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felassan · 6 months ago

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Edge – The Future of Interactive Entertainment magazine, issue #401 (October 2024 issue) – Dragon Age: The Veilguard story

The rest of this post is under a cut for length.

Update: this issue of this magazine is now available to buy from UK retailers today. it can be purchased online at [this link]. [Tweet from Edge Online] also, Kala found that a digital version of the magazine can be read at [this link].

This post is a word-for-word transcription of the full article on DA:TV in this issue of this magazine. DA:TV is the cover story of this issue. When transcribing, I tried to preserve as much of the formatting from the magazine as possible. Edge talked to BioWare devs for the creation of this article, so the article contains new quotes from the devs. the article is written by Jeremy Peel. There were no new screenshots or images from the game in the article. I also think that it contains a few lil bits of information that are new, like the bits on companions' availability and stumbling across the companions out and about on their own in the world e.g. finding Neve investigating an abduction case in Docktown.

tysm to @simpforsolas and their friend for kindly telling me about the article!!

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[image source]

Article introduction segment:

"[anecdote about Edge] We were reminded of this minuscule episode in Edge's history during the creation of this issue's cover story, in which we discuss the inspiration behind Dragon Age: The Veilguard with its creators at BioWare. Notably, director John Epler remembers the studio experimenting with a number of approaches during the early phase of development before eventually locking in to what the game was supposed to be all along, above all else: 'a single-player, story-focused RPG'. As you'd expect from BioWare, though, that was really just a starting point, as we discovered on p54." BioWare draws back the Veil and ushers us into a new Dragon Age

"BEHIND THE CURTAIN BioWare's first true RPG in age age is as streamlined and pacey as a dragon in flight. By Jeremy Peel Game Dragon Age: The Veilguard Developer BioWare Publisher EA Format PC, PS5, Xbox Series Origin Canada Release Autumn

The Dragon Age universe wasn't born from a big bang or the palm of an ancient god. Instead, it was created to solve a problem. BioWare was tired of battling Hasbro during the making of Baldur's Gate and Neverwinter Nights, and wanted a Dungeons & Dragons-like setting of its own. A small team was instructed to invent a new fantasy world in which the studio could continue its groundbreaking work in the field of western RPGs, free of constraints.

Well, almost free. BioWare's leaders mandated that the makers of this new world stick to Eurocentric fantasy, and include a fireball spell - since studio co-founder Ray Muzyka had a weakness for offensive magic.

Beyond that, BioWare’s storytellers were empowered to infuse Dragon Age with their own voices and influences, leaning away from D&D’s alignment chart and towards a moral grayness that left fans of A Song Of Ice And Fire feeling warm and cozy.

In the two decades since, the world of Thedas – rather infamously and amusingly, a shortening of ‘the Dragon Age setting’ that stuck – has taken on a distinct flavor. It’s something director John Epler believes is rooted in characters.

“There’s definitely some standard fantasy stuff in Dragon Age, but everything in the world, every force, is because of someone,” he says. “The idea is that every group and faction needs to be represented by a person – someone you can relate to. Big political forces are fine as background, but they don’t provide you with those interesting story moments.”

Dragon Age: The Veilguard bears out that philosophy. The long-awaited sequel was first announced with the subtitle Dreadwolf, in reference to its antagonist, Solas – an ancient elf who once stripped his people of immortality as punishment for betraying one of their own. In doing so, Solas created the Veil, the thin barrier through which wizards pull spirits and demons invade the waking world. In other words, many of Dragon Age’s defining features, from its downtrodden elves to the uneasy relationship between mages and a fearful church, can be traced right back to one character’s decision.

“The world exists as it does because of Solas,” Epler says. “He shaped the world because of the kind of character he was. That’s, to me, what makes Dragon Age so interesting. Everything can tie back to a person who to some degree thought they were doing the right thing.”

Perhaps BioWare’s greatest achievement in slowburn character development, Solas is a former companion, an unexploded bomb who sat in the starting party of Dragon Age: Inquisition, introverted and useful enough to get by without suspicion. Yet by the time credits rolled around on the Trespasser DLC, players were left in no doubt as to the threat he presented.

Determined to reverse the damage he once caused, the Dreadwolf intends to pull down the Veil, destroying Thedas as we know it in the process. The next Dragon Age game was always intended to be his story.

“We set that up at the end of Trespasser,” Epler says. “There was no world where we were ever going to say, ‘And now let’s go to something completely different.’ We wanted to pay off that promise.”

Yet almost everything else about the fourth Dragon Age appears to have been in flux at one time. In 2019, reporter Jason Schreier revealed that an early version, starring a group of spies pulling off heists in the Tevinter Imperium, had been cancelled two years prior. Most of its staff were apparently moved onto BioWare’s struggling Anthem, while a tiny team rebooted Dragon Age from scratch. That new game was said to experiment with live-service components.

“We tried a bunch of different ideas early on,” Epler says. “But the form The Veilguard has taken is, in a lot of ways, the form that we were always pushing towards. We were just trying different ways to get there. There was that moment where we really settled on, ‘This is a singleplayer, story-focused RPG – and that’s all it needs to be’”.

Epler imagines a block of marble, from which BioWare was attempting to carve an elephant – a character- and story-driven game. “We were chipping away, and sometimes it looked more like an elephant and sometimes it didn’t”, he says. “And then we eventually realized: ‘Just make an elephant’. When we got to that, it almost just took shape by itself.”

2014’s Dragon Age: Inquisition was an open-world game commonly criticized for a slow-paced starting area which distracted players from the thrust of the plot. The Veilguard, in contrast, is mission-based, constructed with tighter, bespoke environments designed around its main story and cast. “We wanted to build a crafted, curated experience for the player,” Epler says. “Pacing is important to us, and making sure that the story stays front and center.”

Epler is very proud of Inquisition, the game on which he graduated from cinematic designer to a lead role (for its DLC). “But one of the things that we ran into on that project was an absentee antagonist,” he says. “Corypheus showed up and then disappeared. You spent ten hours in the Hinterland doing sidequests, and there wasn’t that sense of urgency.”

This time, The Veilguard team wants you to constantly feel the sword of Damocles dangling above your head as you play – a sense that the end of the world is coming if you don’t act. “There’s still exploration – there’s still the ability to go into some of these larger spaces and go off the beaten path to do sidequests,” Epler says. “But there’s always something in the story propelling you and the action forward, and allowing you to make decisions with these characters where the stakes feel a lot more immediate and present. And also, honestly, more real.”

No sooner have you finished character creation than Dragon Age: The Veilguard thrusts you into a choice. As your protagonist, Rook, steps into focus on the doorstep of the seediest bar in town, you decide whether to threaten the owner for information or make a deal. Brawl or no, you’ll walk out minutes later with a lead: the location of a private investigator named Neve Gallus, who can help you track down Solas.

You proceed into Minrathous, the largest city in Thedas and capital of the Tevinter Imperium – a region only alluded to in other Dragon Age games. It’s a place built on the backs of slaves and great mages, resulting in tiered palaces and floating spires – a kind of architecture unimaginable to those in the southern nations.

“When your Dragon Age: Inquisition companion Dorian joins you in Orlais, in one of the biggest cities in Thedas, he mentions that it’s quaint and cute compared to Minrathous,” Corinne Busche, game director on The Veilguard, says. “That one bit of dialogue was our guiding principle on how to realize this city. It is sprawling. It is lived-in. Sometimes it’s grimy, sometimes it’s bougie. But it is expansive.”

Immediately, you can see the impact of BioWare’s decision to tighten its focus. Around every other corner in Minrathous is an exquisitely framed view, a level of spectacle you would never see in Inquisition, where resources were spread much more thinly. “When you know that you’re gonna be heading down a canyon or into this plaza where the buildings open up, you have those perfect spots to put a nice big temple of Andraste or a mage tower,” art director Matthew Rhodes says. “You get those opportunities to really hit that hard.”

BioWare’s intention is to make strong visual statements that deliver on decades of worldbuilding. “People who have a history with Dragon Age have thought about what Minrathous might be like,” Rhodes says. “We can never compete with their imagination, but we can aim for it like we’re shooting for the Moon.”

The people of Tevinter use magic as it if were electricity, as evidenced by the glowing sigils that adorn the dark buildings – street signs evoking Osaka’s riverfront or the LA of Blade Runner. They’re just one of the tricks BioWare’s art team uses to invite you to stop and take in the scene. “A lot of what you start to notice when you’re the artist who’s been working on these big, beautiful vistas and neat murals on the walls is how few players look up,” Rhodes says. “We design props and architecture that help lead the eyes.”

For the really dedicated shoegazers, BioWare has invested in ray-traced reflections, so that the neon signage can be appreciated in the puddles. There are also metal grates through which you can see the storm drains below. “The idea behind that is purely just to remind the player often of how stacked the city is,” Rhodes says. “Wherever you’re standing, there’s guaranteed to be more below you and above you.”

One of BioWare’s core creative principles for The Veilguard is to create a world that’s actually worth saving – somewhere you can imagine wanting to stick around in, once the crises of the main quest are over. To that end, the team has looked to ground its outlandish environments with elements of mundanity.

“A guy’s normal everyday life walking down the streets of this city is more spectacular than what the queen of Orlais is seeing, at least in terms of sheer scale," Rhodes says. “One of the things we’ve tried to strike a balance with is that this is actually still a place where people have to go to the market and buy bread, raise their kids, and try to make it. It’s a grand and magical city, but how do you get your horses from one place to the next? Where do you load the barrels for the tavern? It’s really fun to think of those things simultaneously.”

Normal life in Minrathous is not yours to behold for long, however. Within a couple of minutes of your arrival, the very air is ripped open like cheap drapes, and flaming demons clatter through the merchant carts that line the city streets. A terrible magical ritual, through which Solas intends to stitch together a new reality, has begun.

“We wanted the prologue to feel like the finale of any other game we’ve done,” Busche explains. “Where it puts you right into this media-res attack on a city and gets you really invested in the action and the story right away. When I think back to Inquisition, how the sky was literally tearing open – the impact of this ritual really makes that look like a minor inconvenience.”

Our hero is confronted by a Pride demon, imposing and armored as in previous games, yet accented by exposed, bright lines that seem to burst from its ribcage. “They are a creature of raw negative emotion,” Busche says. “So we wanted to actually incorporate that into their visual design with this glowing nervous system.”

When a pack of smaller demons blocks Rook’s route to the plaza where Neve was last seen, battle breaks out, and The Veilguard’s greatest divergence from previous Dragon Age games becomes apparent. Our rogue protagonist flits between targets up close and evades individual sword swings with precision. In the chaos, he swaps back and forth between blades and a bow. He blends light and heavy attacks, and takes advantage of any gap in the melee to charge up even bigger blows.

“Responsiveness was our first-and-foremost goal with this baseline layer of the combat system,” Busche says. Unless you’re activating a high-risk, high-reward ability such as a charged attack, any action can be animation-cancelled, allowing you to abort a sword swing and dive away if an enemy lunges too close. “We very much wanted you to feel like you exist in this space, as you’re going through these really crafted, hand-touched worlds,” Busche says. “That you’re on the ground in control of every action, every block, every dodge.” Anyone who’s ever bounced off a Soulslike needn’t worry: The Veilguard’s highly customizable difficulty settings enable you to loosen up parry windows if they prove too demanding.

Gone is the overhead tactical camera which, for some players, was a crucial point of connection between Dragon Age and the Baldur’s Gate games that came before, tapping into a lineage of thoughtful, tabletop-inspired combat. Epler points out that the camera’s prior inclusion had an enormous impact on where the game’s battles took place. “We actually had a mandate on Inquisition, which was, ‘Don’t fight inside,’” he says. “The amount of extra work on getting that tactical camera to work in a lot of those internal environments, it was very challenging.”

Gone, too, is the ability to steer your comrades directly. “On the experiential side, we wanted you to feel like you are Rook – you’re in this world, you’re really focused on your actions,” Busche says. “We very much wanted the companions to feel like they, as fully realized characters, are in control of their own actions. They make their own decisions. You, as the leader of this crew, can influence and direct and command them, but they are their own people.”

It's an idea with merit, albeit one that could be read as spin. “It’s not lost on me,” Busche says. “I will admit that, on paper, if you just read that you have no ability to control your companions, it might feel like something was taken away. But in our testing and validating with players, what we find is they’re more engaged than ever.”

There may be a couple of reasons for that. One is that Dragon Age’s newly dynamic action leaves little room for seconds spent swapping between perspectives. “This is a much higher actions-per-minute game,” Busche says. “It is more technically demanding on the player. So when we tried allowing you full control of your companions as well, what we’ve found is it wasn’t actually adding to the experience. In fact, in some ways it was detrimental, given the demanding nature of just controlling your own character.”

Then there’s The Veilguard’s own tactical layer, as described by BioWare. Though the fighting might be faster and lower, like a mana-fuelled sports scar, the studio is keen to stress that the pause button remains as important to the action as ever. This is, according to Busche, where the RPG depth shines through, as you evaluate the targets you’re facing and take their buffs into account: “Matching elemental types against weaknesses and resistances is a big key to success in this game.”

You pick between rogue, warrior and mage – each role later splitting again into deeper specialisms – and draw from a class-specific resource during fights. A rogue relies on Momentum, which is built up by avoiding damage and being highly aggressive, whereas a warrior is rewarded for blocking, parrying, and mitigating damage.

Those resources are then used on the ability wheel, which pauses the game and allows you to consider your options. The bottom quadrant of the wheel belongs to your character, and is where three primary abilities will be housed. “Rook will also have access to runes, which function as an ability, and a special ultimate ability,” Busche says. “So you’re bringing five distinct abilities with you into combat.”

The sections to the left and right of the wheel, meanwhile, are dedicated to your companions. Busche points to Lace Harding, the returning rogue from Inquisition, who is currently frozen mid-jump. “She is her own realized individual in this game. She’s got her own behaviors: how she prioritizes targets, whether she gets up close and draws aggro or stays farther back at range. But you’ll be able to direct her in combat by activating her abilities from the wheel.”

These abilities are complemented by positional options at the top of the wheel, where you can instruct your companions to focus their efforts on specific targets, either together or individually. Doing so will activate the various buffs, debuffs and damage enhancements inherent in their weapons and gear. “So,” Busche explains, “as you progress through the first two hours of the game, this full ability wheel is completely populated with a variety of options and different tactics that you can then string together.”

BioWare has leaned into combos. You might tell one companion to unleash a gravity-well effect that gathers enemies together, then have another slow time. Finally, you could drop an AOE attack on your clustered and slowed opponents, dealing maximum damage. The interface will let you know when an opportunity to blend two companion abilities emerges – moments BioWare has dubbed ‘combo detonations’.

“I like to think about this strategic layer to combat as a huddle,” Busche says, “where you’re figuring out how you want to handle the situation, based on the information you have on the encounter, and how you and your companions synergize together.”

Deeper into the game, as encounters get more challenging, Epler says we’ll be spending a lot of time making “very specific and very focused tactical decisions”. The proof will be in eating the Fereldan fluffy mackerel pudding, of course, but Busche insists this shift to fast action isn’t a simplification. “What really makes the combat system and indeed the extension into the progression system work is that pause-and-play tactical element that we know our players expect.”

The autonomy of The Veilguard’s companions doesn’t end with combat. BioWare’s data shows that in previous games players tended to stick with the same two or three beloved comrades during a playthrough. This time, however, you’ll be forced to mix your squad up at regular intervals.

“We do expect that players will have favorites they typically want to adventure with,” Busche says, “but sometimes certain companions will be mandatory.” Others may not always be available – part of the studio’s effort to convince with three-dimensional characters. “They do have a life outside of Rook, the main character,” Busche says.

"They'll fall in love with people in this world. They’ve had past experiences they’ll share with you if you allow them in and get close to them.”

Being separated from your companions, rather than collecting them all in a kind of stasis at camp, allows you to stumble across them unexpectedly. Busche describes an instance in which, while exploring the Docktown section of Minrathous, you might bump into Neve as she investigates an abduction case. “If I go and interact with her, I can actually stop what I’m doing, pick up her arc and adventure with her throughout her part of the story,” Busche says. “What’s interesting is that all of the companion arcs do ultimately tie back to the themes of the main critical path, but they also have their own unique challenges and villains, and take place over the course of many different intimate moments.”

Some parts of a companion’s quest arc involve combat, while others don’t. Some are made up of large and meaningful missions – as lavish and involved as those along the critical path. “While they are optional, I would be hesitant to call them side content in this game,” Busche says. If you choose not to engage with some of these companion-centered events, they’ll resolve on their own. “And it might have interesting implications.”

The Veilguard promises plenty of change, then, even as it picks up the threads of fan-favorite characters and deepens them, honoring the decades of worldbuilding that came before it. This is perhaps the enduring and alluring paradox of Dragon Age: a beloved series which has never had a direct and immediate sequel, nor a recurring protagonist. Instead, it’s been reinvented with each new entry.

“It’s a mixed blessing to some degree,” Epler says. “The upside is always that it gives us more room to experiment and to try new things. There are parts of the series that are common to every game: it’s always an RPG, it’s always about characters, and we always want to have that strategic tactical combat where you’re forced to make challenging decisions. But at the end of the day, I think what makes Dragon Age Dragon Age is that each one feels a little bit different.”"

Q&A Matthew Rhodes Art director

Q. Early BioWare RPGs were literary, with the emotions and detail mostly happening in dialogue boxes. How have you seen the studio's approach to visual storytelling evolve? A. This has been my entire career. When I first showed up at BioWare, it was at the tail end of Jade Empire, and then I was working on Dragon Age: Origins and early Mass Effect. The games had taken that next step out of sprites and 2D models, and it was like: 'How do we say more? How do we communicate more clearly?' During those early days, a lot of games depended on words to fix everything for you. As long as your character was talking bombastically, you could lend them everything that they needed. But as time went on it also became a visual medium, and it's been this long journey of trying to establish art's seat at the table. I've worked with some great writers over the years, and art is also an essential part of the storytelling. From Dragon Age: Inquisition on, I've been trying to stress with my teams that we are a story department.

Q. Is part of that also letting writers know that your storytelling assistance is available, to help them show rather than tell? A. On The Veilguard, that principle has been operating the best I've seen it. Where you would need a paragraph of dialogue in one of those exposition moments where a character just talks to you, we could sell that with a broken statue or a skeleton overgrown with vines. We've had more opportunities to do that on The Veilguard than most of the projects I've ever worked on combined.

To a hammer, every problem looks like a nail, and so in every department, writing will try to solve it with more words, and art will try to solve it with more art. I've bumped up against moments where it's like, 'As much as we could keep hammering on this design, I think this is actually an audio solution.' And then you take it to audio, and you don't get that overcooked feeling where each team is just trying to solve it in their silo. It's a really creatively charged kind of environment.

[main body of article ends here]

Additional from throughout the article --

Image caption: “Spotlights shine down from the city guards’ base as they pursue you through the streets of Minrathous.”

Image caption: “While most of your companions can be sorted into comfortingly familiar RPG classes, The Veilguard introduces two new varieties: a Veil Jumper and a private investigator.”"

Image caption [on this Solas ritual concept art specifically]: “The name previously given to the game – Dreadwolf – was a direct reference to Solas. Your former companion, now on his own destructive mission, still features, despite the name change.”

Text in a side box:

"RATIONAL ANTHEM The hard lesson BioWare drew from Anthem was to play to its strengths. “We’re a studio that has always been built around digging deep on storytelling and roleplaying,” Epler says. “I’m proud of a lot of things on Anthem – I was on that project for a year and a half. But at the end of the day we were building a game focused on something we were not necessarily as proficient at. For me and for the team, the biggest lesson was to know what you’re good at and then double down on it. Don’t spread yourselves too thin. Don’t try to do a bunch of different things you don’t have the expertise to do. A lot of the people on this team came here to build a story-focused, singleplayer RPG."

Image caption: “In combat you no longer control your companions directly – this is a faster-paced form of fighting – but you are able to direct them in combat, and can even blend their abilities in ‘combo detonations’.”

Image caption: “You’ll be exploring new regions across Tevinter and beyond – Rivain is a certainty, and that’s only accessible via Antiva travelling overland.”

Image caption: “There are three specializations per character class; on the way to unlocking them you’ll acquire a range of abilities.”

