#but now I'm finally making a post about it

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Forty-One

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

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

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, pregnancy, strong language, death-anxiety (no actual death), Lando being an amazing husband.

Notes — Get the tissues ready. Check out the R.S Pinterest board post-chapter for some visuals!

2024 (Monaco)

Oscar sat cross-legged on the sofa, unwrapping a granola bar. Amelia lowered herself onto the chair opposite him with her notebook.

"What would you do if a child started to projectile vomit in a moving vehicle?" She asked, pen ready.

He blinked. "Sorry—what?"

"Answer the question."

"...Pull over. Make sure they're, like, breathing. Crack a window to get rid of the smell."

Amelia nodded. "Okay." She jotted something down.

Oscar narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing?"

"No concern of yours. Do you know how to sterilise a baby bottle?"

"Uh... no?"

"Do you know how to swaddle a newborn?"

"No, but I could YouTube it?"

She scribbled again, then looked up. "If Lando and I died tragically in a freak accident, would you be able and willing to raise our child?"

He choked. "What the hell?"

"Answer the question."

He coughed. "I—yeah? I mean, if that happened, yeah, I'd step up."

Amelia tapped her pen. "You'd need to cut back on the amount of time you spend on the panel court."

Oscar muttered, "I'd just take the baby with me."

—

Max Fewtrell sipped his flat white while Amelia stared at him, all beady eyed and completely unreadable.

"Do you own a fire extinguisher?" She asked flatly.

"...Good morning to you too?"

"Max."

"Yes. I think. Maybe? I don't know. Why?"

"Do you have a last will and testament?"

He stared at her. "Jesus, Amelia, are you going to have me killed?"

"This is all hypothetical, of course."

"What is happening right now?"

"Final question," she said. "Do you think you could emotionally support a child through the grief of losing both parents in a tragic accident?"

"...Oh my god."

Amelia didn't blink. "You're being considered for the position."

"For what?"

"Okay. I have enough information. Goodbye."

She left him sitting with his untouched croissant, both confused and mildly alarmed.

—

They walked side by side, Amelia waddling more than walking at this point. Fernando glanced down at her notepad.

"You are writing notes about me?"

"I'm evaluating your parental fitness."

"Why?"

"You might be a candidate to become the guardian of my daughter. In the event that Lando and I both die."

He blinked. "That is very grim."

"Statistically unreasonable," she said. "For me, anyway. Lando not so much." She sighed, chewing on her lip.

Fernando rubbed his jaw. "What is the criteria I must meet?"

"Emotional regulation. Moral compass. Childproofing competency. Capability of enduring a preschool dance recital."

He made a considering expression. "That last one might be a difficulty."

"You're top three so far." She told him.

"...I do not know if that is flattering or mildly scary."

"I trust you not to let her become a Red Bull junior driver; should she decide to start karting."

He nodded sagely. "Yes. Very good."

—

Amelia leaned across the table. "I have a few questions."

Max didn't look up from his phone. They were drinking milkshakes at a local coffee shop on the harbour. "Sure."

"If you had to raise a child you didn't birth, what would be your discipline strategy?"

"...Sorry?"

"Say me and Lando die. Hypothetically, if you got custody of our daughter, would you leave her at a petrol station if she disappointed you?"

He finally looked up. "Why would I get custody?!"

"I'm evaluating every available options."

"For a child that isn't even born yet?"

"She already exists. She's just... inside."

Max stared at her. "Zusje, you and Lando are not going to die."

She frowned at him. "You can't know that for sure."

He sighed. "Fine. I guess... No. I would not leave her at a petrol station, or stab any of her mechanics with a fork. But I would teach her how to drive early. Enter her into karting at three. Make sure she is ahead of everybody else."

Amelia jotted that down. "Noted."

"Am I seriously being considered?"

"You have the lowest risk of emotional instability during a crisis." She informed him.

He blinked. "Oh. Really?" He asked. "I feel like I'm a bit... hot-headed."

She shrugged. "Never with me, though. So I think you'd be the same with my little girl."

He stared at her for a beat and then smiled. "Yeah, Amelia. I think I would be too."

—

Amelia had kicked off her shoes the second she stepped into the apartment, now she was curled on the couch, laptop perched on her bump, tongue between her teeth as she typed furiously.

Lando came in behind her, fresh from a shower and still towelling off his hair. "Hey, babe. You hungry or—" He paused. Squinted. "What's the spreadsheet for?"

"Um," she said, not looking up. "It's colour-coded." She said, instead of answering the question.

"Of course it is." He padded over, still shirtless, and peered over her shoulder. "Fewtrell?"

"Yes."

"...And Oscar? Alonso? Verstappen?"

"Mmhmm."

He leaned closer, confused. "What is this?"

"Um."

"...Amelia," he said slowly, his voice pitching higher with suspicion. "What is this?"

She tapped something in the cell next to 'Max Verstappen – discipline style' and replied casually, "I'm compiling an assessment list for potential legal guardians in the case of our untimely deaths."

Lando froze. "I'm sorry— what?"

She finally looked up, frowning. "You're speaking very loudly."

"Because you're interviewing our friends to be our child's guardians in case we die?"

"Yes. Obviously. We'd need someone capable, emotionally regulated, ethically sound."

He blinked. Hard. "What about our parents? Or, like, one of my siblings? You know... our actual family."

She made a face. "Okay, I see your point." She said, completely sincere. "But I'd feel more comfortable having a list of at least five people who would be capable of stepping in."

Lando ran a hand through his hair. "Babe, you asked Oscar if he'd raise our daughter and didn't even think to mention this to me?"

"I was testing him under spontaneous stress," she said matter-of-factly. "He passed."

"Oh my god." Lando dropped onto the couch beside her, one hand dragging down his face. "Baby, we are not going to die, okay? God, maybe we should go to therapy about this."

"You already have therapy," she reminded him. "On Tuesday."

"I meant extra therapy. For both of us."

She turned the laptop toward him. "Do you want to see the rankings?"

"I—No! Wait—yes. Who's top?"

"Right now... Fernando."

He pulled a face. "Fernando?"

"He's extremely competent. Low emotional volatility. Has a very secure apartment and a predictable routine. He is also old, wise, and very rich. He would be able to hire wonderful childminders."

"...That's fair."

"Oscar is second."

"Obviously." He said.

"Max — Verstappen — third."

Lando tilted his head. "Seriously?"

"He would make sure she was loved. She'd grow up with discipline and money. Also, he has very cute cats."

Lando laughed, despite himself. "That's not... wrong."

"I ruled out Daniel because I texted him and he said that he would 'just vibe it.'"

Lando winced. "Yeah, okay, that's fair grounds for dismissal."

"Fewtrell's somewhere in the middle," she added, with a conflicted sigh. "I know we love him, and P, but he's still young and not settled down properly."

"I mean..." Lando shook his head, half-exasperated, half in love. "Babe. I love you so much, but this is mental."

"It's preparation. Contingency is kindness."

He stared at her — tan skin aglow from the laptop screen, expression painfully earnest. "You're... god, you're terrifying and brilliant."

She frowned. "I'm not terrifying."

"You kinda are."

"Do you want me to stop?" She asked, earnestly.

Lando's face softened completely. "No. I want you to keep being exactly you. I just also want to have a say in our daughter's future, you know, if we're both exploded in a tragic yacht fire."

She nodded. "Okay. That's fine."

He pulled the laptop from her lap, setting it on the table, then leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Can I be honest?"

"Always."

"I get scared sometimes too. About what will happen if something goes wrong. I think about all of the worst-case scenarios. But I know that I can't let myself obsess over 'what if's', or else I'll forget to enjoy the life I do have." He told her softly.

"Maybe that's a good idea," she muttered, but softened when he slid his arms around her and tugged her gently into his lap, belly and all.

They sat like that for a long moment, her head on his shoulder, his hands resting protectively over the curve of her bump.

"You know," Lando murmured, "no one could ever really replace you. No matter how good they are at bottle sterilising."

Amelia blinked hard. "I know."

"And if anything ever happened to me... she'd still have you. And that would be more than enough."

She buried her nose against his collarbone. "Don't say that."

"Okay. But it's true." He said into her hair.

She sniffled. "Our parents would do it, wouldn't they? They'd work together and make sure that she's raised the way we were. With love and care and attention."

"Yeah, baby. I think our family is the best idea." He told her honestly. "But you can still use your spreadsheet to choose Godparents, maybe?" He suggested.

She scrunched her nose. "I'm an atheist."

"Me too. I still have Godparents. They're just like... glorified Aunts and Uncles."

"Oh." She mumbled. "We'll have to have a long discussion about that."

He chuckled into her hair. "Okay, baby. Whatever you want."

—

Amelia sat cross-legged on the bed, half in her pyjamas, a stack of papers pushed off to the side. Her phone was pressed to her ear, the lights dimmed low. The baby kicked once — firm — beneath her ribs. She didn't react.

"Hi, Mum," she said when Tracey picked up.

"Hi, love. Everything okay?"

"No." Amelia didn't bother softening it. "I mean — not catastrophically. But I need to talk about something and I don't want you to tell me I'm overthinking."

"I never would," Tracey said gently. "Go on."

A beat passed. Then another. Amelia closed her eyes.

"If something happens to me. Or me and Lando. What happens to my baby?"

There was a pause on the other end. Not long. But present.

"Darling..."

"I've been making a list," Amelia went on. "Of potential guardians. Interviewing people. Assessing them. I've made a spreadsheet."

"I'm not surprised," Tracey said softly.

"I thought about putting Oscar first, but he doesn't know how to sterilise a bottle. Fernando is high scoring but he's not got much experience for kids. Max F would probably fill her bottles with Monster Energy."

Tracey laughed, despite herself. "What about us?"

"I assumed you'd all be willing to help. But I need a legal designation. If we die, someone has to be named. Officially."

"Sweetheart... I understand. I do." Tracey's voice was steady, but warm. "But it's also so unlikely."

"I know it's unlikely." Amelia's voice was sharp, strained. "But I can't bank on unlikely. That's not how I work. That's not safe."

There was silence again. Amelia's fingers tapped restlessly against her thigh.

"I just—" Her voice cracked. "I don't want her to be scared. Or confused. Or be stuck with someone who doesn't understand her. Especially if she's—like me."

"She'll be loved," Tracey said immediately. "No matter what she's like. Because she'll be yours and Lando's little girl. And because you'll have taught her how to explain herself. Just like you've done your whole life."

Amelia blinked hard. "You think she'll be alright?"

"I know she will be. And not just because you've planned ten steps ahead. But because she'll grow up with people who see her. Who will do whatever it takes to understand her. Just like we did with you."

There was quiet on the line. The baby kicked again, softer this time. Amelia exhaled.

"I don't want to need the plan," she said, very quietly. "But I need to have the plan."

"And that's okay," Tracey said. "You make the plan. You have it in place that me and your dad, or Lando's mum and his dad, will be named legal guardians. But then, when you're ready, let it sit. You don't need to carry it every minute."

"I don't know how not to."

"Then I'll carry a little bit of it for you. So will your dad. So will Lando. That's what family's for."

A long pause.

"Thanks, Mum."

"I love you."

Amelia wiped her cheek. "Yeah. I know."

—

Amelia lay on her side, half curled around a pillow, hoodie bunched over the top of her belly. Lando was pressed close behind her, one hand splayed gently across the curve of her bump.

"She's awake," he murmured, grinning against her shoulder. "I felt her boot me in in the hand just now."

"She likes to kick when I'm horizontal," Amelia said, with a sigh. "She's very inconsiderate."

Lando chuckled and flattened his palm more purposefully, thumb brushing small circles near her belly button. "You think she knows it's me?"

"She reacts to your voice. She kicks harder for Oscar at the moment, though."

"That's rude." He leaned down, speaking directly to her stomach. "You know I'm the one who's gonna be changing your dirty, stinky nappies, right?"

The baby gave a solid thump.

Lando pulled back, eyes wide. "Did you feel that? She literally just responded to me."

"Of course I felt it," Amelia muttered.

Lando laughed again and shifted so he could look at her properly, brushing a few stray hairs away from her forehead. "Okay, okay. What if I..." He pressed a kiss to her belly, then whispered, "You're the coolest little bean in the universe."

Another kick.

"She's gonna be so spoiled," Amelia said. "You're already hyping her up."

"She should be hyped up. Look at her genes."

Amelia laughed. "Lando."

Lando turned to her with a mischievous glint. "What do you think happens if I play a recording of a V10 engine?"

"She might decide to come earth-side early." She said.

Lando snorted.

Amelia shifted onto her back, guiding Lando's hand as the baby rolled again, this time slower, like she was listening.

"She's so real," Amelia said, quieter now. "Still doesn't feel like it all the time. But she is. Real."

"I know," he said. "I think about it every day. That we're... gonna be parents. That I get to do this with you."

Amelia didn't look at him, but her fingers curled gently around his. "You're really good with me."

"Yeah, well," he murmured, resting his forehead gently against hers. "I kind of love you."

She turned her head a little, and he kissed her softly — slow and familiar, the kind that didn't lead anywhere except safety.

Their hands stayed linked over the baby as she shifted again beneath their skin.

"Do you think she'll be scared the first time we bring her into the paddock?" Lando asked.

"No. She'll be too tiny to be scared, I think. And by the time she's old enough, it'll just be... normal for her," Amelia muttered. "But we've got to get her paddock credentials sorted as soon as she's born."

He grinned. "We'll start with a tiny little VIP badge to clip to her baby grow. And some ear defenders."

"Smart," Amelia said. "We'll both have plenty of loud men to block out."

They fell asleep like that, legs tangled, baby between them, and the next morning came soft and golden through the curtains; the first light falling directly across Amelia's stomach, as if even the sun was trying to say hello.

—

It was already warm under the canopy, even though the Monaco sun hadn't fully crested the hills yet. The McLaren paddock buzzed—orange polos everywhere, cameras drifting past on gimbals, mechanics laughing over first-cup coffees that smelled like dark chocolate and fuel.

Amelia stood at the edge of it all, arms folded over her bump, dark sunglasses perched on her nose, clipboard hugged tight against her chest. She'd already rewritten a run-plan line item; now she was waiting—still—for Oscar.

He finally jogged up, bag slung over one shoulder. "You look like an army-recruitment officer," he puffed.

"You wouldn't last a day in the army," she replied, eyes still on her iPad. "You're always late."

"I'm sorry," he groaned. "And I'm only seven minutes late!"

"Seven minutes and you dropped croissant flakes all over the sim consoles last night. They ended up in the throttle pedal housing. I had to get on my hands and knees with the little handheld hoover. Do you know how difficult it is for me to bend over right now?"

"I was hungry. I needed energy!"

She raised one eyebrow. "Energy bars exist and they don't shed pastry all over the priceless simulator equipment."

He pursed his lips, sighed an apology, then nodded toward the interior of the motorhome. "Sorry. Fine. Come on. Tom's waiting."

—

The briefing room smelled of whiteboard marker and fresh rubber. Tom Stallard—clipboard in hand, headset looped around his neck—looked up as they entered. He offered Amelia a polite nod and Oscar a wry smile.

"Morning," Tom said, voice calm, measured. "Figured we could run through hand-over minutiae before first practice?"

Amelia slipped into the chair beside him, dropping her own clipboard with a soft thud. "Good idea. At least one of you is prepared today."

"Hey!" Oscar protested.

Tom chuckled. "I'm fairly prepared, I guess."

"That's good," Amelia muttered, tapping notes on her iPad.

She flicked the screen toward Tom. A colour-coded chart lit up; Oscar's preferred comms phrasing, ideal brake-migration tweaks per track, panic phrases to watch for. Oscar-Handling 101, the header read in dead-serious Helvetica.

Tom scanned it, impressed. "This is on-top of the big folder you've already put together for me?"

"Contingency is kindness," Amelia replied. "I'm not leaving him undefended while I'm off having a baby."

Oscar leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "She's terrified you'll let me eat in the sim room."

Tom grinned. "Contraband food noted."

Amelia pointed at the final column. "He also says 'copy, copy' when he's flustered. Means he hasn't copied. Repeat the instruction."

Oscar's ears went pink. "Well you didn't have to put that in writing."

"It's an operational fact," she said simply.

Tom set the chart aside. "We'll be okay, Amelia. I've shadowed enough of your sessions to know how you translate his feedback. Not as well as you can — but enough."

She exhaled—one of those slow, controlled breaths. God, she felt like her organs were running out of room. "I know. My brain just... insists on double-checking." Her hand rested instinctively on her belly. "Can't exactly be on the pit wall at forty weeks."

Oscar's expression softened. "You'll still be in my ear sometimes, right? From home?"

"As a 'consultant'," Tom said, quoting with his fingers. "Team's already approved remote link-ups when needed."

Amelia nodded. "I'll ping in for data dives. But Tom's your primary. Listen to him. Trust him."

"Understood," Oscar said, suddenly earnest. "And... thanks—for all this. For everything. I knew you'd be — all Amelia about this. But you didn't have to be. And I really appreciate it."

She blinked behind the sunglasses, uncomfortable with sentiment. "Just keep running at the top of the field. Keep pushing yourself. Maybe win a race." She told him.

Tom pushed his chair back, easy and steady. "Right. Track walk in ten."

Oscar slapped the table once in mock salute. "Yes, sir."

He turned to Amelia as they headed for the door. "No more croissants in the sims," he promised.

She handed him a protein bar out of her bag. "Here. This is better. More stable energy, less saturated fats."

He grinned, unwrapping it. "Aw. You still love me even after crumb-gate."

"Crumb-gate," she echoed, her mouth twitched upward.

Tom watched the exchange with quiet amusement. As they stepped onto the sun-lit pit lane, he leaned toward her. "He'll be fine, Amelia."

She adjusted her headset, gaze following Oscar's retreating figure. "I know. So will I." A small pause. "But I still hate it when he's late."

Tom laughed. "I'll keep him on military time."

—

The Monte Carlo sun had a way of making everything feel cinematic. White yachts bobbed on sapphire water, the harbour glinting just beyond the paddock gates. Amelia stood by the McLaren motorhome in a clean papaya polo, sunglasses tucked into her collar, bump unmistakable beneath the fabric.

It was Media Day, and the buzz was palpable.

She adjusted her earpiece as the Sky Sports producer counted them in, the familiar voice of Natalie Pinkham coming through her headphones with a bright, practiced warmth.

"We are here in beautiful Monaco with a very special guest — Amelia Norris, McLaren's lead performance engineer and, of course, Oscar Piastri's race engineer. Amelia, welcome."

Amelia gave a nod, her voice calm, direct. "Thanks. It's really hot, isn't it?"

Natalie laughed. "That it is. Listen, you've had a phenomenal season — McLaren's surge in performance, Oscar's consistency, and Lando finally breaking through for his first win. You've had your fingerprints on all of it."

Amelia tilted her head slightly, weighing the praise before answering. "It's been a team effort. Good car, amazing drivers. We've been smart with upgrades."

"And you've done all this," Natalie gestured gently to Amelia's belly, "while also expecting your first child with Lando. How exciting for you both!"

A soft smile played at Amelia's lips. "Yes. She's a very involved team member. Likes to kick during data meetings."

That got a warm laugh from the crew and nearby media.

Natalie's voice softened. "And I believe you have a bit of news for us today?"

Amelia nodded once. "Yes. This weekend will be my last before I step back for maternity leave. Tom Stallard will be taking over race engineering for Oscar post-Monaco until further notice."

A small wave of murmurs rippled through the surrounding press. Natalie smiled at her. "So this is your last race weekend for a while?"

Amelia shrugged, still poised. "For a few months, yes. I'll still be consulting remotely. But I won't be on the pit wall again until later in the season."

Natalie leaned in a little. "How does it feel, stepping away at a time like this? With McLaren doing so well, and you being so integral?"

There was a pause. Amelia's eyes flicked briefly down the paddock — where Lando was laughing with mechanics, Oscar leaning against the wall with a coffee, talking to a camera crew.

Then she answered.

"It's... complicated," she said. "I like control. I like knowing things. And there's a lot about becoming a parent I can't forecast. But the team is solid. Oscar's going to be in good hands. And our daughter—" her hand instinctively brushed her belly, "—deserves my full attention for a while."

There was a beat of quiet. Then Natalie smiled, warm and real. "Well, on behalf of everyone watching — thank you so much, Amelia. For all you've contributed to the sport over the past five years. And congratulations to you and Lando on this wonderful addition to your family."

Amelia nodded again, just once. "Thank you."

The interview wrapped, and as the camera cut away, Amelia stepped back, peeling off her earpiece. She was halfway through unpinning her mic when she felt a familiar arm wrap around her shoulders.

Lando pressed a kiss to the side of her head. "You were brilliant," he murmured.

"I told people I'm going on leave," she said quietly, like she needed to repeat it aloud. "I made it real."

"It is real." He looked down at her bump, then back at her. "But don't worry. You're still the boss. Just... remotely."

Amelia leaned into him, the smell of sunscreen and motor oil clinging to his polo. "You think people will forget me while I'm gone?"

"Not possible," he said immediately.

She gave a small, short laugh, and he kissed her temple again.

They stood there for a moment; in the glitz and the hum of Monaco, wrapped in their own quiet kind of gravity.

—

The hospitality deck was quieter than usual at lunch time, tucked just above the paddock chaos. A few guests chatted softly over sparkling water and pasta, the harbour glittering in the background. Amelia sat at a small table in the shade, half-finished salad in front of her, sunglasses pushed into her hair.

Her dad slid into the seat across from her with a grunt and then a beaming grin. "You're hiding up here."

Amelia stabbed a tomato with her fork. "I'm taking a scheduled break."

"That's what you're calling it now?"

She gave him a dry look. "Better than 'aggressively avoiding small talk with a million people who all want to ask me the same questions.'"

Zak chuckled and took a sip of his iced tea. "Hey, I didn't say it was a bad thing!"

They ate quietly for a few minutes. She glanced at her iPad once or twice, fingers twitching like she wanted to reach for her stylus.

Then her dad leaned forward, voice a little softer. "Your mom called."

Amelia didn't look up. "Yeah?"

"Told me to keep an eye on you. That you're getting anxious over silly things." He said. "She wants you at home. She doesn't think you should be working this weekend."

"I know what I'm doing." She said back, not sharply, just matter-of-fact. "I'm flying to England on Tuesday and then I'm going to start nesting."

"Fine, fine." He said. He was staring at her. "You did an interview this morning?"

"Yeah. It felt strange." She hesitated. "Like I had to tell them that I was handing over part of my identity and pretend that I was fine with it."

Zak nodded slowly, watching her carefully. "You don't need to pretend, kiddo. You're just doing something new. Hard to do both at once sometimes."

Amelia chewed slowly, then asked, "Did it feel like that when you stopped racing?"

He was quiet for a moment. Then, "Yeah. I didn't admit it for a while, but yeah. It was hard. You build yourself around something that has a finish line, and suddenly it's not there anymore. It's just... your life."

Amelia's hand drifted to her bump without thinking. "What if I'm not good at the other thing?"

"You said the same thing when we put you into the advanced classes at school."

"I was eight."

"And you were wrong then, too."

She looked at him.

He gave her a small smile. "You're not just good at this job because you're smart. You're good because you care. And that's not going to change no matter how long of a break that you take."

Amelia stared down at her plate, silent for a moment. "I don't want to hand over Oscar."

Her dad leaned back in his chair, his tone more casual now. "You picked Stallard yourself. You trust him."

"I do." She took a breath. "But I know how Oscar works better than anyone else. How his brain ticks under pressure. And I've done everything for so long — pre-sessions, cooldowns, briefings. It's not just the job. It's him."

He nodded. "That's why you've been so good together. But you're also about to be someone's mum, Amelia. And that little girl is going to need all of that same care. All of that weirdly brilliant attention to detail."

Amelia huffed a laugh. "She's already demanding. She hates when I eat citrus. Just wants cake and tiramisu flavoured things all the time."

"She's got taste." He said. Then he reached across the table and placed his hand over hers."You're not disappearing, Amelia. Nobody is going to forget about you. You're going to have a baby, and you'll fall so deeply in love with her that everything else will fade into the background. But eventually, you'll be ready to come back. Your mom will travel with you, and you'll take over from Tom again, and everything will be just fine."

She blinked. Slowly. Then, she whispers, "Thanks, Dad. That really helps."

He squeezed her fingers. "You'll be back before you know it. And when you are—this place will still be yours. Trust me. You've made more of an impact than you will ever realise."

—

The restaurant clung to the cliffside above the marina, lit by soft lanterns and the shimmer of city lights below. The terrace buzzed with the gentle clatter of cutlery and the low hum of multiple F1 teams converging for one of those rare, off-track evenings.

It was still work, in a way — team bonding, sponsor optics, face time. But for now, it was pasta and mocktails and the smell of grilled sea bass drifting on the evening breeze.

Amelia sat wedged between Oscar and Lando, her hands cradling a chilled glass of pomegranate soda. Her feet were up on a second chair, legs aching just enough to warrant it. Lando kept refilling her glass every time she looked away. Oscar had already stolen her feta-stuffed olives.

When the main course wound down, she spotted Charles stepping out from a conversation with someone in red team gear. He looked relaxed — or as relaxed as Charles ever did in Monaco. Still sharp-edged around the eyes.

She tapped Lando's arm. "I'm going to say hi to Charles."

"You're not about to give him trade secrets, are you?"

She didn't answer. Just rolled her eyes and got to her feet.

Charles noticed her before she even reached him and smiled with something between fondness and humour. "You need a breather from the orange table?"

"I'm trying to be neutral and approachable," Amelia told him.

"You're failing," he replied, but his grin softened the jab. "How are you feeling?"

"Hot. Heavy. Slightly betrayed by my spine." She paused. "You?"

Charles tilted his head. "Nervous."

She nodded. "Understandable."

"It's Monaco."

"I know." She looked up at him for a beat longer. "The thing is, I want my boys to beat you. That's my priority and it always will be. But —" She bit her lip and leaned on the balcony. "But I want you to finish this race. Properly."

He laughed under his breath. "So do I."

She hesitated, then lowered her voice and leaned in, "So, maybe, if on your second quali lap, you just leave a little extra margin at the exit of Mirabeau. And maybe you should adjust your ride height a few inches. And your throttle pedal could, maybe, could be adjusted to the left; specifically for Monaco."

Charles stared at her. "What?"

"You heard me," she said with a faint smile. "Good luck, Charles. I hope you make your home crowd proud."

