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harrysfolklore · 10 days ago

Text

labyrinth - fc43

summary: as the only female driver on the grid, everything in yn's life was planned like a perfect qualifying lap. then franco colapinto had to show up. first, he was just that annoying new guy who took her best friend's seat. then he became the driver she absolutely couldn't stand (or at least that's what she kept telling herself) word count: over 13k + social media posts

folkie radio: GUYYYYSSS SHE'S HERE! i started writing this fic in september and it's finally her time to shine!! this is my first time writing driver!reader so please be gentle with me. also, HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! may all of your wishes come true

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 1,027,537 others

yourinstagram p6 in zandvoort ! happy to see max on the podium for his home race. see you soon monza 🇮🇹

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username1 LEGEND

username2 p6 with that tractor feels like a podium finish fr

username3 give your seat to danny already

oscarpiastri Well done stinks 👊

↳ logansargeant Don’t praise her, her ego gets inflated

↳ username2 BEST TRIO ON THE GRID

↳ yourinstagram you’re both so jealous of me

redbullracing Keep pushing ! 💙

↳ username1 FIX HER FUCKING CAR

username4 p6 in a redbull? just hand the seat to someone more deserving

francolapinto Amazing 🙌🙌

↳ username2 franco is such a fannn

danielricciardo Proud of you 👌👌

↳ username1 haters want to create this beef between yn and danny for the seat but him adores her

maxverstappen1 Look she’s a nice teammate

↳ yourinstagram you adore me 😤

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

A knot forms in your stomach as you read the messages. Something about the tone doesn't sit right with you. You quickly head towards Logan's motorhome, your mind racing and your axiety creeping in.

When you arrive, Oscar is already there, leaning against the wall with a concerned expression. Logan sits on the couch, his shoulders slumped and his gaze fixed on the floor.

"Logan?" you ask softly, stepping into the room. "What's going on?"

He looks up at you, then at Oscar, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and resignation. "I… I'm not coming back for the next race," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You feel like you've been punched in the gut. Deep down, a part of you had known this was coming. Rumors in the paddock spread faster than a Formula 1 car on a straight, and there had been whispers about Logan's seat for weeks. But you hadn't wanted to believe it. You'd pushed those thoughts aside, convinced that if you just ignored them, they wouldn't come true.

"What? What do you mean you're not coming back?"

Oscar pushes off the wall, his brow furrowed. "Mate, what happened?"

Logan takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "Williams… they're replacing me. I'm out."

The room falls silent for a moment as the news sinks in. Then, all at once, you feel a surge of anger coursing through your veins.

"They can't do that!" you exclaim, your voice rising. "It's mid-season! You've been improving, you've been working so hard. How can they just… just throw you away like this?"

Logan shrugs, a bitter smile on his face. "Apparently, they can. And they have."

A wave of emotions come crashing to you. Anger at Williams for their decision, frustration at the ruthless nature of the sport, and an overwhelming sadness for Logan.

Oscar moves to sit beside Logan, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, mate. This is bullshit."

You start pacing the room, your anger building with each step. "Who are they replacing you with? Some pay driver? Some rookie who's never even touched an F1 car?"

"Franco Colapinto," Logan says quietly.

You stop in your tracks, whirling to face him. "Colapinto? The F2 kid? Are they out of their minds?"

Oscar tries to interject, his voice calm. "YN, maybe we should-"

But you're too fired up to listen. "No, Oscar! This is wrong. It's so wrong. Logan deserves better than this. He deserves a chance to prove himself. How is he supposed to do that if they don't even give him a full season?"

Logan looks up at you, a mix of gratitude and sadness in his eyes. "I appreciate you having my back, stinks. But it's done. There's nothing we can do about it now."

You shake your head. "No, there has to be something. They can't just replace you with some F2 kid like that. They're out of their minds."

"YN," Oscar cuts in firmly. "I know you're angry. We all are. But right now, we need to be here for Logan. This isn't about us or what we think is fair. It's about supporting our friend."

As Oscar's words sink in, you feel a wave of guilt wash over you. He's right, of course. This isn't about your anger or your sense of injustice. It's about Logan, your friend who's just had his dream ripped away from him.

The three of you have been racing together since you were kids, climbing through the ranks side by side. You've shared victories and defeats, laughter and tears. You've pushed each other to be better, to chase your dreams relentlessly. And now, one of you is being left behind.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. "I just… I can't believe this is happening."

Logan manages a small smile. "It's okay, stinks. I appreciate your passion. It's one of the things I've always admired about you."

"Remember when we were in karting, and YN nearly got into a fist fight with that kid who tried to push Logan off the track?" Oscar says with a small smile, trying to light up the mood.

"How could I forget?" +

Logan chuckles softly, "She was like a tiny ball of fury."

You feel a smile tugging at your lips despite the situation. "Hey, nobody messes with my boys and gets away with it."

"And nothing's changed," Oscar adds, giving you a fond look. "We've always had each other's backs, through everything. This is not the exception."

Without another word, the three of you come together in a tight group hug, a physical representation of the bond you've shared for so many years.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri and 2,017,697 others

yourinstagram logan, you’re more than just a friend — you’re family. we’ve raced together since we were kids, dreaming of f1. to see that dream cut short for you is heartbreaking

your talent, dedication and kindness have always shone through. you deserved better than this mid-season swap. this sport can be cruel, but this feels especially unfair and i’m angry that my friend’s journey has been interrupted

but i’m also incredibly proud of you, logan. you have handled this with grace and strength and this isn’t the end for you — it’s just a detour. love you, stinks 🥲

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username1 IM SOBBING

username2 i still can’t believe this

username3 well hold your tears because you’re next

pierregasly Chin up, mate @/logansargeant you’re a champ 👊

alex_albon You will always be family @/logansargeant, It’s so sad to see you go

username4 that was cute now hand your seat to daniel or yuki

username5 THE FIRST PIC 🥺🥺 IM NOT OKAY

username6 oh she’s PISSED

username7 this is so unfair for logan

username8 colapinto has an enemy on track already and it’s her 😭

username9 the best trio will be incomplete now i’m not okay

username10 YOU NEXT BYE BYE

logansargeant Thank you for everything, go make me proud 💙

↳ username1 IM SOBBING AGAIN

liked by francolapinto, landonorris and 410,764 others

williamsracing Franco Colapinto to race for the remainder of the 2024 season.

username1 VAMOOOS

username2 hello?? hes cute

username3 OKAY I SEE

username4 good thing for the team, sargeant was just not it

alex_albon Welcome to the fam @/francolapinto 👊

username5 KIIING

username6 an f1 kid who's not even top 5 right now in the championship? risky move

yourinstagram not even giving logan a proper goodbye? yall suck

THIS COMMENT HAS BEEN DETELED

username1 OMFG YN WE SAW THAT

username2 YN 😭😭

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Monza is always a race to look forward no matter what team you drive for, but today, your excitement is just not there.

The paddock feels different without Logan's presence, you have always raced alongside him, and not seeing his face during a race weekend feels wrong.

As you make your way through the bustling crowd, you can't help but feel a pang of sadness and anger. Inside the Red Bull hospitality area, you find Max already settled in, scrolling through his phone. He looks up as you approach, a sympathetic smile on his face.

"Hey, kiddo. How are you holding up?" he asks, gesturing for you to take a seat next to him.

"As well as can be expected, I guess," you slump into the chair, running a hand through your hair. "It just feels wrong, you know?"

"Yeah, I get it," Max nods, his expression thoughtful, "How's Logan doing? Have you talked to him?"

The mention of Logan's name ignites that spark of anger inside you again. "He's… he's putting on a brave face, but I know he's hurting. This whole situation is such bullshit, Max. Williams made a huge mistake."

Max raises an eyebrow, sensing the storm brewing beneath your calm exterior. "You want to talk about it?"

That's all the invitation you need. The words start pouring out of you, your voice rising with each sentence.

"It's just so unfair! Logan was improving every race. He was working his ass off, putting in the hours, doing everything the team asked of him. And for what? To be tossed aside mid-season for some rookie?"

Max tries to interject, "Well, Colapinto has been pretty impressive in F2-"

But you're on a roll now, barely registering his words. "Impressive in F2? So what? F1 is a whole different ball game. Logan was just starting to get comfortable, to really show what he could do. And now they've brought in this Colapinto kid who's never even driven an F1 car, who's probably a paid driver who's just going to waste everyone's times. What kind of message does that send?"

You stand up, pacing back and forth as you continue your rant. "Williams is making a huge mistake. They're throwing away all the work Logan put in, all the data they've gathered. For what? A gamble on some unproven talent? And don't even get me started on how they handled it. No warning, no real explanation. Just 'Thanks for your service, now get out.' It's disrespectful, it's short-sighted, and it's everything that's wrong with this sport sometimes."

Max watches you, a mix of concern and surprise on his face. He's never seen you this fired up before. "YN, I understand you're upset, but-"

"No, Max!" you interrupt him, "You don't understand because you'll never have the fear of having your seat taken from you out of nowhere. You're Max Verstappen. You're safe. But for the rest of us… we're always one bad weekend away from losing everything."

Max's brow furrows, clearly taken aback by your statement. "YN, that's not true. I worked hard to get where I am-"

"I know you did," you interrupt again, your voice softer now. "I'm not saying you didn't. But you have to admit, your position is different. You're a world champion. You're untouchable. But for drivers like Logan, like me… we're always looking over our shoulders, always wondering if this race will be our last."

Max is silent for a moment, processing your words. "I guess you're right, I've been in a secure position for so long, I forgot what it's like to worry about your seat." He pauses, then adds, "But you know, you're in a unique position too. You're the only woman driving a Formula 1 car. That's pretty special. You should feel-"

You cut him off, your frustration flaring up again. "Exactly! I'm the only woman here, Max. Do you have any idea how much more pressure that puts on me? Every move I make is scrutinized. Every-"

Before you can continue, you spot Franco Colapinto walking past the Red Bull area, chatting animatedly with his new race engineer. The sight of him in Williams colors sends another wave of resentment through you, and you turn away abruptly.

"I need some air," you mutter, storming out of the hospitality area, leaving a bewildered Max in your wake.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The sun beats down as you stand next to Oscar on the flatbed truck, waiting for the drivers' parade to begin. The usual buzz of excitement surrounding Monza feels muted to you, overshadowed still by Logan's absence and the presence of his replacement.

"Oi, what's with the long face?" Oscar nudges you playfully with his elbow. "You look like someone stole your last Tim Tam."

"Oh shut up, you dork," you can't help but crack a small smile, "As if I'd ever let anyone near my precious Tim Tams."

"Too right," Oscar grins. "But seriously, how are you holding up?"

You shrug, trying to keep your expression neutral for the cameras. "Oh, you know, just peachy. Nothing like a bit of midseason drama to spice things up, right?"

"Always the optimist, aren't you?" Oscar rolls his eyes, "Come on, I bet you twenty quid you can't name all the Italian F1 circuits without googling."

"You're on, Piastri," you say, grateful for the distraction. "Monza, Imola, Mugello…"

As you're racking your brain for more, you notice Franco Colapinto approaching. Your playful mood evaporates instantly.

Franco's eyes widen as he gets closer, clearly starstruck. "Uh, hi," he says nervously. "I'm Franco. I just wanted to introduce myself."

Oscar, ever the diplomat, smiles and extends his hand. "Hey mate, welcome to F1. I'm Oscar."

Franco shakes his hand before turning to you, his expression one of barely contained awe. "And you're YN. I… I can't believe I'm actually meeting you. You're such an inspiration. The way you've broken barriers in this sport, it's incredible. I've followed your career since your F3 days and-"

You cut him off, your voice cool. "Thanks. Welcome to the grid."

Franco's smile falters, but he presses on. "I just wanted to say how much I admire what you've accomplished. You've paved the way for so many young drivers, especially women in motorsport. It's an honor to be racing alongside you."

You nod stiffly. "Thanks," you repeat, your tone making it clear that you're not interested in continuing the conversation.

An awkward silence falls over the group. Oscar, sensing the tension, tries to smooth things over. "So, Franco, how are you finding the step up to F1 so far?"

As Franco turns to answer Oscar, you take the opportunity to step away, moving to the other side of the truck. You can feel Oscar's gaze following you, but you can't bring yourself to engage in small talk with Logan's replacement, no matter how well-intentioned he might be.

As you're standing alone, Alex approaches, a sympathetic smile on his face. "Hey, mind if I join you?"

You shrug. "Free country, Albon. Or free truck, I guess."

Alex chuckles softly. "How are you doing? I know this can't be easy for you."

You sigh, your guard dropping slightly with Alex. "It's… complicated. I'm angry for Logan, but I know it's not Franco's fault. It's just…"

"It's the reality of the sport we're in," Alex finishes for you. "Trust me, I get it. Been there, done that, got the Red Bull rejection t-shirt."

Your stomach twists at the mention of that, suddenly remembering the endless conversations and warnings from your team. And how despite having a contract for next season, there's threats about your seat being take away after every race weekend. But you push the thought away.

"Always the comedian, aren't you?"

"Someone's got to keep the mood light around here," Alex grins. "But seriously, I know it's tough. Franco's a good kid, though. He's been working really hard, trying to learn as much as he can."

You nod, not quite ready to let go of your resentment but appreciating Alex's perspective. "How's he settling in?"

"As well as can be expected," Alex says. "He's got a lot to learn, but he's eager. It's a big step up from F2, but he's handling the pressure well so far."

You're about to respond when the parade starts moving. Alex gives you a supportive pat on the shoulder before moving back to his spot. As the truck rolls down the straight, the cheers of the Tifosi wash over you. You lift your hand to wave, a mix of emotions swirling inside you that go beyond just Logan's replacement.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 1,638,578 others

yourinstagram p8. it is what it is. ciao monza 👋

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username1 you will always be the moment

username2 FIX THE FUCKING CAR ALREADY

username3 ouu shes DONEEE

username4 most undeserved seat on the grid i swear

username5 anyway RICBULL IS COMING

francolapinto Such a pleasure to race alongside you!

↳ username1 franco respects and admires her so much i love it

↳ username2 im pretty sure yn hates him tho

username6 the constructors championship is gone thanks to her

logansargeant Chin up, love you 💙

↳ username2 i miss them so much

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 and 12,739 others

f1gossip YN arriving at Red Bull HQ in Milton Keynes

Tensions running high as rumors swirl about potential driver shake-ups. Sources say YN’s recent performance has bosses considering options

Is the Honey Badger eyeing a comeback or could young Liam Lawson be making the leap to F1? 🤔

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username1 bro...

username2 they better fix her car NOW

username3 RICBULL RICBULL

username4 honestly the best thing for the team would be her getting replaced

username5 YAAAS SHE'S OUT FINALLY

username6 oscar is the only 2023 rookie who actually puts in the work

username7 some people need to start putting some respect on yn's name bc yall keep forgetting she was third in the championship and got her first win during her ROOKIE SEASON and the reason she's struggling rn is bc redbull is not getting their shit together

↳ username1 right??? they're just saying shit

↳ username4 you said it yourself, she has a championship winning car and she's not delivering. she should be out

username8 YN GET BEHIND ME

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 1,638,538 others

yourinstagram great quali, we should have some fun tomorrow 😚

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username1 SLAYYY

username2 p4 after all the nonsense surrounding her seat? feels right

username3 THE QUEEN OF BAKU FOR REAL

lilyzneimer my favorite supergirl 💙

username4 she got lucky

username5 don't care, we still want danny or liam in that seat

username6 enjoy the race bc it might be your last

username7 watch her on that podium tomorrow

logansargeant Super proud always

↳ username2 LOGAN WE MISSS YOUUUU

francolapinto 🤩

liked by username1, logansargeant and 270,847 others

redbullracing Solid race and a bunch of points for the team 👊

Result 🏁PIA, LEC, YN P3, NOR, Max P5, ALO, ALB, COL, HAM, BEA

#F1 #RedBullRacing #AzerbaijanGP

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username1 SO DAMN TRUE

username2 yn back on the podium FINALLY

username3 yn saw the rumors about her seat and decided to shut them up

username4 SHES BEATING MAX FINALLY

username5 did they finally fix the car

username6 i don't want anyone commenting on her seat anymore

username7 i knew she got into that care absolutely PISSED

username8 QUEEN OF BAKU

liked by oscarpiastri, francolapinto and 1,764,933 others

yourinstagram was that entertaining? 😙 so happy to be on the podium for osco's second win, i love you so muuuch you diva

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username1 LEGEND

username2 she's so smug

username3 TELL THEM QUEEEN

landonorris The third pic is definitely your best @/oscarpiastri

↳ yourinstagram IKR

↳ username1 I LOVE THEM

logansargeant Congrats to both of you @/oscarpiastri @/yourinstagram I'm always proud of everything you achieve ❤️

↳ username2 logan should be there too i'm sad now

↳ oscarpiastri Love you mate

↳ yourinstagram this paddock will never be the same without you

maxvertsappen1 🙌🙌 So proud of you little sister

oscarpiastri Love you stinks

francolapinto Congrats! Always an honor to race alongside you

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The drivers' briefing has just concluded, and you find yourself lingering in the room, chatting with your friends.

"I swear, I almost peed my pants at that press conference!," Lando says, his eyes widening as he recalls, "When Max and YN just sat there in silence, staring down the journalists… I thought I was going to lose it!"

Pierre chuckles, giving you a knowing look. "I knew YN was the mastermind behind that. It has her written all over it."

"Well, someone had to make a point about these ridiculous penalties," you can't help but grin.

The group's laughter is interrupted as Franco approaches, a tentative smile on his face. "Hey guys, mind if I join?"

The others welcome him warmly, and you feel a knot forming in your stomach. You force a tight smile, trying to keep your emotions in check.

"Franco, mate!" George exclaims, patting him on the back. "That was some impressive driving in practice. You're settling in well."

Alex nods in agreement. "Yeah, you're really holding your own out there. Williams made a good choice."

You feel your jaw clench at Alex's words, but you remain silent, watching as Franco's face lights up with pride and gratitude.

"Thanks, guys," Franco says, his voice humble. "I still have a lot to learn, but I'm giving it my all."

"Well, it's paying off," Lando chimes in, "Points in just your second race? You're pushing that Williams harder than we've seen in a while."

As the conversation continues, with each driver offering praise and encouragement to Franco, you feel your frustration and anger building.

The memory of Logan's disappointment and unfairness of it all, mixed with the ever present threat of you seat having the same fate, bubbles up inside you until you can't contain it anymore.

"And what about Logan?" you snap, your voice cutting through the friendly chatter like a knife. The group falls silent, all eyes turning to you in surprise. Franco's smile fades, replaced by a look of discomfort and guilt.

"YN…" Oscar starts, his tone cautionary.

But you're too fired up to stop now. "No, seriously. Everyone's so quick to praise him, but what about Logan? He was improving every race, working his ass off, and for what? To be tossed aside mid-season?"

The atmosphere in the room becomes tense. George and Alex exchange uncomfortable glances, while Pierre shifts uneasily.

Franco, looking distressed, speaks up. "I never meant for Logan to lose his seat. I just took the opportunity when it was offered to me. Any driver would have done the same."

"Oh, so that makes it okay?" his words only fuel your anger. "You just 'took the opportunity'? Do you have any idea how hard Logan worked for that seat? How much he sacrificed?"

"YN, that's enough," Oscar says firmly, placing a hand on your arm.

But you shrug him off, your eyes blazing as you face Franco. "You waltz in here, taking a seat you didn't earn, and everyone's falling over themselves to congratulate you. It's not right. It's not fair."

The room falls into a shocked silence. Franco looks like he's been slapped, his earlier excitement completely deflated. The other drivers are staring at you with a mix of surprise and disapproval.

It's George who finally breaks the tension. "YN, I think we all understand you're upset about Logan. We all are. But this isn't Franco's fault. He's just trying to make the most of his chance, like any of us would."

You feel a flush of shame creeping up your neck, but your anger is still simmering. "You don't understand," you mutter, but the fight has gone out of your voice.

Franco, looking genuinely distressed, takes a step towards you. "I'm sorry about what happened to Logan. I really am. I have nothing but respect for him, and for you. I never wanted to cause any problems."

His sincerity catches you off guard, and for a moment, you see not the driver who replaced your friend, but a young, talented kid trying to navigate a difficult situation. However, your anger and frustration gets the best of you.

"Whatever," you mumble, pushing past the group and out of the room, leaving a stunned silence as you disappear.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by lewishamilton, alex_albon and 709,639 others

francolapinto still buzzing from singapore 🇸��growing up watching Lewis battle in marina bay and now getting to race wheel to wheel with him... surreal doesn't even begin to cover it 🤯 and that fight with YN for position was proper racing - those last few laps were intense! thank you to the team for giving me a car that could fight at the front. vamos 💪

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username1 he’s an f1 driver now but he’ll always be a fanboy

lewishamilton Good racing kid, you've got a bright future ahead 👊🏾

williamsracing Our boy! 💙

username3 Did anyone else notice how aggressive YN was when overtaking Franco? Almost pushed him into the wall...

↳ username1 fr she looked like she wanted to crash him

↳ username4 they were racing for position, that's what racing drivers do 🙄

username5 the way he always mentions YN in his posts but she never acknowledges him 👀

username6 that move from YN was unnecessarily aggressive, could've ended badly

landonorris Great drive mate!

liked by yourinstagram, maxverstappen1 and 2,370,739 others

f1 BREAKING: Daniel Ricciardo to leave RB, the team have announced. Liam Lawson will race in place of Ricciardo for the remaining six races of the season for the team.

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username1 DANNY NOOOO

username2 this sucks man

danielricciardo Been a hell of a ride! Thank you RB family ❤️

maxverstappen1 Going to miss you mate!

username3 Wrong driver leaving... YN should be the one out

↳ username1 exactly! she's been underperforming all season

yourinstagram always grateful for everything you taught me DR. more than a driver - you've been a big brother, mentor, and friend since day one. going to miss our pre-race dance parties 🥺🤍

↳ username3 now give him your seat

↳ username1 it's no annoying to see that drivers like her have an undeserved contract extension and talented drivers get left out

↳ danielricciardo Love you kiddo! Make me proud

username5 Gutted to see Danny Ric go 💔

landonorris Won't be the same without you mate!

username7 @/yourinstagram Maybe focus more on racing than dancing 🙄

↳ username8 she's literally P5 in the championship, shut up

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

As you step off the plane in Florida, the warm air envelops you, a stark contrast to the crisp autumn weather you left behind in Europe. Your heart lightens as you spot Logan waiting for you, his familiar grin a welcome sight after weeks of tension and stress. You missed your best friend so much.

You rush towards him, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug. "I missed you so much," you say, your voice muffled against his shoulder. "That paddock sucks without you."

Logan chuckles, returning the hug with equal enthusiasm. "I missed you too, stinks." He pulls back, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Now, let's grab a beer since you're out of race cars for a while."

You nod eagerly, letting him lead the way. He drives you to a nearby bar, one you've learned over the years of knowing him was the one he used to go to during his teenage years. The casual atmosphere is a refreshing change from the high-pressure environment of the paddock. As you settle into a booth with cold beers in hand, you feel some of the tension from the past few months start to melt away.

"So, how's life outside the F1 bubble?" you ask, taking a sip of beer.

Logan grins, leaning back in his seat. "It's… different. But not all bad. Actually, I've got some news." He pauses for dramatic effect. "I've been in talks with a few IndyCar teams."

Your eyes widen with excitement. "Logan, that's fantastic! Tell me everything!"

For the next hour, Logan animatedly describes his meetings with IndyCar team principals, the tracks he's excited to race on, and the new challenges he's looking forward to. You listen intently, genuinely happy for your friend's potential new chapter.

"It's not F1," Logan admits, "but it's a hell of a racing series. And who knows? Maybe it'll lead me back to F1 someday."

"I have no doubt," you assure him, raising your bottle in a toast. "To new beginnings!"

As the conversation flows, you find yourself relaxing more than you have in months. You chat about mutual friends, swap funny stories from your junior racing days, and discuss the latest paddock gossip.

Eventually, Logan's expression turns a bit more serious. "So, Oscar's been keeping me updated on what's been going on in F1. Sounds like things have been… tense with Franco."

You feel your mood shift at the mention of Franco's name. "Yeah, you could say that," you mutter, taking a long swig of your beer.

Logan leans forward, his voice gentle but firm. "YN, I know you're upset on my behalf, but you can't keep this grudge going forever. Franco's just a kid trying to make his way in the sport, like we all were not too long ago."

"I know, I know. It's just," you sigh heavily, "Every time I see him in the garage, in your overalls, talking to your engineers… it feels wrong, Logan. Like he's stolen something that belongs to you."

"But he didn't steal anything," Logan counters. "The team made a decision. It sucks for me, yeah, but that's not on Franco. He just took an opportunity that was offered to him. Can you honestly say you wouldn't have done the same in his position?"

You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. Logan has a point, and you know it.

"Look," Logan continues, "I've had some time to process all this, and I've come to terms with it. It's a cutthroat sport, YN. We all know that. Franco's not the villain here."

"But the way it happened," you protest, "mid-season, with no warning. It wasn't fair to you."

"Fair doesn't always come into it in F1. It just happens," Logan shrugs, "Besides," he adds with a hint of a smile, "I hear he's doing a decent job. The kid's got talent."

"He's alright," you grudgingly admit. "But he's not you."

Logan laughs. "No one's me, stinks. I'm one of a kind."

You can't help but crack a smile at that. "True enough."

"So," Logan says, his tone turning serious again, "can you promise me you'll try to ease up on Franco? Give him a fair shot? For me?"

You sigh deeply, considering his words. "I'll try," you finally concede. "But I'm not promising to be his best friend or anything."

"That's all I ask," Logan says, looking relieved. "Now, is this just about Franco replacing me, or is there something else going on? You seem… I don't know, more on edge than usual."

For a moment, you consider telling him about the talks with Red Bull, about the uncertainty surrounding your own seat. The words are on the tip of your tongue, but something holds you back. Maybe it's not wanting to burden Logan with your problems, or maybe it's not being ready to voice your fears out loud.

"No, nothing else," you lie, forcing a smile. "Just the usual F1 stress, you know how it is."

Logan nods, though he doesn't look entirely convinced. "Well, if there ever is anything, you know you can talk to me, right? Even if I'm not in the paddock anymore."

"I know," you say, feeling a pang of guilt. "Thanks, Logan. Really."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by logansargeant, landonorris and 1,289,673 others

yourinstagram florida !!! is one hell of a drug

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username1 AHHH she visited logan

logansargeant Next time we're doing the gator tour 🐊

↳ username2 i love them sm

oscarpiastri No invite for your favourite Aussie? Rude

↳ username2 we need the iconic trio together again

username3 they've been friends since forever, love how they support each other

username4 Logan and YN's friendship >>>>>

username5 Why is she on holiday when she should be working on her driving?

username6 the way logan always has her back 🥺

username7 surely there are better uses of time with 4 races left and her seat under threat?

francolapinto Amazing 🙌

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You arrive at the Red Bull hospitality area in Austin, the excitement of being back after the break palpable in the air. As you walk in, you spot Max lounging on one of the sofas, scrolling through his phone.

"Well, well, look who finally decided to show up," Max grins, looking up from his device. "Did you get lost in the Texas wilderness?"

