20s
"Forgive yourself for not knowing earlier what only time could teach"
Red Flag Lover
Obsessed:
Bucky Barnes ~ Sebastian Stan ~ other random ones that pop up
Aemond Targaryen~Masters of the Air~ Callum Turner characters
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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Summary: At barely nineteen, you had to not only support your boyfriend in F1 but also survive a man who kept trying to get to you.
Your relationship with Kimi never had the chance to be private. Your first kiss got filmed and went viral on social media for weeks after. Barely seventeen, you and Kimi just accepted that you could not be a secret, and that privacy was not a luxury you could afford.
Without a PR team to help you out, you were stuck fighting every false rumor yourself to try and protect whatever dignity you still had and the effort didn’t go unnoticed by Kimi who always tried to cheer you up whenever it got too much.
So imagine the shock when Kimi got his contract into F1 and you got called into a meeting without your boyfriend.
A meeting full of expensive suits and shiny shoes while you were freshly eighteen and in your boyfriend hoodie. They set out strict rules on what you could say or post and whatever else that was strictly off limits.
They spoke about your security and the fact that you couldn’t walk alone anywhere anymore. You needed guidance and help which only made you feel like a child over again. You didn’t need a bodyguard yet but they said it was coming quickly. You didn’t know if you liked it or if it just gave more reason to your anxiety.
—--
The first time you entered the F1 paddock was a nightmare for you.
Walking hand in hand with Kimi was usually peaceful but it felt more like putting on a show for millions to watch.
“You need to breathe, it’s just cameras.” Kimi said, circling his thumb on your hand. Trying to find a way to calm you down.
“I know, I just need some adaptation Kimi.” You say, looking ahead to avoid his eyes wishing he wouldn't notice.
He didn’t.
—--
You only felt relief when his first season ended but kept that to yourself. You didn’t want to be a problem, you weren’t the important one, the driver. You were just a teenage girl.
The end meant staying in Monaco for a while, avoiding any camera and paparazzi which Kimi did without questioning you once.
The start of the 2026 season came with excitement but a ton of anxiety. Australia went very well and a podium was worth celebrating. The sudden joy almost made you excited for the rest. Maybe the hyped around you had finally calmed down ?
Until you opened your Instagram DM’s and saw hundreds of photos of you in the paddock from the same account. All were slightly different, some normal, some clearly focusing on your body and looks.
You stared at them for so long, Kimi took your phone frustrated you didn’t give him attention anymore.
“Just lay your head on me, Bella, I’ll take care of you.” He said, pushing your head down so you could sleep.
You hummed softly and closed your eyes but your brain never stopped working.
—--
The practice and sprint in China went very well, you watched Kimi drive beside Toto and dined with George and Carmen. You were starting to settle in with the fame, the attention but also the Mercedes family.
Your mind forgot about the pictures for a while, until you saw the man. You saw him between Q1 and Q2, you were strolling around looking for food when you stopped dead in your tracks.
You slowly turned around and your eyes immediately found the unfamiliar yet terrifying face. The man didn’t move, didn’t speak but just smiled at you.
You turned and ran back to the Mercedes garage, arriving out of breath from the speed you had trying to escape the vision you had.
“Everything okay ?” Toto asks you as he walks closer to you and your now red face.
“Just saw someone I knew and didn’t like much, you know.” You say, trying to create a genuine laugh that wasn’t full of anxiety. “The usual.”
“Well if you see him again, come to me.” He says with that protective fatherly voice that always brought you so much comfort. “I’ll take care of it.”
You nodded because even when you were terrified, Toto had a way to calm your nerve the way your father did during your childhood.
—--
The Japan Grand Prix went for the better. A win for your boyfriend and no sign of the mystery man for you. You were both watching a movie while laying on the hotel bed.
Your legs were tangled in his, seeking his comfort more than usual. Seeking his touch anytime you could.
“Are you okay ?” He asks, looking at you with his doe eyes. “You’re not usually this quiet.”
“Hmm, I’m good.” You say sitting up a little more so you could properly see his face. “I think the constant attention is getting to me a little.”
He nods quietly as his hand finds your hair, slowly scratching your head in a way that makes your eyes roll. “Well if you need a break, tell me baby, I’ll take care of it no question asked.”
