#as a fan i’m just so frustrated that i saw this and i was like Oh

[kxtsukixoxo]

pro!hero dynamight is known for his explosive nature, fans second guessing if they should really approach the hothead. is it really surprising when you aren’t scared of him?

𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗦 ᥫ᭡ 𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗩 ᥫ᭡ 𝗡𝗘𝗫𝗧

“okay so let me get this straight”

mina exhaled, “you met her KID. HER CHILD BAKUGOU. but you dont think she likes you???”

katsuki chewed on his bottom lip, frustrated. frustrated at mina, frustrated at the conflict in the predicament he’s in, frustrated at himself.  

“listen, i don’t wanna fuck it up”

mina sat back down on her chair and looked at eijiro, signaling for him to take over the conversation, eijiros chewing came to a halt, he put his sandwich down and cleared his throat. “listen bro, i really don’t think she sees you as just a friend, she trusted you with her kid” eijiro reasoned out, making valid points to which katsuki noticed. 

“maybe because im a pro, and she knows she can trust me?” katsuki scoffed. mina sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose with her index finger and thumb, “i give up!!” she took a long sip of her coffee, recollecting herself while denki and sero looked at each other dumbfoundedly. 

sero exhaled, “from what you’ve been telling us, i really believe she likes you bakugou, even if it’s just a bit, it’s something you can work with” “i don’t need ta’ work with anything!” katsuki snapped, “she’s strictly just a friend.” he crossed his arms against his chest. 

the signs were there, right infront of him. clearer than the sky that morning. why would he invest in a safety seat for kenji? sure the guy had to cash to blow. clearly, katsuki was trying to convince himself and not the others around him. everybody that surrounded him, knew that he had the fattest crush on you. the first person to pick it up, was izuku. the green haired boy noticed it the moment he saw his hotheaded childhood friend smile at his phone, in all his years that he’s known katsuki, there were a handful of times that he actually smiled, yet with you it came naturally and frequently. though the two of you are just friends right? grinning to himself, izuku knew where this was headed. 

katsuki, drove home that day. conflicted with the thoughts that filled his head. he knew he liked you, so why did he deny it? he knew it the moment he let you in, and he confirmed it the second he smiled around you so freely. 

truth be told, katsuki was scared. he knew he could trust you, but the fact he let someone in so easily, frustrated him. he could easily lose you, with the pressure his work brought onto him, with how fragile you were, compared to him. katsuki could deny it as much has he liked, but he was filled with fear, he was scared he’d lose you over one small careless mistake. 

‘if you’re so scared of losing her, then don’t give her a reason to leave asshole’ the voice at the back of his head nagged him. the boy survived a war, hell he fought in it, at the age of 17. so why did a woman, bring so much of fear in him? 

‘that’s what love does to you bud’ 

“i’m not in love idiot!” katsuki bursted out, in the middle of a street, everyone turned around to look at the hothead argue with himself. “what’re you looking at nerd!” he screamed at the civilians watching him, they scurried to continue what they were doing before katsukis public outburst 

it hadn’t even been five hours since his public outburst and clips were already trending, katsuki huffed and puffed

‘this is all her fault’

he groaned as his phone lit up, his PR manager had rung him for the 50th time already.

“you finally picked up” 

katsuki grumbled “make it quick” 

“im guessing you’ve seen the clip”

“no shit sherlock, it’s everywhere” 

“well as much as you don’t care about your public image, you need to turn their attention towards something else” 

katsuki sighed, there was no point in opposing, “what do i need to do” 

“attend an interview”

fuck. 

𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 -

@rinkomei @qyuin @kalulakunundrum @amayaaaxx @lotusstarr @mona345 @aryuunachigiri @emmaafinchh @haruesme @nottherealslimshady @taxavoider @gomu-gomu-gojo @your-mum3000 @slutlight2ndver @citruki @d4rlinx @bangersplusmash 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Now don't throw tomatoes at me but I'm actually really excited to finally see malleus again— I've always loved malleus since we met him in the story, but I'm also sooo curious about what's gonna happen next,, I'm wondering the obvious thing, about whether or not we might get a parralel scenario like what happened with the KoD and silver will have to "slay" malleus or at least be the one to land a killing blow, but I also saw a really interesting post focusing on how magic is a manifestation of dreams and deep desires and imagination,,,, in that case, I may (VERY delusionally) hope that Yuu finally gets to be a major part of the story for once??? Even reading the novels, there HAS to be something bigger for yuu— while the idea of crowley simply being an incompetent airhead is fun and more comfortable, haven't you thought that meybe he pulled them into this world deliberately??

All to say, what if at some point, Yuu somehow manifests magic in a very dire moment ?? You know lol?? Agh idk. I just want yuu to finally make impactful choices but that IS too much to ask, as far as we can see for now,,, (but hey, that part leading up to ace getting is UM, and the convo between him and yuu,,, it *does* give one a sliver of hope, doesn't it? :') )

Don't worry, no tomato throwing here! 😅 I may not care for certain characters, but I’m not going to shame anyone that does. You’re free to think however you want about Malleus!

dbjsvsJcwhj My personal feelings about him aside, I am actually glad he’s finally relevant to the main story again. He’s missed out on so much of his own book OTL In the time he’s been gone, the fandom has been left to speculate about both his and Lilia’s potential death flags. I really doubt Twst will have the balls to kill off one of them, but it would be cool to at least see Silver delivering the final blow to knock some sense into (not necessarily kill) OB Malleus.

Yes, it��s true that Silver states in the recent update that magic was originally considered “a miracle borne of strong desires from the heart.” But 💦 I don’t think that means Yuu would randomly manifest magic in the final fight?? It feels more like a “let’s save the day with the power of friendship” to me, but I could of course be wrong.

I understand being frustrated that Yuu’s participation in the main story seems to fluctuate a lot, with most of their activity being books 3, 4, and segments of 1, 6, and 7. That’s not much, especially considering how long books 6 and 7 are. Sometimes (even in events) it feels like Yuu is barely there, as most dialogue options don’t involve different reactions from the characters. Even Yuu's quest to find a way home is barely addressed or taken seriously until early in book 7. Yuu hasn't gotten "real" development unless you count them realizing their Disney dreams are prophetic in book 5, taking the initiative to save Grim in book 6, and that dialogue option about them being worried they're not contributing + the related convo with Ace in book 7. All very short moments in the grand scheme of things. And honestly, I think that makes sense for the kind of character Yuu is. A blank slate, a self-insert, an outsider that's easy to exposit information to, someone with which to view the story, characters, and world through. Yuu is primarily there to be the POV character, the lenses, the camera that we see Twst through. They're not really meant to be a traditional "main character". It's possible that Twst gives them a slightly bigger role at the very end (especially with what went down in the dream in book 7), but I doubt it will be a huge triumphant moment where they and they alone save the day or deal the final blow in a crazy act of self-sacrifice. Twst has always been a story that puts the NRC boys first, while Yuu is the observer.

I've noticed that the complaint of Yuu not doing a lot in the story comes mainly from English speaking fans?? And I guess that makes sense, given how western culture tends to emphasize independence and standing out. They want Yuu to reflect that. They want to be the ones to make a difference. I don't even remember ever seeing these same comments from the Japanese speaking fans; it's definitely a less common sentiment for them. The Japanese fans seem pretty content with Yuu being an observer and taking on more of a minor or supporting role. Again, this fits in with what I understand of many eastern cultures. They're demurer, not wanting to stand out too much from the crowd and instead prioritizing group harmony. Very interesting cultural difference to note!

It's a common theory (with many variants) that Crowley intentionally summoned Yuu to Twisted Wonderland for his own nefarious motives. People found him pretty sus right away due to how he seems to not put in any real time or effort into investigating a way to send Yuu home. Plus, there's that ominous opening monologue of his to consider. However, I don't think he summoned Yuu because of their (potential) great magical capabilities. The Mirror of Darkness tells us that it doesn't sense a shred of magic in Yuu, and Leona smells zero magic on them (though that could be because it hasn't technically manifested yet, as some fans claim).

The idea is that Yuu is supposed to be plain. They are supposed to be magicless. Why? To humble the NRC students and to show them that asserting yourself violently or with great magical power ISN'T the way to go. To show them value in strategizing (which Yuu does in the prologue by helping Grim aim at the ghosts), of camaraderie. What does it say about the story's themes if Yuu, the person who is supposed to be showing them the worth of mundane things, is suddenly... "secretly ultra-strong, actually/“just like you guys” (even if it's only a temporary hope-fueled magic)? It might contradict what has already been set up. It also breaks the self-insert appeal of Yuu, since developing magic would also mean Yuu would later have to further develop things like proficiency in magic, best/worst subjects, and an unique magic/signature spell... meaning Yuu HAS to become better "defined", thus losing their blank slate nature. This would surely upset some fans who deeply project onto Yuu, have a Yuusona, etc.

Yuu can still make an impact on the characters and the world--and they have, judging by how much closer the boys are with each other--without having to be The Most Special One or like everyone else. I think it undermines what Yuu has already managed to achieve to say that they haven't made an impactful choice at ANY point in the main story when I believe they definitely have. Yuu made the choice to sign the contract with Azul. Yuu made the choice to approach Malleus. Yuu made the choice to go against Crowley's orders and go retrieve Grim from S.T.Y.X. Yuu made the choice to get Leona’s help with the contracts. Yuu made the choice to stand with Adeuce against Riddle in book 1. Yuu made the choice to let the VDC/SDC tribe train at Ramshackle. Yuu has done a lot, and all without needing to seize the spotlight or to do anything big and flashy. I don't think Yuu needs to be big and flashy. There is pride to be had in simplicity and being humble too. There is pride in representing the 90% of humans in Twisted Wonderland that are ordinary and without magic.

(An aside: so if Yuu wasn’t able to manifest magic in many other extreme instances, does that mean their desire to save Grim in book 6 wasn’t “enough”? That their desire to save Ramshackle, their one and only home in this world, wasn’t “enough”? It implies that Yuu didn’t wish hard enough for these other things they clearly care about and want.)

I think a good way to give Yuu a decent role while staying true to their design as a blank slate would be for Twst to really lean into the whole "beast tamer" aspect that was introduced all the way back in the prologue. This would work well with their deep connection to Grim as well. Assuming that Grim ends up being the final OB... We could easily have the NRC students and staff on the ropes, Malleus at his wit's end after exhausting himself with his own OB, a rampaging Grim about to end it all. And then... one lone figure shakily rises from the rubble and confronts Grim. One human. Magicless, defenseless. A human lost in an unfamiliar world, a human who believes they're useless and don't contribute much. A human who is always in need of being protected by others. But not anymore. This time, it's Yuu's turn to protect what they love--their friends, this world they've come to love, Grim. Ace and Deuce yelling at Yuu to not be stupid, to get back--but Yuu just advances, calling out to Grim and begging him to stop. And maybe it's Yuu's wish that rallies everyone and/or gets OB Grim to hesitate. That's when they can strike. Is that corny? Yeah. Does it sound like the ending to a Disney film? Sure. But it still grants Yuu, a magicless human that is supposed to be there to teach everyone about friendship, cooperation, and humility, their big moment to shine. The best of both worlds, I'd say.

[dhorrl]

I’m not much of a fan fiction writer, it’s never been my strong suit, but I’ve gotten a lot better since I started writing bots, and every now and then I come up with something I’m so proud of.

Dragon!Sylus/Princess Reader

Long before humanity carved its kingdoms upon the bones of Philos, dragons ruled the skies, wild and untouchable. Among them was Sylus, the last of his kind. His brethren had long since fallen—betrayed by war, greed, and time. The rivers mirrored his crimson eyes, and the winds carried whispers of his strength and ruthlessness. But even as the sole ruler of a dying age, a hollowness gnawed at his core—a void he could neither name nor fill with all the gleaming gems scattered across the land.

Sylus roamed freely, fierce and unchallenged, yet solitude clung to him like shadows cast by twilight. Until one day, everything changed.

It began with you.

He first saw you in the high tower of a fortress etched into the cliffs. A frail prison tangled in ancient spells and iron bars. You were a princess by title, but that mattered little to Sylus. What captured him was the fire in your eyes—a defiant glimmer that refused to be extinguished even in captivity. Day after day, he circled high above that tower, his black wings cutting through the clouds as he watched you.

But he never descended. He was a dragon—fierce, untamed, and eternal. What could a creature of claws, wings, and horned fury possibly want with a fragile mortal?

Then came the day that shattered his resolve.

As the sun dipped low, painting the sky with shades of ember and ash, your voice rose like a fragile ember in the wind. A song. Sweet, raw, and filled with longing. Sylus froze mid-flight, the melody wrapping itself around his heart, tightening with every note. It was unlike anything he had ever known—a force that stilled the trees and softened the restless winds.

Day after day, he returned. Perched upon the cliffs, his black scales gleaming under the sun, Sylus listened. And with every note, that ache inside him shifted, twisting into something fierce and restless.

He tried, in secret, to mimic the sounds. Growls rumbled from his throat, trills awkwardly escaped his lips, but nothing captured the ethereal beauty of your song.

The frustration was maddening—and yet, it bound him to you.

And then one day, the song stopped.

The fortress fell into a suffocating silence. Sylus circled the tower, his wings slicing through the air in fury. His claws scraped the stone as he roared against the sudden void. Through the narrow bars, he saw chains biting into your wrists, your voice stolen by cruel magic.

The sight ignited a rage within him so fierce that it seared away all hesitation.

He would no longer be a silent observer.

Sylus descended in a tempest of black wings and primal fury. The earth trembled beneath his wrath, and the fortress shook under the onslaught of talons and raw power. Stone shattered, spells fractured into ash, and ancient barriers crumbled before him. The tower collapsed as he tore through iron and enchantment alike, shattering the chains that bound you.

You collapsed into his arms, weak but breathing. Your hair clung to your face, and your lips were pale, but your heart still beat. Sylus gazed down at you, and something ancient and wild blazed within him. You were no longer just a mortal. You were his—his song, his solace, his fire.

He carried you to his lair, a cavern carved deep into the mountains. The air was rich with the scent of earth and ancient power. There, Sylus laid you down upon soft furs, his heart thundering with a decision older than the stars themselves.

He would bind your souls together. Through every age, every death, and rebirth, you would be his, and he would be yours. For a dragon's heart knows only one truth—what it claims, it keeps.

As you stirred, your lips parting as if to speak, Sylus leaned over you, his breath warm against your face. His crimson eyes gleamed with possessive tenderness as he whispered the vow that would echo through eternity.

"My beloved princess... you belong to me now."