He smiled wider. "If anyone found out that you—"

"All my father would ever do is frown and me and proceed to tell me that I'm soft for you. Which I am." She smiled at him. "You've been such a wonderful friend to me, Charles. A good neighbour. You always listen to me when I speak, even if what I am saying makes no sense to you."

Charles looked at her, suddenly quiet. "Merci, Amelia. Thank you."

Amelia pursed her lips. "I'm not saying that those changes will make you win. But... They will give you a better chance at a front-row start. And we know how important that is here."

They stood like that a moment — Monaco locals by way of wildly different paths — then Charles glanced back toward the Ferrari table. "Tell your husband that I will be trying to poach you when you return from maternity leave," he said.

"Hm." She hummed. "You and Lewis next year — what a fun idea."

He blinked at her, a bit of hope clinging to the edges of his expression. "Really?"

She leaned in and kissed his cheek. "No."

He huffed out an amused breath and started to turn away, then paused and added, sincerely, "Good luck, Amelia."

"Right back at you," she said, then added, "Leave the barriers alone this year, yes?"

"I'll do my best," Charles said with a wink, and disappeared back into the red sea.

When Amelia returned to the McLaren table, Lando leaned in with a faux-casual, "So, how's your favourite Ferrari boy?"

"He's nervous," Amelia said, sitting again with a sigh. "I hope I gave him some hope. That's the most powerful tool a driver can have." She tilted her head. "Well, that and me."

Oscar smirked and raised his drink. "To questionable loyalty."

"To Monaco miracles," she corrected, and clinked his glass.

—

Later, long after the dinner had wound down and the drivers WhatsApp group had gone feral with memes and selfies, Amelia lay submerged in warm water, her back nestled against Lando's chest. The bathroom was dimly lit, the only light coming from the small lamp over the sink and the soft glow of the candles. Lavender and eucalyptus swirled in the steam.

Lando's chin rested lightly on her shoulder, his fingers tracing aimless lines over the curve of her belly just visible above the surface. The baby gave the occasional gentle kick, more thump than flutter these days.

"She's very awake," Lando murmured, thumb brushing over one of the movements.

"She likes water," Amelia said, closing her eyes. "She always calms down when I'm in the shower. But she loves a bath."

"Maybe she'll be a mermaid."

"Or a diver. Or an aero specialist. Hydrodynamics and aerodynamics aren't that different."

Lando laughed into her shoulder. "That's such an engineer answer."

"You asked."

A comfortable silence settled between them, interrupted only by the lapping of the water and the distant hum of the city outside.

"Have you thought more about names?" He asked softly.

She opened one eye. "You're not letting that go, are you?"

"You said we'd make a shortlist this week."

"Technically, you said that. I just nodded."

"Close enough."

Amelia tilted her head back against his shoulder, thoughtful. "I like Ada."

"Yeah?" He asked thoughtfully.

"It's clean. It has weight. Ada Lovelace was one of the first computer programmers."

"Shocker."

"What — that I want to name our child after a female computing and mathematical pioneer?"

"Sarcasm, baby." He mumbled against her shoulder.

She frowned. "Sorry. Missed it. My brains all misty recently."

Lando gave her a little squeeze, then said, a bit more seriously, "I like Ada. But I also kind of like names that sound like movement. Like... I don't know. Skye. Or Elia. Something with flow."

"Skye Norris?" Amelia mused.

"Eh. It's a good jumping off point," he said.

They lapsed into silence again, his hands slow and steady against her belly, her fingers lazily drawing shapes in the water.

"I'm a bit scared," she said quietly. "To be honest."

Lando didn't move. "Of what?"

"Of getting it wrong," she whispered. "The name, the parenting, all of it. I'm good at engineering because it follows rules. But babies — she'll be her own person, Lando. With thoughts and emotions. And I don't know how to... prepare for that."

He was quiet a moment. Then he said, softly, "Me either."

Amelia blinked up at the ceiling, throat tight.

"But if we mess up—" Lando continued, nudging her temple with his nose, "we'll apologise. Own up to it. And then we'll try again. That's all anyone can do."

She exhaled. "You make it sound so simple."

"Because you overthink everything."

"That's rich coming from you."

He smiled. "Yeah, well. We're both anxious perfectionists with trust issues. Our daughter is doomed."

Amelia laughed — a real one this time. "Shut up."

Lando kissed the side of her head. "She'll have us on her side, though. Always."

Amelia reached down, took one of his hands, and pressed it firmly to the curve of her belly.

Their daughter kicked again, right on cue.

"Maybe Ada Skye," she said after a long pause.

Lando hummed. "Can I suggest something else?"

"Of course." She said quietly.

"What about Rosella?"

"After Rosella Manfrinato?" Amelia asked, voice full of curiosity.

"Yeah. First female engineer to ever work for Ferrari." He said.

She nodded. "Yeah. I know." She pursed her lips in thought. "Ada Rosella Norris." She whispered, trying to get a feel of the name.

"It's strong." Lando said.

"Full of power." Amelia agreed quietly.

Lando grinned against her temple. "Our little rocket scientist."

"Our little engineer," Amelia said, smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Let's not teach her about ERS until she's at least four."

"Three and a half," Amelia negotiated.

Lando laughed.

Amelia thought it sounded like home.

—

The apartment was silent now.

Water drained from the tub long ago, and Amelia was curled beneath the covers in their bed, one hand resting unconsciously on her bump, her breaths slow and even. Moonlight slid in through the curtains, tracing soft silver lines across her cheekbones. Lando stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her — still, peaceful, warm — before stepping back out into the living room and quietly closing the door behind him.

He crossed to the balcony, tugged on a hoodie, and pulled out his phone.

It took three rings before his dad answered.

"Lando? Everything alright?" His dad sounded like he'd just woken up — it was late, and Lando had forgotten the slight time difference.

"Yeah. Yeah, everything's fine. Sorry if I woke you up," he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I just... I couldn't wait anymore. I needed to tell someone."

A beat of silence.

Then, with a hint of caution, because he knew his son, asked, "Tell me what?"

"I did it," Lando said. "I bought it. The land."

"What land?" Adam asked.

"The land, dad. Where we got married."

"You mean the—? Jesus, mate."

"Yeah. The field. With the oak tree. The one Amelia didn't stop talking about for a month straight last year." Lando sat down slowly on one of the balcony chairs, heart thudding. "But, like, I didn't just buy it, you know? I've been working with some people — architects, contractors. Builders. Decorators. It's happening. Happened, I guess. The house. Her house. She doesn't know yet."

Adam was quiet, but Lando could hear the smile in his voice when he finally said, "You're building it."

Lando nodded, even though his dad couldn't see him. "Built. Almost. Just, like, a few more pieces of furniture to get delivered. But yeah, dad. It's a real home. Just in time for the first few months with the baby. Maybe longer. It's all eco-efficient and airy — her office, a nursery, a bathtub big enough for the both of us, just like here. And the nursery..." He let out a breathless laugh. "Dad, I had it copied from her Pinterest board. Down to the wall art. She doesn't even know I have her Pinterest boards."

Adam chuckled softly. "Of course you do, son."

"It's got these soft pinks and greys. Planet mobiles, wood textures, soft-glow lamps. She pinned a photo of a reading nook by a window and I'm getting them to build one, exactly like it. I want it to feel like she's known it forever."

"She's going to love it," Adam said, gentle now.

Lando's throat tightened. "I just— When we found out that she was pregnant, I knew that she'd want to have the baby in England, you know? And I know she's more than happy to stay with her mum for a while but — I wanted her to have something that's hers. Ours."

"She already has that in you."

Lando looked out over the dark water, letting that settle. "I know. But, when I can't be there... I just want her to know," he said quietly, "you know? Be surrounded by it. A reminder that I'd give her the whole world. That she doesn't even have to ask."

"She knows, son."

"I'm going to bring her there," Lando said. "Next week. I'm hoping everything will be finished. I was hoping maybe you'd be able to go and check it out, maybe you and mum? Make sure everything's alright?"

His dad didn't say anything right away. "Of course we will, mate. Whatever you need. God, I'm proud of you, Lando. You've become the kind of man I always hoped you'd be."

Lando swallowed, hard. "Thanks, Dad."

"Now go and get some sleep. You've got a race weekend to finish — and a very clever wife to keep from figuring all this out."

Lando laughed, soft and careful, so he wouldn't wake Amelia. "Yeah. That's been the hardest part. But — I genuinely think I've managed to hide it."

They said their goodnights, and Lando stayed on the balcony for a few more minutes, watching the moonlight ripple across the water.

Then he slipped back into the bedroom and under the covers beside her.

Amelia shifted slightly in her sleep, turning toward him. He curled around her carefully, hand resting on the curve of her belly.

In four days, he thought, she'll open the big front-door and find everything waiting for her. 

Everything she'd dreamed of — and more.

—

The sky was a crisp summer blue above the city, the harbour shimmering below. The McLaren garage was alive for the most important session of the weekend—controlled chaos, comms lines tight, eyes on telemetry, hands on buttons.

Amelia stood, headset on, bump cradled behind her clipboard. The engineers around her knew to give her room; she paced with deliberate, rhythmic movements when she was thinking, and thinking was all she was doing now.

Q3.

Tight margins. Traffic chaos. Purple sectors lighting up the screen like fireworks.

"Alright, Oscar," she said into the mic, her tone flat but alert. "Track's evolving fast. Leclerc's just gone purple in Sector 1."

"Copy."

He didn't sound nervous. Just wired in.

Her eyes flicked to the screen. Telemetry humming in real time. Every time she ran data analysis through her mind, Oscar's confidence had grown sharper, cleaner. The car was under him. And he was really, genuinely starting to believe in it.

"Go now. Push out of Rascasse. Clear air."

Silence. Then the rhythm of apex and throttle and millisecond corrections filled her ears like music.

Lando, on another screen, was midway through his final flyer. "He's purple in S2," someone said behind her, low.

"Copy that," Amelia replied. She didn't move. She didn't breathe. She just watched Oscar's delta fall green, then purple—

Then time stopped.

P2.

Right behind Leclerc. Less than a tenth off.

The garage burst into motion, restrained joy quickly overtaken by calculation. Strategy talk. Track position.

Amelia blinked hard and gave her mic one last click. "That's front row, Oscar. Hell of a lap."

"I left half a tenth at the hairpin."

"I'm aware," she deadpanned. "You also just out-qualified Verstappen and Hamilton in Monaco."

His laugh crackled over the radio as he pulled into Parc Ferme. "Holy shit."

Amelia turned in her seat and locked eyes with Lando just as he pulled his gloves off. "P4," he mouthed to her, not too disappointed—energised.

"Nice recovery after that wall tap in FP3," she called across the garage.

"I didn't touch the wall."

"You kissed it, then. Should I be jealous?"

He grinned.

A Sky Sports camera panned briefly to them. Amelia didn't flinch—just shifted her clipboard against her stomach again. Someone behind her passed her a small stool, and this time she accepted, sitting with a quiet exhale.

The top three were headed to press. She watched as Oscar removed his helmet, curls flattened, grinning wide, exchanging a look with her from across the paddock before getting swept toward the media pen.

"You nervous?" One of the junior engineers asked her as they unplugged telemetry cables.

"A little," Amelia said. "But we're front row in Monaco. There are worse problems to have."

And deep in her chest, beneath the clinical logic and mechanical heartbeat of the job, she felt it — a soft, surging pride. Her best friend, on the front row. Her husband, on the second. Her team, alive with momentum.

Their daughter kicked once, firm and sharp against her ribs.

"Yeah," Amelia whispered, rubbing her belly. "Let's make the last one good, baby girl."

—

The paddock was swarming. Engineers debriefed at speed, mechanics wheeled tyres past camera crews, and over it all came the distant call of the sea.

Amelia stood from the stool someone had given her earlier, brushing her hands over the front of her dress. She'd barely moved when she caught a flash of red.

Charles.

Helmet off, suit tied at the waist, damp curls sticking to his temples. He was deep in conversation with someone from Ferrari, nodding tightly — the thrill and heavy burden of taking pole position in Monaco sitting heavy on his shoulders, even under the roaring crowd.

Then his eyes caught hers.

For half a second, she thought maybe he'd just glance and move on. He was always polite, always kind, but this was a big moment for him. He had enough on his plate.

Instead, he paused. Just a beat.

Then — a smile, genuine and boyish.

And a quiet, grateful thumbs-up. Directed at her.

Amelia blinked, then returned the gesture with a small lift of her clipboard. A quiet acknowledgment.

She'd bent a few informal, off-the-record, definitely-against-McLaren-policy rules the night before at dinner. Just a few aerodynamic notes. Not enough to sabotage Lando and Oscar's chances. Just enough to give a driver she quietly admired the best shot he could get on home soil.

And now he was on pole.

Lando stepped up beside her, having just finished media, brushing his knuckles against hers without a word. He was still flushed from the car, hair wild and eyes bright. "Was that Charles just—?"

"Yeah," she said.

Lando gave her a suspicious look. "Is this about what you two were whispering about last night?"

"Nope." She lied.

"You gave him tips, didn't you?"

Amelia stayed perfectly still. "Prove it."

Lando opened his mouth — and then just laughed. "You're ridiculous."

"Am I wrong, though?" She asked mildly. "Oscar's still on the front row. You're in a great launch position. We've got a better long-run setup. I just want Charles to get through the damn first lap this year."

Lando shook his head with affectionate disbelief, still grinning. "Corporate espionage." He accused.

"I know," Amelia said. "How terrible." She joked.

He cupped her chin and tugged her to close the gap between this, kissing her chastely. "Come on. Let's go home."

—

The narrow streets of Monte Carlo felt quieter in the early morning. Calm before the storm. A million yachts bobbed in the harbour, a gull wheeled overhead, and the team trucks hummed with activity behind closed paddock gates.

Amelia stood just outside the McLaren garage, headset around her neck. The weight of the day — and everything it represented — settled into her bones.

Final race.

Final pre-race briefing.

At least for now.

Her eyes stung behind her sunglasses, but she didn't blink too much. If she started crying, she wasn't sure she'd stop. And she didn't want anyone — especially not Lando or Oscar — trying to hug her about it.

Not today.

"Morning," Oscar said behind her, nudging her arm gently.

She sniffed a laugh, turning around. "Morning. I have notes and spreadsheets for you."

He grinned. "Nerd."

She looked over at him — sweatpants, t-shirt, hair still wet from a quick hotel shower, eyes clearer than usual. "You ready for this?" She asked, voice quieter.

He hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Think so."

"Good. You're going to get him at the start."

Oscar raised an eyebrow. "Leclerc?"

She didn't answer, just tapped her temple, then pointed at his heart. "Use both."

Oscar's grin turned boyish, proud. But then his eyes dropped to her belly. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she said. Too fast. Then slower, "I'm fine. It's just... I feel like I'm abandoning you."

He didn't try to give her a speech. Just nodded, understanding threading his features. "It's just for now," he said.

"Yeah," she whispered. "Just for now."

Lando found her a few minutes later, sneaking up behind her and sliding a cool bottle of water into her hand. "Hydration for my queen and my princess," he said, lightly.

She took it with a small smile. "You're annoying."

"You're emotional."

"I'm pregnant."

"Yes. I know," he teased, and she elbowed him. Then he pressed his forehead against hers. Just a moment of stillness in the bustle. "We'll do you proud," he said.

"You always do."

"And when you come back, our little girl in tow..."

"I'll be even smarter, and more terrifying."

"Exactly," he said, grinning. Then, a little softer, "You okay?"

She hesitated. Then nodded. "I'm okay. I'm... not not emotional. But I'm okay."

"Do you want me to find you a crying room?"

"Lando."

"I'm just saying. I'm sure there's an empty space around here somewhere."

Despite herself, she laughed. Then, very softly, rested her forehead to his chest, breathing in the smell of fuel and soap and Monaco air.

She didn't cry.

But her throat ached from not doing it.

And when she finally stepped back into the garage to take her place at the pit wall, clipboard in hand and headset secured, the world narrowed in a way she loved — to data, to pace deltas, to strategy windows.

To racing.

Her last Sunday. For now.

And her boys, Oscar and Lando, were about to make it count.

—

The buzz in the pit lane was razor-thin, and under her headset, Amelia could hear her own breathing.

The lights blinked red.

"Five." Four. "Three."

Oscar's telemetry spiked as his revs climbed.

Two. "One." Out.

The cars launched.

"Good launch," Amelia called into Oscar's ear. "Mode five. Hold your line into turn one."

He did — perfectly. Charles swept clean into Sainte Devote, Oscar tucked in behind, and Lando angled sharp around the outside of Hamilton to defend P4. But into Massenet, there was a twitch.

"Contact," came the warning from race control.

Amelia's eyes flicked to the feed — a Ferrari nudged too close. Carlos.

"Oscar. Status?" She asked tightly.

"I think I touched Sainz," Oscar said quickly, voice calm but clipped. "He turned in — we tapped."

She scanned his data; pressures stable.

"Copy. No damage on our end. Carlos has a puncture," came in from strategy.

"Maintain pace," she said. "You're still P2."

Then...chaos.

A screech; gut-churning and metallic — tore through the live feed. The monitor lit up with a yellow. Then double yellow. Then red.

"Red flag. Red flag. Slow the cars and return to the pit lane," came the immediate order from Race Control.

Amelia's stomach dropped. Another monitor showed Perez's Red Bull obliterated at Mirabeau, tangled with both Haas cars. Carbon fibre everywhere. A front wing clinging to a wall.

Amelia's hand tightened instinctively over her bump.

"Is that... all three of them?" Will asked, incredulous.

"What happened?" Oscar asked on the comms.

"Big collision. Perez, both Haas. There's debris everywhere through sector two. They've thrown the red flag so mode seven please, and come straight through to line up in the pit lane."

He exhaled. "Jesus."

"You're clean," she told him. "You did well to defend against Sainz and keep it as clean as possible. Keep your head in it, ducky."

Oscar didn't respond.

She exhaled, slow and controlled.

She glanced down at her bump and pressed her palm lightly against the curve.

Five minutes later, when all of the cars were lined up in the pit-lane and most of the drivers had climbed out, Lando found her.

"You alright?" His voice came quietly from behind. He'd handed of his helmet to one of the engineers in his garage.

"Yeah. I'm fine," she said. "Just didn't want my last one for a while to start like this."

He gave her a small, lopsided smile. "Still a long way to go."

She nodded once. "Yeah."

"Want to go and find some capri suns?" He asked.

She glanced at Will, who nodded as if to say 'Might as well, not like anything's happening here.' So she got up, took Lando's hand, and let him guide her toward the mini fridge in the back of his garage.

—

The paddock was a knot of tension. Mechanics hovered. Engineers tapped frantically on keyboards. Drivers paced.

Amelia stood in the garage, headphones looped around her neck, one hand resting on her lower back. Oscar leaned against the pit wall barrier, helmet off, sipping from a water bottle.

"Fronts are still stable," she said quietly, scanning the screen. "You were holding well into sector three before the red flag."

He nodded. "Do we go back to the grid, or rolling start?"

"Standing restart," Tom said, appearing beside her with a tablet.

Oscar took a deep breath. "Copy."

Amelia's voice dropped, so only he could hear: "Eyes forward. Don't chase Charles — let him cook his tyres. Lando's breathing down your neck, but he won't dive you into Turn One. You've got space to think."

Oscar gave her a crooked smile. "You gonna miss bossing me around?"

"Immensely," she said.

Back on the grid, the tension returned like a rubber band pulled taut. Cameras swiveled. Engines revved. Amelia's screens lit up again — tyre temps, ERS levels, delta charts. She exhaled slowly.

Lights out — again.

Charles launched clean. Oscar slipped ever so slightly — enough to give Carlos and Lando a sniff. But he held P2 into Turn One, Lando defending hard from Hamilton, who wasn't giving up without a fight.

By Lap 36, the order held steady: Charles, Oscar, Lando. No one risking the undercut — it was Monaco, after all. Strategy would come down to patience, tyre life, and sheer mistake-free laps.

Amelia's voice was calm in Oscar's ear: "Keep him honest. Don't push yet — wait for the window. If Charles blinks, we leapfrog him. Otherwise, you're the threat."

Behind them, Lando was making time. Slowly, surgically. Amelia's chest swelled with pride.

She didn't even flinch when he came over the radio to Will, his own engineer. "Tyres still feel good. Let me know if Oscar drops."

Oscar stayed tight. Impressive, really. This wasn't his circuit — but he'd driven like it was.

Then the inevitable: Charles crossed the finish line in P1. Oscar brought it home in P2, and Carlos crossed in P3. Lando missed out on the podium by a hundredth of a second.

Amelia unmuted. "Box, box. That was clinical. Well done."

Oscar whooped through the radio. "Thanks, Amelia. That was unreal. Thanks for—everything."

She smiled, actually smiled, throat tight. "Gonna miss you, ducky. Drive fast as hell for me, alright?"

"Copy that." He said.

Andrea reached over and squeezed her shoulder. "Good job."

"Thanks." She said quietly.

—

She waited by Parc Ferme for Lando to finish being weighed.

He ran straight to her.

"You're done," he said, breathless, wrapping his arms around her.

"I'm done," she echoed, burying her face in his shoulder. "For now."

He kissed her. "I love you so much, Amelia Norris."

"Yeah," she mumbled, blushing. Because she knew for a fact that there was a thousand cameras pointed right at them. "I love you too."

—

Amelia stood near the edge of the pit lane, half-shielded by the shadow of the McLaren garage. Her headset was off. Her hair was tied back. She looked tired — tired, but finally still.

A rustle of footsteps approached behind her, softer than the usual thud of boots or trainers. She turned, and Charles was there.

In a fresh pair of sweats. His face was flushed, hair damp from his dive into the water, but the light in his eyes was quieter now — grounded.

"Amelia," he said gently.

She blinked, then straightened a little.

Charles stepped forward, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her into a hug.

It was warm. Steady. Just tight enough.

Not rushed or awkward, but full-bodied and honest.

"Merci," he said into her hair, voice low and thick. "Merci pour tout."

Amelia hesitated, stunned for a breath, then carefully hugged him back, fingers clutching the fabric of his sweatshirt.

"You made it stick," she said. "Finally."

He pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes glinting. "I think maybe... I needed you to tell me that you believed I could."

Amelia's throat tightened. "I didn't do much," she said, voice soft.

Charles shook his head. "You never give yourself enough credit."

She snorted. "That's not true. I know that I'm excellent. I'm just not... sentimental."

His grin spread, warm and crooked. "Just this once." He gave her one more squeeze, then stepped back, nodding toward her bump with quiet reverence. "She's going to be very proud of her mother. One day."

Amelia's smile was small but real. "I hope so."

Charles gave her a parting wink before melting back into the paddock's glow.

—

The restaurant overlooked the water. It wasn't flashy — just candlelight, open windows, and long tables pulled together to fit the team. Plates were passed around. Bottles of wine, soft drinks, sparkling water.

Oscar sat beside Amelia, nudging her knee under the table every so often like he couldn't help himself. Across from them, Lando had changed into a casual shirt, hair still slightly damp from the post-race champagne photo. He kept glancing over at her, soft-eyed and full of pride.

Zak stood and tapped the side of his glass, raising his voice just enough to call the room to attention.

"Right. I think we all know what today meant," he said, smiling faintly. "Charles took the win, but Oscar gave us a hell of a podium and Lando brought it home clean and sharp. Great points for the team." He looked toward Amelia. "But more than that — today was Amelia's last race before maternity leave."

The team clapped — loud and long. There were whistles. Shouts of "legend!" and "go on, mama!" from the mechanics.

Amelia flushed, shifting in her seat.

"She's not just Oscar's engineer," Zak went on. "She's part of why this team found its footing again. You've felt it. I've felt it. She redefined what we thought we could do. And I know — I know — she's going to come back stronger."

Oscar leaned in and whispered, "I'm not ready for Baby Norris to be smarter than me by age four."

"Don't put that pressure on her," Amelia said. "Give her until she's five, at least."

That earned a echo of amused snickers.

Then Tom raised a glass. "To Amelia," he said, smiling. "And to Lando. Congratulations."

Amelia's eyes prickled. She wasn't good at this part. The centre-of-attention part. But she looked around — at the sea of orange and grease-stained fingernails and sunburnt faces. And she felt it. All of it.

Later, when the plates were cleared and the candles burned lower, someone passed her a small envelope. Inside: a card, signed by every team member. Tucked behind it — a folded drawing. A sketch of the McLaren garage. Tiny details included. A crib nestled between the tool chests (which was not going to happen). Her in a headset, baby in a sling. A caption underneath: "When you come back, we'll be waiting with open arms."

She stared at it for a long moment, then slipped it into her bag without a word.

Lando wrapped an arm around her as they left, walking her slowly through the cobbled street, his voice low.

"That was a lot. You doing okay?"

"I'm more than okay," she murmured, leaning into him. "I'm just... trying to remember it all. Every second."

"It'll all be here when come back," he said. "But for now — we've got a baby to get ready for."

She exhaled.

And then she smiled.

—

They were back in England by the Tuesday.

Amelia was sitting in the passenger seat, her iPad on her lap. For once, she wasn't reading sim telemetry or reviewing Oscar's feedback — that was Tom's job now.

She was just... reading. A romance novel. She'd renewed her kindle unlimited subscription for the first time in almost three years.

When the car veered off the familiar road toward a narrow lane nestled between fields, she furrowed her brow.

"This isn't the way to my mums," she said.

"I know," Lando replied, his tone light but unreadable.

"Are we visiting someone?"

"You'll see."

She frowned at him but he just reached over and squeezed her leg.

They pulled up a gravel path flanked by hedges still brushing off their spring blossoms. At the end of it: a gate. New. Black metal. The kind that hummed softly as it opened automatically.

Immediately, she knew where there were.

Could see the blur of the old Manor House in the distance, hidden by the rolling green hills.

Amelia turned to him, heart thudding, eyebrows slowly drawing together. "Lando?"

He glanced at her. Smiled. "Just trust me."

The driveway opened into a wide clearing. Green everywhere. Hills rolling in the distance. And in the centre of it: a house.

A new house.

But not just a new house.

It was...

God.

Holy shit.

It was her house.

Amelia stared at it. White stone, deep-set windows, pale wood accents, red brick roof. A big front-door with a place to kick off muddy boots. Like a conglomeration of the millions of pictures that she'd shown him on sleepy nights.

She was quiet for a long time.

"I don't understand," she whispered wetly.

He got out of the car, came around to open her door. Helped her out gently, hand on her back, then on her belly.

"You told me," he said, "that you felt safest where things didn't echo too much. Where the air didn't feel tight. That you wanted your daughter's first memories to be somewhere soft. This is going to be that place, baby."

