#photos part 2 will be coming soon

[goldnnavy]

Here's some photos from my visit to the fine lady, the USS Constitution. She was so much bigger than I had previously thought, and even more beautiful than the photos.

[lilreidgirl]

Do I wanna know?

Summary: You and Drew are best friends, but you want more. What happens when you get invited to a day out on Drew’s friend’s yacht and get more?

Warnings: MDNI(18+), fem!reader, thigh riding, daddy kink, nicknames used (princess, baby, little lady, good girl…), kissing, alcohol (beer), swearing, no use of (y/n), reader wears a skirt, shy!reader, pining amongst friends, English is not my first language, if I forgot anything; please let me know!!

WC: ~2.4k (no idea how that happened)

A/N: I got inspired by this photo so I wrote this at like 2 am and I’m posting it now at 5 am, this is a mess, gn my loves (NOT PROOF READ, SORRY) (also this is my first fic about Drew so yeah)

When your best friend, Drew Starkey, invited you to a small get together on his friend’s yacht, you were more than willing to go. You and him had been friends since years, getting to know each other through mutual friends and suddenly you were eating take out with a b-list celebrity every other night.

You twirled around in front of your full body sized mirror, watching with amusement as your skirt twirls with you, the ruffles bouncing as they fluttered in the wind.

“Wow. Really doesn’t take much to get a smile on that pretty little face of yours, huh?” Drew chuckled as he watched you spin around.

Startled by his voice you stopped your little turns, looking at him with a small playful glare when the dizzy fog finally cleared from your vision.

“I’m just a happy person. You should try it sometime” you shot back, but you knew it was no use. Drew was great at talking, arguing, whatever. He was great with people in a way you just couldn’t figure out for yourself.

But honestly? You were fine just standing on the sidelines watching him do his thing, waiting for him to abandon that and come talk to you for a bit.

You had been fine with it.

Lately every time he laughed and grinned at one of your sarcastic comments and every time he stared at you like he was a theoretical physicist and you had the answers to string theory, you couldn’t help but want more. Couldn’t help but want that “best friend” status to be upgraded to “girlfriend”. Hell, you even dreamt of being called his wife.

For now though, you were just going to try and enjoy the day on a luxurious boat.

Soon you found yourselves in the car. You clicked on random songs on your phone and sand along to the “wait, this is the best part, shut up”’s before yet again changing the song as Drew drove to the harbour, admiring the way you seemed so enthralled by the different songs and music.

“Would love to continue listening to your big world tour concert, little lady, but we’re here,” he announced once he’d gotten the car carefully parked.

Excitedly, you jumped out of Drew’s car, watching as he did the same before you both made your way closer to the water where many ships floated atop the sea.

At the same time, you both spotted Drew’s group of friends, waving at them as they saw you two as well.

You’d gotten to know them a bit but the amount of group hangouts you attended, didn’t really allow you to form a strong bond to any of Drew’s friends.

What can you say?

You’re just not a people person.

You’re a person person.

A Drew person.

You squashed the ridiculous thought, giggling it off before you checked that your outfit was neatly in order.

Upon seeing you inspecting your clothes, Drew leaned down and whispered in your ear, his breath tantalizingly brushed against your ear and neck as he spoke, “You look amazing, baby, don’t worry.”

As you reached the boat, the smile you had shared for a few enchanting seconds came to a sudden end.

“Hey, Drew!” Various different voices greeted the both of you and you both returned the favour with just as much enthusiasm.

One of the guys, the one whose yacht it was presumably, invited everyone aboard.

Your eyes flitted to everything around you, spotting a few seats, some complicated looking boat equipment and random day-to-day fun stuff lying around.

The smell of fish and sea breeze filled the air and your nostrils, but that scent quickly evaporated when Drew stepped next to you, finally finished with catching up with his friend and was now holding out a beer bottle for you to take. His cologne took over, overwhelming your senses. Something you were definitely not complaining about.

You accepted the beer from him, taking a sip before handing it back to him and watching as he repeated your action of drinking from the bottle.

Your gaze drifted to his Adam’s apple as it bobs when he took gulps of the alcoholic drink. He lowered the glass container from his lips, putting his strong bicep right in your line of sight.

As embarrassing as it is to admit you could have almost moaned from just looking at his muscly arm.

He must have taken off his shirt sometime between helping you up the steps on the side of the ship, his hand securely wrapped around your thigh to keep you from falling, and when he seemingly appeared behind you as you admired your surroundings.

Then your eyes found his chest, strong pecs priding over his abs that seemed carved from the very marble that Michelangelo had used to sculpt David, each muscle defined with an almost perfect precision to it.

Just before you could take a good look at his black swim shorts hanging off his hips and hugging his beefy thighs, his voice called your name.

“Hey, come on, picture time,” he reiterated what he had said when you were still zoned out.

“Oh. Okay,” Throwing your thoughts back into reality, you watched as everyone made their way over to the discussed upon place where the photo would be taken.

“Who wants to set the timer?” A girl, who you’d forgotten the name of, asked.

Something with an F? L? A? Who cares.

“Not it!” Was called by everyone but you, your face quickly morphing from a surprised look of “who the hell still uses ‘not it’?” to an accepting face that you were in fact “it”.

The girls and boys all took their places on the netting of the boat. The 5 people in front of you got ready to pose for the group photo.

Efficiently, you adjusted the tripod so that the camera of the phone pointed perfectly towards the centre of everyone.

You bent down, looking at the screen of the mobile. You saw Drew depicted by many pixels, your thighs clenching when he moved his hips up to readjust his position on the midnight blue blanket that lay sprawled over the rough nylon net.

Fuck, he was perfect.

Of course, you fixed your hair one last time before pressing the white button on the right side of the device, starting the 10 second countdown until the picture.

Swiftly, you made your way around the tripod, and plopped down onto the free space between a dark haired guy, you’ve come to know as Matthew, and Drew. You smiled sweetly at the round circles on the back of the phone as Drew slung an arm around your shoulders.

Once the photo was taken, everyone scattered and the usual chatter was back. You ran up to the phone and you looked at the image.

Well fuck.

Drew looked absolutely freaking ethereal.

His sitting in a reclined position with one leg bent and the other stretched out, manspreading, almost made you go feral. He was smiling widely toward the camera, his impossibly bright grin attracting all the attention in the photo.

His body looked like a dream. For a moment, you thought maybe you were dreaming, if you were you would hold onto the memory of the photo, even if it was just a dream, for the rest of your life.

God, pining for your hot best friend made you sound so so pathetic.

The thought that what you were experiencing was just a dream was snapped in two like a twig when Drew came up from behind you and flicked your bare back.

“Ouch!” You exclaimed, a frown forming on your face.

“‘M sorry, princess,” he swung his arms over your shoulders, holding on to you from behind like a koala would his mother, peering at the screen in your hands.

“Did it turn out good?” He asked casually, acting as if he didn’t see how your face was blushing an awfully deep shade of red and don’t even start to think that he missed the way you were obviously turned on.

“Yup,” you answered curtly, ducking down to be released of any physical contact with him, because you felt as if you would melt if he touched you a second longer.

“I’m um… gonna go below deck. The sun uh- it’s hitting me pretty hard right now. I have a headache,” you lied, coming up with some excuse to just get yourself somewhere where you can have your alone time.

“O…kay…” He didn’t seem convinced but that wasn’t for you to deal with in that moment. You made your way down the stairs leading below the deck of the ship, the room was nice and cozy.

With a sigh of relief you sat down on a wooden bench near the kitchen and slipped your phone out of your purse.

After a few minutes of mindlessly scrolling through various social media apps you heard footsteps nearing you, causing you to look up.

Your eyes met none other than Drew Starkey himself.

“On your phone when you have a headache? Really?” He asked unamused. “You lyin’ about the headache or you just stupid?”

“Stupid…?” you offered in a quiet meek voice.

“C’mon, sweetheart, what’s the problem, huh? You don’t like my friends or something?” He questioned as he sat himself down next to you on the oak plank.

“No, no, they’re great, I just…” You really should have been able to come up with something to say but the way his forearm was flexing as it rested on his thigh distracted you.

A smirk grew on Drew’s face. “No yeah, I uh-“ he chucked as he shook his head in what looked like slight disbelief, “I know.”

Unsure of the true meaning behind his comment you averted your eyes to the floor, focusing on the swaying of the boat on the water instead of Drew’s piercing blue eyes staring intently at you.

He leaned back with a sigh, his legs spreading wider and his arm sneaking behind your back and around your waist. “You’re kind of ridiculous, you know that?”

All you could do was nod which earned you yet another laugh from Drew.

Just as you were about to persuade yourself to actually speak, you were pulled onto Drew’s lap by his arm, his hands quickly settling you on his thighs.

“Wha-“

“I know, princess,” he cooed.

You know you should have felt at least slightly degraded or mad because of his tone but the only thing it did, was make you want to clench your thighs together. Which of course wasn’t possible because each of your legs rested on different sides of Drew.

“You look so pretty today, baby,” he said, tucking some loose strands of hair behind your ear before moving his face down to your neck and pressing soft, fleeting, sensational kisses to the side of your collar.

Your breathing became panted and you unintentionally slowly rubbed your core along the material of his pitch black swim trunks.

“Not even a thank you?” He murmured teasingly as his kisses walked over to the area right under your ear and his large hands gripped your hips harshly, stopping you from any further movement.

“Th- thank you…” You whispered, your tone dipped and coated in your lust and arousal.

You felt a small nip on your throat that made you let out a small “Ah-!”

“Thank you…?” He muttered expectantly.

“Sir?” You tried, getting your confirmation of that being the wrong answer when a more harsh bite was left just under your jawline.

“Daddy..” you practically moaned out, the small pleasure that you got from the bites making you rut against Drew’s strong hold on your body.

“Good girl…” he praised, his face finally coming up to meet yours, kissing you softly but also at the same time with an unforeseeable force.

His fingers stopped drilling into the skin over your hipbones, letting you push your aching core down onto his covered thigh.

He broke the kiss, his plump lips and hot breath trailing over your cheek as you both gasped from air.

His hand roughly grabbed the back of your head, wrapping his fingers around your messy hair, holding you tight against him.

Immediately after, his other hand took hold of your hip again, helping you grind down on his swim pants.

“That’s right, baby, use daddy’s leg,” he breathed out heavily.

“Such,” he pressed a sloppy kiss to your jawline, “a,” another kiss was placed on the corner of your mouth, “good,” he said before pecking your lips, “girl,” he murmured into your mouth before shoving his tongue down your throat.

The press of his thigh onto your bikini bottom made a perfect friction emerge against your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

“What about-“ you started.

“I locked the door, sweetheart, no worries.”

The way he basically read your mind made you feel even more turned on.

Your folds rubbed back and forth in your

soaking wet swim bottoms as you gripped Drew’s shoulders tightly, eyes squeezed shut as he continued to spew out praise after praise to you.

Suddenly a knock resounded throughout the room, a sudden halt coming to your despicable actions.

“Hello? Anyone in here? Why is the door locked?” A female voice asked from the other side of the door.

“One second!” Drew called before returning his attention to you.

“We’ll finish this later, yeah?” All you could do was nod, still completely dazed.

He picked you up off his lap, helping you settle back into a standing position and smoothing out both of your guys’ clothes.

With a casual smile on his face he unlocked and opened the door, spouting out some excuse for the door being locked before leading you upstairs with him.

For the rest of the afternoon, you sat, with a drink in hand, watching Drew talk amongst his friends, his eyes flicking to you every once in a short while.

Once other people started leaving and the sun started setting, he walked up to you.

“Ready to leave, princess?”

“Uh-huh,” you uttered out, standing up and saying your goodbyes to everyone that still found themselves on the yacht.

As you walked down the dock, admiring the sunset, you gripped onto Drew’s arm.

“Everything okay?” He asked.

You looked up at him with an “Are you serious?” face, annoyed at his nonchalant antics.

“Gee, sorry, okay?” He chuckled.

“I’ll make you feel good soon. Don’t worry, little lady.”

@emma-e-a

[diamonddaze01]

Full Throttle (i)

pairing: ferrari driver!yoon jeonghan x journalist!reader chapter wc: 20.6K (dont look at me)genre: humor, fluff, angst, smut (?) au: f1 au (i am sorry i am a nerd abt this) rating: m (MINORS DNI)warnings: SLOOOOOW BURN. mentions of injuries, car crashes // eventual smut.

PREQUELS: would highly recommend reading On the Record and Off the Record to gain some context into the relationship! This fic starts directly after the end of Off the Record 

summary: jeonghan's not used to someone who pushes his buttons as easily as you do, and you're not used to someone who challenges you as quickly as he does. maybe it's time to go full throttle, both on and off the track.

a/n: this one is gonna be long. buckle in. this is dedicated to kae @ylangelegy , who was the one who pushed me to write this in the first place, and also graciously beta read this // this is also dedicated to alta @haologram , who watched me lose my mind over this for so long and gave me so much love and support as i wrote this. // huge thanks to lola @monamipencil and haneul @chanranghaeys for beta-reading and giving me their thoughts, especially about when things were too technical // and finally, an ENORMOUS thank you to jupiter @cheolism for the banner!

read part 2 here! <3

FORMULA 1 ROLEX AUSTRALIAN GRAND PRIX 2024 Track: Melbourne Grand Prix Circuit 

The Australian Grand Prix had come to an end, but the buzz from the race still lingered in the air. The paddock had started to quiet down, though the echo of cheers and the scent of champagne were still fresh. Jeonghan stood at the edge of the pit lane, watching as the last of the mechanics began to clean up, the high of the win beginning to settle into a low hum of satisfaction.

His fingers absentmindedly brushed over his helmet, the familiar weight grounding him after the chaos of the race. But his mind wasn’t on the mechanics or the trophy waiting for him. No, it was on you.

You had walked away with that smug grin of yours, and even now, hours later, the image of you—cool, collected, and far too clever for your own good—lingered in his thoughts. The way you’d turned the tables on him, effortlessly making him feel like the one caught off guard. For once, it hadn’t been about the race or the rumors swirling around his personal life—it had been about you and the way you knew how to press all his buttons without breaking a sweat.

"Dammit," he muttered under his breath, a grin creeping onto his face despite himself. "I should’ve asked her to dinner."

But there was no time for that now. The press was waiting. The fans, too. He needed to play the role of the cool, collected champion for the cameras, the last thing he needed was another round of gossip, another round of teasing from the people who loved to stir the pot. And yet, the thought of you, the way you’d made him feel a mix of frustration and something else entirely, was almost too tempting to ignore.

The crew cheered as he finally made his way back to the motorhome, the world still swirling in a whirlwind of victory and flashing cameras. But inside, it was quieter. More personal.

"Jeonghan!" His manager greeted him with a smile, the kind of smile that signaled the end of a long race and the beginning of yet another whirlwind of interviews, photos, and meetings. But Jeonghan only half-listened as his manager spoke, his mind flickering back to the conversation earlier.

"You sure know how to keep things interesting, don't you?" His manager chuckled, noticing the distraction in his eyes. "The headlines are still buzzing. You planning on setting the record straight anytime soon?"

Jeonghan chuckled under his breath, running a hand through his messy hair. "Let them talk," he muttered, flashing a grin. "It’s part of the game."

But that wasn’t what was on his mind. It was you. The way you’d baited him, just enough to make him feel the heat of the moment. He had never been this distracted by anyone—or anything—before.

"You have a minute?" a voice interrupted his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. It was his publicist, holding a phone in one hand, the other gesturing toward the press conference set up for him in the next room.

Jeonghan looked at her, then glanced over his shoulder as if expecting to see you again. But you were gone, just like that. He gave a small sigh, almost imperceptible to anyone watching.

"Yeah, yeah. Let’s do this," he muttered, before stepping forward. Jeonghan’s footsteps echoed through the motorhome hallway, the thrum of victory still running through his veins, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t shake the way you’d looked at him—those piercing eyes, full of challenge. He'd seen that expression before, but this time felt different. You weren’t just some reporter stirring up a bit of drama—you were someone who knew exactly how to get under his skin.

His publicist was waiting outside the press room, ready to brief him on the upcoming interviews and meetings. "You’ve got a full schedule, Jeonghan," she said, giving him the rundown with practiced precision. But Jeonghan barely heard her, his mind still distracted by the way you’d turned the tables.

"Hey," he cut in, slowing to a stop in front of her. "What do you know about Y/N?" he asked, his tone casual but with an edge of curiosity that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

The publicist blinked in surprise, and beside her, his manager gave a short laugh. "Y/N? You mean the reporter?" the manager asked, voice dripping with amusement. "The one you’ve had run-ins with over the past couple of seasons?"

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of them. "Run-ins?" he repeated, his lips curling into a small, knowing smirk. "What exactly are you implying?"

The publicist shrugged, exchanging a look with the manager. "She’s been covering F1 for a while, pretty sharp with her articles," she said, keeping her voice neutral. "Some of them have definitely gotten attention, especially that one a few weeks ago... the one about you and the whole ‘mysterious love life’ thing." Her eyes flicked to his manager, who made a face at the mention of that piece.

Jeonghan sighed, running a hand through his hair. He’d tried to forget about that article, but your earlier conversation (read as: challenge) had baffled him. "I shouldn’t have said anything," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "But you know she always gets a rise out of me, don’t you?"

The manager snickered. "Oh, we know. It’s not every day we get to watch you struggle to keep your cool. She’s got a way with words, that one." He winked. "But hey, I get it. She’s a great reporter—sharp, clever—and always knows where to find the juiciest stories. You just might want to be a little more careful with what you say around her next time."

Jeonghan smirked. "Careful? Since when have I ever been careful?"

His publicist gave a pointed look, clearly not impressed. "That’s not the problem, Jeonghan. It’s that you tend to forget she knows exactly what buttons to push."

Jeonghan chuckled, his eyes glinting with a new energy. "Oh, she’s good, I’ll give her that. But I’m not so easily rattled." His mind wandered back to the way you’d smirked and walked off, leaving him standing there feeling like he'd just been served a dish of his own medicine.

"Don’t underestimate her," the manager added, half-joking. "You’ve been in this game long enough to know, no one gets a rise out of you like that without knowing exactly what they’re doing."

Jeonghan hummed thoughtfully. "I suppose you’re right. But maybe..." He trailed off, eyes narrowing as a plan started to form in his mind. "...Maybe it’s time I gave her a taste of her own medicine."

The publicist and manager exchanged a glance but didn’t say anything. They knew that look—the one Jeonghan got whenever he was plotting something, usually with a dash of mischief and just the right amount of charm to make it impossible for anyone to say no. The same charm that had gotten him into trouble more times than they cared to count.

"You’ve got your interviews now, Jeonghan," his publicist reminded him gently, pulling him back to reality. "We can revisit this later. Just keep your head in the game for now."

He nodded, though his mind was still fixated on you. "Yeah, yeah. Later."

As he entered the press room, he was immediately hit with a barrage of questions. The usual ones about his win, his performance, and his plans for the rest of the season. But even as he answered, his thoughts lingered on you and that damn article. You were always one step ahead, always stirring the pot just enough to keep things interesting. But now, it seemed you had caught his attention for real.

And maybe—just maybe—he was going to have some fun with this.

FORMULA 1 MSC CRUISES JAPANESE GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Suzuka Ciruit

The neon lights of Tokyo cast a kaleidoscope of colors on the bustling streets, the city alive with energy even late into the night. After a long day of prepping for the upcoming race, you’d decided to wind down with a quiet drink in a tucked-away bar that promised a moment’s reprieve from the chaos of the paddock.

The bar was small and intimate, the kind of place that felt like a secret only locals knew about. Jazz music hummed softly in the background, and you found a seat near the corner, ready to savor your drink in peace.

But of course, peace wasn’t in the cards tonight.

“Y/N?”

The familiar voice made you freeze mid-sip. Turning your head, you found none other than Yoon Jeonghan standing a few feet away, his face lit with mild surprise and unmistakable amusement. He wasn’t in his Ferrari team gear for once—just a sleek black jacket and jeans, looking effortlessly casual in a way that somehow made him even more irritatingly attractive.

“Jeonghan,” you replied evenly, setting your drink down. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, sliding onto the stool beside you without an invitation. “Same as you, I’d imagine. Taking a break from the madness.” His eyes flicked to your glass. “Whiskey? I wouldn’t have pegged you for the type.”

“And what type is that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He leaned back slightly, his lips quirking into that trademark smirk. “The type who drinks whiskey alone in a bar and pretends they’re not thinking about work.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, you’re wrong. I’m not thinking about work. I’m thinking about how nice it is to not deal with questions about lap times and tire strategies for five minutes.”

Jeonghan chuckled, signaling to the bartender for a drink. “Fair enough. Though, if memory serves, you’re usually the one asking those questions.”

“Occupational hazard,” you shot back. “And if memory serves, you’re usually the one avoiding them.”

“Touché.” He raised his glass when it arrived, a silent toast that you reluctantly mirrored with your own.

For a while, the conversation meandered through safer topics—Tokyo’s sights, the food, the insanity of race week—but there was an undercurrent of something sharper, a game of verbal ping-pong that neither of you seemed willing to let go of.

“You know,” Jeonghan said after a particularly clever jab from you about his less-than-stellar start in Australia, “I think I’ve finally figured you out.”

“Oh?” you asked, amusement dancing in your tone. “Do tell.”

“You act all cool and collected, but deep down…” He paused for dramatic effect, leaning in slightly. “…you love the chaos. You thrive on it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, though a grin tugged at your lips. “And what about you, Mr. Reigning Champion? Aren’t you the one who said chaos is just part of the game?”

“True,” he admitted with a lazy shrug. “But I like to think I’m more strategic about it.”

“Strategic?” you echoed, incredulous. “You literally said ‘let them talk’ after crossing the finish line in Australia. That’s not strategy, Jeonghan—that’s reckless arrogance.”

He laughed, the sound low and warm, and you hated how it made your chest tighten just a little. “Maybe. But it keeps things interesting, doesn’t it?”

You didn’t respond, sipping your drink instead, determined not to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

Jeonghan tilted his head, his gaze flicking over you with a knowing glint. “This feels familiar.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference. “What does?”

“Let’s just say you have a knack for leaving me with something to think about,” he said casually, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass.

A flicker of amusement crossed your face. “Still losing sleep over it, Jeonghan?”

He leaned in, his voice dropping low, laced with mischief. “Not quite. But I’ve been wondering if you’re all talk or if you actually mean half the things you say.”

You smirked, leaning back just a little. “And what are you planning to do about it?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Guess you’ll have to find out next time,” he said smoothly, signaling to the bartender and slipping his card onto the counter.

You frowned, catching on quickly. “Jeonghan, you don’t have to—”

“Of course I don’t,” he replied, his smirk growing as he leaned in just enough for his voice to drop, intimate and teasing. “But what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t treat you every now and then?”

“A terrible one,” you deadpanned, crossing your arms.

He chuckled, standing up and adjusting his jacket. “Always so quick with the comebacks.”

You tilted your head, not backing down. “And yet, here you are, still trying to keep up.”

He grinned, leaning down so his face was level with yours. “Oh, I’m not just keeping up, sweetheart. I’m leading.”

With that, he threw on his jacket, turning to leave, but not without one last playful remark. “Enjoy your night, Y/N. And next time…” He flashed a grin over his shoulder, his voice dipping lower. “Try putting that mouth of yours to better use.”

Your mouth dropped open, and you could hear his laugh as you watched him disappear into the neon-lit streets. 

Damn him.

The Suzuka Circuit’s air was heavy with anticipation, the disappointment in Ferrari’s garage palpable. Jeonghan leaned against the barrier in the media pen, his crimson Ferrari suit contrasting with the growing dusk. Despite his relaxed posture, the tension radiating off him was hard to miss.

"Yoon Jeonghan," you began, stepping forward with your mic. "P11 today—your first time not making it to Q3 since your rookie season. What happened out there?"

His smile was thin, masking the fire simmering beneath. "Suzuka’s a tough circuit. I put in a solid lap, but in the end, it just wasn’t enough. A couple milliseconds make all the difference."

"Kim Mingyu of McLaren knocked you out in the dying seconds of the session," you pointed out, your tone as neutral as possible.

"Yeah, Mingyu had a great lap," he said, though his smirk betrayed a hint of frustration. "Kudos to him for that. It’s the nature of the game—sometimes you’re the one knocking others out, and sometimes you’re the one being knocked out."

You tilted your head, pressing just a little. "Ferrari’s upgrades were supposed to shine here at Suzuka. Do you think the car—or the driver—fell short today?"

His eyes met yours, sharp and knowing. "Is that your way of asking if I’m losing my edge?"

You smiled faintly. "Just doing my job, Jeonghan."

"And doing it well," he replied smoothly. "I’ll make sure to give you something better to write about tomorrow."

Yoon Jeonghan’s Q2 Knockout: A Sign of Ferrari’s Struggles or a Driver Underperforming?

Your analysis was live before the sun set over Suzuka, dissecting Jeonghan’s performance lap by lap:

"While Ferrari’s SF-24 showed promise in Q1, Jeonghan’s Q2 lap exposed cracks in execution. Hesitant braking into Spoon Corner cost him vital time, and a wide exit through Degner 2 raised questions about his confidence under high pressure. Kim Mingyu’s decisive lap in the McLaren only highlighted the contrast, leaving Ferrari fans wondering if Jeonghan can rebound from this rare stumble."

It didn’t take long for the article to ripple through the paddock—and reach its subject. The article was sharp, critical, with the same bite that you had become a household name for. And Jeonghan read every word.

He must have been an idiot to assume you would be kinder after the way he’d left you gobsmacked a few nights prior at the bar. 

You had just wrapped up your interview with Mingyu, the day’s pole sitter, when Jeonghan found you.

"Got a minute?" he asked, voice deceptively light.

You glanced up, startled to find him so close, still in his Ferrari suit, his hair slightly damp from the cool-down lap.

"Something on your mind?" you replied, keeping your tone professional.

He didn’t bother with pleasantries. "That article."

You raised an eyebrow. "Specificity helps, you know."

He chuckled darkly. "The one where you ripped apart my Q2 performance like you’re a technical director." He took a step closer, and for the first time, the calm façade cracked - his smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Hesitant braking? Lack of confidence under pressure? You really think I’m losing my touch?"

"I think Suzuka demands perfection," you replied evenly. "And today, perfection wasn’t what we saw."

He let out a low laugh, shaking his head. "You love this, don’t you? Watching me stumble so you can tear me apart in print."

"Jeonghan," you said, straightening, "if you want me to write glowing reviews, give me something to work with."

"You should’ve mentioned how close I was to Mingyu’s time," he shot back.

"Close isn’t enough," you countered, coolly. "Not in this sport."

His eyes narrowed, and he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Careful, sweetheart. Don’t let them think you’re this obsessed with me."

"Careful, Jeonghan," you shot back mockingly. "Sienna Hartley might not like hearing you get so worked up over me."

His hand shot out, catching your wrist before you could walk away. "Here’s an exclusive for you," he said, his voice sharp. "Me and Sienna? Not together."

You blinked, thrown off for just a moment before you schooled your expression. "Good to know. Now let go."

He released you immediately but lingered just long enough to murmur, "Don’t think this is over."

The Suzuka chaos worked in Jeonghan’s favor. 

When the lights went out, Jeonghan’s start was perfect—clean, aggressive, calculated. By the first corner, he had already gained two places, capitalizing on a sluggish Alpine and threading the needle between a Williams and an AlphaTauri. 

The midfield battle was fierce. Suzuka’s notorious esses demanded precision, and Jeonghan attacked them with surgical efficiency, his Ferrari responding like an extension of his own instincts. He overtook the Aston Martin of Lee Seokmin into Turn 11 with a move so bold the crowd audibly gasped. 

Each pass felt like a small victory, but it wasn’t enough. The podium still felt miles away. His fingers tightened on the wheel as he navigated the sweeping Spoon Curve, catching a glimpse of the orange McLaren far ahead—Mingyu.

The memory of your post-quali interview slipped into his mind. Close isn’t enough. Not in this sport.

He exhaled sharply, forcing the thought away. Now wasn’t the time. Jeonghan approached Degner 2, the car planted firmly under him. He could feel the wear on his tires but knew he still had grip to spare. He glanced briefly at the digital display on his steering wheel, calculating the gap to the car ahead—P5, the Red Bull of Choi Seungcheol.

As he accelerated toward the Hairpin, your voice echoed in his head again. Hesitant braking. Confidence issues.

His jaw clenched. It wasn’t anger—it was something more complicated. Why did you always manage to get under his skin? He should’ve been focusing on tire wear, fuel management, or his next target, but instead, his mind betrayed him.

He thought of the way you’d smirked during the interview, how your tone had been sharp, almost daring. The way you’d walked away, leaving him with more to say.

Focus. He snapped himself back, braking perfectly into the Hairpin. The slip of attention hadn’t cost him, but it had been close. Too close.

A well-timed pit stop under a virtual safety car catapulted him to P4. He rejoined the track with fresh mediums, slicing through the field with an aggression that stunned even his team.

By Lap 40, he was staring down the rear wing of Kwon Soonyoung—his own teammate. The team’s radio lit up, the pit wall hesitating.

“Jeonghan, Soonyoung ahead on a different strategy. Keep it clean.”

He didn’t wait for a direct order. Into 130R, the fastest corner on the track, he swung to the outside. His car shuddered with the force of the maneuver, but he held his line, leaving Soonyoung no choice but to yield.

“P3, Jeonghan. You’re on the podium now. Great move.”

With only two laps to go, he was in P2, chasing Mingyu, who had a comfortable lead. Jeonghan knew catching him was impossible, but that wasn’t the point anymore. This was about proving something—to his team, the fans, and maybe even to you.

The Ferrari hummed beneath him, a symphony of power and precision. Every turn, every braking zone, every shift felt like redemption. When he crossed the line in P2, the roar of the crowd was deafening, but all he could hear was his own heartbeat.

The media room was packed, buzzing with questions for the podium finishers. You started with Mingyu, still glowing from his dominant victory.

“Kim Mingyu,” you began, “another win for McLaren. How does it feel to catch up to Jeonghan in the driver’s championship?”

Mingyu smiled, leaning into the mic. “It feels incredible. The car was perfect today, and the team did an amazing job. Credit to everyone back at the factory.”

Before you could move on to the next question, Jeonghan interjected from his spot.

“Must feel nice to start up front and stay there,” he quipped, his tone light but pointed.

Mingyu grinned, unfazed. “You would know, Jeonghan. But you kept me looking over my shoulder the whole time.”

The room chuckled, and you shot Jeonghan a warning glance, which he ignored entirely.

Later, when a question was directed at Jeonghan about his race recovery, his response was pointed. "Oh, you know. I’m pretty good at managing tire degradation. And I had a lot of people doubting me on this track specifically, so I had to prove them wrong too."

His gaze locked on yours as he delivered the last line, and the meaning wasn’t lost on you—or anyone else in the room.

Jeonghan barely made it three steps out of the press conference room before Soonyoung intercepted him, leaning casually against a stack of Pirelli tires like he had all the time in the world. The amusement on his face set Jeonghan’s internal alarms blaring.

“What the hell was that about?” Soonyoung asked, arms crossed in mock authority.

Jeonghan blinked, expertly schooling his expression into one of pure confusion. “What was what about?” he replied, his tone dripping with innocence.

“Oh, don’t even try to play dumb with me, Jeonghan. I know you too well.” Soonyoung’s grin widened as he stepped closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “You were doing something during that press conference. I’ve never seen you look that smug unless you’re—”

“I was answering questions,” Jeonghan interrupted smoothly, plucking a water bottle from the cooler without breaking his stride. He unscrewed the cap with deliberate calm, taking a slow sip. “That’s what press conferences are for, in case you forgot.”

Soonyoung squinted at him, unconvinced. “Right. And here I thought press conferences were for you to pretend you’re unbothered while delivering backhanded digs at Kim Mingyu.”

Jeonghan barely managed to keep a straight face, though he felt the tiniest flicker of pride. He had been particularly good with his barbs today. Still, there was no way he was admitting that. “Don’t project, Soonyoung,” he drawled. “Not everyone uses media day as therapy.”

Before Soonyoung could retort, a new voice joined the conversation.

“I know what it was,” said Kim Sunwoo, strolling up with the unshakable confidence of someone who didn’t yet understand how much trouble he was about to cause. The young mechanic had a smirk plastered on his face, the kind that made Jeonghan instinctively want to flee.

“You know what?” Jeonghan asked warily, his eyes narrowing.

“That look you had during the Q&A,” Sunwoo continued, leaning casually against a tool chest. “You were staring at her, man. Like, full-on laser focus. It’s like you were trying to send her a message.”

Jeonghan’s grip on the water bottle tightened. He felt his ears heat up but refused to let it show. “I was answering her question,” he said evenly. “It’s called eye contact. You should try it sometime—people like that sort of thing.”

But Sunwoo wasn’t done. “And don’t think we didn’t notice you getting all flustered when Mingyu’s name came up,” he added, his smirk widening.

“Flustered?” Jeonghan repeated, letting out a short, incredulous laugh. “Right. That’s definitely the word I’d use to describe me.”

“Come on, dude.” Sunwoo shrugged, undeterred. “Admit it. You’ve got a crush.”

The words hit like a sucker punch. Jeonghan froze mid-sip, choking slightly as the water went down the wrong way. He coughed, spluttering as Sunwoo and Soonyoung erupted into laughter.

“Alright,” Jeonghan said sharply once he’d recovered, pointing a finger at Sunwoo. “You’ve been spending too much time on TikTok. Get back to work before I have you polishing rims for the rest of the season.”

But Sunwoo only grinned wider, completely unbothered. “Jeonghan’s in loooove,” he teased, drawing out the word in a sing-song voice.

“I said that’s enough,” Jeonghan snapped, the slight pink tinge creeping up his neck completely betraying his forced composure. “Shouldn’t you be tuning an engine or something useful?”

Soonyoung, meanwhile, was doubled over laughing, clearly enjoying himself far too much. When he finally straightened, he clapped Jeonghan on the back. “Hey, don’t worry about it, man. If you need advice, just let me know. I’m great with women.”

