#part of me is also proud of her for finally doing this

[mattrempeswife]

LITTLE QUINNY BEAR

pair: quinn hughes x f!reader

genre: fluff, domestic, emotional hurt/comfort, family.

warnings: mentions of surgery/recovery (c-section), postpartum insecurity, emotional vulnerability, soft crying, implied breastfeeding.

summary: after months of waiting, you and quinn finally welcome your baby boy into the world via c-section. from the moment he hears his son cry, quinn becomes the gentle, devoted father you always dreamed of and the partner who never lets you forget how deeply he loves you. as the days in the hospital blend into sweet exhaustion and late-night feedings at home, quinn proves again and again that there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you. but when insecurities about your healing body begin to creep in, quinn’s emotional and heartfelt reminder of his love for every inch of you might just be the thing that saves you.

fia’s note: this piece can be read as a standalone, but it also works as a part 2 to ‘a mini hughes on the way’. totally up to you how you want to experience it! you might be wondering where i’ve been since i’ve been a bit inactive lately, i was actually on vacation! even though i haven’t had the time to get to your requests just yet, i’m totally free to chat if you want to talk hockey or just hang out a bit.

He hadn’t let go of your hand since you were wheeled in the operating room. He kept whispering gentle reassurances like soft petals against your skin, even when your nerves felt like fire under your hospital gown. The anesthesiologist gave the okay, the nurses moved around you like clockwork, and still Quinn never wavered.

His grip never faltered.

“You’re so strong,”

He said, forehead pressed to yours.

“I’m so proud of you, baby.”

And then it happened, forty-five minutes into surgery, a cry pierced through the room.

Loud. Clear. Perfect.

You barely had time to react before tears flooded your eyes. Quinn’s body shook beside you, a soundless sob catching in his throat as he looked over the curtain. The nurse held up a tiny, red-faced baby, and Quinn melted like snow in spring.

“That’s him,” he whispered, eyes locked on yours.

“That’s our boy.”

When they laid him in Quinn’s arms, he looked down at the wrinkled little face as though it was the most sacred thing he’d ever seen. And when he brought him over to you, both of you cried quietly together, hearts wide open in a way nothing could ever prepare you for.

You named him Finn Hughes.

And the world felt whole.

The hospital days were a dreamy blur of exhaustion and newborn cries, but through it all, Quinn was your steady constant. He learned how to hold Finn before you could even lift your arms fully. He guided him to your chest, helped adjust your gown for breastfeeding, always whispering sweet encouragements while balancing a plate of food to feed you at the same time.

“You’ve done enough,”

He’d murmur, nudging a fork to your lips.

“Let me take care of you now.”

Every evening, he’d sneak home just for an hour, long enough to shower, grab snacks, and come back smelling like home.

Sometimes he returned with fresh clothes for you, or photos from the nursery you hadn’t seen yet. Sometimes it was just a quiet, long hug that said more than words ever could.

And when it came time to help you walk again, Quinn was your crutch.

Ellen took Finn in her arms while Quinn wrapped one hand firmly around your waist and the other held your hand. Your first steps were shaky, your body weak and unfamiliar.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

“Tell me if you need to stop. I’m right here.”

When you leaned into him, too overwhelmed to speak, he looked at you with guilt flooding his eyes.

“I think… I think Finn might be our only child,” he said softly.

“Seeing you like this, I feel so guilty, like I made you go through too much.”

Your heart twisted at the sound of his voice. This man, your gentle, golden-hearted man felt pain just watching yours. You reached up, cupping his cheek, grounding him.

“You gave me the greatest gift of my life,” you whispered.

“I’d do it again a thousand times.”

First week home was chaos. Finn fit into the house like he’d always belonged there. His crib sat under soft mobile lights, his name spelled on the wall in muted blue letters. Every night, Quinn would take the night shift with a sort of peaceful determination.

“You need sleep, mama,”

He’d always say, cradling Finn close.

“Let me take care of our little guy.”

Diaper changes, bottle warmings, rocking chair lullabies, Quinn handled it all with love. Even when you insisted on nursing Finn, he sat beside you everytime, whispering to him like it was the most normal thing in the world to stay up till 3 a.m. with his whole heart poured into this little boy.

Sometimes, you’d urge him to sleep.

But he never did, at least, not before kissing your temple and saying.

“I like watching you two like this.”

Then came the quiet storm.

More than three months postpartum, you stood in front of the mirror one evening, looking at the scar that marked your belly. You traced it lightly with your finger and felt a pang of self-consciousness. You didn’t feel ugly, but you didn’t feel beautiful either. You didn’t feel like you.

And you never said a word to Quinn. You tried to hide it.

But he knew you, really knew you.

He came into the bathroom quietly, arms around your waist, and kissed your shoulder before noticing where your eyes had fallen. Without a word, he slowly dropped to his knees in front of you. And then…

He kissed your scar.

Soft. Long. Meaningful.

You gasped, tears rising uninvited.

“Don’t ever think that this makes you anything less than the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,”

He whispered against your skin.

“That scar… it gave me him. It gave me everything. It’s the most sacred part of you now.”

His voice cracked slightly as he looked up at you, eyes glossy but sure.

“I’d give anything to trade places with you. But since I can’t… I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never feel like this scar makes you anything less.”

And then he kissed it again, this time slow, reverent like it was the beginning of every love story ever written.

You broke.

In his arms, you cried for every fear, every ache, every second of doubt and in return, he held you like you were his whole world.

Because you were.

And now, you had a piece of that world swaddled in blue in the next room, waiting for the two people who loved him most to tuck him into the next chapter of forever.

[valeisaslut]

GUYS. GUYSSSS. this is not a drill. after fighting for my life against ao3’s formatting system like it personally wronged me, i finally posted Collide on ao3.

COLLIDE; ellie williams (86932 words) by Valeisaslut

Chapters: 8/11 Fandom: The Last of Us (Video Games), The Last of Us (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Ellie (The Last of Us)/Reader, Ellie (The Last of Us) & Reader Characters: Ellie (The Last of Us), Dina (The Last of Us), Joel (The Last of Us), Reader, Jesse (The Last of Us), Original Female Character(s), Original Female Human Character(s) Additional Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Shameless Smut, Popstar!Reader, rockstar!ellie, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Use, Recreational Drug Use, References to Drugs, Lesbian Sex, Lesbian Character, Series, Mutual Pining, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Ellie Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Joel is Ellie's Parent (The Last of Us), POV Reader-Insert, AFAB | Assigned Female at Birth Reader-Insert, Joel Lives (The Last of Us), Hurt Ellie (The Last of Us), Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Choking, Spanking, Hair-pulling, Strap-Ons, Nicknames Summary:

Rockstar!Ellie Williams x Popstar!Reader 𖥔 ݁ ˖ A pop princess on the rise. A rockstar on the edge of collapse. Your world is all polish and perfection, hers is chaos and self-destruction. You and Ellie Williams were never meant to cross paths. But when the industry sees an opportunity, it spins a story neither of you can escape: a headline-making, career-saving fake relationship. You need edge. She needs damage control. It should be simple—play the part, sell the history, survive each other. But Ellie is unpredictable, fame is unforgiving, and somewhere between staged appearances and real fights, the harder it is to tell where the act ends and something real begins. And in a world where everything is manufactured, the most dangerous thing you can do is feel. 𖥔 ݁ ˖ Follow me on tumblr: @valeisaslut

i’m gonna be so real with y’all… i had no idea what i was doing. NONE. ao3 is like a beautiful but extremely complicated spaceship. i was pressing buttons like i was diffusing a bomb. i almost published it with the tags “help” and “what am i doing” by accident.

but!!! i somehow pulled it together!!! SO. if you wanna go show Collide some love over there — leave a comment, kudos, or just yell into the void about your feelings — i would literally sob and kiss your forehead. i’m so proud of this story and of this little chaotic fandom we’ve built here, and seeing it get some love on ao3 too would make my heart explode (in the good way, not the medical emergency way).

thank you for always being so insanely kind and supportive 🥹💘 now go forth and wreak havoc in the comment section like the little menace army you are. i love you.

(also if you see any mistakes… pretend you didn’t xoxo)

[simmireen]

Head over heels

The taxi pulled over at my apartment complex. It was just a five minute drive so in the presence of the driver we were quiet. We were hand in hand, me playing lovingly with her fingers. I really wanted to know what she thought of the evening. For me these nights are part of the job, but for her, it's an entire experience, I know. All the people, the photographers, the glam, everything is bigger than she ever could imagine. And then this was a smaller premiere even. 

Even while walking to my apartment door, which I held open for her, she was quiet. She seemed overwhelmed, but in a good way. Taking in all the buzz that happened around her those hours before. And she did amazing, even though I held her close to me all evening, because I know this all is overwhelming to her. Without taking her coat off she walks over to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. I walk over to her, "My lovely lovely lady. Can I take your coat?". She chuckles and helps me take it off. I walk off to hang it onto a chair at the diner table and walk back. She takes a sip of her water and I wrap my arms around her. Her arousing scent filling my nose. Her naked shoulders are now showing and I am in need to kiss them, so I give in. She looked so beautiful all night and I had difficulties keeping myself sane, because she had this tendency to touch me a lot. 

"And.. What did you think about tonight?", I ask between the kisses. I kiss her close to her neck and I feel her body answering me with a little shiver. She smiles, "A lot of people, but definitely amazing". It stays quiet for a minute, while I'm still gently kissing the silky skin on her shoulders. She takes it in, how I took in her strokes all night- Oh I did take them in, but I had to stay professional, so I couldn't do much more than just holding her close and tight to me and enjoy her touching in silence. Which was hard, but I am so proud that I could finally show my little world this woman is with me. 

"This is your life, already for ... how long?" She asks while I move my hand subtly up from her waist. I really have to restrain myself from making some moves since her body replies to my hands embracing her sides with another soft shiver. While I subtly stroke the side of her breast, I give her another soft kiss on her shoulder and answer her question, ‘Mmm, twenty-five years’. 

It really has been almost twenty-five years. At the end of the year I would be a producer for all those years, of course before becoming a producer, I did several things in the industry. I almost can’t imagine doing something else, but at the same time I know I will be doing something different in the near future, since I still have that job offer in San Myshuno. I basically said I would do it, if I could find an apartment first. I know it’s going to be a big change, but I also know it’s so worth it. As if Minnie could hear my thoughts, she tells me she agrees with Geoffrey. She met my direct boss, Geoffrey Landgraab today. I have worked with him for about twenty years. I think through the years we became, well I don’t think I can call it friends, but good acquaintances in and outside our workfield. Tonight Geoffrey came to introduce himself to Minnie with the statement she would steal me away from him. Of course he said that as a joke, but I also know how Minnie blames herself for me making this decision of moving away from Del Sol Valley for, well, her. “You really shouldn’t give that up Jim”, she says softly. I move in a little closer while I still am taking in her soft skin. She means the fact I have this lifestyle we both encountered tonight. The luxury, the glam, the fame around me. I’m used to that life. I sometimes even choose not to go to the smaller premieres, because they bore me, but sometimes you have to go, to show yourself to the directors and actors you work together with. 

She leans on the counter with one hand while her other hand is touching my hand resting on her waist. I’m still on and off kissing her sensually on her neck and shoulders, her lovely flowery sweet scent that always turns me on reaches deep, while her body still heavily responds to my touches too. I love worshipping her, caressing every inch of her soft skin. I gently move my hands up to cup her breasts -God, that’s such a manly thing to do- but I can’t help it, but clearly she doesn’t mind, because she starts leaning forward with two hands on the counter so her ass stroke my intimate area which makes my pants become a little tight. “After all that time, these parties become very monotonous. Definitely if you are always the one who comes alone.”, I answer absentmindedly. It is true, being alone at an event like tonight is kinda lonely. So the fact I could finally bring her, but also the fact she stayed close to me all night instead of taking a distance, which she normally does when we are in public, means so much to me. She becomes more confident next to me, and I want her to know. I find her ear and whisper, “So, sharing this with a gorgeous lady that stands next to me, that I want to show off to everyone, looks way too sexy and arouses me with every touch she made tonight, makes my choice so much easier”. I want her, I only want her. This job has become meaningless for me since she is in my life, which is a miracle, not even a year ago this job meant everything to me. She does things to me, I’m head over heels, but physically she lets me burn inside. She drives me crazy, gives me the worst primal needs, like grabbing both of her boobs just now, that’s so not like the man I want to be. I blame the ‘staying professional’ rule I gave myself tonight. Right now, I don’t have to restrain myself any longer, I slowly move my hand down. She leans forward a little more on the counter and gasps when I reach her inner thigh. Her breathing quickens while I am still playfully moving my fingers around that thigh area. 

Fairly sudden she turns around and pants while she says my name. The first thought that comes up is that I went too fast, did something she wasn’t ready for, “Sorry, I let myself go for a minute-” but she interrupts me with a hard no. “Don’t apologize”. Her breathing stabilizes a little again and she says my name again, “Jim, you are everything a woman wants. You are a real gentleman, you put me on a pedestal. You are so very passionate about the things you love.” Oh, she is right, I’m very passionate about her, I want to answer, but she doesn’t let me, she looks away. “And you are so.. so very attractive”, she sighs, leaving out a heavy breath after saying that compliment. I’m flattered, I’m silenced. I know she isn’t that outspoken about what she feels for me. A few butterflies wake up in my stomach and flutter around. “And above all, you have the lifestyle everyone dreams about. You really shouldn’t give that up. Not for me”, she continues. And there it is, her insecure inner thoughts about the thought that she doesn’t deserve me, that she doesn’t deserve my love, love in general. Is that what I like about her so much? The fact I want to make her happy, the fact I can be the one who makes her happy? She is the very reason I want to give it all up. I want to make her happy. That lifestyle? - I don’t give a fuck about it anymore. Yeah it’s nice to be able to buy a nice car and a good suit, but I’d rather buy ten pairs of heels for her, “but what if I’m tired of that lifestyle, and am willing to give that all up for something I am way more passionate about?” I answer. Now she is silenced. I still hold her tight, because when she turned around facing me, I didn’t give her much space. When I’m explaining her the rest of why this glamorous world is as fake as it is, I see her thoughts racing. Her mind is finding reasons again why she doesn’t deserve me. I see her slipping away, so I find her back with my hand and pull her closer to me. She looks at me with her big brown eyes, only now scared, silenced. Her hand caresses my face and there it is, “What if, eventually, the light you see in me… dims?”, she whispers softly and looks away. I understand that question, it comes from deep within and answers why she is this broken beautiful fragile woman. She is afraid I will leave her, what her ex-husband did, and he did it without any warning. This hits me deep also, because in some way I was a man like that. Only I never left anyone, but it was my fault my marriage collapsed. Because yes, the brighter light I followed was my work and now I am leaving my work for this mesmerizing woman. Am I that simple? Clearly I am. Besides, I also learned a lot about myself these last years and ending up alone is something I secretly am a little scared of. 

“I don’t think it will”, I answer her in all honesty. It’s not the straight up answer she is looking for, but I stay calm, because she isn’t. “You don’t know”, she replies as if she can hear my thoughts. “Nope, that’s very true. We never know.” She stares at me again with her big beautiful eyes. “We can’t look into that future Minnie. But for now I am very, very sure I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If these three months define my life with you, I’m looking forward to the rest”, I reassure her. A deep breath leaves her mouth, into mine. Nothing is a lie about that. These three months are the happiest my life has ever been and she is the reason. “Let’s look at it day by day”. With every word I say, I see her giving in to my reassurance, so I decide to continue a little more. “Today I fell in love with you even more. I want you, more than ever. This evening you showed me how much you fit into this lifestyle. The confidence you had tonight. How beautiful you look with your outfit and new heels, how kind you are to my colleagues. How sweet, arousing and sexy you are.” I push her gently against the counter and she moves her arm around my neck. She always melts into me if I tell her how much I want her. And I want her, desperately. I know she wants it too, because the tension between us reached a new high. I move my hand to her leg and in an automatic response she lifts it up. I chuckle, “but I’m very selfish by telling you what I want, but way more important is what you want. What do you want my beautiful lady?”. She swallows, looks away and it stays quiet for a few seconds. My eyes still locked on her, she looks back to me and whispers, so almost no one could hear it, “You.”

She sighs. 

“I want you. I need you.” 

I lean my body closer to her, if that’s even possible, my hands find both of her legs and pull them both up so she gets lifted up the kitchen counter. And I give her the kiss I've wanted to give her since we came home. One where you forget everything around you. Sucked into each other’s presence. Giving into the tension that’s built up all day long. From the moment she walked the red carpet next to me, from the moment we sat together in the dark theatre trying not to touch each other constantly to the moment after the movie when Geoffrey told me the fact she is the lucky one for me. Her way of fiddling with my shirt and suit she did after I confessed that she is indeed the lucky one, made it very clear she didn’t really know what to do with that tension. It all came out now. I couldn’t hold myself any longer. I barely could hold in the impure thought of how much I wanted to pull that jumpsuit off of her and take her right onto my counter, but no. She deserves the pleasure all night long. She is that lucky one, that drives me insane and I never have felt this way about any woman in my life. I love her, I want her and I definitely need her in my life. I stop the kiss to breathe and look into eyes that are full of desire for more. God, I need her. I really really need her. “And you have no idea how much I need you…”

We fall into the passionate kiss again. I gently pull her off the counter and guide her out of my kitchen, along the diner table, to the bedroom door. When we are inside, I close the door and push her gently to the door so she is locked between me and the door. I lift her up against the door, which startles me, but clearly my instincts take over my sanity. Her soft lips on mine, her tongue playing with mine. 

I can hold her for a little while, and she helps with locking her legs around my waist, but while kissing, it’s a tough job to do. I haven’t been working out in a while, and that’s what I feel right now. In the little breathing break I decide to kiss her neck again. I have her lifted and pushed against my bedroom door, where she is currently taller than me, so it’s a free play for me. A soft moan of pleasure fills the room. 

I decide to make it easier for myself and walk two steps backwards until I hit the edge of my bed and make myself sit with her still on top of me, kissing me passionately. Her on top of me, yes please, this is so very sexy. This Minnie I haven’t seen yet, I know she always holds back in some way and doesn’t show me exactly what she wants. Maybe also my fault because I feel like I’m responsible for pleasing her and taking the lead, but I would die if Minnie would take control sometimes. I open my eyes to take a look at her. Our eyes meet and she stops kissing. Flutters in my stomach. My heart skipping a beat or two. A silence full of feelings. Her hands find the buttons of my shirt and undresses my jacket and shirt. I decide not to do anything, yet, but it’s hard to contain myself. Her warm hands stroke my chest and I softly lean backwards until I feel my pillows and pull her with me. I have her on top of me now, with her head on my chest, but before I could make my next move, she surprises me with kisses on my collarbone. She traces my neck with more kisses, my chest, lowering to my belly until she meets the edge of my pants. I let out a groan because I can’t contain myself much longer. Bewildered, I push myself up and look at her and meet with a set of surprised eyes. Now it’s my turn, I move her to the edge of my bed to find the zipper on the side of her jumpsuit. I undress her- sadly I had to take off her heels. It reveals a lace panties again. Help me. She dressed up entirely, but my impure thoughts tell me to get it all off.. There she is, standing in front of me in all her naked beauty. I undo myself from my shoes and my pants. Including my boxershort. My erection showing proud.

I pull her beautiful naked body onto me again, so I have her on top of me. Skin to skin. She pushes me onto the pillow again and starts giving me a deep kiss again. The weight of her on me is pleasant. With my hands on her hips I control how much she moves, but she still has me in total control. “You really should stop surprising me”. I know Minnie looks very shy and insecure and innocent to the outside world, I know different by now. As long as you give her a warm and trusted safe place where she can be herself, she shows how lustful she is. “What did I do?”, she asks with a little smirk. Oh, she definitely knows what she is doing. “And then she asks me what she does”, I answer playfully. She chuckles. 

I find her hands and lock her fingers into mine so I can push her up so she sits on top of me, but I continue to push her onto her back so I am on my knees above her. She should be pleased first. I don’t think with her on top of me, I could have lasted very long. My finger is lovingly stroking the curves of her naked body while she looks at me full of desire. “Can I kiss you?”, I ask. I wish I could make love all night with this woman. Please her multiple times. Kiss her whole body. She nods, she knows I mean something different than kissing her on her lips. I make my way down and pause for kisses on her breasts, her belly and her hips tighten while I move down to the place where I wanna be. I start slow but speed up the pace little by little. Her heavy breathing tells me she likes what I do. It doesn’t take long until she starts moaning softly and I feel her body tightening up. I feel her grabbing the sheets with both of her hands and she lets out a moan I never heard her making before. Can she get even sexier?

I slowly stop what I’m doing while I feel her body go back into relaxed mode. She is breathing heavily still and caresses my head with both of her hands. I move up again hovering over her and stare into the most beautiful face I have seen tonight. “I love you”, she stammers. 

“I love you too”, I answer with a huge smile. 

She lowers her hands to grab my hips and slowly pulls me back onto her. She is very much not innocent at all tonight, a groan escapes while she folds her legs around me. I know I can handle waiting patiently, but I can’t help craving her even more after the climax I just gave her. I want her. Badly. 

She gently pulls my head to her face and gives me an intense kiss. I softly grind my hips against her and she whimpers. I stop and look into two craving eyes. “Can I..?”, I whisper. I always make sure I ask for consent, she knows. She nods slowly, whispers a yes and kisses me again. I tilt my hips and push myself slowly in her. 

This feeling, melted together deeply, making love, is the most intense and happy feeling I have ever had. I don’t think I have had this before in my entire life. 

Is that what the love of your life is supposed to be? 

Then I found her. 

Want to know more about these two (mostly in images - see my (way too long story on instagram or discord channel)

[xylatox]

And the final part of Patty's fic is here 🥹 I absolutely cannot believe it. Unto my thoughts!!

He said nothing and tried to not react outwardly, but something fluttered low in his chest. Sometimes, when you had all the shirts you used as pyjamas in the wash, you took one of Sunghoon’s. He had so many shirts from training camps or competitions that were in his pyjama drawer that he didn’t really care if you stole one once in a while. — this made me so giddy what the fuck???? AH

And the entire moment with the stickers throughout the fic was so cute :(

“And if you play your cards right, monkey stickers are forever,” Heeseung grinned, skating backward.—Hee really is their biggest fan, it's so cute:( I love them so bad

He squinted at the calendar and took a step closer, “The cat is cute. I am proud of you, Y/N. Look, even your little kitty is proud of you for eating so well.”—This was so fucking cute like???? I want someone to do this for me too :(((((

ALSO WHEN HE STAYED UP WITH HER BUT FELL ASLEEP😭😭THAT IS LOVE

I will also never get over Hoon reassuring mc that she deserves love, like that was such a comforting moment :(((

The entire moment where her assignment gets pushed earlier and she's stressed breaks me. I absolutely love how realistic it is but God it doesn't hurt any less.

I still think one of my all favorite moments was the pancakes being well-loved by the stove :) I just absolutely loved that.

And when the boys came over to help too!! I love them so dearly I hope you know that.

Jake thinking mc is cute is so him coded, he's such a cutie pie I'll die.

I love the moment mc has with Jay in the kitchen too!! there's something so comforting about it.

Patty. The almost kiss will always drive me fucking insane I swear to God. Like my chest still goes haywire because ?!?!?!?

And they finally fucking kissed AHHHHH😭😭😭😭🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS AHHHHH. THEY. ARE. SO. CUTE.

“You’re doing just fine,” he reassured you, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he leaned in close, his lips brushing against yours in a soft kiss. —😔😔😔 FUCKKKKK.

You looked up at him, your cheeks flushed . “I- no- no it's nice. I like kissing you.” — she's so fucking cute I love women so bad👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

I'm so giddy over how their relationship progressed??? like they're so cute and make me want to be in a relationship so bad. Like I love every moment and they way Hoon was so reassuring :(

And like the short moment with Wonie at dinner and when Hoon saw she cut her here??? I'm soft like there are no other words to say how much I love them

Heeseung tilted his head, that familiar glint in his eye. “Remember what I told you? Way back when? If you played your cards right, those monkey stickers would stay forever?” — this still makes me so giggly, Hee is such a cutie and the ending was so fucking sweet😭🥹

I will forever be grateful to Patty and her work, it really is such a blessing to read it all the time. I'm so glad I was apart of this ride, it really was so beautifully done I wish i could bend it and keep this story with me always ♡

nine and three quarters pt. 3 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

⭑.ᐟ Roommate to Lovers - Park Sunghoon Somehow, in the middle of your semester break, you ended up with a new roommate. Your landlord rented out the second room in your flat without telling you, and now you’re living with Sunghoon. At first, your paths barely cross – you’re buried in work, and he’s always at the rink. But slowly, he slips into your routine in ways you never expected. Then one night, everything shifts. A blurred memory, a moment of fear—and Sunghoon catching you before you can fall. Suddenly, it’s not awkward anymore. You start looking forward to him coming home. Maybe—just maybe—home isn’t a place. Maybe it’s a person.

ᝰ genre. Figure skater!Sunghoon, college sports, angst, hurt/comfort, SO MUCH FLUFF!!! FINALLY!!! ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ warnings. Swearing, partying, consumption of alcohol, hospital visits, mentions of rape, mentions of date-rape-drugs, mentions of the police, panic attacks, eating disorder, psychologists .ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ features. Mark, Johnny, Taeyong & Jungwoo from NCT, Woonyoung and Rei from IVE ᝰ word count. 25.k .ᐟ₊ ⊹ --⟢ PART 1 --⟢ PART 2

series masterlist ⭑.ᐟ

Flowers.  There were flowers. You bought flowers. That was the first thing Sunghoon noticed when he came home after class a few days after the break ended. He dropped his bag onto one of the chairs in the kitchen and took two big steps towards the window. A small bouquet of purple flowers was standing in the vase he bought you at the market. The scent of the flowers was sweet and hardy, filling the kitchen.

The next thing he noticed was how full the kitchen was. The basket you used for fruit, which was standing on the kitchen table, was usually empty since fresh produce is quite expensive, but today it was filled to the brim with apples, bananas, mangos, and tangerines. The fridge was full of vegetables and two cartons of eggs.  He blinked into the fridge. This was a lot of food. You were barely able to eat a plate of eggs and cucumber, so why did you buy so much? How did you carry all of this upstairs? The elevator was still broken, and he had noticed that just walking up the 4 flights of stairs without a bag was already hard for you, so how did you…

“Sunghoon!” A warm palm clapped gently against his back, and Sunghoon turned with a quiet jolt. Mark was standing in front of him with a big grin adorning his face. “Hey,” Sunghoon greeted, a little breathless. “I didn’t know you were visiting today.” Mark shrugged with a smile, sitting down on a kitchen chair. “Y/N asked me to go to the market with her and I didn’t want her to carry all of the stuff alone, so I just came along.” Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, glancing again at the overflowing fruit basket and the fridge. “This is a lot of food.” Mark laughed under his breath. “Yeah, I kinda went overboard. She let me pick up too much stuff. She said you two eat together sometimes, so I figured—why not get enough for both of you? Johnny and Taeyong gave her money for groceries anyway. I just made her spend it.”

Sunghoon gave a soft huff of laughter, eyes still on the fridge. “It’s just… a lot. She usually doesn’t—” “I know,” Mark cut in, voice softer now.  Sunghoon turned to look at him, but Mark’s gaze was fixed on the fruit basket. “She’s trying,” Mark said quietly. “But it helps when someone’s eating with her. Even if it’s just rice and cucumber. Even if she can’t finish everything. Just... not doing it alone makes it easier. So I thought maybe if we bought enough for the two of you, you could start cooking and eating together? I know you aren't really that close with Y/N, or well, I don't really know, Y/n and I haven't exactly been talking a lot, she was kinda avoiding us all. But I was hoping you could maybe just…help a bit.” Sunghoon swallowed thickly. He didn’t know you were avoiding your brother. He was wondering why Mark was never over. When he first met Mark, it seemed like you two spent a lot of time together. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to help.” “You are.” Mark looked up and met his eyes, serious for a moment. “She told you what’s happening. That’s big.” Sunghoon nodded. “I’ll cook with her.”

Mark smiled again, this time smaller. “That always worked when we were teens. Even if I was eating three servings of curry, and she was barely finishing her salad. It was still better.” Footsteps echoed down the hallway and both of them looked up just as you stepped into the kitchen, towel still around your neck and damp hair brushing your collarbone. You were wearing one of Sunghoon’s shirts. He said nothing and tried to not react outwardly, but something fluttered low in his chest. Sometimes, when you had all the shirts you used as pyjamas in the wash, you took one of Sunghoon’s. He had so many shirts from training camps or competitions that were in his pyjama drawer that he didn’t really care if you stole one once in a while.  “Hey,” you said, blinking at the two of them. “You didn’t put the mangoes in the fridge?” “You didn’t say where you wanted them,” Mark shot back easily. “Cold mangoes are elite, and you know it.” You moved toward the fruit basket, pushing your towel back from your shoulders. Sunghoon moved a step to the side to let you open the fridge door.  As you opened the door, Mark’s eyes landed on the meal calendar you’d stuck on the fridge. His expression twisted into a grin.

“Are those the monkey stickers from Taeyong?” You froze. “Mark—” “Oh my god, you’re actually using them.” “They’re cute!” you defended, cheeks a little pink as you grabbed the sheet and stuck it to the fridge underneath Sunghoon’s new magnet from the aquarium in Busan. He was quite touched that you thought of him while you were at home. He imagined being home, visiting doctors, even if they were people you knew, wasn’t the most pleasant thing to do, and when you did something nice, you thought of him. He felt all giddy thinking about it. Mark laughed and threw his hands up. “You know what? You’re right. They are better than the strange dinosaurs Hyuck bought you. I am still haunted by the T Rex that had the head of another dinosaur in its mouth. You really didn’t have to use them.” “But Donghyuck Oppa bought them for me. And I didn’t want to be ungrateful.”, you huffed and leaned onto the counter next to Sunghoon. Your arms were touching, and it sent a warm sensation up his arm.  Then Sunghoon’s stomach grumbled. Loudly.

The sound broke through the room like a slapstick sound effect, and you both froze. Then slowly, so slowly,you turned to look at him. His ears turned pink immediately. “…I guess I’m hungry,” he admitted, voice sheepish. You blinked at him, something gentle dancing behind your eyes. Then, very softly you asked: “Do you want to eat?” There was a pause. Not a long one. Just long enough for him to meet your eyes and realize you weren’t just asking him if he was hungry. You were asking if he wanted to eat with you. Sunghoon swallowed. Cleared his throat. “Spaghetti?” Mark, silently watching from the other side of the kitchen, perked up. “You two want me to chop something?”

You nodded without looking away from Sunghoon. “Only if you’re okay staying a little longer.” Mark grinned. “I’m not moving unless you kick me out.” Sunghoon smiled too, just a little. “We could use the veggies for the sauce. One of my friend’s girlfriends makes a protein bolognese for Jake all the time. Like, shredded carrots and lentils with beef.” “I’ll get the cutting board.” You moved to the cabinet and started pulling out the dry pasta. Sunghoon turned on the stove, filled a pot with water, and placed it on the burner. “Hey, could I turn on some music?” Mark asked after he washed a bell pepper. “Sure.”, you hummed beside Sunghoon, who was busy cutting the beef he still had in the fridge. You looked up at Sunghoon. “Can we use your speaker?” you asked softly. “Yeah,” Sunghoon said, a little distracted as he trimmed the fat from the beef. “It’s on my desk.”

He blinked a second later, realizing what he’d just said. Wait. His room. “Shit,” he mumbled to himself. Mark, hearing him, raised a brow but didn’t comment. Sunghoon had just started mentally cataloging the chaos in his room when you returned, speaker in hand, looking completely unbothered. You handed it to Mark. He blinked. “Did you… find it okay?” “Yeah. It was right where you said.” You nodded and just turned back to the stove and stirred the sauce.

Mark hooked up his phone, and music started playing—something upbeat and chill, some indie R&B track.

Sunghoon stared at you for a second longer. The soft sway of your hair, the way your head bobbed gently to the beat while you stirred. You looked calm and so soft. A strand of your hair was falling forward, and he had the impulse to tuck it behind your ear. Somehow, he really had a thing for your hair. Whenever you were watching TV together, he somehow had a strand of hair between his fingers.  He blinked and quickly looked away before either of you could catch him smiling.

────────────────────── Mark left after dinner and took the music with him.  You stood by the sink, sleeves rolled up, drying a plate while Sunghoon rinsed the next one. He passed it to you without a word, hands brushing for the briefest second.  “Thanks for cooking,” you said softly, folding the towel around the plate. “That was really good.” He gave a small, sheepish smile. “Thanks for helping. You ate a full portion.” Your eyes flicked up to his, surprised for a moment. “Yeah,” you said after a beat. “I did.” And then, with a little breath of something like pride, you turned and padded to the fridge.

Sunghoon watched as you peeled another monkey sticker from the sheet tucked into the side of the calendar and pressed it beside today’s date. It joined two others already in a row, little grinning faces in cartoon yellow. He couldn’t stop the smile tugging at his mouth. His chest went warm, gentle, and a little achy. You glanced over your shoulder. “It’s kind of dumb, I know.” “It’s not,” he said quickly. You turned fully, arms crossed lightly over your front. The corners of your mouth twitched. “It’s a little dumb.” “It’s cute,” he corrected, flicking a bit of water off his fingers in your direction.  You huffed a quiet laugh, your gaze dropping for a second. 

Sunghoon picked up the last pan and scrubbed at it slowly, the tension in the room softening. The silence between you felt different now. Not awkward. He couldn’t really name the feeling, but he started to really like feeling like this. Comfortable.  You leaned next to him a few minutes later, hip brushing his. A little closer than you would’ve stood a few weeks ago. He liked that. “You want tea?” you asked. He turned to you. “Only if we drink it on the sofa and watch people get dramatic over nothing again.” You grinned. “It’s not nothing. Their friend literally faked a pregnancy and then ghosted the guy.” “Yeah, but like. He kind of deserved it.” You snorted and went to fill the kettle. Sunghoon turned back to the sink and finished the dishes. He didn’t say it yet. Not out loud. But he was proud of you. So proud he felt like his chest couldn’t quite contain it.

────────────────────── The sound of blades scraping against the ice echoed sharply and hollowly through the near-empty rink. Sunghoon skated to the barrier and braced his hands on it, chest heaving. His reflection in the plexiglass was sweaty, flushed and scowling. He squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn’t landed a clean jump all morning. Two weeks ago, he’d flown. His legs had been light, movements clean, choreography crisp.  Today he couldn’t even get through the first half of the routine. He slipped on a stupid step sequence and landed hard enough that his shoulder still ached. He pushed away from the barrier, gliding back to the center of the rink. His Coach wasn’t watching right now. He was yelling at one of the juniors on the other side. Sunghoon exhaled. Focus. The music started again, low and distant through the speakers. He took off, arms slicing through the air, each push of his skate a little too forceful. Too much. He turned into the first jump. And hit the ice again, hard. Flat on his side. “Shit,” he hissed through his teeth, clutching his elbow as the cold bled through his clothes. He stayed down for a second too long, his breath fogging up in front of his face. “What the hell is wrong with me,” he muttered, sitting up slowly. He could see a smear on the ice where he landed. His heart felt like it was rattling in his ribs. Anger, embarrassment, frustration. He pulled off his gloves, hands shaking slightly, and ran them over his face. The cold stung his skin. His eyes burned too. He climbed to his feet, teeth clenched. He didn’t know why he thought today would be better. ────────────────────── The figure skaters had cleared out half an hour ago. He could hear the ice hockey players in the rink's changing room. They would be out here in a few minutes. But Sunghoon didn’t move. He was sprawled on the ice, limbs spread in all directions, his chest rising and falling quickly. His program music played on repeat, louder now that the other skaters were gone. He barely twitched when a sharp hiss of skates sounded beside him, followed by a spray of snow that landed all over his glove. “Dude,” Heeseung’s voice rang out over him. “What happened to you?” Sunghoon blinked up at the ceiling. “I won’t pass the tryouts.” Heeseung stared down at him. “That’s funny,” he said flatly. “Because you said the exact same thing before Nationals and you second.” Sunghoon’s laugh was more of a groan. “Yeah, and I still don’t know how I pulled that off.” Heeseung crouched beside him on the ice, propped on the butt of his stick, brows raised. “Are you falling again or just giving up entirely?”

Sunghoon didn’t move. Just sighed and stared at the rafters overhead. “I’m not giving up. I just can’t land anything today. It’s like my body forgot what edges are.” Heeseung let out a low whistle. “I didn't know you're that dramatic.” “I’m serious,” Sunghoon muttered. “Tryouts are in two weeks, and I can’t even make it through one clean run. I barely made it through the warm-up jumps today. What if I already peaked?” “You said the same thing before Nationals.” “Yeah, and maybe I did peak there. Maybe that was it. My fluke moment.” Heeseung rolled his eyes. “You always say that. Then you pull a quad out of nowhere and land it like it’s nothing. Maybe you're just stressed. I mean the Olympic team is crazy. I would be stressed.” Sunghoon finally sat up, resting his arms on his knees. His gloves were wet from the ice, fingertips numb. “I am stressed, but I was stressed before the nationals too,” he said, quieter. “But it was different. I was worried about Y/N. And now she’s doing better. She’s eating. There’s a monkey sticker on that stupid meal calendar every single day. Sometimes even two. So I shouldn’t feel like this anymore.” Heeseung studied him for a second. “But you still do?” Sunghoon looked away. “I guess. It’s not her. She’s fine. I’m just… off.” Heeseung didn’t say anything for a beat. Then, softly, “You sure it’s not still her?” Sunghoon’s head snapped up. “I’m not—no. I can’t—she’s my roommate, Heeseung.” Heeseung shrugged. “Doesn’t mean you don’t care. You’re just not used to caring this much about someone off the ice.” “I care about you,” Sunghoon shot back defensively “Yeah,” Heeseung deadpanned, “but you don’t glue monkey stickers to a fridge for me.” Sunghoon’s ears went pink. “I’m just saying,” Heeseung went on, “You’re still you, Hoon. Just… someone else has your whole focus now. Someone who glues Monkey stickers to calendars.” Sunghoon didn’t answer. Not because he disagreed. But because he didn’t know how to say that the idea scared him just as much as it warmed him. He picked at the edge of his skate and stood. “Tryouts are in two weeks.” “And if you play your cards right, monkey stickers are forever,” Heeseung grinned, skating backward. “Shut up.”

──────────────────────

The apartment was dark when Sunghoon finally stepped inside.

He dropped his bag quietly by the door, the soft clink of his keys the only sound in the quiet. He slipped off his shoes and let the door close behind him with a soft thud. It was close to midnight. You were asleep. Probably. Sunghoon padded into the kitchen on socked feet. He felt a little sore from the extra reps and the weight session in the gym. He'd showered at the rink, taken a half-hour nap on the office couch while Heeseung’s girlfriend typed away at her computer. Sunghoon really liked her. Heeseung and her have been dating for almost a year now. When he first met her, she was sitting in a wheelchair. Heeseung told him that she had gone through several surgeries after a car crash when she was younger.  The crash cut her career short.  He often had to think about that. How sometimes he wished he had a reason to just stop skating and get a normal job, have normal hobbies, but he also saw the way Heeseung’s girlfriend looked at the ice, with so much longing, it made his heart heavy.  The kitchen was cool, the scent of whatever you ate for dinner was still faint in the air. The sink held one plate and a fork, rinsed off neatly. His eyes went to the fridge without thinking. To today’s date.  A shiny monkey sticker was pressed next to it. Not one, but two. He smiled slightly. You must’ve had a good day. Sunghoon walked over and pressed the tip of his finger to the little monkey face. The sticker crinkled slightly under his touch. There was a note, too. Scrawled quickly, in your handwriting, on a Post-it note just under the sticker. "Spaghetti with mushrooms and carrots, and that protein powder. Bon appétit!" He huffed a quiet laugh, even as something tugged tight in his chest. He reached out, brushing his thumb gently over the corner of the sticky note. Sunghoon heated the rest of the pasta you'd portioned out for him, plating it carefully despite the hour. He sat down at the kitchen table with it, elbows on the wood, bare feet tucked up under the chair. A part of him wanted to go peek into your room just to see you. But he didn’t. He sat in the kitchen eating his dinner, letting his heart slow, his breath even out, his shoulders finally drop.

────────────────────── You were in a good mood when you left the house. The sun had been out when you stepped onto the pavement. You’d remembered to bring your water bottle and the playlist you’d put on during the bus ride was perfect for the mood outside. Even your coffee hadn’t tasted like dirt. You slipped into your lecture seat and pulled out your sketchbook. You’d started your last assignment over, more organized this time, cleaner. It felt nice to look at your own work and not instantly hate it. And for once, you weren’t behind. Not truly. 

Your phone buzzed in your pocket.

Sunghoon: Y/N do you want new stickers?  Daiso has cute ones rn Im gonna bu them even if yo say no buy* you* sorry i was rushing a bit. 

You smiled. Today made it twelve days in a row. You’ve used almost all of the monkeys. And honestly? You were kind of proud of that. The stickers made it feel like you did something, even on the days you were just eating plain rice and steamed broccoli. You were up to almost 1000 kcal a day now, pushing toward 1100 kcal. Taeyong had sent you new stickers in the mail, cats, and you’d shown them to Sunghoon like they were the best thing he had ever seen. He looked so happy. His face had lit up in this quiet, surprised way. You weren’t even sure if he knew how tired he looked lately. He’d been home late almost every night this week, his shoulders tense and a frown was living permanently between his brows. But when you pulled out the little cat sheet and told him you wanted to try eating just a bit more each day, he smiled so wide.  That thought carried you halfway through class. Until the professor flipped the slide and reminded everyone, “Final sketches are due on Tuesday. Don’t forget we moved the deadline up.” Tuesday? That was four days from now.  You stared at the slide for a second longer than necessary. Then you flipped back through your notes. You started the sketches. You had a clear idea, the concept was solid, and if you pulled a long night today and a longer one Saturday, you could do it. You didn’t have to work this weekend, and you’d already done your weekly session with Ten, which meant the next few days were yours. You could absolutely do this. Lately, things have been different.  You were different.  Bit by bit, like someone had found the dimmer switch on your brain and slowly started turning it back up. You hadn’t even realized how much the party had stuck with you. It wasn’t just the throwing up. It was the way your chest clenched when someone offered you food or drinks. The way you hated opening your inbox. The way you could cry over a spilled coffee, or absolutely nothing at all.

Ten had helped you with that.

You weren’t fixed after the first few sessions.  You were still tired. Still got this dull ache behind your eyes or your ribs some mornings. Still, sometimes whispered a quiet sorry to the mirror when your shirt hung too loose. But you were getting there. You were okay. And if you weren’t okay yet, you would be. You caught Renjun’s question a few beats late. “How’s your draft going?” You gave him a half-smile. “Good. I’m almost done.” Which wasn’t a lie. You would finish it. You knew you could. Because you’d done harder things already. You had done this in the first semester so often, this should be easy.

────────────────────── You were adjusting your grip on three oversized rolls of paper, trying not to let them knock into your knees, when you saw Sunghoon. Headphones on, walking with his shoulders slightly hunched. You brightened instinctively, smiling at him, but your smile dipped, just slightly, when he got close enough for you to see the set of his jaw. He looked… tired. And tense. Maybe even upset. You shifted your weight, hugging the paper tubes a little closer, and offered a quiet, “Hi.” His gaze flicked up. And like magic, it all softened. The furrow between his brows, the stiff set of his shoulders. He gave a small exhale, like just seeing you let out some of the tension. “Hey,” he said, low and tired, but warm. “What’s with all the… paper?” You let out a laugh. “I stayed in the studio after class. I’m doing a huge concept draft this weekend. Guess who’s pulling an all-nighter?” He eyed your supplies, then you. “Please don’t say you.” You bit your lip. “It’s due Tuesday, and I was kinda distracted during the break. But I think I can make it work. I have a plan.” He reached out and gently tugged one of the rolls from under your arm without a word. You didn’t stop him. Your fingers brushed his in the exchange, and your pulse jumped. The bus rolled up, brakes squealing slightly, and the two of you climbed on. You found a mostly empty seat toward the back and sank into it with a small sigh. The paper was bulky, and created a barrier between your legs and his. Still, your shoulders brushed. He didn’t move away. The ride started in silence. You were about to reach for your phone when Sunghoon spoke, voice quieter than usual. “I’m not skating well,” he said. You looked up, surprised at the sudden honesty. “What do you mean?” “I don’t know what happened. Two weeks ago, everything worked perfectly. I almost got a perfect score. And now it’s like my body forgot how to do everything. Every run-through ends with me on the ice. It’s… embarrassing.” You frowned, brows drawing together. “You think it was just luck that day?”

He gave a soft laugh, more bitter than amused. “Maybe. I don't know. I was really stressed in the weeks leading up to it. You know, with the party and everything. I was kinda busy worrying about you and didn't really worry about the nationals that much."

You didn’t answer right away. The bus rumbled around you. A neon sign from a passing corner shop spilled red light across the floor.

Your hands were resting in your lap. You stared at your fingers for a second.

You hadn’t hidden it. Not really. The skipped dinners, your barely touched plates. You knew you weren’t subtle.

You just didn’t know it had sat with him like that. 

“I’m not saying that to guilt you.” He leaned his head back against the bus window, sighing. “You’re doing amazing. You've put those monkey stickers on the calendar every day for almost two weeks. Sometimes even two.”

You ducked your head, shy under the praise. “They’re cute. And I like making people proud.”

“You are,” he said softly. “I am.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you just nodded.

“Two weeks ago,” you said quietly. “At the nationals. You were incredible. You had so much fun.”

Sunghoon turned to look at you then. His eyes were soft. Tired.

And maybe a little surprised.

“I don’t know how I did that,” he admitted. “And now I’m not sure I can do it again.”

You hesitated. Then, a little nervously:

“Do you… still worry? About me?”

There was no pause in his answer.

“Yeah.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, unsure how to carry the strange warmth that bloomed under your skin. 

You wanted to reach out and touch his hand. Or maybe say thank you. Or maybe… both.

A few moments passed in silence before you felt his head tilt, his chin gently resting on the top of your head.

You froze for a heartbeat.

Then slowly, shyly, you let yourself lean into his side.

Just a little.

The bus bumped along, and the rolls of paper rolled slightly against your knees.

“I’ll be okay,” he murmured. “Eventually.”

“You will,” you whispered back. “But you don’t have to be right away.”

His hand brushed against yours for a second.

And neither of you moved away.

────────────────────── Your keys clinked softly as you unlocked the apartment door. The hallway light flickered to life, casting a warm, golden hue across the wooden floor. You slipped off your shoes, turning to look at Sunghoon, who was still moving slower than usual, dropping his bag by the door with a sigh.

You hesitated.

“…Are you hungry?” you asked gently.

He looked up at you with that unreadable expression of his. Not annoyed. Just...thinking.

Then he tilted his head. “Did you eat enough for a monkey?”

You blinked, caught off guard and then let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “No.”

He didn’t scold you, “Then… unspicy dakgalbi? From the place I always drag the guys to?”

Your eyes lit up immediately. “Oh? The one we ordered from a few weeks ago?”

He nodded. “They do extra cheese now.”

Your stomach actually rumbled a little at that.

Fifteen minutes later, you were both perched on either side of the low sofa table. You sat cross-legged at the low table, sketchbook to your right.

Sunghoon was on the other side of the table, sleeves pushed up, his hair still damp from his shower. He passed you the tongs wordlessly, letting you serve yourself first. The cheese pulled in stretchy, stringy lines between the chicken pieces.

You quietly divided things up. One bowl for you. One for him.

When you finished cleaning the living room, you placed a sticker onto the calendar and held it up toward him with a tiny smile. You’d already picked out the sticker for tonight, a little orange cat holding a rice ball. 

“Tada!”

He squinted at the calendar and took a step closer, “The cat is cute. I am proud of you, Y/N. Look, even your little kitty is proud of you for eating so well.”

You laughed, cheeks a little warm.

The two of you returned to the living room. You had your legs tucked underneath you on the floor, one of the giant papers resting across the coffee table. The living room was dim except for the glow of the TV. The new drama you both half-followed played in the background. You had your pencil in one hand, your sleeve bunched in the other as you leaned over the page.

You didn’t even realize how quiet it had gotten until you looked up and found Sunghoon stretched out on the couch. One arm tucked under his head, hoodie soft and rumpled. His other hand rested over his stomach, rising and falling with each breath.

He wasn’t watching the drama. He was watching you.

You immediately felt the heat rise in your face.

“What?” you asked, trying not to smile.

He looked away quickly. “Nothing.”

“Liar.”

He didn’t argue.

You shook your head and looked back at your sketch. But your heart was still doing something weird. Something soft and fast at the same time.

You didn’t say anything else. Neither did he.

You weren’t sure when Sunghoon stopped watching the drama and started watching you again but you noticed when his eyes started slipping shut, his head slowly lolling to the side against the arm of the couch.

He insisted on keeping you company while you worked. 

Which, apparently, meant curling up on the couch behind you, one arm flung over a pillow like a makeshift hug, and promptly dozing off halfway through episode two.

Your pencil slipped from your hand somewhere around 3:30 a.m..Your first sketch was about 3/4 done, but your eyes were getting too heavy to shade anything right now. You stretched your legs out slowly, bones creaking, spine stiff from being hunched over the coffee table for hours and looked over your shoulder.

Sunghoon was still out cold. His hoodie had ridden up just slightly, revealing a sliver of his lower back. His mouth was parted in the tiniest way. 

You tried not to laugh as you reached over and touched his shoulder gently.

“Sunghoon,” you whispered.

He groaned.

“Sunghoon,” you said again, a little softer.

His eyes cracked open, all bleary and confused. “Huh.”

“You fell asleep.”

He made a tiny noise of protest and flopped further into the couch. “You’re loud.”

You laughed. “C’mon. Go to bed.”

He mumbled something unintelligible, then blinked blearily at you. “You wanna sleep in my room tonight?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You said… before.” He rubbed at his eye with the back of his hand. “That you sleep better when someone’s there.”

You stared at him for a second. Something in your chest tugged, a quiet, strange warmth.

“I did say that,” you murmured. “Do you?”

He stilled. For a breath. Then said quietly, “Yeah.”

You nodded. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s do that.”

The apartment was cold outside the blanket nest you’d built on the couch and on the floor, but his room was warm, dim with only the soft glow of his lamp in the corner. You slipped into his bed first, still in your hoodie and sweats, pulling the covers up as he turned off the hallway light and climbed in beside you.

You didn’t even think about where to lie. You just curled toward the same place you always seemed to find: his side, just beneath his collarbone, right over his heartbeat.

His arm came around you automatically.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything.

Then he whispered into your hair, voice rough with sleep, “I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself.”

You let out a breath. “Me too.”

Another beat.

“…Also. I’m never letting you work until 3:30 again.”

You smiled into his hoodie. “I don’t really think that’s possible.”

Sunghoon didn’t answer, already asleep again. 

His breath, steady and warm, brushed over the crown of your head every few seconds in a lazy rise and fall.

After a few minutes you noticed a sound. 

Soft. Rhythmic. Not loud, but steady enough to be unmistakable.

Sunghoon was snoring.

Just lightly.

You didn’t move. Didn’t dare to.

And then – there it was again.

The faintest little snore. You stifled a smile into his hoodie.

You shifted a tiny bit, just enough to glance up at him.

His mouth was parted slightly, lashes casting soft shadows on his cheeks. He looked so different asleep. Softer. Younger, somehow.

You reached up slowly, brushed his hair off his forehead. He didn’t stir.

And then, quietly, you whispered, “Thank you.”

For the food. For the stickers. For staying up with you. For holding you like this.

The snore came again. You almost laughed.

────────────────────── At around 15 o’clock, they called his name for warm-ups, and he felt like walking toward a storm he couldn’t stop. He spent almost 5 hours in the rink at this point, watching other people skate and perform on a level that was Olympic.

Sunghoon knew.

The moment his skates hit the ice, he knew.

This wasn’t going to work.

His legs were already too tight. His lungs didn’t feel like they had room.

He ran through the motions anyway.

Went through the warm-up. 

But with every movement, he felt it tightening. His chest, his hands, the panic he’d been choking down for days.

When they called him out for his actual performance, he wasn’t even nervous anymore. Just…numb.

The music started. He pushed off.

And he fell.

Not dramatically. Just a slip, a wrong edge on a spin he could do blindfolded most days. His shoulder kissed the ice, and the sting of it went all the way to his ribs.

He got up.

He always got up.

But the rest of the routine blurred. He didn’t even know what he was doing by the end, only that he’d finished.

Bowed.

Skated off.

Not once did he look toward the seats.

Not once did he meet the eyes of his coach or the team watching from the tunnel.

He ripped off his gloves the moment the door to the rink closed behind him. Tugged at the zipper of his costume like it was suffocating him. Stormed past the lockers, past the benches, up into the viewer area.

You were sitting on a seat near the middle of the bleachers, your laptop balanced on your thighs, fingers curled gently around the stylus as you focused on the screen. Your hair was braided now.

Something about it made his throat go tight.

And then you looked up.

You didn’t ask if he was okay. You didn’t say anything right away. You just stood up and stepped in his direction.

Sunghoon didn’t even stop to think. His arms wrapped around you before any thought even formed. Tight and desperate.

He felt the first sting of tears when your hand touched the back of his neck. Your hands slid up his back and into his hair.

“I messed up,” he choked out. His throat felt like it was closing. “I knew I would. The second I stepped out. I just—”

“You looked beautiful,” you whispered, voice soft by his ear. “I’m proud of you for trying.”

His chest lurched.

“For going out there. Even if you knew.”

That broke a little sob out of him, and he buried his face in your hair.

You didn’t say ‘You never know what the judges think’ or ‘You weren’t that bad’.

You just held him.

“Thanks,” he whispered, lips brushing your hairline.

He stood there with you for a while, forehead resting against your shoulder, your hand moving slowly over the back of his costume–up, then down, and up again. 

Eventually, he stepped back. Not far. Just enough to breathe.

“Do you wanna leave?” you asked gently.

He nodded, jaw clenched. His mouth was too dry to speak.

You packed up without another word, slipping your laptop into your tote and looping your jacket over your arm. You didn’t ask if he wanted to drive. You just walked beside him back to the car, shoulders almost brushing, quiet like you understood there wasn’t anything to say.

The drive started in silence.

He didn’t turn on the radio.

You didn’t try to fill the space.

But a little ways down the highway, you cracked the window open and let the breeze in. And then you kicked off your shoes and curled your feet up on the seat, twisting to face him slightly.

“Do you want a candy? I still have to eat some to earn a kitty. I have watermelon, apple, that weird Chinese one with the rabbit from Renjun or strawberry?” you asked.

He glanced at you, brows tugged together.

You were holding out a box filled with different-sized and colored candies.

He blinked. “Weird Chinese rabbit ones? That’s… weirdly specific.”

You gave him a small shrug. “It’s sweet. I figured you might need something nice.”

He took a piece.

It helped a little. Especially when he saw that you ate three pieces. 

After a while, you shifted again.

Your voice was quieter now. “I wish I could do something. I know I can’t fix it, but…”

“You being there helped,” he said, staring at the road ahead. “A lot.”

You were quiet for a beat.

“You know, if you don’t want to be alone tonight… you could crash in my room.”

He turned his head slightly, trying to read your expression. You looked a little shy, like you weren’t sure if you were overstepping.

“It’s just… it feels better with someone there,” you added. “You said that too, right?”

His chest tightened, but not in a bad way this time.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I did.”

You nodded. Then leaned your head against the window and closed your eyes.

He didn’t know if you were actually sleeping, but he let you rest anyway. He kept his eyes on the road and didn’t say anything else.

────────────────────── Sunghoon heard the faint clatter of a pan as he stepped out of the shower, towel still clutched around his hair. He padded down the hallway barefoot, his limbs heavy from the day, and found you in the kitchen, barefoot too, stirring something in a pan.

You glanced over your shoulder when you heard him. “I’m making egg rice,” you said, voice still soft. “There were leftovers. And I put in a ridiculous amount of oil, I am sorry.”

He nodded, throat tight again. “Smells good.” You plated up the food and passed him a bowl. He didn’t realize how hungry he was until the first bite. The table was quiet, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Your foot bumped his once, then again, and instead of pulling back, you let it rest lightly against his.  Afterward, he watched you shuffle to the fridge, humming faintly as you peeled the backing off another little sticker. This one was a cat with a sleepy face. You smoothed it onto the day’s square on your meal calendar and painted a pair of ice skates next to it. Sometimes, if something special happened, you drew a small doodle next to the date. He didn’t feel like today deserved a doodle.  Sunghoon swallowed.  You smiled faintly to yourself, then turned toward him. “I’ll brush my teeth first.”