Text in a side box:

"MEET YOUR MAKER “Full disclosure: Dragon Age has traditionally not done skin tones well, especially for people of color,” Busche says. “We wanted to do a make-good here.” In The Veilguard’s character creator, you can adjust the amount of melanin that comes through in the skin, as well as test various lighting scenarios to ensure your protagonist looks exactly as you intend in cutscenes. “Speaking of our first creative principle – be who you want to be – we really feel these are the kinds of features that unlock that for our players,” Busche says. “We want everyone to be able to see themselves in this game.” For the first time in the series, your body type is fully customizable too, with animations, armor and even romantic scenes reflecting your choices."

Image caption: “Your companions are a mix of old and new – Lace Harding is a familiar face. Veil Jumper Bellara is new, with a new occupation, while Davrin is a new face with a familiar profession – he’s a Warden.”

Image caption: "Arlathan Forest is home to the ruined city of the elves, now a place of wild magic, Veil Jumpers and (allegedly) spirits".

Image caption: "Bellara is driven by a desire to learn more about the elves, rediscovering the shattered history and magic of her people."

[source: Edge – The Future of Interactive Entertainment magazine, issue #401 (October 2024 issue) - it can be purchased online at [this link].]

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #solas #video games #longpost #long post #simpforsolas #anthem #jade empire #mass effect #obsessed with the idea of helping neve solve cases...

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mingi-s-dimples · 4 months ago

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Movie Night - Hongjoong

KINKTOBER DAY 12, REQ. BY anon

~"gentle sex+ praise w Hongjoong"

pairing: hongjoong x fem!reader

genre: 18+, filth, sweet

summary: watching movies with your lovely boyfriend takes a 180 turn... as he gets a little bit too excited mid-watching.

wc: 2k

warnings: first time sex, all lovey dovey, getting bricked up while watching a movie, consent is hot omfg, protected (yay!), fingering, foreplay, aftercare, completely consensual, praising, pet names, established relationship, for sure forgot something, completely unedited might edit later.

Author's Note: I believe this is the seeetest smut fic I've ever written? Nothing too intense, lovely chemistry and so on... I actually like it tbh. Anon, I hope it's up to your expectations and if not, I'm always going to receive feedback! Be it positive or negative ^^ my requests are open 🤗. Enjoy ,lovie !

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the members in any way.

The night was quiet, save for the soft hum of the television and the occasional pop from the bowl of freshly made popcorn. You and Hongjoong were curled up on the couch, legs tangled comfortably beneath a shared blanket. The room was dimly lit, casting a warm glow over the both of you as the movie played. It was supposed to be a relaxing evening—a movie marathon, your favorite snacks, and the comfort of his arm draped casually over your shoulder.

As the latest movie flickered across the screen, you glanced up at Hongjoong. His usual focus on the screen seemed slightly off tonight, his eyes darting to you more frequently. He was silent, but you could feel the shift in his energy. Your stomach fluttered, not entirely sure what had changed, but knowing something had.

At one point, you shifted to get more comfortable, your body brushing against his. You didn’t think much of it at first, but then you noticed the slight tension in his body. When you glanced down, you saw it—his reaction. Your face heated instantly, and you bit your lip, trying to suppress the sudden wave of embarrassment.

Hongjoong noticed your expression and followed your gaze. He tensed for a moment before giving a soft chuckle, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck awkwardly.

"I—uh...sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen," he muttered, the faintest hint of a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

You cleared your throat, trying to laugh it off. "Well...I guess that’s one way to make movie night more interesting."

He smirked, leaning a little closer. "Maybe we could take a break from the movie, then? You know...if you're up for it."

The playful suggestion in his voice made your heart race even more, and despite your flustered state, you couldn’t help but feel a pull of excitement. You met his gaze, feeling a mix of shyness and anticipation.

"Maybe..." you whispered, giving him a teasing smile.

Hongjoong's gaze lingered on you, and the tension between you grew palpable, the air thick with unspoken words. He leaned in slowly, his hand finding yours beneath the blanket, fingers brushing softly against your skin. His touch sent a shiver through you, your breath catching as he closed the distance between your faces.

You felt his warm breath on your lips, your heart pounding in your chest as you searched his eyes for a sign of hesitation. But there was none—just quiet intent and a tenderness that made your chest tighten. You tilted your head slightly, eyes fluttering closed as you met him halfway. His lips touched yours gently at first, as if testing the waters, before deepening the kiss.

The movie played on in the background, forgotten, as you melted into the kiss. His hand slipped up to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing softly against your cheek as his lips moved in perfect rhythm with yours. The kiss was slow, unhurried, but it carried a depth that sent warmth rushing through you.

You pulled away for a brief moment, catching your breath, only to have Hongjoong's forehead rest against yours. His voice was barely above a whisper, filled with an intimacy that made your skin tingle. "You okay?"

You nodded, smiling softly. "More than okay."

His free hand began to move, tracing along your arm and then down to your waist, pulling you just a little closer, the weight of his body grounding you in the moment. You responded in kind, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him in for another kiss, this one deeper and more urgent. The world around you seemed to blur as you both gave in to the building tension, the space between you dissolving as you held each other tight.

Hongjoong pulled back slightly, his breath uneven as he looked at you, his gaze filled with a mixture of desire and tenderness. He ran his thumb gently over your cheek, studying your expression, making sure you were still comfortable. "Can I...?" he started, his voice soft, almost hesitant. His eyes flicked down briefly before meeting yours again, the unspoken question hanging between you.

You felt your heart skip a beat, understanding what he was asking without him having to finish the sentence. You could see the care in his eyes, the way he was waiting for your response, giving you control of the moment. Your chest tightened with emotion, and after a deep breath, you gave him a slight nod, your voice barely above a whisper. "Yes."

His lips curved into a soft smile, filled with both relief and affection. He leaned in to kiss you again, slow and deliberate, his hands moving to the hem of your shirt. His fingers brushed your skin lightly as he began to lift the fabric, pausing for a moment, giving you a chance to stop him if you changed your mind. When you didn’t, he continued, pulling it over your head gently.

For a moment, Hongjoong just stared, his eyes wide and filled with awe as they roamed over you. His breath hitched slightly, and you could see the way his face softened, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. "You’re... beautiful," he whispered, his voice full of sincerity. His hand moved slowly, tracing the curve of your shoulder, his touch light as if he were afraid of breaking the moment.

You blushed under his gaze, feeling exposed but not uncomfortable. There was something in the way he looked at you—like you were the most precious thing he had ever seen—that made your heart swell. "I've never seen anything like this," he admitted quietly, almost to himself. His eyes met yours again, filled with admiration. "You're perfect."

You felt your cheeks grow warmer, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. His praise felt genuine, heartfelt, and it only deepened the connection between you. Hongjoong leaned in to press another soft kiss to your lips before moving to kiss your collarbone, his touch reverent, as if every inch of you deserved the utmost care and attention.

His hands moved gently, exploring your skin with a mix of curiosity and adoration, but always with a quiet, unspoken question in his eyes, making sure you were comfortable with each step.

As soon as he got to the hem of your sweatpants, he looked up again and even before he got to ask you, you nodded and let him know that he can undress you. So with that he took your sweatpants off, leaving you in only your panties, no bra.

"Everything good..?" he shyly asked, gaze shifting onto your hard nipples, gulping at the sight.

"Y-yes.. please, Joong.." you pleaded, whining at him.

"Are you.. sure? It's kinda.. both of our first times..." he said, slightly panicking, but you reassured him that everything is okay by shutting him off with a longed kiss.

While still kissing you, he also took your panties off, then broke the kiss for a moment.

"You're perfect.. my love.." he told you, showering you with love. He took off his clothes and looked at you, eyes full of lust combined with affection.

As you were laying on your back on the laid-down couch, an extendible bed, he positioned himself to your entrance and stood like that for a moment. His hands went traveling, from your thighs to your waist and to your breasts, resting them around where he could, flustered. He went in for a kiss, tongues interlocking and deeply tasting you as his right hand went to your dripping folds, softly, almost scared-like touching you, to not make you uncomfortable. You squirmed under him, trying to get more friction from his fingers and as soon as you felt him insert two of them, you soflty moaned, the sound revrebrating through as you kissed him.

He deepened the kiss as his fingers began to move, slowly at first, teasingly. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the tension in the air growing as his pace picked up, each stroke more deliberate, more eager. Your hips instinctively rocked against his hand, silently urging him on as your breaths became shallow, each touch sending jolts of pleasure through you.

His lips trailed away from your mouth, planting soft kisses along your jawline, down to your neck. The sensation of his hot breath and the delicate pressure of his lips made you shiver. He could sense your need, your desire for more, and his hand responded in kind, fingers curling inside you, finding that sweet spot that made your back arch and a sharp gasp escape your lips.

For a brief moment, he paused to look at you, his eyes dark with desire, silently asking for permission to continue, to go further. You could feel the connection between you, the understanding that this was a shared moment of passion, of trust. With a soft, breathless nod, you gave him that silent affirmation, ready to lose yourself in the sensations he was stirring within you.

"I-mmh, I'm close, Joong-" you breathed out, legs trembling and your walls clenching on his fingers. The knot that formed in your belly was damn close to bursting, his fingers became steadier and faster, one of his hands traveling to your breasts and fondling with them. He leaned in for another kiss and as soon as he curled his fingers inside you a couple of times, you came down from your high, broken moans and whines escaping your throat.

"Good girl.. my love" he praised you, while the hand that was inside you just a moment ago went to his hard and aching cock, looking contently at you. He slowly got up and opened a drawer, taking a condom out of a small box. Your eyes widened at his care as he put it on and lined himself up to your entrance, his hands resting on your waist.

"Are you ready?" he shyly muffled.

"Y-yes" voice breathless and broken.

He slowly thrusted himself in you, giving you time to adjust to his size. He stood still for a moment, waiting for a sign from you, to which you softly moved under him, trying to get some friction. He took that as a sign and started fucking you more rapidly, but with all the care in the world. He lifted you up in his lap, as he embraced you. Your hands gathered around his shoulders, holding onto him dearly.

"I love you so much... y/n" Hongjoong stated.

"Me too, Joong.."

You were now in charge of the movements, being of top of him. And as you moved up and down, with a steady rythm, both your breaths got shallower and in a gasped manner. Hongjoong's hands were holding onto your waist and ass, trying so hard not to move you more than you wanted. But he was patient, never rushing you.

He muffled something you couldn’t quite figure out, but he soon found his words, "You feel so good... my love. You're so beautiful.. Goddamn, I'm so close-" and as you let yourself be fully filled by his lenghty cock, he finished and let out a string of muffled words, forehead now resting on your shoulder.

He decided to fuck you through his high which put you in the spot to be close to cumming again, which happened as soon as he bottomed out a few more times, hitting all your good spots, accompanied by his hands roaming your body.

You felt slightly overwhelmed, tears forming in your eyes from all the pleasure and pain of having sex for the first time with your lovely boyfriend.

He helped you off and lifted you up, carrying you to the bathtub. He slowly put you down and turned on the shower, getting in, too.

"Let's get you washed up.. my darling " he softly said and moved the shower head towards your body, hands soflty cleansing you.

"Thank you for all of this.. truly" you said, smiling.

"Thank.. you for trusting me, I should be saying" Hongjoong stated and leaned in for a forehead kiss, embracing you thightly while he let the water run and slowly fill the bathtub.

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @gong-fourz @arki-sha @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @woolysium

#illusionnet #blossomnet #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez fic #ateez x y/n #fanfic #smut fic #ateez #ateez smut #smut #mingi s dimples masterlist #hongjoong x y/n #ateez hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong

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elllisaaa · 1 year ago

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no nut november - yang jeongin (6th to lose)

-> pairing : jeongin x fem!reader

-> words count : 3.9k

-> genre : smut, sexfriends

-> warnings : teasing, dirty talk, praising, lingerie, unprotected sex, fingering (f. receiving), choking (f. receiving), creampie, little bit of angst (bc they are stupid (but cute)) + the way i'm depicting jeongin does not represent him, it's only a work of fiction

-> 18+ content bellow, minors dni

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated ! sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language.

-> masterlist | skz masterlist | no nut november

Jeongin hadn’t seen you since they all agreed on the bet. Your whole relationship was based on sex, aka the thing he wasn’t allowed to do for a month. So, if he was seeing you just for that, there was no reason he'd start missing you, right ?

Right ?

Well, not really since your absence had created a hole in his life. Usually, he would text with you throughout the day, talking casually, joking around, and sometimes, when you were a bit tipsy, you would call him and tell him about more serious things. But it was okay, it was what friends did. Except you weren’t supposed to be friends, simply fuck buddies, calling the other when they were in the mood. But it slowly slipped in the most comfortable friendship he ever had - with a little bonus.

He shouldn't be missing you, since he was talking to you every day like he normally would. But he was missing your body, obviously. However, this was not what was scaring him. No. He was afraid because he started missing cuddling with you when you watched a movie, simply sleeping with you, admiring your cute, sleepy face when you woke up in the morning, making you breakfast as you hung around in his clothes, sometimes back hugging him.

That wasn’t what he should have felt. But here he was, regretting all the life choices that led him to this, particularly calling you to tell you he wouldn’t come over for a month, because of the bet. You insisted on the fact that he could still hang out at yours if he wanted to, even if you weren’t doing anything sexual. But Jeongin had refused your offer, knowing he would be too tempted if he did. He didn’t see your smile drop at the other end of the call, nor the sour feeling creeping up your heart.

So, he was part of the reason you were getting drunk tonight - well, he was the only reason, but too much to admit to yourself at once. You couldn’t bring yourself to accept the fact that he literally said that the only thing he wanted from you was sex. You knew that was how it all started, but it was more now. You were friends. Or at least you thought, since you apparently were just a toy in his eyes. You took another shot to stop your thoughts, wanting to only think of you tonight, not him and his stupidly attracting voice every time he said your name.

“- Isn’t that Jeongin right there ?”

You turned around so fast that your best friend almost choked on her drink, laughing at your eagerness. But you didn’t care as your eyes fell on his silhouette. A smile lightened his face as he laughed at a joke from one of his friends, and you couldn’t help staring at him. It’s been so long since you had last seen him, so long since you had last felt his touch and his lips on you. The way your heart jumped in your chest was only another proof of how much you were missing him.

He must have felt that someone was watching him, because Jeongin turned around, his eyes diving in yours. Suddenly, it was like you couldn’t breathe anymore, as if the only source of oxygen was him and that you needed him close to you to survive. His gaze lingered on your lips, more than they should have, and when he came back to your eyes, lust was burning inside of you, lust was written all over his face. You swallowed with difficulty as you turned to your friend again, feeling like you could pass out every moment.

“- You’re okay girl ?

- Yeah… He was just not supposed to be there tonight, that��s why I came.

- Well, you don’t have to talk to him. Wanna go dance ?”

You smiled at her, chugging the rest of your drink before following her to the other room from which loud music was coming out. Yes, Jeongin should not have been there. The friend who threw the party was the one who introduced you to each other, and he had promised you that Jeongin wasn’t coming, too busy with work lately. But he was there, and now, you couldn’t think about anything else.

So you just tried to forget, just for a moment - drinking too much, until your head started to spin, dancing too much, until your feet hurt. You were unaware of how many times Jeongin looked at you, of how many times he wished he could come to you, take you away from this party and spend the next three days with you all alone. You were breathtaking, beautiful, and almost unreal from how gorgeous you were, making it impossible for him not to watch you dance.

But you didn’t notice, already too wasted to care about anything else than not tripping over your own feet. You were drunk enough to feel lightheaded, but not to the point where you didn’t know what you did anymore. At least, you weren’t thinking about him too much. Only looking one or two times in his direction before your best friend slapped your arm, making you come back to reality. And finally, you reached the level of drunk where everything and anything could make you either laugh or tear up really quickly.

It only took one person mentioning Jeongin, simply saying his name, for you to feel tears fill up your eyes almost immediately. You were missing him too much for your own good, you were missing him even if you knew the only thing he wanted from you was sex. It was too much for your intoxicated brain, and you felt the need to be alone. You excused yourself, heading quickly to the bathroom, hoping to cry for some time and that you would feel better after.

“- Y/N ?”

His voice calling your name made your tears fall out of your eyes, rolling on your cheeks slowly as he reached you, putting a hand on your shoulder. You turned around, having no way to escape anyway. Jeongin's eyes widened, full of worries, as soon as he noticed that you were crying.

“- Are you okay ? Well, I suppose you’re not okay since you’re crying but is it bad bad or just bad ? Do you need anything ? Do you want water, or a hug, or something to eat ?”

Your tears blurred your vision as you cried more and more every time he said something, unable to say a coherent word or sentence anymore.

“- Is it too much ? Do you want me to leave ?”

His hand left your shoulders, and you shivered, feeling empty and scared immediately. You needed him with you, the only thought in your mind being his warmth when he hugged you, and how comforting it was. And you needed just that right now.

“- No, no ! Stay with me, please…”

Jeogin nobbed, putting one hand on the small of your back, bringing you to the bathroom and closing the door behind him. And then, as if he had known you for years, he opened his arms with a little smile. It was as if we knew exactly what to do to make the sadness go away. You wrapped your arms around his waist, and he did the same to you, feeling immediately safe when you pressed your head against his chest. You sighed loudly, relaxing in his hold. Maybe he was the one because of whom you were crying, but for some obscure reasons, he was also the only one capable of calming you that quickly.

“- Feeling better ?

- Yeah…”

His question came to break the silence after a moment, after running his fingers through your hair to soothe your pain away, after just listening to the muffled sounds of voices and music coming from afar.

“- Do you want to talk about it ?”

You lifted your head from his chest, looking at him closely. He seemed genuinely worried for you, his eyes giving off so much gentleness it made your heart flutter. He shouldn’t have that effect on you. He shouldn’t make you feel that safe, so safe that you wanted to tell him all about what you were feeling right now. That you didn’t know what to do in your life because your studies didn’t interest you. That you were feeling empty most of the time. That being with people was your only way of avoiding your thoughts. That he was the only one who made you feel like you had a place to be in this world.

“- I… I feel like I don’t know where I’m going lately. I feel so overwhelmed and stressed all the time, it’s like I can never really rest. I only feel peace when I’m with you.”

Jeongin's heart started beating faster, his eyes still fixed on yours. Your gaze was spilling out with so much tenderness and gentleness he felt like he could pass out. He tried to breathe normally, not letting his emotions take over him. He should only care about you right now, only focus on helping you get off your chest what you needed to feel better.

“- W-With me ?

- Hm… Everytime you hold me, I forget about everything… I like you so much Jeongin…”

He suddenly felt like he was crushed by a weight on his shoulders so heavy it made his legs weak. He gripped on your shoulders, pushing you off of him, feeling the need to get some space between you in order to get his brain to function again. You what ? He couldn’t believe it. You were drunk. Yeah, he saw you struggling to walk straight an hour before. He knew you were saying this only because alcohol was running down your veins, not because you actually meant it. However, he couldn’t help the warmth that was filling him up at your words.

“- You shouldn’t say that to me, you’re tired and drunk. I’m gonna take you back to your place, okay ? We just have to walk for a few minutes and you’ll be comfy in your bed.

- I didn’t say this because I’m drunk. I… Shit, it’s so hard to say…”

You chuckled to yourself, sighing as you tried to gather enough strength to let the words out, the words you wanted to let out for weeks, months. The words you needed to let out, just to get over him. He said it straight to your face, that he only needed you, wanted you for your body. But you couldn’t help hope from creeping up in your heart as Jeongin looked more and more nervous as silence lingered.

“- I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

His eyes widen, his heart sinking down in his chest. What did you mean you couldn’t do this anymore ? You couldn’t see him anymore ? Why ? Why did you want that to stop ? He liked it so much when he knew that he could just call you, ask you to come over and watch movies and series for hours, cuddling with you and not even talking. It was his favourite way to spend his time. He didn’t want it to stop.

“- At first, I thought that it could work, but now I realize that it was a mistake.”

Jeongin opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something but nothing came out, no words passing through the barrier of his lips. His eyes started to fill up with tears, as well as yours. It couldn’t be true. You couldn’t say that he was a mistake. He took a step toward you, still holding your shoulders, as if being close to you again would convince you that he was worth it.

“- You… Are you serious ? Did I do something wrong ? Did I hurt you ? Please, tell me what I’ve done and I’ll fix it. Just talk to me, please.”