Jeonghan groaned, brushing him off. “The day I take advice from you, Soonyoung, is the day I retire. He shoved past them toward his motorhome, muttering under his breath. “Insufferable. Both of you.”

But even as he slammed the door behind him, Jeonghan couldn’t stop the echo of Sunwoo’s words from rattling around in his head. 

You’ve got a crush.

He scoffed aloud, shaking his head. “Ridiculous,” he muttered, tossing the water bottle onto the couch. But as he sank down beside it, arms crossed and jaw tight, he couldn’t quite stop himself from wondering.

Jeonghan didn’t want to be here.

The club pulsed with energy, a humid swirl of bodies pressing too close, the bass reverberating in his chest like a persistent headache. Strobe lights sliced through the haze, and the air smelled faintly of spilled drinks and cheap cologne. Somewhere in the chaos, Soonyoung had disappeared, leaving Jeonghan to fend for himself.

He’d been ready to make his exit the moment they walked in, but Soonyoung had insisted. “You need to loosen up, Jeonghan. Let the adrenaline from the race wear off. Have a drink, maybe dance.”Jeonghan had scoffed at the idea, knowing full well that his reason for not wanting to stay wasn’t exhaustion.

No, it was you.

Even when you weren’t in the room, you lingered in his mind like the ghost of a song he couldn’t stop humming. The podium had been a nice distraction. But now, surrounded by the chatter of strangers and the clinking of glasses, his thoughts drifted back to the press conference and the pointed, teasing look you’d given him when he spoke.

And then there was Mingyu—always Mingyu—whose name you’d said with just a little too much warmth. Jeonghan had pretended not to notice, but it had been impossible to ignore.

Shaking his head, Jeonghan pushed through the crowd, determined to leave. He had almost made it to the exit when someone collided into him, hard enough to send him stumbling forward.

“Whoa—watch it!” a voice slurred, sharp with irritation but unmistakably familiar.

He turned, already scowling, but the expression froze on his face when he saw you.

“Jeonghan?” you said, blinking up at him, your voice teetering between surprise and amusement. Your cheeks were flushed, lips curling into a slow smile as you adjusted your grip on the drink in your hand.

“You?” he blurted, his composure slipping for a fraction of a second.

“What are you—?” you started, only to trail off as a giggle bubbled out of you. Shaking your head like you were trying to clear it, you added, “Wow. Small world, huh?”

“I guess so,” Jeonghan said, his tone carefully even, though his gaze lingered on the way the dim light caught the sheen of your hair, the curve of your smile. His eyes dropped to your drink, then back to your face. “Are you drunk?”

“No,” you said, far too quickly, before adding with a sheepish laugh, “Okay, maybe. Just a little.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, threatening to curve into a smile. “Sure looks like it.”

You waved him off with a dramatic flourish, nearly spilling your drink in the process. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be... I don’t know, brooding on a podium somewhere?”

He tilted his head, pretending to be affronted. “I don’t brood. And besides, this is a celebration.”

“Oh, right,” you said, stepping closer. Your gaze softened, and your voice dropped just enough to make the words feel like they were meant for him alone. “The big comeback.”

“Lots of doubters, huh?” you added, the slight slur in your voice doing nothing to dull the edge of your words.

Jeonghan blinked, caught off guard, before a chuckle escaped him. “Well, your article did the talking for you.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, your eyes a little too bright, your smile a little too slow. “What a way to get my attention, pretty boy.”

His breath caught, his carefully built façade cracking for just a second. “You think I’m pretty?”

Your lips parted, but before you could answer, a hand landed firmly on your shoulder.

“There you are!”

Jeonghan looked up to see one of your friends glaring at him as they steadied you. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and you’re... what? Flirting with Yoon Jeonghan now?”

“Not flirting,” you protested weakly, though your lopsided smile said otherwise.

Your friend wasn’t convinced, nor were they interested in his response. They tugged you into the crowd with an apologetic glance over their shoulder. “Sorry about her—she’s had a night.”

Jeonghan stayed rooted in place, his gaze following your retreating figure. His lips curved into a faint smile as your words replayed in his mind.

“What a way to get my attention,” he murmured to himself, shaking his head.

And yet, as he stood there, the thought struck him that maybe you’d already gotten his.

FORMULA 1 GRAND PRIX DE MONACO 2024Track: Circuit de Monaco

The paddock at Monaco was alive with its usual glitz and glamour, the unmistakable hum of anticipation hanging thick in the air. Cameras flashed, team personnel buzzed around, and the harbor glistened under the sun. Monaco, the crown jewel of the F1 calendar, had a way of amplifying everything—victories felt sweeter, defeats more crushing, and the stakes impossibly higher.

Jeonghan, fresh off securing pole position, had his usual air of nonchalance, but the glow of triumph was undeniable. The fans chanted his name; the cameras adored him. Yet as he stepped off the podium erected for the post-qualifying festivities, his sharp eyes caught sight of something—someone—that brought him up short.

You.

You were standing just beyond the throng of journalists, your press badge gleaming under the midday sun. It had been weeks since he’d last seen you, weeks since your sharp quips and piercing questions had filled the air between you like sparks on dry wood.

Those weeks had been… odd, to say the least. You’d been reassigned to cover Formula E, a shift Jeonghan had learned about only after noticing your absence at the paddock in China. He had played it cool, pretending it didn’t matter, but he had found himself seeking out your byline anyway—reading articles that had nothing to do with him or F1, just to feel the rhythm of your words.

Even the searing critiques you usually aimed at him had been sorely missed. It was maddening, really, how much quieter the world had felt without your fire.

Now, here you were again, back in the fray of Formula 1, as though no time had passed. Jeonghan’s expression remained casual, but his stride toward you was deliberate, cutting through the chaos of the paddock.

When he stopped in front of you, his smirk was already in place, a shield against the strange, unwelcome flutter of relief in his chest. “Where’ve you been?” he asked, tilting his head with practiced ease.

You looked up from your notebook, arching a brow at him. “Missed me, Jeonghan?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

The word landed between you like a drop of rain on hot asphalt, its simplicity taking you aback. Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but notice how the sharpness in your gaze softened for a fraction of a second.

But then, as quickly as the moment arrived, he leaned in, his smirk deepening. “Someone had to keep the paddock interesting.”

You rolled your eyes, recovering your composure. “I see the Monaco air hasn’t done anything for your humility.”

“And I see Formula E hasn’t dulled your wit,” he shot back, stepping closer so the noise of the paddock faded slightly.

You shook your head, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You’ve done not too bad these past few races, huh?”

The comment was offhand, tossed in almost as a formality, but it hit Jeonghan harder than he expected. Compliments—genuine ones—were rare from you, and they stirred something unexpected in him.

Jeonghan blinked, the smirk faltering for just a second before he quickly replaced it with mock arrogance. “Not too bad?” he echoed, feigning offense. “I dominated in China, held my ground in Miami, and destroyed Emilia Romagna. Give me some credit here.”

For all his ego, Jeonghan knew he wasn’t wrong. He’d won China by a jaw-dropping 22.3-second margin, Mingyu so far behind that Jeonghan had time to deliver an entire thank-you speech over the radio before the McLaren driver even crossed the checkered flag. In Miami, even a grueling five-second stop-go penalty hadn’t stopped him; he finished P2 (behind Kim Mingyu, annoyingly) and picked up the extra point for the fastest lap, earning him Driver of the Day. And in Emilia Romagna, he was the clear favorite from the moment the race weekend began. The Tifosi were relentless, their cheers in the grandstands so deafening that Jeonghan could barely hear his engineer’s voice over the radio.

When he crossed the finish line first, the sea of red under the podium roared with such thunderous applause that his ears rang for hours afterward. In just three races, Jeonghan had cemented himself as the best contender for the 2024 World Champion.

And yet, somehow, it wasn’t as sweet without you there to write about it.

“Alright,” you said, meeting his gaze head-on. “You’ve been exceptional.”

The word struck like a sucker punch. For once, Jeonghan didn’t have a clever retort. 

"Congrats on pole, Jeonghan," you said, your voice cool but sincere, offering him a small smile. It made his heart skip a beat.

Jeonghan’s lips twitched, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You called me exceptional."

You glanced up at him, closing your notebook with a flick of your wrist. The corner of your mouth quirked into a smirk. "Yes. Now, thoughts on pole?"

He's silent for so long that you politely clear your throat, hoping to cut through the sudden stillness. "Maybe this should be my headline for the day, Jeonghan. Monaco's Maze Leaves Golden Boy Spinning Out."

It's like someone doused him with ice water. His easy, sun-soaked posture stiffens, and the small smirk he'd been wearing evaporates.

You're still a journalist. He forgets that sometimes.

"Why do you do that?" he mutters, voice edged with something unfamiliar—disappointment, maybe.

You blink, caught off guard by the abrupt change in tone. “Do what?”

“That.” He gestures vaguely between you and the notebook tucked in your hand. The lenses of his sunglasses catch the sunlight, but there’s no mistaking the intensity behind them. His gaze pierces, searching for something in your expression. “Bringing the shitty headlines into every conversation."

You arch a brow, tucking the notebook closer to your chest as if shielding it from his line of sight. “Shitty? You mean accurate, Jeonghan.”

His jaw tightens, a subtle movement, but enough to draw your attention. There’s a faint crease forming between his brows now, and you realize it’s not your usual back-and-forth banter. “You know what I mean,” he mutters, voice low and barely audible over the hum of the paddock—the distant rumble of engines, the echo of voices, the clinking of tools in nearby garages.

For a moment, you’re at a loss. Jeonghan doesn’t let things like this bother him—or, at least, he’s always been good at pretending they don’t. His whole brand is carefree charm, a perpetual smirk, and the confidence of someone who knows he’ll always be the center of attention. This feels different.

“You’re upset about a headline?” you ask, genuinely curious now.

“It’s not about the headline.” His tone sharpens, but he stops himself, jaw clenching like he’s swallowing something bitter. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, his fingers brushing over the brim of his cap. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, tinged with something almost vulnerable. “It’s about how you never let up, even when it’s me.”

The admission lands heavily between you, unexpected and disarming.

You shift uncomfortably under the weight of his words, the way they seem to strip away the professional distance you’ve been clinging to. “Why should I?” you counter, keeping your voice steady despite the flicker of doubt creeping in. “You’re just another driver, Jeonghan.”

His laugh is short and humorless, cutting through the charged air between you. “Right. Just another driver.”

There’s something about the way he says it—low, almost resigned—that catches you off guard. The bitterness in his tone isn’t theatrical; it’s real, raw, and so at odds with the image he projects to the world.

You glance at him, searching for the Jeonghan you’re used to—the one who shrugs off criticism with a knowing grin, who always has a teasing retort ready. But for once, he’s not hiding behind a smirk or a cocky quip. He looks tired, the weight of his words pulling at the edges of his carefully maintained charm.

“Jeonghan,” you begin, unsure of what you’re even trying to say.

But he shakes his head, cutting you off before you can find the right words. “Forget it.”

He takes a step back, and it feels like a gulf opening between you. The mask of indifference slips back into place with practiced ease, but you’ve already seen the cracks. “You’ve got your job to do,” he says, his tone clipped and distant. “Make sure you spell my name right in that next ‘shitty headline.’”

You hate the way your chest tightens at his words, hate the instinctive urge to reach out and stop him as he turns to walk away, his figure retreating into the chaotic swirl of the paddock.

But you don’t.

Instead, you grip your notebook tighter, the edges digging into your palm as if the physical discomfort might drown out the ache building in your chest. The buzz of your phone in your pocket snaps you out of the moment. Grateful for the distraction, you pull it out to see a text from your editor: Post-qualifying article. Deadline: 6 PM.

Just another driver.

The words echo hollowly in your mind, unconvincing and painfully untrue.

Because the truth is, Jeonghan has never been just anything to you.

And that’s exactly why this is so damn complicated.

Jeonghan spends the night refreshing his Twitter feed. 

He’s not sure what he’s waiting for, honestly. 

Maybe it’s the rush of validation that comes from a clever reply, or the sting of criticism that reminds him he’s still human under the helmet. Or maybe it’s something else entirely—something he doesn’t want to name. The applause of the crowd is long gone, and the adrenaline from securing pole position hours earlier has settled into a restless hum. His phone feels heavier in his hand as he scrolls, tapping at random links and skimming comments that veer between praise and criticism.

The article finally pops up, your name bold and unmistakable at the top. His stomach tightens, a sensation he’ll never admit to anyone, least of all you. 

He clicks it immediately. 

The headline strikes first: 

Kim Mingyu’s Risky Qualifying Lap Keeps Rivals on Edge

For a moment, he freezes, his eyes scanning the words again to make sure he didn’t misread.

Mingyu?

Confusion knots his brow as he scrolls down. The opening paragraph is a glowing analysis of Mingyu’s audacious lap—a near miss in the second sector, a masterful recovery in the final corners. The kind of detailed, evocative writing that Jeonghan knows you reserve for stories you care about.

Then, buried halfway through, he finds his name:

“Jeonghan, true to form, delivered a flawless lap to secure pole position. His consistency and precision were unmatched, placing him at the front of the grid for tomorrow’s race.”

That’s it.

No breakdown of his sector times, no mention of the deft control it took to navigate the tight Monaco corners under immense pressure. Just a single, clinical acknowledgment, overshadowed by Mingyu’s second-place drama.

Jeonghan stares at the screen, his thumb hovering over the refresh button. He doesn’t know what he was expecting—a parade in words? A headline with his name front and center?

It’s ridiculous, he tells himself. Pole position speaks for itself. It doesn’t need a poetic article to back it up.

But that doesn’t stop the irritation bubbling under his skin.

He tosses his phone onto the bed with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. His hotel room feels quieter than it should, the distant hum of the city barely seeping through the windows.

He can’t shake the feeling that you’re making a point. That this is your way of reminding him that while he might be the golden boy on the track, he doesn’t get special treatment in your world.

Not in your writing. Not from you.

It’s infuriating.

And yet, a part of him—one he’s unwilling to examine too closely—wants to know why you didn’t write more about him. Wants to know what he’d have to do to make you look at him the way you clearly look at Mingyu.

Not just another driver.

But the one worth writing about.

The morning of the Monaco Grand Prix dawned with the soft hum of engines filling the paddock and the gleaming streets of Monte Carlo radiating under a cloudless sky. Jeonghan arrived early, his customary calm masking the roiling anticipation beneath. Pole position was his—secured with a lap so clinical it had left his rivals chasing shadows. Yet, the sharp sting of your article still lingered, buried beneath layers of pride and annoyance.

By mid-morning, the paddock buzzed with tension. The Monaco circuit—narrow, unforgiving, and relentlessly demanding—left no room for error. Victory here wasn’t just about speed; it was about precision, strategy, and an unwavering mental edge. Jeonghan knew that all too well.

As he suited up, the familiar ritual steadied his thoughts. Helmet, gloves, fireproofs—each piece transformed him into the driver everyone expected him to be. His engineer’s voice crackled over the comms. “Focus on the start, Jeonghan. Turn One is everything.”

He gave a curt nod, stepping into the car. The roar of the crowd was muffled as the cockpit enveloped him. Lights on the dashboard blinked in sequence, a visual metronome syncing with his heartbeat.

The engine roars to life beneath Jeonghan as he settles into the cockpit, the familiar hum of the Monaco Grand Prix vibrating through the seat, up his spine, and into his very bones. His focus sharpens like a blade, the heat of the sun seeping through his visor, but he’s not thinking about the sweat trickling down his neck or the weight of the helmet that obscures his field of vision. He’s thinking of the laps he’s put in, of the sacrifice, the years of work that led him here, to this very moment, pole position in Monaco.

He has no illusions about the challenge ahead. This track has always favored the one at the front, especially when that one is someone as methodical and precise as Jeonghan. It’s not often that the pole sitter falters here. But that’s not what has his stomach in knots. It’s not the track or the other drivers. It’s you. The thought of your words, your perspective, your gaze.

What if this win isn’t enough? What if I’m still just another driver to you?

His grip tightens on the steering wheel, and for a moment, he considers the possibility of failing, of cruising through the race without the sharp, passionate energy that has always pushed him. What if he doesn’t even get the headline he’s chasing? What if all this effort amounts to nothing more than another expected victory, no deeper praise, no recognition?

He blinks, pushing the thought away. He can’t afford distractions. He’s here to win—nothing else matters.

The lights blink, one by one, before finally turning off, and he’s off, the car surging forward into the narrow streets of Monaco, engines screaming in unison. His concentration narrows, the noise of the crowd fading into the background. The first few laps are a blur of tactical moves, maintaining the lead, setting the pace. Behind him, Mingyu is close—too close—but Jeonghan has enough room, enough air to breathe.

The laps tick by, the gaps between drivers stretching and shrinking like the ebb and flow of a tide. In Monaco, you can’t make mistakes. The barriers are close enough to bite, and one slip-up could send everything into chaos. Jeonghan doesn’t think of that, though. He doesn’t think of the press, of his reputation, of the words hanging in the back of his mind.

What he thinks about is the win. The pure, simple joy of crossing that finish line first. He wants to feel the weight of the moment, of the accomplishment, and more than anything, he wants to look up and see you there—see that your words reflect the magnitude of this victory.

He holds the lead through the race, but it’s a quiet victory, one he can feel in his bones but doesn’t fully experience. The lap times are consistent, but nothing spectacular happens. No drama, no surprise overtake, no breathtaking maneuver.

It’s a clean, controlled victory—exactly what everyone expects from the driver in pole position.

By the time the checkered flag waves, Jeonghan crosses the line in first. The crowd erupts in cheers, but Jeonghan doesn’t feel the same rush of emotion. The thrill is absent, replaced instead by a deep, gnawing sense of doubt.

The win is his, but it feels like it’s already slipping away from his grasp.

In the post-race briefing, he sits with his team, nodding as they discuss tire strategies, pit stops, and the things that went right. But his eyes keep drifting to the back of the room, to where you stand, clipboard in hand, scribbling notes with focused intent. Every time he tries to catch your gaze, to make eye contact, you look away, as if determined to keep your distance.

It stings more than it should.

Jeonghan leans back in his seat, the weight of his helmet resting against his neck, the pressure of your indifference pressing down on him. He wants to reach out, wants to tell you that this win—this clean, controlled, expected win—deserves something more. But he stays silent, twisting the words in his mind, unable to voice the insecurity that’s suddenly consuming him.

The press conference follows the briefing, a whirlwind of questions, cameras, and flashing lights. The room is full of journalists, all clamoring for soundbites, all eager to discuss the expected result—Jeonghan, pole position, and now, victory. But Jeonghan doesn’t care about the usual congratulatory remarks. He’s waiting for something more. Something real.

When the article finally drops, hours later, he barely waits before pulling it up on his phone. He knows what it’s going to say, but still, the disappointment claws at his chest as he reads the headline.

Jeonghan Dominates Monaco: Pole Position Translates to Victory

His stomach twists, and he exhales sharply, trying to ignore the hollow feeling that spreads through him. It’s everything he expected—a result that leaves no room for admiration, no room for praise. Just the simple, obvious statement that he did what everyone expected him to do. The race was clean, flawless even, but there’s no depth to the words, no recognition of what it takes to win here, at Monaco, the most challenging track in the world.

The thought gnaws at him.

It’s not enough.

The press conference continues, the cameras flashing, but Jeonghan’s mind is far from the words he’s being asked to repeat. He’s not thinking about the team’s success, about the strategies that worked, or even about the crowd's cheers. His eyes find you across the room once again, but this time, you don't look away. Your gaze is fixed on something—anything—but not on him.

He can’t help but wonder if it’s because you don’t see him as more than just another driver. Just another one of the usual suspects who gets a win when it’s expected. He’s fighting for something more—something beyond the surface. But for now, it seems like that’s something he’ll never get from you.

He’s won Monaco. But in that moment, the victory feels like the hollowest thing in the world.

FORMULA 1 AWS GRAND PRIX DU CANADA 2024Track: Circuit Gilles Villeneuve

The Canadian Grand Prix feels like a blur. The rain starts as a light drizzle, but by the time the race begins, it’s pouring, transforming the circuit into a slippery mess. The slick track glistens under the flood of water, making the circuit treacherous, a spinning wheel of danger. The air is thick with the scent of wet asphalt, and there’s an ominous tension in the paddock, a murmur that hangs in the atmosphere as if everyone knows something bad is about to happen. 

You catch sight of Jeonghan on the grid. He’s staring straight ahead, hands clasped behind his back, his posture perfect, like the picture of composure. But you can see it in his eyes—something flickers there, a mix of tension and determination. His car, finely tuned for dry conditions, isn’t built for this. The engineers have done what they can, adjusting the setup, but there’s only so much they can do when the weather turns so violently. You know this track—the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve—is not forgiving, and for someone like Jeonghan, a precision driver who thrives when everything falls into place, this is the worst-case scenario. He’s trying to keep his focus, but you can see the strain on his face, the pressure mounting with every passing moment.

The starting lights go out, and the cars roar off the grid, their engines screaming in defiance of the rain. Jeonghan’s car is sluggish in the first few laps. You see him fighting with the wheel, struggling to keep the car in line, each turn a reminder that the odds are stacked against him. The rain is only getting heavier, and the car, built for speed in perfect conditions, is no longer responsive, no longer the finely-tuned machine he’s so accustomed to. It’s like he’s driving a different car altogether.

As the laps tick by, the race feels like a slow-motion disaster, unfolding before your eyes. Jeonghan’s always been skilled in the wet, but this is different—this is more than just rain. This is a mechanical mismatch, an impossible task to overcome. You watch him push, trying to find any way to make up time, but it’s clear he’s just not able to. The car slides wide through the corners, the back end kicking out as he struggles to maintain control. His frustration is palpable, his jaw clenched, his hands gripping the wheel with white-knuckled intensity.

And then, it happens.

The rear end of Jeonghan’s car breaks loose as he enters Turn 6, and for a moment, it’s a dance of power and precision, a flick of the wheel, an attempt to save it. But it’s futile. The car loses traction, and before you can even process it, he’s in the barriers. The sound of impact is like a gut punch, a sickening crunch that sends a wave of dread through you. The crowd's collective gasp is drowned out by the static crackle of his radio.

“Jeonghan, do you copy?” The voice of his engineer is urgent, panicked, but there’s no mistaking the defeat in it when the response comes through. Jeonghan’s voice is clipped, emotion stripped away in favor of the cold reality.

“I’m out. Car’s done.”

The message is simple, the weight of it crashing down on you. The race is over. Lap 30. The dream, the chance to prove himself in a season that’s been anything but easy, has slipped away, drowned by the rain.

You feel like you’ve been punched in the gut. It’s a loss for Jeonghan, but it feels like a loss for you too. Not because of the race itself, but because of the frustration you saw in his face. The disappointment. The feeling of helplessness. It’s all there, and it hits you harder than you expect.

He doesn’t speak to anyone after. He doesn’t go to the media pen, doesn’t stand in front of the cameras for the obligatory interview. There’s no deflection, no distractions. He’s just... gone. You barely see him in the paddock. He doesn’t even go to the Ferrari garage to debrief with his team. He disappears into the background, like he’s trying to erase himself from the scene altogether, retreating into the shadows, avoiding the world that’s waiting to cast its judgment.

And you? You stay away too. The press room feels suffocating, the questions ringing in your ears as you try to focus. You write your piece, a cold, sharp report about the race and Jeonghan’s crash, a clinical dissection of what went wrong. But something feels hollow as you type. The words don’t flow the way they used to. They’re just words, strung together to meet the deadline, to give the readers what they want. It’s not about the story anymore. It’s not about the race. It’s about the loss.

You can’t shake the image of Jeonghan crashing out, of his frustration written in every line of his face, every motion of his hands. You can’t forget the way he looked when he climbed out of the car, shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the world had suddenly fallen onto him. His eyes are distant, like he’s already checked out, retreating into himself. It’s a look you’ve seen before, but it’s sharper now, more pronounced. He’s carrying something, a burden that you don’t understand, a burden you’re not sure you can even help him carry.

But all you can do is write. And even that doesn’t feel like enough.

FORMULA 1 ARAMCO GRAN PREMIO DE ESPAÑA 2024 Track: Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya

The Spanish Grand Prix feels different from the moment you step out of the car, the heat oppressive, the air thick with anticipation and the inevitable tension of the weekend. The usual rhythm of the paddock is off-kilter, heightened by the suffocating summer heat, the burning sun beating down on every exposed surface. The heat is more than just physical; it's palpable in the way the drivers move, in the clipped tones of the engineers, in the quiet buzz of conversation that flickers out like static.

But even through the sticky, heavy air, the tension feels electric—charged, ready to snap. The circuit is a challenge in itself, and the drivers know it. There’s no room for error here—just wide, hot tarmac and the constant pressure of chasing that perfect lap.

You’ve done your best to avoid Jeonghan, kept a comfortable distance as much as possible. But there’s something about the way he carries himself now—an edge that wasn't there before. It’s sharp, biting, and yet there’s an underlying vulnerability that makes everything harder to ignore.

When qualifying results flash up, you’re caught off-guard. Soonyoung is on pole, Mingyu in second, and Jeonghan… Jeonghan is in third. 

Jeonghan strides into the paddock after qualifying, his face carefully composed, but there’s a look in his eyes—something sharp, something that makes you hesitate. You haven’t spoken in days, not since Canada, not since he shut you out. You’ve been avoiding him, and he’s been avoiding you, but you both know the silence can’t last forever.

You’re standing near the media area when he approaches, and for a moment, it feels like the world holds its breath. The slight tilt of his head, the way his gaze flicks over your shoulder, pretending not to care, but you see through it.

"Don't do this," he says, his voice tight, but it's not the playful teasing you’ve grown used to. It’s something darker. Something tired.

"Don’t do what?" you snap, your patience running thin. "Pretend everything’s fine?"

His jaw clenches, eyes narrowing. "You’ve been avoiding me. Why? Because of Canada?"

You blink. The question hits harder than you expect, and you struggle to keep your composure. “You expect me to just forget what happened? You were fine after the crash, Jeonghan. You didn’t even bother with the press. I can’t just pretend that wasn’t... anything.”

The words come out sharper than you intend, and for a split second, you regret it. You see the way his shoulders stiffen, the brief flicker of pain in his eyes before he masks it with that carefully constructed indifference.

"Maybe I didn’t want to deal with your harsh words," he snaps, taking a step closer. “Maybe I’m tired of being the perfect driver for you, the one who’s supposed to be good enough to meet your standards. But I’m not—am I?"

Your chest tightens at the accusation, at the sudden rawness in his voice. "You think I’m too harsh? You think I’m just waiting for you to be perfect all the time?" You laugh, bitter and self-deprecating. "That’s what this is about? You crashing out wasn’t because of me. I write the truth, Jeonghan. And maybe the truth is you didn’t have the car for that race. It was out of your control."

His expression darkens, and you see that familiar flash of anger—one you’ve seen more times than you care to admit. "No," he hisses, taking another step toward you. "The truth is, you're so wrapped up in your narratives, you forget that I’m human. You forget that I have feelings too, and that maybe... maybe I wanted to do this for myself, not for some headline or some article. But you... you don’t see me that way, do you? You see me as another story, another fucking headline to dissect. Just another driver."

His words cut deeper than anything else could, and the final crack in your restraint breaks wide open. You can feel the heat rising in your chest, the tightness in your throat, the way your breath hitches.

“You want me to treat you differently?” you bite back, furious, stepping into his space. “You want me to hold your hand and tell you it’s okay every time you fail? Because you’re so tired of being just another driver? Well, you know what, Jeonghan? I am tired. I’m tired of trying to keep this professional, of pretending that I’m not watching the same guy who couldn’t even handle his own crash. You don’t get to demand better treatment from me when you can’t even handle the heat.”

For a moment, neither of you move, and the silence is thick, charged with the weight of your words.

He stares at you, eyes dark, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. You’re both too close now, caught in this space where words are weapons, and you’re both bleeding out.

Finally, Jeonghan turns away, his expression unreadable, but you can see the tightness in his back, the way his jaw works, like he’s holding something back. "Maybe you should stop writing about me altogether," he mutters, his voice rough, before stalking off, leaving you standing there, heart pounding and chest aching.

For a moment, you stand frozen, caught between regret and relief, between the anger that still simmers beneath your skin and the sudden emptiness that creeps in now that he's gone.

The moment Jeonghan storms off, leaving you standing there with a surge of anger and a pounding heart, you don't realize someone’s been listening. But someone has. The faint click of a camera, barely audible over the sound of your pulse, is enough to make you pause. You turn, instinctively, to see a familiar face from the gossip side of the paddock. It's Soojin, a reporter known for getting the juiciest bits of drama and twisting them into scandalous headlines. She’s got a camera in one hand, her phone in the other, furiously typing something into it with a smirk that sends an uncomfortable ripple through your gut.

Before you can say anything, she’s already gone, blending back into the throng of people milling around the paddock, her steps quick and sure. The damage has been done. You know it, and the prickling sensation in the pit of your stomach tells you that it’s about to get a lot worse.

By the time you’ve made it back to the media center, the storm has already hit. Your Twitter feed is flooded with the words “Trouble in Paradise?”, and the accompanying photos. The images are damning—Jeonghan’s angry face, red with emotion, and your own flushed, furious expression, both of you screaming at each other in the middle of the paddock. There’s no context, no explanation, just the raw emotion, raw enough to sell.

The headline isn’t even what stings. It’s the comments that follow. Speculation, assumptions, and a flood of opinions. Some call it a lover’s quarrel, some assume the worst, but most seem content to paint the picture of two people on the verge of breaking. It’s not just your name that gets dragged through the mud; it’s Jeonghan’s too. Both of you, caught in a perfect storm of emotions and bad timing. The last thing either of you needs.

You try to shut it out, but it’s impossible. The text messages from your editor come through, asking for a statement. Your phone rings with calls from the PR team, from your colleagues, and even from your friends, who all seem to know about the situation before you’ve even had a chance to process it yourself.

And then, just when you think it couldn’t get worse, the email comes. It’s from Ferrari’s PR team, and it’s almost too professional to be true:

Dear Y/N, In light of the recent events surrounding your interactions with Mr. Yoon Jeonghan, we would like to offer you full access to the Ferrari garage for the remainder of the season. This will provide you with the opportunity to write an in-depth feature on the team, showcasing the work and dedication that goes into each race weekend. We believe this move will allow for a clearer perspective on the situation and help ensure that your reporting reflects the true nature of the team and its drivers. We look forward to your continued coverage. Best regards, Ferrari PR Team

It’s a calculated move—a distraction, a chance to smooth things over. And you know it. The message is clear: everything must look fine. Everything must be fixed, packaged neatly for the media and the fans to consume. You’re a pawn in a much bigger game, and they’re making sure you play along.

At first, you think about refusing. You think about how everything feels so wrong right now. About how the image of you and Jeonghan, caught in the heat of an argument, is being used to feed the frenzy. But the PR team doesn’t leave room for argument. You know that declining would only escalate things further, make them harder to fix.

So, you agree.

The access starts almost immediately. They give you a full tour of the Ferrari garage, show you the inner workings of the team, introduce you to the engineers, the strategists, the pit crew. You’re given permission to write about the team’s strategy, their behind-the-scenes preparation, but there’s always a sense that you're being watched—every move, every word.

You can’t help but notice Jeonghan’s absence. Every time you walk through the garage, he’s not there. The driver who once greeted you with a cocky smile and a teasing remark, the one who always found a way to make you laugh, is nowhere to be found. It’s like he’s vanished, swallowed by the thick wall of Ferrari’s PR machine.

It’s as if nothing is real anymore. The false smiles, the calculated interviews, the way the drivers exchange glances with a rehearsed ease. The more you observe, the more you realize how much of this world is a performance, a show put on for the audience, with no room for anything real. It all feels like it’s slipping through your fingers, leaving you with nothing but an empty, fragile façade.

Still, you’re expected to keep writing, to deliver the polished pieces the team expects. You’re supposed to put the headline “TROUBLE IN PARADISE?” behind you and focus on the carefully constructed narrative. So, you do. For now.

But even as you walk the pits, breathing in the scent of burnt rubber and sweat, there’s a quiet ache in the back of your mind. The truth is, you don’t know how much longer you can keep pretending that everything is fine.

Not when you still feel Jeonghan’s words hanging in the air between you, like the remnants of a storm that’s yet to pass. Not when you still want, with everything in you, to be able to fix it.

And maybe that’s the problem.

The crash happens so quickly, so violently, that it almost feels unreal. One moment, the tell-tale red of Jeonghan’s car is cutting through the circuit with his signature precision. The next, it’s a twisted mess of metal and rubber, skidding off the track, his car spinning wildly as Lee Seokmin’s Aston Martin clips him just before the tight corner at Turn 14. You watch it all unfold from the pit wall, your heart stopping for a brief second as the sound of the crash echoes through the air. 

There’s a collective gasp from the crew around you, followed by the frantic chatter of engineers and strategists, trying to process what just happened. You can see the smoke rising from the wreckage, and your breath catches when the marshals begin to swarm the car, signaling that Jeonghan is still inside. 

The radio crackles to life, but Jeonghan’s voice doesn’t come through. For a second, it feels like time slows down. The pit wall is a blur of motion, but you’re frozen, eyes locked on the track, praying for him to be okay. 

Then, finally, the confirmation comes: “Jeonghan is out of the car. He's fine. We'll move him to the medical center.” 

A wave of relief washes over you, but it’s short-lived. The weight of the crash—his crash—still hangs in the air, and it’s clear from the looks of the Ferrari crew that no one knows exactly what went wrong. The tension in the paddock is palpable, and as you’re given full access to the debriefing room afterward, the atmosphere is thick with unspoken frustration. 

Jeonghan walks in with that same seething expression he had after the crash, and the room goes silent. His eyes are red-rimmed, his jaw clenched, the kind of anger that’s so deep it can’t be shaken by anything or anyone. His usual confident swagger is replaced by a taut, barely contained rage that makes it hard for anyone to even breathe in his presence. His voice, when he speaks, is sharp, cutting through the room like a knife. 