“I know you would.”
You fall asleep a few minutes later and Kimi contemplates opening your phone to understand what’s going on in your mind but doesn’t.
You would tell him if anything was happening, right ?
—--
The heat in Miami finally made you tan a little but also smile a little as you arrived early for the Grand Prix this weekend. Your boyfriend went early to the paddock for race day but you were shopping a little before.
Passing security was easy and you walked around with your pass around your neck like it belonged there. You were speedwalking through the first few garages, not caring to look for anyone other than Kimi as your body collided with someone else.
You stumbled back a few steps before a hand steadied you by the waist.
You blushed crimson red. “Oh ! I’m so sorry, I didn’t even see you there.” You spoke, and lifted your eyes up to see his face.
Your smile never drops so fast as you see the mystery man. The man who keeps trying to call your personal number. The man who keeps sending you pictures of you walking around the paddock or even your house. The man who now had his filthy hands on your waist.
You never turned around so fast as you ran, never looking back. The man didn’t follow you but his presence did and people noticed.
Toto asked you if you were sick or Carmen forcing you to drink water. Kimi didn’t notice. He was so happy about his win, so proud to be leading the championship in points that he didn’t notice you were drowning.
You weren’t better, never speaking of your issue with anyone. Scared to look dumb, scared to be taken unseriously. You kept your mouth shut and Kimi never noticed you had a problem in the first place.
You thought it would pass, you thought the man would give up.
—--
Canada was your favorite Grand Prix. You loved Montreal city and you knew Kimi would be able to perform well.
Practice went well, qualifications went better. Kimi would start P2 and you couldn’t be prouder. As soon as he came back in the garage, you ran to him and hug him.
“Kimi, baby, I’m so so proud of you.” You say, kissing his cheek to try and keep some intimacy for you.
“Thank you for being here, amore.” He whispers in your ear and cups your face to properly kiss you. He didn’t care about the media, he needed his girl.
You giggle in the kiss, as your cheeks become bright red. “Always.”
You celebrated in your own ways back at the hotel. You felt safer now, you had not seen the mystery man at all in Canada.
The next morning, you arrived at the paddock earlier than usual and sadly, you had to walk in alone. You had a beautiful long white skirt with Kimi’s Mercedes jacket.
The Canadian fans always had some respect when it came to drivers and WAGS which was the only reason you had the guts to drive over there alone.
You were barely able to see Kimi before the race since he had so many meetings and last minute check ups. You kissed his helmet before he entered the car and you went to sit down next to Toto and Carmen as you put the headset on your head.
“Ready to watch him race ?” Toto asks you as you turn to face him and nod your head.
“I hope he wins.” You explain. “He puts so much pressure on him.”
“I know, don’t worry though. He can drive.”
—--
Kimi won and you hugged every engineer you knew as your smile reached your eyes. Seeing your boyfriend being successful healed something in you that you didn’t know was broken.
You slowly walked across the paddock to find a nice spot to watch the podium ceremony and take cute pictures. You tried to short cut through the Mercedes office but got stopped when a hand grabbed your wrist.
The hand was too big to be Kimi’s and you tried to push it away because if it wasn’t Kimi, no one is supposed to grip your wrist.
“Stop moving you little girl” He said, gripping your wrist so tightly, you were sure it would bruise.
“Let me go !” You screamed, trashing around. You were too young to die, you thought.
His free hand clamped your mouth to shut you up quickly. Your back was pressed against his chest but he quickly pressed you against the wall violently which made you bang your head on the wall.
You tried to bite his hand which didn’t work, and your tears were falling with no shame down your face. He started choking you against the wall and your hands flew to his arms, trying to lower them down.
Both of his hands were now pressing your throat as you tried to breathe through your nose. “Please, I I didn’t do anything.” Your words were barely hearable as you were coughing intensely.
Your eyes closed and your body felt weaker than ever before.
“Hey ! Stop that right now.”
You would've normally recognized the voice but you were far too deep into death for your brain to function.
Your body crumbled on the floor when his hands dropped and you immediately started coughing blood all over the floor.
Toto didn’t hesitate to kneel by your side as his shaking hands went to the phone and called Kimi who didn’t answer. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m here now.”
