#alta x you

[marymary-diva17]

You will be amazing on day

zuko and mom reader

life had changed for you when you had married Prince ozai, for the sake and wellbeing of your family and village. As the duty of daughter and wife had been something you are balancing, that was until motherhood had came into the equation. Now your had become a lady of the nation and a soon to be mother, in the royal family. You had made a promise to love your children and care off them, along with teaching them well in hopes they didn’t become like their father.

zuko “ mom” you are feeding some turtle duck by yourself in one of the palaces, many gardens when you had heard someone calling you. As you soon looked up to see it zuko, he soon reached you.

y/n “ hello my son why has made you run away the way here”

zuko “ I wanted to show you the gift uncle iroh sent me” zuko soon showed you a earth king blade as he sat down next to you.

y/n “ wow this is amazing craftsmanship and the words are wonderful as well”

zuko “ It say never give up"

y/n " yes it those your uncle might have a good reason for you giving you that my boy"

zuko " yes mom ... umm mom what is your family like" you had gotten very quiet when you had heard zuko asking about your family, you never told zuko or azula about your family. As your husband and azulon hadn't allowed you to speak about them, or even allowed you to go see them as well.

y/n " ......."

zuko " mom are you okay"

y/n " I'm good hey hey don't you come feed the trutepl ducks with me"

zuko " okay mom" you ahd given zuko some of the bread and he was feeding the ducks.

zuko " mom do you ever think I will be gifted in fire bending like everyone else in the family.even you are gifted as well"

y/n " well yes one day you will be an amazing fire bender but it take many years to master, fire bending my boy you and you are good already I love the moves you do"

zuko " even if I fall on my but"

y/n " yes even if you fall on your butt" you soon brought zuko close to you making him laugh, and bring him into a warm embrace. Him and azula are you most valuable treasures.

y/n " you know you coming from a very long line of proud fire benders"

zuko " I do"

y/n " yes and one day you will be added to that list of amazing fire bender"

zuko " thank mom"

y/n " you are welcome"

zuko " mom when I get older and I will be the best prince you can be proud of"

y/n " oh zuko I'm already proud of you and all you have done now, and I know you will do many greta things when you are older"

zuko " will you be there when it happens"

y/n " yes I will but if I'm not there I will be there with you in spirt and heart, no matter where you go I will always love you"

zuko " yes mom"

y/n " if you want to run along and play with your sister and her friends you can, you don't have to stay here with me"

zuko " I rather stay here with you a bit longer mom"

y/n " okay you can and hey I will tell you some great stories of spirts, so you can learn about them as I know your uncle has been telling you enough"

zuko " yes mom I will love to hear more stories"

y/n " well that good to hear" you had sat with zuko feeding and watching the turtle ducks in the pond, as you had been telling zuko tales about spirts from all the nations. You knew zuko will be amazing one day but he will have to go through a long journey, in life and experience many things as well but one day he will be amazing. Deep down you are hoping the ozai doesn't try to control him, as you couldn't bare the thought of your kids becoming like their father when they could become their own person in the end. There was also the hope that you will be there to see the grown up, and see their future selves.

[nosyrobin]

WATERBORNE

SUMMARY: a young waterbender who appears in Gotham gets the attention of a few birds a big bat. But one bird seems more interested than the others. Leaving them to be captured.

PAIRS||Yandere! Tim drake & Platonic Yandere!Batfam x Waterbender!Reader

“Nah fuck that!” Y/n yells, they immediately arises both of their arms. Water moves with the flow of his arms in the sewer. A figure with a big blue on his chest steps back. Eyes widen at rings of water surrounding the small bender. “You’re not taking me alive dick head!” Nightwing, aka Dick Grayson, nervously chuckles while putting his hands up.

“Aw cmon, how did you know my name—”

Immediately the vigilante gets hit with a wave of water, knocked onto his back by the pressure. Nightwing soon sits up coughing, shocked by the pressure knocking him back a few feet. He hasn’t even notice the hydro power house had taken off before he shook his head. Y/n, running with only an over coat and work out sneakers. They didn’t wish for these powers, they didn’t wish to be found. They didn’t wish to be anyone’s obsession! Nightwing finally got his bearings minutes later. “Damnit..” Nightwing puts two fingers to his ear, pressing down he talks.

“They’re on the run again. Tim it’s your turn.” Nightwing opened up a hologram map of the tunnels from his forearm.

“Got it.” Says another voice.

And that was Tim drake, aka Red Robin. Tim nods at the sound coming from his coms. He also had his map up as he readied his bow staff. It was electrified on the tip of it, ready to stun the young bender. He stopped pulling the map up when hearing loud footsteps and heavy breathing.

Tim grips his bow staff, leaning Against the side wall, he gets ready to swing only for him to drop his staff. He dropped it with a loud clank! There stood the hydro power house, y/n. Y/n had anger in their eyes as the other was engulfed by a hand shaped of water. Y/n held one hand out. “Won’t you damn people leave me alone?!” Tim tries to get out of the water, only for it to tighten. “I don’t know what you want from me, but I’m in no need for help. I don’t need anyone! I don’t need you, or anything!”

Tim frowns, he knew the water bender needed help. He looked about his age. Seventeen. Y/n look fatigue, not enough on their bones, messy hair, baggy eyes with reddish eyes. Before Tim could speak, he couldn’t even try.

Instantly the water bender swung their hand harshly, making Tim hit the other side of the tunnel harshly. A crack was dented there with Tim’s body. The young boy fell onto his stomach, groaning in pain. He tries to stand before gushes of water hits him, over, and over again.

“Leave. Me. Alone!” Y/n swung their hand, it was a undertossing motion as if throwing back a baseball. Y/n kept walking towards their enemy, each swing gets harsher and harsher. Tim tries to take a deep breath, but he’s practically drowning. He lays unconscious now, y/n breaths heavily. Their arms weak, sore, tired. His breathing starts to slow down, but not in the way he wants.

He leans against a wall, balling up his hands.

“Why..why am I so tired. My eyes, they’re heavy. What the hell??”

Y/N’s vision is slowly turning black, not noticing Tim standing up. Smiling widely as he walks towards the drugged water bender. “I see the narcotic worked.” Y/n tried to move their dominant arm, only to just stay limp. “What…did you do to me..”

Tim frowns, leaning towards the waterbender. “What I had to do. You need my help. You need me.” A sick grin reaches the boy’s face as Tim cups the hydro’s face. Y/n glare harshly at Tim who could only smile.

“You.. you and your damn hero complex! You should drown, drown like anyone that dare try to capture me!” Anger filled y/n’s soul. But Tim ignored it, seeing this aggression as a result of not being able to save them earlier. Tim frowns and lifts y/n over his shoulder.

“It’s okay. I’m here now, The others and Batman will help you! You won’t need to survive anywhere else.” Tim says lastly as the anesthesia kicks in fully now. Knocked out over the teen boy’s shoulder, the boy couldn’t help but smile more. When his bow staff fell, it released the drug only for you to specifically breathe in. And it worked perfectly, just like Tim knew it would.

You were now, captured.

A/N: Ayo new series? Jk.. or maybe not? Anyone wants this to continue or what? Cause I actually enjoyed writing this

[roriaa]

When Sun and Moon meet MASTERLIST ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Zuko x Fem!WaterBender!Reader Enemies to Lovers

As one of the Princesses of the Northern Water tribe, you were blessed with a gift by the moon. However you were permitted to be allowed to use the gift at all costs. From many hidden waterbending usages, the aftermath of the avatar visiting the Northern Tribe had led to your beginning journey, hiding yourself as a water bender as a princess from the Northern water tribe

All warnings are displayed in each individual chapter

Season 1 - Water

☾ Prologue ☾ Chapter 1 - Welcome Avatar ☾ Chapter 2 - Encountering the Sun ☾ Chapter 3 - Dangerous Gale ☾ Chapter 4 - New Sacrifices

Season 2 - Earth

҉ Chapter 5 - Trainer Sakari ҉ Chapter 6 - Hidden in Ba Sing Se ҉ Chapter 7 - Refreshing Tea ҉ Chapter 8 - Failed ҉ Chapter 9 - Tied with the Gaang ҉ Chapter 10 - Fraud of the Warriors ҉ Chapter 11 - Trust to Betrayal

Season 3 - Fire

𖤓 Chapter 12 - Ship Attack 𖤓 Chapter 13 - First steps in the Fire Nation 𖤓 Chapter 14 - Sparky-Sparky Boom Man!! 𖤓 Chapter 15 - The Invasion 𖤓 Ch 16 𖤓 Ch 17 𖤓 Ch 18 𖤓 Ch 19 𖤓 Ch 20 𖤓 Ch 21

Season 4 - Sun

☪︎ Ch ???

Aftermath - Moon

⋆ Ch ???

POSTS ONCE EVERY WEEK (MOSTLY) None of the pictures are made by me This is based off of the avatar the last airbender world s1 s2 s3 potentially will add the legend of Korra sneaks Please do not copy, translate or repost my writing. Reblogging is acceptable My work is ONLY on tumblr, ao3, and wattpad. If anywhere else please inform me. Ao3 link Wattpad link

[frost-queen]

My mortal flaw // part 5 (Reader x Zuko)

Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly @denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn, @iixchloee, @cherrysxuya, @zhochikennugget,

@ficsmoothie, @reallysparklychaos, @deafeningartisancandy, @multifandom-lover01, @smilefortae, @bravelittlebastard, @mysticwitchcraftco, @roseazura, @katie-tibo, @savannah0111, @defnotriri, @darkened-writer, @avrilh, @anea08, @mymoonempress, @tcey0, @romantic-reader, @lionheart178, @pink-www, @aloe-7, @tomblythslut, @camilo-uwu, @lunalixya, @karmaswitch, @vewnyy, @h33seungs-babe, @junieshohoho, @buggs-1, @elakari

@astrowerld, @tejasvkris, @thewhimsicalmoonchild, @xenop0p, @hagridshaircare, @nxcxllxsevens, @stormy-stardust, @babyred7, @kikig000, @lavendarhearts

Summary: With Zuko alone, he has to fight his way for an escape. Coming face to face with someone he rather not encounter. [series]

Blasts of fire crashed into the trees. Sending them ablaze. A group of soldiers from the fire nation manipulating fire. They were trying to close one in. In the midst of the fires ran prince Zuko. Alone. Huffing and puffing loud as he didn’t stop to fight back. He was manoeuvring from side to side, running between trees to dodge any fire blasts. – “Get him!” – he heard the soldiers call out behind him. He knew he couldn’t outrun the fire nation.

Certainly not when he was brought to scene as a traitor. He hoped that he had a bit more time before the chaos erupted. Knowing Omashu was in the hands of the fire nation now, outrunning them would be a little chance. Zuko felt the heat close in on him, ducking down to avoid the fires headed for him. Zuko jumped over a log, feet thumping on the ground before he continued his run. The tree he passed caught fire as it made him widen his eyes briefly at it.

His heart pounding loudly in his chest. Panting loud as he tried to stay in front of them. Looking briefly over his shoulder, they seemed to multiply. A few more had joined their chase. Grunting and huffing loud as they tried to catch up with the prince. – “Stand still traitor!” – one of them shouted loud with a point at him. Zuko came to a stop, chest moving up and down. – “I am no traitor!” – he shouted. A blast of fire flew at him.

Zuko moved his hands across, blocking the fires from hitting him and letting it pass to the ground. The soldiers slowed down. Their hands moved up as they began circling around Zuko. It made Zuko keep an attentive  eye on them. He positioned himself in a fighting position, waiting for them to do the first strike. The soldiers moved closer, as one tried to catch Zuko off guard by firing at his back. Zuko spun round, catching the fires and re-directing it to another soldier.

It hit him straight in the chest, sending him down. – “Come on!” – Zuko called out, filled with rage. His expression tense as he wanted to fight them all. Blinded by rage and aggression once more. He could feel his fists boil. His rage even more filled when it was his own people going against him. It was like he never had a moment of safety. Humiliation and dishonour after dishonour. First from his father, now from his own nation. Zuko leaped up, sending his foot down with a slash of fire.

It made an approaching soldier move his hands up and stumble back. A blast of fire against his back, made him stumble out of balance. Tensing his jaw, he turned round, unleashing his anger out on the soldier. The soldiers that had surrounded him kept blasting fire at him. Zuko  had to dive, duck and leap out of the way to not get harmed. They were too many to take on, on his own and he knew it. If only Uncle Iroh or even you were here. He’s have them overpowered in no time. Zuko felt himself wear out. His rage was perfect fuel for his bending, but it exhausted him too quickly.

If he didn’t do something now, they would overpower him and imprison him. Looking around, he needed to be resourceful. What would Uncle Iroh do. He thought, knowing he had to hurry. Then he knew what to do. Shooting a few more fires at some soldiers he created an opening. The men groaning in pain as Zuko jumped over them to escape. He ran. Ran as fast as he could away from them. The soldiers shouted orders as their armour warned Zuko they were in pursuit. Zuko kept running up the hill towards an edge.

Not knowing what was underneath it. Panting loud, he urged himself to go faster. The soldiers shouted even louder orders. They came to a stop, firing all their might at Zuko. A tidal wave of fires blasted behind Zuko. Spreading out to wash over him. Zuko set himself off, taking a leap of faith. Arms swaying around as he was up in the air, the fire closing in on him. With a sudden drop, he fell down, the fire moving above his head as he was out of the clear. To his unfortune there wasn’t water underneath him, but vast ground. Zuko’s body hit the ground as it made him roll further down to an open clearing.

He came to a rolling stop, coughing loud. Setting his hands down, he looked up to the soldiers. Seeing them point at him, but they couldn’t reach him. He sighed soft when they left, probably to go find for another way down. Zuko wanted to pull himself more up, as he felt lighter.

Eyes widening with fear as he ruffled with his hand in his chest pocket. Something he had stored there was gone. Frantically he started to look around whilst still searching his pockets for it. He almost missed it, but saw it glitter in the sunlight. Your necklace.

Exhaling soft, he felt relieved to have found it. Before Zuko could get up to grab it, a foot stepped onto the necklace. With wide eyes he watched as the person bended down to take the necklace. She straightened her posture once more, looking at the necklace. – “Aw Zuzu, it doesn’t suit you.” – she spoke. – “Azula!” – Zuko called out, getting up to his feet.

Azula turned the necklace around in the sun. – “Is this your water tribe girl’s necklace?” – she asked with a smirk. – “Give it back!” – Zuko insisted upon, holding his hand out. Azula pouted her lips to mock him. Zuko came nearer as Azula held the necklace out to him.

Just before he could get it, she pulled it out of his reach. She turned around, holding the necklace up to her own neck. Smiling deviously, she turned back to Zuko to see. – “Do you think this suits me Zuzu?” – she asked, knowing just how much that would bother him. – “Give it back!” – Zuko shouted angrily slapping his hands towards her to snatch it off her.

Azula spun with a wicked chuckle. – “It is not my colour.” – she said holding the necklace like dirt between her fingers. Zuko was tensed, hoping Azula wouldn’t drop it. – “Look how sentimental you became over a water tribe girl.” – Azula sighed out, disappointed once more in her own brother.

“Perhaps I should hang on to this.” – she spoke seeing how much it bothered him. How deeply she got under his skin. Zuko called it out, his fists catching fire. It made Azula quirk her eyebrow up. – “You want to fight me for it?” – she asked sweetly. Tilting her head from side to side, a smirk appeared. – “Let’s fight.” – she let out lowly, getting herself in position.  

Zuko called it out, bending fire at her. Azula easily diverted it with little effort. – “Where is your little water tribe girl?” – Azula asked during the fight. Zuko kept punching fire blast after fire blast at her as she kept avoiding them. – “Did she leave you already?” – Azula looked pitiful at him. His reaction was to shout loud in anger, bending all his might at her. Azula remained unharmed. – “Pathetic.” – she called out with a disgusted expression. – “Shut up!” – he yelled at her, wanting her to stop talking.

It made Azula scoff. – “Give me back the necklace!” – he made clear, panting loud. Azula tilted her head. – “Beg for it.” – she replied, being very serious. Zuko paused, staring with wide eyes at her. Azula pointed to the ground for him to kneel for it. Zuko was hesitant. A part of him wanted to kneel, beg for the necklace to just have it back. Another part of him knew Azula would never give it back. Azula noticed the hesitation, laughing loud. – “Don’t tell me you actually fell so low as to actually care for a water triber.” – Azula mocked.

“Father was right. There seems to be no limit in your disgrace.” – Azula laughed. Zuko lowered his head, once again fallen into her trap. A trap that struck him right in the heart. He cared too much for his honour, that this felt like another sting. Azula curled up a smile, manipulating fire. She set her foot forward, hand out as fire set out just a few inches from her fingertips before it froze in the air. Ice had crackled around her hand and freezing her fire in place. Azula looked annoyed to the side, seeing you with Uncle Iroh behind you. – “Hands off!” – you shouted. The ice around Azula’s hand warmed up as it began to melt. – “Y/n!” – Zuko called out, running up to you.

You touched Zuko’s lower arms, glad to be reunited with him once more. Azula inhaled sharply moving her fingers in a circle. Channelling a different kind of energy. Electricity sparked from her fingertips as she channelled it to one hand. Zuko gasped loud when he saw the electricity. Azula pointed her fingertips at you. Her eyes widened with a gasp as a hand clenched around her wrist, pushing her hand up. The electricity went up, hitting a tree.

Iroh kept his grip firm around her wrist. The tree branch snapped as Zuko gasped. Tackling you to the ground before it could fall on you. Azula blinked surprised at her uncle. Iroh plucked the necklace from her slippery fingers. He then pushed Azula off him. – “This isn’t over Zuzu.” – Azula threatened, sending him a dead stare. Zuko helped you up as Iroh watched Azula take her leave. Knowing when she was defeated. Knowing she couldn’t win from her uncle.

“Are you alright Y/n?” – he asked you. You nodded frightened, heart still thumping from the scare. Iroh returned, holding his hand out. – “I believe this belongs to you.” – he spoke. – “My necklace.” – you answered taking it from him. Your eyes met up with Zuko’s seeing him yearn for the necklace to be in his possession once more. – “It belongs to you, as much as my heart.” – you told him, offering him the necklace.

Zuko gave you a soft smile, accepting the necklace from you. He tugged it safely away. Iroh smiling satisfied at his nephew. Zuko cleared his throat. – “We should head on, before those soldiers catch up with me.” – he said. Iroh glanced your way, you moved your shoulders up back to him. Knowing Zuko took time to admit anything resolving his feelings. You followed silently behind him, hoping one day you’d become a we.  Yet there was little time to think about it. Know that there was another threat after him. His own sister.

------------------------------

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[h1nanii]

“I thought you were on our side”

“I thought you were on my side”

Blud I’m on MY KNEES.

[katydoodles]

🍃Wind chimes swings in the background 🎐🍃

Idk I wanted to draw them in a modern setting.

I’ve seen a lot of ppl draw Azula in edgy e-girl clothes but i think she would wear really mature clothes to intimidate those around her and show off her status.

Aang would totally wear traditional clothes, he would feel more comfortable. Lol but he would love to dress in modern clothes and let Sokka dress him up.

[dreamstate4you]

Goodbyes.

Chapter 0.2

After everyone had calmed down and took a breath. The young dancer had prepared some tea and seats of cushions where everyone could sit.

Sokka inspected the tea he was holding hesitant to drink it. Katara was quitely drinking her tea. Aang had not touched his tea. His face seemed lost as millions of thoughts ran through his head.

"I don't understand." Aang broke the silence. " I thought there were no Airbenders left... I- I thought I was the last one."

The young dancer looked sadly at the avatars sorrowful expression.

"Well. The fire nation did Kill all the airbenders a hundred years ago, but my Grandmother left the temples long before that. She was Rebellious. She didn't want to follow the ways of the temple, so she packed her bags and started a life here in the earthkingdom." The young dancers smiled as she recalled the story her grandfather told her. "She was young, reckless and impulsive ,but her actions are what lead to me. The only airbender in our little village."

"Wow, your grandmother sounds like an adventurous person." Katara complimented the girl, as she set her cup of finished tea to the side.

" Thank you... I never got your names." The young dancer asked.

" I'm katara, this is my brother sokka." She guided her hands to sokka's direction. " And this is Aang." She pointed to Aang.

"My name is Venti, but you already knew that" The girl was interupted by a strange young guard calling her to the side. "Excuse me for a moment."

Once the dancer was out katara and sokka turned their attention to the Avatar who hadn't said anything since. The two weren't use to this serious Aang.

"Hey Aang, how are you holding up." Katara put her hand at the back of his back to comfort him.

"Yeah, I'm just a bit shocked. I mean everything I thought I knew is." Aang paused his words. "Is not true."

Sokka finally sipped his tea. The aroma and taste earning a face from him. Somehow it tastes sour and not sweet. He did not like it.

The three stayed in silence for a few minutes not wanting to bother the other ones train of thoughts.

Katara as she was worried about Aang. Aang who had a million questions running through his mind and Sokka who was curious about the lifestyle this woman was living.

"Oh sorry for that." Venti entered the tent in a completely different outfit. It was a fitted luxurious green with fine silk, comfortable for her to move around without worrying about her movements.

Aang noticed the small cloud patterns on the silk, the detail in this outfit must have taken a fortune.

" It seems king Bumi had a plan up his sleeve." The young girl quickly walked over to the three. Holding a little letter in her hand waving it around before she handed it to Katara.

"Bumi knew?" Aang turned to face Katara who was reading the letter.

"Yes. He's been giving refuge to me and my little village. It's all thanks to him that I'm even able to do my performances." Venti started to pack her side bag. The bag contrasted with her whole outfit. Unlike it being green it resembled Aang's outfit. It was a old orange and a dark red. "If you don't mind, we can stop by my village. I'm sure some of your questions will get there answer ,Avatar."

"Just Aang is fine." Aang scratched his head once he heard her call him by his title.

The four exited the tent. Aang leading quietly in the front as he was gathering all his thoughts. Sokka at the back, as he was given a little snack to keep him busy.( It seemed to taste better than the tea ) and Katara in the middle with Venti trying to know the girl better as they kept chatting to each other.

"So we're the same age." Katara laughed. " What a coincidence."

"And I'm surprised you are not the older sibling." Venti commented as they continued to walk to Appa. Referring to how Katara seemed like the more mature one between the two.

"So you are leaving all your stuff here?" Katara asked.

" Yes and No. They all technically belong to the king. I'll only be taking the things I see as necessary."