“You think this is a joke?” he snaps, looking at his team with a glare so intense it’s almost suffocating. His fists are balled at his sides, his shoulders tense with barely controlled fury. 

The debriefing begins, but it’s clear that no one knows how to handle him. His coach tries to keep things calm, but Jeonghan's sharp words only make the tension worse. The rest of the team sits in silence, unsure of what to say, how to fix the situation. His eyes never leave the table, his posture rigid, as though every part of him is fighting the urge to storm out. 

The meeting goes in circles—strategies discussed, what went wrong, how to move forward—but nothing seems to land. Jeonghan doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to listen to anyone right now. His frustration is palpable, and it’s clear this crash, this failure, has broken something inside of him. 

When he finally stands, his chair scraping harshly against the floor, there’s an air of finality to it. Without another word, he storms out, leaving a tense silence in his wake. No one dares to speak, knowing that anything they say would be pointless. The door slams shut, and the meeting disbands soon after. 

But you don’t leave. You don’t really have anywhere to go. Not yet. 

You make your way to the Ferrari canteen, your footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. It’s one of those rare moments when you’re not chasing a headline, not following the usual routine, and the monotony of it all feels like a relief. You order two beers without thinking. You don’t need two, but for some reason, it feels right. Maybe it’s the adrenaline still coursing through your veins from the crash, or maybe it’s just the weight of everything—the pressure, the disappointment, the simmering frustration with Jeonghan that you haven’t had the chance to process yet. The beers are cold, the glass bottles slick with condensation, and when you walk outside to the grandstands, you find him. 

Jeonghan is sitting alone, his back against the metal railing, the crowd long gone. The air is warm, the kind of summer heat that clings to your skin and makes everything feel a little heavier. His eyes are closed, his head tipped back as he stares at the sky, and for a moment, you wonder if he even notices you approaching. 

Without saying a word, you sit beside him, the soft crunch of your shoes against the gravel the only sound in the stillness. You don’t offer him a drink immediately. Instead, you hold the bottles in your hands, feeling the chill seep into your palms, letting the silence stretch between you. 

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you hand him one of the beers. He doesn’t look at you, but you catch the faintest shift in his posture, a soft hum of acknowledgement as he accepts it, cracking the cap with a quick twist.

“Jeonghan,” you say, breaking the silence, your voice quieter than you expect it to be. He doesn’t respond immediately, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. You take a sip of your own beer, the bitter taste grounding you in the moment. You can feel the tension that’s been building between you both, the weight of the unspoken words, but for now, you can’t bring yourself to make him speak. 

Then he does. “Full access, huh?” His voice is rough, the teasing edge to his words gone, replaced by something heavier. The bitterness is unmistakable. “You must be thrilled, getting to see me crash out in front of the entire team.” 

You almost choke on your beer. You can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or genuinely hurt, but it stings regardless. 

“I’m not,” you say quickly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You wish he would look at you, but he’s staring straight ahead, his jaw still tight, muscles still coiled like a spring. "I don’t want that, Jeonghan. What don’t you get?" 

“No?” He tilts his head slightly, but his gaze stays fixed. “I would think Miss Scathing Articles would relish the chance to tear me down again.” 

A sharp retort sat on your tongue, but you swallowed it. There was no point. Instead, you looked away, focusing on the distant horizon where the racetrack lay, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. "I don’t," you said quietly. "I’m not interested in tearing you down. I never have been." 

Jeonghan’s laugh was hollow, almost like a scoff. "Color me surprised." 

A beat passed between you both, the air thick with unspoken words. You took a sip of your beer, now lukewarm and slightly flat, but it didn’t matter. Neither of you had the luxury of pretending everything was fine anymore. 

He finally turns to you, his eyes meeting yours; there’s something in the way he looks at you—raw, vulnerable, almost like he’s waiting for the punchline of some cruel joke. 

“I’m sorry,” you say after a long silence, your voice softer this time, barely above a whisper. You’re not sure if he hears you, but he looks at you with an expression that makes you feel like you’ve just stepped into a minefield. 

He doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, he exhales a long breath, rubbing his forehead with his fingers as though the weight of it all is finally catching up to him. The tension between you hangs heavy in the warm summer air, the quiet hum of distant cicadas filling the space where words should be. Jeonghan takes another sip of his beer, the bottle pressed lightly against his lips as though it might cool the heat simmering under his skin. He looks tired—no, more than tired. Worn down. The type of exhaustion that no amount of sleep could fix. 

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says finally, the words coming out uneven, almost like they’re foreign on his tongue. His voice is softer now, missing the sharp edges that had cut into you moments before. “You were just doing your job.” 

“Jeonghan,” you start, but he holds up a hand, silencing you. 

“No, really.” He forces a thin smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s the kind of expression you’ve seen him use in press conferences—a shield, practiced and perfect. “You’re here because Ferrari told you to be. Because someone thought it’d be a great PR move. You don’t owe me anything beyond that.” 

The words sting, even though you know they shouldn’t. He’s not wrong. This isn’t your world, not really. But you can’t help the knot tightening in your chest as you watch him retreat into himself, the walls going up before your eyes. 

“I’m not here because they told me to be,” you say quietly, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “I’m here because I wanted to be. Because I saw the crash, Jeonghan, and I—” You stop, swallowing hard as the memory flashes behind your eyes again. The twisted metal, the plume of smoke, the moment you thought— 

“I was scared,” you admit, your voice cracking slightly. “Not as a journalist. Not as someone with a job to do. As someone who—” Jeonghan’s gaze snaps to you, his eyes narrowing slightly, but there’s something vulnerable there, too, something unguarded. 

You don't finish the sentence. 

Jeonghan watches you closely now, his beer suspended mid-air, forgotten. The sharpness in his gaze softens, replaced by something else—curiosity, maybe, or an unease he doesn’t quite know how to address.

The air between you feels heavy, suffocating in its quiet. You can still hear the faint echoes of the crash in your mind, the awful screech of metal against asphalt, the split-second horror of thinking you’d just seen him—

He sets the bottle down with a soft clink against the railing, breaking the spell.

“Scared, huh?” His voice is quieter now, and there’s a touch of disbelief, as though he’s trying to decide whether to accept your words or dismiss them.

You nod, throat tightening as you try to push through the lump that’s settled there. “Terrified,” you admit, the word feeling foreign and vulnerable on your tongue. “Not because of what I’d have to write, but because I thought—” You bite down on the rest of the sentence, unwilling to say it aloud.

Jeonghan exhales, long and slow, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he leans back against the railing. “I’m fine,” he says eventually, the words flat and unconvincing. He glances at you, his lips pressing into a faintly wry smile. “A little bruised. A little pissed. But I’m fine.”

It’s not enough to untangle the knot in your chest, but it’s a start. You nod, not trusting yourself to say anything else.

He finishes his beer in a few swallows, the motion oddly decisive, before standing and brushing off his pants. For a moment, you think he’s about to leave without another word, the tension between you both left unresolved.

But then he turns, holding out a hand toward you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a faint curve to his lips that feels almost... playful.

“Friends?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, his hair falling into his eyes. “If you’re going to be hanging around the garage all season, might as well, y’know?”

You blink at him, taken aback. The man who’d stormed out of the debriefing room in a fit of rage, who’d spat barbs at you moments ago, now stood here offering a truce like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Friends,” you echo, narrowing your eyes as you take his hand. It’s warm, his grip firm but not overbearing, and for a fleeting second, you wonder if this is another performance—an act to keep you at arm’s length.

But when he pulls you to your feet, there’s something genuine in his expression, something almost relieved.

“You better not make me regret this,” he says, letting go of your hand as he shoves his now-empty beer bottle into your other one. “And don’t think this means you’re off the hook for the shit you wrote.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you mutter, rolling your eyes as he smirks.

For the first time all day, the knot in your chest loosens just slightly. You follow him back toward the paddock, your steps lighter than they’ve been in weeks.

And for now, that’s enough.

FORMULA 1 QATAR AIRWAYS AUSTRIAN GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Red Bull Ring

The Red Bull Ring stretches out before you like a postcard of precision. Nestled in the Austrian hills, the track gleams under the soft morning sun, its curves and straights inviting the first roar of engines. The garage is alive with motion—engineers bent over laptops, mechanics tightening bolts, and the hum of anticipation that comes with any race weekend.

You step into the Ferrari garage, an interloper in a sea of red. Jeonghan’s car gleams in its designated spot, pristine and ready, as though it hadn’t been a crumpled wreck just a week ago. The team works around it like a well-oiled machine, barely sparing you a glance. You’re supposed to be here, technically, but that doesn’t stop the slight twinge of unease as you find a quiet corner near the monitors.

“Back again?”

The voice is unmistakable, light and teasing. You turn, and there he is: Yoon Jeonghan in his fireproofs, the sleeves tied around his waist, his white undershirt faintly clinging to his frame. He looks every bit the picture of calm, like he hasn’t spent the past few days fielding press questions about his crash.

“Didn’t think you’d miss the chance to watch me run into someone,” he adds, smirking as he adjusts his gloves.

You raise an eyebrow. “Is this your way of saying you’re aiming for Aston Martin?”

He laughs, a real laugh this time, and it’s startling how much it changes the air around you. “Not today. But I’ll keep you updated if Seokmin starts driving like a rookie again.”

“Careful, Jeonghan,” you shoot back, crossing your arms. “I might put that in my next article.”

He leans casually against the wall, his dark eyes scanning your face with an intensity that’s become familiar in the past few weeks. But there’s no edge to it today, no armor. Just him, relaxed and—for once—almost easygoing.

“You’re not as scary as you think you are,” he says after a beat, his voice low enough that the hum of the garage nearly drowns it out.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the grin that creeps onto your face. “And you’re not as charming as you think you are.”

He tilts his head, considering this like it’s the most interesting thing he’s heard all day. “Fair. But you’re still here, aren’t you?”

“Purely professional,” you quip, ignoring the way his smirk grows.

Before he can reply, the engineer by the monitors calls him over, gesturing to the screen. Jeonghan holds up a finger, signaling for a moment, then turns back to you.

“Stay out of trouble, yeah?” His voice is lighter now, teasing but not in the way that cuts. It feels natural, like banter between...well, maybe not quite friends. Not yet. But something close.

You shrug, watching as he walks toward his team, the confidence in his stride unmistakable. The tension that had lingered after the crash feels like it’s finally begun to dissolve, replaced by something steadier. Not quite trust, but something adjacent.

As you settle into the corner, notebook in hand, you can’t help but glance at him every so often. On the surface, it’s just another practice session, another day at the track. But for the first time in weeks, it feels like something close to normal. 

FORMULA 1 QATAR AIRWAYS BRITISH GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Silverstone Circuit

Silverstone roars to life under a blazing sun, the grandstands filled to capacity with fans waving flags and wearing team colors. The overcast sky has burned off, leaving the track shimmering under the summer sun. It’s one of the biggest stages of the season, and Jeonghan delivers a masterclass in qualifying, the finely tuned Ferrari underneath him responding to every input like an extension of himself. The sharp smell of rubber and fuel lingers in the air, mingling with the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

He’s back.

The final lap times on the leaderboard tell the story: pole position. Ferrari’s garage is electric with celebration, engineers clapping each other on the back, a cheer rising when Jeonghan steps into the swarm of red. His team surrounds him, hands gripping his shoulders, voices shouting praise over the din.

He grins, wide and unguarded, the weight of the last few weeks lifting ever so slightly. Spain and Canada had shaken him, but this—this feels like a reckoning. Proof that the mistakes and setbacks weren’t the whole story.

“Perfect lap, Jeonghan,” his engineer says, beaming as he hands him a water bottle.

He nods in acknowledgment, taking a swig, his heart still racing as he glances around the paddock. The sun is high now, glinting off the sleek curves of the cars lined up in parc fermé. Jeonghan’s gaze sweeps over the crowd, soaking in the energy—until he sees you.

You’re standing just outside the McLaren garage, the vibrant orange of their branding a stark contrast to the reds and blacks of his world. You’re leaning against a barrier, the breeze tugging at your hair as you laugh at something Mingyu says. Your face is so open, so full of light, that it’s almost magnetic.

Mingyu gestures animatedly, clearly in the middle of some ridiculous story, his grin as wide as the Cheshire Cat’s. You throw your head back with a laugh, and Jeonghan feels a tightness in his chest he can’t quite place.

The joy that had filled him moments ago flickers.

Why does it bother him?

The thought lingers as he watches you, his water bottle dangling forgotten in his hand. Jeonghan isn’t used to this kind of gnawing discomfort. He’s competitive, sure, but this is something else entirely.

Jealousy.

The sun is lower in the sky when he finds you, his long strides purposeful as he weaves through the paddock. The golden hour light makes everything seem softer, but Jeonghan’s mood is anything but. His thoughts from earlier have been simmering, the warmth of victory eclipsed by a frustration he can’t shake.

You’re leaning against a railing, scrolling on your phone when he approaches.

“Shouldn’t you be in the Ferrari garage?” he says, his tone sharper than he intends.

You blink up at him, startled. “I was just catching up with Mingyu.”

Jeonghan crosses his arms, his brow furrowing. “Funny. I thought you were doing a full-access piece on Ferrari, not McLaren.”

There’s something in his voice—an edge that sets your teeth on edge. “I am,” you reply slowly, standing up straighter. “What’s this about?”

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing. “Is that why your articles about Mingyu are always glowing? What, are you sleeping with him?”

The accusation is like a slap, cutting through the air with a harshness that leaves you stunned.

Your expression shifts, disbelief giving way to anger. “Are you serious right now?”

Jeonghan doesn’t respond immediately, his jaw tight. The regret in his eyes is fleeting, buried under the weight of his own misplaced frustration.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” you snap, your voice trembling with fury. “It’s always one step forward, two steps back with you, Jeonghan.”

His lips part as if to reply, but you don’t wait for him to dig himself deeper. You storm off, your footsteps echoing against the paddock floor. The sting of his words lingers, but so does the look on his face as you walk away.

Jeonghan stands there, watching you go, the tension in his shoulders giving way to a sinking feeling in his stomach. He knows he’s crossed a line, and the weight of his own stupidity settles heavily over him.

The knock on your hotel room door comes before sunrise, soft but insistent. You groan, burying your face in your pillow before dragging yourself to the door.

When you open it, the hallway is empty. But at your feet sits a bouquet wrapped in crisp white paper, tied with a simple satin ribbon.

Roses. Soft blush pink, their petals perfectly unfurled, paired with delicate sprigs of baby’s breath.

The arrangement is beautiful, almost heartbreakingly so, the kind of bouquet that feels like a story in itself. You crouch to pick it up, your fingers brushing over the velvety petals. The faint, sweet scent of roses fills the air, mixing with the crisp morning chill that seeps into the hallway.

Nestled among the flowers is a small envelope.

You pull it out, your thumb brushing over the edge of the paper as you open it. Inside, scrawled in a slightly messy hand that’s unmistakably Jeonghan’s, are two simple words:

I’m sorry.

You glance down the hallway instinctively, half-expecting to see him lingering in the shadows. But it’s empty, as silent as it was before you opened the door.

You stand there for a moment longer, the bouquet in your arms and the note trembling slightly in your fingers. The apology feels heavier than the flowers, weighted by the memory of his words from yesterday.

He didn’t need to apologize like this, you think. He could have texted, could have mumbled something in passing when you inevitably crossed paths today. But instead, he’d gone to the trouble of figuring out your favorite flowers—roses and baby’s breath, a detail you don’t even remember telling him.

The realization stirs something in you, softening the edges of your anger.

The roses sit on the desk as you get ready for the day, the baby’s breath adding a delicate touch to the arrangement. The card leans against the vase, its two-word apology a quiet presence in the room.

Somewhere in the city, Silverstone is waking up, the air already buzzing with anticipation for the race. But here, in the stillness of your hotel room, you take a moment to breathe, to let the gesture sink in.

Jeonghan’s voice echoes faintly in your mind, the memory of yesterday’s confrontation still fresh. And yet, as you glance at the roses again, the sting of his words begins to dull, replaced by something softer, something not yet ready to be named.

The pre-race buzz was electric. The roar of engines echoed faintly in the distance, a constant backdrop to the paddock’s chaotic rhythm. Mechanics zipped between garages, reporters hustled to get last-minute quotes, and fans outside the barricades chanted their favorite drivers’ names. Amid all this, your footsteps fell heavy against the asphalt, your target in sight: Yoon Jeonghan.

There he was, leaning against the nose of his red Ferrari, his race suit a striking flash of scarlet that caught the sunlight and made him look annoyingly pristine for someone who had caused you so much grief. He was chatting with an engineer, that easy, charming smile plastered on his face like he hadn’t thrown baseless accusations your way less than 24 hours ago.

You marched toward him, purpose sharpening your steps. The bouquet from this morning was still vivid in your mind—blush pink roses, soft and elegant, their delicate petals almost glowing against the green of the baby’s breath, a stark contrast to the seething frustration you still carried. And the note—just two infuriatingly simple words—burned in your pocket, a reminder of the apology you hadn’t quite accepted yet.

“Jeonghan,” you called, your voice cutting through the low hum of conversation around you.

He glanced up, his casual demeanor faltering for a split second when he saw you. Then, like a switch had flipped, his smile returned. “Oh, hey.”

You stopped a foot away, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “How did you know my favorite flowers?”

His lips quirked into a faint smirk, and he leaned ever so slightly against the car, as if the conversation were a game he’d already won. “Oh good, they got delivered to the right room.”

“Jeonghan,” you said, your tone sharper now, “don’t deflect.”

“Deflect what?” He tilted his head, his eyes sparkling with that infuriating glint of mischief that made you want to throttle him and laugh in equal measure.

“JEONGHAN.” The snap in your voice turned a few heads nearby, but you didn’t care.

He sighed dramatically, dragging a hand through his hair. “Fine. A certain papaya-colored birdie told me.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Papaya-colored birdie... Mingyu?”

Jeonghan hesitated, his grin faltering for just a moment. You saw the gears turning in his head, calculating whether to deflect again or come clean.

“Spit it out, Yoon Jeonghan,” you said, stepping closer, “or I’ll never write a single kind thing about you for the rest of your life.”

His mouth twitched, caught between amusement and resignation. Finally, he shrugged, his voice almost too casual. “Childhood friends, eh? You and Mingyu? That explains yesterday.”

You blinked, thrown by the abrupt shift in topic. “Don’t change the subject,” you snapped, though his words tugged at something in the back of your mind. “You really went to Kim Mingyu for help? After accusing me of—”

“I might have... aggressively encouraged Mingyu to spill everything he knew about you,” Jeonghan admitted, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You raised a brow. “Aggressively encouraged?”

“Fine,” he said with a huff. “I threatened to steal his steering wheel from the McLaren garage if he didn’t talk.”

Despite your irritation, a snort escaped you. “And he just handed over my life story, huh?”

Jeonghan crossed his arms, mirroring your stance. “What can I say? He’s surprisingly chatty when he thinks you’re in trouble. Very protective, that one.”

You clenched your jaw, the pieces clicking into place. “So, that’s why you jumped to conclusions yesterday. You thought—”

He cut you off, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “I know. I was out of line. That’s what the flowers were for.”

For a moment, the noise of the paddock seemed to fade. The wind carried the faint scent of burning rubber, and the distant cheers of fans reached your ears like a muted hum. Jeonghan’s expression softened, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by something quieter, almost vulnerable.

“For what it’s worth,” he added, his tone lower now, “I really am sorry.”

You exhaled slowly, the weight of the last day lifting slightly from your chest. “You’re lucky I like roses.”

“I know,” he replied, his grin returning, lighter this time, almost boyish. “Good taste, huh?”

“Good recovery, at least,” you muttered, your lips twitching despite yourself.

Jeonghan’s laughter followed you as you turned and walked away, the sound less grating than it had been the day before. It wasn’t forgiveness—not yet—but it felt like a start.

FORMULA 1 HUNGARIAN GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Hungaroring

The Hungarian Grand Prix paddock was buzzing, but you could tell something was off. The sound of chatter and engines felt like distant echoes as you stood by the garage, watching Jeonghan’s Ferrari pull back into its stall after a less-than-stellar FP1. The car’s engine quieted as the mechanics immediately went to work, inspecting it. But it wasn’t the car that caught your attention—it was Jeonghan himself.

He was unusually quiet, his usual cocky confidence buried beneath the furrow of his brow as he stripped off his helmet and gloves. His gaze was focused on the car, but it was clear his mind wasn’t in the garage. He seemed... distant, almost frustrated. The others in the team were busy talking strategy, discussing the data, but Jeonghan barely spoke up during the debriefing. It was strange.

The team finished up, but you noticed Jeonghan lingered near the back, hands on his hips, staring at his car like it had personally betrayed him. It wasn’t like him to be this quiet, especially not after a session where he was so used to being in control. You could practically feel the weight of his thoughts from where you stood.

You didn’t want to be intrusive, but you couldn’t ignore it—something was wrong.

You walked over, careful not to disturb the mechanics who were still busy at work. "Jeonghan," you called softly, stepping beside him. He turned to you, but his eyes didn’t quite meet yours. They were focused on something distant, like he was seeing the track or the car but not really seeing them.

“Everything okay?” you asked, trying to keep the concern out of your voice, but it slipped through anyway. “You’ve been quiet since the debriefing.”

He gave a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m fine.”

You weren’t buying it. You had known Jeonghan long enough to recognize the way he carried his frustration. It wasn’t the kind of thing that could be hidden behind a casual smile, no matter how practiced.

“You sure? You know you don’t have to be okay all the time, right?” you pressed, stepping a little closer. The air around you felt heavy, charged with unspoken words.

Jeonghan exhaled sharply, his fingers digging into his gloves before he slowly pulled them off. He seemed to be gathering himself before speaking. “I hate it,” he muttered, and his voice had a rawness to it that caught you off guard. “Not being perfect. I... I can’t stand it.”

“Not being perfect?” you echoed, surprised. Jeonghan, the ever-cocky, confident driver, admitting that?

He looked up at you then, his eyes intense, as though he was searching for something in your gaze. “Yeah. I know it sounds stupid,” he said with a wry laugh that lacked its usual humor. “But it’s who I am. I’m a perfectionist, always have been. Every little mistake... it sticks with me. I can’t just move on. I think about it. Constantly.”

You watched him, absorbing his words, the vulnerability in his tone feeling like a crack in his otherwise polished exterior. Jeonghan, always so composed on the surface, always teasing and joking, was admitting something deeper now—something more personal.

“Is that why you were so quiet during the debriefing?” you asked, keeping your voice soft.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his gaze flicking to the car again. “I know I didn’t have the best session, but it feels like... like I failed. Like I’m not doing my job right. I could’ve done better.” His jaw clenched as if he were angry at himself.

The silence that fell between you was thick, almost suffocating, and you could feel the tension radiating off him. You hadn’t seen him like this before—not with this level of self-doubt.

“You’re not failing,” you said, your voice firm. “You’re allowed to have bad sessions. Hell, everyone has bad days. But that doesn’t mean you’re failing. It’s just a part of it.”

Jeonghan glanced over at you, his lips curving into a small, grateful smile. “You really believe that?”

“Yeah, I do,” you said, nodding. “I mean... it’s not all about being perfect. Sometimes it’s the mistakes that push you to be better.”

Jeonghan looked down at his hands, still clutching the gloves, and you could see the gears turning in his mind. “I know. But it doesn’t make it any easier.”

“I get it,” you said, crossing your arms and leaning against the side of the garage. “But you’ve got a whole team behind you. And we all know what you’re capable of. You’ll get there. It’s just one session.”

He finally met your gaze, his eyes softening. “Thanks.”

There was a long pause, the sound of distant chatter and the hum of the paddock filling the silence. You were so used to Jeonghan’s teasing and cocky attitude that this quieter, more introspective side of him felt like a different person altogether. And maybe it was—it was the side that wasn’t the driver who fought for every fraction of a second on the track, the side that just wanted to be good enough.

“It’s not stupid, you know,” you added quietly. “Caring about being good at what you do isn’t stupid. It’s just... exhausting sometimes.”

Jeonghan laughed lightly, the sound a bit more genuine this time. “You have no idea. But I’m getting better at... handling it. I think.”

You smiled at him, feeling a strange sense of relief wash over you. There was still that hint of unease in his posture, the tightness in his shoulders, but for the first time all day, he seemed a little more at ease with himself.

As you turned to leave, you shot him one last look. “Just don’t be so hard on yourself next time, okay?”

“I’ll try,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. And for a moment, you almost believed him.

The stands were eerily quiet now, a stark contrast to the roar of the crowd just hours earlier. You wandered through the empty paddock, your steps unhurried as the hum of the night settled around you. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the faint clatter of the Ferrari team packing up, but Jeonghan wasn’t with them.

You’d seen him after the race, his jaw tight as he climbed out of the car. Finishing P5 wasn’t bad by any measure, but it wasn’t what he wanted. And with Mingyu overtaking him in the Driver’s Championship by just twenty points, it was clear Jeonghan had taken it as a personal blow. His disappointment hung around him like a shadow.

It wasn’t hard to guess where he’d gone.

Sure enough, when you climbed up into the grandstands, there he was. Sitting alone in the middle row, still in his Ferrari race suit, unzipped to the waist to reveal his black base layer. His hair was tousled from the helmet, his posture slouched, shoulders hunched as though the weight of the day hadn’t yet left him. Beside him were two bottles of beer, one already open and resting loosely in his hand.

You approached quietly, but Jeonghan didn’t flinch. He didn’t even turn around when you reached him, your feet crunching softly against the debris of the crowd—discarded programs, empty wrappers, and forgotten flags. He must’ve known it was you, though. He always seemed to know.

“Mind if I join you?” you asked, your voice breaking the stillness.

He finally glanced up, his expression unreadable. “It’s a free grandstand,” he muttered, gesturing to the empty seats around him.

You slid into the seat next to him, the cool metal chilling through your clothes. Jeonghan’s gaze returned to the track ahead, where the floodlights illuminated the ghost of the race. He took a sip of his beer, silent.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The quiet stretched, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable—just heavy. You could feel the frustration radiating off him, the bitterness that came with being so close but not close enough.

“You should drink this before it gets warm,” he said suddenly, pushing the unopened beer toward you.

You picked it up, twisting off the cap with a small smile. “Thanks. Not exactly the post-race celebration you were hoping for, huh?”

He huffed a humorless laugh. “Not exactly.”

The silence fell again, but this time you weren’t willing to let it linger. You turned to him, watching the way his fingers tapped restlessly against the neck of the bottle. “You’re still in the fight, you know,” you said gently.

Jeonghan’s lips quirked, but it wasn’t a smile. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

“Well, you are,” you insisted. “Three points. That’s nothing. You’ve come back from worse.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he tilted his head back, looking up at the dark sky above the track. “You don’t get it,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “It’s not just about the points. It’s about everything. The mistakes, the pressure... the expectations. It’s like... like I have to prove that I deserve to be here. Every single time.”

“You do deserve to be here,” you said firmly, the conviction in your voice enough to make him turn to you. “You wouldn’t be in that seat if you didn’t. You’re one of the best drivers on the grid, Jeonghan. Everyone knows it. Even Mingyu. Especially Mingyu.”

Jeonghan scoffed, a flicker of a smile breaking through his stormy expression. “Bet he’s loving this right now.”

“Maybe,” you said, leaning back against the seat. “But knowing Mingyu, he’s probably already plotting ways to rub it in at the next race.”

That earned a laugh, small but real, and the sound was enough to make you smile too.

“You’re good at this,” he said after a moment, his tone softer now. “Talking me off the ledge.”

“Someone has to,” you replied with a shrug. “And honestly? I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. One race doesn’t define you, Jeonghan. You’re not just a number on the leaderboard.”

He looked at you then, his gaze lingering. There was something in his expression—gratitude, maybe, or something deeper, something you couldn’t quite name. “Thanks,” he said simply, the word weighted with more than just appreciation.

You clinked your bottle against his. “Anytime.”

The two of you sat there for a while longer, the weight of the day slowly lifting as the quiet of the night wrapped around you. It wasn’t much, but it was enough—for now. And as Jeonghan leaned back in his seat, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles, you knew he’d be okay. Eventually.

You took another sip of your beer, the chill of the bottle grounding you as Jeonghan’s earlier tension began to melt away. The ghost of a smile still lingered on his lips, and for the first time since you’d climbed up to find him, his shoulders seemed lighter.

“So,” he said, breaking the quiet, his voice tinged with a familiar mischievousness, “what’s your headline going to be this week?”

You raised an eyebrow, scoffing softly as you bumped his shoulder with your own. “You’ll see it when you see it, Yoon Jeonghan. No spoilers.”

His chuckle was low and warm, a sound that felt like the first crack of sunlight after a storm. “Should I be worried?”

“Always,” you replied, the corners of your lips quirking upward. “But maybe not too much this time.”

He gave you a curious look, his expression halfway between wary and amused, but he didn’t press. Instead, he leaned back, his gaze drifting back to the track. The night was calm now, the weight of the day’s disappointment tucked into the folds of shared silence.

The headline hit Monday morning, and Jeonghan had to admit, you’d delivered once again.

Ferrari Falters in Hungary: Yoon Jeonghan's Fight for the Title Tightens

The article was incisive, as sharp as he’d expected. You broke down his struggles in FP1, critiqued his race strategy, and even called out the overtaking move that cost him crucial points. It was the kind of detailed, no-nonsense analysis you were known for, and Jeonghan read every word with a mix of frustration and admiration.

But at the bottom, tucked beneath the last paragraph, there was a footnote—barely noticeable unless you were looking for it.

“Despite Hungary’s setback, Yoon Jeonghan remains one of the most popular and formidable contenders for the championship. With only twenty points separating him from the lead, Belgium offers a more than fair chance for the Ferrari star to close the gap and reclaim his momentum.”

Jeonghan blinked, then read it again, a slow smile tugging at his lips. He leaned back in his chair, the paper still in hand, and shook his head.

“Subtle,” he muttered, though his tone was anything but annoyed. It was gratitude, warmth, and a flicker of hope all wrapped together in a single word.

He might have faltered in Hungary, but you’d reminded him—the season wasn’t even half over. And maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t fighting alone.

FORMULA 1 ROLEX BELGIAN GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps

The weekend at Spa began like a dream.

The legendary Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps was a driver’s haven and a monster in equal measure. The longest track on the calendar, its 7 kilometers of asphalt wound through the lush forests of the Ardennes, combining high-speed straights, sweeping corners, and the unpredictable challenges of its microclimate. The iconic Eau Rouge and Raidillon dared drivers to go flat out, while the downhill plunge into Pouhon tested their courage and precision. It was a place where skill separated the good from the great.

Jeonghan thrived on its challenge.

FP1 and FP2 were his playgrounds, his Ferrari gliding through corners like it was made for this circuit alone. The car was responsive and balanced, every adjustment in setup shaving precious milliseconds off his laps. Jeonghan pushed it to its limits, feeling every bump and curve beneath him as if Spa’s asphalt were an extension of himself.

By the time he returned to the garage, his name was at the top of the timesheets, and his team wore expressions of pride and relief. Engineers crowded around him during the debrief, their excitement palpable. Even Mingyu wandered over to toss a mockingly impressed, “Don’t get used to it, Yoon,” in his direction.

Jeonghan, basking in the buzz of dominance, had only winked.

But then came the penalty.

A breach in power unit regulations—an unavoidable technicality that slapped him with a grid penalty. It was frustratingly bureaucratic, a punishment that felt out of his control and yet deeply personal. His pole position was stripped away, and he was relegated to P10.

In the Ferrari garage, Jeonghan leaned against the back wall, arms crossed, the weight of his helmet heavy in his hand. The rhythmic hum of power tools and bursts of chatter around him did little to soothe his simmering frustration.

It wasn’t just the penalty—it was the sting of perfection slipping through his fingers, a weekend that had started flawlessly now teetering on the edge of disappointment.

He glanced up, ready to bury himself in the chaos of the paddock, and froze.

You were there, leaning casually against the pit wall, chatting with one of the mechanics. The glow of the overhead lights caught in your hair, and despite the whirlwind of activity, you were a picture of calm. Your hands moved as you spoke, animated yet confident, the faintest flicker of a smirk playing on your lips.

His gaze lingered.

It hit him—a memory of your words from Hungary, your unwavering belief cloaked in sharp wit: “A more than fair chance to close the gap.”

For the first time since the penalty, the gap didn’t feel insurmountable.

He didn’t realize he’d been staring until you caught his eye. Your brows rose, and you tilted your head in mock curiosity before excusing yourself from the mechanic and walking toward him.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice laced with a note of amusement and something softer underneath.

Jeonghan shrugged, plastering on his signature cocky grin. “Since when are you worried about me?”

Your lips twitched in a barely concealed smile. “Oh, I’m not worried. Just curious. I wanted to see how Ferrari’s golden boy handles a little adversity.”

His grin faltered for the briefest moment before sharpening again. “Keep watching,” he said, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “I might surprise you.”

You tilted your chin, your expression a blend of challenge and intrigue. “Don’t disappoint me then.”

The way you said it—like you meant it—sparked something fierce in him.

As you turned to leave, the faint scent of your perfume lingered in the air, anchoring him to the moment. Jeonghan watched you disappear into the paddock, your confident stride a sharp contrast to his brooding, and for the first time that day, a smirk tugged at his lips.

It wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.

P10 to P1. 

It was the kind of race drivers dreamed of—the kind that earned its place in highlight reels for years to come.

The chaos began even before the lights went out. Rain had threatened all morning, dark clouds heavy over the Ardennes, but it held off just long enough to keep everyone guessing. Jeonghan sat in his Ferrari on the grid, surrounded by cars that had no business being ahead of him. He’d spent every second since the penalty recalibrating his mindset, shifting his frustration into fuel.

As the lights went out, his singular focus kicked in.

Turn 1, La Source: Jeonghan dived inside, threading through a gap that barely existed. The radio crackled with his engineer’s voice, commending his clean move, but he barely registered it. Eau Rouge and Raidillon loomed ahead, their uphill sweep demanding precision, bravery, and trust in his car.