You simply kept coughing blood all over the place, apologizing over and over for the drama, the mess you just created.
Your breathing was uneven, filled with anxiety. You simply tried to find comfort anywhere and right now, that was by hiding your face in Toto’s shirt and crying.
He pulled you in, not caring for the fact that you were wetting his shirt. He rubbed your back until you passed out of exhaustion. The bruises on your neck were bright red, turning purple quickly and his eyes filled with water.
The teenage girl he protected like his daughter was passed out in his arms, body full of bruises and marks.
He very carefully lifted you up in his arms, as he walked silently until he entered Kimi driver’s room and laid you down on the couch.
He called Kimi again without ever removing his eyes from you in some kind of fear that you would disappear.
“Kimi, please come to your room.” He said, trying to keep a neutral tone to not scare the teenage boy. “Something happened to Y/N.”
Kimi hung up and ran directly to the room and entered it in full panic. “Where is she ? Oh god.”
His eyes went to your bruised neck and your marked wrist. Toto hugged Kimi who was now crying. “We’ll protect her from now on, okay ?”
And Kimi nodded his head, feeling as if he had failed you completely. He slower lower himself to cuddle you, trying to bring comfort and heat to your sleeping body.
Toto watched the whole scene knowing something had to change in the Mercedes garage and its security.
—--
The physical pain was gone in a couple of weeks and your bruises were finally invisible. The story didn’t go public by incredible effort from Toto and Kimi but people still talked.
Kimi got you a bodyguard that followed you everywhere even when you already had friends around. You didn’t love the idea but since the accident, Kimi had been restless on you and if a bodyguard following you around would ease up his mind, you could tolerate it.
No one spoke directly to you about it even if fans asked questions about the bruises on your neck and the way that Kimi bolted away from the podium celebration.
The only interview in which it was mentioned was a question thrown at Toto in Monaco.
“The security in the Mercedes garage got upgraded and people can’t help but notice how you are always protecting Kimi’s girlfriend. Has anything happened to her lately ?”
The journalist was clearly feeling proud of himself but people were judging him. It was like a silent rule to not ask questions about the partner of a driver and even more to their bosses.
Toto Wolff's smile dropped as he stared ahead. “Yeah, something really dangerous happened and we are just trying to protect her right now.”
His tone was distant and his eyes were speaking for him saying don’t ask me anymore questions.
“But she’s not a driver or an employee, spending money on her is just wasting it.” Everyone looked shocked at the journalist who still had a grin on his face.
“Spending money to protect a teenager who I see and treat like my daughter is never a waste. And I don’t want other questions about her, the subject is close.” He says, rising up from his chair to leave the room even if the interview was not done yet.
—--
The next day, Toto walked into his office way too early and saw the pink gift on top of his desk.
He slowly opened it to reveal chocolate chip cookies with blue cupcakes. His eyes found the note quickly as he read it outloud.
Thanks Toto for the help and then for defending me and Kimi honor in front of everyone. I hope those sweets will ease your mind after all the stress I’ve given you. Love, Y/N.
He smiled and immediately bit into his favorite cookies.
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR DOING THIS!!!! I loved it so much. Its amazing and so cute. The way it continued across different grand prixs. You made this so much better than I imagined and added so much depth. Toto was such a great father figure here and poor Kim was just shocked. I LOVE IT!!!!
summary: As members of the 2026 Winter Olympics, they’re about to share the biggest stage of their lives — but they share a past, too. Under the bright lights, old memories resurface, emotions run high, and a few long-overdue truths finally come to light.
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𝓸r ── .✦ it must be pretty exciting to watch your boyfriend win his third world championship title in a row. at least, that's what most people would assume. so what exactly prompts you to bring up the trainwreck of february thirteenth? you don't really know. but when you do — and ultimately decide to push him further, for good measure — ilia decides to let you have a taste of gold, too...in his own, special way.