She stared up at the house again. "When?"

"When you got pregnant." He scratched his neck, suddenly sheepish. "I— Well, I'd already bought the land. Bought it the first time you sent me the listing. But I only started talking to architects after we found out you were pregnant. Designers. Pietra sent me your Pinterest, by the way. I had to bribe her."

Amelia made a shocked sound somewhere between a breath and a laugh.

"Come inside." He whispered.

Inside, the air smelled like cedar and fresh paint. Light poured through tall windows. There were shelves already filled with books — her books, she realised, when she looked closer. All of the books she'd left at her mom's house in Woking because it would have been ridiculous to ship them all to Monaco. A kitchen with an enormous window overlooking acres upon acres of green, a table big enough for noisy breakfasts and quiet late-night sandwiches. A fireplace in the living room. A crocheted blanket already draped across the back of the couch, ("my nan made it for us," Lando murmured), and Amelia felt like crying.

And then — the nursery.

Creamy white walls. A crib. The exact mobile she'd dreamed of. Tasteful art hung on the walls, pink accents. Calm. Serene. An armchair in the corner. A side table with a lamp that looked like the one from her childhood bedroom — it was, she realised, upon closer look. A window overlooking the hills. Blackout curtains. A chest of drawers packed to the brim with an array of different sizes of nappies and a million packets of wet wipes and a closet that was full to the brim with the suitcases worth of baby clothes that she'd been buying and having delivered to her mom's house for the past seven months.

She pressed a hand to her mouth. "You remembered everything."

"You deserve everything."

Her eyes brimmed with tears. "I don't even know how to..." She trailed off, too full to finish.

Lando stepped closer and placed her hand against his chest. "You don't need to say anything."

"But I—"

"This is for you, baby. All of it. Forever."

Tears spilled silently down her cheeks.

He leaned in, pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Welcome home, baby."

[ephemeralbutterfly]

[Image IDs:

All the images in the first post are of separate Reddit posts on r/lgbt from u/CountryMamaLynn

First image: Post titled "My son came out NEED ADVICE", which reads:

"If this post seems a little messy its because I'm typing this out quick.

Y'all this is a new account I made just now because I need to vent and I'm not sure where else to post this and my family follow my real account.

My son 15 just came out yesterday as gay to my husband and my husband kicked him out well I was at work! I got a panicked phone call from my baby telling me everything and let me tell y'all I was pissed I left work early and drove over to my house where I saw my baby boy sitting on the curb with his clothes and shit all across the damn lawn and a screaming as if now soon to be ex husband who is not the man I thought I married!!! I gave that bastard a piece of my mind and told him that if he can't be a man and support his son then he can kiss my ass and find someone else to pay his bills. I shoved by boy's stuff in the back of truck and went to hotel that I'm in right now cause my parents can't pick us up till Monday so we can stay with them. I don't know much about this whole gay thing so what can I do to make my kid feel accepted????

EDIT I took y'alls advice I pay for the house so that mother fucker will be out in a few days and my son will be back in his home. I bought my son a bunch of pride stuff! Apparently he's had a boyfriend for around 7 months now and I'm getting to meet him over facetime tomorrow and I'm so excited!!!! I'm doing everything I can to make him feel loved. Out of everything that's happened the most heart breaking thing was my son saying "I'm sorry I'm crying mom I just need to be strong" I told him that he doesn't need to be strong he needs to be loved and that I'll do anything I can to make him feel that way. God this is the hardest thing in my life" [text cuts off at bottom of image]

Second image: Post titled "Meeting my baby boy's bf tomorrow !!!!!" reading "I'm sooo excited y'all, we're meeting over facetime and I'm so happy I'm knitting my son a rainbow blanket and aaaaaa its turning out perfect!!!"

Third image: Post titled "C: get fucked mark" which is the women yelling at the cat meme with the women labeled "My ex husband trying to kick out my son for being gay" and the cat edited to be wearing a rainbow cape and labeled "My son and I kicking him out cause I own the house"

Fourth image: Post titled "Update y'all Mark's reaction (read the previous posts if you're confused)" which reads:

"(In case you don't know this is the after math of me kicking out my now ex husband after he tried to kick out my baby boy for being gay while I was at work.)

I called him and very "Kindly reminded" him who owns the house and pays the bills and he was screaming about how "You need me woman, you can't just kick me out whore" and asked to meet in person. So I did but I don't trust him so I brought my adorable camo baseball bat just in case things went south so we met up in front of the house and he was hooting and hollering about how "I was already screwing a different woman so I don't need you!" And obviously this upset me but hen I remembered that I don't have to put up with this crap so I told him it's time to haul ass before i make him and he started crying like a baby begging me to let him stay and saying "you'll never find another man like me" and I told him that is the whole point of me leaving him. So he finally left after hours crying like a bitch and now my son and I have lots of extra space!"

Fifth image: Post title "HAY Y'ALL Mama Lynn update" which reads:

"I was talking to my son who if you haven't seen my other posts came out recently, and found out I might not be just a straight ally!

I assumed all straight ladies were also just as attracted to other ladies as they were men and I never really thought about it till now but turns out I might be bi??? Is that the right word?? Thanks for all the love n support!!"

Sixth image, in reblog: The "Good for her" meme

End image ID]

[bananayuyu]

Behind the Scenes

pairing: idol!yunho x makeup artist!reader genre: smut wc: 1.6k

summary: being a makeup artist on tour certainly had it's perks, and anytime he wanted you, Jeong Yunho was gonna take what he could get

warnings: smut, MDNI, they do stuff in a storage closet lol, throat fucking, facial, degradation, mean!yunho a bit, semi-public sex, vaginal fingering

a/n: thought I'd be finishing my San series this weekend, but then he went and posted these pictures. he will be the fucking death of me. sorry for typos, I barely edited this <3

++++++++++++

"Holy shit, Bora fucking nailed it today, you look so good."

"You think?"

Yunho's lips were turned up in a smirk, his brows high. But even when he tried to poke fun, you knew you always had the upper hand when it came to bickering. It was too easy with him, his good nature always slipped through, even when you wished it wouldn't. Being a makeup artist on tour allowed you all the proximity needed to know everything about him.

You rolled your eyes at his question, indication enough that you were not going to do this in front of everyone.

"Will you take some pictures for me?" he said instead.

"Now?" You had to ask it with that surprised look on your face, otherwise everyone would start to figure out what was up.

"Yeah."

"Kiki, do you need help with San?" you called across the room.

"His hair's gonna take another ten minutes probably, but then we'll need to finish his face makeup," she answered.

"Okay, I'll be back in a few."

With one look at Yunho you made for the door, and he lazily followed you out, long arms and legs swinging. He was already biting his lip; he had seen how you were looking at him earlier, when he'd first walked in the door with his outfit on.

You were damn good at hiding it in front of everyone, but he knew the look of lust when he saw it. Even if it only flashed in the whites of your eyes.

"Where do you wanna go?" you asked as he exited the door behind you.

"Let's just walk down this way, see if there's a good spot." He held out a hand, pointing roughly in the direction of the quietest part of the hallway.

The part he'd scoped out earlier. But he was a good actor, and even you weren't sure if this was part of the plan or not.

"Here?" you asked as he pulled up to an old grey box backstage, rough marks across it's front indicating the copious years of use.

"Yeah," he chuckled, handing you his phone with the camera pulled up, then leaning against it, one hadn't in his pocket, one on his chin, staring off with all the nonchalance he could muster.

"Okay," you laughed, shaking your head snapping the photo.

"What, is it bad?"

"It's fine, that box is just, kind of ugly."

"I'm not," he shot back. "Keep going, keep taking them."

"I am," you replied, rolling your eyes. You'd been doing this for months, it was mildly insulting that he didn't realize you understood how to do this.

He peered around and grabbed hold of a pole infront of him, part of a support structure in back of the stage. Then he goofily threw his arms wide, twirled around, then stopped himself again and jutted out a hip, cunty as ever.

"Oh my god," you laughed, finally pulling the phone down. You'd taken probably thirty pictures already, but this background really wouldn't suffice.

"What?"

"There no where else we can go?"

"You don't like this background?"

You shot him a disapproving look, and his eyes sharpened a bit in return, his lip again caught in his teeth as he tried to keep from laughing.

"Fine, let's walk further," he said, eventually.

Finally you came to the shiny doors of a service elevator, as wide as they were tall, at least a solid color and unmarred by scratches.

"Better?" he asked.

"Much better," you nodded, walking back to give you the appropriate distance. Yunho immediately was taking it more seriously, locked in, face set and poses at the ready. He knew his angles and knew exactly how to hold his face, making each photo a new masterpiece. There was one where he held his face to the side, and the sight of his jawline and profile were so perfect you twitched a moment, the second picture turning blurry.

"Do I look good?"

You chuckled in response, not shaking your head or nodding, not giving him anything. You just stared with slitted eyes, almost pissed at your dear coworker who'd styled this outfit, how it so perfectly encapsulated everything that made him so fuckable.

"Let's do a few more," he said, readjusting one last time.

And then he leaned back, stretched his arms forward, and winked.

At you, not at the camera. You could feel how pointed it was.

"Yunho." You stopped, pulling the phone down, and just stared at him.

"Come on," he said, tilting his head to the side, indicating a door just to the right of the elevator.

With a quick look over both shoulders you hastily followed him, slipping inside the small room.

It was a storage closet, of course, as always. His lips were on yours before you could think to say anything, and he was grabbing hungrily at your waist and hips, forcing his tongue in your mouth, claiming your body in every way he could. It may have always been you with the power when it came to words, but as soon as they were gone and all that was between you was lust addled heat, he was suddenly in control.

"Get on your knees," he mumbled, breaking the kiss enough to say it, only to kiss you hard again and back you up against a wall, making it difficult to follow his command. You felt through his pants and he was already firm, your own panties filling with arousal as he towered over you. With force you pulled away, slunk down slowly, and let him work at his belt and zipper, pulling his pants just low enough to reveal his hard length.

"You like this outfit don't you?" he asked as you let him enter your mouth, slowly rubbing the underside of his tip along the warm velvety plane of your tongue. The heat and wetness was electrifying, and so too was the dark look in your eye as you gazed up through blinking lashes. "You got all fucking horny just looking at me, didn't you?"

You were nodding constantly, mumbling answers around his thick cock, holding your head steady as you knew he liked.

"Your such a little whore, couldn't wait for me to fuck you mouth, could you?" His voice got so much deeper, so much richer, when he had you like this. Gone was the sweet Yunho you always knew when working; he'd never be able to keep up with your sharp tongue then, but once your mouth was filled and he had the space, he loved to get mouthy.

"Open up for me," he said as he tried to push in further, the back of your throat feeling far to tight to take him. You whined in response, always finding this part hard; he did what he had to do, landing a quick smack to your right cheek, the shock of it always making your throat open involuntarily. He used the opportunity to push in further, his hips finally coming nearly flush with your face.

"Fuck, that little throat is so fucking tight," he groaned, holding you there, your head pressed against the wall behind. "Who knew so much shit talking could come from such a tiny throat."

You normally would laugh in pride at someone calling you that, but you were having trouble breathing, and you were so fucking horny, and he had rendered you as mindless and fucked out as he always did, just from one simple movement.

You waited for him, holding your breath, and finally he pulled back, only to push in again. It was even harder, rougher, and he didn't care how quickly tears were streaming down your face or how hard it was for you to catch your breath. He had only minutes before he was expected on stage, he knew that, but he needs this release, needed this chance with you.

"I could fuck your mouth all day baby, such a good little slut for me," he groaned, holding tight to your hair with one hand, the other smacked to the wall in front of him. From below all you could see was his wide chest and wide shoulders, his shirt accentuating them, his tie floating in the air above you. You wanted to reach up and grab at it, to fuck with him a little, but soon his thrusts became so fast and harsh that there was nothing else you could think of. It didn't take long for him to start coming down your throat, and then he pulled back to let the end of his orgasm wash over your face too, painting you in his cum.

You sat panting as he held his cock in his hand, his breaths coming hard and in waves, your own lungs struggling to find any rhythm. You swallowed hard, coughing a few times as you regained yourself, brushing a strange of hair out of your face that was stuck there.

"You look so fucking hot covered in my cum," he murmured, tucking himself back into his pants, zipping them up and latching his belt with ease. You stood slowly, your knees aching from the position you'd been in, a trail of arousal slipping down your leg. You were wobbly and flushed, eyes still dark, and Yunho knew what you needed, it was so easy to tell.

He turned you around and bent you over, forcing you to place your hands on the wall for balance. Then he pulled down your pants, pushed your panties to the side, and slipped three long fingers inside you easily, your cunt so flushed and wet that he didn't need to spit too.

"Fuck," you cried, his movements harsh and fast, his end goal in mind. It didn't take long until he felt you spasming around him, but he kept going, even as you rag dolled forward and almost fell, even as you mumbled and whined incoherently. He didn't let up until the spasming came again, using his other hand to rub over your clit and rip your second orgasm from you.

[niningtori]

freudian

pairing(s): choi beomgyu x you, choi soobin x you

summary: freudian - susceptible to analysis in terms of unconscious desires. or, your parents have forced you to be "best friends" with minji, a woman you're convinced was put on this earth specifically tailored for you to have a mutual hatred with, since elementary school. she's confident, beautiful, and charming; and her boyfriend, beomgyu, is just as formidable. he's been a pain in your ass, an asshole to you to the most severe degree, since they got together in college. now, you're roommates with minji, but you begin to secretly take interest in beomgyu's best friend, soobin. it's just that... beomgyu's been acting weird these days.

genre: angst, romance, smut (mdni), lowkey yandere

warnings: smut (mdni!!!), yandere!beomgyu but more like pathetic!beomgyu, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, impregnation kink, no real dom/sub dynamic bc it didn't feel right but sub!gyu is coming back in a big way in "our deal"

word count: 13.1k

notes: hello my friends! i know i've been gone for a minute and i told myself i would post this on my bday at the latest... mind u it was in may LOL but this is a bit long for me so i hope that makes up for it a little 🥹 thank you all for being so patient with me. i hope you enjoy, and if you do, please leave feedback—it is truly so encouraging! if you don't like it please spare me i beg you cuz i'm still riding the struggle bus n don't want my feelings hurt

( ཀ͝ ∧ ཀ͝ )

“human beings are funny. they long to be with the person they love, but refuse to admit it openly. some are afraid to show even the slightest sign of affection because of fear. fear that their feelings may not be recognized, or even worse, returned. but one thing about human beings that puzzles me the most is their conscious effort to be connected with the object of their affection, even if it kills them slowly within.” - sigmund freud

-

you’ve never been one to try to work against the inevitable. some would call it pragmatism, others would call it simply being a fucking loser, but you try not to dwell on its meaning. as it is, when your parents forced you to become “best friends” and “practically sisters” with minji in elementary school, you just let it happen. and when she inevitably drew the attention of every boy your eyes happened to linger on for longer than ten seconds, you also let that happen. as the years passed, and your parents forced you to tolerate all of minji’s, frankly, bitchy behavior, you stopped trying to avoid your fate and became as seemingly unflappable as you are now. 

to say that minji is cartoonishly evil would simply be a lie, no matter how much you feel that way, but even you can recognize that she’s nice to a lot of people. it’s just, for some reason, you’re not one of them. when you two were forced to hang out together with friends, she would always bring up embarrassing stories to try to get them to laugh at you, and she's so damn charming, it worked. and on the rare occasion in which you felt kind of confident in your looks, she’d wait until you all were in public to point out insecurities you didn't even know you had. and the one time in middle school when you finally tried to tell your parents how awful minji was to you after she lied to the boy you liked by telling him that you called him ugly—which somehow resulted in her “comforting” him and becoming his first girlfriend—minji bawled like a baby during the mediation. in the end, you had to apologize to her for hurting her feelings. 

even so, forced proximity is a breeding ground for understanding, and you understood minji from the start. in the same way, she understood you. honestly, regardless of your wishes, she probably understood you better than anyone else; but that is no longer the case. for as much as you two have always hated each other, there used to be fleeting moments of connection. her making a snide comment about an obnoxious neighbor when they compared you to her, and you taking care to make sure nobody ate the rest of her favorite dish when she was late to family dinner. you two may have disliked each other, but there was an undercurrent of… something. it was a twisted relationship, you won't deny that, but it was a relationship, nonetheless. however, all of that dissipated like smoke once you reached early adulthood. to this day, you're not sure why. 

yours and minji’s parents pretty much forced you to room together in college, both stating that it was the only way they’d feel comfortable with you two being on your own. regardless of how quickly the two of you would now dismiss such a ridiculous notion, you were both relieved at the idea. it was almost like having a built-in companion. however, very shortly after you two settled in, things went from mildly bad to absolutely abysmal. undeniable, but ultimately menial, feelings of derision from minji became outright disdain towards you. you won't lie and say you didn't become petty in return, and you’ve never cared enough to fix such a strange dynamic, though you sometimes wonder if you should. 

as it stands, minji could hear you getting slandered to pieces, and she’d probably join in. as for you, you’d indifferently watch someone gorge the rest of her favorite dish at family dinner rather than speak up for her. now, after both having graduated and joined the workforce, you no longer have to worry about threats to cut your livelihood off. realistically, you could stand up to your parents and say, “fuck minji, fuck her parents, and fuck you both for manhandling me into being her friend!” but that sounds awfully dramatic, so you won’t.

besides, minji, for all of her raging bitchiness, is actually the best roommate you could ever ask for. for example, she never leaves her stuff lying around, and she always rinses off her dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. the only consistent downside has been the men she’s brought home since freshman year of college, which you declare are none of your business, but the sounds of her… passionate encounters are a real drag. still, you could mostly tolerate them, but her current—and seemingly permanent—boyfriend seems determined to elicit the most perverse sounds he can out of her. at first, you prayed that it was just the honeymoon phase, but it’s been literal years at this point, and the screams reverberating through the walls of your apartment would be an inconvenience to anyone; but it’s especially troubling on nights like tonight, in which you have to be up extra early tomorrow morning for a meeting at work. 

as you clutch a pillow to the top of your head in a vain effort to muffle out the lascivious noise, you contemplate maybe sending a text message asking minji to try to keep it down. maybe you could knock on the wall, and maybe that'd remind her that you're also a sentient human being who happens to occupy the room right next to hers. but you know it'd be fruitless, know it’d do nothing to actually help your situation. in fact, on the rare occasions that you’ve politely requested that they be considerate of your poor, battered sleep schedule, or even just subtly hinted to having something important in the early morning you needed to be well-rested for, it's always seemed to come back around and bite you in the ass. it's almost like they become even more unhinged than usual when they know you need your sleep, so there's absolutely no point in trying to get them to quiet down. still, as the hour ticks by, you become more and more anxious that you'll be unable to wake up tomorrow morning, so with a sigh, you tentatively knock on the wall between your bedrooms. 

surprisingly, the noise ceases, and you really think standing up for yourself might have just worked out in your favor for once, but then you hear minji and her boyfriend snicker, and then there's the damning sound of their resumed activities. she was loud before, but now, it's like minji is being mauled or something. so much for being well-rested.

-

you wake up the next morning feeling like you got hit by a truck, and you just know you look like shit. you try your best to cover your dark circles, but at this point, who are you fooling? when you finally leave your bedroom, you run into minji’s boyfriend, the one she's been obsessed with since college. beomgyu. 

“good morning,” he says with a lazy smirk as he leans over the counter. “did you sleep alright?” god, he’s such a fucking asshole.

“yep,” you mumble as you push past his shirtless body and reach into the fridge for your lunch.

“really? doesn't seem like it. you look like shit,” he chuckles, and while you don't even spare him a glance, you can just feel the smug look on his face emanating off of him and boring into the back of your head.

“thanks,” you say flatly as you fill up your water bottle. you're unsure why he even talks to you, but if you had to put it into words, it'd probably be something akin to the phenomenon of a cat watching a mouse as it backs itself into a corner. even so, you don't know why he bothers with trying to get a reaction out of you. you've never reacted to his taunts very much, but he still seems hellbent on making life difficult for you.

“you know, maybe if you got some good action, you’d understand why minji's as loud as she is,” beomgyu continues, almost as if he doesn't sense your unwillingness to participate in this—or really any—conversation with him.

“i'll keep that in mind,” you say perfunctorily as you shuffle over to the doorway and slide on your shoes before shutting and locking the door behind you. you don't see the way beomgyu’s fists clench at your unrelentingly dismissive tone, and even if you did, you wouldn't understand it.

-

in retrospect, you didn't have a particularly strong impression of beomgyu when you first met him. you vaguely remember him hanging around minji, and you somewhat recall listening to her rave about him against your will. still, her treating him like he’d been molded by the hands of the muses probably killed any interest in getting to know him in its crib. honestly? you probably should have planted some seeds of doubt in her mind when you two were still somewhat cordial, because if you had, maybe he wouldn't be with her today. your penchant for apathy has cost you peace, it seems, because beomgyu is at every family function and in every family photo, and at this point, it’s only a matter of time before he’s your de facto brother-in-law. 

it looks as though his continuous onslaught of criticisms about your appearance, your demeanor, and your very presence have no discernible end in sight; and minji is more than happy to up the ante whenever he's around, which is fucking always. you almost think that you, in some strange way, make their bond grow even stronger. after all, you're pretty passive prey, and it must be somewhat fun to invent new ways in an effort to push your buttons. still, you're older and more jaded now, and you're pretty resigned to your fate. anyway, there's no way to make a completely clean break from them without your family causing an uproar; and for as much as you resent them, you don't want to do that. 

-

you've been staying out more and more these days. after all, you're not getting much sleep at home, so what's the point of being there? plus, you’re effectively harassed by minji and beomgyu every time you have the displeasure of seeing them, so why bother? at least, that's what one would think your reasoning is, but reality is much more complicated than that. and your reality involves soobin, a guy you met in college, who you happened to reconnect with when you went out drinking with some coworkers a few months ago. 

how do you know soobin in the first place? well, you initially met him through his best friend… beomgyu. so, complicated is putting it very generously. frankly, you’re surprised someone as sweet and mild-mannered as soobin is best friends with an asshole like beomgyu, but then, you’re “best friends” with someone you fucking hate, so you guess that’s just how things work out sometimes. 

even when you are home, you don’t speak to beomgyu, who’s at your apartment so much, you wonder why he and minji haven’t just bitten the bullet to officially move in together and leave you stranded; but you're thankful they haven't because the roommate market is in dire straits. realistically, you never did speak to either of them for any meaningful amount of time outside of deflecting their verbal jabs about how you're an undesirable loser, but now, it’s even less than ever. 

you spend the night at soobin’s pretty much constantly, so tonight, your elusive presence at your own apartment is particularly jarring. the kitchen is dimly lit by the moonlight and the fluorescent lighting above the stove, and the only sounds are from you quietly opening up the plastic of the post-midnight snack you’re making. that is, until you hear the door to minji's room opening as beomgyu creeps out and lightly shuts the door behind him. you immediately register his nearly-naked form, but you're so used to it by now, you don't even blink. 

“hey," he says tentatively, but you've never been particularly in tune with beomgyu's emotions, so you don't catch the hesitation in his greeting.

"mm," you hum as you furrow your eyebrows, focusing on preparing your snack. 

"you haven't, uh, been around much. everything okay?" he asks gently.

“yep,” you reply as you focus on setting the timer.

“have you been working a lot?” he probes.

“not really,” you mumble as you begin to pour yourself a glass of water. it's late, and you've been with soobin all night, only returning home because you didn't bring a change of clothes for work tomorrow, so your inhibitions are lowered. you're not as guarded as usual, and beomgyu is intent on capitalizing off of that.

“you should eat some real food,” he suggests, trying another tactic. “i could… i could make you something, if you want.” this is… weird. beomgyu has never offered to cook for you, and while he's made things before that you happen to like, it’s always been in service of minji; and he’s only ever offhandedly remarked that there were leftovers available to you. of course, you’ve always refused, so his present consideration is daunting, to say the very least. finally, you make eye contact with him.

“uh, thanks, but it's fine. i'm tired, so i want to eat something easy and quick before bed,” you say as you redirect your attention to your timer, willing it to move faster so you can eat and get the hell out of here. you push your hair back as you wait, and you unknowingly reveal a darker patch of skin where soobin had unintentionally sucked too hard on your neck. in the dim light of the kitchen, beomgyu’s eyes immediately zero in on the mark. he draws closer, his tall frame looming over yours as he holds your hair back to get a better look.

“what's this?” you balk at his question and his overly-familiar proximity. you try to pull away, but he just steps closer, essentially trapping you between himself and the counter.

“who were you with?” he asks between clenched teeth, his eyes narrowing with a darkness you’ve never seen from him, or from anyone, really. 

you wave his hand away in annoyance.

“why do you care? you're too close,” you defiantly reply. his jaw ticks as he leans down closer to your face, his intent eyes scanning your annoyed ones.

“who were you with?” he repeats, his voice even lower this time. thank god above that your timer goes off, and you push him off of you as you grab your food and scurry to your room, eager to put some distance between the two of you. you shut your door, as usual, but for some reason, you're compelled to lock it. 

-

you think of your bizarre encounter as a one-time thing, though you're still not sure what to make of it. yours and minji’s families have always tried to push the “family” narrative between you two, and beomgyu by extension, so you briefly entertain the thought that he might actually just be buying into the ludicrous idea, albeit belatedly; but that thought is snuffed out when his previous asshole behavior is dialed up to 100. the groceries you buy are always mysteriously gone before you can even finish eating them, your keys are never where you left them, and you swear minji and/or beomgyu are using your shampoo with the intent of draining it immediately every time you buy a new bottle. is this their way of “hinting” at you to kick rocks and find your own place? if so, how petty. getting a new place on your own would be expensive, and while you're not home much anymore, you feel it's far too early in your relationship with soobin to formally suggest moving in together. you'll just tough it out.

among all the preteen-level hazing tactics, though, there is one thing that genuinely unsettles you: things in your room are always slightly out of place. your mirror is slightly tilted a bit differently than usual, the clothes in your dresser are folded a bit more crisply than you remember, and you're trying not to feel crazy when you can't find a few pairs of your favorite panties.

tonight, you're finally home from a long, long day of work, and all you want to do is relax. you realize that soobin's home is a lot more peaceful, but his parents are visiting from out of town until tomorrow evening, which means they’ll be staying at his apartment until then. soobin still kindly offered to have you spend the night, and while you'd be happy to meet his parents, you’d feel a bit awkward with going any further than a simple dinner for a first introduction. 

so you're home. while you thought you knew beomgyu’s schedule well enough to successfully avoid him, it seems that he's awake far later than usual, and he's lounging on the couch when you walk through the doorway. his eyes immediately dart up when he sees you. 

