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0scarp1astr1 · 25 days ago

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˖ 𐔌 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥࿐ . ۫

જ⁀➴ Desc: || Lando Norris was known for his partying ways, his loud and exciting ways, at least by the media. So, it began to make those close to him wonder what attracted him to a single mother such as you. ||

ᯓ★ Lando Norris x Fem! (Single Mom) Reader

ᯓ★ 2x Genre: Angst, Fluff

ᯓ★ Warning: None

ᯓ★ Requested? No

Author Note: This one is longer than the others, so please be aware but hopefully this holds you all over. Much love.

☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★

Being a mother wasn’t something you had planned—at least, not this soon. You were in your twenties, the so-called “prime years,” the time for reckless freedom, house parties that turned into sunrise conversations, or spontaneous trips with friends that felt like the world belonged only to you. Your nights were supposed to be lit with fairy lights strung across living room ceilings, wine glasses clinking, and the endless chatter about relationships, careers, and everything in between.

But instead, your twenties became a symphony of lullabies, muffled cartoons, and the quiet creak of a baby monitor in the middle of the night. They were no longer about heels and lipstick but about stepping over rogue LEGO pieces that threatened to take you out with one misstep, about mopping up juice spills and wiping sticky fingers and tired tears. You were reading the same bedtime story three times in a row because your son loved the way you did the voices, checking under the bed for imaginary monsters with the same seriousness you once saved for final exams.

It wasn’t easy. Especially not when people you thought would be there for you—those who once claimed they'd be aunties and uncles in all but blood—began to drift away. Some didn’t understand. Others didn’t try to. The baby shower promises and “I’ll always be here” texts faded like echoes, and in their absence, you carried the weight of motherhood alone. It stung in the quietest way.

But then came Sebastian.

Your beautiful baby boy with soft curls and eyes that held the galaxy. He changed everything. From the moment he was placed in your arms, the chaos didn’t matter. The sleepless nights, the fear, the uncertainty—they all became worth it the second he smiled. He was three now. A tiny tornado of joy and curiosity, who gave your life a sense of grounding and wonder you never knew you needed. Raising him wasn’t always easy, but somewhere in the mix of tantrums and toothy grins, your confidence as a mother began to bloom. You figured things out, step by shaky step, and you were proud of who you were becoming—for him.

Still, late at night, when he was tucked into bed and the silence stretched long between the walls, you wondered if love would ever find you again. The kind that made your chest ache with excitement, the kind that whispered comfort into the hollow places. You had loved before—young love, teenage love, the firsts that shaped you—but now? Now you weren’t the same girl anymore. You were a woman, a mother, and that felt like a world apart from who you used to be. Who would want to step into this life mid-chapter?

But little did you know, love wasn’t far. In fact, it lived just behind the screen you scrolled through at night.

Lando Norris. His name echoed across social media like a song on repeat. A man whose life seemed impossibly full—speeding through cities, smiling on podiums, partying in places you only dreamed of. He was freedom personified. A life in fast motion, captured in highlight reels and championship circuits. To the world, he was laughter and youth and charm, adored by millions, a modern-day rockstar in a race car.

He was everything your life was not.

And yet—somehow, fate was quietly working behind the scenes.

Because what neither of you realized just yet...was that love was about to collide with your life. Not with fireworks or headlines—but with small moments. A conversation. A look. A gesture. Something real, in a world that often felt anything but.

Despite his young age, Sebastian had already found a passion that made his eyes glow with wonder: Formula 1. It started subtly—he’d pad across the floor in his little socks, dragging his blanket behind him, only to stop and stare at the TV whenever fast cars zipped across the screen. The vibrant colors, the roaring engines, the animated commentary—it all lit up something inside him.

You didn’t expect it. After all, he was just three years old. His world should’ve been centered on coloring books and stuffed animals, not tire strategies and pit stops. But every time you flipped past a Formula 1 broadcast, he’d make a sound, a pointed squeal, or a clumsy run toward the screen. It was obvious: he was captivated.

So, naturally, you followed his excitement. You became the mom who ordered F1 merch online late at night, building a miniature racing wardrobe for your son. T-shirts in all colors. Hats far too big for his little head. Plushie cars he’d vroom around the living room. Whatever he showed the slightest interest in—you got it. And soon enough, the drivers became household names not just to the world, but to him.

Sebastian would burst into laughter whenever Max Verstappen gave his famously direct interviews, his young mind not grasping the words but fully recognizing the face. And Yuki—now part of the Red Bull team—became his source of infectious glee. Every time Yuki’s voice rang through a press conference or onboard radio, Sebastian would shriek with laughter, his eyes twinkling. He didn’t need to understand Japanese humor to adore Yuki’s presence.

Charles Leclerc? Sebastian pointed him out like an old friend. Lewis Hamilton? He’d watch him like he was listening to a storybook read aloud. And George Russell, ever graceful in his silver Mercedes, was often mimicked when Sebastian ran around the apartment in circles, pretending he was on a flying lap.

But the real surprise came with Kimi Antonelli—Mercedes' youngest and most buzzed-about addition. Whenever Kimi’s name popped up onscreen, Sebastian’s full body seemed to light up. “Kimi!” he’d shout, over and over, jumping as if the two were best friends. He didn’t care that there was a more famous “Kimi” from before—this one was his. Young, daring, full of raw potential. Sebastian’s toddler heart was loyal in a way adults often forgot how to be.

Yet, through all the teams and drivers he loved—Red Bull, Ferrari, Mercedes—it was always McLaren that stole the biggest piece of his heart. He adored the bold papaya orange livery, the sleek cars, and most of all, the drivers. Every time Lando Norris appeared on screen, Sebastian would clap like he was watching fireworks. And when Oscar Piastri came on, he’d spin in a happy circle, unable to contain his joy.

“Lando! Look, mama, it’s Lando!” he’d shout, tugging your arm with his tiny fingers, eyes wide in awe like he was seeing a superhero. If Lando waved to the camera, Sebastian would wave back, completely convinced it was meant for him.

You watched all of this unfold with warmth blooming in your chest. Parenthood hadn't been something you planned for your twenties—but moments like this made it feel like life had rewritten itself for the better. Amid the mess of snacks on the carpet, bedtime stories, and tiny shoes always misplaced—you found beauty. In Sebastian’s passion, in his smile, in the way he pointed to his heroes like they were friends—you found your peace.

And somehow, in between your world of routines and his world of racing, you both found something else too: hope. Joy. And a shared love for the chaos and color of Formula 1.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The gentle steam curled from your mug as you sat at the kitchen table, your fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic, grounding yourself in the stillness of the morning. Across from you, your mother sat with the familiar calm she always brought—an anchor in your often-chaotic days. The soft hum of the TV filled the space between your conversations, and the distant clatter of plastic toys played backup to the soundtrack of your life as a mom.

Every so often, you'd rise from your seat to peek into the living room where Sebastian was busy pushing his toy cars across the rug, his tiny feet kicking in excitement, curls bouncing with each animated laugh. He was three years old, full of energy, and already fascinated by the world of Formula 1—a love you'd discovered through the way he lit up at the sight of the cars, the drivers, the roar of the engines on screen.

You returned to the table, a tired but content smile forming on your lips.

Your mother took a slow sip of her tea before looking up at you gently. “So… has his father called? Checked in at all?”

Your chest sank a little, and you exhaled a sigh that felt like it had been stored up for weeks. “No. Not once,” you said quietly. “He’s never really made the effort. And honestly? I’m done waiting for him to care. Sebastian doesn’t even notice. It’s just been me and him for so long, we’ve got our own rhythm.”

Your mom nodded solemnly, her eyes reflecting both pride and sorrow. “I’m sorry, honey. You deserve more support than that. But you’re doing an amazing job. I mean it.”

You gave a soft smile, one that came with both gratitude and a hint of weariness. Your gaze wandered again to the living room. Sebastian was sitting cross-legged in front of the TV, practically vibrating with excitement. The race had started, and you could hear his delighted squeals every time a car zoomed across the screen.

“He’s obsessed,” you chuckled. “Formula 1, of all things.”

“I noticed,” your mom said, a twinkle in her eye. “He talks about the cars like they’re superheroes.”

You smiled wider. “Yeah. He has a whole routine. Points at Charles and says, ‘Zoom!’ Every time he sees Kimi or George he claps like he’s at a concert. Don’t even get me started on how excited he gets over Lando and Oscar. It's... it’s kind of adorable.”

There was a pause, the soft kind that usually comes before something unexpected.

“Well,” your mom started, setting her mug down and reaching into her handbag slowly, “since he loves it so much… and since you could really use a little joy, I thought this might help.”

She slid a small envelope across the table toward you.

You blinked, confused, then slowly opened it.

Your heart skipped.

Inside were two glossy, official Formula 1 paddock passes—one adult, one child.

You looked up at her, stunned. “Mom… what is this?”

“It’s for the Grand Prix this weekend,” she said, her voice gentle. “I pulled a few strings. A friend from my old job still does hospitality for events like this. It’s not VIP, but it’s paddock access. You and Sebastian can go. See the cars, the drivers, the team garages… the whole thing. I thought he’d love it. And you, too.”

Tears stung your eyes, and you laughed, a bit breathless from the shock. “Are you serious? Mom… this is too much.”

“It’s not too much,” she said, smiling. “You give that boy the world every day with what little you have. I figured it was time the world gave something back. And who knows? Maybe this is the kind of moment he’ll remember forever.”

From the living room came the unmistakable shriek of joy—Sebastian jumping up and down, arms raised as a car zoomed across the screen. “Mama! It’s Lando!! Look! Orange car!!”

You turned, your heart softening at the sight.

You looked back at the passes, then to your mother, your eyes glossy. “Thank you,” you whispered. “He’s going to lose his little mind.”

She reached across and squeezed your hand. “That’s the plan.”

The two of you chatted between soft laughs and thoughtful silences—the kind that only exist in the presence of someone who has known you your whole life. It was one of those rare, warm moments of peace—something you didn’t get to feel often in your whirlwind life as a single mother.

The conversation drifted between topics: Sebastian’s latest fascination with “Zoom cars,” your job, the things you missed, and the things you learned to live without. It was soft. Safe. Your mother’s voice was a balm, and for the first time in weeks, you let yourself believe that maybe everything really would be okay.

Meanwhile, halfway across the world, in a completely different atmosphere, Lando Norris groaned into his pillow.

The curtains of his penthouse suite were drawn tightly shut, but even the tiniest sliver of sunlight that slipped in felt like an attack. His head throbbed in waves, a dull pulsing at his temples that matched the beat of the club music still echoing in his brain. The drinks from the night before had tasted better going down than they did now, swirling in his stomach like regret. His mouth was dry, throat burning faintly from too much liquor and not enough water, and all he could remember was the wild chorus of bass drops, laughter, bodies dancing under neon lights, and a few blurry flashes of cameras aimed directly at him.

Another tabloid moment. Another night added to his growing online image—Lando Norris, the fun-loving party king of Formula 1.

He groaned again and shifted in bed, a pillow dragged over his face. "Never again," he muttered to himself.

“Right,” came a dry, amused voice from the doorway.

Lando peeked one eye open, lifting the pillow just enough to glare at Oscar Piastri, who stood just inside the room, arms crossed, and a disapproving smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You look dead, mate,” Oscar said, eyeing the chaos of clothes strewn across the floor, the abandoned shoes by the door, and Lando himself—still in last night’s wrinkled t-shirt, half-draped in his sheets like a child mid-tantrum.

Lando gave a weak thumbs-up, his voice hoarse. “I feel sick.”

Oscar snorted. “Yeah, I wonder why. Maybe the six tequila shots? Or was it the bottle service you insisted on ordering at two in the morning?”

“I was celebrating,” Lando groaned.

“Celebrating what exactly? A hangover?”

Lando flopped onto his back, wincing. “Shut up. I'm mourning my youth.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “You’re twenty-five.”

“Exactly,” Lando muttered. “Quarter-life crisis.”

Oscar shook his head, making his way over to pull open the curtains—Lando hissed dramatically as sunlight flooded the room. Oscar rolled his eyes and tossed a bottle of water at him. “You’re lucky your schedule’s clear for once. I should make you go for a run.”

“Run?!” Lando looked offended. “Oscar. I’m dying.”

“You’re hungover. Same thing every time. You act like the world’s ending, and then you’re back on a yacht tomorrow.”

Lando took a long sip of water, the coldness soothing his throat and dulling the nausea just enough. He looked out the window at the skyline—vibrant, alive, and completely removed from any form of normalcy. The contrast between his life and the real world had never been sharper than now.

And though he lived for the thrill, the freedom, the glamor... somewhere, buried under the hangover and the jokes, a part of him wondered what it would be like to wake up in a quiet house.

To the world, Lando Norris lived a dream dipped in neon lights and champagne. He was the poster boy of F1’s nightlife—flashing cameras, velvet ropes, smoke-filled lounges, the glittering pulse of clubs across Monaco, London, Ibiza. His name often trended beside headlines of afterparties and appearances, linked to whispers of flings, mystery women, and flirtatious smirks caught on video.

The “party boy” image clung to him like cologne—loud, undeniable, and impossible to ignore.

At first, Lando had laughed it off. He gave the media their smiles, tossed fans a wink, and leaned into the persona. Why not? He was young, rich, successful. The parties were fun, the people lively, the noise almost enough to drown out the emptiness that sometimes followed when he returned home alone.

But the more the world assumed, the harder it became to shake the narrative. Social media only cemented it further—comments under photos speculating who he’d slept with, sarcastic tweets calling him the "Formula 1 Casanova," and fan threads dissecting his every interaction with a woman. At times, the world didn’t seem to believe he was capable of real love—only fleeting fun.

And that started to sting.

Behind the filters and club lights, Lando was still just a twenty-five-year-old guy who sometimes questioned where his life was going. Fame had given him everything, yet it also took so much. Privacy. Trust. Stability.

He'd see posts about Oscar and Lily—his teammate and his long-time girlfriend—and it would stir something unfamiliar in him. They had history. Quiet affection. A love that felt warm and grounding. The kind of relationship fans loved to root for. There was no gossip about Oscar’s loyalty, no speculation over his weekend choices. Instead, there were cute couple pictures, supportive tweets, and heartfelt comments.

The contrast couldn’t have been sharper.

Sometimes, in the silence after a night out, Lando would lie in bed, watching the ceiling fan spin, wondering if the path he was on led to something fulfilling—or if he’d just keep spinning in circles. He didn’t want to admit it, but part of him craved something deeper. Someone to laugh with on quiet mornings. Someone who didn’t just love him for the spotlight, but in the silence too.

And yet, he wasn’t sure how to find her. Or if he even knew what he was looking for.

His “type,” as people so confidently assumed—tall, stunning models with glossy hair and flawless smiles—was starting to feel like a shallow box he’d been stuffed into. He thought back to past flings—women who were beautiful, yes, but left him feeling emptier than before. Conversations that rarely went past the surface. Nights that blurred into mornings with no plans for the day after.

Was that really love? Was that really what he wanted?

Or was he just playing a role he no longer fit?

The world saw him one way—carefree, reckless, living in luxury. But beneath the surface, Lando was beginning to feel a quiet shift. A question forming in the back of his mind: What if I want more?

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

When you told Sebastian that he was going to see Formula 1 in person, it was as if the entire world stood still for him. His little face froze in pure, stunned disbelief—mouth parted, eyes wide, eyebrows lifted in that exaggerated toddler way that could only come from raw joy. Then, in a heartbeat, he was squealing, launching himself into your arms with such excitement that it nearly knocked the breath out of you.

“Tank you, Mommy! Tank you!” he repeated over and over, voice high with joy, arms wrapped tight around your neck. His mispronounced “thank you” was so pure and sincere that tears threatened to gather in your eyes.

This was it—this was the kind of moment that made every hard day worth it. Every sleepless night, every quiet cry when no one saw you, every sacrifice. Just to give him this joy.

He ran off seconds later, unable to contain his excitement, and started listing the drivers he hoped to meet, barely forming the names in between giddy jumps and giggles. “I gonna see Maxy! And Yuki! And Chawles! And Georgie!” he chanted as he spun around the living room, arms wide like airplane wings. “And Kimi too! And Ockar! Lan’dooo!”

You sat back on the couch, smiling through the wave of emotions. His joy was contagious, a kind of magic that settled deep in your chest.

The days leading up to the paddock visit were filled with a chaos that only love could fuel. You buried yourself in planning, not because you had to, but because you wanted it to be perfect. This wasn’t just a day out—this was a gift, a dream come true for a little boy who’d fallen in love with fast cars and faster drivers without even fully understanding the sport.

You spent evenings scrolling through online shops, adding team merch to your cart, checking sizes twice, and triple-checking the weather forecast. You mapped out packing lists, planned snacks, checked your camera storage space, and googled things like “best ear protection for toddlers at F1 races.”

But the biggest debate of all? Outfits.

You carefully laid out options on your bed—tiny team shirts, pint-sized hats, mini race suits, and soft fleece hoodies. You imagined how he'd look in each one, how his face might light up when he saw someone wearing matching colors.

“Which team should we wear first, Sebastian?” you asked one afternoon, crouching beside him as he built a racetrack out of magnetic tiles and blocks. He paused mid-play, finger on his chin in deep thought.

After a moment, he turned to you with absolute certainty.

“I wear McLah-win. All days,” he said, nodding to confirm his own decision.

“All three days?” you teased.

He nodded more firmly this time, curls bouncing. “Lan’do and Ockar are da best.”

So that was settled.

Day one: his bright papaya hoodie and matching cap—simple, bold, unmistakably McLaren. You paired it with black joggers and white sneakers, letting him choose his favorite little backpack with the lightning bolt keychain.

Day two: his mini Oscar Piastri race suit. It was perfectly tailored for a toddler, down to the stitched belt and sponsor logos. You’d even sewn his name—Sebastian—onto the chest in orange thread. When he saw it, his jaw dropped like he was holding the holy grail. “It me!” he shouted, tracing the letters.

Day three: Lando’s race suit replica. Slightly too big, but in his eyes, it made him look like a real driver. He practiced imaginary starts and finishes, sprinting across the hallway, mimicking Lando’s winning gestures, making vroom-vroom noises until bedtime.

Every night that week, he fell asleep clutching one of his toy cars, his beloved McLaren cap tucked beside his pillow. Some nights, you found him sleep-talking about drivers, whispering garbled names and “I so fast” with a tiny smile.

And you? You watched it all with a full heart.

You weren’t just preparing for a trip—you were making memories. You were giving your son something to remember long after his toddler years had passed. The joy in his eyes, the bounce in his steps, the way he counted down the days like it was Christmas. This wasn’t just about F1. This was about sharing something magical with your little boy.

And in the quiet moments, after Sebastian had fallen asleep, you'd sit in the living room, sometimes staring at the orange hoodie or listening to the faint hum of past races playing from your laptop. You didn’t have every piece of life figured out—but you had this. You had him.

You thought about how far you’d come. A single mom, navigating motherhood without the kind of support others had, building your own traditions, your own life. It hadn’t always been easy, but in these moments, the love made it feel more than enough.

Now, paddock passes in hand, suitcases packed, tiny shoes lined up at the door, it was almost time.

Three days. Three days of noise, excitement, laughter, and a front-row view to something your son loved deeply.

Airports were a world of their own—blaring announcements, rolling suitcases, the blend of perfume and coffee in the air, and the shuffle of people rushing from gate to gate. Among it all, you stood just past the security checkpoint, your carry-on slightly slipping from your shoulder, one hand firmly wrapped around the handle of Sebastian’s tiny suitcase—blue with orange race car stickers he insisted on putting on himself—and the other guiding your excitable three-year-old who was practically vibrating with anticipation.

It was Sebastian’s very first flight, and while you had spent days preparing, no number of travel blogs or TikToks could have truly braced you for the full-body energy your son was currently radiating.

He hopped along the polished tiles in his McLaren hoodie, a stuffed car plushie in one hand, backpack bouncing behind him. “Mommy! We goin’ in da sky! Da sky, da sky, da—!”

“Sebastian,” you called gently but firmly, your tone threading calmness into control. You reached for his shoulder and he paused, looking up at you with that sunshine-smile—one so wide it crinkled the corners of his eyes. He didn’t speak, just beamed at you like he was keeping a little secret with the clouds he was so eager to meet.

You crouched beside him for a moment, brushing a curl from his forehead. “I know you’re excited, baby, but we have to stay close, okay? No running. There’s too many people here today.”

“Okay, Mommy,” he whispered, slightly breathless, like the airport was a magical maze he was being told not to touch.

You stood again and reached into your tote bag. “Here,” you offered, pulling out the snack bag you’d packed that morning with military precision. “Pick a snack, sit tight.”

Sebastian peeked in, his small fingers rifling through pouches of gummies, crackers, and his ultimate comfort choice—Goldfish. His eyes lit up. “De fishes!”

You tore the bag open and handed it to him, watching the way he cradled it carefully in both hands, like it was treasure. He sat down cross-legged near the window of your gate, Goldfish in hand, gaze drifting to the planes outside.

You took a breath, letting the buzz of the airport fade into the background for a beat. The weight of the moment hit you gently—not heavy, but meaningful. This wasn’t just a trip. This was a first. His first time flying, his first Formula 1 race, his first steps into something that felt big and unforgettable. And you got to be the one by his side, showing him all of it.

You sat next to him, watching him crunch quietly, the reflection of the airplanes gliding along the tarmac gleaming in the wide glass ahead. The clouds above were beginning to part, sun dappling in streaks across the runways.

“Do you think we gonna go super fast like the cars?” he asked, cheeks puffed with snacks.

You laughed softly. “Not quite that fast. But we’ll be up in the clouds soon.”

“Like... where birds go?”

“Exactly where birds go.”

He turned to you, and in a whisper, said, “I hope Lando go there too.”

You chuckled again, heart full. “Maybe not today. But we’ll see him soon.”

It was then that boarding was announced, and the line began to form. You packed up the snack bag, helped Sebastian to his feet, and adjusted his hoodie once more. As you grabbed his hand and headed toward the gate, you felt it again—that quiet sense of rightness.

Despite the chaos of travel, the work of planning, the worries of being enough as a mom—you were here. Together. On an adventure. And that was more than enough.

As you stepped into the jet bridge, your son looked up at you once again, eyes sparkling with wonder. “Mommy?”

“Yeah, love?”

“I gonna fly like Oscar.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The flight buzzed with a quiet hum, the occasional ding of seatbelt signs and the low chatter of passengers blending into a white noise symphony. Yet, in the middle of row 14, two seats near the window were alight with joy.

Sebastian was electric with energy, practically bouncing in his seat, his McLaren hoodie slightly oversized and his cheeks flushed from all the excitement. Every person who met his eyes—even if only in passing—was greeted with an enthusiastic, “Hi! I go see cars! I go see McLaren! I go see Lando!”

You smiled, half-apologetic to the flight attendants who offered polite, knowing chuckles. But none of them seemed to mind. In fact, they leaned into his excitement, letting him help “check” the snack basket, praising his race car backpack, and slipping him extra juice boxes like he was royalty on board.

“He’s adorable,” one attendant whispered to you as she passed, her smile soft. “Reminds me of my nephew.”

You thanked her quietly, watching as Sebastian munched on the little cookies she had offered him. He kicked his legs softly under the seat, recounting every topic under the sun: cartoons, new toys, dinosaurs, his favorite car toys, and somehow even Santa Claus—despite it being months away from Christmas.

You couldn't help but giggle when he whispered, “Santa gonna bring me new tires for my cars.”

“Really?” you played along.

“Yeah, da fast ones. So I can beat Max.”

His logic was flawless.

But all that energy had a price. After a flurry of words and crumbs, your little boy's lids grew heavier. He curled slightly into his seat, and you, ever the prepared mother, pulled out his checkered-flag throw blanket—one he insisted on packing himself. You tucked it around him, brushing a hand over his forehead.

The screen ahead played SpongeBob, flickering softly. His eyes were half-lidded, still trying to focus, but the gentle sway of the plane, the warmth of the blanket, and the comfort of being beside you finally coaxed him into rest.

His lashes fluttered, and then—sleep.

You leaned back into your seat, a peaceful exhale leaving your lips. Looking down at your sleeping son, his cheek resting softly against the seat, arms wrapped around his plushie, you couldn’t help but pull out your phone. One quick snap, the image so sweet and pure it made your chest tighten. You posted it to your story with a caption:

“First flight ever—and he’s already dreaming of podiums 🏁✨ #McLarenFuture #PiastriJunior?”

The replies would come fast. Friends gushing. A few mutuals tagging McLaren. A couple of comments about how cute he looked in the gear. You smiled, tucking the phone away and letting your head rest against the seat as well, your heart warm with pride.

Meanwhile, miles ahead and hours earlier, Lando was nestled in the calm before the chaos.

The drivers’ hospitality suite was abuzz with low conversation. It was one of those rare quiet moments before a race weekend—the lull before the storm of flashing cameras, screaming fans, microphones, and paddock chaos. Drivers lounged on couches, some eating, some gaming, others just catching up.

Lando leaned back in his chair, arms folded, nursing a bottle of water as Oscar settled beside him, hair still slightly tousled from the heat outside.

“You win in Australia and you’re gonna party?” Carlos asked, amused.

Lando smirked. “Hell yeah. Wouldn’t you?”

Charles chuckled. “I guess it’s deserved.”

“Party responsibly,” Lewis added with a half-smile, giving a small nod toward Max who was currently laughing with Yuki across the room.

Max’s voice drifted over: “At least I don’t party in public every other weekend.”

Lando laughed along with the others, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The banter continued—Lewis talked about Roscoe’s latest spa visit, Max mentioned Kelly and the girls, Carlos shared plans of flying back home to unwind. Everyone had someone. Someone who waited at home. Someone who traveled with them. Someone they could call when the helmets came off.

Lando had always told himself he didn’t need that—not yet. He was 25, living the dream. He had the cars, the spotlight, the money, the fans. But lately, the silence after the adrenaline wore off… it felt a little heavier.

Sure, he had his parents. He loved them deeply, was grateful for their unwavering support. But still, it wasn’t the same. His Instagram tags were flooded with girls fans assumed he was dating, models or influencers caught near him at clubs, the media labeling him “F1’s golden bachelor.”

And yet here he was, scrolling through his phone, staring blankly at filtered stories and half-hearted DMs, wondering what it would feel like to have someone to call after a long day—not just someone to party with, but someone to talk to.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Finally, the sweet relief of the hotel room washed over you like a warm wave. The plush bedding, the crisp air conditioning, and the gentle hum of the city beyond the windows made it feel like a well-earned moment of peace. The journey had been long, and while you were used to doing things alone, the toll of traveling with a toddler wasn't light—especially one who vibrated with joy the entire way here.

But the moment your shoes hit the carpet and the door clicked shut behind you, you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

Sebastian was already off exploring the room, the smallest adventurer you’d ever met. His tiny feet padded softly over the hotel floor as he opened closet doors and peeked under the table like he was on a treasure hunt.

You smiled, watching him tumble through the pile of travel bags you’d placed near the bed. With delight, he unearthed the small toys you had carefully packed—ones he insisted on bringing because, “I want to show Lando my cars, Mommy!”

The bed looked like heaven, and you longed to collapse into it. Tomorrow would be the first of the three-day Paddock adventure. You'd need to be up early, need time to get Sebastian dressed, fed, and possibly wrangled into his mini McLaren gear without incident. You were sure you’d be chasing him around with a juice box in one hand and sunscreen in the other.

Still, it was worth it. Every bit of effort, every dollar spent, every long hour on your feet… all of it was worth the look on your son’s face. The world hadn’t always been kind to you—but Sebastian was your reason to fight harder, smile bigger, and hope again.

You watched him laugh at nothing in particular, giggling as his cars zipped across the polished hotel floor.

How could anyone not want to be part of this?

That thought crept in again, quietly but painfully. You never said it out loud, but sometimes—when you tucked him in at night or watched him dance around to a cartoon theme song—you wondered how anyone could look at this child and choose not to stay.

But that aching thought was abruptly interrupted by the buzz of your phone vibrating on the nightstand.

You frowned when you saw the name on the screen. That name. That past. That man.

The one who chose absence over fatherhood.

You stepped away toward the corner of the room, throwing a quick glance over your shoulder to ensure Sebastian was still happily distracted with his toys. He was. You answered.

“Hello?” you said quietly.

There was a pause—then that voice. Tired, lazy, like it hadn’t changed a bit. “Y/n… hey. It’s been a while.”

A scoff built in your throat. You clenched your jaw, already done with the conversation before it truly began.

“‘A while’?” you repeated, voice low and sharp. “It’s been more than a while. It’s been two missed birthdays. It’s been holidays with no call. It’s been me raising a child while you send the occasional drunk text at 2 a.m. about how we should get back together. Which, by the way, is sick. Because let’s be honest—you hated me. And I hated you.”

Your voice trembled—part anger, part exhaustion—but you kept it contained, steady. Because you couldn’t let Sebastian hear this. You wouldn't let his joy be tainted by a man who only called when he remembered he used to be a father.

There was silence on the other end of the line. No apology. No excuse. Just silence. The kind that confirmed what you already knew.

You ended the call without another word, letting your finger hover over the red button for only a second before pressing it.

Then you turned back toward the bed, your chest tight but your expression softening the moment you looked at Sebastian—who was now sitting cross-legged on the floor, making car noises and whispering to himself about which driver he was going to talk to first.

And just like that, the ache in your chest shifted. Not gone—but lighter. Because you had him. And he had you.

You walked over and knelt beside him, pulling him close into a warm hug, letting him nuzzle against your shoulder. “I love you, baby,” you whispered.

He looked up at you with that same big smile and messy curls, his arms wrapping around your neck.

“I wuv you too, Mommy.”

And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The next morning felt like a whirlwind dressed as routine chaos — the kind that makes you question every decision leading up to it. It started far too early, in a hotel room that still smelled faintly like fresh linen and room service. The alarm blasted through the soft silence like a siren call from hell. You startled awake, jolting upright with a groggy huff and instinctively smacking the snooze button with more aggression than necessary. Sebastian, curled up under the covers beside you, let out a long, loud whine — the kind of exaggerated noise toddlers save for their biggest complaints — before burying his messy-haired head under the blanket.

You mumbled a curse under your breath — something just strong enough to release the frustration but quiet enough that your three-year-old wouldn't catch on. Or so you thought.

The first words he mumbled were, “Mommy… that noise hurt my ears.”

“I know, baby,” you said softly, brushing hair from his eyes. “Mine too.”

Breakfast came next, which turned into a full-on negotiation. You’d offered a simple, reasonable suggestion — cereal and sliced strawberries — something quick and clean, something you could manage while half-awake and still brushing your teeth. But Sebastian had other plans, declared with all the authority of a Michelin-star critic: “Waffles. Hotel ones. And fruit. And muffins. And orange juice. The big cup.”

You blinked. “All that?”

He nodded solemnly, lips pursed like this was a very serious matter.

You gave in, of course. You always did when he got that specific sparkle in his eyes — wide, hopeful, and full of such raw excitement that saying “no” felt like a crime. Soon, he had a plate overflowing with buttery waffles drizzled in syrup, a rainbow of cut fruit, two muffins (one chocolate chip, one blueberry), and a comically large glass of orange juice that he insisted on holding himself with both tiny hands. He looked far too proud of his breakfast, swinging his legs from the chair and beaming up at you between bites.

You had no idea how such a small person could eat like that. You didn’t even question it anymore.

Then came bath time — your battlefield. You’d hoped maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be too hard today. But the second the tub started filling, he was bouncing with energy, throwing plastic toy cars into the water like a pre-race ritual.

Getting him in wasn’t hard. Getting him to stay still? Impossible.

Water splashed everywhere — the floor, the walls, your shirt. When it came time to wash his hair, the protest began. His face twisted into a dramatic pout the second your fingers touched the shampoo bottle.

“Nooo, it goes in my eyes!”

You kept your tone soft, soothing. “I’ll be careful, sweetheart. Eyes closed like a superhero, okay?”

He whined. Then sniffled. Then let you do it — reluctantly, with some side-eye — as you hummed the theme song to Paw Patrol just to distract him.

After what felt like a small war, he was finally clean, dressed, and smelling faintly of baby lotion and sunblock. You helped him into his outfit for the day — his prized papaya-colored McLaren hoodie, proudly zipped up to his chin, paired with a matching McLaren cap that looked just a little too big and kept sliding down his forehead. His joggers were black, and his tiny white sneakers were spotless… for now.

He looked like a mini superfan ready to storm the paddock with purpose.

You turned to yourself next, slipping into the dress you’d carefully chosen — a soft milkmaid-style dress that flowed like poetry around your calves. The fabric was weightless and cool against your skin, white with delicate blue florals scattered like petals caught in a spring breeze. The bodice was gently structured, the sweetheart neckline adding a touch of softness and femininity that made you feel — for the first time in a while — pretty. Really pretty.

The wide-brimmed straw hat you packed sat perfectly atop your head, giving you just enough shade to guard against the harsh Australian sun you knew would be relentless later. It felt right — the dress, the hat, the moment.

Sebastian slung on his small backpack with the same dramatic flair he used for everything. You grabbed the paddock passes — laminated, bright, and full of promise — and with one last deep breath, you stepped out of the hotel room and into the day.

The paddock was a different world entirely.

The moment you arrived, it swallowed you whole — the sounds, the motion, the life. Fans pressed against barriers, shouting names, waving signs, laughing and crying and reaching. The scent of rubber and heat hung in the air, the low growl of distant engines thundering beneath it all like a heartbeat.

Sebastian’s hand stayed firmly in yours, but his eyes were everywhere. Wide, lit with a pure joy that was impossible to replicate or fake. He looked around like he’d walked into the gates of a dream — and in a way, he had.

Meanwhile, not too far from the chaos, Lando Norris stood in the middle of it all — a sea of movement around him. He was used to this part: the cameras, the fans, the autographs, the media questions that danced on the edge of personal and professional. He gave polite smiles, half-jokes, the occasional wink that sent fans squealing. He did his part, and he did it well.

But then, something — someone — caught his eye.

A woman in a blue and white dress moving slowly through the crowd, careful and calm, with a little boy in McLaren gear walking beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Lando’s heart stuttered.

Not because he knew you. He didn’t — not yet.

But in the way her dress moved with the breeze, in the way the little boy held her hand with absolute trust, in the way she looked down at her son with the kind of love that softened even the harshest corners of a place like this… something in Lando shifted.

He didn’t know why, but for the first time all morning, he wasn’t thinking about the race.

He was thinking about them.

Sebastian gasped—audibly and dramatically—the way only a toddler could. His small hands flew up with excitement as he pointed toward a nearby setup, where bright banners and colorful displays celebrated each team with proud fanfare. The McLaren signage, bold and unmistakable, had clearly captured his entire being.

You let out a soft chuckle, reaching down to gently rest a hand on his shoulder. “We’re gonna get ourselves a tour of the garages, okay?” you explained, crouching slightly to meet his excitement with calm. “We just have to wait for the tour guide.”

Sebastian nodded, eyes still gleaming as he rocked on his heels, the cap on his head slightly tilted from his animated movements. He didn’t say anything else, but his joy was bubbling over — it was in his posture, his wiggling fingers, and the bright way he scanned the paddock like it was an amusement park made just for him.

The buzz of chatter around you was constant — conversations blending into each other, fan voices raised in awe, the faint beat of music pulsing somewhere in the background. It was overwhelming, in that kind of magical way only big, exciting places could be.

And then… he appeared.

Lando Norris, threading his way through the crowd with casual familiarity, a soft “Excuse me,” here, a small nod there, eyes scanning ahead until they landed directly on the small boy in papaya orange. In mere moments, he was in front of Sebastian, lowering himself into a crouch, eyes kind and lit with recognition.

“Hey, little guy,” he greeted warmly, his voice soft in contrast to the buzz of the paddock. “Supporting McLaren today? You’re gonna be our mini driver, yeah?”

Sebastian went completely still.

Not just quiet — frozen. His jaw dropped slightly, arms limp at his sides, as if he had just spotted a dragon, a real one, casually crouched right in front of him. He blinked rapidly, eyes wide and unblinking, unsure whether to cry, run, or explode with happiness. He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you — quiet, surprised, utterly endeared. Lando had that effect on fans, sure, but seeing it happen to your own child? Surreal. You fumbled into your small white purse, pulling out your phone and readying it as you approached gently.

“Sebastian?” you asked softly. “Are you gonna pose so I can take a photo of you two?”

Nothing.

He still stood there, stunned and starstruck.

Then — without warning — he let out a high-pitched scream of joy, the kind of shriek that made nearby heads turn, and yours nearly snap off your shoulders. You winced. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry—!”

But Lando was already laughing, waving a hand with ease. “It’s okay,” he reassured, glancing up at you with a grin that softened you instantly. “He’s okay. Totally okay.”

His gaze lingered for just a second longer than expected — drawn to your face, your soft expression as you watched your son. Then to the way your dress moved ever so slightly with the breeze, the light catching the delicate floral pattern like a watercolor in motion. Your perfume drifted toward him, subtle and clean with something sweet woven in. It hit him harder than expected, that scent — or maybe it was everything about you, compacted into that single moment of wind and sunlight and childlike joy.

Sebastian flung his arms around Lando in a burst of affection, burying his face against the front of his McLaren zip-up. You watched with your heart in your throat as Lando returned the hug, wrapping his arms around Sebastian without hesitation, effortlessly soft in a way that came so naturally it stunned you.

“Okay!” you said through a smile, stepping back with your phone. “Let me get a cute photo of you two.”

Sebastian and Lando posed — or rather, Lando posed with Sebastian, crouching back down with one knee on the ground, chin resting gently on Sebastian’s small shoulder. Their cheeks touched, curly heads leaning into one another. Lando held up a single finger in a #1 pose, smiling like he meant it. It was perfect.

You snapped a few photos, and as you did, you couldn’t help but notice it — their hair. The curls. The way they framed both of their faces almost identically. You smiled to yourself. It wasn’t exactly a coincidence. After all, when Lando had kept his signature curly mullet look last season, Sebastian had seen a photo online and announced with unwavering confidence: “I want that hair.” He had pointed at Lando like it was gospel. And you? You’d booked the salon the next day.

As the hug ended, you stepped forward, slipping your phone back into your purse. “Thank you so much for taking a photo with him,” you said warmly, genuinely.

Lando stood, brushing the knees of his pants. “It’s no issue at all,” he replied, glancing down at Sebastian once more with fondness. “I think I’ve just met my teammate of the future.”

Sebastian beamed, still too shy to speak.

“You gonna drive for us one day?” Lando added, teasing, nudging the boy gently. “I’ll keep a seat warm for you.”

Your heart tugged at the sight — your son, so young and yet so full of love for a world like this. And Lando, surprisingly sweet and attentive, entirely present in a way that told you he wasn’t just putting on a show for the cameras or fans.

You smiled to yourself, glancing at the paddock around you, then back at them — Sebastian, the driver he idolized, and this unfolding moment you hadn’t expected.

"Come on, we have to let him go now," you said gently, wrapping your fingers around Sebastian’s small hand, trying to coax him away. The toddler let out a soft pout, his eyes still wide with admiration as he looked up at Lando like he was the sun itself. But even with his protest brewing, he gave in with a tiny sigh, slipping his hand into yours.

Lando chuckled, the kind that warmed the air around him. “He’s fine—he’s a cutie,” he replied, his voice light, fond even, as he glanced down at the boy once more.

It wasn’t unusual for him to be sweet with fans, especially kids. He’d always had a soft spot for the younger supporters—their joy was so pure, so unfiltered. But something about Sebastian tugged at a different thread inside him. And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t just Sebastian who had caught his attention.

His gaze lingered, just for a second longer than it should’ve. Not on the excited toddler now hugging his leg again, but on you.

The subtle curve of your smile as you looked at your son. The soft sweep of hair tucked behind your ear. That floral milkmaid dress—light, ethereal—danced a little in the breeze, brushing gently against your calves, the blue and white print making your skin glow beneath the sunlight. He caught the scent of your perfume again, something sweet but grounded, and it almost made him forget the paddock noise surrounding him.

But then reality nudged him.

He was Lando Norris. And with that name came the constant click of cameras, the headlines that twisted simple kindness into something scandalous, and the ongoing ache of knowing that privacy was a luxury he didn’t own. He couldn’t afford to let curiosity become anything more.

Still, he offered a smile. Genuine. “Thank you for letting us get a photo,” you said, your voice soft with gratitude, and maybe even a hint of admiration tucked behind it.

“It’s no issue at all,” he answered, his voice equally soft now, more personal somehow.

Just then, Sebastian broke free of your hold once more, bouncing with renewed energy. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around Lando’s leg in one last goodbye hug. Your lips parted in mild surprise, but you couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped.

You already knew what was coming.

“He’s going to ask for Oscar now,” you said knowingly, an amused look on your face as you tucked your phone back into your purse.

Lando laughed, bending slightly so he could meet Sebastian’s gaze again. “Oscar, huh? Can’t blame him. We’ll have to make sure he gets that photo too.”

Your heart swelled at the kindness in his tone. And even if the moment had to end, it left an impression—gentle, fleeting, and maybe more meaningful than either of you could admit.

“We can find Oscar—he’s somewhere around here,” Lando said, crouching slightly to meet Sebastian’s eye again. His voice had that calm, charming tone kids seemed to respond to instinctively, and sure enough, Sebastian’s tiny hand found his with total trust.

You smiled, your heart quietly aching in the best way as you watched the two of them. There was something surreal about it—your son hand-in-hand with a driver he’d looked up to for months, someone whose posters decorated his bedroom walls, whose name he babbled about nonstop. And yet here they were, side by side, like they’d known each other longer than a few minutes.

You followed behind, just a few paces, letting the moment play out in front of you like a movie. The scene looked too perfect: Sebastian looking up, talking animatedly about his toy car collection, while Lando nodded and listened as if each word was of utmost importance.

