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smileysuh · 1 month ago

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double trouble

🌙 starring. Mingyu & Wonwoo x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. Despite your tense relationship with Seungcheol, you’ve done your best to support him as a sister, and you know his teammates by sight alone. Jeon Wonwoo and Kim Mingyu, two Olympians… two sexy, athletic, very fuckable Olympians. You’ve watched Too Hot to Handle and Love Island, you’ve watched Singles Inferno, and you’re not on any of those shows. No, you’re in Thailand for your brother’s wedding, staring at his work besties like they’re your next meal. You know how problematic this is, but you’re yet undecided on just how far you want to go with this. All you know, is you’re alone at a bar, there’s two gorgeous men, and you’re feeling just lonely enough to go talk to them.

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, threesome, pussy eating, blow job, fingering, masturbation, spit roasting, double penetration, doggy style, missionary, multiple sex positions, multiple reader orgasms, pain kink, spanking, spitting, choking, dom!Wonwoo, eager!Mingyu, overstimulation, breast worship, dirty talk, praise, dry humping/grinding, undertones of therapy/childhood sibling rivalry/bad family dynamics, etc… I pet names: (hers) gorgeous, baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 10.9k

🍭 aus. Surfer Meanie au, Destination-Wedding au, my friend’s sister is hot au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I want to start this off by saying, I don’t know much about surfing or the Olympics, but fuck it, this is fanfic, and surfer Meanie is too hot to pass up.

Prologue:

“And in an astonishing turn of events, Choi Seungcheol, representing South Korea in surfing, wins silver at this year's Olympics! I think we were all shocked when South Korea qualified for not two, but three contenders this year, and what contenders these men have been. We can see Jeon Wonwoo and Kim Mingyu watching from the beach, clapping for their teammate… and what’s this? Choi Seungcheol is not approaching his team, no! He’s going for his longtime girlfriend! Love is definitely in the air here today at the Olympics- and… no, is he getting down on one knee? I can not believe my eyes! Choi Seungcheol of team South Korea, who has just won a silver in surfing, is proposing to his girlfriend right here on the beach! What an end to the day for team South Korea!”

One (Day)

Wonwoo’s never been a fan of weddings, and he loves destination weddings even less, but he supposes Thailand isn’t the worst place for this sort of event. The waves are good, the climate is perfect, and with the entire wedding party scattered among the massive resort, Wonwoo is confident he’ll be able to slip away and have alone time if need be.

Sure, he’s excited for Seungcheol. They’re teammates, and while the new silver medalist has always kept his work and private life separate, Wonwoo knows supporting his friend at the start of the next chapter of his life is the right thing to do.

Besides, as Wonwoo walks through the resort an hour after arriving, he’s got Mingyu by his side, and they’re both eager to see what the waves here look like. It’s a week-long destination wedding, but Wonwoo’s pretty sure only two of those seven days will be really hard-core in terms of his obligations to the groom.

The resort has a number of amenities, one of which is an entire rack of surfboards, and as the two men approach it, Wonwoo notices you on the beach.

You’re under a shade umbrella, relaxing on a lounge. Unlike many people here, you’re not on your phone or reading a book, you’re simply looking out at the ocean.

It’s as if you must sense his gaze, because your head turns, and your eyes meet.

Wonwoo swallows the lump in his throat, turning his attention back to the boards.

He’s never been one for one-night stands and is even less enthusiastic about hooking up with some random at a resort in Thailand while he’s there for his friend’s wedding. No, this week is all going to be training, relaxing in his off hours, and supporting Seungcheol, no matter how hot you might be.

One (Night)

You’ve never been super close with your older brother Seungcheol. You suppose it boils down in part to him being the golden child. He was the athletics prodigy, and now, - surprise, surprise - he’s an Olympic-level silver medalist. Growing up in an environment where your sibling was overtly favored over yourself was difficult, and you spent the majority of your teen years being upset about it.

Through your anger, you found art, and now, you’re a successful entrepreneur. You work for yourself, you work doing what you want and when you want it. You have freedom, and maybe your childhood was a blessing in disguise.

Having gone through years of therapy to unpack this dysfunctional family system, you don’t hold very much anger anymore, and you’re actually kind of happy to be in Thailand to support Seungcheol, who really had no fault in your upbringing.

However, even with admitting all of this to yourself, you also know you don’t want to spend the entire week attached to your overbearing and judgemental mother’s hip, so here you are, in the late evening after the dinner rush, enjoying a meal all by yourself in the hotel restaurant.

It’s as you’re finishing your meal that you recognize two men entering the bar.

Despite your tense relationship with Seungcheol, you’ve done your best to support him as a sister, and you know his teammates by sight alone.

Jeon Wonwoo and Kim Mingyu, two Olympians… two sexy, athletic, very fuckable Olympians.

You’ve watched Too Hot to Handle and Love Island, you’ve watched Singles Inferno, and you’re not on any of those shows. No, you’re in Thailand for your brother’s wedding, staring at his work besties like they’re your next meal. You know how problematic this is, but you’re yet undecided on just how far you want to go with this. All you know, is you’re alone at a bar, there’s two gorgeous men, and you’re feeling just lonely enough to go talk to them.

Finishing your drink, you stand up, wobbling slightly in your high heels as you set off to join the Olympians at the bar.

You settle next to the larger of the two, Kim Mingyu, taking a seat while his eyes turn to you.

“Hi.” You smile.

“Hi.” He grins back at you, all handsome and puppy-like.

“So you two are the infamous surfers,” you muse. “I’m Seungcheol’s sister, y/n.”

You suppose there’s no use glossing over the fact that you’re related to their friend, after all, they’re going to find out sooner or later.

Honesty has always been the best policy, and as recognition flashes over Mingyu’s features, you realize your brother must have mentioned you to them at least once or twice.

“Wait, you’re Seungcheol’s sister?” Mingyu asks in shock.

“In the flesh,” you laugh, motioning at the bartender for another drink. “What did he say about me?”

“He said you’re some artist,” Wonwoo chimes in, leaning over the bar top to get a better look at you.

“Some artist,” you scoff. “I sell five-figure art, but if I’m just some artist, then fine.”

“Five figures?” Mingyu turns to exchange a look with Wonwoo.

“Anything we would know? Are you in galleries?” the more inquisitive of the two asks.

“I’ve actually got an exhibition coming up,” you admit. “Celebrating the new generation of female artists in South Korea.”

“That sounds huge!” Mingyu gasps.

“In the art scene, it’s a pretty big deal,” you laugh.

“Guess you’re just a family of overachievers,” Wonwoo muses with a smile, waving the bartender over as he gives you your second drink.

“Some fields are more recognized than others,” you sigh, fiddling with your straw.

“I always thought artists were super cool!” Mingyu tells you. “I draw a little, but I’m nowhere near your level, and Wonwoo, well, he can’t even draw a straight line.”

“Hey!” Wonwoo objects, turning his narrow gaze on his friend.

You watch the two of them fuss together, and you try your best to figure out which one is more attractive, but it’s simply impossible.

