#….i did always say i wanted to do a series….

[pucksandpower]

Second Heart

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Lewis Hamilton x Senna!Reader

Summary: all you’ve ever wanted was to be able to race just like your Papai … no matter the cost (or in which always going for a gap that exists runs in the Senna family)

You sit cross-legged in front of the TV, shoulders hunched, the remote clutched tight in your little hand. The screen crackles, and there he is — Ayrton. Papai. His yellow helmet blazes under the bright afternoon sun, the car flying down the straight, smooth as a bird on water.

Your eyes don’t blink. The sound of engines growls through the speakers, vibrating all the way to your heart. It’s like he’s right there. Alive.

And so fast. So, so fast. You almost feel like you’re in the car with him, that if you close your eyes, you could taste the gasoline and the rubber, the wind whipping across your face.

“Papai …” you whisper, pressing the volume button louder.

Adriane steps into the room, the clink of her bracelets soft but steady. She pauses when she sees you, arms crossed, one hip jutted out.

“I thought you were doing homework.”

You don’t answer, too lost in the footage. The video cuts to a slow-motion shot of Ayrton weaving through the rain, tires spinning in the spray like magic. They call it genius — what he did at Monaco, at Suzuka, at Donington Park. To you, it’s just your Papai being Papai.

“Turn it off.” Your mother’s voice sharpens now. She hates it when you watch these tapes. You’ve heard her say it before, more times than you can count — It’s not healthy. You shouldn’t keep living in the past. But you don’t feel like you’re living in the past. You feel like you’re meeting him for the first time, every time.

“Just five more minutes,” you plead without looking away.

“No.”

“But I-”

“I said no, agora!”

Her tone makes you flinch. The remote slips from your hand onto the floor with a dull thud. But you still can’t tear your eyes from the screen, where Ayrton’s car crosses the finish line, the Brazilian flag draped over his shoulders as the crowd roars. Your heart beats faster. There’s a strange energy in you, like the buzz before a storm. You push yourself up to your knees, your voice small but determined.

“I want to race.”

Adriane’s laugh is immediate and sharp, like glass shattering. “Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not being silly!” You twist around to look at her now, the words spilling out. “I wanna race, Mãe! Like Papai!”

Her face changes. The air shifts, heavy and strange. You see it happen — the tightness in her jaw, the way her smile falls away like it was never there.

“No.”

“But-”

“No!” She snaps, louder this time, and it makes you shrink back. “Absolutely not. Never.”

You bite your lip, feeling the burn at the back of your throat. But you don’t stop. Not yet.

“Why not?” You whisper.

Your mother exhales sharply through her nose, as if the question alone is an insult. She crosses the room in two quick strides, crouching down until her face is level with yours. Her hands, delicate but strong, grip your shoulders tighter than usual.

“Because racing is dangerous,” she says, enunciating every word like she’s trying to hammer them into your skull. “Do you understand me? It’s not a game. It took your father from us.”

Her voice wavers on the last sentence, but you don’t care. There’s something stubborn growing in you, something you don’t quite recognize yet.

“Papai loved it.”

“And look where it got him,” she shoots back, her voice sharp as a knife.

You blink, stunned by the words. She’s never said it like that before. She sees your expression — hurt, confused — and her face softens, just for a second.

“Sweetheart …” She sighs, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “I know you miss him. I miss him too. Every single day. But I won’t let racing take you away from me.”

“But it won’t-”

“Enough.” Her voice is final, the way grown-ups’ voices get when there’s no more room for argument. “This conversation is over.”

You open your mouth, then close it again. She’s already standing up, brushing invisible dust from her jeans. The TV hums in the background, the commentators babbling about pole positions and podiums.

Adriane snatches the remote from the floor and jabs the power button. The screen goes black, as if Papai never existed at all.

You feel hollow.

Your mother stands there for a moment, the silence thick between you. Then she crouches again, her hands cupping your face this time, thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

“Listen to me.” Her voice is quieter now, almost pleading. “I lost your father. I can’t-” She stops, swallows hard. “I can’t lose you too. Okay?”

You don’t nod. You don’t speak. You just stare at her, your little heart breaking in ways you don’t fully understand yet.

“I’m serious,” she whispers, her forehead resting against yours. “No racing. Not ever.”

And then she kisses the top of your head, soft and lingering, as if that alone could erase the conversation, the dream, everything. She walks out of the room, her footsteps fading down the hall.

You sit there for a long time, staring at the blank TV screen, fists clenched in your lap. Your chest feels tight, like something inside you is being squeezed too hard.

You think about Papai. About how he smiled in the cockpit, how the car seemed to dance under his hands, how the crowd chanted his name like a song. He wasn’t afraid.

And neither are you.

You pick up the remote again. Your thumb hovers over the play button, hesitant for just a moment. Then you press it.

The screen flickers back to life, and Ayrton is there, flying through the rain like a miracle.

You smile.

One day, you think.

One day, you’ll race too.

***

The front door clicks shut behind you as you step into the house, dropping your school bag with a heavy thud. You bend down to untie your sneakers, already rehearsing what you’ll tell your mom — how your science project earned a gold star, how you managed to trade a snack with João without getting caught. You have it all planned, down to the way you’ll grin when she offers you that after-school snack.

But as soon as you straighten up, the voices hit you.

Loud. Sharp. Angry.

You freeze, one hand still on your shoelace.

“You have no right — none — to tell me how to raise my daughter!” Your mother’s voice is sharp, like glass breaking. She’s in the living room. You can’t see her from the hallway, but you don’t need to. You can imagine her perfectly — the tight set of her mouth, the way her arms probably cross over her chest.

And then, another voice, familiar in a strange way. Low and hard. “I’m not telling you how to raise her, Adriane. I’m telling you what she told me — how she called me crying because you refuse to let her chase the only thing she’s ever wanted.”

Alain.

Your heart skips. You know him. Everyone knows him. Papai’s fiercest rival — and, in the end, his friend. The man from the stories, from old photographs your mother keeps locked away. Alain, who came to the funeral and cried even when the cameras weren’t on him.

Why is he here?

You step closer, drawn by their words like a thread pulling you tight. You press yourself against the wall and peek around the corner, just enough to see them.

Adriane stands in the middle of the room, arms crossed exactly like you pictured. Her blonde hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders, but her face is tight, her jaw locked in anger. Alain stands across from her, looking just as frustrated. His hands move as he talks, fast and insistent, like he’s trying to grab hold of the air between them and shape it into something that makes sense.

“She’s seven!” Your mother snaps, her voice cracking at the edges. “She doesn’t understand what she’s asking for.”

“She understands better than you think,” Alain fires back. “She understands perfectly. She called me in tears — tears, Adriane — because you shut her down without even listening.”

“I listened.” Her voice drops, low and furious. “And I said no.”

Alain scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “You said no because you’re scared.”

Your mother’s eyes flash. “Of course I’m scared! She’s my daughter! You, of all people, should understand-”

“I do understand.” Alain’s voice softens, but only just. “I carried his casket. I watched you cry over him. But that’s exactly why you can’t do this to her.”

Adriane’s face crumples for a split second, so brief you might have missed it if you hadn’t been watching so closely. “He’s not here, Alain,” she whispers, and it sounds like a confession and an accusation all at once. “He’s not here to see this, to say if it’s right or wrong. And he’s not here to save her if something goes wrong.”

Alain’s voice drops, steady and determined. “And you think Ayrton would want you to stop her? You think he would want her to live her whole life wrapped in fear because of what happened to him?”

“She’s my child.” Adriane’s voice cracks like a whip, but there’s something desperate underneath it now, like she’s fighting to keep her footing in a conversation she knows she’s already losing. “And I will not lose her.”

Alain’s eyes narrow. “You’re not protecting her. You’re imprisoning her.”

Your mother stares at him, her breath coming fast and uneven. For a moment, everything goes still — so quiet you can hear the ticking of the old clock on the mantel.

Then Alain steps forward, his hands on his hips. “If you won’t help her, I will. I’ll teach her to kart myself if I have to.”

Adriane barks out a bitter laugh, but it’s laced with pain. “You can try,” she says, her voice brittle. “But don’t expect me to come watch. I refuse to set foot at a race, and I won’t look at her as long as I know there’s a chance she won’t come back.”

Her words hang in the air, thick and suffocating. You feel like you can’t breathe. You press yourself harder against the wall, your chest tight with emotions you can’t name.

And that’s when the floor creaks.

Both of them turn at the sound.

“Meu Deus …” your mother whispers, her hands flying to her mouth. “You’re home.”

Alain’s face softens instantly. He kneels down, arms open. “Come here, sweetheart.”

You hesitate, just for a moment. Then, without thinking, you bolt from your hiding spot and run straight into Alain’s arms. He catches you easily, wrapping you in a hug that feels like safety. Like warmth.

Adriane stands frozen, her hands still over her mouth. Her eyes are wide, filled with a mix of heartbreak and anger and something you don’t fully understand.

Alain pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands resting gently on your shoulders. “Hey,” he says softly. “I’ve got a question for you.”

You blink up at him, your heart pounding.

“How would you like to come to Switzerland with me?” His voice is calm, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. “You could learn to kart there. I’ll teach you myself. What do you think?”

Your heart races. Switzerland. Karting. Learning to drive. It feels like a dream, one you didn’t even know you could have.

But then you look at your mother.

Adriane’s face is pale, her hands still clutched tight over her mouth like they might stop her from saying something she’ll regret. Her eyes are glassy with unshed tears, and there’s a kind of pain in them that makes your chest ache.

You know what this means to her. You know how much it hurts.

But you also know what it means to you.

You’ve wanted this for as long as you can remember — for as long as you’ve been able to understand what racing is. And here it is, right in front of you. A chance.

You swallow hard and look back at Alain. His expression is kind but serious, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“It’s your choice,” he says quietly. “No one can make it for you.”

You take a deep breath. Your hands shake a little, but you ball them into fists to steady yourself.

“I want to go,” you whisper.

Your mother makes a soft, choked sound — like someone punched all the air out of her.

“Minha filha …” Her voice breaks.

You look at her, and it feels like your heart is splitting in two. “I have to, Mãe.”

She closes her eyes, pressing her hands tighter to her face. For a moment, she just stands there, trembling. Then she drops her hands and wipes her eyes with quick, angry swipes.

“Okay,” she whispers, her voice raw and broken. “Okay. Go, then.”

The words sting, sharper than anything you’ve ever felt. But you nod. You have to.

Alain gives your shoulders a gentle squeeze. “We’ll call every day,” he promises, glancing at Adriane, though she won’t look at him. “Whenever you want.”

Your mother doesn’t answer. She just turns away, her shoulders hunched like the weight of the world is pressing down on her.

Your heart feels heavy, but there’s something else now too — something lighter. Hope.

You glance up at Alain, and he smiles, soft and warm.

“Switzerland, huh?” You say, trying to sound brave.

Alain chuckles. “Switzerland.”

And for the first time in a long while, you feel like you can finally breathe.

***

Life in Switzerland feels like a dream. Every morning, the mountains rise outside your window, peaks dusted in snow even as the spring sun warms the air. The international school Alain enrolled you in is small, the kids friendly. They speak a mix of languages — French, German, Italian — and though it’s strange at first, you like how every word feels like a little puzzle to solve.

But school is just the beginning of your day. The real magic happens afterward.

Every afternoon, Alain picks you up in his car — a sleek, silver Audi with leather seats that always smell faintly like coffee — and takes you straight to the karting track just outside town. There’s a rhythm to your days now: school, then the track, where the scent of gasoline and hot rubber fills the air.

“Come on, petite championne,” Alain says every day as you hop into the kart, the nickname slipping off his tongue with an easy smile. “Let’s see if you can make me proud today.”

The kart rumbles beneath you, a buzz that shoots from your hands to your heart. The moment your foot touches the pedal, the world falls away. The wind rushes against your face, the engine purring with every twist of the wheel.

Here, in the kart, you feel free — like nothing can catch you, not even the pieces of your life that feel too big or too broken to understand.

Alain watches from the sidelines, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his face calm but focused. He takes notes every time you race, shouting tips when you pull up to the pit lane.

“Don’t wait so long to hit the brakes before that hairpin, you lose too much time,” he’ll say. Or, “You’re getting faster through the straights. Don’t get greedy on the corners, though — you’ve got to feel the grip.”

You listen to every word, hungry to learn. And when he grins after you complete a lap, clapping his hands like you just won a Grand Prix, your heart swells.

By the time you drive home, your body hums with exhaustion, but it’s the good kind — the kind that comes from chasing a dream.

And every night, after dinner, there’s dessert.

“Glace au chocolat tonight?” Alain asks one evening, pulling two tubs of chocolate ice cream from the freezer.

You grin. “With whipped cream?”

“Obviously,” Alain replies with mock seriousness. “What kind of barbarian do you take me for?”

He adds a mountain of whipped cream to both bowls, handing one to you before plopping down on the couch with his own.

As always, an old race plays on the TV. Tonight, it’s Monaco — 1988, the race your father dominated, right up until the moment he crashed into the barrier. The screen flickers as the cars glide through the tight streets, their engines howling between the stone walls.

Alain leans back against the couch cushions, spoon in hand. “See that?” He says, pointing at the screen with a mouthful of ice cream. “Your papa’s line through the Swimming Pool section — perfection. Like poetry in motion.”

You tilt your head, studying the way the yellow helmet zips through the narrow chicane. “How did he do it?”

Alain smiles, scooping another spoonful of ice cream. “He just knew. Ayrton could feel the track better than anyone else. It was like … like he was connected to the car in a way no one else could be.”

You lick your spoon thoughtfully. “Did you hate him?”

The question catches Alain off guard. He freezes, then chuckles, shaking his head. “Hate him? No.” He pauses. “Not really, anyway.”

“But you fought a lot.”

“Oh, we fought.” Alain smirks, a mischievous glint in his eye. “He drove me absolutely mad sometimes.”

You giggle. “Why?”

“Because he never gave up. Not even for a second.” Alain gestures toward the TV, where your father’s car rockets through the tunnel. “Ayrton wasn’t just racing other drivers — he was racing himself. Always trying to be faster, better. It was exhausting.”

He says it like a joke, but there’s warmth in his voice, too. You can hear it.

“And that drove you crazy?” You ask, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear him say it.

Alain laughs, a soft, fond sound. “Completely crazy.”

You curl deeper into the couch, your ice cream bowl balanced on your lap. “But you were friends, right? In the end?”

Alain’s smile fades a little, but it stays, softer now. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “In the end.”

There’s a silence between you, filled only by the hum of the TV and the occasional scrape of your spoons against the bowls.

You glance at Alain, his expression lost somewhere between memory and regret. “Do you miss him?”

Alain looks at you, and for a moment, you’re not sure if he’ll answer. Then he gives a small nod. “Every day.”

You nod, too, even though you didn’t really know your father — at least, not in the way Alain did. But somehow, you miss him all the same.

The race continues on the screen, the cars weaving through the streets of Monaco, chasing the perfect lap.

“You’ll be just like him one day,” Alain says suddenly, breaking the quiet.

You blink, surprised. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Alain replies, nudging your shoulder with his. “You’ve got the same fire in you. The same stubbornness, too, I think.”

You laugh, and Alain grins, pleased with himself.

“You just need to tweak your braking,” he adds with a playful smirk. “You brake like me, not like him.”

“Hey!” You protest, shoving his arm lightly.

He chuckles, holding up his hands in surrender. “What? I’m just saying! Ayrton would fly into corners like a madman. Me? I was always a bit more … sensible.”

“Sensible is boring,” you tease, scooping up the last bit of ice cream.

Alain pretends to be offended, clutching his chest like you’ve wounded him. “Boring? Sensible is what win me four world championships, thank you very much.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning.

The credits for the race coverage roll, but neither of you makes a move to turn off the TV. These moments — curled up on the couch with Alain, the scent of whipped cream still in the air — feel like they could stretch forever.

And maybe, just maybe, they do.

***

Four years blur by like the laps on a familiar circuit. Days turn into months, and months into seasons. You grow taller, sharper, and faster. The kart becomes a second skin, every turn and apex something you know instinctively, like breathing. The track is your playground now — your sanctuary.

Alain teaches you everything: not just how to drive but how to think, how to be patient when you need to be and ruthless when the moment calls for it. He tells you about strategy and racecraft, how to listen for the slightest change in the engine’s pitch, how to make yourself invisible in the slipstream until the perfect moment to strike.

Some lessons come easy. Others, not so much. Like when he makes you practice for hours in the rain, your hands frozen, your kart slipping through puddles. Or when you spin out during a practice race and Alain doesn’t even flinch. He just waves his hand in the air.

“Again!” He shouts from the pit lane. “You have to get comfortable with making mistakes, petite. No champion gets there without a few bruises.”

And so you go again. And again. Because this — this dream — is the one thing you want more than anything.

Now, after all those years, the day has finally arrived. You’re old enough to compete in the FIA Karting Championship. This is what you’ve been working toward.

But Alain surprises you one quiet evening at home. No ice cream, no old races on TV — just you and him, sitting across the kitchen table with two mugs of hot tea. His face is serious, but kind.

“There’s something we need to talk about,” he says, tapping his fingers lightly against the mug. “You have a choice to make.”

You lean forward. “What kind of choice?”

Alain tilts his head, his sharp hazel eyes studying you carefully. “Your name.”

You frown. “My name?”

“Yes. You’ve been racing locally for a while, but things are different now.” Alain takes a sip of tea, gathering his thoughts. “The FIA Karting Championship is international. There will be journalists, scouts, team representatives. If you race under your real name, everyone will know exactly who you are.”

You sit back, the weight of what he’s saying slowly sinking in.

“You can use a pseudonym if you want,” Alain continues. “Plenty of drivers do it, especially when they want to build their career on their own terms.”

You blink, caught off guard. You’ve thought a lot about racing — how fast you want to be, how badly you want to win. But this? The idea of hiding your name? It’s a curveball you didn’t see coming.

Alain gives you time to think, his hands wrapped loosely around his mug. “There’s no shame in it, petite,” he says gently. “It’s not about denying who you are. It’s about deciding how you want the world to see you.”

The words hang between you. He’s not pressuring you — Alain never does that — but you can feel the weight of the decision anyway.

You toy with the edge of the mug in front of you, tracing the rim with your fingertip. “Do you think … if I use my real name, people will only see Papai?”

Alain shrugs, but his expression is thoughtful. “Some will. There are people who won’t be able to separate you from Ayrton. They’ll compare you to him before you’ve even taken a proper lap.”

You nod slowly. You’ve known this would happen — how could you not? But hearing it out loud makes it more real.

“At the same time,” Alain adds, “it’s not something to be ashamed of. Ayrton was … well, he was Ayrton. If anyone has the right to be proud of their name, it’s you.”

You bite your lip, the edges of uncertainty fraying inside you. “What would you do?”

Alain smiles softly. “It’s not my decision to make, ma chérie. This is about you. Your future.”

You stare into your tea, watching the steam curl toward the ceiling like tiny ghosts. A part of you aches at the thought of hiding your father’s name — like you’d be denying him, pretending he didn’t matter. But there’s another part, quieter but insistent, that wants to know what it’s like to stand on your own. To earn your place without the shadow of a legend following you everywhere you go.

You tap your fingers against the table, the rhythm matching the beat of an engine in your mind. And then, suddenly, the answer clicks into place.

“I think …” You take a deep breath. “I think I want to use a different name. Just for now.”

Alain raises his eyebrows, curious but approving. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod, more certain now. “It’s not because I’m ashamed. I’m not. I want people to know one day. Just … not yet.”

Alain leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “So what’s the plan?”

You grin, the excitement building in your chest. “I’ll race under my mother’s last name. And when the time’s right — maybe after I win a few championships — I’ll tell them.”

Alain chuckles, shaking his head. “You think they’ll like the surprise?”

You laugh, a full, bright sound that feels like relief. “Can you imagine their faces?”

Alain grins, clearly amused. “I can already hear the headlines.” He adopts an exaggerated announcer voice: “The karting prodigy who stunned the world by revealing she’s Ayrton Senna’s daughter!”

You burst out laughing, the tension from the conversation melting away. “They’ll lose their minds!”

“And you’ll love every second of it,” Alain adds with a knowing smirk.

You grin, unable to hide the spark of mischief in your eyes. “Maybe a little.”

He shakes his head fondly, ruffling your hair as he stands up from the table. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“Comes with the territory,” you say, beaming.

Alain gathers the empty mugs and places them in the sink, still chuckling to himself. “Well, I think it’s a smart choice. Gives you time to find your own rhythm.”

You nod, feeling lighter than you have in days. “Yeah. It feels right.”

Alain leans against the counter, crossing his arms as he looks at you. There’s pride in his eyes — quiet, steady, and unmistakable. “Your papa would’ve been proud of you, too,” he says softly.

Your throat tightens, but you smile through it. “Thanks, Alain.”

He nods once, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Come on,” he says, nudging his head toward the living room. “Let’s celebrate with some dessert. I think we’ve got tarte au citron in the fridge.”

You follow him, your heart light and your steps easy. The road ahead is still long — there will be races, wins, and losses. But for the first time, it feels like it’s yours to drive.

And that? That’s the best feeling in the world.

***

The drive from Switzerland to Imola is quiet. You sit with your thoughts, the hum of the engine beneath you and the road stretching endlessly ahead. Alain offered to come with you, but you declined. This is something you need to do alone.

It’s not that you didn’t want his company, it’s just … how do you explain to someone — even someone who knew your father so well — that you need to meet this place on your own terms?

For eighteen years, you told yourself you weren’t ready. Maybe you never would be. But here you are, taking deep breaths as you steer your way closer to the circuit where it all ended. Where everything about your life changed before it even really began.

When you finally arrive, the gates to the Imola track feel strangely peaceful, nestled under a canopy of autumn leaves. The air is crisp, and the sky is that soft, pale blue you only get in early fall. You park the car and head toward the Ayrton Senna memorial, your footsteps crunching through the leaves littering the path.

Each step feels heavier than the last, your pulse loud in your ears. You try to steel yourself — this is just a monument, just a place. You’ve been to a thousand race tracks in your life. But this one is different. This one holds pieces of someone you never got the chance to know.

As you approach the monument, you expect silence. You expect to be alone. But then you notice someone sitting there — another figure crouched near the bronze statue of your father.

The man shifts, startled by the sound of your footsteps on the gravel. His head turns, and you recognize him almost immediately.

It’s Lewis Hamilton.

He blinks up at you, clearly not expecting company either. There’s a moment of awkwardness, both of you standing there, caught off guard in a place meant for solitude.

You clear your throat. “I’m sorry,” you say softly. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Lewis waves off the apology, his face softening. “No, no. You’re not bothering me.” He pulls himself up a little straighter, brushing leaves from his jacket. “I always stop by here before Monza. Helps me … I don’t know. Reset.”

You nod, unsure what else to say. There’s something strange about seeing him here — Lewis Hamilton, one of the biggest names in motorsport, sitting quietly in front of your father’s monument like he’s just another fan.

“I came for the same reason,” you admit. “I’m Brazilian. Wanted to pay my respects.”

At that, something shifts in Lewis’ expression — understanding, maybe. “You’re Brazilian?” He repeats, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That explains it. Every Brazilian racer I know carries Senna with them like … well, like a second heart.”

You laugh softly, kicking a stray leaf with your shoe. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

Lewis shifts, resting his forearms on his knees as he looks back at the monument. The wind stirs the leaves around your feet, scattering them across the ground.

“He’s always been my hero,” Lewis murmurs, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “Even before I really understood what racing was, I just … knew he was special.”

You don’t respond right away, your gaze fixed on the familiar features of the bronze effigy — your father’s intense, focused expression captured in metal. It’s strange, standing here with someone who feels the same reverence you’ve always felt but never quite known how to express.

Lewis glances at you again. “What do you race?” He asks, genuine curiosity in his voice.

You tuck your hands into your jacket pockets. “Formula Renault 3.5.”

His eyebrows lift, clearly impressed. “That’s a serious series.”

You shrug, trying to play it cool, though there’s a flicker of pride in your chest. “Yeah, it’s been good so far.”

“Good enough to think about Formula 1 one day?” Lewis asks, a knowing smile on his face.

You grin. “That’s the plan.”

He chuckles, the sound warm in the cool air. “Well, I’ll keep an eye out for you. What’s your name?”

For a split second, you hesitate. But you remind yourself — he doesn’t need to know everything. Not yet. “Just … Y/N,” you say casually. “For now.”

Lewis tilts his head, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, but he doesn’t press. “Y/N. Got it.”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, unsure how to fill the silence. But it’s not uncomfortable — just … quiet.

“You said you come here every year?” You ask after a moment.

“Before Monza, yeah,” Lewis confirms. “It’s become sort of a ritual. Helps me feel grounded, I guess. Reminds me why I do this.”

You nod, understanding more than you expected to. There’s something about this place — this simple, quiet memorial — that strips everything else away. The politics, the pressure, the noise. It leaves only the pure love of racing behind.

Lewis stands then, brushing dirt from his pants. “Well,” he says, “I should probably get going. Got a long weekend ahead.”

You nod, though part of you wishes you had a little more time to talk to him. There’s something easy about the way he carries himself — no arrogance, no pretense. Just a racer who loves what he does.

Lewis glances at the monument one last time, his gaze lingering on your father’s face. “He would’ve loved to see how many of us still race because of him,” he says quietly.

Your throat tightens, but you manage a small smile. “Yeah. I think so, too.”

He gives you a nod, something warm and reassuring in his expression. “Take care, Y/N. I’ll be watching.”

With that, he turns and walks down the path, his footsteps crunching through the leaves. You watch him go, the wind stirring around you again, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and autumn.

For a long moment, you stay there, standing in front of the monument, just you and the bronze figure of your father. You don’t say anything — there’s nothing that needs to be said. But in the quiet, you feel a strange sense of peace.

Maybe it’s the years of racing, the laps you’ve turned, the lessons you’ve learned. Or maybe it’s just knowing that people like Lewis exist — people who carry your father’s spirit with them, even though they never knew him.

You brush a hand over the cool surface of the monument, tracing the edge of the plaque with your fingers. “I’m gonna make you proud,” you whisper.

And this time, you believe it.

The wind picks up again as you turn away from the monument, heading back toward the car. Monza is waiting. And so is the rest of your story.

***

The paddock feels like a world unto itself — buzzing with life, engines roaring in the distance, team personnel hurrying from garages to pit walls.

You’re barely a day into your first GP2 weekend with DAMS, and it’s already overwhelming. The DAMS crew is friendly but businesslike, and the constant stream of engineers, mechanics, and journalists passing by your garage is a reminder that you’ve officially stepped onto the big stage.

Your heart pounds as you adjust the collar of your race suit, nerves crawling under your skin. You spent the morning doing seat fittings, debriefs, and media duties, but now you’re finally free for a few minutes before the next round of meetings.

Alain walks beside you, calm and collected as ever, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. He’s been like a steady lighthouse in the chaos of this new chapter, guiding you through the storm with quiet assurance.

“Remember,” Alain says as you both weave through the paddock, “it’s just another race. Keep your focus. Don’t let the noise get to you.”

“Easier said than done,” you mutter, scanning the sea of faces for anyone familiar — or anyone dangerous, like a journalist with too many questions.

Alain smirks knowingly. “That’s why you have me.”