He took the corners flat out.

By Lap 5, Jeonghan was in P7. His mind churned as he studied the cars ahead, each one a problem to solve. Every braking point, every shift in weight through the curves—it all required perfect execution.

But then came the rain.

It began as a drizzle at Pouhon, the light sheen on the track turning treacherous by the next sector. Jeonghan’s grip on the wheel tightened as he adjusted his lines, feeling for every ounce of traction.

“Box this lap for inters,” his engineer instructed.

“No,” Jeonghan replied, his voice steady. He could feel it—the balance of risk and reward. He stayed out one lap longer, the gamble paying off as he overtook two cars struggling on the wrong tires. When he finally pitted, the stop was flawless.

By Lap 20, the red flag came out, the rain too heavy for safety. Jeonghan sat in the pit lane during the suspension, helmet off, sweat beading his brow. His thoughts wandered for the first time since the race began.

Your words came back to him.

"Jeonghan’s perfectionism is both his weapon and his curse. When he is at his best, he’s untouchable. But the question remains: can he handle the pressure when the odds aren’t in his favor?"

His jaw tightened. You were right—about the pressure, about the way he held himself to standards so high they sometimes crushed him. But you’d also written something else.

"A more than fair chance to close the gap."

He wasn’t sure why, but that sentence anchored him.

When the race restarted, Jeonghan was a man possessed.

Sector by sector, he clawed his way through the field, each overtake cleaner and bolder than the last. At Blanchimont, he overtook Soonyoung in a move that was half instinct, half calculated risk. His engineer’s voice came over the radio in a disbelieving laugh: “Mate, you’re insane!”

By the final lap, he was leading. The roar of the crowd blended with the steady beat of his heart as he crossed the finish line, victory his once more.

The pit lane was a blur of celebration. His team engulfed him in a sea of red, their cheers drowning out even the din of Spa’s loyal fans. Soonyoung appeared out of nowhere, throwing an arm around Jeonghan’s shoulders.

“Winning in Spa from P10? You better believe I’m buying the first round,” Soonyoung declared, grinning despite his P2 finish.

Jeonghan laughed, the sound ragged and raw from effort, but his mind wasn’t entirely in the moment.

Later, in the quiet of the motorhome, when the adrenaline had settled and exhaustion was creeping in, Jeonghan pulled out his phone. His thumb hovered over the search bar before typing your name.

The article was already live.

His breath caught as he read your headline:

From P10 to Perfection: Yoon Jeonghan’s Masterclass at Spa

It was glowing, but in your unmistakable style—balanced, sharp, and honest. You praised his overtakes, his strategy, and his ability to rise under pressure. Your writing was like poetry, an ode to his resilience, his precision in the rain, his ability to claw victory from the jaws of defeat.  But what caught him off guard was the final line.

"With the championship fight closer than ever, it’s not a question of if Jeonghan will close the gap. It’s a question of when."

Jeonghan read it three times, his chest tight with something that felt almost like pride.

For the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to believe them.

The bass thrummed low and heavy, a pulse that seemed to reverberate straight through the packed room. 

Jeonghan leaned against the bar, his drink in hand, his racing suit long since replaced by a fitted black shirt with the top buttons undone. The sleeves were rolled just enough to expose his forearms, the dark fabric clinging to his frame in a way that effortlessly commanded attention. Around him, the club buzzed with post-race energy—drivers, engineers, and team members alike reveling in the victory and chaos of the day.

Soonyoung was next to him, buzzing with his usual infectious energy. Jeonghan caught snippets of his teammate’s banter, but his mind was elsewhere.

“God, Jeonghan, if you stare any harder, she’s going to spontaneously combust,” Soonyoung teased, sipping his drink with a knowing smirk.

Jeonghan blinked, startled. “What?”

Soonyoung rolled his eyes, nodding toward the dance floor. “Her. You’ve been staring at her like she’s a particularly tricky apex all night.”

Jeonghan followed his gaze.

There you were, dancing with a group of Ferrari engineers, the colored lights spilling across your frame, making your skin glow. You laughed at something one of them said, your head tilting back, your hair swaying with every movement. Jeonghan’s grip on his glass tightened.

“You’re hopeless,” Soonyoung said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Just go talk to her. Or better yet, dance with her. God knows you’ll make everyone else jealous.”

Jeonghan scoffed, setting his empty glass down on the bar with a sharp clink. “You’re imagining things.”

“Sure, and you just happened to spend the past ten minutes glaring at the poor guy she’s dancing with.”

Jeonghan shot him a warning glance, but Soonyoung only grinned wider.

“Look, you’ve already won at Spa,” he added, leaning closer. “Might as well take another victory tonight.”

Jeonghan shook his head, but the heat in his chest betrayed him. He cast one last glance at you before downing the rest of his drink and pushing off the bar.

The crowd was a blur of movement, bodies packed tightly together under the pulsing lights, but Jeonghan moved with purpose. He found you easily, your energy magnetic even in the chaos.

The beat shifted as he approached, slowing to something deeper, sultrier. He stepped in behind you, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from your skin.

“Enjoying yourself?” he murmured, his voice low and warm against your ear.

You turned slightly, glancing at him over your shoulder. Your lips curved into a teasing smile, your eyes dancing in the dim light. “Jeonghan. Didn’t think you were the clubbing type.”

He smirked, his hand brushing lightly against your waist. “I make exceptions for special occasions.”

You arched a brow, leaning back into him just enough to blur the line between teasing and inviting. “Special occasions, huh? Like winning at Spa?”

“Something like that,” he said, his voice a touch quieter now. His fingers rested lightly on your waist, the heat of his touch sending a shiver up your spine.

You turned to face him fully, your hands drifting up to rest on his shoulders, playful and almost casual. “So? What’s it like being untouchable?”

He chuckled softly, his gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips and back again. “You’d know,” he said smoothly, “if you were paying attention during my races instead of writing snarky articles.”

You laughed, a soft, melodious sound that made his chest tighten. “I did pay attention,” you countered, leaning in slightly, your lips barely a breath away from his ear. “You were alright, I guess.”

“Alright?” he repeated, feigning offense. “You called it a masterclass. Don’t think I didn’t read your article.”

Your grin widened, the fire in your eyes matching the teasing edge in your tone. “Oh, that? Don’t let it go to your head, Yoon. I still expect a proper interview.”

His hands shifted to your hips, grounding you against him as he swayed slightly to the beat, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. “Careful. Keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

“And if I did?” you teased back, your voice soft but no less challenging.

For a moment, the world around you fell away. The music, the lights, the press of the crowd—it all faded as the space between you closed. Jeonghan’s eyes lingered on your lips, his heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the adrenaline of racing.

Then, just as you tilted your head, leaning closer—

“JEONGHAN!”

The moment shattered.

Sunwoo’s voice boomed over the music as he appeared out of nowhere, the mechanic’s grin wide and oblivious. “Bro, come on! You can flirt later! Dance with me!”

Jeonghan groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder as your laughter spilled over him like warm sunlight.

“This isn’t over,” he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear.

You pulled back, still laughing, and met his gaze with a wink. “I’ll hold you to that.”

FORMULA 1 HEINEKEN DUTCH GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Zandvoort

The paddock at Zandvoort was always one of Jeonghan’s favorites. The smell of fresh sea air mixed with the unmistakable tang of fuel and rubber, while the orange-clad crowd painted the stands in a fiery glow. Jeonghan didn’t even mind the noise—something about the Netherlands had a way of energizing him.

He was walking back from the driver’s parade when he spotted you outside the Ferrari hospitality tent, a coffee in hand, your eyes scanning the throng of people with practiced ease. The crisp breeze tugged at your hair, and Jeonghan slowed his pace, his lips curling into a familiar smirk.

You glanced up just in time to catch him staring. “Don’t you have a race to focus on?”

“Don’t you have an article to write?” he shot back, his voice smooth as ever.

“I’m multitasking,” you replied, raising your coffee in a mock toast.

Jeonghan stepped closer, close enough that the conversation felt private despite the bustling paddock around you. “Let me guess,” he said, crossing his arms, “today’s headline is, ‘Ferrari Driver Jeonghan Looks Extra Handsome Under Dutch Sunlight.’”

You snorted, barely suppressing a laugh. “Oh, please. I was thinking more along the lines of, ‘Can Ferrari’s Yoon Jeonghan Deliver After Spa Masterclass?’”

“Flattering,” he mused, tilting his head. “I thought you’d save the sarcasm for the post-race write-up.”

“I aim to keep you humble,” you said with a shrug, though the playful glint in your eyes gave you away.

Jeonghan leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to send a thrill down your spine. “Careful. You’re starting to sound like a fan.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could get a word in—

“Jeonghan!”

A voice cut through the tension like a knife. You both turned to see Soonyoung jogging up, waving enthusiastically. “There you are! We’re late for the strategy briefing!”

Jeonghan sighed, the corners of his mouth twitching as he glanced back at you. “Guess we’ll have to finish this later.”

You grinned, your eyes dancing with amusement. “Don’t let me keep you from your briefing, Ferrari’s golden boy.”

Jeonghan’s smirk deepened. “I’ll see you after I win.”

He walked off, Soonyoung talking his ear off as you watched him go, the heat in your chest lingering far longer than it should have.

The race came and went, and though Jeonghan didn’t win—Mingyu’s dominance at Zandvoort was almost an inevitability—he still managed to bring home a solid podium finish.

Later, back at the hospitality suite, you found yourself standing near the balcony, staring out at the ocean waves in the distance.

“Not bad for a day’s work,” came a familiar voice behind you.

You turned to find Jeonghan leaning casually against the doorway, his hair still damp from the post-race shower. He’d swapped his racing suit for a simple white shirt and jeans, but somehow, he still looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine.

“Not bad,” you admitted. “Though I was expecting a win. Should I change the headline to ‘Close, but Not Quite’?”

Jeonghan’s laugh was low and smooth as he closed the distance between you. “I think you’re just trying to rile me up.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Is it working?”

He stepped closer, close enough that you could see the faint freckle on his cheekbone, the way his lashes caught the light. “You tell me.”

The air between you crackled, your banter giving way to something heavier, something unspoken. For a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

“Jeonghan!”

The door slammed open, and Mingyu’s booming voice shattered the moment.

Both of you jumped, turning to see the taller driver grinning sheepishly. “Uh, sorry. Team dinner’s starting soon, and they’re waiting for you.”

Jeonghan’s jaw tightened, but he plastered on an easy smile. “Of course they are.”

Mingyu left as quickly as he’d come, leaving you and Jeonghan alone again.

“Do people just have radar for this?” Jeonghan muttered, raking a hand through his hair.

You laughed, the tension easing slightly. “Maybe it’s the universe telling you to focus on racing.”

He stepped closer again, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Or maybe it’s telling me I’ll just have to try harder.”

Your pulse quickened, but before you could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway.

Jeonghan sighed dramatically, stepping back with a rueful smile. “Guess I’ll have to settle for third interruptions.”

You smirked, folding your arms. “You’re consistent, at least.”

“Don’t forget it,” he said with a wink, his voice smooth as ever as he walked away.

And just like that, you were left alone, the waves crashing in the distance as you wondered how long this game of cat and mouse could last.

another lil a/n: full throttle is probably one of my favorite things i've EVER written and i am so proud of myself for getting this out of my head and onto the page.

[neonln4]

What a Coincidence | lando norris smau

lando norris x reader | best friend!oscar

summary: fans start to put the pieces together when y/n and lando start to get a bit obvious about their relationship

fc: sabrina carpenter

my first post ever!! i hope you enjoy it, apologies in advance for any mistakes, errors, or typos!

part 2

yourusername

liked by yourbff, oscarpiastri, and 1,083,920 others

yourusername so proud of this one, can't wait to share my baby with all of you lovely people

short n' sweet out tonight 💋

View all 4,183 comments

ynfan1 finally!!! been waiting so long for this one!

ynfan2 TAKE MY MONEY QUEEN

yourbff absolutely beautiful album, love you!!

yourusername love you more!!!

oscarpiastri will be tuning in even though best friend privileges got me a sneak peek

yourusername don't forget to promote my album at the paddock 😇

ynfan2 oscar piastri i will pay you an absurd amount of money to slide me the best friend sneak preview

♡

landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, carlossainz55, and 992,837 others

landonorris fast times and fast nights 🏆

View all 2,610 comments

user1 INCREDIBLE WIN

ynfan2 the y/n lyrics?? or is this a coincidence??

user2 PAPAYAAAAAA!!!! CONGRATS!!!!

oscarpiastri hey that's my song

ynfan2 THE Y/N LYRICS I AM SO DELUSIONAL ABOUT THIS

oscarpiastri oh yeah, congrats mate

user3 THAT'S MY GOAT!!!

ynfan3 not lando trying to get y/n's attention when she has a new man 💀

♡

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, and 1,028,183 others

yourusername couldn't have asked for a better opening night, can't wait to see what else the uk has to offer!!

thank you, london 💋

View all 4,982 comments

ynfan1 waiting patiently for my show

ynfan2 lando in the likes ... y'all i am SO delusional about this

ynfan3 SO PROUD OF YOU Y/N!!!

oscarpiastri the whole crew had a great time tonight!

yourusername who had the best time? 🤭

ynfan2 what does this mean?? WHAT DOES THIS MEAN????

ynfan4 was lando in attendance tonight i have to know

ynfan5 i fear y/n fans don't know what "don't analyze too much" means

ynfan6 poor girl probably just wants to test the waters with her new man and everyone keeps speculating

user1 y/n fans want her with lando sooooo bad, i don't even think he's interested in her at all 😂

♡

♡

landonorris

liked by carlossainz55, oscarpiastri, and 843,928 others

landonorris behind the scenes

View all 3,382 comments

oscarpiastri "thank you oscar, i love using your best friend privileges"

landonorris i can't even fight back here

landonorris check your texts for my response

user1 musician lando coming soon?

user2 a man of many talents

user3 someone put him back in the car

ynfan2 oscar best friend privileges ... y'all HEAR ME OUT

ynfan3 here she goes again

user4 ready for race week!!!

carlossainz55 photo creds??

landonorris no thanks

♡

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, yourbff, and 948,382 others

yourusername best friend privileges loading ...

had the best weekend! everyone say congrats to my best friend!!

View all 4,382 comments

ynfan1 CONGRATS OSCAR!!!!

ynfan2 CONGRATULATIONS OSCAR!!! GREAT RACE!!!

ynfan2 yes i'm still delusional and screaming over lando being in the last pic

oscarpiastri thank you for coming y/n, you might be my good luck charm!!

landonorris can i borrow her sometime liked by yourusername

ynfan3 that race was incredible!!! great job osc!!

yourbff i had too much fun, i might have a new favorite sport

yourusername i'll take you to more races, don't you worry!!

ynfan4 i'm guessing ynfan2 didn't see the above interaction

user3 oscar and y/n have the cutest friendship 🥺

♡

♡

lando.jpg

liked by yourusername and 298,038 others

lando.jpg on a night like tonight

View all 1,182 comments

user2 in new york?

user3 pretty!

ynfan2 y/n spotted in the likes

user4 best photographer!

♡

♡

yourusername

liked by yourbff, oscarpiastri, and 1,382,409 others

yourusername thank you, new york!!

always love, love, love performing here. hope you enjoyed the new music 💋

View all 5,382 comments

oscarpiastri performing new music when i can't attend has to go against best friend privileges

yourbff beautiful girl!! loving your lover girl era, you are GLOWING!!

ynfan1 BEST NIGHT EVER!! THANK YOU FOR THE NEW MUSIC, WE'RE SO SPOILED!

ynfan2 THE MCLAREN COLOR OUTFIT??? i might be reaching but ...

ynfan3 considering he was just in new york ... you might be onto something

ynfan4 LOVE YOU! YOU DESERVE EVERYTHING AND MORE

♡

♡

landonorris

liked by yourusername, yourbff, and 892,384 others

landonorris ready for you vegas, i've got a good luck charm this week

View all 3,828 comments

oscarpiastri i think you mean i've *stolen a good luck charm from my teammate this week

landonorris tough luck mate

user1 GOOD LUCK!!

user4 LFG!!!!

user2 COME ON PAPAYA

ynfan2 Y/N BEING THE GOOD LUCK CHARM HE BETTER WIN THIS WEEKEND

ynfan3 is this y/n's new man?? good luck lando norris

ynfan1 suddenly i love formula 1

yourbff good luck!!

ynfan2 omg queen what are you doing here

♡

yourusername

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 1,483,472 others

yourusername what happens in vegas ... you know the rest 💋

happy birthday, congratulations, i love you 🧡

View all 6,372 comments

yourbff MOM AND DAD!!! SO HAPPY FOR YOUUUUUUU

ynfan2 I KNEW IT!!!!!! I KNEW I WASN'T DELUSIONAL I WAITED SO LONG FOR THIS

oscarpiastri i think it's safe to assume that you're no longer my good luck charm

landonorris everybody point and laugh

landonorris i love you, I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU

user3 just down horrendous

ynfan1 SHE'S HAPPY!!!! I USED TO PRAY FOR TIMES LIKE THIS

ynfan4 lando better treat her right

carlossainz55 any chance i can borrow your luck before the season is over

landonorris NO????

user3 LMAOOOOOOOOOO

♡

landonorris

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 1,382,094 others

landonorris lucky to call you mine. beautiful show by the most beautiful girl.

if anyone is still wondering: yes, we have really good bed chem

View all 5,382 comments

user2 they are actually so cute

user4 THEY ARE EACH OTHER'S BIGGEST FANS I LOVE THEM

user1 MY PARENTS!!!

ynfan2 this is what dreams are made of

ynfan4 OHHHHH HE MATCHES HER FREAK OKAY Y/N 😏

user3 THE LAST PART OF THE CAPTION???

yourusername horny on main is crazyyyyyy

landonorris horny on album before we were even public is crazyyyyyyyy

user5 OH I'M OBSESSED WITH THEM

oscarpiastri lando acting like he wasn't kicking his feet and blushing the first time he heard bed chem liked by yourusername

ynfan3 we will be cheering for lando for the rest of the season

[xosannie]

Our Dirty Little Secret

Part 2 to my fic Dirty Little Secret, check out part 1 is you haven’t already. Thank you for reading <3

☆Genre: Smut 18+ MDNI

☆Pairing: sex worker!Mingi x fem!reader

☆Word Count: 6.9k

☆Warnings: Mingi is a bit submissive in this, unprotected sex, recording while having sex, praise, sending nudes, hand job, fwb, mention of porn (lmk if I missed anything)

☆Summary: After finding out about your best friend Mingi’s secret porn account, you grew to accept his decision in his line of work. You actually start to feel very curious about it yourself, and Mingi is more than happy to fulfill your curiosity.

☆a/n: This took so long and I don’t really like it that much but I hope you do lol :,)

—————————————————————————

You throw your head back laughing, holding your stomach after your friend said something to make you laugh. You were sitting in a small cafe, matcha in hand, while you chatted with your friend from work. 

“I’m serious, it fell and spilled all over me,” he says, taking a sip of his latte.

“San, you’re such a clutz. How many times has that happened now?”

“Three,” he says quietly, and you laugh harder. 

”Is Mingi coming or what?” San says, rolling his eyes at you.

"Yes, I’m sure he is.”

You hear a ping come from your phone; oh, that must be Mingi. You pick it up and open the message without a second thought, not realizing it was an image he sent.

Loser (Mingi): Should I post this? :))

(attached image)

You choke on your drink, staring at the photo of Mingi holding his hard dick in his hand. San looked at you confused, and you try to compose yourself, trying not to act like a fool in front of your coworker.

“What?” He asks.

“Um… he’s uh stuck in traffic.”

"Bro, you scared me; you’re acting like you saw something you shouldn’t have.”

You felt your ears heat up. Damn Mingi, he did this on purpose. Ever since that night at his house, he started to send you nude videos and pictures of himself; you loved it at first. But then he started doing it to tease you, sending stuff when you were at work or in times when he knew you couldn’t be alone to touch yourself. He’s a menace, that damn Mingi.

You set your drink down to text Mingi back. 

You: WHAT THE HECK?!? 

Loser (Mingi): what? 

You: YOU KNOW IM WITH SAN RIGHT NOW, YOU CANT JUST RANDOMLY SEND ME YOUR DICK LIKE THAT!!

Loser (Mingi): Aww, you don’t like my dick anymore? :(

You internally palm your forehead. In this moment, you thank whatever god there is that you can pull off a pretty good poker face. You glance at San before looking back at your phone, thumbs dancing against the keyboard as you typed back at Mingi.

You: Shut up, where are you? Me and San are waiting.

Loser (Mingi): I’m coming. I’m coming. No need to get your panties in a twist.

You roll your eyes, setting your phone down to look back at San, who was waiting patiently to have your attention back on him.

“He’s on his way,” you huff.

“Great. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him.”

San smiles softly, showing off his dimples, and he takes another sip of his latte. You hear another ding from your phone, and you glance down at the screen in your lap.

Loser (Mingi): So you don’t like the photo? </3

You: Of course I like it. Now hurry up and get over here.

Mingi smiles down at the phone after reading your response. He turns off the car, stepping out and walking toward the door of the cafe. He can see you and San through the window; he was there the whole time watching. He just wanted to see your reaction to his teasing, that little prick. 

————————————————————————

You, San, and Mingi all caught up with each other, updating one another about your lives, telling stories, and cracking jokes. It was now getting darker, the sun started to set, and the cafe became emptier. You check the time on your phone before speaking.

"Oh, they’re going to close soon. We should probably head out.” 

San checks the time as well, looking down at his watch and letting out a sigh. He looked up, glancing at you and Mingi, who sat together in front of him. 

“Yeah, I should probably head home now. I have to study for my upcoming exam.” 

You all agree to end the night here, getting up out of your seats and picking up your trash. Mingi takes your empty cup and drapes your jacket over his shoulder. 

“That’s alright, man. Good luck on your exam.”

“Thanks Mingi.”

Mingi and San shake hands, patting each other back. You pull San in for a hug, and Mingi tries to ignore the small pang of jealousy he felt when he noticed San’s arms wrapping around your waist. 

"Bye, Sannie; see you next time.”

“Oh, did you need a ride back home?”

You pull away from the hug, and Mingi steps in, wrapping his arm over your shoulder. 

“It’s okay, I can take her.” 

San glances at the two of you, smiling softly. There was a hint of suspicion in his eyes, but he shrugged it off and waved goodbye.

“Alright, well, I’ll get going. Good night.”

You and Mingi both wish him a good night and watch him walk off. Once San was out of sight, you pulled yourself from Mingi’s hold. You look up at him with an annoyed face, causing Mingi to put his hands up in defense.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I told you to stop sending those things to me when I’m out in public.”

You playfully smack his chest, making Mingi chuckle quietly. You turn on your heels, walking out the cafe and toward Mingi’s car in the parking lot.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He follows behind you, catching up fairly easily due to his long legs. He beats you to the passenger seat, opening the car door for you. You huff, climbing in and sitting back with your arms crossed. Mingi couldn’t help the sly smirk plastered on his face as he walks around the car and climbs in the driver seat.

“Wipe that smug look off your face.”

“Or what?”

Mingi leans closer, glancing at your lips, then back at your eyes. He looked so pretty under the dim lighting. You fight every urge to smash your lips against his, but you didn’t give him that satisfactory. 

Instead, you turned your head, looking out the window. Mingi frowned a bit when you didn’t give him what he wanted. He turned the car on, faint music playing quietly in the background.

“Don’t give me that treatment. You loved the photo; I know you did.”

He drove out of the parking lot, and you watched the darkened trees pass by. You scoffed at his words, not bothering to look back at his face. Obviously you liked the photo; you couldn’t stop thinking about it the whole time you were out. You caught yourself staring at Mingi a little longer than you should have, admiring his pretty lips and hands (and all the things they can do to you). 

Your silence only makes Mingi smirk wider, already knowing what’s on your mind. He glanced at you for a second, then back on the road, one of his hands reached down to grip your thigh.

“Aw, don’t be mad at me, baby. I noticed how you were staring at me back at the cafe.”

Your body tensed, and the feeling of his large hand grabbing the flesh of your thigh made you feel a stir at the pit of your stomach. Of all days, why did you decide today was the day to wear a dress? He gripped your thigh, massaging it in his hand, running his fingers higher up under your dress.

“You look so pretty in this dress. It took every ounce in me not to rip it off and pound you in front of San.”

Images of Mingi’s words flashed in your head, causing your breath to grow more shallow. You subconsciously pressed your thighs together; that didn’t go unnoticed by Mingi. He let out a low chuckle, squeezing your thigh harder. God, you hated how easily he can rile you up. He knew exactly what he was doing; his ego was seriously too big for his own good. 

You take his hand and guide it back to the steering wheel. Mingi cocked his brow up, feeling a sense of amusement when you play hard to get.

“Two hands on the wheel, Mingi.” You teased.

“Fine, but later tonight I’ll have two hands on you.”

After a few minutes of shooting each other glances and bantering with a bit of flirting, you finally arrive at your place. You reach for your belongings, but Mingi already grabbed them for you, your jacket and purse in his hand as he steps out of the car. You rolled your eyes at him and watched as he ran around the car to open the door for you. 

“I’m perfectly capable of opening the door,” you snickered.

“Hey, let me be the gentleman I am.” 

“You just want pussy.” 

Mingi fights back a little; he wasn’t expecting you to say something so straightforward. He closed the door, feeling heat creep up on his cheeks. Thank God it was dark out so you couldn’t see him blush.

“That’s not...” he says quietly. 

He was brought back to his senses when you walked past him. There was a sly smirk on your face; shy Mingi was always so cute; you just don’t get to see it often. Mingi catches up to you when you stop at the front door, keys jingling as you turn the lock. 

You both step in, placing your belongings down and slipping off your shoes. Almost immediately, you felt Mingi’s hands on your waist, pulling you close to him. You let out a small yelp, smiling up at Mingi, who towered over your figure.

“Hey, let me breathe first. I just got home,” you chuckle.

“Can’t wait.”

He leans down to place kisses on your neck. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his eagerness, and you push him away slightly. He shoots you a small pout when you reject him, and you coo internally at his expression, reaching up to pinch his cheek. 

“Down boy,” you joke. 

Mingi reluctantly pulls his arms off you with a huff. He walks over to the couch and plops down on it, sulking like a puppy who just got scolded. You laugh at his behavior, walking to him and cupping his jaw.

“I’m going to go shower, then you can have all my attention.”

His head perks up at your words, and a smirk widens on his face. 

“Can I join?” 

“No Mingi. Just be good and wait okay.”

His body slumps at your words. A strange feeling crashed over him when you told him to be good; he had no choice but to give in. 

“Don’t keep me waiting too long then.” 

“I’ll be quick; don’t worry.”

You ruffle his hair before walking away, swaying your hips more than usual. Mingi watched you intently, admiring your figure. Once you were out of sight, he let out a sigh, falling back on the couch. 

“Damn tease,” he whispered to himself. 

He picked up his phone in an attempt to find some kind of entertainment. He opened the Twitter app and was immediately met with porn videos. He forgot to switch back to his regular account again; he really needed to get out of that habit. He looked through his DM's  and noticed an unopened message from the buyer of the video you helped Mingi film. He smiled at the message after reading it.

“This was hotttt😍 correct me if I’m wrong, but it looks like someone helped you film this?? If that’s the case, I think you should film more with them; I’m sure others would love to see it (I know I will).💋”

Film more with them? Mingi likes the sound of that. He’s always fantasized about recording you while you both fucked, maybe even posting it if you allowed it. But he was always too nervous to ask, afraid that might scare you away.

After a few minutes, you finally get out of the shower. When you walked back in the living room now wearing sleep shorts and a black spaghetti strap top, Mingi (unashamedly) checked you out. He couldn’t help the smirk that grew on his face when he saw you. 

“I’m back, did you miss me?”

“Yes, very much,” he says without taking his eyes off your hips. 

You walk past Mingi, sitting on the couch next to him while his eyes stayed glued to you the whole time. You kick your feet up on the couch, getting comfortable and trying to ignore Mingi’s hard gaze. You reach forward to grab the remote and turn the TV on. 

“You know you never answered my question from earlier,” Mingi said.

“What question?”

“If I should post the picture or not.”

You think back at the nude. Mingi sent you when you were out with San. You glared at him, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“Oh my bad for not answering when you sent me a dick picture in public.” 

Mingi smiled, feeling pleased with himself. He leans back, hands resting behind his head.

“You’re not giving me feedback.”

You roll your eyes at him, fighting back a smile. God, you wanted to shove him down on the couch and sit on his face; that way he wouldn’t be able to give you that smug look. 

"Yes, post it. it’s really hot.” 

You turn back to the TV, scrolling through to pick something to watch. Mingi’s smirk widens; he looks down at you, admiring your pretty thighs. 

“Hot? Did it turn you on?”

He reached down, grazing the soft, supple skin. You allowed Mingi to touch you, still scrolling the TV and failing to find something to watch. You give up, setting the remote down and turning to Mingi. 

“What are you going to do if I say yes?”

He leans in closer, hiding his face in your neck as he takes in your scent. He always loved the smell of your body wash; it drove him crazy. He grazed his teeth against your earlobe, sucking it gently. 

“Whatever you want me to do,” he whispers. 

You giggle softly, pulling his face up to place a soft kiss on his lips. Ever since you and Mingi slept together that one night, you both have been thirsty for each other every second of the day. Don’t get it twisted, you were the same friends you were before… just friends that flirt...and  kiss... and fuck. (That’s normal though, right? Haha…)

You told yourself you wouldn’t think much of it and just go with the flow. You and Mingi both kind of agreed to do that. Neither of you wanted to possibly make each other uncomfortable, so you guys just let things happen without looking into it too deeply.

Mingi hummed in the kiss, moving his hand up to grip your waist. He pulls you closer, the kiss deepening and becoming more passionate. You push him away when you feel Mingi try to pull you on his lap, leaving him wanting more. His eyes flutter open, letting out a small sigh. 

“So how is your porn stuff going?”

You stay close to Mingi, resting your head on your hand while studying his features. Mingi leans back on the couch, though his hands never leave your body. He pushed his hair back, trying to control the rapid beating of his heart before speaking. 

“It’s pretty good. Honestly, I’ve been getting more recognition recently.”

“Oh yeah? That’s great.”

You gently nudge Mingi’s shoulder, proud to hear the good news. 

“I’m not surprised; your videos are so hot, and I’m not just saying that because I’m your friend.”

Mingi smirked at your words, his arm wrapping around your shoulder and playing with a lock of your hair. 

“Yeah? Which video have you been touching yourself too?”

You shoot him a playful glare, making Mingi laugh to himself.

“Don’t make me take back my compliment.” 

“I’m just messing with you. I hope you know your opinion is very valid to me.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his words. You fiddle with the necklace resting around Mingi’s neck before replying.

“I really like the video of you humping the pillow.”

Mingi bites his lip; the thought of you touching yourself to his videos makes his stomach churn. He honestly fantasizes about it a lot; he always comes the fastest when thinking about it. 

“Really? Well, I’ll make sure to film more of those.” 

You roll your eyes, leaning closer and resting your head on Mingi’s shoulder. He runs his fingers through your hair, pushing the strands behind your ear. 

“Do other people hit you up asking to “collaborate” or whatever? I don’t know what you call it.” 

Mingi chuckles, shaking his head.

“I mean, yeah, there are a few mutuals of mine who DM me. But I don’t like the thought of fucking just anyone. I don’t care if other people do it because it is for work, but I don’t know... I prefer to do it with people I care about. Like you.”

You felt your heart flutter at his words. A strange wave of relief courses through your body at his response. You decide to brush off the feeling, looking up at Mingi and poking his chest.

"Awww, you care about me.” 

“Of course I do you idiot.”

Mingi smiles, resting his cheek on top of your head. You hum, feeling a sense of warmth at his actions and mindlessly drawing shapes on his chest. Mingi suddenly remembered something he wanted to show you, then pulls away a bit as he speaks up.

“Oh, look at this message I got.” 

He pulls out his phone, showing you the message from the buyer. You smile, raising your brows while reading it. 

“Film more with me? What an interesting request.” 

"Yeah, right,” he chuckled nervously.

“I’m glad they liked it. I’ve watched the video myself, and it was so hot. Even though I’m the one in it, it’s hot knowing that you’re holding the camera.” 

He shoved his phone back in his pocket after you handed it to him. You weren’t going to lie; you have previously thought about what it would be like to be in one of Mingi’s videos. Of course you never mentioned it to him; you were just nervous. But the more you scrolled through Mingi’s and other people’s accounts, your curiosity grew stronger. Maybe this was a sign?

Mingi noticed the way you started to get lost in thought. He leaned down, curiously trying to meet your gaze. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

You snapped your attention back at Mingi. You stared into his brown eyes; in this moment, you decided to speak up. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? 

“Just thinking… I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.”

Mingi raised his brows, his eyes widening a bit. He shifted in his seat, moving his body to fully face yours.

“Wait really? Like, you want to film with me?” 

Mingi felt his heart racing in his chest, and you smiled at how excited he looked. If he had a tail, it would be wagging like crazy right now. You nod your head, placing your hand on top of Mingi’s.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind. It sounds… fun.” 

Mingi breaks into a huge smile, pulling you in for a hug. You laugh at his reaction; he’s acting as if he won a prize. But to Mingi, that’s exactly what it felt like.

“Okay! When? Where? What do you want to do?”

“Mingi, calm.” 

You couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction. He shut his mouth in a closed lip smile, showing off his cute dimples. You couldn’t help yourself when you reached up to poke his cheek.

“We can do it whenever. Today even, if you don’t mind.”

"Oh, I don’t mind at all.”

You felt a strange wave of relief wash over your body. You didn’t notice how anxious you were feeling till you heard Mingi’s encouragement. He stands up off the couch, reaching his hand out for you to grab. You looked at him with a questioning expression, warily taking his hand in yours.

“What are you doing?”