You roll your eyes playfully, dropping your bag on a nearby chair. "Oh, I'm sorry, Your Highness. Did I keep you waiting? I was busy signing autographs for all my adoring fans. You know how it is… oh wait, you don't."

"Ouch, that hurt," Max clutches his chest in mock pain, "And here I was, about to show you something interesting, but now I'm not so sure you deserve it."

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. The banter with Max always helps you relax before a race weekend, and you've missed this during the break. "Oh come on, spill it, Verstappen. You know you want to. Don't make me steal your phone."

Max chuckles and pats the seat next to him. "Alright, alright. Sit down before you hurt yourself trying to reach my phone."

As you sit down, he pulls up a video on his phone. "Check this out. It's an interview with your biggest fan."

It's an interview with Franco. Your initial instinct is to look away, a mix of guilt and stubbornness rising in your chest. But something in Max's expression makes you watch.

"Lewis Hamilton and YN are my biggest idols in F1," Franco is saying, his face earnest. "The way YN races, her dedication and skill, it's truly inspiring. She's broken so many barriers and shown that talent knows no gender. I feel honored just to be on the same grid as her."

As the interview continues, Franco heaps more praise on you, his admiration clear in every word. You feel a twinge of guilt, remembering how cold you've been towards him. The genuine respect in his voice makes you uncomfortable, forcing you to confront your own prejudices.

"Her overtake on Leclerc in Interlagos last year? That was pure brilliance," Franco continues. "I've watched that move countless times, trying to learn from it. YN's not just a great driver, she's changing the face of the sport. I hope one day I can race wheel-to-wheel with her and show her the respect she deserves on track."

Max turns off the video and looks at you expectantly. "I think you owe someone an apology," he says, his tone gentle but firm.

You nod slowly, the realization sinking in. A wave of shame washes over you as you remember your cold behavior towards Franco. "I think I do," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Hey, we all make mistakes. What matters is how we fix them. Franco's a good kid, and he really looks up to you. Maybe it's time to give him a chance?"

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. "I actually talked to Logan last week," you confess, watching Max's eyebrows rise in surprise. "He's doing well, actually - focusing on IndyCar now. But we talked a lot about… everything."

"Yeah?" Max shifts in his seat, clearly intrigued. It's not often you open up about these things.

"He basically told me I needed to stop fighting battles that weren't mine to fight. Said he appreciates me having his back, but Franco isn't the enemy here. He's just chasing his dream, like we all did. Logan said he remembers how it felt, getting his first chance - we all do."

Max nods thoughtfully. "Logan's right, you know. We've all been there at some point - getting an opportunity because someone else lost theirs. It's just how F1 works sometimes."

"I know," you admit, standing up. "And I've been unfair to Franco. He's actually doing a really good job with Williams, fighting in the midfield with a car that's not the easiest to drive. And here I am, making him feel unwelcome when I should be supporting talent. Some role model I am, right?"

"So what are you going to do about it?" Max asks, though his smile suggests he already knows.

You spot Franco heading towards the Williams hospitality area. "I'm going to make it right."

Walking over to Williams, you feel your heart pounding a little faster with each step. You find Franco sitting at one of the tables, going through data on his laptop with his race engineer.

"Franco?" you call out. "Could I steal you for a moment?"

He looks up, surprise evident on his face. "YN? Hi… yeah, of course." He glances at his engineer, who nods and excuses himself.

"Mind if I sit?" you ask, gesturing to the empty chair. When he nods, you take a deep breath. "I owe you an apology. A proper one."

Franco starts to shake his head, but you hold up a hand. "Please, let me finish. I've been unfair to you, and it wasn't right. I let my loyalty to Logan blind me to the fact that you're just a talented driver making the most of your opportunity. I've been cold, sometimes even hostile, and you didn't deserve any of that."

"I… thank you," Franco says quietly. "That means a lot. I want you to know, I reached out to Logan when-"

"I know," you interrupt gently. "He told me. That's partly why I'm here. You showed real class doing that, Franco. And you're doing a great job with the car. That P8 in Baku? That was proper racing."

A genuine smile breaks across his face. "Coming from you, that really means a lot. You know, I've watched your races since I was in F3. The way you fought through all the doubters, proved everyone wrong… you're really an inspiration."

You feel your throat tighten unexpectedly. "I had no idea."

"That's why your opinion means so much," Franco admits, fiddling with his water bottle. "When you seemed disappointed in me being here… it hurt, you know?"

"I'm sorry," you say again, meaning it more than ever. "How about we start fresh? Maybe you can talk me through that overtake in Baku - I noticed you used a similar line to what I did in Interlagos last year."

Franco's eyes light up. "You caught that? I actually studied your move while preparing for the race! The way you positioned the car on entry…"

You spend the next twenty minutes discussing racing lines and overtaking techniques, the earlier tension completely dissolved. Franco's enthusiasm is infectious, reminding you of your own early days in F1.

When you finally walk back to Max, you feel lighter than you have in months. He greets you with a knowing smile. "Feel better?"

"Much better," you admit. "Sometimes you need a kick in the right direction So thank you, I needed that wake-up call."

"Anytime," he smirks, throwing an arm around your shoulders, "Can't have my teammate being the paddock villain, can I? That's my job."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Liked by francolapinto, maxverstappen1 and 1,667,459 others

yourinstagram rookies keeping us on our toes 😤 good battles today @/francolapinto

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username1 THIS IS LEGENDARY

username3 franco is going to piss his pants

williamsracing Our rookie giving the Red Bull a run for their money 💙

username4 she shouldn’t be acknowledging that a rookie in a williams is making it hard for her… embarrasing

username5 the start of YN and Franco's friendship? 👀

username7 the tension between these two was getting old, glad they're friends now

username8 HANDLE YOUR SEAT

username8 MY DUO 😭❤️

francolapinto Next time I won’t make it easy for you!

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The private jet hums quietly through the night sky towards Mexico City. Most of the other drivers are asleep, exhausted from the intense Austin weekend. You find yourself unable to sleep, your mind still racing from the events of the day. Glancing around the dimly lit cabin, you notice Franco is also awake, absently flipping through a magazine.

Catching your eye, he gives you a warm smile and moves to the empty seat across from you. "Can't sleep either?"

"Too much adrenaline still," you admit, adjusting your position to face him better. "Great drive today, by the way. That point was well-deserved."

Franco's face lights up at the compliment. "Thanks! Though it's nothing compared to your battle with Lando. I was watching it from behind and thought 'there's no way she's going to make that stick' but then you just… did. It was incredible."

You laugh softly, careful not to wake the others. "There was a moment there where I wasn't sure either. But sometimes you just have to go for it, you know?"

"Oh, I know exactly what you mean," Franco grins. "Like that time in F3 when I tried to go around the outside at Spa and ended up practically in another timezone."

"Please tell me there's video of that," you snicker.

"Unfortunately for my dignity, yes. I think my engineer still uses it as an example of what not to do."

The conversation flows naturally, jumping from racing stories to childhood memories. You find yourself genuinely enjoying his company, something that would have seemed impossible just a few weeks ago.

"So what made you want to be a racing driver?" you ask, genuinely curious.

As Franco launches into how he found his passion for the sport, you find yourself really looking at him properly for the first time. The soft cabin lighting catches the angles of his face, and you notice details you'd overlooked before. His eyes are warm with flecks of gold, crinkling slightly at the corners when he smiles. There's a small scar above his right eyebrow, barely noticeable unless you're paying attention. His dark hair is slightly disheveled from the long race day, a few strands falling across his forehead.

You catch yourself thinking how handsome he actually is, in that classic way. His animated expressions as he talks about racing make him even more attractive, his passion for the sport evident in every gesture.

"...and that's when I knew I wanted to do this forever," he finishes, then looks slightly embarrassed. "Sorry, I'm rambling. I tend to get carried away when talking about racing."

"No, don't apologize," you say quickly. "It's refreshing to see that kind of enthusiasm. Some of the guys get so jaded after a while."

Franco's smile turns a bit shy. "Speaking of enthusiasm, I'm really excited about racing in Mexico this weekend. It's one of my favorite cities - the atmosphere is just incredible."

"The fans are amazing there," you agree. "Though I still haven't found a really good place to eat in Mexico City. The hotel restaurant gets old pretty quickly."

Franco's eyes light up. "Oh, you have to let me help with that! I know a couple of amazing restaurants in the city. There's this incredible place that serves the best traditional dishes you've ever tasted, and another one in that does contemporary Mexican cuisine that would blow your mind."

You find yourself intrigued, both by the suggestion and the eager way he's describing it. "That sounds way better than room service."

"We could..." he hesitates for a moment, then continues with determination, "we could go together, if you'd like? After Thursday's media duties maybe? I'd love to show you my favorite spots."

There's something endearing about the way he's trying to sound casual while clearly being nervous about asking. You feel a flutter in your stomach that you definitely weren't expecting.

"You know what? That sounds great," you say, surprised by how much you mean it. "It's about time I experienced proper Mexican cuisine."

Franco's face breaks into a brilliant smile. "Perfect! I'll make a reservation for Thursday evening then. Trust me, you won't regret it."

As the conversation continues, you can't help but notice how natural it feels now, how easily you're laughing at his jokes and sharing stories. It's hard to believe this is the same person you were avoiding just a few weeks ago.

As other drivers start stirring from their sleep, Franco returns to his original seat, but not before confirming your dinner plans one more time.

Watching him walk away, you find yourself looking forward to Thursday evening more than you probably should. It's just dinner with a colleague, you tell yourself, even as you catch yourself smiling at the thought of it.

"Just dinner," you whisper to yourself, but somehow, you're not entirely convinced.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

yourinstagram has added to their close friends stories

replies:

georgerussell63 So that was all the giggling I heard during the flight

oscarpiastri I’m so telling Logan

maxverstappen1 Can I say “I told you so” now?

francolapinto close friends privileges already? wow

↳ yourinstagram don’t push it colapinto

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The hotel lobby is relatively quiet as you wait for Franco, having agreed to meet there before heading to the restaurant. You've opted for casual - a simple black dress that makes you feel confident but not overdressed.

"Ready to have your mind blown by the best food in Mexico City?" Franco's voice makes you turn. He's wearing dark jeans and a well-fitted navy button-down, and you try not to notice how good he looks.

"Big claims require big proof," you tease, falling into step beside him.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Lando's familiar accent cuts through the lobby. He's just coming in from what looks like a gym session, and his surprised smirk makes you want to roll your eyes. "Interesting dinner plans?"

"Just showing YN the local cuisine," Franco says smoothly, though you notice his ears turning slightly pink.

"Right, right," Lando drawls, his eyes dancing with amusement. "The local cuisine. In your nice shirt. At that fancy place you've been talking about for weeks-"

"Goodbye, Lando," you cut him off, grabbing Franco's arm and steering him toward the exit, trying to ignore Lando's knowing chuckle behind you. You knew it was a matter of time before the entire grid finds out you went out with Franco.

The restaurant is everything Franco promised and more. The conversation flows easily between you, and you find yourself charmed by the way he seamlessly switches between Spanish and English while ordering, the way he leans in slightly when you're talking, the way his hand occasionally brushes yours across the table.

"No way," you laugh, taking another sip of wine. "You did not challenge your friend to a dance-off."

"I absolutely did," Franco grins. "And I won, by the way. Though there might have been some tequila involved."

"I would pay good money to see that."

"Play your cards right," he says with a playful wink, "and maybe you'll get a private demonstration."

The flirtatious comment catches you off guard, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks. Franco seems pleased with this reaction, his confidence growing throughout the evening.

The evening continues, warm and comfortable. Franco insists on ordering dessert - "You haven't lived until you've tried their churros con chocolate" - and you find yourself sharing stories between bites of perfectly crispy churros.

"So," Franco says, wiping chocolate from his lip with a napkin, "you, Oscar, and Logan - that's quite the trio. How did that happen?"

You laugh, fondly remembering those early days. "We practically grew up together in karting. I was this tiny kid trying to prove myself, Oscar was already sassy even at eight years old, and Logan… well, Logan was Logan."

"Let me guess - immediate chaos?" Franco grins.

"Oh, absolutely. We used to drive our parents and coaches crazy. These three kids who wouldn't stop racing each other even after practice was over." You smile at the memory. "We've been inseparable ever since. Though now Logan's living his best life in Florida."

Franco's eyes soften. "You really miss having him in the paddock, don't you?"

"Yeah," you admit quietly. "I do. But he's happy, and that's what matters. Plus, he texts me stupid memes at least twenty times a day, so it's like he never left."

After asking for the bill — one that Franco didn't let you pay no matter how much you insisted — you decided to walk back to the hotel. You were aware that his hand was close to yours as you walked side by side, almost brushing your fingers, but you didn't dare to take that step, and neither did he.

You reach the hotel, but instead of heading straight for the elevators, Franco suggests taking the scenic route through the garden. The night is too nice to end just yet.

"I have to say," he remarks as you walk, "you look beautiful tonight. That dress is…" he makes an exaggerated chef's kiss gesture, making you laugh.

"Smooth, Colapinto. Very smooth."

"I try," he winks, and you roll your eyes but can't hide your smile.

The walk to your room comes too quickly. Outside your door, Franco turns to you with a soft smile.

"Thank you for tonight," he says. "It was… nice. Really nice."

"It was," you agree, finding yourself meaning it completely. "Thank you for showing me your favorite spot."

There's a moment where you both just look at each other, the air charged with something unspoken. Franco takes a small step closer, then seems to think better of it.

"Goodnight, YN," he says softly, squeezing your hand once before letting go.

"Goodnight, Franco," you reply, watching him head down the hallway.

As you close the door behind you, you lean against it, smiling to yourself. You can already hear Max's smug "I told you so" tomorrow, but somehow, you can't bring yourself to care.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 14,892 users

f1gossip🚨 Franco Colapinto and YN spotted having dinner together in Mexico City. They spent over two hours at the restaurant according to witnesses.

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username2 This is getting interesting... 👀

username3 STOP I'M CRYING 😭❤️

username4 they're just friends guys, calm down

username4 the way he makes her laugh though!!!

username5 watch how they'll deny everything tomorrow

username6 MY HEART CAN'T TAKE THIS

username8 this has to be more than just friendship...

username10 I MANIFESTED THIS

username12 focus on racing instead of dating maybe?

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The Brazilian rain hammers down relentlessly on the Interlagos circuit. It's barely 6 AM, but the paddock is already buzzing with nervous energy for the early sprint qualifying. You stifle a yawn as you check your phone for what must be the hundredth time that morning. Another message from Franco pops up - a picture of himself looking comically miserable in the rain with the caption "Maybe if we all pretend we didn't see the rain, they'll cancel quali?"

The past week has been unexpected in the best way possible. After that dinner in Mexico, something shifted. What started as sharing breakfast in the hotel turned into spending every free moment together. During the long flight to São Paulo, George had dramatically sighed and switched seats with Franco, muttering something about "not being able to take the longing looks across the plane anymore."

"Someone's cheerful for 6 AM," Max comments, walking into the garage as you quickly type a response to Franco. "Let me guess - Argetinian company keeping you entertained?"

You try to hide your smile but fail miserably. "Shut up and focus on qualifying."

"Oh, I'm focused," he grins. "Unlike someone who keeps looking at their phone every two minutes."

"I'm just-"

"YN," Max interrupts, counting off on his fingers, "he waited outside our debrief yesterday just to walk you to dinner. He somehow always knows your coffee order. And don't think I didn't notice him giving you his jacket yesterday."

You feel your cheeks heat up. "We're just friends."

"Right," Max smirks. "Friends. Like how Charles and I are 'just friends' when we're trying to punt each other off track."

"Shut up, as if you weren't secretly in love with each other."

A few hours later, as you prepare for the drivers' parade, Oscar sidles up next to you with his trademark grin.

"Well, well, if it isn't the stranger," he says dramatically. "Remember me? One of your best friends? Though I suppose you wouldn't know, being attached at the hip with a certain Williams driver these days."

You roll your eyes, but there's no heat in it. "Miss me that much, Piastri?"

"Just saying, used to be we'd get coffee before parade, now it's all 'Sorry Oscar, Franco already got me coffee,'" he mimics your voice terribly.

You're about to retort when Franco appears, and Oscar's grin widens. "And that's my cue. Have fun, kids!" He winks before sauntering off.

"Ignore him," you say when you notice a small smile in Franco's face, "He's the perpetual pain in my ass."

"He's okay," Franco says, standing closer to you. You're trying to get your hair in order when you realize something's missing.

"Shit," you mutter, patting your pockets. "I forgot my hair tie."

"You always braid it before races, right?"

"Yeah," you sigh, still searching. "I'm stupidly superstitious about it. Haven't gotten into the car without a perfect braid since F3."

"Here," Franco pulls a hair tie from his wrist. At your surprised look, he shrugs. "I started carrying one after Mexico. Just in case," he shrugs, as if he was saying the most obvious thing ever, "Turn around."

"You know how to braid hair?"

"Sisters, remember? I'm practically a professional." His fingers are gentle as they work through your hair. "Besides, can't have you breaking your streak because of a missing hair tie."

You're acutely aware of the other drivers watching with varying degrees of amusement. Lewis gives you a knowing wink as he passes, while Charles not-so-subtly elbows Oscar and gestures toward you two.

"There," he says finally, securing the end with your hair tie. "Perfect braid for perfect racing."

You reach back to feel it - it is indeed perfect. When you turn to thank him, you find him much closer than expected, his eyes soft as they meet yours.

"Show off," you manage to say, trying to ignore the way your heart is racing.

"Only for you," he replies with a wink, and you hear what sounds suspiciously like Alex whispering "Just kiss already" to George.

The moment is broken by the announcement for drivers to take their places on the parade truck. As you climb aboard, you catch Oscar making exaggerated swooning gestures at you, while Max simply mouths "Just friends?" with a knowing smirk.

Franco takes his place beside you on the truck, close enough that your shoulders touch, and somehow you find you don't really care who's watching.

"Nice braid, by the way," Charles calls out teasingly from behind you. "Franco, think you could do mine next time?"

"Get your own hair stylist, Leclerc," you call back, and Franco's laugh next to you makes everything - the bad qualifying, the rain, the teasing - worth it.

The truck starts moving, and Franco's hand finds yours, hidden from view between you. You intertwine your fingers with his, and neither of you let go for the entire parade.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 and 21,765 others

f1_insider🚨 Christian Horner spotted leaving Williams hospitality after a 2-hour meeting in Brazil. This comes amid increasing speculation about driver changes for 2025.

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username1 They're not even trying to be subtle anymore…

username2 leave YN alone challenge

username3 Franco to Red Bull confirmed? 👀

username5 WAIT WHAT

username7 the timing of this… right before quali 😬

username8 everyone acting surprised like this hasn't been brewing for weeks username11 They're trying to destabilize her before the race

liked by maxverstappen1, carlossainz55 and 2,093,032 others

yourinstagram brazil never disappoints. p15 ➡️ p2. proud of this one.

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username1 IM STILL CRYING

username2 MIC DROP

maxverstappen1 Proper racing today 💪🏻 That defense in the last 10 laps 🔥Love you kiddo, couldn't ask for a better teammate

↳ username1 max said SHE'S NOT GOING ANYWHERE

danielricciardo THIS IS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT! That's my girl!

username3 EVERYONE'S PRIDE AND JOY

username4 she got lucky and still no win this season

landonorris Absolute monster in the wet

logansargeant THAT'S MY BEST FRIEND

username5 this is why she deserves that seat

username6 where are all the haters now? 🤫

username7 that battle through the midfield was masterclass

username8 Silencing critics in the best way possible

liked by username1, username2 and 14,088 others

f1gossip YN's radio messages during Franco's crash show a different side to their "rivalry." Listen to how her voice changes when she finds out it's him. Sometimes the real feelings come through in moments like these.

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username2 this doesn't sound like someone who "hates" him

username3 top I'm crying 😭

username4 "tell me he's okay" broke me

username6 forget the rivalry narrative, that's genuine concern

username7 MY DRIVERS STOOOOP

username8 this is the most emotion we've heard from her all season

username9 notice how she's been cold towards him for weeks but the second he's in danger…

username10 SOMETHING SHIFTED

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The easy banter has become your normal over the past week. Ever since Brazil, where you fought your way from P15 to P2 in treacherous conditions, something has shifted between you. The walls you'd carefully maintained started crumbling during that rain-soaked weekend.

Your phone buzzes again - this time it's Christian Horner requesting a meeting. Your stomach tightens instinctively. These meetings have become more frequent throughout the season, always with subtle undertones about your future with the team.

Franco: "Meeting with James in 10. Wish me luck not falling asleep in the sim debrief. Call you after?"

You: "Sure, good luck x"

The 'x' slips out before you can stop it - you've never added that before. Your finger hovers over the delete button, but he's already seen it.

Franco: "Did THE YN just send me a kiss? Screenshots being taken. This is historic

You're still smiling about your early interaction with Franco when you walk into Christian Horner's office, but his expression is serious enough to make your smile fade. You've been here before - these "casual meetings" that could determine your future.

"YN, thanks for making time," he gives a polite smile, "Please, take a seat."

You sit, trying to read his expression. Last week's podium trophy sits on a shelf behind him - your trophy, earned after fighting through half the grid.

"As you're aware, your contract includes certain performance clauses. While your recent results, particularly Brazil, have been impressive, we need to consider all options for the team's future."

That familiar knot in your stomach returns. "What kind of options?"

"I was at Williams recently," Christian says carefully, "discussing various possibilities, including Franco Colapinto."

The world seems to tilt slightly. Franco. At Williams. Meeting about possibilities. Just like with Logan.

"I got P2 in Brazil," you say, hating how defensive your voice sounds. "Started P15. In the rain. I battled with the entire grid while also defending for Max to secure a double podium."

"Yes, and it was an exceptional drive-"

"I'm fifth in the championship. I've scored podiums consistently despite the car being a nightmare to drive most of the times. What more do I need to do?"

Christian's expression remains neutral. "This isn't about any single result, YN. We need to evaluate all potential scenarios for the team's future."

"So you're considering replacing me," you say flatly. "With Franco."

"I trust you understand this is just business, YN," Christian says as you stand to leave. "We have to explore every option."

You pause at the door, turning back slightly. "Of course. Business." Your voice is perfectly controlled. "Just like my P2 in Brazil was business. My podiums were business. Everything I've given to this team has been business."

"YN-"

"No, I get it. Really." You manage a smile that doesn't reach your eyes. "If you'll excuse me, I have some sim work to review."

It hits you as you drive back to your apartment - every friendly conversation, every shared coffee, every late-night text… none of it was real. Franco isn't your friend. He's just another driver who sees you as an obstacle to overcome, a seat to claim. Just like everyone else since you entered F1, smiling to your face while plotting to take what's yours.

Back in your apartment, your phone keeps lighting up with Franco's messages, each one making your chest tighter. You can't bring yourself to block him - that feels too much like acknowledging how much this hurts. Instead, you just... stop responding. Set the phone aside. Focus on your laptop, on race data, on anything else.

Your phone rings - Oscar's familiar face popping up on the screen.

"Finally!" he exclaims when you answer. "I've been trying to reach you all day. You missed the most hilarious thing - Lando tried to make vegemite pasta."

Despite everything, you find yourself smiling. "Please tell me someone filmed it."

The conversation flows easily, almost making you forget about everything else. Almost.

"Oh yeah," Oscar adds casually, "ran into Franco at paddle today. He seemed pretty worried-"

"He better focus on preparing for his Red Bull seat instead."

"His what?" Oscar sounds confused. "Stinks, what are you on about?"

"Horner had meetings at Williams. About Franco. About possibilities. Sound familiar?"

"Hang on, hang on. Did you even talk to Franco about this? Because he genuinely seemed concerned-"

"Of course he seemed concerned, Os. That's the whole point."

"YN, I know you. You're doing that thing where you push people away before they can hurt you. But stinks, I really don't think-"

"I have to go. Sim data to review."

"At least talk to him-"

You end the call, turning back to your laptop. Three races left. Three chances to prove everyone wrong. No more distractions, no more letting your guard down.

You'll do it the only way that matters in F1 - on track, where lap times speak louder than friendly texts, and championship points mean more than shared coffee breaks.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You've managed three weeks. Three weeks of perfectly crafted indifference, of calling him "the Williams driver" in interviews, of taking different routes through the paddock just to avoid those chance encounters that used to make your heart skip. Three weeks of pretending you don't miss his stupid sparkle messages, or the way he always saves you a coffee during early practice sessions.

But now your hands won't stop shaking as you stare at your dark phone screen, trying to ignore the screens showing the mangled Williams in the Las Vegas Strip. You've watched the replay seventeen times without meaning to, each time feeling your heart stop at the impact.

"This is getting ridiculous," Max's voice is quiet beside you, making you jump. You didn't even hear him approach. "Stop with this nonsense."

"I'm fine," you respond automatically, thumb still pretending to scroll on your black screen. "Just checking the timing sheets."

"Your phone isn't even on." Max's hand appears, gently taking the phone from your trembling grip. "They've taken him to UMC. Just go."

"I can't," you whisper, finally looking up at your teammate. You hate how your voice catches. "Everyone will—"

"Who cares what everyone will say?" Max interrupts, already reaching for your bag. "Hannah's got a car waiting. Go."

"I don't want to," you protest weakly, but even you can hear how unconvincing it sounds. "I don't need to—"

"Stop," Max's voice is firm but gentle. "You're not going back to this. Not after everything. You care about him, stop pretending you don't."

You take a shaky breath, then nod once. You're out of the garage before you can change your mind and rebuild those walls you've spent three weeks perfecting. Because Max is right – you do care. You care so much it terrifies you. And right now, nothing else matters except knowing he's okay.

You hate hospitals. You've spent too many hours in them after your own crashes, but somehow this is worse. Standing outside his room, you're suddenly unsure of everything. Three weeks of carefully constructed distance seems ridiculous now.

"You can come in instead of hovering at the door," Franco's voice carries from inside, slightly hoarse but still holding that hint of amusement that always used to drive you crazy. "Unless you're planning to run away again."

You step inside, trying to maintain some composure even as your heart clenches at the sight of him. "I wasn't running away," you say automatically, but it sounds weak even to your ears.

"No?" He raises an eyebrow, wincing slightly at the movement. "So you just happened to take different paddock routes?"

"Franco—"

"It's back to Franco now? Not 'the Williams driver'?" There's hurt beneath his teasing tone, and it makes your chest tight. "That last interview was particularly cold, by the way. Very convincing."

You stay by the door, arms crossed. "I thought that's what everyone wanted. Space. Distance. Rivalry."

"You're here now though."

"Max made me come," you lie.

"Sure he did." Franco's small smile tells you he sees right through you. "Nothing to do with how many times you asked if I was okay over the radio?"

You feel your cheeks heat up. Of course he's heard the radio already. "I would have asked about any driver."

"YN," his voice softens, and it breaks something in you. "Stop pretending. Please. I miss my friend."

The last words hit you hard, and you finally let your arms drop, taking a step closer. "I miss you too," you whisper, and it feels like admitting defeat and victory all at once. "I was so scared when I saw the crash."

"Come here," he says quietly, patting the edge of the bed.

You hesitate for just a moment before crossing the room, carefully sitting beside him. "I'm sorry," you say softly. "For these past weeks. For being harsh. For—"

"I know," he interrupts, his hand finding yours. "I know. But you're here now."

