#and then slowly came back to doing it maybe once a weekend

[amalia-eveline-verstappen]

Oh Amelia... the queen she is. How was everyone's reaction on the first day that she was seen walking along side with Max?

Meeting for the first time

The engine purred beneath them as the sleek black car rolled to a stop just outside the paddock. Amalia stared out the tinted window, watching the blur of people and equipment dance around in a strange choreography. Her fingers tightened on the strap of her designer purse, knuckles pale with nerves.

"You okay?" came Max's voice from the driver seat, calm but firm in the way only an older brother could manage.

Amalia turned to look at him. He had already taken off his sunglasses, revealing those familiar eyes that she had trusted since she could remember.

"I just… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Everyone knows who you are, Max. They don’t know me."

He smiled softly, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "They know about you, Lia. Maybe they haven’t seen you before, but they know who you are. And trust me, the moment they meet you, they’ll never forget you. Just stay close to me, yeah? I’ll be right there."

She nodded, exhaling slowly. Then, with a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped out.

The sun hit her skin instantly, warm and golden, and for a moment everything felt surreal. The buzz of cameras, journalists, mechanics, team members—the living heart of a Grand Prix weekend—filled the air. Max walked in front, tall and confident, his usual swagger on full display.

Amalia walked just a step behind, keeping her head high despite the butterflies in her stomach. Her long hair cascaded down her back, sunglasses perched on her nose, a fitted cream blazer over a matching crop top and trousers. She looked like she belonged in a Vogue editorial, not the pit lane.

And yet, somehow, she was right where she was meant to be.

The first to spot them was Oscar.

He had been chatting casually with a member of his team, hands shoved into the pockets of his uniform, when he turned his head and froze mid-sentence. His jaw slackened slightly, eyes locked on the vision walking beside Max. Max's sister. The mythical sister.

"Oh my god," he muttered.

His teammate raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Oscar didn’t answer. He was already walking.

"Hi," he said, reaching them just as they passed the hospitality area. His voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat with embarrassment. "Uh. Hi."

Amalia stopped and looked at him. She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head, revealing soft, curious eyes. Oscar nearly forgot how to breathe.

"Hi," she said with a smile, soft and warm. "You must be Oscar, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I am. And you… you’re… wow, you’re Amalia. It’s really nice to meet you. I… You look… you look really beautiful. I mean, not just beautiful, you look… like, breathtaking. Sorry. I’m rambling."

She laughed gently, and Oscar felt like he was melting on the spot.

"That’s sweet of you," she said. "But just call me Malia. Please."

"Malia," he echoed like a prayer.

Before either could say anything else, a familiar voice cut in.

"Ooooh, what do we have here?"

Lando came striding over, a grin stretched across his face and his curls bouncing slightly under his cap. His eyes flicked between Oscar and Malia before landing fully on her.

"So the rumors were true," he said, stepping between them dramatically. "You do exist."

Amalia arched an eyebrow, amused. "Rumors?"

"You’re like a myth," Lando declared, hand over his heart. "Max never lets anyone see you. We thought you were a ghost. Or a hologram. But you…" He gave her an exaggerated once-over. "You're very much real. And very much stunning."

She giggled, and Lando looked like he had just won pole position.

"I like your energy," she said. "Chaotic. But in a good way."

"That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," he said, placing a hand on his chest as if wounded. "Truly."

Oscar crossed his arms, frowning. "Some of us were having a conversation."

"Some of us," Lando said, smirking, "need to learn how to flirt properly."

Before the teasing could escalate, Charles appeared, suave and smiling as ever.

"Bonjour, Malia," he said smoothly, stepping forward and placing a kiss on each of her cheeks. "Enchanté."

She blushed, surprised by the soft Monegasque affection. "Nice to meet you too."

"I’ve heard so much about you," Charles said, hands still gently on her arms. "But none of it prepared me for how beautiful you are."

"Is that a line you use often?" she teased.

"Only when I mean it," he replied with a smile that could kill.

Then came Lewis, striding over with practiced ease and effortless confidence.

"Well damn," he muttered with a grin as he looked her up and down. "Max didn’t tell us you were going to break hearts today."

"I’m not trying to," she said shyly.

"You don’t have to try," he said, winking. "You just walk and it happens. Absolutely stunning."

She laughed, already feeling overwhelmed, when Carlos arrived with his usual mix of charm and flair.

"Mi amor," he said, taking her hand and kissing it delicately. "Finally, we meet. I was beginning to think Max had you hidden in a tower."

"Maybe I was," she said with a playful smirk.

Carlos grinned and, with zero hesitation, threw his arm around her shoulders. "Well, you’re free now. Come, walk with me. I have many things to tell you."

He began steering her away from the group, speaking rapidly in accented English, throwing in flirtatious Spanish that made her laugh despite not understanding half of it.

"Carlos!" Lando called. "You can't just steal her."

"Share, man!" Oscar added.

"She hasn’t even gotten to know the rest of us!" Lewis chimed in.

Carlos waved them off. "She likes me best. It’s obvious."

As they strolled, George casually joined on her other side, falling into step with a charming smile.

"So," he said, "do you always make entrances like that? Or is today special?"

"I was nervous," she admitted. "Still am."

"You hide it well," George said. "You look like you own the place."

"Thank you," she said sincerely.

"I’m George, by the way. Not that you didn’t already know."

"Nice to meet you, George," she said, offering her hand. He took it and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles, not letting go right away.

Max, who had been chatting with his engineer and pretending not to watch, turned around and froze.

There was his sister, sandwiched between Carlos and George, laughing, flirting, glowing.

In the middle of his paddock.

Max blinked.

Then blinked again.

Then said, loudly, firmly, "Nope."

He stalked over, muttering under his breath, face a thundercloud.

"Absolutely not," he grumbled. "What the hell is this? A fan meet-and-greet? A dating show? What am I watching?"

He stopped in front of them, looked down at Malia, and without asking, placed his hands firmly on her shoulders.

"We're going," he announced. "Now."

Malia blinked up at him, confused. "What? Why?"

"Garage. Now. Come on. Let’s go."

She looked over her shoulder and offered the boys an apologetic smile and a sweet little wave. "It was nice meeting you all!"

"Don’t let him brainwash you!" Lando called after her.

"Text me!" Carlos added.

"I love you!" Oscar shouted.

"What?!" Lewis laughed.

Back in the garage, Max was still fuming.

"Stupid drivers. Idiots. All of them. The audacity. In front of me! Am I invisible now?"

Malia sat on a stool, legs crossed, head tilted. "Max. What just happened?"

He turned and stared at her, jaw clenched. Then he sighed.

"They’re all flirting with you. Every single one of them. And you don’t even realize it."

She tilted her head, confused. "They were just being nice."

He groaned. "God, you're worse than I thought."

She smiled, reached out, and patted his arm. "Relax, big brother. I only have eyes for your team today."

He snorted. "Yeah? That better include not texting Carlos."

She shrugged with a grin. "No promises."

He groaned again.

And outside, the paddock was already abuzz.

Amalia had arrived.

And nothing would ever be the same.

🏎💙🏎💙🏎💙🏎💙🏎💙🏎💙🏎💙🏎💙🏎💙

Authors Note:

Hello everyone! My requests are open and will all be based on the same concept!

[ild-rllrcstr]

Offline, Online part 3 (final)

Lando Norris X You / slow burn / 3.5K

part 1 / part 2

Summary Online, you know him as your constant racing rival and friend who talks about everything. Unawareingly, offline, he's Lando Norris, the charming, frustrating driver you’re assigned to style, who somehow makes every workday a challenge. At work, you don’t like him. He doesn’t take you seriously. But behind the screens, you both vent about each other without knowing who’s who. Slowly, late-night races and shared secrets start to blur the lines between friendship and something more. As reality and virtual worlds collide, feelings sneak up when you least expect them.

Warnings swearing A/N Hesitated to extend to two parts, but thought this idea is probably better without further dragging. BTW, super happy with the GP result this weekend! Hope you'll like it! New story ideas are already in my head! Just need some time to write them down, I'll see you soon!

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The showroom was nearly empty. You were pinning the hem of a jacket on a mannequin when Lando walked in, still in streetwear, damp hair pushed back like he showered after a workout. You barely glanced up.

He didn’t speak at first, just lingered near the rack, flipping through hangers like he had a reason to be there.

"How are you doing?" he asked finally, voice gentler than usual.

You nodded without looking at him. "Yeah. Just a bit behind."

"You look tired." You blinked at him. It was not something people usually say, especially not him.

"Thanks," you said dryly.

"Not like… I didn’t mean it like that." He stepped closer, hands tucked into his pockets, suddenly looking… sheepish? "Just noticed, that’s all."

You glanced at him then. His expression was... sincere. It unsettled you a little.

"I'm fine," you lied, with a small fake smile.

He watched you for a moment longer before nodding slowly. 

Then, just as he turned to leave, a song started playing faintly from the studio speakers, a track from your shared sim racing playlist. One you mocked endlessly.

Lando huffed a soft laugh. "Honestly, that playlist’s still a crime against humanity."

You looked up. "What?"

"No… Nothing," he said too quickly. "Forget it."

But something about the way he said it… You frowned, narrowing your eyes at his back as he walked out.

You picked up your phone later that night. No message from Late.

You thought about that moment in the showroom. That weird playlist comment. And you hated that part of you, that stupid part, that wanted it to mean something. But it didn’t, right? Because Late was into someone else. And Lando… well, he was just someone you worked for. Just a guy.

You opened Discord anyway. Typed. Deleted. Typed again.

You: Do you think it’s possible to misread someone for months?

The typing bubble appeared.

Late: Yeah. Especially if they’re trying really hard not to be obvious.

You stared. Your chest tightened. And you really didn’t know who you were talking to anymore.

You: Why would someone do that?

Late: Because it’s easier to lose the chance than ruin what’s already there. Because maybe she only likes the version of me she already knows.

You: That’s vague as hell. Still haven’t tell her?

Late: I’ve tried. I think I even slipped it more than once. She just didn’t hear it.

You: Maybe you weren’t clear enough. Or maybe she didn’t want to believe it.

Late: Maybe, it’s just hard to believe I guess.

You hesitated. Your chest felt tight again. Why did this feel personal? You kept typing, backspace, typing, backspace. Then, impulsively,

You: What do you like about her?

There was a long pause. The typing bubble came and went.

Late: She’s sharp. Quiet, but her brain’s always moving. She doesn’t flirt or try too hard. She just… shows up. Keeps people grounded. Keeps me grounded.

You felt your throat tighten. That could’ve be anyone. Right?

You: She sounds lucky.

Late: I think I’m the lucky one. Even if she never figures it out.

You closed the app.

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You were sorting returns in the back, headphones half-on, too aware of every footstep outside the stockroom. The curtain rustled. Lando stepped through, holding two takeaway coffees like he was not sure if he should be doing this.

You blinked at him. "Do you… need something?"

He offered you the cup. You took it without thinking. He didn’t say anything for a moment. 

"Do you ever think about doing something else?"

The question floored you. Lando, who had never spoken to you about anything outside the job, asking something personal?

"Where is this coming from?"

He shruged. "Just… wondering. You’re good at what you do. But sometimes you look like your mind’s somewhere else."

You looked down at your cup. Your hands felt too warm.

"Sometimes," you admitted. "It’s just a job. I like it. But yeah… I think about other things."

"Like racing?"

That made your head snap up. "What...? I thought you were the driver here."

He smiled, soft. Not teasing. "It’s just you talk about it like someone who’s lived it. Not only just watched."

Your chest tightened. It was too close.

"It’s just a hobby."

"Right," he said, but it was not dismissive. He was watching you closely. Noticing things. Seeing you.

"Ever think about what it’d be like to talk to someone every night, think you know them, and then realise maybe you’ve known them all along, just in a different way?"

Your blood ran cold. Your voice was smaller than you want it to be. Confused.

"What ?"

He looked like he was deciding how far to go. 

 "I’m trying not to fuck it up here."

Silence. You stared at him, heart thudding. You didn’t know what to say, what he even meant, or if you wanted it to mean what you were scared it might.

He looked like he might say more, there was something way too deep and way too dangerous in those eyes. Then he stepped back, nodding toward the curtain.

"Anyway. Didn’t mean to interrupt."

And just like that, he was gone again.

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The apartment was dark except for the blue light of your screen. Your coffee from earlier was still on the counter, cold. You haven’t touched it. You haven’t touched anything since you saw the message.

Late: I think I almost told her today. I don’t know if she heard me. Or maybe… she did. And she’s just not ready yet.

You reread it for the fifth time.

You paced. You cursed yourself. You sat back down and opened Discord again.

Your hands hovered.

You: Is this about the same girl? The one you keep saying you like at work?

Late: Yeah. It’s always been her.

You: So tell her. You said you almost told her today. Why didn’t you?

Late: She was right in front of me. And I still couldn’t do it.

You: Why?

Late: Because I don’t want to lose her. And I think she’s already pulling away. I’m afraid she’ll run away.

You: You’re being dramatic. She probably just doesn’t know what the hell is going on.

Late: Exactly.

You: So tell her. What are you waiting for?

Long pause.

Late: It’s you.

You didn’t move. You blinked at the screen and reread that last word like it might morph into something else if you just stared long enough. But it didn’t.

You: What is going on here?

Late: I’m trying to tell you. In the way that won’t ruin it. In the way that lets you walk away if you want.

You: You’re not making any sense.

Late: What if I am?

You: Are you saying what I think you're saying?

Another long pause. He was typing. Then stoped. Then typing again.

Late: I think you already know. But if I say it outright, it becomes real. And real means it could hurt you. Or make things weird. Or worse, make you leave.

You: This is insane. Just say it. If this is some kind of joke…

Late: It’s not a joke.

You: Then who is she?

Late: I’m telling you, she is you.

Your stomach dropped. The silence was deafening. You reread it once. Twice.

You: ...This isn’t funny.

Late: I’m not joking. I was going to tell you at the studio today. I didn’t know how to do it without making you freak out.

You: Who are you?

Late: You already know that too. I’ve been right in front of you.

Your throat dried. Something cold crawled down your spine.

You: No, that doesn’t make sense. You said you’re from Monaco, not Surrey. You’re not saying…

Late: Yeah. I am. I am from Surrey, but I also do live in Monaco.

Late: It’s me. It’s Lando Norris.

You stared at the screen, heart pounding, fingers frozen.

No. No. No. No. No

You shut your laptop hard, the sudden noise echoing too loudly in the quiet room.

Your phone buzzed. A message from Late. You ignored it. Another buzz. Another. You silenced your phone.

Your mind raced, your chest tightened. How long have you been fooled? How much of what you felt was real? And how much was just a mirage?

You didn’t log back in that night. Or the next. Or the next.

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The showroom was quiet in the late afternoon. You were at your desk, focused on a task but trying not to think about how you will have to face the situation eventually. 

The door opened softly. Lando steped in, casual but with a seriousness you didn’t usually see. He moved slowly, as if every step mattered. He approached your desk, hands loosed at his sides, no one was around.

“Can we talk?” His voice was quiet, careful.

You didn’t look up, fingers still typing.

He waited a beat, then sat down on the edge of a nearby table, keeping some distance, respectful.

“I want you to know... this isn’t about me hiding anything from you. Honestly, When I found out, I didn’t know how to tell you. I was scared I’d mess it up.”

You finally meet his eyes, guarded but curious. He continues, voice soft.

“I was scared what thic could change, and it did, you’re not back in race for a while now, and it’s not because you’re tires or whatever, I realised you misunderstood because I messed up, just made everything harder.”

You swallowed hard, feeling exposed.

“I get why you shut down. I think I would’ve too.”

He leaned forward a little, but not too much.

“But I want to make it up, if you’ll let me. No games. No running. If I can hit that reset button to just be straight forward with you in the first place.”

Your fingers curled into fists on the desk. You wanted to say no. You wanted to say it was easier to protect yourself.

But something in his eyes held you. Not pleading. Just steady.

A long silence stretched between you.

Finally, you breathed out.

“How did you find out?”

“Accidentally saw your phone, saw the message I sent.”

“Prove it. Show me you are him.” You breathed hard, part of you still couldn’t believe, you still partly thought Late was catfishing you online.

Ping. He texted, your phone received. 

Late: I didn’t know how to tell you. I wanted to test the water, then I figured that I fucked up. I’m sorry.

You stared at the screen.

Your reflection looked back at you in the dark glass of your phone. Pale. Quiet. Bracing for something that already happened. You thought about it, you dreaded it, but when it became the truth in front of you, it hit differently.

It was his voice, in your head now. His actual voice. Not just Late. Not just the messages. Not just a screen between you.

The room felt still, like the moment was holding its breath.

You glanced up at him slowly. He was still sitting there, hands clenched between his knees now, like he was keeping himself from doing anything that might scare you off. He was nervously anticipating your reaction.

You blinked once. Then again. Your voice barely rose above a whisper.

“It’s you.”

He nodded. Didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. Didn’t know how to react. Just carefully reading you. He just let the words sit there.

“All this time...” you said, the weight of it pressing into your chest. “You were right there.”

“Yeah,” he says, quietly. “And I didn’t want to mess it up. But I did anyway.”

Your hand tightened around your phone. Your throat burnt.

“Should’ve said something sooner?”

His eyes flickered… guilt, hesitation, maybe fear.

“Because the second I realised it was you... It stopped being just fun sim racing at night. It started feeling like real life. And I didn’t want to lose you in either.”

You let out a shaky breath. Something between a laugh and a sob.

“I thought this whole time it was another girl… and I complained about you to you…”

He grinned, soft and crooked. “I know. I also complained to you.”

There was a pause. Neither of you moved.

“So I'm just jealous of myself this whole time,” you whispered.

Lando finally smiled. “That jealousy really didn’t look good on you.”

You punched him lightly on his shoulder, and he finally laughed. 

“This is exactly how I imagined.”

“What?”

“The real you in real life.” He had his hand on his shoulder where you punched. And just looked at you, with that warm smile on his face. You felt your cheeks burnt a bit.

“You sent me a meme mid-race once,” he suddenly said, his voice low. “I couldn’t stop laughing. Nearly missed turn 4.”

You looked at him, really looked into his eye, and for the first time in days, the heaviness started to shift.

“And you deserved it,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I did. But I also deserved to know the person behind it. And now that I do…”

He trailed off. You waited.

“...I still want to. Maybe more than I wanted”

You sat with that. Let it settle into your ribs.

There was no grand gesture. No big romantic confession.

Just him. Just honesty. Just you, finally knowing.

And maybe, that was enough.

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“Do you want to get some dessert? You know, the one I talked about, the world’s best frozen yoghourt. It’s actually not far from here” ‘

After the shoot, Lando approached when there weren’t much people around.

“I can’t believe that place is in this neighborhood this whole time.”

He smiled and shrugged.

“I want to finally spend time with you, out of chat, out of headset, far from camera and clothes racks, just us.”

You smiled shyly “I’d like that.”

Your little dates happened more and more often whenever he's in town, the sim racing also went back on track, no more emotional sulking pauses hidden behind excuses of work. It was like your extended date after actual dates. Racing turned into late-night sessions that felt different now, flirty, magnetic, even your fastest laps couldn’t outrun the pull between you two.

People noticed. Not everyone, but enough. And of course the crucial ones, your brothers.

Your sim racing group chat had started throwing suspicious emojis.

“Why the fuck are you giggling in quali” your older brother Alex asked you in your family private chatroom, not too happy about it. 

“It was the joke, it was funny.” you tried to defend yourself, you know how your brothers can be.

“You went from crazy woman laugh to girl giggle, there’s something fishy about you and Late, I can smell it. We know the guy is funny, but you are high on a whole another level.”

“Are you guys fucking or something.” your second brother Elijah’s always the one without filter.

“Eli!”

“She’d better not even have met this guy just yet, or let’s say never.”

It was not long after you had to admit you guys were dating, and you’ve seen in real life.

“Do you even know what he looked like before you met? What were you thinking, do you now how people get scammed or killed like this nowadays?” Alex not taking it well was an understatement. But you told him you promise you’ll explain him everything. 

You still needed to talk to Lando about revealing to your brother, but then he was away for the race, which had to delay the talk. You tried very hard to avoid every possible serious conversation about it with your brothers. 

The GP was in Singapore, and you were, for once, watching with your brother at your parents’ place.

Seeing Lando on the screen hit very differently since you started dating. You texted privately, sometimes FaceTime, you wished him luck, and he said he missed you. The campaign thing ended, you were meeting at work anymore, but it was better, it was easier not having to act professional everytime he was around. 

“Late is going to be jealous if he sees you fan-girling over Lando like this.” 

Elijah smirked, seeing you overly excited about Lando. It was always one of your favourite drivers on the track, but now you’re not just cheering for him for that simple reason. 

“Late likes Lando too, he probably wouldn’t mind.” You smiled, only if they knew what you were talking about.” 

Elijah squinted at you. “You say that like you know.”

You shrugged, keeping it breezy. “We’ve talked about it before. He respects him.”

Alex turned his head slowly. “Since when did you guys talk about real drivers now?”

You nodded. “It comes up sometimes.”

There was a silence. The kind that made your skin itch.

“Y/N.” Alex’s voice was low. “You’re not being honest.”

“I am!” You shot back, too fast, too defensive.

More silence.

Then Elijah said, “Bring him to karting, then.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“If this Late guy is all that, I want to race him. Karting. Real track. You bring him.”

Alex crossed his arms. “Good idea.”

“No,” you said immediately. “Come on.”

“We need to meet this guy, you’re dating someone, and we need to meet him, you know the rule.” 

“What rule, Alex? That never existed.”

“Yes, there is now, since you decided to date some random guy online.”

You sighed, hands over your face. “We met in real life, a couple of times. And no, he’s not a murderer, or a scammer, or some 55-year-old pretending to be twenty. He’s… he’s just a normal guy, okay?”

“Oh, now you’ve met him a couple of times?” Alex looked half-offended, half-concerned.

“Another reason to bring him to karting. How he drives like shit in sim, doubt he can even kart.”

Only if you knew Eli, only if you knew. You bit your lip.

Alex leaned back. “This is going to be so embarrassing for him.”

You didn’t answer.

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You knew you can’t make up no excuses, Lando will be back during the weekend of your family karting, he gladly accepted the invite, he was a bit too excited to know those were your brothers in the group, and he was thrilled to meet them, or a bit thrilled to see their reaction. 

You arrived with Alex, you were fidgeting, you didn’t know how this was going to go, it shouldn’t go wrong, there was no reason to, but still, you were beyond nervous. Lando hadn’t texted that he’d arrived yet, and your brothers were inside signing waivers, still fully convinced they were about to humble some anonymous sim guy who, in their words, “barely knows how to grip a wheel without traction control.”

You texted Lando: You here? Please tell me you’re here. I don’t have the energy to explain grid penalties to my brothers to stall.

Lando: Already inside. Hoodie mode.

You stepped in and immediately spotted him at the back of the lounge, slouched casually on a bench in a black hoodie and cap pulled low. Low-profile. Anonymous. Until he lifted his head and gave you that smile, the one that always felt like it was just for you.

“Hey,” he murmured when you walked over.

“You sure you wanna do this?” you whispered, glancing toward the other side of the building.

He grinned. “Oh, now you’re worried about my safety? In karting?”

You groaned. “Just… whatever, it is what it is, I guess. I’m just nervous.”

He leaned closer, voice low and soft, holding your hand firmly. “Babe, it’s going to be okay. I’m here.”

Before you could respond, Elijah’s voice boomed across the room.

“Is that him?”

Lando turned.

Alex squinted his eyes, then froze mid-step, his jaw visibly tensing. “No fucking way.”

You closed your eyes. “Lando, this is Alexander and Elijah, brothers, this is Lando Norris, well, Late.”

Elijah stared. “No. No, No, No. You’re telling me this whole time, we’ve been racing Lando fucking Norris online?”

“I didn’t tell you because of exactly this reaction,” you muttered.

Alex looked at Lando, then at you, then back. “This is insane. Heh, I’m hallucinating.”

Lando stepped forward, lifting his cap just slightly. “Hi. I’m Lando. I guess you could say I’ve been… seeing your sister.”

“Bro, were you just acting ass to cover your identity? Because those corners, when we raced, don’t look like you're driving.” Elijah went into criticising mode.

“Eli!” you complained. Lando just chuckled. 

Alex rubbed his temples. “You met a random online stranger, and he just so happens to be a Formula 1 driver?”

“I mean, it wasn’t random, it was… a long story…”

“Unreal.” Both of them shook their heads.

“Okay,” Alex said, snapping out of it. “Fine. You’re real. You’re… you. But just know… if you hurt her, it doesn’t matter how many podiums you’ve got. I’m going to make sure you can’t drive again.”

“Alex?” To this point, you just wanted to dig a whole and hide in it.

“I know,” Lando said, voice calm. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

It wasn’t over-the-top. No grand gestures or dramatic monologues. Just him, standing there in beat-up sneakers and a hoodie, being real. And that was enough.

Elijah clapped him on the back. “Let’s race, Norris. Let’s see if you can still win with real pressure. We’ll make sure it feels like Piastri and Verstappen are behind you.”

Lando smirked. “You’re on.”

You watched them walk off toward the karts, shaking your head. But the heavy stone in your heart also dropped.

Somehow, against all odds, your anonymous sim racing crush had become the guy your brothers were now trash-talking in real life. And if you weren’t mistaken, Elijah was already asking him to join their fantasy league.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

[bizarrelovetriangel]

interruptions.

all he wants is to have you all to himself but everyone keeps getting in his way.

fluff and slightly suggestive. brief references to chaotic velocity and his myth.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

He groans against your lips as his hands caresses your hips, urging you to grind against his thighs.

His bedroom is silent apart from the sounds of your exchange of heated kisses, your heavy breaths in-between, as well as the rustling of your clothes as your bodies yearn for friction.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Sylus thrusted up to let you feel his excitement, and you responded by palming him through his pants, earning a low growl from his parted lips.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

You pulled away as the ringtone of his phone blares closely next to you. You gave him a look before he pinches his temples and reaching for the device on his night stand.

"You better have a good reason to interrupt me on such an important time."

This is the third time in just two days.

Sylus doesn't know how much more interruptions he can take.

"Looks like I'll have to cut our time short again." Sylus frowns as he gets up from the bed. "I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"Don't worry about it."

Being Onychinus' leader can be demanding, so you're not mad at him at all. In fact, at the moment, you're doing your best to hold back a laugh.

"Before you leave, maybe take a cold shower first."

Two days later, as you were leaving your workplace, you ran into your lover who's dressed in his favorite leather jacket, bathing in darkness.

"Sylus?! What are you doing here?"

It's the middle of the week. You usually don't get to see each other until the weekends, unless spontaneous plans come up. You figured this is one of those special cases.

"Do I need a reason to see my girlfriend?"

"No, but you do need to be cautious when picking up said girlfriend from her job, which may or may not be interested in catching some suspicious people who love lurking in the shadows."

There's not an ounce of worry in his eyes at all. "Luckily, I have a strong kitten who'd protect me should anyone dare to put their hands on me."

You playfully punched his arm as you walked next to him. "You could've at least texted me."

"A surprise usually works out only if someone doesn't know what'll happen." He then taps your head. "There's a restaurant that I've been meaning to check out. Want to come?"

Your heart and stomach cheered happily, deeming him as your savior. After all, you're starving after such a long day at work. "Of course!"

Around ten at night, dinner was done and you ended up relaxing at an empty, quiet park. You sat down on a bench surrounded by red flowers and you rested your head on his left arm while he holds your right hand.

At first, the two of you enjoyed the moment of silence and appreciated each other's warmth and company.

You could've fallen asleep then and there.

If only Sylus didn't start leaving kisses all over your face. He dropped them one by one, slowly and softly, as if you're something precious that could vanish at any second if he isn't careful enough.

As his lips pressed against yours, his right hand brushes up and down from your knee to your thigh, warming up your body during the cold night.

Sylus' ragged breaths urged you to deepen the kiss while caressing his face, though your makeout session was short-lasted as a group of chatty, cackling teenagers had decided to hit up the very spot that you two are in.

Clicking his tongue, Sylus stood up and reached out one hand for you. "I guess this is our sign to leave. Shall we?"

"Yeah."

You couldn't even bother to hide your disappointment that your time together was once again shortened.

He came with you back at your apartment, though Sylus couldn't stay the night due to plans he has later on.

He wasn't even supposed to see you tonight; he forced it in his busy schedule because his urge to see you was just unbearably strong during these past few days, and the constant interruptions are absolutely not helping.

It's as if the world is purposely getting in the way.

The next interruption came during dinner at a restaurant that you and Sylus have been wanting to visit for months. You made a reservation two weeks ago, and you got to enjoy all the delicious meals and drinks that made the place worthy of Sylus' attention.

You were given the best seats in the restaurant, which would be the special table on the rooftop, decorated with dimmed, beautiful lights to illuminate the dark night, and flowers for your eyes and nose to feast on.

As you were finishing up your wine, you walked towards the edge of the rooftop to observe the scenery around you.

For a moment, Sylus remained seated, only shifting his position so that he could admire you in your beautiful dress.

It's one of his favorite views — you facing away from him, eyes beaming with happiness and lips curled into a soft smile, completely lost in the scenery around you and unaware of how bewitching you are and the trance that you always put him in.

He'll never get tired of it.

"Sylus, look!"

At your call, he appears behind you and immediately wraps his arms around your waist. He gave you a light kiss on the shoulder before moving his gaze to wherever you were pointing at.

Unfortunately, Sylus never got to learn what caught your interest because suddenly, you received signals that a Wanderer is nearby.

And so, dinner ended early and you spent the rest of your energy jumping in action.

The Wanderers certainly became Sylus' punching bags for the night.

At last, you finally won some time to spend in the N109 Zone.

You're at his house and you've just finished eating the dessert that you two made together a few hours ago.

And now, you find yourself trapped against the counter table with Sylus blocking all the ways to escape.

"Can't run from me now, kitten."

His lips touched yours.

"Boss, look what we found!"

"...."

"...."

"....oops..."

"...sorry!"

Luke and Kieran were frozen by the entrance of the kitchen, almost dropping the fancy looking weapon they were carrying.

You let out a laugh to break the silence. "Hey guys!"

Sylus sighs defeateadly. He did acknowledge the twins and the gift they brought to him by giving them a quick but sincere "well done" before turning back to you with a certain glint in his eyes. "I hope you're up for a midnight ride."

"Wait what?!"

He took your left hand and started leading you out of the kitchen.

"Right now?!"

Luke and Kieran only gave you a wave of their hands, still feeling guilty about the interruption. Sylus didn't look mad at them, but he does look frustrated.

Whatever he has planned out with you, they know not to interrupt. Even Mephisto stayed still after giving you a look.

"Here."

Sylus helped you put on a black and red helmet that matches the one he's about to wear.

You eyed the motorcycle and couldn't hold back your excitement.

"Blackrose Archfiend!"

The half-black, half-pink motorcycle with the trademark of a golden crow made you recall the first time you and Sylus rode it and race against other motorcyclists.

"It's been a while!"

Sylus smirks proudly. "I modified it again. I meant for us to test it out tomorrow when we have more time, but this is gonna be our ticket to peace and quiet so we'll use it now."

"Ticket to peace and quiet?"

He ascends the motorcycle and turns on its engine before reaching out a gloved hand for you, inviting you to join him.

"Will you let me be selfish for a little while?"

With a soft smile, you took his hand and sat behind him, holding onto his waist.

You didn't care where he'll take you or how long it'll take to get there.

Your heart races at the adrenaline rush from the roar and speed of the motorcycle, and the cold wind dances all around you as you dart across the moonlit, empty roads of the N109 Zone.

A high mountain roadside, underneath the stars.

That's where you ended up in.

Other than the noises made by the animals that live in the surroundings, there's absolutely no other sounds that'll disturb the comfortable, peaceful silence.

The only light source you have is the full moon right above you, but that's more than enough for you to see the look of content in Sylus' face.

His features are highlighted in such a way that makes him look like an artwork that deserves to be admired by many, and yet you're the only lucky one to see him like this at this.

"You're staring, sweetie."

"And what about it?"

He smiled and scooted closer to you so that your arms are overlapping as you sit on a giant boulder planted deeply on the ground.

"That means I get to stare at you as much as I want in return, right?"

You held up one hand in front of your face and used it as a wall to block his intense gaze. "No!" The way he gazes at you makes your stomach want to explode with various emotions.

No matter how long you've been together, he never fails to make you flustered as if it's just the beginning of your relationship.

Sylus laughed at your hand before intertwining his fingers with yours and putting your conjoined hands on your lap.

"You're mine for the rest of the evening, sweetie. Any objections?

You shook your head, melting at his words. "Not at all."

Despite your playful rejection earlier, Sylus' eyes were unable to keep away from you, finding you more entrancing than anything around you. While he could look at the moon, the stars, and the city lights, he can always see them every night.

He can't say the same for you.

Once upon a time ago, he lost you and you lost him. It was like having your entire world ripped away from you.

The day he found you again... he'll never forget the way that it felt. It was like seeing light for the first time in forever. Like gasping for air after holding your breath for so long.

He's reminded of how lucky he is to be given a second chance of a life with you. Even though he complains about the distance between your homes and your jobs sometimes get in the way of your plans, he'll always be grateful that he can spend any time with you at all.

He'll always cherish every second with you, and he will never take you for granted.

You didn't keep track of the time at all. You two sat there and enjoyed each other's presence, talking about whatever comes up in your head while admiring the stars above and the lights of the N109 Zone from below.

There were times when you two would pause your conversations and just embrace the silence, bringing nothing but comfort that made you want to cuddle — and you did.

At some point, your body had been enveloped by his arms. You're seated between his legs and your back is against his chest. You could feel his steady heartbeat that would occassionally lose its rhythm.

You're spared from the wind's icy kiss, but not from Sylus' warm, gentle ones.

It started off with him casually dropping kisses on random parts of your face. Sometimes, while you're in the middle of rambling, his lips will linger on your skin and you'd forget everything that you were about to say.

Then, his kisses gradually became more fierce. From the moment he fixated on your neck, you'd become a mess that's unable to talk.

After leaving a couple of marks, Sylus wore a satisfied grin before diving into your lips with his own.

He kissed you over and over and over again, taking full advantage of the isolation. Finally, no one can interrupt.

No one can take you away from him ever again.

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Thirty-Nine

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, pregnancy, strong language, nightmares, protective!Lando, papaya rules tw (barf).

Notes — It's long again - which is becoming a common theme. Also pls take every pregnancy date/timeline piece of information with a pinch of salt. I'm not perfect and I only went to nursing school for 3 weeks (not kidding). Okay ily enjoy xxx

2024 (Saudi Arabia—China)

It was still dark when she woke up.

The air in the hotel room was cool, but Lando was burning next to her — damp with sweat, breath uneven. He jerked once, a short, desperate twitch like his body was trying to run without him. Then again, louder. A sound came out of him that didn't sound like him at all.

Amelia blinked, heart already climbing, and reached over. "Lando?"

He flinched at her voice; sat bolt upright, eyes wide and unseeing. He was panting. Actually panting.

"Hey," she said, sitting up with him, hand finding his arm. "Hey, it's okay. It was just a dream."

His head turned slowly toward her like he wasn't sure she was real. "Amelia?" His voice cracked halfway through her name.

She nodded. "Yeah. Hi. I'm here."

Lando dragged in a breath. Then another. But it wasn't calming him down — his hands were shaking, still clenched in the bedsheets like he was bracing for impact.

She reached for them gently. "Lando."

He dropped his head, and for a second she thought he wasn't going to speak. But then — quietly, nearly swallowed by the dark — he said, "There was blood."

She stared at him.

"Yours," he added, like that should have explained everything.

Amelia wrapped her arms around him immediately, pulling him close, pulling him in. His body was stiff at first, coiled tight like he'd shatter if she touched him too hard. So she didn't. She held him exactly the way she liked to be held — not soothing, not soft. Solid. Anchoring.

"I couldn't get to you," he murmured. "I kept running but, fuck, I don't even know what happened. I just—I couldn't get to you."

Her hand moved slowly up his back. "Got me now, haven't you? And I'm fine."

His breath hitched again, then he dropped his head to her shoulder like it weighed a hundred kilos. "You were shouting my name," he whispered. "Trying to get me to come and help you. And I couldn't do anything."