You felt on the edge of crying once again, trying to keep yourself together when all you wanted was to go back in time, when nothing was complicated, when Jeongin didn’t think it was his fault because it was all yours, when you didn’t have feelings for him. You messed up your relationship, not him.

“- No, no, no ! You didn’t do anything ! You’re just… You’re just so easy to love. I didn’t mean to fall for you, but every time you stayed the night to make sure I was sleeping well. And all the times you came right away when I called you. It just made me want to keep you with me forever. You’re so perfect, it was impossible for me not to love you.”

Your sad smile made Jeongin’s heart crumble, a tear rolling on his cheek as he took your face in his hands, kindness pouring out from every one of his touches, of his looks.

“- You do mean it right ? It’s just not just because you’re drunk ?”

You shook your head from left to right, a much more joyful smile spreading on his lips.

“- Well, it better be because from now on, I’m not letting you go.”

Your own smile started to widen as his words made their way to your brain, struggling to believe what he had just said.

“- You better not.

- I already love you too much for that.”

________________

The way back to your place never seemed so long as all you wanted was to embrace Jeongin and kiss him until you couldn’t breathe anymore. Which you did as soon as you walked past the door of your apartment, pushing him against the nearest wall, finally crashing your lips onto his. He hummed happily when you did so, slipping his tongue in your mouth as he gripped your waist, pulling you even closer to him. You threw away your coat quickly, helping Jeongin to get rid of his jacket as well. You needed to touch him, needed to feel his skin on yours.

“- Too much clothes. Take them off.”

He chuckled when you slipped your hands under the hem of his white shirt, scratching his abs lightly, just like you knew he liked it, just to get him to whine like you expected him to.

“- Do it yourself if you want it that bad darling.”

You groaned at his teasing, only making him smirk as he laid against the wall, watching you with so much desire in his eyes as you started to undress yourself instead. Teasing had always been your thing, turning you on some more every time you played with each other patience. And you knew very well that Jeongin was obsessed with your body. So you put on a show for him, pushing the thin straps of your black dress slowly past your shoulders before you unzipped it just as slowly. You let the material slide down your body as it revealed an emerald green set of lingerie.

“- You’re so beautiful…

- Want to touch ?

- Yeah.

- Then take off your clothes.”

Your smirk was back, and Jeongin couldn’t help loving it, loving all the things you did to him. He felt his body burning up with a hunger for you, with a hunger to lick every nook and cranny of your skin. His teeth sunk in his bottom lip as he watched you caressing your body, hands roaming around, grabbing your tits over your bra and whining at the feeling. He wanted to tease a little more, but the fact that he hadn’t cum since almost a month, and that he had missed you so much led him to just give up and throw away his clothes quickly.

“- Happy now ?”

You chuckled in the kiss he gave you as he picked you up from the floor easily, manhandling you to your room, where he let you down on the sheets, towering over you immediately. He resumed his kisses, this time on your neck. He always spent extra time there, licking, biting, marking, kissing. He loved to see you struggle to hide the hickeys he left on your skin, loved to pretend it meant that you belonged to him. But now, it was not pretending anymore. You were his.

“- You’d look so good with my hands around your neck darling…”

You’ve never talked about that before, but the thought of his beautiful, veiny hands wrapping around your neck, keeping you from breathing normally, applying pressure against your throat while he was fucking you was definitely turning you on. You ran your hands through his hair, moaning when he sucked at your sensitive skin one more time.

“- Do it then.”

His head snapped up when your words reached his brain. You actually wanted him to choke you ? It was something out of his wet dreams about you, something he never wished you would want too.

“- You’re serious ?

- Yeah… Always wondered what it would feel like having those pretty fingers squeezing my throat…”

The look in your eyes was enough for Jeongin to spread your legs wide, helping you get rid of your underwear, the last pieces of clothing ending up somewhere in the room. His hands ran from your ankles to your thighs, never getting too close from your wet folds. The little noises coming out of your mouth as he was teasing you were music to his ears, but he wanted to hear you moan, wanted to hear you cry out his name. Jeongin finally pressed his digits on your clit, rubbing it lightly as you sighed in relief.

“- What do you want, darling ? My fingers or my tongue ?

- Fingers, please.”

He joined your lips again as he pushed two of his fingers inside you, groaning in your mouth at how wet you were. He missed the feeling of your walls fluttering around him, missed the way you were digging your nails in his back when he was fucking you, missed your hands tugging at his hair while you two were kissing. And you missed his touch just as much.

Jeongin started to thrust his fingers in and out of your pussy as his other hand traveled your body, from your hips to your breast, and finally, your neck. He wrapped his fingers carefully around it, applying little pressure, just to test the water, his other hand still working inside of your cunt. You whimpered at the feeling, your walls clenching around him.

“- You’re okay ?

- Hm… Tighter, please.”

He gulped, fearing that he would hurt you. But the moment he squeezed your throat harder, your moans increased, your pussy pulsating on his fingers constantly, he knew he was doing it just right - and he also knew that he was now addicted to this. You couldn’t even say a word, the lack of air making you feel lightheaded and dizzy. Maybe you should have warned him, but your orgasm took you by surprise, your juices covering his hand as you fucked yourself on his fingers, letting go in the feeling of his hand wrapped up around your neck.

“- Fuck Jeongin ! I need you… Please…

- But you just came…”

He let go of your neck immediately after you stopped grinding on his hand, caressing it gently as if he wanted the light red marks he left to go away.

“- You’re so cute sometimes.”

He hitted your shoulder playfully as you smiled brightly.

“- I just don’t want to hurt you, idiot.

- Just like I said, so cute…”

He shook his head before kissing you passionately, trying not to let you see how red his ears were. But you noticed it anyway, only making you want to stay in his arms forever. However, for now, you just needed him to touch you, to make you forget about all the time you wasted worrying about him sharing your feelings or not. You just needed your boyfriend.

“- Jeongin… I really need you…

- I’m trying to find a condom baby, but someone keeps on distracting me.

- Don’t.

- What ?

- Don’t find a condom. I want you to fuck me raw, I want you to fill me up.”

Jeongin stayed still, one of his hands plunged inside the drawer of your nightstand while his eyes were fixed on you, wide open. He was dreaming, he could only be dreaming. But you hadn’t disappeared, nor seemed to be unserious. So he came back to you, nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck, your fingers tugging gently on his hair immediately and making him whimper. He tried to stay focused as he placed himself at your entrance, sliding his cock against your wet cunt.

“- Gosh Y/N… You can’t tell me things like that so easily…

- Why not ? Don’t you like it ?

- Too much… I’m sorry baby, I don’t think I’m gonna last long.”

You pulled his hair to force him to look at you in the eyes, caressing his cheek softly.

“- I don’t care about that, we have all the time in the world. I just want to feel you in me.”

With that being said, Jeongin pushed past your folds, sliding right into you due to your wetness. The moans you both left out were certainly loud enough to wake up all your neighbors, but you couldn't care when he felt this good inside of you. You didn’t think that having the condom off would change the feeling so much, but you could now sense every curve of his dick thrusting into you, and it was driving you crazy.

“- S-Shit darling… You feel so good, so warm…”

You let out another moan, unable to do more when he pounded into you, hitting all the right places at once. You could feel that he was close by the way his cock was twitching inside of you, by the strength with which he was holding your legs up, by the increasing volume of his moans. But you could also tell that he was holding back, because his one and only goal was always to make you feel good. For once though, you wanted him to be lost in pleasure in front of your eyes, wanted to be the one making him fall apart.

“- Go on baby, let go… I want your cum inside of me, I want it so bad.”

With one last loud moan, Jeongin collapsed over you, filling you up with his cum. You whimpered at the feeling of your walls being painted white. You’ve never felt so full before, never felt so entranced by seeing someone else's orgasm hitting them on. But watching Jeongin and running your fingers through his hair as he tried to get his breath back was one of the best ways to end your night.

You almost thought that he had fallen asleep, until his hands started caressing the skin of your waist gently at first, then grabbing a handful of your skin just for the pleasure of hearing your little noises. You didn’t get the time to think before he let the kisses that were sprinkling the skin of your shoulders go down to your breast, your stomach, your pubis and the inside of your thighs. And only there, he looked back at your face, at your red cheeks and lust filled gaze.

“- What are you doing ?

- Making it up to you for being stupid… Plus, I always wondered which taste you’d have if I ate you out after filling you up with my cum.”

You moaned at his words and at his tongue licking you immediately after, Jeongin hiding his smudged smile between your thighs. Maybe that for once, you would stay for more than one night.

-> i don't allow any copies, reposts or translations of my works.

taglist : @bangchans-angel @its-hannjisung @3rachasninja @boi-bi-ahaha @supergoopjudgepsychic @jaiuneamesolitaiire @starsandrqindrops @iwannabangchan69 @b3tOxic @fawnpeaks @lxrii @channiesgoodgirl @imsotiredandalsonineteen @bbchangbinnie24 @chrishak @cscsi @stayconnecteed @miserya99 @puppy-minnie @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @linosssss @channiesbedbug @whosanaanyway @coastalmaine @soobywiththebooty (if your pseudo is crossed out, it's because i can't tag you and you'll have to change your settings)

#skz x reader #skz x yn #stray kids fics #stray kids x reader #jeongin smut #in smut #yang jeongin smut #jeongin x reader #in x reader #skz smut #nnn #no nut november #nnn skz

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whencyclopedia · 18 days ago

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Meroë

Meroe was a wealthy metropolis of the ancient kingdom of Kush in what is today the Republic of Sudan. It was the later capital of the Kingdom of Kush (c. 1069 BCE to c. 350 CE) after the earlier capital of Napata was sacked c. 590 BCE. Prior to that date, Meroe had been an important administrative centre.

The city was located at the crossroads of major trade routes and flourished from c. 750 BCE to 350 CE. Meroe is listed by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site. As no one yet has been able to decipher the Meroitic script, very little can be said for certain on how Meroe grew to become the wondrous city written about by Herodotus circa 430 BCE, but it is known that the city was so famous for its wealth in ancient times that Cambyses II of the Persian Achaemenid Empire mounted an expedition to capture it. The expedition faltered long before reaching the city owing to the difficult and inhospitable terrain of the desert (and, according to some claims, may never have been mounted at all). Still, the persistence of the story of Cambyses' expedition suggests the great fame of Meroe as a wealthy metropolis.

The city was also known as the Island of Meroe as the waters flowing around it made it appear so. It is referenced in the biblical Book of Genesis (10:6) as Aethiopia, a name applied to the region south of Egypt in antiquity meaning "place of the burnt-faces". Although there is evidence of overgrazing and overuse of the land, which caused considerable problems, Meroe thrived until it was sacked by an Aksumite king c. 330 CE and declined steadily afterwards.

Egyptian Influence & King Ergamenes

While there was a settlement at Meroe as early as 890 BCE (the oldest tomb discovered there, that of 'Lord A', dates from that year), the city flourished at its height between c. 750 BCE and 350 CE. The Kingdom of Kush, founded with its capital at Napata, was ruled by Kushites (called "Nubians" by the Egyptians) who, early on, continued Egyptian practices and customs and, though they were depicted in art as distinctly Kushite, called themselves by Egyptian titles. The historian Marc Van De Mieroop writes:

Meroitic culture shows much Egyptian influence, always mixed with local ideas. Many temples housed cults to Egyptian gods like Amun (called Amani) and Isis, but indigenous deities received royal patronage as well. A very prominent Nubian god was the lion-deity Apedemak, a god of war whose popularity increased substantially in this period. Local gods were often associated with Egyptian ones: in Lower Nubia, Mandulis, for example, was considered to be Horus's son. Hybridity is also visible in the arts and in royal ideology. For example, kings of Meroe were represented in monumental images on temples in Egyptian fashion but with local elements, such as garments, crowns, and weapons. (338).

In time, however, these practices gave way to indigenous customs and the Egyptian hieroglyphs were replaced by a new system of writing known as Meroitic. The break from Egyptian culture is explained by the ancient historian Diodorus Siculus who writes that in the time before the reign of King Ergamenes (295-275 BCE), it had been the custom for the high priests of the Egyptian god Amun at Napata to decide who became king and to set the duration of the king's reign.

As the health of the king was tied to the fertility of the land, the priests had the power to determine if the sitting king was no longer fit to rule. If they deemed him unfit, they would send a message to the king, understood to be from the god Amun himself, advising him that the time of his rule on earth was completed and that he must die. The kings had always obeyed the divine orders and had taken their own lives for the supposed good of the people. However, Diodorus continues:

who had received instruction in Greek philosophy, was the first to disdain this command. With the determination worthy of a king he came with an armed force to the forbidden place where the golden temple of the Aithiopians was situated and slaughtered all the priests, abolished this tradition, and instituted practices at his own discretion.

The archaeologist George A. Reisner, who excavated the cities of Meroe and Napata, has famously questioned Diodorus' account calling it "very dubious" and claiming that the Ergamenes story was a national myth which Diodorus accepted as historical truth. Since there is no ancient evidence contradicting Diodorus, however, and since there was clearly a significant cultural break between Meroe and Egypt with Ergamenes' reign, most scholars today accept the account of Diodorus as either certain or something close to actual events.

#History #330CE #350CE #AlexandertheGreat #WHE #[#]

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pombeom · 1 month ago

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remember this? | taesan fic (nsfw)

pairings: dance!au, enemies/exes to lovers, mean!dom taesan x sub!reader, street dancer! taesan x ballerina! reader warnings: mirror sex, slight exhibitionism, teasing from taesan (this is probs gonna be a given in all my future taesan fics atp), reader is tough until she soon isn’t…,name calling, slut shaming, nicknames, raw sex, hair pulling, dub con, tit sucking, dirty talk?, rough sex, creampie, fluffy ending a/n: i love myself a good enemies to lovers so this just had to be written :/

With the competition getting near, you found yourself seeing more of the studio than your own home. Out of all your teammates, you were the chosen one so naturally you felt the pressure this put on your skills and ability. Attending a renowned dance academy had its advantages but being given the responsibility to represent your school was both an honour and a burden. This only meant you had to put in the extra effort to show your worth to both the academy and the judges. You needed to prove yourself.

Ever since being selected at the audition, your rehearsal schedule has been vigorous. Aside from the compulsory competition practices set by your dance teacher, you’d booked the studio for an extra few hours each day to get in the practice. With each step and each turn, you felt the choreography being etched into your body until till there was no more room for error, for the competition was now only days away. Everything you had worked for so far was about to play out in just a few days.

“Alright, I think that’s enough for today. Just make sure to work on your turn out. It’s a little weak on your arabesques,” your teacher comments whilst packing her things away.

“I noticed too. I’ll work on it now.”

“Now? Aren’t you going home?”

“No, I booked the studio for a few more hours so I can practice a bit more.” You weren’t supposed to let her know, but it slipped out. Your dedication wasn’t as well-received as you’d expected.

“Y/n. What did I tell you. Our class schedule is enough. The first few weeks I understand but it’s getting out of hand now. You practically live here. Soon you’re going to end up overworking yourself which will affect your performance at the competition. We can’t afford to lose it again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Miss Everett. But since I already booked it for today, can I just use today as one last extra practice,” you begged, trying to see her into reason.

“Fine. But if I hear you in the studio past 10pm, then I might have to ban you from being able to book it for extra sessions in the future and I’m sure you don’t want that. Understood?”

“Yes, Miss Everett.”

“Good,” she nods approvingly, granting you one of her rare smiles, “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Have a good evening!”

The door slams behind her as she leaves the room. It was just you in here. You and your reflection. Casting your eyes upon yourself, you pull your legs into an arabesque, noticing your sickled foot. Shifting its position, you attempt to get it into the right alignment when the door crashes open once again.

Immediately dropping your leg back to the ground, you turn your eyes to meet his sharp gaze in the mirror. His lips instantly lift into a soft smirk, teasing you for being alone in the studio once again. He’d intruded on your private space and with that thought your blood boils as you grit your teeth awaiting an explanation.

“What a surprise! You’re here again,” he exclaims, his tone flooded with sarcasm.

“I booked the studio so of course I’m here. Can’t say the same for you though,” you scoff, ensuring your irritation was explicitly conveyed, “I don’t enjoy being interrupted mid-practice.”

“I’m sure you don’t. But I booked this studio.”

“No. You didn’t. You’re in another one. I booked it for 8pm today.”

“The confirmation message says otherwise.” He shows you his phone, confirming the date and time of the booking and you run to check your phone immediately. 8pm Tuesday. You’d booked it for the wrong day. Your face turns red, embarrassed to admit your mistake to him.

“Now if you don’t mind, can you leave. I’ve got to practice.”

You slumped over as you begin slipping off your pointe shoes, complaining to yourself about his bad attitude.

“Is that mumbling I hear?” The arrogance visible in his voice and composure as he crosses his arms, looking down at you in front of him.

“No. You must be hearing things,” you state, standing back up once again, “now, if you move, I’ll be on my way.”

“What if I don’t?” his smirk had only grown longer since the time he’d first entered, only causing your irritation to explode within you.

“Han Taesan! Move out the way!”

“Woah woah, calm down Shorty.”

He knew you hated that nickname and yet he continues to insist upon using it. You dropped your bag back on the floor, pushing his shoulders with all your might. Your brows arched into that of anger as you continue to hit against his chest, pushing him towards the mirror until he’s cornered against it.

“Call me that again and you won’t know what’s come over you.”

“Is that right? Shorty?”

It doesn’t take him long to turn you around, slamming your back against the glass. His arms cage you in between his chest, his face inching closer to you. Heart beating faster at the lack of space between you, you put up with your act of anger, grabbing the fabric of his t-shirt, moving him even closer to you.

“I fucking hate you.” The words come out through the grit of your teeth.

“Is that so? What are you going to do about it?” His infamous smirk once again plastered across his face, almost as if he was diminishing your sense of being. It didn’t help that he stood towering over you, standing at a head taller.

Without a cue or warning, his arms shift place to instead wrapping around your waist almost swallowing your entire being.

“Do you remember this? You used to love being wrapped up in my arms,” he taunts, giving your waist a squeeze.

The past flashed in front of your eyes. The times when you were both so carefree, messing around in bed almost every other day and on nights when he wasn’t deep inside you, you’d be watching your favourite shows, or cooking dinner together. Before he disappointed you and left you to fend for yourself as he gave you up for his first love. Dance. You knew well enough that a dancer’s love will always remain with their art, you just didn’t know that that love couldn’t be shared with another person. Maybe you didn’t love your art as much as he did. Maybe that’s why you were so hurt by his betrayal. Those maybe’s slowly tore you apart after your breakup. You swore to yourself to love your art just as much as Taesan did his, if not even more. You became obsessed with the idea of being more dedicated to your dancing than he was. But where did that lead to now?

“That was then. Back when you weren’t a fucking jerk.”

“Do you ever miss it?”

“Miss what?”

“This.”

Within seconds he lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, as he uses this as his gateway into getting even closer to you. The cold mirror presses against your half exposed back with the goosebumps travelling down your spine.

“Do you ever miss me holding you like this, knowing what comes after?”

“Taesan…let go,” your voice was weak, knowing you didn’t mean it.

Your attempts to push him off only resulted in him tightening his grip around your thighs. It was embarrassing how quickly you folded, with each push getting weaker as your arms became jelly under his touch.

“I’ll let go when I want to. Now be a good girl and take me like you used to.”

Dropping you to the ground, his hands wandered around your body effortlessly, meandering through the familiar curves. The straps of your leotard fell down your shoulders as he pulled them down revealing your half naked torso. The only thing blocking him from you was the black bra he gifted you on your anniversary 3 years ago.

“Still got this, huh?” He teases, pinging the strap of your bra.

With ease, he removes it from your body, staring intently at your perky tits as your nipples hardened upon contact with the cold breeze of air. Whilst one hand goes up to play with your nipple, his mouth takes care of the other, sucking around the skin of your boob.

“Fuck! Taesan. Stop!” Your words said one thing whilst actions meant another. Your handed tangle into his hair pulling him closer to your chest, heightening the sensations of his mouth on your sensitive buds.

The sound of a pop bought you back to your sense as he released himself from your tits. He scans the rest of your body before ripping your nearly tied skirt off your waist and pulling down your leotard to the floor, along with your tights and panties.

