Prison For Life - Mv1

omg its soo cuteee!!!🥺🥺

Hi ! Can i request some yoongi fluff :)

He Told Me My Fish Would Die

pairing; min yoongi x gn!reader

genre; fluff, crack, established relationship

warnings; none just a whole bunch of confused and smitten yoongs

w/c; 804

a/n; y’all know I had to do it at some point, and yes I know the song is out of order but it’s what worked with the plot so shush and don’t @ me pls and ty!! also, ty for the request anon pls send more soon. hope u enjoy <3

“…THE NEXT DAY, DEAD.” You sang with such gusto and dramatics as you stood in front of the couch staring at the tv. On cue you tilted your neck sideways mimicking what you saw in the movie. The next thing he knows you’re flailing backwards onto the couch with a hand over your forehead imitating passing out.

Sitting on the opposite side of the couch you just flopped on like a fish, elbow resting on the back of the couch with his head in palm, he doesn’t understand why you love this movie so much. But the song? Yes, he agrees. It’s cleverly catchy. He would never admit it to himself let alone out loud to you, but it was one of his favorite songs of the movie. He’s even debated about creating a personal rap for you with the beat for your anniversary coming up.

You sprung back up from the couch in a fervor, so quick it made Yoongi inwardly gasp with a hand over his heart, playfully glaring at the back of your head then letting out a quiet chuckle knowing what was coming next in your one man show. He decided to help you this time around by standing up and walking over to the light switch, flipping it down blanketing the living room in darkness besides the light coming from the tv.

Just in time as always, you grabbed your phone off the coffee table and quickly turned on the flashlight setting placing the light directly under your chin, giving your face an eerie glow. Perfect for your next favorite part of the song.

“A seven-foot frame, rats along his back. When he calls your name, it all fades to black.”

During the duration of the verse you creepily inched your way to Yoongi who returned to the couch making himself comfortable once again, this time clutching a big, fluffy pillow you picked out when you first moved in, anticipating what you were about to do.

“Yeah, he sees your dreams…”

Continuing with your eerie dance you then sprung into action, chucking your phone on the floor and made your move, which again, Yoongi anticipated. Diving for the rapper like a flying squirrel and landing on your what you thought to be unsuspecting victim, which in actuality was very much suspecting on his end. Body curling around his in a giant bear hug you yelled in such a loud voice that he’s sure the neighbors could hear you. And they were miles away.

“And feasts on your screams!”

Catching you effortlessly, making sure you didn’t hit your head on the back of the couch he wrapped his arms around your middle. Tightening said hold when you started wriggling around on his lap trying to get back up to finish the rest of the song. Alas, your attempts became futile when you noticed the look the rapper was giving you. One you’ve learned to love that made your heart swell with so much joy, if you died within the next few minutes (heaven forbid), you could die happy.

Yoongi stared into your eyes with such a love and adoration. A small smile curling at the end of his lips as he leaned in and kissed your forehead so delicately as if you were glass that could break at any second. He pulled away far enough to then switch his aim to your lips which you so graciously returned.

“You’re an idiot, but you’re my idiot and I love you. And I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life helping you with your theatrical needs to even more countless Disney films”. He vowed as he kept a serious look on his face that slowly cracked when he felt your whole body start to bounce from an impending laugh you were about to give.

Biting your lip, to keep yourself from laughing a little bit longer, you quickly grabbed his face in your hands and planted a big, sloppy kiss on his lips that you know he outwardly hated, but secretly loved and used the opportunity of shock and mock disgust he displayed to finally wiggle out of his hold back to standing up in front of him.

Winking at him, you turned around with a renowned flourish of your arms once again facing the tv, making it in time to finish the song with a dramatic pose.

“I never should’ve brought up Bruno!”

Hanging his head in playful disdain he let out a loving sigh and chuckled to himself, wondering how he got so lucky to find someone like you.

And then he stood up himself and started clapping so loud his hands started to hurt. Giving you your standing ovation you so very much deserved, watching as you bowed in front of him. And, he told himself, he would never fail to do. Cause you were his star. Just like he was yours.

Rolling, Rolling, Red Bull

Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

Summary… When the Drive to Survive crew shows up to film a behind-the-scenes look at Max Verstappen’s life off track, Y/N is less than thrilled to be in the spotlight. But between sarcastic interviews, soft domestic moments, and a now-viral deleted scene involving a jar of pesto, the world gets a glimpse of a Max they’ve never seen before. Boyfriend-coded. Cat-dad certified. And very, very soft for her.

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy! I’ve been kinda M.I.A. & irregular on my posting but I have been out of town for the last two week so I’ve been writing on my phone and it has been a little difficult.

I hope you guys enjoy this story and feel free to donate on my Ko-Fi, maybe that way I can buy a better computer and write more consistently for you guys.

like, comment, reblog, enjoy (:

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Y/N was halfway through brushing her teeth when Max knocked on the bathroom door.

“They’re here,” he said, muffled through the wood. “The Drive to Survive guys.”

She spat into the sink. “Tell them to come back never.”

Max laughed, leaning against the doorframe in joggers and a Red Bull hoodie, his hair still wet from the shower. “You said yes last night.”

“I was half-asleep and you bribed me with stroopwafels.”

He pushed the door open and gave her the most annoyingly charming grin. “And yet, here we are.”

⸻

The Netflix crew had set up in their living room, pretending the chaos of wires and camera angles was “low-key.” Max greeted them like old friends, casual and cool, while Y/N hovered awkwardly behind a kitchen stool, holding her coffee like a shield.

“Just pretend we’re not here,” the producer said, adjusting his headset.

“Impossible,” she muttered.

Max, ever the calm in the storm, slipped a hand around her waist. “You’ll be fine. Just be yourself.”

“That is the problem.”

⸻

They followed the couple through a normal day: breakfast on the balcony, Max fiddling with a simulator, Y/N curled up reading a book while their cats tried to chew on a mic cord.

But then they asked for a sit-down interview.

“Can you two just talk about what it’s like being in a relationship during the season?” the director asked, arranging pillows behind Y/N like this was a cozy podcast and not her personal nightmare.

Max shrugged. “It’s good. We don’t really fight.”

Y/N snorted. “You say that because you don’t consider ignoring my texts for six hours a fight.”

“I was driving,” he said, deadpan.

“You were on the simulator.”

“Same thing.”

The crew laughed. Max smiled sideways at her.

Then the director leaned in. “Y/N, how do you handle the pressure of being with someone constantly in the spotlight?”

She hesitated. Not because she didn’t know, but because she hadn’t expected the question to feel so… real.

“I don’t try to handle it,” she said slowly. “I just try to remind him that there’s a world outside of racing. That he’s more than just Max Verstappen the driver.”

Max’s expression softened—one of those rare looks he saved just for her, all warm gaze and relaxed jawline.

“And she’s the only one who gets away with calling me out when I start acting like a robot,” he added, voice lower now.

There was a pause.

“Wow,” the sound guy whispered.

“Keep rolling,” the director whispered back.

⸻

Later, when they were reviewing footage in the trailer, someone asked if they could get a shot of Max hugging Y/N.

“We have the paddock stuff, the Monaco stuff—but we need something soft to end on.”

Max found her sitting on the edge of the Red Bull hospitality couch, phone in hand.

He didn’t say anything. Just walked up, pulled her into his chest, and kissed the top of her head. Cameras or not.

“You’re doing great,” he said.

“You owe me ten stroopwafels and a massage.”

“I’ll give you twelve.”