But even as warmth filled your chest, something inside you whispered not to get carried away. This was Lando Norris. He was always kind to fans, especially to kids. This wasn’t special. It couldn’t be. It was just part of his image, part of the charm that made millions adore him.

And yet… he didn’t let go of Sebastian’s hand.

As the three of you walked deeper into the paddock, the vibrant atmosphere buzzed louder. You could hear the faint hum of tires being rolled out, radios crackling with chatter, distant bursts of laughter from fans lining the barricades. The scent of asphalt, heat, and oil mixed with the soft floral trace of your perfume, which the breeze occasionally carried toward Lando—who didn’t seem to mind at all.

When you finally reached the McLaren garage, it was like walking into the heart of something electric. Engineers paced with purpose, monitors lit up with telemetry, car parts glinted under sharp fluorescent lights. And standing a few feet inside, Oscar Piastri turned just as Sebastian caught sight of him.

There was a beat—a tiny, loaded moment—and then Sebastian let out the kind of squeal only a three-year-old could make, bursting from Lando’s side and sprinting to Oscar like he was reuniting with a long-lost friend.

Oscar laughed, catching him in a half-squat hug, lifting him off the ground a few inches. “Woah! Look who’s here!” he said, clearly charmed.

You stopped just at the threshold of the garage, your feet hesitating for the first time. Cameras lingered near the entrance—journalists, team photographers, random flashes—and for a second, insecurity tried to creep in. You didn’t belong here. This was their world. You were just visiting.

You adjusted your grip on your purse, suddenly more aware of your dress, your posture, your hair. But then Lando turned. He wasn’t looking at the cameras. He wasn’t scanning the room. His gaze found you—just you.

And in that second, something in his expression softened.

“This is the garage—McLaren, for all you little fans,” he teased, gesturing toward the bright orange and blue world surrounding you both.

You tilted your head, crossing your arms playfully. “Little fans? Excuse you—I’m not little.”

He laughed, quick and genuine. “Apologies—to you and your little McLaren fan.” His eyes dropped for a brief second, catching your smile.

You hummed, pretending to think. “Better.”

It was an innocent exchange, lighthearted and quick—but it buzzed in the air between you both like a hidden signal, an unspoken something neither of you could fully name. Not yet.

Then came the gentle tug at your heart again—Sebastian. He was still chatting to Oscar, waving his tiny arms, recounting something that involved race cars and dragons, by the sound of it. Your fingers itched for your phone again. These were the moments he’d remember forever. So would you.

And then, just as you reached to adjust the strap of your bag, Sebastian did something that caught you off guard: he ran back, arms wide, and wrapped himself tightly around Lando’s leg. Like he’d done it a hundred times before. Like it was safe.

You felt something twist inside your chest—something warm and unexpected.

Lando looked down, blinking in surprise, then softened, his hand gently resting on Sebastian’s back. “He’s got a strong grip,” he joked, chuckling.

“He gets attached easily,” you said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Sorry if he’s clingy.”

Lando shook his head. “He’s not. He’s just… cool.” His voice dropped slightly, sincere and quiet. “You’ve got a good kid.”

You smiled—small, but real. “I know.”

Conversation between you and Lando had started off light, naturally flowing like you’d known him longer than a morning. You stood beside him in the garage while Sebastian trailed Oscar, clinging to every word and gesture the older driver made as he proudly led him on his own version of a pit lane tour. From where you stood, you could still hear Sebastian’s tiny giggles echoing through the hum of machinery and distant radio chatter.

Lando leaned against one of the workstations, arms folded, a casual smirk on his lips as you shared a story about how Sebastian once raced his Hot Wheels down the hallway so fast he crashed into the front door and blamed "aerodynamics."

Your laughter blended with his, light and genuine, for a moment making you forget where you were and who you were talking to. For once, it didn’t feel like you were speaking to a world-famous athlete. It felt... easy.

But then, just as you caught your breath mid-laugh, a voice chimed in—clear, curious, and edged with mischief.

“Who are you?”

Your head turned, and your smile faltered just slightly as Carlos Sainz approached. He was dressed in his Williams team gear, looking effortlessly put-together, a water bottle dangling from one hand and a subtle smirk playing on his lips.

You stood a little straighter. “I’m just a fan,” you said lightly, offering a small smile. “With a very enthusiastic mini fan.”

You gestured toward Sebastian, who was now seated on a tire stack as Oscar showed him the wheel gun. He was clearly in heaven.

Carlos raised a brow at your answer, his gaze flicking toward Lando, who remained unusually silent beside you. You caught the way Lando gave the subtlest shake of his head in Carlos's direction—a quiet warning, or perhaps a signal that this wasn’t what it looked like.

Carlos’s lips twitched with amusement. “I see…”

He turned his eyes back to you, sharp yet unreadable. “Any chance that little one over there’s gonna like me too?”

You tilted your head thoughtfully, hiding a smirk. “Maybe. He’s got quite the open taste. He’s been known to cheer for at least five teams depending on how cool their cars look.”

Carlos grinned. “Smart kid.”

Without waiting for a reply, he gave you both a mock salute and walked off, passing between you and Lando with the same confident stride he probably used walking to the grid.

You rolled your eyes playfully as you turned back to Lando, who looked amused but a little irritated too. “Next thing you know,” you joked, “they’ll be fighting over who gets his love.”

That broke Lando’s brief tension. He laughed, a soft, low chuckle that felt more personal than anything you’d heard from him before.

“He better stay loyal to McLaren,” Lando joked, glancing toward Sebastian again, his voice tinted with a sort of pride that didn’t quite make sense—unless it wasn’t just about the team anymore.

You smiled, feeling a subtle shift in the air. The kind that left you a little warmer, a little more aware. Of him. Of the way his gaze lingered when he looked at you. Of how close he was standing now, a casual closeness that felt just slightly charged.

Still, you reminded yourself to stay grounded.

Because at the end of the day, this was still the paddock.

This was still Lando Norris.

And this was probably still just part of the charm.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Practice ran smoother than expected, the sound of engines roaring past and tires screeching against the asphalt forming the soundtrack of the afternoon. From the elevated view inside the pit building, where guests and team members could observe from above, you stood with Sebastian tucked securely in your arms. The vantage point gave you a perfect view over the track, the bustling pit lane, and the vibrant, living pulse of the paddock beneath.

The air buzzed with excitement, even as the sun began to dip slightly in the sky. A warm Australian breeze slipped through the open balcony space, tousling your hair and carrying the lingering scent of gasoline, rubber, and fresh grass. Your heart was full—soaking in the atmosphere, the hum of conversation around you, the thrill from the crowd cheering just meters away, and most of all, the joy radiating from your little boy.

Sebastian was a firecracker in your arms—restless, wide-eyed, and utterly consumed by the action. “Go, Lando!” he shouted, his tiny fist pumped in the air. “Oscar! Look, mama, Oscar’s goin’ fast!”

You laughed gently, holding him a little tighter. “I see him, baby,” you said, amused by his commentary. “They’re both doing so good today, huh?”

He was completely immersed, like a sponge absorbing every detail. His enthusiasm didn’t waver, not even as the session neared its end. He clapped wildly when the McLaren cars zoomed past, shouted out names like they were old friends—“George! Kimi! Max! Charles!”—and even pointed with giddy excitement when Lewis appeared on the screen.

“Yuki! Look, mama, Yuki funny!” he giggled, slapping his hand against your arm.

You couldn’t help but smile. Seeing the world through his eyes—full of color and awe—made the chaos of travel, the fatigue from the long day, and even the stress you carried feel a little bit lighter.

But as the final laps came to a close and the cars began trickling back into their garages, the adrenaline began to fade. You felt it first in the way Sebastian slumped slightly against you, his arms slowly wrapping around your neck, his cheek brushing your shoulder. The spark of excitement still lingered in his little heart, but the rest of him—well, it was giving in.

He fought sleep like a warrior.

His lashes fluttered, his eyes red and heavy, but still he insisted, “No nap, mama.”

“I know, I know,” you said softly, brushing your hand over his curls. “Just a break, right? Just rest your eyes for a minute.”

But he wasn’t done yet. With a sudden jolt of energy, he shifted in your arms and pointed toward the paddock area just below. “Kimi, mama! Me see Kimi!”

His voice cracked from all the yelling he’d done, but the determination in his tone was still strong. He wiggled, trying to slide down from your hold.

“Kimi’s probably doing interviews right now,” you murmured, trying not to laugh at his stubbornness. “We’ll find him later, okay? Maybe he’ll even say hi if we’re lucky.”

He squinted into the distance as if willing the Mercedes driver to materialize on command. “Him wave me. Kimi wave me!” he insisted, rubbing his eyes and stamping his little foot down as if that would summon Kimi by pure toddler force alone.

You took a breath, your heart full to bursting. This was everything to him—the drivers weren’t just names or faces. They were superheroes. They were friends. And in his world, seeing one more of them—just one—before the day ended felt like the most important mission ever.

You leaned down and kissed his temple. “I believe you,” you whispered. “And I promise, we’ll try to find him. But you need to be strong for me, okay? Can you be strong, just for a little while longer?”

He nodded with all the gravity a three-year-old could muster, despite the way his thumb crept into his mouth and he tucked his head under your chin.

You shifted your weight, gently rocking him side to side, taking in the fading light on the horizon. The practice was done. The paddock buzz was quieter now, people trickling away, laughter floating from somewhere below, mechanics wheeling tires and boxes past in a practiced rhythm. The day had been long, but good. There was a softness in the air that hadn’t been there this morning. A calm.

And as you stood there, swaying slowly with your child in your arms, you couldn’t help but feel like you were exactly where you were supposed to be. Right here, in this in-between moment, holding the person you loved most in a place he already adored.

Sebastian let out a soft sigh, curling closer into your chest. His voice, thick with exhaustion but still clinging to hope, came again in a sleepy murmur.

“Mama... Kimi come back?”

You kissed his cheek, tucking the blanket from your bag around his shoulders.

“We’ll see, baby. I promise. You rest now. I’ll keep watch.”

And with that, his tiny body finally relaxed, sleep pulling him into a peaceful slumber, the sounds of the paddock slowly fading into the background.

You didn’t want to wait much longer — the day had worn you down, and Sebastian had finally dozed off in your arms, his head resting against your shoulder, lips parted in soft snores. But despite your fatigue, a small flame of hope flickered inside you. Maybe, just maybe, if you held on a little longer, Kimi would appear. You knew how much it meant to Sebastian.

The paddock had finally begun to settle. The blinding flashes of cameras, the swarming fans, the echoing voices of reporters — all of it had died down to a hum. And somewhere in that calm, Lando spotted you again. For once, he wasn’t surrounded by media demands or tugged in different directions by obligations. It was just him now. And his eyes softened the moment they landed on you.

He approached with that familiar casual stride, a chuckle slipping from his lips as he glanced at the boy cradled in your arms. “He’s out,” he said gently, almost amused, as if the excitement had finally caught up to the little one.

You smiled in return, the kind of tired but warm smile only a parent could offer. With care, you took off Sebastian’s slightly tilted McLaren cap, brushing his curls away from his damp forehead. “He’s been holding out just to see Kimi,” you murmured, almost apologetically.

Lando nodded with sincerity. “I’ll make sure Kimi stops by. He won’t miss this,” he promised. There was something earnest in his voice — not performative, not the usual ‘fan-service’ charm — but genuine, like he wanted to make it happen for Sebastian. For you.

You shrugged a bit, not wanting to impose. “If not, it’s okay. We’ll be back tomorrow. Got ourselves the full three-day access.” You hadn’t meant for it to be anything special when you said it, but it lit something quietly inside Lando. You were coming back — that meant more chances to see you. Maybe talk. Maybe… something more.

“In the span of just a few hours,” you added with a faint chuckle, “he managed to get photos with Charles, Lewis, Carlos, Alex — even Liam and Isack. Now all that’s left on his dream list is Kimi, George, Yuki, and Max.”

Lando smiled at that. “He’s ambitious. I like it. And he’ll get them — I’ll make sure of it,” he said firmly. He wasn’t just saying it to be nice — he meant it. Maybe it was the way Sebastian lit up around them, or maybe it was how you looked at your son like he was your whole world. Either way, Lando found himself caring a little too much.

A lull in the conversation opened a new window — a chance to ask more. To know more. And he took it.

“So… earlier you were saying a bit about the little guy and yourself. Dad didn’t come along?” Lando’s voice softened, carefully treading that line between curiosity and respect.

You looked down at Sebastian’s sleeping face, brushing a hand gently along his back. “We’re not exactly on speaking terms,” you said, voice low. “We’re not together. Haven’t been in a while.” Your tone wasn’t bitter, just honest.

And then the words spilled — maybe because Lando was easy to talk to, or maybe because you were just so tired of keeping it all inside. You told him how your ex had missed both of Sebastian’s birthdays. How the only contact came in the form of late-night, drunken texts that always circled back to the same twisted narrative: “Let’s try again,” followed by declarations you’d long stopped believing in.

You didn’t notice, but Lando’s expression shifted — a quiet intensity in his gaze. It wasn’t pity, but something deeper. He hated it for you. Hated that someone had been foolish enough to walk away from a life with you and Sebastian. And worse, that someone had left you to handle it all on your own.

But then, that guilt crept up his spine — uninvited and sharp. He was Lando Norris. He didn’t do strings. His world was fast and fleeting. Privacy was a myth. Relationships were speculation fodder. And the idea of being involved with someone — someone who came as a package deal — was overwhelming. Terrifying, even.

Still… he couldn’t ignore how naturally it all felt just then. You, him, and Sebastian.

For a second, he wondered what it might be like if things were different.

And that scared him.

So, instead of speaking his thoughts, he simply nodded, offering the kind of half-smile that didn’t reach all the way to his eyes. “He’s lucky to have you,” he said quietly.

And even though he didn’t say more, even though he buried whatever stirring he felt, the way he looked at you lingered longer than it should’ve.

Just as you were preparing to gently excuse yourself from Lando and finally head out with Sebastian asleep in your arms, a small wave of movement caught your attention. You looked up — and sighed in sheer relief.

Kimi had appeared at last.

He strolled in with a calm, almost unreadable expression, still in his race suit, hair slightly tousled from removing his helmet, and a bottle of water in hand. He hadn’t even fully stepped into the area before his eyes landed on you and Lando. He tilted his head slightly, brows pulling together in mild confusion as if trying to place the scene — a woman holding a sleeping child, standing with Lando Norris.

“I am so sorry to bother you,” you began gently, stepping forward just enough without jostling Sebastian. You didn’t want to startle him awake. “But you’re here and— I know I don’t have anything Mercedes for you to sign, but… signing his backpack would mean a lot.”

You offered a small, hopeful smile, holding out a black marker and the tiny, well-loved backpack that was slung over your shoulder. Its fabric was soft from use, and one of the zipper pulls had a keychain shaped like a Formula 1 car.

Lando gave a small, encouraging nod, his expression warm. “They’ll be back tomorrow,” he added, his voice casual but his tone protective. “Kid’s been waiting just to see you.”

At that, Kimi's face softened. Something about the sincerity in your voice, and perhaps the tone Lando had taken on — almost like it was his job to make sure this moment happened — made Kimi nod without hesitation.

He reached forward and gently took the backpack from you, uncapping the marker in one hand and holding the fabric taut in the other. “How old is he?” Kimi asked, his voice quiet but curious, eyes glancing at Sebastian’s sleeping face.

Before you could even open your mouth to respond, Lando beat you to it — his voice calm and full of a surprising kind of certainty.

“He’s three. His name is Sebastian.”

Your gaze flicked to Lando, eyes softening as a small lump formed in your throat. The way he said it — like he’d memorized it — made your chest feel tight. You hadn’t expected him to remember. Not when he’d been bombarded by faces and questions all day, caught in flashes of cameras and interviews. You assumed you and Sebastian would be forgotten as quickly as you appeared — just another moment in a long blur of fan interactions.

But he hadn’t forgotten.

He remembered your son’s name. His age. The way he fought sleep just to see Kimi. And it wasn’t just that he remembered — it was the way he cared. Lando said it like it mattered.

Kimi hummed thoughtfully as he signed his name across the backpack in neat, bold letters. Then, handing it back, he gave a small nod toward you. “He’s got good taste in drivers.”

You chuckled quietly, adjusting Sebastian in your arms. “He thinks all of you are superheroes,” you replied, voice hushed with affection. “Each time he sees a car or hears a name, it’s like the whole world lights up for him.”

Kimi offered a rare, faint smile before giving a polite nod and stepping away, blending back into the quiet shuffle of drivers finishing up their day. You watched him go, grateful — but it was the man standing beside you that still held your attention.

You turned your gaze to Lando. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his race suit, curls still a little damp with sweat from earlier, eyes on you like he hadn’t stopped watching you since Kimi arrived. There was something calm in his face now. Thoughtful. Open.

You exhaled slowly, shifting Sebastian’s weight against your shoulder. “Thank you,” you said softly.

Lando tilted his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “For what?”

“For remembering,” you answered simply.

And for a moment, nothing else needed to be said.

There you stood — you, a tired mother clutching her dreaming son, and Lando Norris, not the F1 star, but the guy who remembered a little boy’s name and helped him chase down a dream. And as the last rays of sunlight poured in from behind the pit building, painting the garage windows in a honey-gold glow, you felt something warm settle in your chest.

Bidding Lando a bye, you carried Sebastian, his now signed backpack, and his McLaren hat to the car, with Lando on your mind and a busy day ahead tomorrow.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Day Two arrived with a quiet stillness, the kind that promised potential before the world fully woke up. You stirred before the soft alarm had a chance to sound, quickly silencing it so Sebastian could remain curled up, blissfully asleep in the warmth of the hotel bed. He was tangled in the covers, one arm flopped dramatically over the stuffed car he’d won yesterday, the other hand loosely holding a toy McLaren.

You stole a moment to just watch him—his chest rising in slow, peaceful breaths—and then slipped away for a shower. The water felt grounding, warm against your skin, helping you wash away the exhaustion of travel and the high emotions of yesterday. You reminded yourself that today was supposed to be simple: enjoy the second day, support Sebastian’s little dream, and keep things… uncomplicated.

But then, there was Lando.

You knew better than to entertain anything. Yet his laugh, the way he’d remembered Sebastian’s name, the ease in his voice when talking to you… it all lingered heavier than you expected.

Once dressed, you stood before the mirror. You’d chosen the outfit intentionally—something that felt bold, fun, and just the right amount of spirited McLaren energy. A vivid orange halter top hugged your figure with flattering ruching, tied delicately at the back of your neck in a neat bow. It matched Sebastian’s bright Oscar Piastri race suit with near-perfect coordination. Paired with light wash high-waisted jeans that sculpted your shape and ended in a relaxed straight leg, the look balanced sleek and casual effortlessly.

You slid on a pair of orange braided heels, the square toe giving it a modern edge, and completed the outfit with stacked bangles in shades of ivory and burnt orange. A McLaren cap sat nestled on the hotel dresser—Sebastian’s idea for you to wear it today. “So we match!” he’d squealed yesterday. And of course, you’d promised you would.

You turned to gently wake Sebastian, who stirred the moment you whispered his name. His tiny brows furrowed sleepily at first, but when you pulled out the miniature Oscar suit, he shot upright like a rocket. “Today is Ows-cah day!” he cheered, bouncing on the bed in his onesie.

You got him dressed with a bit of effort and a lot of giggles, and once his race suit was zipped, name stitched proudly over his chest in orange thread, he did a full spin in front of the mirror. “We look like twins!” he declared.

Meanwhile, Lando was stirring in a completely different world.

He sat upright in the plush, oversized bed of his penthouse suite, the muted morning light trickling in from the floor-to-ceiling windows. His room felt too pristine, too still. He rubbed a hand over his face, his curls messy, and let out a low breath. The first thing he did was grab his phone, swiping through headlines and Instagram notifications. Race prep, news alerts, tagged posts, and—

Rumors.

He knew they were coming. Media always got wind of the smallest things: a photo, a glance, a conversation held just a second too long. And yesterday had definitely given them fuel. A few posts had already surfaced—pictures of him crouched next to Sebastian, you laughing beside him, a blurred shot that captured the spark in your eye mid-conversation.

Oscar caught him just as he made his way into the hotel lobby. “Did you check the media?”

“Yeah,” Lando said flatly, already bracing.

Oscar raised a brow. “They’re spinning stuff already. You and that girl—”

“Her name is Y/n,” Lando snapped back, more sharply than he intended. “And I know. I’m just not dealing with it right now.”

Oscar held his hands up, not pushing it further. But the look in his eye said it all. There was something different in the way Lando spoke about you. He wasn’t denying it. He wasn’t even hiding it well.

And Lando knew it too.

Because while his eyes scrolled past the usual stream of bikini models and car edits, it wasn’t them he was thinking about this morning. It was the way you’d tucked Sebastian’s curls under his cap. The way your smile flickered with hesitation at first, but then warmed once Lando said your son’s name.

He wasn’t supposed to care.

But he was starting to.

And that… scared the hell out of him.

The paddock was alive, electrified with the kind of energy only sprint day could summon. The air buzzed with adrenaline, fan chants echoing between the walls of garages, reporters weaving through mechanics and engineers, and flags fluttering like excited hearts. Today was qualifying, high-stakes, no time to breathe—yet somehow, you found a pocket of peace.

Oscar stood beside you, grinning as Sebastian—dressed in his perfectly tailored mini Oscar Piastri race suit, complete with his name stitched proudly in orange thread—hugged his leg. You held up your phone to capture the moment, crouching just enough to get the perfect shot: the contrast of the little boy’s bright orange suit against the sharp navy of Oscar’s own, and the pure smile they shared.

A few fans and even paddock staff paused to admire the adorable sight, some snapping their own pictures, others simply smiling and whispering to one another. Sebastian basked in the attention like it was his own victory lap. The moment felt so light—so warm.

And the day only got better.

With the help of Lando, Oscar, and even a few kind PR team members, Sebastian managed to meet the last of his dream list—Yuki gave him a high five and posed with an exaggerated grin; Max knelt for a photo and ruffled his curls; George crouched beside him with a thumbs up; Kimi gave a rare soft smile while crouching to sign Sebastian’s cap, and Charles even pulled him into another hug for one more picture.

You couldn't stop smiling. Everything had fallen into place—Sebastian had met his heroes, and their kindness brought out a glow in him that made every early morning and long walk worth it.

Until it didn’t.

You had barely turned to look toward the walkway when the buzz of conversation around you shifted, energy twisting from joyful to alert. The media had spotted something—or someone—and they were closing in fast. You looked up, confused by the sudden interest. The camera flashes began before the questions did.

“Can I help?” you asked softly, arms instinctively wrapping tighter around Sebastian’s small form as he clung to your hip, sensing the change.

“I’m with Sky Sports,” the man said smoothly, flashing a press pass like a shield. “Just need you to confirm or deny some rumors—”

His gaze dropped from your face to Sebastian. That subtle implication in his eyes made your stomach turn. Was this about Lando? Your fingers curled protectively into Sebastian’s back.

“I’m just a guest. We’re fans, we’re not—” you began, but the man didn’t seem to hear. He stepped forward again, camera crew behind him, mics angled toward your face like accusations.

Before your heart could even pound harder, before you could form words to push back—he was there.

Lando.

He moved with sharpness, unhesitating, stepping between you and the cameras like a shield. His shoulders squared, his jaw clenched tight as his hand subtly moved back, nudging you behind him.

“We’re here to talk about qualifying and the race, not harass the fans,” Lando said, voice low but laced with command, a warning hidden beneath the smile he didn’t wear.

The reporter hesitated, startled. “I—I apologize,” he stammered, backing off slightly as Lando’s gaze stayed fixed.

The air shifted again—awkward tension bleeding out slowly as the media retreated, their interest deflated by the firm dismissal. You didn’t even realize your hand had clenched Lando’s sleeve until he turned slightly, checking on you and Sebastian.

You nodded, still stunned. “Thank you,” you whispered, voice barely carrying over the renewed hum of paddock life.

Lando’s expression softened when his eyes met yours. “Anytime,” he said simply. Then his eyes dropped to Sebastian, who was now blinking up at him from your arms.

“You okay, buddy?” Lando asked, letting a small smile return.

Sebastian gave a tiny nod before curling into your shoulder, thumb in his mouth—exhausted again, the rush of attention too much.

You looked back at Lando, still a little shaken, still trying to process the way he stepped in like that. It wasn’t just fan service.

It felt like care. Like protection. Like something more than it was supposed to be.

And that terrified you—because for the first time since this whole thing started, you weren’t sure you wanted it to be less.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

For the rest of the event, the tension that had rattled your nerves earlier melted away, replaced by an unexpected calm that settled around you like a warm blanket. You and Sebastian stayed nestled in the rhythm of McLaren’s world—cheering, watching, laughing, and sharing quiet moments behind the velvet ropes of paddock life. Despite the constant whirl of noise, camera clicks, and mechanics shouting over engine whines, you felt at peace.

And it wasn’t just you. Sebastian was glowing with energy, his little race suit slightly rumpled now from running about, his curls springing up with every bounce of excitement. He cheered loudly when the McLaren team passed, and when Oscar or Lando appeared on the screens, he clapped as though they were superheroes instead of real men in fireproof suits.

You didn’t realize it until the day had almost ended—but you felt like you belonged there.

You didn’t feel like an outsider anymore, not just some guest with a pass, not just a mother of a young fan. Somehow, between the knowing smiles from engineers, the high-fives from Oscar, and even the nods from other teams, it felt like you were part of something. Like you fit.

Lando felt it too. Though he’d never admit it out loud, the thought had slipped in more than once during the day, threading through his mind between practice runs and interviews. Every time he spotted you in the distance, chatting with a team member or crouching to fix Sebastian’s laces, it hit him harder—this felt right. Too right. Too fast.

Too soon, he told himself. And yet, he kept looking anyway.

After qualifying—an intense battle that left him finishing a proud P2—Lando was spent. His body ached from the push, his skin glistened with sweat under his race suit, but his thoughts weren’t on lap times or team briefings.

They were on you.

He barely waited until he was out of the post-race huddle before nodding to a McLaren staffer. “Can you bring them to the garage?”

Within minutes, you were walking in—Sebastian clinging to your hand, wide-eyed at the inner sanctum of the McLaren team. Lando saw you and immediately crouched, his face lighting up despite his exhaustion.

“Sebastian! Hey buddy!” he called with a grin.

The three-year-old didn’t hesitate, sprinting the short distance into Lando’s open arms, giggling as he was scooped up in a warm, sweaty hug. You followed behind, letting out a soft chuckle as you watched them.

Lando laughed as he pulled back just slightly, eyebrows lifting when he caught sight of the small smudges dotting Sebastian’s cheeks and the suspicious trail of crumbs on his suit.

“What is on your face?” he asked with mock horror, trying to bite back another grin.

Sebastian flashed a proud, sugar-fueled smile. Before he could respond, you chimed in with a hum, arms folded loosely as you leaned slightly on one foot.

“Cookie crumbs,” you said, amused. “One of the drivers—pretty sure it was Fernando—had a secret cookie stash. He gave him two, and now he’s on a full sugar rush.”

Lando looked at Sebastian with a mix of disbelief and adoration. “You bribed Alonso? I’ve been trying to get a cookie from him all season,” he teased.

Sebastian giggled, holding up three fingers instead of two. “Three cookies,” he corrected proudly.

You and Lando burst out laughing, and for a beat, the world outside the garage didn't matter. It didn’t matter what had been said or what rumors had started to swirl. It didn’t matter how complicated things might get.

Lando had barely caught his breath from qualifying, the adrenaline still running faintly through his veins when the words slipped from his mouth like they’d been waiting all day for a place to land.

“Do you and Sebastian want to… go to the aquarium?” he asked casually—though his tone was careful, soft in a way that didn’t quite match the high-energy buzz of the McLaren garage around you.

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “Us?” you asked, your voice small, uncertain.

He nodded, brushing a loose curl from his damp forehead. “Yeah. I’ll head back to my hotel, clean up, and then I can swing by wherever you two are staying. We’ll head over together.”

Before you could process your reply, Sebastian practically burst with excitement, jumping in place. “YES! Fishies, Mama! Can we go see the sharks?!”

Lando chuckled, clearly entertained by the sheer enthusiasm bursting from the tiny human now bouncing beside him. Your eyes darted toward him again, cautious and conflicted.

Part of you wanted to go. God, you wanted to go.

But another part—the part that had learned how cruel the world could be when it noticed something good—whispered a thousand hesitations into your mind. The media. The cameras. The attention.

You looked away, chewing the inside of your cheek. “But the media…” you said softly, your voice barely audible over the chatter of the team still moving about the garage.

Lando tilted his head, as though hearing your fear and meeting it without judgment. He took a step closer, and his voice dropped lower, quieter.

“I’m human too,” he said with a shrug. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before. It’s not like we’re doing anything wrong. My team will push back as much as they can. I promise.”

His eyes were sincere—none of the typical charm or cheeky arrogance people expected from Lando Norris. Just truth. Just softness.

“So?” he added, a flicker of hope curling around the question.

You stood still for a moment, unsure what to do with the comfort that suddenly wrapped around you like a familiar coat. It was crazy, impulsive, dangerous even—but above all… it felt safe. Safe with Lando.

And real.

You glanced down at Sebastian, who was now hugging your leg, looking up at you with those wide, eager eyes.

“Sure,” you said at last, and the word felt like stepping into sunlight.

“We’ll go.”

Sebastian squealed in delight, nearly tripping over himself as he ran in a circle. “YAY!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, loud enough to make a few heads turn and laugh nearby.

Lando grinned, flashing you a look that made your heart skip just a beat too fast. “I’ll text you when I’m on the way,” he said, reaching down to ruffle Sebastian’s hair gently. “Sharks beware—this kid’s coming for them.”

You laughed—full, open—and suddenly, the weight that had been pressing on your chest all day lifted just a little.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The aquarium was quiet—softly lit by the glow of gently moving water and illuminated tanks, casting a subtle shimmer onto the smooth floors. It was a far cry from the earlier frenzy of the paddock. Peaceful. Settling. A rare pocket of calm where, for a moment, life could breathe without pressure.

You walked alongside Lando, with Sebastian happily toddling between the two of you, his small hands occasionally brushing yours or Lando’s as he pointed with wide eyes at stingrays and reef sharks gliding overhead through the tunnel of glass.

You wore a warm brown, body-hugging one-shoulder dress that fell down to your ankles like liquid silk. A soft, beige duster cardigan hung off your arms like a gentle frame, catching the light as it swayed with each step. A sleek black crossbody bag rested snugly at your hip, golden hardware catching the occasional shimmer from the glowing tanks. Simple, elegant—but comfortable enough to chase after a toddler if needed. You hadn’t planned to end up on a spontaneous evening out, but somehow, the moment welcomed you.

Sebastian was a walking ball of color and softness. He wore a playful vintage cartoon T-shirt, vibrant with reds and blues, tucked slightly into wide-legged beige corduroy pants that made his tiny legs look even tinier as he waddled forward. A chunky, lavender knit cardigan was draped over his shoulders—one sleeve constantly slipping down as he chased after his thoughts. His shoes, little white sneakers, already scuffed from adventure, squeaked lightly with each step.

Lando, walking beside you, looked comfortably cool in an oversized navy and white striped rugby shirt with “Quad” embroidered across the chest. The sleeves were pushed halfway up his forearms, revealing a few friendship bracelets that danced slightly as he moved. His jeans were baggy, worn in the right ways, and his white sneakers were casual but clean. There was an effortlessness to him—a contrast to his usual track-ready look.

“So... is it true?” you asked, glancing up at him as the three of you strolled past a glowing blue jellyfish exhibit. “You’re a party boy?”

He looked down at you, one brow lifting in curiosity before he grinned. “Depends... how curious are you?” he teased.

You laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Just wanted to know what I’m getting into.”

Lando chuckled, nodding slowly. “I am, yeah. Was. Still am sometimes. Comes with being twenty-five, I guess.”

You smiled softly. “Twenty-five and still going strong? God, I need your energy.”

He glanced over at you again, this time his gaze lingering a little longer. “It’s fun sometimes. But... it gets boring. All of it. It’s loud. Flashy. Temporary.”

You nodded in understanding. “Too much stimulation. No peace.”

That was all that needed to be said. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was comforting. A shared understanding that there was something quieter, something softer, in the simplicity of this moment.

You and Lando watched as Sebastian ran up to a floor-to-ceiling tank. His hands smacked against the glass, face lit up in awe as a school of colorful fish darted past. Lando instinctively crouched beside him, resting his arms on his knees.

“They look cool, huh?” he said softly.

Sebastian nodded furiously. “They’re swimming really fast!”

You slowly approached, ignoring the buzzing of your phone deep in your pocket. You didn’t need to check to know who it was—reality could wait. For now, you lowered yourself beside Lando, the soft fabric of your cardigan pooling on the ground. All three of you sat together, faces bathed in aquatic blue light. Lando smelled faintly of clean cologne and sun-drenched grass, while your perfume lingered lightly in the air between you.

No flashing lights. No rumors. No curated stories or whispered headlines.

Just you, Lando, and Sebastian—laughing gently over the shapes of fish and the stories Sebastian made up about them. For a second, it looked like a little family portrait frozen in time. You caught Lando’s gaze and looked away quickly, your cheeks warming. He didn’t say anything—but the way he looked at you, like you were already something more, said enough.

The rest of the evening moved like a lullaby—soft, smooth, and glowing with the quiet joy only shared moments could bring. Between the tanks and tunnels, you and Lando took turns capturing fleeting snapshots and short videos—Sebastian pointing excitedly, or giggling mid-run, or narrating his own marine documentary with impressive confidence for a three-year-old.

“Fish!” he shouted, his voice echoing gently in the cavernous tunnel as Lando lifted him up, effortlessly resting him on his hip so he could get a better look.

You stood close—closer than you realized—shoulder brushing his, warmth shared through fabric. Your head came to rest lightly on Lando’s shoulder, your laughter bubbling softly as you pointed at the glass.

“That would be a pufferfish,” you said, lips quirking as the spiny little creature floated past. “They get all bloated like a balloon, and their faces go—” You puffed out your cheeks dramatically and crossed your eyes.

Sebastian let out a full laugh, tilting backward slightly in Lando’s arms as he mirrored you with his tiny face puffed like a marshmallow. “You’re right, Mommy!”

Lando hummed in amusement. “She’s pretty smart, huh?” he said, casting you a sideways glance, playfully nudging you with his shoulder. “Should we give her some credit?”

Sebastian’s brow furrowed as he considered. “Hmm… Can I drive da car?”

Lando crinkled his nose and gasped like the question was dangerous. “Oof… You might need a few more years of training, mate.”

Sebastian huffed in disappointment, only for Lando to lean in. “But after that? Formula 1. Full speed. Number one racer in the world.”

Sebastian’s eyes went wide. “Really?!”

You smiled, your heart tugging as you watched them—how naturally Lando folded into these moments with him, not a trace of forced charm. It wasn’t performative. It was just… who he was. You looked ahead and noticed something through a wide arched entrance.

“They have a gift shop,” you said casually, pointing.

Sebastian’s head whipped toward you like you’d just offered him the moon. “Can we go?! Please, please, pleaaaase?”

You giggled, eyes still on the small sign and bright display lights beyond the glass tunnel. “Eventually.”

Lando nudged Sebastian with a knowing grin. “We will. But first,” he paused and pointed to another glowing section, “I have to take you to see the turtles.”

You gasped, perhaps louder than necessary, clasping your hands together in exaggerated excitement. “Turtles?! Oh no, I love turtles!”

Sebastian mimicked you perfectly—hands clapped, mouth agape. “Let’s goooo!”

With that, Lando gently set him down and took his hand, the two of them walking ahead with energy, you trailing close beside. When they reached the next room, the ceiling curved above like a dome, casting light down onto the huge, gentle creatures that moved with ancient grace through their tank.

Sebastian was mesmerized, standing completely still for a moment before he started talking. Asking questions. Making up names. Pretending one of the turtles winked at him.

You leaned quietly against the railing next to Lando, your arms folding across your chest, watching your son point and babble beside the glass.

“I can’t believe we’re here,” you said under your breath, just loud enough for Lando to hear. “If someone had told me a year ago I’d be at an aquarium in Australia... with Lando Norris and my three-year-old son... I’d have laughed in their face.”

Lando smiled, just slightly. “I think I would’ve laughed too.”

You stood there for a long while, close enough that you could feel the space between you buzz—something soft and thrilling that hadn’t quite found its voice yet.

Eventually, Sebastian—never one to hide his needs—rubbed at his eyes and laid his head against Lando’s shoulder.

“Hungry,” he murmured.

You and Lando both glanced down, and then up at each other, exchanging the same silent question and answer.

“Gift shop, then dinner?” you asked softly.

Sebastian nodded sleepily, already perking up again at the idea of shopping. You smiled and brushed a hand over his curls.

The gift shop was bright and playful, a sudden burst of color after the ambient blues of the aquarium. Sebastian was back to full energy, dashing toward shelves of plush animals and glittery keychains. His eyes sparkled at everything—but then, they stopped.

“That!” he shouted, pointing with such conviction you and Lando both turned to follow his finger.

A massive, soft, gray shark plush towered over the others, nearly the size of Sebastian himself. It was outrageously big, comical even—but the awe in his voice made it impossible to resist.

“I want that!”

Lando didn’t hesitate. He reached up, grabbed the plush by its fin, and brought it down into Sebastian’s arms, where it nearly swallowed him whole. Sebastian gave a muffled “yes!” and hugged it like it was the best gift he’d ever received.

You raised an eyebrow, smiling. “That thing is bigger than his carry-on.”

Lando laughed. “Yeah, well... he loves it. Besides,” he plucked a shark tooth necklace from a nearby display, handing it to you, “a souvenir for Mom too.”

You blinked. “Lando—”

“Don’t even,” he said gently, his voice calm and sure. “I want to.”

You didn’t argue. Maybe because you knew he meant it. Maybe because it felt nice to let someone else take care of things, just for a moment.

At the register, Sebastian was trying to hoist the shark up by himself, only for Lando to step in and help. You watched them—man and child, natural in step, smiles matching. And maybe, just maybe, your heart tugged in a way that scared you a little. Because it felt like something real.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

That evening, the three of you found your way into the quiet warmth of a refined little restaurant tucked beneath the pulse of the city—a place with dim lights that danced like soft candle flames against crystal glasses, white linen napkins folded like paper birds, and the gentle clink of silverware marking a chorus of elegant chatter. The ambiance was calm, inviting, the kind of place made for connection and quiet reflection.

You and Lando sat opposite one another, your chairs turned inward toward Sebastian, who had been nestled in the middle like the radiant center of your shared universe. A glass of chilled apple juice sat in front of him—his ‘grown-up’ drink—its amber tone glistening like gold under the glow of the table's candle. Earlier, he'd asked for "what Mommy and Lando are having," curious about the tall glasses of red wine swirling in both of your hands. Lando had leaned down, voice patient and warm, explaining that apple juice was the exact same thing, only better for superheroes like him. Sebastian had accepted that logic instantly, nodding proudly before lifting his glass and declaring a soft “cheers.”

Now, menu in hand, Sebastian squinted at the words like they were ancient texts.

“I want this,” he declared, pointing with conviction to a line near the middle of the kids’ section.

You leaned over and read the item aloud with a hum. “Chicken tenders… classic. And some fries to go with it?”

Sebastian nodded with all the confidence in the world. “Fancy dinner,” he grinned.

Lando chuckled, swirling the wine in his glass. “Feeling fancy tonight, huh?”

Sebastian nodded proudly. “Yup. Like you.”

When the waitress approached, Lando took the initiative, smoothly placing your orders. “Two pasta dishes—one with extra parmesan, please—and the chicken tenders and fries for the little gentleman. Oh, and we’ll take a side of roasted vegetables too,” he added, giving you a quick, almost playful glance.

You arched a brow knowingly. “The vegetables? Bold move.”

“We’ll see how it goes,” he said, smirking.

As the waitress disappeared with a promise that dinner would be quick, Sebastian received a coloring page and a small packet of crayons. Instantly absorbed in his artwork, his little brows furrowed in concentration, tongue peeking slightly from the corner of his mouth.

It gave you and Lando a moment. A bubble of stillness inside the restaurant’s soft symphony. A moment to just talk, without the world demanding too much.

“So…” Lando began, voice quiet and cautious. “Have you heard from his—”

He gestured slightly, not needing to say more. You knew who he meant. The shadow. The absentee. The person who helped create Sebastian but somehow forgot what it meant to stay.

You shook your head, your fingers tightening slightly around your wine glass. “Only when he feels it’ll benefit him,” you said, the bitterness hidden behind a composed tone. “Usually to ask for something. Or to argue about things that don’t matter.”

Lando leaned back slightly, frowning. “I don’t see how he can just… pretend you two don’t exist. Like, how do you walk away from someone like Sebastian?”

You looked down, exhaling softly. You didn’t have an answer. You never really had.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I’ve come to terms with it. I don’t think Sebastian’s missing anything by not having him around. He’s happy. He’s loved. And if I’m being honest… I’m at peace with it too.”

Lando studied you, his gaze holding something more complex than sympathy. Admiration, maybe. Or something even deeper. There was a strength in you that tugged at something tender in him—how fiercely you loved, how steady you were despite the storm life had thrown your way. It made him think about things. About you.

About settling down.

Why now? Why you? He didn’t know yet. But he felt it. Gnawing and blooming all at once. He took a sip of wine to distract himself.

“Tell me more about you two,” he said, tone lighter now, the weight shifting off both your shoulders.

You smiled, turning your chair just slightly toward him.