You can’t help but grin, a flicker of relief easing the tension in your chest. Alain’s been by your side for so long now that the idea of navigating a race weekend without him feels unthinkable.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spot someone you weren’t expecting: Lewis.

He’s walking toward the McLaren motorhome, surrounded by team personnel and a PR officer trailing closely behind, clipboard in hand. You see the moment recognition flickers in his eyes — he stops mid-step, gaze locking on you like he’s just solved a puzzle.

“Y/N?” He calls, eyebrows raised in surprise.

Alain glances sideways at you, bemused, but you can’t help the small, slightly guilty smile tugging at your lips. You wave at Lewis, feeling a little awkward but genuinely happy to see him.

Lewis strides over, his PR officer groaning softly but trailing after him anyway. “I thought I’d see you around here eventually,” Lewis says with a grin. “Didn’t think it would be so soon.”

You shrug, playing it casual. “Surprise.”

His eyes flick to Alain, standing quietly beside you. “And you … know Alain Prost?”

Alain raises a polite eyebrow, but there’s an amused glint in his eye, as if waiting to see how you’ll answer this one.

You shift on your feet, aware of Lewis’ confusion. “Yeah, he’s … been my mentor for years.” You keep your explanation vague, not ready to drop the full truth just yet.

Lewis frowns slightly, processing the unexpected connection. “You’ve been working with Alain Prost?”

You nod. “Since I was a kid.”

Lewis lets out a low whistle, looking between the two of you with new appreciation. “Wow. That explains a lot.”

Before you can respond, his PR officer steps in, clipboard clutched tightly in one hand. “Lewis, we really need to-”

Lewis waves her off without breaking eye contact with you. “Five more minutes. It’s fine.”

The woman hesitates, then sighs in frustration and backs away to give him space. Lewis turns his full attention back to you, his easy grin returning.

“So, GP2, huh?” He asks, hands on his hips. “How’s it feel to finally be here?”

“Terrifying,” you admit with a laugh. “But also kind of amazing.”

“That’s how you know you’re in the right place,” Lewis says, his tone encouraging. “The nerves mean you care.”

Alain watches the exchange quietly, and you can tell he’s measuring Lewis, sizing him up — not in a competitive way, but in that protective way he’s always had with you. It’s subtle, but you know Alain well enough to see it.

“I’ll make sure to catch the feature race,” Lewis promises, his grin widening. “I’ll be cheering you on.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying not to show how much that means to you. “Oh yeah? You sure you have time to slum it with us junior drivers?”

Lewis laughs, genuinely amused. “Come on, now. I started in GP2, remember? I know exactly how tough it is.”

“Guess I’ll have to put on a good show, then.”

“You better,” Lewis says, mock-serious. “Otherwise I’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

The two of you share a quick, easy laugh, and for a moment the chaos of the paddock fades into the background. It’s just two drivers, standing in the middle of it all, sharing a moment of understanding.

“You’re going to crush it,” Lewis adds, his voice low and certain.

Something in his tone makes you believe it — makes the nerves that have been simmering all day settle, if only for a moment.

Alain clears his throat softly, a reminder that time is ticking. “We need to get back to the team,” he says, his voice gentle but firm.

Lewis nods, taking the hint but not before offering you one last smile. “Good luck, Y/N. I’ll see you out there.”

You return the smile, feeling lighter than you have all day. “Thanks, Lewis.”

He gives Alain a respectful nod before turning to leave, his McLaren team falling into step around him as he disappears into the paddock.

As you watch him go, Alain leans in slightly, his voice quiet but laced with amusement. “Friend of yours?”

You smirk, still watching Lewis disappear into the crowd. “Something like that.”

Alain chuckles, and the sound is warm, familiar — like the engine note of a car you’ve driven a thousand times.

“Come on,” he says, nudging your shoulder gently. “We have work to do.”

You follow Alain back toward the DAMS garage, the nerves still there but tempered now with something else — excitement, anticipation, maybe even a little confidence.

Because this is your moment. Your chance to show the world what you can do. And with people like Alain and Lewis in your corner, you know you’re not facing it alone.

***

The Bahrain sun beats down relentlessly, the heat pressing against your skin even through your race suit. Sweat clings to your brow, mixing with the overwhelming, heady cocktail of fuel, rubber, and victory. You’re breathless, exhausted — but none of that matters.

You did it. You won.

The feature race trophy feels almost weightless in your hands as you stand on the podium, the sound of the Brazilian anthem thundering in your ears. The cameras flash, the crowd cheers, and for the first time since you entered GP2, you allow yourself to savor the moment. You close your eyes for a second, letting the anthem sink deep into your bones, and think of your father.

When the rose water sprays, it feels like you’ve broken through a barrier — proof to yourself and to the world that you belong here. That you’re not just someone chasing the shadow of a name, but a racer in your own right.

The post-race chaos is a blur — interviews, debriefs, more interviews. It’s not until you’re finally allowed to step away from the DAMS garage, damp with sweat and floral liquid, that the realization hits you again: you won your first GP2 race. The adrenaline still courses through your veins, but beneath it, there’s a quiet hum of contentment.

You round the corner of the paddock, searching for a quiet moment to collect yourself — when a familiar voice calls your name.

“Y/N!”

You turn, and there he is: Lewis, dressed casually in his McLaren team kit, that signature grin stretched across his face. His eyes are bright under the paddock lights, and his presence feels like a cool breeze against the heat of Bahrain.

Before you can say anything, he’s already jogging up to you, wrapping you in a quick, spontaneous hug. The smell of his cologne lingers in the air between you — spicy and warm, like cedar and citrus.

“That was incredible!” Lewis says, pulling back to look at you. “Seriously, you drove like a pro out there.”

You grin, still catching your breath. “You saw the whole race?”

“Of course I did.” He says it like it’s obvious, as if there was no way he could have missed it. “I told you I’d be cheering you on, didn’t I?”

“Guess I didn’t disappoint, then,” you say, teasing.

“Not even a little.” His grin softens into something warmer, more personal.

The way he looks at you — like he’s genuinely proud — makes your chest tighten, but not in a bad way. It’s strange, but comforting, the way he’s here, grounding you in the whirlwind of it all.

“Come on,” Lewis says, gesturing toward the paddock hospitality area. “You deserve a proper celebration. We’ll grab something to drink, at least — water, preferably, because you look like you’re about to melt.”

You laugh. “Thanks for the concern, but I’m not passing out just yet.”

“Still,” he insists, walking beside you. “Gotta take care of the winner, right?”

You follow him, your steps lighter than they’ve felt all weekend. It’s easy with Lewis — talking, walking, just existing in the same space. You can’t tell if it’s the lingering buzz of the win or something else entirely, but there’s a sense of ease between you that you haven’t felt with anyone in a long time.

He leads you to one of the quieter corners of the paddock, where a small group of McLaren personnel are relaxing. Lewis grabs two water bottles from a nearby cooler and tosses one your way.

“Catch.”

You catch it easily, the cool plastic a relief against your palm. “Thanks.”

Lewis leans against the back of a chair, his posture relaxed, but there’s a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. “So … how does it feel?”

“To win?” You twist the cap off your bottle and take a sip. “Like … I don’t know. Like I can finally breathe again.”

He nods, like he knows exactly what you mean. “First win’s always special. But there’ll be more. I can feel it.”

You tilt your head, amused. “You think you’re a psychic now?”

Lewis chuckles. “Nope. Just good at spotting talent.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but there’s no denying the warmth his words spark inside you. You glance away for a moment, trying to shake the strange flutter in your chest.

“So,” he says after a beat, “what’s next? A second win in Spain?”

“I mean, that’d be nice,” you say, grinning. “But I’ll settle for finishing with all my wheels intact.”

“Good plan,” Lewis agrees, laughing. “That track’s a nightmare.”

The conversation drifts easily from there, flowing from racing to random paddock gossip to stories from his early days in GP2. You’re both standing close — closer than two people probably need to stand. But it doesn’t feel uncomfortable. In fact, it feels … nice.

He pauses for a second, watching you with that thoughtful expression he gets sometimes, like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on beneath the surface.

“You’re really something, you know that?” He says softly, almost like it’s just for you to hear.

The words catch you off guard, and you feel your cheeks warm under the intensity of his gaze.

“Just doing my best,” you say, trying to play it off, but your voice sounds quieter than you intended.

Lewis’ eyes linger on yours for a moment longer, and there’s a flicker of something between you — something unspoken, but not unwelcome.

Before either of you can say anything more, a loud cheer erupts from a nearby group of mechanics, jolting you both back to the present. You laugh, the moment slipping away like sand through your fingers.

“Guess the celebration’s already started,” you say, motioning toward the rowdy crowd.

Lewis grins. “Looks like it. You coming?”

You hesitate, not because you don’t want to celebrate, but because part of you likes this quiet bubble you and Lewis have found.

“I think I might stay here for a bit,” you say, leaning against the wall and taking another sip of water.

Lewis doesn’t move to leave. Instead, he stays where he is, like maybe he feels the same pull to stay in this moment, too.

“You know,” he says after a beat, his voice low and a little more serious, “I meant what I said earlier. About you being something special.”

You meet his gaze, and there’s no teasing in his expression now — just quiet sincerity.

“Thanks,” you say softly, the word not nearly enough to convey what you’re feeling.

He holds your gaze for a second longer, then gives you a small, crooked smile. “Guess I’ll just have to keep watching and see what you do next.”

“Guess so.”

And just like that, the air shifts between you — charged with possibility, like the moment before a green flag drops.

You don’t know what’s coming next, but for the first time in a long time, you’re not afraid of it. Not when Lewis is standing here, smiling at you like you’re the most interesting thing in the world.

And somehow, you think, this might just be the start of something worth chasing.

***

It’s late in the evening, and the Monaco paddock has fallen into a rare lull. The energy of race day — mechanics scrambling, journalists hounding drivers, engines screaming — has settled into a quiet hum. Most people have retreated to their yachts or hotel rooms by now, leaving only the occasional team member wandering through the maze of garages and hospitality areas.

You sit with Lewis on the edge of the harbor, the two of you tucked away from prying eyes. The water laps gently against the docks, and the principality’s golden lights reflect across the surface like scattered coins. Neither of you say anything for a while, content to let the quiet fill the spaces between you.

It’s been like this more often lately — stolen moments between races, conversations that drift into the small hours of the morning, and the unspoken pull that keeps you near each other, even when there’s no real reason to be.

Lewis shifts beside you, resting his forearms on his knees. “You ever just sit somewhere and wonder how the hell you got here?” He asks, breaking the silence.

You glance at him, the glow of the streetlights catching the sharp angles of his face. “All the time.”

He gives a small laugh, running a hand over his braids. “Monaco’s something else, isn’t it?”

You nod, hugging your knees to your chest. “Feels like the kind of place people dream about … like it’s not even real.”

He looks over at you then, his gaze lingering a moment too long. “Yeah,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Not sure what’s real sometimes.”

There’s something heavy in his voice, something unspoken. And for the first time tonight, the quiet between you doesn’t feel as comfortable. It feels loaded, like you’re both waiting for the other to say something neither of you know how to say.

You tilt your head slightly, studying him. “You okay?”

Lewis exhales slowly, glancing out over the water. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

He hesitates, like he’s not sure how to begin. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately … about the future. About what I want, and where I want to be.”

You shift closer to him, sensing that this isn’t just idle talk. “What do you mean?”

He leans back on his hands, staring at the water like it might hold the answer. “I’ve been with McLaren my whole career. Since I was a kid. But … I don’t know. Lately, it feels like I’m stuck. Like I’ve hit a wall.”

You frown. “What are you saying?”

He looks at you then, and there’s something raw in his expression — something vulnerable. “I’ve decided to leave McLaren at the end of the season. I’m signing with Mercedes.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and unexpected. You blink, trying to process what he just said. “Mercedes?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah.”

“But … McLaren’s your home.”

Lewis shrugs, but there’s a sadness in his eyes. “It was. But things change. And if I don’t take this chance now … I think I’ll always wonder what could’ve been.”

You stare at him, your mind spinning. “Do people know yet?”

He shakes his head. “Not many. Just a few people on the team. I wanted to tell you before it got out, though.”

You chew on your bottom lip, absorbing the weight of his words. “That’s a big decision, Lewis.”

“I know.” He looks at you, his gaze steady. “But it feels like the right one. Even if it’s scary as hell.”

You let out a breath, feeling a strange mix of emotions — pride, worry, something you can’t quite name. “Well … if it’s what you want, I guess it’s the right move.”

He smiles, but it’s a small, almost hesitant thing. “Thanks.”

The silence stretches between you again, but this time it feels different. Like something has shifted — not just because of what he said, but because of the way he’s looking at you now.

“You’ve been there for me a lot lately,” he says softly. “I don’t think I’ve said how much that means to me.”

Your heart beats a little faster. “It’s no big deal.”

“It is to me.” His voice is low, and there’s something in his gaze that makes your breath catch.

He shifts slightly closer, and suddenly the space between you feels impossibly small. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, the subtle brush of his shoulder against yours.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

You look up at him, and the world seems to narrow down to just this — just the two of you, sitting on the edge of the harbor, the night air thick with something electric.

And then, slowly — almost hesitantly — he leans in.

For a split second, you think about pulling away, about the million reasons why this might not be a good idea. But before you can overthink it, his lips brush against yours.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll pull away. But when you don’t, he deepens it, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face.

It’s not the kind of kiss that demands anything — it’s the kind that promises everything.

When you finally pull back, your heart is racing, and your mind feels like it’s spinning in a thousand different directions.

Lewis looks at you, his forehead resting gently against yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he admits, his breath warm against your skin.

You smile, feeling a strange mix of exhilaration and disbelief. “Yeah?”

He nods, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. “Yeah.”

For a moment, neither of you move, caught in the quiet aftermath of the kiss. The world around you feels distant, like it’s just the two of you, floating in your own little bubble.

Finally, Lewis pulls back slightly, though his hand lingers on your face. “So … what now?”

You let out a soft laugh, the sound light and easy. “I have no idea.”

He grins, and it’s the kind of smile that makes your chest feel warm. “Guess we’ll figure it out, then.”

You nod, your heart still racing. “Yeah. I guess we will.”

And somehow, even though nothing feels certain — his future, your career, whatever this thing is between you — there’s a strange sense of peace in the not knowing.

Because whatever happens next, you know you’ll face it together.

***

The air in the McLaren garage is thick with anticipation. Cameras are set up, media personnel are adjusting their equipment, and there’s a palpable buzz in the air as the press conference prepares to start. You stand just behind the curtain, your heart racing. You can hear the hum of voices in the room beyond, reporters murmuring to one another, waiting for the big reveal.

The past few months have felt like a whirlwind — a blur of contract negotiations, meetings with McLaren’s team principal, and the quiet, creeping excitement of finally getting the chance to do what you’ve always dreamed of. But now that the moment is here, the weight of it is settling in. You’re not just about to become the first woman in F1 in decades, you’re about to step into the spotlight as Ayrton Senna’s daughter.

You take a deep breath, glancing down at the McLaren-branded polo shirt you’re wearing, the crisp fabric somehow making everything feel more real. This is happening. After all the years of hard work, all the sacrifices, you’re about to make history.

Alain stands beside you, his face calm, but his hand on your shoulder is firm and reassuring. “You ready?” He asks, his voice low, but steady.

You nod, swallowing down the nerves. “I think so.”

“Just remember why you’re doing this,” he says softly, his eyes meeting yours. “This is about you. Not your father. Not anyone else. You.”

You offer him a small smile. Alain’s always been good at grounding you, at reminding you that you’ve earned this, regardless of who your father was. He’s been there through it all — your highs and lows, your victories and failures. And now, here he is, standing beside you as you take this monumental step.

The curtains part, and the team principal, Martin Whitmarsh, steps onto the stage. The room quiets as he approaches the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us today,” he begins, his voice carrying through the room. “It’s not often we get to announce something of this magnitude. Today, McLaren is proud to welcome a new driver to our team for the 2013 season. Not only will she be the first woman to compete in Formula 1 in over 20 years, but she’s also someone with a legacy that speaks for itself.”

There’s a murmur of curiosity from the crowd, and you know the moment is coming. The reveal. The truth that you’ve kept hidden, even from the people closest to you.

“Please join me in welcoming, Y/N Senna.”

The sound of your name, followed by your father’s, echoes through the room like a ripple of shock. For a brief moment, there’s stunned silence. Then, the cameras start flashing, the murmurs turn into a roar, and all eyes are on you.

You step onto the stage, trying to steady your breath. The weight of the announcement, of who you are, feels heavier than you expected. But you push through, meeting the gaze of the journalists, the photographers, the team members standing off to the side. You can’t see him from here, but you know Alain is watching from the wings, his quiet support steadying you.

Whitmarsh continues speaking, but the words blur together as your mind races. It’s not until you hear the murmured whispers in the back of the room that your attention snaps back.

“Senna?”

“Ayrton’s daughter?”

“Why didn’t anyone know?”

As the press conference wraps up, and you’re led off stage, the questions start flooding in. Journalists swarm, desperate for a quote, for more insight into the mystery that you’ve kept hidden for so long.

But before you can respond to any of them, a familiar voice cuts through the noise.

“Y/N.”

You freeze, your heart dropping. You know that voice. You turn slowly, and there he is — Lewis, standing just a few feet away, his face unreadable.

The PR team tries to shuffle you away, but you shake them off, making your way over to him. “Lewis …”

He cuts you off, his expression dark. “You’ve been racing for all these years, and you never thought to tell me? Not once?”

The sting of his words catches you off guard, and you open your mouth to respond, but he continues, his voice low but sharp. “I thought we were close. I thought we were-” He stops, running a hand over his face. “You let me fall for you, and you didn’t even tell me who you really are.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. “Lewis, it wasn’t like that-”

“Wasn’t it?” He takes a step closer, his eyes searching yours, hurt and confusion written all over his face. “I get it, okay? You didn’t want people to treat you differently because of your name. But me? I thought we were past that.”

“I didn’t want to use my father’s name to get ahead,” you say, your voice trembling slightly. “I wanted to make a name for myself, first. And I didn’t tell you because … because I didn’t want it to change how you saw me.”

“Well, it’s changed everything now,” he snaps, his voice tight with anger. “I thought I knew you, but clearly, I didn’t.”

You take a step back, the weight of his words hitting you harder than you expected. “Lewis, please. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “Didn’t mean to hurt me? You’re Ayrton Senna’s daughter, and you never even mentioned it once. How could you keep something like that from me?”

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill over. “I didn’t want it to come between us.”

“Well, it has,” he says, his voice quieter now, but still laced with pain. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

You stare at him, your chest tightening. The distance between you feels insurmountable now, like a chasm that you don’t know how to cross.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Lewis looks at you for a long moment, his expression softening slightly, but the hurt still lingers in his eyes. “I need some time,” he says finally, his voice rough. “I just … I need to figure this out.”

You nod, the tears finally spilling over. “Okay.”

He turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, your heart heavy and your world spinning.

As you watch him go, you can’t help but wonder if things will ever be the same between you.

***

The air at Imola is still. The late-summer heat clings to your skin, and the only sounds around you are the distant hum of cicadas and the soft crunch of leaves underfoot as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. You stare at the stone memorial, the bronze relief of your father’s face, the flowers people have left here over the years. Some are wilted, some fresh. There’s even a small Brazilian flag tucked against the base.

You exhale slowly, your hands stuffed deep into the pockets of your jacket. It’s been exactly a year since you first stood here, heart in your throat, hoping to find some kind of connection, some kind of clarity. The weight of the past year presses down on you now — signing with McLaren, the media frenzy, the fallout with Lewis.

And Papai. Always Papai.

You kneel, brushing a hand over the smooth stone, fingers tracing the engraved letters. “I made it,” you whisper. “I’m almost there.” Your voice catches on the words, a lump forming in your throat. “I wish you were here to see it.”

You close your eyes, trying to imagine what he’d say if he were standing beside you. Maybe he’d be proud. Maybe he’d tell you to push harder, go faster, never settle. Or maybe he’d tell you to slow down, to find a way to reconnect with your mother before it’s too late. But he’s not here. That’s the problem, isn’t it?

A soft rustling sound pulls you from your thoughts. Footsteps, deliberate but hesitant, approach from behind, crunching through the dry leaves scattered on the ground. You turn, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s Lewis.

He’s wearing a hoodie, hands tucked into the front pocket, his brows peeking out from beneath a baseball cap. He stops a few feet away, his dark brown eyes meeting yours. There’s something guarded in his expression, but there’s warmth there, too.

You straighten slowly, your heart hammering in your chest. “What are you doing here?”

Lewis shrugs, his gaze flickering to the memorial and back to you. “Monza’s coming up. Thought I’d stop by first … like I always do.”

The tension between you feels like a wire pulled taut, ready to snap at any second. For a moment, neither of you says anything, the silence stretching out like a canyon.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here,” you finally say, your voice quieter than you intended.

He takes a step closer, his eyes searching yours. “I didn’t think I’d see you here, either.”

You bite your lip, looking away toward the memorial. “I needed to. Before the race. I … I haven’t been here since last year.”

Lewis shifts, the soft scrape of his shoes against the ground. “I remember.”

The air feels heavy between you, thick with all the things you haven’t said to each other. The words are right there on the tip of your tongue, but they feel tangled, impossible to untangle without breaking.

Lewis is the first to speak again, his voice soft but steady. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About what happened. About everything.”

You swallow hard, your hands clenching into fists in your pockets. “Me too.”

“I was angry,” Lewis admits. “Hurt, too. But … I get it now. Why you didn’t tell me.”

His words catch you off guard, and you glance at him, surprised. “You do?”

He nods slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. “I know what it’s like to feel like you have to prove yourself, like the world’s already decided who you are before you even get a chance to show them. I just … I wish you’d trusted me with it.”

“I wanted to,” you say, your voice cracking slightly. “I did. But … it’s complicated.” You look down, kicking at a stray leaf with your shoe. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to figure out how to be his daughter without being defined by it. And now … now it’s all out there.”

Lewis steps closer, closing the gap between you. “You’re not just his daughter, Y/N. You’re you. And that’s who I fell for.”

The warmth in his voice makes your chest tighten. You blink quickly, trying to keep the tears at bay, but it’s no use. They spill over anyway, and you wipe at them angrily with the sleeve of your jacket.

“It’s not just about the name,” you whisper. “Racing … it’s all I’ve ever wanted. But it’s also what took me away from my mom.” You take a shaky breath, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “She can’t even look at me without seeing him. I haven’t had a real conversation with her in years. The last time we talked was my birthday. And it was just a two-minute call.”

Lewis’ face softens, and he reaches out, gently brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, sniffing quietly. “It’s not your fault. It’s just … hard, you know? I love racing, but it feels like it’s cost me everything else.”

He takes another step closer, his hand lingering on your cheek. “You’ve got me,” he murmurs.

You look up at him, your breath catching in your throat. “Do I?”

He smiles softly, his thumb brushing along your jaw. “Yeah. You do.”

The world feels like it tilts for a moment, everything narrowing down to just the two of you standing here, beneath the shadow of your father’s memory. And before you can think too hard about it, before the doubts can creep in, you lean in, closing the distance between you.

The kiss is soft at first — tentative, like neither of you wants to break the fragile peace that’s settled between you. But then his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and the kiss deepens, the weight of everything unsaid dissolving in the warmth of his touch.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathing hard, foreheads resting against each other.

“I missed you,” Lewis whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

“I missed you, too,” you admit, your voice barely audible.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world fading away.

Eventually, Lewis pulls back slightly, his hand still cradling the back of your neck. “So … what now?”

You smile, a small, genuine smile that feels like the first one in a long time. “Now … we go win at Monza.”

He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Damn right we will.”

You laugh softly, the sound light and free, and for the first time in what feels like forever, the weight on your chest lifts.

As you stand there, hand in hand with Lewis, you glance back at the memorial one last time. “I think he’d be happy,” you say quietly.

Lewis squeezes your hand gently. “I know he would.”

And just like that, the knot in your chest loosens. You’re still Ayrton Senna’s daughter. But you’re also yourself. And that? That feels like enough.

***

The crowd roars so loudly that it feels like the earth itself is shaking. São Paulo is electric, the grandstands packed with people draped in green and yellow, waving flags, and chanting. You’ve been in big races before, stood on podiums, and tasted victory. But this … this is different.

This is Interlagos. This is home. And for the first time in your career, you’re leading an F1 race in front of your people.

“Alright, Y/N,” your engineer’s voice crackles over the radio. “Five laps to go. Everything looks good on the telemetry. Just bring her home.”

Your heart pounds against your chest as you navigate the tight curves of the circuit. Every bump, every rise, every dip feels familiar. You’ve studied this track since you were a child. This is where your father was a legend — and now, it’s where you can make your own history.

The tires hum beneath you, vibrations pulsing through your hands and feet. The sky is dark with heavy clouds threatening rain, but the track is still dry, for now. Behind you, Sebastian Vettel is chasing hard in second place, his Red Bull a glimmer in your mirrors, but you don’t think about him. Not now. This is about you. About crossing that finish line first.

Four laps. Then three. Every second feels like an eternity. You can hear the crowd over the sound of the engine, their voices rising every time you fly past the grandstands. “SENNA! SENNA!” they chant, over and over, as if your name — your real name — was always meant to be called alongside your father’s.

“Two laps, Y/N. Gap to Vettel is two seconds. Stay focused.”

Your grip tightens on the wheel. You shift gears, your mind and body moving in perfect sync with the machine around you. The wind whistles past your helmet as you race up the hill toward the final turn.

On the final lap, it starts to drizzle — just enough to slick the track and make things dangerous. Your car twitches as the tires search for grip.

“Be careful, Y/N,” your engineer warns. “You’ve got this. Just stay calm.”

You breathe in. Breathe out. And then the chequered flag waves ahead of you, and the world explodes into color and sound.

“P1, Y/N! P1! You’ve won the Brazilian Grand Prix!” Your engineer’s voice is hoarse with excitement. “That was incredible — you just won at home!”

Your heart leaps as tears spring to your eyes. You punch the air, screaming into the radio, not caring who hears. “YES! YES! WE DID IT!”

The car coasts into parc fermé, the engine humming its final notes as you switch it off. You rip off your gloves and helmet, letting the cool air hit your damp face. The grandstands are still shaking with the cheers of thousands. Your name — Senna — is on every banner, every poster, and every fan’s lips.

You climb out of the car, adrenaline still surging through your veins, and jump onto the chassis. The crowd roars even louder as you throw your fists into the air, pointing toward the sky. The thought flashes through your mind: This one’s for you, Papai.

You jump down and make your way to the barriers where your team waits, already celebrating with hugs, fist bumps, and slaps on the back. You push through the throng of mechanics, your heart so full it feels like it might burst. And that’s when you see her.

Among the sea of McLaren team uniforms, standing stiffly with her arms wrapped around herself, is your mother.

Your steps falter for a moment, shock flooding through you. She’s here. She’s really here. You blink, wondering if the tears in your eyes are playing tricks on you, but no — there she is. Adriane.

She’s thinner than you remember, her hair streaked with more silver now. She looks out of place among the mechanics, but she’s here. Her eyes, so much like your own, are filled with something you haven’t seen in years — pride. And something more. Regret.