⟢ 𝓻achel: so like i'm in this group chat on twitter right and we saw this photo of ilia at worlds right and we shared some ideas if you're all picking up what i'm putting down and ilia malinin i am free tonight at 7 if you are also free tonight at 7 because i am free and would like to go to dinner with you tonight at 7 if you are also free. uhm. anyway enjoy ilia malinin and his gold medal!!!11!1!!!1 happy reading xo
── tags below the cut .ᐟ
𝓬ontent: smut mdni, improper use of a gold medal, fingering, she taunts him about losing olys, he doesn't like that, unprotected sex, creampie, bruising, his hand is on her neck but he isn't like choking her, lanyard as a gag, rough sex, she cries a little, slight degradation if u read between the lines??, (brief) aftercare cus he's passionate not rude
༄⋆₊❅.⛸️🥇𓂃.˚৻ꪆ
one month ago, your life was filled with cameras, anxiety, unyielding pressure, and fresh tears that you carefully wiped away as you comforted ilia through what was arguably the worst moment of his career.
today, you're barely past the hotel room door's threshold before his mouth is capturing yours, tongue slipping past your lips as if it belongs there.
the door slams behind you with the pressure of his body pressing against yours. you gasp into his mouth, fingers tightening into his freshly-cut hair, hips involuntarily chasing the friction of his.
his gold medal still hangs between you, the deep blue lanyard heavy around his neck as he runs a palm firmly over your side; it lands just below your ribcage, squeezing the flesh until you whine.
and you're still pulling him closer. your free hand grips his bicep and slides upward, in pursuit of a place to rest, yet not finding one. instead, you crane your neck further, deepening the kiss until the only noise left in the entryway is the sloppy, desperate, wet sound.
he trails to your waist and hooks the bend of a finger into your skirt, pulling, pulling, until it falls to the floor on its own.
you've barely processed the loss when he shoves his middle and index fingers into you, pulling a raw noise from your throat that anyone close by could hear through the thin walls.
"ohmygod," you gasp. "ilia—"
"shh," he hushes firmly, lips bruising yours again as his fingers piston into you, painful pleasure coursing through your body as you fight to keep yourself upright.
"they'll hear."
"fucking let them," you mumble in response; another whine pries from your chest and falls on his ears.
his cock twitches in his pants. his fingers spread apart inside, opening you up until the sear burns between your legs, up to your stomach, heat transferring to your fingertips as they fist his hair like a lifeline.
the binding pressure in your stomach builds higher, weakness overtaking your limbs.
ilia's thumb finds your clit; he presses until another moan shoots into the air.
you feel his grin against the underside of your jaw, where he mouths wet kisses into your soft skin. you can't help the heat blooming in your stomach, the way your hips chase his fingers to bring you closer to the edge.
it hits when he murmurs lowly into the crook of your neck.
"come."
your head falls to his shoulder; forehead presses into the strap as his fingers fuck a gush of white out of you. you breathe weakly into his shirt, hands and knees trembling with the rush of pleasure.
ilia's fingers swiftly slip out from between your thighs — now slick with a thin coat of cum — and brings them to his mouth. he swipes them over his lips, letting the liquid collect on the surface before his tongue licks them clean.
you swallow at the intensity of his gaze.
ilia isn't usually like this.
he's sweet, gentle, kind. the type of guy to hold the door for an elderly woman behind him or wave to someone walking on the street. he's attentive, but focused.
one month ago, he was a puddle in your arms, lost in the comfort of your embrace as your hands carded through the long strands of hair on his head.
and here he is now — someone you almost don't recognize.
"where—" you pant, head distracted by the fizzling high and slickness still sitting on your inner thighs, "where was that in milan?"
"what do you mean?"
"i mean," you swallow, "you won gold in milan. and then, y'know…"
your fingers curl around the medal and tug gently. "you flopped and placed 8th."
"flopped?"
when he repeats it back, you hear the edge in his voice. even the small reminder, just barely masked as a joke, settles wrong in his veins. you can tell, from the look behind his eye, the tick in the way he breathes.
"well, you know," you nudge.
your fingers still grip him for stability as a small beam of light shines on his cheek from the peephole beside your head.