They’re both stunning in their own right. Mingyu has those puppy-like, boyish good looks. He’s big and handsome and you can tell he knows it. Wonwoo, in contrast, is quieter, but he’s regal in a way you can’t quite put your finger on. He’s smaller than Mingyu, shorter, but he’s still larger than the average male, and his shoulders aren’t something to complain about either.

“So how did you get into art?” Mingyu asks, turning to look at you again.

“Uh… I think I was left to my own devices a lot as a kid. Seungcheol always had a soccer practice or a football game, and then it was going to the beach all the time- so I had to learn to find something to do with all my time waiting for him to finish up his sports.” You frown a little. Although you’ve learned through therapy to find the silver lining, it can still be hard at times to think back on your upbringing and all the times you were in a state of neglect. “Anyways, how about you guys? Surfing isn’t usually the first Olympic sport people decide to give a go.”

“I lived in Hawaii for a bit when I was a kid,” Mingyu tells you. “Surfing is religion there, and I was lucky to have a lot of mentors who helped me get started.”

“That sounds nice,” you smile.

“And Wonwoo, well, he was a swimmer first,” Mingyu explains, speaking for his quiet friend.

“I tried surfing one day and never looked back,” Wonwoo finishes. “Nothing spectacular.”

“You can say that, but here we all are, at the top of our game, in Thailand to celebrate an Olympic silver medalist,” you muse, lifting your drink. “I’d say we’re all doing pretty spectacularly.”

“I like the way you think,” Mingyu grins, raising his glass.

Wonwoo says nothing, but he joins you in your cheers, and you all drink together.

“So…” Mingyu takes a deep breath and puts his empty glass down, “how did a guy like Seungcheol get a hot sister like you?”

“Guess all the pretty genes went to me,” you tease, skin heating with pleasure at the compliment.

“I wonder if this is why Seungcheol doesn’t talk about you often,” Wonwoo says quietly.

“What do you mean?” You cock your head to the side.

“I think he’s just saying, like…” Mingyu searches for the right words, “If Seungcheol ever showed his work friends your picture, we’d all… you know, think you’re hot.”

“You two are just trying to butter me up,” you laugh, heart beginning to thump faster in your chest.

Wonwoo leans forward. “Is it working?”

Two (Day)

It might be his wedding week, but Seungcheol will be damned if he doesn’t spend even a bit of time enjoying Thailand’s ocean.

He’s up early, with Wonwoo and Mingyu beside him as they float on their surfboards after a couple of really good waves. Seungcheol really appreciates his work friends, they’re not as invested in his personal life, so when he’s with them, he can just forget about all the chaos and wedding jitters.

“So… Olympics 2028,” Seungcheol breathes.

“Los Angeles,” Mingyu agrees with a nod.

Seungcheol looks at his friends. “How are we feeling?”

“We’re feeling like you should retire and give us a chance,” Wonwoo jokes, flashing one of his rare smiles.

“We’re also feeling like LA waves are going to be insane… and they have sharks,” Mingyu points out.

Seungcheol laughs at his friends. Of course, Wonwoo would be thinking of medals, and Mingyu would be more focused on what could eat him while trying to win big.

“I’m sure they’ll have shark watch or something,” Seungcheol points out.

“Yeah, but Great Whites can attack from below!” Mingyu exclaims. “They’re designed to blend in with water, they’ve got grey coloring on the tops of their bodies so they’re harder to see!”

“Can we not talk about sharks while we’re in the ocean on surfboards?” Wonwoo sighs.

“If it makes you feel better, the only really bad shark in Thailand is the bull shark, no Great Whites,” Seungcheol offers, having done research on the subject before booking the resort for his wedding.

“Bull sharks are still a top three-man eater,” Mingyu frowns, looking down at the water.

“Don’t bull sharks usually attack in shallows?” Wonwoo asks. “Besides, you lived in Hawaii for a while, you’re still terrified of sharks?”

Seungcheol drowns out what his friends are talking about at this point, his gaze shifting to the beach. His eyes land on you, walking on the sand in search of a lounger.

You must notice he’s seen you because you lift your hand to give him a wave, which Seungcheol returns.

That’s when he notices that his friends have gone quiet.

“Are you guys done your shark talk?” Seungcheol sighs. “Ready to actually catch some waves?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” Mingyu sighs. “So uh… that’s your sister, huh?”

“Yup. Little miss artsy fartsy herself.”

Wonwoo chuckles a little, and Seungcheol doesn’t miss the look he exchanges with Mingyu.

“We met her last night at the bar,” Mingyu explains. “She seems nice.”

“Yeah, she is what she is,” Seungcheol sighs. He doesn’t like to think too hard about family history, about the way he felt like he had to compete with you growing up. Somewhere, deep down in Seungcheol’s soul, he’s always been a winner, and when he was a kid, he hadn’t really realized that winning meant making a loser out of his sibling. There’s regret there, but Seungcheol’s not about to put in the hours that you have with a therapist to unpack all of it.

“There’s not much resemblance between the two of you,” Wonwoo muses.

“Yeah, I got the gene for good looks,” Seungcheol says, trying to make a joke out of it.

Wonwoo laughs. “Debatable.”

A sigh escapes Seungcheol before he can stop it. “Fuck this, let's get some waves. And just so we’re all clear, my sister is off limits.”

Two (Night)

Mingyu loves night swimming, and the resort has so many wonderful pools for him to be alone in while he does laps.

He’s sort of falling in love with Thailand. The sounds of animals in all the luscious trees, the warm temperature even now that the sun has gone down- God, he could get used to this.

He finishes up his swim, switching to a relaxed breaststroke to cool down, and that’s when he notices you sitting by the pool. You’re drinking a beer, and you’ve got a second bottle on the ground next to your lounger.

“Hi,” you smile.

“Hi,” he laughs. “Are you waiting for me?”

“Yeah. I saw you swimming, figured I’d get us some beers.”

Mingyu comes to the side of the pool, grabbing at the ledge and letting out a breath as you hold the second bottle out for him.

“I don’t usually drink after a workout,” he chuckles.

“Well, it would be a shame for me to drink alone,” you tease.

Mingyu can only nod at the statement, lifting the beer to his lips.

“How was your day?” you ask.

“Pretty good. It started off with your brother, and then we caught some waves. Wonwoo and I went to look at a monastery or something in town today. It was nice.”

“Definitely sounds like a good day in Thailand,” you muse.

“How about you? Up to anything fun?”

“Not really.” You release a deep breath, and Mingyu gets the suspicion that this whole thing isn’t as much of a vacation for you as it is for them. “I’m supposed to be taking the week off, having just finished a whole bunch of work these past few months, but I don’t know, this place is so beautiful, I really wish I had some paint and canvas with me.”

“I’m sure we could find an art supply store or something?” Mingyu offers.

You wave your hand. “It’s okay. Like I said, I’m supposed to be taking the week off.”

“We’re all supposed to be taking the week off,” Mingyu tells you, “but Seungcheol, Wonwoo and I were all catching waves this morning, and I’m sure other people are taking work calls- it’s easy to say we’re here on vacation so we should just put out real lives to the side, but it’s another thing to actually do that, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” You let out a laugh. “Capitalism is a bitch.”

