#this is one version!! so not set in stone

[fairykukla]

So you're having trouble getting a certain fabric to move smoothly through your sewing machine.

You *could* be experiencing a maintenance issue, but unless Something Very Bad happened, you probably don't need major service. I'll discuss service tips in a future post, so stay tuned.

The following fabrics can cause issues.

Lightweight silk

Lightweight polyester that you call silk

Satin

Stretchy stuff like Lycra or spandex

Stretchy stuff like T-shirt or sweatshirt knits

Bulky fabrics

Upholstery fabrics

Vinyl/leather (vegan leather is vinyl. Pleather is vinyl. It's either animal hide or vinyl.)

Sequin/Rhinestone/glitter fabrics

Fabric plus wadding/batting/squishy stuff in between(quilts, pre quilted fabrics)

Cuddle fabrics (Minkee, Flurr, ultra soft velour)

Velvet, velveteen, velour

So many layers

Matching striped or plaid patterns.

All of these items are special. They all require special treatment.

Here's the equipment that can make these easier to work with:

A Walking Foot. You need one. Everyone needs one. Your machine feeds fabric through by pulling on it from below with a mechanism that "walks" along, upside down. So the bottom layer is being pulled through, and we hope for the best on top. A Walking foot provides that same feed on the top, right side up. So the fabric is being drawn through the machine from both the top and bottom at the same time. Good for: almost everything on the above list I believe it was originally designed for machine quilting but mine has carried me effortlessly through fur Santa suits, Minkee projects, slinky, slippery fabrics, and more. Bad for: Some velvets because the wide foot can crush the velvet. Price: $30-50 USD, sometimes more for deluxe or proprietary versions.

A Non-Stick Foot. (Also called a Teflon Foot.) This foot will look very similar to your regular presser foot, but the bottom will have a non-stick coating. Great for: leather, pleather, vinyl, oilcloth, laminated fabrics, applique with adhesives. Price: around $15 USD

Straight Stitch Foot (And straight Stitch plate.) this foot has a single small hole in the center needle position. (Some of them are also 1/4" feet for quilt piecing.) Perfect for: slippery, lightweight fabrics, small pieces, and stretchy/knit fabrics that get pushed down into the machine. Price: around $15 USD.

A Roller Foot: if you can find one for your machine, these are a great option. Similar to a walking foot in application, this foot provides a smooth rolling bar as the top pressure, so that the feed mechanism can more easily push the fabric through. It's not as bulky as a Walking foot, and usually snaps right on to the machine like your other basic presser feet. Perfect For: leather/vinyl, small items with batting, straps on tote bags, crunchy fabrics with sequins. Price: $25-20 USD

A Special Technique: Ok, so sometimes even with the right needle*, the right foot, and the best creative intentions, you're still struggling. You might want to research how to work with that unusual fabric you got from Joann's on sale:

Sequins, beaded fabric, fabric with rhinestones: in the areas where you intend to sew the seams, get out a seam ripper and carefully remove the sequins, beads, or rhinestones from the fabric. This is how the pros do it. (If the items are "set" with metal fasteners, use pliers or a flat screwdriver to bend the prongs and remove both the stone and the setting.) Price: Your Time

Laminated fabrics: this is the *other* type of sequined fabric. The kind where the sequins are just reflective plastic bonded directly to the fabric. This stuff truly is The Devil. A Teflon Foot can help, a Teflon needle can help, or you can *try* to pick off the sequins. What I wound up doing was using a permanent fabric glue to glue the seams with this fabric, and see the linings. (Line it. Trust me. That texture is also The Devil.)

The above advice also holds true for other chonky, crunchy fabrics, btw. I like Fabri-Tac for gluing seams. I made Rocky Horror costumes that lasted years using this method. Price: around $10 USD for a bottle. Note: keep it sealed up in a ziplock bag.

One Final Note:

For the love of all that is holy, stop pulling the fabric through the machine.

Forcing fabric through the machine is bad for you, bad for the machine, and bad for the needle. Don't reach behind the foot, and don't let your hands go past the foot while sewing. Sit upright in your chair, control the fabric from in front of the foot, not behind it. Many people either pick up the bad habit from someone else, or learn to sew on a machine with feed issues, and wind up pulling the fabric through the machine because they can't get it to feed properly.

Correct hand posture illustrated below:

The needle goes down, the feed goes down. The needle comes up, the feed moves the fabric forward. The needle goes back down, the feed goes down. (See gif below in slow motion.)

You. Can't. Match. This. Pattern.

If you're pushing/pulling on the fabric, you're pushing/pulling on. the. needle. while it's in the fabric. If you break a lot of needles, and/or if the hole in the needle plate has a lot of scarring around it, I'm talking directly to YOU. Hands in front. Let the machine do its job. And if it struggles to do its job, give it the right tools.

Happy Sewing!

*Needle information can be found on my previous post:

[lacevenom]

chicken bone scene —

SUMMARY : rewriting twilight for the pack. characters belong to SM I do not own any characters this I just a rewritten version for the pack.

A/N : I’ve tried my best hope you guys enjoy 🐰!

before Bella and Jacob arrive

Quil sat cross-legged on the floor, gnawing on a chicken bone like some prehistoric caveman. Paul had grease smudged across his cheek and zero plans to wipe it off. Jared was trying and failing to balance a spoon on his nose, clearly bored of chewing.

And then there was Embry. absolutely slouched in a chair like he owned the place, arms behind his head, lips curled into a smug, self-satisfied grin. He looked way too pleased with himself for someone who hadn’t lifted a finger to help with cleanup.

When the boys saw Jacob and Bella arrive they jolted like overgrown golden retrievers, practically tripping over each other as they scrambled outside, leaping off the porch one by one. “Look who’s back!” Embry was the first to speak, his grin wide.

��wassup Bella?” Quil added and Bella blinked at him. “Quil? you too?”

“yup!” he nodded proudly. “finally made it in the pack.”

the boys laughed, wolfish and warm.

“I’m so glad you’re here, bella.” Embry began. His voice smooth and teasing. “Maybe now we can get a break from Jake’s possessive inner monologue.”

Paul leaned over and clapped a hand on Jacob’s shoulder, a wicked glint in his eyes. “I wish Bella would call.”

“I wish Bella wouldn't call,” Jared added without missing a beat, through a mouthful of chicken. Embry chuckled, eyes flickering to Jacob with dramatic mischief. “Maybe I should call bella!”

Quil added in. “Maybe I should call Bella and hang up!”

Laughter erupted from the porch. loud, messy, teasing. A signature pack moment. Jacob rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “Alright, you can shut up now.”

Soon enough…Leah Clearwater stepped out behind them, arms folded, face set in stone. Her expression was pure judgment, perfected and polished. Everyone went silent.

Jacob cleared his throat, “Bella that’s Leah Clearwater. Harry’s daughter.”

then Bella’s eyes flicked to her, sympathy written across her face. “Hey. I’m really sorry about your dad.”

but Leah’s stare was ice. “If you’re here to torture Jacob some more, feel free to leave.” With those words she disappeared into the trees. Phasing mid step.

The brunette blinked, visibly rattled and Jacob gave a dry smile. “Fun, isn’t she?”

The porch fell into a brief silence. Jared kept chewing. Quil scratched his head. Then a familiar voice floated from the open doorway. “Bella.” Emily stood there. Warm and welcoming.

“hey.” Bella replied softly

“I was wondering when we would see you around her again.” Emily said, pulling the brunette into a gentle hug. Sam stood next to her. Tall and tension still simmering beneath the surface. He and Jacob locked eyes. not aggressive, but cautious.

“Sam,” Jacob said, voice low. “We good?” There’s was a small pause and then Sam gave a small nod. “We’re good.”

— after Bella and Jacob left —

The front door shut with a gentle thud, and the warm silence that followed was quickly shattered.

“Welp, back to the important things.” Paul said, stretching dramatically as he flopped down on the couch.

“Chicken.” Jared announced like it was a sacred word, beelining back to the table where the last few pierce where meanwhile Quil slid to the floor again, reaching for a bone he's hidden under a napkin. “I knew no one would’ve found my stash.”

Embry was already halfway into the kitchen, hands outstretched. “Emily, got anything sweet? I need dessert after emotional damage.”

Emily looked over her shoulder from the stove, shaking her head but smiling softly. “You mean the emotional damage you caused?”

“Exactly.” Embry grinned. “Self inflicted dessert worthy.”

“You boys are like children,” Leah muttered from the corner where she’d reappeared, now in human form with a damp towel over her shoulder and an eternal scow.

Paul pointed his fork at her. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” “Because it is.” She deadpanned.

Quil eventually dropped his chicken bone, and it bounced off the table with a dramatic clack on the floor. “NOOO. MY FINAL BONE!” he cried, diving after it like a precious relic.

Embry almost collapsed laughing, clutching the counter for support. “I can’t take you serious man.”

Emily brought out a tray of cookies like a true saint, the entire pack’s heads turning at once like synchronized wolves sniffing fresh prey. “Blessed be Emily,” Jared whispered, taking two and immediately shoving one into Quil’s mouth like a peace offering.