You felt so exposed standing naked in the vastness of the studio. The studio which you saw as the holy grail as it stood by you through thick and thin. It felt wrong to be in such a vulnerable state in a place where you knew you were going to be in the next day with your unsuspecting teacher.

“Turn around,” he commanded.

One swift move and your facing your naked form in the mirror as he pushes your head against the mirror, pulling your lower half closer to his as he begins grinding his clothed dick against you.

“Fuck, you’re dripping. Such a slut aren’t you?” You peer down at his grey joggers, noticing the evident wet patch you’ve created which only turned you on more.

His slow pace picks up and his actions almost emulate him fucking you despite being fully clothed as he grabs your hips, pounding them against his tented cock.

“Taesan, please!” Your moans were stifled as he pushes against your head harder, the mirror fogging up against your face.

“Please what? Use your words. You were given a mouth for a reason. Or was it so you could suck my cock like the slut you are? Remember how feral you used to go over my dick?” His chuckle echoed through the room, only further getting your closer to your orgasm.

“Taesan, fuck me. I need you inside me. I wanna cum.”

“My bitch wants to cum does she? Didn’t you say you hated me just a few minutes ago? Now you want my cock inside you pounding you like I used to?”

“Mhmm! Please!” Your begging was received with his devious laughter. He loved the control he had over you and deep down you knew you loved it to. You missed it.

“Only because you insist.”

He pulls off his T-shirt over his head in one swift move, then immediately removing himself of the remainder of his clothes, allowing his hard, long cock to spring free. He aligns the tip over your throbbing core, pushing in half his length before pulling back out again.

“Is this what you wanted?” He asks before repeating the same action.

Taking matters into your own hands you begin sinking your hips down onto his dick, taking it all in as it hits the top of your cervix.

“Who said you could do that? I’m in charge, don’t forget.” His hands take their place on your hip, gripping it so firmly as to disallow you from moving it any further.

He pulls out his length completely, leaving you whining over the loss of contact. It only takes him a few seconds before he slams it back in, sharp and strong as the vibrations hit your throat, leaving you gasping for air as you let out a strangled moan.

“You like that bitch?” Your frantic nodding only boosts his ego as he repeats it once more, before he sets up a rhythmic pace of thrusting into you.

It doesn’t take long for you to re-familiarise yourself with his veiny cock, going dizzy at the way he’s stretching you out.

“Faster! Please!”

“My baby wants me to go faster? Only if you look at yourself in the mirror. Watch how well you’re taking me.”

You instantly move your head from the mirror, feeling hazy at the sudden shift in position, Taesan continuing to fuck your brains out.

You see yourself in the mirror, face and hair disheveled as you look up to meet Taesan’s lust filled eyes. Just as he promised, his lace picks up making your legs wobble. If it weren’t for his hands holding you up, you were certain you would have passed out. You drop your head as the pressure builds up in your core, your vision going blurry with the build up of tears.

“Look up. I told you to watch yourself in the mirror.” His hands grab ahold of your ponytail, pulling it backwards to your head faces the mirror once again, “I want you to watch yourself fall apart on my cock. Look at you. Fucked dumb already?”

“Taesan…Ahhh! I’m gonna cum!” Your whine screeches throughout the room, desperately praying the room was soundproof.

“Fuck. Me too. Cum with me.”

The last few thrusts were sharp and calculated as his hand wanders down to your leaking pussy, stroking your swollen clit. Seconds later, your orgasm explodes, the tingling travelling throughout your body as you drop to the floor, your legs finally giving up on you. Taesan’s cum erupts out of you like a volcanic eruption, staining the polished wooden floors in sticky white.

“You missed this didn’t you?”

You had no energy left in you to respond but that was enough for Taesan to figure out the answer.

“I’ve missed you.”

His confession appeared out of nowhere as you lift your head up to meet his. He was now crouching on the floor to be level with your glowing face.

“Taesan…”

“If you don’t want me back, I understand. Just know that there’s not a day that goes by where I’m not thinking about you. From the way you laugh to the way you fit in my arms, I’m always thinking about you.” His words were much more gentle than they were before. You were reminded of your past once again.

“I missed you too Taesan, in more ways than you can imagine. You broke my heart yet you were all that I could think about.”

“I never should have abandoned you. My dance is important but never as important as you, baby. I’ve realised that too late.”

“It’s never too late. I want to be held by you again. I want to kiss you like I used to and simply live like we did before. Before we were all-consumed by dance.”

“I want to go back to that. If you’ll let me, can I ask you out? Will you be my girlfriend again?”

Pulling him closer, your arms wrap around his neck, attaching your lips to his, the kiss was soft yet passionate enough to have your stomach fluttering from butterflies.

“Yes. Of course I’d say yes. Let’s have a do over.”

Competition day rolled around as both you and Taesan paced around nervously in your respective changing rooms. You mentally go over the choreography which you had injected into your limbs and calm down the nerves.

“Y/n, go up to the stage please. You’re on after Set 14. That gives you 3 minutes.”

You nod your head and thank the runner before heading over to side stage where Taesan is already awaiting your arrival. He picks you up in a warm embrace, spinning you around before placing you back down, caressing your cheek fondly.

“I know you’ll be great! Now go and show them that you’re my girl. Good luck, Shorty.”

“Fuck you, Taesan.” You giggle, slapping his arm playfully at his teasing remark.

“You can but after you perform. I’m on in a bit too. So how about tonight? We can have a celebratory fuck.” He raises his eyebrows, nudging you as you hide behind your hands.

“We’re in public for God sake! Stop messing around.”

“Who said I’m messing around?”

“Ugh. You’re lucky I love you.”

“Indeed I am.”

“Y/n, you’re up. Make your way to your starting position please.” The runner calls out as you give Taesan one last hug before making your way onto the stage.

His mischievous smile removed you of all your nerves, leaving you instead with confidence that you’ll perform your piece to the best of your ability, which you did considering you came 2nd place in ballet out of 32 dance schools across the country. Moreover, Taesan won first place for street dance, having you both jumping around in your tight hug.

“I guess we do deserve a good fuck after this then. I’m so proud of us,” he taunts, as you nudge his shoulder.

“I guess we do,” you reply, running off as he chased behind you, catch you by your waist and wrestling you down onto the couch in your changing room.

His eyes scan the room to make sure the door behind you was closed as he whispers, “Do you think you can wait or do you wanna let me fuck you now?”

“Now? Are you kidding?”

“Well, yeah. As long as you stay quiet.”

#boynextdoor #boynextdoor hard hours #taesan smut #taesan #taesan boynextdoor #taesan x reader #taesan fic #taesan ff #boynextdoor ff #boynextdoor smut

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ikeuverse · 10 months ago

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mr. funny guy | lhs

pairing: heeseung x fem!reader genres: fluff, humor wc: 3.8k+

꒰ 𝅄 warnings ꒱ : a few swear words, mentions of alcohol. yeji, sunghoon's sister, is portrayed in this fic as being of age, because there is a part that insinuates that she has been drinking.

꒰ 𝅄 synopsis ꒱ : why was it so important to heeseung that you laughed at his antics? you hadn't felt the need he had to make you smile, to be the reason for your smile. a ride home was all he needed to understand your motives and talk to you about them.

꒰ 𝅄 notes ꒱ : this came to me as a totally random thought and made me want to write it, without pretension. yes, konon is written as jake's girlfriend just because i wanted something totally different, and i've never seen anyone put her as the girlfriend of any of the boys. idk, nothing special, hehehe. i hope you like it!

꒰ 𝅄 masterlist ꒱

Every group of friends consists of having outstanding personalities or a representative for each thing among them. Heeseung could be the personification of the funny kid.

He had always been in charge of making the best jokes and making everyone laugh ever since he met his friends at the end of high school and the beginning of university. With Heeseung around, it was as if there was no sadness at all.

Even his attitude was that of a big, awkward, funny guy, which gave him even more credit for his antics.

Heeseung was responsible for making Jake stop crying when he got his first low grade in calculus at university. Not even his girlfriend was able to cheer him up, but Heeseung trying to prepare a smoothie and forgot to close the lid of the blender, causing all the fruit and mixtures to fly around the kitchen... Oh, that got a good laugh out of Jake. And a few curses from Jay, for sure.

Heeseung was also responsible for making Sunghoon and Yeji cry with laughter a week after their puppy went missing. She was crying and he said he would help his friends find her, even if their hopes were slim. Heeseung did find her, but that didn't stop him from coming back all wet and with mud all over his shorts because the dog had wandered into a garden and he ran with his life to rescue her. Telling that story out loud made it all worthwhile in the end.

What Heeseung never managed was to get many smiles out of you, Yeji's best friend. It wasn't as if you and she joined Sunghoon's group of friends very often, but when you did, you were the only one who stayed quietly in the corner of the room and didn't crack a smile when he made a joke.

At first, it didn't make much difference to him, not least because you only appeared occasionally and Heeseung only found out about you sometime later. Because you really were so quiet that you seemed almost invisible. But as time went by and Yeji attended more and more of the boys' meetings – even more so after she and you made friends with Jake's girlfriend – Heeseung didn't want to admit it, but he started to feel a bit insulted.

Why weren't you laughing at his jokes? Why didn't you crack a single smile at his antics in front of his friends? You were supposed to hate him, in Heeseung's mind. That was the only explanation for why he never saw a single curved movement of your lips.

"Relax, man" Sunghoon said one night when the two of them were in the kitchen preparing the popcorn for the movie. "Yeji said that Y/n is like that, very closed," he took a larger bowl to pour the contents into, placing it next to another in case he needed a spare. "She took a while to open up to the girls, so maybe it's nothing personal."

So it would seem. Heeseung thought, rolling his eyes as he tried to forget about it and focus on the movie night they all had together.

A whole month passed and he tried not to focus on the thought that you didn't like him, because if that were the case, Heeseung would have gotten there first. He knew everyone there before you did, so if you didn't like him, you might as well not hang out with them anymore and just be friends with Yeji and Jake's girlfriend.

But no, that night what he wanted to happen happened. And without expecting much, without creating any expectations that you would smile at him.

"What are you three doing?" Sunghoon approached and ruffled Yeji's hair, hearing his little sister grumble and curse him for it.

"Trying to make sushi at home" she huffed "But Konon's the only one who can, and she gives the hardest tasks to me and Y/n to do."

"Come on, I think we're doing fine," you said, avoiding looking at Konon because you knew she was laughing at the two of you.

You held up a hot roll you had just rolled, hoping it wouldn't fall out of your hand and spill all the rice. Your eyes met Sunghoon's and then looked at Heeseung, who was standing in the kitchen doorway.

"You're doing a great job," Sunghoon complimented.

"Yeah, long and crooked... Looks like Sunghoon" Heeseung pointed to the hotroll in his hand, and he almost shouted when he heard the sound of your laughter.

It wasn't possible what Heeseung's eyes were seeing at that moment. You. Laughing and then smiling at him... Did that really happen?

Sunghoon abruptly turned to Heeseung as if he was thinking the same thing. Of course, he and the boys were the only ones to hear Heeseung's lament that you never smiled at anything he did. But now it had just happened.

And he wasn't sure if he wanted to see it again, because strangely Heeseung's heart was pumping in a way that he wasn't happy about. Not to mention the fact that, apart from thinking about your smile and the sound of your laugh for weeks, the boy wasn't proud to say that he had dreamt about it.

Was it stupid to say that he had actually dreamed of your smile? Shit, that couldn't be possible.

"Heeseung!" Jake shouted to get his friend's attention, snapping his fingers in front of his face.

"Fuck, what a fright" Heeseung wriggled in his chair "What's wrong?"

"I've been calling you for about five minutes, what world were you in?"

"In the world where Y/n keeps smiling at him" Sunghoon hummed.

Fucking bastard... How did Sunghoon have to be so direct like that? All right, his friends knew and couldn't stand to hear Heeseung fantasize about it for weeks, but hearing it out loud from someone else made him feel like a bit of an idiot.

"In my defense, I'm still in shock about this" he tried to say, hearing Jay's laughter from across the room.

"Still? How long has it been... like, three weeks? A month?" he asked, already knowing the answer. If Heeseung were to count, it had been a month and a few days, because every month the girls tried to make a different food. And he distinctly remembers his skills – not unlike Konon's – in rolling the seaweed into sushi.

"Do you like her?" Jake sprawled further back on the sofa, almost throwing his legs over Heeseung's lap. Sunghoon was sitting on the floor staring at the TV while the movie was still playing.

"What? No" he said too quickly, regretting it the moment all the boys' eyes landed on him.

"Dude, you literally went to great lengths just to make her laugh for you" Jay got up from his chair to walk over to Sunghoon and sit down next to him on the floor.

"And when that happened, you didn't stop talking about it the whole time," Jake added.

"I said you could all make me stop talking—"

"We don't want to, it's cute" Sunghoon smiled "Besides I think it happened a few more times after sushi night."

"What?" it was Heeseung's turn to shout, startling Jake who was cursing at him quietly as he curled up on the sofa.

At that moment Heeseung was standing in the living room, pacing back and forth near the TV and watching his friends with mixed feelings. Jake was still recovering from his shock, Sunghoon was pressing his lips together, feeling guilty for saying it just then. While Jay held in his laughter and closed his eyes to wait for the conversation to unfold.

"You're just telling me about this now? Fuck Sunghoon, what do you mean?"

"Dude, I'm sorry" he said, "It's just that you got so excited about it that if I told you she smiled a few more times, you might explode."

"I'm exploding right now" from the coloring of his face, it could be possible.

What do you mean you smiled at Heeseung or something related to him and Sunghoon didn't say anything at all? Now he wanted to know, what was the occasion? Had he done something funny, said something at the wrong time, or made a joke? Or did you genuinely smile just because he was around? What had been the circumstance in which you smiled at him?

"All your gears are turning at the moment and I think it's my fault" Sunghoon got up from the floor, straightening his pants and then sighing, "But she smiled at times when you weren't looking."

"Why?"

"Look, I know your mind because I've lived with you for years, but I have no idea what she was thinking about it" Sunghoon's words had a unique effect on Heeseung. He was even more pensive.

"Yeah, he's right" Jake said.

"You too..." Heeseung then turned to Jay.

"Dude, we talked about this for hours and worked it out together," he defended himself, cringing when the other threatened to approach.

"Hey, calm down!" Sunghoon held him by the shoulders even though he knew his friend would do absolutely nothing to any of the three "Now that you know, you can do something about it."

"Yes, kill the three of you."

"Or talk to her and ask why" Jake shrugged and stood up, giving his best smile in response "Now how about we order something to eat? I'm starving."

"No, no more drinks for you today, young lady" Sunghoon snatched the glass from Yeji's hand, listening to his sister's protests even though she was already a little upset.

"But hey, we're celebrating" she tried to catch it, but to no avail, her older brother was taller and would surely use that to his advantage.

"Celebrating what? The loss of your liver?" Heeseung looked around at the number of glasses on the kitchen counter.

He sighed as he imagined that the owner of that house would have an extremely difficult time cleaning up, but his thoughts were soon cut loose by the sound of laughter that flooded the room. His body went still and his eyes widened at the sight of your standing in front of the kitchen door.

"Hey, Heeseung, you look like you've seen a haunting" you waved at him, smiling briefly and then turning your eyes back to the Park siblings.

"He just heard something" Sunghoon added.

Not knowing what it was, you didn't bother asking him and just walked into the kitchen where the three of them were still standing.

"What's going on?" you asked.

"Yeji's already drunk, so let's go home."

"But she's celebrating," you pouted "It's not every day you get an A in Professor Choi's class."

"The worst professor at that university" Yeji picked up a glass to raise and pretend to toast, then put it back on the counter.

"But you've had enough, so I think you'd better go home" he looked at his sister and then at you "Has Jake taken Konon yet?"

"They just got home, Jay told me as soon as I came into the kitchen" you looked around for something to drink "And you two, what are you doing here?"

Sunghoon had gone after Yeji before he left and Heeseung had been in charge of looking for you, so the two of them could take you home safe and sound. But he didn't want to say that out loud.

"We came after you two," Sunghoon replied.

"Okay, let's go" Yeji whined "I won't be able to finish my drink anyway."

"Not even if we just have one more beer? It'll be quick and—"

"Nope" Heeseung stood in front of you when you threatened to approach the fridge. Looking up thanks to his height, this was the closest he had come to you since you two met.

It might have been the effect of the drink or the moment itself, but he looked glistening and that had – strangely – made your heart flutter.

Blame the drink, blame the drink, please.

"Come on Y/n, these two dullards don't know what fun is" Yeji pushed past Heeseung, ignoring his protests as she grabbed you by the arm and pulled you out of the kitchen.

"That's it man, a few more moves and you two would be kissing in this kitchen" Sunghoon held Heeseung by the shoulders without missing an opportunity to tease him.

He acted on instinct to stand in front of you so that you wouldn't advance into the kitchen, right? He also ignored the distance between the two of you because he miscalculated his steps and Sunghoon was right to say how close you and Heeseung were. But those thoughts had to be pushed aside as quickly as possible.

And that happened when Jay's voice echoed in Heeseung's ears, standing next to his friend's car.

"Can you take Y/n home?" he asked. Heeseung didn't want to show his shock, but the orbs almost popping out in the expression that caught him off guard made Jay laugh right away "I've had a few drinks and I certainly won't be able to drive."

"But—"

"Take her and come back for me" Jay handed Heeseung the keys to his car.

"Why don't you just go along? I can drop you home later."

"Because I'm not finished here yet" Jay's lips protruded forward in a pout, he took a few steps away from Heeseung, nodding and smiling at his friend "And I don't want to witness anything pornographic in my car. Unless I'm the one doing it," he shouted the last part and Heeseung turned sharply in the direction you were with the Park siblings.

He would have given anything at that moment for you to be so drunk that you hadn't heard any of the shit Jay had said so far.

"Where's Jongseong going?" Yeji asked when he saw the boy disappearing among some people in the garden of the house.

"He said he didn't finish whatever it is in there" Heeseung sighed "Come on Y/n, I'll take you home."

None of you missed the mischievous giggle that escaped from Yeji, soon to be joined by Sunghoon. Heeseung knew very well about his friend, but why did his little sister even seem to be complicit?

"Do you know where I live?" you asked so naturally that Heeseung had forgotten how serious you were whenever you were around him.

"No, but you can tell me while we go in Jay's car," he said, and you just agreed and let him guide you to the vehicle. Neither of you cared what the Park siblings said as you and Heeseung walked to Jay's car. He showed himself to be a tremendous gentleman by opening the door for you and checking that everything was okay until you buckled your seatbelt so he could close the door and turn the car around.

"Can we go?" he asked and you nodded, giving Heeseung the coordinates so he could get to your house.

For Heeseung, the silence was necessary while he reorganized his thoughts because, for the first time, he was in a place alone with you. That had never happened since the two of you met.

Now for you, the silence was agonizing because it made you think and observe. To think about how hard you'd tried to get away from that man next to you and to observe how well he drove. His hands firmly gripping the leather of the steering wheel, his long fingers drumming now and then when they stopped at a traffic light or how agile his hand was at holding the gearshift. You also found yourself swallowing when his hand accidentally hit your leg when changing gears. He wasn't doing it on purpose, you knew that, but it was inevitable not to smile quickly.

"We're here" he was the first to break the silence, indicating that he had followed your coordinates very well, and now the two of you were parked inside Jay's car and in front of your apartment complex.

You looked out of the window, a sigh escaping your lips as you looked back at the boy in the car sitting next to you.

"Thanks, Heeseung" you said sincerely, opening a smile when his eyes met yours. Heeseung smiled too, but he didn't look so happy about it. He seemed... Annoyed?

"Can I ask you something, Y/n?" he said just like that, not even bothering to respond to your thanks. But you didn't mind either, after all, your sobriety was starting to kick in, but even so, your alcohol-addled body made you more curious than usual.

"Anything," you said.

It took him a while to formulate that question, pondering whether he should really ask it or just let it go and get on with his life as if it didn't affect him. But it certainly did. Heeseung knew why he had dreamt it, he had to ask.

"Why haven't you ever smiled at me?" might seem like a silly question from the outside, or even sad if the person was as sentimental as Heeseung.

At first, your eyebrows drew together in surprise. But then everything relaxed and you unbuckled your belt to turn around and face the boy.

"What do you mean?"

Heeseung repeated your gesture a few seconds later, unbuckling his belt and turning to face you too.