Mingyu considers your words. “I guess capitalism is part of it, but… we all have things we’re good at, things we love to do. I think capitalism sometimes takes the joy out of our hobbies if we’re making money off those hobbies in the real world. We’re surfing to keep our skill level up, but we’re also doing it for ourselves. I’m sure if you got a drawing journal or something and drew for yourself, it wouldn’t be hurting anyone.”

“And here I thought you were just another pretty face,” you muse with a grin, sipping your beer.

“You don’t know me that well yet.”

“We can change that,” you suggest. “Tell me more about you. I’m not stepping on any girlfriend’s toes by chatting with you right now, am I?”

“Nah, I’m single,” Mingyu laughs.

“And how is an Olympic athlete like you single?”

“Good question.” Mingyu thinks about it for a moment. “I guess… Wonwoo and I are homebodies. We’ve been renting together since university, and we both just… like to stay home.”

“I didn’t know the two of you were roommates.”

“Yeah, it’s not something we talk about too often,” Mingyu chuckles. “Two Olympians living together isn’t the most endearing thing.”

“I think it’s pretty endearing.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s clear the two of you are super close.”

“We are.”

“So… I asked about stepping on any girlfriend’s toes… should I have asked about stepping on a boyfriend’s turf?”

Mingyu’s heart leaps in his chest. “No!” he blurts out. “Wonwoo and I aren’t- I mean… no, we’re not together or anything. We’re super close, but no.”

“You’re saying the word no, but I’m hearing there’s more to the story,” you point out.

“I mean…” Mingyu can’t even meet your eyes. “He and I are both into girls, it’s just- sometimes we’re into the same girl? So, yes, I’ve seen his dick, but we’re also just athletes so that’s part of the gig-”

“Mingyu,” you interrupt him. “Take a breath.”

“Fuck.” Mingyu takes a breath as well as a sip of beer. “You think I’m super weird now.”

“Not at all. You’re not the first athletes to admit to sharing girls. I hear it’s a pretty common thing actually.”

“It is?” Mingyu asks in shock.

“Apparently,” you shrug. “Look up puck bunny confessionals and all sorts of girls will tell you that they’ve been tag-teamed at hockey events, and that’s just hockey.”

Mingyu’s too shy to ask for more details, and he doesn’t even know what a ‘puck bunny’ is, so he decides to switch topics as fast as he can. “Do you uh… have plans for tomorrow?”

You lean back in the lounger. “Was considering going on a snorkeling thing in the morning. The resort offers tours. But… I didn’t really want to go alone. Fancy a snorkeling adventure with me tomorrow?”

“As long as we don’t talk about puck rabbits and double trouble athlete tag teams,” Mingyu chuckles nervously.

You grin. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Three (Day)

Wonwoo hadn’t been super excited when Mingyu convinced him to go snorkeling with you, but now that you’re all on the boat, he realizes it’s not the worst thing in the world.

“This alcove is well known for its whale sharks,” the tour guide says. “I know what you’re all thinking, sharks! Oh no! But rest assured, whale sharks are completely harmless to humans. I got a tip from one of my fishing friends that there’s a whale shark here today, how do we feel about getting in the water?”

Wonwoo looks at Mingyu immediately, and the larger Olympian doesn’t seem very enthusiastic about the prospect of diving with sharks.

“Let’s do it!” you say, surprising both men as you stand up.

The guide is as enthusiastic about it as you are, and soon the two of you are getting into the water while Mingyu and Wonwoo wait on the boat.

“She’s quite adventurous, isn’t she?” the captain of the small vessel asks.

“It would appear that way,” Wonwoo sighs.

“She a friend of yours?”

“We’re friends with her brother, he’s here for his wedding, at the resort,” Mingyu explains.

“Ah, I see. You’re both being good friends making sure his sister is okay while he gets ready for his wedding,” the captain nods.

“We’re not taking very good care of her from here,” Wonwoo frowns.

The captain looks out at the water, letting out a breath. “I assure you, whale sharks are perfectly safe.”

“Fuck it.” Wonwoo strips his shirt off, grabbing a snorkel and some goggles.

“Seriously?” Mingyu asks in shock.

“They’re harmless,” Wonwoo points out. “We’ll regret it if we don’t go in.”

Mingyu sighs, but he nods, agreeing with Wonwoo.

They both get ready, and then, they slowly lower themselves into the warm water.

For someone who spends so much time on the water, Wonwoo doesn’t spend a lot of time looking in the water. He’s immediately taken by the beauty of everything, the fish, the reefs- and he can see you and the guide in the distance next to a massive shape.

Giving a nod to Mingyu, the two of them begin to swim over to you. Wonwoo can feel his heart beginning to thump wildly in his chest at the sight of the whale shark.

He keeps telling himself that the shark is harmless, but it’s hard to keep even breathing when you’re next to such a massive animal.

Taking his eyes off the whale shark, Wonwoo turns his attention to you.

You look so happy, and fearless. It’s as if this is the first time Wonwoo’s seeing you in your element. Your walls aren’t up, it’s not all family politics and saving face- no, you’re being completely yourself, and it’s a beautiful sight.

The three of you all surface, and Mingyu immediately starts gushing to you about how amazing this whole thing is.

The both of you are like two peas in a pod, and Wonwoo, who has a harder time joining conversations, decides to stay out of it.

He simply watches, noting how good you and Mingyu look together… which kind of sucks, since Mingyu always gets the girls.

Wonwoo wants someone too, he wants someone fun, someone who brings out the wild side in himself- but he knows his greatest failing is being shy.

He was the odd kid in high school, a nerd- but at the same time, he was an athlete who no one would guess to be athletic just by looking at him.

Wonwoo still finds himself stuck in this limbo place at times. He knows who he is inside. He knows he’s a good person, with values. He knows he’s good at his sport. But he just can’t find it within himself to be the most social person, and sometimes, like now, that fact comes back to bite him in the ass.

Three (Night)

You hadn’t expected Seungcheol to ask you to come get post-dinner drinks with him, and you reluctantly walk up to the bar to meet your brother. “Hey, Cheol.”

“Hey. Didn’t see you all day.”

“I went snorkeling, saw a whale shark, it was super cool,” you smile.

“Didn’t see Mingyu or Wonwoo all day either.”

“They came with me,” you sigh. “I didn’t want to go alone.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Seungcheol looks down at his drink. “So… you trying to steal my friends now?”

“What?”

“They’re my friends, and you also can’t have both of them.”

You can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. “Cheol, we’re on vacation-”

“Yeah, but when I go home, these aren’t just some randoms. These are my friends, the guys I see all the time. This isn’t some innocent ‘hey I’m flirting with two guys at a resort, sort of thing,’ and we both know it.”

“Even if I was flirting with both of them, which I won’t admit to, it’s the twenty-first century, I’m pretty sure people are allowed to date more than one person.”

“You won’t admit to it, but you think it’s okay to date both of them,” your brother counters.

“Look, I thought you invited me for a drink, not an interrogation.”

“I’m just trying to look out for you,” Seungcheol defends himself. “We’re here in Thailand, I’m getting married- and you’re considering dating two of my friends. What if you want to get married one day, what then?”