"It was a dream." She told him.

"It didn't feel like one." He admitted.

She didn't say anything. Just held him tighter.

For all the times Lando had been the one to protect her, hand at her back in the paddock, whispering 'I've got you, always' — this was a rare moment where it was her turn to return that.

Amelia shifted slightly, so his arms were around her bump, so he could feel her, all of her, safe and alive and steady. "This is real life," she said into his hair. "Your dreams mean nothing," she said gently, tucking her fingers behind his ear. "They're not omens or premonitions or anything silly like that. Not manifestations. Just your brain sorting through junk data while your body rests."

Lando didn't respond right away, still caught somewhere between shame and exhaustion, eyes trained on her face like she was the only thing keeping him tethered.

"They're not real," she continued, softer now. "It's just neurons firing while your hippocampus files away memories. No intent. No purpose. Just noise."

Her thumb brushed over his cheekbone.

"Nightmares are especially common in high-anxiety environments, particularly when there's big change; like, I don't know," she said lightly. "Maybe preparing for us to have a baby whilst also driving at blinding speeds every weekend."

That pulled a faint, breathy laugh from him. She smiled, but didn't let him look away.

"They mean nothing," she repeated. "They feel real, but they aren't. I'm here. I'm fine. We're fine." She pressed her palm flat over his chest, right where his heart beat wild and frantic just minutes before. "This is real," she said. "Me. You. Here. Everything else? Just your brain being dramatic."

And Lando didn't argue.

He just leaned in and kissed her wrist.

Nuzzled her pulse.

And eventually fell asleep again.

—

Lando was still asleep when she padded out into the hotel suite's sitting room.

She hadn't gone back to sleep. Couldn't.

Not after the way he'd clung to her. The genuine fear that's shined in his eyes.

So she sat on the sofa, blanket over her legs, and pulled out her phone.

Nightmares in expectant fathers.

The search bar filled itself in before she finished typing.

She clicked. Scanned. Saved one medical article, one parenting blog.

Tapped open her Notes app.

THINGS TO REMEMBER — FOR LANDO

    • Nightmares are common in expecting fathers, even more in high-stress environments

 • Fear of losing partner is normal (He's scared. Not silly. Not dramatic.)

    • Don't minimise the fear — reassure with touch + presence.

 • If it happens again, don't ask what the dream was right away   → He will tell you if he wants to talk about it in detail.

 • Deep pressure helps (arms around shoulders, grounding. Not smothering.)

    • Keep lights low.

    • Bring water next time. He won't ask for it.

She stared at the list for a moment, thumb hovering.

She didn't cry. But her throat got tight. Stupidly tight.

It wasn't just that she wanted to help. It was that she wanted to know how. The exactness of it. The steps. Because love, for her, wasn't always instinctive. It was often a system — learned, built, updated in real-time. Just like strategy.

She could do love if she could learn it like this.

A soft sound pulled her gaze back toward the bedroom. Lando shifting under the duvet. She waited, but he didn't call out this time.

She added one more bullet:

 • You fall apart all the time, and he always catches you and puts you back together. When he falls apart — return the favour.

Then locked her phone. Set it down. Took a slow breath.

She'd be ready, if it happened again.

Because that's what love looked like, for her.

Data points. Her Notes app. A quiet war against the clench of unnamable emotion in her stomach.

And a husband who would never have to feel fear alone for the rest of his life.

—

Heavy blackout curtains drawn, both of them stripped down to t-shirts and shorts, the air-conditioning humming softly overhead. Amelia lay sprawled on her back across the crisp duvet, one knee bent, iPad propped against her thighs. She wasn't really reading anymore.

Lando had been beside her a while now, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. Not touching her, just close — their shoulders brushing lightly. He knew better than to crowd her at the end of long race days. She needed decompression like she needed water. Especially now.

Amelia exhaled slowly. The flutter had been there for a minute or two now. Not sharp, not uncomfortable — just present. Familiar. Rhythmic. She'd started tracking it a few weeks ago. There was a pattern forming, she was sure of it. After dinner, quiet room, body finally still — the baby wriggled off like clockwork.

She tapped her fingers gently along her bump. Lando glanced over.

"You okay?" He asked.

Amelia didn't answer right away. She was focused on the pressure inside — just low enough beneath her ribs, like a tiny muscle twitch, but from the inside out. She'd learned not to flinch at it. Not anymore. The first few times had been startling. Unnatural. It had taken her weeks to fully come to terms with it.

She glanced at Lando. "Give me your hand."

He blinked. "What?"

She tugged his phone from his fingers and set it aside, then reached for his wrist and guided his hand down gently, laying it across her belly. He held still immediately, tension tight in his shoulders — like he might scare it off.

Amelia exhaled again. "Just wait."

They sat there like that for maybe a minute. No movement. Lando didn't speak, didn't move. His eyes were glued to his own hand, fingers splayed awkwardly, not quite sure where to press or what to feel for.

Then it happened; subtle, but unmistakable. A faint thud against his palm.

His head snapped up. "Was that—?"

"Yeah," she said. "It's been happening for weeks. Sorry I didn't tell you. I needed to get used to it."

He didn't speak. Just stared down, mouth parted slightly. A second kick followed, firmer this time, more insistent.

"Holy shit," he murmured.

Amelia hummed. "Baby gets real active in the evenings. It's like they know when I stop moving."

Lando adjusted his hand slightly, more confident now. "That's insane."

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "It made me panic, a bit."

"What?"

"The first few times. Sensory-wise. I didn't like not being in control of what my own body was doing. It was... jarring. That's why I didn't tell you."

His eyes flicked to hers, softer now. "Baby."

She smiled faintly. "It's okay now. I— I like it. I like knowing they're okay. Growing. Getting stronger."

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against her shoulder, still keeping one hand pressed firmly against her belly. "You're magical."

Amelia snorted. "I'm incubating."

He smiled against her skin. "Still magic."

The baby kicked again. Lando grinned so wide it made her laugh; full and involuntary.

And just like that, something shifted in the room. The noise from the hotel hallway faded. The distant memories of his nightmare faded away. The race weekend disappeared.

It was just the three of them.

—

Jeddah was hot, fast, and utterly unforgiving.

The kind of circuit that left no room for error, and no patience for discomfort — which, when you were pregnant and doing three jobs at once, was laughably ironic.

Amelia had learned to time her day in ten-minute increments. Ten minutes of data logging. Ten minutes of standing. Ten minutes of sitting. Ten minutes of politely telling people she didn't need help. Ten minutes of actually accepting it when her body disagreed.

Lando had qualified P6. Not ideal, but workable, and Oscar had lined up P5. Both cars in the mix. Everyone pretending not to hover around her as she moved up and down the garage like her body wasn't actively rearranging itself every hour.

The paddock whispers were quieter this weekend. Less second-guessing. Fewer sidelong glances. After Bahrain — after the strategy calls she'd pushed, the moments she'd kept the team calm under pressure — it was like something had shifted. Small things. Andrea deferring to her on timing sheets. Her dad checking in with her first before post-quali meetings. Engineers who used to triple-check her math now just nodded and plugged in her numbers.

Respect, it turned out, came slowly. But it was coming.

Race day was chaos from lap one. A Safety Car reset the whole strategy board by lap fifteen, and Amelia pivoted fast; switched Oscar to the alternate plan, gave Will the nod to bring Lando in early. It was a gamble, but it paid. Tire wear dropped off fast for everyone else, and by lap forty-two, Oscar was in P5 and closing in on Alonso.

He crossed the line in P4.

Lando came home in P8.

The radio crackled with champagne and static and shouting, but when Oscar's voice finally came through, and he said, "Solid comeback." She couldn't help but smile.

After press, after cool-down, after everything, Lando found her in the back hallway near the engineering room, still in her headset, still half-in strategy mode, and pulled her into his arms like he hadn't seen her in weeks.

"You and Oscar," he whispered against her hair. "The two of you are going to keep me on my toes, eh?"

"Yes," she whispered back. "It's fun, isn't it? To really be challenged by your teammate. Hard, but... good."

Lando just laughed and kissed her forehead.

Oscar wandered past then, a bottle of water in one hand, a protein bar in the other. "You guys done with the PDA or..."

Amelia flipped him off without looking. He tossed her the water bottle anyway.

—

Amelia wasn’t one to buy into headlines. She liked numbers. Data. Consistency. So when Oliver Bearman was called up last-minute to debut for Ferrari in Saudi, she’d watched with a measured kind of curiosity — analytical, not emotional.

And then he went and scored points. Solid, clean, fast laps. No drama. No rookie clumsiness. Just grit and focus and a poise that made her sit back in her chair and blink at the final results.

Later, in a quiet debrief room, she pulled up his sector times just to be sure.

Consistent under pressure. No massive tyre drop-off. Clean exit speeds. Braking points tight and repeatable. No rattled radio calls.

She gave a little hum, almost pleased.

When Lando swung by later to ask if she’d seen the race, she just said, “Kid’s got control. Not just fast — smart. I liked it.”

And that, from Amelia, was basically a glowing endorsement.

Behind the scenes, she jotted his name into a private file of “Drivers to Watch” — not because she thought he’d threaten her boys (Oscar and Lando were already leagues ahead in her book), but because she respected the science of performance. And what Ollie had shown under that kind of pressure? That was textbook.

Later that night, curled up on the sofa, she told Lando absently, “He reminds me of you, a bit. Quiet when it counts. Loud when it matters.”

And Lando, who’d already seen the headlines and felt the faint stirrings of a new generation pressing in, just smiled and said, “Yeah. He’s good.”

Amelia nodded once, then added without looking up, “He’ll be better with the right team behind him.”

Which, in her mind, was the truth of it. Because raw talent mattered. But the right data? The right feedback loop? That’s what made drivers great.

And Ollie already had the talent part covered.

So she’d make some calls. Speak to some people.

And in the meantime, she'd sent Carlos a 'Get Well Soon' cake. 

 —

The Quadrant studio in London always smelled like LED lights and too many energy drinks. Cables snaked across the floor, the main set still half-dressed with props from the last shoot — some cardboard weapons from a Mario Kart skit, a suspiciously cracked gaming chair, someone's half-finished iced coffee with a lipstick ring around the lid.

Lando was fiddling with a controller. Max was doing doughnuts on an office chair.

Amelia stood just off-camera. She wasn't due for any on-camera time, just there for the afternoon while Lando filmed promos before they flew out to Melbourne. She hadn't even meant to stay this long — but the couch was comfortable, and she didn't have to explain why she needed to sit down every fifteen minutes.

"You're very pregnant," Pietra said bluntly, appearing beside her with a hand on her hip and a warm grin that made the words feel like affection, not insult.

Amelia made a face. "I'm aware."

"No, seriously," Pietra said, dropping down beside her on the couch, eyes wide as she took in the bump. "When I saw you in January you were just... gently round. Now you're, like... full second trimester in the shape of it."

Amelia nodded. "Twenty-four weeks. All starts happening really quickly once you're out of the teen weeks."

"Wow." Pietra gave Amelia a searching look. Amelia nodded and shifted her hoodie. Pietra rested a hand lightly on her belly, pausing when she felt movement. "Strong."

"Busy," Amelia muttered. "Moves more when Lando's talking. Recognises his voice."

Pietra squealed like that was the cutest thing she'd ever heard, then immediately quieted herself with an apologetic hand gesture, though the excitement still lit her up. "Sorry. That's so sweet."

"I know," Amelia smiled lightly.

"You look beautiful," Pietra said, nudging her. "Like, you've got the glow."

"I've been throwing up for four months."

Pietra snorted. "And you're still hot. It's unfair."

Across the room, Lando looked over. He gave Amelia a crooked little grin before turning back to Max, who was trying to convince the producer to let him do a skit with a Nerf gun and a referee's whistle.

Amelia leaned her head against Pietra's shoulder for a second. "You're still the only woman I've talked to about this who isn't a midwife. Or my mom."

"That's because you're very selective and kind of mean," Pietra said sweetly.

"Thank you."

"But also because women are terrifyingly competitive sometimes and you're like... not built for that kind of bullshit."

"Also thank you."

"I'm serious," Pietra said, turning toward her now. "You're one of the most no-nonsense people I've ever met. I think that's why I like you so much. You never make me guess what you mean."

"That's the autism."

"That's the charm."

They sat like that for a while, low voices and half-lidded smiles, until Lando came over during a break and dropped onto the arm of the couch.

Amelia just reached for his hand and rested it gently on her stomach, where the baby was kicking again — a soft press, not too much. Lando's face softened like it always did.

"You doing alright?" He asked her under his breath.

Amelia nodded. "I'm good. Kind of hungry."

"I'll UberEats you some food." He said.

Max shouted from across the room, "Tell me when I can shoot someone with the Nerf gun!"

—

Oscar's mum had made enough food to feed an army. Four different kinds of salad, two trays of roast vegetables, grilled chicken, a full rack of lamb, and something vegetarian "just in case." Amelia had offered to help twice and had been firmly denied each time with a polite, maternal smile that brokered no argument.

So she sat obediently at the long table on the patio, the soft hum of Melbourne's twilight filling the air, and let the comfort of domestic noise happen around her.

Lando was already two plates deep and talking animatedly with Oscar's dad about tyre temps and the difference between this years compounds. Amelia kept one hand braced on her stomach, the other around her glass of apple juice. Oscar sat on her other side, shovelling roasted potatoes into his mouth like he hadn't eaten in years.

"She feeds me like this every time I come home," he mumbled. "Pretty sure I gain two kilos every time we race in Australia."

"Good," Amelia said, spearing a green bean. "You're too wiry."

Oscar gave her an affronted look. "Rude."

"True," Lando added, not even looking up from his fork.

Oscar's sister set a dish of bread rolls down in the middle of the table, golden and still steaming, then leaned in toward Amelia with a conspiratorial smile. "How's the baby? Are they kicking yet?"

"A lot, actually," Amelia said, smoothing a hand across the curve of her belly. "It used to feel like flutters, kind of like popcorn. Now it's more—defined. Rolling, stretching, tiny kicks. They're... busy in there."

The table laughed; that warm, open kind of laughter that lived easily between mouthfuls of pasta and clinking cutlery.

Under the table, Lando reached out and tapped her knee, fingertips resting lightly for a second or two. Amelia glanced at him. His expression was soft, like something inside him had gone loose. She gave him a small, knowing smile. He didn't need to say thank you. She could feel it in his hand.

Later, when dessert came — two types of pavlova, of course, one topped with mango and passionfruit and the other with strawberries and cream — Oscar's mum passed a plate across the table to Amelia with a practiced kind of care.

"Don't let anyone tell you otherwise," she said. "You're growing a baby. Sugar counts as energy. This is mum-approved."

Amelia smiled, a little caught off-guard. "Thanks. I'll take all the mum-approved sugar I can get."

Lando slid a spoon into her hand without being asked. She didn't miss the way he watched her eat the first bite, like he was mentally cataloguing everything — her comfort, her colour, the rate she was breathing. She let him, because she knew that's how he loved her.

Across the table, Oscar said something dry about his awkward post-race interview, which set off a ripple of laughter. Amelia leaned into Lando's shoulder for a second and just breathed it all in — the open patio doors, the faint scent of jasmine from the garden, the way Oscar's mum had called her "love" all day long.

When the meal wound down and plates were scraped clean and the sky turned the soft violet of a late Melbourne summer, Amelia shifted back in her chair and rested a hand just beneath her ribs. The baby was moving again — just little stretches this time, the kind she was learning to read like a language.

Oscar's sister caught the motion and smiled. "Moving?"

Amelia nodded. "They're a big fan of desert."

"Well," Oscar's mum said, standing to start collecting plates, "clearly they're going to fit in with the Piastri's just fine."

The others laughed again, but it wasn't at Amelia — never at her. She didn't feel observed. She felt... included. Known.

Lando stood to help, moving instinctively to her side as she got to her feet. He didn't make a fuss. Just placed a steadying hand at her lower back and kissed her cheek, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

When they climbed into the back of Oscar's mum's SUV to head back to the hotel, Lando buckled her seatbelt for her without asking. She let him. She was learning to let him help.

Oscar slid into the backseat beside them, his knees knocking Amelia's gently. "Just a warning," he said, completely deadpan. "If you two start being disgustingly PDA back here, I'm getting out and walking."

"You're so dramatic," Amelia said lightly, resting her head on Lando's shoulder.

Lando smirked. "Ignore him. He's jealous because he's not the favourite child anymore."

"It's fine," Oscar said, eyes closed, "I'll always be her first."

Amelia laughed.

—

Albert Park felt familiar in a way few circuits did — maybe because it was Oscar's home race, and Oscar had quietly made it hers too. It was warmer than expected. The kind of dry, sun-struck heat that made the garages feel like furnaces by midday, and the hospitality suites always smell faintly of sunscreen above engine oil.

Amelia ran her iPad on low brightness, wore compression socks under her fireproofs, and drank from her water bottle every minute.

Oscar's family had stopped by the track on Friday. His mum had brought fruit. His sister asked to feel the baby kick and cooed when she did. It was almost too much — not the attention, but the softness of it. Amelia didn't know what to do with tenderness that didn't demand anything in return. She took it anyway. Filed it away for later.

By Saturday, Lando had qualified P4. Oscar managed a clean Q3 lap for P6. Amelia stood between the engineers' wall and the pit box, headset around her neck, a folded pit strategy in her back pocket, her hand resting lightly over her bump.

She didn't miss the way the newer engineers double-checked everything with her. The quiet shift in authority. Trust, finally, not earned through her name or her proximity to Lando, but through clean results and consistent systems. Through knowing the car like she'd built it herself. Because she had.

She didn't say much on race day. Her voice carried weight, and she'd learned when to use it. Oscar got boxed early to cover Hamilton. The undercut worked. Lando stayed out two laps longer than planned, held Verstappen behind for five beautiful corners, and came out ahead after the second stop.

Amelia had trained herself not to flinch when things went sideways — a yellow flag, a botched pit release in the box next door, a lockup into turn nine — but she could feel the baby twist in her stomach with every adrenaline spike. Lando's telemetry showed steady throttle traces. Clean lines. The kind of driving that only happened when he wasn't chasing. When he was already out front.

He took the last podium place on lap 41.

McLaren's first podium of the season.

Oscar followed behind in 4th.

Afterwards, when the champagne had been sprayed, Amelia leaned her head against Lando's sticky shoulder in the back of the garage. Just for a second.

"Such a good drive from both of you," Amelia said.

"Car's really starting to feel dialled in." Lando said.

Amelia hummed, adjusting something on the iPad balanced across her lap. "It'll only keep getting better. I built this car specifically for you and Oscar, remember?"

He shot her a grin. "Yeah, baby. I remember."

Before she could respond, Oscar appeared from the garage tunnel, dropping onto the crate beside them like his limbs had given out. He was already halfway through his second sports drink and looked like he might fall asleep mid-sip.

"God," he groaned. "I feel like I need to sleep for three weeks."

Lando chuckled, scrubbing a hand through his damp hair. "You say that after every race."

"Yeah, well, some of us actually push," Oscar muttered, elbowing Lando in the shin.

The moment hung suspended; the afterglow of adrenaline, the buzz of a job well done, until Lando cleared his throat. "Hey... so—hypothetically—what happens if we're both fighting for the win?"

Oscar didn't say anything right away, just looked at Amelia like he wasn't sure if she was going to laugh or murder them both.

She didn't blink. "Whoever's had the cleaner race gets prioritised race strategy."

Oscar frowned. "Just like that?"

"Yes. Just like that."

Lando tilted his head. "Even if it's close?"

Amelia looked between them, her expression flat. Not unkind. Just firm. "I don't play favourites. I won't have you two fighting each other for points unnecessarily. The data doesn't lie. If one of you's managing tyres better, or has had stronger pace on long runs, or been cleaner through traffic—that's who gets the optimal strategy."

"But what if—" Oscar started.

Amelia cut in. "The data will tell the pit wall exactly who's having the better race. Even if it's just by a tenth. That's how it'll be decided."

They both stared at her for a beat too long.

She raised her brows. "You think that's fair?"

Oscar nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess."

Lando blew out a breath. "It's just weird knowing the person making the call is, you know..."

"Your wife?" Amelia supplied, looking dead at him.

He scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah."

"Doesn't matter," she said simply. "Once the visor's down and you're both in the car, you're just data points to me."

Oscar snorted. "Romantic."

Amelia's mouth quirked. "Don't worry. I'll love you both again once the cool-down lap is over."

Lando let his head tip back, laughing, but Oscar just drained the last of his drink and nodded thoughtfully.

And then, like it had never been tense at all, they sat in companionable silence, shoulder to shoulder, their suits still half-unzipped and reeking of brake dust and heat. Amelia leaned back against the crate, iPad still in hand, calm as ever.

Law laid.

—

Monaco was quiet in that oddly padded way it always was between race weekends — blinds half-drawn, travel bags still by the door, and a kind of stillness that settled over the rooms like breath held too long. The fridge held only a few stragglers: bottled water, half a tub of hummus, one sad lemon. The kind of post-travel chaos Amelia had once found irritating now just made her feel... warm. Anchored. A little undone around the edges, but not in a bad way.

She'd fallen asleep on the sofa in a crumpled sprawl, one leg tucked awkwardly beneath her. She woke with a cramp in her hip and that now-familiar nausea coiled low and constant — not as sharp as it had been in the first trimester, but still there.

Their scan was booked for late morning. Same clinic as always — discreet glass doors, a wall of untouched magazines, that soft, over-perfumed smell of orchids and antiseptic. Amelia sat in the waiting room with one hand resting lightly on the curve of her stomach, her hoodie stretched gently over her bump. The iPad in her lap glowed, unread.

Lando sat beside her, bouncing his knee. A rhythm he didn't seem to notice.

"Are you nervous?" She asked, eyes on her screen but not reading a word.

He shrugged, then nodded. "Dunno. I just... I want to know she's alright."

She hummed in agreement.

They still didn't know the sex for certain, hadn't wanted to find out in December when the offer had been made. But lately, they'd started slipping into the idea of a daughter without thinking. A soft she in the early mornings. A tentative her when Lando scrolled through name lists at night, reading them out loud with too much focus, as if one might suddenly feel right.

They were called through. Same sonographer. Same faint vanilla scent clinging to the corners of the dimly lit room. Amelia eased onto the table, hoodie pulled up, her belly rounding into the cool air. She reached for Lando's hand without needing to ask.

"You want to know the sex today?" The sonographer asked.

Lando nodded once. "Yes. Please."

Amelia gave a small smile. A little tense around the edges. The gel was cold against her skin, the wand firm just under her ribs.

"There we are," the sonographer murmured, screen flickering to life. "Heartbeat is strong. She's measuring just under the 60th percentile. Spine's here — lovely alignment. And very active. You'll be feeling that more and more as she runs out of room."

It landed quietly. No fanfare. No pause for effect. Just: she.

Lando made a sound beside her. Not quite a gasp. Just the breath catching in his throat like it had nowhere else to go.

Amelia blinked. "She?"

The sonographer smiled softly. "She's not shy, this one. There's no mistaking it."

Amelia let out a slow, careful breath. "We'd been guessing," she said, voice thinner than usual. "Didn't want to find out too early. But... yeah. That fits."

Lando was still staring at the screen like it held the answer to something unspoken. Their daughter moved — a small, decisive roll — and pressed one foot against the uterine wall like she was testing the perimeter of her world.

"Looks like she's already got opinions," Amelia muttered.

"Good blood flow," the sonographer continued. "Placenta's anterior, fluid levels are excellent. She's sitting diagonally for now — spine curled along the left. Look at those little hands."

Amelia stared, but something caught in her — a quiet breath that didn't go all the way down. "Can I ask... is there any sign of... scarring?"

The sonographer tilted her head. "You mean from your endometriosis?"

Amelia glanced at Lando, then back. "Yeah. It's minor. Diagnosed when I was a teenager. I've been managing it fine and my midwife isn't concerned, but—"

"Nothing concerning," the woman reassured gently. "There's some faint evidence of prior inflammation near the uterine wall, but it hasn't affected blood flow or implantation. Your body's doing exactly what it should. She's growing in the best possible environment."

Lando's thumb rubbed slowly over the back of Amelia's hand. Quiet. Grounding.

When the scan was done, Amelia wiped the gel from her stomach and sat up carefully. Her joints felt loose lately — like her body had quietly agreed to more change than her brain had signed off on. Ligaments giving, hips stretching. Quiet, invisible work.

Lando carried her water bottle. Didn't let go of her hand until they were outside.

The air was warm and breezy off the marina. Sunlight slipped between clouds like threads pulled through linen.

"You okay?" He asked softly.

She nodded. "She's okay. That's all I care about."

He paused like he wanted to say something — to turn the moment into a joke, or maybe something bigger — but he didn't. Just watched her like he couldn't believe any of it was real.

Back at the apartment, Amelia moved slower. Not tired. Just aware. Of the shift. The weight. The girl inside her.

Lando pinned the scan photo to the fridge with careful precision. Not casually — like it mattered. Like it needed to be straight.

Next to it was a post-it that read: We were right.

Amelia added another below, neat and precise:

24w scan: 144 bpm. Diagonal. 60th percentile. It's a girl.

Lando stood there for a second, then picked up a pen and drew a lopsided heart beneath it.

Later that night, while he brushed his teeth, Amelia curled up in bed and opened her notes app. A new list took shape.

Third Trimester To-Do

• Pack hospital bag

• Final scan at 32w

• Baby CPR course

• Book postpartum physio

• Order blackout blinds for nursery

• Learn how to style baby hair

• Ask Mum about baby clothes storage

• Confirm birth plan with midwife in UK

• Stop Googling "endometriosis birth risks"

She clicked her phone off, rested both hands on her stomach. A flutter answered her. Small. Intentional.

Not a concept anymore. Not an idea.

A girl. Their girl.

Lando slid into bed beside her, silent and warm. He didn't say anything, just reached for her hand and held it. Steady and sure.

And she let him.

—

Amelia had never really enjoyed FaceTime. Too much pressure to make eye contact, to frame yourself properly, to keep a neutral expression when your face wanted to do anything but. But since the pregnancy, she'd started calling her mom more and more. Sometimes audio-only. Sometimes with the camera propped up on the windowsill, a safe few feet away.

That evening, Monaco was sunk in a golden dusk. The blinds were half-open, the sea just visible through a gap between buildings. Lando was out, dinner with his trainer, and Amelia had the apartment to herself for the first time in days.

She called her mom while she was folding laundry. Not dramatic, not ceremonial; she just needed to hear her voice. The call connected quickly.

"Hello, sweetheart."

"Hi, Mom."

Her mom's face appeared; soft lighting, kitchen tiles in the background, a cup of tea in hand. Comfortable. Familiar. The kind of presence that made Amelia's shoulders drop without her noticing.

"You look tired," her mom said, but kindly. Not a judgment. Just a fact.

"I am," Amelia admitted, folding a soft baby onesie she hadn't quite meant to buy yet. "But we had the 24 week scan. She's doing fine."

Her mom blinked. "She?"

Amelia felt it land in her chest, quiet and solid. She smiled, small but real. "Yeah. It's a girl."

Her mom didn't burst into tears, didn't gasp or squeal. She just let out a slow breath and placed her tea down, like she needed both hands to hold the moment. "A girl," she echoed.

Amelia nodded, lips pressed together. "A little girl."

"Oh, sweetheart." Her mom's voice went warm and quiet. "That's... that's beautiful. How's she doing? How are you doing?"

"Heartbeat's good. She's measuring well. Still flipping all over the place, but that's normal. They said she's healthy and active." Amelia paused, fingertips brushing the edge of the folded onesie. "And I'm... okay. Tired. Ligaments are weird. My hips feel like someone's unzipping me from the inside out. But okay."

Her mom smiled, soft and proud. "You always were tougher than you gave yourself credit for."

Amelia swallowed. "I'm coming back to England for the last bit. I want to have her there. At home."

"Of course," her mom said. No hesitation. "You'll stay here. Whatever you need."

"I just..." Amelia took a breath, then let it out in a rush. "I know Lando will be racing. And I'm not... I'm not scared. But I don't want to do it without someone who knows me."

"You won't have to," her mom said gently. "I'll be right there. However you need me. I promise."

Amelia's fingers played with a tiny pair of socks, folding and refolding them. "Do you think I'll be okay at this?"

"I think," her mom said slowly, "that you already are. You're careful. You're clear. You've made a life where this baby will be safe and loved. And you're going to figure the rest out one step at a time."

Amelia blinked hard. "I keep thinking about her growing up. What I'll say to her. What I'll show her. I want to be steady. I want to get it right."

"You won't get everything right," her mom said softly. "None of us do. But she's going to know she's loved. And she'll know you. That's more than enough."

Amelia nodded, her throat a little tight. "Thanks, Mom."

"Always, love."

They stayed on the line a little longer, not talking much. Just the quiet comfort of home on the other end. Eventually, Amelia got up and poured herself a glass of water, carried the phone with her around the apartment. Her mom stayed there on the screen, sometimes commenting on the laundry pile, sometimes just watching her daughter move through her life.

It wasn't dramatic. It didn't need to be.

It was just love; steady and quiet and unspoken, the way it always had been.

—

It hit her on the flight to Japan.

Amelia shifted in her seat for the sixth time in as many minutes, trying to get comfortable. The upgraded seat helped, sure. The little footrest and lumbar support, the quiet of the cabin, the way Lando had wordlessly handed her one of his noise-cancelling earbuds when the hum of the plane started getting under her skin. But none of it stopped the low ache in her hips. Or the swelling in her hands. Or the way her centre of gravity felt just slightly... off.

It wasn't new. But this was the first time she couldn't bring herself to ignore it.

Lando was asleep beside her, a hoodie pulled up over half his face, mouth parted slightly. He'd had his hand on her thigh when he drifted off. It still rested there, warm and reassuring.

She looked down at herself — at the dome of her belly now undeniably there, visible even beneath the soft slope of her hoodie. Twenty-five weeks.

Her iPad screen lit up with her calendar. Back-to-back races. Long-haul flights. Debriefs that stretched into the early hours. The carefully timed quiet minutes between adrenaline spikes.

There wasn't a line in the schedule that said you will have to stop, but she could feel it all the same. A kind of internal countdown.

She opened her Notes app and typed.

When to stop flying?

Ask Dr. Molina about long-haul after 30w.

How long before babies are allowed to travel longhaul?

What if I miss something?

What if the team does better without me?

What if I'm not ready to stop?

She stared at that last one for a long time.

Lando stirred beside her and blinked awake. He glanced over, registered the screen, then her expression.

"Baby, you okay?" He asked, voice thick with sleep.

"Yeah," she said automatically. Then hesitated. "I was just thinking. About how much longer I can keep up with all of this."

He sat up a little straighter, pushed his hoodie back. "Yeah?"

"Travel. Track. Work. This pace. I'm not there yet, but... I can feel the edge coming."

He was quiet for a second. Then, gently, "You know you can stop whenever you need to. No one expects you to—"

"I know," she cut in. Not unkindly. "But I expect me to."

Lando didn't argue. He just shifted closer and rested his hand again over her stomach. His thumb traced absent patterns, slow and grounding.

"You'll know when it's time," he said. "And when it is — we'll figure it out. Me and you and the team."

Amelia leaned her head against his shoulder, eyes still on the screen. Her typed out worries stared back at her.

For now she closed the app, shifted into a slightly more comfortable position, and let herself rest. Not ready to stop yet. But maybe starting to soften to the idea.

Just a little.

—

The garage was half-packed when Amelia finally sat down on one of the flight cases, iPad still in hand, tea cooling on the crate beside her. Her dad dropped into the chair next to her, no clipboard, no headset. Just her dad.

"I've done the maths," she said without preamble. "If everything stays on schedule, I can probably work trackside through to Monaco. Maybe Canada. Depends on what my doctor thinks about the travel."

Her dad nodded like he'd been expecting this. "That gives us until early-June."

"Assuming no complications. If I do decide to bench myself before then, I'm going to need two weeks to train Tom. Ideally three."

"He's on board."

She finally looked up from the tablet. "Yeah?"

"Knows it's temporary. Knows it's your program he'll be running."

Amelia gave a tight nod. She didn't need soft reassurances. She needed facts. Structure. A transition plan.

"I'll still handle all the dev work," she said. "Sim data, mechanical spec reviews, upgrade briefs. That can all be done remotely. I can run analysis from the MTC. Keep my name on the post-session reports."

"You will," her dad said.

"I don't want to fade out."

"You won't."

She glanced down at her stomach, hand resting absently over the slope of her hoodie. "I think I'll fly home after Imola. Be near Mum. Lando'll be in Canada and that's just... it's too far away for me to feel comfortable being on my own. It makes sense."

He didn't argue. Just nodded once. "That buys you recovery time over the summer break. Target Zandvoort return?"

"Realistically, Monza. Depends on baby's health, what the paediatrician reccomends. But I'll be involved well before that."

Her dad leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You know this isn't about proving anything."

"I'm not trying to prove anything," she said, not unkindly. "But if I don't spell it out, people start making decisions on my behalf."

That earned the ghost of a smile.

"You don't have to worry about your place here," he said. "It's yours. Nothing changes."

She nodded again, that single clean tilt of the head that meant she was logging the information. "I want everything documented," she said. "No handover gaps. I'll start mapping out the protocols next week."

"Whatever you need."

They sat in companionable silence for a moment.

"Do you want help breaking it to Oscar?" Her dad asked.

She raised an eyebrow. "He already knows what to expect."

Her dad snorted. "Good. He'll be fine."

Amelia stood slowly, tugging her hoodie into place, checking the tablet again like she couldn't bear to be idle. "I'll work until I can't. And then I'll keep contributing until I'm back."

"Exactly what I'd expect from you."

"Not too soft for your pit wall, then?"

"Terrifying," he said flatly.

She smiled, just a little. "Good."

—

The paddock in Suzuka had always felt different. Not quieter — the energy here was as high as anywhere — but more... reverent. Like the corners themselves held history. Every garage whispered with ritual and rhythm, the hum of a place that demanded precision. Amelia had always liked it.

This time, it felt harder to keep pace.

She was twenty-six weeks pregnant. The travel was getting trickier. Her hips ached more after every flight, and her ankles didn't always bounce back the way they used to. But she hadn't missed a session, not yet. She was still Oscar's race engineer, still elbow-deep in data and debriefs. Still herself.

Mostly.

It was Saturday afternoon when she realised she'd started leaning against the pit wall more often than not — subtle, casual, one hand on the railing like she was just watching sector deltas scroll past. Tom had noticed. He didn't say anything, but he started keeping one ear open on comms, watching her line of sight when Oscar came in from a run.

She appreciated it.

And the team, maybe for the first time, really saw her. Not just as Zak's daughter. Not just as the woman Lando went home to. But as Amelia. The one who rebuilt the simulation code base. The one who restructured McLaren's comms protocols to reduce data lag by half. The one who kept Oscar focused even when he was ready to snap.

Her notes were tighter than ever. Her briefings were concise, efficient. She stopped double-checking her own voice before speaking on the radio. She let herself lead.

It was Oscar's best qualifying session yet.

Lando was P4. Oscar P5. Both cars within half a tenth.

And by Sunday evening, after a clean, hard race that left both drivers exhausted but intact, McLaren had walked away with solid double points and zero drama.

No risky overtakes. No strategic infighting. Just clarity.

In the garage after the race, Oscar leaned his forearms on the back of Amelia's chair and peered at her screen.

"You're glowing."

"I'm sweating," she said flatly.

He grinned. "Same thing."

Lando came in a few minutes later, hair damp, suit unzipped to his waist. He looked drained, but good. Sharp in that post-race way, nerves still hot under the surface.

Amelia turned in her seat and pressed a cold bottle of water into his hand. He took it with a murmured thanks and then crouched beside her chair like he just needed to be close. She let him lean against her knee.

Oscar watched them for a second, then said, "So... there's a break coming up now, right?"

Amelia raised an eyebrow. "Yes."

"Right," Oscar continued. "So what if, just what if, we went somewhere that wasn't a hotel or a racetrack or an airport lounge?"

Lando blinked. "Like a holiday?"

Oscar gestured between them. "You two are about to have a whole new person. I figure you deserve a few days of fake retirement before everything changes."