A loud groan and squeak shocked the girls from her conversation making venti put her arms out in defense ,but they were brought down at the sight of the fluffy cloud in front of her... She smiled.

" A BISON!" she screamed as she pointed to Appa. Running to go engulf the bison in a hug. Appa only licked her in response.

Aang watched as Venti and Appa interacted. A small smile present on his face.

Everyone climbed onto Appa. The Avatar ridding Appa's head as he prepared to take off.

"Yip yip." Aang lightly tagged the ropes to Appa's horns. A small gasp was faintly heard from the Dancer.

Not a second later the young girl crawled on the sitting pad moved closer to the Avatar.

"Avatar, oh I mean Aang. Where did you get yourself a Bison?! And a flying lemur?!" Venti beamed with bright eyes.

" Appa has been with me in the ice burg and we found Momo in one of the Airbender temples." Aang happily answered.

" They are wonderful friends. The people from my village will be filled with joy when they see you and your friends." Venti giggled as she reached out her hand to touch Appa's soft fur.

"Oh right, you must go underneath that mountain arch." Venti instructed.

Appa flew down the mountain arch, darkness becoming more as the sun was almost out of their eye site. The further underneath the arch the more cold and sandy it became.

" Katara, sokka hold onto something." Venti screamed loudly at the two siblings as the sounds of wind started to become loud. Sokka held onto Appa's fur and Katara took the safer option and held onto Appa's seat.  "Aang, get ready to turn left when I say."

Venti kneeled properly on Appa's pad. She held out her right hand and her left supporting her other hand. Aang watched curiously to see her bend. Venti took a short breath in, she focused her bending into one spot and continuously bended more air into that spot. A short silence engulfed everyone as the compressed air was let go. The pressure stopping the wind that was furiously blowing from the front. Aang would describe it as an explosion. It was so powerful that it broke through the sound and nothing was heard.

"Aang now." Venti screamed, But Aang could only see her mouth move hearing nothing.

With one swift turn, Appa harsly turned and colladed with the soft grass, Appa failing to carry everyone after the turn. Aang let out a groan as he looked at the view infront of him. The grass was green and healthy as it could be. Small houses and mini temples resembling those of the eastern and northern air temple. The wind behind them continuing once more to blow. The village seemed to be enclosed in a forest like cave.

"We're here." Venti softly said still lying on the grass with the others.

Before anyone could react, their bodies a were weight down and traped by the earth. Making it impossible for them to move.

"Hey!" Sokka tried to wiggle himself out.

"Rohan it's me! " Venti screamed. An older tanned skinned man appeared from the bushes.

" I know." His dark and gloomy voice bommed threateningly. " But who are these three, did they force you to come here-." The slightly older earth bender couldn't finish his threatening speech as he laid eyes on Aangs tattoos. Zooned out, only to have Appa's loud groan that shakes the ground to snap him out.

The loud noise leading young eyes to run out of hiding. Four young kids ran giggling to the dancer.

" Aunty Venti."

"Aunty your back."

"Did you bring anything with you."

"Aunty is that big cloud yours."

Venti smiled at the kids behavior.

" Venti, what is this?" Rohan asked confused by what he was seeing in front of him.

" I'll explain after you let us go. And after I speak to my mom. " Venti looked at Rohan in the eyes. Soon after, the earth surrounding them disappeared. Everyone stood up and dusted themselves off.

The kids giggle more as they surrounded momo. The poor lemur scared of the eight eyes and forty fingers not giving him a second of a break. The moment momo saw a chance he flew to Aang's side and covered himself with his tail and ears.

Katara softly laughed at his response.

"Come on everyone." Venti called for everyone to follow her. They all walked in silence. Katara and sokka quietly looked around the hidden cave that flourished with plants and gaps of sunlight sunlight and Aang still having multiple thoughts run through his head.

"Mom! " Venti ran to hug the sickly woman who rested comfortably her bed. The two held each other for a little while.  Before the elder woman spoke.

" You came back early this time. I thought I would not see you for another month" The woman said happily to her daughter.

" That's because I found something, well someone." Venti stod up properly. She looked back to the three behind her.

"Aang." She signaled for him to come closer.

Aang walked closer and soon stood next to venti.

" Mom, this is Aang. The Av-"

"Avatar." Venti's mom interrupted midway through her sentence. She recognized those tattoos they were the ones she saw her own mother had when she was little.

Rohan let out a small whisper of 'i knew it' under his breath.

Behind his curious eyes on wonder ,Aang manged to let his voice out. " Are you an Airbender too?" He innocently asked.

"No no. The bending ability skipped me." The elderly woman said soflty." But my daughter makes up for all the years I would have missed. "

" I - I don't understand." Aang shakinly spoke in a hused whisper.

" What don't you understand, young child." The elderly woman encouraged him to speak.

Aang held his voice in for a moment. Everyone quiet not to disturb him. " I thought I was the only Airbender left. The rest of the temple. They- they are all dead."

The elderly woman let out a heavy sigh. " Aang, let me ask you something. Do all flying lemurs eat PincelPert fruit? "

"No-"

" The same applies with people. My mother ,  was an air nomad just like you were. She lived in the eastern air temple ,but she was not happy living her life as an air nomad. So she left everyone she knew to live her life in the earth kingdom. " Everyone listened in silence as the old woman talked. " In a population filled with thousands of people there are bound to be a few who break the rules."

The elderly woman let out a dry chuckle. " I can tell you right now that we aren't the only air bending family out there who survived. After 100 years  there are some of us who hide our bending well and continue to live in harmony with the rest."

"But ,but-" Aang outstretched his hands in a hurry

" I know of the fake refugee camps the fire nation orchestrated. Informing the Airbenders who escaped from the temples that they would find safety ,but all they met was death....Aang, a few of us Airbenders are gifted with so much bending possibilities that you can't even imagine. "

" I thought I was the last Airbender. " Aang hang his head in defeat. With the sudden shift of atmosphere Venti took action. She lightly put her hand on the avatars shoulder to give him comfort.

The atmosphere slightly shifted to a less tense one.

" Now everyone, who would like some steamed buns. Rohan go pack some steam buns for them to enjoy on their journey." The elderly woman gave a closed smile to the earthbender.

Rohan gave a nod to the woman. " And my daughter, you should also be packing for your journey ahead."

" Of course mom- wait what!" The young one exploded with shocks after her mother's worlds reached her.

" M-my journey."  She stuttered.

" Yes, Venti. Aang can help you improve your bending abilities greatly and so can you. You both need each other to complete your Destinies."

"Woah mom. I don't understand."  Venti held onto her mother's hands. Trying to understand what the women was saying.

She smiled at her daughter. "You are destined for great things, freedom, you must not live a life of worry and fear like I did. Go out there. Help Aang restore the balance to the world. Don't worry about us. We will be here waiting for you."

"Aang." She turned to look at the Avatar. "Be patient with her. She was not raised by monks her bending methods are questionable."

"Water tribe." She refers to Katara and sokka. "Welcome her as one of your own."

"Now go. Go. Hurry and finish so you can come back to babysit the kids."

"Mama-" venti hugged the elderly woman. "I promise I will be back as soon as I can."

Venti saw how Rohan was holding a small bag for her.

"I'll take care of her until you get back." Rohan referred to her mother. "Food and all the necessary are in here." Rohan handed venti who looked like she wanted to cry the bag.

Venti mouthed a quiet 'thank you' to the boy before taking a last look at her mom.

"Okay team Aang, Sokka, Venti, katara, momo and Appa." Venti put the bag across her shoulder.

"Let's do this."

.

.

.

.

"That's too long. We need to come up with something shorter." Sokka cringed at the roll call.

"Agreed." Venti lauged in response as they all walked out of the house. Venti waving goodbye at her mom and Rohan.

[tree0frog]

Zuko x reader where he makes her a betrothal necklace??

ahh yes this is such a cute idea

atla master list

main master list

request-open

matchups-open

throw blood sweat and tears.

It had been 4 weeks since the 100-year war had ended and Zuko had been crowned fire lord, and four weeks since he had had no stop talk of "you need a wife"you need a hire" he sighed still sore for the battle he had with his sister.

The memory of almost losing you were still fresh in his mind as well and if he was honest he thought he had lost you for a moment.

He stood in front of your room door a small box in hand 'I am really about to do this' he thought he let out a mall sigh it was now or put it off until a later time.

"firefly ?" he whispered scared to wake you incases you were asleep "You don't need to whisper love," you said looking up from the book you were reading, the fire lord walked over to you and sat beside your bed.

taking your hand in his you brought it up to your lips giving it a small kiss"i need to um well ask you somthing"his vice was a little shaky which put you into pancki mode.

You nodded waiting for him to contact once to gasp slightly when he pulled out a red box.

“ I know it’s not the best time to ask and I know your not back to your self but it would make me the happiest man on earth if you become my wife”he whisper the last bit taking the top off of the box.

It was a red ribbon with a gold chain which held a small firefly.

“Zuko of course yes I’ll marry you”you let out a small laugh as he moved your hair to help you out the necklace on.

“Did you make it?” You asked wondering if this was where he was going for a few hour each day for the past week m.

“ yep throughout the blood sweet and tears “he laughed holding his hands up to show you the new scars he had form making it.

“Thank you firefly”

[chef-alta]

@tfrarepairing fest day two: nothing but blue skies

feat. Thundercracker and Megatron! The poet and the screenwriter, finally free to pursue their art after the war, and admire all the blue skies as they want <3

shoutout to saintpizzagirl for the reference!

[chlodani]

Special Edition part 30

I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to finish these, I've been very busy and I also have har major writers block with this. My next Smau is gonna be much different

This is my brand new Avater Smau. It's a ZukoxF.!Reader pairing. Title: From Then On...

Trigger warning: Slight swear warning! Mentions of sex! If you're sensitive to these kinds of things, read at your own risk!

As a bridesmaid, Y/n meets one of the groomsmen, Zuko, at her sisters pre wedding dinner and hit it off so well, he asks her out. Y/n's sister warns her not to get  too close. She decides to follow her advice but keeping him at arms length proves more difficult than she expects...

Zuko's P.O.V.

As Naomi watched my daughter I couldn't help but to pace back and forth outside the temple, with one of my hands on my hips. I was trying to wrap my head around this whole thing. Was she really gone? No she couldnt be gone. Could she? I was also scared to lose her to my sister, but over her giving birth I never dreamed. Maybe she was too stressed. I know we both were. In which case Azula technically did kill her and I'll be planning my revenge against her.

    "Zuko..."

   "Uncle dont try to talk me out of anything because it wont work. Azula did this to her and I'm gonna make her pay"

I could hear the anger rising in my voice as I spoke.

    "I wasnt going to nephew, I was just going to say I have laid Y/n down to rest on her final resting place if you would like to say goodbye to her"

    

Once again I started to pace.

    "No....I can't say goodbye to her...I won't just...let me get back at Azula for what she did"

    "Get back at me, yeah right I'd like to see you try,"

He mocking tone sent fire coursing through my spine and I didnt even notice how I had made fire daggers appear in my hands.

     "You did this!!" I shouted in pure rage.

    "Guilty" she smirked with a mocking laugh.

I shot a fire blast at her throwing her back into the pole.

    "I should've ended you when I had the chance!"

    "But you didn't, why is that I wonder. Must be the good heart you got from mother. I'm glad I took after father"

I could feel the anger boiling hotter within the second and all I could see was the hot orange fire blast I had now aimed directly at my sister. Of course she had to immediately defend herself with her blue fire. At that moment I didnt care. I was determined to win. I breathed heavily from the rage and the will power it took to keep from  breaking my end. Azula knew I was in a weakened state and unfortunately used this to her advantage. She made her flame larger, dissipating mine knocking me to the ground.

     "Face it Zuko, you've never been as strong as me and never will be" Azula laughed mockingly as she stepped closer.

I rested up on my elbows again as I looked at her. I could see out of the corner of my eye Mai and Jett staying back and out of the way. Smart choice on their end. I stared at my sister directly.

     "What are you waiting for then? End it,"

    Azula smirked, "Oh I will and I'm gonna enjoy it,"

My heart raced as she made lightening come from her finger tips. Though I could feel at that moment a slight sense of peace because I knew I would see Y/n again.

      "Zuko no!" My uncle called out.

    "Stay back uncle its okay,"

     "No!"

My uncle tried to go after my sister but all she did was knock him down and smirked back at me. I knew she was enjoying this too much. Just as she made the lightening bigger a large amount of air was shot directly towards us and my head turned so quickly to the side I almost gave myself whiplash.

    "How many times have I told you Azula??? Leave me and Zuko alone!"

A bright smile came to my face.

     "Y/n??"

Despite not wanting to tears actually came to my face seeing her. Not to mention even more pure joy seeing the look of anger that crossed my sisters face.

     "What?! That's not possible!" Azula cursed in anger.

     "Surprise bitch-"

A blue fire blast was shot her way but it was quickly extinguished with air. I smirked watching her feeling ever so glad to have met her.

Y/n's P.o.V

I laughed looking at Azula. A part of me honestly couldnt believe how pathetic she was.

     "That all you got" I taunted.

It was worth it to see how angry she was becoming. She shot another fire blast at me and once again I blocked. Once the fire was diminished, I kept an air circle going and Naomi shot fire directly into the air circle causing it shoot directly at Azula. She looked shocked and a little scared. Again a fire blast from the girl only made this more fun for me. Noami threw a bucket of water into the air circle. I was able to manipulate the water and knock her directly onto her feet with it. The surprised look on her face actually made a laugh escape my lips. However she didnt give up as she stood to her feet shooting a larger blue flame at me. I made a side ways cyclone to dissipate it being knocked back a few feet. Naomi turned it up a notch and threw in several rocks, catching her off guard knocking her down again.

    "Had enough yet?"

I smirked proudly.

     "Never,"

She stood to her feet, forming lightning in her hands aiming it directly at me. I didn't hesitate for even a second making a larger cyclone appear. Noami took charge, throwing fire, water and earth into it allowing me to manipulate all elements giving it everything I've got making Azula fall weakly to the ground. She panted as I stepped closer.

    "How?"

    "I may not be the Avatar, Azula, but I am an Airbender and I know how to manipulate other elements, so yes I am stronger than you. Deal with it. Now I am going to take Zuko back to Ba Sing Se where our family is and you are never and I mean never going to hurt my family or friends ever again!"

    She chuckled, "You'll never get Mai and Jett on your side," she mocked.

    I snickered, "Sorry to tell you sweetheart but they took off...together, so you're on your own"

I turned my back to her laughing as I walked over to Zuko helping him stand up.

    "You alright Zu?" I asked him softly.

    "Yes I'm fine but...How are you alive?" He asked dumbfounded.

     "I didnt mean to scare you love but it was the only way I could think to defeat Azula, please dont be angry with me"

He just looked at me for a moment before quickly wrapping his arms around me holding me tightly.

    "Angry? I could never be angry with you. I was just scared,"

He buried his face in my neck as gentle tears fell from his eyes.

     "Its okay I'm here my love, you didnt tell any of our friends I was dead did you?"

His eyes widened as he looked at me.

    "Zuko?!"

    "They had a right to know and I thought you were gone,"

  

I couldnt help to smile softly at him.

     "I guess they did," I chuckled, "Come on we will go tell them together as we check on our daughter together,"

I took his hand smiling gently as I walked inside with him. I wasnt sure how today was gonna turn out but I can tell you one thing I'm not disappointed and now I dont have to be afraid anymore. I can finally be happy with the one I truly love.

    

Part 31 Series Finale will be out today...

Taglist:

@cece-lives-here

@uniquefoxheart

@charlenasaxen

@todayiwantabrownie

@xbarrjallenx

@waitingforrealitytoexist

@nagisasgirl

[diamonddaze01]

Full Throttle (i)

pairing: ferrari driver!yoon jeonghan x journalist!reader chapter wc: 20.6K (dont look at me)genre: humor, fluff, angst, smut (?) au: f1 au (i am sorry i am a nerd abt this) rating: m (MINORS DNI)warnings: SLOOOOOW BURN. mentions of injuries, car crashes // eventual smut.

PREQUELS: would highly recommend reading On the Record and Off the Record to gain some context into the relationship! This fic starts directly after the end of Off the Record 

summary: jeonghan's not used to someone who pushes his buttons as easily as you do, and you're not used to someone who challenges you as quickly as he does. maybe it's time to go full throttle, both on and off the track.

a/n: this one is gonna be long. buckle in. this is dedicated to kae @ylangelegy , who was the one who pushed me to write this in the first place, and also graciously beta read this // this is also dedicated to alta @haologram , who watched me lose my mind over this for so long and gave me so much love and support as i wrote this. // huge thanks to lola @monamipencil and haneul @chanranghaeys for beta-reading and giving me their thoughts, especially about when things were too technical // and finally, an ENORMOUS thank you to jupiter @cheolism for the banner!

read part 2 here! <3

FORMULA 1 ROLEX AUSTRALIAN GRAND PRIX 2024 Track: Melbourne Grand Prix Circuit 

The Australian Grand Prix had come to an end, but the buzz from the race still lingered in the air. The paddock had started to quiet down, though the echo of cheers and the scent of champagne were still fresh. Jeonghan stood at the edge of the pit lane, watching as the last of the mechanics began to clean up, the high of the win beginning to settle into a low hum of satisfaction.

His fingers absentmindedly brushed over his helmet, the familiar weight grounding him after the chaos of the race. But his mind wasn’t on the mechanics or the trophy waiting for him. No, it was on you.

You had walked away with that smug grin of yours, and even now, hours later, the image of you—cool, collected, and far too clever for your own good—lingered in his thoughts. The way you’d turned the tables on him, effortlessly making him feel like the one caught off guard. For once, it hadn’t been about the race or the rumors swirling around his personal life—it had been about you and the way you knew how to press all his buttons without breaking a sweat.

"Dammit," he muttered under his breath, a grin creeping onto his face despite himself. "I should’ve asked her to dinner."

But there was no time for that now. The press was waiting. The fans, too. He needed to play the role of the cool, collected champion for the cameras, the last thing he needed was another round of gossip, another round of teasing from the people who loved to stir the pot. And yet, the thought of you, the way you’d made him feel a mix of frustration and something else entirely, was almost too tempting to ignore.

The crew cheered as he finally made his way back to the motorhome, the world still swirling in a whirlwind of victory and flashing cameras. But inside, it was quieter. More personal.

"Jeonghan!" His manager greeted him with a smile, the kind of smile that signaled the end of a long race and the beginning of yet another whirlwind of interviews, photos, and meetings. But Jeonghan only half-listened as his manager spoke, his mind flickering back to the conversation earlier.

"You sure know how to keep things interesting, don't you?" His manager chuckled, noticing the distraction in his eyes. "The headlines are still buzzing. You planning on setting the record straight anytime soon?"

Jeonghan chuckled under his breath, running a hand through his messy hair. "Let them talk," he muttered, flashing a grin. "It’s part of the game."

But that wasn’t what was on his mind. It was you. The way you’d baited him, just enough to make him feel the heat of the moment. He had never been this distracted by anyone—or anything—before.

"You have a minute?" a voice interrupted his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. It was his publicist, holding a phone in one hand, the other gesturing toward the press conference set up for him in the next room.

Jeonghan looked at her, then glanced over his shoulder as if expecting to see you again. But you were gone, just like that. He gave a small sigh, almost imperceptible to anyone watching.

"Yeah, yeah. Let’s do this," he muttered, before stepping forward. Jeonghan’s footsteps echoed through the motorhome hallway, the thrum of victory still running through his veins, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t shake the way you’d looked at him—those piercing eyes, full of challenge. He'd seen that expression before, but this time felt different. You weren’t just some reporter stirring up a bit of drama—you were someone who knew exactly how to get under his skin.

His publicist was waiting outside the press room, ready to brief him on the upcoming interviews and meetings. "You’ve got a full schedule, Jeonghan," she said, giving him the rundown with practiced precision. But Jeonghan barely heard her, his mind still distracted by the way you’d turned the tables.

"Hey," he cut in, slowing to a stop in front of her. "What do you know about Y/N?" he asked, his tone casual but with an edge of curiosity that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

The publicist blinked in surprise, and beside her, his manager gave a short laugh. "Y/N? You mean the reporter?" the manager asked, voice dripping with amusement. "The one you’ve had run-ins with over the past couple of seasons?"

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of them. "Run-ins?" he repeated, his lips curling into a small, knowing smirk. "What exactly are you implying?"

The publicist shrugged, exchanging a look with the manager. "She’s been covering F1 for a while, pretty sharp with her articles," she said, keeping her voice neutral. "Some of them have definitely gotten attention, especially that one a few weeks ago... the one about you and the whole ‘mysterious love life’ thing." Her eyes flicked to his manager, who made a face at the mention of that piece.

Jeonghan sighed, running a hand through his hair. He’d tried to forget about that article, but your earlier conversation (read as: challenge) had baffled him. "I shouldn’t have said anything," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "But you know she always gets a rise out of me, don’t you?"

The manager snickered. "Oh, we know. It’s not every day we get to watch you struggle to keep your cool. She’s got a way with words, that one." He winked. "But hey, I get it. She’s a great reporter—sharp, clever—and always knows where to find the juiciest stories. You just might want to be a little more careful with what you say around her next time."

Jeonghan smirked. "Careful? Since when have I ever been careful?"

His publicist gave a pointed look, clearly not impressed. "That’s not the problem, Jeonghan. It’s that you tend to forget she knows exactly what buttons to push."

Jeonghan chuckled, his eyes glinting with a new energy. "Oh, she’s good, I’ll give her that. But I’m not so easily rattled." His mind wandered back to the way you’d smirked and walked off, leaving him standing there feeling like he'd just been served a dish of his own medicine.

"Don’t underestimate her," the manager added, half-joking. "You’ve been in this game long enough to know, no one gets a rise out of you like that without knowing exactly what they’re doing."

Jeonghan hummed thoughtfully. "I suppose you’re right. But maybe..." He trailed off, eyes narrowing as a plan started to form in his mind. "...Maybe it’s time I gave her a taste of her own medicine."

The publicist and manager exchanged a glance but didn’t say anything. They knew that look—the one Jeonghan got whenever he was plotting something, usually with a dash of mischief and just the right amount of charm to make it impossible for anyone to say no. The same charm that had gotten him into trouble more times than they cared to count.

"You’ve got your interviews now, Jeonghan," his publicist reminded him gently, pulling him back to reality. "We can revisit this later. Just keep your head in the game for now."

He nodded, though his mind was still fixated on you. "Yeah, yeah. Later."