For a moment, you just stand there, frozen. You don’t know whether to laugh or cry or run the other way. Then her face crumples, and she takes a tentative step forward, her arms reaching for you like she used to when you were small.

That’s all it takes. You close the distance in an instant, throwing yourself into her arms.

“Mãe!” The word leaves your mouth in a sob, and before you know it, you’re both crying, clutching each other like you’re afraid to let go.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers into your hair, her voice trembling. “I’m so sorry, minha filha. I was wrong. I should’ve-”

You shake your head against her shoulder, holding her tighter. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

She pulls back slightly, cupping your face in her hands like she used to when you were little. “I didn’t think I could do it,” she admits, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I was so afraid I’d lose you too. But then … then I watched you out there today.” Her voice cracks, and she brushes a strand of hair from your face. “And I saw him. I saw Ayrton. But more than that, I saw you. My daughter.”

You can’t speak — your throat feels too tight, and the tears won’t stop. So you just nod, leaning into her touch as the noise of the paddock fades into the background.

Adriane pulls you back into a hug, and for the first time in years, you let yourself feel it — the warmth, the love, the mother you thought you’d lost. And somehow, standing here with her in your arms, it feels like you’ve come full circle.

After a long moment, she pulls back and wipes her tears, a shaky laugh escaping her. “Look at us. Crying like fools.”

You laugh too, sniffling as you wipe your own face. “It’s okay. It’s a good day to cry.”

A voice cuts through the noise — your team calling you for the podium ceremony. You glance over your shoulder, feeling the weight of the moment settle on you. You turn back to your mother, hesitant. “Will you stay?”

She smiles, her eyes still glassy with unshed tears. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

You nod, squeezing her hand one last time before you let go and jog toward the podium. The crowd’s roar is deafening as you step up to the top step, your name flashing on the giant screens around the circuit. The Brazilian flag rises slowly, and as the national anthem plays, you close your eyes and let the moment wash over you.

It feels like home. It feels like peace. It feels like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Later, after the champagne has been sprayed and the trophies have been handed out, you find Lewis waiting for you in the paddock, a grin stretching across his face.

“Not bad, Senna,” he teases, pulling you into a warm embrace.

You laugh, pressing your forehead against his. “Not bad yourself, Hamilton.”

The two of you stay like that for a moment, the chaos of the paddock swirling around you, but all you can feel is the steady beat of his heart against yours.

“Your dad would be proud,” Lewis murmurs, his voice soft in your ear.

You smile, closing your eyes. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I think he would be.”

***

The sun is setting over Monaco, casting the apartment in soft golds and pinks. You let yourself in quietly, the cool metal of the front door clicking shut behind you. Training was brutal today — your arms ache, and every muscle feels like it’s been wrung out. All you want is to find Lewis, maybe curl up on the couch together and recover with some takeaway.

You kick off your sneakers, already untying the knot in your ponytail, when you hear voices from the living room. You pause mid-step.

Lewis is talking to someone — no, two people. You creep forward on silent feet, heart quickening as the voices grow clearer.

“-I love her more than anything,” Lewis says, his voice low but certain. “And I want to spend the rest of my life with her.”

Your breath catches. You flatten yourself against the wall, just out of sight. It feels like you’ve stepped into some kind of dream, one where the pieces of your life are rearranging themselves into something both surreal and perfect.

Then you hear your mother’s voice — gentler than it used to be, softened by time and the walls you’ve slowly chipped away.

“You want my blessing?” Adriane says, her words slow, as if she’s tasting them, feeling their weight.

“I do,” Lewis replies. “I wanted to ask both of you. It felt right.”

Both of them? You inch closer, daring to peek around the corner. And there they are — Lewis, sitting on the couch, his elbows on his knees, looking more serious than you’ve ever seen him. Across from him sit your mother and Alain, side by side like a pair of mismatched bookends.

Alain leans back, arms folded, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he’s trying not to smile. “You realize what you’re getting into?” He asks dryly. “She’s more stubborn than Ayrton ever was.”

Lewis chuckles, but it’s a little nervous. “Yeah, I know.”

Adriane tilts her head, studying him like she’s trying to see through to his soul. “And if she says no?”

Lewis’ face softens, a quiet kind of love settling into his expression. “Then I’ll still be with her. Because I don’t need her to marry me to know she’s it for me.”

Something cracks open inside you. It feels like standing on the podium in Brazil all over again — overwhelming and humbling and impossibly full. You press a hand to your mouth, as if that will steady the emotion threatening to spill over.

Your mother leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. There’s a moment of silence so thick it hums.

“When Y/N was seven,” she begins slowly, “she told me she wanted to race. I told her no. I thought if I kept her away from the track, I could protect her from the same thing that took Ayrton from me.” She sighs, her gaze dropping to her hands. “But all I did was push her away.”

Alain clears his throat, glancing sideways at her. “It’s not easy,” he murmurs, more to Adriane than to Lewis. “Loving someone who belongs to the track.”

Your mother nods, her eyes glassy. “But you’ve made her happy. You’ve given her the space to be who she’s always wanted to be.” She pauses, blinking quickly. “And I see Ayrton in that. In you.”

Lewis rubs the back of his neck, clearly moved but trying not to show it. “That means more than you know.”

“And you promise me something,” Adriane says, her voice gaining strength, as if she’s gathering all her fears into this one request. “That you’ll never try to stop her. Not when things get hard. Not when it scares you.”

Lewis leans forward, looking her dead in the eye. “I swear. I’d never take that from her.”

Your mother exhales, like a weight she’s carried for years is finally lifting off her shoulders. “Then you have my blessing,” she says quietly.

Alain smirks, slapping Lewis on the back. “Looks like you’re in for the ride of your life.”

They laugh softly, the kind of laugh that comes with hard-won understanding.

And that’s when the floorboard under your foot creaks.

All three heads whip toward the sound, and you’re caught, frozen halfway between hiding and stepping forward.

Lewis’ eyes widen, and then a slow, guilty smile spreads across his face. “How long have you been standing there?”

You step fully into the room, arms crossed but fighting back a grin. “Long enough to hear that you’re plotting something.”

Alain chuckles, standing up and brushing off his jeans. “I think that’s my cue to leave.” He winks at you, patting Lewis on the shoulder as he makes his way toward the door. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, Alain,” Lewis mutters, rubbing his palms against his thighs, clearly nervous now.

Your mother rises as well, hesitating for a moment. She looks at you, her eyes soft. “I’ll call you later,” she murmurs, reaching out to squeeze your hand briefly before following Alain out the door.  

And then it’s just you and Lewis, standing in the golden light of your apartment, the door clicking shut behind your mother and Alain.  

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep your voice light. “So … what was all that about?”  

Lewis steps closer, and suddenly the nervous energy from earlier melts away. He takes your hand, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your palm.  

“Y/N …” he begins, and there’s something so tender in the way he says your name that it makes your heart skip a beat. “I wanted to do this the right way. To ask the people who mean the mos to you.”  

Your breath catches as he drops to one knee, right there in the middle of your living room.  

He pulls a small box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a ring that catches the light like starlight on water. It’s simple, elegant, and perfect.  

Lewis looks up at you, his dark eyes filled with love, nerves, and hope. “I love you, Y/N. I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you at Imola. And I want to spend every day from now on making you as happy as you’ve made me.”  

You cover your mouth with your hand, tears already welling up in your eyes.  

“So,” he says with a smile that’s both warm and a little crooked. “What do you say? Will you marry me?”  

For a moment, all you can do is nod, words caught somewhere between your heart and your throat. Then you finally find your voice.  

“Yes,” you whisper, your smile breaking wide and free. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” 

Lewis’ grin lights up the room, and he stands, slipping the ring onto your finger before pulling you into his arms. You kiss him, slow and deep, and in that moment, it feels like everything — the years of struggle, of loss, of love — has brought you to exactly where you’re supposed to be.

When you finally pull away, breathless and giddy, Lewis leans his forehead against yours, his hands cradling your face.

“Guess Alain was right,” he murmurs, grinning. “This really is the ride of my life.”

You laugh, pure and full, wrapping your arms around him tighter. “Buckle up, Hamilton,” you tease. “It’s only just getting started.”

[rafesbabygirlx]

I’ll Always Help You

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Rafe x Maybank reader

Summary: A one shot flashback to a time Rafe was there for Maybank Reader after another altercation with Luke. Based off my series A Lot of Time has Passed.

A/N: I really wanted to delve into a past life time for these two and show parts of their relationship in the past. I’d think of this around season 1 of the show. It came to me writing JJ’s angst.

Warnings: parental abuse, blood, bruising, pain

“You and Rafe bonded over the absence of your mothers and the shortcomings of your fathers. It was a match made in an unlikely paradise.”

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

You stumble up Topper’s long driveway, indifferent to the stares as people glance at your swollen eye and the way you’re clutching your ribs. You’re barely able to keep your balance, bouncing off people as you make your way inside. The pain in your side is sharp and constant—a reminder that at least one rib is likely broken.

Normally, you’d call in a moment like this, but Luke destroyed your phone while chasing you around the living room, leaving you with no other option. Lightheadedness creeps over you just as you spot Kelce through the crowd. You reach out, tapping him on the shoulder. “Kelce, where’s Rafe?”

He turns, half-joking, “And who wants to know?” His smile fades the moment he sees you, reaching out just in time to catch you as you collapse into his arms. “Yo, Rafe!” Kelce yells, steadying you while looking around for his friend. “Rafe! Come on, man, it’s your girl!”

Rafe, distracted mid-conversation, barely registers Kelce’s shout. “What girl, Kelce?” he mutters, more focused on the blonde wrapped around him. But at Kelce’s insistence, he finally looks up—and his whole demeanor changes. “Holy shit,” he breathes, the color draining from his face as he sees you bruised and exhausted in Kelce’s arms. Without hesitation, he pushes the girl off him and heads toward you.

“Hey, hey, baby girl. Look at me,” he murmurs, pulling you close. Topper joins, concerned, and Rafe’s voice is tense. “Top, we need a room.”

“Yeah, follow me upstairs,” Topper replies, leading the way. Rafe scoops you up, carrying you carefully up the stairs while Kelce and Topper follow, the four of you disappearing into one of the guest bedrooms. Rafe lays you gently on the bed.

“R-Rafe?” you manage to whisper.

“Yeah, it’s me. Did he do this to you again?” His voice is low, filled with anger and worry. You don’t respond, just look down, unable to meet his gaze.

“I’ll get a first aid kit,” Topper says, disappearing into the bathroom. “I’ll grab some water,” Kelce offers, hurrying downstairs.

Rafe takes the kit from Topper when he returns, beginning to clean the cuts on your cheek. You hold a warm, damp washcloth he gives you over your swollen eye. “I’m sorry for bothering you,” you mumble, feeling the weight of guilt settle in.

“Don’t apologize. I’m always here for you.” He works carefully, his tone softening. “I just wish you’d called me. I would’ve come to get you.”

You shake your head slightly. “You know how you get when you’re high, Rafe. It would’ve made things worse. And…he broke my phone, so I couldn’t anyway.”

“Fucking asshole,” Rafe mutters, finishing up as Kelce returns with a glass of water. You take a few sips, nodding your thanks as Topper and Kelce quietly leave the room.

Rafe stays beside you, gently pulling the covers back. “We’re staying here tonight,” he insists, starting to untie your sneakers.

“No, Rafe. I can go back. He’s probably passed out by now, probably won’t even remember.”

“No. You’re staying here. You’re not arguing with me on this.” He’s already shedding his shirt and pants, getting down to his boxers as he turns to you with a determined look.

“Lift your arms,” he says, softly but firmly. You obey, letting him take off your shirt and replace it with his. Then he helps you out of your jeans, the familiar scent and warmth of his shirt wrapping around you like a safe haven.

He climbs in beside you, pulling you close so you can rest against his chest, the steady beat of his heart calming you. “I mean it,” he whispers. “Stay with me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Rafe. I don’t need to stay here.”

“What if I wanted you to?” he replies, his fingers brushing soothingly along your arm. “Just for a few days. Let me take care of you while you heal.”

You chuckle weakly. “What would people say about a battered Pogue girl walking out of your driveway?”

“I don’t give a shit what they’d say.” He pulls you closer, leaving gentle kisses on the top of your head. “Just stay, please. You know I’ve got you.”

“Okay,” you whisper, giving in to the comfort of his embrace. You drift off as he holds you close.

[alwaysthefool]

[Requested] Naïve MC/Reader x LADS (Xavier, Sylus, Zayne, Rafayel)

They realise you’re a little too sheltered when it comes to sexual/romantic stuff

Warnings: Discussions of purity, sex education (not NSFW), OOC MC. This wasn’t meant as suggestive!

Tags: Gender neutral reader, fluff?

This was the request, but I changed it up to exclude the mention of a club since the premise of short fics can’t address my feelings about the issue seriously… everyone has unique scenarios->

Xavier

As the work day ended, instead of waiting for Xavier as you usually would, you walked out with the new hunter you’d met recently, chatting merrily about your day. “So where we going?” You smiled, walking out the Association HQ.

“Your place or mine?” They replied, smiling back, looking down at you.

You didn’t think much of it before replying. “Mine, I guess!” It was just chilling while watching Netflix after all. You really wanted to check out this new horror series, but didn’t get the chance to ask Xavier since he was always busy, and you certainly weren’t going to watch it alone.

He laughed at that for some reason, so you laughed back, although a little confused.

You felt a hand on your shoulder right as you were about to leave the premises. “Ahem.” The two of you turned around to see Xavier behind you, a stern look on his face. You frowned at his expression, and also the fact that you didn’t even hear him follow you. “You gotta stop creeping up on people like this, man.” Your colleague sighed. At this point, everyone was aware of Xavier’s antics when it came to you (which is also what made it shocking to them that you’d agree to hook up with someone else).

“What did you mean you’re taking them to your house?” Xavier completely ignored the person next to you.

“Uh…”. You weren’t sure how to respond. Wasn’t this a normal thing? When you were younger, your friends would come over to your house all the time. Although oddly, they’d have to be approved by Caleb first. He never really told you why, though.

“What do you think, buddy? We’re Netflix and Chilling.” Your companion responded for you. You smiled at that, nodding. “Mhm!”

Xavier’s expression turned hurt immediately, and he bore his puppy dog eyes into yours. “Really, [Name]? You’re… doing that with them?”

For some reason, looking at him, you felt such guilt, you held his hand. “I’m sorry Xavier, if I’d known you wanted to watch that new show too, I’d have asked you instead!”

“Wait, what?” The two spoke in unison. The person beside you rolled their eyes. “Seriously, you’re saying you’d rather be with him in front of me?” Before they could continue, Xavier’s death stare made them throw their hands up in defeat and walk away, too scared to even murmur profanities within his vicinity.

“Hey, where-“ Before you could finish, Xavier turned your attention back to him, holding your hands in his.

“[Name].” His tone was serious, and his eyes concerned. “What do you think Netflix and Chill means?”

“Watching Netflix with chilled coke, of course!”

Xavier sighed, half in relief, half in tension. “I think there’s a lot we need to talk about. But for now, please just ask me if you want to watch a show, try out new Ramen, or ‘hang out casually’.”

Rafayel

“Care to tell me what exactly you’re doing, cutie?” That last word to come out of Rafayel’s mouth was laced with venom, and that irritated expression you’d become so familiar with was splayed on his face once again.

You looked down at your phone. “Uh, someone at work asked for pictures my feet so I’m sending them pictures of my feet.”

“Is this another one of your pranks?” Rafayel crossed his arms.

“No?” Right as you were about to hit send, he took your phone from you, deleting the pictures before you could stop him. “Hey!” You exclaimed.

“You might not…” Rafayel sighed, giving your phone back to you as he sat beside you, tired. “…not love me anymore, but doing this while you’re in my house is cruel.”

You threw your phone away, and turned to face Rafayel, holding his face. He turned away from you, driving daggers into your chest. “Hey, why are you mad? It’s just feet…”

Rafayel, slightly taken aback, let go of his anger and looked at you. “Cutie, do you know why they’re asking for pictures of your feet?”

You shrugged. “Maybe they like my pedicure!”

He put his hands in his head, letting out a laugh. Before you could respond, he squished your cheeks, giving your left one a kiss. You returned the gesture, kissing his right cheek instead.

“You really are the most precious pearl in the ocean. As much as I’d like to continue seeing this pure side of you, I don’t want you to get taken advantage of again.” He stood up, reaching his hand out for you. “Let’s go, you have a lot to learn.”

Zayne

Realistically he’d make you study medical and ordinary romance books LOL

Zayne wasn’t sure how to go about it, how to confront the person who he thought was the love of his life, on why he saw them dressed to the nines having dinner with someone else inside a fancy restaurant on his car ride home. Zayne swore it didn’t upset him much, and that he had bigger things to worry about, but the thought did not leave his mind until he heard a knock on the door.

You looked tired. You didn’t know why you went to Zayne’s house, but you didn’t know who else to talk to. When he opened the door, you almost thought he looked surprised for a moment before his professional face returned. He left the door open for you, and without a word, went to his couch, reading a magazine.

You were already upset, and felt like leaving upon seeing his behaviour, but you were also extremely tired. “I’m fine, thanks for asking.” You spoke sarcastically. Zayne looked up at you, and you expected a snide remark from him, but concern etched his face. He put his magazine down and walked over to you.

“Why are you crying?”

You didn’t realise it until you felt wetness on your cheek. Zayne helped you get out of your shoes and helped you sit on the couch, bringing you a glass of water. He was way nicer than the guy you met today.

“I…” You took a sip. “I went out with a friend to celebrate his promotion, but he was being weird.”

You cried and explained how uncomfortable you felt with him asking questions about you, holding your hand, and then paying for the bill even though you didn’t want him to. It felt wrong and disgusted you.

“[Name],” Zayne was serious all of a sudden. “Did you… go on a date without realising it?”

Your tears stopped. “What? No, I mean, I just met him as a friend.”

He took off his glasses, keeping them in the pocket of his pajama shirt. “You said he wanted to meet you alone, for dinner, at a fancy restaurant, because he wanted you to be the one he celebrated his achievement with. You, and not his friends or family.”

“So?”

Zayne sighed. “You may not know it but he took you out on a date.”

You sniffled, and Zayne handed you a tissue, keeping his gentlemanly distance while patting your head. “I did not want the first date of my life to be this way.”

“It’s alright. I’ll make sure your next one is better.”

Sylus

Honestly he’d take this very seriously, sit you down, and explain this stuff without hesitation, because it’s super important to know.

It was just one meme at first. Then two. Then the whole discussion was about things you had no clue on, making you feel left out from your friend group. You groaned, throwing your phone away on the bed.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” Sylus speaks, looking up from what he was reading on his chair. You had nothing to do on your day off and no energy to go outside, but Sylus still wanted to be near you, so you came over and lounged in his house.

“I…” You sat up on his bed, and he put his book on the table, focusing his attention on you. “I was very sheltered as a kid.”

“I can tell.” He quipped.

You rolled your eyes. “Well, anyway, it means I don’t understand what a ‘one night stand’ or a ‘hook up’ is, and I’m too scared to look it up.”

Sylus, as you expected, didn’t judge you. “Why are you scared?”

“Because I think it’s too late, and Caleb would be disappointed…” You knew Sylus didn’t like it when you brought Caleb up, but this time, his gentle expression stayed, as he took off his glasses, placing them inside his pocket.

“It’s never too late to learn about anything, especially things like these.” You gave him a polite smile. That was nice to hear. You shifted, sitting with your feet off the bed, to be a little closer to where he was on his chair.

“Not to mention, you have the best teacher in front of you.”

Bonus:

A while later, Sylus put on his glasses, frowning while going through your group chat, unsure of how to explain what they were discussing to you. “Maybe your brother was right, you have some crazy friends.” He joked.

-x-

[whimsiwitchy]

Controversially Young Girlfriend (part seven)

Hugh Jackman x popstar!reader 

series masterlist & main masterlist

summary: y/n is a globally beloved pop star. She is known for her talent and dedication towards her craft. Recently, she has also been known for her preference for older men. After a breakup with her former older boyfriend, she had a run in with the hottest dilf right now, Hugh Jackman. Y/n tried to warn him, but what can she say, she has an effect on hot, older men. 

warnings: age gap (23/55), cursing, y/n used, implied shorter reader, afab reader, she/her pronouns, sexual themes, pedro (srry he's a big part of this chapter)

warnings will change as the story progresses! all descriptions of real people in this story are FAKE. I do not know these people and this is purely fiction. Please let me know if I missed anything!! <3

authors note: hi everyone! I literally just posted saying idk when I would update again but I decided to look through what I had written for this part and give it to y'all. she's a short one but it's cute. somewhat proof read lol. enjoy <3

part seven: closing chapters

You’ve been back in Los Angeles for less than a day and you already missed the simplicity of being with Hugh. Los Angeles was reality and it was an ugly one. All of the responsibilities came tumbling down on you and you felt like you were stuck in an inescapable maze. As much as you wanted to stay hidden, tucked under Hugh’s protective arm forever, you had to be an adult about this. You needed to stop ignoring Ashley and talk things out with her. You also needed to talk to Pedro and close that chapter that had been left wide open. Your personal life couldn’t have picked a worse time to get interesting. Tour started in two weeks, leaving very little time to tie all loose ends before traveling the world.

When you landed this morning, you ate a quick breakfast from a small cafe and went straight to rehearsals. They ran longer today to make up for the few days you were gone but you didn’t mind. Being on stage and performing the music you worked so hard on always upped your mood, even if you were unbelievably tired at the end of the day. At the moment, you were laying in bed, trying your best to stay awake while you waited for Hugh to call. He texted you a few hours earlier saying he spent the day with his kids and talked to them about the relationship you two had built over the questionable short period of time. He didn’t go into any further detail but promised to call as soon as he got home and settled. It was a little past 10pm, making it 1am in New York. Just as you were beginning to lose hope in Hugh’s late night call, your phone lit up with Hugh’s contact. 

“Hi Hugh.” You say sweetly into the speaker, sleepiness evident in your voice. “Hi, baby. Were you sleeping?” The deep accent you adored so much rumbled through the phone. “No, I was just laying down. How are you? How was your day?” As you speak, you move to sit up, your back resting against the headboard. “My day was good. It was nice to spend some time with the kids and catch up. We did a puzzle and talked, it was a nice day. How was your day, baby?” 

“It was good, busy. Basically hopped off the plan straight into rehearsals.” You let out an airy laugh. “I’m sorry sweet girl, I should let you get some sleep.” His voice trails off at the end and you know he genuinely feels bad for calling so late. “No, no…it’s fine. I want to talk to you. I don’t start as early tomorrow so I have some time to sleep in.” You assure him. “Are you sure baby? We can always talk tomorrow.” “I’m sure.” You let out a small yawn and Hugh chuckles.  “Hm, if you say so.” 

“Whatever..” You say playfully. The line goes quiet for a moment, neither of you speaking. “So uh…you told your kids about us?” 

You wanted to ease into asking but you were dying to know. Thay had been the number one reason you’d been so hesitant to take on a relationship with Hugh and you know their opinion means something to him too. If they didn’t approve or had any distaste towards your pairing, you weren’t sure if you could be with Hugh without having a heavy layer of guilt strapped to your heart. 

“Oh yea, I told them.” 

His response makes your heart skip a beat. Hugh was never one to beat around the bush but he was dragging this out and it scared you. 

“And what did they say?” 

Hugh takes a sharp breath in and your heart falls into your stomach. They don’t approve, you can sense the words about to tumble out of his mouth. 

“They’re fine with it.” 

His short answers are beginning to irritate you a little bit. You needed to know every detail of their conversation, you wouldn’t be able to sleep without it. 

“Hugh, can you please just tell me everything? Your lack of words is driving me insane.” You draw out the end of the last word, showing him just how frustrated you are. 

“I’m sorry baby, there's not much to tell. My daughter is a fan and begged me to introduce you two and um…well my son…he uh..this is so fucking awkward…” He huffs. “What did he say? I’m sure it can’t be that bad if they’re fine with everything right? Just spit it out, I can take it.” He sighs. “My son has a crush on you.” 

“Oh!” You can feel your body heat up underneath your duvet. “That uh…that is kinda awkward. What did he say about us being together then?” 

“He said something about how he doesn't understand how I was able to ‘bag a baddie’ like you, whatever that means.” You laugh at that. “He’s not mad, just jealous I guess. I’m really gonna have to keep an eye out for him when you meet them. I trust him, he’s my son, but I’m not gonna stand for his eyes wandering on my girl.”

You laugh again, partially because of his words and partially because of how wild this entire conversation is. 

“Well I’d love to meet your daughter and she’s free to come to any show she wants, I'll get her in. Same goes for your son as well, if that’s okay with you. I don’t want you to get too jealous and cause a fight between you two.” You giggle through the last few words. 

“Yea yea, we’ll see.” 

The line goes quiet again, a comfortable silence. 

“Hugh, I have a question.” “Shoot baby.” You can hear the sleepiness starting to appear in his voice. “I was wondering if you’d be okay with me going to talk to Pedro soon?” You hear rustling on his end before he speaks again. “Why do you want to do that?” There’s a slight hint of anger in his tone but you know it’s not towards you but towards how Pedro treated you. “I really need to talk things out with him. As much as I'm over him, there’s still a little part of me that needs closure, that needs to ask questions. I want this part of my life to be done but I need to have it properly sealed off.” “Could you wait until I’m back in town? I trust you but I don’t trust him one bit.” You smile at his protectiveness. “I really want to fix everything before the tour starts. I need to talk to Ashley too and the sooner I can get over this, the sooner I can put all my focus on the tour and you. So unless you’re planning on being back in town in a week, I need to do this alone. Is that okay?” He sighs and takes a moment. “Of course that’s fine baby. Just keep me updated on everything that happens.” “I will.” The two of you talk for 20 more minutes before you both call it a night, ending the call with “I love you”. 

The next morning, you immediately texted Hugh before rolling out of bed and starting your day. You showered, brushed your teeth, got dressed, and made your way to the kitchen. You opted for a lazy breakfast, too tired to do anything else. You popped a bagel into the toaster and fried an egg, laying a slice of cheese on top to melt. You made your little bagel breakfast sandwich and washed a few berries to go with it. 

While you ate, you scrolled through your phone. Hugh hasn't texted you back yet but it didn't surprise you. He was up late and with his age, he needed his sleep. You smiled to yourself as you thought about how peaceful he looks while he’s deep in sleep. While scrolling through instagram, you get an ad for Gladiator II. Your ex’s stupid hot face was plastered on your phone. You sighed and pulled up his contact. You were grateful you deleted the text thread you once had, you weren’t sure if you could handle seeing all of the previous sweet words he used to send you. 

You: hey p, it’s y/n. I was wondering if we could meet up soon and talk? no pressure :) 

Once you hit send, you locked your phone and slid it across your kitchen table. Your phone buzzed a few seconds later and your heart started beating faster…there’s no way he could have already responded. You reached for your phone, having to lift out of your chair slightly. When your phone unlocks, your heart slows down, it’s just Hugh. 

You texted back and forth with Hugh all morning until you pulled up to the Kia Forum. Tour was officially a week away from starting which meant you got to rehearse in the venue that would be starting the tour off. You’d been in the Forum a few times for various concerts but being here for your own performance was a different animal. Knowing that this place was sold out for you was wild. You caught up with all of your dancers, them sharing the same excitement. The energy in the building was electric. The crew was excited to get their creations in full and everyone was just happy to finally be starting. 

