#I'll have a thought in the middle of a conversation and think 'okay- I'll try hard to remember this thought'

[harrysfolklore]

but daddy i love him, part one - mv1

summary: in the world of formula 1, where competition runs deep and loyalties are tested, yn wolff and max verstappen found themselves caught in the middle . as the daughter of mercedes team principal and the rising red bull star, they must navigate the balance between rivalries and love. wc: 17k

folkie radio: HERE. IT. IS. FINALLY !!!!!!!! as i've stated before i'm absolutely terrified of posting this, this is my longest fic ever and different from what i've done before. i know it's a long read but i'm really proud of it and i think it's worth it. IN THIS FIC MORE THAN ANY OTHER. I ENCOURAGE YOU TO LEAVE FEEDBACK.

DISCLAIMER: as stated in the title THIS IS PART ONE!!! part two is ready in my drafts and will be posted shortly (in a week tops). i'll stop talking now. BUCKLE UP AND ENJOY (and please leave feedback okay)

Melbourne, 2015

The hotel lobby is quiet at this hour - that strange liminal space between late night and early morning when most reasonable people are asleep. But you've never been great at reasonable, and jet lag has your body clock completely scrambled.

That's how you end up in the hotel's deserted coffee shop at 1 AM, nursing a hot chocolate and trying to calm your nerves about tomorrow.

You're so lost in thought you don't notice someone else enter until they speak.

"They're still open?"

You look up and your heart skips. Of course you recognize him immediately - Max Verstappen, the 17-year-old prodigy your father hasn't stopped talking about for months. "The next big thing," Papa had said, watching testing footage. "He's going to shake up the whole paddock, just watch."

"Sort of," you gesture to your drink, trying to keep your voice casual. "The barista took pity on me. Said she'd make one last drink before closing."

He glances at the now-dark counter and sighs. Up close, he looks even younger than in the photos you've seen, but there's something in his eyes - a fierce determination that makes you understand why everyone's been talking about him.

"Here," you push your barely-touched hot chocolate towards him. "I'm not really drinking it anyway."

He hesitates. "You sure?"

"Yeah. Probably shouldn't have caffeine at this hour anyway."

He sits across from you, taking a careful sip. "Thanks. I'm Max."

I know, you think. Everyone knows. The youngest F1 driver in history, Jos Verstappen's son, the rookie everyone's watching.

"You're not from around here," you note his accent, playing along with the pretense that you don't know exactly who he is.

"Neither are you," he grins, and something warm flutters in your stomach. His smile transforms his whole face, makes him look his age.

"Fair point. Here for the Grand Prix?"

"You could say that." He studies you, and you wonder if he can hear your heart racing. "You?"

"Something like that." You're enjoying this little game more than you probably should.

"Cryptic."

You laugh. "Says the equally cryptic stranger."

"Okay, okay." He takes another sip. "I'm one of the new drivers. Toro Rosso."

You try to hide your smile. You've watched every clip of his testing sessions, heard every conversation your father has had about his potential. "Ah. The youngest F1 driver in history. That must be a lot of pressure."

He shrugs, but you can see the tension in his shoulders, the weight of expectations already heavy on him. You know that weight - you've carried your own version of it your whole life.

"Everyone keeps saying that."

"Scared?"

"No," he answers too quickly, then sighs. "Maybe a little. You won't tell anyone I said that, right?"

There's something vulnerable in his admission that makes your heart ache. Behind all the hype and headlines, he's just a boy on the verge of something enormous.

"Your secret's safe with me." You lean back. "For what it's worth, I think you'll do great."

"You sound pretty confident for someone who just met me."

If only he knew how many hours you'd spent watching his karting videos. How many times you'd heard your father say "That Verstappen boy is going to change everything."

"Let's call it intuition."

He laughs - a genuine, unguarded sound that makes your pulse quicken. "You're different."

"Different good or different bad?"

"Just… different." He finishes the hot chocolate. "Most people, when they find out who I am, they either get weird about it or start asking about Jos."

"Your father?"

He nods, and you see a flicker of something in his eyes - the same shadow you sometimes get when people mention Toto.

"Well, I know a thing or two about father-related pressure, so…"

"Yeah?" He looks interested. "What does your father do?"

You check your watch, knowing it's time to end this little charade. "Oh wow, is that the time? I should probably head up."

"Wait," he stands as you do. "I didn't catch your name."

You pause at the door, turning back with a small smile, savoring what you know will be his reaction. "I'm YN Wolff."

His eyes widen. "Wolff? As in…"

"See you in the paddock, Max Verstappen."

You leave him standing there, but not before catching his surprised laugh. Your heart is racing as you walk away - from the deception, from his smile, from the way his eyes had lit up when he laughed.

The next morning, you spot him in the paddock. He does a double-take when he sees you with the Mercedes team, then grins and shakes his head. You're wearing your team kit now, no more pretending to be just another girl in a hotel coffee shop.

"Cryptic stranger," he mouths at you as he passes.

You just smile, trying to ignore how your stomach flips when he winks at you.

Neither of you could have known then - in that quiet hotel coffee shop at 1 AM - that this was the beginning of something that would change your lives.

Singapore, 2015

The paddock is eerily quiet now, the usual chaos of race day reduced to a whisper of distant maintenance and soft lighting. You're sitting on one of the team benches, the night air cool against your skin. Max is close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, close enough that the line between friendship and something more feels increasingly blurred.

It wasn't a sudden thing, this connection with Max. It had been a slow burn, a gradual unraveling that began that night in the hotel coffee shop and grew through stolen moments between races, brief conversations in crowded paddocks, and late-night messages that became increasingly frequent.

At first, it was simple curiosity. You'd catch each other's eye across the paddock, exchange a knowing smile. Then came the texts - random observations about races, inside jokes about team dynamics, comments that walked the line between friendly and flirtatious. Max had a way of making you laugh like no one else could, his wit sharp and unexpected.

He nudges you playfully. "So, daughter of the most powerful team principal in Formula 1. Must be interesting."

You roll your eyes, but there's a smile tugging at your lips. "Not as glamorous as you might think."

"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow. "Try me."

You pause, considering. The weight of your father's reputation is something you've carried your entire life - a constant backdrop to every interaction, every moment.

"Imagine," you say slowly, "having every conversation potentially recorded, every interaction analyzed. One wrong move and it's not just about you, but about your family's reputation."

Max's expression shifts. There's understanding there - he knows something about familial expectations, about the pressure of carrying a name.

"My father," he says quietly, "Jos Verstappen. Not exactly a walk in the park."

The vulnerability in his voice catches you off guard. These moments have become more frequent - brief windows where the polished racing personas fall away, revealing something raw and real.

"Tell me," you prompt softly.

He takes a deep breath. "Constant pressure. Every race, every test, every moment - it's like I'm living not just for myself, but for some expectation he's created. Sound familiar?"

You laugh, but it's a sound tinged with something harder. Sadness. Recognition. "Absolutely."

Your conversations have been like this lately - layers peeling back, revealing something raw and real beneath the polished exterior of Formula 1.

"Sometimes," Max continues, "I wonder if I'm racing for myself or for the legacy everyone else wants me to create."

Before you can respond, a voice cuts through the night. "Little Wolff?"

Lewis approaches, his team kit still impeccable despite the late hour. His eyes narrow when he sees Max, taking in your proximity.

Lewis had been a constant in your life long before Max entered the picture. Since joining Mercedes, he'd taken on a role that was part mentor, part protective older brother. It wasn't an official designation, but in the Mercedes family, it might as well have been law.

Lewis knew everything about you - your hopes, your fears and everything in between. He was more than just your father's driver. He was family.

"Oh," Lewis says, a mix of surprise and something else - protection, wariness. "Verstappen."

Max stands immediately. "I was just leaving," he says quickly, a touch of nervousness breaking through his usual confidence. "See you around."

As Max walks away, Lewis turns to you, his protective big brother persona fully activated. "What," he says slowly, "was that about?"

You start walking together, the paddock lights casting long shadows. Lewis' stride is purposeful, matching yours.

"Nothing," you say, but the word sounds unconvincing even to your own ears, "He's my friend."

"Friend," he says, uncertainty in his voice, "Just be careful, okay? Things are never that simple in this paddock" he'd said, and you knew he meant more than just about Max.

You said nothing. But you heard him. You always did.

Barcelona, 2016

The champagne sparkles in the late afternoon sun as you watch from a secluded corner of the paddock. You smile as you watch Max on that podium - the youngest winner in Formula 1 history. Your smile is wide, uncontrolled, and you're grateful for the relative privacy of your spot. If anyone noticed that your eyes never left Max, that your smile was meant only for him, they didn't say.

You remember the first time you saw him race, really race - not just in videos or testing. The raw talent, the fearlessness that made your breath catch. Over the past year, you'd watched him grow from that confident teenager in the Melbourne coffee shop into someone who commanded respect on track. And somewhere along the way, between stolen moments in the paddock and late-night conversations, he'd become so much more than just another driver.

The past year had been a dance of almost-moments and careful distances. Shared glances across crowded rooms, text messages that made you smile at 3 AM, touches that lingered just a second too long. You'd both known the complications, the impossibility of it all - the Mercedes team principal's daughter and Red Bull's rising star. It was like a modern Romeo and Juliet, except instead of warring families, it was competing Formula 1 teams.

Later that evening, you stand in your father's office doorway, heart hammering but determined. Toto is absorbed in post-race papers, reading glasses perched on his nose, looking every bit the formidable team principal even hours after the race.

"Papa?"

He looks up, his expression softening slightly at the sight of you. "Yes, Schatz?"

"I'm going out," you say, trying to keep your voice casual while mentally rehearsing your prepared explanation.

Toto's eyebrows rise slightly. "Out?"

"With some friends," you elaborate, grateful for years of practice at maintaining your composure under his scrutiny. "To celebrate the race."

He sets his papers down, removing his glasses. "Friends from the team?"

Your heart skips. "Just… friends from the paddock," you say carefully. "Daniel invited me."

"Ricciardo?" His tone sharpens slightly.

"He's always been nice to me," you reason, which isn't a lie. Daniel has been a friend since his early days, always treating you like a friend rather than just the boss' daughter.

Toto studies you for a long moment, and you force yourself to meet his gaze steadily, even as your pulse races. You've always been close to your father - he's been your hero, your guide, your biggest supporter. The weight of potentially disappointing him sits heavy in your chest.

"Be careful," he finally says, though his tone suggests he's not entirely convinced. "You know how complicated things can be in this world."

"I know, Papa," you say softly. "I'll be careful. Promise."

Getting into the Red Bull celebration is easier than expected, thanks to Daniel's help. He meets you at a side entrance, his trademark grin wider than usual.

"Looking good, Wolff," he winks, pulling you into a quick hug. "Though I'm pretty sure your dad would kill me if he knew I was helping you sneak in."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," you say, trying to ignore the guilt that accompanies the words.

"Just…" Daniel's expression turns serious for a moment. "Be careful, yeah? With Max. He's my teammate and you're like my sister, and I don't want either of you getting hurt."

You're saved from responding by the noise of the party as he leads you inside. The atmosphere is electric - the joy of Max's first win filling the air along with music and laughter.

When Max spots you, his eyes widen, champagne glass freezing halfway to his lips. The surprise on his face quickly melts into something softer, more private. He excuses himself from his group and makes his way over, that familiar smirk playing on his lips - the one that never fails to make your heart skip.

"Should I be worried about Mercedes spies in our midst?" he teases, but his eyes are soft, drinking you in.

"You know me," you counter, matching his playful tone while trying to ignore how good he looks in his race winner's shirt, "I live for trouble."

"That you do, Wolff." He steps closer, just slightly, but enough to make your breath catch. "I didn't think you'd come."

"And miss your first win celebration? Never." You mean it to sound light, teasing, but your voice comes out softer, more sincere than intended.

"Still can't believe it," he says, shaking his head with a boyish grin that makes him look his age for once. "My first win."

"I can," you reply, taking a sip of champagne. "I've seen how you drive. It was only a matter of time."

He looks at you with an intensity that makes your heart stutter. "You've been watching me drive, then?"

"Someone has to keep an eye on the competition," you tease, but you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

"Is that what I am? Competition?" He moves closer, and suddenly the music seems far away.

"Among other things." Your voice comes out breathier than intended.

The conversation flows easily between you, as it always has. You talk about the race, about his incredible overtakes, about the moment he realized he was going to win. His eyes light up when he describes the feeling of crossing the finish line, and you find yourself caught between admiring his passion and getting lost in the way his hands move as he talks.

As the night progresses, the party gets louder, more crowded. Max notices you glancing around at the growing crowd.

"Want to get some air?" he asks, nodding toward a door that leads to a quieter area.

You follow him to a private terrace overlooking the city. The music is muffled here, and the night air is cool on your skin. You lean against the railing, city lights twinkling below.

"Better?" he asks, standing close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him.

"Much." You turn to face him, drawn in by the way the lights play across his features. "Though I have to say, you throw quite a party for a rookie winner."

He laughs, the sound low and warm. "Rookie? I've been racing since before I could walk."

"Oh right, I forgot - Max Verstappen, born in a go-kart," you tease, making him smile wider.

"You're impossible, you know that?" He shakes his head, but his eyes are fond.

"Part of my charm," you counter, feeling bold in the privacy of the moment.

"Is that what you call it?" He's even closer now, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes.

"Would you rather I was predictable?" You raise an eyebrow, challenging.

"Never." His voice drops lower, sending shivers down your spine. "Predictable is boring. And you, YN Wolff, are anything but boring."

The tension between you is electric, years of carefully maintained distance crumbling in this quiet moment. Your heart is racing so fast you wonder if he can hear it.

"Well," you say, stepping into his space until there's barely a breath between you, "I think the winner deserves a reward."

Before you can second-guess yourself, you're kissing him. It's everything and nothing like you imagined - soft at first, tentative, like you're both afraid of breaking something precious. Then his hand comes up to cup your face, and the kiss deepens, becomes more urgent. You can taste champagne on his lips, feel the solid warmth of him against you. Your fingers curl into his shirt, anchoring yourself as the world spins around you.

It's a perfect moment, suspended in time, until he pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against yours.

"You're trouble, Wolff," he murmurs against your lips, but he's smiling that smile that makes your heart flip. "Beautiful trouble."

"Scared?" you challenge softly, echoing your first conversation in Melbourne.

"Terrified," he admits, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. "But in a good way."

You stay at the party longer than you should, caught in Max's orbit. Every smile, every touch, every shared look feels charged with possibility. But reality crashes back hours later when you return.

Your dad is waiting, his expression thunderous in a way you've rarely seen directed at you. Your stomach drops as soon as you see him, the lingering warmth from Max's kisses turning to ice in your veins.

"Would you like to explain," he says slowly, each word precise and controlled, "why did I receive a call informing me that my daughter was at a Red Bull celebration?"

"Papa, I-" you start, but he cuts you off with a sharp gesture.

"Don't." His voice is hard. "Don't try to fool me. I've seen you with Max Verstappen."

The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words. You want to defend yourself, explain that Max isn't just the Red Bull driver he sees, that there's more to him.

"Do you have any idea," he continues, "what position this puts me in? Puts the team in?"

"It's not about the teams," you say quietly, finding your voice. "It's just-"

"Just what?" he challenges. "Just you and him? Nothing is ever just anything in Formula 1, YN. Every action has consequences. Every relationship has implications."

"That's not fair."

"Fair?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "This sport isn't about fair. It's about winning. About loyalty. About trust." He pauses, letting the words sink in. "How can I trust you to put the team first when you're sneaking around with our biggest rival?"

The words hit you like a physical blow. "I would never betray the team," you whisper, hurt that he could even think that.

"Maybe not intentionally," he says, his voice softening slightly. "But this… whatever this is with Max Verstappen… it can't continue. I won't tell you again. Stay away from him."

You want to argue more, to make him understand. But you recognize the finality in your father's tone, the immovable force that has made him such a successful team principal. In this world of racing and rivalry, some lines aren't meant to be crossed.

As you leave, you touch your lips, still feeling the ghost of Max's kiss. Your phone buzzes - a message from Max: "Worth the trouble?"

You stare at the screen, tears threatening to fall. Sometimes the biggest crashes in Formula 1 aren't on the track at all. Sometimes they're in the space between what your heart wants and what the sport demands.

Germany, 2016

The German summer air is thick with tension. You can feel it crackling through the paddock like electricity before a storm. Nico and Lewis' rivalry has turned the Mercedes garage into a pressure cooker, and your father's stress is palpable. Being around him feels like walking on eggshells, which makes your secret meetings with Max even more dangerous.

You've gotten good at this dance over the past few months - stolen moments between practice sessions, hidden corners of the paddock, coded messages about "casual meetings" that are anything but casual. Every stolen kiss feels like a victory and a risk all at once.

The sun is setting over Hockenheim when you slip behind the Red Bull motorhome, your heart racing with the familiar mix of excitement and fear. Max is already there, leaning against the wall with that cocky smile that still makes your stomach flip.

"Cutting it close, Wolff," he murmurs as you approach. "Your father's been prowling the paddock all day."

"Worried?" you tease, even as you glance around to ensure you're alone.

His answer is to pull you against him, one hand sliding to your waist while the other cups your face. "About your father? Always. About this? Never."

The kiss is heated from the start - months of practice have taught you both exactly how to make each other breathless. His thumb traces your jawline as he deepens the kiss, and you press closer, fingers curling into his team shirt. You love how solid he feels against you, how his breath catches when you bite gently at his lower lip.

"You're going to get me in trouble," he whispers against your mouth, but his smile suggests he doesn't mind at all.

"You love trouble," you remind him, trailing kisses along his jaw.

His hands tighten on your waist. "I love-" he starts, but cuts himself off, choosing instead to capture your lips again in a kiss that makes you forget everything else.

You lose track of time, lost in the taste of him, the feel of his hands on your skin, the way he whispers your name like a prayer. It's dangerous and perfect and everything you shouldn't want but can't resist.

A sound makes you both freeze. You pull apart quickly, straightening your clothes, but it's too late.

Jos Verstappen stands at the corner of the motorhome, his expression dark and unreadable. Your blood runs cold at the sight of him.

"I… I should go," you manage, your voice shaky. Max's hand brushes yours briefly - a small comfort - before you hurry past his father, avoiding his stern gaze.

Behind you, you can hear Jos' voice, low and harsh in Dutch, but you don't stop to listen. Your heart is pounding as you make your way back to the paddock, wondering if this is the moment everything falls apart.

Max stands his ground as his father's disapproval fills the space between them.

"What do you think you're doing?" Jos demands in Dutch, his voice controlled but sharp. "The Wolff girl? Have you lost your mind?"

"It's not what you think-" Max starts, but Jos cuts him off.

"It's exactly what I think. You're letting yourself get distracted. By a Mercedes girl, no less. Toto Wolff's daughter?" Jos steps closer, his presence intimidating despite Max now being taller than him. "You're just starting to prove yourself in Formula 1. This is when you need to focus more than ever."

"I am focused," Max argues. "My results prove that."

"For now." Jos' voice turns cold. "But girls like that, from families like that - they're nothing but distractions. She'll get in your head, make you soft. And then what? You think Toto Wolff wants his daughter with a Red Bull driver? You think this ends well?"

Max clenches his jaw, fighting back the urge to defend you, to explain that you're different, that you understand the sport as well as he does. But he knows his father won't listen.

"Stay away from her," Jos says finally, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Focus on what matters. On winning and being champion. That's what we've worked for all these years. Don't throw it away for some girl."

The words hit harder than Max wants to admit, echoing his own doubts, his own fears about what this thing with you means. But he can't forget the way you look at him like you see past the racer, past the name, to who he really is.

Jos leaves him there in the growing darkness, with only the weight of expectations and the lingering taste of your kiss on his lips.

Monaco, May 2017

Another year, another dance of stolen moments and secret smiles. If anything, the warnings and opposition have only made whatever this is between you and Max more intense. Like a forbidden drug, each stolen moment leaves you craving more, even as the risks grow higher.

"This is a terrible idea," Max whispers as you pull him through your back door, "Your dad is literally upstairs."

"He's dead asleep," you assure him, carefully closing the door. "He took sleeping pills for his flight tomorrow. Besides, he sleeps like the dead anyway."

Max still looks like he's ready to bolt at any second. "YN, if he catches me here-"

"He won't." You tug him closer by his shirt. "Unless you keep talking so loud."

He glances nervously at the stairs. "Your room is up there? Past his?"

"Scared, Verstappen?"

"Terrified, actually." But he follows you anyway, both of you carefully avoiding the creaky third step you'd mapped out years ago during teenage sneaking attempts.

You're almost at your door when Max freezes. "Was that-"

"Just the house settling," you whisper, but your heart is racing too. "Come on, we're almost-"

A door opens down the hall.

Max actually whimpers. You shove him into your room just as Toto's voice calls out, "YN? Is that you?"

"Just getting water, Papa!" you call back, praying your voice sounds normal. "Go back to sleep."

"Everything okay?"

"Fine! Those pills should be kicking in, right?"

A yawn. "Ja, starting to feel them. Goodnight, Schatz."

"Night, Papa!"

You wait until you hear his door close before slipping into your room. You find Max standing perfectly still in the middle of the floor, looking absolutely terrified.

"I think I'm having a heart attack," he announces in a whisper. "I'm actually having a heart attack. I can see the headlines now: 'F1 Driver Dies of Fear in Team Principal's House.'"

You try not to laugh. "You're being dramatic."

"Dramatic?" His voice rises slightly before he catches himself. "YN, your father was ten feet away from me. Ten feet! Do you know what he would do to me if he found me here?"

"Well, first he'd probably have a heart attack himself-"

"Not helping!"

"Then probably murder you-"

"Still not helping!"

"And Lewis would hide the body-"

"Why did I agree to this?" He runs his hands through his hair. "I'm a professional athlete. I have championships to win. I can't die in Toto Wolff's house because his daughter is too pretty to say no to."

You wrap your arms around his neck, grinning. "You think I'm pretty?"

"I think you're trying to kill me." But his hands settle on your waist automatically. "If your father walks in right now-"

"He won't."

"But if he does-"

"Max." You kiss him softly. "Stop talking about my father when you're in my bedroom."

"Missed you," he murmurs against your mouth, hands already sliding under your shirt. "Watching you in the paddock all day, not being able to touch you…"

You smile against his lips. "Poor baby. Must be so hard being professional."

He responds by lifting you up, making you laugh as he carries you toward your bed. "You have no idea."

Hours later, you're tangled in your sheets, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare skin. The city's lights cast shadows across his face, making him look older than his twenty years.

"We should sleep," you say, even as you press closer to him. "You have meetings tomorrow."

"Meetings are overrated," he mumbles into your hair, but you can hear the smile in his voice.

"Says the guy who's already breaking records." Your fingers trail down his chest. "Future world champion can't skip meetings."

He catches your hand, bringing it to his lips. "Future world champion can do whatever he wants."

You fall asleep like that, wrapped in each other, pretending the world outside doesn't exist. But morning comes too soon, sunlight streaming through your windows and your alarm blaring way too early.

Max groans, burying his face in your neck. "Five more minutes."

"You said that twenty minutes ago," you remind him, even as you run your fingers through his hair. "You're already going to be late, and my father is still next room, remember?"

He lifts his head, giving you that boyish grin that still makes your heart skip. "Worth it."

But reality can't be held at bay forever. Max rushes to get dressed, stealing kisses between looking for his scattered clothes. You watch from your bed, sheet wrapped around you, trying to memorize how he looks in the morning light.

"Tonight?" he asks, pausing at your bedroom door.

"Text me," you say, and he gives you one last smile before he's gone.

Max is still smiling when he arrives at the Red Bull office, nearly an hour late for his morning meeting. The smile dies on his lips when he sees his father waiting outside, arms crossed and expression thunderous.

"You were with that girl weren't you? Nothing's changed" Jos demands without preamble, switching to Dutch.

"I was just-"

"Don't lie to me." Jos' voice is low, dangerous. "Are you trying to destroy everything we've worked for?"

"I'm not destroying anything," Max argues, frustration creeping into his voice. "My results-"

"Your results could be better," Jos cuts him off. "You could be focused on becoming champion instead of sneaking around with Toto Wolff's daughter. Do you think this is a game?"

"It's not a game-"

"Then what is it?" Jos steps closer, his presence still intimidating despite Max being taller now. "Love?" He spits the word like it's poison. "You think love wins championships? You think that girl is worth throwing away everything we've sacrificed for?"

Max clenches his jaw, the weight of years of his father's expectations pressing down on him. "I can handle both-"

"No." Jos' voice is final, absolute. "You can't. And you won't. This ends now. Cut her off."

"Or what?" The words slip out before Max can stop them, a rare challenge to his father's authority.

Jos' eyes turn cold. "Or I'll make sure Toto knows exactly what his precious daughter has been up to. How do you think that ends for her? For her relationship with her father? For her position in the paddock?"

The threat hangs in the air between them. Max feels his stomach turn to ice, knowing his father well enough to know this isn't an empty threat.

"Your choice, Max," Jos says, already turning away. "But make it soon. This distraction ends now, or there will be consequences. For everyone."

Max stands there long after his father leaves, the taste of your kisses still on his lips, now bitter with the weight of choices.

Monza, 2017

The Italian late summer heat feels suffocating as you finally corner Max behind the Ferrari motorhome - neutral territory. He's been dodging you since Hungary, responding to texts with one-word answers before stopping altogether. You've seen that look in his eyes when he spots you in the paddock - the way he quickly turns away, finds somewhere else to be.

"Hey stranger," you say, aiming for casual despite your racing heart. "Been a while."

He looks everywhere but at you, hands shoved deep in his pockets. "YN…" There's a warning in his voice that you choose to ignore.

"I've missed you," you continue, taking a step closer. "We haven't talked since-"

"We can't do this anymore." His words cut through the air like a knife.

You freeze, the practiced speech you'd prepared dying in your throat. "What?"

"This." He gestures vaguely between you, still not meeting your eyes. "Whatever this is. It has to stop."

"Just like that?" Your voice comes out steadier than you feel. "After everything?"

"I need to focus on racing." He sounds like he's reciting a rehearsed speech. "Just racing. No distractions."

The word 'distraction' hits you like a physical blow. "Is that what I am? A distraction?"

Finally, he looks at you, and for a moment you see something crack in his carefully constructed facade - pain, regret, something more. But then it's gone, replaced by a coldness you've never seen directed at you before.

"This was never going to work," he says flatly. "We both knew that. It'll only cause trouble - for you, for me, for our families. It's better to end it now."

You think about all the stolen moments, the late-night conversations, the way he'd look at you like you were the only person in a crowded room. All reduced to 'trouble'.

"Fine." You straighten your spine, channeling every ounce of Wolff pride you possess. "See you around, Max Verstappen."

You turn and walk away before he can respond, each step measured and controlled despite feeling like your world is crumbling. You make it all the way to the Mercedes motorhome before the tears start to fall.

You duck into what you think is an empty corner, trying to get yourself under control, when a familiar voice makes you jump.

"Little Wolff?"

Lewis stands there, concern etched across his features. He's known you since you were a kid, has watched you grow up in the paddock. In many ways, he's your brother.

"I'm fine," you say automatically, wiping at your eyes. "Just… allergies."

"Right," he says softly, not believing you for a second. "Because Monza is famous for its allergies."

A sob escapes before you can stop it, and suddenly Lewis is pulling you into a hug. You break down against his chest, all your carefully maintained composure crumbling.

"Hey, hey," he soothes, rubbing your back. "What happened? Who do I need to beat up?"

You laugh wetly against his shoulder. "Nobody. It's stupid. I'm stupid."

"You're one of the smartest people I know," he counters. "So whatever it is, it's not stupid."

You pull back slightly, wiping your eyes. "I just… I thought…" You shake your head. "It doesn't matter what I thought. Clearly I was wrong."

Understanding dawns in Lewis's eyes. He's not blind - he's probably noticed more than most about your relationship with Max, even if he's never mentioned it.

"Sometimes," he says carefully, "people make choices out of fear rather than what they really want. Especially in this world."

"He said I was a distraction," you whisper, the words still burning.

Lewis's expression hardens slightly. "He's young. And scared. And probably being pulled in a hundred different directions." He pauses. "Doesn't make it hurt any less though, does it?"

You shake your head, fresh tears threatening to fall.

"Come here." He pulls you into another hug. "For what it's worth, I think he's an idiot. But maybe this is for the best, he's not good for you."

You stay there for a while, letting Lewis comfort you, grateful for his presence and his wisdom. But you can't shake the image of Max's face, that moment when his mask slipped, and you'd seen the pain in his eyes. You wonder if Lewis is right - if this is really about fear rather than feeling.

But in the end, you suppose it doesn't matter. A choice is still a choice, even if it's made for the wrong reasons.

Monaco, Summer 2018

The bass thrums through your body as you down another shot, Lando cheering beside you. The club is packed - all of Monaco's elite young crowd mixed with racing's next generation. Your father would have an aneurysm if he saw you here, but that's half the fun.

"Another!" Lando shouts over the music, already signaling the bartender. He's technically too young to be here, but money and fame open most doors in Monaco.

"You're a bad influence, Norris," you laugh, but you don't stop him.

"Me?" He clutches his chest in mock offense. "I'm an angel. You're the one corrupting the youth."

"You're literally younger than me."

"Details, details." He hands you another shot. "To being young and irresponsible!"

You clink glasses with him, the alcohol burning pleasantly as it goes down. This is what you needed - no paddock politics, no disappointed looks from your father, no thoughts of…

"Oh shit," Lando says suddenly, following your gaze. "We can move to another section if you want."

Max has just walked in with a group of friends. He looks good - he always looks good - in dark jeans and a fitted black shirt. Your stomach does that familiar flip before you forcefully squash it down.

"Why should we move?" you say, perhaps a bit too loudly. "We were here first."

Lando gives you that knowing look he's perfected over the past year of friendship. "YN…"

"Don't start," you warn him. "I'm fine. It's fine. Ancient history."

"Right," he drawls. "That's why you drunk-called me crying about him last month."

"I did not!"

"'Lando,'" he mimics in a high voice, "'why doesn't he want meeeee?'"

You shove him playfully. "I hate you."

"You love me." He grins. "I'm your favorite driver now."

"You're not even in F1 yet."

"Yet!" He wraps an arm around your shoulders. "Next year though. Then I'll be beating your ex's ass on track."

"He's not my ex," you mutter. "We were never actually together, remember?"

"Right, just sneaking around making out for like a year and a half. Totally casual."

You're about to retort when movement catches your eye. Max is at the bar now, and there's a girl with him. Tall, blonde, model-beautiful. She's touching his arm, laughing at something he's saying, and he's leaning in close to hear her over the music.

"YN…" Lando's voice has that warning tone.

"I need another drink," you announce, turning back to the bar.

Three shots later, you're on the dance floor with Lando, trying to forget the scene playing out at the bar. But your eyes keep drifting over, watching as Max gets closer to the blonde, his hand now on her waist.

"Stop torturing yourself," Lando says in your ear.

"I'm not-" you start, but the words die in your throat as you watch Max lean down and kiss the girl.

Something inside you snaps. You scan the crowd, spotting a guy who's been eyeing you all night. He's good-looking enough - dark hair, nice smile, probably a trust fund kid like half the people here.

"YN," Lando tries to grab your arm, but you're already moving.

You approach the guy with purpose, channeling every ounce of confidence the alcohol has given you. "Want to dance?"

He looks surprised but pleased. "Absolutely."

You let him pull you close, perhaps closer than necessary. You can feel eyes on you - Lando's concerned ones, and maybe, just maybe, someone else's too.

The guy - you think he said his name was Alex or Alec - is a good dancer. His hands are respectful but firm on your hips as you move to the music. When he leans down to kiss you, you let him.

It's not a bad kiss. He knows what he's doing. But he doesn't taste right, doesn't feel right. His hands aren't calloused from racing. He doesn't smell like motor oil and expensive cologne. He's not… him

But you kiss him anyway. When you finally pull back from the kiss, Lando is at your elbow.

"I think we should head out," he says, glancing meaningfully at your nearly empty glass.

"I'm having fun," you protest, even as the room spins slightly. Alex-or-Alec's hands are still on your waist.

"YN." Lando's voice is firmer now. "Come on."

You turn back to Alex-or-Alec, pulling him down for another kiss. It's messy and desperate and you can taste the expensive whiskey on his breath. You're proving something, you think, though you're not sure what or to whom anymore.

Through the haze of alcohol and bass-heavy music, you hear a familiar voice.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Max is standing there, his face tight with anger. The blonde from earlier is nowhere to be seen, but there's another girl hovering behind him - brunette this time.

"Having fun," you say sweetly, pressing closer to Alex-or-Alec. "You should try it. Oh wait, you already are."

"You don't even know this guy," Max snaps.

"His name is Alex." You pause. "Or Alec."

"It's Adrian," the guy supplies helpfully.

"Whatever." Max steps forward. "You're drunk. You need to go home."

"And you need to mind your own business." You turn to Adrian with an exaggerated smile. "Want to get out of here?"

"YN," Lando pleads. "Don't."

"Sure," Adrian grins, clearly oblivious to the tension. "My place isn't far."

Max moves so fast you barely register it, suddenly between you and Adrian. "She's not going anywhere with you."

"Excuse me?" You push at his chest. "You don't get to decide that. You lost that right when you-" You cut yourself off, aware you're saying too much.

"When I what?" Max challenges, his eyes dark. "When I did exactly what you're doing right now?"

"No," you laugh, but it comes out bitter. "When you decided that sneaking around was fine until it wasn't. When you started showing up to every event with a new girl on your arm. When you-"

"YN," Lando tugs at your arm. "Not here."

You shake him off. "Go back to your girlfriend, Max. Or girlfriends. I lost count tonight."

"You're being ridiculous."

"And you're being a hypocrite." You grab Adrian's hand. "Let's go."

Max's hand closes around your wrist. "You're not leaving with him."

"Get your hands off me." Your voice is ice cold. "You don't get to play protective boyfriend when it suits you. Go find another model to add to your collection."

Something flashes in his eyes - hurt maybe, or anger. "Fine. Do what you want. You always do anyway."

"Exactly. I do what I want." You turn to Adrian. "Sorry, but I've changed my mind. Turns out I have standards."

You shake off Max's grip and push past him, heading for the exit. Lando hurries after you, already calling for a car.

"YN, wait-" Max calls after you.

"Go to hell, Verstappen."

Outside, the Monaco air is cool against your flushed skin. Lando wraps his jacket around your shoulders as tears start to fall.

"I hate him," you whisper.

"No, you don't." Lando pulls you into a hug. "That's the problem."

The morning sunlight streaming through the windows feels like actual daggers in your skull. You're nursing your third cup of coffee, wearing sunglasses indoors like the walking cliché you are, when your father's voice cuts through your hangover haze.

"Would you care to explain these?"

Toto slides his phone across the breakfast table. Your stomach drops as you see the photos - you dancing with Adrian, Max confronting you, your tearful exit with Lando. The Monaco nightlife paparazzi are relentless, and you were too drunk to notice them.

"Papa, I-"

"No." His voice is quiet but firm. That's worse than yelling. "This stops now, YN. This... rebellion phase of yours. It stops."

Lewis and Valtteri are suddenly very interested in their breakfast plates. Susie, your stepmother, places a gentle hand on your father's arm, but doesn't contradict him.

"It wasn't-"

"Wasn't what?" Toto's accent gets thicker when he's angry. "Wasn't you, drunk in a club, making headlines again? Wasn't you creating another PR nightmare for the team?"

Your head throbs. "I'm not part of the team."

"No? Then why does every tabloid headline read 'Mercedes Boss's Daughter in Club Drama with Red Bull Star'?"

You wince. Both at his words and at the volume.

"The drinking, the parties, the public scenes - it needs to stop." He leans forward. "You're not just any teenager, liebling. Everything you do reflects on this family, on this team."

"That's not fair."

"Life isn't fair." He softens slightly. "I know this past year has been... difficult."

You feel Lewis shift beside you. He knows - of course he knows. He's probably the only one at this table who knows the full story of you and Max.

"But this self-destructive behavior cannot continue." Your father's voice is final. "You're grounded."

"I'm twenty one!"

"And living on my yacht, in my house, representing my name." He raises an eyebrow. "Would you prefer to go back to boarding school?"

The threat lands. You sink lower in your chair.

"No, sir."

"Good." He turns to his own coffee. "No more clubs. No more parties. And for God's sake, no more scenes with Max Verstappen."

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You know without looking it's probably Lando checking on you. Or worse, Max.