The camera rolled as she smiled against his hoodie, arms tightening around his waist.

And later, when the season aired, fans clipped that moment. Over and over.

“Who knew Max Verstappen could be soft?”

“Protect this woman at all costs.”

“Relationship goals.”

But to Max, it was just Tuesday.

_______

Deleted Scene

Y/N stood barefoot in the kitchen, struggling with a stubborn jar of pesto. The label peeled at the edge, and the lid refused to budge despite two dish towels and her full body weight.

“Max!” she called, mildly annoyed. “Can you come here?”

Off-camera, you hear footsteps. Then Max appears in the kitchen doorway, looking suspicious. “What did I do?”

“Nothing. Just open this before I yeet it into the sea.”

He walks over, takes the jar, and opens it effortlessly with one twist.

She stares. “Are you serious?”

He grins, proud. “You loosened it.”

“Uh-huh.”

Without missing a beat, he dips a finger into the pesto and sticks it in his mouth.

“Max!” she gasps, swatting him with a tea towel. “That’s for dinner!”

He shrugs. “Taste test.”

A Netflix producer can be heard laughing behind the camera.

“Can we actually keep rolling?” another asks. “This is gold.”

Y/N turns, catching the crew still filming, and mock-glares at the camera.

“I’m going to need hazard pay.”

Max wraps an arm around her waist and plants a pesto-flavored kiss on her cheek.

“No one would believe how domestic you are,” Y/N mutters, smirking.

“Good. Let them think I’m scary.”

⸻

But don’t worry. The pesto jar ended up on eBay “signed by Max,” with a sticky note that read:

“She loosened it.” – M.V.

All proceeds went to cat shelters. Because Max demanded it.

⸻

FAN REACTIONS TO DELETED SCENE

Twitter/X:

@paddockbabie:

MAX OPENED A JAR AND A NATION FELL IN LOVE

#driveToSurvive #maxverstappen #domesticking

@softf1updates:

the way he dipped his finger into the pesto and then kissed her with zero shame?? I’m on the floor.

literally who gave him permission to be this boyfriend-coded

@f1spicypage:

“you loosened it.”

OH OKAY MAX VERSTAPPEN KING OF HUMBLE DOMESTICITY

⸻

Tumblr:

f1blurbs:

It’s not about the pesto.

It’s about her calling him like a husband.

It’s about him walking in like “what did I do?” like he knows he exists to be summoned.

It’s about the quiet love.

It’s about the damn jar.

I’m crying.

netflix-please:

Reblog if you too would risk it all to have Max Verstappen open a jar for you and call it “loosened by you.”

⸻

TikTok Comments (under the leaked scene with 4.8M views):

@formulalover44:

the way she’s like “MAX” and he just comes?? we love an obedient man

@jamgirlie:

petition to release ALL deleted scenes or i riot

@pestoprincess:

me @ my boyfriend: “why can’t you be more like max verstappen opening pesto jars and donating to cat shelters?”

⸻

Instagram Stories:

@f1gossipgrid:

MAX & Y/N: PESTO-GATE

This leaked deleted scene is the best PR Netflix never meant to drop.

Rumors say Red Bull marketing is already printing “You loosened it” merch.

We’ll take 5.

⸻

And yes—someone already made pesto-themed merch on Etsy with:

“You loosened it – M.V.” in sleek Helvetica on tote bags, mugs, and aprons.

⸻

the end.

sick days

pairing: poly!max verstappen x kelly piquet x reader

summary: in which you’re sick but your boyfriend and girlfriend are there to take care of you

warnings: none

the soft pitter-patter of rain against the windows was the only sound that filled the quiet apartment. the air inside was warm and cozy, but you, curled up on the couch under a pile of blankets, still felt like you were shivering with the chills from the fever that had you bedridden for the past day. you could barely keep your eyes open as your head throbbed with every slight movement. your throat felt raw, and your body ached like you’d run a marathon, but all you wanted was to sleep it off.

kelly was a picture of calm and care as she moved around the living room. she had set up a little “sick station” beside you—a tray of hot tea, tissues, cough drops, and a few movies queued up on the tv just in case you felt up to watching. her presence was grounding, and it made you feel safe, like nothing else in the world mattered other than you getting better.

max, on the other hand, was never far from you. usually so full of energy, it was almost disorienting to see him so soft, so tender. he sat beside you on the couch, his hand gently brushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead. he didn’t even seem to mind that you had been in bed all day, only caring about how he could make you feel comfortable.

“how are you feeling?” he asked quietly, his voice low and soothing. his thumb lightly traced circles on the back of your hand, offering comfort without a single word needing to be said.

“better now,” you murmured, though you weren’t entirely sure you were telling the truth. honestly, you just wanted to sleep through the sickness, but there was a warmth in their presence, a kind of quiet care that made everything feel a little easier.

kelly came over with a bowl of soup and sat down beside you, the steam rising in soft curls from the bowl. “here, sweetheart. it’ll help you feel better,” she said, her voice so gentle it almost made your heart ache. you took a spoonful, savoring the warmth and saltiness as it soothed your sore throat. “you just rest,” she added, brushing her hand through your hair. “we’re here for you.”

it was then that penelope, kelly’s little girl, toddled in with a stuffed bear clutched to her chest. she was wearing her favorite pajamas—pink with little unicorns—and her curls were a bit wild, probably from a nap. she immediately climbed up onto the couch and snuggled up beside you, her tiny arms wrapping around your waist in a warm hug.

“mama says i’m supposed to help take care of you,” she said seriously, looking up at you with her big brown eyes. “i’ll give you my bear if you need him.” the stuffed animal in her hands was comically large, almost as big as she was, but you couldn’t help but smile at the gesture.

max chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with fondness. “she’s a good nurse, isn’t she?”

“best one i’ve ever had,” you replied with a grin, reaching out to ruffle penelope’s hair.

kelly laughed, too, settling in beside you and watching as you two interacted. “she’s been asking every five minutes if you’re feeling any better,” she said, her tone light and affectionate. “i think she’s been more concerned than we’ve been.”

you could feel the warmth of her hand on your arm as she leaned over, adjusting the blankets around you and ensuring you were comfortable. “just rest,” she repeated softly, her voice full of affection. “we’ve got you.”

max reached over, brushing a few strands of hair off your face, his touch lingering. “you know, it’s okay to let us take care of you,” he said quietly. “you don’t have to do anything but get better.”

you leaned into him, grateful for the care they were giving you. “i don’t know what i’d do without you two.”

penelope, hearing your words, leaned up with a serious expression. “we’ll always take care of you,” she said, sounding every bit like her mama. “because you’re family.”

the weight of her words settled over you, and you smiled, your heart swelling with warmth. kelly and max exchanged a look, both of them smiling softly as they watched you and their daughter. everything felt so right in that moment, like nothing in the world could tear you apart. with them by your side, there was no sickness, no pain, no fear. just love.

you drifted in and out of sleep as they all tended to you, their voices soft and constant, a steady reminder that you were cherished. max made sure you stayed hydrated, bringing you water and more tea when you needed it. kelly kept adjusting the blankets, making sure you were warm enough. and penelope? well, she never stopped cuddling up next to you, her small hands bringing you things she thought might help—a toy, a new stuffed animal, even just a kiss on your cheek whenever she saw you look tired.

you could feel your energy slowly returning, not because of medicine or anything that might help physically, but because of them—because of the love they gave you, the care that wrapped around you like a comforting cocoon.

when you finally stirred again, it was because of the light pressure of a kiss to your forehead. max was leaning over you, his face full of tenderness. “feeling a little better?” he asked, his voice still gentle.

you smiled up at him, your heart full. “yeah, a little. i think i’m gonna make it through.”

kelly, sitting by your side, gave you a soft smile, brushing her thumb across your hand. “we’ll make sure of it.”

penelope snuggled into your side, yawning. “when you’re all better, we can play. you’re my best friend.”

you chuckled softly, feeling lighter than you had in days. “i look forward to it, my love.”

in that moment, you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be—wrapped in love, surrounded by care, and with a little family who would always take care of you, no matter what.