“Well, Sebastian’s a big fan of Formula 1… obviously,” you started, throwing him a playful glance. “But aside from that, he’s obsessed with SpongeBob, Paw Patrol, and lately, Tom and Jerry. I think the slapstick makes him feel like he’s getting away with something.”

Lando grinned. “Classic. I loved Tom and Jerry as a kid too.”

“Same,” you said. “And as for me? I’m into dramas, comedies, a little romance. Occasionally cartoons—especially when someone insists I join movie night in a blanket fort.”

Lando smiled at the mental image.

“He’s a waffle lover,” you continued, “but he’ll also go through phases of fruit and muffins in the morning. Grilled cheese sandwiches are his go-to lunch—sometimes crustless, depending on his mood—and for dinner, if it’s not pasta or chicken tenders, you’re in for a battle.”

Lando laughed, leaning forward on his elbows. “Veggies?”

“Oh, those are the enemy,” you confirmed, laughing softly. “We’ve tried dinosaurs made out of broccoli. Spaceships shaped from carrots. I think I once made a full-on zoo with cucumbers and celery. He’s not impressed.”

Lando’s laugh was a little louder this time, catching the attention of a nearby couple.

“He loves bath time, though,” you added, “but hates getting his hair washed. Kicks and squeals every time. Orange is his favorite color—if the McLaren merch didn’t give it away. He says he wants to drive one day, and I believe him.”

Your voice softened as you looked down at Sebastian, still happily scribbling blue stars onto his coloring sheet.

“And I’ll do whatever I can to make it happen for him,” you said. “If that means working extra jobs, if that means staying up late or missing sleep or giving up things I love… I’ll do it. No question.”

Lando’s heart twisted a little in his chest. The kind of twist that comes when something clicks. When you realize you’re watching someone love unconditionally. Fiercely. Gently. And without an ounce of bitterness.

He reached out, lightly brushing the back of your hand with his fingers. It was a small gesture—one that said more than he had words for just yet.

“You don’t have to do it all alone,” he said, voice quiet, sincere.

You looked at him, your eyes soft with both gratitude and caution. But in that moment, something unspoken passed between you.

Time moved differently at that table.

It melted between soft glances and shared laughter, weaving through your quiet conversations and the gentle jazz notes that glided in the background like a lullaby. It wasn't just the food or the ambiance. It was the feeling—a rare kind of comfort, like sitting at a table that had always been meant for the three of you.

Dinner had long become more than a meal. It was connection in the purest form.

Plates of steaming pasta were placed in front of you and Lando, the scents of garlic, basil, and cream-rich sauces curling upward in soft waves. Sebastian’s plate of golden, crispy chicken tenders and perfectly salted fries sat in front of him like a crown jewel. His little eyes sparkled with delight, his fork diving in immediately.

Lando, as cheeky as ever, held out a forkful of his pasta toward you. “Try it,” he said, wiggling the fork slightly with an encouraging smirk.

You leaned forward, taking the bite, eyes fluttering shut at the rich burst of flavor. “Mmm… that’s so good,” you hummed in satisfaction.

“Alright, your turn.” You scooped some of yours up and offered it to him.

Lando accepted, eyes on yours as he took the bite. He mirrored your hum, grinning as he swallowed. “Okay, yeah. That’s unreal. We should’ve split both from the beginning.”

Sebastian, never one to be left out, giggled and mimicked you both. “Try mine!” He held out a small piece of his chicken tender between his fingers.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Lando said, dramatically leaning in for the bite, followed by you, both of you giving the little boy a grand thumbs up after tasting it.

“This is so good, I might have to order it myself next time,” Lando said, acting genuinely impressed, making Sebastian beam with pride.

With your glasses empty and plates dusted with crumbs and sauces, dessert arrived—a decadent sundae set in a glass bowl, the kind made for sharing. The vanilla was creamy and cold, the chocolate thick and rich, with warm caramel drizzled across the top like golden ribbon. Bits of brownie and nuts rested like treasure at the bottom.

Three spoons. One sundae. One perfect ending.

Sebastian was the first to dive in. “So good!” he declared through a mouthful of ice cream, chocolate smudging at the corner of his lip.

You leaned over and gently wiped it away with a napkin, smiling at him. “You’ve got a little sweet mustache, sir.”

Lando chuckled beside you. “I don’t blame him—it’s amazing,” he said, scooping some for himself, then dramatically dabbing the spoon along his bottom lip. “Oops.”

You arched a brow at him, grinning. “You too?” you teased, reaching over with your napkin, your fingers brushing gently against the stubble at the corner of his mouth as you wiped the chocolate from his skin.

The touch lingered just long enough to feel something.

Something unsaid, soft and magnetic.

Laughter filled the silence that followed, but in those moments between the bites of shared sundae and easy conversation, something had shifted. It wasn't just dinner anymore. It was the idea of something whole. Something healing. Something that felt like it might just last.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Lando had offered to carry Sebastian, who had dozed off in the car almost immediately, his little hands still clutching his new, oversized grey shark plushie like it was a treasure chest. The plush, comically large in Lando’s other arm, bobbed gently with every step as they made their way through the lobby and toward the elevators.

You trailed just beside him, glancing at the way Lando carried your son—not with strain or awkwardness, but like he’d done it a thousand times before. One arm cradling the sleeping boy, the other balancing a plush shark nearly half his size. And somehow, it suited him. All of it did.

The elevator dinged softly as it opened, and the ride up was wordless, only the soft rise and fall of Sebastian’s breathing between you and Lando. When the doors parted again, it was just a short walk to the room. You fished out the keycard with one hand, the other gently brushing Sebastian’s back as Lando stood still, waiting.

Inside, the room welcomed you with that familiar dim hotel glow—soft lights above the bed casting a golden warmth over the tidy, lived-in space. The bed was unmade from earlier, pillows fluffed messily, blankets a bit rumpled, still marked by your shared laughter and rest from the afternoon.

“Here,” you whispered, stepping aside so Lando could carry him in.

Careful, like every movement held meaning, Lando walked over to the bed and gently laid Sebastian down, easing the shark plushie beside him so it tucked perfectly against the boy’s side. Sebastian stirred only slightly, lips parting with a sigh before his small hand instinctively reached for the shark, pulling it close in his sleep.

You knelt beside the bed, brushing back a few curls from his forehead. “Goodnight, baby,” you whispered, leaning down to kiss his cheek.

Lando stood back, watching in silence. He had never seen something so stilling. So complete.

After a moment, you rose, standing beside him in the quiet glow of the room. You both looked down at Sebastian, tucked in between hotel sheets and a plush shark almost as long as he was.

“He really knocked out,” Lando said quietly, his voice just above a whisper, as if anything louder might break the spell.

“He always does after a full day like this,” you murmured, wrapping your arms gently around yourself. “He gets so excited, burns through every ounce of energy, and then…” You smiled. “Out like a light.”

Lando chuckled softly, his gaze still fixed on the sleeping boy. “It’s kind of amazing. The way you just… have it all handled.”

You shrugged gently, your voice low and thoughtful. “I try. Some days feel easier than others. But when I see him like this… it’s worth everything.”

You looked up at Lando then, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just looked at you, really looked—like he was seeing every piece of you that had gone unnoticed for too long. Not the mother, not the friend, but the woman. The one who loved deeply, gave endlessly, and somehow still had space for more.

His voice broke the silence gently. “Can I stay? Just for a bit.”

You nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

And so you sat together at the edge of the bed, shoulder to shoulder, the soft hum of the air conditioning the only sound filling the room. Sebastian’s breathing stayed steady. The shark plush sat like a sentry beside him. And for the first time in a long while, you felt like maybe you weren’t carrying everything alone.

Both you and Lando held a conversation, quiet enough for just you two, getting to know him more, and you more.

And just like that, an hour struck back when Lando signaled he had to leave, he had to get up early for the grand prix tomorrow, something you and Sebastian would be able to witness thanks to your 3-day paddock club passes.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The morning sun had barely kissed the track, and already the paddock buzzed with energy—media personnel weaving through, mechanics checking and re-checking, fans beginning to trickle in with banners, merch, and wide-eyed anticipation. But all eyes briefly shifted when you and Sebastian stepped through the paddock gates.

You, dressed in a sleek, body-hugging white ruched dress that shimmered in the sunlight like liquid porcelain, turned more heads than you intended. The dress, simple yet impossibly elegant, contrasted playfully with the bold orange McLaren cap atop your head and the matching McLaren racing jacket draped effortlessly over your shoulders. The crispness of the white Air Force 1s on your feet gave the look a relaxed finish—fashion meeting fandom in perfect balance.

At your side, Sebastian practically radiated pride, striding confidently in his mini Lando Norris race suit. The suit clung just right to his tiny frame, complete with patches, sponsor logos, and even the little McLaren emblem on the chest. His messy curls poked out from beneath a pint-sized matching orange cap, and his face lit up anytime someone complimented him or gave a high-five.

He gripped your hand excitedly, his other arm wrapped tightly around the jumbo grey shark plushie he refused to leave behind. "I want Lando to see me like this," he said proudly, giving a small tug to your hand as he looked up at you with sparkling eyes. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

You looked down at him with a soft smile, brushing a curl off his forehead. “He’s going to love it, baby. You look like his number one fan.”

Sebastian beamed, his small boots clunking lightly as he walked. “That’s because I am!”

Your Christian Dior tote bag rested in the crook of your arm, holding all the little essentials a mother might need—snacks, wipes, sunscreen, and of course, a sharpie, just in case Sebastian wanted another autograph. The handmade beaded bracelets around your wrist—one reading "Norris", the other "Piastri"—were Sebastian's latest paddock project, and you wore them with pride.

The two of you made your way deeper into the paddock, receiving nods, warm smiles, and a few amused looks at the sight of your fashion-forward fit paired with your tiny race-suited shadow.

Cameras flashed subtly. Whispers of “That’s her—Lando’s…” didn’t faze you. If anything, they added a quiet confidence to your stride.

Sebastian looked up at you again, eyes wide with anticipation. “Do you think he’s here already?”

You smiled knowingly, tightening your grip on his hand. “I’ve got a feeling today’s going to be a really good one.”

The entrance to McLaren hospitality was buzzing with activity—team members moving briskly with radios clipped to their belts, PR assistants glancing over schedules, and cameras from F1TV floating by to capture glimpses of the drivers’ pre-race routines. You adjusted your cap slightly, offering a polite smile to someone who gave Sebastian a thumbs-up.

Before you could step inside, a familiar voice called out.

“Well, look who’s ready for race day,” Oscar Piastri said with a grin, walking toward you in full race kit, a McLaren water bottle in one hand and a relaxed ease in his walk. “That suit might be a little better than Lando’s, to be honest,” he added, squatting slightly to meet Sebastian’s eye level.

Sebastian beamed. “Thanks! I’m his biggest fan today. I brought Sharky too!” He held up the oversized plush with both arms, causing Oscar to laugh.

“Strong choice,” Oscar nodded approvingly. Then his eyes flicked to you. “And you—definitely win best-dressed in the paddock today. You sure you’re not the one about to race?”

You smiled, cheeks warming lightly. “If I were, I'd be aiming for champagne.”

Oscar smirked. “Spoken like a winner. Come in—Lando’s somewhere inside, probably eating his tenth pancake.”

You and Sebastian followed him into the hospitality suite, a wave of cool air greeting you as the bustle of the outside paddock melted into a more private space. The orange and black interiors were bright, clean, filled with quiet team chatter and the soft clinks of silverware from the breakfast spread.

And then—there he was.

Lando, standing near the buffet with his back partially turned, chatting with two engineers and a trainer. His hair still slightly tousled, arms crossed loosely over his chest, the relaxed smile on his face faltered slightly when he turned and spotted you.

You could see it—the brief flicker in his eyes, soft and surprised. And then, the warmest grin tugged at his lips.

“There he is!” Sebastian shouted, breaking into a run, nearly dragging Sharky behind him. Lando bent instantly, arms wide as Sebastian jumped into him, and Lando caught him with a practiced ease, spinning him in a playful half-circle before hugging him close.

“Well, if it isn’t my lucky charm!” he said into Sebastian’s ear, before glancing up at you. His gaze held for a moment too long—just enough to make your heart squeeze.

“You guys came,” he said, softer now.

“We wouldn’t miss it,” you replied, matching his smile even though something about the whole thing tugged deep under your skin.

Lando set Sebastian down, his hand gently ruffling the boy’s curls. Then, as a few team members came up behind him, he motioned toward the two of you casually.

“Oh—uh, this is my friend Y/N,” he said, glancing at you before adding, “and this is Sebastian.”

Friend. Just a word. Harmless. Simple. But it sank somewhere heavy inside your chest. Not because he was wrong—but because, for a moment, you forgot that this wasn't something more. And maybe you’d let yourself believe otherwise.

Still, you smiled, your voice gentle. “Hi, nice to meet you all.”

The team greeted you both warmly—one even joking with Sebastian about being the team’s new mascot. Lando, meanwhile, had knelt down to adjust the strap on Sebastian’s mini race suit, talking to him about pit strategies like he was part of the crew.

You stayed quiet, watching them. You could’ve let it sting longer. But you knew the truth—there were no promises made, no titles given. Just shared moments, private smiles, and one night at an aquarium that left your heart hoping.

So instead, you brushed it off. Like you always did.

Because if today was about supporting Lando, then you’d do just that.

Even if he only called you a friend.

The sun was beginning its descent, casting golden flares across the asphalt as the pre-race grid walk commenced. The tension in the air was thick with adrenaline—crew members moving swiftly around the cars, broadcasters weaving through interviews, and fans leaning against the barriers for a glimpse of their favorites.

You held Sebastian’s hand tightly, navigating the chaos beside one of the most recognizable orange cars on the grid. The roar of engines testing systems vibrated under your shoes, and the smell of hot tires and fuel clung to the air. It was a world unlike any other—and Sebastian's eyes were wide with wonder.

“There he is,” you murmured, pointing as Lando stood next to his car, helmet off for now, laughing with a mechanic as a camera hovered nearby.

Sebastian tugged at your hand. “Can I go say good luck?” His voice was almost shy, though you could tell he was trying to be brave.

You gave a small nod. “Go on, buddy. Just stay where I can see you.”

The moment Sebastian let go of your hand, he marched with purpose through the buzzing grid. His little race suit was slightly rumpled from the excitement of the day, the McLaren logo and "4" on his back catching Lando's eye just before he turned fully.

Lando’s expression instantly softened when he saw him.

“Hey, mate,” he said, crouching down as Sebastian reached him. “You look like you're about to start this race with me.”

Sebastian grinned wide. “I just wanted to tell you good luck.”

Lando’s eyes flicked up briefly to find you watching nearby. You gave him a gentle smile, mouthing go get ‘em.

Back down to Sebastian, Lando said, “Thank you, buddy. Means a lot. I’ve got you cheering for me, so I think we’ve already got the edge.”

Sebastian held up his palm for a high five, and Lando met it without hesitation, then pulled him in for a quick hug. “This one’s for you,” he whispered, gently tapping his forehead to Sebastian’s helmeted head.

As Lando stood back up, he nodded toward you, walking over with a slow exhale. You could tell his mind was starting to flip into race mode—but still, there was a softness in his eyes as they met yours.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, voice low beneath the noise around you. “Both of you.”

“We’re always rooting for you,” you replied, meaning it more than you could say.

He hesitated for a second—like he wanted to say something more—but instead just smiled and backed away as one of the engineers handed him his helmet. He slid it on, the reflective visor clicking into place like a final shield.

Sebastian gave a little wave as Lando turned toward his car, stepping into the cockpit like it was second nature.

You placed a hand over your chest, watching him settle into the machine, surrounded by people—but somehow, still feeling like the only one on the grid.

“Alright,” you whispered to yourself, hand finding Sebastian’s shoulder as the grid began to clear. “Let’s watch him fly.”

The lights would go out soon.

And whatever the outcome, you knew this moment—this quiet, private piece of his very public world—would stay with you forever.

The atmosphere in the grandstands was electric. Fans in every direction waved orange flags, their cheers rising in a crescendo as the lights above the grid turned red one by one. The engines screamed in perfect harmony—then silence.

Lights out.

Twenty cars exploded off the line, tires gripping the asphalt as smoke trailed behind them. You and Sebastian sat just above the pit wall in a McLaren viewing box, hearts pounding as you watched Lando’s car surge forward, fighting for position into Turn 1.

“He’s in second!” Sebastian shouted, clutching your arm as Lando tucked behind the leading Red Bull car, timing his move.

Lap after lap, the field spread, then compacted again like a slingshot. Strategy came into play. Rain clouds loomed for a moment before disappearing. Pit stops became a test of perfect precision. McLaren nailed it—Lando out in clean air on Lap 32, tires fresh and focused.

Radio: “Alright Lando, we’re racing for the win here. Let’s push.”

And push he did.

Lap 41: He was closing the gap—half a second behind P1, DRS enabled. You leaned forward, barely blinking as the tension crackled through your bones.

“He’s gonna do it, Mommy!” Sebastian whispered, wide-eyed.

Lap 45: On the main straight, Lando darted left, then right—then made a daring lunge down the inside at Turn 4. Rubber screeched. His rival tried to hold on, but Lando was relentless, using every inch of the track, claiming the corner with the precision of someone who wanted this more than anything.

He was through.

The grandstand erupted. McLaren crew members leapt to their feet. You stood too, hands over your mouth in disbelief as Lando flew ahead.

Lap 48. Lap 52. Lap 56.

Every second stretched like eternity. But Lando held his line, controlled the pace, fought the wind, the pressure, the world.

Final lap.

You and Sebastian were on your feet, cheering, voices hoarse with anticipation. The McLaren pit wall was already half-standing in wait. Lando rounded the final corner, and with the checkered flag waving wildly in the air—

He crossed the line.

P1. Lando Norris wins the Grand Prix.

Tears flooded your eyes without warning, the emotions crashing over you like waves. Sebastian jumped up and down, shouting, “HE DID IT! HE DID IT!”

“YES, HE DID!” you laughed through your tears, sweeping him into your arms.

Radio: “Lando, you are a Grand Prix winner! P1, mate. You did it!”

His voice cracked through the radio, raw and overwhelmed: “Oh my god, finally. Finally. Thank you, team. That one was for all of you... and for someone watching up there too.”

You knew that "someone" was closer than he realized.

In the cool-down lap, he swerved left and right, waving at fans, helmet still on—but you could feel his smile. He stopped on the grid, climbed onto his car, raised his fists into the air, and the world lost its mind.

Trophies, champagne, confetti—those moments came next.

But nothing compared to the instant he saw you and Sebastian outside the garage afterward.

Helmet off, eyes scanning through the haze of celebration, his gaze landed on you both—and that’s when it hit him.

The roar of the crowd had softened into the background now—cheering still echoed in waves, but inside the back corner of the McLaren motorhome, it felt like the world had slowed down for just a moment.

Lando had just showered and changed into a clean team polo, though his curls were still damp and tousled. His skin carried the subtle pink flush from the heat, and his eyes—god, his eyes—looked exhausted but alive. He hadn’t stopped smiling since he got out of the car.

You sat on the couch with Sebastian, who had finally calmed from all the excitement, his small head resting against your side as his fingers absentmindedly played with the lanyard still hanging from his neck. He looked up as Lando stepped in.

“Hi, Champ.” you smiled, soft and genuine.

Lando looked at you, his expression faltering for just a moment—relief, disbelief, emotion. His voice dropped, quieter now than all the shouting and applause from earlier.

“I still can’t believe it,” he murmured, dropping down onto the seat beside you, careful not to crush Sebastian’s legs.

“You earned every bit of it,” you said. “It was yours from the start.”

Sebastian sat up, crawling into Lando’s lap, wrapping his arms around him. “You were so fast! Like zoooom,” he said, making a whooshing sound. Lando laughed, burying his face in Sebastian’s shoulder for a second.

“Thanks, buddy. I told you I’d win today if I saw your suit.”

Sebastian beamed, proud as ever. “I’m your lucky charm!”

“Yes, you are.”

The moment was warm, cozy. The three of you felt like a little island in the middle of all the chaos. But that peace only lasted a beat before Carlos barged in through the door without knocking, grinning from ear to ear, still sweaty and in his Ferrari kit.

“Landoooo!” Carlos called, pointing a finger at him. “You said—if you ever won—you’d party.”

Lando groaned playfully. “Carlos—”

“No excuses!” Carlos waved off the protest. “We’re going out tonight. Whole paddock’s buzzing. It’s your moment, hermano. You're not skipping this.”

You looked over at Lando, who glanced back at you as if waiting for your response.

“It’s okay,” you smiled. “Go celebrate. You deserve it.”

“But I wanted to spend time with you two,” he said quietly, eyes flicking to you and Sebastian again. “I don’t really care about—”

“Lando,” you interrupted softly, brushing your hand against his. “You can have this moment. We’ll still be here tomorrow. Go dance, drink, scream if you want to. You only get your first win once.”

He hesitated, then squeezed your hand.

“You sure?”

You nodded. “Promise. We’ll be in bed, watching SpongeBob reruns or something. Go.”

Carlos threw an arm around Lando and smacked the back of his head. “Come on, before she changes her mind!”

Lando finally cracked a grin, standing up with Sebastian still in his arms. He looked at you once more—an unspoken thank-you in his eyes—before gently setting Sebastian down on the couch.

“I’ll text you when I get in,” he said.

“I’ll be asleep,” you teased, “but I’ll read it in the morning.”

As Lando and Carlos disappeared down the hallway, laughter echoing behind them, you leaned back on the couch, Sebastian curling up at your side again.

And though Lando had gone to celebrate with the world, it still felt like his heart had never really left that room.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Somewhere in Australia, while the soft hum of the hotel’s AC wrapped you and Sebastian in a cocoon of sleep, a different world pulsed to life just down the city blocks.

The club was dimly lit but alive—bass thrumming through the floorboards, the strobe lights slicing the shadows like flashes of lightning. Music thundered. Laughter echoed. Bodies moved in rhythm with careless joy. It was the kind of chaos that made the air feel electric, where sweat mixed with spilled liquor and every fleeting moment felt like something worth chasing.

And there he was—Lando.

Shirt half-buttoned, the edges loose and dancing with the rhythm of the club’s fan. His curls were damp at the edges, the scent of his cologne clinging stubbornly to his skin, mingling with the sharp tang of whiskey and champagne that hung in the air. His cheeks were flushed pink from both alcohol and adrenaline, and his smile—crooked and disoriented—never quite left his lips.

The celebration was real. Electric. He had finally done it—P1. The first win. The first taste of it. And everyone wanted a piece of him.

Carlos was lost somewhere in the blur of bodies, likely dancing on some table and encouraging shots with people Lando couldn’t name. McLaren team members toasted, DJs hyped him up. Strangers—women—slid into his space like gravity pulled them toward him.

He leaned slightly against a girl, laughter bursting from his chest, and she reached up, fingers brushing his jaw as if she belonged there. Cameras snapped in a flurry—flashes of light capturing a moment out of context but full of implication. Lando didn’t even register the blinking of notifications piling up in his back pocket. His phone was the last thing on his mind.

He was smiling. Drunk. Buzzing. Floating.

And in that moment—between the glass in his hand, the warmth of touch that wasn’t yours, and the loud encouragement of friends and strangers alike—he didn’t see the cracks beginning to form.

Because back in a quiet hotel room, wrapped in cotton sheets and the soft light of the night lamp, Sebastian slept soundly beside you, one hand still holding onto the tail of the jumbo shark plush, the other curled into your side.

And you? You were asleep. Or trying to be. Somewhere in your subconscious, maybe something felt... off. A small shift. A ripple. Like a thread tugging just slightly, signaling something had come undone while you weren't looking.

But Lando didn’t know. Not yet. Not as laughter swallowed him. Not as hands rested where they shouldn't. Not as the night captured a version of him that he might not even remember in the morning.

And certainly not as the world watched, waiting to see how this celebration would cost him something he hadn't yet realized was priceless.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The sun was high in the sky when you stirred awake, Sebastian’s soft breaths nestled against your side, the morning light seeping in through the cracks of the curtains. It was peaceful—at least, it should have been.

You reached for your phone on the nightstand, wiping the sleep from your eyes, not prepared for the barrage of notifications that had flooded in overnight. Headlines. Photos. Mentions.

A single image opened first—Lando, flushed and smiling in a dim-lit club, his shirt undone, a girl’s hand resting on his chest like she belonged there.

Your chest tightened, breath catching just slightly. You scrolled slowly. More photos. More angles. One of her whispering into his ear. His smile wide, his body comfortably close. He didn’t look forced. He looked... happy. Drunk, yes, but happy.

And maybe that’s what hurt the most.

You stared for a long while, heart sinking, and yet—you said nothing. No text. No confrontation. No storming call demanding answers. What would be the point? You weren’t his. He had introduced you and Sebastian as his friends, hadn’t he? Not even close to what you thought you might have been.

So instead, you placed the phone down, slid out of bed, and began to pack.

Lando hadn’t texted that morning. Nor that afternoon. You made the decision to leave it at that.

At the airport, Sebastian clutched his stuffed shark, happily babbling about the turtles and fish, unaware of anything heavier lingering in the air. You smiled at him, fixed his little McLaren hoodie, and carried on as if the last few days hadn’t cracked something quietly inside you.

Lando met you at the gate, out of breath and sheepish, wearing sunglasses and a hoodie. “Hey,” he panted, “I was hoping I could say goodbye before you left.”

You smiled faintly. “Of course.”

He crouched to give Sebastian a hug, the little boy clinging to him like always. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?” he said softly.

“Okay,” Sebastian beamed.

Then Lando looked up at you. “We’ll stay in touch?”

You nodded, keeping your voice calm and pleasant. “Definitely.”

But definitely started to feel more like barely.

Weeks passed. Conversations that once felt effortless turned into polite check-ins. Lando would text, and you would take hours—sometimes days—to reply. You became harder to reach, more brief, no longer offering the warmth he had grown used to.

He noticed.

And eventually, Oscar noticed too.

They were in the paddock weeks later, preparing for another Grand Prix when Oscar finally confronted him during a quiet moment in the garage.

“Do you even know what you did?” he asked, arms crossed.

Lando blinked, startled. “What are you talking about?”

Oscar scoffed. “You don’t get it, do you? She saw the photos, mate. The club. The girl. That night you celebrated like a legend. She never said a word about it, but that’s why she pulled back.”

Lando’s stomach dropped.

Oscar continued, “She cared about you. I mean, really cared. She didn’t have to come to your race. She brought her son. Wore your colors. Stood in your world. And you—”

“I didn’t know,” Lando muttered, jaw tightening.

“Yeah,” Oscar said, shaking his head. “That’s the problem.”

Months slipped by like sand through fingertips.

Your messages came less frequently. Then they stopped altogether. But your Instagram didn’t. Every few weeks, Lando would find himself opening the app, searching for your name. There you were, always glowing.

One photo showed you and Sebastian at a pumpkin patch, his little arms wrapped around that same grey shark. Another had you walking on the beach with him, your smile soft but distant.

In one, you were dressed up for a night out. No tag. No mention of who took the photo. That one he stared at for too long.

The digital distance cut sharper than any silence ever could.

And now, the only way Lando kept up with the life he once dipped his toes into—was through a screen.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Three Months Later Off-season Break, Quiet Day in Monaco

Lando was sprawled across the sofa in his apartment, TV playing something he wasn’t watching, phone in his hand as his thumb hovered over Instagram. It had become a routine now — checking your page, looking for any glimpse of your life, of Sebastian, of the family he let slip through his fingers.

And then he saw it.

A hand. A delicate ring sitting neatly on a manicured finger. Resting against a familiar sweater he swore he’d seen on you.

The caption? A simple heart emoji.

And the comments —

“Engaged?! Omg congrats!! 💍” “Wishing you all the love and happiness!” “You deserve this 🥹💖”

His stomach dropped.

He blinked. Read it again. Scrolled. His hands began to shake slightly as he locked his phone, but it didn’t stop the pounding in his chest.

He didn’t even realize Carlos and Oscar had entered the apartment until Carlos tossed a water bottle at him.

“Earth to Norris,” Carlos called out. “What’s with the face? You look like someone just stole your car.”

Lando didn’t answer.

Oscar flopped into a chair and frowned. “Lando?”

He finally sat up, holding his phone like it was evidence in a crime. “I think she’s engaged.”

Carlos blinked. “What?”

“She posted a picture. A hand. A ring. I don’t know if it’s hers but everyone’s congratulating her and—” he stood abruptly, pacing. “I knew I lost her. I just didn’t know it was already this far gone.”

Oscar leaned forward. “You haven’t talked to her in weeks, mate.”

“I didn’t know what to say!” Lando’s voice cracked. “I messed up. I let her walk away. And I’ve been watching her raise Sebastian like the strongest woman I’ve ever met while I sit here doing nothing.”

Carlos exchanged a glance with Oscar before stepping in front of Lando, voice firm. “So do something. Fly out there. Talk to her.”

Lando shook his head. “What if she doesn’t even want to see me?”

Oscar stood, crossing his arms. “Then at least you’ll know. But right now? You’re acting like a coward. You love her. Anyone with eyes could see it.”

Carlos nodded. “And that kid adored you. So either go tell her how you feel or spend the rest of the season wondering what might’ve been.”

Lando stood frozen for a moment — heart in his throat, chest tight — before he turned and grabbed his keys.

“Book me a flight,” he said, voice low. “Tonight.”

The next day Your doorstep – early evening

You weren’t expecting company, especially not when the sun had barely begun to dip behind the trees. So when the knock came, sudden and sharp, you wrapped a cardigan around yourself and padded over.

You opened the door slowly.

Lando stood there. Hoodie half-zipped, sneakers slightly dusty, hair messy like he’d run straight from the airport.

You froze.

He looked like hell. Beautiful, aching hell.

“Hi,” he breathed out. “I—I saw the ring post. I thought you were engaged. I thought you were gone.”

Your heart thudded in your chest. “Wait, what?”

He shook his head. “The picture. I thought it was your hand. I didn’t read the caption, didn’t check anything, I just... I panicked. I flew here without even thinking. I had to see you. Had to know.”

You let out a breath, eyes wide. “Lando, that’s my best friend. She got engaged. I was posting for her.”

Lando blinked like he was waking up. His shoulders dropped as he let out a strangled laugh, rubbing a hand down his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me…”

You stood aside. “Come in.”

He walked in slowly, glancing around as though memorizing everything. Like the home you built with Sebastian was a life he’d only dreamed about.

He turned back to you and the laughter died.

“I thought I lost you,” he said again, voice cracking. “I’ve already been losing you. You’ve been slipping away since Australia, and I knew it. And I let it happen.”

You stayed quiet, waiting.

“I know I never said the right things. Or showed up in the right way. I messed up — at the club, and every day after when I said nothing.” He looked down. “But it was never because I didn’t care. I was scared. Scared that what I wanted was too much. That you’d realize you didn’t need me.”

“Lando—”

He stepped closer.

“I need you,” he whispered. “I love you. I love Sebastian. And it’s not some temporary, easy feeling. It’s deep, and messy, and real. I’ve felt like a ghost since I left. I check your Instagram just to feel something. Every time Sebastian smiles in a post I think, that used to be mine too.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He was trembling now, the weight of months of silence collapsing in on him.

“I want to be there. Not for show. For real. I want to be the one Sebastian tells his secrets to, the one who packs school lunches, the one who kisses you goodnight, and doesn’t run when things get hard.”

You stared at him — eyes glassy, chest tight.

“You left,” you whispered. “You let me think I didn’t matter.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “And if I have to prove otherwise for the rest of my life, I will.”

A small yawn echoed from down the hall.

“Mommy?” came the sleepy voice.

You turned just in time to see Sebastian peek out, hair messy, eyes wide. “Is Lando here?”

Lando crouched down gently. “Hey, buddy.”

Sebastian grinned. “You’re back.”

You looked between the two of them — the connection, the hope in Sebastian’s voice, and the pleading in Lando’s eyes.

And finally, your resolve cracked. You walked to him, wrapped your arms around him, and let yourself feel everything you’d pushed down.

“I’m scared too,” you whispered.

He pulled you closer. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Sebastian was five now — bright-eyed, sharp with his words, and carrying more energy in his little frame than the entire grid on race day. The flat you now called home was tucked into a hillside in Monaco, where the sea kissed the edges of marble balconies and every window glowed with golden sunset light. Fancy, yes — sleek and curated — but warm with laughter, scattered toys, and the fingerprints of a real life being lived inside.

The kitchen smelled of rosemary and lemon, the sauce simmering gently as you stirred with one hand, the other resting absentmindedly over the curve of your belly. The moonlight filtered in through the glass doors, casting silver across the tiled floor. Music drifted low and slow in the background — something jazzy and nostalgic.

Peace. You had found it, and better yet, you had chosen it.

The door opened with a click and a rush of laughter. Sebastian’s giggles filled the flat as he kicked off his shoes, running to his room with the thud of socks against hardwood. Lando followed, gear bag slung over his shoulder, curls tousled from the wind.

You turned, smile playing at your lips. “How’d he do?”

Lando leaned in, stealing a brief kiss before answering. “He’s good. Like, really good. We might be raising the next world champion.”

You chuckled. “He gets it from you.”

Lando’s gaze softened. His hand moved instinctively to your bump, resting over the swell of new life. “And how’s this one doing?”

“She finally stopped her karate routine,” you joked, glancing down. “I think the smell of dinner soothed her.”

“A girl after my own heart,” he said with a grin.

Dinner was cozy, full of overlapping conversation — Sebastian animatedly recounting how he overtook someone on the final lap, and Lando grinning proudly at every word. Between bites, he’d chime in about his own upcoming races and how Sebastian’s form was already better than his at that age. You caught your gaze wandering now and then to the photo in the corner — your wedding day — frozen in time with the sound of the waves and laughter behind you, your veil tangled in the wind as Lando looked at you like he was seeing color for the first time.

After the dishes, which Lando insisted on doing — “Can’t have both of my girls stressed,” he’d said with a wink — the house quieted. Sebastian had curled up in bed with his shark plush and a bedtime story. And now, the two of you were lying in your bed, blankets tangled at your feet, your heads close, voices low. This was the part you loved most — not the trips or photoshoots or champagne showers, but the calm. The pillow talk. The shared world no one else got to see.

You’d once been a single mom fighting your way through life with tired eyes and a hopeful heart, never sure what the next day would bring. But here you were — Mrs. Norris now. With a son who bore that name proudly, and a daughter soon to join the world who would never have to question her father’s love.

The phone buzzed once. Lando rolled to check it.

“Old mate wants to go out tonight. Some club in town,” he murmured, eyes flicking up to you — your belly, your soft smile, your fingers gently tracing patterns across the duvet.

He paused. And then the decision came without thought.

“I’ll be home with the wife and kids,” he said aloud, tapping his screen off. “But you boys have fun.”

He tossed the phone on the bedside table and rolled closer to you, one hand sliding to rest over your belly, the other entwining with yours. He kissed your knuckles and sighed like someone who had run every race just to arrive here, in this exact moment.

“I really did change everything, huh?” he asked softly.

You nodded, resting your forehead against his.

“No,” you whispered. “We did.”

And outside, Monaco slept under a velvet sky, but inside that home, love stayed awake — breathing, growing, anchoring everything that mattered.

☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★

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ari-ana-bel-la · 2 months ago

Note

I absolutely love your fics! I was wondering if you'd mind writing something for Lewis where the reader isn't exactly his biological daughter, but Lewis and the reader's mother have been together since she was little so she kind of grew up with him and he became her father figure, maybe she's calling him dad for the first time without realizing it

Just Dad

The paddock was alive with its usual hum: engineers shouting over headsets, the low growl of an engine being tested, journalists weaving in and out of crowds like determined bees in a hive. Amidst the chaos, Lewis knelt beside a small, vibrant six-year-old with two fluffy puffs tied high on her head and sparkly unicorn sneakers.

"Alright, remember what we said?" he asked, gently tightening the little wristband around her tiny arm. "You stay with Maya, you don’t wander off, and if you get nervous, you can come find me or go to the Ferrari hospitality, okay?"

Yn gave an exaggerated sigh, as if she were seventeen instead of six. “I know, I know. You already said that, like, five times.”

Lewis grinned. “Well, maybe six is the lucky number today.”

“Is that because I’m six?” she teased, tilting her head and scrunching her nose.

“Exactly.” He poked her nose lightly. “Alright then, go, go, before I smother you with dad jokes.”

She took off toward Maya, the young assistant who had become something like a big sister, pausing only to wave dramatically at Lewis. He watched her go, heart warm and full.

She wasn’t technically his daughter. But she might as well have been.

---

Yn’s mother, Elle, had met Lewis three years ago at a charity gala. She wasn’t someone from the paddock, not even from the F1 world—she was an educator and a single mom doing her best to raise a bright, curious little girl who loved coloring books and hated vegetables.

Lewis hadn’t expected to fall in love with Elle, but he did, slowly and completely. He hadn’t expected to love Yn just as fiercely, but that had happened even faster. The moment she’d toddled up to him and asked why his hair looked prettier than hers, he was done for.

From then on, it was weekend visits, shared breakfasts, dance parties in the living room, and bedtime stories even when he was on the other side of the world. She’d never called him anything but Lewis—until today.

---

Later that afternoon, after debriefs and a media session, Lewis found Yn curled up in a corner of the motorhome, building a LEGO car with extreme focus. Maya had stepped out to grab her a juice box, and the hospitality lounge was quiet.

He crouched down beside her, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Hey, tiny engineer, how’s it going?”

She didn’t even look up. “Bad.”

“Uh-oh. Do we need to declare a code red?”

“The tires keep falling off.”

“Ah, classic pit stop issues,” he said seriously. “Want me to help?”

She considered it. “Yeah. But not like, grown-up help. Just regular help.”

Lewis chuckled. “Regular help. Got it.”

They sat in companionable silence as they tried to stabilize the tiny plastic wheels. Yn’s tongue peeked out slightly in concentration, and Lewis had to resist the urge to kiss the top of her head. She hated when he interrupted her LEGO flow.

Once the car was fixed, she sighed in satisfaction and handed it to him. “Here. You can keep it.”

“For me?”

“Yeah. Because you didn’t yell when I said a bad word earlier.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You said a bad word?”

She looked guilty. “Only a tiny one. The one that starts with ‘cr’ and rhymes with ‘nap.’”

Lewis had to bite his cheek. “Well, I appreciate the car. And the honesty.”

She smiled, leaning into his side, then said it so naturally it nearly knocked the breath from his lungs:

“Thanks, Dad.”

Just like that.

Lewis didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.

He didn’t want to make a big deal out of it—he knew Yn didn’t mean it as a declaration, more like an instinct. A feeling. A comfort. The name had just… slipped out. And he wasn’t going to be the one to scare it away.

So he smiled softly, pulling her gently into his side. “You’re welcome, bug.”

---

That night, back at the hotel, Lewis told Elle.

“She called me Dad.”

Elle’s toothbrush froze mid-motion. “What?”

“Just casually. She handed me a LEGO car and said, ‘Thanks, Dad.’ Like it was nothing. And I acted normal. I didn’t want her to think she had to call me that or that it was something to be nervous about.”

Elle set her toothbrush down and stepped into his arms. “Lewis…”

“I didn’t cry,” he said, although his voice was slightly hoarse. “Almost. But I didn’t.”

She smiled up at him, eyes glistening. “You’ve been her dad for a while, you know. You just finally got the title.”

---

The next morning, as they walked through the paddock again, Yn reached for Lewis’s hand without looking up.

“Dad, can I get a milkshake later?”

There it was again.

He smiled and squeezed her hand. “Only if you don’t say any more words that rhyme with ‘nap.’”

She gasped, eyes wide with pretend horror. “You told on me!”

“I did no such thing,” he said, utterly offended. “But someone has a very expressive face.”

“Traitor,” she muttered, but her smile gave her away.

They stopped for a second when a fan recognized Lewis and asked for a picture. Yn, used to it by now, stepped aside and held the LEGO car while Lewis posed. Once the photo was done, the fan crouched to Yn’s level.

“Are you his daughter?”

Yn looked up at Lewis, then back at the fan, and nodded proudly. “Yep.”

And Lewis—Lewis, who had stood on countless podiums, held world championship trophies, and heard thousands cheer his name—felt something bloom in his chest that made all of those moments seem dim in comparison.

---

Back in the Ferrari hospitality, Charles caught Lewis on his way out.

“Hey,” Charles said, glancing toward Yn, who was now colouring a picture of a lion with neon pink. “She’s getting taller.”

“Tell me about it,” Lewis said. “Next thing I know she’s going to be asking for a phone.”

Charles smirked. “Did she call you Dad earlier?”

Lewis blinked. “How’d you—?”

“She said it to Maya. I overheard. You looked like you’d seen God.”

Lewis laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It just… hit different.”

Charles patted him on the shoulder. “You’ve earned it.”

---

Later that evening, Yn sat cross-legged on the hotel room bed, watching old F1 races on the tablet while Lewis dried her hair with a towel.

“That’s you!” she squealed. “You’re the car in front!”

“Sometimes,” he teased. “Not always.”

“But most of the time.” She beamed. “You’re the fastest. Even when you’re not winning, you’re still my favorite.”

He chuckled. “That’s very biased.”

“I don’t care.” She leaned back against him. “I like you the most.”

The towel slid off her head as she turned to face him. Her eyes, always full of light, looked serious.

“Is it okay if I call you Dad now? Like… all the time?”

His heart swelled.

He kept his voice steady. “Of course it is. Only if you want to, though. No pressure.”

“I do,” she said softly. “Because you feel like my dad. You do all the stuff dads do. You make me pancakes and braid my hair and read me stories even when you’re sleepy.”

He cupped her face gently. “Then I’d be honored, bug.”

She smiled, curling into his lap. “Can we get pancakes tomorrow?”

“We just had pancakes this morning.”

“Yeah, but you said six is the lucky number. I’m six. I deserve pancakes every day.”