With being in a new space, the start of rehearsal was a bit slow. Lights, sounds, and various other things had to be adjusted now that everything was in full. You didn’t mind though. It gives you a chance to slow down and appreciate how far you’ve come. It was lunchtime and you decided to hide away in your dressing room to eat. A few people offered you to come with them but you really needed a moment to yourself. You were overwhelmed but in a good way. You grabbed some food from the catering someone had ordered, you made a note to yourself to find out who it was and thank them. 

Once you got to your dressing room, you pulled your phone out of your purse and scrolled through your notification log. Hugh’s messages were the first thing you saw. You were responding to everything he had sent when another message popped up at the top of your phone. 

pedro: hey y/n. I’m free today if you wanna swing by sometime? 

You pulled up to the familiar gates and typed in the code that was still etched in your brain. Once you parked your car in the semi circle driveway, you texted Pedro that you were here before taking a deep breath and stepping out of your car. It always looked out of place next to the large home, even more now that you didn’t belong here the way you once had. One of the brown French style doors open just as you're walking up the three concrete steps that lead to the entrance. You look up from your shoes. Locking eyes with Pedro, you feel your heart tense up. The pain of losing the man you had felt so deeply for re-entered your body involuntarily. He was wearing his typical casual attire: a pair of black cotton shorts, his beloved yellow lakers tee, and a pair of long black socks. The slight gray in his hair had begun to spread, the sides of his beard almost losing all color. He looked as handsome as ever. He held the door open with one arm, leaning slightly. A small smile rested on his face and his brown puppy dog eyes gave you the same feeling they had when you had first met him. 

“Hi y/n.” His voice sounded almost hesitant. “Hi P…Thanks for having me.” He backs up to let you inside. You slip your shoes off, like you had many times before. “No problem. I’m kinda surprised you wanted to talk to me, thought you would’ve been done with me after…well you know.” You don’t answer, instead you walk towards his living room and plop yourself down in the spot you had claimed many months ago, Pedro taking his own claimed spot not too far from yours. “It’s weird seeing you there again…missed seeing you here.” You sigh. “Pedro…don’t say that.” “Why not?” “You don’t get to miss me when you’re the one that left me. You hurt me P. Not the other way around.” He scoffs. “Sure didn’t seem too hurt to me. You moved on just fine.” “Can you stop being an asshole for two fucking seconds?” 

You wanted to come into this with patience and maturity but Pedro was making that impossible. He was being completely insufferable and had been since the moment he broke up with you, like it was somehow your fault. You missed the kind Pedro, the one you had fallen for. 

“Well it’s true, isn’t it? It took a month before you fell into someone else's arms, no let me clarify, my friend’s arms.” You could tell he was trying to get under your skin and you didn’t know where he gained this hatred for you. His voice was sour, a scowl present on his face. 

“God Pedro…” You sigh in anger. “Yes I invited him to the album party but he was there for me when you sat there and yelled- no embarrassed me at my own event. You don’t get to play victim in this situation. We weren’t together and hadn’t been together for weeks by the time I met him.” You could tell you were beginning to lose control over your emotions. The anger and pain both battled reaching for your throat begging to take control over your next words. 

His eyes go soft as he starts to speak again. “Y/n…I’m sorry about that, I was drunk and I-” 

You couldn’t help but laugh. 

“You know what? Fuck you Pedro. Truly. You are the most selfish person I’ve ever met. You broke up with me because the pressure was too hard on you. You come to my event and try to grab me, then you yell at me because Hugh came to check on me. Now you’re mad that I found someone that actually gives two shits about me, that isn’t afraid to deal with whatever comes with dating a younger girl? I’m over it.” You laugh again. “And now you want to apologize for that night when you’ve been nothing but rude since I sat on this couch? I came here for closure, nothing more. I liked you Pedro. I really really like you and you crushed my heart that night and every time I’ve seen you after. I don’t understand what I did to deserve this hatred that you’ve been throwing at me but it’s not fair.” 

Your anger had won the battle but your sadness would win the war. Your voice broke on your last words, hot tears pouring down your cheeks. 

“It’s not fucking fair P…” 

You tuck your face into your sweatshirt, allowing yourself to cry in peace. Pedro doesn’t speak and the silence lasts for what feels like forever. You could feel a slight movement on the couch, then two warm arms wrap around your shoulder, a chin resting atop your head. The two of you stay like that for a while. You let your tears flood your cheeks until there aren’t any left. 

“I’m so sorry babygirl. I didn’t mean to hurt you like this.” 

You slowly pull your face out of the sweater. One of Pedro’s arms drops to rest on his leg, the other lay across your shoulders still. His water line was filled with his own tears, eyes red. 

“Then why did you?” He takes a moment to think and pulls you into his chest. Your head resting right above his heart, the beat a little faster than the one you had memorized. 

“Shit y/n…I know no matter how I say this, it’s gonna sound fucked up.” He squeezes his arms gently. “I was so scared, baby. When everyone started to form their opinions on us and kept pinning me to be some weirdo, I freaked out. I’m at the height of my career and I couldn’t imagine losing that…and you were right, I'm selfish. When I let you go, I immediately regretted it. I showed up to your party wanting to apologize. I had a few drinks, some liquid courage if you will, but damn baby, those fruity little drinks were a lot stronger than I thought they’d be.” You chuckle at the comment. “I was waisted by the time I saw you and when…Hu-...when he came to defend you, I lost my shit. I was so pissed off. Even in the state I was in, the look in his eyes was loud. He looked at you with so much adoration and I knew I’d already lost you.” 

He pauses. 

“I’m not trying to make excuses for myself, I just..I just want you to- no, I need you to know what happened. I’m sorry for being an ass today too. I guess I’m not over you and it hurts that you’re over me.” 

You look up at him. 

“I’m not trying to be mean when I say this P but it’s your fault. I could’ve loved you….I was falling in love with you. My time with you was special, so different than anything I’d ever felt before. I think we would’ve been good together. If you would have talked to me, maybe things would be different. You should have talked to me.” 

“We could’ve been the greatest?” He gives a lazy smile down to you and you look down in shame, wincing slightly. “You watched it?” You ask quietly. “Yea I did.” He pauses. “You sounded beautiful up there, you’re so talented y/n…even if it was so clearly targeted towards me.” The arm that's wrapped around your shoulder moves, his hand resting on your head now, moving in slow circles. 

“Would you ever give us another chance?” He asks, looking down at you. The hope in his eyes pains you. 

“I love him P…” You see the small glimmer of happiness drain from his face. You were feeling just as hurt, knowing that if Hugh hadn’t entered your life when he did or if you had talked to Pedro sooner, you’d give him another chance without a second thought. 

“Does he treat you good?” You almost scoff at the question, given who’s asking, but you don’t have the heart to be mean to him anymore. “Yea he does…” You smile at the thought of just how well Hugh does treat you. “Well, then I’m happy for you.” 

“Are you really or are you just trying to be nice?” You joke and he shrugs. “The latter but truthfully if you were going to be with anyone other than myself, I’m glad it’s him. He’s good.” He smiles down at you and it almost reaches his eyes. “Speaking of Hugh…you kinda owe him an apology, mister.” You poke at the side of his chest that you’re not leaning on. “For what? Stealing my girl?” His words make your tummy stir. “I wasn’t your girl anymore. You called him old and yelled at him. He’s your friend, so apologize.” 

“He is old.” You punch his arm and give him a look. “Ow..fuck. Fine, I’ll apologize but I’m not sure how buddy buddy I can be with him anymore.” “I don’t really care about that, as long as you’re nice to him.” 

He doesn’t respond. You spend a few minutes feeling the warmth of his embrace, it was something you were going to miss. As much as you loved Hugh, Pedro had been someone special to you and it hurt to let him go, even with what he put you through. 

“How much longer do my pictures have on your instagram before I’m replaced by Hugh?” He jokes and your eyes go wide. “Oh fuck me…” You had completely forgotten about the pictures that littered your page. “I will.” He smirks. “Shut the fuck up. I’m deleting them in front of your face just for saying that.” You whip out your phone. There are a few texts from Hugh on the homescreen asking how it’s going. “I’m surprised your guard dog let you come alone.” “Oh believe me, he didn’t want me to but he’s in New York and couldn’t stop me.” You open instagram. “And for that comment, I'm making you press delete on these. You can feel the finalization of us being over. Consider it punishment for being such a dick.”  He laughed and pressed delete on the first one. 

In the third picture, you started to regret this ‘punishment’. “We were a cute couple. You remember that one? That’s when you came over and we fucked like rabbits all week-” “Okay your done. Give me my phone.” You shove him away after and he lets out a deep belly laugh. The sound made you pause for a moment. This was the Pedro you had enjoyed being around. It was always so easy to joke around with him and be yourself. You would miss him. 

series taglist: @chronicallybubbly @spideybv28 @pear-1206 @robertthehoover @reidsworld @bloody-bunni666 @quillycrow @kythefangirl25 @bluetimeombre @cskidjgsjaoaknayan52782 @thewiselionessss @annagraceevanss @peterparkernotfound @rogueinmymind @samsamsantos @wolviesgirl @white-wolf-buckaroo @weskerussy @marvelgirlie-4 @honey-ros3ss @nonamevenus @nizem8 @chaimshelii @rockerchick05 @starryeddie @saylak @haytchee @godlypresley @mega-kittyglitter-1 @acescutejeans-1247 @bethexo07

*taglist closed*

[sleepyparalysisdmon]

Ruby

The three times Jihoon tries to confess through lyrics and the one where you finally get it.

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: none that I can think of, just some fluff

This is part of the Three Times series. This one is inspired by this reactions.

One

You punch in the code to the door like it’s an old habit, mostly because it is. Jihoon doesn’t turn to you right away and you know better than to distract him in the middle of something. You sit the takeout bags on the table and plop down on the couch in the corner. Your couch, to be exact. He doesn’t often have visitors just hang out in here with him while he’s working, but you’ve long insisted this might be the only way to see your best friend sometimes. You assume he agreed because a small sofa just appeared here one day along with a couple fuzzy blankets. 

“Hey,” he finally greets. “What’s for dinner?” 

“Is that all I’m good for?” You tease as he comes to sit next to you. “Just some Chinese take out from the place down the street. I hope that’s okay.” 

Jihoon shrugs, digging in as soon as he can. “Doesn’t matter. I’m too starving to care.”

“How’s the song going?” You ask, not expecting much. He can be really hot and cold about sharing his stuff with you before he feels like it’s perfect, so sometimes a non-committal ‘okay’ is all you get. 

Today must be a good day, because he’s gesturing for the both of you to move to the desk. “It’s missing something and I can’t quite put a finger on what.” He hits a few buttons and lets you listen. Everything about it has you smiling, much like it always does. 

You can’t help but tease him when the song ends and he asks what you think. “Jihoon, are you in love?” It’s not a new jab and he shoves you by the shoulder hard, making you laugh. “I’m kidding. Let me hear the chorus again.” He rolls it back and replays it for you. You recommend a few tweaks and when he makes them and replays the part, he sighs in relief.

“Are we done for the day now?” You chuckle, and it turns to a full blown laugh when he scoffs.

“Do you know how long it takes to prepare an album, Y/N? I hope you brought some entertainment.”

“You think this is my first day being your friend? Please,” you roll your eyes, pointing to the backpack you brought with you. “You’re stuck with me.”

You know he’d send you away if he didn’t like that. He lets you stay until you’re barely keeping your eyes open before he finally packs his things up and drives you home.

Two

A red notebook lands in your lap. It’s unfamiliar, only because the last one Jihoon handed you was blue. “Ran out of room?” You say as he spins back around in his chair. 

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Read the last entry, nothing else.” You do. You’d never overstep how much he’s willing to share, so you’re careful not to linger on pages that you aren’t invited to look at. 

“What am I looking for?” You ask, skimming the page. It’s chaotic, notes in the margins, lines crossing out certain things that he’s rejected. Some writing is squished between lines and you have to squint to read it.

“It’s not flowing in my mind the way I want it to. I want a second opinion.”

Like you’d ever turn down that opportunity. You pull out a pencil, because you’d never permanently mark up these ideas. What you think about it is only a suggestion - one that can be erased. You make some notes, rereading, trying to grasp the vision that he has for the song. You aren’t a musician but you do have a good idea of how his mind works. 

When you hand it back, he doesn’t look at your notes right away, pinning you with a look. “Well?”

“Romantic as ever. One of these days you’ll make such a sweet boyfriend.” 

He snorts, skimming through what you’ve marked up. “Yeah, right. Explain to me what you did here.” 

You plop into the seat next to him. You’re touched that he involves you in his work like this. That he’s willing to hear what you think when you’re so far from being an expert. He’s never shot down your ideas, even if he doesn’t end up using all of them. He still wants it to feel like ‘his’. 

Today’s a good day and most of the pencil marks stay in place. He even teases you about giving you some song writing credits. He knows you’d never accept them, but he likes seeing both his and your marks on the page working together. 

Three

Today is not a good day. Due to some unforeseen circumstances, they’ve lost some work and have had to re-record some parts. You’re surprised when you arrive to his studio and it’s packed. You fade into the corner as to not be in the way. You watch Jihoon obsessively save copies of files in various spots and when everyone else wishes you both good night to go home, you give him a minute to collect himself. 

“How can I help?” You finally say. You watch his shoulders tense and it makes you sad. “Would you like me to go? Give you some space to work?” He shakes his head and you finally approach him, sitting next to him. You rub his back lightly. “What do you have left to do?” 

“Rearrange everything so someone can look at it tomorrow. It’s not usually my specialty, but I have to have something to give them to work with.” He looks like he might pull his hair out so you gently turn his chair. 

“Come on,” you say, opening your arms to him. You know he’s not the most physically affectionate person, but it won’t stop you from offering some comfort. To your surprise, he barely hesitates, arms coming around you too. When you feel like he’s lost some of the tension in his body, you let go. “Get started. I’ll go make some coffee.” 

You miss the way he turns to watch you leave. He doesn’t know how to say thank you for your presence on days like today. 

Four

The comeback is over and so are the promotions for it. It’s been many, many weeks since you’ve seen your best friend, and this time, it’s amazingly not at his work. He lets himself into your apartment and plops down on the couch next to you. You’ve planned a lazy day of just lying around and relaxing. You’ve sworn off work as a thing to so much as discuss today, so you glare at him when see the flash of a red notebook come out of his backpack. 

“Lee Jihoon, I told you no work today,” you admonish. 

He doesn’t listen to you. He never does. “Y/N, I may not show up to work every single day, but I’m probably going to write every single day.” 

He’s right, of course. Sometimes it just pours out of him into these notebooks, like the one he’s handing you. “What am I looking for?” You ask with a huff.

“Last entry,” he says. It’s almost always the last entry, but you don’t want to go blindly flipping through his private thoughts. You find it and this sheet is actually pretty clean, with very little notes in the margins or lines crossed out. You can’t help but smile, just like you always do when he shares something like this with you. 

“One of these days you’ll tell me who these songs are about,” you muse. 

He groans and the sound surprises you. He usually rolls his eyes and asks what you think, but this time, he looks like he’s almost in pain. “I’m in love with an idiot,” he mumbles, hand rubbing down his face.

“That’s no way to talk about the love of your life!” You cry out. “You write all of these sweet songs for her and you call her an idiot?”

“I’m talking about you, Y/N. You’re the idiot.”

Your mouth pops open. “Oh.” 

He rolls his eyes, snatching back the notebook, tossing it onto your coffee table. “They’ve always been about you, every single notebook over the years. You can’t be that dense.”

You barely hear the insult because you’re thinking of all the various notebooks he’s handed you over the years, only small portions of which he’s let you read. “All of them?” You whisper.

He sighs. “I’m sorry.” 

You pout at him, not that he’s looking at you. He’s leaning back into the couch, arms crossed over his chest. You understand why he’s apologizing, but there’s really no need. “You didn’t ask me what I think of the lyrics.”

He hesitates, glancing out of the corner of his eye at you. Finally, he clears his throat. “What did you think of the lyrics?” 

You lean forward, pressing a light, lingering kiss to his lips. You hear his breath catch and the sound is just as sweet as the contents of all his notebooks. “I loved it, just like every other page you’ve ever let me read.” 

“I’ll bring over the rest tomorrow. They’re all about you anyway.” He says it so simply that you can’t help but fling your arms around him. He calls you an idiot again but he’s laughing regardless.

[r4ilway]

Spots of Jealousy (Pt. 1)

This is a series!

Summary: Your friends invite you to a Halloween party. The man you won't acknowledge that you have a small crush on comes with another girl you've never met before. Not knowing what to feel or do, you give him a taste of his own medicine by messing with your roommate in front of him.

pairing: college!Hyunjin x college!Reader, some college!Chan x college!Reader

genre: Suggestive ❤️‍🔥

warnings: bad writing, Alcohol consumption, fake blood, a lot of tension, making out, dry humping (?), grinding

notes: hi, first fic ever on here. im really rusty on writing so im sorry if some moments seem rushed or just not right? yeah idk. also its NOT PROOFREAD!

divider by: @strangergraphics

Walking into the lecture hall, you took a seat next to the long black-haired male wearing a loose black sweater and jeans. His laptop was out on the table, and he was looking through his phone. Noticing your presence, he turned to you.

"Morning Y/N, did Felix say he'd come today?" He asked, his sleepy eyes looking into yours.

"I dunno hyunnie. He didn't text in the groupchat," You replied.

You placed some coffee candies near his hand that rested on the wooden desk. His eyebrows raised seeing them. Sure they were probably not caffeinated, but maybe it's taste that mimicked his favourite americanos would wake him up.

You settled down at your desk, and a few minutes later, Felix took a seat next to me. His blonde hair a little disheveled, and he wore an oversized shirt and swearpants.

"Morning Y/N, Hyung," He smiled softly.

"Hey Felix." You said, passing him some candy, he smiled. He opened the wrapper and ate one of them.

Our professor came in a few moments later, starting off the lesson.

While the lesson was reaching its end, Felix got bored. He looked through his phone and was reminded of what he wanted to say.

"Are yall going to the party later this week?" Felix asked in a hushed voice.

"What party?" You replied.

"Johnny's. He's hosting a halloween party on Saturday night."

"What?" Hyunjin butted in.

"You guys didn't know?" Felix questioned.

Hyunjin and I shook heads.

"Who's coming?" Hyunjin asked.

"The usual, Minho, Seungmin, Changbin, Jeongin, Chan, Jisung, and whoever else,"

Your ears perked up hearing Chan's name mentioned. He didn't seem one for parties, at least from the conversations you were having. What You had with Chan seemed complex but really was the same old trope. You met him and the boys through Hyunjin, your roommate. They'd have gatherings and since your apartment was the largest and most available, it became the designated hang-out spot. They always extend the invitation to you. When you first saw Chan you thought he was very attractive, his black undercut hair, sharp eyes and nose, and such a built body. He wasn't the most popular kid around college, but he was averagely known, by his group of friends too. So if you had found him attractive surely girls did too. The more you guys hung out, the more you got to know his caring nature, the small gestures he would do, like protecting sharp corners of furniture with his hands, his calloused hands that rubbed your thighs if were watching a scene you didn't like, or his need to always have some sort of skinship with you, his arm next to yours, your legs on his lap. The tension was ever-growing between you two, you got excited if he were to come over, him having a small smile whenever near you. You had a small crush on him, maybe a little bigger than small. But yet, none of you said anything, enjoying whatever "don't wanna love" attitude you both shared. Your texts would also have hints of flirting, like cops and robbers chasing each other.

"Johnny said to bring a date, or come with friends..the more the merrier," Felix added.

"Kay, you have an costume already?" Hyunjin asked.

"Yeah! I'm being Thor this year," He replied.

You all laughed knowing he would look ridiculous in the costume. Soon enough, the class ended. You packed up your things and left, walking out of the building.

The three of you proceeded to walk to parking lot, Felix was hanging out at your place for the day to get some work done, and you and Hyunjin just wanted to crash. While walking out of the campus, you saw chan walking with a girl. You recognised her, Haru, she was a pretty popular girl in school, always sociable and obviously attractive. Your heart sank a little seeing Chan with her. Of course he'd be with her. But what about what you guys had? All the small touches, tender words, suggestive moments? You pulled yourself out of those thoughts, no longer looking in their direction. Reaching the parking lot, you guys hopped into the car and left.

A few days passed, and Saturday evening had already arrived. The group chat with you and the 8 boys was super active, they were discussing costumes, who needed a ride and who they were coming with. You on the other hand were getting ready, your makeup took extra time as it was something you hadn't tried. There's been a recent trend of leopard makeup, and you decided to go as a sexy leopard, a leopard print halter top that cut low, exposing your cleavage, with a miniskirt of the same print. After some time, you finally finish your look and admire yourself in the mirror. Your eyes that mimicked the predator animal made you look sultry, the dark lip you had accentuated its plumpness. Good luck to anyone who saw you tonight, cause you were definitely stealing the spotlight.

Hyunjin knocked on your door and opened it, seeing you check yourself out in the mirror.

"Y/N, could you help me out with the makeup?"

You nodded. And told him to come in and sit in your chair. Hyunjin was always handsome, and you felt an attraction to him all the time. Didn't help that you would find him in just sweatpants when you were getting late night snacks, and his muscles would look oh so good in the dim lighting.

"What do you want done hyunie?"

"Some eyeshadow? Maybe blood on the corner of my lip?" He said, looking up at you.

You picked up some dark eyeshadow, and brushed it on his eyelid, making his gaze darker from his usual soft look. This was the closest you've been to each other despite living under one roof. His eyes stared up at you as while you concentrate on him. Your heart started pumping a bit faster, and the air in the room was harder to breathe.

"You have a date for tonight?" He asked.

"No, but Felix did say we can come with friends, I'm assuming we're the friends?" You lightly laughed, yet a hint of sadness in your voice.

While everyone in the groupchat was talking about just coming as friends and bringing their other friends, Chan didnt reply much. You let them know you didnt really have a date either and would love to match costumes with them, but they all had their own ideas. You guys ended up agreeing to just come as a group of friends, when probing Chan, he mentioned he'll be coming with someone else.

"You've seen Chan and Haru right? You think they're going together tonight?" He said

You froze for a second, your hand with the brush now pulled away from his eyes, your heart reenacting the sinking feeling when you first saw them walking earlier this week. You shrug, you really didn't know if they were and hoping they didn't.

"Ah, oh well, we'll just see later," He commented, taking your wrist to place the brush near his eye again.

You finished up his eye makeup, you had to calm down to work on his lips, and your heart was racing. You picked up some red lipstick and signalled him to open his mouth slightly. You painted on the red slowly, and his gaze continued to linger on you. You wished he'd stop, or at least not continuously keep his eyes on you like that. The tightness in your chest grew, you had to finish this now to save yourself from doing anything embarrassing. You picked up the fake blood he had in his hands and dripped it at the corner of his lips, the blood trailing further down, stopping at his chin before the drop fell to the floor. I stepped back from him, letting him look at himself in the mirror. He grinned seeing how attractive he looked.

"Thank you Y/N..you look amazing by the way." He commented.

You smiled, and started accesorising yourself, putting on the leopard ears that lied on your makeup table. You put on earrings, and bracelets, blinging yourself up.

"I'm gonna go first okay Y/N, gonna meet some other friends to pre-drink. You'll be alright hm?" He asked cuffing his sleeves up. Looking at you with his sharp gaze.

"Yes hyunnie, I'll get an uber or something," You smiled.

"Okay, see you there pretty~" He cooed, winking at you before closing the door.

When you heard the door close, the air suddenly felt clear in your airways, your heart rate slowed.

"Holy fuck.." You whispered to yourself, and sat on your bed.

Hyunjin was another problem you had in your life. He was always flirty, but he was flirty with everyone right? At least, thats what you saw. But he never really brought home a girl, or maybe he only did if you weren't around? Being roomates who were single had blurred the lines of friends so much, casual arm around shoulders or him carrying you on his back was nothing. You guys knew that this wasn't what just friends would do, but who cares right? But the tension always grew in that goddamn kitchen, it being a cosy fit for you two, so if you guys cooked together or were picking up something, you couldn't avoid each other. It didn't help with his inability to understand personal space, always being up in your face and him catching you staring at his back muscles whenever they showed. And the way he grabbed your wrist so casually yet with dominance just now, it'd be no surprise if something finally happened tonight.

You heard your phone vibrate and picked it up, seeing Felix had texted you.

Chicklix: still home? i'm getting an uber and can pick you up along the way.

Me: yeah im home

Chicklix: okay, see you in 15 😛

You turned your phone off, and checked your makeup once again. You touched up some of the leopard spots and filmed a few tiktoks to post, taking some selfies too. You headed down stairs, picking out a fruit to fill your stomach. Sitting on the living room couch, you put on your platform boots. Soon, your phone buzzed, seeing Felix text that hes here. Turning off all the lights, you left your apartment and walked to the uber, seeing the blonde in the car. You stepped in the car.

"Lets go."

You two arrived at the house, place, thanking the driver and quickly shutting the door. You finally got to see Felix under the street lights and burst out laughing.

"What?!" He asked.

"Bro, this is not thor..this is maybe a thur," You cackled, looking at the muscles that were deformed in his costume.

"OK! OK! I just wanted to feel cool, you're hating and people will like my costume. So lets go." He said, slinging his foam Mjolnir around his wrist.

You laughed and followed behind, hearing the music grow louder. The party had already started a few moments ago, the time read 12.03 AM. Stepping in, the bass of the speakers and subwoofers crawled through the floor all the way up your body. You and Felix waved through through the crowd and managed to find Minho, Changbin and Jisung amongst the crowd.

They all greeted you with smiles, complimenting your costume and makeup. Minho was dressed as Gojo Satoru, Changbin was a boxer, and Jisung was Shin from Nana. The wigs they wore were wacky, but their bodies did their costumes justice.

"Wheres the others?" Felix shouted over the music.

"The others? Hyunjin just came too, he's with Seungmin and Jeongin I think? Somewhere there," Jisung motioned, pointing west from where we were.

"So wheres Chan?" I asked, everyone was here but him.

"He's on his way i think!" Jisung replied.

I grinned at them and signalled that I'd go look for the other three. I walked in the general direction Jisung pointed me in, and soon saw a familiar silhouette with two other men.

"Y/N! You look great!" Jeongin said, with a wide red smile on his face. He donned a purple coat and green hair with white facepaint, the joker, of course.

Seungmin waved to you and he dressed as Pororo, and he really looked like it without any make up too. He was chatting with Hyunjin, who still looked as delectable as he did when he left home. They were all feeling the alcohol a little bit, which reminded you to grab one yourself. You told them you were gonna get a drink and if any of them wanted a refill.

"Help me get a drink pretty, make it strong too, thank you," Hyunjin bent down to you to whisper in your ear.

You nodded, goosebumps rising as you feel his hot breath on your ear, travelling down your spine. He was usually naturally close to you for sure, but he rarely ever did something like that. You sauntered away, your miniskirt shuffling against your upper thighs, making your ass barely shielded from wandering eyes. Yet thats what you wanted. You weren't the type to look sexy on halloween usually, last year you did a pretty accurate costume of Justin Bieber in his golden age, so you gave yourself a chance to just look irresistable tonight. You went towards the drinks and grabbed a cup, fixing yourself a tequila soda, knowing it gets you tipsy quick, you just got Hyunjin a whiskey and coke, you weren't sure what he usually gets, but this was a safe bet, pouring more whiskey than usual.