By the time he joined you in your room, the lights were low and the sheets were already pulled back. You scooted over without a word, like it was the most normal thing in the world. 

He laid down beside you, on his side, one arm tucked under the pillow.

For a while, you didn’t talk.

Then he spoke, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know what to do now.”

You shifted slightly, not away but towards him.

He stared at the ceiling. “The Olympics... that was always the goal. Since I was a kid. Everything’s been about that. Every second I didn’t spend skating, I spent thinking about skating. And now…” His voice faltered. “Now I’m just—I don’t know who I am if I’m not trying to get there.”

He felt you look at him before you said anything.

“You know,” you said, soft and slow, “you’re still young. There are so many other things to achieve. This isn’t the end.”

He let the words settle between you, watching shadows play across the ceiling.

“There’ll be another Olympics,” you continued, “another try. And even if not… there’s always something else, right? Something new. I think–I think that’s the part no one tells you when you’re a kid. How your dreams can change.”

Sunghoon exhaled through his nose, not quite a laugh. “Yeah. They always made it sound like it’s one dream, one shot. Do or die.”

“But it’s not,” you whispered. “It doesn’t have to be.”

He turned his head to look at you, even though the room was too dark to see your face clearly. “What did you want to be? When you were a kid?”

You were quiet for a second, like the question caught you off guard. Then you chuckled softly. “Van Gogh. I used to think I’d become the next Van Gogh and travel the world to paint.”

He smiled. “That’s adorable. But I think Picasso would be more fitting for you, Y/Ncasso.”

“Shut up.” You nudged his foot under the blanket. “What about you? Always skating?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Since I was like five. I saw Yuzuru Hanyu win gold and thought he was magic. I wanted to be that.”

You shifted closer slightly, and he felt your breath against his neck.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to be magic,” you said. “Just… enough.”

Something about the way you said it tugged at him. He turned his body toward you now, propping his head up just a bit on his arm.

“You are,” he said.

You went quiet again. 

“Do you ever think about the future?” he asked, voice soft, unsure if you wanted to keep on talking.

You were quiet for another beat, then you hummed. “Sometimes. Not often. It feels kind of… scary.”

He nodded slowly, even though you couldn’t see it.

“I always imagined mine very clearly,” he said. “Even when I was a kid. I’d make it big in skating, maybe get to coach later. Have a place near a the olympia park. A dog, or two. A supportive wife, who loves me. Whom i love back. And maybe… a daughter. I don’t know why, but I always pictured a daughter.”

He let out a small laugh, a little embarrassed by how much he was sharing. “Someone tiny who’d sit on my shoulders and call me her favorite person.”

Your silence stretched for a little too long. He turned his head.

When you did speak, your voice was quiet. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever have that.”

Sunghoon’s chest tightened.

“Why?” he asked gently.

“I just… don’t think that’s in the cards for me. A family. Love like that.”

He wanted to say something immediately, but he waited. Let you say what you needed.

“I’ve never had a boyfriend,” you continued, not quite looking at him. “Not because I don’t want love,” you added quickly. “I do. I just… I think I’ll disappoint him."

His fingers curled slightly in the sheets.

“Sometimes I wonder,” you whispered, “if I’m just not enough.”

The words knocked the air out of him.

He sat up a little, his voice low but fierce. “Don’t say that.”

You blinked, surprised at the sudden shift in his tone.

“You are,” he said. “You’re more than enough.”

You looked away, eyes shining faintly in the darkness.

“I don’t want to be someone’s burden. When I relapse. When I can’t eat again or when I start hating myself again. I don’t want anyone to have to deal with that.”

Sunghoon felt the breath catch in his throat. His fingers flexed slightly against the sheets.

“Don’t say that,” he said, gently but firmly. “You’re not a burden.”

You let out a shaky breath. “But I could be.”

“No,” he said again. “You could have bad days. Weeks. That’s not the same thing.”

You didn’t answer.

Sunghoon pushed up a little more, his face now just inches from yours, even in the dark.

“If someone really loves you… he’ll stay. He’ll help you when things get hard. Especially when things get hard.”

He reached for your hand without thinking. 

“I don’t want to ruin someone’s life,” you whispered.

“You won’t.” His voice cracked slightly. “You’ll be part of it. And the right person will be lucky to have you in it.”

You let out a shaky breath, squeezing his fingers just once.

“You say that so easily.”

“I say it because it’s true.”

You didn’t speak after that. You just shifted closer, close enough that your foreheads nearly touched, close enough that he could feel the way your fingers curled slightly toward his.

He stayed awake for a while after that, listening to your breathing. Thinking about love. About disappointment. About the way you looked at him today like he hadn’t failed.

────────────────────── You saw the light pour through the tall windows of the studio, casting soft, slanted shadows across your desk. Someone’s model fell with a quiet clatter in the background. 

You saw your hands working, but your thoughts were still with Sunghoon.

It has been a few days since the tryouts. Sunghoon and you had been sleeping either in your or in his bed. Just to comfort each other. 

The step up in calories was hard. The bigger portions made your stomach upset, no matter what you ate and he was feeling a bit down. He didn’t go to the rink, instead coming home or to the studio, when you stayed longer. He and Renjun were getting along really well. 

You had to think about the softness in his voice when he talked about the future – about his daughter, his dogs, his house. The way he had said  he wanted a wife who he could love and who loved him like it was a given he would find someone like that. Like someone could love him so honestly, and he’d love them back just as deeply. You really believed that he would find such a girl. He deserved to be loved. Deeply. 

You remembered the way his fingers had curled around yours under the blanket.

You’re more than enough.

You saw the way he looked at you when he said it. Like he meant it.

You thought about how he stayed, even when it got bad.

You thought about how he asked if you’d eaten.

How he quietly cooked two portions when you hadn’t. How he let you talk when you needed to, and sat beside you when you couldn’t find the words.

Wasn’t that… what love was supposed to look like?

You didn’t know. You weren’t sure you ever would.

But if you ever let someone love you–really love you–you hoped Sunghoon was right. That they’d stay. That they’d hold on through the bad days. That you wouldn’t just become some slow-motion heartbreak in someone else's story.

Because right now… it almost felt like he was already doing it. Loving you in all the ways you didn’t know how to ask for, that you didn’t know how to give back.

And that thought made it hard to breathe in the best, scariest kind of way.

Your professor’s voice cut through the air.

“I hate to do this,” he said, and you already knew it was going to be bad, “but due to scheduling conflicts, the deadline for your final submissions has been moved up.”

You blinked.

“To next week.”

A collective groan spread across the room.. Someone cursed.

You looked around. Every table was covered in half-finished foam models, scattered tools, and messy sketches, yours included. No one was ready. Not really.

Your heart dropped, just a little.

You saw your own model–barely halfway there. The pieces didn’t fit right yet. Some parts still needed refining, carving, painting.

It wasn’t impossible. Not quite. You could stay all weekend. Pull a few all-nighters. If you mapped it out just right, you might be able to pull it off. You would have to bring your stuff back to your apartment, take over the kitchen for a few days. 

Your stomach sank anyway.

Because now you’d be tired. Because now dinner would be rushed. Because now the quiet bubble of comfort you’d made with Sunghoon would pop, even if just for a while.

You exhaled through your nose and refocused your attention. Grabbed your pencil. Sketched out the next adjustment.

You could still do this.

Sunghoon was making curry tonight.

You’d get your stupid kitty sticker and then draw a sad smiley next to it. 

────────────────────── Sunghoon saw you before he even heard the door shut.

You came in looking like a zombie. Bags digging into your shoulders, a roll of foam sticking out under one arm, your jacket halfway falling off, and your model clutched precariously in your hand. 

The look on your face said enough. 

He column’t remember seeing you like this, ever. He has seen many different facial expressions on you but he has never seen this one. Your mouth was tight and there was a crease in between your eyes. 

He stepped away from the stove. “Hey- wait, I’ll help- ”

“It’s okay,” you said, breathless, dropping your things by the shoe rack and then pressing a hand to your forehead. “My deadline’s been moved up. Again. A week earlier.”

He blinked. “Oh, shit.”

“Yup.” You weren’t even angry about it. Just exhausted. You gave him a fleeting smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’ll be out in a sec, just need to… change into not jeans. Or something.”

Then you disappeared into your room.

Sunghoon finished setting the table. Curry, rice, the salad you liked lately. Two bowls. Two glasses of water. The usual. He waited a few minutes. Then a few more.

You didn’t come out.

He stood up and made his way to your door, the polaroid of you with your name under it mirroring the one of him on his door. He knocked, gently. “Y/N? Food’s ready.”

You opened the door a minute later with the same drawn expression, hair tied up in a messy knot. You slid into your chair across from him and mumbled a quiet “thanks.”

But you didn’t eat.

Sunghoon watched you poke at the rice. Push the curry around. You were quiet so he started talking and told you about how Jay and Heeseung were invited to a gala for the new recruits of their teams and how they were panicking today. You barely reacted and only chuckled.

When he stood to clear the dishes, you looked up.

“Oh,” you murmured. “I’m so sorry- would you mind cleaning? I swear I’ll do it next week, I just-” You gestured vaguely toward your room, then vanished again before he could even nod.

Sunghoon blinked. “Okay…?”

He collected the bowls. Yours was still full.

His eyes flicked to the calendar. 

No sticker. 

You didn’t get out the sheet with the kitten and glued one onto it.

That was the first night in over two weeks there wasn’t one.

You didn’t eat. Not really. 

You also didn’t stop to get a snack from the fridge either. Usually you would eat a yogurt with berries after dinner. Not immediately after but you did prepare it immediately after. 

He washed up slowly, trying not to overthink it. But failed to do so. A part of him told himself you were tired. That it was just one night. But another part reminded him of the way your voice sounded when you were trying not to worry him.

Just tired.

That’s what you always said when you didn’t feel like eating before.

Hours passed. He showered. Got the laundry and folded his clothes. Worked on one of his essays. Brushed his teeth. 

At 11:42 p.m., he knocked on your door again holding a bowl with yogurt and mangos, voice muffled slightly through the wood.

“Y/N? Do you want a joghurt?”

No answer for a second. Then, softly, “Not really. Thank you though.”

He opened the door anyway.

You were sitting cross-legged in front of your bed on the floor, the model in front. In your right hand was a cutter and the other hand was holding a ruler, but they weren’t moving. They were just floating a few centimeters over the styrofoam. 

He walked over without a word and sat next to you. Your shoulder brushed his and you relaxed a bit. Letting your hands rest in your lap and looking at the small bowl Sunghoon was holding.

Then your head rested on his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” you said eventually. But your voice cracked a little at the end. “Just tired.”

Sunghoon nodded. 

Then he leaned closer and spoke gently. “Let’s eat something, mhm?”

You didn’t answer.

So he pulled you up.

Your hand slid into his. He held it without needing to say anything else.

He sat you down at the table, went to the fridge, and reheated a bowl of curry and rice in the microwave. It was a smaller portion that you were supposed to eat, but he figured you probably couldn’t really eat much. So he made sure there was at least something in your stomach. When he set the bowl and spoon in front of you, you glanced at it with tired eyes, then picked up the spoon.

You didn’t say anything. Just started eating slowly.

When you were halfway through the bowl, he asked, just as softly as before:

“Do you think you earned a kitty today?”

You paused mid-bite. The spoon hovered for a moment before you set it down gently. You didn’t look at him. You just shook your head once, small and quiet.

His chest tightened. It hurt to see you like this. 

You weren’t crying but you looked so upset.

But you were eating. Slowly. And he could work with that.

He just nodded his head a little and sat with you while you finished your bowl. 

Afterward, you helped rinse the plate. Even dried it. And then you returned to your room after muttering a “Thank you Sunghoon.”

He just smiled and watched you retreat into your room. Only to follow you a few seconds later. By the time he reached your door you were already sitting on the floor again. Sunghoon walked over quietly and crouched down beside you. His eyes scanned the mess of paper, foam board, tape, notes scribbled in pencil. Then he looked at you. 

“I’ll help you,” he said.

He grabbed the extra cutting board from the shelf under your table and started slicing the leftover foam you hadn’t touched yet into 1,3 cm thick stripes, like you told him. Sometimes you asked him to hold down corners for you when they curled up. 

By the time the clock on his phone read 3:47 AM, your hands had slowed down significantly.

The model looked more like a fancy opera now. 

He glanced at you.

You were blinking slowly, mouth slightly parted in a yawn.

“You should sleep,” he said softly.

You didn’t argue this time. “I should.”

He stood, offering his hand. You took it. Wobbled a little on your feet.

“Let’s sleep in my bed,” he hummed.

You mumbled something like “okay” and shuffled into the bathroom.

Sunghoon turned off the lights, checked the stove, and brushed the foam dust from his sweatpants. 

When he reached his room he stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in the sight of you curled into his bed, on what has become your side. 

It looked like you’d been here for hours, even though it had only been minutes. The quietness in the room, the soft rhythm of your breath under the covers, made his chest feel tight again. Not from worry this time, but from something much warmer. 

He closed the door quietly behind him and tiptoed over to the bed. He didn’t want to wake you in case you fell asleep in the three minutes you were lying in his bed.

Sunghoon slowly climbed into the bed, sliding under the covers and shifting closer to you. 

Then, before he could stop himself, he reached out, gently brushing a lock of hair from your face. You barely stirred, but a tiny little sigh slipped from your lips, and he smiled to himself.

“You good?” he whispered, careful not to startle you.

You mumbled something incoherent but soft, and adjusted your head to put it onto his chest.

Sunghoon chuckled quietly, not knowing what to say next. So, he just snuggled into his pillow.

────────────────────── You blinked awake slowly, the dull gray light of morning filtering through the blinds in Sunghoons room. Usually sleeping in the same bed as Sunghoon meant that you were sweating in the morning, but today you were feeling a bit cold. Your hand reached across the bed where Sunghoon should have been instinctively.

His side of the bed was no longer warm. You hand brushed over the soft duvet cover. 

It was strange, wasn’t it?

Feeling that someone was missing after waking up alone was not a thing you usually did. 

You know people complain about it, when their lovers slip out of the bed too early, leaving them alone in their shared bed. 

But Sunghoon wasn’t your lover. 

So why did it feel like that?

You sat up slowly, brushing hair from your face, the blanket slipped down your shoulders. It wasn’t like he disappeared. He was probably brushing his teeth or something. You dragged yourself out of bed, bare feet padding lightly against the floor.

The moment you cracked open your door, you were engulfed in a sweet smell. And a slightly burned smell.

You frowned, blinking toward the hallway, and then made your way into the kitchen.

Sunghoon was standing in front of the stove. His hair was standing up in different directions, the bleach damaged it enough to not fall softly unless he used the right hair care products. 

He was holding up a spatula and his phone at the same time, frowning at something on his phone. 

You leaned against the doorframe to the connected kitchen and living room, eyes flickering over the kitchen.

Your model was laying on the kitchen table. All of the tools and scraps and papers that were spread around on the floor in your room had been organized neatly on the table. Your laptop was charging on the kitchen island. Your pens lined up in a little row.

“Good morning Sunghoon”, you greeted him, your voice still rough from disuse.

You couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at your lips when he turned around and you noticed the apron he had hanging around his front. He looked cute.

He turned around, startled, and blinked. “ Y/N. Morning.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you making pancakes?”

“They were supposed to be,” he said, flipping one that was definitely more black than brown. “You didn’t eat enough yesterday. So I’m bribing you.”

You walked forward, your feet freezing when you reached the tiled kitchen floor. “Bribing me with... questionable pancakes?”

“They’re not questionable,” he said. “They’re just... well-loved by the stove.”

You laughed softly and slipped into a chair at the table. The sight of your model, a little lopsided now that you weren’t looking at it in sleep-deprived haze, made your chest ache a bit again.

“Thank you Sunghoon.”, you said after a beat of silence. “For everything. I don’t know how I could ever repay you for everything you are doing.” 

He turned around, a soft smile adorning his lips. Your chest flustered a bit at the sight. “Always, Y/N. If you ever need help I’ll always be there to help. No matter if its slightly burned pancakes or your weird opera thing we are building together.”

Your eyes stung a bit and you had to break eye contact with him to not start crying.

He turned back around and cleared his voice slightly. “The others are coming over later. They want to help.” 

Your head lifted, a frown already forming between your brows. “Help? With the opera?”

He glanced over from the stove, eyebrows raised like he knew this reaction was coming. “Yeah.”

You blinked at him. “But… why? I didn’t–.”

Sunghoon flipped a pancake gently. “You don’t have to. They just want to do something. Jay, Jake, Heeseung… they all felt a little responsible. About the party. And everything after.”

You were quiet for a long moment. 

Somehow you felt touched. Really touched, in a way that made your throat tighten. And also a little ashamed.

How did you manage to be a burden to someone you barely knew. Why would they worry about you? Yes they invited you, but it wasn’t their fault it escalated like that. So why were they feeling bad about it. 

“I didn’t mean to make anyone worry,” you said softly.

Sunghoon turned again, his hands still holding the spatula. “I know you didn’t. But it’s okay if people care about you anyway.”

You looked away quickly, chest tight. “That doesn’t mean they should have to fix anything. Or help. I was just… not okay for a while. It’s not their problem.”

“They’re not trying to fix anything,” he said gently. “They just want to help now. In any way they can. If that means spending the afternoon cutting foam and toothpicks, that’s what they’ll do. Also—” he turned back to the stove with a quiet laugh, “—they think you’re cute.”

Your breath caught. “What?”

He hummed. “I quote: Sunghoon your roommate is so cute, I swear i want to put her in my pocket. Quote end.”

You couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your lips, even if your face was burning. “Oh my god, who said that?”

Sunghoon just grinned and plated the last pancake. “Jake. He said you were so cute when we went to the nationals. You felt so bad for everyone that just looked minimalistically sad after getting off the ice. He wanted to pet your head.”

“Oh my god.”, you buried your face in your hands.

He placed the plate between you both on the kitchen counter, grabbing the Nutella with one hand and a butter knife with the other. “Sorry they’re not perfect,” he murmured. “Kind of questionable in terms of color.”

You stood up and walked over to the counter, a soft smile playing on your lips. “They’re not questionable. They’re just… well-loved by the stove.”

That earned you a quiet laugh, low and warm. He drizzled more Nutella on top, spreading it with way more care than necessary. “Alright. Chocolate makes everything better. Maybe we won’t taste the love too much with the Nutella on top.”

You picked up your fork, the two of you standing shoulder to shoulder. The pancakes were a little uneven, a bit too crisp at the edges.

Sunghoon didn’t say anything when you slowed down halfway through. He just offered you another bite every now and then, and when you accepted, he smiled without a word.

“I really mean it,” you whispered after a while, when the plate was nearly empty. “Thank you, Sunghoon.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his expression soft and unreadable. Then he said, quietly, “You don’t have to thank me. Just… let me stay. Let me help.”

Your eyes stung again. You glanced toward your model on the table and back to your plate. 

You didn’t know why he did all of this for you. You didn’t think you deserved it.

But it made your chest ache in the kindest way.

────────────────────── You and Sunghoon sat shoulder to shoulder at the table half an hour later. He passed you a glue stick without needing to be asked, and you handed him the little foam piece he’d marked earlier.

You were listening to a podcast, the only sound in the kitchen being the hosts voices and sounds of paper being cut. There were flecks of foam on his sleeve and your hair. Your knees bumped under the table more than once. 

You were just finishing the reinforcements on the roof when Sunghoon finished assembling the first tiny tree for your landscaping section. He looked more proud of it than he had of his last competition medal at the nationals.

“That’s actually so cute,” you murmured, leaning over to inspect it.

“Thank you,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “I'm naming it Gerald.”

You snorted. “Gerald looks very sturdy.”

Just as you repositioned the front wall, the doorbell rang.

You straightened, wiping your fingers on your pajama pants and giving Sunghoon a quick glance.

“That’s them,” he said, already heading to the door.

A moment later, you heard the greet Sunghoon and Jake walked into the kitchen holding up a tray of drinks from the cafe on the campus and a bag of baked goods. “Y/N! Good morning! We bought coffee and tea and those weird cookie croissants! ”

You stood a little awkwardly in the kitchen, unsure what to say. 

“Hi,” you said quietly, wringing your hands together. “Um… thank you for coming and the food. You really didn’t have to. I… I’m really sorry if—”

Jay cut you off with a wave of his hand, already moving toward the table where your model was set up. “Don’t apologize. We are here because we want to be..”

“Yeah,” Heeseung added, grinning as he peeked at the foam trees Sunghoon had started earlier. “This is fun. It’s like arts and crafts.”

Jay slung his hoodie over a chair and raised an eyebrow at you. “So. Where do we start?”

You stared at them for a second, something soft and confused blooming in your chest.

Sunghoon brushed past you, placing a gentle hand on your back as he nudged you back to your chair in front of the model. “We’ll show you. I can make banger trees but I need like 20 more and someone has to help me do that.”

“Hell yeah. Let’s go.”, Jake said and dropped into the chair next to you.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat and nodded, pulling out the extra materials you’d prepared earlier. “Okay. Um—Jay, can you help with the glueing? It’s a bit tricky, you have to hold the pieces for a few seconds until they set. You spray this stuff on, to like kinda immediately harden the glue. Someone has to cut the foil? I don’t know if i want to use it yet tho, we will have to try around a bit and-”

They listened to your explanations with surprising focus. Sunghoon switched the background noise from your true crime podcast you'd both barely been listening to, to a soft, upbeat playlist.

They started talking about something trivial but after a few minutes someone started complaining about the last match they played and they have been explaining the rules of ice hockey to you for the last fifteen minutes. 

“So basically you can crash into someone just because you feel like it and it’s okay?”, you asked, handing Sunghoon another strip of foam to hold up. 

Jake grinned. “Yeah. Sometimes. You should have seen Soobin. He was our captain until he graduated last semester and one of the best defense players we ever had.”

“Oh. That’s crazy.”, you said, nodding at the way the edge you and Sunghoon had just glued together. 

“Yeah. Crazy if you want to have a fifty-fifty chance to get a concussion each time you go onto the ice.”, Sunghoon huffed. 

“Sunghoon, I’m just saying,” Jake was saying as he carefully pressed together two model walls, “if you ever joined a hockey game, you’d cry the second someone shoved you.”

“I’ve literally skated through a concussion before,” Sunghoon replied, unfazed. “Try doing triple jumps with whiplash.”

“Triple jumps,” Jay snorted. “That’s just jumping in the same spot but fancier.”

You looked up from the hot glue gun. “I do think figure skating is harder? I mean if all you do is try not to die because someone slams you into a wall?”

Sunghoon smirked quietly. 

Jake gasped like you’d betrayed them. “Y/N! We do more than a figure skater. I might not be able to touch my toes but I must let you know that we have to strategize and you know work as a team and react as a team. Quickly.” 

“I still think ice skating is more impressive. It looks very elegant.”, you hummed.

Jay chuckled. “I think we look very graceful in our uniforms. At least we don’t have to wear glitter while skating, right Elsa.”

“Fuck off Jay,” Sunghoon muttered.

“I’m ruggedly graceful and elegant,” Jake said.

You giggled, caught between amusement and slight awe. “So… do you guys always argue about which is better?”

“Absolutely,” Heeseung said, handing you a fresh strip of cut foam. 

“It’s not a competition,” Sunghoon said under his breath. “Not one they’d win anyway.”

“Oh my god,” Jay sighed.

Heeseung looked at you. “You could come to a match if you wanted to.”

You raised a brow. “And then what? Watch you get pushed around and then decide if I enjoy ice hockey or ice skating more?”

They all looked at each other like that was exactly the idea.

“If Sunghoon goes to the next one, I'll come along,” you said, quieter now.

You felt Sunghoon glance over at you, his fingers stilling for a second on the model.

“I really don't want to go alone,” you added, more softly this time.

He didn’t say anything for a moment. But when you turned to look at him, he was already watching you, eyes gentle, mouth tipped upward just enough to make your heart flutter.

“Okay,” he said, that same warmth in his voice he always got when talking just to you. “I’ll take you.”

────────────────────── An hour later Jay was standing in the kitchen chopping onions. He decided to cook steak and potatoes for the four of you, apparently craving it enough to spend half a fortune on meat. After a while the kitchen started to smell intensely like food. 

It didn’t smell bad,  but somehow your stomach was tightening up a bit at the smell. 

You glanced at the stove. 

“Jay?” you called gently.

He looked over immediately, knife still in hand.

“I think my stomach’s gonna hate me if I eat that much red meat,” you admitted, a little unsure. “I haven’t really had a lot of it lately.”

He blinked once, then shrugged. “Alright. Yours’ll be dry, no blood, as unred as possible. Would you like more potatoes instead?”

You stared at him for a second. “...Yeah. That’d be great. Thank you.”

“Gotchu,” he said simply, already turning back to the pan.

You sat back, feeling weirdly relieved. Just… okay, more potatoes it is.

Heeseung had taken over tree production by now and was giving each one increasingly ridiculous names, while Jake and Sunghoon were helping you with the decorative beams along the walls of the building. 

──────────────────────

When the other three left your apartment late in the afternoon your model was almost done. It was almost perfect and you had just a few things on your to do list to finish up. Which meant you could dedicate Sunday and Monday to drawing and working out the details. And get a healthy amount of sleep.  

The door clicked shut behind Heeseung, and the sudden quiet that followed felt strange. 

Sunghoon stretched and groaned when his back made a rather satisfying cracking 

You heard him plop down onto the sofa and turned around to a rather funny view. 

He had let himself drop over the backrest, one of his long legs was hooked over the backrest, along with one of his arms. The other arm was resting over his eyes and he groaned again: “Y/N I don’t get how you do this. My fingers hurt and my back feels like I sat for 80 years instead of 8 hours.” 

You laughed slightly. “I try to not work 8 hours in a row unusually but desperate situations demand drastic measures.” 

You hesitated for a second but stepped in front of the sofa. “I think I'm going to make a snack or something. You can nap and I’ll wake you when it’s done if you’d like?” Sunghoon just hummed and nodded.

So you padded slowly and quietly into the kitchen, rolling your shoulders out with a satisfying crack of your own before pulling open the fridge. There were still a few cherry tomatoes left, a cucumber, some bell pepper slices in a container from the day before, and the rest of the cream cheese dip Sunghoon liked. That would do.

You arranged it all with more care than you meant to, piling the sliced vegetables and a bit of fruit on a small plate and spooning a generous portion of the dip into a small bowl. When you were done, you stood in front of the calendar hanging on the fridge and carefully peeled one of the glossy cat stickers from the sheet. It was a grey tabby this time, curled up asleep. You pressed it down next to the date with a quiet smile.

You’d eaten today.

You’d eaten well today.

The steak had gone down with barely a protest from your stomach and stayed down. You weren’t quite sure how that had happened, but it had.

So you deserved your little cat sticker.

Sunghoon was still in the same ridiculous position when you came back. His mouth slightly open and he was snoring slightly. Completely wiped out from cutting and glueing some cardboard.

You didn’t want to wake him. So you set the plate carefully on the table in front of the sofa and sat cross-legged on the floor, your back resting against the bottom cushion. Your phone buzzed with a message from Johnny asking you how you were doing. You send him a selfie of you holding up a piece of bell pepper and sunghoons sleeping from behind you, telling him you had steak today. He replied with a selfie of Dukoo laying on his chest and Taeyong sleeping on his shoulder, his mouth wide open. You snickered quietly.

After a while you were bored by your phone, so you got up to get the book you were currently reading and your headphones from your room.

You were halfway through a chapter when fingers brushed through your hair. So light, so gentle, you almost thought you imagined it.

But then it happened again.

You turned your head slightly and looked up.

Sunghoon’s eyes had blinked open, still a little hazy with sleep. His hand was still resting lightly on the back of your head, tangled just barely in your hair, and when your eyes met, he didn’t pull it away.

He just gave you a tiny, sleepy smile and petted your hair again. 

A strand had come loose from your braid and he twirled it between his fingers.

You swallowed slowly, heart thudding louder than you liked. “You’re awake,” you said, barely a whisper.

He hummed, low in his chest, and his hand slipped a little lower, brushing behind your ear. “I felt you leave,” he murmured.

You didn’t move, fearing that he would stop playing with your hair if you did. 

“Did you eat?” he asked softly, finally glancing at the plate in front of you.

You nodded. “Yeah. Just-just vegetables and fruit.”

His eyes flicked back to you. “Enough so you could put a kitty on the calendar?”

You nodded again, slower this time. “Yeah.”

He sat up a bit more, leaning forward slightly so his knees nudged your back. His voice was even softer now. “I’m so proud of you.”

You turned toward him at that, just enough to see him clearly. He looked so warm, hoodie slightly bunched at the collar, hair tousled from sleep. 

You swallowed and whispered a quiet “Thank you, Sunghoon.”

He leaned back and closed his eyes again so you went back to reading.

You didn’t hear him sit up behind you.

But you felt it when the warmth of his body shifted closer. The sofa cushion gave in under his weight as he slid down to sit beside you on the floor.

Your breath caught, just for a second, when your shoulder touched his.

He reached for the remote and a second later, the TV lit up the room in a soft blue glow. He switched channels to find KBS.

You glanced up. Sunghoon was lazily chewing a piece of carrot, reaching for another from the small plate you’d left on the table. Without looking at you, he nudged it a little closer to your side, silently offering.

You shook your head, a small smile playing at your lips.

Sunghoon leaned back, propping one arm up behind him on the couch. And after a moment of hesitation you let yourself lean too. Your head found his shoulder, slow and soft, the way it always did now. His hoodie was warm, soft beneath your cheek, and smelled faintly like his perfume.

He didn’t move.

The low sound of the show played on. A laugh track. A bit of dialogue. But neither of you laughed. Neither of you spoke.

You felt him breathe.

You listened to the rhythm of it, right beneath your cheek.

The two of you stayed like that for a while.

He shifted slightly, just barley. His head moved a bit and his temple brushed against your hair, his breath ghosting across your skin. You tilted your head instinctively, and suddenly you were looking at him.

He was already looking at you.

Your breath stuttered.

You froze.

You looked at his mouth before you could stop yourself.

Then back to his eyes.

And again.

Your chest pulled tight.

His lips were parted slightly.

He didn’t look away when your gaze wandered back to his eyes.

You couldn’t stop the flicker of panic that swelled in your chest.

You turned your head slightly, just slightly, without really thinking about it. Your nose grazed his cheek.

And then he turned his head too. Slowly. Gently. His temple brushing yours as he moved.

Your foreheads touched.

You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath.

You closed your eyes.

Just for a moment.

Trying to slow the pounding of your heart.

His fingers grazed your knee, just barely. You wanted to say something, to move, to...kiss him.

But your whole body locked up with nerves and want and a fear you couldn’t name.

So you didn’t.

You sat there.

Still.

Almost.

And then, after one long heartbeat, he leaned back the tiniest bit. Just enough for the space between you to widen again.

You opened your eyes.

He didn’t speak.

Neither did you.

──────────────────────

After the episode ended Sunghoon stood up, slow and silent, his fingers brushing the blanket beside you. You stayed still, heart still racing in your chest. 

“Should we...” he didn’t finish the sentence, but you knew what he meant. You nodded, your body slow to follow.

The quiet buzz of the TV filled the space between you as you both moved, soft-footed and wordless. He picked up the now-empty plate from the table. You turned off the lamp.

In the bathroom, you stood shoulder to shoulder while brushing your teeth. His elbow bumped yours lightly once, and you bumped him back, the corner of your lips curling around the toothbrush. You caught his eye in the mirror. He was winking at you.

His white hair almost reflected the harsh bathroom light, as it  softly fell over his eyes. The whole scene felt so domestic your heart was aching. 

You finished first. You washed your face and used the ridiculous amount of skin care products Sunoo insisted made your skin better. He gave you a lot of the stuff that didn't work for him and you were just accepting the free skincare.  

You lingered in the hallway for a second too long after brushing your teeth. The light behind you still hummed softly from the bathroom, casting your shadow long and thin across the floor. You expected Sunghoon to disappear into his room with a soft goodnight.

But he didn’t.

He paused in his doorway, hand resting lightly on the frame. Then he looked at you,not directly. His tired eyes flicked toward you. And then, with barely a movement, he tilted his head. A silent question without words.

You didn’t answer with words either.

You just followed.

Your steps were quiet as you crossed the space, the air between you charged in that gentle, quiet way. You slipped into his room, your hoodie sleeves tugged down over your hands. He let the door close behind you.

The room smelled distinctly like him.

He crawled into his bed, pulling the blanket back slowly as if giving you a moment to change your mind. But you didn’t. You slid in beside him, your shoulder brushing his briefly before you turned onto your side, facing the wall. 

You couldn’t handle sleeping on his chest today. Somehow the thought alone made your heart race. 

It shouldn’t. 

This was so wrong. 

Sunghoon was your roommate. 

During the episode of running man you had enough time to conclude that the racing of your heart and the desire to make him, especially him, proud was based on a crush. A very inappropriate crush on your very nice and hot and caring and sweet and attractive roommate.

A few seconds later, you felt the mattress shift behind you. He carefully adjusted behind you. Not touching you, but being close enough you felt the heat of his body though your hoodie.  

A quiet part of you ached just a little when he didn’t wrap himself around you, like he sometimes did on the sofa.

──────────────────────

You lay there for what felt like hours, eyes open in the quiet dark, watching the way the dim hallway light pooled faintly across the ceiling.

Sleep wouldn't come.

Your thoughts were running wild and you didn’t know what to do.

So you rolled over.

Carefully. Slowly.

You didn’t even fully realize what you were doing until you were halfway into the movement, your hand lightly brushing the comforter between you.

He didn’t move.

So you went further, tucking your head gently onto his shoulder, hoping he wouldn’t wake up.

Still nothing.

Just the quiet sound of his breathing. And then, after a beat–his arm moved.

Not abruptly. But his hand came up in a slow, sleepy motion and started tracing a soft pattern against your back.

Your chest felt too tight for this much softness.

"Were you asleep?" you whispered.

He made a small noise, somewhere between a hum and a sigh. "I was," he murmured. "But this is better."

You stayed quiet, listening to the rhythm of his breath and the way his fingers still traced your back, up and down, in lazy, tender lines.

After a long moment, he spoke again.

“I’m so glad I moved.”

Your throat tightened. You blinked at the ceiling.

“I’m glad you're here too,” you whispered. “But…”

You paused, already regretting saying anything. But you couldn’t stop. 

“But it must be kind of awful, right? Having to take care of me like this? We didn’t even know each other. I probably made everything way harder.”

His fingers stilled just for a second.

Then he exhaled, hand moving again. Slowly this time, his palm almost resting between your shoulder blades.

“Y/N,” he said, like he was saying your name to soothe you. “It’s not like that.”

You didn’t reply. 

You weren’t sure you could.

“I know it feels like you’re a burden sometimes,” he went on gently, “but I promise you-you're not. Not to me.”

You stared at the vague outline of his neck, blinking quickly. “I just… I don’t want to be someone people have to carry. I want to be someone people want around.”

He was quiet for a beat. You thought maybe he didn’t know how to respond.

But then his hand stopped moving entirely and slid around your back, anchoring you closer, just a little. Not too much. Just enough that your forehead nearly brushed his collarbone.

“I don’t feel like I’m carrying you,” he said. 

Your heart thudded so loudly you were sure he could feel it.

“I like being here,” he said. “I like helping with the model, and grocery shopping, and seeing you put stickers on the calendar. I like listening when you rant about your professor or whisper that you're tired. I like it when you fall asleep on the sofa next to me.”

His voice was steadier now, but still low. 

“I like it,” he said, “because it’s you.”

You blinked hard.

Your throat burned.

“But I haven’t even done anything for you,” you murmured. “Not really.”

He made a soft sound at that. “You really think that?”

You nodded a little. His shirt brushed your cheek. “I feel like I’m just… needing all the time. And you just give.”

“That’s not true,” he said firmly. “You’ve done more for me than you know.”

Your brows pulled together before you could stop them. “Like what?”

There was a pause. Not silence, not really, but a moment held so carefully you didn’t dare breathe.

“You made this place feel like home,” he said finally. “You make me laugh when I’ve had a bad day. You believe in me when I don’t believe in myself.”

The lump in your throat nearly doubled in size.

You couldn’t speak.

So you just… leaned in.

Laid your forehead against his chest, eyes burning, heart twisting.

He didn’t say anything after that. Neither did you.

But his arms pulled you in slowly. Gently.

You weren’t sure how long you laid there, folded into the warmth of him, listening to his heartbeat and the way his breathing slowed. You could feel his hand resting lightly against your back, not moving anymore. Just there. Steady.

You should’ve tried to sleep. You should’ve just closed your eyes.

But instead, you felt your mouth part. 

“Sunghoon?” you whispered, barely audible.

His chest shifted with a breath. “Yeah?”

Your hand curled against the fabric of his shirt. “Can…can I kiss you?”

You weren’t looking at him. You couldn’t.

He was silent. Even his breathing had stopped. 

You instantly regretted asking.

You’d never kissed anyone. You didn't know how to do so. Asking was the most logical thing to your head. 

You could feel your whole body tense. “I’m sorry, I just—forget it, I don’t—”

He let out the softest sound. A breath that sounded like laughter, barely there, like he couldn’t believe what you’d just asked–but not in a mocking way. In a stunned, almost reverent kind of way.

Then he shifted.

You felt his hand move. He brushed your hair back, careful and slow. His fingers tucked the strands behind your ear, and his palm settled gently against your cheek.

When you finally looked up, he was already watching you.

Eyes soft. 

Warm. 

The corners crinkled in that way they always did when he smiled without really smiling.

His thumb brushed the curve of your cheekbone. “Yes,” he whispered. “Please.”

Your breath caught.

For a second, you forgot how to move.

And then, slowly and carefully, you leaned in.

You weren’t sure where to put your hands. Or how close you should get. Your heart felt like it might combust from the pressure alone. You tilted your head, eyes flicking to his lips and back to his eyes, over and over, waiting for some final confirmation.

And then, your lips touched.

It was soft.

Softer than you ever imagined it could be.

There were no fireworks in your chest. You didn’t feel any butterflies. Just warmth. Gentle warmth. The steady beat of your heart slowing for the first time all week. 

His lips moved slowly against yours, careful. Guiding, but not pushing. Letting you take the lead, letting you pull away whenever.

When you finally did, it was only by a few centimeters, and you stayed there. Your foreheads almost touching, your hand still pressed to his chest, his softly caressing your face.

Your cheeks were glowing. Your lips tingled. You couldn’t look at him.

“I didn’t… know it would feel like that,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him.

His voice was barely above a whisper. “Like what?”

You blinked, breathing softly. “Good? Right?”

And when he smiled this time, you could hear it in his voice.

“Yeah,” he said, thumb tracing the edge of your jaw. “Right.”

His forehead rested against yours, noses brushing.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that. Breathing the same small pocket of air. His thumb brushed once over your cheekbone, then again, as if he couldn’t believe that you were here. That you had kissed him.

That you had wanted to.

And you had. Still did.

Your fingers flexed slightly in the fabric of his shirt. He shifted, just barely.

He pulled back only enough to look at you again.

Your face flushed under the weight of his gaze, but you didn’t turn away this time. You let him look. Let yourself be seen. Your chest ached in that strange, unfamiliar way—half-sweet, half-scary. The way it always does when something is too good and you’re not sure if you’re allowed to keep it.

But he just smiled.

So softly it made your breath catch.

And then, he leaned in again.

Slower this time.

His lips brushed yours so lightly.

You kissed him back.

His lips were soft and tasted like the mint toothpaste he used earlier.

When he pulled away this time, he stayed close.

His nose brushed yours. Your breath mingled. He whispered, barely audible, “I really like you.”

You didn’t say anything.

You didn’t know what to say.

Your hand slid up, fingers resting over his heart. You felt it beating, fast and steady beneath your palm. 

You must’ve dozed off like that.

Curled into his chest, legs tangled gently under the covers, the heat of his skin lulling you deeper into calm with every slow breath.

When you stirred again, it was because he shifted a little, barely more than a sigh against your hair.

“Still awake?” His voice was quiet, hoarse with sleep.

You nodded against him. “Mmhm.”

He pulled you in a little closer, resting his chin carefully against the top of your head. “You’re warm,” he mumbled.

Your smile was tiny. “You’re comfy.”

A pause. Then, “You drool.”

You shoved at his chest with a muffled groan, and he let out a quiet laugh that vibrated through you.

“I do not,” you whispered indignantly.

“You do,” he whispered back, grinning. “But it’s okay. I’ve decided I’ll allow it.”

You went quiet again, pressing your nose into his hoodie and breathing him in. You wanted to say something–to tell him how unreal this felt, how scared you still were, how good it felt too. But the words got stuck somewhere behind your ribs.

Instead, your fingers curled against his side, and you whispered, “Thank you.”

He didn’t ask what for.

He just held you tighter.

Somewhere between his warmth and the comfort of the quiet, you felt your chest ease. 

He kissed your forehead a moment later and you just…melted a little. 

You would let yourself have this. Just this one perfect thing. 

This time, you were the one to whisper first. Just barely audible:

“I like you too.”

His hand stilled where it had been gently tracing over your spine. And then, he whispered, just above your ear:

“I know.”

You smiled again. 

This time, when your eyes closed, you didn’t fight it.

──────────────────────

Sunghoon woke up first, the quiet morning light spilling softly through the curtains. His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, he just lay there, completely still, taking in the sight of you. Your face was relaxed in peaceful sleep, your hair spread out over the pillow like a halo. He could feel your breath against his chest, slow and steady, and the weight of your body pressed against his side, warm and comforting.

He didn’t move. He didn’t want to.

Sunghoon could hardly believe what had happened the night before. Everything felt like a dream. 

He had somehow been waiting for this moment without even knowing it. 

His head replayed the moment. How you had been so close. How you asked him to kiss you and, how carefully, how gently, you had let him kiss you. And then you kissed him back.

Your breath hitched lightly in your sleep, and for a split second, he thought you might wake up, but you only shifted, pressing your cheek further into his chest.

He smiled to himself, unable to stop the soft warmth blooming in his chest. 

He wanted nothing more than to hold you like this forever, to keep you safe, to keep you with him.

His fingers lightly brushed the back of your neck, tracing the soft line of your skin. 

He glanced down at you, watching the rise and fall of your chest, listening to the peaceful rhythm of your breath. 

Sunghoon wanted to savor this, savor you, in the quiet morning light. He didn’t know what exactly this was yet, where it was going, but he also kinda didn’t care. 

He was just so glad that you were here. With him.

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his thumb grazing your cheek softly. You were so beautiful, even in the quiet stillness of the morning, so perfect that it almost didn’t feel real. He just wished you could see that too. 

He remembered the night you had laid across his chest on the sofa the first time, your body was so close. He remembered feeling the soft dip of your ribs through your shirt. It wasn’t so bad anymore. The meal plan was working better than he had thought it would.

Your ribs weren’t as sharp now. You were still tired and freezing but it was getting so much better. Even your migraines seemed to lessen.

He was so proud of you, of how far you had come, even though he knew that there was still a long way to go. He just hoped you would let him be part of that, you would let him help until you didn’t need help anymore. 

Sunghoon had to fight the urge to wake you up, to kiss you again. To pull you even closer. But he decided to let you rest for a few more minutes, knowing that your alarm would ring at 10 am, like it always did on the weekend.

For a moment, he let himself imagine what it would be like to wake up like this every day. Next to you, your head on his chest, your body curled into his. Of being able to kiss you stupid if he wanted to. 

You shifted. Your face was still soft with sleep but your eyes fluttered open. 

“Good morning,” he murmured gently, brushing his fingers over your hair, pushing a strand away from your forehead. He really loved your hair. “Do you want breakfast?” he asked softly.

You barely cracked one eye open and a sleepy hum escaped your lips as you nodded slightly in response, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Mm, yes.”

His heart melted at the sight. He had seen you wake up only a handful of times. Usually if the two of you slept in one bed together you were the first one to wake up. 

You sounded so out of it. 

“Alright,” he said, trying not to smile too much. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, feeling the softness of your hair beneath his lips. “I’ll get breakfast started then.”

But just as he started to move, you whimpered, the soft, almost pained sound stopping him in his tracks. He froze, unsure of what to do for a second, his heart skipping a beat.

“Stay...” you murmured, your voice low and drowsy, your body still nestled against the warmth of his chest.

He smiled, shaking his head lightly. “You need to eat, Y/N. I’ll be right back, I promise.” 

He didn’t want to be away from you, but he knew you needed to get up. You had to eat and probably start drawing whatever you still needed to draw for your assignment. 

You groaned in response, squinting your eyes closed again. But then, you slowly allowed him to shift away, the tiniest sigh escaping your lips. You looked at him for a moment, your gaze still clouded with sleep, before you gave him a lazy smile, still blinking away the sleep in your eyes.

“Okay…” you mumbled.

“Alright, I’ll be back soon,” he said softly, sliding out of bed. As he moved towards the kitchen, he couldn’t help but glance back over his shoulder at you, still lying there, all tangled in the blankets.

He couldn’t help but smile.

──────────────────────

Sunghoon felt your presence behind him before he saw you. He heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind him and paused for a moment, glancing over his shoulder with a raised brow, not expecting you to follow so quickly. 

Before he could react, you pressed your body gently into his back, your face nestling against his shoulder blade. He froze for a moment, feeling your warmth against him, and a quiet laugh bubbled up from deep within his chest. 

He knew you were kinda clingy, when you liked someone. He had seen how you liked to be close to Mark, how you sometimes followed Sunoo or Renjun like a lost duckling in the hallways of the university and has had the pleasure of you somehow clinging to him as well. Coming to the kitchen to work in silence while he was cooking, sitting down on the sofa to watch whatever he was watching, even if he knew you weren't interested, cuddling on the sofa or one of your beds when one of you felt down. 

But it wasn’t like you to be so forward.

When he turned around to face you, he was met with your eyes, they were wide and a little uncertain, and that small, shy smile you always wore when you were feeling bashful. It made his heart soften even more.

His hand instinctively reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, his fingers grazing the softness of your skin.

"You okay?" His voice was low, a soft question, as he studied you, the tender expression on his face betraying his own racing thoughts.

“I... didn’t think it would feel like this,” you finally muttered, almost shyly, your gaze flickering to the floor before meeting his eyes again. “I mean... it’s... different than I thought it would be.”

Sunghoon smiled, his thumb brushing over your cheek again. "It’s okay," he said softly. “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

He saw the hesitation in your eyes before you carefully placed your hands on his chest, looking up at him, slightly clumsy in your movements but so endearing. "I just... want to know how," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t really know what I’m doing."

His heart skipped a beat, a quiet warmth spreading through him. Sunghoon couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound of it light and full of affection. “You’re doing just fine,” he reassured you, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he leaned in close, his lips brushing against yours in a soft kiss.

This time, when your lips met his, it was softer, slower. There was no rush. His hands gently found their way to your back, pulling you closer but not forcing anything. He just wanted to be close.

You kissed him back, your lips tentative at first but gradually growing more confident as you moved with him. 

It wasn’t perfect.

There were moments of awkwardness, a little shifting as you both figured out the rhythm, but it felt right. It felt... new.

When you finally pulled away, your breathing was a little heavier, and there was that nervous little smile on your face, making Sunghoon’s chest ache with affection.

“That wasn’t so bad, huh?” he teased gently, his thumb brushing over your lips before he smiled down at you, his gaze soft.

You looked up at him, your cheeks flushed . “I- no- no it's nice. I like kissing you.”

Sunghoon couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face. It was a little silly, maybe, how happy he felt about something so simple. 

"I’m glad," he whispered.

──────────────────────

The days after your first kiss were somehow weird. Nice. But weird.  Your and Sunghoons dynamic didn’t really change after you kissed.  What changed were the small things. Like how Sunghoon had developed a tendency to press a kiss to your forehead or the crown of your head whenever he walked past you. At first, it startled you. Then it became something you looked forward to. Sunoo teasingly claimed it was because Sunghoon didn’t want to overwhelm you by kissing you all the time. Since you really didn’t have much experience there and maybe Sunghoon was afraid you would be uncomfortable. You wouldn’t have been. You wouldn’t have minded at all if Sunghoon kissed you more. In fact, you wanted him to.

You liked the way it felt, his fingers slipping into your hair, the warm pressure of his mouth against yours, the way your breath always caught for a second b. You liked being close to him. That simple.  It was a Thursday evening, the day you handed in your final model in Sustainability,  when you surprised both of you. You were standing in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hands still damp from rinsing a cutting board, when you heard the familiar clink of keys and the quiet creak of the front door. 

Sunghoon padded over behind you, still smelling faintly like his perfume, even after training. He must have brought it to the rink and sprayed it on again. You felt him lean in to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

But this time, you moved first.

You tilted your head up on instinct. The angle was a little off, his nose bumped yours, but it didn’t matter. Your lips caught his, quick and soft, before you could overthink it.

You surprised yourself.

And him.

His eyes were wide for half a second, startled, and then they softened.

You whispered a quiet, breathless, “Hi,” against his lips. 

Sunghoon smiled softly, his hand reaching up to caress your face. He really liked doing that as well. 

“Hi,” he whispered back, eyes still on yours.

Then, with the other hand against your jaw, fingers brushing just under your ear, he tilted your head up a bit and kissed you again. Slower this time. Deeper. And everything in you went quiet and full, like a held breath exhaled at last.

Sunghoon's thumb brushed along your jaw as he pulled back slightly, breath still warm against your skin. His eyes, gentle and a little tired from training, crinkled at the corners as he smiled. "Sorry," he murmured, voice low. “I didn’t shower in the rink, I’m a bit gross. I just came to check if you ate.” 

You blinked up at him. Right. Eating.

You wordlessly lifted a finger and pointed toward the calendar hanging by the fridge.

He turned, followed your line of sight and laughed softly. A new sticker sat under the day's date, small and shiny. This one was a tiny white puppy with a floppy ear and a pink tongue sticking out.

"New pack?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

You nodded, and he reached up to brush his thumb once under your eye, so softly it barely counted as touch. 

“You’re too cute,” he said. His voice was so warm, so fond. You were so happy you got to see Sunghoon like this. 

He leaned in again, just one more press of lips to yours. 

“I’m gonna shower, okay?” he said as he pulled away, slowly, reluctantly.

You nodded again, feeling lightheaded in the nicest possible way.

As he disappeared down the hallway, you stopped for a moment, the soft overhead light casting a golden glow on the counter and the fruit you had forgotten about entirely.

You were giddy.

Your knees felt a little weak and your lips tingled. 

You popped a grape into your mouth and padded to the couch with the plate in hand, settling into the cushions like you had a secret folded under your skin.

You didn’t even pick a show right away - just sat there for a while, nibbling fruit, listening to the sound of water running through the walls, your fingers pressed against your lips.

──────────────────────

When Sunghoon padded out of the bathroom, hair damp and sticking to his forehead, hoodie sleeves pushed up over his forearms, the first thing he noticed was how quiet the apartment had gotten. The radio that was playing in the kitchen when he came home was quiet and he didn’t hear the TV making any sounds. 

Then he saw you. You were curled up on the sofa, blanket sliding off your shoulder, the plate of fruit halfway eaten empty on the table.

He chuckled under his breath, ruffling his hair with a towel before tossing it over his shoulder. “Didn’t you say you wanted to watch the episode?” he asked gently, kneeling next to the couch.

You whined softly, not bothering to open your eyes. “I did…” your voice was muffled by the cushion. “But I'm too tired. I don’t want to get up.”

Sunghoon smiled, shaking his head fondly. “Come on, sleepy. Let’s get you to bed.”

When you didn't move, he sighed and simply slipped one arm under your knees, the other around your back. You let out a tiny squeak as he lifted you with surprising ease.

“Sunghoon!” you protested faintly, eyes fluttering open now.

But he just grinned down at you, walking toward his room with careful steps. “You didn’t move to get up, so now you don’t have to.”

You buried your face in his shoulder, hiding your flushed cheeks. “I didn’t mean you had to carry me.”

He set you down gently at the edge of his bed, grabbing his laptop to queue up the episode again. “Go get ready, yeah? You’re not sleeping in jeans again.”

You pouted, fingers curling around the hem of his hoodie 

It took a moment before you finally shuffled off to the bathroom. When you returned your hair was pulled back in a neat braid and your eyes were half-lidded with sleep. He was already under the covers, the screen glowing with the paused episode.

You climbed in beside him without a word, immediately curling into his side, arm around his waist, cheek to his chest.

“Better?” he murmured, adjusting the blanket around you.

You nodded sleepily, lips barely brushing against the fabric of his shirt. “Mmhm.”

He kissed the top of your head, soft and slow and started the episode.

You were asleep before the second scene.

──────────────────────

You pushed the broccoli on your plate to the side.

It wasn’t even that much food. Not really. It should be more.

But it even the small dinner portion felt like a mountain today

Your stomach felt full from breakfast and lunch and the little snacks you ate in between.

Your mind had started counting again the second you sat down. Like a reel stuck on loop.

210 for the rice. 130 for the chicken. The oil? 40? 50? That made…

You stopped.

Didn’t want to know.

Wanted to know so badly it ached.

The numbers didn’t add up right. Or they added up too much. Or not enough.

This week was supposed to be better.

You were supposed to try harder.

You upped your calorie intake goal last monday.

Just like you had done a week before and a week before that one. You meal prepped your breakfst and lunch, your snacks, cooked with Sunghoon, when both of you were home and not stuck in the academy to prerp for exams.

Your did best to eat it all.

You couldn't.

Not once.

But somehow your stomach rebelled every time. Either you felt too full, too fast, or just sick at the thought of finishing a full plate.

You hadn’t filled in your calendar once. Not a single dog. Not even the tiny one Sunghoon said counted “just for trying.”

You felt like you were breaking your own promises.

Like you were letting everyone down.

However that wasn't the worst thing.

You were lying.

You got home before Sunghoon today. He had group work again, most of the people in his classes being athletes meant that most meetings started late and dragged past 10. He texted you “Dinner together?” and you’d typed “Already ate! But I’ll sit with you :)" before you could overthink it.

Then you tossed the leftover broccoli and chicken into the trash can, tied the bag up and brought it downstairs. You rinsed your plate and the one you usually used for your fruits and set them in the sink.

And you hated yourself a little for it. Not only for wasting food. But for even knowing what to do to make it believable you ate. And did so, for the third time in a row now

You knew Sunghoon would be supportive even if you couldn't eat today.

But maybe he would be mad you lied.

Sunghoon never got mad.

But because he’d be kind.

He’d be soft.

You were disappointing him.

You blinked hard and wiped your palms on your thighs.

It’s just food.

It’s just dinner.

It’s just one stupid sticker.

But it felt like proof. 

Proof that you failed. 

That you weren't getting better, no many how many people helped you.

──────────────────────

You heard the soft click of the front door unlocking before his familiar footsteps padded down the hallway. You sat up straighter on the couch, quickly grabbing your phone to pretend you hadn’t just been staring blankly at the floor.

He stepped into the living room, hair a little damp from the evening drizzle, eyes tired but bright when they landed on you.

“Hey,” he said softly, and leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead.

You were grateful–so, so grateful–he kissed you there and not on your lips. You weren’t sure what your breath might smell like after hours of nothing but water and mint gum. But you weren’t hungry. That was the worst part. You were feeling so full even if you didn't eat enough for your dog. Even if the thought of doing so made your stomach lurch. Sunghoon dropped onto the couch next to you with a tired exhale, stretching out long beside you. “Group work is the worst,” he muttered, tipping his head to the side to look at you. “I swear half the time is just arguing over who’s doing what. And I got roped into designing the slides again.” You smiled faintly, nodding. You wanted to ask him more, about the project, about the annoying guy in his group he always complained about, but the words didn’t make it to your mouth. Everything was muffled behind a thick, dull fog. His voice softened. “You okay?” You blinked and forced your lips into a gentler curve. “Yeah,” you said. “Just… think I’ve got a migraine coming on.” His brows pulled together in quiet concern. “Do you want me to get your stuff?” You shook your head quickly. “No, no, it’s fine. I took something already. I just—” you leaned a little into the couch cushions, “—need to rest, I think.”

He nodded slowly, eyes scanning your face like he didn’t quite believe you but wasn’t going to push. 

“I’ll be right back,” he said after a second. “Gonna wash off real quick.”

You nodded again and watched him disappear down the hallway.

And then you were alone again.

You curled your fingers into the hem of your sweater and exhaled.

You weren’t even sure what you needed to do to feel better.

To eat?

To cry?

To stop feeling like this?

But the only thing you were sure of was this:

You didn’t want him to know.

A few minutes later Sunghoon rounded the couch and dropped down beside you. The cushions dipped under his weight, his familiar warmth filling the small space between you both.

You kept your smile in place, the same soft, practiced curve of your lips. But you felt too aware of your body–of the weight in your stomach, the lingering guilt simmering under your skin.