Max Verstappen x reader

Summary: Everyone believes Max died in an accident, but meanwhile he's fighting to get back to you.

Blinding lights. Tires screeching. Then bam—proof that Newton’s laws of motion cannot be changed. His face hits the dashboard, and the pain is temporarily subdued by a sudden thought that maybe if he was the one driving, his much better instincts would have helped avoiding the crash. 

The world soon fades away, leaving darkness and silence behind, the kind of void that’s strangely comforting. It’s like a warm blanket that keeps him safe, shielding him from the harshness of reality. 

The crash. He’s been in an accident. 

He can’t help but think about the practical things. That was his rented car. He wasn’t the one driving. Who was it? Oh, yes, that gamer guy he met at the party. He let him try the car after a lost bet. They were heading back to the club where he left his wallet with all of his documents. 

The car is his. Well, it was rented by him. They have to know it’s him even without the ID, right? It can’t be that bad, someone must have recognized him. 

And if they did, do you already know? Are you there with him? Maybe holding his hand and begging him to return to you? 

Despite the rapidly rising number of questions, he still feels calm—happy, even. This world is nice, and forgiving. A part of him wishes the outside world could be just like this. 

Well, it is like that, but only when it’s just the two of you. 

Max knows how to party. And drink. But that’s okay, he can handle it. He’s the typical fun drunk person, you usually enjoy being around him when he gets wasted. Sure, you obviously prefer your boyfriend sober, but even he deserves a night off every now and then, right?

This is why you aren’t worried when he stops responding to your messages. For you, it’s early in the morning in your shared Monaco apartment; for him, it’s the middle of the night in Miami. Maybe he bumped into another driver in the club and they started chatting. Maybe he’s already back in the hotel, sleeping like a baby. 

Everything’s going well until the first ping of your phone three hours after the last message. Because then that one ping is followed by dozens of others, then—before you could see what’s going on—the first phone call arrives from Daniel, who sounds extremely worried.

“Please, tell me you didn’t see the photos,” he opens the conversation. 

A crease forms between your brows as you come to a halt in the office and look at the person beside the printer as if he knew what your friend was talking about. He looks confused, then he scurries like some little animal after encountering a predator. 

Shaking your head, you return your attention to the call. “What photos?” you wonder. 

There’s a surprised gasp on the other end of the line. “Wait, you don’t know?” 

“Don’t know what?” 

“It’s all over the news. The Aston Max rented was found in pieces after a crash, and they could only save the passenger’s life according to anonymous sources. Nothing’s official yet, though, so take this report with grain of salt, okay?” he says. 

Only the passenger survived? “Max wouldn’t let anyone else drive his car, even if it’s just rented. And even after a party, if he was drunk, he would have just left it there and got into a taxi instead,” you spill the words quietly, trying to make sense of what you just heard. 

Daniel knows what’s going through your mind, because he’s quick to stop you from overthinking. “Okay, calm down. We don’t know if that source is correct, we don’t know who the passenger is. No one knows, you hear me? If it was Max, someone would have called you, after all, you’re his ICE contact, right?”

Blowing out the air you didn’t even know you’ve been holding, you lean against the wall behind you and pinch the bridge of your nose. “I need to go there. I—I need to know what’s going on,” you state hesitantly. 

There’s a part of you that doesn’t really know what to do now. You’re terrified of the possibility of losing him, but you can’t just stay here and wait for someone to finally tell you something. And why didn’t they call you? Why didn’t they check his phone to see who’s the contact for such cases? Why—

“Hey, I already booked you a jet to Miami. I’ll send you the details, so go, pack a suitcase, then head to the airport now,” Daniel tells you. “I’ll meet you there, okay?”

“Okay, thank you.”

Before you could end the call, you hear him say a quiet hey. “Under no circumstances check the photos that are circulating, okay? Promise me that.”

You promise not to do that. They must be terrible if he doesn’t want you to see them, so you come to the conclusion that you don’t need this in your life. If you don’t see the photos, if you don’t read the news, there can be at least some hope that he’s alive. 

After God knows how much time, he feels like the lightness is slowly shifting into crushing pressure, and excruciating pain, and panic, and he feels like his world is inevitably collapsing as he returns to reality. The sound of machines fill his ears, the blinding lights burn through his closed eyelids, and he can hear the murmurs of people around him.

He can’t hear your voice though. 

When he opens his eyes, he doesn’t see anything, but that’s because there’s gauze or something wrapped around his head. So, without thinking much about it, he tries to raise his hand to push it out of the way, but he’s stopped before he could actually move that thing. 

“Easy, Mr. Lillard, please, don’t touch it. Try to calm down,” a woman says. 

Lillard? Who’s Lillard? Don’t they recognize him? Didn’t the cops identify the car? 

He wants to speak, he wants to tell the woman that there’s a misunderstanding, that he’s not Lillard, he’s Max Verstappen. He left his wallet in the club, but his phone was there with him, if they have that, they can contact you, and if they can contact you, you can tell them who he is. 

But no sound leaves his throat. 

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t speak. He can’t see, he can’t speak. It feels like he was locked into a prison, away from the rest of the world.

He misses the void. He truly does. 

You get the notification after you turn on your phone. A missed call from an unknown American number. With trembling fingers, you hit the call button, then wait for whoever is on the other side to speak up. 

The conversation is short and to the point. 

Are you Max Verstappen’s fiancée? Yes. I am sorry to say this, but he was involved in a car accident, and the paramedics couldn’t save his life. Are you sure? Yes. And we need you to officially identify the body, so I will send you where to come. 

That was all you got from the cop who called. 

You break down right there at the airport, collapsing on the tarmac with tears falling from your eyes. All you manage to do is sending Daniel a text with the news, asking him when he will get here because you simply cannot do this alone.

You don’t want to see his body. If you do, it will be permanent, it will mean you lost him forever. It will mean you’re now going to focus on the logistics of taking his body home, focus on organizing a funeral that’s worthy of his legacy, focus on surviving. 

An hour later you’re standing in the door of the morgue, talking to the detective on your side. The driver of the other car was running a red light, and his system was full of drugs and alcohol. According to his ex, he was suicidal, she wouldn’t be surprised if this was his ticket out of this world. 

“Are you ready?”

Can anyone ever be ready for something like this?

But you nod nonetheless, trying to steel yourself until your friend arrives to help you through the worst of it. Until now, you ignored the messages and calls, but eventually, you’ll have to talk to people. Family and friends. The members of the Red Bull family. Other drivers. God, it’s gonna be a really dreadful task.

The table isn’t that far from the door, but the moment your eyes fall on the figure on it, covered with a white sheet, time seems to stop moving. This can’t be real, this can’t be real, this can’t be real, you keep repeating. 

When the coroner removes the sheet from his face, though, you feel like screaming. From shock? From pain? From relief? From happiness? 