He laughed, scooping her up. “You might be too smart for your own good.”

---

At the next race weekend, Lewis held Yn on his hip as they made their way through the crowd. Someone from the press smiled at the sight.

“She’s your daughter?” they asked.

Yn didn’t hesitate. “Yep. He’s my dad.”

And Lewis? He just nodded, his heart overflowing.

“Yeah,” he said, “I am.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🤍🦢

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ncteez · 6 months ago

Text

M.I.L.F. (Make It Last Forever) ― L.DH

Haechan, a favorite among classy wives to hire during the hot summer season for a nice, thorough pool cleaning, seems to have a favorite wife of his own. You. Or the one where Haechan was the pain-in-your-ass son of the family you used to babysit for, but now he’s making it his mission to be the pain-in-your-ass pretend husband that you never asked for, but very clearly need.

minors dni

PAIRING ― lee haechan x afab milf!reader

WORDCOUNT― 18.9k

CONTENT― age gap: reader is 31 and haechan is 24, milf trope/single mother reader, college pool boy haechan (turned part time babysitter), reader has 1 kid and haechan really wants to give her another, reader has morals!! haechan just doesn’t see it as a moral issue, he is actually very sweet

!WARNINGS! ― age gap, haechan is somewhat of a manipulator, he’s gentle but won’t take no for an answer. dub-con in one instance. major breeding kink and kind of a mommy and daddy kink (domesticity), angst regarding reader and her ex husband, reader has huge tits

NOTE ― this was written for jay from enhypen over on my other blog, but i am gifting it to you guys here as well! I WROTE THEM BOTH!!!! NOT PROOF READ.

nsfw tags under cut

nsfw tags― thick big dick haechan, small instant dubious consent, tit obsessed haechan, groping and grinding, mommy/daddy kink, breeding kink, unprotected sex, cum stuffing-ish,pussy eating, fingering, basically it’s haechan doing stuff to you, this ain’t smut this is making love, also reader doesn’t shave her coochie and haechan fucking loves it.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Having a stray eye isn’t typically something you afford yourself when it comes to men. Things tend to change with time though, that much you know is true.

It was proven to you for the first time when your ex husband decided to up and leave you three weeks before your due date for a woman–well, girl, fresh out of highschool. Years of trust and promises crushed with just a single sentence and a slam of the door. Time must’ve changed you for him to leave so heartlessly. Time must’ve changed him to become so cold.

It was proven again when you were able to heal despite never believing you could. Seconds of pain turned to minutes, to hours. Days. weeks. Months. Years of pain before being able to wake up and feel somewhat numb to it all. Like a flip switch in your head that told you that you can be happy now even if as a single mother. After all, the hard part was over.

It took some four to five years, but it did happen. Time did change you, it healed you, it matured you. As your child grew, so did you. And for the better, you think. You count your blessings of living a life far more lavish than you ever could have anticipated given the circumstances that had been thrown at you. Even to the point of nesting, wanting another child, wanting a big and happy family. But alas, your ex husband had better things to do.

At the end of the day, you’d never be able to call this home yours if you had stayed with your ex husband. He didn’t like this kind of “flashy” lifestyle, and to him, everything you wanted seemed too flashy for him. Perhaps he was right to some extent, as you recognize the brand name goods you now own, solely because you had promised yourself in the depths of your despair that you’ll get to a point in life where you can buy yourself everything you not only need, but want. So, here you are, owning an expensive home, in a nice neighborhood, with a nice car and a nice pool.

Your daughter has everything she could want and need too, aside from a sibling, it’s certainly still more than what you had growing up and it’s all because of you. A fully decorated bedroom drenched in glitter, purples, creams, yellows, and pink, her favorite color. All sorts of play houses, costumes, dolls, a few lego sets, and even some plastic swords and knives for the days she wants to pretend to be her favorite movie characters. Clothes she can grow into, and a nice little fund building up for her as she grows up. Her first car, college, help for a downpayment on her own first house.

Both of you have everything you could ever want or need and for that, you’re so proud. Especially knowing your husband would have never believed you could make it this far without him. Still, despite having everything you could ever ask for, there’s something in you that feels empty.

Time changes things.

Time changes a lot of things, you note more than usual, as the man you’ve been ogling for the past three weeks makes himself far more known to you than you ever wished he would.

The interaction with him was always so quick before today and given the fact that he was a complete stranger, you never quite invited him into your home considering–you know, small child and all. You had hired him over text. Haechan, your neighbor said his name was. His handsome features didn’t offer you anything more than a clean pool and a wandering eye.

Your neighbor apparently has a friend who has a cousin that has an even nicer pool than you do. Given, it’s only a nicer pool due to the fact that this young man, Haechan, tended to it weekly and made damn sure it could be drunk out of if a person had a craving for chlorine.

You feel like an idiot now that it didn’t dawn on you quick enough. Sure, he looked a bit familiar to you but who doesn’t when you’re always out and about seeing so many different faces on a daily basis? His name, Haechan, didn’t ring any bells. Now though, the shame of staring at his sweaty pecs and biceps came crashing down the moment you realized who Haechan actually is.

He didn’t do a damn thing to remind you either, if anything, all he did was walk around all sweaty in the afternoon heat with his tank top either sticking to him, or off entirely. It appears that you had just been too busy running errands with your child, considering his shifts were always when you were home. Too busy cooking, cleaning, reading, lounging. Too busy looking at…well, not his face.

Too busy to give the man a glance more than that of a slice of pie behind a bakery window.

Haechan.

Since fucking when was that his name?

“Lee Donghyuck.” You whimper near mortified, three weeks too late as you hand him his pay with nervous hands. “Spray-cheese in my hair Donghyuck?”

“Ah, was wondering when you’d pick up on that.” He smiles at you with that crooked grin, a knowing look that any man at a bar would give you if he had caught you checking him out. Then, he pockets the hefty amount of cash that you hand to him. “I go by Haechan more often these days.” He trails off, an amused smirk half-falling as he looks at your expression of realization. “You can call me whatever you want though.”

He’s well aware of how often you’ve checked him out since he started intentionally taking his clothes off. After all, it’s mid-july by this point and the sun baring down on him doesn’t quite call for a fucking turtle neck sweater. Or a T-shirt, or a tank top, for that matter. It calls for all skin baby, beautifully tanned and toned for you and any of your neighbors to look at if they so wanted to.

Haechan doesn’t work out for nothing, after all. Summer after summer, he’s found himself to be quite fond of the rich women that hire him for their pool services. Always wanting an attractive young man to wander around half naked and satiate their lack of sex life with their husbands, or boytoys, or what have you. He knows all that extra pay isn’t because he does a good job either. He’s gotten winks, small comments, even a few offers of his body for more pay.

He’s turned them all down, of course. For a full-on affair, anyway. Haechan has gotten a few blow jobs and quickies as a tip before though, and a lot of that is why he keeps getting referred to more women. Richer women. Never single women.

Until you.

He quite enjoyed catching you looking at him. Especially given the fact that he knew exactly who you were when you introduced yourself to him via text. That little childhood crush on you came back within an instant upon actually seeing you again. Truly, he had forgotten all about you up until that fateful day three weeks ago.

If he’s being honest, he’s been pining something fierce since he first stepped foot on your property. Excitement swelled inside of him just to see you again. To see if you’re still hot, to see how you’re doing, what you’re doing. How your life is going.

He knew you didn’t recognize his nickname through text, and he definitely knew you didn’t recognize him to be eating him up with those eyes of yours either. So, he played along, enjoying it while he could before it would inevitably dawn on you. Still, he remembers you so well from back then. Crazy to know that he rarely thought of you for the past twelve years or so, and how all those little butterflies of his came back in a far more mature way. He was only twelve back then, but he’s a man now.

Twenty four and perfectly sound as a man who knows what he likes. The fact that you happen to fall into that category is no fault of his own, honestly. It’s your fault if anyone’s at all. Haechan is a man that likes a specific type of woman too. Woman. Not a girl, not a young lady, not a free spirit, nor a prude. He is drawn to the idea of experience, to the idea of settling down. It’s not easy to find that at his age, in college, surrounded by party girls and casual drug use.

And, well, imagine his smile upon seeing your lovely, lavish home with the large pool, no ring on your finger, a whole fucking child, and your motherly instincts when you buckle her into the car for an errand. Oh and the broken fence in the far back of your yard.

You’re a single mom.

A hot single mom who lives lavishly. One who could probably use a man’s help around your house.

He half expected you to be able to recognize him when he appeared for work the first time. He even had a monologue in his head on what to say to you, and how to present himself. You didn’t seem to take notice though, introducing yourself to him as if you hadn’t spent all that time in his childhood home when you were a teenager. Like you never mothered him, or put him to sleep with the soft stories when you let him watch all those scary movies before bed. Even at twelve, he was a scaredy cat.

Clearly you’re too busy experiencing life to notice the way he fawns over you too. Hating how you’re more reserved than the other lavish, fixed-up women. You seem to have standards, or maybe it’s just priorities ... that's so hot. Truly, it only makes him want you more because by now, the other women would already be rubbing all over him. The ones who shouldn’t be wanting him the way they do. So, yes, he’s always stealing glances at you with sparkling dark eyes, fantasizing in his head that this pool is his to clean now, because that’s what a good man would do for you, right? With him around servicing your pool and lawn, you’d never need to hire or spend money on another broke ass college student again.

Yes. That’s how quickly he fell into this infatuation solely because you looked at him like you want it without realizing who he was. Hell, without realizing how perfect you are in terms of what he wants.

God, how are you still single?

Like, why do you have a child and a house so beautiful without a man wandering around doing all of this work for you? Not that you couldn’t do it on your own, it’s just, you clearly have the means to make a man do as you please. Why haven’t you?

You happen to fall almost perfectly into the categories of what he’s looking for. Save for the fact that now you recognize him as that kid you used to babysit rather than the man who tries to be sexy while cleaning your pool. Which is a fucking shame, if he’s being honest, to be written off as that same ten year old child rather than a fucking man who very clearly has needs and desires.

The point is– Haechan wants you and he parades around your pool for you to look at him. So what if you used to babysit him? It’s not like you’re an old swamp-hag trying to lure him with candy. You’re just…a woman. And he’s just a man.

“Well, thank you for cleaning again,” You trail off in an awkward tone, shifting your eyes to anywhere but him. He watches you though, smiling a smile you know all too well from his childhood antics. It must mean something different now, or maybe not. “I guess I’ll see you next week?”

“Well, actually,” Haechan offers, “Would you be opposed to–” You cut him off instantly with an awkward wave of your hand.

You don’t know why you make assumptions, maybe from that damned smile on his face, but you do recall your ex husband reminding you time and time again that it’s one of the things he hated about you.

Assumptions. Always thinking the worst, or perhaps the most filthy of situations and expressions. To be fair, you feel guilty about how you’ve been looking at him, you can’t help but panic trying to pretend like it never happened, and that he never saw it happen.

“I’m not interested, Donghyuck.” You respond hastily, pressing your thumb to your bottom lip to bite the skin on it, keeping your eyes away from him with the awkward words. After all, he knew who you were this whole time and paraded around like that?

Even before recognizing him yourself, you know men well enough to know when they’re trying to flaunt. Is it so wrong to assume?

“Interested in what?” Haechan tilts his head knowingly, seeing the way you buckle under the guilt of staring at the very man you used to tuck into bed every night. He can see the way you try to push those sexual thoughts you had away in the quick rejection to a simple assumption.

“I was just going to ask if you want me to fix your fence.”

Ah, you did get ahead of yourself through the guilt, and you’re far too aware of it as you draw your eyes back to him and note the expression on his face. Amused, maybe a bit of concern in his eyes, even?

“Ah, um–” You start, trailing your eyes down your fence line never once noticing a break in it. Haechan is quick to point though, leaning to you with a whisper of “right there.” And well, you did not need to hear that tone in his voice the way you just did.

God, it’s so awkward.

“Well, how much would that cost me?” You question with an empty voice, staring at the broken fence.

“Free.” He uses the same tone, leaning away from you now and smiling wide. “That is, if you provide lunch.”

Well, despite the awkwardness, that break over there would cost you a pretty penny to fix, and your daughter needs the safety of playing in her own yard without random animals or worse, people, making their way in. Plus, you’re quite fond of saving money. How else would you be here if you weren’t good at it? And now, given that you’re most definitely not interested in Haechan, what's the harm in making a few sandwiches for someone you already know well enough? It’s not like you’ve never made him lunch before.

The awkwardness will pass and your guilt will subside. You both will laugh at it over a cold glass of iced lemonade, surely. It’s not like you realized who he was anyway, it’s not like you’re just gonna keep looking at him like that. You should just push forward and it’ll all be fine.

“Hell, I’d even watch the kiddo so you can have a break every now and then.” He watches your reaction, wanting to ask so many questions about why you’re single, who the father is, where he is, why he isn’t here. “After all, I learned quite a bit from you.”

For a second you consider that too.

And there’s three reasons as to why you should. The first being that you were literally just looking for a new child care facility due to learning of the staff coming to work while sick. Your poor daughter came home with a fever just last week, and you’ve had little luck in finding a place with the same educational benefits for her.

The second being that, well, while you’re not hurting for cash or anything, it wouldn’t hurt to be able to put a little more back for her college fund. Or for fun little vacations.

And lastly, despite your guilt of lusting over someone you shouldn’t have, you know Donghyuck and you know his family even better. No background check would be needed, your daughter could be in the comfort of her own home rather than a classroom setting that she’s sure to see for at least twenty years of her life in the future.

So, yes. You consider it instantly, and Haechan sees it.

You only know of the childhood version of him and, well, the slutty pool-side version of him apparently. If only you knew of that other side of him and how fond he is of watching his own younger cousins. How good he is with children, and how much he clings to the idea of being a father one day.

Haechan is great with kids, with or without them having a hot mom.

And well, he knows that he’s fond of looking at you at least. Besides, as long as you can work with his class schedules, he’d be willing to do just about anything to play pretend-husband, even if you’re unaware of it.

“Is that so?” You finally ask, curious eyes looking at him with a furrowed brow. “Shouldn’t you be out living the life? College parties and such?” You add, wondering why such a great deal has managed to flop down on your lap. The idea of even cheaper childcare without the risk of unvaccinated children, and sick caretakers being far too good of a deal to pass up.

“Well, yeah I guess.” He shrugs, leaning backwards to stretch and roll his shoulders. “Not really my scene though. I have classes Monday and Wednesday all day, Tuesday and Thursdays my classes are online. If you can work around that, I’d rather just be making money and chilling.”

You think about it just for a second more when he continues.

“I can be here on weekends too. Maybe you should be the one out relaxing and having some drinks.”

“Well, I don’t quite need that, or for you to be here on weekends.” You think as you say it, knowing you have given up on going out to try and meet men two years ago. “I could pay you though, let’s say, thirty an hour?”

Well, shit, that’s not too bad at all, especially considering he’s about to give up on cleaning the pools of a few women in his contacts for this. It’s a major pay cut, but still enough to get by comfortably if you’ll have him multiple times a week. That plus the pool cleaning money? And free lunch?

“Oh, you don’t go out at all? I don’t see why not, could probably get a man in no time–” Haechan ignores the wage offer and pushes to note the singlehood he had been noticing for the past three weeks. “and the pay is fine.”

“Ah, well, the dating pool isn’t so great in this neck of the woods.” You scratch the back of your neck when you say it. “That aside, I'll have her in day care on the days you can’t be here, but it really would be a big help. Thank you for the offer, Donghyuck. And for the fence too.”

He watches you with a firm nod, shoving his hands into the pockets of his basketball shorts, still entirely shirtless in front of you.

“And the pool.” You add quietly after a moment.

“I think you’d be surprised about the dating pool.” He smiles as he pushes the subject back to what you had previously said, hoping you believe those words before continuing. “So, when do you want me to start?”

“Is tomorrow too soon? You’re okay to set up here with your online classes?”

“Tomorrow is perfect.” He smiles.

“I’m sure she would be so happy knowing she won’t be going to daycare–” You clap, feeling a bit less awkward despite the boldness of the man in front of you. You’re sure he’s just teasing you for knowing you checked him out. “I know I am.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It’s a little too perfect, actually.

After that first day of watching your child and making a lazy attempt at “fixing your fence,” he’s settled in like it’s home. He wishes it was, with the lavish lifestyle in a house far too pretty compared to his own living space with piles upon piles of laundry he’s too lazy to pick up for himself.

It’s different for you though. Different when he’s here.

Truly, he feels like he’s living the life after a couple of weeks with decent pay and a comfy space to do his homework. He watches your child, which is arguably the hardest part of the job but she’s well behaved for him. In fact, she seems to have taken a shine to him.

He’s starting to be very intentional with taking far too long to work on your fence too, and still maintaining your pool. He’s trying to drag this out for as long as he can. Even if just to see if you still look at him when you come home the same way you did before recognizing him. You never do though. When his shirt is off and he’s wiping his forehead in the sun, you don’t look at him anymore.

Hell, he’s even considered breaking things in your home just to give himself more jobs to do. More things that make him feel needed, like a husband. More things that you thank him for fixing, even if it breaks again two days later.

And ah, the food in your fridge is always free reign to him, that large television in the living room too. God, sometimes he dreads going home, and by sometimes, he means all the time. Who in their right mind would ever fucking want to live outside of this lifestyle? He really can’t believe you’re single, nor can he believe that he has the opportunity to be in your home, close to you. It shouldn’t take too long now to convince you, right? That you don’t necessarily have to be single? That you need him around to live even more comfortably?

In short, Haechan is in his head about how he’s practically just roleplaying as your stay-at-home husband before having to go back to his shitty little apartment and remind himself that he’s just a fucking college student with no interest in the people on campus. And like, even with the way you come home from work, all groggy and exhausted on the days he’s there, you always thank him before giving him his pay. What he likes best about those nights is when you’re too exhausted to even pay him and you promise to do it next time.

In his mind, that’s you promising to see him again.

He could give less of a shit about the pay at this point, as long as he gets to be in this house, smelling your favorite candles and dish detergents, seeing you, being a semi-father to a child who deserves more love than the two of you combined can give…he’ll fucking do anything you want for free.

It’s difficult sometimes, like he really can’t help it. Some days wandering around this house and imagining how the two of you could have landed on buying it together. How the rooms would be organized if he were here from the start. Claiming his spot on your couch like any dad would. Playing dolls with your daughter, laughing with her, letting her paint his nails and put his hair in little pigtails. He even cleans your pool as if it were his own, meaning, he genuinely cleans it.

He has taken it upon himself to mow your lawn, confusing the yard workers that you apparently hired years ago. Did he accidentally fire them? Maybe, but any good husband would save you money, right? He checks your mail, waves to your neighbors and lets them make assumptions.

And every single fucking night it’s harder and harder to go back home.

Especially after a full day of playing dad then seeing you come back so tired. Turning off that switch in his head isn’t easy. He wants to greet you like the husband you don’t have. He wants to ease your hard days in so many ways. Tell you he’s proud of you, that you still look so pretty after an exhausting shift of whatever the fuck you do. He wants to serve you dinner, run you a bath, fix your hair, lay you down– oh, he’s fantasizing again. Unfortunately, he has to settle with seeing the relief on your face when he lets you know in a soft voice that he’s cooked dinner and he will heat it up for you before leaving, kiddo is in her room sleeping, no dishes in the sink, and laundry is folded and put away.

He loves the appreciation in your eyes, and sometimes even sees a glint of sadness. He can tell you wish you had this from a person who isn’t here for pay. Someone who loves you, and loves your child, and feels joy in making your life easier.

Fuck, if only you knew.

And you’d be lying if you tried to say Haechan isn’t a godsend to you on the days he babysits. Many times you find yourself wishing he’d just move in and do everything that you can’t do. You’d pay him well, give him a guest room, whatever. But it’s just…not viable to support a full time employee like that, nor is it fair to your daughter.

She needs a parent, not a paid college student who needs some extra cash. You have to be that parent, you have to make time for her and witness all of her joys in life. You have to protect her and never bring in faces of men who claim to want to be a father, only to run and break her heart more than your own.

For now, you settle with this godsend of a little shit you used to babysit. Still you can barely believe that’s the same person, but again…time changes things. And thankfully, the awkwardness of what you did has died down drastically.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Today, you’re more thankful for Haechan than you have been previously. After a heavy workload has been lifted off your back with the approval of this project, you need a night out. For the first time in years, you’re giving yourself a night out, all because you have someone you can trust to be here for your daughter.

He was so understanding when you called, happy to come over right then and there to put her to bed and mostly just house-sit for the night. Even without an end time for him, and even without asking for extra pay, he just…accepted with an understanding tone and that stupid breathy chuckle he gives to you when you ask for favors. “What? You need me there right now? I’m putting on my shoes.” He had said.

It’s the fact that now, as he sits on your couch looking at you in your chosen outfit– he seems a little off. Maybe it’s because you asked him where the best spots in town are because it’s been so long since you’ve gone out, or maybe he just feels awkward seeing so much skin on your body.

To be fair, he didn’t realize you were going out out. He thought that maybe you were gonna go stay with a friend to celebrate and have a drink or two.

In reality though, he’s just awestruck. Already you look great even after your busy days at work but…this is a different level. The way your tits look in that push-up bra and tiny ass top, when he’s used to seeing you head out in some sort of business casual outfit without an ounce of skin showing save for your ankles or wrists…jesus. He’s struggling more than usual to keep himself calm around you, hopping up on one leg when you walk away to try and adjust the chub in his pants, and releasing a small sigh before you’re looking at him again.

His skin feels like it’s on fire knowing you’re going out looking like that.

“You sure you're okay to sleep over? I figure it’ll be easier since I’m not sure when I’ll come home, or if I come home.” You smile with a wink, your stomach in knots over the two shots you’ve taken for the first time in years. “I can call my friends and tell them not to come if you’d rather focus on your studies.”

Haechan shakes his head, waving his hands in defense for you as if he didn’t just see the way your tits bounce and squish against your shirt with each move you make.

“No, no! Go on, have fun.” He says, encouraging you to go out despite hoping you come home with no luck of finding a man out there.

Just, look at you. Fuck, he’s staring again. He hates knowing that he could be one of the guys at whatever bar or club you’re landing on tonight. He could be the person that makes sure you don’t come home, getting to plant his face right there. He could be whatever you want him to be if you’re looking like that.

But no, he has to play husband again, which is normally something he’s all too excited to do. Tonight though, he feels like a fucking cuckold. After everything he does for you, after not mentioning how you’ve skipped a few of his payments, after slaving away for hours over your pool, your household chores, fixing and breaking that fucking dishwasher, cooking you dinner every single night he’s here just to make sure you have a meal when you get off of work…you imply you may not come home tonight?

And you’re dressed like that?

And you’re…

God, you just look so good right now. It pains him to know you didn’t dress like this for him, the only man who cares enough to make your life easy. He’s not mad at you, per se, but he’s pissed that you don’t see him as an option despite showing you time and time again that not only is he an option, but the right choice.

This is what you look like when you want to impress a man? This is how you act? How you talk? Fuck, god, fuck– maybe he’s just too deep in his one-sided roleplay but it really, really fucking feels like he’s watching his woman go off and look for someone else to fuck.

“Thank you, Donghyuck,” You smile, walking over to him with a saunter in your step and a gentle smile across your lips.

He’s never heard you speak his name so sensually, the way his cock twitches forces him to wince away from you. He’s never even seen you saunter before. Fucking hell, somehow it feels worse seeing you act like this after how many times he’s imagined it, all alone in his room.

A slow walk from you, with the strap of your shirt slipping off your shoulder, fat tits threatening to spill out, lifting the hem of your skirt, or dress, or whatever you’re wearing in his fantasy at that point. Your voice, so soft, so sexy. And you’re practically bringing his fantasy to life right now, except he knows you’re going to fucking walk away from him like this. Into the fucking arms of some random dude at a club.

Probably some loser he’s seen on campus too.

“It means a lot.” You add, popping a quick, platonic kiss to the top of his forehead.

Ah, lip gloss. That little kiss on him is enough to ignite him to the point of no return. He almost wants to skip the part of asking you not to go and straight up just beg that you pick him, that you choose him. It’s not just your home, or the luxuries that come with it. It’s you that he wants. You’re the fucking luxury and you’re just gonna go to some sticky-floored club and pretend he’s not clearly checking you the fuck out right now? Like he’s not about three seconds from dropping to his knees just to see you from the angle you deserve?!

“It’s no problem.” Haechan relents, dropping himself onto your couch instead and adjusting his body to sink deep into the cushions just to keep himself from arguing against everything he’s giving you permission to do right now.

Hah. Permission.

“Be safe.” He adds in an even more monotone voice. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

And god, he seethes in his thoughts after you close that door and hop into the car with your friends. You don’t look like a mother tonight, and he wonders if you’ll be upfront and forward with anyone you intend to hit on too. Probably not. He’s well aware of the men in this city, after all, he’s one of them.

It’s really not something he can control after seeing you like that either. Your child is already in bed and he’s just sitting here on your couch with a throbbing, fucking weeping cock thinking about you. What’s stopping him from taking care of it? You’re not here, after all.

You’re not fucking here. But everything about you is.

And that’s how he finds himself in your bedroom for the first time, barely making it a foot into the room before closing the door and dropping to the floor. The scent in your room is different. It’s feminine, gentle, like the energy is kissing him all over and sending goosebumps straight to the head of his cock. He couldn’t even pull it out, already holding his breath with his hand down his pants, vigorously trying to get what he wants so badly yet knowing that his hand will never compare to you.

And it’s here where he feels like a husband. Spilling against his pants with a silent, choked back sob as he stares forward at your bed, and the way you didn’t make it this morning. It’s messy, and he wants to be in that mess of sheets with you more than anything.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Haechan hates that he’s now forced to get used to your late night ventures. Every weekend now. Every. Fucking. Weekend. You ask if he’s willing to stay over so you can go unwind, and despite his better (or worse) judgment, he accepts. The only solace he finds in these ventures is knowing you consistently come back home right after usual closing times, and you’re mostly sober. Sometimes a bit whiny that you’re not lucking out, worrying that maybe you’re too old now, or maybe you’re just not as desirable. There have even been a few times where you’ve exposed your ex husband during your rants, giving Haechan little hints to follow as to why you’re single, and how he left you.

Still, he knows in your tipsy state that you usually wouldn’t talk about these things with him, but he’s all too happy to get the details once you come home. Mostly because it calms his rising rage at how you’re doing this to not only him, but yourself. It’s mostly because you’re technically coming home to him though.

And every single time, you go back to your bedroom to grab his payment even though it could wait until morning, considering he’s been sleeping in the guest room– all he can think about is how he’s been in your room. He’s gotten off countless times by now by the smell of your room alone, still barely able to even reach your bed to lay in it himself for a better experience. God, he’s probably memorized each little fray in your carpeted bedroom floor by now with how much he’s zoned out on it mid-jerk off session right there on his knees at your door.

He’s truly pathetic for you.

This time though…three in the morning has passed and normally you’d have been stumbling through the door an hour ago. Normally, he’d be fighting back the need to tell you that you’re beautiful, not too old, and entirely desirable. Normally, he would be fisting his cock again in your guest room before sleep, getting off on the idea that he can cum in a house that you live in, smothered by the sheets you meticulously picked out to match the walls of the room. Moaning for you, practically crying for you to let him do it all.

Have you really done it this time? Gone off with some man? Are you getting railed right now in some hotel, or car, or someone’s shitty man-cave? God, his mind is racing, both aroused at the fact that you must be horny to be constantly wanting to go out like this, but equally as devastated because like…he’s right here.

Who the fuck cares if you babysat him? He’s a man. No longer that child who sprayed cheese in your hair or dumped salt into the bag of sugar. He’s a fucking man, cooking you dinner when you work, parenting your child, cleaning your house, maintaining your pool and fence….He does everything for you, why the fuck don’t you see it?!

Click.

Haechan’s ears perk up instantly at the sound. He sits up on the couch from his depressed slump of scrolling through his phone, quickly fixing his hair and clearing his throat.

In you stumble, right into the little entryway table with a whisper-scream of “Shit, fuck–”

Haechan looks at your state before standing to his feet and rushing to you, helping you balance on your feet despite your footing not quite being grounded even with his help. You lean on him closely, letting out an alcohol scented sigh.

His nostrils flare as he holds his breath, feeling your tit press against his arm, smelling the drinks, the sweat, and the dulled perfume on you. Then, a hint of something else. Musk.

You’ve been with a man.

He holds back a gesture at the way you lean on him. Nothing more he could want at this moment but to hold you tightly and tell you that he’s got you, despite the panic in his stomach at the way he sniffs out another man. Out of lust, love, desperation, frustration. This is the closest you’ve been to him for this long. You feel clammy and cold, a clear indication that you drank far, far too much. Your tank top is sticking to you, your eyes are a bit glassy–

“You’re late.” He says shortly.

“Late?!” You raise your voice before looking at him with drowsy eyes, furrowing your brow. “I don’t have a curfe-”

“Shh–” He shushes you, helping you get to the living room. “She’s sleeping and you’re going to have her make a fuss about waking up.”

You giggle to yourself as he drops you onto the couch, now aware that yes, you are not a single college student anymore. You’re a single woman. A fucking mother.

You should’ve just gotten a hotel for the night and slept there to dream a little longer.

“Right.” You laugh, slouching, spreading out wide against the couch and trying to fix your gaze on him. “Why’re you still awake?”

Haechan fixes his eyes on you, swallowing around a lump in his throat. The way you’re slouching…seemingly forgetting that you’re wearing a skirt and basically flashing your panties at him. God, the things could do to you right now. The things he could get away with if he wanted to. He tries to shake those thoughts for now, and instead, inspects you from head to toe.

He’s never seen you look so relaxed. Chest raising and falling with each breath, hair a little messy, lipstick stains smeared on the outsides of your lip line. He chooses to ignore the faint swell against your neck indicating someone has been sucking on you. But, well, he can’t ignore it. Both his cock and heart aches at the very thought.

“You’ve been kissing?” Haechan tries to ask nonchalantly.

“A lot more than that–” You smile, feeling a flush cross your cheeks before the disappointment hits you square in the gut.

Haechan watches your face fall, and he mimics it by falling onto the couch and sitting by your head…you know, allowing you to lay your head on him if you want to. You’d probably not notice his arousal anyway, given your state.

“Oh?” He asks gently, the disappointment now showing plainly on not just your face, but his own.

“Thought I was gonna go home with him, turns out he decided to be done after a blowjob in the parking lot.”

Oh, the way his blood boils. Not for the fact that you were used or rejected, but for the fact that you found someone that you were interested in and genuinely intended to leave your home life in his hands for however fucking long. Really? Just gonna leave him here all alone? Like he couldn’t do better for you?

“It’s for the better–” Haechan says as he shivers with irritation, struggling to keep his facade up. It’s definitely not what you wanted to hear, and definitely not what you’d have expected to hear from a college guy at all either.

“This happened last time too, except he didn’t even get me to the parking lot.” You huff, unaware of how much you’re sharing right now.

He bites back the anger yet again, inhaling deeply before releasing a calming breath through his nose just to contain it. So…it has happened more than once?

“Why don’t you let me take you out someday?” He says suddenly, well aware that you’ll probably never remember he said it in the first place.

If anything, he’s testing the waters for his own sake. He’d hate himself forever if he didn’t at least take advantage of this moment a little bit.

“Then who will watch my daughter?” You respond in slurred speech, not even comprehending who it is that’s asking you this question right now. Not even thinking about your history with him, or the family ties.

He, on the other hand, is quite entertained by the way you don’t bring the history up like he expected. His cock twitches at it, bumping your head just a bit, not enough for you to notice apparently. Fuck, it would be so easy for him to pull it out right now, and just…tap your lips with it.

Maybe you’d even open your mouth for him.

“I’ll skip class on a Wednesday, we can go while she’s still in daycare.” He continues through an almost-moan, encouraging the conversation to stay positive.

“Donghyuck–” You slur before clearing your throat and sitting back up in a dizzy show of how drunk you are. “You know I can’t do that. It’s too weird.”

In all fairness, you know he has like…a thing for you. After all, why else would a college dude be spending his weekends here babysitting your kid? It’s not like you haven’t noticed the way he checks you out before you go out for the night. Why would he do all of this if he didn’t have some sort of attraction to you? Sure, you’re taking advantage of it as best as you can despite how you didn’t recognize him at first.

Despite how deep down, you very well know how attracted to him you are too.

“Only because you make it weird.” Haechan rolls his eyes as he looks at you, spreading his legs out to adjust his comfort, noting the way you glance down to his lap and see it. “I’m a grown man–” He starts, spreading his legs wider, pressing his cock against his pants to the point you can practically see the outline.”you know this.” He continues, trying to be bold now by reaching forward and moving a strand of your hair from your cheek.

“You’ve seen it.”

You freeze, suddenly feeling entirely too sober to be talking about this kind of thing with him. With Donghyuck. God, his mother would fucking kill you if she found out he’s in your house while you’re out trying to get fucked by whoever is willing to love you temporarily.

Haechan sees you thinking though, and continues to take the advantage now that he’s feeling brave. Now that you’ve seen the twitch in his pants and haven’t moved off the couch, or told him to go home.

“I saw you watching me when I was cleaning your pool, multiple times.” He whispers snidely. “You stopped when you realized who I am. Why?”

“Donghyu–…” You trail off. “You know this isn’t okay. What would people think of me? There are rules, and I will not go down this route with you.”

A rush of air hits your face and suddenly, warmth hits your cheek. You feel him so close, closer than ever before. It’s dizzying. Haechan is over you, hovering with one hand ghosting over your hip.

“You want to though, don’t you?” He gets even closer now, darting his eyes down at your chest and unable to pull them away. “Knowing how good I am with your daughter? How well I clean up? How strong I can be–”

You swallow hard. For a moment, you almost lean into him. You almost melt right then and there, the need for intimacy so heavy inside of you after being left high and dry, knowing that you’d accept it from just about anyone at this point. But– this is Donghyuck. You can’t.

You really, really, can’t.

The look of disappointment in his eyes kind of hurts when you’re pushing him away. That playful smirk falling faster than you think your sanity did the day your ex husband left you.

“This–” You pause, realizing all too well how he’s used your drunken state against you for this conversation. “This is your last paycheck.”

“I don’t think so.” The smirk is back now, except…it’s different. “You know I promised her a Barbie dream house next weekend.” He smiles fully now. “She’s a bit attached, you know, even called me dad by accident the other day.”

You’re shocked.

“She…what?”

“You know she’s attached to me already, don’t be selfish.” Haechan shrugs at you while rolling his eyes, leaning against the couch again and turning his head to look at you. You try to pretend that you don’t see his hand slightly groping himself. “Guess she misses having a father around. Can’t be too easy for her, especially with her mom going out every weekend trying to fuck guys who would run the second they learn about her.” He ticks his tongue now, as if he’s pitying you more than your daughter.

“Donghyuck, that’s not–”

“That’s not, what?”

“That’s not what I’m doing…” You lower your voice to a near whisper, upset that you couldn’t even enjoy the drunken state you came home in, now feeling entirely too sober, and a little sick in the stomach.

“Oh, so you haven’t gotten laid since I’ve been here–” He leans closer again now, trying to resume what he was going to do just moments ago. “They haven’t even touched you, have they?” His hands move to your thigh and presses down as if to hold you in place. “Why?”

“I try not to just sleep with anyone.” You lie, knowing you’d sleep with anyone just to feel wanted for once. And you’re trying to ignore his hands on you right now, trying desperately not to like it. It’s the first time a man has touched you in this house since your husband left you. As expected, you almost feel your knees buckle despite sitting comfortably. “I have to be careful, you know?”

“Mm, I know more than you think.” He leans into you, hovering yet again with his upper half over you as he whispers it. “Don’t need to be careful around me though.” He adds, this time trailing his voice right against your jaw, up to your ear. “You must be so frustrated.” He ghosts his lips there for a moment, waiting for you to push him away, or say something, anything, really.

“Why would I be frustrated?” You lend the smallest of whispers, feeling the goosebumps against your skin rising at the mere thought of giving in just this once.

“Not having anyone to please you.” He adds now, landing a very slight kiss right under your lobe. “Always being used for someone else’s pleasure, maybe?”

You almost nod, feeling weak in your state and thoughts swimming with what if’s, morals, and anxieties. You’re frozen in place despite knowing a simple push would create the distance you need to breathe.

“Your fingers will never be enough, will they?” He continues, essentially chaining you to this couch with his words alone. You can’t help the fight in your head, you need to feel wanted, and you want so badly to feel needed. “I bet you wish someone would love you for all that you are, not all that you have.”

It’s silent as you feel his lips press down again, this time moving his body over you almost entirely. You can feel the couch dip a bit as he places all of his weight on a knee, moving his other leg to stand between yours.

“You must need someone to fill that hole in you by now, right? That pussy of yours?” He continues, his tone a bit more snide now as you give in to his hold with shaky breaths.

And truthfully, Haechan has never let himself come on this strong towards someone before. Usually the wives are doing this to him. They’re trying to convince him, encourage him. He’s so fucking horny right now though, with that daze in your eye, your legs spread around his knee, blinking up at him like a cheating wife. As if you want to apologize, as if you need him to forgive you. Need him to make everything better.

“I heard you the other day, you know, talking to your mom–” He smiles, tilting his head to look into your eyes, seeing a small shine in them. “You want another, don’t you?” He continues, moving his lips now just over yours as he, now, presses you firmly against the couch. “You must hate knowing that I’m the only person who can do that for you.”

“God, Haechan.” You immediately buckle, not realizing how suddenly he’s not Donghyuck at this moment. He’s someone else. He’s Haechan.

“Why don’t you go for girls on campus?! Don’t you have parties to be attending on the weekends instead of being here, trying to parent my chil–”

“Lower that voice of yours,” He whispers, eyes now hooded as he looks at you. “You know she’s asleep.”

God, he’s right.

“Besides, why would I want them when I have you right here under me–” He tilts his head. “Looking so disappointed that you like it, too.”

Right then, your moral code shines into the front of your mind at the consideration of giving in.

A weight on one shoulder chanting, “No! What would people say?! What would people think?!”, and then little to no weight on the other shoulder, echoing in a sweet song of “Finally! Someone who will love you! Finally! Someone! Finally!!! Finally!”

You pause, not knowing at all what to do. Your body wants to push him away, even your mind and soul wants you to push him away. But you know deep down, you’d only push him away to see if he will try again. No man has ever tried for you like this, and you need more of it.

To feel desired after so long of neglecting this side of yourself, it’s enough to make a person lose their footing in reality. To give in to just about anyone willing to look at you the way he is right now. It’s the fact that you go out to try and find it, and even with this alone, Haechan has satisfied you more than any stranger promising to make you cum.

“I…don’t know what to say–” You stutter. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I do.” Haechan smiles, glancing at your lips before meeting your eye again. “Why not hand over the reins and relax for a–” His hand dips under your skirt, cupping your sensitive cunt in one hand alone. “Ah, I knew it.” Then, his other hand finds purchase on your chest, lifting your heavy breast in his hand with a blatant, hard squeeze.

After a sharp inhale you look away from him in shame, afraid to admit it despite the truth of it leaking through your panties and onto his palm.

“Wet.” He smiles, no longer looking at you but flicking his eyes back and forth from between your legs, and to your chest. Still, he fumbles around the wet spot, wanting so badly to lift these fingers to his mouth and taste. He’s fantasized about it, about how you’d taste, how warm it would be, what your pussy would feel like against his fingers–

And just as he’s pushing your panties to the side, pads of his fingers touching right where you need them with his eyes hooded and watching you closely, something snaps.

You push his hand away, only to feel him push back, holding you down with more force, gripping your tit tighter, sliding his fingers in before massaging the slit with a blatant moan on his lips. Then, you try again, shoving him back only to hear him chuckle and continue his antics until– you jump to your feet. It felt too good, too grounding to have him touching you like this. You nearly stumble back over the coffee table, but you manage to stand tall and firm despite the fact that even though your mind feels sober, your body is fucking wasted.

“Donghyuck.” You argue immediately, using his name the same way you did when he was a child. “Stop.”

He throws his hands up in defense, raising his brows in surprise.

“I–” He pauses, staring at you. “I thought you were enjoying it, my mistake.”

It’s the fact that you were. You were enjoying it too much, and there would have been no defending your actions if you had given in to the feeling.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, fucking stupid. That’s what you are.

Your ex husband was right all along. Out of everything you’ve accomplished since your heart was shattered, ripped to shreds, stomped on, you’d think it would take a lot more to break you.

“You ask for too much.” Your ex husband had said once. “You can’t even stand to be alone for one day.” He had said a year or so later. Small digs on who you are and what you need sprinkled into small arguments, only to come more and more from the lips that you kissed and promised to kiss until you die. Until all of his words were to make you feel inadequate. Until everything he said to you stuck with you, forcing your confidence to bury itself six feet under.

Are you to blame? As it stands, maybe. Why else would you be allowing yourself to consider it? Consider Donghyuck, you mean. Never in your life would you have considered him of all people to be the one that you need.

Never in your life would you have thought he’d be interested in a woman like you, in a situation like yours, with a child. Why did that night with him stick in your head more than every single mean thing your ex husband said to you? Why did his words seem more believable?

Because you were drunk at the time? Wet, neglected, and drunk?

Then why is it that you’re sitting here on your day off with your beautiful, bright-eyed daughter rummaging through your purse for whatever catches her eye….and you’re thinking about him? About what he's doing right now, how he’s feeling, if he’s eaten.

Why is it that you’ve gone the entire week ignoring his texts, asking if you need him to come resume his job as babysitter? Why the fuck do you want to accept after how he took advantage of your state of mind? After he came onto you and tried to manipulate you?

Despite all of his words ringing true in the back of your head. That was a dirty tactic he pulled on you. Yet, still…you want him back, and god fucking dammit you could cry knowing your daughter called him “dad.” You hadn’t believed him at first, but after this week alone it slipped from her mouth several times.