He stretched his legs out, leaning his head back against the couch, exhaling like he was finally able to breathe again. "I swear I am so glad when my exams are over," he groaned.

You nodded, letting out a faint hum in agreement.

But his gaze flickered to you almost immediately.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked quietly.

Your breath caught, and you stared at the screen of your phone, forcing yourself to keep your tone light. “Yeah, just… tired.”

He didn’t say anything right away.

You could feel his eyes on you, lingering like he was searching for something you weren’t ready to give.

The weight of his gaze made your chest tighten.

A beat passed.

“Did you eat something good for dinner? I'm going to make myself something, do you want to eat a bit with me?” he asked, softer this time.

Your heart stuttered painfully against your ribs. You swallowed the lump rising in your throat, nodding with a small smile you hoped looked convincing. “Mhm. I’m fine, I already ate dinner.”

Another pause.

He shifted closer, his arm resting along the back of the couch behind you. "Did you get your little dog sticker?" His voice was light–teasing–but you could hear the quiet worry threaded beneath it.

Your stomach dropped.

You didn’t look at him, just stared at your hands in your lap as your smile faltered for a split second.

And that was all it took.

His hand gently brushed over your arm. "Y/N," he said softly, "you know you don’t have to lie to me, right? It's okay if you're not feeling okay."

Your throat tightened painfully.

“I’m not—” You stopped yourself. The words tangled. Lying felt worse when he said it like that.

He shifted again, moving to face you fully this time, his knee brushing yours. “It’s okay if you didn’t reach your goal today.” His voice was quiet, careful. “I’m still proud of you for trying.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes before you could stop them.

You shook your head, blinking hard, unable to look at him. “I just… I thought you’d be disappointed.”

“Hey,…” His hand found yours, fingers curling gently around your wrist. “Why would I be disappointed?”

“Because I couldn’t…” You swallowed, the guilt finally pushing its way to the surface. “I couldn’t do it right. Not today. Not this week. I wanted to-but it’s just-” Your breath hitched. “It’s not enough.”

He was quiet for a moment before his hand squeezed yours, grounding and warm.

“It’s always enough,” he said softly. “You’re always enough.”

You finally looked up, and the warmth in his eyes nearly broke you.

“And you don’t have to prove anything to me to make me proud,” he added, voice softer now. “Just… let me be here with you, okay? Even on the days that feel hard.”

Something in your chest cracked open at that.

You nodded, swallowing back the tears that threatened to spill. “Okay.”

He pulled you into his side without another word, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head. 

──────────────────────

You waited until his breathing evened out.

Soft and steady. His arm was draped loosely around your middle, like it always was. 

Your chest felt tight. Like the air in your lungs wasn’t settling right. Like you couldn’t breathe. 

You slid out from under the covers carefully, inch by inch. His body shifted a little, but he didn’t wake up.

You hoped he didn’t.

The kitchen was mostly dark when you padded in barefoot. The city outside glowed faintly through the sheer curtains, casting pale golden lines across the calendar hanging on the fridge. The little dog stickers stared back at you, soft and silly and so stupidly kind-looking it made something inside your chest twist.

None for the last week.

You’d tried.

You really, really tried.

But every time you sat down in front of a plate, something clenched in your gut. The idea of eating more made your throat tight. You felt full already. And not in a satisfied way. In a sick way.

But still you told Sunghoon you had eaten.

You even rinsed off the plate and put it in the sink so it looked like you had.

You had lied to him.

Your eyes burned, staring at that empty row on the calendar. You hugged your knees to your chest, curling up on one of the kitchen chairs like you used to do when you were younger. 

Everything felt too big and too loud and too much.

You didn’t hear him at first.

But then there was the softest creak of the floorboard behind you, and you turned, startled, to see Sunghoon standing at the edge of the hallway. His bleached hair was messy from sleep, a faint crease on one cheek. He was just in sweatpants and a t-shirt, the sleeves pushed up. His eyes locked on yours almost immediately.

“Y/N…” he said softly, his voice thick with sleep and something else. 

Concern.

You looked away.

He walked toward you, bare feet making almost no sound and crouched down beside your chair, resting one hand on the armrest, the other lightly brushing your calf.

“You okay?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You shook your head, then nodded. You weren’t sure which one was truer.

He followed your gaze to the calendar, to the bare stretch of empty squares. You felt your lip wobble and hated it.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“Don’t,” he said immediately, quietly. His hand slid up to your knee, warm and grounding. “Don’t be sorry.”

“I just… I wanted to do better this week.”

“I know.”

“I thought if I just told you I ate enough you wouldn’t be–” You broke off.

He didn’t flinch. “I’m not disappointed in you. I’ll never be.”

You finally looked at him.

He held your gaze for a long moment. And then he stood up slowly, his hand reaching out toward you.

“Come back to bed,” he said, so gently it made your chest ache.

You hesitated.

But then you let him pull you up. Let him wrap your hand in his and guide you through the soft dark of the apartment. Back to the bedroom, back to the bed still warm from where you’d left him.

He pulled the covers up around you, then slid in behind you, arm curling around your waist again.

You exhaled for the first time in what felt like hours.

And he didn’t say anything else.

Just pressed his lips to the back of your neck, and held you close.

──────────────────────

You woke up to the warmth of his chest against your back, and the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing. His arm was still around you, hand resting lightly beneath your ribs.

You blinked at the soft light filtering through the curtains. 

It was still morning. 

Late, maybe.

Sunghoon was awake.

You knew it before he spoke. You felt it in the way his thumb was tracing slow, absent-minded shapes against your side. His lips brushed your shoulder.

“Good morning.” he said softly.

You swallowed. “Morning, Hoon.”

“You slept in today.”

You turned slowly onto your back, the sheets rustling as his arm shifted with you. He was looking at you. His hair was a mess, and you could see the stubble of his bear along his chin.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, voice small.

“Y/N.”

You bit your lip. “You skipped training.”

“I texted my coach,” he said. “It’s fine.”

“But it’s not fine. I didn’t mean to make you-”

“You didn’t make me do anything,” he cut in gently. “I wanted to stay.”

You looked away, blinking fast.

“I wasn’t trying to hide things from you,” you whispered. “I just… I thought if I could at least pretend I was okay, you wouldn’t have to worry.”

His hand came up, warm and solid against your cheek, guiding your gaze back to his.

“I’m never disappointed in you,” he said quietly. “And I’d rather worry than be lied to.”

Your throat felt thick.

“I wanted to get that stupid sticker,” you mumbled.

“I know,” he said, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “But not eating enough to earn it doesn’t make you a failure. It just means we’re still figuring things out.”

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

After a long pause, he sighed through his nose. “Hey… remember I told you my friends were thinking of grabbing dinner tonight?”

You glanced at him, brows knitting together.

“You said I could come if I wanted to.”

“That’s still true. I know crowds aren’t always your favorite thing, but maybe having a few people around could… I don’t know. Make eating feel less like a thing for a night.”

You thought about it.

After a few seconds you nodded slowly. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s try that.”

A small smile tugged at his lips, warm and proud and relieved all at once.

He leaned forward to press a kiss to your temple. “We’ll take it slow.”

And you believed him.

──────────────────────

Sunghoon saw you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as you smiled at something Heeseung’s girlfriend said, your fingers fidgeting slightly beneath the table. The grill in the center hissed with grease and heat, smoke curling in slow spirals above the sizzling slices of pork belly. He sat beside you, tongs in one hand, quietly turning the meat, brushing it with marinade. Mark told him you used to love samgyopsal.  Now, he watched you hesitate before picking up a piece with your chopsticks. You chewed slowly, nodding as Jay’s girlfriend offered you some of her favorite dipping sauce. You thanked her softly. Your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. Sunghoon knew. He knew that you were feeling off a bit today.  Yesterday.  Probably the whole last week, since you told him you’d try to eat another 100 kcal more every day now. Since you failed to reach that goal every day for a week now. He hoped that being around people that you enjoyed hanging out with would make it easier. You’ve told him before that you really liked his friends and you ate almost an entire steak the last time when Jay, Jake and Heeseung were over.  But you were quiet tonight. Not withdrawn, just…watchful. You laughed here and there, made conversation, but you weren’t fully with them. He glanced across the table at his friends, who were animated and loud, clinking soju glasses and stacking lettuce wraps with an alarming amount of garlic. And then he looked to the left - at the two girls from his training crew who’d shown up last minute.

You hadn’t said much to them. You’d made the effort, Sunghoon had noticed that too, but he could see you pulling back. It was like the two of them were making everything worse. He just couldn’t understand why.  Sunghoon saw Wonie shift in her seat beside you, tucking her napkin onto her lap before leaning a little closer. "You’re in architecture, right?" she asked, her voice bright. "I think that’s so cool. You must be, like, crazy good at drawing." You smiled, he saw that, but it was that careful, polite kind you used when you were feeling awkward. The one you gave him when he just moved in. When you didn’t know how to answer. “Sometimes,” you said softly, and your fingers toyed with the rim of your glass.

Wonie laughed, unbothered. “Oh! The paintings in your apartment are clearly showing that you don’t just sometimes draw crazy good. They are so beautiful.” You nodded, still smiling, but Sunghoon could see how your shoulders had crept higher, your posture a little too stiff. You were trying so hard.  He wished so badly it would be easier for you.  Sunghoon made sure to keep your plate from going empty, not pushing too much meat, because he knew that was hard. But sweetened pickled radish. A few rice cakes. Rolled omelet. Tiny bites of manageable food, colorful and easy to chew. After a while you excused yourself to go to the restroom. When you got up, Wonyoung waited until you were out of earshot before turning to him and Heeseung, a crease forming between her brows. “Is she okay?” she asked, low enough that the others couldn’t hear. “I was trying to talk to her, but she seemed kinda… out of it.” Heeseung leaned back in his seat, mouth already full of pork belly, and shrugged slightly. “She’s probably just having a rough day. She’s not always super talkative, but she usually warms up. It’s not personal.”

He and Heesueng often talked about you. Sunghoon has told him how you were doing, kept him updated because Heeseung himself asked quite frequently how you were doing. He assumed it was because Heesung knew what it meant to love someone who was struggling. Sunghoon was aware that Heeseungs his friends' girlfriends has had a hard life as well and even if she didn’t let it shine through too often, Heeseung had told him that she was often struggling as well.  So he guessed Heeseung kinda knew what was going on with you tonight.  He knew Heeseung, even if he was getting giggly and drunk, would never tell a stranger about it though.   Wonie nodded, but glanced back toward the hallway. “She seems really sweet. Just... quiet.” Sunghoon didn’t say much. He just hummed, his eyes fixed on the bathroom door. Because yeah. You were sweet. You were quiet. And that was okay.  When you came back to the table, Sunghoon’s eyes went to your face first, like they always did, and then, almost unconsciously, drifted down to your hands. Your knuckles looked normal. No redness. No telltale signs. But he still looked. Every time. He told himself he wasn’t being paranoid. Not really. Just… cautious. Just watching. Because he knew you. Knew how hard you tried, how strict you could be with yourself. He’d seen your calendar, the quiet pride on your face when you stuck a little dog sticker onto the square. But he also knew the days you didn’t. He knew that when you missed a sticker, sometimes it was just a few calories but sometimes it wasn’t. Sometimes it was an entire skipped meal. Sometimes it was trying too hard. Always trying too hard. You’d raised your goal last week. He knew that too. And you were so strict about it, like one missed calorie was failure. Like one sticker not earned meant you'd let everyone down. Like he would be disappointed. As if that could ever be true. Sunghoon leaned forward and turned the grill down a little, just to give his hands something to do. He watched you nudge a piece of sweet pancake around your plate, like you were trying to convince yourself you wanted it. When you caught his eye, you gave him the smallest smile. A tired one. But real. He gave you one back and reached for your hand beneath the table, just brushing his fingers over your knuckles once. Soft. Gentle.

──────────────────────

When you got home, it was late and cold outside. The scent of grilled meat clinged to your hair, your clothing. You toed off your shoes in the hallway and padded into the kitchen without a word. Sunghoon followed a few minutes later after locking the door and flicking off the hallway light. The only glow now came from the small lamp you kept on the kitchen counter, casting a soft golden pool across the room. You stood in front of the calendar. He saw the way your shoulders dropped before you even spoke. “I can’t put a sticker up, Honnie,” you whispered. “Again." His chest tightened. He didn’t answer right away, just walked up slowly behind you until he could place a gentle hand on your back. You didn’t flinch, but your head dipped forward like the shame was heavy. “I tried. I really did. But it just… I couldn’t.”

He didn’t ask how much you missed it by. He already knew it didn’t matter to you, it would still feel like failure to you, no matter the number. So he spoke softly. “Do you want to lower the goal again? Just a bit?” You turned to face him slowly, your eyes glossy but dry. “I thought I could handle more,” you said. “I thought it’d make me better. I just wanted to be- I wanted you to be proud.” His heart cracked a little more at that. He stepped in, arms slipping around your waist, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. “I’m already proud of you,” he murmured into your hair. “Every single day.” You didn’t reply, just stood there in his arms, arms wound tight around his middle. And maybe he felt the tiniest tremble in your fingers when you finally clutched the fabric of his shirt. “Let’s change the goal tomorrow,” he whispered. “Not because you failed. But because we’re learning. Okay?” You nodded against him.

“Okay.”

──────────────────────

You stared at your phone in disbelief.  You had done it. You had eaten enough today. You could finally glue a sticker to your calendar again. 

You reached for the sticker sheet with slightly trembling fingers. Sunghoon bought another pack of dog stickers a few days ago. These ones were pale yellow puppies with pink cheeks. You peeled one off carefully and placed it onto the day’s square, softly pressing it down. A breath broke out of your chest, and you felt lighter. Then a laugh. Then, without thinking, you were calling Sunghoon. He picked up halfway through the fourth ring, a bit breathless, the shouting of his coach over someone's music locker muffled in the background. “Hey, Y/Nie—what’s up?” You sat down at the kitchen table, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. “I did it,” you whispered. “I get a dog today.” There was a pause, half a beat, before he made a soft, stunned sound, full of joy. “You did?”

“I did.” “Wait – hold on,” he said, voice muffled as he must’ve turned to cover the receiver. Then clearer, “I’m so proud of you. Wait– wait, I have something, too.” Your smile grew impossibly wider. “What?” “I qualified,” he said. “For the invitational next spring. My coach just told me.” Your hand flew to your mouth. “No way.” “Yeah. I don’t know how that happened but it seems like my lucky streak is back!” You felt like bursting. You felt full. In the best way. You whispered, “We did so good today.” He chuckled, soft and low. “Yeah, we did.” As you hung up, a warm, calm feeling settled over you. You had decided to lower the calorie goal and that was okay. You had listened to Ten, to Johnny, to Mark and to Sunghoon.  They all told you it was okay to stagnate for a little while. Recovery wasn’t meant to be linear.

It was okay to take a step back. You weren’t giving up, you were just being kinder to yourself. You still had work to do, but you weren’t trying to run a marathon when you weren’t even sure how to walk yet.  Without thinking, you picked up your pen and reached for the calendar again. You drew two tiny stars next to the dog sticker. Then three more. Then a few sparkles in gold. One for him. One for you. One for both of you. You smiled at the sight, your heart swelling just a little bit. You stared at the stars, the gold dots gleaming in the soft kitchen light.  You had earned this.  It felt good to say that. When Sunghoon came home, he paused at the door, eyes falling on the calendar before he even took off his shoes. A gentle smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You really did it?” he asked, his voice warm with a mixture of pride and affection. You nodded, suddenly feeling more confident than you had in a long time. “I did. And… I’m okay with it. I think I made the right choice by lowering the calorie goal.” His eyes softened as he walked closer, lifting his hand to brush his fingers through your hair and cradle your face. “I’m proud of you. I’m really proud of you.” Your heart swelled. You had no idea what you would’ve done without him, without this space where you could grow. And even though you didn’t have all the answers, you were beginning to understand that it was okay. Sunghoon smiled at the calendar again. “I think I might need to get you more dog stickers,” he teased, pulling you into a closer. You laughed softly. “You’re gonna spoil me,” you said, a playful glint in your eye. “I’m gonna spoil you because you deserve it,” he said, the sincerity in his voice making your chest warm, before he pressed a kiss to your lips.

──────────────────────

The wind was a little too chilly and you buried your face in Sunghoon's scarf.  It smelled so distinctly of him.  Of home.  You’ve just handed in your last model for this semester and were walking back home instead of taking the bus. It was a forty minute walk, but you enjoyed seeing something else than your apartment, the studio or the rink.  You found yourself walking aimlessly, when something caught your eye. An elegant, minimalist hair salon with a large glass window showcasing sleek, shiny haircuts and smooth blowouts. You paused. You had been thinking about cutting your hair for a while now. It was brittle and thin and you had it in a braid more times than not, since it was long enough to annoy you.  Maybe it was time for a change.

You walked up to the door, hesitated for a moment, then pushed it open. The salon was warm, and the air smelled faintly of floral-scented hair products. A stylist greeted you with a smile. "Hi, welcome! How can I help you today?" You smiled, trying to sound casual, even though your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest. "Uh, I was wondering if you had any slots available today?" She checked her schedule, her fingers tapping lightly on the screen. "We do have one opening in an hour. Would that work for you?" You nodded eagerly. “Yes, perfect. I’ll be back then.” She handed you a quick form to fill out and you wandered out of the salon, mind buzzing. What were you even doing? You didn’t even have a clear idea of what kind of cut you wanted. You only knew that you needed to change something.  You strolled around the nearby shops, your thoughts running wild. You ended up spending most of the time in a arts and crafts store, trying out different new pens and materials and buying new stickers. Snowmen, since winter and christmas was right around the corner. You glanced at the time on your phone and hurried back to the salon. When you returned, the stylist was ready for you, and she smiled at you warmly as she led you to the chair.

“So, what are we doing today?” she asked, setting the cape around your shoulders. You took a deep breath and smiled shyly. “I’m not really sure what I want, but I think... I want to go shorter. Maybe above my shoulders? Something that will make my hair look fuller and give it some life?” She nodded thoughtfully. “Got it. I think going shorter will help with volume. Do you want layers, or just a clean chop?” You hesitated for a moment, then decided, “Layers sound good. Something soft, but not too much. I want it to feel light, not too heavy.” The stylist smiled and gave you a reassuring nod. “Sounds perfect. Let’s do it.” As she began cutting, you sank into the chair, your thoughts running quietly in the background. It felt good to take control of something for once, to make a change without worrying about the consequences By the time the cut was done, you looked at yourself in the mirror and smiled softly. It was shorter than you expected, but in a good way. It framed your face, the layers adding a bit of volume and movement. You ran your fingers through it.  When the stylist finished, she spun the chair around so you could get a full look. “How does that feel?” “Good,” you said, feeling a rush of confidence you hadn’t had in a while. “I think I love it.”

She smiled. “Great choice. It’s always refreshing to try something new.” You paid for the cut and thanked her profusely before heading back out into the city streets.  As you stepped out of the salon and walked back toward your apartment, your mind started to race. Would Sunghoon think it looks good? He had always liked your hair. Loved it, really.  He loves to run his fingers through it whenever he had the chance to. He always told you he loved how long and pretty it was.  It wasn’t long anymore. More of a bob, just above your shoulders, with soft layers framing your face. It was fresh, bouncy, and definitely gave off a different vibe. Would he think you were still... pretty? You chewed your bottom lip, glancing at your reflection in the windows as you passed by the shops. The bob looked great, but you were still unsure if it was exactly what he would expect or if he would even like it. But it’s not about what he expects, you reminded yourself. 

It’s about what you want.

──────────────────────

Sunghoon’s arms were overflowing as he fumbled his way through the door, balancing a grocery bag precariously in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other. His key clattered noisily onto the side table as he shoved the door open with his hip, barely managing to keep the apples that were laying on the top from rolling out of the bag. "Hi Y/N! I am ho-" he stopped mid sentence. You were standing in the kitchen preparing dinner. And your hair— He blinked, stunned, trying to process what he was seeing. It was shorter. Soft waves curled just beneath your chin, brushing against your neck in a way that made his stomach flip violently. God, you looked so beautiful. Sunghoon didn’t even remember letting go of the bags, only registering the soft thump of them hitting the floor a second later.  All he could see was you.

All he could think about was you. Before he knew it, he was crossing the room in three big strides, almost tripping over himself in his rush to get to you. You turned around at the sound, eyes widening slightly at the sudden movement, and gave him the shyest, tiniest smile. Without thinking, Sunghoon cupped your face in his hands, his fingers immediately finding their way into the soft strands of your new haircut. It felt so different. Lighter. Softer. “Do you like it?” you asked, voice so small he almost missed it. “Like it?” he repeated, his voice hoarse. He huffed out a laugh, disbelieving, awestruck. “Baby, you look–” He didn’t even finish. Instead, he dipped his head down and kissed you, hard.

You let out a startled little squeak against his mouth, hands flailing for half a second before settling against his chest. His mouth slanted over yours desperately and a little clumsy, like he couldn’t get close enough fast enough. His fingers slid into your soft, feather-light hair, brushing through the strands at the nape of your neck, cradling you to him. For a second he feared that overwhelmed you and that you wanted to stop kissing, that you wanted to pull away. You didn’t. In fact, you tilted your head up, chasing after him just as eagerly, your giggle bubbling against his mouth. He pulled back a fraction to breathe, but didn’t even make it a full second before diving back in, kissing you again. His hand slipped from your hair down to your waist, tugging you flush against him. He savored the way you melted against him, the way your fingers slipped up to tangle in the fabric of his hoodie. He could feel the way your heart raced against his chest, matching the frantic beat of his own. He should have stopped there.

He should have. But Sunghoon was completely, hopelessly addicted to you. He kissed you again, and again, and again. Each kiss grew deeper, a little more desperate. He couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help the way his hands slid down to your waist, couldn’t help the way his thumb traced the line of your jaw, memorizing every inch of you. You broke apart, gasping, and he caught a glimpse of your flushed cheeks and the wide, dazed smile you gave him.

“Sunghoon–” you started, laughing breathlessly. He cut you off with another kiss, just because he could. This time slower, more deliberate, his lips teasing at the corners of your mouth before fully capturing them again. His hands roamed, stroking your sides, feeling the way you trembled just slightly under his touch. You weren’t exactly passive either. Your hands slid up his chest, fists bunching in the front of his shirt to pull him closer. When he flicked his tongue lightly against your lower lip, testing, you gasped, the sound shooting straight through him like a live wire. He pulled back again, barely, resting his forehead against yours, panting a little. “God,” he muttered, his thumb brushing along your jawline with a kind of reverence. “You’re driving me crazy, you know that?” You smiled, all shy and giddy, still half in his arms. “I just got a haircut…” you whispered, almost like you couldn’t believe the reaction you were getting.

Sunghoon shook his head, pulling you impossibly closer. “It’s not just the haircut. It’s you. It’s always been you.” He laughed breathlessly, pressing another quick kiss to your nose, your forehead, your cheeks, until you were giggling uncontrollably and hiding your face in his chest. God. He loved you so much it hurt. He nuzzled into your hair, breathing you in, and mumbled, “I think dinner’s gonna have to wait a little longer.” You only laughed harder, and Sunghoon smiled so wide it made his cheeks ache. He held you there for a moment, your heart beating against his, his hands stroking gently through your freshly cut hair before you pulled back, looped your arms around his neck and pulled him down to kiss him again. His mouth moved against yours with slow, heady urgency, coaxing little gasps from you that made him grin against your lips. You shifted, standing on your toes to kiss him back harder, and he groaned quietly in approval, his fingers flexing where they held you. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sunghoon knew he should slow down, but it was so hard when you were right here in your shared kitchen, wrapped around him. He kissed you until both of you were dizzy, until your giggles had melted into soft whimpers against his lips. And even then, he only pulled away reluctantly, trailing kisses along your jaw, your temple, savoring every second, every inch of you. When he finally leaned back enough to look at you, your cheeks were flushed, your lips kiss-swollen, and your eyes shining up at him like he hung the stars. You both just stood there, breathing each other in, hearts racing, faces so close he could feel your every exhale. “I guess… you like the haircut?” you teased softly, breathless. Sunghoon laughed, low and breathy, his thumb brushing the edge of your smile. “Like doesn’t even cover it, baby.” He kissed you again, gentler now. “You’re perfect,” he whispered into your skin. “You’re so perfect it’s actually unfair.” And when you hid your face in his chest, giggling and overwhelmed, Sunghoon just held you tighter, knowing in his bones that he never wanted to let you go. Not now. Not ever.

──────────────────────

The jewelry store was quiet except for the soft hum of the lights above and the occasional muted conversation between staff and customers. Sunghoon stood at the counter, hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets, his heart hammering against his ribs. In front of him, under the glass, sat dozens of glittering rings, each one more beautiful than the last. And somehow, none of them felt good enough. “She’s gonna love whatever you pick, you know that, right?” Heeseung’s voice cut through his swirling thoughts. Sunghoon looked over at him, managing a weak laugh. “Yeah. I know. I’m just-” He shook his head, exhaling sharply. “I want it to be perfect.” Heeseung leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed, watching him with a little half-smile. “You’re overthinking it,” he said, nudging Sunghoon lightly with his elbow. “You’ve been together forever. She’s already picked you, dumbass. She would probably marry you in a paper ring.” Sunghoon huffed out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

He was right. You probably would. Heeseung tilted his head, that familiar glint in his eye. “Remember what I told you? Way back when? If you played your cards right, those monkey stickers would stay forever?” He grinned. “Guess what, bro? You played ‘em right. Your little monkey’s still around.” Sunghoon’s chest tightened at the nickname. You didn’t need the sticker charts anymore, not for years now. But somehow Heeseung still teasingly called you ‘monkey,’. Sunghoon still has that calender with the many different stickers in a little box in his closet. He took it out from time to time. Years had passed, but in Sunghoon’s mind, it felt like time had both flown by and stood still all at once. He was no longer just the aspiring skater, chasing a dream. He had made it. His name was known in the skating world now. He had won the olympics, not once but twice. And through it all, you had been there. Sunghoon smiled down at the glass, a lump growing in his throat. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “She’s still here.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. His mind drifted back to those small moments he spend with you. Those quiet nights on the sofa, wathcing silly dramas, talking, sleeping together, first in your small shared student apartment, then one in Busan, and now the one in your apartment near the olympia park. He had seen you blossom–recovering, becoming the strong, beautiful woman you were today. He cleared his throat and glanced over at Heeseung. “I don’t think I ever really thanked you for everything back then.”

Heeseung shrugged, but there was warmth in his eyes. “You don’t have to. Just watching the two of you… that’s enough, man.” He nodded at the rings. “You’ve both earned this. All of it. It’s about time you made her your forever. Now hurry up and pick one so you can make it official already. Before I start crying or something, and then we’ll both be embarrassed.” Sunghoon laughed, and leaned closer to the glass, his fingers tapping nervously against the edge. One particular ring caught his eye. Simple. Elegant. Not flashy, but quietly beautiful. Just like you. He pointed at it. “That one.” His voice was firm, certain. “That’s the one.”

Heeseung whistled low under his breath. “Oh it's pretty. Monkey’s gonna lose her mind.” Sunghoon grinned. He could already imagine it, your hands trembling as he slipped the ring onto your finger, your watery smile, the way you’d throw your arms around him and bury your face in his chest. He could picture every second of it. “She’s my everything,” Sunghoon said quietly, almost to himself. Heeseung clapped a hand on his shoulder. “And you’re hers. Always have been.” This was it. The start of your forever. A forever he had fought for, that you both had earned with every smile, every late-night talk, every sticker on that old calendar.

Thank you so much for reading! Lots of Love, Patty all feedback and reblogs is welcome ⭑.ᐟ ⤷ if you liked this you might also like the rest of this series ⭑.ᐟ

ᝰ taglist. @firstclassjaylee @enhaprettystars @vantxx95 @stormy1408 @fancypeacepersona @jaylvrsworld @xylatox @bluxjun @sumzysworld @outroherrr @50-husbands @ikeumina @softchannie @sirens-dreams @schmocolateschmchip @vviolynn @nishiimuraka @enhalxvr @ijustreallylike2read @enhastolemyheart @wintereals @planetmarlowe @baeeeeah @wonzzziezzzz @mochamvgz @lovtaesunu @makeme1cream @stars4jo @vviolynn @lylaloopsie @meimeiyh @motherscrustytoenailclippings @haerni @sooberriesx @nishiimuraka (did this actually work? Somehow I can’t use any of the links from the tags?)

ᝰ an. Its done. 87.583 words later. I am so happy with how this turned out. I also did infact not sleep or do my uni stuff for the last week, because I so desperately wanted to finish this and see what my brain would be coimng up with. The quality probably suffered a bit under my sleep deprived brain working on this... I actually forgot to write a few scenes I planned to include, but I'll probably release them as one shots at one point. Thank you so much for reading and supporting this story and waiting for the final parts. It has been a long ride. ₊ ⊹  

[why-fucking-bother-anymore]

I swear I've gone through every emotion known to man.... (And then some) today...

[robotsafari]

beast’s castle 2nd visit was insane

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 67

as I read live

Thank the gods. Even though they were the last beings Rowan wished to thank.

She rested a hand atop Goldryn's hilt, flame dancing at her fingers, seemingly into the red stone itself.

"It would take years," she observed, "to heal everyone infected by the Valg."

"Each of those soldiers has a family, friends who would want us to try."

"I know."

The chill wind whipped her hair across her face, blowing northward.

"Could Yrene heal them? Erawan and Maeve? I don't know why I didn't think of it."

"Is Erawan's body made by him, or stolen?

Is Maeve's?" Rowan shook his head. "They might be wholly different."

"I don't see how I can ask Yrene to do it.

Ask it of Chaol." Aelin swallowed. "To even put Yrene near Erawan or Maeve... I can't do it."

Rowan wouldn't be able to, either. Not for a thousand different reason.

"But is it a mistake to put Yrene's safety above that of this entire world?" Aelin mused, examining one of the enemy daggers she'd pilfered. An unusually fine blade, likely stolen in the first place.

"She's the greatest weapon we have, if the keys are not in play. Are we fools not to push to use it?"

It wasn't his choice, his call. But he could offer her a sounding board. "Will you be able to live with yourself if something happens to Yrene, to her unborn child?"

"No. But the rest of the world will live, at least. My guilt would be secondary to that."

"And if you don't push Yrene to try to destroy them, and Erawan or Maeve wins—what then?"

"There is still the Lock. There's still me."

Rowan swallowed. Saw the reason she'd needed to be away from the others, needed to walk.

"Yrene is a ray of hope for you. For us That you might not need to forge the Lock at all. You, or Dorian."

"The gods demand it."

"The gods can go to hell."

Aelin chucked away the dagger. "I hate this. I really do."

He slid an arm around her shoulders. It was all he could offer her.

Over—she'd said she wanted it to be over.

He'd do all he could to make it so.

Aelin leaned her head against his chest, and they stared across the cold lake in silence.

"Would you let me do it, if I were Yrene? If I were carrying our child?"

He failed to block out the image of that dream—of Aelin, heavily pregnant, their children around her. "I don't let you do anything."

She waved a hand. "You know what I mean."

He took a moment to answer. "No. Even if the world ended because of it, I couldn't bear it."

And with that Lock, he might very well have to make that decision, too.

Rowan ran his fingers over the claiming marks on her neck. "I told you that love was a weakness. It would be far easier if we all hated each other."

She snorted. "Give it a few weeks on the road with this army, in those mountains, and we might not be such pleasant allies anymore."

Rowan kissed the top of her head. "Gods help us."

Even with the hours of instruction on the journey back to this continent, Rowan and the others had not wholly mastered the language of the half-forgotten marks. But her mate remembered most—as if they'd been planted in his mind.

Aelin carefully studied the line of symbols across the page. Read through them a second time. "It's not what we're looking for." She pulled on her bottom lip. "It's a spell for opening a portal between locations-just in this world."

"Like what Maeve can do?" Borte asked.

Aelin shrugged. "Yes, but this is for close traveling. More like what Fenrys can do.

"Or had once been able to do, before Maeve had broken it from him.

Borte's mouth quirked to the side. "What's the point of it, then?"

"Entertaining people at parties?" Aelin handed the book back to Rowan.

Borte chuckled, and leaned back in her seat, toying with the end of a long braid. "Do you think the spell exists—to find an alternate way to seal the Wyrdgate?" The question was barely more than a whisper, and yet Rowan shot the girl a warning look. Borte just waved him off.

No. Elena would have told her, or Brannon,

if such a thing had existed Aelin ran a hand over the dry, ancient page, the symbols blurring. "It's worth a look, isn't it?"

Rowan indeed resumed his careful browsing and decoding. He'd sit here for hours, she knew. And if they found nothing, she knew he'd sit here and reread them all just to be sure.

A way out—an alternate path. For her, for Dorian. For whichever of them would pay the price to forge the Lock and seal the gate. A desperate, foolish hope.

Chaol found his father where he'd left him, seething in his study.

"You cannot give a single acre of this territory to the wild men," his father hissed as Chaol wheeled into the room and shut the door.

Chaol crossed his arms, not bothering took placating. "I can, and I will."

Chaol sighed, slumping back in his chair. A lifetime of this—that's what Dorian had laid upon him. As Hand, he'd have to deal with lords and rulers just like his father. If they survived. If Dorian survived, too. The thought was enough for Chaol to say, "Everyone in this war is making sacrifices. Most far, far greater than a few miles of land. Be grateful that's all we're asking of you."

"I hope Anielle burns to the ground. And you with it." A small, hateful smile. "That's all your brother said. My heir—that's how he feels about this place. If he will not protect Anielle, then what shall become of it without you?"

"She discovered the trunk. Right before we got word of Morath marching on us," his father said, his smile mocking and cold. "I should have burned them, of course, but something prompted me to save them instead. For this exact moment, I think."

The trunk was piled thick with letters. All written by his mother. To him. "How long," he said too quietly.

"From the day you left." His father's sneer lingered.

Years. Years of letters, from a mother he had not heard from, had believed hadn't wanted to speak to him, had yielded to his father's wishes.

"You let her believe I didn't write back," Chaol said, surprised to find his voice still calm "You never sent them, and let her believe I didn't write back."

"Watching you with that wife of yours only proves it. I'd think you'd bargain quite a bit to be able to read these letters."

Chaol only stared at him. Blinked once, as if it would quell the roaring in his head, his heart.

His mother had never forgotten him. Never.

Stopped writing to him.

Chaol smiled slightly.

"Keep the letters," he said, steering his chair back to the doors. "Now that she's left you, it might be your only way to remember her." He opened the study door and looked over his shoulder.

His father remained beside the trunk, stiff as a sword. "I don't make bargains with bastards, I’m certainly not starting with you."

Cain's people or they had been. Aelin decided not to mention him during their brief introduction. And Chaol, wisely, refrained from admitting that he'd killed the man.

Another lifetime. Another world.

Seated atop a fine Munigi horse Hasar had lent her, Aelin rode at the front of the company, as it marched from Anielle, Chaol on Farasha to her left, Rowan on his own Munigi horse to her right. Their companions were scattered behind, Lorcan healed enough to be riding, Elide beside him.

And behind them, snaking into the distance, the army of the khagan moved.

The khagan's armies had crossed every terrain, though. Mountains and deserts and seas.

They did not balk now.

So Aelin supposed she would not, either.

For whatever time she had left, until it was over.

This final push north, homeward

・・・

She smiled grimly at the looming mountains, at the army stretching away behind them

And just because she could, just because they were headed to Terrasen at last, Aelin unleashed a flicker of her power. Some of the standard-bearers behind them murmured in surprise, but Rowan only smiled.

Smiled with that fierce hope, that brutal determination that flared in her own heart, as she began to burn.

She let the flame encompass her, a golden glow that she knew could be spied even from the farthest lines of the army, from the city and keep they left behind. A beacon glowing bright in the shadows of the mountains, in the shadows of the forces that awaited them, Aelin lit the way north.

[markrosewater]

I want to speak out against the whole push towards DEI. I feel that ever since you made the push to make identity the forefront of a character it has hurt the stories you tell. Captain Sisay's race was never the focus of her character and she was a complete badass! And I fear if you did it over again Gerrard would be trans, black and disabled just because. It also cheapens the stories of world devastation when characters worry more about their gender than Bolas destroying everything.

The reason I started this blog is so we can have frank conversations about things, so please let’s talk about this.

Imagine if every time you turned on the TV or watched a movie, no one looked like you. For some of us, that’s never happened. We see ourselves constantly, so it’s hard to truly understand what not seeing yourself represented in media is like.

I do have a personal window to this experience. While I am white and male, there’s an area where I am the minority - my religion. Jews are just under two and a half percent of the US population. I have had many experiences where I’ve been in situations where everything is geared towards a group I do not belong to, and zero consideration is given that not everyone at that event is part of the majority.

You just feel invisible and like an outsider. It’s not a great feeling. And I just experience it a tiny portion of time, only things that are geared specifically towards something religious. Most minorities have this feeling all the time, whenever they’re outside their personal community.

Now imagine, after years of not seeing yourself ever, you finally see someone that looks like you, but nothing about the character rings remotely true. They don’t sound like you, they don’t act like you, the facts about their day-to-day life are just wrong. It’s clear whoever wrote the character didn’t truly understand the lived experience of the character, so the character feels fake.

You bring up Sisay. Michael Ryan and I didn’t technically create Sisay (she played a small role in the Mirage story), but we did do a lot to flesh out her character as the creators of the Weatherlight Saga. We turned her from a minor character into a major one.

And while I’m proud, in general, of our work on the Weatherlight Saga, I don’t think we did justice to Sisay as a character. Neither Michael nor I have any knowledge of what it’s like to be a black woman. Nor did we ever talk to someone who did.

And if you’re someone like us that has no knowledge of that experience, you probably didn’t notice. But that doesn’t mean it’s a good thing.

Imagine if we made a movie about your life, and we just made everything up. We invented people you never knew, we gave you a job you never had, and we had you say things you’d never say. The movie might even be a good movie, but your response would be, but that’s not my life - that’s not me.

Now imagine we put the movie out, and people that never met you assumed that was what you were like. When people met you for the first time, they assumed things, because, you know, they’d seen the movie.

That’s what misrepresenting people does. It not only makes them feel not seen, it falsely represents them, spreading lies, often stereotypes, making people believe things about them that aren’t true.

Our move towards diversity is just us trying to better reflect the world and the people in it. We’re trying to do to everyone else what a certain portion of people get every day without ever having to think about it.

But why are we “making it the forefront of their character”? We’re not. We’re making it a part of their character. But in a world where you’re not used to ever seeing it, it feels louder than it is. Things that are a natural part of the world that you’re used to feel like the background of the story because you understand the context to it.

If a man kisses his wife before going off to a battle, that’s not a big deal. It’s just a thing a husband might do to his wife when he leaves. It’s not the forefront of his character. It’s just part of his life. But you’ve seen it hundreds of times, so it feels normal.

When someone does something that isn’t your lived experience it pulls focus. It seems like a big deal, but only because it’s new to you. It’s just as mundane a thing to that character as the man kissing his wife is to him.

Even the turn “pushing” implies that it’s unnaturally here, that we’re forcing something that naturally shouldn’t be. But why? That thing exists naturally in the real world, and it doesn’t make the real world any less. Maybe you’re less aware of it, but is making you aware of how others live their life “pushing” something on you?

How you live your life is represented constantly, everywhere. Why isn’t over-representing your experience at the expense of everyone else’s “pushing” it? Why is media only being the experience of those in power the “proper way”?

Having more depth and variety doesn’t lessen stories. It makes them deeper, more rich, more nuanced. In short, it makes them better stories. In my former life, I was a professional writer. I took a lot of writing classes. One of the truism of writing is “speaking truth leads to better stories”.

There’s another famous quote: “When you’re accustomed to privilege, equality feels like oppression.” You’re used to being over-represented, so being a little less over-represented feels like something has been taken from you. But really it hasn’t. Having a better sense of the rest of the world comes with a lot of benefits.

I’ll use food as an example. Let’s say all you were ever exposed to was the food of your heritage. Yeah, that food is really good, but sometimes isn’t it nice to eat foods of other nationalities? Isn’t your life better that you have a choice? Isn’t your exposure and access to the food of other nationalities a positive in your life?

Exposure to variety is a positive. It allows you to learn about things you didn’t know, experience things things you’ve never experienced, and get a better sense of understanding of your friends and neighbors.

Our actions are not to harm anyone, and if you think that’s what we’re doing, please take a minute to actually absorb what I’m saying. You’ve spent your whole life metaphorically eating one type of food, and we’re just trying to show you how much you’ve missed out on.

And while this might not impact you directly, we’re making a whole bunch of people felt seen. We’re bringing joy. Think of it this way. We make a lot of cards. Not every card is for you. But if it makes someone else happy, if they get to include it in a deck, and it makes Magic better for them, how is it harming you that we include it? You have so many cards that you can play.

To this poster or people that share their viewpoint, the narrative that a gain for someone else is an attack on you is just not true. As I just pointed out above, you play a game all about personal choice, about players getting to choose how they play and enjoy the game. Why should life be any different than Magic?

Thanks for reading.

[tinystarbites]

accidents pt. II | Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: during a long case away, Spencer accidentally sees Reader's nudes on her phone and can't cope because he is a MESS for reader whoops pt.II The Reckoning /j, this is basically just 10k words of porn with feelings yikes

Warnings: SMUT MDNI, 18+ only, fem!reader, fluff, some angst (still Spencer feeling he isn't good enough 😔), EMOTIONSSS, Spencer STILL loves you so much, he gets a hug, and so much more!, talk about sex, detailed asking for CONSENT (be safe people), sex (piv), some frottage, uhhh what else, dirty talk, some dom/sub understones (sub!Spencer ofc), little bit allusion to subspace, Spencer discovers so many kinks in this awww we're so proud of you bby (mentioned kinks: praise kink, squint of liking being embarrassed, tiiny bit of a voyeristic thing), also I made him a virgin whoops so virgin!Spencer, proofread but prolly not perfect lol. Tell me if I'm missing any tags I am so tired

(also, Spencer will be bisexual in all of my Spencer fics because I am not a coward like the writers were and I will honour Spencer the way he was intended to)

HERE you can read pt. I, I do recommend it to have context and all but do whatever you want lmao I'm not your mother anyway have fun being completely wrecked like I was while writing this!! also thanks so so MUCH for 400 followers and almost 2k likes on the first part, you guys are the best and I hope you enjoy this fic as a thanks!!<333

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Spencer’s never sprung from his bed faster in his life before.

His heart is a jackhammer in his chest, chipping away at his ribs one bone splitter at a time because-

It’s you. In front of his door. And Spencer is so hard it hurts but- he can’t just-

“Spencer?”

He sucks in a haggard breath, hands reaching up and messing up his hair even more. His thoughts are everywhere and nowhere at once and he just needs to- needs just a moment to-

“Uh, yeah, just a second!”, he calls back, voice scratchy and used from the- the moaning Jesus Christ because he was about to come with your mental image and he somehow, magically, managed to apparently conjure you up in front of his door with his pathetic pining and oh god-

He has to- ugh- has to wash his hands and make it go away and –

“Okay, I’ll just…chill with that weird plant here.”

An overwhelmed whimper slips past his lips and he just, stands there for at least another five seconds before something in his mind snaps back into place and he rushes to the small, adjacent bathroom of his room.

After he thoroughly washed his hands, his erection has flagged off enough so that it’s not the first thing greeting you when he opens the door and thank god for that.

And oh- seeing you after doing that actually knocks the wind out of his lungs because you are just so goddamn lovely it makes Spencer want to do stupid, stupid things like cry or kiss you or spontaneously combust into a million pieces.

For once, he does something okay-ishly sensible though.

“Hi.”

You look at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement or scepticism, he doesn’t know for sure. Your eyes hold mirthful sparkles in them when he finally manages to meet your gaze, so he settles for the former of the two options.

You’re not wearing your work clothes anymore. Rather, you went for a cozy looking, oversized sweater and funkily patterned leggings. Your fashion sense outside of work always reminded Spencer of Penelope’s.

“Hi to yourself”, you chuckle, “Can I come in or are you too busy reading ten books at once?”

Spencer feels himself flush under your gentle teasing.

“Only seven books. But, yes, of course you can come in.”

He turns out of the way, creating room for you to pass him into his room. As soon as you are inside, you don’t hesitate to jump onto his bed and flop on your back with your arms spread wide.

Spencer’s breath hitches and he has to do some very extensive mental gymnastics to supress all the inappropriate thoughts from escaping the box he banished them into. Controlling his body’s response to seeing you in the same bed he was just jacking off in is… a different story. He pulls down the hem of his shirt as discreetly as possible, as he takes a seat next to you. Making sure that there is not too much distance between you two as to raise any suspicion and make it obvious he’s trying to get some distance between you, but also enough space so that he isn’t enticed to do anything unwise. Like, reach out and feel your warmth underneath his fingers. Or the softness of your skin. Or anything else really.

The more seconds tick by in which neither of you say anything, the more nervous Spencer becomes. He starts fiddling around with his fingers, aborting more than one move to steal a glance at your face to see what you’re thinking.

“Spencer”, you then finally say, voice kind of pout-y and if that didn’t make Spencer whip his head around to face you, the next thing you say for sure does. “Do you hate me?”

“Wha-“, he sputters your name, “No- no! Of course, I don’t- whe- why would you think that?”

You let out an exasperated groan, moving around until you are lying on your side, head propped up on your arm and frowning up at him. “Because you’ve been acting hella weird these last few days and you won’t tell me whyyyy”, you drag out the last syllable, pout on your lips and Spencer has to look up at the ceiling or else he’s just going to confess everything without second thought and that will definitely not happen.

“I haven’t been acting weird, really, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You remain silent again and Spencer feels the judging glare you send his way without having to look at you. Yes, he has been acting weird, he knows that, but you can never ever know the reason why tha-

“Is it because you saw my nudes?”

Spencer almost breaks his neck with how fast he whips his head down to look at you again. A strangled noise escapes him without permission and what. What.

“Because, that would actually explain so much, especially the way you’ve been acting and really, that’s probably on me because I’ve always been telling myself to put them behind a password block but I somehow always manage to forget that because apparently I have only one braincell left that’s stuck spinning on the deep-fried version of Funky Town and well, I guess I’m glad it was you that found them and not someone else and-“

“What? No, no, I didn’t- What- that’s not- what-“, Spencer cuts off your rambling with a horrified, screeched version of a protest because how- how could you have guessed what’s going on with just one try? Is Spencer so- so absolutely besotted with you that he’s so obvious? Spencer is so very confused and overwhelmed with whatever the hell is going on, he kind of misses the slight twitching of your mouth.

“Come on, Spencer. I said it’s fine and basically my own fault. Uh- well, actually… sorry. Because, well, that’s probably not very work-appropriate… I will pay for your therapy session, just send me the bill.”

Spencer thought he’d reached the limits of confusion seconds ago but apparently, he hadn’t. What. What are you even saying?

“Therapy sessions?”

You just- ignore him.

“Oh, also, please don’t tell Hotch? He’ll be pissed, despite me literally just doing hot-girl shit, y’know-“

Oh, Spencer cannot take it anymore.

He says your name and, “Stop, please, please, just-“

You snap your mouth shut, pulling your lips between your teeth and Spencer definitely doesn’t miss the way you have to force your mouth to stay still this time.

“Are you- is this a joke?”, Spencer asks, frazzled and desperate and so confused he just wants to bury his head under the duvet and never come out again. Because if you don’t actually know but- are just joking around, oh Spencer is overwhelmed, alright.

Your expression changes into something panicked then. “No, no, Spencer, sorry. I’m- sorry. Of course I’m not joking, I’m so sorry. It’s just a little bit too easy to tease you. Sorry.” You actually look apologetic now, lips downturned and frowning slightly.

“Not joking- so… so, you know?”, there’s something big and anxious pressing inside of Spencer’s chest. The urge to hide away and never face daylight again intensifies tenfold. He’s flushing before he realizes, hands trembling and breathing a bit too fast to be considered normal. Oh god, you know, you actually know, you’re going to- you’re never going to speak with him again you are probably here to tell him how weird and- and-

You must’ve noticed the frenzy he is thinking himself into, because you reach out with one hand and gently nudge his thigh with one knuckle. “Spencer”, you say, voice serious and steady and not the slightest bit disgusted or harsh and it snaps him out of his anxiety spiral.

“I knew the second I walked back into that room after you basically fled the precinct. I am, really, genuinely, sorry for making you uncomfortable. Like, it wasn’t actually my intention for you to see them. And then, after I realized what… I just wanted to wait and see what you’d do, if you came to talk to me or, well…”

You sigh, the hand that nudged him ruffling through your hair.

“I didn’t handle this situation very well. I’m really sorry. So… “, you trail off, scrunching your nose in that adorable way of yours that makes Spencer want to kiss it until it scrunches even further because you’d laugh and try to fight him off.

“We can just- forget about this. Forget that it ever happened, or-“, you hesitate again.

Spencer feels suddenly breathless. Like he stands in front of a cliff face, seconds before taking the step to send himself careening towards something immeasurably great or devastatingly fatal.

“Or…?”, he breathes, voice small and unsure.

You meet his eyes again after what feels like hours. There’s something intense in them, burning, and it’s like an electric shock to Spencer’s system. He’d give anything for you to keep looking at him like that forever.

“Or”, your hand returns to his thigh, but this time you let your fingers travel along the shape of it and Spencer whimpers. The burning in your eyes intensifies and Spencer feels hot, suddenly, so hot he’s burning with it. “Or we can do something else.”

“Something else?”, Spencer basically croaks because his throat is so dry and it’s difficult for his body to function properly when you are touching him like that.

You hum in agreement. “Whatever you want. You can tell m-“

“You.”

You look a bit startled when he cuts you off with that one, desperate syllable. Startled but also endlessly amused and Spencer just- his mind is apparently turned off, what the-

You laugh quietly, and your eyes soften, and it does something to Spencer that leaves an ach-y feeling in his chest. Oh, he loves you so much he can’t take it.

“Sure. You can have me”, you say simply, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world for you to admit, “Tell me what exactly you want, because I’d give you the world if you asked.”

And suddenly there’s hot pressure behind Spencer’s eyes, at the back of his throat. You’re just- just- amazing and so lovely and so kind to him, no one has ever said something like that to him, he doesn’t know how to handle it.

Spencer blinks up to the ceiling, desperately willing these stupid unwelcome tears away because crying about you treating him kindly is so on the bottom of the list of acting casual about this, so he rather feels than sees you sitting up next to him. Your hand slips from his legs and he feels the loss of your touch as if someone sucked the marrow from his bones. Before he can say something embarrassing like ‘please touch me again’ he feels your hand covering his. It fills him with a heady kind of courage.

“I want…”, Spencer starts, feeling entirely too uncomfortable with having to state his deepest and darkest desires. There’s the old familiar urge to start picking at his nails nagging at him, but you just interlace your fingers with his and start tracing random patterns into the skin there with your thumb. Spencer melts against you and tenses up at the same time because it’s just so- so nice. It feels so nice and Spencer never thought he’d ever get to have things like that with you but you’re here. You’re here, with him, and basically offering Spencer the entire world on a silver platter but it’s still so so unfathomably difficult just saying what he so badly wants.

“You want…?”, you hum slightly, voice soft and so tender as you continue painting patterns on his skin and Spencer would literally die for you. And that’s the entire problem. Spencer doesn’t know if you’d do the same. Well. Maybe not die die for him but. He can’t just sleep with you, and it not meaning anything to you. It would kill him. It would kill him, if after you give him tenderness and pleasure and acceptance in a way he’s never dreamed of receiving, you would go back to normal. Always politely distanced, close, but never close enough and it already twists his chest just thinking of that possibility.

“I just-“, he tries again, but when the words are stuck in his throat, sticky molten sugar that tastes like bile and fear, he pulls out of your grip and buries his face in his hands. He’s so bad at this. He’s the worst. No wonder he’s never had- had something like Morgan has, one night stand after one night stand (not that he particularly wants that, god no, but just-) because Spencer is just so bad at spilling all of the things that plague his gut and keep his thoughts in overdrive at night. No wonder he’s never even had a girlfriend or boyfriend before.

“Hey, hey, Spencer”, he feels your hands cupping his own, still over his face. Not taking them away, but just – there. “It’s alright, penguin, we can always come back to this another time. I’ll wait.”

Spencer’s face crumples and his breath hitches a little because- penguin. That’s the frankly ridiculous nickname you’ve been using for him ever since he apparently once looked like one, with that white scarf and knee-length black coat he wore during one of your cases where a blizzard surprised not only the team, but also the unsub. Spencer, like most of you, wasn’t prepared and thus, had to make do with what the helpful officers provided them with. And well, Spencer drew the penguin stick it seemed.

It’s ridiculous but sweet and it always makes him feel so loved, loved by you, because it’s adorable and theirs and he just loves it irrationally much, okay? And also, penguins are just really fascinating because-

“Did you know that most penguins live monogamously? The Emperor penguin is actually one of the only ones that mate seasonally, they only have one mate per breeding season. But most others have a mate for life, like, like swans and bald eagles.”

Before Spencer even opened his mouth, he was aware of the fact he was going to ramble on about some unimportant stuff. It’s always like this, it always feels like a breath he’s been holding in for too long, like an itch somewhere in his weird brain that only stops when he opens his mouth and infodumps and he cannot stop it. No matter how consciously he is telling himself to cut it out or screaming at himself to shut the fuck up you weirdo, it’s unavoidable. As soon as his brain latches onto a statistic or a fact it is reminded of, it’s an unstoppable force.

Like now. He is kicking himself. Why, oh why can’t he ever be normal? He feels himself flushing bright red from embarrassment and shame and frustration. He can’t believe he is rambling about birds while- while whatever the hell you two are doing right now. While in the middle of a conversation that started out with you confronting him about him seeing your nudes, jesus christ.

Spencer is about to suffocate himself with a pillow when you let out a graceless snort.

It confuses Spencer so much he lowers his hands to look at you and- oh.

Your eyes are shining with something that looks so close to what he would call affection, and it makes him want to bawl his eyes out and at the same time, smile so hard there’ll be laugh lines on his cheeks for the rest of the week.

“Well, that fits perfectly then”, you say, and Spencer doesn’t understand.

“What do you mean?”

You smile just a little wider, a little more teasingly but in a nice way, in a kind way and it leaves Spencer’s chest blooming with warmth.

“If you’re my penguin, I’ll be your penguin.”

Youryouryouryouryour-

Spencer feels entirely braindead. Only the fact that you called him yours registers. Because yes. Yes. Spencer is so yours he’d gladly let you make every decision for him from now on in his life and yes. That’s not exactly a very normal thing to think. Or to want. Spencer doesn’t care. He’s never felt normal about you for a day in his life and he definitely won’t start now.

“You- you mean- like, as, as mates?”

You scrunch your nose in disgust. “If you want to call us that, I think I’ll take back my offer.”

It punches a giggle out of Spencer, sudden and kind of light-headed. He watches your face break into a wide grin.

“But you- you’d like that?” You’d like me?

You pull a face, sniffing in a nonchalant way, direct your face to your nails in fake disinterest.

“Sure. Whatever.”

And Spencer can’t help himself. He sobs out a laugh- laughs out a sob or, whatever that weird noise he makes is, because you’re so ridiculous and he loves you more than anything in the world.

You roll your eyes, fondly, shake your head slightly.

“Of course, Spencer. I’d like that very much because I like you a very unnormal amount. Literally. On my knees, crying, screaming etcetera”, you say just like that, smiling just like that.

Spencer feels like he’s dreaming. He must be. There’s no other explanation for it. He just can’t wrap his head around the fact that you could like him. You. You’re so, so lovely and amazing and you deserve everything good in this world and Spencer is just. Spencer.

“You- you like me? Me?”, Spencer can’t hide the incredulous tone that seeps into his questions because you like him?

There’s no traces of humour in your eyes anymore. Your eyes look painfully honest, face suddenly serious, and it steals Spencer’s breath away.

You lean closer to him again, grabbing his hands with yours. Your gaze bores itself into his, intense and steady and he can’t look away. “Spencer. I know it’s- I know life has been hard on you for way too long. And that leaves its marks on you. That’s fine. It’s human. But. You do not deserve any less love because of that, do you understand me? Of course I like you, what isn’t there to like? You’re kind and funny and sweet and just so- Spencer. You’re so lovable and it kills me to know that you don’t see how you are so worthy of being loved.”

Oh.

Oh.

You can’t just- can’t just say things like that and expect him to not cry a little. Can’t expect him to act completely nonchalant and cool about all of this when you say things like that to him. Are you trying to kill him? Because it sure does feel like that.

Spencer is so completely at a loss. He doesn’t know what to say to that- not to mention what to do. How do you always do this? How can you see straight to the hidden, bruised core of him, littered with all these ugly and bad things and. Just. Figure out what to say to strike him exactly there.