"YN." Your father's voice draws your attention back. "I mean it. Whatever is going on between you two... it ends now."

"Nothing is going on," you mutter.

"Then it should be easy to maintain distance."

Susie finally speaks up. "Why don't you come work with me for a while? Help with the She Moves Forward initiative?"

You know it's a peace offering - a way to keep you busy and out of trouble. But the thought of structured days and responsible tasks makes your hangover worse.

"Fine," you concede, if only to end this conversation.

Lewis nudges you under the table - a small gesture of solidarity. Valtteri offers a sympathetic smile.

"Good." Your father stands. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have damage control to handle."

After he leaves, Lewis slides a bottle of Advil towards you. "Here. You look like death."

"Thanks," you grumble, dry-swallowing two pills.

"He's right, you know," Lewis says quietly. "About Max."

"Not you too."

"YN." His voice is gentle. "You can't keep doing this to yourself. The drinking, the acting out - it's not going to make it hurt less."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't." He stands, squeezing your shoulder. "Just... think about what you're really angry at. Because I don't think it's your father, or the team, or even Max."

"I'm going back to bed," you announce to no one in particular.

"Honey," Susie calls after you. "This doesn't have to be a punishment. Maybe it's an opportunity."

You pause at the door. "For what?"

"To figure out who you are without all the drama. Without..." she hesitates. "Without defining yourself by who you're trying to hurt."

You think about Max's face last night, about the girls he was with, about how none of it made you feel better.

"Yeah," you say quietly. "Maybe."

The air feels thick and oppressive as you stumble out of another club, the world spinning slightly. You're not entirely sure how you ended up here - after the disastrous night a few weeks ago, you'd promised yourself (and your father) that you were done with the party scene. But one text from Lando about needing to "get out" had quickly spiraled.

Except Lando had bailed last minute with food poisoning, and you'd gone anyway. Because you're nothing if not stubborn.

The familiar figure of Charles Leclerc materializes beside you. "YN? Are you okay?"

"Charles!" You throw your arms around him, nearly losing your balance. "My favorite Ferrari boy!"

He steadies you with practiced ease. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Lost count," you admit cheerfully. "But it's fine. Everything's fine."

Charles sighs, pulling out his phone. "I'm calling Lewis."

"No!" You grab for his phone but miss entirely. "Not Lewis. He'll tell Papa."

"Good. Maybe he should."

You slump against the wall, suddenly exhausted. "Everyone's so disappointed in me."

Charles' expression softens as he puts the phone to his ear. "We're worried, not disappointed."

Twenty minutes later, you hear the distinctive rumble of Lewis's car. He jumps out, concern etched on his face.

"YN? What were you thinking?"

"That alcohol makes feelings go away?" you offer weakly.

Lewis turns to Charles. "Thanks for calling me."

"Of course. Take care of her."

The ride home is quiet until Lewis finally speaks. "This has to stop."

"I know," you whisper.

"No, I mean it really has to stop. You're hurting yourself, and for what? To prove something to Max?"

"It's not about Max."

"Isn't it?"

You stare out the window, tears forming. "I need to get away from here."

"What do you mean?"

"The paddock, the drama, all of it." You turn to him. "I can't keep doing this. Being the Mercedes princess, the ex-whatever of Max Verstappen. I need… space."

Lewis is quiet for a moment. "Maybe that's not a bad idea. Take some time, figure out who you are away from all this."

"Will you help me convince Papa?"

"Yeah," he says softly. "I'll help. But you have to promise me - no more nights like this."

You nod, the weight of everything finally catching up to you. "I promise."

As Lewis helps you out of the car, you freeze. Toto is standing in the doorway, still in his sleeping clothes. Your stomach drops and fresh tears spring to your eyes - this is it, the final disappointment.

But instead of the anger you expect, your father simply opens his arms.

You practically fall into them, suddenly sobbing. "I'm so sorry, Papa. I'm so sorry."

"Shh," he soothes, holding you tight like he did when you were little. "You're alright, liebling. You're alright."

"I can't-" you hiccup against his chest. "I can't do this anymore. I need to get out of here."

"Out of where?"

"Monaco. The paddock. All of it." You pull back slightly to look at him. "I need space. To figure out who I am without… without all of this."

Toto exchanges a look with Lewis over your head. "I know," he says softly, surprising you. "I've seen it coming."

"You have?"

He cups your face in his hands, wiping away tears with his thumbs. "You're my daughter. Of course I have. I just needed you to realize it yourself."

"I'm tired, Papa," you whisper. "Of being the Mercedes princess, of the gossip, of seeing…" You trail off, but they all know what you mean. Who you mean.

"Then go," he says simply. "Find yourself. The paddock will still be here when you're ready."

"You're not mad?"

He laughs softly. "Oh, we'll discuss tonight's adventure when you're less drunk. But no, liebling. I'm not mad. Sometimes we need to step away to see things clearly."

Lewis steps forward, placing a hand on your shoulder. "We've got your back, little Wolff. Whatever you need."

Fresh tears fall as you're overwhelmed by their support. "I love you both so much."

"And we love you," Toto kisses your forehead. "Now, let's get you to bed. We can make plans tomorrow."

As they help you inside, you feel lighter somehow. Like maybe this isn't an ending, but a beginning. A chance to become someone new - or maybe to find who you've been all along, underneath the labels and expectations.

Austria, 2020

The familiar scent of rubber and fuel hits you as you step into the Mercedes garage for the first time in almost two years, your heart doing a little flip at being back after so long. Everything looks exactly the same, yet somehow different - or maybe you're the one who's different now.

"Little Wolff!" Lewis' voice booms across the garage before you're engulfed in a bone-crushing hug that lifts you off your feet. "Finally back where you belong!"

You laugh, squeezing him back just as tight. "You literally saw me at Christmas, Lewis!"

"That's not the same and you know it," he sets you down but keeps his hands on your shoulders, studying your face. "Christmas is family time. This," he gestures around the garage, "this is home."

Looking at him now, you can see the genuine joy in his eyes. Lewis has always been your second father, and these past two years, he's been your biggest cheerleader from afar, always sending encouraging messages when you were climbing mountains in Nepal or teaching English in Thailand.

"She's hardly been here five minutes and you're already monopolizing her, Lewis?" Your father's voice carries that familiar warmth that makes your chest tight with happiness. Your relationship with him has transformed during your time away - all those long phone calls and video chats where you really talked, not just about racing but about life, dreams, fears. Distance made you both realize what you'd been missing.

"Papa," you smile, walking into his open arms. He holds you close, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"Welcome home, liebling," he murmurs. "The garage hasn't been the same without you."

"I missed you too," you say, then pull back with a grin. "But I need to go see someone else before he thinks I've forgotten him entirely."

Toto laughs. "Go on then. Lando's been asking about you non-stop since he heard you were coming back."

You practically skip your way to the McLaren garage, your heart light. The past two years have given you perspective, helped you understand yourself better. You're not the angry, lost girl who fled Monaco anymore. You're stronger now, more sure of who you are outside of being "Toto Wolff's daughter" or "Max Verstappen's conquest."

"YN!" Lando's screech of delight echoes through the garage as he launches himself at you. "You're back, you're finally back!"

"I missed you so much, you idiot," you ruffle his hair, noting how he's grown even more into himself. He's not the shy rookie anymore - he's coming into his own as a driver.

"Group hug!" Carlos appears, wrapping his long arms around both of you. "Welcome back, pequeña. It's been too quiet without you here to keep this one in line."

"Oi!" Lando protests, but he's beaming.

You're in the middle of telling them about your adventures in Japan when movement catches your eye. Your words trail off as you see him - Max, walking past the garage with Christian. He's filled out more, shoulders broader, face more mature. Your heart does that familiar stutter-step it always did around him.

Two years haven't completely erased the memory of his hands on your skin, his laugh against your neck, the way he used to look at you like you were his entire world. First loves leave permanent marks, and Max Verstappen had branded himself onto your heart when you were both too young to understand the weight of it all.

He must feel your gaze because he turns, and for a moment, your eyes lock. There's something there - recognition, remembrance, maybe even regret. You see him swallow hard, his step faltering just slightly. But neither of you moves to bridge the gap.

You turn back to Lando and Carlos, forcing a smile, but your mind is still with that brief moment of eye contact. You're not that lovesick teenager anymore, but part of you wonders if you'll ever fully get over Max Verstappen. If anyone ever really gets over their first love, or if they just learn to live with the echo of what could have been.

"YN?" Lando's voice brings you back to the present. "You okay?"

You look at your friend's concerned face and give him a genuine smile this time. "Yeah, I am. Just… remembering."

Carlos squeezes your shoulder knowingly. "The past is the past, si? You're here now, that's what matters."

You nod, grateful for their understanding. You're not the same person who left two years ago, running from heartbreak and confusion. You're stronger now, wiser. Ready to write a new chapter.

Even if sometimes, just sometimes, you still feel the ghost of an old love story tugging at your heart.

Barcelona, 2020

The Barcelona night is warm and heavy with memories as you sit at the outdoor terrace of the restaurant. Daniel's telling some ridiculous story about a kangaroo, but your attention keeps drifting to the other end of the table where Max sits, deliberately positioned as far from you as possible.

Five years ago, you'd kissed him for the first time just a few streets from here. After his first win, giddy with freedom and teenage rebellion.

"So how was Bali?" Charles asks making your come back to your senses,"The surfing photos were insane."

"Almost died about twelve times," you laugh. "But worth it."

"She's exaggerating," Max comments casually, surprising everyone at the table. It's the first time he's directly addressed anything about your travels. "I saw the videos. Your form wasn't that bad."

You catch his eye across the table. "Been keeping tabs on me, Verstappen?"

He shrugs, a hint of that old smirk playing at his lips. "Hard not to when you're all over everyone's Instagram stories."

The tension at the table shifts slightly - not gone, but different. Lando kicks your foot under the table, raising an eyebrow when you look at him. You ignore him.

The conversation flows easier after that, stories and laughter bouncing around the table. You find yourself watching Max when he's not looking - the way he's grown into his features, how his laugh is deeper now, how he still runs his hand through his hair when he's trying not to smile.

As the night winds down, you end up being the last two waiting for cars. The others had filtered out gradually - Daniel dragging Charles off to some club, Lando claiming early training, Carlos heading home with his father.

"So," Max breaks the silence first, hands in his pockets. "Two years."

"Two years," you echo, leaning against the wall. "Feels longer sometimes."

"And shorter," he adds, then glances at you. "You look good. Happy."

"I am. Mostly." You study his profile in the streetlights. "You've changed too."

He laughs softly. "Had to grow up sometime, right? Can't be the paddock's problem child forever."

"No more sneaking around in garages?" The words slip out before you can stop them.

His eyes darken slightly at the memory. "Bit harder to get away with that these days. Plus, there hasn't been anyone worth the risk."

The weight of unspoken things hangs between you. All those stolen moments - behind motorhomes, in empty conference rooms, dark corners of victory parties. Never official, never acknowledged, but burning so bright it scared you both.

"Want to come up to my place?" he asks suddenly. "Just to talk. Properly. Without…" he gestures vaguely at the paddock world around you.

You should say no. But two years of distance have made you forget how magnetic he is, or maybe just made you brave enough to pretend you can resist it. "Okay."

The penthouse is exactly what you'd expect - sleek and modern, with a view that makes you catch your breath. You walk to the windows, Barcelona sprawling below like a constellation.

"Remember that night after your first win?" you ask softly. "When we snuck onto the roof?"

"Papa Wolff nearly had a heart attack," Max comes to stand beside you, close enough that your arms almost touch. "Worth it though."

"Was it?" You turn to look at him. "All of it? The sneaking around, the fights with our families, the constant hiding?"

"You know it was." His voice drops lower. "At least, it was for me."

"Max…"

"I've missed you," he admits quietly. "Not just… not just the physical stuff. I missed talking to you. Making you laugh. The way you'd roll your eyes every time I said something stupid in press conferences."

"I still do that," you smile despite yourself. "Some things don't change."

"Maybe they shouldn't." He steps closer, and suddenly you're eighteen again, heart racing at his proximity. "Maybe some things are worth holding onto."

When he kisses you, it feels like muscle memory. Your body remembers this dance - the way his hands find your waist, how he tastes like wine and possibilities. It's softer than the desperate kisses you used to share in dark corners, but somehow more dangerous for it.

You pull back first, breathing hard. "We can't."

"Why not?" His thumb traces your cheekbone. "We're not kids anymore. Who cares what anyone thinks?"

"I do," you step away, wrapping your arms around yourself. "I left to get away from this, Max. From sneaking around, from being the paddock scandal waiting to happen. I built a life where I'm not defined by who I'm secretly sleeping with or whose daughter I am."

"It wouldn't be like before-"

"Wouldn't it? The politics haven't changed. Our families still wouldn't approve."

"I don't care about any of that," he reaches for you but you step back.

"That's the problem," your voice cracks. "I had to live with all of it. The whispers, the judgment, watching my father's face every time there was another rumor about us. I can't go back to that."

"YN, please-"

"I should go." You grab your phone from the counter. "This was a mistake."

At the elevator, you turn back one last time. He's still by the window, silhouetted against the city lights. "For what it's worth," you say softly, "you were my first love. Maybe that's why we have to let it stay in the past."

The elevator doors close on his response, and you lean against the wall, heart pounding. Some part of you will probably always want Max Verstappen. But you've worked too hard to become your own person to let that want destroy everything again.

Even if walking away feels like leaving part of yourself behind.

Monaco, 2020

The yacht party is winding down, the late hour thinning out the crowd until somehow you find yourself alone on the upper deck. The Mediterranean breeze carries fragments of music and laughter from below, but up here it's quiet enough to hear your own thoughts - dangerous, when they all seem to revolve around him.

You hear his footsteps before you see him. You don't need to turn around to know it's Max - your body has always been attuned to his presence, like a compass finding north.

"Hiding?" His voice is soft as he comes to stand beside you at the railing.

"Just needed some air." It's not entirely a lie. "Shouldn't you be downstairs? This is your best friend's party."

"Daniel can handle it on his own," he shrugs, looking out at the harbor lights. "Needed some air too."

The silence that follows should be uncomfortable, but it isn't. That's the problem with Max - everything still feels as natural as breathing. Two years away hasn't changed how your body relaxes in his presence, how the air seems to crackle with possibility when he's near.

"Remember that party in Singapore?" he asks suddenly.

You smile despite yourself. "When we hid from Lewis for half of the night?"

"You were wearing that blue dress," he continues, and something in his voice makes your heart skip. "I couldn't take my eyes off you all night."

"Max…"

"I still can't," he admits quietly. "Even now. Even when I'm supposed to be focusing on other things, my eyes just… find you."

You grip the railing tighter. "We can't do this again."

"Can't we?" He turns to face you now. "Because ever since Barcelona, since that kiss…"

"That was a mistake."

"Was it?" He steps closer, and you fight the urge to move away. "Because it didn't feel like a mistake. It felt like coming home."

The words hit you right in the chest, because he's right. That's exactly what it felt like - like every cell in your body recognizing where it belonged.

"Nothing's changed," you say, but your voice wavers. "The politics, our families, the media…"

"Everything's changed," he counters. "We're not those kids anymore, sneaking around without putting a label on it because we didn't know better. I know exactly what I want now. Who I want."

"Max, please-"

"Two years, YN. Two years of watching you live your life through Instagram stories and paddock glimpses. Two years of trying to convince myself I was over you." His hand finds yours on the railing. "But the truth is, a part of me has belonged to you since that first night in Melbourne, and I don't think that's ever going to change."

You should pull your hand away. Instead, you turn it over, letting your fingers intertwine with his. "I tried so hard to become someone new," you whisper. "Traveled the world, built this whole independent life. But the moment I saw you again…"

"I know." His other hand comes up to cup your face, and you lean into the touch instinctively. "Because I felt it too."

"It scares me," you admit. "How easy it is to fall back into this. How right it feels when it should feel wrong."

"Maybe that's exactly why it isn't wrong." His thumb traces your cheekbone. "Maybe some things are just meant to be, despite everything else."

When he kisses you this time, it's different from Barcelona. That kiss had been hesitant, testing. This one feels like surrender, like finally stopping a fight you were always meant to lose. Your hands find his chest, feeling his heart racing under your palm, matching the erratic rhythm of your own.

He pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against yours. "I love you," he whispers. "You're the first girl I ever loved, and I think maybe you'll be the last. I know it's complicated, I know there are a million reasons why we shouldn't, but I don't care about any of them. I just want you."

You close your eyes, overwhelmed by the truth in his words, by how perfectly they mirror your own feelings. "I never stopped loving you," you confess. "I tried. God, I tried so hard. But it's like… it's like a part of me just belongs to you, and no amount of distance can change that."

"Then be with me," he pleads softly. "For real this time. No more running."

"How?" But you're already melting into him as he pulls you closer. "Nothing's changed, Max. My father would still lose it, Christian would still disapprove, the media would have a field day…"

"So we don't tell them." His hands slide to your waist. "We keep it between us. No sneaking around in garages this time, no risky moments in the paddock. Just us, in private, doing this properly."

You should say no. You know all the reasons why this can't work. But as his lips find yours again, you realize you're tired of fighting this magnetic pull between you.

"If anyone finds out…" you start.

"They won't," he promises. "We'll be careful. We're not those reckless kids anymore."

And maybe that's the key difference - you're not acting on impulse anymore, not diving in blindly. You're choosing this, fully aware of the consequences, of what you both stand to lose.

"Okay," you whisper against his mouth. "Okay."

When he kisses you again, it feels like every kiss you've ever shared and completely new all at once. Like coming home and starting an adventure. Like an ending and a beginning wrapped into one.

Later, you'll figure out the logistics, the careful dance of secrecy. But for now, you let yourself exist in this moment.

Some things, you realize, are worth keeping secret. Some loves are worth protecting, even if it means hiding them from the world.

Morning light filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Max's apartment, painting everything in soft gold. You're awake before him, taking in the familiar weight of his arm around your waist, the steady rhythm of his breathing against your neck. It feels surreal - like stepping back in time, but with the sharp edge of awareness that comes with being older.

You feel him stir, his arm tightening slightly around you. "You're thinking too loud," he mumbles against your shoulder.

"Sorry," you turn to face him, finding his eyes still heavy with sleep. "Hard not to."

He props himself up on an elbow, studying your face. The morning light makes everything feel more raw, more real. "Having second thoughts?"

"No," you say honestly. "Just… thinking about how we make this work."

"We managed before."

"And look how that ended." You trace a pattern on his chest absently. "We were reckless then. Every stolen moment was a near-miss."

He catches your hand, bringing it to his lips. "So we're smarter this time. No more risky moments in the paddock. No sneaking around where anyone could see us."

"It's not just that." You sit up, pulling the sheet with you. "Max, if this gets out… it's not just about our families being angry. It could affect your career, the team dynamics. And my father-"

"Would probably try to have me assassinated," he finishes with a half-smile, but you can see the seriousness in his eyes. "I know. Trust me, I've thought about all of it."

"And you still want this?"

He sits up too, cupping your face in his hands. "More than anything. The question is, do you?"

You lean into his touch, closing your eyes. "You know I do. That's what scares me. How much I want this, despite everything."

"Then we figure it out." His thumb brushes your cheekbone. "We're not kids anymore. We know how to be discreet. Your place, my place, private locations only. No public appearances together unless we're with the whole group. No suspicious social media activity."

"No telling anyone," you add. "Not even Lando or Charles."

"Especially not them," he agrees. "The fewer people who know, the safer it is."

You open your eyes to find him watching you with that intense focus he usually reserves for racing. "It's going to be hard," you warn. "Pretending there's nothing between us in public. Watching you from a distance at races."

"We've had years of practice at that," he reminds you softly. "At least now I get to hold you afterward."

The simple statement makes your heart clench. You lean forward, pressing your forehead to his. "When did you get so good with words?"

"Must be all those media training sessions," he smirks, but then turns serious. "I meant what I said last night. I love you. Whatever we have to do to make this work, I'm in."

"I love you too," you whisper back. "God, I really do."

He kisses you then, slow and deep, like he's trying to memorize the moment. When you pull back, you're both breathing harder.

The morning light is brighter now, reality creeping in with the rising sun. Soon, you'll have to leave separately, go back to pretending there's nothing between you. But for now, you let yourself sink into his embrace, memorizing the feeling of being here, being his.

"This is crazy, isn't it?" you murmur against his chest.

"Probably," he agrees, pressing a kiss to your hair. "But some of the best things in life are a little crazy."

You know there will be challenges ahead - difficult moments, close calls, the constant strain of secrecy. But as Max pulls you back down onto the pillows, his lips finding yours with familiar hunger, you think maybe he's right.

Some things are worth the risk. Some loves are worth keeping secret.

The key card clicks softly as you slip into Max's Monaco apartment late on September 30th. You'd made your excuses to your friends early - a headache, an important call - knowing they wouldn't question it too much since they'd already planned Max's official celebration for tomorrow.

But tonight is just for the two of you.

You find him in the kitchen, already changed into sweatpants and a soft t-shirt, pulling something from the oven. The domestic scene makes your heart flutter.

"Is Max Verstappen actually baking?" you tease, dropping your bag.

He turns with that smile that's become exclusively yours - soft, unguarded, real. "It's just heating up the cake Victoria made. I'm not completely useless."

You cross the space between you, wrapping your arms around him from behind. "Happy birthday, baby."

He turns in your embrace, backing you against the counter. "This is already better than last year's birthday."

"Mm, because last year you weren't secretly dating your rival team principal's daughter?"

"Because last year I couldn't do this," he murmurs, before kissing you deeply, hands sliding under your shirt to find bare skin. You melt into him, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer.

The timer dings, making you both jump and then laugh.

"The cake can wait," he starts, but you push him back gently.

"Let's do this properly. Cake first, then presents, then…" you trail off suggestively.

"Fine," he sighs dramatically, but his eyes are sparkling. "But I'm holding you to that 'then'."

You sit cross-legged on his massive couch, sharing pieces of Victoria's chocolate cake straight from the tin. It's comfortable in a way that still surprises you sometimes - how easily you've fallen into these private moments, these glimpses of normalcy in your decidedly abnormal situation.

"Got you something," you say, reaching for your bag.

He raises an eyebrow. "Thought you were my present?"

"Cheesy," you throw a pillow at him, which he catches easily. "Here."

He unwraps the small package carefully. Inside is a simple leather bracelet, dark brown with a subtle pattern worked into it. "Turn it over," you say softly.

On the inside, barely visible unless you know to look, are your initials and the date from Monaco - the night everything changed.

"YN…" his voice is rough as he runs his thumb over the engraving.

"I know we can't do obvious things," you explain. "But I wanted you to have something… something that's just ours. Something you can wear without anyone knowing what it means."

He pulls you into his lap, kissing you with an intensity that makes your head spin. "I love it," he murmurs against your lips. "I love you."

"I love you too," you whisper back, heart full with how natural those words feel now. "Even if you are getting old."

He retaliates by tickling your sides until you're both breathless with laughter, ending up horizontal on the couch with you pinned beneath him.

"Twenty-three isn't old," he protests, pressing kisses down your neck.

"Ancient," you tease, but it turns into a gasp as he finds that sensitive spot below your ear. "Max…"

"Mm?"

"The cake…"

"Can wait," he finishes, hands already working on the buttons of your shirt. "Right now, I want to unwrap my other present."

Later, much later, you're tangled in his sheets, your head on his chest as he plays with your hair. The city lights twinkle through the windows, creating patterns on the ceiling.

"Thank you," he says softly.

"For what?"

"For this. For making my birthday special even though we have to hide. For loving me despite everything."

You prop yourself up to look at him, trace the line of his jaw with your finger. "Thank you for making it worth it."

He catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. "Sometimes I wish we could just tell everyone. Walk into the paddock holding your hand, take you on real dates, post about you on Instagram like a normal couple."

"I know," you sigh, settling back against his chest. "Me too. But…"

"But it would cause chaos," he finishes. "I know. Doesn't stop me from wanting it though."

You lift your head again, kissing him softly. "Maybe someday. But for now, I'm happy just having you like this. These moments are ours, just ours."

His arms tighten around you. "I love you," he says again, like he can't help himself. "More than racing, more than winning, more than-"

"Don't," you laugh, pressing a finger to his lips. "Don't say more than racing. We both know that's a lie."

He grins, rolling you under him again. "Maybe it's a tie?"

"I can live with that," you smile up at him, pulling him down for another kiss.

The world outside keeps turning - tomorrow there will be the official party, the public celebrations, the careful distance you'll have to maintain. But tonight, in this space that's become your sanctuary, you can just be Max and YN, two people in love, celebrating another year together.

Even if the rest of the world doesn't know it yet.

Monaco, 2021

You're curled into Max's side on your couch, some Netflix show playing in the background that neither of you is really watching. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm while you scroll through your phone, both enjoying the calm before tomorrow's storm - the start of a new season, new expectations, new pressure.

"Nervous about tomorrow?" you ask, tilting your head to look at him.

He shrugs, but you can feel the slight tension in his shoulders. "Not nervous. Just��� ready. The car feels good, testing went well."

"Mm," you press a kiss to his jaw. "Maybe this is your year."

"Maybe," but his smile is confident as he turns to capture your lips properly. "Though right now I'm more interested in-"

Your phone buzzes loudly, Lando's name flashing on the screen. You answer it without thinking.

"Hey Lan-"

"I'm outside your place!" his cheerful voice cuts through. "Charles and I brought wine and that awful reality show you love. Open up!"

Your heart stops. "What?"

"Come on, it's freezing out here! I can see your lights on."

You sit up straight, panic flooding your system. "Lando, I-"

"Don't even try to say you're busy. It's the night before the first race, I know you're just sitting there overthinking everything."

Max is already moving, gathering his shoes and jacket silently. Your eyes meet across the room, both knowing how catastrophic it would be if Lando found him here.

"Give me five minutes," you say into the phone, trying to keep your voice steady. "I'm… I need to put clothes on."

"Gross, too much information," Lando laughs. "Five minutes!"

You hang up, heart racing. "Shit, shit, shit."

"It's fine," Max is surprisingly calm as he pulls on his shoes. "I'll go out through the back stairs."

"What if they see you?" You're already scanning the room for any evidence of him - his Red Bull cap on the coffee table, his phone charger by the couch.

"They won't." He grabs his things efficiently, muscle memory from two years of sneaking around kicking in. "I'll text you when I'm clear."

Another knock at the door makes you both freeze. "YN!" Charles's voice this time. "We can hear you moving around!"

Max pulls you in for a quick, hard kiss. "I love you. Don't worry."

"Be careful," you whisper against his lips.

He flashes that cocky grin you love. "Always am."

You watch him disappear through your bedroom toward the back stairwell, then take a deep breath, running your hands through your hair to mess it up slightly - making your "just got out of bed" excuse more believable.

When you open the door, Lando immediately pushes past you with wine bottles clinking. "Finally! What were you really doing?"

"Told you, getting dressed." You accept Charles' hello kiss on the cheek, praying your face isn't as flushed as it feels.

"Your shirt's inside out," Charles points out, smirking.

You look down - shit, he's right. You'd thrown it on hastily after… earlier activities. "I was sleeping," you say quickly. "You guys interrupted my pre-race nap routine."

"At 9 PM?" Lando's already making himself at home on your couch - right where Max was sitting minutes ago. "Sure, sure."

Your phone buzzes with a text: "All clear. They didn't see me. Missing you already x"

Relief floods through you as Charles pours wine and Lando queues up the show. You settle into the evening, letting their familiar banter wash over you, trying to act normal even as your skin still tingles from Max's touch.

"You seem different lately," Charles observes suddenly, studying your face. "Happier."

"Just excited for the new season," you deflect smoothly, a skill you've perfected over the past year.

"Mm," he doesn't look entirely convinced. "No secret boyfriend we should know about?"

You laugh, the sound only slightly strained. "Right, because that worked out so well last time."

"Last time was Max," Lando points out. "Thank god you're both over that whole thing."

If only they knew. But you just smile and take a sip of wine, letting them move on to discussing tomorrow's race.

As the evening progresses, the wine flows and the reality show plays in the background. You're carefully avoiding any topics that might make Charles or Lando suspicious, laughing a bit too loudly at their jokes.

Lando, ever restless, decides to raid your kitchen for snacks. "Where do you keep the good stuff?" he calls out, opening cupboards.

Your heart immediately races. You know exactly what might be lurking in those cupboards - Max's favorite energy drink, a Red Bull can he'd left behind last time he was here. You stand up quickly, "I'll get it for you-"

But Lando's already moving, pulling open the refrigerator door. "Found it!" he announces, then pauses. His hand emerges holding a Red Bull can, but something else catches his eye. A water bottle with a distinctive Red Bull Racing team logo sits next to it.

"Huh," Charles looks over. "Isn't this Max's water bottle?"

You feel the blood drain from your face. "Oh, um-" Your mind races, searching for an explanation. "I... must have picked it up from somewhere. You know how these things get mixed up."

Lando turns, one eyebrow raised. The playful smile slowly morphs into something more knowing. "Mixed up, huh?"

Charles is watching you now, that sharp observant look that made him such a good racing driver now focused entirely on you.

"Yeah, I must've picked it up by accident, didn't even realize."

Lando shrugs and cracks open a packet of chips, seemingly satisfied with your explanation. But Charles continues to study you with that piercing gaze that makes you want to squirm.

Keeping this a secret is becoming harder and harder.

Silverstone, 2021

The English countryside blurs past your window as Max takes another curve, maybe a bit faster than necessary. It's nearly midnight, and you should both be resting before tomorrow's race, but these night drives have become your thing - the only time you can be truly alone during race weekends, truly free.

"You're showing off," you accuse, but you're smiling.

"Me? Never." He takes his eyes off the road for a second to grin at you, his hand finding yours across the console.

The radio plays softly in the background, some British pop song you don't know. The summer air rushing through the open windows carries the scent of grass and freedom. It feels perfect. Until it isn't.

It happens so fast - a deer appears out of nowhere, Max swerves to avoid it, but the road is narrow and dark. The tires lose grip on loose gravel, and suddenly you're spinning, the world turning into a kaleidoscope of shadows and panic.

The impact when it comes is brutal. Metal crunches, glass shatters, and everything goes still.

"YN?" Max's voice is tight with fear. "Baby, are you okay?"

You do a quick mental check. Everything hurts, but nothing seems broken. "I'm okay. You?"

"Fine." He's already trying to open his door, but it's jammed. The front of the car is wrapped around a tree, steam hissing from the hood. "Fuck. Fuck!"

Your phone is somewhere on the floor. When you retrieve it, the screen is cracked but working. "We need help."

"We can't call emergency services," Max says immediately. "It'll be all over the news in minutes."

He's right. You can already see the headlines: "Verstappen in Late Night Crash with Mercedes Boss's Daughter."

"Christian?" you suggest.

"He'll kill me. We have a race tomorrow." Max runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "We need someone who can be discreet, who has the resources to handle this quietly, who-"

You both realize it at the same time.

"No," Max says.

"He's the only one who can help us without this becoming a scandal."

"YN, he's the last person-"

"Max." You reach for his hand. "We don't have a choice."

He knows you're right. With a resigned sigh, he nods.

Your hands shake slightly as you dial Lewis's number. It rings three times before he answers, voice groggy with sleep.

"Little Wolff? It's midnight, what-"

"Lewis, I need your help. And I need you to not ask questions."

There's a pause, then rustling as he presumably sits up. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, but… we're stuck. Had an accident on the back roads near Silverstone. We need help getting the car towed without anyone finding out."

There's a pause. "We?"

You close your eyes. "I'm with Max."

The silence that follows is deafening. "Send me your location. Don't move. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

True to his word, headlights appear eighteen minutes later. Lewis steps out of his car, taking in the scene - the wrecked vehicle, you and Max standing by the roadside, the unspoken truth of why you were together at this hour.

"Are you both alright?" He asks first, concern overriding any other emotions.

"Just bruised," you answer. "The car took the worst of it."

He nods, already on his phone. "Angela's on her way with a tow truck. She'll be discreet."

Max steps forward. "Lewis, I-"

"Don't." Lewis holds up a hand. "I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it for her." He looks at you, something sad in his expression. "How long?"

"Since last year."

He lets out a low whistle. "Well, that explains a few things."

The wait for Angela is tense. Lewis keeps his distance, occasionally speaking quietly into his phone. Max doesn't let go of your hand, thumb rubbing circles on your skin.

When Angela arrives with the tow truck, she doesn't bat an eye at the situation. The car is loaded efficiently, and arrangements are made to have it repaired at a private garage Lewis trusts.

"I'll drive YN home," Lewis says, and it's not really a question.

Max tenses beside you, but you squeeze his hand. "It's safer this way," you whisper. "Less suspicious if anyone sees us."

He knows you're right, again. "Text me when you're home?"

"Promise."

The drive with Lewis is quiet at first. Then the storm pours down.

"Of all the stupid, reckless things," he mutters, running a hand over his face. "A year? You've been sneaking around with him for a year? Again?"

"Lewis-"

"No." He turns to face you, anger and worry warring in his expression. "Do you have any idea what could happen if this gets out? What your father would-"

"I don't care!" The words burst out louder than intended, making your head throb. "I don't care what anyone thinks anymore."

"Well, you should!" Lewis's voice rises to match yours. "This isn't some game, YN. This is your life, your career, your family-"

"You think I don't know that?" You bite back. "You think we haven't spent the last year terrified of exactly that? Hiding everything, sneaking around, lying to everyone we care about?"

"Then why?" He throws his hands up in frustration. "Why risk everything for him?"

"Because I love him!" The words echo in the car. You lower your voice, tears threatening to fall. "I love him, Lewis. And he loves me. Isn't that enough?"

Lewis' expression softens slightly, but the worry remains. "Love isn't always enough, YN. Not in this world. Not with everything at stake."

"It has to be," you whisper. "Because I can't do this anymore - pretending I don't feel what I feel, acting like my heart doesn't race every time he walks into a room. I'm tired of hiding."

"He's not good for you," Lewis says quietly. "You remember how broken you were after-"

"He was nineteen," you cut him off. "We were both kids, both scared. Things are different now."

"Are they?" his voice is gentle but firm. "Because from where I'm standing, you're still sneaking around in the middle of the night, still hiding from everyone. That doesn't sound different to me."

You sink back into your seat, suddenly exhausted. "I'm not asking for your approval, Lewis. I'm just asking for you to trust that I know what I'm doing."

"Do you? Because getting into a car accident at 2 AM doesn't exactly scream good decision-making."

"That wasn't-" you start to defend, but he holds up a hand.

"You shouldn't have been out there in the first place. These secret meetings, these late-night drives… it's not sustainable, YN."

"I know," you admit quietly. "We know. We've been talking about telling people, about doing this properly."

Lewis studies your face for a long moment. "And what happens when the media finds out? When your father finds out? When the pressure becomes too much and he runs again?"

"He won't." Your voice is firm despite your injuries. "He's not that scared kid anymore, Lewis. He knows what he wants now."

"And what is that?"

"Me." You meet Lewis's gaze steadily. "He wants me. All of me, no matter what it costs. And I want him."

Lewis sighs deeply, rubbing his temples. "I can't support this, YN. I've watched him hurt you too many times."

"I know," you say softly. "And I love you for wanting to protect me. But I'm not asking for your support. I'm just asking you not to make this harder than it already is, I know you're worried. But please… please don't tell anyone. Not yet. Let us do this our way."

He doesn't respond, just pulls up the car outside your hotel and unlocks it so you can get out.

Silverstone, 2021. Race day

Your hands are still shaking slightly as you make your way through the paddock. Last night's crash left more than just physical bruises - the tension with Lewis, the close call, the reality of how fragile your secret is, it all weighs heavily.

The Mercedes garage is already buzzing with pre-race energy when you spot Lewis by his car, going through data with Peter. You wait until he's alone before approaching.

"Lewis," you say softly. "Can we talk?"

He glances around before responding, voice low. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Please. What you did last night-"

"Was a mistake," he cuts you off, finally turning to face you. "I should have called emergency services, protocol be damned."

"You know why we couldn't-"

"No, YN. You couldn't because you're sneaking around like teenagers. Do you have any idea what could have happened? If that tree had been a few inches to the left-"

"But it wasn't," you interrupt. "We're fine."

"Fine?" He scoffs. "You're both bruised, his car is wrecked, and I'm now complicit in your little romance."

"It's not a little romance-"

"Then what is it?" His voice rises slightly before he checks himself. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like the same pattern as before. You, him, secrets, lies."

"I told you last night - I love him."