“Then I get married?”

Seungcheol lets out a groan. “But if you’re dating two guys-”

“Like I said, I’m on vacation.”

“So you’re not thinking long-term with Wonwoo or Mingyu?”

“I just met them!”

“Okay, so we’re in agreement, no dating Wonwoo or Mingyu.”

“Seungcheol.” You shake your head, already exhausted with this conversation.

“What?”

“I’m so tired.”

“Hitting on two men will do that to you.”

“I’m going back to my room,” you decide. “And just so you know, I’m an artist. I’m not exactly a traditionalist the way you are, and what I choose to do with my love life is my business.”

Four (Day)

Today isn’t going exactly the way Seungcheol had planned. He’d woken up with this sinking feeling after his discussion with you last night, and he’d decided then and there to get Mingyu and Wonwoo away from the resort for the day.

So here he is, clambering up a mountain on a hiking trail with his workmates, and Seungcheol can’t find the words to converse with the two men who have seemingly been hitting on you.

Wonwoo and Mingyu always find a way to chat though, and Seungcheol listens to them behind him as he forges the way up the mountain.

“Oh, Seungcheol! Did we mention we went snorkeling with your sister yesterday?” Mingyu asks.

“I heard about that,” Seungcheol sighs.

“Did you talk to y/n?” Mingyu questions.

“Yeah, she told me there was a whale shark or something?”

“It was the coolest thing ever!” the puppylike surfer exclaims. “It was the biggest animal I’ve ever seen!”

“We couldn’t let your sister go off on some boat with strangers alone,” Wonwoo says bluntly. “And we knew you were busy with wedding stuff, so we figured we’d tag along with her.”

Seungcheol doesn’t even know what to say.

Logically, it makes sense that Wonwoo and Mingyu would go with you to make sure you were safe- but Seungcheol can’t help this sinking feeling that they’re the men he should be worried about you being around.

Not that Wonwoo or Mingyu would ever do anything bad to you- perhaps Seungcheol worries about your man-eating ways.

Mingyu had been terrified of ‘man-eating sharks,’ but he’s ignoring the clearest danger; you.

Seungcheol has seen the way you date. Flings here and there. You capture men with your mysterious artist allure, and they fall head over heels for you, only for you to leave them on the curb with a new muse for your canvas.

He doesn't want Mingyu and Wonwoo to be just another inspiration for emotional painting in your next art installation.

But how does he even say that to them? How does he tell Mingyu and Wonwoo that you’re practically a love witch, who has very little care for the men you toy with?

Seungcheol bites his tongue. Maybe this is just a lesson they have to learn. But fuck, at what cost?

Four (Night)

“So…” Mingyu sighs, sitting on his bed as he stares at Wonwoo on his own mattress. “Cheol is onto us.”

“Huh?” Wonwoo looks up from his phone.

“Seungcheol was being so weird today on that hike, and he was even weirder when we talked about his sister. I think he’s onto us.”

“Onto us about what?”

Mingyu lets out another deep breath. “About us both being into y/n.”

“Hmm?”

“Come on, it’s the elephant in the room.” Mingyu rolls his eyes with exasperation. “We haven’t talked about it, but we both know what’s happening. It’s not the first time.”

“It’s the first time the girl we’re into has been a friend’s sister,” Wonwoo points out. “Of course, Seungcheol is weird about it.”

Mingyu lays down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. “I really like her.”

“You really like every girl who’s cute, a little artsy, and up for adventure.”

“As if you’re not into the same thing,” Mingyu scoffs.

“Never said I wasn’t.”

Mingyu turns to look at Wonwoo, who is back to staring at his phone. It looks as if he’s given up on this whole thing, and Mingyu’s not quite sure what to make of it. “So… are you like… not going to try anything because she’s Seungcheol’s sister, or…?”

“It’s probably best if we keep her off limits.”

“Where’s the fun in that!? We wouldn’t be the first sports friends to tag team a girl!” Mingyu points out, thinking back to the discussion the two of you had about puck bunnies, which he has since looked up.

“We’re not going to tag team Seungcheol’s sister,” Wonwoo states, but he doesn’t sound too convinced, and neither is Mingyu.

Five (Day)

The close wedding party is doing a wedding rehearsal today, and Mingyu’s kind of shocked to run into you at the pool bar before dinner. He hadn’t expected to see any of the Chois today, and it’s a welcome surprise as he comes to sit with you.

“Hey,” he smiles.

“Hey yourself,” you grin, turning in your seat to get a better look at him.

“How's the rehearsal going?”

You take a deep breath. “As you’d expect it to. Lots and lots of details.”

“And you’re here… having a drink.”

“I don’t have a speech, so it’s not like I needed guiding on anything for this hour of the rehearsal,” you muse.

“No speech?” Mingyu can’t hide his surprise. “But you’re the sister of the groom! And you’re an artist!”

“I'm guessing Seungcheol doesn’t want me taking any… artistic liberties if you know what I mean,” you laugh.

“Artistic liberties like…?”

“You know,” you flip your hair over your shoulder, “talking about the time he used a straw to spit boba pearls in my hair when I was seven and told me they were fish eyes, and how he used to be so immature, now he’s a man, and slightly more adult. That I’m so happy his wife found him because he’s always needed a Mommy’s approval and that’s exactly what she gives him. That sort of thing.”

“Ouch,” Mingyu lets out a whistle. “Definitely wouldn’t want that in a speech at my wedding.”

“Exactly, which is why I’m here, getting my… third drink in the past hour? Just want this whole night to be over.”

“Are you happy for Seungcheol at least?”

“Of course, I’m happy for him, he found a woman to put up with his bullshit.” You shake your head, releasing another sigh. “I am happy for him, I am. Just… family events make me a little neurotic.”

“I guess that’s understandable.”

“It doesn’t help that the one meaningful conversation I’ve had with Cheol since I got here was him warning me not to be a whore who sleeps around with his friends.”

“Huh?” Mingyu freezes.

“He didn’t use those exact words, per se, but, the general connotation was he’ll think I’m a whore if I’m interested in two people at once. I think he forgets about the time in high school when he was stringing along two girls at the same time. At the start of relationships, there’s often overlap, and I think he’s been with his fiancee so long that he forgets about that.”

“It’s also… you know, the twenty-first century.”

“That’s what I said!” you laugh, reaching out to push Mingyu’s shoulder. “It’s the time of sexual liberation, of threesomes and polyamory and whole planned orgy events in speakeasies.”

“I don’t know what a speakeasy is.”

“That’s okay, hot shot,” you grin. “I could always take you to one sometime.”

“Yeah?”

“If Seungcheol doesn’t forbid me completely from being interested in you, I’d love to maybe go out once we’re all back in the city.”

“What about Wonwoo?”

“He can come too,” you say lazily, waving your hand, and it’s clear at that moment that you’re a little tipsy.

“So… you’re interested in two guys.”

“And you both seem to be okay with it,” you point out.

“We are,” Mingyu states, deciding to speak for Wonwoo. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I knew it!”

Five (Night)

The rehearsal is finally done, and you can’t get Mingyu out of your head. You find yourself stumbling to his room, and it’s only when you knock and Wonwoo answers, that you remember the two of them are shacking up together.