“He’s not your dad, baby, that’s just Donghyuck.” You remember correcting her more than once, and all she responded to you with was a confused expression.

“Why not?” Is what her little voice gave back to you after her child-like brain decided it was fed up with you correcting her very right assumption of the guy who promised her the Barbie Dream House.

Why not?

Well, if you could have an adult conversation with a five year old it would be much easier to answer that. Because he sprayed cheese in your hair. Because you were seventeen and his babysitter when he was twelve years old. Because you ogled him without recognizing him as your pool boy. Because of a lot of things.

“Uncle Donghyuck.” You finally corrected her again.

She shook her head, and continued doing and saying as her little mind pleased. It made you miss having a father around for her though. You think she needs it more than you do.

And that fucking Barbie Dream house is what brings Haechan back.

Right at your doorstep today, with a gentle knock to the door and a timid smile on his face. He doesn’t even look at you when you open the door, instead he crouches down in front of you with the big, flashy box. He ignores you, tilting himself to look past you and straight at your daughter.

You hold your breath when she runs to Haechan, arms spread open and laughter shrieking in your ears. Your heart aches so much at this moment.

Given your work schedule, you’d never gotten to see them interact much. He always came over as she was eating her breakfast, and you always came home after she was put to bed. You guess it’s fair that they have a bond now. She doesn’t even run at you like she does for Haechan. In fact, the only time she ever does is when she had a bad day at daycare or had a tummy ache.

She runs to you when she needs you, but she runs to Haechan like she wants to. Like she genuinely is attached to him, and his kind smile, and his eyes, and probably that warm embrace that you’ve never let yourself experience.

You watch them, not allowing yourself to melt at the moment because you did not invite him over, nor did you give consent to bring that fucking doll house here. But you can’t say no now, as she clings to his leg when he stands up and looks at you with an almost irritated glint in his eye.

His eyes trail all over you briefly too, as if checking for any new spots or marks that a man could have put on you. You feel seen, dipping your head to not meet his eye and scratching your neck as if to hide a spot there. There isn’t a mark, it’s just…fear? nervousness? anxiety?

And then he hauls the box in for her without saying a word to you. You watch him hard now that his back is turned. His voice sounds so loving when he speaks to your child as if she’s an equal. Plopping down on your living room floor with her and opening the large box.

He Ooo’s and Aahhh’s with her as he pulls each piece out, connecting the walls, the doors, handing her little things to help him with. And both of them are so focused on the task at hand to create a safe space for all of her abused barbie dolls that… you feel invisible.

For the first time ever in front of them both, you feel like you are nothing but a ghost. That he is the single parent. As if you’re forgotten, less loved, not wanted, not even needed.

There’s a bubbling in your gut when you tear up, reminding yourself that what Haechan did that night was probably just, well, he’s a man. Men aim to fuck at all times usually, and you guess you should have expected it at one point from him because, again, you’re aware that he’s attracted to you. Even more aware now.

But the way you feel right now outshines that. He’s ignoring you to keep your child happy. She is ignoring you because it seems Haechan does a better job at it than you do.

And, well, he’s not holding you down, whispering things in your ear, letting out frustrated little sighs at your drunken or drowsy words now. So, you say nothing. All you can do is go to the kitchen and prepare a snack, trying to force the tears to stay inside of you with quiet sniffles, hoping you can join their little picture perfect moment so that you can be helpful too.

Your heart swells when they both look at you as you present a plate of snacks. You have to hold back tears again at the way their eyes shine, thanking you for the snacks. Haechan’s eyes stay on you a bit longer though, as if saying “See? See what you’re making her go without?”

You do see it.

But…it can’t be him. As much as you wish it could be, you just can’t. There has to be another man out there just like him, one that doesn’t have a history with you that would cause whispers and questions. There has to be.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

That moment you witnessed seems to have solidified Haechan’s place in your home. Whether it be for babysitting or simply so your child can see him when she’s asking for him (which is often.) It’s kind of an issue, actually, because now the choice isn’t yours anymore and it appears Haechan knows that.

You hate that you’re forced to see him for what he is now. How he proves himself over and over again to be the man you need. The issue is that you still don’t want it to be him. The bigger issue is that he’s breaking down your walls, doing little things for you, looking at you with those dark eyes– your resolve cracks and reminds you every time he’s here that maybe it could work. Maybe you’ll give him a chance. Maybe you won’t have to go out anymore looking to fill a void that no one else fits into.

It’s the way that now, you can’t help but to compare him to your ex husband. The man who you loved for so long, who you genuinely thought you’d spend your life with happily and safely. Now, compared to Haechan, your ex seems like…nothing. Like a little crack in your resolve. He was older than you by just two years, took care of you for so long, impregnated you, and slowly but surely throughout all that time grew to resent you too.

You still don’t know why, but perhaps it’s just because you were growing into your own. You were becoming more independent, though he never had the capability to realize just how much you depended on him during the very time he left you.

“I just don’t want to do this anymore.” Your ex had said to you on that fateful morning.

Your belly was big as you tried to waddle up to him when he said that. You can’t help but think back now and wonder how pathetic you must have seemed when he yanked his arm from your grip, especially due to the difficulty of your pregnancy already. You were sick through most of it, only having a few good days here or there where that pregnancy glow would make your ex husband second-guess himself.

The slam of the door after that was more exhausting than the months of pregnancy you’d gone through. It felt loud, so loud you could hear it vibrate throughout your whole body. You recall falling to the floor and carefully holding your stomach. It’s like all of the heartbreak pooled there. The loss of your husband three weeks before he got to meet the child he was supposed to love. Her little heart must have been breaking inside of you too.

Double the pain.

And then you were mending yourself on your own. Going into labor early from stress, your family helped take care of you more than her. You were needier. You were broken.

And never, fucking ever, did you think you’d find yourself sitting comfortable in your lavish home realizing that your ex-husband didn’t deserve all of that pain from you. He left you for that girl, and not two months later did she leave him.

Never did you think you’d find yourself thinking about Haechan as a replacement either. Well, not a replacement, but like, maybe just…he’s the idea of a perfect dad if you pay attention to how your child talks about him. How they act together. How she cries for him before bed when he’s not there, asking you why you don’t read to her the way Haechan does. Why don't you sing to her the way he does? Why don't you use the same voices for her dolls? Why you don’t cut her food like he does, why you don’t do this or that.

That’s what makes it click the most you think. The fact that Haechan has given her something you never can. The love of a father. It doesn’t even feel like he’s babysitting at this point, he’s parenting, teaching her lessons, bandaging small boo-boos, fixing her hair,…cooking dinner, cleaning…existing here like he belongs.

Haechan has done more for your daughter than your ex husband ever could have, more than you could have done for her too, you think.

Even now, as you come home night after night and see him, you struggle to see him as anyone that isn’t who your daughter needs. Maybe who you need.

His summer semester is coming to an end too, and it’s hard to see him as a college student now. He really does coursework and everything that needs to be done at your home all within a single work day? With no complaints at all? Lately, you’ve noticed that he’s been more focused on studying when he babysits too, but still your daughter listens to him better than she listens to you.

Yet, still, it’s like you’re avoiding each other as you go through the motions, but you notice him more. You feel more discomfort because of it, mostly because you know your resolve about this is breaking. There’s a fear inside of you that revolves around him.

What if you missed your chance?

What if it does end up being a mistake if he still wants you?

You don’t know what to do, but you know you want him.

Some nights, Haechan does sleep over due to exhaustion and you don’t even ask him to leave because you know he’s not doing it to try anything. The avoidance is loud. Lately, you come home from work and there he is, sitting up with his laptop on his lap but sound asleep, softly snoring. Each time, you remind yourself of how he’s sacrificing his study time to babysit. You know your child can be distracting and needy when she wants something too, but he doesn’t complain even a little bit. The least you could have done was bring him a blanket, which you did. And you woke the next morning to find him curled up on the same couch, laptop toppled over onto the floor.

Small, gentle acts of kindness towards each other but never face to face. You’ve woken to fresh coffee countless times, made exactly the way you like it because you know he’s watched you make it yourself. You’ve come home to re-stocked items, like milk and eggs, laundry detergent, and even toothpaste. It’s nice, and a small indication that he doesn’t resent you. Even through face-to-face avoidance on your part.

Tonight seemed different though, compared to all of the other nights when you can’t go out. You walked through the door to the smell of dinner and your child still awake, sing-songing at you the moment you walked in.

“Dad said I can stay up late!”

You quirk a brow, her calling him that now becoming a regular occurrence to the point it goes through one ear and out the other for you. You recall discussing her bed time though, with absolutely no exceptions.

“Did he now?” You hug her before taking off your cardigan, walking with her to the kitchen where you find Haechan, placing down a small plate on the table with cartoon characters on it, right in front of two bigger plates with bigger portions of delicious looking food placed neatly on it.

Your heart swells, but your anxiety grows twice as big alongside it. This.

This is what you’ve wanted for so long. This is what you never thought you could find. So, why is it that you still have push-back in your mind? Despite knowing that Haechan has proven himself time and time again, you want to argue?!

Perhaps it’s because you like the way he tries. Maybe you’re not ready to lose that feeling of being chased in some way, of being begged to let him stay. Maybe it’s because you begged your husband, desperate for him to keep you, but he left anyway. It feels like Haechan gives you power over yourself, over your love-life, over everything, really.

And if you were to actually accept his advances, even just a dinner on your table, what if he stops? What if he gets bored once he gets what he wants? After all, he’s still young, you can’t truly imagine he wants to do this forever.

Not with you, and not with your daughter either.

“What’s all this? Isn’t it a bit late for her to have dinner?” You question him instantly, anxiety bubbling up out of assumption alone.

“We had a small snack a few hours ago.” Haechan reassures you. “I finished my exams and had a burst of energy to celebrate, besides, it’s a Friday–” He goes to pull out a chair for you. “You don’t need to be up early either. A late dinner every now and then never hurt anybody.”

The way this is the first time the two of you have had a face-to-face conversation since…that night. His voice calms you, and that’s scary.

You huff, happy because you could easily melt into this chair and pretend you’re having a family dinner, like you always wanted, like you never rejected a touch from him that you desperately wanted. You could just play along and pretend Haechan is everything you need. Except, it wouldn’t even be pretending at this point. The whole idea of him has changed. But, again, that anxiety. You still have that little voice holding you back, no matter what you want, or what you need, you fear it’ll be ripped from you again if you were to let yourself be weak for another person.

“I’m really tired, Donghyuck.” You explain, walking past the kitchen and towards your bedroom. “Thanks for dinner but I’m not too hungry and I just want to lay down.”

And with that, he watches you leave. No real appreciation, no congratulations on him finishing his exams, not even a kiss to your child’s forehead. Is he still expected to be the one to put her to sleep?

Why is he even here? Why did he do all of this?

His patience is running dry.

So, he eats with your child as your plate goes cold and he leaves it there. If you can’t even handle a dinner at the table with the person who cooked it, you can deal with your own fucking plate. Throw away your own fucking food, wash your own fucking dish. And if you can’t tuck your child into bed, he’ll do it, but you can shove that fake ass exhaustion right up your ass for all he cares.

He knows you’re not exhausted. He’s seen you when you are. You’re just being an asshole to him at this point, trying to appear like you’re perfectly happy with the life you live when your drunken rants prove otherwise. You treat him like everything he does has an ulterior motive. Which, yeah, maybe it does, but he was genuinely excited to have someone celebrate the end of this semester with him. Maybe assuming you’d indulge him went too far. For the first time, he wasn’t doing it to impress you.

By the time Haechan gets your daughter to bed, all tucked in with a little tune to fall asleep to, he closes her door and just stands there in the silence on the other side of it.

You must really enjoy being a single mother, huh? This is why too. He always questioned it. You’re so attractive, so well-adjusted. You work hard, your daughter is a sunshine in this world, and you’ve not managed to find anyone to love you yet? He thought he was lucky to be the one getting to spend time with you.

Turns out, you refuse to let anyone in despite Haechan knowing, fucking seeing straight through you. You want something from someone. You need it, yearn for it, even. But it’s almost laughable at the way you refuse it.

Excuses, excuses, excuses.

It’s the fucking audacity you have taking advantage of him. You’ve practically led him on. You lend him everything he wants in life. That’s it. You lend it. From flaunting yourself before you go to bars, to exposing all the marks you allow other men to leave on you. Letting him stay in this house, father your child, cook, clean, mend, fix, heal.

From being a faux-father to being minimized to a college student that you used to babysit. He’s offered you relief in so many ways including sexual, and all you fucking do is avoid, deny, fucking reject him. You still go out to bars, later and later you’ll come home with new swells against your skin, but always looking so empty and disappointed. Sometimes he thinks you try to make him jealous. Sometimes, he thinks you want him to try again.

Sometimes, he thinks you get off on the fact that he keeps trying.

And he has tried. Albeit more gently lately, but he has. Small, lingering touches when he hands you your coat to help you get out the door and to work quicker. Starting your car for you before you leave. Fuck, he even opens the goddamn door for you. Anything to make you feel appreciated, respected, and fucking wanted.

The silence is loud in his ears due to the sheer irritation as he drops his head, staring at his feet and knowing it’ll only take a few strides to reach your bedroom. A room he still craves to be in.

He’s raided those drawers by now, because of course he has. Soiling your panties, your sheets, anything that still smells like you when you’re gone for the day, all so he can act normal upon seeing you when you come home. He’s laid in your bed by now too, wondering what it would feel like to have your weight beside him. He fantasized about anything and everything he possibly could in there.

And he’s always warmer. Always cums the hardest with weak, muffled moans as he stuffs your pillows into his mouth to keep quiet. All before cleaning every trace of himself there, closing the door, and wishing he was allowed to exist in there with you.

Right now will be the first time Haechan enters your room to your knowledge, and it sucks for him because he has essentially trained himself to get hard every time he opens this fucking door. Still, he composes himself, and it’s a bit of a shock if you’re being honest. You thought he’d go home after this, you were kind of hoping he would after you made it so awkward.

You felt guilty the second you saw his expression fall to your rejection of eating dinner like a big fucking happy family. You want it so bad, you want him so bad.

When you left the kitchen, you immediately went to your room and hopped in the shower, well aware that he wouldn’t follow you. You thought hard while the hot water made attempts to wash away your feelings. Would it have been so bad to just eat with him? With your daughter? With both of them? The way his eyes fell, it burned your heart a little bit.

Still, no answers came to you because you know part of you just wants to see what else he will do for you. Despite the history with him, and despite knowing his entire family would question and scoff at you for it…Is it really so wrong? To want to give him a chance just to see if he’ll leave you too?

Just to see if it’ll hurt when he does it too?

Inviting him to your home almost every day of the week isn’t wrong, right? Forgetting to pay him all those times before, hoping to see him again and get that confidence boost, that wasn’t wrong. Letting your daughter attach herself to him when you swore he wasn’t permanent, no longer having the energy to correct her use of “dad” towards him… none of that is wrong.

It’s all Haechan. He’s the one in the wrong for willingly following along, not you. Right?

And as you’re sitting on your bed in your towel, zoning out and staring at your floor, Haechan swings your bedroom door open without a single knock, mindfully closes it, and immediately goes off on you.

Somehow, you really expected him to accept your rejection but your heart swells that he didn’t. You don’t think he ever will, and you’re exhausting yourself hoping he’ll prove you wrong.

He’s shown you enough by now. This is what breaks down that wall inside of you, isn’t it?

“What am I doing wrong?” He shoots his first question out in a desperate whisper shout, eyes searing into you before continuing without a single breath. “Because I do everything for her, and i do everything for you, does that really make you so fucking uncomfortable?��

“D–” You try to respond, feeling your skin prickle at the sheer irritation in his expression.

He’s fighting for you.

“Isn’t that what you want?!”

“After everything I do–” He throws his hands up now, running his fingers through his hair as if you make him feel like he wants to rip it out. “After trying to make your life easy while making mine harder, for what? You to not eat the fucking food I made? For you to go to the bar all the time just to come back disappointed like I’m not right here waiting for you to come back?”

“What ar-”

“Don’t ask me any stupid fucking questions, Just answer me.” He drops his hands, stepping up to you, placing both hands on either side of your hips, doing his best not to react to your near-naked body. “Why?”

You lean back, trying to create more distance to try and give him an answer that you don’t even know yourself, but he just keeps closing in. Not letting you escape this time. You’ve never seen him so riled up before, it’s…

Well…

“Because I came onto you? Because I tried to do what no one else will do for you?” His voice shakes when he says it, and you can feel the heat radiating from him. Is he…about to cry?

Only now, seeing him so close with an entirely sober brain do you realize an answer. Maybe not to his question of why, but to the same question you’ve been asking yourself. It’s because of that look in his eye. You’ve never been able to put a word to it, but now with him demanding you explain yourself so closely, you see it.

He’s desperate.

Arguably as desperate as you’ve felt to fill the void. Except, he’s trying to do that for you and you won’t let him out of what? Fucking fear? Hell, at this point the history means close to nothing when it comes to all the new memories he’s made in this home, even without you. The history of babysitting him, the history of your ex husband leaving you. It doesn’t matter.

You think hard, so hard that you feel your eyes burn as you stare up at him. Glancing without intention to his jaw when he clenches it, to his neck when he swallows his words, to his lips, his eyes, the hair falling in his face…and you just–

You reach up, running a soothing hand through his hair to get it out of his face. Then you see those same desperate eyes somehow grow more desperate as he lowers them, leaning into the touch, as if you’ve been starving him the same way you’ve been starved for years. He falls silent too, cutting himself off mid-question just to feel you touch him for the first time.

“I don’t know.” You say, which seems like a better answer than having an excuse. What can you say otherwise? That it’s because it shouldn’t be him? That you’re afraid he’ll realize he’s not ready to settle? To be a dad? He’ll ask why, and it’ll be the same answer you gave on that drunken night. An answer that you no longer care about.

You babysat him when he was a child, but you were still a child too.

You were still a child, and time changes things.

Your ex husband left you, and you’re afraid he will too, especially because he’s so much younger? Who cares?

Your answer seems to fly right past his head though, because he’s still leaning to feel your fingers in his hair, and he’s looking at you as if nothing you say will matter unless you make it hold some weight to him.

“Donghyuck–” You pause, scratching right at his nape, uncaring of how you can feel your towel loosening on your body. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Somehow, his name on your lips is what he needed to hear. The tone of it, the rasp in your voice, your fingers in his hair. Actions speak louder than anything the two of you could say right now, and he can’t help it. Nothing can stop him, not even you at this point.

He hasn’t done anything wrong you say? It’s because he fucking knows what you need.

You inhale deeply, holding your breath when you feel your back hit your mattress, his warm hands instantly taking advantage of your freshly-showered state and tugging at the towel just slightly to let it fall open. You hear a slight breath from him at that moment, an inhale. There, he climbs onto the bed, nudging himself between your legs and trapping you there under him, both hands holding your arms down.

Like he’s afraid you’ll reject him again.

“You’re going to let me take care of you now.” He demands, though to him it sounds more like a plea solely due to the fact that he’s so fucking turned on it’s unreal. That feeling of when your fingers were in his hair? Seeing your naked body? Unshaved pussy? Being in this fucking room with you? It throws him into overdrive, especially with the way you just lay there blinking up at him in surprise. The anger melting away only amplifies it more.

How could you do this to him? Genuinely, how could you have let him fucking suffer for you like this?

Still, you blink up as if you’re a deer caught in headlights and it makes his heart thump against his ribcage. Your eyes are so bright, that glint of sadness he had seen so many times isn’t there right now. And there’s so much adrenaline inside of him, like he needs to move fast before you change your mind again. You’ve not let him do this for some fucking reason or another and now you’re just laying here for him.

There, with your entire body on display, and you appear to be docile. Fucking obedient? Like he always knew you would be if you’d just drop the fucking act?! You were meant for him and him alone, and he’s going to show you why.

In all honesty, you’re tired of denying yourself by now. From the moment you saw him that day cleaning your pool for the first time, you’ve wanted him on some level. It wasn’t an emotional attachment, but a hope, a fantasy for you. And when you recognized him, you were more impressed with him than embarrassed. You tried not to let your eyes wander out of guilt, out of feeling like a pervert.

And then, that day when he came onto you, he was just a man to you. Your faux guilt kept you from letting him, and your hope to be chased kept you from it too. As if you’ve never pleasured yourself to the thought of him, shamefully in this very bed. As if you’ve never called out his name with a silent breath. If you keep going at this point, you’ll lose him before ever knowing what he could really be for you.

This is his last ditch effort to beat you at your own game, and you’re ready to lose.

So, now, you let yourself get lost in him. In his eyes and the way he pleads and makes his demands. He probably doesn’t recognize his strength against you right now, or how much it’s turning you on. With the way he has both hands on your wrists, probably bruising them, and there’s nothing you could do even if you wanted to. His weight holding you down feels better than you imagined.

After so long, with so many failed hookups where you’ve told them of your daughter and all they’ve done in return is get their orgasm then leave…Haechan. He wants to take care of you?

He wants to…give you what you need?

Fuck, you know he can. That’s the fucked up part. He’s proved it so many times to you in so many ways. You’ve watched him, the way he moves and acts around you. He’s exactly what you need.You pushed him to this point, where his sanity is on the brink of crashing. Taking it away from him again feels wrong, because it’s exactly what you want.

And when he presses his leg between yours, he knows.

“Again?” He comments, now releasing your wrist from one hand and running it down, able to slip his fingers right into the slick of your bare pussy. “You’re wet.”

You still just blink up at him with an intake of breath at the pleasure, thoughts running left and right on what to do, finally realizing you don’t want to do a damn thing. He’d do it all if you let him. Clean your house, be a father, fix all of the breaks, make you wet.

And you just feel him, the way his fingers play around with what he does to you. You can practically feel his confidence rise at the way you spread your legs a bit more, as if to give him more access. When you look at him, his expression remains harsh, but slowly he moves himself down, lips brushing over one of your nipples while keeping eye contact.

Still that irritated look, like he’s mad you haven’t let him do this before now.

“How many times are you going to pretend like I’m not the one who gets you wet?” He asks before rubbing circles around your clit, tongue flicking in the same way around your nipple. “Like I don’t have a right to take care of you?”

Your breath is still caught in your throat, trying to be careful about what you say right now despite knowing you can’t speak. You focus on what he’s doing instead, losing yourself to something you’ve not felt in far, far too long.

He’s right. He’s gotten you wet more than once by now. More than he knows.

And goddamn, he knew your tits could bounce, but the way they move without the support of a bra, the plush, soft feeling of your nipple growing erect in his mouth, all for him to bite and pull at. He does it too, listening to the little seething sound of pain from you when he pulls all the way back with your nipple between his teeth. Only to let it fall from his mouth and break eye contact with you to see the jiggle as it falls.

His cock twitches, at everything that you are right now, feeling more pleasure through seeing you like this alone compared to fucking his own fist on your bedroom floor. He notes how your legs squeeze him more at the nipple stimulation than his fingers too, memorizing the way your labia falls open between them. He smirks, flicking his tongue more, quicker.

There. There it is.

A low rumble in your chest falls from your lips. Soft, a moan. A very small, delicate sound.

“You like this?” Haechan asks, looking up at you, letting his tongue fall from his mouth again and flicking the erect nub. “When I play with your tits?”

You nod, throwing an arm over your face in embarrassment that this is actually happening. You’re letting him. Already you feel yourself heat up more, even when he takes his fingers away from your clit and instead, uses them to flick your other nipple.

And he does this for a few minutes. Paying special attention to your tits, going back and forth with his fingers and tongue to each bud, trying so hard to not stop just to shove his cock between them and use them the way he’s always wanted. He focuses on drawing out more and more little sounds from you instead, slurping his own saliva from your painfully erect nipples, pulling back, blowing cold air, then warming it up again with his lips. All while simultaneously groping, flicking, and pinching with his other hand.

“Jesus, Haechan–” You moan quietly, chest rising and falling as he squeezes and licks against you.

That’s right, say his name. Let him fucking know he’s doing what you like. Haechan thinks, feeling his cock weep in his pants as he does it. Wondering just how sensitive you are to be reacting like this to simple nipple stimulation. God, he’s wanted to suck on these for so long, and now you’re letting him. They’re so big, so plush. He wants to fucking cover them with his mouth, he wants to bury his face in them, kiss them all over them.

And if they were to get bigger? He moans at the thought, remembering that conversation you had with your mom. You want another. He bets they’d swell up–Oh, fuck yeah. They’d probably hurt to rub against your shirt. God, fuck, he can’t control his thoughts right now.

Finally.

Fucking finally, he has you and he’s not going to let you run away again.

He doesn’t fucking care if it’s forward. He wants what he wants, you want what you want. That want just so happens to line up. Besides, he’s already proved himself to you, he knows it. If you’re letting him do this, maybe you’d let him stay like this.

“Did they get bigger?” He moans briefly as he swaps to your other nipple again. “So full, so heavy, were they leaking all over you?”

You listen to him, trying not to feel the pit in your stomach bubble with even more arousal at his blatant and dirty words, feeling your clit throb at the stimulation your tits are getting right now.

“Makes my dick fucking throb just thinking about it. Fuck–”

“Let me give you another,” He mumbles now, almost mindlessly before looking up at you with an intense gaze as he bites down, indicating that he’s not mindless about it at all.

“Swell you up, make you glow–”

Oh.

Why is that– why are you dripping?

He hears that moan you let out. Different from the others, almost desperate.

“Mm, yeah.” He encourages it, now allowing his hand to travel back down to witness how much wetter you’ve gotten at those words. So messy, so perfect. “Knew you’d want it raw.”

You can’t help the nod, as it comes before you even process his words solely because you feel his fingers slip inside of you. You haven’t been this wet in so, so long. You want to feel it. To be full again, of anything. Of him.

“Ye-” You start, interrupting yourself with a bite of your lip and your eyes rolling back.

“That’s right mama,” He coos, tilting his fingers up and amplifying the pressure inside of you. “Gonna let me take good care of this pussy, yeah?” He adds, lifting from your tits and ghosting his lips over yours.

He watches you closely, that daze in your eye. God, you look so horny right now. There’s nothing more he wants than to see this time and time again. To let you wake up every morning with his warm cum inside of you, to see your belly swell with his child, to see your tits grow until they hurt.

He’d take care of you. He’d take good fucking care of you.

“Say something.” Haechan whispers against your lips, darting his tongue out against your lips, angling his fingers up and making you moan. “Say you want me to give it to you raw.”

You open your mouth, feeling his tongue lick and swallow up that moan you just gave him before you try to compose yourself. You can’t help it, you’re so, so sensitive right now and you can’t help but find it incredibly sexy to be here, laid bare, while he’s still fully clothed.

Like he really is doing this for you. He’s not trying to get his own orgasm and leave. You’re weak and those words of “let me give you another” shines in your head. Weak, you’re weak. You should be thinking about condoms, you should be thinking about the consequences of this.

But you’re not.

You do like it raw.

“Haechan–” You stutter as you try to grasp the reality of his words, feeling his fingers repeatedly hit right where you need it. “I’m…not protected.”

He moans. Loudly, before huffing out an irritated groan.

“You must really want it then.” He narrows his eyes at you. “Going out all the time trying to get fucked–”

He plunges his fingers in again, deep, and holds them there as he pulls back to look at you. To really look at you, then he glares.

“You’d really let just some fucking dude give you a baby?”

You repeatedly shake your head.

“No!” You retort, thrusting your hips up. “I just–”

“Mhm,” He pulls his fingers out now, sliding himself down so fast that you can barely comprehend him sucking your clit into his mouth before pulling back in a moan at the taste of you. “If mama wants another, daddy will give her one.” He says now, as if to pacify you.

As if to give you everything.

And you’d argue, really, you would. You want another child so bad, but this is– it’s too soon. You haven’t even established a relationship with him yet. Boundaries haven’t been discussed. His college plan– but fuck it’s not entirely your fault that you’re like, super turned on by the idea of it. To the thought of being so filled with cum that there’s no possible way you couldn’t end up pregnant. An indication that, no matter what, no man at a club could fulfill the arousal for you even if they cared to do it.

You’d never have let them actually fuck you raw.

Haechan though…how can you keep telling him no?

How could you reject him again when you want it so badly?

Fuck now, think later.

“Yeah–” You say against your better judgement, hands reaching down to his hair so you can grind up against his mouth, lost to the arousal as you mimic what he referred to himself as. “Daddy?”

You feel his mouth fall slack at that, as if you’re accepting him in full now. You feel your clit hit nothing in his open mouth, but it throbs harder.

He knew you were slightly into him for letting him do this at all, but now, you’re truly accepting it. Like you know he’ll fucking do it, like you want him to fucking do it.

“That’s right,” He moans against your clit as he licks at it, barely able to comprehend your voice calling him that but clinging to it all the same. “Gonna let daddy do it all for you.”

Yeah. You are. You’re gonna let him do it. All of it.

And then, the room is enveloped in quiet moans, more from Haechan than from you due to your breath being stuck in your throat. His tongue, licking every part of your sensitive cunt, his hands reaching back up to your tits, fondling, pinching, painfully tugging at them as he moans louder, louder, louder for you to want him.

He presses his hips up and against your mattress as he tastes you, so deeply it hurts his cock to neglect it like this. Each rub feels raw, twitching and pulsing to be let out, to be inside of you, on you, against you. Filling you up with his cum, plugging it in as a promise that you can’t leave him even if you wanted to.

He’s going to fucking do exactly what he said he would.

And only when you feel his tongue lap against your hole do you finally release your breath, “Daddy” coming out in a choked back sob. It breaks him, his body going into overdrive as he pulls back and just– stares at you with wild eyes.

You stare back up at him, knowing that calling him that means something more than a cringe little roleplay kink. It means something deeper to him. He wants to be a dad, a real one.

“Oh yeah?” He finally says, hands going straight to his button and zipper.

You can’t help it, biting your lower lip as you blink up, watching his shoulders move, the veins on his arms protruding as he rushes to pull it out and– oh. You moan at it, the way his heavy, slicked up, cock falls out, dark, needy.

“Daddy–” You urge him on, knowing that it’s driving him absolutely insane.

“Mhm?” He shuffles himself off the bed, letting his pants drop as he lifts his shirt off of him and fucking glares at your tits. “You want daddy’s cock?” He adds now, shooting his eyes up to you as both of his hands land on your legs.

Your mind goes blank when you feel him slide his hands around to the back of your thighs, pushing your legs forward, curling you in on yourself, forcing your pussy to be out and on display for him.

And you watch him, the way he stares down at it. It’s embarrassing to be so seen right now, not having expected to get fucked open by anyone tonight, let alone him. You probably should have shaved or something, or like, not gotten out of the habit in the first place. But he moans at it, mouth falling open at the fact that you are entirely a fucking woman.

A fucking mother.

The prettiest pussy he’s ever fucking seen let alone tasted.

And he moans, breaking the silence, forgetting only for a moment how long he’s been wanting this. It boosts your confidence more than you’ve ever felt. His reaction to this is more than your ex husband’s reaction to you when you were pristine and borderline pornstar quality.

Haechan doesn’t see you as used and neglected, he just sees you. And this. This is the pussy he wants. This is what he wants to put his baby in.

When he flicks his eyes back to you, with that same open mouthed expression, it knocks the breath out of you. There’s so much love in his eyes, or maybe lust, you don’t care. You think you’re matching that expression for him too, because it’s like he can’t hold back anymore. He can’t just sit and look at you anymore.

He just can’t.

And you feel it, his thick head pushing past the tightened, pulsing hole and not stopping. He pushes in slowly, painfully slow, to the point you’re both looking at each other with a slack jaw. Finally. The pain of it, the pleasure, the fucking need you’ve been trying to fulfill.

That look on your face drives him wild too, he knows he has you by now. You like it, you love the way he slides in and makes damn sure you feel it. Every second of the slide pries you open, and he wants to remember this moment forever. He wants you to fucking remember too.

Wants you to know that no one will ever fit inside of you so perfectly, so deeply.

When he finally bottoms out, he leans forward to keep himself buried deep as he ghosts his lips over yours. He feels the way you try to kiss him, but he pulls back with a confident smirk.

“When was the last time you’ve felt a cock so deep in you?” He whispers hotly, knowing you need not answer. Knowing you won’t answer, not with the way you’re instantly lifting your head and kissing him.

Your pussy pulses around him when you lick into his mouth, the first real kiss sending his heart soaring. He twitches inside of you with each squeeze, and kisses you harder, deeper. And somehow, it brings tears to your eyes.

The way he kisses, the way he makes you feel him. Fuck, the way he makes you feel whole, so wanted, like you’re amazing to him. In more ways than just a body to fuck, but he’s stuck around despite all of your avoidance and rejections. You hope you’re making it worth it.

Fuck, you need to feel worth it to him.

“You’d better not fucking pull out.” You groan through a breath, his lips still kissing you through your words as he finally pulls his hips back, fucking in once.

Hard.

Honestly, could you have said anything else at this moment? He’s trying to make this last, he needs it to last. If you keep fucking talking, saying everything he’s ever wanted to hear–

“Fuck,” He moans, his hands moving up to your cheeks as he licks into your mouth. “You can’t–” He continues, fucking in again, moving your body up with each thrust do to the sheer force of him trying to plunge in as deep as he can. “You can’t fucking say that to me right now.”

You’re seeing stars though, unable to say anything else as your eyes roll back at the way the head of his cock practically kisses your cervix with each push into you. He’s so rough, so desperate for it.

You don’t think he expected you to respond either, with the way he keeps his lips on yours, his body pressed so closely that having your legs to your chest means nothing to him now. Mating press be damned, he’s lost his mind to the feeling, not the aesthetic of being a fucking dad.

Your legs wrap around him instead, and he’s all too happy to feel it. Your legs hug him the same way your arms do, the same way your pussy does, and he’s fucking in love with you.

He braces one hand back against your leg, holding it against his hips as he continues to fuck forward, still at the same pace. Deep and with purpose. Every few seconds the bursts of pleasure run through him, making him shiver and moan into your mouth. Little grunts, near whimpers for you to let him give you the world.

More than this. More than fucking, more than taking care of you, more than anything he could ever possibly give you. He’ll find a way.

And then, you’re clenching hard, matching his near-whimpers except moaning in full pants, babbling and drooling cries against his mouth.

“Mama–” Haechan soothes, continuing his pace as he tilts his head back to get a good look at that lost gaze in your eyes. “You’re crying?”

You nod with a laugh, tears rolling down the same way the wet of your cunt slips down your ass. You’ve never felt so good, so fucking full. And for some reason, that does him in. Making it last be damned, he genuinely thinks he’s won you over. He can make it last next time, he can do more next time, he can–

He leans back all the way now, onto his knees as your legs try to hug him back to you, and his eyes go straight back to those tits. The way he made a promise. The way they bounce, slick with his sweat from pressing against you.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.” He grunts in a breath, now quickening his pace and snapping his hips. Pulling out all the way briefly to plunge into your again. “Can’t get any deeper–” He continues, flicking his eyes from your face, to your tits, to that beautiful pussy of yours swallowing him up.

Now his eyes roll back, hands going back to your thighs to push you back into position. No way in hell can he last, not at a pace like this, inside of a woman like you.

“Don’t pull out.” You repeat again in a breath, seeing his face and the way he focuses solely on you. You know he’s going to cum, and you want him to. You want to feel it, every single fucking drop of it.

“Yeah?” He nods his head with laser-focus on your pussy now, staring down as he points tight, short thrusts inside of you. “Momma wants my cum? Hm?”

Oh, he’s fucking gone.

“She likes it?” He continues to talk himself up. “Likes being so fucking full of it? Yeah?”

Goddamn, fuck, he’s insane.

“Yes, daddy–” You whisper-shout, fingers shooting to your clit, other hand raising to your mouth to silence the moans as to not be too loud.

“Fuck, yeah you do.” He lets out a near growl, his voice low and rumbled as he slaps your hand away, pressing hard on your clit with his thumb as he buries himself in you once more and stiffening his abs. “That’s right.”

And instantly upon feeling him pulse, that first spurt of cum painting your insides, you lose yourself with him. Your fingers drop from your mouth and you release a pornographic moan for him, rutting yourself against him, as if to fuck it deeper into you.

It only prolongs the orgasm though, for both of you.

Haechan is silent, trying to keep his eyes open through the pleasure as you pulse and squirt around him, his thumb pressing so hard into your clit, his cock cumming so deep, filling you up so well– He wants to see it. Wants to watch you fall apart for him. Wants to witness the way you let him do this.

And he holds himself there, so hard and so full of pleasure for you. Keeping himself practically impaled against your cervix until your body falls slack. Still, he fucks it into you, holding you in place with a softer moan now. No longer guttural or deep from his chest. His breathing is rough, a soft, near feminine moan leaves his lips as he falls forward onto you.

You wince along with him at the sensitivity, panting, a sweating tangle of a mess the two of you have become. And it’s the fact that it’s the first time you’ve ever gotten off at the same time as someone else. You feel…soft.

Your hands find their way to his hair as his face squished against your tits while he regains breath, not daring to move his hips because your pussy is too warm to leave right now. You brush the sweat-slicked hair out of his eyes, running your fingers all the way back to his nap, and then slowly down his back to rub and scratch.

He shivers at the feeling, humming the same feminine-tone he had released previously. And all he can do is hear your heart thumping against your chest, even through these soft tits of a pillow he’s lying against.

Haechan never wants to move again, not from this spot, ever.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“You know I’m in love with you, right?” Haechan mentions briefly after a long moment of silence, looking up at you with his wet hair.

Deep in the night, your food still cold and on the table, you’ve found yourself freshly showered and on your living room couch with Haechan’s head on your lap. He made sure to have stayed long enough inside of you to implant…something if it was going to happen. So he didn’t argue a shower, and you didn’t argue letting him join you either.

He had washed you, gently running his hands between your legs with what you can only describe as the softest, most alluring face a man has ever given you. Like he won the lottery, or found the answer to eternal life or something. You repaid him by letting him admire your tits again while you jerked him off, but that’s besides the point.

“Like, I’m not going to leave. I hope you know that.” He adds with a soft groan to your hands still in his hair. His new favorite thing.

You look down at him, hand moving to his cheek as the words hit you in the chest.

There’s anxiety along with happiness, at all of the boundaries and serious conversations that will need to be had now, but still, you feel like you’re glowing when he looks at you.

He didn’t even have to say it, and arguably you probably don’t need to say it back either. You think he sees it in you. Even if he didn’t, you think he’d take anything you give to him and cling to it. After all, it only took one time for you to break entirely for him.

“Are you now?” You smile with a chuckle, looking back to the tv and pretending to watch it. “Well, that’s good. Otherwise I’d be making you go get a plan B or something.”

His eyes narrow at you.

“Like hell I’d let you, even if I didn’t love you.” He groans. “But I do, so don’t ever say that shit again.”

You chuckle, feeling the calm in your home that once felt so chaotic. It’s quiet now, both inside and outside of your head.

“Congratulations, by the way.”

He looks at you with question, quirking a brow.

“For finishing your finals, I mean.” You smile, going back to petting through his hair and feeling like you’re on top of the world, despite what you assume to become half of your world lying his head on top of you.

“Oh, right.” He smiles, now turning his head to watch the tv. “I probably failed them.”

You don’t believe that, but even if he did, you think you could be what he needs too. He wouldn’t have to work if he didn’t want to.

If he’s really in love with you, all he’d have to do is…not leave.

“Are you sure you want to be having these conversations with me? You can just call it a hook-up.” You finally say, hoping he means it, knowing it breaks your heart a bit to give him an out. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m going to trap you here just because I’m a little smitten too.”

Haechan glares, blinking up at you.

“I literally just tried to put a baby in you.”

That’s fair.

“And you’re not going to run off? Get cold feet?”

“Can you stop doubting me and just let me do what I want for once?” He argues playfully. “Do you even know how much that barbie fucking dream house costed me? I couldn’t run even if, for some stupid ass reason, wanted to. I love her too.”

Silence for a moment.

“Maybe even more than I love you.”

You really, really, want to believe him.

So, you do.

#nct smut #nct dream smut #lee haechan smut #haechan smut #donghyuck smut #lee donghyuck smut #nct x reader

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urluv69 · 4 months ago

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It was just a small gathering with Price and a few of the men he had worked with throughout the years. The host being a general whose wife had recently had a baby. Of course this meant the wifes were all over the cute little thing.

Especially you

Price had never really seen you around children let alone babies before. But the smile on your lips any time one of the toddlers waddling around brought you their toy and the laugh you would let out when they ran back to their mamas. The little coos you would let out when the little new born baby girl started crying.

It took ages with all the mothers doting over the little baby before you finally got your chance to hold her.

Price sat, beer clutched in one hand and a cigar between two fingers in the other. He was chatting away with his mates when you came over with the brightest smile he had ever seen grace your beautiful face.

You sat down on his lap with your shoulder to his chest as you cradled the baby. You didn’t even spare a glance at anyone. You cooed and smiled sweetly at the adorable giggling baby in your arms.

Price though-

His eyes were on you

Right then, in that very moment, he could see you holding your little baby girl. She would have your vibrant eyes and his curly brown hair. Her smile would curve just the same as yours when Price would tell you a joke no one else laughed at. She would be strong willed and a natural leader born and raised to be an independent and intelligent woman.

Your son would be making a mess in the playroom with his legos and toy military cars that Price had bought. He would be a fighter but kind at heart just like you are when you think no one is watching. A softy really. But it only made him stronger. He wasn’t afraid to speak his mind but cared more about how his words affected those around him.

And then

Just as he could see the White House and picket fence

You looked up at him. Your gaze meeting his with a smile brighter than the sun. No words needed to be said. In just that second he knew you were thinking the same thing.

That diamond ring on your finger wasn’t there for the looks.