He pulled you up off the couch, leading you through the house.

“We’re going to your room.”

He smiles wide, prancing through the hall and into your bedroom. You shake your head at him, finding his excitement endearing. He pushed the door open, leading you in and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

He looked up at you, eyes sparking with eagerness. You step in between his legs, running your hand through his hair. You feel Mingi wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you closer.

“Someone is eager,” you tease.

“You can’t blame me; do you know how many times I’ve fantasized about fucking you for content?”

You cock your head to the side, cupping his jaw and holding his face still. The act was weirdly dominant, Mingi likey. You raise a brow to give him a questioning glance. 

“Just for content?” 

Mingi’s breath hitched at your change of tone, his mouth opening and closing like a fish trying to find words. 

“Well, of course, not just for content. What I meant was... you know what I mean,” he whined. 

You giggle, leaning down to kiss his lips.

“I’m just messing with you, Mingi.”

He felt his heart swell at your soft touch. He couldn’t help but get lost in your eyes; you just looked so pretty. He wanted you to keep kissing him; he needed to taste more of your lips. 

“Alright, I think you’ve been waiting long enough. Let’s get started.” You chimed.

Mingi nods eagerly, smirking wide.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He pulls you down, causing you to let out a surprise squeal, then giggle as you settle yourself on his lap. You straddle his thighs, wrapping your arms around his neck as he smashes his lips on yours. You both kiss each other hungrily, his hands on your waist as you grip at his hair.

You hear him groan in the kiss when you pull at the strands; god, you loved that sound. You couldn’t help yourself when you did it again, only harder this time. Mingi let out a moan, the sound shooting straight to your core. 

You pulled his shirt, tugging the hem as a silent way of saying you wanted it off. Mingi chuckled at your actions, knowing exactly what you wanted. He pulled away for a second so he could pull his shirt off in one swift motion.

With no time to waste, he was back on you, pressing hot kisses down your neck. You let out a sigh, basking in the feeling of his lips, and guided your hands down his bare chest. He continued to lick and suck at your skin, making you let out small moans. 

“Baby, let’s lay down on the bed,” you breathed out.

Mingi nodded, reluctantly pulling himself off you and giving you one last kiss on the lips. Mingi moved up on the bed, and you followed closely behind. Crawling back on top of his body, smiling prettily down at him. His hands instinctively rest on your waist when you straddle him.

“Can I have your phone?”

“Yeah, yes,” he breathed out. 

Mingi pulled his phone out of his pocket, handing it to you. You grabbed it, leaning down to kiss his lips. He entangled his hand in your hair, moaning softly when you trailed kisses down his neck. You looked up at him through your lashes when you moved further down. You pressed warm kisses down his bare chest to his stomach, slowly licking back up. 

“Fuck, I need you so bad,” he moaned breathlessly. 

You chuckled, sitting up and pulling at the buckle of his pants. 

“You’ll have me, baby, don’t worry.” 

Mingi’s hands fumbled to help you unbuckle his pants. He pulls them down for you and throws them on the floor. You turn on his phone, opening the camera app. 

“Mmm, look at you,” you say.

Mingi lay there, breath-grown, labored, and dick hard in his boxers. You can see a slight wet patch on the front. Holy fuck, you were going to devour this man.

Mingi’s dick twitched in his boxer briefs when he saw you point the camera at him. He heard the ding on the phone, your eyes fixated on Mingi’s pretty body through the screen. You reached down, your finger lightly grazing the bulge in his underwear. Mingi’s hips buck up slightly, and shiver runs down his spine.

“Look at you, such a pretty boy.”

Your voice took a tone Mingi never really heard before. It was soft yet dark; he wanted to hear more. He chuckles softly at your words, feeling a wave of desire crash over him at your praise. You run your hand up his body, making sure everything was in frame. 

“I’m pretty?” Mingi asks in a dark, seductive tone. 

You nod, humming in agreement. You slowly trace your finger down his torso, almost as though you were teasing both Mingi and the viewer. You hook your finger on the waistband of his boxers, tugging it at an agonizingly slow pace. 

Mingi huffed at your teasing hands. He knew you were putting on a show for the video, but he couldn’t help but feel a bit impatient. You felt him squirm slightly and chuckled at his behavior.

“Needy aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Mingi says softly, with a hint of a whine. 

The sound shot straight to your core, turning the ache in your pants into a throb. God, you needed to hear Mingi whine; you needed to hear him beg. Finally, you pulled the underwear all the way down; his hard length springs up. You giggle softly, cooing at the sight. 

You don’t know what came over you, but you couldn’t help but want to tease Mingi. Although Mingi didn’t seem to mind much. His dick twitch at your condescending tone, making his face flush in embarrassment. 

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

You grasp his length, letting a wad of spit fall down onto the tip. Slowly, you envelope his dick in your hand, pumping him up and down. Mingi moans softly, watching the way you held the phone close to your face as you recorded yourself jerking him off. The whole scene was so hot, Mingi couldn’t help but feel turned on by the thought of you recording him in such a vulnerable state.

The wet noises of your hand moving up and down on his dick filled the room. You moved your hand faster, watching Mingi’s expression this time. He was already looking at you, and you smiled at him. He whimpered when you locked eyes, his brows furrowing as a small pout threatened to grow on his lips. 

He reached down to grip your thigh, needing to feel you in any way he could. Subconsciously, Mingi started to slowly buck his hand up into your fist. You hum at the sight, biting your lip.

“You’re such a needy boy. You want more?”

“Yes,” Mingi whimpered.

“Yes what?” 

Mingi threw his head back against the pillow, shutting his eyes closed as he felt his face grow hot. He knew what you were asking from him, but he was too shy to say it. You gripped his length tighter, stopping the movement of your hand.

Mingi whimpers loudly at the pain, body jerking and dick twitching with pleasure. 

“Yes, what?” You asked again, this time in a darker tone.

“Yes please. Please, I need more,” he whined, covering his face in embarrassment. 

You smiled wide at him, loosening the grip on his cock and jerking him faster. 

“That’s a good boy.”

Mingi moans at your praise, hips bucking up faster than before and dick twitching excitedly. You watched, feeling slightly surprised by his reaction.

“Oh? Does the big boy like to get praised?”

“Yesss,” Mingi whines. 

He gripped your thigh harder, continuing to fuck up into your hand. It was all so embarrassing yet so hot to him. Having you toy with him while you recorded. He felt like he was under your control, and fuck he loved it more than he ever thought he would. 

“Thats right, baby, fuck my hand.”

You completely still the movement of your fist, encouraging Mingi to continue to thrust into your hand. He does just that, bouncing up and down on the bed as he fucked your fist. He continued to let out whimpers and whines, feeling both ashamed and aroused by how pathetic he looked. 

You hummed in delight, making sure you got the best angle of Mingi fucking himself. You moaned softly when you saw a drip of pre-cum ooze out the tip. You pulled your hand off, making Mingi whine desperately, his hips still fucking the air looking for friction. 

You giggle softly, watching the way his dick bounced pathetically. Your fingers find their way on his slit, pulling away and watching a string of pre-cum connect to your finger and his tip.

“So wet, baby.”

You move the camera closer to his length, showing off the pretty cum dripping down his cock.

“It’s all for you,” he says quietly. 

That was your breaking point. You needed Mingi; you couldn’t wait any longer. Your pussy throbbed so much, and you felt your slick stick to the fabric of your shorts. You stopped the recording, setting the phone on the mattress and leaning down to kiss Mingi. He pushed away slightly, looking at you confused.

“Why’d you stop recording?” He breathed out.

“I can’t take it. I need to fuck you, Mingi.”

Mingi whimpered, pulling you down by the nape of your neck to smash your lips together. Your tongues danced against each other, yours exploring his mouth as he lay limp and let you use him however you like.

“Oh god, yes, please do,” he whined. 

You chuckled, pulling away to rip your shirt off. Your beautiful breast was on display for Mingi; he was mesmerized by the sight. He reached up and squeezed them; you smiled at the way his large palms enveloped your breast. 

“You’re so sexy.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his words. Mingi smiled up at you, finding your giggling cute. His hands roam down your body, sliding over your waist to your hips. You felt his large hands grip your ass through your shorts, making you bite your lip in anticipation.

“Take them off for me, Mingi.” 

Mingi smirks wide, wordlessly pulling your shorts off and down your legs. He moans softly at the sight of you; you had no underwear on, which left you completely naked sitting on top of Mingi.

"God, I need to be inside you, baby. I can’t wait any longer.”

You completely sit down on him, your warm, wet pussy pressed against the underside of his cock. Mingi furrows his brows and grips your hips tightly. You began to rock your hips back and forth, your wetness leaving a glistening trail on Mingi, and he moans softly.

"Why are you teasing me?” he whine. 

You giggle, enjoying the feeling of your swollen clit rubbing against the head of his cock. You couldn’t help but smile at him mischievously; your hands rested on his pecks, and you grabbed the flesh beneath your palms. 

“You just look so cute... whining for me,” you say breathlessly. 

Mingi pushes his head back against the pillow; he was so turned on he needed to feel you already. You glance at Mingi’s phone laying on the bed beside him. He followed your gaze and smirked; he knew exactly what you wanted. He picked it up, opened the camera app, and pressed record. 

You lifted your hips a bit, taking his hard length and aligning it with your sopping hole. Mingi watched through the phone, moaning loudly when you sunk down on his cock. Your hands rested on his stomach, clawing at the skin beneath. 

“Fuckkk,” he moans. 

You moan breathlessly, moving your hips up and down slowly. You already felt your legs start to tremble at the feeling of Mingi filling you up. 

“You fill me up perfectly, baby. Show them how pretty your dick looks sliding inside me.”

Mingi groans at your words, moving the camera closer to you pussy sucking up Mingi’s dick effortlessly. You kept a slow, steady pace; you were so wet you could hear the squelching noises coming from your pussy. Mingi bites his lip, pulling the camera away to show off your pretty body while grabbing your hip with his free hand. 

“Baby,” you said breathlessly.

“Yeah?”

“Fuck me.”

Mingi moans at your words, you didn’t have to tell him twice. He planted his feet flat on the bed and thrust up into you at a fast pace. You let out a yelp as intense pleasure coursed through your entire body. Skin slapping against skin as Mingi bucked up into your pussy, he was mesmerized by the way your thighs jiggled when coming contact to his pelvis. 

He held the phone in his hand tighter, groaning loudly as he fucked into you. You couldn’t help the high-pitched moans that escaped your lips; you were in pure ecstasy. And based on the way Mingi’s eyes were glued to your face, brows furrowing, and mouth agape, you could tell he felt the same way. 

“Fuck…so good. Your pussy is so good.”

You moan at his praise, looking down at the phone that was pointed toward you. You felt so vulnerable, and the thought that other people will be watching this video, jacking off to Mingi fucking you, drove you crazy. 

Mingi’s hips stopped when the burn in his abdomen became too much to bear and he panted heavily trying to catch his breath. You decided to give Mingi some time to rest and reached behind you. You planted your hands on Mingi’s thighs and lifted your knees up till your feet rested on the mattress.

“You did so good. I’m gonna fuck you now, okay, baby.”

Mingi whined when he watched you change positions and nodded eagerly. 

“Okay.” 

With the new position you put yourself in, your pussy was on full display for Mingi and the camera. You rocked your hips up and down, your tits bouncing with your movements. Mingi moans louder, watching intently at the way his dick disappeared in your hole. He was trying so hard not to drop the phone in his hand, wanting to capture this moment forever. 

With the new view, Mingi found himself getting closer to his release. Watching you bounce on his cock was just too intoxicating.

“I’m close, baby.”

“Just a little longer, okay? I’m almost there.”

Mingi’s hand gripped tightly to your thigh, sliding up till his thumb pressed against your clit. You whined at the feeling, legs trembling when he rubbed circles on the sensitive nub.

“Yes yes. Keep doing that, baby. Fuck, I’m close.”

“Cum on my cock, please. I need it.”

Your nails dug into Mingi’s thighs, legs almost giving out when you came on his dick. You clenched so hard around him as your hips stuttered. Mingi’s eyes rolled in the back of his head as he tried with all his might not to cum inside. Now that's a good boy.

You pulled off him, his dick slipping out and hot streams of cum shot out to cover his stomach. You watched with a sly smirk, reaching down to jerk him off. 

“Fuck!”

Mingi’s body trembled from his intense orgasm, some even landing on his chest and neck. You giggle, and when you notice him coming down from his high, you slow the pace of your hand, not wanting to overstimulate him. You grab the phone from him (surprised he didn’t drop it at this point) and point the camera closer to his cum-covered body.

"Mmm, you see that. What a messy boy.” 

You both pant heavily. Mingi chuckled breathlessly at your words, looking down at his body. You stopped the recording, setting the phone down on the bed. You both smiled at each other, Mingi reaching up to cup your face. 

“Can’t wait to watch that later,” you smirk. 

Mingi rolls his eyes, laughing breathlessly. He pulled you closer and pressed a soft kiss on your nose. You rested your elbows on either side of his head while staring into his pretty brown eyes.

“That was so fucking hot. I didn’t know I was the submissive type, but damn, we need to explore that more.” 

You laugh heartily, kissing Mingi’s cheek before speaking. 

"Yes, we do. I swear I almost started running laps whenever you begged for me.” 

“I folded when you called me a good boy.” 

You and Mingi couldn’t help the funny comments. Maybe it was weird that you were cracking jokes after getting dicked down by your best friend, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. You pull away, sighing and looking down at the cum that smeared on your body. 

“Now I have to take another shower.”

Mingi laughs at your words, running his hands up and down your sides. He looks up at you with pleading eyes before asking in a hopeful tone.

“Can I join you this time?” 

You decide to throw him a bone, smiling down at him and nodding.

“Yes Mingi. Come on.”

Mingi exclaimed in excitement, picking you up effortlessly and taking you to the bathroom. You squeal when he throws you over his shoulder, and you smack the small of his back.

“Hey, warning next time you decide to manhandle me.”

“No time, must take you to the shower.”

“How do you still have this much energy after what we did?”

————————————————————————

“Ugh, dammit.” 

You lean back in your chair when you see the red letter pop up on your computer screen. 

‘You died’

“Why is this level so hard?” 

Your mumble to yourself. You hear your phone notification go off and light up next to your keyboard. You pick it up and smile to see a message from Mingi. 

Princess Mingi: HELLO!? LOOK AT HOW MANY LIKES OUR VIDEO HAS 

(attached image)

Your eyes bulge out of your head after seeing the screenshot Mingi sent you. 

You: 72k?!? WHAT??

Princess Mingi: This is literally my most liked video. People love you, they think you're hot and want to know if you have an account. 

You couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride at the thought of people wanting to see more of you. Maybe you should dabble into this kind of work. You were pulled out of your thoughts when another ping rang from your phone. 

Princess Mingi: You should say fuck it and join the sex work community. I think you will do very well.

Princess Mingi: I’ll be your first subscriber ;)

You: I’ll block you before you can find my account 

Princess Mingi: Hey :( you wouldn’t do that to your good boy, would you? :(((

You: Yes.

You giggle to yourself after teasing Mingi. It was just so fun. He sent another message, and your giggles immediately die down when you see the image.

Princess Mingi: (attached image)

What about now? :)

You: WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT SENDING ME YOUR DICK

Princess Mingi: YOU SAID NOT TO DO IT WHEN YOURE IN PUBLIC. I KNOW YOURE NOT 

You: WELL NOW IM HORNY AND ALL ALONE

Mingi doesn’t reply back and you see the little ‘read’ text under your message. You furrow your brow in confusion, that bitch, leaving you on read. You set you phone down and turn your attention back to your game on the screen.

After a few minutes, Mingi never replied back. Thats weird. You decide to text him again, he never leaves you on read. 

You: Hey, are you alive?

You were surprised when you saw the three dots appear pretty quickly. 

Princess Mingi: I’m here. Open your door :)

You stare blankly at the phone screen, sitting there dumbfounded. You’re brought back to reality when you hear a honk outside your house. You peak through your window and see Mingi walking out the car and up to your front door. That little shit. 

You: No, stay outside and freeze. 

Princess Mingi: Please let me in :(

You: Why should I? 

Princess Mingi: So I can fuck you good again :) 

You dropped your phone and ran to the front door. Well, it was too cold for him to stay out there all alone. 

————————————————————————

You bite your lip while holding your phone in your hand. 

"Ugh, fuck it.” 

You posted your first nude photo; it was a simple mirror picture of you were in your underwear sitting on your bed topless. You throw your phone on the mattress, feeling nervous yet excited at the same time. You finally did it, you made your own Twitter account. 

After looking at the video you and Mingi recorded for his account, you decided to give in and give the people what they wanted. After a few minutes of pacing around, you pick up your phone to check if anyone has liked your photo yet. You already started getting some likes and a few comments.

You get a notification and press on it immediately. 

‘Sir Min started following you’

You smile to yourself when you read the notification. Of course, Mingi was the first to follow you. You had already told him you were doing it, but you didn’t take into account that he was waiting for you to make your first post this whole time. You get a DM from Mingi, smirking to yourself when reading it.

Sir Min: You look hot, baby. Can’t wait to fuck you more “for content” ;)

~

Tags: @chicksmoothie @wisejudgedragonhairdo @autieofthevalley @breadpuddingboys @pancake-freckle @nanicjj @yunhofingers @cherr-heekisses

[rainy-day-gracie]

- wedding night (1) -

A Venus & Mars mini series

pairing: general marcus acacius x virgin!wife!reader

content warning(s); dual pov, arranged marriage, implied age gap but nothing specific, period typical misogyny (Ancient Rome), mentions of violence/warfare, mention (1) of sexual violence (not against reader), mentions of pregnancy, attempted bedding ceremony, reader has hair that can be pinned back, steamy kisses, crazy amounts of sexual tension, discussions of consent because consent is sexy mandatory, virgin!reader, SOFTTTTT marcus acacius, romantic and intimate as hell, grievous historical inaccuracy because it's fucking fanfiction, canon divergent because duh

a/n: this has been living in my head for weeks now, along with every new photo we get of general marcus acacius because of course. this can be read as a prequel to bloodlust, or read entirely on its own. the reader insert is written as the same character in each fic.

this will be part 1 of the wedding night, and part 2 will include smut :)

---

You considered bolting as the sun rose on the morning of your wedding day. Stealing one of the nobleman's horses, putting as many miles as you could between yourself and the General's country house.

But, from what you've heard about the General, there would not be a corner of the earth that he would not find you in.

Your palms were clammy with sweat as the handmaidens pinned your hair back into a style of a bride. You wondered how they couldn't possibly hear the quick, panicky beating of your heart as each moment brought you closer to what you considered a life sentence.

General Marcus Acacius is venerated like a god in Rome, and anywhere else. Men boast about his wartime accomplishments as if they were their own, and ladies whisper about his scarred face like they would a demon within the walls.

So many rumors swirling around the Emperor's most esteemed general.

His hands were permanently stained red with blood, he burns the heads of his enemies in sacrifice to the gods, he kills men with icy calculation, takes women with fiery passion.

You could only imagine what kind of monster was waiting for you at the altar.

---

Marcus was in no good spirits on the day of his wedding, the marriage forced on him almost as much as it was forced on his...

Gods above, his bride.

The idea of having a bride was almost as foreign as you yourself were, since never once had Marcus even considered marrying anyone. With all the bloodshed and near-death experiences, he never exactly considered himself a man that was meant to be a husband. Or a father, for that matter.

Marcus tried not to shudder at the end of the aisle as the chorus began singing, sounding all to close to a death march.

At the sound of the choir, you entered into the wedding hall, for all gods and men to see.

His bride.

The world seemed to be brighter, the flowers bloomed more beautiful, and Marcus' vision turned clearer as you stepped into his sight.

For a moment, he forgot all about the blood of men on his hands. The shame that burdened him was cast off. Maybe he wasn't completely condemned to the Underworld.

The very possibility of you being his bringing him more relief than any wine or fine lady. The possibility of you being in his life was... redeeming. Redefining. Remaking.

One look, and he made a vow, but not to you. To himself.

If any harm were to come to you, he would unleash the fury of the gods upon them. He would protect you to the end of his days. Honor you, and serve you, however you may wish.

---

Fear coated your every nerve as you beheld your soon-to-be husband.

Nothing could have prepared you for just how mighty General Acacius was. Tan, broad, and mighty, dressed in fine white robes similar to yours. His bare hands were strong, made for swinging axes, throwing punches, and taking what he wanted. At the altar, he seemed to be near brooding, speaking his vows quietly, his voice like a roll of thunder.

You managed to keep your voice steady while you spoke your vows, but there was nothing you could do to keep your hands from shaking as the priest brought out the rings.

The general reached for your hand, and you were unable to keep from trembling.

His touch was warm on your skin, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle as he slid the gold wedding band onto your finger. You found the nerve to meet his brown eyes, finding something utterly unreadable as he held your gaze. Could it be... fondness?

Gods, he was beautiful.

His touch steadied you, though you still exchanged rings with a thundering heart.

"In the sight of Gods and men, you are now Husband and Wife. You may kiss your bride, General."

The priest's words echoed in your head.

Husband and Wife.

The general leaned forward, an unspoken question in his warm eyes.

Swallowing, you gave a near imperceptible nod.

For such a harsh man, such a dominating man, his kiss was utterly... soft. Tender. Almost coaxing.

After a moment, he pulled away first, and you could've sworn he lingered, cherishing the air between you... before turned to the cheering wedding party.

In an instant, he changed, switching from the gentle kiss of a lover to a commanding force, a man that drinks in praise like fine wine.

A mighty man, indeed.

---

Marcus tried his best to not feel too wounded that his new wife was completely terrified of him.

He felt the thundering pulse in your hand as he slid that ring on, and he wondered if you saw the wedding band as a chain, a set of shackles. It's all too true for other women in Rome.

You barely spoke to him during the wedding feast, only giving small nods and forced smiles in between sips of wine. He had a good feeling you were resisting the urge to swallow it down in one gulp.

Marcus couldn’t help but study you— at first innocently, taking in the curve of your lips, the shine of your eyes, the polite smile you gave when someone offered congratulations.

Damn his dirty mind. As the night went on, and the celebrations continued beyond what he would’ve liked, he tried, and failed, not to eye your body as a means of distraction from the rowdy feast.

It started with your neck. He traced the slope of it with his eyes, marking every freckle and curve. He prayed to all the gods that you would want him to leave his marks on you.

Downward, he peeked slightly at your breasts whilst cursing himself. Of course, they appeared perfect beneath your wedding stola, and he wondered what manner of sounds you would make when he took them into his hands, into his mouth.

And then… Gods, those hips—

“Time for the bedding ceremony!” Emperor Geta jeered, pulling you from your seat with a firm jerk of your elbow. His eyes were greedy, scheming. “Let us see what is underneath that—“

Your face flushed with either embarrassment or fear or both. And that was all Marcus needed to see.

“There will be no bedding ceremony.”

Marcus lowered his voice to a deep warning, the kind that has sent men running for their lives.

Geta scoffed, still holding to your elbow. “It’s a wedding, Acacius, it’s your wedding. Don’t you want to show off the prize of your latest conquest? Distribute the winnings? Strip down that—“

Marcus stood, towering several inches over Geta’s slimy face. “I said… there will be no bedding ceremony.”

Geta kept his hands on you, and Marcus’s vision tinged with red hot fury.

His voice was a rumble, a threat in itself. “It’s my wedding, is it not? And I say there will be no bedding ceremony.”

People were watching now, the feast gone silent at this standoff.

Marcus knew how to pick his battles, cut his losses. But when staring down Geta, the most powerful man in the empire, he realized that for you, he would pick every single one if it meant he kept you safe.

The moments that passed were crackling, the tension between the two men sucking all the air from the celebratory hall.

Geta saw something in Marcus’s unyielding gaze, something that told him he would not win this fight, and decided the bedding ceremony wasn’t worth the scrutiny.

As the Emperor walked away, Marcus took your hand, and led you to your marriage bed.

—

You couldn’t find the words.

The general nearly trembled in rage on the walk to the bedchambers, but still, he maintained that odd gentleness, holding your hand as if it were the most delicate thing in the world.

Servants opened the grand doors as you entered, showing a large room with a massive four poster bed and elegant tapestries lining the walls—

Then the doors shut. And you were left alone with the legendary, bloodletting general.

And you still couldn’t find the damn words.

You knew what came next. The husband will take what is now his.

In this case, you expected your husband to take you in the same way he took lands for the empire— violently, mercilessly, with the intention of forging new legacy, through a son of Rome.

“Before you ask, my General, I wish to assure you that I am untouched,” you blurted, quoting what your mother taught you to say before you were to be… intimate. “I am pure, though I can only hope to be worthy—“

“Darling wife,” the general said quietly, so different from the commanding force from the feast. He held your hands in his, leaning down and kissing your knuckles in reverence.

You went silent, shocked at the soft fondness in his tone.

He peered at you with curiosity, and almost amusement. “The only thing I wish from you is for you to call me by my name, not title. No general, no lord, but my name. I hear it so little nowadays that I will look forward to hearing it from your lips.”

“As you wish… Marcus,” you breathed, eyes locked on his.

Marcus let out a little sigh, like he was relieved. “It’s much prettier when you say it.”

You drop your head in bashfulness, more confused by the moment. The way he spoke so kindly, so fondly.

“You know what is meant to happen tonight?” Marcus asked, almost hesitantly. You nod, undeniable fear curling in your stomach. “I need you to understand something, my darling, so listen very carefully.”

He pulled you toward the bed, sitting you both down on the silken sheets. His eyes on yours were discerning, and intent, like he was searching for something within your stare.

“I will never, ever, force myself upon you. Not in this life, or the next, or the next. I know what you might’ve heard about me, and much of it is true, but never would I take a woman without her permission. You belong to yourself, and if you never should like me in your bed, I will honor that to the end of my days."

You blinked at him in confusion. "So, you do not... you do not want me?"

Marcus exhaled sharply, looking down at your intwined hands. "That... that does not matter."

"Why not? A husband has the right to take what is his--"

"No man has any right to take a woman's body for himself, husband or not. What... what do you think is to happen tonight?"

Heat rises to your face, embarrassed at the question. By the look on his face, he was embarrassed, too.

"I don't... I don't know how it works, but some of the other wives at court say that the consummation of marriage is one of the more... painful duties of a wife. What you are meant to do to me... it's painful," you murmured, and quickly begin stammering. "B-but is it a great honor to serve you, my--"

"May I kiss you, darling?"

Some candles had been left burning, illuminating him in a warm glow. Marcus's eyes were soft, a rich, chocolate brown in the light of your bedroom, and something about them made your core flutter like one of the candles.

"Yes... yes, please."

Marcus smiled softly, and moved his hands to the sides of your neck. They were scarred, and calloused... and so warm.

His lips met yours almost hesitantly, like he was holding himself back. They were tender, tasting of sweet wine. Fingers curled lightly into your pinned hair, pulling you closer as his chest pressed against yours.

You moved your mouth with his, suddenly feeling the need for... more. You didn't know what, but you just knew you needed it.

His tongue slipped against yours, and the groan that left his throat left your pussy throbbing.

"Marcus--" you gasped, losing your breath as his lips traveled down to your neck. You could've sworn he moaned in response, sucking at your pulse point, leaving it a delicious shade of red--

"Do you want me to keep going?" He gruffed, trailing light kisses along your throat.

Oh, gods, how you wanted him to. "Yes, but..."

Marcus withdrew instantly at your seemed hesitation, pulling his mouth away but keeping his hands in your hair.

"I'm fearful," you admitted, holding his tunic to keep your hands from shaking with both desire and nerves. "Not of you, but... the rest of it."

Marcus nodded, swallowing. "We could continue kissing, if you like."

You laughed lightly, the nerves mellowing for a moment. "I'm not sure I'm prepared to have you in that way, but I know that I want to. I know that I... I want you."

Marcus's soft eyes shone with fondness, but had a wicked edge to them, like he was plotting something.

"I know I want you as well, darling. I promise, I will make sure you are prepared to have me... perhaps even over-prepared."

Your brows furrowed with confusion. "What do you mean?"

The general smiled. "I'll show you what I mean."

Part 2 here!

[thedivinetarot]

Light of my life, fire of my loins, my sin, my soul

Who is your future spouse?

☆How to chose the perfect pile?

1) Clear your mind.

2) Take a deep breathe.

3) Ask the question in your head.

4) Open your eyes and the picture that you are drawn to the most is your pile.

☆ Before you get into the reading you have to know the following:

- Please, please and I will say it again please do not think of anyone while you are choosing. Not your Ex or current boyfriend or even your crush. And I will say it again DO NOT THINK of any man as your future spouse if you want to have an accurate reading.

- This is a general reading so take what resonates and leave the rest. The future is not set in stone and the energy can change. This reading does not substitute any medical or professional help.

- I might do part 2 for this reading.

Stay safe ❤

Arya

Pile 1 - Bram stoker's Dracula

☆Where are you coming from? Your current love life:

I see that this pile have been lonely for quite some time and they are wondering if they will truly find someone. I see that you guys are overthinking everything about your love life and you are leaving no space for divine intervention. This pile’s energy is quite sad and tormented? You perhaps tell yourself that you don't need anyone but you truly want to build something stable and long lasting. I see that you feel stuck on I'm independent I don't need anyone mindset. Not because you really like being independent but because you are afraid of getting disappointed. The problem with this pile is the fear is literally paralyzing you and sabotaging any potential connection that can fit into your life. I'm also seeing that you might be someone who have been rejected and the pain of rejection is still vivid in your core memory. I see that you truly want love and to be loved! You might have a crush on someone with virgo or taurus placements. Or you might feel drawn to those type of men who embodies this archetype. I feel like you are kind of traditional towards dating. You might have had strict family or you really have a strong opinion regarding dating or hookup culture. This is your pile if you have strong virgo placements, water placements or the description fit you perfectly.

Who is your future spouse?

Pile one you might be manifesting your twin flame to be in a marriage with them? This person might enter your life so soon and above all you might get to know him online? I see that he might like your photos if you post yourself or he might just DM you through social media? This person is so grounded and stubborn. He is so earthy and stable in a generous way. He is the perfect mix between fire and earth. He is so childish or he aim to see infinite possibilities. I see that he is doing shadow work or he has been to therapy before. I see that this person is either a heartbreaker or been heartbroken many times. He is so naive or he seems naive? He might prefer texting over phone or video calls. There's an emphasis on his hair. He have curly and dark hair. His eyes are sleepy or he have sleepy eyes. There's something about his face, you see those people who have sleepy faces? Like they just woke up? I guess he might have that. He might look innocent and angelic. Like his aura is so comforting and serene. I also see that this person look younger than his age with hazel eyes. His style looks chill, like you see those guys who wear comfy hoodies? He might be one of them. I asked when will you meet him and the cards told me that you may meet him 6 months from now. You might be on a journey of self discovery when he enters your life. You might be losing weight and if you are not trying to lose weight; you might be trying to get in shape. I see that you are going to meet him after doing a lot of shadow work and inner reflection.

Pile 2 - The Addams couple

☆ Where are you coming from? Your current love life:

This pile is my daring and flirty pile. You might like your solitude but you flirt for fun. I see that most interactions that happen between you and the opposite sex are online. You might like to post spicy photos of yourself. Or send nudes to total strangers in public. You might like to take initiative in relationships. Even if you are a woman/female; you simply don't care about the traditional roles. Especially on who get to initiate to whom. If you like someone you are going to get them, I see that this is your moto. Also this might be your pile if you are stuck on a decision regarding travel. You might want to travel but you are juggling too many responsibilities and this is holding you back from actually pursuing that goal. If you are a man (since the dominant energy on this pile are men or masculines) you might be posting photos or nudes of yourself online. I see many risky photos and poses and if you are not a man or masculine then you might be doing the same action. You really value your own space; I see that you are protecting your peace at all costs. I mean yes you might like to flirt for fun with others but nothing really is serious and you are not looking for something serious either. This is your pile if you have significant leo or Aries placements.

Who is your future spouse?

Your future spouse is someone that you are going to meet through group project. At first as I said about your current energy, you are not looking for something serious so when you meet that person you'll find it kind of confusing. I see that you might be blinded at first. Like you might not notice them and if you are working with them you might not be attracted to them. They are not your usual type, they might be smart and quick thinker. This person knows how to take care of themselves. He might also know how to take care of women in general. Men might call him simp but he is no simp he is just so kind and empathetic towards women's needs. He is so determined, I see that once he put his mind on a goal he doesn't stop when he is tired, He only stop when he finish. I see that he LOVES to conquer a good challenge. He likes to to be assertive and he is looking for someone assertive too. He want his equal, his queen. He might look like he suit you? Wait let me rephrase it. You see that two people who are not dating but everyone in workplace ship them? You two might have intense chemistry. This person look like a heartbreaker. Eye color range from brown to gray or just those two colors. His hair is so silky or wavy. He have this confused look when he talk to you? He might even drag his feet while he walk, or he might look tired when he walk.

Pile 3 - Nosferatu

Where are you coming from? Your current love life.

Well, looking at the cards this pile is in their sweet feminine energy who wants princess treatment and to be spoiled. If this is not the case then this piles are for mothers or you are a mother or pregnant. If you are not pregnant and you are the girl who is in her feminine energy then I see that there's someone who wants to pursue you and he is so damn confident about it. I see that you guys are so confident in yourselves. Perhaps, you are someone who is working on their self esteem and self worth. I see that whatever the case you are in. It is going to pay off. For my girlies who are being pursued by someone I see that this person is very serious about you. He want to marry you quiet literally. This person sees you as his wife or future wife. I also see that this connection is meant to be and is distant to happen even if you are not aware of it. This person is quite civilized and diplomatic. He want to make you happy and cherish you, but if you don't want him it is your choice at the end of the day. I see a lot of happiness in this pile. Guys happiness is your middle name, since the energy or the cards I'm pulling are all yellow and yellow means happiness in tarot. Another energy I'm picking up on is that this pile doesn't really want to be strong and independent. Unlike pile one who is pushing themselves to be that way, this pile is accepting the fact that you want to be a stay at home mother or a rich wife of a rich dude. Most people in this pile are Venus dominant, have taurus or libra placement or have venusian energy in general. You guys might be the pretty girl in your friend group and everyone enjoys looking at you.

