi definitely felt that.

“Fuckin’ thought so.”

When he reaches to grab your breasts, the last thrust has you crying out in a flurry of pleasure.

Every single thought is Yoongi, from beginning to end in a biblical cycle of debauchery. Exertion leaves you slick, sweat coating the expanse of your skin only to press into his bed, your mess your mess your mess. At his hands. The smacks of his cock. The rolls of his hips. Are you gone? Are you here? If he’s bruised then you feel like you are, too, and you welcome the temporary pain as Yoongi’s fingers dig ever deeper into your waist fuck one’s now pinning your head down.

The moans you let out are unending, and your thighs shake when all you get in response is a laugh of condescension.

“Look at you. Can’t even stay mad.”

“Fuck you!” You’re close, you’re close, you’re close again. Release is at your fingertips, but Yoongi yanks himself out to rip it away from your outstretched fingers. “No!”

“What, doll.”

“Please!”

“Nah.”

Body sore, you’re flipped over with no mercy as something else presses against your cunt.

Fucking hell, he’s eating you out now? Shaking, you feel Yoongi’s tongue swirl around your thrumming clit before he sucks, edging you to the point of tears and heartbreak. And it proves too much as you grab at his head, yank at his hair, because he lets up when you’re close.

Every. Single. Time.

Your madness spirals into your curses, and he relishes in your despair, continuing to lick and suck and slap your thighs with patience. “What do you say?”

“Please!”

“Mm. Not loud enough.”

“Yoongi, please.”

“Oh, we’re saying names now?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, it aches. It’s starting to borderline hurt. “I’ll be good,” you barter, beg, plead with a head spinning off its own axis. “I’ll do anything.”

“Do it yourself then.”

Later, when you look back on tonight, you’ll be embarrassed and shy to hell. But right now, you’re so over any shyness that you don’t hesitate, reaching down to rub at your clit and moaning when it’s so sensitive.

And Yoongi gets a front row seat.

His groan is gutteral. And it doesn’t take you long to quicken your pace, bucking your hips and whining to the ceiling. You’re so so so close it’s right there—

Your hand is smacked away. And after you try to wrestle out of his grip, you are a flat out, blubbering mess. “Yoongi… Please…”

“Nah.”

This is torture. And you’re frightened at how much you’re enjoying it. “I’m so close.”

“You’ll come when I say you can.”

“Please! …Please..”

“You done being a brat?”

“No! Fuck. Yes!” If you weren’t so far gone, you may have deciphered a tiny smile of amusement. But it won’t be for months later until you’ll realize that you were wrong.

Because the menacing flash of teeth you see is much too wide to be anything other than pride. “The fuck did I say? Use your words.”

You know you’re still upset. You know Yoongi is still upset. But for some reason, you feel closer to him than you have in awhile, and you wonder if lust and madness are two sides of the same coin. “Let me come. Please.”

Yoongi finally obliges with something he hadn’t pleasured you with yet. And your vision blanks as you yelp at the sensation, his slick fingers pistoning into your folds so fast you’re arching so taut. From between your quivering legs, you hear one final command,

“Then fucking come.”

And you burst, so hard you almost feel like something threatens to spew from your cunt. But all you can do is shake and thrash under his grip, so erratic that you feel like Yoongi’s starting to pin you down. Gone, gone, gone, you’re sure the veins of your neck threaten to break through your sweaty skin.

Then you feel his cock thrust inside of you, and you whip your head forward only to get your airway cut off. “Again,” he calmly repeats, flinging you back to the last time this happened.

Only this time, there’s even less room for you to make any other choice.

“I said again.”

Your body cannot fathom disobedience, pulsing and milking his perfect fit. Over, and over, and over. You hear rumbling from a dragon above, feel breaths of steam whooshing as it watches you come undone.

“Yoongi—”

A light slap to your cheek is your only warning before your chin is tugged, lips smushing into yours to swallow your straining sobs. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your body is still thrumming, inundating around his cock until your emotions spill from your core. Toes. Fingers. Everything is straining and locking in place.

“So fucking hot.” He rips your soul right out. “Shit.”

You fly through time and space, gathering emotions and feelings and spiraling spiraling spiraling. Crying. You’re crying. Full on crying you’re so overwhelmed with everything truly you were so mean to him you upset him holy fuck you should’ve left when he told you to—

“Baby.”

But you cannot stop crying, choke choke gasping on sobs.

“Babe.”

“I—I—”

Your name stabs you with a crisp shot, coupled with a firm grip on your chin, snapping you back to lucid. And Yoongi’s eyes are frantically searching your own. “Look at me.”

You do. Do you? You do. And his eyes…

They’re not angry at all. It’s pure concern. Steadfast concentration. And something reflecting your soul. “Breathe.”

“Oh, shit,” you whisper, coughing and reaching for oxygen you didn’t know you were denying. Air rushes back into your lungs as you inhale.

“There you go. Keep going.”

You do, gulping down air and hiccuping a breath or two. Your cheek is being caressed, you think. And with another pass, you know it is.

“Relax for me.” And you hiccup a sob. “Breathe, babe.”

You do, you do, you do. Yoongi kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, and you breathe more and more through it all. “You with me?”

“Always,” you answer, filter off because you are hanging by a thread and he’s holding the top. “Please don’t kick me out ever,” you hiccup. “Please, baby, I’ll do anything for you but I—could—never handle that—”

You’re tenderly hushed before lips slide over yours, attempting to swallow your thoughts and your sobs and your oncoming tears. As you flood his bed with apologies, Yoongi keeps wiping them all.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Babe.”

“You told me so many times—”

“Breathe, angel.”

You blink at the change in name, and it makes you focus just a bit stronger. Floating down from the precipice.

“I wasn’t kicking you out,” he slowly explains, kissing sweat from your forehead. His words feel like a calm, rock-filled river over your eyes. “I felt like an idiot and hated you seeing me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Just… Like this.”

“You’re perfect like this,” you hitch out, not caring about what flows out of your mouth. “So perfect. Always to me. I just wanted to help you, baby, I’m so sorry—”

He hugs you so tight more tears squeeze out.

And so do more confessions, “I… I care about you. I think a little too much. If I lost you, I wouldn’t—be able—”

“I’m here.”

“So please don’t push me away.”

“I won’t.”

“I know you don’t make promises but—”

“I promise.” Without an ounce of doubt, Yoongi places a firm, lingering kiss on your temple. “Promise. Fuck.” As he holds you tight, you feel him shake before you hear the tiniest sniff at your ear.

Oh. He doesn’t need to be like this, too. You try to move your hand up between your bodies to comfort him, but your whole limb feels gelatinous. So you simply whisper, “It’s okay, baby.”

You can’t tell how long you lie like this, with his beautiful weight on yours. But time is irrelevant when your mind is unwinding from hours of whirring, starting to finally accept the fact that everyone is okay and you don’t have to be angry anymore.

“Come on,” Yoongi rasps, voice cracked and airy. “Let’s go.”

“Hmm?”

“Shower.”

“Oh. Okay.”

You’re so thrown and dizzy from what just happened that even getting to the bathroom is a blur. What you kinda feel is Yoongi holding you upright when your legs buckle, but you don’t remember when he leaves your side to turn the water on.

As he flips on the light, your eyes squeeze until they adjust, and you watch as he tests the water while fully clothed. Air conditioning starts to give you a chill, but the shower warms up just in time because he reaches out to guide you inside.

Wait. Is he not joining you? Bleary, you grab at his shirt when he steps away, eyes pleading. “Are you coming in, too?”

Yoongi stops before he gives a shake of his head. “I’ll take mine when you’re done,” he says through a slight smile. “We’ll take care of you first.”

That doesn’t make sense. Even in your depleting haze, you know something doesn’t add up. “You can join me now. I don’t mind.” When you try to lift his shirt, Yoongi visibly flinches when you brush over his ribs.

And all the murk around your head vanishes in a snap.

He kept his shirt on that whole time. Not once did your positions allow you to see his upper body fully. And now he’s not gonna get in the shower or take his shirt off?

Your voice lowers two octaves when you reach full clarity. “Let me see.”

Unblinking, Yoongi tries to back away, “Don’t worry—”

“Let me see it, baby,” you command, breath cut until he finally allows you to lift his shirt up holy fuck those injuries look so painful tears prick your eyes. “Oh, my god, Yoongi—”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re hurt.” You feel these wounds deep in your ribs, and you tell him to get your kit what the hell he fucked you while feeling those?

Attempting to alleviate your stress, Yoongi decides to strip fully and step into the shower, ignoring your pleas to grab your med kit and promising you can take care of him when you’re done washing up.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, doll.”

“Are you sure?”

“Promise.”

And when his arms wrap around you, this is when you finally let go. Huge, chest-wracking sobs echo around tile, and Yoongi stays quiet through your cathartic release.

There’s another reason you were so upset. And it has nothing to do with any of them, but with yourself. The main reason you’ve been so riled up and frustrated is because… This is technically your fault, too.

But, unsurprisingly, he won’t let you take any blame whatsoever.

“You got hurt cus I said to play.”

“Nope.”

“I wore the outfit that day.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“And lost my friends at the club.”

“No.”

Sniffling in quick succession, you think about one other option. Some form of closure that can double as compromise. Voice soft, you suggest the last resort you have,

“How about we share it.”

Yoongi blinks twice before he clarifies, “You wanna share the blame?” When you nod, he huffs through the tiniest smile of confusion. “Mm. Then it’s our fault.”

“Okay.”

After shaking his head, he closes his eyes, molding his forehead with yours. “What are you doing to me.”

A sniffle. “Wrecking your water bill.”

His laughs join yours as you barely get your sentence out before giggling, and to feel him so close and present and here makes your worries slink down the drain.

Hands trace down your arms, walking along falling rivers before creating ponds with your fingers intertwined. “Gonna clear me out someday.”

“Duh.”

He’s himself again.

And after a whole night of chaos, you feel like yourself again, too.

That’s all you both need to feel peace.

You keep that tranquility carrying you through his room, peeking into his closet to grab the biggest shirt and sweats you can find before drying your head.

But no matter how much water you can dry, your body will keep being washed in relief. And it’s the calmest feeling, watching as Yoongi does the simplest things near his bed.

Your lips curve when he pulls up his pants; your heart beats when he grabs a tee. It’s in this moment that you admit that these outfits of his are your favorites, and you gravitate to him as he slips cotton over his damp head.

“Come on,” you softly offer as you turn. “I’ll make food and get you some ice.”

Again, Yoongi just stares with a faint smile. But his eyes are alive again, so you’re more than fine if he just follows your lead without a word.

In the kitchen, you pause amongst the appliances, the cabinets watching as you utilize your phone to find a good recipe. “What shall we eat… Stew? Or, wait—”

Looking up, you eye him in thought before choosing to focus on something else. “Actually, let’s figure you out first.”

Opening yet another tab to add to your hundreds, you type away before selecting a good starting point. “Okay, let’s see. You’re breathing fine, so no bruised ribs. Umm…”

Scroll, scroll.

“It looks really bad there, though. You sure you can move right?”

Despite asking, you go right back to your phone before Yoongi can even respond. Scrolling and clicking and reading again.

Scroll, scroll.

“Okay, so no bruised ribs, and according to this you don’t have any broken bones. And nothing fractured, either, thank god—”

“I love you.”

Time bursts.

Your chest glows.

Everything starts to beat, beat, beat in slow motion.

And you don’t even feel like you’re in the room anymore. “…What?”

You need to hear it again. You need to need to need to, because if you heard him wrong, you will check yourself and bolt right out the door.

His eyes.

Despite the battlefield on his skin, they are dripping, and sparkling, and full. The whole world suspends as he stares right into your soul, caressing it with his wounded hands and cradling it in his bruised arms.

No matter how hard the moon will try—for years, and years, and years more—it will never outshine this single, shaken, solidified admittance.

“I love you, doll.”

You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what to fucking do.

Why is Yoongi saying this now? Why is he choosing now of all times to make you the happiest person in the universe?

No.

Happiness isn’t even close to what you feel and you’re pretty sure you’re crying but nothing makes sense and your vision plunges under sunlit waters.

“And you don’t have to say anything. I know I don’t deserve to.”

What?

“I can’t be everything you want. Or need. Or whatever the fuck I’m trying to say. But I just needed you to know because I can’t fucking fight this shit anymore—”

You lunge forward before he offers his last syllable, careful to avoid his wounds and not mush his face because he would do the same for you.

And it’s all too much tonight. The lingering fear, the dying anger, the floods of relief, the joy. You can’t stop your sobs from coming out in bursts, your whole body wracking with overwhelming emotion as he grits into your skin,

“Goddamn it, I—”

“Yoongi—”

“—so fucking much.”

Yoongi loves you. He’s here. He loves you, loves you, loves you and the beats of your heart pulse orange and blue, blue, blue.

Nothing will ever compare to this moment. Nothing. You will bottle this one up in a jar to place next to all the others you have stored, and when you are lonely, or hurt, or even when you’re doing just fine, you will uncork it to surround yourself with this memory and know that everything will be okay.

He loves you.

Fuck, he loves you?

You choke out his name with a sob, and he squeezes you even harder. When you can’t reply with anything else, he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, his tears taking root and blossoming into beautiful vibrant fruit all along your rib cage.

He loves you.

Why can’t you seem to say it back? What the fuck is wrong with your tongue?

Maybe it’s because saying it doesn’t feel like enough. Like it’s laughable that there are words for this feeling because they don’t nearly represent what you harbor in your very being for this man.

There’s no way any words are enough. Not for him. Nor for you. Because right now, Yoongi needs something more. And you’re going to give him more than everything.

“Yoongi, I—”

He captures your lips in his, and you let him push you against his counter and consume you everywhere he wants to. Between his claims, your sobs have room to breathe. Which makes for a horrible showing of your attempting to say what you want to. “I… I can’t… Yoongi—”

Fingers press into the back of your head, a forehead smushing into yours and shutting you up completely. “I’m sorry,” he says, words rolling down the tracks your tears have walked. “I won’t ever be able to say that enough.”

“Baby,” you hiccup, resting a hand over one of his. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.” You squeeze his hand, feeling the lovely digs of his knuckles in your palm. His scent wafts around you like an embrace, and you know there’s nothing quite like it. At all. “You’re okay, so I’m okay.”

After he plants a warm kiss on your temple, you feel his hands ball into fists at your ears. “I just—fuck.”

There’s no telling what he’s thinking about in that brain of his. But you need him to know that there’s nothing more for him to be sorry for. All you care about is that he’s present, responding, and himself.

“Babe,” you whisper, still not believing those three words coming out of his mouth. “I’m here.”

“I know.” He sighs, smushing into your lips and holding you so tenderly, yet so tight. As he laps at your tongue, you’re more than sure he can taste your rainfall.

None of this is real. Because you can’t believe it at all. Even as Yoongi continues his journey across your neck, your shoulders, your jaw, your face, you still can’t piece together that this is truly happening.

When you feel him hard on your pelvis, you remember that he didn’t get the same release you got earlier. But you’re not gonna be the one to suggest going again, all of this will be what he decides.

And what Yoongi decides is to pull you closer, breathing you in while you do the same. His kisses are never ending, and your hands roam languidly along his shoulders, his hair, stretching across the expanse of his back. One that has held the weight of the world and then some.

His name leaves your mouth in a sigh, your back arching as softly as the kisses being planted along your breasts.

“If you only knew,” he whispers, laughing to himself as he wraps an arm around your side.

“Knew what?”

“Nothing, babe.” You gasp into his next rough press to your lips. “You’re so—fuck.”

You said you’d let him lead. But as Yoongi starts to walk you into his bedroom again, you think about his injuries and feel more concerned after knowing they’re there. So you quietly stop him as you reach his bed, “Are you sure?”

“I’ll be alright, doll,” he whispers, lowering you down and smiling so tranquilly your heart lurches. “As much as I think you enjoyed the first time, this time will be better.”

Giggling, you fight the heat from searing your cheeks as you smile. “You enjoyed it more than I did, I think.”

“I don’t think so.” Yoongi smirks, getting up. “Lemme get a cond—”

“It’s okay,” you halt him with a hand, and he freezes.

Full stop. No movement. Not even a breath. “...What?”

“We don’t…” You swallow, stomach fluttering at his expression. “We don’t have to this time.”

Because Yoongi’s eyes have not left your face. “You sure?”

Then something causes you to smile. Knowing that if there’s anyone you want to do this with, it’s this man right here and now. There’s genuinely no one else in the world with whom you would wanna share this experience, and the fact that he’s still asking makes you emotional.

Cradling his face with the most tender touch you can imagine, you confirm, “Just for a little bit.” And you add something you think he needs to keep hearing. “I trust you.”

Gulping down any extra emotions spilling from your heart’s chalice, your words come out a little wobbled. “And I want to, if you want it, too.”

“I want what you want, doll.”

“Then it’s okay.”

Clothes on or off, you still feel so shy underneath him.

But this time, you vow to shove those feelings of unworthiness to the side. Because you are fully invested in this moment above all others. And Yoongi deserves more than you can give.

When he slowly tugs his sweats from your legs, you’re already choking back tears. As he climbs on top, you await the connection you never in your dreams would’ve imagined.

And when Yoongi stares at you one more time, you know exactly what he’s asking.

“Yes, my love,” you wisp into his skin, craning up to kiss him and swallowing his last slice of doubt. Knowing you’ll say it again and again and again.

His brows pinch as he kisses you—slow, purposeful, understanding. Then he positions himself, and you can physically feel his hand brush your cunt as he does so. If he ever asks if you felt him shake, you will deny it. But only for a year or two.

As soon as you feel him—only him, solely him—you swell with a current of emotion. And it pulls you all the way under when he’s fully sheathed inside.

“Holy fucking shit.”

“Yoongi—”

“Fuck.”

Simply having him inside, with no barriers or obstacles in between? You’re already close. There’s no early explanation, but you already feel overwhelmed enough to come.

No no no. You want this to last forever, so you wait for Yoongi to gather himself because he appears to be fighting, too.

Chuckling, you ask, “You good, baby?”

And your lover snaps his gaze to your face, bangs sweeping across your cheeks and eyes unblinking. “Yeah, just...” He stares at your inquisitive expression before whooshing out a harsh breath. “Just this is about to make me bust.”

You burst into laughter before admitting you were just thinking the same thing, and his slow grin makes you want to cry. “We’re not good at this.”

“No. You’re too good at this. I can’t even move.”

“Yes, you can,” you whine. “You wreck my shit all the time.”

Feeling a twitch more prominent than ever, you giggle as Yoongi puffs out pained amusement. “Doll, if you keep talking like that, I’m pulling out.”

“Okay, okay,” you surrender, loving how out of sorts he seems. He’s fighting for his life and you’re enjoying the hell out of it.

“You’re a little too perfect right now.”

Maybe one day you will agree with him. But that day is far from reach, your head shaking in quiet disagreement.

“You are.”

“Nowhere close,” you whisper.

His nose brushes against yours. “Say that again and see what happens.”

“Is that what you tell all the others fuck!”

His shove up your cunt makes you see stars. “What did I fuckin’ say?”

“What—”

Another launch has you careening through space, lip bitten and suppressing a hearty whine. “You think there’s someone else?” Again. “Hmm?”

Again.

You’re so dazed and mind-fucked to pieces that your speech is barely audible. But your chin is grabbed as you’re snapped straight, and your eyes try their hardest to focus on slitted ones above. “You’re gonna regret saying that.”

You just laugh, whine pinging sharp into the ceiling as he shoves forward so hard your whole body shifts upward. “Oh, yeah?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond with words, thrusting up again and sending you twisting and winding towards the edge unbelievably fast. “Uh huh.”