“Oh,” you blink at the tall, stoic man.

“Hi.”

“I’m uh… looking for Mingyu.”

“He’s probably doing laps at the pool,” Wonwoo tells you, leaning against the door frame. “I could walk you down there, or you could wait here till he comes back.”

“I…” You swallow thickly, too drunk to make decisions.

“Looks like you need some water,” Wonwoo muses, looking you up and down. “Come in.”

He pushes the door wider for you, and you stumble into the room, collapsing onto one of the sofa chairs. Wonwoo grabs a bottle of water for you from the small mini fridge, handing it over.

“Looks like the rehearsal was a shit show,” he chuckles.

“All family events are shit shows,” you sigh, taking a huge gulp of water.

“So… you and Mingyu.”

“What about me and Mingyu?” You narrow your eyes at the pretty man.

Wonwoo shrugs, laughing to himself. “I guess I’m just not surprised.”

“Is he usually the one who gets the girls?”

You can tell from the way Wonwoo sighs and leans back that you’ve hit the nail on the head.

“He’s just more of an extrovert,” Wonwoo says diplomatically. “Girls are into that.”

“Quiet types can be hot,” you point out. “I don’t have a preference one way or the other.”

Wonwoo meets your gaze, and you can feel him trying to assess you, to assess this situation that you’ve brought to his door.

You’re horny when you’re drunk, and you didn’t bring any sex toys on vacation, so it’s safe to say you’re wound up.

“Mingyu told me that Seungcheol had a chat with you about the two of us.”

“He did?” you ask in shock.

“There’s not much Mingyu doesn’t tell me.”

“And this is why I thought maybe the two of you were a couple!”

Wonwoo shakes his head at you, but there’s a smile brewing on the corners of his lips. “Have some more water.”

You roll your eyes at him but you do as you’re told. “So… Mingyu told me you’d be okay with me liking both of you, was he right?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Wonwoo sighs.

“That’s what Mingyu said!” you bellow. “We’re all on the exact same page!”

“It would look that way.”

“So…” you swallow thickly. “Threesome in Thailand?”

Wonwoo laughs, and you love the way he looks when he’s smiling. He’s so pretty, and the entire mysterious, stoic facade falls away.

“Not when you’re drunk.”

“Give me like… half an hour and this whole bottle of water and I’ll be good, I promise!” you insist.

“Not tonight,” Wonwoo says again. “In fact, I think I should probably walk you back to your room right about now.”

“Boring!” you whine.

“Boring, but the right thing to do.”

Wonwoo stands up, and he holds out a hand to you. You accept his offer, allowing him to pull you to your feet. You continue to whine as he escorts you across the resort to your own room, and when you get there, you pout out your lower lip.

“This is going to happen,” you tell him.

“Sure it is,” Wonwoo laughs, using your keycard to open your room. “Goodnight.”

“Do I not get a little kiss?”

Wonwoo sighs, and then he leans in… only for his lips to brush past your cheek. “Get some sleep,” he tells you. “And tomorrow, after the wedding, we’ll all sort this out.”

Six (Day)

Wonwoo can’t stop staring at you. He’d thought you’d been pretty last night, but today, in your full wedding outfit, you’re an absolute vision.

He can’t get you out of his head, can’t get the thought of you asking for a kiss off of his mind.

He’d done the right thing by denying you, he knows that, but fuck- he’s wishing he wasn’t so good of a man.

You’re stunning, even prettier than the bride by Wonwoo’s account.

Despite the differences between you and your brother, you’re awfully good at acting as if everything is alright, as if you weren’t drunk last night. You look like the perfect sister, the Choi family a vision of greatness.

It’s obvious to Wonwoo, as it’s obvious to Mingyu, that sometime soon, you’ll be bedding them both.

It’s been a while since Wonwoo and Mingyu shared anyone, but Wonwoo’s sure the two of them will work the dynamic out.

The only thing he’s unsure about is what comes after.

You’re Seungcheol’s sister, which means, you’re going to be in similar circles for as long as Seungcheol is still in the sport- maybe even after.

Is one night of fun worth the tension on his relationship with Seungcheol?

If Wonwoo cops out, letting Mingyu get all the fun - because Mingyu is very unlikely to back out of this supposed arrangement - will Wonwoo regret it?

Is there a future here with you? Does Wonwoo know you well enough to take the chance?

He’s very distracted for the entire wedding, but Wonwoo can’t help himself.

You’re a risk, and Wonwoo’s never been one to dabble with those- but, something deep inside of him, is telling him you might just be worth it.

Six (Night)

It’s supposed to be the happiest day of Seungcheol’s life, but he can’t help the annoyance that fills him as he watches you and Mingyu dance together at the reception.

Seungcheol is tapping his fingers, considering intervening- when a soft hand places itself on his own.

“Cheol?” his new wife, Sumi, says, drawing his attention.

“Yes?”

“Stop staring.”

Seungcheol had brought the situation up with Sumi a number of times this trip, and it’s clear she’s aware of what’s making him so irate.

“Can they be any more obvious?” Seungcheol groans.

“They’re just having fun.”

“Too much fun.”

Now it’s Sumi’s turn to sigh. “Seungcheol. Is this really going to be our first argument as man and wife?”

Seungcheol pauses.

“This is your sister we’re talking about. I understand you being protective, of her and your friends, but we know how y/n is. This isn’t going to be anything serious. Let her have her fun, and try not to think about it too deeply.”

“How am I supposed to train with these guys knowing they slept with my sister?” Seungcheol counters.

“If you don’t ask for confirmation that it happened, you never have to know,” Sumi says simply. “Just, don’t think about it.”

Seungcheol releases a deep breath. He’s not about to argue with his wife, but the whole situation is still very frustrating.

“For all we know, nothing will happen,” Sumi continues. “Just think about that.”

Seven (Day)

Wonwoo is at his breaking point. Lounging by the pool with Mingyu, watching you swim- watching the water glitter along your body as you move fluidly through the water-

“Fuck me,” Mingyu groans, sipping his beer. “I think I’m going to have to sit here for a while.”

“Huh?”

That’s when Wonwoo turns to realize Mingyu is stiff as a rock in his shorts, using a lounger pillow to cover himself awkwardly.

Wonwoo can’t help the laugh that escapes him. “Really dude?”

“I’m pent up!” Mingyu defends himself.

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” Wonwoo points out. “Maybe it’s best for everyone if we behave.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes. “Okay mister half-cocked.”

Wonwoo looks down immediately, realizing he’s now also sporting a half-chub.

“Fuck.” Wonwoo grabs a pillow from the lounger beside him, placing it on his lap like Mingyu.

“You know, it’s not even just about her being hot,” Mingyu says. “She’s an interesting person. She’s fun and artsy, and there’s emotional depth to her too.”

“I’ve never heard you say the words ‘emotional’ and ‘depth’ together in a sentence,” Wonwoo chuckles.

“Yeah, well, y/n has me thinking about big things.”