"you blew it."
it sounds like a taunt.
ilia takes it as such.
he doesn't like to be made fun of.
you don't tease him.
his kiss is just as desperate this time; more bruising.
his hands move to your waist and pull you backward, feet stepping behind him until the side of his leg brushes the edge of the mattress.
he hoists you up and forces your legs around his waist. you hold on with a tight grasp as he turns, leans over to essentially toss you onto the bed.
you brace yourself with your elbows; heavy breaths part from your lips as your eyes follow his movement, crossing his arms over to remove his shirt.
you nearly moan.
he tosses the medal onto the nightstand; when your gaze follows it, his eyes twitch like a threat.
you swallow.
okay.
his fingers find the buckle on his belt. yank it from the loops around his waist and toss it to the floor. then, it's the button, the zipper coming undone, heavy fabric sliding down smooth, thick thighs.
you feel yourself clench around nothing. a droplet of release nearly soaking the sheet beneath you when it drips.
the time between that and his hand pushing up your shirt as he hovers above you seems to pass in the blink of an eye. you're barely processing it until the fabric is on the floor, and his lips are slotted with yours again, no regard for safety as he kisses you as if you've wronged him.
"ilia," you try, but he presses harder, shaking his head as his hand moves between you.
and then, you gasp so loud that it half-echoes.
no warning, no carefulness, no moment to adjust.
a low apology against your lips, buried between heavy breaths.
ilia groans, a quiet hiss tacked onto the end at the way your walls constrict around him, your body stiff from the uncomfortable suddenness.
but pain quickly turns to pleasure — the harsh glide of his cock, one hand keeping you open at your inner thigh, with the other wrapped around the side of your neck, keeping your head angled in his direction.
a bead of sweat forms above his eyebrow and drips onto your cheek. you feel the wetness cascading down your rosy skin, barely noticeable amid the flood of sensation coursing through your bloodstream as it all rushes to your head.
the dullness of the hotel past midnight amplifies the squelch, the moment; only a dim light casting through the crack beneath the door, the soft pitter-patter of feet on outdated carpet in the hallway outside, the hushed actions of other inhabitants trying to reach their rooms.
it's almost obscene — far rougher than anything you're used to with him. and further, he doesn't seem to care.
even through blurred vision — tears clinging to your eyelashes — you notice his subtle glance to the bedside table.
"put it on," you manage through unstable breaths, the tips of your nails grasping at his arms for support and leaving marks in their wake. "since you're so — accomplished."
it leaves your lips before your conscience can shut it down.
and — against your better judgment, and to no one's surprise, given the way this has all unfolded — he reaches for the medal.
"is this all a joke to you?"
he drops the lanyard around his neck; the weight of the gold suddenly hits your chest. the pressure between your legs builds with another forceful thrust. the medal collides with your skin, pulling a moan from your strained lungs.
and then, your body decides to push his buttons.
you don't do that.
but you won't lie and say that any of this — the force of his hips against yours, the brush of his tip against your cervix, the grip on your neck that starts to bruise — doesn't feel good.
great, even.
and coming from the gentlest person you know?
hot.
"no," you scoff. "but that performance was."
he mouths the skin just below your jaw, teeth taking it between them and applying pressure until you wince. you swallow down the lump in your throat.
"who are you talking to right now?"
"you, i think."
"you think?"
"i think you're a little," you sputter, chest attempting to catch your breath as his hand slips away from your neck and finds your chest, "—overconfident."
his eyes catch on the delicate fingerprints left in his hand's wake on your neck; though he's internally a little proud, they narrow.
"because i won?"
"because it isn't going to erase the shiny 8th-place participation trophy."
you hear the gear turn in his head.
he stills and fists the fabric around his neck, angrily (yet somehow, carefully) ripping it off.
your eyes anchor on the movement. too shocked by the suddenness of it all, the halt of his hips, the pulse of him inside you that he doesn't care enough to notice; you feel it travel into your stomach.
he folds the lanyard — thick, wide in his grasp.
you don't know what he's doing with it.
you find out when he coaxes it between your lips and presses.
one hand on each side of your face.
each end of the polyester.
shutting you up.
when you try to speak, only a small noise comes out — something akin to a squeak. it's muffled by the material.