“Make me then,” you gasp out. “Make me really sorry.”

The sound Yoongi makes comes from deep within his stomach, the rumbling hum shooting right into your veins like liquid fire.

And the full-on attack he bursts into renders you completely speechless. Everything Yoongi does pulls you deliciously in all directions—his thrusts, his chain hitting his chest, his grip on your wrists, the way he snags your chin. Everything.

“Taking me so well like this.”

“I—”

“So fucking tight.”

Fuck fuck fuck it’s habitual for you at this point, and you unhinge your jaw a split second before he smacks the side of your face. Desire lowers your lids halfway as you feel empowered, and you don’t even recognize your voice as you order him on the spot. “Do it again.”

Yoongi doesn’t stop his pace as he keeps his eyes on you.

“Do it again,” you growl, fully limp and a groaning mess when he does exactly what you want.

Fuck, the pain feels good. So good that you reach up and choke him out. But the back of your head is grabbed before you feel hungry lips smash into yours. You feel your wrists pinned again by one large palm, air chilling for a moment before a hot mouth captures one of your nipples. “Oh, fuck, Yoongi!”

“Uh uh.”

“Please—please—”

You’re still tensing as he devours your chest below his shirt, strokes now slower but just as powerful.

Your arms still haven’t been freed, but there’s something about being under his control that has you loving this position. Without question. Maybe it’s the fact that you can see him now, losing himself just as he saw you washes in the throes of passion.

And he licks, sucks, lolls his tongue all over your tits, whispered praises sinking through your bosom as he keeps a grip on your wrists.

“Baby,” you gasp. “I’m close, I’m—”

“Shit.” Air whooshes over you before you feel your arms freed and him yank himself out, and you freeze as he unloads right on your stomach, a sharp cocktail of pride and shock in your gut.

Holy fuck, Yoongi was that close? Did he hold out as long as he could? Shit, he’s breathing so hard his jewelry shakes as it dangles.

You’re still so surprised that your arms are still locked into bends, and he glances up at you from his kneeled state. “Fuck,” he laughs, and is that… Is Yoongi shy? “Thought I could hold out.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you assure through your own tiny chuckle. “Oh my god, I promise.”

He leans down to plant a heart fluttering kiss on your lips, but you hate how he looks pained on the way down.

Those hits he took… Now you kinda understand his perspective. Because now you want to avenge him in five hundred thousand ways—almost half as many ways as you want to show him how you feel.

“Stay there, beautiful,” Yoongi orders as he moves to get off the bed, wincing in passes. “I’m not done with you.”

Damn. He looks even more exhausted than before. “Baby, are you sure?”

But Yoongi walks right to his bathroom to retrieve a towel, and your eyes may as well transform into hearts when you watch him come back to you. So handsome, even now. Even when he’s simply holding a washcloth, hair completely mussed, soul sparkling and face bruised.

As he sits to clean your face before moving to your stomach, you can only observe his eyes. So experienced. Calm. At peace. When they drift to yours, it’s instinct that has you shying away. “What, love.”

Another reason to crumble inside. “I just… nothing,” you whisper.

And Yoongi finishes with the cloth before tossing it somewhere. “Tell me,” he says, lying down on the ribs with more damage. “I wanna know.”

“Come on this side,” you tell him, and he obliges without a word. “It’s a secret.”

“A secret?”

“Mmhmm.”

Yoongi settles before lifting your chin, rubbing an affectionate thumb over any tears still persevering on your cheeks. “I can keep those, you know.”

Smiling, you fold way too easily. “Okay, I’ll tell.”

When he leans in, your nervousness and excitement to tell him almost spoils your ability to do so. Like someone gifting a present while wanting to say what it is before it’s even opened.

“I love you, too,” you whisper, tears sprinting to your ducts as Yoongi freezes. When he looks at you, you can’t help but choke on a sob seeing his eyes get as red as the marks on his cheek. “And you deserve more than I could ever give.”

His eyes hold the heavens and the seas.

You’re right. Just saying it isn’t fucking enough.

You’re already liplocked again before you can think, saltwater on your face and you don’t even know whose eyes it came from.

Determined, Yoongi starts kissing a trail from your lips to your jaw, and you start to cry as he makes his own journey down the expanse of you.

All of you.

Is this what it feels like? Is all of this actually, genuinely real?

You hope so, because you feel devotion in each press of his lips, and every touch will be remembered in its own right. Its own pocket of time.

Every single stop.

It almost feels divine when his mouth reaches your folds, lapping at your essence and swirling around your clit. When you say his name, Yoongi says nothing, instead palming your thighs and eating you out like he has all the time in the world.

Swelling, you already feel close.

But the way he gets you to fantasia is so natural that you slide into your quivers seemlessly. The transition into your heaven flows like a stream, and your waves engulf his tongue and coat his mouth without trouble.

This is what it feels like. What it feels like with Yoongi.

And you wanna keep making love until only sleep can take you from him.

Your hands jut into his hair, gasping as he keeps his pace, and no matter how you squirm he is dead set on holding you down until holy fuck you’re coming again.

How? What’s happening to you? This constant stream of release is shocking you to the point of crying out, and Yoongi groans into your orgasm and prolongs it with the whole press of his tongue.

“Holy fuck, baby—!” Another wave overcomes the next, and you outright quake in his hands, eyes rolling and vision blinking white. Muscles lock as you can’t keep up with the pleasure, and you’re mercilessly let go only for lips to descend on yours.

Your tears spill into your ears as you kiss him back, wrapping tired arms over his shoulders and raking in deep.

“Fuck.” And you feel his cock lodge against your entrance, and you’re amazed how hard he is again.

Does he want what you want? Is he ready again?

As Yoongi quietly gets up to get a condom, you’re amazed that he wants to keep going after everything that’s transpired. But, if he feels like you do, he’s ready to keep going until the sun comes up three whole times.

When he sits next to you, your better half appears shy as he bites the wrapper. “Don’t take this the wrong way.”

“Oh, I already know.”

“K. But god, I fuckin’ want to.”

You bite your lip to hold back your smile, remembering what he said a long time ago and bringing it back full circle for the next thing you both wanna try. “One day.”

Yoongi only grins.

And for the next hour, your lover, your secret, your home gives you everything he has, and you come for him more times than you ever have in your life.

Every time, he drags your pleasure out, expertly tearing you down with his movements and building your confidence up with his words. He tells you you’re perfect, and he disagrees when you disagree. When you find tears on your face, he kisses those away, too. When you feel along his silver, he simply watches you in silence.

No sadness, doubt, nor anger to be found.

After you physically can’t do any more, Yoongi lies at your side, silent as you play with his hair. You do your best to stay still, not wanting to accidentally push into any of his injuries that you’re gonna beg him to get checked in the morning.

Once he’s healed? That’s when you’ll never let go. Because you want to crush him into you completely. Mold into him, just so he can feel the brevity of your highest affection.

“I’m sorry for yelling,” you finally whisper. “But I really was so mad at you. All of you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t wanna lose you.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

Yoongi stares, seeming to withhold something from you before he palms your cheek. “They were gonna follow us home if we didn’t, babe,” he reveals, snapping your heart back in two. “We all knew that.”

“Oh, fuck.” Everything hits you at once: why they stayed, why you and Taehyung had to leave. Why Tae didn’t bring you straight back to the house. And the burns at your eyes match the searing in your gut. “I didn’t… I didn’t think about that.”

When you start to cry, Yoongi sits up and hangs his head between his sweats. “You don’t need to think about shit like that,” he murmurs, sounding defeated as ever. “But we talked after you told us off. We won’t hide that from you anymore.”

Sniffling, you whisper out a thank you. But you don’t want Yoongi to feel like he has to distance himself, so you untangle him—slowly, gently–-before bringing him into your chest.

After dealing with all that and the tempest in his living room, this man still let you in. From the looks of things, there’s a lot that he had been fighting, and you’re more than appreciative that he opened his door. Not knowing how to put these feelings into words, you say the first things that come to mind. And for some reason, they feel heavier on the way out,

“Thank you for letting me in. It was raining really hard.”

Yoongi stiffens hard before holding you closer.

“Babe?”

No response. Just another batch of weighted quiet.

Worried, you tilt your head. “Hey. Look at me.”

If he stays right where he is, you’ll have to respect that decision. But he ends up pushing himself up, and as soon as you see moonlight catch on a falling tear, all your instincts reach for him, “Oh, fuck, come here.”

You surround him with everything you have, wanting every single bit of warmth birthed from his love to fill his space instead of yours. Whatever he needs, you will give. “It’s okay, baby,” you whisper, holding him so close but not nearly close enough.

Never close enough.

His face is buried in the crook of your neck, and you will let him live there whenever he needs to. “I’m not mad anymore, okay?” God, you hate how he’s still so silent. You get it, but you hate whatever made him default to this state. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

After light rain fills the room, your soul breaks at a sniffle, and you crush your love even tighter.

“This isn’t about that, doll,” Yoongi finally whispers, burying wet eyes further into your shoulder. “It’s just…”

It’s what? What’s he thinking about? Hopefully it’s not anything—

“It’s so fucking better when you’re here.”

When you choke out a sob, his body locks, words pouring from nowhere and everywhere. “I sleep better. Eat better. Fuck, I even feel better even if nothing else changes.”

“Yoongi…”

“It’s true.” Sighing, he sniffles again before letting his weight drop onto you in resignation. Or relief. “I mean that.”

“Then… Those three months…”

“One day, I’ll tell you everything,” he offers, making you wonder what the hell he’s been through in the past. And if it has something to do with that guitar he smashed to pieces. “But from now on, you can be here whatever you want.”

Many things have shifted tonight. As if an earthquake had upturned everything between the both of you, only peace has settled in its wake. A peace you had never felt before. As you brush fingers through his hair, you joke, “So I can come to those parties you host, too?”

“Those weren’t my idea, by the way. Jimin made me.” Kissing your shoulder, Yoongi continues to admit, “He was worried. And hoping you would show.”

Oh. That’s news to you.

“I knew you wouldn’t. But.” He exhales before nestling in further. “I did hope to see you, too.”

“It’s okay.” You rub the back of his neck, your fingers feeling nothing but warmth and the softness of his clothes. “It would’ve been too obvious.”

“What would’ve.”

“That I wanted you all to myself.”

“You already have that.”

When you stiffen, your words are tiny. “You know what I mean.”

Yoongi laughs soft, taking one of your hands in his and bringing it up for a kiss as you blurt, “My brother was the one that invited me. To come to those, I mean.”

The way he blinks is comical. “Huh.”

“I know.” It’s your turn to bring his hand close, kissing along his knuckles before you stare out the window behind him. “It makes me wonder if he knows.”

“What if he does?”

You snap your eyes right to his. “Does he?”

Yoongi watches your lips linger on his fingers before he tells the truth, “No.”

“Okay. But you’re sure I can stay?”

“Who do you think you bought those groceries for?”

Oh. Wait. “What?”

Grinning so sly, Yoongi reveals the plan he had all along, “I get you for a week, right?”

Oh. Holy shit. You cannot quite possibly deal with what this man is saying. That whole time you were shopping for his list… No wonder he was already done with dinner when you got there oh you’re gonna get him back for that.

Light bursts from your center as you grit out through a grin, “You sneaky little—” Pulling his tilted mouth in for another kiss, your heart pulses little pink stars as he leans in with a laugh, and you meet lips again and again until he slowly, reluctantly stops.

“One day,” he murmurs out of nowhere, and you flick your eyes to his. “I’ll be better.”

Of course he will. You have no doubts. But, just like he always does for you, you’re gonna start offering the same reassurance out loud, even if he knows it’s there.

And you can’t contain your little laughs at your own joke, despite him just staring into your face right after you crack it, “Don’t make it just one day, silly.”

Even if you’re very serious, it’s in your nature to lighten things up. Especially after hearing such wonderful news for what’s coming. Clutching a little bit of his shirt, you whisper with complete devotion,

“We’ll make it as many as we can.”

You hate how you feel him freeze, knowing what that means, what plaguing little thoughts are embedded in that tiny shift.

Yoongi’s still hesitant to accept.

Because you are, too. In many ways. But this man has been picking you up and making you stronger day after day—in both his presence and absence—that you can’t help but fight to do the same.

Does he ever think about you? Does he know that you’ll always be with him? No matter how close or far apart you are? You hope so. Because it’s so true that your heart is searing that promise into your soul, branding it as a reminder to reciprocate all this genuine love you’ve never been given before.

He loves you?

You still can’t accept that as fact.

…Maybe one day.

You chuckle to yourself, deciding to keep talking because Yoongi is still so very quiet. “At least. Until the day I get to meet my cat,” you huff in triumph. “Then I’m running away with her.”

It’s a perfect strike of a match. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You pretend to pout. “But I’m starting to think she ran away already and you won’t fess up.”

Yoongi laughs so suddenly you flinch. After a playful scoff, he tries to make you feel better, “She’s still here!”

“Lies.”

“How much are you betting, doll.”

“How much are you willing to lose, babe.”

“This much,” he finally says, pinching your sides and hissing laughter when you scream. “Maybe I’ll make you leave after all if you’re gonna be a problem.”

“You did threaten to kick me out before.”

“Huh? When?”

“That day I showed up,” you remind him through a chuckle. Thrown back to that first night, you start to see all the parallels between then and now. And how vastly different things have become. “Said you were gonna kick me out for hustling you.”

The glorious laughter from the depths of his belly makes you grin, and you cringe when his brows pinch in both laughter and pain. “I should’ve!”

He needs to get those hits healed. “You really should’ve.”

“Played me from the very start. You happy with yourself?” When you nod, Yoongi shakes his head. “Course you are.”

“You love it.”

“I do.” Your eyes meet, which proves dangerous for you because he bites his smirk before pulling you in for a kiss. “Thought I was gonna say it, huh.”

“No!” You lie. Because no, you certainly were not! “…Maybe.”

“Guess what.”

Suddenly paranoid, you give him a look, already expecting to be tricked again.

But Yoongi captures your lips without warning, curling your toes into sheets you’re now achingly familiar with. After a few passes, he shifts above, planting a hand at your side and letting his chain slide against your chest as he slots a leg in between yours.

Yet again, you think about that first night, that first time. The first of apparently, surprisingly, wonderfully unexpectedly many.

Who would’ve thought rain and a broken ego would bloom into something good? Who would’ve believed a person so close to your roots would be your home?

As he lets up with one last slow stroke of his tongue, you whisper, “What were you gonna say?”

At this, Yoongi spreads closed lips, taking his time planting a peck on your nose. “I just fucking love you, doll.”

Oh. He’s a menace and the most annoying tease on the planet.

When you can’t do anything but flee into his chest, Yoongi immediately laughs, forcing you back out of your little shell. “You can’t hide now, babe.”

“I can!”

Leaned forward in your struggle, you give him no choice but to swoop his head into your neck. Which backfires on you immensely because he decides it’s the perfect time to rasp deep against your ear, “I love fucking you, too.”

His name flies out of your mouth in disbelief and embarrassment, and his heightened amusement puffs into the burning column below your chin.

This is the moment something comes over you. Slams into you. Washes you in present nostalgia like lingering footsteps on a balcony.

And it hurts. It really, really hurts.

Instead of laughing along, you come down from your high, squeezing him like the pillow that couldn’t replicate his warmth for months. “I miss you.”

After a second, Yoongi questions, “How? I’m right here.”

You know that. You do. But with every hello there’s a goodbye, and you don’t want that this time. Especially now that your heart knows that his beats the same.

Breathy and shaken, you rest your head in his chest, hoping he doesn’t hear but does at the same time, “I still miss you.”

Strong fingers weakly press into your sides, and while you can’t see him, you know for a fact that his smile is gone. Because he also knows goodbye is coming again, and you can’t stay here forever as long as this is all a secret.

You feel a sigh wisp over your head before words that make no fucking sense follow it out, “I can’t do shit like this anymore.”

…What?

No. No no no he can’t be done just like that you both just confessed everything you need to fight say something anything anything—

“I wanna do this the right way.”

Oh.

Yoongi’s chest… It’s shaking.

Pushing yourself up, you search his eyes for answers. “What are you saying?”

When he looks at you, there’s a fire in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Or maybe it has been there all along, and he only needed a spark to set it ablaze. “I’m saying I’ll tell him, doll. Just me.”

Oh. Oh, shit. Didn’t he say not yet? Didn’t he say he needs more time? He said he’d figure it out what is with the sudden…

Your tears are automatic as Yoongi roams his gaze from one eye to the other, and he’s swallowing before taking a step. A step you didn’t think he’d make. One you didn’t have the courage to take yourself.

When he utters the words, your soul lets rain fall just as the storm resides.

And right as moonlight shines through his blinds.

“I’ll tell him everything.”

tbc. :)

so... how did it go! | join the server!

a/n: so. here we are, over two years and 250k+ words later. thank you for sticking with me if you're still here, and thank you for being the most amazing readers a writer could ever, ever ask for. if you can interact or let me know what you enjoyed/like, i would be eternally grateful. these two parts took all of me, and i'm gonna take a break for a little bit before starting on the next part. a/n 2: thank you for also being here despite the highs and lows! things have really weighed on me for awhile, which prevented me from working on this part forreal. but my mental feels a lot lighter now, and i am ready to keep running with y'all. so thank you for your support and encouragement, no matter how you show it! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

#AHHH it's finally here!#bts fic #bts reactions #bts imagines #bts fanfic #ryenwrites #*ryenfictalk #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #yoongi x you #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi x reader #3tan12 #*latest

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pucksandpower · 7 months

Note

Hey Natalia, hope you’re doing good ❤️ Please could I request enemies to lovers with Max. You’re constantly at each other’s throats in front of everyone and Christian has had enough of your shit and demands to see you in the office. But when you continue to fight, he’s like nah I don’t wanna be involved, sort your shit out together and leaves. And you end up fucking on his desk and after you’re suddenly super friendly around eachother. Thank you lovely! xxx

Whiplash

Max Verstappen x Red Bull driver!Reader

Summary: You and Max discover that there is a thin line between lust and hate

Warnings: 18+ content

You storm into Christian’s office, scowling as Max follows right behind you. He slams the door shut and you both take a seat across from Christian, refusing to even look at each other.

“I’m sure you both know why I called you in here,” Christian says sternly. “The tension between you two has gone too far. It’s affecting the team and we can’t have that.”

You scoff and cross your arms. “Why don’t you talk to him about it then? I’m not the problem here.”

Max scowls. “Oh please, don’t pretend like you’re so innocent. You’ve been nothing but hostile towards me since the start of the season.”

“Only because you did the same!” You retort. “I was nothing but nice when I first joined the team. You’re the one with the attitude problem.”

“Enough!” Christian shouts, silencing you both. “I don’t care who started it. I’m ending it. We’re in the middle of a championship fight and I need my drivers to work together, not against each other.”

You sink lower in your chair, still refusing to look at Max. The animosity radiates off of him in waves.

“Now you’re going to stay in here until you work this out,” Christian says firmly. “I don’t care if it takes all night. Fix this mess or both of your seats are on the line.”

He heads for the door and you spring up from your chair. “You can’t be serious!”

“Deadly,” Christian replies before shutting the door. You hear the lock click into place from the outside.

You jiggle the handle and pound on the door. “Let us out!”

No response.

He’s really done it, that bastard. Locked you in a room alone with your most hated rival.

You take a deep breath before turning around. Max sits there glaring at you, jaw clenched. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters.

“For once we agree on something,” you snap.