"Love?" He lets out a bitter laugh. "Love doesn't hide, YN. Love doesn't put people in dangerous situations. Love doesn't-"

"Don't." Your voice cracks. "Don't pretend you understand what we're dealing with."

"Oh, I understand perfectly. You're playing girlfriend with my biggest rival while there's a championship at stake. You're risking everything - your reputation, your father's position, the team's integrity-"

"This isn't a game to me!" The words come out sharper than intended. A few mechanics glance your way, and you lower your voice. "This isn't about the championship or the team. This is about me and him."

"Nothing in this paddock is ever just about two people," Lewis says coldly. "You of all people should know that."

Before you can respond, Bono approaches. "Lewis, strategy meeting."

"I need to focus," Lewis tells you, his expression hardening. "I suggest you figure out where your loyalties lie before someone gets really hurt."

He walks away, leaving you standing there with a hollow feeling in your chest. Angela catches your eye, her expression sympathetic, and you wonder how much she knows.

The pre-race preparations pass in a blur. You go through the motions, smile when appropriate, but your mind keeps drifting to Max. You haven't seen him since Lewis dropped you off last night - you both agreed it was safer to stay apart until the race.

Then you're in the garage, watching the formation lap. Your father stands beside you, discussing something with the engineers, but their words sound distant.

Lap one. Copse Corner.

The contact happens so fast - Lewis's Mercedes alongside Max's Red Bull. The touch of wheels. Then Max's car is airborne, spinning, crashing into the barriers with devastating force.

The garage erupts in chaos. Screens show the replay from every angle. Your father is immediately in discussion with the stewards.

You can't breathe. Can't move. Your eyes are fixed on the smoking wreck of Max's car, willing him to move, to get out, to be okay.

"Racing incident," Toto argues. "Lewis had the line-"

Their voices fade to background noise as you watch the medical team reach the car. Your phone feels heavy in your pocket, but you can't check it - not here, not with everyone watching.

"YN," Angela touches your arm gently. "You look pale. Maybe some water?"

You follow her away from the garage, grateful for the excuse. As soon as you're out of sight, your composure breaks.

"I don't know if he's okay," you whisper, hands shaking. "I can't- I can't check my phone, I can't ask anyone, I can't-"

"Breathe," Angela steadies you. "Just breathe."

"I should be there. I should be with him. After last night, after everything-"

"I won't say anything," she promises quickly. "But YN... this is bigger than just keeping a secret now."

"I know," you admit. "God, I know. But I can't- I can't even ask if he's okay without raising suspicions."

The race continues. Lewis gets a ten-second penalty but fights back to win. The garage celebrates, and you have to join in, have to smile and cheer while your heart is somewhere else entirely.

Hours pass with no news. Social media is full of speculation, but nothing concrete. You catch snippets of conversation - "hospital for checks" and "conscious but shaken" - but nothing official.

It's torture, pretending everything is normal. Pretending you're just concerned in a general, professional way. Pretending last night never happened, that you don't still have bruises from a different crash, that your world isn't falling apart all over again.

Finally, after what feels like years, you manage to slip away to the Red Bull motorhome.

The motorhome is quiet when you enter. GP looks up from his laptop, surprise crossing his features.

"YN? You shouldn't-"

"Please," your voice breaks. "Please, I need to see him."

GP studies you for a long moment, then sighs. "Last door on the right. But be careful - he's pretty beaten up."

You find Max lying on the small bed, eyes closed but breathing steady. The room smells of medical cream and defeat.

"Max?" Your voice is barely a whisper.

His eyes open immediately, finding yours in the dim light. Despite everything, his lips curve into a small smile.

"Two crashes in twenty-four hours," he mumbles. "Must be some kind of record."

"Don't," tears spill over finally. "Don't joke. Not now."

"Come here," he tries to move over but winces.

"Careful," you rush to his side, perching carefully on the edge of the bed. "How bad is it?"

"Everything hurts," he admits. "But nothing's broken. Well, except my championship lead."

"I was so scared," your voice breaks. "When I saw the crash, and then I couldn't- I couldn't even ask if you were okay. I had to stand there and pretend like I wasn't terrified."

"Hey," he reaches for your hand, wincing at the movement. "I'm okay. Well, relatively speaking."

"This is my fault," you whisper. "If I hadn't called Lewis last night-"

"Stop," he squeezes your hand. "This had nothing to do with last night."

"Didn't it? He was so angry this morning, about us, about having to help us-"

"Lewis and I race hard regardless of personal feelings," Max says firmly. "What happened today was racing. Stupid, dangerous racing, but still racing."

You study his face in the dim light, cataloging every bruise, every sign of pain he's trying to hide, "Max, don't you think it's time?"

"Time?"

"To tell people. About us." The words rush out now that you've started. "I can't keep doing this - watching you race and pretending I don't care, hiding how I feel, lying to everyone we know. Today made me realize… if something had happened to you, really happened…"

He's quiet for a long moment, thumb tracing patterns on your hand. "What about your father?"

"I don't care anymore. Well, I do care, but… not more than I care about you. About us." You meet his eyes. "When the season's over. Before next year starts. We tell everyone."

"You're sure?"

"Are you?"

He pulls you closer, carefully, until you're lying beside him. "I'm sure if you are."

"Even with the championship? The media circus it'll cause?"

"Especially then." He kisses your forehead. "Today… when I hit that barrier, all I could think about was you. Not the championship, not the points, just… you. And how much time we've wasted hiding."

You curl into his side, mindful of his bruises. "So we're agreed? After Abu Dhabi, whatever happens with the championship…"

"We tell everyone." He lifts your chin to kiss you properly. "No more hiding."

"Promise?" You need to hear him say it.

"Promise," he pulls you closer, careful of both your injuries. "Besides, after last night's adventure and today's crash, I think we've filled our drama quota for a while."

You stay there, tangled together in the quiet darkness, both battered from different crashes but somehow still whole.

"I should go," you whisper eventually. "Before someone comes looking."

"One of the last times we'll have to say that," he reminds you.

"Promise me something else?"

"Anything."

"No more late-night drives for a while?"

He laughs, then grimaces in pain. "Deal. Although technically, both crashes were Lewis' fault."

"Max..."

"Kidding," he kisses your forehead softly. "Kind of."

You stand carefully, already missing his warmth. "Text me when you're feeling better?"

"Text me when you're home safe," he counters.

At the door, you turn back one last time. He's watching you with those eyes that made you fall in love twice - once when you were too young to know better, and again when you were old enough to know exactly what you were risking.

"Max?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you. Even when I have to pretend I don't."

His smile, despite the pain, lights up the dark room. "I love you too. Even when Lewis Hamilton tries to kill me. Twice in twenty-four hours."

You shake your head, but you're smiling as you slip out into the night. A few more months of hiding, of pretending, of careful distances and secret meetings. Then everything changes.

You just hope you're both ready for whatever comes next.

Abu Dhabi, 2021

The final showdown. Equal points, one race to decide it all.

The morning of the race, you slip into the Red Bull garage before sunrise. Max is already there, going through his pre-race routine, but his face softens when he sees you.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asks, pulling you into his arms.

"Not really," you nestle into his chest, breathing in his familiar scent. "Too much going on in my head."

"Talk to me."

You pull back slightly to look at him. "I'm nervous. For you, for the race, for what comes after…"

"Hey," he cups your face gently. "Whatever happens today, we're in this together. Remember?"

"I know," you try to smile. "It's just… everything's going to change after today."

"Good changes," he kisses your forehead. "No more hiding, remember?"

You've had this conversation countless times over the past months, planning how you'll handle the revelation of your relationship. Your father still doesn't know, though you suspect he's noticed something's different.

"I brought you something," you reach into your pocket and pull out a small charm - a tiny silver racing car. "For luck."

Max takes it, turning it over in his hands with a soft smile. "You're my luck."

"That was incredibly cheesy," you laugh, but your heart swells.

"You love it," he pulls you closer, kissing you properly this time. "And you love me."

"I do," you whisper against his lips. "So much it scares me sometimes."

You stay like that for a while, wrapped in each other's arms, before reality intrudes again.

"I should go," you sigh. "There's something else I need to do before the race."

Max knows without asking. "Lewis?"

"Yeah," you bite your lip. "I can't let things end like this between us."

"Go," he squeezes your hand. "Just come back to me after?"

"Always."

Finding Lewis proves harder. He's been avoiding you since Silverstone, your relationship reduced to professional nods and carefully maintained distance. But you finally spot him in the Mercedes garage, alone with his thoughts.

"Lewis?" your voice is hesitant.

He tenses but doesn't turn around. "YN."

"I know you probably don't want to talk to me-"

"Then why are you here?"

You take a deep breath. "Because you're my brother, Lewis. Not by blood, but by choice. And I can't stand how things are between us."

He finally turns, and the pain in his eyes matches your own. "You chose him."

"I chose love," you step closer. "That doesn't mean I stopped caring about you."

"You could have told me," his voice cracks slightly. "Before Silverstone, before any of it. I thought we told each other everything."

"I was scared," you admit. "Scared of exactly this - losing you, losing my family, losing everything I've known."

"So instead you just lied? Snuck around?"

"I know it was wrong," tears prick at your eyes. "And I'm so sorry, Lewis. Not for loving him, but for hurting you. For breaking your trust."

He's quiet for a long moment, studying your face. "Does he make you happy? Really happy?"

"Yes," you whisper. "More than I ever thought possible."

Lewis sighs deeply, running a hand over his face. "Come here, little sister."

You practically fall into his arms, tears flowing freely now. He holds you tight, like when you were kids and he would protect you from everything.

"I'm still mad at you," he mumbles into your hair.

"I know."

"And I still think you're crazy."

"Probably."

"But," he pulls back to look at you, "I love you. And I miss you. And if he ever hurts you, I'll end his career so fast-"

You laugh through your tears. "There's my overprotective brother."

"Someone has to look out for you," he wipes your cheeks gently. "Even if you make it incredibly difficult."

"I'm sorry," you say again. "For everything."

"I know," he kisses your forehead. "We'll figure it out. After today."

"About that…" you hesitate. "We're planning to go public. After the race."

Lewis nods slowly. "I figured something like that was coming. The way you look at each other isn't exactly subtle."

"You noticed?"

"YN, everyone with eyes has noticed. They're just too scared of your father to mention it."

You both laugh, and for a moment it feels like before - easy, comfortable, safe.

"Lewis?" you grab his hand. "Whatever happens today… I'm proud of you. Always have been, always will be."

He squeezes your hand. "Right back at you, little Wolff. Even if you have terrible taste in men."

"Hey!"

"I'm just saying, there are other drivers-"

"Goodbye, Lewis," you start walking away, but you're smiling.

"YN?" he calls after you. "For what it's worth… he better know how lucky he is."

An hour later, you're standing in the Mercedes garage, heart in your throat, watching the screens as though your life depends on it. In a way, it does. Six years of loving Max in secret, two years of running away from it all, and now here you are - watching the man you love fight your father's driver for the championship in the most intense finale you've ever witnessed.

When Nicholas Latifi crashes, everything changes. The safety car comes out, and suddenly the garage erupts with activity. Your father's voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and authoritative as he argues with race control. You've never seen him like this - the usual composed Toto Wolff replaced by someone desperately fighting against what feels like destiny shifting.

"No, no, no, Michael, that is so not right!" Your father's voice booms through the garage as the lapped cars are allowed through. You flinch at the fury in his tone, at the way he slams his headset down.

The final lap is unbearable. You watch Lewis getting hunted down by Max on fresh tires. Your nails dig into your palms, torn between family loyalty and the love you've kept hidden for so long.

When Max makes the pass, when he crosses the line as World Champion, the Mercedes garage falls silent. The contrast between the Red Bull celebrations on screen and the devastation around you is stark.

Your father looks destroyed, a mixture of anger and disbelief on his face. But it's Lewis who breaks your heart - the way he sits in his car, processing what just happened, the dignity with which he eventually emerges to congratulate Max.

You find Lewis in the drivers room a few hours later, away from the cameras. His eyes are red, his shoulders slumped in a way you've never seen before.

"Lew," your voice breaks.

He looks up, and suddenly you're both crying. You wrap your arms around him as he breaks down.

"It wasn't supposed to end like this," he whispers.

"I know," you hold him tighter. "I know."

You stay with him, through the protests, through the appeals, through the obligatory congratulations he has to give. You stay because he's family, because he needs you, because some things are more important than celebration.

Through it all, you catch glimpses of Max - being crowned champion, celebrating with his team, searching the crowd with eyes that keep finding you. But you stay where you're needed most.

Hours pass before you make it to Max's hotel. The celebrations are still going on somewhere, but he's in his room when you arrive, pacing like a caged animal.

"Where were you?" he demands as soon as you enter.

"I was with Lewis."

His face darkens. "Of course you were. Consoling the Mercedes garage while I won my first championship."

"Max, don't."

"Don't what? Don't be upset that my girlfriend wasn't there to celebrate with me? That she was too busy comforting the opposition?"

"That 'opposition' is my family!" Your voice rises to match his. "Lewis is like my brother, my father is devastated-"

"Your father?" He laughs bitterly. "The same father you've been lying to for years? The one we're supposedly telling about us after this race?"

"Are you seriously doing this right now?"

"When else am I supposed to do it? When you're ready? Because I've been waiting for you to be ready since 2015!"

The words hit like physical blows. "That's not fair. You know why I left in 2018, the way you cut me off like I was nothing, it tore me apart."

"Yeah, because it got too hard. Because loving me was too complicated." He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "And now here we are again. I just won the World Championship, and where were you? With them."

"They're my family!"

"And what am I?" He steps closer, eyes intense. "What are we, YN? Because right now it feels like I'm still your dirty little secret."

"That's not-"

"Then prove it. Let's go tell Toto right now. Let's end this charade."

"Today? After everything that happened? Are you insane?"

"Why not today? When will it be convenient enough for you? When will loving me not conflict with your perfect Mercedes family?"

Tears are falling freely now. "You're being cruel."

"No, I'm being honest. Finally." He sits heavily on the bed. "I love you. I've loved you through everything - through you leaving, through you coming back, through all the hiding and sneaking around. But I can't do this anymore."

Your heart stops. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I want all of you. Not just the parts that are convenient, not just the stolen moments between races. I want to celebrate with you when I win, hold you when I crash, build a life with you in the open." He looks at you, and you see the tears in his eyes too. "But I don't think you want that. Not really. Not enough to risk everything else."

"Max…"

"Go home, YN. Go console your father. Go be the perfect Mercedes daughter." His voice breaks slightly. "Just… don't come back unless you're ready to choose me. All of me. The rival, the champion, everything."

You stand there, frozen, both of you crying. Everything you've built, every secret moment, every whispered promise, feels like it's crumbling around you.

"I love you," you whisper.

"I know." He doesn't look at you. "That's never been our problem."

As you stand in the doorway of Max's hotel room, the weight of seven years of love, secrets, and choices bears down on your shoulders. The championship trophy gleams on the table behind him, a symbol of everything he's achieved and everything that's torn you apart.

[junplusone]

i'll always say it's you ; yoon jeonghan

summary: you always used to think that even the end of the world couldn’t keep you and yoon jeonghan apart; you’d find your way back to each other somehow. ten years later, you start to wonder if that’s such a good thing after all.

contains: childhood best friends to ??? to ???, swearing, drinking (+ underage), talk of joshua and cheol's arm muscles, mention of drugs in a joke like once i think, caffeine addiction, peak delusion, jeonghan cheating in games as always, hella yearning

word count: 12.98k

a/n: this is somewhat of a mess and probably kind of inaccurate, but i hope you all enjoy!

the me of today hopes for the you of tomorrow

“What about you, Y/N? Have you ever been in love?”

Hearing your own name slowly zones you back into the conversation at the table. You pause at the question, a drop of soju splashing out of the glass in your hand.

“What?”

“Come on, it’s just a silly question,” the young intern says, rolling his eyes. “You’re no fun, Y/N. We’re off work right now! It’s fine,” he drawls, swaying a little in his chair.

You can’t really remember his name right now, downing the glass in one go, but his bold innocence bothers you. Maybe his demeanor, full of life and promise, is what gets on your nerves. 

Were you like that when you were fresh out of college, too? It’s so unthinkable to you now, at twenty-nine. It feels like ages in the past.

“So? Are you —”

“I hardly think this is an appropriate conversation,” you say quietly, zipping your bag shut. “I think I’m going to head out, anyways. It’s quite late already.”

“But —”

“Chan, just stop asking questions and drink this, okay?” His friends try and calm him down with a glass of water. Amidst the chatter, you decide to slip away, silently pushing in your chair and leaving the bustling restaurant. 

Dinners like this always end up making you feel worse, anyways, like an outlier at a table of people with fervent hopes and dreams of their own. 

You make it two blocks until your phone begins to buzz in your pocket, and you fumble to answer it, knowing there’s only one person who would call you at nine o’clock on a Friday night.

“Hello?”

“Oh, you answered,” Yeonju says, evidently surprised. “I thought you’d still be at work.”

“I’m on my way home now,” you tell her. “Why, did something happen?”

“Kind of,” you hear rustling on her end of the line. “Jeonghan called.”

“Huh?” 

You had stopped abruptly at Yeonju’s words— foolishly in the middle of the road, and you rush to the sidewalk, still reeling. It’s been so long since you’ve even heard his name that it sends your mind into a tailspin when she says it again.

“I thought you knew,” she says, “He said he tried calling you first, but you wouldn’t pick up.”

“I don’t answer calls from numbers I don’t have saved,” you remind her. You haven’t had Jeonghan’s number saved on your phone in a long time. There was no need to keep it if you never used it anymore.

“I think you should talk to him.”

“Yeonju,” you shake your head. “Why would I? There’s nothing to talk about.”

“There is, and you know it, too,” she doubles down. “You won’t say it, but I know you agree with me.”

She’s right, as much as you want to pretend otherwise. When has Choi Yeonju ever been wrong about you? Sometimes it scares you how good she is at reading your mind, but as always, she delivers reality checks right when she feels like you need them.

“Maybe,” you admit begrudgingly. “But things are just easier without him.”

“Yeah, well, nothing is ever easy,” she points out, “but take your own time, no rush. And take care of yourself, Y/N.”

“I will,” you say with a faint smile.

“OK, perfect. Call if you need anything else, yeah? I gotta go now.”

“Okay, Yeonju, take care.”

“Bye!”

She hangs up just as you unlock your front door, shutting it behind you and kicking off your shoes. The peace and quiet of your apartment welcomes you, and you sigh in relief as you sink into your couch.

Pulling out your phone again, you scroll through your call log. There are a few unsaved numbers, likely just spam calls, but when you see the same number four times in a row, there’s no doubt about who it might have been. Your finger hovers over the screen; should you? Shouldn’t you?

No, it’s easier to just stay angry. It’s easier to pretend his name means nothing to you anymore. 

But even as you toss your phone to the side, Chan’s question still haunts you, like it’s a reminder that maybe you need to retrace your steps and do something different this time. 

God, you had finally been able to go a few days without thinking about him, but today just took you right back to square one.

“Have you ever been in love?”

When you close your eyes, all you see is him.

first time feeling my heart race, never thought it'd beat so fast

TEN YEARS AGO

“Yoon Jeonghan, delete that right now or I’m going to kill you.”

Jeonghan shakes his head vehemently, still cackling at the picture of you on his phone. This is nothing new to you; over the years you’ve gotten used to him finding the absolute worst angles of you whenever you fall asleep in class, or on the bus, and it never fails to get you fuming. 

In fact, if Jeonghan has one talent, it’s probably pissing you off.

“Not my fault you dozed off like that during lecture! Even Yeonju would have bullied you if she was there,” he teases. “I’ve been collecting bad Y/N photos since we were sixteen and in high school, why would I stop now?”

“You’re evil.”

“Thanks, I know.”

“Dinner’s on you, by the way.”

“What?!”

“Do you want to keep that horrendous picture or not?”

“Okay, fine,” he concedes immediately, slipping his phone into his pocket. “But we’re going back to my dorm first because I left my wallet on my desk.”

"Why would you not have that with you? Dumbass," you scold. 

To anyone else, you might sound angry, but somewhere in the unspoken words, you and Jeonghan have already reconciled. 

The weather is chilly and perfectly November-esque, and if not for the thick scarf around your neck you’d be shivering by now. Having Jeonghan by your side adds to the warmth spreading throughout your body, a little piece of happiness found in his company. 

You’ve never needed to explain yourself to him. Somehow, whatever you’re feeling, whatever’s going on, he just knows, and it’s perfect. You couldn’t ask for anything more.

Not much to your surprise, Jeonghan’s roommate is there when the two of you walk in, blankets piled over him as he hunches over his laptop. 

“Hey, Josh,” you greet him. “Everything okay?”

“No,” he frowns, rubbing his eyes, “I may have procrastinated a little too hard on this paper and now it’s due in a couple of hours and I’m totally fucked.”

“This is why I told you to drop that philosophy class at the beginning of the semester,” Jeonghan says, pocketing his wallet. “You don’t even need to take it.”

“Just trying to knock off my humanities electives, but honestly, this one kind of backfired on me,” Joshua admits, defeated. “Where are you guys headed?”

Jeonghan points at you accusingly. “This one tricked me into buying her dinner earlier.”

“I did not!” you gasp. “You walked into that one, stop blaming me for the consequences of your actions! Also, I want ramen, which means we’re going off campus, so you’re driving.”

He narrows his eyes at you as he reaches for his car keys. “You are so evil.”

"Takes one to know one, Hannie."

What throws you off is the way Joshua’s eyes flit between the both of you as you bicker, the way he tells you to have fun in that singsong voice of his as you step back out into the cold, like he knows something you don’t. 

You still remember the day you first met him, when Jeonghan left to go grab something after introducing the two of you, and the question that immediately followed.

“Are you guys together or something?”

And of course, Joshua meant no harm — nobody ever does, when they ask something like that. You and Jeonghan have been fielding questions like that since the start of your friendship. Everyone’s wanted to know exactly what it is that you are to each other, and the answer has always come without missing a beat.

Friends, you’ve always said. 

Friends in the way that you can’t go anywhere alone in your hometown without being asked where the other one is, the way that your parents always set out an extra plate and ask if he’s joining for dinner as usual.

The right word for it would be ‘inseparable’. Sometimes, though, you wonder if that’s all that it is. 

Like now, as you notice the cold has Jeonghan trembling next to you. His teeth are chattering, long lashes framing his eyes that are now narrowed in displeasure. 

When you unravel your scarf from around your neck and reach to drape it around his, they go wide in surprise. 

“What are you doing?”

“You never wear enough layers, idiot.” You tuck the ends into his jacket and the way he’s staring at you steals the breath out of your lungs. 

You can’t run from the fact; your best friend is undeniably attractive. It’s a simple truth, down to his soft but sharp features, the slope of his cheeks, and the hair that frames his face so perfectly. It’s dark out, but Jeonghan’s eyes are lit up like stars. You don’t even realize it until you start to hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

“Thanks,” he says with a faint smile. “What would I do without you?”

“Freeze, probably,” you reply flippantly, but you look away, unable to take the intensity of his gaze on you.

Just think about the way he looks at you, Y/N.

Was Yeonju right? You have no way of knowing, and you don’t want to tip the scales by bringing any of it up now.

“Alright, let’s go,” you say instead, tugging him along to the parking lot. “It’s late, I’m hungry, and you promised.”

“Why do you always seem so excited to drain my bank account?”

“It’s my favorite hobby,” you quip. “Shall we go?”

“We shall, m’lady,” he says as you get to his car, pulling open the door for you with a wink. Your cheeks burn as you get in, his defined features etched into your brain.

Yes, he’s your dearest, oldest friend, but Yoon Jeonghan has a certain way of making your head spin that throws that very title into question.

when half of me is gone, how can i live as one?

PRESENT DAY

It’s been exactly three days since Jeonghan called you, and you haven’t heard from him since then. You don’t know what you were expecting. Another call? A text? 

No, it would be quite stupid to hope for such things after everything that’s happened.

It’s a quiet Monday night, and your brain decides to take an involuntary trip down memory lane. Ten years ago today, you’d probably be doing homework frantically, most definitely an assignment you’d put off until the night of. Ten years ago today, Jeonghan would be by your side. 

Oh, how some things change over time. 

After another hour of mindless TV and doing whatnot on your phone, your conscience finally wins the moral battle against your pride, and you scroll down through your call log again. Taking a deep breath, you decide to call him back before your brain can convince you otherwise.

All the words evaporate out of your mouth when he picks up on the first ring. 

“Y/N?”

God, it’s been so long since you’ve heard his voice. Just the sound of your name from him is enough to make you tear up.

“... Jeonghan?”

Silence. After a few seconds your heart sinks, thinking maybe he’s hung up on you and gone radio silent yet again. 

Then you hear it, just barely whispered into the phone: “I’ve missed you.”

Those words tug at your heart so badly you press your eyes closed to prevent your tears from welling up. “Jeonghan, don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry, I—”

“I haven’t heard from you in over a year,” you cut him off. “A year, Jeonghan. Do you really think you can just ‘I miss you’ your way back into my life whenever you want?” 

“Don’t say that,” he implores. “You’re my best friend.”

“Yeah, right.”

“It’s true. I mean it.”

“I’ve heard the exact same line from you so many times,” you tell him, the rest of your words dying in your throat. 

You have many more things to say to him, so many unspoken feelings, but now doesn’t feel like the time. Instead, you swallow your anger like you’ve done every time he finds his way back into your life.

“How… how have you been?”

“I’m okay. I wrote a new song,” he says lightly. “Shows have been pretty alright, things are looking up… just the usual.”

“Oh, I see.”

“What about you?”

“I’m okay, too.” A blatant lie. “Jeonghan… why’d you call me on Friday?”

“Oh,” he starts, like he’s surprised you even asked. “Um, I’m actually in town for a bit, so… I was just wondering if you wanted to meet and catch up again. Y’know, like old times.”

It’s the flippant edge in his voice that stings more than anything else, as if he doesn’t care that your friendship hasn’t been the same for years. Do you mean that little to him now?

But, like always, you have a hard time saying no to Yoon Jeonghan.

“Okay,” you agree. “Just tell me where, I guess. And when.”

“Okay.”

It’s not for a few seconds that you realize your cheeks are wet. Jeonghan feels so far away now, the distance hurts like a piercing pain and you have to slap a hand over your mouth so he doesn’t hear you sob against your couch, the stoic wall you put up crumbling away with every passing moment.

“Y/N,” his voice is shaky now. “Y/N, please don’t cry.”

Feeling caught and cornered, your brain enters fight or flight mode, and promptly chooses the latter. “I’m not,” you blurt out, and immediately end the call, tossing your phone across the room so you aren’t tempted to call him again.

If time traveling was an option, you’d go back to a decade in the past without a question. For some reason it hurts more that after all this time, Yoon Jeonghan is still the one that knows you the best.

You wake up the next morning horribly late for work, with a blinding headache and a notification from Jeonghan on your phone.

xxx-xxx-xxxx: is tonight @ semicolon cafe ok with you? after you get off work?

xxx-xxx-xxxx: i won’t take up too much of ur time, i promise

xxx-xxx-xxxx: i’m so sorry y/n

you: its ok. that works, see u then

It’s well past nine o’clock when you finally enter the office. You almost make it to your desk unnoticed until your boss glances at you sneaking in.

“You’re very late,” Seungcheol observes, leaning back in his chair. His gaze is always stern, and today it makes you even more anxious than usual.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize. “Things just… everything kind of worked against me today. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“I believe you,” he says, casting another concerned look at you as you nearly drop your laptop going to your desk. “Is everything okay, Y/N? This really isn’t like you.”

“Yeah,” you lie through a tight smile. Damn Yoon Jeonghan and his stupid face for ruining your whole day. “Everything’s fine.”

Looking back, it’s quite impressive how you manage to keep your composure throughout your whole workday. You know you’ve accomplished a feat when even Junhui doesn’t really notice anything’s wrong. 

Despite how oblivious he comes across at first, your colleague is easily one of the most perceptive people you’ve ever met, as you’ve learned in the past five years you’ve spent at this company.

“Long day?” Junhui swivels around in his chair as he catches you taking a break from your screen.

“Yeah,” you admit, glancing at the clock. Almost five. “Even longer when we get asked to fix all of the intern’s mistakes. How do you just forget to write a whole method?!”

“God, I hope Lee Chan never gets hired as a backend developer. Love the kid, but I’m not sure how he got through college with his code looking like this.”

“Hard agree.”

“Hey, do you have plans after? Me and the rest of the team are probably gonna get dinner together. None of the interns,” he clarifies with a grin. “We need some peace and quiet. I think Wonwoo’s genuinely at his final straw, he’s been downstairs with them all day.”

As tempting as that sounds — Junhui has a knack for finding the best spots in Seoul — you have something more important on your plate for the day.

“Maybe next time,” you decline. “I have to meet someone after work.”

“Oh?” A sly grin spreads across his face. “Someone special?”

“It’s not a date,” you insist, face heating up.

“I never asked if it was, Y/N, you’re just outing yourself at this point.”

“It’s not!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he teases, turning back around. “Keep me posted!”

You roll your eyes.

The end of the day couldn’t have come any slower. Usually, you’d get so engrossed in whatever you were working on that you’d end up staying late, but today you shock everyone by packing up when the clock hits five, bidding Junhui a good night as you almost run to leave the building.

(“Someone’s in a rush,” he remarks when you turn your computer off. “Don’t be late on a first date, it’s not very polite!”

“Fuck off,” you respond, when Seungcheol is safely out of earshot.)

The walk home almost freezes your fingertips, and you have to shove your hands deep into your pockets to keep them from going numb. You make a note to dress accordingly for the biting cold later.

At least the weather matches your mood today.

The idea of a hot shower turns out to be a little too inviting, though, because when you finally step out, hair wrapped in a towel, it’s 6:28, and you have a text from Jeonghan waiting to be opened.

xxx-xxx-xxxx: i’m here, i snagged a table in the back

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath, pulling on an old sweater and some jeans. You don’t have time to fully dry your hair, so you just run your round brush through it a couple of times, hope for the best, and throw it into a claw clip, praying it stays up.

You’re officially twenty minutes late when you finally get to the cafe — it’s not too far from your apartment, thankfully, but you still had to book it — and you approach Jeonghan slightly panting and out of breath. 

(If Junhui was right and this was actually a date, you would be royally screwed.)

“Here, sit,” he pulls out your chair, a little alarmed by your flushed face. “Were you running?”

“Yeah. Sorry I’m late,” you answer, and then you look up at him and the air is knocked out of your lungs as if you weren’t already winded from getting there. He’s even more beautiful than the last time you saw him. “Wow, you…”

“I?”

You’re not even sure what the rest of that sentence was going to be, the words slipping out before you could even think about them. Snap out of it. 

“Nothing,” you say quietly.

“How have you been?”

“You already asked me that.”

“I want to know more.” He’s looking at you like he’s trying to memorize your features; it’s hard to ignore. 

“I don’t have anything interesting going on,” you deflect. “Tell me about what’s going on with you. You said you wrote a new song?”

Jeonghan’s face lights up when you say it. “I did. I spent around nine months rewriting and perfecting it. It’s kind of like my child, in a way.”

“Yoon Jeonghan, a father. I never thought I’d see the day.”

He laughs, and it feels like a part of your old selves is back. “Want to listen?”

You nod, and he passes you an AirPod and his phone. “Imperfect Love,” you read out loud. “That’s deep.”

“It came from a pretty raw place,” he confesses. “Something that’s kind of been on my mind for a while.”

“Something or someone?”

Jeonghan’s face reflects something akin to panic. “What are you talking about?”

“This seems like a song about unrequited love,” you deadpan. “Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.”

“Well, it’s not,” he huffs. “Don’t assume things.”

“This is the kind of update I was waiting for. You didn’t tell me you’d found someone!”

“I didn’t!” he insists, concealing a smile. “Will you just stop asking questions and listen already?”

“Alright, Mr. Unlucky in Love,” you tease, securing the AirPod in your ear and pressing play.

The instrumentals are beautiful, and Jeonghan’s angelic voice fills your ears a few seconds later. You haven’t heard him sing in a long time, and you’d forgotten just how ethereal he sounds when he’s pouring his heart into the mic.

The sunlight that happily illuminates this dark world 

Becomes a star when night comes

Come down to me

There are many, many things shining in this world

But among them, you’re the only one that’s precious to me

Jeonghan is watching you nervously, like he’s anxious for what you will say. You make the mistake of catching his eyes, because immediately you falter — they are gorgeous, he is gorgeous, and it feels like you lose time with every second you spend admiring him.

Even if I can’t be the perfect weather for you

Will you still love me like this?

It feels like a silent plea — you wonder what kinds of things have happened to him in the past year that you missed, all the things you don’t know about. 

Together we become old and worn out

Even if you come to me, who’s useless

At the end of a shining day

I’m happy that it’s you every day

The song comes to an end, and you hand Jeonghan’s phone back to him. His eyebrows raise, like a question.

“Did you like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him honestly. “I love it.”

A smile breaks out on his face. “That’s good to hear.”

“I’m still convinced you have a secret crush that you’re not telling me about.”

“Oh, not with that again,” he grumbles, waving off your curious questions. 

What you don’t tell him is that you’ve missed hearing him sing and watching him perform, that the look in his eyes when he’s doing what he loves most is something you adore. There are a lot of things like that you want to say to him, and as good as the both of you are at acting like nothing’s wrong, the situation feels awfully different this time.

“Hey.” Jeonghan has a glint in his eye, the one he usually has when he’s up to something. “Do you wanna leave and go get tteokbokki and fried dumplings at the night market stands instead?”

Your favorites, from when you were a broke college student and couldn’t afford anything nicer. How did he still remember that?

“Yeah,” you say, already grabbing your things and standing. “Let’s go.”

You had forgotten that it was cold as fuck outside.

You had also forgotten that the food stalls were in the opposite direction of your house, so now you’re stuck walking twice the distance in the freezing weather. 

“Are you warm enough?” Jeonghan asks, a bit worried. Stop looking out for me, you want to scream at him. Stop caring. Stop making such a fool out of me.

“I am, but I know you’re not,” you scold instead. “I’ve been telling you for years to dress for the weather.”

“Eh, what’s a little bit of cold?” he jokes, but you catch him shivering violently out of the corner of your eye, and you can’t just watch as he suffers.

“Here.” You pull your scarf off of your neck and hold it out to him. “Wear it.”

“Are you su—”

“Wear it before I take it back.”

You wait until Jeonghan’s listened to you, the warm fabric wrapped around his neck. A part of you thinks you’ll always feel the urge to look after him.

Stop it.

“You still haven’t told me about yourself,” Jeonghan starts hesitantly. “I know I’ve probably missed a lot of things in the past few years.”

“Eight years,” you correct him. “We graduated and then you disappeared.”

“I didn’t disappear, things just got really hectic,” he tries to explain. “Like, all of a sudden everything was on my shoulders, and I had to spend all my time working towards what I wanted. That or it was all just gonna go to waste.”

“Right,” you leave it at that, not wanting to start an argument on the road. This always happens — you’ll run into Jeonghan somehow, you’ll somewhat reconcile, fight, make up, and then it’s radio silence from him again. A year after you graduated college, you stopped looking for news articles on him entirely, actively avoiding any headlines with his name in them. It hurt a little too much to bear. “Well, what do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

You suck in a breath at the quick response. 

“Yeonju’s doing well,” you start, even though he probably knows that already. “She has a cat now, actually. She adopted him a couple of months ago.”

“Really? What’s his name?”

“Mandu, because she says he’s round and fat like a dumpling.”

Jeonghan snorts. “That’s like when Josh told us his dog’s name was Bingsu.”

“Oh, I remember that,” you say, faintly reminded of his college roommate. “Um, there’s not much else, honestly. Junhui is still a major pain in my ass, that definitely hasn’t changed.”

“Your work friend, right? I thought you two got along pretty well?”

“Yeah, we do,” you admit. You don’t need to explain any further, because Jeonghan knows that your sarcastic remarks are reserved for those you cherish the most.

“It’s been a really long time since you introduced us,” he muses. “But I still remember him pretty clearly.”

He remembers you, too, you think to yourself, recounting all the times you’ve ranted to Junhui about all the times Jeonghan got on your very last nerve. Just not as fondly.

“Oh! Wonwoo actually joined the same company two years ago. I think I told you this already,” Jeonghan confirms with a nod, “But it’s really nice getting to see him again, I missed when we used to hang out in college.”

“Aw, that must be really nice.”

“And the three of us still work for Seungcheol,” you conclude.

“I remember him, too. The one with the huge ass biceps,” Jeonghan says, a bit miffed. “I don’t think he liked me very much.”