Embry, now sitting on the floor with his back against the couch, took a cookie, popped it into his mouth, and looked at Jared. “Soo….whats Jake thinking now?”

Jared pressed two fingers to his temple like a fake psychic. “Hmmm…broody. Torture. Something about ‘her scent is like home—“

“Ughh” Quil groaned, face down on the floor. “If I hear the word scent one more time, I’m gonna lose it.”

The pack dissolved into crackles. Emily sighed fondly and tossed a dish towel at them. “Someone better help me clean up this table or no one’s getting seconds.”

Jared and Embry immediately jumped up. “Yes ma’am.”

Paul saluted with a fork and Leah muttered something about idiots under her breath, but even she couldn’t hide the tiny smile twitching on her lips.

[beevean]

Programming your own special cutting edge game had been tons of fun, but never had you actually played it! What an experience it is, watching a teeny tiny version of yourself strolling through a city, chasing after battles and quizzes!

Too bad you had to spoil the super secret final level of the city in flames. Oh well! It's not your fault the contestants chose to be sassy!

"Haha, I know you have fun banging on my SPECIAL CAPSULE, Susie!" you yell at the girl thumping as hard as she did on the drums, "but pay attention, please! It's time for a quiz!"

It's no effort at all to reach the fleeing quiz vortex. Ah, the perks of playing your own game. No one can run from you. No one can fight you. It's you, and the programming, sticking to the script and nothing else.

However, it still can't beat the thrills and laughs and tears of a good old show, like only you can set up. And really, they should appreciate your efforts!

"Aren't you having so much fun?" the quiz asks. You wait, with a big smile on your screen, for the three contestants to answer "Of course!", because of course they're having fun, who wouldn't have fun with you, the greatest showman the Dark World has ever seen?

… Silence.

Susie has stopped banging on the capsule, but she's looking at you with a nasty, yellow glare. You fidget where you're standing. You don't like that glare at all.

Toriel used to look at Asgore in the same way.

"Uh oh, you all FAILED the quiz!" you shout - and normally you'd have to deduct POINTs, but who the hell cared about those anymore? (Oh, how you enjoy being able to swear without the censors breathing down your wires.) But the contestants still need to be punished! They're looking bad on TV!

Thunderbolts fall from the ceiling and hit the contestants one by one, their screams muffled by the plastic. Ha ah! You laugh, and laugh, and laugh until the screen hurts - it made the same sound as plates crashing from the kitchen, and back then you frizzled, immobile and powerless in the living room, but now? Now you are the one crashing and breaking! And it will teach them, oh yes, the children will surely behave!

Maybe Kris will return to you, seeking your glow amidst all the noise.

"Ah ha ha! I'm sorry for that! But the rules are the rules!" you laugh. (Wait, did you explain them the rules? You don't remember. Oh well, sometimes a show is more entertaining when the contestants are surprised on live.) You don't feel like laughing anymore, but a show is a show, and who has ever heard of a sad gloopy host? It's preposterous. "Let's never fight again! Let's all be a happy family! You want that, right, Kris?"

Kris doesn't answer.

In fact, Kris isn't looking at you at all.

The others were doing something. Trying to break the capsule, trying to roll it away (hah, as if you wouldn't properly secure your props, no accidents on your set!), and now they're staring at you, hanging from your words. But not Kris. They are facing ahead of them, towards an audience that doesn't exist, still and stone faced. Like they were a mere prop.

You fidget with your tie. That's not the Kris you remember. Sure, they've always been a bit of a brat, much to poor Toriel's chagrin, but that's why you loved them! They were fun, and they liked watching your cartoons! Why are they ignoring you now?

You used to find Kris' pranks funny, but now it's not the time for their jokes. They will look at you. It's what they need to be happy. You know it: you are the one who raised them when their parents would not.

You will make them all smile. You will show them that you did not lose your shine. You have never failed to make your audience laugh… but if you'll have to make them cry, then so be it.

[musubiki]

btw idk if someone already asked this but do they say ily right away??? do they hook hook up right away??? i need the deets

YOU KNOW THIS IS SOMETHING I SHOULD HAVE SOLID ALREADY BUT I DONT YET!!!!! i DO know that lime definitely wouldnt let a large amount of time pass between when they hook up and when he tells her hes in love with her (in either order it happens on the same night. now way hes gonna be regularly sleeping with her and still be like "but what if she doesnt like me...")

at least the version in my head i have right now, they dont get together until the post-game (after the main storyline)!! after the witch king is defeated and everything is FINALLY, for the first time since mochi became a witch, quiet and normal. (im putting the rest under a read more bc its a bit long, its just me rambling about what happens) ->

i think he would tell her during the little dinner celebration they have after the witch king is defeated. everyone is there, the witches and their guilds and sulluvan and even the merchant takes a night off to party with them (strange). mochi is outside with pom, pom probably scolding her again on "this is the way you shouldve handled the fight so all that bad stuff wouldnt have happened. you shouldve been more resourceful as a witch blah blah blah--" and lime has to come rescue mochi from poms scoldings. grabs the cat by the neck and gives her to coco (coco likes snuggling pom against her will. shes the friend that grabs cats and forces them into hugs while the cat struggles and meows)

so he stays out there with her for a bit (alone 👀), chatting about nothing. eventually he asks "So now what?" since they always had something going on. and mochi says "Now...we can finally just. rest. run the shop and help people where we can. normal witch stuff." and starts rambling about how theyll still do commissions and fun adventures and travel around and stuff but for the most part, everything will be normal and theres nothing they cant handle anymore. and after shes finally done talking lime just goes "...will you go out with me?"

(the woman was too stunned to speak meme). its a mix of emotions cuz theres a 5% chance hes joking but the look on his face is so serious. and its also not a total surprise given their very blurred line relationship but it still stuns her to hear him say it.

and in VERY tcwg fashion, of course somehow gets interrupted before she can answer him. coco or sulluvan or SOMEONE starts yelling from the house "HEY THE CATERING GUY IS HERE AND NEEDS MOCHIS SIGNATURE AND OSCARS ALREADY TRYING TO EAT YOU NEED TO HANDLE THIS ASAP!!!" and lime is ready to kill somebody. the rest of the night mochi cant get a second alone with him and every time they make eye contact across the table they both get flustered.

the next day lime probably had to report in or something and mochis groaning to coco about "Noooo i didnt even get to respond what if he hates me!!!" and lime stressing over "Was I too forward...? No way right..??" (hes not overly stressed. at that point hes decided to just be dedicated to being unapologetically in love with her. he has a PRETTY good idea that shed say yeah but in the off chance shes like "nooo" then he decided to love her anyway and just be there for her)

so as soon as he comes home mochi is like "Hey!! Lime!! so uh!! I just remembered I need to go hunting for ingredients in (insert remote getaway she has access to)!! I was wondering if you wanna!! Come with me!!" the whole time red-faced and fidgeting with her braid. lime, bag in hand goes "I'm ready. Lets go now." (pom is like "mmm adventures yum" and mochis like "ahah....just lime." and forces her to stay there)

when they get there (via mochis magic doorway portals), and lime sets his stuff down, and mochi is there stammering and red in the face trying to get her words out, mumbling like "Lime! Uh! About yesterday!! I wanted to!! Um!! Well!! I wanna--//"

and before she can even get proper words out, he grabs her by her waist, pushes her against the counter and kisses her. its one of those deep, passionate, hands-all-over-her kisses. and when he breaks away from her, he nuzzles her hair and presses his forehead to hers and tells her he loves her. he tells her EVERYTHING. how he thinks about her day and night, he misses her when he has to leave, he loves her laugh and her smile and the softness of her touch and the feeling of her warmth on him, and he loves the tone of her voice and the way she cares and does little things for him, and every time he looks at her it makes his whole day. and he tells her how just knowing her has made him a better person and he wouldnt be anything without her. and how hed love her no matter what or no matter how long or no matter if this is something she wants or not, hed love her anyway.

he gives her little kisses between each thing he tells her, and by the end of it shes crying (getting back to the thing i was talking about a few asks ago). she hugs him tightly around his neck with her tears dripping on his uniform and tells him shes loved him her whole life and was always terrified to tell him because she didnt want him to leave and she knows how he generally was with other girls who have crushes on him. as soon as lime hears the "I've loved you my whole life" thing though, his response is "WHAT?! THAT LONG?! WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY SOMETHING?!!" and feels a tinge of being pissed off that he couldve had her this WHOLE TIME, to which she responds "I WAS SCARED!!"

and he smirks at her and says "God, you really are literally a scaredy-cat." and shes still crying lowkey so just leans forward into his chest and muffles out a "Shut up you jerk." and he just stares at her for a bit, stroking her hair and planting little kisses on her head, and asks "...do you really love me?" because hes still in disbelief and this doesnt feel real, to which she reminds him that she (as a witch) will always always always love him and never stop loving him for the rest of her life.

so lime kisses her again. and again., and starts escalating it because god knows now that he has the green light there is NOTHING stopping him from having her. probably lifts her up and carries her into the bedroom to have his way with her

(funny tidbit though-- they were originally gonna stay there for like a week because lime wants her all to himself for a while to get all the s*xual frustration out of his system. he thought once he finally gets to be with her then he would have a better grip on how much he wants her, but in fact it makes it worse. so they end up staying there for like 2-3 weeks and even then they had to be forced to come back because oscar was tired of running the shop by himself and they were fucking up the business)

[w1ngedv01d]

I'm so so so curious about the scarian possible love story? in this!!! Tell me more please!!!!