His glare hardens. “Don’t pretend you’re blameless. You’ve been nasty since you got here.”

You storm over to him. “Because you decided to hate me from day one! I tried to be nice but you were so damn hostile. What’s your problem with me anyway?”

Max stands up abruptly, getting in your face. “My problem is you waltzing in here like you own the place when I’m the number one driver.”

You shove him in the chest. “Get over yourself! I earned my spot here.”

He shoves you back. “You don’t deserve to be here.”

Your blood boils as you stare him down. God he’s infuriating. And stubborn as hell. You doubt you’ll ever get him to admit any fault in this situation.

“Well I’m not going anywhere so I guess you’ll just have to get used to it,” you snap.

Max steps even closer, eyes blazing. Your noses nearly touch from how close he stands. “Is that so?” His voice comes out low, almost husky.

A shiver runs down your spine but you keep glaring at him. “Yeah, that’s so.”

You expect him to shoot back some nasty retort. Instead his eyes flick down to your lips for just a moment before meeting your heated gaze again.

Suddenly the energy shifts between you. The anger and tension remains but it transforms into something more primal. More dangerous.

Your breaths come heavier as electricity crackles in the nonexistent space left between you. Max’s pupils are blown wide, his chest rising and falling as rapidly as your own.

“I ...” Your voice comes out hoarse. “We should ...”

But neither of you make any move to step away. Without thinking your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips. Max tracks the movement with his intense stare.

“Fuck it,” he growls before crashing his mouth onto yours.

You gasp into the kiss and he takes advantage, deepening it. His hands grasp your hips roughly as he walks you backwards until your back hits the wall.

You barely process what’s happening. One second you were at each other’s throats, the next his body is pressing urgently against yours.

A moan escapes you when his lips move to your neck. He nips at the sensitive skin there and you thread your fingers into his hair.

“This is insane,” you pant out even as you tug him closer.

“I know,” Max breathes against your neck. His hands skim up your sides, pushing up your shirt. “I hate you.”

“I hate you more.” You crash your lips together again, tasting blood when you nip at him.

Max groans into your mouth as your tongues slide together. He hitches one of your legs around his hip, grinding against you.

You break the kiss to tip your head back, moaning at the feeling. Fuck, you despise this man, but right now you need him more than anything.

His hips keep up that delicious friction as he mouths at your collarbone. “I’m still going to beat you,” he rasps out.

You smirk, nails digging into his shoulders. “In your dreams.”

Max’s eyes darken at your taunt. Without warning, he grips your thighs and lifts you onto Christian’s desk. You gasp as he pushes between your legs, his growing arousal obvious.

“Careful what you wish for,” he murmurs before crushing his mouth to yours once more.

You moan into the frenzied kiss, tongues tangling as you tug at his hair. His hands slide up your thighs, fumbling with the button of your jeans to push them down around your ankles. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him against your heated core.

Even through the layers of clothing you can feel how hard he is. You rock your hips, desperate for more friction. Max groans and moves his lips to your neck, nipping down to your collarbone.

Your head tips back as his fingers dance up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. “God, I hate you so much,” you moan.

“I know.” His voice comes out rough, filled with lust.

Impatient, you reach for the hem of his shirt and pull it over his head, tossing it aside. Your eyes rake over his muscular chest and arms. Unable to resist, you lean in and scrape your teeth over his nipple.

Max hisses in a breath, hands clenching on your hips. “Fuck ...”

You grin, laving your tongue over the sensitive nub as your fingers move to his belt buckle. With shaky hands you get it open and reach into his boxers, fingers wrapping around his thick length.

He shudders against you. “Shit, Y/N ...”

You stroke him firmly, reveling in the moans and curses falling from his lips. His own hands move under your shirt, palming your breasts through your bra.

It’s not enough. You strip off your shirt and reach back to unclasp your bra. Max wastes no time dipping his head to capture one of your nipples between his lips.

“Oh god ...” you gasp, back arching into him. His teeth and tongue work over your sensitive peaks until you’re writhing beneath him.

The sound of voices outside the door makes you both freeze. Fuck. The race weekend is still going on around you. Anyone could walk by and hear what’s happening.

You meet Max’s heated gaze. “We should stop,” you pant out half-heartedly.

His eyes blaze with defiance and lust. “No fucking way.”

Before you can react he drops to his knees, grasping your hips to pull you towards the edge of the desk.

Max tugs strongly on your lacy underwear until it gives way at the seams, baring you to him. He pauses to appreciate the view, eyes roaming hungrily over your glistening folds.

“I’m still going to beat you tomorrow,” he rasps.

You tug on his hair impatiently. “Just get on with it before we get caught.”

With a wicked grin he dives in, mouth latching onto your throbbing clit. You cry out, quickly slapping a hand over your own mouth.

You fumble with his belt, desperate to feel him. Max groans as you wrap your hand around his length.

“Fuck, just like that,” he groans against your skin, increasing the rhythm of his tongue in response. The desk rocks dangerously beneath you but neither of you slow your ministrations.

You whimper his name, pleasure building steadily under his expert touch. The fingers of one hand twist in his hair while you keep your other hand moving up and down in measured strokes as you near the edge.

“Look at me,” Max commands raggedly. You open your eyes to meet his wild gaze. The connection between you crackles.

“Max ...” you gasp as your climax crashes over you. You slap a hand over your lips, muffling your cries.

As you float back down, Max withdraws his mouth. You keen at the loss but then he’s lining himself up at your entrance. Gripping your hip tightly, he pushes inside in one smooth motion.

You cling to his shoulders, nails digging in as you adjust around him. Max trembles with restraint, giving you a moment before he starts to move.

Then he sets a relentless pace, the desk slamming against the wall with each powerful snap of his hips. You wrap your legs around him, spurring him even deeper.

Max pounds into you relentlessly, wrenching desperate moans from your lips. You’re vaguely aware of picture frames and papers tumbling to the floor around you but the chaos only adds to the thrill.

You’re close, the pressure building deep inside. With a few more well-angled thrusts you topple over the edge, coming hard around him. Your breasts bounce as your back arches sharply off the desk.

“There you go, princess,” Max rasps. He continues driving into your spasming center until his rhythm turns choppy and erratic.

“Fuck, I’m close,” Max grits out. You clench around him, greedy for his release. His hips stutter and then he spills inside you with a guttural groan. The sensation pushes you over the edge again, your vision whiting out from the intensity.

Breathing raggedly, Max collapses on top of you, pinning you to the desk. You’re both slick with sweat and utterly spent, your heart rates slowly returning to normal. You run your fingers through his damp waves soothingly.

The room is silent save for your heavy breathing. As the haze of lust clears, the ramifications of what just happened settle over you.

You just slept with your sworn rival on your team principal’s desk.

After a long moment Max pulls out of you and steps back, tucking himself away. On shaky legs you slide off the desk, stumbling slightly as you find your feet, and rush to put on your clothes.

Max grabs his shirt off the floor and shrugs back into it. His hair is mussed wildly and his lips are kiss-swollen. You’re sure you look much the same.

You and Max spring apart at the sound of the lock clicking open. Christian strides back into his office, oblivious to the disheveled state that both of his drivers are in.

“Well, have you two worked out your differences?” He looks between you expectantly.

You smooth down your rumpled shirt and attempt to tuck your wild hair back into place. Your cheeks flame as you meet Christian’s gaze.

“I think we’ve come to an ... understanding,” Max says evenly, though you notice a hint of color in his cheeks as well.

Christian surveys his office, taking in the askew trophies and books scattered across the floor. You hold your breath, certain he’s going to put two and two together.

“It seems you had a disagreement about reorganizing my office during your chat,” Christian says wryly.

You nearly choke in surprise. Does he really not realize what just transpired on his desk? You chance a glance at Max and have to suppress a hysterical giggle at the disbelief on his face.

“I apologize for the mess, we got a bit ... heated,” you say, biting your lip to keep from laughing at the double meaning.

“Yes, clearly things escalated between you two.” Christian frowns at a photo of him and Dietrich Mateschitz now lying cracked on the floor. You resist the urge to shrink under his disappointed dad stare.

“However, the important thing is you’ve worked through this animosity once and for all, correct?” He looks between you expectantly.

You and Max nod in unison. “Water under the bridge,” Max assures him. You’re impressed by how steady he manages to keep his voice even as you can see the barely contained mirth dancing in his eyes.

“Excellent. I’ll inform the team that tensions are resolved and they can stop walking on eggshells around the both of you.” Christian claps his hands together, apparently satisfied. “Now get out of here and get ready for free practice.”

You and Max don’t need telling twice. As soon as the door shuts behind you, the laughter you’ve been holding in bubbles out.

“I can’t believe he actually bought that,” Max says between chuckles.

“We literally destroyed his office and he thinks we just had a minor spat,” you giggle, shaking your head incredulously.

Your laughter trails off as the reality of what happened sinks in. You just had crazy hot sex with Max Verstappen. Where do you go from here?

Before you can overthink it, Max presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Meet me at the hotel tonight? We should continue this conversation somewhere more private,” he murmurs suggestively.

You bite your lip but find yourself nodding. As complicated and ill-advised as this may be, you can’t find it in yourself to deny your attraction to Max now that you’ve given in to it.

“It’s a date,” you whisper back.

Max grins and steals another quick kiss before you part ways to get changed.

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putellasawfc · 1 month

Text

pre-parental panic !

alexia putellas x pregnant!reader

summary: attending another game in support of your fiancée, everything should’ve gone smoothly. but chaos ensues when an ignorant security guard gets a little too handsy. (warnings: injury whilst pregnant, but nothing serious in the end & there’s a happy ending). words: 5.8k

it was another beautiful day in barcelona and you found yourself in at attendance at yet another barcelona and real madrid clash, something you had come to love over the last few years of your life.

when you first met alexia, you had very minimal knowledge of the sport she had such an intense passion for which you worried would be something of a turn off for the blonde barcelona captain, but to your delight the woman surprisingly found it endearing and was adorably excited to teach you about the amazing world of football. and she was a good teacher, it only took you just over a month of knowing alexia to know all of the football terms by heart.

you didn’t miss the way her face would light up when you would get immersed into a match, whether it be her own or just a random one she’d put on the television for the night. she’d watch you with soft eyes as you gestured towards the device in frustration, complaining that the goal that went in shouldn’t count because the player was definitely offside, soon turning to alexia herself in an attempt to get her to back you up. she hadn’t even seen the goal, too busy watching you, but she nodded in agreement anyways. if you said it was offside, then it was.

it was at a barcelona game that your relationship was publicised.

it was after the championships league final, barcelona had worked their hearts out after coming back from being two goals down at halftime. you watched in the stands, beside alexia’s mother and sister on the edge of your seat. you knew how much this meant to your girlfriend and you worried that the chance to become champion league winners had just slipped from the barcelona team’s fingers, something you knew would take a huge toll on the ever so self critical alexia, and you hated that you couldn’t grab even a second with her just to give her a hug and share some words of encouragement, even if she wasn’t actually on the pitch yet.

all you could do was wait in your seat and hope that chances were made and the team came back out for the second half amped up and eager to fight until the last minute.

and that they did.

with patri managing to score a brace, and rolfö scoring another goal twenty minutes later you were on cloud nine by the time the final whistle blew, and you knew your girlfriend was absolutely ecstatic with the way the team dominated in the second half. you stayed in the stands with alexia’s family, sharing hugs and celebrating with the duo whilst you waited, rather impatiently, for alexia to finish celebrating with her team and come join you all.

you watched from afar as she lifted the trophy, taking as many pictures and videos as you could of the memorable moment so that you could look back on the special day in months and years to come, remembering how overjoyed you were to be able to see alexia achieve something she had spent countless of nights stressing over, understandably so.

when the celebrations began to quell, and players wandered off the pitch to join family and friends in the stands, alexia all but skipped to be with you, where she had been aching to be since that final whistle.

she pulled you into a hug, and you squeezed the muscular woman as hard as you could, hoping you would be able to convey every ounce of love you had for the phenomenal woman in the warm embrace. “so proud of you espléndida.”

you felt a puff of breath against your ear as she laughed at your comment, knowing you had been working on your pet names in spanish lately, wanting to woo the woman in more than just english.

“thank you mi novia, i am so glad you’re here.” she whispered, pulling away from the hug but still keeping her hands on your waist.

your heart melted at the sight of tears shining in the woman’s eyes, her emotions clearly beginning to get the better of her after a tough match against a team that looked like they were taking home the win in the first half. your hand quickly moved, almost like second nature to you, to wipe away a stray tear that trickled down her slightly muddied cheek, caressing the area with your knuckles once you had.

“i’ll alway be here baby.”

you wanted nothing more than to smother your girlfriend in a considerable amount of affection, but you were conscious of the cameras and the number of fans still in attendance, in hopes of getting a photo with the champions. you didn’t want to be the cause of outing your relationship with alexia, someone who was very private with her personal life and had made sure to keep you quiet in the public eye since you made things official.

you knew the fans weren’t blind, they’d noticed you, someone they had never seen before, suddenly attending almost every barcelona match alongside alexia’s family, always sharing a hug and some hushed whispers with their captain at the end of every match. they’d decided you were alexia’s new girlfriend a number of months ago, but with no real confirmation from alexia yet, she was happy to keep them in the dark with who you really were to her.

and so you settled with just giving the midfielder a beaming smile, ready to step back and give her some space to interact with eli and alba who were happily engaged in their own conversation as they waited for alexia to finish with you, like they always did.

but then you felt a tug on your hand, and you looked back at alexia with your brows furrowed in confusion at what she could possibly want. she only maintained eye contact with you for a second, maybe two, before her eyes drifted downwards and found themselves transfixed on your lips. later on she would blame the lip balm you had applied at half time, telling you your lips just looked so soft and inviting she couldn’t help herself. it was your fault really.

but for now she pushed any hesitation to the back of her mind, and leaned in rather swiftly, quickly connecting your lips in a sweet yet passionate kiss, one you sank into immediately with your hold on the footballers shoulders increasing.

it was cut shorter than you would’ve liked, but you knew alexia was risking a lot already by initiating the kiss in the first place, and so you didn’t complain, only smiled at the blonde who now held a flushed complexion to her face as she smiled back at you.

“oo la la, did i just witness mi hermana partake in some pda?”

the teasing voice of alba broke through the bubble you and alexia had found yourself lost in since she had approached you minutes ago, the playful banter between the sisters making you laugh as alexia pushed her younger sibling which didn’t deter her from making fun of alexia even further.

you were pleasantly surprised when you opened up your instagram later that night, just having one last look at your phone before you switched it off and got ready to sleep. you quickly clicked on alexia’s story when you noticed she had posted on it, and smiled at all the pictures she had posted of the day. her with the trophy, the team with the trophy, a video of her and mapi screaming in glee at the camera with confetti stuck in their hair.

it was the last photo of the bunch that sent your heart beating that little bit faster. it was a picture of the kiss, with a black and white filter layered over the top. you couldn’t stop the cheesy grin overtaking your features even if you really wanted to at the sight, your thumb quickly moving to click on the heart at the bottom right corner.

guess you we’re officially, official.

and now, two years later, here you sat beside alba once again (eli was too busy to attend, but had called alexia earlier with her usual well wishes), with an ice cold bottle of water in hand that alexia had practically forced you to take whilst she demanded you be seated in one of the more shaded areas of the arena, the protective mother to be mindful of the blazing weather.

the game went as expected, with barcelona already one nil up before the time had even reached double digits, the goal being made by aitana which had you cheering for the baller from your seat.

it seemed as though the early goal had set the tone for the rest of the match, as barcelona continued to score goal after goal throughout both half’s, whilst madrid struggled to score any. the final whistle blew earlier than you had been expected, being so engrossed in the game you hadn’t realised the clock had stopped at ninety-six minutes, the team managing to score five against madrid where madrid failed to score any in retaliation.

you knew alexia would be in good spirits after the win, especially with the no goals conceded and the fact that she had managed to earn her own goal and assist in the match, something that usually would’ve had you jumping for joy but with your newly acquired baby bump, you were forced to stay put and be content with just cheering and clapping instead - which you did with all your might.

everything about your day has been going incredibly, until it was time to meet up with alexia.

since you had arrived at the later stages of your pregnancy, alexia had decided that it would be best for both of you if you came to her rather than her coming to you like she usually did. then you would be able to go with her through the tunnels and into the locker rooms, remaining with her whilst she got showered and changed. the idea had already been cleared by jonatan who had no issues with the new routine, as long as it wasn’t disrupting play (which it wasn’t) then he didn’t care.

she argued that it was so that she was there incase something happened to you in the fifteen minutes that it took her to get ready to go home - usually it would take double that time but she rushed through her regime in order to get you home sooner, and you found her reasoning excessive but you didn’t say anything, finding it endearing how much more protective she had become over you since your bump became visible.

you made your way carefully down the concrete steps after you had bid farewell to alba, a goodbye that was only temporary as the brunette would be meeting alexia and yourself at your shared apartment so that you could partake in some well needed catching up with the younger putellas sister who had been way too busy over the past few weeks.

your hand clung to the metal railing that was helping you stabilise yourself on the way down, your other hand finding itself underneath your bump whilst you stretched your neck in order to see your feet and ensure that you weren’t about to slip or miss a step, not wanting to cause any last minute chaos.

though you wondered if that attempt was in vain, as you assessed the situation that greeted you at the bottom of the stairs.

a frown found itself on your face at the rowdy fans that were trying to get as close to the barrier as they possibly could, desperate to get a picture with one of the barcelona girls, some additionally holding different items they wanted to be signed. a few fans were even trying to push their way onto the pitch, something that was irritating the security guard to no end which was apparent by the angry lines etched on the man’s forehead.

you tried your best to ignore the fuss, continuing your journey to find alexia with as little interaction with the fans as you could manage. you didn’t want to seem rude, but you knew if you accepted to take a picture with one person, then you’d have a huge crowd around you in seconds, eager to get something from the captain’s girlfriend which would just overwhelm you and you weren’t just worrying for your own safety anymore. you did give a wave though, when they cheered at your presence which thankfully they seemed content with.

you budged past a few barcelona tshirt clad fans, and managed to take two steps onto the pitch when an arm was raised infront of you, preventing you from advancing any further.

“no fans allowed on the pitch.” a gruff and unimpressed sounding voice reached your ears.

“i’m going to see alexia, i’m her fiancée.” you gave the middle aged man a smile whilst you flashed your rather impressive engagement ring, expecting the man to perk up at the realisation of who you were and let you pass.

but that didn’t happen.

instead, he just gave you a look of pure disbelief, his eyes flickering to your bump with an amused smirk. “oh, and i’m guessing that baby in there belongs to her too?”

your brows furrowed at the man’s tone, not sure if he was too behind the times to believe that it was possible for two women in a relationship to have a baby in a way that didn’t involve adoption, or if he was just trying to call your bluff. either way, you couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed at his condescending tone.

“yes actually.” the man only scoffed in response, still not letting you through.

“i’m not lying to you, seriously. look, i can even prove it to you.”

you moved to grab your phone from your jacket pocket, with your lockscreen being a picture of alexia and yourself on one of your many date nights, you figured that would be more than enough to prove that you were in fact in a relationship with the footballer. and if that still didn’t help convince him, you could just call alexia herself and have her come and collect you.

you clicked on the side button of your phone, the screen lighting up at the action and there was the picture of the both of you. alexia stood behind you with her arms wrapped around your shoulders, pulling your back to her chest whilst you both smiled at the camera. you turned your phone around to show it to the security guard, who to your dismay didn’t even spare one glance at the device and instead moved to grab ahold of your arm in a less than gentle manner.