You were his. His to have a family with. His to love and cherish and treat like a princess. And he was just as much yours. His knees would hit the floor even if the ache in his back would hate him for it in the morning.

All it took was for you to say the words.

-not proof read

-should I do a pt2?

#task force 141 #cod #price #John price #family #tf141 #task force x reader #price x reader #fanfic #call of duty #Jo

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fuddlyduddly · 8 months ago

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i truly believe lego car design peaked with 2010's Small Car

there's just no beating this. its perfect

#lego #smart car #lego car #pheobe.txt 2024 #lego small car #lego cars

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jensonsbuttons · 2 years ago

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steering!!! insane detail!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!

#i’m so !!!!! about it!!!!!#this car design is insaneeeeee like the detail is so so so cool #I wanna keep building but my hands are tired lol #big chunky hands with small little Lego pieces…..not easy #OH this is the Daytona btw I don’t know if I posted but I did finish my Peugeot:) she’s so pretty #if anyone cares I will post later about it #shelby builds

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imagineshere-forall · 1 year ago

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- staying with mom ✰ e. diaz

Summary: the first time Christoper calls you mom

Genre: mostly fluff but smidge of angst/tension

warnings: none

Pairing: eddie diaz x fem!reader

word count: 1.3k

Notes: hi hi i tried to use american terms like mall and mom, but i am not american and i say mum, so if you notice any slip ups pls let me know and i will change it. I feel like it would be weird to picture chris saying mum in an american accent so i tried to only used mom Also i have started watched the walking dead and am obsessed so pls feel free to request some fics for the walking dead (i’m halfway through s7)

When you and Eddie started dating, you waited quite a while before meeting Chris as you wanted to be sure in your relationship so as not to unsettle Chris. After about 8 months, you were pretty sure Eddie was it for you, and you eventually met Chris. Within 6 months of meeting Christopher you had pretty much moved in with the boys, and when the lease on your apartment was up for renewal Chris was the one who suggested you move in. That was over a year ago and since then the three of you had been living life as a happy little family.

Today, you had a day off from work but Eddie did not, so you had decided to take Chris out for the day. For weeks, Chris had been saying his shoes were starting to get tight so you had decided you would take him to buy some new shoes and buy him a couple extra treats. It wasn’t often you and Eddie weren’t both at work at the same time, even if you didn’t have the same shift, you often overlapped so Chris would spend time with Carla.

Eddie was at work before you even woke up, so you and Chris had a slow morning before heading to the mall. The car journey was filled with music and laughs, you loved spending time with Chris and you guys always had an amazing time.

Once you got to the mall you found yourself chasing Christoper, the shoe shop was all the way on the other side of the mall so you had decided to do fun shopping first. The first stop was at the ice cream parlor, and then the two of you made your way quickly over to the lego shop. You both bought a lego set, as you planned to watch a movie and build lego together in the afternoon. Once the pair of you had gone to all the shops you wanted to, you slowly walked back to the car, trying to agree on a movie to watch while you were building your legos.

You were nearly at the car, when the ground started to rumble. Small tremors weren;t uncommon living in LA, but this was not that. The slight rumble turned to full blown shaking and the lights in the parking garage started to come loose and smash to the floor. You quickly dropped your bags and grabbed Christopher and headed for the car, it might not have been the smartest idea but in your panic it seemed like the safest option if the garage was to crumble.

Somehow, you managed to get to the car in record time as you were opening the door, you noticed a piece of debris falling and you quickly pushed Chris into the car. Within seconds of you getting Chris safely into the car, the debris had come down, knocking you down in the process. You hit your head on the concrete and briefly lost consciousness, but you quickly came around to the sounds of Chris’s cries.

“I’m here Chris, I’m okay,” you mumbled as you tried to wriggle free. Although, your right leg was trapped under the piece of the parking garage that had knocked you to the floor.

Not long after you regained consciousness, sirens were all you could hear and it became nearly impossible to keep your eyes open, and you were soon consumed by the darkness.

“Cap, get Eddie over here!” You heard being yelled from close by. Squinting at the bright light you started to blink your eyes back open and were met with Buck’s face looking down at you.

“Chris, is Chris okay?” you forced out, your throat was hoarse and felt as though you had woken from a deep sleep. You could feel yourself being rolled onto a stretcher, presumably to move you to an ambulance, or at least a safer area.

“Chris was with you?” Buck panicked.

“I think I got him in the car,” you coughed, “Check him first.”

A couple minutes later you heard a car door be forced open, and then Buck’s shouts.

“Chris!” Eddie’s shouts were so loud. He had arrived onto the scene and saw Buck carrying Chris over some rubble away from the car. You turned your head slowly and saw Eddie embrace his son tightly.

“Where’s Y/N?” Eddie suddenly asked. The panic in his voice was palpable.

“Over here,” You heard Buck’s voice get louder as he led Eddie to you. Eddie placed Chris down next to your stretcher and cradled your face.

“Baby, are you okay?” he questioned, whilst scanning your body for any obvious injuries.

“My leg got crushed but I’m fine. How is Chris? Is Chris okay?” you spoke so fast.

“I’m fine,” you heard Chris speak. You could have cried with relief upon hearing his voice. You had seen Eddie carry him, but hearing him speak and confirming he was okay made you so happy.

“Now, let get you taken to hospital, Buck can you take Chris to Athena and get her to call Carla please,” Eddie said as he began to wheel you out of the area. You saw Buck begin to usher Chris towards Athena who you could see a while away directing people.

“No.”

You and Eddie both stopped and looked at Chris who was avoiding Buck and walking towards the two of you.

“Chris, bud, y/n is okay. Your dad is just making sure she gets her leg checked out,” Buck tried to convince Chris.

“No,” Chris shook off Buck’s arms and carried on walking in your direction. Eddie sighed, letting go of your stretcher and turning to Chris before squatting down to his level while holding onto him.

“Chris, I need to take y/n to get checked out. Can you please go with Buck?” Eddie begged.

“No.” Chris was being stubborn.

“Chris please,” Eddie was starting to get desperate.

“I want to stay with mom.” Chris yelled.

You, Buck and Eddie all went still. Suddenly, the atmosphere had changed. Chris had never called you mom before. The three of you all looked at each other in shock unsure what to say or do next.

“Come here Chris,” you beckoned the boy, before helping him to sit on one side of the stretcher after you had collapsed the arms, “You can stay with me.”

Eddie was still looking at you in shock, starting to feel love swell in his chest. The idea that Chris saw you as a mother figure made him so happy.

“Chris, it looks like your dad is frozen,” you laughed whilst looping one of your arms around the boy. You had managed to get him in a place where he wasn’t near your leg which was causing excruciating pain.

This brought Eddie out of his shock and he walked over to the two of you.

“I love you both so much,” he breathed as he leant to kiss both of your foreheads, “Let’s go get mom all checked out.”

#911 x reader #911 imagine #eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz fluff #evan 'buck' buckley #eddie diaz #christopher diaz #evan buckley x reader #911 fic #eddie diaz x you #eddie diaz one shot #eddie diaz angst #buckley diaz family #911

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coldfanbou · 7 months ago

Text

Fair is Fair

We get to learn a little bit about Mina in this fic. Turns out she's a little needy.

Length 2.3K

Mina X Mreader

Previous Part

Next Part

Once Chaeyoung had left your home, you lay on the couch, wanting nothing more than to relax when your phone began vibrating. It was a series of messages. “Why did Momo get a turn?” was the first one that got your attention. You wonder who would know about your night with Momo and Jihyo. Curiosity gets the best of you, and you open your messages. You scroll to the top and realize it’s Mina messaging you. The rest of her messages were her complaints about being left out.

“I’m not the one that decided that,” you reply.

“Well, I want a turn; it’s been so long since I’ve been with someone.” She texts back before she begins calling your phone. You pick up the phone and instantly hear Mina's voice come through, “It’s not fair that Momo gets to have fun with you. We share everything, and she shouldn’t be able to have fun with you alone.” she repeats, her voice high. Mina’s whines were odd to you. From the small amount of time you had spent together, she had acted much more like a lady, so her complaining like a bratty child was weird, for lack of a better word.

“Mina, things just happened. What do you want me to do about it.”

“Tonight, you and I are going out, no ifs, ands, or buts.”

“Mina,”

“No, we’re going out.” Mina whines, the soft pounding of something heard in the background. On the other side of the phone, Mina kicked her feet against her bed, cheeks full of air as she pouted. “I want to go out tonight, and then we can spend the night at your place. Chaeyoung got to fuck you last night, why can’t I?” You question the last part, your mind working slowly until you figure out that the friend Chaeyoung had been talking about was, in fact, Mina. “Chaeyoung was showing us pictures last night, and I couldn’t believe it was you. I want my turn now!” She whined, kicking her feet again.

You reluctantly agree, too tired to put up a fight. “Alright, fine, but you plan the date.”

“Really?” Mina almost shouts, the glee in her voice ringing out.

“Yes, give me the details, and I’ll meet you there.” You were already tired of the situation. You place your phone on the coffee table before shutting your eyes.

When you wake up from your short nap you have several messages on your phone from Mina, including the time and place for your date. You check the clock and realize there isn’t much time left. You get yourself ready, already regretting giving in to Mina so easily. You head to the address Mina had sent you. Arriving at the address, you double-check to make sure it’s the right place. You question Mina’s choice of a Lego cafe, but soon enough, you see her arrive, standing outside the cafe and typing something out on her phone. Your phone buzzes a second later, “Where are you?”

“Okay, guess this is the right place.” You say to yourself before getting out of the car. You walk up to Mina, who smiles when she sees you. She’s dressed casually, wearing oversized jeans and a hoodie.

“Let’s go!” Mina says, taking your hand and heading inside, grabbing a table for the two of you.

“What kind of place is this Mina?”

“It’s a Lego cafe,” Mina says, stating the obvious.

“I know that, but why here? Why have the date here?”

“It’s fun,” Mina says, pulling out a set of legos from under her sweater. You feel like you’re in another world as Mina begins playing with the set. Looking at the box, you see it’s a car she’s building. You’re more confused than anything else; you never would have thought Mina would be interested in something like this. Seeing her pull a box set from under her sweater was another can of worms in and out of itself. You watch the young woman smile to herself as she puts the pieces together. It was cute, almost innocent. You feel out of place as she continues to build the car. “We’ll get you a set,” Mina says without looking up at you.

As the waiter comes around, Mina takes charge, ordering coffee for both of you and a Lego set for you to work on. You sighed briefly, “I didn’t expect this would be our date. I thought you’d want to do something else.” You pick at the set Mina had chosen for you; it was a set of flowers, something simple.

You build your set while watching Mina work on hers, “Do you do this often?”

She nods, focusing intently on the tiny stickers she had to place on the Lego pieces. “Yeah, I think it’s fun building these sets. Most guys don’t really like it, though; they think it’s childish.”

“It kind of is, but if you enjoy it, you should be able to share that.” You reply as you look through the instructions. “If they don’t like it and don’t want to date you because of it, that’s their problem.” Mina glances up from her set, looking at you before continuing to build it.

“Thanks,” she murmurs. “It’s peaceful building these,” Mina pauses as the coffee arrives, taking her time to sip from the hot cup before returning to her build.

“I thought you would just want to get straight to business. Not go on a date first.”

“I-well, I thought it would be rude to go to your house and do it.” Mina stammers, “I thought this would be better; besides, I wanted to build this set. I’ve had it for a month.” Mina says, trying to give another reason for the date. She hoped you wouldn’t see the price tag on the box. She had bought the Lego set before coming here. After your call with her had ended, she got flustered and went out to buy it.

“So what else do you like?”

“Games, video games,” Mina says, drawing out another question from you. “I like Minecraft; it’s a lot like Legos. I like building things more than going on adventures.” You nod along and continue asking Mina questions about herself. She slowly grows more comfortable as the date goes on, and once she finishes her build and you finish yours, the two of you decide to leave.

Mina places her little car in the back seat, with your plant, staring at them as you drive home, hoping nothing happens to them.

As you arrive in the parking lot, Mina slips a pill into her mouth and swallows it, preparing herself for a long evening. The effects are immediate as she feels her body begin to heat up. Walking to the door, Mina grows anxious, her body growing needy.

Reaching the door, Mina throws herself at you, wrapping her arms around your neck as she presses her lips against yours. “Let’s get started,” You struggle to open the door but eventually manage it, moving inside with Mina. She grabs your hands, moving them under her sweater. You feel her toned stomach as she drags your arms up her body until you reach her modest chest. Mina cranes her neck, letting you mark her body with hickeys as you lead her to the bedroom. Mina’s nipples rub against the palm of your hand, and she lets out a light moan as you squeeze her breasts. You push the door open and place Mina on the bed. You pull the hoodie off her before continuing to mark her body, her moans growing louder as you tease her nipples. Mina holds you against her chest, wanting to keep you there forever as you begin tugging at her jeans.

Mina grabs your hands, stopping your advance. When you look up at her, her eyes are already on yours. “Before we keep going, I want to tell you something, but you have to promise not to tell anyone else.”

“Okay, I promise,” You state to her, staring into her eyes and creating a sense of trust.

“Momo doesn’t know about this, but…” Mina’s face becomes flushed as she struggles to finish her sentence. “Can I call you Daddy? I like it better this way; please take the lead.”

For the second time today, Mina stunned you. “Uhm, sure, that’s fine.” This version of Mina was a lot different from the woman you had sex with a couple of weeks ago. Whereas when she was drunk, she degraded herself, Mina seemed more soft when she was sober. Mina giggles as she unbuttons her jeans and lets you pull them off. You become distracted, thinking to yourself how Mina has been the opposite of what you expected of her as she reaches down and rubs your bulge.

“You’re so big,” Mina whispers, “Can I see it, Daddy?” You nod and lay back on the bed, letting Mina pull your pants off you; she slowly moves her head over your crotch, her long fingers pulling at your underwear. A smile creeps onto Mina as she tugs at your underwear, and your cock flops out. She grasps it gently, her hand moving along it slowly.

“Keep going, Mina, that feels good.” You groan.

The young woman drips her saliva onto your cock, spreading it out as she runs her hand along her shaft. “I want you, Daddy, in here.” She says, placing her other hand on her stomach. Mina stares into your eyes as she strokes your cock, her body growing hotter as she becomes more eager to move on. Mina flashes her gummy smile as she uses both hands to stroke your cock, rubbing the tip with the palm of one as the other runs along your shaft. You groan Mina’s name, the pleasure flowing through you as she leans down and kisses the tip. Mina smiles after, feeling shy.

“Mina, I want you.” The young woman’s heart skips a beat after hearing your order. She straddles you, rubbing her lips along your cock and moaning as she prepares herself. The heat coming from your cock, makes Mina want more. She doesn’t wait long before lifting herself and rubbing the tip between her folds. Light moans escape Mina’s lips as she slowly sinks onto your cock, her walls squeezing your shaft as she slips more into her cunt. Mina places her hands on your chest as she begins to feel full.

Mina rides you, her hips rocking back and forth as she leans back. “You’re so big,” she groans. The young woman bites her lip as she moves up and down your shaft, slowly putting more force into her bounce as she takes every inch inside her. “Mmm, Daddy,” Mina moans, her strength slowly leaving her body, leaving you to thrust into her. You roll Mina onto her back and lift her lower half, continuing to thrust into her. Mina’s moans only get louder; she grips the bedsheets, getting closer to cumming. She wraps her arms around you, holding you tightly as you ram more of your length inside her. “D-daddy, you’re so deep,” she whines, her legs wrapping around you. You kiss Mina’s neck and listen to her whimpers. Your hands grip the back of her thighs; they quiver as you push Mina closer to her climax.

“Cum for me, baby. Cum for Daddy,” you growl in a low voice. Mina’s body tenses, and she cries out as she cums. You continue thrusting into her tightening cunt, driving Mina mad. She continues to moan, “Daddy, wait!” She whines, her body becoming overrun by the pleasure.

“I’m going to cum, Mina,” you groan.

“I want Daddy’s cum. I want it inside me,” Mina moans, the pleasure breaking her as she feels your cock throbbing inside her. As you're about to cum you bury yourself inside Mina, your cum pouring into her cunt. “Oh, Daddy, more,” Mina moans. You kiss the young woman, shutting her up for a moment as you enjoy her body, her cunt milking you.

“Does my baby want more?” You ask, running your finger between Mina’s tits.

“Yes, Daddy. Please give me more,” Mina says, biting her fingertip as she uses her other hand to spread her lips. “Please fuck me again, Daddy.” The sight of your seed leaking out of her cunt gets you hard again, and you slide back into Mina, gripping her ass as you begin thrusting again.

As you fuck her to another climax, you feel something rub against your finger. Moving your hand just a little, you feel a plug. “Does my baby have a plug in her?” You whisper into Mina’s ear.

“Yes, Daddy.” Mina says with a pout, “I want to save that for later.” she says softly. You leave it alone for now and continue fucking the young woman until you’re both exhausted. As you lay beside Mina, your chest heaving, you comment on her other side.

“This is a lot different from our first time together. So you have Sharon, and this is Mina?”

Mina looks away from you, covering her face. “It’s only when I’m drunk. I say a lot of things when I’m drunk.” She admits.

You laugh at Mina, “Oh yeah? Like ‘cum inside my slutty pussy’ or ‘fuck me like a whore’” Mina’s mind flashes back to the first time you had sex, and she grows more embarrassed. “So, which do you like more?” You lean in closely to Mina’s ear and run your hand along her body, pushing two fingers inside her cum-filled cunt. “Or is it both?” You ask her, “Are you my slutty baby?” Mina gasps, and her body shivers. She bites her lip and nods.

“I like both,”

#kpop smut #male reader #m reader #twice smut #mina smut

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jinmindeulle · 4 months ago

Text

svt as your baby daddies | maknae line (pt. 2)

you are back from your work trip!

°⨳°·..·°⨳°⊹٭ seokmin ٭⊹°⨳°·..·°⨳° (part 1 here)

When your boss told you that you had efficiently finished your work earlier, and that she was even going to pay the fee so you could get on your flight a day in advance, you almost hugged her.

You had decided not to tell your husband so you could surprise your family.

As it was pretty early in the morning when you got back to Seoul, you resolved to get breakfast as well. A few blocks from your home, there was this bakery your daughter absolutely loved, so you got some sweet treats for your favorite people in the whole world.

An instant after opening the door, your mouth fell open. The mess of toys around the living room was a sight you have never had the pleasure of seeing. You knew your daughter to be pretty active when it came to her playing activities, but this was something different — it seemed like Seokmin had decided to put all of her toys in one place so she could easily grab them without whining for one of them. Honestly… you couldn’t blame him.

Trying to dodge as many objects as possible, especially those evil looking legos, you made your way towards the kitchen and prepared the table so breakfast looked homey and delicious. Needing a quick shower before anything else, you walked upstairs to your room, which was suspiciously empty, bed done and all. You shrugged, knowing your husband better than anyone else, he would be in one place and one place only.

Fresh out of the shower, you headed to Kimmy’s bedroom. And what you saw almost made you tear up.

Seokmin was a big man for that tiny crib, but yet he still had managed to pull the barrier down and sleep the night with his toddler clung to his arm, half of his body pretty much touching the floor.

Kimmy was the first one to move, and when you got closer and was able to see you, she sleepily sat up and made grabby hands at you, her pacifier still attached to her mouth.

“Hello my baby girl” you cooed at her, taking her from the crib and smelling her baby scent. “Oh, I missed you” you hugged her softly, and she placed her head on your shoulder.

The movement had finally woken your husband up, and the moment he saw you standing by his side, he almost fell to the floor. “What?!” he yelled, too loud for your liking.

“Surprise!” you giggled, feeling small as he engulfed you in a tight family hug.

“I was going mad without you” Seok kissed your forehead and you returned it, on his lips. “Please keep surprising me like this”

“I’ll work hard” you smiled, finally feeling complete.

¸.·✩·.¸¸.·¯⍣✩ mingyu ✩⍣¯·.¸¸.·✩·.¸ (part 1 here)

You parked your car on your driveway not expecting your family to be back home. You knew that Mingyu was busy shooting for Calvin Klein, and he had dropped Minha off with his sister. He usually took quite some time with those schedules, so when you saw him standing on the porch with your daughter in his arms, your eyes lit up.

“My babies!” you jumped out of the car seat, running to your family and hugging them with all the love you had been saving for them.

“Momma's back baby!” your husband kissed her cheek and after looking at you like you were the most precious woman in the world, he leaned in to kiss your lips.

“Yuck daddy!” Minha took both of your chins with her small hands and pushed you away from each other.

“But I missed mommy!” Mingyu pouted “I can kiss her because she is my wife”

“But she is my mommy!”

“Okay you two, there’s mommy for everyone” you giggled, taking your daughter from Mingyu’s arms and peppering her chubby cheeks with kisses “Did you have fun with auntie?”

“Yeah! She bought me a new Barbie doll!” and with that, she wiggled herself out of your hold to run inside and get her new acquisition.

“Finally” Mingyu sighed, and with the biggest dorky smile, took you by the waist and kissed you properly. “Just like when we were dating” he murmured against your lips.

“We kiss like that all the time, dummy” you chuckled, embracing him back and caressing his lower back with your fingernails.

“Not when missy is around” he pouted, taking a strand of hair out of your face. “She’s a jealous fellow”

You knew your daughter to be very protective of the relationship she had with your husband on the one hand, and with you on the other. She liked you being together, but when the attention was not on her, things got complicated.

“When should we tell Minnnie?” you looked up at him, and he instinctively placed a hand on your tummy. “It’s about to start showing”

Before answering anything else, Mingyu made sure your daughter was still out of sight and kneeled down to say hi to his unborn baby “Hi my angel, it’s daddy. Hope you treated mommy well these days” after kissing your belly over the fabric of your dress, he stood back up and brought you back to his hold. “Maybe next week? We could get her something and tell her that her new brother or sister sent it”

“You’re a smartass”

“Apart from handsome, may I add”

Minhee crossed the door frame with a bunch of Barbie dolls and started playing with them in the front yard, totally ignoring her lovebird parents — another sign of how annoyed she was at not being the center of attention.

“Missy’s haircut looks better now”

“See?” Gyu leaned back down and kissed your nose. “You were being too picky!”

“You took her to another hair salon, didn’t you?” When he let you go and headed towards your car to get your suitcase out, you had to laugh. “Don’t run away from me Kim Mingyu! I know you better than myself!”

¸„٭⊹✡•~⍣°”ˆ˜¨ minghao ¨˜ˆ”°⍣~•✡⊹٭„¸ (part 1 here)

You tried your best to look as airportfashionable as possible because you knew that Minghao always checked you out — and this time you wanted to earn the compliment. He could be too good to you sometimes.

It was nothing out of your style though, but you made a little effort to choose the best one that could still be comfortable for an eight hour long flight.

As tired as you were, seeing your family waiting for you hand in hand gave you back the energy to run to them and hug them tightly.

“Mommy!” Lian jumped up and down, embracing your legs and looking up to you. You failed to see the heart eyes she was giving you as you kissed your husband’s cheek. “I made you a drawing!”

As soon as you kneeled down to her height, she proudly showed it to you. It was a crayon drawing of your little family — she was in between you and Hao, hand in hand, and on the sky there was a big rainbow with “My family” written in three languages — Mandarin, Korean and English.

“That’s an incredible drawing, baby” you squished her cheeks and after kissing her forehead, you hugged her with all your might.

“Oh? Babe please stand up” you heard Hao tapping your shoulder.

“Yessir” rapidly understanding why he had asked you to do that, you stood back up and twirled. “You like it?”

“And you tell me you don’t know how to dress yourself up?” he took you from the waist and shook his head, giving you a soft smile “You are too mean to you sometimes, love”

“I’m sorry but you outdo my efforts every time! I have to try a little harder to impress you” you shrugged, taking his cheeks with your hands and pecking his lips.

“Let’s go home, huh?” Minghao giggled, taking your hand and grabbing your bag with the other. “Liannie, take mommy’s hand, it’s too crowded”

Your obedient daughter followed her father’s instructions, and you watched with delight as she skipped and sang with happiness. “Did you choose your outfit today?” you asked her, admiring her summer flowery dress matched with the flower laces on her hair.

“I did, but daddy helped me with the hair!”

“The hair too?” you opened your eyes to show your surprise, and when your husband’s cheeks tinted a soft shade of pink, you had to give a fake disappointed sigh “I leave for two days and my husband replaces me so easily”

“Don’t you dare!” he let go of the hold on your hand and tickled you on the side “No one replaces my wifey.”

٭⊹¤.•⨳•.☆✬ seungkwan ✬☆.•⨳•.¤⊹٭ (part 1 here)

Your home was unbelievably quiet for a Friday night. You knew Taehun liked to sleep early, so you assumed Seungkwan had joined him — by how hard single parenting had been for him, you couldn’t blame him for falling asleep as soon as his child did.

You left your bags before tiptoeing your way into Taehun’s room, but you didn’t even have to reach the door when you heard father and son discussing very important business.

“... to shower everyday?” your son’s voice was heard, a curious cutesy tone.

“Because,” your husband started “you don’t want to be smelly when you play with your friends”

“Or when mama arrives”

Kwan let out a sigh and you had to hold your laugh. Taehun was really talking about you every second of the waking day.

“Mhm. She would be very upset if you hugged her all dirty”

“Would you be upset if I hugged you all dirty?”

“Of course I would. We are a clean family, Taehun-ah”

“Will I ever have a brother?” The randomness of the questions were adorable and concerning at the same time, but coming from a Boo, it was nothing that could surprise you.

He had asked a couple of times before, especially after your sister had her second child, but you had tried to brush it off. Your and Seungkwan’s schedules were hard to deal with already on their own, and after Tae arrived to the world you had been juggling with work, family, and husband-wife time. However, you had never discussed it with Kwan, so before you interrupted their little moment, you had to hear his answer.

“You know how hard it is for mama and I to be with you all the time, mhm?” he explained with that father tone you loved “Another baby is a biiiig responsibility. We have to find more time to care for him or her”

“But papa, I can help!” you had to put your hand on your mouth to silence your enamoured gasp. That kid was all you had ever wished for.

“I know, baby” Kwan laughed, “If it were up to me, I would have ten kids with mommy”

“That’s a lot,” Taehun whined, not really liking the answer. “But mama is the best mommy.”

“I’m sorry, who’s the best?” you couldn’t handle it anymore, so as soon as you came in, two pairs of arms engulfed you in the most awaited hug.

“Mommy!”

“Hi honey” Seungkwan had a shine in his eyes that you had so much missed. Before taking Tae from the floor, he gave you a kiss and whispered his ultimate favorite words to tell you. “The love of my life”

The way he always had heart eyes for you melted your heart. “I love you” you answered, and turned to your son “Did you shower, little bean?”

“I smell fresh and clean just for you, mama!”

·.★·.·´¯·.·★ hansol ★·.·´¯·.·★.· (part 1 here)

Hansol had texted you the day before that he would be busy recording some content with the guys, and your father, the only other person who could have picked you up, was on holiday — so you had to go back home on your own. You quickly decided to head to the taxi area, too tired to wait for the bus.

When you stepped out, a cold breeze hit you, and you hugged yourself to wait in the line of people. You were too concentrated on watching the taxis come and go, timing them so you could calculate how much you’d have to wait, that you didn’t notice when a man stood up from a nearby bench and positioned himself next to you, hiding his face behind a flower bouquet.

You glared at him when you finally saw him, and not only after having lowered the flower arrangement down to his nose, did you realise who that was.

“What the hell” you chuckled, taking the bouquet from his hands and eagerly accepting the hug he engulfed you in.

“Welcome back honey” he giggled, picking you up from the floor in the process.

“Why did you lie?” you asked, and as soon as he released you from his tight grip you faced him. Oh, how much you had missed your husband’s face.

“Because,” he started, taking a strand of hair out of your face. “It’s been a while since I last gave you a surprise. Or bought you flowers”

“Is this because I finally gave in and bought you that keychain?” you raised an eyebrow.

“It might” he teased, and after pressing a shy kiss to your lips, he sighed “Nah. It’s because I love you”

“Oh wow, I may have to leave you guys more often. You were calling me boring two days ago and now I get all this praise” your mouth curved into a smile.

“I want to make sure you get the complete Hansol package” he nodded, taking your hand and your suitcase with the other, leading you back to the parking lot. “And Myeon is on a school trip to the museum, so I still have a few hours to provide you with the real full package” he wiggled his eyebrows.

“I like the sound of that” you giggled, “You do deserve that keychain”

“Getting you as my gift is enough”

“Oh my God, my husband, the Last Romantic”

“Don’t forget that when I call you boring and send you even more boring selfies”

`✵•.¸,✵°✵.｡.✰ chan ✰.｡.✵°✵,¸.•✵´ (part 1 here)

Chan was a fast man, but that night he was three times faster than usual. You weren’t even able to pass the last security check when you noticed a man waving both of his hands to your direction, then picking up your son and having him wave at you as well.

“You have a beautiful family, dear” the old woman that was waiting in line in front of you gave you a polite smile, and you gave her a small bow.

“Thank you ma’am, I really do” you smiled, feeling the anticipation of having both of your boys back in your arms after three days.

“Look! That’s eomma right there!” After getting all your stuff screened, you picked it from the moving platform and headed their way.

“Hello my beautiful boys!” you took Seojoon from your husband's arms and kissed his cheeks, your favorite activity as his mama. “How’s my little baby?”

“Eomma” and just like that, he started crying, clinging to you like a baby koala.

“I would cry too if I wasn’t a grown man” your husband shrugged, joining the hug and kissing your forehead multiple times. “How’s my baby?”

“Tired” you admitted, “but extremely happy to see you both”

“Let’s get you home then, we can order dinner and cuddle the rest of the night” Chan nodded, reassuring you. You smiled and tiptoed just a little to peck his lips.

“Thank you, appa”

Before finally getting started with your trip back home, your little personal koala had a hard time letting you go. “Baby, you need to sit in your chair.” you caressed the back of his head, looking at Chan with a desperate expression.

“Joonie, will you be okay if mommy sits next to you?”

“No!” he whined, hiding his face on your neck, avoiding his father’s gaze.

“Lovie” you sighed “It’s just a short ride. As soon as we get home, you will cuddle eomma and appa as much as you want”

“No! I want eomma now!”

“Okay” Chan moved to open the passenger seat’s door and took the one and only item that could make your son hesitate a little from the glove compartment. “Do you want your banana milk?”

The magic words worked with ease — he lifted his head and looked at his father like he held the universe in his hands. When he nodded, you quickly followed the plan. “If you let go of mommy and you sit in your chair, then you can have it” his slight nod was answer enough for you to hurry and proceed with solving the issue.

“He really is the banana milk guy”

And as much as you hated that nickname, that night you couldn’t help but agree with your husband. You were raising a banana milk enthusiast.

hyung line here!

¸.·✩·.¸¸.·¯⍣✩ seventeen masterlist ✩⍣¯·.¸¸.·✩·.¸

364 notes · View notes

hotteokyu · 5 months ago

Text

wooyoung's sister

Synopsis ~ Your brother's career would be over if not for his pretty substitute. You can sing, dance, and make a perfect impression of Wooyoung, so you accept his plea. You have your own reasons, of course. It's about time you meet the man thirsting for your innocent brother and put him in his place. You hate people like him. Choi San.

So you become Wooyoung for a while.

Pairing ~ san x reader (wooyoung's twin sister)

Word count ~ 14.8k

Genre / warnings ~ romance, enemies to lovers, smut, EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT MDNI, gender-swap, reader has anger issues (plot point), mention of cult, binder, reader is protective of brother, hates skinship, hates affection, hates everything, san is made fun of a lot, pls dont take it to heart i love him, many thoughts of violence, cursing, trust issues, passing out, some angst, clingy san, lego live ft. Hwa, Hwa is done with their cat fights, slumber party, strawberry cake drama, description of period cramps, drunk confession, angry tension, hongjoong forces them to make up, angry sex, frustrated sex, dom!reader, sub-ish San, oral sex (female receiving), teasing, biting, marking, edging, rough sex

a/n ~ I had a lot of fun writing this :p plz tell me what you think!

It’s not like you didn’t expect it to happen. You knew there’d be a day your brother would come knocking on your door, begging for your help. And you would do anything for your baby brother.

But this is crazy.

There’s an entire team of staff in your bedroom. One is cutting your precious, nurtured hair. One is wrapping a binder around your chest. One is measuring your feet. Another is wiping the pretty glitter from your eyes. Two ladies are packing your bags. And the final one is giving you small sips of water to calm your nerves.

Three bodyguards are shivering outside in the cold rain, refusing to come in to keep dry. A personal driver is waiting in the car out in the parking lot.

In the living room, your brother, his manager, and the CEO of KQ Entertainment are sitting comfortably on your couch.

There must be a weight limit for the apartment.

And there must be a capacity for the absolute rage that can fill your body. Your hair is gone, your features masculinized. You have no tits. They’re gone.

But you take a deep breath. There’s an audience. A big one. You can act like a crazy bitch once you’re alone. Act sane. Calm… down…

Wooyoung’s jaw drops when he sees you, and there’s a single twitch in your left eye.

Calm.

With a huff, you sit on the floor facing the couch everyone else is occupying. Wooyoung is looking away, puckering his lips guiltily.

“I heard you can dance,” the man beside your brother says.

“Yeah, I can dance. I was a trainee at Big Hit for, like, four years,” you scoff, receiving a snicker from your brother.

“I heard you know almost every ATEEZ choreography,” he says, leaning back with a satisfactory smile as you nod.

“He comes home after every comeback and teaches me his parts.” You point at Wooyoung with a deep frown. “He makes us perform it for our grandma for cookies.”

“I heard you can sing, too,” he says eagerly grinning as you nod again. “You don’t sound much like your brother, though. I heard you can do a good impression of him, though.”

Yup. You can sing too. Sing like Wooyoung, dance like Wooyoung, laugh like Wooyoung. For years you’d pretended to be him in different situations. Who knew it would be so helpful in the long run?

But that’s how your night starts. A long boring conversation. Basically… Wooyoung was in Paris for fashion week and befriended a kind lady. He gave her an autograph, as one of her friends was a huge fan. Turns out she was a sex worker and actually signed him up for her cult. It’s a group for worshiping some sex god. KQ needs to get your brother out of trouble in a Paris court. And, obviously, his career is basically over, if not for you, his beautiful stand-in. As long as no one finds out about it, Wooyoung should be fine. It’s an opportunity no one else could have. It’s perfect.

You aren’t even mad.

Which is a first.

You’re just so confused as to how your brother can be so stupid.

A sex cult? That’s crazy??

But you’re already dressed and ready to go. You’d already agreed. So, sure, whatever.

Of course, you have your own reasons.

You were a trainee at BigHit with Wooyoung and Yeosang, but the only reason you trained there was to keep an eye on your brother. He has this thing about him. People find him cute, small, intimidating, sure, but they like a challenge. Everyone falls in love with him. Everyone wants to touch him and love him forever. Absolutely not.

When he and Yeosang moved to KQ, you tried to follow them, but the company wasn’t looking for girls. You got angry and lashed out in the practice room. Got kicked out. Never danced again.

Anyway, you like this idea of being Wooyoung for a few weeks. Because now you can see just how his members act. And you can set them straight.

“Ah, there’s one thing I forgot to mention,” Wooyoung mumbles, eyeing the CEO warily. “She has, like, crazy anger issues.”

Your brother keeps his room plain, black and gray, with zero posters, and zero personality. That’s weird for a guy with a sparkling, outgoing persona. You expected him to have a little bit of something showing in here. Maybe he just doesn’t have the time to decorate. Maybe he’s busy playing games when he does have the time.

You sit down on his bed and pucker your lips as you test its cushion. It’s stiff, your booty sinking just slightly into the memory foam. This will be nice to snuggle up on once you clean all of the sheets.

You take out your phone and go through the notes Wooyoung sent you. Routines, outfits, locations of items and places, dishes, info about the members, dances to le- Your eyes backtrack and a sinister grin grows on your pretty little face.

There’s a lot of useless information, like birthdays and representative animals. But he also wrote exactly what you needed to know to get started on your affection purge.

Your temporary roommates, Choi Jongho and Kim Hongjoong, are both reserved to their areas apparently. You like that. They know their places. They won’t be much of a problem. Yeosang, you know. He won’t be a problem. Song Mingi, you read, is big and awkward. He doesn’t initiate much affection, but he can be a bit freaky at times. Park Seonghwa is silly and affectionate but in a motherly way. How cute. Jeong Yunho is just a big puppy. He’ll come play with you on his own or whenever you want. He’ll like what you like, but he doesn’t pester at all.

Now… you don’t know this Choi San, but you know you hate him and his kind. Affectionate, kisses, skinship, clingy, likes Wooyoung very much. You were expecting to find someone like him here, but seeing it now in front of you, you’re fuming.

How unprofessional. How ignorant.

You’ll fix it, though. You gotta brush off your dusty skills, but you can fix it.

For two days, you have private singing, dance, and performance lessons. You don’t meet any of the members except for Jongho eating breakfast while playing a game on his phone. He hardly says hi as you walk out the door.

For those days, you’re content. You’re a natural, and you’ve already been trained and taught everything throughout your life. Each night, you run everything anyway. Wooyoung keeps his room cold as hell, so dancing doesn’t even make you hot.

The first day at dance practice with the rest of the members, however… You don’t think you’ve gone from completely fine to fucking steaming with anger in such a short amount of time before.

A man dares to put his grimy hands on you?? AND he thinks you’re Wooyoung?!

You memorized Choi San’s face because you were gonna steer clear, but this bitch pulls you into a hug as soon as you walk through the door. You step away immediately, staring in disbelief at the man.

So this is Choi San. He’s taller than you but not by too much. He’s big, wide, and strong. He’s got dimples as he cracks a cheeky grin, raising his groomed brow. His black hair is brushed nicely, clean, and soft on his head. He looks fluffy and innocent, much like a kitten. Cats are brutal and disloyal. How could Wooyoung let this man with obvious ulterior motives get anywhere near him?

He grabs your arm, and you let out a noise of confusion as he pulls you to his chest. “I missed you, Youngie~” he mumbles, squishing his cheek against your head as he holds you tight to him.

You squirm ‘cause, fuck, it’s awful, but it doesn’t seem like he even notices your struggle. He just holds you there effortlessly until he’s content. Then, with a gentle kiss to the side of your head, he walks away as if he hadn’t just fucking assaulted you.

You shook your head, wiping away the kiss he’d left against your hair. Ew. Ewewewew. A hug? A KISS?!?!?! Fuck, you’re going to throw up. Your cheeks are so hot, you literally are going to end it all right here. This is it. You’ve had enough, and it’s been, like, twenty seconds.

You take a deep, mind-cleansing breath. “Ya-!”

“Wooyoung~!” There’s Yeosang blocking your raging view of Choi San in an instant, and you shut your mouth.

“Yeosang!” you exclaim, reaching out and grabbing his hands excitedly. You bring them up to your chest and grin, gazing at his beautiful features. He’s grown so much. He’s still so handsome.

Yeosang is like a little brother to you despite being older. He’s a sweet angel who could do no wrong. You trust this boy with your life, and if anything happens to him, you’ll literally kill the man who hurt him. Is it wrong that you imagine it to be Choi San in your recent scenarios?

“Yeosang~ Yeosang~” you sing, wiggling your hands back and forth as he just stares at you with a happy smile. “Did you eat today? Did you eat yesterday?” You reach up and poke his cheek, your eyes shining happily as your finger sinks nicely into his soft skin. He shies away, scrunching his cheek to his shoulder, blushing lightly. What a cutie.

“What about you,” he mumbles, eying your interlocked fingers. “Your fingers are so thin.” He squeezes your hand gently, and you grin.

“Of course,” you say, though you in fact did not eat this morning or last night. You’ll probably be hungry by lunchtime, so you’ll eat then.

“That’s enough, Yeosangie…” Yeosang is pulled away by the waist, two thick arms wrapping around him and taking him from you. You drop your hands to your sides, feeling agitation build as you already know who it is. You glance up to see a pouting Choi San resting his chin on Yeosang’s shoulder, holding him hostage a few feet away.

“Hey, Choi San,” you say through gritted teeth. “We were talking.”

He shakes his head. “No. You were flirting with each other. I know it.” Why does this man talk in pout? Open your fucking lips and speak. “Yeosang is mine. You can’t have him.”

You feel a thick vein on your neck bulge as you restrain your lips from opening in a round of profanities. So he wants Wooyoung and Yeosang? He wants them both?

“San-ah,” Yeosang giggles shyly, trying to pry open San’s arms without any success. “We have to go practice.”

San sighs, slowly letting a fleeing Yeosang slip from his grip. As everyone gathers by the mirror, San offers you a soft, cat-like smile, but you turn away. He will get zero engagement from you. For your own sake, honestly. He makes you want to rip your shirt open and reveal your secret and shove this fucking binder in his mouth until he talks like a normal fucking human.

You take a deep breath. That was uncalled for. Violence is not okay… Violence is not the answer…

“Young-ah~” You’ve gotten used to his voice by the end of practice. He always has something to say, whether it’s a useless compliment or hyping up the room like you’re all some crazy fangirls and not the performers. He’s always gotta do something so fucking extra.

He leans his arm around your shoulder, and you shrug it off, walking just a bit faster to Wooyoung’s car.

“Youngie, I went to the plushie shop down the street from that one ramen place with the nice old lady, and they had one of those…” You had to master the art of giving so few fucks to the point of being deaf as you grew up alongside Wooyoung. His voice was fading into the abyss within seconds.

By the time you reach your car, you try to go inside quickly, but he tugs on the sleeve of your sweatshirt and holds you just a foot away from your exit. “What’s wrong, Wooyoung?” he asks softly. You turn around, liking how he’s finally noticing your attitude. Maybe he’ll be a quick learner. “Are you hungry?” As he’s met with your bratty glare, he pokes your stomach but pulls away before you can push him. “Do you want me to buy you mint choco ice cream?” He smirks as if the offer would be enticing in the slightest. Fuck, does Wooyoung like that toothpaste shit?