“He doesn’t like randoms coming in during work hours, which is what you did, Han.”

“Oh. Right.”

Despite his short response, you know Jeonghan is smiling to himself right now, and you kick yourself mentally for letting the decades-old nickname slip. The two of you may be on a truce right now, but that doesn’t mean you’ve forgiven him.

A few minutes later, the lanterns and lights of the night market come into view. A little piece of childhood memory burrows its way into your heart. The vendors and stalls may have changed, but you used to love visiting this street with Jeonghan when you were still students. 

“I really feel so old right now,” Jeonghan remarks as he follows you through the narrow walkways. “I feel like the last time I’ve been here was when we were eighteen.”

“It probably was,” you say. “Oh! Tteokbokki!”

You don’t even realize the way you’re holding on to the sleeve of Jeonghan’s sweater as you pull him along with you in excitement. He doesn’t say anything, just chuckles to himself as he walks behind you.

“Two cups, please,” you request the vendor when you finally get to the cart, and reach for your wallet. Jeonghan stops you before you can get to your pocket.

“No way,” he says firmly. “This one’s on me.”

“Jeonghan.”

“That voice isn’t working on me this time.” He hands the vendor a couple of bills with a friendly smile. “Just let me buy dinner tonight.”

You cross your arms. “No.”

“Why not? You had no problem doing it back in college.”

“Don’t bring that up now,” you say sharply, stung by the familiar memory. Jeonghan senses the shift in your attitude and drops the subject immediately.

“Wait here,” he tells you. “I’ll be back in a second.”

What are you supposed to do with yourself? Oh, you’re a mess, you realize, the way your feelings haven’t been in check for the entire evening. You were supposed to be so calm and collected, and now you’re anything but.

“Here you go,” the vendor hands you two steaming cups of the spicy rice cakes. “One for you, one for your friend.”

“Thank you.”

The man nods towards Jeonghan, making his way back through the sea of people. “Never let go of someone who cherishes you that much,” he says offhandedly, stirring the tteok in the pot.

You just blink, confused. “What?”

Before the vendor can answer, Jeonghan’s already caught up to you again. “There was nobody in line for fried dumplings,” he tells you excitedly. “Here, have some.”

“Thanks,” you say as you exchange with him for the tteokbokki, ignoring the awkward encounter you’ve just had. “We should probably get out of the way and find somewhere to sit down.”

“Yeah, we should.”

There are a few benches at the corner of the street, and you pick the empty one under one of the streetlamps, a hazy yellow glow cast over it. Sitting down, you bite into the first dumpling, the flavor flooding into your mouth.

“Jeonghan.”

“Yes?”

“Is this shrimp?”

“Yes?” He looks adorably confused in the dim light. “You prefer seafood over pork, right?”

Your heart feels like it’s beating at double the pace. “I do,” you reassure him. “It’s really good. Thank you.”

“Try the tteokbokki, too, it’s just the right level of spicy.”

“I will.”

Just being there and enjoying the food in silence reminds you of how easy it is to just be around Jeonghan. There’s no pressure to break the quiet; it’s comforting and peaceful. 

You watch him savor the tteokbokki sauce and smile to yourself when he winces slightly. He’s always had less of a spice tolerance than you.

“Jeonghan?”

“Hm?”

“Are you going to vanish on me again when you leave Seoul?”

The question stops him in his tracks. He doesn’t seem to have the words to answer, and the lack of a response makes your heart sink.

“Why are you thinking about that right now?” he says instead, chiding you gently. “Did you finish eating?”

The way you’re looking at him now, your eyes are imploring him. Please don’t make me empty promises again. 

“It’s rude to answer a question with another question.”

Jeonghan rakes a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “I’ve never vanished, Y/N, it’s just hard for me to leave my work that often,” he insists, “and besides, you’ve got Junhui and Yeonju and Wonwoo to entertain you in the meantime —”

“None of them are you!” Several people passing by glance over at you, but you can’t help that your voice is rising when you feel the anger bubbling up. “You’re my best friend, Jeonghan, do you have any idea how hard it’s been doing life without you?”

“Y/N, we’re past our youth,” he tries reasoning with you. “We don’t have to be attached at the hip all the time.”

Every word he says is like a knife to your chest. “You shouldn’t have asked to meet up today, then.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Jeonghan shuts his eyes, trying to think of the right words. “I just can’t be there for you all the time in the way that you want anymore. You’re stable, you have a solid job, but my livelihood depends on my music and whether people like me or not. That’s the harsh truth of it. And I’m not getting any younger, either.”

“I’m not asking you to be there for me all the time,” you snap. “All I ever wanted was the occasional message. A few updates. Whether you’re doing okay, how your life is going, things like that. Don’t give me bullshit excuses. I know you have thirty seconds to text me back letting me know that you’re alive.”

And stop playing with my heart, you want to add. Whether you’re aware of it or not.

“Fuck,” Jeonghan swears under his breath. “Y/N, let’s calm down and talk about this inside —”

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down, Yoon Jeonghan.” Your fists are clenched right now. Jeonghan knows this about you; you don’t get angry quite often, but when you do, you are a force to be reckoned with. “It’s always a goddamn cycle with you. You show up, make all these promises, and then abandon me again. What am I supposed to do with that?”

You’re on the verge of tears, but you can’t cry in front of him. Anywhere but here.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” he pleads with you. “I don’t know what more to say other than I’ve been trying my best, I really have been.”

You’re not having any of it. “Yeah, right,” you scoff, averting your eyes so you have time to blink the tears away. 

“I mean it. I want to be there for you, but…” he trails off, voice shaky. “It’s just been so difficult.”

“Save it, Jeonghan.” You don’t think you can be here for a minute longer without totally breaking down. “I should really get going now.”

“Y/N, wait —”

“If you took the subway, there’s a station down that street if you keep walking for a few minutes.”

“Wait,” Jeonghan insists, standing. “Let me at least walk you home.”

“No need,” you retort, turning around and setting off towards your apartment. It’s even colder now that it’s completely dark out, and you start to regret your choice of coat as your teeth chatter quietly. All you can do is thug it out for the remaining three blocks to your apartment building.

The wind stings your eyes and you tear up anyway, despite your attempts to keep it down for now. Why did you think today was going to go any better than every other time this has happened? 

Stupid. Your fault for thinking anything would have changed in eight years. 

It’s not until you approach the entrance to your building that you hear the quiet shuffling of footsteps. You whirl around, ready to fight, but you stop short when you see Jeonghan standing several feet behind you.

“Just to make sure you got back okay,” he says quietly, walking over to you. You accept gingerly when he places your scarf back in your hands. “It’s late.”

You don’t even know how to feel; you’re too high-strung with too many lines of thought in your brain at the same time. “Thank you.”

“One more thing.” Jeonghan hands you a small plastic bag. You peer inside.

“What is this?”

“Tiramisu,” he says, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.

“Oh,” you’re confused. “Why?”

It should make you even more furious that he has the audacity to give you a soft smile, but for some reason it doesn’t.

“Happy birthday, Y/N.”

The realization hits you belatedly — how did you manage to forget? — that you were so swamped with work commitments, it had totally slipped your mind today. (So that was why your phone had been constantly buzzing with notifications from Yeonju before you’d put it on silent.) 

Jeonghan’s gesture, though, comes as a complete surprise, and it starts to dissipate the irritation from earlier.

“You remembered.”

“Of course,” he says simply, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I never forgot.”

just friends, that's not enough for me

EIGHT YEARS AGO

Normally, you are not someone who is criminally inclined. 

However, it’s currently five in the morning on a day where you don’t have class until noon, so whoever is calling you at this time is most definitely going to end up six feet under.

You answer without checking who it is first, eyes still closed. “Hello?” 

“Happy birthday!”

“Huh?” You lift your head just to be sure you heard correctly. “Yoon Jeonghan, it’s five a.m!”

“I know!”

“Why are you awake?”

“To tell you happy birthday?”

“Thank you, but cut the crap,” you tell him.

“I pulled an all-nighter to finish a project,” he admits. “Worth it, though. I’m the first person who told you, right?”

“You keep forgetting I live with Yeonju,” you point out, glancing over at your sleeping roommate.

“Damn it, Choi Yeonju!”

You grimace at his loud exclamation. “Jeonghan?”

“Yeah?”

“Do me a favor and let me go back to sleep.”

“Okay, but I’m waking you up at ten so you don’t skip your linear algebra class.”

“That class is at noon!”

“Yeah, and you take centuries to get ready, dumbass.”

When ten o’clock does roll around, you’re wide awake already. Yeonju is still fast asleep, so you try to get ready for class as quietly as possible.

jeonghan: i’m outside ur building

jeonghan: hurry up i’m hungry

you: ??? when u said u were gonna wake me up i thought u meant u would call

jeonghan: uhh surprise?

“Are you serious,” you mutter under your breath, haphazardly throwing an outfit on and rushing downstairs. Quickly, you press your key card against the reader and push the door open to the sight of Jeonghan leaning against the side wall.

“How long were you waiting?” 

“Long enough. God, you really take forever, but I guess you get a pass because it’s your birthday,” he says begrudgingly, gesturing for you to walk with him.

The weather is quite bleak, but the slight smile on Jeonghan’s face is enough to chase the dreary atmosphere away, like your very own sun.

“Did you sleep at all?” you question, noticing the dark circles under his eyes.

“I tried, but by the time I finished the project it was already seven and Joshua was up, so I just didn’t bother. That guy’s a freak, I’m telling you. I don’t know anybody else who wakes up that early just to go to the gym.”

“Well, you don’t go at all. Maybe that’s why he has those nice muscles and you don’t.”

Jeonghan’s mouth drops open in surprise. “Are you kidding? Is this why you keep coming over? To ogle Joshua Hong’s arms?”

“Yeah, cause Joshua Hong is my best friend,” you deadpan. “Is it such a crime to just appreciate a nice set of muscles?”

“Okay, okay, stop talking about Josh when you’re with me and get in the car,” he urges, fishing out his keys. “Or we’ll be late and you won’t make it to that class.”

“I don’t even go half the time,” you point out. “And you still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

“What I can do is promise you will be happy and fed by approximately half past eleven.” Jeonghan starts the car, adjusting his mirrors. “Is that good enough for you?”

“Deal.”

It strikes you then, beneath the dim sunshine, how good he looks when he’s driving. His eyebrows are furrowed as he focuses on the road, humming along to the song playing through Bluetooth. For all the jokes you throw at him for never being seen at the gym, his arms are quite toned, subtly flexed as he makes a turn with one hand on the wheel.

God, you are so done for.

A few minutes later, Jeonghan pulls into a relatively empty lot. The building is quite unassuming, but you recognize this cafe as the one you frequent during exam season for your coffee fix.

“I love this place!” you exclaim, beaming at him. “How did you know?”

“‘Cause you never shut up about it,” he quips back, grinning.. “Stay here, I’ll just be a minute.”

You hum quietly to yourself as you wait for him to come back, content where you are. There couldn’t have been a better start to your day, aside from Jeonghan’s early morning call, and you think you’d be happy to spend the day just like this, peacefully with him and your closest friends.

In truth, you aren’t really sure how to navigate things with Jeonghan at the moment. Your relationship has always been labeled as strictly platonic, but lately there have been things that make you want to think otherwise. A few stolen glances, the way he looks out for you a little extra… you think you’re going insane. 

That, and the way your heart has been reacting when you make eye contact with him lately has been a bit unsettling.

(“Don’t be so delusional,” Yeonju had told you a week ago. “You have a lot to lose here if anything happens. Plus, it’s Yoon Jeonghan, everyone thinks he’s flirting with them.”

“Yeah,” you’d replied flatly. “You’re right.”)

But maybe you’re allowed to be a little selfish. Maybe those sunlit smiles and most vulnerable moments are memories reserved just for you.

The car door opens again, and Jeonghan pokes his head in, handing you a plastic bag as he gets in. 

“Sustenance,” is all he says. “Eat before you go to class or I’ll have to deal with your hangry whining after.”

His words sound annoyed, but his tone is soft with you, like it usually is. You flash him a grateful smile before pulling the boxes out.

“What’s this?”

“Avocado toast, but yours has egg on it.” He wrinkles his nose with displeasure at the combination. “Plus a little sweet treat for your caffeine addiction.”

“This is beautiful,” you hold up the tiramisu box. “The caffeine is speaking to me, Hannie. We are one and the same.”

“One would think you’re on drugs.”

“One would think living with a chemistry major would teach you that caffeine is a drug,” you tease, sinking your teeth into the golden toast. You hadn’t realized just how hungry you were until now — maybe you shouldn’t have skipped dinner last night. “Wow, this is good.”

“It is,” Jeonghan agrees, “but I’ll stick with no eggs for now.”

“You’re just ignorant and have bad taste.”

“Again, free pass only because it’s your birthday.” Jeonghan waits for you to swallow, then asks, “So, does twenty-one feel any different?”

“Nope,” you say decidedly. “Why would it? The only thing that’s changed is that drinking is legal now.”

“Oh, and you can gamble.”

“Right, but I don’t have enough savings to do that.”

Jeonghan laughs to himself at a stray memory. “Remember when I turned twenty-one? I’ve never had a night more disastrous than that one.”

“I do remember! Anyone would assume you were a raging alcoholic,” you snicker. “Even Soonyoung felt the need to sober up and help me get you back to your place. Do you know how impossible that is for him?”

Jeonghan looks like he’s questioning his whole life. “Yeah, that is pretty bad,” he admits. “Good thing it hasn’t happened since and I’m a responsible alcohol enjoyer now.”

“You drank a whole bottle of soju before your exam last week because you ‘needed to pregame’ or you’d fail it.”

“... Right.”

The two of you eat in silence, careful not to drop crumbs in his car, enjoying the midday quiet with each other’s company and nothing else. It’s moments like these with him that you cherish the most.

Yeonju’s Don’t be so delusional echoes in your head, like a silent rebuke.

“Hey, we should start heading back,” Jeonghan says, glancing at the time. “Let this be the day that Y/N graces the lecture hall with her presence.”

You groan, not wanting to spend another hour and a half trying not to doze off listening to who is possibly the most boring professor at your entire university. Jeonghan pats your back empathetically.

“It’s okay,” he consoles you, “Just think about how you’ll feel later when it’s all over and done with.”

“I’ll feel like it was a huge waste of time and I could have just asked Wonwoo to catch me up,” you grumble. 

Jeonghan’s smile falters a little bit at the mention of your classmate, one of Soonyoung’s friends and therefore a part of the friend group. You still can’t figure out why Jeonghan isn’t too fond of him, but you  just assume they haven’t had the opportunity to connect as much and brush it off.

“He got me through data structures last semester,” you offer, trying to defend your point. “Or I’d probably have failed.”

“Right, I remember,” Jeonghan says absentmindedly. You don’t say anything more until you’re back on campus again, picking up on his sensitive mood. When you start making your way to your lecture hall, he follows you, and you let him.

“I’ll walk you to class, I have to print something out at the student center, anyways,” he explains, bag on one shoulder. “Also, you left this in the car. Eat it after class, or whenever.”

You take the plastic bag he hands you, the faint scent of coffee filling your nose. “Thanks.”

Jeonghan fills your ears with silly stories about his friends over the short walk and you listen carefully, always happy to hear about the boys. It’s been a while since you’ve seen them anyways; you’ve been swamped with work, and time that all of you have free together is quite rare.

“I should go in now,” you tell him when you reach the hall. You wish you didn’t have to be here, but you might as well, and Jeonghan can easily read the annoyance written on your face. He pats your shoulder gently.

“It’s okay,” he consoles you. “Come over later so we can all eat cake and listen to you rant about your god-awful professor.”

“Okay.”

“And so you can get an eyeful of Joshua’s arms, you freaking pervert.”

You gasp. “Am not!” you screech, punching his arm.

“Ow!”

“Take it back!”

“Not afraid to speak my truth,” Jeonghan says instead, feigning injury. “This is literally abuse.”

You roll your eyes. “Get out.”

“Go in.”

“Fine,” you huff, pulling open the double doors, but you look back over your shoulder before you let them close behind you. “See you later?”

Jeonghan nods, a twinkle in his eye. 

(You won’t know it now, but this is the look on his face that you’ll remember for the rest of your life.) 

 “See you later.”

Choi Yeonju is, you discover, the lightweight of all lightweights.

That title had belonged to Soonyoung up until now, but tonight even he’s watching her in disbelief from where he’s perched on Joshua and Jeonghan’s couch.

“I only gave her a shot,” he promises you, eyes big and pleading. “I swear on my life.”

“I know,” you sigh, grabbing her sleeve and pulling her away from the wall she’s about to faceplant into. “It’s okay, I’ve got an eye on her.”

“Sorry,” Soonyoung offers sheepishly. “I know you were planning on getting wasted tonight.”

You were not, in fact, planning on that at all. “Who told you that?”

“Jeonghan?”

“That evil bastard.”

The evil bastard in question is currently deeply immersed in a card game with a couple of others at the small kitchen table. The subtle flush on his face tells you he’s a couple of drinks in, and if you squint enough, you can see the silhouette of cards hidden in the sleeve of his jacket. Typical.

“Y/N!” Yeonju taps your shoulder urgently. “I need to tell you something.”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

She grins. “I wanna go to the bathroom.”

“Alright, come on. You gotta stand up,” you inform her gently when she doesn’t budge from her spot on the sofa.

“Comfy,” is all she says, mumbling into the furniture.

“Do you still need to go to the bathroom?”

“No.”

Soonyoung just looks at you in total confusion and shrugs. 

“Nothing to do about it until she asks again,” he says before sinking into the couch beside her. He still looks relatively sober — sober enough to handle the situation if Yeonju decides to walk into a wall again — so you tell him you’ll be right back and decide to check in on the game going on.

You walk in on a crime scene.

“You!” Seungkwan throws an accusing finger at Jeonghan, who you can tell is playing innocent through his surprised expression. “You rigged the game!”

“I didn’t do anything! I won fair and square!”

“Count the cards,” Seungkwan tells Wonwoo vengefully. “There won’t be fifty-two, I’m telling you!”

Jeonghan stands suddenly, laying his hand on the table. Everyone else is too busy yelling amongst themselves, and Wonwoo seems to be content with watching them argue, but you catch the way Jeonghan slips the cards in his sleeve into the pile unassumingly.

“Excuse me, boys,” he says smugly, “but I’m going to go on a little victory walk. Don’t mind me, enjoy!”

Seungkwan grumbles, but lets him go in favor of helping Seokmin back into the chair he’s just fallen off of. In the meantime, Jeonghan sidles up to you, faintly smelling of tequila.

“You seem very sober,” he observes.

“I am,” you laugh. “Not entirely, but sober enough to notice the cards you stashed during the game.”

Jeonghan’s face morphs into one of surprise, then mirth. “Shh,” he winks, placing a finger on your lips. That alone short-circuits your brain, so you nearly miss his next words. “It can be our little secret.”

“Oh, you are tipsy tipsy,” you murmur, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know if you’re up for that victory walk you were talking about.”

“I am! I’m so up for it,” he announces, tucking his arm in yours. “Let’s go take a walk outside.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very.”

“What’s four plus four?”

He rolls his eyes. “Ninety-two,” he says sarcastically. “Please, I’m not a lightweight like the rest of our friends.”

You cast a glance at the couch; Soonyoung has been roped into listening into whatever story Yeonju’s telling him very animatedly, sitting attentively with his back unnaturally straight. He looks a little scared of her energetic narration, which is a first for someone like him.

They should be fine, right? You don’t plan on being gone for long — usually you wouldn’t think twice about leaving Soonyoung and Yeonju together, but in their current state you’re not sure how chaotic they’ll get.

“They’ll be fine.” Jeonghan mirrors your thoughts as if he’s read your mind. His voice feels a little too close, like his lips are right by your ear. Too close, too close — you’re faintly aware of your breathing accelerating, heart running on sheer adrenaline.

By the time you snap out of it, he’s already at the door, turning to find you when he realizes you’re not next to him. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah,” is all you can manage before you grab your coat off the hook and follow him out the door. A part of you wishes Yeonju was sober so she could slap the delusion out of you.

Jeonghan opts for the stairs — “We’re only on the second floor!” — and is waiting patiently at the main door for you. The smile he greets you with is blinding, and his eyes crinkle a little more when you return it. 

“Did you bring your keys?”

“Right here.” Jeonghan pats his pocket reassuringly and pulls the door open. “After you, m’lady.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” you laugh, reveling in the moment. 

It’s windy outside, and you glance over at Jeonghan, satisfied to see that he’s dressed warmly for once. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and for a man his size, his thick sweater is draped over his body in a way that makes him look a little smaller. It’s adorable, and it just makes you want to reach over and squish his cheeks.

“You’re awfully quiet for a man who just won a game against Boo Seungkwan,” you tease gently. Jeonghan chuckles, rubbing his hands together to warm them up.

“Nothing new,” he says. “Seungkwan just has bad strategy and won’t admit it.”

“Or you just enjoy cheating a little too much.”

He gives you a knowing smile. “Touché.”

You’re not exactly sure where you’re going; you don’t think Jeonghan does, either, but the two of you fall in step together perfectly on the sidewalk. It’s not too late yet, maybe nine or ten, and the streets are relatively crowded, as expected for a college city.

“Do you think we’ll be really different when we’re thirty?”

You look at Jeonghan, a bit surprised at the question. “What do you mean?”

“Like, we’re twenty-one now,” he explains, “Remember when we were sixteen? We had so many ideas about what we were gonna be, and we’re already there. Five years passed so quickly.”

You nod, reminiscent of your childhood days. “We’re gonna hit thirty before we know it.”

“Do you think I’ll be bald by thirty?”

“If you are, I’ll take lots of pictures of you and your shiny head,” you joke. “For memories.”

“Noo, not my hair,” Jeonghan laments theatrically. “My gorgeous, gorgeous hair.”

You can’t even counter that, because it’s true: Jeonghan must have won the gene pool because his hair has always been soft and silky. It’s longer now than it used to be, curling a little bit just under his ears and brushing the back of his neck.

“Soonyoung’s been campaigning for you to go platinum blond,” you inform him. “He keeps saying if you do it, he’ll dye his whole head bright yellow.”

“Highlighter Soonyoung is really not something I want to see.”

The more the wind picks up, the tighter Jeonghan has his arm looped around yours. His lips are pursed, like he’s preoccupied with something else.

“Y/N.”

“Yes?”

“Are we still gonna be friends when we’re thirty years old?”

The subtle, vulnerable tone in his voice surprises you a little bit. Drunk words are sober thoughts, you suppose.

You try to cheer him up, saying, “Why, did you think you could get rid of me that easily?”

“No,” he shakes his head firmly. “Everything is so much easier with you.”

Don’t be delusional, don’t be delusional, is the mantra in your head as you attempt to ignore your rapid heartbeat. The truth is that you agree — the way Jeonghan just gets you makes things so uncomplicated and free.

It’s been this way since middle school, when twelve-year-old you found home in the boy who always helped you sneak snacks from your desk during class when the teacher wasn’t watching. 

Jeonghan has always been the first person you think of in a sticky situation; he’s always been reliable, above all, because he knows you would do the same for him without even needing to think about it. He’s been by your side for so long, you can’t even picture what a life without him would look like now.

Your next words would never see the light of day had Jeonghan been sober, but you suppose you can get away with erring on the side of honesty.

“Me too,” you tell him quietly, holding onto him just a little bit tighter. “I like life a little better when it’s with you.”

because i love you, because saying i love you isn't enough

PRESENT DAY

The office is quiet when it’s late at night; there aren’t many people who enjoy staying past their stated hours, but you figure it can’t hurt to finish some additional tasks when you don’t really have much to go home to. You can’t remember the last time you had a day to yourself without worrying about deadlines; the lines of code haunt you in your sleep and fill every waking hour. Every night spent working overtime is a testament to your determination, though it crumbles it a little each time.

Today, though, you’re joined by Junhui and Wonwoo, the three of you working under the dim light. The rest of your team packed up and left hours ago, so it’s just you on this floor of the building.

“I feel like my eyes are melting in their sockets,” Junhui complains, stretching for the first time in what you think is a solid eight hours. “I don’t know how Wonwoo does it.”

“He’s a machine,” you joke. He’s got headphones on, most probably noise canceling, so you know he can’t hear you two. (Or he’s choosing not to.) “I just don’t want to go home with this stuff unfinished because I know I won’t stop thinking about it all night.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve pulled an all-nighter in the office.”

“Unfortunately.”

Junhui frowns. “You need to take time for yourself,” he expresses. You let him lecture you, even though he’s younger. “Do stuff that you enjoy that doesn’t involve writing code. You know, enrich your personal life.”

“Maybe,” you sigh, putting your head in your hands. “There’s barely any time as of now.”

“Speaking of personal lives, I still can’t believe you won’t tell me about your date,” he sulks. “You’ve always come back with stories about your dates.”

“There haven’t even been that many,” you say at the same time Wonwoo turns around with his headphones off of one ear, asking, “Date? Really?”

You give the man a look. “You didn’t hear us say your name, but that was what caught your attention?”

“Well, Jun’s always talking, but the last time you went on a date was two years ago, so this is news to me.”

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Junhui reasons. “Everyone has bad dates. It’s a universal experience.”

“Okay, first of all, it was not a date,” you clarify. “I just met up with a friend from college.”

This piques Wonwoo’s interest. “Wait, really? Who?”

“Right, I keep forgetting you guys went to college together,” Junhui mutters under his breath.

“Did you see Yeonju again?”

“It was nobody,” you lie through your teeth, kicking yourself internally for your choice of words. As much as both men know about your ongoing tug-of-war situation with Jeonghan, you don’t really want to bring it up in conversation, and definitely not now of all times. “It went fine, just some catching up.”

“So it wasn’t a date?”

“You really need to stop believing everything Junhui tells you without fact checking it first.”

“Damn,” he says. “And we thought you were finally getting some action.”

“Wonwoo!”

The conversation is interrupted by the low rumble of your stomach in the few seconds of silence that pass afterwards. Both men turn to look at you expectantly.

“I haven’t eaten all day,” you admit, a little embarrassed. “I’m starving.”

“I’ll order takeout,” Wonwoo volunteers, already reaching for his phone. “Is kimchi fried rice okay with you guys?”

“Fine by me.”

“With pork?” Junhui asks hopefully.

“Done.”

The three of you promptly get back to work, aiming to maximize the amount of work you get done before the food arrives and you inevitably break focus. By the time the delivery notification goes off on Wonwoo’s phone, you’ve knocked off about three quarters of your to-do list for the day.

Good enough, you reassure yourself, pulling the sticky note off of your desk and flicking it into the trash can. 

Junhui eats in a record time of ten minutes — you swear you’ve never seen him scarf down food this fast before — and starts packing up at his desk, dropping off a couple of notes on Seungcheol’s desk for tomorrow morning’s meeting.

“My girlfriend is going to be so upset if I’m not home soon,” he says ruefully, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “Take care, guys! And thanks for dinner, Wonwoo, I owe you one.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

You and Wonwoo finish not too long after, and you take your time cleaning up the place, making sure everything is thrown away and in its place. 

“Are you ready to lock up and go?”

“Yeah, let’s head out.”

It’s not until you’re in the elevator, heading to the parking garage, that Wonwoo speaks up again. A little hesitantly at first, but the concern in his tone is still evident.

“Hey, has everything been good with you lately?”

“Hm?” You look at him curiously, wondering what it was that made him ask. “Yeah, why?”

He shrugs, looking down at you through thick-rimmed glasses. “Just haven’t checked in with you in a bit. Seungcheol’s needed me all over the place lately, so it’s been a while since I caught up with you guys.”

“Right, you’ve been in back to back meetings with the design team,” you muse. “Seolhwa was talking about how chaotic it’s been in the restroom earlier.”

“Yeah, it’s been pretty tough.”

The elevator opens with a ding! and you follow him out, fishing for your keys that are probably somewhere in one of your pockets.

“I parked a little far,” you tell him, “so I’ll get going now. But I’ll see you at tomorrow’s meeting, right?”

Wonwoo just looks at you gently, like he’s seeing right through you. 

“Jeonghan’s the one you met up with, isn’t he?”

You freeze. “What?”

“I had a feeling, but it was a little more obvious when you started getting defensive,” he chuckles. “Plus, I think you forget I’ve known you for nearly a decade now.”

You allow yourself to breathe, relaxing the taut muscles in your neck. “I didn’t want to make it awkward,” you admit. “I know you said you guys still keep in touch sometimes. I don’t want to make it weird.”

Wonwoo raises his eyebrows. “Just for birthdays and things like that. We weren’t really that close in college, either.”

Not really knowing what to say, you stay silent, eyes glued to the ground. He seems to sense this and drops the matter, reaching over to pat your shoulder.

“I won’t pry,” he says lightly, “But if you ever want to talk about it, just know you can always call up an old friend.”

You smile. “Thanks, Wonwoo.”

“Take care, Y/N. Get home safe.”

The drive home is numbing. The playlist you have on dulls into background noise as you focus on the road, fighting the urge to yawn. It’s nearly eleven o’clock at night, and all you want is to be back in your bed.

At the back of your mind, all you can think about is the text you woke up to this morning.

yoon jeonghan: hey, i just wanted to tell you tomorrow is my last day in seoul 

yoon jeonghan: i don’t know if you want to see me or not, but i’ll be at semicolon cafe working for most of the day. pls drop by if you have some free time. i really miss you.

So typical of him, to leave it up to you to go find him. And yet, you would — if it came down to it, you would go to the ends of the earth if he asked you to. 

Yeonju would be furious if you told her you were even considering it, you scold yourself. After all, she’d only told you to speak to him once for your own peace of mind. Last week should have given you all the closure you needed. 

Still, your conscience is swayed at the idea of being able to see him again. 

You shake the thoughts out of your head, as if the subtle action could erase the pain and longing you’ve felt for the past eight years. 

The traffic light turns green. You step on the gas and don’t look back.

even if i can't be the perfect weather for you, will you still love me like this?

SIX YEARS AGO

Jeonghan has been in the studio for hours.

Nothing seems to sound right, and the frustration makes him want to pull his hair out. He can’t even remember the last time he got out of the chair, but he doesn’t want to lose even a little bit of whatever workflow he’s managed to maintain while he’s been in here.

Occasionally, when the weather is just a little dull and time seems to tick by too slowly, he wonders if he made the right choice. Maybe he should have stuck with his career, actually put his degree to use, instead of setting it aside in the name of passion.

He’s vocalized these thoughts to his manager many times, and Jihoon is awfully good at raising his spirits, but the self doubt seeping into his soul is very hard to ignore.

Reluctantly, he presses the play button again, whatever he’s conjured up in the last couple of hours playing in his headphones again. It doesn’t sound any better this time. 

Yes, he could swallow his pride and ask Jihoon for help, but after a year and a half of unsuccessful ventures in the music industry, he wants to be able to do something on his own.

Prove himself; to Jihoon, the world, and you.

Jeonghan will never forget your only words to him when he’d first revealed his plan to switch career paths, just a month or two before graduation. 

(“I always believe in you,” you’d said, following it up with a comforting hug. 

“Always?”

“Always.”)

And when you said that with such conviction, placing all of that trust and belief in his hands, he knew there was no way he could turn back on what he’d set his sights on. In truth, on days where things just seem so bleak, you are his strength, and he wishes he could tell you that.

But when your name comes through on his phone, he falters.

What is he supposed to say? All he can give is excuses, that nothing’s really worked, nothing has panned out in his favor yet. As it is, the two of you haven’t spoken that much since graduating, both of you occupied with your own goals and careers, and at times like these he feels your absence a little extra.

Is this what it means to grow up and grow apart?

For now, he ignores the buzzing, telling himself he’ll come back when he’s snagged his first real achievement. You’ll be proud of him, and he’ll finally make something of himself.

Jihoon walks into the room, closing the door quietly, right when he’s about to listen to the track for maybe the hundredth time.

“Oh, hey.” Jeonghan can hear the exhaustion in his own voice. “What’s up?”

“Wondering when the last time you slept was.” Jihoon sinks into the chair beside him, trying to lighten the mood. “You look like a zombie.”

“Yeah, I feel like one.”

“You need to spend less time in here,” Jihoon advises gently. “Or you’re going to lose your mind. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

“I just can’t figure out what it is I’m missing,” Jeonghan sighs, evidently frustrated. “It’s like, almost there, but not really. It’s been killing me for days.”

“You know, these things do take time.”

“Or maybe I’m just not cut out for this and I should just go work for a news channel instead.”

Jihoon watches him carefully, picking up on his slumped shoulders and tired eyes. “And then you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering what would have happened if you held on just a little bit longer. Do you really want that?”

Jeonghan doesn’t really know what else to say. He’s been hearing the same things from everyone around him — his parents, his sister; everyone talks of a future where he’s already succeeded, but that isn’t set in stone. Nothing is promised, he knows.

“I need a miracle,” he mumbles instead.

“You need to eat,” Jihoon corrects. “I just placed an order for dinner, and I know you like sundubu-jjigae, so you have no excuse to bail on me this time.”

Jeonghan considers this for a moment, then gives in. “Fine,” he says, “but I can’t stay too long.”

“Good.” Jihoon rises, and then places a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. “I’m proud of you. You’ve been working really hard.”

“Thank you.”

He’s alone again, when the door closes behind the shorter man. It’s something he’s had to get used to; he’s learned to rely on himself over the past year or so, but when the reality of loneliness sinks in, it breaks his heart just a little. 

Even more so knowing that it’s his fault that he’s pushed everyone away, including you.

Your name is still burned into Jeonghan’s brain, and his fingers itch to respond, but he ignores the urge. His phone is left forgotten as he slips his headphones on again, tinkering with the unfinished track.

And the thought of you dissolves into the music.

we used to be best friends, i remember you said you can be yourself when i'm around

PRESENT DAY

Today is the day that Choi Seungcheol learns that you are full of surprises.

In all your five years of working for him, he’s never once had you call in sick for work or ask for a day off. You’ve always been hard-working, maybe too much at times, but he sounds like he definitely didn’t anticipate this.

“Oh,” is all he says when you request the morning off. “Yeah, sure. Are you feeling alright?”

“Not really, but I will be before the client meeting at three, so I’ll be present for that.”

“Oh, all right. We’ll see you then.”

“See you.”

It weighs on your conscience that the first time you request time off also happens to be the first time you blatantly lie to your boss, but you’ve already deliberated this enough with Yeonju over call last night.

(“I’ve been such an honest worker,” you said dramatically, “and now I’m running all that to the ground.”

“Don’t be so theatrical. Choi Seungcheol can afford to give you half a day of paid leave.”)

Now that you’ve settled that, you grab your heavy winter coat, setting out into the morning cold. Damn Yoon Jeonghan for making you move your whole day around for him. You had predicted correctly that Yeonju would berate you for it — you sat through a lecture over the phone last night — but that hadn’t deterred your resolve to see him again.

Who knows? His behavior is so erratic that even you, who knew him like the back of your hand at one point, can’t predict him anymore. Today could very well be the last time you see him for another few years until he decides he has the time for you again.

Whatever, you huff to yourself as you walk briskly, knowing that as upset as you get, the soft spot you harbor for him will never go away.

You had worried that it would be a little too early, since it’s only eight in the morning, but you have no problem finding Jeonghan in the sea of caffeine-deprived corporate workers getting their fix in the small establishment. He’s engrossed in his laptop, and he doesn’t realize you’re there until you take the seat across from him, waiting for him to look up.

“Oh,” is all he says, pushing his screen down. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

You sigh. “Yeah, I didn’t think I would, either.”

Jeonghan gives you a sorrowful look, hair fluffy like a halo around his face. “I’m trying, I really am.”

“Jeonghan —”

“I’m juggling so many things at once,” he says quietly. “And I never wanted you to think any less of me. I wanted you to be proud of me..”

“I was. I still am.”

“But I still haven’t done anything.” He sounds more agitated as he speaks. “I haven’t gotten anywhere, I’ve barely made a name for myself. Nothing I do is paying off.”

“You’re trying, though,” you tell him. It saddens you to see him like this. It’s not often that Jeonghan talks about how he feels, especially not now that you’ve grown so distant. “And you don’t have to go off and accomplish great things for me to be proud of you. I already am.”

He’s quiet, like he’s dwelling on something.

“I’m sorry,” he says a few seconds later. “It’s just all been such a mess.”

“That’s okay.”

In the silence between those two words are many more that don’t need to be spoken for him to understand. You’re doing okay. Everything will turn out okay.

“I wish things could go back to the way they were,” he says again, eyes a little shiny when he looks back at you. 