[tricksterlatte]

Guys how did we cycle back to mean-spirited or passive-aggressive comments on fanworks not only being normalized but also as something people should accept lying down for literally any reason? If I wanted unnecessary concrit, I’d go read passive aggressive sticky notes left on the office fridge. It is rude to randomly critique or downright insult someone’s hard work done out of love for a fandom, actually!

[bandzboy]

re: seunghan i saw someone say that the original post the pic is from didn't say anything about cram school and it was clearly someone just stalking him which could very likely be true but at the same time idols do online college along with idol duties all the time so if he *was* retaking entrance exams i wouldnt see it as a sign that it's all over. sm is so shady though so i also wouldn't be surprised if it was like everyone thinks :/ but yeah i wouldnt take a pannchoa article at face value lol

yeah exactly that’s why i am not believing it 100% because i thought the same like idols study even when they are doing idol activities so it doesn’t actually mean he is out but like so much time has passed that it wouldn’t surprising if that was the case sigh

[seumyo]

a softie for sentimentality, bakugou katsuki.

Bakugou wears a bracelet. You’ve known about it for as long as you could remember, but only decided to acknowledge it now that you’re in your third year at UA, two weeks before graduation.

It wasn’t flashy or adorned with any kind of logo—just a simple, sturdy piece of metal with a stainless clasp that he seemed to wear all the time. You tilted your head as you studied it.

“You’ve had that bracelet for as long as I can remember,” you said, sitting down on his study chair. It’s a privilege to even set foot inside of his room without immediately being told (yelled) off, really.

Bakugou looked up from his book and glanced at you. “Yeah, and?”

“Is there, like, a story behind it?”

“No story,” he said with a shrug, but you weren’t entirely convinced.

“Really? That’s so bland. I thought there’d be like a gut-wrenching or life-changing story for it.”

He sat up from his bed with a huff, his eyes narrowing at you. “It’s just somethin’ I wear. What’s it to you?”

You raised your hands in mock surrender, a playful smile on your lips. “Alright, Mr. Mysterious. Keep your secrets.”

“Fuck off, dipshit.”

“Again with that! Why can’t you be nicer now that we’re graduating?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

-

But the conversation stuck to you.

It’s the day of graduation when you presented him with a small, handmade box. It was simple, made of sturdy cardboard decorated with his signature colors and an orange ribbon to match. Bakugou rose a brow.

“What’s this for?” He asks, holding it up like the box might explode at any given moment, though there was no bite to it.

“A box.”

“No shit,” he scoffs, “what’s in it?”

“Open it to find out!” You egged him on.

Bakugou sighs, opening the box with a focused pout. He went quiet when he saw what was inside.

“Ta-da! A bracelet,” you said, smiling. “For you. Thought you could use something new to switch things up.”

He held the stringed bracelet in his hand, looking at the material as if it would erupt in flames if he glared hard enough. It was a stark contrast to his metal one—brightly colored warm complementary beads with little charms that somehow still managed to feel like him. There was a red charm shaped like an explosion, a black bead with a skull design, and a small silver charm with an engraved kanji for “strength.”

“I’m not wearing this,” he said flatly.

It’s like your cartoonish heart balloon had suddenly been popped with a prickly needle.

“What? Why not? It’s cool!” you argued. “I even made it myself to really match you!”

“It’s not my style.”

“Sure it is. Look, it’s got black, silver, and even a little red—it screams Bakugou Katsuki.”

“I didn’t get you anythin’ as a parting gift,” he tells you.

“Don’t worry about it! It’s fine,” you replied, waving your hand in dismissal. “Just thought this’ll go with your metal bracelet.”

He nodded, though there was a somewhat frustrated pout on his expression, muttering something under his breath a soft “thanks,” and placed the gift back in the box, never actually letting you see him wearing it during that moment.

-

Years later, during a photoshoot for the yearly hero gala, Bakugou stood in front of the camera in his full Dynamight suit. The photographer adjusted the lights, snapping rapid shots as Bakugou struck his signature confident poses.

“Hold still,” the stylist said, adjusting his gauntlet slightly. Her eyes flicked to his wrist, and she paused. “Oh, that’s cute. Is that handmade?”

Bakugou blinked, following her gaze. Wrapped around his wrist, right next to his ever-present metal bracelet, was the colorful string bracelet you had made him all those years ago.

He stiffened slightly, but instead of taking it off, he shrugged. “Yeah. What about it?”

The stylist smiled warmly. “It’s a nice touch. Makes you seem... approachable. And quite frankly, it matches your suit.”

Bakugou snorted. “Whatever. Let’s get this over with.”

-

When the photos surfaced online, fans quickly noticed the bracelet. Social media practically exploded that day.

Is Dynamight wearing a friendship bracelet??

A HANDMADE BRACELET ON DYNAMIGHT??

Guys, he’s worn this thing for YEARS. Check the old pictures! 🙂‍↔️

You, of course, caught wind of the news—because honestly, who wouldn’t when it took all social media platforms by storm? You saw the posts one evening while scrolling through your phone. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw the photos. It was unmistakable—the bracelet you had made all those years ago.

Long after your UA days were behind you and your lives had taken you and Bakugou down different paths, the all-too-familiar bracelet made you smile sadly—more nostalgic happiness than actual sadness, really.

You stared at the screen, sighing quietly. You thought back to the last time you’d spoken, to the unspoken decision that had pulled you in different directions. You never thought something as small as a bracelet would still mean anything to him.

You didn’t even think you’d live to see the day he wears it, much less keep it after the years.

But there it was, bright and unapologetic on his wrist, a subtle reminder of a bond that hadn’t completely faded with time.

Somewhere across the city, Bakugou stood on a rooftop, the evening wind tugging at his hero uniform. He glanced down at the bracelet on his wrist, running his thumb over the frayed edges of the string. He smirked to himself, a quiet acknowledgment of the past and the person who’d given it to him.

“Guess you were right,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the wind. “It does scream Bakugou Katsuki.”

SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[animationismycomfort]

[tokeposts]

⁀➷ UNSAID | K. BAKUGOU

pairing. bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

genre. collage au, aged up au, angst w/ a happy ending

warnings. cussing, longing, jealousy, aggression

1.3K | jealousy is a disease and bakugou katsuki is riddled with it.

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When you reached his place, you knocked, only for the door to swing open almost immediately, revealing a tense Bakugou standing there, looking more agitated than usual.

"Let's make this quick," you stated, stepping inside cautiously.

He didn’t answer right away, shutting the door behind you with more force than necessary. The loud bang echoed in the entryway. You watched him carefully, noting the tension in his jaw, the way his hands clenched at his sides.

"You and that extra done?"

You raised an eyebrow, surprised that he was bringing it up so bluntly. "We were never really dating, but yeah, I guess we are." You shrugged. "Why?"

His red eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms over his chest, the muscles in his forearms taut like he was holding something back. "Never really dating?" he echoed, voice dripping with disbelief. "You were all over that guy, calling him cute, acting like he was something special."

You furrowed your brows, confused. Bakugou was so quick in acting like he didn't care. He practically abandoned you and this was the first thing he wanted to bring up? Un-fucking-believable.

"Not to be that girl, but why do you care?" you sighed, the faint ache in the back of your head fueling your words. "You ignore me for weeks, act all weird, and then suddenly you want to talk?"

Bakugou’s jaw tightened at your anger, and you saw a flicker of something dangerous cross his face. His arms dropped to his sides, fingers twitching like he wanted to do something but ultimetly decided against it. Instead, he stepped closer. His mouth pressed into a deep scowl, his presence looming over you like a storm waiting to break.

"I’m being weird?" he snapped, voice low and sharp, both warning and desperate. "You think I haven’t noticed you acting like everything’s fine when you’re hanging around that fucking loser?" His red eyes bored into yours, the intensity of his gaze making your heart shake in its cage.

"What the fuck are you talking about? I can hang out with whoever I want, Katsuki. Let me say again that you haven't spoken to me in two weeks—"

"It pisses me off!" he shouted, stepping even closer, his breath fanning against your face. He caged you between his body and the wall. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body, his scent familiar and overwhelming.

His eyes were blazing, fury barely contained, and something more swirling behind them. "Seeing you with some guy, calling him cute and shit. Hanging off his every. Fucking. Word."

Your eyes widened, and for the first time, you didn’t know what to say. The room felt like it was closing in, the air thick with tension. Bakugou’s words hung in the space between you, raw and unfiltered, like he had finally let something slip out.

"You think I don’t care?" he scoffed, his voice dropping lower, rougher. "That I haven’t been paying attention? You just don’t get it."

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your throat tight as his words sank in, but you were just as angry as you were confused. If this man thought he could barge back into your life without so much as a clear explanation, he was dead wrong.

"Use your words," you said quietly, not backing down even though your voice wavered slightly. "Because all I saw was you ignoring me and then getting mad when I tried to fix it."

His eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite read— regret, frustration, maybe even fear— but it was gone as quickly as it came.

"I haven’t been ignoring you," he muttered, his voice strained now. "I’ve been trying to... I don’t know, hold back?"

"What— Hold back?" you shot, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Katsuki, if you don’t stop being so vague, I’m—"

Before you could finish, his hands shot out, seizing your waist with a force that sent a jolt through your body. In an instant, Bakugou’s lips were on yours— hard, urgent, like he’d been holding this in for far too long.

You gasped, startled by the intensity, but your body responded instinctively, your hands clutching at his shirt, desperately seeking some anchor in the storm of his affection. His kiss was rough, almost punishing. His mouth unyielding against yours, as though he was pouring all of his pent-up frustration and unspoken words into this one moment. He moved with a hunger that set your skin on fire, like if he stopped, you’d slip away.

He groaned low in his throat, tilting your head back and demanding more access, deepening the kiss with a ferocity that left you breathless. His grip tightened around your waist, fingers digging into your skin, pulling you impossibly closer.

Bakugou kissed you like a man starved, his desperation palpable in the way his lips moved against yours. It felt like he was trying to memorize the taste of you, the way you fit against him. There was no hesitation, no restraint— just pure, burning need.

When he finally tore his mouth away, both of you were gasping for air, your chest heaving as you tried to steady your pounding heart. He looked away, suddenly shy, a complete 180 from the man who had just made your knees weak seconds ago. It was a sight you thought you’d cherish forever.

His hot breath fanned over your face, shaking and uneven, but he didn’t let go. His fingers were still digging into your hips like he couldn’t bear to lose contact, like he needed to make sure you were still there.

“I care,” he muttered, voice thick with emotion, low and guttural like he was admitting something he could barely stand to say aloud. His fingers trailed along your hip, slow and deliberate, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"I care too fucking much, and it pisses me off that I can’t stop thinking about it. So yeah, I’ve been distant, and yeah, I’ve been avoiding you, but that’s because I don’t know what the hell to do with this." His voice cracked slightly, the tension in his words making your heart race even faster. He didn’t have the nerve to look up at you yet, not when you hadn’t said a single thing, and it was killing him.

"So fucking sue me for trying to figure this shit out."

You swallowed hard, your mind racing to keep up with everything he was saying. His confession was raw, vulnerable in a way you had never seen from him before. He wasn’t just angry— he was scared. Scared of what he felt, scared of losing control, scared of what you meant to him.

"Katsuki..." you started, your voice soft, but he cut you off with a gruttal sigh. He looked up, red eyes boring into your own for the first time, and they were pleading, desperate.

"Don’t say anything," he muttered. "If you’re gonna say some pity shit, don’t wanna hear it."

You stared at him for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest, and then, without thinking, you closed the distance between you again, your lips meeting his in another heated kiss. This time, it was slower, deeper, but still filled with that same urgency, that same need. His hands slid from your waist to your back, pulling you even closer, and you could feel the tension in his body melt away.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathing heavily, your foreheads still pressed together. Bakugou’s grip on you loosened, but he didn’t let go entirely, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that made your chest flutter.

"Next time," he muttered, his voice low and gruff, "don’t go running around with some fucking guy."

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, even though your heart was still racing. "Next time, don’t wait so long to tell me you care."

His eyes flickered with something soft for just a moment, but then he huffed, looking away with a scowl. "Shut up."

[natalicss]

Like We Were In Paris

kwon ji-yong x american pop star!reader

part two

summary: you and ji-yong have been dating for a couple years, keeping it under the radar the entire time. you’re both invited to the gala de pièces juanes 2025, and it’s the first time you get to see him perform live

warnings: not proofread at all, celeb!reader, implied age gap (reader is like…mid twenties?), whole lot of fluff, basically ji-yong being a simp, taeyang & rosé being captains of the ship, use of y/n, i don’t use tumblr so bare with me while i figure this out. i tried to keep descriptions of the readers outfit vague so you could imagine it to your liking!

word count: 4.1K

nat’s notes: hey y’all! i was convinced into writing a g-dragon fic (by like 3 people). i’m kinda obsessed with this. i had so many ideas while writing it & so im kind of tempted to write more of these two, but i don’t know!! this is my first like… irl person x reader (ive only written one other fic on here lmao) & i am new to g-dragon, bigbang, all that so i kept it pretty current. to me these two are very dancing with our hands tied by taylor swift coded (or just reputation coded), i cant explain why it just makes sense. the divider right below is from enchanthings here on tumblr, and the other one later on….idk its for my wattpad LMAO. anyways i hope you enjoy, and im sorry in advance if you hate it. toodles!

You still remember the first time you met Ji-yong.

You were in need of some inspiration. Working on your fourth album, the intense gaze of your record label, your management, your fans, and your musically gifted peers was crushing you. It seemed to do more harm than good. For weeks, you stared at notebooks and computers and instruments. Your manager tried to get you with various song writers. Nothing worked. So, after some persuasion from your best friend (who knew you better than anyone, having been your best friend since you were kids), you decided to do a vacation. Just you and some required security (per compromise with your team). You decided to go to Seoul, having loved it in the few times you’ve passed through on a tour. The fans there were great; always warm and welcoming and always one of your loudest shows. The culture was breathtaking. It felt like the perfect opportunity.

Your team had found a studio for you to work in. You were only there for a few weeks, but they wanted some hope that you’d come back to America with something. It was week two when you met him. You were walking towards your studio, he was walking out of his. The two of you made eye contact, and you were instantly swarmed with warmth. You didn’t believe in love at first sight (neither did he, to be fair), but you started to question it as you walked past him.

From then on, each of you seemed nosy about the other. He asked his friends who the girl was in the other studio. “Oh! The American! That’s Y/N,” He recognized your name, and now your face. He hadn’t seen you outside of a red carpet or a concert venue photo, so he didn’t recognize you with little-to-no makeup and comfortable clothes. But once it clicked, it clicked. You had asked someone working at the studio about him. They mentioned his name, Kwon Ji-Yong, and you googled him that night in your rental house.