“look, i don’t have time for crazy, obsessed fans okay? i have a job to do and you’re pushing it, so this is the last time i’ll ask nicely. please return to your seat and wait for the players to approach. if you don’t i’ll have no choice but to have you removed from the stadium all together.” despite using his manners, his words were spat out harshly and his grip on your arm tightened throughout his demands, leaving you gritting your teeth together in pain.

“let go of me! i’m telling the truth, i’ll call alexia and get her over here right now and she’ll tell your herself that i am her fiancée!” you told him, fed up with his distrust in you.

it was then, that a fan who had taken the security man’s distraction with you as a prime opportunity to sneak past and run onto the pitch, accidentally stumbled on their way past, effectively sending their body barging into the security man, and with the speed they were running at, it wasn’t just a light impact. it sent the man, who still had his hand wrapped around your arm, pushing against you and before you knew it, you had landed bump first into the metal barrier that was to the side of you all.

the cramp like pain that spread throughout your lower stomach was immediate, and intense from the get go. you doubled over in pain, crying out in agony at the ache that was worse than anything you had ever felt in your entire life. the security guard who had seemed to clue onto his mistake, quickly released your arm and took a step back as if he was attempting to look as though he was just a concerned onlooker, but what he hadn’t accounted for was the furious blonde who had seen the incident and was fast approaching.

“qué diablos crees que estás haciendo?”

the man, who was beyond cocky and aggressive only seconds prior, had now paled considerably at the sight of alexia who looked like she was seconds away from pouncing on the guard, who could only cower away from her irate demeanour. you were sure the only thing stopping her were the fans who had all stood in a stunned silence at what had just occurred infront of them.

“l-lo siento! it was a mistake, i was pushed!”

“you shouldn’t have had your hands on her in the first place, bastardo!” she spat, before she turned to you and the fire in her eyes melted away leaving only a puddle of concern in its absence.

“querida, are you okay? how bad does it hurt? can you walk?” alexia quick fired an abundance of questions at you, you who could barely concentrate on what she was saying as the pain took control of all your senses, all you could focus on was the sharp stabbing feeling that wasn’t getting better anytime soon.

the panic in alexia hit an all time high at the lack of response she received from you, as you continued to remain hunched over with an arm helping you lean against the barrier you had been launched into, and your other wrapped around your heavy bump. she ran a hand through her hair, a clear sign on stress in the thirty year old as she tried to think of what she could do next.

it was as if god had heard her silent plea for help, as a familiar accent reached her ears just as she was about to crack under the anxiety.

“yn? are you okay? alexia, what’s going on?”

alexia’s teary eyes met ingrid’s confused ones, the norwegian woman trying to figure out what was going on, it had only been a minute ago that alexia had excused herself from the teams celebrations to come and meet you near the bench, where you always met. only, when she began to make her way towards the tunnel so she could get ready and go home to mapi, she saw you with your back to the rest of the stadium and alexia with the angriest look she had ever seen on her friends face. not a good sign at all.

“he hurt yn! pushed her into the barrier and now she’s hurting but, she won’t talk to me and i don’t know what to do!” the catalan woman was quick to explain the situation to ingrid whose jaw dropped at the revelation, her eyes immediately seeking you out to see what state you were in now that she was up close.

she approached you cautiously, as if you were some wounded, stray animal who might run away at the first sign of contact, and placed a gentle hand on your back.

“call the medics over, they’ll be able to give her a brief assessment and will tell you if you need to get her to a hospital.” ingrid told alexia, her voice carrying a much needed sense of calmness that was desperately needed at the moment, but on the inside the dark haired woman was anything but.

alexia nodded rapidly, giving you one more troubled look as if she didn’t want to depart from you, but she knew you needed help, now. so she quickly spun on her foot and ran as fast as she could to the bench, where the medics were still gathering their belongings thankfully.

ingrid watched her go for a moment until her attention turned to you, “hey yn, can you stand up straight for me? or is it too painful?”

your iron like grip on the railings had your knuckles turning a white colour, which ingrid took notice of before you shook your head wildly, all that left your mouth was a harsh breath.

“you can’t stand up?”

this time you nodded.

ingrid sighed, already knowing you weren’t in a good state when she approached, but now her heart beat wildly in her chest when she realised how bad it really was. she could only imagine how erratic alexia was feeling, god knows what she’d be like if she was in this situation with mapi one day.

all the norwegian could do is rub you back in an attempt to ease even a tiny bit of your discomfort, but in the back of her mind she knew any of her efforts would be a waste.

it wasn’t long before alexia rushed back, this time with the medics following closely behind and even a few more barca girls who had overheard the loud ramblings of their captain a few feet away, and had to come see if you were okay.

the medics moved quickly to give you a look over, they weren’t specialised in anything pregnancy related unfortunately but they were the closest thing the team had to actual doctors so you just had to cope with what you had until you could be seen by the real thing.

they tried their best to asses you without causing you too much discomfort, a task easier said than done as you seemed to wince and cry out at every prod or poke near your stomach, which is where they needed to be. alexia watched a few feet away, feeling helpless as she watched her love almost collapsing from the pain and she could do nothing to help, not even hold your hand and whisper reassurances into your ear as the medics needed all the space they could get.

rölfo was on one side of her, rubbing the woman’s back in some attempt at comforting the captain, whilst claudia stood on her other side, gripping alexia’s hand in her own as she nibbled on her bottom lip, all three of them watching your every move.

the doctors asked you a few questions, similar to how alexia had done earlier but less frantically. what does the pain feel like? can you feel the baby moving at all? are you able to sit down? all were answered with a shake of your head, and your nerves grew when one of the female medics told you she was going to check under you dress to see if you had any bleeding.

both the staff, and the barca girls built a human made border around you so that she was able to discreetly lift your dress, just up to your upper thigh so that she was able to get a good look, the whole crowd of you visibly relaxing when she put her thumb up, no blood.

“we’re gonna get them to bring the ambulance on the pitch, okay? we need to get her to a hospital as soon as possible, the quicker we get her there, the better. she needs proper scans and tests that only hospitals can provide.” the medic explained, her eyes locking with alexia’s damp ones, who could only sniffle and nod in response.

the whole situation was surreal to her. only moments prior she was on a high from the win with her team, three points secured and an impressive clean sheet was the best turn out for her. and now, her stomach was in knots and she felt like she could be sick at any given moment, there was no way she could settle until she was reassured by a doctor that you and your baby were okay.

“alexia.” your strained voice called out amongst the various voices blending together around her, and the blonde perked up when she realised you were calling out for her.

she quickly approached you, cautious of your still hunched over figure with a hand quickly finding it’s way to the back of your head in an attempt to bring you any comfort as her nails scraped against your scalp with slow and gentle strokes. “mi amor? what’s wrong?”

“just, need you here. please.” you told her through gritted teeth, “don’t leave me.”

“nunca, dulce niña, nunca.” her words came across firm and steady, which was an apparent difference from her previous wobbly voice, something you were grateful for.

you knew alexia would be losing her mind as the seconds passed by, the usual calm exterior she demonstrated to the public whenever she knew she had eyes on her had been completely thrown out of the window, any worry for how people may regard her gone as her entire body shook with anxiety. but the second you needed her, needed that steady presence by your side to help you breathe properly, it was back.

she continued to comfort you in her own special was as you both uneasily awaited the arrival of the ambulance which you were assured was coming as fast as possible. her fingers glided through your hair, her nails continuing to scrape at your scalp, gently tugging on any knots and travelling all the way down to the nape of your neck, before travelling all the way back up again as she repeated the same motion over and over. you closed your eyes and tried your very best to focus only on your fiancée’s touch, rather than the pain that still seared just below your belly button, a task easier said than done.

eventually the blue lights flickered behind your eyelids, and the high pitched screech of the siren blasted throughout the stadium, alerting the few that weren’t already aware, that there was an emergency of some kind on the pitch. the vehicle came to a steady halt only a few feet away, eliminating as much walking distance as it physically could for you. the back doors swung open and two paramedics jumped out, a man and a woman who sussed you out pretty quickly, being the only obvious pregnant woman.

as they helped you into the back of the ambulance, alexia clung onto you the whole way, refusing to depart from you for even a second as if you were her life line. her hand stayed gripped onto yours, whilst her other stuck to your lower back whilst she gently guided you up the two stairs attached to the ambulance.

the barca girls said their goodbyes, wishing you well and telling alexia to keep them updated, though you weren’t sure if the blonde registered their requests, her body language showing no indication that she acknowledged them at all, but they didn’t take it to heart. they knew she would get into contact with them when everything had settled, hopefully with good news.

now, hours later, it was just yourself and alexia sat in a dimly lit hospital room, you laid back on the bed with alexia sat on the small couch that she had pulled up to the bed so that she could sit with her hand in yours, her thumb stroking your knuckles. you were both enjoying the peace and quiet after the long and stressful day you had both just endured, one you were both glad to see the back of.

the doctors had been in and out continuously, after their initial tests when you had arrived they were in good spirits about the health of your baby. they had let you know that everything seemed okay, the only concern they had was the baby’s heartbeat which was a little faster than normal but they reassured you that was more than likely due to the scare it had when you had fallen into the barrier with quite some force. still, they kept you in just to be sure, returning to the room every hour or so to do regular checks.

alexia was still clad in her barcelona kit, captain armband and all, even after you had reassured her you would be fine for an hour or so if she wanted to head home, shower and get herself into something a little comfier. she had only given you a look as if you had openly insulted her, adamant that she should stay with you to be sure that she was here if anything happened. she would never be able to forgive herself if she had left and things took a turn for the worse.

“how are you feeling now mi amor? are you still getting any pains?” she asked, her hands squeezing yours as she did.

“nope, they faded off awhile ago baby. there’s a little pressure but it’s not painful, maybe a little uncomfortable but i can deal with it.” you explained to her as best as you could, smoothing your spare hand over your clothed bump with an affectionate grin.

she nodded at your response, knowing there wasn’t anything she could do except be grateful that you were at least no longer in pain.

“i was so scared when i saw you, the way he pushed you, my heart dropped into my stomach i thought i was going to pass out from the panic i felt.”

you looked towards alexia with a frown, noticing the far away look in her eye as she spoke, her gaze was fixated on the bedsheets you were laid under as if she was replaying the earlier events in her head which didn’t surprise you one bit.

“hey, look at me.” you pulled at her hand, jerking her body forward slightly so that she was torn from her never ending, doom and gloom filled thoughts. her hazel eyes met yours and you felt your heart clench at the clear anxiety still present in them.

“i’m okay, the baby is okay, you’re okay. we’re all okay.” you spoke with confidence, making sure she believed every word coming out of your mouth. “i can’t imagine how scary it was to witness what you did, and i know it’s going to leave you shaken up for a long time but baby, everything is fine. in a few hours we’ll be dismissed, we’ll be back at home and it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”

you weren’t sure if those words were the right ones, but you did notice how alexia’s shoulders visibly softened and the grip on your hand fizzled ever so slightly, so you figured you must’ve said something she needed to hear. the star player nodded her head, her eyes momentarily flickering towards the monitor that kept record of the baby’s heartbeat before they returned to yours, this time her lips quirked upwards slightly and you were relieved to see her slowly returning the light hearted woman you knew her to be.

“you’re right, mi amor. and i am so glad you are okay, you mean everything to me. i hope you know that.”

you smiled at that, leaning forward to plant an appreciative kiss to the woman’s lips at her heartwarming words. “trust me ale, i know. and the feeling is wholeheartedly mutual.”

her grin mirrored yours, and you both shared another kiss, this one lasting a few seconds longer than the one prior. this time when you pulled away, alexia’s expression had transformed into a more serious one, her eyes darkening ever so slightly.

“that security guard will never be allowed back at any of our games again. not after today, he’s lucky he left in one piece, if you hadn’t been my main focus i would have done something i couldn’t undo.” she spat, her tone filled with venom towards the man who was the reason you were stuck in a hospital room right now.

“well it’s a good job i was then, huh?” you nudged her playfully, “though i appreciate the sentiment, i’m glad you didn’t end up doing something that could’ve potentially ruined your career.”

she hummed at that, “well he should think himself lucky that you’re okay, both of you. or else he’d be dealing with something else entirely.”

you didn’t respond to that, only smiled at the woman who was so fiercely protective over you and your unborn child, something that you found incredibly endearing.

just as you were about to ask if she was sure she didn’t want to return home to get a much needed shower and change of clothes, the door once again creaked open, and you looked over expecting to see the doctor that had been assigned to you. but instead, your brow arched in confusion when a head peaked around the slightly ajar door, one that certainly did not belong to the doctor.

instead, the blonde looked to you and alexia with a cheeky grin, with what looked like a ‘get well soon’ balloon floating in and out of the room behind her. “lo siento, but when alexia told me you were okay i had to come down and check for myself.”

mapi explained herself, and you smiled at the defender who was clearly itching to be invited into the room by alexia, who seemed to be stuck between amusement and annoyance at the impatience of her dear friend.

“is it just you?” alexia asked, rising to her feet for the first time since you had both been here.

“um, well.” mapi’s voice trailed off as she pushed the door wider, the culprits who had been exposed tensing up as they were now revealed to their captain, and you had to hold back your laughter at their nervous smiles.

alexia sighed at the sight of her teammates. patri, claudia, ona, salma, vicky and even aitana all stood in a huddle behind mapi who had obviously been elected as the one to enter the room first, the rest fearing the wrath of the great alexia putella’s if they entered at the wrong time.

“dios mío, you guys couldn’t have just waited to see us?” alexia sighed, and you hushed her.

“it’s okay bebé, i think it’s sweet. let them come in.” you told your fiancée who looked at you to make sure you were okay with it, when you nodded your head in response, she shook hers at your soft heart, but gestured for the girls to enter anyways which they did in seconds.

“where’s ingrid? i’m surprised she let you do this.” you asked mapi who was busying herself by tying the balloon to the side of your bed.

“oh she’s waiting in the car. incase alexia kicked us all out.”

(sorry i am awful at endings but i hope you enjoyed this)

#woso #woso community #fcb femeni one shot #fcb femeni #fcb femeni x reader #fcb femeni imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas one shot #alexia putellas imagine #woso fluff #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot

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norrisleclercf1 · 10 months

Text

Bad Reputation

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Sainz!Reader

Rating: PG-13

Words: 2.2K

Requested: Yes/No

Request: Omg this is random but can you pls write bad reputation max x super good girl reader? Like everyone says she shouldn’t go for max and criticising their relationship, saying he’s bad for her and whatever but they just don’t know him like she does and we all know max is the sweetest person irl (and Netflix is a bitch for pushing a bad agenda about him) and it’s just all the sweet secret moments they have between them? Kinda like the song ‘call it what you want’ by taylor swift & delicate (‘my reputations never been worse, so you must like me for me’) 🥺

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, secret relationship, Papa and Carlos are fuckers, Carlos is a petty bitch, nothing major honestly

Max Verstappen The Notorious Bad Guy That Stole A Championship

You scuff at the news article on your phone. How ridiculous. Not only was it dragging up old wounds, but distasteful simply due to Max dominating right now.

"Something wrong?" Your eyes peer at your brother over your sunglasses. "No, just another distasteful article about Max again." You try to reign in the anger of your words, but it's evident as the man across from you raises his eyebrow. "You defend him too much." Rolling your eyes, you want to bite back that you don't.

It'd be a lie, of course. You knew Max better than everyone else. Yet, you had to keep that hidden from the world. "You're just jealous because he's been kicking your ass." Sticking your tongue out at your brother Carlos who flips you off. "Carlos, you put your finger down right now." Your mother hisses, fixing your hair which has you moving away.

"She's not a baby, Mama," Carlos grumbles, leaning back into the lawn chair. "Carlos, your sister is a good girl. Don't sully her eyes." Your mother sighs, placing plates of food down. "Mama, stop. I'm not a child." You grumble, lowering the brightness on your phone.

You hated having to hide your relationship with Max. But, he was known to have a horrible temper, foul-mouthed, cheater, thief, and everything else under the sun. But, to you? He was calm, a boy who grew into a man too quickly, chasing the records to be etched into greatness. Max's foul mouth was never pointed at you. That mouth gave you soft promises and sweet nothings.

Everyone judged him because of DTS, his radios, and the fact he had no remorse when it came to the races, driving hard and winning hard. They needed someone to blame, and Max was the easy escape for fans and teams alike.

I saw the article. You didn't steal it. You won fairly. They don't want to admit it.

Hitting send, you place your phone on your lap, waiting for a reply. You knew it'd be late in Monaco as you enjoyed the summer break with Carlos back home in Spain. Throughout the night, you kept checking your phone, unable to help yourself. A soft buzz on your lap has your smile growing more than usual as you look at your phone.

I could care less; I'll only care if they involve you. No one knows yet, and that's for the best. When do you come back? I miss you.

Those three words have your heart beating faster. He missed you? Max and you haven't been together long, just shy of 7 months. Still, in that honeymoon phase, you always made excuses to your brother and his friends about why you couldn't hang out. Carlos was going suspicious, even once tried following you only to see you go to a bookstore.

I miss you too. Have to go. Carlos is about to-

You hit send just as Carlos snatches your phone. "Carlos! Give it back!" Swiping for the phone, Carlos steps back as he looks at your screen. He laughs as you two fight for the phone, but it dings, making you frantic. "Carlos, please. Please give me back my phone. I'm begging you." Desperation evident. "What? Texting your boyfriend?" Carlos jokes, but that smile of his slips when he reads the text.

"Carlos, I can explain." He tosses your phone back, all traces of your brother gone, replaced with a pissed-off man. "Max answered your text. We'll talk later." He whispers in your ear, going back to his seat. The rest of the family joining the two of you now. Looking down at your phone, you see the text and know Carlos is about to lose his mind.

Call me. Love you buttercup

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lying on your bed, you stare at Max's contact. You want to call him, but you know Carlos is waiting for the party downstairs to die so he can slip away. Max had texted you multiple times since the afternoon, ranging from asking how dinner was to asking if you were angry with him.

"Y/n?" Shooting up, you fix your shirt as your older brother Carlos pokes his head in. "I'm still awake." Carlos pushes the door wider, fitting his body through before closing it with no sound. "Do I need to ask, or will you tell me?" He moves from the door to lay on your bed, you following him. "Carlos, please don't make me." He huffs, his larger hand holding yours. "Why? Because you'll know what I'll say? And I will say it, pequeña." You sit up, staring at your phone screen.

It lights up, Max's smiling face staring at you. Unable to look at it, you hit decline and mute it. "He's good to me, Carlos." Your brother snorts, rolling his eyes at those words. "So what? You know his reputation. He's a loose canon that doesn't care who he hurts. You'll be a casualty in his warpath." Carlos sits up, rubbing your shoulder as he stands. "Dump him, pequeña. He'll only hurt you." Carlos doesn't wait for an answer, leaving with a sense of accomplishment, thinking you'll dump Max.

Standing, you look at yourself in the mirror. The small silver bracelet with a little lion hides slips from your sleeve, reminding you of the day Max gave it to you.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

3 months ago

"Max, I'm going to be late. Carlos and Papa are strict about curfew." It was stupid, but the men in your family still gave you a curfew. You did have the good girl image as the youngest Sainz to uphold. "We've got 30 minutes. Besides, I can get us back in 5," Max smirks, tugging you through the crowded festival.

Smiling, you tug him back, wrapping your other arm around the one holding your hand. Unable to help himself, he leans down, kissing you without a care who saw. "Come on. There is one stand I want to visit." High off the kiss, you nod as you move around the people. Max stops before this tiny little stand with an older woman making jewelry.