Nostalgia fills your brain, all of those treasured memories with him resting in a well-lit corner of your heart. 

“You know, it really hurts, Han, to keep doing this push and pull with you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

“Don’t apologize,” he laughs wistfully, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Shit, I never meant to hurt you, Y/N, honestly. And I’m really trying to be better about it. Things are looking up now, I think. It’s getting a little easier than before.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” You offer him a reassuring smile. “I knew you could do it.”

“How…” Jeonghan starts tentatively. “How long are you here for?”

“I’m not sure,” you reply, fidgeting with one of your bracelets. “Not too long.”

“Are you going to have something to eat?” An olive branch.

“I have food I meal-prepped at home.” A subtle denial.

The silence is loud. You try to think of something, anything to say to fill it, but you come up blank. There’s not much else to be said in the fraught air between the two of you. Not now, anyways.

“I’m sorry, I should let you get back to work,” you say suddenly, eyes landing on his half shut laptop. “I didn’t mean to take time out of your day.”

“That’s okay,” he says softly. “I’m really glad I got to see you.”

“Have a safe trip to… wherever you’re going.”

He chuckles. “Just Jeju, but thank you.”

Before you leave, you reach for the scarf loosely wrapped around your neck — your favorite one you’ve had since college, the plaid cream-colored one — and you set it down on the table. He just looks at you questioningly.

“Why…?”

“It’s cold,” you say with a faint smile. “You haven’t changed, Yoon Jeonghan.”

“Thank you.”

You take the time to memorize him — the curve of his face, the soft look in his eyes, the one reserved for you and the ones he holds close. If you could etch his features in your brain here and now, you would.

“Well,” you start, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Don’t be a stranger, Han. The next time I see your name, it better be a call from you instead of another news headline.”

Jeonghan nods, eyes forming crescents. “I’ll do my best.”

And there is something to be said about the love in looking back, for sure, but there is also love in not looking back, in choosing to keep your eyes trained on the path before you. There is love in knowing your weaknesses, that if you turn around you might not be able to walk away after all. 

You don’t release the breath you’re holding until you walk out the door. It’s raining, you realize with a start, the previously clear sky clouded over. It seems that your overcast heart has been mirrored by the earth.

The rhythmic droplets provide a strange sense of comfort as you let yourself get soaked, for lack of an umbrella. It works in your favor, anyway, because nobody will assume anything’s amiss if your face is already drenched.

Pit, pat. The smell of wet soil rises in your nostrils, and you let the tears fall.

no matter where i am in the world, i'll say it's you

FOUR YEARS LATER

The lights are blinding, and the sounds of the camera shutters are incessant. But this is the life Jeonghan has always dreamed of, so he doesn’t dare complain.

In truth, he doesn’t care for a lot of the interviews he’s been asked to do — he can’t be bothered by the mundane, mind-numbing questions he gets asked over and over again. Nothing ticks him off like the insensitive digs into his personal life they always ask him, searching for information he doesn’t wish to disclose.

But he does it, anyway, because what choice does he really have? It’s good for your image, Jihoon always tells him, adding another event to his schedule. It’s for your public platform.

“So, you’ve come out with another hit single,” the interviewer starts, beaming at him. His teeth are so artificially white, they seem to reflect the bright studio lights. “How does it feel to accomplish such a success yet again?”

“It’s really great,” Jeonghan answers honestly. “I’m very grateful to my manager, producer, and my beloved family. And, of course, all of the wonderful fans. I couldn’t have done any of this without them.”

“A touching answer as always, Jeonghan-ssi.” The man flashes a smile at the cameras. “Your new single To You was really well received by fans, especially for its fresh and passionate take on what it feels like to be in love.”

The blazer feels stiff now, under the heat of the lights. Jeonghan tries not to dwell too deeply on the true inspiration for the song he’d written late at night a couple years ago, overcome by his own heart.

“I’m really glad that everyone’s been enjoying it so much. That really was the intention,” he says, “to have a song that makes you feel like you’re floating.”

“And it does!” the interviewer laughs. “A lot of viewers really appreciated the sincerity of feelings that was conveyed through the song. Which raised the question; have you ever been in love before?”

Something akin to a late realization suddenly hits Jeonghan right there in the hot seat, under all those lights and cameras. His hand comes up to toy with the end of the scarf he’s wearing, a keepsake of treasured memories.

“Maybe,” he says with a wistful smile.

Wherever you are in the world right now, there’s a small part of him that dares to hope you’re watching.

“Maybe I have.”

thank you for reading! if you have any feedback, i'd love to hear it. much love, ashi xx

[kumkaniudaku]

Stay A While (3)

Summary: Terry get's a lesson in love and shares it with Patrice.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 5,049

Part: 3 of ??

Warnings: Smut (18+)

One. Two.

"Well, James, how you been?" 

"Honestly, Pop. I don't know where to start." 

Wooden spoons banged and scraped across pots on the stove while Marvin scooped red beans and rice into a small ceramic bowl. He'd long shed his work coveralls for an open flannel shirt and khakis to spend some quality time with his only son. 

James was their shared middle name in a long line of Richmond men dating back to their family migration from New Orleans to Fayetteville in the 50s. Marvin was a proud, honorable man. He never said a bad word about anybody, and no one had a bad word to say about him. He taught Terry how to play football, make a pot of dirty rice to perfection, and the importance of ensuring a lady never touched a doorhandle in his presence. He was the reason Terry joined the Marine Corps after a career in the NFL looked unlikely. He was the reason his boy spoke softly and carried a big stick. And he was one of only two people Terry trusted with his heart. 

With two bowls and spoons on a serving tray, Marvin made his way to the kitchen table. He stopped short to get a good look at his son with blue green eyes even more captivating than Terry's. He noted the new frown lines developing on his brow and the lone grey hair sprouting in his goatee. His boy was stressed and confused. He didn't need a conversation to tell him that but welcomed it anyway. 

After sliding one bowl across the table, he took a seat with his signature grunt. "Start at the top. Plenty of time still left in the day." 

Terry quietly thanked his father for his generosity and avoided the question by eating the first bite of his meal. They ate in silence for several seconds until Terry took a deep breath. 

"I think I've been okay. More ups than downs lately, but the downs are pretty damn low. I'm having a tough time sleeping. I'm barely working. I feel like a burden for Treece more than I feel like a man who can actually do something for her." 

"Being a man is about more than what you can do." 

"Yeah, but…" Terry trailed off, trying to gather his thoughts. "It's just - things weren't supposed to be this hard. I gave this country a lot of my time, and I guess I expected to say my goodbyes and roll into my next chapter. Now, my plan b needs a plan b, and I'm out of options." 

"You're not out of options. You don't like askin' for help. Proud like your grandaddy." 

"And you too." 

Marvin chuckled and shook his head as he took another spoonful of food.  "This ain't about me."

The two men shared a laugh, their voices sounding nearly identical as they bounced off the walls. He was the spitting image of his father, both in stature and moral compass. 

"What do you need, James?" Marvin had grown serious again, making Terry avert his eyes to focus on his food. "I'll save you the stress of asking, but you gotta tell me what I need to offer. Is it money?"

"Not much. Enough to pay some bills until the end of the month, and I can have it back to you. I think I have a shot at this job on base if I can get through the second interview."

"How you getting back and forth? I know y'all do the Lyft and Ubom thing these days. Ridin' around with strangers like we didn't spend a whole decade tell y'all not to." 

Terry laughed. "It's Uber, Pop. But, no. Treece is out for the summer, so I'm…using her car when I need it. I don't wanna take advantage of her." 

"Those some of the bills you need help paying?" Marvin's question was answered with a silent head nod and eyes filled with shame. He softened his voice as he reached into his wallet for the cash he had on hand. "It's what you're supposed to do. Ain't no shame. That money is for yourself. Give me til tomorrow afternoon to have more. Five grand enough?" 

"Ah, Pop, I don-" 

"We didn't work as hard as we did for nothing. Plus, it's your college fund money we never withdrew. You're lucky your mother hasn't used it for renovations. She's been eyeing your sister's old room for an indoor she-shed or whatever the hell it's called." 

Marvin sounded exasperated by the concept of his wife's latest project, which amused Terry. They hadn't changed since the day he left. They were just two people who had been in love since the day they met and remained committed to supporting each other through the ebbs and flows of life. 

Standing from the kitchen table, Marvin shuffled around the corner to the garage entrance and returned with a ring of keys and a pile of mail. He tossed them at Terry and returned to his seat. 

"What's this?" 

"Keys to GMC outside. Take it. You might need to run it for a little bit and change the oil, but it works fine. The rest is your mail." Terry opened his mouth to protest and received a glare from his father in return. "I gave you my best speech about askin' for help, and here you go ruining things. Take the truck before I tell your mama."

"Alright, alright," Terry laughed as he raised his hands. "I love you, Pop." 

"Love you, man. I'm proud of you." Not ones for the warm fuzzies of hugs, the two extended their arms across the table for a quick fist bump before returning to their meals. Marvin let his son eat in peace for a few moments before the corner of his lips curled in a knowing smile. "So…Patrice Ellis, huh? That little love letter you wrote in 10th grade finally coming true?" 

"Pop." 

"Ah, come on. It's alright to be in love, son. She's a good girl. Got good folks, too. What's the holdup?" 

In love? The more Terry attempted to negotiate the gravity of the phrase within himself, the more he had to reckon with the idea that his father may not be that far off base.

Terry slowed his eating and looked at his father for help. "You think I'm in love?" 

"Oh, I know you are. You didn't come back to Fayetteville for me, did you?" 

"How would I know, though? How did you know?" 

Marvin stopped eating to sit back in his chair. A fond smile crossed his face as he thought of his younger years. 

"I knew I was in love when I wanted to show up every day and do the work to be with her. It didn't matter if she pissed me off or if we disagreed about decisions. At the end of every day, I can look at her and know I'm where I want to be forever. Plus, I still get a little fired up when she walks through the door all these years later. I ain't much to look at, but your mother is…" 

Marvin let his sentence drop to whistle at the mention of his wife. Terry pretended to take exception but eventually laughed at his father's antics. He quickly relaxed into a contemplative state. 

"I wanna be the best I can for her," he spoke softly. "I get…sad when she's gone for too long. Sometimes, I find myself forcing conversation just to make her look at me because the light in her eyes is the only thing keeping me grounded most days. What does that mean?" 

"You don't need me to answer that, son. Go with what you know." 

Before Terry could seek more advice, the mechanical roar of the garage door made Marvin nearly spring out of his seat to greet his one true love. 

Outside, Patrice was nearly doubled over from laughter in the front seat. 

Diedra "DeeDee" Richmond was the quintessential Southern black woman. Like a prim and proper belle, she wore her color-treated blonde hair big to match an even bigger personality.  She wore heels with every outfit and never left the house without earrings, but she could also drink and cuss like a sailor. 

When she offered Patrice the chance to tag along for her monthly Sister Circle meeting, there was no chance she'd miss the opportunity to ditch Terry and kick it with the upper crust of Black women. 

"And, girl, Rita thinks we can't tell that she took every one of those appetizers out of the damn freezer section. At least go to the Publix bakery. Finger sandwiches ain't that expensive." 

Amid their gossip session, the garage door's chime caught Dee Dee's attention, effectively ending her one-woman show in favor of giving her husband the eye. Behind him, Terry stood with a nervous smile and puppy dog eyes that he directed at Patrice. 

"Marry a Richmond, child. You'll never lift a finger for the rest of your life. Lord knows I love me some him. Hey, baby!" DeeDee advised as she watched Marvin nearly float to the driver's side to open her door. 

Patrice watched Marvin and DeeDee fawn over each other like teenage lovers until the faint pop of her door opening brought her back to life. 

Terry stood in the gap with his hand out to offer assistance. She accepted without protest, letting him gently pull her from the passenger side with her bags in tow and close the door behind her.

"I missed you." 

Terry's admission came in a sweet voice as he dipped his head to place two chaste kisses on Patrice's lips. Only the knowledge of his parents 10 feet away kept her from turning an innocent display of affection into something vulgar. 

Patrice chased his lips once he pulled away, earning a deep chuckle that vibrated her chest. 

"We kissing in front of the parents now?" 

"Too much," he asked, suddenly embarrassed. 

She used her thumb to wipe lip gloss from his bottom lip before rising to her tip toes to kiss his nose. "No. You're perfect." 

Dee Dee and Marvin watched the young couple giggle at nothing in particular with broad smiles and full hearts. 

"Treece, when's the last time you had some of my red beans and rice?" 

Marvin's question made both of them jump like children caught in the act with the realization that they weren't alone. 

"Way too long," Patrice answered, her stomach almost growling at the mention. 

"Then have dinner with us. We'd love to have you." 

Patrice looked toward Terry for confirmation, making Dee Dee cackle as she started up the stairs into her home. "Child, forget him. Terrence don't run nothing 'round here! Come get this food."

Terry's eyes grew wide at his mother's dismissal while Patrice dissolved into an uncontrollable fit of laughter at his expense on her way into the house. 

"Oh, that's funny," he asked, following her lead. "That's the last time I let y'all hang out unsupervised." 

Three extra hours at Terry's parents' house wasn't enough for the tandem to abandon their new night routine. 

Patrice stood at her bathroom sink, scrubbing the day from her face while Terry made himself comfortable on her closed toilet lid. Sometimes, he read something from Patrice's bookshelf, both preferring to simply exist in the same room. Other times, he watched baseball on his phone and attempted to provide color commentary despite Patrice not showing interest. This time, though, he sat with relaxed shoulders and low eyes while she moved through her beauty routine. 

Something about the sleepytime body wash had him laser-focused on how her legs looked a mile long beneath her nightshirt, oiled to perfection and glistening under the warm vanity lights. He wanted to reach out and touch her. Maybe pull her closer by her thighs and whisper every single nasty thought on his mind below her navel until she promised never to leave his side. 

But, he shook his inner man loose and leaned forward to re-engage with her as she called his name. 

"You know you should use a gentle exfoliant every once in a while. It'll help your breakouts. Use some of my sunscreen, too. It's dangerous for you to let the sun hit your face with no protection."

Blah, blah, blah. Everything she said sounded like a chorus of 1000 angels to him. She could've revealed the cure to cancer, and he would be too lovestruck to notice. 

Knowing his restraint was dwindling, he stood abruptly and stretched his arms above his head with a yawn as she added moisturizer to her face.

Patrice watched him take up space behind her through the mirror, shifting so he could leave something to remember him by on her shoulder and neck. 

"Good night," he spoke between kisses, the words muffled against her skin. 

"Already? It's not that late, is it?" 

"I promised Corey I'd help him with football practice at Francis tomorrow morning."

"He'll run you ragged if you don't speak up." 

"I'll speak up. I promise." 

Using what little space she had, Patrice turned to rest her backside on the counter and face Terry. She used her index finger to hook his gold herringbone chain and bring him down for a kiss. Or kisses. It'd been so long since they could have each other in this way. Time and experience, both together and separately, had them maneuvering like professionals. Each kiss was teasing and sensual in equal measure. A tangible mastery of retreating and aggression made the pursuit of one another worth the wait. 

They'd lost track of their exhibition until Terry's phone buzzing against the toilet seat jolted them back into reality.

Patrice flattened her palms against his chest to create some separation and end what would surely turn into blurred lines if they weren't careful. "Good night, TJ.  Grab that exfoliant out of my shower before you leave. It's in the caddie." 

Terry took the gentle redirection in stride, smiling at her through the mirror before turning to do as she had asked. Patrice used what little focus she could muster to secure her headscarf to her head, desperate to extend her box braids for one more week. 

"What's this?" 

"What's what?" She didn't bother to look away from her task until the low hum of her vibrator caught her attention. She whipped her body around, too stunned to reach for the bright pink toy that had Terry smirking as he examined its buttons. "That is my personal property for personal and private use." 

"When's the last time you used it?" 

"It's been a while. A month or so." Mostly true. She couldn't say she hadn't thought about it more recently.

"Since I've been here?" 

She shrugged. "Kinda hard to get comfortable when there's a person on the other side of the wall." 

The mere sound of the only thing to touch her in a year made the hair on her arms stand at attention. Her eyes darted between the toy and Terry, who made himself familiar with each speed and pattern, cycling through dirty thoughts and intrigue as he held the device against his arm to get a feel for the intensity, 

Setting one? Bearable. A softball. Setting three? Maybe she'd call out his name from the pleasure? Setting seven? Surely, she'd hang on to him like a wet t-shirt on a Playboy model while she rode the crest of her orgasm. 

The possibilities excited him to no end. He needed to test each and every theory.

In two clicks, he returned the toy to its original setting and then off completely, holding it in one hand while taking slow steps to close the gap between him and the only person on his mind. 

She shifted her weight nervously as he approached, unsure how to respond until he towered over her with a look she knew all too well. 

Desire. 

Their senses were heightened. Everything felt surreal, almost as if one misstep could send them flying through a portal back to a more disappointing reality. 

Terry could smell the faint hint of mint on Patrice's breath before dipping his head to nip at her bottom lip with his teeth. She responded like he knew she would by making him work for his prize. Patrice never let him intimidate her. Not for their first time together all those years ago, certainly not now. 

He chuckled before leaning in again, this time leaving a trail of short kisses from her jaw to her clavicle. He inhaled deeply, breathing in vanilla and the subtle spice of his cologne from moments earlier.

Suddenly, Patrice felt weightless. Her feet dangled briefly and without warning as Terry took her from standing to sitting on the cold, hard counter before she could protest. 

Patrice fought for stability, using the peaks and valleys across the expanse of his muscled arms as her anchor in the dizzying experience that was his affection. Her lips parted to draw in sharp breaths and release airy sighs of approval in a feeble attempt to remain present. At the same time, he kissed his appreciation wherever his lips saw fit. Her legs acted under their own power to spread wider and make room for whatever came next. 

Her hands left a trail of tingles as she dragged them from his arms to the back of his head, down the sides of his face, over his tank top, between his pecs, and, finally, into the waistband of his shorts. 

Surprised by her touch, he lurched forward to grab her wrist. "Not this time," he whispered, unsure he meant what he was saying. 

Patrice nodded in understanding, earning a sloppy kiss for her obedience. 

There was no discerning where his mouth ended, and hers began. They were on one accord, hungrily tasting, exploring, and consuming each other without holding back. 

Then, the low hum returned. This time, it was closer than Patrice remembered. 

Cold silicone soon caressed her inner thigh. A low whimper escaped past her lips as she made eye contact with Terry. He leaned close enough to speak against her mouth. 

"You trust me?" 

"Mhmm," she answered, fighting to keep her eyes open as he moved further up her leg. 

"Let me take care of you, then. Take these off for me." 

Trembling fingers latched onto her boyshorts, pushing them to mid-thigh for Terry to take care of the rest. As quickly as he was gone, he'd returned for another taste of her tongue. Languid and unhurried, he used the time to relax her while slowly inching the vibrator to her center. 

Initial contact made her hips buck forward, and her head softly hit the mirror behind her. Terry chased her with sloppy kisses at the base of her neck. 

The slow and steady setting was enough to get her wet and sticky. Terry'd be lying if he said the thought alone didn't have him wanting to renege on his early statement and dive in with reckless abandon. But, he remained steadfast in his pursuit of her pleasure. 

Once the initial shock had worn off, Patrice ground her hips slowly, making small circles while the vibration worked to settle her nerves. Terry took a break from leaving praises in the form of kisses on her throat to smile at his girl. 

"You're beautiful. You know that?"

She gripped his chin and pulled him closer for a fiery kiss that he let her lead. "Yeah. But, I love to hear you say it." 

"Good," he answered, grinning at her confidence as he upped the intensity on her vibrator. Her eyes clamped shut as her entire body tensed. "Stay with me." 

A deep, steadying breath turned into a silent scream as Patrice gave in to the natural urge to hold her breath. Terry used his free hand to sneak up her tank top and grope one breast while pressing his lips to her ear. 

"Breathe, baby. In and out." He modeled the behavior until she found the strength to match his tempo. "There you go. You feel good?" 

"Yes, yes," she whisper-chanted to the ceiling, her head thrown back in unimaginable euphoria. 

"I want you to feel this good every day. You deserve it, right?" 

A twisting, turning feeling at the pit of her stomach forced her to draw in a deep breath to steady herself. Her answer came in a soft moan. "Right." 

"Damn right." Pressing his forehead to hers, he zeroed in on each of her features twisted in unthinkable pleasure. 

She kept her mouth open to sigh and moan as she saw fit. Her nostrils flared in a rhythm as she tried to force herself to breathe through every peak and valley of the moment. Her brows were knitted, and her eyes closed as if she were too afraid to look at him. He wondered what she was thinking. 

Did she want him inside of her as much as he wanted the same for himself? Was she yearning for more pressure? Could she feel how much he loved her?

"Don't get quiet on me. I want everything. Let 'em hear you. You need more?" 

A quick glance down helped him reposition the vibrator on her already sensitive bud, earning a guttural curse as appreciation for his good deed. 

"Fuck! Don't move. Please don't move." 

Terry obliged for the moment, too entranced by his view of her flower on full display for his viewing pleasure. Glistening. Wet. Beautiful. Appetizing like nothing he'd ever seen before. He pulled the toy away and replaced its presence with his thumb. Slow circles and firm pressure made her want to close her legs to escape the overwhelming stimulation, but her attempt was futile. She was at his mercy. 

"Damn," he whispered to himself, enamored by the way her body reacted to his touch. 

Every revolution around her clit brought with it more wetness at her entrance and indentations in his arms from her nails gripping for dear life. 

It wasn't enough to touch her. He needed to taste. 

Using his middle and ring fingers, he teased his introduction with gentle brushes against her inner lips. She keened for more against his mouth as she held his face close. He granted her wish and pushed into her slowly, immediately feeling her warmth envelop his long digits. 

Their mouths hung open, breaths being traded between the two as he set a slow pace. Not enough to bring forth a release. Just enough for Terry to get what he came for. 

Removing his fingers left him with a coating of clear arousal nearly dripping to his knuckles. Patrice watched him as he smirked at the sight, examining it like a jeweler appraising precious diamonds. 

When he'd seen enough, he put both fingers into his mouth and closed his eyes to savor the taste. Patrice's mouth hung open as if waiting for her turn to experience the wonders of her juices. 

Had she closed her eyes for even a second, she would have missed Terry extending his tongue from his mouth to allow a mixture of his saliva and her essence the chance to slide from his tongue in anticipation of a new host. 

Something profound and hungry within her made her lean her head back and hold her tongue out to receive all that he had to give. It excited her, delighted her, and aroused her like never before.

Like a lewd work of art, spit connected their tongues in what would otherwise be seen as an infraction among more proper circles. But fuckin' wasn't proper, and all forms of affection were welcomed in their home. 

Almost immediately, Terry rushed to reward her with a wild and frenzied kiss that nearly surprised him. 

Primal. Carnal. Intense. Fucking disgusting. He loved every minute of it.

The race was on. Terry kept their lips connected as he returned the vibrator to her clit, dialing up the settings to a level below their max. 

Patrice's moans and his couldn't be distinguished from one another. Her hips bucked wildly. Her fingernails left marks in their wake as they scratched at his arms and back. Her body twitched and seized in anticipation of the inevitable. 

"Oh my - fuck!" Satisfied tears slid from the corners of her eyes and down her cheeks to her man's awaiting lips. "Terrence!" 

Terry remained locked in. A man possessed. A one-track mind focused on nothing other than completing the mission. 

The first stage of her orgasm came without a warning. Heat washed over her as if she'd stepped outside at high noon, making her skin almost unbearable to live in. Her toes curled, her voice caught in her throat despite the intense desire to release a scream from the depths of her soul into the atmosphere. 

She thanked Terry and God in Heaven for blessing her with the opportunity to touch the moon and the stars without ever leaving her home. Terry used his free hand to grip and massage her thighs, knowing that the best was yet to come. 

Patrice's voice began to climb as the main event approached. Shallow breaths gave way to loud gasps for air, which came rapidly while she did the same. She was suspended in a beautiful bliss and already sad about the prospect of coming down. 

Her lover reveled in the opportunity to see her unraveling at the seams. 

"I'll always come back to you, beautiful. No matter what, okay? Look at me." His request earned intense focus from Patrice under hooded eyes. "You're so pretty. Say it back to me. Tell me you're pretty."

"I'm so pretty!" Impending release sent all her words out in one breathless sentence. 

He smiled at her compliance. "I know you're close. Hold my hand."

Her fingers scrambled against the counter, filling the spaces between his fingers and gripping with enough force to turn her knuckles a lighter shade of brown. 

"That's my girl. I love you," was all he could manage before Patrice let out something akin to a squeal, turning his declaration into background fodder. 

Sensitive, overstimulated, and completely spent, the after-effects of her release had her panting to recover. Her ears rang with a heady feeling that could only be compared to a few puffs of homegrown bud. 

Terry held her through it all, propping her up while her body sagged against him for stability. He put aside the vibrator to run his palms up and down her legs while he showered her temple with whispered praises and sweet kisses. 

He waited until her breathing was even before gingerly pressing his forehead to hers. "You good?" 

His smirk was incredibly smug. He was proud of himself, and for good reason. She was open to giving credit where credit was due. 

"You can never leave this house without me again. I hope you're happy." 

"That's the whole point. My granny taught me some things during them summers down in New Orleans, you know?" 

"Oh, so this is some magic shit?" 

"Family business, baby. Gotta have the last name to find out." A playful glint in his eyes and a squeeze to her waist made Patrice's stomach feel butterflies that she thought would never return. Terry tapped her nose with his index finger and stepped back. "Stay put. I'll clean you up." 

Patrice scoffed. Stay put. As if she could go anywhere. As if she wanted to go anywhere.

Like the perfect gentleman, Terry was tender with his care. A warm towel to soothe sore muscles and ensure a thorough cleanup was mandatory. The extra loving was complimentary for only his favorite lady. 

"Stay with me tonight," Patrice requested as he slid her panties back up her legs. 

He shook his head and smiled while prompting her to lift her hips. "I don't know if that's a good idea, Treecey." 

"I just wanna be next to you. Nothing more." 

Terry regarded her doe-eyed plea with a small smile as he helped her off the counter. He pulled her into an embrace, fiending for one more kiss. She obliged happily until he'd had his fill. 

His hands slid from her sides to her ass for a generous squeeze before answering. 

"Okay. Whatever you want. Let me handle something real quick, and then I'll meet you there." 

Patrice accepted her victory with a silly happy dance before turning to make enough room in her bed for an extra person. Terry sent her on her way with a light tap to her ass, amused by how something as simple as sleeping next to each other was exciting for her. 

Once she was safely out of the bathroom with the door shut behind her, he finally found time to take a deep breath and compose himself. The actual test of his strength was in the next room, and he couldn't risk the trust he'd worked so hard to build. 

After adjusting his shorts, he picked up his phone and sat on the toilet lid, hoping that watching dog videos or Nationals highlights would clear his mind.

He had every intention of opening the web browser on his phone until he noticed a series of messages from an old friend.

From: McBride 

You check your mail? 

Trial against chief starts in two weeks. Gonna need you to testify to take him down

Know you said you weren’t coming back

Do it for Mike

---

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @oniccah @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @deja-r

[kisshae]

             BELLYACHE ✶ HUH YUNJIN                

⸻ it's occasional, sometimes i'll see the moon, and i'll think of you.

love isn’t supposed to feel like this—like a knot in your stomach, like something twisting, turning, making it hard to breathe.

&&르세라핌허윤진` ୨ৎ 𝑓. reader✷3795WC𓂃𓈒 angst slight fluff non idol au ─── warnings kissing skinship

you shouldn't be here. not like this. but here you are, standing in the middle of her bridal shower, watching yunjin laugh like the world doesn't already belong to someone else.

the room is buzzing, alive with conversation and clinking glasses, a celebration of love, happiness, of her. and yet, for all the noise, all the warmth, you feel like you're somewhere else entirely—adrift in a sea of white tablecloths and pastel decorations, drowning in something that no one else can see.

she's glowing, surrounded by people who adore her, and you should be one of them.

you are one of them. but it doesn't feel the same. because when they look at yunjin, they see a bride-to-be, a woman on the verge of forever. when you look at her, you see every moment before this one—the late-night phone calls, the way she'd pull you into her side without a second thought, the laughter that always sounded just a little softer when it was meant for you.

she catches your eye from across the room, and for a second, it's like nothing has changed. like she's still your best friend, the girl who swore she'd never get married, who once joked it would be the two of your against the world.

she waves you over, beaming, and you go to her because you always do. because you don't know how to be anything but hers, even if she was never really yours to begin with.

her arms wrap around you, pulling you in close, and she smells like jasmine and vanilla, like familiarity, like something that's slipping through your fingers faster than you can hold onto it.

"you okay?" she asks, her voice quiet in your ear.

you swallow around the lump in your throat, nodding before you even think about it. "of course. why wouldn't I be?"

she smiles, like shes believing you. like she has no idea that you've spent years trying to unlove her, only to fail. and as she turns away, back into the arms of a future that doesn't have room for you, you wonder if you'll ever get used to this feeling—the slow, sinking ache of losing something that was never really yours.

you shouldn't be here, but you are.

watching the girl you love become someone else's. and the worst part is—you don't know how to leave.

maybe it's the way she keeps looking at you, like she expects you to say something, like she needs you to be here. or maybe it's just you, unable to walk away, unable to accept that this is how the story ends.

the night has quieted down, the hum of voices fading as people drift off, lost in their own conversations. but yunjin—she finds you. she always does.

"come outside with me?" she asks, already reaching for your wrist, and you nod because you don't know how to tell her no.

the air outside is cooler than it was earlier, the evening settling in with a quiet kind of ease. yunjin had pulled out here without much of an explanation—just her hand wrapped around your wrists, her touch still light but insistent, dragging you away from the noise, away from the warmth of celebration that wasn't yours to be apart of.

and now, she's sitting beside you on the porch steps, knees pulled up to her chest, the skirt of her dress spilling over the wood like water.

"I still can't believe this is happening," she says, exhaling softly, like the weight of it all is finally catching up to her. "like, it doesn't feel real, you know? one second, we were just kids, and now—" she gestures vaguely, the diamond on her finger catching the porch light. "now i'm getting married."

you nod, because that's what you're supposed to do. agree. smile. pretend your heart isn't lodged somewhere in your throat. yunjin looks so pretty like this, in a kind of way that makes your chest ache. but then again, she always looks pretty. not the way people say it casually, not like an afterthought, but in a way that feels undeniable, inescapable.

it's something you've always known, something you've spent years swallowing down, locking away, because what else were you supposed to do with it? what were you supposed to do with a love that had nowhere to go?

"you're going to be so happy," you say, even though the words taste wrong on your tongue. they sound real enough to her, though, because she smiles, nuding you lightly with her shoulder.

"you think so?"

you nod again, the lie slipping out too easily. "yeah. yeonjun's a lucky guy." you don't mean it, but she doesn't notice. or maybe she does and just doesn't say anything. instead, she slides the ring off her finger, turning it over in her palm before reaching for your hand.

"here, let me see something," she murmurs, slipping it onto your finger. it's loose, not quite the right fit, but it still sits there, cold and unfamiliar against your skin.

yunjin tilts her head, studying it, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "it looks so much prettier on you," she says, almost wistfully. "you should get married someday, too."

you freeze, just for a second, at the weight of her words. you shouldn't react like this. you've been friends forever. she's touched you a million times before—linked pinkies, shared beds, held onto you like you were worth something worth holding onto. but this is different.

it shouldn't be, but it is.

you force a chuckle, shaking your head like it's nothing. like it doesn't make your throat tighten. "married life wouldn't suit me," you say, your voice even, steady. lying comes easy when it's for her sake.

she pouts, nudging your shoulder. "why not?"

you don't answer. because the truth is, it would suit you—if it were her. if it were her standing beside you in some quiet little chapel, slipping a ring onto your finger for real.

but it's not. it never will be.

so instead, you slide the ring off, pressing it back into her palm. "because i'd have to find someone as pretty as you first," you tease, because teasing is easier than telling the truth.

yunjin laughs, shaking her head, tucking the ring back where it belongs. where it was always meant to be.

and as she leans against you, shoulder to shoulder, like she doesn't feel the ache curling inside your chest, you pretend—just for a moment—that this is enough. that it will ever be enough.

the day you've been dreading is here.

the morning of the wedding is too bright, too loud. the sunlight filters through the hotel curtains in soft golden streaks, bathing everything in warmth, and it almost feels cruel. like even the universe is celebrating something you wish wasn't happening.

you sit on the edge of the bed, watching as yunjin twirls in front of the mirror, her wedding dress fanning out around her like something out of a dream.

"how do I look?" she asks, turning to you with a grin, eyes sparkling with something so genuine, so happy, that it makes you want to throw up.

like the most beautiful person i've ever seen.

you swallow the words before they can escape, forcing a smile instead. "perfect," you say, and you think maybe she believes you.

the room is filled with other people—bridesmaids, makeup artists, stylists—all bustling around, adjusting veils and fluffing skirts, but it feels like it's just the two of you. like the world has shrunk down to this moment, to this aching, unbearable moment where she's glowing for someone else.

yunjin moves to sit beside you, her bare shoulder brushing against yours. " I feel like I should be more nervous," she admits, picking at the fabric of her dress. "like, shouldn't I be freaking out?"

you let out a breathy laugh, staring down at your hands. "I mean, it's a big deal," you say. "your whole life is about to change."

"yeah..." she sighs, tilting her head against your shoulder like she's done a million times before. like it doesn't mean something different today. "you'll still be around though, right? things won't change too much?"

the words cut through you like a knife, sharp and unforgiving. because things will change. she'll belong to someone else, not that she's ever belonged to you in the first place. she'll have a home that isn't yours, a life where your just a guest, an afterthought.

"of course," you lie, because what else can you do?

yunjin hums in content, like she believes you. like she doesn't see the way your hands are clenched into fists in your lap.

and then, before you can stop yourself, before you can think better of it, you whisper, "do you love him?"

she pulls away slightly, just enough to look at you. "what?"

you force yourself to meet her gaze, ignoring the way your throat tightens. "yeonjun. do you love him?"

there's a pause. a beat too long, too hesitant, and for the first time, you see something flicker in her expression—uncertainty, maybe, doubt. but then it's gone, replaced by a soft, wistful smile.

"I think so." she says, and it's the think that does you in. because it's not I know. it's not without a doubt.

it's a I think so.

but that's not enough to change anything.

so you nod, offering her the same empty reassurance you've been giving yourself for years. "then that's all that matters."

and as she reaches for your hand, squeezing it in silent gratitude, you can't help but wonder if she'd be standing here in this dress, in this moment, if she had ever looked at you the way you've always looked at her.

the music swells, and the moment you've spent month dreading—years, even—finally arrives.

the ceremony is surreal. the soft hum of the music fills the air, and everything feels too bright, too perfect in a way that makes your stomach turn. you're sitting in the front row, next to the other bridesmaids, your hands tightly folded in your lap as you try to convince yourself that this is where you belong. but it's impossible.

impossible to focus on anything but the way yunjin looks, the way she moves with such grace, her every step so confident as she makes her way down the aisle. and yeonjun is waiting at the altar, his grin wide, proud, but all you can do is stare at the way her dress sways, the glint of her ring in the sunlight.

you want to look away. you want to be anywhere but here, but you can't. your gaze is locked on her, and you wonder—how does she look this beautiful? how can she be so perfect and still marrying someone else?

your chest tightens, but you try to steady yourself, looking down at your hands in your lap, focusing on the feel of the fabric of your dress beneath your fingertips. but the sounds of her heels tapping again the ground is too loud, too clear, and before you know it, you've looked up.

her eyes catch yours in the sea of faces, and for a second, time stops. her smile is soft, bittersweet, like she's holding onto something—someone—but it's fading in her eyes.

it's when yunjin is finally standing up there, face to face with yeonjun, that you see it.

the shift.

a subtle change in her expression, a crack in the perfection she's been radiating. her hands tremble just a little as she reaches for him, and it's there—the moment you see it, the moment you feel it deep in your chest.

she regrets it.

it's a fleeting thought, one you try to push aside because it's stupid, and it's selfish, and you know better than to let hope get in the way of what's happening. but you can't ignore it. you see the way her gaze flickers, the way her lips press together, and something inside you aches, sharp and cruel.

she's standing there, in front of him, but you can see it—the same thing you've seen in her for years. she's not really here anymore.

but you don't say anything. you don't speak, because it could be nothing. you could just be reading her wrong, and you want so badly to believe that's true.

it's her turn to share her vows, and you hold your breath, your heart hammering in your chest in your chest as she takes a small step forward. for the first time since this whole thing started, she looks away from yeonjun, and her head turns slowly, deliberately—her eyes searching for yours.

your heart skips a beat.

and then, she smiles.

it's not the same smile she's been giving yeonjun—the one that's full of promises, of certainty. no. this is different. this smile is for you, just for you, like it always has been. and for one perfect moment, the weight of the worlds lifts off your shoulders, and it feels like everything you've ever wanted is within reach. but before you can even process it, she turns her head back to him, her smile faltering as she begins her vows.

the words don't come out the way yunjin wants them too.

her voice shakes, just slightly, and each syllable feels like it's getting harder for her to say. as if the vows don't sit right with her. as if the words she's speaking are wrong, but she's forcing them out anyway.

you want to scream. you want to run up there and drag her away before she can finish, before she can say anything that will make it permanent. but you don't. you stay seated, quiet, watching the love of your slip further and further out of your reach with every word she says.

and then, the moment you've been dreading arrives—the moment you feared the most. the officiant's voice is steady, calm, asking the question that makes everything real.