As he entered the press room, he was immediately hit with a barrage of questions. The usual ones about his win, his performance, and his plans for the rest of the season. But even as he answered, his thoughts lingered on you and that damn article. You were always one step ahead, always stirring the pot just enough to keep things interesting. But now, it seemed you had caught his attention for real.

And maybe—just maybe—he was going to have some fun with this.

FORMULA 1 MSC CRUISES JAPANESE GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Suzuka Ciruit

The neon lights of Tokyo cast a kaleidoscope of colors on the bustling streets, the city alive with energy even late into the night. After a long day of prepping for the upcoming race, you’d decided to wind down with a quiet drink in a tucked-away bar that promised a moment’s reprieve from the chaos of the paddock.

The bar was small and intimate, the kind of place that felt like a secret only locals knew about. Jazz music hummed softly in the background, and you found a seat near the corner, ready to savor your drink in peace.

But of course, peace wasn’t in the cards tonight.

“Y/N?”

The familiar voice made you freeze mid-sip. Turning your head, you found none other than Yoon Jeonghan standing a few feet away, his face lit with mild surprise and unmistakable amusement. He wasn’t in his Ferrari team gear for once—just a sleek black jacket and jeans, looking effortlessly casual in a way that somehow made him even more irritatingly attractive.

“Jeonghan,” you replied evenly, setting your drink down. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, sliding onto the stool beside you without an invitation. “Same as you, I’d imagine. Taking a break from the madness.” His eyes flicked to your glass. “Whiskey? I wouldn’t have pegged you for the type.”

“And what type is that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He leaned back slightly, his lips quirking into that trademark smirk. “The type who drinks whiskey alone in a bar and pretends they’re not thinking about work.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, you’re wrong. I’m not thinking about work. I’m thinking about how nice it is to not deal with questions about lap times and tire strategies for five minutes.”

Jeonghan chuckled, signaling to the bartender for a drink. “Fair enough. Though, if memory serves, you’re usually the one asking those questions.”

“Occupational hazard,” you shot back. “And if memory serves, you’re usually the one avoiding them.”

“Touché.” He raised his glass when it arrived, a silent toast that you reluctantly mirrored with your own.

For a while, the conversation meandered through safer topics—Tokyo’s sights, the food, the insanity of race week—but there was an undercurrent of something sharper, a game of verbal ping-pong that neither of you seemed willing to let go of.

“You know,” Jeonghan said after a particularly clever jab from you about his less-than-stellar start in Australia, “I think I’ve finally figured you out.”

“Oh?” you asked, amusement dancing in your tone. “Do tell.”

“You act all cool and collected, but deep down…” He paused for dramatic effect, leaning in slightly. “…you love the chaos. You thrive on it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, though a grin tugged at your lips. “And what about you, Mr. Reigning Champion? Aren’t you the one who said chaos is just part of the game?”

“True,” he admitted with a lazy shrug. “But I like to think I’m more strategic about it.”

“Strategic?” you echoed, incredulous. “You literally said ‘let them talk’ after crossing the finish line in Australia. That’s not strategy, Jeonghan—that’s reckless arrogance.”

He laughed, the sound low and warm, and you hated how it made your chest tighten just a little. “Maybe. But it keeps things interesting, doesn’t it?”

You didn’t respond, sipping your drink instead, determined not to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

Jeonghan tilted his head, his gaze flicking over you with a knowing glint. “This feels familiar.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference. “What does?”

“Let’s just say you have a knack for leaving me with something to think about,” he said casually, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass.

A flicker of amusement crossed your face. “Still losing sleep over it, Jeonghan?”

He leaned in, his voice dropping low, laced with mischief. “Not quite. But I’ve been wondering if you’re all talk or if you actually mean half the things you say.”

You smirked, leaning back just a little. “And what are you planning to do about it?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Guess you’ll have to find out next time,” he said smoothly, signaling to the bartender and slipping his card onto the counter.

You frowned, catching on quickly. “Jeonghan, you don’t have to—”

“Of course I don’t,” he replied, his smirk growing as he leaned in just enough for his voice to drop, intimate and teasing. “But what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t treat you every now and then?”

“A terrible one,” you deadpanned, crossing your arms.

He chuckled, standing up and adjusting his jacket. “Always so quick with the comebacks.”

You tilted your head, not backing down. “And yet, here you are, still trying to keep up.”

He grinned, leaning down so his face was level with yours. “Oh, I’m not just keeping up, sweetheart. I’m leading.”

With that, he threw on his jacket, turning to leave, but not without one last playful remark. “Enjoy your night, Y/N. And next time…” He flashed a grin over his shoulder, his voice dipping lower. “Try putting that mouth of yours to better use.”

Your mouth dropped open, and you could hear his laugh as you watched him disappear into the neon-lit streets. 

Damn him.

The Suzuka Circuit’s air was heavy with anticipation, the disappointment in Ferrari’s garage palpable. Jeonghan leaned against the barrier in the media pen, his crimson Ferrari suit contrasting with the growing dusk. Despite his relaxed posture, the tension radiating off him was hard to miss.

"Yoon Jeonghan," you began, stepping forward with your mic. "P11 today—your first time not making it to Q3 since your rookie season. What happened out there?"

His smile was thin, masking the fire simmering beneath. "Suzuka’s a tough circuit. I put in a solid lap, but in the end, it just wasn’t enough. A couple milliseconds make all the difference."

"Kim Mingyu of McLaren knocked you out in the dying seconds of the session," you pointed out, your tone as neutral as possible.

"Yeah, Mingyu had a great lap," he said, though his smirk betrayed a hint of frustration. "Kudos to him for that. It’s the nature of the game—sometimes you’re the one knocking others out, and sometimes you’re the one being knocked out."

You tilted your head, pressing just a little. "Ferrari’s upgrades were supposed to shine here at Suzuka. Do you think the car—or the driver—fell short today?"

His eyes met yours, sharp and knowing. "Is that your way of asking if I’m losing my edge?"

You smiled faintly. "Just doing my job, Jeonghan."

"And doing it well," he replied smoothly. "I’ll make sure to give you something better to write about tomorrow."

Yoon Jeonghan’s Q2 Knockout: A Sign of Ferrari’s Struggles or a Driver Underperforming?

Your analysis was live before the sun set over Suzuka, dissecting Jeonghan’s performance lap by lap:

"While Ferrari’s SF-24 showed promise in Q1, Jeonghan’s Q2 lap exposed cracks in execution. Hesitant braking into Spoon Corner cost him vital time, and a wide exit through Degner 2 raised questions about his confidence under high pressure. Kim Mingyu’s decisive lap in the McLaren only highlighted the contrast, leaving Ferrari fans wondering if Jeonghan can rebound from this rare stumble."

It didn’t take long for the article to ripple through the paddock—and reach its subject. The article was sharp, critical, with the same bite that you had become a household name for. And Jeonghan read every word.

He must have been an idiot to assume you would be kinder after the way he’d left you gobsmacked a few nights prior at the bar. 

You had just wrapped up your interview with Mingyu, the day’s pole sitter, when Jeonghan found you.

"Got a minute?" he asked, voice deceptively light.

You glanced up, startled to find him so close, still in his Ferrari suit, his hair slightly damp from the cool-down lap.

"Something on your mind?" you replied, keeping your tone professional.

He didn’t bother with pleasantries. "That article."

You raised an eyebrow. "Specificity helps, you know."

He chuckled darkly. "The one where you ripped apart my Q2 performance like you’re a technical director." He took a step closer, and for the first time, the calm façade cracked - his smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Hesitant braking? Lack of confidence under pressure? You really think I’m losing my touch?"

"I think Suzuka demands perfection," you replied evenly. "And today, perfection wasn’t what we saw."

He let out a low laugh, shaking his head. "You love this, don’t you? Watching me stumble so you can tear me apart in print."

"Jeonghan," you said, straightening, "if you want me to write glowing reviews, give me something to work with."

"You should’ve mentioned how close I was to Mingyu’s time," he shot back.

"Close isn’t enough," you countered, coolly. "Not in this sport."

His eyes narrowed, and he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Careful, sweetheart. Don’t let them think you’re this obsessed with me."

"Careful, Jeonghan," you shot back mockingly. "Sienna Hartley might not like hearing you get so worked up over me."

His hand shot out, catching your wrist before you could walk away. "Here’s an exclusive for you," he said, his voice sharp. "Me and Sienna? Not together."

You blinked, thrown off for just a moment before you schooled your expression. "Good to know. Now let go."

He released you immediately but lingered just long enough to murmur, "Don’t think this is over."

The Suzuka chaos worked in Jeonghan’s favor. 

When the lights went out, Jeonghan’s start was perfect—clean, aggressive, calculated. By the first corner, he had already gained two places, capitalizing on a sluggish Alpine and threading the needle between a Williams and an AlphaTauri. 

The midfield battle was fierce. Suzuka’s notorious esses demanded precision, and Jeonghan attacked them with surgical efficiency, his Ferrari responding like an extension of his own instincts. He overtook the Aston Martin of Lee Seokmin into Turn 11 with a move so bold the crowd audibly gasped. 

Each pass felt like a small victory, but it wasn’t enough. The podium still felt miles away. His fingers tightened on the wheel as he navigated the sweeping Spoon Curve, catching a glimpse of the orange McLaren far ahead—Mingyu.

The memory of your post-quali interview slipped into his mind. Close isn’t enough. Not in this sport.

He exhaled sharply, forcing the thought away. Now wasn’t the time. Jeonghan approached Degner 2, the car planted firmly under him. He could feel the wear on his tires but knew he still had grip to spare. He glanced briefly at the digital display on his steering wheel, calculating the gap to the car ahead—P5, the Red Bull of Choi Seungcheol.

As he accelerated toward the Hairpin, your voice echoed in his head again. Hesitant braking. Confidence issues.

His jaw clenched. It wasn’t anger—it was something more complicated. Why did you always manage to get under his skin? He should’ve been focusing on tire wear, fuel management, or his next target, but instead, his mind betrayed him.

He thought of the way you’d smirked during the interview, how your tone had been sharp, almost daring. The way you’d walked away, leaving him with more to say.

Focus. He snapped himself back, braking perfectly into the Hairpin. The slip of attention hadn’t cost him, but it had been close. Too close.

A well-timed pit stop under a virtual safety car catapulted him to P4. He rejoined the track with fresh mediums, slicing through the field with an aggression that stunned even his team.

By Lap 40, he was staring down the rear wing of Kwon Soonyoung—his own teammate. The team’s radio lit up, the pit wall hesitating.

“Jeonghan, Soonyoung ahead on a different strategy. Keep it clean.”

He didn’t wait for a direct order. Into 130R, the fastest corner on the track, he swung to the outside. His car shuddered with the force of the maneuver, but he held his line, leaving Soonyoung no choice but to yield.

“P3, Jeonghan. You’re on the podium now. Great move.”

With only two laps to go, he was in P2, chasing Mingyu, who had a comfortable lead. Jeonghan knew catching him was impossible, but that wasn’t the point anymore. This was about proving something—to his team, the fans, and maybe even to you.

The Ferrari hummed beneath him, a symphony of power and precision. Every turn, every braking zone, every shift felt like redemption. When he crossed the line in P2, the roar of the crowd was deafening, but all he could hear was his own heartbeat.

The media room was packed, buzzing with questions for the podium finishers. You started with Mingyu, still glowing from his dominant victory.

“Kim Mingyu,” you began, “another win for McLaren. How does it feel to catch up to Jeonghan in the driver’s championship?”

Mingyu smiled, leaning into the mic. “It feels incredible. The car was perfect today, and the team did an amazing job. Credit to everyone back at the factory.”

Before you could move on to the next question, Jeonghan interjected from his spot.

“Must feel nice to start up front and stay there,” he quipped, his tone light but pointed.

Mingyu grinned, unfazed. “You would know, Jeonghan. But you kept me looking over my shoulder the whole time.”

The room chuckled, and you shot Jeonghan a warning glance, which he ignored entirely.

Later, when a question was directed at Jeonghan about his race recovery, his response was pointed. "Oh, you know. I’m pretty good at managing tire degradation. And I had a lot of people doubting me on this track specifically, so I had to prove them wrong too."

His gaze locked on yours as he delivered the last line, and the meaning wasn’t lost on you—or anyone else in the room.

Jeonghan barely made it three steps out of the press conference room before Soonyoung intercepted him, leaning casually against a stack of Pirelli tires like he had all the time in the world. The amusement on his face set Jeonghan’s internal alarms blaring.

“What the hell was that about?” Soonyoung asked, arms crossed in mock authority.

Jeonghan blinked, expertly schooling his expression into one of pure confusion. “What was what about?” he replied, his tone dripping with innocence.

“Oh, don’t even try to play dumb with me, Jeonghan. I know you too well.” Soonyoung’s grin widened as he stepped closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “You were doing something during that press conference. I’ve never seen you look that smug unless you’re—”

“I was answering questions,” Jeonghan interrupted smoothly, plucking a water bottle from the cooler without breaking his stride. He unscrewed the cap with deliberate calm, taking a slow sip. “That’s what press conferences are for, in case you forgot.”

Soonyoung squinted at him, unconvinced. “Right. And here I thought press conferences were for you to pretend you’re unbothered while delivering backhanded digs at Kim Mingyu.”

Jeonghan barely managed to keep a straight face, though he felt the tiniest flicker of pride. He had been particularly good with his barbs today. Still, there was no way he was admitting that. “Don’t project, Soonyoung,” he drawled. “Not everyone uses media day as therapy.”

Before Soonyoung could retort, a new voice joined the conversation.

“I know what it was,” said Kim Sunwoo, strolling up with the unshakable confidence of someone who didn’t yet understand how much trouble he was about to cause. The young mechanic had a smirk plastered on his face, the kind that made Jeonghan instinctively want to flee.

“You know what?” Jeonghan asked warily, his eyes narrowing.

“That look you had during the Q&A,” Sunwoo continued, leaning casually against a tool chest. “You were staring at her, man. Like, full-on laser focus. It’s like you were trying to send her a message.”

Jeonghan’s grip on the water bottle tightened. He felt his ears heat up but refused to let it show. “I was answering her question,” he said evenly. “It’s called eye contact. You should try it sometime—people like that sort of thing.”

But Sunwoo wasn’t done. “And don’t think we didn’t notice you getting all flustered when Mingyu’s name came up,” he added, his smirk widening.

“Flustered?” Jeonghan repeated, letting out a short, incredulous laugh. “Right. That’s definitely the word I’d use to describe me.”

“Come on, dude.” Sunwoo shrugged, undeterred. “Admit it. You’ve got a crush.”

The words hit like a sucker punch. Jeonghan froze mid-sip, choking slightly as the water went down the wrong way. He coughed, spluttering as Sunwoo and Soonyoung erupted into laughter.

“Alright,” Jeonghan said sharply once he’d recovered, pointing a finger at Sunwoo. “You’ve been spending too much time on TikTok. Get back to work before I have you polishing rims for the rest of the season.”

But Sunwoo only grinned wider, completely unbothered. “Jeonghan’s in loooove,” he teased, drawing out the word in a sing-song voice.

“I said that’s enough,” Jeonghan snapped, the slight pink tinge creeping up his neck completely betraying his forced composure. “Shouldn’t you be tuning an engine or something useful?”

Soonyoung, meanwhile, was doubled over laughing, clearly enjoying himself far too much. When he finally straightened, he clapped Jeonghan on the back. “Hey, don’t worry about it, man. If you need advice, just let me know. I’m great with women.”

Jeonghan groaned, brushing him off. “The day I take advice from you, Soonyoung, is the day I retire. He shoved past them toward his motorhome, muttering under his breath. “Insufferable. Both of you.”

But even as he slammed the door behind him, Jeonghan couldn’t stop the echo of Sunwoo’s words from rattling around in his head. 

You’ve got a crush.

He scoffed aloud, shaking his head. “Ridiculous,” he muttered, tossing the water bottle onto the couch. But as he sank down beside it, arms crossed and jaw tight, he couldn’t quite stop himself from wondering.

Jeonghan didn’t want to be here.

The club pulsed with energy, a humid swirl of bodies pressing too close, the bass reverberating in his chest like a persistent headache. Strobe lights sliced through the haze, and the air smelled faintly of spilled drinks and cheap cologne. Somewhere in the chaos, Soonyoung had disappeared, leaving Jeonghan to fend for himself.

He’d been ready to make his exit the moment they walked in, but Soonyoung had insisted. “You need to loosen up, Jeonghan. Let the adrenaline from the race wear off. Have a drink, maybe dance.”Jeonghan had scoffed at the idea, knowing full well that his reason for not wanting to stay wasn’t exhaustion.

No, it was you.

Even when you weren’t in the room, you lingered in his mind like the ghost of a song he couldn’t stop humming. The podium had been a nice distraction. But now, surrounded by the chatter of strangers and the clinking of glasses, his thoughts drifted back to the press conference and the pointed, teasing look you’d given him when he spoke.

And then there was Mingyu—always Mingyu—whose name you’d said with just a little too much warmth. Jeonghan had pretended not to notice, but it had been impossible to ignore.

Shaking his head, Jeonghan pushed through the crowd, determined to leave. He had almost made it to the exit when someone collided into him, hard enough to send him stumbling forward.

“Whoa—watch it!” a voice slurred, sharp with irritation but unmistakably familiar.

He turned, already scowling, but the expression froze on his face when he saw you.

“Jeonghan?” you said, blinking up at him, your voice teetering between surprise and amusement. Your cheeks were flushed, lips curling into a slow smile as you adjusted your grip on the drink in your hand.

“You?” he blurted, his composure slipping for a fraction of a second.

“What are you—?” you started, only to trail off as a giggle bubbled out of you. Shaking your head like you were trying to clear it, you added, “Wow. Small world, huh?”

“I guess so,” Jeonghan said, his tone carefully even, though his gaze lingered on the way the dim light caught the sheen of your hair, the curve of your smile. His eyes dropped to your drink, then back to your face. “Are you drunk?”

“No,” you said, far too quickly, before adding with a sheepish laugh, “Okay, maybe. Just a little.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, threatening to curve into a smile. “Sure looks like it.”

You waved him off with a dramatic flourish, nearly spilling your drink in the process. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be... I don’t know, brooding on a podium somewhere?”

He tilted his head, pretending to be affronted. “I don’t brood. And besides, this is a celebration.”

“Oh, right,” you said, stepping closer. Your gaze softened, and your voice dropped just enough to make the words feel like they were meant for him alone. “The big comeback.”

“Lots of doubters, huh?” you added, the slight slur in your voice doing nothing to dull the edge of your words.

Jeonghan blinked, caught off guard, before a chuckle escaped him. “Well, your article did the talking for you.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, your eyes a little too bright, your smile a little too slow. “What a way to get my attention, pretty boy.”

His breath caught, his carefully built façade cracking for just a second. “You think I’m pretty?”

Your lips parted, but before you could answer, a hand landed firmly on your shoulder.

“There you are!”

Jeonghan looked up to see one of your friends glaring at him as they steadied you. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and you’re... what? Flirting with Yoon Jeonghan now?”

“Not flirting,” you protested weakly, though your lopsided smile said otherwise.

Your friend wasn’t convinced, nor were they interested in his response. They tugged you into the crowd with an apologetic glance over their shoulder. “Sorry about her—she’s had a night.”

Jeonghan stayed rooted in place, his gaze following your retreating figure. His lips curved into a faint smile as your words replayed in his mind.

“What a way to get my attention,” he murmured to himself, shaking his head.

And yet, as he stood there, the thought struck him that maybe you’d already gotten his.

FORMULA 1 GRAND PRIX DE MONACO 2024Track: Circuit de Monaco

The paddock at Monaco was alive with its usual glitz and glamour, the unmistakable hum of anticipation hanging thick in the air. Cameras flashed, team personnel buzzed around, and the harbor glistened under the sun. Monaco, the crown jewel of the F1 calendar, had a way of amplifying everything—victories felt sweeter, defeats more crushing, and the stakes impossibly higher.

Jeonghan, fresh off securing pole position, had his usual air of nonchalance, but the glow of triumph was undeniable. The fans chanted his name; the cameras adored him. Yet as he stepped off the podium erected for the post-qualifying festivities, his sharp eyes caught sight of something—someone—that brought him up short.

You.

You were standing just beyond the throng of journalists, your press badge gleaming under the midday sun. It had been weeks since he’d last seen you, weeks since your sharp quips and piercing questions had filled the air between you like sparks on dry wood.

Those weeks had been… odd, to say the least. You’d been reassigned to cover Formula E, a shift Jeonghan had learned about only after noticing your absence at the paddock in China. He had played it cool, pretending it didn’t matter, but he had found himself seeking out your byline anyway—reading articles that had nothing to do with him or F1, just to feel the rhythm of your words.

Even the searing critiques you usually aimed at him had been sorely missed. It was maddening, really, how much quieter the world had felt without your fire.

Now, here you were again, back in the fray of Formula 1, as though no time had passed. Jeonghan’s expression remained casual, but his stride toward you was deliberate, cutting through the chaos of the paddock.

When he stopped in front of you, his smirk was already in place, a shield against the strange, unwelcome flutter of relief in his chest. “Where’ve you been?” he asked, tilting his head with practiced ease.

You looked up from your notebook, arching a brow at him. “Missed me, Jeonghan?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

The word landed between you like a drop of rain on hot asphalt, its simplicity taking you aback. Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but notice how the sharpness in your gaze softened for a fraction of a second.

But then, as quickly as the moment arrived, he leaned in, his smirk deepening. “Someone had to keep the paddock interesting.”

You rolled your eyes, recovering your composure. “I see the Monaco air hasn’t done anything for your humility.”

“And I see Formula E hasn’t dulled your wit,” he shot back, stepping closer so the noise of the paddock faded slightly.

You shook your head, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You’ve done not too bad these past few races, huh?”

The comment was offhand, tossed in almost as a formality, but it hit Jeonghan harder than he expected. Compliments—genuine ones—were rare from you, and they stirred something unexpected in him.

Jeonghan blinked, the smirk faltering for just a second before he quickly replaced it with mock arrogance. “Not too bad?” he echoed, feigning offense. “I dominated in China, held my ground in Miami, and destroyed Emilia Romagna. Give me some credit here.”

For all his ego, Jeonghan knew he wasn’t wrong. He’d won China by a jaw-dropping 22.3-second margin, Mingyu so far behind that Jeonghan had time to deliver an entire thank-you speech over the radio before the McLaren driver even crossed the checkered flag. In Miami, even a grueling five-second stop-go penalty hadn’t stopped him; he finished P2 (behind Kim Mingyu, annoyingly) and picked up the extra point for the fastest lap, earning him Driver of the Day. And in Emilia Romagna, he was the clear favorite from the moment the race weekend began. The Tifosi were relentless, their cheers in the grandstands so deafening that Jeonghan could barely hear his engineer’s voice over the radio.