You squeeze his hand gently, feeling the walls you've built crumbling completely. "You could have died today and I would have never—" you stop yourself, running your thumb over his knuckles without thinking. "All because of this stupid seat."

Franco's quiet for a moment, then lets out a small laugh that turns into a wince. "Is that what you think? That I'm after your seat?"

"Aren't you?" You try to pull your hand away but he holds on. "The meetings with Christian, the—"

"YN," he interrupts, waiting until you look at him. "I never got any offers from RedBull.”

You freeze. "What?"

"I'm not taking your seat," he says softly. "In fact, I still don't have a seat."

"But...the meetings with Horner?" You're struggling to process this. "He basically told me they were considering options for next season, and those options were you in my seat."

"Sounds to me that he was pressuring you." His eyes hold yours. "My team had meetings with RedBull, yes. But we never got a solid offer, not even for VCARB."

You feel slightly dizzy. Three weeks of avoiding him, of building up walls, of convincing yourself he was just another driver trying to take your seat...

"I'm an idiot, aren't I?" you finally manage.

"Well, you've taken the long way through the paddock just to avoid me," he teases, then becomes serious. "I wouldn't hurt you like that. You know that. Or at least, you used to."

"I got scared," you admit quietly. "When I heard about the meetings, I just... it was easier to push you away than to admit that I care about you."

The silence that follows feels heavy with everything unsaid. Finally, Franco squeezes your hand gently.

"Well," he says softly, "nearly dying seems to have worked out well for me then."

"That's not funny," but you're fighting a smile.

"Made you come see me though, didn't it?"

"I hate you," but there's no heat in it.

"No, you don't," he says confidently. "You just admitted you care about me. No taking it back now."

You roll your eyes but don't deny it. "How are you feeling, really?"

"Like I crashed a car at 200mph," he grins, then softens. "Better now though."

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liked by francolapinto, maxverstappen1 and 1,908,479 others

yourinstagram champion x4 🏆so proud to be part of this journey. no one deserves it more than you @/maxverstappen1. thank you for being the best teammate anyone could ask for, on and off track.

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username1 IM CRYINGGGGG

username2 this is my family

maxverstappen1 Couldn't ask for a better teammate and bonus little sister. Thanks for having my back all season 💪🏻

↳ username1 HE SAID SHE'LL ALWAYS BE MY TEAMMATE

danielricciardo Look at my kids making me proud 🥹

christianhorner Fantastic team effort all year. Proud of both of you.

↳ username1 FIX HER CAR AND STOP FEEDING HER TO THE PRESS!!

username5 the way max waited to celebrate until she crossed the finish line

username6 remember when they said they wouldn't get along

username7 brother sister energy we love to see it

francolapinto Amazing work 🙌

↳ username8 bro ready to take her seat

username9 their relationship is too pure. max adores her like she's his little sister and yn would take a murder charge for him pretty much

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After showering and changing post-race, you're walking back to your hotel room when your phone buzzes. Franco's name lights up the screen: "Hey... could you come to my room? Need to get my mind off today. Room 412."

You hesitate only briefly before responding. After everything that's happened - the crash, the hospital, the conversations that followed - things between you have felt different.

Qatar had been grueling, you managed to score a solid P4 but the story for Franco had been different. He was part of a collision during turn one that ended his race right there. You heard it on the radio and your heart couldn't help but ache for him.

When you knock, Franco opens the door looking drained, his usual spark dimmed by the day's events. He's changed into soft sweatpants and a team shirt, hair still damp from his shower.

"That bad, huh?" you say softly, following him into the room.

He drops onto the bed with a sigh. "First lap incidents are the worst. All that preparation, all those hours in the sim… gone in seconds."

You settle into the armchair across from him. "I saw the replay. That wasn't your fault - Hulkenberg came across way too aggressively."

"Doesn't matter whose fault it was. Points are points, and I need them." He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you've come to recognize as stress. "The pressure's getting intense. Everyone keeps asking about next year's plans, and I just… I don't know."

"Hey," you say gently, moving to sit beside him. "You're one of the most talented drivers out there. Everyone sees it."

"Do they?" His voice is uncharacteristically vulnerable. "Because right now it feels like every mistake is being magnified. One DNF and suddenly everyone's questioning if I deserve the seat."

"I know that feeling too well," you admit. "I mean, I spent three weeks avoiding you because I thought you were after my seat."

That draws a small laugh from him. "Not my finest moment in the hospital, guilt-tripping you about it."

"It worked though, didn't it?" you nudge his shoulder playfully, "Plus, I guilt tripped you about Logan's seat for the longest time, it's only fair."

"Yeah, well, I was desperate. Do you know how hard it was watching you take different routes through the paddock just to avoid me?"

"About as hard as it was taking those routes," you say softly. "I missed you."

"You did manage to find some creative paths though," he teases, his mood lightening slightly. "I particularly enjoyed watching you duck behind Lando in the airport."

"I did not duck!"

"You absolutely did. Practically dove behind him. Poor guy had no idea why you suddenly needed an urgent conversation about sim settings."

You feel your cheeks heat up. "Well, what about you? Mr. 'Oh sorry, I didn't see you there' when we literally made eye contact in the media pen?"

"That was Oscar's fault! He told me my hair looked weird and I got distracted."

"Your hair always looks weird."

He gasps in mock offense. "Take that back! This hair has its own fan accounts."

"Yeah, horror fan accounts maybe," you tease.

"Says the person who needed my expert braiding skills before races."

"Which you learned from your sisters, if I remember correctly?"

His expression softens. "Actually… I might have YouTube'd it after Mexico."

That catches you off guard. "You… what?"

"Yeah," he rubs the back of his neck, suddenly looking sheepish. "Spent like three hours practicing on a rope I found in the gym. Alex caught me and wouldn't stop laughing."

"That's…" you feel something warm bloom in your chest. "That's actually really sweet."

"Don't tell anyone," he grins. "I have a reputation to maintain."

"Oh yeah? What reputation is that?"

"You know, cool, mysterious, definitely not the type to watch hair braiding tutorials."

You laugh. "Hate to break it to you, but anyone who's seen you try to work the coffee machine knows you're not mysterious."

"That machine is complicated!"

"It has three buttons!"

"Three very confusing buttons," he protests. "Besides, you're the one who always shows up right when I'm struggling with it."

"Pure coincidence."

"Right," he smirks. "Just like how you 'coincidentally' started showing up earlier to breakfast after I mentioned that's when I usually go?"

You feel your cheeks warm again. "I just… wanted to beat the rush."

"The rush of exactly two other drivers who eat that early?"

"Shut up," you mutter, but you're smiling.

The air between you changes, becomes charged with everything unsaid. You're suddenly very aware of how close you're sitting, how his eyes have dropped to your lips.

He doesn't say anything else, instead, he leans forward and kisses you, soft and careful, like he's afraid you might pull away. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and you feel yourself melting into the touch.

When he pulls back, you blink at him, slightly dazed. "You kissed me."

His familiar smirk returns, though his eyes remain soft. "Well done, Sherlock."

You roll your eyes at his sass, but can't help smiling. This time, you're the one who leans in, capturing his lips with yours. The kiss is deeper, more certain. His hand slides into your hair as you press closer, and you feel him smile against your mouth.

"You know," he says softly, playing with a strand of your hair, "besides being one of my racing idols, you've also always been my crush."

You pull back slightly, raising an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Don't let it go to your head," he grins.

"Oh my god," you laugh. "You were such a fan! Did you have posters too?"

He groans, hiding his face in your shoulder. "I'm never telling you anything again."

"No, no, this is great," you tease. "I'm just a year and a half older than you, Colapinto, and you completely idolized me."

"I hate you," he mumbles into your shoulder.

"No you don't," you say confidently. "You just admitted you had a crush on me."

He lifts his head, eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief. "Still do, actually. Although the real you is much more annoying than poster you."

"Poster me didn't call you out on your coffee machine struggles."

"Poster you was much nicer," he agrees, but he's smiling as he leans in to kiss you again.

This kiss is slower, deeper, filled with everything you've both been holding back. When you finally pull apart, you rest your forehead against his.

"Been wanting to do that for a while," he admits softly.

"Even when I was avoiding you? Or giving you crap to defend my best friend's honor?"

"Especially then. Do you know how adorable you looked trying to pretend you didn't see me in the paddock?"

"Shut up," you laugh.

"Never," he grins, pulling you closer. "I have years of fan stories to make up for."

You kiss him again just to shut him up, but you can feel him smiling against your lips, and you think maybe, just maybe, this is exactly where you're meant to be.

"You're never going to let me live down the fan thing, are you?" he asks when you break apart.

"Not a chance," you smirk. "I bet Alex has pictures of you practicing those braids too."

"Don't you dare!"

But you're already reaching for your phone, laughing as he tries to grab it from you, and somehow you end up tangled together on the bed, both laughing too hard to care about anything else.

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You're halfway through your coffee when Franco appears, wearing his team polo and that signature grin that used to irritate you but now makes your stomach flutter. It's still surreal how much has changed - from despising him for taking Logan's seat, to avoiding him over your seat rumors, to… whatever this is now. He slides into the seat next to you, leaning in for a kiss. You quickly place a hand on his chest, pushing him back playfully.

"Easy there, hotshot," you tease. "Let's keep it professional."

"Professional?" He raises an eyebrow, that mischievous glint in his eyes. "Come on, don't be shy now. Not after last week."

You feel your cheeks warm at the memory. "Last week was different. We were alone."

"Oh, so that's the rule? Only when we're alone?" He leans closer, lowering his voice. "Should we discuss what else happened when we were alone?"

"Franco!" You swat his arm, but you're fighting a smile.

"What? I'm just saying, for someone who used to avoid me like I had the plague, you sure changed your tune."

"Yeah, well," you stir your coffee, trying to maintain your composure, "turns out you're not as annoying as I thought."

"High praise," he chuckles. "Remember when you wouldn't even look at me in driver briefings?"

"Remember when you replaced my best friend and then tried to steal my seat?"

"I didn't try to steal your seat!" he protests. "That was all media speculation."

Before you can respond, Max drops into the seat across from you, already looking amused at finding you two together.

"Well, well," he says, reaching for the coffee pot. "If it isn't my favorite teammate and her… what are we calling this now?"

You roll your eyes. "We're calling it none of Max's business."

"Everything is Max's business," Max says cheerfully. "Especially when said business involves my teammate getting cozy with the competition."

Franco's phone buzzes and his expression shifts slightly as he reads the message, and you catch that flicker of worry he's been trying to hide all weekend. The weight of it being potentially his last race in F1 has been hanging over both of you.

"Engineers?" you ask softly.

"Yeah," he sighs. "Last pre-race meeting of the season. Hopefully not my last ever," he adds, attempting a joke that falls flat.

You reach for his hand under the table, giving it a quick squeeze. "Hey, you've shown what you can do this year. The pace is there, the talent is there-"

"The results aren't," he cuts in, running his free hand through his hair. "DNF and crashes don't exactly scream 'keep me for next year.'"

"The car's been shit though," Max speaks up, "Everyone knows that. You've outqualified your teammate and scored points."

"Try telling that to the team principals," Franco says, attempting a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Anyway, better go before they add 'chronically late' to my resume." He stands, leaning down to kiss your cheek. "See you later?"

"Of course," you say softly. "Good luck in the meeting."

Once Franco leaves, Max leans forward, "Okay, spill. Everything. Now."

"There's nothing to spill."

"Nothing to spill?" Max scoffs. "Last month you were convinced he was plotting to take your seat, and now he's kissing you goodbye at breakfast? That's not nothing."

"You don't need to know everything about my life, Max," you try to busy yourself with your coffee, that's pretty much cold by now.

"I'm the older brother you never wanted but got stuck with anyway, so I do need to know about these things."

You sigh, knowing he won't let this go. "Fine. After Qatar, things changed. We… spent time together."

"Spent time together?" Max wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"Not like that!" you protest, then lower your voice. "Well, not just like that. We talked a lot. About everything again - the rumors, the misunderstandings, why I was so angry about Logan, and… I don't know. It's different now. Good different. When I'm with him, everything just feels…" you trail off, searching for the right words.

"Right?" Max supplies, his teasing tone softening.

"Yeah," you admit. "Which makes this whole situation even harder. If he doesn't get a seat…"

"Then you'll figure it out," Max says, "But let's not write him off yet. Season's not over until the checkered flag."

You nod, but can't help glancing at the door Franco left through. "You know what's ironic?" you say, turning back to Max. "A few months ago, I was worried about him taking my seat. Now I'd give anything for him to have one, anywhere on the grid."

Max smiles knowingly. "Amazing what a few kisses can do."

"It's not just that," you protest. "He deserves to be here. He's so talented-"

"And you're completely smitten," Max interrupts, grinning.

"Shut up," You throw a napkin at him. "I'm getting a new teammate next year," you declare.

"No you're not," Max laughs. "You love me." He pauses, suddenly looking both nervous and excited. "Actually… want to know a secret?"

Something in his tone makes you lean forward. "Always."

"Kelly's pregnant," he says, a huge grin spreading across his face. "We just found out last month"

You practically leap across the table to hug him, nearly knocking over both your coffees in the process. "Oh my god! Max! I'm going to be an auntie!"

He laughs, hugging you back. "Actually…" he pulls back slightly to look at you, "What do you think about being a godmother?"

Your eyes widen. "Are you serious?"

"Of course," he grins. "Who else would I trust to teach my kid how to properly terrorize the paddock?"

You feel tears welling up in your eyes. "I'm going to spoil them so much," you warn, hugging him again. "Like, an absolutely ridiculous amount."

"I know," he laughs. "That's kind of counting on it."

"Does anyone else know?"

"Just family for now," he says. "And you, obviously. Because you are family."

You're definitely crying now. "I hate you for making me cry before a race weekend."

"Sure you do," he grins. "Just like you hate Franco, right?"

You wipe your eyes, deciding to ignore his comment. "God, I can't believe you're going to be a dad!"

"Me neither," he admits, and there's something soft and vulnerable in his expression that makes your heart squeeze. "It's scary but… in a good way, you know?"

"You're going to be amazing," you tell him seriously. "The best dad ever."

His smile turns mischievous. "Just wait until Franco gets you pregnant-"

"And that's my cue to leave," you gather your things. "Congratulations again, future dad. I love you, even when you're the worst."

His laughter follows you out of the room. "Love you too, future godmother!"

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liked by maxverstappen1, francolapinto and 2,099,437 others

yourinstagram ABU DHABI WINNER! 🏆✨ still feels surreal to type those words. to win the last race of the season, after everything… no words can describe this feeling. thank you to every single person who never stopped believing in me, even when things got tough. to my incredible team - this one's for you. we did it! 🧡

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username1 SHE FUCKING DID IT

username2 first win of the season in the last race - poetic justice

username3 the way everyone doubted her at the start of the season and now look at her QUEEN BEHAVIOR

logansargeant YESSSS! That move was legendary! So proud of you!

username4 this feels so RIGHT

francolapinto Mi campeona 🖤 That last lap move was 🔥

↳ username1 IM CRYING OMFG

↳ username2 THEY'RE SO TOGETHER I DON'T MAKE THE RULES

username5 brb i'll be crying while i watch that video of her hugging franco

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You're still riding the high of your Abu Dhabi win as you unlock your apartment door. Your first win of the season, in the last race - it feels poetic, somehow. Like a final "fuck you" to everyone who doubted you, who questioned your seat, who spent the entire season speculating about your future.

The trophy sits in your bag, along with the champagne bottle Charles insisted you keep. Franco follows you in, still wearing that soft smile he's had since he watched you cross the finish line.

He's staying at your apartment since he doesn't have a place in Monaco and the now traditional drivers dinner is happening, after all you time together, inviting him over felt...natural.

The past few days have been a whirlwind - the podium, the celebrations, the multiple kisses stolen in your motorhome between media duties. The flight to Monaco where you both pretended to sleep but kept "accidentally" touching hands. It should feel fast, rushed, but somehow it just feels right.

"Still can't believe you pulled that move on the last lap," Franco says, dropping his bags by the door. "Even Max was impressed, I think you broke his brain a little."

"Speaking of broken, try not to destroy anything while you're here," you tease. "Some of us actually live in Monaco full-time."

Franco turns to you with mock offense. "When have I ever broken anything?"

"Do you want the list chronologically or alphabetically?" you raise an eyebrow. "Because I distinctly remember a certain incident with Lewis' scooter…"

"That was a manufacturing defect and you know it," he protests, moving closer.

"Sure it was," you laugh. "Just like the tablet in Singapore was a 'technical malfunction'?"

He's close enough now that you can smell his cologne, the same one that's been driving you crazy since Qatar. "You're never going to let that go, are you?"

"Never," you confirm, but your voice comes out softer than intended because he's looking at you the way he has been since that first kiss in his room - like you're something precious.

"Guest room's down the hall," you say quickly, trying to maintain some semblance of control. "Bathroom's across from it, you know the drill."

Franco raises an eyebrow, that mischievous glint in his eyes that you're starting to know too well. "You're really going to make me take the guest room? After all our bonding?"

"Bonding?" you scoff. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"Well, what would you call making out in your motorhome? And the plane bathroom? And-"

You cut him off by pressing your hand to his mouth. "Those were… moments of weakness."

He kisses your palm before moving your hand, and the simple gesture shouldn't make your heart race like it does. "Lots of moments."

"I was emotionally vulnerable," you argue weakly.

"Uh-huh," he steps closer, backing you against the wall. "And now?Are you emotionally vulnerable now?" His hands find your waist, and you try to ignore how right they feel there.

"I'm…" you start, but then he's kissing you, slow and deep, and you forget what you were going to say.

When he pulls back, you're both breathing heavily. "We should get ready for dinner," you manage.

"We should," he agrees, but kisses you again.

"Franco," you mumble against his lips. "We're already late."

"Five more minutes," he murmurs, trailing kisses down your neck.

It ends up being fifteen minutes before you finally push him away, your lips swollen and hair slightly messed up.

"Guest room," you point firmly. "Get changed."

He grins, stealing one last quick kiss before grabbing his bag. "Yes, boss."

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yourinstagram has added to their close friends story

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You arrive at Lewis' Monaco penthouse a fashionably acceptable ten minutes late, Franco's hand resting casually on your lower back as the elevator opens to the top floor. The space is already filled with the familiar chatter of your fellow drivers, the city lights twinkling through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Look who finally made it," Charles calls out, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Got lost on the way from your apartment? It's only three blocks…"

"Traffic," you say smoothly, ignoring Franco's poorly concealed laugh beside you.

"Must have been terrible," Alex joins in, eyes twinkling. "Considering you live literally around the corner."

Lewis appears, saving you from having to respond. He hugs you warmly before turning to Franco with a grin. "No scooters allowed inside this time, mate."

"That was one time!" Franco protests as everyone laughs. "And it was definitely faulty manufacturing."

The evening flows easily, conversation and wine flowing freely as everyone celebrates the end of another season. You find yourself constantly aware of Franco's presence - the way he automatically hands you your favorite wine, how his hand finds yours under the table, the soft looks he gives you when he thinks no one's watching.

(They're all watching. These are racing drivers - subtlety isn't their strong suit.)

"Get together, everyone!" you call out later, holding up your phone. "I want a picture."

There's the usual chaos of twenty-odd drivers trying to arrange themselves, plenty of shoving and laughing as everyone finds their spot. Franco ends up behind you, his chest pressed against your back, hands resting lightly on your waist.

"Alright, someone else take it," Lando announces. "YN's too busy making heart eyes at Franco to frame it properly."

"I am not-"

"You kind of are," Pierre interrupts with a grin.

"Just like in Abu Dhabi," Oscar adds. "And the flight home. And baggage claim. And-"

"I hate all of you."

The night continues with more conversation, more drinks, and constant teasing from your friends. Even Charles joins in, muttering something about "finally dealing with all that sexual tension in the briefings."

By the time you leave, you're both pleasantly tipsy, walking back to your apartment with slightly unsteady steps. The moment your door closes behind you, the atmosphere shifts.

"So," he says finally, stepping closer. "About that guest room…"

"What about it?" you ask, but you're already moving toward him.

"I'm thinking," he cups your face with one hand, "that it would be a shame to use it."

"Would it?"

"Mhmm," he's close enough now that you can feel his breath on your lips. "Especially when the winner deserves proper celebrations."

"Or maybe you're just being a horndog," you tease, even as your hands find their way to his chest.

"Maybe," he concedes. "Or maybe I just can't stop thinking about kissing you."

Your breath catches. "You've already kissed me plenty today."

"Not enough," he murmurs, then proves his point by capturing your lips with his.

The kiss is different from all the others. Those were stolen moments, quick and heated. This is slower, deeper, like he's trying to memorize every second.

"Don't make me take the guest room," he murmurs against your lips.

You pretend to think about it, even as your hands slip under his shirt. "Well, since you asked so nicely…"

"I can be very nice," he grins, then kisses you again, backing you toward your bedroom.

"Prove it," you challenge.

The guest room remains empty that night. And many nights after.

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liked by pierregasly, francolapinto and 2,044,387 others

yourinstagram i love my little dysfunctional family !! yes i'm the one behind the camera

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username1 THIS IS LEGENDARY

username3 FRANCO'S FACE ??? DEVASTATED BC HIS GIRL IS NOT NEXT TO HIM

lewishamilton Always family ❤️

oscarpiastri Never sitting between you and your lover boy again..

↳ username1 HUH??

↳ username2 oscar spill the deets PLEASE

↳ logansargeant to the gc NOW

↳ username3 LET ME INNNNN

↳ username4 im crying

↳ yourinstagram i hate you both

francolapinto ❤️

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yn's biggest fans groupchat

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You're curled up on your couch, watching the lights of Monaco twinkle through your window as snow falls softly outside. Franco's just finished unpacking his bags, having arrived from Argentina an hour ago. The past weeks without him felt strangely empty, even though you'd been surrounded by family for Christmas.

"Mama keeps asking about the foods I mentioned you cook," Franco says, settling beside you with a grin. "She's convinced I'm making it up."

"Did you tell her it's mostly pasta and those empanadas you taught me to make?"

"Si, but she says my standards have dropped since moving to Europe," he laughs, stealing some of your blanket. "How was your family?"

"Good. Dad's still buzzing about Abu Dhabi. He's watched the replay about fifty times, especially that last lap battle with Max," you grin, throwing your legs over his lap. "How was home?"

"Hot," he sighs contentedly. "Really hot. Nothing like a proper Argentinian summer."

"Meanwhile I was freezing in London," you poke his side. "Speaking of which… don't you have some news to share?"

He raises an eyebrow. "How did you-"

"Carlos texted me. He's terrible at keeping secrets."

Franco runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture you've come to recognize. "I signed with Williams. As their reserve driver for next season, there's talk about 2026, but nothing concrete yet."

"Franco!" you exclaim, throwing your arms around him. "That's amazing!"

He hugs you back, letting out a relieved laugh. "You think so?"

"Of course I do!" you pull back to look at him. "Williams is doing great things, and with Carlos and Alex there…" you trail off, seeing something in his expression. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing bad," he assures quickly. "Just… I'll be based in England a lot. For simulator work and development."

"Oh," you say quietly, understanding dawning. You'd gotten used to having him here, in your space, in the paddock, in your life.

"Hey," he tilts your chin up. "It's not that far. And I'll still be at all the races. Plus," his lips quirk up, "I hear Nice has a pretty good airport."

You can't help but smile. "True. And I suppose I could be convinced to visit Grove occasionally."

"Only occasionally?" he teases.

"Well, I am very busy and important," you say loftily, making him laugh.

His eyes drop to your lips. "I'm sure you can save some time for me," he murmurs before closing the distance between you.

The kiss is soft and familiar, like coming home after a long trip. When you pull back, he's wearing that small smile that always makes your stomach flip.

You settle back against him, comfortable silence falling between you. "Talk to me about next season," he says eventually. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

"Honestly? I'm nervous," you admit. "Abu Dhabi was amazing, but what if it was just luck? What if I can't do it again?"

"The same way Suzuka was luck? And Singapore? And that insane qualifying in Baku?" Franco shifts to look at you properly, "You've been fast all season. Abu Dhabi just proved what everyone already knew."

"Smooth," you laugh, then remember something. "Oh! Speaking of next year - what are you doing for New Year's Eve?"

"Nothing yet. Why?"

"Logan's throwing a party in Florida for his birthday. Want to come?"

Franco hesitates. "Won't that be…"

"What? Weird because you stole his seat?" you tease, making him groan.

"I thought we cleared that up months ago," he protests.

"We did, I just like messing with you," you grin. "Come on, it'll be fun. There'll be cake."

“You know my weakness,” he sighs dramatically. “Does this mean I get to kiss you at midnight?”

“Bold of you to assume you’ll be my midnight kiss,” you tease, even as you lean into him.

“No? Planning on kissing someone else?” he raises an eyebrow, hands settling on your waist.

“Maybe. Logan might have a hot friend…”

"Terrible," he murmurs against your lips. "You're terrible."

"You like it," you whisper back, just before he kisses you again.

When you finally break apart, he's already reaching for the remote. "Want to watch Qatar?"

You groan, but you're smiling. "I hate you."

"No you don't," he says confidently, pulling up the race highlights.

And as he starts his terrible commentary, making you laugh despite yourself, you think about how easy this is - whatever this is between you. No labels, no pressure, just… this.

Outside, Monaco continues to sparkle under the falling snow, but in here, with Franco's warmth beside you and his voice in your ear pointing out "that brilliant move you did in turn 4" for the hundredth time, you think maybe some things don't need defining to be perfect.

Plus, you already know who your midnight kiss is going to be. Not that you'll tell him that - his ego's big enough as it is.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 and 12,870 others

f1gossip Spotted: F1's power couple enjoying a day out in Monaco! Franco Colapinto and YN were seen strolling around today, looking very cozy! The pair, who have been subject to dating rumors seemed to have no interest in hiding their relationship anymore.

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username1 THE FUUUUUCK

username2 i don't like this..

username3 FRANCO GET AWAYYYY she's going to distract him

username4 why is this lowkey powerful

username5 THIS PLOT TWIST OMFG

username6 i thought they hated each other ??

username7 oh how the tables have turned

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Music pulses from Logan's Miami beach house as you and Franco make your way up the palm-lined driveway. The December air is surprisingly warm, fairy lights twinkling in every tree and reflecting off the pool visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Your hand is loosely intertwined with Franco's, something that still gives you butterflies even after weeks of... whatever this is between you.

"Birthday boy!" you call out as Logan spots you from the entrance, where he's greeting guests in a ridiculous party hat and an even more ridiculous Hawaiian shirt.

"If it isn't my best friend and the guy who stole my seat," Logan grins, pulling you into a tight hug before turning to Franco with an exaggerated suspicious look that quickly breaks into a genuine smile. "Good to see you, man."

"Happy birthday," Franco offers with a grin, accepting Logan's enthusiastic handshake-turned-hug. "Nice shirt."

"Right? YN said it was terrible, but what does she know about fashion?"

"Hey!" you protest, but you're laughing. "I have great taste."

Logan's eyes drift meaningfully to your joined hands. "Clearly," he smirks, making you blush and Franco chuckle. "Drinks are everywhere, food's by the pool, try not to fall in."