Who is your future spouse?

So right off the bat what I'm seeing is someone who have a lot of options. You know that one man who is wanted by every woman because of how friendly and charismatic he is? This man has this energy. It looks like this person is someone who has been heartbroken before and now he keeps his options open by befriending many girls and keeping his options open. He have the cup of love and he is so eager to give it to someone, I'm also picking up on someone passionate and eager to explore life. This person is sooo romantic in a cheesy way. I see that many times he attempted to get in a relationship but got afraid and back off from pursuing something serious. This person believes in manifestations or he tried manifesting an SO or future wife or this person really believes that he can create the reality he wants. This person gives off the vibe of a knight in a shining armor or a Disney prince tbh. This person look like a literal baby or he have baby features. He might have round or oval face. This man can be a little overweight or fat with blonde hair and blue eyes. He is so cute I'm seeing a picture of someone who look adorable and sweet. This person gives off the vibe of "I look good as a husband". But in general this person look so childish and baby like. Could look younger than his actual age? Or this person might be younger than you, but not so much like a couple months younger. He is so friendly or he have a lot of female friendships. This man gives off the ENFJ vibes Idk if you know mbti but you can Google it if you want to. He is so emotionally mature and caring. His energy is so nurturing. I asked the cards about when will you are going to meet him and they said he will enter soon into your life and one of the signs is a female around you is going to give birth or you are going to meet a pregnant woman or one of your relatives/friends will get pregnant. There's a NOTE for this pile specifically; if you are being pursued by someone this person is your future spouse. And if you are not being pursued by anyone then you might know who your future spouse is. And if you don't have anyone then take the reading with a grain of salt but you can enjoy it anyways.

Pile 4 - Hollywood couple

Where are you coming from? Your current love life:

This pile is truly stuck. I feel like I'm bored and desperate I want to cry. Like guys what is the matter? There's both boredom and stagnation. You might be someone who is really bored with how things are in your love life. I'm picturing a girl about 16 to 18 years old who want to be open to love but there's a man in her life (could be a male caregiver) who is very strict and structured. This man literally destroyed your well to date anyone. I feel like you are discouraged by the idea of love and I feel that you are unbalanced in a way? Like you are trying to protect yourself from getting hurt but at the same time you want love so freaking bad. I'm clinching my jaw and I feel like I want to scream and yell and kick things around me. Pile four why are you so angry? Please calm down! There's nothing in this life that deserve all this anger. Please take a break and go balance yourself and life. You are still young and have no experience and life is still long in front of you. I see that you might be waiting for something to happen; for someone to come in and rescue you from your life but nothing really happens so you pour all of your anger and resentment on yourself. Please stop hurting yourself and go find a hobby or something that can help you channel this anger and resentment. I'm picking up on someone who is bottling up their feelings and not really trying to express them. I also feel headache, do you have headache pile four? Are you bloated too? You might have significant leo and Aries placements. A little Taurus placements and sun, mars and sagittarius dominate. I feel like you are waiting and waiting but the waiting itself got bored of you lol. And you end up feeling devastated and angry. This pile’s energy is so rageful, please do some meditation or workout to get rid of that anger. You might also be scared of change? And overwhelmed by the idea of change? You might be someone who doesn't really like things to change and stick to a specific routine. Anyways let's get into the reading.

Who is your future spouse?

This person is very hardworking and workaholic. I see that the main focus in his life is his career, money and stability. This man is a little bit selfish, and he became like that because of how much he suffered. This person suffered from poverty, or he was very poor. He might even get kicked out of his family house so he can work and get them money. This person got bullied a lot by his peers and saw a lot of cruelty in his life, I feel so sorry for him. This person might be closed off emotionally, it is like he is trying to shelter himself from any possible heartache because of what happened in his childhood. I also see that when you meet him he might not be ready for anything serious or he might not really have healed fully from what has happened to him. There's an age gap here, he might he older than you or more mature. Like 4 years older. He might also be a co-worker of you? Or acquaintance If it is not then he might work with you in your field. The main challenge he is facing is stability, he want stability to be able to marry you. My advice for this pile is don't try to force things out if this person is not ready for commitment. He hasn't healed yet and his main focus is on the material. He might even use you if you attempted to help him financially so please don't. What really amazed me in this pile that this man is so materialistic, his love language can be gift giving. Now his appearance; this person look so cocky and confident. He have hazel eye color and sharp features. This person's back look hot or beautiful. He is not that tall, he is medium height. His hair is dirty blonde or chestnut brown. A foreigner? He might not be from your country. This man is possessive to be honest. If you met him after he get his ish together he will spoil you rotten but if not then don't try to help and heal him. You might meet him at the end of November to the most of December.

Post date: 25th/Aug/2024 - Sun

*Feedback is appreciated

[droaxa]

✧ tags: yandere cheater x reader pt. 2

✧ warnings: violence and force, yandere behavior, descriptions of dismemberment, blood, stalking, police, nsfw content, kissing, angst, smut, breaking in, attempted murder, cuts, dead dove, probably more stuff

✧ a/n: my most requested fic at the moment! i decided to take some of your suggestions and add my own twist at the end + yandere name reveal!

part 1 - part 2 - part 3

yandere cheater wrestles you into his car after he drags you outta the cafe you’re in, unyielding as you try to pull away. the second he shuts the door and jets to the drivers side, you force yourself out the door and sprint down the street.

you hear his yells as you increase your speed, you knew you wouldn’t be able to outrun him for long. not only was he more athletic than you, but a look back revealed his terrifying expression. he was clearly set on catching you, having the advantage in his relatively relaxed clothing opposed to you, who was dressed for a date.

knowing you couldn’t beat him you came to a sudden stop of to the side of the sidewalk and he rammed into your side. stumbling back a few steps you stopped him. eyes wide and hair blown back, he looks at you mildly surprised.

“wha-” you interrupt him this time, taking advantage of his surprise by slapping a hand over his mouth.

you bring on an expression that you think is intimidating, “leave me the fuck alone, i don’t know what the hell you want but i’m not taking you back”

he scoffs like he has you all figured out, taking your hand off his mouth to reveal a smirk underneath. “guess mother dear will find out about your… escapades then”

smack!

you slap him across the face sharply, sound reverberating around you and leaving a tinge of red on his cheek. his mouth gapes as he looks back at you even more surprised, what happened to the mild mannered girl who he had cheated on dated?

“release those anywhere and i will fuck up your life asshole” you fume, hand still in the air as if to threaten him for another slap. “you’re the one that decided to cheat on me with every girl we knew. fucking own up to it”

you were sick of his shit, who did he think he was? you huff out a quiet fuck off as you pass him, shoulder bumping against his. as soon as you rounded the corner you sprint to a nearby parked cab, slamming the door on your way in.

“to the university dorms please”

yandere cheater runs after you too late, rounding the corner as you take off in the cab. poor baby, you were still hung up on him cheating? he didn’t even really like those girls anyway, they weren’t good for anything except their bodies.

but you, you were it for him. he’d do anything to see your cute smile again, to see you whimper on his cock. he felt his swollen cheek, your anger may come in the way of him proving his love, but you’d understand in the end. how deep his love ran. all he had to do was prove was that those girls meant nothing.

two weeks had passed, two long peaceful weeks. your ex finally seemed to give up, the barrage of text messages and calls diminishing to radio silence and constant gifts at your doorstep suddenly stopping. maybe you were more intimidating than you thought.

the second you got home after the encounter, you had called your mother and explained everything. although she did yell at you for a solid hour due her disappointment in you sending out explicit photos of yourself, she understood your situation. after giving her instructions on blocking your ex if he tried to reach out to her you were finally at a peace of mind. at a zen. maybe you could turn a new leaf, you deserved it.

of course you had fucking jinxed it, just when you finally thought it was all over, your ex had tried to force himself back in your life again. deep down, you knew he wouldn’t give up that easy. he’d always be stubborn to a fault.

two weeks after the encounter a small navy present box appeared in from of your new dorm room door. still groggy with sleep you rubbed your eyes and picked up the box, bringing it inside. after contemplating for a minute, you finally decide to open it. in your sleep ridden state, you reasoned that it was probably something you’d left behind at your ex’s house.

it takes a minute to register the contents of the box, but when you do

“OH MY GOD”

you scream and stumble back.

two bloodshot green- brown eyes were pressed into the shiny white silk inside, the area around them a tinge of red. that alone could be passed off as a cruel prank by some immature students but the unmistakable metallic scent of blood lingering in the air said otherwise. that and the only other item in the plush silk: a silver bracelet with the initials ‘e.r’.

only one person you knew owned that bracelet and had those eyes, your ‘friend’ eva. but you had blocked and lost contact with her after you found her and your boyfriend together in the bathroom of the mall. there’s no way she would have just lost this bracelet either, you remembered her bragging about how it was permanent. being soldering together around her hand.

you were nauseous. oh god. you knew it was him, you just knew. sure you hated her but you didn’t want her to die. what the hell, what the fuck do you even do?

before you could think you grabbed your phone calling the only person you could think of.

“can you come over quick, please?”

20 minutes later a dark haired man rushed in through your front door, spotting you curled up in the corner. your eyes wide and still staring at the open box.

“(y/n) what’s going on?” he asks softly, approaching you slowly. you just point to the box and he takes a peek, immediately slapping a hand over his mouth as his eyes shoot open “fucking hell…”

you turn to him, eyes teary “ray what do we do?”

ray was your one real friend through everything your ex put you through, and ironically your ex’s older brother. he was one that introduced you to your ex and thus he blamed himself for letting him hurt you, even though you’d reassured him that you didn’t find him at any fault.

he was reliable and kind, a shoulder to lean on when things got tough. you’d known him for almost two years longer than your ex and honestly if you didn’t meet your ex, the small crash you harbored for ray may have grown. after you met you ex you assumed that your feelings for ray had naturally died out but you couldn’t lie about the strange biting feeling in your chest whenever you saw him.

and even now he was talking care of you, taking you to the police station to talk to the police and turning in the bloody present. a few hours later you both were back in your dorm, sitting on the edge of your bed as you discussed the situation.

“look i really appreciate all this, you didn’t have to come with me to the station”

he smiles, “anytime (y/n), if it’s for you”

you smile back, face a little warm from his answer “that’s sweet”

he moves a little closer, your pinkies now you touching. “you’re sweeter, my asshole brother doesn’t know what he missed out on.” and you swear that you see his eyes flicker to your lips.

“really?” you ask coyly, leaning in slightly.

he nods slightly hesitant “if i had a girlfriend like you i wouldn’t dare disrespect her like that, i-i mean you’re thoughtful and pretty and-” he gets cut off as you lean up and press your lips to his. he immediately freezes up and you take his response as rejection, pulling away. fuck, he was obviously just being nice who even likes their brothers ex?

“i’m so sorry i though-” before you can finish apologizing ray’s lips smash onto yours, one of his hands in your hair to pull you closer and the other guiding your lips to his by your chin. in between heated kisses he mumbles,

“god i was waiting for so long,” a kiss.

“prettiest girl i’ve ever met” another heated kiss. his words of longing slur as he continues to kiss you, pulling you ever closer. his plush lips trail down your neck and to your stomach, slender hand playing at your waistband. his hooded eyes look up at you as his other hand wanders under your shirt. “can i?”

you give him a shy nod and he smiles, pulling down your pajama shorts to reveal white cotton panties. you cover your face with your arm out of embarrassment and he reaches out, keeping your arm down.

“wann’ see your pretty face, waited for it” you nod meekly and he flashes his dimples, continuing to pull down your panties and throw them somewhere behind him. your cute cunt, glistening with arousal was right in front of his face. fuck. gliding a finger up the slit, he watches as the slick from your pussy coats it. fuck.

an hour later he was in heaven, or at least you felt like it. buried deep inside your wet cunt as you moaned and squirmed under him

“ngh- fuck, so good fa’ me baby”

this was the stuff of wet dreams. he speeds up as he feels his orgasm approaching, praises and grunts slipping from his lips as he slams his hips against yours. soft skin against muscle, hot breath on your face from where he was above you. finally he pulls out with groan, wanting to stay buried in your warm. spurts of warm cum shoot up your stomach as he finally finishes.

ray collapses beside you, both of you sweaty and nude as you bathe in the afterglow. weakly, you smile at his tired form as you close your eyes, drifting to sleep in your warm bed.

bang!

you wake up with a start, wearing a shirt too big to be yours. must be ray’s. you look around the dim room and reach for ray, feeling nothing in the space next to your body. did ray… leave? that couldn’t be right. your bare feet hit the wood floor as you step towards your lamp and turn on the light. nothing.

you look around the bedroom and then head to the kitchen, turning the corner and switching on the light. immediately the kitchen floods with light and you gasp. the floor was tracked with blood, a trail leading from where you stood to your bathroom. was he hurt?! you cautiously approach the bathroom, a sharp metallic scent dominates your nose as push open the half open door.

“took a while to wake up didn’t you sleepyhead?”

your blood runs cold. it was your ex boyfriend. if the crazed grin in his face wasn’t unsettling enough the blood smearing on his cheek and splattered across his body sent alarms going off inside you. looking behind him you see the source of all the red.

ray. deep cuts run down his body, clothes shredded, and body half submerged in the now murky red water of the tub. on the tile floor next to him was your kitchen knife, covered in blood. without missing a beat you turned and sprinted to your bed stand, searching for your phone. there’s no way you would make it to the door in time, you needed to call the police and at least save ray.

haphazardly searching your bed and nightstand, you still can’t find your phone. where is it?

“oh lookin’ for your phone?” you turn to him. in his hand was the aforementioned object, light pink case looking uncharacteristically cute opposed to his blood-ridden form. “you’re a pretty deep sleeper hon, i mean i was rummaging around right next to you for this and you didn’t even hear”

“what are you doing raph?” you ask terrified, slowly inching away from him.

in response he approaches you, “what do you think? my girl runs off on me and the next time i see her she’s fucking my brother. you tryna make me jealous baby?” he leans in, expression seemingly amused but you knew better. he was pissed.

“and you’re wearing his shirt too” his large hand plays with the round collar of the tee, fingers ghosting over your collarbones.

“take it off”

eyes wide, you look up at him, “no i won-”

“take it off or he dies” raph’s face is dead serious, no traces of amusement left, stare burning into your face. “you want him to live right? i’ll call the police as long as you take it off”

you hesitate then slowly peel off ray’s shirt, letting it fall to the floor. raph had seen your body before right? it was a small price to pay for saving rays life. the action left you in only your cotton panties as you tried to preserve your modesty with your hands.

raph lets out a low whistle and steps forward, pulling you closer by the curve of your waist. chucking as you shiver due to his cold touch

“already forgot i feel baby? might needa reteach ya”

you look away from him, refusing to see the smug expression playing on his face.

at that moment you felt a wave of self hatred crash over you, why couldn’t you do anything about this? were you so weak that you couldn’t protect yourself, much less ray? but who were you kidding, you weren’t faster or stronger than raph. there’s no way you could get out of this situation with both of you alive without giving into raph.

raph places a rough hand at your jaw, forcing you to look at him. unlike his brother his touch was demanding and rash, the only purpose of it being to prove that you were still his silly girl. no matter how hard you tried to run away.

he coos at your troubled expression “where’s all that fire from before huh?” he grins at your submissive state, the one that he caused. “i’ll be nice, put your own clothes on. quick.”

was he playing with you? you take a look at ray’s shirt on the floor and then approach your closet under a guise of calmness, but a look at your shaking hands would disprove your confidence. putting on a bra, followed by a bottom and a top, then outer wear. anything to put more layers between you and him.

a look up at him reveals that he was already looking at you, probably to stop you from pulling another trick on him. he leans down to whisper in your ear but instead decides to press his face into your neck, inhaling the sweet smell. he mutters, face still in your hair “god i missed you” the sincere tone in his voice scared you the most.

he pulls away, expression distant and somewhat melancholy. “you know if you acted like a good girl from the beginning i wouldn’t have to do this”

before you can question him, his open right hand presses against your face, hard. the other hand supports your head to stop you from pulling away, body trapped. the bitter smell of something pressed on the tissue between your face and his hand floods your senses.

for the second time that night all your senses dull, and everything goes dark.

a/n: i know i know you guys wanted reader to get away from him! i just though this was more interesting then the reader getting back at raph and getting away with it. i like to make my yanderes stubborn loll. hope you liked the twist might write a part 3 ^^

[enhard]

park sunghoon — “code red”

let it fall, call it code red

: you send your boyfriend some risky photos, knowing he’s about to perform in front of thousands. the punishment you’ll get is well deserved.

pairing: bf!p.sh x fem!reader

cw: smut, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions about multiple rounds, sunghoon using your body for his own pleasure, he ties up your hands, degrading kink, hair pulling, slight masturbating, sending explicit photos and texts, lots of teasing.

not proofread, enjoy! (MDNI)

it’s been an hour ever since you kissed your boyfriend goodbye, wishing him luck at his upcoming concert. an hour ever since you couldn’t stop thinking about him, closing your eyes just to imagine him being right there between your legs.

you’re laying down on your bed, the need to touch him sinking you in the mattress. you sit up to look into the mirror that’s by the bed, deciding to tease him a bit.

you know that he’s with his members right now, having to perform any second.

you keep looking at your body in the mirror, lifting your undershirt just enough to show your abdomen. you take off your shorts, leaving yourself in your panties.

biting your lip, you open your camera app. you lay back down in your bed to take a few pics from the neck down. your boobs sit so nicely for the picture, almost like knowing you’re taking them for your love.

after you take some pics, even a short video for you holding your phone up with your right hand while running your left hand all over your body. you slightly smile and the camera picks it up perfectly for him.

you squeeze your thighs together, starting to grind on your own panties while thinking about him again.

you quickly open up the texting app, seeing that he was active 2 minutes ago. “perfect” you mumble to yourself, letting out small sounds as you’re squeezing your thighs tighter.

you send him a little text first, to see if he’d reply in the first place.

hey baby are you still backstage?

heyy my love yeah im still here, they’re delaying the concert a few minutes lol. what’s up?

oh if he knew right there.

mm i’m glad then, i miss you alreadyyy 😓

🫣 what do you mean by that darling?

and then you just go for it. you smile as you send him one photo of the ones you took, along with that short video. the blinding red led light hovering over your skin.

as soon as he sees the photos, he covers his phone screen to not leak it to anybody by accident.

he gulps, examining every part of your body visible. oh how he wishes he could throw kisses all over your pretty body. he hates what you’re doing to him but oh how much he loves how hot you look for him.

he can feel his bulge getting harder with each passing second staring at the material you sent him, looking down and cursing under his breath.

he immediately texts you back, struggling already.

you fucking slut, you got me hard already how am i supposed to perform now?

you smile even harder at his text, travelling your hand down to your panties just to rub yourself. you want him inside you badly, but teasing him is equally as fun.

letm help u get rid of it go smwhere whereno one can see u ;)

i don’t have time, if i get caught you’re so dead whore. i’m coming home right after this but why are you typing so weird all of a sudden?

ifs hard typingwuth one hand love 😜

oh you have no idea what you’re doing to me right now. when did i let you touch yourself? you’ll see what will happen when i get home. you better be all ready cause you’re not going down easy.

you don’t get to even text back, cause you get another few ones from him.

fuck i need to perform now

you’re getting punished when i get home

ill fuck you so good you’ll need me all the time from now on

you better not cum until i get home

you close your eyes, replaying his texts in your mind on repeat as you rub your panties faster. you keep his promise on not cumming, figuring you already pissed him off enough already.

your nipples get hard from the cold air coming from the open window. you get such heat in your stomach you can’t tame, only way you can tame it now is by letting sunghoon do whatever he wants to you.

you wonder the whole time how he performed with a boner but he did quite well, hiding it as well as he could. of course all he could think about was you.. those photos you sent floating in his mind on loop.

he forgot a few lyrics here and there being too preoccupied remembering the curves on your body he loved so much. how he was going to trace his fingers over every bump and curve on it.

feels like hours passed since his concert started, but the concert’s duration was only an hour, way shorter than the usual concerts he holds.

when they were done performing, backstage he quickly changed his clothes and took his things to run home. he didn’t even care enough to greet his members, all he wanted was you.

when you hear the front door open, you almost squeal out of excitement. you fix up your hair a bit, covering yourself with the blanket on your bed.

he drops all his things just to burst through the bedroom.

he eyes you up and down, his gaze changing suddenly when he sees you.

he walks over to you, already talking his jacket off.

“let me give you what you want love, you deserve it.” he growls, dragging you out of bed. your body gets exposed to him like this, and he can’t help but run his hands all over you. he picks you up just to squeeze you between him and the wall. you feel his hard cock against your panties as he’s smirking.

you grab onto the collar of his shirt, whining at him. “pleaseee fuck me already. i was a good girl, i didn’t cum yet.” you feel proud of yourself, and he gives you a kiss for that.

“you are a good girl, but not good enough for me not to punish you. know that right?” you nod. but you don’t mind. you wrap your arms around his neck, hoping for the best.

he throws you back onto the bed, getting on top of you. he doesn’t hesitate taking off his shirt while smiling at you. he leans in for another kiss before running his hands up your undershirt to cup your breasts. he plays with them, tugging on your nipples and pinching your skin. you know how much he loves them, and you love when he plays with them. then he just takes off your undershirt, wanting to see them in their glory.

you try reaching to touch his abs, but he quickly takes off his belt to tie your hands above your head with it. you look at him while pouting but he doesn’t buy any of it.

“no pouting and no touching slut, this is what you get. next time watch what you do.” you nod, looking down.

as he’s about to take your panties off, he notices how wet you are, scoffing.

“talk about me being hard, look at you slut. you’re so wet just for me.. that’s how i love it.” he chuckles, sliding them off you too easily.

he parts your legs, rubbing your pussy a bit before inserting his fingers inside you.

you instantly moan, bouncing up and down trying to move around on his fingers.

he slaps your pussy, making you stop. “did i tell you to do that? oh you’re getting on my nerves whore. sit still before i have to tie you up whole.”

you gulp, apologising in a sweet voice. “im sorry.. daddy.” he clicks his tongue. “that’s better. keep your legs open for me.” he takes his fingers out of you, leaving such emptiness within you.

he takes off his pants and boxers in one move.

he’s way too needy to waste time right now, but he’s down to teasing you any time.

he starts fisting his cock, right with you watching with your legs open. he gives himself deep strokes, groaning a bit with each one. you’re sitting there craving his cock too bad to be cutting with this right now. you start doing what you’re best at, whining.

“what are you doing… please fuck me alreadyyyy i feel way better than your hand pleaseee..” you’re pathetic whining and begging like that, but it does the job in convincing him.

without saying a word, he shoves it all inside you. he doesn’t give you any time to adjust, making you scream out of frustration.

“you stretched yourself enough with your fingers thinking about me, be quiet before i make you keep your mouth closed.”

you try keeping quiet as he’s thrusting into you at whatever pace he wants, moaning every few thrusts. the heat in your stomach gets more and more unbearable, you let out small noises and he’s fine with that.

“you’re such.. a slut..begging me.. to fuck you.. you’re all mine.” you nod frantically.

“..i’m all yours… only yours.. fuck daddy pleaseee..”

he picks his pace up upon hearing the new nickname you chose again, pulling at your hair little by little.

you clench around him as you’re about to cum and he keeps your legs wide open, grabbing them harder. “let me.. make you cum pretty girl..”

and you do just that, you furrow your eyebrows as you cum all over him. all over his abs and the covers.

he hisses as you’re cumming, enjoying your quiet moans.

he leans in to rest his head in the crook of your neck, fucking into you even faster than before.

you wrap your legs around him, expecting for him to cum soon.

you’re right, and without saying a word he’s convinced you’re letting him cum inside you.

he thrusts into you a few more times before letting out a moan as he’s cumming in you filling you up.

you roll your eyes back, enjoying the feeling too badly.

after a bit he sits up, making you sit on his lap. your arms still tied, you give him a kiss.

“i’ll use you the whole night you whore, you’ll regret sending those pictures.” he says in a low voice.

you’re willing to let him use you, this was your reasoning on why those photos exist. you want him to use you, knowing that you give him more pleasure than anyone could.

you just smile, knowing your plan worked.

“use me up, cum inside me just how you love it. until you stop seeing red.”

[brazilian-girl02]

~ Vlogger!Reader and Future yandere!Batfamily Part: 2 ~

Warning: This is where some yandere stuff shows up.

🦇 It was another normal day at Wayne Manor. Tim was walking to the kitchen to get one, or maybe the fourth, cup of coffee;

🦇 He arrived in the kitchen and noticed the absence of the butler Alfred, as well as an old notebook on top of the kitchen island. curious, he turns on the notebook and an email addressed to Alfred appears on the screen;

-dear Alf... It's been two years since we've seen each other in person, two years since our last book club meeting and without your wonderful tea. I came here to say that everything is going well with my studies and I am adapting well in (city of your choice). and I continue to post my videos, I know you watch them, but anyway, I hope you come visit me one day. a big hug, {You}

🦇 Tim read the email again and again.... "who are {you}?" he asked himself as he went to his room. Once there he started going through the files and even found his college's files;

🦇 Tim was so immersed in taking in every piece of information that he didn't notice that someone was at the door watching him;

🦇 it was Bruce... they started talking and Tim asked incessant questions about you, but Bruce had no answer. soon Alfred appears, he accompanies Tim to your old room, with a mournful Bruce behind;

🦇 When they got to their old room, the walls were your favorite color but in a more worn tone and an old computer on the desk. Tim quickly stops the computer to search it;

🦇 while Bruce looked around the room in a daze, how he forgot about you, and soon he started searching the closet and with an Alfred watching;

🦇 At dinner, Tim was very focused on watching his videos, which he discovered by searching the room's computer. Dick asked him what he was watching and Tim started pouring information about you, sparking curiosity in the others, except Alfred;

🦇 Dick started watching all the videos almost religiously and he always comments on all the videos. If you have a public mailbox on your social network, it will certainly send Nightwing merchandise;

🦇Jason, I would read any book you recommended or appear reading in a photo or video... perhaps you noticed that classic books and a box set of Jane Austen's works mysteriously appeared in your apartment;

🦇Tim has scoured every corner of the Internet looking for information about you, from your Amazon account to an old social media account you no longer use. Maybe he hacked your phone and cameras from places you frequent;

🦇 Barbara would be a little like Tim, but in a milder way. if you have a disability of any kind, you can be sure that she would have researched it, perhaps she would have become a little more protective;

🦇 Cass was happy to be able to watch your videos, she even started to have some of her quirks that she sees in the videos. If you practice some dance, she will definitely improve in that dance while dreaming of doing a ballet duet with you;

🦇 Stephanie is so excited to have someone to share trends and memes with. if you are part of a specific fashion style or subculture, she will research everything about it, from the clothes to the political or historical views of it;

🦇 Duke is surprised how the others didn't notice you, he watches your video game reviews and plays them from start to finish. I hope you notice your energy bill dropping suddenly;

🦇 Now there is a very thoughtful Damian, how could you hide from him for so long. he wonders if you would like to paint with him or if you have a pet, he would love to introduce you to his clan of animals;

🦇 Bruce pondered many things. he really loves you, don't get him wrong but his duties as Batman were a property and he wasn't sure how to approach a civilian like you, his beloved daughter. but rest assured that he will protect you... so don't worry that he has researched everything about your friends and girlfriend, after all it is for your safety;

🦇Alfred is pleased, they finally noticed the amazing girl he created and maybe you'll come home;

-Don't worry Young Miss, soon everyone will be paying attention to you like you always dreamed of.

----------------------------------------------------------

This is chapter 2, I hope you all like it. And yes, my Barbara have a wheelchair. kisses

part 1:

[goldnnavy]

Here's some photos from my visit to the fine lady, the USS Constitution. She was so much bigger than I had previously thought, and even more beautiful than the photos.

[racew1nn3rs]

─ 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘪. (𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦) 🍊

⤷ summary: saudi arabian and australian grands prix happen! y/n starts making vlogs for the races and it reveals more about her and a certain driver's feelings than she hoped, not that she notices. poor oscar's stuck in the middle of it all but he's trying his best!

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liked by f1, landonorris, and 55,007 others

tagged landonorris and oscarpiastri

mclaren saudi arabia, you were beautiful even if the results weren't! ready for what's to come

12,567 comments

user1 admin not using a single nice photo of the drivers 😭

user2 admin be honest is this your revenge era

mclaren well, yes!

user3 HELP MEEEE

user4 the way lando looks at her 😭

user5 this is a place of business

user6 oscar looks petrified 💀

mclaren dw guys we're still training him!

oscarpiastri wtf why would u say it like that, i'm not a dog

mclaren full-time team mascot, part time driver

user7 admin drop the insta your so pretty 😭😭

user8 no literally, content of her WHERE

mclaren ynusername 🤲🏼

user9 LETS FUCKING GO

user10 HER DISSING HER OWN TEAM 💀 THEY'RE GONNA FIRE YOU GIRL

mclaren they don't pay me to LIE

user11 CRAZYY

user12 LANDO IS NEVER GETTING A GOOD PIC EVER AGAIN 😭

mclaren what can i say, i am no mans peace 🥱

user13 icon

landonorris reporting you to hr

mclaren for what

landonorris idk harrassment or something

mclaren ok keyboard warrior, lets calm down 💀

user14 KEYBOARD WARRIOR HELEPSJSM

user15 i vote admin just takes over and we don't even get driver pictures

user16 real and true

user17 i fear we may have lost the plot

user18 thoughts on today's results

mclaren i'm trying to be positive in general but man

user19 LMAOOOOO

user20 ik the pr department is shaking in their boots after every post notif

mclaren probably! but unfortunately for everyone, i am going to keep doing whatever i want

user21 no more lando beef, mclaren admin?

mclaren i forget but i never forgive. i forgot why we were fighting but i stay hating bitches 🥱

landonorris literally WHAT DID I DO

mclaren IDK BUT IK U PISSED ME OFF 🫵

oscarpiastri diabolical photo choice

oscarpiastri i look like a little kid on picture day

mclaren so basically your everyday look

oscarpiastri yk what you are making this work environment very hostile

mclaren i can make it more hostile if you want 🤨

oscarpiastri nevermind!!!

maxfewtrell most flattering lando picture i've seen in years

mclaren that's saying something isn't it 🤩

user22 i went to haterville and they all knew you admin

mclaren they actually just elected me mayor there!!! 💪🏻

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liked by bsfusername, landonorris, and 17,800 others

ynusername if my admin duties don't kill me, i promise my caffeine addiction will! (:

3,422 comments

user23 be honest, how many coffees have you had today

ynusername 3!

user24 oh that's not that bad

ynusername +5

user24 JESUS CHRSUT

bsfusername at this point i think meth would be healthier

ynusername honestly yeah

ynusername thanks for the suggestion!!

user25 nooo admin don't do meth ur so sexy aha

ynusername that just made me want to do meth more

landonorris so what i'm hearing is buying you an espresso machine would get me in your good graces 😇

user26 oh brother here he goes

ynusername you must be deaf then

landonorris 😔 2 espresso machines?

ynusername i don't want ur dirty espresso machines 🙄

oscarpiastri now what car is that 🫵

ynusername SHHHHH

oscarpiastri TRAITOR

bsf2username when your not busy being super sexy on a race track, can we go thrifting and get sweetgreen and overpriced coffee 🙏🏼🙏🏼

ynusername this could've been an email, get this out of my comments 💀

ynusername but yeah obviously

user27 admin vlogs when 😔

ynusername SOON!!! very very soon

user28 mother feeding us once again

ynusername brb, adding single mom who works two jobs, loves her kids, and never stops to my resume

danielricciardo coffee recipe where?

ynusername in your dms now ‼️

danielricciardo is this flirting

ynusername no if i was flirting i would've told you to ask me in person, i'm just being charitable

landonorris can i get the coffee recipe too then 🤲🏼

ynusername wdy want next, my mugs? keep on walking charity case

user29 CHARITY CASE IS CRAZYDFHAJ

user30 she's so effortlessly funny and mean i love her

user31 i feel like this is so unprofessional /:

ynusername babe professional where, you are on??? my personal?? account???

user32 maybe she's born with it, maybe it's the fact that she's consumed enough caffeine to tranquelize a horse

user33 oh please the horse would be dead

ynusername call an ambulance, BUT NOT FOR ME ‼️💪🏻🗣️

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ynusername posted to story!

(caption: melbourne vlog out now on youtube, go watch!!)

15,221 replies

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would you like to watch? yes or no

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"This thing better be working," could be heard slightly muffled in between vague shuffling sounds. After a second or two of incoherent noise, the camera footage finally came on. Y/N smiled at herself in the camera as the recording light blinked to life, and raised her hand victoriously. She grabbed the smile microphone in front of her and laughed, "It looks like everything is working. Thank God, I wouldn't have known how to fix it otherwise."

"Alright everybody, welcome to the first race weekend vlog hosted by me! Your favorite McLaren admin and social manager. It took me forever to figure out how I wanted to go about this, but now I think I settled on a format that will work," She explained as she walked around the small, clean kitchen that was within frame of the camera. She pulled a glass jar out of her cabinets and left it on the counter before pulling a jug of cold brew and a cartridge of milk out of her fridge.

"It is currently 7:30 A.M on March 29th, and I have a flight to Melbourne in 3 hours. I'm already packed and ready for this weekend, but I wanted to get an introduction filmed and I wanted to take a shower before I left." Y/N paused for a moment as she poured the coffee into her mason jar until she seemed satisfied and began to add some milk. "I am totally exhausted so this is probably cup one of like," she laughed, "I don't know seven probably. And this is a pretty big jar I won't lie."

"The race weekend doesn't technically start until Friday, so I'll be getting there a bit early, but I wanted to film some content before the race weekend gets really hectic, so McLaren is sending me a little bit earlier. I'm excited though! I love the heat, even if I live in London the antithesis of Australian weather," she taste-tested her coffee and hummed in delight.