“damn it,” you mentally curse, and it's like he can hear your unsavory thoughts.

“home late from whoring around again?” he drawls. you roll your eyes while taking off your shoes, but he’s especially relentless tonight.

“that's all you're doing, you know,” he continues. “nobody will ever take you more seriously than that. what do you have to offer other than mediocre sex?” there's a sneer on his mouth, which is normal, but his eyes are burning with the same unsettling intensity you registered when you last saw him; and while you’ve usually considered beomgyu as a mildly annoying pest, you start to feel a real inkling of anger. you don’t care—well, you shouldn't care—but it’s like he's dealing even lower blows than usual. you're about to answer with something —anything—but he does not take kindly to your silence.

“see, even you don't know the answer to my question,” he says with a mean laugh. “that poor bastard must be desperate for pussy to settle for you. but easy is easy, i guess.” 

for the first time ever, you actually do respond, and of all the things you could conceivably say, you unintentionally utter a string of words that happen to be particularly soul-crushing to beomgyu: “you're fucking disgusting.” you don't stick around after that, because he clearly doesn't give a shit, so why should you? you could rub your relationship with beomgyu’s very own best friend in his face, but he's not worth it. you’ll go back to ignoring him like you usually do, and you genuinely consider scouring the web for roommates. you even consider just moving out and paying this city’s exorbitant amount of rent on your own. you'll see.

beomgyu, however, is reeling from what you said. for reasons he can't possibly begin to understand, those three seemingly innocuous words, probably uttered without much thought, seemed to dig at something inside of him he can't quite explain. the pain is there, but its source is buried deep down, down, down in his stomach. he tells himself it meant nothing, that you didn't even think about what you said before saying it; but for some reason, the notion that you didn't have to think about it, that you just said what you honestly felt for him, makes him feel even worse.

he's not sure what outcome he was expecting. after all, he wanted to push your buttons, so why did succeeding for the first time feel so… so strange? he feels a sense of unease unlike anything he’s ever felt before. he’d talk about his feelings, but he doesn't understand where they're coming from, and even if he did, who would he tell? minji? the thought alone is laughable. while she has absolutely no qualms about dumping all of her problems on him, he’s never reciprocated. besides, any mention of you quickly devolves into shit-talking. he could tell soobin, but his so-called best friend has been flaking on him for reasons unknown. 

between the two, the answer is clear: soobin. still, having a non-conversation with him sounds unappealing, so he'll simply make soobin come out with him and the rest of their friend group. even if he can't quite articulate his feelings, just getting wasted with his friends should be enough to tie him over. he texts his group chat naming a day, time, and bar. everyone eagerly agrees, even his recently dodgy best friend.

-

being fifteen minutes late is one thing—even thirty minutes would be acceptable—but when soobin still hasn’t shown up an hour after the agreed upon time, beomgyu is thoroughly irritated. he tries to text, but when they remain unanswered, he harshly pushes out his chair and heads to the bathroom to call his increasingly unreliable best friend. the phone rings… and rings… and rings. beomgyu’s jaw clenches as he begins to accept that soobin, in fact, will not answer. then, just when he’s about to hang up, a groggy voice echoes into his ear. 

“hello?”

beomgyu tries to rein in his temper as he snaps, “soobin, where the fuck are you?” 

“huh?” soobin mumbles.

“you were supposed to be here a fucking hour ago. why are you bailing again? are you hooking up with someone without telling me?” usually, beomgyu couldn't care less about who soobin’s latest fuck is, but he feels the barest amount of dread in his stomach for reasons he will soon understand. 

“uh, no,” soobin replies, his voice a little clearer this time in lieu of beomgyu’s edge. “i’m just… really tired. look, i’m sorry i bailed again. we’ll go out soon, okay?” beomgyu is temporarily placated until the following moment.

“come back to bed,” beomgyu hears someone whine in a sleepy voice. it’s too low for beomgyu to pinpoint whose it is, but the dread he feels makes a resurgence. 

“are you fucking serious right now?” beomgyu snarls. “you keep bailing on me because you're shacking up with someone, aren't you?” he's not sure why, but he's compelled to ask, “who is it?” 

“no! it’s… it’s just the tv, i swear. look, uh, i’ve gotta go. i’ll text you later, alright?” soobin thinks he hangs up the phone, but unfortunately for everyone involved, he does not. beomgyu knows he should end the call and grill soobin for some answers later, but something tells him to keep listening, so he does—which is a decision he will come to regret.

“you're such a baby,” soobin coos as he loudly plants kisses down somebody's body. fuck whatever decision beomgyu thought he was making, he’s hanging up now. but then, a voice he’d know anywhere cuts through the haze. your voice.

“mmm, soobin, i need more.” 

what the fuck? 

beomgyu gasps sharply as if he’s been kicked square in the chest, the breath leaving his lungs until they start to burn. he thinks it can't get any worse than this, but then the real noise starts. it’s all a blur, really, but between the breathy moans, the cries of pleasure, the unmistakable sound of flesh meeting flesh, and soobin’s filthy words of satisfaction, what really stuns beomgyu the most is your stomach-churning praise. he can barely comprehend where he is, can barely register anything outside of the noises that threaten to break a barrier within him that he never even knew existed. 

beomgyu’s eyes squeeze shut, and his voice is nothing more than a rasp as he says, “soobin, i’ll fucking kill you.” he’s surprised at how much he means it, because right now, he really could imagine stringing his dearest friend up like prized game; but soobin’s phone has long been forgotten, tangled up in his sheets as he continues to sloppily fuck you. 

“you feel so goddamn good,” soobin growls. “gonna fill you up, sweetheart.” 

you cry out wantonly, and finally, finally, beomgyu hangs up and rips his phone away from his ear as if it burns him. he’s panting now, and he’s unsure why, but his hands are shaking as he throws his poor phone at the bathroom wall, watching it shatter with reddened eyes.

he won’t let you and soobin do this to him.

-

you’re fast asleep after your passionate indulgence with soobin, snugly curled up in his sheets wearing nothing other than one of his t-shirts. soobin smiles down at you before pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead, murmuring something about loving you. his head whips up when he hears his front door unlocking, and he carefully extricates himself from your tangled limbs, but he’s not quite fast enough to intercept beomgyu before he enters the bedroom. 

beomgyu is shaking with rage in a way soobin has never seen him do, but if beomgyu had the capacity to comprehend it, he’d notice that soobin seems surprisingly calm in what should theoretically be an unsettling situation.

beomgyu, though, is too shaken to wrap his mind around anything except for the sight of you curled up in his best friend’s bed. it’s a brutal confirmation of what he already knew, but wanted to deny. beomgyu can't bring himself to leave the bedroom, but he keeps his voice as low as he can despite his rage. he does not understand why. 

“you fucking bastard. you’re supposed to be my best friend, how could you do this? you’ve been fucking my girl’s best friend for god knows how long now, and you didn’t think to tell me?” beomgyu snarls, his voice low and dripping with venom.

“this has nothing to do with you,” soobin says flatly.

“has nothing to do with me? she may be a fucking loser, but she’s family to me, and you turned around and fucked her without asking me first?” beomgyu is filled with righteous indignation, and soobin’s incomprehensible demeanor shifts from dismissive to awed.

soobin silently stares at beomgyu with wide eyes and a gaping mouth before he incredulously asks, “oh my god, you really don't get it, do you? even after all this time… jesus, you’re either stupid or in denial.”

“what the fuck are you talking about?” beomgyu says fiercely, but soobin only sighs in exasperation.

“beomgyu, i knew you were clueless, but i didn’t think you were this clueless. look, she’s your girlfriend’s ‘best friend’, and even that is debatable, and you’re just the guy who happens to be dating her friend. so what? you won’t marry minji, won’t even officially move in with her, even after all of her ‘hints’ for ages now, so what exactly makes you family?” beomgyu falters at soobin’s words, but he doesn't back down. not yet.

“because i’ve known her for years! i’m still a part of her life, and she… she’s basically like family to me. i mean, i see her every day, i’m at every fucking holiday with her, every family dinner, and i know her better than you do.” beomgyu feels a bit pathetic having to explain his place in your life like this, but the words are still asserted with conviction. his next words, though, are not. “and she’s… she’s not like all your other flings. she’s not supposed to deal with bastards like you who only want to use her.” 

soobin, again, sighs. 

“there’s only so much shit you can do behind your ‘protective brother figure’ bullshit, but if you want to go there, we can go there. what kind of brother figure jerks off to his sister figure after he gets done fucking his girlfriend? and don’t lie, because i used to live with you, and i’ve heard you whine her name in the bathroom a million times.” beomgyu turns beet red as his jaw drops in sheer shock at the brazen accusation, no matter how true it may be; but soobin is not near finished. 

“and what guy threatens every man who ever takes an interest in a girl that's 'basically his sister’ before they can even say anything to her? you’ve been doing that shit since college, beomgyu, and the real reason you’re so scared to see her with someone else is partly because you’re terrified that they’ll turn out to be exactly what you are: obsessed—not because you’re waiting for the right guy.” beomgyu opens his mouth to retort, but he finds any words he might say dying in his throat before they can quite make it through his lips. soobin continues matter-of-factly, no room for debate.

“the rest of it is because you want to be the right guy for her, but you know you can’t be, because to her, you’re just the asshole who’s shacking up with the girl she’s hated all her life. you won’t live with minji, because that means you two would probably have to live alone, so you wouldn't be able to see the person you really want. and you won’t marry minji, because then, things would really be over, and you’d have no chance.” 

beomgyu feels like he can’t breathe, let alone speak, at soobin’s merciless deconstruction of his repressed feelings. he desperately wants to deny it, but when he looks at your sleeping form, the only thing he wants even more desperately is to hold you. you look so devastatingly beautiful like this, and he would say he wants to see you like this forever, but that’s not true. what he really wants is for your eyes to flutter open just to look at him, and for him to be the only one you see, just like you’re the only one he sees. he wants you to sleepily smile up at him before letting him touch you, hold you, kiss you, just like he’s wanted from the day he first met you. his eyes turn red as they begin to ache with unshed tears.

beomgyu swallows thickly as he feebly chokes out his next words. 

“i know. i know i'm… i’m a coward. but i love her. what am i supposed to do?” despite soobin’s unforgiving speech, beomgyu has no one else to turn to with this. he momentarily forgets that the man he’s pleading for guidance from is the very man who’s taken you away from him. and that man is now irritated.

“you're not getting it,” soobin scoffs. “you already have no chance, and you never will. instead of just approaching her like a fucking normal person, you were too much of a coward to risk being rejected, and because of that, you’ll never be anything to her. i’m not going to sit here and help you win my girlfriend over. you don't deserve her, and even if you did, i still wouldn't help you.” 

… girlfriend? girlfriend? soobin is many things, a man-whore being one of them, so beomgyu had assumed soobin was just hooking up with you behind his back. truthfully, the thought of anyone in this world having you in that way, the way beomgyu never could, makes him feel like he’s going to vomit; but to know that you’re not just one of soobin’s flings, to know that soobin sees what beomgyu’s seen in you since the moment he first laid eyes on you… that’s what truly makes him feel like he’s going to be fucking sick. 

he's angry. of course, he's angry. but more than angry, he's distraught. he’s never felt so stripped bare—naked and vulnerable for anyone with eyes to see—his usual arrogance failing to cover the ugliness that's been the crux of his true nature for longer than he can remember. he’s been exposed, belly up, with his insides torn out and put on display like a fucking frog stuck under a microscope. and all the while, soobin has been sitting and watching beomgyu squirm as he futilely tries to free himself.

“so, you… you knew how i felt this entire time, and you still got with her?” beomgyu chokes out between strained breaths. this makes soobin pause, and for the first time, he looks like he feels somewhat guilty for what he’s done.

“... yeah. yeah, i did. i thought, well, if you're never going to do anything, why can’t i? i… i’m sorry.” beomgyu knows soobin is not a malicious person, and deep down, he knows he can't blame soobin for seizing the chance to be with you. if he were in soobin’s shoes, if he had a fraction of his bravery, he’d have done the exact fucking same. but still. still, how could soobin do this to him? he could have chosen anyone else in this world, just not you. anyone but you.

“sorry? you’re sorry? you just sat there and fucking ripped me apart, and now you're telling me you’re sorry?” beomgyu accuses with a bitter laugh, his voice unconsciously raising with every word. how could soobin make him confront his unrequited love for you only to rip it out from underneath him? soobin’s supposed to be his best friend, and now he's stealing the love of his life away. but then, he supposes you were never really his in the first place. he's panting now, flushed and angry and at the very precipice of snapping into something unrecognizable. 

soobin pauses before he placatingly says, “look, i know you're overwhelmed right now, and i know you're hurting. but you—”

“are you seriously trying to fucking level with me right now?” and he's pretty much shouting now. “you don't love her the way i love her. you don't even fucking know her. i know everything about her. i know what she loves, what she hates, what she eats, what her favorite words are, what kind of medicine she prefers to take when she's feeling sick. i know fucking everything about her. you don't love her like that, you can't love her like that. nobody can love her like that, besides me!” how dare soobin say beomgyu doesn't deserve you? beomgyu has hurt you, yes, but he still loves you the most. he loves you so much, it hurts.

beomgyu feels his restless fingers aching, and though he's never really been much of a fighter, he wants to wrap them around soobin’s neck to choke some sense into him. 

but then, he hears the bed creaking. you're awake.

you rub your eyes before you sit up with the sheet precariously clasped to your chest, looking disheveled and beautiful and like everything beomgyu’s ever wanted. you're tired from your activities with soobin, but you're also a little disoriented from the wine you two drank earlier. your voice is hoarse when you ask, “beomgyu? what are you doing here? what the fuck’s going on?”

beomgyu feels his heart clench in his chest at the sight of you. he wants to shush you and cradle you to his chest as he coaxes you back to sleep, but you're not in his bed, you're in soobin's. with a longing he's never acknowledged before, he gently pleads, “c'mon, get up and get dressed. i'm getting you out of here.”

the fog over your mind clears and your eyes widen as you finally grasp how potentially cataclysmic this situation is. beomgyu is probably pissed that you're dating his best friend, and who knows what kind of machinations minji will create to tear you two apart when she finds out. you already kind of resent your parents, so if she spreads lies to them about soobin, you wouldn't really mind cutting them off; but how would that make soobin feel? and if minji wants to destroy your reputation to soobin’s friends and family, you know she'll have no trouble doing it. soobin would try to defend you, of course, but you don't want to put him through that.

beomgyu’s deeper intentions fly over your head, and you warily hiss, “what do you want from us?” 

beomgyu’s breath grows even more ragged when soobin’s shirt slips off your shoulder and he sees the mark he left on your neck. god, he wants to scrub every trace of soobin off of you, wants to erase every memory of soobin's treacherous touch from your mind. he wants to occupy every cell of your body, wants to make you forget about every other man who's dared to touch you. he tries to force the thought of what you two and soobin were doing before he got here out of his mind, but his eyes are watery as he pleads, “i want you to come home with me, okay? please? we need to get out of here, we can’t—”

“i’m not going anywhere with you,” you snap. “you're not my fucking family, you're not even my friend. you don't get to tell me what to do.” 

“don't say that, and please… please don't look at me like that.” beomgyu is fully crying now, and the haze of shock finally makes you register how distraught he looks. you're about to ask what the fuck is happening yet again, but he says something you could never imagine he’d say. 

“i love you. all i want to do is love you. please, just let me show you how much i need you, okay? just come home with me—i'm begging you.”

… love? as a pseudo-sister-in-law? you want to believe that's the case, because no matter how far-fetched the notion is, it's still a million times more believable than a romantic explanation. but even so, you simply can't dismiss the way he's looking at you like he needs you to breathe, which is certainly not platonic, let alone familial. 

you're absolutely rendered speechless, and you look to soobin for silent confirmation; but he's not calm, cool, and collected like he’d usually be. he grabs the trembling beomgyu by the collar and drags him out of his apartment. after he pushes beomgyu out of the door, he yells, “i don't give a shit about your fucked up feelings, leave us the fuck alone!” 

beomgyu is far too stunned and distressed to comprehend what's happening until the door is slammed in his face, but when his mind finally catches up, he goes from distressed to hysterical. he's bawling now, tears streaming down his reddened cheeks as he hiccups pleas to you—and threats to soobin—from outside the door amidst his frantic knocks. 

but it's not enough. he can't hear if you two are shuffling around or talking about him, even when he presses his ear to the door and tries to shush his own cries before going back to pounding on the sturdy wood. before any progress can be made—if such progress were even possible—apartment security is dragging him out of the complex and warning him not to return unless he wants to be thrown in jail.

beomgyu trudges back to his apartment. it's quite a bit of a walk from soobin’s place, but he would rather stumble home than call for a ride and risk someone seeing him like this. he cries until he can't cry anymore, and he's still shattered about it all when he finally makes it home. all he wants to do is pass out in his bed so he can briefly forget any of tonight ever happened, but he knows he'll somehow end up producing a few more waves of tears before he can do that. he unlocks his front door and he can already feel his eyes preparing for more tears to fall. 

but, like always, minji has a nearly preternatural knack of appearing when he wants to see her even less than he already does.

“beomie, baby, what's wrong?” she asks concernedly as she walks up to him from her spot on his couch and fusses over him. he knows he looks utterly defeated, like he's just got done being steamrolled, and she seems eager to console him. in a way, he thinks she's probably a bit happy to see him so vulnerable, because he never is in front of her; but he doesn't have the time to dwell on that.

he's not really sure what to say, honestly. how does he verbalize tonight's events? how does he tell her soobin uprooted his most twisted feelings for the girl minji has an equally-twisted relationship with? he decides that the best thing to do is to let her go, and that he needs to tell her the truth for once. he sighs and pries her gentle hands off of him. 

“minji, i need to tell you something,” he says shakily. 

“what is it, babe?” she asks with furrowed brows. “what's got you so worked up?” 

he pauses and bites his lip as he tries to figure out how to word things delicately. he may not like her very much, but she still deserves better than what he's given her. he settles on telling her, “i think we should break up. i just don't… don't think i'm the right person for you. i'm sorry.” 

surprisingly, she laughs. “don’t be stupid, you are the right person for me, just like i'm the right person for you.” 

beomgyu blinks as he tries to process her reaction. he finds his voice and tries again. “no, i'm not. and no, you aren't. i—”

“why?” minji interrupts. “because of your weird obsession with my ‘best friend’?”

beomgyu is speechless for the millionth time tonight. all he can seem to squeeze out of his throat is, “w-what?” 

“you heard me,” she shoots back, disturbingly calmly. “what, did you finally tell her how you feel and get rejected?”

“... what the fuck?” beomgyu gasps, too taken aback to say anything else. 

“it's been a long time coming, i guess, but i could’ve saved you the suspense and told you what she'd say,” she snorts. “you didn't have to get all worked up over nothing.”

“you… you’ve known about it all these years, and you never said anything? what the fuck is wrong with you?!” he exclaims. did everyone in the world know besides you and him? he hates the very idea of it. he hates that he's been suffering in silence, and hates that you’ve never cared enough to notice.

minji has been incredibly tame during this bizarre discussion, but now, she’s hurt, and she’ll say anything at all to hurt him back. 

“oh, please, beomgyu,” she sneers with a grating, teary laugh. “you were so fucking obvious with everything you ever did. the way your eyes trail after her like a goddamn puppy, the way you never want to hang out at your place instead of mine, the way you always get so pissed off when she wears a skirt that’s a little too short. do you think i’m stupid? do you think i don't realize that touching me makes you fucking sick? come on, beomie, you make that pretty goddamn clear with the way you only ever fuck me with the lights off, and how you only really want to touch me when she can hear us.” 

beomgyu feels like he might throw up, or maybe even pass out, he’s not sure, but he thinks he’ll find out soon. he’s utterly humiliated and disgusted with himself to a level he previously couldn’t fathom, even more so than before, but he just can’t wrap his head around one last thing.

“then why did you stay with me if you’ve known how i feel this entire time?” he asks weakly, and she lets out a scoff at his cluelessness.

“because i love you. because you belong to me. we just make sense together. she doesn't deserve someone like you, i do.” she says it like it's the most natural thing in the world—like she's mulled over her ridiculous reasoning a million times over, and she has.

“you’re… you’re fucking crazy. you don't—” 

“beomgyu, be reasonable. look at her, then look at me. nobody else in the goddamn world would pick her over me!” her words falter a bit as she says that, a few pesky tears unconsciously escaping her beautiful eyes; but she composes herself enough to continue. “listen, i know you think i'm a crazy bitch, but don't you get that i'm the only one who really understands you? i know who you really are, and it doesn't bother me. as long as you take your feelings for her and put them towards me, i won't be disgusted by you like she is. i'll accept you, no matter what. don't you want that?” 

“why the fuck would i want someone like you?!” he snarls. “you're—”

“i’m what?” she asks as tears finally fall freely from her eyes. “insane? i hate to be the one who has to break it to you, but you're just as bad as me. that's why we suit each other. from the start, you’ve only ever seen her, not me. it’s not fucking fair that she gets to have you when she doesn't even have to try! she doesn't have to try to take you from me, she doesn't have to try to get people to like her, she doesn't have to try at all. i try so hard to be perfect for you, and here you are, telling me you don't want to be with me because of someone who doesn't even like you.” 

no, no, no. this isn't how it's supposed to be. his world has been thrown off its axis in the span of one night, and he’d rather fucking die than hear another word. minji latched onto him because she couldn't comprehend someone wanting you over him, and in her own way, she loves him. and you… you're with soobin because beomgyu is a coward above all else. he wants to go back in time and never call soobin tonight, he wants to live in the thinly-veiled ignorance he's been occupying for years now, he wants to be the person he thought he was mere hours ago. lastly, he wants to feel used by minji, but he doesn't even deserve the dignity to feel that way, because he was using her right back. 

“get out,” he murmurs.

“beomie, come the fuck on. you’re letting your emotions get to your head. think about what you're doing!” minji borderline shrieks.

“you're right, you know,” beomgyu replies after a pause, and minji is temporarily relieved. she steps closer to him and tries to reach for his face, but he snatches her hands and keeps them in his firm grip as he continues. “i'm just as crazy as you are, but that doesn't make me want you. i hate myself, but i hate you, too. all your life, you've been trying so hard to be better than her, but no matter what you do, you can't force me to want you. i love her, and i'd rather keep wanting and never having her than keep pretending that i can fucking stand being around you. now get out,” he growls as he forces her out of his apartment and slams the door in her lovely face.

-

if beomgyu really thinks about it, he's always teetered right on the brink of knowing the truth, but he's been successful in fooling himself just enough to keep his feelings tamped down. when minji made a mocking comment about you losing your virginity in college, he'd gone home and cried, but he told himself it was because of the stress of finals looming over him. when he consequently spread a rumor about you being a mediocre fuck around campus, he told himself it was because anyone who'd believe him simply didn't deserve you. and when he'd zoom into the background of photos taken with minji just to get a better look at you, he told himself he was simply scrutinizing your appearance.

every time he stole your panties, he'd blame it on the taboo principle of it all rather than it explicitly having to do with you in particular. every time he’d get turned on only when you were around, he'd blame it on some secret exhibitionist kink he didn't know he had. every time he’d pretend to come in his condom during yet another unsatisfying fuck with minji, he reasoned that he was only pounding into his fist in the bathroom while imagining it was you because… well, he didn't really read into his actions for fear of what he might find.

it's a miracle he was able to live in denial for so long, and he should be grateful that the truth didn't come out sooner. still, as the weeks since the night he pathetically confessed his feelings to you pass by, he doesn't feel grateful in the slightest. he could stalk you, probably. he could threaten soobin and make him pay for what he's done. there are a million twisted things he could do to get you back in his sight, but he doesn't want to do any of them. because you wouldn't like them. because you might hate him even more than you already do. and if he's learned anything from minji, it's that you can't force someone to love you in any meaningful way.

so, he rots. he wakes up alone, goes to work on autopilot, comes straight home and drinks until he's incoherent, then goes to sleep, well, alone. he should probably try to go back to how he was before he met you, but he feels like that was another life—like he was a different person. time seems to be split before and after he met you, as much as it pains him to admit it.

it's a lonely, rainy night like any other when he's home late from work. he’s been here more in the past month than he has since he began dating minji, but he's adjusting to his newly single life as well as he can. the apartment is devoid of many personal pieces, furnished sparsely and lacking any real character. he cracks open a bottle of whiskey and begins drinking directly from it, not bothering to even use a glass. he sits on his uncomfortable couch, like he always does, and thinks about all the things he's done wrong. he doesn't even get the chance to get tipsy when he hears a knock on his door.

it's probably minji again. she's come by a few times since he dumped her, and while he could probably get a restraining order or something, he kind of enjoys seeing her suffer the way he suffered. it's not healthy, he knows, but it's one of the few forms of pleasure he feels these days. something is different tonight, though. the knocking isn't frantic, it's almost hesitant, and it doesn't last for very long. he furrows his eyebrows, and for some reason, he shoots up from the couch and rushes towards the door. his breath catches when he looks through the peephole.

there you are, standing awkwardly—almost like you're not even sure why you're there. you're drenched from the rain, and one of your arms is wrapped protectively around yourself as the other reaches towards the door, perfectly poised to knock again. just before your fist can quite make it to the door, you pause and retract it—folding it on top of your other arm. you stand still for a moment, and beomgyu is simply too stunned to move. at least, he is until you turn and begin to walk away.

with a speed he didn't even know he possessed until now, he wrenches the door open and grabs your arm before you can even react. 

“wait,” he pants, not from exertion, but from adrenaline. “what… what are you doing here?”

he thinks he sees you gulp, but that could just be wishful thinking. your lips part and close again a few times before you manage to ask, “can we talk?” 