"That was one time," you mutter as Logan gets pulled away by more arriving guests.

Franco raises an eyebrow. "One time?"

"Don't ask. Come on, I need a drink before I tell you that story."

After getting drinks, you find yourself drifting between groups, Franco's hand a constant presence at the small of your back or linked with yours. It's nice, you think, not having to overthink every interaction, every touch. Here, away from the paddock and the cameras, you can just... be.

It's about an hour into the party when Logan finds you again, now sporting two party hats and what looks suspiciously like glitter on his cheek.

"Stinks! Just the person I wanted to see," he announces, dragging you away from where Franco is deep in conversation with Alex. "Back in five," he tells Franco with an exaggerated wink that makes you roll your eyes.

"Subtle," you comment as Logan leads you to the makeshift bar.

"Please, subtle went out the window when you two showed up holding hands like teenagers at prom," he snorts, mixing drinks with practiced ease. "Speaking of which..."

"Don't start," you warn, but you're fighting a smile.

"Me? Start something? Never," he puts a hand to his chest in mock offense. "I just find it interesting that the same person who spent three hours ranting to me about 'that arrogant Argentine who stole your seat' is now making heart eyes at him across my party."

"You're impossible."

"And you're happy," he says softly, his teasing tone giving way to something more sincere. "Like, really happy. I haven't seen you like this in… well, ever."

You look down at your drink, feeling your cheeks warm. "Yeah, well…"

"Hey," Logan nudges your shoulder. "It's a good thing. You deserve this, YN. Someone who gets you, who understands the pressure and the crazy schedule and still looks at you like you hung the moon."

"He doesn't-"

"He absolutely does. Trust me, I've been watching him watch you all night. It's disgustingly cute."

"I'm kind of scared, Logan," you look down at your hands nervously, "Six months ago, I hated him. And now I can't picture myself apart from him. It's all happening really fast and I'm not quite sure when everything shifted, but I feel like there's no going back now. And that's terrifies me."

"Stinks," Logan says gently, "you didn't hate him. You were hurt because of how everything went down with the seat, and you projected that onto him. I get being scared. This sport… it complicates things. But I've seen how he looks at you and how you look at him. It's okay to have feelings for him."

"How do you always know what to say?" you look up at him.

"Because I'm your best friend," he squeezes your shoulder. "Now go get your man. And please kiss him at midnight so I can win the bet with Alex."

"You bet on us?!"

"The whole grid did. I have fifty bucks riding on tonight!"

Later, as midnight approaches, you find yourself on the beach with Franco, fairy lights and stars twinkling above. Your conversation with Logan keeps playing in your mind, making you fidgety.

"You okay?" Franco asks softly, touching your arm.

"FIVE MINUTES!" someone shouts from the house.

"I have feelings for you," you blurt out. "Like, real feelings. And I know it's fast and complicated and I was horrible to you at first because I was hurt about the seat thing but then you were so nice and understanding and you brought me coffee after bad practice sessions and you defended me to the press and you make me laugh even when I'm trying to be mad and your accent gets thicker when you're tired which is unfairly adorable and-"

"THREE MINUTES!"

"-and sometimes I catch you looking at me in debriefs and it makes me forget what I'm saying and Oscar keeps making these knowing faces at us and I pretend to be annoyed but actually I kind of like it and-"

"SIXTY SECONDS!"

"-and I know this could complicate everything but I can't stop thinking about you and the way you smile when you see me in the morning and how you remember how I like my coffee and-"

"TEN! NINE! EIGHT!"

"-and maybe this is crazy but I really really like you and I know we should probably talk about what this means for next season but-"

"FOUR! THREE!"

"-and I just needed you to know-"

"TWO! ONE!"

Franco cuts off your rambling with a kiss, one hand cupping your face while the other pulls you closer. You melt into him as fireworks explode overhead, your heart racing for reasons that have nothing to do with the celebration around you.

When he pulls back, he's wearing that soft smile that always makes your stomach flip. "You're so cute when you rant."

"I don't rant," you protest weakly.

"Mi amor, you just spent ten minutes listing all the things you like about me, including my accent."

"Shut up."

He laughs, pressing his forehead to yours. "I want to be with you, YN. Officially, properly, no more undefined territory. I want everyone to know that you're mine and I'm yours. I want morning coffees and post-race celebrations and quiet moments like this. I want all of it, with you."

"Yeah?" you whisper, hardly daring to believe it.

"Yeah," he confirms, brushing his thumb across your cheek. "I'm crazy about you, in case my terrible attempts at flirting haven't made that obvious."

"Your flirting isn't terrible."

He kisses you again, laughing against your lips. "So… is that a yes?"

You pretend to think about it. "I don't know, Logan's friend is looking pretty good tonight…"

"Terrible," he murmurs, pulling you impossibly closer. "You're terrible."

"You like it," you smile, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I like everything about you."

Your heart skips. "Everything?"

"Everything," he confirms. "Even your terrible taste in coffee."

You laugh, bright and happy, before pulling him down for another kiss. Around you, the party continues, music and waves and distant fireworks creating a perfect backdrop to this moment. When you finally break apart, you're both breathless and smiling.

"Happy New Year," you murmur.

"The happiest," he agrees, and as he leans in again, you think that maybe some feelings are worth being scared of, especially when they lead to moments like this.

Plus, you just won Logan a bet. Not that you'll tell him that.

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linakhames · 11 days ago

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1d1195 · 4 months ago

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Independent

~10.6k words

From me: I know it's a long one, but it's a one-shot.

Warnings: angst, fluff. I've got about a thousand tropes in this one. Coworker Harry, Roommate Harry, love at first sight, he falls first and harder, one bed if you squint.

Summary: “Go on a date with me,” he groaned.

“Because of the cookies?”

“No! Well, yes. Right now, yes, because of the cookies. But s’not usually because of cookies.”

She laughed. “I don’t date, Harry.”

Harry was tall, with soft brown locks that begged to have fingers run through them, and cool green eyes that reminded her of the sage green bridesmaid’s dress she wore to one of her friends’ weddings the year before. He wore a dark purple button down with sleeves rolled up revealing a bunch of tattoos on his left arm but only a few on the right. His voice was melodic. Smooth, like he was going to sing her a lullaby and warm like it could toast a marshmallow.

Her group chat with a couple of her office friends had been buzzing the moment Harry took residence at the desk across the aisle and one row ahead of her.

Holy fuck. Val texted. Office eye candy 😍

Do you hear that thundering sound? That’s my heart 😍 Rachel continued.

She smirked at the desks, shaking her head.

Don’t shake your head. Say something! At least you’re single, you have a chance! Val sent the messages in quick succession, making her desk partner, Hunter, look at her curiously each time it vibrated.

“Do you have an emergency?” He asked her.

She shook her head. “Nope,” she smiled. “Not at all.”

Harry met her and asked her out on the very first day he started his new job. They both worked in an office. Their desks only a short distance apart while they worked together. He assumed there were no rules against dating as there were several married couples within the office as he quickly found out from the shared last names and wedding photos of his coworkers lining one another’s desks.

It seemed, as long as it didn’t interfere with their work, there was no issue.

Which was fine by Harry.

He was happy to ogle her all day long and he would spoil her rotten outside of work. “Hi, m’Harry,” Harry took his opportunity to introduce himself when everyone else left for their lunch hour and she was finishing something up. Leaving them alone in the office. Harry analyzed her desk as quickly as he could.

Their office was wide open with desks back-to-back nearly identical on either side with a long aisle leading to the office of their boss at the back of the room. Her desk faced the front of the room while Harry’s faced his boss’ office. He was on the opposite side of the room, and he had a great view all day long to watch her profile as she worked. Her hair was half up, her beautiful eyes hidden behind glasses, and her mouth set in concentration as she focused on her tasks. He couldn’t see her whole body, but he watched her pull her sandy colored cardigan around her white shirt multiple times that morning, like she was chilled by the air conditioner. His eyes were drawn to her. Like she was a lighthouse, and he was out at sea. All he wanted to do was watch her, keep an eye on her, and admire how stunning she was.

She had a little plant near her window—a bunch of red poppies wrapped up in a burlap vase, tied with a red bow. He couldn’t tell if it was fake or not, but he suspected it was. There was a picture of a large group of friends right by her monitor where she was off to the side in it, one of her girlfriends had an arm around her. Her stationery was cool tones of blues, greens, and purples. Her handwriting was scribbled on a calendar in front of her and he thought the way she curved her L’s was loopy and pretty beyond belief and he wished he had one in his name just to see how it looked. But it made him want to know how she would write his name anyway. There was a date at the end of September that was marked with a heart and he wondered why. Was it an anniversary? A birthday? Or the day her favorite movie came out?

A book sat on the windowsill, and he wondered when she had the time to read it during the day or maybe it was a security blanket kind of thing. There were two paper trays stacked on top of one another to organize her work and sticky notes all over her monitor and desk with ideas, reminders, and even a couple that said things like, “we love you” and “you’re so sweet.”

“Hi, Harry,” she smiled up at him to introduce herself. “Welcome to the team, are you having a good first day?”

He nodded, smiled a little brighter and dove right in. “I think m’in love with you,” she released a laugh that was so unbelievably beautiful Harry thought it sealed the deal. “I wouldn’t laugh, kitten. M’serious,” he frowned with faux sadness. He knew he was being a tad bit ridiculous. Maybe it wasn’t right to say it while they were alone, but he didn’t want to say it in front of everyone either. Hopefully he could convince her he was harmless, even if what he said was true.

Her cheeks reddened and she smiled. “That’s... very forward,” she reminded him. “And you don’t know me.”

“I know,” he rubbed the back of his head. “I was going t’hold off on saying it until tomorrow, but m’unable t’contain it. You’re very beautiful and everyone seems t’go t’you when they need help, so I imagine you’re a lovely person,” he pointed at the sticky note that said we love you once more. She snickered again and looked away covering one cheek with her hand. “M’going t’go t’lunch before I embarrass myself further, but I jus’ wanted to tell you,” he shrugged, stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned toward the exit.

“Nice meeting you Harry,” she called after him a smile on her lips.

He grinned and turned briefly to wave before he exited. “Don’t forget t’eat, kitten,” he called.

But now that Harry admitted he was in love with her, she couldn’t help but feel like she was being watched while she worked. Her eyes darted to his side of the room often trying to see if he was staring at her. He wasn’t each time which only made her feel guilty and worse. Maybe her standoffish disposition deterred him rapidly. It was probably for the best, anyway. For a lot of reasons.

Was it disappointment she was feeling from his lack of attention? That didn’t seem right.

“Harry!” Val called from behind her. “Are you enjoying your first day?”

“Immensely,” did his eyes drift over to her and her desk? She stared at her screen pretending to work while she listened.

“Did you just move to town?” Rachel was much further towards the front of the room. He turned to give her his full attention. It made her heart skip a beat with how kind it was. His politeness was a massive turn on.

Even if she wasn’t going to let herself admire Harry from across the way just because they worked together.

“I did, m’actually looking for a place t’live if y’know of any places. M’at a hotel until m’on m’feet.”

Her heart started beating about two hundred times a minute because she knew what was going to happen before it did. She could feel the bubbling excitement from her friends on either end of the room. “Mary Poppins has a room!” Rachel shouted.

Her cheeks turned bright red.

“Her roommate just moved in with her boyfriend like last week! How perfect is that, Mary? You were all worried about finding a normal roommate. I even did his background check, so I know he’s good to go!”

Harry chuckled. “Um... who’s Mary Poppins?”

The whole office giggled. “Miss Poppins, did you not introduce yourself?” Someone else called. Hunter snickered across from her and she glared at him.

This was mortifying. Wasn’t this supposed to be a mortifying day for Harry? His first day and all? How come she was being teased? She took a deep breath and turned from her monitor to make direct eye contact with Harry who was already looking at her. Like he knew exactly who Mary Poppins was without his coworkers needing to tell him. “It’s a two-bedroom apartment. One bath. There’s a nice kitchen, all new appliances.”

Harry’s jaw dropped as she spoke. Like he was surprised it really was her. “Val looks like she’s going to bounce out of her seat,” Hunter smirked as he whispered under his breath to her while she tried not to panic at the thought of living with someone so unbelievably attractive and just admitted he was in love with her.

“Tell him about your living room!” Val sounded like she was bouncing.

“Water’s included.”

“She’s the cutest interior designer. It’s so homey it feels like a warm hug when you walk in. Like living with a rom-com character,” Rachel continued.

“Rent would be about twelve hundred,” she ignored her so-called friends.

“She bakes something once a week too, so it always smells like sugar and Christmas. It’s seriously the coziest place I’ve ever been,” Val kept going.

“In-unit washer and dryer.”

“Then she brings whatever she makes for all of us here to devour. It’s incredible,” Rachel’s sentiment was answered with a hum of agreement from the rest of her coworkers. She even heard someone say remember her apple turnover pastries?

“You get your own parking spot,” she tilted her head and looked at the ceiling to see if there was anything else she had forgotten. “I think that’s it,” she met Harry’s eyes once more, holding his gaze briefly before she turned back to her monitor.

“Harry you should totally move in, you will fall in love with the place.”

“M’sure I would,” he chuckled. “Could I see it sometime?” He asked. His attention never strayed from her face. She could sense his gaze on the side of her cheek the whole time her friends embarrassed the crap out of her. “Whenever you’re free. Doesn’t have t’be today.”

“Today’s fine!” Rachel assured him. “She doesn’t do anything on Mondays.”

She rolled her eyes. “Today is fine,” she repeated and smiled sweetly. She scribbled on a sticky note and headed to his desk to drop the address off with him. Then she made her way toward the restroom because she needed to get out of the room. Needed away from everyone teasing her good-naturedly.

But mostly so she could keep herself from telling Harry that she was quite, very possibly, in love with him as well.

True to her friends’ words, the place was cozy as hell. There was a basket of throw blankets next to a sofa that looked like it was comfier than his bed currently in his storage unit. Artwork dotted the walls, board games stowed below her TV, and curtains pulled back from the windows letting in the afternoon sunlight. It felt like a home.

There were three boxes in the middle of the living room between the coffee table and the TV, but it was otherwise spotless. “You’re very clean.”

She nodded. “I know, I’m sorry.”

He chuckled. “Y’don’t need t’apologize,” he put his hands in his pockets, so he didn’t do something crazy like hold her hand.

“I don’t want you to think I’m crazy, is all. You can be... messy... I won’t have a freak out or anything. Unless you leave food in the sink then we get bugs. Then I’ll be kind of freaked out.”

He laughed. “I wouldn’t do that. I like t’think m’pretty clean myself,” he assured her. “I also...” he took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his head. “Y’friends kinda put y’on the spot. I know what I admitted at lunch was kinda out of... out of the blue,” he bit his lip. “Y’don’t have t’feel obligated t’house me.”

“I don’t,” she promised. “I need a roommate and like Val said,” she shrugged. “She did your background check so I assume you won’t kill me, probably. At least not because you’re a serial killer. Maybe because I’m too clean.”

He shook his head with a smile on his lips making the most adorable dimple dent his cheek. She wanted to stick her tongue in it. “Thank you, m’really appreciative.”

She smiled. “You’re welcome, Harry. Sorry we’ll be around each other a lot.”

That didn’t seem like a bad thing at all. “I think it’ll be okay. We didn’t really talk much today,” he shrugged. “If y’get sick of me, m’sure I can find another place t’live,” he winked.

She rolled her eyes. “Won’t be necessary. But okay,” she sighed. “You can move in whenever,” she grabbed her keys from the breakfast bar where she ate most of her meals and pulled a key off the ring and handed it to him. “I have a second job some nights, but if you give me a heads up, I can help you move your stuff.”

“S’very kind of you, kitten, but y’don’t need t’do that. M’not going t’have all that much stuff. M’friend Louis lives not too far from here. He’ll come help me.”

“Offer stands,” she assured him.

Harry’s eyes scanned the room again and landed on the three boxes once more. “Are those your old roommate’s boxes?” He asked.

She nodded. “Two of them. I’m supposed to bring them to her, but they’re super heavy so I’m like... working up my mental and physical strength to bring them to my car. It’s going to be two trips and I’m just being a little lazy about it.”

“I can bring them down,” he grabbed one. It was definitely heavy. It was evident Harry had defined biceps and triceps practically outlined by the pretty purple button down, but it was manageable for him while a struggle for her. “Still probably two trips,” he nodded.

“Oh, I can take—”

“No, no,” he shook his head. “Don’t want you t’hurt yourself. Let me,” he offered and snagged her car keys off the counter.

“Oh, thank you that’s... thank you,” she swallowed, feeling grateful.

“Not a problem,” he assured her and left immediately.

When he returned after putting the second box in her car to return her keys, she had opened the third box and begun laying out a bunch of fall items to decorate their place. “Do you mind decorations?”

“Of course not,” he smiled. “Can I help?”

She blinked at him and tilted her head. “Um... I can handle it. If you need to pack or go... get dinner or something.”

“M’fine,” he smiled, setting her keys on the counter and glanced around the room. He noted there were hooks screwed into the wall at various points. “Can I hang something for you? M’good for height.”

Harry wasn’t that much taller than her, she was definitely taller than the average woman, but it still meant she needed to drag out a stepstool when she wanted to put up her art and decorations. “That would be awesome,” she nodded. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem, kitten,” he smiled.

Harry had a dreamy smile on his face as they talked and got to know one another. He hadn’t brought up that he was in love with her. Nor did he make her feel the least bit uncomfortable. Like it had never happened.

Why did it feel like she was disappointed about the prospect of that?

Maybe he wasn’t in love with her. Maybe the initial reaction of seeing someone roughly the same age as him at work made his senses a bit wild for a moment.

No. She wasn’t disappointed. Everything about Harry being in love with her would be a recipe for disaster and it was for the best that he didn’t fall in love with her.

It was just something a little bit out of the blue to say to the only person who was single in the office. Everyone had a significant other they had met within the office or elsewhere. She was the last single person. The same was true with her friend group as well. Everyone in her life had been paired off except for her.

He was her coworker. He was going to be her roommate.

But right as he left, he sent her heart into a frenzy. They were by the door. She wanted to make sure he got to his car safely even though it was a safe neighborhood. It was just the way she was. “Will you go on a date with me?” He asked.

She stared at him in shock, her lips parting like she was mid-sentence, and he had interrupted. “Seriously?” She giggled reflexively, but her cheeks felt hot. They had a lovely evening together getting to know each other. Harry helped with all the decorations and yes, in its own way it was a bit intimate. But he couldn’t possibly think that it was a good idea to date his roommate.

“Yes,” he nodded.

“Harry, I can’t date my roommate.”

“Pretty sure s’how most rom-coms start,” he smiled. “S’okay. I’ll ask again later. Have a nice night,” he grinned with a wave and walked toward his car. Leaving her jaw slack, as she watched her roommate head off into the night.

Harry moved in later that week. He asked her to come with him to his storage unit to see if there was anything she would want in the apartment, but she had pretty much everything. It seemed silly to bring a double of everything when she owned all of it already.

But Harry would forever be grateful and indebted to his sister for her kindness as he watched her examine some of his belongings. One in particular caught her eye making him think that he had won the lottery with how excited she was.

She couldn’t believe Harry had a stand mixer and she was nearly in awe of all the attachments to help bake and cook easier. “I’ve always wanted one of these. They’re so expensive,” she blinked. “How do you have one?”

“M'sister got one when she got married,” he explained. “But she doesn’t bake and said it was taking up space in her kitchen.”

“Can we bring it to the apartment? Do you mind?”

The way her eyes lit up at the sight of it? Pure joy and happiness? Yeah. It was going to the apartment. If he ever moved out, he would probably leave it with her too just so she could always look that happy. “Course. Anything else?”

She looked around the organized storage room sifting through the items in different bins while Harry searched for some of his own trinkets that he thought he would want after his initial move. His room and bathroom items had already been moved in with the help of Louis. “This is stunning,” her voice full of awe once more, grabbing a print from behind a shelf. Harry wasn’t sure where it was from. He thought his mum purchased it to make his old place feel like home. “This would look amazing in the living room.”

“Bring it,” he smiled. She tucked it under her arm and continued searching. Harry grabbed a few more odds and ends and she plucked out a few more things she thought would work with the apartment’s décor and mainly helpful kitchen tools.

“It’s your place too, Harry,” she reminded him. “Is there anything you want there?”

He smiled, shook his head. “Y’seem t’have everything, kitten. M’not picky.”

“I don’t want you to feel like a guest,” she pouted. “Like you should bring these,” she gestured to pictures of his friends and family in a bin. “I can move some of mine to my room so you can put them up.”

He grinned. “Sure,” he shrugged. “If y’think s’what I should do.”

“Alright, could we come back in a few weeks and see if there’s anything else you want once you’re settled a bit?”

“Course.”

They gathered as much as they could, Harry would have to come back for the stand mixer. Harry closed the trunk and moved to open the passenger door for her before her hand fully pulled it out of the way. He waited until she was tucked into the seat safely and he handed her the car keys. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here,” she smiled.

“Hey kitten,” he said leaning against the door before he left. “Will y’go on a date with me?”

“Harry,” she laughed the same way she did the last time he asked her. The same way she laughed when he told her he was in love with her. “You can’t be serious!”

“Deadly,” he smiled at the delight on her face. The pretty pink color rising to her cheeks. “Will you?”

“I can’t go on a date with you, Harry,” she looked at him with a bit of sympathetic pity. Like he was ridiculous for asking. Again. Which he was.

“Then I’ll ask again another time,” he shrugged, closed her car door, and headed to get the stand mixer that made her happy.

“Hey Poppy, did y’want t’go get lunch with me?” Her eyes didn’t move from her screen. “Poppy,” he repeated. “Poppy,” he sang. She glanced around and realized she was the only one in the room.

“Me?”

He chuckled. “Yes, you.”

Her eyebrows pinched together. “Why did you call me Poppy?”

“Well, m’assuming s’your favorite flower,” it was a safe bet since there was a small bouquet right beside her. “Also, everyone else calls y’Mary, Poppins, or Miss Poppins. Which I still don’t know why, but I wanted t’be different. Want you t’know s’me when y’hear me talking t’you.”

Her heart raced. Harry was utterly adorable. “I see. Sorry,” she smirked.

“Anyway,” he came over to stand by her desk. “Do y’want t’get lunch?”

“Harry, I told you I don’t date.”

“M’not asking as a date. M’asking as your coworker who has never seen y’eat a bite of food while you’re at work. M’asking as your concerned roommate who worries y’don’t eat until y’get home for dinner. And I don’t even want t’think ‘bout how long y’go without eating when you’re at your second job.”

She smiled at his thoughtfulness. “I don’t go out to lunch with everyone,” she explained. “I don’t know if you noticed, but people always seem to need me while I’m here,” she gestured to her desk. “Lunch is the only time I get a minute to myself. And I can get caught up a bit before the afternoon and everyone comes back.”

“Well do you bring lunch?” He asked, his frown deepening still worried she wasn’t eating.

“I do, it’s in the breakroom. I’ll get it in a minute,” she promises. “Go, you’re wasting your lunch hour.”

“Okay,” he sighed. He stopped in the doorway of the entrance to the office. “Hey Poppy,” he smiled.

“Yeah?” She asked without looking up from her screen.

“Now that y’mention it though, will y’go out with me?”

At home, Harry took the trash out because he said it was a boy-job and she shouldn’t be out in the dark by a dumpster. It made his skin crawl just to think about it. He made her promise that she wouldn’t take out the trash and he didn’t mind if he had to go out twice in one day. She thought it was ridiculous. But she agreed.

He cleaned up after himself checking with her to see if it was up to her standard. Even though she assured him he didn’t have to meet her standard. His cologne overtook their bathroom, and it was so comforting she took long hot showers at night just to amplify the scent filling her nose. Harry stretched across the sofa and scrolled through various show options but often didn’t find something that piqued his interest. Instead, he would put on some background noise and read on an eReader. His eyebrows pinched together in concentration.

Harry bought groceries and didn’t ask for any money from them. “M’sure you’ll buy stuff too,” he shrugged. Plus, she already had all the cleaning supplies, laundry detergent, dishwasher pods, and the like. Harry hardly had anything useful so buying groceries was the least he could do.

Except the stand mixer. People moaned about her cookies. Harry got to see her make them firsthand and the very scene with an apron around her body, her smile bright as she tested various stages of the dough, it did wonders for Harry. Some kind of nearly pornographic idea that only Harry would think was pornographic. “Will you try one?” She asked, hope in her voice.

Was he supposed to say no to her? Absolutely not. So, he tried one. “Go on a date with me,” he groaned.

“Because of the cookies?”

“No! Well, yes. Right now, yes, because of the cookies. But s’not usually because of cookies.”

She laughed. “I don’t date, Harry.”

He frowned, faking his disappointment (although he was the slightest bit disappointed). “I’ll try again,” he shrugged and took three more cookies from her cooling rack before returning to the sofa to read.

“Mary!” Val sang. “Do you have the stain stick?” She called from behind. She opened a drawer, eyes unmoving from her screen and held it out behind her for it to be passed back by her other coworkers. Harry chuckled.

It killed her that she knew his chuckle without looking. “S’impressive,” he murmured quietly. But she could hear it from across the way.

“That’s nothing,” Rachel said from the other end of the room. “Miss Poppins,” she smiled delightedly. “I have a missing button,” she told her.

That was the other drawer, a small little sewing kit to fix a button.

“Hair tie!” Someone called from the other side of the room.

“Lint roller!”

They all called out items and she had every single one.

“Do you have anything stronger to put in this coffee?” Their boss was walking up the aisle and paused at her desk. She smirked, opened the bottom drawer and placed a mini bottle of liquid on the edge of the desk. The whole office laughed as he snatched it and headed to his office. “You’re getting a raise, Poppins,” he called.

Hunter turned to look at Harry. “I gave her the nickname,” he explained.

“I get it,” he chuckled.

“If you need it, chances are she has it.”

“If she doesn’t, she adds it,” Val explained.

Her smile was soft. Harry thought it was sweet how her coworkers adored her. It was clear she was loved by them. Her thoughtfulness was admirable. Harry wondered how he was supposed to top that. No wonder she didn’t want to go out with him. Why would she want to go out with anyone when she was ten times sweeter than anyone she knew?

Her best friend Josephine (Joey) was helping her in the bathroom when Harry got home from the gym one Friday evening. “Holy hell you said he was cute, not hot,” she gaped.

“Aw, y’think m’cute, Poppy?” He asked winking at her. Her cheeks flushed red, making it so she didn’t need any of the blush she was putting on her cheeks. He leaned against the doorframe; arms crossed over his chest. He was sweaty and really wanted to get in the shower, but he didn't mind a bit of time to stare at his sweet roommate.

“I should have known. Only a man that uses such high-end cologne would be this hot.”

“Didn’t you buy Matt high-end cologne?”

“Hence why I think he’s so hot,” Joey beamed. Her friend laughed quietly, shaking her head as she finished with her makeup.

“Sorry Harry, we’ll be out of the way in a minute.”

“Take y’time. M’not in a rush.”

“Oh, you should come out!” Joey squealed. “Harry, please! She’s always by herself keeping an eye on us it would be nice to have someone keep her company!”

“Thanks, Mom. I don’t need a babysitter,” she rolled her eyes. “No offense, Harry.”