Thank you!! ^-^

So the actual emotional plot between Grian and Scar is currently in heavy development, because I have So Many Feelings about this duo (/pos) and I want to make sure to fit in as much of my thoughts on them as possible in, while also making everything make sense narratively ^-^;;

(But if you want an idea of the headspace I've been in while thinking about these two specifically, here's the song I've been listening to on repeat as I think about Them: Born Without A Heart by Faouzia)

In my plot, they're both haphazardly trying to both recreate and process the memories they have of their other selves' relationships, while coming at it from completely different angles, and holding a lot of resentment towards each other based on the half-remembered wrongs done against their counterparts by the other person's counterparts.

They also forget an incredibly important point, which is that those things may have been done by versions of the other person, but the other Trials did happen in... Different Universes. Different Worlds. Those versions of them are alternate iterations of them. Not them exactly!

So Scar isn't processing that just because he has memories of DL!Grian being a cheater doesn't mean that this Grian is a cheater (he isn't! and wouldn't be!). Meanwhile, Grian hasn't connected that just because 3L!Scar betrayed him without warning doesn't inherently mean that this Scar is fickle, or untrustworthy, or any of the nasty things Grian has thought about 3L!Scar when overwhelmed by that hurt so great is passed through dimensions

And all of that, in addition to them trying to prove to themselves that they somehow have value by "getting this person who didn't want them anymore to actually want them, and stay", means that for the first part of all of this, they're going to have a messy, on-again-off-again, chaotic relationship where they're saying the same thing but they just can't hear it

And it will be a gradual shift from that trashfire of a situation to them actually understanding who these versions of Grian and Scar are as people, and settling into a much less chaotic or toxic relationship

They will get there! But the how is slightly in flux ^-^;;

[sparring-spirals]

Went through my kith and kin tag after that last post and once again lying on my floor thinking about. vex snarling at vax about his judgement being swayed by a pretty face-

(another person vax is brave enough to love, even if its dangerous. looking for the good and the kindness and the humanity among the darkness, trying to bring it forward, let vex experience it, even when it can leave him bleeding)-

and vax snarling at vex about her judgement being swayed by her desperation to be accepted-

(another time vex sees a way to secure safety and security and approval, which is safety and security, in a different form. for her, her and vax and trinket and everything she loves, safe in one place, where they can belong, they can stay)-

and. oogh.

Holding these twins in my hands. squishing them like playdough. one of them fights desperately to find the kindness and good and light even when its a fools errand. leaves himself open and hurt for a little bit of light. if it keeps vex safe, happier. one of them counting and calculating and running and cruel because the world demands it. keeps the counter going and going and does the hard things if it keeps vax whole, and okay. one close range and one long.

they'll hurt each other if it keeps the other whole. they'll gladly get hurt if it keeps the other safe. the world is harsh, and they are surviving. what the fuck. theyre such a fucked up pair. they love each other so much.

[cerbreus]

i need you guys to look at my pretty pretty rocks 👀💕❤❤💕

[the-nysh]

Someone in reddit pointed out that every time a major event is about to happen (Saitama and Garou's table talk, Blast vs Empty Void) there's a 180º spin and we get a completely different redraw. So they said it would be a meta 4th wall break if it was God all along changing the narrative of the opm world. The concept in itself is cool, but I don't think it would work because people who catch up with the manga after the redraws won't notice the change and also the printed version won't include the redraws anyways.

The even bigger meta mindfuck is if you consider 'god' to be ONE himself and not the in-universe fictional character~ But exactly, I've seen that idea tossed around before, but once the volumes are published, the story's route is set in stone. And those other plot divergences will no longer 'exist' in canon for volume readers to experience those 180 shifts from those first work-in-progress digital chapter releases. (Unless they voluntarily go online to compare with the old archived versions.) So it's fun to speculate the 'whys' for the big changes, but yes, saying it's 'god' (the character) interfering each time to rewrite the timeline whenever he's almost thwarted in a pinch basically won't hold up once the story is 'fixed' and finalized in the printed version. :'D

[sysig]

I have made

the rough

of an improv card game

[fire-on-fuel]

hyperspecific complaint but I really dislike when writers/authors/showrunners/artists/directors who are fans of a franchise start working for them and have no idea how to do their job. It's very easy to tell when someone thinks being a lifelong fan is a free pass to treat their job like theyre playing in a fandom sandbox. Once you take on the responsibility to add to an IP there's a certain level of respect for both the overarching narrative, your fellow creators, existing work, and media cohesion that should be standard. If you're hired to work on a permanent fixture to a storyline or especially a complicated expanded universe, who you are creating for and what will be affected as collateral is key. Yeah sometimes it is egregious and authors are killing off eachothers characters and canceling out eachother's lore but sometimes it's as minor as a show taking inspiration and characters from another media work in the universe and causing issues with storylines/timelines purely because they see that other work as a thing to ref off of and discard back to obscurity and not something their own work is improved by aligning with or on the same standing as

[rivilu]

Putting him in the blender is no longer enough I need to-

[helaintoloki]

Hello and good evening,

I saw you opened requests so I'm dropping by!

What about an infinity stone mishap that has multiple Bucky variants be at the compound at the same time. (Let's just have Winter Soldier be not entirely murderous for the sake of Tony's heart) and literally no one can seem to keep some apart except Steve and reader, who goes off on a rant about all the teeny tiny, to her very obvious details that differ between the Bucky's and accidentally in doing so admits she has a huge crush on him/them??

I hope that made sense omg

And as always, only if it speaks to you and you're up for it! ♡♡

a/n: hi hon, ty for sending this in! i’ll admit this was a bit challenging to tackle but still fun! hope you don’t mind that i changed a few details in the process <3

warnings: light angst, lots of pining, fluff

summary: a multiversal mishap leaves the compound teeming with Bucky variants, and Steve entrusts you with helping him figure out which one is the real deal

“I think I had a nightmare like this once,” Sam shudders as the two of you survey the plethora of Bucky’s taking up space in the compound. A multiversal mishap had led to an overflow of variants into the compound, and now your team found themselves working vigorously to determine which Bucky was your own and which ones needed to be sent back to their proper dimension.

Getting rid of the Winter Soldiers had been the easiest, the red stars on their arms giving away their identities and also giving Tony a heart attack in the process. You could tell apart the Bucky’s with hair that was too long or too short, the one’s that had brown or green eyes instead of blue, and the ones that went by Jane instead of James. The real work, however, came when there was only a handful of variants left that looked identical to your own Bucky.

“We can’t take any chances,” Steve says after having approached you and Sam. “All of these men are going to insist they’re our version of Bucky, and we can’t risk sending back the wrong one. I’m really going to need your help on this, y/n.”

“Why me?” You retort with furrowed brows, nervously peeking your head out of the office to observe the variants that sit restless in the common room.

“Out of everyone here, you and I know Bucky best,” the blond states truthfully. “I think if we work together we have a better shot at cleaning up this whole mess. The sooner the better.”

“You got that right,” Sam scoffs, prompting you to roll your eyes in response.

You couldn’t exactly deny the truth in Steve’s words. Other than Captain America himself, Bucky considered you to be one of his closest friends. Your kindhearted nature made it easy for him to gravitate towards you when first joining the team, and after saving each other’s asses on multiple occasions, he knew you were someone he could entrust with his life. You tore down his walls with ease, you brought out the best in him, and he’d forever be indebted to you for your friendship.

You decide with Steve that the best course of action is to spend one-on-one time with each Bucky you cross paths with to detect any abnormalities in their behavior. The Captain makes it abundantly clear that you cannot let them cloud your judgement with pleasantries, and it’s pertinent you trust your gut with each decision you make. The pressure is on, and you feel the nerves settling in your gut as you approach the Bucky that has made himself at home in the communal kitchen.

“Hey, stranger,” you call gently, a pleasant smile on your face as you seat yourself at the island counter. You note with interest how the man visibly relaxes at your presence and sets aside the pot of tea he’d just finished brewing. His eyes are bright like your Bucky’s, full of adoration and relief when he sets them upon your face.

“Y/n,” he breathes out gently before coming to meet you at the counter, “you have no idea how glad I am to see you, doll.”

“Rough day?” You prompt understandingly.

“Where do I even begin? Being around so many versions of myself is more unsettling than I ever could have imagined.”

“Well, Steve and I are doing our best to fix that,” you assure him. You watch as the man turns back to his pot of tea and begins to pour you both a cup. There’s nothing unusual about this considering your Bucky also enjoys drinking tea; it helps him keep calm and relaxed before retiring for the night.