When he crossed the finish line first, the sea of red under the podium roared with such thunderous applause that his ears rang for hours afterward. In just three races, Jeonghan had cemented himself as the best contender for the 2024 World Champion.

And yet, somehow, it wasn’t as sweet without you there to write about it.

“Alright,” you said, meeting his gaze head-on. “You’ve been exceptional.”

The word struck like a sucker punch. For once, Jeonghan didn’t have a clever retort. 

"Congrats on pole, Jeonghan," you said, your voice cool but sincere, offering him a small smile. It made his heart skip a beat.

Jeonghan’s lips twitched, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You called me exceptional."

You glanced up at him, closing your notebook with a flick of your wrist. The corner of your mouth quirked into a smirk. "Yes. Now, thoughts on pole?"

He's silent for so long that you politely clear your throat, hoping to cut through the sudden stillness. "Maybe this should be my headline for the day, Jeonghan. Monaco's Maze Leaves Golden Boy Spinning Out."

It's like someone doused him with ice water. His easy, sun-soaked posture stiffens, and the small smirk he'd been wearing evaporates.

You're still a journalist. He forgets that sometimes.

"Why do you do that?" he mutters, voice edged with something unfamiliar—disappointment, maybe.

You blink, caught off guard by the abrupt change in tone. “Do what?”

“That.” He gestures vaguely between you and the notebook tucked in your hand. The lenses of his sunglasses catch the sunlight, but there’s no mistaking the intensity behind them. His gaze pierces, searching for something in your expression. “Bringing the shitty headlines into every conversation."

You arch a brow, tucking the notebook closer to your chest as if shielding it from his line of sight. “Shitty? You mean accurate, Jeonghan.”

His jaw tightens, a subtle movement, but enough to draw your attention. There’s a faint crease forming between his brows now, and you realize it’s not your usual back-and-forth banter. “You know what I mean,” he mutters, voice low and barely audible over the hum of the paddock—the distant rumble of engines, the echo of voices, the clinking of tools in nearby garages.

For a moment, you’re at a loss. Jeonghan doesn’t let things like this bother him—or, at least, he’s always been good at pretending they don’t. His whole brand is carefree charm, a perpetual smirk, and the confidence of someone who knows he’ll always be the center of attention. This feels different.

“You’re upset about a headline?” you ask, genuinely curious now.

“It’s not about the headline.” His tone sharpens, but he stops himself, jaw clenching like he’s swallowing something bitter. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, his fingers brushing over the brim of his cap. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, tinged with something almost vulnerable. “It’s about how you never let up, even when it’s me.”

The admission lands heavily between you, unexpected and disarming.

You shift uncomfortably under the weight of his words, the way they seem to strip away the professional distance you’ve been clinging to. “Why should I?” you counter, keeping your voice steady despite the flicker of doubt creeping in. “You’re just another driver, Jeonghan.”

His laugh is short and humorless, cutting through the charged air between you. “Right. Just another driver.”

There’s something about the way he says it—low, almost resigned—that catches you off guard. The bitterness in his tone isn’t theatrical; it’s real, raw, and so at odds with the image he projects to the world.

You glance at him, searching for the Jeonghan you’re used to—the one who shrugs off criticism with a knowing grin, who always has a teasing retort ready. But for once, he’s not hiding behind a smirk or a cocky quip. He looks tired, the weight of his words pulling at the edges of his carefully maintained charm.

“Jeonghan,” you begin, unsure of what you’re even trying to say.

But he shakes his head, cutting you off before you can find the right words. “Forget it.”

He takes a step back, and it feels like a gulf opening between you. The mask of indifference slips back into place with practiced ease, but you’ve already seen the cracks. “You’ve got your job to do,” he says, his tone clipped and distant. “Make sure you spell my name right in that next ‘shitty headline.’”

You hate the way your chest tightens at his words, hate the instinctive urge to reach out and stop him as he turns to walk away, his figure retreating into the chaotic swirl of the paddock.

But you don’t.

Instead, you grip your notebook tighter, the edges digging into your palm as if the physical discomfort might drown out the ache building in your chest. The buzz of your phone in your pocket snaps you out of the moment. Grateful for the distraction, you pull it out to see a text from your editor: Post-qualifying article. Deadline: 6 PM.

Just another driver.

The words echo hollowly in your mind, unconvincing and painfully untrue.

Because the truth is, Jeonghan has never been just anything to you.

And that’s exactly why this is so damn complicated.

Jeonghan spends the night refreshing his Twitter feed. 

He’s not sure what he’s waiting for, honestly. 

Maybe it’s the rush of validation that comes from a clever reply, or the sting of criticism that reminds him he’s still human under the helmet. Or maybe it’s something else entirely—something he doesn’t want to name. The applause of the crowd is long gone, and the adrenaline from securing pole position hours earlier has settled into a restless hum. His phone feels heavier in his hand as he scrolls, tapping at random links and skimming comments that veer between praise and criticism.

The article finally pops up, your name bold and unmistakable at the top. His stomach tightens, a sensation he’ll never admit to anyone, least of all you. 

He clicks it immediately. 

The headline strikes first: 

Kim Mingyu’s Risky Qualifying Lap Keeps Rivals on Edge

For a moment, he freezes, his eyes scanning the words again to make sure he didn’t misread.

Mingyu?

Confusion knots his brow as he scrolls down. The opening paragraph is a glowing analysis of Mingyu’s audacious lap—a near miss in the second sector, a masterful recovery in the final corners. The kind of detailed, evocative writing that Jeonghan knows you reserve for stories you care about.

Then, buried halfway through, he finds his name:

“Jeonghan, true to form, delivered a flawless lap to secure pole position. His consistency and precision were unmatched, placing him at the front of the grid for tomorrow’s race.”

That’s it.

No breakdown of his sector times, no mention of the deft control it took to navigate the tight Monaco corners under immense pressure. Just a single, clinical acknowledgment, overshadowed by Mingyu’s second-place drama.

Jeonghan stares at the screen, his thumb hovering over the refresh button. He doesn’t know what he was expecting—a parade in words? A headline with his name front and center?

It’s ridiculous, he tells himself. Pole position speaks for itself. It doesn’t need a poetic article to back it up.

But that doesn’t stop the irritation bubbling under his skin.

He tosses his phone onto the bed with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. His hotel room feels quieter than it should, the distant hum of the city barely seeping through the windows.

He can’t shake the feeling that you’re making a point. That this is your way of reminding him that while he might be the golden boy on the track, he doesn’t get special treatment in your world.

Not in your writing. Not from you.

It’s infuriating.

And yet, a part of him—one he’s unwilling to examine too closely—wants to know why you didn’t write more about him. Wants to know what he’d have to do to make you look at him the way you clearly look at Mingyu.

Not just another driver.

But the one worth writing about.

The morning of the Monaco Grand Prix dawned with the soft hum of engines filling the paddock and the gleaming streets of Monte Carlo radiating under a cloudless sky. Jeonghan arrived early, his customary calm masking the roiling anticipation beneath. Pole position was his—secured with a lap so clinical it had left his rivals chasing shadows. Yet, the sharp sting of your article still lingered, buried beneath layers of pride and annoyance.

By mid-morning, the paddock buzzed with tension. The Monaco circuit—narrow, unforgiving, and relentlessly demanding—left no room for error. Victory here wasn’t just about speed; it was about precision, strategy, and an unwavering mental edge. Jeonghan knew that all too well.

As he suited up, the familiar ritual steadied his thoughts. Helmet, gloves, fireproofs—each piece transformed him into the driver everyone expected him to be. His engineer’s voice crackled over the comms. “Focus on the start, Jeonghan. Turn One is everything.”

He gave a curt nod, stepping into the car. The roar of the crowd was muffled as the cockpit enveloped him. Lights on the dashboard blinked in sequence, a visual metronome syncing with his heartbeat.

The engine roars to life beneath Jeonghan as he settles into the cockpit, the familiar hum of the Monaco Grand Prix vibrating through the seat, up his spine, and into his very bones. His focus sharpens like a blade, the heat of the sun seeping through his visor, but he’s not thinking about the sweat trickling down his neck or the weight of the helmet that obscures his field of vision. He’s thinking of the laps he’s put in, of the sacrifice, the years of work that led him here, to this very moment, pole position in Monaco.

He has no illusions about the challenge ahead. This track has always favored the one at the front, especially when that one is someone as methodical and precise as Jeonghan. It’s not often that the pole sitter falters here. But that’s not what has his stomach in knots. It’s not the track or the other drivers. It’s you. The thought of your words, your perspective, your gaze.

What if this win isn’t enough? What if I’m still just another driver to you?

His grip tightens on the steering wheel, and for a moment, he considers the possibility of failing, of cruising through the race without the sharp, passionate energy that has always pushed him. What if he doesn’t even get the headline he’s chasing? What if all this effort amounts to nothing more than another expected victory, no deeper praise, no recognition?

He blinks, pushing the thought away. He can’t afford distractions. He’s here to win—nothing else matters.

The lights blink, one by one, before finally turning off, and he’s off, the car surging forward into the narrow streets of Monaco, engines screaming in unison. His concentration narrows, the noise of the crowd fading into the background. The first few laps are a blur of tactical moves, maintaining the lead, setting the pace. Behind him, Mingyu is close—too close—but Jeonghan has enough room, enough air to breathe.

The laps tick by, the gaps between drivers stretching and shrinking like the ebb and flow of a tide. In Monaco, you can’t make mistakes. The barriers are close enough to bite, and one slip-up could send everything into chaos. Jeonghan doesn’t think of that, though. He doesn’t think of the press, of his reputation, of the words hanging in the back of his mind.

What he thinks about is the win. The pure, simple joy of crossing that finish line first. He wants to feel the weight of the moment, of the accomplishment, and more than anything, he wants to look up and see you there—see that your words reflect the magnitude of this victory.

He holds the lead through the race, but it’s a quiet victory, one he can feel in his bones but doesn’t fully experience. The lap times are consistent, but nothing spectacular happens. No drama, no surprise overtake, no breathtaking maneuver.

It’s a clean, controlled victory—exactly what everyone expects from the driver in pole position.

By the time the checkered flag waves, Jeonghan crosses the line in first. The crowd erupts in cheers, but Jeonghan doesn’t feel the same rush of emotion. The thrill is absent, replaced instead by a deep, gnawing sense of doubt.

The win is his, but it feels like it’s already slipping away from his grasp.

In the post-race briefing, he sits with his team, nodding as they discuss tire strategies, pit stops, and the things that went right. But his eyes keep drifting to the back of the room, to where you stand, clipboard in hand, scribbling notes with focused intent. Every time he tries to catch your gaze, to make eye contact, you look away, as if determined to keep your distance.

It stings more than it should.

Jeonghan leans back in his seat, the weight of his helmet resting against his neck, the pressure of your indifference pressing down on him. He wants to reach out, wants to tell you that this win—this clean, controlled, expected win—deserves something more. But he stays silent, twisting the words in his mind, unable to voice the insecurity that’s suddenly consuming him.

The press conference follows the briefing, a whirlwind of questions, cameras, and flashing lights. The room is full of journalists, all clamoring for soundbites, all eager to discuss the expected result—Jeonghan, pole position, and now, victory. But Jeonghan doesn’t care about the usual congratulatory remarks. He’s waiting for something more. Something real.

When the article finally drops, hours later, he barely waits before pulling it up on his phone. He knows what it’s going to say, but still, the disappointment claws at his chest as he reads the headline.

Jeonghan Dominates Monaco: Pole Position Translates to Victory

His stomach twists, and he exhales sharply, trying to ignore the hollow feeling that spreads through him. It’s everything he expected—a result that leaves no room for admiration, no room for praise. Just the simple, obvious statement that he did what everyone expected him to do. The race was clean, flawless even, but there’s no depth to the words, no recognition of what it takes to win here, at Monaco, the most challenging track in the world.

The thought gnaws at him.

It’s not enough.

The press conference continues, the cameras flashing, but Jeonghan’s mind is far from the words he’s being asked to repeat. He’s not thinking about the team’s success, about the strategies that worked, or even about the crowd's cheers. His eyes find you across the room once again, but this time, you don't look away. Your gaze is fixed on something—anything—but not on him.

He can’t help but wonder if it’s because you don’t see him as more than just another driver. Just another one of the usual suspects who gets a win when it’s expected. He’s fighting for something more—something beyond the surface. But for now, it seems like that’s something he’ll never get from you.

He’s won Monaco. But in that moment, the victory feels like the hollowest thing in the world.

FORMULA 1 AWS GRAND PRIX DU CANADA 2024Track: Circuit Gilles Villeneuve

The Canadian Grand Prix feels like a blur. The rain starts as a light drizzle, but by the time the race begins, it’s pouring, transforming the circuit into a slippery mess. The slick track glistens under the flood of water, making the circuit treacherous, a spinning wheel of danger. The air is thick with the scent of wet asphalt, and there’s an ominous tension in the paddock, a murmur that hangs in the atmosphere as if everyone knows something bad is about to happen. 

You catch sight of Jeonghan on the grid. He’s staring straight ahead, hands clasped behind his back, his posture perfect, like the picture of composure. But you can see it in his eyes—something flickers there, a mix of tension and determination. His car, finely tuned for dry conditions, isn’t built for this. The engineers have done what they can, adjusting the setup, but there’s only so much they can do when the weather turns so violently. You know this track—the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve—is not forgiving, and for someone like Jeonghan, a precision driver who thrives when everything falls into place, this is the worst-case scenario. He’s trying to keep his focus, but you can see the strain on his face, the pressure mounting with every passing moment.

The starting lights go out, and the cars roar off the grid, their engines screaming in defiance of the rain. Jeonghan’s car is sluggish in the first few laps. You see him fighting with the wheel, struggling to keep the car in line, each turn a reminder that the odds are stacked against him. The rain is only getting heavier, and the car, built for speed in perfect conditions, is no longer responsive, no longer the finely-tuned machine he’s so accustomed to. It’s like he’s driving a different car altogether.

As the laps tick by, the race feels like a slow-motion disaster, unfolding before your eyes. Jeonghan’s always been skilled in the wet, but this is different—this is more than just rain. This is a mechanical mismatch, an impossible task to overcome. You watch him push, trying to find any way to make up time, but it’s clear he’s just not able to. The car slides wide through the corners, the back end kicking out as he struggles to maintain control. His frustration is palpable, his jaw clenched, his hands gripping the wheel with white-knuckled intensity.

And then, it happens.

The rear end of Jeonghan’s car breaks loose as he enters Turn 6, and for a moment, it’s a dance of power and precision, a flick of the wheel, an attempt to save it. But it’s futile. The car loses traction, and before you can even process it, he’s in the barriers. The sound of impact is like a gut punch, a sickening crunch that sends a wave of dread through you. The crowd's collective gasp is drowned out by the static crackle of his radio.

“Jeonghan, do you copy?” The voice of his engineer is urgent, panicked, but there’s no mistaking the defeat in it when the response comes through. Jeonghan’s voice is clipped, emotion stripped away in favor of the cold reality.

“I’m out. Car’s done.”

The message is simple, the weight of it crashing down on you. The race is over. Lap 30. The dream, the chance to prove himself in a season that’s been anything but easy, has slipped away, drowned by the rain.

You feel like you’ve been punched in the gut. It’s a loss for Jeonghan, but it feels like a loss for you too. Not because of the race itself, but because of the frustration you saw in his face. The disappointment. The feeling of helplessness. It’s all there, and it hits you harder than you expect.

He doesn’t speak to anyone after. He doesn’t go to the media pen, doesn’t stand in front of the cameras for the obligatory interview. There’s no deflection, no distractions. He’s just... gone. You barely see him in the paddock. He doesn’t even go to the Ferrari garage to debrief with his team. He disappears into the background, like he’s trying to erase himself from the scene altogether, retreating into the shadows, avoiding the world that’s waiting to cast its judgment.

And you? You stay away too. The press room feels suffocating, the questions ringing in your ears as you try to focus. You write your piece, a cold, sharp report about the race and Jeonghan’s crash, a clinical dissection of what went wrong. But something feels hollow as you type. The words don’t flow the way they used to. They’re just words, strung together to meet the deadline, to give the readers what they want. It’s not about the story anymore. It’s not about the race. It’s about the loss.

You can’t shake the image of Jeonghan crashing out, of his frustration written in every line of his face, every motion of his hands. You can’t forget the way he looked when he climbed out of the car, shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the world had suddenly fallen onto him. His eyes are distant, like he’s already checked out, retreating into himself. It’s a look you’ve seen before, but it’s sharper now, more pronounced. He’s carrying something, a burden that you don’t understand, a burden you’re not sure you can even help him carry.

But all you can do is write. And even that doesn’t feel like enough.

FORMULA 1 ARAMCO GRAN PREMIO DE ESPAÑA 2024 Track: Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya

The Spanish Grand Prix feels different from the moment you step out of the car, the heat oppressive, the air thick with anticipation and the inevitable tension of the weekend. The usual rhythm of the paddock is off-kilter, heightened by the suffocating summer heat, the burning sun beating down on every exposed surface. The heat is more than just physical; it's palpable in the way the drivers move, in the clipped tones of the engineers, in the quiet buzz of conversation that flickers out like static.

But even through the sticky, heavy air, the tension feels electric—charged, ready to snap. The circuit is a challenge in itself, and the drivers know it. There’s no room for error here—just wide, hot tarmac and the constant pressure of chasing that perfect lap.

You’ve done your best to avoid Jeonghan, kept a comfortable distance as much as possible. But there’s something about the way he carries himself now—an edge that wasn't there before. It’s sharp, biting, and yet there’s an underlying vulnerability that makes everything harder to ignore.

When qualifying results flash up, you’re caught off-guard. Soonyoung is on pole, Mingyu in second, and Jeonghan… Jeonghan is in third. 

Jeonghan strides into the paddock after qualifying, his face carefully composed, but there’s a look in his eyes—something sharp, something that makes you hesitate. You haven’t spoken in days, not since Canada, not since he shut you out. You’ve been avoiding him, and he’s been avoiding you, but you both know the silence can’t last forever.

You’re standing near the media area when he approaches, and for a moment, it feels like the world holds its breath. The slight tilt of his head, the way his gaze flicks over your shoulder, pretending not to care, but you see through it.

"Don't do this," he says, his voice tight, but it's not the playful teasing you’ve grown used to. It’s something darker. Something tired.

"Don’t do what?" you snap, your patience running thin. "Pretend everything’s fine?"

His jaw clenches, eyes narrowing. "You’ve been avoiding me. Why? Because of Canada?"

You blink. The question hits harder than you expect, and you struggle to keep your composure. “You expect me to just forget what happened? You were fine after the crash, Jeonghan. You didn’t even bother with the press. I can’t just pretend that wasn’t... anything.”

The words come out sharper than you intend, and for a split second, you regret it. You see the way his shoulders stiffen, the brief flicker of pain in his eyes before he masks it with that carefully constructed indifference.

"Maybe I didn’t want to deal with your harsh words," he snaps, taking a step closer. “Maybe I’m tired of being the perfect driver for you, the one who’s supposed to be good enough to meet your standards. But I’m not—am I?"

Your chest tightens at the accusation, at the sudden rawness in his voice. "You think I’m too harsh? You think I’m just waiting for you to be perfect all the time?" You laugh, bitter and self-deprecating. "That’s what this is about? You crashing out wasn’t because of me. I write the truth, Jeonghan. And maybe the truth is you didn’t have the car for that race. It was out of your control."

His expression darkens, and you see that familiar flash of anger—one you’ve seen more times than you care to admit. "No," he hisses, taking another step toward you. "The truth is, you're so wrapped up in your narratives, you forget that I’m human. You forget that I have feelings too, and that maybe... maybe I wanted to do this for myself, not for some headline or some article. But you... you don’t see me that way, do you? You see me as another story, another fucking headline to dissect. Just another driver."

His words cut deeper than anything else could, and the final crack in your restraint breaks wide open. You can feel the heat rising in your chest, the tightness in your throat, the way your breath hitches.

“You want me to treat you differently?” you bite back, furious, stepping into his space. “You want me to hold your hand and tell you it’s okay every time you fail? Because you’re so tired of being just another driver? Well, you know what, Jeonghan? I am tired. I’m tired of trying to keep this professional, of pretending that I’m not watching the same guy who couldn’t even handle his own crash. You don’t get to demand better treatment from me when you can’t even handle the heat.”

For a moment, neither of you move, and the silence is thick, charged with the weight of your words.

He stares at you, eyes dark, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. You’re both too close now, caught in this space where words are weapons, and you’re both bleeding out.

Finally, Jeonghan turns away, his expression unreadable, but you can see the tightness in his back, the way his jaw works, like he’s holding something back. "Maybe you should stop writing about me altogether," he mutters, his voice rough, before stalking off, leaving you standing there, heart pounding and chest aching.

For a moment, you stand frozen, caught between regret and relief, between the anger that still simmers beneath your skin and the sudden emptiness that creeps in now that he's gone.

The moment Jeonghan storms off, leaving you standing there with a surge of anger and a pounding heart, you don't realize someone’s been listening. But someone has. The faint click of a camera, barely audible over the sound of your pulse, is enough to make you pause. You turn, instinctively, to see a familiar face from the gossip side of the paddock. It's Soojin, a reporter known for getting the juiciest bits of drama and twisting them into scandalous headlines. She’s got a camera in one hand, her phone in the other, furiously typing something into it with a smirk that sends an uncomfortable ripple through your gut.

Before you can say anything, she’s already gone, blending back into the throng of people milling around the paddock, her steps quick and sure. The damage has been done. You know it, and the prickling sensation in the pit of your stomach tells you that it’s about to get a lot worse.

By the time you’ve made it back to the media center, the storm has already hit. Your Twitter feed is flooded with the words “Trouble in Paradise?”, and the accompanying photos. The images are damning—Jeonghan’s angry face, red with emotion, and your own flushed, furious expression, both of you screaming at each other in the middle of the paddock. There’s no context, no explanation, just the raw emotion, raw enough to sell.

The headline isn’t even what stings. It’s the comments that follow. Speculation, assumptions, and a flood of opinions. Some call it a lover’s quarrel, some assume the worst, but most seem content to paint the picture of two people on the verge of breaking. It’s not just your name that gets dragged through the mud; it’s Jeonghan’s too. Both of you, caught in a perfect storm of emotions and bad timing. The last thing either of you needs.