Walking back to the group, you saw an additional figure and a girl. At first, you thought it was Johnny, but Johnny had dyed hair, and this guy didn't. His black hair on the back of his head, and his biceps paraded with the tight black shirt he had on. He had a gun harness which wrapped around his chest. Judging from that and the belt and pants he wore, he was a police officer...and the girl next to him was a prisoner, in a tight orange jumpsuit, the bottom half allowed some of her ass to show through, a handcuff resting on her wrist. You sighed knowing exactly who the two were. Swallowing your pride, you walked towards them and slotted yourself between Hyunjin and Jeongin. Passing Hyunjin his drink, he smiled at you, nodding thank you before taking a drink. He made a face at the alcoholic taste that wasn't masked by the coke but remembered he asked to have it strong. You waved a small hello to Chan and Haru, not really paying any mind to them. You could feel his eyes on you, and your confidence turned into consciousness, did he think you were doing too much with your costume? Was your makeup bad? Were you showing too much skin? You suddenly felt small in his gaze, you left the house feeling so confident and so attractive and it all turned to everything opposite. And there Chan was, opposite you, looking dangerously fine. The way his black fringe covered his forehead, and his sharp eyes enhanced by the dark makeup similar to Hyunjins. Fake wound marks that went across his nose, and neck and fake bruises on his arm to make it look like he had just left a dangerous cop fight. And the stupid fucking shirt he had on, with the harness that pushed against his beautiful chest. He looked even more insatiable than normal, you hated it. Your eyes turned to Haru, her orange jumpsuit that stopped at her upper thigh, her make-up mimicking Chan's with her messy long hair. Your blood boiled thinking that no one else could've done that makeup for him but her, imagining both of them in the exact same scenario as you and Hyunjin.

You pulled yourself away from the group, not wanting to put yourself in such turmoil any longer. You gravitated towards the snacks, having little to eat that night. Take a big gulp of your drink, the taste going down your throat with resistance. You took a bite of the cream puff you had to chase the drink away, walking back to Minho and Changbin instead, but bumped into Hyunjin, he softly giggled and slung an arm around your shoulder to bring you to Changbin and Minho. They were sat on the couch, and you joined them.

"Lookin good Y/N," Minho smiled.

"Thank you Minho, I put in so much time in this makeup.." You complained.

He laughed. Hyunjin was sat next to you enjoying the music, nodding his head lazily to the music. His arm still slung around your shoulder, and he pulled you closer. You could smell the cologne he wore, and looked at the tight pants that enhanced his muscular thighs. Naturally you leaned into his touch.

"Who's that girl with Chan?" Minho asked.

"Haru or something," Hyunjin replied.

"Oh. Like a talking stage? Or just friend?"

"I don't know, i just see them around campus sometimes,"

You looked at Chan, the girl standing next to him as he talked to his other friends. You sighed to yourself. You weren't even sure why you hated the sight, you were not a thing with Chan, but theres definitely something going on between you two. And to match costumes too?

After a few moments of chatting Hyunjin was getting bored of sitting around, and the music wasn't hitting right yet.

"Did you guys know they have a pool table here? Wanna play?" Hyunjin asked

The 2 of you stood up, Changbin and Minho stayed behind, saying they'd maybe play later. The green suede table sat a bit further away from the main area, but you could still see it. They all picked up cue poles each, but you hesistated.

"I've never played pool you know," You commented, picking up a pole with uncertainty.

"I'll teach you," Hyunjin smiled.

Hyunjin broke the perfectly aligned balls, spreading them around the table. He then tried to get a ball in but didnt succeed. He gestured for your turn, and you walked up to the table. Hyunjin saw your struggle and came up behind you. You mimicked your pose like Hyunjin's, bending your body over, putting your pole behind the white ball but your position was off, and you didn't know how to position your fingers. Hyunjin saw your struggle and came up directly behind your bent body. You could feel the small distance between your ass and his crotch, and he quickly closed it up. He bent over, his face right next to yours.

"Put your fingers like this pretty," He whispered, posing your left fingers with his right hand.

He used the same hand and attached it to your right.

"Push with me,"

His right hand held yours and pushed the pole with enough force to push the white ball and hit a striped ball into the hole. You got up with excitement and your ass brushed against his front. You turned around and realised the closeness between you two. The air was hard to breathe again, seeing his costume in the lighting just made him even more fine. He usually wore baggy clothing, so this black button up he wore accentuated his arms, and it being slightly unbuttoned showed off his chest. You backed away and you back hit the table. He paid no mind to the space you created, closing it up again. He took away the pole in your hands and placed it on the table. His arms on each side of you.

"You're dangerous tonight Y/N," He slurred.

"Me? What about you? Everytime i make space you just come right here," You flirted, inserting a finger under his necklace, pulling him a bit closer. You sat yourself on the table, knocking some of the balls away. He stared up at you, his gaze was different. This wasn't anything like your casual flirts. The need in him was dire. His face so close to you, you could smell the alcohol. Your vision was getting a bit blurry too, which made it 10x easier to play around.

"We still have the rest of the night Y/N, lets make this game last," He smiled.

You lazily pushed him back, and got down from the table. Just then, Jeongin, Seungmin and Changbin came by to play pool too. You excused yourself, opting to find some other friends you heard would be at the party. Before you left, his arm snaked around your waist turning you towards him.

"Find me later pretty, promise?" He asked.

You nodded sweetly, pulling away from his hold and into the crowd once again. You saw your friend Belle standing alone, and approached her.

"Belle! You look amazing!" You comment, referring to her Barbie costume.

"Thank you! Y/N I havent seen you in awhile, and you look stunning babe, did you do the makeup yourself?"

"Yeah, sorry we havent talked in awhile, been so busy,"

You both sat on some stools, catching up on your lives in college. You guys also discussed the mutual friends you knew in your lives.

"Oh by the way, i keep seeing this girl with Chan all the time, who's that?" She asked.

"Girl, you don't know Haru?"

"Clearly not!"

"To be honest, I dont know much of her either..just know she's pretty and well liked,"

"But didn't you and Chan like...ya know"

"What?! What do you mean?" You exclaimed.

"Oh my god Y/N not like that! I meant you guys had something happening no?"

You sighed, thinking about whether you should just brush it off or talk about it.

"I don't know Belle, this has got me fucked up to be honest."

Belle nodded, urging you to continue.

"I dunno Belle, I mean i really think he's attractive, he casually flirts with me and always is gentle and sweet to me, he never once rejected some advances I made too. Now i'm so fucked up over him bringing another girl i dont even know to this damn party. And i dont even feel like its right for me to be mad cause we weren't ever a situationship or anything like that."

She placed a hand on your bare back, rubbing a thumb up and down in comfort. You sighed into her touch, placing a hand on her thigh as a thank you.

"I mean, if it helps you I noticed he's been looking at you a lot since he came,"

You shot her a look.

"Don't make me delusional Belle,"

"No I'm serious! When you went to play pool, his eyes just followed you to where you were going,"

"Am i supposed to believe you?"

"Well look at him right now," She gestured with a nod of her head.

You looked in the direction she pointed, and met eyes with Chan. He had Haru next to him, her hand on his thigh, but he was looking right at you. As you caught him, he didn't bother to even break the contact. You were dressed as a predator animal, but you were a prey now. You tensed up, and quickly turned back to Belle.

"He's been like that ever since he came, brought a girl with him but cant stop looking at you huh? Well i would too, with how you look tonight," She laughed.

You snapped out of your thoughts. She had a point. He brought Haru yet couldn't stop looking at you. You didn't know the reason, but you could give him a reason right now. You suddenly grabbed Belle's hand, and bumped your cups together, downing the drink before dragging her to the dancefloor. You started slow, just swaying your hips to the beat, and when the song got more hype, you started incorporating your arms, trailing them down your body, making sure every curve was covered. Belle hyped you up, wooing at you and dancing along. She started doing the same, waving her body from side to side, her arms up in the air. You cheered her on. She then started body rolling to the beat of the music and encouraged you to join her. Your back towards her chest, you guys body rolled in sync without a care of who's watching. You looked at where Chan was sitting, and saw he still had his eyes on you. His fist on the armrest of the couch, knuckles white. His tongue poking his cheek seeing you dance sexily. Belle wasn't lying. You gave him a smile, and winked at him, continuing to lose yourself to the music.

Belle dancing got the attention of some guy at the party, she then started to dance with him. You continued to dance alone, soon getting tired and wanting another drink. You made your way out of the crowd, going to pour yourself another drink. As you approached the drinks, you felt a looming presence behind you, quickly shifted to your side. With your dazed gaze, you saw the black top and instantly knew who it was. You got him. You ignored him at first, continuing to pour yourself a drink. Chan did the same, before speaking to you.

"Y/N.."

"Well hi channie," You said, looking him up and down deliciously. There was no denying how handsome he looked in the costume. The police costume enhanced his dominant nature.

"You're breathtaking pretty girl," He sighed, looking at all the skin you were showing, with your cleavage peeking through your top.

"Careful with that mouth Chan, wouldn't want your girl to hear you say that to me," You snarked, however, your heart raced at the compliment. He has never said anything of that calibre to you.

His tongue poked his cheek again, a thing he did when he was frustrated. His calloused fingers landed on your waist, holding you tenderly despite how he was feeling. You smirked. This feeling was so familiar, you were so glad to have it back.

"Quite a performer are you?" He asked, his face getting even closer to yours.

"Had to give you a reason to be staring, no?" You teased, a hand stroking his large biceps.

"I don't need a reason, pretty girl..."

"Then i don't need a reason to be with you now, besides, you have your little criminal to attend to," You laughed, pushing him away, before rushing off back to the dance floor.

Chan groaned at your act. He thought he'd finally have you, forget Haru. But you ran off just like that.

You moved through the bodies and saw the black button up you knew so well, dancing with his friends. His white painted faced turned to you as you tapped his shoulder.

"Hyunnie, wanna dance?"

"Of course pretty,"

You lead him further into the dance floor, starting to dance to the music. Hyunjin followed, unbuttoning another button from his shirt, cooling him down and letting him move easier. He started to move with you, his hands landed on your waist from the back guiding you to move with him. You whined your hips, occasionally brushing against him, you smiled at the contact. You let yourself loose, whining and grinding against him. He couldn't hold it any longer and had to look at you. He took your hand and raised it, encouraging you to do a turn. You turned your body towards him, seeing his handsome face and his exposed chest begging to be marked up.

"I never knew a leopard could be so sexy," He said.

"I never wanted a vampire to bite me so bad," You blurted.

He smirked, a fang peeking through.

"Is that a challenge pretty? Want me to bite you like one?"

"Hmm, its up to you hyunnie, could mark me up in front of all these people, make me look pretty," You flirted into his ear, as youlooked off to the side to find Chan sat on a sofa Haru sat on his lap. She was giggling to whatever the other boys at the sofa were saying, but Chan paid no mind. All he saw was you, and how he wished your hands were on him instead of Hyunjin.

Hyunjin was a several drinks deep, so he easily pushed your hair away from your neck, tilting your head. He attached his mouth onto the bare skin. His lips leaving soft kisses on the area, and he started to suck and nip at the skin slowly, yet hard. You moaned lightly at the feeling, your neck was an erogenous zone, so it heightened your senses so much. You felt 2 fangs prod at the skin, and you gasped. He has his arm around your waist, and looks up to see his hyung staring right at him. The red that you painted on him was now painted on you. He detached his mouth, a light trail of saliva followed. He could feel the anger from Chan's intense gaze, and gave a cocky grin. He looked at the masterpiece he created, grinning to himself.

"So beautiful.." He said softly.

Your cheeks flushed at his compliment. Feeling a wave of confidence after the compliment, you pulled him towards a nearby couch. He sat down, and you sat down next to him, a hand on your thigh as you both maintained the tension. Earned It by The Weeknd started playing, and you got up, having the perfect plan.

You make it look like it's magic

You sauntered your hips to the beat, your back a few feet away from Hyunjin. His legs spread wide, almost calling you. Chan sat directly opposite you two, Haru still on his lap. He stared you down hungrily.

But I see nobody, nobody but you

You mouthed the lyrics, staring right into Chan's predator eyes. You then turned back towards Hyunjin, walking towards him, giving the same show to Chan now. He had a full view of your ass barely covered by the miniskirt.

I'm never confused, Hey Hey I'm so used to being used

You straddled Hyunjins lap, he naturally placed his hands on your waist. You started to grind slowly against him, he could not focus on anything else but you. You felt his cock through his pants, it was semi-hard under you.

So I love when you call unexpected, cause i hate when the moment's expected.

You got up, and sat on his lap, your skin rubbed against the tight pants he wore, feeling every part of his thigh and groin.

So I'ma care for you, you, you

The speakers sang, as you grinded your ass into him, swaying side to side to the song. Your body gave attention to Hyunjin, but your eyes entirely looking at Chan. His gaze followed your every move, he clenched his fists up, controlling himself. You felt a hand on the curve of your back, and leaned into the touch. Your hands rubbed Hyunjins thighs up and down. You felt something poking you as you grinded into his clothed cock. Hyunjin pulled you even further into him, creating delicious friction to relieve him. Hyunjin was enjoying the entire show you put on for him, his ego grew and grew realising you gave him what his hyung wanted so badly. Jokes on him for bringing another girl here other than you. He tapped you, you turned around. He pulled you into his lap once more, now your legs straddled his left thigh, an arm around your waist.

"God Y/N...You're making me fucking crazy. Mark me up will you pretty?"

You happily obliged, planting a kiss on his cheek that left a mark. You moved down, planting soft kisses on his neck. You felt the skin of his neck vibrate as he hummed at the feeling. You reached his chest, and kissed and sucked near his collabone. You continued to do the same to wherever you could find skin, leaving your lip print all over him. Pulling away, you admired the masterpiece you made of him, and pulled out your phone to take a picture. Showing him, he laughed and pulled you closer with one arm, your arm around his neck.

"Hm pretty, making me an artpiece yeah? Wanna show everyone that I'm yours?" He said, planting a soft kiss on your shoulder.

You giggled softly. Leaning into him. The closeness and tension that never stopped was too much for you to even handle any more. Your faces so near each other, he stared at your lips with such want. You made the decision for him, your lips meeting his for the first time. His soft lips melted into yours, he opened his lips slightly and continued to kiss you gently. His hands roamed your body, and you placed a hand on his chest. You opened your mouth wider, allowing him to kiss you deeper. At the moment, it felt like it was just you two there, never mind the music and the many people around you. You pulled away from him, looking at his pretty face now with messed-up lipstick. You had to have him, to finally let go of it all.

Leaning into Hyunjin's ear, you whispered to him, "Hyunnie...wanna go home? I think we gave them enough of a show," You suggested, your breath on him made him shudder. He couldn't contain it either.

He nodded. In an instant, he let you stand up, him following along. You went to say goodbye to Belle and the boys, passing by Chan but paying no mind. You could feel his head turn as you two walked away from the crowd and to the front door. He sighed, seeing the image of Hyunjin's arm around your waist and the way yours and Hyunjin's lipstick were messed up, remnants of each other's makeup evident. There was no question what you would do back home.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Touch of Sweetness 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Loki Laufeyson

Sister series to mob!Thor

Summary: you make a new friend, but that’s not all. (short reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“That was awesome. We have so many berries,” you dust the dirt off your capris as you stand. “What are you going to make with yours?” 

Loki squints up at the sky and doesn’t answer. You frown. He’s not paying attention. 

“Brother,” Thor calls him back to earth, “the little one asked a question.” 

“You may keep them all,” he says as he puts his chin down. “I have no need of berries.” 

“But... you helped pick them all. You should get some. Oo, have you ever tried berries and a cream? Or you could make a smoothie--” 

“I said keep them,” he slithers and pushes his jacket back to slide his hands into his pockets. “Are we done then?” 

“You’ve nowhere important to be,” Thor insists. “I would know.” 

You sway awkwardly. You don’t want to be a nuisance. Not like you always are. 

“You know, I had lots of fun. With all of you, but I think I should just go home now,” you suggest. “Thanks for coming.” You smile at Queenie, “it was nice to meet you.” You turn and look at Loki, “and you.” 

He peers down his nose at you as his lips thin. “It wasn’t entirely unpleasant.” 

You look back at the others, “what about the berries?” Queenie asks, “you could come over and show me how to make something.” She pauses and looks at Thor. He grins. 

“Of course she can,” he assures. “You could come now, even.” 

“I appreciate that but I gotta get going.” 

“We will message and arrange the details then,” Thor declares. “Drive safe.” 

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Queenie murmurs grimly. 

“I can’t wait,” you say. “Thank you for all your help, Loki.” 

His cheek ticks and he pushes his shoulders up, “it was nothing. Only got my suit dirty.” 

You giggle. He’s funny. Well, now he knows not to wear something so nice to a berry farm. 

“Alrighty, I’ll be going then. I wanna get some pictures of the bunnies before I go,” you chime. “Buh bye!” 

You turn and skip off. You’re wired with excitement. It might not have been a shining success but you made one friends at least. Queenie is nice and it seems like she needs a friend too. 

You stop by the bunny stall and snap some photos before you head off. You’ve spent enough money and time there. Besides, you don’t like driving in the dark and it’s a lot later than you thought. 

When you get home, your sister is there with Estelle. You head to kitchen to put your berries in the fridge. As you make space, Jada enters with her minion at her side. 

“Did you have fun playing in the dirt like a child?” She taunts. 

“Sure did,” you say as you slide the basket onto the shelf. 

“Sure looks like you did,” Estelle scoffs. 

You look down at your outfit. You have berry just on one knee and some soil on the other. Oh well, they aren’t your favourite pants. 

“You could’ve come. It was really cool. They had bunnies and a horse cart.” You say. 

“Did he stand you up?” Jada asks, ignoring your suggestion. 

“Stand me up? Who?” 

“Oh, don’t play dumb. Thor. You said that’s what he asked you outside the cafe. So what happened? Did he realise you’re a loser?” 

“I told you, he said he wanted me to meet his girlfriend. She’s nice,” you shrug. 

“Nice? She’s probably too good for you. I mean, she’s dating him.” She snickers. “Do you even know who Thor Odinson is? What he does?” 

“I would know. You gush about him all the time,” you stick your tongue out. 

“That’s not true,” she snaps. 

Estelle laughs, “you kinda of do... along with the rest of them.” 

“He’s a criminal,” Jada says. 

You just stare at her. “So why’d you let me go? I'm your sister?” 

“Oh, don’t do that,” she puffs. “You always are so pathetic. And stupid. You’re an adult, you can take care of yourself.” 

“Come on, Jada, don’t be bitter. You’re the one who’s obsessed with the outfit.” Estelle nudges her. 

“You’re taking her side?” Jada turns on her. 

“No, hell no. But you’re being dramatic. I bet he thought it was funny. She’s so dumb, it’s like having a clown at the party. Something to laugh at,” Estelle jeers. 

“Exactly,” Jada agrees and laugh tritely, “she is a clown.” 

You frown but don’t argue. She’ll just keep calling you names. You wait for her to go before you retreat to your room. The triumph of your day is quickly blotted out by the spiteful chittering you can hear in the front room. 

You wash up and get changed for bed. Maybe Queenie won’t message. Maybe it was all just a game to Thor. After all, what are you compared to him and his pretty, sophisticated girlfriend? And his brother seemed entirely unimpressed by it all. 

You fall asleep in a roil of doubt. You awake, little by little, and linger in bed as you search for the will to get up. You yawn and rub your eyes. You stand up and step into your slippers that look like cows. 

You go out to the kitchen and groggily flip on the electric kettle. As you wait for the water to boil, you go to the fridge and open it mindlessly. It’s more of a habit than an actual mission for anything. You skim the shelves and notice the empty space where your basket of berries should be. 

You let the door shut and look around the kitchen. The basket is empty on the counter. It must have been Jada. It’s like when you got that bottle of Coach perfume with your first pay check and she smash it against the school wall. 

What a waste. 

You hang your head and go back to your room. You’re hurt but not surprised. She’s been doing stuff like this for so long, you’re almost numb to it.  

You close your door slowly as you spot the dark stains across the front of your dresser. You flip the lights on and see the berry-coloured fingerprints all around the drawers. You cross the room and open the top drawer. You check every one and find the same thing in all. You must have slept through it all. 

All your clothes are smeared in berries. They’re starting to stink too. You take out a couple shirts and sigh. You could cry but that would only make Jada laugh louder. 

You shut the drawers and grab your phone from the charger. You go back to the kitchen as you weigh the day laundry to be done. A message pops up as you pour boiling water over a tea bag. You read the screen and swipe up the phone from the counter. 

‘I’ll send a car at noon. Queenie is looking forward to it.’ 

You read a re-read the invitation. It doesn’t leave you any room for rejection. Recalling Jada’s words, you don’t think it is an option. Thor might be nice but he is who he is. You might be just as stupid as they say getting yourself tangled up in all this mess. Yet, your only family are much more sinister than these people your sister claims to be criminals. You’ll take your chances with them. 

[jeonginsleftcheek]

The sun to me

Chapter XV. Nurture.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x afab!reader

word count: 3.7k

chapter summary: absence makes the heart grow fonder.

warnings: multiple sex scenes, unprotected sex, creampie, lots of 'i love you's', sweet nicknames and crying, hyune is possessive again

~ Masterlist for the series

~ next part

🌼 Chamomile - healing and comfort.

Deep breath in.

As Hyunjin finally stands on the pier, watching all the people around him laughing, talking and embracing each other, a feeling of familiarity settles deep inside him.

His heart beats fast in his chest, he feels as if it will jump out and run right to you, where it belongs, like it knows he's finally back home.

He tries to calm down with more deep breaths, observing the passengers who were aboard the ship with him, reuniting with their loved ones.

Nobody waits for him on the pier but when his legs finally start working, they take him down the familiar path to your flower shop.

Memories flood his senses, hitting him hard, with sounds, smells, visions, tastes, touches.

It's almost overwhelming as he walks the quiet street, his suitcase breaking the silence against the uneven stones once more.

Hyunjin sees your flower shop coming into view and with hurried steps he approaches it.

The shop is closed on a Wednesday, and there is a note on the door.

Feeling his heart sinking, he steps closer to inspect the note, written in your handwriting.

'Closed until further notice.'

Is what the note says, fear and confusion bubble up inside him, making his stomach churn.

Hyunjin turns and starts taking big strides, walking fast with his suitcase bumping against the ground violently.

There are clouds gathering in the distance, announcing the arrival of a storm that brings the end to the hot summer season.

Hyunjin doesn't notice the clouds, his mind focused only on you, millions of thoughts and worries flashing behind his eyelids.

As he stands in front of your door, he finds himself hesitating for a moment just to take another deep breath in, scared of what will await him on the other side of the door.

Since you never answered, he wonders if you even want to see him.

He knocks and waits, your footsteps coming closer to the door, his heart beats in the same pattern as you come closer to him.

You swing the door open and gasp loudly when you see Hyunjin standing there.

Your heart almost leaps out of your chest and something inside you just wants to fall into his arms and melt into him but confusion overtakes you, as questions start multiplying in your brain, and the hurt you felt during these last few months makes your eyes water.

Hyunjin's soul vibrates when he sees you, but his heart shatters at the sight of you. He can see you're tired, exhausted even, dark circles under your eyes, that glint you had completely dull, your face hung in sadness, there's no sweet smile that would always brighten your face when you look at him.

Neither of you say anything for a moment, your eyes fall down to look at his suitcase then back up at him, and he notices that the necklace he gave you is still around your neck.

A flicker of hope ignites inside him.

"W-what are you doing here?"- you say in shock when you finally find your voice, talking over the lump forming in your throat.

So many nights you had dreamt of your lover appearing at your door, your Hyunjin coming back to you, his arms open and his lips sweet like they always were against yours and now you think it must be just a figment of your imagination.

"I came back to you. Like I promised."- Hyunjin swallows nervously.

"B-but... You never answered my letter."- you say weakly, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

"What? Of course I did. As soon as I got your letter, I answered and sent mine."- he looks confused.

"I never got your letter. I- I thought all this time that you moved on. I tried calling you too, but it said that the number no longer exists."

"I had to change my number. You never got my letter? I swear I sent it, I even have a picture of it."

"You really sent me a letter? All this time, you thought I never answered?"- you gulp, a tear sliding down your cheek.

"Yeah, I thought you must have a good reason. I also thought something happened to you, but I didn't want my mind to go to dark places. Eventually, I thought... I thought you just stopped loving me."- Hyunjin's eyes become teary. "I tried calling Isaac's house but then I got this letter."

Hyunjin rummages through his backpack, taking out Isaac's will.

"I thought it was you at first, that you had answered. But, it was Isaac, he left me his house."

"Oh, he did? Makes sense, he loved you like a son. It was really a tragedy and a shock."- you sniffle as you give it back to him.

"I still didn't process it."- Hyunjin looks around, the clouds are now closer and he finally notices them. "May I come in?"

"Of course, of course!"- you nod quickly and Hyunjin comes in and closes the door, leaving his suitcase in the hallway as you walk into the kitchen.

"So... you're still wearing my necklace. That must mean you still have feelings for me?"- Hyunjin asks, his heart fluttering and stomach churning in fear.

Every single day since he left, your pain grew and your soul throbbed with it before the dam finally broke and tears started flowing out your eyes freely.

"Of course I do! I thought you forgot me and replaced me. I thought I'd never see you again, that my greatest fear came true. I thought you stopped loving me."- you sobbed and Hyunjin's tears started sliding down his cheeks too.

"I could never stop loving you y/n, you're my soulmate and the love of my life. You're the only thing that kept me going this summer. I had the hardest time and wished every day to have you next to me. Thinking of seeing your beautiful face and falling into your arms again gave me courage and hope."- Hyunjin confesses.

"I wished every day to have you next to me too. Nothing made sense without you here. Not even my flowers gave me comfort, they just made me miss you even more."

Both of you sobbed and Hyunjin couldn't wait anymore, his heart and body craving you deeply, his arms wrapped around you and he pulled you into his embrace.

A choked sob escaped your lips when you felt his warmth and his familiar scent, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist.

"I missed you so much."- you cry.

"I missed you too, my flower."- Hyunjin cries too as you cling onto each other.

Almost blindly you search for each other's lips, everything else around you disappears and melts away as the two of you connect again through a kiss full of feelings yet unspoken, making up for the lost time with a fiery passion.

Your hands are restless, touching his hair, his face, his chest as he grips onto you, pulling you closer into his body, kissing you with all he has.

Somehow you stumble back and Hyunjin presses you into the wall, his hands sliding under your dress.

Your hand flies sideways from the impact, accidentally knocking down a few trinkets you had on the table, as they clatter on the floor but neither of you care.

"I love you so much."- he says against your lips, the taste of both of your tears salty and painful.

"I love you so much, Jinnie. I need you. I need you so bad."- you cry, your tears an overflowing river, wilding through your whole body and coming out in waterfalls.

"I need you too my love."- Hyunjin says with matching emotion, his hands grip your thighs as he kisses your face and neck, teeth biting into your skin and tongue coming out to soothe the pain.