"God I really never miss with this stuff," she said contently. "Anyway, it's a bit of an early start today, but I'll have plenty of time to sleep on the fight. I mean can you believe that London to Melbourne is a nearly 22 hours," she scoffed. "I vote that we start making all of the races in one place so I don't have to feel jet lag more painful than the force of 1,000 suns every other weekend. Not that I'm complaining," she chuckled awkwardly, "I love my job McLaren please don't fire me."

Abruptly an orange tabby cat came into the frame of the camera, causing Y/N to abruptly grab her glass jar in the hopes of avoiding a mess. She gasped, but laughed as the cat scampered off as quickly as it had come. She shook her head fondly.

"That, ladies and gentleman, was Cali! My cat. She's literally my baby, and I love her more than anything else on this earth. However, she does have an affinity for hitting things off of counters and breaking them. She also hates men and nearly all other animals, so she's basically the world's biggest hazard to society. She's a good girl, I love her." Y/N explained between sips of coffee as she stared wistfully past the the frame of the camera, where it could be assumed Cali had gone.

Abruptly an alarm went off and Y/N threw her head back with a groan.

"That means I have to get in the shower and get ready so I can leave on time," she said, before taking a few more sips of coffee. "I'm going to go do that, and the next time you'll hear my beautiful voice will be at the Melbourne Airport! Cue the travel montage!"

An assortment of clips follow. Y/N is seen dragging her luggage through Heathrow Airport. Y/N is seen ordering another coffee at the airport, finishing the coffee, and ordering another before her flight. Y/N is seen responding to emails from her airplane seat, editing video footage, and responding to instragram and twitter comments. Footage is shown outside the plane window of a cloudy, blue sky and a time lapse is shown as the sky grows beautiful shades of pink and red before becoming a starry-night sky. Y/N is seen cozy in a throw blanket and a travel pillow, presumably asleep with headphones on. Y/N is shown pulling her luggage through the airport once again, with a brand new coffee cup in hand. She smiles, taking a sip before she is seen settled down in a seat in the bustling airport.

"Twenty-two or so hours later and I have finally landed in Melbourne. I'm waiting for my Uber to get here so I can finally be taken to my hotel to drop my stuff off. I have a meeting with the McLaren drivers in two hours, but luckily I slept really well on the plane. I don't know how else I would be able to deal with Lando Norris. I'm going to finish this coffee in order to maximize my tolerance for the next few hours, but I suspect I'll be getting a new coffee before I reach that meeting. My addiction truly knows no bounds," she laughs, trying to ignore the people vaguely shown within frame that are staring at her speaking to a camera.

The camera cuts abruptly and the waiting screen from SpongeBob flashes on the screen, including the narrator's voice reading "2 hours later."

Y/N is shown once again in new clothes, a new coffee cup in hand, and luggage replaced by a small canvas bag. Her comfortable plane clothes have been swapped out for jean shorts and a plain white tank-top. Her hair is clipped back out of her face, and she is adorned with simple gold jewelry and light makeup.

Y/N smiles at the camera as she walks, bustling and talking heard around her, before whispering into the small microphone, "I have arrived at the McLaren garage. It is now time to meet with Lord Lando and workplace mascot Oscar Piastri," the titles slip off her tongue sarcastically and she doesn't bother suppressing an eye-roll.

In the next clip, Oscar and Lando are seen seated on either side of her as they sit in what seems like a board-room. Lando leans over and whispers something that the camera doesn't pick up and Oscar laughs while Y/N grimaces and reaches forward to readjust the camera. When the camera comes back on, Lando and Oscar are seated together on the left of Y/N as she faces on angle toward both them and the camera.

"Don't just sit there and look pretty, say hello to the camera boys," Y/N says and Oscar cackles at the disgruntled look on Lando's face.

"Is that your way of calling me pretty Y/N," Lando chokes out between laughs, and Y/N scoffs with an eye-roll.

"I was actually talking about Oscar, but whatever floats your little papaya boat Norris," Y/N deadpans and Oscar doubles over from the force of his laughter at the pout on Lando's face.

"That's not nice at all, I hope you know that. I think I am sitting here very prettily, thank you very much," Lando says, leaning into the girl next to him to speak into her microphone.

Y/N draws the microphone back, swatting him away, "Yes, yes quite prettily," Y/N mocks in a British accent.

Oscar, still trying to recover, joins in, "Pretty little Lando Norris," and Y/N laughs jovially, reaching across Lando as if the boy weren't there to high-five the Austrialian driver.

"Bullies, the lot of you," Lando mumbles and Y/N brushes off his comment without response before finally facing the camera.

"Anyway, welcome to the first McLaren race weekend vlog. I'm Y/N L/N, the best media manager in the whole god damn world, and this is Lando Norris, the biggest pain in my ass, and Oscar Piastri, the second biggest pain in my ass. How are you feeling about Melbourne boys?" Y/N questions, transitioning smoothly much to the British driver's chagrin.

"Feeling proud to be the second biggest pain in the ass and not the first. Probably the only time i've been glad to get second actually," Oscar comments and Y/N laughs as Lando shakes his head in disappointment.

"But in all seriousness it is good to be home, this is easily my favorite race of the year seeing as it's my home race and i'm looking forward to, hopefully, good results from our team," Oscar supplies and Y/N nods along to his words.

"Yes, Australia, we are in you and we are happy about it," both boys choked out a laugh at the manager's sexual innuendo and Oscar quickly covered his mouth with his hand so as not to react too much. "What about you Lando what are you feeling," Y/N questioned, leaning the small microphone to the boy.

"Feeling like that was a stupid joke. And also like I am going to be getting P1 this weekend. I can feel it in my bones."

"Leave my jokes alone Lando, you're not being paid to be a critic," she scoffed, "and if I recall, you said the same thing in Saudi Arabia not that long ago. What's changed now?"

Lando rolled his eyes, "What's changed is that we're in Australia now and I'm feeling much more confident."

"Well thank god for that," Y/N supplied unhelpfully as Oscar laughed.

"Now, what we really came here for, it's time to film a video for this channel, it's going to be a fan Q and A, I picked the questions. By the time this vlog is up, the QnA should've already been posted. So feel free to stop watching this and to go watch that or whatever," Y/N commented. "After that we're going to film a TikTok challenge," both and Lando and Oscar grimaced, but Y/N ignored their dismay at the idea of fiming yet another TikTok, so cue the montage! Filming time!" Y/N exclaimed and the screen transitioned to a new series of clips.

In the first clip Oscar and Lando were sitting in two chairs while Y/N sat across from them with a set of notecards.

"Lando, this question from user "ln4mania" asks, "Are you and admin actually friends? Or is the online beef real? The people demand answers!" Y/N reads off with a laugh.

"Do you hear that, the people demand answers Lando! Don't keep them waiting!" Oscar and Y/N laugh as Lando shakes his head and tucks his face into his hands.

"There is no beef, guys. Me and admin, or rather me and Y/N are just fine. We hadn't even actually met when that happened," Lando supplied between laughs. Y/N looked at the camera and rolled her eyes with a shake of her head, faux-disagreeing with the boy.

She ignored the simmering pit of disappointment in her stomach. She did in fact have a problem with entitled little Lando Norris who still gave her side-eyed looks and judgmental stares whenever he saw her. If that wasn't humiliating enough, Oscar had clearly noticed it too, which just gave Y/N the feeling that she wasn't being taken seriously at all now that Oscar understood Lando's lack of respect for Y/N. However that didn't matter in the current moment. All that mattered was making this video.

The next clip showed Lando and Oscar sitting at a table with bowls of water in front of them and towels strewn across a chair just within frame of the camera. Y/N stood behind them, hands rested in their hair as she reacted to the prompts being read by someone, an unnamed media intern, off-camera.

"Who is harder to make videos with?" The intern asked and Y/N huffed out a laugh as she let her hands fully grasp Lando's curls and push him into the water quickly. He sputtered, trying to blink the water out of his eyes as Y/N laughed at the wet-puppy dog look he was sporting.

Y/N tried to shake the ridiculous desire to let her hands run through the soft curls underneath her finger tips. Curse Lando and whatever stupidly good, rich-person hair routine he used that made him smell good and look good, and... whatever.

Lando, blinking water out of his eyes, was now undoubtedly certain that being damn-near waterboarded was worth it if it meant that Y/N would laugh like that again. He knew Oscar would harass him again later for being "down-bad" or something along those lines- as he had done every time he caught the man staring-, but as he caught a glimpse of Y/N's bright smile and shaking shoulders, he found he didn't really care.

The next clip showed Oscar, Lando, Y/N, and a laughing media intern as they all dried off- somehow all having become wet through the course of filming. Y/N dried herself off quickly, taking a sip of her newly refilled coffee, not seeing the way that only the camera and Oscar saw Lando stared at her until the driver was nudged back into focus on drying himself off.

A title-card once again came on the screen with white words on a photo collage of Australian grand-prix candids that Y/N had taken, reading "Race montage? More likely than you'd think."

Footage was shown of the free practice sessions. Oscar and Lando getting in and out of their cars. Engineers along the pit wall going over data. The team speaking incoherently, going over the game plan for Sunday's race. Oscar and Lando greeting fans, signing merch, and posing for photos. Y/N smiling and waving at a cheering crowd of people before staring at the camera incredulously with a small caption reading: "Omg she's famous your honor". More clips showed Lando laughing as Oscar tossed grapes and Lando moved to catch them with his mouth. Lando nearly choking as Y/N cackled in the background. Multiple clips showing Y/N with a fresh coffee, and another... and another, as Oscar's face in the background grew with concern. Zak Brown explaining to Y/N the dangers of caffeine overdose, and the need for moderation. Y/N explaining to Zak Brown that without coffee she would simply collapse and die, which the camera showed did nothing to ease her concern. Y/N getting caps signed by the drivers for fans and walking away with intricate friendship bracelets decorating her wrists.

And finally footage of the race. The engineers in the garage. The pit-crew changing tires. The cars racing past as Y/N watched attentively. Footage of the crowd as they cheered when the cars whizzed past. Smiling faces of fans. Y/N's cheers as Oscar and Lando passed. The smiling faces of McLaren employees as Lando and Oscar crossed the checkered flag in P6 and P8 respectively.

Y/N accepting hugs from both drivers, ignoring the burning sensation in her stomach as Lando wrapped his arms around her with a smile and a laugh. Y/N calling Lando smelly and telling him to go wash off if he wants to hug her next time, and him rolling his eyes at her fondly before making a face at the camera. The podium celebration is shown and Y/N smiles as the anthem plays, even though it's not for her own team.

The final clip is shown of Y/N in her hotel room, comfortable in sweats as she sits on the unmade bed.

"Not bad results this week guys! P6 for Lando and P8 for Oscar, which are good points for the team. I'm happy on my end, I think we got some good content filmed, and I am now ready to go to sleep so I can get home to Cali and my own bed quicker. I hope you enjoyed this video, and if you didn't don't tell me because I don't care!" Y/N jokes with a smile.

"Hopefully I will see you all at the next race, if not the race after that! Bye papaya fans, and be sure to follow us on instagram and all of the other social platforms!" Y/N exclaimed, gesturing to the list of the social media handles that appeared on her right hand side.

And with that, the camera cut to black.

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liked by oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1, and 29,145 others

ynusername afraid to report that i fought jetlag and lost 😔 i did sleep for 25 hours straight after melbourne and i had no clue where i was when i woke up! shout out cali for waking me up 🙏🏼 best friend frl

9,547 comments

bsfusername i'm going to try not to be offended by that caption (love you bb cali) but FUCK YOU CAUSE I BOUGHT YOUR ASS BREAKFAST

ynusername my bad! s/o to that bomb ass omlette 🤩

bsfusername never doing shit for you again

user34 that vlog was god tier, how long did that take

ynusername it took 7 hours of editing and years off my life, thanks so much for asking 🥳

maxverstappen1 thanks again for those podium photos! you have a gift for photography 💪🏻

ynusername don't mention it! 👍🏼

ynusername (no seriously, mclaren might behead me)

mclaren beheading is so last year. firing squad. 🗣️

user35 not y/n threatening herself 💀

oscarpiastri suprised your body didn't naturally wake up for coffee

ynusername it did! just 25 hours later

user36 your poor cat was literally starving for a whole day? youre a horrible owner

ynusername let me introduce you to god's greatest creation: the automatic feeder!!! i'm sure they can mail one to whatever fucking rock you live under!

user37 PERIODDDD

user38 me personally? i'd never log on again

user39 she needs a personal channel 🙏🏼🙏🏼 i'd subscribe

user40 her cat is so cute 😭😭😭 gimme that

ynusername 🫵 STAY BACK HEATHEN, NO ONE TOUCHES CALI AND LIVES

user40 my bad fam 🧍🏻‍♀️

user41 i want someone to love me as much as she loves that mean ass cat

landonorris don't you have a job to be doing 💀💀 she slept through a full work day

user42 lando always on her ass and for whattttt

user43 obsessed obsessed obsessed

ynusername i had the day off! but not the guy who was streaming video games coming for me 🥱 talking bout get a job

user44 lando and y/n beefing on insta again? we're so back

user45 at this point instagram comment beef isn't enough, they need to duel or some shit

user46 the caffeine addiction almost got her guys

ynusername i wish it would, then i wouldn't have to work with lando's annoying ass

landonorris I CAN SEE YOUR COMMENTS???

ynusername THAT'S THE POINT

user47 honestly just give her a gun atp, these men test her too damn much

━━━━━━ ༻✩₊⋆☾⋆⁺✧༺ ━━━━━━

user48 NURSE 🫵 SHE'S RIGHT HERE

user49 no fr, like let's get back to bed grandma

user50 OP, are you concussed?

user51 no actually cause didn't y/n just say she wanted to khs working with him 💀💀

pastryboy81 that sign can't stop me, because i can't read!

user53 OK I ACTUALLY SEE THE VISION

user54 ARE YOUR EYES CLOSED???!1!1

user55 i fear i totally get it 😔

user56 it's giving enemies to lovers, secret relationship type vibe lowkkkk

user57 no deadass like he hugged her reallll tight

user58 she also hugged oscar 😭😭?? and he has a whole gf

user59 the way she shoved him off and told him he reeked not 5 seconds after 💀 delusion is a disease yall

user60 someone call the f1 gossip pages cause 😗

user61 more like someone call the ward cause somethings real off with yall 🤨

━━━━━━ ༻✩₊⋆☾⋆⁺✧༺ ━━━━━━

━━━━━━ ༻✩₊⋆☾⋆⁺✧༺ ━━━━━━

sorry that this update took forever, i had surgery and recovery has been rougher than i expected! hope you enjoy!!

please leave your thoughts in the comments and feel free to drop a request for your fav in my asks <3

-

𝙩𝙖𝙜 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

@lemon-lav @slutforpopculture @m4rt10ne @urfavsgf @sadsierra2 @96jnie @sltwins @poppyflower-22 @alliumiae @livelovesports @liberty-barnes @the-holy-trinity-l @iliwyss @awritingtree @redpool @elliotts1one @velentine @chaoticmessneutralplease @5sospenguinqueen @charizznorizz @2pagenumb @mxdi0 @cwiphswmwasohmm @tremendousstarlighttragedy @lnspipedrm @itseightbeats @tinycoffeeroom @woozarts @personwhoisther @a-beaverhausen @love-simon @annabellelee @ravisinghs-wife @chezmardybum @greantii @weekendlusting @monserelates @sapphiccloud @halleest @deamus-liv @gigigreens @morenofilm @laneyspaulding19 @lanireadss @dear-fifi @moldyshorts1997 @oliviarodrigostan13 @eugene-emt-roe @ilivbullyingjeongin @im-a-ghost666

[miyakiwiii]

GUESS NO ONE EVER TAUGHT YOU HOW TO BE A REAL MAN...。o○ [2]

KANG DAE HO x FEM!READER

Wylcome back sigmas.. or idk.. help

TAGS

mmm red light green light,blood, a lot of blood, uh period ahh period uh, 'IVE PLAYED THESE GAMES BEFORE' ahh gi hun, but has gore and a lot of death, spoilers, lots of hand holdinh between TWO players (guess who)

NOTE:

Heyy wassup my peeparoo's, i hope yer liking this series fic or whatevs you call it! Ilysm and ty for liking the last post! THAT WAS THE FASTEST LIKES IVE EVER RECEIVED( *・ω・)ノ TYSMM

WORD COUNT:3,560k

PREVIOUS... NEXT PART.. MASTERLIST

"That is correct." The square says. 'Hope this'll be fun, whatsoever.' I say in my thought's, focusing on the rushing things that came on my mind.

"...cool i guess, free money from playing kiddie games." I put yet again, both of my hands in my pocket's. But suddenly, a voice of an old woman was heard.

"Good heavens- excuse me." The voice echoed through the room.

A faint sound of a slap, a slap on a cloth was heard as it soon was followed by words. "You idiot-!" The old woman says.

"Mom! Wha- what are you doing here..?" The familliar voice that was heard earlier said.

"Thats what i wanted to ask you! What are you doing here!?" The old woman's voice said angrily.

"Embarassing? If you know what was embarassing, you wouldn't be here!" The old woman continued, i guess the son spoke in a whisper before that then.

"No- we wont, come on! Your leaving." The old woman said again, it appears to be that my calculations were correct, never mind im sounding like a nerd.

'Wow, family drama in such place like this is crazy, haha.' I say in my thoughts.

"Why would you bring a naive old woman here?! Will you take responsibilit if my mom collapses!? HAH?" The familliar male's voice earlier yelled out.

"yong sik- ill stay and do this, you go home.." the old woman said, now that you knew that player's name.

"Stop it! Im already here, i cant just leave!" Yong sik continues.

"But you promised me! You promised never to gamble again!" The old woman continues(i love this diva sm)

SKIPPING TO.. TAKE PICCIES.

As you were standing in line, looking at the players taking their pics as a woman on the speakers had announced something.

"Damn.. this is taking long, my feet are gonna be sore-" i sighed, but the speakers interrupt me.

"The first game will begin momentarily."

Now the line being done, you took a step as it said to you.. "smile." Yeah sure, smile for the picture or cheese?

(The picture is what i potray the reader as! But you can potray the reader however you like, or being yourself! The reader can be any race, weight, or bodyshape! As long as your enjoying it :). )

Music plays as you stood infront of the camera.

"Yeah i wont.. smile." You say, because your smile scared alot of children last time you approached them, yeesh.

You walked out of the photo booth or something ... i really dont know what its called.

The speaker spoke again.

"After having your picture taken, follow the staff's instructions and proceed to the game site." The speaker says as you slowly went up the stairs...

☆ ○o。..。o○ ☆

"Welcome to the first game, all players please wait a moment on the field." The speaker says as you stepped out, there was sand in the ground, the walls were painted like landscapes, and there was a huge hole above all of this.

But the strange thing you noticed is that..

There was a weird doll that represented a figure of a child, it wore yellow and had pigtails, "yeesh that give's me the chills." You said as the sun went to blind your eyes.

The door behind you closed, basically the door was shut behind you, automatically..

"The game is Red light, Green light." It announced.

I prepared myself as i stretched my arm's "first game, easy enough." You say with confidence as you looked at the front.

"Hey! Dont get too cocky missy." Someone said right behind you, ew.

"Nah, id win." You said, your back still facing the man that said you were too cocky, well it was a sheer boost of confidence.

"Cross the finish line in five minutes without getting caught. If you do you pass." The speaker says but suddenly- someone went upfront, it was the familliar voice that you heard earlier. "Everyone! Everyone! Pay attention!" The familliar figure waved and put his hand to deliver attention to him, wow main character energy that much.

"Listen carefully! This is not just a game! If you lose the game, you DIE!" He yelled out.

"Dying from a kid's game? Sounds awfully fake." You said, fixing your hair as strands went up to your face, looking at the.. crazy? You wouldnt call him that, Man.

"That sounds sketchy,"

"Fake"

"Hes crazy."

People spoke, as you laughed a little.

"Hey! What are you talking about?" A random woman says. "Were going to die playin' red light, green light?" The random woman questioned.

The familliar figure responded. "Of course! If they catch you moving, they will kill you! They will shoot from somewhere!" The man says.

"Sounds weird enough." You said, letting out a sigh as you moved your head again, looking at your left, you noticed... player 388 yet again. His head was tilted slightly as he listened to the man's words. Huh, cute- wait. Your only here for money not for love.

"Oh hey its you agai-" you spoke out, but the familliar figure that was in the front spoke again.

"Stay on your toes!" The familliar figure yelled out.

"Ehem, as i was saying, hello... player 388." You greeted him as he glanced at you, his lips were parted as he waved a little bit.

"Ah.. hello again uhm, player 238." He says flashing a small grin, but the familliar figure spoke again.

"If you get caught, YOU DIE! That doll's eyes are motion detectors!" The familliar figure says."Stay on your toes!"

"Well, no time for chatting i guess." I say as i spoke to player 288, he nods as we both stood silent, the tension was akward even if there were multiple people surrounding us.

"What the hell are you talking about???" A random man says. "I think he's trying to scare us so he can win the prize money!"

"Thats right!"

"I agree!"

Multiple people agreed on the man's words as we both still stood akwardly with each other.

"Dont pull any tricks, asshole!" Another guy says.

"You have to believe me!" The familliar figure says. The figure rotate's its head as the weird doll starts to move, its right hand started to raise and cover its eye. You took a deep breath and released it.

"Do not be alarmed or panic! No matter what happens, do not panic and start running!" The figure says.

"Let the game begin."

An alarm suddenly ticks as the doll finally spoke.

"Green light, red light."

You moved, and finally stop, looking at the man that did a gesture that made his arms go down.

"Freeze!" The man yelled, you focused on not moving as your feet began digging in the sand. The sun literally is interfering with this.

The doll rotated its head as its eyes began to weirdly move. 'Ew.... creppy ass doll.' You said, looking at the doll while you spoke in your thoughts.

"Well done! You just need to stay calm like this! We just have to move and stop at the same time!" The man yelled.

"Green light...." you moved fastly as you halted, the man speaking yet again.

"Freeze!" He yelled.

'Being in a jumper while being under the sun, too much coverage, but gotta handle it.' You say in your thoughts yet again.

"Dont move! Stay still! Just relax!" The man yelled.

"Green light.." you ran slowly.

"Red light." The doll chanted.

It repeated again as you took some steps, you really wished there was an AC inside this room, well.. you never experienced it anyway except when going to stores and such.

"Freeze!" The man repeatedly yelled again.

'This is getting boring not gonna lie..' you say in your thoughts again.

The doll moved its head again as you repeated it, repeat repeat repeat, even hid words were repeated.

You freezed yet again, the air hitting you lightly.

But suddenly, you heard a gunshot.

Shit.

A loud thud echoed through as you stood, now static as a heavy boulder. Then, there was a scream that followed now, people we're moving. Scarlet red coated the back of your jumper as you still stood. Not flinching from the sound at all.

Screams and gunshots continued, more blood soon dripped in the ground, wow you already got stained by someone's blood. Thats that for not knowing what will happen, also maybe consequences in the first round: getting stained by someones blood.

'Just dont move and we'll be good.' The gunshot's were still going as the man yelled again. "Freeze!" One more gunshot followed it.

"You can move forward while the tagger shouts, 'red light green light. If your movement is detected afterward, you will get eliminated."

The doll rotated its head again as you still stood.

It rotated its head for two times untill the familliar voice finally spoke again.

"You'll also die if you donr make it there in time! That doll is a motion detector! But it can't detect motion thats not visible to it!" The man signals its hand open and closed as he continues with his words. "Get behind someone bigger than you! Like your following the leader! Were running out of time! We've got to move!" You moved behind a.. familliar back with that signature small ponytail of their's.

Player 388. Huh this must be a coincidence that your almost being close to him and such.

You suddenly stumbled as you put your hand behind him.

"...sorry." you said, gripping his jumper a little to be a gesture of an apology, you noticed his hand slightly shaking, that made you feel slightly worried.

"No-nono.. its fine.. miss." He said, you can tell he was anxious suddenly.

Two gunshots were soon followed again as the doll moved its head again, getting your grip out of 388's jumper, he suddenly held your hand and ran, then stopped. His hand felt callused compared to yours, his was warm, yours was.. cold.

You were still behind him as you gulped some air.

Now, a line was now formed by individual players. Yet you still focused on.. the game and this feeling i guess.

"Do not move! Freeze!" The familliar man yelled out, but then suddenly, three thuds were heard as it was one gunshot, and the other two were shot at the same time.

The doll moved its head again and his grip on your hand tightened, running, and then stop.

One gunshot followed as he still kept you behind him, wow dude you guys arent even dating or in a relationship yet, get a grip🙏😭

As i was saying, it repeated again, the sound of the sand below crunching as there were another gunshot.

"Hey- 388, why are you holding my hand-" you questioned but he doesnt respond. He still kept holding it as you both halted again one gunshot. Two gunshot.

You two were almost near the finish line as you noticed someone stumble, now shot.

"It wasnt me. She pushed me i didnt move! It was her i didnt move!" The random man said.

A gunshot was soon followed as the familliar man cheered. "Your almost there! You can do it!"

You two were a step ahead on getting to the finish line.

You two both fell inside the finish line as you both grunted, now you were heaving, breathing for air.

"Im sorry uh- miss, i didnt mean to hold your hand." He said, holding a hand out for you to grab.

You held his hand and stood up, dusting the jumper.

"... thanks for shielding me though, i should be the one to apologize for-" he cut's you out.

"No, no its fine." He spoke. You noticed that there was three people running up to the finish line, the one in middle being injured.

The three of them ran, and now arrived at the finish line.

"By the way miss.. whats your name?" The man behind you spoke.

"I think you already heard it being announced but.. [nam-]" there was a gunshot followed as the man died inside the finish line.

You didnt speak after that, knowing it was a time to not speak.

"...[name]. It is.. im- im kang dae ho." He introduce's himself.

The sky suddenly darkens as you both look up, there was sound building up from the other players as it closed slowly.

"Players, its now time to go back to the quarters." The speaker had announced.

☆ ○o。..。o○ ☆

Now you and dae ho were facing each other even in opposite bunk beds, the silence filling both of your eardrums.

"That was..." you said.

"Not great." He said.

Both of you had said it in unison.

The door buzzed open as the pink guards showed up, walking a little bit.

You hid behind your bunk bed in instinct as they approached.

"Congratulations for making it through the first game. Here are the results of the first game." The square said.

The tv immedietly turned on, showing numbers that dropped down. "Out of 456 players, 91 players have been eliminated. 365 players have completed the first game." The square announces.

"Congratulations again for making it through the first game." The square announces.

"Sir please dont kill us!" The familliar old woman's voice begged. "Please dont kill ud im begging you! As for my son's debt, i will do whatever it takes to pay you back! Please forgive us!"

It followed other players begging for their lives, kneeling down, crying. Both you and dae ho didnt mind all of them but just exchanged eye glance's.

"We are not trying to harm you. We are presenting you an opportunity." The square says.

"Clause three of the consent forms!" The familliar man yelled out. " 'the games may be terminated upon a majority vote.' Correct?"

"That is correct." The square answered. Both you and dae ho's head were now turned into the direction of the familliar man, looking at him.

"Then let us vote right now." The man says.

"Of course. We respect your right and freedom of choice." The square continues. "But first, let me announce the prize amount thats been accumalated. "

The square clicks on the remote as the piggy bank slowly goes below along with music and sound effects.

I looked from the side of the bunk bed and stared at the won falling from a tube inside the piggy bank.

"The number of players that were eliminated were 91. Therefore,accumalates to 9.1 billion won." The square says. "If you quit the game now, the 365 of you can equally divide 9.1 billion won and leave with your share.

"How much is that?" The old bitc-man says.

"each person's share would be 24,931,500 won." The square says.

Voice's build up yet again as they all had different answers.

"Thats not enough.."

"We almost died for that.."

Well, it was true. You needed more won. Still too minimum.

"Million? You said 45.6 billion!" A purple haired guy said. Oh you definately could recognize the dude.

"The rule is that, a hundred million won will be accumalated for each eliminated player." The square says.

You perked up from his words that soon followed another. "If you play the next game and more players get eliminated, the prize amount will increase accordingly." The square spoke.

"How much will it be if you survive untill the end?" The annoying- i mean old man spoke.

"as i already told you, the total amount of prize money for all 456 players is 45.6 billion won. Those who make it through all six games, will equally divide the 45.6 billion won." The square answered.

"So if your the only one to survive, you get 45.6 billion?" A random man spoke.

"That is correct." The square answered.

Murmurs start building up again as you noticed dae ho fidgeting with his fingers, signalling him with your hand to ask if he was okay, he nods and gives you a thumbs up.

"So we can take a vote again and decide to leave after the next game?" A random man had spoke.

"As promised in the consent form, you can take a vote for each game and decide to leave with the prize money accumulated to that point. We alwaye prioritize your voluntary participation.. Now, lets begin the vote." The square spoke.

You gestured dae ho to stand up and he does so, walking down to go with the fewer people below.

Both of you were standing behind the several players as you sighed.

"If you wish to continue the game, press the O button, if you wish to end them, press the X button." The square has said as you looked at the ground. "The vote will be held in reverse order of your player numbers, player 456." The man had called out, everyone's attention went to him as you gulped, thinking about what to vote.

You needed the money because it wasnt enough.

"Its all pointless!" Your thoughts had been interrupted as a strange woman that was on the top bunks spoke. "Talk about getting creep's again.." you said.

"You didnt decide when to come into this world, and you cant decide when you leave it either. When and where you die, were already decided by the gods the moment you were born. No matter how hard you try, you CAN never escape it." The woman said.

a button was soon followed as you looked at the flat screen tv, one X. "Once you finish voting, put the patch you are given on the right side of your chest, put the patch you are given on the right side of your chest, and stand on the side you have chosen." The square announces.

A few votes followed as it called dae ho, looking at dae ho who was walking torwards the button, the O went up by one.

After few people again, it was finally your turn. "Player 238." It had announced. The X and O's side turns their face on you as you walked, thinking about the buttons that was plastered on the voting, you finally were infront of it.

You pressed.. O.

After you pressed it, they gave you a blue patch and went to the blue side, the counter went up by one yet again.

Several votes followed as the score is now 87 to 93. Looking at the screen above, someone had spoken up yet again.

"Wait a minute everyone! Wait! You cant do this." The familliar voice had spoken again, looking into the direction of that player, you already knew who it was.

"Come to your senses! Dont you see? These arent all games, we will die if we keep playing! We have to get out of here now." The man had interrupted the voting process.

"Who do you think you are?!"

"Im super man." I answered. It was that annoying old man again.

"Why do you keep egging people on like that? You scared us by saying they'd shoot us before the game even began!" Wow ferocious debate mister.

"Thats right! He was going one abour how we'd die, and i almost did because i got so nervous!" A woman had spoken up, it was followed by a man. "How did you know they were going to shoot us? Are you one of them?" The man had spoken, and that annoying voice came up again.

'Fucking hell this debate makes my head hurts..' i say in my mind, as i went to rub my temples.

"Are you conning us all by pretending to be a player? Who is this guy?!" The old man shoved the man. "Did you plant him to mess with our hands?!" The old man said.

"Thats uncalled for! We wouldn't won the game and survived if it weren't for him!" The guy who seemed to be his bestfriend defended him.

He was correct afterall, but you just needed more money to pay half of the debt.

"And you! I saw how scared you were, and your legs were shaking!" The bff man yelled.

"You should thank him, not treat him like a fraud!" The man yellled. "And who the hell are youuu? Are you conspiring with him?" Another guy said. "Older than you, what are you going to do? Huh? Huh?" It was followed by an old woman's voice gesturinh for them to stop.

"Please dont do this, listen- none of us would be alive if it weren't for this gentleman! So enough with the greed- lets put our live's first and get out of this place- okay?" The old woman cried out.

"Thats right!"

"Lets get all out of here!"

"No we have to keep playing!"

The arguments were cut off as it was followed by the familliar man's voice.

"I have played these games before! I have done this before! I know about the first game because i had played it before! I played the games three years ago! And everyone who was with me.. died here!" The man had said, as voices build up yet again, theyre so noisy...

"They all did?"

"All of them?"

"Really, no way. If they all did, how did you survive alone? Wait. Are you saying you were the sole winner?" A man had said. "Thats right. I was the final winner." The familliar man answered. They were gossiping again soon after. "If we continue the games, every single person here... just like all the people back then, will die in the end." You can hear pain in his last few words. You felt bad but, you still needed the money.

"Bullshit." The old man interrupted again."if you were the sole winner it means you eon 45.6 billion won. If you really did, why would you even come back here?"

"Thats right! Hes lying!"

"Cut the crap!"

"Hes a total nutcase!"

"If someone like you can win, so can i!"

"If you really won it actually works better for us. You can give us some tips, on how to beat these game's." The familliar purple haired dude said, now you do recognize him.

"Thats right! We have a previous winner with us, so what do we have to worry about? Come on lets do this!"

"Come on!"

"Yeah!"

"Lets make some money!"

"Lets do this!"

"Lets do it!"

"Lets try!"

You just stood there processing what happened as every word of them came to a blur, but the square spoke again.

"From here on, we will not tolerate actions that disrupt the voting process. Now, lets resume the vote."

Few votes afterward, it all led to a tie. People cheered for the tie.

"Lastly, player 001." They all looked into the direction of the man.

"Everyone say O!"

"O!"

"X!"

They all cheered as the man went to the voting podium.

All of them were now focused on the man, so were you.

The vote had clicked as the O... won.

Half of the people in O cheered as you covered your ears, now.. all the people retreated to their quarters. You noticed dae ho and ran up to him.

"Hey, dae ho!" You said, he noticed you as you followed him, going to your bunk bed as the opposite of him.

You sat down in the bunk bed and looked at hid patch, you werent alone anyways.

"Hey dae ho.. do you have a reason on why you voted O?" You asked, looking at him. "Yeah.. i do." He said quietly.