Amelia narrowed her eyes. "Would you be joining us on this so-called fake retirement?"

He didn't even flinch. "Of course. I'm the honorary family dog. Can't shake me."

Lando snorted. "I mean... a quiet week somewhere would be good. Somewhere warm. No cameras."

"Somewhere with pillows," Amelia added. "And comfortable sun loungers and mocktails on tap."

Oscar nodded solemnly. "Somewhere where Amelia doesn't have to wear shoes if she doesn't want to. I'll look into it."

She should've said no; there was too much to do. Too much to plan. Too many timelines and checklists still open. But she felt Lando's hand on her leg and Oscar's unshakeable grin and the soft thrum of the post-race lull all around them, and something inside her relented.

"Fine," she said, slowly. "But I'm vetoing a resort. I want privacy."

Oscar threw up his hands. "So picky."

"I'm allowed to be picky." She said.

"Yeah." He agreed.

Lando just smiled, tired and soft, like he couldn't quite believe this was his life.

And Amelia, sore-backed and sun-drenched and more herself than she'd felt in months, reached for her water and let herself breathe.

They'd go. Maybe they'd do nothing. Maybe she'd watch Lando fall asleep by a pool while Oscar got sunburned and insisted he wasn't. Maybe it would be good.

Maybe it would be rest.

—

The villa in Mallorca was rented under Oscar's name, but Amelia had commandeered it within five minutes. There were towels folded with hotel-precision on the beds, blackout curtains in every room, and a fridge that had already been stocked to her specifications. No sparkling water, no orange juice with bits, and an entire shelf dedicated to cut fruit and unseasoned carbs.

They had a pool. They had sun. Lando had somehow acquired a ridiculous straw hat shaped like a watermelon slice. Oscar had already been banned from cannonballing before 10 a.m.

Amelia was stretched on a sun lounger, sunglasses on, iPad open across her knees — not working, just tweaking a grocery list and glancing occasionally at the group chat where Max was demanding selfies every hour. Her bump sat proudly in the centre of her soft grey dress, round and obvious now, rising gently with every breath.

Lando floated by in the pool, arms hooked lazily over a pool noodle. "What're you doing?"

"Thinking."

"About what?"

She tapped a note open on her tablet. "Maternity leave."

Oscar groaned from the deck chair beside her, where he was eating an unpeeled nectarine like a feral animal. "It's a holiday. Why are you using work words?"

"It's literally not a work word," she said. "It's a logistics plan. And it directly impacts both of you."

That got their attention.

Lando paddled toward the edge, resting his chin on his arms like a golden retriever. "Go on."

She flipped to the next page in her document. "Okay. So. I'll officially step away after Imola. That gives me time to finish the first round of upgrades and oversee Oscar's spec setup for Monaco and Canada."

Oscar looked nervous. "Who's covering me?"

"Tom Stallard."

"Oh." He blinked. "That's fine."

"You'll still have access to my notes," she added, glancing over her glasses. "I'll be consulting remotely until I give birth — probably from the MTC in Woking, or my mom's house, depending on how uncomfortable I am. You'll both send me debriefs. You will not filter them."

Oscar raised a hand. "Will there be snacks at your mom's? Because I can be convinced to travel there between every race."

"There will obviously be snacks."

Lando looked at her. "How long, baby? Six weeks, eight? You can take the rest of the season if you want. I'll come back to you between every race, no matter what."

"I haven't decided yet," she said simply. "Eight weeks, maybe. Depends on the birth, my recovery, and how you two act without me here. But when I come back, I'll walk straight back into the role. No stepping-stone. No reduced hours. That's already been agreed with Zak and Andrea."

Lando gave a short nod. "Okay. That sounds good." He pursed his lips. "And baby girl...?"

"Baby girl will be with me at all times." She said firmly. "And when I'm on the pit wall, she'll be with my mom. She's already agreed to travel with us. I don't want to hire somebody I don't know to look after our daughter." She told him.

He nodded in agreement. "My mum's already offered to travel with us, dad too. To step in whenever we need a break."

Oscar chewed his nectarine like he was thinking hard. Then, finally, "When I win, can I take the baby on the podium with me?"

Amelia stared at him with genuine horror. "No!"

Oscar blinked.

Lando laughed so hard he nearly choked on pool water.

Amelia looked up at the sky. "I just don't want you to act weird about it. I'm pregnant, not vanishing. I love this job. I worked hard for it. I'll rest, I'll recover, and I'll come back."

Oscar gave a slow, half-serious salute.

Lando climbed out of the pool, water dripping down his arms, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You don't need to prove anything to us. You know that."

Oscar tossed his nectarine pit into a paper cup. "This baby's going to be a real Grid Kid."

Lando grinned. "I love that."

Oscar pointed at her. "You should get McLaren to make her some branded tiny noise-cancelling headphones."

"I already sent the request," Amelia said.

There was a pause.

Oscar grinned. "God, you're gonna be so good at this."

Lando said nothing, just reached down and threaded their fingers together.

Amelia leaned back, letting the sun find her face. Her feet were propped on a folded towel. Her boys were here, quiet and safe and ridiculous.

And the baby kicked once, just a soft nudge, as if to say: 'I'm here too.'

—

The Shanghai International Circuit thrummed with heat and movement — engineers hunched over telemetry, mechanics rolling tyres with military precision, the air sharp with rubber and tension and something metallic beneath. Amelia kept her pace steady, one hand curved just under her bump like an afterthought, posture instinctively counterbalanced. Twenty-seven weeks pregnant, and the world still spun the same.

She’d just wrapped a meeting with Oscar and his strategists, short, sharp, effective, and was heading back toward the McLaren hospitality suite when Lando appeared, all loose limbs and narrowed eyes, like he’d been looking for her.

“Hey,” he said softly, already scanning her face. “You look pale, baby.”

Amelia exhaled through her nose. “Just the usual dizziness. I’m fine.”

But Lando didn’t look convinced. His gaze drifted downward to the slope of her belly like he could assess her blood pressure with a glance. “Maybe you should take a break. Put your feet up for a bit.”

Before she could offer a rebuttal, Zak appeared on her left, all brisk concern and the slight lean of a man about to intervene. “Honey, I was just about to say the same thing. You’ve been on your feet all morning.”

Amelia glanced between the two of them, arms crossed over her chest, jaw set. “I’m fine.”

“Yes,” Zak said evenly. “But you’re also very, very pregnant, in thirty-degree heat.”

“I’ll take a short break,” she muttered, already heading toward the suite. “Eat something. I’m hungry anyway. Can we find some noodles? Plain ones.”

“Yeah, of course,” Lando said quickly, falling into step beside her.

Inside the hospitality suite, the air was blissfully cool. Amelia sank onto a wide, cushioned chair near the far window and peeled off her cap. A cool drink appeared in her hand, water, with ice and a slice of cucumber, and she leaned back, one hand absentmindedly tracing the ridge of her stomach through her t-shirt. The baby shifted. Not a kick, but a gentle roll, like she was stretching.

A few feet away, near the coffee bar, Zak and Lando lingered; not hovering, exactly, but tethered to her like satellites.

“When she was a kid,” Zak said quietly, arms folded, voice pitched low, “she didn’t cry when she grazed her knees. Not once. Just stood there, blinking, blood running down her leg. It’s like... she feels pain, but her brain doesn’t flag it as urgent. Doesn’t know what to do with it.”

Lando’s jaw flexed. “Yeah. I know.” He was watching her like he always did when she wasn’t watching him — careful, like she was made of glass and iron in equal measure. “She pushes herself harder than anyone I’ve ever met. But I’m watching. I know the signs now. When she’s close to the edge and pretending not to be.”

Zak blew out a breath, not quite a sigh. “Wish I could wrap her in bubble wrap.”

Lando huffed something like agreement. “Yeah. Same. But she’d kick our asses if we tried.”

Zak chuckled. “She gets that from her mother.”

Across the room, Amelia caught their eyes and squinted. “Are you talking about me?”

“No,” they said in unison.

She narrowed her eyes but let it go, already distracted by the appearance of a steaming bowl of noodles being dropped in front of her. 

“This is nice,” she said between mouthfuls.

Lando pursed his lips to hide his smile. 

—

By late afternoon, the circuit had settled into its usual Friday-eve rhythm: cars back in the garage, radios quieter, engineers drifting between briefings and laptops. Amelia finished updating Oscar’s setup notes and slipped her headset off, the weight of it leaving a faint pressure along her jaw.

She spotted Tom near the back of the garage — arms folded, watching the data feed scroll across a nearby monitor. He looked focused, but not too busy. Good.

Amelia adjusted the fit of her polo over her bump, grabbed a spare iPad, and walked over with the steady confidence of someone who expected to be listened to. “Got a second?” She asked, already flipping the tablet around.

Tom straightened. “Always.”

“I want you to start shadowing me properly,” she said. “From now on. Every session. Every debrief. From now until I step back.”

Tom blinked, just once. “Already?”

“Yes, I want both os us to be prepared for any eventuality,” she told him. “You’ll be the most important to Oscar during my leave. And I want the transition to be as seamless as possible for him.”

He nodded slowly. “Understood.”

“You’ll do fine,” she added, tapping the iPad awake. “I know that you’ve got great credentials, and you’re calm, just like my ducky. But I want it done right. You’re not just reading notes — you’re learning how I communicate with Oscar. How I time interventions. Where I let him drive through issues and where I call it early. The tone matters. The silence matters more.”

Tom’s gaze sharpened. “I can do that.”

“I know,” she said simply. “That’s why I requested you specifically.”

A pause. Not long. Just enough for her to glance sideways and see Zak watching from across the garage, arms still crossed, nodding to himself like he approved of the moment without needing to step in.

“I’ll be available to you remotely,” she continued. “From MTC or home in Surrey. You’ll always be able to get in touch if something’s unclear or we need to adjust mid-weekend. But I want you confident enough that you won’t have to.”

Tom looked down at her bump, not long, just a flicker of respectful acknowledgment, and then back at her eyes. “How far out are you planning to step back?”

“Before summer break,” she said. “Likely after Monaco. I want a clean split before Imola. She’s due in late June, early July, and I want to be home by then.”

He nodded again, solid as always. “Alright. I’ll start sitting in properly tomorrow.”

“Good.” She closed the tablet. “And Tom?”

“Yeah?”

“If he complains that you’re not me, remind him I handpicked you. And that he has to do what you say — because I said so.”

Tom grinned. “Got it.”

Amelia turned to go, but paused after a few steps and looked back over her shoulder. “Don’t screw this up, Stallard. For your own sake. I get mean when anybody messes with my boys.”

—

The McLaren war room wasn’t called that officially, but Amelia couldn’t think of a better name. It was tucked behind closed doors at the back of the motorhome, with tinted windows, air-con humming softly, and a huge screen already displaying performance graphs and strategy overlays from the Shanghai Grand Prix.

Lando’s P2 had been hard-earned. Strategic brilliance, excellent tire management, clean defensive driving. Amelia had been proud; of him, of the team, of how the car had performed under pressure.

Oscar had come home P6. No mistakes. Just a race that didn’t quite go his way.

And now, with a double points finish in their pocket and the start of a momentum swing building, they were all squeezed into this meeting to talk about the future.

Specifically: team orders.

“Look,” one of the strategy leads was saying, gesturing toward the display. “We’re in a unique position this season. The car’s competitive. But so are both drivers. Very evenly matched. We should just let them race.”

A few people around the table nodded, murmured agreement. “It’s the fairest approach,” someone else added. “No favouritism. Trust the drivers to race clean.”

“Right,” another chimed in. “Papaya rules—no number one, no number two. No intervention unless absolutely necessary.”

Amelia leaned back in her chair, one hand resting protectively on her bump, the other spinning a pen idly through her fingers. She waited a beat.

Then, calmly, “That’s idiotic.”

Silence.

She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to.

“Letting them race without clear structure is how you lose the team points,” she continued. “It’s how you make emotionally reactive decisions mid-race. It’s how you create resentment—because eventually, one of them will get burned by a call that felt arbitrary. Or too late. Or unfair.”

Zak shifted in his seat but didn’t interrupt. He’d seen her like this before; measured, relentless.

“They’re not in go-karts,” Amelia said. “This isn’t about playground ethics. It’s about execution. Maximising constructor points. Sustaining morale. Keeping both of them an integral part of the long-term plan.”

Someone across the table sighed. “Come on, you think they’ll be okay with one of them being prioritised just because they’ve had a cleaner race that day? Even if the other was leading the championship?”

“Yes,” she said flatly. “I do think that. Because unlike any o you, I’ve already spoken to them about this. At length. Separately. Together. After Bahrain. After Jeddah. Again last night.” She let the silence settle. Let them exchange awkward glances as they realised how on the back-foot they all. “They know what’s at stake. They understand that in a scenario where one of them is consistently faster, cleaner, or better-positioned based on live data, that driver will be prioritised for that race. It’s not a demotion. It’s not a snub. It’s a race-by-race performance-based call.”

“But—” someone began.

She cut them off. “They agreed it would make them both better. Force them to be cleaner, smarter, more strategic. Push each other. Because the moment it’s not based on merit, we undermine the value of their work. And we risk both of them driving more emotionally than tactically.”

Zak finally leaned forward. “You’re saying… no open racing. Just structured flexibility.”

“I’m saying we don’t throw them into a burning building with no fire exits,” Amelia said. “We guide them. We explain our decisions. And we make it crystal clear: we back the driver who’s executed the better race. Full stop.”

She sat back.

No one argued.

After a long pause, one of the older engineers finally muttered, “Hell of a thing when the drivers trust each other more than the people in this room do.”

Amelia arched a brow. “They trust each other because I made sure of that.” She tapped her pen twice on the table. “And because they trust me to be impartial.”

Another beat of silence passed. Then Zak stood.

“Alright,” he said. “Then that’s how it’ll be. We back merit. We run data-forward. Amelia writes the internal protocol. Full review before Miami.”

The meeting dissolved shortly after.

As she stood, Lando appeared in the doorway, fresh from his media obligations. He glanced at her with that careful, familiar look he always gave her after long meetings—curious, proud, a little smug.

“How’d it go?”

She smiled faintly. “You and Oscar are getting merit-based strategy rules. No fighting each other unless it makes sense on the timing screens.”

“Perfect,” Lando said. “I’ll just have to be better than him every week, then.”

Amelia smacked his chest lightly with her folder on the way out. “You can try.”

—

The paddock had mostly emptied by the time Amelia caught up with Oscar. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and the long shadows made the garages feel colder than they were. He was leaning against a stack of tyre blankets near the back of the garage, in a pair of sweats. A half-drunk sports drink hung from his fingers.

He noticed her before she spoke, gave her a tired little smile.

“Fun meeting?” He asked dryly. "I assume it ended with someone muttering something like, 'well, Amelia knows best.'"

She smiled faintly. “Not in those words. But close.”

He looked away, nodding. “So… the strategy thing.”

“Yeah,” she said, stepping up beside him. “They agreed. It's what makes sense.”

Oscar didn’t reply immediately. He wasn’t sulking, that wasn’t his way, but he was being cautious about this. Amelia respected him for that. Always had.

“You’re not going to be sidelined,” she said quietly. “Not ever. But I won’t let you two cannibalise each other. It’s not about protecting Lando. It’s not about picking favourites. It’s about making strategic calls when they matter.”

“I know,” Oscar said. “I get it. I just…” He trailed off, rolling the bottle between his hands. “It’s frustrating, you know?” He added after a second. “To feel like I’m just outside the sweet spot. Every weekend. Not far off. Just not quite there.”

Amelia nodded. “Yeah. I know. But you’re not behind, Oscar. You were still a rookie last year, yeah? And you had a car that you couldn’t drive because it was all-but underivable. I never expected you to walk into this season and get consistent podium finishes. You’re in development. The best kind. The kind that’s going to make you seriously dangerous by midseason. You don’t want to peak now — you want to be ready to win, and keep winning, when it happens.”

Oscar gave her a side-eye. “Midseason, huh?”

“On track, in briefings, in strategy meetings, you’re my priority. Just like Lando is Will’s. So trust me when I say that we will make a data-driven decision to protect your race when it's yours. The same goes for Lando. Neither of you is owed a position. You earn it. And you’ve earned plenty.”

He exhaled, long and slow.

She hesitated for half a second, then added, “Also, you’re the only person who can get under Lando’s skin just by existing, so please don’t stop doing that.”

Oscar snorted. “Oh, I plan to keep annoying him.”

“Good. That’s your most valuable skill.”

They both smiled. The moment settled into something comfortable.

Then Amelia said, softer, “they wanted to let you fight it on the track. No structure. One of you gets an earlier pit, the other would be fucked, because there wouldn’t be any kind of structure.”

Oscar looked at her.

“The structure. The clarity. The mutual understanding,” she continued. “Osc, when everything is vague and reactive and drivers are forced to figure it out mid-race, it screws with your head. I won’t do that to you. Either of you.”

He gave a small nod. “Thanks.”

“And when Tom steps in while I’m off,” she added, “he’ll follow it the same way. Because you’ll help him. And because you’ll remember we built it together.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “When do we start calling it the Papaya Doctrine?”

“When you win your first race of the season,” she said without missing a beat.

“Cheeky.”

“Motivated,” she corrected, then pushed gently off the wall and turned to head back inside. “C’mon. Let’s go find Lando.”

Oscar followed, more relaxed now. Lighter.

And when they reached the motorhome, he reached up and tapped the scan photo Amelia had stuck to the communal fridge earlier that week.

“Little engineer better be on my side,” he said under his breath.

Amelia didn’t even turn. “Sorry. She’s already a daddy’s girl.”

—

It was late afternoon in Monaco. Amelia had slipped away from the apartment, sipping on a decaf iced latte and pretending her ankles weren’t already starting to hate her.

She didn’t expect Max to be walking in the same neihbourhood, but he was—of course he was. He veered off course like it was second nature, grin crooked, sunglasses pushed up into his hair.

“Zusje,” he said by way of greeting, already wrapping her in a loose, familiar hug. “You’re massive.”

Amelia made a face. “Max.”

He stepped back to take a better look. “No, I meant — I just mean that—"

“I think that you should just stop talking,” she said flatly.

Max held his hands up in surrender, then leaned against the wall ledge beside her. They sat in companionable silence for a moment. 

Then she said, without ceremony, “It’s a girl.”

Max blinked. “Seriously?”

She nodded, and for a second, something unreadable crossed his face; surprise, maybe, or just the weight of knowing. Then he smiled. Big. Soft. “She’s gonna be trouble,” he said.

“I know.”

“She’ll be outdriving Lando by age twelve.”

Amelia grinned. “Obviously.”

Max looked at her a long moment, then reached out and tapped a gentle knuckle against her arm. “You’d be a good mum to any baby. But a little girl will be so, so lucky to have you, Amelia.”

It was simple, unadorned. But the words wrapped around her heart like a fuzzy blanket. “Thanks,” she said, and meant it.

He hesitated a second longer, then added, “And if you want to name her Maxine, you know...”

“Absolutely not.”

He laughed. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

Maxine. God forbid.

Still — she’d always known he’d be the first to joke about it.

And the first to show up if she ever needed him.

—

amelianorris just posted . . .

amelianorris Baby Girl 💖

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landonorris outnumbered already ❤️ by amelianorris

user47 I'm crying girl!dad Lando makes so much sense to me

user13 THIS BEING HER 5TH EVER INSTAGRAM POST??????

pietra.pilao Already the most loved little girl in the world!

user53 pls i don't mean to be parasocial but i rly hope they share baby girl norris' name because i bet its going to be so beautiful

mclaren Limited edition PINK caps are available in the McLaren online store right now! While stocks remain 💘

NEXT CHAPTER

[ahundredtimesover]

Something About You (06) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: friends au, vacation au, slow burn, romcom-ish vibe; adulting; inspired by AYS; PE teacher!JK and researcher!OC; fluff, comfort, smut (?)

Chapter Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption, kissing (18+)

Word count: 22.3k

Series Masterlist

Status: Complete

Series Summary: You and Jungkook have been friends for a decade. And while he’s the charming and dependable, often reserved boy-next-door, he’s also just been a friend - a constant in your life, a part of a whole, and someone who’s seen all the flawed and probably unattractive sides of you.

A resumption of your friend group’s out-of-town trips has caused you to spend more time with him. And somewhere in between the morning coffee in the forest, running around in the snow, and watching the sunset on a boat, he’s become something more. And you’re not quite sure how to deal with it.

🎶: Beautiful Soul by Jesse McCartney || Yes or No by Jungkook

A/N: The last one (and a bonus)! It was a short journey but thank you for gushing about these two with me. They definitely have my heart. [KILIG] I hope you one day find someone you could settle into, too (could be anyone, or a dog I guess). Please enjoy! ☺️

The day after you get back from a mini-vacation is always the toughest. 

You drag yourself to work on Tuesday and spend much of it daydreaming about the past weekend and everything that happened - from spending time with your friends to eating the most amazing food. It was four days of unforgettable memories that you’ll hold dear, especially considering the big changes happening in the lives of people you care about.

There was a change in yours, too - your feelings for Jungkook, specifically, and your acceptance of it. You didn’t want to expect much during the trip but you suppose that going with the flow meant you let things surprise you and they did. 

From briefly holding his hands to being taken care of, you found yourself falling into what once were very normal and natural occurrences between you two and enjoying them. There was comfort and familiarity but also a rush of emotions that somehow felt new - thrill, anticipation, overwhelming desire but contentment in things being the way they are. 

There were moments where you felt like you wanted to confess, like when you laid by the pool one evening and looked at the stars or when you watched the sunrise together on that final morning. That was always your thing, though. You’re assertive when it comes to what you feel for other people and you tend to let them know right away because you don’t like wasting time. 

But not with Jungkook, as you feel that letting things happen and progress gradually is the more natural way of going about it, even if it feels like your feelings came out of nowhere. 

In a way, they did. All it took was one conversation with your friends that got you thinking. But all you had to do was pay attention to your feelings and that’s what made you realize that maybe the comfort and familiarity you’d always felt with him was part of the process. 

The 10 years of friendship was 10 years of experiencing heartbreaks and learning life lessons separately but being there for each other regardless. That’s 10 years of slowly adjusting to each other, allowing parts of yourself to intertwine and fit with his, and then finding out that you want more than what friendship can give you. 

Maybe hold hands longer, or cuddle and kiss. Or more specifically, hold hands while watching something beautiful together. Or cuddle after a long, tiring day. Or kiss to express your care and appreciation in ways that words can’t. You suppose it’s experiencing life together in a new way - next to him where you wish you’ll always be. 

It’s unlike you to feel like this. You don’t always wait. You act on your desires immediately because you know you can always walk away if it’s not returned, and it’s something you can live with. 

But not this time, not only because you have something to lose but because desiring him is something you enjoy. Understanding what you feel, letting it settle, and then basking in it are part of the experience that you want to embrace because then you know you’re not rushing; then you know it’s real. 

What’s also part of the experience is not knowing how to act and missing him. Like when he didn’t text you all Tuesday because he crashed when he got home after teaching PE all day, or when he messaged you the next day asking how you are and you stared at the text for five minutes because you didn’t know how to respond. 

Or when he miraculously replied in the group chat about going to your place on the weekend but then sending his apologies the day after that because he got dragged into a school trip that he couldn’t say no to.

Today is Saturday, and you’ve been cranky since last night. You know it’s not his fault but you can’t help the empty feeling at not having him around and not being able to tell him about it. 

You’re lying in bed with your thoughts going from one deep corner of your mind to another when your doorbell rings. You drag yourself out of bed and find Jimin, Taehyung, and Mo-eum smiling as you open the door. 

You greet them with a pout before letting them in.

“Wow, nice to see you, too,” Jimin says sarcastically as he places the food and drinks on your coffee table. 

“Hey, don’t be hard on her. I’m sure she’s happy we’re here,” Mo-eum smiles.

“Yeah. She just wishes that Jungkook was, too,” Taehyung adds. “I mean, I don’t blame her though. That’s how it is when you like someone.”

“Why are school trips scheduled on a weekend?!” You whine. “And why is he the one who had to be the substitute chaperone for it?!”

Your friends endearingly smile at you and hold in their giggles because they’re not used to seeing you pouty about Jungkook not being around. 

“It’s the science club’s trip to an observatory that they scheduled this weekend because of the planets’ alignment tonight,” Mo-eum explains. “And Kook’s in the roster of substitutes so he got called in at the last minute because one of the teachers got sick. It sucks but that’s how it is.”  

“It’s crazy that they just assume he’s free on the weekend,” Jimin shakes his head. 

“Well, he doesn’t have his own children to take care of, that’s for sure,” Mo-eum corrects. 

You know she’s right and you can’t really blame anyone for Jungkook not being here. Come to think of it, he probably prefers catching frogs at the swamp and building tents with his students over being stuck with your rowdy group in your apartment just watching movies. You also just spent the last weekend together so missing today wouldn’t be much of a big deal to him.

You’re the one who’s sulking because you miss him, and the weight of your feelings hits you again. 

“I can’t believe I like him,” you sigh as you sink onto the floor by your sofa. 

“I can’t believe you haven’t told him you like him,” Taehyung says as he munches on your lunch of fried chicken and beer. 

“Tae, it’s just been a week,” you glare at him.

“Really?” He cocks an eyebrow. 

You definitely seemed confused for longer than that.

“Fine, a few weeks, then,” you correct yourself.

“Still a few weeks more than your usual,” he hums. “I mean, you tend to kinda go for it the moment you realize you like someone.”

“Well, he isn’t just someone,” you say softly now. “He’s my friend and that makes all the difference. I can’t just walk away from him if he doesn’t like me. This is a risk in itself! Why– ugh, why did I even convince myself to give in to my feelings?!”

“___, let’s breathe a bit, yeah?” Jimin rubs your back to calm you down. “He literally just couldn’t make it today and it’s because of an obligation and not because he didn’t want to be. Okay? You can’t just assume the worst and end up regretting letting yourself feel what you feel. You haven’t even told him you like him!”

“When would I?” You pout again. “And it’s not like I’m planning it like this major event or anything. I want it to be natural but I’m also thinking - for how long should I let things be this way? Do I drop hints and then back off if he seems uninterested? Do I tell him outright? Do I wait?”

“I think, for once, you’re overthinking,” Jimin sighs. “Just see what each day brings. Did you talk this week?”

“We were texting on Wednesday. He confirmed coming today but we've both been busy since then,” you narrate. “I don’t want to just keep texting him.”

“Why not?” Mo-eum asks.

“I don’t know, I’m kinda shy. I’m cautious of being assertive and I don’t want him to think he has to reply all the time because I know he’s not the type,” you explain. 

“Again, overthinking,” Jimin says. “Just do what you normally do. And do what you want. That’s how things developed anyway - you, doing things naturally, so keep it that way. And when you think you’re ready, then tell him how you feel. We’re here to support you with whatever you decide. Okay?”

“Okay,” you sigh, leaning on his shoulder before you stand up and say you’ll shower because you just got out of bed. 

“Bum,” Jimin yells as you make your way to the bathroom. 

“Shush, I’m sad,” you groan.

When the door shuts, Mo-eum turns to the two men.

“So, until when are we gonna pretend that we don’t know that Jungkook likes her, too? Are we just gonna hide the fact that they like each other to both of them?” She whispers. 

“Mo-eum, we promised that we won’t meddle so we won’t tell her, the same way we’re not telling Kook that she likes him,” Taehyung responds. 

“Well, you asking Kook if he likes ___ and Jimin suggesting to ___ that she could like him is kinda like meddling, isn’t it?” Mo-eum asks. 

“Hey, my question was totally innocent,” Taehyung defends.

“And I literally just floated an idea. I didn’t even know that Kook already liked her that time,” Jimin counters. 

“Okay fine. So now they like each other and we’re the only three people who know. Why aren’t we doing anything?” Mo-eum wails. “___ is sulking because Kook isn’t here and Kook is texting me, asking what we’re doing as if there’s anything more to say about movies and drinks!”

“Because we’re good friends who’ll nudge them here and there but then we’ll let them confess at their own time and place,” Taehyung says. “We did our part last weekend. I left them alone and stopped myself from teasing them so that I wouldn't ruin their moment.”

“True. And I made sure no one else wanted to watch the sunrise with them on Monday morning,” Jimin adds. “I had to do hypnosis on Joon to convince him that he didn’t need to see it just so ___ and Kook could have their alone time.”   

“Fine,” Mo-eum agrees. “So do we just let them figure it out from here?”

“For now, I think we just wait,” Taehyung nods. “I’m leaving soon so we’ll have more time to see each other and that means more chances of them spending time together or being alone. I just hope they figure their shit out while I’m still here so I can celebrate.”

“We’ll see. I mean, you have that farewell party next Friday and something has been happening every night out,” Jimin states. “Who knows? Maybe it will happen then.”

The three of them quickly change the topic once they hear the door unlock and you return to the living room. You look less upset now and there’s a bit more life on your face and they know you probably just needed to cool off.

“You feeling better?” Mo-eum asks as you reclaim your seat next to her on the couch. 

“I think I just needed a shower,” you chuckle, thinking to yourself earlier how silly you are for sulking.

Of course you wish Jungkook was here, but just thinking about him being with his students and witnessing something pretty spectacular tonight makes you smile. 

He loves his kids. He’s a proponent of learning outside the classroom and he’s often talked about how he enjoys joining excursions and field trips because of the other things he gets to teach them. He loves his job and his passion for it - no matter how quiet or subdued compared to yours - is incredibly attractive. You can’t wait until he tells you all about it. 

Your friends look at you softly and take your word for it. You’re one who says what she means and they suppose you just needed to rein in your feelings so you could get over them. 

“Alright then. Movie time,” Taehyung smiles.

You sit in between him and Mo-eum, alternating leaning on their shoulders, as you watch his picks for today. You go from action in Reservoir Dogs to heartfelt romcom in About Time - his favorites - which means you go from tense to cry-laughing the entire afternoon. You get food delivered for dinner and your friends stay until close to midnight. 

The two glasses of wine you have make you sleepy, but you don’t crash out right away. The minutes before you do, you think of Jungkook again and how he’s doing. You wonder if he got to marvel at the night sky and if he’s warm enough for the night. You wonder, too, if he was thinking about you. 

You learn the next morning that he was, as you wake up at 10 AM to a photo of the sunrise from him. It looks like it’s taken by a lake, and you see the light illuminate on the water. It’s stunning, and you smile as you stare at it and feel the rush of thrilling yet wholesome emotion at the thought of him thinking of you when he took this.

[to: bunny kook] that’s so pretty, kook! It looks so calming

[from: bunny kook] yeah it was.

[from: bunny kook] i think the one in jeju was better though

You spend the remainder of the morning just giggling to yourself and kicking your blanket out of excitement. 

It’s silly acting this way over one text, but you suppose that’s how quickly you’ve fallen into the deep end of this whole liking Jungkook thing. You might also be overthinking because him saying that the sunrise in Jeju was better could literally mean that he liked the view there more. That was followed by a pod of dolphins swimming so you’d understand if that was his reason.

But then again, there was also you. He told you about the sunrise. He asked you if you wanted to see it. You’d like to think that you’re the missing variable this time and maybe that wouldn’t be a stretch. So you bask in it for a while even if he messages that he’ll get back to you later once they’re on the trip home. 

You go about your day running errands. It’s mid-afternoon when he sends a text that they’re on the bus heading back to Seoul and you reply that you’d just gotten back to your apartment to do some chores. You talk like that for the next hour or so as you constantly check the clock, hoping that it wouldn’t be too much if you ask him to have dinner somewhere nearby when he arrives. 

But as luck would have it, their bus gets caught in traffic. And when they finally arrive at the school, he has to wait for the last remaining student to get picked up before he could leave. It’s not that late in the evening but you think it’s late enough to hang out, and given the weekend he’s had, you suppose he’d just want to lay in bed and get some rest.

So that’s what you suggest that he does.

[from: bunny kook] where should I get food delivered? 

You laugh at his question, not because it’s funny but because it seems silly that he’s asking you. You decide to call him and reason to yourself that it’s much easier than texting, which is true. You’re folding your clothes after all.

“Are you really asking me about food?” You gasp when he picks up the phone. 

“Well, you’re the one who always orders delivery,” he chuckles. “I’m kinda drained; I can’t really think right now. What do you recommend?”

You think about it, really think about it. You don’t want to disappoint him with your food choice so you give him options of your favorite burger joint, your go-to donburi place, a noodle house, and a Chinese restaurant - all hearty and definitely his type of food. He decides on getting a rice bowl and he orders while you’re on speaker.

“Alright. That should come in half an hour,” he informs you.

That’s enough time to talk, you think, so you ask him how the trip was. 

“Oh, there’s so much to say. And I have to show you the pictures so I’ll tell you everything the next time I see you but it was really fun,” he shares. “The guides taught the kids about the different plants in the forest and which mushrooms are poisonous. Then we set up tents on a field and then went to an observatory to look at the stars. They loved seeing the planets on the telescope and it was just nice to see them excited.”

“That sounds fun, Kook. Glad you got to be with them then, even if it was a short notice trip,” you say, and meaning it. 

“Yeah, I just wasn’t ready, especially having just come from a trip. Mr. Im was the other option but it was his son’s birthday so he begged off,” Jungkook sighs. “I still would’ve enjoyed movies at your place though. I heard there wasn’t any horror on the list.”

“Nope. Tae’s choices. Plus, neither one of the guys wanted to sit next to me and Mo-eum,” you laugh. “Jimin said we would’ve watched something scary if you were there since you don’t mind being yelled at.”

“Hey, you’ve improved. We watched The Thing last week and you yelled just one time,” he points out.

Not like you could admit that the only reason why you didn’t react like you normally would was because you were more nervous doing something silly with him so you just laugh and agree. 

“Well, what a weekend for you, huh? I’m sure you’re exhausted, and you go back to work tomorrow,” you say, wishing he would’ve had time to rest.

“It happens. It’s part of the job and it’s fine,” he hums. 

Jungkook stops himself from saying more, like how he wished he got to spend even a bit of today with you. But he wasn’t sure if it would’ve been too much if he insisted, given that you were doing errands all day, too. And well, he would’ve been obvious as well, even if looking back, sending you the sunrise picture then saying that the one in Jeju was better could’ve given him away. 

He woke up at dawn for a quick hike up a hill to watch the sun rise because he wanted to reminisce about last weekend and be reminded of you. It still looked pretty but it felt different doing it on his own. 

He recalled the last morning in Jeju - your little squeals every time he drove through a hump then feeling you tighten your hold on his waist for security, sitting on the ledge and seeing your smile grow wider as the sun ascended, and the way you held his hand in awe as if things didn’t feel real unless you had something to touch. 

You thanked him for taking you there and said that you’ll always remember that moment. He blanked out and couldn’t say that he’ll always remember it, too. A part of him wishes that he’d been braver that day and just told you how he felt, but he thought of the plane ride and the drive back home and how awkward it would’ve been if you didn’t feel the same way and he didn’t want to put you in that position. 

But what he’s learned these past months is that the thrill, the anticipation, the curiosity and yes, even the regret, are all part of the experience. It’s part of settling into the feeling and settling into you and he knows that at the end of the day, whether he crashes on the ground or he lands safely, the comfort of these past few months because of you is what he’ll remember. 

That’s what he wants you to remember, too.

You hear the doorbell ring on Jungkook’s side of the line and you internally sigh at having to end the call. Despite how close you’ve become recently, you’re not exactly at the level where you talk this much and while someone’s doing something else, so you offer to hang up.

There’s a beat of silence on his end and you resort to calling him out to retain that sense of normalcy in your friendship.

“You chew loudly,” you reason. “You eat like a child sometimes.”

“Uhm, and you don’t?” He counters. “You’re the one who eats while yapping.”

“I like to multi-task,” you say. “I can nourish myself while arguing a point or narrating a story.”

“You’re silly,” he chuckles now, but he decides to let you go.

He would’ve wanted to stay on the line with you but you’re sensitive to chewing sounds and he can’t help himself with how he eats sometimes. He’s not really the type to be on a phone call for long but he doesn’t mind it with you because you always have something to say. You fill the silence that he doesn’t know what to do with, and even when there’s nothing to say, he just likes knowing that you’re there.

“But yeah, I’ll go ahead and eat. Thanks for the recommendation. The food looks delicious and their serving is huge,” he states.