“S’okay,” he chuckled. “I don’t want t’impose. Plus m’in need of a shower.”

“Don’t let us stop you,” Joey smiled widely gesturing to the shower.

“Can you not?” She rolled her eyes and looked at Harry with apologetic eyes.

He laughed again and shook his head. “Y’can call if y’need something,” he assured her.

“Harry, please come out! You can meet us there!” Joey said again.

She looked at him with a soft smile. A look in her eyes said he wasn’t going to get out of it. Not if he didn’t have a really good reason. But truthfully? He didn’t need a reason to get out of it. Spending time with her outside of work, outside of the apartment, and errands like the grocery store and running to the post office had him excited to see her in another frame of light. Did she let loose? He would love to dance with her. Even if it was only as friends, roommates, fuck as coworkers even. How did she act around her friends versus her coworkers? God, he was obsessed.

“I can wait for you,” she suggested, her voice soft. Harry smiled.

“Thanks, Poppy.”

Her eyes scanned for her friends as she sat on a stool at a high top beside Harry. It was like watching a teacher on a field trip counting heads to make sure everyone was still present. The table was littered with drinks all of which she minded just as intently.

Harry just gazed at her as he sipped his drink. He helped as needed pushing drinks toward her friends as they came back from dancing. “Y’don’t dance?”

“Oh...maybe later. I’m not very good,” she admitted. “I like dancing with Joey because she’s worse than me.”

She caught the eye of one of her friends, Hailey, approaching and she reached into her purse strapped around the front of her for something. Harry watched as Hailey made it to her. “Thanks Mary,” she gushed taking the bandage from her and made her way for the bathroom. It was pretty wild she could anticipate whatever her friends needed. It was like at work. Harry was a bit awestruck and looked at her with a surprised expression. She shrugged and continued sipping her drink.

Jaylen was next. Joey’s twin brother; they had the same facial expressions--mainly the smile that Joey had on her face when she suggested Harry shower in front of her and his favorite person.

The same smile appeared on his face and told Harry he was going to say something just as delightful as Joey had said of Harry. Sure enough, Jaylen draped an arm around her and leaned into her ear to whisper something over the sound of the music. She rolled her eyes and shoved him playfully. His face turned serious and he whispered something again.

She frowned. Then reached into her purse again. Out came a tampon which he slid discreetly into his pocket and then she glanced at his outfit twisting her lips to the side in disappointment.

After a brief thought, she pulled her purse over her body and laid it on the table. The long cardigan she wore came off next, leaving her in a black tank top that tucked into her jeans. It hugged her curves like a glove making Harry’s mouth water and he glanced away worried he would look like a creep. He finished his beer before Jaylen grinned and thanked her profusely and walked away. She took a deep breath and put her purse back into position before wrapping one arm in front of he protectively, gripping the front of her shoulder.

“Are y’cold?” He asked.

She shook her head.

But Harry was sitting beside her. He could see the goosebumps on her skin. She selflessly gave her sweater to her friend for whatever reason (Harry wasn’t totally sure, but he suspected it was menstrual related). But she was going to pretend like she wasn’t cold? Harry was definitely in love. In case it wasn’t obvious by the moment he met her. Boldly, Harry reached below her bar stool and tugged it toward him. She jostled a bit but he maintained her balance. Then he draped his arm around her body pulling her toward him further and he couldn’t help but notice she didn’t pull away. She didn’t make a sound and her facial expression didn’t change.

But Harry felt her body relax into his side, her head dipping ever so slightly toward his shoulder. He smiled softly and brought his lips closer to her ear so she could hear. “Y’don’t have t’lie t’me, Poppy. M’your roommate and all. I know y’like the apartment a toasty temperature.”

She smirked and tilted her head up. Their eyes connected, their mouths only two inches apart. “Thank you,” she said kindly.

Harry really enjoyed holding her.

At the end of the night, she rounded up her friends ensuring those who said they could drive actually could and if they couldn’t she called for Ubers until everyone was safely on their way home. Jaylen’s girlfriend, Maya, had her green sweater wrapped around her white pants. She thanked her profusely, drunkenly.

Joey and Matt waved goodbye. “Bye Hot Roommate,” Joey called waving to Harry specifically.

“Jesus, Joey,” Matt rolled his eyes. “Nice meeting you Harry,” he called.

Once everyone was gone, she rubbed her hands on her arms to keep the blood flowing and warming her skin. Harry wrapped his arm over her shoulders again and tucked her into his side as they headed for her parked car a couple blocks away. “Go on a date with me," he spoke straight forward. Hoping if he didn't look, it wouldn't seem like as a massive deal--almost like he would trick her into a date.

She elbowed him. “I can’t go out with a coworker, Harry. Or my roommate for that matter.”

He shrugged. “I’ll ask later,” he boldly kissed the top of her head. Fortunately, she didn't seem to mind. Harry was sure to keep that in his head for future reference. He would most definitely be kissing her again. “You’re an extremely sweet girl, Poppy. Selfless, lovely, kind,” he listed. “Whoever y’end up with, m’going t’be very jealous,” he assured her.

She snorted and laughed quietly under her breath. “Thank you, Harry.”

For months it continued with similar routines, feelings, and questions. They grew closer as friends. At work he admired her from his desk from across the office. When she didn’t go to lunch, he reminded her to eat and not work too hard. At home, he grumbled that her loophole of taking the trash out in the daytime was not the point of his promise. He still bought groceries each week trying to figure out all the things she enjoyed eating.

He helped her clean the apartment and when it was getting cooler outside, she asked to join him at the gym. Her outfits were cute and made guys stare at her as she worked out, unbeknownst to her. She asked for help from Harry which made him feel like he won an Olympic medal. His face was smug as the men in the gym finally stopped looking at her. Thinking Harry was lucky enough to be hers.

It made him happy to help her figure out new machines and with her sets of weightlifting (even though she didn’t like it).

Everywhere they went, people ogled her. She was so kind. Little kids would smile at her in grocery store lines and wave like it was a game of peekaboo. Dogs tugged on their leashes hoping to get a pet from her around the loop she ran in the neighborhood. Their elderly next door neighbor tried telling her a hundred times that she had a grandson her age and he would love to date her (that one drove Harry the most crazy).

She had her head leaning in her palm as she watched the stand mixer beat the brownie ingredients like it was the most interesting thing in the world. But Harry was watching her; so he was, in fact, watching the most interesting thing in the world.

He leaned against the wall just beside the kitchen entrance. “Poppy?” He asked. She looked up at him. “Go on a date with me, please," his expression soft.

She was finally getting used to it. She gave herself a lot of credit. It was pretty crazy she hadn’t caved yet. Harry was so lovely. Not to mention attractive. At the gym, his muscles rippled and glistened with sweat. The outline of every abdominal muscle was sinful. It was a miracle she didn’t drop her own weights or fall on the treadmill when she caught sight of him. It drove her crazy that the women there gazed at him longingly; like he was something to eat. But was she really any better?

She smiled, the blush on her cheeks still prominent, but not as deep. She was used to her heart skipping a beat, the butterflies fluttering in her stomach each time he asked. “That's very sweet, Harry. But I don’t date.”

It was six months since he met her when he finally asked. “Why not?”

She shrugged. He thought she wasn’t going to say anything more, so he frowned, sighed, and headed for the living room to get back to his book. “I just don’t date, Harry. I like being friends,” she told him.

He grumbled something about still being friends even if they dated but she either didn’t hear or pretended not to hear. Either way, it was quiet for a few beats. “If I hadn’t told you I was in love with you that first day, would that have changed your answer?”

She giggled and shook her head. “No.”

“Okay,” he shrugged. Ever determined. He smiled widely at her. “I’ll keep asking then.”

When she got dressed up for a family wedding and clicked down the hall in heels and a dress that flowed over her like she was the bride (only wearing green of course, not white). Her hair was curled and pinned so prettily Harry thought he was seeing a real angel in the flesh. “Oh, come on, Poppy,” he groaned and covered his eyes with his hand dramatically. “S’not fighting fair,” he frowned.

She grinned, her cheeks warming more than they had in a while. “I look okay?”

“Stunning,” he grumbled. “M’so jealous I won’t get t’dance with you,” he pouted.

She shook her head. “I don’t usually dance at weddings when I go alone,” she explained.

“Well, y’should’ve told me. I would’ve been your date.”

“Harry—”

“Platonic date,” he rolled his eyes. “This is worse than when y’wore that pencil skirt t’work,” he reminded her. She snickered and shook her head while she looked at her phone. She sucked her lip into her mouth and sighed wincing slightly and then turned to her room again. After several minutes she returned in a different dress. She was equally stunning, but she looked a little forlorn. “An outfit change?”

She nodded. “Yeah,” she shrugged. “My sister is wearing green.”

Harry frowned. “So?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I just...” she shrugged. “It’s alright. I like this dress just fine.”

But it wasn’t green. She looked so pretty in green. It complimented her skin tone so perfectly. She looked stunning. Like she was a queen. “But—”

“Seriously, Harry. It’s fine.”

The muted purple dress looked lovely on her as well. But Harry thought the green made her look otherworldly. He wanted the happiness back in her eye. The light that sparked when he complimented her. “Well when can y’wear it?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Season’s almost over for a wintergreen like that,” she shrugged. “Maybe next year.”

Harry frowned. But then he had a wonderful idea to help both her dress and himself. “Go on a date with me, Poppy.”

The smile reappeared on her face, and she shook her head. “I can’t, Harry.”

“Please? Do it for the sake of that dress,” he pleaded. “We don’t even have t’call it a date. An outing. An adventure. Whatever y’want. Y’jus’ need t’wear it before y’can’t.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Harry. But I can’t.”

He sighed. “You’re welcome, Poppy.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow? I’ll steal you a cupcake. I heard they come from this bakery that I love and if it doesn’t make it home to you, then we’re going to have to go there anyway.”

It didn’t replace a date. But he liked the way she smiled. And going to a bakery together was inherently a couple-y thing to do. So he would take what he could get.

“Sure, Poppy. I’d love to.”

She didn’t need people. Needing people had only ever broken her heart. She never asked for help ever. Well...only when they were at the gym but that was a safety thing more than anything.

Even when she should have asked.

Harry didn’t notice until he drove her to a house party that her friends didn’t invite her too. She was sleepy, it was obvious. Leggings, oversized sweater. Her hair was braided loosely and falling apart because she had woken in the middle of the night to answer a message. Harry was in the middle of a good book. Unable to put it down when she ventured into the living room. A yawn falling from her lips. Her eyes barely open. It took several questions and repeated convincing to let him drive her since he was awake, and it looked like she was going to pass out while standing.

Harry insisted on coming in even as she told him to stay in the car, but he refused. She found her friends, her voice was soft as she encouraged Jaylen to leave. A little over his limit and Joey and Maya were about just as gone and unable to convince Jaylen to go with them. A guy from across the room made a joke about Mommy coming to save him. As her pugnacious friend made a turn to deal with the offensive person, she stopped him. She was quick, grabbed his arm, and held tight.

When they returned to the apartment she corralled her friends into their sleeping arrangements. Maya and Jaylen in her bed, Joey on the sofa. “Sorry I took your reading spot,” she whispered as she tucked a blanket around Joey. She snagged another blanket and curled into the only other chair in the living room. “Thank you for driving,” she smiled, closing her sleepy eyes.

“You’re gonna sleep there?” He asked. She nodded, barely moving. Like she was already half-way to dreaming. Harry snagged her out of the chair, cradling her and bringing her to his room.

“Harry,” she protested.

“We’re grown adults,” he reminded her. “We can share a bed without it being weird. S’like a hotel room.”

“Harry,” she repeated, her objection evident in her tone. “I can’t—”

“M’not letting y’sleep in a chair or on the floor. So, it’s m’bed or y’aren’t sleeping,” he shrugged.

She sighed. Too tired to oppose any further, thankfully. Harry laid her atop the covers and draped another blanket over her. He went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and slid beneath his sheets and glanced at the sleeping angel beside him. He smiled. He liked the way she looked in his bed. Liked the way she seemed comfortable and sleepy beside him. His bed felt warm with her beside him. Even though she wasn’t touching him. She smelled good in his room too.

“Night, Harry,” she mumbled.

“Good night, Poppy,” he answered, reached out, squeezed her hand before releasing it so she wouldn’t break a piece of his heart by telling him they shouldn’t.

It was easy to fall asleep with her beside him.

It was even easier to dream of her with her intoxicating presence in his room as well.

Harry noticed how drained she seemed when the weather continued to get warmer. Her friends all had birthdays around the same time, and she was a mess of scheduling and reserving birthday dinners and planning things for all of them. Did Harry miss her birthday? He would have to ask. He hoped he didn’t. He hoped her friends would take the time to plan for her the way she did for them.

Work was approaching a busy season, and everyone kept coming to her more and more throughout the day. He could see the anxiety on her face as her growing to-do list looked nearly unmanageable. Harry tried to go to others if he had issues. But every time he asked someone else a question, they called out for Mary Poppins, and she would glance up and look at Harry with a sad smile asking how she could help.

Harry was worried she wasn’t eating her lunch. When everyone else left, her eyes were hidden behind those glasses, her face concentrating and relieved for the reprieve from people calling her name for help with work or needing something like a pen or a screwdriver. Sometimes Harry hated his job. Not because it was difficult. But it seemed like everyone in the office was incompetent. Or weaponizing their incompetence and foisting their tasks onto the lovely woman who would never say no to them.

Her friends did it too. With all the planning and such.

The poor thing looked exhausted. She didn’t join Harry at the gym and her second job seemed like the only time she got to herself. “I miss reading,” she grumbled when she got home late from her shift. She kicked her shoes off and flopped onto the opposite end of the sofa. “My eyes are exhausted though,” she rubbed them for good measure. “I think I would fall asleep if I tried to read. I think I need to wake up earlier and read.”

Harry snorted. “Don’t burn yourself out, Poppy,” he rolled his eyes. “What are y’reading?”

“I’ve been trying t’read this book for months,” she pulled it from the shelf below the coffee table. He had seen it tucked there for a while. He grabbed it from her, skimmed the back of the book, and opened to the first chapter.

Then, he started reading.

Out loud.

“Harry,” she whispered her eyes wide.

“Yeah?” He asked, pointing at the sentence where he stopped and looked at her curiously. “M’starting over, because I want t’know what’s happening,” he smiled. Her face looked so shocked and confused. Sad even. Like she didn’t know what emotion she was supposed to feel.

“You don’t have to—”

He shook his head, and continued reading before she could finish her sentence.

Harry read three chapters before he carried her sleeping self to bed.

Something changed in Harry. He almost turned into a stalker. He tracked her movements and routines for a week. He knew most of them. But he really tracked them. The daily ones were easiest. She went for a run in the morning, he followed her lead and didn’t say a word. He went to her favorite coffee shop and paid for her favorite drink for a week’s worth of drinks in advance.

He wished they carpooled, but she was so busy. So he timed his arrival so that he was at the entrance door holding it open for her. When everyone left to get lunch, he heated up her food and brought it to her desk before leaving silently.

One day, there was a note on her dashboard saying she had a full tank of gas. When she arrived home after her second job, she noted her spare car key was on Harry’s key ring. At home, her laundry was in the wash. The shirts she didn’t like to put in the dryer were hung in the bathroom.

Harry could see it. She was cracking. It was the first time someone had done something for her it seemed. The first time someone so selflessly did things for her, anticipated her needs the way she anticipated everyone else’s.

Her throat felt tight as she looked at Harry in the kitchen, making her favorite dinner—a soup that took hours and hours to make.

He didn’t even know it was her birthday that day which made her heart feel sicker than ever.

“Poppy,” he smiled sweetly placing a bowl in front of her exhausted figure.

“Yeah?” She whispered.

If she wasn't so in awe, she would have realized where his tone was. What was coming next. “Go on a date with me, kitten.”

“I can’t.”

“S’not so hard,” he assured her. “You sit across from me and be yourself because m’already in love with you,” he reminded her sweetly. An impish grin on his pretty pink lips. That dimple she wanted to sink her tongue into on display. “I tell y’how stunning y’look, I pay for you t’eat. I feed you a dessert of your choosing that you’re probably too full t’eat and then I can kiss you wherever y’want. Lips, cheek, forehead,” he shrugged. “Then we come home, and I’ll read a chapter of your book. Y’can decide if y’want t’go on a second date.”

She giggled, her cheeks red. “I can’t, Harry,” she looked at him apologetically, but she felt herself melting as much as the soup warmed her insides. It was ridiculous to eat soup in the middle of the summer. But Harry made it for her anyway.

His heart deflated a little. He wasn't kidding. He was definitely in love. He had to be because there was no other way he could explain the feelings he had for her. Someone so thoughtful, so pretty, sweet, and funny.

Harry had asked her out at least a hundred times. Around Christmas, she got her hair cut and he always found her beautiful, but he asked her almost every day following her new hair style for a month straight. Each time she said she couldn't. She didn't date.

For the first time in the near year since he had first asked her, first met her, he realized she said she can’t go on a date with him. She didn’t date. That he was crazy.

Not that she didn’t want to. She didn’t say no.

Hope bloomed inside him.

She didn’t need anything. She didn’t need anybody. It was clear someone or maybe many had let her down so many times. He watched her doing everything she could to make this party as nice as humanly possible for Hailey. Not that Hailey didn’t deserve it, but no one had done anything like this for her. Harry only found out it was her birthday after the fact, and he felt like shit for it. Even though she assured him that was one of the best birthdays she ever had.

All he did was make her soup.

She deserved so much more.

It almost seemed too obvious that they hadn’t done anything for her remotely as lovely as she did.

“You’re staring, Styles,” she murmured without looking up from the chair while he lounged on the sofa.

“Go on a date with me,” he smiled.

She blushed, shook her head. “You’re crazy.”

“You haven’t said no.”

"I've said no about a hundred thousand times, Harry," she rolled her eyes.

Why was it now? Why did he want to tell her what he was thinking about the whole situation now? But it was in his chest. He had to say it. Had to tell her.

“No, you’ve never said no,” he shook his head and looked at her head on, while she continued looking at her to do list, her planner. Her poor neglected book waiting to be read by Harry because her tired eyes couldn’t. She looked up at him and smirked. Ready to protest once more, but Harry shook his head again. “I remember everything you've said t'me. I would remember a 'no,' it would probably kill me t’hear y’say, no kitten. Y'call me crazy, y'say y'can’t or that y'don’t date. Never, not once, have y'ever said y'don’t want t'go on a date with me. Nor a flat out no. So m'going t’keep asking until y'say y'don’t want to. Because I think you do want t'go out with me but for some reason y'don't want t'allow yourself t'be happy. T'let someone else in. M'not going t'stop asking. Not until I hear y'say "Harry Styles I would rather die than go on a date with you. I never want to go out with you." Maybe that makes me conceited or creepy. M’sure it does make me crazy. But I don’t care. I want t'go on a date with you. I want t'go on a million dates with you, actually. So m'not giving up until y'call me creepy or y'say y'don’t want to.”

She swallowed like there was something stuck in her throat. Her eyes didn't move from her lap.

"Kitten," he murmured. She didn’t look up. “Poppy,” he whispered. She finally met his green-eyed gaze again. His expression soft, pleading. “Go on a date with me,” his voice was soft. Harry swore his heart stopped beating because if he was wrong, if she really was saying no all those times, he wasn't sure he could ever stop asking her. The idea he would never get to take her out to eat and order her favorite dessert. He wouldn't see a movie and wrap his arm around her shoulders and that was completely unfair. He wanted to offer his jacket to her when it rained and hold her hand while walking through a museum. "Poppy," he repeated.

She bit her lip, her lips opening and closing like she wasn't sure which word was going to pop out. “I can’t,” she whispered. Her eyes looking at him in a way that he could read right through her. They screamed at him, please don’t stop asking me.

As if he could ever. Harry smiled. "Okay," he shrugged, hope and adoration for her flooding him. "I'll ask again tomorrow."

A sad smile graced her face. "You're crazy," she whispered again.

"Only 'bout you, Poppy.”

Harry felt like he was getting sick. Probably due to the sweet girl in his apartment who had worn herself so thin and weary that she had inadvertently brought illness home to him. His head was killing him. His pillow was calling for him the way he wished his favorite stubborn woman would call him.

He didn't even know if she was home. But honestly, he was glad. If she knew he was sick, she would dote on him. Even if she was starting to fell unwell. The thoughts of her were never too far from his mind. He would never be too sick, too lost, too far away from her that she could leave his thoughts.

Sleeping was one of his favorite hobbies because he loved to see her in his dreams. Loved to see the unaffected, carefree, beautiful, stubborn woman. The angel that enjoyed affection both giving and receiving.

It was his nightly dream. The one where she snuggled with him, and it was like they had been together twenty years and not zero. The one where he could taste her lips (even if in his dream she tasted like nothing) he knew it was wrong. She probably tasted like chocolate or caramel or something deliriously sweet.

Unfortunately, his phone vibrated below his pillow pulling him from his perfect beautiful dream.

“Harry?”

He squinted at his phone. Head aching, throat sore. Curious as to why he didn’t have the number saved. “Speaking.”

“Oh, thank god,” the voice sighed. “It’s Joey,” she said. “Harry. Something’s wrong. She won’t stop crying and she won’t say anything but your name.”

He leapt out of bed. Illness forgotten even if he was dizzy. His heart thudded like a chorus of drums, and he didn’t even grab shoes as he raced out of his room, snagging his wallet and keys off the counter as he exited the apartment.

He listened to Joey say a few more things. Something about being out at a club. She never left the bar area. There was no way someone had hurt her. But Harry drove through the night with his heart in his throat like someone had hurt her. He wasn’t sure seeing her would even calm him. He knew where Joey lived, fortunately, so he sped as quickly as he could. The ache in his head and his throat was lost behind him along the drive.

He didn’t knock as he hurried barefoot into Joey’s apartment. Matt was coming from the kitchen and making his way down the hall. He looked at Harry sadly as he approached the main room.

“Poppy?” he whispered as he entered the room, her arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to hold herself together. "Kitten," he frowned and knelt in front of her. He picked her face up between his and he scanned her looking for signs of injury. Anxiety was in every inch of his body. But she fell into his arms before he could look any longer. Sobbing harder than when he entered. “M'here. M'here, baby. It’s okay. M'here," he kissed the top of her head, cupping the back of her head with one hand. The other arm winding around her and squeezing her tight to his body. “Oh kitten,” he sighed, sadness coating his voice. His heart ached. Like it was going to snap in half if she cried any longer. “M’sorry, baby. M'here. S’okay. Tell me. Please. I’ll make it better,” he promised.

Her sobs continued, like she was unable to speak. "Harry," she whimpered.

"M'here, Poppy, s'okay," he assured her even if it wasn't. "Baby," he frowned pulling away to look at her her tearful eyes. He tugged her back to his embrace and continued to soothe her. He rubbed his hand up and down her back hoping it was comforting as he hoped it was.

Harry caught Joey's eye, who looked over from the entryway and smiled weakly.

"You good?" She mouthed. Harry nodded and when he glanced back, her friend was gone.

Harry kissed the top of her head for the hundredth time. He continued rubbing his hand down her spine. His head was still screaming.

But she was well worth it. Her cheeks were streaked with salt lines. Her eyes puffy and red around the edges. He had pulled her to him so they could snuggle into the corner of the couch. Her body tucked between the back cushion and Harry's body. Like he didn't want anyone to see her if they entered the room.

“Harry?” Her voice was raw.

“Hmm?” He tucked her hair behind her ear and skimmed his fingertip along the same path repeatedly.

“Will you go on a date with me?” She whispered.

He smiled lazily. His heart exploding in his ribcage. “God, Poppy, I don't know. I have t'check m'schedule.” She smacked his chest with no weight behind it. He kissed the top of her head. “I’d take y’right now. Whenever y’want.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing t’be sorry for.”

"I have issues."

"We can work on them together."

"I don't know if you'll..." She trailed off.

"If I'll what?" He brushed his thumb on her cheek.

She took a deep breath. "I love love, Harry. I love watching people get married. I love when people have babies and grow a family. I want to have babies. I love reading romance novels and watching silly rom-coms where you can predict the ending before the movie even starts."

"Sounds pretty romantic and easy, Poppy," he murmured.

She swallowed continuing. "I will do a lot for you because I believe that's the way love is supposed to be. I want to make your life easier, and I want to do things that make you happy because I think happiness and love are in short supply and I want those books and rom-coms to be real."

Harry nodded. "Well—"

"I've never had that. I had a boyfriend for four years and..." she sniffled. "When we broke up, I said that I wouldn't do that again. I wouldn’t devote myself so completely to someone that wouldn't give me half as much. Then I met my next boyfriend and at first, I thought it was right, finally. It was equal. He loved me the right way, I mean. The way I thought I wanted, deserved... But then it was like he got tired of doing things. I don't know. Maybe my love language is acts of service. I don't know. I’m not making sense, I'm sorry. But..." she swallowed. "I broke it off after only two years that time. I just don't think I can be loved the right way... not forever. I don't know. I sound so selfish, don’t I? I don’t know why you want to go out with me so badly. I want someone to love me the way I love them, and I don’t think that’s...fair."

It was why she always had everything. Why she planned and hosted parties. Why she never drank and always took care of her friends. She loved everyone that was lucky to cross paths with her, with her whole, big, beautiful heart.

Harry tilted her chin up. "M’going to love you the right way,” he promised. “M’going to love you the way y’want because that's what y’deserve. If I love you anything less than you deserve then... well... I don't know what, Poppy. If that’s the case m’probably dead because s’the only possible explanation,” she snorted and tears dripped down her cheeks again but not like the night before. “But it's not going to be a problem, kitten. M’going to love you the way your books love. The way a rom-com loves. M’going to love you the way you love everyone that walks into your life. The way you so selflessly devote your kindness to them. M’going to love you the way you love," he promised. “Because s’an honor to love you,” he assured her. “S’an honor to be loved by you.”

She looked away from his gaze, closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to his chest. His throat was aching again. He was really tired, but he would suffer her wrath and frustration of going on about this later. He knew that she would be beside herself knowing he was sick and dealing with her anyway. But where else would he be? "Harry," she whispered finally. He met her eyes the back of his fingers skimming her cheek.

"What, Poppy?"

"Do you love me already?"

"Of course I do."

She sniffled, her face crumpling with relief. Like all of it had been a trick up until then. "Okay," she whispered. “Can we go home?”

“Course, kitten,” he kissed the top of her head and moved slowly to get up from the sofa. All of his muscles ached from sickness and from the awkward but perfect position of holding her all night in the cramped little space.

He held his hand out for her to take as she stood next. “Harry,” she whispered softly.

“Hmm?” He hummed and looked at her with a soft expression that made her stomach flip, her heart skipped a beat. "Yeah, Poppy?"

“I’m in love with you too.”

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adragonprinceswhore · 2 months ago

Text

Make You Feel My Love

Aemond Targaryen x Ex-Girlfriend

Summary: A few months after you break things off with your boyfriend, Aemond, you start receiving strange messages and phone calls from an unknown number. Things escalate when you’re sent a video secretly filmed half a year ago, of you and Aemond having sex.