You knew about G-Dragon, the impact he had on K-Pop and the music industry. You had heard a song here and there, but you had never seen him. Not til that day in the studio.

It was a few days until you saw him again. Your schedules just missing each other. Then, one day, your producer was running freakishly late to your meeting time, and Ji-yong was walking out of his own studio. You stood there, more like paced there, tapping wildly on your phone trying to get in contact with your producer, whispering to yourself in frustration.

Ji-yong had the courage to speak up, say hello, and the rest is history. Stories for another time, maybe. 

Your friendship eventually blossomed into a relationship, defying all cliches of long distance and the terrors that often comes with it. It helped that he was on hiatus and you had became a professional of staying out of the public eye. You both wanted to keep what you had to yourself. Your teams did, too, but they got less strict as two months eventually became two years. It was on your terms now, when you'd let everyone know about your status, but neither of you had felt ready to let the world in on something so…yours. So peaceful, so effortless, so pure. It was easy, the two of you traveling between South Korea and America to spend time together, or going on vacations together, or just taking quiet retreats into each others homes. 

Nobody ever thought of it, either. There was no reason to. Unless they’d been in the studio that day, the media had no way to expect any crossover of America’s Princess and the King of K-Pop. The media would rather gossip about you in relationships with the usual Hollywood celebrities, some of whom were just friends, some you’d never met. Neither of you mind rumors, it kept the media out of your relationship and sometimes they were hilariously ridiculous. So, you let the press talk their talk. You and Ji-yong kept to yourselves, careful on your information you’d share with friends (it was easy for things to be leaked, these days).

When Ji-yong told you he was officially making his comeback to the industry, you were ecstatic for him. You knew how much he loved making music and performing. You also knew, though he’d never admit it, sometimes when he’d sneak to join you on tour, he got a bit jealous watching you sing and dance on stage. He’d watched you collab with numerous artists, tasting just about every genre you could before eventually finding your new sound. It made him sad, some nights, missing that glow you often had instead. But most nights? Most nights he was beaming from behind the stage, watching you do what you loved most. Most people sink in this world, but you? You swam, no, you effortlessly floated in the sea of fame. And it was obvious to anyone around you. Part of what he loved most about you was your creative drive, something he shared. It inspired him, more than you’d ever know. 

Ji-yong's comeback had been more than successful, as expected. Throughout your relationship, the two of you had fumbled with varying songs and styles for each other. Oftentimes more playful than not. You guys fueled each other in the best ways. You released your newest album in 2024, and you were about to start your world tour in the early months of 2025. Ji-yong would follow suit, his first solo album in years coming out soon and then starting his own tour. 

Both of you were wracked with nerves, spending days in rehearsals, wardrobe tests, photo shoots, traveling all over for various projects. It had been weeks since you’d seen each other. After the holidays you were swimming in press for your new tour. He had been equally busy, filming his show, performing at various shows. You both loved it. You loved your jobs and you loved each others jobs. But even you two would struggle on the days where it’d been long, exhausting, and mentally draining; wanting nothing more than each other’s warmth.

The Gala des Pièces Jaunes, a show that helps collect donations for charity in Paris, had invited both of you to perform, along with other various stars. Little did they know, they had invited the world's most popular secret couple. You had been ecstatic. Not only did you love the message the event had, but you loved the idea of sharing the stage with so many extremely talented artists. Including, your boyfriend. 

The night before the show, you had inconspicuously snuck your way towards Ji-yong’s room. You had wanted to get a hotel room together, but knew that you had to be careful with the amount of eyes on both of you this weekend. Still, that didn’t stop you from wondering around until you ended up at his door. With your special knock– each knock a syllable in your names ���you waited patiently for him to open up the door to you. His eyes were sparkly, even in the shitty lighting. They always seemed to do that with you. 

“Finally,” He breathed, pulling you into the room quickly. You giggled as he used your body to shut the door, his arms around you tightly. You had seen each other, earlier in the day during rehearsals. Pretending like it was your first time meeting him and Taeyang was hell. Pretending you didn’t know their names, pretending Ji-yong didn’t pick out your outfit on FaceTime, and pretending you didn’t want to latch on to him and never let go. 

The only people who knew about you two were Young-bae, of course. He and Daesung had known about you for a while now, teasing their friend and bandmate for not telling them right away. The other person was Rosé, who’d been your friend for years and one of your closest friends in the celebrity world, both of you having blown up in popularity around the same time. Both of them seemed equally amused, watching you and Ji-yong try to act nonchalant around the other. Young-bae chuckling as Ji-yong watched your rehearsals in a stunned silence. He knew every song of yours by heart (even the ones from before he met you), and even when trying to act like he didn’t he could feel himself mouthing the words as he watched you and your dancers on the stage. Rosé would wink at you when she’d walk past you, and everytime you almost missed it cause you were too busy watching Ji-yong talking with his team.

But now, the two of you didn’t have to act. You couldn’t stop laughing in awe, Ji-yong smothering your face in feather-light kisses. You held on to him, your face turning pink as he continued his full-blown kiss attack. “I missed you, jagiya, so much.” He muttered against your skin. Finally, he pulled back to look over your face, pressing another kiss to your lips. You melted into his arms, your mind momentarily fuzzy. There was nothing else but him. His hands on your waist, his shirt clutched in your hands, his scent that had became your favorite. Him. Him. Him. It was always him. 

“I missed you more,” You whispered, running your fingers through his minty-colored hair. He closed his eyes softly, as if soaking in your touch. Your heart swelled, as it always seemed to do with him. You had never felt this way, not in any of your previous relationships. You had been positive for a while now, Ji-yong was it for you. “Are you excited?” You asked him, tilting your head in curiosity.

He slowly opened his eyes, meeting your soft expression. He loved how you looked at him. It was something you couldn’t hide, not even at rehearsals. He sighed, pulling you by your hand further into the hotel room. “Yes. Nervous, too.” He added. You nod in understanding, he had only performed a few times since the comeback. He loved it after, always, but the nerves had been hard to shake off, even still.

“I’m excited to see you,” You beam, still keeping your fingers interlocked. You hadn’t seen him live, not yet. You had been back in America finishing up your album and starting a press tour at the time, but you always called him right before he went on to give him a final good luck, and you always snuck onto a live stream to watch. 

He rolled his eyes shyly, leaning his head into your neck. “Young-bae is going to make so much fun of me.”

“Why?”

“Cause I’m more nervous for you to see my performance than I was at MAMA.” 

You laughed at that, bringing his face into your hands and looking at him. “You’re going to be amazing. More than amazing. You’re going to be perfect.” You reassure him, leaning in to kiss his lips softly. “And I am not afraid to bully Young-bae,” He laughed at this, throwing his head back slightly. He knew it was true, your friendship with Taeyang almost too sibling-like, to the point you two teased each other about everything. 

“Are you nervous at all?” He asks you, looking over your expression, as if he’s trying to find your answer in your gaze. He did this a lot, knowing you for so long he began to pick up on things, even before you did.

“I am, but only a little,” You decide finally. It was a short set, only a few songs to perform. You had picked your most popular hits and your newest single for the setlist. And your outfit was your favorite part, matching your dancers whilst still making sure you stood out and felt confident. “Oh! I have to tell you about this thing I saw.” You pulled out of his arms, suddenly distracted by something you wanted to tell him about when you were in your room. 

Ji-yong watched you quietly. His eyes filled with a lightness and admiration. He listened to you talk as you grabbed a water, waving your arms wildly to dramatize the story. He smiled, leaning against the couch in his room as he thought about how much he loved you. He loved everything about you. From the way you talked about your passions to the way you scrunched your face when you ate something you didn’t like. He loved the way you danced in the car when your favorite song came on. He loved the way you loved the people around you. He loved the way you waltzed into his heart like it was your home, and wrapped your arms around him like you were his home. You are his home, he’s sure of that. Even now, as you ramble into near nonsense about something he has no understanding of. He still watched you like you had been the most beautiful work of art he’d discovered. He was certain that was true.

Le Gala des Pièces was in full swing. Everything was going well, perfect, all of it. And you were backstage, getting your makeup touched up as you saw someone walk past your open door. You recognized him instantly, you always did. And part of you couldn’t let him go on stage without a final goodbye.  “I’ll be right back!” You pushed yourself out of your chair, rushing after him. You could see him walking through the hall, too busy with his own thoughts to notice you coming to grab his wrist.

Ji-yong felt your touch, his head moving so fast he swore he heard a crack. His eyes met yours instantly, then looked you over in surprise. He hadn’t seen your outfit yet. It complimented his, something he wasn’t sure if you had done on purpose or not. A black and red outfit, the red the exact same shade as his tie. As he looked you over, you could see the different emotions flicker on his face. Admiration, lust, maybe hunger, and love. He looked up at your face again, smiling, “Hi, Y/N,” His name feels unfamiliar on his tongue, now. Over the years, nicknames had become your normal. Another thing to add to the list of things you hated about pretending you didn’t know him.

Your mouth hung open for a moment as you looked at him. You hadn’t been sure if you’d see him before he went on, so you hadn’t exactly planned your choice of words. “I wanted to wish you luck,” You stuttered out, suddenly aware of how many eyes could be on the two of you.

Ji-yong’s eyes were laced with amusement, seeing your cheeks turned pink. “I have to grab something to drink, come with me?” He asked, playing it as cool and casual as humanly possible. You itched to reach for his hand, but kept to yourself as you followed him. 

As soon as you were in a dark corner, away from prying eyes, he was on you. The two of you pressed your lips together like perfect puzzle pieces. Your hands roamed his chest as his roamed your waist. You hummed happily, wishing this moment with him would never end. Adrenaline, nerves, excitement all were running high. From the show, from being around each other, from sneaking around. You felt his hands squeeze your hips, the two of you forcing yourselves to pull away. You smiled up at him, almost dizzy from him simply being in front of you. “Good luck,” You beamed.

“Is that how you wish everybody good luck?” He asks playfully. You rolled your eyes, smacking his chest as you adjusted yourselves. “I’ll see you as soon as I’m done,” He leans to kiss you again, “I love you,”

“I love you more,” You winked as he sauntered off towards where his team was waiting for him. You stayed back a moment, blushing wildly and hopping in place happily before rushing back to your own people.

You watched from backstage, wrapping yourself in a black robe to hide yourself as much as you could from the crew around you. You had passed Taeyang, who gave you a subtle handshake as he passed by for his cue. You watched in awe, seeing Ji-yong, no, G-Dragon on that stage. Seeing him do it all in person…it was ethereal. The way he moved through the stage and carried himself with this aura. He was almost mesmerizing, distracting you from the chaos backstage and your own nerves. It didn’t shock you, you’d known forever how talented he was. You’d seen videos of him from before you met, you’d seen him work for hours upon hours in studios, and you’d seen him on set for his music videos. But this was different. This was really him. This was what he was born to do, if destiny and fate were real. This was exactly that.

“Hey, pretty,” You turned your head to Rosé, Rosie, who only smiled knowingly. She linked her arm with yours, leaning into you. “You happy?”

“Happiest,” You answered, “He’s so good.”

“He is.” Rosie agreed. She giggled at your face. The two of you had met years ago, you had blown up in the music scene shortly after Blackpink. The two of you crossed paths at an event, not knowing anyone else there, and you two stuck by each others sides much like you were now. You two had been closest friends. When you told her about your first date with Ji-yong, she was ecstatic. She knew Ji-yong, and she knew that he’d be good to you. She wanted you to be happy, and that's what you were. Always when it came to Ji-yong, you were the happiest person she'd seen.

You watched the rest of his set. You smiled giddily as he and Taeyang performed together. You bit your thumb nail as you watched him move around the stage in the second outfit with the sparkling black jacket. Rosie nudging you every time she noticed you blush. 

When he was off the stage, he had found you waiting for him amidst the crowd of people. He smiled happily, reaching you without much thought about anyone else. His arms swooped you in, hugging you tightly. You laughed, hugging him back. “That was amazing!” You beamed. For a moment, the two of you forgot where you were. Forgetting the curious eyes who thought you barely knew each other. When your senses kicked in, he was quick to put you back at a friendly distance. Your gaze moved to Taeyang, “You guys are phenomenal!” You hugged Young-bae too, hoping that if you acted friendly with everyone it wouldn’t cause more suspicion. “Thank you,” Ji-yong muttered, suddenly shy again. He bowed quickly at you, trying to play it off. In moments, you were hearing your name called, and his own team was surrounding him. You smiled warmly, disappearing in the crowd of crew and stars. 

Ji-yong wanted to keep close to you. He wanted to wrap you up in his arms until the very moment you were on stage, but that was impossible. You were back in your greenroom, getting makeup and hair touched up, and then you were taking photos with crew members and doing more vocal warm ups. You were being whisked around every which way. He and Young-bae were staying close together, feeling the most comfortable with each other as they simply watched the show continue.

Young-bae was smiling to himself. He had been so happy for Ji-yong when he introduced you to him and Daesung. It was blatantly obvious to see how happy you made him. You made Ji-yong smile at every moment, you'd giggle at his jokes (even if Young-bae didn't think they were that funny), you would help him if you noticed his hesitation. You encouraged him. You built him up. You even started secretly learning Korean, calling Young-bae for help every now and again. The next time you visited Ji-yong, you had managed to say your first sentence in Korean, and it was actually good. You were this ray of sunshine. Anyone who knew the two of you knew that. He was honored to be in on your guys’s little secret. Otherwise, he’d feel cheated out of watching two people he cared about falling in love. 

Unfortunately, Ji-yong didn’t get a chance to see you before you were whisked away under the stage to make your entrance. Still, he watched quietly from backstage. He clasped his hands together, watching the crowd scream with anticipation as your intro started. Fog began to cover the stage, the lights flashing every which way with the music. Your dancers surrounded the area you’d rise from. Once you did, you immediately went into the first song, dancing on every note. The crowd was wild. Ji-yong smiled proudly. On stage you were someone else entirely. You were confident, you moved with ease and exact precision. Your body moved with your dancers, most you’ve known for years. Their hands grazing your hips as you all moved together in sync. Ji-yong never got jealous, knowing how these things worked. He was no stranger to any of it. 

He’d seen you perform, maybe a hundred times now, and yet it never got old. As the song transitioned to another popular track, the crowd somehow getting even louder, he thought about how you might’ve looked earlier. Standing in the same spot, only a short time ago. He could only assume you looked much like he did now. Body swaying to the familiar music, mouthing the words, eyes sparkling at him like he had hung the moon and the stars only for you. He wasn’t sure what he did to get so lucky.