"Take me, Hyunjin."- you whine, tugging at his pants, you have missed the feeling of him inside you, of being one with him.

He doesn't waste any time as he pulls his pants and boxers down, gripping your thighs and hoisting you up in his strong arms, your back pressed against the wall.

You gasp and whimper, grabbing at his shoulders.

You wrap your legs around him as he somehow manages to sneak his hand between your legs and move your panties to the side.

No more words were needed in that moment, your bodies spoke before your lips did as Hyunjin slowly pushed his cock inside you, the familiar stretch making you moan loudly as you dig your nails into his skin.

Hyunjin groans at the warm feeling of you wrapped around his length and his thrusts are immediately fast and hard as you hold onto each other like you're afraid one of you might disappear.

"Ah, ah, Jinnie, more!"- you cry and he kisses you before he grips your flesh, leaving bruises in his wake and fucking your harder, bringing you down on his cock perfectly as the tip touches the deepest parts of you.

"My love. My muse."- Hyunjin fucks into you desperately, his hips erratic and stuttering as he keeps groaning.

You already feel close, the euphoria of being in his arms and at his mercy, finally seeing his face and feeling him inside you and around you, you let go and explode on his cock, clenching around him and making him even more wet.

"F-fuck love, I need to cum!"- Hyunjin groans.

"Inside, cum inside me!"- you whine, your arms wrapped around him tightly and nails digging into his upper back.

Hyunjin whimpers loudly, his cock twitches and you feel his hot cum filling up your pussy and you take it as he rides his high, fucking into you until you get every last drop of him.

His legs tremble for a moment as you hold onto each other, breathing hard, you feel dizzy as your ears ring and finally you smile.

"You're really here."- you look at him.

"I'm really here, my love. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for letting you down and making you think I forgot you. I'm sorry for not coming back sooner or making a better effort to contact you."

"Jinnie, it's not your fault. I guess the letter got lost and created a misunderstanding."- you start as he slowly pulls out of you and you feel his cum slide down your inner thigh.

You grip onto his arms when your feet touch the ground, your legs like jelly.

"Still, I feel so bad that you were so lonely and sad all this time. I could've tried harder." - Hyunjin says as he holds you.

"I'm happy now that you're here."- you lean on his chest and he grips you tighter.

"I'll never leave you again, I promise. I can't live without you."- he kisses the top of your head, caressing you.

"I can't live without you either. I love you."- you look at him and he smiles.

"I love you so much, my flower."- he kisses you gently, sweetly to remind you of the tender love he has showed to you before, now in your arms again.

It feels as if all the shattered pieces of your hearts are slowly coming back together, making you feel whole again.

After cleaning up and brewing a fresh cup of coffee, Hyunjin and you sit on your couch, arms wrapped around each other, your legs in his lap as you don't want to spend any moment apart.

"I thought you put up my paintings. You said you were considering doing it in your letter."- Hyunjin says, his fingers raking through your hair.

"I did. I took them down when I thought you wouldn't come back. It hurt to look at them."- you sigh.

"I'm sorry, darling."- Hyunjin's arms tighten around you.

"It's fine, we can redecorate. Um, that brings me to a question."

"Yes, my love?"

You look up at him to find him looking at you with an endearing smile on his face and you can't help but smile back.

"Do you still want to move here?"- you ask quietly, hoping he'll say yes.

"If you'll have me."

"Of course I want you here. But, what about Isaac's house?"

Hyunjin bites his lip in thought.

"I have an idea. Would you like to open up a gallery with me? In Isaac's honor, I think he would love that."

"Jinnie, that's a wonderful idea!"

"I would like to have his pieces there too, a museum of sorts. And also yours if you're okay with that."- Hyunjin smiles at you.

"Ours together?"

"Mhm."- he nods, kissing you every two minutes between talking. Because it's never enough.

"I really like the thought of that. It's perfect, Isaac would totally be behind that."- you chuckle a little.

"Can we visit his grave one of these days? I want to pay my respects to him."- Hyunjin asks.

"Of course, I go there a lot to bring fresh flowers anyways."- you say and Hyunjin kisses your head.

You sit in silence for a few minutes, just soaking each other in as the thunder rolls in from the distance.

"You said you had a hard time? What happened?"- you sit up and look at Hyunjin.

"Ugh I- I kinda punched my manager. Broke his nose. He sued me and tried to ruin my career. So I had to fight him in court. He also leaked my number and I got harassed, that's why I changed it."- he shrugs.

"Hyunjin! How can you say all of that so nonchalantly?!"- you gasp.

"It's behind me now. I fought well, you'd be so proud of me if you were there."- he smiles.

"You went through all of that alone."- you shake your head and then grab his face gently. "I wish I could've been there with you to at least be your mental and emotional support."

"Baby, it's okay. I thought of you 24/7 and I was looking forward to seeing you, even when I thought you didn't answer, I told you, you were my only hope."- he convinces you with a sweet kiss.

"Is it all settled now?"

"Yes, thankfully. It was hell."- Hyunjin pauses for a second to listen to the thunder becoming louder and louder, rain slowly starting to drizzle.

"Hey, it's like that time we confessed to each other."- Hyunjin remarks.

"Better get the candles out, just in case."- both of you chuckle, actually getting up and putting candles around the living room.

Just like that night, you spend the entire time kissing and holding each other, feeling even more thankful than before that you get to be in each other's embrace.

As the rain pours down, the wind wilds and the thunder keeps rolling in, you're safe in your little cocoon. With every kiss you erase an ounce of pain, coming closer to the happiness you shared before, every doubt and fear fading away slowly, each caress compensating for the time your bodies craved each other, every smile shared between you mends your hearts, shaping you into the two lovers you once were, finally reunited and stronger than before.

And when the lights go out, only the flicker of the candles bring in the luminescence that casts the shadow of two bodies connected as one in a dance of love and passion.

In the freshness of the morning, you slowly wake up, your limbs tangled with your lover's, a smile appears on your face as you take a deep breath in.

The gentle breeze coming from your window caresses your exposed skin, as the two of you fell asleep naked, hot against each other.

The smell of fresh rain mixing with the comforting and familiar scent of Hyunjin brings you into a soft state of mind, your body relaxing even further into the soft blankets.

Hyunjin stirs awake, nuzzling his face into your neck immediately, a little groan escaping his lips.

He presses them against your pulse, lingering there, still half asleep.

Your foot slides on his calf, touching him gently, your hand in his soft hair.

"Can we stay in bed all day?"- he mumbles into you and you chuckle, pressing a kiss into his forehead.

"We can do whatever we want to."- you say and he looks up at you.

"That sounds perfect."- Hyunjin lifts up so he's on top of you and he leans in to kiss you.

Like you haven't spent all night loving on each other, your entire being craves him again.

Hyunjin's hands cup your breasts, his fingers playing with your nipples and you whimper into him, feeling ten times more sensitive in the morning.

He leaves kisses from your jawline down to your breasts, sucking on your nipple as his hand massages your other breast.

You arch into him, craving his touch again and again as his hands slowly trace down to your legs and he spreads them, fingers instantly on your wet folds.

"J-Jinnie."- you whimper as he sucks on your breasts, looking at you intently, fingertips playing with your sensitive clit and getting you more and more wet for him.

"I need you."- he presses his face into the crook of your neck, and you feel his hard cock press against your pussy.

"Mm. Please."- you whimper, hips lifting up on their own to get more friction.

Hyunjin pushes in easily, as you take all of him eagerly, holding onto him.

The tiny bit of soreness you feel from last night's activities dissolves into pleasure as he slowly drags his length inside you.

His eyes are intense on you, arms locked around your head as he leans his body on yours, moving his hips ever so slightly, driving you crazy with the little movements deep inside you.

Your legs are spread completely as you meet his slow thrusts, and Hyunjin's eyes suddenly soften and he lets out a giggle.

"What?"- you smile.

"I love you."- your heart warms up a little more every time he says it.

"I love you, Jinnie."- you say gently and he leans down to kiss you, his hips gentle and forgiving.

"Every moment I spent away from you hurt so bad."- Hyunjin gasps.

"Yes, me too. I thought I was all alone."

"You will never feel lonely again, my sweet darling."- Hyunjin keeps kissing you as both of you whisper sweet things to each other, making up for all the lost moments.

You don't know how much time you spend like that, just lazily fucking into each other as you touch, kiss and worship.

The tension builds with the sudden downpour of rain outside and Hyunjin grabs your wrists, pressing them down into the matress on either sides of your head as his hips snap into you faster.

You're so wet that he slips into you so easily, hitting you just right and you start moaning as your eyes flutter in pleasure.

"Mm, my love. So good. So warm."- Hyunjin groans.

"Made for you."- you gasp when he pulls out almost all of his length just to snap his hips hard into you.

"Yes, just for me. You're mine. Mine."- he repeats, his hips snapping faster and faster into you as he holds your wrists above your head.

"Only yours, Jinnie."- you whine, giving into the pleasure completely, knowing you're both close to the highest point of euphoria.

"Fuck you take it so well. You were made for this."- he groans as he looks at you with eyes full of lust.

"H-Hyunjin!"- you whimper as he snaps his hips into you, now becoming relentless and unforgiving.

"My muse."- Hyunjin fucks you hard as the bed creaks and your eyes fill with tears of pleasure.

He can see that you're close and he wants nothing but to see you satisfied.

"Cum for me, love. Give me all your pleasure."- he says, your bodies heated and sweaty from the exertion, only serving to ignite the passion between you more.

"Mm, yes Hyunjin!"- you whimper as you let go, thousands of fireworks exploding inside you as he keeps moving his hips until he cums, painting your insides white.

Both of you breathe hard, hands grabbing at each other before Hyunjin smiles at you.

"You okay?"- he asks gently, like he did before and you still can't believe that your lover is actually back.

"Better than okay."- you nod. "You?"

"I'm so happy. Relieved, even. Like I want to spend the rest of my life like this with you."- Hyunjin exhales as he lays his cheek on your shoulder.

"Me too, but I think we'd die from thirst and hunger pretty quickly if we never got out of bed."- you giggle as you caress him.

"I would die happy."- his hand is on your face as he traces your features.

It feels too good to move, him still being inside you and even though his cock is soft now, your pussy still clenches around it.

"Wanna go again?"- Hyunjin smirks.

"No, I need a break."- you quickly shake your head with a chuckle.

"Doesn't seem so to me, but whatever you say."- he jokes before he finally slides out of you, making you whimper when you feel his cum drip out of you.

Hyunjin's eyes are trained on your core and he gently touches you with his fingertips, playing with his cum.

"I really missed you. All of you. My bed was so cold and empty, I had to hug my pillow every night and imagine it was you."- Hyunjin says.

"I hugged my pillow every night wishing it was you instead, too."- you confess and he chuckles.

"My sweet girl."- he leans down to kiss you gently. "I still feel like I have to make it up to you, for making you feel hurt and abandoned."

"You being here is enough, Jinnie."- you say as your fingers tangle in his hair and you play with the soft locks.

"I hope so, because I don't plan on leaving any time soon."

It feels like the rain brought fall with it, as the island was starting to become empty again.

The tourists were leaving back to their normal lives, back to their jobs and their homes.

They gave you back your cove, your hill, your beach, even the little uninhabited island was cleaned out again.

Life gave you back your lover, and your heart was finally in one piece.

taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny @porangporangmeong @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @laughatdanger @lixies-favorite-cookie @linavc @quokkacidal @thisaintredwine @m00gyu @yaorzu-blog @skzfelixlove @tajannah-price1 @puccaaak @aft2rsexs @xxkissesforchanniexx @aprilmaejune77 @lilmeowneow @stayjinnie @astrobebba @danihwang882 @kaysungshine @nchhuhi @1810cl @chartrucewhore @babigriin @jisuperboard @alisonyus @minluvly @instantsoulnight @kkamismom12 @its-stayville-forever @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @lemonadeboun @eastjonowhere

[theflagscene]

Think about how the Jack and Joker kiss was such a long time coming not just for fans, but for Yin and War as well.

Which is why I think they’re so snappy—not in a bad way, they’re protective of their show—with people complaining on Twitter. Consider, they worked together in 2020 during En of Love, where their own 4 episode story was the most popular out of all three story arcs. So popular in fact that fans wanted a more flushed out version of Mark and Vee’s story, but it’s not until two years later that they get to work together again, only they are playing the same characters, telling the same story, even saying the same same dialogue! Now, don’t get me wrong, Love Mechanics was a fair upgrade from the mini series. But after wanting to work together again for so long, they were just playing Mark and Vee again, how completely dull for them.

So they do what many Thai BL actors do, they go on tour together, at least that’s something. And damn if the mini heist YouTube video they make for it doesn’t do numbers! The fans want more of them, more of that! Hell they want more themselves, yet their—at the time—company wouldn’t give them roles. So screw it, they take a chance and don’t renew their contracts and become independent artists. That doesn’t always go well, and it’s a lot of hard work to get parts without a company trying to lock actors into years long contracts.

So they go full Saint and just decide to make what they wanna make on their own terms with their own money, Yin sold his damn car to help fund the series so they didn’t have to cave to corporate shilling of drinks and beauty products. It takes years to get a script hammered out, actors willing to take a chance working with them, editors, directors, all of it. And all of those people need to be paid, hell, they need to be paid!

But it’s here now, their real proper second series together, fresh and new after four—almost five—years! And what’s more, it’s doing great, amazing even. Now they have fancons in the work and tv interviews and magazines cover shoots (freaking Vogue Thailand!?), and so many companies reaching out wanting to invest in them. The management at Rookie Thailand is no doubt kicking themselves for not putting more faith in these men. They had the fans, they had the passion for the work and what’s more, they had each other. When you find that type of friendship, you fight for it, and that’s what they did to be able to make Jack & Joker. Yin and War put their blood, sweat and tears in their series, not to mention their money and reputations as well.

So when Jack and Joke finally kissed? Yeah, the chemistry was still there, was never not there. But those two, they had a point to prove and it was proven with that damn kiss.

Gifs snagged from @wanderlust-in-my-soul fantastic post—go reblog it—since after 25 minutes of scrolling it’s clear the episode gifs are too new to show up in the gif search engine lol.

[fixated-on-fictional-characters]

I just wanted to say, to those people who are saying Agatha did not grow at all. You are wrong.

She’s centuries old and her mother, the person who was supposed to love her no matter what not only turned against her and tried to kill her but also turned her entire community against her.

She has been alone for so so long, always having to look out for herself and only herself because no one else was. So the type of character growth everybody wanted could not in anyway ever happen in a 9 episode series. It is impossible and would have just been so untrue and wrong to the character.

The only reason she cared about Billy in the first place is because she projected her son onto him. Even when all the clues were right in front of her eyes about his true identity, she wanted to cling on to the hope that Nicky was back. So it’s kind of hard to figure out who she actually cares about. Billy? Or just the parts of him that remind her of her own son? Especially when she seems to care about him quite a bit before betraying him.

But, I think betrayal is so ingrained in Agatha. She always has had to put herself first, in her mind it’s either betray or be betrayed, so she chooses her own survival over his. Keep in mind that right before, she had heard him say ‘ Agatha Harkness will never be more than a covenless witch’. (She remembers this since she mentions it after betraying him) That was when he thought he was all alone with Jennifer. So obviously, when Billy later on says ‘you’re not so bad’ Agatha Harkness who has been betrayed so much by her own community, by her own witchkin, who just heard him say what he did behind her back, won’t trust him. Won’t trust that he really cares about her or sees the good in her. At least not enough to sacrifice her own life. Not when she’s spent literal centuries protecting it. So she does what she has always done to survive. And she betrays him.

But, Agatha has grown. She’s learnt that not all witches will turn against her. That some witches, will even sacrifice themselves to protect her (Lilia and Alice) She helped Billy find his brother’s soul and find a body for it, she wouldn’t have done that in ep1, she would’ve made him power her up first at least. She actually listened to Lilia’s advice, smth I’m not sure she would’ve done either had it been the same witch in ep1. And I think her kissing Rio was a way for her to show a tiny bit of forgiveness. Of understanding. She could’ve stolen her powers in any other way but she chose to do it by full on making out. I like to think she kissed her because she didn’t know if she could touch Rio when she became a ghost and wanted to have one last kiss with her. That perhaps is the biggest growth for Agatha. Forgiveness and letting down her guard again. Forgiving her community and forgiving Rio. The two biggest heartbreaks of her life.

This doesn’t mean she doesn’t have more to grow, but we have not been watching the same show if you think she didn’t progress at all.

[wild-fern21]

Paring: Voice actor!reader x Ollie Bearman

Synopsis: Ollie had always supported his girlfriend in her dreams so when she started voice acting in game he decided to make a series of it on twitch for his veiwer's to enjoy or three Ollie Bearman played his girlfriends games on stream.

Warnings: This is my first fic, I don't really know where I was going with this but yeah, if you have any tips or critiques please let me know, thank you for reading.

When you and Ollie started dating, Ollie took it upon himself to watch all the shows you were in. He couldn’t be prouder of his girlfriend but she had stepped away from shows and gone into to video games. Her more recent games were all in the more darker category. Which Ollie himself was to afraid to go though alone. So when one of his friends suggested making a stream out of it he couldn’t deny it. 

Until Dawn (remastered)

Your first video game was called Until dawn you play a character named Ashley, she is one of the eight main characters in the game, so Ollie thought he would give it a go, not wanting to spoil the game for himself he kept away from the trailers and any media to do with the game. 

As he played though the game eventually you came and sat next to him causing chat to go wild. As he made his way though the chapters he grew strong opinions on certain characters (Chris) and got attached to characters (Ashley). 

He had made it to chapter nine and so far had killed Jessica in the fourth character by not taking the shortcut causing the wendigo to tear her jaw off, and Chris who he swears he did by accident. (you knew it was on purpose by the tone of his voice). Now he was playing as Ashley in chapter nine.

You knew what was coming up and tried to keep the smile off your face as he got to the deciding options. 

“What should I do?” Ollie asked looking at you as he noticed your smile. “What are you smiling at?” he added with a nervous laugh following.

“It’s up to you?” You say hiding your face in you knees, so he couldn’t see you face.

“No, no don’t do that." He shook his head as you kept silent. He turned your chair so your body was facing him, you look up to him smiling. “Can you give me a hint?” you shook you head, Ollie let out a sigh and looked at his streams chat.

They were a mixture between going to look for the voice or joining the group. “I guess I should pick” He spoke as he moved the controller to the option to ‘investigate voice’ as soon as it had been selected, you move your chair closer to his.

Ollie turns his head “What? Was the wrong choice?” he asked looking back and forth from your face and the screen. As he walks down the path slowly trying to ready himself for what was to come. He walks over to the trapdoor which he had to open. He looks at your face which is badly concealing a smile at what was to come.

Ollie watched the screen ignoring chat he let out a sigh of relief when nothing was seen “What were-” the sentence was interrupted by his own yell he let out a staring of no’s as he watched in game you get her neck twisted. 

His face turned pale when as he watched your body land on the floor as Ashley’s head get thrown to the floor he turns to face you, he grabs the arm of your chair then dragging the chair till it was right next to him. 

Then he wrapped his arms around your waist hiding his face in the junction between you shoulder and neck, “You didn’t warn me” He whined. Chat was freaking out at the cute moment they were witnessing.

“It’s a horror game the whole point is to be scared” you pointed out, Ollie shook his head his curls tickling your neck. 

The two of you stayed like that for a few more minutes, until Ollie pulled away as he went back to the game he made sure to keep a hold of your hand for the rest of the game.

2. Detroit become human 

The next game Ollie wanted to play was similar to Until dawn in the way your choices have consequences. After Until Dawn, Ollie was determined to keep your character alive. Your character, Kara was one of the androids. Your character served another character named Todd and had a daughter figure named Alice.

Ollie decided against streaming this game just wanting to spend time with you, to relax and not have to worry about entertaining an audience, he had you sitting in between his legs leaning against his chest so he head could comfortably rest his head on top of yours. His arms were wrapped around your middle so he could hold the controller and you at the same time. The position made you feel safe as you could hear him muttering the options he could make under your breath.

As Ollie went though the game his hatred for Todd grew. But he was also worried that if he had the option to kill Todd it may end up killing Kara. Which Ollie swore that he wouldn't do.

As Ollie managed to get Kara and Alice out of the house and on to the bus, you could hear his heart beating faster, so you leaned your head up and placed a gentle kiss to the bottom of his jaw, before going back to watching the game.

He had successfully made it to chapter thirteen. He had managed to keep Kara and Alice alive, you watched as Kara and Alice ran into the highway. Ollie though not new to gaming was horrible when it came to QTE’s. So after he failed almost all of them you realized what was bout to show on screen.

You and Ollie both watched as Connor ran onto the road and grab Kara’s arm and try to restrain her, you watched as he managed to fail one QTE but save the other, though it was no way that would save your character.

“Watch out Kara” Alice in game yelled as your character got hit by a bus, Ollie let out an annoyed huff, he had some how managed to kill you again. Then he watched as Alice ran onto the road as the scene changed Ollie moved his head to your ear.

“You need to stop acting as character’s who die, I don’t think my heart can take it” he whispered, you let out a small laugh in reply shaking your head as you stood up.

“Or your just bad at these types of games” You tell him teasingly.

3. The Last Of Us II

The next (and last) game Ollie played of yours was The Last Of Us, he decided to make a series out of streaming it. Your character Abby was one of the protagonists, by this point in time Ollie was some what use to dying as Abby, he knew he wasn’t the best at keeping any character alive.

So as you sat in your shared room watching his streams on the tv, you couldn't help but shake your head as he complained about killing Abby again. The viewer's continuously made fun of the young driver at the amount of time he had died during this one section.

He had eventually called you into the room claiming you were his good luck charm, when really he just missed you. As Ollie got though another fight (barley) he turned to you with a giant smile on his face.

“I did it” he said while putting his hands up in celebration. At this point he was ignoring the cut scene which was happening right behind him. Your smile widened as he opened his arms offering you a spot on his lap, you gratefully took it.

You watched as Ollie continued to progress though the game laughing every time he died much like his viewer's. After Ollie failed to kill a clicker that was chasing him he looked at you playfully annoyed as you laughed.

“If your gonna laugh, then you have to play” he said handing the controller over to the you.

“No, It’s your stream you have to play” You spoke pushing the controlled back while letting out a small laugh.

“No, no if your going to sit there and laugh then you have a go” He told you a fake serious tone. 

You shook your head in disagreement but still grabbed the remote deciding to have a shot yourself at the game.

[antimony-medusa]

Do you like DEADLINES? Do you like writing to someone else's prompts, staying away from the stuff they said they DID NOT LIKE? Do you like CHALLENGES?

WELL HAVE I GOT THE ACTIVITY TO YOU.

Ever wanted to save someone's day?

I've been helping out with the big @fiabex exchange, and the final deadline passed last night, and there are— a lot of pinch hits from people who didn't make deadline. A lot of people had a bad October. It took three posts to post them all. All of these gifts have to be fulfilled before the exchange opens.

The reason I am here today though is that there's a segment of MCYT on the pinch hit list, and it's always hard to fill MCYT pinch hits cause there are less MCYT people who do exchanges! So here I offer you the breakdown of the mcyt pinch hits:

PH 72 - needs 3k - fandoms are Dream SMP, SMPEarth, The Mandalorian (TV). You can see all of the requests at https://autoao3app.fandom.tools/#/Fic_In_A_Box_2024/user/Kryon

PH 77 - needs 1k - fandoms are Dream SMP, 3rd Life | Last Life SMP Series, Hermitcraft SMP, SMPEarth, Hotguy Comics Zine - Various (DFE), Origins SMP. You can see the entire signup at https://autoao3app.fandom.tools/#/Fic_In_A_Box_2024/user/Odaigahara

PH 102 - needs 1k - fandoms are 3rd Life | Last Life SMP Series, Hermitcraft SMP, Good Omens (TV), Hamlet - Shakespeare. You can see the entire signup at https://autoao3app.fandom.tools/#/Fic_In_A_Box_2024/user/adlerthetranscender

PH 103 - needs 1k - fandoms are Dream SMP, 3rd Life | Last Life SMP Series, QSMP | Quackity SMP. You can see the entire signup at https://autoao3app.fandom.tools/#/Fic_In_A_Box_2024/user/amaranthinecanicular

PH 144 - needs 8k - fandoms are QSMP | Quackity SMP. You can see the entire signup at https://autoao3app.fandom.tools/#/Fic_In_A_Box_2024/user/WhyB (I SPECIFICALLY want to draw attention to this one, cause it's only one fandom so that means they won't hold the exchange for this pinch hit to be filled but it being 8k means the person already turned in that much, so if you know anyone who can help with fitpac or animations family— let them know)

If these have gone out for pinch hit, this means that these people have already delivered a gift of at least this amount, and they need an equivalent gift. The due date is November 13th at Midnight EST— can you get a gift written in that time?

But wait, you could maybe write 1k, but not the 3k that PH 72 needs— that's fine! We can take it in small bites. You can just tell the mods that you can take 1k (or 2k, or however much you can take) and then the mods will drop the "needs amount" to 2k, and then we're that much closer to everyone having a gift. If 8 people do 1k, we can get WhyB completely covered!

If you can write a gift fast, adhering to someone's Do Not Want list, about the requested characters or worldbuilding prompts, you might be exactly what we need here. We've got Emduo requests! Animations family! DSMP Fiances! Scarian! Fitpac! Cletho! Boat boys! Preyduo! Watchers prompts!

You can take a pinch hit by either commenting on the dreamwidth post where the PH you want is posted here (tell them the pinch hit you want, an email to reach you, how much you want to take, and the Ao3 account you'll be posting from), or emailing the mods at ficinaboxmod@gmail.com— (tell them the pinch hit you want, how much you want to take, and the Ao3 account you'll be posting from, they already have your email, but check the post to see if the PH has been claimed before you email just to save yourself some time).

And if you can't take it, I'd appreciate it if you'd reblog this, cause if we can get this in front of as many eyes as possible that increases the possibility of someone who says "great british bake off beeduo? yeah I can do that", etc!

[deanwritings]

The Guest House - Chapter 12

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Series Summary: Dean Winchester is going through a nasty divorce. He doesn't have much left to his name, but what he does have is his house. Leave it to his soon-to-be ex wife to find a way to even ruin that for him. Enter Y/N, who is looking to get away from life for a bit, and stumbles right into the middle of it all.

The Guest House Master List

Word Count: 3,760

A/N: I'm back! Therapy has been great, I'm feeling like myself and that I can breath again. It's been a tough year and ya girl's mind needed a restart, but I am back and doing good.

Also, hope this chapter can be a bit of escape with the election insanity this week. Take care of yourselves everyone! 💖

Dean squeezes his eyes shut as he rests against the door.

What the fuck are you doing? Is all that rings in his mind.

Here he is, with some random girl who's staying in his guest house, put there by his bitch of an ex wife, basically groping her while his mother is a room away. Like he’s seventeen again. 

Really and truly. What the fuck. Are. You. Doing?

Dean rubs an exasperated hand down his face, the heels of his palms digging into his eyes before his hands slap down against his sides. 

It’s the whiskey. He tells himself. Just the whiskey. 

It has nothing to do with your smile. Like when you lit up on the track when you found out Rick would be taking you racing in your dream car. 

Nor your smart ass remarks that always seem to be waiting behind those pretty lips of yours. Or how you drive him crazy in the best and worst ways. Like making him say “please” in the garage this afternoon. 