Warnings: 18+, dark themes (mind the tags!), obsession, stalking, exhibitionism, blackmail, threats of violence, emotional manipulation, DUBCON (drunk sex), degradation, dirty talk, fingering, deepthroat, breathplay, spanking, P in V, hairpulling

A/N: Based on a request by anon, I hope you like this! Another spooky fic for the spooky season, Happy All Saint's Eve! 🖤

Word Count: 5100

Your breath turns into small clouds in the cold air as you step out of the office building, the chill of late autumn biting through your wool coat.

It’s already dark outside. The tall lamp-posts lining the empty streets cast a pale light over Cobbler’s Square, the business hub of King’s Landing. As you fumble with your gloves to put them on, your phone vibrates, breaking the silence of the still night. You glance down and see a message from an unknown number:

"Working overtime again?"

Your eyes linger on the screen. The message makes you shiver, it’s uncomfortably familiar yet oddly unsettling. You scan the sidewalk, wondering if someone from work might be pulling a prank at your expense, but there's no one around, just the faint murmur of traffic in the distance.

After a second of consideration, you decide it must’ve been someone texting the wrong number, so you slip the phone back into your pocket, and head toward the underground.

The one good thing about staying late at the office is that there’s always a free seat on the train. You take a seat, put in your earbuds and close your eyes, relieved that another stressful day is behind you.

Still, the strange text you’d received leaves a knot of unease tightening within you.

Your mind drifts to recent news reports about a man harassing women across the city. He’d been lurking around office buildings, the stories said, learning his victims’ routines, showing up at the same places, always at the wrong times.

The coincidence is eerie, almost too frightening to think about. So you pull out your phone, trying to distract your wandering mind.

You scroll through recent news, and just as you feel yourself relax a bit, another reminder of your recent distress pops up on your screen,

Aemond Targaryen.

It’s hard to keep up with recent affairs and not bump into him.

A member of the Targaryen family, one of the most powerful media dynasties in the country, he was untouchable, the kind of person people said was destined to rule the world. At first, he’d seemed like the everything a woman could wish for: captivating, attentive, always ready with grand gestures.

But as time passed, his attention turned darker.

His texts became constant, then invasive.

He’d ask where you were at all hours, demanding you kept your location tracker on at all times. He would question your friends, arguing they were ‘beneath you’. He even hinted at you quitting your job as a political reporter, a position you had studied and fought for for 8 years, to come work for him. “I’ll make you my personal assistant”, he’d said, “Keep you close in case I need anything.”

His controlling tendencies, paired with his arrogant worldview was what ultimately led you to break things off with him . And when you finally did, he’d accepted it with chilling calm; no fight, no anger, just a quiet nod.

You force the thought from your mind, stepping off the tube and onto the platform.

Once you’re home, you kick off your shoes, lock the door, and sink into the quiet solace of your apartment. You’re pouring a long-awaited glass of wine when your phone vibrates again.

The screen lights up, the same unknown number.

"I hope you got home safe."

The pit in your stomach returns.

It started off with little things.

Strange texts that seemed harmless enough. Then came the letters, always printed and neatly folded, never including a return address.

At first, you brushed them off. It was easy to wave away the unease, convincing yourself that it was a prank, a mix-up, maybe just a wrong number. They were never addressed specifically to you anyway.

A little discomfort, nothing more. But as the days turned into weeks, the messages began to change.

They weren’t just random or generic anymore; they became specific, too personal, with a familiar vocabulary that made your skin crawl. Whoever was sending them seemed to know you intimately; your routines and habits.

Things you had never shared with anyone.

The messages were like an invisible set of eyes, always watching from places you couldn’t see.

You still remember the first time you felt true fear. It was a Friday night when your phone rang, and you answered to hear nothing but dead silence.

No voice, no background noise, just the suffocating, empty void on the other end of the line. Stunned into silence, you waited, but the call never broke the silence.

Eventually, you hung up, convincing yourself that it was nothing, probably a misdial. But then the calls started coming more frequently. And with each passing second you had to listen to the silence on the other end, your unease grew.

The letters were even worse.

They began appearing not only in your mailbox, but slipped under your door as well, tucked into the gaps like sinister little secrets.

You remember holding one, your fingers trembling as you read the words, each line making your apartment feel smaller, as if the walls themselves were closing in on you. The messages never outright threatened, but their tone was unsettling, implying that the sender knew where you lived, what you did, even how you spent your quietest, most private moments.

Before they were impersonal, now they included your name as well.

You really shouldn’t walk alone at night.

The city is full of dangers, and someone as precious as you deserves better. I watch you sometimes, you know.

I watch the way you clutch your bag a little tighter when the shadows loom over you, how you shiver when the wind cuts through your coat. It makes me want to keep you safe.

You work so hard, staying late at the office. It must be exhausting, always pushing yourself. But don’t worry. I’m never far away. Watching. Waiting. Ready to step in if you ever need me.

Sleep well tonight.

I’ll be thinking of you.

The animalistic fear the letters brought out in you caused tears of despair to shine in your eyes. Never before had you felt so unsettled; robbed of your sanctuary and stripped bare under the unrelenting gaze of an unknown threat.

When you thought things couldn’t get worse, you notice it in the corner of your eye whenever you get off the tube. Someone has started following you home.

As with the other terrors, it began subtly.

A shadow moving just out of your line of sight, footsteps that kept the same rhythm as yours, only to fall silent when you turn to look.

Initially, you brushed it off as paranoia. The strange texts, calls and letters had made your nerves stand on high alert at all times. So you walk faster, clenching your keys in your hand, telling yourself you were imagining it.

But by now, it’s become undeniable.

On more than one occasion, you’ve glanced back and caught the outline of a figure lingering just far enough away to melt into the darkness.

Once, you thought you saw someone duck into an alley when you turned around too quickly, and the image haunted you for days.

Each night, the walk from the tube station to your building feels longer, the streetlights casting distorted shadows that play tricks on your mind. In retaliation, you cross the street randomly, change your route, but the feeling never fades.

The worst part is that the presence doesn’t make itself known.

It doesn’t shout or approach.

It simply waits.

Watches.

Now, whenever you walk home, every gust of wind and rustling of leaves makes your heart beat fast and hard. You know someone is out there, tracking your every move.

Always lurking just out of reach.

The world around you has become a riddle of dark mysteries and hidden threats, and the sense of safety you once had feels like a distant memory.

You feel it every evening, that unnerving prickling sensation of being watched.

At the office, you catch glimpses of people who seem too familiar, faces that never linger but somehow stay with you.

On the train, you feel eyes on you, shadowy figures that seem to mirror your every move. Once or twice, you’ve even taken detours down different streets, slipping into shops just to lose whoever’s following you. But somehow, they’re always there, just at the edge of your vision, close enough to make your skin crawl but too far to confront.

Tonight, as you step onto the station platform, your heart hammers in your chest. It’s crowded, people weaving through the tiled halls, but even among the sea of strangers, you feel that presence nearby, watching.

You keep your head down, slipping into the crowd with hurried steps, your fingers gripping the strap of your bag like a lifeline. Your throat feels tight, and each breath becomes an effort as you board the train and move toward an empty seat.

Sitting by the window, you try to focus on the reflection in the glass. Your face looks pale and unfamiliar; a distorted version of yourself, yet it’s the background you watch carefully, searching for that familiar silhouette or lingering stare. The lights flicker across the train’s interior as it pulls away from the platform, the steady hum of the tracks doing little to calm the creeping dread in your chest.

You finally reach your destination and exit quickly, walking down the street to your house in hurried steps.

Your eyes scan the dimly lit surroundings, every shadow and alleyway filling with the possibility of someone lurking. Halfway to your building, you spot it—a figure across the road, barely illuminated by the faint glow of the surrounding lamp-posts, watching you.

They don’t approach.

They don’t call out.

Just watch.

A chill crawls up your spine, but you force yourself to keep walking.

Each step feels like a lifetime as you quicken your pace, the distance to your front door stretching endlessly before you. The familiar sound of footsteps follows behind, soft but persistent, a reminder that you’re not alone.

You fumble for your keys, fingers shaking far too much for you to be graceful, and the moment the door swings open, you slip inside, pushing it shut and twisting the lock with a desperate click.

Safe.

At least, you think so.

You move to the window, pulling the curtains tightly closed and double-checking every lock, heart still racing. The eerie silence of your apartment only serves to amplify the tension, and you try to steady your breathing, pressing your back against the wall, reassuring yourself that you’re alone. But then your eyes fall to your phone on the counter, the screen lights up, casting a cold, unsettling glow across the room.

Another message from the unknown number.

“You looked scared tonight. No need to be. I’m just looking out for you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and the room suddenly feels colder.

They were there, watching, close enough to see the fear in your eyes. You swipe through the messages, reading the last few words again and again, each one making it feel like the blood in your veins slowly turns to ice.

Every instinct tells you to delete everything, to block the number, but it won’t change the fact that they were there. They saw you. They know where you live, and they know you’re alone.

You check the locks once more, willing yourself to believe it’s just a cruel prank. But deep down, you know this is no mistake, no accident.

Tomorrow, you tell yourself, you’ll file a report. You’ll talk to the police, maybe find a friend to stay with for a few nights. But as you lay down, staring into the dark, the words echo in your mind,

"No need to be scared. I’m just looking out for you."

You close your eyes, but the sleep you need feels too far away to be attainable, and all you can feel is that presence.

Just beyond the walls.

Watching.

Waiting.

It’s late at night when your phone buzzes again, the screen lighting up the dark room.

You’ve become almost numb to the sound of notifications, each one feeling like another weight to the stones of anxiety heavy on your chest.

You almost dismiss it, too exhausted to care for more ominous messages, but then that rush of fear washes over you once more.

It’s not a text message.

It’s a video, sent from the same unknown number that’s haunted you for weeks.

You hesitate, one finger hovering over the screen as dread, dark and thick like petrol, pools in your stomach.

Slowly, you tap to open it, holding your breath in fear of moving even slightly. The video is shaky, filmed through a crevice from a distance, as though captured by someone hiding just out of sight.

Still, you recognise the setting instantaneously.

The Targaryen summer house.

The video depicts two silhouettes; one laying on the bed of one of the many guest rooms of the vast mansion, the other with their head between the first person’s thighs.

The filmer zooms in on the long, silver hair of the person kneeling next to the bed, and your heart beats so fiercely it feels like it’ll leap out of your chest as the camera moves upwards, until it lands on your face, twisted in pleasure.

You remember the day clearly.

It was Aemond’s brother Aegon’s yearly summer party, an elaborate excuse for the Targaryen’s oldest boy to get shit-faced with the elite of Westeros.

Aemond, never a fan of crowds or parties, had lured you into one of the guest bedrooms for some ‘quality time’ together, which quickly escalated into sex on the crisp, expensive cotton sheets.

You raise the volume, and can clearly hear the shameless moans leaving your mouth as your ex boyfriend makes you come on his tongue.

Your stomach turns.

The camera lingers far too long on your face, zooming in and out, capturing not only the sounds of your bliss, but each twitch and change in your face.

An overpowering sense of nausea washes over you as you realize that even then, someone was there.

Someone was watching, recording your most vulnerable moments from the shadows.

The video cuts off abruptly, and a new message appears beneath it,

“Even then, I was closer than you thought.”

Your blood runs cold, and your hands start to shake.

The message confirms your deepest fear.

This isn’t a recent obsession.

Whoever this person is, they’ve been watching you for far longer than you imagined, lurking in the background of your life, inserting themselves into your most private memories.

You try to breathe, to think clearly, but the walls of your apartment once again close in on you, trapping you inside your body, fighting to run yet with nowhere to go.

The sense of violation is suffocating, and questions flood your mind.

How long have they been there?

How much have they seen?

Desperate and out of options, you swipe your thumb over the screen of your phone, and call the only other person who might have some answers.

Aemond’s fingers tap restlessly against the rim of his coffee cup. The twitch in the corner of his mouth tells you he's annoyed, and the speed of which his eye darts around the coffee shop, refusing to look directly at you, lets you know it’s your fault.

You’re not sure if he can see the tears shining in your eyes, he’s barely looked at you since you came. He always saw crying as a sign of a weak mind, and so you do your best not to blink, scared a tear will fall and reveal just how pathetic you feel.

It’s not like you’re doing a good job hiding it anyway. The dark circles under your eyes and the paranoid pleading in your gaze betray all your recent troubles.

“I-, I’d like to thank you for coming here after how things… ended”

Your voice is steady, yet there is a thickness in your throat that makes you sound a bit strange, like you’re trying too hard to remain neutral. A performance you’re not quite pulling off, despite your best efforts.

“Mm”

He’s still not looking at you, stern face reflecting both disinterest and agitation. The relentless tapping of his finger continues, practically screaming at you to hurry up and confess why you asked your ex to meet up.

“I’ll get straight to it. Yesterday, I received a video of… us. At that party where we-”, you search his face for recognition, chase his eye so it meets yours. Your voice lowers, practically a whisper,

“-you know”

“No, I don’t”

“Aegon’s summer party… We snuck off to the guest room and-, you know”

Aemond finally lets his gaze meet yours, inspecting your features with a narrowed, suspicious eye.

Does he not believe you?

Before he can call you crazy, or dismiss your clear distress with a condescending laugh, you pull out your phone and show him the video. It’s a bit dark and gritty, but it’s clear that it’s the two of you, Aemond’s head between your legs, your own thrown back on the bed in bliss.

“Do-, do you know who could’ve done this?”

Aemond takes your phone and watches the video closely, pausing and zooming in on your half-naked body. He’s seen you bare and crazed with desire countless times when you were dating, yet your cheeks heat up and you feel unexplainably vulnerable as he carefully examines the video.

After a few moments of contemplation, he hums again and hands your phone back,

“I’ve no clue. I’ll ask Criston for the guest list, probably just one of Aegon’s insufferable friends having a laugh”

He stands to leave, and you momentarily panic at the thought of being alone again. Just as he turns towards the door, your hand desperately grabs the fabric of his coat, and those tears that had been threatening to spill from your eyes do just that,

“Aemond, please, I have more”

You sound so small. So defeated.

He looks at you with the same harsh, unimpressed look even as you silently cry.

So cold.

Maybe it’s what you deserve?

“I need you, Aemond. Please just stay for a few more minutes and let me explain”

He’s frozen for a while, contemplating whether he should indulge you or leave, surely eager to dismiss you just as you had done to him, only a month ago.

With a sigh, his features soften somewhat, and he steps back, once again taking the seat opposite you.

“Go on then”

“I-, I’ve been getting all these-”, your voice breaks into a sob as you speak about your recent nightmare.

You hadn’t dared speak to anyone about your recent terror, too afraid to acknowledge that what had occurred wasn’t simply some insane fever dream.

“-all these messages and letters from the same number that sent the video. I don’t know why but this person seems obsessed with me”

You hide your face behind one of your hands, mortified by the humiliation of openly crying at a cafe, next to your ex nonetheless.

Aemond observes you for a moment before reaching out to place his hand over yours, warming the skin of your cheek. He catches one of the tears falling from your lashes with his thumb,

“Send me screenshots of it all and I’ll have Criston’s team look through them. You know we own majority of King’s Guard Security, we’ll find whoever’s harassing you”

A sigh of relief escapes your lips, and for the first time in weeks, you feel like you can breathe without a heavy stone of anxiety crushing your lungs.

You grab Aemond’s hand, warm and strong in your trembling grip, and squeeze it slightly,

“Thank you, Aemond”

Aemond convinces you to take a taxi home, lock the door, and distract your unease with something calming, like taking a bath.

You do just that, and the warm water enveloping you feels wonderfully comforting.

You sink deeper in the tub, disappearing into the calm warmth. Just as you breathe out a deep breath that had been stuck in your throat for far too long, a sharp knock to your front door disturbs your peace.

It’s as if a bucket of ice cold water has been dumped over you, and suddenly you shiver in the warm bath, feeling a chill overtaking you from within.

Another knock.

You’re frozen in place.

Immobile.

Stuck in fear.

You don’t know how long you sit in the tub, waiting for the courage to stand, dry off, and peek out of the bathroom.

There are no more knocks, and when your fingers are wrinkly and stiff, you finally get out.

Peering out of the bathroom and at your front door, everything looks the same. Your eyes dart around the room until they fall on the small, white piece of paper on the floor.

You pick it up with trembling fingers, and open it.

Before, the letters you’d received had been neatly placed in envelopes and never hand-written.

This note is different.

Let me in.

Tears of desperation well up in your eyes once more and you toss the piece of paper away as if it had burned you.

Utterly hopeless, you reach for your phone, dialing the number to the one person that had been occupying your mind all day.

Aemond sends for a car to come pick you up, going as far as instructing the driver to personally come get you from your flat since you feared the stalker was still somewhere nearby, watching you.

It was Criston Cole himself that showed up at your door, a high-ranking security specialist at King’s Guard Security, often invited to do risk analyses for the government.

Being reduced to a chauffeur was definitely far below his station, but when Aemond Targaryen hands you a task personally, you comply.

You wearily eye the pistol strapped to his waist as he walks you to his car. Your glad that precautions are taken to ensure your safety, but also devastated by the fact that it's even necessary.

Will this be your new normal?

The drive to Aemond’s place doesn’t take long, and when you arrive, he offers you a slightly awkward hug in reassurance before pouring you a double whiskey,

“To calm your nerves”

You accept the drink and take a seat on the leather sofa placed in the middle of the large room. In front of you, tall windows show an exquisite view of King’s Landing, including all famous landmarks like Maegor’s Holdfast. To your right, tall bookcases of dark wood line the wall, cutting into the modern sleekness of Aemond’s home, making it more him.

You take a large sip of the whiskey, not minding the sharp taste that overtakes your mouth. The numbness of alcohol feels inviting after being on edge for so long.

Aemond takes a seat next to you, his knee bumping into yours as he sits closer than necessary on the wide sofa,

“You can stay here as long as you want”

“Thank you, Aemond. That’s very kind of you”

A small smile forms on his lips at your compliment, and he looks down at his hands. It’s almost a bashful look, and suddenly you guilty for the way you had so cold-heartedly dumped him.

Sure, he had been controlling, but if the last couple of weeks had proven anything, it was the fact that danger really lurks around every corner.

Maybe he had only been so controlling because he knew how dangerous King’s Landing truly is for young women? He had direct access to all cases filed with King’s Guard Security, he’s surely seen a lot.

When you’ve finished your glass, Aemond wordlessly tops it up.

You finish that too, chatting a bit about work and what you’d been up to recently, prompted by Aemond asking and eagerly listening.

Your cheeks feel hot from the whiskey, and when you’ve finished your second drink, you place it on the glass-covered coffee table and lean into Aemond only a little more, surprisingly relaxed.

Your eyes feel heavy as you look up at him,

“Thank you. For everything today”

When he smiles, those dimples that you once adored appear in his cheeks. He’s so beautiful in the soft light. So inviting.

“Don’t mention it. The only thing I care about is that you’re safe”

You’re not sure if it’s a sudden wave for adoration, the long-awaited relief, or the whiskey, but when you stretch your neck to kiss him, Aemond cups your cheek and runs his tongue over your lower lip.

Your fingers feel tingly as they play with the buttons of Aemond’s crisp shirt. Your face is still comfortably warm, and when his kisses travel down to your neck, you sigh in content and throw your head back.

You watch the skyline of King’s Landing through the tall windows of Aemond’s home; white lights decorating the skyscrapers competing in height. There’s a strange, red dot decorating one of them, occasionally blinking.

Your eyes narrow to inspect it further, but quickly close as Aemond’s fingers slip into your underwear,

“I’ve missed this”, he murmurs into your neck, and sucks at the skin.

“Me too”, you sigh.

His fingers know exactly how to work you, and after a few more tender kisses to your neck and deliberate flicks to your clit, you meet his fingers with your hips, desperate for more.

Just as you’re about to fall apart, Aemond withdraws his hand.

He slowly licks your essence from his sticky fingers, amused by your pathetic frown,

“Please, Aemond. Don’t be mean”

Seeing him savour the taste of your cunt only makes it ache more.

“I’m not. You know what I want”

Maybe if you had less alcohol in your body, you’d realise how bad this is.

Fucking your ex is never a good idea.

But the heat of the whiskey warming your senses makes you reckless, and you smile as you kneel on the floor in front of him.

With eager fingers, you pull down his zipper and take his cock in hand, already hard and pulsating in arousal. Wasting no time, you lean forward to lick the tip before ungraciously taking him into your mouth, sucking as if your life depended on it.

Aemond tuts above you, a disapproving noise you know from when you were dating. You look up just as he moves his hands to cradle your face, mischief dancing in his eyes,

“You can do better than that” he says and pushes deeper, until his cock is in your throat and you can’t breathe.

He releases a prolonged sigh and stays buried in your throat, stealing air from you.

The harsh pounding between your thighs intensifies as the oxygen to your brain cuts off. You look up at Aemond, who regards you with a sinister grin, and shoves his foot between your kneeling legs, pushing at your clit.

It’s the last push you need, a playful kick to your swollen nub, and you come with his cock still deep in your throat.

With no air to inhale and an excruciatingly consuming orgasm coursing through your body, you feel too light-headed to keep your eyes open, ready to succumb and disappear into the abyss of bliss that is the orgasm Aemond forces out of you.

Before you lose consciousness, Aemond pulls out, a glistening sting of spit falling from your lips and spilling down your chin.

Your ears are pounding from the rush of finally being able to breathe again, yet you hear it, like an echo in the distance.

He’s laughing.

“Fuck, that’s a good little slut”, he praises you, “Getting off on choking on my cock”

He catches the drool on your chin with one hand, and forces you to stand with the other. Your legs still shake, and you stagger forward, almost falling into him.

He laughs again, amused or condescending, you can't tell, and manoeuvres you to kneel on the sofa facing away from the city landscape.

He brings the hand covered in your drool between your cheeks, and trails it down to your clit. You gasp at the sting of overstimulation, but Aemond’s hand doesn’t budge,

“You weren’t supposed to come from that, dirty girl”, he taunts you with a playful yet harsh smack to your ass. You whine and try to pull away, it’s all too much.

“I wanted to tease you for a bit longer”, he whispers into your ear, and you can feel the leaking tip of his cock press between your cheeks,

“I won’t be mean though. My precious girl deserves better”

He slides in easily, the mess of your slickness, spit, and Aemond’s precum easing his path.

You lean forward to brace yourself against the backrest of the sofa as he starts to fuck you, pace quick and hard, just as you remember him liking it.

"Aemond", you moan and he goes harder, the smacks of his hips hitting the meat of your ass loud and vulgar in the quiet night,

“Say it again”, he orders and pulls at your hair so your head falls back, “Just like that, baby, you look so fucking hot when I fuck you”

When you don’t comply fast enough, he pulls at your hair harder. You cry out his name, and he rewards your submission with a kiss to your cheek,

“Good girl”

After that day, things change.

Aemond sends cars to pick you up from work so you won’t have to get on the tube. He distracts you from the eerie shiver that’s settled into your bones by bringing you out to dinner, to the cinema, to a new wine bar.

He allows you to lean against him whenever you talk about the nightmare that the last few weeks have been. He even puts an arm around you, and occasionally presses his lips to the crown of your head. And he always listens carefully.

The controlling tendencies that had previously chased you away now provide comfort.

He knows where you are at all times, so no one can steal you away.

He always answers your calls, so you never have to feel alone.

He always meets your needs, whether it’s letting you talk shit about your boss for hours, or excitedly chat about a book you just read.

He's always near.

Always ready.

Always watching.

A/N: Thanks for reading! If you liked this and want more, check out my fic The Commune!

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen angst #my fics

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droaxa · 7 months ago

Text

✧ tags: yandere cheater x reader, angst, yandere, nsfw content

✧ warnings: obsessive yandere behavior, stalking, nsfw content, cheating, angst, creep behavior, jealousy, grabbing, sexual acts

✧ a/n: you guys wanted both the yan royalty and yan cheater so imma do both ‼️ i’ll post the royalty one later cause you guys are in for a treat

not proofread but enjoy! (ty for the love on the last post as well <3)

part 1 - part 2 - part 3

cheater bf who sleeps with your friends behind your back. it’s not like you were anything special anyway, he just tolerated you so he could get closer to some real women

cheater bf who makes you beg for the bare minimum: giving you his jacket, holding your hand during a scary movie, etc etc but does all those things for your friends with a charming smile

cheater bf who says you’re overreacting after he holds your friends hand during a scary movie instead of yours

“hey don’t be selfish, poor girl looked like she was gonna cry. what kinda friend are you?”

you miss the way his fingers trailed up her thighs halfway through the movie when you squeeze your eyes shut. terrified of the unfolding movie scene as your bf comforts another girl

cheater bf who has fucked your roommate in your dorm room bed. oh you’re asking why they look sweaty and tired? they were trying to move your bed cause she dropped something behind it ofc.

cheater bf who finally gets caught a year into your relationship after you walk in on him mid-thrust into your ‘friend’ after they both excused themselves to the bathroom during your hangout.

cheater bf who zips up his pants and runs after a sobbing you to explain but stops half way, what was there to explain anyway? you would be heartbroken yes, but he had got what he wanted didn’t he? ignoring the dull tug on his heart he returns to his dorm

ex bf who throws himself on his bed while thinking about you. finally he picks up the lingering sent of you on his bed and various items that belong to your littered across the room. little gifts to him and cards wishing him happiness. maybe you’d become more intertwined in his life than he thought

ex bf that drops your stuff at your new dorm in a cardboard box, unluckily for you, you open it at the same time and are left staring at each other. like a cat you quickly dart out, grab the box, and retreat after locking the door can’t you just look at him once?

ex bf who feels empty after your breakup, he misses your cooking, your nagging for him to take care of himself, your smiles. fuck. what was the point of being free to fuck whoever he wanted if all he could imagine was you?

ex bf who stalks your socials, irritated that you removed him from your posts and blocked him on everything. and one day when he’s on his burner stalking you, a new story pops up. it’s innocent enough, a picture of you at dinner with a small caption “dinner out”, but then he notices the masculine hand on the table across from you wearing a watch not quite made for a woman.

his blood is boiling. you’re his. his girl.

yandere cheater who scours his room for anything that reminds him of you, finally finding a shirt in the back of his closet that he didn’t find earlier. suffocating his face with the soft fabric, moaning as he sniffed the garment

yandere cheater who hurriedly ruts into his hand as he hold the fabric up to his nose, cock leaking as he fucks his hand to your scent. he cums hard, harder than he had with any of your bimbo ‘friends’

yandere cheater who finally realized what he was missing: you. he caves in and incessantly messages and calls you, showing up at your door to win back your love.

yandere cheater who grows tired, he’s always been impatient. he knows what he did was wrong, especially to an angel like you but everyone deserves a second chance right? after all you were his soulmate

yandere cheater who shows up at a cafe you’re at and sits across from you like nothing is wrong. when you get up to leave, he forces you back into the seat. whispering in your ear to not make a scene. pulling out his phone he reveals intimate pictures of you from your relationship.

“it would be a darn shame if anyone saw these hm? your poor mom would be so disappointed that her dear daughter was just passing these around”

your eyes widen and you beg him to delete them, you’ll do anything!

“just come back to me and all these will be gone”

he grins, to wide to be kind. he wouldn’t send them out anyway. your body was his alone to see. but fuck did it have a effect on you, your big eyes fill with caution.

“please there must be-“ he cuts you off.