He clapped as the crowd did. You were at the far end of the stage now, dancing with another male dancer to the third song. The song had been written for him, though not many people knew that other than you and him. A romantically charged song. It was one of his favorites. He remembered the day you showed it to him, all shy and quiet, which was unusual for you. You had told him you had a song to show him, wanting to release it as a single in the future. When you played it, you only stared at his face while he stared at the computer screen. He considered marrying you right there. 

As you performed your fourth and final song, he found his way to where you’d end up off stage. He played with his sleeves, smiling shyly as people greeted him as they passed by. He wanted to see you. No, he needed to see you. 

And he did. You came off the stage, glistening from glitter and sweat. You hugged your dancers and thanked them, high-fiving other members of your crew. As your eyes met his, he could see them light up. But you stayed put, not wanting to make another scene. He winked at you, moving in the direction of your greenroom.

It took you a couple minutes to get your micpack off and head towards your dressing room to change. Once you did, you smiled wide at the man waiting inside. “We did it!” You beamed as you jumped at him. He caught you easily, swinging you loosely in his arms as you pressed your lips against his. It wasn’t rushed or adrenaline-filled like before. This was softer, still full of energy, but only relief, love, and pure joy. “We fucking nailed it, baby,” You said as you looked up at him. He swore he might die from the way you love him.

“You were beautiful,” He hummed, leaning into your hair. He hummed, squeezing you tighter. “I love you. So fucking much.”

You closed your eyes, taking in the moment as best as you could. There was no place on this planet you loved more than being in his embrace. You could be anywhere, at any time, anything could be happening, and all you’d want is him. That’s all you’d ever need, The lazy mornings in your LA home where you’d surprise him with breakfast in bed. The romantic nights in Seoul where he’d take you out to dinner at your favorite place. The bustling mornings when one of you had a meeting to get to. One of you having a mouth full of toast trying to run out the door, only to scramble back to give the other a kiss. Late nights in studios, falling asleep in random spots as you tried to come up with new lyrics and beats. Your favorites were the quiet nights, the two of you tangled in bed sheets as he stared at each other, talking about whatever came to mind as one of you played with the others hair, or traced shapes on bare skin. Gentle kisses passed back and forth. Life was perfect, and he was perfect. 

“I love you, Ji,” You whispered, kissing him again. He hummed into it, smiling. You looked him over appreciatively, fiddling with his outfit. “I need to change, wanna pick my outfit out for me?” You asked, raising a brow. His eyes flicked with mischief as he looked back at the rack of clothes you had. He looked back at you, pulling you back into him again.

[amirasainz]

hooola!! absolutely love the baby alonso series and i’d love to see her playing with penelope maybe?? or one of lando’s nieces!!

hope u have a great day 🫶🫶

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 💕

@piastappies

Best friends forever

The bustling paddock was alive with the hum of race car engines, chatter from teams, and fans eagerly seeking autographs. Amidst the energy of the Formula 1 weekend, two tiny figures stood out—Yn and Penelope.

Yn, with her sparkling pink bike that had streamers hanging off the handlebars, was busy adjusting her helmet. Penelope, on her equally dazzling sparkling purple bike, was already riding in circles, her giggles carrying through the air.

"Come on, Yn!" Penelope called, a teasing grin on her face. "You're so slow!"

Yn puffed up her cheeks in mock frustration, tightening the strap on her helmet. "I'm not slow! I just wanna make sure my helmet is perfect! Safety first, P!"

Penelope stopped her bike and crossed her arms dramatically. "We’re in the paddock, silly. No cars are gonna hit us!"

Yn finally climbed onto her bike, wobbling for a moment before finding her balance. "Fine! But you're not gonna win the race!" she said with determination, pedaling furiously to catch up.

The two girls zipped past team garages, their bikes glittering under the sun, leaving a trail of laughter behind them. Engineers paused to watch, some waving and smiling, others snapping quick photos of the adorable sight.

"Careful, girls!" Charles called out, leaning against a garage wall with a cup of coffee.

"We’re being careful!" Penelope yelled back, her voice high-pitched and confident.

"Yeah!" Yn chimed in. "We’re super fast, like Max and Fernando!"

Charles chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, just don’t beat them in qualifying, okay?"

The girls burst into laughter, though neither truly understood what qualifying was.

---

Later, Yn and Penelope decided to ditch their bikes and explore on foot. Hand-in-hand, they skipped down the paddock, their little sneakers slapping against the ground in perfect rhythm.

"We should go see the snacks table!" Penelope suggested, her eyes sparkling.

"Snacks!" Yn cheered. "I hope they have gummy bears. And cookies!"

As they approached the Red Bull hospitality, Max was leaning on a railing, chatting with Sergio. He spotted the duo and immediately straightened up, his tough demeanor softening into a wide grin.

"Hey, what are you two up to now?" Max asked, crouching down to their level.

"Snacks!" Penelope declared with a triumphant fist in the air.

Yn nodded eagerly. "Gummy bears!"

Max laughed. "Ah, I see. Well, the snacks are this way, but no eating too much, okay? I need Penelope to cheer for me later, not fall asleep!"

"I’m gonna cheer for Yn’s dad too!" Penelope said proudly, looking at Yn.

"Me too!" Yn added, squeezing Penelope’s hand.

Max ruffled Penelope's hair, a rare, tender smile on his face. "Good girls. Now go on, and don’t cause too much trouble."

---

The next stop on their grand paddock adventure was Fernando’s garage. The two girls peeked in cautiously before scampering inside. Fernando was sitting on a stool, studying data on a screen, but the moment he saw the two tiny intruders, his face lit up.

"Ah, mis pequeñas amigas!" Fernando exclaimed, opening his arms wide.

Yn ran straight to him, throwing her arms around his leg. "Papa! We’re having the best day ever!"

Fernando chuckled, scooping Yn up onto his lap. "I can see that. And Penelope, are you taking good care of my little one?"

Penelope nodded solemnly. "Of course. We’re best friends!"

"Bestest friends!" Yn echoed, reaching out to hold Penelope’s hand again.

Fernando looked at them with soft eyes. "You know, seeing you two like this reminds me of why we do all this. It’s not just about winning—it’s about family and having fun."

"Does that mean you’ll let us ride your car next time?" Penelope asked, her face completely serious.

Fernando laughed heartily. "Not quite, pequeña, but maybe one day."

---

As the day wore on, Yn and Penelope found new ways to entertain themselves. They drew with chalk on the pavement, leaving colorful hearts and stars for everyone to see. They played hide-and-seek around the motorhomes, with Lando and George willingly pretending not to see their bright clothes sticking out from behind crates.

At one point, the two girls sat on a patch of grass, sharing a juice box they had "borrowed" from the hospitality.

"Do you think we’ll ever drive like our dads?" Yn asked, her face thoughtful.

Penelope tilted her head. "I think so. But only if the cars are purple and pink."

Yn nodded solemnly. "Definitely."

---

By the time the sun began to set, the paddock had grown quieter, but the two girls were still full of energy. They convinced Max and Fernando to sit down with them for one last activity: a tea party.

Fernando looked hilariously out of place, holding a tiny plastic teacup between his large fingers, while Max did his best to balance a tiara Penelope had insisted he wear.

"More tea, sir?" Yn asked in an exaggerated posh accent, holding out an empty teapot.

"Why, thank you, madam," Fernando replied, playing along with a dramatic bow of his head.

Max sighed, though he couldn’t hide his grin. "This tea is excellent, Penelope. Did you make it yourself?"

Penelope giggled. "It’s pretend, Papa!"

"Ah, of course," Max said, nodding seriously.

---

As the day came to an end, Yn and Penelope finally started to tire, their eyes drooping as they sat on a bench together, wrapped in a shared blanket.

Fernando and Max watched from a distance, their competitive natures completely set aside as they admired their daughters.

"They really are something, aren’t they?" Fernando said quietly.

Max nodded, a rare softness in his gaze. "Yeah. Makes you realize what really matters."

The two girls held hands even in their sleep, their innocent friendship a bright light in the often chaotic world of Formula 1.

[0omillo0]

Hi! I’m a big fan of your fics! I wanted to put in an angst/hurt/comfort request because I’m a sucker for angsty fics. So with Bangchan (or Changbin, I’ll let you pick, gosh I love them both) the reader has been getting weird cryptic messages from their ex and it’s turning into some serious stalker behavior. So one night as they’re walking home they can tell they’re being followed and they call Chan or Binnie to come pick them up. And there’s like mild confrontation but of course it always ends with comfort 🫣

Calling you clingy

BangChan x Reader

Angst/Hurt/Comfort, Suspense

Warnings: Mentions of stalking, verbal altercation, jealousy, swearing, mild violence, fluff ending

a/n: I hope you don’t mind I included this in my “calling you clingy series”!! I really like how this came out so please reblogs are really appreciated <3 (also thank you for appreciating my fics 🥹)

-

You never thought your life could spiral into something out of a thriller movie. It started innocuously enough—texts from your ex, cryptic but seemingly harmless. A “hope you’re doing well” here, a “just saw this and thought of you” there. You blocked the number, not giving it a second thought.

But the messages didn’t stop.

They got worse.

“You think he’s better than me? He’s not. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“I saw you walking home yesterday. Looked cold—don’t forget your scarf next time.”

“We’re not over, Y/N. We never will be.”

Each time, they came from a different number. And each time, the messages left a pit in your stomach.

It was getting harder to ignore, and you couldn’t keep this from Chan anymore. When you finally worked up the courage to show him, you thought he’d take it seriously. You thought he’d help you feel safe.

You were wrong.

“I don’t get it!” Chan snapped, pacing back and forth in the small living room. His voice was sharp, his hands gesturing wildly as if the physical act of moving could help him make sense of things. “Why don’t you just block him?”

“I already did!” Your voice cracked with frustration. “Every time I block him, he just finds another number, another way to contact me!”

“Well, maybe you’re giving him a reason to think he can keep trying!” The words came out harsher than Chan intended, but he didn’t take them back.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Your tone was defensive now, your blood boiling.

Chan threw his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t know, Y/N! You tell me! Did you say something? Do something? Give him a reason to think there’s still a chance?”

Tears pricked your eyes, the sting of his accusation making your chest tighten. “Are you seriously blaming me for this?”

“Why are you even talking to me about it?” Chan’s voice rose, his frustration spilling over into anger. “Maybe you like the attention!”

You froze, his words hitting you like a slap to the face.

“Excuse me?” you whispered, your voice trembling with hurt.

Chan didn’t stop. His own insecurities—his jealousy, his stress, his need to control the uncontrollable—took over. “You’re always so clingy anyway! Maybe that’s why he can’t let go!”

The room fell silent.

Your wide eyes searched his face for any sign of regret, but all you saw was the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders rose and fell with every labored breath.

“Clingy,” you repeated, your voice hollow.

Before Chan could say another word, you turned, grabbing your coat and storming out of the apartment.

The cold air hit you like a wall, but it did little to cool the heat of your anger. Chan’s words echoed in your mind, each repetition cutting deeper.

Clingy. Maybe you like the attention.

You walked aimlessly, your feet carrying you far from the apartment. The city lights blurred in your vision, and the once-crowded streets felt eerily quiet.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. Without thinking, you pulled it out, expecting an apology from Chan.

It wasn’t him.

“Still think you’re safe? You’re not. He won’t protect you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the weight of dread settling in your stomach.

“You can run, Y/N, but you can’t hide. I’ll always find you.”

You stopped walking, your breath hitching as you glanced around. The streetlights above flickered, and for the first time, you noticed how empty the street was.

The sound of footsteps echoed behind you.

Panic surged through your veins. Your hands trembled as you dialed Chan’s number, your fingers fumbling over the screen.

“Please pick up,” you whispered, your eyes darting around for any sign of movement.

The footsteps grew louder.

“Hello?” Chan’s voice came through the line, tight with tension.

“Chan, I think someone’s following me,” you blurted out, your voice barely above a whisper.

The line was silent for a split second before Chan spoke, his tone immediately shifting to one of urgency. “Where are you?”

You rattled off your location, unable to keep the tremor out of your voice.

“I’m coming. Stay on the line. Don’t hang up.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “Chan, I’m scared.”

“I know, baby,” he said softly. “Just keep talking to me. I’ll be there soon.”

By the time Chan’s car screeched to a halt at the curb, you were standing under a flickering streetlight, your phone clutched tightly in your hand.

The shadowy figure that had been trailing you lingered in the distance, but as soon as Chan stepped out of the car, the person darted into the darkness.

Chan ran to you, his eyes scanning your face and body for any signs of harm. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

You shook your head, the tears you’d been holding back finally spilling over. “I don’t know what to do, Chan. He won’t stop.”

Chan pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly you could barely breathe. “I’m here now. He’s not going to touch you. I promise.”

As he held you, his mind raced. He couldn’t let this go on.

The next morning, Chan woke with a new resolve. While you were still asleep, he contacted a private investigator he trusted. He needed to find out who this person was and put a stop to it for good.

That afternoon, while you sat curled up on the couch in Chan’s hoodie, trying to calm the storm of emotions in your chest, he entered the room with a determined expression. He knelt in front of you, taking your hands in his.

“Y/N,” he started softly, his voice a mix of guilt and resolve. “I called someone—a private investigator. They’re going to help us figure out who this is, where they’re coming from, and how to stop them. I won’t let this continue.”

Your eyes widened. “Chan, are you sure? That sounds… expensive. And I don’t want you to feel like you have to fix this—”

“I want to,” he interrupted firmly. “I have to. I let you down yesterday. I let my jealousy and stress get in the way of being there for you, and I can’t forgive myself for that.” His voice broke slightly, but he steadied himself. “This isn’t about me. It’s about keeping you safe.”

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time they were from relief, not fear. “Thank you,” you whispered, throwing your arms around his neck.

Chan held you close, his lips brushing against your temple. “We’re going to get through this together.”

Over the next few days, the investigator worked quickly, piecing together details from the messages. You provided everything you had: screenshots, numbers, the few times you’d caught glimpses of someone following you. Chan stayed by your side through it all, refusing to leave you alone even for a moment.

The tension between you two eased slightly, though guilt lingered in his eyes whenever he thought about his harsh words during the argument. Every night, he held you close, whispering reassurances that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you.

Finally, the investigator called with a breakthrough.

“You’re not going to believe this,” the investigator said, his voice serious over the phone.

Chan put the call on speaker so you could hear. “What did you find?” he asked, gripping your hand tightly.

“Your ex wasn’t working alone,” the man said. “We traced the latest numbers back to a burner phone, and security footage from a nearby electronics store showed him purchasing it… with a friend.”