Seven (Night)

You head to the bar after dinner with one goal in mind; getting the two hot Olympians into your bed. You’d seen them ogling you at the pool earlier, and after toying with the notion of not sleeping with Mingyu and Wonwoo, you’ve decided the opportunity is too good to pass up.

Mingyu and Wonwoo aren’t hard to find, they’re seated at the bar, thick as thieves. All it takes is approaching them to get their attention.

“Hey, y/n,” Mingyu smiles, looking you up and down.

“Hey yourself, big guy,” you grin.

“Want to join us for a drink?” Wonwoo asks, already waving down the bartender for you.

“Actually, I was thinking maybe you two would want to get three bottles of beer and come to my room to check out my view.”

Mingyu swallows a noticeable lump in his throat. “Your view?”

“You know, my room is west-facing, and the sunset is gorgeous there, but you guys better hurry to decide or we might miss it.” You love teasing with them, and you love the way they both stumble quickly from their chairs even more.

Wonwoo says something to the bartender, and in five seconds flat, he’s holding three beers, intent to follow you to your room.

The walk is quiet, with tensions running high, but you think this is all part of the foreplay.

You have the power, and it’s absolutely dizzying.

The moment the door to your room closes behind the two men, you know you have them, completely, and it’s a wonderful thought.

“Here,” Wonwoo says, holding out a beer for you.

“Thank you.” You walk forward, toward your deck, sliding open the glass door to look out at the setting sun as it traces beautiful reds and purples along the ocean. “Told you the view was amazing.”

“It is,” Mingyu breathes, and when you turn, you find him staring at you.

“So…” You put your beer down on the outside table. “Are we doing this, or what?”

Wonwoo exchanges a look with Mingyu, and although you’re certain they’ve made up their minds, you’re also pretty sure it’s Wonwoo who has the most reservations about this whole thing.

“Look, what happens in Thailand stays in Thailand,” you muse. “Seungcheol never has to know.”

“I won’t say anything if you don’t,” Mingyu notes, looking at his friend.

Wonwoo lets out a sigh. “Fuck it.”

“Fuck it,” you repeat with a grin, joining the men in your room while shutting the door to the deck behind you. “Look, as artsy as I am, I’ve never had a threesome,” you explain. “So… I think I want you both to take the lead.”

“We can do that,” Mingyu nods, setting his beer down.

“And if anything feels wrong, just say something,” Wonwoo agrees, also discarding his drink.

“Okay.”

You look between the men, and shockingly, it’s Wonwoo who moves first. He steps close to you, his hands reaching for your hips. “So… what do you like?”

“What do I like?” you ask.

“Yeah.” He leans closer, his lips ghosting past your throat, sending a shiver through your form as his mouth moves to your ear. “What do you like?”

“Um…” You swallow thickly, already feeling as if you’re in a daze. “I guess, I’m good with rough.”

“Rough?” He nips at your ear lobe and it takes everything in you not to moan from the sensation.

“Like… spanking, choking, manhandling-” You feel like you’re rambling already.

“What else?”

“Clit stuff? I can’t cum without someone rubbing my clit, so, that’s pretty important.”

“Most girls can’t cum without clit stuff,” Wonwoo tells you. “So don’t worry too much about that.”

“What do you not like?” Mingyu asks.

“Well, I’ve never tried anal, and I’m not going to try it today,” you blurt out, causing both men to chuckle.

“Neither of us expected that,” Wonwoo muses.

“Okay, good.” You feel like a weight has been lifted, part of you had been worried anal would be a natural stepping stone for a threesome, but these Olympians seem very devoted to making the experience a good one for you, something new but familiar, still within your area of interest.

“Come on.” Wonwoo pulls away from your throat, grabbing your hand to guide you to the bed. “Mingyu has zero patience, he was hard today just watching you in the pool, so you probably shouldn’t tease him for much longer.”

“I wasn’t the only one who was hard,” Mingyu snaps, and you look between the men. They’d really been hard just from watching you today? You’d had no idea how deep their interest in you has truly run, and it makes confidence flow through you.

Mingyu takes a seat on the bed, and Wonwoo guides you between his friend's open knees.

Your hands find the larger man’s shoulders, and he looks up at you adoringly. He grabs the back of your thighs, pulling you closer.

It only feels natural to get on top of Mingyu, straddling him as your lips meet for the first time.

He lets you control the pace at first, kissing you gently as one hand cups your cheek, his other pressing to the small of your back to help you get seated on him.

Soon, however, Mingyu is getting more and more eager, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip as he moans.

You can feel yourself getting hotter by the second, and you allow the man entry to your mouth, grinding down against him as you make out.

He’s already hard in his board shorts, and that knowledge prompts you to hurry with undressing him. You start with his button-up shirt, working your way to open it up before you can push it from his shoulders.

Mingyu groans louder, allowing you to strip his torso, and then your hands begin to explore his muscular body.

His own hands begin to massage you, both of them moving to your ass, teasing you through your dress. Then, his fingers slip under the fabric, moving up in an effort to get you undressed as well.

Before you know it, you’re both halfway to nudity, with you in only a bikini, and Mingyu in his board shorts.

Then, Mingyu is rolling you onto your back, his kisses descending to your throat, then your breasts-

You can only moan and writhe against the sheets, loving the way his mouth toys over your pussy, his tongue licking at you through your bikini bottoms.

“Take them off,” you tell him, lifting your hips to aid Mingyu.

The bed dips next to you, and you turn to see Wonwoo. “Can I take off your bikini top too?” he asks.

“Yes, please.” You swallow thickly as the two men get you fully naked for them, and it feels amazing to be bare for them both.

Mingyu immediately grabs your thighs, pressing his mouth to your core while Wonwoo begins to massage your breasts, his thumb grazing past your nipple deliciously.

You haven’t had someone eat you out in a while, and the feeling of a tongue lapping at your clit has you crying out. Your hand flies to Wonwoo’s thigh, squeezing him while he chuckles down at you.

“That good, huh?”

“So good,” you whimper.

He pinches your nipple, and you cry out louder.

“Is this the type of pain you like?” he asks.

“Mmmm,” you moan, nodding. “Feels amazing.”

Wonwoo leans down over you, letting go of your breast to grasp your jaw.

You can’t help yourself, you lift your head a little, eager for his lips.

He gives you what you want, pressing his mouth to yours for the first time.

He’s a lot more calculated than Mingyu had been, controlled even. There’s something so sexy about a man who knows how to keep an even pace, and it has you moaning against his lips while Mingyu continues to eat you out as if his life depends on it.

It’s Wonwoo who decides when to deepen the kiss, and you grab at his shoulders, threading your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

This feels amazing- two mouths on you at once, worshipping your body.

Wonwoo’s hand slips down to your breast, pinching your nipple and making you cry out even more, your thighs quaking around Mingyu’s head-

Then, Wonwoo breaks the kiss, sitting up again to look down at you.

“Can I touch you?” you ask, noticing the tent in his pants. “Please?”

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

Wonwoo shifts a little, pulling his shorts down just enough for you to wrap your hand around his cock.

He’s big, bigger than you’d expected-

“Needs lube,” Wonwoo tells you, pulling your hand away from him. “Your spit or mine?”

“Yours,” you breathe.