Because the man on the table is definitely not Max. They look strangely alike, that you admit, but he’s definitely not your fiancé. Then who is he? And why was he driving Max’s car?

Max has fallen in and out of sleep in the past hour or so, although that’s just a guess, he has absolutely no idea what time it is. Time passes differently when he’s locked into his own body, when he simply can’t get himself to talk. 

He keeps trying whenever he’s awake and there’s someone in the room with him. If he can say as much as his name, they can hopefully realize that he’s not the man they think he is. Then they could contact you. Then he would be reunited with you. 

“Max!” 

Yes. That’s it. That’s exactly what he wants to say. If he could only say it out this loud…

“Where’s Max?” he hears it again, the voice he knows and loves so much sounding almost hysterical in his mind. “Max!”

“Miss, this is Richard Lillard, if you’re looking for—”

“Your Richard Lillard is in the morgue, the man in there is my fiancé, and I’m going to see him right now,” you tell the nurse angrily, and he can imagine you push past her before he hears your loud, confident steps getting closer. 

But is it really you? Isn’t it just his injured brain playing tricks on him? 

Did he have brain damage, though? Who knows, maybe that’s the reason why he can’t speak. 

When he feels a soft hand wrap around his own, he immediately knows it’s you. You’re here with him, so he squeezes your hand in an attempt to tell you that it’s okay, that he’s alive. He can hear you cry, repeating something under your breath that he can’t quite understand, but it’s okay, everything’s gonna be okay now. 

He would have come back from the grave just to come home to you. 

Even death wouldn’t be enough to keep you apart. 

Moonlit Throne | Masterlist

“do you… trust me?” it’s a low whisper, soft lips pressed against the stuttering pulse in your throat. but you think, or maybe you hope, the implications are trying to delve much deeper into your heart. regardless, your answer has never wavered. 

“yes.”

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst, fluff parts posted: 40/45 words: 57.6k/? contains: drabble series, historical au, royal au, the very definition of “it’s complicated,” inspired by daechwita. a/n: please pay attention to the dates, but read in the order that the drabbles are listed, not in chronological!

historical context/references. | fic playlist.

february 1869 {m} - your king takes care of you and his business, no matter who is watching.

Keep reading

Hey could you do fic for Kimi Raikkonen with wife reader during his time at Ferrari? She was stealing his sunglasses like she crash his interviews just for it and he's not doing anything about it. Even when he's wearing it at night like at Singapore GP. So he's got a matching one for her. And they rocked together. Just something fluff and cute. Add something else to it if it's not right. Tag me later!! Thanks :))

NOT YOURS, OURS|K.RÄIKKÖNEN

Pairing; Kimi Räikkönen x Wife!reader

Summary; In which you’re constantly stealing your husband’s sunglasses so he gets you your own matching ones.

Warnings; none.

Author’s note; take a shot everytime the word sunglasses is mentioned.

F1 Master List

Kimi was constantly wearing sunglasses, it was his signature look and it wasn’t very often you’d find him without them, even if he wasn’t wearing them, they’d be there resting on his cap or hanging from his collar.

Even now, as the two of you stood at the entrance of the garage, watching as the rain fell down into the track, wrapped up in his arms as he wrapped the edges of the coat he was wearing around you to keep you warm, he had his sunglasses on.

Not bothering to fight your temptations you pulled back causing his grip on you to loosen and you reached up, taking the sunglasses from his face and putting them on your own.

He looked at you with a raised eyebrow but you simply smiled and posed for him. "How do I look?"

Kimi smiled and shook his head at your silliness. "Beautiful." He replied.

Your smile brightened at his words, stomach fluttering from his compliment as you leaned back into his embrace.

You couldn’t see a thing from the darkness of the sky and the sunglasses mixed together, you didn’t know how he walked about like this but that was a question for another day.

Kimi was out unwillingly doing some interviews so you made the decision to go and roam around the track with absolutely no destination in mind when you saw him in the middle of the track doing a sit down interview with Jenson for Sky Sports.

You smirked as you walked closer. Approaching him from behind, you stepped into frame and wrapped your arms around him to remove the sunglasses from his face, catching him by surprise but as soon as he noticed it was you he relaxed.

Watching as you placed them on your own face, giving him a smile and a cheeky wave before walking away, leaving him shaking his head at you.

"What was that all about?" Jenson asked, laughing.

"Bwoah, i don’t know." Kimi shrugged.

You were in Singapore and the sky was pitch black but the track was lit up reading for the race to begin, Kimi was standing in the pit lane and even though the sun went down long ago, his sunglasses remained on his face as he spoke to his race engineer.

Walking to to him, you didn’t hesitate to reach up and take them from him, the man not even flinching as he continued with his conversation as though nothing had even happened.

You smiled as you placed them on your own face, the dark shades blocking everything but the lights on the track.

When he was finished talking he turned to you with a pointed look. "Those are mine."

You shook your head. "Not yours. Ours."

Kimi hummed. "This is becoming a habit now."

"I like them." You simply told him.

You were in Qatar and the sun was glaring down on you causing you to scowl in annoyance, looking around with your hand raised above your eyes, you spotted your husband.

He was dressed as he always was, red cap, red shirt, black shorts, black sunglasses. You walked towards him with a spring in your step.

Just when you were close enough to reach up and grab his sunglasses from his face, Kimi grabbed your hand to stop you.

As a pout began to form on your face, your husband simply shook his head and reached into his pocket. In his hand was a pair of sunglasses, an exact replica of the ones that were currently resting on his nose and under them to you.

“You have no reason to steal mine now,” he huffed but there was the slightest hint of a smile growing on his lips.

You took the sunglasses from him and placed them on, not acknowledging his slight dig at your antics.

“How do I look?” You asked him the same question you did a couple races ago.

“Perfect, as always,” he responded simply.

accepting it- c.leclerc

summary: charles has been a bit too distant during your pregnancy, and what max said about his own child brought some ugly truths to the surface, hurting you in the process. charles realises his mistake, but it's just too late for you to believe him.

pairing: husband! charles leclerc x fem! pregnant! wife! reader

part two!

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

The quiet unlocking of the door was what had woken you, Charles was sure of it. He hadn’t wanted to, mostly because he knew he’d say something stupid and piss you off. He wouldn’t mean to, but he would. That’s what the start of the season was, that’s what becoming a father was, that’s what the stress did to him. 

“Hey handsome,” you smiled sleepily from the coach, all bundled up in blankets as some random Netflix series played on the screen. 

“Hey beautiful,” he exhaled harshly, then turned to you, (fake) smiling. “You alright?”

You nodded. “Just tired,” you yawned. “Want to head to bed?”

He nodded with a groan. “Yes, please.” 

He helped you up off the couch and it hit him how close you were to giving birth. You were in the third trimester, heavily pregnant with a slightly complicated pregnancy. He grimaced when he saw you grabbing your back in pain. 

“Alright?” he asked as you winced. 

You took a deep breath and continued on to your bedroom. “Fine,” you said through gritted teeth, the pain easing. 

He led you over to your side of the bed and helped you lie down. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and turned out the lights, ready to sink into his side of the bed after his exhausting day. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

He woke up to the sound of vomiting. It wasn’t usual to hear, but it had gotten less frequent as the pregnancy went on. “You alright baby?” he called out. 

His question was met with more vomiting. He huffed as he pulled himself out of bed and walked to the bathroom, looking at you hunched over the toilet. He frowned and knelt beside you, holding your hair. After another few minutes the vomiting stopped and you looked up at him, exhausted and sick. 