"do you, choi yeonjun, take huh yunjin to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"i do." his voice is strong, sure. like he has no doubts.

you do.

you can feel them creeping in, crawling under your skin like something alive.

the officiant turns to yunjin. "and do you, huh yunjin, take choi yeonjun—"

her breath hitches. the room holds still.

silence.

you grip the edges of your dress, nails digging into your palms.

yunjin's hands tremble at her sides. her chest rises and falls, lips parting, closing, parting again. she's frozen. stuck in the space between a life she's chosen and the one she's just now realizing what she wants.

and then, finally, she exhales.

"I...I don't."

a collective gasp echoes through the room, but all you hear is the sound of your own heartbeat.

yeonjun stares at her, stunned, lips parted in shock. the officiant fumbles for words, the guest whisper in hushed confusion—but none of it matters. none of it registers. because yunjin is already moving, stepping away from the altar, away from him, away from the life she almost let slip through her fingers. and without thinking, without hesitating, you're on your feet, following her.

because maybe—just maybe—she's finally found her way back to you.

you find her by the pond.

far away from the ceremony, from the murmurs and whispers, from the life she almost stepped into. she's sitting on the edge of the water, the hem of her dress soaked, floating like a ghost against the surface. the moonlight catches on the tear tracks staining her cheeks, and for a moment, you almost convince yourself to turn around.

but leaving her? that was never an option. not then. not now.

you take a step forward, then another. the grass is damp beneath your shoes, the air thick with the scent of rain that hasn't yet fallen.

"go away."

her voice is raw, barley above a whisper, but it still cuts. sharp, direct. she doesn't turn to look at you, her gaze fixed on her own reflection in the water, like she's trying to find answers in the ripples.

but you don't move.

because you've never been able to walk away from yunjin.

instead, you lower yourself beside her, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin, close enough that you can hear the shaky breaths she's taking. the fabric of her dress pools around you, wet and heavy, but she doesn't care.

for a while, neither of you speak.

then, suddenly, she does.

"I couldn't do it."

her voice cracks, and you don't realize you're holding breath until she keeps going.

"I was standing up there, looking at him, listening to him say all those things—about love, about forever—and I just... I couldn't say it back." she exhales, shaky and uneven, hands gripping at the fabric of her dress like she's trying to ground herself. "I thought I loved him. I wanted to love him. but I didn't. I don't. and the second I realized that, i—"

she lets out a bitter laugh, shaking her head.

"I ruined everything."

you don't know what to say. so you don't say anything.

you just watch her, the way her lips tremble with every breath, the way the moonlight catches on her features, softening the edges of something sharp and broken.

she looks beautiful. she's always looked beautiful.

and maybe it's the way she's finally saying the things you've wanted her to say for so long. maybe it's the way her lips part, the way her breath becomes uneven, the way she looks at you—eyes glossy, searching, like she's trying to figure something out that she should've known all along.

or maybe it's just that you're tired of waiting.

your body moves before you can think. before you can even breathe.

one second, you're sitting there, staring at her. the next, your hands are cupping her face, your lips crashing into hers, and—god. it's everything and nothing all at once.

her lips are soft, warm, the faint taste of peach chapstick lingering between you. you've spent years watching her apply it, that stupid little tube always tucked in her pocket, always leaving behind that barely-there sheen. and now, here you are, finally knowing what it feels to taste it.

yunjin freezes for half a second—just long enough for fear to creep in, for your brain to scream at you that you've made a mistake.

but then, she exhales against your lips. and kisses you back.

and just like that, nothing else matters.

not the soaked dress, not the abandoned wedding, not the fact that this is years too late and somehow still right on time. because right now, there is only this.

her hands gripping at your shoulders, your fingers tangling in the delicate fabric of her dress, the way she tilts her head to deepen the kiss, like she's finally letting herself have what she's been too afraid to want.

and if this is a mistake—if this is something that will break you both apart in the morning—you don't care.

because for once, finally, yunjin is choosing you.

the kiss ends as quickly as it began, but the air between you is thick, charged. yunjin pulls away first, her breath still shaky, her wides wide and wide awake, like she's just woken up from a long dream.

for a moment, neither of you speak.

and then she touches her lips, almost as if she's trying to feel the remnants of what just happened, her fingers brushing the spot where you'd kissed her. you can hear her soft, unsteady breath as she pulls her hand away and stares at you, as if trying to piece together all the shattered parts of her heart.

her voice cracks, low and uncertain, but it's enough to send a jolt straight through your chest. "tell me this wasn't just a moment," she whispers, the words barely leaving her lips, they're heavy.

your heart stops.

you want to lie, you really do. you could tell her it was a mistake. that it was just a moment of weakness, that it meant nothing. that it would be okay, that you'd walk away and pretend nothing happened.

but you can't.

because it wasn't just a moment.

it's been years.

you've been waiting for her, loving her in silence, drowning in your own heartache, and you can't pretend anymore.

you take a deep breath, swallowing the lump in your throat as your eyes meet hers. "no, it wasn't just a moment," you say, the truth spilling from your lips like it's been there all along, waiting for her to hear it. "i've loved you, yunjin. for as long as I can remember. and I know this isn't how it's supposed to be. I know you're supposed to marry him, but..."

you trail off, unsure of what to say, but the look in her eyes—the raw, open disbelief—tells you she's hearing you.

her gaze flickers to the ground for a second, as if she's trying to make sense of everything, but then she meets your eyes again. and in that moment, you see it.

the realization.

"god," she breathes, her voice a whisper full of regret. "I should've known. I've always known, haven't I?"

and just like that, everything shifts. the distance between you two disappears in an instant, and you're not sure if she's going to break down or pull away, but when she steps closer, you think your heart might shatter.

"I was just too scared," she admits, a small, broken laugh escaping her lips. "i've always been scared of what this could be. scared of what we could. but i..."

her words falter again. and just like that, the uncertainty from earlier turns into something more concrete. yunjin takes a step towards you. then another. and before you know it, she's standing right in front of you, her eyes searching yours.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “but I’ve been so blind. and now...”

and now you’re not sure if she’s asking for permission or if she’s just waiting for you to take the next step. but this time, you’re not letting her go.

you take her hands, the ones that tremble slightly in yours.

“I’m here,” you whisper, your voice steady despite the pounding of your heart. “I’ve always been here. and I’ll always be here.”

yunjin's lips curl into a small, uncertain smile, the one she only shows when she’s finally let go of all the walls she’s built around herself. “then maybe we still have time,” she says softly, the weight of the words hanging between you.

and for the first time in your entire life, you allow yourself to believe it.

[starboye]

pairing: nick nelson x male reader

request: I feel like 3rd nick Nelson cheating fic should have you flirting with someone else and he stops them and then takes you away to fuck you or something that involves more nick praising and more riding

warnings: smut, riding, unprotected sex, cheating, small angst throughout

it was a couple days after the whole bathroom incident and for some reason nick couldn't get you out of his mind you plagued every second of his day by invading his thoughts, he couldn't even get off without the thought of you tightly wrapped around him.

so it didn't come as much of a surprise for nick to be scanning every inch of the party waiting for you too eventually show up while still trying to keep a conversation with charlie, he did feel bad knowing that he liked you more than charlie but what was he supposed to do.

you intoxicated him with your body and actions, the way you would ride him so well, tightly wrapped around his dick, oh my god and the way you could make him fall apart with just your hand, it was like you had him in a trance a very very dangerous trance.

"omg finally y/n" tara laughs hugging you as you walk in through the door making nick whip his head around to confirm it's you, once he sees you he immediately walks over "hey y/n" he says as his face lights up, a smile creeping across his face and him blushing slightly "nick" you nod with a half smile before joining everyone else party.

"he just passed me like i wasn't there" nick thinks to himself confused before walking over to the rest of the group and seeing you sneaked off to the side with some random guy, you guys talking and laughing as the music books around you, nick feels his heart start to race and his hands contort into fists "you okay nick" charlie asks "yeah perfect" nick says.

it was a blatant lie it was just nick didn't like seeing you enjoy the company of some random guy and nick knew he sounded a little hypocritical seeing as he was cheating on charlie with you but to him this was different, he didn't like the idea of you being with someone else, the idea of you maybe forgetting him and you not being able to give him what he really wanted; you.

"hey nick wan-" charlie begins but when he turns around nick is nowhere to be found, little did charlie know nick had pulled you away from the guy in the middle of the conversation and took you to a random empty room in the house "what nick" you say folding your arms across your chest but nick doesn't answer he just leans in and kisses you, his hand running up the back of your neck to further deepen the kiss.

you push him off you after struggling to do so for some time due to the intensity of the kiss "I want you" nick desperately says "you're dating charlie" you retort "I don't care I'll break up with him I just want you" nick begs "nick no I'm not worsening the situation more than it already is" you say turning to leave "can you please just ride me one more time then I haven't been able to get off in days" nick pleas.

"if I do this one last time do you promise to leave me alone" you asks with a serious tone, nick nods eagerly and after that you push him onto the bed and pull his pants down to his knees before taking your underwear and pants off, nick admires your lower body as you straddle his lap "don't make this a regular thing pretty boy" you say smearing some saliva one nicks tip, nick nods without even acknowledging what you said.

he only wanted to watch you ride him, you sink down on nicks dick with a small moan and nick smiles at the scene unfolding before his eyes "I can't believe I'm doing this with my best friends boyfriend again" you mutter to yourself "it's not that bad if no one finds out" nick reassures "shut up nick" you say rolling your hips in a circular motion as nick groans die to the pleasure of finally feeling your meaty warm walls tighten around him.

"I needed this a lot" nick groans "yeah you did, I bet you just love this hole huh" you tease bouncing up and down on nicks dick with light plaps "mhm" nick murmurs dropping his head on the bed "you just love fucking me anywhere right" you continue in a soft voice looking at nick the whole time"just imagine what everyone would do if they saw this" you say picking up speed quickly.

"they would be so mad wouldn't they" you say kissing nicks jaw line "yeah" nick shyly murmurs "you're doing so well too" you say placing your hands on his chest to stabilize yourself as you begin riding him erratically, nick moans and whimpers out at the feeling of you tightening and relaxing around him with every move, draining him of both his cum and his dignity "you gonna cum" you ask lightly rubbing his nipples.

"yes yes" nick nods eagerly wanting to fill you up hoping that it would convince you to date him for real and not just fuck him, although he wouldn't mind the occasional fucking part "can I cum in you please" nick begs grabbing your hips "I guess you could, you deserved it" you coo rubbing his chest "thank you" nick lightly moans as he cums, his sounds drowned out by the blasting of the music.

"please I'll leave charlie just please, I want you" nick pleas in a desperate tone "nick I'm not breaking a relationship because you're pussy whipped" you say getting off nick "I promise I never loved charlie anyway I just need you" nick says in a last ditch effort "what" you hear a voice brokenly say, you whip around to see charlie standing at the door with tears running down his cheeks.

(yes I did leave this on a cliff hanger so I could edge you guys for an ending 😏)

[estellan0vella]

Art of the Not-So-Graceful Swoon and Serious Conversations ❀ includes: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Choso, Sukuna, Toji, Megumi, Yuji, Yuta, Toge & Nobara (Requested as SMAU but I did it as a written piece because I didn't think an SMAU was the best way to approach this topic)

CW: DISORDERED EATING MENTIONED

You stand in the middle of the kitchen, feeling dizzy. The room spins slightly, and you grab onto the counter for support. Satoru Gojo, your boyfriend, is sitting at the table, casually munching on some snacks. He looks up and his expression shifts from playful to concerned in an instant.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asks, standing up quickly.

You try to nod, but the movement makes your vision blur. You haven't eaten properly in days. The constant struggle with food has taken its toll, and your body is finally giving in. Before you can respond, your knees buckle, and you collapse.

"Hey! Y/N!" Satoru's voice is filled with panic as he rushes to your side.

The world goes dark for a moment. When you come to, you're lying on the couch, a cool cloth on your forehead. Satoru is kneeling beside you, his eyes wide with worry. He brushes a stray hair out of your face, his touch gentle.

"You scared me," he says softly. "What happened?"

You take a deep breath, feeling weak and embarrassed. "I... I haven't been eating much," you admit, avoiding his gaze.

Satoru's expression shifts from concern to something deeper, a mix of hurt and understanding. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asks, his voice gentle but firm. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

You feel a lump in your throat. "I didn't want to bother you," you mumble. "I thought I could handle it on my own."

He sighs, sitting down next to you. "You don't have to handle everything alone. I'm here for you. Always."

Tears well up in your eyes, and you quickly wipe them away. "It's just... it's hard," you confess. "I struggle with food. Sometimes, it's like my mind just won't let me eat, no matter how much I want to."

Satoru takes your hand, squeezing it gently. "You don't have to fight this battle by yourself," he says softly. "We can figure this out together. But you need to eat, okay? Your health is important to me. You are important to me."

His words hit you hard, and you finally let the tears fall. Satoru pulls you into a gentle hug, holding you as you cry. His presence is comforting, his embrace warm and safe. After a few moments, you pull back, feeling a bit lighter.

"I don't want to be a burden," you whisper.

"You're not a burden," Satoru insists, his eyes meeting yours. "You're my partner. We support each other. That's what a relationship is about."

You nod, feeling a mix of relief and fear. "I'll try," you promise. "But it's going to be hard."

"I know," he says. "But we'll take it one step at a time. Together."

He stands up and heads to the kitchen. You watch as he prepares a simple meal, bringing it over to you. "Here," he says, offering you a small plate. "Just a little bit to start. We can work up from here."

You take the plate, your hands shaking slightly. "Thank you," you say, feeling a warmth spread through your chest.

Satoru smiles, sitting back down beside you. "We'll get through this," he says confidently. "And I'll be right here with you, every step of the way."

You nod, taking a small bite. It's a small victory, but with Satoru by your side, it feels like the beginning of something better. The road ahead is uncertain, but you're not alone. And for now, that's enough.

The room spins around you, the edges of your vision blurring into a hazy fog. You've been pushing yourself too hard, neglecting meals, telling yourself you’ll eat later. But later never comes, and now the toll it's taken on your body is undeniable. Suguru's voice, usually a comforting hum in the background, seems distant and distorted. You can barely make out the words, your mind struggling to keep up.

"Suguru, I…" Your voice trails off, weak and unsteady. You reach out, trying to grasp something, anything to steady yourself, but your fingers find only empty air. The last thing you see before everything goes dark is Suguru's worried face, his eyes widening in alarm as he realizes what's happening.

When you come to, you're lying on the couch, a cool cloth pressed to your forehead. Suguru is kneeling beside you, his hand gently stroking your hair. His expression is a mix of concern and relief as he notices your eyes flutter open.

"You're awake," he says softly, his voice steady but edged with worry. "How are you feeling?"

You try to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forces you to lie back down. "I'm okay," you manage to say, though even you can hear the strain in your voice. "Just… dizzy."

Suguru's brow furrows. "You fainted. Do you know why?" His tone is gentle, but you can sense the underlying worry. He's always been attentive, always noticed when something was off. And you know you can’t hide the truth from him.

"I… I haven't been eating much," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's just been hard lately."

He nods, his expression softening with understanding. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asks quietly. There's no accusation in his voice, only concern. "You know you can talk to me about anything."

"I didn't want to worry you," you confess, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "I thought I could handle it on my own."

Suguru sighs, his hand never stopping its gentle movements through your hair. "You don't have to handle everything by yourself," he says. "I'm here for you, always. Please, don't shut me out."

The sincerity in his words breaks down the last of your defenses, and the tears you've been holding back spill over. "I'm sorry," you whisper, feeling the weight of your struggles crashing down on you. "I just… I didn't know how to talk about it."

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "It's okay," he murmurs. "We'll get through this together. But you need to take care of yourself. Skipping meals isn't the answer."

You nod, wiping at your eyes. "I know. I'll try. It's just… hard."

"I know it is," he says, his voice filled with compassion. "But we'll take it one step at a time. We'll make a plan, and I'll help you stick to it. You're not alone in this."

His words are a balm to your aching heart. For the first time in a long while, you feel a glimmer of hope. With Suguru by your side, maybe you can find a way through this. You take a deep breath, letting the warmth of his presence fill you with a renewed sense of determination.

"Thank you," you say, your voice steadier now. "For being here. For understanding."

Suguru smiles, a soft, reassuring smile that makes you feel like everything might just be okay. "Always," he promises. "We'll face this together."

And with those words, you know that you're not alone. With Suguru's support, you're ready to confront your struggles, one step at a time.

You’re standing in the kitchen with Kento Nanami, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mixing with the aroma of the breakfast he’s prepared. The sight of the food—crispy bacon, scrambled eggs, perfectly toasted bread—makes your stomach churn. It’s been days since you’ve had a proper meal, but the anxiety that knots your insides at the thought of eating is stronger than your hunger.

“Are you alright?” Nanami’s voice is calm, but there’s a hint of concern in his eyes as he sets a plate in front of you. You nod, forcing a smile. The last thing you want is to worry him.

“I’m fine,” you lie, your voice barely above a whisper.

He watches you, his gaze steady and unwavering. You can feel the weight of his worry, but you’re determined not to let it show. You pick up your fork, your hand trembling slightly, and take a small bite. It feels like a rock in your stomach.

“You haven’t been eating much lately,” he says softly, sitting down across from you. “Is something wrong?”

You shake your head, the room starting to spin slightly. “I’m just not very hungry.”

Nanami’s eyes narrow, his expression unreadable. He reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. “You need to take care of yourself,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “Skipping meals isn’t healthy.”

“I know,” you murmur, but even as you speak, your vision blurs. You can feel yourself slipping, the edges of the world fading to black. The last thing you see is the alarm in Nanami’s eyes as he calls your name.

When you come to, you’re lying on the couch, Nanami kneeling beside you. His hand is cool against your forehead, his expression a mix of relief and worry.

“Thank goodness,” he breathes, helping you sit up slowly. “You fainted. When was the last time you ate?”

You look away, shame flooding through you. “I… I don’t remember,” you admit, your voice barely audible.

Nanami’s sigh is heavy with frustration and concern. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his tone softer now. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

Tears well up in your eyes, and you bite your lip, trying to hold them back. “I… I’ve been struggling,” you confess. “With food. It’s hard to explain. I just… I can’t bring myself to eat sometimes. It’s like… this fear, this anxiety, it takes over and I can’t…”

Nanami pulls you into a gentle embrace, his arms strong and reassuring around you. “You don’t have to explain everything right now,” he murmurs. “But you need to know that I’m here for you. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

You nod against his chest, the tears spilling over now. It feels like a weight has been lifted, just admitting the truth. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“I’m always going to worry about you,” he replies, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Because I care about you. We’ll get through this together, alright? But you have to let me help you.”

You take a deep breath, nodding again. “Okay,” you say softly. “I’ll try.”

Nanami smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “That’s all I ask,” he says. “One step at a time.”

You lean into his embrace, feeling a glimmer of hope. It’s not going to be easy, but with Nanami by your side, you know you can face whatever comes next.

You wake up feeling a familiar tightness in your chest, the kind that has been gnawing at you for days now. It's the hunger, or rather, the lack of desire to eat. You drag yourself out of bed, your limbs feeling heavier than usual, and head towards the kitchen where Choso is already busying himself with breakfast.

He looks up and smiles when he sees you, his dark eyes warm with affection. "Morning," he says, flipping a pancake with practiced ease. "I made your favorite."

You force a smile and mumble a greeting, avoiding his gaze. The smell of food wafts through the air, and instead of making you hungry, it churns your stomach with anxiety. You know you should eat, but the thought of putting anything in your mouth makes you feel nauseous.

Choso sets a plate in front of you, pancakes stacked high, syrup glistening. "Eat up," he says cheerfully, sitting across from you with his own plate. You pick up your fork, but the sight of the food blurs as your vision starts to tunnel. Your head feels light, and you can hear your heartbeat in your ears.

"Are you okay?" Choso's voice sounds distant, concerned.

You nod, but it's a lie, and before you can stop it, everything goes black.

When you come to, you're on the floor with Choso's worried face hovering above you. "Hey, hey, stay with me," he says, his voice gentle but firm. "You fainted."

You blink, trying to make sense of what happened. The memory rushes back, and shame floods your system. You struggle to sit up, but Choso's hands on your shoulders keep you steady.

"Easy," he says. "Take it slow."

"I'm sorry," you whisper, feeling tears prick at your eyes.

"Don't apologize," he replies, helping you sit up and then moving to sit beside you on the floor. "But we need to talk about this."

You nod, swallowing hard. "I know."

Choso sighs, his hand reaching out to take yours. "You've been skipping meals, haven't you?"

You don't trust your voice, so you just nod again.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks, his tone gentle but with an edge of frustration. "I could have helped."

"I didn't want to bother you," you admit, looking down at your intertwined hands. "I thought I could handle it on my own."

"You don't have to handle everything alone," he says, squeezing your hand. "Especially not something like this. I love you, and that means I want to help you, even with the hard stuff."

You take a deep breath, the words you've been avoiding finally coming to the surface. "I’ve been struggling with food for a while now. Eating feels like a chore, and sometimes I just… can't."

Choso's eyes soften, and he shifts closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Thank you for telling me," he says quietly. "But we need to make sure you're getting the nutrition you need. Fainting isn't something we can ignore."

"I know," you say, leaning into his embrace. "I want to get better. I just don't know how."

"We'll figure it out together," he promises. "Maybe we can see a nutritionist or a therapist, someone who specializes in this. But for now, let's start small. Can you try to eat something? Just a little?"

You nod, feeling a flicker of hope. "Okay. I'll try."

Choso smiles and helps you to your feet, leading you back to the table. The pancakes are still there, a little cold but still inviting. He cuts a small piece and hands you the fork. You take it, feeling a bit more steady with him by your side.

As you take your first bite, Choso watches you with a mix of concern and pride. "We'll take it one step at a time," he says. "I'm here with you, always."

You nod, chewing slowly, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe, just maybe, things will get better. With Choso by your side, you know you won't have to face this struggle alone.

The room spins as you clutch the edge of the counter, your vision blurring and darkening at the edges. Your head feels light, and your stomach clenches painfully, reminding you of the meals you’ve skipped over the past few days. Sukuna's voice is distant, an echo in the back of your mind, as you try to focus on his face, but your body betrays you. The last thing you see before everything goes black is his eyes widening in surprise.

When you come to, you’re on the couch, a cool cloth on your forehead and Sukuna’s face hovering above you, etched with uncharacteristic concern. His crimson eyes narrow as he sees you stir.

“You fainted,” he says flatly, though you detect a hint of worry beneath his usual gruffness. “What the hell happened?”

You try to sit up, but Sukuna’s large hand gently presses you back down. “Take it easy,” he commands. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”

You close your eyes, a wave of shame washing over you. You’ve been struggling with food, your relationship with it complicated and fraught with anxiety. But admitting this to Sukuna, of all people, feels impossible. You don’t want him to see you as weak.

“I… I haven’t been eating much,” you finally whisper, your voice barely audible. “It’s been hard.”

He’s silent for a moment, and you dare to open your eyes, expecting to see disappointment or anger. Instead, his expression is unreadable, a mix of frustration and something softer that you can’t quite name.

“Why?” His tone is demanding, but there’s a gentleness there too, hidden beneath the surface. “Why aren’t you eating?”

“It’s complicated,” you say, turning your face away. “I just… I can’t. Sometimes, it feels easier not to eat at all.”

Sukuna’s fingers tighten around yours, not painfully, but with a firmness that grounds you. “You need to eat,” he states, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Your body needs food. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

You know he’s right, but the fear and anxiety that grip you make it hard to accept his words. “It’s not that simple,” you protest weakly. “It’s a struggle every day. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Try me,” he says, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “I might surprise you.”

You take a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “It’s like… there’s this voice in my head, telling me I’m not good enough, that I don’t deserve to eat. And when I do eat, I feel guilty. It’s a vicious cycle.”

Sukuna’s eyes darken with a mix of anger and sadness. “Whoever put those thoughts in your head is an idiot,” he says bluntly. “You’re more than good enough. And you deserve to take care of yourself.”

He pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you in an awkward but comforting embrace. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he murmurs. “I’m here. We’ll figure it out together.”

You feel a tear slip down your cheek, and for once, you don’t try to hide it. Sukuna’s words, rough around the edges but sincere, start to chip away at the walls you’ve built around yourself. Maybe, just maybe, with him by your side, you can find a way to heal.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “For being here.”

“Always,” he replies, and you know he means it. In his own way, Sukuna is offering you a lifeline, and for the first time in a long while, you feel a glimmer of hope.

You find yourself sitting on the edge of the bed, your vision swimming slightly. The room around you feels oddly tilted, and you blink rapidly, trying to clear the haze. Toji notices something is off immediately. His sharp eyes, always so perceptive, narrow with concern.

"Hey," he says softly, crossing the room in a few long strides. "You alright?"

You force a smile, nodding even though your head feels like it's filled with cotton. "Yeah, just... a bit dizzy, that's all."

He kneels in front of you, his large hands cupping your face gently. The warmth of his touch is reassuring, but it also makes you acutely aware of how cold and clammy your own skin feels. "When was the last time you ate?" His voice is firm, but there's a layer of worry that he can't quite hide.

You avoid his gaze, your eyes drifting to the floor. "I... I don't remember," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Toji's frown deepens. He stands up abruptly, heading towards the kitchen. "Stay here," he orders, though there's no real harshness in his tone. You hear him rummaging through the cupboards, the clatter of dishes and the sound of running water.

You try to stand up, but the world spins violently and your knees buckle. Darkness creeps in at the edges of your vision, and you barely register the sensation of falling before everything goes black.

When you come to, you're lying on the couch, a damp cloth on your forehead and Toji sitting beside you, his expression a mix of anger and fear. "What the hell were you thinking?" he growls, though his hands are gentle as they brush a strand of hair from your face.

"I'm sorry," you mumble, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. "I didn't mean to..."

"Didn't mean to what?" he interrupts, his voice rising. "Didn't mean to scare the hell out of me? Didn't mean to starve yourself until you passed out?" He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "You need to eat, okay? You can't keep doing this."

You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat. "I know. It's just... hard."

Toji's expression softens. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I get that," he says quietly. "But you have to try. For me. For yourself."

He reaches over to the coffee table, grabbing a bowl of soup he must have prepared while you were unconscious. "Here," he says, handing it to you. "Start with this."

Your hands tremble slightly as you take the bowl. Toji watches you, his gaze intense but filled with a deep, unwavering concern. "You're not alone in this," he reminds you. "I'm here. We'll get through it together."

You take a tentative sip of the soup, the warmth spreading through your body. It's comforting, not just the food, but his presence, his support. You meet his eyes, seeing the determination there, and it gives you strength.

"Thank you," you whisper, your voice breaking.

Toji shakes his head. "Don't thank me," he says firmly. "Just promise me you'll try. Promise me you'll let me help."

You nod again, this time with more conviction. "I promise."

He smiles, a rare, genuine smile that lights up his face. "Good," he says, wrapping an arm around you. "We'll take it one step at a time. Together."

You lean into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart, and for the first time in a long time, you feel a flicker of hope. With Toji by your side, you know you can face this battle. One day, one meal at a time.

The room spins as you struggle to focus on Megumi's voice. He's talking about something—you're not quite sure what—his words blending into a distant hum. You nod, hoping it's the right response. Your stomach twists uncomfortably, not out of hunger but from the anxiety that has been gnawing at you for days. You haven't eaten much; the thought of food makes your throat tighten.

Megumi glances at you, his expression softening with concern. "Are you okay? You look a little pale."

"I'm fine," you manage to say, but the words feel heavy, forced.

The next moment, the world tilts, and you feel yourself falling. Megumi's eyes widen, and he lunges forward to catch you just as darkness overtakes your vision.

When you come to, you're lying on the couch, a cool cloth on your forehead. Megumi is sitting beside you, his brows furrowed in worry. His hand is warm against yours, grounding you in reality.

"Hey," he says softly, "take it easy."

You blink, trying to shake off the fog in your mind. "What happened?"

"You fainted," he replies, his tone gentle but firm. "I think you haven't been eating enough."

Your heart sinks. You've been careful, trying to hide your struggles, but it seems you weren't as successful as you'd hoped. You look away, unable to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Megumi squeezes your hand, his grip reassuring. "You don't have to apologize. I'm just worried about you."

You take a deep breath, the weight of his concern pressing down on you. "It's just... hard sometimes. Eating, I mean. It feels like... like too much."

He nods slowly, his gaze never leaving your face. "I get that. Everyone has their battles. But you don't have to go through this alone."

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "I didn't want to burden you."

"You're not a burden," he says firmly. "I care about you. If something's wrong, I want to help."

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. "It's been tough lately. I don't know why, but the thought of eating just makes me anxious."

Megumi's expression softens even more. "It's okay to feel like that. But we need to find a way to get through this together. Have you talked to anyone about it?"

You shake your head, a fresh wave of shame washing over you. "No. I was too scared."

"Then let's start now," he suggests. "We can look for a therapist, someone who can help. And in the meantime, I'll be here for you. We can figure out small steps to make it easier."

His words offer a glimmer of hope, a promise that you're not alone in this fight. You nod, feeling a bit more grounded, a bit more hopeful. "Okay. That sounds good."

Megumi smiles, a rare sight that warms your heart. "We'll take it one day at a time. And remember, you can always talk to me. No matter what."

You squeeze his hand back, grateful for his support. "Thank you, Megumi. Really."

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "We'll get through this. Together."

As you lie back, his hand still holding yours, you feel a sense of relief. It's not going to be easy, but with Megumi by your side, you're ready to face the challenges ahead.

You’re walking beside Yuji, your boyfriend, through the bustling streets of Tokyo. The sun is high, casting a warm glow over the city, but you feel cold and lightheaded. It's been days since you've had a proper meal, your struggle with food overshadowing even the most basic of needs. Yuji, ever cheerful and kind, chatters about his day, but his voice seems distant, like it's coming from underwater.

You try to focus on his words, on the excitement in his voice, but your vision blurs. You tell yourself you’re fine, that you just need to push through it. But your body disagrees. Suddenly, the ground seems to rise up to meet you, and darkness swallows you whole.

When you come to, you’re lying on a bench, Yuji’s concerned face hovering above yours. His usually bright eyes are clouded with worry. "Hey, hey! Are you okay?" His voice is frantic, a stark contrast to his usual calm demeanor. You can see the panic etched in every line of his face, and it breaks your heart.

“I… I think so,” you manage to croak out, though you don’t feel okay at all. Your limbs are weak, and your head feels like it's stuffed with cotton. Yuji helps you sit up, his hand steady on your back.

“What happened? You just collapsed,” he says, his voice softer now but still edged with concern.

You hesitate, looking down at your hands. How do you explain this? The guilt, the shame, the constant battle with your own body? “I… I haven’t been eating much lately,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Yuji’s eyes widen in shock. “Why? Why haven’t you been eating?” His tone is gentle, but you can hear the underlying worry.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “It’s… it’s hard to explain. I’ve been struggling with food for a while. Sometimes it just feels easier to not eat at all.”

Yuji is silent for a moment, processing your words. Then, he reaches out, taking your hand in his. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this,” he says softly. “But you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here for you.”

His words are like a balm to your aching heart. You’ve been carrying this burden alone for so long, it almost feels strange to have someone else share it. “I didn’t want to worry you,” you confess, tears welling up in your eyes.

Yuji shakes his head, squeezing your hand gently. “You don’t have to protect me from this. I want to help you, but I need you to let me in. We’ll figure this out together, okay?”

You nod, the tears spilling over. “Okay,” you whisper. “Thank you, Yuji.”

He smiles, that bright, reassuring smile that you love so much. “Let’s go get something to eat, then. Just a little, if that’s all you can manage. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

You nod again, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. With Yuji by your side, the battle doesn’t seem so daunting. Together, you can face this. Together, you can find a way through.

As you walk towards a nearby café, Yuji keeps a protective arm around you. It’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel safe, grounded. You know this is just the beginning, that there will be many more challenges ahead. But for the first time in a long while, you feel hopeful. With Yuji beside you, anything feels possible.

The day begins with a subtle sense of unease that you can't quite shake off. Yuta notices, of course—he always does. His concern is evident in the way he hovers around you, a gentle presence that never feels overbearing but always attentive. You've been struggling with food for a while now, and although you try to keep it hidden, Yuta's perceptive nature makes it impossible to completely disguise the toll it's taking on you.

By midday, the dizziness starts to creep in. You ignore it, pushing through the fog in your mind and the weakness in your limbs. Yuta suggests lunch, his voice hopeful and encouraging, but you shake your head, offering a weak smile. "I'm not really hungry," you lie, trying to convince both him and yourself. He doesn't push, respecting your boundaries, yet his eyes betray his worry.

Afternoon comes, and the world starts to blur at the edges. You're sitting on the couch, trying to focus on a book, but the words swim on the page. Yuta is nearby, engrossed in some task, but you can feel his occasional glances, each one a silent check-in. You stand up, intending to get a glass of water, but the room tilts violently. Your vision darkens, and before you can call out, your knees buckle.

The next thing you know, you're lying on the floor, Yuta's frantic voice calling your name. His hands are gentle but firm as he helps you sit up, his face pale with fear. "Hey, hey, look at me," he says, his voice steady despite the panic in his eyes. "Are you okay? What happened?"

You blink, trying to clear the haze from your mind. "I... I don't know," you stammer, though you both know it's not entirely true. The truth is, you've been skipping meals, pushing yourself too hard, and now your body is paying the price.

Yuta's expression softens, a mix of relief and concern. He helps you to the couch, making sure you're comfortable before he speaks again. "You haven't been eating," he says quietly, not an accusation but a simple, painful truth. "I can tell. And now this... It's serious."

Tears prick at your eyes, shame and guilt welling up. "I'm sorry," you whisper, unable to meet his gaze. "I just... It's hard. I don't want to worry you, but—"

"But I am worried," Yuta interrupts gently. He takes your hand, his grip warm and reassuring. "I love you, and I hate seeing you hurt yourself like this. You don't have to go through this alone."

His words break through the wall you've built around yourself, and the tears start to fall. Yuta pulls you into a hug, holding you tightly as you sob into his shoulder. "It's okay," he murmurs, his voice soothing. "We'll figure this out together. We'll get through it."

You nod, the weight of his words a small comfort amidst the storm of your emotions. It's not going to be easy, and you know the road ahead is long and filled with challenges. But with Yuta by your side, his unwavering support and love, you start to believe that maybe, just maybe, you can overcome this.

As you sit there, wrapped in his embrace, you feel a flicker of hope. It's fragile, like a candle in the wind, but it's there. And for now, that's enough.

You're walking down the busy street with Toge Inumaki, your boyfriend, as the sun begins to set. The air is filled with the sounds of chatter and the distant hum of traffic. Toge is by your side, his presence a comforting constant. His unique way of speaking in rice ball ingredients has always been something you've found endearing, a quirk that makes him special.

But today, something feels different. You haven't eaten properly in days, struggling with your relationship with food. The world around you starts to blur, and you feel a wave of dizziness wash over you. You try to steady yourself, but your vision goes black, and you collapse.

When you come to, you're lying on the pavement, Toge's worried face hovering above you. His usually calm eyes are filled with concern, and he's holding your hand tightly.

"Salmon," he says, his voice shaky.

You try to sit up, but he gently pushes you back down. "Tuna mayo," he continues, his words conveying a depth of worry.

"I'm okay," you manage to croak out, but the weakness in your voice betrays you. The truth is, you're not okay. You haven't been for a while now.