"no more talking," he tells you firmly, pulling the lanyard a little tighter.
oh.
okay.
when he moves again, you wince at the sear. and he quickly realizes that this won't be practical.
so he takes the strap into one hand, slips the lanyard over your head, and holds it in place by the medal. just beside your ear.
where he can control how tightly it constricts.
while his other hand finds your thigh and spreads your leg further, letting him slip deeper until air evades your lungs.
you moan into the lanyard and reach for any semblance of him to hold onto — his bicep, his shoulder, the sliced strands of hair that are just long enough to grasp.
but god, it feels good.
so fucking good.
meanwhile, his lips continue to work at your neck, trailing down to your collarbone, where his teeth graze sweat-slick skin.
thrusts harder, until the wetness mixes with connecting skin, strings of arousal coating his and your thighs as he fucks it out of you with no remorse for the pain — albeit enjoyable — it causes.
you try to mumble his name, but the syllables barely escape, chest too fragile and throat burning with the ghost of his fingertips.
he tightens the lanyard.
the punishingly rough drag of his dick along your walls pushes you closer to the edge. a sob escapes your throat and vibrates against the taut strap running across your lips; the corners of your mouth burn from the friction.
they'll probably be sliced in the morning.
you lift a hand to loosen it — or try — but he catches it before your fingers can even brush the blue material. he sets your palm back to where it was and returns his own to your thigh. a handprint begins to form.
he tightens the lanyard.
tugs.
a tear springs to your eye; another wells in the other. more brim in your waterline until you blink, sending them down flushed cheeks in a lewd display as weakened, breathless groans fall from forcefully-parted lips.
ilia kisses a droplet away at the curve of your jaw.
you squirm, scratching thick, bright red marks into his back that sting; he hisses into your skin. it seems you won't be the only one wearing the evidence of this moment into next week.
"god—"
"i said you're done talking," he rasps.
a hard thrust that pushes him straight into your sweet spot.
it stings.
you whimper.
"about the olympics," his stare burns through your eyes, "and about today."
you've never heard him speak this way.
to anyone.
let alone yourself.
maybe you like it.
his hand squeezes your thigh, eyes focused on the finger-shaped bruises still forming on the side of your neck. "i won," as another thrust rams against your sweet spot, "it's over," you whine into the polyester, "and you're done talking."
he grabs your chin with his fingers and turns your head toward him.
"got that?"
if there weren't a piece of fabric lodged between your lips, you'd be grinning.
just slightly.
instead, you nod silently — refraining from pissing him off further.
he tightens the lanyard.
and when he smiles and leans forward, pressing the gentlest kiss to the tip of your nose…
you break.
you sob heavily around the fabric, gripping ilia as tightly as you can; heat scorches in your lower belly, so heavily that you can barely function.
your walls constrict around him, squeezing his cock as the orgasm tears through every muscle in your body. you cry out his name, all muffled and broken by the dark blue strap.
tears stream down your face, wet and ugly and tattered. your chest rises and falls with every deep, painful breath.
air barely makes its way into your lungs.
and for his own selfish reasons, ilia lifts the medal off your head and tosses it haphazardly onto the bedside table.
his mouth finds yours when he comes, the kiss all tongue and teeth. it's sloppy and heavy and hot, and if the way your pussy flutters around him is anything to show for it, he'd say you could get off again just from that alone.
he deposits a sigh into your mouth, voice weak and half-wrecked.
then, a low mumble against your lips that sounds too much like russian.
warmth dripping down your thigh as you gasp for air, each attempt sounding more like a cry than a breath.
ilia pulses inside of you — faint, but enough to notice.
and finally, he carefully shifts his hips. angles them just the way he needs and slides out.
you wince.
his thumb finds the corner of your mouth. the pad traces over burned skin, red with irritation, stinging slightly under his touch.
he kisses the spot.
another stray tear runs down your cheek. it catches on your jaw, and you breathe out — steadily, for the first time.
"are you okay?"
icy blue eyes softening when they find yours; returning to the sweet, affectionate gaze they always look at you with.
you nod slowly, "mhm."
his fingers brush your hair away from your face, a little damp with sweat when the clumped strands land on the pillow behind you.
this is who you're used to.
this is ilia.
or, is it?
"i didn't know you were…"
"—sometimes."