“Yup, thought you might like that part,” you laugh. “Get lots of rest, okay? And uh, see you soon? Tae said he’ll organize dinner this week and then there’s his farewell party on Friday.”

“Yup. He’s been blowing up my phone with reminders. I’ll see you then. Bye.”

You finally hang up and lay on the pile of clothes that you stopped folding since getting on the call with Jungkook. It’s become increasingly clear that you want more of him and you’re trying not to get overwhelmed and be swept away by your emotions. 

You know what you feel for him is real; you just don’t want to scare him off with how deeply you feel it. You have to remind yourself to tone it down and give him space to breathe because who knows what he’s feeling, too?

Maybe your friends do or maybe they don’t. Even with their non-stop teasing and their penchant for pushing your buttons, you know enough that they won’t meddle or at least, act or say anything on anyone’s behalf. 

You’ve seen it with Seokjin and Hayoung and even Suhyeon and Hoseok. And while Jimin has his Yoongi-Gyu-rim agenda, you know that he knows his boundaries and he’s letting them figure things out on his own. Kinda like what he and Taehyung and Mo-eum are doing with you. 

But you’ll see Jungkook again like you said. Maybe the time to tell him would be then.

The American restaurant that Taehyung chooses is quite loud and full for a Wednesday night. He doesn’t mind it though, since it’s like preparation for him on how the next year of his life is going to be like. He’s leaving for New York next week and he wants to brush up on his English and American pop culture knowledge, which is why you’re all here during quiz night. 

You got stuck in a meeting and took a cab here and more noise isn’t exactly what you need right now but you suppose it’s fine. You’d go anywhere for Taehyung and you know that this kind of vibe is what he seeks sometimes. 

He runs to you when he sees you enter the restaurant and gives you a tight hug. It hasn’t sunk in yet but you know soon that it will, so you hold him tighter and whisper that you’ll miss him but you already hate this place.

“Ha! I figured. Yoongi’s been cursing me under his breath since he arrived, too,” he laughs. “But don’t worry. My parents’ house on Sunday for lunch and it’ll be better. They serve the best milkshake and lava cake here so order them.”

He grabs your hand then whispers. “I saved you a seat,” and gestures to the space next to Jungkook.

“Weren’t you sitting there a while ago?” You ask.

“Yeah, because I was saving it for you. Hoseok and Namjoon are still on the way.”

“Tae,” you pull his hand now, as you recall your thoughts from these past few days of where your friends might stand in this whole situation. “What does this all mean?”

“What?”

“This…” you sigh as you gesture towards Jungkook. “Letting me sit next to him and, I don’t know, things you’ve said?”

“Because you’re my friend and I support what you feel,” he smiles tenderly. “Nevermind his side, whatever it is. What matters to me is that you get to experience something new and good, something that makes you feel good about yourself, and something that you could settle into and that makes you feel like it’s right.”

Your face softens as you process his words. Your friends know you as someone who dives right into things and doesn’t care much for the consequences because you’ve always managed to get through them, whatever the end result was. With Jungkook, you’ve learned to settle into the feeling, experiencing every fun and exciting and scary part of it and you suppose that’s made you appreciate yourself, too. 

“But hey, you know me,” he continues. “I’m not gonna let you crash, especially when I won’t be around. Take that how you want.”

His smile is a bit cheeky this time as he pulls you again towards the table. He takes the seat across from you while you take the one he supposedly saved, right next to Jungkook.

“Hey,” he greets. “Heard you got caught up in a meeting.”

“Yeah. The CEO of some Foundation was at the office and my manager dragged me along,” you sigh. “I left my car at the office because I was too tired to drive.”

“Well you’re here now. You feeling okay?”

“Yup, all good now,” you assure him. “So, Tae said the milkshake and lava cake are good so I’m getting both. What did you order?”

“None yet, I haven’t made up my mind. What are you thinking?”

You browse the menu and go through a bunch of choices with him before you settle on barbecue ribs while he orders a steak sandwich and lobster mac and cheese. You get the chocolate milkshake while he gets vanilla.  

The conversations around you are constant, this despite the fact that you all spent several days together not long ago, but you suppose so much has happened since then. The wedding preparations continue. Taehyung has finalized his rent of an apartment in Manhattan and booked a local modeling gig. Mo-eum’s up for a service award. And Hoseok spearheaded a massive fashion collaboration. 

You sometimes forget that your friends are at the top of their fields because of how natural and human they are outside of their jobs. It’s a relief, you think, that despite everything that goes on in their lives, your circle of friends will always be home. 

You think about the man next to you and feel that way about him, regardless of what he feels for you. You suppose that’s what Taehyung meant about experiencing something good for a change. 

Jungkook feels like home. Whether it’s one you move on from or one you stay in for a long time is something you have yet to find out, but you’re settling in it comfortably now and you like it.

And when he nudges your shoulder to show you his food then offers you the first spoonful of the mac and cheese, you start to think that maybe you like being here for now. You like the comfort and the carefree feeling of it. There aren't any expectations nor demands. 

You just… like him. You like being around him. You want to hold his hand and it’s okay if you don’t get to yet. You want to know how his lips taste but you can wait until the time comes. You want to drown in his warmth but leaning on his shoulder would be enough to satisfy you. 

This is different for you, too. You’re often impatient and needy. You need to get your hands on whatever you want the moment you decide you want it. Maybe with Jungkook, you will, eventually. Maybe it isn’t now. 

You enjoy the night more than you thought you would. Your table wins first place on the quiz. Taehyung wows the entire restaurant when he sings Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby on the jukebox. 

And you savor every bite of your ribs and share the lava cake with Jungkook. You notice him pushing the chocolate syrup and vanilla ice cream on your side of the plate so you could get more of it and your heart jumps at this. 

It’s the little things, you realized the other night. He’s so good at them. He pays attention even if sometimes it seems like he’s spacing out but you’ve noticed him notice everything. You wonder if he’s noticed the change in you, and if he has, you wonder if he’s just going with the flow like you are, just waiting for the right time to make a move. 

“Your mind’s gone elsewhere again,” he chuckles, disrupting your thoughts. “The ice cream’s melting.”

“Ah, you know me,” you shrug and finally take that final spoonful. “It doesn’t stop… thinking. It freaks me out sometimes.”

“Hmm. I hope your thoughts never scare you though.”

“They’re not always good, you know?”

“They’re still yours,” he counters. “You don’t have to be scared of yourself.”

You nod and smile, and you wonder how he does it, how he just calms you down with words or even with a look of assurance. 

This is the version of you that likes him. And like you’ve realized, you like this version of you that likes him. You start to wonder if you’ll also like the version of you that gets to be with him and if he’ll like that, too.

Dinner finally ends after most of you run out of energy. It’s a work night, after all, and it’s just the middle of the week. Since you left your car at your office, Jungkook offers to drive you home. 

You nod, and just when you thought you’d get to be alone with him again, Namjoon asks if he could hitch a ride, too. He has to pass by a friend’s apartment and he lives in the same block as Jungkook. 

“Uh, sure,” Jungkook nods. “Let’s go. I’ll just drop ___ off first.”

“No problem,” Namjoon smiles.

You laugh at how things are turning out, as the rollercoaster of emotions gives you a whiplash. You say goodbye to your friends and when you get to Jimin, Taehyung, and Mo-eum, they’re frowning and asking why Namjoon is cockblocking you right now. 

“Oh shush, he isn’t,” you chuckle. “It’s fine. I liked tonight with Kook.”

And you mean it. You sat next to him and he talked about the school trip. You scooted closer so you could hear each other over the noise. You got to see his smile again and felt that comfort that being with him gives. 

And all that felt enough, reminding you that this isn’t like all the times before. It assures you because what Jungkook deserves is certainty and you think that’s what you can give. 

Namjoon sits in the passenger seat with you sitting behind him. And you don’t mind at all; you like listening to him ramble about things. So does Jungkook, as he laughs and asks questions, even as he constantly looks at the rear view mirror and meets your eyes. 

You feel the rush whenever he does, like this tingling feeling all over your body, especially when you see him smile right after from the back of the passenger seat. It does quell the noise in your mind a bit, as it constantly goes from wanting to tell him how you feel to wanting to bask in this feeling a little while longer. 

You arrive at your apartment and Namjoon reaches out his hand from the front for you to shake as a goodbye. Jungkook turns to you with a softness in his eyes, like a look of contentment mixed with a bit of regret that you probably mirror. 

“Good night, ___. Don’t hurt yourself, yeah?”

“I’ll try,” you chuckle. “Thanks, Kook. I’ll see you guys again.”

You walk up the steps of your apartment and glance back to see Jungkook’s smile before he drives off. 

Jungkook looks at himself in the half-body mirror and nods, feeling satisfied with his chosen outfit for this Friday night. 

It’s Taehyung’s farewell party before he leaves next week and all your friends are obligated to go. Not that Jungkook wouldn’t, but he at least prefers to go in peace, and not with the said man knocking at his door and demanding they go to the Club together. And then judging him for what he’s wearing.

“Nope, you’re not wearing that,” Taehyung shakes his head. “Choose something else.”

“What’s wrong with a shirt and jeans? I actually think I look pretty good when I’m in a basic outfit,” Jungkook argues.

“You do. But Kook, you need to look irresistible.”

Jungkook turns around and gives his friend an incredulous look.

“Why?”

“Because I have hot friends and if one of them fancies ___ and asks her out, what are you gonna do?” Taehyung challenges. “Are you gonna sweep in with your basic outfit and make her pay attention to you? I mean, what are you even doing at this point?”

“Okay, you’re being harsh,” Jungkook scowls, wondering where all this accusation is coming from. “And hey, I’ve been doing a lot, okay? I take her home, I text her, I… I’m affectionate with her.”

“Yeah, normal things I guess,” Taehyung rolls his eyes. “But what are you telling her?”

“That I like spending time with her?”

“What about hey I like you, should we date?”

“None of that… yet,” Jungkook sighs as he sits on the couch and leans his head back, suddenly feeling stressed at this sudden attack. “Why are you rushing me anyway?”

“I’m not rushing you. It’s just that you’ve liked her for months but you haven’t told her yet. I’m just wondering why. I mean, you haven’t really been saying much about it recently.”

“Because I don’t know how to express it,” Jungkook admits. “I never know how with these things. And I told you, I want her to settle into me, slowly. If I confess to her without that happening then it might freak her out and I don’t want that. I want her to actually like me back, you know?”

Taehyung merely hums, cautious not to give anything away. While he, Jimin, and Mo-eum have talked about not meddling, it doesn't mean it isn’t frustrating when he has to pretend like he doesn’t know anything, especially when you and Jungkook are so painfully unaware of what the other is really feeling. 

It’s tempting to tell Jungkook about what you feel, the same way it’s tempting to tell you that he’s actually been pining for you for a while now. Or even to just lock both of you in a room and urge one of you to confess, or blast it on some speaker that you both like each other. Though Taehyung doubts it’d ruin things, he doesn’t think it’s the most natural way to go about it.

He supposes that one downside of being long-time friends who end up liking each other is that things that may seem normal actually already mean something more. Perhaps it’s a defense mechanism, and it’s probably why you haven’t picked up just how much Jungkook likes you and why he doesn’t seem convinced that you like him, too. Maybe it’s also because you’re both focusing so much on how you feel and not what each other’s actions probably mean.

But like he said, he won’t meddle but he could nudge. And dictating how Jungkook looks tonight is one way he could do that. Taehyung already knows how you react to the man and if Jungkook sees that, it might give him the confidence this time.

“Okay then. Entice her,” Taehyung says as he gets back to the conversation.

“What the heck does that mean?” Jungkook laughs at the absurdity. 

“Just… wear something that fits the occasion more than jeans and a shirt. Like, something that you think would impress her.”

Jungkook nods and thinks it’s not a bad idea. He never felt like he needed to try with you when it came to how he looked or presented himself. He’s always dressed in jeans or joggers with a shirt or a jacket whenever he meets you and you never mind. Not that you have a reason to. You even seem to like it when he’s in his oversized hoodies because they’re comfortable, which is what you said about the one he lent you in Jeju. 

But maybe if he wants you to see him differently, dressing up might be one way to do it. So he heads to his closet and puts on an outfit that he thinks might work then asks his friend if it’s okay.

“Hmm,” Taehyung circles him. “Jeans and boots are on brand. Switch the jacket with a leather one. And good choice with the tank top because she likes nice arms and you better flaunt them.”

“I’m not gonna remove my jacket there,” Jungkook rolls his eyes, although he admits feeling confident about his physique.

He may have seen you look at his body a little longer than usual during your last trip and he admits it made him feel good, even if he wondered why you didn’t say anything because you tend to be vocal about those things. 

Taehyung disregards him and pulls out a belt from the drawer as a final touch.

“Wear this.”

“Oh, I forgot I had this,” Jungkook says as he puts it on.

“I bought that for you years ago! Can you appreciate the fancy things I get you and wear them?!”

“Yeah, I will,” Jungkook laughs. 

He assesses himself in the mirror and thinks that he looks infinitely better. He feels good in it, too. He’s unsure if being dressed up would do much but he hopes it will, at least in terms of giving him the confidence to drop even bigger hints about how he feels. And then depending on how you react, maybe he’ll confess, too. 

He looks back at your trip and the times you’d held his hand - consciously and instinctively - and your moments of silence and comfort that were somehow laced with tension. He’s hopeful that he’s not hopeless when it comes to you. 

Taehyung hums in contentment at his friend. He knows that with you, the feelings are new and you’re still getting used to them. A few days on an island where Jungkook was half naked half the time already got you all hot and bothered and made you attentive to how it affected you. 

Maybe seeing Jungkook with this mature yet casual look could do something to you, too. And if it’ll help push you to be honest about what you feel, maybe that’s what the two of you really need.

You stare at yourself in the restaurant’s bathroom mirror and think you look good enough for a night at the Club. 

You got dragged to a sponsor’s dinner and had to quickly choose what to wear so you could go to the Club for Taehyung’s farewell party right after. You went for a sparkly top and white skirt ensemble paired with blue velvet heels and it makes you feel a little flirty and confident, which is what you need if you want to see where this whole thing with Jungkook could lead. 

Not that you expect that anything huge would happen but if you could have moments again, then that wouldn’t be bad. Taehyung gave you a heads up about his hot friends being present and quite frankly, you don’t care. You already know that Jungkook’s the only one you’ll have your eyes on and you’re excited to see him.

You put your hair down then head out. You finish the dinner and get in the car that Taehyung sent for you since he wanted to make sure you got to his party on time, even if you’re punctual and he’s just early. He said he wanted to be with his friends as long as possible. And that he dragged Jungkook with him so you can’t be late. 

You aren’t, but when you arrive at the Club, it’s already packed. Taehyung has always been a social butterfly so you didn’t expect any less but still, this is way too many people for your liking. 

You make your way in and spot some familiar faces. You heard that there are reserved tables for you and your friends so that’s where you try to go, but Jihyo gets to you first and starts dancing with you. 

“Just like college, hey?” She giggles, and you laugh at your memories from those days.

You’re glad you remained friends with her. She always matches your friends’ energy and right now, it’s pretty high, as you spot Jimin and Mo-eum dancing their way towards you. 

Jimin hugs you and compliments your look, stating how it feels so girly, a contrast to Jungkook and his leather jacket. Your eyes immediately flit to where he is, and you spot him on the table, laughing with Namjoon as they engage the people who pass by to greet them.

He looks so handsome with his parted hair, especially when he combs it with his fingers like he often does. You see the neckline of his top and that is definitely not a shirt like you expected he’d wear, and your heart does a thing at the thought that he’s in a tank top again. Just the image of him in one gives you the shivers. 

He meets your eyes and it takes you a few seconds for it to register, but you manage to smile and wave in time. Hopefully he doesn’t pick up the pattern of you constantly zoning out whenever you look his way. 

You manage to get out of your dancing circle and head to the table where your friends are. Namjoon engulfs you in a hug and praises you for a recently published research from your team that he already finished reading. Hoseok and his girlfriend get to you right after, and you quickly get into conversation because it’s been a while since you’ve seen her. 

You constantly glance at Jungkook who just sips his drink while chatting with whoever is near him. There’s a tiny smirk on his face after you meet his eyes though, and you see it from your periphery. You wonder if he’s waiting for you to go to him like you are.

It takes a while but you make it around the table after greeting everyone, finally ending up where Jungkook is. He softly smiles at you before giving you a hug and whispering hey. Your body chooses to shiver again in response.

“Hey,” you greet back then look at him from head-to-toe. “Did Tae dress you?” 

“Sort of,” Jungkook chuckles. “He told me to change from something else and made me wear the belt and the jacket. Does it suit me?”

You’re unsure if this is a trick question. Or a test. You’re losing your mind over this outfit and he’s fully clothed. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “Different from your usual outfits and this is… mature.”

He snorts in response. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You realize the other connotation of what you just said and try to make something up but your brain already isn’t functioning at full capacity so you wave him off.

“Whatever. It means what it means.”

He says something but you can’t hear him over the loud music so he leans closer and whispers in your ear again.

“I said the outfit looks nice on you. It’s very chic.”

“Oh, thanks,” you mutter, feeling the heat on your cheeks. “I, uh, I tried. Tae has hot friends and—”

You stop mid-sentence at the stupidity of your words. Your brain truly isn’t functioning right because you obviously dressed all prettily so the man in front of you would pay attention to you but you go on about Tae’s friends who you don’t even care about instead. 

You turn away and curse at yourself internally, unable to properly correct yourself to Jungkook.

“Right, of course,” he replies. 

As if by some cosmic occurrence, Taehyung appears next to you and pulls you in a hug. You thank him for the ride and he says his car and chauffeur are there for you should you decide to go home early, which he won’t mind you doing. He steps back and looks at your outfit.

“I like this vibe,” he hums in approval. “Doesn’t she look nice, Kook?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook sips his drink and nods. “I’m sure everyone would think so.”

He doesn’t look you in the eyes, not like what he was doing just a minute ago, and you feel stupid all over again, so you try to get out of it.

“I, uh… bathroom!” You blurt out. “I… I have to go.”

You turn around and scold yourself repeatedly until you find Jimin on the dance floor and pull him to a nearby table. 

“Jungkook complimented me and I said I tried to look nice because Tae’s friends are hot and I’m so stupid because why the fuck would I say that!” You yell in one breath. “Is my brain secretly jeopardizing my chances with this man without me knowing? Whose mind is this?! Why is it dumb?”

Jimin, who’s clearly had some to drink and is no doubt endeared by your yapping, chuckles and hugs you.

“Oh, ___. You become a little silly in front of Kook. I think that’s normal.”

“It’s stupid,” you pout. 

“It's not the end of the world though. He already thinks you look good.”

“I said his outfit is mature.”

Jimin snorts this time and assures you it’s fine. You probably just need a drink to calm your nerves. It’s a different environment with him this time, at least since you’ve admitted to yourself what you feel, and saying things you don’t exactly mean happens.

“Come. Let’s have a shot.”

Jimin pulls you to the bar and orders you something that might help a bit. Hayoung arrives shortly after and says she needs a drink for Seokjin so he’ll start loosening up and stop clinging to her. You talk a little bit and you glance at Jungkook every chance you get. 

He’s talking to Jihyo and your other friends and dancing a bit when they make him. You feel silly for leaving his side and wish you were next to him because even if you’d seen each other a few days ago, it still feels like it’s been so long. 

But right when you’re about to head back to him, your hand gets pulled again and you turn to see Gyu-rim dragging you back to the bar. 

“I need you. You’re sensible and direct,” she tells you. 

“Do you need me, too?” Jimin pops up next to you with his sickly sweet smile. 

“No. You give me a headache,” Gyu-rim deadpans, prompting Jimin to giggle and head back to the dance floor. 

“Okay. What do you need my brand of sensibility for?” You ask your friend. 

“Yoongi hasn’t minded me all night. I need you to tell me it’s normal and I shouldn’t worry.”

“Why would you worry about it?”

Gyu-rim shrugs and looks away. 

Yoongi doesn’t always mind people and it’s one of those quirks of his that everyone’s just accepted. Not unless he’s not usually like that with her. Or something happened and he should be minding her. Either way, it’s bothering her, and as someone who usually doesn’t care, Gyu-rim seems to be caring a lot.

And then it hits you.

“Do you… do you like him?”

Gyu-rim’s resting bitch face doesn’t give much until she starts blinking rapidly. Then she nods.

“Oh my god! That’s… that’s amazing,” you squeal. “Wait, this doesn’t have anything to do with Jimin and his pact, right? You can’t have him putting things in your head, Gyu.”

“No—yes, I mean… I liked Yoongi before Jimin ever said anything,” she admits. “Jimin has this weird thing about knowing, I guess. He’s probably an empath or something but the moment he started yapping about that pact shit and teasing us, I started thinking that maybe it’s not just me, that maybe someone else could see… something between me and Yoongi.”

“How’d you know you like him? I mean, you’ve been friends for so long,” you ask, hoping you could get a bit of insight from someone who probably knows what you’re feeling.

“He just always made me smile.”

“But you… you rarely smile,” you furrow your brows.

“Inside, ___,” she groans, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I always smile inside when he’s around. Like, he just makes things better and I don’t know anyone else who does that for me.”

“Can I ask what it was about him that made you feel all this?”

Her lips slowly turn up.

“He can handle all of me, you know? I’m aloof and impatient and uncaring and I have all this baggage but he just lets me be and deals with all that because he just does,” she says, and you see the tiniest of smiles on her face. “I’m never too much for him. And he’s just the nicest person I’ve ever met.”

You smile this time because that’s the Yoongi you know. He’s very accepting of people and he has this quiet warmth about it. But even if it’s something you see in him as well, it’s Gyu-rim who feels differently. And just like you’d told Jungkook before, parts of us adjust around other people and you find someone who fits you right and then you just want to be with them all the time. It’s not very different from how you feel, too.

“Okay, so back to the part about telling you that you shouldn’t worry,” you say. “You shouldn’t worry. This isn’t Yoongi’s crowd nor is it his scene, you know that. And sometimes that makes people uncomfortable. It makes them not think straight. Do you think something’s bothering him though? What were you doing before that?”

“We were drinking last night, just talking about stuff, you know? About growing old and shit and my mom called about some family friend’s son who’s visiting Seoul and that I should bring him around so I did and—”

“Wait, he’s the other guy who was at our table?” You ask. 

You remember some unfamiliar dude that you just smiled at then passed by. You didn’t think he was actually with any of your friends. 

“Yeah… I mean, where else would I take him? I took him to Co-ex earlier and—”

“What if Yoongi isn’t used to seeing you with another guy anymore? I mean, it’s been a while since you’ve been with someone. Maybe he wants to talk to you but the dude is… there? And he doesn’t want him to feel uncomfortable or Yoongi himself… doesn’t know how to act?”

“Hmm,” she hums. “See, that’s more sensible. Hoseok said Yoongi might be jealous or something.”

“That’s… that’s also possible.”

“No. Stick to what you said,” she frowns. “That’s… that’s more realistic. I don’t want to hope for Yoongi to be jealous because that implies something.”

“Fine. He’s just unsure of how to act because he’s used to things just being you and him. So just talk to him. Don’t give in to his awkwardness. He doesn’t push anyone away so just stay next to him then he’ll give in!”

“Okay then,” she nods. “You know your shit, huh?”

“I just… listen to podcasts, I guess,” you lie. 

If she doesn’t believe you, she doesn’t show it. She nods again, buys you a drink, then walks off. You watch her approach Yoongi with a glass of whiskey. They don’t talk at first but you see her try to engage until he finally says something, turns towards her, and then all is normal again.

You pat yourself on the back for handling that rather maturely. But your little triumph ends quickly, as Mo-eum stands next to you at the bar and asks you why you’re there.

“Gyu-rim had a crisis and I helped her with it. She bought me a drink.”

“Oh. I think Yoongi likes her,” Mo-eum says matter-of-factly.

“Oh,” you say in surprise, deciding on keeping mum about what you know.

“But anyway. Back to you. Why are you here instead of where Jungkook is? Don’t you plan on letting him know what you feel?” She asks.

“I… I probably do,” you convince yourself. “I just said something stupid and I’m letting that settle first by not being around him. What do I even say?”

“I don’t know. You’re the one who asks the guy you like out,” she shrugs.

“Do I look like I’m confident about this Jungkook thing?!” You exclaim. “I don’t even know what to do or say or if I should even do it now.”

“Do you need a nudge or a push?” She asks. “Because I’ll do it for you.”

You look at her questioningly before she turns your head towards a direction in the Club and there you see it, Jungkook by a cocktail table, talking to a girl.

He’s bending down to hear what she has to say over the music, and she tiptoes to get closer to him. And while it may be totally innocent, just the sight of him being that close with another woman makes your heart sink. 

“I, uh…” you stutter, unsure of what to say. 

“Jimin said she’s a friend of theirs from middle school so they go way back. And she happens to be a model-actress friend of Tae’s,” Mo-eum explains as she leans back on the bar table. “They just bumped into each other and caught up. Small world, huh?”

“She, uh… She looks happy to see him,” you state.

The woman is laughing and patting Jungkook’s arm and he looks engaged, too. He’s smiling and watching her talk and maybe they’re really just catching up and there’s not much to it. It’s also possible that with all the serendipitous meetings that happen everyday, this might be the one that changes it for them. 

Because it happens. Two old friends meet again after years and who knows if they had history? It’s possible that there were hidden feelings and now they’ve matured and can finally express and act on them. Or maybe these grown up versions of themselves are what they need, and you’re just standing by, watching it unfold for both of them. 

Your mind’s already conjured so many scenarios, many of them involve Jungkook and the woman holding hands. But you notice him meeting your gaze and you quickly look away. 

“She is. I heard they haven’t seen each other in so long,” Mo-eum says. “Imagine seeing a middle school classmate after decades and finding out he’s pretty cute.”

You turn to your best friend with a frown. She’s never provoked you like this.

“What? I’m just saying. She might scoop him up before you even get a chance to tell him you like him. I don’t even know what you’re waiting for.”

“I’m just being cautious,” you reason. 

“Hmm. Does caution get you the guy?”

You disregard her question and continue.

“I’m enjoying how we are now without directly talking about feelings,” you add.

“Okay. But are you enjoying now?”

“Clearly not! What the fuck, Mo-eum. I never get jealous. What is this feeling?!”

“It doesn’t feel good, does it?” 

You panic inside as the scenarios flash before your eyes again. You may be a bit dramatic but that’s how you are and it’s how you deal with things. 

“Okay, I can’t do this,” you say as you start walking to the opposite direction of where Jungkook is. 

But Mo-eum pulls you back.

“Yah! Where are you going?”

“Just…” you start, briefly looking at Jungkook again who just happens to meet your eyes every time. “Somewhere. To take a breath. I don’t know. I can’t be around for this.”

“You were already avoiding him. You can’t keep doing that all night,” she sighs. “Didn’t you say that you don’t want to act differently because if you do, he’ll ask you what’s wrong then you’ll end up telling him everything?”

“Exactly! And I can’t… do that at a Club! And not with the image of him with another girl drilled in my mind,” you pout, your head bowing down now. 

“___, hey. Look at me,” she says, shifting your body to face her. “That might not even be anything. I’m sorry for putting things in your head. But… you have a chance to spend time with him so take it. You can’t just keep skirting around what you feel when you already know you like him. And I can see that you like him a lot.”

“I do,” you say with furrowed brows and she laughs at how angrily you say it. 

“You look like Kook when he eats something really delicious.”

You frown at her teasing and you let her drag you back towards your table where you see Jungkook is now at. With the girl. 

Your dramatic ass won’t let the logical part of you win. You don’t care. You’ll go full Yoongi mode tonight. 

You stay at the cocktail table next to your friends. Jungkook, you know out of courtesy, introduces you to the woman as a friend from middle school. You greet her as you would any person, and she seems nice and she’s also really pretty. 

She gets back into conversation with Hoseok and his girlfriend because they apparently have common social circles. You’re reminded that you live in your bubble with your friends and they’re connected to more people outside of your group. Their talk about fashion and other things that you can’t relate with makes you zone out.

As you’re about to turn to Namjoon next to you, Jungkook approaches your side.

“Hey, ___. Are you—”

“Do you want a drink?” You interject. “I’m heading to the bar right now.”

He looks at you with pursed lips before he answers.

“Just a glass of Coke.”

“Okay. An amaretto sour for me then,” you nod before heading out.

Jungkook watches you make your way to the bar for the nth time in the past two hours or so. He’s barely spoken to you all night and it’s all he’s wanted to do but you’ve been off talking to other people and he’s getting a tiny bit jealous. He was on his way to you when a friend from middle school called him and they got to talking. 

Maybe the second time he caught you looking at him before you looked away should have signaled to him that he should just go to you and make sure you don’t get away again but he’s been hesitant all night, and only because you look unsure and uncomfortable. You also did say that you dressed up because Taehyung’s friends are hot and there have been all these mixed signals and he doesn’t know what to do.

When you get back to the table and place the drink in front of him then immediately head to the couch and sit between Hayoung and Seokjin, Jungkook sighs to himself. You’re so pretty tonight and he hasn’t even been able to appreciate that because you’ve been feeling so far away.

“Oh, Kook. Don’t be too sad I’m leaving,” Taehyung says as he appears next to him. “I mean, that’s why you look upset at my farewell party right?”

“It’s too early for that. You literally scheduled to see me every single day next week,” Jungkook playfully shakes his head. “Sorry. You’re not the reason why I’m upset right now.”

“Is it ___?”

“She’s been avoiding me all night. You said this outfit is supposed to make me look irresistible!”

“And you do! I’ve had so many people ask for your number and beg me to introduce them to you but I lied and said you’re dating someone.”

“How does that help me?”

“So no one would tail you!” Taehyung says. 

“Doesn’t matter, does it? The one person whose attention I want can’t even stay more than a minute next to me.”

Taehyung can only sigh at his friend. 

“She’s seated now. Take the seat in front of her and try again.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says softly.

He always enjoyed it when you just found your way to each other during nights like this but he supposes he’s got to make it happen this time.

So that’s what he does, as he approaches the couch and takes the small chair in front of you. He quickly gets into conversation with Seokjin and Hayoung and he looks at you tenderly, hoping he gets to telepathically tell you that he just wants to be near you. 

You suppose you’ve been a little too dramatic tonight. It’s unlike you to be bothered like this, especially since you tend to make the first move because you don’t like wasting your time. But with Jungkook, you just don’t want to screw things up. You don’t want to say things that you’ll regret. But you also don’t want to completely isolate him.

So you smile a little, at least to just acknowledge that he’s there. 

Not far away, your three friends congregate. 

“So, uh… about those two,” Jimin gestures to where you are. “We said we won’t meddle but we’ll nudge. Can we just push them? The tension is killing me.”

“I know! ___ got jealous when Kook was with your friend,” Mo-eum tells Jimin. “I’m so tempted to tell her she has nothing to worry about.”

“Kook is upset that she’s been ignoring him all night,” Taehyung groans now. “And look at them. They’re just looking at each other like, can one of you just make a move!”

“So… we push?” Jimin smiles.

“I’m gonna shove them towards each other at this point,” Taehyung says.

The three of them approach the couch and it’s at that moment that Seokjin and Hayoung stand up to say that it’s already 12 so they’ll be heading out.

“Okay, Cinderella. I  see that Yoongi and Gyu-rim are ready to head out, too,” Taehyung hums. “I’ll see you on Sunday.”

“I’m… gonna go ahead as well,” you say, deciding right then that you’re too tired from all the emotions of tonight.

You’ll sort yourself out after a shower and then you’ll figure things out from there. Maybe text Jungkook and try to be normal.

“Oh, we can take you home,” Seokjin offers. 

“Nope, she’s out of the way!” Taehyung exclaims. “Plus, I told her I’d take care of her ride home. You guys could go ahead. Bye!” 

You look at Taehyung curiously. Once your other friends leave, he smiles at you.

“Actually, uh, I made the chauffeur take someone else home because she’s really drunk,” he lies. “So I’m booking you a cab and since it’s late, Kook, can you please go home with her and make sure she’s safe and stuff? You can come back here but I also know you’re tired from a full day of classes under the sun.”

Your eyes widen the entire time Taehyung speaks, and you glare at him in question and disbelief. You want to refuse but Jungkook agrees immediately. 

“Sure, uh. If that’s okay with her,” he says, looking at you then quickly turning away.

“Yeah, it should be fine. Nothing we haven’t done before,” you state, trying to sound unbothered. 

You go around and say goodbye to the others who are still staying then head down once Taehyung gives you the car details. Jungkook tails you and stands behind you while you wait for the car to arrive. 

It’s a little tense, as you’re not used to being awkwardly quiet with him. You’re often talking and making fun of each other after a night out and well, comforting him a few other times. So this feels new and different and not the good kind. 

You find ways to distract yourself. You look at the street across from you, turn around to see if any other familiar faces are leaving the Club, and put your hand out to confirm if that’s a drizzle you feel, all the while avoiding Jungkook’s direction. You remember he’s there when he says that the car has arrived, and he opens the door for you before he slides in. 

“You good?” He asks.

“Yup,” you respond without looking at him. 

You stare out the window and sense him looking at you then look away, which is pretty much how this whole evening has been. You feel the tension thicken and the heat rise to your cheeks. You hate that you’re being like this, especially when you decide to look at him, only to find him turned to the window this time. 

You sigh to yourself and know that you have to get your shit together, and just as you’re about to say something, the car stops and you’re already in front of your apartment. 

The rain decides to fall at this moment, and when you get out of the car after Jungkook, he hovers his jacket over your head and urges you to start walking. You both run to the building damp from the rain, and you tell him to join you upstairs so you could return his hoodie.

He follows you to his apartment with his jacket in his hands, and right as you enter, there’s a sudden downpour followed by loud thunder. You check the weather forecast and it doesn’t seem like the rain will ease anytime soon.

“Stay the night, Kook,” you say as you turn towards him, feeling genuinely worried now. 

“Is that okay with you?” He asks with a tinge of sadness in his eyes. 

“Of course,” you say softly, as the guilt of how you’ve been acting overtakes you. “I’ll set up the couch.”

You give him a hanger for his jacket and you both follow your routine whenever he’s over. He retrieves his toothbrush and gray towel from the drawer while you put the sheets on the sofa bed and place his hoodie on top. You shower after he does and see that he’s finished the glass of water you put out for him earlier. 

“Are you okay there?” You ask before walking to your bed.

“Yeah, thanks,” he half smiles. “Sleep well, yeah?”

“I will. You, too,” you smile back.

And just like that, you’re gone, and Jungkook has never felt you so far away.

Jungkook lies on the bed that you’ve set up for him, always with the two pillows and the humidifier next to the side table because he’s told you once that he sleeps better when he has one on. 

He at least knows through this that you don’t hate him, whatever your reason for that would be. You may have avoided him earlier and may have been quiet throughout the car ride and avoided his gaze every chance you could, but maybe he didn’t make much of an effort to talk to you either. He wasn’t sure how to, and with his feelings intensifying everyday, he just doesn’t know how to go about this the right way. 

He could do that now, perhaps break the ice and get even just a small conversation going until you’re both acting normally again. But it’s late and you’re probably tired. 

He decides to pull his shit together tonight and build the confidence to talk to you tomorrow, which could lead to him admitting how he feels. With both of you in this weird limbo, it’s hard to act without knowing if he’s crossing a line or staying too far behind it. Without the expectations, he doesn’t know if he’s acting as he should or if there’s more he could do. 

Jungkook sighs to himself with all the thoughts running through his mind. He just wants to be next to you, listening to you talk about how your day has been and what weird thoughts and ideas you have again. 

He just wants to hold your hand. The few times that you did while you were in Jeju all felt so nice and so natural. He hopes they could last longer and he could savor them this time. He wants to cuddle you, too. You always look so comfortable and he already knows he could get rid of his tiredness and stress if he could just hug you at the end of the day.

But there’s nothing he can do now. You’re probably fast asleep and he wishes he was. If only it wasn’t this hot. 

He sits up on the couch and gets a feel of the air, which definitely is not as cold as he expected, given the rain outside. You don’t have a cooling fan in sight and the only air conditioner is the one in your sleeping area, which usually seeps into the living room but it’s not strong enough tonight.