[starkwlkr]

girl, so confusing | f1

an: this is SADLY the last part :( don’t worry, i do plan on writing more fics for the f1 dilf!! here’s your long awaited reveal on the baby daddy lol made this one extra long for y’all <3 enjoy!!

part 1 part 2

faceclaim gisele bündchen

liked by ynstyle, goss1pformulas and others

f1gossiproom could mark webber be the father? recently former red bull and williams drivers, mark and y/n have been spending time together. the pair were spotted having dinner several times and a source confirmed that webber attended y/n’s daughter’s recital! they were once again spotted out in australia spending time in bondi beach with y/n’s daughter (not pictured to protect her privacy) they were soon joined by friends and webber’s family. a source, who wishes to remain anonymous, saw them and said y/n’s daughter, gemma, and mark were bonding as if they were dad and daughter 👀 he even calls her ‘gem’ and ‘gemmy’! what do you think? is mark webber the real father? we certainly think so!

formulaho3 how about just leave them alone?

roscoesno1fan mark looks like a total dilf in that pic so yes

oscarspastry what if the real father is the friends we made along the way?

webberxvettel i need to know the truth before i die

hamiltonsmerecedes not f1 twitter trying to cancel y/n for getting with their faves 😭

lnwhores i stand by my cancelled wife

myhonestbitchface and when y/n reveals that sebastian is the bd then what 🤨 i feel it in my gut 👀 that german bitch is the bd

blackwidowswife bitch you’re just hungry

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THE PADDOCK SESSIONS has posted a new YouTube video!

Italics = voiceover by y/n

“Hello!” Y/n’s daughter, Gemma, opened the door to Dan. She knew that he was going to film an interview with her mother about her racing career. She watched as Dan’s camera man waved to her. She assumed they had already started filming.

“Gemma hates and loves when I’m away. She stays with her grandparents when I have to leave or if her dad is not busy then they’ll be together. I think she loves it because her dad lets her have ice cream before bed. I’m more of a strict parent between me and him.”

Photos of little Gemma appear on screen. The young girl was picture with her mother on her first birthday, then with Mark and family members then Sebastian and Jenson.

Dan entered Y/n’s London home with Gemma by his side. He spotted Y/n making tea. “Got here just in time.” He laughed as he joined the former driver in the kitchen.

“I hope the flight here wasn’t too bad.” Y/n passed a mug over to Dan.

“Slept my way through it,” before Dan could take a sip from his tea, he noticed the mug that he was given. It had ‘best dad ever’ sloppily written in paint. “Cute.” He held the mug up and smiled.

“Yeah, Gemma made it for her dad last year for Father’s Day.” Y/n smiled proudly at her daughter’s creation.

That’s when Gemma joined the conversation. “But I couldn’t give it to him on actual Father’s Day! He was away racing and couldn’t be here so I had to give it to him later.” She explained.

After the pair finished their tea, they walked together to Y/n’s small garden. There she had a little seating area where the rest of the interview would take place.

“Lovely garden.” Dan commented.

“Thank you, although I won’t take all the credit. Sebastian comes to help, Gemma kind of bosses him around telling him where each flower looks best.” Y/n laughed, setting her mug on the glass table.

“Dad loves the flowers I picked out for the garden.” Gemma pointed out as she joined them outside. As Dan started the interview, Gemma kept playing outside with her toys.

More images of a young Y/n flashed on screen. She was driving for Williams at the time, they were her first ever team.

“Williams was my first home. They were nice to me, but they put so much pressure on me to perform, like every race had to be perfect. And when it wasn’t, you could feel the disappointment, like a weight hanging in the air. I’d go back to my hotel room at night, and it was just me and the silence.”

The video showed a clip of young Y/n in the Williams garage getting ready for her debut race. She noticed the camera then smiled and waved. The video then cuts to from a happy, full of life Y/n to a gloomy, quiet Y/n sitting alone in her garage.

“I didn’t have friends in the paddock back then. Everyone was focused on their own thing, and the people around me—the trainers, the engineers—they all kept their distance. One of my trainers actually told me, ‘I’m not here to be your friend; I’m here to work.’ And that’s when I realized I was completely on my own."

Y/n then looked over her shoulder and saw Gemma using a teddy bear that her father had bought the girl for her birthday last year in Germany. The former driver smiled at the memory of her little family spending a special day together.

Back to the interview, Y/n then talked to Dan about her divorce. It was a dark time for her. She had been young when she said ‘I Do’ to a man she thought was the love of her life. At the time of her marriage, her husband was six years older. She was nineteen at the time, about to turn twenty.

Several headlines from the day her marriage was announced appeared on screen.

“Barely an Adult, Already a Wife: Y/N Marries Six Years Her Senior”

“Y/N’s Whirlwind Marriage: Chasing Love, Not Podiums?”

“Teenage Racer’s Rush to the Altar: Desperate for Love or Just Immature?”

“Is Y/N Looking for Validation in All the Wrong Places?”

“‘She’ll Marry Anyone’: Critics Slam Y/N’s Hasty Decision at Just 19”

"They painted me as some kind of desperate girl who couldn’t handle being alone. The truth was, I was 19, scared, and in love—or at least I thought I was. But that didn’t matter to them. They just wanted to sell papers."

Dan then spoke. “What led to the divorce?”

Y/n sighed deeply. Only a few people knew the real reason. “It’s . . . a complicated thing to talk about. I mean, when you’re nineteen and in love, or what you think is love, you don’t always see the red flags. At the time, I thought I’d found someone who believed in me, who would support me no matter what. But as time went on, I realized that wasn’t the case."

A picture of Y/n getting ready by herself on her wedding day appears on screen. Her family were not present as her husband at the time wanted it to be only them. She smiled brightly at the camera as her photo was taken. The image fades then clips of Y/n racing in the early 2000s play.

“He wanted a family. Kids, a house, the whole thing. And there’s nothing wrong with that, but he wanted it then, right when my career was just beginning. He gave me an ultimatum—racing or him."

Dan lightly gasped at her words. “Oh . . .”

“I chose racing. How could I not? It was everything I’d worked for, everything I’d dreamed of. But he didn’t take it well. He made me feel like I was selfish, like I was throwing away a chance at a ‘real’ life."

Several more images of Y/n and her then husband flash on screen. There’s no photos of him attending races, mostly because he thought racing was dumb and didn’t like loud crowds.

“He didn’t trust me. Whenever I was away at races, he’d insist I call him every single day, sometimes multiple times. If I missed a call because I was in a meeting or debrief, he’d accuse me of . . . things. Things that weren’t true. I couldn’t even have a normal conversation with my trainer or my team principal without worrying about how he’d react."

"There were times I wanted to visit my family, to go home and just breathe. But he’d make me feel so guilty for even thinking about it, like I was abandoning him. So I stopped trying."

The screen cuts back to Y/N on the sofa. Her hands are clasped tightly now, her voice calm but with an undercurrent of emotion.

“And then the divorce was final and for a moment I was happy until he went to the media spreading all sorts of lies.” Y/n added.

Several more magazine headlines appear on screen.

“The Truth About Y/N: Ex-Husband Reveals Why Their Marriage Failed”

“‘She Wanted the World to Love Her, Not Me’: Y/N’s Ex Speaks Out”

“‘All She Cared About Was Fame’: Y/N’s Ex-Husband Speaks Out About Their Divorce”

Then the screen cuts to clips of Y/n’s ex husband being interviewed about their marriage.

“I sacrificed so much to support her career, but she couldn’t give me the one thing I wanted: a family. She was too busy chasing the cameras and the glory.”

“It was rough. Instead of being asked about racing, I was asked about my failed marriage.” Y/n recalled all the times during interviews when her ex-husband’s name was mentioned. “I just wanted to go home a cry, but I had a job to do. But of course the attention I was getting got me fired.”

“How were you told you were no longe driving for Williams?” Dan asked.

“Would you believe it if I said it was a ten second phone call from Claire Williams?” Y/n laughed. “Claire and I were never enemies. A few days after I got her call, she had dinner in my house and explained to me that she didn’t want to be the one to call me, but she was pressured to. Apparently the Williams team thought it was best for her to tell me in a phone call because they thought it would be ‘easier’ if the news came from her, since she’s a woman. They thought it would hurt less coming from her. Can you believe that?"

Dan noticed how Y/n laughed at the mention of the famous ten second phone call.

“It was definitely ridiculous of them. But they didn’t understand how humiliating it was either way. But Claire . . . I could tell she hated it. She ended the call so quickly because she didn’t want to do it. She didn’t want me to be dropped from the team."

A photo showed of Claire Williams talking to Y/n before a race. At the time, Y/n didn’t know it, but Claire was her only friend.

“I don’t blame her for how it happened. She was caught in the middle of a decision that wasn’t hers to make. And honestly, her coming to my house afterward to explain—that meant something. It didn’t fix anything, but it showed she cared." Y/n finished drinking her tea then resumed speaking. “That ten-second call changed everything for me. But at least I know it wasn’t Claire’s choice. It was just . . . Williams being Williams."

“After everything that happened with Williams, you had every reason to step away from the sport. But instead, you joined McLaren. Looking back now, would you say that was the decision that changed everything for the better?" Dan questioned. He watched as her face softened. She truly adored her time with mclaren.

Y/n nodded. “Joining McLaren felt like a fresh start, like a second chance to prove what I was capable of. At Williams, I was just surviving. But at McLaren, I got to thrive."

Clips of Y/n during her time with the mclaren team played. Her smile was genuine and she looked happier than ever.

“I wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep racing. I didn’t know if I could trust another team. But McLaren . . . they believed in me in a way no one else had."

"It wasn’t just about the racing, though. McLaren gave me a second chance, not just at my career, but at myself. It reminded me why I fell in love with this sport in the first place."

“And then came those three idiots.” Y/n laughed when she remembered becoming friends with Mark, Jenson and Sebastian. Her cheeks tinting slightly, but her smile stays steady.

“But with that friendship came negative comments. I remember reading articles calling you horrible names just for having friendships with them.” Dan commented.

“Those negative comments still come my way even after many years,” Y/n added. “I stayed away from social media for that same reason until recently.”

“But with sharing your life on social media also came questions about your daughters life as well.”

Y/n knew it was something that was going to come up in the interview. Dan didn’t want to ask, but Y/n wanted to share. Gemma’s father and her had discussed it before and they both agreed to the interview.

“Yeah, the whole ‘who’s the father?’ thing has taken over every social media app i have. I can’t avoid it, especially when people constantly message me about it.” Y/n spoke. “Jenson thinks it’s hilarious.”

“Jenson?” Dan questioned.

“Yeah, he sent me a meme about it comparing us to Mamma Mia. I sent it to Sebastian and he sent it to Mark.”

The remainder of the interview, Y/n talked about her family she shared with the man who endlessly supported through everything. Every time she talked about him, she smiled brightly. It was clear that she loved him and their daughter more than anything.

As the video came to an end, Gemma was seen running towards someone who was out of frame. “Dad’s home!” Gemma jumped into his arms and hugged him.

“I thought you were flying in next week.” Y/n stood up to hug him.

“I come here to surprise you and Gem and this is how I’m treated?” He placed a kiss on Y/n’s temple, still holding onto Gemma. “Sorry, I definitely interrupted you two, haven’t I?”

“It’s alright, Jenson. We were just wrapping things up.”

INSTAGRAM

liked by landonorris, wagstyle and others

f1gossip after finally revealing the identity of her daughter’s father, y/n and her daughter gemma were seen together in a beach in california 👀 jenson button also lives in california so we’re thinking the button family is spending some time together.

vettelsbees GIRL SEB WAS SPOTTED AT LAX

hamiltonsmercedes AND MARK

nicorosbergisadiva WHAT IS GOING ONNNN

landonorris hey i know her

ferraridepressionclub ARIANA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HEREEE

webbertears what do you know you gremlin

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“Can I have money for ice cream?” Gemma ran up to her parents, Mark and Sebastian. The former drivers were all enjoying the sunshine of California, an idea that came from Gemma. She had been the one to call Mark and Sebastian to join her and her parents. They agreed even if they cancelled their plans with friends. They would literally do anything for the young girl.

Without hesitation, all the men took out their wallets and took out money for the girl. Their actions caused both Gemma and Y/n to laugh.

“Okay, thank you.” She gladly took the money from each of them.

“I’ll go with you, Gemmy,” Mark said as he got up from his spot and took Gemma’s hand in his. Together they walked to the ice cream stand.

“Has Claire called you?” Sebastian wondered. Ever since the interview was posted, the Williams team had posted several posts of Y/n when she was driving for them. They were finally acknowledging her wins and podiums. And of course they received some criticism from fans.

“She messaged me letting me know she watched the interview. She’s happy I did it.” Y/n replied.

“We all are. You should’ve done the interview years ago.” Jenson said.

Y/n only nodded and turned her attention to Mark and Gemma. The girl had always been close to both the German and Australian drivers, how couldn’t she when they had been in her mothers life and now they were in hers.

“Gemma asked if she could go to a race, but she wants you all to be there.” Y/n spoke up. Gemma desperately wanted the three men to join her. Y/n knew they would all say yes immediately.

“Did she say which one?” Sebastian asked.

“She said she wants to go to each of your home races.” Y/n grinned as Jenson immediately said he was in. Sebastian laughed then nodded. Of course they would join Gemma, the girl had them all wrapped around her finger.

“And will you be attending too?” Jenson winked at her. “We could do a repeat of what happened after Australia.”

“Funny, I was about to suggest the same thing but it happened in Canada.” Sebastian teased.

“Well weren’t you a busy woman.” Jenson smirked. “And Mark?”

Y/n kept quiet, innocently sipping her lemonade. After setting her drink down, the former drivers waited for her answer. “If you must know . . . We were in Vegas.”

Jenson groaned. “I was thinking Monaco.”

“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, baby.”

[nomie-11]

Last Call Home

masterlist! | read part 2 here!

synopsis: you had promised years ago that when Vi went to university, you would stay back and take care of Powder and tuition until she graduated. You just didn't understand the toll it would take on yourself.

pairings: vi x reader, powder is lowkey reader's adoptive daughter

“Hey, it’s Vi. Just wanted to call and let you know that I love you and I miss you, and I know I promised I’d be home for the weekend, but Cait needed me for a lab her and Jayce were working on. I promise I’ll come visit you and Pow soon. Happy Valentine's Day, baby.”

—phone call from Vi to Y/n, February 14th, 11:36 p.m.

—————————

Working at The Last Drop wasn’t where you had seen yourself in the long run. When your senior year homeroom teacher had asked you where you wanted to be in the next five years, you would have said university, maybe a job in a field you fell in love with, an apartment with Vi that has a balcony and a nice view.

Not living in the same city in the same dingy apartment since graduation, no college degree and a stagnant job at a bar no one came too unless college was on break. 

But that was you, at the ripe age of twenty two. 

Trudging home after a long shift at the bar, but you had work to get done, things to do before tomorrow. Laundry, bills, maybe dinner if there was enough in the fridge for Powder to eat for the next three days until you got paid and could go food shopping. 

The door to your apartment pushed open with a soft click, the scent of the cheap countertop cleaner you bought immediately assaulting your nose. 

“Hey,” Powder said, not looking up from her seat on the floor by the coffee table. She was doing the art assignment her (ridiculously expensive) therapist had told her to do. 

“Hey baby,” you said, forcing a smile onto your face as you kicked off your work boots and sat heavily onto the couch. “How was school?”

She glanced up at you, her soft, violet blue eyes giving you a one over before she answered. 

“It was good,” she nodded. 

You nodded back, draping an arm over your eyes as you stared up at the ceiling. It was unfair to Powder, and you knew it, but ever since her and Vi’s dad had keeled over and died of a heart attack four years ago, and Vi left for school the year after, you were all she had left. 

“Good.”

————————————

“Fuck, I totally forgot that tomorrow is Powder’s art showcase. I know I promised I’d be back home for it, but finals are next week and I really need to study. Just… send me photos of it, ok? I just want to see her. She’s getting so big. I’m sorry again, Y/n. I miss you.”

——phone call from Vi to Y/n, March 4th, 1:47 p.m.

———————————

Mornings started early. You never had time to make Powder's lunch when you got home from work, so you woke up before dawn to make her breakfast and something somewhat nutritious to eat. The last time you actually had enough money to take her to a family doctor, the only comment they had was that you must have been starving her with how underweight she was. 

You hated the implication, hated yourself more for not being able to prove them wrong. Powder deserved better. You didn’t even bother with breakfast for yourself anymore—not since the last time you stepped on the scale and realized your clothes were fitting tighter than they used to. Some days you told yourself it was just muscle from hauling kegs and scrubbing down the bar; other days you knew better, people aren’t meant to live off of cheap frozen meals and energy drinks. 

You shoved a granola bar and an overripe apple into Powder’s bag, watching her from the corner of your eye as she meticulously folded her art supplies into a second-hand tote you had re-sewn more time than you can count. Her hands moved with care, but there was a tension in her shoulders that weighed too heavy for a thirteen year old. She wasn’t even your sister, you were her sister's girlfriend by relationship, but she might as well have been your daughter at this point. 

She caught you looking, and her soft frown deepened. 

“You don’t have to keep doing this,” she murmured. 

“Doing what?” You asked, tying the handles of her lunch bag into a bow as casually as you could. 

“Pretending everything’s okay.” Powder’s words were quiet, but they struck you like a fist. 

You didn’t answer, just slid her bag over the counter to her and kissed the top of her hair. “Have a good day at school, baby,” you whispered, even as the lump in your throat threatened to consume you. 

——————————

“I finally booked train tickets for May, so I’ll be home for two weeks before I have to go on that research trip. Maybe we can plan a day, just me, you, and Powder? We can go to that art museum she loves—tickets are free for under eighteen, I’m sure we can still pass as high schoolers. Sound good? School is really kicking my ass. I just want to come home.”

——phone call from Vi to Y/n, April 24th, 11:23 a.m.

—————

A part of you wasn’t ready to see Vi. 

It wasn’t anger or resentment—not entirely. It was something deeper, heavier. A dull ache that grew each time her name lit up your phone, her voice brimming with excuses that always sounded too reasonable to argue with. You hated how your heart still jumped at the sound of her voice, how it softened just a little each time that she said she missed you. You hated that a part of you believed her. 

You glanced at Powder’s latest painting propped up against the wall by the coffee table. It was a tangled mess of blues and reds, dark shadows streaking through what looked like broken glass. It was beautiful, haunting even, but it wasn’t a pre-teen’s painting. It was too raw, too heavy. 

Powder was supposed to be excited about Vi’s visit. She’d circled the date on the calendar in her favorite bright pink pen, but now you weren’t so sure. She didn’t talk about her sister much anymore, and when she did, it was only in passing. 

The sound of her footsteps pulled you out of your thoughts. She wandered into the living room, still in her pajamas, her hair a long mess waiting for you to braid it carefully. “Is she really coming this time?” 

You sighed, unsure how to answer. “She says she is. She booked the tickets.”

Powder sat on the couch, curling into herself as she hugged a pillow to her chest. “She always says that.”

You didn’t have the heart to argue. She was right. 

—————

“I’m on the train now! Can’t wait to see you. I know I’ve been gone too long, but I’m gonna make it up to you and Pow. I swear. I brought her those paint sets she’s been wanting. Love you.” 

—phone call from Vi to Y/n, May 5th, 3:13 p.m.

—————

You heard her before you saw her—the creak of the apartment door, her familiar laugh as she stumbled inside carrying her overstuffed duffle bag. Powder froze beside you on the couch, her pencil hovering mid-stroke over her sketchbook. 

“Hey! I’m home!” Vi’s voice was warm, teasing, like she hadn’t been gone for months. 

You stood slowly, your heart pounding in your chest as Vi rounded the corner, her eyes lighting up when they met yours. “There’s my girl,” she said softly, dropping her bag and pulling you into her arms. She smelled the same—like leather and lavender, and the faint scent of cigarette smoke that lingered from the months before she quit. You wanted to melt into her, but something held you back. 

Powder didn’t move from the couch. She stared at Vi, her face unreadable. “You’re late,” she said quietly. 

Vi’s smile faltered. “I know, Pow. I’m sorry. The train—”

“Doesn’t matter.” Powder stood, brushing past her sister without another word and disappearing into her room. 

Vi’s shoulders sagged. “She hates me, doesn’t she?” 

You shook your head, forcing a small smile. “She doesn’t hate you. She just doesn’t know how to trust you anymore.” 

Vi winced, her hands finding your waist as she looked at you with familiar, guilty eyes. “Do you still trust me?” 

Your throat tightened. You wanted to say yes, wanted to believe it was true. But trust wasn’t built on promise—it was built on presence. “I don’t know,” you whispered. 

And for the first time since you met her twelve years ago, Vi didn’t have a comeback. 

—————

“Pow’s still mad, isn’t she? I don’t blame her, but it sucks. I’m trying, Y/n. I swear I’m trying. I just… didn’t think everything would be so different. Anyway, tomorrow’s our museum day, right? I’ve been looking forward to it all week. I want it to be perfect. I’ll make it up to the both of you, I promise.” 

—phone call from Vi to Y/n, May 7th, 9:42 p.m.

—————

The museum was quieter than usual, the midday crowd sparse except for a few families and a group of art students sketching by a massive installation in the lobby. Powder walked a few steps ahead of you and Vi, her eyes scanning the walls, taking in every piece like she was cataloging them in her mind. 

Vi tried to catch up with her, her usual playful energy bubbling to the surface. “Hey, Pow, wait up!”

Powder didn’t slow down. She stopped in front of a painting—abstract, full of swirling colors and chaotic lines. “This one’s new,” she said, her voice distant. 

Vi stepped closer, her gaze flickering between Powder and the painting. “It’s cool. What do you think it’s about?” 

Powder shrugged, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “Maybe it’s about someone trying to fix something, but they keep messing it up instead.” 

Vi flinched, but you placed a gentle hand on her arm before she could respond. “It’s beautiful, Pow,” you said softly. 

Powder glanced at you, her expression softening just a little. “Yeah. I guess.” 

Vi stayed quiet after that, no attempts to joke or lighten the mood. You could tell she felt out of place, like a guest in her little sister and her girlfriend’s lives. 

Lunch was better—Powder perked up when she was able to order a large side of fries instead of splitting a small with you, and Vi managed to coax a small smile out of her when the three of you went out for ice cream after, and Vi shelled out the extra twenty five cents for rainbow sprinkles on top. But the weight between them lingered, a silent reminder that some things couldn’t be fixed in a single day. 

—————

“Hey, it’s me. Just wanted to say I’ll wait up for you tonight, okay? I know you’ve been working late, but I want to spend some time with you. Maybe we can talk. Love you, Y/n.” 

—phone call from Vi to Y/n, May 9th, 7:12 p.m.

—————

You came home long past midnight, your body aching from another double shift. The sound of the TV murmuring in the background greeted you as you pushed the door open, and there was Vi, sprawled out on the ouch, half-asleep but still waiting for you. 

“Hey,” she mumbled, sitting up as you dropped your bag and kicked off your worn shoes. “You look exhausted.” 

“I am,” you said simply, your voice flat. 

Vi frowned, her eyes scanning you more closely now. She took in the dark circles under your eyes, the way your shoulders slumped, the stains on your work uniform no amount of scrubbing could get out, the strain on the clothes you couldn’t afford to replace. Her gaze drifted to the pile of unopened bills on the kitchen counter, the worn-out sneakers by the door, the way Powder’s bedroom light was still on because she refused to sleep unless she was sure you were home. 

“Y/n…” Vi started, her voice low and uncertain. 

“What?” you asked, dropping heavily onto the couch beside her. 

“I didn’t realize…” She gestured vaguely around the apartment. “All of this. How much you’re doing. For Pow, for—everything.” 

You laughed, but there was no humor in it. “What did you think I was doing while you were at school, Vi? Sitting around waiting for you to come back?”

Her face fell, guilt washing over her. “No, I just—”

“You didn’t notice,” you interrupted, your voice sharp. “Because you weren’t here.” 

Vi looked away, her jaw tight. “I’m here now.” 

“Yeah,” you said bitterly. “For two weeks. And then you’re gone again, off to some research trip or lab or whatever else is more important than being home for Powder’s fourteenth birthday and her next art showcase and all of her other achievements.” 

Silence settled between you, heavy and suffocating. Vi reached for your hand, her touch tentative. “I know I’ve screwed up,” she said quietly. “And I know I can’t fix it in two weeks, but I want to try. Please, Y/n, let me try.” 

You wanted to believe her, but the exhaustion in your bones made it hard to hope. Pulling your hand away as you stood, you couldn't bear to look at her. “I’m going to bed.” 

Vi stayed on the couch long after you disappeared into the bedroom, the weight of her absence these past years settling over her like a heavy blanket. For the first time, she truly saw the cracks in the life she’d left behind—and the toll they’d taken on the people who’d given her the means to leave. 

—————

“Hey, Cait. It’s me. Look, I’ve been thinking, and I know it’s a big ask, but… is that offer for the spare apartment still on the table? It’s just—things here are worse than I thought. Y/n is working herself to death, and Powder’s not doing great. I want to bring them to Piltover. They deserve better than this. 

I swear, I’ll make it work. I’ll get a part-time job, and once we graduate, I’ll pay you back for everything. I just need to know if it’s okay, if you’re okay with it. They’re—well, they’re  my everything, Cait. I can’t keep leaving them like this. Let me know, okay? Thanks. For everything.” 

—phone call from Vi to Caitlyn Kiramman, May 9th, 11:37 p.m.

—————

The restaurant wasn’t fancy by Piltover standards, but it was leagues above the dingy diners you frequented when you had enough saved up to get Powder a vanilla milkshake and a burger. The dim lighting made the worn wooden tables look almost elegant, and the scent of freshly baked bread and sizzling garlic filled the air. Powder’s eyes were wide as she took it all in, her sketchbook clenched tightly in her hands like she wasn’t sure what to do with it.

Vi had insisted on treating the two of you, though you weren’t sure where she’d gotten the money. “A friend helped out,” she’d said with a sheepish grin, waving off your questions. 

The meal was nice—better than nice, really. Powder had polished off a plate of pasta bigger than her head, and Vi hadn’t stopped smiling since you walked in. But when the plates were cleared and the check paid, Vi leaned forward, her expression turning serious. 

“I need to talk to you both about something,” she said, her voice steady but soft. 

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at Powder, who was busy doodling on a napkin. “What’s going on?” 

Vi took a deep breath. “I want you both to come to Piltover with me.” 

Your stomach dropped. “What?” 

“I talked to Caitlyn,” Vi continued, her gaze fixed on yours. “She has a spare apartment, and she said we can stay there. Rent-free. She’s even willing to cover Powder’s school and therapy until I can get a good enough job to take care of it myself. And you can enroll in community college until I graduate and transfer to Piltover University. A fresh start for the both of you.” 

Your head was spinning. “Vi, that’s… that’s huge. We can’t just pack up and leave. What about Powder’s school? She can’t handle transferring in the middle of the year. Finding a new therapist she trusts? My job?”

“I know it’s a lot,” Vi said quickly, her hand reaching for yours. “But Caitlyn’s family is crazy rich, and she said she can help with everything. We’ll find Powder a new school with a great art program, a new therapist to help with her BPD, whatever she needs. And you won’t have to work like this anymore, Y/n. You can focus on what you want to do, not just surviving.” 

Powder looked up from her drawing, her eyes wide. “You want us to move to Piltover?” 

“Yeah, Pow,” Vi said gently. “I know it’s scary, but I think it would be really good for you. For us.” 

You pulled your hands back, shaking your head. “This is too much, Vi. What if it doesn’t work out? What if we can’t—”

“It will work,” VI interrupted, her voice firm but pleading. “I’ll make sure of it. I’m not asking you to trust Caitlyn or her family. Just trust me. I’ve got you.” 

Silence hung between you, heavy with unspoken fears. Powder’s gaze flickered between the two of you, her expression uncertain but curious with the hope of a future you wished you could provide but would never be able to afford on your own. 

“I don’t know,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need time to think about it.” 

“Take all the time you need,” Vi said, her tone softening. “But just… think about it, okay? You can’t keep up like this.” 

You nodded, but the weight of the decision settled in your chest like a stone. Vi’s words made sense, but they didn’t erase the fear gnawing at you. This might have been miserable, but this was home. 

—————

“Do you think Powder will hate me for leaving again? I don’t want to go.” 

—phone call from Vi to Y/n, May 15th, 2:54 p.m.

—————

The train station was as dreary as you remembered it being the first time Vi left. The cold concreted floors and harsh fluorescent lights did nothing to make the moment any easier. Powder clung to Vi’s waist like her life depended on it, her sobs muffled against the soft leather of her sister’s favorite jacket. 

“Hey, Pow,” Vi said softly, brushing a hand through her hair. “You’ve gotta let go, okay? I promise I’ll come back. You’ll see me again soon.” 

Powder shook her head, her tears soaking into Vi’s clothes. “Please, Violet! I don’t want you to go!” she choked out, calling her older sister by her full name. 

You stood a few steps away, arms crossed tightly over your chest, trying to keep it together. But when Vi turned to you, her eyes shining with unshed tears, your resolve cracked.

“You’ll take care of her, right?” Vi asked, her voice breaking just a little. 

“Always,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. 

Vi stepped forward and pulled you into a tight hug, Powder squeezed between the two of you. “I love you,” she murmured against your lips. “Both of you.” 

“I love you too,” you said, your voice barely audible as you buried your face in her shoulder. 

The train whistle blew, loud and piercing, signaling the last boarding call. Vi pulled back reluctantly, kneeling to press a kiss to Powder’s forehead, and then standing to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “I’ll call as soon as I get back to my apartment,” she promised, her voice trembling. 

Powder reached for her again, but you gently pried her hands away, lifting her up as if she was still the nine year old girl watching her sister leave for the first time. She wrapped herself around like she had when she was younger, her legs around your waist and her arms clinging to your neck as if letting go would make everything fall apart. 

Vi hesitated on the platform, her eyes fixed on the two of you until the last second. Then she turned and boarded the train, disappearing through the doors. 

You and Powder stood there as the train pulled away, her sobs shaking against your chest. Watching Vi go felt like losing her all over again, and you couldn’t stop the tears that slipped down your cheeks. 

“It’s okay, baby,” you whispered as you held her tight against your chest as if she was a backpack you had strapped to your front. “We’ll be okay. Let’s go home.” 

But even as you said it, you weren’t sure if you believed it. 

The walk back to the apartment was long and heavy, Powder’s weight in your arms a reminder of how young she still was despite everything she’d been through. Her sobs quieted eventually, but she didn’t let go, her face buried against your neck like she was trying to hide from the world. 

When you finally made it home, the apartment felt emptier than it ever had before. 

—————

“Hey, Vi. It’s Y/n. I know you’re probably in a lab right now, but I just dropped off Powder at school. I quit my job on an impulse last night, I couldn’t handle it anymore. I can’t do this anymore. I miss you, and I just— I think we’ll do it. I think we’ll move to Piltover.” 

—phone call from Y/n to Vi, June 1st, 8:02 a.m.

Read part 2 here!

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

[mywritersmind]

MESSY - LN4

pt.1

summary : After a steamy night together, neither Y/n or Lando expected to see eachother soon. Well, when they find eachother in the paddock and come to the realization that Y/n is a Piastri and Lando is Oscar’s teammate… things get interesting.

listen up : pt.1 bc i had an idea and wanna wait for baku to happen for pt.2! Piastri!sister. Mentions of sex.

word count : 562

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When I entered the paddock with my brother this morning, I expected to not know anyone. Yet when I turn around and my eyes are set upon a man in the same papaya orange that Oscar wears, My jaw drops.

“This is the media pen.” Oscar whispers in my ear as we stand in the back, “Never been on this side.” then, just like that, my fear comes true. He points at him, “That’s Lando- my teammate!”

“Lando?” I repeat because I'm in such a shock that I can’t say anything else.

“Mhm. You’ll like him.” Oh yeah, he has no idea how much. Maybe enough to fuck him!? God what kind of sick joke is this!?

Lando’s eyes stray from the reporter for one second, but it’s enough for his eyes to find me. He does a double take. He looks as shocked as I feel.

Seeing the guy who I hooked up with after meeting for five minutes in a dark club four days ago was NOT on my to do list today!

He pulls his eyes away and looks back at the reporter. What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“What the hell?” Lando managed to corner me after my brother left me in hospitality, “What the actual hell?” I mentally groan, not wanting to deal with this.

“I feel the exact same!” My hand goes to my curled hair, “Lando Norris? Seriously!?”

“You think that’s crazy? You’re my teammate's bloody sister!” he looks nauseous, “How did you not know who I was?”

We didn’t exchange names. We were both tipsy, could barely see with those damn strobe lights, then were blinded by lust- apparently!

I roll my eyes, “Oh please, not everybody knows you.”

“No.” He grits his teeth together, “But you should! Haven’t you seen photos? You’re telling me you have never seen Oscar and I together?”

I groan, “I don’t have social media! I watch F1 for Osc and you all have helmets on! Fuck this is messy.” I always skipped the media parts and Oscar doesn’t talk much about his job when he’s home.

We’re in Baku this weekend, I may have gone out alone and found comfort in a random guy. That same random guy made out with me in a corner and took me to his hotel after.

I groan, “Oscar can NOT know about this!”

“No shit!” Lando shakes his head, taking a breath before looking at me again, “I’m sorry… Im not upset. I mean, how could I be after our night?” He laughs to himself but my face remains flat, “I’m stressed this weekend.”

I sigh, flattening my nice black dress, “It’s okay. Neither of us knew.”

He looks pained again, “I can’t believe you are his sister.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I raise a brow skeptically.

“You’re just…“ He tries to find the words, “hot?”

I laugh, placing my hands on my hips, “Good to know you like one thing about me.”

“Trust me love, I like many things about you.” I punch him in the arm.

“Hush up!” I shake my head, “Makes sense that you’re a driver though.”

“Oh?” He crosses his arms. God his arms.

“It explains the stamina.” I shrug and walk away.

“Just because you’re his sister doesn’t mean I’m not up for another round!” I flip him off.