Your blood ran cold. “A friend?”

“Yeah. Someone who knows your daily routine. Someone who’s close to you.”

Chan stiffened. “What do you mean?”

The investigator hesitated. “I mean, this isn’t just a stalker situation. Your ex had help from someone who’s been feeding him information about you.”

Your mind raced, replaying every interaction you’d had over the past few months. A coworker? A neighbor? Someone from your social circle?

Then it hit you like a ton of bricks.

“Lena,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Chan frowned. “Your friend Lena?”

“She’s not just a friend,” you explained, your hands trembling. “We used to be really close. But after I started dating you, she got… weird. Jealous, maybe? She’d always talk about how she missed how things used to be before you.”

Chan’s jaw tightened. “Are you saying she’s been helping your ex?”

“It makes sense,” you said, your voice cracking. “She always knew where I’d be. She’s the only one who would know my new number after I changed it.”

The realization left you both stunned.

Later that night, Chan’s phone buzzed with another call from the investigator.

“We’ve confirmed it,” he said. “Lena’s been in contact with your ex for months. She was the one who gave him your work address, your new number, and even the times you’d be walking home alone.”

Anger flared in Chan’s chest, and he stood abruptly, pacing the room. “What the hell is wrong with her? Why would she do this?”

“She was bitter,” the investigator replied. “She felt replaced, like you’d abandoned her for your new relationship. She saw your ex as someone who felt the same way—someone who wanted to ‘take back’ what he’d lost.”

You sank into the couch, overwhelmed by the betrayal. “I can’t believe this. She pretended to care about me this whole time.”

Chan crouched in front of you, his hands resting on your knees. “She’s not going to hurt you anymore,” he said firmly. “Neither of them are.”

The next day, Chan worked with the investigator to ensure that the police were involved. Lena and your ex were both taken into custody, thanks to the overwhelming evidence collected against them.

When the police informed you that your ex had admitted to planning to confront you the night Chan came to pick you up, your blood ran cold.

But Chan was there, holding your hand through it all, his unwavering presence grounding you.

“You’re safe now,” he reminded you, his voice steady. “They’re not going to hurt you again.”

As the weeks passed, life slowly returned to normal. The weight on your shoulders lightened, and the constant fear that had gripped you finally loosened its hold.

One night, as you sat curled up on the couch with Chan, you finally voiced the question that had been lingering in your mind.

“Do you think I’m clingy?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chan froze, then turned to you with wide eyes. “What?”

“Back then,” you continued. “When you said I was clingy—”

“I didn’t mean it,” he interrupted quickly, his voice filled with regret. “I was stressed and angry and jealous, and I took it out on you. But it wasn’t true, Y/N. None of it was.”

He cupped your face in his hands, his gaze earnest. “You’re not clingy. You’re loving and thoughtful and everything I could ever ask for. And I’m so, so sorry I made you feel like you were anything less than perfect.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but this time, they were tears of relief. “I love you, Chan.”

“I love you too,” he whispered, pulling you into his arms.

tags @intartaruginha @hannamoon143 @inlovewithstraykids @whoa-jo @madirye062 @vixensss @sseawavee @emilyywhyy @halfwinterhalfuniverse @velvetmoonlght

[pickingupmymercedes]

Ageless wonder - Lewis Hamilton

warnings: mentions of alcohol, Toto being an ass (himself)

genre: fluff and teasy Lewis

wordcount: +1k

a/n: I had to, 'shelf life' my ass

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

Waking up with a hangover wasn’t new to me, Lewis was the one non-alcoholic Tequila master in the relationship after all. But waking up feeling like my skull is auditioning for the lead role in Crash: The Musical, though? That’s special.

My tongue feels like I licked an old battery, my hair probably looks like I got electrocuted, and the sun streaming through the window is public enemy number one.

And still somewhere through the haze of pain, I catch a whiff of something heavenly: Lewis’s cologne.

Thank God. Home.

There’s a low chuckle near me, and the bed dips slightly. “Morning, superstar.”

I pry one eye open. Lewis is sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing a grin that’s somewhere between amusement and concern, though he’s annoyingly chipper, like he hasn’t just watched me drag myself through hell disguised as a bottle of – real – tequila.

“Why are you so loud?” I croak, turning over to bury my face in the pillow.

“I’m not loud; you’re sensitive” he shoots back, that stupid chuckle rumbling again. “Rough night”

I flip him off without looking, which only makes him laugh harder. “Rough week actually.”

And it has been rough.

Toto, king of ominous sound bites, had suggested, in the newly launched Mercedes book, that Lewis might’ve been near his “shelf life.”

As if Lewis wasn’t out there fighting the excuse of a car they couldn’t understand how to work around, pulling phenomenal races from P10, setting twelve fastest laps, lapping four-tenths faster than his own teammate at some points.

And if there’d been more laps? Well, Toto might’ve had to eat his words on a very public stage.

I’d been at the race, of course. Watching from the garage, headphones clamped tight over my ears, my hands clasped together until they ached. I’d barely breathed until he crossed the line in P2, the garage erupting around me.

The relief was immediate, but it didn’t last.

I caught the frustration in his shoulders as he climbed out of the car, the way it clung to him during the cooldown drive to the podium interview and those mandatory interviews.

He’d wanted more.

He hadn’t said anything directly to me, of course—he never does when the sting is fresh. But I know the weight when I see it.

It’s in the way he’s still tense even as he waves to the fans, in the measured, overly polite answers he gives in interviews.

Watching him absorb the quiet digs, I wanted to storm the press room and defend him, consequences be damned. But what good would it do? Still, the knot in my chest wouldn’t loosen until I saw him smile again.

And then Toto had gone and made it worse. Of course. Lewis’s teammate was “from another planet,” while Lewis was just working with a “super strong car.”

I’d had to sit there and smile politely, even though every part of me wanted to grab Toto by the collar and shake him.

It wasn’t my fight, though—not really. It was Lewis’s. And Lewis, being Lewis, handled it like a pro. Calm. Measured.

Acknowledging his own faults while subtly calling out the micro-aggressions of all sorts he’s dealt with his whole career.

That’s my man. Too classy for this world.

But let’s be real: the post-race party in Vegas? That was for me. Not that I’d ever admit outside of our bedroom, but seeing him relaxed, smiling, surrounded by people who adore him? That was the real victory.

And the price for that? Me, nursing the world’s worst hangover and Lewis, laughing at my expense. Classic.

His voice broke through my thoughts. “You really went for it last night. Celebrating like you won something.”

“I did win something,” I mumble into the pillow.

“Oh yeah?” His tone is teasing, and I can feel his grin without even looking.

I finally roll onto my back, squinting at him like he’s the sun itself. “Bragging rights,” I said. “Because you…” I pointed vaguely in his direction, “…are a goddamn force of nature. And because everyone who said otherwise is a dumbass.”

He shakes his head, amused, but there’s a softness in his eyes now.

“And,” I add, smirking despite the pounding in my head, “I won tequila shots with Miles. That’s also worth celebrating.”

“Clearly.” He gestures vaguely at my disheveled state, and I kick at him weakly with one foot.

He dodges easily, then leans back, holding his phone up with a sly smile.

“Pot, meet kettle,” I muttered, rolling onto my stomach and burying my face in the pillow. Except that pillow smelled like him, which was entirely too distracting.

“What’s got you so chirpy this morning anyway?” I mumbled into the pillowcase, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

He had an uncanny ability to bounce back after days like these, his body apparently immune to exhaustion. I would’ve hated him for it if I didn’t love him so much.

“Just enjoying the comments on your last post,” he said nonchalantly.

That got my attention. I lifted my head to look at him. “What post?”

Lewis didn’t answer. Instead, he smirked and held up his phone, just out of my reach.

“Oh, come on,” I groaned, dragging myself upright. My head protested the movement, but curiosity outweighed the pain. “What did I do?”

“You don’t remember?” His grin widened. “It’s good. Really good.”

“Lewis.” I reached for his phone, but he leaned back, clearly enjoying this way too much.

“I think it’s fair to say the caption was… pointed,” he said, drawing the word out.

“Pointed at what?” My patience was wearing thin, and my curiosity was spiraling into mild panic.

He finally handed me the phone, and the moment I saw the screen, the haze of my hangover lifted just enough to make room for a new emotion: horror.

The photo was innocent enough—just me and Lewis at some ridiculous Vegas afterparty, his arm slung around my shoulders, both of us grinning like idiots. But the caption. Oh, the caption.

“All in on ageless wonder”

And my jaw drops. “Oh my God.”

Lewis is laughing now, low and warm and entirely too entertained. “You went all in, babe.”

I scroll through the comments, and my stomach flips. Hundreds of thousands of likes. Thousands of comments. Most are supportive—#GoatHamilton is trending, apparently—but a few are... less so.

I can’t help it but laugh. “Drunk me is bold.”

“Drunk you is sincere” he corrects, taking the phone back and locking the screen.

“Toto kinda deserves it.” I sit up, wincing as the motion sends my head spinning. “How long can I leave it up before PR calls me personally to tell me I’m banned from every Mercedes garage on Earth?”

Lewis checked his watch like he was genuinely considering it. “I’d say we’ve got a couple hours before the panic sets in. Maybe three if I keep ignoring my phone.”

I grin at him. “Reckless. I like it.”

He grins back, and for a moment, it’s just us. No hangovers, no drama, no shelf-life bullshit. Just Lewis and me, in sync as always.

He kissed me then, and for a moment, the lingering fog of tequila and regret melted away. All that mattered was him—his warmth, his steadiness, his love that he didn’t have to put into words because it was always there, in everything he did.

Lewis always had a way of grounding me, of silencing the noise in my head with something as simple as a kiss. It wasn’t just the feel of his lips—it was the way his hands cupped my face, anchoring me to him, the unspoken reassurance in the way he held me.

He didn’t need words to remind me that we were a team, that no matter how loud the world got, we’d always have this.

And I knew—I’d burn through a thousand hangovers just to feel this peace

“How much trouble are you when Toto sees that post?” I ask after a few moments of us studying each other.

He smirks. “Don’t worry.”

“Remind me to confiscate my phone next time I drink.” I lean back against the headboard, closing my eyes again.

“Not a chance,” he says, and there’s so much affection in his voice it makes my chest ache.

I peek at him through one eye. “You like chaos too much.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs, still grinning. “Or maybe I just like you.”

Damn him.

I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling now, the pain in my head fading to the background. Lewis has that effect on me. He always has.

And as much as I want to give him hell for waking me up, for teasing me, for letting me post that caption in the first place, I can’t bring myself to care.

Because at the end of the day, Lewis is Lewis. And he doesn’t need anyone to tell him who he is.

Although I’ll keep on shouting it from the rooftops if I have to.

Shelf life, my ass.

_____________________________________________________________

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[its-avalon-08]

Franco Colapinto, where his girlfriend gets jealous of his interviews, so she does everything to make him jealous in return

uno reverse amor (fc43)

✦ pairing - franco colapinto x female!reader

✦ genre - angst, jealousy, flirting, insecurity, fluff

It had started out innocently enough. Franco had always been friendly and warm, and Y/N knew that his charm was just part of who he was. But ever since he joined the F1 paddock, the charm had evolved into something more… public. Every race weekend, clips of Franco effortlessly flirting with reporters and crew members spread like wildfire, and fans ate it up, dubbing him the new “king of charm.”

Y/N, however, was less amused.

The first incident that had really gotten under her skin happened at the British Grand Prix. Franco was leaning against the car, chatting with a well-known reporter who was giggling at everything he said, twirling her hair as she asked him a question about the upcoming race.

“Oh, it’ll be intense,” he said with a grin, his gaze steady on her. “But, you know, I think it’s all about staying calm, keeping your focus. And enjoying the beautiful company, of course.”

The reporter laughed, blushing as Franco flashed her one of his trademark smiles. Y/N, watching from a few feet away, clenched her fists, biting back a glare. Did he really have to add that last part?

As if that wasn’t enough, the week after, during an interview at the Italian Grand Prix, he was asked a simple question about pre-race routines.

“Oh, I’ve got my little routines,” he said, winking at the interviewer, who had already melted halfway into her chair. “I like to get in the right headspace, maybe listen to some music… unless there’s someone interesting around to keep me company.”

The interviewer let out a flustered laugh, and Y/N’s jaw clenched. Really, Franco? “Someone interesting”? Her fingers itched to reach out and pull him away, but she forced herself to stay calm, her heart pounding with frustration.

Then, a few days later, she caught him doing it again—this time with a team member. He’d stopped mid-stride, turned to face her with that irresistible grin, and said, “You’re really making it hard for me to concentrate on the race with those eyes of yours.”

The team member had laughed, shaking her head, but Y/N was seething. How many times does he have to do this? She could feel herself growing annoyed every time she saw him so much as smirk at anyone else.

One evening after another long day at the track, she finally decided to confront him. They were back in his hotel room, and she paced around while Franco lay sprawled on the bed, oblivious.

"Franco," she began, crossing her arms. "You know… you’ve been getting a lot of attention lately.”

He raised an eyebrow, his face innocent. “Oh? From who?”

“From every journalist, reporter, and team member you’ve been flirting with,” she shot back, her voice laced with exasperation.

He laughed, rolling his eyes. “Amor, you know that’s just how I am. I’m just being friendly.”

“Friendly?” she repeated, scoffing. “You called a reporter ‘beautiful company’ and told a mechanic she had distracting eyes.”

He sat up, holding back a smile. “Are you jealous, mi amor?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “No, I’m annoyed that you’re flirting with every woman in sight, making me look like some jealous girlfriend who has to just… stand back and watch.”

Franco chuckled, getting up and pulling her close. “It’s all harmless, cariño. I only have eyes for you.” He leaned in, trying to soften her with a kiss, but Y/N just rolled her eyes, pushing him away.

“Harmless,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “We’ll see about that.”

time skip

The next day, Y/N was ready. She’d slipped into her best outfit, something just a bit more eye-catching than usual. Every detail was intentional: a hint of perfume he loved, her hair styled to perfection, and a glint in her eye that promised trouble.

Franco, as usual, seemed completely oblivious to the storm brewing beside him as they arrived at the paddock together. He greeted her with a casual arm around her waist, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before turning his attention to his mechanics, his team, and soon enough, the journalists. Y/N watched as he naturally fell into his routine, flashing that same boyish grin, laughing a little too freely, and leaning in just a little too close for her comfort.

This time, though, she didn’t sulk on the sidelines. She had her own plans.