So Jungkook removes his shirt, the one that you lent him, leaving him in just his sweatpants, which he’s also tempted to get rid of. But he keeps that on and lies back down, hoping the air would cool a bit and that being shirtless in your living room isn’t too disrespectful. 

Not far away, you’re tossing and turning in your bed. You’re afraid you might have screwed up this time, as you recall the sadness in Jungkook’s eyes as you quickly ended the night. 

You didn’t annoy him, didn’t talk to him, and didn’t give him the smile you usually do. The times he went home with you from a night out, you were always comforting him and now, it seems he needs comforting because of you.

You think about talking to him, not wanting to end the night the way you did, with awkward and unsure half smiles and just this uncomfortable feeling of not being right with him. 

You briefly hesitate as he might be asleep already, but the sweat on your hairline alerts you of the temperature in your apartment. You sit up and wonder why it feels warm inside despite the rain, but you don’t want to think science right now and instead just turn your air conditioner as low as possible.

And then it hits you. 

Jungkook is outside, barely reached by the cool air, and you don’t have any fan out there for him. You know he can’t sleep when it’s hot, so you quickly get up and take the few steps out of your sleeping area to your living room only to stop in your tracks. 

Because lying on your sofa bed is Jungkook in nothing but his sweatpants, the rest of his body bare, and his tattooed right arm over his eyes. 

He must’ve felt hot and removed his shirt, which you don’t blame him for, so you take the fan underneath your desk then tiptoe towards the other end of the room so you could plug it in. 

But right as you do, sparks appear, causing you to shriek in panic. Jungkook wakes up and immediately rushes to you.

“___, what happened?!”

“I tried to plug the fan but there were sparks,” you explain. “Let me try th—”

“Did you feel a shock or something?” He worriedly asks as he takes your hand and massages it.

“I… uh, no. I’m fine,” you reply, settling your eyes on your palm that he continues to rub before lifting your gaze to meet his. “I just wanted to turn the fan on because I know you can’t sleep when it’s hot but…”

Your eyes fall to his very bare chest and you suddenly feel even hotter.

“Now I’m scared something’s up with my wiring,” you continue. 

“It could be anything. We can check it out tomorrow,” he suggests. “But don’t worry, I’ll be fine here.”

You know he’s trying to appease you but you don’t want him to sleep uncomfortably. So you suggest something else, something that might feel a bit tense but it might also be what eventually will make things feel normal.

“Or you can, uh, sleep next to me, on my bed,” you say, biting your lip in nervousness. “It’s cold there. The air doesn’t get through here much.”

“Are you sure?” He asks. 

“Yeah, Kook. It’s not like we haven’t done it before.”

“Right,” he nods, remembering Sapporo and how it felt being next to you. “Okay then.”

He wears his shirt then follows you to your bed. He lays on one side and waits until you’re lying down as well. He wishes you goodnight and closes his eyes, hoping that would help quell the mix of nervousness and excitement he’s feeling. He needs it to keep himself from blurting everything to you at this hour. Maybe all that could wait. 

But something prompts him to open his eyes, perhaps that need to see you again before he falls asleep. And as he turns his head, he sees you lying on your side, the covers tucked under your chin, and you, still wide awake, looking at him.

Jungkook catches you by surprise, prompting you to pull the covers over your head and hide under the blanket, just in case he’s asleep but his eyes are open, which apparently happens. 

But he is, in fact, awake because now, he’s attempting to pull the blanket down, as if knocking on your built up wall, asking you to come out.

So you do, as you slowly reveal yourself and find him lying on his side now, too, facing you.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

“I, uh,” you start, unsure how to say everything and if you even should at this time. “Yes?”

You wanna apologize for how weird you’ve been but that also means you’d have to tell him you like him, and that also means explaining how you got to this point and then saying what you want to happen now. 

You’re not even sure if he feels the same way, so you’re now also thinking of what to say in that situation. You basically made it impossible for him to cop out because he’s literally about to sleep next to you, and now you feel stupid for even making him stay. 

But you also can’t go on longer being this awkward around him. It doesn’t feel right. And now that he’s here, you’re able to see him up close again, which you’ve been wanting to do all night. And you just—

“You’re not hard to read, you know that, right?” Jungkook chuckles as he settles in his position more comfortably. “Your face has like, a dozen expressions all at once.”

“I just…” you start, your mind bouncing from one thought to another, being pulled to different scenarios and scripts of how you’re going to go about this. 

You sit up from the bed and lean against the frame.

Your face distorts and this prompts Jungkook to laugh again. He sits up and faces you.

“So, are you gonna share even just one of the million things that are in your head right now?” He asks. 

“Fine,” you groan, knowing that there’s really no other way but to go through it. 

You’re just gonna have to face the consequences of what you’re about to say, whatever it is. And that could include kicking yourself out of your own apartment out of embarrassment.

“I know it seemed like I avoided you all night and well, I did,” you start.

“Yeah, you did,” he hums. “I wasn’t sure what I did. I wanted to ask you and—”

“You did nothing wrong. It was all me,” you shake your head. “I said something stupid early on and I was just trying to get my shit together and then I saw you with that… friend of yours from middle school and I… got scared. And then I just acted weird all night. It was really silly.”

“Why were you scared?” 

“I believe in serendipitous encounters. And that felt like one. One that could… lead to something more,” you say softly, like a whisper, afraid to manifest it into the world.

“And why would that matter?”

You close your eyes and think that this is it. Of all the times that you asked a guy out because you told them you were interested in them, none of those made you feel nervous. This time, you’re feeling every possible emotion all at once and you just want Jungkook to keep you steady.

“Because I… feel… something… for you…” You stutter, avoiding his eyes because you’re unsure if you want to know his reaction or not.

“Care to elaborate?” Jungkook asks, not wanting to rejoice just yet and instead bask in this feeling of being on the cusp of something more with you. That’s if you mean what he hopes you mean.

“It’s, uhm…” you try again, knowing you’re gonna have to suck it up.

You mentally smack yourself in motivation. Better to just say it all out here than delaying it.

“I guess it started with a moment when something felt different. And then I woke up the next day and I was just thinking about you, wondering how your day’s been and then wanting to hear you actually talk about it,” you ramble. “And then I thought, oh I want to actually see him, and then I do and then suddenly my heart’s doing this weird thing that it’s never done around you and then I’m clammy and nervous but also… happy? And then I try to look at you but I can’t because now you’re like, attractive to me and I never thought that before and–”

“Wow, way to tell me I’m ugly,” he teases to mask how nervous and excited he is, even with everything you’d just said that also makes him want to leap for joy.

“No! That’s not what I mean,” you backtrack, smacking his chest and then apologising when he yelps in pain, although you doubt he actually felt that, but you say sorry anyway. “What I meant was that you’re obviously objectively handsome but that… that’s never affected me before but now it does and–”

“How is it affecting you now?” He pushes. 

“It’s making me giddy!” You yell, surprising you and him, but you continue. “Like, fuck you’re handsome but also, since when were you this handsome and what the hell am I supposed to do about it? And so when a girl is next to you, giggling and touching your arm, I’m like, of course she also thinks he’s handsome and then they’re gonna hold hands and date and shit and that makes me irrationally upset and like my tummy wants to explode and– stop smiling!”

“I’m sorry I just…” he smiles softly. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call me handsome. It’s just nice to hear you say that.”

His heart melts at the pout you give him, and he just wants to get to the part where he confesses his feelings but he also can’t get enough of you rambling like this.

“So, when have you started feeling this way?” He asks.

“Jeju,” you mumble. “Maybe before that. Probably on the plane or something, I don’t know but… yeah,” you continue, looking away and sighing. 

He’s drawn this out so much and you internally smack yourself again because you definitely did not think this through.

“Look, if you don’t feel the same way, it’s totally fine. I can handle rejection. Let’s probably buy some more alcohol because I don’t have enough and I would need a lot so I could pass out and forget this ever happened,” you blurt out. “And then I’m just gonna have to not show my face to you for a while but I’ll get over it, really.”

“Why would I want that?” He asks, his earlier cheeky expression now replaced with an incredulous one. He nudges your knee so you’d look at him. “And why do you think I’d reject you?”

“Because!” You smack his chest again in reflex. “Accepting the worst is my way of coping. And you’re not even saying anything. You just keep asking questions. Are you a researcher? You’re not, so why do you keep–”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” He raises his hands in submission but flashes you a shy smile. “I’m not doing this right. I guess I just wanted to hear you ramble about how much you like me.”

“Why?” You ask, crossing your arms.

“It makes me think I’m not crazy, since I feel the same way.”

“What?!” You yell again, something you realise is a defense mechanism of yours this time to drown out the sound of your beating heart that he can probably hear.

“I feel all of that - wanting to know how you are, wanting to see you, then wanting to see you again, feeling my heart do these weird things whenever you smile at me or pinch my cheek or lean your head on my shoulder,” he explains, and now he’s the one who can’t look at you in the eyes. “I woke up one morning and just had you on my mind. The whole day,” he continues. 

“Since when?”

“Sapporo. Maybe before that. Probably when you stood up to my ex or something,” he echoes your words. 

“That was half a year ago, Kook,” you say, the reality hitting you that he already liked you when you started getting confused. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well, I was dropping hints,” he admits. “Driving you around, saying that I want to spend more time with you, texting you… I even sent you that sunrise picture from the school trip and said that Jeju was better and well, I assumed you knew it was because we watched it together then.”

“I…” you try, although you’re unsure what to say. 

In hindsight, he was doing a little more than usual, but you were blinded by what was normal for you and didn’t want to delude yourself, even as you were thinking of all the worst possible outcomes. 

“And I didn’t wanna risk it,” he adds. “I mean, it was a risk keeping it either way. You could one day just say you like some guy you met at a cafe because, well, you believe in whirlwind romances and serendipitous encounters, like you said. But I also thought to let you settle into me, you know? The way I learned how to settle into you. And maybe prepare myself for a possible rejection in case you didn’t feel the same way.”

“Well, I confessed first,” you point out. “Were you gonna tell me if I didn’t?”

“Yeah like, tomorrow morning or something,” he laughs. “The feelings just kept growing. But I didn’t want you to feel pressured or anything. I still value our friendship, even if I want more.”

“Well, I don’t feel pressured to like you back given what you feel since, well, that’s what I feel, too.”

“Good,” he chuckles, thinking how ridiculous but so on-brand your confession to each other is. “So does this mean we’re dating?” He cocks an eyebrow, wanting to now jump to that part where he gets to express all that he feels to you in different ways.

“I guess,” you shyly nod, then giggle when his smile causes his nose to scrunch and his eyes to sparkle under the moonlight. “That’s the logical next step, right?” You ask, slowly inching your legs closer to him. 

“It is,” he nods, shortening the distance between both of you this time, even if he’s still in disbelief that this is really happening. “Is there any other logical next step we should take? Like, I don’t know, kiss or something?”

“Ah, so that’s what you want to get to right away,” you laugh.

“It’s just one of those things that I woke up one day and thought to myself I wanted to do,” he admits. “And hold your hand, stuff like that.”

“Yeah, me too,” you respond, biting your lower lip in response to how his eyes keep darting to them. 

“Okay then, that settles it,” he says, his voice now low that it causes your stomach to tangle in knots,  especially when he leans closer to gently boop his adorable nose against yours. 

“Still wanna get drunk and forget about all this?” He teases as he looks you in the eyes.

“Depends on how well you kiss,” you tease back.

“Oh,” he grunts. “You’re gonna challenge me like that, huh?” 

His look turns lustful as he shifts his body and slowly lowers you to lie on your back. He hovers over you with his one arm above your head while the other gently lays on your waist. 

Much as you want to push his buttons, especially with the obvious hunger in his eyes, there’s still that tinge of softness that you hold onto.

“Definitely not a night I’d want to forget,” you whisper. “You can kiss me now.”

He savors your features, and much as he’d wanted to hungrily kiss you all over just seconds ago, you look so soft that he wants you to experience all his gentleness tonight. 

And that’s what he does, as he delicately places his lips against yours and he feels you smile into the kiss.

It’s wholesome and languid, as if you’re testing the waters and convincing yourselves that this is really happening. It’s like you’re slowly familiarizing yourself with what could be your everyday, but it’s hypnotic just the same. 

He pulls away and all he sees is this tenderness in your eyes that he’s never seen on you before. You thumb his cheek as your eyes map his face and he’s overwhelmed by how much you’re savoring him. The gentleness after all your intensity is what he likes most about you and he gets to see and experience that up close. 

You pull him for a kiss now and it’s deeper, hungrier, as you take control this time. Your tongue seeks entrance, something he immediately grants, and you moan at the pleasure, at the high it gives. 

Because that’s what kissing him feels like, like you’re up in the air, your mind dazed yet filled with so many thoughts and nothing all at once. Your hands travel to his back and you pull him down while you push against him, feeling his body react to this intimacy, to this intensity. You feel like you’re running out of air but that you also can’t live without this. 

And then you’re able to breathe and you feel empty and full at the same time. And really, really giddy. Your heart is racing from all that. Jungkook kisses you so good, you want to do it over and over again.

You pull away and kiss his cheeks. He giggles before removing himself from you then lays on his side. He props himself on his right arm and you turn to face him.

“This is weird,” you say.

“You say that after kissing me like that?” He asks incredulously. “You’re really something, huh?”

“Excuse me, what does that mean?” You gasp.

“Just seemed like you enjoyed it a lot,” he teasingly shrugs.

“Yeah, and it seemed like it got you excited, too.”

You gesture down and he laughs. You definitely felt his dick poke your belly earlier and you’re proud of yourself for being able to keep it together. 

“Can’t help it. I mean, I’ve been thinking of doing that for a while,” he says so casually, and it makes your heart race once more. “But I guess it might take some getting used to. You’ve always been affectionate to me in a playful, let-me-annoy-Jungkook type of way,” he laughs. 

“And you’ve always been affectionate to me in a let-me-help-this-helpless-woman type of way,” you laugh back. 

“I guess massaging your weak legs and giving you piggyback rides give off that vibe,” he hums. “That changes now, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” you smile then kiss his lips again. “I’ll have you know that I’m very affectionate. I… I need to feel it, too.”

“I know,” he says, softly brushing your cheek. “And I’ll always give that to you.”

“Good,” you say, yawning now.

He chuckles at your sleepy eyes. He lays on his back and nudges you to hug him. You do, and you start talking about what you’ll do tomorrow until you fall asleep mid-sentence. 

Jungkook laughs again. It’s just like Sapporo, but tonight is so much better, he thinks, as he wraps his arm around your shoulder and you snuggle even closer to him. 

He’s settled in this home and so have you, and he can’t be any happier.

You wake up with the sun in your eyes, and you think it might be really up there by now for it to be this bright. 

You lift yourself to look at Jungkook, still adorably sleeping and you’re reminded that last night really happened, and you’re not imagining things anymore. 

You smile to yourself at how it all unfolded and that regardless of how, you got here, and you really don’t wanna screw this up.

You turn to the other side and try to get off the bed for your morning routine, but strong hands pull you, flushing your back to his taut chest. You’re engulfed in his arms now and you sink into it even if you say you’re gonna heat up water for the coffee. 

“Coffee can wait,” Jungkook mumbles in your ear, as he lays his leg over yours, giving you no chance to get away. 

And you don’t really want to, not when he’s holding you like this and his morning raspy voice is giving you the shivers. 

“But I wanna face you,” you whine.

So he loosens his hold and you turn around to face him, only to be suffocated by his chest so you complain again that you can’t breathe. 

“Make up your mind,” he groans, but you just laugh and adjust yourself despite him tightly wrapping his arms around you.

And it’s nice, you think, how despite the initial weirdness of being intimate with a person you’ve only been platonically affectionate towards for years, this moment feels natural. It feels comfortable and safe and a place that you could easily slot yourself into and it’ll feel right. 

You shift again so you could look at him, this time with the sunlight brushing his face and he looks just as beautiful. You don’t fight the urge and you kiss his cheek, then his jaw, then his neck. He’s groaning then giggling in response and he tickles you in retaliation so you bite his nose and he groans even louder.

“Did you just bite my nose?!” He looks at you incredulously. 

“Couldn't help it,” you reply with your puppy eyes that he’s so weak for. “It’s so cute.”

“I never knew if you were just making fun of me or what,” he chuckles. 

“I’m endeared by it,” you state. “Like, I just want to squish your face all the time. And now I want to keep kissing it, too.”

“Kissing’s good,” he hums. 

You smile at him, kiss his lips, then scurry off the bed to heat water and wash up in the bathroom.

Jungkook finally lets you go and laughs to himself at how silly he feels over wanting to hold you a bit longer, even if he’d done it the entire night. He woke up to your kisses and there was no better way to start the day, and he’s afraid to get used to this because he knows he’ll keep looking for it.

But he can think about that later on. Right now is what matters and being able to act how he wants around you and express what he feels is freeing. He can still tease and make fun of you then hold you right after. 

He stretches his arms as he familiarizes himself on your bed. He looks around and gets to take in your space, the one you’d quickly let him into. 

You have enough plants in your sleeping area and he knows it’s Mo-eum who comes over to make sure they’re all alive. You have some art pieces that he knows Taehyung got for you, and there are some cute and playful trinkets that Jimin buys you for fun. 

He sighs at his absence until he spots it - the snow globes he bought for you during your Sapporo trip, perched on the shelf of your desk next to a group picture in the snow.

You made space for him, he thinks, and he knows you’ll keep doing that to each other from now. 

His thoughts are disrupted when his phone starts to ring and he sees that there’s a group call incoming so he picks it up. Taehyung looks like he’s on a boat, Jimin is in his car, and Mo-eum is at her parents’ house, as Jungkook can hear them bickering in the background. 

“Oh, Kook picked up,” she chirps. “I wonder if ___ is still asleep.”

Jungkook disregards her comment and instead asks what everyone is up to. They share where they are and Taehyung says he just wants to check up on his friends after his party, which he does all the time.

“Where’s ___?” Jimin asks this time. “She did say she got home last night. Speaking of which, Kook! What happ—”

“Were you looking for me?” You ask, as you pop up on the screen cuddled next to Jungkook. 

It takes a while for it to process but you slowly see your friends’ faces turn from curious to surprised.

“Oh my god, are you two fucking?!” Jimin exclaims.

“Better. We’re, uh, we’re dating,” you say, giggling shyly.

“Fucking finally!” Jimin yells. “I knew it was gonna happen. My senses are never wrong.”

“See, ___. You had nothing to worry about seeing Kook with a girl last night!” Mo-eum adds.

“I actually lied about my driver taking home a drunk friend last night,” Taehyung smirks. “We needed a way for both of you to be alone.”

“Oh my god, you’re all so dramatic,” you playfully roll your eyes. “Well, thanks for scheming then. It rained and my fan sparked and I told him he could sleep on my bed and I got all weird then boom, we’re here!”

“That’s… one way to put it,” Jungkook laughs. “But yeah, she confessed first and here we are.”

You pinch Jungkook in response and he yelps in pain, but you do express your agreement. 

“Who’d have known he’s been crushing on me for months, huh?” You shrug.

“I did,” Taehyung exclaims. “Kinda sensed it in Japan but I didn’t ask him until after.”

“What the— well, you were kinda sus,” you hum. 

“You mean like, leaving you to your alone time? Making Kook give you a piggyback ride? Yes I was,” your friend laughs. 

“Well, now you can stop ogling him in secret and just do it shamelessly,” Jimin smirks. “Kook, did you know she was losing her mind over your body in Jeju? She even hit her head on the boat because she panicked seeing you half naked.”

“Park Jimin, you fucking brat,” you cuss him, earning you his sickly sweet teasing smile.

“Oh, so that’s why,” Jungkook says. “I thought you were just perpetually zoning out.”

“She was. Because you were half naked!” Mo-eum reiterates.

“Okay guys, I think he got the message,” you groan at your friends. 

“Hmm. I didn’t know all that. Let’s do something about that later then,” Jungkook whispers in your ear. 

Your cheeks heat up and you shyly smile, prompting Taehyung to state that you’re being freaky already.

“Oh shush. You were all pushing for this,” you counter. 

“Yes, we were. You both looked like idiots from this side,” Taehyung laughs. “But thanks to the universe, I guess. We were trying hard not to meddle.”

“Well, you pushed a bit but this still happened,” you say softly now. “We’re uh, still getting used to it and it literally just happened last night.”

“So… are you announcing it to everyone during Tae’s lunch tomorrow?” Jimin asks. 

“I will if you won’t,” Taehyung states, and you laugh and say that how you’ll act will give it away anyway. 

“Okay, then. That’s another celebration on the list,” he smiles. “Well, I better go. I just wanted to check if our nudging last night resulted in something and it did. See you guys tomorrow!”

You drop the call, not without Jimin smirking and teasing and praising the heavens right before it ends. You and Jungkook laugh and share that that’s exactly how you expected the call with your friends would go.

“So… you have a thing for my body, huh,” he teases. 

“It’s not so bad,” you nonchalantly hum. “But hey, that was literally the last thing I noticed, okay? I like you for your heart. And your cute nose.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” he laughs.

You kiss his cheek before pulling him off the bed.

“I heated water for our coffee. I like how you make it,” you smile sweetly.

“Okay, Princess,” he teases. “I’ll make us coffee, then.”

You decide to head out for lunch at a cafe right after. It feels natural going on a ride with Jungkook, laughing and talking throughout the drive that he insisted on doing, and then choosing different dishes so you could try more things.

Even holding his hand feels natural, even if it’s something quite new. You reach out and he’s right there, looking for you, too. 

He’s also used to how you are whenever you’re out. You turn to him to ask about a store you want to check out and he’s dragging you there a second later. You go to the supermarket and start blurting things you want to eat and he’s putting ingredients in the cart right after. You pass by a dessert stall and he gives in with just your smile. 

It’s barely been a day but this already feels like a dream. You think that throughout your friendship, he’s always been the attentive and dependable one. You don’t doubt that he’ll continue being those things now that you’re dating, but you also wonder how you’ll be. You could only hope you could be someone he could depend on, too. 

You return to your apartment and unload your groceries. You decide to head over to his place to spend the night, so you pack some clothes and drive there. You’ve been there a few times but now you get to settle in it, too.  

He tells you to sit on his couch once you arrive while he cleans up his room. He obviously didn’t expect all this, and he wants to make sure you’re comfortable in his bed later on. 

You offer to help but he doesn’t let you, so you watch from your seat as he goes in and out, taking out his sheets to launder, vacuum cleaning the floors, and putting on the humidifier with the patchouli scent that you like.

Jungkook is larger than life in the simplest and purest of ways. You remember a conversation you had months ago about how you both change lives differently. You do yours through research that affects programs and policies while he does it one student at a time. You give your whole self to every project that lasts months or years, while everyday, Jungkook shows up for his kids to teach or to just be there for them. 

He possesses a quiet passion that’s constant and unchanging. It’s comforting in its persistence, as evidenced by how he stood by you as a friend all these months, even if he had already felt differently. It’s one you feel blessed to have witnessed all these years, and you’re now at the cusp of receiving it, as you already know that he will be exactly what you need him to be at any moment. 

This is when the fear creeps in and you’re new to this. When it comes to your relationships, you don’t think this much. It’s the one aspect of your life that’s dictated by feelings alone so once it stops feeling right, you cop out. 

But you don’t want to do that this time, not with Jungkook who deserves so much, and you start to question your worthiness. 

“Your mind’s going places again,” he says, disrupting your thoughts.

There’s no teasing tone this time, but a bit of worry and comfort.

“Do you wanna share them with me?”

You nod, knowing that if there’s anyone who’d understand and assure you, it would be him.

“Come, sit on my lap,” he says, as he takes a spot on his couch.

“Why?” You ask.

“Because if it’s as serious as it looks, then I wanna make sure I get to hold you when you talk about it,” he answers. “And if, for some reason you wanna walk out that door because you’re scared or something, I could at least hold you down and make you stay. Because I really want you to, regardless of what you’re thinking.”

You nod, realizing that he could see right through you. So you take up his offer and climb on his lap.

“I’m… I’m a lot to handle, Jungkook.”

“I know,” he smiles.

“Kook, I mean it. I get chaotic and unhinged. I complain a lot, all the time. I have moments of shutting out and shutting down and I get so into my job and I let it get to me and I…” you explain. 

Your heart races at the expression of all your flaws and vulnerabilities. Jungkook has seen these sides of you but to have him see them up close? To be at the receiving end of those? It’s quite terrifying. 

“I’m just a lot,” you finish, bowing your head in shame.

“Why do you think I like you?” He questions, tilting your chin to face him. “It’s because of all those. And the fact that you’re fiercely loyal and unapologetic and funny and gentle and caring. You’re a good person so yeah, you’re… a lot, whatever that means for you. For me it just means that you’re… you. And I like all of that. That’s why I’m here, you know?”

You go from smiling to wanting to cry. None of your partners ever assured you that way, but you suppose you were never scared enough to let them know the things you fear or worry about. You were never that open or honest. You weren’t sure if you trusted them enough to accept all the vulnerable and raw parts of who you are, and things ended before they could reveal themselves.

“Plus, you’re not the only one,” he continues. “Do you think you can handle me?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You chuckle. 

“I’m a lot to handle, too, ___. I tease a lot and I get reckless sometimes. I live life the way I want and do whatever I want. I shut out and shut down just like you but I also get clingy and I… like having the attention of the person I like. I can get insecure and jealous sometimes and I hate it,” he admits. “And I feel too much but I’m not good at expressing that, especially in words.”

“You just did though,” you point out. 

“Not all the time. But even then, I could be a lot for another person, I know that. So whatever you’re worrying about, I worry about that, too.”

“I just don’t wanna freak you out. And I don’t want to freak myself out.”

“We’ve known each other for years and I know dating a friend isn’t really your thing. But being friends for as long as we have means I’ve seen so many sides of you and I’ve adjusted to who you are and I’ll keep on doing that, the same way you’ve adjusted around me and will continue to,” he assures you. “You’re not gonna freak me out, ___. You’re already everything that I want.”

“Okay,” you say softly, feeling like you can breathe lighter with every assurance he gives.

“But how are you freaking yourself out?”

“Because this is all new, Kook,” you say. “I always feel so intensely and then the fire runs out but with you I… I feel everything, the intense and the not so intense feelings. There’s this desire for you, like I wanna rip your clothes off and do things to you but I also feel endeared by you like I just wanna keep you in my pocket and make sure nothing hurts you. I admire you for so many things and I want you to achieve everything you want in life. I wanna take care of you but I want you to take care of me, too.”

He chuckles then smiles then softens at your words. They sound exactly like you, and he wishes he can say everything the way you can, because he feels all those things just the same.

“There’s so much more I feel that I can’t even put into words, like they just came out of nowhere but they also feel so familiar because you’re comfortable, Kook. You’re my comfort and I’ve just never felt this way before,” you add. “I’m afraid to lose you, and it just all hit me today and that… that freaks me out because I don’t want to let you down.”

“And you won’t. I mean, it’s a relationship, ___. Things will get hard and there’ll be disagreements and challenges but we’ll get through them together, okay? You’re my comfort, too, and I don’t want to lose you. I don’t plan on screwing this up.”

“Me, too,” you shyly smile. “I really like you. Like, holy shit, I really do.”

“That’s nice to know,” he chuckles, enjoying the way you’re so honest about this. “I do, too.”

His hands that were holding yours drift to your side, caressing your thighs then making their way to your hips to pull you closer. His eyes turn lustful as they flit to your lips and you just know your eyes mirror them, as the intense desire gradually overtakes you.

You kiss him so deeply that you feel it everywhere. Your mind screams of how much you want him, your heart is beating insanely fast, your skin burns with pleasure at his touch, especially when his hands sneak under his hoodie that you’re wearing, and you feel all that and more in your cunt, pooling in essence and desiring him even more. 

But you stay right where you are, wanting to be able to control the emotions so they don’t control you, wanting to be sure you don’t get lost in all of it that you’re unable to pay attention, to appreciate, to savor. 

You pull away, your glassy eyes meeting his, and he smiles softly at you and you know he understands. You hug him tightly and you both stay there, letting the gentleness take over this time.

Jungkook prepares dinner not long after. He makes his version of makguksu, making sure yours caters to your low tolerance of spicy things, and bakes pork belly in the oven. 

You watch him work around the kitchen, feeling your heart swell at just seeing him be him. It almost makes you feel silly that everything he does triggers something in you - either a cuteness aggression or intense desire - but it does. 

You suppose if you’d paid attention much sooner, you would’ve been losing your mind a long time ago but then again, you probably wouldn’t have been the right person for him then. The thought terrifies and comforts you. You’re reminded of what Hayoung told you in that cafe during your Jeju trip, about wanting to be the right person for each other at the same time. 

There’s a lot of fear you’re bringing with you and Jungkook mentioned earlier about the baggage he carries after his failed relationships. Without saying it, you made another unspoken promise to each other of letting all those go. 

“You okay?” He asks you as you’ve zoned out on him again.

“Yes, just thinking of how much I like you,” you beam at him before hugging him and kissing his cheek.

“You’re cute,” he giggles then kisses your lips.

You feel hot all over again and it’s this mixed feeling of desire and endearment all at once. You suppose it’s something you’re gonna have to get used to, and you wouldn’t mind it at all.

He lets you taste your sauce and you insist that a hint of more heat won’t hurt, so he adds a tiny squirt and sets that aside. He serves the meat on a tray and lets you take your seat. He brings out a whiskey bottle, the one you got him from Sapporo, pouring you a glass each.

“A memento of our friendship,” he says, echoing your words from not long ago.

“I…” you start, laughing at the memory. “I meant that. But I also hoped I didn’t draw a line that day.”

“Not necessarily. And I knew what you meant,” he smiles. “But our friendship got us here, ___. That would always mean so much to me, even if we didn’t end up dating.”

“I feel the same, Kook,” you smile back. 

Dinner ends and you insist on cleaning up. You watch a scary movie that has you seated between his legs and curled in his arms. Once it’s over, you’re panting in fear but like you always say, it’s part of the experience. You’re glad that now includes hiding and screaming on his chest when it gets intense, and then laughing about how you reacted right after. 

Once you’ve washed up, you enter his bedroom and wait for him to finish with his shower. You look around his room and spot the shelf with photos and mementos. There are some class pictures and a few with the teams he coached over the years; there are several with your friends dating back to college, too.

And then there are the Teacher of the Year awards and thank you letters from his students. You smile at these, as you’re reminded just how much this vocation means to him. You point them out once he returns to his room and you see him blush when you read out some of his students’ words of praise. 

“Are you good with little kids, too?” You wonder out loud as you settle on his bed. 

“I substitute for the first graders sometimes,” he hums. “They like me a lot. They run to me when I do yard duty during recess.”

“Hmm. I hope I don’t see that.”

“Why?” He asks.

“I might fall for you even more. I can only like you so much, Kook,” you say. 

There’s a hint of playfulness there but you also sound like it’s a real problem, and this makes him laugh. You’re endearing when you’re this expressive, and he only hopes he could express just as much as you do.

“I don’t see how that’s a bad thing,” he hums. “I’d like that actually.”

You smile in response, knowing that’s not far from happening. 

Like you expected, liking him isn’t hard, and it hit you like a freight train today that you’re feeling so much more for him than you thought you would. He may have liked you first but you definitely fell into the deep end pretty quickly and pretty hard, and you’re learning that despite the initial worries, it doesn’t scare you that much anymore. You’re diving into this head first, and it’s also why you’re trying to pace yourself, trying not to drown in all that you feel.

He turns off the light then switches on the lamp on his bedside. You lie in bed and wait for him to lie next to you, but then he stops himself.

“So uh, I usually sleep without a shirt on,” he informs you.

“I don’t see how that’s a bad thing,” you echo his words.

“Okay. I just wanna make sure you won’t faint or anything,” he shrugs. “I mean, you did admit how much you liked seeing me half naked and stuff. Then again, I can do CPR but I’d rather kiss you while you’re conscious.”

You laugh at his teasing and feel the heat rise to your cheeks, especially when he finally removes his shirt and blesses you with a sight that you definitely have been thinking about. 

He’s left with just his boxers on and you can’t help but eye him up and down and bite your lip in the process. It’s different being able to desire him openly and up close. It’s also different seeing him embrace it, as he smirks at you while watching you obviously lust over him.

So you play along.

“I think I’ll be fine,” you tease back. “I mean, I can do that, too.”

You remove your shirt and you watch him visibly gulp at the sight he’s never actually seen before - you, bare, on his bed, in nothing but your cloth shorts. 

You cock your eyebrow at him as if challenging him to do something. And you really hope he does.

His lips part as his eyes gaze at your swell breasts. The way he’s looking at you makes you shiver and you feel it everywhere. Your now pert nipples definitely do, and it seems that he’s taken notice, too.

“Hey, keep yourself together,” you tease now. “I can’t do CPR so please remain conscious.”

“I’ll try,” he mumbles, as he makes his way towards you on the bed.

There’s hunger in his eyes and you feel it when he cups your cheek and kisses you fervently. You moan into the kiss but you don’t move, letting your body take in all that desire and spread all over you instead. You remain unmoving, even when he starts kissing down your jaw, then your neck, then down the valley between your breasts.

You know he senses you panting though, but that just urges him to do it slowly, grazing his tongue against your skin and leaving a trail towards your buds. He sucks your nipple, then moves over to the other one, all while he keeps himself steady on the bed with his knees, his one hand loosely holding onto your waist.

He’s slow and gentle, as if he wants to take his time and savor this, too. Perhaps he can sense the pace you want to go and he’s going along with it.

You’re holding yourself back from jumping on him and doing everything right now but you’re learning that it’s not that hard. Sure, the desire to lay down and have him kiss you all over your body until he’s sliding inside you is there, but it’s one you can manage. You want to settle into all this first, and you think he knows that.

He kisses you along the path he took earlier until he’s back on your lips, then he pulls away and boops your nose. 

“Hmm. I survived,” he says, prompting you to giggle.

He finally lies down and you do the same. He pulls you close to him and faces you.

“You’re cheeky, aren’t you?” He chuckles. “And unfair. You’ve seen me shirtless so many times so you already knew what to expect.”

“Doesn’t mean my reaction would be any different,” you hum. “Plus, there’s literally no other reason for you to see my boobs before today. But I’ll have you know, this is the quickest I’ve ever shown them to anyone.”

“That’s nice to know,” he laughs. “And it’s an honor. Thank you. They’re very beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like them.”

He laughs again and you like that despite this very new thing you both have going on, the comfort and playfulness haven’t gone away. You’re just bolder and flirtier now and that’s the fun part of it.

He props himself on his right arm as you talk deep into the night. You continue your narrations of the past trips you’ve had, starting from Chungbuk last fall when you spent a lot of time together, to Sapporo in winter when things had already changed for him, and then to Jeju not long ago when things had changed for you. 

The more you talk, the more everything makes sense. You used to be so averse to the idea of falling for a friend because the progression of feelings over time didn’t really make sense to you. Like your friends said, whirlwind romances were all you knew.

But being friends with Jungkook allowed both of you to get to know each other with no ulterior motive or hidden desire. It was pure and natural and you suppose that’s how you learned to adjust to each other, to understand each other, and to know how to be what the other person needs. 

The whole time you talk, his hand mindlessly caresses your bare torso and takes your hand. You can laugh and tease each other and remain where you are. It lets you pay attention to the sound of his laugh, to how his eyes sparkle, to the dip on his cheek when he smiles, and to how gentle and caring he is. 

You fall asleep against his chest and in tangled limbs with your heartbeat on pace with his.

Jungkook wakes up to the sight of you still bare next to him with your arms bent upwards. You look endearing, even if that arm hit his face in the middle of the night.  

He laughs to himself. It was bound to happen at one point; he just didn’t think it would be this early.

You’re still in deep sleep and it allows him to bask in this moment with you. There are no inhibitions and worries, just a whole lot of feelings. Tempered in its physical expression they may be, Jungkook feels all of it from his end and from yours. 

It’s what he always liked about you, too - that you feel so much and you’re not afraid to show it. You’re giggly and excited around him, blurting out that you like him when you have the chance. It doesn’t really diminish it for him because words carry so much weight for you, and he appreciates it every time you say it. 

He hopes he gets to express everything he feels for you. Maybe not in the exact same way but in ways that matter. 