Wonwoo chuckles, then he leans over you again, grabbing your jaw and prompting you to open your mouth.

When you stick out your tongue, he spits into your mouth.

“Now, onto your hand,” he instructs.

Fuck. There’s something so dirty about what he just did- spitting into your mouth, getting you to spit into your hand-

You’ve never been one for spitting, but if Wonwoo’s the one doing it? Fuck it, your mouth is wide open.

You spit onto your palm, bringing it to his cock.

The lubrication makes stroking him easier, and you do your best to focus on both men.

It’s a repetitive motion with Wonwoo’s cock, and it makes it easy for you to lose yourself in the feeling of Mingyu, who suddenly pushes two digits into your wet hole, making you moan even louder.

“Looks like he wants you to cum,” Wonwoo muses.

“I can do that,” you nod, whimpering again when Mingyu sucks roughly on your clit.

He’s pumping his fingers expertly, hitting your G-spot while your pussy loudly squelches around him, betraying how wet and turned on you are.

“Come on, gorgeous,” Wonwoo encourages you, pinching your nipple again and making you moan louder. “Mingyu’s been good for you, hasn’t he?”

“So good,” you whimper, closing your eyes and giving in to the sensations.

“Then cum for us,” Wonwoo tells you, tweaking your nipple again-

The pleasurable pain is enough to send you over the edge, your core clamping down tight on Mingyu’s fingers, your thighs trying to close around his head while he continues to suck roughly on your pulsating clit-

The ecstasy of your orgasm is flooding through you like a tidal wave, taking over every inch of your body and making you delirious.

You’re a gasping mess, but two sets of hands keep you steady, working you through your orgasm until you feel a tear in your eye from oversensitivity.

“Okay, Gyu,” Wonwoo sighs. “I think she’s had enough of your mouth.”

Mingyu lets out an audible whine, but he pulls away from your pussy. You can practically hear him lick his lips, then his fingers.

“You tasted like magic, baby,” Mingyu tells you, and you open your eyes to see him standing up, pushing his board shorts down to reveal an even bigger cock than Wonwoo’s.

“Do we need condoms?” Wonwoo asks.

“No, I’m protected, unless you guys-”

“We’re clean,” Mingyu tells you, looking down at your pussy.

“You sure about this?” Wonwoo questions, stopping your hand on his cock so you can give him your full attention.

“Yeah, want you guys to cum inside of me,” you whimper.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Mingyu laughs, dragging you to the edge of the bed. He rubs the tip of his length up and down your slit. “Ready, baby?”

“Yeah, fuck me,” you nod, picking up where you left off with Wonwoo’s cock, which you begin to stroke even faster.

Mingyu pushes an inch into you, letting your body adjust to his girth. You groan loudly, turning your head and looking at Wonwoo.

“Can I suck you off while he fucks me?” you ask.

“Are you sure you can manage both of us at once?”

“I’ll do my best,” you promise.

Your honesty must be amusing to Wonwoo because he laughs. “Okay, gorgeous. But I’m not going to have you lying down like this, we’re going to do this right and spit roast you.”

“Spit roast?” You blink.

“Just trust us,” Wonwo says, pulling away from you to stand up. You watch him get undressed, and Mingyu takes the opportunity to sink even deeper into your core, making you both groan.

“Do we have to spitroast?” Mingyu asks.

“It’s the only way that makes sense for her,” Wonwoo explains.

“Yeah but, I’d have to pull out, and flip her onto her hands and knees, and I don’t want to be out of this perfect pussy for even a second.” Gosh, Mingyu’s so whiney, it’s kind of adorable.

“Well, power through, champ,” Wonwoo chuckles, shaking his head at his friend.

“Fuck, fine.”

In one quick motion, Mingyu pulls out of your core and flips you over. His hands grasp your hips, pulling you up into doggy before guiding his cock back into your wet hole.

It seriously only took a second, and you’re groaning from the sensation of being filled again.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Wonwoo asks.

“It almost killed me,” Mingyu says dramatically.

Wonwoo gets onto the bed in front of you, and you push up onto your hands, looking up at him.

Wonwoo strokes your hair. “Sure you’re ready for this?”

“Why do a threesome if you’re not going to try double penetration of some kind?” you counter.

“Little miss overachiever here,” Wonwoo chuckles affectionately.

“This pussy feels so good,” Mingyu groans behind you, landing a gentle smack to your ass that has you whimpering loudly.

“Let's see how your mouth feels.”

Wonwoo grabs the base of his cock, holding his length up for you. You eagerly move forward, wrapping your mouth around the tip.

It’s hard to move forward and get more of him in your mouth with Mingyu fucking you gently, but as his pace increases, his thrusts getting rougher, it gives you more leeway to sink onto Wonwoo’s cock.

You suck him eagerly, closing your eyes and enjoying the double-stuffed feeling.

“You’re definitely an overachiever,” Wonwoo groans, beginning to move his hips a little to meet your motions, making it easier for you. “Sucking me so good.”

You groan around him, loving the praise.

Wonwoo had struck you as so shy when you met him- but it’s always the quiet types who are the dirtiest fucks with the most sinful mouths.

You love having both of them. Mingyu, who’s so enraptured by you that all he can manage are moans and whimpers, and Wonwoo, who’s controlled enough to praise you and keep a handle on the entire situation.

They balance each other out very well, and this whole thing feels like heaven.

Mingyu is fucking you roughly now, and there’s something so oddly sexy about the force of his balls against your clit with each thrust- these men have you cock drunk, have you thinking about shit that’s never even crossed your mind before.

Another gentle smack against your ass has you moaning lewdly around Wonwoo’s cock, and pain blossoms across your skin deliciously.

“You get so tight when I spank you,” Mingyu groans.

“Then keep spanking her,” Wonwoo suggests.

“I don’t want to hurt her.”

“She said she likes it rough, I doubt it will be an issue.”

God, you love a man who listens, a man who takes note of your kinks. With your mouth full, you can’t exactly advocate for yourself, but you don’t have to, Wonwoo will do it for you.

Another smack has your eyes rolling into the back of your head, your pussy clenching tightly around the large intrusion.

“Fuck,” Mingyu groans, landing another smack.

The man behind you has slowed his thrusts now, too focused on spanking you to be cohesive, but Wonwoo takes the opportunity to fuck your face harder.

If he’d tried this when Mingyu was going wild, he would have risked making you choke on his cock, but now, he’s in control, and you love the way he dominates your mouth.

You do your best to suck Wonwoo well, and the groans that begin to tumble from his lips are affirmation enough that you’re doing your job.

Mingyu’s finished with the spanking, and one of his hands slips around your body, fingers finding your clit.

“Want you to cum on my cock,” Mingyu tells you.

You moan a confirmation sound, and Mingyu begins to slowly fuck you again, rubbing your still sensitive clit harshly.

Wonwoo abruptly pulls out of your mouth, and you look up at him in confusion. “Want to watch you come undone for us,” Wonwoo tells you, his fist now wrapped around his length.

You watch him pump his cock, and fuck- it looks so good.

There’s a lump in your throat, and you swallow it thickly, overwhelmed by everything in the best possible way.