“How many are left?” He asks before handing you your mug.

“Around ten. Steve and I are making our rounds to figure out which Bucky is ours.”

“Am I your Bucky?” The man prompts with a raised brow while taking a careful drink from his cup.

“You tell me,” you reply with a faint smile, ignoring the way your heart begins to flutter when he refers to himself as ‘your Bucky.’

“I know you have a scar on your stomach from being stabbed by another Widow in the Red Room, and the reason I know that is because I accidentally walked in on you changing in the shower room once,” Bucky admits with a sheepish laugh, prompting your face to heat with embarrassment.

“God, don’t remind me,” you groan while hiding your face in your hands. It’s not exactly comforting to know that Bucky has accidentally seen you naked in at least two different universes, but it also doesn’t make it easier to determine if this man is an imposter.

“I know you like your tea with a tablespoon of honey,” he continues before gesturing to your cup. You hum thoughtfully and set the mug down before meeting his gaze.

“I do, and I know you only like chamomile tea,” you reply, prompting Bucky to stiffen in front of you as you look down at the mug in front of you. “But this is green tea.”

Sighing, the doppelgänger sets his cup down with a defeated frown before meeting your gaze with pleading eyes. “Don’t make me go back.”

“I’m sorry, but it has to be done. We can’t risk the effects that come with having two Bucky’s in one place.”

“Then can I ask you a favor?” The man says solemnly.

“Of course.”

“Before you send me back, can I… is it okay if I hug you?” He asks, catching you by surprise. Noting the confusion on your face, Bucky gives you a dejected smile that doesn’t reach his eyes before explaining, “We don’t talk anymore in my universe. I was an idiot, and you rightfully cut me out of your life. This is the first time in years you’ve looked at me with love and not utter disgust, and I just want to enjoy it a little longer before I have to leave.”

Your heart aches for this poor Bucky who very clearly misses you, or at least his version of you, so you can’t find it in yourself to deny his request. You wordlessly rise from your seat and allow him to wrap his arms around your frame. His hold is tight, his nose brushing against your neck as he savors the feel of your touch, and you feel terrible for the fact that there isn’t anything you can do to help him.

“I’m not sure what happened between the two of you,” you utter quietly while rubbing comforting circles into his back, “but if she’s anything like me, I know she probably misses you but is too stubborn to admit it. Don’t give up on her.”

You release him with a smile and find his eyes shining with tears as he lets your words settle. You bid him a final goodbye before escorting him to Tony and Bruce so that he can be properly transferred back to his own time. That’s only one Bucky down with several more to go, and you know now that you really have your work cut out for you. This is going to be much more difficult than you anticipated.

You stumble upon the next Bucky quietly ruminating in your room, and it takes him a moment to detect your presence as you lean against the doorway and simply observe his mannerisms. You can already tell this isn’t your Bucky by the way he anxiously taps his fingers against his knees; your Bucky’s tell is the anxious bouncing of his leg. This Bucky also wears his hair pulled back into a ponytail, whereas your Bucky prefers to tie his hair back into in a half-up style.

His eyes widen in shock when he finally notices you standing there, and you’re taken aback by the way he nearly flings himself at you. His strong arms wrap around your midsection and lift you off the ground, holding you impossibly tight against him as if you’ll disappear otherwise.

“жена,” he whispers in a trembling voice while combing a hand through your hair.

“I don’t speak Russian…” you voice with an uncomfortable laugh, struggling to take a breath due to how tightly you’re pressed against him. “Buck, you’re kind of suffocating me here.”

The man finally releases you after your admission, but his hands immediately find their way to your cheeks as he cups your face and rests his forehead against your own. You’re startled by the closeness, but there’s no denying the rapid beating of your heart when you stare into his troubled eyes. You’ve had daydreams like this before, but it’s jarring to experience it in person.

“When I arrived here and came across your room I thought it was too good to be true,” he utters shakily, “but you’re here. You’re alive.”

“Bucky, I-“

“You’ve come back to me, жена.”

“жена?” You repeat unsurely. His panicked features melt into a fond smile at the sound of your botched Russian, and he carefully pushes back your hair before gifting you a nod of confirmation.

“Wife.”

Your eyes widen at his proclamation, your heart dropping to your chest while you process the weight of his words and struggle with the turmoil inside of you. You thought dealing with the Bucky from the kitchen was difficult, but this is way out of your playing field.

“Oh god,” you breathe out before carefully removing his hands from your face. He frowns.

“What’s wrong?”

“I know this is all really confusing, but I’m not…” you start to say, grappling with your guilt at having to crush the man’s hopes of being reunited with his version of you, “I’m not your wife.”

The man’s features become sullen at your confession, brows furrowing in disappointment and confusion. “What do you mean? You aren’t y/n?”

“I am, but I’m just not the same y/n you know. This is a different dimension, and you were sent here by accident.”

“So you’re not… she’s not really alive, then,” he murmurs dejectedly, eyes casting towards the floor in despair.

“No, and I’m so sorry I’m not the one you’re looking for,” you console, resting a comforting hand on his bicep. Bucky’s eyes flutter shut at the feel of your touch, something he’d been lacking since your death. You aren’t his wife, but in spite of that, he is grateful to be able to speak to you and see your face once more. “Can I ask what happened to her?”

“Hydra wanted revenge for my desertion and for aiding Captain America in their destruction,” Bucky utters lowly, eyes hardening at the memory. “An eye for an eye. She paid the price for my mistakes, and I’ve spent every waking moment avenging her death.”

A chill runs through your spine as you hear the recounting of your counterpart’s death, but you do your best to remain composed while in the presence of this alternate version Bucky. Your heart aches for the man, and you once again find yourself completely useless at trying to help him.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you express solemnly. Despite this, Bucky looks to you with a tender smile before carefully taking your hand in his own.

“Don’t be. I know you’re not her, but seeing you again, hearing your voice- It’s the most precious gift I could ask for. Thank you for giving me some semblance of peace.”

You’re a wreck when this Bucky is returned to his own timeline, and after multiple instances of running into Bucky’s who believe you’re their y/n Steve assures you that he’ll take over moving forward. It seems that each Bucky you speak to cares so fondly for you, they adore you even, and yet in this universe you’ve been designated as a close friend and nothing more. It’s killing you to see all the ‘what if’s,’ because deep inside you know that you’ll never be with your Bucky the way you want to.

You’re not sure when your crush on the super soldier had first developed, but you know that you’ve harbored these romantic feelings for him for quite a while now. You’ve never told anyone, though you can guess Steve was smart enough to figure it out on his own, and you have no urge to act on such feelings in fear of how complicated things will become if he doesn’t reciprocate your emotions.

Your rumination leaves you in deep thought as you sit out on the balcony and enjoy some quiet after all the chaos you’ve endured. You hear the sliding door open and shut behind you, but you make no attempt to see who it is until they seat themselves beside you. You peek at Bucky from the corner of your eyes before returning your gaze to the New York skyline, simply enjoying his presence without making an effort to speak.

“You doing okay?” He asks, effectively breaking the silence between you.

“I didn’t think being around multiple versions of you would be so exhausting,” you confess with a humorless laugh, but it prompts his lips to quirk up slightly into a smile.

“You’re starting to sound like Sam,” he teases with a careful nudge to your side. While you’d normally laugh at his jokes, Bucky doesn’t even get a smile out of you. You feel him shift closer to you and hope he can’t detect the way your heart picks up a beat in response. He nudges you again softer this time and asks, “Talk to me. What’s eating you?”

“Every Bucky variant I met today looked at me like I moved heaven and earth together, like I was their reason for getting up in the morning, and I guess it just reminded me of the fact that my own Bucky doesn’t really look at me that way.”

You pull your knees up to your chest and let your chin fall on top of them with a melancholic sigh. A part of you feels embarrassed to be voicing your disappointment aloud, but you figure there’s no harm in telling a variant since you’ll never have to see them again after today.

“Do you want him to look at you that way?”

“Of course I do,” you avow incredulously like the answer isn’t already obvious. “I love him so much that Steve trusted my judgement enough to have me help him sniff out the doppelgängers. I know how he likes his tea, how he does his hair, what his favorite movie is- the list could go on forever. But of course, I live in the one universe where Bucky and I don’t end up together.”

You feel his hand come to rest on the small of your back and shudder at the feel of his cool metal hand seeping through your sweater. You can’t help but to lean against him so that your head is rested on his shoulder, and you’re able to find some comfort in his presence. You hear him let out a thoughtful hum beside you.

“You want to know something?” Bucky pronounces. He feels your head nod against him and smiles. “I know the exact moment I fell in love with you.”

The confession has you lifting your head to peer up at him questioningly. “You do?”

“Of course I do. We were on a mission, and you picked up Steve’s shield to stop a bullet from hitting me straight on before using it to knock out three bad guys in a row. You looked so strong, so beautiful. My heart was yours from then on.”