"Excuse me, can you make this for me?" The older woman smiles, taking a slip of paper in Max's hand. Opening it, her smile grows as she nods and gets to work. "What's she making?" Max shushes you, kissing your ear. "Be patient, buttercup." Unable to stop the blush, you turn away, hiding your face in his side. Laughing, he kisses the top of your head as fireworks explode above.

The older woman finishes what she is working on, handing it to Max. Pocketing it, he hands over more money than needed. Before the woman notices, Max tugs you away. "Where are we going?" You yell over the loud music and fireworks. "Somewhere, quiet." The farther you walk, the music starts to fade, but the fireworks still burst into colors above. You gasp, seeing a little gazebo with a pond around it. "Come on." He urges, pulling you out of your haze.

The two of you run to the gazebo, you jumping up the ledge so you can look Max in the eye. "How'd I get so lucky?" Max whispers, wrapping his arms around your waist. "I think I should be asking that." With a hum, you rest your head on his chest, watching the fireworks. Max says nothing as you enjoy the show and others' warmth. "Oh, this is for you," Max whispers, leaning down to grab something from his pocket.

"Max, you shouldn't have gotten me anything." Hating when he spends money on you. "Stop. You're the light in my life right now. Let me be the one to make it burn brighter." Shutting you up with a kiss. Pulling away with giggles, he places the silver bracelet in your palm, looking away. Peering at it, your heart squeezes as you stare at a little lion head dangling off it.

"We can't always be together when we're so close, sooo," Max groans, shy at admitting this. "This will prove that even though I can't always be next to you, I'm here." Pointing at the lion's head, looking up, he stops seeing tears in your eyes. "It's perfect. I love you." Your eyes grow wide as you both take in what you have just said.

"Oh, Max. God, it's so earlier. I'm so-" Words get swallowed as his lips mesh with yours, kissing away your apologies. "Don't apologize. I love you too, Y/n Sainz." The two of you laugh, losing yourself in one another. Curfew be damned.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Present Day

"Stay away from Max. Today is a race day, we don't need you getting caught and your name being ruined." Your father hisses so others don't hear. So much for trusting Carlos. He told your father immediately, not even giving you a chance. "Yes, Papi." Your father nods and lets you go, heading to talk to your cousin and Carlos.

Carlos looks at you smiling, but you lift your hand, flipping him off; no shame in showing off the bracelet Max gave you. Carlos's face turns sour, leaning in, whispering something to your father, who turns his face filled with rage. "Mama, going for a drink." Your mother waves you off, slipping through people, careful not to be spotted by cameras or media personnel.

It was stupid and reckless. You knew that walking that way was asking for trouble. You just couldn't help it, wanting one glimpse of Max. Stepping back and into the shadows, cameras come rushing past saying they just saw Max. Looking up, you feel a presence behind you and a hand on your mouth. Letting out a scream, it's muffled as that warm voice soothes you. "Buttercup, it's me." Automatically your body relaxes into his.

"Max?" Chuckling, he drops his hand, spinning you around. Fingers going for the lion head rubbing it. "Papi and my family know." Max's smile falls, fingers still, and he steps back. "Oh." You hate that he's doing this. Shutting down and refusing to talk about this. "Max, hey." Grabbing his hand, you pull him back close. "Please don't shut down on me. Please, I don't care what my family says. I love you." Max sighs, looking down at you as he yanks you into a hug.

"I love you too, but I don't want my reputation to harm you." He whispers into your hair, his racing heart calming by holding you in his arms. "Fuck that. I want you, Max. I picked you. You were my first and last choice." Max leans down, kissing the bracelet, then your lips. "I have to go. Race is about to start." You nod, giving him one last kiss as you watch him rush off.

"Where were you?" You control the urge to roll your eyes at your brother. You're tired of hiding how you feel, and you weren't going to be ashamed of it. "I was with Max. If you have a problem with it, deal with it." You hiss before joining the rest of your family, refusing to say a word.

"YES!" You knew it was wrong to scream loudly when Max crossed the line, a photo finish with your brother. You didn't care. Max deserved this win, but Carlos didn't. The backstabber needed to feel this sting, and you're glad he would. Ripping off the headphones, you make a run to parc ferme, only to be yanked back.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Your father snarls. "LET GO OF ME!" People turn, your father letting you go immediately as you take deep breaths. "I love him! I love him, Papi! He's the only one who understands me and is a good man! But you and Carlos are so blinded by the media and the rumors that you don't see how happy I am! So fuck you and this stupid image! I'm going to kiss the love of my life." Laughing, you turn, bolting off, watching Max jump out of the car, celebrating.

"MAX!" Hearing your voice, his helmet turns, looking at you. Without a second thought, he rushes over, scooping you up, pulling you over the rails as you hug him tight. "I love you, I love you." You repeat before you lean back, kissing his helmet. You can see his eyes scrunch in happiness.

"I don't care what people say; I don't care about your bad reputation. You're mine, good or bad. I choose you." Max laughs, spinning you around as people scream and cheer. From the corner of your eye, you see a red storm past, not even looking at you. He'll get over it. Even if he doesn't, you still have Max.

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 fandom #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x y/n #formula one #f1 scenario #max x reader #max verstappen imagine #max imagine #max verstappen #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen angst #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen scenario #red bull racing

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norrisreads · 1 year

Text

illicit affairs #CL16 #MS47

PAIRING: charles leclerc x ex-gf reader! mick schumacher x reader!

SUMMARY: he was once the man you’ve always dreamed of, until one day a decision made drunkenly by him made you realised you were never the chosen one

WARNING: angst + cheating, fluff at the end

masterlists

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

2018

being in a relationship has it’s ups and downs, not everyday is full of smiles and laughters, some times it’s deadly silence just like the situation right now between you and charles

you were in a relationship with charles leclerc eversince 2016, you’ve seen him won the formula 2 championship, jumping to formula 1, you were there when he went through hard times, there were days you had to put him over yourself and you’ve never once regretted it.

But here you are, in a relationship that’s full of rocky roads. Charles and you met through his younger brother arthur, you were just a year older than Arthur, and the both of you used to hangout at the leclerc’s apartment daily as the both of you were and still has a close friendship. Arthur had given an advice to you in the early stages of dating with his brother, an advice you should’ve listen clearly.

“i’ll pack my things later, and i’m moving out tomorrow charles” the both of you is currently in the kitchen, you sitting down sipping on your warm honey lemon tea and him just munching down on the breakfast you’ve made for him

“i’m sorry, i swear i do not know what came on to me. she just happened to be there, i should have pushed her, cherie” you heard the metal fork cling as it came in contact with the marble counter top, you refused to believe the news that was trending everywhere

Formula One driver Charles Leclerc caught cheating on his fiancé, y/n l/n last night

When you were woken up by Arthur calls, you were confused of course until you clicked on the link that was send to you from Arthur. Ironically last night, you were on the call with him frantically worrying on Charles whereabouts, other than being woken up by Arthur’s morning calls, you were greeted by the sight of Charles sprawled out on the sofa in the living room.

All the times you were asking for signs if he was made for you, and even though the news did broke your heart, it showed the truth to you and made you realise that you wouldn’t want to spend your precious moments crying and fixing a relationship that is probably isn’t even worth it anymore.

“Sorry doesn’t fix the heartache i woke up to this morning, Charles. If this relationship isn’t worth the fight for you, you could have ask for a break and not cheat on me with someone else. That is so low of you, you knew how cheating affects me, you promised you will never do what he did and here you are proving me wrong”

“i know mon cherie, i am aware and i am so sorry. all i can do right now is to apologise to you, i am so sorry. i love you, i really do. you’ll always be the person my heart beats for cherie, please listen to me” you could hear Charles footsteps approaching you

“sometimes i wish you are able to see how much i sacrifice myself for you, when you were devastated from losing races, i would drop every single thing i was doing and run to you, calm you down.” you could feel tears running down your cheeks, reminiscing the memories the both of you have made together, from bad memories to good memories

“i supported you in every races no matter how exhausted i was, i would pray everyday that you wouldn’t crash and hurt yourself or blame yourself. I had to turn down job offers because i know that i am your number one support system, and i’ll always have to be there” his hand reached yours and tightly gripping it not letting you go

“but I’m exhausted Charles, I’m exhausted that i am always the one putting so much more effort in the relationship, i know you’re fighting for your dreams but what about mine? You’ve never asked about it, i know so much of you yet you know so little of me. I’m sorry Charles, if this happened a year ago, i would have accepted you back in my life but i’m not her anymore.” you let go of his hand, walking to the sink of the shared kitchen and washed the mug

Charles of course had nothing to say because he knew how badly he has been treating you, especially when whatever you’ve spilled your hearts out were accurate, he knew too little of you.

“where are you going to stay, will you be at Arthur’s ?”

“i will crash over at Arthur’s until i found a place, you shouldn’t be concerned where i am staying, be more concerned with Arthur, he’s fuming Charles. He’s your brother, fix the relationship”

with that, you walked to the shared room and started packing your items while Charles left the house to give you space.

what Charles doesn’t know is that you had been blessed with a gift, but for now that is just for you to know.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

2021

Just 2 and a half years ago, on the 14th of February 2019, your baby girl was born into the world. Of course, Arthur, Pascale and Lorenzo knew about the pregnancy and promised to keep it a secret from him.

When you left the house, you were 2 weeks pregnant, you managed to settle in to an apartment nearby Arthur’s apartment due to safety reasons. You were glad that you’ve rarely bumped into Charles, because as of now you’re unsure if you would wanna let Charles know of the child that the both of you shared.

Pascale would constantly come over to provide assistance and you were glad she was there for you even when you aren’t apart of the family anymore.

Just a year after you’ve left, Charles had gotten in-to a relationship, Arthur would always talk to you about how she wasn’t you and it’ll end with you lecturing him on how he should’ve been happy for his brother instead of hating his relationship.

“she’s not you, y/n. she’s just so different” Arthur shouted across the living room while entertaining your daughter, Valentiné Aurore Hervé Leclerc.

Your lovely 2 and a half years old babygirl, Valentiné Aurore Hervé Leclerc, is the greatest gift to you, she was your strength and the reason you are still in this world.

Of course, you did struggled being a single parent but the support you’ve received from your family, friends and his family was never-ending.

“don’t say that thur, i’m sure she’s great and just shy. he’s happy, let him be thur” you lightly hit the back of Arthur’s head

“look baby val, your mum just hit me on the head” all val did was laughed and continued playing with the toys Enzo had gifted, with the exact same eye-smile Charles had

“would you ever let Charles know about val?” Arthur asked, taking a seat beside you

“of course, i wouldn’t mind because val deserves to know his dad too” you smiled while looking at your baby-girl playing

“though i prefer Charles to just be an uncle, rather than a dad. Furthermore she loves the existence of him, sooner or later she’s gonna call him papa”

“I’m glad you’ve found someone that truly treasure you, he’s a great person though you have to seriously stop dating drivers.”

the both of you laughed, and as you were speaking about him, you heard the keypad of your house door being key-ed in and just a minute later the door of your house opened.

“miiiiiicckkkkkkkkyyy” val dropped her toys and ran to mick.

mick placed his items on the counter top and picked up val, “how’s my favourite girl doing?” while giving kisses to your baby-girl

mick walked towards you and Arthur, “ thanks thur for your help, you’ve been nothing but nice to us”

“it’s alright mick, though i’ll prefer you to be away so val will start loving me more” arthur joked knowing before mick came into val’s life, arthur was her favourite uncle

“hello baby, I dropped by the restaurant and bought the soup that you were craving for, i hope it’s still hot though” Mick gave you a forehead kiss while holding val on the other arm of his.

Thur picked up his bags and said his goodbyes.

you are currently dating Mick Schumacher, the relationship has been since end 2020, you’ve met him when you were working at your cafe and happened to serve him and he happened to take a liking towards you. Mick knew of Charles and you history and have assured you that he does not really mind and he truly appreciate both val and you.

When val turned two years old, mick had brought her to one of val’s biggest dream place ever as all other kids calls it, Disneyland and spend the whole day with her and you’ve could see the look on val’s face that only lights up when she’s around Mick and realised that this was the man that you would want to build up your future with.

Charles knew about your relationship, with the presence of you you standing beside mick supporting him during the races.

You weren’t always there for the races but since it was mick’s first few races, you wanted it to be special for the both of you. Val was sleeping over at your best friend for the day, inviting her would’ve caused a huge mess between the both of you especially with the first glance of your daughter, anyone could tell she is related to Charles Leclerc.

Of course it was a surprise to him, leading him to text Arthur right after the both of you had a 5 minute conversation together.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

2022 MONACO GP

“okay baby, stay by mama and don’t run anywhere else okay? papa is gonna be busy for a while and you’ll able to see him on this track” you were instructing val to not run away, val has turned out to be a daddy’s girl ever-since Mick came in-to her life, being away from Mick for a few days was torture to her(us), face-timing was the usuals for the three of us.

of course, hiding val on the way to the paddock was hard enough, you had to ask gina’s help which she did assist in and came by earlier than you and Mick in order to avoid the assumptions.

“but will papa see me here? will he wave at me and you, mama?”

you’re now carrying your daughter on your other arm, while she’s fidgeting with the lanyards around her neck.

“i’m not sure baby, papa’s car pass by super fast val. they’re faster than the cars we have at home,baby”

val nods her head and snuggled her head onto your neck, signalling that she was sleepy.

“baby, you sleepy? wanna head back to the room?” she agreed as she had spend her afternoon nap being awake following Mick around everywhere.

On the way to the haas paddock club, you were on your phone, single handedly texting gina if she could bring out the blankets that was in your bag as she was still at the club waiting for Mick’s team meeting to be done.

until you bumped on-to someone, and that someone just happened to be him.

just when you’re holding your daughter, what a great timing

“mama, why stop?” Val’s rubbing her eyes wondering and snuggling back on to your neck

“a moment baby, just get back to sleeping okay?” rubbing val’s back soothing her down to get her back to sleeping.

Charles was shocked yet confused on why you’re holding a child and the said child was calling you mama. Charles knew your relationship with Mick had just been ongoing for 3 years and he knew that the little girl that you were carrying is more than 3 years old, but what he didn’t know was that the little girl on your arm was his own daughter that he had no clue off.

“y/n, you’ve never told me you had a daughter?” charles stopped in his tracks and you could see behind him was arthur and lorenzo, with a shocked face.

“oh look charles, you’re late to your team meeting. Let’s go carlos is probably finding for you” enzo distracting him, but it was no help because he was still there staring at you and your daughter.

at this point you were looking at arthur for help but from the facial expression on arthur’s you knew he had zero plans to back you up.

“yeah haha it’s something i’ve kept private” you tried to walk away but he stopped you and take a look at val’s lanyard that was around her neck.

and one thing you didn’t realise was mick had given the staffs val’s full name to print out on her paddock pass, and that is when charles realised he has a daughter.

“valentiné aurore herve leclerc?”

oh yeah we are so fuck, by we it’s lorenzo, arthur and i.

you were looking at arthur and lorenzo with wide eyes.

“the both of you are aware of this?” charles turned to both of them and questioned the both of his brothers with disbelief

“it’s not their fault, i made them promised to not tell anyone”

“why didn’t you tell me? i am her father” at this point you could see people were curious on the conversation that was happening, because why would mick’s current girlfriend be seen having an intense conversation with Charles Leclerc?

“let’s talk later, she needs her nap. i’ll come over to arthur’s apartment and explain everything ” and charles knew that tone of your voice, the one where you would always use when you’re anxious or nervous and charles agreed on meeting you at arthur’s apartment

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

ARTHUR’S APARTMENT

Mick knew what had happened when you bumped you onto Charles, Mick wanted to accompany the both of you to Arthur’s apartment and be there for you while you explained things to Charles, and of course you agreed.

You knocked Arthur’s door, and you were greeted by pascale.

“i’m sorry darling, I tried but he was too persistent” she apologised to you, holding your hand giving you comfort

“it’s fine, it’s time i guess” you smiled at her

when you’ve reached Arthur’s living room you could feel the tension between the three brothers, you took a seat beside Arthur and Val automatically went to Arthur’s Lap.

Mick sat beside you, rubbing your back, calming down your nerves.

“val baby, come to papa. don’t bother uncle thur” mick called out to your daughter which she listened and walked over to Mick’s lap and mick carried her to arthur’s guest room which pascale followed behind.

Charles cleared his throat, “tell me from the start”

“when we broke off and i left, i found out I was 2 weeks pregnant”

“and you didn’t think of telling me?”

“it was hard Charles, i didn’t want you to stay with me just because i was carrying your daughter”

“continue” charles head in his hand, stressing over this situation

“i kept it of course as you can see, but please don’t blame it on lorenzo and arthur. i’ve made them swore they wouldn’t tell you, i didn’t wanna ruin your career. I was gonna tell you, just not now. I was thinking of telling you when val’s gonna understand the situation more. Mick knows about us and he was there for me for everything”

“I could’ve helped you, y/n. as a friend I could’ve helped you. she has my dna, she’s mine, i deserve to be in her life too, does she know?”

“she knows her father’s absence in her life, but she doesn’t know it’s you. we’ve never really talked about it”

“why the name? why did you used my last name, if you didn’t want me to be in her life y/n?”

“She’s apart of you, of course i had to include that and she looks exactly like you, no matter how much i refuse to believe’s she from you i had to accept it”

Charles walked over and sat beside you and held your hand.

“please let me be in her life. not as a father but as someone she deserves to know. i don’t mind Mick being her father, he deserves that title, but just let me be in my daughter’s life”

you agreed to charles, because as much as you disliked Charles, you didn’t want your daughter to grow up not knowing how does her biological dad looks like and starts questioning if she ever did something wrong.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

2023

Charles took the time to get to know val more, Mick and you would allow Charles over to let him have his own time with his daughter or they would sometimes have a day to their own.

Val knew who charles were but wasn’t really keen in calling him papa, as for the past few years Mick was more of a father figure to her rather than Charles.

As much as Charles was disappointed, he understood where she was coming from but he was glad Val had accepted him in her life not as a father but as some she would like to keep close contact with.

As for you, you’ve still kept the news of you having a child private, though there were rumours speculating around which you didn’t really pay attention to but you felt that it wasn’t a need for you to go public that you had a love child with their favourite driver.

Mick’s gotten signed to Mercedes and since he was a reserve driver, he would spend most of the time at the paddock with val and val has never been much more happier being close to her papa.

She would sometimes be in the Ferrari’s building or Mercedes’. Of course other than P, and the other driver’s children’s, val is currently the favourite especially amongst Charles and Mick’s circles of friends.

You were glad that the heavy weight on your shoulders was lifted off. Though, it took you a while to let Charles know about val, it’s all sorted out and you’re glad.

—✩࿐ end note: thanks for reading! wanted to end it off more angst less fluff but dad! mick just warms my heart, i’m still finding for good ig post templates or twitter templates! other than that, i hope you enjoyed reading! ♥️

#mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher x you #f1 x y/n #f1 x reader #f1 fics #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc angst #f1 masterlist

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xxblairexxss · 10 months

Text

Duty

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x pregnant!reader

Theme : Angst / fluff

It reached 3.4k before I could even do the climax so I’m just gonna drop this one first or else I’m gonna rush the next part and ended up ruining everything.

Google result! Let’s hope this is accurate. I spent hours on website trying to find this. PROM is a shorten for premature rupture of membranes!

Requested!

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

Charles was ecstatically happy to start the new season with the brightest hope because of how he ended the previous one as the second place in the World Driver Championship, even more elated when this was his first time starting the new season as a new father-to-be but it was undeniable that Charles had been struggling since the first race.