"I mean, ever since we met you've never smiled at anything I've done," he shrugged, trying to sound firm in his words, not wanting to waver or show how ridiculous it might seem "Surely Yeji has already let it slip that I'm the clown of the group and, I don't know, you're the only person who's never given me a single smile."

"Does that bother you?"

No. He should answer, to appear tougher.

"Yes, a little" Heeseung didn't want to follow his thoughts, he wanted to act on the emotion of the moment "I thought you didn't like me or, at worst, thought I was so dull that you begged the girls to get away every time we met in a group."

He was being so honest with you, opening up so genuinely that you felt a little bad. Maybe your way of acting on everything you'd heard hadn't been nice, you might have been a bit extreme with it.

"I'm sorry" was all you managed to say, without knowing exactly why you were apologizing. Whether it was for your reaction or for never getting to Heeseung and wanting to get to know him.

"Why?" he asked.

You didn't want him to ask, so you wouldn't have to explain yourself, you'd get out of the car and drive away. But Heeseung's sparkling eyes seemed to call out to you every second, guiding you to him as if you belonged there, staring at him as the words came freely out of his mouth.

"We have a group of friends at college and certainly Yeji's brother and his friends are sometimes a topic," your gaze quickly shifted to the window behind Heeseung. Anything being more interesting than his eyes paying attention to you right now "I once commented that... Well..."

"Say, it's okay," he tried to encourage you and you looked back at him, could blame it on the drink if something got out of hand, and would say the next day that you didn't remember anything you were saying. Even though by then your sobriety had reached more than half of your body.

"I told I thought you were very handsome" you nibbled your lower lip and continued, not even giving Heeseung time to process the information "A friend of ours said that you were not only handsome but funny, but that was a danger."

"What? Why?" he tried to shake off the tingling feeling in his chest and his cheeks heating up at the confession. So you thought he was handsome from the start.

"Have you ever heard of the theory of the funny boy being a danger?" you crossed your arms and snorted when Heeseung denied it with a nod "He'll make you laugh so much, you'll laugh. Laugh and laugh until you're naked in his bed."

It was his turn to laugh, hiding his face with his hands and messing up his hair.

"Shut up, don't laugh," you groaned in frustration, uncrossing your arms and trying to push his hand away from your face. The contact was electrifying, even if it only lasted a few seconds. Heeseung uncovered his face and looked at you.

"So Yeji's friend said that about me, and you believed it?" Heeseung wanted to sound confident as he raised an eyebrow, even though, if he had to get out of that car, his legs would be as soft as jelly.

"Well..." a few seconds passed and you sighed, "I avoided contact so I wouldn't have to believe it. I don't know, preserve myself as much as possible since you seem to be well known at the university."

"So you didn't want to smile at me because you thought you'd end up in my bed?" Heeseung leaned forward a little, looking a little defiant. You leaned forward too, your hands resting on your lap.

"You make all the girls smile, what difference would it make if I smiled at you?"

Don't be so honest, Heeseung thought to himself, but it was already done when he launched into it.

"Maybe because your smile is beautiful and when that happened on sushi night, I ended up dreaming for a long time."

"What? Did you dream about my smile?" you almost shouted in the car.

"Too many questions for one night, don't you think?" Heeseung pretended to shake himself, looking for the car keys that he hadn't even taken out of the ignition. Turning on the air conditioning might be a good idea since neither of you made any mention of leaving.

"Too many confessions for one night" you leaned back in your seat.

"I think we're going to need a few more nights for you to tell me more" he also leaned back in his seat, but his head remained turned in your direction.

"Are you asking me out on a date?"

"Would you?" he asked back, a stupid – but extremely beautiful – smile adorning his lips as he said again, "I want to prove that friend of yours completely wrong."

"I'd love that, then" to his surprise, asking you out had been completely light-hearted. He didn't feel like throwing up or running away, or even saying something silly, stuttering... Nothing. Heeseung was just himself as he watched you bend down to him and brush your lips against the corner of his.

From the way Heeseung's head was tilted, giving indications that he wasn't going to move, you purposely kissed him on the corner of the lips, pulling away before he made any risky moves.

"I'm waiting for a message from you so we can make an appointment, mr. funny guy."

You winked at him, watching as the tip of Heeseung's tongue traced the exact spot where your lips touched the corner of his. The smile never left him as he watched you open the door, wave, and close it to leave.

A smile had never left Lee Heeseung like that.

#enhypen fluff #heeseung fluff #enhypen #enhypen heeseung #heeseung #lee heeseung #enhypen au #heeseung x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen masterlist #lee heeseung fluff #heeseung fanfics #lee heeseung x reader #heeseung imagines #bay writes.

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kinghijinx22 · 3 months ago

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Why Silent Hill 3 is my big favorite- a terrifying horror game about woman's experiences and the fears that come from existing as a woman in a patriarchal society

Silent Hill 3 is probably my favorite Silent Hill game and one of my favorite games of all time, and it has a story and themes that I've always really vibed with. It tells a remarkably progressive story for it's time that handles some intense themes that are still relevant even today, about experiences that a lot of woman go through and the fears that come from existing as a woman in a patriarchal society, what it's like having your own agency and bodily autonomy taken away from you, forced pregnancy and sexual assault, how harmful patriarchal societies are and this game really getting into the religious flavor of patriarchy in particular.

It's an incredibly scary game that uses a feminine sort of horror to great effect, with the design of the other world being as bloody as it is and the monster designs being representative of this. I mean there is a type of creature that are literally supposed to look like fetuses that start getting bigger throughout the game as the birth of God draws near and the giant worm boss for lack of a better way of putting, literally being a giant penis. I think the main complaint that I hear from people about this game is how slow the story is in the first half of the game, but I think the whole getting home late at night as a young woman contributes a lot to what this game is saying. And I absolutely love how this game ends with Heather literally aborting God and fighting it as the final boss, symbolizing her fully taking control of her life and rejecting all of the harmful expectations that were forced onto her. Main antagonist Claudia is such a tragic character though, someone who was so brainwashed by town's religion into think that someone HAS to give birth to God so hard that she did it herself and she suffered for it.

Also while not as intentional considering when it was written and they probably couldn't even write about this stuff if they wanted to, something that I think is worth noting is that I've heard from a lot of trans people who relate to this game as well and I can really see it. Considering it's about people who Heather knows from a past life, coming back to remind her of that past life and forcing it onto her, and Claudia referring to Heather as Alessa could be interpreted as deadnaming Heather. But yeah I've always really loved and connected with this game for how well it handles it's themes about woman's experiences and I think it's really cool how many trans people have been able to relate to it with those specific experiences as well.

Another of my favorite things about Silent Hill 3 is the main character Heather, because she really is one of the coolest characters that I've always really related to. Her struggles are incredibly relatable, but she's also inspiring in how she overcomes them and is always so confident. In fact I appreciate how her and her father subvert societal gender roles in opposite directions, with Heather being as confident and extroverted as she is, probably more then any other Silent Hill protagonist and willing to stand up to all of the men in the story like Douglas in the beginning, Vincent and Leonard, along with all of the monsters she has to fight. And Harry being a single parent who is as gentle and caring as he is, with his one track mind of looking as his daughter, he's kind of both a father and a mother in that way, and also being as physically weak as he is and the opposite of a action hero. She also easily has the most personality of any Silent Hill protagonist, like this girl is overflowing with charisma and is even a little jokey. In fact another detail that I like is how much personality comes through in her examine dialogue, where you actually get to hear her thoughts on everything instead of just basic observation "this is a thing" that the other games in the series do. Heather has opinions on everything, but how she's feeling throughout the game is also conveyed. The dialogue of her observations in the first half of the game has a much more playful and hopeful tone to it, but after Harry dies she becomes much more pessimistic, can only see the negatives in everything and just doesn't seem to care anymore.

Heather is an incredibly well written and nuanced character, and I'll be honest that this is the game I least want to see be remade because I know that they would find a way to fuck up the writing of her character and handling of the themes of this game. Even after the Silent Hill 2 remake being as good as it is, one of Blooperteams biggest flaws is being incapable of handling anything to do with woman's experiences or perspective. SH2 used to be my fav, but I came to realize that it was mostly just because it was the popular one and that I vibe a lot more with SH3 and 4. Especially because SH2 tells a story about misogyny but makes it all about the perpetrator rather then the victim, unlike Silent Hill 3 which does actually tell the story of someone on the receiving end of that type of violence and objectification. SH3 and 4 are my personal favorites, 3 because Heather is best protagonist and I really appreciate it's themes which are handled perfectly, and SH4 because it has a really cool narrative and horror concepts. I know opinions on SH4 are really split, and while I think there are some gameplay things that are jank, I love it's story and premise so much.

#Silent Hill 3 #Silent Hill 4 #Silent Hill 2 #Silent Hill #Heather Mason #Henry Townsend #James Sunderland #Harry Mason #Konami

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scriptedinkbyxim · 8 days ago

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Past the Finish Line: The Final Lap [CL16]

After heartbreak leaves her lost once again, (Y/N) finds unexpected solace in Charles Leclerc’s friendship. Through adventures and quiet moments, he helps her rediscover herself and the beauty of life. As their bond deepens, she learns that love can be gentle, joyful, and transformative.

Pairings: Charles Leclerc x Sainz! Female Reader, Ex! Max Verstappen x Sainz! Female Reader, Sainz! Female Reader x Brother! Carlos Sainz, Sainz! Female Reader x Sainz! Family.

Warnings: Existential Crisis, Alcohol consumption, Talks of sex but nothing explicit, Pregnancy (not reader), Smut. This is LONG.

A/N: Hi, Xim here. Here is one of the alternative endings of "Past the Finish Line" short series. English is not my first language so apologies in advance for any mistake. I should've probably divided this in 2 parts. There won't be more parts.

Part. 1 | Part. 2 | Part. 3 | Lando’s Ending

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Some hearts didn't break all at once; they lingered, unraveling thread by thread until you stood bare, wondering how you'd lost everything without even noticing. (Y/N) had always imagined that moving on would feel decisive, like flipping a page or slamming a door. But it wasn’t. It was waking up back in her home town with no echoes of the past, only to realize that silence could be louder than chaos. It was standing in the middle of your own life and feeling like a stranger, as though someone else had written your story, and now you'd been handed the pen without instructions.

Madrid was beautiful—warm stone streets that basked under golden light, the scent of churros lingering near small cafés, and a city that pulsed with a rhythm unapologetically its own. People moved through its streets with purpose, laughing, living, thriving. She had hoped that immersing herself in this symphony would drown out the stillness of what she’d left behind. But it hadn’t. And that realization gnawed at her.

Madrid was supposed to represent freedom, yet here she was, caged by her doubts.

She was seated on the couch opposite by the window, arms crossed, watching the city unfold beneath her. The life she had with Max had once seemed infinite, like a story that would never find its final chapter. And when it did, it ended not with a dramatic conclusion but with a quiet disintegration. Eight years woven so tightly together had left their marks — not just on her heart but on her very sense of self.

The late afternoon sun filters through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long golden streaks across the polished wooden floors of her new apartment that bore the marks of a fresh start, yet it still clung to echoes of an old life. The golden hues of the Spanish sunset cast long shadows over her sparsely decorated living room. The furniture was minimalist and modern, but devoid of the personal touch that made a place feel like home. Long gone were the days of lavish Monaco views and Max’s meticulously curated spaces. Now, it was just her, a city bustling with life beyond the walls and an uneasy silence that seemed louder with each passing day.

Manuscripts, marked by hasty edits and half-formed ideas, lied scattered across the large oak desk by the window. A mug with remnants of cold tea sat forgotten beside them, its faint bitter aroma mingling with the crisp scent of the busy city air entering through the partially opened window.

Pushing herself off the couch she starts pacing in the middle of the room, barefoot and restless, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, staring at the blank page on her laptop screen, its emptiness mocking her. A dull ache gnaws at the pit of her stomach—a feeling she can’t quite name but knows all too well.

Despite the quiet, her name was far from forgotten. The books she had written during her time with Max — stories drafted in the rare quiet moments between chaotic schedules — had finally seen the light of day. At first, releasing them felt like closure, a testament to creativity surviving under pressure. The drafts she'd tucked away while navigating his demanding world had been polished and sent into the world, gaining modest acclaim. But now, with nothing left in the drawer, she was left staring at blank pages, wondering if the well had run dry.

Her eyes flicker to the shelves lined with her books, tangible reminders of the words that once flowed effortlessly from her mind to the page. Words born from passion, heartbreak, and love. But now nothing comes.

She rubbed her temple, frustration prickling beneath her skin. Was her creativity dependent on being in love, even if that love had been turbulent? Max had always been a storm—thrilling, consuming, and impossible to ignore. The drafts she completed had blossomed in the eye of that storm, but now there was only calm, and her imagination wilted in the stillness.

(Y/N) sighed, eyes flickering to a framed photograph of her family on the bookshelf. Carlos' arm was slung over her shoulders, their smiles wide and carefree. Moving back home was supposed to be a new chapter.

Madrid hummed outside — the distant chatter of evening commuters, the rustling of leaves in Retiro Park not far from her building. Yet even this vibrant city seemed unable to spark something within her, she felt untethered, as though the story had ended, and no one had told her how to begin the next one.

Maybe she’d fooled herself into thinking love had nothing to do with her creativity. The thought gnaws at her pride, but deep down, she wonders if there’s truth to it. Eight years of love and shared dreams had fueled her stories. Now, without that intensity, without him, she feels hollow. It had been flawed, chaotic, and ultimately unsustainable, but it had shaped her in ways she couldn’t ignore.

Now, even after months, she wasn’t sure who she was without the scaffolding of that relationship holding her up. The books she'd published were proof of that. Stories born between Max’s races and media obligations had been completed only because she'd clung to something familiar when everything else spun wildly out of control after their breakup. Those books had been a testament to survival, but now she feared they were the only testament she'd ever have.

Her fingers traced the cool glass of the window as she closed her eyes, breathing in slowly. Love wasn't supposed to consume creativity, was it? But maybe it had. Maybe being in love—even a flawed love—had been a constant spark, lighting her imagination. And without it? She was adrift.

She shook her head, frustration bubbling to the surface. No, that couldn't be true, she couldn’t let those years define her. There had to be more within her, waiting to be untapped. She just didn’t know how to find it.

Her gaze drops to her phone on the coffee table, the screen dark. No messages. Not that she’s expecting any. The social invitations have long dwindled since she distanced herself from the F1 paddock and its orbiting social circles.

The thought of Max flickers uninvited into her mind. Not the heartbreak or the messy end but something simpler—a mundane morning memory and flashes of her life with him came unbidden — the way he knew her order without asking, the absentminded kisses when he passed by, the shared glances that spoke volumes.

“Two sugars, no milk,” Max had said with a smirk, handing her a perfectly prepared cup of tea. He had known every detail about her preferences without needing to ask. How she didn't like eggs (or breakfast in general), the way she hated loud chewing, her favorite obscure indie novels—he knew it all.

And now? She was sitting across from strangers on awkward dates who didn’t even knew her favorite color.

Her recent foray into dating had been nothing short of disastrous. One man had talked about cryptocurrency the entire evening; another had wrongly corrected her grammar during casual conversation, not knowing she was a published author. Each date left her more exasperated than the last. How could she possibly start from scratch when she’d been with someone who knew her so completely?

Then her thoughts shift briefly to Lando. Sweet, charming Lando, who had always been there as a friend. After Abu Dhabi, he had wanted more, offering solace and companionship. But it had been too soon—her heart too raw and fractured to entertain the idea of love again. She’d turned him down gently, grateful for his understanding. Now, seeing him happily moved on with someone else brought a bittersweet ache to her chest. She was genuinely happy for him, but it only highlighted her own stagnant state.

The sharp trill of her phone breaks her reverie. Y/N hesitates before picking it up. A text from her editor appears on the screen.

Any updates on the manuscript?

Her stomach tightens. She types out a vague response before tossing the phone back onto the couch. Pressure mounts like a weight on her chest, but no amount of staring at the blank page will summon the words.

The apartment feels suffocating. The neatly arranged furniture, the spotless countertops—it all mocks her. She needs air, movement, something to shake her out of this creative and emotional paralysis. Taking her jacket, she grabs her keys and steps out of her flat, the cold breeze brushing against her skin.

Her hometown thrived around her, beckoning her to move forward. (Y/N) wanted to answer that call, to find inspiration in the world again. But as much as she hated to admit it, part of her wondered if she was still waiting for something—or someone—to show her how.

There’s also a part of her that wants to escape, to run until she finds something—anything—that makes her feel alive again. She just doesn’t know where to start.

The kitchen at the Sainz family house was alive with the comforting hum of quiet conversations, the soft clink of silverware against porcelain, and the low, rhythmic shuffle of feet against the terracotta tiles. The aroma of freshly baked bread and sizzling meat wafted through the home, mingling with the faint citrusy scent of polished wood that always lingered in the air.

The house itself was warm, familiar, and steeped in history—a tapestry woven with laughter, loud debates over races, and countless family gatherings. Yet today, (Y/N) felt oddly out of place within it, like a guest in her own life.

She stood near the window of the living room, watching the late afternoon sun stretch shadows across the manicured lawn. Her mother, Mercedes, was bustling in the kitchen with the same fervor she reserved for holidays, even though this was just a casual gathering. Or so (Y/N) had thought. Carlos Sr. had his arms crossed, already assembling the dinner furniture outside, a portrait of patriarchal pride.

She leaned against the doorframe, watching them, as if caught between two worlds. She was in her childhood house, surrounded by the people she loved the most, but part of her still felt distant, untouchable. They had noticed it too, of course. Her parents always had a way of seeing through the cracks, even when she didn’t speak of them.

Her sister Anna flitted through the space like a hummingbird, effortlessly balancing conversations and helping with the setup. And then there was Carlos, her older brother, who had insisted on this gathering like it was some divine intervention meant to jolt her back to life.

"You can’t just keep hiding, hermanita," he had said over the phone, his voice tinged with concern. "It’s time to come back. The paddock misses you. I miss you."

She knew he meant well, but the idea of returning to the Spanish Grand Prix—facing the paddock, the whispers, the memories—felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, uncertain if the fall would break her or set her free.

Still, she had agreed to this family gathering as a compromise. Baby steps, she told herself. One evening surrounded by the people who loved her, even if their well-meaning concern sometimes felt suffocating. Eventually she decided on moving deeper into the living room, unable to avoid her parents’ gentle but insistent attention.

Her Father raised his eyes as she passed by, offering her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but she could see the tenderness beneath. He’d always been perceptive, sometimes too much for her liking, but today it felt... different. There was a weight in his gaze that made her feel seen in a way she hadn’t been in months.

Mercedes wiped her hands on a dish towel, her movements fluid and sure, before looking up at her. “Sweetheart,” her mother’s voice broke through her thoughts, soft and careful as always. “How have you been feeling? Really?” Her tone laced with the same concern that had been in her eyes ever since (Y/N) had arrived at the family home, looking... hollow.

It was the way her mother asked—the concern in her eyes, the almost imperceptible line between her brows—that made (Y/N) shift uncomfortably on her feet. She knew what her mother was asking. She didn’t have to speak it aloud. The same question that had echoed in the silence of Mallorca, after the breakup with Max, had come back again, lurking like an unspoken shadow.

“I’m fine, Mum,” (Y/N) replied, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. It was the same smile she’d been wearing for weeks now. A protective barrier, a shield to keep them from seeing the truth. She didn’t want to admit it, not here, not now. “Just working on some new ideas. You know how it is.”

Carlos Sr. looked at her over the rim of his glass, his expression both knowing and gentle. “You’ve always been a creative soul, cariño. We know. We’ve all been wondering how the new book is coming along.”

(Y/N) froze, the warmth in her chest suddenly turning cold. Her father’s words were simple and innocent, yet they cut through her carefully constructed defenses. She shifted uncomfortably, her gaze flicking toward the window. The question about her writing felt like a gentle prod, a reminder of the woman she used to be—a woman who poured herself into her work. But these days, her words felt trapped somewhere between her heart and her mind. How could she explain that to her parents? That the words wouldn’t come, that the inspiration she had once relied on now felt... foreign.

"It’s... it’s coming slowly," she said after a beat, her voice not quite convincing even to herself. "I’ve been... taking a break."