“I didn’t think you remembered that,” you confess quietly, stomach fluttering with nervous butterflies.

“Haven’t stopped thinking about it since,” he asserts with a fond smile. “Any Bucky would be lucky to have you, and I’m sorry yours has been too chicken to make a move.”

“I guess it’s not totally his fault,” you relent with a meager shrug. “I’m chicken, too.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Bucky suggests, tone light and inviting. “I know I’m not the most obvious about it, but I love you too.”

You open your mouth to answer only to be interrupted by the sound of the sliding door again. You turn to see Steve standing there, surprise on his features when he sees you two sitting on the balcony together.

“Y/n, I’ve been looking for you,” he says suddenly. “I wanted to talk to you about the variants-“

“Don’t worry,” you interrupt him with a passive wave of your hand before gesturing towards Bucky with your head. “I found another one for you. This Bucky just told me he loves me which means he’s definitely not ours.”

“Actually,” Steve says with an amused grin, “I was just coming to tell you we sent the last of them back to their own dimensions.”

“What?” You gape in shock, heart immediately dropping to your stomach as you slowly shift your gaze towards the Bucky sitting next to you. He flashes you a bashful smile and a small wave that fills you with embarrassment.

“I’ll give you two a moment,” the blond says with a knowing smile before making his exit, leaving you alone once more with the man you’d just poured your entire heart out to.

“I thought you knew,” Bucky offers apologetically. You take a nervous swallow before forcing yourself to meet his gaze again.

“So you’re saying that you do love me?” You ask hesitantly, almost afraid that this is all some sort of joke.

“I may not be as romantic or straightforward as the other Bucky’s you met, but I love you just as much as they do if not more,” he professes earnestly, gently resting a hand on your cheek to pull you closer. “I think we make a great team, but we’d make an even better couple.”

“I think so too,” you utter with a giddy smile, waiting with bated breath as Bucky slowly begins to lean in. The anticipation is killing you, but you’re finally rewarded for your patience when his lips meet your own in a tender kiss. Your lashes flutter shut as you melt into his touch, reveling in the moment you’ve dreamed of since discovering your feelings for Bucky.

No matter the timeline and no matter the universe, Bucky is destined to fall in love with his y/n. And you wouldn’t want it any other way.

[cheollollipop]

green sector. | k. mingyu

genre: fluff. angst. smut (18+ MDNI)

wc: 4.7k

content warning(s): fast driving, smutty smut smut. pet names, reader shoves mingyu (out of love), breast play, oral (f! receiving), please lmk if i forgot anything!

🏁 author’s note!

loved f1 mingyu so much i decided to continue. this story takes places two years after pole position . this’ll probably be the end of this story so i wanted to give yall an even more happier ending for mingyu and reader. i hope you enjoy this as much as you all enjoyed the first one! and if you haven’t read it, please check it out <3 happy reading.

The Proposal wasn't subtle.

Not with Mingyu. Never with Mingyu.

He rented out the entire rooftop of the Park Hyatt Tokyo.

I thought we were there for a sponsor dinner. I'd slipped into a navy silk dress, hair swept into a low bun, heels echoing against polished floors as he led me through the hotel like he didn't already have a diamond ring burning a hole in his pocket.

When the elevator doors opened on the 52nd floor, I knew something was off.

No guests. No tables. Just a private pathway of soft lanterns and white roses, a string quartet tucked into the corner playing the instrumental version of my favorite song, and Mingyu grinning, nervous, stunning in a black velvet tux, reaching for my hand like he'd waited his whole life for this moment.

"Is this...?" I asked, voice already trembling.

He nodded. "Yeah."

I stepped onto the rooftop with him, the Tokyo skyline glittering behind us like a million stars had fallen just for us. There were candles everywhere. Soft light. A breeze that caught the hem of my dress.

"I thought about doing this where we first met," he said, slipping his hands into mine. "But we've been through too much. And you deserve the best."

He knelt then.

Right there, on imported Italian tile, with the city holding its breath around us.

"I want every version of you. The brave one. The scared one. The one who holds the world together even when she's breaking," he said, voice shaking. "And if you'll have me, I'll spend the rest of my life proving that forever doesn't have to be terrifying."

The ring was custom. Pear cut. Set in platinum with two tiny stones on either side, one for him, one for me.

I didn't cry. I sobbed.

And when I said yes, the sky lit up behind us, yes, actual fireworks and he kissed me like a man who had something to lose and wasn't willing to risk it.

⸻

The Wedding was in Florence.

Because nothing else would do.

We flew in two weeks early. Took over an entire vineyard estate. Thirty five rooms. Custom menus. A wedding planner who had previously done work for literal royalty. White glove everything.

My dress had a twenty foot train. A cathedral veil. Hand sewn crystals. I walked down the aisle to a string version of Debussy's Clair de Lune, escorted by my mother and the memory of my father.

Mingyu looked like sin in a cream tuxedo with black satin lapels. Hair slicked back. Jaw set.

He cried the second he saw me.

Hell, everyone did. Dokyeom handed Mingyu a tissue. Minghao lost it entirely. Jihoon pretended not to.

Our vows? We had to pause halfway through because I couldn't breathe.

"I've seen every version of you," he said. "The broken one. The furious one. The one too afraid to say she loved me. And I still chose you. I will always choose you."

We kissed under a rain of ivory petals. Doves were released. Champagne poured like waterfalls.

Our reception was candlelit under a grand tent in the olive groves. Seven courses. A live jazz band. Late night espresso martinis served with hand painted macarons that had our initials on them in gold.

And when we had our first dance, it wasn't practiced. It was messy. Clingy. He kept kissing me between spins, and I kept laughing into his shoulder, thinking

This. This is everything.

⸻

The Honeymoon we went straight from Italy to the Maldives.

Private villa. Overwater. Glass floors. Champagne on ice when we landed and a butler who knew not to disturb us unless it was an emergency, or breakfast.

He booked fourteen days. Two were spent outside the villa. The rest?

Let's just say the Do Not Disturb sign didn't come off the door.

The moment we stepped inside, he let go of my hand, only to wrap both arms around my waist from behind.

"Look," he whispered against my neck, chin resting on my shoulder. His voice was low. "The floor."

Glass beneath our feet. Blue water beneath the glass. And beyond that, miles and miles of nothing but ocean and sky, fading into molten gold as the sun began to set.

"It's like we're floating," I murmured.

He kissed the back of my shoulder. "We are."

I stepped forward slowly, hand brushing over the smooth edge of the four poster bed, across the ice bucket on the table with the already sweating champagne, past the sliding doors that opened to our private deck and infinity pool.

God. This was ours.

For two weeks, this little slice of paradise was ours.

Behind me, Mingyu didn't speak. Didn't move.

I turned slowly and found him watching me with that look again. The one he'd worn the moment I stepped out during the ceremony in Florence. The one that made me feel like the center of the universe.

"What?" I asked, soft and a little shy.

His eyes drank me in. He didn't smile. Didn't blink.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he said, voice low. "I don't even know what to do with myself."

I walked toward him, my hands resting on his chest as he took me in his arms.

"You already married me," I teased, leaning into him. "You don't have to keep seducing me."

He tilted his head down until his mouth brushed mine. "I'm not trying to seduce you."

"No?"

"No." His hand slid down to the curve of my waist, fingers flexing gently. "I just want you."

The kiss that followed was slow. Warm. Familiar in a way that still felt like falling. His lips parted mine with ease, his tongue brushing softly against mine as he deepened it, hands tightening on my hips like he couldn't get close enough.

I sighed into him, fingers moving up to unbutton his shirt, one by one.

He let me.

"You know what I've been thinking about all day?" he murmured against my mouth, the last button slipping free.

"What?"

"This dress." He kissed down the line of my jaw. "How it clung to you in all the right places."

"Mingyu..."

"How I knew the second you put it on... that I was going to be the one to take it off."

Heat shot straight through me.

"Do it, then," I whispered.

His mouth curved into a smirk. "Say it again."

I swallowed. "Take it off."

He groaned, voice thick and reverent. "Fuck, baby. You don't know what that does to me."

He tugged the dress up slowly, exposing inches of skin with every pass. I helped him, lifting my arms as he slipped it over my head, then gasped when his hands found my bare waist and pulled me into him, skin to skin.

"No underwear?" he asked, eyebrows raised, voice wrecked.

I shook my head, already breathless.

"I'm obsessed with you," he whispered, dipping to press a kiss between my breasts. "I don't even care if we eat tonight. I just want you. Like this. All night."

"Then have me," I breathed, reaching for his belt.

His mouth met mine again, hungrier this time. Desperate.

I made quick work of his pants, and when we finally collapsed onto the bed, bare and flushed, the air was thick with salt and tension.

He hovered above me, dark eyes roaming, like he couldn't decide where to start.

"You okay?" he asked, brushing his knuckles over my cheek.

"Yeah." I nodded. "Just nervous."

"Why?"

"Because it's you. Because this is real now. And because you're looking at me like you're about to ruin me."

He grinned, wicked and beautiful. "Oh, baby."