He seemed to be developed a new trait as well as upgraded some of his old ones ever since your pregnancy. Your first pregnancy. He had asked you to stop accompanying him to races which resulted to a fight, and you claimed that he didn’t need your support anymore. He eventually gave in but with conditions where you needed to stay by his side all the time or if he was occupied, he would force Joris to stay with you. When you got into your second trimester, he had again, asked you to to stop attending the races but you still wanted to, so he gave in again but only allowed you to attend the qualifying and race day so you started missing his practice day, which caused the media to question about your absence and Charles had to reassure everyone how you had been doing fine, but he had to be stricter on you to avoid any unwanted accidents. When you entered your third trimester, he didn’t allow you to attend any of the races at all and this time, he didn’t give in, no matter what.

Even so, he never allowed you to be left alone. You would either be at his parent’s house, your parents’ house, or he would bring either one to your house.

No matter how much you reassured him.

“Charles, can I just stay here?” Your voice trailed off, already feeling gloomy from what he was gonna say. You were sitting on the bed, looking at your husband going in and out of the room packing his stuffs before his flight in a few hours.

“What was it, baby?” He walked back into the room, placing one of his perfume into the small luggage bag and cocked his brow, waiting for you to repeat what he had missed.

“I don’t want to go to my parents house this weekend.”

He heaved a sigh of defeat and it made you regret for bringing up the topic. “You know I’m doing this for your safety, right? Honey, I won’t be here for a week, that’s long enough. What if something happened?”

“I know but I’m not due for another month.”

He took your hand in his, thumb softly grazing on your knuckles. “You are already 35 weeks. I can’t take the risk of leaving you alone. The doctor told us you need to be careful as they suspected PROM, no?”

“But–“ You jutted your bottom lips, looking away when your husband tilted his head away, eyes squeezing shut when you tried to argue even more.

“But what, honey? Go on, I’m listening.”

“Y/F/N wanted to come over with her little girls this weekend. I just wanted to do a little movie night and bake some cookies with them.” You felt Charles moved his shirts that you were folding in front of you away and skittered closer, seeing how you refused to look at him now.

“Can I see your pretty face?”

He beamed, feeling his heart caught the eternity’s mist as you looked up to him with teary eyes. “My crybaby.” He had realised since you entered your second trimester, your hormones seemed to be ramped up and you had been in a constant mood swings and crying spells, crying at almost everything. He had told his mom, worried about it as he wasn’t sure why. Even after he talked to you a lot about it and she said it was normal, but it sure took him a while to get used to it.

“Charles..” You hit on his arm and he chuckled.

“Alright, alright. Just this one time, okay? Make sure to pick up my call and let me know if it hurts anywhere.”

“I love you!” You exclaimed and threw your arms around his waist, head leaning against his chest.

“I’m serious, Y/N. Let me know if anything happens. Don’t make me regret my decision. Promise?”

“Promise!”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

Few days passed, Charles got the podium for the second time in a row and you had been eagerly waiting for him to walk through the door. It was a shame you weren’t there to hug him as soon as he hopped off the fast car but he’d made sure you didn’t feel left alone as he called you right after, even mentioned you and his unborn daughter in his interviews.

“Congratulations! Two podiums in a row!” You threw you arms in the air and hopped, stopping when Charles held your waist.

“Careful, love.” He brushed his lips on your forehead, letting it linger against your skin. “I missed you, and you too, little one.” He bended down and stroked on your middle.

“I wanted to bake you muffins last night but I fell asleep because your child won’t stop kicking me.”

He placed his arm around waist, pulling you close as much as he could, another hand on the side of your belly. “It’s okay, I don’t mind. We can bake muffins together now that I’m home?”

“Are you tired?”

He pulled a funny expression and nodded impatiently. “I am worn out, baby. Total knocked out.”

“Can you buy me the matcha ice cream?”

“I bought you three tubs before I left, didn’t I?”

“I–“ You were going to tell him your excuse but ended up sucking your lips into a thin line, pulling away to pinch your husband on his arm. “Don’t look at me like that! I’m gonna cry!”

He winced and recoiled, hand leaving your belly to stroke on his waist where you just pinched. “Ow! What did I do?”

“You looked at me as if it was impossible for someone to finish three tubs of ice cream in one week! See? You are doing it again! I hate you.”

“What do you want me to do?” His mouth widen in disbelief and brought his palm up to cover his eyes. “Is this okay now?”

“Better.” You giggled and went back hugging his waist. You definitely missed hugging him without your belling getting in the way but it won’t be that long now. “Can you still get me the ice cream?”

“Of course, love. I’ll be right back.”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

Charles has been home for a week and day by day, you could see how he got progressively quite. He didn’t ignore you, didn’t raise his voice at you, he never did. He was still the husband that you wished every woman would have but he had been looking as if he was keeping a lot to himself.

“Charles?” You heard him hummed in response, his face is buried against your neck, his arm draped on your belly as you played with his hair. “Are you okay?”

“Why did you ask?”

“I feel like you are worrying about something. Talk to me, honey. What’s wrong?” He went silenced, his hand left your belly as he pulled away.

“I don’t know, Y/N. I’m just scared? No– worried. No– I’m not sure. Probably both.”

You placed your under your round middle as you turned, scooted facing your husband who looked like he was in a deep dejection. “Was it because of this weekend?”

“Yeah. I just can’t afford to disappoint them again, love.”

“How do you know you were gonna disappoint them?” You placed your hand on his neck, thumb brushing against his stubble. “Hm?”

“I don’t know. I just feel like it? It’s not the first time, honey.”

“Don’t be too harsh on yourself. It’s not even the race day yet but you are already assuming the worst. Give yourself a chance to prove yourself. I know my husband very well and I know he can ace everything thrown in his face.”

His lips turned into an upwards curve as he bended down to kiss your belly, hand patted on the side of it. “Mommy really knows how to cheer daddy up, doesn’t she? How I wish you could come too, baby.”

“We can come! Right, baby?” You replied, your hand strokes on the other side of your middle, voice filled with a hint of hope.

“No. I didn’t actually mean it, honey. It was hypothetical.” He straighten his body, and you saw the frown he always made whenever you told him you wanted to come to any races.

“But I really want to go..”

“You know what my answer will be, don’t you? I’m not gonna change it this time, Y/N.”

“This could be my last time attending your race before she comes. I don’t want to stay in the house. It’s getting boring and I have nothing to do.” You had been waiting for him to look at you as perhaps, there could be a tiny expectation where he would change his mind but he didn’t. “You’ll never understand.” You pulled your hand away, standing up to leave the living room.

“Baby,” He called out and of course, he got ignored. He knew it and wasn’t even expecting for you to reply. “Hear me out first. Y/N–“ You slammed the door and locked it before he could pushed it back. “Okay, locking the door is not it, honey.” He knocked and waited, but he didn’t hear anything. “Y/N, open the door.” Nothing. “Baby, please.” Still nothing. “Open the door or I’m gonna eat your ice cream. I’m serious.”

“You are mean.” He bit his lips, trying to hold his smile when you opened the door a second after, glaring at him with your arms folded.

“Oh? I’m the mean one when you just slammed the door and locked your husband out of the room? Baby, can you at least hear what I was gonna say?”

“I know what you’re gonna say. You don’t have to say it to my face.” You rolled your eyes and walked back to the bed.

“I thought you know how to read my mind. I was gonna ask you to be my date this Sunday but I think I got rejected.” He was going to stand up, pretending to be walking away but you gripped on his arm.

“Oh my god! Really? Can I really go to the race?”

“Last one before our little girl arrives.”

He gave in, yet again.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

You had been feeling cramps ever since the weekend arrived. Your back had been hurting since your third trimester but it hurt even more these days, especially when you laid down. You could barely fall asleep even when you tried to sleep sitting against the headboard so you always woke up feeling all worn out which caused you to lose appetite. Even your head hurt due to the lack of sleep.

Charles had realised you were somewhat different but every time he asked you, you would just brush it off, saying that it was normal for pregnant women to feel like this nearly the end of the pregnancy. He realised you didn’t ask him to buy anything that you craved for which you used to every single day. You had been really quite. You only took a bite out of your meal only when he caught you but every time he asked if you were fine, you would always say yes, telling him to stop worrying. He had been contemplating if he could skip practice day, in any way possible but you got so mad at him for “being silly”.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

You were sitting in front of your dressing table, contemplating about which scent you should go with when your belly went tight, as if going through another cramp and it made you winced in pain. Your body slightly bended towards your middle.

“Honey? Are you done?”

“Y– yeah, I’m almost done.”

“Hey.” Charles peeked his head and strode to where you were sitting, crouching down so he could see your face. “I know I’ve been asking you this for like the million times but are you really fine? You are worrying me, love. You don’t have to come if you are not feeling well.”

“I am fine! I am just excited. I promise.”

His hand went to your round belly and softly rubbed on it. “I saw your face scrunched up earlier. Is she giving you a hard time?”

“She just has been kicking non stop. She’s probably too excited to see his daddy wins the race.” You placed your hand on his and cackled.

“Oh, I’m not sure about that, baby.”

“You can, honey! We’ll be rooting for you!”

“If that’s what my girls wished for then I guess I could make it comes true. P5 to P1 doesn’t sound hard, does it? We need to go. Are you all set?” He stood up straight and pinched on your cheek. “You look beautiful, baby.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile from the compliments. “Liar. Can you help me up?” You stretched out your arms for him to pull you up.

“Ready? 1, 2, 3!” His body was slightly slanted to give you enough space when you stood up. “I’m not lying. My wife is so beautiful I almost mistook her as an angel.”

“Whatever.”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

They were expecting rain to come since it had been raining during both practice and qualifying round but it felt like the sun was just a hand fist away from your head the moment you stepped out of the car. The media had to make it worse since this was your first appearance in the paddock in your last semester where you looked undeniably pregnant now. They had to block your way when you just wanted to sit down as fast as you can, even after Charles had rejected every request. His arm never left your waist. He even shook his head to people who asked to interview him regarding the race, telling them that he would come back after he sent you to the Ferrari’s hospitality.

“Here’s your drink. Oh, and I also got you some chocolates because it’s hot and you always needed something sweet. Some vitamins which I’m not sure if you ever need them but, you know, just in case. And– “

“Charles, I’m fine. Go and do your duty as a driver, honey.” You held his hand that was halted in the air as he was searching for something else he could give you.

“Are you sure? You were trembling earlier, Y/N.”

“It was just the sun. I’m fine now. See?” You cupped his cheeks and giggled when he shivered, feeling your cold hands against his skin. “Go! Don’t make them wait.”

“I’ll come back to you before I have to get into the car. Don’t be in the garage. Stay in here. It’s more comfortable, alright? I love you.” He leaned in to kiss you and pecked on your shirt covered belly. “And you too, little one. Please be nice on mommy.”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

You were lying through your teeth but Charles didn’t catch any of it. He was probably too nervous for the race as he could usually read you like an open book. Your cramps had been going on recurrently, your belly is hard to touch and it felt heavier. The steps taken from your car to the paddock made you out of breath, your legs were shaking from having to walk through the cramps but your husband knew nothing about any of it. You felt like the weather and the tension from earlier might had something to do with it. You weren’t going to tell him because he had enough on his plate and though you knew he didn’t mind it at all, you didn’t want him to do anything hasty on the race day. He had told you multiple times how he could skip the practice and even the qualifying round if you just told him something was wrong and if he knew about what you had been feeling these past few days, he wouldn’t even be attending this race and you couldn’t afford that. He was a Ferrari driver before he was your husband. This should be his priority, not you. It’s Monaco, he had always been the centre in every Monaco GP, what would the fans say if he, the only Monegasque in the grid was missing on the important day.

You weren’t sure why you had been feeling this way. Your due date was 3 weeks away. That was surely long enough. You even googled if it was possible for women to get Braxton hicks in their 37 weeks into the pregnancy but most of the answers sent you to shiver that you refused to read in detail and tried to hold it off, until the race, at the very least.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

Charles couldn’t see you before he got into the car. He had been pushing his schedule back when he chose to stay with you in the hospitality earlier so he had no more gap before he race. He was now in the grid walk, fireproofs suit on as he was putting on the balaclava, the white-coloured open mask while one of his race assistant, Xavi was holding his helmet. “Where’s Joris?”

“He’s there. Joris!”

Joris came running from the side of the grid and Charles turned to look at him. “Please keep an eye on Y/N for me. I have a feeling she’s not telling me something.”

“Got it. You don’t have to worry about her.”

“If, God forbid, something happened to her during the race, please let me know. At any time of the race.” He then took the helmet from Xavi and gripped on Joris’s shoulder as he was about to walk away. “Promise me, Joris. Let me know. No matter what position I am.”

“Nothing will happen to her, Charles. I’ll be by her side. Just focus on your race.”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

“Ow..” You winced, steps came to a halt as you placed your hand on the wall to hold yourself. The cramp became more and more intense you could barely stand up any longer than 5 minutes. Even a walk to the bathroom took you long enough as you had to keep on stopping or your legs would just give away. “Not too hard, baby..”

“Y/N, you okay?” Joris came and your face instantly became more at ease to hide the pain.

“I’m fine, Joris. I just feel a little hot.” He offered you a hand and as soon as you pulled your hand from the wall, your whole body became wobbly and Joris immediately caught you in his arms.

“Woah, woah, slow down. Let’s walk you back to the lounge area, alright? Just lean on me.”

You felt a chill as you started sweating abnormally though you were in an air-conditioned area. Soon as you took a step forward, everything became a blur and you lost control of yourself, giving in completely.

“Y/N!” You felt Joris’s body against yours as you fell to the ground. Your eyes were heavy that it felt like it required a huge amount of energy to force it opened and you let yourself capiltulated to the darkness.

Joris immediately called for a medic and he was told that you needed to be taken to the emergency room right away, making him even more overwrought as it sounded more serious than he thought. “Can you wait until I informed her husband first?”

“Sir, we are suspecting internal emergency. We can’t wait. Leave us her emergency contact number and we’ll call them to direct to the hospital.”

Internal emergency. Joris could barely think straight and became more perturbed. One because Charles had given him the responsibility to look over you and he thought it was just his friend being overprotective. Second because you had been more like a family, like a little sister to him so he didn’t want anything bad happened to you. He had given Charles’s parent a call, telling Pascale to call your parents as well before he barged into the garage. He couldn’t cross the pit lane due to safety precaution but the group of people who had direct access to the drivers’ radio were all sitting across the pit lane. He ended up grabbing a random engineer to help him passed the words. “Tell them to inform Charles that his wife had been brought to the emergency room.”

He then saw the engineer walked and whispered to the person in charge and felt a little relief because now all he had to do is wait for Charles so he could go to the hospital.

But he didn’t know none of his words were being conveyed.

“Charles,”

Silenced.

“Guys, I’m listening.”

“No, nothing. Just wanted to inform that we are sticking to plan A.”

“Copy that.”

Joris waited, and waited. He was so anxious he couldn’t even stand still. He saw Charles on the final turn and thought to himself that he was gonna came into the pit lane any second,

but he didn’t. His car passed the starting line again as he carried onto the next lap.

✧.* tags! @i83andrew @cltrlne @karmabyfernando @ohthemisssery @ru-kru @tastebaldwin @f1obessed @aundercover @love4lando @shinrjj

if your usernames were crossed meaning I can’t tag you 😭 let me know if you would like to be removed or added to the taglist! or if I missed anyone!

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #f1 imagines #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagines #f1 imagine #f1 x reader

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cntloup · 4 months

Text

UndergroundBoxer!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Fem!Reader angst, violence, arguments

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

moodboard | face

You walk through the threshold of the old, rusty building. Walking alone in a neighborhood like this at night was not a good idea and you know that he would scold you, but you would shut him up with a sweet kiss and his favorite drink. That would work, right?

As you walk along the hallway, the ruckus and uproar of the already-drunk people inside reach your ears and the smell of alcohol and sweat hit your nose.

There are all kinds of people here; people you should never encounter in your life as your loving boyfriend mentions to you every night, but you didn’t budge this time. You've asked him multiple times to take you to one of his fights. You've heard various stories about how the infamous Ghost has absolutely demolished his opponent once again, and you’re finally here to see it up close.

You make your way through the crowd, trying not to get hit in the face by the cheering mob who have their hands up into fists and not to slip on the liquid which you hope is beer and knock yourself out or get kicked and stepped on. You finally make it to the front row intact and let out a sigh of relief.

As your boyfriend makes his way to the ring, you start whistling and cheering at the top of your lungs. He still hasn’t seen you. Then his competitor steps in and your jaw drops. He's fucking huge... maybe even more than Simon. No, definitely more.

As you watch them stand in front of each other and the referee in between them, the truth dawns on you. There are no rules in the underground world. He might get severely injured... or worse. ‘FUCK! No, he won’t. He'll get out of it unharmed.’ you think to yourself and gather your thoughts, taking deep breaths as you try to calm yourself.

You go through every emotion in existence as they fight, wince and gasp loudly every time Simon takes a punch. You try to reach for him and even get inside the ring when he takes a nasty hit to the head. That's when he notices your presence and calls out your name as the security prevents you from getting inside the ring. “Oi! Fuck off! Don’t fucking touch my girl!” he shouts at them and comes to your side and takes your hand in his “It’s ok, lovie. I’m fine.” “But- but-” you can’t get the words out through your sobs as you stare at him in shock. “I’m ok. I promise.” he wipes your tears and lets go of your hand after the referee blows in his whistle and the final round begins.

Multiple punches are thrown to the faces and heads and various limbs by the fighters, angry roars and shocked gasps are heard from the crowd. The match finally ends and Simon is introduced as the champion. He quickly starts to exit the ring after they present him with the championship belt. You make your way straight to him and you both meet halfway.

You collapse into his arms and start sobbing, finally getting the emotions out after experiencing so much anxiety and nearly having a panic attack. “It’s ok, love. Let it all out.” he repeats the words as he gently rubs your back. He knows it must have been very difficult for you to watch him not only fight but get beaten several times, some of them pretty serious.

You pull away “Are you ok?” “Yes, love. I'm fine. I've taken worse punches before. It was nothing.” “FUCK! Simon, you got hit in the fucking head. Don't try to play it down. You should get it checked out by a doctor. And don’t fucking think me knowing you’ve taken worse hits, makes me feel better somehow.” you reply angrily, your gaze throwing daggers at him. “Love, again, I’m fine-” “You don’t know that.” you cut him off. He places a kiss on your forehead and responds “Of course I’ll get it checked out. We have a doctor here. I’m gonna go into the backroom to let him do the tests, then I’ll meet you here, ok?” “Ok.” you mutter and he leaves to meet the doctor.

You wait for him as you think about what you just saw, let it sink in that it is his job. And it wil make you even more worried whenever he leaves for a match now that you have witnessed the extent of the violence yourself.

He finally comes out of the room, dressed in his black jeans and hoodie. “It all went well. I’m fine. Really. Just a few minor injuries.” “Minor you say-” “The doctor said that.” “Ok, then.” you let out a sigh of relief.