“Feels any better?” he asked. You shook your head and he frowned again, pulling you into his chest. He smoothed a hand through your hair as you leant against him, trying to calm yourself down. “It’s alright,” he soothed. “You’re alright.” 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

Brunch was going to be hell on earth for both of you, but you still both dressed up and got in the car, pretending to be excited about the family luncheon. 

“Can you believe Max said he wouldn’t miss a race for the birth of his baby?” you scoffed, scrolling through your phone as Charles drove to his mother’s house. “Poor Kelly.”

Charles gulped beside you. He’d been dreading this conversation for weeks, unsure when to have it. It’s not that he didn’t want to be there for the birth of his child, he did, badly, but he couldn’t throw away championship points for anything. He’d make an exception if it was a sprint race, but other than that… he couldn’t chance it. “Well, he has a good reason to,” he shrugged nervously. 

You turned your head to him, shock painting your features. “Are you joking right now?” 

Charles shrugged. “Not really. He’s the World Champion and he needs to stay on top this year, especially if it’s his last year, which he’s thinking it might be. I understand where he’s coming from.”

You were both quiet for a minute, taking in what he’d said. 

“So what about us?” you asked in a small voice. 

“You’re due on a non-race week,” he shrugged. “We just hope she doesn’t come earlier than that.” 

He didn’t dare look over at you, scared of what he might see. He knew this was selfish, but he couldn’t piss away his chance at being champion, not when he’d worked his entire life for it, not when his parents, family, and friends gave up so much.  

“Oh,” you breathed out, trying to stop yourself from crying. “Alright then.” 

The rest of the car ride was silent, you watched the streets of Monaco whip by you as Charles drove up to his mother’s house, and you thought. Thought about giving birth alone. Thought about how Charles had promised you he’d be there. Thought about how shitty it felt to be second to his job. You wiped your unshed tears away before you walked inside.

When you walked inside, Pascale instantly knew something was wrong. Charlotte immediately took you away to chat together, and Lorenzo was too busy giving out to Arthur about breaking up with Jade to notice, but Pascale noticed. She saw the way Charles watched you from across the room, trying desperately to catch your eye, to gauge your reaction, something. 

She pulled him aside. “What’s wrong?” 

He sighed. “Maman, it’s nothing-”

“What did you say to your wife?” he demanded. He looked down, ashamed. He knew he was in the wrong, but he still felt justified, though that justification was slowly dwindling. 

“We were talking about how Max wouldn’t miss a race for his baby, and I said I’d do the same,” he admitted. 

“Excuse me?” Lorenzo inserted himself in the conversation. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

Arthur was even looking at him in disgust, Arthur. “Charles, that’s not right-” 

“You don’t get to talk, alright?” he shot at his younger brother, who quietened out of shock. “And what else am I supposed to do? Every single year in Formula One I feel the championship falling away from me! Y/n understands-”

“She shouldn’t have to,” Pascale interjected. “Do you want that little girl? The one your wife has been carrying without complaint for 8 months?” 

Charles nodded vigorously. “Of course I do-!” 

“So you should be there for the woman who’s carrying her! She has been pregnant basically on her own for the past 8 months, either you were racing, or training, or enjoying your break - which meant doing extreme sports that she cannot do! That woman loves you too much to see how you’ve been treating her, and it’s sad, Charles. She does everything for you, and you’re even entertaining the idea of not being there for her while she goes through possibly one of the most painful experiences of her life? Are you insane?” she argued, shocked at her own son's selfishness. “If you cannot see that the woman you love is more important than a race win, you should really just let Y/n go and find a man that actually loves her. Not one who is more focused on his personal goals than the goals of his family. Your father and I raised you to be a racer, yes, but first and foremost we raised you to be a good person. And being a good person means being a good husband and father to your family, which is just starting.” 

Charles stood there for a moment in silence, ashamed of his behaviour. “You’re right.” 

“I know I am,” she scoffed. “Go make it right with Y/n, now.” 

Charles scurried off to find you in the garden with Charlotte, she had her arms around you as you explained everything that had happened, how distant Charles had been, what he’d said about the birth, everything. Charlotte sent him a particularly withering look as he stepped out into the sun, and he knew he deserved it. 

“Can I talk to my wife?” he asked, standing behind you. 

“She’s busy right now Charles,” Charlotte scoffed. “I’m just trying to calm her down from crying. Come back later.” 

His heart broke slightly, he knew you’d been taking the burden of the baby a lot more than he had (obviously), and he thought he was being gracious by not bringing it up. He thought he was doing the right thing by giving you space, but he was just subconsciously trying to ignore the fact that his life was going to change drastically and that he was scared. Still, he never thought he’d be the one to make you cry. 

“Please,” he begged. 

You gave Charlotte a nod, and she smiled at you sadly, then left you to talk. He took the seat she had been sitting in and placed a hand on your thigh. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m ruining the whole day.” 

His heart actually broke then. He was being a dick, he was in the wrong, and you were apologising. What the actual fuck? He shook his head, squeezing your thigh. “No. If anyone ruined today, it was me. My selfishness has been ruining this entire pregnancy for you,” he admitted. “And I’m sorry.” 

You stared up at him in shock. 

“You’ve been doing this on your own since day one, and that’s my personal failing. I’m sorry that I was so… distant. I was busy getting in my own head about my career, when the most important thing was right in front of me. I’m sorry, and I hope you’ll forgive me,” he took your hand and squeezed, looking at the ground. 

“Charles, I know what I signed up for when I married you,” you admitted, dropping his hand. “I know you’re ambitious, I know you want to win, and I know you won’t stop until you’re the best. Sometimes it just… gets to me that I’m not enough for you, that our family isn’t enough for you. It’s just… hard sometimes, alright? And if I’m being honest this is a bit too much too late. I know my place in your life, and I’ve accepted it. I just hope you prioritise our daughter more than you prioritise me,” you tearfully explained before getting up and going back inside. 

Was that really the standard he’d set for the love of his life? Surely not?  He had to fix this, and quick.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

navigation for my blog :)

ferrari masterlist

look me in the eye | pt.3

pairing: max verstappen x rbr!engineer!reader

summary: the rb21 is unfixable-the whole world knows that, now-but you've become so much more than just his engineer and they should know that too.

a/n: i just...max verstappen...and thank you guys sm for the love you've shown this series! here is the last part <3

part one / part two / part three

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The moment you step out of the storage room-you figured that out when Max shoved you against a nice metal rack and some probably important things crashed to the ground-reality crashes down on you like a tidal wave.

You just kissed Max Verstappen.

Max Verstappen just kissed you.

You don't know how it can get worse, but it will. He looks completely at ease, like he didn't just change the trajectory of your entire life in the span of a few heated seconds. Meanwhile, you feel like you're about to combust. Your lips are still tingling, your mind racing, and you’re suddenly hyperaware of the noise outside: the team is still celebrating, the media is still circling, and maybe you're being a little dramatic but people will want answers that you can't give.

Max notices your panic before you can even say anything. He leans in slightly, lowering his voice. "Breathe."

You shoot him a glare that lacks any real venom. "Don't tell me what to do."

His lips twitch. "Then don't look like you’re about to pass out." Which is ironic, because if he hadn't kissed you senseless, you probably wouldn't look like...whatever you look like right now. You need a mirror. Your hair is all messed up from the frenzy-his is too, though it suits his post-race look-and you straighten the collar of your shirt.