Before he pries any further, you get in the car and lock the door. He steps away pretty easily with a defeated sigh. You drive off with a small huff as you feel your cheeks simmer down from their red, heated boil. Choi San. Choi San. Fuck, you’re going insane.

“You can’t be mean to him,” Wooyoung says plainly. “He’s a soft, delicate romantic. You’ll break his heart.”

“I could not care less,” you say, collapsing on the depression-colored bed, with a long, dramatic sigh.

“Trust meeee,” he whines. “You’re gonna love him. He’s my best friend.”

“Yeosang is your best friend,” you correct. “There’s no way you’re friends with that.”

“That?” he scoffs. “He’s my second best friend, and so what? He’s sexy and kind!”

“He’s lewd, Wooyoung. He’s out to exploit you, I’m telling you!” You’re taking slow breaths before you lose your shit on your pathetic brother. He already has too much going on. You should save his ears for now.

Wooyoung’s quiet on the other end for a long moment. “Good luck at the performance tomorrow,” he says with a huff. “I heard you’re better at dancing than me.”

“Who said that?” you chuckle.

“Sannie.”

You know the poor maknae is trying to sleep next door, but as soon as you jam your finger into your phone to end the call, you throw it across the room and slam your head into your pillow, and you let out a fuming, long, guttural, muffled scream.

You’ve never performed for an actual audience before. Sure you did your evaluations back in your trainee days, but this is so different. You’ve never dolled up so much in your life. You’ll have to dance and sing like a professional for, like, almost an hour under the watch of thousands of crazy fans.

You’re standing completely still on the second step of the stairs leading to the stage. Your heart is beating like crazy, and you don’t know how to calm it down. You’re Wooyoung. You’re cool and awesome and everyone loves you. It doesn’t help much.

Fuck, when are you going out? You’ve been standing here forever. You don’t want to go out. I mean, you do, obviously. You’re kind of curious why your brother is so addicted to this life. You want to feel the thrill he always talks about.

Two thick hands are gently placed on your hips, but you push them away immediately, swerving around to come face-to-face with Choi. San.

“Don’t be nervous, Young-ah,” he says with a wide smile. “You’re so sexy.”

Your face contorts in disgust. “Don’t say that,” you scoff, eyeing his arrogant dimples as they crease further.

“You like it, though,” he says slyly, his eyes squinting as his lips pucker into a small, scrunched smile. “It’s your favorite compliment.”

“I don’t like compliments,” you deny, popping your brows as he gives a satisfying, confused little expression.

“You’re blushing, though,” he says, reaching slowly to poke your pink cheek. You smack his hand away.

“Don’t touch me,” you say strictly, your eyes boring into his as he holds his hand to his chest, clearly offended.

“Why?” he says, turning away as he huffs. “Are you too hot? Will I get burnt?”

“Yes!” you nearly shout, sticking your face closer to his as you scowl. “So don’t touch me. Don’t even think about it!”

He blows you a sweet kiss as you turn around with deeply furrowed brows.

“Ya…” Seonghwa whispers from above you. You look up slowly, your ears ringing in the sudden silence. “They’ll hear you, Wooyoung,” he mumbles, placing a finger to his lips. “Be quiet.”

“Yeah, be quiet, Wooyoung,” San whispers, and you nearly sock him in the face.

Violence is the answer after the performance. Deep breaths. Calm… down…

Performing is oddly comforting. A place where you can jump and run and dance and sing and shout and everyone fucking loves it. Fuck, it feels so nice. You get it within the first few songs – why Wooyoung is addicted to this life. It’s fucking awesome.

Standing there, dancing with a grin from ear to ear, an arm drapes over your shoulders and pulls you close. You don’t even care. The fans eat it up. They scream and squeal and call out your names.

Your eyes meet Choi San’s, the two of you swaying and vibing with the music. He grins, his brows softly scrunched as he shouts out the lyrics of someone else’s part. No one can hear him, but he shouts it anyway, and he’s banging his head, messing up the beautiful work the stylists had done to his black hair. He’s so stupid, is all you can think at all. How can someone be so fucking stupid?

He brings the mic to his lips, and his head stills, his eyes locked in yours. You can hear him now, and, wow, his voice is really pretty. Of course, someone stupid can have a pretty voice. It’s not unheard of. Whatever.

You shrug his arm off and hop to the other side of the stage.

“Fuck yeahhh!!!!!” you exclaim as you leap down the stairs backstage. Your fists are jumping the air as you squeal, punching and swinging until you’re panting by yourself against the wall, leaning back against it with a wide grin.

You’re breathing so fast, your heart racing, and your chest hurts like crazy, but you’re still so fired up, too happy and excited to care. That was so fun. You miss it already. You want to go back up on stage. You want to sing more songs. You want…

Fuck, it’s really hard to breathe when you do so much without any breaks. Your smile is slowly fading as you try to concentrate on your breath. You bring your hands to your chest in confusion, feeling the tight binder under your grasp. It hasn’t caused problems before. It shouldn’t fucking start causing problems now.

But you feel your face turning red, and you aren’t angry at all. You can’t fucking breathe.

You choke on your next inhale, bending over as you break out in breathless coughs and gasps. Fuck, fuck! Your eyes are gonna pop the fuck out. You’re grabbing at your shirt, inhaling desperately, but nothing fucking comes in! The ground is getting too close…

Your forehead slams against the ground before the rest of your body follows. You can’t even shout or cry, your body curling in on itself as your vision turns to static, your hearing gone, your sense tingling.

You’re lifted delicately and slowly from the ground, your eyes closed with hot tears streaming down your cheeks. You wish that hit was enough to knock you out, but here you are in agonizing pain.

“Young-ah!” San must be here. You’re sitting now… on the floor. You can hardly open your eyes, but you feel his hands rushing to carefully remove your stage top. You’re wearing several layers on top of the binder, but alarm shoots through you when you see him taking them off one by one. Your eyes open wide, and you push him away with a gasp. He falls back, his brows furrowed in confusion. You clutch what’s left of your top, breathing heavily as you grit your teeth, your jaw trembling.

“Get out,” you say, hardly able to say it loud enough for his stupid fucking ears to hear. “Get out!” He doesn’t want to go. It’s clear, but you don’t need his help. “I’m fine,” you mutter. “I just need some time alone. I got dizzy.”

He slowly gets up, feeling a little speechless, a little betrayed. But he leaves finally, and you rush into a stall, lock the door, and tear the binder from your chest. You can breathe, and you collapse onto the toilet, gulping the air down as you lean your head against the wall beside you. Your heart can finally calm down, your breaths steadying nicely. But your chest pulls tight quickly as you start to regain some sense in your spinning mind.

This is so humiliating.

How could you almost let yourself get caught like that? How could you let yourself succumb to the weak efforts of the traitor wrapped around your chest? You grip the binder with a newfound hatred, glaring at it as your ears turn a deep shade of red.

No, it isn’t even your fault. It’s this fucking thing’s fault! And once everything’s over, you’re gonna make Choi San wear it for twice the time you will. He needs it more than you anyway with his massive… You glance away from your hands when you witness your fingers scrunch like a pervert in your lap.

Whatever. It’s not a big deal anyway.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, entering the code to your room with tired, hooded eyes. San is wearing pajamas, and he’s showered and squeaky clean, but his presence alone stinks like a possessive stalker cat. That’s a real thing. “It’s been a long day. Shouldn’t you be asleep by now?” Don’t cats sleep more than this? Why is he suddenly acting like he could be human?

“You owe me,” he mumbles, and you eye him, pausing as you open the door. He’s pouting, looking away stubbornly. “For making me worry.”

“Are you serious?”

He turns defensively, pointing at your chest but not daring to touch you. “How am I supposed to sleep if I don’t see you’re okay, first?” he argues, his brows raised as he looks at you expectantly. You say nothing.

So he just goes inside. You don’t stop him. You’re too tired to stop him. You just want to shower and go to sleep. The stage was fun, but you’ve never been more exhausted in your entire life. You’ve never been tired enough to not get angry. It’s a first.

But when you’re done showering, changing, skincaring, and refreshing, and you finally have a soft, natural smile on your face, you’re met with a cat lying on your bed, fast asleep. He’s curled up in your blankets, his face buried in your pillow, his chest enveloping YOUR plushie.

Absolutely not.

He groans at the disturbance as you grab his hair. He isn’t in pain as you pull his head up, glaring at his half-asleep features, and you know because he doesn’t even bother opening his eyes to wake up.

“Get out of my bed,” you say. He smiles a small little devilish smile.

“But it’s a sleepover,” he grumbles, and you drop his head to the pillow with an exasperated scoff.

“Are you a child?” you ask in disbelief.

“Yes, now, go to sleep,” he mumbles, drifting away again.

“No,” you say sternly. “I want to sleep alone. Leave.”

He looks up at you then, a shimmer in his pleading eyes, but you don’t let up. You keep your glare sharp and persistent until he sighs and starts to drag himself up, his body rolling to sitting dramatically. He gets up with a loud huff and stares at you as if giving you a final chance to change your mind.

“Get out,” you say, pushing him lightly. He hardly budges. “Get out, get out, get out… I’m so tiiired.” You push him again and again with each huff until he’s at the door, and you close it in his stupid face. And, finally, you’re alone.

You throw the covers back and shove your legs under them, ignoring how warm he made the bed as you roughly snuggle into your favorite spot. Your phone vibrates just as you let out a content, sleepy sigh. You open your eyes with an irritated stare at the bright light on your bedside table. Your face is shown on the screen, an old photo from your trainee days. You know the photo. Yeosang is on your right and Wooyoung is on your left, but he cropped both of them out. He said it’s the only picture he has of you where you’re genuinely smiling and really, truly happy. For that, he loves it. Sometimes your brother can be sweet.

You put the phone next to your ear so no one can hear him from another room.

“Ya, are you being mean to him?”

Your eyes roll to the back of your brain, trembling and hurting before you let them back down. “No,” you answer.

“You’re a liar,” he scoffs. “There’s a clip going viral of you and San, you know.”

You raise a brow. “A clip?”

“Atiny love Woosan interactions,” he sighs. “They eat it up.”

“Uh huh,” you breathe, more interested in the shadows on the ceiling than this fucking lecture.

“You two were giving the audience what they really wanted to see,” he sighs, “but then you rolled your eyes at him and scurried away like a cat!” He’s laughing at you, wheezing like an idiot as you feel your face grow hot.

“Cats are evil,” you mutter. “I’m not a fucking cat.”

“Don’t lie to yourself,” he laughs. “You’re the definition of a cattitude.”

“What the fuck is that?” you huff, two seconds away from hanging up the phone. Why did he even call you anyway? To nag you about playing with this manipulative evil Choi San? He can talk your ear off all he wants, but no one gets to act in such a way around you or your brother, and he’ll learn that soon.

“Listen, listen…” He’s trying to calm his breath as he settles his laughter. “I know you hate that kind of fanservice, but you really should put in some effort, Y/n,” he sighs. “If you, or, me and San are visibly separated like that, people are gonna ask questions. Including the members.”

“Maybe it’s about time you change things up anyway,” you huff.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m tired. Good night.”

You don’t let him finish before you hang up the phone and turn over to shut your eyes. You start to calm down a little as you let the warmth of the bed sink into your skin. It’s never been this warm this quick before, and it’s making you so drowsy, even after a rise in your heart rate. You fall asleep in no time.

And good sleep brings good attitude, so the morning is bright and nice for your mind. You wake up feeling refreshed and leave bed not dreading the day. Until you open your door, and all of that disappears quickly when you take a step out and find your foot squishing into a giant man’s chest.

You scurry away, almost screaming, cause what the fuck?

Choi San has set up camp outside your bedroom door, snoozing away with pillows and blankets lining the hall in a fluffy makeshift bed. His hair is a mess as he lifts his head in confusion, and his sleepy eyes meet yours in thin, happy slits.

“Good morning, Youngie,” he mumbles. You immediately scratch the little skip your heart did at the sound of his morning voice.

You’re starting to grow hot with anger as you look at the mess, think about everything, and think about everything once more. How could he sleep there?! You told him to go away! How could he just ignore that boundary and sleep outside your room?! Your cheeks are growing pink, but you shake your thoughts away. You must not engage. You should just go. Then, you won't see him anymore, and you can't possibly be mad anymore.

You step with huffing breaths past his limbs under the blankets and stomp away to the kitchen. Maybe some food will make you happy again.

You’ve found that Wooyoung has made a lot of promises before leaving them for you to go through with.

You’ve had to make Jongho dinner at least three times so far, always being met with puppy eyes and pouty lips saying, “You promised.” Fuck that! You can’t even fucking cook. You’re ruining your brother’s reputation, and, you know what, you can’t even find yourself to care with how hard he’s making you work.

Yunho was promised a whole night of gaming. You haven’t played a video game since you were a trainee. You can hear his disappointment each time you die immediately, but he’s too nice to yell at you.

You have to go out to eat with Yeosang, but you don’t mind that actually.

San claims to be promised many things, but you break those without a second thought.

And Seonghwa was promised a lego live and slumber party in his room.

You’ve gotten to know Seonghwa well over the past few weeks, and you like him. He’s cute and takes good care of the members, but he has this elegance to him that makes interacting with him so pleasant. So you agree to do the live, and you agree to sleep over, even if he’s Choi San’s roommate.

Immediately this seems like something you won’t be good at. The lights are dim, the camera is pointed at your face, and the pieces are so tiny, scrambled in little bags over the table. The space is small. His room is small, to begin with, but he invited you here because you would be working on the same set, so it’s okay if the pieces get scrambled a bit.

Seonghwa is the cleanest person you’ve ever met, which comforts you to some extent. Everything about this room is calming. It’s all neat and organized, and your eyes have no reason to find anything about it annoying. You love it. But you know this little craft will make you go insane. You already know, and you haven’t touched a single piece.

“Hi, everyone,” he says softly to the camera. His voice is so gentle, much like his movement as he waves. “Wooyoung finally is joining me to build legos with Atiny.”

“Hi, hi,” you say with a wide smile to showcase Wooyoung’s playful dimples.

“I’m excited for today, maybe more than Tiny is,” he mumbles, smiling to himself as he plays with his computer to make sure everything’s looking nice. “Wooyoung promised a slumber party today.” He covers his mouth as he huffs a shy laugh. “So he has to spend a lot of time with his hyung.”

You huff a laugh too, nodding. “Honestly, this week’s been a little stressful for me, but I think I’ll be able to relax well thanks to him.”

Honestly, you’re so fucking nervous. So many things could go wrong. So many things could set you off. There are so many things to be worried about, and… You won’t be able to take off the binder until you go back home… and who knows if you’ll be able to until tomorrow night…

You swallow your thoughts to the pit of your fluttering stomach as you try to bring your focus back to the soft aroma around you.

Seonghwa’s telling the fans about his day and the set as he starts to open the first bag. You take a subtly deep breath.

The live goes relatively well. You have to excuse yourself to the restroom only once from frustration, running cold water over your flushed cheeks to drain out the color a little. Other than that, assembling legos is nice, and Seonghwa is a relaxing yet engaging person to interact with. It… makes you forget… everything. It’s like you’re truly meant to be there. It feels natural. It makes your mind fade gently into this little life, even if just for an hour or so. It makes you forget your anger.

Until you’re alone again, and this feeling is even more familiar. This is how it usually is. You’ve grown accustomed to being delighted by some peoples’ presence or angered by others, but your roots are truly engraved in you. It’s a bit empty… staring at yourself in the mirror on Seonghwa’s wall and realizing you don’t actually belong here. The illusion that you’re meant here or suddenly not lonely… is being written into your head too deep. It should stop before you get attached.

The binder wrapped around your chest is so uncomfortable, especially since you’ve been wearing it for the entire day. You should take it off, even if it’s just for a few minutes. It feels wrong taking it off in a stranger’s room, but-!

Your head whips around as the door opens, and Choi San walks inside. You cover your chest with the shirt in your hand immediately, your eyes bulging and heart stopped, but he doesn’t even pay you any attention, stumbling by and collapsing on Seonghwa’s bed. His eyes are closed, his body limp and tired. You throw the shirt over your head and take a deep breath.

“I was changing,” you mutter, your body practically shaking as you try not to scream at him. “You couldn’t knock?”

“Hm…?” he grumbles, lifting his head sleepily. “Hi, Young-ah.”

“Choi San!” you shout, covering your mouth quickly to pinch your fucking lips shut. You’re turning red. This is so humiliating. He obviously doesn’t care. Wooyoung probably wouldn’t care. But you fucking care, and you can’t even tell him why. “Knock next time,” you force out quietly. He hums in acknowledgment, but you hardly hear it as you leave the room.

You can’t do this. You’ll tell Seonghwa you don’t feel good, and he’ll let you go. He’ll be sad, but whatever. You can’t deal with that bastard. You can’t fucking do it.

But Seonghwa looks so excited when you come out in the matching pajamas he got for the slumber party. He’s gasping and fangirling over you as you stomp over to him. Each step seems to become just a little softer as his smile numbs your tantrum.

“Ya~!” He takes you in as you stand a few feet away. “Jung Wooyoung? Who are you? You’re too pretty to be Wooyoung,” he compliments. You might’ve frozen up at something like that, but, for some reason, you take it without a second thought, smiling proudly like a cute kitten, folding your arms at your sides as you pose for him.

No. You can’t stay. You need to leave.

“H..yung,” you mumble, the word a little unfamiliar to your lips. “Actually, I…”

“Seriously,” he huffs, coming closer, and you shut your mouth. He leans down and stares intently at your features. You can’t help but look away, your cheeks growing red as he examines you. “Your face has been so cute lately,” he mumbles. “Are you in love?”

“No,” you scoff.

“Are you lying?”

“I’m not!” you mumble, backing away slightly. He looks at you in disbelief. “I’m really not!”

“You’ve gotten a little shorter too.. ya… Do you wear high platforms to seem taller?”

Three centimeters isn’t even that much shorter… How could he notice something like that..? You nod, rolling your eyes. “So what?”

“It’s not good to wear them too much,” he sighs as he walks by.

“Whatever,” you huff, patting your cheeks as you let your quiet panic settle down. He doesn’t actually suspect anything. He’s just calling Wooyoung cute, which is a very valid observation.

“No,” Seonghwa says sternly when he walks into his room to see a snoozing cat on his bed. “No, get out.”

He grabs San’s ankles and pulls him up the bed. San just groans and lets himself get dragged, his shirt riding up his torso until he’s at the edge of the bed, his feet on the floor, his toned stomach on full display, and you… You look away, letting Seonghwa take care of the hindrance.

“Hyung,” San whines. “No one will play with me!”

Seonghwa scoffs. “San, what’s with you these days? Everyone hangs out with you all the time, but you keep complaining 'cause you don’t want to.”

“I want to play with Wooyoungie,” he says, smiling as his eyes meet yours for less than a second. “He’s so cute lately, but he won’t play with me anymore.” He frowns, looking frustratingly at the ceiling. “I don’t know if I should like it or hate it.”

“You should hate it,” you say, unable to stop yourself. “And you should get out. The room isn’t big enough for your broad shoulders.”

He glares at you, but you don’t care. That’s what you want. But when Seonghwa tries to drag him out again, he refuses.

“Hyung, I’m sorry, I’m sorry for saying I didn’t want to play with you. Please let me stay. I’m so bored. Please?”

There is NOT enough room for you, Hyung, and Choi San’s huge ass shoulders, and you’re so fucking close to chopping them off and shoving them through his pouty lips as he eats YOUR cake. The movie isn’t entertaining, despite your attempts to understand it for Seonghwa’s sake, so you're left with your mind focused on every little hindrance he brings to this otherwise nice night.

“You know, Choi San, there’s a lot of room on the floor for people with wide shoulders,” you huff.

He gives you a wide smile, shoving his dimples into your hooded eyes. “There’s room on my lap for little brats.”

You scoff, glaring at his brows as they raise. He pats his lap expectedly, but you look away with a huff.

“You could at least let us eat the cake we bought for us,” you grumble. “Instead of gobbling it up yourself.”

“No,” he says. “Seonghwa stole and ate my cake, so he doesn’t deserve any of his.” You eye him in disbelief. Is he a child? “But Wooyoungie can have as much as he wants.” He holds up a big bite, smiling big as he waits for you to chomp it off the fork.

“No thanks,” you decline. “You ate from that fo-”

He pinches your puffed-out cheeks together and opens your mouth, the cake pushed inside and smooshed against your teeth as he feeds you the bite. Your brows knit together as he pulls his hand away.

“Isn’t it tasty?” he asks, and you shake your head out of spite. “You’re so cute,” he laughs, his thumb wiping away some cream from your bottom lip. He brings it to his own and licks it off without a second thought.

Your eye twitches as you force your head to turn back to the TV. You should calm down. If your tight fists happened to collide with his face, Seonghwa wouldn’t like it very much. For Seonghwa’s sake, you should just ignore him.

But San’s shoulders are just so wide. Every time he tries to move, he bumps into you, and you can’t stop yourself from bumping back. He glares at you, and you glare back, shoulder to shoulder. It’s a war. You use your hands this time, moving his arm further from your body, but he moves it back.

“Are you serious?” you whisper harshly.

“Shh, I’m trying to watch the movie.”

“Bullshit.”

His eyes go wide. “Language!” he whispers, and you bump his shoulder in annoyance.

He doesn’t just do it back, though, he leans over and grabs your waist, and you jump. His fingers jab into your flesh, and the most uncomfortable sensation fills you. You’re helpless to his attack, pressed against the wall as he evades every defensive grab of your hands.

“Choi San,” you scold, but the jabs turn to tickles quickly, and an involuntary grin spreads across your gasping lips. “San, stop!” you laugh, pushing against his hands but failing as he keeps moving them to new places. You push against his chest hard, and he falls back a little, freezing when he bumps into the other man in the bed.

He turns his head around slowly, met with a blank expression from Seonghwa, simply trying to watch the movie.

“We’re sorry, Hyung,” San mumbles, his head low. The floor is hard against your knees, but you honestly deserve it after ruining the night Seonghwa planned. “We got carried away.”

“What’s up with you two?” he sighs, standing in disappointment above the both of you. “Why are you at each other’s throats every two seconds these days?”

“He started it,” you mumble.

“I’m sorry, Hyung,” San says, trying not to laugh, and you glare at him. “He’s just so cute when he’s mad.”

“Seriously, San?” Seonghwa sighs.

“It’s not my fault he looks extra… adorable lately! Like-!” He turns to you with great determination, motioning toward your features one by one. “His eyes are bigger, his lashes are longer, his nose is prettier, his lips are plumper, his mole…” He squints his eyes, but you cover your cheek quickly.

“I’m wearing makeup,” you mumble.

He moves your hand without much effort. “No, you’re not… Where’s your mole…” he mumbles.

“I…” Your eyes shoot from San to Seonghwa. “It..”

“You see what I mean?” he huffs, resting his case. “How do I put it… He’s so… different these days. I feel my heart flutter when he looks at me.”

“Please,” you scoff.

“Really!” he defends, backing away a little as you feel your anger rise. He can probably sense the shift in the atmosphere by now. “I don’t know what to do with myself, Hyung.” He turns back to Seonghwa. “So… it’s not really my fault.”

So San is kicked out to his own room to sleep. You argued his shoulders are far too wide for the room. Seonghwa agreed, and now it’s finally just the two of you in your matching pajamas.

“We’re so cute.” He smiles, happily biting into the strawberry cream cake sitting between you two. “We should have slumber parties more often.”

You nod, melting as you take another bite. “And I understand why you love building legos now,” you mumble. “It was very comforting.”

There’s a nice, long moment of silent cake-eating as you both delight in its taste without a greedy cat eating it all.

“Wooyoung,” he says. “You know… if you keep acting so obvious about it, people will realize…”

You shoot your eyes up from the cake, your heart stopping for a moment. “What?”

He reaches out and taps just below your eye. “That you removed your mole.”

Your brows lift as relief fills you. “Oh! My mole!” you laugh, and he laughs too, nodding.

“I know you don’t really want to bring attention to it, but you’re so bad at keeping secrets.”

You nod, taking another stressful bite. “Thank you, Hyung. I’ll work on it.”

You both finish the cake and giggle and talk all night until you glance at the clock and gasp because it’s almost two in the morning. You rush to wash up and get into bed, still giggling over stupid things. But as soon as the light is off and the room goes silent, you feel yourself dying down and drifting off quickly, like some teenagers after a long day.

Seonghwa’s bed is small, but there’s enough room for the two of you to drift off in your own areas. Seonghwa falls asleep first, making small sighs and mumbles as he snoozes away. It’s so cute. You listen to him for a while before you finally let your mind rest.

Wooyoung messages you every morning, telling you to eat and to be kind and shit, but this morning is different. It’s been a few days since your slumber party with Seonghwa, and everything has fallen into place. It all really feels like routine by now, like this is natural for you. Until you’re hit with a fucking brick, remembering the reality of the situation once again.

Y/n-nie: you got a notification..what does two days left mean??

Y/n-nie: ??

Y/n-nie: are you going to kill someone? are you counting down… IS IT CHOI SAN?!?

Y/n-nie: DONT FUCKING TOUCH HIM!

You put the phone down and stare at the wall. Your period. You’d completely forgotten about the monthly punishment for being female.

You have no pads… You have no comfort items. Do they keep pain medicine in the dorms? How the fuck will you gather supplies without anyone knowing? Especially considering that leech, Choi San.

Fuck, now that you’re awake, there’s definitely an ache forming. That useless app never guesses right. It always comes a day or so early. You groan as you force yourself out of bed.

The convenience store down the street has everything you need. You’re biting your lip to wait until you have some water to ease the pain with a pill, so you rush back to the dorm.

Jongho is eating breakfast when you trudge back inside. He looks over curiously at the sound of the plastic bag.

“What did you buy so early in the morning?” he asks. “Did you sneak out so you could get a sweet treat for yourself?” he accuses.

“No,” you grumble, pulling the bag a little behind your back so he can’t see. “It’s nothing.”

He immediately gets up, and you back away. “Why are you hiding it then?” he asks, raising a brow. He reaches behind you, but you pull it away.

“It’s nothing,” you mumble, your cramps worsening as you stand still. “Go eat your breakfast. I have to go get ready.”

“Hyung, you’re the worst liar,” he chuckles, and his hand snags the bag. You grab it back, pulling and keeping it closed as he tries to peek inside. You rip the bag in half as you try to get it back, but you snatch the pads midair and run to your room.

You really can’t do this right now. You’re bent over, leaned against the locked door as you try to ground yourself. It takes slow steps to make it to the bathroom. There are just a few small drops of blood on your panties, so you ignore them and stick a pad over. But you can’t get up. The pain has tripled since you walked through your bedroom door. There’s a growing buzz vibrating in your head as you lean it against the cold tile of the wall. Fuck, you hope you don’t pass out here. You’re sweating, hot and limp yet tense in your core, or else you think your guts might fall out. You feel like you might throw up, but that should pass quickly if you wait patiently. You bite your lip, squeezing your eyes shut as the pain only gets worse. And the binder around your chest… fuck, you can’t breathe. You take it off and leave it on the floor as you stumble to wash your hands and make it to the bed.

You search for the medicine you bought, but it’s not on the counter or floor or anything. You take a deep breath to hold in your frustration and just make it your goal to curl up in bed.

It feels a little better, no binder, soft surface, fluffy blankets draped over you, your legs pulled loosely to your chest as you lay limply on your side. You have a schedule today, but it’s not too important. You should tell your manager you’re sick, but you don’t have your phone near you. You can’t even begin to think of where that might be.

There’s a soft knock at your door, and it takes a second for you to call out for them to just come in.

“Sorry, Young-ah,” San says softly as he peeks inside. “You must’ve been sleeping.”

“No, it's okay,” you mumble, honestly just a little relieved to have something for your mind to be focused on that isn’t the knives stabbing into you.

He steps inside and closes the door. “Are you okay?” he asks as he takes in the view of you. You’re sweating and breathing heavily, curled into yourself. “Do you have a fever?”

“I…It hurts all over,” you mumble, and his expression changes from worry to pain as he watches you shift and whimper softly.

He leans down, his face just inches from yours as he gazes at your features, gently tucking away the hair in front of your eyes. “Close your eyes, baby, I’ll make you feel better.”

If you could move at all, you’d punch yourself at the way your heart flutters just slightly. Instead, you listen and close your eyes, gazing just a second longer at his gentle features.

“Youngie~” It’s such a gentle voice, a sweet hum to your pounding ears. A soft hand is placed against your cheek, your head lifted slowly, as if not to disturb your sleep, as if you’re the most delicate thing to ever touch his skin. As if it’s actually carefilled, loving.

San’s face is clear even before his features straighten in your hazy gaze. His eyes are trained on your lips, careful fingers softly pushing two pills between them. A glass taps them then, and warm tea meets your tongue at a slow, patient pace. You swallow, a shiver gliding down your chest to your aching stomach as the delightful warmth of the tea touches your swollen insides.

“Did you eat yet today, Youngie?” he asks, placing your head back on the fluffy pillow.

“No,” you mumble. “I’m not hungry.”

“You should eat something,” he says, and he starts to get up, but your eyes widen a little. If he leaves, your mind will focus on the pain, and it hurts so much. You reach out before you can even think and grab his sleeve. “I’ll be right back,” he says, gently clasping your hand as he tries to leave. “It’ll make you feel-”

“Please stay,” you mumble. “Just for a little… It still hurts so much.” You pull a little, and he steps closer. “L-lay with me for a bit?” What are you even saying? You just… know he can make you feel better. You don’t care about anything except making the cramps disappear quickly.

The bed sinks softly as he lays behind you. Under the covers, a new warmth meets your back, a soft breath against your neck. You relax against him, feeling the subconscious tension in your limbs fall into his calming aroma. His body curls into yours, matching your form, bigger and warmer, keeping you perfectly content aside from the dulling ache.

“What’s wrong, Youngie?” he mumbles, his warm breath puffing gently across your skin. “Did you overwork yourself again?”

You lower your gaze to the movement of the blanket as he wraps his arm around your waist, his hand meeting your stomach. His fingers dip under your shirt, spreading across the width of your body, and you shudder at the feeling. You should probably move away. He could find out your secret. You wouldn’t mind. He could make you forget all about the pain and make you drift asleep with his touch.

“We love you, Wooyoung.” His thumb caresses your skin in slow rubs. “You can take your time, and we’ll always be here to listen to your troubles. You don’t have to keep them all to yourself.”

You don’t say anything. It’s not really your place to say anything anyway. Even if… some people should know their place, it’s good to know Wooyoung has a family he can count on.

You’ve mastered the art of Wooyoung. It’s been five weeks since you took your brother’s place, and you feel very immersed in the role. You’ve learned all of the inside jokes by now, figured out each of the members, and perfected almost all of their choreographies. You could become Wooyoung at this point, and no one would ever know. You survived your period without anyone knowing. Sure, everyone knew there was something wrong, pitying you the whole week while you wobbled around, but no one suspected a thing. You’re just too good at this.

“Sangie,” you mumble, chewing happily on the freshly grilled meat. “Should we visit my sister next time we have a break?”

Yeosang smiles at the sudden suggestion. “Sure. I haven’t seen her in years.” Oh, he’s so cute.

If Yeosang comes to visit you once you’re back in your old life, you’ll be able to get a glimpse of the little chapter in your boring life you actually enjoyed. So you’ll set up lots of dates and promises before you leave. Serves Wooyoung right anyway.

“Another bottle of soju, please!” Seonghwa calls out, sitting across from you at the table. He smiles when he catches your eye. “You’ve worked so hard, Wooyoung. Let it out tonight.”

“Kay,” you mumble happily through your food.

The company dinner is a nice reward after your endless effort to keep up with the schedule that comes with Wooyoung’s life. The food is delicious, the atmosphere is bustling and joyful, and you get to drink for the first time in fucking forever.

Every shot makes you melt into your seat, a content, relaxing sigh leaving your lips. Except…

“Youngie, plea~se!” There’s been a child whining in your ear the whole night. “Please do it with me?”

San’s face is bright red, his eyes glazed over as he rocks back and forth with a strong pout. You’re ignoring him, enjoying your food without even listening to his request.

“I’ll do anything,” he mumbles, feeling a little defeated. Your brow quirks at that.

“Anything?” His posture fixes itself as soon as your eyes land on him, and he nods eagerly.

He’s so fucking drunk. He said he was a good drinker but got quiet after two shots. Then he started begging to have a competition. You might indulge… if it means you can get something from him. Amusement at watching him humiliate himself. You giggle to yourself before turning to him with a newfound encouragement.

“Pour the shots.”

His hand is trembling as he clanks the bottle against your glass, nearly spilling the whole thing as he pulls away. You bring the glass to your lips when he does, and you catch his eye, a determined look in him.

One shot, and he’s breathing heavily, but he won’t give in. You’re a pretty good drinker, but you’ve already had a lot, and you’re getting pretty hazy yourself.

Two shots. Three shots. Seven shots. You’ve finished two bottles, one each, and you can hardly keep your vision straight. He’s swaying back and forth, arms limp in his lap as he stares blankly at you. You both lost, but you probably won’t remember the whole event by morning, so you forget it, slamming your head to the table with a huff.

San mumbles something, as he gets up. Maybe he’s going to the bathroom. It would be so funny if he drops outside the toilet and everyone would see him. You snort to yourself. You wanna see it happen.

You stumble to your feet, following him through the tables to the bathrooms. It’s empty inside, quiet and dim. He goes in and stands by the mirror. He runs his fingers through his hair, groaning against his cool hands.

“Wooyoung… what are you doing to me…” His voice is so low and slurred, but you make out every word, and it fills you with rage. This again?! You thought by now he’d have learned his lesson and kept away, but he’s still going after you? No, after your brother?! You guess he’s so fucking slow, he needs it shoved in his face.

“Choi San!” you shout, and he looks up, shocked. “Shut the fuck up!” He frowns as you stomp over to him, looking guilty but not sure why. You grab his wrist and unhook that fucking binder. As it falls to the floor, you shove his hand under your shirt and onto your chest. His eyes widen like crazy as you scowl at him, his hand trembling. “I’m not fucking Wooyoung! And you need to learn your fucking place!” you shout, panting. “You don’t get to-!”

“So that’s why…” he mumbles, his fingers twitching around your flesh. “I’ve wanted to fuck you lately…”

Your face drops, your brows knitting together. “What?”

“Fuck…” he groans, squeezing your breast as he takes in your flushed form against his. “That’s why your face is so pretty. I’ve wanted to kiss you so bad. Every time you yell at me, I’ve wanted to push you so far, so you just shove me to the ground and have your way with me.” He sighs, leaning his forehead against yours. “Because you’re not Wooyoung. I probably knew the whole time… you just can’t guess something like that.”

“Yeah?” you scoff, and he nods, bringing his hands to your hips as he pulls you flush against him. “You’re a fucking liar. I know you just want to take advantage of Wooyoung.”

“I’ve never thought of him like that until recently. Until it wasn’t him.”

Fuck. Fuck! He’d practically known the whole time?! If he knew the differences right away, who knows if you even got away with any of it at all? You bite your lip, trembling with frustration and anger.

“You weren’t very good at hiding it… now that I think about it.”

You shove him against the wall, a deep scowl on your features. His grin as you shove your finger into his chest just fuels you even more. “Bastard,” you bite. “I worked day and night for fucking weeks, and you aren’t even surprised?! It wasn’t worth it at all?!”

“Don’t be mad,” he coos, leaning forward again.

Your restraints are snapping one by one as you glare from his cat-like smile to his squinted eyes. He’s having the time of his life. You don’t even try to stop your hand from wrapping around his throat as he leans closer and closer. You close your fingers, tightening just as his lips meet yours with a low groan.

The movement is intense as soon as the flame is lit. His lips don’t fight for the dominance you place over his, your hand around his neck bringing him lower, closer to your dangerous taste. Your breaths are tangled, vocal, and quick as you kiss over and over in a maddening dance.

“Don’t fuck with me,” you growl, but his only response is to cup your face and bring you closer, biting your bottom lip gently before kissing it better.

You glare at him as you tangle your hands in his hair, pulling lightly and fuming at the way he groans against your lips. What does this fucker not like? You really want to test his boundaries, make him regret playing with you. You want to push him to the ground and fucking destroy him just to watch him finally understand the authority you have over him. You-

The door opens, and you’re both immediately separated, facing away from each other, pretending like nothing was happening. Jongho walks in, pausing when he sees the view. San’s messy hair, sticking up like it was clearly grabbed, your flushed faces, the piece of clothing at San’s feet. San kicks it behind him quickly.

Jongho gives a blank look. “Did you two fight again?” he asks, used to the cat fights by now. “Anyway, we’re going home. Come on, Hyung.” He motions for you to come, and you almost hesitate. If not for the much-needed clarity Jongho’s interruption brought, you would’ve done so much more damage. You would have ruined everything. You rush out of the room behind him.

“You can’t yet. We’re almost done here. Hold out for a little longer.”

“No. Fuck this! I can’t do this, Wooyoung! I’m going crazy!” you shout into your phone. “I…” You can’t fucking tell him. You’re being swayed by the members. Changed and warped into something you’re not. You’re starting to like it here, and you need to go back to your life… where no one else will ever bother you, and you can live alone again. Forever. “I need to get out of here,” you say.

“Just one more week,” he says. “Please…”

One more week. “Fine.”

But you’re not going to be nice about it.

San doesn’t talk to you, and you don’t talk to him, but you feel his eyes on you while you’re all practicing for an upcoming festival performance. He’s looking blankly. Maybe he doesn’t even remember what happened. But it doesn’t matter. You’ll never see him again after this performance. And you’re so fucking glad.

“Hyung, come on! Get into it!” Jongho shouts, his eyes meeting yours through the mirror.

You give him an annoyed look, your head hurting too much to care much for the dance. The music is pounding in your ears, but you move anyway. They’re lucky they get that from you after a late night of drinking.

“Hyung,” Jongho chuckles. “Why are you so down?” He leans in, giving you a suddenly serious expression. You lean away. “Is it ‘cause you and Sannie are fighting again?”

You eye him. “Yeah,” you mumble. “He’s a fucking jerk.”

He laughs, smacking your chest, and you flinch. He keeps his hand there, though, raising a brow. You step away. “Hyung, are you working out more? Is Sannie forcing you to go to the gym with him? Is that why you’re always mad at him?” He goes to feel your chest again, but a veiny, furious hand grabs his wrist.

“Don’t touch people like that, Jongho,” a tight-voiced San spits bitterly. Jongho’s eyes grow a little wide as he tries to retract his hand.

“Fuck,” he grumbles, finally snatching his arms back, rubbing his wrist. “Sorry.” You’ve never seen the maknae so quick to listen, giving an annoyed look before walking away.

You don’t even bother with San, just walk away. Your head is fucking throbbing.

“Get it together,” is all Hongjoong has to say to you and San when he pulls you aside the night before the performance in Japan. It’s obvious the chemistry and friendship Woosan have that the fans love is missing. It’s obvious to everyone that something is going on, and you’re just being petty, but you don’t fucking care.

After ignoring him for a week, though, you think you can get away with it. Until those bastards fucking lock you into a closet. They lure you in, and, suddenly, it’s just you, San, and a room hardly big enough for one person.

Your chest to his, feet staggered, breath against breath, and the need to fucking kill someone are all resting in this dimly lit closet.

“You two can come out when you’ve made up,” Hongjoong sighs. “If you miss the performance, so be it. You have thirty minutes.”

“This is your fucking fault,” you scoff as soon as you hear him walk away.

“My fault? As if you didn’t lie to everybody and then make everything complicated by kissing me,” he argues.

“Me? You literally said you’d been thinking about fucking me!” you whisper aggressively.

“I was drunk!”

“So was I!”

Your faces are hardly separated at all, your words and breaths mixing as the closet grows hotter and hotter.

“You! You lust after my brother! You’re a bastard!”

His brows twist in confusion. “I do not. He’s my best friend… I don’t like him like that!”

“Liar! We look exactly the same!”

He shakes his head quickly. “You have prettier eyes! They’re bigger, and the color is different!” He points to each feature, gazing at them with determination. “You have a cuter nose than him! Your lips are softer than his! Your hair is softer than his! Your jawline isn’t so defined! You have the cutest features that obviously aren’t his! Your body is smaller and the perfect shape! Your expressions are cuter! You get mad all the time, but you make the cutest face! You don’t even understand how unlike him you are! You’re so obviously Y/n! So maybe I did fall for you a bit when I thought you were your brother, but it’s because of those changes that make you so different from him! Because you’re fucking adorable!”

He’s panting, scowling even, as you just stare at him. Honestly, you blanked out. You didn’t even hear the end. Your name rolled from his lips without a second thought. You can’t decide if it hurts your heart or fumes it with rage, or even if it makes you happy. You’re so conflicted, just staring in silence.

When the door opens again twenty minutes later, you’re both still staring in silence. Despite the threat, you both have to perform without giving evidence of reconciliation.

And, being on stage again, you’ve decided that you’re fucking pissed. Your mind goes a little blank as you perform the choreo you’ve recited for hours on end, day after day, just for your brother. You’re fuming, glaring at the crowd, the fans of your brother. The members who laugh and dance with your brother. Each move that adds to that fucking reputation you’re here to protect. For your brother. And the man who you came here to put in his place so that your brother is never hurt. The man who you refuse to accept you want just because he’s your brother’s best friend, and you need to protect your brother’s image and do every fucking thing for HIM.

You’re standing here at the edge of the stage, the instruments ringing in your ears. You’re red. You’re dancing in circles as you let the energy of the music take hold of your mind. You need to release everything, or you might just fall into the crowd. Your chest is so tight. You need something to get rid of this feeling. You’re so fucking sick of it. You want it gone.