“Hey, Ben!” she greeted one of the mechanics, letting her voice take on an extra warmth as she walked up to him with a bright smile. She didn’t have to try too hard—Ben was easy to talk to and always ready with a laugh. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, crossing her arms in a way that drew his attention.

“I was thinking,” she said, biting her lip thoughtfully, “you need to show me how you work your magic with these cars sometime. I bet it’s way more fun than it looks.”

Ben chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck with a shy grin. “Oh, you think so? Maybe I could give you a little behind-the-scenes tour sometime,” he offered, looking flattered.

“Only if you promise I’ll get the full VIP experience,” she replied, letting her fingers brush his arm as she laughed. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Franco’s head snap in their direction, his smile faltering as he caught sight of the interaction. Good. She was only just getting started.

The entire day passed in a blur of subtle flirtations—though maybe ‘subtle’ wasn’t the right word. She’d find reasons to linger a bit too long with various members of the team, sharing inside jokes and laughing louder than necessary. She even struck up a conversation with one of the other drivers, who was only too happy to entertain her with stories from his racing days. Every time, she made sure Franco was close enough to witness.

By the time evening rolled around, they’d all decided to celebrate at a nearby club. The music was loud, the lights dim, and the energy high, and Y/N knew it was the perfect place to turn things up a notch. She danced, her laughter bright and easy as she moved through the crowd, letting her hand graze against an arm here, a shoulder there, leaning in close to speak to anyone she deemed worth her attention.

Across the room, Franco was watching her like a hawk. His jaw was tight, and his eyes narrowed every time he saw her hand linger on someone else’s arm or caught her laughing too closely with another driver. She knew he was trying to keep his composure, but it was clear his patience was wearing thin.

Finally, she was in the middle of a conversation with one of Franco’s competitors, a tall, charming driver with an easy smile and a hand that rested just a little too comfortably on her lower back. The driver leaned in, whispering something that made her laugh, and she let herself rest a hand on his shoulder, her eyes flashing with mischief as she spoke.

Y/N was on a roll, and Franco was coming undone. Every time he thought she’d finally had her fun, she’d find someone else to charm with that same sweet laugh and teasing smile she usually reserved for him. And it was driving him crazy.

They’d only just walked back from the bar when she caught sight of one of the mechanics, a friendly guy named Luca. With a mischievous smile, Y/N waltzed over and struck up a conversation, playfully touching his shoulder as she leaned in to hear him over the music.

Really? Luca? Franco’s fists clenched, his jaw tight. He tried to focus on the drink in his hand, tried to keep his eyes anywhere but on her hand lingering on Luca’s arm. Does she really have to be that close to him? Does she have to laugh like that at whatever he's saying?

Luca was saying something that made her laugh again, and she leaned in, looking up at him with wide eyes and a soft smile that Franco knew all too well. Unbelievable, he thought, resisting the urge to march over and tell Luca that his services were absolutely not needed right now.

But it didn’t end there.

Later on, she’d wandered over to a group of drivers who were deep in conversation about the latest upgrades to their cars. Y/N approached them with that breezy confidence that only she could pull off, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she smiled at one of the drivers, giving him her full attention. He was explaining something technical, and Y/N was nodding intently, her hand resting on her hip as she tilted her head just slightly, the way she did when she was really focused on something.

Franco’s grip on his glass tightened, his knuckles white. That’s not how she usually listens to people, he fumed, watching as she laughed again, this time with a soft touch to the driver’s arm. Oh, come on. She doesn’t even care about car upgrades!

It felt like every glance, every laugh, every gentle touch of her hand was a little dagger aimed straight at his ego. He knew what she was doing, knew she was just trying to rile him up. And damn, it was working.

Then came the final straw. She’d been chatting with a young mechanic, one who’d recently joined the team and was clearly a little awestruck by her. Y/N was leaning close, whispering something that made the mechanic’s face go beet red, and she playfully nudged his shoulder, laughing as if they were sharing some secret joke.

Franco could feel his pulse hammering as he watched. Does she even realize what she’s doing? Or is this her plan all along? He gritted his teeth, trying to keep his cool. She’s supposed to be here with me, not… not making every other guy in the room feel like they’re the most important person here.

When she threw her head back in laughter, touching the mechanic’s forearm with just a little too much familiarity, Franco had had enough. Every inch of him was tense as he fought to keep himself from storming over there, from pulling her aside and making it very clear that she was his. She’s mine, he thought fiercely, barely restraining the urge to intervene. And she’s going to know it by the end of tonight.

The music pulsed through the club, and Y/N was in the middle of another conversation, this time with a driver she barely knew, when she felt a familiar hand wrap around her wrist. Franco’s grip was gentle but firm, his eyes burning with a mix of frustration and something else she hadn’t seen in a long time: pure, unfiltered jealousy.

“Amor,” he said through a tight smile, pulling her closer, his voice thick with intensity. “We’re leaving. Now.”

She blinked, biting back a grin as he guided her through the crowded room, his hand still wrapped around hers as he weaved them toward the exit. Once they were outside, in the cool night air, Franco turned to face her, his jaw set, eyes narrowed. His fingers brushed down her arm before he let go, clearly trying to gather his thoughts.

“Mind telling me what that was all about, mi amorcito?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper, though the tension was undeniable. “I spent the entire night watching you laugh with everyone but me. Dios mío, you were flirting with every man in sight.”

She lifted an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. “Oh, really? And what about you, Franco?” she shot back, a smirk playing on her lips. “You’ve been winking and laughing and charming everyone in the paddock for weeks. I just thought I’d give you a taste of your own medicine.”

His eyes widened in realization, a flush creeping up his neck as he took a step closer, brushing his fingers along her arm again, gentler this time. “Ay, mi vida,” he said softly, his gaze softening, though he still looked frustrated. “It’s just part of the job. I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. You should have told me.”

She laughed, but there was an edge to it. “I tried, Franco. But you didn’t even notice. So, I figured maybe you’d pay attention if I reminded you what it feels like.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly flustered. “You’re right, I wasn’t paying attention. But seeing you like that tonight? Talking to other men like I don’t even exist? It drove me loco, princesa. You know that, right?” His voice softened, filled with a hint of pleading. “No me hagas esto otra vez. I can’t handle it.”

Y/N grinned, but there was warmth in her eyes as she took his hand, squeezing it gently. “Now you know what I feel like, Franco. But… maybe you’re a little cuter when you’re jealous.” She leaned in, brushing a playful kiss on his cheek.

He let out a frustrated groan, pulling her close so their foreheads touched, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her waist. “Mentirosa,” he whispered, half-laughing as his frustration melted into affection. “You know you’re the only one I want, mi corazón.”

The tension between them softened into something familiar, something that was just theirs.

[soft-persephone]

You know You Love It

MDNI // Explicit!!! // WC: 1.5K// Warnings: slight dom sub dynamics, but not really, somone making you do things you don’t want to do, you know how consent works. I’m not your Momma. // mastierlist

AN:// this was way shorter than I thought it would be.

Real AN://, this fic is heavily inspired by @megamindsecretlair go check out her Terry Fics if you haven’t already. This one is def exist because of the recent one she put out based of a request.

Terry was tired. 

He had a long day at his new job; he wasn't sure if he cared about it. 

How long this would last, he wasn’t sure, but he had a reason to have one now. You were good for it. 

He sighed when he saw you in bed, still sleeping. The sheets were rumpled, no corner left unturned from his side to your side. You were currently on your stomach, leg turned up towards your face and your other leg hanging off the side of the bed. Your eyebrows fitfully scrunched together, your lips pulled tight in a frown. 

Bad sleep was still sleep, and you needed every bit you could get. 

He took a shower, taking his time to wash the frustration of the day off of him. 

When he was done, he walked into you now on your side with one hand by your face. Your other guarding your side. 

As if hearing the towel pat against the skin, or maybe the soft  rustle of his t-shirt and loose pajama pants sliding along his skin, but your eyes flutter open. 

“T,” you softly call out, your voice thick with sleep, “is that you?”

“Yeah, I just got home.” He sat on your side of the bed, reaching out to touch you wherever was closest. He caresses the skin of your leg. Your skin was always so soft, if not a little warm, 

Despite having on a tank and the slimmest shorts you could find to keep cool, it was still a struggle. Somehow, no matter how little clothing you wore, it didn’t work. 

You sat up, and moved towards him. Straddling his lap. 

“You don’t have to get up. You should sleep.”

“Don’t want to.” Your tone was playfully apathetic. “We can sleep later.”

He clenched his jaw, fighting to not show his frustration. No matter how wide your eyes got, how you batted your eyelashes at him, you were putting on. Always putting on. 

You knew when you were irritating him and showing it only made you put on worse. 

“What are you doing?” He said as even and calmly as he could, hiding the bite in his voice.

You slid down onto your knees in front of him, your expression soft and innocent. 

“You promised.” You batted your eyes at him. 

He kept his cool and unwavering. 

“Terry.” You plead. 

“Okay, just. . .” He sighed. . .“okay.”

You flash your teeth in a smile that was oh so pretty. Your shoulders relaxing into a normal position and your eyes fighting their sunken state, showing in the sweetest way just how alive and in it you were. 

How could he say no to that? 

Not breaking his firm steady gaze, he pulled himself out of his pants, already half hard. 

Despite your sweet face, it was cruel how slowly you dragged your tongue from the base to tip. Tenderly, you massaged  the tip with your tongue, lathing the bit of precum before placing small wet kisses on it.

His hips dipped on the bed and his back arched slightly, his dick bobbed against your lips, eager for more. 

“Cut-cut that out.” He stammered, fighting to keep his voice stern. “Just put it in your mouth.” He managed to scold you. 

You ignored him, placing wet kisses down his length, your breath fanning across his sensitive skin with each one. Slow, so terribly slow, you lathe at his balls with your tongue. 

“Fuuhck.” He balled his fist at his sides, squeezing the sheets so tight his knuckles were two shades lighter.

He didn’t want to get so loud because that shit only made you  worse, but when they were finally wet to your liking, gingerly wrapping your mouth around one, you slid your tongue around it in small circles, not too harsh or too soft, he couldn’t help the low drown out groans that spilled out of his mouth. 

You let it go with a pop before moving on to the next one. 

He was leaking so much. It was spilling down the sides of his dick, and dripping from his tip. 

His balls tightened in your mouth and with a hot gasp you pulled off.

“Shit,” your tone too normal and light, like you haven’t been teasing the fuck out of him, “I didin’t mean to do that for so long.” You looked up at him like you were sorry. Your long lashes batting up at him apologetically. 

His dick stuttered, threatening to bust. 

“Fuck you.” He strained out in a whine. His eyes dark and stormy through their lust blown gaze.

“Oh. . .” Your eyes went wide before fluttering elsewhere, darting around the room. 

You took it too far and now he was upset. You frowned with a pout, but he promised. How can he get so mad if he promised. 

Not wasting time, you took him in your mouth, his hips pushing his dick past your lips just as  much as you were taking in, desperately thrusting up.

Now that you could set your own pace tonight you didn’t have to take him all the way so soon at the start, you could take your time, jerk the rest of him with your hand, and finally savor the taste of him in your mouth, the smooth velvety skin and the natural musk he exuded from every pore. 

You sucked a little harder hollowing your cheeks as you did, eager for more. 

“Ah,” he hissed, “wait, fuck. . .baby wait.”

It was too late, he was already filling your mouth.

You spit whatever was left in your mouth and latched back on him. 

He roughly pushed at your forehead, making you wince, but the more he did that the harder you sucked his softening dick to keep it in your mouth. His stomach and chest heavily heaved up and down as he breathed in and out.  

“Quit. . . Playing.” He strained against gritted teeth, fighting the whimper bubbling up his throat. 

You swatted his hands away. 

Eventually as you slowly mouthed at his dick, he got hard again and his groans and  whimpers subsided. 

Satisfied, you moved your head back to let go and sit on top of him. Your pussy wet and desperate to finally have him inside, but a large hand firmly grasped  the nape of your neck as he pushed himself to the back of your throat. 

“Where the fuck you think you going?”

He set a hard and brutal pace. 

The wet sound of his dick sliding up and down your throat as you whined around him made your pussy ache around nothing. The hair of his base roughly tickling at your nose as his balls slapped occasionally on your chin. 

“If you love my dick so much,” he emphasized his point by holding your face against his hips, savoring how your throat clenched and unclenched around him as you choked on him, “why do you  keep spitting it out?”

He looked down at you with a smirk, wiping a stray drop of his cum that leaked from your mouth before shoving it back inside with his dick, pushing just a bit more for you to make a sloppy choked sob on his dick and finger he pushed inside with it . 

“You know how much that hurts my feelings.” 

It was Terry’s favorite sick game he liked to play. 

The first time you ever sucked his dick, without thinking you just spit it out when you were done, he was taken aback, almost offended. The way his face fell and his eyes dropped was almost cute, big, wide, and cloudy with somber soft gray blue clouds, but it didn’t stay that way. He liked to force you to swallow sometimes, and you never knew when that day would be. 

Tonight was one of those times. 

His grip on the back of your neck tightened. His hips started to thrust down your throat with as much fervor as his grip on you was, shoving you towards him. With a low, drawn huff of a groan, he spilled down your throat. The thick hot spurts of his cum sliding uncomfortably through your body, filled your belly with a particular warmth you weren’t too fond of. 

You meweled against his softening dick as the tightening of your muscles released. Your thighs starting to seize and tremble  as you came undone, unexpectedly coming in a way you did not want to as well. 

“Shh.” He rubbed your face with a thumb as he came down your throat and you spilled around nothing. “You know you like it.” He murmured.

[eu-nicola]

children's fight

summary: your disdain for Lando was no secret. You didn’t hate him, but there was something about him that you just couldn’t stand.

warnings: nothing

word counter: 5282

author's note: english is not my first language

Formula 1 had always been more than a hobby for you; it was a passion, an obsession. You had grown up watching races, studying statistics and learning every detail of the circuits. However, it wasn’t just the sport that fascinated you, but the drivers. And for you, Max Verstappen was the best. His talent, his relentless determination and his ability to handle any situation on the track had made him your favourite since he joined the grid. So, when the current season became a tug-of-war between Max and Lando Norris, there was no question about which side you were on. 

Your disdain for Lando was no secret. You didn’t hate him, but there was something about him that you just couldn’t stand. His arrogant attitude whenever things didn’t go his way, his constant need for attention and his immaturity were unbearable to you. And even more so now, when he acted like he was on Max’s level, when, in your eyes, he wasn’t. He was a good driver, sure, but he didn’t have the mentality or experience to win a championship. That frustrated you, especially since every time he lost, he complained instead of accepting that he still had some way to go. 