It should scare him, being known so deeply. It should, but it doesn’t because it’s you. You are warmth and acceptance like his favourite place in front of a fireplace, book in hand and rain gently knocking against windows. You are quiet mornings at work, you are soft rays of sunlight in his hair, you are gentle hands helping you up when you fall and bruise your knees. You are –

A touch to his cheek startles him. He opens his eyes – when did he close them? – to your fingers brushing some stray tears away, so softly as if he’s something precious, something to be held delicately. That thought sends new tears spilling down his cheek. He can’t believe this is affecting him so much, so completely he simultaneously feels like he is going to shatter and be stitched back together again.

He never knew he needed this so much.

“Sorry for making you cry, penguin. I didn’t think this discussion about my lack of nude etiquette would get this emotionally damaging”, you say, voice hushed in the big silence of the room, a small smile on your lips and eyes so kind.

Spencer snorts, despite himself. This has really been a very bizarre evening. He feels almost drunk on the weirdness of it all, on the rollercoaster that his emotions have ridden all evening. That’s probably why he does what he does next.  

“Neither did I, especially after you interrupted me while I wa-“

Spencer shuts his mouth so fast he clicks his teeth together, eyes wide and suddenly horrified. He- what-

Why?

Why can’t Spencer ever keep his big mouth shut? Is he completely and utterly insane?

There’re alarm bells going off somewhere in Spencer’s head and a concerning warmth settling deep in his stomach when your grin takes on a slightly devilish edge, one he knows all too well and. And. Oh. He’s in trouble. So much trouble. Why did he have to say that?

“After I interrupted you while?”, you prompt him, eyes electric and hot and oh god-

Spencer is so dumb. An idiot. Of the highest order. High IQ, where?

“Nothing”, he says, voice high-pitched and rushed and he curses himself and his ability to act everything else but nonchalant. He’d be the worst actor of all time.

“Spencer.”

The tone of your voice rearranges something in his neurons. He can feel himself sit up just that little bit straighter, can feel his mind buzz at the edges. He’s never felt like this before.

He loves it.

“Hmm?”, is all he gets out. Trouble, so much trouble.

Suddenly you’re standing up, away from him and Spencer wants to whine because you should stay there next to him, forever fixed to his side. He doesn’t have to despair long, because you take one of your knees and gently nudge his legs apart with it and okay. Okay. That definitely didn’t just send Spencer’s mind reeling. That wasn’t just totally the hottest thing that ever happened to him.

You slot yourself between his legs as if you own that space and. In his humble opinion, you do. You so do. Spencer is willing to give you a map of his entire body and a marker and tell you to please demarcate every part of him you want. He’d give it to you, no questions asked.

He is looking up at you, at your burning eyes that still hold something so soft in them that makes the lump in his throat bigger again. And by god, Spencer just needs to hear you say it again-

“You like me?”

You move closer to him, lifting one hand and placing it underneath his chin. Your thumb traces along his jaw and Spencer feels like he is going to burst into a million embarrassed pieces.

“Yes”, you say simply, but the way you say it. Spencer can’t help but shiver and exhale shakily. He feels so warm, everywhere. His skin burns where your fingers are touching him. He never wants this to stop.

“You- You want me?”

Your hand grips his face a little stronger, your other fingers splaying over and down his throat and there’s a high noise coming from somewhere and there’s goosebumps on his body everywhere and oh, wait- it’s him. The noise. Well, how embarrassing but. He doesn’t care. Nope. Not at all.

…Okay maybe a little. His face feels warm, suddenly, warmer than the rest of him and yes. He’s blushing, okay?

“Spencer”, the way you say his name it- god, “I want you. I said it before, but. I will give you anything. Tell me what you want, Spencer, and you will get it from me.”

Your eyes are so dark and your voice so low and Spencer actually whines and. He’s hard again, so hard, because he didn’t come before and now, he’s even more pent-up and his thoughts are a mess, but you haven’t even touched him more than this and he’s already so worked up from you just saying these things to him-

“I want you”, Spencer pants, currently finding no other English words in the dictionary of his mind. And well. Emily was right about him. IQ slashed to zero when pretty person do thing.

He watches you take a deep breath, as if to steady yourself, as if this whole thing is affecting you as much as it affects him but that’s- ridiculous. Impossible. Because. Have you seen yourself?

“I know that, Spencer. But what do you want from me? Do you want me to kiss you?”, you ask, face suddenly so close to his Spencer feels your breath fan over his skin, and he whimpers because yes he wants that wants that- “Do you want me to touch you more?”, your other hand grabs his side, gentle but just a little bit roughly and Spencer is suddenly vividly reminded of the fact how strong you are and he feels kind of lightheaded-

“Do you want me to fuck you, Spencer?”

Spencer is going to pass out. And die. And moan and say, “Please yes yes yes”. Maybe not in that particular order.

“Okay, angel, anything you want”, you say, smiling softly at him as if he’s the best thing in the world and angel. Angel. Angel.

Before he’s even started to process you calling him angel, he sees a glint in your eyes, that edge in your smile again and before he knows what’s happening, you’re kissing him.

You’re kissing him and it’s- everything.

Your mouth is soft against his, and Spencer’s insides twist and flutter and his brain is kind of lagging behind, but he wants to be closerclosercloser-

It’s so good Spencer completely blanks on everything. There’s nothing in his mind except the feel of your lips moving against his. There’s no insecurity, no embarrassment tainting this moment even though this is literally like, only the sixth kiss or so of Spencer’s life and he has no idea what he is doing. But it’s so good.

A noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper escapes him when you lick into his mouth and Spencer’s soul almost leaves his body. He feels you shudder where you are pressed together, chest to chest.

“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe against his lips, in between wet, hot, kisses. You rub your nose against his, eyes closed.

“Hmm?”, he hums, his voice somewhere in Canada or wherever. His mouth is too busy smiling so wide it hurts, anyways. No time for articulating anything.

“You’re amazing, Spencer, amazing.”

And he wants to shake his head, no, because the only one amazing here is you. But it’s impossible to disagree with you when your mouth has returned to his in a way that is probably ruining him for anyone else. (He’s okay with that.)

You peck him on the lips once, twice more, before you press your lips against his jaw, exactly where you had your fingers before. Your hands are basically the only thing holding Spencer up in a sitting position, because he feels like molten chocolate in your hands. Muscles apparently forgetting to do their job and well. Who can blame them? Spencer has stopped thinking in proper sentences the moment you had walked into his life, so. Only a matter of time until you broke the rest of him as well.

You kiss his neck and Spencer gasps. It’s really been a hot minute - three years, one hundred, twenty-one days and twenty hours to be exact – the last time he made out with someone. Everything feels heightened on his heated skin, especially you opening your mouth against him and licking him oh god-

It almost feels like a reward when you gently bite at his skin next. Spencer almost screams.

“So good, so so good for me”, he hears you whisper into the skin of his neck and this time, Spencer does make a noise. Because yes. He wants that. Be good for you. That’s the only thing in his fuzzy mind that feels clear, that feels graspable.

He can see your pupils dilate. Can see the wicked lilt to your lips. “You like being good for me, don’t you, angel?”

ANGEL. Spencer is nodding his head before he knows he does so. “Yes, yes.”

“Fuck”, he hears you breathe against him and it’s strange, seeing the effect he has on you. Did really he do that? “I can’t believe how incredible you are, sweetheart.”

And you need to stop. If you keep calling Spencer these things- he’s pretty sure he won’t survive this. The team would need to find another genius to solve cases with. His cactus Greg would dry out and wilt and die. You and Penelope would need to find another victim to send confusing memes to.

“Did you like my pictures, Spencer?”, you then ask and that’s so not fair. You can’t just ask him that while he’s so utterly in your hands that he’s sure he’d tell you about every little fantasy he’s had about you ever if you asked.

Because Spencer wants to be good, feels that need so deeply in his bones, he nods frantically. “Yes, I- I liked them.”

At the same time the words leave his mouth, something feels wrong. There’s an ugly thing twisting in his stomach, so unpleasant it momentarily occludes the high-octane bliss-fuzz fogging up his mind.

You notice the shift in mood almost immediately. “What’s wrong, angel?”

And well. It’s just- that guilt. Of not saying anything to you about Spencer seeing your nudes, of just ogling you like that without your permission. That wasn’t very good of him. Actually, the opposite. He’s been bad and he hates that. Hates that so severely that there’s suddenly tears on his cheeks and oh no. That’s mortifying. Who cries before sex? Jesus Christ he’s such a virgin it is genuinely embarrassing.

“I’m- I’m sorry”, he stutters, a little bit hysterical, creating distance between you, arms slung around himself, “I should’ve, should’ve said something, I’m so so sorry, I’m the worst friend and now I’m- I’m crying, oh god, I’m so sorry-“

“Hey, hey hey whoa. Spencer, darling. Penguin. Look at me, please?”

But he shakes his head. He doesn’t deserve to look at you again. What was he even thinking? He was- so creepy and now- now-

Two warm hands grab his face and then Spencer is looking into your eyes again. He squeezes his own shut, but all that it does is send more tears spilling over his cheeks and he’s so fucking stupid-

“Baby, please.”

Spencer sobs.

Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ. That’s the best thing he has ever heard but he doesn’t deserve these things.

“Of course you deserve it, silly goose”, you say and oh. He’s said that out loud.

Your thumbs brush over his cheeks and Spencer can’t not lean into your touch, despite everything. Because that’s just the way it always is. He’s drawn to your warmth and tenderness like a moon revolves around its planet.

“I thought we’d established that it was an accident? And if it was someone’s fault, then mine, because no password, remember?”

Spencer opens his eyes. The deep affection swimming in yours makes him sob again. He’s a mess. A crying, horny mess and Spencer definitely fucked this up. Why does Spencer always ruin the few good things in his life?

“Spencer, Spencer. Hey. It’s okay, I promise you. We wouldn’t be doing this, if it wasn’t, okay?”, you kiss his nose. “Do you want to lay down, maybe?”

He nods, not really thinking clearly. He moves up the bed, under the covers and curls up on his side. He waits for you to get up from the bed, for you to walk over to the door and leave. To say that this was a mistake, he was a mistake. To say that you take back everything you said to him in the last half hour.

He’s not just a little surprised to feel your weight dip the mattress, to feel even more sudden warmth engulf him when you spoon him from behind. You start tracing swirly patterns over the skin of his arm and he feels goosebumps spread all over his body.

Some minutes tick by, you still holding him, when his tears have finally dried up. He doesn’t remember crying so much in one day. Spencer feels miserable.

“Do you still like me?”, he asks, and yes, it’s pathetic and stupid but. He doesn’t care if you never have sex or if you’re not going to be more than his friend now. Because the thought of you not being in his life in any capacity anymore- just no.

He can feel you freeze and take in a sharp breath. “Wha- Spencer. Of course, I still like you. I don’t care what we do, I just want to be with you. In any way you’ll have me.”

You sound so understanding and sincere and actually confused about his fear as if you’d never even think of not liking him anymore and and and-

And something in him just- snaps. He wants you, needs you so much he’s going to die if he doesn’t-

He shuffles and turns in your arms until he’s face to face with you. You look at him, eyebrow raised in question but so beautiful and lovely and you still like him-

“I want you so bad”, he says and then he presses his lips against yours again.

You respond immediately, low moan escaping you and Spencer is greedy, he wants to hear more, feel more, feel everything with you.

He’s kissing you as if he’s going to die if he ever stopped, which, yes, he absolutely would, and you kiss him back as if you can’t live without him. It makes everything become hazy again, like before, and every bad feeling suddenly feels eons away. Like he’s underwater, floaty and relaxed. Safe, he feels safe in the way you kiss him and hold him. Like you always do.

You move your kisses to his neck, sucking and biting and Spencer is moaning and moaning and can’t stop and then suddenly, you’re gone, what –

“Spencer, Spencer, wait”, you pant, out of breath and flushed and he wants to cry again, “Sorry, sorry I just-“

You frame his face in your hands, a little bit roughly. “I’m so sorry for making this so hard, you’re being so good for me, but Spencer. Have you done this before?”

Somewhere in the fog that is his minds, Spencer finds his voice. It’s high and airy but he doesn’t care. “No, no, I haven’t.”

He watches you take a deep breath, feels your fingers digging into his skin a little bit more.

“Tell me. Do you want this, Spencer?”, your voice is shaking as if you need to keep yourself in check and Spencer can’t believe he’s getting to see you like this.

“Yes”, he says because he can’t ever want anything else, and, “Please make me feel good.”

You inhale sharply, your grip on his face bordering on painful. “Spencer, you’re incredible, amazing, the best- I’ll make you feel good, okay? I’ll make you feel so good because you deserve it.”

“Yes”, Spencer is not ashamed of how whiny he sounds. No. He’s owning it now. This is his thing now, okay? He’ll gladly be your pathetic wet cat, or whatever the term was that you sometimes use to describe him with. Whatever it even means.

“Good”, you grin, and then you push on his shoulder hard and he’s on his back. And you. Sitting on top of him, thighs on either side of him. Straddling him exactly where he wants you most and he exhales a needy ‘ah’. His hypothesis of liking being manhandled is… yet to be disproven. He’s discovering so many things about himself today.

Pleasure radiates in waves from where you’re passively giving pressure to his hard cock and yeah okay. This is good. Amazing. He’s never felt better. But-

“Please.”

“Please what, angel?”

“More?”

“More what?”

Your fingers trailing along his throat and jaw, down his chest and teasing ghost-like over his nipples are not really helpful in finding the right words to what he wants. You take pity on him.

“More touch?”

Spencer nods his head, so fast he almost gets dizzy because he’s at that point again where everything feels liquid, hazy, a little bit unreal. So, speaking is already quite the task.

You smile at him as if he just solved the most difficult equation. “Doing so good, Spencer. Incredible.”

He moans. Okay. Another hypothesis to add to his ever-growing list of scientific discoveries today.

“Where do you want touch, Spencer? Here?”, there’s hands in his hair. He shakes his head.

“Hmm… Here?”, fingers drawing circles on his chest and yes, that feels nice, so nice but he wants-

“Here?”, you ground your hips down and jesus-

“Yes!”, Spencer almost chokes on the sound. Pleasure shoots up his spine and he whimpers. “Please.”

You exhale shakily, looking flush. “Okay. Because you ask so nicely.” There’re two little taps on his lower stomach through his shirt. “Do you want to take this off first? Or no?”

The way you give him the chance to say no- the way you respect his autonomy so deeply-

It’s basic human decency, yes, but it’s also the hottest thing and Spencer feels so valued and understood and safe that he’s not even hesitating when he mutters a quiet yes.

You help him sit up because he’s currently not really heir over his body like he usually is. Help his head out of the shirt and thread his arms out. And then, he’s half naked in front of you and suddenly, the doubt and insecurity that’ve been so quiet so far are back with a vengeance.

The urge to cover himself is so big it’s impossible to stop his arms from wrapping around himself.

Spencer knows he’s not ugly. He’s not that bad looking actually. Can’t be too bad if Morgan keeps insisting on calling him pretty boy, even though Spencer sometimes still has the sneaking suspicion that he’s teasing him. But his friend wouldn’t be so cruel.

But other people like to be. Pipe-cleaner, leek, straw, big-eyes. He’s heard it all before. He has matured enough and grown into himself so that these things don’t bother him like they used to. But still. Still. These things are arduous to scrub from under his skin.

Your gaze on him though- he’s never felt so, cleaned from all of these mean words before. You look- you look reverent while mapping his skin and maybe that’s the reason why he lowers his arms again.

“Spencer. You’re a dream”, you say, almost in trance. Almost as if you’re hypnotized by him, and he’s flushing. But. Being watched so intently, being admired like that. He feels his dick give an indigent twitch against your clothed core. Another thing for the list.

“So impatient”, you tut and Spencer flushes more. He thinks he’s waited long enough for this. But he doesn’t say that. If you stopped now- he would definitely combust spontaneously.

You lean down, over him. Hands trailing along his sides like you did earlier, but without any clothes between your skin and his. It’s almost too much. And not enough. He feels electrified, where you touch him. His heart is hammering against his ribs so hard you must be able to feel it. His stomach is in knots, fluttery. He’s never felt more alive.

You connect your lips to his throat, placing kiss after kiss along the arched length of it. Follow the same path with your tongue and Spencer whines, curves up against you a little. Everything feels so good Spencer is floating in it.

You shift your attention to his collarbones next, kissing but then gently biting and Spencer feels the indents of your teeth all the way through to his back and he hopes, wants, you to sink them into him so deep they’ll leave marks. So that he carries the evidence of this with him for the rest of this case, so that there’s absolutely no more doubt to who he belongs to. That thought alone makes him whimper, makes him feel that tiny little bit more lost in you.

You start kissing along his chest, down his stomach. Open mouthed, wet kisses and Spencer shivers when the places you put them feel cold after because of your spit. The lower you get, the noisier he becomes and at one point, Spencer would’ve been embarrassed. Well, he kind of is, but he’s also so turned on that the embarrassment doesn’t feel as stifling like usual. Rather, in a weird way, it makes everything hotter, and he does not own enough brain capacity right now to decipher that. But he does add it to the list.

When your face is dangerously close to the waistband of his pyjama, Spencer tenses, holds his breath. Being shirtless is one thing, but… well.

“It’s okay, Spencer. We only do as much as you feel comfortable with”, you murmur, giving a small peck to the left of his belly button. You calmingly follow his sides with your hands, smiling at him with so much affection in your eyes that Spencer feels speechless, breathless, until the tension releases his muscles again and he melts into the sheets.

“’m just…”, he tries, he really tries so hard to tell you that he wants this more than anything he’s ever wanted but that he just feels… insecure.

You kiss his stomach again. “How about we only take off the pyjama? For now? If you want to take off your underwear too later, we can still do that.”

That… that’s actually a good idea. So, he nods.

“Words, angel.”

“Yes, yes. That’s- good.”

You look so proud of him. “You’re so good, Spencer. Perfect.”

He moans embarrassingly loud. He really should be more concerned about this. About how you are basically pulling him apart, thread by thread and he just lets you, willingly. How you know which threads to pull to reduce him to a sweaty mess in what felt like 0.2 seconds.

There’s a finger dipping beneath the waistband, moving back and forth along the newly exposed skin. Your eyes watch him intently, almost predator-like. A question is in there somewhere as well and Spencer nods again.

You help him lift his hips, help him pull down the pants. Spencer is kind of busy kicking his legs a little to shake them off completely but when he looks back and down himself to where you are hyper-focused on the outline of his cock through the thin fabric he blushes.

Even more when he notices the big, dark blue splotch in front of his underwear. That’s definitely never happened before. How embarrassing.

When you look up at him again, you’re also flushed. Eyes dark, wide, voice kind of unsteady. “Spencer, Spencer, can I?”

“Please”, and then you palm him with your hand, and it feels so good it takes all of his concentration to not come on the spot. He doesn’t know if he’ll survive this until you arrive to the main thing.

It’s not the first time someone has touched him like that, but it is the first time you are doing it, and it already feels better than anything he’s ever felt before. You’re either a wizard or Spencer is just biased because he thinks everything you do is ten times better than the same thing done by someone else.

Probably the first reason.

He has his head angled back, one of his arms thrown over his eyes. If he looked at you now, he’s pretty sure, he’d come. Visual stimulation on top of physical would probably be the end of him. It’s already too much, just feeling your hand move up and down his dick in various pressures. Almost as if you are testing what he likes best, and Spencer is definitely here for it. Definitely. He’s happy to just let you experiment with him until you know all the different ways to drive him mad with pleasure with just a few moves.

Which, you apparently already figured out, judging by the way Spencer can’t form a single coherent thought anymore. It’s already, so good, so freaking good holy shit, and you’re still not touching him. Still a layer of fabric between your hand and him and he kind of- just-

“Take it off?”

You still your hand, looking up at him. You look kind of crazed, almost a little pained. It takes two deep breaths for you to process what he just asked, eyes a little unfocused before they fix Spencer to the bed with an intensity that makes him feel unfocused. “You sure, angel?”

Spencer literally can’t do anything but nod. You stay in your position for some moments longer, before you sigh out a long breath, mumbling something that suspiciously resembles you’re gonna be the death of me. Spencer misses your warmth on top of him the second you hoist yourself up. It’s kind of crazy and destitute of him. You are literally right there but he’s waited for this for so long it feels like he’s suffocating without your weight pressing him down. Which is ironic and also, insane.

Your fingers are gentle, when they move under the stretchy fabric of his underwear. Even gentler when they pull down and down and down until Spencer is entirely naked in front of you.

Oh, he feels so exposed. While he has been the recipient of a mediocre hand job before, it’s been in his trousers. This is kind of the first time someone sees him naked like that, because school locker rooms and his mother don’t count.

He doesn’t dare look at you. If there’s anything akin to disappointment, not to mention disgust on your face- Spencer probably would have to jump out the window, stat. His gaze is frozen on his cock, steadily leaking precum on his stomach (which, embarrassing). He’s abashedly trying to insert himself into your point of view, tries to imagine what you think about seeing him like this. What you might think about his dick, if it’s too short or too thin or if it looks weird, if he should’ve shaved. If his legs look strange and too gangly now, or if his stomach connects to his pubic area wrong or-

“Holy shit”, you say, and Spencer is too curious for his own damn good sometimes, because he can’t force his gaze to stay away from you.

You look at him- like before. Reverent but more, so much more. He almost feels like a deity, the way you look at him. Someone to be awed by, someone that should be worshipped. Spencer feels his already in overdrive heartbeat quicken even more, blood flushing his cheeks so much it leaks down his throat, to his chest.

Spencer would literally kill to have you look at him like this for the rest of his life.

“Holy shit, Spencer”, you repeat, eyes now meeting his, “You’re like- a literal fucking dream. I cannot believe- you’re so beautiful, how are you so beautiful everywhere?”

Spencer whimpers and he needs you to touch him kiss him fuck him anything please now or he will absolutely die from heart palpitations.

Some of his despairing thoughts must’ve come through to you, because the next thing you do is moan, which is the best thing he’s ever heard. Then, you take off your sweater. Second to go is your cropped tank top and you aren’t wearing a bra and good heavens.

Pictures could never compare. Not even Botticelli could’ve adequately committed you to canvas.

Spencer must’ve taken some brain damage from seeing you half naked. He doesn’t remember you taking off the remainder of your clothes, nor does he remember you straddling him again. But, fuck.

Spencer kind of doesn’t use the f-word that often but-

fuckfuckfuckufuckfkcufuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckcufkc-

You’re warm against him, and wet, so freaking wet, and it feels so mind-blowingly good- it’s a miracle he’s still holding on. But-

“Won’t last long”, he gets out, breathy and whiny and just so goddamn fuzzy from pleasure. The world could literally perish right now, and he wouldn’t care. He can’t care, because this is the best thing that ever happened to him and he won’t ever care about anything else ever again other than feeling you, you you you you, against him.

“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe, gasp, and fuck, the way you keep using his name. “Are you okay? Do you still want this?”

It’s ridiculous you even ask. But the warmth in his chest, the feeling of comfort and safety and ease – because everything with you is so easy, so natural - he feels with the way you look after him-

He feels your thumbs caressing his wet cheeks. You put small, sweet kisses all over his face. Take the time to brush away some of his sweat-sticky hair from his forehead. Place kisses there too. You end with a drawn out, gentle kiss to his lips.

“What do you say, sweetheart?”

There’s really only one way for him to answer that. He trusts you. Plain and simple. There’s no one else he could ever do this with.

“Yes, I want. Please.”

You kiss him again. “So good Spencer, you’re so fucking good to me. I can’t believe you are trusting me with this. You are incredible, angel.”

Spencer doesn’t know how it’s anatomically possible, but he blushes even harder. Also, feels his cock twitch against you because he apparently likes to be called good almost as much as he likes being good. For you. Only you. Jesus Christ.

“Do you have a condom?”, you ask and ah. Well.

“Suitcase”, and wow. First word with more than one syllable since you straddled him the first time. He’s being so brave right now. He deserves a medal. Proof of Being Able to Speak Polysyllabic Words While Getting Fucked (Almost).

There’s humour glistening in your eyes, when you hide a fake gasp behind your hand and say, “Oh my god, Spencer you dog. Can’t believe you planned this entire thing.”

Spencer almost chokes on his own spit. “N-no! I just- uh, like being prepared.”

You grind down a snort, drive your teeth into your lower lip. “In case you accidentally saw your coworker’s nudes and them being down to fuck you about it?"

Oh my god, you’re the most ridiculous person he’s ever met. He can’t stop himself from grinning because seeing you trying to keep your laughter at bay-

“Yes. That.”

“But what if- what if it was Rossi instead of you seeing them? How would’ve your plan worked out then, huh?”, you wheeze, shaking from literal suppressed laughter and Spencer makes a sound like a dying horse.

“Rossi? Rossi?”

“Oh my god, imagine it would’ve been Hotch. He would’ve probably fired me so hard and then called me a week later to disappointed-dad-talk me to come back but to please, refrain from bringing personal files to work in the future.”

Spencer laughs. He’s still rock-hard underneath you, but he’s laughing because that’s what you always do. Being so absurd and silly that he’s shocked to laughter.

He adores you with every fibre of his being.

“What the fuck?”, you ask, incredulous but laughing yourself, “Is my misery amusing to you?”

And Spencer feels like being a little bit of a brat. “Very.”

You flick his nose. Grumble something like I’ll show you misery and then you move your hips against his and Spencer sees stars. Let’s out an embarrassingly high whine.

Ah well. It was still worth it.

“Don’t move”, you order, when you climb down from him to retrieve a condom. Spencer watches you, lets himself look at you. All the times he’s wondered how it would be, how it would feel like, being in this kind of situation with you. He’s never in a million years thought it would feel so familiar. Like you’ve done this before, so many times that it’s just become something normal between you two. He’s actually relaxed. So turned on it feels like he’s going to burst any second, but he’s calm. He feels comfortable, so much so that it doesn’t even matter that it’s the first time he’s doing this and he’s so clueless about all of this.

But he knows, if it’s with you, he never ever has to worry about anything.

“Do you have lube as well?”, you ask, rifling through his suitcase and distracting him from his sappy thoughts.

“Hmm. No, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, angel”, you say while returning to Spencer, and the nickname kind of switches something off again in his brain. Perfect. He’s never going to be able to be normal again about that word.

“We’ll have to get some, for next time. Always feels better with it.”

Spencer hasn’t really registered more than next time next time next time-

He’s pulled out of his daze of knowing your intentions of this not only being a one-off thing, when you straddle him again, a bit lower on his legs. Spencer moans, loud and high, when you grab him by the base and god, fuck, his skin is tingling with anticipation.

With your other hand, you grab the condom and then use your teeth to open the packet, and his cock jumps in your hand. How are you so hot. How does everything you do turn him on so much, what.

He watches you take out the plastic ring as if he’s watching from above, out of his body. He watches as you position the condom over his tip and then pull it down, down and Spencer’s brain must be lagging because he feels everything with at least a two second delay and shit, god, son of a-

“You ready, baby?”

He makes a noise between a sob and a whine. He’s losing his mind. “Please please please-“

“Fuck, Spencer”, you whine, lift yourself up a bit with your legs and then you are sinking down on him, inch by agonizing inch.

It’s so good, it’s so good, you are so warm, so hot, and Spencer can’t stop making noises until your hips are flush to his and he’s inside you.

You let out a loud, drawn-out moan above him. “Fuck, fuck, Spencer. You feel so fucking good, holy shit.”

He feels like he’s one move away from coming. God, oh god, it feels so incredible.

“Can I move? Spencer, please?”, your voice is wrecked, you’re flushed down to your navel, and you’re the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Please please please please”, it’s the only word he remembers how to pronounce.

“Fuck”, you almost sob, lifting yourself almost completely off him. You lower yourself back down again, one swift move, and you both moan.

You pick up the pace a little, fucking him with still languid but purposeful thrusts. Every time his cock sinks back into you, Spencer feels bits and pieces of his sanity crumbling away. He can’t think, can’t speak, his mind so fogged up and fuzzy he’s having troubles remembering who he is. He’s so completely at your mercy he’d let you do anything to him.

That turns him on a worryingly huge amount. List, something about a list somewhere.

“Oh, god, look at you. Spencer, baby, angel. You feel so good inside of me, so good.”

He keens, grabs at your strong thighs bracketing his slim hips. Arches up into you, closerclosercloser-

“You like being good for me, right angel?”, you ask, hips slowing down to a gentle grinding that absolutely drives Spencer insane and he’s too far gone to even nod, “It suits you. Being so wrecked for me, moaning and shaking. God, fuck, you’re divine, Spencer, fuck.”

The pressure behind his cock, low in his stomach, that’s been building all evening, all week, holy shit, it’s too much. Spencer feels delirious, feels your hotness around him, feels your hands pressing his chest down into the bed. He’s going to die it feels so good.

“You going to come for me, Spencer? You gonna be good for me and come inside of me?”

Please please please please- it’s all he can think, all he can feel, because because-

You give a particularly hard thrust and-

Spencer’s coming, moaning and moaning, shaking everywhere. He’s coming and it feels so good, so fucking good. He’s never come so hard in his life before.

He might have blacked out a little. The next time he’s aware of something, it’s you cleaning him with a wet washcloth. Slow, and gentle and Jesus.

“What?”, is the first thing he manages to say, and you snicker beside him. You caress his face, hand running through his hair, down his chest. Peck his lips. You’re both still naked.

“Feeling good?”, you ask and what kind of question even is that. You just fucked the soul from his body, and you ask him-

“I almost died”, he says, tagging your name at the end with an incredulous tint to it.

You snort, setting the washcloth on the nightstand behind you. You lie down close to him, cuddling into his side. “That was the plan.”

“Killing me with sex?”

“Yep. That’s for ogling my nudes without my permission, you creep.”

He says your name again, exasperated but so fucking fond it’s a miracle you’ve never noticed his pining before. You shrug, pull a ‘what can you do face’. Spencer rolls his eyes and then, unceremoniously, flops on top of you.

“Uffff”, you press out. “You’re smothering me, penguin.”

Spencer shrugs and copies the expression you just did. You bark out a laugh.

“Ha! Didn’t know post-sex Spencer is such a cheeky little shit. I’ve created a monster.”

He can’t entirely control his face, some parts of a smile slipping into his features. He does manage to poke out his tongue at you though, before he buries his face in your neck.

Some minutes tick by, you both enjoying the other’s presence and warmth and idleness, before something in his brain-

“Wait-“, Spencer splutters, pushing himself away from you so that he can look at you. “Did you- did you even finish?”

He’s kind of horrified. He was so focused on his pleasure- he- how did he forget? He doesn’t remember you coming and oh no, he’s such an asshole, who doesn’t make sure the other person has come as well and-

“Spencer, Spencer”, you shush him, fingers trailing along his back, and he shivers, eyes rolling back.

“I made myself come right after, don’t worry. You were kind of busy in your post-orgasm, pussy-drunk coma.”

Spencer flushes. “But I wanted to…”

You laugh softly. “You can do whatever to me, next time, sweets. This was about you. We’ll go on a date as soon as we’re back home. Fucking Florida is driving me nuts.”

Oh, he suddenly feels shy. A date? You want to go on a date with him?

“Really?”, he asks, and he hates how insecure he sounds.

You send him an unbelieving look. “Uh, what about the last hour makes you think otherwise? Seriously, Spencer, we need to work on your confidence.”

“Okay”, he mutters, a little bit pout-y and you scoff, pulling him down on top of your chest again.

There, with your hands painting patterns on his back and him completely lost in your warmth and familiarity, Spencer thinks that maybe, Florida isn’t that bad.

--

Bonus

“So, then. Made any scientific discoveries last night, pretty boy?”

Spencer chokes on his coffee.

“What?”

“Nothing”, his ‘friend’ says, smirking and leaning against his table, “You just seem to have figured out that little problem that’s been keeping that pretty head of yours all messed up.”

Spencer feels himself flush. Stupid body and stupid involuntary, physiological reactions. Morgan picks up on it, of course.

“Ohhhhh, want to share with the class what those discoveries were?”

Briefly, so very briefly, Spencer thinks of his self-compiled list but- no no no no.

“Shut up, Morgan.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

tags: @sebastiansstanswhore @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @wasitforrevenge @wannabewolf @tommorecommendedfics @winterhi09 @theoraekenslover @chaewondrful @okeyhoezayy @busy-buzzing @laurakirsten0502 @redros3y @trashxqueen @kitty-kei @so-long-daisymay @hayleythecannibal @jsnsnsnszjzj @reeidsluv @kayane28 @moonysreid @desperately-seeking-serotonin @munsonslunchbox @tul1p-mimi @anuttellaa @pinkgomie @elizabethmidnight2017 @evrmorets @cyanidebitsg @bangchansdog @pinterestwhore145 @some-one-yiu-dont-kno @emma-e-a

i hope these work lmao, also let me know if you wanna be on my eternal tag list for any future Spencer fic ;)

[heegyukeluv]

complementary - the physics of your body [part 1] (sjy)

pairing: brother's best friend!jake x afab!reader

synopsis: The thermodynamics of your bodies together, the sound wave of your moans, the gravity that pulled you towards each other. You were a perfect combination, the right equilibrium, complementary.

my's note: i had to break this work into two parts due to the size of it, i'm so sorry. i'll post the part 2 in a few days! my longest (and dirtiest) work lol. i used some physics concepts but funny thing hah i know nothing about physics SO PLEASE don't think too much into it... also don't know if i'd commit this much with a fic if wasn't for ari freaking out whenever I teased to add something new so please everyone say thank you ari! <3 on a side note: this is especially for her. i love you, ari 💞

warnings: mention of trauma from parents, jay is y/n’s older brother, jake is jay's best friend and three years older than the reader, physics stuff lol, reader blushing/turning red!, drama/arguments, fluff, angst a little (with happy ending!!), pet names (babe, doll, good girl...) SMUT - so minors DO NOT interact!, unprotected sex (don’t do it!!!), oral (m.), choking, jk cum inside, gag, overstimulation (m.). lmk if i missed something!

wc: 27k.

NOT PROOFREAD.

taglist 💖: @yvnempire, @marigold-sunflowers

“I know that delaying it seemed the right thing to do at the time, but I don’t think you can run away from physics anymore, kiddo.”

As your eyes rolled, annoyed with the nickname, you smacked the pizza dough into the cold marble, kneading it to make it perfectly soft. The inner core of your stomach tightened with the reminder, bringing a bitter taste on the back of your throat that made you gulp.

“I’m literally in my second year in college and you’re still calling me that.”

Your muttered words elicited an immediate laugh from Jay, your big brother, who had his body resting on the door frame while watching you across the kitchen, panicking over the fact that you would finally have to deal with your biggest fear in school, by choosing to randomly make pizza at 4pm on a thursday.

‘It helps me to destress,’ you explained once. ‘To smack something that’s not someone’s face.’

“You’d always be my kiddo,” he answered back fondly, yet with a hint of mocking, as he moved to sit at the kitchen peninsula chair. 

Jay never really raised a question over your decisions and behaviors, applauding and supporting you every time while shooting loving eyes towards you whenever you were around doing your silly little things; just like now, as he followed your movements, a bit concerned with your deep frown and how quickly your hands worked on the dough, but nearby just in case you needed some help.

Over the years, the two of you shared a strong, healthy bond, especially within the walls of the house you grew up in.

Having wealthy parents came with its perks and its drawbacks, but for you, the drawbacks often outweighed the rest. Pursuing a dream that didn’t align with your dad’s expectations felt almost like a betrayal of your family’s values, as if you were intentionally choosing to disappoint them by turning away from the prospect of becoming a doctor, lawyer, or even a future CEO of the family company.

Some would say you were crazy for challenging yourself into a rougher path, giving away the possibilities of a stable life to pursue your real dreams. However, it didn’t sound right for you to live a life without your wills being the main worry of it, forcing yourself to fit a model instead of creating your own.

Amidst the chaos you grew up in, Jay was always there to hold you close and feel proud with your achievements, protecting and looking after you.

He would drive you to your classes every morning when he started high school and you were still finishing middle school, buy you expensive gifts, and take you to fancy restaurants for your birthday. He always had his bedroom’s door unlocked for you to come when you felt like crying in the middle of the night because of something shitty your parents screamed at you. He never minded skipping work or classes if it meant staying home to take care of you when you were sick. And he had no issue scaring away any guy who, in his eyes, never seemed to be worthy enough of you.

You couldn’t help but laugh whenever his protective tactics worked, knowing that, deep down, your brother was just a big softie, never ever daring to kill an insect and crying over romantic movies.

Moving in with him always sounded right, it was part of your big plans; finish school, get into college and share an apartment with your brother, who would be just wrapping up his own studies.

Jay offered you the reliability you needed.

He was three years older than you, now working as a CEO in one of your family’s company subsidiaries after finishing administration school, and tried his best to give you everything you wanted and needed to live a good, comfortable life at least until you achieved your goal and stability by yourself, not wanting for your to do side jobs and focus only on studying.

Jay never cared much about doing it for him, choosing to pamper you to the brim without asking for anything back, even though you unconsciously paid with your happiness.

Due to your tough relationship with your parents, you never really took it for granted, working hard to keep yourself steady enough to live alone if you need to – Jay, on the other hand, would move mountains for that never to happen.

Jay fought for his place in the world with a little less struggle than you, and he blamed himself for it to some extent.

Your parents beamed with joy when he announced he would be studying business administration; you still remember that night of celebration, with your father practically glowing with happiness – the kind of happiness you knew you would never be able to give him, since you wanted to follow the artistic path of the spectrum.

Eventually, with your decision’s outcome, Jay made it his mission to take care of both of you, because he understood that life had been unfair to you. It wasn’t your fault that you didn’t want to follow the pattern they had set out for you based only on their expectations. You didn’t deserve to hear the hurtful words your parents threw at you, expressing their disappointment and sadness over who you had become.

Jay, however, admired the incredible woman you had turned into, in awe of your strength to keep fighting for your dreams, and he worked tirelessly to ensure you were safe, sound, and happy.

Now, you were in your second year in college, studying fine arts with Jay’s unwavering financial support; he offered you a comfortable place to live, covered your tuition and fees, food, clothes, and even your materials and books without bothering to ask for anything back in return.

The only thing he wanted was for you to concentrate on your studies and be happy.

And focus you did, although you had postponed as much as you could to finish a part of the core curriculum.

After everything you had been through, you could honestly say that physics was your biggest – and most frustrating – enemy. 

You hated physics with passion, never understanding why the fuck you had to study it.

The speed of the light? Why bother? You would never use it to measure anything in your everyday life anyway. And gravity? Yeah, you knew it kept you grounded on Earth, but it sure didn’t help you keep your steps steady. You were constantly tripping over your own feet.

It just never made sense to you. It only made you want to scream in frustration, tearing at your hair with every weird equation and choice of words to explain annoying, bullshit stuff.

“I just hate physics,” you groaned, breath heavy as your anger increased; a few strands of hair fell messily across your face, making the whole situation worse. “I hate it,” you muttered, punching the dough harder. Jay laughed. “Hate it, hate it, hate it!” You repeated, each word punctuated by another angry smack against the poor pizza dough.

Jay, trying to hide his grin, shook his head. "I don’t think the pizza dough has anything to do with your physics situation," he teased.

As much as he loved you, he was your brother and would always find a way to taunt your nerves before really offering a helping hand. 

A deep sigh escaped your lips as you fluttered your eyes close and threw your head back. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, a mix of irritation and helplessness washing over you working as a perfect mix to send you to the edge of losing control, and you wondered why you got so triggered over such a trivial thing.

Then, it clicked. Of course, trauma from your parents. 

You had always pushed yourself over the limit to be better, to get the highest grades and do your absolute best in school, only to feel frustrated when you couldn’t achieve perfection.

In your parents’ eyes, you would never be good enough no matter how many perfect scores you aced on exams and assignments.

In college, despite moving out of their house and ending contact almost entirely, you still held yourself to the same impossible standards, sometimes even worse.

Confronting a subject where you knew you couldn’t be the best felt like a trigger, a reminder of everything you had been told over the years.

Useless. Incapable. Insufficient.

You automatically remembered last night, when you sat at your desk, eyes wandering over the physics textbooks sprawled open on the surface, words coming in a blur. You couldn’t pinpoint when exactly it was due to your incapacity to understand them or to your tears that flowed easily after some minutes sitting in trance.

The weight was almost suffocating and you called it a day when your hands started to tremble and your body ached for rest, feeling extra tired just by… staring.

You rested your hips on the cold marble, blinking your eyelids open to glance at your brother. He had now a softened expression, calm and fond, hands comfortably placed on the countertop.

“I think I’m just oversensitive,” you said, voice barely above a whisper as your hands now played with the dough absentmindedly, eyes slowly lowering to watch how your fingers disappeared into the soft white mixture. “Y’know, our parents they…” You trailed off, not really wanting to verbalize your thoughts.

“Yeah,” Jay nodded, sighing. The knot in his heart tightened seeing you so pouty, understanding from how deep and particular your frustration came. “Listen, I know you hate it, but you have to at least do the minimum to pass. You don’t have to ace it all.” Jay spoke while standing up to wrap around the counter and stand by your side, his body resting on the counter as well. 

You leaned into the touch when he caressed your hair, your whole body shifting to a less tense figure.

Jay tilted his head forward enough to search for your sad, puppy eyes. Suddenly, an insight crossed his mind and his lips curved into a smile.

“I have a friend,” he said and you finally glanced at him. The unexpected mention of his friend and how he sounded like having a great idea sparking your curiosity. “I think he’d love to help you.”

“So, I invited the guys over,” Jay said while placing some beers on the minifridge near the entrance of your shared living room. You were standing up awkwardly in the middle of the room, eyes following Jay’s excited figure as he organized the house to welcome his friends. “And while me, Heeseung and Sunghoon do something fun, you and Jake can do the boring stuff.”

Jay had a plan, a solid one. And in any other circumstance you wouldn’t be so nervous about it. 

It was just another regular Friday. It was also routine for you to go out with your friends to some bar, club, or even have a girls' night at someone's house, while Jay would head to the house his friends shared.

Jay always used the excuse that he would rather keep the house free for you or not bother you, especially on those nights when you would choose to stay home to relax or study, though part of you suspected that sometimes he was actually heading to a girl's house and just didn’t want to tell you.

Either way, today felt different.

It all started with him inviting the guys over to his place instead of the other way around, followed by a surprisingly sweet request for you to stay in and not go anywhere.

Soon after, he revealed his plan: he, Sunghoon, and Heeseung would play video games in the living room while you and Jake studied physics in some other corner of the house. He promised they would keep the noise down so as not to disturb you.

As said before, in any other situation you wouldn’t be reacting the way you were; hands sweating, heart pumping loudly in your eardrums, head spinning. But in other situations there was no Jake in the equation.

Sim fucking Jaeyun, also known as Jake, was one of Jay’s closest friends, acting as much as siblings as you two.

They met in school and hadn't left each other’s side ever since, sharing hundreds of stories together, with a bunch of adventures and countless funny moments. You closely watched them grow up and accomplish things side by side, constantly attending Jake's birthday parties and other of his family’s events, even participating vividly on some of the “boy’s night” in your house where you crushed them in the video games they choose to play, always eliciting surprised sounds from Jake followed by compliments excitedly said, that, at some point, started to make you feel things.

When Jay moved out to start college, you were left alone at the house that aimed to destroy your dreams and, indirectly, you, having to deal with a lot on your own, constantly hearing the harsh words from your parents and having to lower your head without the courage to fight back, because Jay wasn’t there to defend you anymore.

Jay’s routine became heavy, as he landed an internship early during his second year that consumed most of his time, barely having minutes to talk to you over the phone, moments where you opted to listen to his news and college life instead of filling him with your teenager suffering bullshit. 

On the other hand, Jake, who was also in college, had way more free time. Whenever he went back to visit his own parents, he would set a time to take you out on weekends, helping you clear your head by treating you with some ice cream and any other snacks you wanted while listening to your concerns.

You grew really close to Jake during your high school years, noticing the genuine attention he gave you. Jake would always be close to you as a protective older brother, someone who looked out for you and took good care of you, a very trustworthy and sincere friend.

And yet, you always, always felt guilty for letting your feelings for him go beyond “just friends.”

Jake was the same age as Jay – three years older than you, three years more experienced, three years more everything. He was, now, a man. A very attractive, hot, appealing man. 

You had the chance to watch Jake grow up right before your eyes, transforming from a good-looking teenager into a charming young man. He had an irresistible smile, warm brown eyes that radiated kindness and sweetness, and a genuine aura that permeated his personality – always wanting to help others in the most caring way possible.

He was friendly, easygoing, sociable, and intelligent.

And when you saw him blossom, it was impossible not to feel completely captivated.

You vividly remember the time your brother posted a photo with his friends at the beach, and there was Jake, shirtless, showing off his toned, slightly sun-kissed body to the world. At that time you were already in your first year of college, while he was finishing up his own studies deep into the engineer life he chose to live. 

Your relationship had cooled off a bit, as his academic demands increased and his visits became less frequent, until you eventually moved in with your brother. You assumed you would see Jake more often, but, for reasons unknown, Jay rarely invited his friends over to visit and Jake never really reached out for you.

It became awkward.

You attended parties with your brother and met Sunghoon and Heeseung, Jay’s college friends, that created a unique bond despite having known each other for less time. The four of them became as close as family, and Jay made sure his friends knew you in order to keep you safe when he wasn’t around, constantly allowing them to pick you up on your way back home due to some unexpected schedule that kept him from doing it himself, for instance.

Jake, however, became distant. He would always have excuses not to do any of that and whenever you saw him at parties, he would at most give you a forced smile and a slight, polite nod, quickly diverting his path and avoiding you for the rest of the night.

It was painful in a way, especially since now that you were grown you realized your chances with him might actually be within reach. 

As a teenager, your crush was as subtle as possible, aware that neither Jake nor Jay would ever approve of any kind of relationship between the two of you, so you never truly considered anything happening.

But now you had become a woman. And a relatively attractive one, if you did say so yourself. So, just as physics had never made sense to you, Jake’s reaction to your presence had become just as baffling, until eventually you buried your feelings completely and moved on.

At least, that’s what you thought – until Jay came up with this wild idea of having Jake as your physics tutor.

You gulped down your nervousness for the probably ninetieth time, now intensified by the bell ringing. Jay was in the bathroom and shouted for you to open the front door, saying it was the guys that had arrived.

As you made your way towards the entrance, your legs felt wobbly and your heart was racing fast as you clutched the door’s knob. You took a deep breath, silently counting to ten before finally turning the handle.

“Y/N!” Heeseung was the first to greet you with his usual bright smile, wrapping you immediately with his long arms in a tight hug, not minding that he carried some bags with his hands or that they clashed against your back. His blonde hair was perfectly parted, giving a very enticing aura to his already charming presence. 

You smiled in response, warmed by his sweet embrace. By his side stood Sunghoon, his dark hair and thick brows framing his pale face perfectly. His cheeks rounded up as he gave you a shy, endearing smile before pulling you into his own hug.

“Missed you,” he muttered softly against your hair and you chuckled, squeezing him just a bit tighter before stepping back.

“You guys never come to see me, so I don’t know who’s really missing who here,” you shot back with a teasing grin, pretending to pout as you moved away from Sunghoon, almost forgetting about the third presence standing behind them in the hallway. 

After hearing their laughs and letting them in, your eyes flickered to the man awkwardly waiting for the interaction between the three of you to settle. Your breath hitched when your gaze met his, and you had to dig self control from the depths of your mind not to overreact. 

Jake was as handsome as ever.

He was casually dressed in a leather jacket over a white shirt and distressed jeans that seemed to fit him almost too perfectly. Effortlessly good, rough and soft just like your heart enjoyed, which was beating loudly in your ribcage, enough for you to fear to be heard even with the noises from the other two who had just entered your house and were greeting Jay. 

“Hey,” Jake managed to say without giving you a proper look, eyes avoiding your figure at all costs. 

“Hey,” you replied with a forced small smile, stepping back to give him space to pass through, even though there was more than enough. You felt like it would be like that the whole night: awkward and distant. And it only increased your anxiety.

As you closed the door, feet glued on the ground, you wondered if it would be harder to understand anything physics related or to deal with Jake’s presence. The only coherent answer you found was that either would be a pain in the ass, and you would be the one getting fucked at the end. Emotionally and academically. 

Watching them settling into your apartment, comfortably lounging on your couch while laughing and drinking the beer Jay served, you couldn’t help but think when exactly the whole tutoring thing would start. You waited for someone to bring it up, because although it seemed like a good idea, your inner self had doubts about your own reaction when being in a place alone with Jake and had no plans to pursue or engage it.

The couch’s armrest had never felt so awkwardly uncomfortable as you sat there, listening to the endless, nonchalant chatter around you. One of your arms rested on the back of the couch, propping up your head as your eyes shifted between Jake and the others. Whenever he caught you staring, you quickly averted your gaze, pretending to act like you weren’t a bundle of nerves just being in the same room with him.

Heeseung was the one near you, casually using your legs as a makeshift support to his own arm, and Jay sat beside him, completely indifferent to Heeseung's touchy nature – it became routine, to some extent.

Sunghoon and Jake took place on the smaller couch opposite to you, Jake smiling along to the conversation while adding his own points to the whatever story they were telling and Sunghoon laughter filling the room. 

You always found it amusing how Sunghoon seemed to be the reserved one, but when he was with his friends he was definitely the loudest.

Heeseung and you grew closer than you expected, often being the one giving you rides home, even raising some suspicions among your friends about being your boyfriend. As nice, gentle and charming he was, you never saw yourself having feelings for or even dating him.

Not when Jake was on the equation.

What?

“But hey, Jake,” Heeseung suddenly cut the topic and gave a quick squeeze on your thigh. “Weren’t you supposed to be helping Y/N with her studies?”

A cold chill immediately filled your belly and you froze in place, the smile lingering on your lips by listening to their funny chatter fading slowly as you lifted your gaze to Jake. Heeseung was innocently asking, but it caused your stomach to flip a whole 360, and the room was now dividing looks between you two.

You watched as Jake’s expression faltered for just a moment, then quickly returned to his usual easy going demeanor. Before he said anything in response, Jay took the front of it.

“Oh, that’s right,” Jay said, leaning back into the couch with a teasing grin. “I asked you to help my sister, not come here to drink my beer and lounge on my expensive couch.”

You wanted to sink into the floor, or at least disappear. Jake shifted uncomfortably, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips though you could clearly tell he was faking it. Jay’s obliviousness only made it worse, as if he couldn’t even sense the awkwardness between you and Jake.

There was no blame on him, though, especially because no one expected any type of tension between any of you. 

You shot a quick glance at Jake again, who was avoiding your gaze once more, and all of a sudden the room felt too small, too crowded, as if the space around you was closing in, sinking you deep into a pool of anxiety. 

“You don’t have to bother, really,” your voice filled the room, words waving weirdly in the air. You let out a mild chuckle, pushing yourself from your seating to stand up. “I’ll go to my room, so you guys can hang–”

“Hey, no way,” Jay interrupted your attempt of running away, frowning and lifting his beer bottle to point it at you, yet blind to the real atmosphere unfolding. “Don’t try to escape from physics, kiddo.”

Heeseung’s small snort followed Jay's words, giving you teasing glinted eyes before remarking, his lips against his beer bottle. “Yeah, Y/N. You’ve been avoiding it for God’s know how long.” 

Somehow Heeseung’s choice of words seemed to light up a strange feeling in your chest, as if he was reading beyond reality, slightly aware of the you and Jake situation – to begin with, there was no you and Jake situation. No way he would say that about your relationship with physics alone. Anyway, your cheeks warmed instantly, your eyes wavering to any other place rather than the rest of the people sharing that abruptly small space with you.

“I think the kitchen is far enough for you both,” Sunghoon quickly added with a relaxed nod, sipping on his beer. “We promise not to be loud, yeah?” He smirked, completely aware he was the loudest in the house so far. 

You chuckled, switching your weight on your foot. “I can’t believe it when you’re the one saying it,” you teased back, eliciting an immediate laugh from Sunghoon. “But yeah, the kitchen seems to be an okay place. Besides, there’s food and I can totally escape from physics or whatever with food,” you shot Jay a playful grin, quirking an eyebrow, challenging. 

“Don’t you dare.” Jay said firmly, but not really. You knew he was nothing but a worried brother about your mental health and how your academic performance affected it, wishing to give you only the best.

Unfortunately, the best in his vision wasn’t necessarily the best you needed at that moment. 

Jake finally stood up, fixing his clothes as he did so, running his fingers through his thick hair and glancing at you; your eyes tracked his every movement, the sinking feeling in your stomach tightening with the view. He was so damn hot. 

“The kitchen it is, then.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump of nervousness in your throat that came back in a strike, after reminding you would be spending quite a long time alone with Jake, having nowhere to run nor anything to calm down your fluttering heart.

Your legs betrayed you, feeling weak under the pressure of the situation. Still, you forced yourself to move, muttering a quiet “I’ll go grab my books,” before rushing off towards your room.

As you came back, hands shaking and mouth dry, you headed straight to the kitchen wishing to have some more time alone to organize your thoughts, gather yourself and regain your senses before calling Jake. Unexpectedly, he was already there, sitting stiffly on the chair he chose while his slender fingers rapidly danced on his phone screen, unaware of your presence.

Your entire body froze, your plan going down the drain right away. You bit your lower lip, a soft, involuntary action that seemed to be the only thing holding you together in that moment. You had to keep moving forward. You had to. But you couldn’t. Not when Jake was just… there.

A glimpse of a smirk curved the corner of his oh, so plush, distracting lips, glistening under the kitchen’s light while his attention was all on his phone, clearly chatting with someone. Girlfriend? The thought crossed your mind briefly; a man like Jake was probably taken already, and, to be honest, a small part of you almost hoped for it to be true, so you could stop torturing yourself over your silly feelings for him and really move on.

But Jake didn’t ease your side, cheeky tongue every so often playing with the corner of his mouth, teeth pressing his plump bottom lip, and from where you stood you could see his pretty eyelashes fluttering with each blink, oblivious to the effect he was causing on you, oblivious to the storm happening inside your chest.

With a loud and sudden laugh his body jolted, phone slipping from his hands and clattering onto the table as he threw his head back, one of his hands messily running through his silk brown strands out of habit.

Only then he noticed you, standing up in the kitchen’s door, hugging your books, clearly staring. 

“Holy fuck, Y/N!” He blurted out, a hand flying to his chest as if to steady himself, his puppy eyes widened to you, shoulders clearly tensed. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“I–I’m sorry,” you stuttered, stepping further into the room and trying to sound casual, as if you weren’t watching him from the past seconds with your heart almost ripping your ribcage open. “Didn’t mean to.”

Jake took a second to regain his composure and his eyes involuntarily lingered on your figure longer than he wanted to, nearly shamelessly tracing the lines of your body; the soft curve of your bare shoulders, how your spaghetti strap top appealed to evidentiate your collarbone and tightened just enough on your chest. Then he paid attention to your pretty fingers clutching the edges of your notebook and books, lowering to the tiny bit of exposed skin of your belly, then your beautiful hips and covered legs. 

You had chosen a comfortable outfit, not giving a thought about appearance at all – after all, not only the boys had seen you way worse, but the night’s plans gravitated towards studying and studying only.

Even so, Jake had to hold himself back. There was something about the way your clothes hugged your form that had him silently disorientated, heart faltering some beats and breath hardly passing through his airways, his own body heating just by visualizing you.

He cleared his throat, glancing down to fidget with his phone as a way to ground himself, breaking the tension settled thickly between you two. The small sound brought you out of the daze you got yourself into without realizing it.

“So…” Jake finally said, his voice a bit unsteady and lower than you expected. “Where do you want to start?”

His sweet eyes lifted to meet yours again, and his usual easy smile had a hint of something more cautious, more careful, as he focused on your adorable wide-eyed expression. He noticed your cheeks with a faint blush and couldn’t hold back a little grin when you diverted your eyes shyly. 

You slid into the seat across him, sprawling your materials over the table with a quiet sigh, your eyes anxiously avoiding Jake’s.

“I have no idea.” You admitted, letting out a nervous chuckle, struggling to soothe your nerves. “The basics?” You added unsurely and Jake was fast to nod tenderly.

Though he was dealing with a lot in his mind, he would always have a soft spot for you. 

“Basics, yeah. Sounds great.” He agreed with a small smile, carefully reaching out your notebook and opening to scan your notes. 

A wave of embarrassment flushed over you as you remembered the stupid things you wrote during your classes, fighting your demons trying to understand at least the bare minimum, scribbles that hardly made sense, and that now probably got you looking extra dumb and childish under Jake’s judgment.

You heard him humming before grabbing one of your books, his fingers brushing yours quietly and quickly as he did so. You ignored the burst of electricity induced by that simple touch, watching how his slender fingers casually flipped the pages until he reached the one he was searching for.