“y-yeah, of course. um, come in,” he stammers awkwardly as he reluctantly releases his hold on you.  

what is this? some kind of psychological torture? you’ve never sought beomgyu out until now, which should give him a spark of hope, but he knows better than to delude himself. 

he steps away from the doorway to let you in and lightly shuts the door behind you. he clears his throat and asks, “if you're—do you need anything? a towel, maybe, or clothes. and i have… i have water, if you want. i mean, if you're thirsty.” he hates how fucking stupid he sounds right now, but it's almost like he can't stop talking.

you're quiet for a moment before asking, “can i have some clothes and a towel?”

his eyes widen a bit before he eagerly nods. “o-oh, yeah. just give me a second.” he tries not to sprint to his room, and he prays to god that he has clean pajamas for you. luckily, he's able to find something suitable. he returns to the living room and offers the clothes and towel to you with trembling hands. “here,” he says. “you can change in the bathroom down the hall. i… i’ll put your clothes in the dryer, okay?” 

you purse your lips and nod. he watches you pad down the hallway until you're no longer visible. he lets out a deep breath he didn't realize he was holding and seats himself on his stone slab of a couch. fuck, he should’ve gotten a better one like minji nagged him to. also, he’s been meaning to wipe down his bathroom mirror for a while. most importantly, though, what the fuck are you doing here?

he doesn't have time to dwell on it before you're walking back into the living room. his eyes snap up, and he feels a lump in his throat when he sees his clothes on you. his clothes, not soobin’s this time. it feels like he's hallucinating, to be perfectly honest, but he's fine with that. he just hopes the illusion continues.

it’s all too real when you plop down on the couch beside him, maintaining a respectful distance. fortunately, the couch is not only hard as concrete, but small to boot, so you end up only being a few inches away. maybe it isn't so bad after all. his thoughts are halted when you clear your throat and speak.

“soobin, uh… well, he told me everything he knows, but i just… i mean, i wanted to hear it from you,” you stammer. he knows exactly what you’re talking about, but he wishes he didn't.

“what do you want to know?” he asks in resignation. 

“everything,” you tell him, and he purses his lips with a stiff nod. he's had plenty of time to think about the unfortunate circumstances that led him to his sorry state, so the words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“i’ve always thought that you were so… so pretty. i saw you laughing with your friends on the way to class one day, and i knew i wanted you to look at me like that. and when i listened to you talk to your friends, i thought you were so smart, funny, and… and nice.” his lips are turned up in a wistful smile, and his eyes are uncharacteristically gentle. “but you never saw me, not really. you just saw me as minji’s friend, and i thought—i don't know—that if i just hung around her more, you'd warm up to me. i don't even think you remember, but i tried to be nice to you, to include you in conversation, to stand up for you. i swear to god, i did. but… but i saw the way you looked at someone else one day in the library. i remember it so clearly—you actually smiled at him and laughed at his jokes, and he wasn't even trying like i was. i was so fucking angry, but i thought i could make you see me if i made you as jealous as you made me, and i thought that there was nobody better to do it with than the girl you hate the most.” 

oh, god. you actually feel… kind of guilty? is guilty even the word? you haven't done anything wrong, you know that, but you feel like you've unintentionally twisted the knife in his chest with your apathy. for as much as you've always wanted him to drop his antagonizing demeanor, you don't like how pitiful he looks right now. “beomgyu, i…”

“yeah, i know. i was wrong,” he continues, his soft smile twisting into a self-deprecating one. “i went from being nothing to less than nothing, and it just… it made me desperate. so, i kept trying, got mean; but you never cared, no matter what i did. i guess i thought that if i could never have you, maybe i should stay with minji, because then i could make you feel something for me. even if it was only hatred and disgust—anything was better than nothing.”

“beom—” you begin to say, but he's so lost in his feelings, so lost in the foreign sensation of talking to you and actually having you listen to him, he can't stop himself.

“i just wanted you to pay attention to me. and i could—you know—keep an eye on you. but you… you don't give a shit about me, you don't even consider me as a man,” he laughs. “if i think about it, maybe i was trying to make myself an option for you, at least, and that i could show you what you're missing if i tried hard enough. but you could never actually see me that way, and… and it's all my fault.” he lets out another harsh laugh, making you wince. 

“i… i didn't know,” you say awkwardly. he takes a shaky breath before continuing.

“i've been begging for you just to give me scraps of you, because i thought it'd be better than nothing. all i ever wanted was for you to at least consider me, but you don't, you never did, and because of what i've done, you never will. i know i was wrong, i know everything is my fault; but i just wanted to be important to you, can't you understand that?” his eyes are pleading like they were when you last saw him. he's not asking for much, not even really asking for anything, and for some reason, it hurts your heart a bit.

because beomgyu is right, of course. you’ve never really cared about him, but that's not all of it, is it? you were resolved to your indifference before he even uttered a word to you, and while the disgust you've always felt for him is his fault, can you truthfully say that you’d have given him the time of day if he were nice to you? probably not, because of his association with minji. in your mind, there was no reason he’d like you if he knew her first, so his intentions were rejected before he could ever even understand them.

“i really didn't know,” is all you can think to repeat.

“i know,” he says with a bitter smile. you lick your lips before continuing.

“but i do know that i wouldn't have liked you even if you were nice to me. i don't… i don't talk to guys who are involved with minji. there's just… no point, i guess. and she liked you, and i thought you liked her, so… so i didn’t bother to get to know you.” beomgyu’s eyes are watery, but he retains his smile. he was doomed from the start, it seems. 

“i should’ve just talked to you myself instead of using her to get close to you,” he whispers.

“yeah,” you reply, and his smile finally drops; but what else could you possibly say? if he hadn't gotten involved with minji, you'd have probably liked him. he's handsome, of course, and you can't deny that he's funny. and, well, you two do seem to have a lot in common based on what you know from small talk he'd make with your parents during family dinners.

“i'm sorry,” he murmurs. “i'm really, really sorry. even if you didn't like me, even if you never would've no matter what, i shouldn't have treated you the way i did. i don't blame you for hating me, and i should be grateful you haven't done anything other than ignore me.” he means what he says, but it doesn't sound like it, because he doesn't feel grateful at all. he feels utterly hopeless. in the end, your indifference was more painful than any intentional retaliation could’ve been. 

you are silent. he's not trying to make you feel sorry for him, and you know it, but that makes you feel even sorrier. you're still struggling to form an appropriate response when he breaks the silence.

“i like listening to you talk,” he blurts out, making your eyes widen. “well, you don't really talk to me, but i overhear you a lot. i like listening to everything you say, and i like the way you say it. i like how you look, how you dress, how you laugh. and i… i like how you see the world.”

“don't you think i'm a little pessimistic?” you ask, your lips subconsciously curling up in a small smile. of all the things beomgyu could tell you he likes about you, that is truly something you never anticipated.

“i think it makes you interesting,” he says quickly, his smile tentatively returning. 

you let out a soft laugh—the first one you've ever directed at him—and he can't help but straighten up with a bit of pride at having made you happy, even if just a little.

after your laughter, though, you think back on all the things you've wanted to ask beomgyu since that night at soobin’s. you know he'll tell you the truth, so you ask, “... were you the one who messed with my stuff?”

“yeah,” he replies with no hesitation. the sheer ecstasy of your attention makes him quite forthcoming, no matter how ugly the answers to your questions may be.

“even my panties?” well, that one is a bit more difficult to answer. 

“... yeah,” he sheepishly mumbles after a pause, but his next words are hurried. “and everything soobin said i did, i did. scaring guys away, being an asshole to you for attention, uh, jerking off to you in the bathroom… all of it. i know i'm fucked up, and i know i probably scare you, but i would never hurt you. i just want to love you. i just… i want you to care about me.” 

you take a breath and begin, “i—”

“wait! before you say anything, i just want you to know, it's… it's okay if you don't like me,” you can tell the words are like lead in his mouth, “but can't you just acknowledge me a little bit?” christ, he's so pathetic. you're not used to him being so… sweet? to you, but maybe you could be. 

for as much as beomgyu has been thinking about his failed confession, you can't lie and say you haven't been thinking about it, too. you really did love soobin, but there was always a bit of reservation on both of your parts—a quiet kind of affection that you were happy to let grow organically; but your love was never all-consuming, never desperate, never aching. but beomgyu… beomgyu looks like he'd prostrate himself at your feet if it meant you'd give him the time of day, and he would. 

“i can,” you say simply, and his eyes widen.

“you… you can? what do you—”

“i can pay attention to you. i can care about you.”

his face tenses and his adam’s apple bobs. his voice is strained when he asks, “what are you saying?”

“i'm saying, i’m willing to get to know you the way you know me. i just want to see how things go, because… i don't know, i kind of... like how weird you are.” 

elation, triumph, and sheer relief overwhelm him. he doesn't want to ask his next question, but he feels like he has to. “what about soobin?”

you purse your lips and answer, “we… we broke up. no hard feelings, we just kind of realized we wanted different things out of our relationship, i guess.”

“oh, thank god,” he murmurs as he releases a shaky breath. theoretically, he should at least offer perfunctory condolences, but you two are way past such insincerity. you both know he's over the moon right now, and he's spent more than enough time lying.

only now do you notice that he's somehow managed to scoot closer and closer to you until your legs are touching without your knowledge. the clothing between you doesn't do anything to tamp down the buzzing sensation at the tentative contact. you look back up at him to meet his gaze, and his eyes are trained on you like you're the only person in the world. now that you think about it, you’ve caught glimpses of this kind of focus before—the kind of focus in which he looks at you as if everything and everyone else besides you has faded away.

his gaze flicks from your eyes down to your lips before refocusing. he leans in so close, you can see every minute detail of his face. long lashes, round eyes, slightly-chapped lips he keeps on licking from sheer nervousness. 

his voice is barely above a whisper when he asks, “please, can i…” he doesn't dare to finish his question, so there it hangs, unspoken yet unfathomably heavy. 

it’s like there’s a strange sort of magnetic pull drawing you to him. before you can recount all of the reasons why this is a bad idea—at least, so soon—you tell him, “okay.” 

that's more than enough, it seems, because in a flash, beomgyu cups your cheeks in his big, warm hands and tenderly traces his thumb along your jaw before pulling you in. 

the first meeting is pure electricity. your lips immediately slot together as if they were always meant to be that way—as if everything else was simply an obstacle leading to this inevitability. the hums of energy you feel at your clothed legs touching is nothing compared to the way every nerve in your body is set ablaze right now. you feel him shudder before he reluctantly pulls away. his eyes never leave yours, and the look in his eyes is so intense—so hungry—you feel breathless under its weight.

“thank you, i've been wanting to do that for forever,” he mutters breathlessly, and he should be finished by now, but his hands remain on your face. he gently pushes your hair behind your ears before adding, “can i… can i show you what else i've been wanting to do? i swear, i'll be perfect, and i'll stop whenever you want. i know it's fast to you, but it's not to me. i just… i want you to feel how much you mean to me. but… but i won't push you.” he’s serious about that, you know, but he looks like he'll die if you don't let him prove himself to you. his cheeks are flushed, and if his squirming weren't enough, the obvious tent in his sweatpants tells you everything you need to know. 

for the second time tonight, you take a deep breath and say, “okay.”

“oh,” he groans as he pulls you back in for another kiss. this one is much more fierce, utterly insatiable. his tongue licks your bottom lip, begging for entry, and you eagerly oblige. he moans into your mouth as his tongue tangles with yours, trying to commit every centimeter to memory. he’s embarrassingly hard humiliatingly fast, but he’s fantasized about this for so long, who can blame him? 

when you two break for air, his eyes are darkened with lust as he gulps and asks, “can i—” 

before he can finish, you cut him off by palming him through his sweatpants. the groan he releases is utterly guttural and animalistic in nature, and you carefully add, “do whatever you want.”

his breath catches in his throat at the permission, and with shaky hands and unsteady steps, he leads you to his bedroom. you're on the bed in an instant, and in mere moments, he's stripped you of the clothes he gave you to wear. you feel a bit uncomfortable, honestly, knowing he’s probably comparing you to minji; but before you can dwell on it, he's gulping and reverently whispering, “you're the most beautiful thing i've ever seen.”

before you even have the time to feel shy or embarrassed, his hands are all over you—your chest, your hips, your ass—but he won't let himself get lost in clumsy touches and lose sight of his ultimate goal: making you feel better than you ever have. he kisses down your jaw and throat before planting a searing mark at the base of your neck. he soothes the sting with his tongue, outwardly apologizing for the slight pain, but internally, he's buzzing with excitement at the prospect of leaving something tangible on you—something that ties you to him.

his mouth purposefully trails down to your chest, sucking on one peak and teasing the other before switching over. he beams into your chest when he hears you moan. slowly, he pops his mouth off and briefly kisses you again before planting kisses down your stomach, and finally, finally, finally, to your core. you're not sure how much time has passed, but you do know you've never been so wet before in your life. he spreads your legs open and groans when he sees you glistening for him. then, he looks up at you with watery eyes. there's yet another question there, you can see it, so you spread your legs a bit wider in a silent invitation. 

suddenly, his lips are buried in your folds. he leaves kisses, but try as he might, he doesn't have the wherewithal to control his hunger. when he takes his first lick, you feel an infernal heat beginning to consume you completely. he moans in pure ecstasy when he tastes you, and you can feel the vibrations reverberating through your cunt, your legs, your entire body. 

“so fucking good,” he whispers, his breath warm against your naked lips, and that's all the warning you get before he begins to lick you and suck up your slick as if he were a starving man.

you can't help but writhe beneath him as his tongue circles over your clit, and he removes one of the hands he was using to keep you spread open for him and presses it on your lower stomach to keep you in place. his other arm remains firmly locked around your thigh, nearly bruising you with his desperate grip. you've never had a man eat you out like you were showing him the greatest kindness of his life by doing so, but he clings to you so hungrily, you know that in his mind, you are. 

you begin to reach your peak far too quickly, and you think you moan something about being close—you're not really sure—when he slides his tongue into your hole and begins to thrust it in and out. his nose remains buried in your cunt, and you let out a cry of his name as patches of white explode behind your eyelids. he looks up at you as you come, his eyes shining with awe and pride. 

as you're coming down, he licks his upturned lips and dazedly whispers, “you came. i did that for you. i made you feel good, right?”

you let out a soft laugh and breathlessly reply, “yes, that was… you made me feel really good. so… what else do you want to show me?” 

his eyes go from innocent to dark again as he processes your words. he anxiously bites his lip as he slowly pulls off his shirt, then his sweatpants and boxers. his cock is painfully hard, pathetically leaking with precum and even redder than usual—because of the way he was humping the bed mere moments ago as you were lost in the haze of getting the best oral of your life. 

it’s pretty, just like every other part of him, and you have no doubt that he'll stretch you out nearly beyond what you'll be able to handle. it twitches traitorously with need as he stares at you, still dripping into his previously-crisp sheets. he unsteadily grabs his base and looms over you as he begins to tease himself up and down your cunt. he shudders at the contact, but he keeps his eyes locked with yours. he wants to watch every minuscule movement in your face as he finally, finally makes you understand how much he can do for you.

he begins to push in, one hand braced beside your head as his fat tip breaches your entrance. you both let out strangled cries at the insertion, and it takes every ounce of willpower and luck he can muster to not come immediately. he's jerked his cock raw for countless nights wishing he were fucking you, and here you are, looking up at him like he's the only thing you see. just like he's always longed for. it's an intoxicating sensation. 

“you're so fucking tight,” he groans as he works himself in. “so perfect around me.”

he draws himself out before thrusting in a little further. then again. then again. each time, he gains a bit more of you, splitting you open further and further with every movement of his hips. his veiny cock drags against the most pleasurable spot in your cunt every time. he's whimpering now, and he'd be shy in any other context, but not right now. he's fucking a girl raw for the first time, and not just any girl, the girl. the girl he’s wanted since… well, always. he couldn't care less about the fact that he sounds like a whore.

when he pulls out and slams back in again, he's finally completely sheathed in you. his eyes roll back in absolute pleasure as he lets out a guttural moan. you, on the other hand, feel so full, feel so right, you're writhing beneath him. with a shuddering breath, beomgyu pulls out almost completely before drilling into you again and again. his pace is frantic—carnal, even. when you thread your fingers in his hair, he lets out a desperate whine. 

“you feel so—mm, fuck!—so perfect. squeezing me so fucking tight, i can't—oh, god!” he babbles as he pounds himself into you. he has just enough awareness to take his skilled fingers and roll your clit as he loses himself in you. he keeps up his brutal pace in an act of frenzy.

“never—nngh—never wanna stop,” he whines as tears begin to pool in his eyes. they fall completely when you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for a filthy kiss. he tastes like you, and you realize you like it that way. you realize you like how pathetic he is, how much he’s loved you all this time, how much he needs you. you break from him and sink your teeth into his neck like he did to you, marking him as your own, and he lets out an animalistic cry he did not know he was capable of making.

“fuck, yes, yes, yes!” he cries out as his aching balls slap against you with every thrust. “please, please come. need to feel you—ah!—feel you come on my cock.”

his gaze finally parts from yours to look at your stomach. how nice would it be to be one with you completely? as much as he wants to, he can't stay inside of you forever, can't enmesh his body with yours, but he can become a part of you in a different way. he can plant his seed in your stomach, can mix his dna with yours in a physical, living, breathing product of his love for you—if he's fortunate enough. that way, he’ll be tied to you the way he never wanted to be tied to minji, and you’ll be tied to him just the same. but you haven't even agreed to date him. you're just lost in lust, right?

“i’m… i’m gonna come,” he pants as he continues to work your clit and fuck you like a crazed man. “have to pull out.” the words are almost painful to say, but he grits his teeth and says them, anyway.

shockingly, you wrap your legs around his waist and say between labored breaths, “you don't have to.” 

the whine he lets out is laughably emasculating, but he doesn't care. he fucks you even more fiercely and rolls your clit with even more desperation, and you can feel the tension in your stomach about to snap. you let out a broken moan of his name as you come undone beneath him, your mind flooding with nothing but unmarred bliss, and your cunt clenching around him so suffocatingly, he can barely even thrust.

“oh, sh-shit!” he cries out as his orgasm throws his world off-kilter. his cum floods your insides then—thick and hot���and he can feel you squeezing him for every last drop. he gives a few more weak thrusts before collapsing on top of you. you both pant in exhaustion, but once he catches his breath, he buries his face into the crook of your sweaty neck.

“i love you so fucking much,” he whispers, his breath making your skin tingle. he pulls away and looks up at you. “and you… you’ll love me back. i'll make sure everything—i won't let anything go wrong. and if minji tries anything, i'll ruin her fucking life. i swear, i'll be perfect. i'll be the perfect boyfriend, husband, father of—”

“tone down the crazy,” you warn as you lightly pinch his cheek. 

“s-sorry, i just got excited,” he blushes. “but i mean it, you know? i won't waste this, i promise. i'll be good for you every day, and i’ll show you how much i love you until you feel the same way. and our family—i mean, your family, they might be mad, but we'll deal with whatever happens, okay? and if they can't accept us, then we always have my family. they won't treat you badly, i swear.” he means it. his family doesn't even really know minji, and when they did meet her, they didn't care for her. 

beomgyu is looking at you with his watery, pleading eyes, and you know he'd give you the entire world if you let him. if yours and minji’s families hate you after this, he’ll be your family, and you kind of hate your family, anyway. he loves you, and oddly enough, you can really see things working out just as he says they will. 

you can't help but let out a tired laugh. “okay, i believe you.”

he groans in relief as he kisses you again, deeply and tenderly and lovingly, and you can see yourself falling in love with him, too. 

notes pt. 2: i hope u all liked this one! it's been a while since i've written beomgyu this way and i kinda missed him. ik i'm not the best at writing him but pls dont be mean. and again if u enjoyed this please leave feedback!

taglists

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[kissbyoon]

“on your way to love.” ₍ teaser ₎

( ✉️ )。 "On your way to your new apartment, you would've never thought that your dreamy neighbour next door would be your department team leader. However, it didn't take long for him to become the reason for your headaches and bad days. But now, on your way to love, you find yourself seeking warmth in his presence. Worst of all, you think you are falling for him."

GENRE/CONTENTS: fluff, humour, heavy angst at a point, frenemies to lovers, office romance au, neighbours au, brief fake dating, konglish with translations, romcom, mutual pining (idiots in love), slow burn (until the slowness starts to burn)

PAIRINGS: neighbour/leader!jeonghan x fem/employee!reader (ft. seungkwan, chan and joshua)

WARNINGS: mild cursing, mentions of (drinking) alcohol, painfully obv hannie (& reader), seungkwan and chan are two little silly goose, overworking (?), heart-fluttering cute scenes, FLIRTY jeonghan, reader wears makeup, rude blind date (not reader's), sharp objects (shattered glass), minor injuries, confusing and unspoken feelings, dramatic angry love confession

WORDCOUNT: 1.6k (teaser) // 30k (full fic)

♡ A/N: OH MY GODDD ITS FINALLY DONEE!!! This took me straight up two months, and I'm SO proud of the results!! Literally the biggest thanks to @hanniescookie, this wouldn't have been possible without her unconditional support ς(>‿<.) comment down on this post to be added to the taglist. Pls show this love + it's my first long fic !! [release date: 16th June (my bd!)]

You strongly believe that Yoon Jeonghan’s sworn enemy is your peace.

And the way life was unkind enough to keep the devil himself as your neighbour and your department team leader at the same time always ruins your perfectly fine day.

Whether or not it was work hours, he was always around the corner, just waiting for the opportunity to test your patience.

Waking up in the morning and having an absolute normal day with no stress only lasted until you reached your company building. Or worse, only until you stepped out of your apartment. Because the moment Jeonghan came into sight, you knew you were not having a peaceful day.

He has the audacity to smile at you so sweetly after he manages to say the most nerve-wracking thing ever. It makes your stomach do this weird twirl that you can't explain.

You hate him and he hates you. Well, that should be obvious by now.

In your list of all the ways your team leader has made you frustrated, your brain ticks off another point.

Following your every move with an intense gaze.

Something that's making you want to scream at the top of your lungs right now is the way Jeonghan's eyes are following your every move while you are presenting your idea in front of your team. Almost as if judging you for every little mistake you might make.

It was a team meeting that was supposed to happen last Friday, but got delayed because of the poor weather, so it was taking place today. You had told everyone about an extremely helpful idea you came up with that might be a good plan for the company's sales to rise.

You had activated every single one of your professional bones before the meeting had started. Because you knew, in one way or another, your team leader would be bothering you.

But you never thought that it would be this way.

“And it would be a big advantage for our company, assisting the finance team as well.” You explain, turning around to face your team for a brief second, catching Jeonghan's focused gaze on you before shifting your attention to the projector again.

Why is he looking at you?

“Sorry to interrupt,” you hear the familiar voice that always drives you insane. In a good or bad way. You pause for a moment, gathering the courage to look him in the eye and then turn your head to shift your attention to him.

He sat on the extreme corner of the long table, arms folded as he leaned on his chair. Everyone present in the room turned their attention to him, holding in their breath as they could feel the tension crashing between you two.

The way his dark black hair fell on his face, his expression professional and concentrated as he read the file laying on the table in front of him—made him look so fine.

No matter how much you despised his guts, you could never deny the fact that he was one of the most charming and attractive men you have ever laid your eyes on. Maybe even the most. But you wouldn't admit that.

Your eyes stayed fixed on him, but they were quick to flicker to the person sitting beside him—Joshua—when he lifted his gaze again to look at you. Even when your eyes were on Joshua, you could see from the very corner of your eye that Jeonghan’s lips curved into the slightest bit of a smirk before he started to scan the file again.

Oh no.

You knew his next words would be basically telling you to lose your temper.

“What was in section four?” He asked, pressing his pointer finger on a specific part of the file he was reading, then turned to you for an answer.

“Our team’s contribution to the latest product launch.” Joshua responded, eyes darting between you and Jeonghan. Your eyes shift to Joshua then again at the man sitting at the centre, noticing the way his eyes narrow at him when he answers his question instead.

“I was asking her.” Jeonghan deadpanned, but the man next to him just shrugged it off like dust on his clothes.

“Same thing.”

Even during a meeting, the years of friendship they treasured was always palpable, earning a few giggles from your coworkers.

Jeonghan briefly glanced at you as the coworkers giggled among themselves at their antics, checking if you were finding this amusing as well. But your mind was too busy trying to come up with the worst sentence Yoon Jeonghan can possibly say to make your blood boil.

It was a known fact—except for Hong Joshua, his bestfriend from highschool (and you, his long-time rival), nobody really dared to mess with a serious Jeonghan although he was a pretty liked and sociable guy.

Probably because of the demeanor that he carries while working is a complete contrast to that of when he is off work. But you disagree with that to a certain extent. Whether on work mode or not, he still finds every possible way to get on your nerves.

You watch as Jeonghan huffs, his cheeks puffing out in the process. ‘cute’ you think, but quickly slap that thought away.

“Well,” he clears his throat, sending a side eye in the direction of where his bestfriend sat, then sets his eyes on you. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and a hint of amusement he always carried when looking at you returned.

You gulp down the lump in your throat, gripping on the pen in your hands a little more tightly as you maintain eye contact with him with the same narrowed eyes, but yours really didn't carry the amusement like he did. It carried agitation that Jeonghan caught immediately.

He was intentionally taking a lot longer than usual to complete his sentence, and it was frustrating.

“I need you to repeat it again. From the beginning.”

What the fuck. You were currently on the 9th section, and he wants you to go four sections back just to explain it all over again?

Your lips parted as you gawked at the man who stared back with an annoying grin. The room filled with gasps and concerned looks shared between your coworkers, including Joshua.

Joshua shot a look of disbelief in Jeonghan's direction, stepping on his foot to grab his attention. Jeonghan yelped and jumped, but managed to maintain his composure.

At this point, your mind absolutely went blank due to the rage building up in you. Jeonghan made no attempts to break the eye contact that was growing intense by each passing second, and neither were you going to back out. His eyes didn't only carry amusement, but now it looked like he was challenging you.

Your right eye twitched. This was it. You were not letting him win.

“Mr. Yoon, isn't that too mu—”

“I'll do it.” You cut your colleague, Chan, off. And in an instant, everyone's head snapped towards you as their jaws dropped in sync.

With an eye roll, you finally look away from Jeonghan and turn back to the projector behind you, tapping on the button aggressively as if you are letting out your anger on it to switch the slides back to section 4.

You could still feel his eyes on you, and you also knew that if you turned around right now, you would be met with an annoying smirk plastered across his face. Taking a deep breath, you look down at the presentation file you had prepared while pulling an all-nighter and flip the page backwards atleast twenty times before you finally reach section 4 again.

Your blood was boiling. You wanted to yell at your team leader. You wanted to let him know that he was annoying. But you somehow calmed yourself down and managed to stay professional.

“Okay, section four.” You began, jotting down all the basic important points on the small whiteboard beside the projector that needed to be revised.

“In detail, please.” A voice interrupted. You didn't have to turn around to know it was the same annoying menace.