His voice dipped lower, heat curling around each word.

"I'm not gonna ruin you. I'm gonna worship you."

He kissed down my neck, over the swell of my breasts, pausing to take one in his mouth. I gasped, arching into him, hand tangled in his hair. He took his time, alternating between soft sucks and gentle flicks of his tongue until I was moaning beneath him.

"You always make those sounds for me," he murmured, lips trailing down my stomach. "No one else ever will."

"No one else gets to," I whispered.

His eyes met mine just as he settled between my thighs.

"Good girl," he said.

I gasped when his mouth met me. Hot. Wet. Tender. His tongue moved with slow precision, circling, teasing, licking until I was writhing, my legs thrown over his shoulders and my fingers clutching the sheets.

"You taste so good," he growled, voice muffled against me.

"Mingyu-" I moaned, hips rising, "Please. I need you."

He came back up, kissing my inner thighs, my stomach, my chest, leaving a trail of heat in his wake.

"Say it again."

"I need you."

"Say you're mine."

"I'm yours."

He kissed me hard, aligning himself at my entrance.

And then he was inside me.

All the way. Deep. Slow. Stretching me with a fullness that had me gasping and clinging to his shoulders.

"Shit," he hissed, forehead pressed to mine. "You feel so good. You always feel so fucking good."

He started to move with long, deep thrusts that had me gasping, whining, saying his name like a mantra.

Every time he hit that spot, I shook.

Every time he kissed me, I melted.

"Open your eyes," he said. "Look at me."

I did.

"I want to see your face when I make you fall apart."

I moaned, tightening around him. "You're going to make me come."

"Good," he whispered. "I want to feel it. Let go for me, baby."

And I did.

It hit hard, shattering and full and bright, like every nerve in my body had lit up at once. I cried out his name, trembling beneath him, and he held me through it, hips stuttering until he followed, spilling into me with a loud, broken moan.

"Fuck, I love you," he breathed, kissing my shoulder. "You're everything."

I was still panting when he collapsed beside me, dragging me into his arms.

"Can I say something?" I asked, half dazed, body still tingling.

"Always."

"I want round two after a shower and a snack."

He laughed, loud and shameless. "God, I married the perfect woman."

"You really did."

The next few days, we swam in nothing but skin and salt. I wore silk robes and no makeup. He couldn't keep his hands off me and didn't try to.

Dinners were on the beach. Lobster tails and caviar and fresh coconut water from golden rimmed glasses. Mingyu surprised me with a spa day that included a gold leaf facial and diamond oil scalp massage.

One night, he ordered a stargazing cruise.

Just us. A velvet sky. And the sound of the waves against the hull while he held me in his lap and told me he'd never stop chasing the life we had, no matter what the next season looked like.

We didn't check our phones once.

We didn't need to.

We had everything we needed right there.

Then, we came home.

To racing.

To Monaco.

⸻

I always wake up first on race day.

It's a weird kind of calm. The curtains are drawn back just enough to let in the early light, casting golden streaks across our hotel room walls. The bed's warm, our legs tangled, the weight of his arm heavy around my waist.

Mingyu's breathing is steady, face soft in the quiet. He always looks younger when he sleeps. Less like the man who commands a Formula 1 car at 300 kilometers an hour and more like the boy who held my hand the day my father died.

I brush his hair back gently, thumb grazing his temple.

"Gyu," I whisper. "It's time."

He groans softly and burrows into my side.

"I just got comfortable."

"You've had eight hours to be comfortable."

"Was more like six. You wouldn't stop stealing the blanket."

I roll my eyes and lean in to kiss his forehead. "Get up, Mr. Monaco."

"Don't call me that unless I win it."

"Well then I guess I'll keep calling you fourth place."

That gets him. He huffs and stretches, eyes still closed, but grinning.

"Savage," he mutters. "Didn't think marriage made you meaner."

"It made me honest."

He finally opens one eye. "...Still love me?"

"Stupidly."

"Good," he says, already reaching for me again. "That'll come in handy when I forget to pit and nearly wreck into turn 13."

"You're not funny."

He smirks. "Not yet."

⸻

Monaco is not Monza.

Monza is loud. Brutal. Fast. Pure speed.

Monaco is precise. Surgical. There's no room for mistakes here. One missed apex and you're in the wall. No runoff. No forgiveness. Just concrete and consequences.

I feel it in my chest as we get closer to the paddock, the way the streets narrow, how the yachts rise like silver monoliths in the harbor, how every inch of this place feels tighter than it should.

I hate it. But I respect it.

Mingyu grips my hand as we step out of the car. He always knows when my thoughts are louder than I'm letting on.

"Same track," he says softly. "Different story."

"You always say that."

"And I always come back to you after, don't I?"

I nod.

That's the truth I hold onto.

⸻

He suits up while I meet with Jinho and a couple of the engineers. We go over tire strategy, timing windows, what the simulations are saying. The car's been temperamental this weekend. He qualified fifth yesterday, frustrated, but not shaken.

"He wants to push on the first stint," Jinho says, tapping his tablet. "But if it's a safety car lap ten, we'll box early. Undercut could work here."

"And if it rains?"

Jinho just sighs. "Then God's got a dark sense of humor."

I glance out at the sky. Clear for now.

Back in the garage, Mingyu's climbing into the cockpit. I wait until his helmet's on, until his gloves are secured, until everyone else has backed off.

Then I lean in, one hand on his halo.

"You drive smart," I say through the radio mic. "No hero moves."

"Yes, wife," he mutters.

"I mean it."

He lifts his visor slightly so I can see his eyes. "I'm coming back to you. No matter where I finish."

I nod once. "Good. Because I married you for your ass, not your trophies."

He laughs, shaking his head. "You're such a menace."

"Go win something."

Race Start.

It's clean. Mostly.

Leclerc takes the lead. Norris in second. Mingyu holds fifth through the first corner, staying tucked behind Sainz. The team radio crackles with updates, Jinho murmuring times in my ear.

By lap 10, the gap to the car ahead is shrinking.

"Box now?" Jinho asks me.

"No. One more lap. Tires are hanging in."

"Are you sure?"

"I know him," I say. "He needs one more lap."

And I'm right. He overtakes Sainz coming out of the tunnel, textbook. Clean.

Now he's fourth.

I watch him through the camera feed, every sector. Every turn.

My hand doesn't shake anymore. But I still hold the chain around my neck tighter than I probably should. It's my father's. It's always with me when he races.

Lap 27. A yellow flag. Someone clips the wall at Sainte Devote, but no safety car.

Mingyu keeps pushing.

Lap 30. He pits. Perfect stop. In and out in 2.4 seconds.

Lap 34.

Mingyu is still in fourth.

The entire garage is wired tight, mechanics frozen mid breath, eyes flicking between monitors. Monaco doesn't forgive mistakes. It eats hesitation for breakfast. And right now, we're one bold move away from the podium.

He's faster than Norris ahead. He knows it. We all do. But he hasn't made the move yet.

"Gap is four-tenths," Jinho says in my earpiece. "He's faster in Sector 2. Could take him out of the tunnel."

I swallow hard. "Or end up in the wall."

Jinho glances over. "You want to call it?"

I nod once. Slide the mic closer.

My voice is calm. Clear. Because it has to be.

"Mingyu."

A second of silence. Then his voice crackles in.

"Yeah."

"You're faster."

"I know."

"So what's stopping you?"

I hear him exhale, hard through the comms.

"If I dive... there's no margin. He turns in a half second late and I'm in the barrier."

"Do you trust yourself?"

Beat.

"I trust you more."

My chest tightens.

"Then listen to me."

The tunnel looms on the feed. Lights strobing across the carbon fiber of his front wing.

"Win it."

A pause.

"You sure?"

"No," I whisper. "But I married you anyway."

Another second.

Then his voice comes in low. Focused. Full of everything we've ever been through.

"I'll come back to you."

And then he goes.

Straight into the tunnel. Tires locking. The car dipping left hard, reckless, perfect. Norris doesn't even have time to cover the line. He's through.

He's third.

The garage erupts.

Jinho yells. Hands fly. Someone throws a headset.

I just sit there. Frozen. Breathing.

Lap 45. Hamilton's up next. Mingyu's front wing is practically kissing his rear tire.

"He's holding you up," I say into the mic.

"He knows it," Mingyu replies, voice raspier now. "Can I take him?"

"Only if you want a heart attack waiting in bed tonight."

He chuckles once.

"Yeah. I want the win."

"Then go get it."

And he does.

Lap 49. Mingyu fakes left in the hairpin, then flicks right, inside. It's insane. Monaco doesn't allow that kind of pass.

But he makes it.

He's second.

Leclerc's up front, crowd screaming in red and white.

I press the mic again.

"Do you want Monaco or do you want to come home?"

"I want both."

Lap 66. The move comes at Tabac. Tabac. No one overtakes there. It's suicide.

But he doesn't lift.

I can't speak. Can barely breathe.

No.

No, no, no.