You try to shut it out, but it’s impossible. The text messages from your editor come through, asking for a statement. Your phone rings with calls from the PR team, from your colleagues, and even from your friends, who all seem to know about the situation before you’ve even had a chance to process it yourself.

And then, just when you think it couldn’t get worse, the email comes. It’s from Ferrari’s PR team, and it’s almost too professional to be true:

Dear Y/N, In light of the recent events surrounding your interactions with Mr. Yoon Jeonghan, we would like to offer you full access to the Ferrari garage for the remainder of the season. This will provide you with the opportunity to write an in-depth feature on the team, showcasing the work and dedication that goes into each race weekend. We believe this move will allow for a clearer perspective on the situation and help ensure that your reporting reflects the true nature of the team and its drivers. We look forward to your continued coverage. Best regards, Ferrari PR Team

It’s a calculated move—a distraction, a chance to smooth things over. And you know it. The message is clear: everything must look fine. Everything must be fixed, packaged neatly for the media and the fans to consume. You’re a pawn in a much bigger game, and they’re making sure you play along.

At first, you think about refusing. You think about how everything feels so wrong right now. About how the image of you and Jeonghan, caught in the heat of an argument, is being used to feed the frenzy. But the PR team doesn’t leave room for argument. You know that declining would only escalate things further, make them harder to fix.

So, you agree.

The access starts almost immediately. They give you a full tour of the Ferrari garage, show you the inner workings of the team, introduce you to the engineers, the strategists, the pit crew. You’re given permission to write about the team’s strategy, their behind-the-scenes preparation, but there’s always a sense that you're being watched—every move, every word.

You can’t help but notice Jeonghan’s absence. Every time you walk through the garage, he’s not there. The driver who once greeted you with a cocky smile and a teasing remark, the one who always found a way to make you laugh, is nowhere to be found. It’s like he’s vanished, swallowed by the thick wall of Ferrari’s PR machine.

It’s as if nothing is real anymore. The false smiles, the calculated interviews, the way the drivers exchange glances with a rehearsed ease. The more you observe, the more you realize how much of this world is a performance, a show put on for the audience, with no room for anything real. It all feels like it’s slipping through your fingers, leaving you with nothing but an empty, fragile façade.

Still, you’re expected to keep writing, to deliver the polished pieces the team expects. You’re supposed to put the headline “TROUBLE IN PARADISE?” behind you and focus on the carefully constructed narrative. So, you do. For now.

But even as you walk the pits, breathing in the scent of burnt rubber and sweat, there’s a quiet ache in the back of your mind. The truth is, you don’t know how much longer you can keep pretending that everything is fine.

Not when you still feel Jeonghan’s words hanging in the air between you, like the remnants of a storm that’s yet to pass. Not when you still want, with everything in you, to be able to fix it.

And maybe that’s the problem.

The crash happens so quickly, so violently, that it almost feels unreal. One moment, the tell-tale red of Jeonghan’s car is cutting through the circuit with his signature precision. The next, it’s a twisted mess of metal and rubber, skidding off the track, his car spinning wildly as Lee Seokmin’s Aston Martin clips him just before the tight corner at Turn 14. You watch it all unfold from the pit wall, your heart stopping for a brief second as the sound of the crash echoes through the air. 

There’s a collective gasp from the crew around you, followed by the frantic chatter of engineers and strategists, trying to process what just happened. You can see the smoke rising from the wreckage, and your breath catches when the marshals begin to swarm the car, signaling that Jeonghan is still inside. 

The radio crackles to life, but Jeonghan’s voice doesn’t come through. For a second, it feels like time slows down. The pit wall is a blur of motion, but you’re frozen, eyes locked on the track, praying for him to be okay. 

Then, finally, the confirmation comes: “Jeonghan is out of the car. He's fine. We'll move him to the medical center.” 

A wave of relief washes over you, but it’s short-lived. The weight of the crash—his crash—still hangs in the air, and it’s clear from the looks of the Ferrari crew that no one knows exactly what went wrong. The tension in the paddock is palpable, and as you’re given full access to the debriefing room afterward, the atmosphere is thick with unspoken frustration. 

Jeonghan walks in with that same seething expression he had after the crash, and the room goes silent. His eyes are red-rimmed, his jaw clenched, the kind of anger that’s so deep it can’t be shaken by anything or anyone. His usual confident swagger is replaced by a taut, barely contained rage that makes it hard for anyone to even breathe in his presence. His voice, when he speaks, is sharp, cutting through the room like a knife. 

“You think this is a joke?” he snaps, looking at his team with a glare so intense it’s almost suffocating. His fists are balled at his sides, his shoulders tense with barely controlled fury. 

The debriefing begins, but it’s clear that no one knows how to handle him. His coach tries to keep things calm, but Jeonghan's sharp words only make the tension worse. The rest of the team sits in silence, unsure of what to say, how to fix the situation. His eyes never leave the table, his posture rigid, as though every part of him is fighting the urge to storm out. 

The meeting goes in circles—strategies discussed, what went wrong, how to move forward—but nothing seems to land. Jeonghan doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to listen to anyone right now. His frustration is palpable, and it’s clear this crash, this failure, has broken something inside of him. 

When he finally stands, his chair scraping harshly against the floor, there’s an air of finality to it. Without another word, he storms out, leaving a tense silence in his wake. No one dares to speak, knowing that anything they say would be pointless. The door slams shut, and the meeting disbands soon after. 

But you don’t leave. You don’t really have anywhere to go. Not yet. 

You make your way to the Ferrari canteen, your footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. It’s one of those rare moments when you’re not chasing a headline, not following the usual routine, and the monotony of it all feels like a relief. You order two beers without thinking. You don’t need two, but for some reason, it feels right. Maybe it’s the adrenaline still coursing through your veins from the crash, or maybe it’s just the weight of everything—the pressure, the disappointment, the simmering frustration with Jeonghan that you haven’t had the chance to process yet. The beers are cold, the glass bottles slick with condensation, and when you walk outside to the grandstands, you find him. 

Jeonghan is sitting alone, his back against the metal railing, the crowd long gone. The air is warm, the kind of summer heat that clings to your skin and makes everything feel a little heavier. His eyes are closed, his head tipped back as he stares at the sky, and for a moment, you wonder if he even notices you approaching. 

Without saying a word, you sit beside him, the soft crunch of your shoes against the gravel the only sound in the stillness. You don’t offer him a drink immediately. Instead, you hold the bottles in your hands, feeling the chill seep into your palms, letting the silence stretch between you. 

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you hand him one of the beers. He doesn’t look at you, but you catch the faintest shift in his posture, a soft hum of acknowledgement as he accepts it, cracking the cap with a quick twist.

“Jeonghan,” you say, breaking the silence, your voice quieter than you expect it to be. He doesn’t respond immediately, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. You take a sip of your own beer, the bitter taste grounding you in the moment. You can feel the tension that’s been building between you both, the weight of the unspoken words, but for now, you can’t bring yourself to make him speak. 

Then he does. “Full access, huh?” His voice is rough, the teasing edge to his words gone, replaced by something heavier. The bitterness is unmistakable. “You must be thrilled, getting to see me crash out in front of the entire team.” 

You almost choke on your beer. You can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or genuinely hurt, but it stings regardless. 

“I’m not,” you say quickly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You wish he would look at you, but he’s staring straight ahead, his jaw still tight, muscles still coiled like a spring. "I don’t want that, Jeonghan. What don’t you get?" 

“No?” He tilts his head slightly, but his gaze stays fixed. “I would think Miss Scathing Articles would relish the chance to tear me down again.” 

A sharp retort sat on your tongue, but you swallowed it. There was no point. Instead, you looked away, focusing on the distant horizon where the racetrack lay, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. "I don’t," you said quietly. "I’m not interested in tearing you down. I never have been." 

Jeonghan’s laugh was hollow, almost like a scoff. "Color me surprised." 

A beat passed between you both, the air thick with unspoken words. You took a sip of your beer, now lukewarm and slightly flat, but it didn’t matter. Neither of you had the luxury of pretending everything was fine anymore. 

He finally turns to you, his eyes meeting yours; there’s something in the way he looks at you—raw, vulnerable, almost like he’s waiting for the punchline of some cruel joke. 

“I’m sorry,” you say after a long silence, your voice softer this time, barely above a whisper. You’re not sure if he hears you, but he looks at you with an expression that makes you feel like you’ve just stepped into a minefield. 

He doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, he exhales a long breath, rubbing his forehead with his fingers as though the weight of it all is finally catching up to him. The tension between you hangs heavy in the warm summer air, the quiet hum of distant cicadas filling the space where words should be. Jeonghan takes another sip of his beer, the bottle pressed lightly against his lips as though it might cool the heat simmering under his skin. He looks tired—no, more than tired. Worn down. The type of exhaustion that no amount of sleep could fix. 

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says finally, the words coming out uneven, almost like they’re foreign on his tongue. His voice is softer now, missing the sharp edges that had cut into you moments before. “You were just doing your job.” 

“Jeonghan,” you start, but he holds up a hand, silencing you. 

“No, really.” He forces a thin smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s the kind of expression you’ve seen him use in press conferences—a shield, practiced and perfect. “You’re here because Ferrari told you to be. Because someone thought it’d be a great PR move. You don’t owe me anything beyond that.” 

The words sting, even though you know they shouldn’t. He’s not wrong. This isn’t your world, not really. But you can’t help the knot tightening in your chest as you watch him retreat into himself, the walls going up before your eyes. 

“I’m not here because they told me to be,” you say quietly, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “I’m here because I wanted to be. Because I saw the crash, Jeonghan, and I—” You stop, swallowing hard as the memory flashes behind your eyes again. The twisted metal, the plume of smoke, the moment you thought— 

“I was scared,” you admit, your voice cracking slightly. “Not as a journalist. Not as someone with a job to do. As someone who—” Jeonghan’s gaze snaps to you, his eyes narrowing slightly, but there’s something vulnerable there, too, something unguarded. 

You don't finish the sentence. 

Jeonghan watches you closely now, his beer suspended mid-air, forgotten. The sharpness in his gaze softens, replaced by something else—curiosity, maybe, or an unease he doesn’t quite know how to address.

The air between you feels heavy, suffocating in its quiet. You can still hear the faint echoes of the crash in your mind, the awful screech of metal against asphalt, the split-second horror of thinking you’d just seen him—

He sets the bottle down with a soft clink against the railing, breaking the spell.

“Scared, huh?” His voice is quieter now, and there’s a touch of disbelief, as though he’s trying to decide whether to accept your words or dismiss them.

You nod, throat tightening as you try to push through the lump that’s settled there. “Terrified,” you admit, the word feeling foreign and vulnerable on your tongue. “Not because of what I’d have to write, but because I thought—” You bite down on the rest of the sentence, unwilling to say it aloud.

Jeonghan exhales, long and slow, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he leans back against the railing. “I’m fine,” he says eventually, the words flat and unconvincing. He glances at you, his lips pressing into a faintly wry smile. “A little bruised. A little pissed. But I’m fine.”

It’s not enough to untangle the knot in your chest, but it’s a start. You nod, not trusting yourself to say anything else.

He finishes his beer in a few swallows, the motion oddly decisive, before standing and brushing off his pants. For a moment, you think he’s about to leave without another word, the tension between you both left unresolved.

But then he turns, holding out a hand toward you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a faint curve to his lips that feels almost... playful.

“Friends?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, his hair falling into his eyes. “If you’re going to be hanging around the garage all season, might as well, y’know?”

You blink at him, taken aback. The man who’d stormed out of the debriefing room in a fit of rage, who’d spat barbs at you moments ago, now stood here offering a truce like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Friends,” you echo, narrowing your eyes as you take his hand. It’s warm, his grip firm but not overbearing, and for a fleeting second, you wonder if this is another performance—an act to keep you at arm’s length.

But when he pulls you to your feet, there’s something genuine in his expression, something almost relieved.

“You better not make me regret this,” he says, letting go of your hand as he shoves his now-empty beer bottle into your other one. “And don’t think this means you’re off the hook for the shit you wrote.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you mutter, rolling your eyes as he smirks.

For the first time all day, the knot in your chest loosens just slightly. You follow him back toward the paddock, your steps lighter than they’ve been in weeks.

And for now, that’s enough.

FORMULA 1 QATAR AIRWAYS AUSTRIAN GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Red Bull Ring

The Red Bull Ring stretches out before you like a postcard of precision. Nestled in the Austrian hills, the track gleams under the soft morning sun, its curves and straights inviting the first roar of engines. The garage is alive with motion—engineers bent over laptops, mechanics tightening bolts, and the hum of anticipation that comes with any race weekend.

You step into the Ferrari garage, an interloper in a sea of red. Jeonghan’s car gleams in its designated spot, pristine and ready, as though it hadn’t been a crumpled wreck just a week ago. The team works around it like a well-oiled machine, barely sparing you a glance. You’re supposed to be here, technically, but that doesn’t stop the slight twinge of unease as you find a quiet corner near the monitors.

“Back again?”

The voice is unmistakable, light and teasing. You turn, and there he is: Yoon Jeonghan in his fireproofs, the sleeves tied around his waist, his white undershirt faintly clinging to his frame. He looks every bit the picture of calm, like he hasn’t spent the past few days fielding press questions about his crash.

“Didn’t think you’d miss the chance to watch me run into someone,” he adds, smirking as he adjusts his gloves.

You raise an eyebrow. “Is this your way of saying you’re aiming for Aston Martin?”

He laughs, a real laugh this time, and it’s startling how much it changes the air around you. “Not today. But I’ll keep you updated if Seokmin starts driving like a rookie again.”

“Careful, Jeonghan,” you shoot back, crossing your arms. “I might put that in my next article.”

He leans casually against the wall, his dark eyes scanning your face with an intensity that’s become familiar in the past few weeks. But there’s no edge to it today, no armor. Just him, relaxed and—for once—almost easygoing.

“You’re not as scary as you think you are,” he says after a beat, his voice low enough that the hum of the garage nearly drowns it out.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the grin that creeps onto your face. “And you’re not as charming as you think you are.”

He tilts his head, considering this like it’s the most interesting thing he’s heard all day. “Fair. But you’re still here, aren’t you?”

“Purely professional,” you quip, ignoring the way his smirk grows.

Before he can reply, the engineer by the monitors calls him over, gesturing to the screen. Jeonghan holds up a finger, signaling for a moment, then turns back to you.

“Stay out of trouble, yeah?” His voice is lighter now, teasing but not in the way that cuts. It feels natural, like banter between...well, maybe not quite friends. Not yet. But something close.

You shrug, watching as he walks toward his team, the confidence in his stride unmistakable. The tension that had lingered after the crash feels like it’s finally begun to dissolve, replaced by something steadier. Not quite trust, but something adjacent.

As you settle into the corner, notebook in hand, you can’t help but glance at him every so often. On the surface, it’s just another practice session, another day at the track. But for the first time in weeks, it feels like something close to normal. 

FORMULA 1 QATAR AIRWAYS BRITISH GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Silverstone Circuit

Silverstone roars to life under a blazing sun, the grandstands filled to capacity with fans waving flags and wearing team colors. The overcast sky has burned off, leaving the track shimmering under the summer sun. It’s one of the biggest stages of the season, and Jeonghan delivers a masterclass in qualifying, the finely tuned Ferrari underneath him responding to every input like an extension of himself. The sharp smell of rubber and fuel lingers in the air, mingling with the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

He’s back.

The final lap times on the leaderboard tell the story: pole position. Ferrari’s garage is electric with celebration, engineers clapping each other on the back, a cheer rising when Jeonghan steps into the swarm of red. His team surrounds him, hands gripping his shoulders, voices shouting praise over the din.

He grins, wide and unguarded, the weight of the last few weeks lifting ever so slightly. Spain and Canada had shaken him, but this—this feels like a reckoning. Proof that the mistakes and setbacks weren’t the whole story.

“Perfect lap, Jeonghan,” his engineer says, beaming as he hands him a water bottle.

He nods in acknowledgment, taking a swig, his heart still racing as he glances around the paddock. The sun is high now, glinting off the sleek curves of the cars lined up in parc fermé. Jeonghan’s gaze sweeps over the crowd, soaking in the energy—until he sees you.

You’re standing just outside the McLaren garage, the vibrant orange of their branding a stark contrast to the reds and blacks of his world. You’re leaning against a barrier, the breeze tugging at your hair as you laugh at something Mingyu says. Your face is so open, so full of light, that it’s almost magnetic.

Mingyu gestures animatedly, clearly in the middle of some ridiculous story, his grin as wide as the Cheshire Cat’s. You throw your head back with a laugh, and Jeonghan feels a tightness in his chest he can’t quite place.

The joy that had filled him moments ago flickers.

Why does it bother him?

The thought lingers as he watches you, his water bottle dangling forgotten in his hand. Jeonghan isn’t used to this kind of gnawing discomfort. He’s competitive, sure, but this is something else entirely.

Jealousy.

The sun is lower in the sky when he finds you, his long strides purposeful as he weaves through the paddock. The golden hour light makes everything seem softer, but Jeonghan’s mood is anything but. His thoughts from earlier have been simmering, the warmth of victory eclipsed by a frustration he can’t shake.

You’re leaning against a railing, scrolling on your phone when he approaches.

“Shouldn’t you be in the Ferrari garage?” he says, his tone sharper than he intends.

You blink up at him, startled. “I was just catching up with Mingyu.”

Jeonghan crosses his arms, his brow furrowing. “Funny. I thought you were doing a full-access piece on Ferrari, not McLaren.”

There’s something in his voice—an edge that sets your teeth on edge. “I am,” you reply slowly, standing up straighter. “What’s this about?”

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing. “Is that why your articles about Mingyu are always glowing? What, are you sleeping with him?”

The accusation is like a slap, cutting through the air with a harshness that leaves you stunned.

Your expression shifts, disbelief giving way to anger. “Are you serious right now?”

Jeonghan doesn’t respond immediately, his jaw tight. The regret in his eyes is fleeting, buried under the weight of his own misplaced frustration.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” you snap, your voice trembling with fury. “It’s always one step forward, two steps back with you, Jeonghan.”

His lips part as if to reply, but you don’t wait for him to dig himself deeper. You storm off, your footsteps echoing against the paddock floor. The sting of his words lingers, but so does the look on his face as you walk away.

Jeonghan stands there, watching you go, the tension in his shoulders giving way to a sinking feeling in his stomach. He knows he’s crossed a line, and the weight of his own stupidity settles heavily over him.

The knock on your hotel room door comes before sunrise, soft but insistent. You groan, burying your face in your pillow before dragging yourself to the door.

When you open it, the hallway is empty. But at your feet sits a bouquet wrapped in crisp white paper, tied with a simple satin ribbon.

Roses. Soft blush pink, their petals perfectly unfurled, paired with delicate sprigs of baby’s breath.

The arrangement is beautiful, almost heartbreakingly so, the kind of bouquet that feels like a story in itself. You crouch to pick it up, your fingers brushing over the velvety petals. The faint, sweet scent of roses fills the air, mixing with the crisp morning chill that seeps into the hallway.

Nestled among the flowers is a small envelope.

You pull it out, your thumb brushing over the edge of the paper as you open it. Inside, scrawled in a slightly messy hand that’s unmistakably Jeonghan’s, are two simple words:

I’m sorry.

You glance down the hallway instinctively, half-expecting to see him lingering in the shadows. But it’s empty, as silent as it was before you opened the door.

You stand there for a moment longer, the bouquet in your arms and the note trembling slightly in your fingers. The apology feels heavier than the flowers, weighted by the memory of his words from yesterday.

He didn’t need to apologize like this, you think. He could have texted, could have mumbled something in passing when you inevitably crossed paths today. But instead, he’d gone to the trouble of figuring out your favorite flowers—roses and baby’s breath, a detail you don’t even remember telling him.

The realization stirs something in you, softening the edges of your anger.

The roses sit on the desk as you get ready for the day, the baby’s breath adding a delicate touch to the arrangement. The card leans against the vase, its two-word apology a quiet presence in the room.

Somewhere in the city, Silverstone is waking up, the air already buzzing with anticipation for the race. But here, in the stillness of your hotel room, you take a moment to breathe, to let the gesture sink in.

Jeonghan’s voice echoes faintly in your mind, the memory of yesterday’s confrontation still fresh. And yet, as you glance at the roses again, the sting of his words begins to dull, replaced by something softer, something not yet ready to be named.

The pre-race buzz was electric. The roar of engines echoed faintly in the distance, a constant backdrop to the paddock’s chaotic rhythm. Mechanics zipped between garages, reporters hustled to get last-minute quotes, and fans outside the barricades chanted their favorite drivers’ names. Amid all this, your footsteps fell heavy against the asphalt, your target in sight: Yoon Jeonghan.

There he was, leaning against the nose of his red Ferrari, his race suit a striking flash of scarlet that caught the sunlight and made him look annoyingly pristine for someone who had caused you so much grief. He was chatting with an engineer, that easy, charming smile plastered on his face like he hadn’t thrown baseless accusations your way less than 24 hours ago.

You marched toward him, purpose sharpening your steps. The bouquet from this morning was still vivid in your mind—blush pink roses, soft and elegant, their delicate petals almost glowing against the green of the baby’s breath, a stark contrast to the seething frustration you still carried. And the note—just two infuriatingly simple words—burned in your pocket, a reminder of the apology you hadn’t quite accepted yet.

“Jeonghan,” you called, your voice cutting through the low hum of conversation around you.

He glanced up, his casual demeanor faltering for a split second when he saw you. Then, like a switch had flipped, his smile returned. “Oh, hey.”

You stopped a foot away, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “How did you know my favorite flowers?”

His lips quirked into a faint smirk, and he leaned ever so slightly against the car, as if the conversation were a game he’d already won. “Oh good, they got delivered to the right room.”

“Jeonghan,” you said, your tone sharper now, “don’t deflect.”

“Deflect what?” He tilted his head, his eyes sparkling with that infuriating glint of mischief that made you want to throttle him and laugh in equal measure.

“JEONGHAN.” The snap in your voice turned a few heads nearby, but you didn’t care.

He sighed dramatically, dragging a hand through his hair. “Fine. A certain papaya-colored birdie told me.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Papaya-colored birdie... Mingyu?”

Jeonghan hesitated, his grin faltering for just a moment. You saw the gears turning in his head, calculating whether to deflect again or come clean.