"oh."
he chuckles softly. when you try to match it, everything hurts — from your face to your stomach, down to pained calves.
he parts from your body with a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek and steps into the bathroom.
water runs. your ears half-tune out the noise in their jaded state, and your eyes find a speck of dust on the ceiling to focus on; it lets your body forget about the ache still pulsing through it.
but then — quietly — ilia pads back in.
one arm slips beneath the bend in your knee, the other across your shoulder blades.
he lifts your frame into his hold; your arms wrap around his neck as he carries you carefully into the bathroom and clicks the door shut with his foot.
as he lowers your body into the warm water, your limbs begin to loosen. he slips in behind you and rests his soft palms on your waist, pulling your back against his chest until the back of your head lies carefully on his shoulder.
he kisses the side of your head, letting the plush of his lips linger against the skin.
the calm nature, the carefulness in his touch, the soft press of his lips — all things you're accustomed to.
things that make ilia, ilia.
and when you think about tonight — the marks decorating your neck and thigh, and the redness around your lips — it isn't anything like your version of him; like the person holding you as if you're the most precious thing in the world.
it’s terribly unfair that i specialize in pissing people off but don’t get to experience this…this is amazing! reading your masterpieces is the best way to start my morning!
The room was dark except for the pale glow of her laptop screen.
The kind of dark that happened when someone forgot to turn on lights because their brain had gotten too loud.
Sticky notes littered the coffee table. Half highlighted textbooks were spread across the floor. Her work uniform was tossed over the back of the couch from yesterday’s shift. Or maybe the day before that. She honestly couldn’t remember anymore.
The cursor blinked accusingly on her unfinished paper.
Three assignments overdue.
Two exams this week.
A manager texting asking if she could cover another shift.
And her mom’s voice repeating in her head like a cruel little metronome.
‘You’re too smart to fall behind.
You need to work harder.
Everybody else can handle it.
Why can’t you?’
Her chest felt tight.
Not crying yet.
That was the problem.
She almost wished she would cry. Maybe it would release some pressure. Instead everything sat trapped inside her ribs like expanding concrete.
Her phone buzzed.
Ilia ❤️
She stared at it until it stopped.
A minute later it buzzed again.
‘baby?’
Another.
‘you okay?’
She turned the phone face down.
Because if she answered him, he’d hear it immediately.
He always did.
The exhaustion.
The cracking edges.
The way she pretended she was “fine” with a voice stretched so thin it barely sounded human anymore.
And she couldn’t do it tonight.
Couldn’t hear concern.
Couldn’t hear gentleness.
Couldn’t hear someone love her while she felt like this.
So instead she opened another assignment and tried to focus on the words swimming on the screen.
Thirty minutes later her apartment door unlocked.
Her head snapped up.
Ilia stepped inside quietly, still in a hoodie and sweatpants from practice, curls messy from shoving a beanie on too fast. He took one look around the apartment and his face fell.
Papers everywhere.
Cold coffee.
No lights.
And her sitting cross legged on the couch looking like she hadn’t slept in days.
His expression softened instantly.
“Oh, baby…”
That almost broke her.
Not the words.
The tone.
Soft. Careful. Like he already knew she was barely holding herself together.
“I’m fine,” she said too quickly.
Ilia closed the door behind him without answering.
He walked over slowly, like approaching a scared animal, and crouched in front of the couch.
“You didn’t answer me all day.”
“I was busy.”
“You haven’t eaten.”
“I forgot.”
“You forgot yesterday too.”
Her jaw tightened.
“I’m handling it.”
He looked up at her for a long moment.
And very quietly said, “No, you’re not.”
The words hit like a slap.
Immediately her eyes burned.
“No one asked you to come over.”
“I know.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“I know you said that.”
Something inside her snapped.
“You don’t understand!” she burst out suddenly, shoving her laptop away so hard it nearly slid off the couch. “I can’t mess this up, Ilia! I can’t fail anything, I can’t fall behind, I can’t just stop because I’m tired—”
Her breathing started shaking.
“I have work and school and my parents already think I’m wasting my potential and if my grades drop then everything’s ruined and…”
Her voice cracked.
“And I’m trying so hard.”
That was the sentence that destroyed her.
Not angry anymore.
Just devastated.
She folded in on herself, hands covering her face as the sob finally tore out of her chest.
“I’m trying so hard…”
Ilia moved immediately.
“No, no, no, baby…c’mere.”
He climbed onto the couch and pulled her straight into him before she could fight it. She practically collapsed against his chest, shaking so hard her teeth hurt.
And Ilia held her like he was afraid she’d disappear.
One arm wrapped tight around her waist.
The other cradling the back of her head.