Mercedes moved towards her, a subtle concern creeping into her expression. She touched (Y/N)’s arm gently, her grip warm and steady. "A break is fine, but we’ve all seen how much writing means to you," her mother said, her tone soft but purposeful. "What’s really going on, hija?"

(Y/N)’s chest tightened at the underlying question. It wasn’t just about the book anymore; it was about everything that she’d been avoiding—her own brokenness. The world she had once found solace in, whether it was through the pages of her books or the comforting embrace of Max’s presence, had all crumbled, leaving her questioning if she could ever find that peace again.

She glanced at the gentle understanding in her mother’s face. It was almost too much to bear, how easily her parents could read her, how much they cared. She turned her gaze down to the floor, as if trying to avoid their eyes.

“I’ve… been trying to figure things out,” (Y/N) murmured, her hands wringing in the soft fabric of her blouse. “But I don’t have the same… inspiration. Not like I used to.”

Carlos Sr. nodded slowly, then took a quiet sip of his wine. “Maybe it’s time to step out of that shadow, hija. We’ve been through this before. After everything with Max…” he trailed off, and she could feel the air in the room shift.

Her stomach twisted, and her throat tightened as her father spoke the name she hadn’t let escape from her lips in months. Max. So effortlessly woven into the fabric of her past, felt like a raw wound when it was spoken. It wasn’t that she hated him—she didn’t. But the memories of their time together, once so sweet, now felt tainted, stained by the ache of loss and betrayal.

“Dad…” (Y/N)’s voice was low, but the tension in it was palpable. She forced a smile again, as if to reassure them, but it faltered almost immediately. “Can we not talk about that right now?”

Mercedes reached out, placing her hand gently over (Y/N)’s. The touch was gentle, steadying. “Cariño, you can’t keep carrying this alone. We’re your family. We’re here for you, always.”

She blinked, her throat constricting as the weight of her mother’s words settled on her chest. She wanted to tell them everything, to confess how lost she had felt, how lonely she had become, but the words stuck in her throat. What good would it do them, to see their daughter broken once again? They had already seen the aftermath of her heartache. She couldn’t bring them back to that place.

“I’m not…” She shook her head, trying to form the words but failing. “I’m just… I’m fine.”

Mercedes squeezed her hand, her voice soft but insistent. “You don’t have to carry the world on your own. But it’s okay to lean on us when you need it.”

Her father’s gaze was gentle now, understanding. “You’ve been cooped up in this house for too long. It’s time to get out there again, to find your spark. You don’t have to have it all figured out right away. But don’t let yourself hide away.”

The conversation lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. (Y/N) didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she closed her eyes, briefly allowing herself to sink into the warmth of her parents’ concern. But just as quickly, she drew back, pulling away from it. The last thing she wanted was to load them more than she already had.

(Y/N) felt the heat of tears burning at the back of her throat, but she blinked them back. "I’m fine, really. I don’t want to worry you.”

The truth was, she didn’t want to burden them with her creative drought or the gnawing fear that maybe her inspiration had dried up along with her love life. They deserved to see her thriving, not grappling with existential questions about her identity and purpose.

Suddenly her siblings appeared, entering the intervention. Carlos walked over to her, his large hands settling on her shoulders with the kind of care only an older brother could provide. "We can see it," he said gently, his deep voice carrying the weight of years spent growing up together, understanding her. "We saw you when you came back from Hungary, and we’re seeing it again now. You’re not fooling anyone with that smile of yours."

There was a long silence, one where (Y/N) could only hear the steady rhythm of her own breathing, trying to collect herself. The weight of Carlos’ words hung in the air between all of them, both soothing and heavy. He wasn’t pushing her. He wasn’t trying to fix anything. He just wanted her to know that she wasn’t alone.

"Maybe... maybe you should go to the Spanish GP, you’ve never missed that race" Anna said softly, as though sensing the moment had come for something more direct, but still with an encouraging tone. "It’s been a while, (Y/N). And you’ve been away from the paddock for so long. Carlos needs you there. We all miss seeing you there."

(Y/N) bit her lip. It wasn’t the suggestion she’d been expecting. She’d been trying to avoid the very thing they were suggesting—returning to the world she had once inhabited with Max, with all the expectations and emotions that came with it. But as she glanced at her mother’s face, her warm, understanding eyes, she knew this wasn’t about the race. It wasn’t about Carlos either. This was about helping her reconnect to something real, something she’d always loved.

Her father nodded, as if confirming Anna’s words. "You’ve always had a way of making the world feel... lighter," he said with a small, knowing smile. "Maybe it’s time to find that spark again."

The words stung, more than she anticipated, and yet they held a certain kind of truth. She’d been hiding, cocooning herself in the aftermath of everything—Max, the breakup, the uncertainty. Perhaps it was time to stop running from it, to stop shutting out the world around her.

(Y/N) drew in a shaky breath, then nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly. "I’ll think about it."

Her parents exchanged a look, one of silent understanding. Mercedes placed her hand over (Y/N)’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We’ll be here no matter what, cariño. Just... don’t stay hidden forever."

Desperate for an escape, (Y/N)'s eyes darted to the front door as the bell rang. "I'll get it," she said quickly, seizing the opportunity to flee the conversation.

She padded through the hallway, her sandals tapping softly against the tiled floor. The house hummed with the distant sounds of conversation. As she walked toward the door, she didn’t know that the moment she opened it would bring everything she had been trying to bury crashing back into her life. She was expecting a neighbor or maybe a delivery.

Instead, standing on the threshold was Charles Leclerc.

He looked different somehow—more rugged, perhaps, or maybe it was just the way time had softened her perception of him. His dark hair was slightly tousled, as though he’d driven with the windows down, and he held a bottle of wine in one hand, his stance awkward but charmingly so. His fitted button down linen shirt was paired with tailored beige trousers that hugged his lean frame.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world seemed to narrow, blurring everything but the man in front of her. Her heart stuttered in her chest, caught off guard by his appearance.

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

Charles shifted his weight, a sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Surprise?" he offered weakly.

(Y/N) blinked, trying to shake herself free from the spell. "I... I didn’t know we were expecting guests."

"Apparently, neither did I," he admitted, lifting the bottle slightly. "Carlos invited me. Said something about finally making good on his promise of cooking for me before his home race."

Of course, she thought wryly. Her brother had a knack for orchestrating situations without informing anyone of his grand plans.

Before she could respond, Carlos’s voice boomed from behind her. "Leclerc! You made it, amigo!"

Charles’s face lit up with genuine warmth as Carlos strode toward them, clapping him on the back with the familiarity of old teammates.

"You’ve kept me waiting for those burgers long enough," Charles joked, his Monegasque accent adding a melodic lilt to his words.

"Come on in, man. Don’t just stand there."

Carlos's presence broke the spell, and she finally stepped aside, allowing Charles to enter. As he brushed past her, she caught the faint scent of his cologne—clean and crisp, tinged with something subtly masculine.

Her fingers clenched at her sides as she tried to steady herself. It was just Charles, she reminded herself. The same Charles who had been a friend, nothing more. Yet the weight of their shared history — or lack of it — lingered in the air, unspoken but palpable.

As the two men exchanged playful banter, (Y/N) found herself retreating toward the kitchen, needing a moment to collect herself. Her mother glanced up from arranging a platter of grilled vegetables.

"Who was at the door?"

"Charles," Y/N said, keeping her voice steady.

"Ah, Charles. Such a lovely and handsome young man," Mercedes said with a smile. "It’s good to see him again."

She nodded absently, her mind still swirling. This gathering had just taken an unexpected turn, and she wasn’t sure how to navigate it.

When the gathering moved outside, laughter and conversation filled the space like a comforting balm. Carlos now stood by the grill, expertly flipping burger patties, his brow furrowed in concentration. The rich sizzle of meat met the crackle of flames as he turned to Charles, who lounged nearby with a glass of wine in hand, looking far too relaxed for someone who had been enduring a season of relentless competition.

The golden afternoon light stretched lazily over the expansive gardens of the estate, dappling the neatly trimmed grass and casting soft shadows beneath the ancient olive trees. The scent of grilled meat and vegetables lingered in the warm air, mingling with the earthy aroma of wild rosemary and lavender that fringed the garden paths. Birds chirped in the distance, their melodies blending seamlessly with the occasional bark from Olive and Piñón.

“See, I told you I’d make these burgers one day,” Carlos declared with a triumphant grin, his Spanish accent thick with pride.

Charles chuckled, the sound warm and effortless. “I didn’t think I’d live to see the day. You’ve been promising me these since we first started being teammates.”

“Well, better late than never, no?” Carlos shot back, flipping the final burger onto a platter and gesturing for Charles to grab the buns.

“Touché,” Charles admitted, standing to assist. His white linen shirt billowed slightly in the breeze, now with the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms that bore faint tan lines from countless hours under the sun.

Nearby, (Y/N) watched them from a shaded corner of the garden, her arms loosely crossed over her chest. She hadn’t intended to linger, but there was something mesmerizing about seeing the easy camaraderie between her brother and Charles. For years, their rivalry had been palpable, a tense undercurrent in the paddock, but now that Carlos had moved to Williams, there was a genuine warmth between them that hadn’t existed before.

It was strange, seeing Charles here, outside the context of race weekends and press conferences. He seemed lighter, more grounded. And yet, there was still that familiar glint in his eyes — a mixture of mischief and sincerity that had always made him impossible to ignore. With one look at his piercing green eyes came the sudden rush of memories—the podium dedication he’d made to her at Abu Dhabi and his raw, heartfelt confession at Monza months ago, still engraved in her mind.

From the moment I met you, I wished you were single. I wished I had a chance to show you what you deserved, to make you happy in ways he never did. Because if you were mine, I would never take you for granted. Not for a single second.

Carlos caught sight of her and waved enthusiastically, polling her away from her thoughts. “¡Hermana! Come here, you have to try these. They’re my masterpiece.”

Reluctantly, she made her way over, her sandals brushing softly against the grass. Olive trotted alongside her, tail wagging happily.

“Masterpiece might be a stretch,” she teased, arching a brow as she approached. “But I’ll humor you.”

“Trust me, you won’t regret it,” Carlos assured her, placing a perfectly assembled burger into her hands. “I should open a restaurant.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she quipped, taking a tentative bite. The burst of smoky flavor was immediate, and she couldn’t help but hum in appreciation. “Okay, I’ll admit — this is pretty good.”

Charles grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Careful, Dolcezza. His ego doesn’t need any more inflation.”

Carlos scoffed, clearly pleased with himself. “I’m taking that as a compliment.”

As the conversation flowed around her, she kept glancing at Charles, his presence both familiar and disarming. There had always been an ease between them, a mutual understanding that didn’t require words. And yet, the events of the past year lingered in the spaces between their conversations — unspoken, but not forgotten.

At some point, Carlos excused himself to check on their parents, leaving her and Charles standing together beneath the olive trees. The breeze rustled the leaves above them, casting dancing patterns of light and shadow across the ground.

“So, long time no see” Charles began, cringing internally at his own words, “how have you been?,” his tone tentative but curious

She hesitated, the question hanging heavily in the air. She had grown so used to deflecting, to offering rehearsed answers that kept people at arm’s length. But Charles had always had a way of coaxing honesty from her, his sincerity like a balm against her defenses.

“I’ve been… surviving,” she admitted quietly, her gaze fixed on a distant point beyond the garden. “It’s been strange, trying to figure out who I am without all of that.”

Charles nodded thoughtfully, his expression devoid of judgment. “I can imagine. Eight years is a long time.”

“Too long, maybe,” she murmured, her voice tinged with bitterness. “I keep thinking… What if I wasted all that time? What if I don’t know how to be me without him?”

“You didn’t waste it,” Charles said firmly. “You loved, you learned, and now you get to decide what comes next.”

Y/N swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over her. “I’ve tried dating again, you know. But it’s been a disaster. None of them know me — not really. They don’t know how I like my tea or that I hate when people leave wet towels on the floor. It’s exhausting, starting over.”

Charles’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “Starting over is hard. But it’s also freeing. You get to redefine everything.”

She let out a scoff. “I’m not sure I even know where to begin.”

There was a pause, filled only by the rustling of leaves and the distant chatter of her family. Charles’s gaze never wavered from her, steady and grounding.

"Maybe you just need a change of scenery," he suggests thoughtfully. "New experiences, new adventures." His tone is playful but sincere.

Y/N frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you can come with me sometimes,” he said simply. “Let’s do things you’ve never done before. Adventures, experiences, whatever you need to rediscover yourself. No expectations. Just two friends figuring out life,” he offered, his voice gentle but resolute. “Let me help. Let me show you the world—no strings attached.”

(Y/N) hesitates, skeptical. "Charles, I don't need distractions."

"It's not a distraction. It's a chance to rediscover yourself," he counters gently.

She stared at him, disbelief flickering across her features. “You’re serious?”

“Completely,” he assured her. “I’m not saying I have all the answers, but I can promise you this — I won’t let you get stuck in the past. And who knows? Maybe you’ll even find some inspiration along the way.”

(Y/N)’s heart ached with a mixture of hope and skepticism. The idea was tempting, but it also felt daunting. She had spent so long retreating into herself after Abu Dhabi, afraid to face the world. Could she really step out of that shadow?

“I don’t know, Charles,” she said hesitantly. “What if I’m just… broken?”

He shook his head, his gaze unwavering. “You’re not broken, (Y/N). You’re just in transition. And that’s okay.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy with possibility. She bit her lip, torn between fear and the faint glimmer of hope Charles had ignited.

"You don’t have to decide now,” he added softly. “Take your time. Think about it. The offer’s open for you to take it.”

She nodded slowly, her mind swirling with thoughts. What exactly did Charles mean by that? Was he offering her the world — a chance to rediscover herself beyond the weight of heartbreak and lost years? Or was there a double meaning hidden in his words, a subtle invitation to take him, too? The idea lingered, unsettling yet alluring. Her heart clenched, torn between longing and uncertainty. There was something about him — the steadiness he offered without pressure or demand — that made the prospect feel less terrifying and perhaps even worth considering.

Her gaze flickered to him, standing there with his quiet confidence. She couldn’t deny how good Charles looked now, the late afternoon golden light catching in his tousled hair, tracing the sharp angles of his face and the warm sincerity in his eyes making it impossible to look away. He was devastatingly handsome, effortlessly so, but she shook the thought away. That wasn’t what she needed right now. Love and romance had only ever anchored her to someone else’s orbit, and she was desperate to learn how to stand on her own two feet again. No, this was about her — about finding her footing in a world that still spun without Max.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, the words laden with unspoken gratitude.

Charles nodded, trying to mask the nervous thrum in his chest. He hadn’t planned this proposition at all, when the words poured out of his mouth they did with anything but friendship in mind — or at least that’s what he told himself. She didn’t need a suitor, and he had no intention of becoming one just yet. But somewhere, deep down, he held onto the faint hope that maybe, someday, things could be different. For now, he wanted to see her smile again, to help her find joy in places she hadn’t dared to look. If that was all he could give, he would do it gladly.

“For what?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“For… being here,” she admitted. “For not giving up on me.”

Charles smiled, warm and sincere. “Always Dolcezza.”

As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting the garden in hues of pink, lilac and gold, (Y/N) felt something shift within her — a tentative step toward healing, toward rediscovery. And though she didn’t have all the answers, she knew one thing for certain: Charles’s new friendship was a lifeline she hadn’t realized she needed.

And maybe, just maybe, it was enough to take that first step back into the world.

The Spanish Grand Prix weekend arrived cloaked in tension and nostalgia, casting shadows over (Y/N)'s resolve. The echoes of roaring engines and the unmistakable scent of burning rubber filled the air, stirring something deep within her. Long gone were the days when she walked these grounds with Max by her side, but the memories lingered like ghosts, clinging to the edges of her consciousness. The paddock buzzed with life — journalists, mechanics, and fans moving in a chaotic symphony. Headlines about her disappearance from the F1 world had swirled for months, masked by the temporary excuse of her book releases. But now that she was out of drafts, that facade no longer held weight.

Her family had convinced her of attending, rallying around Carlos as he embarked on a new chapter of his career with Williams. She couldn’t disappoint them, even if the thought of stepping back into this world filled her with trepidation. The familiar sights and sounds were both comforting and suffocating, each corner a reminder of what she had lost — and what she still hadn't found.

Slipping away from her family’s watchful gaze, she maneuvered through the bustling paddock toward the Ferrari motorhome. Determination fueled her steps; she had made a decision and intended to give Charles her answer. Their conversation at the Sainz family gathering a few days ago had lingered in her mind, a flicker of possibility in the midst of her existential crisis.

The motorhome loomed ahead, a sleek fortress of crimson and black. She took a steadying breath before pushing the door open and stepping inside. The hum of machinery and muted voices filled the space, but she was focused on one destination — Charles’s driver room. Her knuckles brushed against the door, but before she could knock, it swung open.

There he stood, shirtless, a towel slung casually around his neck. Drops of water clung to his skin, catching the light and tracing the defined contours of his torso. (Y/N)’s breath hitched involuntarily, her gaze wandering before she could stop herself. The toned lines of his abs, the faint trail that dipped lower —

Heat flooded her cheeks, and she whipped her head to the side, staring determinedly at the wall.

“Ah, désolé,” Charles said, clearly amused. “Didn’t expect visitors.”

“I—uh—didn’t know you were... busy,” she managed, her voice strained.

He chuckled, the sound warm and teasing. “You’re welcome to wait while I put a shirt on, but I won’t be offended if you enjoy the view.”

Her eyes snapped back to him, narrowing despite her embarrassment. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“And yet you’re still here,” he teased, stepping back to let her in.

She turned her back to him, focusing on the framed photos lining the wall. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, but she willed herself to stay composed.

“I came to give you my answer,” she said, her voice steadier now.

Charles’s tone shifted, softening with genuine interest. “Oh?”

“I’ll do it. Your proposal, I mean,” she clarified quickly, avoiding any implications. “Just as friends, right? No expectations.”

There was a beat of silence, and she dared to glance over her shoulder. Charles had pulled on a shirt, but his expression was unreadable — a mix of surprise and something warmer.

“Deal,” he said, though the flicker of disappointment was almost imperceptible.

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel, heart racing. “See you around, Leclerc.”

As she walked away, she heard his laugh echo down the hall, rich and genuine. Her lips twitched despite herself, but she scolded her wandering thoughts. This was about reclaiming her life, not falling for someone new.

The race itself came with a brilliance that matched the electric atmosphere of stands roaring to life under the blistering Barcelona sun. The atmosphere thrummed with tension and excitement, the grandstands a sea of colors waving flags and banners. The familiar scent of Fuel lingered in the air, mingling with the electric energy of thousands of fans who had come to witness the spectacle of speed and adrenaline.

The Williams garage was a sea of blue and white, her family buzzing with excitement. Carlos was in high spirits, determined to make his mark with his new team. Y/N stood among them, trying to soak in the positivity, her heart pounding in sync with the engines revving on the grid. The familiar thrill buzzed through her veins — a visceral reminder that no matter how much time passed, no matter how far she tried to run away, racing was in her blood. She was a Sainz, after all. Fuel ran through her veins. The roar of twenty engines was like music, each note vibrating through her bones.

Her eyes drifted to the grid as the cars lined up, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Carlos’s Williams gleamed under the Spanish sun, a blue-and-white beacon of determination. Her heart swelled with pride for her brother, who was ready to prove his mettle in front of their home crowd.

Further ahead, the scarlet Ferrari of Charles Leclerc sat poised, an emblem of precision and power. (Y/N)’s gaze lingered on him longer than she intended, but there was something magnetic about the way he carried himself — composed, yet fiercely competitive. He had pole position, and judging by the determined set of his jaw, he wasn’t about to give it up without a fight. Charles had always commanded attention, and today was no exception. His focused expression, the way he carried himself — it was magnetic. She shook her head, chastising herself for the distraction.

The lights went out, and the race exploded into motion. The deafening roar of engines filled the air as the cars hurtled toward Turn 1. She gripped the edge of the pit wall, her pulse racing as Carlos made a clean start, holding his position against a charging midfield.

Charles, meanwhile, launched flawlessly, defending his lead from a fast-approaching Red Bull. The battle at the front was fierce, every corner a test of nerves and skill. Her breath hitched as Charles defended aggressively into Turn 3, forcing Max Verstappen to back off. The precision with which he navigated the track was mesmerizing — a dance on the edge of control.