“Spit it out, Yoon Jeonghan,” you said, stepping closer, “or I’ll never write a single kind thing about you for the rest of your life.”

His mouth twitched, caught between amusement and resignation. Finally, he shrugged, his voice almost too casual. “Childhood friends, eh? You and Mingyu? That explains yesterday.”

You blinked, thrown by the abrupt shift in topic. “Don’t change the subject,” you snapped, though his words tugged at something in the back of your mind. “You really went to Kim Mingyu for help? After accusing me of—”

“I might have... aggressively encouraged Mingyu to spill everything he knew about you,” Jeonghan admitted, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You raised a brow. “Aggressively encouraged?”

“Fine,” he said with a huff. “I threatened to steal his steering wheel from the McLaren garage if he didn’t talk.”

Despite your irritation, a snort escaped you. “And he just handed over my life story, huh?”

Jeonghan crossed his arms, mirroring your stance. “What can I say? He’s surprisingly chatty when he thinks you’re in trouble. Very protective, that one.”

You clenched your jaw, the pieces clicking into place. “So, that’s why you jumped to conclusions yesterday. You thought—”

He cut you off, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “I know. I was out of line. That’s what the flowers were for.”

For a moment, the noise of the paddock seemed to fade. The wind carried the faint scent of burning rubber, and the distant cheers of fans reached your ears like a muted hum. Jeonghan’s expression softened, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by something quieter, almost vulnerable.

“For what it’s worth,” he added, his tone lower now, “I really am sorry.”

You exhaled slowly, the weight of the last day lifting slightly from your chest. “You’re lucky I like roses.”

“I know,” he replied, his grin returning, lighter this time, almost boyish. “Good taste, huh?”

“Good recovery, at least,” you muttered, your lips twitching despite yourself.

Jeonghan’s laughter followed you as you turned and walked away, the sound less grating than it had been the day before. It wasn’t forgiveness—not yet—but it felt like a start.

FORMULA 1 HUNGARIAN GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Hungaroring

The Hungarian Grand Prix paddock was buzzing, but you could tell something was off. The sound of chatter and engines felt like distant echoes as you stood by the garage, watching Jeonghan’s Ferrari pull back into its stall after a less-than-stellar FP1. The car’s engine quieted as the mechanics immediately went to work, inspecting it. But it wasn’t the car that caught your attention—it was Jeonghan himself.

He was unusually quiet, his usual cocky confidence buried beneath the furrow of his brow as he stripped off his helmet and gloves. His gaze was focused on the car, but it was clear his mind wasn’t in the garage. He seemed... distant, almost frustrated. The others in the team were busy talking strategy, discussing the data, but Jeonghan barely spoke up during the debriefing. It was strange.

The team finished up, but you noticed Jeonghan lingered near the back, hands on his hips, staring at his car like it had personally betrayed him. It wasn’t like him to be this quiet, especially not after a session where he was so used to being in control. You could practically feel the weight of his thoughts from where you stood.

You didn’t want to be intrusive, but you couldn’t ignore it—something was wrong.

You walked over, careful not to disturb the mechanics who were still busy at work. "Jeonghan," you called softly, stepping beside him. He turned to you, but his eyes didn’t quite meet yours. They were focused on something distant, like he was seeing the track or the car but not really seeing them.

“Everything okay?” you asked, trying to keep the concern out of your voice, but it slipped through anyway. “You’ve been quiet since the debriefing.”

He gave a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m fine.”

You weren’t buying it. You had known Jeonghan long enough to recognize the way he carried his frustration. It wasn’t the kind of thing that could be hidden behind a casual smile, no matter how practiced.

“You sure? You know you don’t have to be okay all the time, right?” you pressed, stepping a little closer. The air around you felt heavy, charged with unspoken words.

Jeonghan exhaled sharply, his fingers digging into his gloves before he slowly pulled them off. He seemed to be gathering himself before speaking. “I hate it,” he muttered, and his voice had a rawness to it that caught you off guard. “Not being perfect. I... I can’t stand it.”

“Not being perfect?” you echoed, surprised. Jeonghan, the ever-cocky, confident driver, admitting that?

He looked up at you then, his eyes intense, as though he was searching for something in your gaze. “Yeah. I know it sounds stupid,” he said with a wry laugh that lacked its usual humor. “But it’s who I am. I’m a perfectionist, always have been. Every little mistake... it sticks with me. I can’t just move on. I think about it. Constantly.”

You watched him, absorbing his words, the vulnerability in his tone feeling like a crack in his otherwise polished exterior. Jeonghan, always so composed on the surface, always teasing and joking, was admitting something deeper now—something more personal.

“Is that why you were so quiet during the debriefing?” you asked, keeping your voice soft.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his gaze flicking to the car again. “I know I didn’t have the best session, but it feels like... like I failed. Like I’m not doing my job right. I could’ve done better.” His jaw clenched as if he were angry at himself.

The silence that fell between you was thick, almost suffocating, and you could feel the tension radiating off him. You hadn’t seen him like this before—not with this level of self-doubt.

“You’re not failing,” you said, your voice firm. “You’re allowed to have bad sessions. Hell, everyone has bad days. But that doesn’t mean you’re failing. It’s just a part of it.”

Jeonghan glanced over at you, his lips curving into a small, grateful smile. “You really believe that?”

“Yeah, I do,” you said, nodding. “I mean... it’s not all about being perfect. Sometimes it’s the mistakes that push you to be better.”

Jeonghan looked down at his hands, still clutching the gloves, and you could see the gears turning in his mind. “I know. But it doesn’t make it any easier.”

“I get it,” you said, crossing your arms and leaning against the side of the garage. “But you’ve got a whole team behind you. And we all know what you’re capable of. You’ll get there. It’s just one session.”

He finally met your gaze, his eyes softening. “Thanks.”

There was a long pause, the sound of distant chatter and the hum of the paddock filling the silence. You were so used to Jeonghan’s teasing and cocky attitude that this quieter, more introspective side of him felt like a different person altogether. And maybe it was—it was the side that wasn’t the driver who fought for every fraction of a second on the track, the side that just wanted to be good enough.

“It’s not stupid, you know,” you added quietly. “Caring about being good at what you do isn’t stupid. It’s just... exhausting sometimes.”

Jeonghan laughed lightly, the sound a bit more genuine this time. “You have no idea. But I’m getting better at... handling it. I think.”

You smiled at him, feeling a strange sense of relief wash over you. There was still that hint of unease in his posture, the tightness in his shoulders, but for the first time all day, he seemed a little more at ease with himself.

As you turned to leave, you shot him one last look. “Just don’t be so hard on yourself next time, okay?”

“I’ll try,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. And for a moment, you almost believed him.

The stands were eerily quiet now, a stark contrast to the roar of the crowd just hours earlier. You wandered through the empty paddock, your steps unhurried as the hum of the night settled around you. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the faint clatter of the Ferrari team packing up, but Jeonghan wasn’t with them.

You’d seen him after the race, his jaw tight as he climbed out of the car. Finishing P5 wasn’t bad by any measure, but it wasn’t what he wanted. And with Mingyu overtaking him in the Driver’s Championship by just twenty points, it was clear Jeonghan had taken it as a personal blow. His disappointment hung around him like a shadow.

It wasn’t hard to guess where he’d gone.

Sure enough, when you climbed up into the grandstands, there he was. Sitting alone in the middle row, still in his Ferrari race suit, unzipped to the waist to reveal his black base layer. His hair was tousled from the helmet, his posture slouched, shoulders hunched as though the weight of the day hadn’t yet left him. Beside him were two bottles of beer, one already open and resting loosely in his hand.

You approached quietly, but Jeonghan didn’t flinch. He didn’t even turn around when you reached him, your feet crunching softly against the debris of the crowd—discarded programs, empty wrappers, and forgotten flags. He must’ve known it was you, though. He always seemed to know.

“Mind if I join you?” you asked, your voice breaking the stillness.

He finally glanced up, his expression unreadable. “It’s a free grandstand,” he muttered, gesturing to the empty seats around him.

You slid into the seat next to him, the cool metal chilling through your clothes. Jeonghan’s gaze returned to the track ahead, where the floodlights illuminated the ghost of the race. He took a sip of his beer, silent.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The quiet stretched, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable—just heavy. You could feel the frustration radiating off him, the bitterness that came with being so close but not close enough.

“You should drink this before it gets warm,” he said suddenly, pushing the unopened beer toward you.

You picked it up, twisting off the cap with a small smile. “Thanks. Not exactly the post-race celebration you were hoping for, huh?”

He huffed a humorless laugh. “Not exactly.”

The silence fell again, but this time you weren’t willing to let it linger. You turned to him, watching the way his fingers tapped restlessly against the neck of the bottle. “You’re still in the fight, you know,” you said gently.

Jeonghan’s lips quirked, but it wasn’t a smile. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

“Well, you are,” you insisted. “Three points. That’s nothing. You’ve come back from worse.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he tilted his head back, looking up at the dark sky above the track. “You don’t get it,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “It’s not just about the points. It’s about everything. The mistakes, the pressure... the expectations. It’s like... like I have to prove that I deserve to be here. Every single time.”

“You do deserve to be here,” you said firmly, the conviction in your voice enough to make him turn to you. “You wouldn’t be in that seat if you didn’t. You’re one of the best drivers on the grid, Jeonghan. Everyone knows it. Even Mingyu. Especially Mingyu.”

Jeonghan scoffed, a flicker of a smile breaking through his stormy expression. “Bet he’s loving this right now.”

“Maybe,” you said, leaning back against the seat. “But knowing Mingyu, he’s probably already plotting ways to rub it in at the next race.”

That earned a laugh, small but real, and the sound was enough to make you smile too.

“You’re good at this,” he said after a moment, his tone softer now. “Talking me off the ledge.”

“Someone has to,” you replied with a shrug. “And honestly? I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. One race doesn’t define you, Jeonghan. You’re not just a number on the leaderboard.”

He looked at you then, his gaze lingering. There was something in his expression—gratitude, maybe, or something deeper, something you couldn’t quite name. “Thanks,” he said simply, the word weighted with more than just appreciation.

You clinked your bottle against his. “Anytime.”

The two of you sat there for a while longer, the weight of the day slowly lifting as the quiet of the night wrapped around you. It wasn’t much, but it was enough—for now. And as Jeonghan leaned back in his seat, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles, you knew he’d be okay. Eventually.

You took another sip of your beer, the chill of the bottle grounding you as Jeonghan’s earlier tension began to melt away. The ghost of a smile still lingered on his lips, and for the first time since you’d climbed up to find him, his shoulders seemed lighter.

“So,” he said, breaking the quiet, his voice tinged with a familiar mischievousness, “what’s your headline going to be this week?”

You raised an eyebrow, scoffing softly as you bumped his shoulder with your own. “You’ll see it when you see it, Yoon Jeonghan. No spoilers.”

His chuckle was low and warm, a sound that felt like the first crack of sunlight after a storm. “Should I be worried?”

“Always,” you replied, the corners of your lips quirking upward. “But maybe not too much this time.”

He gave you a curious look, his expression halfway between wary and amused, but he didn’t press. Instead, he leaned back, his gaze drifting back to the track. The night was calm now, the weight of the day’s disappointment tucked into the folds of shared silence.

The headline hit Monday morning, and Jeonghan had to admit, you’d delivered once again.

Ferrari Falters in Hungary: Yoon Jeonghan's Fight for the Title Tightens

The article was incisive, as sharp as he’d expected. You broke down his struggles in FP1, critiqued his race strategy, and even called out the overtaking move that cost him crucial points. It was the kind of detailed, no-nonsense analysis you were known for, and Jeonghan read every word with a mix of frustration and admiration.

But at the bottom, tucked beneath the last paragraph, there was a footnote—barely noticeable unless you were looking for it.

“Despite Hungary’s setback, Yoon Jeonghan remains one of the most popular and formidable contenders for the championship. With only twenty points separating him from the lead, Belgium offers a more than fair chance for the Ferrari star to close the gap and reclaim his momentum.”

Jeonghan blinked, then read it again, a slow smile tugging at his lips. He leaned back in his chair, the paper still in hand, and shook his head.

“Subtle,” he muttered, though his tone was anything but annoyed. It was gratitude, warmth, and a flicker of hope all wrapped together in a single word.

He might have faltered in Hungary, but you’d reminded him—the season wasn’t even half over. And maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t fighting alone.

FORMULA 1 ROLEX BELGIAN GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps

The weekend at Spa began like a dream.

The legendary Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps was a driver’s haven and a monster in equal measure. The longest track on the calendar, its 7 kilometers of asphalt wound through the lush forests of the Ardennes, combining high-speed straights, sweeping corners, and the unpredictable challenges of its microclimate. The iconic Eau Rouge and Raidillon dared drivers to go flat out, while the downhill plunge into Pouhon tested their courage and precision. It was a place where skill separated the good from the great.

Jeonghan thrived on its challenge.

FP1 and FP2 were his playgrounds, his Ferrari gliding through corners like it was made for this circuit alone. The car was responsive and balanced, every adjustment in setup shaving precious milliseconds off his laps. Jeonghan pushed it to its limits, feeling every bump and curve beneath him as if Spa’s asphalt were an extension of himself.

By the time he returned to the garage, his name was at the top of the timesheets, and his team wore expressions of pride and relief. Engineers crowded around him during the debrief, their excitement palpable. Even Mingyu wandered over to toss a mockingly impressed, “Don’t get used to it, Yoon,” in his direction.

Jeonghan, basking in the buzz of dominance, had only winked.

But then came the penalty.

A breach in power unit regulations—an unavoidable technicality that slapped him with a grid penalty. It was frustratingly bureaucratic, a punishment that felt out of his control and yet deeply personal. His pole position was stripped away, and he was relegated to P10.

In the Ferrari garage, Jeonghan leaned against the back wall, arms crossed, the weight of his helmet heavy in his hand. The rhythmic hum of power tools and bursts of chatter around him did little to soothe his simmering frustration.

It wasn’t just the penalty—it was the sting of perfection slipping through his fingers, a weekend that had started flawlessly now teetering on the edge of disappointment.

He glanced up, ready to bury himself in the chaos of the paddock, and froze.

You were there, leaning casually against the pit wall, chatting with one of the mechanics. The glow of the overhead lights caught in your hair, and despite the whirlwind of activity, you were a picture of calm. Your hands moved as you spoke, animated yet confident, the faintest flicker of a smirk playing on your lips.

His gaze lingered.

It hit him—a memory of your words from Hungary, your unwavering belief cloaked in sharp wit: “A more than fair chance to close the gap.”

For the first time since the penalty, the gap didn’t feel insurmountable.

He didn’t realize he’d been staring until you caught his eye. Your brows rose, and you tilted your head in mock curiosity before excusing yourself from the mechanic and walking toward him.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice laced with a note of amusement and something softer underneath.

Jeonghan shrugged, plastering on his signature cocky grin. “Since when are you worried about me?”

Your lips twitched in a barely concealed smile. “Oh, I’m not worried. Just curious. I wanted to see how Ferrari’s golden boy handles a little adversity.”

His grin faltered for the briefest moment before sharpening again. “Keep watching,” he said, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “I might surprise you.”

You tilted your chin, your expression a blend of challenge and intrigue. “Don’t disappoint me then.”

The way you said it—like you meant it—sparked something fierce in him.

As you turned to leave, the faint scent of your perfume lingered in the air, anchoring him to the moment. Jeonghan watched you disappear into the paddock, your confident stride a sharp contrast to his brooding, and for the first time that day, a smirk tugged at his lips.

It wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.

P10 to P1. 

It was the kind of race drivers dreamed of—the kind that earned its place in highlight reels for years to come.

The chaos began even before the lights went out. Rain had threatened all morning, dark clouds heavy over the Ardennes, but it held off just long enough to keep everyone guessing. Jeonghan sat in his Ferrari on the grid, surrounded by cars that had no business being ahead of him. He’d spent every second since the penalty recalibrating his mindset, shifting his frustration into fuel.

As the lights went out, his singular focus kicked in.

Turn 1, La Source: Jeonghan dived inside, threading through a gap that barely existed. The radio crackled with his engineer’s voice, commending his clean move, but he barely registered it. Eau Rouge and Raidillon loomed ahead, their uphill sweep demanding precision, bravery, and trust in his car.

He took the corners flat out.

By Lap 5, Jeonghan was in P7. His mind churned as he studied the cars ahead, each one a problem to solve. Every braking point, every shift in weight through the curves—it all required perfect execution.

But then came the rain.

It began as a drizzle at Pouhon, the light sheen on the track turning treacherous by the next sector. Jeonghan’s grip on the wheel tightened as he adjusted his lines, feeling for every ounce of traction.

“Box this lap for inters,” his engineer instructed.

“No,” Jeonghan replied, his voice steady. He could feel it—the balance of risk and reward. He stayed out one lap longer, the gamble paying off as he overtook two cars struggling on the wrong tires. When he finally pitted, the stop was flawless.

By Lap 20, the red flag came out, the rain too heavy for safety. Jeonghan sat in the pit lane during the suspension, helmet off, sweat beading his brow. His thoughts wandered for the first time since the race began.

Your words came back to him.

"Jeonghan’s perfectionism is both his weapon and his curse. When he is at his best, he’s untouchable. But the question remains: can he handle the pressure when the odds aren’t in his favor?"

His jaw tightened. You were right—about the pressure, about the way he held himself to standards so high they sometimes crushed him. But you’d also written something else.

"A more than fair chance to close the gap."

He wasn’t sure why, but that sentence anchored him.

When the race restarted, Jeonghan was a man possessed.

Sector by sector, he clawed his way through the field, each overtake cleaner and bolder than the last. At Blanchimont, he overtook Soonyoung in a move that was half instinct, half calculated risk. His engineer’s voice came over the radio in a disbelieving laugh: “Mate, you’re insane!”

By the final lap, he was leading. The roar of the crowd blended with the steady beat of his heart as he crossed the finish line, victory his once more.

The pit lane was a blur of celebration. His team engulfed him in a sea of red, their cheers drowning out even the din of Spa’s loyal fans. Soonyoung appeared out of nowhere, throwing an arm around Jeonghan’s shoulders.

“Winning in Spa from P10? You better believe I’m buying the first round,” Soonyoung declared, grinning despite his P2 finish.

Jeonghan laughed, the sound ragged and raw from effort, but his mind wasn’t entirely in the moment.

Later, in the quiet of the motorhome, when the adrenaline had settled and exhaustion was creeping in, Jeonghan pulled out his phone. His thumb hovered over the search bar before typing your name.

The article was already live.

His breath caught as he read your headline:

From P10 to Perfection: Yoon Jeonghan’s Masterclass at Spa

It was glowing, but in your unmistakable style—balanced, sharp, and honest. You praised his overtakes, his strategy, and his ability to rise under pressure. Your writing was like poetry, an ode to his resilience, his precision in the rain, his ability to claw victory from the jaws of defeat.  But what caught him off guard was the final line.

"With the championship fight closer than ever, it’s not a question of if Jeonghan will close the gap. It’s a question of when."

Jeonghan read it three times, his chest tight with something that felt almost like pride.

For the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to believe them.

The bass thrummed low and heavy, a pulse that seemed to reverberate straight through the packed room. 

Jeonghan leaned against the bar, his drink in hand, his racing suit long since replaced by a fitted black shirt with the top buttons undone. The sleeves were rolled just enough to expose his forearms, the dark fabric clinging to his frame in a way that effortlessly commanded attention. Around him, the club buzzed with post-race energy—drivers, engineers, and team members alike reveling in the victory and chaos of the day.

Soonyoung was next to him, buzzing with his usual infectious energy. Jeonghan caught snippets of his teammate’s banter, but his mind was elsewhere.

“God, Jeonghan, if you stare any harder, she’s going to spontaneously combust,” Soonyoung teased, sipping his drink with a knowing smirk.

Jeonghan blinked, startled. “What?”

Soonyoung rolled his eyes, nodding toward the dance floor. “Her. You’ve been staring at her like she’s a particularly tricky apex all night.”

Jeonghan followed his gaze.

There you were, dancing with a group of Ferrari engineers, the colored lights spilling across your frame, making your skin glow. You laughed at something one of them said, your head tilting back, your hair swaying with every movement. Jeonghan’s grip on his glass tightened.

“You’re hopeless,” Soonyoung said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Just go talk to her. Or better yet, dance with her. God knows you’ll make everyone else jealous.”

Jeonghan scoffed, setting his empty glass down on the bar with a sharp clink. “You’re imagining things.”

“Sure, and you just happened to spend the past ten minutes glaring at the poor guy she’s dancing with.”

Jeonghan shot him a warning glance, but Soonyoung only grinned wider.

“Look, you’ve already won at Spa,” he added, leaning closer. “Might as well take another victory tonight.”

Jeonghan shook his head, but the heat in his chest betrayed him. He cast one last glance at you before downing the rest of his drink and pushing off the bar.

The crowd was a blur of movement, bodies packed tightly together under the pulsing lights, but Jeonghan moved with purpose. He found you easily, your energy magnetic even in the chaos.

The beat shifted as he approached, slowing to something deeper, sultrier. He stepped in behind you, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from your skin.

“Enjoying yourself?” he murmured, his voice low and warm against your ear.

You turned slightly, glancing at him over your shoulder. Your lips curved into a teasing smile, your eyes dancing in the dim light. “Jeonghan. Didn’t think you were the clubbing type.”

He smirked, his hand brushing lightly against your waist. “I make exceptions for special occasions.”

You arched a brow, leaning back into him just enough to blur the line between teasing and inviting. “Special occasions, huh? Like winning at Spa?”

“Something like that,” he said, his voice a touch quieter now. His fingers rested lightly on your waist, the heat of his touch sending a shiver up your spine.

You turned to face him fully, your hands drifting up to rest on his shoulders, playful and almost casual. “So? What’s it like being untouchable?”

He chuckled softly, his gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips and back again. “You’d know,” he said smoothly, “if you were paying attention during my races instead of writing snarky articles.”

You laughed, a soft, melodious sound that made his chest tighten. “I did pay attention,” you countered, leaning in slightly, your lips barely a breath away from his ear. “You were alright, I guess.”

“Alright?” he repeated, feigning offense. “You called it a masterclass. Don’t think I didn’t read your article.”

Your grin widened, the fire in your eyes matching the teasing edge in your tone. “Oh, that? Don’t let it go to your head, Yoon. I still expect a proper interview.”

His hands shifted to your hips, grounding you against him as he swayed slightly to the beat, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. “Careful. Keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

“And if I did?” you teased back, your voice soft but no less challenging.