Damn you. You shove past him, desperate for space, for air, for something that isn't Max Verstappen and his infuriating ability to act like everything is fine. Your body betrays you, though, because even as you move, you feel his warmth lingering, his presence like a gravitational pull you can’t escape.

And then, as if the universe is determined to make your life a nightmare, Christian Horner appears. The devil himself.

You barely manage to school your expression into something neutral as he approaches, eyes sharp, mouth set in a line that promises nothing good.

"Max." He nods at Red Bull's star driver before turning to you. "We need to talk."

Max doesn't move. "She's busy," he quips.

You whip your head toward him, eyes wide. "Max."

Christian doesn't look amused. "Now."

You sigh, throwing Max one last look before following Christian into one of the back offices. The second the door closes, he lets out a heavy breath and pinches the bridge of his nose like he's trying to will away a migraine.

"You know why we're here."

You cross your arms, steeling yourself. "If this is about that stupid interview-"

"Stupid?" Christian cuts you off and his eyes narrow quickly. "Do you have any idea what you just walked into? The media is losing it. The fans are in a frenzy. And now I have PR breathing down my neck asking if Max Verstappen is in a relationship with one of his engineers."

This isn't good. No, not at all. Today is not a good day to have Christian Horner mad at you. "It's not-"

"It doesn't matter what it is," Christian interrupts. "Believe me. The only thing I care about is what it looks like."

You don't have an argument for that. Because he's right. Perception is everything in this sport, and right now, the perception is that you are tangled up in something that no team principal wants to deal with.

Christian sighs and it's like all his fury is evaporating. "Look. I really don't care what you do in your personal life. I don't even care what Max does, as long as he keeps winning. But I need to know if this is going to be a problem."

You hesitate. "Define 'a problem.'"

Christian levels you with a look. "Are you going to be a distraction? To him? To yourself?"

Your mind flashes back to the kiss, to the way Max looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered in that moment. Your heart stutters.

"No," you say, more firmly than you feel. "This doesn't affect my work."

Christian watches you for a long moment, then nods. "Good. Then handle it."

You swallow. "Handle it?"

"Either shut it down or control the narrative," he says. "But I don't want any more surprises."

You nod, even though you don't know what exactly you're affirming with that nod. The problem is, you don't know if you can shut it down. You don't know if you even want to.

When you leave the office, Max is leaning against the wall, waiting. Of course he is.

He leaps up when he sees you. "What did he say?"

"That I need to handle it," you explain.

Max’s expression doesn’t change. "And are you going to?

"I don’t know."

There it is again. You can't read Max Verstappen. He asks, "Do you want me to?"

All your problems come from the same thing-you should say yes, no, whatever it takes to shut down all this that's happening. You should make him go on some press circuit and laugh it off as a misunderstanding, to make sure your name isn't attached to his ever again. You should be walking away from this mess because it's not part of your job description and getting involved with an athlete never seems to end well. Even if it's Max Verstappen.

But you don't.

You never do, it seems.

Instead, you look at him: the way his jaw is clenched, the way his fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you but won't unless you let him, and you keep making the same choice.

"I think," you say carefully, "we should talk."

Max’s lips curve slightly. "Dinner?"

You groan, shoving his shoulder. "Not helping."

His laugh is soft, but there's something else in his eyes now. Something serious. "Then let’s talk."

It's been a long time coming, but right there, you realize you're past the point of no return.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The ride back to the hotel is suffocating. Not the air-no, the air-conditioning in Max's car is great, thankfully, because it sure cost a lot-but because Max is sitting next to you, silent, his fingers drumming against his thigh so close to you if he shifts just a little his hands will be on yours. You push that thought aside. Now's not a good time to get worked up over him. Not now.

You should say something. You should clear the air. But every time you open your mouth, nothing comes out. Instead, you replay everything in your head: the kiss, the way he looked at you after, Christian's warning, and the way Max had asked if you wanted him to handle it. Like it was his responsibility. Like he was willing to do whatever you asked, even if it meant pretending none of this ever happened.

The thought unsettles you more than it should.

"You're thinking too much."

You blink, snapping out of your spiral. Max is watching you instead of the road. Stupid, stupid.

You roll your eyes. "And you’re not thinking at all."

He smirks, eyes darting back forward for a moment before they rest on your face. "That’s not true. I'm thinking about dinner."

"Max, this isn't a joke." You let out a frustrated sigh, turning to face him.

"I know." He's suddenly serious, his voice quieter. "That's why we should talk. Properly. Without Christian breathing down your neck."

You hesitate. You know he's right. You can't keep avoiding this, can't pretend that what happened in the storage room didn't just flip your world upside down. But you also don't know how to have this conversation without risking everything.

Max waits patiently, letting you come to your own conclusion. He always does that. He gives you space, but never too much. Always just enough to make sure you don’t run.

"Fine," you mutter. "But not dinner. We saw how that went."

He raises a brow. "Drinks?"

"No."

"A walk, then."

You sigh, but you don't argue. You suppose a walk is neutral territory. You can talk without the pressure of sitting across from him at a table, without the weight of eye contact that lasts too long.

When you arrive at the hotel, you don't give yourself time to hesitate. You step out, waiting for him, and he follows without question after tossing his keys at the valet. There's a cool breeze, and you focus on that instead of the way your fingers still tingle from where they brushed against Max's earlier.

You walk side by side, the silence stretching, but it isn't uncomfortable. It never is. That’s part of the problem, isn't it? It's always been too easy with him.

"I meant what I said," Max finally says. "I don't want this to be a problem for you."

"It's not that simple, Max."

"It could be."

You huff out a short laugh. "For you, maybe."

He stops walking, and you do too, turning to face him. There's something in his expression that makes your breath catch.

"I like you," he says, and your heart stutters. "And I think you like me too."

You swallow hard. "Max-"

"I know it's complicated. I know Christian is watching us like a hawk. I know you're worried about your job, your reputation." His voice is steady, unwavering. "But I'm not going to pretend this isn't happening just because it's inconvenient."

Your mouth feels dry. It does sound simple when he's saying it.

"Tell me to stop. Tell me this is nothing, and I'll walk away."

You hate him for that. Hate him for putting the choice in your hands, for making you responsible for whatever happens next.

But you don't tell him to stop. You don't say anything at all. You look at him clearly: this man you've watched grow up from a boy. You've seen him destroy things in fits of rage after bad races, you've seen him beam like the sun, and you've seen the way his eyes turn stormy oceans when they look at you. He sees you too.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

bahrain 2025 post-race interview

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

y/n 🌎 gee, max, you're going to get to my ego

y/n 🌎 first "my everything," then "the constant"

y/n 🌎 and what's that about always? i don't believe that.

my mashed potato Are you referring to us or you being the constant? Because I don't believe in that either, but you have me as long as you want

y/n 🌎 are you SERIOUSLY CHECKING YOUR PHONE DURING AN INTERVIEW

y/n 🌎 sorry for all caps i just like it a lot when you get all romantic

my mashed potato i know ❤️

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

a/n: max verstappen and 3-post series are very special to me

OH MY GOD!!! this was aooo good... i looovvveeedd it💜💜

I Miss You

; MCU!Jungkook x Reader

; Word Count: 2.5k

; Genre: Angst, fluff

; Warnings: Mentions of death, alcoholism, pregnancy, grief

; Summary: In one moment, half of the world disappeared with a single snap of Thanos' fingers. Jeon Jungkook is one of those struggling to cope with the aftermath.