“Wait! You didn’t walk here, did you?” he asks as he wonders how you got here since he’s got the car. “...I kind of did.” “You kind o-” he starts to get upset. He pinches the bridge of his nose and brushes a hand across his face in frustration and anger. “You didn’t take an uber? You fucking walked here? How fucking stupid are you? Huh?!” he starts getting in your face and you back away, biting your lip in fear. “I thought I told you not to fucking come in here at all. Do you ever listen to me? Why did you have to come? To see me get beaten half to death? Are you fucking happy now?” “So is this about your ego? Me seeing you in a vulnerable state as you take hits after hits upsets you? Or are you really worried about me? After watching this goddamn match which will leave a scar on my mind for sure and after almost having an anxiety attack over you, this is how you treat me?” you start to bite back. “Don’t fucking twist my words like that. Of course I’m worried about you. No, I don’t give a fuck about my ego. It's not about that at all. And watching the match was your own choice. I've told you not to come a thousand times but you don’t fucking listen!” he bears his teeth at you as he punches the wall beside your head, making you flinch at his outburst and close your eyes out of fear.

comments/reblogs are greatly appreciated ♥

A/N: I may or may not post a part 2 for this :')

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disneyprincemuke · 7 months

Text

midnights, masterlist * mv1

a compilation of lonely midnights shared between you and max following your breakup

one.

since your breakup, max hadn’t thought of you. until he stumbled home by himself in the middle of the night.

two.

you were in the middle of eating dinner alone when you got the feeling of getting punched in the gut

three.

max just won his third championship, but the sinking feeling starts to settle in

four.

you’re woken up in the middle of the night in cold sweat and max’s name at the tip of your tongue

five.

max knows how much you hate thunderstorms, and he can't help but think of you when he's home and there's one

six.

a thunderstorm keeps you up at night, the same way it kept max up

seven.

the news is out: three time world champion, max verstappen, and his girlfriend of 6 years have been broken up since the singapore weekend

eight.

rumours on the paddock have it that max is out and about with another girl on his arm

nine.

max finds out you'd gone to the club with alexandra, making him wonder if it’s really over when pictures of you and another man leak

ten.

the 2023 season has ended and geri horner has made the mistake of inviting you to a house party where max is in attendance

daylight.

it’s been 2 years since that fateful night in christian’s home, here’s how life is currently going for you and max

back to december.

it's been 2 years since that devastating night in christian's home, here's how life is currently going for you and max, separately

-> extras.

the great war.

a look into the fight that led to the painstaking breakup

director's cut.

an insight into the writing process and the songs that inspired it

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fanfiction #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula 1 #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfiction #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke midnights

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themmaniacs · 1 year

Text

Aung La N Sang Knew Anatoly Malykhin can Out-wrestle Reinier de Ridder

#ONEChampionship #WeAreONE #MMA

In the world of mixed martial arts, there are often bouts that leave fans with jaws dropped and expectations shattered. ONE on Prime Video 5 in December was one of those events. The highly-anticipated matchup between Reinier de Ridder and Anatoly Malykhin turned out to be a great wrestling showdown. Despite the hype surrounding de Ridder’s striking skills. However, one person who was not…

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#Anatoly Malykhin #Aung La N Sang #MMA #ONE Championship #ONE Championship Fight Night #Reinier de Ridder

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tscnews · 1 month

Video

youtube

ONE Fight Night 22: Akbar Abdullaev on Beating Halil Amir

https://youtu.be/eQd1_D3oEGs?si=8aGQ3tphr6_XFUD_

#youtube #one fight night 22 #Akbar Abdullaev #Halil Amir #tsc news #the sports courier #one championship

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neymarsangel · 11 months

Text

Car Troubles - Charles Leclerc x Verstappen!reader

Charles Leclerc x Verstappen!reader

Requested? Yes/No: Anon: Can you do an angst with Charles where the reader is a Verstappen and lots of brother max🥺🥺🥺

Summary: Ferrari can’t keep their car on track and Charles can’t keep his emotions on the track.

Word Count: 3.2K

Warnings: Angst, fluff, swearing, Max on a rampage.

—

When Max found out you and Charles were dating he wasn’t precisely best pleased, how could he be? His little sister was in bed with the man who’d been his rival since his karting days. Although Max was kinder to Charles now than he was back then he would still give Charles a rough time on the track or the cold shoulder at family dinners. Just because Charles was dating his sister didn’t mean he’d like him.

For the past few months, Ferarri hadn’t been performing as well as they should be and the moment the car stopped breaking down Charles would make a mistake and land himself with another DNF. The pair of you had been dating for over a year now and Max was very much aware of it. You moved in after four months leaving Max alone in his apartment, not that you were always away from your older brother and tonight was one of those nights.

Charles had returned from the race weekend pissed off beyond measure. The car had finally started to work and he’d spun out and hit the wall. He was leading the French GP and after his mistake, your brother went on to claim P1 which only pissed Charles off even more. He and you returned to Monaco rather hastily, saying nothing the entire flight home. Once you were in your shared apartment you finally decided to speak.

“Charles?”

“I don’t want to talk about it y/n.” His voice was stern as he threw his bags down without looking. His careless actions caused his bag to knock against your coffee table, hitting a vase Max had bought you. The water from the vase fell across the small table and leaked onto a scrapbook you’d left on the glass counted.

“Charles!” You screamed before running over to the table. “Be careful you’ll ruin it!” The scrapbook was a present from Charles. After you two had an argument over telling Max about you both, he created the book as a way to show you that he never wanted to hide you ever again. Every time you went on a date he’d make sure he got something as a souvenir so he could scrapbook it. He got to relive the memories, allowing him to relax after races.

“Who cares? It’s just a shitty book!” He snapped, running his hands through her hair.

“What did you say?” Your voice broke at his words.

“You heard, it’s just a shitty book with scraps of paper, it’s not important -”

“That book is about us, the book that you made! It is important.”

“You don’t know what’s important y/n.” He raised his voice. “You know what is important? Me winning this championship! I need to win this for me, for Ferarri, for my family… for all those fans that give their time, effort and money to me, I need to win it for them!” He took a deep breath. “I need to win it for you…”

“Charles I want you to win the championship but it won’t make me think any differently of you…”

“It should.” He snapped. “It’ll make me on the same level as your brother and I need to be fighting against Redbull… but you don’t get it.”

“Charles I do -”

“No, you don’t! You’re not in that car, your brother is. You’re just always there in the background, just waiting there for Max… never me -”

“That’s a lie and you know it!” Your voice grew. “I always watch the race in the Ferarri garages, I only leave when Max wins to congratulate him. He’s still my brother Charles.”

“You know sometimes when I lose I just want you there…” His voice was low as he spoke but that didn’t last long. “But you’ll never understand what that’s like.”

“Why? Because I’m not a driver?”

“Because you’ve never been in the spotlight, only the background.”

“Is that what I am to you?” Your brows arched at his words. “Just someone in the background?”

“Well… the journalists flock to your brother, not you.”

Being the sister of a Formula 1 driver had its perks but it also meant that every day you woke up knowing you would never be on the same level as your brother. Max was always praised by your mum and dad whereas you had to fight for even the smallest acknowledgement from your parents. It wasn’t that they didn’t care about your own achievements but more so that Max was always at the forefront when it came to outperforming you and Victoria.

You didn’t utter a word to him as you grabbed your bags once again but rather than heading to your front room you headed towards the door. “Where are you going?” Charles asked.

“Why do you care? I’m just in the background, aren’t I?”

“Oh come on y/n you know I didn’t mean it -”

“Are you sure about that Charles because you’re acting like it.”

“Look, I know you will never understand what it’s like being under so much pressure but -”

“Charles, do you know what it’s like to be compared to your brother who’s won a World Championship? Do you know what it’s like to have to constantly think of ways to be noticed by your own family for something whilst your brother is out on the track competing in one of the greatest sports in the world?” Taking a deep breath as you watched his mixed expression. “Maybe Arthur will understand.”

“Don’t bring Arthur into this -”

“Then don’t bring Max into this!”

“How can I not? He’s everywhere I turn! He makes stupid decisions on the track which resulted in me suffering!”

“Do not blame your incompetence on my brother!”

“My incompetence?” He laughed at your words. “Your brother’s a fucking idiot on that track, nearly kills everyone who even dares go near him!”

“At least Max knows how to stay on the track.” You knew it was a low blow but the way he was speaking to you, he deserved it.

“That was low y/n…”

“And calling me unimportant isn’t?”

“Well right now you’re not important y/n, you know what is? Running Redbull to the ground and winning this championship, nothing else matters right now.”

Charles was obsessed with winning, he always felt the need to prove himself to everyone around him despite his friends and family knowing he was capable of what he wished to achieve but he knew that didn’t matter. With fans and the press constantly hounding him and Ferrari to be better you knew it was them he wanted to appease, not himself.

“Fine.” You didn’t utter another word as you opened the door and left him standing alone in your apartment. Tears pricked your eyes as you dragged your bags into the lift. You knew that if you stayed the two of you would only rip one another’s heads off even more than you already have.

Monaco wasn’t exactly small so it wouldn’t take long to get to Max’s building meanwhile Charles was left alone with his thoughts. He’d fished the scrapbook from the water, treating it like an artefact at a museum as he slowly flicked through the pages, carefully inspecting which ones were damaged. Every time his eyes fell on the photos his heart sank. He knew he shouldn’t take out what was happening on the track onto you. You would support him at every turn and he knew what he said about you never being there for him was a lie. He spent the night drying the pages as best he could whilst he put them back together as they were before. He thought of sending you a text asking you if you were at Max’s safely, it didn’t take a genius to work out that you’d gone to see your brother about it, but he also knew if Max saw your phone he’d take it upon himself to reply.

When Max saw you his confused gaze softened into a sympathetic one. His arms opened as you fell against him in his doorway. Sobbing into his chest he slowly guided you into his apartment before speaking. “Want me to break check the cunt when he’s out cycling? Or I can shove him into the wall during the race next week? Then again he does that himself anyway…” You pulled back from Max, a small smile on your face at his words as you two sat down. “What happened?”

“It was just a stupid argument, it’s nothing.” You wiped your tears away with your sleeves but Max wasn’t convinced.

“It’s very rare you come running to me late at night because you’re upset.” He leant back in his chair. He had a point. Normally you and Charles would act cold with one another until either one of you apologised a mere few hours later but this time it felt different. He’d gotten personal and it had hurt. “You normally make up after a few hours and then I find out a week later so what was different this time?”

“He said I wasn’t important to him and that all his focus was on the Championship… he told me I wouldn’t understand and I get that - I’m not one of you and I know it’s important but I can understand to a certain degree how important it is but I thought he’d value what we have over that title.”

“I’ll kill him -”

“Max!”

“What?”

“He’s still my boyfriend.”

“Not one I like.”

“You don’t need to like him… more tolerate him.”

“I’m finding that hard right now.” Rolling his eyes he shifted his gaze back to you. “Has he even texted you? To make sure you got here safely?”

Sliding your phone out of your pocket you were met with a blank screen. “No -”

“Cunt.” Max spoke under his breath. “Have you eaten?”

“No -”

“Good, we’ll order in, watch a film, like we used to.” He smiled at the memories. When the two of you were younger every single Friday you would all watch a film and have a takeaway with your sister Victoria. It was the one night when the three of you were all together and could forget about your parent's divorce and the world around you.

You and Max spent the night talking about what happened whilst you two watched a Disney film, trying to forget the night. Unlike anyone else you were close with, Max knew how Charles felt when his car didn’t comply and when he made a mistake which lead to his race being ended. He would always give you a different perspective on your situation and most importantly, he’d listen to you. That was something a lot of people never saw, Max would always validate your feelings and tell you his own perspective on things when you needed it.

Eventually, you and Max called it a night and you headed into his spare room. Throwing your bags onto the bed you began to get ready for bed when your phone sounded from the cabinet.

Char <;3: Did you get to Max’s okay? X

You: I did x

Char <;3: When are you coming back? X

You: Is that why you texted? X

Char <;3: No I wanted to know that you were safe x

You: I left the house hours ago x

Char <;3: I know but I wanted to give you space x

You locked your phone, ignoring his last text. You knew you’d cause another argument with him about his text being a little too late but he’d already read your mind.

Char <3: Look I’m sorry I should’ve messaged you earlier but I didn’t want to make this any worse x

You: By making sure I wasn’t killed? Do you think you checking in on my well-being was going to make this worse? X

Char <;3: You’re right and I’m so sorry, I should’ve walked or driven you over myself. When are you coming home? X

You: I don’t know x

Char <;3: Please be safe. Take your time and I’ll see you soon and I’m sorry x

You: For not texting me or the argument we had? X

Char <3: Both x

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to go home to him but his words continued to play in your head over and over again like a broken record. Climbing into bed you glimpsed at your lock screen which was a photo of you and Charles after he’d won the Australian GP. He had the trophy in one hand but he was looking at you, his eyes full of love as he looked at you, completely ignoring the trophy in his hand.

You: I’ll message you later, goodnight Char. I love you x

Charles's heart jumped at the reply he got. He knew it was stupid considering the two of you had been in a relationship for years but after a fight like that, all he wanted was reassurance.

Char <;3: I love you too x

He knew he had to make it up to you, he’d fucked up and with Max as your brother, he knew he’d have to grovel.

—

You’d stayed with Max until the Hungarian GP, you knew you’d end up sharing a hotel with Charles. Max had offered to pay for another room for you but the truth was your heart ached to see your boyfriend again.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to buy you a room?” Max asked as he carried your things to the room you were set to share with Charles.

“I’m fine Max.” You smiled at him. “Besides they probably don’t have one free at this time-”

“Then you can take my room and I’ll share with Charles.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that would go down well.”

“Well…” Max smirked at his own words. “He wouldn’t have to worry about him crashing into a wall because he wouldn’t even make it to the car.”

“You’re horrible.” A smile tainted on your lip at your own words.

“Could be worse, remember what I did to your ex?” He smiled down at you. How could you forget? Your last boyfriend, Alexander, had cheated on you with a girl he claimed was ‘just a friend’. You walked in on the two of them in a compromising position only hours after he told you that he loved you. When Max found out there was nothing that could stop him. He stormed into his house and made sure he gave him two black eyes that wouldn’t shift for weeks.

“It would be harder to get away with if you did it to Charles, besides, we had an argument. It’s not like he cheated on me.”

“Well if that ever crosses his mind… it’ll be worse than two black eyes.”

You reached your room but just as you went to open the door a tall brunette swung the door open before you could even get your hand to it. His eyes met yours as you both stared at one another in silence for a second. Max coughed, breaking the two of you out of your trance.

“Max…” Charles glanced over to your brother who looked as if he was ready to kill him.

“Charles,” Max replied before turning to you. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with him? You can take my room.”

Charles looked as if he wanted to kill Max himself at his words. “I’m sure she’s fine with me,” Charles spoke up.

“You know she can talk for herself, Leclerc.”

“I’m aware.” Speaking through gritted teeth Charles seemed to have finally found his voice.

“I’ll be fine Max.” You looked between the two men. Charles quickly snatched your bags away from Max’s grasp, a smug smile on his lips as he watched Max take a step back in defeat.

“Text me if you need anything y/n, I’ll see you in the garages.” Max turned on his heel, his eyes not leaving Charles’s as he headed down the hallway.

Charles held the door open for you as you walked inside the room. He’d moved his things in but only to one side of the room like he did every single weekend. Even when you weren’t around it always became a habit for him. “How was your time with Max?” He spoke as he set your bags aside.

“Needed.” You replied. “How was your alone time?”

“Lonely.” He stepped closer to you. “I missed you.”

Looking up your eyes met his. “I missed you too.”

“I’m so sorry y/n. What I said, I didn’t mean it at all. Look, I was upset over the race, I feel like I’ll never be a World Champion and every single day I believe that I feel like I’m letting everyone down… especially you.”

“Charles I won’t love you any less if you aren’t a World Champion.”

“I know but… in the past, it's gotten too much and I’ve had people leave me or just become distant and I couldn’t take it if you decided to leave.”

“I’m not going to leave you I just want you to talk to me. I know I’m not a driver but my brother is and for years Max told me what it’s like and I know I’m not in the car but I can listen and understand as best I can, I’m sorry for what I said.”

Charles stepped closer, his hands resting on the sides of your face as he leaned down. “You are so important to me, more important than any stupid trophy.”

“I better be.” Your face broke into a smile as Charles leaned down and took your lips into his. He stood in between your legs as he deepened the kiss his hands going to your hair to pull you closer to him, acting like this was the last time he’d ever kiss you. Eventually, you both pulled away, and Charles straightened himself up.

“I have something for you.” Opening the drawer beside the bed he pulled out the scrapbook he’d made you. “It’s not just a book to me.” He handed it to you. “I fixed it as best I could, I’m sorry-”

“I think we should leave this page blank.” Cutting him off you pointed to a blank page. “For when you win the Championship, that way if you ever feel like you aren’t good enough then you can look back to this page, it might be blank for now but it’s a silent reminder of how much I believe in you, we all do.” You pecked his lips. “You might not believe it sometimes but everyone wants the best for you, especially your fans.”

“I don’t want to let them down.”

“And you won’t… Ferrari will.”

He laughed at your words, falling down beside you on the bed. “If only everyone thought how you did.”

—

“Are you spying on them?” A British accent made Max jump back from the door to yours and Charles’s room. Lando stood behind him with a confused expression.

“I’m just making sure he doesn’t make her cry.”

“I think he makes other things wet besides her eyes.” Lando laughed at himself. Turning to face him Max laughed alongside him before his expression changed in a heartbeat.

“Lando?”

“Yeah?”

“Make a joke like that about my sister again and I’ll cut your dick off.”

---

Buy me a coffee <3

#f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 x oc #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc angst

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devils-dares · 4 months

Text

Man's World

summary: a tight championship race, a relationship situationship enemies with benefits that can't take place anywhere but behind the scenes, two drivers pitted against one another. who will prevail?

pairing: f1 driver x f1 driver!fem!reader (written with lewis hamilton in mind, but contains no identifying traits for any driver)

warnings: smut MDNI, verbal fights, driving, strong language, toxic masculinity, women being talked about negatively (in a man's world), being pathetic

wordcount: 5005

a/n: i have been working on this since august. this fic has gone through many phases of life with me, and i have finally finished it. i truly hope you enjoy.

-----

Good God, what had you gotten yourself into? It wasn’t supposed to be anything, if anything you two were bitter rivals to the death. Saying his name was like licking a battery, leaving a coppery acidic taste in your mouth.

So why did you wake in his bed? He, his body shining in the early morning sun, was making a plate from what you imagined was room service breakfast. His sheets, they smell like him, and the memories from last night and nights past come flooding into your head again.

He’s laying it on thick, smiling at you when he sees you sitting up in bed.

“You okay?” He says, the sweetest voice spilling from his lips. You hum, the ache between your thighs and the soreness in your hips delectably painful. He hands you a plate.

Your head spins from the irony of it all. Enemies to lovers, you’d said the night before as a joke. And what did he say in response?

“Lovers don’t fuck each other like this.”

It was true, the bruises on your body spoke wretched stories when they darkened over days, but sung beautifully while you moaned out his name underneath him as he pressed on them. He fucked as hard as he fought on track, the two of you trading first and second place back and forth every race. It’d become a game, riling each other up all week long just to end up on the podium next to each other and the same bed later on. It was a joke around the paddock that the two of you had tension and needed to “sort it out”.

All things had to end eventually, right? It bothered you when his alleged girlfriend was at Silverstone. He’d just spent the night prior making sure you couldn’t talk while his head was between your legs and now Thursday brings rumors of him walking the paddock with a lady friend.

She was beautiful, and that pissed you off.

He came to your room Sunday night after the race, a knock you two have come to create inadvertently. You didn’t bother to open the door, instead opting to lean against it.