You moan in your sleep and turn towards him, reaching out because you always need something to hug, so he pulls you close and you pull him in. Flushed against his chest with a bit of room to breathe, you settle in his hold. 

He lets you stay there and he smiles to himself. He’d only dreamt of all this not long ago, and now he gets to live it.

You wake up not long after with kisses on his chest up to his neck before you face him. 

“Good morning,” you mumble. “Did you sleep well with my half naked self?”

“Yes, I did,” he laughs. “You hit my face though. That’s a first.”

This wakes you up completely and you look at him in apology.

“Don’t tell me I hit your nose.”

“You did,” he nods. “But hey, I can now say I’m one of the guys.”

“Oh no,” you pout, kissing it. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re good. It’s one of the relationship hazards I was very much aware of,” he laughs. “And I don’t mind at all. I mean, I get to wake up to this.”

You’re lying on your back now and your breasts still make his breath hitch. He kisses them again and he loves the way you heave when he does. He can imagine how much more you’ll react once he kisses other parts of you that he’s been yearning for but the time will come, he thinks. 

He’s following your pace, he reminds himself. Perhaps you need to settle into the other intimate acts and he doesn’t mind, not when he gets to experience a different kind of intimacy with you. Such as right now.

Such as walking to his bathroom and brushing your teeth and washing your faces together. And sharing kisses in between drinking the coffee he prepares. And zipping up your dress and hearing you tell him you like how he looks in jeans and a shirt. And having moments of silence then bursting in laughter over some memory while holding hands in the car on your way to lunch. 

You and Jungkook let go of each other before entering Taehyung and Seokjin’s parents’ house. You decide you’ll announce your relationship when something related to it comes up, so you shush your friends who do know when they come up to greet you.

You take your seats next to each other on the dining table and look at the local food spread that you know Taehyung will be missing. You control your smile whenever Jungkook passes you a dish or puts food on your plate and you stop yourself from doing the same but then decide it shouldn’t matter so you do it, too. 

This is normal between all of you, including leaning on his shoulder because of how good everything is. No one seems to be thinking any different, until the conversation leads to last Friday and what everyone was up to. 

Mo-eum and Jimin talk about closing the Club at 4AM and then riding with Taehyung to his friend’s house for his day trip at the lake. Suhyeon shares that she got surprisingly drunk and dragged her boyfriend to the playground where they got soaked in the rain. Namjoon danced all night then fell asleep on Hoseok’s couch. 

And then there were the early leavers - Yoongi had coffee with Gyu-rim then drove her home, and Hayoung craved kalguksu so Seokjin made it for her. Your cousin asks you if you slept right away after you got home since you didn’t look that well, prompting laughter from the younger ones, including Jungkook.

“Actually, it was a funny thing that happened,” you start. “Tae, uh, booked me a car and asked Kook to come home with me then it rained hard so I told him to stay over but it was hot so I plugged the fan but it created a spark so I told him he could sleep on my bed… and then I told him I like him and he said that he likes me, too, so now we’re dating!”

Several shocked and questioning pairs of eyes stare back at you and you almost wonder if there’s a glitch in the system.

“She’s not joking. That all really happened,” Jungkook follows up, chuckling at how everyone seems to be speechless.

“Oh my god. Our babies,” Suhyeon finally speaks up and beams at both of you. “This makes me so happy.”

Hayoung hugs you from behind and heads to Jungkook to do the same. There are expressions of surprise and joy and observations of both of you spending more time together. 

Hoseok says he didn’t really see it coming but that thinking about it now, it’s not that unexpected because of how well you and Jungkook get along. Seokjin notes that your closeness with the man isn’t the same as with Jimin and Taehyung and maybe that’s also why. 

“So, how’s your fan?” Yoongi asks, causing you to snort at his unrelated question but you think this might be a bit of an interesting moment for him, too.

“It’s fine. It just acted up that night and I don’t have any wiring issues,” you state. 

“So, this all happened on Friday, huh?” Namjoon asks. “I barely saw you and Kook talking though. What made you admit it?”

“Well, I… saw him with a girl and my mind went all over the place and I guess I got jealous,” you chuckle. “That happens, you know? Sometimes the person you like is just one serendipitous encounter away from finding a person they could be right for and you have to claim your spot, something like that. I, uh,” you continue, glancing at Jungkook as he takes your hand under the table. “I’ve liked him for a few weeks now and I was just waiting for the right time.”

“Well, I’ve liked her for months and I could’ve been one serendipitous encounter away from losing her,” Jungkook shakes his head. 

“So, you liked her first and didn’t say anything? Just like Seokjin?” Hayoung laughs.

“Yeah. He liked me first but I fell harder,” you confess.

“Oh, like Hayoung, then,” Seokjin teases, earning him a playful slap from his fiancé who also agrees.

“It runs in the family, I guess,” she smiles. 

Seokjin wraps his arm around her shoulder and kisses her forehead. It’s a soft sight, as he wasn’t always this affectionate but Hayoung brought out that side of him.

You often wonder how that happens, how one person becomes more of something because of another, or which qualities of their partner they acquire after some time.

You wonder what you’ll be more now that you’re with Jungkook. Maybe you’ll be calmer and less neurotic. You might actually even be more responsible and independent. Whatever it is, you hope he’ll like you even more. You wonder, too, what traits he’ll start acquiring now that he’s with you.

The conversation continues, as Jimin, Mo-eum, and Taehyung come clean about the little things they were doing throughout the Jeju trip to make sure you and Jungkook spent more time together. You’re amazed at how your friends managed to just nudge but both of you are the ones who still made it happen. 

You’re reminded of what Hayoung said about her and Seokjin, how the other could’ve chickened out after someone confessed, considering the good friendship that’s on the line; it’s a lot to lose for something you’re unsure will work out. 

But they chose to make it work and be the right person for each other, and that mirrors how you and Jungkook just went for it, too, with neither one of you forcing or rushing it. You glance at Yoongi and Gyu-rim, oddly observant this time around and you hope it works out for them on their own time as well.

Lunch ends and the afternoon is how it always goes. Some people are just chatting and drinking while others are playing games. You’re doing the latter, as you try to beat Taehyung in Street Fighter, which you do, and then he decides you should all play Fall Guys instead. You glance at Jungkook who’s chatting with Hayoung and Seokjin and you could only guess what that’s all about, but you might have an idea.

Jungkook has his eyes on you as he talks to your cousin. A lot of it is about the wedding and meeting your entire clan in less than two months. But it’s also about you and how happy she is that you get to be with someone like him; she even goes as far as welcoming him to the family. 

He knows it’s just been over a day but the feeling that all this feels so right doesn’t escape him and he doesn’t want it to. Sure, you’re still in the honeymoon stage and challenges will come your way but with a group of friends like the one you both have, he thinks you’ll be okay.

It’s a thought he holds onto as you finish dinner and on the ride home. You insisted on driving him to his apartment, even if he suggested booking a cab from your place instead but you won, stating that it’s work day tomorrow and it’s better that he gets to rest right away. 

You stop in front of his building and though you hate saying goodbye, knowing you’ll see him again and again comforts you.

You turn to him with a pout and your puppy eyes that say you don’t wanna let him go. You laugh at yourself with how silly you are, but he looks at you with a soft smile. He cups your cheek and kisses you, gently at first then it deepens by the second until he pulls away. You sneak a last one on his lips before he gets out of the car.

And then he calls you.

You put him on speaker while looking at him on the driveway from inside your car and laugh.

“Miss me already?” you tease.

“Maybe,” he smiles with his nose scrunched. “Just wanna make sure you get home safe. Stay on the line until you get there?”

“Okay,” you smile back before driving away. 

It’s a 15-minute drive but it’s enough time to talk about your respective schedules for the week. You hang up to take a shower and then lie in bed to find a message from him. 

[from: bunny Kook] just remembered we have ministry of ed people assessing us tomorrow

[from: bunny Kook] should i wear blue or maroon tracksuit?

[from: bunny Kook] or maybe gray? 

You giggle at the messages, as you start to see what he’s like when he’s really comfortable. You can imagine him staring at his closet, frozen in thought, even if all his tracksuits probably look the same anyway. But he’s sharing with you his random thoughts, and this is a man who barely even replies, much less read messages.

But now he’s video calling you and he asks why you’re laughing when you show up on the screen.

“Nothing,” you smile. “I’d go with the gray.”

“Okay,” he says, not even thinking about it. 

He lies in bed and talks to you once more and you’re giddy and endeared at how he doesn’t want to let you go just yet. It’s just been two days but you already can’t get enough of each other. And you wish it would stay that way. 

He finally hangs up after a drawn out goodbye. You suppose this is what will change with him now that he’s with you, and you smile yourself to sleep at the thought.

You spend most of the week after work with your friends, as the day of Teahyung’s flight draws nearer. You go to an arcade on Tuesday, do karaoke on Wednesday, then play bowling on Thursday. You eat at all the restaurants that he’ll miss, and on Friday, you and Jungkook pick up Jimin, Mo-eum, and finally Taehyung to drop him off at the airport. 

It’s not the first time you’ve done this but you suppose so much has happened in between. It’s bittersweet, knowing you’ll all be separated again, even if he’s off to do the thing he loves most in the world. 

Taehyung gives each of you a hug. When he gets to you and Jungkook, he claims the big role he played in getting the two of you together.

“I mean, I planned all the trips so… yeah, I was pretty instrumental,” he smiles.

And you give him credit for it. You give your props to Jimin and Mo-eum, too, who somehow managed to keep you level-headed enough throughout all this. 

You bid Taehyung goodbye and head to your apartment for some takeout dinner and a night of drinking and talking about how the past few months have been.

It’s later on in the evening when it’s just you and him that Jungkook goes back to the thought that he really could’ve been one serendipitous encounter away from losing you. 

You could’ve met someone at Taehyung’s farewell party or one of Jimin’s many cool friends. It could’ve been someone at one of your conferences or a guy ordering the same drink as you in that newly opened cafe near your office. 

But he quickly dispels the thought, as he watches you snuggle closer to him as you fall into deep sleep, settling into his hold, like what you naturally did just a week ago when all this happened. 

He likes you so much and contrary to what you think, he fell just as hard for you. And the more he settles into this, into you, the stronger he feels that even if you’ve known each other for years, you’ve had several serendipitous moments these past months that got you here. 

Maybe it was waking up when you did that second morning in the forest that had you sharing coffee and talking about things. Maybe it was your car breaking down that led him to driving you to Cheonan, or even seeing Si-an at the club. 

Maybe it was being seated next to you on the plane to Sapporo or your lightbulb going off. Maybe it was being the lone pair to fly to Jeju at night or the locals telling him about the sunrise spot that had you joining him that final morning. 

It could’ve been one or all of them but they led you closer to each other. He doesn’t think there’s a better way of ending up where you did than this - you, tucked in his arms, settled so naturally in his hold, as if you were always meant to be there.

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[chastiefoul]

0:56 a.m. | nanami kento

0.6k words

“kento,” you whispered into the silence of the night and the dimmed lights on your room. It’s been way past midnight and you hadn’t been able to sleep, contrary to your boyfriend who’s lying beside you—his breath steady and calm.

when your voice didn’t budge him out of his slumber you tried once more.

“kento.” this time a little louder.

he then muttered an inaudible word, still closing his eyes. his hand wandered though, tightening his hold around the back of your shoulder; bringing you close to his chest. better, but the gesture was not enough for you who’s not feeling even a little sleepy, as mischief ideas filled your head.

third time’s a charm, they said. so you called him once more.

this time it finally did something as he hummed a reply, his free hand rubbed your side in a calming pattern, his hand went underneath your shirt that’s all rode up. he settled his grip just an inch under your chest, his thumb slowly moved up and down. “that tickles,” you said as you put a hand over his, refraining his little movement. Although, you’re sure he could hear the smile on your voice.

he finally opened his eyes as he gave you a lazy little smile and you swore you didn’t remember seeing anything more gorgeous than that. “why aren’t you asleep, hm?” his voice a tone heavier than usual, a tad husky as it laced deep with sleep. “i can’t sleep,” you whispered, like telling a secret to your best friends in a slumber party. “right. so i don’t get to either, yeah?” he replied, a smile on his face; and it’s only fondness shine across his feature.

“i mean, i understand if the old man needs his sleep even though tomorrow’s weekend. so by all means,” you said playfully, and that earned a deep chuckle from him. “don’t tease, who said we should have an early night today?” he raised an eyebrow, and for such a calm sleeper he now couldn’t stop his wandering hand as he’s diligent on giving you back-scratches—not that you’re complaining. “yes, but that was before my confidence in being able to fall asleep crumbled right before my eyes,” you claimed, feigning a serious tone. “i see, my mistake.” his eyes narrowed affectionately and you had a feeling you could say the dumbest excuse and he’d let you get away with anything.

you felt the need to sit up and do something but before you could even do that he held you down gently. “none of that, you’ll feel even more restless, love.” you couldn’t even protest at that since you knew he’s always right. “then what do you suggest we do now?”

“it’s a we problem now, hm?” he stared at you in amusement, knowing who dragged him into the sleepless night as well was none other than you. “is that a complaint i hear?” you threw him a questioning look. “it’s excitement, of course.” he laughed softly as he stroke your hair ever-so-gently.

“i should just start rambling maybe it’ll get me tired,” you said randomly and he just nodded without offering any question. “sure, i’m listening.” his hand didn’t stop moving. “where should i start?” you asked, relying on his answer. And of course it came easy for the man who seemed like he knew all the right words. “start anywhere, love. you could repeat anything, skipped over some words, or even tell it backwards and i’ll be here to point it out,” he said lovingly.

and you don’t know if it’s just his power you didn’t know about but it’s not even ten minutes after you started talking and as he kept doing the little gesture you could feel the sleepiness coming, welcoming you to one of your best slumber in a while.

--

idk how it took me this long to write this man. i love him so much.

[itneverendshere]

Can we get the first time rafe said i love you to bitchy!pogue!reader?

as sick as it sounds, i loved you first - r.c (+18)

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe warnings: smut; fluff; angst (barely)

He was being weird again.

Not weird in the usual Rafe way—where he’d mutter something half-menacing under his breath, act like just breathing the same air as you gave him hives, and walk away like he hadn’t just insulted someone’s entire bloodline.

This was worse.

This was hovering, this was nice.

He was sitting across the couch with that glazed-over look he’d started wearing lately, the one that made it feel like he was watching you breathe, acting like you were some miracle he couldn’t wrap his head around.

You hated it.

(You didn’t.)

“Stop looking at me like that,” You didn’t bother to glance up from the bracelet you were tying around your wrist. One of those shitty little ones you’d made together out of string and beer caps last weekend when he’d shown up at your place at 2am with a “surprise” and the worst craft supplies imaginable.

“I’m not looking at you,” he said, instantly defensive.

“You’re literally—”

“Not in a weird way.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe a little weird,” he admitted, shoving his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. The one you’d stolen and pretended you hadn’t. 

Rafe had gone from arrogant and angry to… clingy? Affectionate? But he was yours and that was the part you hadn’t worked through yet.

He came to sit beside you, thigh pressed to yours, no sense of personal space whatsover. He smelled like detergent and whatever cologne he used way too much of, and somehow it didn’t suffocate you anymore.

It made your stomach twist, in a good way, a way you’d never felt before.

You remembered when just seeing his name in your phone, asking for a booty call, made your roll her eyes so hard it gave you a headache. When you used to flirt with his friends at parties for shit and giggles, just to watch that angry control of his slip away into nothing, because it always did.

That was the fun part, pissing him off, making him want you even when he hated you. Back then, it was a game, yet now, you were wearing his hoodie, he was close, warm, and gentle, and you didn’t know what to do with that.

“Why are you staring?” You asked, flicking your eyes toward him.

His hair was a mess, lips a little bitten, thanks to your fabulous work. His cheeks pinked under your gaze, which made you suspicious. He only got flustered when he was about to say something unhinged.

He leaned his head on your shoulder, he never used to do that back when you were constantly bickering across bonfires and making out with other people just to piss each other off. Now he was clingy, gentle. It was kinda hot.

“You ever just look at someone and think… shit, she really used to hate my guts and now she’s wearing my hoodie and letting me kiss her?”

“I still hate your guts,” You said sweetly.

“No you don’t,” he grinned, proud of himself.

You didn’t dignify that with a response, only hummed in acknowledgment, fiddling with the bracelet again so you didn’t have to deal with the intensity of his face.

“I think I love you.”

The words were a car crash in your chest. You froze, fingers still tangled in string, head snapping toward him, eyes wide, like what the actual fuck did you just say?

Rafe blinked. Then: “Okay. Bad timing.”

“No shit.”

“I just—” He shifted to face you more fully, fidgeting in his seat, trying not to bolt. “I was gonna wait. Or, like, make it a thing. Flowers and a sunset, I don’t know. Something romantic or whatever you deserve. But you're sitting here with your stupid little bracelet and your stupid beautiful face and I couldn’t not say it.”

You turned to look at him, slowly, eyes scanning his stupid pretty face. Maybe, you could find the old version of him buried under all this softness. But he was gone, that boy who used to shove past you at keggers like you were nothing, who once told you no one would ever really stick around for someone like you? Gone.

He winced. “You’re not saying anything. That’s bad.”

This one—this version—looked like he’d get on his knees if you asked.

“You just called me stupid twice.”

“I meant it lovingly.”

“You love me lovingly,” You said, lips twitching.

“I do love you lovingly.”

It should’ve made you gloat. That used to be your whole thing—getting under his skin, bending him to want you enough to break him. And now he was saying that to you?

It didn’t feel like winning anymore, more like drowning, sweet and terrifying. Somewhere between the late-night calls and the mutual destruction, between his bloodied knuckles and your bruised pride, he stopped trying to fight you, and you stopped trying to run.

He was looking at you like you meant something and you hated how badly you wanted to believe it.

“I love you,” he said again, quieter this time, pretending you hadn’t heard him. Maybe saying it again would undo the panic rising behind your ribs.

You stared down at the bracelet in your lap, fingers still curled around the unfinished knot.

It made you sick. (It made you ache.)

“You’re not gonna say it back, are you,” He didn’t sound surprised. His voice was quiet, not even disappointed, just sad. He got it, knew exactly what kind of girl you were and loved you anyway.

That made it worse.

You looked at him then. The Rafe you remembered—the one with blood in his teeth and a chip on his shoulder—in his place was this… idiot. Your idiot, soft-eyed and pink-cheeked, hoodie strings uneven from where you tugged on them earlier when you kissed him hard enough to make him dizzy.

He looked so earnest it made your throat go tight.

Rafe huffed a breath, a half-smile twitching at his mouth. “You don’t have to say it back,” he said, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I just needed you to know.”

You were always good at pushing people away, letting them want you just enough to hurt them. It was easier that way. But Rafe—Rafe didn’t run that night. Not when you were screaming, not when you were cruel, not even when you told him you didn’t care.

You curled your fingers around his.

“You’re still kind of a dick.”

He smiled. “I know.”

“And I still kind of hate you.”

He nodded solemnly. “I can work with that.”

You stared at him for a long second, your chest hollow and full at the same time, and leaned in to press your mouth to his. 

“You’re annoying.”

You didn’t know what to do with it, didn’t know where to put all this feeling. It swelled up in your chest until it made your fingers tremble, until your lungs forgot how to work, until all you could think was himhimhim.

“I think I might love you too,” you whispered against his lips, like it was a sin.

Your fingers slipped into his hair, tugging gently, and that earned you a involuntary groan straight from his throat. Rafe angled his head, breath hitching, and kissed you deeper, tongue sweeping past your lips.

You made a small, broken noise into the kiss, and he inhaled it while hands were everywhere, fingers dugging into the fabric of your hoodie—his hoodie, stretched and oversized on you—and he tugged you into his lap without asking. He needed you close, all the time.

You gasped against his mouth when your knees hit either side of his hips, straddling him, but he didn’t pull back. Just kissed you harder. His tongue slid against yours again, slow, making you feel like a live wire, the taste of him was sparking in your chest, down your spine, through your fingertips. You curled your fists into his hair even harder and he made a noise that sounded like surrender.

It wasn’t perfect—your noses bumped, your teeth clicked—but none of it mattered. You shifted in his lap, hoodie bunched awkwardly between you.

You tilted your head and let Rafe deepen it, mouths parting, tongues sliding together—messy in the best way. It wasn’t clean, it felt real. Your hands found his jaw, thumbs brushing the edge of his cheekbone, he felt like warmth, home, and that was terrifying.

Rafe kissed you like he was trying to apologize for every awful thing he ever said over the years, and you kissed him like you were ready to forgive him. 

He pulled back just an inch, breathing hard, lips pink and wet. His hands slid up your back under the hoodie, thumbs stroking bare skin, making your stomach flutter. His mouth dragged down to your jaw, sucking a bruise just beneath your ear, marking you—he couldn’t help it.

“Say it again,” you breathed, dizzy from him, from how easily you fit together like this.

He grinned, leaning in. “You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

It came out like the most honest thing you’d ever said.

“I love you,” he said, immediately, no hesitation.

You bit his bottom lip gently, kissed it better a second later, “I love you too.”

He laughed, nose brushing yours.

“Yeah,” he whispered, dragging your hips a little closer until your chests were flush, “I know, sweetheart.”

Right now, you wanted to crawl inside his ribs and live there, wanted to hear him say it again, and again, and again. Until you believed it.

His hands under your hoodie weren’t tentative anymore. They were bold—palms gliding up your back, fingertips brushing the edge of your bra, trying not to push, but couldn't stop himself either, making you arch just slightly into him.

“God, you drive me fucking insane,” he whispered, mouth still working a bruise into your collarbone. 

His voice was wrecked, full of that gritty desperation he always tried to hide but never could around you. 

“You don’t even know,” he said into your mouth, kissing between the words now, tongue chasing the taste of you. “You don’t know what you fucking do to me. I can’t think when you’re like this.”

Your lips brushed his jaw. “Good.”

“Mean,” he breathed, and his hands slid down, one dipping under the curve of your thigh, hiking it up until your core was right against him. “You’re mean to me.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth, his cheek, “Still love me?”

“Worse,” he said, like a confession. “I need you.”

You felt it, the way his voice cracked when he said it—it physically cost him something, he was handing you a weapon and trusting you not to use it. You could’ve laughed, thrown it back in his face the way you used to, just for the power of it.

You ducked your head like that might hide how much it meant to you, if he didn’t see your face, he wouldn’t realize how deep it went. You were terrified of what this meant, of how much he was giving you, of how much you were giving back. 

“I’m right here. You have me.”

His hand crept up beneath your thigh, holding you there, grinding you down against the hard line of him through his sweatpants, and shit—you moaned, breaking the kiss.

Rafe’s head dropped back against the couch. “Keep doing that and I’m not gonna make it to the bedroom.”

“Who said we’re going to the bedroom?” you murmured, dragging your nails under the hem of his hoodie. You let your fingertips skim up his stomach, slow and teasing. His abs jumped beneath your touch.

You leaned down, mouth brushing his again, sweetly. And then you rolled your hips, his head dropped back with a strangled noise—half curse, half prayer.

“Fuck. Fuck, baby, you gotta stop unless you want me to—”

You bit his earlobe. “I do.”

“I’ve been so good, baby. I’ve been so fucking good, I swear.”

 “I know.”

“I wasn’t gonna touch you,” he murmured, desperate now. “Not 'til you were ready. Not 'til you told me you wanted it too.”

“I do,” you told him again, mouth brushing his. “I want you.”

His hands cupped your ass and he surged up, kissing you like a man starved, lost at sea for months. You could feel him, hard against you, could feel how bad he wanted you, how close he was to losing it, and it made you insane.

“You're on probation,” you reminded him, even as your fingers slipped beneath the collar of his own hoodie, tracing his collarbone.

“I know,” he whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then lower, dragging his teeth down your throat. “I deserve it. I’d wait forever if I had to.”

You exhaled hard, body buzzing, nerves coiled tight from weeks of pretending you didn’t miss this or want him like this. You hadn’t let him touch you—only let him kiss you—since the night you said you wanted to try for real. Your breath caught in your throat, and your thighs squeezed tighter around his hips instinctively at his confession.

“You gonna let me?” he whispered, grinding up against you in slow, perfect circles. “Let me show you how much I fucking love you?”

You nodded, breathless.

He kissed your neck again, lips wet and open. “Then say it again.”

“I love you,” you gasped, tugging his hair.

“Louder.”

“I love you.”

His lips curved against your skin, pleased.

“Good girl.”

“You’ve been good too,” you whispered against his ear, kissing the shell of it, “so good.”

His whole body trembled under you.

“I’m not gonna last if you keep talking like that.”

You smiled against his neck, kissing your way down. “So don’t.”

Rafe flipped you onto your back in one motion, hoodie riding up past your ribs, his hands everywhere. He kissed down your stomach, groaning when he saw the little strip of bare skin between the hoodie and your underwear, a gift.

“I missed this,” he said, mouth pressed to your hipbone. 

You tugged at his clothes. “Then stop talking and take this off.”

And he did—hoodie gone, yours halfway up, kisses trailing lower.

He paused when he got to the edge of your underwear, breathing, trying to memorize the moment. His hands were warm, thumbs brushing circles over your hips, he couldn’t believe he got to touch you like this again.

“Still with me?”

You nodded, legs parting slightly, an unspoken answer.

Rafe exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for months.

“God, I missed you,” he said again, this time like a prayer, and pressed a kiss just above your waistband. Then another.

His mouth was gentle, making your whole body twitch. He took his time, dragging the fabric down your legs and when he finally kissed between your thighs, it didn’t feel like a favor or a performance—it felt like worship.

Rafe meant it, he’d dreamed about this every night he slept alone.

“Tell me what you need,” he murmured, mouth ghosting right where you were aching. “I wanna do it right this time.”

You whimpered. “Rafe—”

He groaned, it physically hurt to hear his name in your mouth like that. “Say it again.”

“Rafe.” You gasped it now, your hands in his hair, hips lifting of their own accord. “Please.”

He didn’t ease into it, instead, as soon as your underwear hit the floor, he dropped to his knees, where he’d been dying to be, he’d starve if you didn’t let him have you. He hooked your leg over his shoulder, pulled your hips to the edge of the couch, and dove in without a single word. And fuck, you felt it.

There was nothing gentle about it—His mouth was hot, tongue sweeping through your pussy like he’d been dreaming about the taste of you. He moaned into you like a man who finally found water in the desert, grabbing your thighs to hold you still while he licked you deep, wet, and messy.

Rafe didn’t stop for breath or come up to check on you. Just groaned and kept going, licking into you like he was trying to memorize you from the inside out.

“God, baby,” he gasped, breath shaky against your skin. “I missed this pussy so fucking much—tastes like heaven. Can’t believe I went so long without it.”

Your back arched, fingers tangling in his hair, but he didn’t let up even when you started to squirm or when your thighs shook around his head. He loved that, so he buried his face deeper, wanting your legs to trap him there. 

He switched it up just when you were about to fall apart—flicking his tongue in tight smaller circles over your clit while one thick finger slid into you, then another. The sound you made had him growling.

“Wanna feel you on my face.”

You did. Loud, messy, with your whole body shaking. He rode it out with you, never pulling back, tongue still working you through it while he moaned, acting like he was the one getting off.

Even after your orgasm hit, when you were twitching and whimpering from the overstimulation, he didn’t stop. Slowed down, sure—but didn’t stop. Pressed soft kisses to your clit, licked up everything you gave him. When he finally looked up at you, chin soaked, lips swollen, pupils blown wide—he looked high off you.

“Want more?”

Because the truth was—he did.

Your body was still trembling when he rose, his eyes meeting yours, it and hit you all over again—this is Rafe. Yours. And he loves you.

He leaned over you, bracing himself with one hand beside your head, and used the other to gently guide your face toward his. He kissed you deep, with so much love it knocked the air out of your lungs. You could taste yourself on his tongue—feel the way his body shook as he pressed closer.

You watched, chest rising and falling, as he sat back on his knees.

“Wanna feel you,” he said, eyes dark but tender. “All of you. Skin to skin.”

Rafe didn’t just want to fuck you—he wanted to know you like this again. You nodded, still dazed from the way he’d eaten you like a man possessed. “I want you too.”

He kissed you again, sweeter, took his time—needed you to feel what he couldn’t explain. And you did. 

He kissed your palm, then stood up slowly, peeling his shirt over his head slowly, baring his chest to you, no cocky flex, no rush—just his eyes on you the whole time, making sure you were still with him, that you wanted this as much as he did. His skin glowed warm in the low light—gold and flushed. You let your eyes trace over every inch of him: the curve of his collarbones, the scar on his rib, the way his stomach tightened when your gaze dipped lower.

Next came his jeans.

He stood up, undoing the button slowly, dragging the zipper down with a little exhale through his nose. His boxers went with them, sliding down over lean hips, thick thighs, revealing just how wrecked he already was for you. Hard. Heavy. Aching.

He stepped out of them and kicked them aside, then just stood there for a second—completely naked. Letting you see him, all of him.

Shit, he looked beautiful, vulnerable, ready. His chest rose with a shaky breath, and he reached for you again.

“You sure?” he asked, voice husky.

You nodded, biting your lip as you sat up a little, knees parting around him, hand reaching to brush over his stomach. “Touch me.”

That’s when he climbed onto the couch with you, awkward in the best way, knees hitting cushions, hands everywhere, both of you giggling quietly into the kiss because there wasn’t room to stretch out—not properly. So you made do, his chest pressing to yours, your calves curled around his waist,

He lined himself up and pushed in, slow. Your breath hitched—he felt everything. The stretch, your body welcoming him like it had been waiting for him all along. His eyes fluttered shut, and his forehead dropped to yours.

Rafe didn’t move at first, simply stayed there, buried deep, holding you.

When he finally started moving, he rocked into you with deep strokes—no roughness. Every thrust sent a wave of pleasure rolling through you, but it wasn’t just the way he felt—it was the way he looked at you while he did it. He was in awe.

His hands never stopped touching you—sliding over your ribs, cradling your face, tangling in your hair. He whispered things between kisses, confessions pressed to your skin.

“Don’t ever leave me, okay?”

You nodded through the haze of pleasure, wrapping your arms around his back, your legs around his hips. You pulled him in closer—wanted him as close as humanly possible.

You didn’t just want to feel him inside you, you wanted to keep him there. 

“Didn’t think I’d ever get this,” Rafe whispered, voice shaking. “Not like this, with you.”

You brushed your fingers through his hair, pulling him back for a kiss, mouths barely moving, and when he pulled back, his eyes were glassy.

You cupped his face. “You do.”

His hips rocked into you again, and you gasped—back arching instinctively, tightening your legs around him.

“Jesus,” he breathed, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You feel so fucking good.”

Your mouth found his jaw, lips brushing the sensitive spot. “I’ve never—” You swallowed, breath catching. “No one’s ever made me feel like this.”

Rafe groaned, his rhythm stuttering. “Don’t say that unless you want me to lose it.”

He kissed you again, hard this time, a little desperate. His hands cradled your face like you were something fragile, and for once in your life, you didn’t mind that. You let yourself be held like that.

You held his face in your hands too, eyes fluttering open even as your mouth parted on a gasp.

“You okay?” he breathed, “Talk to me, pretty girl.”

You nodded, pulling him down into another kiss, needy. “Don’t stop.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he said, voice wrecked.

He braced a hand under your thigh and lifted it higher, pressing in and the sound you made had his hips stuttering. His lips found your neck again, his teeth scrapping at the skin.

“You feel so good,” he whispered into your skin. “Missed the way you sound. Missed how you look when I’m inside you.”

He rocked into you harder now, your bodies finding a rhythm—natural, perfect. His pelvis grinded against your clit with every pass, making your breath hitch and your legs tremble. It wasn’t just sex or getting off. It was everything you’d both been holding back—missed chances, sleepless nights, every second you’d spent pretending this wasn’t what you wanted all along.

His hand slid between your bodies, thumb finding your clit, perfect pressure movements, and your hips bucked involuntarily.

“There she is,” he rasped, lips brushing yours. “That’s my girl.”

You clenched around him at the words, and his eyes rolled back for half a second.

“Fuck, do that again.”

You did, not even on purpose, just from the way he felt, how he looked at you like you were the only thing he’d ever loved.

Your fingers scratched down his back, legs tightening around his waist, dragging him deeper. “Rafe,” you whimpered.

His hand cradled the back of your neck. “I know, baby. I know.”

He kissed you again, pouring everything into it—his apology, his want, his devotion. You could feel him everywhere—inside you, against you, with you. His hands never left you for long—one on your waist, the other at your cheek, brushing stray hairs back so he could see you while he made love to you.

That’s what this was, wasn't it? You felt it in your bones. Not sex, not a fuck. Rafe felt it too, you could tell by the way he kept whispering your name, how he blinked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“Been in love with you,” he admitted against your lips. “Didn’t even know it till you were gone. But I knew it here—” He kissed your chest, right over your heart. “Always here.”

You gasped, overwhelmed, fingers gripping his biceps. “I love you. I love you.”

You rolled your hips up to meet him, gave him everything—every moan, squeeze, every soft gasp in his ear. Your bodies were rewriting history, undoing every bitter word you ever spit out with every thrust.

Rafe’s hands gripped your thighs, his weight adjusting over you, you didn’t notice what he was doing until your legs were being lifted, folded back slowly, one at a time, until your knees were bent near your shoulders.

His arms hooked behind them, pressing you open, holding you there.

“Oh fuckkkkk—” Your breath caught, chest heaving against his. He was already sliding—even deeper than before, and you could feel the stretch, the overwhelming fullness that made your hands claw at his shoulders.

“I got you,” he reassured you, his chest still flush against yours. “I got you, baby.”

Rafe didn’t let the new angle break your closeness, not pulling back even an inch. His body blanketed yours, skin-to-skin, sweat-slicked and trembling, his mouth brushing your cheek as he started to move again.

It was making your head spin.

Your breath hitched every time he sank in, your legs trembling where they were pinned. And shit, the sounds. Wet, rhythmic—the slide of him inside you, the slap of skin on skin, the catch of your breath every time his hips rolled forward and hit that spot that had you clenching so tight around him he had to bite down on a groan.

“Shit,” he hissed, kissing down your jaw. “You feel so fuckin’ good like this. Can’t believe I went so long without this.”

Every part of you was open, exposed, his. 

He was taking his time with it, savoring every little reaction you gave him. His thrusts got heavier, your body folded around him making it impossible for him to miss a single spot.

“You’re so deep,” you whispered, voice high and shaky.

“I know,” he breathed. “Lemme give it to you, make you feel it.”

With your legs bent back, your pelvis tilted up, your body perfectly aligned for him, he filled every inch—grinding in with each stroke, his hips brushing against your clit hard enough to make your stomach tighten into that delirious pleasure.

Your toes curled, thighs quivering while kissed you again, desperately now, moaning into your mouth every time your walls clenched around him. You couldn’t stop it—it was involuntary, your body reacting to how he felt, to how fucking perfect this moment was.

You whimpered his name, needy, and he swore under his breath, shifting just enough to press your thighs closer to your chest. The angle made you cry out—your fingers digging into his back.

“That it? Right there?”

You nodded frantically, eyes wide, tears prickling at the corners from the intensity of it. His forehead pressed to yours, eyes locking with yours.

“You’re gonna cum for me first. I want it, baby.”

Rafe’s hand slid between your bodies, fingers slipping down to your clit again—rubbing in a perfect rhythm, in sync with every deep, body-shaking thrust.

It hit you suddely and violently, tearing through you with a sob that broke right out of your throat. Your whole body arched, legs trembling where he held them, walls pulsing around him so tight he nearly lost it right then.

“That’s it,” he gasped, watching you fall apart beneath him. “That’s my girl. Look at you, fuck—look how pretty you come for me.”

You were still shaking when he started to really lose it—his pace picking up, thrusts rougher, more ragged now as your orgasm milked him.

He choked out. “Where do you want it? Tell me, baby, please—”

“Inside,” you whispered, gripping his face. “Please. Rafe, please—”

He buried himself deep, groaning your name like it broke something in him, and then he was coming—hips locked, body shaking, spilling into you in pulsing waves.

You both lay there after, sweaty, trembling, still breathing each other’s air. His hands softened on your thighs, eventually letting them fall around his waist again, where they belonged.