“You know, I can explain this easily to you,” Jake began to talk, his voice dropping to an unexpected gentle teacher-like tone as he leaned over the table a little, enough to get closer to you, enough to have your stomach twisting and flipping to every direction possible with the warmth his body radiated. “Just don’t mind me if I get too technical sometimes.”

“No problem,” you managed to say, grateful your voice was steady enough for you not to sound stupid or squealed, your eyes glued to your handwriting, tracing the lines of each word as a way of desperately dodging the possibility of meeting Jake’s gaze.

Even the faintest peek of his furrowed brow when he was focused was enough to make you melt, and he had no idea of how attractive he looked when he was all serious and devoted explaining his nerd things.

“Promise me you’ll tell me if you stop following me, alright?” He added, a smile tugging at his lips that you only saw by the corner of your eyes. 

You nodded quickly, swallowing hard; the scent of his cologne was flooding your senses, drawing you in closer, making it harder to think straight.

“Okay,” you replied, quiet and breathlessly.

For the following few minutes Jake explained the concepts slowly, his voice calm and steady as he walked you through the basics, but your head kept drifting your attention away, deeply engaged with the way his gorgeous fingers traced the lines of your textbook. The following thoughts were too dirty to even continue with.

Jake had that familiar Australian accent that naturally made you weak, and now, combined with the way he had softened his tone, speaking so close to your face, it was enough to drive you completely insane. You couldn’t focus on anything but how his warm breath traveled gently, brushing against the sensitive skin of your cheeks, increasing your fluster.

Your heart raced. It raced far too quickly.

The realization of how your body was reacting brought back memories of the times Jake had caused similar sensations in the past, back when he treated you with that older-brother tenderness and you would instantly overreact, shivering at his subtle touches, stuttering whenever his gaze landed on you with his usual captivating smile.

It was undeniable that something had shifted at some point; once there was the slight possibility of getting something more from him, no more holding “Jay's little sister's” place. You couldn’t quite grasp what happened or understand what had triggered such a sudden change, especially since you couldn’t recall having done anything wrong.

Your mind kept drifting away from the materials in front of you. Physics was never your thing, and in that very moment no amount of effort could make it so.

Not when Jake was all over you; in your head, by your side, overwhelming your senses.

Every so often his gaze flicked back to you, expecting to see your attentive, engaged expression, and consequently catching the way you chewed on your lower lip or absentmindedly twirled a pen between your fingers with furrowed brows. 

You had tied your hair in a bun as some strands began to fall over your face, working as a distraction – you were already surrounded with an overwhelming distraction, there was no need for more. That simple act had Jake stuttering, fumbling amidst his words and losing track of his thoughts as the hairstyle gave him the privilege to see your bare, beautiful and kissable neck. 

His hands tingled, urging to touch you there. Would you like to be choked?

Ok, that definitely wasn’t physics. 

Jake fell silent, swallowing hard as you leaned forward to see the drawing he was just explaining, thinking the delay was intentional. When no words came from his mouth and the air suddenly grew thicker, your eyes followed the trail from his fingers to his veiny hands, from his covered torso to his face, hovering longer on how clenched his sharp jaw was and how his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously.

You shot a questioning look, blinking innocently with brows raised just slightly. 

Jake wavered under your curious, yet somehow intense gaze, averting it immediately in order to regain his conscious back. Your lips had pursed into a small pout that did nothing to help his way out of his messy head.

Everything he could think about was how bad he wanted to kiss you.

“Something’s wrong?” Your velvety voice enveloped the room, a naive question with a supposedly simple answer that got caught in Jake’s throat.

Jake never saw you as a potential partner or lover, let alone as an object of his desire. 

You were Jay’s little sister that he cared for as if his own. He saw you grow up, he watched you achieving your goals and got inspired by your strength to overcome the toxic place you had to call a house. Jake cherished your relationship with Jay, grateful for both of you having each other, and that was pretty much you to him.

Even in those times when he treated you to ice cream and snacks during his college breaks, when he visited his parents back home, he kept you in a certain specific spot in his life – something close to family.

He loved to tease you, exactly like a mischievous older brother, laughing when you tripped, when your mouth was stained with chocolate, or when you fumbled through words while talking about your school crush.

Jake had always seen you as a younger sister he needed to look out for.

Until you grew up.

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when the switch happened, when he stopped seeing you as a little girl he had to tease and began noticing you as a ridiculously attractive woman, but seeing you in person after two years definitely played a role in that.

Jake had been your closest company through your first two years of high school, filling the role of an older brother, a place Jay couldn’t quite manage to fill because of his own study and work demands, unwillingly. 

During your last year of high school you stopped seeing Jake, as he had gotten caught up in the same cycle as your brother: studying and working. And you completely understood, knowing that soon enough you would be in a similar place.

Then you graduated and started your own college journey, and Jake, deep into his own responsibilities, went another year without seeing you.

It was at the beginning of your sophomore year in college that you two crossed paths again – at a party when Jay finally agreed to take you with him, after much persistence on your part.

Jake froze.

Jake quite literally forgot how to breathe, forgot how to blink, how to properly work as a human the moment his eyes landed on you, stunning in a short, wine-colored dress, casually holding a drink in your hand.

Jake didn’t remember your body looking anything like that, used to seeing you in casual, loose clothing rather than that fitted, short dress that framed your thighs so perfectly, drawing his hungry gaze to stare as a starved man, with a subtle neckline that hinted at the curve of your chest.

Hot.

That was all he could think. Until he realized it was you.

He remembered it vividly: watching you from behind as you danced, immediately struck by how attractive that random woman seemed to be. But as his gaze traveled upward and found your face, he froze, utterly overwhelmed with shock and panic. Especially when you noticed him looking, shooting a cute, surprised smile and a little wave, almost as if you were going to come over.

To say he ran away from there was close to an euphemism, rushing over the bathroom within a lame excuse thrown at his friends before heading back home after using the bar’s back door as his way out.

The walk home was painful. Jake’s head was filled with nasty thoughts that made him completely unable to disable it from happening, swirling around in a dirty carousel. 

Jake felt like a naughty, filthy pervert. You were Jay’s little sister. The one he played innocently with, hung out countless times without the slightest thought of having you as a true woman; and if the thought ever crossed his mind, he would feel disgusted, because it made no sense and was wrong.

So, the only way to overcome your effect on him was to ignore you at every possible opportunity, not expecting you to care that much about it.

It was a stupid choice, an asshole one even. You used to be friends and now he would rather choose to be eaten by a bear than see you up close and act normal.

Jay’s sudden plan of asking for his help was the start of his downfall for you, and now he was dealing with the consequences of his previous decisions. 

“Jakey?”

The nickname. The fucking nickname you last called him years ago, now sounding even mellow and sweeter, yet as sultry as ever. Jake wondered how would it be to have you underneath him, moaning his name as if your life depended on it with his dick buried deep into your cunt.

“Y–Yeah?” 

Jake immediately damned himself for the stutter, afraid of being too obvious with his nervous reaction. He made the mistake of looking at you, trying to act as normal as possible, and somehow his brain managed to picture your oh, so cute eyes fluttering close as he pleasured you.

His face heated instantly, as if fire was being spread all over his skin. His body was hot as hell, the loosen pants now not so comfortable as before, tightening on his crotch area.

“What happened?”

You nonchalantly touched his covered forearm as you asked, concern written all over your face as you struggled to understand what was happening. Jake's abrupt reaction of moving away from your soft hands startled you a little, your head cocking to the side as you frowned, reading Jake’s widened and panicked eyes.

Unaware of the real deal, oblivious to the torrent of emotions and feelings dancing inside Jake’s head and chest, you started to feel really annoyed.

Was Jake slipping back into that strange, sudden habit of ignoring you, like he had been since you had started crossing paths again?

There was no plausible explanation for his reaction. The two of you used to go out together all the time, comfortable touches being a natural part of your relationship – especially since Jake was almost ridiculously clingy with his close friends. 

When the whole ‘avoiding you’ situation first started you were very confused and questioned what you did wrong. Then you grew mad and eventually got over it since you had no contact at all with Jake throughout the following months, nearly forgetting his existence. 

But now you had to face it all again, confronting the feelings you once went through; a familiar bitter blend of anger and hurt. It stung like reopening a wound you thought it healed. Exposed, sensitive, vulnerable, bringing back memories you hoped to erase.

“Nothing happen–”

“Why did you stop talking to me?”

Your interruption was as abrupt as Jake’s reaction to your close presence earlier. He noticed the spark of rage flashing your two orbs suddenly, causing him to blink, caught off guard, eyes widening even bigger if it was possible, trying to understand what you just had hit him with.

“Huh?”

You let out a frustrated huff before repeating yourself even more mad, your hands traveling to your hair fix some random strands as an anxious fidgeting habit to ground you. 

“You started to ignore and avoid me. Did I do something wrong? Did I piss you off?”

Jake was taken aback with your outburst of questions, lips parted, words caught somewhere down his throat. There was something close to a knot pressing the back of his tongue that made it hard to speak steadily.

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean, Jake.” You sighed, expression softening just slightly, studying his face. “We used to hang out. We were friends, even.”

Jake exhaled, biting his lip as a way to hold back his words. If he let it all out, he would scare you so fucking bad. 

“Yes, when you were younger.”

“What changed?”

You saw how his shoulders tensed, his neck moving as he swallowed hard, demonstrating to feel flustered under your inquisitive gaze. His eyes dropped to his lap, where one of his hands rested comfortably. He dug the depths of his thoughts to keep it as safe and subtle as possible, not wanting to pour it all on you.

“I... I always saw you as a little sister. That’s how I looked at you, like family.”

You nodded along, following his soft-spoken speech. You didn't understand what exactly he was aiming for with it so far, so you let him continue, hoping it would bring a closure for your relationship to blossom again.

“But then–” He hesitated, eyes flickering up to you and then drifting away. His voice dropped an octave as he added. “I got overwhelmed with my last year in college and eventually with my work. So I didn't have time to see you often. Life just got… Busy.”

Deep down he knew you wouldn’t buy his lame explanation. However, didn’t stop him from holding tightly the small string of hope you would let it pass. 

At the same time, he had a tingling feeling telling him to blurt out everything he went through when you were the subject. How hard it was to act normal when Jay talked about you, to not get hard seeing your cute instagram pictures, not picture himself getting lost in the middle of your plush thighs. 

God, you worked him up too easily.

“I get that part, I really do,” you replied, boldly and kind of unconsciously placing your hand on top of Jake's. This time he didn’t flinch, taking in your soft, innocent touch. Still, his breath hitched. “But when I moved here, you started avidly avoiding me,” you continued, voice dropping to something near a whisper as your fingers traced delicate patterns on the back of his hand. “You’d ignore me at parties, never stopping by to visit. I just didn’t understand.”

Jake shifted uncomfortably on his seat, embarrassed of your accurate analysis.

“The visiting part is Jay's fault. He was the one who suggested for him to go to our house instead of us three coming over here. Just… Making things easier, I guess.”

“That makes sense,” you murmured, pulling your hand away as you realized the weight of the intimacy, afraid of being too weird. “But the avoiding and ignoring me… It doesn't make any.”

Jake closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep sigh. There were no more ways to run away from the topic; his weak excuses had long been overrun by the intensity of your pressing curiosity. You were ready to dig deep and uncover the truth at any cost. Jake knew you well enough to expect this – your persistence, your determination, your stubbornness were traits he had always admired in you and your brother.

“I’m sorry.”

“If you can explain why you’re sorry, maybe I’ll accept it,” you challenged, arching a brow and immediately grabbing his attention. You knew Jake’s competitive side and loved to play with it as a coaxing manner to get what you wanted.

You watched his eyes wavering just enough to make you wonder if your tactic would work that time. But then, he chuckled dryly, blinking away from your awaiting expression.

“I’m sorry for acting like that, Y/N.” He started. “I– I panicked,” his voice was subtle as a feather. If you weren’t alone and far from the noise happening in your living room, you doubt you would be able to hear it clearly. 

“Panicked?” you echoed, confusion knitting your brow, your head tilting just slightly. “Over what?”

Jake’s face turned a deeper shade of red, especially on his cheeks and on the top of his ears. You got even more puzzled, especially after he answered with just a single word.

“You.”

You. 

It hung in the heavy air as thick as a volcano’s smoke, deepening your confusion, your heart starting to beat faster and your hands getting sweaty. 

“Me? What do you mean?”

You didn't expect your voice to sound so quiet as you spoke, but you got somehow caught by surprise with how things turned out. 

So you really did something wrong?

“You… grew up, Y/N. You’re–” He struggled to find the right words, shifting uncomfortably once more, his eyes traveling between the floor, the table and his lap, never daring to look into your eyes. “I’m sorry, but you’re beautiful. And… more than that. You’re… You’re hot.”

An awkward and tense silence filled the room right after Jake’s stained voice trailed off at the end of his sentence, as if he wished he could swallow them back together with the knot on his throat.

Now that he had just verbalized the main reason for his behavior towards you, he was feeling extremely disgusting and pathetic. He could feel the weight of his own shame pressing down, and an almost nauseating guilt pushing at him; a reminder he was wrong for allowing you to go out from the safe and special spot as a “little sister” in his heart, to occupy a darker and more lustful one.

It wasn’t your fault, though. Jake would never in his life blame you for a mistake he had authorized to happen. This wasn’t just a fleeting, harmless slip; he had seen you, had filthy thoughts before fully realizing it was you. And afterwards he did nothing much to stop those thoughts from creeping back in, the only option being avoiding you instead of facing it as a true man.

He swallowed hard once more – becoming a natural habit at that point – and forced himself to look up for a brief moment. All he saw was your stunned expression, mouth slightly agape and eyes apparently trying to search for some kind of joke, to which it only fueled the growing dread inside him.

Jake’s mind was a spiral. The fragile line he had been teetering about you began to fall apart as he realized that you would probably cut him off completely, screaming at him the words he deserved to hear. 

A creepy, weird and disgusting man. 

His pulse quickened, panic creeping in with every second that you didn’t speak, an urge to break the silence immediately, as if maintaining his being in it would drive him completely insane. With that in mind, he opened his mouth to babble.

“I– I don’t expect you to understand. God, I wouldn’t even blame you if you decide to never speak to me again. I’m sure– I’m sure we can arrange an excuse to Jay about your study, or even tell the truth– I’m–” He cut himself briefly to look away from you, who still had your same expression. His hands were busy gesturing anxiously. “I know I crossed a very dangerous line. It’s so fucking wrong and– And I’ve tried to come up with anything to push it away, even ignore it. But then, there’s you.”

Jake’s voice faltered, as though his world was colliding, ending, as though he was on the verge of losing his mind somehow. 

He was.

“There’s always you, looking like some kind of goddess that makes me go insane.”

The realization of what you just heard made your pulse quicken. Jake’s babbling worked perfectly to ground you and, ironically enough, to send you back to heaven, as you felt like dreaming after hearing his first sayings. 

Over the years you thought about having Jake in other ways rather than just a friend or an older brother, but never quite grasping to it completely due to the small, yet existing age gap and the different stages of life drifting you apart. 

To acknowledge how Jake really felt towards you was similar to living in a vivid fever dream, it got you clenching your thighs, panties pathetically dampening just enough to make you shy, as if he would become aware of your body reacting to his words.

You opened your mouth to respond, to try to find any words that could make sense in between the mess of emotions happening inside you; relief, desire, passion. But before you could even begin, a familiar voice cut through the tension, as sharp as a knife, startling both of you as if you had been caught red-handed.

“How's study going?”

After Jay broke into your studying session with Jake and consequently interrupted the development of your newfound possibility of relationship with the said guy, you couldn’t help but dive into a sea of frustration. 

Jake immediately panicked and ran away, muttering a lame excuse that he had things to take care of and he would catch up with you later, leaving you sitting there, bewildered, confused and angry – with him and with you brother, who even though had no fault, shattered your chances to voice out your side of the story and maybe, just maybe, get Jake to your bedroom.

Jay didn’t flinch a little, aware of how Jake could be impulsive and random with his spontaneous persona and let him go, smiling softly to you after gently stroking your hair and ask if you wanted to relax with him and the remaining guys, thinking you could use some of it after the long minutes you spent studying. 

You were quick to dismiss the offer, seizing the opportunity to excuse yourself to your room, pretending to be really tired and to need some time alone after reading so much physics hard stuff.

However, as you crashed into your bed and stuffed your head into the soft pillow, your body didn’t feel like soothing any time soon, your brain working overtime to remark each and every word uttered by Jake, his low voice as clear as crystal water as it repeated restlessly. 

You’re hot. A goddess. Makes me go insane. 

That night, you met a brand new and nameless sensation. It was close to frustration but layered with the tempting awareness of something you could nearly touch, yet not claim.

Jake ran away, as he always did, without even giving you the proper chance to tell him that, God, you felt the same – perhaps even worse.

His mere act of voicing those genuine, sultry words had already done enough to ruin your self-control – and panties, taking away the opportunity to express just how incredibly irresistible he looked, how you longed to devour every centimeter of his slightly sun-kissed skin, to taste his plush lips, to make him wholly yours.

You asked for Jake's number to Jay the next day, under the pretext of needing to get some extra materials and maybe schedule your following meetings, hoping for it to be reasonable enough. And though Jay willingly accepted and supported your idea, Jake partially ignored you, at most answering your texts with “ok” and “sure”, never leaving an opening for you to draw him into a longer conversation.

So when Jay served you a stack of pancakes on Monday, you expected everything to happen but what really unfolded. 

“I scheduled another study session with Jake today. That cool with you?”

The forkful bringing you a piece of your food froze midair, the assimilation of what Jay’s just said made your movements halt shamefully instantly as you raised your eyes only enough to encounter Jay’s relaxed face.

“Mhm?”

“Jake’s coming over after work today,” Jay repeated casually, munching his food. “I think he gets off around four, so he’ll be here when you’re back from your classes.”

Ok, you definitely – and unfortunately – had heard him right. A spark of excitement and an urge to get yourself dressed extra prettily for college rushed over your body as you straightened your posture on your chair, using of a simple nod to silent agree with the deal.

You feared your words would get stuck on your throat.

“Oh, and I’ll be working from home today, so you won’t be alone with him.”

All the efforts were made for you not to choke on your food, but the honey sauce dripping straight down your throat elicited a quiet, small cough from you. You gulped down whatever was on your way to voice out anything, and all you managed was to mutter a confused “Huh?”

Jay smirked at your reaction, but not really reading into it.

“You know, just in case,” he shrugged nonchalantly and your brow furrowed, stomach twisting with nervousness.

“Just in case of what, exactly?”

You damned yourself for using such a fearful tone, like a frightened kid that had hidden a secret from their parents, leaving gaps for an overinterpretation that Jay could try doing if he was devoted to completely understanding the strange way you were acting.

You deeply wondered if he knew about whatever happened with you and Jake that Friday, or worse, if he eavesdropped on Jake's confession about how he felt about you.

It wasn’t like Jay would be fine with Jake coming over if he did in fact know or heard the conversation. And knowing your brother, he would rather have a civilized and polite conversation with you instead of playing around. 

“I don’t know, Y/N,” Jay started, a glint of mischief twinkling in his eyes. “You hate physics and I called Jake to come teach physics to you. The other day, you were kneading that pizza dough like it owed you money. Don’t know what you’d do to someone who’s a walking physics encyclopedia.”

Your pulse quickened, but your shoulders loosened. Gladly, Jay had already moved on the subject, unbothered, yapping about how he preferred doing his job from home and how annoying it was to deal with paperwork in person. All you could do was to nod along, anxiously counting the minutes.

With almost absolute certainty, none of your classes that day could hold your attention. And so it was. The professors' words seemed like random sound waves, failing to form coherent sentences for you, and you had to fight the constant urge to get up from your chair and leave, even though you knew Jake wouldn't be there yet.

Mondays were exhausting. You had to attend multiple classes, and especially that day there were practical lectures that kept you stuck on campus later than usual. By the end of the day, despite the exhaustion, you were still buzzing with anticipation.

You practically ran back to the apartment you shared with your brother, trying not to make too much effort and break a sweat – after all, you wouldn't have time for a shower or to get dressed properly before seeing Jake.

You felt like a teenager nervously preparing to meet her crush in the hallways between classes; your hands were trembling, your whole body thrilling with excitement, as if each part of you was electrified with anticipation.

Your heart pounded relentlessly, as if each beat echoed louder than the last, straight into your eardrums. The closer you got to your shared apartment, the harder it became to calm your racing thoughts, and the overwhelming mix of excitement and nervousness almost made you dizzy when you grabbed the door knob and twisted it open. 

Jake was sprawled on your couch, golden specs casually resting on his face and his brown, silky hair poking to different places since he was playing with it nonchalantly while the other hand held his phone. His eyes raised up from the screen when he heard the sound of the door opening, and with a subtle smile he greeted you.

“Hi, Y/N.” 

Your gaze instinctively hovered across the room, searching for Jay’s presence. At the same time, you fought against the urge to make yourself comfortable with Jake on your couch. He looked so inviting, cozy and fluffy laying in there, his demeanor soft and relaxed, nearly pulling you close, drifting your thoughts away from reality.

It took seconds for it to hit harshly, as you remembered the intimacy that had once been so natural between the two of you no longer existed, and the possibility of reclaiming that closeness felt slightly out of reach. It was a bitter thought, one that reminded you how fragile things had become.

However, for Jake’s misfortune you weren’t one to give up so easily, now aware of his feelings and thoughts towards you, there was no way to back down so quickly. Not knowing he nourished a desire strong enough to make him opt to avoid you in order to get over it. 

“He’s in his office room,” Jake explained when noticed what you were doing, kindly breaking you out of your trance.

“Oh,” you mumbled, nodding awkwardly. Jake sat straight on the couch, eyes boldly locking into yours as he did so.

You licked your lips out of habit, a bit taken aback with the idea of being in a room alone with him again, the anxiety you had built up throughout the day exploding in your chest just like fireworks.

The slightest motion of your tongue dragging along your plump, cherry colored lips didn’t go unnoticed by Jake’s nervous gaze. His eyes flickered downwards right after, and you silently cheered when he took his time to appreciate your bare thighs in full display for him. 

You had chosen an outfit that was simple yet comfortable, but also bold, different from what you had planned for the day before knowing you would spend time with Jake; a relatively oversized sweater that would protect you from the gentle breeze of the day, paired with a short skirt that highlighted your rounded thighs – thighs you knew Jake would enjoy seeing.

And he so fucking did. The way he parted his lips, swallowed nothing, and shifted uncomfortably on his seat confirmed your theory. 

Jake’s cheeks warmed when he realized what he just did, checking you out carelessly and right in front of your beautiful eyes. He cleared his throat, ready to throw some random small talk to guide the situation to the real deal – the whole studying thing –, but you had other plans. 

“I’m not mad.” 

After years sharing moments with Jake, having him practically living in your house similar to a family member, you had gathered enough sources to know Jake was torturing himself with a guilt you didn’t see to be necessary, not when you desired him as much as he wanted you, not when things could be as simple as one plus one. 

Jake was smart enough to catch onto what you were referring to, still, he hesitated, quirking an eyebrow in disbelief. He remained silent, waiting for your following words when you opened your mouth and closed, as though struggling to find the best, right ones. 

Your feet moved towards his direction and you took the seat beside him, keeping a safe distance. A distance that would keep yourself under control not to jump on his lap, tug his hair with your hands while kissing him passionately, using your hips to rut onto his bulge, aiming to hear his lascivious noises.

Swallowing your impulsive thoughts back, deep on your throat, you continued. 

“I’m not mad that you…” Holding back a shy smile, you bit your lip. “I’m not mad that you think I’m hot.”

Your voice came out as quiet as possible. The fleeting sensation of being heard by your brother weighed heavy on the air, pushing you to keep it as hushed as you could. 

Once more, Jake shifted on his seat, his own fluster increasing after hearing you voicing out his last confession. He didn’t feel stupid, though. It was impossible to feel anything other than thrilled.

He couldn’t pinpoint precisely what turn that conversation with you would be taking; the small hint of fear creeped his chest, but the excitement of positively reading the situation was deliciously overgrowing it. 

“But we have to talk…” You tried to sound firm, yet gentle, not wanting to scare him away. The way your eyes rested on his face made Jake’s heart skip a beat. You were so fucking beautiful. “You know, I didn’t tell you about my part in this story.”

Jake felt his body untensing with your relaxed, tempting even, words; the atmosphere heavy but not with anything bad. It felt suffocating in the bestest way possible, as if a hundred of amazing possibilities could unfold, each of them having your lips pressing against his as a starter and his dick buried deep in you as a finisher.

“Do we?” Jake tilted his head to the side, eyes gleaming with teasing after the realization. The same behavior he would have with you was brought back in a snap, nonetheless, you doubted your strength to deal with it, especially when his two brown orbs showed a hint of something darker.  

“Yes.”

A quiet, feather-like whisper. It was all you managed to say, failing to keep up with your steady, collected image.

“Okay, we can talk,” he nodded softly, and though his eyes showed affection, the faint smirk adorning the corner of his lips triggered your inner core to pleasantly twist.

Jake leaned closer, now relaxed before your presence; your compliant demeanor easing his way through it, taunting his bolder side to shine brighter. Your breath hitched when his eyes wandered your face carefully, his body nearly pressing yours as he drank in your perfect features before gently grabbing your chin to pull you closer.

He was centimeters away from touching you where you needed him the most – firstly. Because your entire being craved for him. 

“But unfortunately, I have to teach you physics before, pretty.”

That was how you ended up sitting at your desk after announcing your arrival to your brother, saying you would be with Jake in your bedroom for studies purposes.

Bullshit.

Jake brought an extra chair to sit by your side, and you truly made double effort to keep your focus on whatever he was explaining, but his words sounded slurred, vague, like a baby talk. His voice and accent were unnecessarily attractive, inducing your head to concentrate on its sounds instead of the meaning. Not to mention his fucking kissable lips, so, so, so close, yet so far. 

Each time your eyes darted to the side, you caught a glimpse of his side profile. Distracting, beautiful, captivating.

Jake had a nose you swore it was sculpted by the finest, most talented artist; sharp and smooth just right, softly curved at the tip, gorgeously displayed on his handsome face. That high bridge triggered your most profound and dirty thoughts, your eyes dropping to a darker shade almost instantly as you got drunk on his features. 

Jake’s whole being was attractive, tempting, a living demon who now taunted your worst behavior and you loved every bit of it. Alongside that, the unveiling situation between the two of you was eating you alive, slowly consuming your mind.

After the little study session you agreed on talking about the dangerously unspoken matter, with the hope of resolving things. On your bed, if you were lucky.

You wanted to have Jake’s hands exploring your body, gripping and pulling you closer, pressing you against the mattress while fucking you from behind, hard, deep, fast, whatever he decided to. You needed his lips marking your neck, his face stuffed between your legs, his mouth working on your pussy while you screamed his name. 

You could almost feel how his tongue would work perfectly in your clit, licking, sucking and–

“And that’s how thermodynamics works. It’s amazing, isn’t it?” 

You blinked confused towards Jake, feeling just a little bad for not really enjoying your private lessons as much as he was. It was cute to see how talkative he became whenever physics was the topic, and extremely hot to witness his smart brain working in full motion to explain every word to you.

Nonetheless your attention span was long gone, ever since his scent started to intoxicate your senses, making you wish to have it all over your skin with his body hovering yours. 

“But of course you’d be paying more attention to my lips and my nose.”

You widened your eyes, speechless. Jake clicked his tongue, shaking his head in a faux discontentment. You trembled on your seat, unconsciously moving back from the closeness of your bodies; there was a fear creeping in your head of losing your inner battle to the raw passion tingling your skin.

“Listen, Y/N. I’m really trying here. I’d appreciate it if you did some effort too.” 

Jake was once again teetering the same risky line, this time with less hesitation, his confidence bubbling as he realized you wouldn't be pushing him away.

The moment he caught your hungry your devouring him throughout the entire tutoring, how willingly to let him in you seemed to be, devoted to the idea of fucking under your brother’s roof, he threw his self control away and started to think with his other head. 

You gulped, eyes lowering to your notebook peacefully resting on your desk. 

“I’m sorry, Jake.”

“Y’know what?” Jake suddenly stood up, offering his hand with his gorgeous slender fingers full of silver rings for you to grab. “Com’ere.” 

Your squinted eyes flickered between his digits and his face, searching for some proper explanation that unfortunately you didn't receive. So you followed his steps, standing up as well and shivering with the touch of his mildly cold skin against yours.

With the way Jake grinned, your stomach tightened, fearing whatever he had on his mind. Trying not to be so obvious with your embarrassing reactions, you frowned.

“What are we doi–”

“The first law in thermodynamics is that energy can’t be destroyed or created, it can only change forms.”

He said his speech within his teacher-like tone once more, interrupting you without caring to explain why standing up and explaining it to you again would make the material magically settle inside your brain.

Especially when you wanted to settle on your bed with him on top of you.

“What the f–”

“So, if I do this,” Jake raised a hand, gently placing it on your right cheek. You winced and retracted a bit with the unexpected soft brush of his slightly cold skin on your, now, heated face. “Do you feel it?” He whispered, fingertips tracing the warm flesh underneath his touch, his body instinctively getting closer to yours as his eyelids softened. “The heat of your skin will work its way to make mine less cold, y’know? Mine is absorbing from yours, to stabilize our temperatures together. The energy isn’t being destroyed nor created, it’s transferred from one body to another until they find the perfect equilibrium.”

It was pathetic the way you nodded along, Jake’s words and presence reverberating throughout your body similar to a wave of pure pleasure, your eyes sparkling with a mix of curiosity and shock with this new method. 

So, physics can be interesting, huh?

“Now,” Jake got closer, his voice dropping an octave while the hand that held yours found comfort on your waist, eliciting an immediate gasp from you. “Question: what happens when two equally heated bodies touch each other?” 

Jake’s face was just a few centimeters away from yours, his lips ghosting, tempting a kiss you wished to happen as soon as possible; he seemed to be testing the waters, glad that you allowed him to do so.

The way his warm breath tickled your skin was dizzying, yet addictive. You shivered, respiration quickening with the way Jake’s eyes dropped, almost closing, as he got charmed by your soft, plump and oh, so kissable lips.

There was no adequate explanation to how your body reflexively reacted to his stimulus, your hands traveling slowly to grip onto something as a way to ground yourself, finding the thin fabric of Jake’s shirt on your way through it. 

“Nothing–” You gulped when you started talking, because the simple motion had your lips grazing Jake’s. He nodded reassuringly, as a way to incite you to keep speaking, the grip on his shirt tightening. “Nothing changes.”

Your eyes lazily fluttered close and open, the tension nearly palpable in the air. Out of habit, you wetted your lips with your tongue; a habit that now got you brushing it against Jake’s lips as well. His breath hitched, surprised, but he didn’t stutter. 

“Yeah,” Jake muttered, letting his hand thread through your strands, tugging it gently. You moaned softly, lips parted, a small frown gracing your features. 

Jake drunkenly groaned, throwing caution and patience aside with your reaction. Fuck, his self control was down to hell and for seconds he forgot where he was, because you were everything and everywhere in his head. 

He could feel how tight his pants became as his dick twitched for some attention, hard and heavy.

“You’re a quick learner when there’s practice involved, aren’t you?”

Jake’s lips were now grazing featherly on the sensitive flesh of your neck, teasing to kiss but never truly giving in.

You didn’t even notice how much you were leaning into his touch, as within every tempting brush on your skin you melted deeper, growing impatient each passing second.

Your fingers boldly slipped underneath his shirt, tracing the subtle lines of the abs you dreamed of licking and kissing and sucking and… God, you were on the verge of crying out of desperation. Your fingernails dug harder into his skin, eliciting a jolt from Jake that immediately pressed you against himself in response.

“Please, Jakey–” You whimpered when you felt his hardened bulge poking you, together with – finally – his wet kisses on your neck, nibbling gently the area with an aching slow.

Jake chuckled in contact with your sensitive skin, loving the way you tilted your head to give him more access, loving the way you were needily pressing yourself on his body, loving the way your hands involved his waist firmly; goosebumps flushed over as he delighted in your sweet and lascivious noises and responses. 

A phantom of a smirk tugged the corner of Jake’s glistening lips as he trailed soft little pecks through your jawline and near to your mouth, laughing gently with the way you searched instantly for more with hooded eyes.

“Wan’ me to kiss you, pretty?” Jake asked, voice thick with raw desire. He now held you with both hands on your hips, one shamelessly lowering to your ass every so often, while yours glided over his chest until they reached his firm shoulders.

You watched Jake’s eyes flash with a mischievous spark and you promptly knew that you could play that game too. So instead of answering right away, you feigned the purest expression you could, batting your eyelashes deliberately as you looked up to him, big doe eyes twinkling with a playful innocence. 

Jake wavered under your gaze, breath twitching, clearly weak to your tactics already. You held back your smile, keeping your faux naivety; the single action fueling Jake’s craving deeper.

“Only if you want it too, Jakey.”

You had no right to sound so pure, as if you were immaculate, untouched, never once ruined, yet dripping with lust and desire. So fucking filthy. 

“Fuck, doll.” Jake muttered faintly, not holding back anymore, his jaw clenching as he harshly dragged you over the room, far from gently as he pushed you to bounce on the soft mattress of your bed. “I’ll kiss you,” he said, hovering on top of your body, the excitement bubbling pleasantly in your low area. “And then I’ll fuck you so, so fucking hard.”

You giggled, getting comfortable on your bed as Jake positioned himself between your legs, which hugged him naturally. As he lowered his face to do as he said, you smirked. 

“Is that a promise?”

Jake’s eyes darkened, pupils wide showing you a sea of unknown feelings you never thought you would witness with him. His lips curved into a slow, teasing smile, one hand trailing deliberately the curve of your hip, your waist, chest, until it was gently wrapped around your neck. 

“Bet.” 

Driven by a mutual need, Jake dived into you passionately, almost desperate. You let out an instantaneous satisfied moan with the feeling of his soft lips pressing harshly on yours, one hand flying to take place on his silky, thick strands, the other gripping his wrist, keeping his hand in place on your throat. 

It took seconds to have Jake’s wet tongue infiltrating the electric touch and unapologetically searching for yours while his body grinded just slightly against your clothed cunt, making it pulse in desperation, dampening the fabric of your panties.

You tried to remember if you had locked the door beforehand, the faintest peak of your moral appearing just to be completely vanished, forgotten due to the vibrations of Jake’s small noises; his groans sent signals straight to your throbbing core, each clutch of your fingers tangled on his locks igniting a new sound that you discovered to be your favorite. 

Jake tightened his fingers around your throat faintly, starting a path of sloppy kisses down to your neck and shoulders, his hot tongue savoring each piece of your exposed smooth skin, and everything you could do was to squirm underneath him, struggling to maintain your sounds low.

With your movement, you accidentally brushed your knee on Jake’s crotch area the exact same moment he released your throat, causing him to open-mouth moan and frown, lips now working on your covered breasts, busying his free hand to squeeze your hips; just the fleeting contact of his heavy, still clothed, dick against your body fueled your craving deeper, your hands gripping on his strands harder.

“Jake, can you please hurry up?” You said in between a moan when he nibbled your nipple over your shirt. “We– We can’t be caught.”

Jake looked up at you, beholding the view of your beautiful fucked out expression with just a few minutes of making out while his hands explored your body. He would bet millions that underneath your underwear, you had already made a mess – the thought alone enough to make him gulp, thrilled to feel your spongy drippy walls enveloping his throbbing length. 

“Newton’s third law,” Jake mumbled suddenly against your stomach, eyes glazed in yours that now showed a confused state, eyes sparkling with pure desire. He curled his fingers on the waistband of your sweatpants, lowering it enough to give him access to your laced underwear. “For every action, there’s a reaction.” 

His explanation didn’t do much for you to understand right away, your frown deepening asking why he would say that so out of the blue. But as soon as he pressed his fingers over your panties and started to draw circles on your clit, you kind of got it. 

“Shit,” you whispered within a whimper, rolling your hips forward as a way to get more of what Jake was offering you, making his lips curl with a satisfied grin. “I swear to G–God…”

The slowness of his movements got you sighing in frustration. It was clear he was playing with you – quite literally –, and the possibility of Jay hearing you two or even worse, bursting the door open and caughting you mid-act was as frightening as arousing.

Having to be quiet, to keep it down, to not raise suspicions. You clenched around nothing. Jake nearly felt it.

His tongue was constantly wetting his lips, mouth watering, his breath heavy, eager, like a starved man who had his favorite meal on full display but couldn’t do anything other than… watch.

You angrily propped yourself on your elbows, tugging Jake’s hair to pull him back to be face-to-face with you, his fingertips never stopping the circles on your cunt. Your lips were centimeters away from each other, eyes hooded, deepened in lust. Jake saw a remnant of your playful aura getting lost amidst the lewd words that came out of your mouth.

“You can’t keep up with your promises, I see,” you murmured, your voice low, sultry, laced with challenge; the smirk dancing on your lips heightened the defiance’s level, triggering Jake’s pulse to quicken. His breath caught as he arched an eyebrow “Should I ask you to leave so I can finish this myself?” You teased, pulling his head to the side by tightening your grip on his locks. “Are you all talk, Jaeyun?”

Jake froze for a brief moment, his mind working hard to connect your words, and the moment it did, his features hardened, utterly lured by your bait; jaw clenched, eyes darker, breath ragged. It dropped to a deeper shade of craving, raw and delightful.

Your core buzzed with anticipation and you unconsciously let out a gasp when Jake pulled you to lay back down on the soft mattress by the waist, hands immediately removing the last piece of cloth that covered your lower body, quickly to undress himself from his own shirt and jeans, exposing his torso and his hardened cock pressing against his underwear.

Absurdly hot. 

Jake was absurdly hot. 

A single silver necklace graced his beautiful neck in contrast with his subtly tanned skin, his chest, toned enough to drive you insane, rose and fell faintly. The way his perfect v-line drew your attention towards his underwear seemed almost purposeful, the stained portion on the thin fabric around his tip got your mouth watering. One thing you were sure of: Jake was big.

He smirked with the way you devoured him whole with your filthy gaze, feeling as much wanted as he desired you too. He playfully dropped his eyes down to his own cock just to glance at you before getting completely naked, catching just enough of your reaction over his bare body.

You had little to no time to appreciate the view as Jake hovered over you quickly, propping himself in between your spreaded legs. Your eyes gleamed with longing and your mouth fell agape when Jake started to glide his dick on your wet folds. He couldn’t hold back a groan with the feeling too, eager to get your pussy hugging his shaft.

“Condom?” He asked, lips kissing the corner of your mouth while waiting for your answer about where to find the said protection. Your immediate reply got him throbbing.

“No.”

Jake fully halted his hips, looking you dead in the eye, and when he saw nothing other than certain, he groaned. “Fuck, pretty. You can’t say th–”

“Raw, Jaeyun.” You repeated yourself, fingernails digging deep on his biceps, a moan escaping from your lips when his heavy cock brushed your clit.

“Damn,” he mumbled against your neck, aligning his length within your pulsing, drippy hole, aching to be fulfilled.

As Jake’s tip pressed against you, a messy kiss took place of your mouths in order to muffle your noises, sloppy and hot, tongues everywhere, teeth pressing each other’s bottom lip harshly, caring little to nothing about hurting.

You whimpered with the feeling of him filling you so good, going deeper and deeper each passing second. When he finally buried himself completely, a groan got lost in between your kisses, and he kept still while you adjusted, though it was extremely hard to wait when you tightened your walls so perfectly around him. 

“You– You feel so good,” he muttered against your lips, voice weak, losing himself in the feeling with his face contorting in pure pleasure as he licked and sucked your bottom lip, asking for more kisses.

The wording and how he said it got you clenching more and Jake felt it right away, your eyes fluttering close as he didn’t hold back and started thrusting on you slowly. He was so deep and intense on you, yet deliberate, a pacing you would curse if you weren’t enjoying that much. 

A soft knock on your bedroom door interrupted the blissful moment, panic instantly taking over your faces as you widened your eyes and gasped, instinctively covering your mouth with your hand. 

“Shit,” you whispered, looking at the closed door over Jake’s shoulder, your heart beating loud inside your chest.

You never prayed so hard for a door to be locked.

“Y/N?” Jay calmy called out from the other side.

“Answer him.” Jake whispered demandingly against your cheek, enjoying it a bit too much for your liking, especially because if you two got caught, it wasn’t just you who would get screwed. 

His eyes scanned your expression, how heavy was your breathing, how bright with fear your eyes shone, although there was a thick layer of pleasure not hiding your enjoyment of the situation. 

“Yeah?” You tried your hardest to sound steady and not stained, but it became a difficult mission when Jake was pushing himself even deeper within each deliberate roll, clearly searching to hit your sensitive spot. 

“Are you alright? Did Jake leave already?”

Your eyes darted over to Jake, who was keeping the grind slow, painfully slow. You arched an eyebrow, not saying a word as you waited for the man on top of you to decide if he was going to lie to his best friend or not.

Jake smirked.

“No, I’m still here,” he kind of shouted, biting his bottom lip to contain a whimper when you tugged his hair at the same time you squeezed him with your walls. After realizing his weakness of having his locks being pulled, you started to use it as an advantage. “And she’s fine, we’re–” he interrupted himself because of the quiet moan that escaped your parted lips, forehead resting on yours, the fear of being heard creeping stronger, fueling, feeding his arousal to the extreme. “We’re wrapping things up.”

Jake managed to let it out in one go, luckily and supposedly believable enough for Jay not to try open the door or ask any of you to do it. 

“Oh, um, okay… I just finished my work,” Jay said casually. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

Oh, great. Jay’s room. The one next door. 

“Alright, bro,” Jake was the only one able to speak, especially because you had now your teeth pressing on his shoulders as a way to keep yourself quiet. “See you in a few, then.”

You two not-so-patiently waited for the sound of Jay’s footsteps to fade far enough down the hall before continuing, Jake’s eyes filled with teasing when he looked back at you and immediately started to faster his thrusts, taking in from your instant response of curving your back with lips parted, the slightest moan escaping from them.

“Shh, baby girl. Don’t make any noises, yeah?” Jake whispered in your ear, his hot breath fanning your skin. With the way his fingertips traced softly your thighs, only to harshly grip into your flesh and pound deeper, you couldn’t hold back your whimper, wincing. “Shh…” He shushed again, an obvious smirk adorning his plump lips that now rested on your swollen ones, his low voice causing your whole body to feel like on fire, skin tingling in despair.

You wanted to scream his name so bad.

“J–Jake…” You moaned underbreath, struggling to keep it quiet. Jake chuckled, amused by your reckless behavior.

“Do you want your brother to hear us, sweetheart?” He asked, filthy, feigning a mocking tone. “I don’t think he’d like to know how deep into you I’m in right now.”

With that, he thrusted once more, hitting your sweet spot right away. You nearly cried as you threw your head back, walls clenching around his dick furiously, fingernails sinking into his flesh, back arching.

Jake grinned, in complete awe with your surrendered, fucked up form, wishing so bad to be able to get more of you – your screams, your whimpers, you chanting his name, anything. He just knew you would sound even hotter. 

“Such a dirty little girl. Dying for someone to hear us, huh?” 

“N–No…” You whined, pathetically shaking your head and softly smacking his shoulder as you got lost in yourself. You felt your body starting to convulse as Jake kept on hitting your g-spot over and over, barely noticing he had his forehead resting on yours again, his hard breathing blowing harshly on your face. “Can’t– So big–”

You rolled your eyes with the speed of Jake’s hips increasing. He wanted to go harder and faster, but the slapping sounds were already growing too loud, teetering the edge of getting caught a bit too much. Not to mention the blend of quiet moans, whimpers and groans you both exchanged in between pants and messy kisses.

Within minutes Jake felt the coil on his stomach tightening, his release was near and by the way you started to sound desperate, you were close too.

“I’m not gon’ last much longer, pretty,” Jake hissed when you wrapped your legs around his hips and pushed him deeper, helping him to maintain the rhythm of his thrusts. “Fuck...”

You fluttered your eyes open – didn’t even remember when you had closed it – right on time to catch a glimpse of Jake’s necklace dangling close to your face as he propped himself up to ease his pushes, his sweaty hair part sticking to his forehead, part hanging down, grazing softly on your nose. 

The overwhelming feeling of Jake’s burying himself deep into you, filling up each centimeter inside your cunt, his scent all over your senses, his sweet and hot silent moans, the way he had a pleasant frown gracing his features, every now and then biting his lip.

You felt your orgasm building up in a delightful, electrifying wave that flushed your trembling body.

“I wanna–”

“Come to me, baby,” Jake urged you, his own climax teetering the edge, voice cracking. “Wan’ feel you creaming my cock.”

A mild louder noise escaped your lips as you shivered, legs shaking with the amount of pressure your body was releasing. Jake bursted right after your juices coated his length, stuffing you up with his warm seed.

Your heavy breaths filled the room for a while. Jake’s tired body pressing against yours within an intimacy that made your heart flutter, realization hitting that you just had fucked your crush, who just happened to be your brother’s best friend.

You closed your eyes, a sting of a bittersweet feeling growing inside your chest. 

“We still need to talk.”

The talk never really happened, since the constant visits unfolded your relationship with Jake better than you expected.

It seemed to be a no strings attached type of relationship, with you and Jake kissing and fucking anytime you had the chance to in between your tutoring classes.

You couldn’t help but feel guilty, and foolish to some extent, because tasting Jake's body and mouth awakened the same feelings of love you once buried deep within you, feelings that you now had to bury again, fully aware that they weren’t nearly reciprocated.

Jake probably saw you as woman he could fuck, and you thought you could live with that.

Your encounters with Jake became as usual as your classes, and gratefully Jay obliviousness blinded him from the real thing happening under his roof, because in no world you would need everyday physics lessons, even with your tough relationship with it. 

At some point you started to believe that your tactics to restrain yourself around Jake had been perfected.

When Jake changed his behavior with you, avoiding you at parties and the other events where you both accidentally crossed paths, Jay never suspected a thing. First, because he knew how busy Jake was with his work, and second, because he believed friendships were flexible and often riddled with uncontrollable nuances – meaning, you and Jake were simply going through a phase where things weren’t aligning.

It became routine to pretend you were still in the same cycle, with Jake acting as a casual friend who was just helping you with your studies enough to pass the course.

Jay had no idea you had promised Jake that you would only let him eat you out if you aced your exams – although you would let him do it anyway.

It was just so fun to watch him throw tantrums at you, whining how much he needed to feel your cunt pulsing and dripping on his tongue. You couldn’t deny the excitement of receiving a head from Jake was big; the way he kissed you and how high bridged his nose was, were enough proof that he would do a hell of a job.

As the semester was reaching its end, your anxiety grew.

You felt secure in most of your subjects, because even though Jake was actively present in your life, you managed to find out time to focus on your individual studies and felt confident enough in them.

But then there was physics.

The one you were supposedly studying, locked in the room with Jake. The one you learned while feeling the heat of his body against yours, his soft whispers, groans in your ear as his hands explored every centimeter of your skin.

It was undeniable that Jake's practical method worked wonders, and that was exactly why you took the lead and suggested that for that day's study session.

“You wanna do what?”

You and Jake were sitting across each other in your room: Jake on your bed and you at your desk chair. He had just arrived for your tutoring of the day and you immediately greeted him with a suggestion that had him with the most dumbfounded, in disbelief, shocked kind of expression written all over his face.

“Suck you off while you explain the basics of that shit,” you repeated yourself casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Quantum.” Jake pointed, his eyebrows skyhigh at that point. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, smiling innocently while playing with a pen and wiggling your legs off the chair.

“You want me to teach you the basics of quantum physics while you suck me off?” He echoed, still trying to completely comprehend your proposal. 

“That’s exactly what I just said.”

It was an undeniable proposal, right?

Jake blinked, his brain falling into a dangerous short-circuit. To imagine you, kneeled in front of him, his dick buried deep in your throat, free-fucking would be his wettest dream come true.

However, there was a big chance of him losing control of his sounds – and himself – the very moment your pretty lips wrapped around his dick, tongue playing with his sensitive length as your gorgeous doe eyes looked up to him.

Jake damned himself for getting hard just by the thought of it.

“And how does that help you… Practically talking?”

He was really trying to logical think and follow your thought process, shifting on his seat while his mind traveled away.

The whole fucking while studying was a thing not only because you both wanted it to happen, but mostly because Jake could partially dodge the creeping guilt, knowing his work was getting done, even if that meant him shoving his dick inside you while doing so – a win-win situation with his peculiar, yet effective technic. 

With that particular request, he couldn’t quite pinpoint where the logic leaned, triggering his mind to wonder if you were getting dangerously close to crossing the unspoken line that came with your agreement.

Jake’s eyes tracked as you stood up and walked close to him, casually sitting on his lap, arms naturally wrapping around his shoulders.

“Well…” You trailed off, fingers slowly and shamelessly drawing a soft line across his chest, feeling his breath hitching beneath your touch; your eyes dropping to a darker shade of lust, shifting the whole atmosphere. “Hearing your moaning voice would… Y’know, help me internalize it,” you smirked, letting each word teasingly hang in the thick air.

Jake’s eyes narrowed with a spark of intrigue, head tilting slightly as he searched for a hint of humor or mischief in your gaze that would give away your plan. But you held his stare, unwavering, eyes burning with a confidence that left no room for doubt, no suggestion of play.

“So…” He murmured within a gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing drawing your attention briefly. “You’d remember the explanation… Because I’m…”

“Moaning it.”

The wording left your lips light as a feather, yet as sultry as the taste of the finest wine – tempting, subtle, delicious. Jake leaned in, failing to ignore your bait, his jaw clenching as his grip on your waist tightened; a quiet curse escaped him, underbreath, the moment you busied your lips on his sensitive neck. 

“Fuck…”

You rolled your hips just slightly, teasing a touch you wouldn’t be giving to him. Not so easily.

“What do you say, mhm?” You kissed Jake’s jawline, his chin, the tip of his nose and then his plush lips. 

There was something about the way he kissed you back, deliberate and tender, as if you were everything he waited for his whole life.

After days of sharing intimacy, you began to notice that sometimes Jake kissed you like a lover that long dreamed of you – mouthful and yearning, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. Like a soft breeze fanning your skin on a warm summer afternoon – comfortable enough to make you sigh, yet stirring something deep. Like the glow of the sun fading beneath the horizon at dusk – beautiful, fleeting, and full of possibilities. Like a first lover – fear of losing the sight of you and unforgettable. 

Jake kissed you like he was slowly allowing himself to fall in love with you. And you didn’t know yet, but he was.

Each attach of lips elicited new waves of euphoria through your veins as your feelings emerged without a proper warning, kicking the front door of your heart open and making a delightful mess.

You couldn’t help the strong pump of your heart and the flutter on your stomach the moment Jake crossed your sight. How thrilled you got when scheduling your meets, not caring about the studying neither the fucking; eager to kiss, to hug, just to have Jake close.

In that very moment you wished, more than ever, for him to feel the same way. You could sense the desire in his every touch, in the way his body pressed flush to yours, demonstrating how much he needed you, how much he was losing himself in you, like magnets.

You could feel it in the way his hands roamed, the warmth of his touch, the intensity in his gaze. It was tangible, undeniable. Jake wanted you. But was it enough? Did Jake want more than just a moment, or was it just an ephemeral passion, burning brightly before fading into memory like ashes?

On the other hand, Jake’s mind slipped into a haze, zoning out while drowning deeper in the warm and cozy ocean that was you.

He found himself lost in the memory of your first kiss – fueled by a mixture of fear and excitement. Not the fear of being caught, but the terror of realizing he had already fallen too intensely, his entire being consumed by the intoxicating pull of you. And he did nothing, nothing to fight back or to swim back to the top, utterly, willingly under your spell.

You had him wrapped around your fingers from the moment you first crossed paths at that party. 

Jake had tried to keep his safe distance, as a way of respecting your brother’s implicit boundaries and you, the little girl he grew up with. But mainly because he was completely aware that once he succumbed to the temptation of you, there would be no turning back.

When you both embarked on this brand new journey of friends with benefits, Jake knew that he could end up losing himself more than he should.

He believed you deserved to be treated like a queen – to be adored and desired as the most precious thing in the world. And he could be that person if you allowed him to.

But it was as clear as crystal water that you didn’t see him in that way. Not when you withdrew from acts of intimacy, not when you pulled back as the kiss grew too passionate, too full of love, not when you showed that you weren’t ready to take another step forward together.

Jake didn’t mind being used for your pleasure, not at all. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement: you got your physics lessons and some good orgasms, and he got to have you for a brief moment, just long enough to satisfy the hunger he felt. Then he would return, craving more, locked in a cycle he knew all too well, hoping his excuses of giving extra hours of teaching would be enough to keep you by his side just a little bit more.

That first taste had done more than ignite a flame; it had marked him, like a brand, leaving him completely, irrevocably at your mercy. Jake was yours. You just didn’t know yet.

That one kiss lingered painful longer than any other. When you finally pulled away, your breath came in short bursts and you were unsure whether it was the intensity of his touch or how quickly your heartbeats increased in such a short span of time.

Jake wore a lovestruck expression that had your body responding immediately – heat spreading through your chest, leaning forward, wanting more of whatever he had to offer.

“You pull me like magnets, you know that?” Jake casually and suddenly dropped in, voice barely above a whisper but thick with something unfamiliar to you so far, something that got your stomach fluttering with an emotion you didn’t want to name yet, scared of being real.

You swallowed down your immediate reaction, trying to regulate your breath while being torn between letting your heart follow along or keeping your feet on the ground, afraid of reading too much into that unusual moment that was just starting to unfold before you.

“That’s not today’s subject,” you managed to mutter back, a tinge of anguish holding onto your voice as your eyes traced Jake’s handsome features. 

You could lose yourself in him for hours and never grow tired. He had the most perfect face, soft puppy brown eyes filled with sincerity, prominent cheekbones that constantly shone brighter when he was smiling big, showing off his pretty dental arch with the slightest curl at the end of his plush lips. His sharp figure juxtaposed perfectly with the softness of his nature. Sweet, tender, endlessly loving.

For you, it was effortless to fall for Sim Jaeyun.

“When would it be, then?”

Jake had gathered all his strength and courage to throw that question at you, wavering just a little when you answered with a dumbfounded frown and a quiet “What?”.

“When the fact that you pull me like magnets, opposites but still ridiculously attracting me towards you, would be the subject?” He asked, his hands pressing harder on your hips as if he was trying to ground himself out of his nervousness, as if he was struggling to not falter. 

You arched an eyebrow, an unconscious smile creeping on your mildly swollen lips as your breath hitched. Before you could reply with another question, Jake continued, making it difficult to keep thinking coercively, since each of his words traveled straight into your heart.

“‘Cuz, pretty, it’s pathetic,” he chuckled as softly as his voice came out, head leaning to the side. “When I’m with you I feel like I’m a particle in motion, constantly accelerating in pure devotion,” Jake's orbs were so, so filled with softness and fondness as he kept on saying. One of his hands cupped your cheek and he brushed your lower lip. “You make me feel like I’m at the center of a black hole. No matter how much I try to escape, I’m just pulled deeper into your gravity.”

With that you giggled, head being thrown back as the flustered heat creeped on your cheeks quickly, your eyes briefly flickering away from Jake’s loving ones for a moment before glazing into them again, this time intensely exposing your vulnerable side.

You finally lowered your guard, allowing those same feelings you had been nurturing for years to come into the light to face the beautiful, thrilling possible outcome.

“Did you just confess your feelings for me using physics metaphors, Sim Jaeyun?” You asked with a playful glint in your eyes and a teasing smile that had Jake nuzzling his flustered face on your neck, holding back his own shy smile within a bit on his lower lip.

“Yes. I, indeed, did,” he muffled against your skin, making you shiver a bit.

Your heart vibrated with pure, unexpected joy. Your afternoon had a turn you weren’t waiting for, but now that it did, relief flooded your senses. Jake had feelings for you too.

Another giggle escaped your lips. Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined Jake confessing his feelings to you, let alone as you sat on his lap, sharing intimacy and knowing you were the ultimate reason for his body to be so reactive. Couldn’t be more perfect, everything seemed too good to be true.

With a light lean back, enough to pull Jake away from your embrace, your eyes dropped to drink in his perfectly drawn full lips. The air shifted, this time, not only with a momentary lushness or vague desire how it used to be, but carried with a ton of something close to love as well.

You rolled your hips and Jake groaned, sensitive to you already.

“So,” you purred, your teeth sank into your bottom lip, a mischievous grin tugging the corner of your mouth as you pushed yourself forward, making Jake’s heart flutter as his back encountered the soft mattress of your bed. “Does my pretty physics boy want me to suck him off while he lays down or…?”