: A/N: Inspired, obviously by the Snap/Blip in the Marvel Cinematic Universe! I hope you enjoy it, I randomly got inspired to write it. All written on my phone, so please excuse formatting on errors! If you enjoyed...please reblof and leave a comment or an ask telling my why you liked it!

-

4 Years Ago 

"Hi...erm, my name i-is Jeon Jungkook. I'm here because…" He pauses, unable to get the words out. The memory is still so fresh in his mind, the pain just as strong as the moment it happened. Part of him wants to feel like he's experienced the worst thing in this room, but he knows he hasn't.

Still, it doesn't erase how much the incident hurt him.

"It's okay," The group leader, Jung Hoseok, reaches out and gently squeezes Jungkook's arm. "We all understand, take your time."

Swallowing hard, Jungkook nods tersely before taking a deep breath to centre himself.

"I'm here because my wife," His voice trembles despite how hard he's trying to compose himself. "My wife was taken in the Snap. And I'm not coping with it."

Finally, he let's the tears fall as the tsunami of grief washes over him.

-

3 Years Ago

"Hi, I'm Jeon Jungkook. Two years ago...m-my w-wife was part of the Snap. I'm still struggling with it though, I miss her do much." Jungkook looks down at his hands, the knuckles bruised from the intense round of boxing he'd done the other night.

Exercise had become his refuge over the past year, a way for him to work through his emotions and calm himself. The physical exertion of running or boxing or weightlifting left him so exhausted that it was easy to fall into a dreamless sleep each night.

It probably wasn't a healthy habit, but at least he was doing better than some of the others in this Snap Survivors meeting. He knew for a fact that Jimin had relapsed with his sobriety the other month, the second birthday of his now gone husband, Taehyung, too much to handle. Jungkook knew because he'd become friends with them all throughout the past year.

Or those who came frequently, anyway.

Still, the exercise might help the dreams stay away but it did nothing to stop the pain whenever he thought of you. Of what could have been.

"I think I'm doing better and then I'll look something and remember a memory with her. I wish she was here."

-

2 Years Ago

"Hey everyone, most of you already know me but my name is Jungkook. My wife died three years ago in the Snap. I wish I could say that I'm moving on, but it's really hard. The more time that's passed...the more angry I get, you know?" He looks around the room at the other people seated there, gazing into their eyes and taking stock or their emotions.

"It's hard," Hoseok says, his lips twisting as he probably remembers the moment he lost his daughter. "I think it takes an incredibly strong person to not be angry at some point, so I think you've done well to last three years before finally reaching the point of anger. You're obviously a saint."

That makes everyone in the circle chuckle, some of the sounds more dark than others. Jungkook takes a moment to not Jimin's reaction, frowning in concern for his friend.

The slip from last year had been just that, a slip. He'd managed to get back onto the straight and narrow with the help of his close friends, which now included Jungkook and some of the others from this group. But Jimin was the angriest out of all of them, the hole left by Taehyung a jagged wound that bled rage and grief with each breathe. Sometimes, Jungkook wondered if Jimin was going to be one of those lost souls who simply never recovered from his loss.

The dark bags under the older man's eyes and his almost frail stature made Jungkook's heart hurt. All he wanted to do was wrap Jimin up so the poor man could never be hurt again.

"Not a saint, definitely not that. But...it was hard to be angry at something I didn't even understand. And even now, who do I get angry at? The Avengers? What's the point, that's like being angry at the sky for rain. It's not going to do anything, it's not going to bring my wife back. Thanos is dead, half the Avengers are dead and half the world is dead. One man being angry won't change it, but sometimes I can't help it." Running his fingers through his hair, Jungkook wonders if those were the right words to say.

It appears to have annoyed Jimin though, or at least touched on an exposed nerve. He had a lot of them.

"We can be angry, we can be angry at Captain America for not trying harder. At Thor for missing the shot. They're fucking superheroes, they were meant to protect us. They were meant to protect him! And all they did was watch as half the world fucking disappeared before they vanished too. We can, and we should, be angry." Jimin spits the words, each syllable laced with venom so strong it could have probably pierced even the skin of Luke Cage.

"Jimin, this is not the place for anger. You know that, we're happy to ta-"

A hand in the air cuts Hoseok off and Jimin snorts in obvious irritation.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. 'We talk through the feelings, we don't shout them.' I get it," Pausing, he looks at Jungkook before wincing. "Sorry, I interrupted."

"It's okay. I kind of agree and kind of don't. I'm mostly angry at why it was her. But I won't ever get an answer, none of us will. I'm just...still trying to come to terms with that, I guess. It's not like a person dying normally. I never got to bury her, or get to say my goodbyes. She just...vanished. We don't even know if they're really dead…"

-

1 Year Ago

"Hi...I'm Jungkook. I thought I was doing well. It's been four years since my wife was Snapped, and I was doing good. I was starting to move on. It felt like it was time, you know? To let her go and...to move on with my life. It was hard, as I haven't dated anyone else since I was twenty-one but I tried. Dating apps and all that, it was a weird experience. I don't think I really liked it, but I was willing to try. I had a few dates that went nowhere...it still feels like I'm cheating on her." Licking his lips, he paused to take a deep drink of the glass of water he'd taken.

Looking around at everyone else, he wondered who would still be coming in five or even ten years time. Hoseok was probably never really going to get over the loss of his daughter, and Jungkook felt like Jimin needed a permanent watch. But the others might move on.

Some already had, their absence felt but not envied.

"What made you feel like this though? Like you aren't doing well anymore?" It's Hoseok who asks it, his role as the leader of the group well cemented by now. His kind eyes have a tiredness behind them and Jungkook wonders what he was like before this all happened.

For a moment, he doesn't respond. Fiddling with a loose string on his jeans, he struggles to get his thoughts into order so he doesn't become a babbling mess. Not that anyone would judge him for that here, but still.

"Well, firstly it just felt wrong. I don't think I'm ready to move on romantically yet. I couldn't even kiss the women I went on dates with, so I'm not going to force myself yet." He said honestly, his cheeks flushing just a hint at his open words.

There was no rebuke from his fellow members though, instead they all remained silent and simply nodded along. It gave him the confidence to continue, even though a part of him was already wilting.

"I stopped the whole dating thing, but that's not what made me feel like this. I was doing okay, you know? I can talk about her without wanting to cry and it just...it felt...I felt good. So I decided it was finally time to go through her things. I, erm, I hadn't touched them since the Snap. It felt like it was permanent if I touched them or threw them out, so they just stayed there. But I finally went through her stuff and-" It's here that Jungkook finally stops, his throat closing on him suddenly whilst his eyes burn with tears.

He doesn't notice the sudden frown from Hoseok and Jimin, or the others who he's known for years now. It's been so long since he's broken down in front of them and they must be surprised at this.

"I went through her desk. I never touched it, didn't...it wasn't right. And in her drawer, there was this card. I didn't know why it was in there, but it had my name on the envelope. So I opened it up...it was a congratulations card. Inside it...there was a pregnancy test. It's been so long that the result had disappeared...but she'd...there was a message." Jungkook starts to cry, his lips trembling as his voice cracks.

It takes one glance to see the others are crying as well, realising just how much he'd lost that day.

"She was pregnant, we were going to have a baby."

-

Now

"Hey, I won't be able to make it to the meeting this week. I've got to go to a dinner with my parents and they're refusing to take no for an answer." Holding the cellphone between his ear and shoulder, Jungkook tries to not make any loud noises as he unloads the dishwasher.