He didn’t pull out, only kissed your shoulder, then your lips, still trembling. You didn’t realize you were crying until he kissed your cheek and tasted salt.

“Hey,” Rafe's thumb brushed the corner of your eye. “You okay?”

You nodded, breath shaky, lips parted as you tried to speak. “Yeah… yeah, I just—”

Words failed, there weren’t any for this, how full you felt—physically, emotionally. He kissed your cheek again, letting his lips linger. You could feel his heartbeat still racing where his chest pressed to yours.

He was still inside you. 

Your legs had fallen open around his waist again, loose now, your heels resting against the backs of his thighs. His weight was solid on top of you, but comforting, not crushing. His cock—softening, but not leaving—stayed nestled so deep inside you it felt like your bodies didn’t know how to separate anymore.

Your hands drifted up his back, fingertips tracing sweat-damp skin, and his breath hitched at the gentleness of it.

“Don’t pull out yet.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” he murmured, kissing your collarbone. “Not ready to let you go.”

You let out a breathy laugh, aching, “Clingy.”

He smiled, forehead pressing to yours again. “Proudly.”

Your body was still trembling —aftershocks rippling through your muscles in fluttery waves. Every time you moved, even just to breathe, it made him twitch inside you. Not hard again, but still there.

He kissed your lips again, slower this time. 

“I love you,” he said against your mouth, the easiest thing in the world. He sighed, body sinking into yours even more, cheek resting beside your temple, arms wrapped tight around you.

You smiled, eyes wet again. “I know.”

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[1:46 pm]

(cw: f!reader)

( @bluedbliss here you go!!)

"I don't know, I just feel bad. Don't you guys?" Jaehyun asked quietly as his eyes stayed locked on fratboy!Yuta who was staring at something on his phone.

"Do you guys think she's even real?" Mark replied with a confused look on his face.

You, Yuta's so-called girlfriend. There had been so many canceled visits, unanswered calls, late night calls, and dropped FaceTime calls between you and Yuta that at this point, his brothers were concerned. Did Yuta think he needed to make up a girlfriend so they'd like him? Did he feel left out when the other girlfriends came around? They were concerned that they were making him feel left out or that he maybe even had to lie to fit in. It totally wasn't the case. They'd support Yuta with or without a girlfriend.

"So, uh, tell us about how you guys met again?" Jaehyun asked Yuta.

Yuta turned from his seat on the couch with a bright smile, "I went home two summers ago and she was starting her semester abroad. It was love at first sight."

"She's still coming today, right? I feel like you've been waiting out here for a while, bro," Johnny asked in a gentle voice.

Yuta nods, looking back at his phone to check something, "yeah, dude, of course. Her flight was a little delayed and then she had two Ubers cancel, but she's already on her way."

The brothers nod slowly. Excuses, excuses... a couple months ago you could't make it because your flight to them was cancelled. Before that it was that you were swamped with homework. The time before that your flight had emergency landed with a 14 hour layover because a woman had given birth on your flight. There were just too many coincidences for the brothers to not be concerned.

Plus, Yuta never posted you under the guise of, "well, my girlfriend is a really private person." Sure, buddy...

"Tell us about her again?" Mark asked.

"She's a totally gorgeous, way out of my league, beautiful, sunning, breathtaking, genius woman. She's the best person I've ever met. She makes me a better person. She's the smartest person on the face of this planet. My mom loves her, my sisters love her, my dad loves her. Everyone loves her!" Yuta rants excitedly.

Suddenly, there's a knock on the door. Yuta let's out some kind of choked honk before he sprints to the door. The group of confused brothers move in a unit to the hall to get a good view of the front door.

"Baby girl! You're here!" Yuta cheers as he engulfs someone. They all crane their necks, but its impossible to tell who Yuta is hugging.

Then, as if some silent prayers were being answered, Yuta moves and there you stand. "She's actually real," Haechan whispers. They're all stuck in some kind of trance, in shock because, yeah— you are real and you're in their doorway.

Taeyong is the first to greet you with a warm smile and the rest follow suit. Soon enough you're all standing around in the kitchen snacking while making conversation.

Doyoung clears his throat, "so Yuta tells us you're a genius?"

You chuckle, shaking your head, "I'm not a genius, he just says-"

"She is!" Yuta interrupts, "she got into university early. She graduated early with the highest GPA in her university, and she's getting two master's degrees right now!"

"Well, I haven't gotten them yet, I'm pursuing them," you correct softly, squeezing Yuta's hand lovingly.

"Woah, two master's at once. Is that even possible?" Mark asks with his brows arched high.

"For my baby girl it is," Yuta answers with his chest puffed out in pride.

Again, you laugh softly as you correct your boyfriend, "it's definitely not common, but for my program the dual degrees are an option. My program mentors are very supportive and helpful. It keeps me busy, but I have a free weekend since my dissertation is being looked over this week, so I came to see my guy."

"Holy cow, you're so cool!" Haechan exclaims in a whisper.

"Why are you dating him? You know he's failed more classes than any of us here, right? Don't you want someone on your level?" Mark asks.

Yuta glares at Mark, but he calms when you rub his back. You turn to Mark, "I don't expect him to be perfect. Everyone has struggles when they first enter university and Yuta was far from home. There were a lot of other factors contributing to those few failed classes."

You take a sip of the water in your hand, "and I'm with Yuta because I love him, plain and simple. It's... hard living up to the expectations of all the people around me. I was so used to functioning under a crazy amount of stress in a way that isn't healthy in the slightest. Yuta just made me feel lighter. I met him and I felt like I could just... breathe. He supports me in whatever I choose. If I decided to drop my program tomorrow and move to the South Pole, I know he'd support me with no questions asked. He doesn't care about me because of my school, my academic abilities, or my brain. He cares about my being happy. That's all I can ask for."

"Bro, that's so romantic. Wait, I love you guys!" Jaehyun smiles, as he tugs you both in for a hug.

You hug him back with a watery laugh, leaning into Yuta's side when Jaehyun steps back. Yuta squeezes your side and lays his head atop yours, "and I failed three classes, Mark! Three! Bowling, massage, and judo. Don't make me look bad in front of my girl, again!"

"Judo?! You're Japanese, dude!"

"Mark! I play soccer! You don't fight people in soccer!"

You pinch his hip, "you got a red card a few games ago for tackling too much."

"That doesn't count, baby girl."

-

(gasp! gyeomsweetgyeom called it soccer!)

[augustjoy]

I’ve got you!

Based on the following ask: I want fluffy romance

It’s an Aaron Hotchner x reader (lmao daddy issues on fleek) anyways

I’d like to see like romantic tension building between them like it begins small but slowly gets bigger and it isn’t until reader gets into trouble (like say almost drowning because she never learned how to swim like my dumbass) that Aaron almost loses it a little and saved reader which makes him end up confessing to each other and they get together and it’s just fluffy romance because as much as I love the smutty stuff, I crave fluff so badly for my poor heart and for Aaron because baby deserves comfort too. Anyways Love you gorgeous

Aaron Hotchner x BAU! Fem Reader

Angst/Fluff

Word count: 2533

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, SLOW BURN, Age gap (non-specified), some explicit language, reader can’t swim, no use of y/n, Fem reader, reader has no physical description, canon typical violence, reader almost drowns, mention of Jack, Beth never existed in this okay!, mention of hospitals, team calls reader flower as a nickname! let me know if I missed any!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

Your first impression of Aaron Hotchner was at a lecture at your university. Jason Gideon had been leading the BAU and Hotch had just been an agent at the time, but you had been captivated by his intelligence and the way he carried himself. He was so confident and had this strength about him that drew you in. Not in a romantic way though!

At least that’s what you told yourself.

--

Aaron’s first impression of you was when you had been hired onto the team through Director Cruz. Mateo had brought you along with your file and handed you off to Aaron, informing him that you’d be joining the BAU effective immediately.

Initially Aaron was annoyed, this kind of thing hadn’t always worked out in his favor, having agents assigned to his team without his approval but, looking at you and your impressive file, he knew he had to give you a shot.

Glancing over to you he took note of your beauty. It wasn’t the obvious fake filter-like beauty, but something more natural. You had this air of warmth that radiated off of you, it was the type of energy that just made you feel comfortable around someone. He couldn’t help but think that if he’d met you some other way, that maybe he’d have asked you out.

--

Things between you and Aaron had progressed organically. The two of you had grown pretty close, being one another’s confidant within the team. You weren’t together, but the amount of time you two spent together suggested otherwise.

It all happened pretty quickly.

--

“Does Hotch always stay late?” You asked.

“Uh, yeah pretty much.” Emily laughed.

“What about Jack? He doesn’t go home to be with him? I mean…I, that came out wrong. I didn’t mean that to sound judgy, I just meant like doesn’t he want to go home?” You stuttered.

“I’m sure he wants to go home to Jack. His sister-in-law watches Jack when he can’t, but since Strauss died, they gave Hotch a lot of additional responsibilities for this team. Things that Cruz never took back on, so he has nearly double the workload now that he did back then.” Derek explained.

You stood there stunned to silence as the others packed their bags to head home for the evening. You hadn’t even noticed them making their way to the elevator.

“Aren’t you coming?” JJ questioned.

“You know, I just remembered I forgot to get the file for that case we had in Minnesota back to Hotch. He’ll be pissed if I don’t turn it in before our days off.” You lied.

“Do you want us to wait?” Spencer asked.

“No, you guys go ahead! Enjoy your weekend!”

You sat back down at your desk, attempting to make yourself look busy while the other piled into the elevator. Once the doors had closed you made your way up to his office…unable to hear the others…

“She’s got it bad.” Derek teased.

“So does he.” Rossi confirmed.

You gently knocked on his office door and waited for him to permit your entry. Once he did, you pushed the door open slightly and peaked in, waiting for him to acknowledge your presence.

“Oh hey, what are you still doing here? I figured you’d have left with the others.” Aaron let a slight smile slip past his lips.

“I was going to, but you’re still here. It didn’t feel right going home for the weekend while you are still here working your ass off.”

“I’m the boss, I’m always here working my ass off. Head home, enjoy the time off. Seriously.” Aaron suggested.

“How about instead, I do whatever I can to help you get through your work a little faster and I order dinner for us. Would you prefer tacos or Thai food?” You pulled up your maps app to see restaurants that were nearby.

“You should-”

“Don’t even try to argue with me Hotch.” You threatened.

“Tacos.”

“Perfect.”

--

That night you helped Aaron double-check the case reports and cross reference them to make sure they were all filed properly. It allowed him some extra time to complete some administrative work and when your food arrived, the two of you sat and laughed while enjoying your tacos.

--

Garcia, Emily, and JJ were all clutching their temples while chugging down coffee in hopes to alleviate their hangovers.

Spencer and Derek couldn’t help but chuckle at the girls and the fact that they chose to drink far too much last night, knowing full well they’d need to be up early to cheer on their fearless leader as he completed the annual FBI triathlon.

Dave waved to the others notifying them that he could see Aaron coming around the last corner.

“Wait where’s flower at?” Derek asked.

The team looked around to see if they could spot you, knowing that you would never miss this, given how close you and Aaron had become. Dave chuckled to himself and pointed over to where you were standing with Jack on your shoulders as he held up a large glittering sign.

Everyone cheered as Aaron crossed the finish line only, he didn’t stop to greet the team. He made his was straight to you and Jack, he assisted him in getting down off your shoulders and complimented the beautiful poster he had made.

“I had some help!” Jack replied, gently grabbing your hand.

You’d smile and wish Aaron a job well done.

The team would just watch from afar and wonder how the two of you could be so incredibly oblivious to the love you so obviously shared for one another.

--

“Wooo go Jack!” You cheered.

Aaron couldn’t help but chuckle at you, genuinely loving the bond you’d established with his son. It had started when Jack needed to spend a day at the BAU and you’d gone out of your way to get him snacks and print a few coloring pages for him. It had shifted to something deeper than that not long after. Jack would ask if you could come to the park with them or if you could help him with the poster for his dad or, like today for instance, if you could come to his soccer game.

You had packed up a cooler bag full of drinks and snacks for the three of you. Dressed in a simple T-shirt and jeans, Aaron had never thought you looked better. You’d been so casual and comfortable, and when you hopped in the passenger seat of his car that morning something stirred in Aaron. A feeling he wasn’t sure he was ready to feel again, let alone give in to.

“Did you see that? I made a goal!” Jack hollered running over to your waiting embrace.

“I did buddy, you were incredible out there!” You praised.

“Dad, can we all go get lunch now? And maybe then we can go see the new spiderman movie?” Jack pleaded.

“Oh – bud I don’t, I uh. I’m not sure that’s a good –” Aaron fumbled.

“I would love to, as long as it’s not an imposition.” You smiled.

“It’s not! An imposition, I mean.” Aaron clarified.

“Well then! What do you want for lunch Jack?” You asked.

You’d spent the rest of the day with the Hotchner boys, going to lunch and then seeing a movie. Which led to you offering to make them dinner, and building Legos with Jack, and then a nightcap with Aaron. He’d offered you his guestroom and then to drive you home first thing and given that you were both tipsy…you were quick to agree.

What you hadn’t expected was breakfast. He and Jack had gone all out with chocolate chip pancakes…things were feeling a little too domestic. When had things gotten so comfortable?

--

As the feeling stirred in both you and Aaron, you had begun to notice all the little things you did for one another. Things that had just become natural for you both in the time you’d known each other, second nature at this point.

You always slid sticky notes in your case files before turning them in to him. Sometimes they’d contain a doodle of something silly or a quote you’d read somewhere that made you think of him. What you didn’t know is he saved them all. They were tucked away in the back of his desk drawer, a neat pile of multicolored paper, serving as a reminder of how happy you made him.

Aaron shared similar antics…only his served in the form of your favorite tea, left on your desk each morning before the others arrived so they wouldn’t know it was him placing it there. Though they all had their suspicions anyway. Every once in while…usually after tough cases, or if he knew you hadn’t eaten dinner – which he’d know because you’d fall asleep mid-conversation via text – he’d leave a chocolate croissant…your favorite.

--

Aaron had almost let his feelings slip once. Dave had caught the internal battle that Aaron was facing, he wore it as a pained expression and tense shoulders. Dave had reassured him that you were alright and there was no need to worry, only that didn’t help much. You had gotten hurt, and that only proved that it could happen again. This was a dangerous job full of pain and suffering. Aaron realized he couldn’t bear the thought of you getting hurt.

You had been away on a case; the team had found the unsub and were closing in on him. You had rounded a corner in your chase and came face to face with the man you were after, and he had gotten the upper hand. He’d gotten a few good punches in and knocked you on your ass. Aaron had been quick to return the favor once he caught up.

That is when this need to protect you had grown all consuming. Aaron decided then to offer to train with you, in the hope of improving your self-defense skills a little more. And that is where you found yourself on Thursday evenings. Aaron and you would go to the FBI gym and train for about an hour before going to dinner.

This tradition sort of kept going…it sort of progressed from self-defense training to just working out together. An excuse really, an easy way of spending more time together without it looking too suspicious.

--

Dave had pushed Aaron time and time again, practically begging him to ask you out once and for all. To which Aaron always had the same reply; “She doesn’t feel that way about me and even if she did, it wouldn’t be appropriate”.

“You must be blind if you don’t see how much she cares about you. Or perhaps I was wrong about you being such a skilled profiler.” Dave chided.

“Excuse me?” Aaron was stunned.

“She is in love with you Aaron. You’d have to be an idiot to not realize, and even worse to keep yourselves from the happiness you both deserve.” Dave scolded.

Aaron sat with that for some time…wondering if Dave was right. Maybe enough was enough.

--

This case started out fine…but would quickly become both yours and Aaron’s worst nightmare.

This particular unsub had been murdering people with seemingly no connection. Disposing of their bodies at the South Coast Shipyard in Newport Beach, California.

The team had been working for days, trying to catch this guy. He was meticulous and stuck to his MO, not straying from his routine even the slightest. Spencer had suggested that he might have OCD.

That is what led you guys to the shipyard to try and corner him. Catch him in the act. You’d been on edge about being so close to the water…truthfully you’d always been afraid of it. And one night in a drunken stupor, you’d let it slip to Aaron that you’d never learned how to swim.

So, when Derek shouted out that you were FBI and Mathias Edwards took off running, you’d been a little nervous to chase after him. You’d do your job as expected…but there was a sick feeling in your stomach as you sprinted on the creaky dock.

It was just you Derek and Aaron at the docks, you had been checking things out, knowing that he’d likely be scoping out the area to see what boats were docked so he could find his next dumpsite. You hadn’t expected him to be there so early.

The three of you had split up, chasing after Mathias. You, thanks to all the training with Aaron, were quick on your feet, catching up with him quickly. You were running down a long straight on the docks, carefully avoiding any rope or ties holding boats in place when Mathias jumped out from between two boats, shoving you full force backward into the water. You’d immediately screamed, flailing your arms in a desperate attempt to stay above the surface.

Derek had been coming from the other direction and was able to tackle Mathias and was working to get him in cuffs. It wasn’t until Aaron came around that Derek even knew something was wrong.

“Where is she?” Aaron shouted. “Flower, where is she?”

Derek stood up, pulling Mathias to his feet and shoving him in the direction of the SUV. “Mathias pushed her into the water, I figured she’d swim around to the ladder at the end of the dock.”

“She can’t swim!” Aaron panicked, wasting no time jumping in the water to find you.

Moving swiftly, Derek secured the unsub in the SUV before running back to help Aaron get you out of the water. He’d found you quickly dragging you by your arm to the surface and lifting you into Derek’s waiting hands.

He’d checked for your pulse and when he couldn’t feel it, he began chest compressions. Aaron heaved himself out of the water and back on to the dock and pressed his ear to your chest to listen for any kind of breath sounds.

“Go call for a bus!” Aaron commanded.

Aaron took over CPR and leaned down to listen for your heartbeat once more. When he again heard nothing, he attempted mouth-to-mouth. He continued on like this for a few more seconds before you lurched forward, sputtering up the water that had entered your airways. Aaron helped you sit up and pulled you into his embrace.

“Oh, thank God.” Aaron muttered. “I’ve got you sweetheart.”

--

You were taken by ambulance to the nearest hospital. They wanted to check your vitals and run a few tests to make sure you were alright. Aaron had insisted on riding along with you and held your hand the entire way. He was by your side the whole time.

“You can’t do that to me.” He whispered.

“What?” You rasped.

“You can’t scare me like that sweetheart. I don’t know what I’d do if we lost you.” His eyes brimmed with tears.

“The team would be okay.”

“Not them. Me and Jack. We can’t lose you baby. We need you; Jack loves you, hell, I love you too much, I don’t think my heart could take it.” You were both crying now.

“I love you too.”

[lyvhie]

mhwa! | park jisung

park jisung x reader ꒰ summary ꒱ it's so hard for jisung to live without your attention. ꒰ a/n ꒱ loves... i lied again, this came up instead of haechan's fic 😝, i hope you enjoy ♡ btw, can you tell that i'm changing this info part at each post? i'm trying to find something that i like visually 😔 ꒰ cw ꒱ just fluffyyyy, actually, kinda suggestive i think.

As a college student preparing for finals, weekends weren’t a time to relax—they were reserved for studying.

You barely had time to go out with your boyfriend, and it made you feel like a bad girlfriend, even though he constantly reassured you otherwise.

That's why Jisung suggested accompanying you while you studied, saying he would quietly wait for you to finish what you had to do. That way, you could still spend time together, and once you were done, you could relax and cuddle. Two birds with one stone!

That was the plan, but things were proving to be harder than expected, taking longer than you anticipated. Even so, Jisung didn’t seem to mind. He was perfectly content just being near you, offering quiet support whenever he could—like bringing you water or snacks, always careful not to disturb your focus.

But he wasn’t immune to boredom either, and soon he found himself growing impatient. He wanted his girlfriend’s attention, too.

Now, he was sitting beside you, elbow resting on your desk, his head propped up on his hand, just watching you. He observed the way you furrowed your brow slightly while reading the problem, how you rested your pen on your chin, deep in thought, a small pout forming as you muttered under your breath, clearly frustrated with the question. He couldn’t help but smile. It was ridiculous how you could make his heart race inside his chest, simply by doing nothing.

His eyes trailed down to your lips again. When was the last time he kissed you? Maybe this morning? It felt like a lifetime ago. He was starting to feel a bit deprived.

“Jisung?” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he blinked a few times in surprise when he realized his hand was cupping your face. He hadn't even noticed when it moved there.

“S-sorry,” he stammered, pulling his hand away quickly. “I was just, um, it’s nothing, sorry for interrupt.”

You raised an eyebrow, both of you locking eyes in a moment of quiet before you broke it with a playful smile.

"Do you want to kiss me?"

"Yes, please."

The words slipped from his lips before he had a chance to second-guess himself, and though he felt his face heat up slightly, he didn’t try to backtrack. He really did want your attention, even if it was just for a moment.

You couldn't help but laugh at his honesty, the sound making him blush even more. You let go of your pen and turned your body toward him, swiveling your chair closer to where he was.

Leaning forward, you closed your eyes, waiting for him to catch on. Jisung nearly missed the cue, but quickly cupped your face with his large hands and kissed you. The soft hum of contentment that escaped him as his lips met yours were like music to your ears.

His hand slid down to your neck, his thumb gently tracing the back of it before moving down your arm and finally capturing your hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

“Come here a bit,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and warm. He tugged at your hand, urging you to stand. Without hesitation, you stood up, following his lead as he guided you to sit on his lap.

He leaned back in his chair, one hand gently threading through the strands of your hair at the back of your head, while the other began to caress your thigh, slowly inching upward with each passing second.

“Ji,” you pulled away from the kiss, but he chased your lips again, eager to keep it going. You managed to pull away once more, leaving a trail of soft pecks. “Wait, Jisung,” you chuckled softly, amused by the puppy eyes he was giving you. “I still have to finish my studies, love”

He groaned in annoyance, burying his face in your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer, and pressing soft kisses on your skin.

“Can't you just leave it for tomorrow?” His voice was muffled against your skin.

“No, love,” you chuckled again, your hand gently caressing the back of his head. “I have to finish this right now, so tonight and tomorrow I'll be all yours,” you pulled him away from your neck, gazing at his pouty face. “Sounds good?”

“Not really, I want to be with you right now,” he kissed your lips softly. “But since that’s all I can do, I guess it sounds good…”

“Oh, don’t be like that, my love,” you squeezed his cheeks, giving him a teasing smile. “Just a little longer, and I promise I’ll make it up to you, okay?”

“Alright, alright,” he sighed, clearly giving in. “But... can you at least take a short break from all that studying?”

You pretended to think for a moment, humming. “I suppose I can.”

Relief washed over his face, and he pulled you into a deep kiss.

“Then, please, let me enjoy every second of it.”

↝ taglist: @yizhrt, @sinisxtea

[notarmedandnotdangerous]

hey i love your work maybe for the bucky fic u could do an entire day of ignoring him. no looking no touching no talking while he tries desperately to get our attention. and i don’t mean like for 20 minutes i mean like the entire day is torture to him bc whiles he’s whining for attention we just get into bed and go to sleep.

hell yeah!!!!! thank you so muchhh i hope u enjoy this partttt :3 i fit in conversations between them or it would be too descriptive, and i know many people dont like that. sorry for the late upload.. i was gone all weekend..

+18 mdni! watch your mouth; a fic where bucky's your boss, and you're his secretary. he ends up getting himself into a lot of trouble with you.

cw: dom!m!reader, sub!bucky, suggestive, grinding, use of 'baby', and 'sweetheart', desperate bucky, reader teases bucky, reader has a thing for being marked up

word count: >3.3k

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9.1] [9.2]

!! @swiftie-fault

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

bucky woke up before you today. he stretched lazily, the sheets warm, twisting beneath him. the memory of you from the night before, completely wrecked under his touch, left him feeling smug. he thought he had won. he had taken control for once, and made you beg. and now? he was expecting lazy morning kisses, and maybe even a blowjob as thanks.

“hey.” he smiled softly at you.

“morning.” you spoke, sitting up. your hair was tousled.

he reached out, and stroked your back gently. it was casual, yet intimate.

you didn't move away, but didn’t lean towards it either. you just got up, walked to the closet, and grabbed a towel.

bucky frowned. there was no teasing, no sarcasm. something was off.

“you okay?”

“i’m fine.” you spoke, before disappearing into the shower.

a chill crept under bucky’s skin. something was wrong.

10 minutes later, you were out of the shower.

he watched from the edge of the bed, still half-wrapped in the crumpled sheets.

you stood with your back to him, towel wrapped dangerously low on your hips. water glistened along your spine like a trail he wanted to follow with his tongue.

and he did.

bucky moved before he even realised he had made the decision. while you were trying to pick out something to wear, he had slid out of bed.

you had just slipped into your boxers when he came up behind you. you turned your head slightly, but he didn’t speak, just pressed his palm to your lower back. then, you felt his mouth barely brushing the dip of your spine.

“buck?”

but bucky was already tasting you. he dragged his tongue slowly up the centerline of your back, following the trail of lingering water. he moaned quietly against your skin all while sliding his hands up your sides.

“couldn’t stop looking.. had to touch.”

you exhaled, shakily. the tension in your frame slowly melted as he mouthed his way down your spine. his lips parted slightly, just enough to suck a mark above your hip.

“buck.”

“you.. want to come back to bed?” he tilted his head at you.

you stilled for half a second, then glanced over your shoulder.

“coffee?” you asked.

“..sure, yeah.” he nodded.

“you know, if you’re going to leave marks, you should at least make them deeper.” you pulled away without waiting for a response, smirking to yourself as you headed towards the kitchen.

bucky sighed in defeat.

‘what the fuck?’ he thought.

the coffee was brewed, toast was buttered. there were two mugs, and one plate.

you handed one of the mugs to bucky without looking at him.

“thanks.”

“mm. don’t mention it.” you hummed.

the both of you sat across each other in the dining room.

bucky slouched in his seat, one shoulder slipping out of his loose shirt.

you, on the other hand, sat with near perfect posture. you scrolled through the news on your phone.

the silence was intentional.

he watched you attentively, as if he was waiting for something, for affection, flirting, maybe a brush of your hand.

it never came.

bucky stretched his leg out under the table, his toes brushing against your shin, light, and testing.

you didn’t react. there was no annoyed sigh, no indulgent chuckle, absolutely nothing.

he tried again, this time higher. first your calf, then your knee. a nudge, then a stroke. still nothing, not even a glance.

“mm.” eventually, he whined, softly. “baby..” he let out a breath, the start of a pout.

that got him a response.

you lifted your gaze. your expression didn’t change, but he saw it. the tiniest twitch at the corner of your mouth.

but bucky knew you.

a smirk, barely there. it wasn’t full, just a smirk that screamed ‘i know what i’m doing’.

then, it finally clicked.

‘..oh fuck. he’s not shutting down this time.’

you weren’t ignoring him, weren’t shutting down.

you were fucking toying with him.

‘he’s.. fucking punishing me.’

it was a silent game of patience and control. you weren’t cold, you were in charge.

and there it was, the tilt of your chin, and that glint in your eyes. you thrived off of this, and bucky, with his messy hair, and unbuttoned henley, fucking fell for it.

‘smug little bitch.’

for what, he didn’t even know. maybe for biting too hard, for teasing too much?

bucky stared at you, lips parting as if he had something to say. to him, that silence, that composure was the real punishment. he could practically feel the restraint radiating off of you.

“you’re ignoring me.”

you didn’t look up.

“i’m having coffee.”

“you’re ignoring me on purpose.”

a pause, then you blinked slowly, and looked right at him.

“i’m giving you space to reflect. thought you might need it.”

bucky flushed, his foot brushing the leg of the table as he shifted in his seat.

“come on, really?”

you didn’t answer, just took another sip of your coffee.

“oh my god. you are so pleased with yourself.”

“i don’t need to be pleased with myself,” you smiled. “you do it for me.”

bucky’s jaw dropped, like actually dropped.

you had let him squirm, let him try, and get a reaction. all you did was sit there, and look pretty, while he melted.

he leaned back in his chair.

“holy shit,” he let out a laugh out of sheer disbelief. “you’re not just punishing me.” then, he met your eyes again. fuck, he regretted it. “you’re fucking enjoying it.”

“deeply.” you set your cup down gently.

that’s when it hit bucky fully, settling in his chest with something like awe, something like arousal.

no matter what the cause of it was, it didn’t matter, because you were doing it on purpose. you were doing it like a professional. it was calculated, quiet, like you were just letting him slowly come to realisation.

and worst of all? you were letting him touch you, just didn’t give attention to him.

bucky narrowed his eyes, stretching further under the table until his foot slid firmly in between your legs, bolder this time, pressing against the inside of your thigh.

still, you didn’t flinch.

you looked back down at your phone, thumb scrolling lazily. then, like it was nothing, you shifted slightly, just enough to trap his foot in between your thighs.

pinned.

he blinked.

you took another sip of coffee, and he could practically feel the smugness radiating off of you.

bucky tugged his foot, but you didn’t let go. your thighs flexed just a little, holding him in place. and that was when he felt it, the subtle roll of your hips. the pressure, not quite a grind, just a reminder.

“asshole.” he muttered.

“something wrong?” you asked, casually, as if you were talking about the weather.

“you’re doing this on purpose.”

“doing what, buck?” you feigned innocence.

“..that thing. you know? where you act like you’re not paying attention, but you’re orchestrating the whole situation, and making me lose my fucking mind.”

“i was just having coffee.” you blinked at him. “unless.. you think i did something to you?”

‘fucking hell.’ he thought.

“is it my fault you’re hard under the table right now?”

bucky froze. no way you were saying such outrageous things with that honeyed, yet condescending tone, all while his foot was still trapped in between your thighs.

“poor thing. must be uncomfortable, huh?”

poor thing.

his breath caught.

“should i get you some ice?”

he groaned into his hands, nearly folding.

bucky had a weakness, he could admit that. it wasn’t for your control, not exactly. not the way you gave quiet orders, or the way you punished him without even raising your voice. those were expected, especially from you.

what really got to him, was when you pretended to be innocent. that calculated, casual tone, that subtle tilt of your head.

like now, you’ve just said the most obscene things, with that calm, even tone of yours, before going back to sipping your coffee like you’d just mentioned the weather.

bucky stared at you.

“did you seriously just say all that?”

you looked up, wide eyed.

“say what?”

he knew that tone, sweet, but dry. its only purpose was to drive him fucking crazy.

“oh fuck off, you know exactly what.”

“you’ll have to be more specific.”

that, right there, was the problem. he could see the twitch at the corner of your mouth, that god forsaken glint in your eyes.

and bucky melted for it. every damn time.

“stop pretending. you know exactly what you’re doing.”

“i’m genuinely confused.”

“you’re toying with me.”

your smile deepened then, and you tilted your head, curiously.

“maybe.”

bucky swallowed, hard.

“it’s cruel.”

“cruelty wrapped in innocence.”

“i don’t think i’ll ever get used to it.”

“well that’s the point. where's the fun in it if you did?”

bucky pushed his chair back slightly. he was frustrated, and turned on, all at once.

for the rest of the day, bucky trailed behind you like a stray cat.

when the both of you were sat on the couch, he slid beside you, then purposefully inched closer to you, just close enough for your shoulders to touch.

you didn’t flinch either, didn’t shift. your gaze remained fixed on your phone.

“you’re being quiet.. don’t you want to touch me?” bucky asked, voice low.

“i’m letting you touch me, seems like that’s all you want.” you spoke, smoothly.

“that’s not all i want, for fuck’s sake.” he spat.

“oh? what else is it then?” your tone was polite, too polite. you leaned back against the cushions, but didn’t make any moves to adjust the space between the both of you. it felt different, odd. your arm wasn’t playfully draped around his shoulder, or tracing circles on his thigh.

“i want to be spoiled.”

“you were. last night. you got to ruin me. do you remember that?”

“..yes.”

“what? you think you deserve more?”

he bit the inside of his cheek, hard, out of frustration.

---

he decided to try his next ‘trick’.

when you were reading, bucky climbed into your lap mid-paragraph. he straddled you, wrapping his arms around your neck. his thighs pressed against yours as he tried to grind casually, as if his body wasn’t begging for it right now.

again, you didn’t look up at him.

“you’re being mean.” he muttered against your neck.

“i’m being calm,” you flipped to the next page. “there’s a difference.”

“you’re ignoring me.”

“i’m letting you try, it’s not the same.”

“when are you going to take me to bed?”

there was no reply.

“i’m being patient.” you broke the silence.

“patient for what?”

“for you to learn the difference between taking control, and being given it.”

“i thought you liked it when i took it..” he spoke, more careful this time.

“i did. but you never gave it back, did you?”

bucky opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, you leaned in close, and whispered in his ear.

“and now, you’re going to pay for it, slowly.”

“you’re a fucking menace.”

no reply.

“fuck you.”

“eventually.”

bucky paused. his cock throbbed painfully underneath his sweats as he let out another sigh, in hopes to get your attention.

and it did.

you smirked, brief, but noticeable.

---

bucky didn’t bother with subtlety anymore. this time, he was half naked, straddling your lap on the armchair. he nuzzled against your neck like a cat, bare chested, before he slid his hand up your shirt, and you tensed slightly.

“touch me.” he demanded.

all you did was shrug. your hands were already on his hips anyway, so who was he to complain?

“not like that.”

“what’s wrong with this?” you tilted your head at him.

“you know exactly what’s wrong.” he leaned in. “i want your mouth on me, your hands in my hair. i want you to do something.” then, he leaned in, brushing his lips against your jaw.

“you’re.. being dramatic.” you exhaled slowly.

bucky heard it, that slight shift in your voice.

“oh. so that’s why you’re quiet, because you like it.” he murmured, nipping just beneath your ear. “you like when i mark you up.”

you didn’t answer. your pulse jumped under his mouth. you knew he could feel it, you just didn’t say anything.

it was an act, and he saw right through it. the way you refused to swallow, as if it would give you away.

bucky grinned.

“fuck. you do, don’t you?” he whispered, dragging his tongue slowly over the spot he had just bit. “you act all cool about it, but you’re so easy to ruin.” he bit again, lower this time, right on the curve of your throat.

this time, you gasped. it wasn’t loud, but it was real.

“you think if you open your mouth, your voice will betray you.” he thrived on it, thrived on making you feel good.

your hand had gone still, twitching like you didn’t trust what it would do if you moved it.

“look at me.”

you didn’t.

“baby.”

that one word, made you finally swallow, and he grinned, knowing exactly what it meant.

bucky shifted in your lap, reaching for the hem of your shirt. he didn’t pull it off completely, just tugged it up, bunching the cotton beneath your arms.

“don’t need all of you, just this.”

you stayed still.

without hesitation, he leaned in, grazing his teeth against your collarbones in a slow bite. his mouth dipped lower, finding the sensitive skin just above your nipples. he bit gently at first, just enough to draw a shiver from you. his teeth grazed along your skin again, slower this time. he bit down gently, yet carefully.

your breath hitched sharply, and a soft, involuntary whimper escaped before you could stop it. your eyes snapped open in panic. you pressed a hand to your mouth, and coughed, trying to play it off.

“that’s adorable.”

your jaw clenched, but you stayed silent.

---

dinner was a blur.

bucky had been buzzing with anticipation the entire time, watching your hands, the way your adam’s apple bobbed when you swallowed, the roll of your sleeves when you cleaned up. he thought, hoped, that maybe you would finally give in, that the teasing would end, and he could get what he had been waiting for.

after you dried the last dish, you turned towards him calmly.

“come on, let’s go to bed.”

bucky’s heart leapt. he nearly tripped over himself while trying to follow you. he had stripped the second he stepped into the bedroom. his shirt flung somewhere, pants kicked off, boxers abandoned. he climbed into bed, half-hard already from the sheer anticipation, as he waited for you to follow.

and you did.

‘oh. thank fuck.’

you tugged your shirt up, and over your head with a lack of urgency.

bucky's mouth went dry the moment he saw your bare back, littered with the marks that he’d left. he didn’t even bother to hide the way he was staring.

you unbuttoned your shorts, and he perked up, sitting up a little straighter.

‘here we go.’

except you changed into sweatpants. sweatpants, for fuck’s sake.