For a moment, the world around you fell away. The music, the lights, the press of the crowd—it all faded as the space between you closed. Jeonghan’s eyes lingered on your lips, his heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the adrenaline of racing.

Then, just as you tilted your head, leaning closer—

“JEONGHAN!”

The moment shattered.

Sunwoo’s voice boomed over the music as he appeared out of nowhere, the mechanic’s grin wide and oblivious. “Bro, come on! You can flirt later! Dance with me!”

Jeonghan groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder as your laughter spilled over him like warm sunlight.

“This isn’t over,” he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear.

You pulled back, still laughing, and met his gaze with a wink. “I’ll hold you to that.”

FORMULA 1 HEINEKEN DUTCH GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Zandvoort

The paddock at Zandvoort was always one of Jeonghan’s favorites. The smell of fresh sea air mixed with the unmistakable tang of fuel and rubber, while the orange-clad crowd painted the stands in a fiery glow. Jeonghan didn’t even mind the noise—something about the Netherlands had a way of energizing him.

He was walking back from the driver’s parade when he spotted you outside the Ferrari hospitality tent, a coffee in hand, your eyes scanning the throng of people with practiced ease. The crisp breeze tugged at your hair, and Jeonghan slowed his pace, his lips curling into a familiar smirk.

You glanced up just in time to catch him staring. “Don’t you have a race to focus on?”

“Don’t you have an article to write?” he shot back, his voice smooth as ever.

“I’m multitasking,” you replied, raising your coffee in a mock toast.

Jeonghan stepped closer, close enough that the conversation felt private despite the bustling paddock around you. “Let me guess,” he said, crossing his arms, “today’s headline is, ‘Ferrari Driver Jeonghan Looks Extra Handsome Under Dutch Sunlight.’”

You snorted, barely suppressing a laugh. “Oh, please. I was thinking more along the lines of, ‘Can Ferrari’s Yoon Jeonghan Deliver After Spa Masterclass?’”

“Flattering,” he mused, tilting his head. “I thought you’d save the sarcasm for the post-race write-up.”

“I aim to keep you humble,” you said with a shrug, though the playful glint in your eyes gave you away.

Jeonghan leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to send a thrill down your spine. “Careful. You’re starting to sound like a fan.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could get a word in—

“Jeonghan!”

A voice cut through the tension like a knife. You both turned to see Soonyoung jogging up, waving enthusiastically. “There you are! We’re late for the strategy briefing!”

Jeonghan sighed, the corners of his mouth twitching as he glanced back at you. “Guess we’ll have to finish this later.”

You grinned, your eyes dancing with amusement. “Don’t let me keep you from your briefing, Ferrari’s golden boy.”

Jeonghan’s smirk deepened. “I’ll see you after I win.”

He walked off, Soonyoung talking his ear off as you watched him go, the heat in your chest lingering far longer than it should have.

The race came and went, and though Jeonghan didn’t win—Mingyu’s dominance at Zandvoort was almost an inevitability—he still managed to bring home a solid podium finish.

Later, back at the hospitality suite, you found yourself standing near the balcony, staring out at the ocean waves in the distance.

“Not bad for a day’s work,” came a familiar voice behind you.

You turned to find Jeonghan leaning casually against the doorway, his hair still damp from the post-race shower. He’d swapped his racing suit for a simple white shirt and jeans, but somehow, he still looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine.

“Not bad,” you admitted. “Though I was expecting a win. Should I change the headline to ‘Close, but Not Quite’?”

Jeonghan’s laugh was low and smooth as he closed the distance between you. “I think you’re just trying to rile me up.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Is it working?”

He stepped closer, close enough that you could see the faint freckle on his cheekbone, the way his lashes caught the light. “You tell me.”

The air between you crackled, your banter giving way to something heavier, something unspoken. For a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

“Jeonghan!”

The door slammed open, and Mingyu’s booming voice shattered the moment.

Both of you jumped, turning to see the taller driver grinning sheepishly. “Uh, sorry. Team dinner’s starting soon, and they’re waiting for you.”

Jeonghan’s jaw tightened, but he plastered on an easy smile. “Of course they are.”

Mingyu left as quickly as he’d come, leaving you and Jeonghan alone again.

“Do people just have radar for this?” Jeonghan muttered, raking a hand through his hair.

You laughed, the tension easing slightly. “Maybe it’s the universe telling you to focus on racing.”

He stepped closer again, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Or maybe it’s telling me I’ll just have to try harder.”

Your pulse quickened, but before you could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway.

Jeonghan sighed dramatically, stepping back with a rueful smile. “Guess I’ll have to settle for third interruptions.”

You smirked, folding your arms. “You’re consistent, at least.”

“Don’t forget it,” he said with a wink, his voice smooth as ever as he walked away.

And just like that, you were left alone, the waves crashing in the distance as you wondered how long this game of cat and mouse could last.

another lil a/n: full throttle is probably one of my favorite things i've EVER written and i am so proud of myself for getting this out of my head and onto the page.

[marymary-diva17]

Kindhearted princess

fire nation royal family x reader

The fire nation love their royal family as they had ruled the nations with pride and strength, making the fire nation proud and strong over the many years. From fire lord azulon to his sons and his grandchildren, everyone in the royal family had the respect of the nation. There had been someone in the royal family that seem to burn by her own candle flame, the youngest grandchild of fire lord and youngest daughter or ozai and ursa. The princess that seem to be called by her people and other the kindhearted princess.

y/n " ......" you are walking down the hallway of the palace heading towards, someone chambers. You had walked passed some servants and guards who are carrying some stuff, and stop and bow when they see you. You had give them a smile as you kept on walking until you reached the chambers of your older brother zuko.

????? " y/n"

y/n " zuko I came to see you ... you are really leaving I can go speak with father and he ..."

zuko " no I wish for you not to be brought into my issues anymore"

y/n " Zuzu you are my brother I will do anything for our family"

zuko " it will be okay if I return with the avatar everything will be fine"

y/n " ......."

zuko " it all will be okay if have all my stuff and anything else I will needed packed, come on we can go to dock together"

y/n " okay" you and zuko had walked towards the dock together making some small talk.

zuko " I will miss you"

y/n " I will miss you as well big brother"

iroh " wait up you two"

y/n " uncle"

zuko " uncle what going on here"

iroh " well I'm coming with you zuko as you will need all the help out there, and guidance as well and don't worry I spoke with my brother about this already"

y/n " uncle are you really going"

iroh " yes my niece but don't worry we will all stay safe"

y/n " good and I will pray for the safe return of you two and the whole crew, and hope you both come back with good stories to tell"

iroh " we will and I think the crew will be high hopes hearing, you wish us luck on our trip away from home"

y/n " thank you"

zuko " stay strong my sister and don't only our sister and anyones else, to break you spirt"

y/n " yes Zuzu"

iroh " yes remember my lessons with you and the advice I have given you, I will be hoping you will be doing well here as well when we are gone"

y/n " thank you uncle and brother I will make sure to make you both, proud and I will make sure I do well when I'm here" you had hugged your brother and uncle, right before they left the nation on their journey to find the avatar. It will be a very long time until you saw your brother and uncle once again.

many years later

y/n " ......" you are feeding the turtle ducks you had gotten sick of being stuck inside all day, the ducks seem to be having a good time with you until someone came behind you soon scaring the ducks away.

y/n " azula" you soon got up and hugged her you are the only few people that she only to hug her.

azula " hello little sister now may you tell me why you are feeding these annoying creatures"

y/n " they are not annoying azula I think they are cute and I love feeding them"

azula "sure"

azula " so how was the meeting with father what did he tell you"

azula " that choi failed him and now it my time to take matters into my own hand"

y/n " I didn't like the idea of the raid on North Pole"

azula " i don't get you my sister you are from one the most important and powerful family here, and you decide to be always peaceful even towards our enemies"

y/n " azula they are just like us and I don't like the who idea of using my title and bending to get people to do anything"

azula " so I will have to worry about you as well"

y/n " azula"

azula " i will be leaving to go look for the avatar and Zuzu along with uncle"

y/n " azula please don't hurt them they are still family"

azula " don't worry"

y/n " I have many reasons to worry azula I know you"

azula " i will be good for now but I still going after the avatar anyways I will tell Zuzu and uncle you say hello"

y/n " I wish I could come but father will not let me"

azula " we all know why you are not ready and you will be good here, father will make sure you stay safe and that means staying here ... but hey I will bring you back any gift I get on my travels"

y/n " yes sister please be safe out there and with anyone else who joins you"

azula " i will be good but I will come home vicarious"

y/n " yes sister" azula and you had spent some time together as she was planning her trip to leave, the next day she had left home to go after the avatar and the rest of the family.

ozai " my daughter I have called you here so we can speak"

y/n " yes father"

ozai " now that your brother and sister are gone, thing around here will be changing"

y/n " I understand father"

ozai " good as your duty if being princess of the fire nation, you have a image to uphold and duties as well ... I know you will do them well being their for the family and nation, but you need to know that your ability of kindness could be seen a weakness you can't always let your kindness rule over you when you are in changer of stuff my daughter"

y/n " I know father but this how I'm"

ozai " I know I know my child but I need you to know, that you can't always be kind when it come to our people or anyone else"

y/n " yes father but I will always make sure our family and people are good, even if they are fire nation or not"

ozai " that what I love to hear my daughter now you are free to go, as I have a meeting with the generals and sages"

y/n " yes father take care"

ozai " you as well my daughter" you soon bowed to your father as you soon left the throne room, as the meeting was getting ready to start. You are walking down the hall way of the palace looking at the portraits, of the royal family member past and present. You had thought about everyone words, and you were going to stick to being yourself as that is something you love dearly no matter what everyone else had to say about it.

[moviestarmartini]

alta suciedad. — franco colapinto x f!reader

summary: while interviewing franco, you misunderstood what he meant with 'talented with his tongue'. lucky for you, he's more than willing to actually show you his skills.

wc: 2.9k

warnings: interviewer!reader, hispanic!reader, porn with an ounce of plot, set during media day of the austin gp, casual sex, oral sex (fem recieving), p in v, unprotected sex, pull out and pray, mean dom!franco, dumbification, degradation, a teeny amount of praise, aftercare, spanglish/sentences in spanish.

A/N: based on this request and took some inspo from this other anon, i'm literally giggling typing this in order to publish it. no specific song for today even though there's a few references even in the title. hope y'all are hungry!!

“I’m talented with my tongue.” 

You didn’t have that much experience when it came to interviewing professionally— you’d been a kid reporter at the same sport you strived to get there, and in the course of getting there, you’ve seen a thousand and one million things that impressed you. 

But this? 

Your mouth hung open, giving him a few rapid blinks while your brain processed the information. 

“You wanna see?” Franco Colapinto insisted, not reading your expression well enough, or ignoring it at the very least. 

“¿Aquí?” You blinked, unable to process the event in the main language of the paddock. You were one of the youngest reporters there, but that didn’t mean you were inexperienced. That had just completely caught you off guard. 

Franco cocked a brow before showing you and the camera how he could manipulate said organ so the sides touched and a tiny hole formed in the middle. 

Yet again he surprised you, or more you surprised yourself with how further down the gutter your mind was at. 

“Oh, good!” You snapped out of it, but he had seemingly finally connected the dots, or so the smirk in his face made it seem like it. 

“Well, thank you for having us, Franco. Good luck during the weekend.” Your  composure was back not even two seconds later, the cameraman soon signaled the transmission was off. A relieved sigh left your lips while your shoulders relaxed, giving your coworker the mic and transmitter to take to the media tent just a few steps away. 

You were just turning back to head there as well, ready to get immersed in writing a report before your name was called. Your heels turned you around by force of habit, not realizing the tone in the driver’s voice might mean trouble. 

“Yes?” You asked politely, hands clasped in front of you to avoid any chance of fidgeting. Your little crush was idiotic, or so you considered it from the day you first interviewed him. 

“¿Qué vas a hacer hoy?” He took a step closer in order to ask the question, hands stuffed in the front pockets of his jeans. 

“¿Perdón?” You realized that sounded rude, your voice repeating a better answer soon after. “Seguir trabajando, why?” A frown settled between your brows, head leaning slightly to the right. Where was this going exactly? The confusion only settled further when you noticed his eyes darting around before leaning in. 

“Si querés que de verdad te enseñe que puedo hacer con mi lengua, entra al motorhome después de las siete, te dejo la puerta de atrás abierta. Mi cuarto está a la izquierda.” And with that, he pulled away, turned around and left. 

You did the same, convinced the idea was just a figment of your imagination, the drought you’ve been suffering for more than a year to get there tricking every nerve in your brain to believe those words. It was settling into the late afternoon, and you worked at a pace Sonic would envy. His words bounced around your gray matter, and after much debating you stayed after the six pm mark, when everyone else left. You peered your head out of your station noticing how the place was almost empty. It was Thursday after all, the whole crews were not active until the following day. 

The curiosity got the best of you, and you packed your bag to head there, skittish at the sight of anyone who crossed your way— or at least the few that did. 

No one was used to walking behind the team buildings, never mind during what’s considered after hours. Your breath got stuck in your throat when you noticed the door ajar, and no one came in nor out to justify the fact. 

“Thought you wouldn’t come.” Franco’s voice snapped you out of the hesitation, arms crossed over his chest. 

“I thought I was supposed to come in by myself.” You got the bravery to counter with the way your heart sped up with adrenaline coursing through your veins. 

“You’re late.” Franco’s response was quick, witty. His tone made you raise your brow; it was… different. Commanding, you could pinpoint. 

“I shouldn’t come out and get you, vení.” Before you could even process it, he took your arm and dragged you inside, going straight down the hallway and taking a left before the door closed shut— no witnesses visible to what he had just done. 

“You can sit wherever you like.” He invited, his voice was back to its playful tone. You nodded, putting your bag down by the door and sitting on the small couch near a corner. 

“Sos muy bonita, ¿sabías?” He complimented while finishing to fix up his room, side eyeing you. 

“Why am I here? What do you want?” You asked bluntly, not accepting the compliment. 

“Look, if you wanted me to write positively about you on the piece, you already got it.” You carefully watched him take a seat next to you, and you both turned to face each other.

“Tonta también, ¿no?” It was as if you were ignoring each other’s words, and before you could get offended, his fingertips brushed your hair out of the way of your face. Any smart quip you could’ve thrown at him flew out the window, your lips parting. 

“That’s just how you looked at me earlier. When you thought I was referring to something dirty. Tontita.” He inched closer. You couldn’t help but do the same, a bit eagerly, eliciting a laugh out of his lips. 

“Do you like me?” It was his turn to be blunt. Without hesitation you nodded, squeezing your lips into a thin line after realizing that might’ve been a mistake. An embarrassing one at that. 

“No pasa nada. Vos también me gustás preciosa…” His voice trailed with his head leaning closer, lips brushing against the prickled skin of your neck. “…inteligente…” A kiss pressed to the area. “…y al parecer, puta.” 

The gasp disappeared between the blurred lines of your lips and his crashing, the term disappearing in your mind while you kissed him. Your hands gripped the material of his team shirt while his own lowered down your back, pulling you closer, almost on top of his lap. 

“¿Hacés esto mucho? Sneak into other drivers’ rooms?” He asked while leaning back down to kiss your neck with a twinge of more harshness, ragged breath leaving your lips while you shook your head ‘no’ 

“¿Sos muda? Habla.” There was that commanding tone again, his fingers delving into the skin of your thighs to squeeze what he wanted out of you. 

“No. Nunca.” You replied with a gulp, leaning your head back to recieve more kisses as a reward for your answer. 

“So I’m the lucky winner?” It sounded something between a compliment and a joke, and you decided to humor him a little with a smile. 

“One could say so.” You replied, thinking you’ve gotten the gist of it. 

“I’m surprised. With that skirt…” He shook his head after tutting, making you figure out the context of his words. You were into it enough to not get offended by the allegation, normally would have defended yourself with the fact it was terribly hot outside. You didn’t like dressing similar to the rest of the reporters in the paddock, and maybe this once it played both in your favor and against it… sort of. 

His lips captured yours again, his tongue swiping your bottom lip. You weren’t dumb— even if he liked to say so— parting your lips without complaint, feeling the way your tongues tangled together while he pushed you down until your back hit the fabric of the furniture. 

The open mouth kisses started redirecting their path down your jaw, following a trail down the length of your neck. He took the opportunity to breathe your scent. 

“Olés tan rico,” He groaned, the growing erection in his jeans pressing against your upper thigh. 

“I can already imagine how that pretty pussy tastes. Can’t wait to make you cum just using my tongue.”  The idea made you shudder, his hands raising your top to move it out of the way while he kept kissing back. You took the initiative to just pull it over your head and throw it somewhere else. 

“You’re so good, stripping for me without having to ask.” Franco cooed, his pace slowing down when his mouth reached down your belly button, making him look at him expectantly. 

What you didn’t expect was for him to just tug on your denim skirt up to completely move it out of the way without removing the piece, his knuckles brushing the spot marked with your aroused slickness, your hips involuntarily twitching to lean closer into his touch. 

“Si solo te he besado y ya estás re mojadita,” Another coo left his mouth, this one with a certain amount of jest in it. You felt deeply embarrassed in a way your face displayed it, only making his smile grow in size. 

Franco almost ripped off the underwear and chucked it somewhere in the room. No moment to adapt was left at your disposition, his tongue pressing flat against your wet core. The noise of a moan coming from you clashed with the hum of satisfaction he felt from the sheer taste of you. 

“So sweet,” Franco praised, and those were the last words to come out of his mouth before he started to back up his words from earlier. 

The whole situation felt like a dream. Not only the fact he made an advance upon noticing how far down the gutter your mind was, but the fact you even came there in the first place. Not that you regretted it, with how he flicked that sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue.  

You didn’t believe his promise earlier— thinking it was just silly dirty talking— but he was proving you wrong. Your moans were the perfect evidence, fingers tangling in his curls while his left hand rose up to grope your exposed breast. 

The shuffling noise outside the room made him perk up and away from your dripping cunt, chin glistening with your wetness. He pulled his index fingers to his lips to signal you to be quiet before continuing, but his attempt fell futile. You were reaching your release quick, his magic working a little too well. There was no warning; his other hand left the grip on your thigh to cover your mouth, holding it down a bit too roughly to send a message. 

Your muffled moans and cries only set him off, teasing your entrance before licking the trail up to your clitoris, suckling on it. He fluttered his eyes open, and the sight was nothing but completely arousing. Your eyes were rolled back, column arching up while his expert affections tipped you over the edge. Your thighs simultaneously shivered and lightly squeezed his head, and it was enough for Franco to decide he was in heaven. 

Once the overwhelming sensation started to wear off, your legs relaxed, allowing him to pull away. With a clearer mind you noticed how his chin and lips glistened before removing the substance with the back of his hand, as if it was just sauce from an actual meal. 

“¿Por qué me mirás así?” Franco wondered at your blissful expression. “¿Ya te enamoraste, putita?” There was no verbal answer; he was eager to link his lips with yours again in yet another sloppy makeout session. This once, however, you couldn’t pretend you didn’t feel his erection pressing against your inner thigh. 

Taking initiative, your hand lowered down his torso to fumble the button of his pants a little before being able to undo it. A groan followed by teeth tugging at your bottom lip was the reaction you gained from jerking him off slowly under his underwear. That gave you enough confidence to swipe your thumb across the leaking tip in order to tease him. 

The sound of a moan from him echoed inside your mouth, a hum from satisfaction leaving consequently. However, your moment of dominance soon faded with his hand slapping yours away before spreading your legs even further— to the point it pulled on the muscles of your inner thigh just a little, the burning sensation mushing with pleasure— the skirt hiking up to rest on your torso. 

“Do you want me to fuck you?” He leaned in to whisper, feeling him nudge your entrance in order to tease you. The sensation that followed was something similar to your brain shutting down, managing to only nod. The smell of his cologne, his body pressing down on you. 

Franco, Franco, Franco, Fran— 

“¿Qué pasa tontita? Say it.” He egged you on, threatening to push himself inside, but not making it far enough to bring you satisfaction. 

“Yes, por favor.” You begged, getting a chaste kiss for a reward followed by the intrusion spreading your warm walls. You saw the way Franco tried to keep it together, the façade crumbling under a groan. You felt too good. His mind could only pinpoint your body under his, the warmth hugging his stiff dick and electrifying every nerve of his being. 

His mind couldn’t stop chanting your name. 

“Move,” You asked nicely, though it came out in a huff. He found himself too enthralled to complain at your tone, instead complying. 

The lower tone of his moans harmonized with the high pitched of yours, the sound of skin frantically coming in contact filling up the room enough for both of you two to forget what could possibly be going on outside. At least it had been a while since you last heard people outside doing whatever. 

“Dios, que apretadita estás,” Franco groaned out loud, his lips brushing against yours. You took the leap, closing the distance between the two of you. But you couldn’t get much out of it due to your own fault, moans interrupting the session. 

“No, besáme.” You whined when he pulled away slightly, and a smirk rose at his lips before he locked them with yours, pace increasing. You struggled to engage further, the moans and groans interrupting. 

“No, besáme.” Franco replicated your plea from earlier before laughing between heavy breaths. 

You couldn’t do anything but pucker your bottom lip out, not finding the words to complain about how mean he was being. Besides, all coherent thoughts disappeared the moment you felt your second orgasm peeking from behind you at a rapid rate. Your nails dug into the uncovered skin of his forearms, just below where the team shirt started covering his biceps. 

“¿Por qué me apretás tanto?” He hissed before falling upon the realization, deciding to keep having his fun with you and slowing down. 

“Fuck— ¡¿qué te pasa?!” You groaned, feeling the release reeling down into a sensation of being completely stuck midway. 

“Dale, decime lo que quieres. De forma bonita, como vos.” He kept his thrusts slow and deep, trying to contain his own release from the pulsating walls squeezing the life out of his cock. 

“I wanna cum,” You felt the embarrassment of having to request that out loud settle in your stomach, soon washed over by the sensation the quickening of his hips gave your core. 

“Si, si. Franco, that’s it,” You cried out, hiding your face in the crook of his neck while your thighs shivered once more. 

Your cunt was so warm and tight he almost didn’t pull out. Almost. After a groan left the back of his throat, droplets of white painted your lower abdomen, thankfully not staining your skirt. 

He kept himself supported by his forearms, allowing him to lean in and kiss your forehead and cheeks. 

There wasn’t much to be said, you knew that, and so did he. Carefully, he fixed his underwear and pants before getting up, muttering something under his breath in his attempt to find the wet wipes he knew he had… somewhere in the organized clutter of his room. 