One day, thanks to your “job” (it was more of an internship) as a freelance sports journalist, you had the chance to attend a private event for Formula 1 media in Monaco. It was an intimate dinner with several drivers and some sponsors, a sort of social pre-season that promised exclusive access to the stars of motorsport. You couldn’t believe it when you received the invitation. Although you had covered races before, you had never been so close to the drivers in such a relaxed atmosphere. 

The evening started well. You met up with other well-known journalists, shared a couple of glasses of wine and spoke to some members of the technical teams. Everything seemed perfect, until you saw him. Lando Norris. 

He was surrounded by a small group of people, talking and laughing as if he owned the room. From afar, his voice rang out with a carefree tone that others found charming, but to you it sounded condescending. His wide gestures and constant laughter reminded you exactly why you weren’t a fan of him.

You decided to ignore him and continue enjoying the night, but fate had other plans. During dinner, you were assigned a spot right in front of him at the head table. You tried to remain professional, even though the situation made you uncomfortable.

“And you?” Lando asked after a while, addressing you directly as he smiled with overflowing confidence. “Do you have a favorite pilot, or are you one of those who say you love them all equally?”

The comment, while seemingly harmless, made you roll your eyes internally. You had heard other journalists succumb to his charm, but you weren’t going to fall for it.

“I have one, yes,” you replied, keeping your tone neutral but direct. “Max Verstappen.”

For a second, Lando’s smile faltered, then came back stronger.

“Oh, yeah?” he said, leaning forward with a curious look. “Interesting choice. Why him?”

You took a deep breath before answering, trying to stay calm.

“He’s the most complete driver I’ve seen in years. His ability to adapt to any situation on the track is impressive, and he doesn’t give up no matter the circumstances.”

“And you think I can’t do that?” Lando replied, raising an eyebrow. Although he was still smiling, there was a defiant tone in his tone.

“I think you still have a lot to prove,” you replied bluntly, feeling the atmosphere at the table tense slightly.

Lando laughed, but this time his laugh sounded somewhat forced.

“Wow, straight to the point. This year will be different.” I’m ready to prove that I have what it takes to win.

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you took a sip from your wine glass, watching him with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. You knew you could have been more diplomatic, but there was something about him that just pushed you to confront him.

The conversation turned to other topics, but the initial exchange hung in the air like a charged cloud of electricity.

Dinner continued, but the tension between you and Lando was undeniable. Every time he spoke or laughed, you felt your nerves fray. His voice seemed to boom louder than anyone else’s at the table, as if he was deliberately trying to get everyone’s attention. The worst part was that it worked. Every comment he made drew laughter and nods from everyone else, which only made your irritation grow.

You tried to focus on the conversation with the person sitting to your right, a journalist you'd known for a while, but every few minutes you found yourself glancing at Lando. It wasn't a look of curiosity, but of analysis. You wanted to understand what everyone saw in him, why he found it so easy to charm others while you found him so insufferable. 

Of course, Lando was quick to notice your glances, and every time he did, he responded with a smile that seemed designed to provoke you. It was the kind of smile that said: I know you don't like me, but I don't care. 

The rest of the dinner passed in a mix of awkward and disdainful glances. Every time your eyes met Lando's, it seemed like the two of you were fighting some kind of silent battle. He kept smiling with that carefree air, while you kept a neutral expression that perfectly hid the irritation you felt inside.

When dessert was finally served, you were counting down the minutes until the evening was over. But just when you thought you could escape without any more confrontation, Lando stood up and walked around the table, stopping right next to you. 

“It’s been interesting meeting you,” he said with that smile that now seemed permanent on his face. “I hope you enjoy following my season as much as you enjoy following Max’s.”

His tone was light, but the challenge in his words was clear. Before you could respond, he had already walked away. 

The next day dawned with a fresh and promising air. You had a busy schedule: interviews with some of the best drivers on the grid at one of the most important promotional events before the start of the season. Although you knew it would be an exhausting day, you were also looking forward to it. Talking to drivers, hearing their perspectives, and writing about them was one of the reasons you loved your job. 

The morning started off calmly. You arrived early, dressed in a smart but functional outfit, with a notepad in hand and a professional smile on your face. The interview room was decorated with the logos of the teams and sponsors, and a row of cameras and lights was already ready to capture every word of the drivers. 

The first interviews went smoothly. You spoke to George Russell, who always had a calm and polite charisma. Then to Carlos Sainz, who never failed to make you laugh with his anecdotes. Even Charles Leclerc, with his easy-going charm, made you feel comfortable. Everything was going well. You were professional, respectful, and although you weren't a fan of all the drivers, you knew how to maintain the balance between admiration and objective analysis. 

But you knew that eventually you would have to interview Lando Norris. And, to be honest, you were dreading it. 

When the time came, you saw Lando approach the small area where you conducted your interviews. He was dressed in his McLaren uniform, his hair perfectly messy and a relaxed smile on his face. From afar, he seemed unconcerned, but when his eyes met yours, you noticed a flash of recognition. He knew this wasn’t going to be just any interview.

“Hi,” he greeted, extending his hand to you with professionalism. “Ready when you are.”

You took a deep breath, accepted his handshake, and nodded. You decided to approach the interview as usual: direct, objective, and with questions that went beyond the standard answers.

“Lando, this season promises to be one of the most competitive in recent years. Considering your progress in the last few races, how are you preparing to stay consistent in the fight against more experienced drivers?”

His smile didn’t falter.

“Good question,” he said, leaning forward slightly as he answered confidently. “I think the key is to keep a cool head and trust the work we’ve done as a team. At the end of the day, it all comes down to who can take advantage of opportunities when they present themselves.”

The conversation flowed naturally, though you could sense a slight tension in the air. Lando was adept at answering, but it was also evident that he was measuring each word, as if he was making sure not to give you cause to criticize him further. You, for your part, remained neutral, asking pointed questions and avoiding any comments that could be interpreted as personal. 

Towards the end of the interview, you decided to broach the subject of your rivalry with Max. 

“Speaking of taking advantage of opportunities, your battle with Max Verstappen last season was one of the most talked about. How do you describe that dynamic?”

Lando held your gaze for a moment longer than necessary before answering. 

“Max is a great driver, that is not up for discussion,” he replied, keeping his tone casual. “But I think this year will show who is really ready to fight for a championship. I am ready for that challenge, and I have no doubt that I can compete at the same level.”

“Interesting,” you commented, taking note of his response. But something in his tone made you purse your lips, as if he were issuing a veiled challenge, not only to Max, but to you as well.

The interview ended with a handshake and an exchange of tense smiles. From the outside, anyone would have thought that the two of you had been completely professional. And, technically, they had been. But inside, you knew the spark of disagreement was still alive.

The off-camera confrontation

Later, as you reviewed your notes and waited your turn for the next interview, you felt a presence behind you. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Are you always this harsh in your interviews or just with me?” Lando asked, his tone light but with a challenging undertone.

You turned your head towards him, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m doing my job. If I seem harsh to you, maybe you should review how you respond.”

Lando let out a soft laugh, leaning slightly towards you.

“I think what’s really going on is that you can’t stand the fact that you don’t like me.”

You crossed your arms, keeping your cool.

“It has nothing to do with that. I’m not here to like you or not, Lando. I’m here to do my job, and I think I did a pretty good job.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do,” he replied, his smile fading slightly as he studied you intently. “But don’t pretend that I don’t bother you. It’s obvious. I saw it last night, and I see it now.”

His bluntness took you by surprise, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you held his gaze.

“If you’re so worried about what I think, maybe you should focus more on proving what you say on the track.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, but then he smiled again, this time with something more genuine, as if your answer had amused him.

“You know what?” “I think we’re going to have a lot of fun this year,” he said before turning and walking away, leaving you with a mix of irritation and something you couldn’t quite place. 

Later, when the interviews started being posted as teasers on social media, you thought you could relax for a while. You’d done a good job: professional, direct, and not letting your personal opinions creep into your questions. At least, that’s what you thought. 

You were in your hotel room, reviewing your notes for the article you’d be publishing the next day. Meanwhile, your phone was constantly buzzing with notifications. You decided to ignore them at first, assuming they were just alerts for posts related to the day’s event. But when the sound became incessant, something inside you told you to take a look. 

You unlocked your phone, and as soon as you opened Instagram, your worst fears were confirmed. There was a featured video on the event’s official account: your interview with Lando Norris. The clip, though brief, perfectly captured the tensions you had tried to conceal.

“Lando Norris: ‘I think this year will see who is really ready to challenge for a championship.’”

The camera then panned to you, raising an eyebrow and responding with a neutral but firm:

“Interesting.”

There was nothing inherently out of place in the exchange, but the comments told another story.

—Is it just me or is there tension between them?

—The way she looks at him… ugh, that’s pure disdain.

—What if there’s something else behind this? 👀

—She’s clearly not a Lando fan. #TeamMax.

—This feels like the beginning of a rom-com, but with cars.

You frowned, scrolling through the comments. There were dozens of memes accompanying screenshots of the video. On Twitter, things weren’t any better.

One user had posted:

“Her: ‘I’m completely professional.’ Also her: throws an invisible dagger at Lando with her eyes.”

The tweet was accompanied by a picture of you crossing your arms during the interview while Lando answered one of your questions.

Another said:

“The tension is so thick you could cut it with a rear spoiler.”

Though you tried hard not to let it affect you, a mix of embarrassment and frustration began to settle in your chest. You hadn't done anything wrong. You'd kept your composure, you'd been professional... or had you? You began to doubt yourself. Maybe your dislike for Lando had been more apparent than you thought.

The final straw was a meme someone had made with a picture of Lando smiling nonchalantly and a screenshot of you looking at him with a slightly skeptical expression. The caption read:

“Her: ‘I'm impartial.’

Also her: ‘Max > Lando any day.’

You couldn't help but let out a sarcastic laugh, even though you weren't amused by the situation.

The Unexpected Message

Just when you thought it couldn't get any worse, your phone vibrated again, but this time it was a direct message on Instagram. It was from someone you weren't expecting.

Lando Norris:

“Looks like we're trending. Did you plan this too, or am I just the one who knows how to get everyone's attention?”

You felt a rush of heat rise up your neck. This boy's audacity knew no bounds. You took a deep breath before replying:

You:

"Don't blame me for other people's interpretations."

The reply was not long in coming.

Lando Norris:

"Looks like you and I make a good team when it comes to talking heads. Maybe we should take advantage of it.”

You pursed your lips, deliberating whether to continue or leave it on read. But something about his message made you feel like this “rivalry” wasn’t going to end anytime soon. Between the memes, the comments, and Lando’s brashness, you knew this story was just beginning.

You put your phone away with a sigh, but the feeling of unease didn’t go away. Now you not only had to deal with your animosity towards Lando, but also with the fact that the entire world seemed to enjoy watching them go at each other. And the worst part of all? Lando seemed to be enjoying it more than anyone else.

The days following the social media controversy were strange, as if you were navigating in a limbo between unwanted attention and trying to get back to your routine. You decided to stay as far away from the public eye as possible. Although you still fulfilled your responsibilities, you were very careful in choosing how and when to participate. You made sure to delegate trackside interviews to your peers and limit your interaction with the drivers to a minimum. essential.

After the race, when it was time to travel to the next venue, your strategy remained: low profile. The paddock, normally vibrant with conversations, interviews and the energy that a new race brings, became a place where you moved with calculated precision. You appeared only when absolutely necessary: ​​at official photo shoots, on TV broadcasts, and always with a perfectly practiced smile.

You focused on other parts of your job, immersing yourself in writing articles, checking statistics and contributing behind the scenes. Moments of visibility were strategic, just enough to fulfil your responsibilities and avoid any unnecessary encounters. This involved coordinating with your colleagues to take on interviews with specific drivers. And, of course, among those names was always Lando Norris.

Despite your efforts to remain invisible to him, the paddock was a small place, and it wasn't always possible to avoid crossing paths with certain people. When this happened, you forced yourself to maintain your composure. You walked past him with your head held high, as if you hadn't seen him. You walked confidently, not allowing any flicker of discomfort to show on your face. But there was always that feeling, as if you felt his gaze briefly on you.

Lando, for his part, seemed busy with his own thing. He was immersed in his work, fulfilling his own commitments: meetings with the team, interviews with the press, promotional events. From the outside, he seemed completely focused on his world, almost as if the tension between you had never existed. You barely noticed any reaction from him, and that bothered you more than you were willing to admit.

There were fleeting moments, though. When you walked across the paddock with your notes in hand or passed him in the hospitality halls, you could feel his eyes on you for an instant. It wasn’t a lingering, inquisitive glance, more of a casual glance, as if he recognized you and then went on with his business.

Days turned into weeks, and the dynamic continued the same. You were both in the same place, but walking different paths. You avoided any direct interaction, and he, apparently, had no interest in seeking it out. However, social media remained attentive. Every time a photo from the paddock showed the two of you in the same place, even if it was meters away, the comments would come:

—“Look, there they are again! Is it a coincidence?”

—“They don’t interact, but I bet there’s some tension in the air.”

—“Lando seems indifferent, but she looks so serious. I’m intrigued by all this.”

Even though you tried to ignore it, you couldn’t help but see the posts. The speculations never stopped, but you remained firm in your decision not to let this interfere with your work.

For his part, Lando continued to move forward with his life in the paddock. His focus was on racing, media, and strategies to stay competitive. If he thought about you, he didn’t show it openly. But at times, when he was sitting in the hospitality area reviewing data or preparing for an interview, his mind wandered. He remembered the exchange of glances, the interview that had become a trend, and those brief moments when he saw you passing by. However, those thoughts were fleeting; he quickly dismissed them and returned to focusing on his work.

Despite your best efforts to stay under the radar and avoid Lando Norris, fate – or perhaps the small size of the paddock – seemed hell-bent on crossing paths with you. Grand Prix days became an awkward dance between keeping up appearances and trying not to explode in frustration. And, to be fair, Lando did nothing to make things better. 

The issues started small, barely noticeable, but over time, the friction became more and more apparent, both to you and to those around you. 

It all started with a seemingly insignificant moment at a press conference. You were sitting among the journalists, ready to take notes and prepare intelligent questions for various drivers. Lando was on the panel that day alongside Max and two other drivers. When it was your turn to ask, you asked a simple but direct question about his qualifying performance – completely standard fare. 

The way Lando answered, however, made it clear: he wasn’t interested in being cooperative with you.

His answers were short, almost cutting, and his tone, though not explicitly hostile, had a hint of mockery. When he finished answering, he sketched an almost imperceptible smile, as if he knew exactly how he was affecting you. Some journalists exchanged glances, surprised by the exchange. You, with an impassive face, continued writing in your notebook as if nothing had happened. 