“It’s okay,” he whispered instantly, lips pressed into her hair. “It’s okay, sweetheart, I got you.”
“I can’t do this anymore,” she cried into his hoodie. “I’m so tired.”
“I know.”
“I can’t keep up.”
“I know.”
“I’m trying…”
“I know you are.”
His voice cracked a little on that last part.
Because he did know.
He’d watched her stay up until four in the morning rewriting assignments over tiny mistakes. Watched her apologize for getting a 93 because it “should’ve been higher.” Watched her work double shifts and then study until she physically couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore.
Watched her slowly disappear under the weight of expectations she never stopped carrying.
And it killed him because she genuinely believed her worth depended on performance.
He rubbed slow circles into her back while she cried.
Not rushing her.
Not trying to fix it.
Just holding her through it.
After a while he whispered, “When’s the last time you slept more than four hours?”
She didn’t answer.
His heart sank.
“Baby…”
She just cried harder.
Ilia closed his eyes briefly, pain flashing across his face.
Then he pulled back just enough to cup her cheeks.
“Listen to me for a second.”
Her wet eyes lifted to his.
“You are not a machine.”
She looked away immediately.
“There is literally nothing you could do that would make me think less of you.”
“But my parents!”
“I don’t care what your parents said.”
His voice wasn’t harsh.
Just firm.
“You are allowed to rest. You’re allowed to struggle. You’re allowed to be overwhelmed.”
She shook her head instantly. “No, because if I stop everything falls apart!”
“Then let it pause.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“You don’t understand….”
“No,” he interrupted softly. “I understand perfectly.”
His thumb brushed under her eye.
“You think if you aren’t perfect, nobody will love you.”
Silence.
And that silence told him he was right.
Ilia’s entire expression shattered.
“Oh, baby…”
Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.
Because she hadn’t realized that was what this was until he said it out loud.
He pulled her forehead against his.
“You never have to earn love from me.”
Her breath hitched.
“You don’t have to get perfect grades for me to stay.”
Another sob escaped her.
“You don’t have to work yourself into the ground to deserve care.”
His nose brushed hers gently.
“I love you when you’re exhausted.”
A kiss to her forehead.
“I love you when you’re overwhelmed.”
A kiss to her temple.
“I love you when you’re crying on the couch.”
Another kiss.
“I love you when you can’t get out of bed.”
She broke all over again.
This time quieter.
The kind of crying that came from finally being held after pretending too long that you didn’t need anybody.
Ilia just gathered her closer.
Her legs tangled with his on the couch while he rubbed her back over and over and over.
Eventually he glanced at the disaster around the apartment.
Then back at her.
“Okay,” he said softly. “Here’s what we’re gonna do.”
She sniffled weakly.
“You are done working tonight.”
“I have assignments!”
“Nope.”
“Ilia…”
“Absolutely not.”
Despite everything, her mouth twitched a little.
He pointed toward the bathroom.
“You’re gonna take a hot shower.”
She opened her mouth.
“That was not a suggestion.”
A tiny, exhausted laugh escaped her.
There she is.
Ilia immediately kissed her forehead like he’d won the lottery just hearing that sound.
“While you shower,” he continued softly, “I’m ordering food. Then I’m cleaning this place because looking at all this is stressing me out and you already have enough in your head.”
“You don’t have to do that…”
“I know.”
He tucked hair behind her ear carefully.
“I want to.”
Her eyes filled again instantly.
Not because he was doing something huge.
But because he was doing small things gently.
Like loving her wasn’t a burden.
Like taking care of her was natural.
Ilia stood and held his hands out toward her.
“C’mon, pretty girl.”
She took them.
And when she stood, dizzy from exhaustion, he steadied her immediately.
One arm around her waist.
Protective. Warm. Certain.
As he walked her toward the bathroom, he kissed the side of her head and murmured quietly,
“You don’t have to survive everything alone anymore.”
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Thank you so much for this Ilia I am falling to my knees screaming crying throwing up. I have been manifesting this Swan Lake imagery and artistic direction for MONTHS. BRICK BY BRICK. NEVER STOP BELIEVING
"The Orcs fled before his face; for since his torment upon Thangorodrim his spirit burned like a white fire within, and he was as one that returns from the dead."
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