"He's not gonna-" I lean forward, my breath catching. "Gyu-"

"Tabac's too narrow," Jinho mutters, alarmed now. "Tell him not to-"

But I'm already pressing the mic.

"Mingyu, don't you dare-"

"I've got it," he cuts in, voice strained but steady.

"Don't do it!" I yell, louder this time. "It's not worth-"

But he's already committed.

And I see it. I see it.

He brakes late, dances the tires across the edge of traction, and takes the lead in a cloud of disbelief.

"Jesus Christ, Gyu-"

"Still here," he pants. "Still yours."

My knees buckle. I brace a hand on the pit wall.

Jinho exhales behind me like he forgot how.

"He made it," someone says.

I don't move. I can't. My hands are shaking, my eyes wide, locked on the feed like I'm waiting for it to rewind and prove me wrong.

"YN?" His voice crackles in my headset, ragged with effort. "You still there?"

My throat burns. "You weren't supposed to do that."

"I told you I'd come back."

"I thought-" My voice breaks. "I thought you were going t-"

"I didn't."

Silence.

"I'm still here," he says quietly. "For you."

⸻

Lap 70.

He's holding the lead now. My breathing hasn't evened out. I keep my mic off. If I speak, I'll lose it.

Jinho's giving him standard updates, sector times, pressure from behind. But I know Mingyu can still feel me on the line.

Because he keeps saying things like:

"This is for her."

"Tell her I'm okay."

"She's why I brake late and stay alive."

⸻

Final Lap. Lap 78.

He's golden.

Every apex kisses his tires. Every turn flows like a man dancing with death and calling it a partner. He doesn't touch the wall. Not again.

Not once.

⸻

Lap 78. Checkered flag.

Mingyu wins Monaco.

The roar is deafening. Mingyu's name lights up the leaderboard in gold.

P1 – K. Mingyu

The garage explodes in cheers, hugs, and chaos.

I don't move.

I'm still clutching the wall like it's the only thing keeping me upright. My chest is burning, my vision blurry. He won. He won.

And he scared the hell out of me.

The car rolls into parc fermé, still steaming. He rips off his gloves, tears the helmet from his head, and before the mechanics can even swarm him, he's already moving.

Straight for me.

No interviews. No fist pumps. Just tunnel vision.

Me.

"YN!" he shouts over the noise, voice raw. "YN!"

And when he reaches me, I barely have a second to breathe before he's in front of me, sweaty, flushed, shaking with adrenaline and smiling like a man who just rewrote the universe.

"I told you," he pants, grabbing my waist like he's anchoring himself. "I told you I'd come back to you-"

I shove him.

Hard.

Right in the chest.

Not enough to hurt but enough to make him stumble.

"What the hell was that?" I choke, voice trembling. "Are you out of your goddamn mind?!"

He blinks. "What?"

"TABAC, Mingyu? Really? You dive bombed a Ferrari at TABAC?!"

"I-" he grins, sheepish. "You told me to go for the win!"

"I didn't say almost die while trying!"

He laughs, wrapping his arms around me before I can protest, holding me tight even as I half punch his back in a fit of nerves.

"You scared me," I whisper into his shoulder. "So bad."

"I know," he says, voice quieter now. "But I had to. I felt it."

I look up at him, eyes stinging. "You're not allowed to feel anything until I give you CPR first."

He laughs again, this time, softer. "I'm okay. I'm really okay."

"I know," I murmur, resting my forehead against his. "I just needed to say it. Out loud. Because watching you risk it like that... I thought I was gonna lose you."

"You won't," he says instantly. "Not today. Not ever. I came back."

"And next time?"

"Next time," he promises, "I'll scare everyone else first."

I snort, then press a kiss to his jaw. "You better. I'm not going through that again."

"Deal," he whispers, grinning as he leans in. "But admit it. I looked hot doing it."

"You looked like a dumbass in a death trap," I shoot back, already kissing him before he can laugh again.

And when the crowd around us cheers louder, when the champagne starts popping and the reporters call his name, we stay right there.

Wrapped up in each other.

Alive.

I toss my earrings onto the marble counter, watching them spin to a stop. The bathroom light is warm, soft, and everything feels a little surreal in its stillness.

The race ended hours ago. The champagne's dried. The cameras are gone. The whole of Monaco has settled into its golden hum of post party haze.

And Mingyu?

He's in the other room, humming to himself as he unzips his race suit, trailing it off his shoulders and hanging it on the back of a chair. He's shirtless underneath, hair still damp from the podium spray, and smiling like he's got secrets tucked in his dimples.

We're in our comedown phase now.

The real life part.

The part that matters.

I pull the tie from my hair and glance at him through the mirror. He catches my eye and grins.

"What?" I ask.

He walks in behind me, hands slipping around my waist, bare chest pressing into my back. His chin rests on my shoulder.

"You looked good in the garage today," he murmurs. "All bossed up and biting your nails."

"You looked like a lunatic diving at Tabac," I deadpan, reaching for the cleanser.

He chuckles, kissing the curve of my neck. "Still got the win."

"Still shaved a year off my life."

"You married me knowing the risk."

"And yet," I mutter, squeezing product into my palm.

We brush our teeth together. Shoulder to shoulder. Married people things.

I rinse and pat my face dry while he spits and glances sideways at me.

"Back hurting?"

"A little."

He disappears into the room and comes back with the massage oil from his kit. "Turn around."

I do. He starts working into my shoulders with those warm, calloused hands slow, practiced, gentle. I melt instantly.

We don't talk.

Just soft jazz in the background from the TV we left on and the occasional Monaco breeze sneaking through the cracked balcony door.

After, I crawl onto the bed in my robe and he joins me, still in his boxers, hair tousled and eyes sleepy.

We don't need much to feel like home.

He spoons me from behind, pulling the blanket over us with a quiet yawn.

"Did I scare you that bad today?" he asks into my shoulder.

"Yeah," I admit.

"You hit me harder than the G-force."

"You deserved it."

A beat of silence.

"Would it help if I promised never to try that move again?"

"No," I say. "But it would help if you let me pick your overtakes next time, Mr. Monaco."

He snorts. "Deal."

I trace the scar near his rib, the one from last season's crash.

"You're all I have, you know," I whisper.

"I know," he says, voice low. "Same goes for me."

He kisses the back of my shoulder, his hand is in my hair, gently combing through the knots with his fingers. No words. Just the rhythm of his breathing beneath me, chest rising and falling like it has all the time in the world.

We've been quiet for a while.

It's quiet in the way that makes you feel like you're the last two people on earth. No cameras. No headlines. Just us.

Mingyu's legs are tangled with mine under the blanket. My cheek is pressed to his collarbone. His other hand is tracing the top of my spine, fingertips lazy, deliberate.

"Let's disappear," he says suddenly, voice low and scratchy against the hush.

I shift to look up at him. "Disappear?"

He nods, eyes still halflidded. "Just you and me. Somewhere warm. Somewhere no one knows my name and I don't have to put on a suit unless you ask nicely."

I smile, dragging my fingers across his chest. "Are you asking me to run away with you, Mr. Kim?"

He hums. "No. I'm telling you I already booked the flights."

My eyes widen. "You did not."

He smirks. "Villa in Crete. Secluded. Private pool. Outdoor shower. No agenda. Just us, white sheets, and whatever you want for breakfast every morning."

"You're serious."

"Dead serious."

I sit up a little, stunned. "When?"

"Day after tomorrow."

"Mingyu, we just got back from-"

"I cleared it with your calendar, too," he says casually, pulling me back down against him. "Your assistant's a gem. She said you've been needing a break."

"You're ridiculous."

"And you're overworked," he murmurs into my hair. "You always take care of me. Let me take care of you this time."

I'm quiet.

Because how do you even respond to that?

He turns on his side, propping his head up with his hand. "Come on. Picture it. You in a linen dress. Me in too short swim trunks. Sunsets. No emails. No calls. Just you laughing barefoot in the kitchen while I burn eggs."

I bite my lip to hide the smile. "You don't even like eggs."

"I like you. That's enough."

I groan into the pillow. "Stop saying stuff like that unless you want me to cry."

He leans in and kisses the tip of my nose. "We could take a boat out. Swim until sunset. Make love on a patio no one else can see. You can read. I'll sleep. And when you're bored, I'll cook for you."

"You'll cook for me?"

"I'll attempt. You'll laugh. We'll survive."

I shake my head, heart feeling too full. "You really booked Crete?"

"Surprise," he whispers. "I want to be selfish with you for a little while longer.”

I curl into him, kiss the corner of his mouth, and rest my forehead to his.

"Okay," I whisper. "Let's disappear."

His grin is soft. Slow. Married.

"God, I love you," he says, like it's easy.

Like it always has been.

And that night, before the world can knock on our door again, we dream in linen and lemon trees, tangled in each other and the life we're quietly building. A life that's not always loud. But full.

Exactly how we want it.

⤷ network tags: @svthub @k-films @blossomnet

･ ⟢ ⋮ svt masterlist

[bonsiii-art]

Also, extra question because why not?

Remember in CR kingdom? Where MyCookie gets outfits close to beasts cookies?