However, in the hallways later, you heard one of your colleagues whisper:

—It seems that Lando has something personal with her.

The next brush came during a recording for a special program. You were in a small dressing room preparing your presentation when Lando burst in unannounced. He was wearing his team uniform and seemed to be looking for something. 

“Excuse me, is this yours?.” he asked dryly, holding a wireless microphone that someone had left there. 

Before you could answer, he added:

“Oh, right, you probably just need a pen and a notebook.”

You froze for a second, processing the sentence. Although it wasn't necessarily an insult, the tone was clearly meant to belittle you.

"Not all of us need a car to feel important, Norris," you finally said, with a tight smile, as you walked past him to leave the dressing room.

It was an impulsive comment, but the expression on his face was reward enough. However, the incident made it clear that neither of you were willing to take a step back.

The friction began to be noticed in public as well. When you walked through the paddock and passed by Lando, you couldn't help but feel his gaze fixed on you, even if it was only for a second. You did the same, a kind of silent challenge. They weren't neutral glances; they were loaded with tension, with something deeper than simple antipathy.

There were times when he made sure to occupy strategic spaces, as if he were looking to make you uncomfortable. If you were in the McLaren team hospitality to interview an engineer or driver, Lando would casually wander over, interrupting the conversation with unnecessary comments or jokes that weren’t quite jokes.

When this happened, you kept your composure as best you could, but your answers were always just as sharp. The atmosphere became so awkward that even other team members noticed the dynamic and were quick to jump in.

The final straw came during a charity event organized by Formula 1. You were assigned to cover the event, and Lando was one of the featured drivers. At one point in the show, while the drivers were participating in a trivia game, someone mentioned the incident on social media that had made them trending weeks earlier.

Lando didn’t pass up the opportunity to make a comment:

“Well, it seems I have a talent for bringing out the best in people, even when they don’t get along with me.”

The audience laughed immediately, but you felt the ground fall out from under your feet. Although his tone was seemingly light, the hint was clear.

Later, when the event was over, you approached the press officer and asked to change assignments to avoid covering any segment where Lando was involved. However, you knew it wouldn't be easy. The tension between you two was no longer a secret, and the more you tried to avoid it, the more it seemed like the universe was conspiring to keep you two crossing paths.

Despite the issues, neither of you were willing to back down. The relationship between you was like a rope stretched to the limit, ready to snap at any moment.

The tension between you and Lando had reached such an absurd point that, to any outside observer, it looked more like a schoolyard fight than a professional dispute between two adults. Although you both had legitimate reasons for your mutual displeasure, the way you handled the situation was anything but mature.

With those little passive-aggressive acts that seemed straight out of the angry child's handbook.

Things between you and Lando were far from calming down. The taunts and teases kept piling up like a snowball, and even though you tried to ignore it, there was something about him that you couldn't help but hate... and at the same time, something that pushed you to challenge him. But after that last race, things took a different turn.

It was an exciting race, one that kept everyone on the edge of their seats. Lando had won, and the paddock was in a party mood. Teams, drivers, media, and even sponsors gathered at a fancy club to celebrate. Although you weren’t particularly a fan of such gatherings, attending was part of your job, so you got ready, picked out a dress that was stylish enough but comfortable, and headed to the event. 

The club was packed, with dim lights and vibrant music filling the air. Drivers and team members toasted the day’s achievements, while others immersed themselves in lively conversations or danced carefree. The energy was contagious, and, for a moment, you allowed yourself to relax. 

You were chatting with a couple of colleagues when you noticed Lando walk in. His presence was unmistakable: he walked with that confidence that used to irritate you, surrounded by some of his team members and other drivers who congratulated him effusively. He wore a dark shirt, unbuttoned just enough to look comfortable but effortless, and his winning smile was so wide it almost seemed to dare anyone to question him.

Your eyes met for a brief moment. You looked away quickly, determined not to ruin your evening by thinking about him.

As the evening progressed, a man approached you. He was one of the marketing guys for a team, someone you had exchanged words with at previous events. Tall, pleasant-looking, and clearly interested in you, he began to chat with you in a friendly manner.

The talk was light, but interesting. He asked questions about your job, joked about the tensions of the paddock, and made you laugh with witty comments. Although you weren’t looking for anything romantic, you enjoyed the attention. There was nothing wrong with letting yourself get carried away in the moment after stress-filled weeks.

Without realizing it, the distance between you shortened. The man leaned in toward you as he spoke, and you responded with animated nods. From the outside, anyone might have thought there was more than just conversation going on.

Lando was leaning against the bar, a drink in his hand and surrounded by a few friends. From where he stood, he had a clear view of you and the man you were talking to. At first, he didn't pay too much attention to it; after all, it wasn't his business. But, as the minutes passed and he saw you laughing and looking at him, something inside him began to boil.

The feeling was annoying, almost irrational. He didn't understand why he cared, but he couldn't help but feel a slight tingle of irritation at seeing you so comfortable with someone else. It wasn't jealousy, or at least that's what he told himself. It was… what? Frustration? Spite? Whatever it was, it wouldn't leave him alone.

He decided to ignore it, taking a long drink from his drink and returning to his conversation. But every time he saw you from the corner of his eye, his concentration evaporated.

At some point, you decided to move to the bar to order a drink, and the man followed you. As you waited for your drink, you felt a presence beside you. You turned, and there was Lando, leaning against the bar with his typical relaxed expression, though his eyes seemed darker than usual. 

He didn’t say anything, but the air between you immediately tensed. His eyes briefly rested on the man next to you before returning to you, assessing you. 

Though no words were exchanged, the message was clear: he didn’t like what he was seeing. His jaw was slightly clenched, and his fingers drummed against the bar as if he were trying to hold something back. You, far from being intimidated, lifted your chin and held his gaze.

When you received your drink, you turned to the man and resumed the conversation as if Lando wasn’t there, although you felt his eyes burning into your back.

A little while later, you were on the dance floor with some friends. The music was lively enough to relax you, and although you weren’t the best dancer, you were enjoying the moment. Suddenly, you felt a hand on your shoulder. Turning around, you found yourself facing Lando.

There was something in his expression that seemed challenging, as if he were testing you. He looked you straight in the eyes and bluntly extended his hand. “Would you like to dance?”

You knew exactly what he was doing.

“No.” Was your dry, unwavering response.

The rejection seemed to surprise him, though he tried not to show it. A slight smile formed on his face, as if he were mocking your refusal, but there was a glint in his eyes that betrayed his irritation.

Without another word, Lando lowered his hand and turned around, returning to the bar. You went back to dancing, though you couldn't ignore the feeling that his eyes were still fixed on you from a distance.

Later, while you were dancing with some friends, you noticed him again. This time, he was in the center of a group, laughing and joking, but somehow he always ended up in your line of vision. It was as if he was making sure you saw him enjoying himself.

And you noticed. You knew he was upset, and you couldn't deny that it gave you a certain satisfaction. Maybe you even exaggerated your attitude towards the man a little, leaning towards him and smiling more than necessary. If Lando wanted to play, so could you.

The game continued for the rest of the night, a silent war that neither of you was willing to give in to. There were no words, but the looks and gestures said more than either of you were willing to admit.

When the party ended, you left feeling like you had won, though you knew Lando wouldn’t let this go easily. For his part, he was left with a mix of irritation and confusion, wondering why you let yourself be affected by him so much… and why he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

[rue-isabelle]

Part 1 Part 3

Aphrodite of Formula 1, Part 2

The Monaco paddock was buzzing, but not with the usual pre-race excitement. The drivers were all acting out of character, their girlfriends were growing increasingly frustrated, and the fans were having a field day tracking every move. The reason? Yn, as always, was oblivious to the chaos surrounding her.

---

Max and Kelly

Max leaned against a railing near the Mercedes garage, completely engrossed in conversation with Yn. She was telling him about the time she had to coordinate a last-minute team dinner for 30 people, her laughter filling the air as she recounted the chaos.

“You’re incredible,” Max said, shaking his head. “I can’t even organize my own breakfast without someone helping me.”

“It’s just practice,” Yn said modestly.

Kelly, meanwhile, stood outside the paddock, furiously scrolling through her phone. Max had promised to pick her up an hour ago, but there was no sign of him. She stormed into the paddock, her heels clicking furiously against the pavement, until she spotted him.

“Max!” she called sharply.

Max blinked, his attention snapping back to reality. “Kelly?”

“Yes, Kelly!” she spat. “The one you were supposed to pick up an hour ago?”

Yn’s smile faltered. “Oh no, Max, if you need to go—”

“No,” Max said quickly. “It’s fine. She doesn't matter as much as she thinks she does.” He turned back to Yn. “So, you were saying about the dinner?”

Kelly’s jaw dropped. “You’re seriously just going to ignore me?”

“I’ll catch up with you later. Go and be a mom for once,” Max said dismissively, earning an incredulous glare from Kelly as she stomped away.

---

Charles and Alexandra

Charles had been in a great mood all day. Why? Yn had laughed at his joke earlier, and the memory had been replaying in his mind ever since. When the day ended, he spotted Yn leaving the paddock and hurried to catch up with her.

“Yn! Do you need a ride?” he asked, his smile wide.

“Oh, that’s sweet of you, but I don’t want to trouble you,” Yn said.

“It’s no trouble at all,” Charles insisted, opening the passenger door of his car.

“Alright, thank you,” Yn said, climbing in.

Meanwhile, Alexandra stood in the paddock, waiting for Charles to take her back to their hotel. A mechanic approached her, not wanting to talk to her but having lost 'rock-paper-scissor' earlier against the others.

“He left,” the mechanic said awkwardly. “With Yn.”

Alexandra’s face turned red with fury. She let out a scream of frustration, startling everyone around her.

“Are you kidding me?!” she shouted. “What is wrong with all of you?! Why does he prefer this stupid bitch over me. I’m the one he should be fucking, not driving this slut home. Oh, she will pay!!”

Phones whipped out, capturing her meltdown as she stormed through the paddock, cursing under her breath.

By the time Alexandra returned to her hotel, videos of her tirade were all over the internet. Fans mocked her relentlessly, calling her a “gold digger” or "the wicked bitch is out again" and posting memes about her jealousy.

Charles, however, didn’t care. Yn had laughed at his joke earlier, and that was all that mattered.

---

Pierre and Kika

Pierre handed Yn a beautifully wrapped gift box, his smile warm. “I saw this and thought of you.”

Yn opened the box to find a limited-edition Hermès handbag. Her eyes widened. “Pierre, this is too much! I can’t accept this.”

“Of course you can,” Pierre said. “You deserve it.”

Kika, meanwhile, had been plotting her next move. If Pierre thought a handbag was impressive, she’d go bigger.

The next day, Kika handed Yn a set of car keys.

“What’s this?” Yn asked, confused.

“A Lamborghini,” Kika said proudly. “It’s yours. Matte black, just like I imagined for you.”

Yn stared at the keys, speechless.

Before she could respond, Kika leaned in and kissed her on the lips, letting her tongueget a taste of Yn's sweet mouth. “I hope you like it,” she said with a wink.

Pierre watched the scene unfold, his jaw tightening. “A Lamborghini?” he muttered under his breath.

---

George and Carmen

Yn joined George and Carmen for a rare day off, excited for a relaxed shopping trip. But George had other plans.

As they browsed a boutique, George held up a sleek, form-fitting dress. “Yn, you should try this.”

Yn blinked. “Me? That’s not really my style.”

“It is now,” George said firmly. “You shouldn’t hide your beauty.”

Carmen nodded approvingly. “That’s so thoughtful, George. Always looking out for her.”

Yn reluctantly tried on the dress, emerging from the fitting room. George stepped closer, adjusting the fabric on her chest. He gave her perfect tit's a squeeze, making it look like he was adjusting the area.

“Perfect,” he said softly. His heart was hammering, his hands not wanting to leave her breast. It was only then that he noticed that Yn wasn't wearing a bra. Her peaky nipples winked at him. He softly stroked over them with his thumbs, before catching himself.

Yn laughed. “You’re too much.” She didn't notice anything, to engrossed in her conversation with Carmen.

Carmen, obviously to everything that George just did, smiled, thinking to herself how sweet George was to look out for her pseudo-sister.

---

Oscar and Lily

Oscar was supposed to be taking photos for Lily’s social media, but his camera seemed to have a mind of its own. Every few minutes, it drifted toward Yn, who was seated nearby, absorbed in her work.

“Oscar,” Lily said, tapping her foot. “Hello? I’m over here.”

“Right,” Oscar mumbled, snapping a quick photo of Lily before turning his camera back to Yn.

Lily sighed but didn’t bother protesting. “You’ve got it bad,” she said, shaking her head.

Oscar grinned sheepishly. “She’s just… perfect.”

---

Carlos and Rebecca

Carlos sat in the paddock, scrolling through his phone. His screen was filled with photos of Yn, her smile lighting up every shot. His panst started feeling tighter, his dick fighting to break free from his trousers.

He didn’t notice Rebecca walking up behind him until she leaned over his shoulder.

“Seriously?” Rebecca said, raising an eyebrow. “Did you just popp a boner in public because of a fucking picture?”

Carlos nearly dropped his phone. “I wasn’t—”. He quickly brought his hands in front of his trousers. However, when he made contact with his dick, he couldn't help imagine Yn on her knees for him, making him moan rather loud.

Rebecca just scoffed at him, feeling disgusted that he acted like that towards Yn in public. She looked him up and down, before muttering "Pathetic Pussy" so only Carlos could hear, and left.

That evening, Rebecca found Yn in her hotel room, exhausted. “You need to take better care of yourself, my love,” Rebecca said gently, brushing Yn hair away from her face.

Yn tried to protest, but Rebecca guided her to the bed and began massaging her shoulders. “You’re too kind,” Yn mumbled, her eyes drooping. Slowly, Rebecca brought her hands lower and lower towards her ass, giving it a squeeze and a soft pad, so Yn would stand up.

Rebecca tucked her in, smoothing the blanket over her. “Goodnight,” she whispered, climbing into bed and wrapping her arms around Yn as the big spoon.

Yn, half-asleep, murmured, “Thank you.”

Rebecca smiled. “Anything for you.” Afterwards, while Yn was asleep, he put one hand on Yn book, playing with it. At the same time, she was sucking a hickey carefully on her neck, licking and kissing her neck afterwards.

---

Despite the chaos, Yn remained blissfully unaware of the war raging around her. For her, it was just another busy race weekend. For everyone else, it was a battle to win her heart, no matter the cost.

@omgsuperstarg

@seonghwaexile