It definitely has nothing to do with the way you look at him, no longer with disdain, but more recently with shining Y/E/C eyes and something that makes him want to throw you against this damn door, his nose running down the delicate skin of your neck as he takes you in as his hands explore every part of you. 

It also doesn’t help how you react to him; like when he turned your manners game around on you in the garage, and your eyes lit up in a way that made him want to throw you across the hood of Baby and have his way with you. Then just now in the hallway, how you seemed to want this as much as he did. How you leaned into him at his touch, the feel of your curves everywhere as he held you against him.

Those god damn hips. 

Dean’s jaw tightens at the thought, his teeth grinding down as something besides his heart rate starts to rise. 

Fuck. His head falls back with a thud against the doorframe. 

Y/N is hardly the first woman he’s been attracted to since his separation from Lisa. Hell, in the beginning, women were what kept his mind off his imploded marriage. Benny had laughed that Dean was making up for lost time since he and Lisa had gotten together when they were so young, but in reality, Dean just hated coming home to an empty house every day. All he could think of was Lisa and Gavin in his house. In his bed.  

But Dean would be lying to himself if this was only attraction. Ever since their hike, he’s found himself looking towards your cabin everyday before work, hoping to catch a glance of you before he has to leave. When sitting at his empty dining table, he would think about texting you, or maybe even going over and knocking on the cabin door, envisioning interrupting your own meal and riling you up in the process. Watching that fire come alive in you set something alive in Dean. It was like a wildfire, and he was happily caught in its path. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt like that. Somehow, at some point, you had drawn him in, and god damn did he want more. So much more. 

And it’s not just your body he wants to get to know. He’s found himself wondering what your favorite color is, or what movies you like to watch. He wanted to know, besides him, what made you tick? What makes you happy?

Could I make her happy?

Dean shakes his head and toes his boots off, shaking his head, trying to rid his thoughts of you. He doesn’t want to think about that last question, because he knows the answer. 

And while he tries to focus on undressing, his body is not willing to let go of the idea of you just yet.  

He’s wound up, and god damnit did he need a release. 

He undoes his belt and reaches into his boxers, feeling himself strain against the fabric as he takes a deep breath. He grunts, squeezing his eyes shut before pulling his hand out of his pants.

He shakes his head. He can’t do this. Not with you a wall away and his mother across the hall. He has some self respect. Not much, but he couldn’t sink as low as jerking off to you while you slept in his little brother’s room.

Sam.

And just like that, thinking of Sammy snaps him out of it. He relaxes with a deep breath, the tension finally beginning to fade away.

For extra measure, he pushes himself off the door and pulls it open, striding quickly down the hall to the unoccupied bathroom. He locks the door behind him and reaches into the shower and throws the water on. He drops his undone pants, letting them and his boxers pool around his feet before stepping out of them and throwing his sweater over his head before stepping into the shallow tub. 

He takes in a sharp breath as the cold spray of the shower meets his heated skin, his teeth clenched tight as he drowns himself under the stream as he works to think about anything but you.

Your eyes flutter open, a glimmer of the morning sun sneaking through the gaps of the curtained window. You take in a deep breath, flipping from your side to your back and sigh as you look up at the ceiling. 

Your mind is still reeling from last night; Dean’s hands holding you tight against him, his lips teasing your neck. 

You shut your eyes and swallow.

It was simultaneously one of the hottest and most frustrating things a man has ever done to you. Of course you had wished he had done a hell of a lot more, but the tease of it somehow made it that much more exciting. It made you wonder what else was in store for you. Just a sweet little taste of the possibilities that was Dean Winchester. 

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand beside you, and you shake off last night’s memories as you lean over to pick it up, the screen reading 9:52 with a few notifications beneath it.  

Shit. You quickly sit up. Normally, this would be a regular wakeup time for you on vacation or on the weekends, but you were a guest in someone’s home, and it felt incredibly rude to be up here sleeping while they were most likely downstairs waiting for you. 

As you scramble out of bed, the throb from last night’s wine is front and center in your head. You reach into your purse and throw back two Advil with a swash of water that you set out on your bedside last night before you throw on some fuzzy socks and a hoodie large enough to snuggle yourself into.

Before you reach for the door, you peek at yourself in the full-length mirror and grimace. You smooth down your hair and give it a fluff with your fingers before you reach into your makeup bag, dabbing on some concealer under your eyes and on a few of your red spots, with a light swipe of subtle blush on your cheeks before you deem you look good enough without looking like you’re trying.

You take a deep breath and open the door, taking in the quiet hallway and noticing both the doors to Mary and Dean’s rooms are ajar.

Fuck. You were at least hoping Dean might have also slept in after last night. But no such luck. 

You head down the stairs, your hand on the rail so you don’t slip in your socks before you wander into the kitchen. Mary is sitting at the table in front of the windows, one of her legs propped up and her head hidden by a book. Dean is hunched on a barstool at the island, a plate of food in front of him, currently being shoveled into his mouth, his usual caveman behavior, you’ve noticed, when it comes to food. 

“Morning,” you offer softly as you head over to the coffee maker, a half pot waiting for you. Mary had given you a tour of the kitchen while you cooked dinner last night, and you reach into the cabinet above the brewer and grab a light yellow ceramic mug and fill it about 3/4s of the way.

“Milk’s in the fridge.” Dean mumbles over the food in his mouth and you turn to face him fully. His eyes are cast down at a paper spread flat in front of him next to his breakfast. A smile you hadn’t intended falls at his lack of attention and you head over to the fridge, pouring until your coffee resembles the color of sand. Exactly how you liked it. 

“Want some coffee with that milk?” That deep voice rings out again, and this time when you look up, you’re met with Dean’s enchanting, forest eyes. Your heart skips a beat in your chest and you recap the milk before putting it away and closing the fridge door.

“Some of us enjoy flavor.” You smirk at him as you lean against the counter behind you, your hands wrapped tightly around the warmed mug, the kitchen cool in this March morning. 

“Milk doesn’t have flavor.” Dean grumbles, shoving a fork filled with eggs into his mouth. You frown at him. 

It’s like the tale of two Deans. The suave, sexy sweatered Dean who looks at you like he’ll throw you over your shoulder and make you scream until your voice is hoarse, and the pain-in-the-ass, mannerless idiot you’ve mostly grown accustomed to these last few weeks. 

Looks like you were getting the idiot this morning. You sigh at your own disappointment and swallow down your frown, wondering what that means about last night. 

When you don’t respond, Dean looks back to you, a question in his eyes. 

“There’s a plate for you in the oven.” Dean points his fork to said appliance. You turn your head, following the direction of his utensil-turned-compass.

“Oh,” your shoulders drop. “You didn’t have to save me a plate.” You feel your cheeks flush at the thought that they waited for you so long this morning that they had to keep a plate warm for you in the oven. 

“Oh don’t worry, Dean made it fresh.” Mary peeks out from behind her book for a quick second before disappearing again behind the cover. Dean drops his fork with a clank and shoots his mother a look, one she misses. 

You push off the counter and pad over to the oven. You pull open the door to find a blue ceramic plate.

No way.

You pull out the plate from the oven, the platter only slightly warm, and are greeted with two pancakes and a side of bacon. 

You quickly close the oven and turn on your heel facing Dean.

“You made me pancakes?” Your voice catches in your throat as you stare down at the fluffy buttermilk pancakes sitting poised on the plate. 

“Yeah, well, mom made eggs and I know your picky ass won’t eat those. Can’t have you starve before a big day.” Dean’s eyes met yours for only a moment before he shifts on the barstool and returns to his paper. 

You smile, even though Dean’s not looking at you anymore. You maneuver around the kitchen, grabbing a fork and knife before settling down at the island, a barstool between you and Dean.

You turn and look at him, his shapely jawline adorned with a devilish level of scruff.

“Thank you.” You say earnestly. This catches Dean’s attention, his gaze finding and holding yours long enough to make your heart skip a beat. 

“Don’t mention it.” He lingers on you for a moment longer before turning back to his paper and flipping a page. 

Your lips quirk but you try to not think too much on it as you begin digging in; the pancakes, buttery and full of vanilla, melting deliciously in your mouth. 

The rest of breakfast goes on in silence; Mary reading her book, Dean focused on the paper, and you left flipping through your phone since no one seemed interested in chatting. 

As you load up your dishes in the dishwasher, Dean folders his paper up and slaps it down on the counter before sitting up straight and crossing his arms as he stares you down.

“Think you can be ready in an hour?” Your face falls.

“More notice would have been nice, but yes, I can be ready in an hour.” 

“Good, cause we’re leaving in an hour.” You cross your arms, matching his stance.

“You don’t say.” Dean rolls his eyes at you and you huff. 

“Just go get ready.” He shakes his head, and now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. 

Such a pain in the ass. A handsome pain with a handsome ass. But still a pain. 

“Fine. See you in an hour.”

Forty-seven minutes later, you’re showered, your hair is dried and curled into a soft wave, and you’re putting on the finishing touches of your makeup when there’s a soft knock on your door.

You peek at your watch.

“I still have thirteen minutes!” You call out. 

Dean really was pushing the boundaries today. And it was driving you crazy. 

He practically dry humps you last night, ignores you this morning, but makes you a delicious breakfast because he remembered you hate eggs. The man was impossible and it was starting to annoy you. And frustrate you, in a way you were not used to. You bite down on your lip.

“It’s just me.” Mary’s gentle voice calls back.

Shit. 

You drop your mascara into your makeup bag and push yourself off the floor and scurry to the door.

“Sorry about that,” you apologize as soon as Mary comes into view. “I assumed you were Dean.” You offer a half smile as Mary chuckles.

“It’s okay. Mind if I come in.” You step aside and open the door fully, allowing Mary to step in. 

“I just wanted to see if you need any help with your outfit.”

“My outfit?” Your brow furrows, and you look over to your bed where your black chunky sweater and jeans lay waiting for you. Mary’s eyes follow your line of sight. 

“I’m going to guess Dean didn’t give you a heads up, since men never think about these things, but these car shows tend to be on the dresser side.”

Fuck. No, Dean did not tell you that. Your jeans were the nicest thing you brought with you. 

“Yeah, he failed to mention that.” Now you stare at your outfit, anxiety flooding through you at the thought of sticking out for being underdressed. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

Mary just smiles at you.

“Come with me.” She waves at you before heading out of the room, and like you’re told, you follow her, heading across the hall and into her bedroom.

The room is large and full of windows and natural light. The lake-chic theme of the downstairs continues through the primary bedroom, with white furniture, a canopy bed with a blue bedspread that matches the wainscot walls, and yellow accents throughout the room. On one of the dressers is a large, framed, selfie of Mary and John, which looks more recent than a lot of the pictures in the living room. Mary’s smile is bright as ever as John kisses her cheek, the two of them in heavy jackets and beanie hats, the hint of snow behind them. 

Mary continues through the room, stopping in a short hallway before disappearing through a doorway. 

“I’ve got a few options that will probably fit you.” Mary’s muffled voice carries through the open doorway before she steps back into view, several hangers in her hand. “You look to be about my size from twenty years ago. And luckily I’m terrible at throwing out old clothes.” She chuckles as she lays out her six options on the ombre comforter that probably matches the lake when it’s not frozen. 

They’re all a mix of dresses, different colors and styles, but the fifth from the end catches your eye.

“Ohh, how about that one.”

Dean taps his foot as he waits in the foyer, checking his watch again. It’s now been an hour and seven minutes since you went upstairs. 

“God dammit woman,” he mutters out in a sigh. 

He meant to tell you last night what time you had to be ready, but the two of you got a little preoccupied. Now he was paying for it by not giving you more of a heads up. 

He should have said something the moment you came downstairs this morning, but he wasn't ready to face you right at that moment. The dreams he had about you last night made it hard to look you in the eyes. And when he finally did, you looked absolutely beautiful, sleep still in your Y/E/C eyes and a glow in your cheeks. You looked like you belonged here, resting against the counter in his mother’s kitchen, cozied up in some giant hoodie and pajama pants with coffee-flavored milk in your hands. 

The floor above him creaks and he turns quickly on his heel, his face dropping with his mood when he sees who it is. 

“Is she ready yet?” Dean all but whines to his mother as she descends. Rather than answer him, she stops two steps from the bottom, standing slightly higher than her statuesque son, and smacks him right in the side of the head.

“Ow!” Dean’s hand jumps to where his mother landed her stinging blow. Not that there was much power behind her swat, but she hasn’t smacked him like this since he was a teenager. 

“What the hell was that for?” Dean bemoans with a grimace, cradling his head.

“Dean Michael Winchester.” Dean’s eyebrows furrow at his mother’s use of his full name.

This was not good.

“You didn’t think,” Mary takes another step down. “To one,” she raises a finger. “Tell her that the car show is cocktail attire.”

Shit. 

“And two.” The second finger goes up. “What time to be ready. So don’t you stand here with a puss face asking when she’s going to be ready.” Dean drops his hand at his mother’s scolding and rolls his eyes. 

He starts to shake his head when Mary’s hand makes contact again, the surprise sending Dean stumbling.

“OW!” Dean yells louder this time, more annoyed than actually hurt. With how much smaller Mary was compared to him, Dean doubted she could actually hurt him even if she really wanted to.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, Dean.” Her voice is sharp as her grass-green eyes stare him down. 

“I’m sorry, fine.” Dean concedes. “I just didn’t think about it.” But Mary doesn’t break eye contact.

“She’ll be down in a few minutes.” Mary gives him one last pointed look before taking the final step down and disappearing into the living room. 

Dean watches her go before glancing back towards the empty staircase, sighing out his frustration and giving you a few more minutes of grace.

Three minutes and forty-two seconds later, Dean is leaning against the frame of the front door when the upstairs landing groans again.

Dean’s head whips in that direction as he pushes off the door, just in time to see you take the first step. You’re wearing the black heeled boots you had on yesterday, but it’s paired with a strapless beige dress, the edges trimmed in black with a matching belt wrapped tight around the gentle curve of your waist.

Without thinking, Dean lets out a low, impressed whistle, ignoring the pounding in his chest as he stands up just a little straighter. 

Your hair is down, styled off to one side, with the most makeup Dean has seen you in so far; with full, dark lashes, pink cheeks, and bright red lips, which Dean can’t seem to look away from.

Something else is starting to stand a little straighter too.

Dean clears his throat, and offers out a hand as you get to the last step.

“Thanks,” you reply gently before you drop his hand and head for the coat rack.

“You look nice.” Dean’s now taking in the view of you from the back, leaving little to the imagination like those workout pants did a few weeks ago as the dress seemed to hug your body perfectly. 

Damn. And here mom thought you weren’t prepared. 

You spin on your heel, one arm shimming into your jacket sleeve, your eyes as bright at your smile.

“Thanks.” You repeat. “The dress is your mom’s.” You smirk.

Dean’s mouth drops open as his stomach falls.

“Please don’t tell me that.” Dean groans. The last thing he needs to think about is his mom in that dress. The same dress he was just checking out your ass in.

You just quietly chuckle as your other arm flails for your second sleeve, just missing the opening.

Without a word, Dean steps closer, grabbing your jacket for you and holding it steady so you can slip your arm into. Once it’s in, Dean raises your jacket just a bit before resting it on your shoulders. 

You turn back to him with a smile of thanks, which he can’t help but return.

“Ready?” 

“Sure am.” 

Dean opens the front door for you and you step outside into the bracing afternoon air.

“Have fun, kids!” Mary’s voice travels behind the two of you as Dean steps outside and closes the door behind him. 

You take gentle steps across the driveway, avoiding the few patches of ice that are still lingering. This gives Dean the opening he needs to step in front of you, getting to the passenger door of the Impala about three steps ahead of you.

Without a word, he pulls open the door.

“Wow, getting the full gentleman treatment today, huh.” Your cheek dimples with your half smile as you lower yourself into the passenger seat. Dean smiles down at you.

“What can I say, I’m full of surprises.” You chuckle as Dean gently shuts the door before heading around to the driver’s seat and hopping in.

With one last check of the mirrors, Dean backs out of the driveway, and the two of you were off. 

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Mystery of love

Previously / next chapter

a/n I was not gonna write anymore of this but some of you wanted to read more and fuck do I miss them myself. I will probably go and make a proper series masterlist so it would be easier to navigate through the chapters. Happy reading!🫧

summary: when two lost souls meet at their mutual friend’s party sparks fly, the question is if whatever they feel can actually bloom into something more? But that’s the mystery of love.

warning: toxic ex, arguments

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was one of your college friends' engagement party. As a good friend you were supposed to celebrate her but all you could think of was Noah. The boy with tattoos had managed to slot into your consciousness, taking up a daily spot there. You had stayed up for quite a couple of nights thinking about that almost kiss. About the fact that you had wanted it to happen. Had felt disappointed that it didn’t.

It scrambled with your brain. You had tried to avoid Noah as much as you could but he was relentless. Every day at six sharp he would be parked outside the bookstore waiting for you. “Go away Noah, there’s an Uber on its way to pick me up”, you grunted, pulling your scarf tighter around your neck. “Yes, ma’am that would be me”, he saluted from his car, waving you over. “Don’t you have a job? Anything else to do?”, rolling your eyes you stepped closer. “Oh, I do, one of them is a part-time driver”, he smirked leaning over to open the car door for you.

You always gave in. Blaming his sad and tired eyes. Fearing that your no or a firmer push would send him tumbling down a hill. At least that’s what you told yourself. You weren’t ready to admit that you felt better yourself with him. It all felt better when Noah was around. And while you craved that safety blanket he provided without realizing it, your brain screamed at you for wanting to depend on his comfort.

“Sooo, how are things?”, Emmy pushed a drink over the bar your way, snapping you out of your train of thought. “Things?”, you asked, frowning. She gave you one of those looks before rolling her eyes, “Oh stop it, YN, you can’t fool me, girlie”. Her and Matt. Cause if she wasn’t there to see you and Noah, then Matt happily did a daily report for her. “Are you still going on a trip with Matt?”, you asked, changing the subject. It was a cheap move, but you didn’t want to talk about it. Talking about it made it real. “You’re changing the subject”, Emmy chirped, “that means I’m right”, she wiggled her eyebrows at you.

You scowled at her, pinching the bridge of your nose, “Fine”, you lifted your hands in surrender, “We hung out a couple of times”. You hoped that would cut it but she just looked at you waiting. “And”, she motioned for you to continue. “And nothing, that’s it”, you shrugged. But it wasn’t nothing and deep down you knew it. It had been weird ever since the near kiss you two shared. You had made a big deal out of it. Not to mention that meeting your ex was also the cherry on top. Ex who no doubt had googled who Noah was from the relentless amount of messages he had sent. The times he had come over knocking.

“He’s a sweet guy. I would say pretty distant but he’s a good guy”, Emmy mussed, “We don’t know each other that well, I don’t want to impose but he’s been nothing but kind to me”, she swirled her drink looking at you. “Your judgment is much appreciated”, you tapped her hand in fake appreciation making her push you back slightly as she grunted. A light smile slipped onto your face. Falling immediately when your eyes caught a glimpse of the upper stage. As cold sweat chilled your body. “What’s wrong”, Emmy asked turning back. “Like a fucking rock at the bottom of my shoe”, you grumbled l, turning away in hopes that luck was on your side this time. “I’ll claw his face out”, your best friend pushed the bar stool back, ready to charge over but you clasped her upper arm, “Em, don’t you fucking get close to him, he’s unstable”.

More often than not Noah found himself thinking about the little things you two had done together. It played in a loop in his mind. At night when he couldn’t sleep he would go back, trying to ground himself in the moments he spent with you. Even now, he was supposed to listen to Jolly, which had proven to be harder lately. They were trying to put the cancellation dates in motion. But he had zoned out completely. Feeling the bone-rattling tiredness wash over him.

Dragging himself back to the little coffee not date you two had the other week. “Soo, this place make all the syrups at the house”, you had been referring to a family-owned coffee shop downtown for some time now. The destination was not comfortably reachable after work. Meaning that it would be more of a burden and time waste to go there in rush hours. So you rarely went there. But now Noah was glad that he had chosen to sit in traffic for an hour. The look on your face made it worth it.

You had practically jumped out of the car, reaching for his hand, lacing your fingers through Noah’s and while you didn’t seem to notice, Noah felt as if his whole body was on fire. It felt so right that he could sit down and cry. So he only gripped your hand tighter. “What do you want?”, you looked up at the menu, eyes scanning all the possibilities. But Noah was looking at you, “You pick”, he muttered. “No, Noah…”, you grunted, glancing at him, “Pick, I don’t know what you like, maybe you have allergies or some shit”. But he simply shrugged, before muttering a quick, “I trust you”.

You grunted, shaking your head before smiling at the lady waiting to take your order, “Hey, can I do one cold brew with wiped creme brûlée foam on top and one with your brown sugar almond glaze. Plant-based milk for both. That would be all thank you”, you smiled at her, turning to reach for your purse only to find Noah already paying. “Noah”, you grunted, “That’s…”, but he just chuckled pressing his lips to your temple.

“Okay, tell me what you think”, you two had found a nice table outside, the autumn sun warming your cheeks. Your legs were draped over his thighs, his fingers drawing shapes on your legs as you handed him one drink after the other.

“This one is nice”, Noah tapped at the cup in your hands, “Creme brûlée?”, you raised your eyebrows, taking a sip yourself. “it’s really good, I like them both though”, he hummed in approval. The funny thing was that he couldn’t give two shits for coffee but it seemed like whatever you liked he couldn’t help but enjoy as well. “Well now you know a nice spot for drinks”, you smiled at him, tilting your face towards the sun.

“I’ll know where to get you coffee from”, he corrected you, chuckling when you threw him a death glare he had already learned to love. “Absolutely not”, you protected. “Absolutely yes”, Noah nodded, biting his lip as he watched you. “Noah”, you grunted in warning but he simply shrugged, “I like it when you say my name”, you gasped, pushing his shoulder slightly, “Oh fuck off, you flirt”.

He was smiling to himself when his phone buzzed. Out of second nature, he turned his screen over. Only to tap his screen twice again.

Y/n 🤍: You’re busy?

Y/n 🤍: Sorry, hey

Y/n 🤍: Are you busy?

Noah: Everything’s okay?

He typed out, moving to sit up immediately. A frown creeping onto his face. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his guts.

Y/n 🤍: Can you ask Matt to check his phone.

“Matt”, Noah called out immediately, “Check your phone, dude”. He was up and walking towards the soundproofed booth. Fingers moving over the keyboard.

Noah: What’s going on Yn?

He watched the little three dots pending before disappearing. “Fuck”, Matt grunted, pulling his headset off. “What’s going on?”, Noah leaned against the door, watching his friend scrambling for his things. Matt halted for a moment as if calculating his next words. They never left a meeting unless something absolutely important happened. If Matt was up and ready to go that meant that Noah’s gut feeling was right.

“Yn ex is at the bar they are in”, nine words were enough to make Noah’s brain both shut down and restart again. He turned himself, reaching for his stuff before turning back, “I’m going with you”. “Noah”, Matt shook his head in disapproval. “I’ve met the dick already, let’s go”, Noah motioned for Matt to go to the doors. “Do you maybe want to enlighten us too?”, Jolly called out, arms crossed over his chest. “Man this is some serious shit”, Matt shook his head. This all could get real messy, Noah was more than aware of it. “We’ll talk about it, give me time”, Noah promised before, walking out the studio door.

“I’m not going anywhere with you”, you pulled at Dan’s hand firmly. Trying to get away from him after having to take the heated conversation outside. The last thing you wanted was to make a scene. “Stop fucking fighting”, he gripped tightly, pulling your arm further up, making you wince in pain. “Let go you asshole”, Emmy huffed, throwing her heel at him. Hitting him square in his head. You would have laughed honestly if it wasn’t the fact that his grip only got firmer.

“Back off bitch”, he snarled at Emmy, stepping forward to spook her. “Em”, a voice sounded behind you, you watched as Emmy nearly sagged in relief against the damp brick wall, “Matty”, she called out and even your body washed over with relief. One that was short-lived as Dan’s hand wrapped around your middle pushing you forward, “Come here”, he mused against your ear making your body shiver in disgust.

“Man let her go or I won’t be responsible for my next move”, you felt like crying in that moment when realization finally hit you. Matt didn’t come alone. “Noah…”, you whispered, turning your head to see his angry face. You weren’t sure if you felt happy or embarrassed then. You didn’t want him to see this. Didn’t want him to know about your past poor choices.

“We got back together man, so mind your business”, Dan cupped the side of your face, pressing his lips to your cheek. Your palm found his face then pushed him further back, as you grunted, “We did not”. “Let go or I will break your hand”, Noah stepped closer, he was way taller than Dan. Quite frankly all Dan had was a fancy suit and sparkly watch to hide behind. “Security is on its way Daniel”, Matt called out, Emmy standing behind his back, one of his hands making sure she stayed exactly there, “Your choice man. Walk away or ride in the back of a police car”.

Dan watched you all for a moment. And if not for the back doors creaking you knew that he wouldn’t have let go. “Fuck you”, he spat towards Matt, pushing you forward as he flipped you all off. “Not my first time with you, dick”, Matt threw back at him. Noah’s arms reached for you instantly but you caught his wrist, keeping his body away from yours. “I want to get out of here”, you muttered. “That’s what we will do”, Noah promised, trying to look you over. “I’ve got her”, Emmy muttered, wrapping her arm around your shoulders, and throwing Noah an apologetic look. He wanted to be the one to comfort you but he knew that there was a limit to how far you were willing to let him in and Noah had a feeling that two run-ins with your ex had maxed it out.

He watched you through the rearview mirror the whole way back to their house. Watch that cold mask of indifference slowly replace the genuine fear he had seen moments ago. So he wasn’t all that surprised when you had thrown Emmy a smile after stepping out of the car. “Come on, we’re sharing a room”, Emmy tugged at your hand but you instantly pulled back. “I’m going home, Em’s, you all go inside”, you muttered, squeezing your friend's hand. “Yn, they don’t mind. Tell her Matt”, she turned her pleading eyes on her boyfriend. “I said it more than once, YN, our place is your place”, Matt hummed in approval. Making Noah frown slightly. He had a feeling that Matt knew more. Had been involved in all of this somehow. The question was how deep it ran. “I appreciate it but I rather go home”, you smiled politely. “I’ll drive you back”, Noah cut in, “I was gonna pop into the city anyway”.

You wanted to protest but Emmy cut you off, “At least drive with Noah, I would be much calmer knowing that he dropped you off”, so you simply nodded. Not having enough energy to fight anyone on anything. “You don’t have plans in the city do you”, you asked glancing out of the window once Noah had started his car. “I don’t”, he admitted. You simply nodded at his answer, wrapping your arms around yourself.

And it had been fine. You had managed to keep it wrapped up till he offered to walk you up the stairs. Waiting for you to unlock your door as he leaned against the side wall. Your hand halted as you pushed the key through. It was one look at him. The look of concern in his eyes. It was the silence he left between you too. Not pushing to fill it in. Leaving it there as an option for you. A chance to speak up if you wanted to.

Your shoulders quivered as you clasped your hand over your mouth, trying to silence the sob that slipped past your lips. Noah pushed back from the wall instantly. Offering his hand but not pushing his embrace upon you. Giving you a chance to choose this. Choose him.