“there’s no other way than back to me sweets”

once you shakily get up, he throws his arm over your shoulder, keeping you pinned to his side as you both leave the coffee shop. your hot coffee long forgotten on the table as the chilly air hits your faces. your body further fills with despair as you pass the ally next to the shop, spotting the date you were going to meet. face bloodied and body limp against the red brick.

your ex was always far stronger than you, far stronger than anyone else you had met too. his dedication to martial arts was one of the things that had drawn you to him. but now, his vice grip on you as he guides you to his car isn’t to prove his strength to protect you. it’s to intimidate you into giving in to him

and if you didn’t, there would be consequences.

#yandere #yandere cheater #yandere ex #yandere x reader #ex x reader #cheater x reader #angst #obbsession #x reader #female reader #y/n #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere x you #jealousy

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smileysuh · 8 months ago

Text

comfort cuisine

🌙 starring. Johnny Suh x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. You’ve never felt a feral need like this before, but it’s not necessarily the primal type of drive. Instead, it’s a feeling of wanting to be close to this man- who you’ve been next to for so many years, but unable to touch. Except, he’s touching you now, and you want more.

tw/cw. unprotected sex, breast worship/massaging, big dick Johnny, fingering, pussy stretching prep, 'it's finger licking good,' praise, dirty talk, masturbation, multiple reader orgasms, cumming together, creampie, soft sex, longing, fluff, etc… I pet names: (hers) honey.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 10.8k

🍭 aus. aged up/widower dad!John, best friends to lovers, Chef!John, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I'm so happy that people loved Line Chef Mark in my fic Real Talk, I received so many messages about giving Head Chef John his own love story, and this is what I came up with in the past four months :) it's a little different from what I normally do, but I wanted to continue with that 'slice of life' theme and venture into a plot line I've never tried before with widower/single dad John :)

Prologue

“I’m so sorry about this,” Johnny’s voice distracts you from the breakfast you’re making, and you turn around from the bacon to look at your friend. “I really wish I didn’t have to keep calling you and asking for favours like this-”

“Johnny,” you shut his rambling up with a pointed expression, “stop, it’s okay.”

“It’s not-”

“John,” you repeat, “seriously, we’re good. Given… the circumstances, I honestly don’t mind.”

The circumstances… neither of you can bring yourselves to say it. You know that if you say it… if you say ‘I don’t mind helping out since the death of your wife’ Johnny will just about break down, and he doesn’t have time to do that, not when he’s got to be at work for seven am, prepping the kitchen and getting ready for the day.

Even by calling this situation a ‘circumstance,’ you can see a half glazed expression overtake Johnny’s face. He’s frozen for a moment, and you take the time to study him.

You think it’s safe to say neither of you expected any of this to happen.

You’d met him in culinary school- he’d been a young guy, a new dad who’d had a daughter at nineteen, with dreams of opening his own sandwich food truck, ‘like Subway, but gourmet,’ he’d always explained.

Now, he’s a twenty four year old wreck, doing his best to climb the ladder in the food service industry, mourning the loss of his late wife, struggling to take care of his daughter, his dreams of a food truck long since forgotten in favour of chasing a head chef status to earn him enough of a salary to pay for everything in a one income household-

“Seriously,” your words snap the single dad back from his zone out, “we’re good. I’m making breakfast for Soonbok, I’ve got her lunch packed, I’ll take her to kindergarten, pick her up after- you just have to remember I have a night shift, gotta be at my own restaurant by five at the latest.”

“Five, yeah,” Johnny nods, swallowing thickly and toying with his daughters small pink backpack. “One day, I’ll be higher up on the food chain, and I’ll have better hours- I promise this isn’t a forever thing.”

“It’s an ‘as long as it needs to happen’ thing, okay? Don’t sweat it,” you assure him. “Here,” you take some of the crispy bacon out of the pan, putting it onto a scrambled egg bagel you’d prepared, “you need breakfast too.”

Johnny just about melts looking at the food. “You’re so good to me.”

You offer him a smile. “That’s what friends are for.”

One

Johnny swears his age is catching up to him. It’s not even four oclock and he’s feeling tired, letting out a groan as he says goodbye to the nightshift guys and heads to change out of his head chef attire in the staff bathroom. He’d turned thirty this year, and as he looks at his face in the mirror, he thinks he’s starting to see it.

On his way out of the back door, Johnny bumps into one of his line cooks. Mark Lee is pressed to the wall where people usually lean to smoke, his girlfriend closing him in with her hands on either side of his head. Back when she was expo, everyone used to call her Sunshine, but in her dealings with Mark Lee, Johnny’s come to realize that he’s the angel, not her.

“Aren’t you two on the clock?” Johnny jokes as he walks past.

Sunshine pulls away from Mark, offering the head chef a grin. “We’re on a vape break.”

“Sure you are,” Johnny laughs, shaking his head. “See you two back in there, better only be five more minutes.”

“Aren’t you done for the day?” Mark asks, confusion written on his face, along with lipstick marks that he’s hurrying to wipe off.

“Grabbing happy hour with a friend, but be careful Mark Lee, I’m always watching. Just because I’m sitting at the bar doesn’t mean I’m not judging you.”

Johnny can hear Mark mutter something under his breath, and Sunshine is quick to try to calm him down, but as Johnny turns the corner to head to the front entrance of the restaurant, he hears the back door open and close, signaling the end of the little ‘vape break.’

When Johnny joins you at the bar, you’re chatting with Jeno, and the sight makes an unexplainable emotion tingle up his spine. Out of all the front of house staff here, Jeno might just be the biggest manwhore, and he’s had a thing for cougars for a while, although there’s only a handful of years difference between the two of you-

“What are you guys talking about?” John asks, taking a seat on the dark green leather hightop stools surrounding the bar.

“Which virgin drinks are the best,” you respond casually. “I was going to get an iced tea, but Jeno convinced me to try one of your new virgin lemon ginger fizzes.”

“That’s called upselling, honey, you should know that, seeing as you’re in the industry,” Johnny grins.

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who invited me here, so I figured you’d be paying.” You take a sip of your straw, looking at Johnny with a smirk, a playful glint in your eyes.

“Are we getting food?” Johnny asks. “I might as well take care of that for you too.”

“I’ve got time,” you respond casually. “Don’t work for an hour, lets get our ‘nosh’ on.”

Johnny can only laugh at your antics, turning to Jeno, who’s watching with an amused grin. Everyone here knows you and Johnny are close, you come here often enough to see him, the two of you catching each other for a half an hour here or there between his day shifts and your night commitments.

Johnny orders three appetizers off the happy hour menu, two things he knows you like, and one that’s more up his alley. “Make sure Yuta isn’t back there slacking off,” Johnny warns Jeno, knowing that two of the items will be coming from the ‘bottom end’ of the expo line, which is where Yuta runs the show after Johnny’s off.

“I’m sure he’ll pull out all the stops for our MVP,” Jeno grins, typing the order into an ipad. “Do you want a beer? We’ve got new rotators.”

“Don’t bother trying to upsell me,” Johnny scoffs. “House Lager, and don’t fuck around with the foam.”

“You run a tight ship here, captain,” you tease, bumping Johnny’s elbow.

“Speaking of-”

“Don’t try to recruit me to work here again,” you’re quick to warn.

“Damn it,” Johnny shakes his head, pretending to be quite upset about your rejection. He does feel it- he does think you’d be a great member of the team, and he’d love to offer you a dual head chef position, but it’s not in his power to do so, and that fact haunts him every day. Working for a company limits what he’s able to do, and sometimes, even at age thirty, Johnny still thinks about his dream to open a food truck, with you by his side. “No, in all seriousness, I wanted to talk to you about Soonie’s birthday.”

“Right, she’s turning eleven soon, that’s quite the milestone,” you grin, playing with your straw.

“I asked Doyoung if I could open early for her birthday, it’s a Sunday, I was thinking some of her friends and their parents could come in for a brunch an hour before we’re open for the public.”

“That’s a great idea!”

“Here’s the catch, Soonie was raised on your breakfast food. As much as I try to make things for her, and I hate to admit this, by the way, she always says your cooking is better. So I was thinking… maybe you’d want to come in that day and help me out with all of this. With your skills, I wouldn’t need Hyuck and Mark, it could be just us, and I’m sure we could make a birthday breakfast Soonbok would never forget. It would be like old times, like back when we were in culinary school.”

He loves the way you’re smiling at him, giving him space to rant.

When he’s done, you cock your head to the side, only wasting one beat before you say, “I’ll do it.”

“Really? I don’t have to bribe you with money or anything?”

“Jeeze, have I ever asked you for money, John?” You smack at his arm, clearly slightly offended. “I’m doing this for Soonie… and maybe a little for you too.”

“Don’t go soft on me, killer,” Johnny teases. “Everyone around here’s too soft these days.”

“Says the softest dad I know,” you roll your eyes.

“Shh,” he warns, “don’t say that loud enough for Jeno to hear.”

“As if everyone doesn’t already know.”

The two of you continue to chat and joke, a short while later, the head manager, Doyoung, shows up carrying food. It’s funny for Johnny to see Doyoung balancing two items on one arm, the third in the palm of his hand, but he supposes Doyoung started somewhere too, the same way John had.

“VIP happy hour appetizers,” Doyoung sighs, setting the food down.

“As opposed to regular happy hour appetizers?” you grin, immediately reaching for a fry.

“These are special,” Doyoung insists, “pretty sure Yuta spit in them.”

Doyoung is a pretty regal man, he’s not one to joke around- but for some reason, when Doyoung is in your vicinity, he loosens up a little. Everyone loosens up around you, you radiate a safe space kind of energy, the kind of energy that makes Johnny’s tense shoulders relax, his smile softening.

“Then I’ll be sure to eat all of this,” you respond. “Tell Yuta more spit.”

Doyoung shakes his head at you. “I’m sure Johnny’s tried to poach you already, but if you ever want a job, you can have his.”

“Hey!” Johnny laughs.

“I’ll consider it,” you grin.

“And I expect a plate of food for this brunch thing,” Doyoung continues. “I’ve heard nothing beats your breakfasts, even though you work nights.”

“Someone has been talking about me again,” you muse, eyes shifting to John.

“What can I say?” He holds his hands up in defense. “I speak only the truth.”

“Your reputation precedes you,” Doyoung insists. “Anyways, have fun you two, I’ve got food to run, our new expo girl isn’t filling Sunshine’s shoes too well.”

There’s a glint in Doyoung’s eye before he scurries away, and Johnny turns to watch the new expo girl practically short circuiting with take out orders on the line.

“Poor girl,” you sigh. “It takes a certain kind of person to work in a restaurant.”

And an even more specific type to do what the two of you do as chefs.

Two

You’ve been on a few first dates this year, and this one is definitely a bottom three. You’ve had one drink, and you already feel like finding a way to slip out early.

Initially, you’d been intrigued by dating a man in finance, but it’s clear now that you’re in two completely different worlds- and to make matters worse, he mostly talks about himself. He’s oozing this obnoxious confidence that makes you grimace every time you sip your drink, and not from the alcohol.

Your date is in the bathroom when Johnny calls.

“Hello?”

“Hey, you!” His voice warms your heart. “So Soonie is at a sleep over tonight, and I was thinking about making a Soonbok style menu for her birthday, all Soonie style names for food and such, planning a menu just for her- are you up to anything? Can I go through it with you?”

“Actually…” your gaze shifts to the bathrooms, “I’m on a date.”

“Oh.”

“It’s going so bad, and planning Soonie’s birthday would be such a better use of my evening. Listen, can you come pick me up? I’ll text you the address, you can come and call me when you’re outside, pretend it’s a family emergency or something-”

“You got it, I’ll be there right away.”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re hopping into Johnny’s car, letting out a deep sigh of relief.

“That bad, huh?” he asks.

“I don’t even want to talk about it right now,” you groan.

“Here, distract yourself,” Johnny hands you a piece of paper, and you realize it’s a mock up menu for Soonbok’s birthday. “This is just a prototype, I was messing around with styles on some fucking site called Canva-”

“I didn’t know you were good at this sort of thing,” you gasp, taking in the intricate fonts and colouring.

“The site did all the work, trust me,” Johnny scoffs, pulling out into traffic. “Read it over and let me know what you think.”

You begin to scan the menu. There’s Soonie Side Up Eggs, and Boken Avocado Bennies, Soonbok Style Slapjacks and Suh Family Breakfast Sammies.

“I’m shocked you came up with this many names related to Soonie and Suh,” you say.

“I spent my entire shift thinking about them in the back of my mind while I worked,” Johnny admits. “They’re not cheesy or anything, right?”

“They’re definitely cheesy,” you confirm, “but Soonie is going to love them. You’ve always been cheesy, John, and she adores you for it.”

You notice Johnny’s skin turning a little red, and it’s not just from the reflection of the traffic light illuminating the inside of his car while you wait for it to go green.

You continue to study the menu, thinking hard the entire way back to Johnny’s house.

He’s got a modest three bedroom townhouse, with his and Soonbok’s rooms on the top floor, and the guest bedroom on the main floor with the kitchen and living room. The kitchen is, without a doubt, the heart of the home, and the two of you make your way there as soon as you’re past the threshold.

“I have some thoughts,” you admit, setting the menu down and pointing at one of the items. “Soonbok toast,” you announce, a twist on french toast, “it says here that it comes with a berry compote. I can tell that this is one of the dishes more geared toward others, because if this was really for Soonie, you’d know that your daughter doesn't even touch berry or apple crisps. She picks at the oat brown sugar on top, but doesn’t like cooked berries or fruits.”

“Yeah…” Johnny leans next to you, scratching the back of his neck. “That was the only one I wasn’t sure on, but for brunch, you have to have a french toast option, right?”

“We can still do french toast, but I think every menu item should be something she’d actually love, don’t you agree?”

“A hundred percent.”

“What if, instead of berry compote, we do an brown sugar glaze type sauce?”

“That could be doable,” Johnny admits. “Should we try to make one now?”

“Can we do it in the morning?” you ask. “Honestly, I had one drink at the bar, I’m tired after a long shift, and I’m ready to have a few more drinks then pass out.”

“Drinks are a good idea,” Johnny grins, already heading to the fridge. “It will give me more time to think about how to make the brown sugar glaze, and I’ll get on top of that in the morning.”

“Exactly. Chef hours are over, we can just relax,” you insist, heading to collapse on his couch.

“Chef hours are never over,” Johnny reminds you, cracking open a beer and approaching so he can hand it to you.

“It’s one of the reasons dating is so hard in our profession,” you sigh, taking a swig of your drink.

“The hours make it tough,” Johnny nods.

“So does the mentality,” you remind him. “We just… we think a little differently than others. We’re all a little too committed to our work.”

“That’s not always a bad thing, you’ve just gotta find someone you’re compatible with, someone who will appreciate that about you.”

“Says one single chef to the other,” you laugh.

Johnny clinks his bottle against your own before taking a large gulp. “Touche.”

Three

Johnny is doing his best to work quietly, aware that the guest bedroom is just a short distance from the kitchen as he whips up eggs for the french toast batter.

He manages to get all the way through to the cooking before you sleepily putter into the kitchen, adorned in one of his spare shirts for when you sleep over unexpectedly. You look adorable, but Johnny can’t bring himself to focus on you as he perfects the brown sugar glaze, careful not to burn it.

“Almost done,” he calls over his shoulder, “take a seat then try this with me?”

“It smells good,” you tell him, pulling out a chair at the island kitchen counter.

“Thanks, honey, I was up last night thinking about it- had to wake up early to try it out.” He lifts the french toast onto a plate, dipping a spoon into the glaze to coat the breakfast. “I hope I didn’t wake you up?”

“The smell did,” you muse, grinning as he brings the french toast toward you, setting it down and opening a drawer to retrieve two sets of utensils.

The two of you cut into the toast, and you lift your fork. “Cheers,” you grin, and Johnny touches his food to your own before you both go in for a bite.

The french toast is cooked to perfection, and although the brown sugar glaze is a little sweet for his liking, Johnny knows Soonie’s sweettooth will appreciate this adjustment to the recipe.

But when Johnny lifts his gaze to you, he sees apprehension in your eyes. “Did you like it?” he enquires.

“It’s really good, don’t get me wrong,” you assure him quickly, “I just think… maybe it’s missing one or two things.”

“Like what?”

“Mmm…” you cock your head to the side, “we both know Soonbok is a fan of nuts, peanut butter is her usual go to but she likes others too- what if we finely chop some pecan or walnut and add that in somehow?”

“That could work,” Johnny nods.

“Do you mind if I take a crack at it?” you ask.

Johnny laughs. There are very few people he’ll allow to use his kitchen, and luckily you’re the one at the top. You’ve been cooking here for so many years that he doesn’t have to guide you to anything, you stand up and immediately go in search of details to make your french toast masterpiece come to life, and Johnny happily takes a back seat while he finishes his own creation.

You go for a bag of pecans, dumping a small amount onto a cutting board before you begin to finally chop, leaving an array of different sizes of chunks. Soonie has always been a texture specific child, and Johnny loves how you incorporate all the little quirks of his daughter into your cooking like this.

In a pan with some butter, you begin to toast the nuts, getting prepped on your bread by using the already made batter he’d created earlier. As you put the toast into the pan and check the nuts, you cock your head to the side again, an endearing trait you do when you’re thinking.

“What about oats?” you suggest.

“Do whatever you think is best,” Johnny encourages you, heading to the fridge to grab some orange juice and a nearly empty bottle of prosecco he’d opened for a recipe two nights ago.

Johnny watches you add oats to the browning pecans while he makes mimosas, and in no time at all, you’re plating the french toast, with a spoonful of the newly toasted additions, and a few spoonfuls of brown sugar glaze.

“There,” you announce, bringing the food to the table. “I added a bit of cinnamon and brown sugar to the buttered nuts and oats while you were making drinks.”

“Cheers,” Johnny grins, lifting a forkful of your creation to gently touch it to your own.

As soon as he bites into it, Johnny knows that this is a winner. The crunch of the nuts, and the oats- the added fats of the butter- the slight taste of cinnamon on the toppings-

“Wow,” he breathes, leaning back in his chair. “Soonie really wasn’t joking when she said you’re the best breakfast chef in town.”

“Stop it,” you laugh. “You made the glaze! We did this together!”

Johnny goes for a second bite. “This is the stuff that will stick to your ribs,” he muses, not caring that the calorie content was just inflated by the addition of butter and nuts, “Good ol’ comfort food.”

“No, John, you’re a head chef now, this is comfort cuisine,” you correct him with a grin.

Johnny swears your eyes are sparkling as you smile at him, and it makes his heart skip a beat in his chest. It’s times like these that he realizes just how smitten he is with you. You’ve been there for him, through thick and thin. There’s no way he’d be where he is now without you, and he’s not even sure if you know the full extent of it.

But at the same time, because you’re his rock, Johnny doesn’t want to overstep. He can’t lose you, not now, not ever. Soonie lost her mom to a car crash when she was three, and there’s no way in hell Johnny’s going to do something that could potentially make her lose you too.

Four

“Hey, you,” you grin, finishing pouring your glass of wine while you put your favourite chef on speaker.

“Hey, yourself,” Johnny responds, and you can practically hear the smile in his own voice. “Listen, uh, I need to ask you for a favour.”

“Shoot.”

“Two of my line chefs called in today before dinner- pretty sure they’re both hungover or something. Anyways, I’m staying, and it’s a busier night than projected- Soonie is done Girl Guides at seven, and I know it’s your night off, so if you’re busy I can find someone else, but-”

“I’ve got you,” you interrupt him. “Girls night with my favourite girl is a better plan than I had.”

“Really? You sure?”

“A hundred percent.”

“I’d say I owe you one, but at this point, I probably owe you more like a thousand.”

“And don’t you forget it,” you laugh, pouring your wine back into the bottle. “Take care of work, and I’ll take care of our girl.”

A couple hours later, you’re in Johnny’s familiar kitchen, making spiced popcorn and virgin cocktails. Soonie wants to be a chef, just like her dad, and she’s getting better every day. You love giving her soft instructions and lending a helping hand on bigger jugs of juice that her tiny fingers can’t quite hold.

Soonbok has a love for all things disney and music, and although this is probably the third time you’re watching it with her, the two of you settle in for the live action Ariel.

While Johnny is primarily a chef, back when you were in culinary school, he used to sing to himself when he was working. He was always quiet, but loud enough for you to listen to his beautiful voice. Like her father, Soonbok has a way with music, and you adore watching the eleven year old belt out Ariel songs.

She’s tuckered out from Girl Guides however, and about halfway into the movie she cuddles up next to you, her eyelids beginning to droop.

When Johnny comes home as the film is ending, Soonie is fast asleep, and you quickly motion at him to be quiet as he steps through the door.

Johnny is careful as he sets his keys and bag down, kicking off his shoes and putting away his jacket. He tiptoes toward the two of you. “How long has she been out?” he whispers.

“Half an hour or so,” you respond in a hushed tone. “How was work?”

He lets out a sigh. “Could have been better, but I’m home now. Should I get this little one to bed?”

You nod, watching the way Johnny bends down to gently lift his daughter off the couch. She stirs in his arms. “Daddy?”

“Hi, Soonie,” he beams down at her. “Did you have a good girls night?”

“Can y/n stay longer?”

Johnny’s eyes shift to you, and a smile forms on your lips. “I guess I can’t say no to Soonie, can I?”

“Here’s the deal, Soonie, y/n can stay longer, but I’ve gotta put you to bed. You had a long day, didn’t you, sweet girl?”

“Uh huh.” Soonie yawns, cuddling closer to Johnny’s chest, and the sight makes you melt.

Johnny carries her out of the living room and up to the second level. He takes some time tucking her in, and then he comes back down to join you, holding two beers in his hands.

“So two line chefs called in, huh?” you prompt, tucking your legs up and making room for the large man on the sofa.

“I expected it from Haechan, but Mark’s generally pretty reliable. His girlfriend was on shift today, so I know he wasn’t skipping to be with her- I’m guessing they got pretty messed up last night.”

“They’re young,” you point out, accepting a beer from him. “We used to be young.”

“Used to be,” Johnny laughs, taking a swig of his drink.

Looking at this man- this father, you realize maybe he never really got the chance to be young. At twenty five, he had a six year old, he wasn't running around blacking out and getting hung over, he was working his way up the employment ladder, dreaming about a better future for his daughter.

“You mentioned Mark has a girlfriend, I think I’ve heard about her a few times now, it’s interesting that she was in and he wasn’t.”

“I’m going to be honest, I love Mark, he’s a great kid- but, he can sometimes be peer pressured into things. Haechan has a hold on Mark unlike any I’ve seen, they bring out… interesting sides of each other.”

You laugh at the description, and it’s clear there’s more on Johnny’s mind, so you wait for him to continue.

“It’s nice that Mark is young and in love, I can understand that- but at the same time, I just hope he doesn’t make the same mistakes I did. Not that Soonbok is a mistake, of course- I just mean that… life is fragile. You think you’re going to be with someone forever, and then you’re reminded of how frail things can be.”

You frown at his words. Even after all of these years, Johnny still holds so much pain about his lost wife. You want to do your best to help Johnny in every aspect of his life, especially emotional, but this is a topic you never know how to approach. He’s right for grieving, his ex was his first love, his true love- how is there anything you could ever say to make him feel better about her passing?

You open your mouth, only to close it, and Johnny watches you intently. Sometimes he looks at you, the way he’s looking at you right now, and you wonder if he feels the same level of connection with you that you feel with him. You wonder if he wants you to kiss him, if a kiss would make him feel better, if it would - if even for a moment - help him forget about the pains he’s faced in his life.

But it’s because of the pains he’s faced that neither of you can close the distance, you’d like to think about it that way at least. Even after all these years, it’s still too early, so you simply reach out and gently squeeze his hand.

Johnny offers you a smile, and you’re glad that in some small way, maybe you’ve helped him.

Five

It’s a pretty slow day after the lunch rush, so Johnny is sitting in the back office with Doyoung while they pick at their food. They often eat together once things settle down, and today is no different.

What is different, however, is the topic of conversation Doyoung brings up. “How’s y/n doing?” he asks, taking a bite of his salad.

“She’s good. She helped me lock in a french toast recipe for Soonie’s birthday, so that was pretty helpful.”

“That’s nice,” Doyoung nods, “but I’m more interested in what’s going on between the two of you.”

“What do you mean?” Johnny asks, looking up from his schezwan beef noodle bowl.

“I mean, you two have been friends for a long time. There’s a lot of history there.”

Johnny’s shocked that Doyoung is bringing this up. Out of all of the chef’s coworkers, he had not pegged Doyoung as being the man to bring up relationship gossip, and the whole thing takes him off guard for a moment.

“We’re good friends,” Johnny says finally.

“I know that,” Doyoung rolls his eyes. “What’s holding you back from being more? It’s clear how much you two care about each other.”

Johnny looks down at his food, using his chopsticks to play around with a red pepper. “We do care about each other,” he confirms. “She was there for me with Soonie when no one else was, and I’ll always be grateful for that.”

“So why don’t you tell her how you really feel about her?” Doyoung presses. “It’s obvious in the way you look at each other- a smart woman like y/n, I’m shocked she hasn’t figured it out for herself by now.”

“I think, because of our history, there’s this… invisible line,” Johnny tries to explain. “Things are good the way they are now, if I try to mess with that… I could lose everything. And I wouldn’t just be losing it for myself, I’d be losing it for Soonie too.”

Doyoung lets out a breath, turning to face Johnny. “I get that it’s hard, but, you’ve got two paths ahead of you. If you give it a try, it could either end well, or badly. But if you keep yourself in this weird middle friend zone place, it’s like you’ve created a house at the crossroads, and that will never lead you anywhere.”

“When did you become so wise about love?” Johnny scoffs.

“Sumi has helped me with it,” Doyoung admits. “I met her here, we started off as friends. I’m her manager, so I had my own reasons for never taking the leap. I had my own house at the crossroads.”

“What made you finally give it a try?”

“She was there for me when my dad died,” Doyoung frowns. “Anyone can be there for you when things go badly, but when a woman truly gives her all to making things easier on you- it’s not something that should be ignored. After everything you and y/n have been through, you both deserve to give it a try.”

“How are you so sure she’d want to give it a try?”

“Because she looks at you the way you look at her.”

Six

Cooking with Johnny might just be the easiest thing in the world. You’d thought that, due to it being Soonie’s birthday, maybe tensions would be high, but as the two of you collaborate in the kitchen, bumping hips and easily communicating, things feel as they always have: easy.

Within fifteen minutes, the two of you have seamlessly cooked thirteen breakfasts for yourselves, Soonie, her four friends, and six adults… well, seven, if you include the Boken Avocado Bennies you’d whipped up for Doyoung.

While there are a number of staff puttering around doing pre-opening tasks, it’s Doyoung who takes the time to help you and Johnny bring all the food to the table. You love watching the stoic manager announce the Soonie-inspired brunch food names, and it’s clear that Soonbok is also enamoured by the shift in Doyoung’s countenance.

Before everyone begins to eat, you take a group picture on Johnny’s phone, loving the massive smile on Soonie’s face.

As you’re about to sit down, Johnny asks one of the other moms to take a picture of just you, him and Soonie. With the two of you on either side of the birthday girl, you can’t help but think that this feels like a family picture.