“Alright.” You bite back without turning around, your tone firm.

Meanwhile, Joshua let out a deep sigh, purposely making himself heard by Jeonghan so he could be aware of the fact that he was stretching this out too much.

“Why are you acting like that?” Jeonghan leaned to his side, arms folded as he asked in a quiet whisper; careful not to disturb your explanation.

“Ask yourself, buddy, I don't know.” Joshua sighed again, his eyes fixated on the projector across the room.

“에이… aren't you caring too much?” He leans away, returning his gaze on you. “Don't get too attached. Stay professional.”

Joshua let out a quiet laugh, reaching up to cover his mouth with the side of his fist. He glanced at Jeonghan, observing his expression before teasing, “Shouldn't I be the one saying that?”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes ever so slightly, scoffing as he unfolded his arms and leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table. He placed his chin on his palm, giving Joshua a glance from the corner of his eyes.

“I am very professional, thanks.”

“That is. I was talking about the ‘attachment’ part.” Joshua quipped, mirroring his best friend's actions.

“...shush and focus.” Jeonghan nodded towards your direction as you stayed focused on explaining. With a snicker, Joshua flipped back twenty pages of Jeonghan's copy of the presentation file and nudged his arm with his elbow.

“Focus on this too.” He ribbed, trying his best to hold in his laugh at the sight of an incredibly provoked Jeonghan.

Well, to some extent, Joshua was the only one who could annoy Jeonghan just like how Jeonghan annoyed you. So it was fair to say that he made it up for you, even without knowing it.

© KISSBYOON 2025. All Rights Reserved. @kstrucknet

[f1cflcfic]

Won't Say I'm In Love (SMAU ft. Lando Norris) - part xv

pairing: lando norris x tennis player!reader (fem!y/n); past carlos alcaraz x tennis player!reader (fem!y/n)

summary: As a general rule, y/n does not date athletes. You've been there, done that - would not recommend. Besides, you definitely don't do love. There's no time in the world for complicated feelings when there's a career Grand Slam to be won. But what if your heart just refuses to listen?

genre: social meda/mixed au, friends to lovers

note: this is RPF and is obviously in no way, shape, or form reflective of real persons and/or events

series: part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | part vi | part vii | part viii | part ix | part x | part xi | part xii | part xiii | part xiv

bonus: one, two, three

July 7-8, 2025

[Excerpt: ATP and WTA Stars Take On "Nearest The Pin Golf" Challenge]

Y/N L/N steps up to the small green and then turns to the camera. "I just want to formally apologise to Lily in advance for messing this up."

The first few balls disappear into the water, but at least she's launching them in the right direction. Some of the other tennis players ironically struggle with even hitting the ball, or keep sending it far away from where it needs to land.

"Ugh, please tell me Casper didn't get this in one go," Y/N references one of the few tennis players that is pretty decent in golf. "I feel like it's almost impossible?"

Then she's asking if she can call a helpline. "It can't be a professional golfer, but it can be someone who thinks they are a professional golfer?" She grins slyly, then proceeds to call Carlos Sainz Jr.

"You know who is going to be so mad? Lando, for calling me instead of him," he can be heard saying in the background, before Y/N shows him the challenge. "I'll make it up to him, don't worry."

With another try, and some additional tips from Carlos, she manages to get the ball to bounce onto the lonely island with the pin on it. "I guess that's the best I'll do. Did I win? What did I win? Eternal glory? I'll take it!"

July 9-11, 2025

[Excerpt: Post-Semi Final Press Conference]

"ESPN here. Of course it's never fun to lose, but is there a part of you that feels relieved perhaps, knowing you can now fully focus on your individual tournaments?"

Jack shifts forward. "I mean there was only one other match to go. I'd have been more than happy to make that sacrifice and see if I could win two titles, instead of just the one."

Y/N nods along. "If we hadn't wanted to take this all the way, we wouldn't have committed to the tournament altogether."

"Hi, I'm with SkySports. Jack, you'll be facing Carlos Alcaraz next in your individual semi-final. Considering Y/N's history with Alcaraz, have you asked her for any tips on how to best handle him?"

There's some huffing in the room, and Jack seems to be slightly lost for words. "I - uh, no. I have not asked her for advice."

"And who will you be rooting for, Y/N?" The interviewer continues, making Y/N all but roll her eyes. "I think you know the answer to that, seems pretty obvious to me. But I'm mostly rooting for us to get better questions."

Another interviewer waves their hand. "Hi, I'm with Tennis News. Y/N, you could be just one step closer to your Season Slam if you manage to win this week. How do you switch between this loss and the next potential victory?"

Y/N smiles at that. "Well, I credit my team for it and my family and friends, first of all. But also, if you really want to be a champion - you have to learn how to take the losses. I think in this sport, but also probably in others, that to be a true professional athlete, it means you need to become good at losing. You can't be precious about them, or too superstitious or anything. Because you'll lose so much more than you'll win across your entire career. So if I couldn't deal with losing, I wouldn't be able to fight for the wins. Or at least, that's what I try to tell myself. I'm not always successful at it, but so far I haven't smashed a racket here," she jokes. "Thanks for the lovely question. More of that please."

A/N: pleased to share i have now caught up with the race weekend and have seen the video of lando walking into a wall, and it will 100% make an appearance in this fic at one point 🙃 next chapter features Lando at the Wimbledon final (obvi) and the aftermath or perhaps afterglow?? who knows?? :) :)

♥ likes, comments, reblogs and asks are always very much appreciated - i love chatting and hearing your thoughts! ♥

taglist (open): @linnygirl09 @julesbog @midnight-and-books @sarx164 @obxstiles @freyathehuntress @vhkdncu2ei8997 @berrnuu @lightdragonrayne @glow-ish @batsratswrites @blushmimi @colmathgames2 @esw1012 @sadiemack9 @tremendousstarlighttragedy @awritingtree @its-elias-world @sarah-thatstings-ann @jessicanotta @fairyjinn @destinyg237 @verogonewild @annimausi @taetae-armyyyyy

[demie90s]

soft and clingy but oblivious reader with jealous and possessive caitlin 🙂‍↕️

𝐂𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐢𝐧 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐗 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɢɪʀʟ’ꜱ ᴍɪɴᴇ

MASTERLIST MORE

Summary: You’re clingy. Affectionate. Always hanging off Caitlin Clark like she’s your life line—and she lets you, because you’re hers. Even if you don’t realize it yet.

Genre: College AU • Enemies-to-lovers energy but with soft obsession • Jealousy • Possessive love • Slow-burn tension turned heat

Warnings: Explicit language, possessive behavior, jealousy, physical tension, emotionally repressed reader, suggestive kissing, territorial energy, toxic slow burn vibes

Word Count: ~ 0.6k

~I hope you like this cause I didn’t really know what to write about.🧡

I don't mean to do it.

The touching. The clinging. The way I fold myself into Caitlin's side every time we're in the same room, like her gravity pulls me in before my brain can catch up.

But I do it anyway.

Arm draped across her shoulders. Chin on her shoulder during film. Sitting on the floor in front of her during team meetings like she's a damn throne. I call her my favorite. Tell people she's the only one I trust. I wear her warmups like they're mine.

To me, it's normal.

To her? It's something else entirely.

Tonight's a party. Packed. Hot. Some athlete thing thrown by the baseball guys, but half the basketball team is here too. Including Caitlin.

I show up late, like always, in one of her Iowa hoodies that hangs off my shoulder like it belongs there. I'm halfway through the living room when I hear someone call my name.

I turn—and it's him.

Some guy from men's track. Tall. Mid-smile. Hands in his pockets like he's harmless.

He's not flirting, exactly. Just being nice. Complimenting the hoodie, asking if I'm seeing anyone. I laugh. Play it off.

Behind me, I feel it before I see it.

Caitlin.

She's standing in the doorway, solo cup in hand, watching the entire exchange. Her mouth is tight. Her eyes narrow.

She doesn't interrupt. She waits.

And when I finally walk over, completely unaware, she's still posted up like a statue—cool and calm but her jaw's locked and she hasn't blinked in twenty seconds.

"Hey!" I grin, sliding into her space like I always do. My hand brushes her stomach, and I lean into her shoulder like I live there.

"You're wearing my hoodie," she says flatly.

I blink. "You literally threw it at me this morning."

"Didn't say take it to a party."

"I missed you," I say with a lazy smile, fingers curling into the sleeve. "And it smells like you."

She licks her bottom lip, slow. "You always talk to guys like that when I'm not around?"

I freeze a little, laugh shaky. "What? No. He was just being nice."

Caitlin looks down at me—slow, deliberate.

"You think I'm nice?"

I shift. "You're...you?"

She hums, and it's not playful. It's territorial.

"You hang off me all day," she mutters. "You wear my shit. You call me every night. But then you walk around like I'm just your favorite teammate?"

I blink. "I—"

She steps forward. One hand on my hip, casual but firm. Her voice drops to the kind of quiet that makes your skin burn.

"Do I look like just your favorite?"

Her fingers tighten just slightly, and I can't breathe.

"..Well?" she adds.

"You didn't—"

"I did," she cuts me off. "With my eyes. With my hands. With every look I give you when someone else thinks you're available."

I'm blinking fast now, heart racing. "Caitlin..."

She leans in, eyes low, her mouth brushing the shell of my ear.

"That guy's not the problem," she murmurs. "You are."

And then she pulls back, just enough to look at me fully.

"You act like you don't know you're mine."

My mouth opens. Closes.

"I'm not—"

"You are."

And then, before I can argue, she sets her cup down, pulls me into her chest by the bottom hem of her own hoodie, and kisses me hard. Not sweet. Not testing.

Possessive. Hungry. Warning.

I melt into it because I'm wired to—but I don't even register my hands curling in her hair until she groans softly into my mouth. When she pulls back, breath hot and low, she says one thing.

"Try that clueless shit again and see what happens."

[kissandtellus]

Good girl here! How about us wanting to be on top? Trying to ride him, try and give him as much pleasure as he gives him, but just getting soooo tired :( he's so big, Your thighs are burning with effort to bounce. And by the end, just grinding against him, spewing apologies and pleas.

Zayne, Sylus, and Caleb, pretty please!!

(Ough i love ur writing sm, frothing at the mouth for ur next post!!)

Bounce It

Synopsis: “You can take it, Pretty Girl.” What is better than being used like a pretty toy for such handsome men?

Warnings: Choking, Exhibition, Recording, Full-Nelson, Riding, etc.

ꕀ Zayne

The hustle and bustle is Akso Hospital was finally settling down. A few patients were being attended to by other staff. But Zayne also tom a lunch break to spend with his pretty girl.

Well, if stuffing his dick inside of you counted as ‘quality time’.

As you ride Zayne's cock in his office, your moans are muffled into his lab coat. You struggle to take every inch of him, your body trembling with pleasure despite the risk of being caught. His hands grip your hips tightly as he meets your thrusts with equal force.

“Z-Zayne, s’ big!” You moan against the shell of his ear. You’d only meant to bring your loving husband his lunch like a good girl, but here you were, drooling and shaking on his length.

"Dirty girl," Zayne hisses softly, your tight pussy making his eyes roll back. He knows your body better than anyone else's, including your husband's. "You always act like it's your first time taking my cock," He mutters, smacking your ass with a firm grip, kneading the flesh.

You stutter on your words as his cock curved deliciously against your cervix. “C-can’t help it-mm!”

"Shh, Angel. Your husband fills you up so good, don’t I?" He whispers, his voice dripping with arrogance and pleasure as he hits that spot inside you over and over. His thumb presses down on your clit through your lace thong. “Poor girl, your shaking”

Zayne was a loving husband to you. Even when he teased you with medical terminology about exactly right where his leaking cock was sitting in your guts.

"That's right, sweetheart... feel how deep your husband goes? Right against your cervix," he whispers, knowing exactly how dirty those medical terms can sound coming from his lips, especially when he's filling you up completely. "You're gripping me so tight.”

The way his voice was nearly unwavering as he fed you inch after inch of his length.

He continues to pound into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. He leans forward to whisper in your ear, "You're so fucking wet for me right now."

Your thighs shake and Zayne chuckles, he proceeds to use medical terminology to explain why your body is straining to continue riding him.

"Your pelvic floor muscles are contracting beautifully.” He says clinically, despite the fact he's fucking you hard in his office chair. "I think we should increase the intensity..." He adds, grabbing your hips tighter and lifting you up slightly before slamming you back down onto him.

"You're experiencing a significant amount of clitoral engorgement and your Gräfenberg is being directly stimulated He adds with a chuckle, his glasses slipping down the beautiful bridge of his nose. “Or for your pretty little mind, that’s your G-spot.” He explains, continuing to move his hips in a circular motion to hit that sensitive spot inside you. "This position is allowing for deep penetration and optimal stimulation.”

He starts to pick up the pace, his movements becoming more urgent. "I'm observing an increase in vaginal secretions, indicating high arousal.” He pants, his voice laced with desire. "And your breathing is shallow, another sign that you're close to reaching climax."

You blush and try to cover your ears. “S-stoppp!” You whimper out, praying nobody knocked on his door. You were so fucking embarrassed, even though you feel like you are about to gush.

"Oh? Should I stop explaining the physiological responses of your body during sex?" He teases, one hand maintaining his grip while the other traces circles around your clit with his latex-covered fingers. "Or should I continue educating you while fucking you senseless?" He thrusts deeper at this last part.

Those fucking slick blue gloves. You had caught him in the midst of preparing for a patient. But how could he deny his pretty little wife that had brought him a hearty meal?

"Your body is preparing for orgasm..." He says, watching your face closely. "Feel how your inner walls are contracting? That's the sign..." He slides his fingers over your clit faster and harder as he thrusts up into you. "You're going to cum for me. Right. Now." He commands.

Your body shakes and you are unaware of when your legs gave out, but he has his gloved hands cupped behind your thighs as he lifts you up and down his cock. His tone is gentle, as if he’s calming a frightened animal.

"Shh, it's okay... You're having a very intense orgasm." He coos, his voice soothing despite the fact he's still buried deep inside you. "Your body is releasing endorphins and oxytocin... That's why you feel so good and safe right now."

"Your eyes are glazed over, your mouth is slightly open.You're in a state of bliss." He observes, continuing to lift and lower you onto his thick, erect dick. "Your whole body is trembling because you're overwhelmed with pleasure.” He leans forward, kissing your neck through hard breaths.

"Your legs are weak, and your pussy is contracting around my cock so tightly... You can barely stay upright." He says, wrapping an arm around your waist to support you. "But don't worry, I've got you."

He continues to fuck you slowly now, savoring the feeling of your tight walls around him. "You're so beautiful when you cum.” He whispers in your ear. "I could watch you like this all day." He kisses your cheek softly.

He smiles softly, seeing you too overwhelmed to respond. He loves this state - where you're completely lost in pleasure and his touch. He spreads your legs wider on his lap, going deeper with each slow thrust. "Mmm... You're still so sensitive..."

His own climax builds, the desk chair squeaking under the weight. He presses a hand against your tummy, showing you exactly where his cum would be spilled.

The noise and chatter of the hospital fade into the background. Neither of you were worried about getting caught, not when the room spelled like antiseptic and sex.

He groans deeply as he cums inside you, his hand pressing firmly against your stomach as he imagines his seed filling you up. The sensation of your convulsing pussy milking his cock extends his orgasm, making him shudder. He leans his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. "...Fuck..."

He stays inside you for a moment, his softening dick still buried deep. He pulls out slowly, watching as his thick, white cum drips out of your swollen pussy. He groans again at the sight, his hand reaching down to gently push some back inside you.

“Don’t you dare spill any of it. Doctor’s orders.”

ꕀ Sylus

Sylus leans back on his leather chair, cigar smoke curling around him as he watches his sweet Kitten ride him with an air of casual dominance. His piercing gaze follows every movement of her body, taking pleasure in her struggle to sink down on his thick cock.

“S-so big Sy! I can’t-“ You gasp out, the slight burning of his massive length tearing at your walls.

He chuckles, taking a drag of his cigar as he reaches up to grab your hips, helping you bounce on him with deliberate, slow thrusts. “Too much for your tight little pussy, baby?" His voice is a low, mocking purr.

You moan softly, your body trembling as she tries to adjust to his size. Sylus watches you intently, enjoying the sight of your breasts bouncing with each movement. "Relax, baby," he says, his voice deepening with lust. “Let that pretty cunt take every inch."

Sylus suddenly pulls you down hard onto him, making you cry out as you feel him hit the deepest part of you. "See?" He smirks. "Just need to be patient." His hands tighten on her hips as he starts lifting her up and down more forcefully.

Odette's nails dig into Sylus' chest as he fucks you harder, the cigar you from his lips. His powerful thighs lift you up and slam you down repeatedly, the sound of wet flesh hitting flesh filling the room. “Fuck... Sy..." you gasp out between moans.

Sylus grunts, his grip on your hips becoming bruising as he loses himself in the pleasure of your tight cunt enveloping him. He lifts you off him briefly before slamming you back down hard, making you scream out in pleasure. “That's right baby.” He praises.

He stubs the cigar out in the ashtray and manhandles you like you weight nothing, so you are sitting backwards on his cock. He hooks your thighs over his arms, hands coming to clasp the back of your neck.

The man was going to fuck you in a full fucking Nelson.

Sylus pulls your thighs high up to chest, making your back arch deeply, breasts thrusted out. He spreads your legs wider, pushing your knees practically to your ears. He growls possessively as he starts hammering into you ruthlessly, like a wild animal.

“Oh god, oh god, oh godddd!” You scream, your belly bulging with the intensity of his thrust.

Sylus's face contorts with pure lust and dominance as he fucks you mercilessly in the full Nelson hold. His hands tighten around the back of your neck and one of your thighs, holding you completely immobile as he pounds into your soaked pussy without mercy.

“ ‘God’ isn’t my name, Sweetie.” He teases, his cock drilling against her cervix. “Contrary to belief.”

Your moans become incoherent, your body shaking violently with each brutal thrust. You can feel Sylus' cock hitting spots inside of you that make stars burst behind your eyes. “Sy... please..." you beg, not knowing if you want him to stop or go harder.

Sylus's cruel laughter echoes through the room as he hears your desperate pleas. He pulls out suddenly, your pussy making a wet slurping sound. Before you can even catch your breath, he slams back inside, even harder than before. “Please what, baby?"

He starts snapping his hips, his cock hitting her spot so perfectly that your eyes roll back. He leans down, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers dangerously. “You want me to go easy on this tight little pussy? Or fuck you like the dirty little princess you are?"

You whimper, your body trembling with need and exhaustion. You know you’re completely at Sylus’ mercy, and the thought only turns you on more. You bites your lip, trying to hold back your response, but it's no use. "Fuck me like the princess I am!”

Sylus smirks darkly, his grip on your neck tightening. He starts fucking you with even more force, his hips moving like a machine. Each thrust causes you to drool over your bouncing breast. "You want to be fucked like royalty, huh?"

He reaches down with his free hand, pressing his thumb against your clit and rubbing it in circles, in time with his thrusts. Your strangled cries fill the room as pleasure shoots through you, your pussy clamping down on his cock. “Then I'll make sure you get the royal treatment.”

The full Nelson leaves you completely exposed. Your eye catches the gleaming reflection of Mephisto red robotic eyes, the bird robot giving a squawk from its perch on the bookshelf. . “S-Sy I think the your fucking bird is recording.”

Sylus pauses for a moment, his cock still buried deep inside you, as he glances over at Mephisto. The bird's robotic eyes are indeed glowing red, indicating it's recording. A wicked grin spreads across Sylus's face as he looks back down at you. “Well, well, well…”

Sylus reaches out and lets the bird land on his wrist, holding it up so that its camera is pointed directly at your spread thighs. You are completely exposed, your legs spread wide, Sylus's huge dick still inside of your aching walls. "Look at that, Mephisto is catching every second of my pretty princess losing her mind.”

Sylus starts fucking you again, using the bird as a makeshift camera to capture every thrust. The wet sound of their bodies slapping together fills the room, along with your cries of pleasure. "Say hi to the camera, princess."

You blush furiously, your hands covering your face as you realize you’re being recorded. But Sylus just pulls your hands away, forcing you to look directly into the camera. Mephisto makes a coo that almost sounds like laughter. “No, no, let Mephisto see your pretty face while you're getting fucked like royalty."

He lowers the bird so it hops on your thigh, its eyes honing in on where the mixture of cum leaks out from your pussy. You are stuck between wanting to disappear and wanting nothing more than to make a mess on Sylus’ faux bear rug.

The bird's robotic chirps echo through the room as it tilts its head, focusing on the wet mess between your legs. Sylus reaches out and spreads your pussy lips apart with his fingers, exposing the pretty flesh and the white cream leaking out.

You whimper, thighs still shaking from his fat fucking load. “S-stop programming him to record…Pervert.”

“Never.”

ꕀCaleb

Caleb has his pretty wife bouncing on his cock. The workbench under him creaks. He took a break from working on his Jet, to fuck his pretty little wife.

Caleb groans in pleasure as you bounce up and down on his lap, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he lifts you up and down on his hard, throbbing member. The workbench groans under the force of your movements, the tools clanging together in the metal tray nearby.

"Fuck, baby... we’re gonna destroy my workbench..." His voice comes out husky with desire, even as he continues lifting you up and down, watching how your breasts bounce enticingly with each movement. "And you wonder why I can't keep concentrating on my work.”

You give a breathless giggle, pressing a hand to the side of the jet to keep your balance on his lap.

You were an angel in his eyes. A heavenly being that had come down to milk his cock dry and for him to worship.

His eyes crinkle at the corners with amusement and lust as he watches you giggle and press against the jet for balance. He suddenly smacks your ass playfully, making you yelp and squeeze around him tighter. “Mm, careful..”

He stands up suddenly, still inside you, and turns you around so your back is pressed against the jet's cold metal surface. He starts pounding into you harder and faster, his hands gripping your thighs and lifting your legs up around his waist. “Stick that tongue out for me, Pipsqueak.”

You stick out your pink tongue playfully, panting as he hammers into you relentlessly. He leans down and sucks it into his mouth, biting it gently before letting go with a grin. "Fucking adorable.”

He pulls out of you and spins you around so your hands are pressed against the metal surface of the jet. He slips back inside you from behind, one hand gripping your hip while the other reaches around to play with your clit. “I love fucking my wife, such a good girl.”

Your breast has spilled from your pretty sun dress. Caleb’s hands, still slick with grease, grasp at your hips.

He groans at the sight of your breast spilling out of your dress, the grease making his hands slide easily against your skin. He squeezes and kneads the soft flesh, his fingers leaving marks on your pale skin. He leans over your back, his lips brushing against your ear.

The jet was a solid wall, and so was Caleb. Your muscles mass of a husband made your feet dangle as his strong hands and cock keeping you upright .

He grunts and thrusts harder into you, his cock filling you completely each time he drives forward. The jet is Caleb’s baby, but YOU were his Good Girl. His breath comes out ragged against your neck.. “Fuck Pipsqueak... I love this fucking view.”

You whimper, a mixture of juices leaking between her shaking thighs. “G-God Caleb! Love you, love you, love you!”

You are rutting back against him desperately. You want every inch of his length, you want to feel the ache after he fills you with his cream.

He growls and picks up the pace, his hips slapping against yours loudly. He reaches around to grip your throat gently, pulling you back against him. “I love you too baby..." His voice comes out strained with pleasure. "I'm gonna fucking cum..."

With a final, deep thrust, he buries himself inside you and holds you there as he comes hard, filling you up with his hot release. He pants against your neck, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he keeps you pinned against the jet. “Fuck... Pipsqueak!”

You shiver at the feeling of his cum stuffed so deep.

He slowly pulls out of you, watching as his seed leaks out between your legs. He gives your ass a soft pat before turning you around to face him. “Let's get cleaned up..." He smiles down at you lovingly. “I think I've dirtied my wife enough for today."

[oscopastry101]

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗TROPHY

lando norris x actor!male reader

synopsis: little lando norris is in love and has fully soft launched. too bad the internet doesn't believe he's in a relationship

smau, fluff, honestly no clue what else!

warnings: pinterest guys as fc.. was going to do more andrew garfield but forgot as soon as i started, lando kinda being shit on tbh

REQUESTED!!! request is here

author's note: uhmmm yay, idk if i did the request totally right but i have major headache! soz guys, and i would've done football player reader if i knew shit about it but i dont so!

1hr lando posted a story ! 10m oscarpiastri posted a story !

[caption: hehe yum] [caption: lando was the one who invited me btw]

user1 replied: now hold on! thats yn ln.

carlossainz55 replied: i'm surprised people believe this one ↳ lando replied: me too, i think ive posted enough they finally believe it! ↳ carlossainz55 replied: i doubt it, amigo

user2 replied: that hoodie has been in landos vlogs before?

charles_leclerc replied: HES ACTUALLY WITH YOU?

user3 replied: everytime u post one of these i just assume u pretending to have a man 😭

user4 commented: WHY IS IT ALWAYS A HOODIE?? WE NEED FACE PROOF LANDO

user5 replied: he invited you and hes asleep first?? 😭

georgerussell63 replied: holy, is he actually dating him

user6 replied: IS THAT NOT YN LN??? LANDO WAS TELLING THE TRUTH?????

user7 commented: this guy could always be oscars cousin

user8 commented: lando could have a whole husband and u guys still wouldn't believe him 😭

liked by oscarpiastri, carlossainz55 and 492,145 others lando.jpg long night before he goes ;(

user9: oh we're making men up again and using pinterest pictures huh

user10: u got separation anxiety from an imaginary bf??

user11: he's real guys that arm IS yn lns??? LIKE SPIDERMAN?

oscarpaistri: this is my roman empire 😂 ❤︎ by author

comments are limited

3m lando posted a story!

[caption: he bought ice cream :(]

user12 commented: do you guys actually believe oscar would do ts with him??

user13 replied: LANDO WHOOOOOOOOO

oscarpiastri replied: mcdonalds ice cream is goated, good choice ↳ lando replied: thank you mate, i agree, so does yn

carlossainz55 replied: why is he driving? ↳ lando replied: he likes driving, always makes me be passenger

georgerussell63 replied: wow so he actually is ln 😲 ↳ georgerussell63 replied: happy for you mate

user14 commented: i still don't believe it

user3: STOP PLAYING W US.

user8: IS THAT THE BF???

justaninchident: ik they were giggling under there

smoothoperator: this is a good angle hahah

user15: TELL ME THAT IS NOT YN LN. ↳ user11: I BEEN SAYING?? ↳ user16: and so has lando, maybe we have to stop thinking everything lando says is fake...