Jake’s body instantly winced with the way your eyes darkened and how velvety your voice came out of your gorgeous lips; the nickname didn’t go unnoticed either, causing his dick to twitch inside his pants.

Your touch feathery, yet trailing flames through his covered chest stirred up the deepests feelings he used to hide. Jake took in your reaction as a quiet yes or maybe a subtle “me too”. Knowing your nature so far, you would rather give him a head, as in a taste of your affection, than admitting out loud you liked him back.

Little did he know you were on the verge of panic, fighting the urge of shying away because, although he just confessed to you, you felt pathetically nourishing feelings way more intense towards him, with your heart pounding loud and unsteady and an overwhelming ache not-so-quietly overtaking your being.

You craved to give Jake your everything, to devour every centimeter of him if that meant being close – closer than words alone could ever take you. There were no syllables together to form a proper sentence that showed a quarter of what it felt to love Jake.

“I– I honestly don’t know…” Jake murmured as soft as fluffy clouds, contrasting your demeanor at that moment, with your lips now placing slow and soft kisses all over the sensitive flesh of his neck.

You chuckled when Jake started to squirm a little, his hands nervously gripping on your ass and quiet moans escaping his lips as you took your time to enjoy his warmth with your mouth. There was something so arousing about how Jake was always reactive to your touches, either the lightest or the more intense ones, his body clearly faltering deliciously under your control. It made your panties wet quite instantly. 

When you started to nibble that same area, you also felt Jake bucking his hips upwards, as a way to get some friction to satisfy his neglected dick. Jake was very sensitive on his neck and didn’t have to admit it out loud; the fact that he was getting harder and harder underneath you was enough to show it. 

His puppy eyes lighted up with an adorable blender of curiosity and excitement under your piercing gaze when you lifted yourself to straddle, knees on each side of his hips. The same gaze roamed his whole clothed body as if you could see through it, ravishing each small portion with adoration.

Jake had an extra cute and confused expression taking over his face when you suddenly stood up and let him go out of the warmness of your body, a playful grin dancing on your lips as you softly tapped his thigh before saying.

“Get comfy, Jakey,” there was a thick layer of desire on your voice blended with a hint of mischievousness that got Jake’s dick throbbing while he did as you said, propping himself on his elbows to properly lay on your bed.

You positioned yourself on top of him again, smiling cheekily as you lowered your face just enough to purr against his ear, your hot breath making him wince. “Cuz I’m about to make you forget your own name.”

The way Jake’s eyes widened after hearing your non-filtered filthy words had you giggling, his Adam’s apple attractively bobbing up and down as he swallowed, your lips attaching to it because you truly wanted to devour Jake as whole. 

“But Jay–” He tried to reason with you, his hands betraying his rational side as he intensified the grip on your ass once again, pulling you down so he could rut against you; his pants growing uncomfortably tighter each passing second.

“Shh,” you shushed him, gently pressing a finger on his plump lips before shaking your head. “He’s not home,” you added, planting a few kisses along his neck, jawline and lastly on his lips, propping yourself up on your arms, one on each side of Jake’s head.

A low moan escaped Jake at the sight of your fierce, determined gaze, fearing he wouldn’t be able to handle whatever you had prepared in your mind. You stared at him like a predator about to strike a prey, and damn, you looked so unbelievably sexy doing it.

“It’s just the two of us.”

Just for a few brief moments, he thought, considering adding. But you seemed more unwavering than ever to follow through with your plan, and honestly? Jake didn’t care anymore.

Not when you slowly stripped him down until only his underwear remained. Not when you were kissing and licking every centimeter of his chest and abdomen, your enchanting eyes giving innocent, pure glances that contrasted sharply with your every move. Not when he could feel your hands deliberately exploring every part of his warm skin, leaving trails of burning desire that were far too overwhelming for him to remain still.

When you paused at the waistband of his underwear, all Jake could do was breathe heavily, bite his lip, and watch you expectantly, his airways feeling like closing as you finally gave him the freedom he needed. 

“You have such a beautiful and big cock, Jakey,” you hummed with a smirk, tongue wetting your lips as you felt your mouth watering. Jake groaned when you grabbed the base and started pumping it, painful slowly, smearing the leaking precum to lubricate. “I’d love to feel it down my throat.”

And without a warning or leaving him to properly think about your words, you gave a long, savoring lick of his veiny length just to suck at the tip, eliciting an immediate moan within a thrust forward searching for more contact.

You kept swiping your tongue across his throbbing hardened dick, always finishing with a pop on the very end, and when you felt like your spit and his arousal had coated it enough to ease your movements, you opened your mouth wide to take him whole, each centimeter causing Jake’s body to tremble and his voice to falter in between his groans.

When you had your nose bumping his lower stomach, you stood still, feeling Jake’s hands caressing your hair kindly. You had to use your everything to remember to breathe with your nose, especially when the view of Jake’s head being thrown on the pillow as he, himself, struggled to regulate his own breathing was unfolding right before your eyes. 

Jake's body at that point was flaming hot, sweat dripping onto his forehead while his free hand clutched the sheet in a way to keep him sane, though your warm cavity embracing his dick, up and down, was leaving no room to maintain the silence. 

“Fuck, baby–” His voice was hoarse, consumed by the indescribable sensation of the way you took him so pleasurably, so skillfully, so delightfully. “T–Taking me so well…”

He waved his hips just slightly with his hands still on your head, bucking against your throat and unintentionally making you gag. He didn’t feel sorry at all, not when you kept on your pace, barely giving a thought about it, even stirring a muffled moan out of you.

A choked whimper escaped Jake’s swollen lips as he felt your throat pressing against his sensitive tip again. It was bizarre how it seemed like you had been molded just for him, and only him. Jake wanted you in every possible way and was grateful because you seemed to want him just as desperately.

You increased the rhythm little by little with hollow cheeks, giving some more attention with your mouth to Jake’s reddened tip, tongue pressing at the slit every once and a while as your hands worked on the base and his balls. 

There was a thin string of morality that held Jake in reality, preventing him from moaning your name – though he wanted so badly to –, but he couldn’t help the following whimpers and small cries that left his throat, the flutter on his stomach indicating he was getting closer. 

You noticed it almost right away after so many moments together. Jake always started to whine in between his noises and his body would shake within each minimal stimulus, squirming like he was growing desperate. So you quickly repositioned yourself, supporting your weight with your arms on the bed and staying still, eyes blinking expectantly at Jake, waiting.

“Why did you stop–” Jake cut himself when he propped his head up from the pillow to look at you, another half-choked groan slipping out his parted lips when he caught the view. “Don’t tell me you want me to…”

You nodded, still waiting. Jake chuckled, in pure disbelief and desire, because you just had held yourself with your tongue poking out of your mouth, expecting him to simply throat-fuck you.

The way you were just… staring, patiently idling until Jake had your hair threaded through his slender fingers to finally move was an extremely alluring, sultry sight.

“You have no idea of how sexy you look right now,” he muttered under his breath, lowering your head while resting on his free elbow, because there was no way in hell he would lose the enticing scene you were just about to give him. 

Jake didn’t know he would be able to endure much longer of that treatment you were giving him, his body extra sensitive as he bobbed your head up and down his cock; free using your body for his own pleasure sounded a lot out of his league and he took a mental note to repay later. 

It took just seconds in that new position for you to have Jake rolling his eyes back with his mouth falling open, a quiet moan escaping as he speeded up his hands on your head before forcing you all the way down, pressing the tip of his throbbing cock on your throat while the thick ropes of his release filed straight down your throat.

You kept steady, motioning the swallowing movement to ride Jake through his high; it felt amazing to have him shaking in between random waves underneath you, soft whines coming out of his parted lips while the grip on your hair tightened.

As soon as he loosened the said grasp, you finally removed his now a bit softened cock out of your mouth, kissing it briefly before moving up to settle yourself on Jake’s chest. 

“That was insane,” he whispered in between small pants, involving you with his arms. You cared little to nothing about his sweat sticking to you, knowing you both would have to take a quick bath before Jay got home. 

“I know,” you replied back with a grin, looking at him and kissing his lips with passion, now free from your own fears’ restraints. 

You used to avoid sharing too many intimate moments with Jake, the aftercare barely happening due to your constant excuses to run away, scared of falling deeper into something you couldn’t really grasp at. Not until that day. 

It felt great to experience such loving touches without having to run away – light as sweet breeze fanning your face, your heart pounded in joy inside your chest, stomach fluttering with dancing butterflies.

You suddenly giggled, parting the kiss to glance at Jake with your adorable, playful eyes. He shot you back a tender gaze, waiting for your following words.

“You didn’t teach me about quantum,” you quirked an eyebrow and Jake immediately widened his eyes in panic.

“Oh, shit.”

You laughed at his dramatic reaction, at how he wanted to leave the bed to grab his clothes and try to use the last minutes of your tutoring session to teach you anything.

“Calm down, big boy,” you pulled him back. “Jay’s probably not even at home yet.”

As if you had summoned him, a knock on your door got you and Jake startled. 

“Y/N?”

Both of your bodies tensed immediately. With a jolt, Jake was rushing over to get his clothes from the floor and wear them as quickly as possible while you frantically patted down your hair and smoothed the wrinkled fabric of your shirt, wiping away any hint of lingering fluids from the corner of your mouth.

“Coming!” You shouted, hurrying towards the door.

You cleared your throat, giving a final, stealthy glance over your shoulder to make sure Jake was, thankfully, no longer naked. When you opened the door, you greeted Jay with an overly bright, oh-so-forced smile, praying he would buy your attempt at casualness.

“Hi!” 

“…Is everything alright? I heard some noises. It sounded like someone was in pain…” he replied, his brows knitting in concern.

“Uh…” Your mouth fell open and your eyes widened comically, your brain nearly visibly overheating, struggling to process an acceptable explanation. 

You could closely feel Jake’s gaze burning on your back as the realization that Jay might have heard pretty much everything.

“It was me!” Jake interjected, cutting through the awkward silence with an impressive smoothness. “I, uh, stubbed my toe on Y/N’s bed frame when I was heading to the bathroom,” he added with a sheepish chuckle.

“Oh,” Jay replied, nodding with an air of understanding that sent a wave of relief through your tense shoulders, your smile naturally coming back to your face. “That makes sense.”

However, Jake was naive enough to notice how his best friend’s eyes dropped briefly, as if scanning you two, a faint, knowing look flashing across his face before he added with a small, friendly smile

“I’ll leave you two. Don’t wanna interrupt your… Studies.” 

“Thanks!” You were quick to answer. Almost too quick. “We’re almost finished!” Your voice was stained enough to raise suspicions but you opted to ignore it.

As the door clicked shut, Jake exhaled with a low mutter, his fingers scratching through his hair. “I think he knows.”

“What!?” You exasperated, though trying to maintain your voice low. “There’s no way!”

Jake’s lips curled in a fond smile as he studied your adorable disbelief expression, hands finding comfort on your waist. For someone who just had partially sucked his soul out of his body through his cock, you were acting a bit almost innocent. He couldn’t resist the urge to tease you, his fingers drawing circles on your hips.

“Did you really think he bought that excuse?” he chuckled softly, eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Of course he did!” You stomped your foot, crossing your arms.

Jake's hands slid from your waist just to gently unfold your arms, guiding them to his shoulders as he pulled you closer.

“I wish you were right, pretty girl, but I don’t think we’ve convinced him this time,” Jake said and sighed, your cheeks warming when he used a finger to tuck a strand of your messy hair on your ear. Your pout deepened and Jake giggled. “Who the hell moans when getting hurt, sweetheart?” He murmured, his voice soft, but his lips twitched in a playful smirk.

“I mean,” you started, flustered but trying to be reasonable, “there are probably people who–” Jake cut you off with a quick peck on your lips, startling you into silence as your protest dissolved into a surprised smile. The sweetness of the gesture caught you off guard, and a good warmth bloomed in your chest.

Definitely you would have to get used to that.

“I don’t think he bought it, pretty,” Jake eyes traced over your features, his smile lingering longer as he studied each part of it. He caressed your cheek, brushing your bottom lip before kissing you, a delicious shiver running down your spine as he did so. “But it’s fine, yeah? We’ll figure out something.”

The woman staring back at you in the mirror was expressing everything but “I’m casually going to study.” Sure, you had chosen a chill outfit, taking advantage of the sweet autumn breeze to wear one of your cozy sweaters, but you had left your legs bare, pairing it with a short skirt that framed your thighs perfectly. Perfectly enough to drive Jake insane.

It was amusing, thrilling even to see how he now reacted so openly, nearly pathetically to your provocations. Anytime you found yourselves in a safe space – mainly your room or the living room when you were absolutely sure Jay wasn’t home – Jake would unleash a stream of shameless obscenities adoring you, his hungry gaze devouring your body without a care in the world. It always earned a laugh from you before you both gave in to the heat of the moment, leading to a long, intense kiss. 

Today, you didn’t know for certain if Jay was home, and frankly you didn’t want to find out either. If he was, he would probably see you and question where you were going, an endearing yet slightly overprotective habit of his. So, you walked through the house as quietly as possible, practically on tiptoes, hoping he had been held up at work or had gone out with his friends, as he usually did on Fridays.

The evening was just setting in, and Jake had mentioned earlier that Sunghoon and Heeseung were going out that night, which was the main reason you had felt comfortable enough to head over – freedom. And, admittedly, because your finals were starting next week, and you genuinely wanted to review a few things with him, even – and luckily – if that meant to have his breathy moans brushing against your ear as he fucked you dumb.

With your nervous eyes hovering the apartment in search of anything that resembled your brother’s presence, you finally reached the door, clicking it open with a relieved sigh.

However, fate had other plans for you.

“Where are you going?”

You startled and stopped immediately on your tracks, turning in your heels with an awkward smile to see Jay standing near the dinner room door frame with a confused expression. You had forgotten that he normally sat there while working on boring stuff on his phone sometimes, where he could definitely see you passing by.

“Um... To Jake's.” You quietly told. “Y’know, my exams start on Monday, so…”

Jay arched an eyebrow, his jaw clenching ever so slightly as his eyes roamed your body, his frown deepening within each passing second. Now you damned yourself for choosing such a short skirt.

With a brief nod after his silent inspection, he muttered. “Ok.”

You squinted, tilting your head, your expression shifting to something almost investigative as you struggled to read Jay's reaction – a calmness that felt almost unsettling, like the lull before the storm. You half-expected him to ask dozens of questions, and the fact he didn’t got you wavering, stomach twisting in a bitter anticipation.

“Okay…?” you echoed, waiting for… something more.

“Yeah, have fun.” He replied, shrugging slightly, hands being buried deep in his front pockets. “I mean, it’s physics. You can’t really have fun with that,” he teased, but at the same time, you felt weird, like there was something more to it.

“Um, right,” you nodded, forcing a tense, small smile. “Definitely can’t.”

The words lingered in the air between you two, the air dense as volcano smokes; a volcano you trusted wouldn't erupt soon. Or at least you deeply hoped for it. 

After a quick goodbye, you headed to Jake’s house, having to deal with your stomach aching in nervousness after your brief interaction with Jay. You truly wished for your brother to be oblivious enough not to suspect anything more than he already had, nonetheless you and Jake weren’t being that cautious about your ongoing relationship.

On the other side, the said man was patiently waiting for your arrival. He had just declined Heeseung and Sunghoon’s invitation to hang out as they usually did on Fridays, trying to sound as casual as possible when explaining you would be there soon to finish your studies, since you had exams the next week.

Bullshit. 

Jake was playing with fire. Taunting the devil. Flirting with danger. Whatever.

He had a vain certainty that Jay was suspecting your relationship with him, especially after the last encounter in your room where your brother’s eyes shifted briefly into something close to understanding beyond what he had seen. 

Still, Jake called you over, praying for the best outcome instead of facing whatever consequences Jay would make him go through once he finds out he has been sleeping with his little sister.

Jake wasn’t an only child, however, having an older brother didn’t do much to help him in portraying being in your place.

Of course he would go insane if he had a little sister and she started to screw around with a friend of his, especially if she tried to hide it. But Jake didn’t plan to be the asshole type, to use your body for his own satisfaction and discard you once he got bored, never. He couldn’t even create a thought about leaving you at that point. His heart beat for you, and you only. 

You became an important part of his life throughout the past weeks, months even. Since the moment you both allowed and agreed to the friends-with-benefits arrangement and it had evolved into something much deeper. Now, Jake found himself nurturing strongest feelings for you; it wasn’t only about the curves of your body, the smoothness of your skin, the longing to have you all over him, no. 

Jake could easily say he had fallen in love with you.

It was crazy how you got him wrapped around his finger – both abstractly and practically –, as if it was such an easy task to do. 

Life with you was way more interesting and enjoyable. Jake could spend hours fucking you, yes, definitely. But nothing compared to having your body snuggled against his, the shared warmth leaving no room for anxiety, tiredness or sorrow.

After a tough day, all Jake wanted was to be with you, cuddling while receiving your shower of kisses and hearing your giggles as you did so.

Jake fell deeply in love with every part of your personality: how determined you overall were and especially when it was about to win him over, how rational yet emotional you could be, how genuine and at the same time assertive you expressed yourself when talking about your hobbies.

Acts of service were your primary love language, and Jake loved how you put in effort to express affection in such a thoughtful way, since the shared routine made it extra hard to ease your side. 

Taking care of his tired body after he stayed on top of you for quite a long time, giving him water and cleaning him whole. Bringing his favorite coffee whenever he stopped to pick you up from college. 

When you both actually studied, you didn’t just listen to his explanations; you appreciated the effort he put into making even the most complex topics easy to understand. But more than that, you always did your best to make him feel comfortable. Whether it was adjusting the air conditioning when you saw him shivering or sweating, or quietly flipping the pages of the textbook when you noticed he had finished reading the last paragraph, your attention to detail never went unnoticed.

On a random day, Jake reached into his back pocket and found a small note you had quietly slipped there. It was a sweet declaration, simple but meaningful, words that reflected everything you didn’t always say out loud.

He knew that you worked best through actions, but the note reminded him of the affection that was always present in every little thing you did.

The sound of the doorbell ringing had Jake jumping off the couch, eager to greet you. As the door swung open, he gave you no chance to breathe, pulling you closer to lessen the longing of the warmth of your body, his lips crashing onto yours with a fervor that told you everything you needed to know for now. 

“Hi– To you– Too!–” You tried to mumble against the kiss, giggling at how desperate Jake was behaving while stumbling on your legs as you entered the house, struggling to follow his messy lead.

“Want you.” He whispered as a vain explanation, guiding you both to his room without a care in the world.

With a blink of a second your half-closed eyes caught his deep frown, and your smile faltered while your body tensed straightaway. It triggered a strange feeling in your chest to perceive Jake’s urgency. You sensed something was off, weird even; you had just left home under Jay's analytical gaze, knowing you were hiding a huge secret from him, one he could be absurdly close to discovering – or maybe he already had. Now, with Jake’s unforeseen demeanor, if you forced yourself hard enough to connect the dots, you would say the man kissing you was holding some information back.

Or atleast holding something back. 

“Wait, wait–” You tried to break the sloppy kiss by pushing Jake’s chest lightly, away enough to attempt to pry an explanation out of him without his mouth devouring yours. “What happened?”

Jake’s eyes roamed your concerned face briefly, a flicker of hesitation flashing before he smiled tenderly. His hands on your hips pressed the area ever so mildly, as though he fought a way to anchor him, as if he suddenly started fearing to lose your touch.

You didn’t buy his smile.

“Can’t a man miss his woman?”

His woman.

Though the manner of addressing you had your heart swirling in a sweet, thrilling carousel and your cheeks warming up, you couldn’t help the growing bittersweetness slowly and painfully swallowing your entire being. 

“Yes, you can,” you didn’t hold back your half-smile before your eyes softened, nearly teetering a probing, piercing one as your hands softly caressed Jake’s face. “But I feel like there’s something more.”

Jake’s breath hitched, not due to how intense he was kissing you just seconds ago, but mostly because you were so fucking right.

Jake had a problem sleeping last night after you confirmed you would visit him the next day. Excitement? No. Fear.

Inviting you over to his place felt like a way of grounding the relationship, making it real. Alongside the once-conflicted feelings that had now settled comfortably into love, there was the weight of responsibility to bring you into his world, to make it real for everyone, make it real to his best friend. To your brother.

Jake wasn’t exactly afraid of his friendship with Jay falling apart. Though hurtful, he for sure could find ways to live through it. He did worry about you. To Jay, you were family – true family, tied by blood. If things went wrong, you wouldn’t have the luxury of cutting ties; you would be forced to navigate whatever fallout happened. Jake hoped fervently that it wouldn’t come to that, that you wouldn’t have to face a harsh reality just because you both liked – loved – each other. 

Yet, a new sense of resolve was rising within him, making him believe that no matter the outcome, he would do whatever it took to keep you by his side. Fighting for you felt easy. Making you happy was his ultimate goal. 

Jake would cross oceans, move heaven and earth if that meant to stay with you.

So, you were right, because he was overthinking the possibility of telling Jay about your relationship. But before, there was going to be a relationship to begin with.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” 

Jake caught on your body shifting and backing away a little, your breath stuttering, eyes widening, wavering before his proposal. He found himself panicking within a snap prior to your silence, cursing internally for letting his feelings take over and the question to escape his lips.

A bit longer. Just a bit longer he should have waited to understand where you stood emotionally when the subject was the two of you, because beyond considering your feelings, Jay was in the equation as well, difficulting the possibilities of the said relationship to blossom. 

There was no coming back, though. The words flew out of his mouth, lingering in the air and weightening it as you quietly processed what you had just heard, wondering if you were tripping. 

Jake gulped and immediately started to ramble, fumbling over his words with a voice that broke a bit once and a while as he did so, trying to cover up the angushing lack of noises between you both.

To some extent, Jake feared you would somehow hear his heart beating in panic. 

“You don’t have to accept,” he began, his voice unsure, yet full of vulnerability. “I mean, we’re seeing each other almost everyday, and I really have feelings for you and maybe... Maybe you feel the same? For me?” He hesitated, puppy eyes wide and glistening with hope and desperation searching for any sign from you. He found nothing.

“L–Like, we’re having sex quite often and I like your company a lot,” he stammered. “I’d love to call you my girlfriend. I know there’s Jay and he’s your brother and he may not accept it, but I’m willing to–”

“Shut up.” You cut him off sharply by pressing a finger on his mouth.

A deep frown marked your forehead as you pondered thoughtfully, your gaze focusing on some random spot down the hallway behind Jake’s back, your mind racing.

Jake froze, eyes growing bigger at your reaction, his lips pursing together in a small, adorable pout that made your heart twist.

“Ok.”

You almost felt guilty for making him go through whatever was racing in his head; hearing his voice falter made your chest ache. At the same time, you couldn’t blame yourself, not when Jake had literally just asked you to be his girlfriend.

It was the question, the most important one of your life so far, the very one you had dreamed of hearing from him with his attractive Australian accent, nearly bordering a childish fantasy. 

“Please, just say something…” Jake pleaded, voice cracking with anxiety. “Even if it’s a no…”

His words hit you like a wave crashing onto rocks. Your head snapped towards his direction, your wide eyes shooting a skeptical, confused glance, increasing his own confusion. Jake tilted his head to the side, just like a puppy, and then the realization hit. 

“What?” You exclaimed, a hint of laughter tempting to burst out. “No! Babe, no…”

There was a clear layer of desperation on your voice now, as you shook your head frantically and sweetly placed countless kisses on Jake’s plump lips, cupping his face gently to keep him steady. He tried to ignore how his chest burned deliciously with the pet name.

“God, no, I’d never say no,” you muttered, his breath of relief fanning your face kindly, enough to ease your own heart. “I was just… Taken aback. I never expected my lifelong crush to ask me to be his girlfriend,” you giggled as you said, feeling a fluster creep up your neck towards your face. 

Jake’s half-open eyes enjoyed the tenderness touch you showered him with, but then he suddenly dropped to something similar to confusion again, pulling back just slightly to look you in the eyes.

“Sorry, lifelong crush? Me?” His voice was a mix of disbelief and amusement. 

You laughed again, the sound light and full of affection before you hid yourself on the crook of his perfumed neck; the scent easing your senses right away. 

“Yes, you,” you mumbled, shyly. “You– You have been on my mind for quite a long time, Jaeyun,” to admit it out loud had you even more embarrassed, so you choose not to pinpoint precisely when. Not for now. Gladly, he didn’t push you as well. He would make the most of it later on.

“So…” He trailed off, pushing you off your hideout to offer you the most beaming expression you ever saw him having.

Jake was so, so gorgeous, with his wide, contagious smile, the soft curve at the ends framing it perfectly. Eyes sparkling with adoration, giving you the most tender and expectant look.

“Yes, Jake. I’d like to be your girlfriend.”

“Mhm,” he nodded, feigning a cool, relaxed demeanor you both knew wasn’t actually true, trying to hide the actual urge to jump like crazy behind a mischievous smirk. You arched an eyebrow, expectation growing slowly in your chest. “Where should I first take you as my girlfriend now?”

You giggled, biting your bottom lip with a naughty smile as you felt your heart palpitating harder; Jake would always be your crush after all. And to know you had him as your boyfriend only increased your arousal amidst the unfolding talk.

“How about your room, mhm?” A finger slowly traced his jawline, eyes dropping to something more intense. “Bet you have a lot of physics stuff in there, am I right?” 

Jake laughed at your subtly mocking, yet naive words, especially because you both knew you weren’t wrong at all – and where that type of conversation would lead.

“Oh, you have no idea, darling,” he shot back, mirroring your tone as he pressed you back against his bedroom door, pushing it open with a deliberate motion. “Gotta show you how physics explains some… very special positions, yeah?”

You weren’t entirely sure how it happened, since things with Jake usually escalated quickly once your lips met, but now he was hovering over you, his firm body pressing you into the bed, kissing you slowly and consumingly, as his fingers roamed over every centimeter of exposed skin.

You were well aware of how tempted Jake was by your legs – one of the reasons you had chosen that particular skirt – but you were uncertain if you would ever get used to how he grasped at you, his fingers digging in as though he needed to pull you closer, as if he desperately wanted to break the laws of physics and turn you both into one single body, occupying the same space.

Each time he rocked forward, grinding himself against you in search of any fleeting relief, waves of heat and excitement coursed through your veins straight to your core.

When a soft moan escaped, the noise vanished in between the heated touch and Jake lost composure. His mouth left yours only to travel lower, finding the sensitive line of your neck, lips pressing eagerly, his tongue tracing over the spots he knew would make you shiver, followed by a soft scrape of his teeth as he teased every weak point with deliberate care.

Your nails dug into his shoulder as your head fell back onto his pillow, granting him full access, your other hand tangling in the softness of his brown locks, gently tugging as his lips moved with purpose. But Jake’s impatience was hard to miss. He drifted down to your jawline, then lower, hands trying to slip beneath your sweater in an attempt to feel more of you.

“No,” you tugged his head back by his hair. “No, no, no. Listen, I get you’re excited and believe me, I am too, but–” You tried to speak between the sloppy kisses Jake continued planting along your jaw, a clear attempt to quiet you. “We have to study.”

“Please,” he breathed, a whine escaping him, not giving a care about how tight you gripped his strands, lowering himself, nuzzling his nose against the fabric of your sweater. “Please, I need you. I need to feel you.”

“We have to study.” You echoed what you just said and somehow it seemed to be rather to bring you back from the blissful lust than to take Jake away from it.

“Please,” with a plea, Jake locked his eyes onto yours, his voice thick with desperation.

You swallowed nothing as you saw deep, raw, intense desire once you met his gaze.

Jake had his two beautiful orbs oozing with craving, with need. His jaw was clenched, his features somewhat sharper under the dim light of his room. The sight nearly made you moan aloud, perhaps longing to have Jake between your legs more than him himself. 

The blaze in your stomach increased as he leaned down slowly, fierce eyes still glazed onto yours, little by little decreasing the distance between his face and your still covered cunt, teasing to get under your skirt.

You knew exactly what Jake wanted. He had hinted at it so many times it was almost impossible not to relent. And yet, despite the power he somehow had over your decisions in moments like these, sending you easily into a haze of desire, you were a woman of your word.

“No,” you murmured, reluctantly pushing his head away and sitting up. “Do you remember our deal?”

Jake's gaze flickered, torn between your tempting thighs with the pretty skirt framing them perfectly and the inflexible expression on your face, the frustration evident. God, he could already picture himself getting lost in between your legs, your thighs squishing his head because he was pleasuring you so good. And preferably wearing the exact same skirt you wore.

“Fine,” he huffed, rolling his eyes like a scolded child. “Let’s study so you can ace that fucking exam.”

You bit back a grin as you read Jake’s pouty face, reaching over to grab the collar of his white shirt and pull his body onto yours one last time, starting a slow, savoring kiss. You sucked his bottom lip within a quiet smack sound as you drew back.

“Sorry, can’t help myself,” you muttered with a cheeky smile, eliciting a chuckle from Jake. 

Your eyes tracked the motion of his tongue sweeping across his swollen, reddened lips, stealing any lingering remnant of your taste before standing on his foot.

“You’re trouble,” he said while offering you a hand. “And I like that.”

When he headed you over his desk, you smirked, ignoring the slap he gifted your ass with before sitting. 

“So, sound waves, huh?” you purred, fingers tracing over the open page before looking up at him with a playful glint. “I’m curious how you’d explain it to me.”

Jake would always follow the same flow. He would start with you beside him, explaining the concepts from the book in simple terms, and you would initially go along, absorbing the material through the practical examples Jake offered so effortlessly.

But then your attention would start to drift – to the way his lips moved, the soft, deep resonance of his voice that seemed to echo through your entire body, the way his slender fingers moved as he gestured with every point he made... And soon, Jake would begin to lose his composure, deciding to take a far more hands-on approach to his “teaching.”

After a call from Jay asking what was taking so long for you to go home – an unusual demeanor that got goosebumps spreading over your skin – and a lame excuse that you were deeply focused on reviewing the materials for your exam, you ended up back on Jake’s bed, on all fours with his hardened, throbbing dick pounding fast into you.

“The louder you scream,” Jake thrusted deep, hitting your g-spot tirelessly, making you cry his name out just like he was saying. “The greater the amplitude of the sound waves. It carries more e–energy.”

“Fuck, Jake,” you rolled your eyes, though no one could actually see you doing that. 

Your hands clutched the colorful sheets underneath you as a way to keep yourself sane, to maintain your conscience stable and grounded; you doubted you wouldn’t even remember your name, nonetheless. It was hard to think of anything else other than Jake’s name being chanted by your tired throat, Jake’s dick buried deep into you, Jake’s hands grasping your hips to keep you still, Jake’s desperate moans, searching for his release. Jake was everywhere. 

“So– deep–” You whined, your walls clenching around his length, your dripping juices coating precisely each part of it. 

“Yeah, babe?” Jake’s voice dropped an octave, squeezing your hips hard enough to leave marks. The fleeting thought made him groan, because it sounded like you were his propriety. “Like my cock deep into your pussy, mhm?”

“Fucking hell, yes,” you faltered on your arms, dropping almost completely on the bed if wasn’t for Jake’s steady grip on your waist. 

You could feel his dick twitching inside your cunt, the realization he was getting close sparking up in between the haze bliss you were going through, lost in pure, raw desire. Jake was fucking you so good.

“So fucking perfect,” Jake managed to say with trembling voice and between groans before his rhythm grew frantic, uneven, irregular. “My good girl, isn’t that right?”

You agreed within a mumble, not able to form proper words, eliciting a chuckle from Jake. 

“I want your cum,” you said muffled, somehow finding strength to force your body back and meet Jake’s thrusts. “I want it so bad, Jakey–”

After testing words, dirty talks, movements, even decisions when sharing those moments with Jake, you managed to select a few things you could do to drive him insane, near the edge almost instantly. So it took just a few pumps for you to be filled with Jake’s warm liquid, his orgasm hitting strong as he threw his head back, choking in between a long, delicious moan. He held you still, his dick deep into you as his body shuddered, hips stuttering while he enjoyed his overwhelming pleasure. 

With a hiss Jake released you from his grip, removing his length slowly, eliciting a discontent whine from you since not only you didn’t cum, but also felt the immediate lack of fulfillment and the feeling of his seed dripping down your legs. His hooded eyes were blurry, but he caught a brief view of it together with your slightly bruised skin before dropping his exhausted body onto the bed. Hot.

You quietly watched as he laid near you, how his chest rose and fell heavily, the known silver necklace moving together with it; you took the opportunity to come back to yourself, regulating your own breathing and regaining control of your body – deep down you knew Jake was just getting ready to give you your own climax. However, a mischievous plan popped into your mind and you couldn’t let it slide so easily, not when you finally had the chance of hearing him screaming your name without fearing your brother. 

“Lemme ride you,” you muttered suddenly and moved to position yourself on top of Jake, hands finding support on his torso, straddling with a knee on each side of his body.

“Babe, wait a bit–” He said within a frown, but not really doing anything to stop you; he just rested his palms on your waist, watching you grab his slightly softened shaft to align on his lower stomach. “Doll, please–” When you wiggled your hips to fit your wet, warm folds in his cock and started to deliberately grind, he nearly screamed. “Please, stop–”

Your eyes darted over his contorted face, not halting your movements as you did so, a soft moan leaving your mouth.

Such a lustful sight. Jake had his beautiful and swollen lips parted, silent, whispered pleas escaping it as his brows furrowed deeper; eyes closed tightly, cheeks flustered and breaths coming out ragged, mixed with airy moans that only intensified as you started to rut back and forth faster.

“Please, babe, ‘m sensitive–” 

Jake felt his head spinning, quite literally as he squirmed and abstractly, nonsense words cutting through the thick air, because, God, it felt so strangely good to be overstimulated by you. 

“Do you want me to really stop, Jakey?” You asked sweetly, yet a bit concerned that he was actually not enjoying it as you leaned forward to suck the skin of his sensitive neck.

He moaned. Like, really moaned and shook his head frantically.

“Mhm, fuck–” You lifted your body again just in time to catch his eyes rolling and fluttering close. “D–Don’t you dare to, fuck, to stop–” 

You kept on rolling your hips with a grin dancing on your lips. Jake’s sensitive tip touched your clit even so often, provoking your body to spasm a little. You aimed to get him hard again, so you could finally fuck yourself and achieve your orgasm, and because of the earlier interaction of your bodies you weren’t that far from coming.

Jake opened his eyes lazily, taking in the view of your exposed chest that quickly was being abused by his big hands, pinching your hardened nipples and kneading the soft flesh of them. You threw your head back, mouth falling open with the feeling of Jake touching almost everywhere.

At some point, Jake’s length was completely stiff beneath you and you took no time to position it in your pulsing hole, sinking in one go that had you and Jake throwing heads back with loud moans. 

Your breath was irregular when you propped your hands on each side of Jake’s face, starting to bounce in an unwavering pace that, together with the way you locked eyes with Jake, fierce and full of determination to finish, got him moaning within a smirk, proudly.

“Look at you,” Jake cooed at you, his voice hoarse, hands raising to tenderly tuck a strand of hair behind your ear to give him the full view of your pleasant contorted face.

“Yes, that's it,” he encouraged, sliding his fingers down your sides, squeezing it mildly; his lips stretching into a bigger smirk when you started to whimper and clench around his length. “Ride it, baby. Use me to get yourself off.”

And so you did, speeding up your rhythm as you chased desperately for your own release and consequently led Jake towards his – he was extra reactive due to the overstimulation, so at that point he was practically holding himself back not to cum again, craving to keep on feeling your tight walls squeezing his dick and eventually you creaming it.

Jake was big, hard and deliciously leaking inside you, his tip reaching your g-spot with ease and constancy, enough to make you start to scream as your moans grew louder. When his slender fingers found their place on your clit, rubbing fast circles to help you out, you couldn’t help but close your eyes with your mouth agape, a blender of whimpers and whines melodically falling from your lips as your arms began to fail to hold you in that position, making you slightly falter forward.

“J–Jake– ugh, fuck, so fucking good–” You stammered amidst cries of pleasure, feeling the coil in your low stomach teasing a strong build up.

At the same time your thighs began to burn, frustration emerging together with your desperation to cum, your own body betraying your release as you wavered the pace. Within seconds Jake took notice of how exhausted you were starting to act, and in no world he would let his girl down, so to maintain the same posture he propped his legs up, feet planted on his bed as he whispered for you to stop for a second.

“Just… Trust me,” he mumbled after seeing your confused face while letting go of your sensitive bundle of nerves from his skilled fingers to grab your ass, full hands in each cheek, holding you still as he started to push himself upwards.

You rolled your eyes quite instantly, letting your body fall onto his, your face finding its place on the curve of his pretty neck, where you started to pant and messily kiss in between your heavy breaths. Jake was leading the entire moves, pushing you down and pulling him up, heavenly deep. 

Each desperate, frantic, urgent thrust was leading you closer to your climax; you could sense it was going to be a strong one, and your whiny moans gave it away for Jake, who found himself teetering the edge as well.

“Close– ‘m close– So close–” He cried, feeling his dick leaking precum already. 

With a snap you let it go completely, your body shaking in uneven spasms as your juices fully coated Jake’s length within a long, striking moan. His own release followed yours, since your clenching cunt and the lewd wet noises as he rode you through your high left no room for any sanity or self-control. 

Jake’s big hands squeezed the flesh of your ass, shoving his cum inside you and the rhythm slowly faltered, hips stuttering as the last waves of pleasure coursed through both of you.

The room suddenly shrank as you both started to deliberately drift away from the blissful raze of raw arousal, nearly gasping for air as you did so. 

“Don’t pull out,” your words sounded more slurred than you expected, but the sweet silence in the air helped Jake to understand you, still experiencing the aftershocks of his orgasm.

“Holy.” 

It was everything he managed to say before the quietness took over again. You felt Jake caressing your bare back, slowly and tenderly, filled with an affection you wanted to receive only from him, fluttering the butterflies in your belly.

Eventually he was stroking your hair and hugging you close, his length still inside of you, prolonging the amazing sensation of being full. And somehow, you fell in love even harder.

“So that’s what freedom tastes like?” You heard Jake mumbling against your ear after a while, his honeyed voice cutting through the air kindly, and a tired laugh escaped your lips.

You couldn’t help the small sting in your heart as you heard the question, afterall, none of those escaping and hiding moments would be happening if he wasn’t your brother’s best friend. You wanted to be able to love Jake openly. And hoped he could love you back just as much. 

“Yeah…” You whispered within a broken smile that Jake didn’t catch. 

“I may grow addicted to it.”

Jake wanted you to stay for the night, caring little to nothing about whatever could happen if Sunghoon and Heeseung found out. But you weren’t worried about them that much, you could easily coax your way out of it. 

You were frightened of your brother. 

So after a soothing warm shower to calm your nerves and with Jake reassuring you that the excuse you had created was perfectly convincing, you headed back, praying for Jay to be sleeping already or, even better: not at home. 

You moved as quietly as possible, trying not to make a sound while unlocking the door, like a teenager sneaking in after breaking curfew, heart racing in anticipation of being caught.

It was so weird to have that feeling, to hide things from your brother, the one you trusted blindly because he would never judge you. Still, the situation was fragile, unusual. It was a new territory where if you pushed too far, the consequences could be far worse than you were prepared to handle.

Jake somehow eased your stirring anxiety with his sweet words and calming voice when he embraced you in a last comforting hug before you left. 

“He would never be mad at you, darling.”

With Jake’s voice whispering tenderly in your head like a mantra, you finally opened the front door, stepping into the darkness of your apartment. 

A deep sigh of relief escaped as you closed the door behind you, careful not to make a sound, the faint click of the lock triggering a shiver that quickly vanished as you realized you might be alone. You could practically feel how your tensed shoulders loosed as you started to casually slip off your boots.

“So, how was it with Jake?”

You froze in place, back turned to where the voice came from.

Jay.

The lights suddenly turned on, but you had no courage to turn and face your brother, especially after feeling the burning sensation on your back that told you he was staring unwaveringly. The question hung in the air, thick and tense, as much as your body began to feel right after. His voice wasn’t accusing, but it still carried an underlying heavy weight you feared to understand completely. 

"It was fine," you forced out, trying to keep your voice steady, but it came out thin, shaky. The lie tasted bitter on your tongue as you unfortunately became aware it wasn’t enough to fool him. Not anymore. “W–We studied sound waves and… Watched a documentary. About it. He ordered food too… It was… Cool.”

Your sentences were barely coercive. Unstable, insecure, because your mind was no longer working properly.  Telling blatant lies was something you never imagined yourself doing to Jay, and you certainly couldn’t consider yourself good at it at all. 

Still, you pushed through, trying your hardest to sound convincing, desperately hoping to make it through the day. Your body was screaming for a proper rest, drained from the adrenaline and energy spent earlier that Jay was oblivious so far.

Maybe the next day would be easier – maybe confronting Jay wouldn’t feel so impossible.

“Yeah?” Jay muttered and you finally turned on your heels to look at him.

He was leaning on the wall, smiling – but not a very pleasant smile. He had his hands shoved inside his trousers’ pockets, jaw clenched, eyes fierce, cutting through you as if he read your deepest secrets. You gulped nervously, hands starting to tremble; you could feel your heart pounding in your eardrums. 

“Did he teach you about sound waves while you screamed his fucking name?”

Your instant reaction was to almost mutter a quiet and confused “how did you know?”, your face dropping as the panic started to crawl in your skin. You just got caught and you had nowhere to run.

“Did he tell you two were alone, Y/N?”

Your heart dropped to your stomach immediately as he questioned and started to walk. Each step Jay took towards you felt like a heavy drumbeat, as if time had slowed down painfully, weightening the atmosphere absurdly, grounding you way too much; it felt as though heavy shackles with iron balls were bound to each of your feet, holding you in a way that left you suffocated and powerless. Excruciatingly overwhelming. 

“Because you probably were.” He stopped in front of you, his nostrils moving within each ragged breath. You could picture the haze of pure anger his mind got lost through his fierce eyes, eyes that never left yours. “During the first hour.” He added between gritted teeth and you shivered, your eyes widening as you took a step back, fearing falling because as realization hit, you practically felt the ground being pulled from beneath your feet.

There was no way Jake had lied to you, right? Leading you into a trap just to ruin your relationship with your brother. Why would he do that? You couldn't believe it, because that wasn’t the Jake you knew – it wasn’t the Jake who had just asked you to be his girlfriend with eyes shining with passion before giving you one of the most heartfelt kisses you had ever experienced. Jake wouldn’t do that.

How did your brother find out, then?

Jay shook his head slightly, his expression hardening further before a bitter, dry laugh escaping his pursed lips. He saw the look of disbelief in your eyes, the shock written all over your face and he read it precisely.

"No, Jake didn’t tell me,” he explained briefly to your racing thoughts. “He just didn’t know Sunghoon would be home earlier than expected."

Jay, though clearly upset, spoke with an edge of reassurance. His voice was low, barely concealing the tension and irritation simmering beneath it, still, worried about you.

A cold wave sprang in your chest as the realization struck like a bolt of lightning, your body quivering with fear and your wide, glistening eyes teasing to collapse in tears. You felt exposed. Vulnerable. Your secret was no longer a secret, and you instantly cursed yourself for holding it secretly to begin with.

Stupid, dumb, idiot.

Jay took a deep breath and you, another step back, trying to run away from the radiating rage coming out of his frightening presence. Jay was bigger and taller than you, and right at that moment, you felt even smaller.

“Do you have any idea of what it's like to find out that my little sister is screwing around with my best friend? And worse – hiding it from me?”

Jay didn’t yell, in fact his voice was dropping an octave, low as possible, and was more than enough to leave you on the verge of crying, your eyes stung, averting his angry ones. You lowered your head.

“I'm sorry, Jay, I–”

“Wasn't thinking correctly? Didn't think I'd find out? Cut off with your lame excuses, Y/N.” 

It was the first time Jay talked to you with such a cold tone, sharp as a knife, yet quiet. Something about the fact that he was mad, and still had a lowkey calm voice triggered the worst on you. 

“You lied to me, Y/N. Lied.” His voice faltered, but only for a moment. The raw emotion in his words was enough to pierce through the façade he had been trying to maintain, his eyes glimmering with tears, bringing the worst from your own feelings towards the situation.

Your breath hitched, the sting of betrayal and guilt washing over you. Unfortunately though, Jay wasn’t finished. 

“We promised not to lie to each other, Y/N. And you broke that promise.” His eyes burned into you, like they were seeing right through the walls you had built to shield yourself, the same barriers Jay once helped you to create, to feel stronger before the ones who tried to destroy your dreams. To destroy you.

For seconds, you saw your parents on Jay. For a brief moment, you pictured your younger self being scolded for your small mistakes and decisions, never being good enough. For the slightest millisecond, you hated your brother.

“Go to your room.”

You lifted your confused eyes only to see Jay cleaning his tears with the back of his hand. 

“Are you grounding me?” You asked quietly, but a hint of angriness stirred to snap out. 

Jay chuckled again, humorless. “No,” he gave you a last look with a mild head shake. “I just can’t see you now,” his sincerity was like a slap on your face. And you had no doubt that receiving one would hurt way less. “And you’re old enough to know you’ve fucked things up big time.”

Saying you cried all night would be an understatement. Having feelings for Jake now felt like a bittersweet ache, hard to swallow and to have close to you. You couldn’t help but get into a spiral of darker thoughts.

Was it worth it?

part 2

[harrysfolklore]

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 😤

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───────── 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 ─────────

───────── 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

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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.

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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

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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."

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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 🙌

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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."

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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!

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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.

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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

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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

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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 ─────────

───────── 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

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

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.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

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.

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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

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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.

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 9: November 2023 - Part 2

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, Jos Verstappen for once not being the bad guys.

Part 2 of November.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Victoria Verstappen

Isabelle: Hey Vic! Hope you are doing well! 

Isabelle: I have a question:  Do you happen to remember the breeder Max got Sassy and Jimmy from?

Victoria: Hi!! 🐱 I do! Why? Thinking about getting one?

Isabelle: Maybe… I was thinking about surprising Max for Christmas.

Victoria: 🥹🥹🥹

Victoria: That is the cutest thing I’ve heard all day.

Victoria: He’s going to melt.

Isabelle: Please don't tell him 🥺

Victoria:  My lips are sealed!

Victoria:  Also yes, I have the breeder’s number, she’s lovely

Victoria:  She always has litters around winter!

Isabelle: perfect 🥹

Victoria: Max is going to lose his mind. I hope you're ready for him to cry about it and pretend he’s not crying. 

Isabelle: I am emotionally prepared 😂

Victoria: Speaking of surprises

Victoria: I heard you quit your job???

Isabelle: Yeah.

Isabelle:  A couple days ago. I just… couldn’t do it anymore.

Isabelle:  I was miserable. They didn’t take me seriously. 

Victoria: I had no idea, Belle.

Victoria: I’m proud of you.

Isabelle:  Thank you.  I’m kind of… floating now. Max calls it my “trophy wife sabbatical”.  

Victoria: Well, if anybody deserves a Trophy Wife Sabbatical, it’s you 😂 And I bet my brother is thriving in your trophy wife era, don’t let him lie. 

Isabelle:  I love him so much it’s disgusting.

Victoria: You should

Victoria:  He’s a better version of himself with you (Still dramatic, but better)

Isabelle:  He’s been so patient

Isabelle:  Like he never doubts I’ll figure it out

Isabelle:  Even when I do

Victoria:  You’ll figure it out, Belle. I don’t doubt that at all. 

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo) 

Isabelle: Hey

Isabelle: Just letting you know I’m coming to Abu Dhabi. 

Isabelle: Got my flight booked and hotel sorted. 

Charles: nice!

Charles: see you there

Arthur: cool

Lorenzo: Safe flight!

***

The hum of the engines was steady, the cabin was dim, and Max was… well, Max.

Lando shifted restlessly in his seat across the aisle, flipping a bottle cap between his fingers., trying not to go completely insane with boredom.

Max, for his part, sat slouched across from him, hoodie pulled low over his face, legs stretched out like he owned the plane. Which he technically did.

They had been flying forever.

Vegas was a chaotic blur.

 Abu Dhabi felt years away.

“Still alive?” Lando asked.

Max made a noncommittal grunt under his hoodie.

The jet bumped onto the runway in Nice for refueling, smooth as ever, and Max finally sat up, stretching.

"We're not getting off, are we?" Lando asked, yawning.

"Nope," Max said, pocketing his phone. "Just refueling."

Lando nodded, already thinking about maybe finding a Red Bull in the mini-fridge when the jet rolled to a stop.

Then the cabin door clicked.

And she stepped in.

Isabelle.

Dressed casually—jeans, sneakers, a soft pink sweater that somehow looked expensive without trying.

 Her hair was loose. She carried a small overnight bag in one hand and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear with the other.

Lando’s brain broke.

"You’re joking," he blurted, sitting bolt upright.

Isabelle smiled, calm and bright. "Hi, Lando."

Max didn't even react. He stood up casually, took her bag, and tucked it into the overhead like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“You’re—what—you’re coming to Abu Dhabi?” Lando stammered.

Isabelle raised an eyebrow, amused. “I’m watching my brother race. Isn’t that what family does?”

Lando opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

 Because sure, technically that was a logical answer, except for the very large fact that she was coming to watch her brother race while secretly dating his biggest rival.

And Charles didn’t know.

Max dropped into the seat next to Isabelle like nothing was wrong, slinging his arm along the back of her seat, brushing her shoulder without thinking.

Lando stared.

This—

 This was the first time he had really seen them.

 Max and Isabelle.

 Max and Isabelle.

Now that he knew, it was obvious.

The way Max’s entire body shifted when she was near — looser, softer, grounded.

 The way Isabelle leaned subtly toward him without realizing it — like orbiting Max was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t loud.

 It wasn’t flashy.

 It wasn’t the kind of relationship you noticed if you weren’t looking closely.

But now Lando could see it everywhere.

Max’s hand brushed her knuckles lightly, and Isabelle tilted her head toward him in that soft, familiar way, smiling just for him.

Lando felt like he’d been let in on the world’s most terrifying and beautiful secret.

He groaned loudly, dropping his head back against the seat.

"Charles is going to kill me when he finds out I knew," he said to no one in particular.

Max smirked, absolutely unbothered. "We’ll all be dead eventually. Might as well enjoy the flight."

Isabelle covered her mouth to hide a laugh.

Lando glared at them both. "You’re so chill about this!"

Isabelle leaned back in her seat, folding her arms. "Because there’s nothing to be not chill about."

"You say that now," Lando muttered. "Wait until your brother explodes."

Isabelle shrugged, a little more steel underneath her calm. "He’ll get over it."

Max smiled lazily beside her. "He’ll have to."

And for a moment, watching them — Isabelle with her quiet resolve, Max with his immovable certainty — Lando realized:

Maybe they weren’t reckless.

 Maybe they weren’t hiding out of fear.

 Maybe they were just... keeping something for themselves.

Private. Fierce. Unshakable.

Lando sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.

 "If I end up collateral damage in your little love story," he said darkly, "I'm haunting you both."

Max just chuckled, settling back with Isabelle tucked under his arm like it was second nature.

"Deal," Max said.  "And thanks for flying Air Max."

Lando groaned into his hands. "I'm going to have an ulcer before we even land."

Max laughed.

Isabelle just smiled and leaned into Max's side without thinking, his hand slipping instinctively to her knee.

And Lando, sitting across from them, realized grimly:

He was not surviving this weekend.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, and Daniel Ricciardo) 

Lando: she’s on the plane

Lando: she’s. on. the. plane.

Oscar: who

Daniel: oh god

Daniel: which “she” are we talking about

Daniel: please not the vegas bartender again

Lando: NO

Lando: Isabelle

Oscar: WHAT

Daniel: OH MY GOD

Oscar: LIKE

Oscar: THE Isabelle

Oscar: Charles’ sister Isabelle

Oscar: Max’s secret girlfriend Isabelle

Oscar: The one we’re all pretending not to know about Isabelle???

Lando: YES

Lando: she just got on the jet in NICE

Lando: she’s flying with us to ABU DHABI

Lando: I AM GOING TO DIE

Daniel: did max know she was coming??

Lando: he helped her with her bag and everything

Lando: like it was a normal day

Lando: like he didn’t just invite a LECLERC onto his PRIVATE JET

Lando: while secretly DATING HER

Oscar: we are all going to die

Daniel: please tell me you said something

Lando: she told me she’s just “watching her brother race”

Lando: like that’s not the most emotionally loaded thing anyone has ever said on a private jet

Oscar: I’m sweating

Oscar: Are you sweating?

Oscar: I feel like we should all be sweating

Daniel: what’s the plan??

Daniel: are we pretending we don’t know??

Daniel: are we spies now???

Lando: there is no plan

Lando: there’s only vibes

Lando: and the vibes are “Charles is going to murder us in cold blood”

Oscar: Max seems chill about it?

Lando: He’s so chill it’s terrifying

Lando: She sat down next to him and he just put his arm around her

Lando: Like she’s not the nuclear secret of the entire paddock

Daniel: He’s going to soft launch her in the paddock isn’t he

Daniel: you’re going to be THERE when it happens

Daniel: you’re IN the launch window

Lando: I didn’t sign up for this

Lando: I signed up for sim races and chaos memes

Lando: Not for hiding the Verstappen-Leclerc love story from a ticking Charles-shaped time bomb

Oscar: They’re so subtle though

Oscar: Like you wouldn’t even notice unless you KNOW

Daniel: And now you know

Daniel: And now you’re cursed

Lando: i literally said if i become collateral damage i’m haunting them both

Oscar: haunting Max would be so easy

Oscar: he already thinks every weird noise in his apartment is one of the cats

Daniel: tell Isabelle i want to be invited to the wedding if we survive this

Lando: i hate you both

Lando: they just shared a look across the cabin

Lando: i think they’re telepathic

Oscar: you’re already too deep

Oscar: we can’t help you now

Daniel: thoughts and prayers, mate

Daniel: and maybe wear orange so Charles hesitates when he comes for you

Lando: i’m gonna need more than orange

Lando: i’m gonna need a will

***

Oscar liked to think of himself as a calm guy.

Level-headed.

Mature.

 Good under pressure.

But apparently, all that went out the window the second he spotted Isabelle Leclerc wandering through the paddock.

Because he knew.

He knew.

And she knew that he knew.

And he knew that she knew that he knew.

And now every single step he took felt like it was being broadcast on national television.

Oscar straightened his posture unnecessarily, like standing up straighter would make him less suspicious.

Isabelle was across the walkway, wearing a sundress, her paddock pass and a small, polite smile for every mechanic and engineer who said hello.

Completely casual.

 Completely effortless.

Completely dating Max Verstappen and somehow nobody else knew.

Oscar stuffed his hands in his pockets, trying to look casual.

 He would not be the one to blow their cover.

 He would not be the guy who accidentally made eye contact and triggered a Red Bull-Charles Leclerc paddock war.

He focused on walking normally.

 Breathing normally.

 Existing normally.

It was fine.

 Everything was fine.

He passed within a few meters of her, gave a small, casual nod.

 The kind of nod that said "hey, I know you" without saying "hey, I know your secret relationship with Max Verstappen."

Isabelle caught his eye for a second — and her mouth twitched into the smallest, most knowing smile.

Oscar almost tripped over his own feet.

He coughed, pretended to check his watch even though he wasn’t wearing one, and kept moving like nothing happened.

Be normal, he told himself.

 You’re a Formula 1 driver.

 You drive at 300 kph for a living.

 You can survive seeing Max’s secret girlfriend without spontaneously combusting.

Behind him, he swore he heard a soft laugh — hers, light and amused — and he decided he was never speaking of this again.

Not until it was safe.

Not until he was 5,000 miles away and absolutely certain Charles wouldn’t shank him with a champagne bottle.

Oscar made a sharp left turn toward the McLaren hospitality, muttering under his breath:

"Stay in your lane, Piastri. Stay alive."

***

The sun was sinking low, throwing long shadows across the paddock. Carlos leaned back against a concrete wall near the Ferrari motorhome, helmet balanced beside him, sipping slowly from a bottle of water as Charles scrolled aimlessly through his phone.

It was rare to get these moments—quiet, easy, just them.

But something had been itching at the back of Carlos’ mind lately.

 A conversation with Lando.

 Observations that were getting harder to ignore.

Something had been gnawing at Carlos for weeks now.

So Carlos spoke.

“Your sister’s been doing some pretty cool work lately,” he said casually.

Charles didn’t look up. “Yeah?”

“Architectural stuff. Monaco interiors. Heard she’s doing well.”

Charles gave a vague shrug. “I guess.”

Carlos waited for more. It didn’t come.

“She designed Max’s penthouse, right?” he pushed.

Charles made a noncommittal noise. “She helped with it or something. Picked out the furniture.”

Carlos blinked. “That’s it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean—she didn’t just decorate. She designed it. Layouts. Custom interiors. Lighting plans. All of it.”