The music? The fans? The dance? The members? The performance? Choi San? His hooded eyes meet yours as he leans closer. The cameras are on you, yet he moves closer and closer. You’re in a heated daze, meeting him closer. Your foreheads collide, your breaths dancing as he whispers to you.

“Use me.”

“Get this off right now,” you demand, gripping his shirt as you stumble into your hotel room. You strip off your pants, backing him to the bed just as his shirt gets over his head. His breath hitches as he watches you toss your panties off to the side, gazing at your bare legs. You quickly throw your shirt over your head, and his eyes follow your fingers as they unzip the binder. Within a minute, your entire body is bare to him, and he’s so fucking hard.

You admire his chest, biting your lip as you run your fingertips over his beautiful features. It’s not like you aren’t used to it by now. The man lives without his shirt, but seeing it here, just for your eyes, makes you so excited.

You push him to the bed, climbing on top of him. As soon as his head hits the mattress, two hands are grabbing his hair and shoving his mouth against your leaking cunt. You watch his eyes roll as he licks against your sweet core, his tongue grinding against your clit before he kisses it prettily. You sigh, grinding down against his tongue and pulling him closer by his messy locks.

“That’s it, Sannie,” you groan. “Use your lips for something good for once.”

His hands grab your thighs to pull you lower, putting your weight on his face until all he can feel or breathe is your pussy. His tongue is messy and quick, diving into your hole as he groans against you.

“You like that?” you scoff, biting your lip as he hums. “You liked being choked in the bathroom too, didn’t you? You wanna drown in my pussy?” You feel the bed shift as his hips buck slightly into the air. You know he’s rock hard, but he’s being good and not touching himself like you know he so desperately wants to. “Fuck,” you whimper as he sucks on your throbbing clit. “Only you can make me this wet anyway. You deserve it.”

The sight is making you dizzy, his brows furrowed, eyes hazy as they gaze at your figure above him. His lips are pressing and pleasuring just the right spots, his tongue fucking your tight hole and drinking your arousal over and over again. You can’t help but let your voice escape in your breaths as you roll your hips along with his movements.

If you’d known he could do this, you might’ve told him earlier. No, that’s not true. Because you can’t have Choi San. You’ll fucking take him anyway.

You push his face away, scowling as his warm breath fans your dripping folds. You move to sit on his lap, and he jolts when you grind your hips down on his erection. His mouth is messy with your arousal, his lips plump from their desperate work.

He wants you so fucking bad, but you can’t have him?!

You press your lips to his neck, noticing the way he bares the skin for you to taste. Your teeth graze his soft, unmarked skin, and you want to sink into him so fucking bad. You want to mark him and show everyone he belongs to you, even if you’re not allowed to have him.

You press your teeth into his throat lightly, and his breath hitches, his hips pressing up against you. His breath against your ear is heavy as his fingers entwine with your hair, pulling you closer to his neck, teeth deeper into his skin. That’s right. He wants to be used. He wants to be owned.

You bite his neck, a moan escaping his lips as he trembles beneath you. You lick at the indents, nibbling and sucking all over his neck to leave your trace. Every part of him should be marked. You’re fuming, latching onto his collarbone, his chest, nibbling on his nipple just to watch him get more and more worked up beneath you.

“Y/n,” he whimpers. It must have been ten minutes of this. He’s enjoying every little mark, every little sensation, panting and whimpering as you have your way with him.

“What’s wrong, Sannie?” you ask, sitting between his legs, cheek resting on his inner thigh as he begs you with his gaze for more. “Does it hurt?” You gently poke his erection, straining painfully against his pants.

He nods. “You’re so mean,” he whines.

“Don’t you know that’s what you signed up for?” you chuckle. “Don’t you know how fucking furious I am right now?!” He nods, biting his lip as he watches you eye the twitch in his bulge. “Playing with you is helping me, Sannie. I’m sorry if I’m being mean,” you coo. You tilt your head as an idea meets your mind. “Do you want to show me? How should I make it up to you?”

“C-can I touch you?” he asks, his expression falling when you shake your head.

“No, Sannie. How do you want me to touch you?” His eyes go a little wide in embarrassment. “Show me.”

“I… I don’t know,” he mumbles, looking away as his face flushes a deep pink.

“Come on, Sannie,” you mumble, stretching the waistband teasingly. “Don’t be shy. Show me how you want me to touch you.”

His hands tremble as they hesitate with each motion toward his erection. He palms himself over his sweats first, gazing at your features as you watch his hand. He’s so embarrassed, but the eager, aroused expression on your face is spurring him on. He wants to give you everything you want.

His hand slides into his pants, and he takes his cock out, groaning at the way you lick your lips. He strokes himself slowly, tightly. He doesn’t want to cum. Not by himself. But the sight of you on top of him has him so fucking sensitive. Each slow stroke has an airy moan leaving his lips. He tries to keep them in because he’s so embarrassed to be feeling this good all on his own, but it’s useless.

His thumb swipes across the tip every few strokes, his body jolting each time. Precum is leaking more and more, and the sounds are getting so lewd, so wet.

“Do you like it there?” you ask, running the palm of your hand over the head. He moans, grabbing your wrist without even thinking.

“Yeah,” he chokes out. “Yeah, it feels g-good there.”

You sigh, sitting back and watching his thick fingers slide against himself. He’s big and thick, just like the rest of him. It’s veiny too, feeling far too explicit for the cute man Choi San is. Watching this innocent man stroke himself just the way he likes it just makes you so fucking desperate to get your hands back on him.

You bite your lip as you move off of him.

“Come here, Sannie.”

He’s quick to shove his pants off and move to between your legs, his hands finding your waist without a second thought, rubbing your soft skin as he catches his breath.

“I’m so frustrated,” you sigh. “But if we feel good together, I might feel better. Hmm?” You reach down and spread your slicked folds for him to see, inviting him inside, but he doesn’t move, his eyes trained on the sight. “Come on, San, fuck me.”

He groans, grabbing his cock and lining it up with your hole. Just as he’s about to push inside, you can’t help but crack a knowing smile.

“Since the head feels so good for you, only put that in,” you say, and his head shoots up so fast, his brows twisted in confusion.

“Y/n,” he mumbles. “I wanna feel you, though.”

“You showed me how you wanted to be touched, Sannie. I’ll make you feel good. With just the tip.”

He looks devastated, and you almost laugh at how adorable it is. But he pushes inside anyway, jaw-dropping at how warm you are inside.

“Fuck,” you groan, your back arching as your mind goes blank for a moment, the pleasure of being stretched on his cock better than anything else. But he keeps going. “Sannie,” you warn, and he stops quickly, looking away guiltily. “Does it feel good?” You press yourself just a bit deeper, and he nods quickly, biting his lip as he glares at the connection between you two.

He doesn’t start moving until it becomes unbearable just sitting in your warmth. There’s hardly any way to move, but he grinds the tip in and out of your pussy, frustration and pleasure pulling at his mind. It’s so tight and wet, but he can hardly feel it. He wants to feel it all. He wants to fuck you hard and deep. This isn’t enough at all.

But you look like you could cum any second, his tip pressing against your g-spot, stretching you enough to grind just softly against your clit. It feels fucking amazing. And better yet, you know he’s getting pent up with every second he’s left with just an inch of your pussy to enjoy.

“Y/n,” he huffs, gazing at you desperately, feeling dizzy with how you’re grinding against him, moaning and whimpering softly. “C-can I go deeper please?” he mumbles.

You shake your head. “I’m so close. Keep going,” you say breathlessly.

He gazes at how you’re dripping, soaking his length and the sheets. He watches you clench around what little your desperate pussy can find. He can’t help but want to feel you convulse around him. He needs something. Anything. So he rubs his fingers over your clit, watching your eyes roll back as you grind faster and harder, going just a bit deeper. Maybe you’d suck him in. He could go deeper without you even realizing it. He could feel your cream on his cock. He rubs faster, hearing the growing squelch of your overflowing slick as the length grinding inside becomes longer and longer. He holds his moans at the overwhelming pleasure slowly being revealed to him. Until you drop your hips, his cock pulling out completely. He glances at you in confusion.

“Are you being bad, Sannie?” you ask, panting and fuming at your orgasm being delayed simply because he couldn’t do what he was fucking told. “Were you being greedy? Gonna fuck me even though I said no?”

He shakes his head quickly. “No!” he insists. “I was just trying to help you cum,” he mumbles.

“And you lie to me?” you scoff. “Bad boys don’t get rewards, Sannie. Sit there and be good for once, fuck.” You bring your fingers to your clit, and he stays still between your legs, cock hanging uselessly. You rub hard and fast, biting your lip as you rebuild the tension you’ve lost.

“You- You’re gonna cum on your own?” he mumbles, distressed as your soft moans get louder, and your movements get faster. “I- I can help,” he panics, but you push him away with your free hand with a grunt. He falls back onto the bed, eyes frantically switching from your throbbing pussy to your blissed-out expression as you get closer and closer. His chest is so tight. He wants to feel you cum around him so fucking bad, but you’re being so mean. Why the fuck are you messing with him so much?! He feels like a spoiled brat, but he’s so angry, so frustrated. He just wants to make you feel good, pound into your pussy, but you’re making everything so difficult!

“F-Fuck me,” you moan out as you’re right on the edge. Your eyes meet his in a hazy glare, but he’s frozen. Did he hear you right? Your jaw is clenched as you hold in your orgasm for him. “Fuck. Me.”

His cock slams into you, and you rub your clit fast and hard, your walls clenching around him as he thrusts quick and deep into you. Your eyes roll back as you let out your pent-up moans, your climax taking over your entire being, your limbs trembling as you cream around his cock.

His head falls to your shoulder as he whimpers with each hard, desperate thrust. His hips slam against yours, the slick between you making a mess on your skin. It’s loud and sloppy, no one caring much for decency anymore as you chase the pleasure you’d been building up for. His hands are on your hips, pulling you to meet each thrust impatiently. And his cock is so fucking thick, running along your walls and hitting every desperate spot within you.

“San! Ngh~! San!” you moan, your voice being knocked out of you with each thrust. He’s panting against your skin as he bites and kisses your shoulder and neck. “K-kiss me,” you breathe, hardly able to get out a word that isn’t his name as his relentless pace drowns your thoughts.

His lips smash against yours, his hips rolling as he focuses on your tongue against his, the taste of you clouding his frustration for a long moment.

“Y/n,” he groans as your fingers run through his hair. “S-So pretty,” he mumbles, kissing you again and again. “So tight, just for me.” His hips pick up their pace again, and your lips can’t keep up with his, pleasure with each slam hitting your entire body.

He rests his forehead against yours, gazing into your teary eyes as your puffy lips fall apart into unsuppressable moans. He wraps his arms under your thighs and raises them higher, pressing deeper into you with each thrust.

“S-San,” you whimper, watching his hungry eyes move from your pussy to the tears dripping down your cheeks. “C-can you say my name?”

He pecks your lips, panting as he chokes out, “Y/n.” You nod, your pussy fluttering around him as his low voice meets your ears.

“San, fuck~” you shout as his fingers find your clit and rub fast. “Again, baby, please say it again.” Tears are streaming down your face as your clit and your hole are pleasured thoroughly, mind going blank as he growls your name again and again.

“San,” you pant. “S-San~ Ah.. ngh I’m so close,” you cry, grabbing onto his shoulders as the pleasure moves faster and harder through your body. Your eyes are rolled back, your head dipped into the pillow as you thrust your pussy against his sloppy movements, his voice getting higher and more desperate with yours.

“Y/n, Y/n, fuck, you’re so tight,” he growls, slamming your hips against his cock as he buries himself deeper and deeper, losing his rhythm. “Cum with me, baby- ngh~” he moans, and you pull him as close as possible, your arms wrapped around his head as your body convulses with immense pleasure, his thrusts riding your high and fingers keeping it going for so fucking long, your lips trembling and voice breaking as you let go. He buries himself deep, his cock twitching as he meets you there, his voice high and unsuppressed right beside your ear. You’re filled with his warmth, spasming as you feel him fill you. You’re so full, so warm, so satisfied, panting as you hold him close.

Your legs slowly slide to the bed as he lets himself lean his weight on you, just slightly. You don’t mind. It’s warm and comforting, being so close, being so vulnerable. His head slowly rises, and you let him, your arms falling to the bed. His eyes are still hazy, meeting yours with soft trembles. He gives you a soft, lazy kiss before slowly pulling out and collapsing beside you.

You don’t say a word as you curl into his chest, letting him hold you there, breath against breath, no worries nor thoughts, just comfort.

“A sex cult?” His jaw drops, and you nod, cracking up. “How do you even…” He sighs. “He’s so odd.”

“But we used to do this all the time as kids. You know, I trained with Yeosang and Wooyoung at BigHit.”

San raises a brow. “Sangie didn’t recognize you?”

“Well, it’s been a while, and… you know,” you giggle. “He never really knows what’s going on.”

He laughs, nodding as he holds you close to his chest. “You’d think he’d remember such a feisty personality.”

You pucker your lips. “I’d say it’s more passionate than feisty,” you mumble. “I can’t help but get angry… I’m sorry for being so rude.”

He pauses for a second, then pushes you away so he can really look at your face. “No, I don’t accept your apology. Why did you tease me so much?”

You blush, looking away shyly. “I didn’t really…”

“I was dying, Y/n,” he says, completely serious. “You enjoyed my struggle.”

“Well,” you huff. “I was so angry at everything. I just needed you to fuck it out of me, you know?” He raises his brows. “You wouldn’t have if I asked. You’d be too careful about it,” you argue. “So I just worked you up to it. I’m sorry, Sannie.”

He grins, shaking his head in disbelief before pulling your head back to his chest. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Wooyoung, when will you be here?” you whine into the phone, lying lazily on your couch.

Wooyoung promised to bring Yeosang and San to your hometown during their next break. It’s been a month since you returned home. Your hair has grown to your shoulders, and you’re so excited to see them again. Wooyoung was hesitant when you mentioned bringing San. He thought you might try to kill him since you didn’t succeed in your time as Wooyoung.

But you just want to see him again.

You’ve been texting and calling every day since you left, but a long-distance relationship is so frustrating. And you’re hiding it from Wooyoung nonetheless. Maybe one day you’ll tell him, but you don’t want him to freak out about it.

When the front door opens, you shoot to your feet. Wooyoung strides inside and gives you a big hug, but you don’t even bother with him, moving past him to greet the important guests. Yeosang is smiling brightly, handing you a little gift, and San… San is as dangerously perfect as you remember.

You bow politely. As your head lowers, you let a blush spread across your cheeks. Is it wrong… in front of everyone… that you want to take him away and feel him again? You’ve been talking for a month, but you haven’t been able to have a deep connection. The temptation to take him away right now is so strong.

“Nice to meet you, Y/n,” he says.

“Yeah,” you mumble. “I’ll… show you around.” You turn to Wooyoung and Yeosang quickly. “‘Cause you guys have been here.”

You start walking before anyone can even say anything. San follows, and, as soon as you enter your bathroom, you pin him against the wall and melt against him as his arms wrap around your waist. Your lips meet hard and fast.

“I missed you so much,” you whisper, hardly any sound at all as your lips are too busy memorizing the feel of his. You cup his face in your hands as you pull him closer to your movement. “San…” you sigh.

You both freeze when a figure walks into view and stops beside you. You both glance over, eyes wide in shock as Yeosang’s horrified expression meets you.

“You- We- S-” He’s looking from you to him, covering his mouth, speechless.

“What’s wrong?” Wooyoung calls out. “Are they fighting?!” Wooyoung runs down the hall, but you push away from San immediately, standing beside the sink with a composed expression masking your panic.

Yeosang is still looking from you to San, unsure of what to do, but a single twitch of your head tells him not to say a word.

“Young-ah, that’s not nice,” San jokes. “Why would we be fighting?”

He eyes you skeptically.

“Did she threaten you?”

“Ya,” you grumble. “I was just showing him the rooms. I wouldn’t pick a fight with someone I just met.”

“Uh huh,” he mumbles before turning to go back to the living room.

“Since when are you guys…” Yeosang mumbles. “I mean, you’ve never met.”

“We’ll tell you everything,” you sigh. “But later. We don’t want Wooyoung to know. He’d go crazy.”

Yeosang looks conflicted. You know he can’t lie. You know he can’t keep a secret. Especially from Wooyoung, who presters him until he tells him everything he knows. But you’re really counting on him. Wooyoung definitely can not know.

“I’ll buy you chicken,” you offer, and he’s immediately made up his mind.

You return to your brother, the other two going to the kitchen to prepare the food they brought for lunch. Wooyoung looks lost in thought when you sit next to him on the couch.

“What’s wrong, Youngie?” you ask, looking toward the kitchen cautiously.

He sighs. “Actually, Y/n, I didn’t just come here to visit.” He bites his lip. “I sort of got into some trouble… again…”

You look at him in disbelief. “Again? What happened this time?”

“Well… that lady from Paris… the one that got me into this mess. I didn’t want to tell the company. Like, we won the case. I’m not in that cult anymore.” He lowers his voice. “But I really wanted to settle it quickly, so I went to visit her personally.” Your jaw drops just a bit. “And she gave me a contract that would settle everything. I didn’t…”

“Fuck, Wooyoung,” you laugh in disbelief.

“She tricked me!” he argues. “She’s a master manipulator!”

“So what now? Did you sell your soul to the devil? Did you… I don’t know… become her slave or something?”

“Marriage.”

“No fucking way,” you scoff. “What didn’t you read to sign a fucking marriage contract? Are you actually slow?”

“I know, I fucked up,” he whispers. “But please help me out one more time. I… I’ll figure it out.”

“Does-”

“Young-ah, I thought we got two orders of the spicy chicken,” San mumbles as he walks into the living room. Your conversation stops with a long sigh from your lips.

“I’ll do it,” you tell your brother, reaching for the chicken box in San’s hands. “It’s fine. We can share.”

It’s not like you don’t have your own reasons anyway.

taglist ~

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pumpkiiin-spice · 11 months ago

Note

ateez’s reaction to the first time you staying over at their place and wearing their clothes. i can already imagine mingi not gonna look away lol

𝗦𝗹𝗲𝗲𝗽𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗘𝗭

𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: 𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲, 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳, 𝘀𝘂𝗴𝗴𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝗴𝗻!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 (𝗶𝗳 𝗜 𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗳𝗲𝗺 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘀 𝗯𝘆 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁, 𝗹𝗲𝘁 𝗺𝗲 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄! 𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗮𝘀 𝗴𝗻 𝗮𝘀 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗯𝗹𝗲), 𝘀𝘄𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝗦𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗴𝗵𝘄𝗮 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗪𝗼𝗼𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗸𝗲𝘆 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘃𝘀 (𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝘀𝗻'𝘁 𝘁𝗼𝗼 𝗳𝗮𝗿 𝗯𝗲𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗹𝗼𝗹), 𝘀𝘂𝗴𝗴𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁𝘀, 𝗽𝗲𝘁 𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝘀 (𝗺𝘆 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲, 𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝗯𝗮𝗯𝘆, 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘁𝘁𝘆, 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘀 𝗝𝗼𝗻𝗴𝗵𝗼 "𝗯𝗲𝗮𝗿" 𝗼𝗻𝗰𝗲), 𝗛𝗼𝗻𝗴𝗷𝗼𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝘀 𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗸𝗲𝘆 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘀𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝘃𝗲 (𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝗮 𝘁𝗼𝘅𝗶𝗰 𝘄𝗮𝘆), 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘀 𝗦𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗴𝗵𝘄𝗮'𝘀 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘄𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝗹𝗲𝗲𝗽, 𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲/𝘀𝗲𝘅 (𝗜 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗯𝗼𝘁𝗵 𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗺𝘀), 𝗺𝘂𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹 𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 (𝗼𝗻 𝗬𝗲𝗼𝘀𝗮𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗝𝗼𝗻𝗴𝗵𝗼'𝘀 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁) 𝗔𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗪𝗵𝘆 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲, 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆𝗼𝗻𝗲! 𝗔𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗹𝗺𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝘄𝗼 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗵𝘀, 𝗜'𝗺 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸! 𝗛𝗼𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗹𝘆, 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗿'𝘀 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗸 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗱𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗳𝘂𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝗺𝗲 𝘂𝗽 𝗹𝗼𝗹. 𝗠𝘆 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝗱𝗼 𝗔𝗡𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗼𝘄 𝗴𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝗹𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗹, 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗜'𝘃𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗿'𝘀 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗸 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗜'𝗺 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗻𝗼𝘄! 𝗠𝗮𝘆𝗯𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗜 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗹 𝗼𝗻 𝗠𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗹𝗼𝗹. 𝗕𝘂𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝘄𝗮𝘆, 𝗜 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗮𝗴𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗶𝘀𝗵 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝗺𝗲 𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥. 𝗔𝗻𝗼𝗻, 𝗜'𝗺 𝘀𝗼𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗦𝗢 𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁! 𝗜 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶𝘁 𝗺𝗲𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀. 𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗜'𝘃𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁, 𝗺𝗮𝘆𝗯𝗲 𝗜'𝗹𝗹 𝘂𝗽𝗹𝗼𝗮𝗱 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿. 𝗟𝗲𝘁'𝘀 𝘀𝗲𝗲... 𝗕𝘂𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝘄𝗮𝘆! 𝗛𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗹𝘃𝗲𝘀! 𝗦𝘁𝗮𝘆 𝗵𝘆𝗱𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱, 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆𝗼𝗻𝗲! 𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂~!

Seonghwa

Seonghwa had invited you over to his dorm to have a Lego date. You, unable to say no to those pretty, big brown eyes, had accepted. He had bought a new set from the botanical collection (which was very pretty, you had to admit) and you both spent a while separating the color pieces and started building. When you both had finished, it was already half past nine at night. Normally, Seonghwa would take you back to your place, but you knew he had an interview tomorrow morning and his manager wouldn’t be happy with you if you were both out at this hour.

“Do you feel comfortable sleeping with me?” Seonghwa suggested.

You both had been dating for three months now, but you had never stayed at the dorms or vice-versa. You wanted to say no, that it was no bother, but you had no other choice. You didn’t bring your car because Seonghwa had picked you up. Defeated, you let out a sigh and agreed to stay. Seonghwa seemed more than happy that you were staying over, which made you wonder if he had been waiting for this opportunity since you started dating. There was one small problem though…

“Hwa, I don’t have any clothes to change.”

He stopped suddenly before leaving his room to find a clean towel for you. He had missed that detail.

“I think Hongjoong is about to leave his studio. I can ask him to buy you some clothes on the way to the dorms.”

He noticed your worried expression, knowing that you feared bothering more than you felt you were. As a last option, he went to his drawer and took out a large, comfortable shirt accompanied by some boxers.

“I’m sorry… This is all I have to offer now. I’ll buy you some clothes next time we’re out and keep them here in case this happens again.”

You looked at him tenderly and approached him to give him a warm hug.

“Thank you, Hwa.” you whispered softly in his ear and grabbed the clothes to go change.

While you changed your clothes, Seonghwa put away the remaining pieces you didn't need and set up the bed for the both of you. Seonghwa loved cuddling with you, especially if he was playing Animal Crossing, but sleeping with you was something you hadn't done yet. Although it wasn’t anything sexual, it was intimate, and Hwa seemed to like that more than he should.

“Thanks again for letting me borrow your clothes and letting me stay with you.”

Your voice interrupted his thoughts and he looked up at you, quickly feeling his cheeks heat up. "It's just a t-shirt and underwear," he thought, wanting to convince himself that his reaction was exaggerated, but it was his shirt and underwear. And you looked so comfortable with them that he was sure he wanted to give them to you.

"Is something the matter?" you asked once you noticed your boyfriend didn't respond to what you said earlier.

"No, no. I was just looking." he replied, his eyes stuck to your thighs. He felt dirty, staring at you like he wanted to devour you just by simply wearing his clothes, but you looked so... pretty.

"If you're only going to stare, I might as well make the first move." you chuckled, grabbing Seonghwa by surprise as you got closer and kissed him. "You know you can touch, right?"

And oh boy was Seonghwa going to touch. In fact, he was going to enjoy this sleepover... And suggest that you stay more often. Your clothes aren't needed when you have his. You won't stay too much with them on anyway.

𝗛𝗼𝗻𝗴𝗷𝗼𝗼𝗻𝗴

Something you loved about Hongjoong was his passion for fashion. Therefore, you were always willing to help him in any way you could, including being his model. Tonight was no different.

You had suggested that you both should design a piece of clothing and the other should wear it when you go out again. Hongjoong, without hesitation, agreed to the proposal.

The plan was to stay with him tonight and spend as much time together as possible before he left to Morocco for the Mawazine Festival in two days. Altering clothes wasn't something you normally did, but seeing him so happy and focused was the only thing you needed to make you think about doing this with him.

"I think it's done." Hongjoong declared, lifting the jacket to look at his artwork. "Why don't you go and try it on and see if you like it?"

Hongjoong had sewn some designs onto the sleeves of the jacket, and a beautiful rose was painted on the back. He had to go wash it so that the excess paint wouldn't remain, and it was a little wet, but with the air conditioner, it had dried enough so that now you could try it on. You smiled proudly, always surprised by his creations.

"That's beautiful, Joong." you sighed in surprise and put your brush aside to go to him. "I'm almost finishing yours, so I'll try this on quickly and then finish decorating your cap."

While you were trying on the jacket, Hongjoong went to see how your cap was looking. He was surprised to see fake diamonds glued to the cap's crown, placed in a way that looked like a spider web. He was impressed by how good it looked.

"My love, this is looking amazing." Hongjoong turned to look at you, just as you looked in the mirror to admire the jacket.

"Oh my God, Joong. This is so cool! You're so talented!" you gasped, staring at yourself in awe.

Hongjoong was happy that you liked it, and he admitted that it looked amazing on you, but there was something that… was different. Not only was it the joy it brought you to try something he made, but it was also that you were wearing it. You were wearing something he made. It was like you were saying "I'm Kim Hongjoong's partner" and he loved that.

"Yeah, you should wear it more often. It looks good on you." Hongjoong suggested, eyeing you with a hint of possessiveness.

And just like that, Hongjoong discovered something that turned him on. Seeing you with his clothes.

Yunho

Today was the perfect day to stay at home and do nothing. It was raining and cold, so you and Yunho decided to stay inside and spend the day playing video games or watching movies.

While you were in bed playing on your Nintendo Switch, Yunho was sitting in his gaming chair playing Valorant. Although you were both focused on your games, from time to time you would exchange glances or smile at each other to see if the other was okay.

After a while, you started to get cold. The air conditioner and the cold of the rain were getting to you and you had left your hoodie in your apartment, so you decided to grab one of Yunho's hoodies and put it on. It was so comfortable and warm that you felt like you could melt into it. And not only that, but you could smell his intoxicating perfume. This dangerous combination almost put you to sleep, but you wanted to continue playing your game and keep an eye on Yunho in case he needed anything.

When one of his games ended, Yunho turned to look at you and noticed you were almost asleep. He laughed a little when he saw you in that state until he noticed that you had his hoodie on. He was surprised since he hadn't noticed you had grabbed it, but it didn't bother him. He thought it was…cute. You looked comfortable and safe with it on and Yunho couldn't help but think that something as simple as a hoodie of his could make you feel like that.

"Darling?" he called you, grabbing your attention.

"Hm?" you hummed, feeling tired.

"Want to cuddle and sleep for a bit before ordering food?" he suggested with a soft smile.

When he saw that you nodded, Yunho said goodbye to his teammates and turned off his console to go lie down next to you.

"Here, baby." Yunho turned off your Nintendo Switch and put it to charge. "Come here."

You got closer to Yunho and cuddled close to his chest, instantly falling asleep by his touch.

Yeosang

Of all the things that could have happened to you, your apartment needing to be fumigated because of cockroaches was one of the worst things. You had nowhere to go while they dealt with that plague. Luckily for you, your best friend Yeosang had offered to let you sleep over while that was being dealt with. His offer surprised you because you knew the risks you could take if a fan saw you in the boys' dormitories, but Yeosang insisted on helping you. Always so cooperative and willing. Maybe that was why you had a little crush on him.

When you arrived at the dorms, the boys greeted you kindly and welcomed you. You weren't as close to them as you were with Yeosang, but you got along well with them and vice versa. Especially because you all had something in common: loving Kang Yeosang to the core.

They had agreed that you would sleep in Yeosang's room. They took out a mattress from God knows where and took it to his room. You couldn't be more grateful for their hospitality.

"And if you need anything, just let any of us know." Hongjoong finished saying and turned to look at his members. "Well, now let's leave Yeosang and Y/N alone so they can settle in better."

"Thank you so much, Hongjoong." you bowed, grateful.

Once the boys left, you were left alone in the room with Yeosang. He gave you a smile that you swore would have melted you if you didn't have self-control.

"Thank you once again for receiving me, Yeo. I know it was too sudden."

"It's ok. I just wanted to help you out."

Dammit. The blush forming on your cheeks needs to calm down before he notices.

Since the boys had to get up early tomorrow to rehearse, they agreed that they would go to sleep early. Although you weren't much for going to bed early, you had to admit that all the chaos today had you exhausted, so you didn't reject the idea. But first, you were having dinner.

Wooyoung had cooked before you arrived. He wanted you to have a plate of hot food; something relaxing after all that chaos. When they sat down to eat, everyone was chatting animatedly, and they included you in the conversation so you didn't feel left out.

"So, tell us, do you have a special someone in your life?" Wooyoung asked bluntly, causing you to blush.

"No, no one yet." you answered, your food now seeming very interesting.

"No crush on a certain boy?"

You choked on your drink, causing you to spill some on your shirt. The question caught you off guard, especially when that certain boy was right next to you.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry." Wooyoung apologized and got up to get you a piece of paper towel.

"It's alright." you answered with a cough. "I was just careless."

You looked down at yourself, seeing how the liquid was spilled over your shirt. The worst part was that Yeosang was looking at you. You wished the Earth would swallow you.

Yeosang got up from the table and went to his room, coming out a few seconds later with a clean shirt of his.

"Here." he offered.

"Oh, thank you. You didn't have to." you gave him a soft smile and looked at his shirt. "I'll go change."

You could swear you were burning hot by how intense you felt you were blushing. He was your best friend and crush. He was just doing what any friend would do. Then WHY were you feeling butterflies in your stomach?

Meanwhile, Wooyoung teased poor Yeosang about "how much of a gentleman and prince-like he was." Yeosang didn't know if he wanted to slap him or feel appreciated.

"I just wanted to help." he said, trying to end the conversation.

"But you do like her, Sangie! You're just a biiiit shy." Wooyoung continued to tease.

"Lower your voice, Woo. We don't want to embarrass him." Seonghwa scolded and gave Yeosang a small smile. "Just don't let them go, ok?"

Yeosang thought they were just being annoying. He didn't like his super sweet, beautiful, and wonderful best friend. He did not have a-

"There you are! Now we can continue eating."

Yeosang turned around when he heard Yunho and saw you. He swore his heart skipped a beat when he saw you wearing his shirt. But why? It was just a shirt. His shirt, yes, but just a shirt. It's not like he would imagine you embracing him and enjoying how he knew you liked wearing it- oh fuck, he had a crush on you.

He kept thinking about and staring at you until it was time to go to bed. You were on the mattress sound asleep already. Honestly, he thought it was cute how you seemed so calm and sleepy. He denied his feelings for a while. Was he afraid about the difficulties of your relationship? Was he afraid you didn't like him back? There were quite some possibilities, yes, but Seonghwa was right. He couldn't let you go. But not now. Now wasn't the proper time to confess his feelings.

"You're so beautiful." Yeosang whispered, hoping you hadn't heard him, and wishing you a good night.

San

You swore you were the luckiest person in the world right now. I mean, your boyfriend is THE Choi San. He's sweet, and a total gentleman. You knew you were lucky when he asked you out on your first date.

Now, you guys have been six months together. In all this time, he was patient and took things slow with you so you didn't feel pressured to do anything you didn't want to. But, you were sure you wanted to go to the next level last night. You were sure of what you wanted to do.

Yesterday was your anniversary, and San thought that it would be cute to have dinner and stargaze. You were out until around 10:30, so it was best you stayed at his dorm with him. What happened after you arrived felt like a dream. You and San made love, or so he called it. It felt warm and fuzzy just thinking about it. It did feel like love. It was so sweet and pleasuring, but so full of love. You giggled just by remembering every touch and kiss. So, you decided to make breakfast for him to surprise him after he gifted you such an amazing night.

You got up from San's bed, where he was lying next to you. He had put your clothes to wash last night, which meant you only had your underwear to wear. You looked through his closet to see if you could find anything you could wear until you came across a white button-down dress shirt. You turned to look at him, still asleep, and grabbed it.

After a while, San woke up from the smell of chicken porridge. At first, he thought it was one of the guys making breakfast, but then he saw you weren't in bed and imagined what you were doing. He smiled, thinking you were the sweetest. When he went to the kitchen, though, he didn't expect he'd see you wearing one of his shirts.

It took his breath away. It sounded exaggerated, but it felt... intimate. Yes, you were intimate last night, but this was another type of intimate.

San approached you cautiously and hugged you from behind, causing you to jump. Noticing that it was him, you let out a small laugh and held his hands.

"Good morning, Sannie. Did I wake you up?" you asked while turning your head to plant a kiss on his cheek.

"Mhm." he answered, his head buried in your neck. "But I don't mind."

You smiled to yourself. You could get used to this. To this love and intimacy.

Mingi

Being Song Mingi's partner was anything but boring. When fans say he's a little boy trapped in a man's body, they're right. He can go from laying down and cuddling with you to randomly picking you up and taking you wherever he wants in a matter of seconds. And today, it was the latter.

Mingi wanted to go to a manga café with you. He was looking for the newly released volume of Chainsaw Man and wanted you to help him. Although you tried to reason with him that it was too late to leave, in the end, you gave in and accompanied him. However, you did not expect a deluge to fall when you left the café.

"Hurry, hurry!" Mingi exclaimed while laughing and grabbed your hand. "We're about to get to the car!"

You got into their car, soaking wet. Mingi offered you to go to the dormitories with him and stay as an apology for the rain that hit you both. You had never stayed overnight, but it wasn't safe to drive home in this rain, so you agreed.

When you arrived, you and Mingi were shivering from the cold. Seonghwa scolded you and forced you both to take a hot bath so that you wouldn't get a cold. Mingi, somewhat embarrassed, brought you to his room and looked for clothes for you.

"I'm sorry that I made hyung scold you." Mingi whispered sorrowfully.

Hearing that you laughed, Mingi looked at you in surprise and offended.

"Are you laughing at me?" Mingi asked, offended.

"No, no, no." you quickly clarified, your laughter slowly ceasing "I'm just not upset at all."

Mingi looked at you in confusion and you approached him to hug his neck.

"I had a lot of fun going out with you and running under the rain with you." you admitted, a smile adorning your face. "It felt romantic."

Even after you went to take a bath, Mingi was still standing in the same place, his cheeks red, and he had a big smile. He didn't care if someone came in and saw him. What mattered to him was that you were happy to spend time with him.

He sat on the floor (he didn't want to wet his bed) and started looking for movies so you could both watch. If you were going to stay overnight, he wanted you to have a good time with him. Just like you said you'd spent it with him when you went out a few hours ago.

"It's your turn, Mingki." you called out.

"I'll be there in a minute." Mingi answered and turned to look at you out of the corner of his eye, but turned completely when he saw you in his gray long-sleeved shirt.

He wasn't sure if it was because of how your legs looked, if you smelled like him now, or because his shirt smelled like you. He wasn't sure which was better, but he did love how that damn basic shirt fitted you. My God, he wanted to give it to you!

"Mingi, I told you to go take a bath," you repeated, crossing your arms in front of your chest. "As Seonghwa said, you can catch a cold."

"Screw that." Mingi said and came over to carry you. "Let's take a bath together."

"What?! Mingi, I already took a bath!" you screamed and started kicking your feet, but Mingi ignored you. "Song Mingi, put me down!

"Sorry, pretty. Can't hear you."

Wooyoung

Baking with Wooyoung wasn't like you imagined. Based on his personality, you thought Wooyoung would be chaotic and make a mess in the kitchen while helping you bake, but you ended up surprised. It turned out that Wooyoung was quite clean when it came to cooking. Yes, he joked with you, but he kept everything organized. Your expectations went up because of that.

It was your third date together and you loved spending time with him. Not only was he funny and caring, but he was also attentive and protective. He would tease you and give you a kiss or two on the cheek and you swore you felt butterflies in your stomach. I mean, how could you not? He was all you were looking for.

Thinking about Wooyoung, you got distracted and threw baking powder on yourself. You noticed when you heard Wooyoung's outrageous laugh.

"Oh, God. I'm sorry," you apologized, embarrassed that you weren't paying attention.

"I didn't know you were part of the dessert," Wooyoung said, laughing in embarrassment at how weird that sounded.

You laughed, both because you found it funny and it made you blush.

"You're so cheesy, Woo." you said with a laugh as you brushed the baking dust off your clothes. "Agh, I need to change my clothes."

"But you don't have clothes," Wooyoung noted. "Would you mind wearing one of my jackets?"

"No, it doesn't bother me," you replied. "Thank you, Woo."

After explaining where the shirts were, Wooyoung continued baking and you went to change. He had told you that you could put it in the washing machine and then he would explain to Seonghwa why there was an unrecognized shirt with the rest of their clothes. The whole situation had embarrassed you, but Wooyoung didn't seem to react negatively to the little incident. On the contrary, he took it with humor. You found yourself smiling like a fool again thinking about him. This had to be a sign that he was the one, you thought.

You returned to Wooyoung, who was pouring the cupcake mix into de baking cups.

"Allow me to help." you offered, standing behind him and helping him.

"Don't worry, I can handle it. You go and relax."

Wooyoung turned to force you to sit down but stayed quiet as he looked you up and down. Contrary to how he imagined the shirt would fit you, his black tank top fit you perfectly. Especially on your chest. God, he couldn't stop looking at your chest no matter how much he wanted to. He's an atheist, but he thanked God and other heavenly entities that your shirt got dirty and you used one of his.

"Woo, my eyes are up here." you teased, snapping your fingers in front of his face.

"Wh-? Oh, yeah, yeah. I know." he cleared his throat and turned around to continue pouring the cupcake mix into the baking cups.

You laughed at his reaction because you knew that if you wore that shirt, Wooyoung wasn't going to take his eyes off you. So what our dear Wooyoung didn't know is that your move had turned out perfectly.

Jongho

When the boys warned you about how Jongho acted once he was fully comfortable with someone, you didn't believe any of their warnings were serious. Jongho seemed like a serious boy, but kind and full of love. You swore that Jongho couldn't do any wrong. Now, you regretted a thousand times for not having listened to them sooner.

You and Jongho became friends almost a year ago. Although you thought he was handsome, you didn't want to ruin the friendship between the two of you. You thought things were better this way. Therefore, you and him had become good friends. That meant, however, that Jongho was now bothering you whenever and however he wanted, like now.

You had met a guy at university recently. You thought he was cute and funny, so you asked him for his number and tried to give him a chance. You had been texting each other during the day until Jongho invited you to the dorms because he wanted you to help him with some Legos he had bought thanks to Seonghwa. You, without hesitation, said yes and you arrived in the blink of an eye. The problem was when Jongho realized that you were receiving several messages and how you were smiling at your cell phone when you answered them.

"Who are you texting?" he asked you once, trying to see who you were texting.

"No one important." you brushed him off, putting your phone down and continuing to help him.

However, Jongho wasn't an idiot. He knew you were talking to someone and that someone was making you smile. Out of curiosity, he grabbed your cell phone and tried to unlock it.

"Choi Jongho!" you yelled at him, taking the phone out of his hands. "Next time, touch your nose and have fun with it!"

Still doubtful, he tried several times to see your cell phone, but he failed. It wasn't until Jongho gave you something to drink and you spilled the liquid on your pants (he totally didn't give you a broken glass on purpose) that you finally left him alone with the cell phone and went to change your pants for one of his.

You returned after a while wearing one of Jongho's shorts, who seemed to be staring at you a little more than usual.

"Do they look that bad on me?" you asked him, turning around to look over your shoulder at yourself.

"No. They look good." Jongho reassured, his eyes lingering on your legs a little longer than usual.

You sat back down and checked your phone to see if the guy had texted you. Once you had finished answering him, you went back to helping Jongho assemble Legos. He, however, didn't take his eyes off you.

Your phone vibrated again, so you grabbed it to answer the message. Jongho, deciding that enough was enough, threw himself on top of you and took your cell phone from you.

"Jongho, what the fuck?!" you screamed, surprised and a bit pissed off by his reaction. "What's up with you today?!"

"What's up with me?" he asked, snorting, offended by the question. "You're the one who's too busy on your phone, even though you're supposed to be spending time with me."

You raised an eyebrow at him. The idea of Jongho being jealous seemed absurd to you, but that's what it seemed like.

"Are you jealous, bear?" you asked, laughing softly.

"I am! Why are you paying attention to another guy when I'm here in front of you?" he confessed, seeming a bit frustrated that you didn't get it.

"Come on, Jongho. There's no need for that. Besides, it's not like you have a crush on me or something."

"Said who?"

What?

"What?" you asked in shock.

"What?" he laughed nervously.

"What?" a voice said.

When you two turned to look at the owner of the voice, you saw Hongjoong on the door frame of Jongho's bedroom, staring at Jongho on top of you and holding your hands above your head.

"Wait, Hongjoong, it's NOT what it looks like." you panicked.

"Hyung, I swear. I'm not-"

"I don't want to know." he simply said, leaving the room with a tired sigh.

You two looked at each other and quickly straightened up, each on opposite sides.

"So, um..." Jongho started, unsure. "Want to stay over tonight?"

Your phone vibrated again, but this time you didn't respond. Instead, you gave Jongho a shy smile and nodded.

"Yeah... I'd like that."

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