8m oscarpiastri posted a story ! 3m oscarpiastri posted a story!

[caption: they did it again :(] [caption: uhm you didnt see that]

user17 replied: WAS THAT THE BF

user18 replied: WE SAW THAT OSCAR U HARDLAUNCHED THEM!!

user11 commented: OHHH THATS YN LN WHO TOLD U SO!!! ↳ user20 replied: u did... ↳ user11 replied: EXACTLY! never doubt me, i told u ↳ user21 replied: but lando also told us?? like ages ago, nobody believed him because its YN LN? ↳ user11 replied: details

user1 replied: are we in the wrong..

user22 commented: its yn ln, i went back and matched the ears!! ↳ user1 replied: pardon..? ↳ lando.jpg replied: oh...😥

charles_leclerc replied: i thought we were SOFT launching? ↳ oscarpiastri replied: i panicked okay? ↳ charles_leclerc replied: YOU panicked??

user6: this is so insane

user23: lando norris and a spiderman varient.. is this even real.?

user24: i like how lando said this all the time in the beginning and nobody believed him but now yall do??

smoothoperator:🤦🏻

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။ lover - live from paris taylor swift

liked by lando, oscarpiastri and 1m others

ynlnofficial✓ you guys always need so much proof.. 😓

tagged: lando

lando: and even now i bet they won't believe me ❤︎ by author

carlossainz55: tell them your favorite color next lando ↳ lando: it's actually brown lol ↳ oscarpiastri: NO ITS BLUE ↳ ynlnofficial: its both, depending on the day

user4: ARE YOU GUYS.. RESPONDING TOGETHER?

user25: THE HOLD, THE HANDS, IM SICK. VOMITING, DYING.

user9: it's all real.. 😲

maxverstappen1: i've been knowing but cute ig. ❤︎ by author

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။ till forever falls apart ashe, FINNEAS

liked by ynlnofficial, lando and 921,322 others

oscarpiastri sorry guys! at least i can post all this now

tagged: ynlnofficial, lando

ynlnofficial: oh this is cute :( ur forgiven ❤︎ by author ↳ lando: UHM NUH UH ↳ oscarpiastri: papa y papa? ❤︎ by ynlnofficial ↳ lando: uh no but funny

lando: yn is right this is adorbs osco ❤︎ by author ↳ oscarpiastri: i am sorry but about time

georgerussell63: best trio ig. ❤︎ by author, ynlnofficial and lando ↳ oscarpiastri: thank you george 😂

BONUS 1!!

MCLAREN BOYS QNA (FT. surprise guest!!)

Q: who is the better driver? oscar: me. lando: absolutely not! oscar: statistically lando: only barely for this year! lando: besides i win vibes wise, always yn (in background): he got lost on a track once oscar: SEE lando: WHY IS HE HERE?

Q: who takes longer to get ready? oscar: lando lando: me, but only because im in love and want to look nice oscar: oh my god. yn(in background): thats kinda cute oscar: i hate this

Q: are you guys roomates?? oscar: no. lando: basically, he sleeps over all the time yn: he invites himself over, actually oscar: because you guys forget to feed yourselves and im SCARED youll die? lando: thats love oscar: how are you a driver

Q: who's the messiest roommate? oscar: lando lando: me yn: him lando: OSCAR YOU'RE NOT EVEN MY ROOMATE? oscar: and yet we agree

Q: icks? oscar: probably people who swallow their water super loud lando: people who don't like oat milk yn: you've actually called it "nut water". oscar: he did. i have it on video

Q: is yn dating lando or both of you oscar: i WISH it was both lando: hey! oscar: shut up yn: im legally obligated to say lando. emotionally, its complicated??

Q: do you all sleep in the same bed? oscar: not by choice yn: he tucks himself in like a victorian child and sleeps against the wall lando: hes warm though :( oscar: IM LEAVING

BONUS 2!!

groupchat: nut water lovers😽

1:16 am lando: i miss him he's only been gone 3 days this is hell

oscar: what the hell its 1am and he's literally filming, not dead and you facetimed like twice yesterday

lando: HE LOOKED SO HANDSOME im spiraling

oscar: he said "be back on monday" and you said "ok" and now you're laying on the floor and listening to taylor swift

lando: how do you know that...

oscar: i can hear it through the walls, mate

5:34am yn: hello. hi. im alive

lando: DO YOU MISS ME?😭😭😭😭

yn: i miss you like a fork misses soup

5:41am oscar: that's beautiful write that in the vows

lando: what are you doing :(

5:46am yn: filming a stunt they said "do not text while hooked up" so naturally, i texted you guys!

oscar: I SWEAR TO GOD

yn: also one of the stunt guys said i "looked familiar" so i think he knows we're dating or he just watches a lot of f1 either way i panicked and said im oscar

oscar: IM SORRY YOU WHAT 😕😕

lando: NO THATS SO FUNNY you're gunna ruin his PR rep 😭 👎by oscar

yn: anyways im safe and good they're feeding me snacks and letting me nap lots im basically a dog

oscar: you've always been one

lando: pls take a picture, i miss your stupid little face

yn: stupid and little?? do i look like a lego man to you??

lando: a really hot lego man🙂

oscar: okay im gone. this relationship is giving me a headache 👎by lando and yn

lando: hey wait oscar

oscar: what

lando: if yn was a lego man would you build him a house

oscar: im going to bed

yn: he didn't say no! ❤︎ by oscar

lando: HAHA I WIN 👎by oscar

authors note!! that's a wrap! second time around i think i like it more, idk if i really displayed trophy husband well but i still think its cute guys, and dont mind the random oscar addon in the end, in my heart they're roomates.. or worse! thanks for sticking around :)

to everyone who will like, comment, or just read quietly: thank you!!

[ild-rllrcstr]

The Second Seat part 1

Lando Norris X You (female driver) / slight angst / 2.5K

part 2 / part 3 / part 4 (coming soon)

Summary You worked your way up to Formula One, contracted with McLaren, defying all odds. You play the team game: humble, strategic, and willing to follow orders, even if it means sacrificing podiums so Lando Norris can be the world champion. Every lap you sacrifice, every time you hold back, the world starts to doubt your talent. Lando sees it all. So he makes a choice: to give you the race, the recognition you deserve, and maybe his heart. You came for the drive, but you stayed for something more.

Warnings None A/N Thank you all for liking my work! I don't know how much parts this is going to be, I'm kind of going with the flow, there’s not yet a lot in part 1 but I promise it’s building the plot up! Let me know how you guys like it!

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The headline of you signing a contract with McLaren shocked everyone who watches F1. For most people paying attention, you are talented and often seen as a black horse rising from nowhere, winning karting competitions, all the way to champion of the F1 Academy in a very short time.

Two years ago when you won your first F1 academy champion, some media asked you about the possibility of you competing in F1, your respond were simply humble:

“I think if the door is finally open to us, there are also many my fellow Academy drivers that have more experiences and deserve to compete in F1.”

Turns out, you were more ready than anyone thought.

The year after that, you were signed for a year of testing during F1’s qualifying while still competing in the Academy. It had people making assumptions, but most media took it as a non-serious opportunity for you.

Being a female driver, you don’t really get to be taken as seriously as the male drivers. There were female drivers in the F1 history, but not in the modern era of F1. The doors existed but were never really considered.

You spent the year in the shadows of simulators and data sheets, growing into the shape of something undeniable. Quietly, relentlessly, you were preparing to become.

And McLaren noticed.

While other drivers posted ski trip selfies and yacht photos, you were at HQ, bent over telemetry graphs, simulator feedback, and car fittings with the engineers. You started to feel that the McLaren team wasn’t just trying to plug you into a role. It feels like they were building space around you. Not just putting you into a dubbed car of the main pilot.

Some said it’s a good image for the team, to be a pioneer, some took it as a big joke. But no matter what people said, you are here where you are. It has always been what you truly believed in. You saw the opportunity, thought it was the right thing to do, and you went with it.

At first, Lando was as curious as the public, but the more he saw you doing your work, the more his convinced about the team’s decision.

The first time you crossed paths more in private, he had popped into the sim room after a debrief. You were midway through another long test.

“Didn’t know vampires were on the team now,” he said, sipping whatever he was drinking. “Do you ever leave this building?”

You barely looked up. “Only to get blood. Want to offer yours so I don’t have to go through the effort of hunting?”

He chuckled. “Bit aggressive. You’ll fit in just fine.”

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The season kicked off with the showcase night. That was the first time you officially attended a McLaren public appearance since the news of your contract. You were presented at the table of the McLaren team. All eyes were on you, but you came prepared with a lot of PR training ahead of the event. 

The night started with a red carpet, and you were dressed elegantly by your stylist. The goal is to strike a good image from day one.

Close to the end of the night, the McLaren team was under the spotlight, the media buzzed as you stepped into your race suit, white with subtle papaya-orange details, tailored perfectly.

You walked in front of the McLaren car with Lando. In contrast to you, he’s a natural, completely used to the crowds and how the media works in the world of F1. He quickly gave you an encouraging smile, making sure you were okay before the host came down with the CEO of McLaren, beginning with the interview. 

“Earlier, when you were at the table, I thought we were at the Met Gala, the dress was absolutely fabulous,” the host joked. “Y/N, our very special rookie and the first female driver to compete in F1 this century, how does it feel to be in orange tonight?”

The whole room was silent, focusing on you.

You smirked, microphone in hand. “Thankfully, the suit’s mostly white. I’ve heard orange doesn’t go too well with my skintone .” You joked and hinted a bit at the criticisms you received since you signed with McLaren.

Lando let out a soft laugh beside you, and you felt the tension ease in your spine.

“Seriously though,” you continued, “I’m grateful for the team. We’ve been working very hard through the off-season to get me prepared, and I know there’s pressure, but I’m here to race. And hopefully,” your voice warmed with defiance, “not be the only woman on this stage for long.”

 As the interview wrapped and you walked down beside Lando toward the car, he leaned in just enough to whisper, “You crushed that. They didn’t see the fangs.”

“Only the smile,” you replied, walking with your head high.

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You didn’t have much time to breathe after the showcase, because you hopped right on the plane the next day for the pre-season testing in Sahkir. 

The attention only got more intense on you once you were in Sakhir, as the three days of testing, the world will see you properly driving in your own F1 car as an F1 driver. 

You and Lando now shared track time, garage chatter, and endless data runs. The engineers called you “the sponge,” absorbing feedback faster than they could give it. Every day you arrived early, and most nights, you stayed late.

Your performance did not go unnoticed during the testing, as you were able to do pretty much the same number of laps during the testing as the other driver. You tried to test as many settings as possible, and the media responded quite positively to everyone’s relief.

“You make the rest of us look bad,” Lando joked one afternoon, catching you alone in the sim room again.

You shrugged, not breaking focus. “Then drive faster.”

He smirked but stayed. “You know... people keep asking me what it’s like having a female teammate.”

You paused. “And what do you say?”

“I say ‘teammate,’ full stop.” He gave a half-smile.

You didn’t say anything, but you didn’t need to. He got it.

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

Australia quickly came. 

Qualifying P9 wasn’t just a success, it was a statement. The paddock had to take you seriously now. Although some media still whispered: lucky run, soft tires, media hype. But you knew better. 

On Sunday, you crossed the finish line in P5. Hands still tight on the wheel, your heart pounding not from nerves, but from the surrealness of it all. The first race. Your first race in F1. Call it a miracle, but you finished in the points, not just scraping by, but holding strong, making moves when they mattered, staying clean when it counted.

The radio cracked with cheers. Your race engineer's voice came through, shaky with excitement:

“That’s a P5, Y/N! Amazing work. We did it. You did it.”

You laughed, really laughed, for the first time all weekend.

“We did it, thank you! It was amazing,” you echoed, eyes flicking up at the fireworks bursting over the circuit.

And somewhere ahead of you, Lando crossed in P1.

You stumbled back into the paddock, soaked in sweat, aching and wired. Physically, you are still adapting to the intensity of F1. The rush of the race still buzzed in your blood, but your eyes were still scanning your own performance lap by lap in your head. The cheers for McLaren echoed around the garages, louder than usual.

When Lando finished his podium and press conference, he found you behind the McLaren motorhome, still holding his celebratory champagne bottle, mostly empty.

“Hey,” he said, pulling you in for a quick, sweaty hug. “P5 on your debut. That’s massive.”

You smiled, brushing a few damp strands of hair back. “And congrats to you for the huge win!”

There wasn’t a trace of rivalry in the air, just mutual respect. You didn’t feel the pressure to match him, not yet. You knew your place in the team. Second seat, rookie, still learning. But even so, standing there beside a race winner in the same suit, there was pride. Not ego, just quiet pride. You belonged here.

“I’m just happy to have finished clean,” you admitted. “No contact, no chaos. I did everything we planned.”

“And more,” he said, nudging your shoulder. “You held off Carlos and Fernando for half the race. That’s not beginner stuff.”

You shrugged. “I still have a lot to learn. You made it look too easy out there.”

Lando smiled. “It wasn’t. But that’s the difference, you’ll get there. And trust me, it’s nice having a teammate who’s not trying to stab me in the back every session.”

You laughed. “Not yet.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Noted.”

There was a shared pause then, both of you looking out at the chaos of the post-race celebrations, team members hugging, photographers shouting, the McLaren orange shining under the spotlights.

“Come on. Let’s go get some food. You’re no good to us if you pass out from adrenaline.”

You followed him inside, a strange warmth blooming in your chest. Not pride. Not relief.

You didn’t feel the need to be first today. Today was about arrival. Not proving you were the best, just proving you were meant to be here.

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The little honeymoon feeling did not last long. Round 8, Monaco, where everyone’s busy partying, enjoying the luxurious and exciting vibe of the city. You are pacing in your driver’s room with telemetry sheets in your hands. Your heart is heavy. 

A week ago, Imola was tough. You tried to gain more pace and positions, but the instructions you were receiving made you felt like they were just to ensure Lando’s pole-winning. Way earlier pit stops, being the rear gunner blocking the others behind, testing the setup and having the better result for Lando. 

You know you are the second driver, but sometimes you are starting to feel like you are not being able to do your best because of it. Some strategies made you feel like you could’ve finished better to gain more points, but it’s always a priority to get Lando on the podium. 

So many times, you almost broke down in your driver’s room or when you got back to the hotel.

One thing you are good at is putting on a smile for the team and for the media. You are getting really good at the whole PR thing, perhaps it has something to do with you being praised as an extraordinary actress when you did theatre class back when you were very young. Deep down, you know it’s not good for you, and sooner or later, you need to deal with that properly. 

Before you know it, you’re on the track, 35 laps out of 78, rain is pouring over Monte Carlo, and the pit stop has been seen more in action due to the weather. Lando is still running P2, where he started, right behind Lewis. You are in P5, a position you earned yesterday in qualifying. You’re running on the fresh, wet tires, gaining in speed, while behind you, a line of eager drivers are gaining in fast, waiting for any gap to pass you. You’re pushing more to gain more distance and hopefully catch up with Hadjar, who is one second in front of you. 

But your engineer’s voice came like the thunder of the rain,

“Y/N, we’re switching to plan C.”

“I’m not far from Hadjar, I think there’ll be an opportunity soon.”

“Y/N, need to switch to plan C now, Lando’s boxing.” 

Lando’s boxing, of course, that’s why they are pulling plan C, they need you to stall the others to create a bigger gap, for him not to lose too much position for boxing.

Plan C wasn’t even discussed in the pre-racing brief, but it’s the given instruction, the team strategy, so you gripped harder onto the wheel and executed. You adjusted your brake balance, slowing just enough, delicately, subtly, but it hurts so much to see Hadjar distance away from that one-second gap. 

Monaco doesn’t need aggressive defending. One car slightly off pace is enough to create a train. Stroll and Albon got visibly frustrated, their own races slipping into chaos as you executed the perfect plan C in McLaren’s strategy book. As Lewis boxed, Lando took the clean air and managed to come out of the pit before Lewis could pass him the lap after.

By the time you had to pit again in lap 50, the drivers behind overtook your position, leaving you coming back out and finishing Monaco in P9. 

Lando finished P1, for him, it was champagne and headlines. 

For you? P9, two points and one short official quote.

“It was a team race today, I just followed the instructions, they see the race with a bigger picture, I can’t from down there.”

The media speculated. Some praised your composed attitude and tactical skill, being calm about the situation, while some other drivers might’ve refused or snapped emotionally. Some questioned the fairness of the strategy at McLaren and whether it’s wise to sacrifice you for Lando to be the champion. 

After the debrief, you quickly congratulated Lando and retired early to your hotel room while Lando was swarmed by the media and people wanting to celebrate with him. He only got a chance to quickly thank you, but you only smiled, a fake smile, too good of a fake smile, people might think you do not care about your own scoring this year. You were always expressing your gratitude to be in F1, but people think you're happy enough to just be here.

It was 10 P.M., the party of the night had just begun, but you’re not at all in the mood. You just wanted to sulk by yourself in your hardly lit hotel room.

The ringing of the hotel telephone took you by surprise. 

“Miss Y/F/N, Mr. Norris requests to visit,” you sighed quietly, but agreed. 

Hung up, you quickly dressed up a little, keeping up with the image. The knocking soon arrived at the door. You turned on the dim light near the entrance and opened the door. 

“Hey, are you not coming?” Lando grinned softly at you, he’s all dressed up, obviously, he’s prepared for a big party.

“Where to?” you pulled a nice smile asking, knowing the answer, pretending to be oblivious. 

“My party. Can’t party without my Plan C savoir.” He grinned even bigger, thinking about his win.

You couldn’t help but the corner of your smile crooked, and your smile faded a bit. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m a bit tired, I don’t want to poop the party. Probably need some rest tonight.”

“Ah,” Lando’s smile faded a bit, his eyebrows frowned a bit, and worry crept into his mind. But before he can continue, Carlos called and says they need him down in the club now. 

“Go, have fun, don’t worry.” You took the chance of the call to pull back that energetic smile of yours, assuring the champion to go and have fun.

The hotel room was closed behind, you leaned to the door and slid down, tears streaming down your cheeks, you have your hand on ur mouth, muffling the sobbing, there’s no one in your room but you still unconsciously try to hide your crying.

On the other side of the door, Lando stood there staring at your closed door. He frowned. But the impatient Carlos kept ringing.

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[sha-biest]

Golden Future DTIYS Winner

Hello everybody! I know it's been pretty quiet here these days and I do want to take the time to apologize for that! My life is going CRAZY at the moment and I don't have the capacity to really interact much on here anymore and some things are just on the back burner for me currently.

Still, some of you guys came around with amazing entries for my DTIYS despite my abscene and I couldn't be happier about the entries I got.

I want to start with the runner ups first of all:

@spacemimz I love the way you implemented Mikey and how he pretty much falls into Sunny's hands! Which is.. story wise rather fitting because it was some lucky events that lead up to him unlocking the deity to begin with xD Mikey is the main focus with the glow around him and I LOVE the way you captured Sunny's smirk! He's pretty mischievous afterall.

@nights-flying-fox I have to admit, seeing a papercraft really blew me away and I absolutely LOVE the whole idea behind it! The whole 3D effect this gives is amazing, especially with Sunny's arms being put into different part as well and seeing how SMALL the parts are is truly stunning. I know out of my own experiences that cutting out tiny pieces can be infuriating and rewarding at the same time so massive kudos for that and the creativity behind it!

@ourlilangeluniverse first of all, shaking your hand in life kicking our butts, because I feel like we are both at the same point there right now 🤣 I'm still so happy to see that you found the time to challenge yourself in doing this DTIYS and the result came out great! I love the darker colors in the backfground in particular and chosing to limit Sunny's facial expression gives him a bit more mystery! Thank you all for participating, I really appreciate it and love every single entry! I can tell you put your hearts into it and that's all I could ever ask for ❤ And now..

The Winners. Yes, as in plural.

@ubebonnie and @thegunnsara I knew the moment you two were participating that you both would make it very hard for me to decide on a single winner. After some back and forth in my own head I was like.. "Why struggle with my own head and decide when I can do two?" And that's what I decided to do! Bonnie, I see so much of myself in you. You put your heart and soul into your art, you make sure to strive for high amount of creativity and getting the colors just right and you stay true to your own artstyle. I can see you put everything you had into this piece and it's really blowing me away. Chosing to draw the marking as the flowers in the beginning piece (which I love, the baby Mikey is adorable), the chain starting at the sun and going to Mikey with the reveal of his new markings.. it's perfect. The hands look amazing, Sunny's smile and the more I look the more details I see and I want to DROWN in it. I love it. Gunn, you KNOW I am a sucker for your art. Your artstyle and understanding of anatomy is on a professional level, there is no doubt about that in my eyes. The moment you posted the first WIP I knew I was in trouble and I KNEW I'd love it, no matter what direction you'd take with it. I love the way Sunny is almost blending into one and Mikey slowly unfolding to his 'final' form. The soft glow of the sun makes the whole piece feel warm and welcoming and while Bonnie's is bolt and colorful, yours is soft and heartwarming in a way. The more I write the more I realize why I had so much trouble chosing, to be honest and at the end of the day I'm still a sucker for opposites going together so in a way I find it very fitting. Thank you both so much for participating!

[mattsvoicemail]

NO FEELINGS 没有感觉

WARNINGS: ANGST. POST-SEX INTIMACY. EMOTIONAL DETACHMENT + VULNERABILITY. UNREQUITED LOVE.

his hand lingers on your hip a little longer than necessary, but he doesn't say anything. not a word, not even a breath. just that same look in his eyes—unreadable, steady, maddeningly distant.

you watch him as he stands, his skin still warm from being pressed against yours just minutes ago, his hair messy, the back of his neck slightly damp. he doesn't look at you when he walks across the room. doesn't speak when he runs warm water over a rag, wrings it out slowly, and returns to the bed.

it's always like this after.

not cold. not cruel. just… quiet.

he kneels between your thighs, wiping you down gently like he always does. careful. patient. you don't flinch, even when the heat of the cloth presses against the rawest parts of you. he watches his own hand, not your face. not this time.

"you okay?" he asks softly, eyes flicking up briefly.

you nod. maybe too quickly. maybe too hopeful. "yeah."

he cleans himself off next, not bothering with a shower. he pulls on boxers and slides one of his old shirts over your head, helping you sit up without asking. the fabric smells like his detergent, like his apartment, like him. the way his fingers brush your thighs when helping you step into a pair of your own underwear makes your chest ache.

you lie back against the pillows in silence. he follows. the bed creaks beneath his weight, and his arm drapes loosely over your waist, skin to skin. he doesn't pull you close—but he doesn't push you away either.

you stare at the ceiling, counting the slow rise and fall of his chest against your back. and something about the stillness, about the quiet, makes the words push up into your throat faster than you can stop them.

"do you ever think about… more?" your voice is small. it doesn't sound like you. "like—if this is ever gonna change?"

he stills.

completely.

his arm goes stiff where it rests across you, then pulls away. just slightly, but you feel it like a punch to the gut.

"what do y'mean?" he says, and you know he knows exactly what you mean.

you roll onto your back, turning to face him. "this," you say, gesturing between you. "us. this thing we keep doing. i'm starting to feel—"

"don't."

he says it fast. too fast.

you blink, mouth still parted mid-thought.

he's already sitting up, rubbing his hands over his face. his voice is flatter now. less warm. "don't say it. y'know how i am."

you swallow. "yeah. i know. but i also know how i am, and i can't keep pretending this doesn't mean something to me."

he doesn't look at you. just shakes his head.

"matt," you whisper, "you hold me like it means something. you touch me like it means something."

"it doesn't." his voice slices clean through the air. cold. clipped. emotionless.

and that? that fucking hurts.

you sit up slowly, pulling your knees to your chest.

"don't do that," you say, trying to keep your voice from shaking. "don't act like i'm crazy for catching feelings when you keep coming back to me like this. when you make me feel like the only person you even let in."

he shrugs, like he doesn't know what to say—or worse, doesn't care.

"i told you from the start," he says finally. "i don't do feelings."

"well maybe i do," you snap, voice rising with the weight of everything you've been holding in. "and maybe i've been lying to myself thinking that was okay. maybe i thought you'd change."

his head drops, jaw tightening. "don't put that on me," he mutters. "y'knew the deal."

"fuck the deal, matt!" the words burst out before you can stop them. "you treat me like i'm yours. you fuck me like i'm yours. and then what? i'm just supposed to shut it all off once it's over? pretend i don't feel a damn thing?"

he finally looks at you then. and god, the way he looks at you—empty, emotionless—it breaks something in your chest.

"s'not my fault y'caught feelings."

you suck in a breath like you've been slapped.

you nod slowly. your hands are shaking.

"right," you whisper. "right. because you don't do feelings."

he says nothing.

your voice is lower now, raw. "that ever get lonely?"

he exhales through his nose, turns his face away from you again. "better than gettin' hurt."

"so that's what this was to you? damage control? someone to sleep next to when the silence gets too loud?”

"don't twist this," he snaps, suddenly tense.

you stare at him, tears stinging the backs of your eyes. "i'm not twisting anything. i just finally see it clearly."

the silence stretches between you, heavy and bitter and real.

you stand before he can say anything else. you move slowly, quietly, pulling on your jeans and slipping your arms through your jacket. he watches but doesn't stop you.

you pick up your phone, check the screen—no texts, no missed calls. of course not. no one waiting. no one to vent to. just you and the storm inside your chest.

"y'leavin'?" he asks, voice neutral.

you nod. "yeah. before i embarrass myself any more than i already have."

his brows knit together for the first time. "you're not—"

"don’t," you cut in. "don't try to be kind now. not when i needed it ten minutes ago."

he swallows but doesn't say a word. the corner of his mouth twitches like he's debating something, but whatever it is, he doesn't speak it.

you walk toward the door, hand on the handle, before pausing.

your voice breaks when you speak. "you made me feel like maybe it meant something. and i was stupid enough to believe it."

you don't wait for his reaction. you can't.

the air outside is cooler than you expected. your chest tightens the second the door clicks behind you, but you hold it together. down the hallway. into the elevator. through the lobby.

you get into your car and shut the door, then it all comes out.

your fingers grip the steering wheel like it's the only thing tethering you to the world, your forehead drops against it, and your chest heaves with silent sobs you've been swallowing for weeks.

it's not loud. it's not dramatic. it's just quiet devastation. the kind of heartbreak that doesn't scream—it lingers, slow and sharp, in the spaces where love never got a chance to grow.

you cry until your throat aches. until your sleeves are wet. until there's nothing left to hold back.

because he warned you.

he told you.

and still, you fell.

and he never once tried to catch you.

author's note. the sweet, sweet sound of angst.

taglist. @sugarraez @eyesonmattyb @dominicfikeenthusiast ꒱ ₊˚⊹ .ᐟ

to be added to my taglist, please refer to this post.