He doesn't succeed though as one plate clatters to the counter top, the sound jarringly loud and he winces at it.

"Shit, no need to deafen me!" Hoseok laughs, his tone just as warm and friendly as it always is. "And that's fine, it's probably good for you to take a break for us anyway. We're always doom and gloom."

'Nah, it's good to talk, right? I feel a lot better nowadays and we get to do fun shit when we're not there. I remember how much you sucked at mini golf the other week."

That gets an outraged sound from Hoseok, almost too loud through the tiny speaker next to his ear but it makes Jungkook snicker in amusement.

"Excuse you! We can't all be good at everything we try." He can literally imagine the little triangle pout on Hoseok's mouth right now, causing him to grin even more.

"I take it we're not remembering that time I tried to fish? And fell in the lake? I don't think that classes as being good. But anywa-"

"Jungkook?"

For a moment, he thinks his name has come from his phone and he frowns at how feminine Hoseok suddenly sounded. But then he realises it's from inside his own house.

Jerking around, he's about to do the very manly thing of screaming before his mind finally catches up the mental exclamation mark of recognition that had lit up at the voice. For a second, the world comes to a complete halt and he becomes simultaneously hyper aware of everything yet also ignorant of everything.

He doesn't notice his phone clattering to the ground, the screen cracking even more than it already was, nor does he notice the glass he'd dropped shattering on the ground. Jungkook's entire world tunnels, his hearing and mind turning to white noise as he tries to comprehend what's happening.

And then you say his name again, bringing the world back into focus.

"Y/N?" Your name slips from his mouth, the syllables rusty from disuse and tinged with more than a hint of disbelief. 

"Jungkook? What is going on? How has the house changed? How did you manage to move everything and why is your hair so long? What the fuck is going on?" Each word is so sweet to his ears, a melody he's ached to hear for five years now and yet something he'd accepted he would never hear again.

But here it is...and here you are.

"Y/N...you're here? This is real?" Jungkook doesn't even notice when he starts to cry, the tears following a pattern down his face that they've done many times over the years. But it's different this time.

"What...what are you-" Before you can say anything else, Jungkook is rushing over to you. His rubber soled house slippers crunch on the glass, ruining the soles but protecting his feet. He doesn't even notice, not when his trembling hands cup your face.

At the first touch of his fingertips to your soft skin, he bursts into heaving sobs of dual relief and agony. Five years of emotions comes bubbling to the surface, fighting for priority and he doesn't know what to feel.

He only gets a moment to recognise the bewildered look on your face before he's wrapping you in his arms, holding on so tightly. The feel of you against him, so warm and familiar yet foreign at the same time makes him cry even harder. You were here, you were back.

Jungkook's reaction must frighten you, and the combination of that and the obvious differences in both him and your environment in what was only seconds for you causes you to shiver in fear against him. Pressing your head to his chest, you try to comfort him even though you don't know what's wrong.

"Kook...what happened? What's wrong?" You ask softly, voice quivering as you try to take solace in his familiar body. But it's unfamiliar at the same time.

He's broader than before, his muscles more prominent and hair longer. A ring pierces one side of his mouth whilst two small balls are pierced into his brow and even more tattoos grace his arm. The changes are significant...and old.

"You're here, you're here. I missed you so much, oh my god, I missed you so much. I love you, I never stopped loving you, I found the card and I love our baby too, I swear." Jungkook rambles on, his hands stroking along your back almost like he's trying to imprint every line and curve into his mind whilst he cries, cheek pressing to your head.

You desperately want to know what happened, but you also recognise instinctively that your husband needs this. He needs to simply hold you, convince himself that you're here and not a figment of his imagination, so you wrap your arms around his waist and hug him back just as tightly.

'I'm here...I'm here, Jungkook. I love you too, it's okay. I'm here."

Reaction 16: s/o is ceo

[Masterlist]

If you have any reactions you would like to see send them via asks and I will write them when I can.

Your father had invested in BigHit when it was proposed as a new music company. He wasn’t always the type to try to get rich quick but he thought why not invest, maybe you could grow a fortune. 

You could see his point of view but really your entire university fund wasn’t his to gamble. You took ownership of those shares immediately and nothing ever seemed to change the problem was your father bought them for higher than they were worth. 

You were half way through your University degree, working at a small restaurant waiting tables. It wasn’t easy when you didn’t have some money behind you. 

You were humming a song, something catchy on the radio. Nothing catchy, you had calculated how much of this BigHit entertainment you owned and it was something close to 30% of the business. 

Returning to your apartment ready for your day of tomorrow you checked your email. You saw your stocks had grown but not as much as you paid for them still. 

Curious, you called the company via the number on your email; it wasn’t the regular company number. You asked for a meeting and they gave you a spot before lunch tomorrow. 

Dressing up for the meeting you wanted to look respectable. You arrived and stepped up only to be stopped by security. 

“I am here to see Bang Sihyuk. I have an appointment before lunch” I said and they eyed me, I called the reception. 

“Good morning, It’s y/n, I am here for my 11:30 meeting but I cannot get past security”

“We will bring someone down shortly” she said and I nodded and waited. 

Bang Si hyuk in a suit appeared, “y/n please follow me?” I followed behind him feeling rather important. “So you own 30% of BigHit and are one of our shareholders, are you a fan of our company?”

“Actually I know very little about your company, my father bought the shares when they were so cheap and well I have left them hoping I didn’t lose all my savings”

“Let me show you around and talk about our company a little” he smiled. He was a funny guy explaining the company’s virtues and goals. You had to admit he spoke well about everything, the facility was a little drab but you weren’t too worried. 

“This is where the trainees eat and discuss, this is our recording studio and the dance studios are down the hall.” His phone rang, as he opened the door. “Oh I have a call, please give me a moment”

There was a group inside you blushed, bowing to them, each as handsome as you would expect of an idol group and yet so much more. 

They practiced seriously and looked awfully sweaty. I ordered some vitamin water and sports drinks hoping they would stay hydrated. They were looking particularly tired from their dancing. 

Stepping down stairs you grabbed the drinks by security and headed back upstairs. The elevator was kind of small but not the worst. 

Bang Pd was still on the phone in the corner and you headed inside once more, uh good afternoon, I brought you some drinks to cool off. 

They bowed respectively and took the bag, each getting a cold drink and rehydrating. 

“Who are you?” One asked and you blinked 

“I am a family friend of Bang pd’s he is showing me around his company today”

It felt worth it, in the short time you saw the company and the boys you didn’t feel cheated out of money, the boys you met were nice and very good looking. 

You were invited to a shareholder meeting a few times a year and each year the company seemed to slowly be improving and dressed nicely when you entered the building. 

You flashed a tag they had sent you, stashing it in your pocket. Taking the elevator. 

“Hold the elevator!” You caught the elevator and the doors rebounded open. It was the boys, you hadn’t forgotten their handsome features since the day you met one year ago. 

You had finished your degree this year and as an accountant major you were able to work with numbers a lot better. Providing some knowledge at the meetings you were privy to. 

“What are you doing back again, we don’t see you often around?” One broke the ice with some small talk which quickly fell into light banter and jokes. It was the start of a good friendship. Or at least you thought it was a friendship unbeknownst to you. One of the idols had feelings for you, they thought you were a firecracker. 

Maybe the way you were so confident like you owned the place, resonated with their personality. They all exchanged their WeChat with you. Leaving you surprised when your phone chimed as the elevator door closed with a greeting message and a few emoji’s. 

~Time skip to present~

Keep reading