What if it's the same but dragon version? Because am willing to bet if Longan dragon comes to kingdom they'll make outfits for them!!

How would Longan react to seeing children or at one child cookie cosplay as them because they're admiring Longan so much?

Bro, if they do make a mycookie set for Longan, I'm getting it, no matter the cost. (⊙ˍ⊙) Like that'll be the only time I let Devsis steal money from me on this game. As for Longan's reaction to said clothes:

I think, gut reaction, they would see it as an offense and turn them into stone (´。＿。｀) Reasoning being that they want to be feared and someone wearing their look like a costume would be like, to them, like they aren't taking them seriously. And a more subdued reaction would be more aloof like the second panel there. Admiring Longan won't save that cookie from when they wreck the world, but I don't think they would mind the idolization imo uwo.

[psformybss]

Can you do one where the public reacts badly towards Drew’s secret?fiancée? I know you have done a good one but can you do a bad one?

When the World Knew

series masterlist

warnings: internet hate, secret relationship reveal, angst, emotional distress, comfort, death threats (mentioned), protective!Drew, hurt/comfort

an: fun fact i originally wanted to make the reveal angsty, actually wrote a few different versions of it and this one is one of them except more angsty than it originally was

The day they got caught was golden.

Not metaphorically—actually golden.

The light, the laughter, the way the ocean curled around their ankles as they kissed. Teddy chased a gull down the shoreline. Drew held her hand like it was second nature, like no one was watching. Because they thought—hoped—no one was.

For a few sacred hours, it was just them and the surf. A soft kind of joy.

Until it wasn’t.

Until the picture hit the internet like a match to dry brush.

By morning, it was a fire.

By evening, it was an inferno.

And by the next day, it was war.

She hadn’t meant to check her phone.

She shouldn’t have.

But the moment she saw her face plastered across fan accounts, tagged in screenshots of that photo, the dread sank into her like a stone in water.

They had found her.

Not just her name—her Instagram. Her photos. Her old high school posts. Her graduation selfie with Drew’s arm around her waist. The blurry prom pic she forgot even existed.

And they ripped her apart.

Her DMs were flooded.

“You’ll never be enough for him.”

“He deserves better.”

“You’re ruining his career.”

“He could have any woman he wants, and he chose you?”

Then it got worse.

“Die.”

“Go kill yourself.”

“He’ll leave you. They always do.”

She locked her phone and sat in the silence of their bedroom, blinds drawn, heart thudding behind her ribs like a warning bell. Her skin itched. Her throat burned. She couldn’t tell if she wanted to scream or throw up.

Teddy barked from the living room. She didn’t move.

Her hands were shaking.

Drew found out during a scene break on set.

His phone vibrated nonstop—texts from his sister, his publicist, old high school friends, “Check Instagram now.”

He pulled up Instagram.

Saw the photos.

Saw the screenshots.

Saw the hate.

Saw her name trending.

He didn’t even tell the director he was leaving.

She didn’t hear him come in.

She was still sitting on the floor of the bathroom, back against the tub, eyes blank. Her phone was on the counter with the screen turned face-down.

He said her name once—softly.

She didn’t answer.

He dropped to his knees in front of her, cupping her face with trembling hands. “Hey. Baby. Look at me.”

Her eyes flicked to his. Shiny. Empty.

“They found me,” she said, voice hollow. “They found everything.”

Drew’s stomach twisted.

“They’re sending death threats.”

She blinked, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

“They said I should kill myself so you can be free.”

“Jesus,” he breathed, pulling her into him. She didn’t fight it. Just collapsed against his chest like she had nothing left holding her up.

“I thought I could handle it,” she whispered. “But I didn’t think it would be this.”

His jaw clenched. He stroked her hair like it could ground her. Like maybe if he held her close enough, none of it would stick.

“They don’t know you,” he said, his voice raw. “They don’t get to touch you like this.”

“I feel disgusting,” she choked. “Like I ruined everything. Like I’m the villain in their fantasy.”

“No. No,” he said, pulling back to meet her eyes. “This is not your fault. You didn’t ask for this.”

“We waited, Drew. We waited. We wanted it to be ours. Safe. Now they’ve taken even that.”

He saw it then—the heartbreak buried beneath the fear. Not just the backlash. But the grief of losing something sacred.

“I should’ve protected you,” he said quietly.

She shook her head, voice trembling. “You did. You always have.”

That night, Drew didn’t sleep.

She lay in bed beside him, silent tears soaking into his hoodie. He stayed awake, watching the curve of her cheek against the pillow, the slight hitch of her breath. Every time her phone buzzed on the nightstand, he had to force himself not to throw it across the room.

By dawn, he’d had enough.

He opened Instagram. Sat on the edge of their bed. Hit record.

No lights. No filters. Just a man and his fury.

“If you’re my fan,” he said, “you don’t get to send death threats to the woman I love.”

His voice was low, but it shook.

“She’s been part of my life since we were kids. Before the shows. Before the cameras. She has never once asked for attention or clout or anything from me but love.”

He swallowed hard.

“And now, because someone snapped a picture, she’s being harassed, threatened—told to die. All because she wears a ring I gave her.”

A pause. His eyes narrowed.

“I’m done being quiet. This isn’t just internet drama. This is real. This is the woman I’m going to marry, and you’re hurting her.”

His hand tightened around the phone.

“If you say you care about me—really care—then stop. Right now. Because I won’t stand by and watch you destroy the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He posted it without rewatching.

Then he turned off his phone.

And climbed back into bed.

The internet fractured.

Some fans doubled down—called him whipped, dramatic, claimed he was “blaming his supporters.”

But others fought back harder.

“This woman has done nothing wrong. Leave her alone.”

“Imagine being with your high school sweetheart and people think you’re the villain?”

“I can’t believe how disgusting people are being. Drew’s right to be furious.”

“Love like this doesn’t happen often. Protect it.”

Slowly, the tide shifted.

Not fully. But enough.

She could breathe again.

Not because the hate was gone.

But because he didn’t let her drown in it alone.

They stayed inside for a few days.

Ordered takeout. Watched comfort movies. Played music too loud just to block out the world.

Drew held her through the panic. Sat with her through the silence.

He kissed her like he meant it. Like he was building a new shield around her every time.

And eventually, she started to come back to herself.

She started answering texts again. Opened her camera roll and smiled at pictures of Teddy chasing his tail. Sat on their back porch with her knees pulled to her chest and said, “Maybe one day we’ll laugh about this.”

Drew kissed her temple.

“Maybe,” he agreed.

[chika-seno]

[Non-MC reader in LADS, kindly block or don't interact if you're not interested]

With the popularity and the angst of the non-mc fics, I just have one idea to propose. Instead of us lamenting about the situation, how about the situation in reverse? Instead of bathing in jealousy, its him who feels inadequate and unable to intervene in your relationship with someone else.

The MLs, tied to some fate they can barely comprehend or remember making at the time is bound to the MC by their actions or through a soulmate like connection. He has no idea how to break it, and how to move forward with you in the picture.

You're probably someone ordinary and new he's encountered in this life. You could be the cashier in a cafe, a receptionist in a clinic, some worker in a seperate division of a museum, an air traffic controller, or an engineer. Either way, you're connected to him through his job or interests, and he starts to fall for you slowly.

You might have felt the same. Or, he might have escaped your radar. At the eventual revelation of each of his pasts, it's clear you're a new connection, a marker of a totally new life he could either move forward in or abandon for the past. The reality scares him shitless, since he has no tie or obligation to make you fall for him and vice versa. You could slip away from him easily, and maybe it would be the last lifetime you two would share as potential lovers.

He talks about it with her too. She's in the same boat, terrified and lost. There's someone nice at her job, someone she met through a mission-gone-wrong. They have no evol, but they make her feel so alive and unrestrained from her past mistakes and present condition. But she worries her baggage might take a toll on them, and they'd eventually leave for someone, never fully comprehending the connection they share.

Regardless of their decision and dedication, it's not long until you eventually show them your new relationship status. Whether it be a ring or a social media post, he's standing in the sidelines with some bastard hugging you close, taking their rightful position by your side.

Can they hold you closely as he could? Could they make you happy? Could they imagine staying by your side until your last breath like he would?

When you talk about them, it's nothing he could absolutely compare to. The way they make you laugh, blush, and feel secured in their presence feels so different from what he can do. He's just some friend you managed to get from a chance encounter. Nothing set in stone, meant to escape from his grasp when you eventually turn away from him.

He feels bitter. He lashes out in different ways but ultimately realizing you should live your life without them in the picture. He looks at you and your significant other, swarming with jealousy at the pretty picture he's not included in. To be with you till the end sounds like a happily-ever-after he has no place in.

In another lifetime, you would be in their place. Lamenting and cursing the world for not giving you their love and dedication. But in this version, he's in your place, doomed to be a bystander.

While there's no guarantee to be with the main character like him, it's not like you're running out of options either. Spared by fate and the cruelty of responsibility, you instead have to move forward in life and in death without him by your side.