In a way, Johnny and Soonie are your family- but in the same breath, you’re cognisant of the fact that - had circumstances been different - it would be Soonbok’s mom in this picture right now, and not you. These are shoes that can simply never be filled, no matter how much you wish you could.

The thought isn’t one you like to hold on to, and it’s a thought that’s popped into your head innumerable times throughout the years. Taking your seat next to the birthday girl, you watch her try the french toast, her eyes lighting up.

On top of her own food, Soonie picks at yours and Johnny’s. Both of you are more than happy to share so she can taste more than just one of the special items Johnny had concocted for her.

Brunch is full of laughter and girlish giggles that light up the deserted restaurant. It’s clear how important Johnny has made Soonie feel today, and that brings you more joy than you could ever express out loud.

As things wind down, you and Johnny begin clearing plates to the dishpit. The two of you are shoulder to shoulder, and you’re overwhelmed by an odd sense of longing that you can’t quite describe.

Johnny turns to you, mouth opening as if he’s about to say something- but as servers pass behind you, it’s clear that there’s no room for him to say whatever it is that he wanted to say to you.

You clear your throat, watching a line chef pop up next to Johnny to stack the dishes for dishwasher prep. “You should go back to Soonie,” you tell him, “I’ll finish up with the cleanup.”

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Of course, it’s Soonie’s day, go be with her.” You offer him a smile, and Johnny reacts by reaching out to squeeze your hand.

Without another word, he leaves you to your thoughts, and the feeling of need that’s growing steadier and steadier in your chest.

Seven

Johnny doesn’t know quite what to do with himself. Soonie’s birthday was yesterday, and today's day shift had been quite slow. He’s feeling restless with Soonie over at a friend’s place tonight, and he tries to drown himself in liquor- whether it be to chase away the loneliness or to gain courage, he’s not sure, but by nine oclock, Johnny finds himself dialing up your number.

“Hey, you,” you answer.

“Hey, yourself,” he grins. “Watcha up to?”

There’s a pause, and Johnny can hear people in the background. “I’m out actually.”

“Oh?” Johnny’s spirits dampen. “Out on another hot date?”

“Not so hot actually.”

Johnny bites at his lip. “I’ll let you go anyways.”

“It’s alright, I stepped out when you called. Do you need something?”

“I guess…” Johnny takes a breath. “I got into the liquor-”

“Say no more, I’ll be right over.”

Eight

“So…” Johnny grins as the two of you head into his kitchen, “how did the date go?”

You scoff, watching him pour a glass of wine. “How do you think it went? I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

“I mean… I am pretty hard to compete with,” Johnny flashes you a sexy grin… and proceeds to knock over the glass of wine. “Shit- fuck!”

“Listen, you go take a seat, and I’ll clean this up,” you laugh, watching him lumber toward the sofa. You make quick work of the mess, and when you’re done, you approach him in the living room.

“Come sit,” he prompts, patting the spot right next to him.

“Someone’s feeling awfully cuddly today,” you giggle when he grabs your hand to pull you down where he wants you, leaving no space between the two of you.

“What can I say? I’m a cuddly drunk.”

“I can see that,” you note, assessing him.

His gaze dips to your lips, and your skin tingles.

“Thank you for yesterday,” he says quietly.

“I told you, I was happy to help for Soonie’s special day.”

“It’s not just that,” he insists, “you’re always happy to help. I seriously-” he swallows thickly, “I seriously couldn’t have done anything I’ve done without you.”

“Don’t be so self deprecating,” you warn him, gently pushing his shoulder. “You’d have gotten anywhere you wanted, with or without me.”

“I still don’t have a food truck,” Johnny pouts.

You’d thought maybe he’d given up on that dream- although you’ve held onto hope for Johnny, more than he knows. “Now that you mention it, actually,” you say, pulling out your phone, “I’ve been looking at food trucks for sale online for a minute, and-”

Johnny’s gaze softens. “You’ve been researching for me?”

“Just a little,” you brush it off, trying to find the listing that you’d saved three days ago. “I found this decent looking one at a good price-”

“I think I love you.”

“Huh?” you freeze.

“I didn’t mean it,” Johnny says immediately, and your heart sinks. “I don’t think I love you, I know I do.”

“John, please, that’s the liquor talking.”

“Drunk words are sober thoughts,” he insists. “Look, you’ve always been there for me. We work together- and not just because we’re both chefs. Something about this,” Johnny gestures between the two of you, “it just works, and I know I’m not the only one who sees it.”

“Yeah?” You decide to play a little coy, seeing as this confession is coming from a drunk man. “And who else sees it?”

“Doyoung, for one.”

“Doyoung?” You let out a laugh. “Have you been gossiping about me with him?”

“I swear I didn’t bring it up,” Johnny defends himself. “Doyoung said I look at you with love, and that… that you look at me the same way.”

“Well… maybe Doyoung needs to get his eyes checked?”

“Don’t play with me,” Johnny begs, pulling you closer. “There’s always been a line between us, one we’ve both been too scared to cross… but, I think-”

“Now you’re crossing it,” you finish for him. “What made you want to do that?”

“Soonie’s birthday,” Johnny admits. “Our little family picture.”

“Our family picture,” you repeat, melting inside at the fact that he’d viewed the photo in the same light you had.

“Yeah.” Johnny nods. “Our family. Mine, and yours.”

His hand finds your thigh, and you can’t help but reach out to cup his cheek, stroking your thumb across his angular bones. “I’m not sure what to say,” you admit.

“We don’t have to say anything,” Johnny assures you. “Just kiss me, and we can forget about the world for a minute.”

Your heart is racing in your chest as you hesitantly close the distance between your lips. It’s a gentle first kiss, but it soon grows hungry, and you’re not sure if that’s due to his appetite or your own.

His tongue swipes across your lip, and you open your mouth for him, letting out a soft sigh as you get lost in the feeling of the man who’s been your best friend for years.

His hand on your thigh squeezes, and before you know it, he’s pulling you onto his lap. Your knees dig into the sofa on either side of him, and you’re hesitant to fully sit down- a kiss is a kiss, but grinding on Johnny is something else entirely.

“Johnny,” you whisper, throwing your head back to look at the ceiling, wondering how you got into this situation.

“Yes, honey?” He presses kisses along your throat that have tingles shooting up your spine.

“You’re drunk,” you say finally.

“If I’d known you liked me too, I would have done this ages ago.”

“It’s not about that,” you laugh. “It’s about the fact that you’re drunk, and I want you sober when we do this.”

“Do what?” he teases, squeezing your hips, his tongue grazing over your jugular.

“You know what,” you retort with a huff. “Look, you’re right about the line neither of us wanted to cross.”

Johnny pulls away from your throat, looking up at you. “Huh?”

“The line. The unspoken line. All these years, something has been there, between us- but, we both respect your wife, we respect Soonie- I think… I think the time is right for this now, well, not right now, but, once you’re sober again.”

“You’re right,” Johnny concedes.

“How about we watch a movie, then we can go to sleep.”

“You’ll stay over?” There’s a boyish excitement in his voice and it makes you melt.

“Uh huh.”

“Will you stay in my bed with me?”

“Just for cuddles, but only if you promise to drink a bunch of water before we sleep, I don’t want you hung over in the morning.”

Johnny grins. “You got it, honey.”

Nine

Johnny wakes up next to a warm body, and it’s the first time in years. Your presence is the only thing that proves to him that last night wasn’t a dream, some twisted fantasy- No, you’re real, and you’re here, and you’d kissed him back-

He stays cuddled with you for a while, basking in the glow of being in love, truly in love, and finally able to admit it to himself. It’s been so long since his wife, and part of him had forgotten the feeling- maybe that’s why it had taken years for him to realize how much he adores you.

After a while, Johnny decides he needs some water- and he wants to make breakfast for you. He wants to spoil you the way you spoil him.

Johnny is careful as he exits the bed, taking one last look at your peaceful face before heading down to the kitchen.

It’s easy for Johnny to get lost in the act of cooking, focusing on bacon at first before switching to eggs. As it was a few days ago, the smell of food wakes you up, and soon you’re joining him by the stove.

“Watcha making?” you ask, wrapping your body around his.

God, the feeling of you is- fuck, he can’t even describe how good it is.

“Wanted to make you breakfast,” he tells you, plating your food first. Once he has you settled and sitting, he quickly throws together a breakfast sandwich for himself.

“You and your sandwiches,” you laugh, digging into your bacon and eggs.

“How did you sleep?” he asks, coming to join you.

“So well,” you tell him, bumping your knee against his own, “even if someone snores.”

Johnny can only laugh, he’s dealt with Soonbok complaining about his loud snoring for years. “How are the eggs?”

“Good!”

You’re so chipper this morning, and he loves it. Johnny takes a bite of his sandwich- you’d cooked the eggs at the brunch birthday two days ago, and he realizes Soonie was right. “Your eggs are better,” he muses.

“I’d planned on making breakfast for you, but you jumped the gun, big guy.”

“I wanted to pamper you for a change.”

“Cooking is my love language,” you tell him. “I’m excited to make you breakfast more often.”

“I like the sound of that,” he smiles.

“When’s Soonie come home?”

Johnny checks the clock on the stove. “In an hour or so.”

“As much as I’d love to see her, I think maybe it’s better if I’m not here when she gets home,” you say thoughtfully. “She’s a smart girl, I bet she’d be able to tell that something is up.”

“She definitely would,” Johnny confirms. “I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands off of you that much if you stick around.”

You giggle, reaching over to squeeze his knee.

“How are you feeling about last night?” Johnny asks.

“I’m feeling good, how about you? Still remember all of it?”

“In perfect detail,” he breathes. “Although… a little reminder wouldn’t hurt.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t?” you tease as he leans in, cupping your face so he can press his lips to your own.

God, you’re such a good kisser. It just works. It’s hard for him to even pull away, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm you.

“Take me out on a date,” you say.

“Hmm?”

“A date,” you repeat. “Just because we’ve known each other for years doesn’t mean we can skip steps.”

“I respect that,” Johnny nods. “I’ve got a busy week, and it will have to be a night where Soonie is out, but… we’ll make it work.”

Johnny’s so certain it will work, because things between you have always worked, and he can’t wait to see where this takes you.

Ten

It’s been a week, but finally Johnny found time for that date night. Soonie is out with friends again, so it’s the perfect opportunity to get some alone time with the man who’s been on your mind constantly.

He picks you up in his old Dodge truck, compliments your outfit, and refuses to tell you where you’re going or what the plan is.

When you arrive back at his place, you’re honestly not even surprised. “Let me guess, you took me to the best chef in town?”

“You know all my lines, honey,” he grins.

“So, chef, what’s on the menu?”

“I thought maybe you’d take a seat and let me cook for you.”

“As if I’d take a back seat,” you scoff. “What are we making?”

Johnny had made hand made fettucini before he’d come to pick you up. You let him take lead in making a white wine, garlic cream sauce with button mushrooms, spinach and crispy prosciutto, but you insist on being his sous chef and taking care of the chicken.

The smell is heavenly, and as he finishes it all off with fresh herbs, you think you start to drool a little.

“For a guy who claims to specialize in sandwiches of all things, you’re pretty good with italian,” you muse as you take your first bite and nearly moan.

“I’m pretty good with a lot of things,” Johnny laughs.

“Look at you being all cocky.”

“You love it.”

He’s so right.

The two of you chat and laugh together while eating. It’s one of the best meals you’ve had in a very long time. When dinner is over, Johnny suggests a movie. As the two of you settle on the couch, he prompts you to come closer, and soon, the two of you are cuddled together as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He’s so warm and comforting- you find yourself dozing off a little, although, maybe it’s something of a food coma from all the pasta.

Johnny brings his lips to your ear, and you shiver when he asks, “Should I carry you to bed, honey?”

Part of you wants to tell him you’re not Soonie and you won’t be calling him daddy any time soon- but another part of you wants to lean into this. It’s been so long since you felt like you could be babied, and if anyone is going to bring out that side of you, it’s going to be Johnny.

“Won’t I be too heavy?” you ask, cognizant of the stairs he’ll have to climb.

“Have you seen my arms? I won’t drop you, honey, I promise.”

You allow him to scoop you up, and you feel like a giggling school girl again as he takes you up to his room. “Do you have a shirt I could wear to sleep?”

“Choose anything,” he tells you. “When you’re changed, you can join me in the bathroom, I went and got a toothbrush for you.”

Before you know it, you’re cuddled in Johnny’s bed, wearing panties and one of his big shirts. He’s pressed to your back, his mint tinged breath warm on the nape of your neck. There’s no pressure for sex, no pressure for anything other than the situation at hand, and you can tell you’re both very content with it.

Soon, you’re drifting off to sleep in the arms of a man who’s been a cornerstone of your life.

It’s a deep, dreamless sleep, and it passes in the blink of an eye. You awaken to light beaming through his window, a warm body behind you, and something hard pressed against your ass.

You laugh to yourself- morning wood isn’t something men can help. Even so, you stir a little, adjusting to get more comfortable.

Johnny releases a sleepy groan.

You stay still, not wanting to wake him, but it feels like the damage is already done when he wraps you tighter in his embrace. “Morning,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Hi,” you respond lightly.

Now it’s Johnny’s turn to shift, and you feel his body tense when he does so. “Fuck,” he goes to pull away, “sorry, I uh-”

“It’s okay,” you assure him, grabbing his forearm so he can’t move away, “keep cuddling me.”

Johnny returns, flush against your back, his hard cock pressing even more firmly to your ass.

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?” he asks.

“More than okay with it.”

“Yeah?” He leans forward, pressing his lips to your throat. “Are you okay with this, too?” Johnny mumbles, his hot breath fanning across your skin.

“Uh huh,” you sigh, wiggling your bum back against him and arching your neck to give him better access.

His hand finds your hip, gently squeezing you through the shirt you’re wearing. His lips are soft against you, but there’s a need in his motions too, and he begins to grind against your ass.

You let out a groan when he finds the sweet spot just below your ear, and he licks at it, making you moan louder.

“Are we going to do this?” he asks, nipping at your earlobe.

“Fuck it, yes.” You can’t hold back anymore, you turn in his embrace, quickly mounting him and smashing your lips to his own.

Johnny grins into the kiss, holding your hips while you settle on top of him, grinding down against his clothed cock while your tongues begin to clash.

His kisses have you seeing stars, your mind going blank except for him.

Soon, his hands slip under your shirt, slowly grazing up your sides. “Can I take this off of you?” he asks.

You open your eyes to look down at him, studying his pretty lips and his chocolate eyes.

Instead of responding, you sit up, grabbing the hem of the oversized T and lifting it over your head, tossing it to the side and baring yourself to your best friend for the first time.

“Fuck,” Johnny groans, gaze falling to your tits. His hands stay at a respectable location on your hips, and you grab one to lift it to your breast, adding pressure so he knows he’s allowed to give you a test squeeze.

Johnny begins to massage you, and you throw your head back, releasing a groan, swiveling your hips against him.

His thumb brushes over your hardened nipple and you mewl loudly, core throbbing from the stimulus.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, propping himself up so he can take your nipple into his mouth.

You cup the back of his head, keeping him on your chest while he worships you. His other hand finds your neglected breast, gently pinching and massaging while he sucks on your sensitive bud.

“John-” You don’t even know what to say, you’re entirely wrapped up in him.

You’ve never felt a feral need like this before, but it’s not necessarily the primal type of drive. Instead, it’s a feeling of wanting to be close to this man- who you’ve been next to for so many years, but unable to touch.

Except, he’s touching you now, and you want more.

Johnny pulls away from your breasts, cupping the back of your head and drawing your lips to his again. “We should take our clothes off,” he suggests.

“That’s the best idea you’ve had all week,” you laugh.

He helps you off of him, and you lay next to each other for a moment, both fumbling to get naked. As soon as you’re fully nude, Johnny rolls on top of you, slotting between your thighs. His lips find yours again, and his free hand trails down your body, teasing through your pussy lips.

“You’re already so wet,” he muses.

“I’ve wanted this for a long time,” you admit.

“Me too,” he assures you, capturing your mouth with his own while he teases a finger into your hole. You push your hips up, wanting more, and you latch onto his strong shoulders, moaning into the kiss.

Johnny’s a big man, and his finger is enough to have you wriggling below him. “Easy, honey,” he grins, looking down at you with eyes full of adoration. “Gotta stretch you open.”

“Fuck,” you groan- does this man read erotica in his spare time? How is a thirty year old, single dad, this well versed in dirty talk even though you’re pretty sure he hasn’t been laid in forever?

He adds a second finger, curling them to find your gspot. As he pumps his hand, lips pressed to yours in a mad frenzy, you can hear your wetness with each motion.

It feels unreal- have fingers alone ever done a number like this on you?

Johnny twists his hand a little, knuckles dragging along your sensitive inner walls. It’s like he’s trying to carve out a space for his cock, although, you know now that this won’t be enough. He’s thick and throbbing on your hip, his length so large you think he might just blow your entire back out when he slips it into you.

Even though you’re eager to be - for lack of a better word - impaled on him, Johnny takes his time kissing you, his fingers continuing their motions. “Wanna rub your clit for me?” he asks, moving his mouth to your neck. “I want to watch you cum.”

Your toes curl at his words, and you bring your hand to your pussy, drawing circles on the sensitive bud while he continues to stroke your inner walls.

Your core throbs around him, whimpers of pleasure escaping you.

“You’re being so good for me, honey,” Johnny tells you, making your insides flutter even more from the sincere words of praise.

Cumming hasn’t always been the easiest thing in the world for you. There are many partners you’ve had who never had the wherewithal to get you there- but somehow, Johnny just knows you. Or maybe, it’s because he knows you- because you feel safe with him, that you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

It also helps that it’s your own fingers on your clit, you know exactly what you like, what pressure, what motions- the digits working you open are just an added bonus that have you seeing stars as you make your way to your peak.

“John,” you gasp, tits pushing up toward his chest when your back arches. “I’m gonna-”

“Let it out for me,” he encourages you softly. “You deserve it.”

“I deserve your cock,” you whine, shocked at your own blatant neediness.

Johnny only laughs. “After,” he assures you, “I promise.”

A few more circles of your clit has the cord in your stomach snapping, your orgasm washing over your like warm summer waves. Your entire body tingles with delight, gasps leaving you as your pussy fully throbs around his fingers, your clit pulsing with desire.

“So pretty,” he whispers, bringing his lips to yours.

From the way he smiles against your mouth, you can tell he doesn’t care that you’re moaning so much he can hardly kiss you.

It’s a closeness you’ve never felt before, and he helps you through your orgasm until you’re pulling your hand away in favour of grabbing his shoulders.

Johnny takes his fingers out of your core, and you watch under hooded eyelids as he brings them to his lips, sucking them clean and releasing a groan. “Everything you do tastes better than what I bring to the table.”

You laugh. He’s such a fucking chef.

“Some might even say it’s…” you stifle a giggle, “Finger licking good.”

Johnny lets out a laugh, eyes lighting up. God, you love this soft, laughter infused sex- you’ve never experienced anything like it.

You grab the back of his neck, drawing his mouth to your own. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and there’s something so erotic about it. He moans loudly, rubbing his cock between your wet pussy lips.

The tip of his cock is stimulating your clit and it sends jitters through you. You can feel how soaked you are, and you wouldn’t be surprised if this ended with a wet patch on his bed from how turned on you’ve been throughout this whole experience.

Johnny seems intent with grinding against you, but you’re lacking patience today, and you reach between your bodies to grab his cock.

Johnny breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours and looking down at where you’re gripping him. He doesn’t say anything, his gaze shifting back to your own. There’s a question in his eyes, and you’re both aware that this is the final line. Once you cross this, there’s no going back.

You bring his cock to your wet hole, and with very little effort, you help guide the head of his cock inside of you.

“Fuck,” Johnny groans immediately, fists bunching at the pillow on either side of your head. “You’re so tight- are you sure you’re good with this?”

“You’re just- fuck,” you whimper as another inch sinks into you, “you’re just big!”

“Maybe you’ll have to get used to it,” he grins, pushing deeper.

You moan loudly, clawing at his shoulders. “Maybe I will,” you gasp.

He brings his mouth close to your own, until your lips are just brushing, eyes meeting when he says, “I’m looking forward to it.”

As he kisses you, he pushes fully into your warm, wet, throbbing core. His hips are flush to your own, and you swear no one’s ever been this deep inside of you.

Your legs shake on either side of his hips, body suspended in this odd purgatory-like place between extreme pleasure, and an uncomfortable feeling of being stretched more than you’ve ever been stretched before.

“Are you good?” he asks, lips moving to your cheek while you struggle to aclimatize to his cock.

“Yeah,” you nod quickly. “Just- fuck me, it will be easier.”

“If you say so, honey.”

The first thrust has your toes curling, eyes clenching shut with pleasure. A sound that’s never come from you before leaves your lips- a sound you’ve heard in porn, but always thought was an overexpression.

Your fingers dig into Johnny’s shoulders, and he holds you close, mouth finding your neck while he begins to fuck you.

Although, would this be called fucking?

The fluidity of his motions- the way you’re clinging to each other- it feels more like making love, and your skin tingles with the realization.

“Johnny?” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Tell me you love me again, like you did when you were drunk.”

“I love you,” he says immediately, holding you even tighter. “I love you so much that sometimes it hurts.”

Your entire body both relaxes and is set on fire by his words, your core throbbing desperately around his massive cock.

“Johnny-” you whimper.

“Tell me you love me too,” he pleads.

“I love you too,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his hair and bringing his face close to yours so you can look up into his eyes. “I love you too.”

Johnny’s hand finds your thigh, hiking it higher on his hip. Somehow, he hits even deeper now, and you wriggle below him, more sounds of pleasure escaping you and filling the room.

“You sound so good, honey- I won’t last if you keep squeezing me and moaning-”

“Then don’t last,” you gasp. “Want you to cum.”

“Where should I cum?”

“Inside- I’m on birth control, just- fuck, Johnny, cum inside.”

He groans, pressing his mouth firmly to your own, his tongue dancing along yours as his motions get even faster.

You’re clinging to him for dear life at this point, and when he slips a hand between your bodies to rub your clit, you nearly begin to cry from how good it feels.

“Love the way your pussy sucks me in when we play with your clit,” he tells you.

Fuck, fuck, fuck-

“Do you think you can cum for me again? I don’t want to be the only one cumming.”

“Yeah, yeah- fuck, yeah, I can cum again,” you whimper desperately.

“Let me know when,” he instructs, adjusting his motions ever so slightly so each thrust has his cock dragging against your gspot.

You let out a squeal of delight, your thighs shaking around his hips, stomach muscles clenching almost painfully-

“Fuck, John, I’m there- shit, fuck-”

Johnny shuts you up with his lips against your own, and for a second time, your orgasm hits you.

Your core clamps down incredibly hard on his cock, and Johnny groans deeply above you, fingers twitching on your clit. He keeps his pace, and a moment later, you feel his cum filling you up, coating your walls with warmth.

The feeling of his large length throbbing in your own oversensitive hole has your entire mind going fuzzy, and you kiss him like a woman lost, like a woman so completely in love that nothing else matters.

You ride out your orgasms together, until you’re both shaking. Only then does Johnny come to a stop on top of you, kisses turning to a more gentle nature as he holds you close.

“I love you,” he tells you again.

You smile, blinking up at your best friend. “And I love you.”

Epilogue

The two of you are in the kitchen cooking brunch. Johnny is pressed to your back, watching intently, asking all sorts of questions about how you cook eggs to make them so delicious and superior to his own.

“The secret ingredient is love,” you tease.

Johnny can only laugh, holding you tighter.

He’s so lost in you, that he loses track of time, and as the two of you are sitting down to eat, Soonbok walks through the front door. She stops in her tracks when she sees you, letting her little overnight bag slip to the ground.

“Oh, hi, baby,” Johnny stands up immediately.

“Hi, daddy,” Soonie says, allowing her dad to pick her up for a hug while her eyes shift to you.

“Did Sabrina’s mom drop you off?” Johnny asks, looking out the door to wave at Soonie’s friend’s mom as she drives away.

“As always, daddy,” Soonie laughs. “I didn’t know y/n was coming over.”

“Surprise,” you grin, also standing so that when Johnny sets his daughter to the ground, she can run to give you a hug of your own.

Once Soonie is done squeezing you as tight as her little arms can muster, she looks between you and Johnny. For some reason, Johnny feels his heart beginning to race, there’s a knowing in his daughters eyes.

“What’s going on?” Soonie asks finally.

“Y/N and I just had a little sleep over,” Johnny tries to explain, and the concept isn’t a new one, you sleep over frequently… in the guest bedroom.

“So…” a wicked grin appears on Soonbok’s face, “Does this mean you’ll stop trying to get me to call her auntie now?”

“What?” Johnny lets out a surprised laugh.

“You heard me, daddy,” Soonbok’s smile widens. “Does this… does this mean we’ll be a real family now?”

Johnny lets out a shuddery breath. In the years you’ve been helping raise Soonbok, Johnny has broached the idea of her calling you Auntie Y/N, as a respect thing, and his daughter has always refused. Had she seen the connection this whole time? Has this been something Soonbok has wanted ever since she was a five year old with an inquisitive mind and an even more discerning eye?

Johnny’s gaze shifts to you, and you flash him a warm smile.

“Yeah, baby,” Johnny picks up his daughter. “We can be a real family now.”

☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! This was such a fun project for me, thank you so much to everyone who encouraged me to write for Chef John, he deserved his happy ending :)

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🔮 preview. The man ordering can’t see you lying on the floor of the food truck. He has no idea what’s going on- and you feel like tempting fate a little. You bring your hand to your pussy, beginning to rub yourself through your pants, adjusting the vibrator ever so slightly as it buzzes inside you. Johnny nearly drops the tomato he’s holding, quickly tearing his gaze from yours. You’ve never seen him trying to focus this hard- and failing. What had been your torture initially, has just become his own, and you kind of love it.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, exhibitionism (fucking in a food truck), use of vibrator while helping a customer, vibrator as a makeshift gag ball, breast worship, fucking with half your clothes on, fingering, multiple reader orgasms, big dick Johnny, pussy stretching, dirty talk, praise, breeding kink, etc… I petnames. (hers) honey

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.1k I teaser wc. 230

🌙 starring. Johnny x afab!Reader

bonus

You love working with Johnny. Sure, it had been rough at first, getting his food truck on its feet, but it’s been two years, and with some insanely good marketing, you’re now running one of the top trucks in the city.

It’s a joy to watch Johnny fulfill his dreams every day- his odd obsession with sandwiches of all things has only added to your connection. Watching him smile and charm guests makes your heart swell with joy, and on the rare occasion Soonie comes to do the register and take orders, it feels like you’re just one happy family.

Today, however, is a weather disaster. The forcast had mentioned light sprinkles, but cuddled next to Johnny looking out at the torrential downpour, you both feel a little bamboozled.

“You know what would make this more fun?” Johnny asks.

“Customers?” you suggest.

“Yes, but also… I got you something.” The chef flashes you a sly smirk, and you pull away from his shoulder to asses him.

“Am I going to like where this is going?” you ask.

He was single for so long- and there’d been so many sexual things he’d missed out on during that time, but the two of you are making up for it every moment you have alone. You suppose this is a moment alone, so you’re not really shocked that his mind is in the gutter.

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