Toge helps you sit up slowly, his arm supporting your back. "Kelp," he says softly, pointing to a nearby bench. You nod, and he helps you over to it. You sit down, feeling the world still spinning slightly.

He sits next to you, his hand never leaving yours. The silence between you is heavy, filled with unspoken words. You know you need to explain, but you're not sure where to start.

"Toge, I... I haven't been eating," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. His grip on your hand tightens, and you see the pain in his eyes.

"Mustard leaf?" he asks, his tone a mix of confusion and concern.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. "I've been struggling with food. It's been hard for me to eat. I didn't want to worry you."

He looks at you, his expression softening but still filled with worry. "Salmon," he says, a hint of frustration in his voice. He cups your face with his hand, his thumb gently brushing your cheek.

"I know," you whisper, tears starting to well up in your eyes. "I'm sorry, Toge. I didn't mean for it to get this bad."

"Tuna," he says, shaking his head. He pulls you into a hug, his embrace warm and reassuring. You cling to him, feeling the weight of your struggles lifting just a bit.

After a few moments, he pulls back slightly, looking into your eyes. "Bonito flakes?" he asks, his tone gentle but firm.

You nod, understanding what he's asking. "I need help. I know that now. I can't do this alone."

He smiles, a small but genuine smile that reaches his eyes. "Kombu," he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. It's his way of telling you that he's here for you, that he'll support you through this.

You lean into him, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. It's going to be a long journey, but with Toge by your side, you feel a glimmer of hope. You know that you're not alone, and that makes all the difference.

As you sit together on the bench, the world around you starts to feel a little less overwhelming. Toge's presence is a reminder that you have someone who cares deeply for you, someone who will help you find your way back to a healthier place. And for the first time in a long while, you believe that you can do it.

Extra Addition: Nobara Kugisaki

The world around you starts to blur as you sway on your feet, a wave of dizziness crashing over you. Your stomach has been a hollow pit for hours, gnawing at you with a persistent ache you’ve grown accustomed to ignoring. You’ve managed to keep your struggles with food hidden from Nobara, convincing yourself that you can handle it. But now, as you stand in the middle of her living room, the edges of your vision darken, and you know you’re about to faint.

“Hey, are you okay?” Nobara’s voice cuts through the haze, sharp with concern. You try to respond, but your knees buckle, and the floor rushes up to meet you.

The next thing you know, you’re lying on the couch, Nobara’s frantic face hovering above you. Her hands are trembling as she pats your cheeks, her eyes wide with panic.

“Wake up! Come on, open your eyes!” she demands, her voice shaking. “What the hell happened?”

You blink up at her, the room slowly coming back into focus. “I’m... I’m okay,” you croak, though your voice is weak and unconvincing.

“Okay? You call that okay? You just collapsed!” Nobara’s face is a mix of anger and worry, her usual confident demeanor replaced by raw fear. “You scared the hell out of me!”

You try to sit up, but Nobara gently pushes you back down. “No, stay there. You’re not moving until you tell me what’s going on.”

There’s no escaping it now. You take a deep breath, your throat tight. “I haven’t been eating much lately,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been... struggling with food.”

Nobara’s eyes widen even more, if that’s possible. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice is high-pitched, almost shrill with worry. “I could have helped! We could have figured something out together!”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you mumble, feeling the weight of your secret lifting but replaced by a different kind of heaviness — guilt.

“Bother me? Are you kidding?” Nobara’s hands are still trembling as she cups your face, her eyes searching yours. “You’re not a bother. You’re my partner. We’re supposed to look out for each other.”

You see tears welling up in her eyes, and it breaks your heart. Nobara, who always seems so strong and unshakable, is crumbling in front of you. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, reaching up to wipe away a tear that escapes down her cheek.

She sniffles, trying to compose herself. “Don’t be sorry. Just... don’t hide things from me, okay? We’re a team.” Her voice is softer now, the panic giving way to determination. “We’ll figure this out together.”

You nod, feeling a strange mix of relief and shame. “Okay. Together.”

Nobara takes a deep breath, visibly trying to calm herself. “First things first. You need to eat. I’m making you something, and you’re going to eat it, even if I have to feed you myself.”

You can’t help but smile at her intensity. “Yes, ma’am.”

She gives you a shaky smile in return, brushing her fingers through your hair. “And we’re going to talk about this, really talk about it. We’ll get you whatever help you need. But you’re not going through this alone, got it?”

“Got it,” you reply, feeling a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the blanket she tucks around you.

Nobara stands up, a new determination in her step as she heads to the kitchen. “Just stay there and rest. I’ll be right back.”

As you lie there, waiting for her to return, you feel a sense of hope you haven’t felt in a long time. Nobara’s reaction, her over-the-top panic and fierce protectiveness, shows just how much she cares. And for the first time, you believe that maybe, just maybe, you can overcome this with her by your side.

[shipmansflannels]

"who asked first" with the yellowjackets

yay! I'm back! the decision to open a new blog just for yellowjackets wasn't easy at all, but since it's been a year since this obsession has barely gone away and I already had an extremely confusing blog with layouts and the like, I wanted to start over with this one. hope you like it. I'll make a very simple and small prompt first, and then I'll make the masterlist and the oneshots/fanfics. stay tuned! sorry for any grammatical or coherence errors, english is not my first language and I'm trying to improve!

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who asked first with the yellowjackets girls...

jackie taylor.

well, if we're going to be honest here, you definitely asked first.

of course, jackie had already been rehearsing for weeks how he would ask you out. but she's obviously a girlfaillure, so you definitely asked first.

it was probably when she least expected it. it could be at soccer practice, or when you were coming home from school together and you had the audacity to ask her to go out with her to some hypothetical and boring place in the middle of the street… whatever.

all I know is that this little loser was eager for you to ask, and she definitely rolled out the classic, "took you too long…"

shauna shipman.

again, you asked first.

shauna doesn't have the social tact to ask you out (she's just like me), and drunk is even worse, so you actually had to make the first move most of the time.

just like jackie, it could have been when she was at soccer practice, or when she was alone enough to vent to her journal and you were able to get close to her without scaring her. anyway, the thing is, shauna was already secretly expecting this to happen (a lot of her journal pages were about you btw), so it wasn't a surprise either when you asked her out.

despite everything, you didn't have any difficulties on your first date. she's pleasant company, I suppose.

natalie scatorccio.

one of the rare exceptions where she asked first.

okay, don't be fooled, either. natalie is very cocky from time to time, but asking to go out with you is definitely one of the times she tends to weaken. so, kevyn probably dared her to do it and she just took advantage of her cooler personality to use it on you.

but that doesn't mean it's a bad thing. in fact, it's kind of a good thing (and probably depressing for her) because she only felt like herself when she asked you. I see in nat a huge tendency to ignore some of her feelings, especially when it comes to people she likes.

the invitation was probably also full of teasing on her part, from body language to the words used for it. and somehow she made it look cool and convinced you to accept it.

things that only natalie scatorccio could do.

lottie matthews.

for some reason, I'm 100% sure you asked first.

I know many of us think of lottie as a completely carefree, liberal and often bitchy enough person to ask someone out on a date. but, if we count the pre-crash, I think she was a very insecure person and uncertain of her feelings, more due to the influence of the pills.

so, as incredible as it sounds, you asked first. it was in an extremely relaxed conversation between you that the invitation ended up unintentionally, and she was visibly panicked when she agreed.

lottie is probably the type of person who has a rehearsed speech in front of the mirror while getting ready, and with her enviable style and expensive clothes (some stolen), she would do anything to make your date the perfect date.

taissa turner.

she asked first.

taissa is confident enough to ask you out, I have no doubt about that. but she definitely spent weeks planning the perfect invitation, just in case everything went wrong and she needed to run (just like what happened when she thought about breaking allie's leg before nationals).

anyway, taissa would certainly ask first and it would be quite a surprise for you. taking into account that, from the moment you accepted, you would discover that van also knew about her friend's ideas, and later that half of the team also knew. it would be a shock because you wouldn't understand tai's intentions at first.

but none of them are necessarily bad. one, is that tai was really excited if you accepted, and her anxiety couldn't stop her from wanting to tell the world. two, because she was overly excited that you had agreed to go out with her, and wanted the world to know it as well.

van palmer.

as much as I would really like to prove otherwise, you asked first.

van has the same problem as lottie, but in her case, it's excessively because of the sarcasm jokes and high charisma. she thinks she's being too much for you and that asking for something like that on this level would end up scaring you away.

in the end, it's totally the opposite, but it's going to take van a long time to figure that out, specifically. the invitation would happen when she least expected it, probably when you were feeling confident enough to pass notes to her during classes.

it's a cute invitation, and one that van would hold in question for a long, long time.

misty quigley.

there would be no other answer. she asked first.

misty has no shame in admitting that she has a crush on you. and of course, to ask you out on a date, this shame decreases even more. she doesn't even care if she will be made fun of by her colleagues, what really matters is that she planned everything for you to accept.

and when I say everything, it really means everything.

from the moment she will slide up to your table and quietly ask if you accept, to the tone of voice she will use to persuade your brain to accept, to the place she will take you hand in hand and then let it slide. … she literally thought of every detail.

and, well, knowing misty quigley's ability to create plans, the whole thing worked out… until you figured it all out and admitted that you liked it even more, much to her surprise.

laura lee.

you asked first, of course. there would be no other answer either.

of course, not ruling out the possibility of laura lee asking first, given her hidden impulsive personality, but, in this case, taking the obviousness into account, you asked, and had to be careful with every line said in the invitation.

of course, it needed to be at a time when you were alone, because you were afraid that pressure from other people would make you feel suffocated. this, of course, did not happen. she thought it was a classic weekend outing, like you guys usually did, until she realized your real intentions.

and, truly, at no point did it make her feel restrained or scared. she was ready to be vulnerable and be herself around you, no matter what.

(but, if you casually ask lottie at some point, she will definitely claim that she saw laura lee rehearsing some speeches and compliments for you in the locker room mirror…)

[strrykais]

control alt + love

36. ANVK's princess wc: 1656

you sat playing with the hem of your skirt, eyes never leaving the screen. you did not want to admit but watching heeseung play was making you nervous. he knew your moves, of course he did, he taught you everything you know. you almost mimicked his moves in your gameplay and you were scared that would be your downfall. you watched as the game came to an end, as gxxn destroyed the other team's base. 

you feel hands on your shoulders, and glancing above you see seungmin nodding for you to come meet the team. he waits for you to walk around the table following after you as you both make your way to the team huddle.

“well, team we finally made it, to the competition we've been training in this season. zb1 is a newer developing team but don’t discredit them, they are here for a reason. we studied their movement and then we studied their dynamics. then did it once more for fun. if we keep to the game plan we have, we can win.” chan goes on pulling out a board of the map and going over the game plan. 

you didn’t realize you were zoning out, till seungmin started rubbing your back, trying to get you to calm down. he gives you a small smile, you let out a breath going back to listening to chan.

“anything you wish to say, captain.” 

“i trust you guys. don’t let me down,” he says, clapping a hand on jeongin’s shoulder and then walking towards the door. “let's go, they are waiting for us.” 

“some speech,” jeongin says, following suit. you follow after them nerves getting the best of you. rushing up to catch up to seungmin, pulling on his arm. 

“i have to use the bathroom. do i have time?” you hear laughing reach around you as the guys continue ahead. 

seugnmin reaches out patting your head, “yeah but hurry you remember where to go right.” 

“yep. i'll be back quick.” you reach up planting a quick kiss on his lips rushing off to the nearest bathroom. 

seungmin was starting to worry about how long you were taking. glancing back at the tunnel waiting for you to walk through it. 

“do you think she’s okay?” 

“seungmin dude, it's only been 5 minutes. you should know by now how long girls take to use the bathroom.” changbin says, stretching his arms. 

“i guess you are right; it's just that there are a bunch of men here, and she's only a li—” seungmin is interrupted by the sound of your rushed footsteps echoing. when you reach them, your hands fall to your knees, and you try to catch your breath. 

“where have you been, young lady? we have been worried sick. and by ‘we’, i mean seungmin.” changbin rolls his eyes as he watches seungmin kneel, looking up at you to ensure you are okay.

“uh, yeah i'm okay. long line.” you rush out before seungmin can question why there would be a line as you were the only girl player here. 

“let’s give it up for anvk!” the announcer calls out, changbin leads the line followed by, minho, jisung, jeongin, seungmin then you. the bright lights blinded you as you walked out from under the tunnel. your ears ring with the loud cheers of the fans. you continue to walk down the path, seeing signs with your name. you make eye contact with a group of girls, who squeal when you give them a wave.

you take your spot in the middle, to your left is seungmin, and to your right is jisung. you and jisung share a look only for him to reach out and shove your head away. you giggle placing the headset on. hearing the guys on the other side.

“who would have thought anvk’s princess would have so many fans?” minho said looking out above the console and reading the signs ahead.

“right? changbin you must be so proud.” you spoke into the mic, as you watched the home screen light to life, on the takken game.

“i knew you guys thought i was the princess. thank you.” he says batting his eyelashes at you guys on his right.

before you guys could continue your conversation, the announcer stops you guys, “hello and welcome to the second game of the 2024 takken arena championships, i’m kim jongin and this is my co-host byun baekhyun. we will be with you today for the remaining games. mr. byun would you like to say something.” jongin looks over at baekhyun.

“i’m excited for this match-up! zb1 is a newer group and to be able to make it to the championships is remarkable in itself. and as for anvk, we already know that their midsolo is a girl. that's all anyone can talk about.” 

“yes but that girl is extremely talented, she's quite impressive, watching her play always leaves me wanting more.” jongin says laughing into the mic.

“careful, that girl is dating the kim seungmin, leader of anvk and the top player of takken. so you better pay nice, mr. kim.

as the announcers continued to laugh giving the latest updates and stats about both sides, both teams were picking players and the match was off.

“it's coming down to the last tower before anvk completely takes over zb1s tower. this was fairly a quick game. it seems anvk is taking a very aggressive approach.” baekhyun says going over some points.

“what i think is fascinating is that usually the midsolo or top lane holds the position of power but this time they put all their power in the bottom lane almost like they are trying to subdue zb1s hanbin. and if i am being frank it's a smart move.” 

“oh shit, i mean crap i can't curse but anvk has reached zb1s tower and is on their way to taking the game! this was an amazing gameplay that anvk has portrayed and it makes me wonder what other tricks they have up their sleeves.” jongin looks down to watch as anvk gets up to shake hands with zb1 and go to the front and wave out to the crowd.

“well this will take us to miss cho miyeon with exclusive interviews with team anvk. this has been kim jongin and..”

“byun baekhyun.” 

“and we will see you for the next game of atzz vs epex!” 

jeongin rushed out of the line stating he had to shit, and during the whole game, he had to shit. it was one of the reasons y’all had to push so aggressively because he was gonna shit his pants. you laugh as he rushes out ahead of you as seungmin makes his way to the interview center.

“im taking over for the kid, ill be in the room after and we can watch the svt game down in the player section okay?” he tells you as you nod your head. “grab something to snack on as well, we won't be able to eat till after we play bnd.” he plants a kiss on your temple then goes down to capture your lips in his. 

you both separate as you make your way to your dressing room. when you open the door, you notice there are way more people in there than your team. all heads turn to you as you see your friends from back home. “great job kicking butt baby.” julie says rushing up to give her a hug followed by yunjin and yuna. you all laugh and chat over each other mostly about how cool you looked playing and then going down to when they got in. 

“wait where’s hyunjin?” you say looking around to see he wasn’t in there.

“he said he was going to the bathroom,” yuna says shrugging her shoulders. 

“he has been out for a while, did he fall in?” julie says. “ill go look for him.”

“oh me too,” you say following her out, grabbing onto her hand and leaning into her. “i missed you guys. this way if i remember correctly” you lead her toward the bathroom just as dk walks out. 

“yo y/n hey! woah who is that?” he says rushing up to you both taking in julie. he extends a hand “im dk.” 

“and im not interested.” 

you watch as dk rolls his eyes turning his head back to you “are you gonna watch us?” he gives you his best puppy eyes. you laugh nodding your head.

“yeah, we are after this, was there anyone else in there?” 

“nope just me, which is surprising.”

“was jeongin not in there either?” you ask starting to get worried that he has been gone for a while now.

“nope like i said nobody was in there.” you give him a smile murmuring thanks, before separating. 

“lets try the second floor, the stairs are this way.” you pull julie to the stairs, and as you push open, you see two guys in the corner of the stairwell, when they hear the door open they pull apart turning to face you both. 

“hyunjin?” julie says mouth agape. 

“jeongin? were you guys kissing?” you shout out your face pulling the same expression as julies. you didn’t even wait for an answer as you turned around heading back to the room. you could hear the sound of julie laughing and the embarrassed tone of hyunjin. you also ignored the calls of your name continuing not bothering to respond. 

seungmin was walking to the door at the same time as he saw you followed by a worried-looking jeongin. you quickly wrapped your arms around him hiding your face in the crook of his neck, as seungmin watches jeongin look like he has a tail between his legs. and before he could ask what was wrong he saw a red-looking hyunjin followed by julie who was making kissing noises at him. he put the pieces together.

previous | masterlist | next

authors note: i fear yall do NAWT want to know how many chapters are left...

tags: @onlyhyunjin @chenlesfavorite @hippopotamusdreamer @vegetablesarefuntables @soondoongdoriii @jeonginplsholdmyhand @nappynapnaps @sincerely-sun @staytinyluv @kimseungminpabo @seungzsmin @sweetasmarie @hinanitiram @tricky-ritz @ayyonoona @hanniemylovelyquokka @toplinehyunjin @missystay @binniesbabe @tirena1 @jihoons-kitten @skz-ot8-stay @darlingz99 @khandzilla @icouldntcareless22 @rihaee @thatshroomiegirl @sillyhal @livixcore @dazzlingjade @h0rnyp0t @drewsandsebastianswife @jabmastersupriseee @flaminghotyourmom @velvetmoonlght @mihoonz @jazziwritesthings @thisrandombitch @vixensss @galbiirocher @skzstannie @babrieeee @ladybeautiful18 @hyeon-yi @lknosemole @night-storm7 @spearbinnie0327 @goldenmellow @jisungs-iced-americano @charlieg1rl @skysole @seungminsteddybear @sskzlover @abbiestearsricochet @isaenme @dreamerwasfound @ihrtlix

[writersdiscouragment-blog]

"You're an idiot."

"Hello to you too, Ryan." Oliver grumbled while making a pot of coffee. It was still early, barely 7 and he hardly gotten any sleep. The plan was to sleep in since call time wasn't till the next day, but Oliver wasn't used to sleeping past 6 during weekdays.

"I saw your interview. Bro, you need to be careful. You and Lou already have fans thinking you're a couple for real."

Oliver rolled his eyes. It was a fair warning, although he was used to fans thinking he and Ryan were a couple. In comparison, the tweets about him and Lou were a drop in the ocean.

"Considering I still have psychotic fans dm-ing me about cheating on you even before the interview, I don't think there's much I can do right or wrong at this point." Oliver pointed out, he busied himself by letting Jade and Bear out to the backyard.

He heard Ryan let out a gruff sigh, "Look, I know you're doing this social media block or whatever, but now they're scouting out our location while we're out filming. I just don't want you to get harassed or whatever by some fans who thinks that buddie is real and decides to make it your problem. It's bad enough they think you talk to them through your photos."

Oliver grimaced at that, he knew fame came with cons- he was just having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that so many people thought they had an actual relationship with him.

Half of them didn't know he was even British.

"I appreciate the warning, I'm sure Lou does as well but i dont think its gonna make any difference. We both seen how some people take it too far. Im off twitter for that reason." Oliver made his usual cup of coffee and got started on the second cup, poking his head in his fridge to see if he had what was needed to make banana pancakes.

"Yeah, but not Lou. He's still getting hounded so just ease up on the heart eyes, he gets enough death threats as it is. I doubt he needs to deal with fans thinking he's in a relationship with you, the guy is still single. Don't hurt his chances now."

Oliver honestly couldn't figure out if Ryan was joking or not, but he figured it didn't hurt to be a smart ass while having such a dumb conversation. "Are you saying he could do better than me? Ryan, I'm hurt."

He could almost imagine Ryan rolling his eyes at him. "Way better, Oli."

"You dick." Oliver heard foot steps coming his way. "Look, Ryan, I appreciate the warning. I'll try to calm down the heart eyes okay?"

"Thank you. That's all I ask, you and Lou don't need that drama if the show keeps Buck and Tommy together."

"Agreed." Oliver didn't jolt at the warm hands and arms wrapping along his middle under his shirt. "Talk soon, man?"

"Yeah, later."

Oliver disconnected the call and turned around to see a very tired Lou, his hair sticking up in curly tuft and a good amount of stubble over his jaw.

"Morning." Oliver could already feel his face heat up as Lou pulled him closer to kiss.

"I thought the plan was to sleep past 8 am for once." Lou complained petulantly. He nuzzled his face unto the crook of Oliver's neck, his words causing Oliver to let out a huff of a laugh, "We should be in bed, you should be spooning me right now."

Oliver carded his fingers through Lou's hair, "I'm sorry. I couldn't sleep, figured I could just make us breakfast instead."

That didn't seem to appease Lou at all, the older man continued to hug Oliver as Oliver tried to make pancakes for them. "Who was that? On the phone?" Lou asked sleepily.

"Ry." Oliver petted Lou's head again before grabbing a bowl and bananas. "He wanted to give me a heads up, or a warning I guess?"

That had Lou wake up a bit. "A warning? About the show or something else?"

Oliver sighed, "Both? I guess. Apparently I keep blushing when I talk about you to the point where some people are asking if we're a couple." Oliver couldn't help but laugh as he felt Lou smile into his neck.

"Imagine that. Us?" Lou feigned disgust, his nose scrunching up that Oliver couldn't help but find adorable. "Good heavens no."

"Shut up." Oliver swatted his arm, "He just doesn't want either of us to go through what he and I went through."

Lou let out a soft hum, watching Oliver intently. "I know we agreed to keep things between us, did you want us to be more discreet?" Truth be told, Lou was under the impression he was doing a good job at distancing himself from Oliver but not the show or Tevan. He had seen what Oliver had gone through and didn't want to add to it.

"No...I mean." Oliver took a deep breath in and out. "I don't know to be honest?" He admitted, he relaxed and leaned into Lou. "I didn't realize I was being that obvious when talking about you." He felt himself flush again as Lou kissed his neck and then cheek.

"I'm not complaining. I like the fact that I have that affect on you." Lou mumbled into Oliver's neck. "It's selfish, but I like that people can tell that I make you happy. I can make you smile that Lou smile."

Oliver let out an annoyed groan, "I do not have a Lou smile." He had given up on making the pancakes, enjoying just being swayed and kissed by his boyfriend.

"Fine." Lou conceded without any fuss. He kissed Oliver on the lips, they were meant to be short quick pecks but Oliver turned in Lous hold so that he could chest to chest with Lou, grabbing his hips as he deepened the kiss.

Oliver wasn't sure who pulled away first, but his grip on Lou's hips tightened. "Okay," he sighed, kissing Lou again who just hummed and waited for Oliver to continue, "Maybe I do have a Lou smile. Is that so bad?"

Lou smiled into the next kiss, enjoying how Oliver seemed to just give into the kiss and his holds "No, I don't think it is."

Besides, Lou thought Oliver's "Lou smile" went along with his "Looking at Oliver eyes" well.

[pacifierbby]

★ *. * · 𝑱𝑬𝑨𝑳𝑶𝑼𝑺 𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑺

𝑹𝑬𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑫? you could write something about jealous Lando pleasee. Honestly, I don’t really know what it could be, fluff, smut, or angst. I’ll leave it up to you ♡

୨ৎ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 LN4 x reader

୨ৎ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 none

୨ৎ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓

-𝑵𝑨𝑽𝑰-

He could never understand why you dated so many dickhead men all of them lead to you ringing him up in the middle of the night crying for him to pick you up because yet another fight has occurred leading him to console you over a bottle of wine and some much-needed cuddles he just wished that you would open up and see everything he did for you was because he fell madly in love with you he was just coward to even tell you scared to even ruin the friendship between the both of you making him move into self-pity when you go crying to him wishing he would tell you how much he loves you. The day you told him that you've got another boy on the block that you think it's going really well and that maybe he's the one and not one toxic trait coming from him did massively hurt lando he just wished for your sake that that was true and that you found the one.

You and Lando chilling in his Monaco apartment the sun shining through the big bay windows giving you a soft glow "Hey Lando what are you doing tonight?" looking over to you "Uh nothing tonight was thinking off chilling in for the night" shrugging "well me and ben thinking about going to that new club if you want to join" making his smile instantly fade quickly smiling so you didn't notice "uh yeah sure" making sure that you didn't notice which you were more engrossed in your phone than him at the moment having this small feeling that something was going to go wrong tonight but he keep that between himself knowing it will probably cause a fight between you both the last time he announced his thoughts about your ex you told him that everything was wrong and stopped being an arsehole and that he was using you to get to him was completely wrong when later down the line he was right and you apologised massively for that and ever since then he watched you figure your ex-boyfriends out yourself.

Lando always knew how you felt after that and you told him that a couple of guys before that did try and use you to see him and ever since then he promised himself and to you that he would never bring the conversation up again knowing how much that it affected you which you were happy that he listened to you and your feelings Lando didn't know that deep down that you wished he was something more to you but just like him you was a coward to even tell him and that all these guys are just to push your feelings away from him and with Ben that worked greatly. As much as it hurt him it hurt you seeing him with so many women daily making you separate from him for a little which he never understood why but it was easier for you like that.

"Ben said that's great and we are going at 8 o clock is that okay for you?" looking away from your phone towards him "Uh yeah will it be fine for me to invite Margarida? Making your heart stop a little "Yeah yeah that's fine" getting up from the comfort of the couch "Well I'm going to go back to my apartment to get ready I think Ben is going to pick me up so I'll meet you at the club?" making Lando nod walking over giving you a side hug walking you over to his door.

He knew he shouldn't have asked if his recent hook-up could come but he really needed to get you and Ben out of his mind for the rest of the night only he could think that Margarida would be a better option other than alcohol quickly sending her a text. He never told you that she was a hook-up he just wanted you to automatically think that they were together hoping for some kind of reaction from you which you didn't really show. he doesn't know how long he can put this charade up for...

8 o'clock came quicker than he hoped the sun slowly moving down behind the clouds sighing and looking at himself in the mirror "Hey babe do you like my dress" rolling his eyes " Marg haven't I told you to stop calling me that?!" he couldn't really stand her voice at the moment "but yes yes I do now come on they're here" not even give her another chance to change the godamn dress for the seventeenth time that hour.

The new club was lively tonight well obviously they are all here for the same reason you are. Looking towards Lando I saw that he was more interested in the glass than whatever Marg was actually saying to him which was odd but you cant deny Lando had picked a really gorgeous girl slim, blonde hair a model all-check box list that you couldn't really check for him yes you was jealous of Marg knowing that she has something that you don't which you truly wished you had "hey Lando shall we get the drinks?" ben spoke interrupting your thoughts which honestly you was actually thankful for but looking at lando it's like his thoughts been interrupted to "uh yeah sure"

Lando looks over towards you every chance he can get to make sure you are okay "So you and Marg eh?" Ben spoke making his eyes leave you "' we're really not together she's just one of my huck-ups" taking a sip of his beer while waiting for the other orders "Oh well if we're on that category" Ben paused "I'm only with her because of you" making Lando look back at him furious his hands tightly around his glass "What!" Lando automatically wants to meet his hands with his face but he knows he cant "Well you're cool and she's your friend so she is my better option" he laughed a little not really observing that Lando was mad "Are you joking Ben that women has everything that you need why!" "well the sex is another good thing" that was it for Lando his fist connecting to his face.

However, y/n saw everything running towards the boys "What the hell Lando!" dragging Ben next to her and looking at his face "Tell her what you told me tell her!" Y/N looked confused towards Ben but only he smirked: "I don't know what you're talking about?" Lando's hands fisted once again "this dickhead told me he only wants you Y/N because you are my friend and I quote that sex is another good thing" She didn't want to hear more "Please tell me he's joking Ben please" but ben just shrugged and nodded "then Lando had the right to hit you and hear I am stupid defending your dumb arse" she didn't want to see her cry that just shows that he won Lando grabbed her hand walking her out off the club

"I'm so sorry Lando I'm so sorry to defend him over you I don't know what to say" the tears slowly coming out Landos hand automatically wiping them away "Listen love I totally understand you didn't know you didn't listen you wasn't their I get it" out off all the words Lando know what to do or say he knew how to console you and everyday you was grateful for it "shall we go home" you just nodded wanting to get away from this club.

Both Lando and Y/n are wide awake in two separate rooms both of them thinking the same things after tonight y/n truly knew her forever was and it was under her nose forever and honestly it only took for tonight to find out the jealous thoughts when he had women surrounding him wanting to just grab him and just be hers she felt silly letting all these men degrade her when there was one man who praised her made her feel loved and praised the floor she walked on. For Lando, he thought the same the constant jealousy for all the men that she dated.

y/n walked into Lando's room she just about saw his shadow wrapped around the quilt in his bed "Are you awake" she whispered his figure slowly waking up "Come here" his voice responded lifting his quilt covers inviting in quickly jumping in "Thank you for tonight Lando I couldn't thank you enough" Lando grabbed her hand she was thankful that it was dark but the blush she had on her face will probably make her like a tomato "can I be honest with you?" Y/N nodded "Uh Y/N I like you no I love you. you honestly don't understand everything I feel when you tell me you got another boy but after tonight everything I think is because I fell for you a while ago and I'm so sorry that it took me this long to tell you" Y/N leaned over turning the bedside lamp on looking towards Lando's eyes "honestly Lando it took me tonight when in bed with my own little mind to finally understand what I'm actually feeling is that I'm falling in love with you as well I just want to say thank you for making me feel the way I should feel from a man" Lando leant over wiping the tear away from her cheek the one she didn't notice that even left her "can I kiss you" Y/N nodded both of them connected they're lips and after that she knew that Lando was forever.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ © 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘪����𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘣𝘣𝘺

[scarletwinterxx]

middle finger and promise rings - jaehyun scenario

helllooooo a fluff moment with jung jaehyun. I was scrolling through tiktok the other day and I found a compilation of him laughing and it was the cutest thing ever so now we're here😅

For my other works you can check them out here, and for my other story series’ you can check them out here.

and if you want, u can buy me coffee(totally optional but any donation is very much appreciated!) thank you🥺💛

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics nad gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

Jaehyun enters the apartment and the first thing he hears is your laugh. He hangs his jacket on the hook, takes off his shoes before walking towards the living room where he sees you lying on the couch giggling to yourself.

You spot him over your phone, quickly turning it off when you spot your boyfriend "Hi, you're home early" you greet him, walking towards him.

He smiles at you, opening his arms to give you a very much needed hug. He does everyday, without a fail. Whenever he gets home from work or somewhere, he asks for a hug from you.

"What were you watching?" he asks

"You"

"Huh?" he peaks down at you, still caged in his arms

"I was looking through my phone then I saw a bunch of videos, like from when we started dating until recent. You looked cute, especially when you laugh" you answer him

"I thought my laugh was loud" he chuckles, letting you to sit on the couch. You follow him, taking the seat beside him.

"It is. But I love it so much, you know you have this kind of laugh when you find something really funny and your face scrunches up in a cute way" you try to mimic it while Jaehyun watches.

You might as well tell him you'll marry him with the way you're making his heart explode right now. Moments like these are what he looks forward to the most when he comes home. The simple conversations with you, no matter how random they are, he cherishes them so much.

"Oh by the way, can we order chicken and pasta for dinner? Or chinese food? I can't decide, how about you what do you want?"

"Chinese sounds good, do you want me to call our favorite place?" he asks, already getting his phone out

"Okay, and this came in today by the way" you say, passing the package that arrived today. "What is it?" you ask, while waiting for him to open it

"I forgot, must've ordered this a long time ago"

Without checking the label he opens it. When he flips the unsealed package upside down, a velvet box falls on his lap.

The two of you freeze.

He should've checked the label. Jaehyun internally panics.

Meanwhile you don't say anything, waiting for him to do or say something. But he doesn't so you clear your throat, getting your phone on the table "I'll order, tell me if you want anything else" you tell him.

"Uh yea sure" Jaehyun swallows the lump in his throat, finally coming to his senses. Taking the box before excusing himself. You hear the bedroom door open and close.

After that night you don't mention anything about it. You didn't ask questions. You acted like you didn't see it. Jaehyun wondered if he should ask but he doesn't know where to start.

What do you think it was, did you have your suspicions, were you upset with him? These are the questions running in his mind. But you never said anything to him, like everything was normal.

He was debating if he should've just showed you what was inside. If you were thinking it was a ring then you're right.

About a few months ago, he ordered a ring after finally getting your size. He's still worrying if you'll like it. It's not an engagement rring, not yet atleast. The ring inside was a promise ring for you. You told him a story about wearing a ring ever since your teen years, way back before the two of you met. You bought yourself a ring, a promise to exchange it to something else when you get yourself a boyfriend.

You showed him the ring before, it was a simple metal band you used to wear on your middle finger. You never took it off, not a day. That was until he asked you to be his girlfriend.

Of course he had to get you a new one, he was just waiting for the right time to give it to you.

He forgot to check the email about the shipping and didn't expect it to arrive when it did. It definitely wasn't part of the plan to open it infront of you.

It's been a few weeks since then. You honestly kind off forgot about it. You trust Jaehyun will tell you in the right time.

Tonight, he's running a bit late. He got caught up in a meeting so when he got home you were already sleeping. He enters the apartment carefully, walking through the hallway and cracking the bedroom door slowly.

The lights were all off, the only light coming from outside but he can see your silhouette from under the blanket. Quickly but quietly he gets ready for bed, sliding beside you.

He turns sideways to watch you, eyes closed, face peaceful, breathing slow and quite. You're giving off the most serene aura, he can't think of anything else but you.

Your hand was resting open beside your head, he reaches a finger out to trace random patterns while still watching you. He missed you so much today, he don't want to wake you up but he wishes he can give you a hug.

He does that for quite some time, tracing things on your palm while watching you waiting for sleep to come to him too.

From random patterns, to short words. He's now tracing random words on your palm, like you always do with his. You always do it randomly, in public or when it's just the two of you. Most times you spell out the word 'I love you' on his palm, that was actually how you said it to him for the first time. It took him some time to finally realize it, and when he did looked over at you with a surprised look. Saying the same three words back at you.

Right now he traces the word 'mine' in yours, while his mind wonders just how lucky he is to have you in his life.

He believes this isn't the only lifetime he'll love you, it isn't possible. Wishing hoping praying that in all alternate universes, however many there are, that version of him meets their version of you.

Suddenly feelings emotional, he sits up on the bed before reaching for something in the bedside drawer.

You're a light sleeper, especially when you're by yourself. The only time you really fall into deep sleep is when Jaehyun's with you. That's why when you hear some ruckus from Jaehyun's side, you wake up from your slumber

"Jae? You're home?" you mumble, your eyes still closed

"Did I wake you? Sorry, baby. Go back to sleep, I'm here" he whispers. He pulls you towards him, resting your head on his chest. You cuddle him more, making yourself comfortable again.

You listen to his heartbeat to lull yourself back to sleep when you feel him take your hand that was resting on him, he puts something on you before you feel his lips kiss your knuckles.

"What are you doing?" you mumble, opening one eye to peak at your hand only to see a ring that definitely wasn't there before you slept.

You open both eyes this time, sitting up to look at it then at Jaehyun

"Explain" you tell him, gesturing at your hand

"It's a promise ring, remember you used to wear one before we started dating. It took sometime but I finally replaced that one, I didn't want to freak you out on our first anniversary so I waited until now" he explains

"Is this real or am I dreaming?" you ask him

Jaehyun chuckles before sitting up, now face to face with you. He takes your cheeks in his hands before pulling you towards him for a kiss

"This is very very real, my love"

"It's so pretty" you pout at the ring, a simple band with a diamond on it. Like a leveled up version of the one you used to wear

"I'm glad you like it even though I kinda ruined the surprise" he tells you

"I thought it was an engagement ring, not gonna lie"

He kisses you one more time before he pulls you down, settling you on his chest once again. "We'll get there one day. This time I'll make sure it's a surprise"

"But I am surprised, I love this surprise"

"And I love you, that ring is a promise to keep my promise of forever with you. One day we'll get there, one day I'll watch you walk down the aisle to me" he mumbles against your forehead, sealing it with a kiss after

"I'd love that, and I love you too"

"Let's go to sleep now, dream of me okay?"