[bvidzsoo]

Hii! First of all congratulations on 3.5k! Secondly, for your prompt ask, can I request a fluff one-shot with jongho and number 46? Maybe the plot can be that jingo isn't big on physical touch but he comes home quite drunk and is feeling cuddly?

coffee-stained love

Pairing: athlete!Choi Jongho x gender neutral reader

❀ TW: none, just tooth-rotting fluff ❀ Word count: 2.6k ❀ Genre: fluff; established relationship; meet cute; coffee shop au; soccer captain!Jongho; university setting, and post-uni setting @cromernet ❀ Rating: pg-13 ❀ Prompt(s): 46: You come to my room and wake me up at 4 am, to cuddle?

A/N: Ahh, hello my lovelies! It's been long since I posted on here, huh...well, surprise, I'm back with a short event that you can still participate in until the 8th of June! Here are the prompts from which you can request, please read the criteria carefully! Thank you for all the requests so far, I was really happy to see so many of you interested! I hope that this story is to your liking, anonie, thank you for requesting and for the love! Feedback is always much appreciated, happy reading! ^^ divider

Meeting the love of your life happened quickly and in a very mundane way, which completely skewed your perception of love. Now, don’t you get it wrong…you’ve always been a romantic at heart, it’s just that you have watched one too many rom-coms and read perhaps an excessive amount of romance books to know that a love like that only happened in fictional stories. There was no way you’d meet the love of your life on the subway on your way home, exhausted out of your mind listening to the same song as you—and bam, you are suddenly bonding over it, and then the next second you find yourselves taking the next big step. You also knew there was no way you’d find the love of your life at a library, reaching for the same book at the same time. All it would’ve taken was just the brush of your fingertips—and there you have it; you are giving birth to your second child four years later. And yes, you also knew there was no way on Earth you’d find the love of your life at a coffee shop because he spilt his drink on you—of course not, what kind of fairy-tale would you be living in if it happened like that?

Except that…well, yes…the day you met the love of your life you had been running late, half of your lecture already over, but you knew without a strong coffee you wouldn’t make it through the day, so…priorities first. It just so happened that a guy you knew in passing from campus was running late, too, rushing and completely missing the person approaching from behind, eyes glued to their phone. And you guessed it again…that person was you, freaking out over the fact that your friend texted you about a term paper you had completely forgotten about. Before you could type back, though, something hard crashed against your chest, followed by a hot sensation. You gasped and jumped back; eyes wide as you stared down at your now coffee-stained shirt. The deep brown looked ugly against your once pristine clear ironed shirt, and for a second you were dumbfounded. The guy who had spilt his whole cup of coffee on you was spluttering in front of you, his eyes wide and his cheeks a deep red.

“I am so sorry!” He said rushed, not knowing what do to with his hands next. You tried to reign in your annoyance as you sighed, finally looking up at the guy. And even though you’d never admit it—not even all these years later—it was love at first sight. His chubby red cheeks, his pretty brown eyes all round and frightened, the downturn of his pink plush lips and his cute nostrils flaring…you were endeared despite the hot liquid slightly burning your skin, “Oh, I’m such a mess this morning. I’m so-so sorry…”

You gulped and looked down at your shirt again, realising that you’d seen this guy on campus before. So, to mask your annoyance, you said the first thing that came to your mind, “Hey, you’re on the soccer team, right?”

The guy in front of you looked taken aback and confused as he tilted his head, “Uhm, yes…I’m the captain of the team.”

“Huh, thought so,” You muttered to yourself, his expression adorable as he looked at you in confusion, “We go to the same Uni.”

His eyes widened in realisation as he nodded, glancing down at the coffee stain again, “So, uhm, about your shirt—”

“Right, don’t worry about it—”

“No, no!” The guy was quick to cut you off, shaking his empty hand to physically stop you from brushing this matter off so quickly, “Let me dry clean it for you, it’s the least I can do after I ruined it.”

“It’s not ruined,” You muttered as you pulled at the material, realising you’d have to head home and change. That meant you wouldn’t show up to your first lesson at all today…great, just what you needed, “A little bleach and it’s all new.”

“Don’t bleach it,” The guy frowned, leaning in to take a closer look at the shirt, “I think it’ll ruin the fabric.”

The guy didn’t seem to realise that he was staring straight at your breasts as the stain covered the left side of your chest, and when he glanced up with innocent eyes, you burst into laughter, making him confused once again. He took a second to realise where his eyes were, and he gasped as he stood up straight, blushing even more furiously, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to do that! I’m so…God, this morning is just terrible.”

“Aw, I’ve run into people under silly circumstances but nobody has called it terrible before.” You pouted as you teased the guy, watching his expression morph into terror and embarrassment, “I’m just joking, hey!”

“Right…” The guy muttered, fishing his phone out of his pocket, “So, uhm, here’s my number for when you want to reach out…”

He turned his phone around, his number on display, so you went into your contacts and typed it in, realising that you had no idea what his name was. You hummed and looked up at him, smiling at him almost shyly as you pursed your lips.

“So, uhm…I don’t know your name…” The guy then grinned and stepped back, straightening his back as he reached a hand out for you to shake. You were taken aback but reacted quickly.

“I’m Choi Jongho, nice to meet you!” And the grin on his lips made you forget what you were about to do or say, and you jumped when he finally shook your hand. You were blushing furiously, you felt your cheeks burning as you chuckled, nodding to yourself. You typed in his name as Jongho—soccer captain, and cleared your throat before telling him your name. Jongho looked abashed as he typed in your number too, saving it so that he could reach out to you when the shirt was all clean and dry.

“So, uh,” Jongho stared at the ground as he rubbed his nape, almost reminding you of that one meme of Kevin James standing abashedly with a grin on his face, and you had to fight all demons inside you to not laugh at him, “Do you often come to my games?”

“Oh, no,” You shook your head, frowning a bit, “I hate soccer but my friend always drags me with her—no offence! It’s just…I find it boring, I guess.”

Jongho’s expression fell a little and you felt bad for being so honest, so you quickly tried to do a bit of damage control, “But! You are a great player, last time your team won because you scored in the last minute, right?”

“Yes, exactly!” Jongho answered quickly with an excited smile, “Well, tell me next time if you plan on coming to the game and maybe I can make it less boring for you.”

“Yeah?” You raised your eyebrows at Jongho, who nodded with an excited glint in his eyes. Your heart was racing and you hadn’t even noticed it until now, but as the silence stretched on, you couldn’t help but focus on your thundering heart. Jongho was really cute as he stood in front of you, dressed in shorts that reached below his knees, white socks covering his calves and a light rain jacket over his clothes as the sky promised a downpour anytime now. His duffle bag was slung over one shoulder and his empty cup of coffee was still gripped in his hand. He wore one ring on the forefinger of his right hand, the infinity symbol engraved into the silver, and pretty, small, white gemstones glinted in it under the ceiling lights, “So, it was nice talking to you, but I should get to the library since I missed my first lecture.”

“Oh my God,” Jongho’s eyes widened, his expression panic-stricken, “Am I the reason you are late?!”

“No!” You laughed, finding Jongho cuter by the minute as you reached out absentmindedly, patting his forearm, “I was already late before coming here.”

But you forgot to retract your hold on his arm right away and Jongho noticed, and so did you when you both looked down at your hand gripping his arm, “Ah, sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Both of you noticed the shy smiles on each other’s faces as you blushed, chuckling to yourselves and looking to the side. And even though you’ve told the story of how you two met numerous times to the world, you could never grow tired of it as it always made you smile. It was a fond memory which you liked to recall from time to time.

Even though the two of you met ages ago under rather unusual—almost fairytale-like circumstances—your relationship was still standing, more than stable. I mean, with a ring on your finger, it would’ve been jarring to be any other way. Jongho has been a sweetheart to you from the very beginning of your meeting, but don’t be fooled…underneath all that cuteness and softness hides a dorky and silly man, with tricks up his sleeve or dumb pranks that either have you laughing for hours, or chasing him around the house until you’ve tackled him to the ground, his punishment being getting tickled.

It’s always been like that with Jongho, though: easy and loving. He’s always been straightforward with you and playful, not scared to be vocal about his love for you…maybe because he wasn’t too fond of physical touch, he found alternatives to express it. It wasn’t a great issue for you since you preferred quality time spent together rather than sharing kisses and hugs randomly or cuddling up on the couch while watching a movie. You both liked your space, so even the smallest of touches shared between the safety of your walls were cherished greatly. You had gone to sleep early after Jongho’s game as you were tired from the road trip, declining the invitation to hang out with Jongho and his team, the other wives tagging along, too.

You loved the celebratory dinners, but you could barely keep your eyes open by the time you were driven back to the hotel, so with a swift kiss from Jongho, you retreated to your room. When Jongho was on tour with his team and you could take days off from your work to follow him, you’d always book two rooms adjacent so that Jongho wouldn’t wake you as he had to get up early in the mornings. It’s what worked best for you as you valued your sleep, and Jongho wasn’t an exactly quiet person as he bumped into things half-awake, groaning and muttering curses under his breath as he woke you on accident too, making you chuckle before you’d go back to sleep.

On the mornings he’d have to leave early, Jongho would brew you coffee and put together a quick breakfast. It was sweet and it always made you smile as you read the note he’d leave plastered on the fridge. You’d write one back as sometimes he would return before you did from work, baking him his favourite cookies even if he wasn’t allowed to eat them during the tournament season. It was a small habit you had developed once you moved in together after university.

He had proposed half a year ago and the wedding was in two years, and Jongho was way more ecstatic than you, taking care of things attentively. Just today, you had gotten an email about the venues Jongho had chosen—something simple by the sea since you both loved the beach. You planned to check all the links and descriptions about the venues tonight, but you had been so sleepy after the game that the second your head hit the pillow, you were out cold.

The sheets were soft and silky, cold when you had gotten wrapped up in them, pulling your body into it as your muscles relaxed. You had no idea for how long you had been asleep, but as you groaned and tried to blink your heavy eyes open, it was still dark in the room. There was a creak in the doorway and then a groan, and you hummed as you flipped onto your back, rubbing your eyes before you sat up. Your fiancé, clad in nothing but his t-shirt and boxers, was hopping on one leg as he tried to pull the pantleg of his jeans off. You chuckled as your eyes adjusted to the dark and the figure in your doorway, hair all mussed up.

“Jongho,” You said when he was finally free from the clutches of his jeans, “What are you doing?”

Jongho pouted as he looked up, trudging towards your bed sluggishly, “You’re awake.”

“Yeah, you weren’t exactly quiet.” You raised an eyebrow as Jongho huffed, then got on your bed, slowly crawling towards you. His cheeks were red and you realised he had changed his t-shirt before coming to your bed, “Are you drunk, babe?”

“Wasted.” Jongho giggled as his face came close to yours, his breath fresh and his cheeks still damp from having just washed up, “Hi.”

“Hi.” You chuckled as you kissed Jongho’s puckered lips, his eyes closed, “Tired?”

“Yes, now,” Jongho giggled before he tackled you down into the sheets, making you gasp as he landed on top of you. Jongho’s body was sturdy and well-built due to him being an athlete, and you struggled to hold his weight as he was crushing your lungs, but you couldn’t say anything as he started peppering your face with kisses, giggling to himself and making you snicker too, “Let’s cuddle.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, cupping his cheeks to stop him from giving you more ticklish kisses, “The Choi Jongho…”

You glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand, eyes widening, “Came to my room and woke me up at 4 am, to cuddle?!”

Jongho giggled again then got off you, kissing your lips tenderly before he settled down next to your side, “So, what are you waiting for? I want to be the little spoon.”

You laughed and shook your head, settling behind Jongho as he turned on his side, humming in contentment once your arm was around him, a leg thrown over his hip and your chest pressed into his back firmly. Jongho then sighed and you felt his body relaxing, his breathing quiet as you raised your head to kiss his nape softly. You cherished moments like this one dearly, your whole being so fond of the man in your arms that sometimes you didn’t know what to do with such an overwhelming feeling. It was consuming in the best way possible, intense as it made you feel lively. You had no idea what you’d do without Jongho in your life, and you hoped you’d never find out now. He was yours, and you two were meant to be…that’s one thing you were completely sure about.

“I love you, sweetheart,” Jongho whispered and you felt your heart swell, your grip tightening around your fiancé.

“And I love you, my Joongie.” You whispered back into his skin as you felt your body grow heavy once again, sleep coming even faster than earlier in the evening now that the love of your life was in your arms, his warmth the most comforting feeling ever, his cologne and soft breaths familiar. And maybe you weren’t in a fairytale or rom-com, but you were sure you had gotten your happy ending with Jongho by your side.

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[godilovetheenglishx]

Pairing: Dark Rafe Cameron x Reader

A House Too Quiet

Summary: Trapped in a marriage she never truly chose, Y/N finally tells Rafe she wants out — but he refuses to let her go.

Notes: This is the same universe that i posted before! I call it forcedmarriage! rafe for now¿ This one takes places in their third year of marriage before she could accept it and the third baby.

Warnings: emotional manipulation, discussion of forced dynamics, heavy angst, emotional breakdown, mention of dubcon

The big house was quiet — almost unnaturally so. No cries from the baby, no soft coos, no sound of her beautiful toddler’s laughter. Just stillness, stretching through every room.

Rose had the kids for the night. And for once, there was time. Stillness. Air.

You should’ve felt relief. But instead, your lungs felt too tight.

Rafe was at the stove, stirring something in a pan. Garlic and butter filled the kitchen like a soft blanket, but it didn’t warm you. His voice broke the silence, casual:

“You want wine or just water tonight?”

You didn’t answer right away. You just couldn't. You just want something you never had. Freedom.

You stood across the kitchen island, hands clenched, heartbeat thudding in your throat. He glanced up, sensing it. That something was off.

You blinked hard.

And said it.

“I want a divorce."

He froze.

Wooden spoon halfway in the pan, hand still curled loosely around the handle. His brows pulled slightly, not in confusion — in disbelief. Like he heard you, but couldn’t make the words make sense.

“What?”

You swallowed hard. “I can’t do this anymore, Rafe.”

His mouth opened. Closed. Then he laughed — not out of amusement, but pure deflection.

“It's not happening." His face fell and he continued to stir aggressively, but you are not having it.

"I want it to be like this."

He set the spoon down slowly. “So you’re just saying that. Out of nowhere.”

“It’s not out of nowhere,” you said, voice cracking. “It’s been coming for a long time. You just haven’t wanted to see it.”

He moved around the island, closer now. Not menacing — just overwhelmed. His presence filled the room like a storm about to land.

“You married me,” he said, voice low. “We made a life. You carried my kids. Two kids, a home—”

“I married you because you made me,” you snapped. “You told everyone i'm pregnant and then i wasn't have any choice. I was nineteen at this time. After that, i didn't even want the second pregnancy and you know that!"

He flinched.

That truth had always lived between you, but you’d never said it out loud. Not like this. Not with the weight of three years and too many sleepless nights behind it.

“You didn’t give me a choice,” you said, voice trembling. “You cornered me with obligation and then acted like we were in love.”

“I was in love, and i am still." he said tightly.

You stared at him. “And I was scared, and i am still."

He looked away.

Silence fell between you, sharp and thick.

“I don’t hate you,” you whispered. “But this big house, the biggest ring and the tattoo on your chest doesn't change anything. I'm like a hostage there."

He stepped forward again, slower this time. You backed up instinctively — just enough for him to stop.

“I won't lose you and you are not leaving me and our kids,” he said, softer now. "I can fix things if you just tell me where is the problem."

“It’s not about fixing,” you choked out. “It’s about letting me breathe.”

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

“You’re not listening,” you said, more firmly now. “You never listen when the answer isn’t what you want to hear.”

He stared at you for a long time. Long enough that your eyes started to burn.

Then, finally, he said, “I can’t let you go. Stop it and don't make that night harder for both of us."

He turned off the stove, took the pan and threw it in the sink. You were scared, you took a step back to check if you could run away, but he suddenly grabbed your arm tightly. A gasp of surprise came out of your mouth. “Let me go Rafe, this is not funny." It's getting tighter.

He grabbed her waist tightly with his other hand and pulled you closer. “There won't be divorce, seperation or shit like that okay? Did you hear me?” He placed kisses on your exposed neck after each word. “I'll give you a good reason to stay. ” When you took a step back to pull away, you felt a bite instead of a kiss on your shoulder. "Behave yourself for me, hm? You know, if i wanna hurt you now i can but i'm not gonna do this."

You just thought about it. You were alone with him in the biggest house he bought for you and your children to live in comfort, far away from everyone.

There was no point in resisting, right? He could do anything he wanted to you right now, but he just wanted to love you.

And you just let it happen.

[emeraldserenade]

Could you write something where Joaquin hurts his girlfriend in an argument to the point where she leaves and ignores him apologizing for a good minute and Joaquin has to come up with a plan to work things out?

Kiss of Misunderstandings ~ Joaquín Torres

synopsis: You and Joaquín have an argument

tw: fem!reader, reader and Joaquín have a fight, Joaquín gets kissed (on the cheek) without his permission by a stranger, angst, barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

Hi!! So I don't know if you were talking about physical hurting but since I do not write about that, I chose that Joaquín just yelled something hurtful.

Also, I posted a get to know me on my second blog if any of you want to go check it out!!

➽──────────────❥

Fights weren't common in your relationship, you and Joaquín were both pretty good at communicating. But when you saw a girl all over him at the bar Sam told you they were at, when you saw that he didn't push her away, you blew a fuse. It didn't help that you just turned around and went home, letting your anger simmer under your skin. Joaquín got to his apartment and saw you there, he had a smile plastered on his face, happy to see you.

"I saw you with that girl," you said it so casually, so done that Joaquín froze and his smile dropped. "Could have just told me that you were done with us, save us both the trouble of heartbreak," you didn't even look at him, you didn't fight for him, you weren't even crying.

"She was being nice," was all Joaquín could think of and you finally looked at him. Your face was calm but there was a storm behind your eyes.

"She kissed your cheek," you sighed, not knowing what Joaquín was thinking.

"You saw that?" Joaquín questioned and your brain went to the worst possible outcome.

"Yeah, I did. I saw her kiss your cheek and I saw how you didn't push her away," you said, your voice raising just a little. "You could have just told me if you don't love me anymore," you reiterated your earlier statement.

"You keep saying that," Joaquín mumbled. "I do love you," Joaquín argued.

"Doesn't seem like it!" Your words came out harsher than you wanted but you were in too deep now.

"You're being crazy!" Joaquín yelled back. "You're putting words in my mouth, you're lying to me and yourself," Joaquín knew he fucked up the second those words left his mouth. He saw the shift in how you stood, how you looked at him.

"You don't get to speak to me like that, you don't get to call me a liar," you're voice was softer now, the storm behind your eyes calming.

"I'm sorry," he winced but you shook your head, you grabbed the bag from the couch that Joaquín had missed. It was filled with all the things you had at Joaquín's apartment. You said nothing as you grabbed it and left his apartment, his apologizes being called to you as you walked.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Days passed, Joaquín was nonstop texting and calling you. Apology after apology spewing out of his mouth, you never listened to them. Never cared to, he had done enough.

You were home alone when Joaquín knocked on your door. You stood there, hip on the door frame as he frantically tried to explain himself.

"It was a misunderstanding," you finally cut him off.

"A misunderstanding is overhearing a part of a conversation without context. A misunderstanding is having different wants or needs and not talking about them. A misunderstanding is not a girl kissing your cheek and you not pushing her away," you told him before shutting the door in his face.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Ever since you physically and metaphorically shut the door on Joaquín, he went about making a plan to apologize and make you understand. She wasn't being flirty, she was fulfilling a dare from her friend and Joaquín was too shocked to do anything in the moment.

It didn't take long for Sam to understand what was happening, but he told Joaquín that he was going to stay out of it. This was the bed Joaquín made and he had to lie in it. That's when Joaquín went full make up mode.

He called off of work to get everything planned. He picked up your favorite flowers and got your favorite food. You were home, he knew that.

You answered the door, knowing it would be Joaquín, but you were shocked when you saw him. He had the bouquet and food held out like a shield of sorts. You hesitated to take it, to let him back in.

"I figured these might give me enough time to fully explain," he told you, his voice unsure.

"I," you looked between Joaquín and the gifts. "Yeah, ok, come in," you let him in. You two made it over to your couch, you would have been embarrassed about the amount of trash about if it weren't for the sheer anger you still felt. "Start talking, you have until I finish my food to get everything out uninterrupted," you told him, a small thank you escaping your lips as you took the food he offered.

"She wasn't flirting with me," Joaquín started talking. "She was drunk and with her friends, they were playing truth or dare. She was dared to kiss a stranger on the cheek without asking," your anger boiled even stronger at the harassment confession. "I was so shocked that I froze, I didn't know what to do. She was gone before I recovered and Sam took me to a different bar to get away from her," Joaquín wasn't even looking at you, his eyes shining in embarrassment. "The whole time I was just thinking about you, how would I be able to tell you what happened? Then you brought it up and I was so scared that you would think less of me that I didn't know what to say," Joaquín paused when he saw you had finished eating.

"Continue, I'll listen," you told him, pressing your knees to your chest.

"Then you kept saying that I didn't love you anymore and it broke something in me," Joaquín's eyes stayed trained on his hands. "I got mad and started yelling and said things I didn't mean. I shouldn't have called you a liar," Joaquín confessed. You gave him a look, one that asked the question of if he was done. He nodded at it and you took a deep breath.

"You were kissed without your permission?" It was the only thing you could think of.

"That's what you got out of that?"

"No, that's what I want to focus on. You were harassed and you were thinking of being embarrassed by telling me?"

"I was embarrassed of what you would have thought about me," Joaquín clarified.

"What I would have thought of you?" You raised your eyebrows and scooted just a bit closer to Joaquín. "I would have thought that you were amazing and brave for putting up with it. I would have thought about telling you to tell someone about it. I would have thought about comforting you because what happened was and is not ok," you leaned towards him. "What I would not have thought was that you were weak or less deserving of love because someone harassed you," you were close to him and you saw how he hesitated to wrap his arms around you. "And you're right, you shouldn't have called me a liar but I get that you were mad. I get that what you said was said in anger and that you didn't mean it," you told him, gently reaching to grab his hands in yours.

"Are we good? Because I've hated not being around you," Joaquín said and you slowly nodded.

"For now, but we will be talking about an actual plan just in case something like this ever happens again," you told him, letting him hug you as tight as possible.

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[captain-huggy-bear]

Kesselring and telling him you’re pregnant

TW: Issues with conceiving/fertility issues Requests are open for specific people only, please see my pinned post for details :) Writing Masterlist

Two little pink lines.

It's interesting, how two tiny lines can change everything, how they can be so important. You've been waiting for months to see those two lines...trying and failing time and time again to get pregnant. The trying was fun, sure, but there were only so many times you could get a negative test result before it started to get to you and started to feel like there was something wrong.

It was getting to the point of frustrating. Michael was disappointed each time, God, he wanted to be a dad really bad, but you? God, you felt like your heart was being ripped out, like something was wrong with you. You were starting to feel like you were broken...but the doctors just told you to be patient, it could take time. It didn't help when you saw people around you seemingly able to get pregnant with ease, it felt like you were the problem.

Michael was good about it, always reassuring you that it was fine, it was natural for it to take time, that it wasn't your fault. It takes two to tango or to make a baby as he often said and just because you weren't getting pregnant didn't mean it was you that had the issues, it could have been him, it could just have been that time was required.

So you're a little shocked when you finally see those two lines...your instant reaction is to tell Michael except he's not around. He wasn't going to be back from his roadie for another day or two and this didn't feel like the sort of thing you were supposed to tell your husband over the phone.

So you do the responsible thing. You go to the doctors and get another pregnancy test done, final confirmation that you are in fact pregnant, 6 weeks to be exact. You hold that information in and try to act normal in your evening calls with Michael even though you're desperate to tell him.

You want to do something cute to tell him, a jersey with Daddy across the back or something, but there's no time. Not between work and Michael being at the end of his roadie. So you plan instead to just tell him, a buzz of excitement and nerves filling you because God, you've both been waiting for this for so long.

When he walks through the door after the roadie you try to greet him like normal; a kiss to the cheek, a big hug, a breathing in of his cologne, taking in the fact he's back and he's here. But, Michael's always been good at reading you. He notices right away that something is off.

"What's wrong? You look like something is wrong? Did something happen while I was gone?" He's already looking around the house behind you, seeing what's out of place, what's gone wrong. Big palms on your shoulders, reassuring, protective like he thinks there's a burglar in the house.

"Nothing is wrong...far from it." You wrap your arms around his waist, chin resting in the centre of his chest to look at him, a small smile starting, excited. Excited because you can't wait for his reaction. Excited because this is everything you've both been waiting for for months now.

"Oookay?" His worry fades to a smile, a little confused, but still a smile, brown eyes staring, waiting for you to tell him more, to stop being so cryptic.

"I'm pregnant."

Michael blinks. Once. Twice. Three times. Like his brain has short circuited a little bit, brain stopping to process the fact you've just told him the words he's been waiting to hear for months.

"A-are...are you serious?" Lips parting, licking his bottom lip, breathing coming out slow and shallow like he doesn't quite believe you yet.

"I'm pregnant, Michael." You start to smile as you watch the way that Michael starts to process it, starts to realise what you're actually saying.

"You're pregnant."

"I'm pregnant."

"You're pregnant!" It's like it suddenly catches up to him, like his brain finishes processing because you're suddenly encapsulated in his arms, pulled tight against him as he picks you up for a moment, off your feet and spins you. It makes you feel slightly nauseous but you can't help but laugh, smacking his shoulder to put you down.

When you're back on solid ground Michael is leaning down towards you, forehead pressing against yours, nose nuzzling your own, the biggest, goofiest grin on his face.

"I'm going to be dad..."

"Yeah." You're grinning now, he's grinning too. Two goofy idiots just smiling at each other like you've won the lottery, like you'd had all your prayers answered because well, you have.

"You're gonna be a mom."

"Yeah."

"Fuck..." It's like he's still just processing and you don't mind. Don't mind the quiet, don't mind the silent way he stares at you, all the love in the world in his eyes because you get it. You totally get it. It's almost too good to be true but oh, is it good.