“Open the door,” he said, “someone could see. Open the fucking door.” He’s agitated, good, you think. He led the race by a few seconds, but his cockiness came through like always, leading to an ill-timed spin and you taking the win from him. You’re winning the championship by just over ten points, and he’s had a slew of what could be considered amazing races, but losses in his book because he’s a place behind you. He knocks and knocks until you’re sure his fingers go raw, and you wipe a stray tear before opening the door to toxicity personified. He pushes past you to get in and slams the door shut. You sigh and rub your forehead before he pushes you up against the door.

“When I say open the door, open the fucking door, got it?”

“I’m not going to listen to you.” You challenge him, and he puffs his chest out, showing off just how much bigger he is than you.

“You’ve already tried being a brat, remember what that got you?” A night full of edging and no release, that’s exactly what that got you. Your body shudders at the memory.

“Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought.” He laughs.

“Fuck you!” You try to shove him but he barely moves an inch, instead grabbing your wrists and pushing them back against the door.

“What’s got you in such a mood? Back to back races left you a little sex-starved?” He tuts. “I thought I taught you better than that.”

“Who was that girl you were walking around with?” You ask, tears brimming at your waterline in anger.

“You’re jealous! Do you know how pathetic that is? What gives you a right to know, being my whore in private?” Your face turns away from his, but he pulls your hands up to hold with one of his, and he turns your chin towards him with his free hand. He sees how red you are, face burning with embarrassment.

“She’s an obligation. Management, you know.”

“So you’re not-”

“No. I wouldn’t be here if I was. She’s in the room across the hall from me.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? You don’t own me, you shouldn’t be obligated to know who she is.”

“Yet you told me.” He drops his hands.

“You know, if I’m not going to get what I want from you tonight, maybe I should go to her. She seemed very eager to get to know me when we got together for this.”

“Wait, no,” you say, sighing at the words you’re about to say, “just stay here with me, you’ll get what you want.” You’re embarrassed, face turning red. He smiles, and the bared teeth spell out danger for you.

“That’s what I wanted to hear from you.”

He leaves at two in the morning. You know because you lay awake all night, listening to him breathe. The ache between your legs was no longer pleasant or welcome, and you were tired of giving in to him. He gathers his clothes, does a half-assed job at pulling the covers back over your body, and doesn’t even bother to close the door quietly, instead opting to come near to slamming it.

You wish he could just break your heart, leave you to sulking by yourself, but he seems to have that same, sick attachment that you have to him. He’s bad for you, and the both of you would be sick in the head if you had any fantasy of this becoming a real thing. He’s not worried about losing his job if this gets discovered, his name is more than enough to keep the lights on and the paychecks running. You, on the other hand, were not well liked throughout the paddock apart from the drivers. You were a controversial topic, people either hated you or were your fiercest defenders.

You turn over and check the clock, 2:46, it reads. You sigh, squeezing a pillow over your head. This needs to end, for both the betterment of you and him.

—--

That ideal comes crashing down in Qatar, literally. The two of you collide, taking each other out of the race. It was his fault entirely, and that was reflected with the addition of two penalty points to his super license. Unfortunately, the two of you had to enter the media pen at the same time, and the daggers of death he sent your way were not easy to miss.

You were wound up, he hadn’t come into your room since Zandvoort when he’d beaten you by quite a close margin, just a touch over half a second. He hadn’t even spared you a word, driver’s meetings be damned. You were left to hang high and dry.

It wasn’t for lack of trying, though. Almost every stop you had, and weekends in between, you spent time at the clubs, attracting men to bring back to your place, but none of them scratched the itch that he left. You barely even finished with half of them. He was obnoxious, insufferable, yet you found yourself in the bathroom of another hotel room fixing up your hair to go knock on his door.

You looked at yourself. You were attractive, sexy, but it made you feel dirty that you dressed up all for him. Suddenly, the lace in your lingerie felt itchy, cutting into your skin. The silk felt like it was actively pilling against you, and the tendrils of your hair wouldn’t stop sticking to the lipstick that just so happened to be his favorite shade on you.

You had to get your independence back from a man who knew he had it and just didn’t care. You didn’t go.

That didn’t stop you from opening the door when he knocked a few minutes later, though. He smiled when he saw your attire, you didn’t bother to cover up. At least you didn’t fall into the trap of knocking on his door, small victories.

He stayed the night this time, just like the first few times. He actually cared back then, and it feels like that today, with his hand in your hair holding your head to his chest. You woke to his soft breathing, he’s still asleep, and that gives you the perfect opportunity to leave him like he left you.

You throw all of your clothes in your suitcase haphazardly, and drag out the luggage to the hallway to zip it up, in fear that he might wake and try to talk or squeeze another round out of you.

You two ran into each other a weekend later at an event in Monaco.

“You left.” He says.

“What did you say?”

“You left a week ago in Qatar. You weren’t there when I woke up.”

“Did you expect me to be?”

“Considering how-”

“If that sentence ends in some grade school jab against me I’m going to hurt you. You just lost a good thing.” He put his hands up in mock defeat.

“I didn’t know how sensitive you were going to be about this whole thing.”

“And if you knew?”

“I would’ve found someone else to fuck.”

—--

The Las Vegas Grand Prix, if you could’ve skipped it you would’ve. Inaugural grand prix in Sin City, your hands were already shaking on the way over here. He must’ve gotten the idea after Qatar, because absolutely no effort was given in him talking to you other than what was necessary, which seemed like a lot, given every single interview question was framed towards yours and his friendship. Both of you answered the same, there was no friendship beyond what was required in a purely professional setting, and the two of you were excited to put the championship race behind you once one of you was crowned.

Mathematically, there were about six drivers still in the championship race, the thorn in your sides that kept the two of you from being in a truly isolated battle, but realistically it’d come down to the two of you. That idea was currently being drilled into you from your team. Keep a clean race and good pace. Every single scenario was being run through during this meeting, and you only participated when necessary, which wasn’t smart, considering this would be your first time racing this track. You couldn’t help it, your mind was wrapped up in a twisted way, your situationship taking over your mind like a sick grade school crush.

I wonder if I’m on his mind as much as he is on mine. Does he think about me often? Does he think about what happened? About why I left the way I did in Qatar?

Your name was being called and your teammate knocked your leg with his knee. You looked at him, a thankful look in your eyes as you answered a question on strategy.

The start of this race weekend sucked. Practice 1, you’d picked up a puncture from an extra bit of carbon fiber on the track. Practice 2 brought mechanical failures, components overheating from the temperature of the track. Your confidence was shot seeing him at the top of the leaderboard in the sessions leading up to qualifying. And when qualifying came, your bad luck stuck around. You felt a power cut in your last flying lap of Q3, resulting in a measly P6 where your teammate qualified P2 and he got pole position.

With the team breaking curfew to put you in a driveable car for the next day, you were shaken up to say the least. You were in the car, the team doing their last minute checks and holding tire blankets and coolers to the car. The track was lit up beautifully in an elegance that only the night could hold.

Five cars in front of you. Five to pass and then hold the position. That’s all you had to do to secure a good lead into the final race. The clock clicked into position, the track cleared. You took the formation lap to get locked in, butterflies fluttering in your chest when the red lights started stacking.

The timing was perfect. You had an amazing start, picking off two positions into turn one. The start was great, but not much else was. You gained another position about halfway through the race, and a botched pit from another team allowed you to gain second up until an aggressive move from another driver caused damage and relegated you to P3.

But everything about his race was aces. Perfect pit, minimal tyre degradation, he was flying. You would’ve taken him out yourself, he was pissing you off that much. Yet again, you felt a power cut in the straight, and that caused you to lose fastest lap to him. Luckily your teammate was in a position to steal it back, but that was one less point for you in a championship battle for the ages.

You stood on the podium next to him, proud bastard, you thought. He walked past you, a glint in his eyes that was unmistakably lust, but could’ve only been seen as a rivalry spark by anyone else. He took his spot on the podium, and when it came time to spray, he was sure to aim only for you, seemingly rubbing in his victory.

He didn’t knock that night, or the night after that. You waited up for him, willing to bring him inside, but he never came. You couldn’t bring yourself to knock on his door either, saving yourself from the embarrassment of him not answering. You didn’t go clubbing, you couldn’t. If you saw him out with another woman, having the time of his life… you shook your head. It wasn’t worthwhile to think of him like that.

You flew home. Wasting tears in Vegas would do nothing to prepare you for the last race. The only one that really mattered, the championship decider.

You put in the hours at the facility, spending nights there because you didn’t want to go home. You’d sleep in your office, the only place he hadn’t tarnished with his presence. The team was concerned about you, but they still had two cars and two drivers to get ready for the finale.

I wonder if I’m on his mind as much as he is on mine.

If you had to go to one more team related event, you were going to cry. You were squeezed into formal wear and airbrushed to the gods the days leading up to Abu Dhabi. You shook hands with sponsors and promised results over the weekend. You were fucking exhausted.

It didn’t help that he looked amazing every time you saw him, which was often considering you stayed at the same hotel, and he was everywhere you were. Whether you were arriving and he was already sat in the breakfast lounge, or you were with a friend and his gaze lingered just a bit too long on your smiling figure, he was fucking everywhere.

Finally, a moment of reprieve, you thought as you entered the hotel. You were able to sneak past the fans, and took your hood off as soon as you entered, the lobby serene in the middle of the night.

You punched the button to call the elevator, and once you got in you pressed the button for the rooftop terrace, leaning against the back wall. Just before the doors closed, however, a hand jutted between the doors. A few people darted in from different teams, immediately making the cart feel small, and someone came to stand next to you, their body pressed up against the side of yours, pushing you against the wall. You knew that cologne, and dared to peek up.

It was him.

You cursed him in every language you knew. He stayed pressed up against you like that even as staff began to filter out. Soon enough, it was just the two of you, and he seemed like he was heading to the roof with you. As if every holy body hated you at that moment, there was no one else on the terrace when you two got there. You rushed to the edge, taking in a breath with your arms on the railing.

“Been a while since it was just the two of us, hasn’t it?” The man had to be immune to taking hints. You didn’t answer.

“Are you just planning on ignoring me for as long as possible?” Ignored again.

“I just hope you’re doing okay, y’know.”

“Don’t do that thing where you pretend to care just to get into my pants, it’s not going to work.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.” You turned around to face him, a look of disbelief on your face.

“I swear.” He says. You don’t answer.

“What we were doing, it was fun, it is fun, but I’m not losing you over it.”

“Look who’s ready to be the bigger person,” you say sarcastically, “we weren’t friends, you’re not losing anything.” He rubs his forehead.

“Don’t you get tired of all of this?”

“I tire of you.”

“Ouch.” Silence falls on the conversation.

“We’re rivals,” you say after a bit, “we were never meant to be close.”

“So it’s like that.”

“It always was.” The two of you lock eyes, both unwilling to break first. You’ve effectively shut down the conversation, but your heart still aches to hear his voice, his hands on your skin, anything.

“For your sake, I hope you win on Sunday.” He starts to walk away, towards the elevators.

“Why the sudden attitude change?” You blurt out.

“Maybe I realized I lost a good thing.” He turns back to you as he says it.

“You…” You try to start. He steps closer to you, looking at your hands as if he was contemplating holding them. He huffs, deciding on grabbing them and holding them close to his chest.

“You are far more important to me than you realize.” And just like that, he’s got you trapped again. He leans down, letting go of one hand to cup your chin, tilting your head up to kiss you. You curse yourself for feeling a connection to him, even still. HIs hands fall to your hips, squeezing them.

“We shouldn’t… too out in the open up here.” You say.

“My room?”

“We have practice tomorrow.”

“Okay. Whatever you say.” He starts to turn away.

“Just a little bit of time together won’t hurt, right?” You say. He smiles at you.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” He takes your hand, leading you back to the elevator, clicking his floor number.

As it turns out, spending a night with your ex-enemy with benefits does hurt. Your phone was buzzing off the nightstand with your manager asking you where you were. You groaned, rubbing your eyes as you reached over.

“Fuck!” You yell, waking him up with your voice.

“What? What is it?”

“I’m going to be massively late, I have to go.” You scramble to find your clothes, scattered across the floor.

“I’m not going for another hour and a half, you can’t be that late.”

“I also can’t be seen with you, do you know how bad that would be for both of our reputations? If someone were to catch me leaving your room and going back to mine… I knew this was a bad idea!”

“Don’t overreact, we’ll figure this out.”

“There is no figuring this out, I’m going to get caught on the way to my room in my clothes from the night prior, which, may I remind you, I was photographed in. That is going to ruin me publically, who, may I remind you again, already hate me.”

“I’m sorry.” He says.

You get dressed quickly and sneak out, getting to your room with almost no eyes on you.

—--

Friday brings a better showing for you and your team than Las Vegas did, topping both free practices by two-tenths and one-tenth respectively. Everyone was happy about your performance, and you were excited to see yourself on the top of the timing sheets again.

Saturday brought the same results, topping another free practice. It was a bit touch-and-go at qualifying, having to rush across the line with only a few seconds remaining to get your last flying lap, but that was just enough time to push you over him.

Sunday. The day you were simultaneously dreading and looking forward to. Between the two of you, winner takes all.

You sat in your car in the pole box. You glance to the side and catch a glimpse of him, he’s nodding his head to something the mechanics are saying. You sigh. Your mechanics float around your car, fiddling around for anything last second. The coolers blow on you as well as the car, the temperature of Abu Dhabi was nothing to trifle with.

You take a deep breath, feeling secure and quiet in your helmet. You play out the track in your mind, feeling every twist and turn in your body before you drive. Your eyes are closed, but your mind is far from relaxed.

During the formation lap, you become acutely aware of just how much is riding on this race. Not only your reputation, but your opportunities for the next season, and just how much power you can have with negotiations as it was your contract year. You shake your head. No time to think about that if you haven’t even accomplished the first step, winning this race.

You roll into your box, watching in your side mirror as the last of the drivers do so and then your eyes flick up to watch the lights. All you had to do was get the start.

Your timing couldn’t have been better. You were gone by the time you reached the first corner. He’d gotten a good start, but nothing compared to yours. All you had to do was manage the race.

The two of you quickly realized you were both pulling away from the competition, and he had much more grip in the corners, cutting at your lead. Soon enough, you were called in to box.

Time ticked away as you rolled into your pit box. The mechanics lifted the car, but one of the tyres wouldn’t come loose. Your internal timer was screaming at you. You see him enter the box and leave before you get all tyres on, and by the time you exit, he’s got a second and a half on you. You curse out your engineer after learning the pitstop took six seconds.

The race was on, and with him just out of DRS, you had a lot of time to make up. The race was slipping out of your grasp, and you thought of every wrong decision that put you in this position. Did you not slim down enough? Was there an extra gram or two of something on the car? You huff, shaking your head clear of the thoughts. There was no time to think like that, not when there was a slim chance you could still win.

And then it happened.

The screens on the side of the track blinked the letters that turned out to be your saving grace: FCY followed by SC. The limiter flashes on the screen of your steering wheel and suddenly you’re back in the race, seeing his rear end grow closer and closer until you’re right up against him. Finally, after a few laps, your engineer lets you know that the safety car is coming in.

“Be ready,” he warns, “you know he could take off at any point.” And so he does. The exit of turn 16, onto the start straight.

You had him, you didn’t let him slip away, not even for a second. It was close with him for a while, two laps to be exact, before your slipstream and DRS combo took him. Your engineer cheers you on as calmly as he can, his even voice showering you in praise. You breathe through the turns, knowing only a few laps remain between you and this championship. Everything rides on this, everything. Win this last race and your name will be in the history books forever.

And that’s exactly what you did, crossing the finish line with those fireworks going off in the background, nothing could take this from you. You did your cooldown lap, pulling back up to the finish line to do your celebratory donuts, laughing and hollering on the radio with your team. You couldn’t even be bothered that he was there with you, right next to you. You pull into the pitlane, your heart racing as your engineer offers the news that you are not, in fact, the target of any penalties. You sit in your car after pulling up to first place, flipping your visor up and crying, soaking up every emotion possible in this moment. You feel pats and slaps on your helmet, other drivers congratulating you on the win, on the championship. You finally find it in you to leave your car, climbing out slowly and soaking it in, that your name will forever be in the history books. You drop your steering wheel in your car and turn around-

He’s standing right there, his shoulders droop a little more than usual but he stands there, waiting for you. He approaches you slowly, leaving his helmet on.

“Congratulations, you drove well.” He says softly. Interestingly enough, your heart breaks a little for him. You pull him into a half hug.

“Scared me for a minute there, thought I’d lose to you again this year after that pit stop.”

“You underestimate your drive. There’s nothing I could do to stop you in those last laps. Don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful set of last laps to close out.” Your heart races at his words, his praise eliciting a reaction that feels unlike anything you’d ever felt with him. He flicks your visor down as he walks away, getting a small giggle out of you.

Finally, you get to your team. They’re practically bursting over the barricades to congratulate you, chanting your name. You laugh, running up to them, allowing yourself to be bombarded with their congratulatory cheers.

“Go get that damn trophy for us.”

The trophy ceremony was honestly a blur, literally and figuratively. You’re pretty sure you blacked out during it, and tears filled your eyes and rolled down your cheeks. You don’t even remember the party afterwards, the sprays of champagne, the club overflowing with the team’s staff, your teammate getting hammered after helping to win the constructor’s championship as well.

You didn’t remember much until the next morning.

You woke up groaning in the hotel room, your phone buzzing itself off the nightstand. You grabbed your head, this hangover was not going to let you go gently. You snatched your phone off the floor, genuinely surprised that you remembered to plug it in last night.

“Hello?” You answer, your voice hoarse from whooping and cheering all through last night.

“Please tell me you didn’t fuck him, because if you did I’m gonna bury your body where no one will find you.” It’s your publicist, sounding exasperated and also hungover.

“What?”

“Did you fuck him?”

“Fuck who?”

“Friday morning, somebody has a photo of you stumbling out of his room at the goddamn crack of dawn in your dress from the night before.”

“Oh my god.”

“So I’m gonna take that as a yes-” You drop your phone, unwilling to hear the rest as you can just predict how much of a PR nightmare this will be.

“Who knows?”

“It’s a pretty grainy photo, honestly, and it’s posted by one of those deuxmoi wannabe F1 twitter pages… but-”

“But what?”

“If you edit it to make it a little clearer, it’s pretty fucking obvious. It’s circulating pretty fast, but we can put out a statement if it’s not true. So, did you?”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“How many times?” You sigh, rubbing your forehead.

“I don’t know. A lot.” It’s her turn to sigh.

“I’m too hungover to deal with this, but I’ll see what I can do. It… it won’t be a lot, more likely than not we’ll be planning damage control. And of course this comes out the morning after you win the championship, you need to pick your men better.” She hangs up with a click.

You know you shouldn’t, but of course you begin to scroll through social media, seeing everything that’s under your name. Forget the championship, this is the biggest piece of news this sport has seen in a while. And of course nobody’s condemning him, why would they? He’s got a paycheck the size of his goddamn ego and a fanbase that spans continents. You scream into a pillow, throwing your phone across the hotel room. Your phone buzzes on the floor again, and you’re the most sure you’ve ever been that if you dare to check, it’ll be your team principal. He wouldn’t reach out, it’s not his reputation that’s being destroyed. No, he’s being paraded around for hitting that.

Angry tears stream down your cheeks. How could you be so fucking stupid? Of course you were bound to get caught, but they couldn’t let your championship sit undisturbed for one day? The stupid trophy sits on the countertop by the bar, practically taunting you with its presence. The hunk of metal changes from an achievement to an accusation before your eyes. That you slept your way to the top, that he let you have it, that you needed a man to get you to where you are. It makes you sick, and that’s probably why you find yourself hugging the toilet now. It’s not fair, it’s never been fair…

And it will never be fair.

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