Lap after lap, the race unfolded with heart-stopping intensity. Carlos fought tooth and nail, executing daring overtakes and defending his position with the tenacity of a seasoned warrior. The Williams team buzzed with energy, their optimism growing with every successful move he made.

(Y/N)’s chest tightened with pride as Carlos surged forward, climbing the ranks with a calculated aggression that mirrored their father’s rally racing days. The Spanish crowd roared with every overtaking maneuver, their support palpable.

“Come on, Carlos,” she whispered under her breath, willing him to keep pushing.

At the front, Charles was locked in a strategic battle, fending off relentless pressure from the Red Bull behind him. The tension was unbearable, each sector split flashing on the screens like a countdown to chaos.

“Hold him off, Charles,” (Y/N) murmured, her voice barely audible over the noise.

And he did. Lap after lap, he maintained his composure, extracting every ounce of performance from the Ferrari. His lines were precise, his braking perfect. Watching him was a masterclass in control and determination.

As the final laps approached, the pit wall became a hive of nervous energy. Carlos was holding steady in P5, a remarkable feat for Williams, while Charles was on the brink of victory.

“Last lap,” a voice crackled over the team radio.

(Y/N)’s heart was in her throat as the cars thundered around the circuit one final time. Carlos defended fiercely against Kimi Antonelli’s Mercedes behind him, refusing to relinquish his position.

Up front, Charles crossed the line, taking the checkered flag with a triumphant roar from the Ferrari garage. The crowd erupted, a sea of red waving in celebration. (Y/N)’s breath caught as she watched him pump his fist in the air, his victory securing him a commanding lead in the championship.

Carlos crossed the line moments later, claiming a solid P5 finish. The Williams garage erupted into cheers, the team hugging and clapping in celebration. (Y/N)’s father, Carlos Sainz Sr., had tears glistening in his eyes as he embraced his son, pride radiating from every pore.

(Y/N)’s heart swelled, a lump forming in her throat. This was what racing was about — the triumphs, the struggles, the moments that made your heart race and your spirit soar.

As the podium ceremony commenced, (Y/N) found herself drawn to the spectacle. Charles stood tall on the top step, his smile wide and genuine. The Monegasque national anthem played, and she couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride for him.

But then Charles caught her gaze. The world seemed to blur as he winked, playful and confident, just as he had in Abu Dhabi. He lifted the winner’s trophy, signaling to it and then to her. Her breath hitched, her heart doing an involuntary flip. The underlying implication wasn’t lost on her, and heat crept up her neck.

Damn him.

The paddock was winding down as Y/N prepared to leave with her family, the adrenaline of the race still thrumming in her veins. Carlos's strong finish and Charles's victory were still vivid in her mind, their accomplishments filling her with a pride that was both fierce and bittersweet. Yet beneath that rush of excitement, there was a nagging weight — something unspoken clinging to her like the humidity in the Barcelona evening.

As they made their way toward the exit, she patted the pockets of her blazer and realized she had forgotten her airpods.

“I’ll catch up,” she told them, waving off her parents' concerned looks.

Her sister Anna raised a brow. “You sure?”

“Positive. It won’t take long.”

With a reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, she turned back toward the garages. The corridors were quieter now, the frenzied chaos of race day fading into the hush of impending night. Shadows stretched across the pavement, mingling with the lingering scent of burnt rubber and sun-warmed asphalt.

She moved with purpose, her heels clicking against the ground, determined to retrieve her forgotten item and rejoin her family. But as she rounded a corner, her steps faltered, breath catching in her throat.

Max.

He stood just a few paces ahead, his familiar figure sharp against the backdrop of the fading sun. His stance was casual, hands tucked into his pockets, but there was a tension in his posture that spoke of years of high-stakes racing and battles both on and off the track. Beside him stood Kelly, her hand resting on her rounded belly, the fabric of her dress clinging to the unmistakable curve of pregnancy.

The engagement ring on her finger caught the light, gleaming like a taunt.

Time seemed to warp, stretching painfully as (Y/N) stood frozen in place. Her heart clenched, a visceral ache that she hadn’t felt in months. Her breath hitched, but she forced herself to take a steadying inhale. This was life now. Max was no longer hers, and she had no right to linger on what could have been.

Kelly noticed her first, offering a polite but wary smile. “(Y/N),” she greeted warmly, if a bit cautiously. “It’s been a while.”

She forced a smile onto her lips. “Kelly.” Her gaze flickered to Max, whose blue eyes held a mix of surprise and unreadable emotion. “Max.”

He nodded, his voice low. “(Y/N).”

The air was thick with unspoken memories, the kind that lingered even after months of distance. Kelly shifted slightly, her hand instinctively moving to her belly.

(Y/N)’s stomach twisted, but she forced a polite smile.

“It’s good to see you. Almost didn’t recognize you — you’ve been off the grid.” Kelly offered a warm, yet cautious smile.

“I’ve been... busy,” she answered vaguely.

“Yes, I get that. I’m almost due,” she said conversationally, her tone gentle but perhaps too aware of the weight of the moment. “We’re having a boy.”

She did the math without meaning to — nearly ten months had passed since that devastating breakup in Hungary. He must have been with Kelly not long after their relationship ended. Her chest tightened as the realization sank in — While she was drowning in loss at Mallorca, Max had moved on swiftly, almost immediately.

Her heart clenched again, but she schooled her expression into something resembling polite interest. “That’s wonderful. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Kelly said softly. “Well, I’ll give you two a moment.” She glanced at Max before excusing herself, leaving them standing awkwardly in the fading light.

Silence hung between them, heavy and oppressive. Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, unsure of what to say. The last time they had spoken, emotions had run wild, raw and unfiltered. Now, there was only a strange hollowness where their bond had once been.

“You look well,” Max offered, his voice tentative.

“So do you,” she managed, her voice steadier than she felt but betraying a flick of bitterness.

They stood there, the weight of their history pressing between them.

He shifted on his feet, his gaze flickering to the ground before meeting hers again. “I’ve seen the headlines about your books. It’s impressive, Y/N. I’m happy for you. You’ve always deserved success.”

There was a tinged irony to his words. He thought she had moved on, found success and fulfillment. How wrong he was, If only he knew, she thought bitterly. Her creative well had run dry, and inspiration eluded her like a phantom she could no longer grasp. But she wouldn’t let him see that.

“Thanks,” she said quietly. “I’m glad things are going well for you too. Kelly seems… wonderful.”

“She is,” Max admitted, though his tone was gentle, not boastful. “And I’m happy.”

There it was. The confirmation she hadn’t realized she was dreading. He had found happiness without her, built a new life with someone else. And while it stung, it was also freeing in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

“I’m happy for you too,” she said sincerely, even though her heart ached with the weight of those words. “You deserve it.”

Max’s expression softened, a hint of sadness flickering in his eyes. “We had good times, didn’t we?”

“We did,” she agreed, her voice thick with emotion. “But it was time to let go. We weren’t happy anymore.”

He nodded, as if accepting the truth they both knew but had never spoken aloud.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for. Take care (Y/N),” he said earnestly.

“You too Max. I hope you keep finding happiness,” she replied, meaning every word.

They stood there for a moment longer, the past finally settling between them like dust after a storm. There was no animosity, no bitterness — just closure.

As they parted ways, (Y/N) felt a strange sense of relief wash over her. Max was no longer hers, and perhaps he never truly had been, always focused on racing before anything else. Life had moved on.

Her steps were lighter as she made her way back toward the exit, where her family waited. But as she walked, her mind buzzed with thoughts — not of Max, but of the future.

The rest of the night blurred in a haze of music and flashing lights. Her siblings had dragged her to a club, determined to celebrate Carlos’s strong finish where she drowned her thoughts in drinks, dancing with reckless abandon. The ache in her chest dulled with each beat of the music, but it never fully disappeared.

By the time she stumbled back to her hotel, head spinning and heart heavy, clarity struck through the fog. A message from Charles lit up her phone:

Looking forward to our adventures. Let’s make them unforgettable.

Her lips curved into a faint smile. Perhaps it was time to let the past go and embrace whatever came next. Max had moved on, and now it was her turn.

And with Charles by her side, perhaps the world wasn’t so daunting after all. With that thought, she drifted into sleep, the Barcelona night stretching before her, filled with possibility.

He had been persistent but never overbearing. After the Spanish Grand Prix and her unexpected agreement to his proposal, they'd fallen into an easy rhythm of back-and-forth messages, planning adventures that had drawn her out of the numbness she'd felt for so long.

Through playful back-and-forth texts, Charles kept his promise, planning and curating a series of adventures meant to push (Y/N) beyond her comfort zone. Their conversations brimmed with excitement, teasing suggestions of daring escapades and quiet explorations alike. Despite his meticulous planning, Charles always left room for spontaneity — a gentle reminder that this journey was as much about rediscovering freedom as it was about seeing the world.

It didn’t take much convincing for Carlos, her ever-enthusiastic older brother, to jump on board with the idea. Thrilled to have his baby sister along for the rest of the season, Carlos welcomed her presence in the paddock with open arms, insisting that her infectious energy would be a good-luck charm for Williams. Between races, Charles kept his promise, inviting her to explore the world in between the chaos of race weekends.

Monaco, naturally, had to be their starting point — Charles’s hometown and the most iconic GP on the calendar. Once tainted by memories with Max, now revealed itself in a fresh light under Charles' guidance. From swimming in crystal-clear waters and hiking through hidden trails to discovering quaint cafés, gardens and cobblestone streets tucked away from tourist eyes, the quiet hum of the city beneath a golden sunset sparked her creativity anew became her new canvases of inspiration. Charles had a way of turning the familiar into something magical, making even the simplest corners feel new, showing her a side of the city she had never known, despite having lived there in the past for years. They wandered through markets brimming with vibrant produce, shared quiet conversations by the harbor, and laughed as they stumbled upon paths even Charles hadn't ventured down before.

Slowly, (Y/N) realized how different these experiences felt — Charles never dictated where they should go; he merely invited her, always giving her the choice. There was no pressure, no expectation. Just an open hand and an easygoing smile that made her want to say yes, not because she had to, but because she wanted to. And with each step, she found herself not only rediscovering Monaco but also piecing together fragments of herself she thought she'd lost.

On Race day the streets of the principality buzzed with life, electric in the aftermath of Charles’s monumental win. His second victory on home soil had sent the principality into a frenzy, and celebrations stretched from the marina to the glittering rooftops of luxury hotels. Music pulsed from every corner, mingling with laughter and the clink of glasses. The scent of salt and champagne lingered in the air as she danced under the starlit sky, the glow of the city casting golden reflections on the water.

Charles was never far from her, his presence grounding even amidst the chaos. He had abandoned his race suit for a tight black shirt that clung to his lean muscular frame. His victory grin hadn’t faded, and every so often, their eyes would meet across the throng of people, a spark passing between them that neither dared to acknowledge.

Her body swayed to the rhythm of the music, heart thrumming with a mixture of exhilaration and the heady buzz of too much champagne. Charles had handed her a flute earlier, insisting on a toast, and she hadn’t stopped since. The warmth in her veins made her bolder, lighter.

At some point, their dancing had become closer, the line between friendship and something more blurring with every brush of skin. His hand lingered at her waist, hers resting against his shoulder. The world narrowed to just the two of them, the music fading into a distant hum.

Tentative touches became deliberate—a graze of wandering fingers, a fleeting press of hips. Their breath mingled as they moved, the space between them charged with unspoken tension. (Y/N) felt a heat rise within her, unfamiliar and thrilling. Her gaze flickered to his lips, and for a moment, she wondered if he was thinking the same thing.

But then the spell was broken.

“Hey,” a voice slurred from beside them. A man, short but broad-shouldered, stumbled slightly as he addressed her. His grin was too wide, his eyes glassy. “Wanna get out of here? My hotel’s just up the street.”

(Y/N) blinked, the daze of champagne clouding her judgment. The suggestion hung in the air, tempting in its simplicity. She opened her mouth, words teetering on the edge, but Charles stepped in before she could respond.

“I think she’s good right here,” he said, his tone polite but firm. His hand tightened around her waist, anchoring her.

The man’s grin faltered, but he shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He stumbled off into the crowd, leaving a strange silence in his wake.

(Y/N) exhaled shakily, the reality of the moment crashing down on her. “Thanks,” she murmured, her voice unsteady. “I think I almost said yes.”

Charles’s brow furrowed. “You don’t have to explain.”

“No, I do.” She ran a hand through her hair, suddenly feeling exposed. “It’s just… after Max, I don’t really know how to do this anymore. I mean, I’ve only ever been with him. Sexually, I mean.”

Charles’s eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across his features. “You don’t have to—”

“We started dating when I was sixteen,” she continued her drunken rambling, the words spilling out before she could stop them. “After we broke up, I just… I wasn’t sure how to approach that with anyone else. Even strangers.”

Her confession hung between them, raw and vulnerable.

Charles’s expression softened, his gaze warm. “There’s nothing wrong with that, Y/N. You don’t owe anyone an explanation for your choices.”

She looked away, the sting of embarrassment creeping up her spine. “It just makes me feel... stuck. Like I missed out on something.”

He hesitated, then reached for her hand, his touch gentle. “You haven’t missed out on anything. And you’re not stuck. You’re figuring things out.”

She nodded, grateful for his understanding. But what she didn’t see was the flicker of something darker in his eyes—a primal instinct he fought to suppress. The idea of her innocence, her vulnerability, stirred something deep within him, something he knew he had no right to entertain. He clenched his jaw, silently berating himself. His role was to help her, not corrupt her.

“We should get out of here,” he said, his voice steadier now. “Walk it off.”

She agreed, and they made their way down the quiet path along the harbor. The water lapped gently against the docked yachts, their reflections shimmering under the moonlight.

“Thank you,” she said softly, breaking the silence. “For saving me back there.”

“Anytime,” he replied, his lips curving into a faint smile.

Their footsteps echoed against the pavement, the tension between them easing into something calmer. Yet beneath the surface, something had shifted. They both felt it but neither spoke of it.

The days that followed were filled with new experiences—From snorkeling in crystal-clear waters off the Amalfi Coast to hiking through mist-shrouded mountains in Switzerland, each experience had been a step toward rediscovering herself and bringing them closer, their connection deepening with every shared laugh and quiet moment.

Skydiving marks a pivotal turning point. The rush of free-fall strips away her fears, and when Charles grips her hand in exhilaration after landing, their shared laughter feels louder than the rush of wind. And always, at the end of the day, she would say the same thing.

“Thank you, Charles.”

And he would smile, knowing that those two words carried more weight than she could ever express.

It was a slow burn, this thing between them—unspoken but undeniable. And neither of them was in a hurry to define it.

The build up tension eventually bursts one evening in Monaco. The sea breeze curled through the open terrace of her hotel room, carrying the scent of salt and lavender from the Mediterranean gardens nearby. The quiet hum of life in Monaco faded into the background as (Y/N) leaned against the cool iron railing, her gaze fixed on the shimmering waters below. Shadows danced across the cobblestones, mingling with the golden hues of dusk.

Her phone buzzed on the table behind her. Without looking, she knew who it was. (Y/N)’s lips curved faintly as she picked up the phone.

“Still up for tonight, Dolcezza?”

“I’m not sure I’m prepared to face whatever madness you have planned this time.” She half-joked through the phone.

“Madness? Moi? I was thinking something simple—just a quiet night by the sea. Bring a jacket. It might get cold.”

Her heart did an inexplicable little flip. His voice always carried that light, teasing tone, but beneath it was something steady, something that had become a source of comfort she hadn’t realized she needed.

“See you soon. Charlie”

She slipped into a light sweater, its soft fabric brushing against her skin, and made her way to the rendezvous point Charles had suggested—a hidden cove far from the bustling streets of Monaco.

When she arrived, the scene took her breath away. The cove was illuminated by lanterns Charles had strung up along the rocky outcrop, their warm glow reflecting on the gentle waves. A blanket was spread across the sand, complete with a small picnic basket.

“You really know how to set the mood,” she teased as he turned to greet her.

Charles grinned. “Only the best for you.”

Her pulse skipped. It was so easy with him—this banter, this comfort. Yet there was always an undercurrent of something more, something she wasn’t sure she was ready to confront.

They settled onto the blanket, the soft hum of the waves filling the space between their conversations. Charles poured them each a glass of chilled rosé, his fingers brushing against hers as he handed her the glass.

“To new adventures,” he toasted, his eyes gleaming in the lantern light.

“To getting out of my comfort zone,” she countered, clinking her glass against his.

They drank in silence, the wine crisp and refreshing. The conversation flowed easily, touching on everything from their favorite childhood memories to the absurdities of life in the public eye. Charles’s laughter was infectious, and she found herself leaning closer, drawn in by his warmth.

As the night deepened, the air grew cooler. (Y/N) wrapped her sweater tighter around herself, but Charles noticed.

“Here,” he said, draping his jacket over her shoulders. The scent of cedar and something distinctly him enveloped her.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice softer than she intended.

He smiled, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his gaze.“You've thanked me a hundred times,” he says softly, his voice tinged with warmth. “But I need to say it now — thank you for letting me share this with you.”

Waves lap gently at the shore, a rhythm that mirrors the pulse between them. Charles breaks the comfortable silence.

She turns to him, heart thudding against her ribs. “I think I needed this more than I realized.”

His gaze searches hers, steady and sincere. “I told you, you're not broken, dolcezza. You're just finding your way again. And it's beautiful to watch.”

Her breath catches, the vulnerability between them palpable. He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the touch lingering. Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. The tension that had been simmering beneath the surface now crackled like a live wire.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, his voice low.

“Of course.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

The question, once a source of frustration, now feels gentle and filled with possibility. So she laughed softly. “That’s random.”

“Humor me.”

She considered it for a moment. “It used to be blue, but right now?... I think it might be rosso corsa.” She whispers.

His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “Good choice.” And then he laughs, softly with realisation, a sound that warms her chest.

The air thickened, charged with anticipation. (Y/N)’s heart raced as he shifted closer, his knee brushing against hers. His gaze dropped to her lips, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them.

She knew this was a crossroads. She could pull back, retreat into the safety of friendship, or she could lean into the unknown, take the leap she’d been too afraid to take.

Charles’s breath fanned across her cheek, warm and inviting. Her resolve wavered, and before she could overthink it, she closed the distance between them.

The first brush of their lips was tentative, testing. But then something shifted. The kiss deepened, fueled by the unspoken emotions that had been building between them. His hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing against her skin, while her fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt.

Time seemed to stand still, the world fading into a blur of sensation. The taste of wine lingered on his lips, mingling with the heady thrill of finally giving in to what had been simmering between them.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless, (Y/N) searched his eyes, finding a reflection of her own disbelief and wonder.

“Thank you,” she whispered, the words carrying a weight they never had before.

Charles’s smile was soft, his thumb tracing a gentle path along her cheek. “I think that one was for me.”

And perhaps it was. For love, for healing, for taking a leap into the unknown. They sat there, wrapped in each other and the promise of something new. For the first time in a long time, (Y/N) felt like she was exactly where she was meant to be—no longer defined by the past but open to whatever the future held.

The air hums between them, electric and inevitable. Slowly, as though drawn by an unseen force, she leans back in. He meets him halfway, his lips brushing against hers. The kiss is tentative at first, testing the waters, but it deepens with a sweetness that speaks of promises and newfound beginnings.

And it started here, with him.

As the 2025 season progressed, so did Charles and (Y/N)’s relationship, quietly blossoming amidst the chaos of race weekends, media scrutiny, and the exhilarating highs and lows of F1. To the public, she was simply there to support Carlos, her older brother, cheering from the Williams garage as he fought for solid points finishes. But those in the know — a select, trusted few — were aware of the subtle glances, hidden smiles, and fleeting touches exchanged between them whenever they thought no one was looking.

Spending time with Carlos came naturally; he was her steadfast brother and protector, the anchor in the storm that the paddock could sometimes be. But she also found herself forming bonds with Charles's inner circle. Joris, his easygoing friend with a sharp sense of humor, and Andrea, his dedicated trainer with a heart of gold, quickly grew fond of her. They saw her not as an extension of Charles but as someone worth knowing in her own right. Unlike Max’s friends, who had once treated her as just ‘Max’s girlfriend,’ Joris and Andrea asked about her life, laughed at her witty comebacks, and genuinely enjoyed her company.