Charles frowned like he genuinely didn’t understand. “Okay…? So?”

Carlos stared at him. “So… that’s a big deal, mate.”

Charles tilted his head. “She’s always been good at decorating.”

Carlos was quiet for a second too long.

Decorating.

“Dios mio,” he muttered, rubbing a hand across his jaw. “You really don’t get it.”

“Get what?” Charles asked, clearly confused now. “She’s got a job, she likes it, I’m happy for her. What’s your point?”

“My point,” Carlos said, carefully measured, “is that you’re acting like she spent an afternoon picking paint colors. She designed that place. From scratch. Layouts. Architecture. Interior. Everything.”

Charles looked nonplussed. “She’s good at that stuff. ”

Carlos stared at him for a second.

 Waiting for the punchline.

 It didn’t come.

“You’re kidding,” Carlos said flatly.

Charles glanced over, frowning. “What?”

Carlos shook his head slowly. “That’s your sister, mate. Show a little respect. You talk about Isabelle like she’s some bored little sister playing pretend. Like her work isn’t real.”

Charles blinked. “That’s not what I said.”

“It’s exactly what you said,” Carlos snapped. “You talk about what she does like it’s picking curtains. Like she’s not out there building a career people actually respect. You know how many people would kill to design a place like Max’s penthouse?”

Charles looked blank. “It’s just a flat.”

Carlos let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “No. It’s not. It’s a statement. A place Max trusted someone to shape. And your sister did that.”

Charles shrugged, still defensive. “Okay, well, good for her.”

Carlos gave him a look. “Good for her?”

“Yeah, I mean—I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Carlos exhaled, eyes narrowing slightly. “I want you to realize that she’s more than ‘my sister who’s good at decorating.’ I want you to see her. Because everyone else seems to.”

***

Text Messages: Lando Norris & Carlos Sainz Jr. 

Carlos:  What the hell.

Lando: oh no

Lando: what did I do. 

Carlos:  I talked to Charles. 

Carlos:  Charles talks about his sister like she’s some intern playing with paint samples

Carlos:   She’s out here designing penthouses and he’s like “yeah she’s good at decorating”

Lando: oh my god 💀

Carlos: I wanted to shake him

Carlos:   how do you not SEE your own sister

Carlos:   She’s killing it

Carlos:   She’s literally a better architect than half the guys building million dollar places in Monaco.

Lando: yeah

Lando: max definitely sees it lol

Carlos:  Yeah, well, at least Max appreciates good work

Lando: not just her work, mate 😬

Carlos:  What does that mean?

Lando: uh

Lando: nvm

Lando: forget i said anything

Carlos:  LANDO.

Lando: max and isabelle are a thing okay!!!

 Lando: they’ve been a thing for months!!

Carlos:  Are you saying

Carlos:  Max Verstappen

Carlos:  Is dating Isabelle Leclerc?!

Lando: 😬😬😬😬😬

Carlos:  dios mio

Carlos: does CHARLES know

Lando: oh absolutely not

Lando: zero clue

Lando: brain empty

Lando: we’re all going to die when he finds out

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Daniel Ricciardo and Carlos Sainz Jr.)

Carlos: What is this?

Oscar: Oh no

Carlos: Lando, why am I here?

Carlos: Why do you keep dragging me deeper into this

Daniel: WELCOME CARLOS!!

Daniel: You’ve joined an elite group of people who are  😬 aware 😬

Oscar: This is a safe space for those who are emotionally compromised by Max dating Isabelle

Carlos: Are you people insane?

Lando: yes

Carlos: I just found out like 7 minutes ago. 

Carlos:  I’m still processing the fact that Max is dating Charles’ SISTER

Carlos:  and that apparently EVERYONE BUT CHARLES KNOWS

Oscar: that’s the part that really gets you huh

Carlos: YES, OSCAR

Carlos:  how has CHARLES not noticed his own sister is dating his rival

Daniel: Love is the greatest camouflage

Lando: bro what

Daniel: idk it sounded poetic

Carlos: I can’t believe you all kept this to yourselves

Oscar: I found out in the cheese aisle of a supermarket. He knew her jam preferences. And then he smiled at her.  like softly

Lando: Max in love is terrifying

Lando: he’s… emotionally functional

Daniel:  I personally love this era for him

Daniel:  boyfriend max is my favorite max

Daniel: max 2.0: will fight you and then bring you tea

Carlos: I can’t be part of this

Carlos: i’m not stable enough

Carlos: i just yelled at charles for not respecting her work and NOW I KNOW SHE’S DESIGNING MAX’S APARTMENT BECAUSE THEY’RE TOGETHER

Carlos: I AM HIS TEAMMATE.

Oscar: oh no

Lando: oh my god

Daniel: this is my favorite plot twist

Carlos: I’m going to lie down in the garage and never get up

Lando: welcome to the group

Lando:  you’ll get used to the emotional whiplash

Oscar: We’re all just waiting for the day Charles finds out  and the world ends

Daniel: we should get matching t-shirts

Daniel:  i survived the verstappen-leclerc revelation and all i got was anxiety

***

The paddock was a flurry of noise—engine whines, media chatter— and Isabelle Leclerc was sipping iced water and trying not to sweat through her linen dress. One of Max’s linen shirts—stolen and knotted over her waist—was shielding her from the worst of the heat, and her sunglasses were perched high in her hair. 

She smiled politely when people passed, waved when engineers greeted her, and genuinely lit up when Gianpiero Lambiase came to say hello.

“Hey,” GP said, clearly mid-break between meetings. “I heard you have opinions.”

Isabelle tilted her head. “About?”

“Backsplash tiles,” he said, completely serious. “Kitchen remodel. My wife thinks I’m hopeless.”

Isabelle laughed, genuinely delighted. “I do have opinions. And Pinterest boards, if you’re interested.”

GP looked genuinely relieved. “Bless you. She keeps saying she wants something that feels 'European farmhouse meets modern desert' and I have no idea what that means.”

“It means she wants matte finish tiles, not glossy,” Isabelle said immediately. “And don’t pick anything with faux distressing. It always looks cheap.”

GP raised both eyebrows, intrigued. “Okay. I’ll tell her I consulted an expert.”

They chatted for a few more minutes—about grout colors, countertop edges, the horrors of open shelving—before GP was called away to a strategy meeting.

Isabelle turned back to her water and tried to will the heat away.

And then—

“Can I talk to you?”

She looked up.

Charles. Sunglasses on, jaw tight, expression unreadable.

“Sure,” she said cautiously, standing. “Everything okay?”

He didn’t answer. Just jerked his chin in the direction of the quieter walkway near the back of the paddock. She followed, unease creeping up her spine.

When they reached the shaded area, Charles turned on her sharply.

“Seriously, Isabelle?”

She blinked. “I—what?”

“GP?” he snapped.

Her eyebrows flew up. “What about him?”

“You’re flirting with Max’s engineer now?”

Isabelle just… stared.

“Are you serious right now?” she asked.

Charles crossed his arms. “He’s married, Isa.”

“Oh my god,” she said, incredulous. “You think I’m flirting with him?”

Charles didn’t respond, which was answer enough.

Isabelle took a step back. “You think I’m—what, exactly? A homewrecker? Some desperate little paddock groupie trying to sleep her way around Red Bull?”

“I didn’t say that,” he bit out, but his tone said otherwise.

“You didn’t have to!” she snapped. “You said it with your face. And your judgmental little ‘big brother’ voice.”

Charles looked uncomfortable for the first time, but didn’t back down. “It’s not about judging you. It’s about how it looks.”

“Oh, how it looks?” Isabelle laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You’re really going to lecture me on appearances? You—whose own dating history has been very well documented—are suddenly the morality police?”

“That’s different,” he muttered.

“No, it’s not.” She stepped in close, her voice lower now. “I wasn’t flirting. GP and I were talking about backsplash tiles. For his kitchen remodel. With his wife. Because, surprise, I have a degree and actual taste and people ask for my opinion.”

Charles blinked.

“I cannot believe you think so little of me,” she said, voice shaking. “Do you really think I’d put myself in that position? That I’d disrespect someone’s marriage like that?”

His jaw clenched, guilt flickering behind his eyes. “I just—saw you. Laughing. And I assumed—”

“Well maybe stop assuming, Charles.” Her voice broke, and she quickly looked away. “You assume the worst. You assume I’m… what? Naive? Reckless? Looking for attention? You never give me the benefit of the doubt.”

Charles swallowed. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“By calling me a homewrecker?”

He winced.

Isabelle stepped back, the chill in the air suddenly sharper. “I don’t need your protection, Charles. I need your respect.”

They stood in silence for a long moment, the weight of her words settling between them like dust.

“I came to support you,” she said softly. “ And now I wish I’d stayed home.”

“And for the record,” Isabelle said, stepping past him, “if I was flirting with someone, I wouldn’t be flirting with a guy, who is holding a ‘World’s Best Dad’ travel mug and has a wedding band on his finger.”

***

The door clicked softly behind him as Max stepped into the suite, pulling his cap off and running a hand through his hair.

It had been a long, sticky day at the track — race prep, debriefs, heat clinging to everything — and all he wanted was to see her.

"Belle?" he called gently.

No answer.

He frowned, dropping his keys and phone onto the entry table, kicking off his shoes. The suite was mostly dark, save for the dim bedside lamp glowing through the half-closed bedroom door.

Max pushed it open carefully.

And there she was.

Isabelle sat curled up on the edge of the bed, still wearing her soft linen dress, her head bowed low.

 Her shoulders were shaking.

Max’s heart dropped.

"Belle," he said immediately, voice low and sharp with concern, crossing the room in three quick strides. "Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?"

She shook her head, wiping at her face furiously with the sleeve of his shirt, like she was trying to erase the evidence.

 It didn’t work.

 Her cheeks were flushed, eyes red-rimmed, mouth trembling in that way that always gutted him.

Max sat down beside her, close but not crowding her, careful.

 He knew her well enough to know she needed a second before he touched her.

Isabelle dragged in a shaky breath. "It’s stupid."

"Nothing that makes you cry is stupid," Max said firmly.

She let out a broken laugh. "Tell that to your future brother-in-law."

Max’s jaw clenched instantly. "Charles?"

Isabelle nodded miserably.

Max didn’t even try to temper the fury that flared in his chest.

"What did he say?" His voice was low, dangerous.

She shook her head again, sniffling. "He—he saw me talking to GP and he thought I was flirting with him."

Max blinked.

And then, against every better instinct, he let out a short, incredulous laugh.

Because seriously?

"Gianpiero Lambiase? My Race Engineer?!" Max said, completely baffled. "He thought you were flirting with GP?"

Isabelle let out a choked noise — somewhere between a sob and a laugh — and Max immediately reached out, pulling her carefully into his chest.

She came willingly, curling into him like she always did, her fists bunching into his shirt.

Max rested his chin on top of her head, his arms wrapped tight around her.

"You were talking about tile grout and kitchen backsplash colors," he muttered into her hair, still half-laughing, half-furious, because GP had told him all about that. And how Isabelle had apparently solved the tile dilemma in the Lambiase Household. "And Charles thought you were seducing a man who literally carries a ‘World’s Best Dad’ mug everywhere?"

Isabelle gave a miserable little laugh through her tears, burying her face in her hands. "I feel horrible. Like I besmirched GP’s honor."

Max full-on laughed this time, wrapping an arm gently around her shoulders and tugging her into his chest.

"Belle," he said, shaking his head against her hair, "you didn’t besmirch anything. You didn’t do anything wrong."

She gave a tiny groan of despair. "His poor wife. I owe her an apology email. And a free kitchen consultation."

Max kissed the top of her head. "His wife’s will probably be crying laughing when she hears this story. She knows what she married — a man who brings spreadsheet printouts to pick out a dishwasher."

That finally coaxed a watery chuckle from her.

"Charles said it looked bad," Isabelle whispered miserably. "Like I was being careless."

Max closed his eyes for a second, breathing through the anger pulsing hot under his skin.

Careless.

 Isabelle — who second-guessed every step she took, every word she said.

 Isabelle — who bent over backwards to never make anyone uncomfortable.

 Isabelle — who had spent years shrinking herself so no one could accuse her of taking up too much space.

Careless.

 It made him want to throw something.

"You," Max said, pulling back just enough to look her in the eye, "are the least careless person I have ever met."

She gave him a watery little smile.

"And for the record," Max added, thumb brushing under her damp cheekbone, "if you were actually trying to flirt with someone, it wouldn’t be a married engineer who spends his lunch break arguing about countertop materials and backsplash tiles."

Isabelle laughed properly then, the sound soft and real against his chest.

"There’s my girl," Max murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair.

He rocked them gently for a second, grounding her, feeling the last of the tension bleed out of her body.

"You know what?" he said after a beat, voice lighter. "Next time Charles wants to accuse you of something, make it worth it."

She sniffed, laughing again. "Like what?"

Max shrugged, grinning. "Next time? Flirt with me in the garage. Right in front of him. Really traumatize him."

Isabelle snorted against his chest. "You’re evil."

"Only for you," Max said, kissing the side of her head again. "And besides, you’re much better at flirting than you think."

She lifted her head slightly, giving him a skeptical look.

Max smirked, leaning in until their noses brushed. "You got me, didn’t you?"

And Isabelle, finally smiling for real, kissed him — slow, lingering — like she was remembering exactly how.

Max kissed her back just as fiercely, every slow sweep of his mouth saying what he couldn’t put into words:

I see you. I trust you. I love you.

And he swore, next time anyone made her cry — even Charles — they’d have to go through him first.

And Max Verstappen didn’t lose.

****

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Remind me again why I came to this race

Emilie: oh no. What happened? Do i need bail money?

Isabelle: I had a fight with Charles. He thought I was flirting with GP. Because we were talking about backsplash tiles for his KITCHEN with his WIFE. 

Emilie: I’m going to set something on fire

Isabelle: Please don’t. Max already looks like he wants to fight him.

Emilie: Good. 

Emilie: honestly give me 20 minutes and a sharp object

Isabelle: Em

Emilie: No because it’s insane

Emilie:  He sees you laughing once and thinks you’re a scandal

Emilie:  But when Arthur was publicly dating 13 supermodels a year it’s “boys will be boys”. 

Isabelle: I know.  It’s just exhausting

Emilie: He’s exhausting.  You’re a ray of sunshine. He’s lucky to breathe the same air as you.

Isabelle: You’re very dramatic

Emilie: And you love me for it

Isabelle: I do

Isabelle: Max was perfect about it

Emilie: Of course he was. He worships the ground you walk on

Emilie: Stay strong, stay hydrated and if Charles says anything else dumb,  just smile and picture me flipping him off from 5000 miles away

Isabelle: That actually helps

Emilie: Good. Love you. 

Isabelle: love you too. 

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase.

Max: You homewrecker

GP: What???

Max: Charles thinks you’re trying to steal my girlfriend 😂

GP: WHAT

GP:  MAX WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT

Max: He thought Belle was flirting with you in the paddock

GP: WE WERE TALKING ABOUT BACKSPLASH TILES

GP:  AND GROUT COLORS

Max: I know

Max: Belle told me

Max: I’m still laughing

Max: apparently "matte finish" is code for seduction now

GP: MAX

GP:  SHE CRITIQUED MY TILE SAMPLE CHOICES

GP:  I TOOK NOTES

GP:  I SAID THE WORD “NEUTRAL GROUT”

Max: Dangerous game you’re playing, mate

Max:  Luring innocent women with your opinions on subway tile. 

GP: I’m MARRIED

GP: HAPPILY

GP: FOR FIFTEEN YEARS

GP: I WAS ASKING FOR DESIGN HELP BECAUSE MY WIFE SAID I HAVE “DAD BRAIN” AND NO TASTE

Max: Well now you’ve been accused of seducing my girlfriend with your “dad brain”

Max: big scandal, very dramatic

GP: I just wanted help choosing tile

Max: It gets better

Max:  Belle is mortified

Max: She keeps saying she “besmirched your honour” and brought shame upon your grout consultation

GP: ...oh my god

GP: please tell her she did no such thing

GP: she saved me

GP: her recommendation singlehandedly ended a three-week argument with my wife

Max: She will be delighted to hear that

Max: She was preparing to write a formal apology email. And offer to design your whole kitchen free of charge. 

GP: Tell her I am in awe

GP: and also a little afraid

GP:  She is frighteningly good at backsplash logic

Max: She is. 

Max: That’s one of the many, many reasons why I love her.

GP: Next time can we please avoid dragging me into romantic drama over interior finishes

Max: No promises

Max:  You’re too charming when you talk grout

**

Text Messages: Gianpiero Lambiase & Eloisa Lambiase

GP: You are not going to believe what happened today

Eloisa:  Did Max accidentally make another engineer cry?

GP: No, worse

GP: I have been accused of seducing Max’s girlfriend

Eloisa: I— what

GP: CHARLES LECLERC

GP: thought i was FLIRTING

GP: with HIS SISTER

GP: BECAUSE I ASKED FOR BACKSPLASH TILE ADVICE

Eloisa: I’M SORRY WHAT

Eloisa:  YOU SEDUCED ISABELLE LECLERC???

GP: I DIDN’T SEDUCE ANYONE

GP:  I was just asking for backsplash advice!

Eloisa: YOU GOT ACCUSED OF FLIRTING DURING A BACKSPLASH CHAT???

GP: It was in the paddock

GP:  Charles saw us talking

GP: ​​ Apparently Isabelle laughed at something I said

GP:  Now she’s a homewrecker and I tried to seduce her. 

Eloisa: OH MY GOD I’M CRYING

GP: Max thinks it’s the funniest thing that’s ever happened

GP:  He called me "dangerous" and said I was “seducing her by talking about matte finish tiles”

GP:  I want to resign

Eloisa: NO

Eloisa:  YOU’RE FAMOUS NOW

Eloisa: YOU’RE THE F1 PADDOCK’S MOST DESIRED MAN

GP: Please stop

GP: I was holding my “World’s Best Dad” mug 

GP:  She was giving professional recommendations

Eloisa: You WERE

Eloisa:  and apparently it was HOT

GP: I’m blocking you

Eloisa: No you’re not

Eloisa: You’re my husband, you sexy kitchen-reno Casanova

GP: Max said Isabelle feels terrible and thinks she “besmirched my honour”

Eloisa: please tell her she SAVED us

Eloisa: your choices were horrifying before she stepped in

Eloisa: She’s invited to all future home improvement debates

Eloisa: I trust her judgement more than yours

GP: Apparently she offered to redesign our entire kitchen as an apology. 

Eloisa: DO NOT LET HER TAKE THAT BACK

Eloisa: TAKE THE FREE DESIGN WORK

Eloisa: SHE HAS TASTE AND I AM TIRED OF ARGUING ABOUT SUBWAY TILE

GP: I feel like I’ve lost control of my life

Eloisa: You did the moment you started saying “grout lines” like it was sexy

GP: …you used to find that sexy

Eloisa: I still do

Eloisa:  Now let the nice woman redesign our kitchen and stop making Max cry with your effortless charm

Eloisa:  We’ll have STUNNING countertops. 

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Jos Verstappen

Max: Can you do me a favor tomorrow?

Jos: Depends what it is. 

Max: Keep an eye on Belle in the paddock for me

Max:  I’ll be busy with Race prep and I don't want her stuck alone with the circus. 

Jos: Something happen?

Max: Charles was an idiot. Made her cry.  Thought she was flirting with GP.

Jos: ...what?

Max: They were talking about backsplash tiles.  Tiles, dad

Max:  And Charles thought she was seducing him

Max: GP has a wife and a mug that says "world’s best dad". 

Max: Belle is mortified and doesn’t want to make a scene but I’d feel better if someone was around. 

Jos: Charles is lucky she’s your girlfriend and not mine or i’d have knocked him into next week. 

Max: Thanks, dad. 

Max: So, you’ll be around?

Jos: Yeah. 

Jos: I like her

Max: you do?

Jos: Yes. 

Jos:  She’s calm

Jos:  Doesn’t care about the attention. 

Jos:  Treats you like a person, not a trophy.

Jos:  And she’s polite to everyone. 

Jos:  You need that, especially with this life

Jos: and she reminds me of your mother. 

Jos:  The good parts. 

Max: Thanks. 

Jos: Don’t thank me

Jos:  If her brother opens his mouth again, I won’t be as diplomatic as you

Max: Copy that

Jos: Go to sleep. You have a race tomorrow.  

***

The sun was barely high enough to cast proper shadows across the paddock yet, but already the place was humming — engines firing up in garages, cameras being unpacked, people moving with that sharp, coiled energy that only came on race days.

Isabelle kept her head down as she crossed toward the Ferrari motorhome, clutching her coffee cup like a lifeline.

She had barely slept.

It wasn’t Charles’ words from yesterday that lingered — it was the old, familiar sting they brought back.

 The feeling of being out of place.

 Not enough.

 Too much.

She was rounding a corner when a voice cut across her path.

"Belle."

She froze.

Turned slowly.

Jos Verstappen stood there.

Arms crossed.

Expression like granite.

For a wild second, Isabelle panicked.

Had she done something wrong?

Was this about... something?

Everything?

Jos jerked his chin toward the side of the hospitality tent.

"Come."

Not a request.

Heart thudding, she followed him.

They walked in silence along the quieter edge of the paddock, boots scuffing against the concrete, the buzz of early morning preparations filling the air around them.

Finally, Jos stopped near a low concrete wall, leaned one elbow on it, and looked at her.

Not soft.

Not kind.

Just... assessing.

"You’re not weak," he said, voice blunt.

Isabelle blinked. "I—thank you?"

Jos grunted. "Don’t let them treat you like you are."

Isabelle opened her mouth, but he held up a hand to cut her off.

"Doesn’t matter what your brother says. Doesn’t matter what anyone sees. You know who you are. You know who you stand next to."

She swallowed hard.

Jos squinted at her, like checking if she understood.

"You don’t have to explain yourself to anyone," he said. "Not even family."

He straightened then, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve like the conversation wasn’t weighing the air between them.

"And if anyone gives you trouble today," Jos added, voice low and deliberate, "tell them they can answer to me."

Isabelle stared at him.

Jos Verstappen — who scared half the paddock with a look — had just offered to fight her battles.

Or at least stand behind her, silent and immovable, like a wall no one could knock down.

Her throat tightened unexpectedly.

Jos shifted, clearly uncomfortable with the lingering emotions.

"You’re good for him," he said roughly. "Better than he deserves, maybe."

Isabelle pressed her lips together hard.

Jos glanced away toward the garages, then back at her.

"Head up," he said. "Eyes forward. You’re a Verstappen now."

And with a short nod — like it was settled, permanent, not up for discussion — he turned and walked off, leaving her standing there, stunned, the weight of his words hitting harder than any podium speech or paddock rumor ever could.

A Verstappen.

She let out a shaky breath, squaring her shoulders.

Head up. Eyes forward.

She could do that.

***

Post Race Press Conference -Abu Dhabi Grand Prix 2023

Moderator: Congratulations, gentlemen. Max, let’s start with you — your 19th win of the season, an incredible dominant performance. How does it feel wrapping up the year on such a high?

Max Verstappen: It feels good. The team did an amazing job, as always. Car was strong all weekend. I’m happy to end the season this way.

Moderator: Charles, a strong second place today. How would you summarize your season?

Charles: (smiling, relaxed) It’s been a challenging year, but I think we made good progress toward the end. P2 today was the maximum. Happy to finish like this, and looking forward to building next season.

Moderator: George, third place for you today — and second for Mercedes in the Constructors'. Happy with that result?

George: (nods) Yeah, definitely. We knew coming into this weekend it would be tight, so I’m proud of the whole team. Good momentum heading into the winter break.

Moderator: For all three — with it being the last race of the season, a lot of families and friends are here this weekend. How much does it mean to have that kind of support?

Charles: (nodding) It’s always special. Seeing familiar faces after the race, sharing the moment — it makes all the difference.

George: (agreeing quickly) Yeah, it’s important. The season’s so long — having people show up and stick by you is massive.

Max: (voice sharp, no smile) It’s nice. Really nice when the people you care about show up. And I think that is something we need appreciate more and shouldn’t take for granted. It makes you realize who's paying attention — and who’s not.

(Charles stiffens slightly, casting a sidelong glance at Max, visibly confused. George starts tapping his fingers quietly against his knee like he’s trying to physically distract himself.)

Moderator: Moving on—Charles, you mentioned building for next season. Where do you think Ferrari needs to improve to challenge Red Bull more consistently?

Charles: I think we’ve made steps forward with race pace. But qualifying is still critical. We have to start stronger next year.

(Max’s mouth twitches — not quite a smile.)

Moderator: George, same question for you regarding Mercedes?

George: (relieved to be asked something normal) Yeah, similar. We’re closing the gap, but there’s still work to do. Everyone’s going to push hard over the winter.

Moderator: Charles, what was the most challenging part of your race today?

Charles: Uh, tire management, probably. We tried a different strategy and it wasn’t perfect. But we’ll learn from it and come back stronger next year.

Max: (flatly, without looking at him) Learning is important. Assuming you recognize the problem.

(George visibly bites his cheek to keep from reacting.)

Moderator: (to George, desperate for a less icy subject) George, what does the off-season look like for you?

George: (relieved) Um—sleep. Lots of sleep. Definitely time with family and friends. Just recharge and come back ready.

Moderator: And Charles?

Charles: (smiling automatically) Spending time with family and friends. Relaxing. Recharging.

Max: (calm, but brutal) Spending time with people who actually care about you. (pause) Quality over quantity.

(Dead silence in the room.)

(George stares at the floor like it might swallow him.)

(Charles looks genuinely confused.)

Moderator: (quickly) Alright, thank you, gentlemen. That’s all for today.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/f1oversteer:  Why was Max looking at charles like he wanted to fistfight him during the press conference???

@/paddocktea:  not to be dramatic but Max verstappen’s post-race energy was "say one more word and i'll launch you into the sun" and it was entirely directed at charles leclerc. what is going ON

@/racingincircles: ok but the way Max said "the people who actually show up" while STARING at charles... 😭😭😭 what did he mean by that

@/gp2engine: did charles and Max have a secret fistfight behind the garages or something why is the vibe so violent

@/monaco_mafia: george sitting in the middle of Max and charles looking like a victorian child watching his parents argue at dinner

@/f1clownery: i know charles is confused but the rest of us are confused too king WHO UPSET MAX

@/wheelsextension:  i’m sorry but charles leclerc’s energy today was so "what did i do" and Max’s was "you know exactly what you did"... except i don't think he does and neither do we… i need answers

@pitlanepettiness:  sources (vibes) are saying something WILD is going down behind the scenes and i for one am ready for the netflix edit

@fastlanefreaks:  you could feel the beef through the screen. i am eating it up but also terrified.

@motorsportmess: Max smiling tightly while charles is visibly sweating and george is trying to disappear into the floorboards... academy award winning drama

@/griddyforgp: Max throwing shade like it's personal and charles sitting there looking like he just got accused of murder

@/ferrarifangirl: charles: 😐 Max: 🙂🔪 george: 👀👟💨

@/f1sillyseason: petition for someone to tell us the FULL tea immediately i am not surviving the offseason otherwise

@/maxstappen44: someone check the abu dhabi paddock for the body bc Max BURIED charles during that conference and no one even noticed at first

@/charlesupportgroup: me watching Max roast my boy alive while he looks increasingly confused 👁️👄👁️

@/f1updates: sources in the paddock say “everyone’s being normal” but the vibes are off like someone’s about to get unfollowed on instagram levels of off

@/abudhabidrama: you are telling me Max verstappen and charles leclerc are beefing and i don't even get a backstory??? this is abuse

@/f1wagsleaks: what the actual hell is going on between Max and charles?? Max had BEEF ENERGY in that press conference and charles looked like he had no idea why i’m obsessed

@/formulachaos: MAX: “It’s nice when the people in your life actually show up to support you :)” stares directly at Charles CHARLES: 🧍‍♂️ GEORGE: 👀🚪

@/postracegossip: this is officially the most tense podium press conference i’ve ever seen someone bring popcorn and possibly a referee

@/notdutchjustfast: someone explain to me like I’m five: Why is Max acting like Charles ran over his cat and why is Charles acting like he doesn’t remember what a cat is

@/f1girliesunite: this has nothing to do with racing and everything to do with a woman, I feel it

@/danriccsmilez:George Russell is the human equivalent of the “I do not see it” meme rn He saw whatever drama that was and said “not my circus, not my millionaires”

@/mclarenshadowstalker: Lando. speak now. We know you know TELL US

@/chaosandcheckered: Next year’s Drive to Survive is going to need a trigger warning

***

Text Messages: George Russell & Alex Albon

George: Mate, do you know what’s going on between max and charles

Alex: what Alex: no Alex: why

George: Press conference was WEIRD George: Max basically roasted him alive George: Charles looked like he didn’t even know why

Alex: lol Alex: no idea Alex: i wasn’t even paying attentio

George: alex George: seriously George: it was tense

Alex: how tense are we talking Alex: like Alex: mild paddock gossip tense Alex: or Alex: security might need to intervene tense

George: somewhere in the middle George: like "passive aggressive christmas dinner" levels of tense

Alex: oof Alex: hate that

George: i swear max was this close to throwing a chair

Alex: charles wouldn’t survive that Alex: he’d just start apologizing and not know why

George: that’s the problem George: he looked genuinely confused

Alex: 😂😂 Alex: classic

George: seriously George: if you hear anything George: tell me George: i don’t want to get blindsided if they start swinging in parc fermé

Alex: lmao Alex: will keep ears open Alex: but rn all i know is Alex: max is mad Alex: charles is confused Alex: george is stressed

George: useless

Alex: you knew that when you texted me 🫶

***

Text Messages: George Russell & Lando Norris

George: Mate George: What’s going on with max and charles

Lando: Uh Lando: what do you mean

George: don’t play dumb George: press conference was insane George: max basically called him fake to his face

Lando: 👀 Lando: i mean Lando: uh Lando: i didn’t really notice anything

George: lando

Lando: maybe max’s just tired?? Lando: long season Lando: lots of emotions you know 😅

George: he looked ready to rip someone’s head off

Lando: 😬 Lando: well Lando: maybe he just really cares about honesty and support and…stuff

George: what do you know

Lando: nothing

George: lando.

Lando: i don’t know anything i can legally say

George: what does that even mean

Lando: listen mate Lando: for your own safety Lando: stay out of it

George: out of what??

Lando: THE VORTEX

George: what vortex

Lando: the verstappen-leclerc vortex Lando: you don’t want to get sucked in

George: lando. George: what did max do George: what did charles do

Lando: max didn’t do anything Lando: charles didn’t do anything Lando: everyone’s innocent Lando: and i’m especially innocent

George: you’re being very suspicious

Lando: i’m being ALIVE Lando: which is what you should focus on

George: so i should be worried

Lando: VERY worried Lando: but not about you Lando: about your proximity to the drama

George: brilliant George: great George: fantastic

Lando: good chat 😌

George: remind me to never trust you again

Lando: you never should’ve started

***

Fernando Alonso liked to think he was good at reading people.

Came with the territory — two decades in Formula 1, countless teammates, politics thicker than engine oil. You survived by knowing who was lying, who was hiding something, who was seconds from setting fire to their own garage.

And today? Today, something was off.

He was leaning casually against the Aston Martin hospitality wall, sipping a tiny, bitter espresso, when he saw it.

Max Verstappen. Walking through the paddock. Not alone.

Isabelle Leclerc, right beside him.

Nothing scandalous. No hand-holding, no grand gestures. Just two people walking.

But Max — Max, who barely let people breathe the same air as him — was walking close. Protective. Easy. Like it wasn’t new. Like it wasn’t a secret.

Fernando narrowed his eyes behind his sunglasses.

Interesting.

He watched them — Max steering her casually through the chaos with a light touch at the small of her back, Isabelle laughing at something he said, bright and unbothered.

Fernando turned slightly, caught a glimpse of Charles Leclerc a few garages down — not noticing any of this.

More interesting.

Later, during media rounds, he saw Lando Norris visibly flinch when someone mentioned Isabelle's name near a microphone.

And Fernando — two-time world champion, professional paddock gossip connoisseur — put it all together.

After all, he hadn’t survived in this sport for nothing.

He caught Max alone for a moment near the Red Bull hospitality, standing with that casual, lazy posture that fooled no one.

Fernando strolled up, espresso in hand.

"Congratulations," Fernando said smoothly. "On the race. And... other things."

Max raised an eyebrow, cool as ever. "Thanks."

Fernando sipped his coffee, studying him over the rim of the cup. "You think Charles is going to kill you when he finds out?"

Max’s mouth twitched. "Eventually."

Fernando chuckled, low and pleased. "Good. It was getting boring around here."

Max just smirked, entirely unbothered.

Fernando shook his head, amused beyond measure. "You know," he said, stepping back, "I always knew you were a reckless bastard. Just didn’t think you'd go for family drama reckless."

Max tipped his head slightly, as if accepting the compliment.

"And her?" Fernando asked, almost curiously. "Isabelle?"

Max’s smirk faded, just a little, replaced by something quieter. Steadier.

Fernando recognized it immediately — the rare thing that made even champions stupid.

 Real.

 Not for show. Not for the cameras. Not for PR.

Max shrugged one shoulder, casual but firm. "She’s worth it."

Fernando barked a short laugh, clapped Max on the shoulder once. "Good," he said. "Make it worth it."

Then he tossed back the rest of his espresso, tossed the cup into a bin without looking, and strolled away — whistling under his breath.

Because finally, finally, the paddock was interesting again.

***

The roar of celebration had faded behind them. No club lights, no champagne-soaked chaos, no loud music or podium flashbacks playing on screens.

Just altitude, quiet, and the steady hum of the jet engines as they cut through the darkness above the Gulf.

Isabelle curled into the wide leather seat, legs tucked beneath her, Max’s hoodie swallowed around her frame. Across from her, Max sat slouched with one arm thrown over the back of the seat, utterly at ease. The cap was gone, curls slightly messy. His race suit was half-unzipped and swapped for a black t-shirt. He looked tired. Soft around the edges.

He’d insisted they skip the party. Said he’d had enough noise. Said he just wanted to go home. Said she was home.

She hadn’t argued.

Now, with the cabin lights dimmed and the stars beyond the windows flickering against the black, Isabelle found herself staring at him — at his calm, unreadable profile — and feeling something enormous pressing against her chest.

"Your dad found me this morning," she said, voice quiet, almost lost in the hum.

Max turned to her immediately, alert in that subtle way he always was when it came to her. "Yeah?"

She nodded, gaze dropping to the thin gold ring around her thumb — one he’d bought her in Tokyo because she’d paused in front of a shop window for half a second.

"He pulled me aside. Said some things."

Max’s brows lifted. "Bad things?"

She shook her head. "No. Just... direct."

Max’s mouth twitched. "So, my father."

Isabelle smiled faintly. "He told me I wasn’t weak. That I didn’t have to explain myself to anyone. That I was a Verstappen now."

That made Max still. Not alarmed. Not tense. Just still. Like the words had rooted somewhere deep.

"He said if anyone gave me trouble, they’d have to answer to him," she added, voice softer now. "Then just walked off like he hadn’t made me want to cry in the middle of the paddock."

Max leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, elbows propped. Watching her.

"I didn’t ask him to say that," he said, measured. "I only asked him to look out for you."

"I know," she murmured.

"And?" he asked, eyes searching hers. "Did it help?"

She let out a slow breath. "Yeah. It helped. It was... grounding. A little terrifying. But grounding."

Max smiled, small and real. "He likes you."

"Scary way of showing it," she said wryly.

Max shrugged. "He doesn’t know how to be soft. But loyalty? That’s his version of love."

She nodded slowly. Let the words sink in.

After a moment, she added, quieter still: "It meant something. Hearing that. Being told I belonged."

Max reached across the space between them and took her hand, threading their fingers together.

"In every way that matters," he said, voice low, steady, fierce, "you already are."

Her eyes flicked up to his.

"You’re mine," Max added, thumb brushing along the curve of her knuckle. "My partner. My person. My home."

She swallowed thickly. His hand was warm, steady. Unmoving.

"And if you want your passport to match someday..."

 He smiled, just a little — not teasing, not even hinting.

 Promise.

"We’ll make that happen too."

Isabelle’s breath hitched.

There was no rush.

No pressure.

But it was there — quiet and solid and waiting.

The life they were building.

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, leaning across the aisle until her forehead rested against his.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I know," Max murmured. "I love you more."

And the hum of the engines, the silence of the sky, the softness of this stolen moment — it all folded in around them like a secret the world hadn’t figured out yet.

But soon.

Soon, they wouldn’t be hiding anymore.

And Isabelle — steady and ready — would meet it all head-on. Head up. Eyes forward.

Like a Verstappen.

***

Instagram Story: @/isabelleleclerc

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/gridgossip: Isabelle ending her q&a by thanking people for asking about HER and not her brothers... I'm crying in the club actually

@/monacoprincess: no bc imagine living your whole life in the shadow of your brothers and finally being like "thank you for seeing me".  this girl deserves the world

@/paddocktalk: her just wanting to exist as HERSELF not "charles' sister" not "leclerc family member #3" just isabelle i’m going to start swinging

@/f1girlie: the worst part is you can TELL she didn’t expect people to care about her and she still answered so kindly and openly… protect her at all costs

@/undercutqueen: me watching isabelle leclerc quietly exist without demanding attention and somehow being the most interesting person in the paddock [insert emotional damage meme]

@/rbrsunshine: no bc the amount of grace and patience isabelle must have to live in the leclerc orbit and STILL be this soft and sweet… i would have gone feral YEARS ago

@/paddocktea: the fact that this was her first Q&A ever and she was genuinely shocked people asked about her and not charles/arthur???  we failed her as a society

@/tifosimama: you know what?  isabelle leclerc appreciation post. talented. stylish. kind. strong. soft-spoken but powerful. this is an isabelle stan account now.

@/f1girlies: when isabelle said "everyone should have an emilie" about emilie…i just. i need to go lie down.

@/mclarenmischief: also her talking about victoria verstappen??? saying "not a lot of people can understand what it’s like” like no wonder they’re close. It’s a whole different kind of fear

@/ferrarifangirl: THE WAY ISABELLE AND VICTORIA UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER WITHOUT EVEN HAVING TO EXPLAIN IT… that hit way harder than i expected

@/gridgossip: isabelle casually saying "everyone deserves one friend like emilie" has me SOBBING at 3pm on a Monday

@/gridgossip: new theory: what if she’s been cat-sitting Max’s cats this whole time and we’ve just been clowns not seeing it

@/p1princess: what if the cats always knew…what if sassy and jimmy were the REAL first ones to approve of belle

@/redbullracingwives: charles not letting isabelle borrow his cars is both hilarious and the most big brother energy imaginable

@/honeybadgerenergy: ISABELLE LECLERC DRIVES A VOLVO

not a ferrari

not a lamborghini

a VOLVO

she's actually mothering the entire paddock i fear

@/gridgossip: isabelle leclerc posting a literal MOODBOARD during a casual q&a and it’s everything i want my future house to be

she’s unreal

@/mclarenmischief: her caption was literally "be nice" and then she dropped the most perfect moodboard like it was NOTHING

[ladysharmaa]

My miracle

Anthony Bridgerton x reader

summary: Anthony’s wife is in labor and it’s not looking good

warnings: mentions of death

“Where is she?” the loud voice of Anthony was heard in the entire mansion. The door he opened slammed into the wall but he couldn’t care less as he saw some servants running his way to take off his coat. “Tell me where my wife is!”

“My apologies, my Lord.” the poor man trembled under the Lord’s menacingly glare, that were just a cover for the worry and fear that was running though his veins. “The Viscountess is in your chambers. The midwife and your mother are already present with her. Shall I inform your brothers to come and wait with you until the child is born?”

Anthony didn’t bother to respond. He quickly climbed the stairs, two steps at once, seeing with wide eyes as the maids ran to his room with towels in their hands. He doesn't even settle for knocking, immediatly opening the bedroom door. None of his mother's stories could have prepared him for the sight that lay ahead.

His darling wife was drenched in sweat, dressed in her nightdown. One hand was on her round belly protectively while the other was in his mother’s hands, who was whispering words of comfort. Her jaw was clenched in pain and it was only then that he noticed the midwife between the Viscountess legs. 

“You!” Y/n screamed accusingly, managing to point a finger at Anthony with hatred. “You did this to me! You will never ever put your hands on me again!”

“I-” Anthony was at loss of words. He knew that his wife was in pain, and looking like she was ready to kill, so he just nodded his head in agreement. He took slow hesitant steps towards the bed, hoping to comfort her without dying. “I’ll never touch you again, my love. How are you feeling?”

“How do you think I’m feeling? I’m pushing your child that inherited your big head out of my lady parts! So tell me, my dear husband, how am I feeling?”

“Like you are giving birth?”

“Anthony...” his mother whispered while shaking her head in dispair. “You should leave the room. Your brothers must be coming to keep you company. We shall call you when the child is born.” 

“I’m not leaving my wife.” was the only thing he said with firmity, holding Y/n’s hand and kissing her soft skin gently.

She turned to him, a change in her demeanor, eyes full of tears of terror. “I’m scared, Anthony. It hurts.”

“I know it hurts. It’s okay, love. You will be alright and then we will have our child with us.” he whispered. A feeling of guilt washed through him. How could he have made his wife suffer through childbirth? “You are the bravest person I know. So so much braver than me and everyone else. I’m so proud of you.”

"I can't do this. It hurts too much. Make it stop, Anthony, please." Y/n cried.

It was only then that Anthony saw the look in his mother. She was worried, exchanging looks with the midwife. And as much as the Viscount would like to also show his anguish, his first priority was to comfort Y/n. "It's going to be okay, my love. Just a little longer, you're being so strong."

But she no longer had the strength to respond. It was getting harder and harder to keep her eyes open and she just wanted to sleep to escape the pain. Between her legs, an increasingly larger pool of blood was forming. Anthony's eyes were wide and there was enormous pressure in his chest. It felt like I was running out of oxygen, and it only got worse when Y/n finally gave in to unconsciousness.

"What's happening?" he whispered, looking in alarm first at Violet. Afterwards, he turned to the midwife furiously. "What's wrong with her? Help her! Do something!"

"Anthony, you need to leave." Violet advised, trying to remain calm for everyone's sake. Anthony was becoming more and more desperate, tears falling from his eyes as he grabbed his wife's hand tighter and brought it to his lips.

"I'm not going anywhere!"

"Viscount Bridgerton, the baby is in pain. You won't want to see what I'm going to do. I promise I'll try to save both of them." the midwife said, taking a small knife and flying it over Y/n's stomach.

"If you need to choose, save my wife's life." Anthony begged, now more desperate as his mother called his brothers to take him out of the room.

"Anthony..."

"No, mother, you save my wife's life!" Benedict and Collin grabbed the man by the arms and began to carry him outside, despite Anthony's struggle. "You hear me! My wife is going to survive! Let me go! Mother, save Y/n!" he shouted before the door closed in his face. 

The last thing he saw was the woman making the cut on Y/n's stomach, who woke up with a jolt. She then let out a scream that would torment Anthony for the rest of his life.

With a cry of anger mixed with sadness, Anthony broke free from his brothers' grip and put his hands to his face. He didn't want to think about the possibility of losing the love of his life. He simply couldn't take it.

"Wow, Anthony, calm down." Collin whispered when Anthony, in a rage, threw a punch against the wall. "The Viscountess is a fighter. If anyone is capable of overcoming this, it's her."

"You don't tell me to calm down, Collin. Not when my wife is in that room fighting for her life over something I did." he cried, jaw shaking and eyes red that only showed the immense pain he was in. He sat on the floor, leaning his head back and looking at the ceiling. "I need her to live."

"And she will live, brother. I will bring a drink, and we will wait together for news." Benedict said, rushing to bring the alcohol when Y/n's screams became louder.

On one hand, each scream was like a stab in the heart of Anthony, who was increasingly pale and looked like he was going to vomit at any moment. On the other, it was the only way to know she was alive.

Moments passed. The Viscount didn't know if it had been seconds, minutes or hours. Things seemed to be getting mixed up in his mind. Nothing made sense, not when the love of his life was in the next room in pain and he was away from her. He had to protect her, it was his obligation as a husband. And he failed.

And then came the moment when Anthony's heart stopped. A baby's cry was heard, and he allowed himself to smile a little. He had a son or daughter. A mini version of his wife. And then he burst into tears when Y/n stopped screaming and everything became too silent.

It was uncontrollable. He cried without being able to stop, making it even difficult to breathe in. Anthony refused to believe that he would have to raise this child without Y/n. Without her affection, her kindness, her love. He didn't want to open his eyes and realize that all this wasn't a nightmare, but reality.

Benedict and Collin didn't know what to do. But one thing was certain, they would be there to help Anthony with whatever he needed and never let that child forget the wonderful mother he had. Then, Violet left the room holding a pile of blankets that held the baby.

"You have a daughter, Anthony."

He just cried more. His body was shaking and he couldn't even look at his mother and the baby. "Y/n... Is she...?" He took Violet's silence as a yes. "Oh god..."

"Enter the room, Anthony. She is waiting for you."

Anthony had never stood up so quickly in his life. He quickly opened the door, stopping momentarily when he saw the amount of blood on the sheets, but the most important thing was Y/n's half-open eyes. She was alive and looking around the room in confusion.

"Anthony? Where is my baby?" her voice was hoarse and extremely weak.

The man fell to his knees at the edge of her bed, and lowered his head to rest on her chest. A feeling of relief spread throughout his body when he felt the rising and falling movement of her chest, indicating that she was breathing and that it wasn't just his imagination.

"I love you so much." he cried, feeling her hands start stroking his hair. "I'm sorry. You were so brave and strong. I'm so proud of you, my love."

"Where is my baby?" Y/n didn't want to seem like she didn't appreciate Anthony's words because that was a lie. He was the most important person in her life. But at that moment, Y/n just wanted to know where her baby was.

"She's right here, dear." Violet reassured with a smile, announcing her presence.

Very carefully, she passed the child into the arms of her son's wife, her smile widening as the little family was finally together again. The new parents had a gentle smile as they looked at their creation, a new love emerging for this fragile human being.

Anthony kissed Y/n's temple. "We have a daughter."

"She is beautiful."

"She takes after her mother." Anthony quickly said, never feeling so much love as he did in that moment. 

He was extremely proud of Y/n admiring her strength and courage. Now, he was going to protect his two girls until the end of his life. Nothing was more important than his family.

[astonmartinii]

i love him, it's ruining my life [guilty as sin part one] | charles leclerc social media au

pairing: charles leclerc x fem sainz!reader

a contract ends, a relationship is exposed and even with everything on the line, she still loves him.

MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 621,099 others

yourusername: out and about town

view all comments

user1: girl? girl? GIRL?

user2: carlos' career is DEAD AND SHE'S POSTING VACATION PICS ON INSTAGRAM

user3: at least they're cute instagram pics

landonorris: y/n i think it's time you finally take that phone off of do not disturb

yourusername: but that's the perpetual state of my phone i am a poet i was born to be in the woods, if you have news tell me now before i close this app in 20 seconds

landonorris: i don't want to air your brother's business out in a public instagram comments literally just scroll through your timeline idiot

yourusername: wait let me open the family group chat

yourusername: WHAT

user4: are we about to see her reaction to carlos losing his seat in real time?

user5: let me grab my popcorn one sec

yourusername: WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME?

landonorris: take your phone off DND for once in your life and maybe you’d be clued in on the news

charles_leclerc: and while you’re at it reply to all the tiktoks i sent you

landonorris: not the time leclerc

charles_leclerc: but but but my tiktoks… i finally got a tarot card reading that resonates

landonorris: NOT THE TIME

charles_leclerc: don’t hate the player hate the game

carlossainz55: really?

charles_leclerc: i am TALKING ABOUT TIKTOKS LEAVE ME ALONE

yourusername: this is a lot - gosh can’t a girl go on holiday without everything imploding (i'll check the tiktoks in a second)

user6: anyone kinda weirded out that charles is just here joking with y/n as if his teammate and her brother hasn’t just been forced out of a job?

liked by carlossainz55

user7: babe he wasn’t forced out of a job, his contract wasn’t renewed. the last time i checked this was a sport where they compete not sit around and sit kumbaya

liked by charles_leclerc

user8: oh! they’re both liking shady comments already, it’s been a day since the announcement

user9: this is gonna get ugly isn’t it?

user10: awful, truly. i’m sat.

carlossainz55

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 1,029,458 others

carlossainz55: love all, trust a few and do wrong to none

view all comments

user11: .... right, what ever the fuck that means?

user12: i mean i was just here to celebrate the win what is all this poetry

user11: are we shading charles? lewis? ferrari?

yourusername: shakespeare, really?

carlossainz55: i can read you know

yourusername: oh really, that's news to me

user13: erm you guys i thought the whole job loss thing was meant to bring the family together....

user14: they joke like this all the time this is just sibling banter

user15: idk it's reading a lil more tense than usual, not that there's any reason for that (that we know of)

charles_leclerc: doing the tifosi proud ❤️

carlossainz55: will do while i can

user16: yall .... what happened to the chemistry

user17: they were never friends - pierre tried to tell yall

landonorris: a carlando podium !!! lets do this every week

carlossainz55: golf buddies and podium buddies - you love to see it

landonorris: LETS GO WILD AND PUT IT ON FERRARIS TAB THEY OWE YOU

landonorris: i mean let's celebrate your triumph good pal!

user18: the PR monster got lando :( rip

carlossainz55: just being able to win in front of the most important people in my life is enough

user19: does anyone else think it was weird that y/n wasn't at the race?

user20: like y/n loves australia she litr says that she was an aussie in a past life...

user21: also the most recent carlos comment... is y/n not one of the most important people in his life?

user22: do we think something has happened? like maybe he thought she should've cut her holiday short to come home to support him?

user23: also the fact that her and charles were immediately like joking around with each other? maybe it just rubbed him the wrong way

user24: but not even considering her an important person to him? and also that just seems like he's shifting all the blame to charles when it's ferrari who haven't extended the contract

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc, danielricciardo and 892,309 others

tagged: kellypiquet & yourusername

maxverstappen1: she says she's a professional third wheel, i call that being a LEECH

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user29: unlikely trio but somehow my favourite

user30: y/n really be their overgrown child

yourusername: how am i the leech when i paid for the ice cream mr millionaire 🤨

maxverstappen1: ever thought about how i want to spend quality time with my girlfriend?

yourusername: won't someone think of the children

maxverstappen1: ur 23

yourusername: that's it! p and i are unionising against this if you find suspiciously well drawn crayon graffiti on your walls it was NOT me

maxverstappen1: don't threaten my walls if you still want to come to races

yourusername: low blow 😩

user31: does that mean... she's not going to races with carlos?

user32: she's always been in his garage tho like even with how close her and max have always been SHE'S ALWAYS IN GARAGE 55

user33: i feel like this has something to do with the whole seat situation i'm not sure how but like i think there's something weird going on here

kellypiquet: don't worry @yourusername it might be max's house but it's p that has the final say

yourusername: no one gets bluey like i do

maxverstappen1: yeah but while you're here you get the best seat at the tea party IT'S NOT FAIR

yourusername: well one of us can name all the disney princesses and one of us can't

user34: so.... y/n is living with max? but i thought her and carlos shared an apartment in madrid?

user35: guys i'm so confused

user36: we need the twitter detectives on this asap

charles_leclerc: no lec... when i specifically sent you a PR bundle, you hate to see it

maxverstappen1: you only sent that to us for y/n

charles_leclerc: maybe! but i have it on good authority that you loved the vanilla

maxverstappen1: ummmmmmm no i'm a professional athlete, y/n ate all of it

yourusernames: FALSEHOODS

charles_leclerc: i know who i believe

maxverstappen1: why is everyone ganging up on me in this comment section

user37: charles sending lec to max's house just for y/n WHAT DOES THIS ALL MEAN

user38: and does it have anything to do with carlos maybe kicking her out

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 673,892 others

yourusername: gotta make sure i give p a reason to tell me stick around

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user39: charles is always in the likes before me and i have notifications on

user40: they seem like such close friends it's so annoying that they're never spotted together at a race and we have no pictures of them :(

charles_leclerc: why do i never get any baked goods i literally sent my ice cream to my arch rivals house just for you

yourusername: you're never in the fucking country that's why

charles_leclerc: i have this kind of demanding job i don't know if you knew

yourusername: i also have the demanding job of being sexy and i cope just fine

charles_leclerc: i heard you got employee of the year, hard to be too upset when you're the competition

yourusername: better luck next time babe

user41: openly flirting with the guy that caused her brother to lose his job, this girl is just shameless

yourusername: do you think charles is the literal ceo of ferrari?

user42: why are you defending charles more than your actual brother?

yourusername: i feel like i gotta make this statement every three buisness days on here but like you people don't know what happens in our personal lives and i can defend my friends if i feel they're being unnecessarily questioned

user43: queen snapped omg

user38: they always be out here trying her like she's not a writer and poet SHE WILL READ YOU FOR FILTH

maxverstappen1: pretty sure she'd replace you with me in like two seconds so you're safe until [redacted] gets home

yourusername: i'm pretty sure with the right campaign i could sway jimmy and sassy to my side as well

user44: who the FUCK IS REDACTED

maxverstappen1: wouldn't you like to know 🤨

yourusername: max ???

maxverstappen1: what? i didn't have friends growing up i like that you tell me secrets

yourusername: oh :(

maxverstappen1: you wanna tell me more?

yourusername: NO YOU ALREADY KNOW THE BIGGEST ONE

maxverstappen1: true 💅🏻

user45: so like the secret is defo a relationship right?

user46: do we think carlos knows?

user47: by the fact that he's not in these comments... probably not

user48: so like he looses his seat and finds out his sister is in a secret relationship? someone give the guy a break

user49: or maybe, just maybe, there's a reason that y/n hasn't told carlos and he's not the guy we all think he is

liked by charles_leclerc

user50: OH? this war is so on ....

f1teaspill

liked by user51, user52 and 31,845 others

tagged: yourusername & charles_leclerc

f1teaspill: the war at ferrari is heating up... turns out there's a lot carlos didn't know and FOR YEARS. yes, you're reading that right, y/n sainz and charles leclerc have been in a relationship for at least two years and believe us we have a VERY credible source like WITHIN THE FAMILY level source.

the most important thing about this whole relationship is how carlos did not know for years, so how much more was hidden from him? did y/n know about the seat swap for lewis? was she leaking strategies to charles? was she sabotaging her own brother?

view all comments

user53: OH SHITTTTTTTTTT

user54: cancel me if you will but i think the hottest couple in f1 just dropped

user55: the fact we've been robbed of content of them for years .... i'm angry I NEED THE POETRY ABOUT CHARLES

user56: i'm gonna need y/n or charles to drop all the pics in response

user57: y'all a source "within the family"? did these fools find out about y/n's relationship and immediately run to an f1 TEA PAGE???

user58: that's some goofy ass shit

user59: i find it funny that instead of sitting down and thinking about why their daughter/sister didn't feel comfortable enough to tell you about her relationship they're like i know EXACTLY who needs to hear this

user60: the way it's proved her completely right to not tell them

user61: do you guys think this is like a tv show or like fan fiction? in what world is y/n sharing strategies to fuck over her own BROTHER?

user62: also be for fucking real... strategies? ferrari? at least try and be realistic

user63: also.... walk with me .... why would y/n and charles conspire to put lewis hamilton in carlos' seat? LEWIS FUCKING HAMILTON AND SEVEN TIME WORLD CHAMPION? WHY WOULD CHARLES WANT TO TAKE HIM ON OVER A GUY HE'S ALREADY BEATEN TWICE

user64: see this is the point! sainz camp you can try and demonise charles and yOUR OWN DAUGHTER all you want but we all know it's bull shit

user65: one thing about this that really rubs me the wrong way is that the sainz camp clearly expected that if y/n was in a relationship with charles that she would've been a double agent for carlos? and because she's not fucking insane they're now going for character assassination of their own SISTER/DAUGHTER

user66: THIS THIS THIS

user67: carlos won't even consider y/n an "important" person in his life but expect her to sacrifice or exploit her relationship for cheap psychological points

user68: also y/n isn't even at most races so how is she getting carlos' strategies to give to charles? this shit doesn't make any sense

user69: carlos himself has said in an interview that y/n is useless when it comes to racing that she's just a supportive figure rather than someone who has any in depth racing knowledge

user70: this is insane level hating with all the evidence out here... and against your own family...

user71: this just makes me think that y/n wasn't in australia for a reason - like was she banned from carlos' garage

user72: and the fact she's been staying at max's it just makes me think that y/n was kicked out of her and carlos' apartment

user73: now tHATS INSANE

espnf1

liked by pierregasly, maxverstappen1 and 1,025,788 others

tagged: carlossainz55, charles_leclerc & yourusername

espnf1: well... this could be awkward

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user77: espn babe you're just like me

user78: *slides $5 across the bar* get a camera in the ferrari garage?