“Dejá que te limpio,” His voice was tender, the wet tissue dragging across your skin to remove the seminal liquid, before another carefully cleaned the sweat off your forehead and neck. 

You thanked him with a nod, unable to hold eye contact for long. Once you felt comfortable you sat up, fixing your clothes and hair before getting up on your legs, still a bit wobbly. You took it upon yourself to clean the damp spot on the couch where you laid, still embarrassed by the whole ordeal. 

Quickly, you slipped your underwear on, unaware of the pair of eyes following your every move with a cold calculation. 

“¿Qué vas a hacer hoy?” The question he asked to what seemed to be ages ago popped up again, making you turn, just as confused as you were earlier. 

“Dormir… cenar. Ya veremos, dijo el ciego.” At your cheeky response his laughter echoed through the room, arms folded over his torso. 

“¿Habrá un espacio para mí en esa cena o nos vemos mañana a la misma hora?” He took a step closer. Then another. And another. Until he stood in front of you, leaning down enough to whisper in your ear. 

“No importa si no me querés ver hoy en la noche todo caballeroso, mañana procura llegar a tiempo y controlar esa boquita.” Yet again, his voice electrified goosebumps all over your skin. 

What did you just get yourself into?

[roriaa]

When Sun and Moon meet - S1

Zuko x Fem!WaterBender!Reader Enemies to Lovers

As one of the Princesses of the Northern Water tribe, you were blessed with a gift by the moon. However you were permitted to be allowed to use the gift at all costs. From many hidden waterbending usages, the aftermath of the avatar visiting the Northern Tribe had led to your beginning journey, hiding yourself as a water bender as a princess from the Northern water tribe

Warnings: mentions of arranged marriage

Masterlist

҉ * ‧͙ ⋆ ⁺ ༓ ☾ Chapter 1 - Welcome Avatar

“The avatar is here” The guard spoke up as my eyes widened in shock. “The…avatar…?” The guard nodded at my question. I genuinely thought the avatar had died a while ago but I guess they were just rumors? “Chief Arnook wants both of the princesses and prince to attend the gathering for the avatar” I nodded as I went to get up to follow the guards. It's been a year since Sivoy, our youngest brother, was born. Not a lot has changed over the years, except knowing probably this year is going to change us the most. Yue is getting engaged to someone who she has been crying about. I will never forget when she broke down in front of me in my room. I held her, that's all. I couldn't do anything, I couldn't whisper any reassuring words to her or tell her it's going to be okay. The truth is, I was consumed by my own fears of my own arranged marriage next year. It's selfish yes, especially it isn't my situation currently but it will be sooner or later.

We both make it towards the feast, also having Yue’s special announcement of her being able to get married. What everyone else doesn't know is that she is already engaged. I follow her lead, sitting next to her at the edge of the table looking at the variety of foods, which is all seafood. I take a quick peek of our surroundings and see our sister tribe. A sister and a brother which I assume, including a young boy with a blue shaped arrow across his head. “The Avatar is quite young” I whisper to Yue as she nods. I continue watching the show Master Pakku has been presenting to us. It was intriguing, for sure but what was more enjoyable was a southern water tribe member poorly flirting with my sister. Getting called out by his own sister already. I stifled a laugh and just when I knew it, the whole thing has already ended. ҉ ☾

It was quite late at night, the moon spirit was shining brightly. I bowed slightly towards the moon and put my mask on. The mask was carved like a full mood with room for eyes, including feathers surrounding the mask. I pull up my hood from my jacket and go outside, quite far away from the other male waterbenders who were practicing. I mimic the movements that were taught to them. Yes, this is how I'm able to learn and use waterbending. I never know when to give up, I have been told many times by a variety of people. My dad specifically. “Hey! Young one!” I snap my head towards the sound of guards and before they could even ask a question, I disappear. “Where did he go?” one of the guards asked, clearing the mist lingering in the air from my leave. Home. I went home heavily breathing from almost getting caught. I'll just try again tomorrow.

“It wasn't as fun after you left…” I wanted to drown. Oh how much I just wanted to flip this boat upside down to stop Yue and this Southern Water boy from flirting, and I could have flipped this boat around if there were no restrictions. The next thing I know that stopped me from day dreaming was the southern water boy falling off the ledge. I laughed softly, asking Yue “Do you even know his name?” while she was waving off to her new crush. “Sokka” She responded dreamily with a hint of red on her cheeks. My eyes widened with sudden worry “Yue…” The way I spoke was intended to remind her that she was an engaged lady. I doubt father would allow her to marry someone else, especially if he is constantly traveling. “I know” Yue cut me off with a disappointing tone I felt nothing but sorrow in the moment, what's worse I couldn't do anything to save her. I stayed silent, leaning slightly back hearing the water move around us.

I was able to stop by Yagoda’s place, there was no reason to but she taught me when I was very young, it was a way to make use of my water bending by my father. She only taught how to heal however but what more can you do in this kind of situation. It's only fair I show respect for her by bringing her food, supplies, trinkets or even my presence. Before I stepped foot I overheard her talking to…someone? I take a little peek, leaning my body so only my eyes would be visible towards the door. It was the southern water tribe girl! What is she doing here…? Looking further towards the door only to realize she’s a waterbender…She's a water bender! I could use her to somehow convince Master Pakku and my father. Yes, it sounds horrible. Using an important guest to my own advantage but it's beneficial for everyone, even her so it's not entirely selfish. I wasn't able to convince Master Pakku. Instead he told my father my plan which led me to get in more trouble than I already was. I'm just a princess, and that's all I will ever be. My head snapped up as I heard the Southern Water Tribe girl coming closer. I took the chance to grab her wrist and pull her to the side. “Hey! Who-” “It's me!” I said pointing to my very obvious white hair. “Oh you're the younger princess! What happened?” “You can waterbend? Correct?” I asked already knowing the answer “Yes…why?” “Because I feel like you can convince Master Pakku to allow us girls to waterbend” I whisper “A lot of girls have water bending abilities however they’re forced to keep it in because of the strict rules but!” I pointed at her “Your the southern side of the water tribe, maybe somehow show him your abilities and possibly convince him to allow girls to water bend” She looked at me confused. “How am I able to do that when I can't even learn whatever he is teaching?” I thought about it for a second until an idea popped into my head “Get it from your avatar friend! He is getting taught, right?” Her eyes widened as she nodded “You're right! Then I'll get it from him. Thank you…uh- princess…” I giggled “Y/N, just call me Y/N” “Katara” “Thank you Katara” I smiled as she walked away.

And this was the last thing I wanted. Seeing Katara and Master Pakku fight with waterbending. “This is all my fault” I muttered under my breath. “Your fault?” Yue attempted to confirm my statement. “What?” I look at her confused. Did I really say that out loud? “You said something” “I'm sure I did not” “But I hear-”

A big wave of water hit the ice, hearing the splash turned me away from the conversation. Both Yue and I were wincing from the sound of the impact. Last thing I see is Katara with a bunch of icicles surrounding her. She…lost…

I sigh sadly as I go to grab Katara's betrothal necklace that laid on the icy floor. But before I was able to, “This is my necklace…” Master Pakku grabs it gently. I immediately walked back. Ah…so the southern tribe existed because Katara’s family members did not want to stay in an area with unnecessary rules. It was quick to piece together. I heard Yue’s breathing become unstable, so I turned to look at her but she didn't look back. She was slightly shaking and tears were brimming her blue eyes. “Yue…” I spoke softly and sadly, reaching for her shoulders but she ran, covering her eyes with her hands to prevent more tears from falling. “Yue!” I yelled, already planning to chase her only for the southern water tribe boy to pull me back. “I’ll get her” He gave a reassuring smile then ran towards Yue. Both of them slowly disappearing. I wonder if he knows why Yue was crying. I furrowed my eyebrows in pity and turned on my heel to go back. “Y/N!” Katara yelled out for me, I turned towards her direction. “Thank you” she said out of breath. “I didn't really do anything” “You helped me gain confidence” She smiled “Well…your welcome and thank you for…all of that” I patted her on the head and she laughed. “You're an amazing water bender” I said and turned to go home. I sigh sadly wondering if Yue is alright.

<- Back - Next ->

a/n: I finished this quite quickly! ALSO THERE IS STILL NO ZUKO IM SORRYYY! I PROMISE ZUKO WILL BE THERE IN CHAPTER 2. The masterlist should be out by the time this chapter is out. This whole fic is COMPLETELY last minute like I started writing all of this today. BUT WOO impulsive decisions led me to post this. Also surprisingly, S1 of this series is literally almost ending LMAO. I think S1 is only like 4-5 chapters? I only finished Chapter 3 currently so im not sure. However I think S2 and S3 will be PACKED and im planning to add some extras in there too :D ALSO If you want to be in the taglist pls go ahead and comment or ask me :) Have a nice day!

-- Taglist: @luvkvni @katovano

[frost-queen]

Omashu's beholder (Reader x Prince Zuko)

Requested by: anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic  , @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22 , @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers  , @merlieve   , @queen-of-books  , @glimmering-darling-dolly  ,@denkisclown   , @wildieflower  ,@meyocoko   , @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr  , @swampthing07  , @melsunshine   , @panhoeofmanyfandoms  , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat ,@rosecentury  ,  @imagines-by-her  ,  @evilcr0ne  , @vviolynn   , @niktwazny303  ,@avada-kedavra-bitch-187  , @markive-m , @sweetheartlizzie07

“You are not coming along.” – Zuko made clear. – “Why not?” – you answered, setting your hands on your hips. Zuko groaned loud as you once again went against him. As if his rule meant nothing to you. – “Because I say so.” – he replied a bit annoyed. – “So you expect me to sit and wait while you get to explore Omashu?” – you spoke back, glancing at Iroh that is was ridiculous. – “Yes!” – Zuko called out making you roll your eyes.

“I’ve seen nothing but these damn walls and darned sea for more than a month Zuko!” – you let out, pleading with him to bring you along. – “I want to see cities again Zuko… cities…” – you begged wanting to get off the ship. – “This isn’t some sightseeing trip. I’m only here for the Avatar.” – he responded slowly losing his patience.

“And?” – you let out making Zuko inhale deep. Turning away, to hold his fingers under his nose to compose himself. – “Nephew.” – Iroh pleaded giving him a nudge. – “She’s not coming along.” – he said to his uncle.

Iroh tilted his head your way for his nephew to approach you a different way. Zuko exhaled loud, rubbing his forehead. – “I’ll… I’ll bring you a souvenir… if I have the time.” – he told you. You puffed loud in surprise at his ridiculous request. Iroh shook his head. – “We’re leaving.” – he shouted to his men. He made eye contact with his first in command. Having a fierce gaze. He pointed his fingers at his eyes, than at you. A warning for him to keep watch on you. The first in command bowed his head in response.

Zuko moved a bit closer to you, holding you by your elbow. – “Stay here… I’ll be back soon enough.” – he said in a husky voice. You ignored him, having turned your posture away from him. Zuko let his grip falter on you, leaving with his uncle. You walked up to the side, grabbing onto the railing as you watched them get lowered in a smaller boat. Watching them descend into waters to reach the mainland.

Sighing loud, you leaned your hand under your chin. Once more left out. It was always ‘stay here’, ‘it is too dangerous’ or ‘it’s business’. You disliked being excluded from it all. What good were you with being his betrothed if you were never allowed to come. Never allowed to prove your worth. Simply sit and roll over as your dearest betrothed commanded. Deep down you hoped Zuko harboured some feelings towards you.

Any were enough to not feel alone in this. Otherwise it was nothing but a political match. Glancing over your shoulder, you noticed the first in command observing you keenly. His gaze piercing through you. Making sure you wouldn’t run. Since you had a habit of going against your prince’s words. Something he surely was the cause of. If only he involved you more. There was absolutely no way you were going to sit back and wait.

Stepping a bit to the side, you noticed the fist in command take a step in the same direction as you. Moving back, he did the same. Sighing loud with roll of your eyes, you knew you’d never get rid of him. You thought for a moment, staring down into the waters. Seeing your own rippled reflection. An idea crossed your mind as you turned round. Locking eyes with the first in command. You started moving as he walked up to you. You moved towards the cockpit where the quarters were downstairs. He came behind you.

“I’m feeling a bit exhausted. I’m going rest a bit…” – you spoke quickly widening your eyes. – “Since I have nothing else to do but wait.” – you added not wanting to rise any suspicion. He’d knew your character a bit. With him on your tail, you went down to your quarters. Opening the door to enter. You looked surprised at him when he entered your quarters as well. – “I beg your pardon?” – you said. – “Orders from my prince, my lady.” – he outed very loyal. It made you quirk your eyebrow. – “Did your prince tell you to enter my quarter and watch me sleep?” – you asked.

“No my lady.” – he answered honourable, keeping his gaze up. – “Then give me my privacy!” – you called out, showing him the door. – “I have orders my lady…” – he pleaded as you had no ears for it. – “Privacy!” – you shouted giving him a shove towards the door. – “You can do your duties at my door.” – you suggested forcing him out. The first in command stumbled out of your room. – “My…” – he started, greeted by a shut door in his face. He took a soft breath, turning around to stand in front of your door.

Arms crossed to make sure no one would enter or leave without him knowing. Exhaling loud with your hands on your hips, you looked around the room. Opening your closet, you searched for a disguise. Then you climbed on your bed to the small window, just big enough for you to fit through if you squeezed. Setting your hands, you jumped on your bed to hoist yourself up. Stiffening your lips to keep a scream out, you nearly tilted over, head down into the water. Holding yourself, you squeezed and squirmed yourself through the window. Knowing you had to dive head first out anyways.

After a lot of wringing and squirming your body plopped out of the window, diving into the water. There was a big splash as you hoped no one had heard it. Slowly rising from the water, you gasped loud. Before any of the soldiers could come and see what it was, you took a deep breath. Lowering yourself to swim underwater and out of sight.

Only once you were at a clear distance from the ship, you emerged above water. Swimming the last to shore. Drenched and out of breath, you got on land. Letting yourself fall on your back to catch your breath. Limbs spread out to let the sun warm your clothing. After a good few minutes, you got up. Hiking up to Omashu. Having no idea what you’d find there. One thing was sure. You needed to avoid Zuko at any cost.

After a while of hiking, you found a trail of people making way for the city. You followed them, trying to fit in as your clothes were still wet. Some people turned their heads confused or with prejudice towards you when you caught up with them. The trail of people seemed to be endless as the great city of Omashu rose up against the sky. An immense city taking your breath away.

Quickening up your pace, you wanted to reach the city doors sooner. You staid close to some of the people in front of you. Keeping your head low as you pretended to belong with them. Entering the city unnoticed. The city was buzzing as it made you feel alive once more. The energy of the city shooting through you like spark.

With dazzling eyes and wonder you ran from cart to cart. Seeing their wares. If you could you would’ve bought so much. Standing by a cart with a melon in your hand, your eyes widened. Through the cart, you saw some familiar faces. The flying monkey being so obvious. Adjusting the hood better over your head, you turned around not wanting the Avatar to see you.

Placing the melon back, you lowered yourself a little to sneak away. Peeking to them once more, your eyes locked with an unfamiliar boy. He did seem to tag along with them. His gaze narrowed on you as you quickly looked away. Hurrying away. Moving through the streets, avoiding to bump into others, you gasped loud. Turning around immediately at the sight of Iroh.

You knew Zuko would be nearby. With your head low and hood pulled the farthest down, you walked back. Without seeing much of where you were walking, you bumped hard against someone. – “Apologies.” – you mumbled out without a glance, simply moving your hand up for them to not draw any attention to your face. The person you had bumped into yelled.

“Watch it!” – you immediately recognized the voice. Zuko’s voice. Trying to steady your alarming beating heart, you hurried away, leaving him clueless of who he had bumped into. Zuko furrowed his brows watching the cloaked figure disappear into the crowd. Slowly tilting his head as their step seemed familiar. Anxiously, you weren’t enjoying the city anymore.

Every turn it felt like you’d bump into the Avatar or Zuko. Sure to be exposed. Panting loud, you needed to escape the city as you wanted no more. You wanted to leave. To return to the ship save and sound. Constantly looking over your shoulder to make sure you weren’t followed. Rounding a corner, you bumped into something sturdy. A pair of hands clasping tight around your arms. – “Well, well.” – the person spoke as you gasped loud.

Your hood got pulled back by him so that he could see your face. Slightly panicking, you tried to break free. – “What’s got you on edge?” – he questioned as you noticed more people came crowding around you. – “Let me go!” – you insisted. He smiled with that stupid twig between his teeth. – “Now why would I do that?” – he replied teasingly. With a snap of his finger, his friends approached. You tried to scream for help, but got muzzled.

A rope went swiftly around your hands before you could do anything. – “Don’t be so difficult.” – the boy said removing the twig from between his teeth watching you struggle. – “I just want to have a little chat with you.” – he grabbed your chin, holding your face up to him. – “Take her away.” – he ordered as they pushed you forwards.

“Let me go!” – you called out, struggling against the ropes. No one seemed to assist or even make an effort to help out. Turning your head, you looked around for anyone that would help. By a cart he stood as your eyes locked on him. The boy slowly pulled his disguise down in shock. Zuko. There was no denying it anymore. He saw you. He saw you being dragged away as you hoped he wouldn’t be too mad. You disappeared into the shadows led away from the busy city.

You got sat down with a shove. – “Jet what are you going to do with her?” – one of them asked. Jet raised his hand to silence him. He set his foot down on a log to lean down to you. With wide eyes, you stared back at him. His eyes fell on your chest, seeing something red under your disguise. He started disrobing you, removing the cloak to reveal your clear fire nation attire. He gasped loud, stumbling back. – “She’s fire nation.” – one of the smaller one’s called out.

Jet’s face seemed to contract with anger, grabbing you by your shirt. Lifting you a bit up from the ground. – “You filthy fire girl! Here to commit more murder?” – he yelled at you, making you shake your head rapidly. If only he removed the cloth from your mouth, you would be able to speak with him. Plead with him that you had no such desires. – “I know your kind. You only bring ruin and death.” – he clenched his fist harder around your clothing.

He let go of you, dropping you to the ground. Jet was brazing with anger. Scratching his fingers furiously through his hair. He grunted loud, grabbing for a stick, holding it into the crackling fire. It started to burn as he spun back around to you. – “I’ll show you just how much pain you caused.” – he called out. Your eyes widened with fear. Unable to defend yourself. Shaking your head, you wiggled further away from him as he approached. Jet kept coming closer till he stumbled forwards by a sudden force.

“Hands off!” – you heard loud. Jet looked back as you looked surprised at an angered Zuko. Zuko grunted loud throwing a fire punch towards him so the torch dropped out of his hand. Jet ordered his men to attack Zuko. Zuko kicked a flying speer aside with his foot. Sweeping his other leg up to bring a man down with one swift kick. He needn’t even use his fire bending to take them on. Jet called it out, revealing his weapons as he ran towards Zuko.

Zuko backed away when Jet’s weapon swung down on him. Trying to rip him open. Zuko kicked at his wrist, so that the weapon flew up. With still one weapon in hands, swung and slashed Jet it at Zuko’s chest. Zuko deflected it, kicking another boy back that wanted to approach him from the back. Zuko hit Jet in his stomach, making him stumble back. – “You think you can take in Omashu?” – Jet called out to taunt him. – “No!” – Zuko shouted back. – “You shouldn’t have taken my wife!” – he made clear swinging his leg at Jet. Jet got hit, falling back.

Out of anger, Zuko let the ground burn, forming a burning circle around Jet. Jet looked panickily around him. Zuko stepping through the fire with a murderous look in his eyes. His hands burning with fire ready to hurt Jet till he heard your muffled cries. Lifting his head up, he saw one of Jet’s friends was near you. You were kicking him back to keep him away. Zuko inhaled sharp, sending his fire at him. It hit the kid, making him roll over. Zuko ignored Jet, making his way over to you. Jet scrambled to his feet, rallying his friends up to leave. They scrambled as Zuko knelt down to you.

With a sour expression he undid you from your ropes. His silence was chilling as he removed the cloth from your mouth. He didn’t help you up as you had to get up on your own strength. His silence was even worse. You’d rather have him yell at you than this treatment. Zuko started walking as you went after him. The two of you neared the city once more as you dared to speak. – “Zuko…” – you said softly wanting him to say something. Zuko turned around, grabbing you by the arms and pushing you hard up against the wall.

“What did I tell you?” – he yelled out, giving you an extra push against the wall. – “Why do you always disobey me Y/n! I told you to stay on the ship for a reason! If I hadn’t seen you, you’d be burned now!” – he outed in anger and worry. His reaction made you swallow in shame. – “I’m…I’m sorry.” – you answered. – “No you are not! If you would, you’d listen to me! You could’ve been killed today Y/n. Do you understand that?” – he scolded giving you an extra push against the wall. He walked off as you knew you had taken it too far now.

Iroh was very confused and stunned seeing you tag along behind his nephew in the great city of Omashu. Zuko didn’t wish to speak about it. Your trip to Omashu bringing more difficulties along than you anticipated. Iroh sacrificed himself to draw away attention from Zuko. Zuko and you fled the city of Omashu. Now it was him and you alone to find his uncle. Zuko was kneeling down, watching the tracks. Letting his fingers trail over them in the mud.

“Zuko.” – you said feeling the need to speak. He hummed loud to acknowledge he had heard you. – “Thank you…” – you spoke. Zuko slowly rose not engaging much in the conversation. – “Thank you for saving me even when I went against your word.” – you humbly moved your hands behind your back. – “I’m really sorry.” – you apologized, not wanting him to be mad at you. Zuko hummed soft not saying much. His silence frustrated you a bit.

You knew you were at fault, but you didn’t like the silent treatment. Exhaling loud, you walked up to Zuko. Turning him by his shoulder to you. Pressing your lips hard on his. You wanted a reaction from him, it didn’t matter what. Zuko’s eyes stood wide before he fully understood what was happening.

He slowly closed his eyes, placing his hand against the back of your head. Tilting his head a bit to return the affection in your kiss. Something that came as a surprise to you. Both of you parted gazing lovingly at each other. Zuko grabbed your hand. With a bit of a smile on his lips, he walked with you continue the search for his uncle.

-----------------------------------

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

[enchantedreader]

Absolutely

hey alta fandom!!! im trying to put my thoughts on zutara into a word document to write it up like an essay, but i need some data! im going to be making this a poll, please reblog with your stance on it and a reason for/against it in the tags! thank you very much :)