You turned to him. Arms reaching for his neck as you pushed your body against his. Feeling a tremble run through your chest. “I’m here”, Noah muttered, “Let it out”. His hands moved up and down your back, as he soothed you. “I’m so scared”, you crocked out, “He…”, you shook your head. Eyes burning from tears. “He’s a dead man walking”, Noah cupped your face, “He will not get to you, I won’t let him”, he nodded and you followed his action. “Stay”, you pleaded, holding onto his upper arms as you pressed your face against his chest. “I wasn’t going anywhere, love, might have napped outside your door if you hadn’t invited me in”, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours, “Let’s get you inside. Marsh is probably demanding to be fed anyway”, taking the keys out of your hands Noah, unlocked them, pulling the door open before ushering you inside.

•••••••••••••

@broken0mens @supersquirrel1996

[ae-cow]

Wash, Rinse, Romance, Repeat!

Warning: Fluff, Strangers to Lovers, She fell literally first and fell harder. This is a work of fiction with nothing to do with the idol's actual life. I do like some feedback. If you ever feel like "Hey this is very offensive." do tell me.

Pairing: Jay of Enhypen x fem!reader

Summary: You’ve always waited for the 40-minute wash cycle to end in the laundry room of your University dormitory, but everything changes when you accidentally stumble into the wrong room and meet Jay, a charming fashion major with a guitar. What starts as a simple mix-up leads to a delightful routine of late-night jam sessions and laughter amidst the warm scent of fresh laundry.

Word Count: 4k Words

A/N: Wanted this to be part of a series called University series but this does not fit the vibe I wanted. Based on an old ff I wrote back in 2021, really love the concept of laundry rooms don’t know why.

Written: 2 November 2024

Masterlist © ae-cow. Do not claim, steal or repost. All rights reserved

🧦

You hurry down the dimly lit hallway of HYBE University, glancing at the clock that reads 4 AM. The campus is eerily quiet, and you’re on laundry duty today. Thursday rolled away too fast as you're tasked with washing your clothes after 2 days of not cleaning them. Spotting a door marked “Laundry,” you push it open.

You head back to your dorm to avoid waiting in the laundry room for 40 minutes, preferring the comfort of your bed. But as the time ticks down, you know it’s time to return.

Now, with only five minutes left, you step back inside. The warm scent of detergent fills the air, mingling with something cosy and inviting. You pause, realising this isn’t your usual laundry room. Panic sets in when you see a guy lounging casually on a counter with his guitar.

He looks up, surprise lighting up his face. “Uh, hey!” you say, feeling your cheeks flush. “I didn’t mean to intrude. Wrong room.”

Before you can retreat, your foot catches on a stray sock. You stumble, knocking over a basket of freshly laundered clothes. The fabric spills onto the floor, and embarrassment washes over you.

“Whoa, careful!” Jay laughs, hopping off the counter.

You bite your lip, feeling flustered. “I thought this was the other laundry room. I didn’t think anyone would be around,” You said, standing up

“Not many people do laundry at 4 AM,” he grins, picking up a shirt. “Wanna help me fold? You’ve already made a mess, after all.”

Hesitating momentarily, you glance at your clothes piled in the corner. “My clothes—”

You’re drawn in by his easy smile. “Uh, sure, why not?”

You perch yourself on the counter, your legs swinging as you begin folding. The atmosphere shifts as Jay starts strumming his guitar, soft melodies filling the room with warmth. A smile spreads across your face, and the tension you carry eases away.

“What’s your name?” he asks, glancing up from his instrument.

“I’m [Your Name].”

“Nice to meet you ____, I’m Jay, So, what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this at this hour?”

You laugh, feeling more comfortable. “Just trying to keep my laundry game strong. What about you?”

He shrugs, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Thought I’d make the most of my quiet time. This is my jam session spot.”

You can’t help but grin. “Usually, I come up here around the same time. It’s so quiet that I could’ve heard your tunes, but I never did.”

“This is a new routine for me,” he admits. “The boys would come up here to play games and do work, but I wanted some alone time, so yeah, I started coming here about a week ago.”

You nod, then again usually just come down, put in my detergent and softener, and then head back up. Once the timer’s up, you fold everything back into your dorm. But there might be a change of routine from now on.

Suddenly the sound beeps from the other laundry room, the lady's side. It was so quiet that you could hear the sounds of the beep from here.

“Oh, um that must be mine,” Damn it, why must that 5 minutes that would usually be hours be actually 5 minutes?

With a reluctant smile, you wave goodbye to Jay and grab your clothes from the dryer. As you head toward the elevator, you can’t shake the feeling that you want to linger a bit longer. Before stepping inside, you glance back over your shoulder and see Jay still folding his clothes, his guitar resting against the counter.

With a burst of spontaneity, you walk over to the door and knock gently. He looks up, initially shocked, but his expression softens into a smile when he sees it’s just you.

“Hey!” he exclaims, looking pleasantly surprised. “You’re back already?”

“I just wanted to say… it was nice meeting you. I’m sure I’ll see you around,” you say, trying to keep the tone casual despite the flutter in your chest.

“Definitely. I mean, I’ll be here, every alternate day jamming away in the laundry room,” he chuckles, folding another shirt. “You know, this could be our new late-night hangout spot.”

You nod, feeling a warmth spread through you at the thought. “I like that idea. I’ll hold you to it.”

-

🧺

The next day, you can’t help but notice Jay everywhere on campus. In just one day, you’ve seen him six times. He’s at the cafeteria, laughing loudly with his friends. You spot him through the window of his culinary class, where he’s focused, chopping vegetables with an oddly captivating ease. Later, you see him at the nearby Seven-Eleven, picking out a drink,

And too you realised the boy you had met in the laundry room with a casual tee, sweats had impeccable taste in fashion. His hair was slicked back, shades on, white button tee with the first button off paired with a brown leather jacket and black straight pants. Is it your great attention to detail or are you using it as an excuse for your growing fast crush on Jay? We don't know…

Your roommate raises an eyebrow when you offer to do the laundry. “Why are you suddenly so eager to do the laundry, mine at that?” she asks, amusement dancing in her eyes.

You shrug, trying to play it cool. “Just thought I’d help out more, you know?”

Is it just an excuse for you to stay with Jay longer while you say “Gosh I have more clothes to fold today.”

She smirks but doesn’t push it. “Well, if you’re volunteering, I won’t complain.”

With each passing day, the anticipation builds within you. After your first encounter with Jay on Thursday, you find yourself eagerly waiting for 4 AM to roll around on a Saturday. Your roommate is fast asleep, her clothes mingling with yours in the basket, while you mentally prepare a song you’d like to hear if he ever asks.

When the clock finally strikes four, you practically bounce out of bed, excitement coursing through you. You gather your laundry essentials, a song humming in your mind—one that captures the mix of nerves and thrill you feel when you think of Jay.

You made your way down, the basket of dirty laundry in hand. As you approached the girls’ laundry room, curiosity got the better of you, and you peeked to your left. There was Jay, looking adorably confused as he inspected his jacket. You couldn’t help but grin.

Shaking off your thoughts, you headed to your side of the room, quickly placing your clothes in the washer. You separated the whites as you’d promised your roommate, preparing them for a different cycle.

Once you were done, you turned back to Jay’s side and knocked gently on the doorframe.

“Hey,” you said, trying to keep your tone casual.

“Oh, hey!” he replied, his surprise quickly melting into a smile.

He wore his hair unstyled this time, it was fluffy unlike the one you saw on campus however you liked this style on him, it was cute.

“What’s with that look on your face?” you asked, tilting your head in curiosity.

“My sweater’s colour is coming off,” he said, holding it up with a pout. “I literally just bought it, wore it once, and now it has these weird white-ish patches!”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sight of him pouting was almost too cute to handle. “What did you wash it with?”

“I think I mixed it up with my whites. I didn’t even check,” he groaned, dramatically dropping his head back against the wall. “What am I going to do?!”

“Well, you might need a laundry lesson,” you teased, stepping closer. “It’s always good to separate colours from whites, You’ve gotta treat your clothes right.”

Jay chuckled, shaking his head. “I guess I’m not cut out for this whole laundry thing.”

You leaned against the wall next to him, feeling the warmth of the room and the easy chemistry between you. “Hey, we all start somewhere. Besides, I’m here to help.”

His expression brightened. “Really? You’d help me save my jacket?”

“Absolutely! I might even throw in some extra laundry tips while we’re at it.”

“Deal!” he said, looking more hopeful. “So, what’s the first lesson?”

“Always read the care label,” you said with mock seriousness. “And never underestimate the power of fabric softener.”

You both laughed, the air between you growing lighter and more comfortable. “And anyways, your jacket is still in amazing quality. You’ve gotta make something out of it,” you said, trying to encourage him.

You paused, thinking. “Hmm, what if you bleached it? It could turn all white?”

He shook his head

“No? Uhh, how about tie-dye? I have a friend who taught me once,” You said

“Great idea!” he exclaimed,

“I can ask my friend what colours I can borrow, and we can meet up tomorrow to do it,” you offered, already looking forward to the next encounter.

“Aww, thanks, man! Never expected some stranger I literally met a day ago would do that for me,” he said, his smile brightening.

You felt a slight sting at the word “man,” but brushed it off. At least he felt comfortable enough to call you that. “Well, I guess I’m just a friendly laundry enthusiast,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Definitely a friendly one,” he laughed.

“So. What colours are you expecting your sweater to have??”

“Pink? Slightly darker blue than this and so yellow could be nice,” He said as you nodded your head intently

“So, what’s your laundry schedule like? Should I expect to see you at 4 AM every two days now?” He asked

You nodded “I mean yeah If I get to see you sure,” You were taken by surprised with your sudden wave of confidence

A grin spread across his face

“Well, I’ll make sure to have my guitar ready for our next laundry session, then. I might need a backup singer.”

“Backup?? I’m the lead singer, Jay,” you laughed, feeling a playful spark between you.

“Truly? I do hope that your beautiful face has a beautiful voice too,” he replied, a teasing glint in his eyes.

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks at his compliment, “So, erhrm,” You coughed “Do you need help folding?”

At that moment, the laundry room felt less like a chore and more like a cosy hideaway where new friendships—and perhaps something more developing.

-

🎸

Tuesday had come around, it was time to do the laundry again, you stuck to your 4 AM routine. This time, you were excited—your friend had given you the tie-dye supplies in the vibrant colours you wanted and after texting Jay if he was coming to wash his laundry today(he was!) You took your laundry and quickly went up again to grab the supplies

As you approached the laundry room, you knocked on the door, a thrill of anticipation coursing through you.

“Hey!”

“I just did my laundry…” you said, holding up the colourful supplies triumphantly. “But that won’t stop me from coming here. I brought the colours!”

“Woah,” he said, eyes widening as he took in the array of dye. “This is going to be fun.”

“Did you bring your jacket?”

He nodded, pulling it out from his bag. You could see the faint white patches where the colour had bled.

“Let’s do this,” you said, feeling a rush of excitement. “I’ll show you how to tie-dye!”

“Really? You know how?”

“Yeah! My friend taught me.” You spread the jacket on a clean surface. “First, we’ll twist and fold it to create some cool patterns.”

You twisted the fabric with your hands, creating spirals and knots. “See? It’s all about how you fold it.”

With the Jacket prepped, you began applying the dye, squeezing the vibrant colours onto the fabric. “This part is the most fun. Just be random with it!” You added splashes of colour, watching the fabric absorb them.

You passed the colours to him too, it was his sweater, after all, he had to decorate it.

“It’s messy but totally worth it!” He said

“Now we just have to let it set.”

With the jacket soaked in colour, you hopped up onto the counter, your heart light with excitement for what the rest of the day might bring. You see the same Guitar you’d see every time you came here, yet you haven’t heard any of his music.

“Want to fill the time with a song while we wait for your clothes to finish?”

“Definitely,” he said, reaching for his guitar. “What’s your jam?”

“Surprise me!” you replied, grinning as he began to strum a gentle tune, filling the cosy laundry room with music.

Today you learned that he is a Fashion student, an only child, likes to cook, named his guitar Gibson because of his father and has an insanely attractive accent when he speaks in English.

-

💻

Thursday. The following days drag on as you try to ignore the nagging thought of Jay in the laundry room. You had an assignment looming over you, a 10-page essay due in just two days, and it was starting to feel like a mountain you had to climb.

You had begged your roommate to handle the laundry for you. “I have to finish my essay. Laundry is the least of my worries,” you insisted.

“Seriously?? Just two days ago, you were begging to do the laundry. What happened?” she asked, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow.

“People change,” you muttered, avoiding her gaze.

“No, go do your laundry it fucking stinks in here! It’ll take less than two minutes to toss the clothes in, add detergent, and you can type away during those 40 minutes,” she countered, her tone teasing but firm.

“Urgh, fine!” you finally relented, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

After a quick trip to the laundry room, you shoved the clothes into the machine, the cycle starting with a satisfying hum. You headed back to your dorm, feeling the weight of the essay pressing down on you. Sitting at your desk, you opened your laptop and tried to focus, but your thoughts drifted back to the cosy moments spent with Jay.

The vibrant colours of the tie-dye jacket you’d made together flashed through your mind, along with his easy smile and laughter. You sighed, trying to push those thoughts away. You had to stay focused.

But every time you tried to write, your mind wandered to what you were missing: those quiet mornings filled with laughter, music, and the sweet scent of laundry detergent.

Friday, you stuck to your plan, diving deep into the essay, and sacrificing your sleep. The deadline loomed closer, and the idea of spending time with Jay felt increasingly like a distant memory.

You think you were being dramatic but why were you missing the smell of the softener that you could smell whenever you two were in the same vicinity? The sweet smell of Foral in contrast to the cool style just makes him even more— focus just a few more hours.

You could only hope that after you turned in your essay, you’d find a way back to the warmth of those mornings in the laundry room.

You had finally finished your essay, sending it in at exactly 11:58 PM—just two minutes before the deadline and the weekend. A wave of relief washed over you, but it quickly turned into a pang of regret as you realized you hadn’t seen Jay in days, you've been sewn to your bed for 3 days. His smile and laughter from the laundry room lingered in your mind, reminding you of what you missed.

Man, you are down bad when you realise days without him were just you thinking about him.

Jay was on the laundromat, his usual guitar and a laptop to watch videos as he waited for his laundry to finish. He knows that you are busy, you both are university students so he understood that assignments were what's stopping you.

But he can't help but shake the feeling of emptiness. The reason why he started coming here at 4 AM was to enjoy the quietness and also the quiet yet loud sounds of the strums on the guitar.

Yet with you around he didn't mind the loudness of it all. The laughter, the singing from both you and him, the harmonising to one direction because it seems like the go-to artist for the two of you.

He knew your schedule you told him that you come here every 2 days, This week was Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday, but you two could unexpectedly see each other on campus anyways, Monday is coming up and your jam session can start again.

As he strummed a few chords absentmindedly, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of longing for those early morning sessions. It was funny how the presence of another person could transform something so mundane into something extraordinary. The quietness he once cherished felt dull and lonely without you to share it with.

With a sigh, he glanced at the clock, hoping for a glimpse of you at any moment. The thought of your infectious smile and the way you lit up when you sang filled him with warmth, reminding him of why he had started coming here in the first place—not just for the peace but for the connection that blossomed in the most unexpected place.

-

🛏️

Saturday. You jolted awake the next morning to bright sunlight streaming through your window. Panic washed over you as you glanced at the clock—it was already 11:00 AM and you hadn’t done your laundry.

After a hasty breakfast, you threw on some clothes, barely managing to brush your hair before rushing out the door. You needed to check the laundry room for Jay. It seemed unlikely he’d be there, but you couldn’t resist the chance.

As you navigated the buzzing campus, excitement and nervousness churned in your stomach. When you reached the laundry room, you paused outside the door, heart racing. You pushed it open and peered inside.

To your delight, there he was—Jay, humming softly as he folded his sheets. He looked up, and a wide grin spread across his face. “Hey! You came back!”

You smiled back, but then it hit you—you had come at 11 AM instead of your usual 4 AM. A few male students in the room shot you curious glances, and you felt a rush of embarrassment.

“Oh god, I forgot it’s not 4 AM,” you muttered, hitting your forehead lightly. You gave an awkward smile and turned to leave.

What if the reason why was here at 11 was because he didn’t want to wake up at 4 AM and that you were stupid enough to think—

“Hey, laundry buddy!” he called out, waking you up from your thoughts

“Hi, I came to see you when I finally finished my essay,” you replied, turning back.

“Good thing 'cause I had to come here twice! Once at 4 and now, my roommate spilt soju on my bedsheet,” He explains

You winced

“Yeah, but hey I thought I lost my favourite laundry buddy!” he teased, his eyes sparkling.

Relief flooded over you. “I’m sorry! I had a paper due, and it consumed my life for the past few days.”

“No worries! I figured you were buried under textbooks. It is exam season,” he said, leaning casually against the counter. “But you’re back now.”

“Yeah, umm, let’s meet again but next time at our usual time?” you suggested.

“Sure!”

-

🎤

Monday. As you settled onto the counter, your legs swinging, Jay picked up his guitar, filling the room with familiar sounds. He strummed a soft melody, and you couldn’t help but sway along, feeling the tension from the past few days melt away.

“What song do you want to hear?” he asked, glancing up at you.

You thought for a moment, then smiled. “I've been listening to a lot of One Direction, Nobody Compares? Do you know the melody?”

He nodded, launching into the song, his fingers dancing over the strings. You felt a flutter in your chest as you listened, captivated by the way he poured his heart into the music.

After a while, you couldn’t resist joining in, your voice blending with his. The room felt alive with laughter and music, the soft lingering eyes that you felt while you sang a verse 👀, the warm scent of detergent still lingering in the air.

As you sang, you realised how much you had missed this connection, this comfort. The laundry room had become more than just a place to wash clothes; it was your secret escape, a space where you could truly be yourself.

When the song ended, Jay looked at you with a playful smirk. “You know, I think we make a pretty good team.”

“Yeah, we do,” you agreed, feeling your cheeks warm. “Who knew laundry could be so much fun?”

He chuckled, then leaned closer. “I was thinking… Maybe we could do this more often? Not just for laundry, but maybe hang out outside of here too?”

Your heart raced at the suggestion. “I’d like that.”

-

🌸

Wednesday. You and Jay had settled into a comfortable rhythm in the laundry room, the familiar sounds of washing machines and the sweet scent of detergent enveloping you. It was another cosy evening, however, you could sense something was bothering Jay but you didn't want to pry, wanting him to share what was bothering him when he felt ready.

“Hey, umm ___?” he called, breaking into your thoughts. His tone was serious, and you turned to meet his gaze You were playing with his guitar, strumming it. “Yeah, Jay?” you stopped

He hesitated for a moment, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “I’ve been thinking… about us.”

Your heart raced at the sudden weight of his words. “Us?” you echoed, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension.

“Yeah,” he continued, his expression earnest. “I really enjoy our time together, and I’ve never met anyone quite like you. You’re fun and creative, and you make laundry way more enjoyable.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, but the moment was electric with unspoken feelings. “I feel the same way,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jay looked surprised, but there was a spark of hope in his eyes. “Really?”

Taking a deep breath, you decided to take the plunge. “I know we started just doing laundry together, but it’s turned into something so much more for me. I can’t stop thinking about you, and I like being around you.”

His eyes widened, a smile breaking across his face. “You’re not just saying that, right?”

“No, I mean it,” you replied, feeling a surge of confidence. “You’ve become more than just my laundry buddy. I’ve been looking forward to our time together.”

Jay’s expression softened, and he stepped closer, his gaze steady. “I’ve felt it too, ___. I’ve never had this kind of connection with anyone before. It’s refreshing.”

Your heart raced as you searched his eyes for any sign of doubt, but all you saw was warmth and sincerity. “So… where do we go from here?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe we could make this official?” he suggested, his tone hopeful. “I’d love to take you out, outside of the laundry room, and see where this goes.”

You nodded, feeling a rush of happiness. “I’d really like that, Jay. A lot.”

You stood there, the air between you charged with unspoken promise. You both knew this was just the beginning of something beautiful. The laundry room, once merely a place for mundane chores, had transformed into the backdrop for a budding romance, and you couldn’t wait to see where it would lead.

[sleepyparalysisdmon]

Good to Me

The three times that Mingyu regrets setting you up, and the one where he finally says something.

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Mingyu’s a little bit of a jerk, but that’s it.

This is part of the Three Times series. This one is inspired by this reaction.

One

It’s Mingyu’s turn to set you up. You introduced him to a friend of yours last week and it went so well, no matter how short-lived it was, that you’re holding it against him now. You’re dressed to the nines for a night out at the club and Mingyu just rolls his eyes when you remind him what you’re looking for on the drive over. He knows what you’re looking for because he’s known you too long not to. 

He’s invited you to tag along with the infamous 97 line. You’ve met many of them before, but he just raises an eyebrow at you when you take one look at Jaehyun and say ‘I want him’. You follow it up with a shrug and say ‘he looks good as a blond’. 

After only a couple drinks, Mingyu doesn’t have to do a lot of work to set you up because Jaehyun is doing all of the work for him. He knows every single one of his friends would date you or hook up with you, and it’s just a matter of you picking out who. 

He doesn’t think much of it when you and Jaehyun disappear a little while later. He checks your location and you’re at home. Mingyu continues on with his night, business as usual. 

Two

Mingyu’s eyes bug out when you tell him you have a date. Not that it’s unheard of, but you’ve always said you don’t really want to be tied down. There’s something about the little twinkle in your eye that tells him this one might be different. 

“Jaehyun? Really? Was he that good?” Mingyu teases, but he’s a little confused at how his whole heart isn’t in the little jab. Particularly when your eyes shine a little brighter at the mention of his friend’s name. 

“I think I really like him, Mingyu. I want to see where this goes.”

You’re his best friend and he loves you and wants to see you happy - which you certainly look right now. So he does what any good best friend would do and waves you to your closet to help you figure out what to wear. He’s seen you in practically everything hanging in here so he takes charge. 

But there’s a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach with every date you go on over the course of the next couple weeks. It’s never been like this before, even when you have pursued someone with some seriousness. He shoves it back because he doesn’t know when this changed for him. 

He knows you’re attractive. He knows you’re smart. He knows you’re funny. He’s not stupid and any straight guy would be crazy to turn you down. When did he become one of those that would be crazy? One of those that would beg for a chance?

You don’t seem to notice how reserved he’s gotten about the topic of Jaehyun. You’re too in love already to notice anything else. 

Three

He’s out to lunch with a few 97 liners. Jaehyun is sitting across from him and he’s never wanted to hit his friend more, especially when you’re brought up. Jaehyun isn’t saying anything gross or mean, but the dopey smile on his face is driving Mingyu up the wall. 

“How does it feel to finally have a successful set up, Mingyu?” Eunwoo asks teasingly. They all know how you and Mingyu operate, and have occasionally begged to be on the receiving end of that set up. 

Mingyu shrugs noncommittally. “It’s whatever.”

“Ouch,” Jaehyun laughs. “I thought we were friends.”

“We are, but no one’s good enough for my best friend.” Mingyu knows the answer is brutal but it’s honest. 

“Maybe,” Jaehyun admits. “But things are going well.”

“For now,” Mingyu’s words have an unintended bite to it. 

Jaehyun looks like he’s getting a little offended. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that nothing lasts with her. I love her to death but she’s got more commitment issues than all of us combined.” 

The mood has shifted, and Eunwoo tries to recover the conversation, but Mingyu’s realized what he said, particularly how he said it, and he can practically see how the wheels are turning in Jaehyun’s head. He really, really hopes that it doesn’t come back to bite him in the ass later. 

Four

You’re crying. He can tell as soon as he answers the phone and it kind of feels like a gut punch. Then there’s an extra punch when you say, “How dare you, Kim Mingyu! Why would you say that to Jaehyun?” 

“Say what?” A lot of the sympathy for you dries up as soon as you mention Jaehyun, so he tries to play dumb. You sniffle and it makes him bite his tongue. 

“I’ll have you know he dumped me because he said it wouldn’t last - that you said nothing ever does with me. I thought we were friends, Mingyu. I thought you wanted me to be happy.” You’re sniffling double time now and he’s starting to feel guilty. Of course he wants you to be happy. 

“Are you home? I’ll come over with dinner and we can talk.” 

You scoff. “Don’t bother.” The dial tone echoes in his ears and he sighs. 

Wonwoo’s staring at him from the other side of the couch. “You’re an idiot.” 

Mingyu stammers. “You’re supposed to be supporting me. I didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“You sabotaged your best friend’s relationship. Is that not wrong?” 

“How do you even know that?” Mingyu cried. 

“Seokmin is in some of those group chats, remember? Now go apologize. Get some flowers and chocolate and just confess while you’re at it.” Wonwoo’s already got his face buried in his book again. Mingyu huffs and finally stands. 

You do not look pleased to see him. You even try to slam the door in his face. “Wait, wait, wait! Just let me explain.” 

“Explain what? Explain what you really think of me?” You’re sniffling again between the crack in the door as you glare. 

“It was mean of me to say, and I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.” It’s not like Mingyu to admit he’s wrong. You know that, which is why eventually you open the door and let him in. He puts everything down on the table and you give him a look. Sheepishly, he says, “I wasn’t sure how much of an apology you needed so I might have gone a little overboard.”

He lets you eat the chocolate first. It’s a comfort food and it’s only fair that he lets you get a head start. “I’m sorry,” he starts. 

“You said that,” you mumble through another bite. 

“I didn’t mean it like that, not how he took it anyway.”

“You said that too. You need to do better at this apology.”

“Fine.” He huffs, jumping up to pace. “I didn’t mean that you couldn’t commit, and of course I’d want you to be happy if you found the right person. But Jaehyun isn’t good enough for you. No one is, not even me. It’s never mattered because you don’t keep someone around often like you were with Jaehyun.” 

“You’re a dumbass, Kim Mingyu.”

He gasps. “How about an ‘I forgive you’? I’m trying to apologize and you insult me?”

“It’s true, you are a dumbass and you deserve to be called that. Do you ever wonder why I ask you to hook me up?” He stares dumbly at you and you keep going. “I do it so maybe you’ll be a little jealous and just admit that we have something.” You laugh humorlessly. “But it’s so painful sometimes because they’re never you and I still have to watch you go home with woman after woman.”

“Y/N, I don’t understand,” Mingyu stammers. 

“It’s fine, Mingyu. If you don’t feel the same, you can just say so.” You’ve deflated, playing with the wrapper from the chocolate. 

He marches over to you, pulling your chin up and slamming his lips onto yours. He feels you melt and it makes him melt too. When he pulls away, you’re pouting. “One more apology. I’m sorry it took me so long to catch up.”

“I forgive you.” You look like you’re thinking and then you smile. “What do you think about a change of plans on Friday?”

“Oh?” He asks, smiling lightly. You both usually go to the club when you can, but things have just changed at the snap of a finger. 

“How about a date instead?” 

“Sounds great. I’ll never step foot in a club again if you aren’t coming home with me.” 

You giggle and snort, “Yeah, okay,” but it doesn’t even occur to him to be offended by the jab. He feels like he’s floating now that the weight is off. “I don’t know, maybe we can stop by the club after dinner just to say we left together.”

“Sounds great,” he repeats, kissing you one more time. Or two. Or a dozen.