espnf1: we're working on it 😩

user79: pierre and max here... they really are the paddock gossip girls

maxverstappen1: i guess carlos couldn't handle that i knew who redacted was before him 🤷🏻‍♂️

carlossainz55: really?

maxverstappen1: don't put your sister on the streets and i won't dunk these jokes on your head

user80: is this like the official f1 civil war?

carlossainz55: you don't know anything max, i'd really keep your nose out of our business

maxverstappen1: i actually know exactly how you guys move, you tried it on 17 year old me and it becomes my business when my best friend calls me with no where else to go (also i know you changed the locks while you were in maranello so she wouldn't be able to go to charles, you're not slick)

carlossainz55: i never took you as a lap dog max

yourusername: calling him the lap dog when you're the biggest bitch on the grid - bold

carlossainz55: you're burning a lot of bridges for a talentless slut who had to start fucking my teammate when we cut you off

yourusername: keep throwing your PR to the fire and see who fucking hires you, i guess we'll both be unemployed bums

user80: also imagine calling her talentless like she isn't a well established poet LOL

user81: guys this is getting so bad so quickly

user82: we got the whole rest of the season of this

user83: mad respect to max for sticking up for his bestie

user84: and her actual boyfriend isn't?

yourusername: charles will do his talking on the track like he always does. he won't debase himself with bickering in instagram comments, funnily enough ferrari don't like that - might be the reason he still has a seat and someone doesn't

carlossainz55: or he's a pussy who has his woman talk for him

yourusername: at least he has a woman to talk for him, he doesn't behind his dad at any sign of trouble. i've always known i didn't matter to dad the moment i wasn't a boy but i'm not afraid of him or you and i know exactly how you work. good luck

user85: do they know we can all read this?

user86: when i'm in an oversharing contest and the sainz siblings walk in

user87: those ferrari debriefs are gonna be AWKWARD

yourusername: especially since he doesn't have binotto to hide behind any more

user88: girl you good?

yourusername: i've never been better, this has been building for years even before charles and i got together

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 908,487 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: i love you, it's ruining my life

view all comments

user89: y/n i'm gonna let you finish but we could really get the best poetry out of all of this

user90: for real like yeah i'm sorry your brother tried to make you homeless, exposed your relationship, accused you of treason and called you a talentless slut - but think of the poetry!

charles_leclerc: i love you and i hope you're okay

yourusername: i'll always be okay with you

charles_leclerc: it's out now and no one can take us away from each other

charles_leclerc: i'd actually love to see them try

yourusername: i'd go through this fortnight of hell over and over again if it meant i'd still keep you

charles_leclerc: i'd like to say this is the end of it but i think we're in for the long run now

yourusername: i'm prepared to go to war for you

charles_leclerc: there's no one i'd rather be on the front lines with

user91: oh brother... YOU'RE IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH A POET WE GET IT

charles_leclerc: * in love with

user91: oh my bad

charles_leclerc: no worries

user91: STILL GROSS BRO

liked by maxverstappen1

charles_leclerc: max ???

maxverstappen1: you guys need to calm down cause i'm not good with words and kelly is gonna start scrutinising my cards and i DO NOT HAVE THE VOCABULARY FOR IT

yourusername: lol

maxverstappen1: lol? LOL? did our brief yet forced stint as roommates mean nothing?

yourusername: fine i'll ghostwrite your valentines cards

user92: so this is all a bit melodramatic

user93: he CHANGED THE LOCKS BRO SHE HAS THE RIGHT TO BE MELODRAMATIC

liked by charles_leclerc

user94: okay so now we're in full blown f1 civil war - who is on each side?

user95: well max and pierre are on charles' side. i'd also add in lewis, seb, oscar, esteban, george, alex, yuki and daniel

user96: so carlos has lando and fernando?

fernandoalo_oficial: it might not be blood but that's my daughter

user96: ????

user97: did he just show up to diss carlos and then refuse to elaborate?

user98: sounds like a nando thing to do .... also just leaves carlos with lando lol

user99: this feels a bit unfair

yourusername: all is fair in love and poetry

fin.

note: so as soon as i had this idea (litr TTPD release day) i have been so busy and WHACKED with the worst writer's block but i hope this is a good start and rest assured knowing the beef will only get worse... I LOVE DRAMA

note: hiii extra note from me here. first, i will fix this tag list at some point idk why it's not working rn. secondly, i have been made aware by multiple people that there is a series just like this one down to characters and the name of the series on here and i can't lie i'm bummed about it. as i said on the first part (?) this is an idea i've had since the release of TTPD (and people will back me up on this) so it bums me out that there are blatant copies coming out! i'm all for inspiration but sometimes there's a difference between taking inspo and copying especially when my masterlist was posted ages ago and my first part was posted on the 9th of may.... anyways that's all i have to say! enjoy xx

taglist: @aadu2173 @rhythmstars @kqliie @booksandflowrs @2bormaybenot @firelily-mimi @evie-119

[neonln4]

i found a good boy, and he's on my side | lando norris smau

lando norris x reader | a little bit of best friend!oscar

summary: when y/n's ex writes a messy song about her, fans push for lando to break up with her (he doesn't even consider it)

fc: sabrina carpenter

kind of a part 2 to what a coincidence, but you don't have to read part 1 for this to make sense

warnings: non-existent angst, lando very much in love with y/n, very brief mention of cheating (not lando), maybe some typos

note: y/e = your ex

yourex

liked by user1 and 593,827 others

yourex Biting My Tongue out tonight

Finally sharing my truth

View all 1,384 comments

user1 WE LOVE YOU Y/E

user2 ready for the tea 🍿

ynfan2 PLEASE LEAVE Y/N ALONE I BEG WE'RE OVER YOU

ynfan1 "sharing my truth" OHHHH BROTHER

user3 the y/n fans getting nervous

ynfan2 not nervous, sick of his lies

user2 perhaps y/n isn't as perfect as you think

user4 anyone else just here for the music

user5 @ yourusername YOU ARE SO OVER

♡

♡

yourusername

liked by landonorris, yourbff, and 1,138,827 others

yourusername leng

View all 5,394 comments

ynfan2 UNBOTHERED QUEEN

user2 is she just pretending her ex didn't drop a shady song about her

user6 lando still in the likes ... this is so sad

yourbff your reminder to not wear the red top this weekend

yourusername you've seen my outfits already TRUST there's no red in sight

landonorris that's my girl

ynfan1 MOTHER IS GOING TO SILVERSTONE

user4 how has lando not dumped you yet

user5 you really don't deserve lando

user3 HAS LANDO HEARD THE SONG YET? DUMP HER!!!

ynfan3 what's with all the loser hate comments

landonorris my girlfriend is sooooo leng now come give me a kiss

yourusername calm down

yourusername on my way tho

♡

♡

landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername, and 983,492

landonorris a little summer fun

View all 1,493 comments

user1 JEALOUS

yourusername who's the baddie

landonorris that's my girlfriend mate back off

ynfan2 WHY ARE THEY LIKE THIS

user3 waiting for the dumping...

user4 crazy that they're still together

user8 i think some of y'all are a bit dramatic, the song wasn't even that bad and it's just his perspective

ynfan3 A LANDO FAN WITH A BRAIN

yourbff last pic i want her baddddd

landonorris so you don't want [redacted]'s number anymore?

yourbff WAIT I TAKE IT BACK

ynfan2 QUEEN Y/BFF FINALLY APPROVING OF ONE OF Y/N'S MEN

oscarpiastri you stole my best friend

yourusername we literally have plans next week

♡

yourusername

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 1,293,283 others

yourusername is this thing on? 🎤

View all 3,128 comments

ynfan1 MOTHER IN THE STUDIO!!!!!

ynfan2 the last pic has me crying 😭😭 i just know she's about to be a menace

user2 if she's actually making a response song that's kinda pathetic

user3 right? her fans all say y/e is using her for fame but she's also doing it

yourbff let me hear it first

oscarpiastri i better get the link first

landonorris ignore both of them, i get first dibs

user1 THE DRAMA if she's making a response song lando better get out of there quick before he's her next victim

user4 WE DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

ynfan3 all these haters camping on y/n's post omg she's so famous

ynfan4 WE LOVE YOU Y/N IGNORE THE LOSERS

♡

♡

yourusername

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 1,428,372 others

yourusername my turn🩷

surprise! planned to keep these in the vault, but i guess things change. 'vicious' and 'eternal sunshine' live performances out now on youtube! studio version out friday 💋

View all 5,382 comments

landonorris proud of you love 🤍

yourusername 🧡🧡🧡

ynfan2 OH MY GOD NO WAYYYYYYY

ynfan3 "my turn🩷" THAT'S MOTHERRRRRRRRR

ynfan1 love lando supporting her through it all that's a good man

ynfan4 SHE SPILLED Y/E IS SO DONE

yourbff i love you so much!!!

yourusername love you!!

user3 these songs are really good ... sorry for hating before

user1 some of y'all switching up in the comments, she could be lying!!

ynfan5 perhaps i misinterpreted the lyrics, but did y/e CHEAT ON HER???

ynfan3 pretty sure 👀

♡

yourusername

liked by yourbff, landonorris, and 1,391,283 others

yourusername it doesn't get, doesn't get better than this 🧡

View all 4,302 comments

yourbff LOVE Y'ALL SO MUCH

ynfan4 THESE HAVE TO BE LYRICS

ynfan3 more lover girl music coming soon LET'S GOOOOOOO

ynfan2 y/n writing her two shady songs about y/e then going back to writing cheesy love songs for lando we love to see it

landonorris how i obsessively adore you 🤍

ynfan2 y'all they're quoting future lyrics right in front of our faces i just know it

user3 it's not looking like a break up any time soon

oscarpiastri answer my texts

yourusername sorry been busy 🤭

oscarpiastri disgusting

yourusername NOT LIKE THAT.

ynfan5 Y/NLANDO WILL ALWAYS PROSPER

♡

landonorris

liked by yourusername, yourbff, and 1,028,832 others

landonorris we are never breaking up btw

View all 2,384 comments

ynfan2 LMAOOOOOO

yourbff i'll have to break all of your bones if you ever hurt her

landonorris the scary thing is that i actually believe that you would

oscarpiastri hurt her and your life is over

landonorris DAMN DID Y'ALL READ THE CAPTION OR NO

user3 they're kinda growing on me y'all ...

ynfan4 everyone say we love you mom and dad

user4 worst news of my life

user2 i'm gonna be forced to like her this is terrible

yourusername thank god

landonorris if you leave me i think that i just might lose it completely

yourusername don't ever quote my songs at me again

[sinofwriting]

I ❤️ MILFS - Max Verstappen

Words: 9,747 Summary: Max wasn’t too sure who the woman was that was always with Logan, but he was sure that he wanted to get to know her. Note(s): Sargeant Reader, Age Gap, Older!Reader, Logan and Oscar are both 20 during the 2023 season, not 22. The 2023 driver standings are different (I am giving Logan the season he should have had). Reader has the nickname Pan (short for momma panther). Logan is sweetheart, Max is head over heels in love. I’m gonna be honest I never thought this fic would get written or finished. I got the idea for it back in December but only started writing it on March 16th. And it would have never happened without @burningcupcakefire & @pucksandpower. Thank you both so much for all your help. (also if anyone wants to see more of Max and Pan, let me know)

Masterlist | Support Me! | I ❤️ MILFS verse

Max remembers the announcement of Oscar’s arrival to F1, the drama and hilarity of it. Sometimes he sees the kids name and has to stop himself from laughing. No nineteen-year-old had any business being that funny.

Max doesn’t remember much of Logan’s announcement to F1. Only that he was young as well, being the first American in forever, and Williams' quick admission that they hadn’t wanted to sign, had wanted to wait another year.

He wishes now that he had paid more attention.

There’s a woman standing in the William’s garage, on Logan’s side. She’s clearly there for him, with the similar pass that his trainer has around her neck, and the way her eyes intently follow Logan’s movements around the garage as he talks to the mechanics and engineers.

She also happens to be the most beautiful woman Max has ever seen.

—

She can’t help but clutch at Benny’s arm the whole race, terror gripping her along with pride.

Benny chuckles when the race comes to an end, Logan doing his cooldown lap and she finally lets go. “And just think you’ve got over twenty more races of this.”

Her nose wrinkle and a hand goes over her heart that’s thudding. “Please, Benny.”

He chuckles again but pats her shoulder. “You’ve got this.”

“Not gonna tell me it gets easier?”

He snorts. “No. This is far worse than F2 or F3 and we still were both scared watching him out there. We’ll never know a day of peace now.”

She sighs, watching the screens as it shows the top three getting interviewed and in the background you can see some of the drivers getting weighed. “He’s going to be sore and in pain.” It makes something clench inside her, the knowledge that Logan would be in pain. It was part of the job, the aches and the bruises, but it didn’t make it any easier for her to know.

“I’ve already got everything set up as soon as he’s back and debriefs are done.”

Her eyes catch on the screen showing where all the drivers placed and tears prick her eyes and she shakes her head. “Twelfth in his first grand prix. I can’t believe it.”

The garage is filled with chatter as the team celebrates getting their first points of the season and their rookie driver performing better than they expected. The way they don’t even try to whisper it makes her jaw twitch. She was grateful that Williams was giving Logan his dream, but she didn’t like how they were going about it. Quickly and publicly stating that they didn’t want to sign Logan yet, wanted to wait a year. And now this.

A light nudge to her ribs makes her unclench her jaw and she gives Benny a grateful smile.

Both of their attention is quickly drawn however to the two Williams drivers entering the garage, the space filling with cheers.

She smiles as Logan grins at the team, basking in the smiles they have on their faces for him and Alex, the pats on the back he’s getting. The grin turns to a beam when he spots Benny and her and he quickly bounces over to them.

A laugh leaves her at the way Benny pulls him into a bear hug, lifting him off his feet a little. “Proud of you, kid.” He murmurs.

She can’t hear what Logan says, but he’s put down and it’s her turn.

She wants to bundle him up in her arms, hold him and not let go, but doesn’t want to embarrass him in front of his team, so she raises a hand and pushes his hair out of his face. “You did amazing, baby.”

He smiles at her, all bright and shiny eyes and then he’s wrapping his arms around her, hugging her tight and she’s quick to return it, rubbing his back.

“You did so good, Logan. So good. I’m so proud.” She tells him again, pressing a kiss to his sweaty head.

“Thank you, momma.” He tells her, hugging her tight for another moment before letting her go.

She smiles up at him and god, that makes her heart ache. Her son, her baby, taller than her somehow. She woke up some days and still wasn’t sure where the time had gone and how he was taller than her shoulders. “Go shower and debrief and then Benny and me will take care of you, yeah? And I’ll get your favorite ordered to the hotel, ready as soon as you get there.”

He beams at her again, darting forward to press a quick to her cheek before starting to rush away. “Best mom ever!” He calls over his shoulder and she laughs.

—

Y/N Sargeant will never forget the first time she held her son, only then at nine years old, he had been her cousin.

Logan was small, wrinkly, pink skin, and full of small cries. She could remember staring at him with furrowed eyebrows, trying to understand how he could be what her baby dolls were made to be like. She remembers her mama having her sit on the couch after asking her if she wanted to hold him and how she had quickly nodded, hoping that maybe holding him would somehow make him look better.

She remembers the sudden nerves that built in her stomach as her mama started to hand him to her. Remembers being scared that she would drop him, remembers thinking how stupid it would be if he was still weird to look at like this.

And she remembers finally holding that and it disappearing. His small cries, no more, his wriggling calmed down, and his wrinkles no longer looked weird but cute. She remembers holding him for the first time and feeling unconditional love for the first time in her life.

—

She’s twelve when she realizes that her uncle and aunt don’t like Logan much. It didn’t make sense to her then, still doesn’t know. Because they liked Dalton just fine, but not Logan.

She remembers asking her dad about it. Asking him why they didn’t love Logan, but loved Dalton and worse, she remembers the pained look in his eyes as he realizes that his child picked up on what he and his wife had as well.

It’s the first hard adult conversation she has with her parents and it’s fitting that it’s about Logan, as they sit her down and talk to her about how not all parents love their kids, and how sometimes that includes them only loving one child and not the other.

—

She remembers clearly the first time Logan calls her mom.

It’s her fourteenth birthday and she’s got the four-year-old in her lap as she sits in a rocking chair, reading her English essay aloud for him. Logan’s eyes are closed, head resting on her chest, over her heart, and his little fingers of his one hand are curled in her shirt right by his head.

She wants to sit there forever, reading to him as she rocks back and forth. But she wants another slice of cake before Martha puts it away and Logan needs to sleep in his bed where he can stretch out fully and drool on his pillowcases and not her shirt that Martha will surely tut over but then smile fondly when she sees Logan doing it all over again.

Setting the essay down on her dresser, she runs her now free fingers through his blond hair. “C’mon Logan, time for bed.”

He grumbles, fingers tightening on her shirt and she can feel it being pulled slightly.

“You can put on your new race car jammies, cuddle with Ello.”

He shakes his head, squirming a bit in her lap as he tries to shove himself closer. “Stay with you.”

“Oh, baby.” She whispers, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Y’know I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”

His head shakes again and she has to bite her lip as his head hits her collarbone. “Want cuddles, momma.”

Her heart thuds painfully in her chest at the name he called her, tears pricking her eyes. “Okay, baby. Let's get you in jammies, grab Ello, and you can stay with me tonight.”

—

She’s only been eighteen for ten hours when she asks her father for the near impossible.

“I want custody of Logan. I want to adopt him. And I need your help to make that happen.”

He stares at her, no expression on his face, not even shock.

“He’s,” She pauses, jaw twitching and tears springing to her eyes. “He wants to do karting, just like Dalton. And he’s good at it. I’ve taken him. They told him no. They haven’t bought him clothes in two years. They don’t know a single thing about his school, his grades, his teachers. He hasn’t called David dad since he was six and he hasn’t called Madelyn mom since he was four.” Her hands are formed into fists, nails digging into her palms as she speaks. “I have money, I can provide for him. I’ve got my shares of the company now and I’ve got my inheritance from Grandma Talls. But I know that a judge won’t sign off without some influence.”

“Madelyn and Daniel?”

She leans forward in her seat, a spark of hope filling her. “I already talked to them, they’ll do it.”

One of his hands comes up to rub at his mouth, sighing. Then it drops to open up one of his desk drawers and he’s pulling out a bunch of papers, dropping them on the desk in front of her.

“I figured this was gonna happen and I knew after you talked to them and they called me. They signed away their rights three hours ago. Michael and Lily are waiting outside to come in so you can sign the papers.”

Tears slipped from her eyes, joy wrapping itself around her entire being from his words, the fact that he called their family lawyer to be on standby, that he and her mother were so supportive. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

He smiles at her. “I couldn’t say no to you. Not when it comes to Logan. I’m way too young to have a grandkid, let alone one that’s eight, but I made my peace with that years ago.”

“Thank you.”

—

Max watches the free practice session coverage intently as they focus on the Williams garage, nose wrinkling when they focus on Logan’s trainer, Benny and then James Vowles. Could it really be possible that they never once caught a shot of her? He starts to get a sinking feeling in his stomach that he's gonna have to go on Twitter when the camera moves and suddenly she’s there and he’s scrambling for the tv remote, pressing the pause button just before the camera switches to an overhead shot of the Bahrain track.

His heart skips a beat as he gets his first good luck at her. Her pretty eyes and smile. His eyes then travel down, wanting to know her name and his heart drops.

Y/N Sargeant, Mother of Logan Sargeant.

Fuck.

—

“Momma Panther!” Oscar greets to the confusion of other drivers as Logan and a woman enter the room.

Lando’s eyebrows are raised as he watches Oscar stand. Watching as his teammate claps Logan on the back, before giving him an actual hug. Before he then hugs the woman as well, whispering something to her that makes her laugh.

Pulling away from her, Oscar grins when her hand comes up to pat his cheek for a second. “Thank you for the invite, Os.”

“Of course.” He sends a fond look to Logan, who's standing awkwardly by the table.

“Y’know Logan and you are always welcome.”

She makes a humming noise.

“C’mon, let me introduce you to everyone.”

Turning around, he smirks at the table. “Everyone, Logan.”

Charles lets out a laugh, as the others chuckle.

He gestures to her, “This is Momma Panther or Pan.”

“Y/N or Pan.” She corrects, playfully shaking her finger at Oscar. “I only let the F2 boys call me Momma Pan.”

He sighs. “Okay, this is Y/N. Logan’s mom.”

Lando coughs, water going down the wrong pipe. Fernando’s eyes are wide as he looks at her. Charles, George, and Alex are all nodding. Max has a weird expression on his face and Carlos looks dumbfounded.

“She,” Carlos points at her. “Is his,” he points at Logan. “Mother?”

Logan moves away from the table to stand by his mom, easily melting into her side at all the attention. The action makes Oscar smile, all too used to the easy affection between the mother and son. “I got pretty lucky right?”

She shakes her head. “I’m just happy you weren’t a difficult child.”

Logan both blushes and preens at the same time.

Carlos shakes his head, disbelief still clear.

“Please, sit.” George says after a moment. “We haven’t ordered yet.”

The seasoned drivers and her watch amused as both Oscar and Logan usher her to sit first. Oscar easily then lets Logan sit next before sitting beside the American. The two of them sharing a grin after.

It makes her shake her head as she turns her attention to the menu, tuning out the sound of conversation picking back up.

The gentle sound of a throat clearing makes her glance to her left.

The current two time world champion smiles a bit awkwardly at her. “Have you been here before?”

She shakes her head, turning her head a bit to look at him better. “No. To Australia of course, for Logan’s races and to visit Oscar once, but not here.”

He nods and she can’t help but notice the way he swallows harshly. “We started coming here in 2021, it’s good food. Good drinks.”

She laughs, “good gin and tonic?”

He flushes a little, but laughs. “Yes. Very good. Heavy on the gin.”

She nods, “I think I’ll have one of those then.”

Her eyes drift back to the menu, not even wincing at the prices next to the dishes. This was nearly cheap compared to where she had been forced to eat growing up.

“Momma, can we,”

“Yes.” She answers before Logan finishes, already knowing what he’s asking. “Also you two, no hard liquor. We have plans tomorrow.” She continues, still looking at the menu.

They wouldn’t get drunk from a few drinks, but she had a feeling that Lando would try to instigate something again with Oscar, making the poor kid so drunk he could barely walk, again. And she didn’t mind people thinking that she was overbearing with Logan and even Oscar. The boys knew that if they really wanted to do something they could, even if she said otherwise. It was one of the nice things about being an adult.

Logan wrinkles his nose, glancing at the drinks part of the menu, before grinning. “They have it.”

Oscar glances at what he’s pointing at, shaking his head. “You and your goddamn obsession.”

“We come here like once a year.” Logan defends. “And no other country sells it.”

It’s not until after the server leaves, all of their orders taken, that conversation starts again.

“So, Mrs. Sargeant,” Lando starts.

“Just Y/N or even Pan.” She sends a fond look to Oscar who had made that nickname stick. “And I’m not married.” She says, amused.

“Ah.”

“Not married.” Fernando shakes his head. “Now that doesn’t sound right.”

She looks at him amused. “Don’t believe in premarital sex?” She teases.

The older driver laughs and so do the others. “No. Just hard to believe that you aren’t married. You are a very gorgeous woman.”

“Thank you.”

“So,” Lando starts again, giving Max a weird look seeing how his friend is gripping his glass of water. “Will you be coming to all the races?”

She nods. “Yes, I have since Logan started his career. Haven’t missed one.”

Logan shakes his head, grinning at her. “Nope, not one.”

“Your work allows you to do that?”

Her lips press together for a second to try and hide her smile at the gentle but obvious fishing they are doing. “I have shares in some companies and a very generous inheritance. So, no true, real work.”

“You do some work for Grandpa when we’re in the states.”

“I organize his desk for him, which he then messes up as soon as he sits back down at it.”

“You do not mind the constant travel? It is quite tiring.” Charles asks, curious.

“No. And once I got Logan in karting, I promised him that I’d make it to all of his races. Maybe in a few years, I’ll stop going to all of them, but I am part of his team as well.”

“Manager?”

“God, no.” She shakes her head at Carlos’ assumption. “Cook slash nutritionist. Benny, his trainer is amazing, also doubles at being a physiotherapist for Logan, but he doesn’t know how to cook to save his life. So I make their meals.”

“Mine as well.” Alex pipes in. “They’re truly amazing, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“Can you make mine again?” Oscar asks, leaning over Logan a bit to look at her. “I’ve missed having them.”

“Sure.” She laughs. “Get me your new sheets before the next race, yeah?”

“Done.”

—

Max watches from the corner of his eyes as she takes her first sip of her gin and tonic. Her brows raise a bit when the drink hits her tongue and he has to force his eyes up, to not focus in on her lips, to think about them and what they’d feel like on, he shakes his head. Forcing the thoughts, the ideas away.

“Very heavy on the gin.” She whispers, turning a bit to look at him.

He rubs his hands against his jeans. “Do you like it?”

“It’s nice.” She smiles.

Relief fills him. “Good.”

He continues to look at her, wanting to tear his eyes away but being unable to. She was simply lovely. And getting this closer look at her, he can’t believe that she’s a mother, or at least a mother to a twenty-year-old. It didn’t seem possible. She looked barely older than him. Not at least thirty-five. She was probably more like Fernando’s age as well and he glances at the fellow two world champion, more disbelief filling him. Because how could the two be close in age at all?

—

Logan sighs as he collapses face first onto Oscar’s bed. Laying there for a solid minute before groaning and turning his head.

“Dinner was nice.”

Oscar hums and he can feel the bed dip beside him.

“You seemed a bit more relaxed.”

“No media, and you and Pan were there. A bit more relaxed.”

Logan scoffs. “Yeah, because you were so tense with media before.” As he speaks, he reaches out to lay a hand on Oscar’s thigh, giving the muscle a squeeze. “It’s nuts, isn’t it? I mean we all got told that the media was so much more, so different, but…” He trails off, shaking his head.

“Yeah.” Oscar sighs and then he’s laying beside Logan, the American luckily moving his hand off and away from the other’s thigh before he lies on it.

“Y’know I have no personality, apparently.”

Logan snorts, eyes opening when he hadn’t even realized he had closed him. The Australian driver also has his head turned so they’re looking at each other. “What? Have they never seen a Prema video?”

He shrugs as best as he can.

“I’d take that over my apparent frat boyness.”

“You? A frat boy?” Oscar laughs.

Logan sighs as he thinks a bit more about it, the mood turning a bit serious. “I just hope momma hasn’t seen it.”

“What happened?”

“She’s just worried. Thinks I haven’t noticed, but she’s wondering if she did a good job with me, done enough for me. And she’s given me everything y’know. I can’t imagine what I’d be like with them as my parents.”

Oscar moves a bit closer, just a few inches between their faces now. “You’d still be amazing, still great. Maybe a frat boy.”

The American rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

“I think Fernando has a thing for her. For Pan.” He clarifies.

“What?”

“I mean, just during the dinner y’know, he kept looking at her. And him calling her gorgeous.”

“Well, he’d be dumb and blind to not notice that.” Logan scoffs, rolling onto his back and turning his head to the side, keeping his eyes on Oscar.

“I’m being serious.” The younger laughs, poking him lightly. “I think Alonso has a thing for her.”

Logan’s face scrunches up in disgust. “Dude, no. That’s gross. Momma isn’t even thirty and Fernando’s like forty-three. And isn’t he dating that journalist?”

Oscar’s brows press together. “What journalist?”

“The one that gave Fred shit.”

“I thought she died?”

The two look at each other, both baffled.

Logan thinks again of the journalist he’s seen around Fernando and the one that all of the Prema drivers, former and at the time current, had avoided or given shit statements too. They did look a bit different now that he really thought about it. Fernando’s journalist slash girlfriend didn’t have a fucking complex.

“Different journo.” Logan mutters. He then blinks, “wait, she died?”

“Mate, you didn’t hear about that?”

“No!”

“She was supposed to be at Spa, remember. And we all were relieved when she wasn’t there. She died, car crash or something, I can’t remember.”

“How do I not remember this?”

Oscar shrugs as best as he can while laying down. “I don’t know.”

It’s silent for a moment, “you don’t think,”

“No.” Oscar shakes his head, but he doesn’t sound too sure. “I mean, yeah no.”

“Right.” He looks up at the ceiling.

“Okay, so Fernando is out of the running.”

Logan groans, “Os, no.”

“Look he clearly has eyes, but if he’s dating someone he’s out. He wasn’t the only one looking.”

“Oscar, please, it’s my mom.”

“She’s like my mom too, which is why we have to talk about this.” Oscar insists, wriggling closer to Logan. Their sides completely pressed together and when Logan turns his head to look at the other, their noses nearly brush.

He looks at Oscar’s face, all earnest and caring and sighs. “Fine. Charles was looking, but he only dates one type, so safe from him.”

“Lando was looking.”

Logan snorts, “I thought this was for potential dates, not another kid.”

He laughs, their noses brushing together from the movement. “Okay, no Lando. Max.”

“He kind of looked weird when you introduced her.” He frowns.

“I saw that too.”

“But he also got all blushy when they talked.”

“The drivers do know, I mean Alex knows that she didn’t like birth you, right?”

Logan’s frown deepens. “Of course. I mean, it’s not super well known, but it’s a little hard to believe that she naturally had a kid twenty years ago.”

“Thought so.” Oscar then chuckles. “Imagine, them thinking that she did, though. Just thinking she’s got some sort of insane skin care routine.”

—

“How in the hell does she look like that with a twenty-year-old kid?”

“I know right?” Alex says, looking at Carlos. “It’s insane.”

Charles pokes at his own cheek. “I think I need to ask her for advice, what products she uses. I want to age like her.”

“We all want to age like her.” George agrees.

“What are you saying?” Fernando frowns.

A few of them share a look, but Charles and Max share a different one. “Mate, you’ve got wrinkles and all these lines.” Max says. “I mean those are natural, but look at her. The skincare helps.”

Fernando frowns, “Lines?”

Charles touches at his own lines, “see lines. From smiling, laughing, frowning. All good things, very nice. Just not uh,” his brows furrow drawing a blank.

Lando snorts at his struggle. “You just want to help your skin. Keep it healthy.”

The older driver makes a humming noise, considering.

—

Her breath is caught in her throat, eyes wide as she watches the screen. Her heart feels like it is beating in double time. She wants to look away, doesn’t want to watch in case something horrible happens, but she can’t. Because Logan just overtook both Magnussen and Ocon in the same lap. Logan is in 9th. Logan is in a point scoring position with only five laps of the race left. Logan might score his first formula 1 points at his home race, at his actual home race, at his first ever home race.

Her hands are shaking, fingers locked together as she presses them against her mouth, trying to breathe, praying that Logan won’t fall back out of the points.

She doesn’t even notice that he’s lessened that gap to Pierre until suddenly he’s overtaken the other French driver, just three laps later. “Oh my god.”

“Fuck.”

“Benny,” she whispers, and one of her hands is dropping so she can clutch at the older man. “Benny, I think,”

“He’s gonna do it.”

And sure enough he does it. Logan holds his place in front of Pierre and finishes in 8th.

“Yes!” The whole garage is cheering and she’s wrapping her arms around Benny, laughing when the trainer lifts her.

“He did it! He did it!” She cheers.

The garage quiets though as Gaetan starts to speak on the radio.

“Logan, you are on your cooldown lap.”

“Got it. Where’s Alex?”

She winces at the question, one of her hands grips at Benny’s shoulder as he sets her back down, the other holding onto her headphones that miraculously didn’t get thrown off her head or disconnected when celebrating. “Alex is P14, P14.”

It’s quiet for a moment. “Okay, I’m sorry we didn’t get any points today, next race is ours right? The car felt great.”

Both of her hands fly up to her mouth.

“Logan.” Gaetan’s voice is full of disbelief and laughter. “Mate, you finished P8. You got us points. You got your first points.”

She can see him react to the news, the car jerking underneath him for a second, before he wrangles it back under control.

“What? What do you mean?”

“You finished in P8. Clean race, finished ahead of both Alpines and Magnussen.”

“Holy fuck.”

The garage fills with laughter at his reaction and tears start to build in her eyes.

“You guys,” his voice breaks. “Thank you guys so much. This was you guys, the car felt great, really.”

She watches as James hops on the radio. “This was you as well, Logan. Amazing drive today.”

“Thank you, James. Thank you so much for this.”

His mechanics, Benny and her, quickly go over to where the cars are parking, watching as Logan slots it into place. He’s a little shaky as he gets out of the car and he’s about to dart towards them but someone from the FIA, is ushering him to the scale.

His reluctance is clear even with his helmet on, but he goes. Letting them take his weight and as soon as it’s written down, he’s stepping off and away, fumbling with his gloves and then his helmet.

There’s an awed grin on his face, tears in his eyes, and seeing it makes the tears that have built in her own fall.

His gloves and helmet tumble to the ground as his mechanics and Benny surround him, celebrating his points.

Logan laughs when they finally let them go and his eyes light up when he sees her and he darts to her and she easily welcomes him into her arms.

“I’m so proud of you.” She tells him, squeezing his sweaty body close before running a hand through his hair. “You did amazing.”

“I did it, momma.” His voice is weak and she can feel tears hit the skin of her neck where his head is buried.

“You did it.”

—

“Logan did amazing, it was a good drive.”

She blinks in surprise at the voice, turning in her barstool to look. “Max?”

He smiles at her, cheeks flushed. “He did really well.”

“He did.” She agrees before patting the stool next to her.

His smile widens as he takes the seat.

“I didn’t realize that Red Bull was in the same hotel.” Maybe she should have since she had spotted a few Red Bull polos, but she figured it was fan gear.

“I think Aston is here as well. You aren’t celebrating with Logan?”

She shakes her head. “We already celebrated. Him, Oscar, and a bunch of his friends here are throwing a party. I wasn’t really interested in watching them all get wasted, so this,” she gestures to the hotel bar, “is me having a drink to celebrate before going up to my room and ordering some room service.”

“Could I join you?” His cheeks redden at the words, at the way her eyebrows raise. “Not like that. But for food? I’ve never actually eaten anywhere in Miami that wasn’t catering.”

She stares at him for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. And I have the perfect place to take you.”

—

“Did I actually score points yesterday?”

“You did.”

“Sweet.”

“Very. How’s the head?”

Logan shrugs, “I mean, I drank a lot, but like I’m just dehydrated.”

She shakes her head, “That will change in a few years.”

“Not gonna tell me to not drink underage?” He teases, bending down to press a kiss to her cheek before grabbing her glass of juice and draining it.

She snorts. “We’re in Europe most of the time and I gave you your first drink. I don’t think I have a leg to stand on. And you were celebrating.”

“True.”

He sits across from her, refilling the glass and taking another drink from it before setting it down and starting to help himself to her pancakes, which she just pushes closer to him. “How was your night? You could have joined us. We wouldn’t of minded.”

“I’m your mom, Logan.” She laughs. “I think the me going to your friend's parties ship sailed a few years ago.”

“Yeah, but you're awesome. We like having you around.”

“I know.” She smiles. “I wasn’t in the mood to watch all of you get wasted.”

“Fair.” he says around a bite of pancake, which she sends him a look for and he quickly swallows the food. Giving her a smile that says sorry.

“So, how was your night?”

“It was good.” She tells him, spearing a piece of fruit with her other fork. “I came back to the hotel, had a drink, and then got dinner with Max.”

His brows press together. “Max?”

“Verstappen.” She clarifies. “Red Bull is staying here as well, he saw me at the hotel bar and asked if he could join me for some food.”

“You went on a date?”

Her eyes narrow at him. “It wasn't a date.”

“You went on a date.” He scrambles for his phone. “Oscar is never gonna believe it.”

“I go on dates.”

“Momma, you’ve gone on like five dates. And two of those were before you turned eighteen.”

She scowls at him. “It wasn’t a date. We just got dinner.” She insists.

“Uh huh.” He says, clearly not believing her. “Did he pay?”

“Yes.”

“Pull your chair out, help you with your coat, anything like that?”

Her mind flashes back to Max helping her get out of his car, his insistence on opening doors for her. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean,”

Logan continues. “Did he walk you to your hotel room? Say that he had a good time and he’d like to do it again?”

“Oh.”

Logan grins at her, smug, as he finishes typing out a text to Oscar. “You went on a date last night.”

“I went on a date last night.” And she doesn’t mention the fact that a new number resides in her phone.

—

“Logan!”

He stops at the sound of his name, turning to look behind him, where Max Verstappen is nearly jogging to catch up with him. “Max.” He greets, when the older driver is next to him, nerves filling him at the eyes of said driver on him, along with how a few other drivers are also looking at the pair, shock and surprise clear on their faces.

“Hey.” Max grins. “How are you feeling about the track?”

He looks at the older driver in confusion. They had just left the drivers briefing, why was he asking him this? Alex had already spoken about how the team was feeling about Monaco. “The car won’t be the best here, but we said that in Miami, so we’re hoping to repeat that here. Alex has a good chance at ending in a point scoring position.” He reiterates what he's been told and what he’s been telling the press.

“But how are you feeling about it?”

Logan stares at the Dutchman, eyes flickering around trying to see if cameras are there, if his momma is there, but there isn’t anyone. The other drivers are already gone, so are the FIA people. It’s just him and Max. “Y’know you don’t have to talk to me because you went out with my mom.”

He expects relief, like that one dick Jase, and really who puts that on a birth certificate, but Max just frowns. “I know, I don’t have to.”

Logan swallows around the lump in his throat, “right.” Turning around, he starts to walk, somehow knowing that the other driver will join him. “It’s a tricky track, it’s Monaco. I was here last year and I barely got in the points.”

“P10 and P9.”

He throws the driver a look, because that was too much to know, but Max is just looking at him, encouraging him to continue. “The car isn’t suited for it. I mean it wasn’t for Miami, but this is different. And I’m still not managing my tyres correctly, so even if I did manage to gain positions, I’d get called in to pit and lose them.”

Max huffs out a laugh. “You are a rookie in a Williams, it’s impressive that you’ve already gotten points. If you could manage your tyres, when sometimes even I struggle, well I’d put you in Checo’s seat.”

“Not yours?”

He laughs again, “No. I’m a bit better at it than Checo.”

Logan couldn’t really deny that.

“Do you want some advice? On the tyres?”

Logan quickly nods. “I’ll take anything I can get.”

“Don’t fight the car too much on the turns. If you need to get it to turn properly or without going on the brakes too soon, fight it. But when you don’t, let the car be stable, keep it fluid. When you come out of the corner, press harder. It might feel like you’ll go into the wall, but you won’t.”

“And if I go into the wall?”

Max laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think you're a better driver than that mate.”

—

“How are you doing that in the turns?”

Logan looks up from his notebook, where he’d been scribbling a bunch of random words. Looking at the screen, he watches his own onboard. He thinks about saying that it was Max that told, but no one at Williams liked hearing about Red Bull, especially with Alex in the room. “Just something I thought I’d try.”

“Well, it was good, continue doing it. We may have ended up out of the points, but we got close.”

Logan nods. Even with his five-second penalty, he had still kept fourteenth, and Alex ended up in twelfth. “Will do.”

—

Max had thought about her in his apartment a lot, an embarrassing amount. He had also pictured it very differently. A nice dinner, wine, even though a majority of it made his nose wrinkle, perhaps some kissing on his couch as a movie plays that they both don’t care about.

He hadn’t expected lunch, with juice that he’s trying to figure out how he’s never had it when he’s lived in Monaco for so many years, and a somewhat serious conversation, though maybe he has been expecting that one or rather anticipating it.

“I like you, Max.”

He flushes, “I like you too.” He really did, even though his mother was going to have a heart attack when she found out how much older Pan was than him.

“And I want to continue doing this.” She gestures between them with her free hand that isn’t being held in his.

“So,” sensing that there’s something she wants to say.

“I’m a mom.”

He blinks at her words, panic starting to fill him. He thought he’d made that clear that he knew that, understood that. He always made sure to ask about Logan. He even had Logan’s number now after talking to him about how he felt about the Monaco track. “I know.”

“Logan is important to me.”

Oh, god, did Logan not like him?

“The most important thing to me. And if we're going to continue to do this, I just need you to know that. He’s always going to be my first priority.”

“Of course.” Relief fills him, his heart slows from its frantic beating. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

She stares at him, trying to gauge how truthful he’s being before nodding. “Okay.”

“Did you think that I didn’t know that?”

She shakes her head immediately. “No, it’s just. I don’t really do this.” She laughs. “Dating, relationships. Logan pointed that out to me, so I don’t really know how this goes and I just had to make it clear, put it on the table now.”

“I don’t really do this either.” He hesitates to ask his next question, but does. “Logan’s father. What was your relationship with him like?”

Her face screws up in disgust. “Ew.”

He laughs, not expecting that reply or that word to sum up a relationship. But fair enough.

“I mean the idea of a relationship between me and Logan’s father is gross. Logan’s,” she pauses, seeming to settle on a different word. “Birth parents are my aunt and uncle.”

“His what?” He could have sworn she said birth parents, but that couldn’t be right.

“His birth parents.” She looks at him, concerned. “I adopted Logan when I turned eighteen. Did you think I gave birth to him?”

“No.” He says, shaking head and clearing his throat. “Of course not.”

She stares at him, lips pressed together.

He sighs, slumping in his seat, eyes closing. “I may or may not have thought you were just a really, really young looking forty-something year old woman.”

She immediately bursts into laughter and his eyes fly open at the sound. “You thought?”

“The graphic for the race footage says you are his mother, I did not think otherwise. I just thought you looked great for your age.” He defends, a little embarrassed, but delighted by the expression on her face and her laughter that is still filling his ears.

“I am his mother, just adopted.”

“Not that either of you see it that way.”

“No.” She shakes her head, laughing one last time before calming down.

“No. Logan’s mine, he’s been mine practically since he was born. It just wasn’t seen that way legally until I was eighteen and custody got signed over to me.”

“Of course.” He then flashes her smile, “So can I ask how old you are?”

She laughs, nodding. “Yes, Max. I think just this once it’s better to ask a lady her age than assume it.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-nine.”

He looks at her with new eyes, the age making much more sense. “I would’ve said twenty-five.”

“Really? I think you would’ve said forty-something.”

“How was I to know?” He throws his free hand in the air at the tease, his other still holding hers.

—

“Hi, baby.” She greets when Logan stumbles out of his room, practically still asleep, as he drops onto the couch.

“Momma.” He whines, resting his head on her lap and turning his face to press it into her stomach, trying to block out the sun.

Her fingers brush through his hair as she forces her body to stay relaxed. It was always a fight when he did this.

She hated that her body didn’t bear any signs of being pregnant before, no stretch marks around her belly. She hated that she hadn’t actually gotten to carry Logan no matter how impractical it was, unless of course she was as old as Max had thought she was. She smiles at the memory of how flustered Max had looked when he realized her actual age.

He mumbles something and she turns his face away from her stomach.

“What?”

“How was your date last night?”

Her smile widens. “It was good.”

“Yeah?”

She nods.

“Did you see Jimmy and Sassy?”

“No.” She runs her hand over his forehead, knowing that he’s thinking of Sooty. “We should talk though after you’ve had some breakfast.”

“About what?”

“Breakfast first.”

“What do we need to talk about?” Logan asks nearly thirty minutes later, his fruit bowl all gone and his coffee on its way to be there as well.

She swallows, hands flexing. “Max.”

“What about Max?”

She sighs. “Well, baby, him and I talked about becoming serious last night. But that’s not gonna happen until I know how you feel.”

“You know, I’m okay with it.”

“I know you're okay with me dating, but this is a bit more complicated. Max is on the grid with you and we’re talking about a relationship.”

Logan eyes widen a bit at the word relationship. “I mean, how does Max feel about it? About being with someone who has a kid on the grid?”

He asks knowing it will give him time to figure out how to tell her how he feels and because he wants to know, he kind of wants Max to be okay with it. He likes Max, and not just as a driver. The older driver is kind and funny, he also looks at his mom like she’s the sun, he makes her happy and that’s enough to put him in Logan’s good books. His mom deserves the best and he thinks from what little he’s seen, from how much more happy his mom has been (and god that was weird, because it wasn’t even like she wasn’t happy before) that Max might be the best for her. And Max now every time he sees Logan is always stopping to talk to him even if it’s just for a second to say a quick hi.

“Max is good with it. He knows that you're my number one and that’s never going to change.”

Logan flushes at the words.

“He also likes you, thinks you're a good kid.” She lets out an amused huff as the word kid leaves her mouth. It was odd to hear Max describe Logan that way, with only five years between them. But at the same time she knew it came from being practically a veteran in the sport. Max was coming up on ten years in Formula 1 despite his young age.

He flushes even more. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She smiles. “He always asks about you, it’s really sweet. And he knows to that if you aren’t comfortable with this or need more time then that’s what will happen.”

“I am an adult.”

“You are.” She was sadly well aware of that fact. “But you are my baby, my kid. I couldn’t be in a relationship with someone if you didn’t like them or if it made you uncomfortable.”

He nods. “I’m okay with it. Max makes you happy, he’s nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

—

She lets out a giggle as arms wrap around her from behind, lips pressing against her cheek. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Another kiss is pressed to her cheek. “Can I help?”

She glances down at what she’s finishing up. “No. You could set the table, though?”

“Done.” A kiss is pressed to her temple and then the blanket of heat that covered her back is gone. “What cabinet?”

“First one entering the kitchen on the left.” She says, turning her head a bit to watch as Max pulls the dishes out.

Her mouth goes a little dry as she watches him. His t-shirt is tight around his biceps and chest. His skin is a little tanned after their date a few days ago on a friend's yacht. She forces her eyes to not look at his hands, instead trailing them up to his strong shoulders and neck and then to his face. Max, she thinks as he starts to put the plates on the table, is unfairly attractive. Before he can catch her staring, she checks on the final thing on the stove. “Perfectly done.” She mumbles with a smile.

The sound of the front door opening makes her smile grow wider as she grabs a pot holder.

“Am I late?”

“Just on time.” She tells Logan as he steps into the kitchen.

“Can I,”

She stops him before he can continue. “No, go wash up.”

“Alright.” He bends a little to press a kiss to her cheek before turning on his heel, offering a wave to Max. “Hi.”

“Hi, Logan.”

Picking up the pan, she shakes her head as Max goes to try and take it from her.

“Logan and you are both going to get on too well.”

“Why’s that?” He asks, a twinkle in his eye.

“You both don’t like when I lift anything.”

“What’s the point of having a son or a boyfriend, then?” Logan says, clapping Max on the shoulder as he comes back.

Max grins at the younger, delighted as he claps him back. “Exactly. We feel a bit neglected.”

She rolls her eyes, shaking her head, though a smile is stretching across her lips.

—

Max watches amused as the mother and son argue.

“Mom, it would be for two races, two, that’s it.”

“One race, really.” Max chimes in, smiling when she glares at him. “Spa is nice, but Zandvoort is really what I consider my home race.”

“See, it would be one race. Max wants you in his garage.” Logan says, looking at the other driver, begging for him to help but at the last sentence Max shakes his head.

“I never said that. Well, I would like to see Pan in my garage, not for the whole weekend, or even a day. She’s part of your team.”

Logan looks at him, bewildered. “But, it’s your home race.”

He shrugs. “I’d like for her to stop by, you as well. I already have it cleared with the team. Staying for even a whole session though just doesn’t make any sense. I don’t need her on my side of the garage to know that she’s supporting me, wanting me to do well, not when you are on the grid.”

“Are you sure?”

Max smiles at Logan, because yes he was sure. Did he want her there, supporting him? Maybe even dressed in something with his number? Of course. But, he liked seeing her in Logan’s garage. Supporting him, wearing his merch, being a mom. “I’m more than sure.”

“Besides,” she says, drawing both of their attention. “Max and I haven’t gone public yet. Or really told anyone yet.”

—

“Well, this is a bit of an odd one.” Laura says as they stop in front of the Red Bull garage.

The cameraman focuses on what she’s looking at.

“Both Logan Sargeant and his mother, better known as Pan from Formula 2 fans, are in the Red Bull garage, currently talking with our current championship leader Max Verstappen, his engineer GP, and Daniel Ricciardo.”

“Shall I see if I can steal one of them away?” Will asks, smiling at the camera as he holds the F1 TV microphone loosely.

“Please.” She gestures.

Will steps towards the garage smiling at the small group hovering just inside. “Could I steal one of you for a quick minute?”

The five exchange a look and Will stops himself from rolling his eyes at the way they all look annoyed at the idea, but Logan nods. “Sure.”

“Thank you.”

He watches as Logan says something quietly to them, getting nods from them all. His brow furrows when Max squeezes his shoulder before the younger driver gives his mom a quick hug, making him shake his head. Logan Sargeant was an absolute mommy’s boy and it was embarrassing as all hell to see. He couldn’t imagine being twenty and hugging his mom in public, let alone all those videos and photos of him reaching for her hand.

Will ignored the part of him that did think it was sweet and felt bad for the kid. He couldn’t look all sappy while filming, especially not when in front of the Red Bull garage.

“Hi everyone.” Logan greets, taking the third mic from the newest crew member.

“Hello, Logan. How are you feeling about this weekend?”

He smiles at Laura. “I’m feeling okay, I’ve raced here before, obviously not in an F1 car, but I do have some experience with this track.”

“And you and your mum’s visit to the Red Bull garage, should we expect an announcement of you switching teams?” She teases.

“No.” He laughs. “No, uh, just visiting for personal reasons. Saying hello to Daniel, wishing Max a good home race.”

“I mean, I’m not sure, he needs it.” Will jokes, gaining a few laughs. “So, no business to be done at Red Bull? Just saying a hello and wishing a good race to a fellow driver.”

“Yeah,” he pauses, looking back at the garage where it’s just Max and his mom standing now watching him with smiles on their faces. It’s only that he continues when his mom gives a brief nod, one barely able to be seen by the camera. “And I wasn’t just wishing a fellow driver good luck.”

“Oh?”

Logan grins, looking pleased with himself. “I was wishing my new dad good luck.”

—

“Carlos Sainz is a cunt.”

Max freezes at her words, hand still on the doorknob from just stepping into the room.

“Hi, schat.”

“Carlos Sainz is a cunt.” She repeats.

His brain is scrambling because what exactly had Carlos done but also why was it so attractive to her say the word cunt. It had to be the accent, he decided quickly, still trying to figure out the Carlos thing. “And why is Carlos a cunt?” He finally asks, releasing the door knob and stepping further into the room.

She’s on her laptop, rapidly typing something, and he can feel anger radiating off her.

“That bullshit he spewed, blaming Oscar’s inexperience.” She scoffs, pausing her typing as she shakes her head. “It was an incident, a racing incident, something he knows a lot about. There was no inexperience fault.”

“Oscar’s okay?” He already knows that he is, but knows it's good to ask.

“He’s good. He knows that it's a racing incident.”

Max winces. Wonders for a second if he should warn Carlos to keep his mouth shut, but shrugs. It wasn’t his fault that Carlos was getting in trouble because he couldn’t watch his mouth or correctly look at footage. “Can I help?”

She sighs, hitting close on whatever she was writing in. “No.” She then closes her laptop, turning to face him, with a smile. “Hi. Congrats on the win.”

“Thank you.” He bends to kiss her. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just,” she waves her hand at her laptop, “stuff.”

“Anything I can help with?”

She starts to shake her head no as he sits on the edge of the bed, but she stops.

“Actually, could I get your insight on something? Not just as a driver, but as someone who lives and breathes racing, loves data, really knows how the sport works.”

“Of course. What’s going on?”

Another sigh leaves her, hand coming up to rub at her mouth for a second before it drops. “Why would a team not resign a driver?”

His eyebrows furrow, because she knows the reasons, but he answers. “Not performing well, they want out of the team or sport, sponsorship issues.”

“The driver wants to stay in the sport and the team.” Her lips turn downwards a bit at the word team. “And the driver brought new sponsorships to the team.”

“They have to be not performing well.”

“They’re a rookie in a back marker team.”

“They have to be really performing badly.” Max says, trying to think of who in Formula 2 or 3 she’s talking about.

“They already have six points and have placed ahead of their experienced teammate three times.”

His mind is scrambling again, trying to find a reason, because what? “How many does his teammate have?”

“Nine.”

“I have no idea. Not unless there’s conflict within the team.”

She shakes her head.

“Is there potentially a more experienced driver for the spot?”

She shakes her head. “They’re looking at another rookie or maybe someone who stepped away from the series for a year, though they’d rather take a rookie than him.”

“I don’t have an answer for you. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

She nods, expression falling and she’s rubbing at her face.

“What’s going on?” He asks, standing up just to crouch down in front of her, taking her hands in his.

“The driver’s Logan.”

“What?”

“Williams isn’t sure they want to offer Logan another year.”

Max stares at her. “How?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs, laughing. “There’s talks of them signing whoever wins this F2 championship or even the runner-up depending on who it is. Logan’s making too many mistakes.”

“He’s costing them too much money.” Max fills in the blank, shaking his head. “That’s ridiculous. Don’t take a rookie if you can’t afford it. You are supposed to account for the worse. And he’s doing well. It’s not his fault that they built a shit car.”

“I don’t know what to do.” She admits, voice just a whisper, and his heart clenches painfully at the sound of it, at the tears in her eyes. “This is his dream. I don't know what to do if that gets taken away from him.”

“It won’t. We’ll figure something out.” He tells her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

—

“I think I’m spoiled.” Max says, watching as she gets ready for bed. A faint feeling of arousal pooling his gut as she pulls on one of his shirts. He absentmindedly wonders if it would be weird to wear it tomorrow to the track, the scent of her lotion clinging to it.

“Why’s that, honey?”

He smiles, cheeks a bit pink, and that arousal builds a bit more at the pet name, at the way she shifts in the vanity chair to loosen some tension in her back. “You come to every race, you see me win, you celebrate them, you got to see me win my third championship today.” Those words feel weird off his tongue, today, but totally sober to celebrate. He wants desperately for tomorrow to come, for the race to finish so they can celebrate, him, her, Logan, the team.

“I guess you are a bit spoiled.”

He gasps, clutching at his heart, making her giggle.

“That’s okay though.” She says, getting up and moving onto the bed, straddling him. “I think I like you spoiled.”

He groans as she dips her head, pressing a kiss to the flutter of his pulse. “Schat.” It's a warning to stop and a plea for more.

“I know.” She kisses the spot a bit firmer. “Celebrations will have to wait just a day longer.” She then rolls off him, his arm immediately lifting so she can press against his side.

“It’s cruel to win with a sprint race.”

She snorts, “A sprint race never stopped us before.”

“It’s cruel to win with a sprint race in Qatar.” He amends.

“Very true.”

He sighs, staring at the ceiling as he calms down, luckily the feeling of her fingers tapping along his stomach not making it harder.

“How’s Logan feeling?” Max asks, remembering how pale he looked when they got dinner.

She sighs, moving somehow closer. “Not great. No fever, but his stomach is still a bit upset.”

He winces. “He gonna be okay tomorrow?”

“I hope so. The team knows that he’s sick, they’ll make the right choice.”

“I hope so.” He echoes, wishing that Logan felt better, hoping that he feels better by the time the race starts.

—

“We are confident in him.” Max scoffs, tossing his phone aside.

“I know.”

“Logan still wanting to do his new routine.”

She nods, lips pursed.

He shakes his head. “He did good.” It wasn’t the rookie season that Oscar had, but it couldn’t be. Oscar got lucky enough to get a seat in a near top team, while Logan got one with a back of the grid team that was sometimes midfield.

Logan scoring ten points, getting himself to sixteenth in the standings, tied with Bottas in the standings, was very good for a rookie. It was a shame that Williams seemed to think he could’ve and should have done better. At least, Max thinks, the 2025 grid was wide open for possibilities.

“Are him and Oscar still joining us?”

She throws him a look. “Us?”

“You.” He amends, knowing that despite him joining her, he’d get caught up in Redline and different things. He was just happy she didn’t mind that.

“Only for a few days and then they both are off to Australia.”

“Will Logan be joining us for Florida?”

“Yes. My mom has been asking the next time she’s going to see her only grandchild.”

Max laughs at the eye roll. “So, Belgium first, then Monaco,”

“You go to Milton for a day after.”

He nods, “then Greece, Florida, Monaco.”

“Not bad for the first few weeks of winter break.”

“Not bad at all.” He agrees, wrapping his arms around her waist, chest pressed against her back.

It’s quiet between the couple as Max sways them.

“Max.”

“Yes?”

“Your mom, she does know that I’m not in my forties right? Or thirties?” She figured that the woman did, but she also had only briefly gotten to meet her at the one race, and there had been an odd expression on her face when Max introduced her as his girlfriend.

He freezes.

“Max.”

“I knew I forgot something.”

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