As summer break arrived in August, Charles proposed a plan: the first half with his family and friends, the second half with hers. “Balance, no?” he had teased, grinning that signature mischievous smile.

The first part of their holiday unfolded on a sun-drenched yacht along the French coast. It was the first time she would meet his family as his girlfriend, and nerves prickled under her skin as they sailed toward the gleaming vessel anchored off the shoreline.

“They’re going to love you,” Charles assured her, his hand warm on the small of her back as they stepped onto the deck.

His mother, Pascale, was the first to greet them, her embrace warm and genuine. Lorenzo and Arthur followed, their easy smiles dissolving any lingering tension. Even Charlotte and Jade, Lorenzo and Arthur’s girlfriends, welcomed her with open arms, immediately drawing her into their conversations.

Those days were filled with laughter, good food, and playful banter. Pascale watched with quiet contentment as (Y/N) fit seamlessly into their dynamic, her laughter blending effortlessly with the family’s joy. As the sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, Charles found himself alone with his mother, leaning against the railing as they watched Arthur and (Y/N) teasing each other over some inside joke.

“You’re happy,” Pascale observed, her voice gentle.

Charles smiled, his gaze softening as it lingered on his girlfriend. “I am.”

“She’s the one for you, isn’t she?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Yes. She is.”

Pascale’s hand found his, squeezing it reassuringly. “Then hold on to her.”

The second part of the summer break took them to Costa Rica, where the Sainz family had gathered for their annual vacation. Charles joined them as “just a friend,” but Anna’s knowing glances and (Y/N)’s parents’ perceptive gazes told a different story. Her father, Carlos Sainz Sr., was particularly watchful, his protective instincts never far from the surface.

On the last night of their vacation, as the sun set over the ocean and a warm breeze rustled through the trees, Anna cornered her while their parents poured glasses of wine on the terrace.

“So,” Anna teased, her grin mischievous, “first Max, now Charles? Is this a pattern with Carlos’s teammates?”

(Y/N) groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “Please don’t start.”

Their father’s brows furrowed with concern. “Charles is a good man, though?”

“Yes,” she said earnestly. “He’s… he’s different. Good-hearted. I wouldn’t be with him otherwise.”

Carlos Sr. nodded slowly, his expression softening. “Even if you’re my baby girl, you’re an adult now. I trust your judgment.”

Their mother, Mercedes, chimed in with a playful smile. “Carlos is too blind to notice the way Charles looks at you, but a mother always sees these things.”

Heat crept up (Y/N)’s neck, but there was a warmth in her chest too — the kind that came from being seen and understood.

After the summer break, she continued traveling alongside Charles, her days filled with the thrill of races and the quiet joy of shared moments with Charles. But when the Azerbaijan GP arrived, she found herself unable to attend.

Charles had a disastrous race, and when she called to comfort him afterwards, his voice was strained, disappointment heavy in his tone.

“I just needed you there,” he admitted quietly, the vulnerability in his voice tugging at her heart.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’ll be at the next one. Promise. ”

But Charles had never been one to wait when something mattered to him. The very next day, a knock at her front door in her flat startled her.

Opening it, she found Charles standing there, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder, his expression both tired and determined.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice breathless.

“I needed to see you,” he said simply.

The city of Madrid pulsed with its usual rhythm, but inside the sanctuary of (Y/N)’s flat, time stood still. Curtains drawn to keep the world at bay, soft amber light from scattered lamps casting a warm glow across the living space, they existed in a bubble of their own making. Charles had arrived days earlier, seeking refuge from the relentless pressures of the championship fight. His usual composed demeanor had cracked under the weight of expectations, and she had seen the exhaustion lingering in his eyes the moment he stepped through her door.

She hadn’t asked questions. He didn’t need to explain.

They simply were, moving through the quiet, sacred spaces of her home with an ease that spoke of their deepening connection. Mornings were spent curled up on the couch, her head resting against his shoulder as they sipped coffee in comfortable silence. Afternoons drifted by with music playing softly in the background, their conversations meandering through light-hearted banter and moments of raw honesty.

And then there were the nights — when the world faded completely, leaving only the two of them.

Charles had always been tactile, his touch a grounding force. His fingers would trace absent patterns along her arm as they talked, his gaze steady and filled with something unspoken. She cherished these quiet moments, grateful that he didn’t push her away when the pressure mounted.

On one such evening, the air thick with the scent of rain from an earlier storm, (Y/N) sat beside him on the floor, their backs against the couch. Her hand rested atop his, their fingers loosely intertwined. The TV flickered with muted images, forgotten background noise to their hushed conversation.

“You’ve been quiet,” she murmured, turning her head to study him.

His jaw clenched, the flicker of tension evident. “Just thinking.”

“About the championship?”

He nodded, exhaling slowly. “It’s… a lot.”

“I know,” she said softly, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. “But you don’t have to carry it all alone.”

His eyes met hers, the vulnerability there making her heart ache. “It’s hard not to.”

“You have me,” she reminded him, her voice firm despite the tenderness in her tone.

A faint smile curved his lips. “I know. And I’m grateful for that.”

The weight of the moment hung between them, heavy yet filled with an undercurrent of something more profound.

That night, as shadows danced along the walls and the city hummed beyond the windows, something shifted within (Y/N). Love had always been a treacherous thing for her, tangled with fear and uncertainty. But with Charles, it was different — steady, grounding, a magnetic force that pulled her closer until resistance felt impossible.

She wasn’t afraid anymore. Not with him.

“I’m ready,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the soft hum of the night.

His brow furrowed in question. “For what?”

“To give myself fully to you.” Her gaze was unwavering, filled with quiet resolve.

Charles’s breath hitched, the weight of her words sinking in. “Are you sure?” he asked gently, his voice thick with emotion.

In response, she cupped his face, her lips capturing his in a kiss that spoke of love, trust, and a fierce determination to show him just how certain she was. The world fell away as the kiss deepened, their souls blending in a way that felt as if the universe had been leading them to this very moment.

There was nothing rushed, nothing uncertain. Only a shared love for what they were building together.

Their breaths mingled in the dimly lit room, the air thick with the scent of rain and something deeper – the raw energy of love made tangible. Charles's fingertips traced delicate lines down the curve of her spine, memorizing every dip and rise as though she were the map to a world he'd only just begun to discover.

(Y/N)'s heart pounded against her ribs, not from nerves but from the overwhelming beauty of the moment. There was no hesitation, only the quiet surrender of two souls drawn together by something far greater than desire alone.

Soft whimpers escaped her lips as his kisses trailed from the hollow of her throat to the curve of her shoulder, each press of his mouth leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. Her hands roamed across the taut expanse of his back, feeling the strength that lay beneath his smooth skin.

"Charles," she breathed, his name a prayer on her lips.

He lifted his head, his gaze searching hers, eyes darkened with lust but still gentle, always gentle. "I'm here," he promised, voice thick with devotion.

And he was. Fully present, fully hers.

Their mouths met again, the kiss deepening into something that spoke of trust, love, and a longing to give and receive without barriers. Time ceased to matter as they moved together, their bodies finding a rhythm that was both instinctual and sacred.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, anchoring herself to him as waves of sensation coursed through her. His quiet groan reverberated against her skin, a raw and unfiltered sound that spoke of how deeply he felt this moment too.

Every touch, every breath, every whispered plea was a testament to their journey — from heartache and uncertainty to this place of unshakable connection.

There was a reverence in the way Charles held her, as though she were something precious, something fragile and infinite all at once. And she met him with equal tenderness, her touch a vow that she was no longer afraid to love, no longer afraid to be loved.

Their bodies moved as one, a seamless blend of giving and receiving, of exploration and certainty. Skin slick with sweat, limbs entwined, they surrendered to the moment, their souls blending in a way that transcended the physical.

As they reached the peak of their shared passion, (Y/N) buried her face against his neck, her breath warm against his skin. Charles's grip on her tightened, his chest rising and falling with the force of his emotions.

Their hearts beat in sync, the world outside fading until there was nothing but them, suspended in a moment of pure, unadulterated love. When the intensity ebbed, they remained tangled together, their bodies still pressed close, unwilling to break the connection.

Later, as they lay tangled in the sheets, their breathing slowing to a harmonious rhythm, Charles pressed a kiss to her temple. “I love you,” he whispered, the words slipping out unbidden but utterly true.

Emotion welled in her chest, too overwhelming for words. Instead, she whispered back, “Thank you.”

The unspoken meaning hung in the air between them — Thank you for loving me. Thank you for teaching me to love the world again. Thank you for never giving up on me.

They remained cocooned in their sacred space for the rest of his small break, limbs tangled together as they moved through her apartment with an intimacy that spoke of shared promises and future dreams. The outside world buzzed with tabloids and speculation, but inside these walls, there was only them.

Charles's laughter echoed through her flat, a sound she had grown to treasure. Blissfully unaware of the outside chaos, they spent lazy mornings in bed, afternoons cooking together, and evenings wrapped in each other’s arms.

But, as with all things, their idyllic bubble was not meant to last.

Carlos had remained blissfully unaware of their rendezvous as well — until he didn't.

The door burst open without warning, the clatter of keys echoing through the space.

“(Y/N)?” Her older brother's voice rang out, loud and insistent, muttering about forgotten golf clubs. “You here?”

Y/N’s heart plummeted as panic surged through her veins, realizing the situation they were in — her topless frame, straddling a shirtless Charles on the couch.

“Shit,” she hissed, scrambling to grab the nearest blanket.

Carlos rounded the corner, his eyes widening comically as he took in the scene. His jaw dropped, words failing him entirely.

Charles, ever the composed one, cleared his throat, his expression caught between amusement and mild embarrassment. “Hey, mate.”

Carlos blinked once. Twice. Then his eyes narrowed. “No. Absolutely not.” Then pointing an accusatory finger at them. “What the hell is going on here?”

(Y/N) groaned, burying her face in Charles's shoulder. “Kill me now,” she muttered.

Charles's laughter rumbled against her, and despite the mortifying situation, she couldn’t help but smile.

Their little bubble had burst, but as she met Charles's gaze, filled with love and unwavering support, she knew one thing for certain — whatever came next, they would face it together.

“Carlos—” she started, her face flaming with mortification.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing, Leclerc?” Carlos cut her off, his tone a mixture of disbelief and overprotective outrage.

Charles raised his hands in mock surrender, though a mischievous grin tugged at his lips. “I swear, this isn’t what it looks like.”

Carlos crossed his arms. “It looks like you’re corrupting my sister.”

“Well... then it’s exactly what it looks like,” He quipped, earning a groan from (Y/N).

“Mon cœur,” she warned under her breath, though she couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips.

“Mon cœur?,” Carlos arched his brow and threw his hands up in exasperation. “First Ferrari, now my family? Is nothing sacred?”

Charles stepped forward, his expression softening. “Look, mate, I get it. You’re her big brother and you want to protect her. But I’m serious about this. About her.”

Carlos’s eyes flicked between them, his protective instincts warring with something softer. “You’d better be.”

“I am,” Charles said firmly. “I love her. A lot.”

Carlos sighed, his shoulders relaxing. “Fine. But if you mess this up, I’ll—”

“I won’t,” Charles promised, cutting him off.

Carlos grumbled something under his breath before pointing a finger at (Y/N). “You’re still a menace for dating this one”

“But a happily in love menace,” she shot back, grinning at Charles, who squeezed her hand and gave her a tender kiss.

Carlos shook his head, muttering in Spanish as he walked toward the fridge. “I need a drink. Please get dressed, both of you.”

As soon as he was out of earshot, Charles let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “That went... better than expected?”

And when Carlos finally came around, grumbling but supportive, (Y/N) knew they had turned a corner.

The Yas Marina Circuit gleamed under the relentless winter desert sun that loomed high over the Abu Dhabi circuit, casting a shimmering golden hue across the paddock, the race track pristine asphalt shimmering in the heat. Palm trees swayed gently in the dry breeze, a picturesque contrast to the storm of emotions brewing across the paddock. The air crackled with anticipation, as if the universe itself held its breath for what was about to unfold.

Abu Dhabi, the final race of the 2025 Formula 1 season, would crown a champion.

There was an almost palpable tension in the air, a mixture of nerves and anticipation crackling like static electricity. The entire racing world was here to witness history, as three titans of Formula 1—Charles Leclerc, Lewis Hamilton, and Max Verstappen—stood tied for the championship title. Three contenders stood on the precipice of glory. They were tied in points—a statistical rarity that had the world captivated.

Everything came down to this. One race would decide it all.

And she was by Charles’s side.

(Y/N) had never imagined returning to the paddock in this capacity, not just as Carlos's sister or a writer finding inspiration but as Charles’s girlfriend. Officially. Publicly.

Speculations about their relationship had swirled for months, fueled by cryptic sightings and fleeting moments caught by eagle-eyed fans. But today, there was no hiding. She was there for him, fully and unapologetically.

Charles needed her, and that was all that mattered.

The media frenzy had already begun the moment they stepped off the private jet. Camera flashes exploded, reporters clamored for interviews, and whispers rippled through the crowd like wildfire. The speculations that had brewed for months were finally confirmed.

She had never seen Charles quite like this — his usual composure strained by the weight of what lay ahead. Yet, even amidst the chaos, he never let go of her.

(Y/N) stood beside him, her fingers intertwined with his as they walked toward the Ferrari motorhome. Despite the sweltering heat, a chill prickled her skin. His grip on her hand tightened, grounding her amidst the chaos of media day. Journalists swarmed, microphones thrust forward like weapons, but Charles navigated it all with a grace honed over years in the spotlight.

“Charles, how are you handling the pressure of this championship-deciding race?” one reporter asked, voice sharp with urgency.

He smiled faintly, though tension lingered in the corners of his eyes. “It’s a privilege to be in this position. I trust the team, and I’m ready to give it everything.”

During media day, (Y/N) stayed close, offering quiet support as Charles navigated interviews and press obligations. His calm demeanor masked the storm of emotions she knew raged beneath the surface, but every now and then, his thumb would brush over her knuckles, grounding himself through her presence.

At one point, a journalist asked him about the championship pressure and his life off-track blending with his career.

“And what about your personal life? There’s been speculation—”

The reporter’s question hung in the air, heavy with implication.

Charles's eyes flicked to (Y/N), who stood trying to blend into the background. But there was no hiding from the attention today. Charles' gaze softened despite the tension etched into his features. “I’m lucky to have the love of my life by my side on this journey,” he said simply, his voice steady but filled with unspoken emotion.

The words lingered in the air, shimmering with significance. She knew then that no matter the outcome of this race, their story had already reached a place of triumph.

The statement echoed in her mind, leaving her breathless.

Love of his life.

Her heart fluttered, warmth spreading through her chest. Despite the nerves gnawing at her, Charles’s unwavering confidence in their relationship steadied her.

As they moved through the rest of the media obligations, (Y/N) remained by his side, offering quiet support. As they walked back toward the Ferrari motorhome, a figure caught her eye—Max Verstappen, standing by the Red Bull garage. He glanced their way, his expression unreadable, but there was no animosity, no lingering resentment.

It was strange how time had softened the edges of their shared past. Max had found his own happiness, now a devoted husband and father. And she... she had found something even more precious: peace.

Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. They had both moved on, and in doing so, had found better versions of themselves.

Charles's hand tightened around her waist, drawing her back to the present. She smiled up at him, grateful for the love they had nurtured, steady and sure.

Later, as the sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the sky in hues of amber and rose, they found a brief moment of peace. Charles leaned against the railing of the motorhome terrace, the cityscape sprawling behind him.

(Y/N) joined him, their shoulders brushing. “How are you feeling?” she asked softly.

He exhaled, the weight of the day visible in the slump of his shoulders. “Nervous. But with you here... better.”

She smiled, touched by his honesty. “You’ve got this, Charles. I believe in you.”

He turned to her, eyes shining with gratitude. “Thank you, amore.”

As the final light faded from the sky, casting the circuit in shadows, (Y/N) felt a sense of calm wash over her. Whatever happened tomorrow, they would face it together.

Race day arrived with a crescendo of anticipation.

The grandstands roared with excitement, a sea of red Ferrari flags waving fervently with a palpable sense of electricity in the air.

(Y/N) stood with Charles in the moments before he suited up, their pre-race ritual unfolding in quiet intimacy.

His forehead rested against hers, eyes closed as he drew in steadying breaths. The roar of the crowd faded into the background, leaving only the sound of their synchronized breathing.

“No one deserves this more than you, mon cœur,” she whispered, her voice unwavering despite the butterflies in her stomach. “You’re Il Predestinato for a reason. Go show them what you’re made of”

A faint smile curved his lips. “Only if you’re here when I cross the finish line.”

“Always.”

The weight of the moment hung between them, heavy yet charged with possibility.

Charles pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead before stepping back, his expression fierce with determination. “For us.”

The race itself was a blur of adrenaline and chaos. Engines roared, tires screeched, and the tension was suffocating. (Y/N) sat with Charles’s family in the Ferrari garage, her hands clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Pascale offered her a reassuring smile, but even she couldn’t hide the nerves. Carlos had joined them after a devastating DNF, his attempt to overtake Lewis ending in a dramatic crash that took both drivers out of contention.

“He’s got this,” Carlos said firmly, his presence a steady anchor beside her. “Charles is the best driver on that track.”

(Y/N) nodded, though her heart raced with every lap.

The battle between Charles and Max was relentless, neither giving an inch. Overtakes, defensive maneuvers, and nail-biting near misses kept everyone on edge.

Her breath caught as Charles made a daring move, taking the lead with only a handful of laps remaining. The Ferrari garage erupted into cheers, but she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think until the checkered flag waved.

And then it happened.

Charles crossed the finish line, victorious.

The radio crackled to life, his voice breaking with emotion. “We did it... We did it!”

Tears streamed down (Y/N)’s face as she listened to his overwhelmed gratitude.

“And thank you,” Charles added, voice thick. “Thank you, dolcezza. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Her heart swelled, pride and love intertwining in a way that left her breathless.

"This is your moment. It's all yours, Charlie.” She managed to answer between sobs. "Go claim your victory. I’m so proud of you mon cœur.”

The Ferrari crew spilled onto the track, and she ran with them, Charles’s family and friends close behind. As he parked the car, time seemed to slow.

Charles sat there for a moment, helmet still on, the weight of his achievement sinking in.

For my father. For Jules. For the team. For (Y/N).

He removed his helmet, scanning the crowd until his eyes found her. Everything else faded away.

She reached him just as he climbed out of the car, and without hesitation, he pulled her into his arms. Their lips met in a kiss that spoke of triumph, love, and everything they had fought for together.

The cameras captured it all, but neither of them cared.

“I love you,” she whispered against his lips, tears mingling with her smile.

“Thank you,” he said, voice raw with emotion.

The podium ceremony was a blur of celebration. The Monegasque anthem played as Charles stood on the top step, the championship trophy held high.

He glanced down at (Y/N), his signature wink accompanied by a playful point to the trophy and then to her.

She laughed, heart full, and blew him a kiss.

Charles’s chest swelled with joy, the memory of last year flashing in his mind. How far they had come. How much had changed.

Subtly, his thoughts drifted to the engagement ring hidden in his luggage, a promise waiting to be made.

As the champagne sprayed and the crowd roared, (Y/N) reflected on her journey.

Before Charles, she had been lost, adrift in a sea of uncertainty. But he had put her back on track, not by leading her but by standing beside her, showing her that love didn’t have to be a battlefield — it could be a haven.

He had taught her to stand on her own again, to rediscover the beauty of life.

And she loved him for it.

Past the finish line, there were only possibilities. And with Charles by her side, she was ready to keep discovering the world — and herself — all over again.

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A/N 2: For those who wanted a more concise endings, here is It how things Will have turned out If (Y/N) choose Charles. Now I want him to show mw arround the world and be my personal Monaco guide as well. Also Carlos obliviousness and his realisation are priceless. I thik this ending it's a little more realistic than the Lando's one, if my ex of 8 years left me I would be pretty upset too. I got a little bit carried away and this ended up being longer than what I had initially expected. I had the Lando's version direction clearly in my head so I just put it into words, but I didn't knew what to do with Charles, so I just kept writting untill I was satisfied. Still, I think I like this ending better. What is the one you prefere?

You can check Lando's ending here.

Love You - Xim

Tagglist:

@cmleitora

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