‘what the fuck?’ he blinked like he had been slapped in the face.

you put them on without a glance in his way, then reached for a long-sleeved sleep shirt, as if this was just any other ordinary night at home. as if you hadn’t dragged him to your house, and forced him to endure the ‘training’ you put him through.

bucky clenched his jaw. it wasn’t fair. it never was fair, not with you.

you looked so soft, and cozy, while he was on the brink of insanity. you pulled the covers away, and joined him in bed.

then, the lights turned off.

“wait- what?” he pushed himself up on his elbows. “seriously? you’re going to do this to me?”

“you said you wanted to be taken to bed, didn’t you?”

“yeah, but-”

“well i’ve already taken you to bed.”

“you’re joking.”

“i’m tired.”

“this is psychological warfare.”

you didn’t reply, just pulled up the covers, and closed your eyes. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy messing with him.

---

bucky laid awake the whole night, his cock ached in his sweats. he waited, and tried not to squirm too much under the sheets.

you, however, were breathing evenly beside him, sleeping peacefully on your side. you were laid there so prettily, how could he not touch you?

‘he’s allowing me to touch him, right..? so this wouldn’t be breaking the rules.’ he was practically lying to himself at this point.

you hadn’t pushed him away when he curled a little too close to you. you hadn’t say no when he slipped an arm around your waist, or when his body pressed close against yours under the sheets.

‘i mean, it’s just a little.. relief. it wouldn’t hurt.”

bucky pressed himself close, grinding as gently as he could against you. his hips rolled in slow, tiny rolls, just enough to ease the ache. he bit into his own lip to stay quiet. if he didn’t make any noise, if he kept it slow, then maybe you wouldn’t notice. he was just starting to feel his orgasm build, when he felt a firm grip on his thigh.

‘shit.’ he thought.

a feeling of dread flushed through his chest, followed by a feeling of shame. you weren’t asleep the whole time, you had known. you had let him do it, let him squirm, grind, and humiliate himself.

“really?” you sighed. “you thought i wouldn’t notice?”

“i.. i couldn’t sleep-” he tried to explain himself.

“no, buck. i told you, you were allowed to touch me. i never said you could get off on your own, did i?”

bucky shook his head.

“you just wanted to get yourself off on my cock, and thought you’d get away with it.”

he couldn’t tell in the dark, but he was sure his face was bright red by now.

“you know, you were able to ruin me, only because i let you. you don’t have as much power as you think you do.” you rolled him onto his back, pinning his wrists to the mattress.

“you want to cum that bad?”

“yes- fuck, please, sir.” there he was, the desperate bucky you’ve been waiting for.

“then wait until tomorrow.” you spat. “you don’t stop until i say so, and you’ll cum as much as i want.”

not a single part of him dared to move, and he looked like he was about to start sobbing. he had no choice but to nod, he couldn’t defy you, no way.

“sleep tight, buck.” you spoke in that soft, syrupy-sweet, just enough to make his head spin.

bucky’s flinched, physically. his brain fucking short-circuited.

that tone, so gentle, so affection, like you hadn’t just threatened to ruin him completely, hit harder than the threat itself. he bit into the back of his hand to keep himself from moaning out loud.

god he was so screwed.

[9.1]

[chiyoszn]

Margin Of Error

☆Pairing

Kimi Antonelli x Engineer!Reader

☆Warnings

None

The car was wrong again.

Not by much—just a tenth off here, a snap of understeer there. But in motorsport, tiny things mattered. Tiny things could decide entire weekends.

And Andrea Kimi Antonelli hated tiny things.

You leaned against the pit wall, headset still clamped to your ears, listening to the last few radio checks as the team packed up after qualifying in Barcelona. P7. Not awful, but not what you’d expected either.

Kimi emerged from the garage still in his suit, gloves off, hair tousled like he’d run his hands through it too many times. His expression was unreadable.

You braced for it.

He walked past the others, straight to you.

“We should’ve nailed Sector 2,” he said, voice low.

“I know,” you replied. “We’ll go through the data tonight.”

He nodded once. But his jaw was still clenched. Tension radiated from him like heat off the tarmac. You recognized it by now—frustration, not just with the car, but with himself.

“I need to be better,” he muttered. “I’m losing time in places I shouldn’t be.”

You crossed your arms. “You need to stop carrying the whole team on your back.”

He blinked, caught off-guard.

“It’s not all on you, Kimi,” you added, softer now. “We’re a team. Let us fix what’s wrong with the car. You focus on driving.”

For a second, he just stared at you. Then, slowly, his shoulders lowered. The fire in his eyes dimmed just enough to let something else through—something quiet. Something vulnerable.

“You always know what to say,” he said. “It’s annoying.”

You smiled. “You’re welcome.”

That wasn’t the first time he’d leaned on you. But it was the first time he noticed it.

Over the next few races, things got more subtle. He’d wait for you after debriefs instead of heading to the sim right away. He started asking how you were doing, even when he’d just come off a rough session. You caught him glancing at you in the paddock more often. Not in a distracted, flirty way—but like he was trying to figure something out and you were the puzzle.

Then came the Austria weekend.

He crashed in FP1.

It wasn’t major, but the car was damaged. The rest of the session was lost. He was furious. Not at anyone—just himself.

The garage was tense. He didn’t speak during the initial review. But as the others left, he stayed behind, sitting in the corner of the truck, helmet beside him.

You sat down next to him. Not close. Not far.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you said.

He didn’t look at you. “Maybe not. Still felt like it.”

“Kimi.”

That got him. His head tilted toward you, eyes dark and tired.

“I’m here because I believe in you. All of us are. But you’ve gotta start believing in yourself too. Not just when you’re on the podium.”

For a moment, all he did was watch you.

Then: “You always say the right thing.”

“You keep saying that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s just… dangerous.”

Your breath caught. “Why?”

He leaned back against the wall. “Because I’m starting to care too much about what you think. About how you look at me after a session. About whether you’re in my corner.”

You said nothing. Your heart said everything.

“I know we’re not supposed to go there,” he added quickly. “And I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t sure. But I feel it. I know you do too.”

Your fingers curled against your knee. “It’s not about rules.”

He looked over. “Then what?”

“It’s about what happens if we let this matter more than the job.”

He paused. “And what happens if we don’t?”

You didn’t answer him that night.

But something changed after that conversation.

In the paddock, nothing looked different. No one suspected a thing. But your radio check-ins had a new warmth. His glances lingered longer. You found excuses to stand closer during briefings. Neither of you said anything more—but it hung between you. Real. Constant. Unspoken.

Until Monza.

He won.

It was a hard-fought race, with tire degradation and pressure from behind in the final laps. But he held them off. Crossed the line screaming into the radio.

He found you after the podium. Not in the media pen. Not at the hospitality tent.

Behind the team trucks, still in his suit, champagne on his collar, eyes wide with something he couldn’t hide anymore.

“You never answered me,” he said.

Your heart pounded.

He stepped closer.

“What happens if we let this matter?”

You stared at him, barely able to breathe.

“Then we figure it out,” you whispered.

His smile was slow. Grateful. And a little bit reckless.

“Good,” he said. “Because I think I’m in love with you.”

And this time, you didn’t run.

[raven-cincaide]

Boyfriend! Megumi’s worst enemy wasn’t cute boys trying to whisk you away or party girls who urged a naive little you into (fun) trouble - even if there was plenty of that for him to worry about as well. No, his worst enemy was gifting you a gift.

Boyfriend! Megumi has pried himself on being a smart gift giver. Bragged how easy giving gifts came to him: he always gave his friends what they needed to make their lives easier, better, and more practical. A gimmicky pair of slippers to Yuji after Goto stole his favourite ones; a handheld portable sewing machine for Nobera after she (again!) threw a fit over the tiniest of holes in her newly bought trademark sweater, a posh grinding stone for Maki and a half-joking visit to a fancy Sushi restaurant for Inumaki-senpai after which he expanded his vocabulary with half a dozen new sushi-related words! Yet when it came to you, he was stooped.

Boyfriend! Megumi hated that he was so uncertain about what to get You. Something practical felt too cheap, like he reduced your place in his life to ‘just friends’; jewellery felt thoughtless and impersonal. All those pretty skincare and make-up sets bore the same thoughtless touch while also posing the risk of you taking his gift as a critique. On the other hand, clothes felt too personal and posed the risk of making the entire interaction awkward if he guessed your size, style, and design wrong. Damnit. 

Boyfriend! Megumi pushed aside several neatly wrapped boxes, making them tumble off his bed to be forgotten on his for-once-messy floor. His attention turned to the remaining similar boxes of different shapes and sizes, all individually wrapped in various papers, with only bows and rosettes to tell them apart. What about a spa weekend? Everyone liked those things, right? Or a date night? Or maybe... 

Boyfriend! Megumi barely noticed his dorm room door creek open and your soft padding of plush socks against his wooden floors. He barely hid a smile as you snuck up in front of him and waved your hand in his face. As if he wouldn’t notice you. Then, in the middle of your wave, you noticed all the gifts that littered his bed, 

"Ohh! Are we wrapping gifts? Is that why you called me? But it looks like you’re already done-" 

"-Pick a number", Megumi cut you off, not looking at you. 

Boyfriend! Megumi tried not to jump out of his skin from the nerves or too obviously chew the inside of his cheek as you stared at him with those huge owl-like eyes, as you processed his words. 

“ehhhh? Okay.. 3, I guess?” you sounded uncertain, almost afraid, as if trying to guess what kind of psychological game or scare tactic he was playing. Or what were you supposed to do with the neatly wrapped flat box he placed in your hands? Your tense shoulders and half-bent knees conveyed that you expected the box to turn into a jump scare at any second. 

Boyfriend! Megumi made a mental note to kick Yuji’s ass for showing you Human EarthWorm three. He better not think about showing you the fifth one, lest you become too scared of your own damned shadow. 

Boyfriend! Megumi makes a motion for you to open the gift.

“Is it.. for me?” you asked, and he has to bite back a sarcastic reply. Instead, he merely nodded. He waited with batted breath as you slowly unravelled a signed copy of the newly released book in your favourite series, silently praying that you haven’t bought it yet. When you squealed in delight and jumped on his neck, Megumi knew you hadn't and breathed a sigh of relief. He quickly wrapped his arms around your waist and held you close. He felt like he had aged five years trying to pick a gift for you. 

Boyfriend! Megumi felt proud of himself as you thanked him for the millionth time. “You’re welcome,” he said, kissing your forehead. “You can have another one later,” he added before he could stop himself. 

You pause mid-cheer as the penny drops: “ Wait? If this is gift 3, then are there more gifts? How many more?” 

“Later” Boyfriend! Megumi responded with a hint of a playful smile on his lips. The kind that said that you might just have to work a little bit for those other gifts… 

[gaintsnowflake]

❆ REST

PAIRING : tim drake x gn!reader

ONESHOT : you finally find a way to help tim get well deserved sleep.

A/N : this made me tired writing, also i just needed comfort after what i did to myself with my last fic... tim's adorable as always.

masterlist

      BRUCE was a contradiction. A man cloaked in justice, yet stitched together with sleepless nights and silent hypocrisies. Everyone in the family knew it, including yourself, but with the countless hours you spent at the manor, you practically lived there too. So when he came to you, shoulders set like stone, voice low and lined with concern, to talk about Tim’s lack of sleep, you didn’t even look up from your stolen pint of ice cream.

      “Maybe if he had a better influence…” you murmured, a devilish smile curling your lips. “When’s the last time you slept, Mr Wayne?”

      You had been staying at the manor for yet another weekend, utilizing Tim’s room to rest rather than your own apartment. Always using the excuse that the manor was safer knowing multiple bats took residency here.

      It couldn’t have been terribly late, maybe close to eight pm. Yet late enough for the shadows to stretch lazily through the hallways while you perched on the kitchen counter, pajamas ruffled, hair a soft mess of comfort and carelessness. 

      Bruce sighed, that deep, eternal kind of exhale only the tired or the tragic ever seemed to manage. “Just get Tim to sleep. He has been up for over sixty hours at this point—”

      “I get it, B, you're worried. I’ll figure it out,” You were quick to cut him off, besides, time with your best friend was on your to-do list for tonight anyway. “I have the Tim situation under control.” 

      You would have the situation “under control” you said. It would be easy, you thought. You were always so sure of that— that you could handle Tim Drake. Foolish, really. A man like him, stitched together with obsession and intellect, didn’t yield easily. Not to time, not to fatigue, and certainly not to the warmth of your voice.

       Three hours passed.

       Three hours. Three hours of begging and pleading and even pretending to sleep, this man would not stop typing.Wouldn’t pry his eyes from the screen of his laptop. the soft click-clack of his keyboard echoed through the silence like water dripping in a cavern. Constant. Unyielding. Greatly annoying.

      Eventually you had the bright idea to drag this affair into your apartment, maybe then you could take his laptop away before he sat down to work. And at least the fresh, well as fresh as gotham’s air could be, would be good for him.

      Twisting the rusted nob of the door, it opened with a ghostly creek. Reaching to flip on the light, you walked in. Your shoes kicked off and forgotten about as you sank into your couch, lounging on the edge, waiting patiently for Tim to sit next to you. You had to strike fast, catch him off guard. Something always easier said than done.

       His hand ruffled in his hair as he followed like a phantom— quiet, shrouded in the soft bruises of sleeplessness. His backpack sagged at his side. His movements were sluggish, like his thoughts were dragging through wet cement.

       “I truly don’t see the point of coming here,” his voice was low as he slowly sat down next to you, as if feeling everything out. As if your couch didn’t have a Tim shaped indent in his spot. 

        His bag made a thump when it hit the ground, a sudden awareness hit as you reached for it. Body leaning over him. For once Tim’s reaction was slower than yours, exhaustion betraying his being. 

        Once the handle was in your grip, you yanked it towards yourself, flying to your feet. Moving as quickly as your body allowed to reach the dark hallway towards your bedroom. Your name echoed the hallway as he raced after you, the pittering of his feet a reminder that he was smarter, stronger, and faster than you. 

         Within moments you felt his hands on your back, knocking you forwards, falling as the bag escaped. You landed fast, hands barely saving your face as he tumbled over you, more clumsy than a typical night. So you reached, stretching out till your fingers wrapped his ankle. A tug.

         He was on the floor, hand barely reaching into your bedroom door. You scrambled atop of him, hearing a huff as your knee dug into his back. The backpack was in the room, just far enough to allow you to close the door and lock it without much interference, as you now sat on his back. 

       “That could have gone better…”

       ““What the fuck?” he groaned, half muffled by the floor, half annoyed, fully exhausted. “Did you just kidnap my laptop? You know I can break into that room, right? What even is this?” 

        And for the first time in the whole chaotic moment, you looked at him.

        Really looked.

        And it hit you— how tired he was. Not just in the eyes, not just in the body. But in the way his  voice trembled just slightly. In the way his shoulders sagged once the chase was over. In the way he hadn’t let himself rest— until now.

        “I think it’s time for a movie, don’t you think?” your voice is no longer playful, now wrapped in the silk threads of concern.

       It was an offering, rather than a suggestion. A hand reaching out in the dark of his world. His eyes never meeting yours. Never accepting the hand.

        “My bag.” He replied, his tone flat, like he was trying to will himself back into control, the exhaustion frayed the edges of his words.

        You moved a little closer, not quite touching him, but close enough for the warmth between you to stretch like a bridge.

        “One movie,” you whispered. “Just one. If you're still awake when it ends, the bag is yours, and I’ll stop playing nurse. No more speeches. No more stolen laptops. Just… one movie.”

       The silence that followed was long— not uncomfortable, but heavy, the kind of silence that comes before a storm or a confession. He didn’t answer right away, but his eyes finally lifted after meeting yours.

       Red-rimmed. Tired.

       But there was a spark of something else there too.

       A flicker of something softer. A wordless thank you. A reluctant surrender. And then, the smallest nod. Almost imperceivable. But enough. You rose to your feet, extending a hand like a lifeline.

      “Come on,” you said, “it’s not like you’re going to stay awake through the whole thing anyway.”

     He took your hand as if he was a breaking child. Made of nothing more than porcelain and sorrows.

     You both dragged forwards, his hand never leaving yours. As if his present was more than just grounding, as if it was holding him together. Almost as if he was a card house and you were blocking a gust of wind.

     It took a few moments, but eventually you found yourselves on the couch. He rested on top of you. Head in your chest as he allowed you to comb through his hair. 

     And for the first time in what felt like days, Tim Drake allowed himself to rest— not because he was forced, but because you asked.

    It was that night that set the routine.

    Tim never said it outright— his words were never loud, never needed to be— but after that evening, he began to appear at your door like clockwork. Always quiet. Always late. Bag in hand, dark circles under darker eyes.

    He no longer resisted when you reached for it.

    He would lock the bag away himself, sometimes without a word, sometimes with the faintest hint of a smile that never quite reached his eyes. Still, it was something. And then he would collapse beside you on the couch, your couch– worn, torn, and soft in the way only something well-loved could be.

    He never asked for anything.

    But still, he came.

    And you never turned him away.

    He sought you the way some seek sanctuary— not for safety, but for silence. For something steady. For the warmth that wrapped around the bones when the rest of the world had gone cold.

    Rest, it seemed, became easier when it was with you.

    No contracts. No promises.

    Just a quiet agreement etched into the evenings. A ritual carved not by words, but by presence. By soft sighs and movie credits and the way his breathing finally evened out when your shoulder was close enough to lean on.

   And that was enough for him.

[thedensworld]

Dream Consequences | K.Mg

Genre: est. Relationship, fluff, suggestive;)

Summary: Mingyu had ignored you last night and you will make sure he'll pay for that.

I'm sorry, i'm just full of fluff these days:)

You woke up with a bitter feeling in your chest. Unconsciously, a scowl appeared on your face as the rays of sunshine invaded your sleep. What time is it? you thought, squinting at the bedside clock. It was 9 a.m.—Sunday.

You stayed in bed for a few more minutes, replaying last night’s events in your mind. The scenes came rushing back, each memory sharp and painful, making your heart clench. You turned your head towards the empty space beside you, where Mingyu should have been. The sheets were cold, and you sighed deeply.

He must be up already, maybe hitting the home gym or making breakfast in the kitchen, like he often did on weekends. Just as you were about to bury yourself back under the duvet, you heard the door creak open softly. Your eyes flickered toward the entrance, and your heart softened at the sight of a bright little face peeking in.

“Mummy!” An excited chirp filled the room, and your son bounded towards you, his small arms wrapping around you as he jumped onto the bed. His joy was infectious, and you couldn’t help but smile, welcoming him with warm hugs and kisses.

“How was your sleep, baby?” you asked gently, brushing a lock of hair away from his forehead.

He stopped giggling, his smile faltering slightly. “I had a nightmare,” he confessed, looking up at you with worried eyes.

Your heart tightened. “Oh, really?” you murmured, concern lacing your voice.

He nodded, his little face serious. “I was so scared, Mummy. I got out of my room and ran to Dad in the workout space.”

You smiled softly, proud of his courage. “You did a good job, baby.” You whispered to him to join his dad in the kitchen, watching as his face brightened again.

“Mummy’s awake!” your son announced loudly as he dashed into the kitchen, settling himself at the dining table. You followed him slowly, your gaze falling on the plates set out with a nutritious breakfast. His toy car lay abandoned next to the fork and knife—another small reminder of childhood innocence. Mingyu looked up from the stove as he heard the commotion, his eyes lighting up as soon as he saw you.

“There’s my beautiful girl,” he murmured, wiping his hands on a towel before walking over to you. He wrapped you in his strong embrace, pressing a tender kiss to your temple. “Good morning,” he said softly, his voice a mix of warmth and concern. But as he pulled back to study your face, he noticed your frown.

He tried to brush it off, but as breakfast went on, your silence deepened. You barely touched your food, and when Mingyu asked you if you wanted more coffee or juice, you just shook your head, eyes downcast. Mingyu glanced at your son, silently asking if something had happened, but An simply shrugged, focusing on his food.

“Did Mummy wake up grumpy today?” Mingyu teased lightly, trying to coax a smile out of you. Your son quickly shook his head.

“No, Dad. Mummy was already awake when I came in,” he answered truthfully. Mingyu’s brows furrowed, confusion darkening his gaze. Did he do something wrong that he didn’t realize?

Breakfast dragged on, the awkward silence lingering between you. Mingyu couldn’t shake the unease in his chest, but he decided to let it go for now. After finishing his meal, he called An to take a bath and get ready for his Sunday art class. You remained seated, eyes distant as if lost in thoughts far away from the bustling kitchen.

Once Mingyu dropped An off at the class, he returned home, still unsettled by your distant demeanor. He expected to find you in the living room, but you were nowhere to be seen. Worry gnawed at him. He headed to the bedroom, his footsteps quickening. The sight of you lying under the duvet, motionless, sent a jolt of fear through him.

“Love?” he whispered softly, stepping closer. He reached out hesitantly, his hand brushing your arm through the fabric. You didn’t flinch, but your eyes opened slowly, meeting his gaze for a brief second before you turned away, showing him your back.

“Hey…” Mingyu’s voice wavered slightly. He crouched beside the bed, his heart aching at your silence. “Are you okay? Are you feeling sick?”

You remained quiet, eyes closing again as if to shut him out.

“Did I… Did I do something wrong?” His voice was low, almost pleading. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to piece together what he might have missed. “Why are you ignoring me, sweetheart?”

The room felt heavy, your silence echoing louder than words.

Frustration simmered inside Mingyu as he watched you lie there, avoiding him. He crossed his arms, the bed dipping slightly as he sat on the empty space beside you. He looked down at you, his brows knitted together in concern and confusion.

“It’s mean, you know… You shouldn’t ignore me like this,” Mingyu mumbled, his voice soft but carrying a hint of hurt. His lips unconsciously pouted as he waited for you to respond.

You slowly opened your eyes, staring blankly at the wall in front of you. You knew he was right. You knew it was childish to give him the cold shoulder over something as irrational as a dream. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake off the weight on your chest, the bitter pang of pain that resurfaced every time you recalled the scene from last night’s nightmare.

“If I made a mistake, you should tell me,” Mingyu continued, his tone earnest as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “You shouldn’t treat someone you love like this—leaving me to wonder what I did wrong.”

His words hit you like a punch in the gut, guilt instantly washing over you. He was right. You groaned inwardly, frustration now directed at yourself. Why does he have to be so mature? You thought bitterly. Mingyu was always patient, always understanding, and here you were acting like a sulking child. It made you feel embarrassed, yet at the same time, it only made you love him more.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed yourself up, sitting up in bed almost too quickly. You turned to face him, but your eyes remained fixed on the floor, too ashamed to meet his gaze. Mingyu watched you with wide eyes, his posture straightening at the sudden change.

“You ignored me first,” you muttered under your breath, barely audible.

Mingyu blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What?” he asked, his voice laced with confusion. “When did I—”

“In my dream!” you blurted out, your cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

There was a moment of stunned silence before Mingyu let out a breathy laugh, his expression softening. “A dream?” he repeated incredulously, his smile growing wider. He scooted closer to you, his thigh brushing against yours. “So, you’re upset because of something I did… in a dream?”

You nodded reluctantly, feeling utterly ridiculous now that you said it out loud. But Mingyu’s reaction wasn’t what you expected. He didn’t laugh or tease you further. Instead, he gently cupped your cheek, tilting your head up so that you had no choice but to look at him.

“Hey,” he murmured softly, his thumb brushing against your skin. “I’m sorry if I hurt you, even if it was just in a dream. But you have to tell me these things, love. I’m not a mind reader, and I hate seeing you upset and not knowing why.”

Your heart swelled at his sincerity, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. You leaned into his touch, sighing softly. “It was just… a really bad dream, Mingyu. You were ignoring me, pushing me away… I know it’s silly, but it felt so real, and I woke up feeling like I’d lost you.”

Mingyu’s expression softened further, a look of understanding washing over his features. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest. “I’m right here,” he whispered against your hair, his voice filled with reassurance. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

You nodded, the ache in your chest finally beginning to fade. “I’m sorry for being difficult,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“Just remember one thing,” Mingyu murmured, his voice dropping an octave as he cupped your cheeks gently, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “I would never ignore you. You’re my drop-dead gorgeous wife—the love of my life. I would never do something as stupid as ignoring you, love.”

His dark eyes bore into yours, the intensity of his gaze making your heart flutter. You immediately pulled back, your cheeks flushing in embarrassment at his sweet words. But Mingyu found your reaction adorable, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

“Ah, there she is. Shy as ever,” he teased, his grin widening. He didn’t give you a chance to retreat any further. Before you could even react, he wrapped his arms around your waist and effortlessly pulled you onto his lap, settling you comfortably against him.

“Mingyu!” you squealed, instinctively placing your hands on his chest to steady yourself. He smirked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. His embrace was firm yet gentle, and you could feel his warmth seeping through the fabric of your clothes.

“Yes, love?” he whispered, his voice low and dangerously smooth. The way he looked at you sent shivers down your spine. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke, sending a wave of heat coursing through your body. “You know you can’t escape me that easily, right?”

His words made your heart race, and you felt your resolve weakening under his gaze. Mingyu shifted slightly, his hands slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, his touch feather-light against your skin. He traced lazy circles along your sides, his fingertips brushing just above the waistband of your shorts. Your breath hitched, the sensation both ticklish and electrifying.

“You’re so cute when you’re flustered,” he murmured, his lips now ghosting along your jawline. His breath was warm, his scent intoxicating, making it hard for you to think straight. “But I have to say…” He paused, his lips hovering just a fraction away from yours, “I much prefer seeing you like this—so close, so vulnerable.”

Your gaze flickered to his lips, and you swallowed hard. The tension between you was palpable, the air thick with anticipation. “M-Mingyu…” you stammered, unable to find the right words. His name came out more like a plea, making his smile widen in satisfaction.

“Hmm?” He hummed softly, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “What is it, love? If you want something, you have to tell me.” He tilted his head, his eyes darkening with a mixture of adoration and something else—something far more dangerous. “Or do you want me to guess?”

Before you could respond, his lips captured yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. He took his time, savoring the feel of you against him. Your hands gripped his shirt tightly as his kisses grew deeper, more demanding. He gently nipped at your bottom lip, drawing a soft gasp from you, which he took as an invitation to explore further.

Your heart pounded wildly as he shifted again, his hands roaming up your back, pulling you closer until there was barely any space left between you. You could feel every ridge of his muscles under your fingertips, every beat of his heart against your chest. When he finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your cheeks flushed.

“See what you do to me?” Mingyu whispered, his voice husky. He rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours. “You drive me crazy, love. Absolutely crazy.”

You bit your lip, feeling the heat spread through your entire body. “Mingyu…” His name slipped past your lips again, and this time, it held a different meaning. You felt his hold on you tighten, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Tell me what you want,” he urged softly, his fingers tracing patterns on your thighs. His touch was tantalizing, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “Because I’m more than ready to give it to you.”

Your heart raced, every inch of your skin tingling with the promise in his voice. You hesitated for only a moment, your gaze locking with his, before whispering the words that sent his heart racing as much as yours.

“I want you, Mingyu.”

The atmosphere shifted instantly. His expression grew even more intense, the playful smile replaced by a look of pure desire. Without another word, Mingyu wrapped his arms around you, lifting you effortlessly as he carried you to the middle of the bed, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he murmured against your lips, laying you down gently. He hovered above you, his gaze sweeping over you with a mix of reverence and need. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your nose, and finally, your lips.

“Let’s see if I can make up for what dream-Mingyu did,” he whispered, his voice a velvety promise as his hands began to explore, his touch igniting every nerve in your body.

You shivered, anticipation and excitement flooding your senses. “Mingyu... Please.." You brethed out, your voice trembling with want.

His eyes darkened even more, smile turned into smirk. "Anything for you love, just tell me where to start.."

*

Later in the afternoon, the sun dipped lower in the sky as you and Mingyu stepped out of the house. The fresh autumn breeze brushed against your skin, making you shiver slightly. Without a second thought, Mingyu slid his hand into yours, intertwining your fingers. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, and before you could glance up at him, he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles.

“You’re too good to me, you know that?” he murmured softly, his voice still carrying that familiar hint of warmth. His eyes, however, glinted mischievously. “Makes me want to keep you inside the house all day—no distractions.”

You felt a rush of heat spread across your cheeks, remembering the intimacy you had shared just hours ago. Before you could get too lost in the memory, Mingyu nudged you playfully with his shoulder, his expression turning even more teasing.

“You think the neighbors heard us?” he whispered, leaning in conspiratorially. “Maybe that’s why Mrs. Song next door was looking a little flustered this morning.”

“Mingyu!” you hissed, your eyes widening as you tried to stifle a laugh, your face turning even redder. You playfully smacked his arm, but that only made him chuckle.

“What? Just asking!” He shrugged, a smug grin playing on his lips. “You were a little… loud, you know.”

You huffed, trying to act indignant, but it was impossible to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “That’s your fault!” you retorted, your voice a bit quieter now. “If anyone should be embarrassed, it’s you.”

“Me? Embarrassed?” Mingyu scoffed, shaking his head. He took a step back, his hand still holding yours, pulling you closer as you made your way to the car parked in the driveway. “You’re mistaken, love. I’d shout it from the rooftops if I could.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the sheer confidence and adoration in his voice. Mingyu pulled you in for a quick kiss on the cheek before opening the passenger door for you with a flourish, bowing slightly like a chauffeur.

“Your chariot awaits, my lady,” he announced, his tone lighthearted.

You couldn’t help but laugh as you slid into the seat, watching him circle around to the driver’s side. Once he settled in and started the car, Mingyu reached over, placing a warm hand on your knee.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” he said, his voice casual, but you could see the playful glint still present in his eyes. “We should enroll An in a few more weekend courses.”

You blinked, glancing at him curiously. “Oh? Why’s that?”

Mingyu smirked, his gaze flicking over to you before he looked back at the road. “Because… if he’s busy all weekend, then we get more time to do… other things.” He paused, his lips curving into a sly grin. “Like what we did this morning.”

Your mouth dropped open slightly in shock before you burst out laughing, shaking your head. “You can’t be serious!”

“Completely serious,” Mingyu shot back, his expression almost comically solemn. “Just imagine—art classes, sports practice, music lessons… we’ll have so much free time, I might never let you out of bed.

“Stop it!” You laughed, swatting at his shoulder, but the laughter in your voice only encouraged him further.

“I’m just saying,” he continued, his tone mock-defensive. “It’s for our own sanity. We need some alone time, too. Right?”

“Right,” you drawled sarcastically, rolling your eyes. But you couldn’t deny the warmth blooming in your chest. His words were playful, but the underlying sentiment—the desire to cherish every moment with you—was unmistakable.

Mingyu’s grin softened, and he gave your hand a quick squeeze as you both fell into a comfortable silence, the car humming gently as it cruised down the road.

“Maybe we’ll find some balance,” you mused aloud after a moment, leaning back in your seat, your gaze flicking to him. “But I still think you’re a little too eager.”

Mingyu chuckled, his deep voice reverberating through the car. “Can you blame me?” He glanced at you, his gaze brimming with affection. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted and more. So, yeah… I’ll never get enough of being around you.”

Your smile widened as you felt a rush of emotion at his sincerity. You knew he was joking earlier, but the way he looked at you now—with a mix of love, contentment, and yearning—made you realize just how much he meant every word.

“I love you, Mingyu,” you whispered softly, reaching out to lace your fingers with his.

“I love you, too,” he replied immediately, squeezing your hand once more before lifting it to kiss your knuckles again. “Now, let’s go get our little troublemaker. I’m sure he has a million stories to tell us about art class.”

With that, you both shared a quiet, knowing smile as Mingyu drove on, the warmth and love between you two filling every corner of the car.

[revelboo]

cancelling all my weekend plans forever and going to interludes so i can ruin blurr for his own species. he's my favorite. <3 that handsome face, that graceful chassis, that racer's stamina... the crush is severe. think he'd be flattered that a smitten human came to seek him out over everyone else?

He’d love it! 🔞 Mass displaced mech 🌶️

Interludes Pt 3

Blurr

• There you are. He almost thought you’d be a no show. His little human who never mingles on the floor, you just take a stool at the bar and watch him thinking he doesn’t notice. Smiling as you can’t manage to meet his optics, he leans against the bar. Because the humans that come here are either bold and know what they want or shy and need a little nudge and maybe some liquid courage. “Don’t be shy, we’re all friends here,” he purrs and those sweet eyes flick up to him. “You know what you want, sweetspark? Or you want me to take care of you?”

• Heart racing as he casually flirts just like every time you come in to make you squirm. And it’s his job, you know it. He’s supposed to be charming. But you’re dying inside, wanting to drag him into the back. Because the club is full of willing Cybertronians and you want him. Biting into the inside of your cheek before reaching out, you lay your hand on his. And those optics stare at it. “I want you to take care of me,” you manage, face flushing. Knowing he means a drink, but you don’t want alcohol. You want him. Just once.

• Lips twitching at your obvious embarrassment, because you’re so sweet. Reaching out to hook a servo under your chin and tip your face up, he smiles. “Thought you’d never ask,” he growls and your lips part. “Cover for me,” he calls out to Swerve, vaulting over the bar and heads turn to stare at him hungrily. Winking an optic, he offers you an arm.

• People are staring, but then he’s handsome, flirtatious and he’s yours. At least for tonight. Maybe he does this all the time, taking humans back for a quickie. But you’ve never seen him do it and you’ve been here all week after work. Pining. At first, it had just been the thrill of the taboo, of extending a middle finger to the human purists protesting outside who are so disgusted by interspecies relationships. But after watching him? Getting to know him a bit? Yeah, you’re realizing you’ve got a thing for xenophilia. Watching him use a weird little puck to access a room, you let him lead you inside.

• “First time?” He asks watching you look around before you start hurriedly stripping out of those layers your kind wrap themselves in, revealing skin. And he knows he’s your first. He’s watched you watching him. Something about being the one to teach you about Cybertronians, to be your first nonhuman lover has his spike painfully hard. “We have all night. There’s no rush,” he says, arms coming around you, palms sliding down to cover your hands then flipping so the back of his hands are against your palms as his mouth brushes your neck. “Where do you want me to touch you? What feels good?”

• Him. His frame is warm against your back, so big you feel tiny even with him mass displaced. And you guide one of his hands between your thighs, hearing him chuckle. “Here,” you whisper and he cups you, a servo carefully spearing into you. Stroking deep as your breath hitches and you buck against his palm, your other hand encouraging his to touch you. Bending slightly to brace your palms on the bed as you move against his hand, feeling his mouth, his denta against your neck and shoulder.

• “You want me inside you, sweetspark? Pin you down and fill you all night?” He growls in your ear and you clench on his servo, whimpering when he slips it free and releases his spike. “Hard or soft?” He asks, gripping himself and sliding against you. Slicking his spike with you before slowly pressing deep and you’re so wet, so tight his denta grit. All his.

• “Hard,” you manage, feeling the slight burn of being stretched and he growls, reminding you that he’s not human as his venting gets louder. And as soon as the head of his spike is inside you, he begins rocking against you, easing himself in slowly. Until you impatiently push back. Want him to claim you. Fuck you until you can’t walk. To be so deep inside you you’ll never forget this moment even if it’s the only one you can have. And his servos tighten on your hips.

• Splaying a hand against your spine, he encourages you to ease your upper body down among the pillows, hips tilted up and somehow you feel even tighter. Hard and rough, then? Maybe you like being dominated, well, he’s game to play. “You’re mine,” he groans, hips pumping and you squeeze his spike, making him fight to thrust inside you. And his optics shutter, lost in the feel of you under him, hips snapping against you in hard drives as you moan and push back to meet him. Until he’s rutting against you, listening to those little, needy sounds.

• Gasping as his spike drives deep again and again, feeling every ridge and bump, he’s better than you’d imagined. Big frame bent over you, caging you as his hips pump. And you’re moaning his name, body heating until you’re crying out with your release and he buries himself deep, hips snapping in urgent little jerks until he’s snarling in his own language. Overloading to fill you in excess. Trembling, you whimper when he begins moving again, looking back at him and he smiles. “Told you. You’re mine and we have all night,” he says, optics amused.

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Nah, I get it. I like going that route, too sometimes in my regular stuff. I chose the spark carrier to be a bit more inclusive over here. But I don’t mind writing traditional pregnancy/breeding kinks as long as any story going that route has a warning that that’s the endgame. Any particular bot/s?