[rxzilvia]

Hiii!! Can you do a riki fic where the members give him and reader the “talk”, bc they are both young. But they never did anything so they are very embarrassed. And after a few days they do it?

tysmm

Spoiler: you WILL shed a tear in the end

The talk

Requested?: yes

Warnings: a bit suggestive I think? And fluff at the end, if I missed smth tell meeee

You were sitting on the couch with Riki, already regretting whatever stupid decision led to this. Your knees kept brushing, and you swore your face was on fire. Across from you stood all the Enhypen members, looking way too serious for comfort

“You two are spending a lot of time together lately,” Sunghoon started, sounding like some overprotective dad

“And that’s great,” Heeseung added, his fake serious face making it worse, “but we think it’s time for...a conversation..”

You blinked “What conversation?”

“About sex,” Jay said, straight to the point like he was ripping off a Band-Aid

Riki groaned, slouching deeper into the couch, wishing it could swalow him whole, you could feel you whole body stiffen “Guys, seriously?!” you managed to say, your voice almost cracking

“Oh, seriously,” Sunoo said with that smug smile of his “You two need to know the basics. It’s for your own good.”

“Basics?” Riki repeated, sitting up a little “We’re not even—”

Jake cut him off, walking in with a banana and a box of condoms like he was about to teach health class “Okay, so here’s how you—”

“Nononono.. NUH UH” Riki bolted upright, waving his hands “We’re not doing this!”

“Sit down, Nishimura.. or I'll call your mom.” Jungwon said, trying to stay composed but clearly fighting back a laugh

The next half hour felt like the longest of your life. The boys went all out, explaining way too much, asking questions you refused to answer, and somehow turning the whole thing into the most embarrassing lecture ever. At one point, Jake broke the banana, and Sunghoon almost choked trying not to laugh

By the time it was over, you and Riki were sitting in stunned silence, your faces so red you thought they’d stay that way forever. As everyone got up to leave, Sunoo leaned down, whispered, “Be safe, kids,” and gave you the cheekiest fucking wink before skipping off

★–——★———A Few Days Later———★——–★

The awkwardness didn’t go away for days. Anytime you and Riki were alone, you'd avoid eye contact like you were in middle school or something. But then one night, you were hanging out in his room, lying on the floor while he sat on the bed. The silence felt heavy, and you couldn’t stop thinking about The Talk

“You good?” Riki asked, glancing down at you

“Yeah,” you mumbled, fiddling with your phone “Just...ugh. You know..”

“The thing?” he said, making a face “It’s hard not to..”

You looked up at him, rolling onto your side “Do you think they really think we’d...I don’t know...”

He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck “They’re just dramatic. Honestly, though, we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. Like, I don’t care about that stuff right now. I just...like being with you.”

That made your heart flutter. You sat up, leaning against the bed “What if... I want more?”

He froze for a second, his eyes locking with yours “More?”

You nodded, feeling bold even though your heart was racing “Yeah...like, us.”

Riki leaned down, his lips brushing yours softly at first, and then—well, things just happened. It wasn’t like some perfect movie scene or anything, but it was you, and it felt right. You figured it out together, laughing through the awkward parts and holding onto each other through the rest.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way..

[lesmiix]

hc for Hyun-ju confessing? I’m or out of games? Idk whatever sparks your interest ❤️

HEADCANON: Confession

Hyun-ju x g/n reader

Summary: How would Hyun-ju confess her feelings to you? (in the games and out of the games)

Warnings: None, just fluff.

a/n: English's not my first language, there may be some grammatical or orthography mistakes 😞

💗HYUN-JU REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!💗

In the games:

You both met during red light green light, as you both helped a guy who was injured.

Since then, You've been together, talking about everything and nothing, being there and comforting each other when you were down.

You were the first person in that place that she admitted to that she was trans. And you being the first person to accept her only strengthened your relationship.

You used to sleep together, if it wasn't in the same bed, it would be in beds that were next to each other.

You once woke up in the middle of the night, and the urge to go to the bathroom kept you from sleeping, so you slowly got out of bed, not wanting to wake up Hyun-ju, who was sleeping next to you.

"Where are you going?" Her voice startled you a little.

"I have to use the bathroom"

She wouldn't let you go alone, afraid that someone would do something to you.

"I'll come with you".

You both were washing your hands, in a comfortable silence but as you looked at your reflection, you noticed the nervousness on Hyun-ju's face

"Hey Hyunnie, is everything alright?"

"Y/n... I have been thinking..." She softly muttered.

You looked at her, slightly confused.

"I think... I think I've started to fall in love with you. I know is not the right place or the right time, but... Seeing the circumstances, I guess is better to let you know." She let out a soft chuckle. "So it's okay if you don't feel the same, I don't want things to change between us." She looked onto the floor, a bit embarrassed, thinking what could be the worst thing you could answer.

Seeing that she didn't get any response from you, she turned her gaze to you, only to find you staring at her in disbelief.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have-" She started, anxiety starting to run through her body. You really found her really cute, so you didn't lose the chance and leaned in for a soft kiss.

"No no, Hyun-ju, it's okay, is just... I've never thought that you'd... like me back." You said nervously as you pulled back, not knowing how to react. Not knowing how she would react. "Actually, I've liked you too for a while now... I was trying to work up the courage to tell you."

That was the best night of your life.

Out of the games:

You and Hyun-ju have been friends for years now, since you two were kids. You had always been there for each other, even when she started her transition and her family kicked out of her house, you welcomed her into yours.

Those close interactions between you both, like you going to her bedroom at night, to ask her if you could sleep with her as you were scared of storms, watching movies on the couch, leaning on each other's shoulders and sharing the food made her star to develop other feelings for you.

One day she finally decided to tell you how she felt about you. So she decided to take you out for dinner to a nice restaurant.

You had an excellent dinner, the food was amazing and you had a very smooth and entertaining conversation. You really had a lot of fun that night.

You both decided to go for a walk, just to enjoy the breeze of the summer night.

You were walking on the beach, along the shore, the cold water crashing against your feet.

Suddenly you noticed how Hyun-ju held your hand. You didn't push her away, instead, you grabbed her hand firmly, enjoying the warmth.

"Thank you for today, Hyunnie" You said, smiling at her.

"Don't thank me, you've already done a lot for me, it's the least I can do." She let out a giggle. "You know, I really appreciate everything you've done for me these past few years... You know, with all that transition stuff, letting me stay at your house and making me feel loved every day." Her eyes met yours as she smiled back at you.

"Of course, pretty girl, I'm glad you feel that safe with me" She suddenly stopped the step.

"You don't understand, darling."

"Huh? What do you mean?" You innocently asked.

"I like you, y/n, I really do. I've done it for a while now." She shyly looked into your eyes, trying to read your reaction.

You were too shocked to react. Your body did the thinking before your brain could and you slowly leaned towards her, Your gaze lowering to her lips, and back to her eyes, searching for permission. Finally she closed the space between you.

a/n: I genuinely loved making this, I hope you liked these too!!

[kumkaniudaku]

Me and Your Mama

Summary: Terry and Patrice learn more about their love through life changing news on New Year’s Eve.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 4,436

Warnings: Mentions of Pregnancy

Recommended Reading: Spoiled, Caught

Author's Note: We're at the end of Ficmas! Thanks for all the requests sprinkled in the middle. This has been a fun little ride and hope you feel fulfilled at the end of this one. Stay safe this New Year's Eve. See you in 2025.

Several mornings passed between Christmas, New Year's Eve, and their five-hour drive up north with no attempt to confirm Patrice's suspicion. She'd purposely avoided all conversation about it, preferring to push the thought to the back of her mind until she and Terry could no longer tiptoe around the growing elephant in the room. 

Moments after luggage was rolled into their downtown D.C. hotel room, the pair braced themselves for punishing winds and bitter cold in search of the nearest convenience store to pick up comfort snacks and three different pregnancy tests. Terry did the honors of selecting what he thought were the best options based on his research, while Patrice forced herself to take an interest in potato chips and snack cakes a few aisles over. 

She couldn't bring herself to engage. Talking about it, whatever it was, would make the dreams more real. And if what she dreamed wasn't true, she didn't know how she could pretend that all was well while her heart chipped and shattered inside her chest. So, she stayed away and let Terry put on his brave face for the both of them.

In the bright convenience store nearly empty as people prepared for a night out to celebrate the incoming new year, they felt like children caught doing something wrong instead of an adult couple on the precipice of discovering what the rest of their lives could look like. 

Terry mumbled through passive small talk with the smiling cashier, staying just vague enough in his answers to avoid the glaring topic of the day before ushering Patrice out of the automated sliding doors and back toward their home for the next few nights. 

Once they returned, neither of them spoke. Patrice slowly unpacked plastic bags filled with items, leaving the slender white boxes for last. 

She drug a fingernail across the box on top, then looked at Terry, who couldn't take his eyes off her. "I think I'm gonna pee by myself if that's okay." 

"That's cool," he answered, offering support with a weak smile. "I'll be out here if you need me."

Most of Patrice's time in the bathroom was spent staring at her reflection in the mirror. She slowly lifted the hem of her thick, cashmere sweater to examine her stomach, twisting side to side for the best angle. Nothing of note. The small bump that did exist was no different than any other day. At least, that's what she told herself as she ran her fingers along the slight curve. 

Unfolded instructions littered the bathroom counter, each saying a variation of the same thing: Pee, wait, have a minor panic attack, then check the results. Or something like that. Patrice's eyes were starting to cross from information overload. 

On the other side of the door, Terry stared out of the large bedroom window at nothing in particular as thoughts quickly ran in and out of his brain. He'd never considered being anybody's dad unless Patrice was on the other side of the fantasy. Maybe once or twice when other partners brought it up, but nothing concrete. Nothing this real, nothing that felt this right. 

Sure, it was quick. And sure, it was probably not a great idea to introduce a child into a relationship that was only recently recognized by the state as a legal union. Any boy, girl, or otherwise would be dropped into a marriage not much older than them and cared for by two humans still trying to understand life. But they'd be loved. They'd be showered in affection from sun up to sun down. He had no doubt about it. What greater joy than to hold a child that was half him and half the woman he loved with every fiber of his being? 

But he was only one part of the equation. Ultimately, Patrice was the deciding factor. Patrice and a collection of three pregnancy tests two minutes away from unveiling their fate.

The toilet flushing made Terry blink back into reality from daydreams of diaper changes and kindergarten graduations. He caught a glimpse of himself in the window's faultless glass before turning in enough time to see Patrice poke her head out of the bathroom for his attention. 

She fiddled with her fingers and rocked on her heels. "You can come in if you want." 

He nodded, careful not to appear too eager or unconcerned, and moved to join her for the wait. 

The soft click of the door closing sealed them into the room together. Terry silently shuffled into the room past Patrice to sit on the closed toilet lid and nervously ran his palm down the back of his head. He took a deep breath before looking over at Patrice, who'd gone back to obsessing over how her stomach looked beneath her clothes. 

"Hey," he spoke in a sweet, low tenor to avoid startling her. She looked over, eyes shining from suppressed tears, and found him looking at her with round doe eyes. He grabbed her hand and pulled her closer. "Come here, sweetheart." 

Sweetheart. To Patrice's soul, the word felt like warm chicken soup on a winter evening. She could never question how Terry felt about her. He'd been there to offer comfort through a tumultuous, frightening week. Feeling his large hands grip her waist to pull her between his legs grounded her in the right there and then. Regardless of the results, he'd still be around to kiss away the bad times and laugh with her through the good. 

Patrice lightly placed her cold hands on his face while he looked up at her, waiting for anything she decided to say. 

She closed her eyes and sighed. "What if it's negative?" 

"Well. We'll go out and drink champagne all night like we planned. I hate the taste on its own but know I'll love it on your lips when we kiss at midnight. Then we move on. Maybe have a conversation that we should've had a long time ago on the drive home." 

"And if it's positive?" 

Terry took a deep breath, allowing the words to come out in a mind-clearing huff. "We skip the champagne and keep the kiss. But we have to celebrate either way, baby. Time's gonna pass no matter what." 

For all his mixed bag of positive and negative traits, Terry's sneaky optimism was Patrice's favorite. A short, airy laugh came through Patrice's nostrils as she tossed her head back and groaned. 

"You're always so sure of things and I'm sitting here about to throw up my lunch." 

Terry rubbed his hands up and down the back of her legs with a smile. "I'm not sure of shit, really," he laughed. "I just know that we'll be alright in the end. This Gunny I was close with told me everything goes back to baseline. Don't sweat the bullshit in between. So, that's what I'm doing. Waiting it out."

"That doesn't scare you? The waiting?" 

"Sometimes." A quick glance down convinced him to slowly lift Patrice's sweater with one hand and hold it in place while he pressed feather-soft kisses across her abdomen. Kisses for her? Kisses for who he hoped lived inside? He didn't know. But he spoke against the area to communicate with whoever would listen. "But waiting always brought me something better than what I had. How could I not trust the process when I have the result standing right in front of me?" 

A rush of emotions broke the levees holding Patrice's tears back, sending a wet stream sliding down her hot cheeks. Terry wiped her face with the back of his hand in silence, the gentleness in his care working double time to soothe whatever thoughts and feelings were coming forward for her. 

When the short bout of crying had ceased, and she was left with nothing but her husband, a timer ticking down to mere seconds and a looming result hanging over their heads, Patrice ran her thumb along Terry's cheek and smiled down at him. 

"I love you more than I ever thought I could, but we gotta slow down, Terrence. I'm worn out." 

Terry answered her joke with a low chuckle that bounced his shoulders and spread his smile wide. "I'm with you, baby. That should be our New Year's resolution." 

"Either that or finally getting around to that budget we've been talking about. Might have to add a baby fund line item." 

"We got it. Don't worry." Terry assured before kissing the inside of her wrist. "Whatever happens, we're okay. Gimme a kiss."

Sweet affection in the face of potentially life-altering change offered some sense of normalcy as they allowed the world to turn into abstract concepts with shared, tender smooches. 

They'd almost forgotten what brought them into the bathroom until the harsh trill of Patrice's phone timer ripped through space and time, again placing them smack dab in the middle of the present. 

When Terry reached to grab one of the tests after silencing the noise, Patrice jolted forward to grab his wrist. "Okay, wait!" she panted. "I-I'll grab one, and you'll grab one. Then we'll do the third one together. Does that make sense?"

"Alright. Which one do you want?" 

"I don't fuckin' know! Choose for me! I can't do this, TJ!" 

Terry wore a crooked smile as he calmly plucked two tests from their containers and placed the digital option into Patrice's palm face down. He took the analog test and covered the result with his thumb before swallowing the lump in his throat. 

A deep breath rushed through parted lips. "Turn it over on three. One, two…" 

Three never came for Patrice. Even after Terry had uttered the number and turned his test over slowly, Patrice kept her eyes closed, waiting for him to spill the beans. She couldn't bring herself to verify on her own accord. He'd have to be her eyes and ears. 

Silence hung in the air for a few seconds, making the wait agonizing until Terry broke the seal. 

"Treecey," he called out. "Please look with me. I need you to see." 

A deep breath helped her blink her way back into clear eyesight. She didn't look at Terry or try to peek at the pink test in his hand. Instead, she flipped her test over with trembling fingers and stared at the small digital screen displaying a single word. 

"Oh –" was all she managed to choke out before looking up at Terry's beaming smile and tear-soaked face. "Does yours say –?" 

"Two lines, baby. Two!"

Disbelief gave way to unadulterated shock. "Oh. My. God. Look at the other one!" 

"You have to do it with me!"

Another countdown as they held on to the final test together preceded an excited flip and harmonizing reactions that could only be described as happy sobs. 

Patrice rocked Terry in a tight embrace while he clung to her, crying into her sweater's soft fabric more than he'd cried in years. An avalanche of emotions wrapped in disbelief that he'd been immeasurably blessed after his year started with so much strife. His losses came with gains ten times above what he could ask or think. 

His wife brushed tears from her already stained face before kissing the crown of his head and repeating, "You're gonna be a daddy, Pooh. You're gonna be a daddy!"

Emotions distorted his deep voice. "Swear?"

"Swear, baby. You're gonna be a daddy."

He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, not caring who he disturbed. Then, he'd run down the hallways, through the lobby's doors, out into the cold D.C. air, and holler to anyone who would listen that his wife, the girl he fell in love with before he could legally drink, was carrying a child that might look just like him someday. 

But he couldn't get past sharing the excitement seemingly gushing out of his pores with the only other person who could understand his joy. He chose to lift Patrice up in the air as he stood tall, spinning her in a slow circle before gingerly placing her back on her feet and pressing his forehead against hers. 

"What the fuck," he laughed as he tickled her sides, causing her to giggle back. "I'm having a baby. With my baby!"

"I guess I couldn't beat teen pregnancy. My parents are going to be so disappointed in me." 

"Stop it." The thought of his parents sitting in their living room without a clue that their firstborn was miles away receiving such big news flipped on a light bulb in Terry's head. "Our parents! Should we call? We should call them now. Do you wanna do a group FaceTime or like a conference call or what?" 

Patrice watched Terry fumble around his pockets for his phone until he came up empty-handed and reached for hers. She pushed the device further away and shook her head. "Nuh-uh. Can we just…enjoy the news by ourselves tonight. I want it to be our secret a little longer. Is that okay?" 

"Of course, Piggy. Whatever you want. I'm sorry, I just - shit. This is insane. You have a baby in there. Should we tell them we're a party of three tonight at dinner?" 

"No," Patrice laughed, finding his unbridled excitement adorable. "If they cancel this reservation because you playin', me and you might have a problem, Daddy." 

Terry bit his lip and lowered his head to kiss at her neck. "Damn, I love hearing you say that. Say it again."

By the time they were approaching a swanky steakhouse on Patrice's long list of places to visit, she'd called him Daddy so much in jest that she almost told the hostess that that was the name on their reservation. 

Pockets of quiet conversation held over candlelight and crisp white tablecloths greeted them as they were led through the dimly lit restaurant to the table for the evening. Terry moved to pull out a chair for Patrice, but she stopped him with a kind smile. 

"I'm gonna run to the restroom. Mommy bladder is starting early. Order something cute for me?"

Her joke made Terry smile like a little boy until she was out of his sight and safely inside the ladies' room. 

Romantic jazz music oozing out of speakers concealed inside the walls like smooth red wine gave Patrice time to replay the day in her head, unable to contain the elation on her face as she washed her hands at the sink. 

Another woman, tall like a model and beautifully sepia-toned, applied lipstick in the mirror and noticed how she tried but failed to stop grinning. She smiled at Patrice before speaking. "You're glowing," she complimented. "I need whatever you've got going on tonight." 

Patrice chewed the inside of her cheek after a bashful thank you. She wanted to keep the words in and pleaded with herself to walk out of the restroom and return to Terry without uttering another word. 

"I'm pregnant," she blurted, unable to fight the urge. "My husband and I – he's the tall one out there waiting on me – we just found out that I'm pregnant. We were best friends over a decade ago, and I still can't believe we're married. Now, there's a baby inside me with half his DNA. I'm having a baby with Terry Richmond. Oh my God." The realization of her social blunder hit her like an 18-wheeler. "And I just told a stranger all my business. I am so sorry!" 

"No, no! That's incredible, girl! Can I hug you?"

Patrice didn't know why she obliged, but she did, allowing herself to sink into this woman's arms like she was an old friend and not someone whose name she didn't know. The woman rubbed her back and squeezed tight before pulling away. 

"Congratulations, sis. Happy Holidays." 

While Patrice received well wishes on the other side of the establishment, Terry gave his full attention to the cocktail menu as a server attempted to provide recommendations. 

"That one is a crowd favorite," the young man pointed out. "Is she a rum lover? It comes with top shelf Appleton Estate if so." 

Terry chuckled to himself. "She is, but she can't have any right now. We just found out she's pregnant before we got here." Further explanation caught in his throat. He didn't mean to offer up their secret. Excited Terry had done the talking, not calm and reserved Terry. 

He watched with wide eyes and an internal scolding rattling around the container of his mind as the server smiled and jotted a note on his pad. "First, congratulations! I'll note that to the staff and see if we can't do something special for you and your beautiful date. Second, no worries at all. We can turn that one into a mocktail and not lose too many of the flavor notes." 

"Thanks," Terry breathed out. "Hey, can you make sure you don't tell her I said that? It was supposed to be a secret." 

"Our lips are sealed, Mr. Richmond. Consider it a little something extra to celebrate the new year." 

Terry made a mental note to leave a handsome tip behind as Patrice reappeared from her time away. Her smile hypnotized him until she was close enough to remind him about her chair. He scrambled to his feet to take care of his duty, nervously pushing her to the table as if this were their first date. 

When he was back in his seat, he watched her survey the room and menu, taking in each of her features. 

High cheekbones passed down from a long line of majestic women. Soft, mahogany skin that mesmerized him in golden hour light every evening. Dark, expressive eyes that told the story of her inner thoughts, even when she tried to hide. Full lips he couldn't resist. The total package. Everything he hoped for was wrapped in one person. 

Terry sat across from her, smitten. His grin showcased all of his teeth and then some while she scanned the appetizers for something to satiate her peckishness. 

Prolonged silence made Patrice glance up and then double-take when she noticed Terry's one-sided staring contest. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?" 

"Just trying to remember how you looked on the second most important night of our lives." 

Sudden bashfulness sent heat rushing to her face. "The third," Patrice corrected with a smile. "Don't leave out New Orleans." 

Terry chuckled at the memory. "Baby, the sun was barely in the sky when you decided to disturb the whole third floor."

"It was time to wake up anyway. That's what's wrong with the world now." 

Jokes and discussions about the possibility of dessert before dinner dominated the conversation until their server returned with two drinks meant to loosen their lips and hips for the evening. A subtle wink between Terry and the server communicated all he needed to know without tipping off Patrice as she excitedly watched beautifully decorated glasses hit the table. 

"To our first night out as Mom and Dad," Terry toasted, prompting Patrice to raise her glass. 

Mom and Dad—parents to be—two bodies forming one in a few months—a culmination of thousands of experiences leading them to a fate written before they were born. The concept sounded so foreign yet so familiar. 

Patrice dabbed at misty eyes, sniffling out a breathy, "To Mommy and Daddy." 

Glasses softly clinked before she joined Terry in a long sip and starry-eyed gazes across the table to officially kick off a night of celebration. 

Or so they'd hoped. Full bellies caught up with exhausted minds and bodies once silver forks hit clean porcelain plates well before their planned 10 p.m. exit. They tried to negotiate the next move with each other: a little walk for digestion, maybe a minute to listen to street performers play go-go renditions of oldies their parents would enjoy, perhaps another dessert to keep the mood high. 

All of their suggestions paled in comparison to hearing the mechanical whir of the hotel's lock precede the door swinging open to a warm room. There were no crowds trying to cram their bodies onto a rooftop brimming with eager folks anticipating good fortune as the clock flipped forward on a new year. There was only each other and the comfort of familiarity. 

Bottles of Sprite from the downstairs market acted like expensive bottles of bubbly poured into scavenged plastic cups next to a collection of fatty snacks, and cell phones switched to silent mode to avoid distractions. 

Terry and Patrice two-stepped hand in hand to jams playing from the television broadcast, dressed down in comfortable clothes and sporting ever-growing smiles. 

Under warm lamplight, Terry held Patrice's hand over her head to help her spin like a wind-up ballerina before pulling her close. "What were you doing last year around this time?"

"Ugh, don't remind me," she groaned, a sour look making her frown momentarily. "I was in a bathroom stall breaking up with my ex. Then Phee got us so drunk that we ended up blacked out before the countdown. I still don't know how we got back to her house or why we were cuddled up in her bed like that."

"Sounds like the kind of chaos you three get into when you're unsupervised."

"Whatever." Patrice laughed before making her fingers dance across Terry's broad shoulders. "What about you? What were you doing?"

Terry let a wry smile creep across his face. "Alone and sleeping. I didn't think there was much to look forward to, and I had to work in the morning anyway. Don't even think I turned the TV on."

The thought of Terry sleeping in on the night handpicked for blind optimism drew a sympathetic look from Patrice. "We both had a rough go at it, huh?"

"I don't know, mine was pretty chill. You were the one missing chunks of time." Patrice took faux offense at his joke, slapping across his chest before they let off laughs that slowly dissipated into a comfortable silence. 

Terry rested his head atop Patrice's, his mind taking a winding road back to the beginning while she hummed a made-up tune to herself. 

"Fifth-period Forensics with Mr. Turner. Junior year. You were wearing little strawberries crocheted on a pink sweater and your hair in a high ponytail. Kind of like tonight."

Patrice looked up and tilted her head in confusion. "What?"

"That's the moment I fell in love with you. I'd always liked you, but that's the moment I realized that I loved you," he clarified. "I spent so much time denying it, tiptoeing around how I felt and trying to find you in other women long after we were done, but I kept coming back to you acing that pop quiz in a pink strawberry sweater."

Patrice chuckled and smiled, recalling the time when her feelings blossomed beyond butterflies in her tummy at the mention of his name into a full-bodied, ever-present yearning for his heart. 

Terry waited expectantly, longing to know if there was a moment for Patrice – if her love had a spark that rocked her world the way she did so long ago for him. 

Flashes of bright light and distant cheering cut in just as Patrice seemed ready to confess, stealing her attention for a second too long. 

She gasped like a child on Christmas morning. "Look, baby! We can see the fireworks from here." Patrice tugged Terry along, all two hundred plus pounds of him yielding to her will slowly but surely. 

He had to admit, the sight was beautiful. Bright flashes of light turning into whimsical bursts kept him captivated as the clock ticked down the final minutes of the year. He slowly embraced her from behind, needing to feel her warmth combined with his for comfort. Patrice watched in content silence, smiling to herself while Terry watched the show unfold from the reflection in her glasses. 

Two minutes left. Two minutes to cap off a whirlwind 365 days and march triumphantly into a new slate. Two minutes to release long-forgotten truths buried in the recesses of Patrice's mind. She leaned back against Terry and craned her neck to admire him from her vantage point. 

A jawline fit for a man meant to be showcased to the world. Piercing eyes that shifted and changed with his emotions. Skin marked with blemishes telling countless stories – some he'd share and others that would follow him to the other side. Full pink lips that talked her through good, bad, and intimate times. All the features that might grace a child not yet named and growing in her womb.

"Senior prom night. You told me you loved me, and I said it back because I always said it back. But, that time, it felt different. It wasn't like sayin' it to my parents or my friends or the stray cat Mama let us feed. A different part of my heart meant it. That was the first moment."

Terry looked down at her, smirking and silently encouraging her to continue. She turned in his arms and then took hold of his ears to rub gentle circles against them. 

One minute left. Seconds dwindling. She continued. "The second time was today. And I hope there's a third, a fourth, and one hundred more to come. I never want to stop falling in love with you, TJ." 

Terry squeezed her a little tighter as if she might vaporize and blow away if he didn't hold on for dear life. "Yeah, me too," He whispered, drawing closer to her lips. "Never." 

Faint voices shouting a countdown in unison floated through empty streets and up to the 10th floor to surround a couple preparing to embark on a new journey. 

“Ten…nine…eight…seven…”

An excited buzzing, nearly perceptible by touch, sparked across the city. Heartfelt 'I love you's' shared as one breath passed between Terry and Patrice just before they connected lips and tongues. 

“Six…five…four…”

Colors painted their bodies from the window, bathing them in light one last time from January to December. A final salute from the Most High. 

"Three…two…one! Happy New Year!" 

Endless possibilities coated in an extra dose of magic felt real for the first time in forever. A lover's embrace carried hope and a promise. They'd start anew in lockstep the way the stars intended, with an extra set of fingers and toes to usher through life at some point in the future. 

But, for a moment, Terry and Patrice stood suspended in time, drunk off the taste of each other, ushering in the new year the only way they knew how. 

Together.

———————————

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[creativewritersposts]

fucked up - Nico Hischier

summary; Nico Hischier x reader.

The honest opinion from a person you really like can hurt the most. But what if Nico regrets it?

warning(s); bad language, angst, argument, fluff, maybe grammar errors

author's note; based on a true story. I'm sorry for not posting "happy-clappy fluff imagines" like usually (promise they'll come back soon). I can't write just pure fluff when I'm crying a river.

--------------------------------------------------------------

It's the third day in a row that Nico doesn't want to talk with you. You can't explain why, but your stomach feeling tells you, something is not okay. You tried to distract yourself with work, work and more work. But when you step in your apartment, you're mentally break down. Your overthinking says hello. You grab your phone, trying to call him, just his mailbox.

"What did I do wrong", you mumble to yourself, biting on your lip. It's rainy outside, like how you feel. You're starring at other people out of the window, until your phone vibrates. "hello?", you start the conversation without looking on the screen, who it is. "it's Nico, are you at home?", his voice sounds deep and kinda annoyed, "yes", you smile, happy to hear he's alive. "Ok bye", he hangs up without a second. You stress yourself to cook a nice dinner in an hour until the door bell rings. "hi baby!", you want to wrap your arms around his neck, but he pushes you politely away, "we need to talk, something is bothering me", his brown eyes let you feel confused, he never been so serious. You nod and let him walk in your kitchen. "I cooked dinner for us two", you smile to blow the negative vibes away. "Do you think dinner will change the fact you act exaggerate?!", his tall body turns around because he stands before you. "huh?", you're even more confused. "We're not together and you stress me out", he tolerates no argument whilst speaking. Honestly you're not able to argue. It's like a punch in your face. "what did I do?", you feel so small. Even when he told you this in a respectful way. "you stress me out. You want to text non-stop and you're not my girlfriend, not yet. After last night with five text messages I'm thinking if it's a good idea to ask you for that", Nico grabs your shaky hands,"it's not like I'm not interested anymore", he kisses your forehead. You're just able to nod and accept the fact. What he needs and wants.

"Thank you for telling me this", your fake smile shows sadness. Nico doesn't want to hurt you on purpose. "I'll pack in the pesto for you", with blurry eyes you do that, giving him the lunch box. Nico just stays calm, taking it and when you close the door behind you, he thinks of hoping you understood what he meant.

The next days your chest feels heavy, texting no message, you don't call him, you let him his freedom. You know Nico lost the finals of the world championship, he looked so disappointed and usually you would at least send him something lovely, but your brain tells you; you were clingy. You're the problem. You're a bad Person for bothering someone. You don't enjoy being a clingy girl.

In the middle of night your phone vibrates again, like ten times until you groan, you're not in the shape to talk happy phone calls. "hey, are you ok?", his voice sounds occupied. "Sure", you reply. "You didn't text me once. I'm worried. We lost", he let you know the news. Of course you're not saying that you watched his game. Like he gave you a clear message. You would be clingy you're not his girlfriend and he owes you nothing.

"I'm sorry to hear that", your hands shake again. You don't feel comfortable anymore, more like you have to hide your personality to be not the problem anymore. "I didn't mean that I don't like to talk with you", he coughs. "I really like you anyway as a person who you are", he talks more. "I'm tired, good night", hanging up until he can hear how much you're hurt. Just thoughts hunting you in your head;

what are you doing now?

What is the right way to deal with this?

[fairyrcts]

R U MINE ? , M.S.

by fairyrcts contents - intended lowercase , 3rd person , use of y/n , unprotected sex (not recommended) , semi-public sex ¿ , more (?)

an - just made this is 20 mins while my bf got me mcdonalds :)

taglist - @pvssychicken , @gothiccvnt6996 , @emely9274 (header by @issysh3ll )

there weren't any words to describe what y/n felt currently. at the moment, she was getting dressed to see her friend/situationship or whatever the hell he was.

he'd only texted her half an hour ago to get ready and to look nice. she had no idea what he had in store for her.

matt and y/n had met at a party around 3 months ago. to say he was amazing was an understatement. but no matter how much he acted like it, he wasn't her boyfriend.

he'd bring her lunch every day at work, check up on her constantly, compliment her, call her cute names that only belonged to her, buy her things 'just because', but putting a lable on it? no, not happening.

y/n never wanted to upset him by bringing up the fact that she wanted commitment, because she had a good thing going for her. so now, he was clearly taking her somewhere special.

usually, their dates were simple like to a coffee shop or a record store, but now he's telling her to get ready and to look fancy.

was he gonna finally ask? no, she didn't wanna get her hopes up.

she was shooken out of her thoughts by the doorbell ringing. y/n walked down the stairs of her home, her black silk dress going up her thigh just slightly.

she opened the door to matt holding a bouquet of red and white roses tied up in a black bow. her smile went from ear to ear as she saw the sight in front of her.

"well, don't you look gorgeous. here, sweetheart. put em' somewhere nice." matthew handed her the bouquet with a smirk playing on his lips.

"you seriously didn't have to get me these, y'know." she giggled, placing them in the vase just beside the front door.

"of course i did. now, c'mon. we can't be late." his voice was low as he grabbed her hand and walked her to his car, opening the passenger door for her.

after getting in himself, he turned the radio up slightly so it'd play faintly behind their conversation.

"so, what's surprise you've got planned, hm?" y/n hummed, the beach by the neighborhood playing quietly under her words.

"if i told you, it wouldn't be much of a surprise, now would it?" he obviously had a point, but the nosiness couldn't help but get the best of y/n.

"okay, but i wanna know. please?"

matt simply shook his head 'no' as his fingers tapped on the steering wheel.

"pleasee, matt. y'know i hate surprises." y/n's whiney voice only made matt harder than it was when he saw her open that door.

"you're gonna have to beg better than that if you really wanna know, darling." he turned his head to flash her a smile, only making her groan.

of course she acted annoyed, but she was more wet then ever. she squeezed her thighs together to at least make an attempt for her to stop thinking about it.

"please, matt. c'mon, it's not fair. please? i'll be good the rest of the ride."

rest of the ride? matt was damn ready to pull over and fuck her right then and there.

"keep talking like that and there might not be a 'rest of the ride'." he warned. although he didn't even try, his voice just caused a pool in her panties. but then again, anything matt did had that affect on her.

just for shits and giggles, y/n decided to keep it going by teasing him just a bit more.

"oh yeah? and what's that supposed to mean, hmm?" she moved her body so she was leaning on the middle console.

her boobs were basically in his face. he let out a shaky breath, his dick growing by the second.

his eyes wandered her body, fighting to keep his sight on the road.

as he saw the glow of a gas station sign and made the choice to pull over.

he parked his car in a spot around the back, immediately turning his head towards her.

"the fuck made you think you can talk like that? backseat, now." his tone was demanding while the soft sound of arctic monkeys filled the car.

her eyes, filled with lust, narrowed at him before making her way to the back.

matt did the same, only getting out to do so. his hands made it's way to her neck as he began kissing her aggressively.

his movements were harsh, his tongue swirling around in her mouth while she moaned against his mouth.

he took the hand off her throat and started unbuckling his pants. y/n pulled away to assist him.

she pulled his black pants down to his ankles, leaving him in his boxers while he unbuttoned his shirt. y/n took off her dress, leaving her in her black lace bra and panties.

matt's dick got hard at the girl in front of him. he started palming himself through his boxers while he mumbled compliments to her.

y/n pulled off his boxers, his cock standing up. her eyes widened as she let out a gasp.

"fuck, c'mere." matt's voice was hurried while he took off her lingerie.

the car floor was now covered in discarded clothes.

y/n moved herself on top of his dick, already lubricated in his pre-cum. matt pushed her hips down on top of him, the two moaning loudly.

he began leaving messy hickeys on her neck while moving her body up and down on his dick.

he muttered small things in her ear, making her moans gradually get louder.

"yeah, nobody fucks you like this but me, ain't that right?" he spoke as his dick unintentionally hitting her g-spot consistently.

"mm f-fuck! only you, m-matt!" y/n moans were music to matt's ears.

he kept pounding his dick inside of the girl riding him. he could feel himself getting close.

"fuck, oh yeah. who's are ya? are ya mine?"

y/n couldn't even form coherent sentences. "i- i mhm. i'm y-yours! fuck!" she knew she was about to cum. the feeling of his cock balls-deep in her cunt was almost unbearable.

her face contored as she came on his dick. her juices coating him only pushed him over the edge as he released inside of her.

"shit, 'm sorry." he panted, breathless. the two of them began catching their breath again as y/n slowly moved off his dick, wincing in the process.

matt picked the clothes up from beneath them, handing y/n hers.

"sorry i made us miss whatever we had planned." she mumbled as she shimmied back into her dress.

matt chuckled. he hadn't even thought about their date.

"it was a reservation to some fancy japanese restaurant."

y/n laughed dryly.

and the rest was a blur. all of her worries had washed away. she was happy to have him, whether he was hers or not.