“Fuck,” you whimper, closing your eyes-

“Look at me,” Wonwoo instructs.

It’s hard to do as he commands, but you do as you’re told, gazing up at him.

He continues to pump his cock, one hand in your hair to keep your neck arched so your eyes are on him.

Mingyu’s beginning to groan behind you again and the sounds turn you on even more.

You can feel the coil building in the pit of your stomach, and the whimpers escaping you are notice enough that you’re getting close.

“That’s it, gorgeous,” Wonwoo groans. “Cum for him, then you get to cum for me.”

God, his words are perfection, and the tension builds even more-

Mingyu rubs your clit harder, and you whimper loudly, hands beginning to shake as you hold yourself up.

“Fuck her harder,” Wonwoo instructs. “She’s close.”

Mingyu does as he’s told, and the roughness is all you need, a moment later, you’re gasping loudly, your core clamping down on Mingyu’s cock, clit throbbing deliciously.

“Fuck!” Mingyu groans, his thrusts becoming erratic as he begins to fill you up with his cum.

His hands are rough on your hips, but you love it, love the way you can feel his cock pulsing as he shoots deep inside of you.

When Mingyu finally finishes, you can feel his breath against your shoulders, and there’s something erotic about that too.

“Still ready for more?” Wonwoo asks, stroking your cheek.

“Yeah, want your cum too,” you tell him.

Mingyu chuckles, pulling out of you with a grunt.

He gets off the bed, moving to the bathroom, and leaving you alone with Wonwoo.

“Do you want to be on top?” Wonwoo questions.

“I’m tired,” you whine.

The man above you laughs. “Then I’ll do all the work, get onto your back.”

You do as you’re told, releasing a sigh of relief as you lay down on the bed. Wonwoo gets between your thighs. “Mingyu always makes such a mess,” he tuts. “We’ll have to clean you up after this.”

As much as he’s made a remark about Mingyu’s cum, the substance doesn’t seem to bother Wonwoo, who immediately drags the tip of his cock across your pussy lips, pushing in gently.

You groan, reaching up to grab Wonwoo’s shoulders. You tug him down on top of you, threading your fingers through his hair as you press your lips to his own.

Wonwoo kisses you back, beginning to thrust as he does so.

Mingyu is girthier, but Wonwoo is longer, and the tip of his cock hits deep inside of you, making you moan immediately.

Now that he’s inside of you, it’s clear Wonwoo’s not as much of a talker. He gives you his entire focus, his lips not leaving yours as he works you open, finding the perfect pace.

You know he wants you to cum with him, and you’d bet that he’s close after the blow job you gave him, so you sneak your hand between your bodies, gently rubbing your clit.

You’re super sensitive after two orgasms, and you can feel your pussy clench desperately from the stimulus.

Wonwoo groans against your lips, adjusting so he can wrap one hand around your throat. He doesn’t apply a lot of pressure, just enough to make your body tingle with delight.

There’s something so erotic about knowing this man is stronger than you, knowing he could easily hurt you- but he won’t. He’s giving in to your desires, your kinks, in an effort to make this sex as good as possible for you.

A little more pressure has you whining, and Wonwoo breaks the kiss to look down at you. “Good?”

You whimper, nodding. “Good!”

His lips attack yours again, but there’s more ferocity this time, and as you rub your clit as roughly as you can stand, you know you won’t be able to hold out very long like this.

The bed dips next to you and you know Mingyu has returned, but Wonwoo doesn’t break the kiss to allow you to give his friend any attention.

Mingyu’s hand glides up your arm, and he’s able to push it between your chest and Wonwoo’s, fingers pinching at your nipples.

You whine even louder, overcome by the pleasure that’s beginning to surge through you again.

Wonwoo’s fucking you roughly now, his hand still on your throat as he kisses your breath away, Mingyu’s playing with your sensitive nipples, and you’re rubbing your clit- this is definitely heaven, and you give yourself over to the feeling of it.

God, to be worshipped by two people- how can you ever go back to regular one-on-one sex after this?

You can feel your pussy clenching, getting closer and closer to the edge-

Wonwoo breaks the kiss, his lips seeking out your throat. “I can feel that you’re almost there, gorgeous,” he groans.

“Yes!” you whimper.

“So do it, cum for us.”

He tightens his grip on your throat and your entire body fizzles with hot erotic energy.

You clench your eyes shut, focusing on the pressure in your abdomen-

One more tweak of your nipples has you gasping, exploding around Wonwoo, who groans lewdly in your ear, fucking you even harder in an effort to reach his high with you.

A moment later you can feel him filling you up too, and it feels so good to be this full.

Mingyu relents on your nipples, and you pull your hand away from your clit in favor of wrapping your arms around Wonwoo, holding him close and panting while you both enjoy the last seconds of your highs.

When it’s all said and done, you can hardly open your eyes, can hardly move as Wonwoo gets off of you.

A minute later, someone is washing your inner thighs, and then, Mingyu is lifting you off the bed. You find yourself in the bathroom, held up by two strong men as they wash your body, pressing gentle kisses here and there.

“Think we fucked her stupid,” Mingyu chuckles.

“Three orgasms can be a lot all at once,” Wonwoo muses.

“I don’t know about you, but if what happens in Thailand stays in Thailand, and this is the only night we get with her, I plan on giving her more than just three.”

“Let her rest a little, we’ll get her some water, and we’ll see how she feels,” Wonwoo reminds his overeager friend.

You can’t muster the energy to speak just yet, but fuck it, you’re not going to miss this opportunity, you’re aware of how fleeting it may be.

Epilogue

Everyone is at the airport, and Seungcheol can’t take his gaze off you, Wonwoo, and Mingyu.

To the untrained eye, you might all just look like travel buddies, sitting together and chatting. But to Seungcheol, he can see right through it.

“They totally fucked,” Seungcheol says through gritted teeth, crossing his arms over his chest as he waits next to his wife for their flight out of Thailand.

“You’re overthinking things again,” Sumi reminds him, flipping through her fashion magazine.

“I’m not overthinking anything,” Seungcheol snaps, but then he takes a second to calm himself. “It’s not going to last.”

Sumi lets out a sigh. “Then you have nothing to worry about.”

Seungcheol can’t exactly explain the emotions he’s feeling, there are too many of them, jumbled together and amplified.

But as he watches you laugh with his friends, he realizes it’s the first time he’s really seen you smile in years.

It’s a thoughtless smile, a smile that’s not forced or trained to keep up with the family image. It’s a smile that says you’re completely at ease with the situation, and upon seeing it, something inside Seungcheol softens.

Your entire relationship as siblings has been competition, and Seungcheol thinks maybe part of this whole issue has been the feeling that he’s competing with you for his friends’ attention. Maybe he shouldn’t be viewing it that way, after all, you deserve to be happy too.

Seungcheol’s pretty sure this love affair between the three of you won’t last, and when it’s over, he can have his friends back. He can pretend none of this ever happened.

But, Seungcheol supposes, as your brother, the best thing he can do is let this all go, and try to just be happy for you.

With one last sight, Seungcheol places his hand over Sumi’s, leaning in to give her cheek a kiss. “You’re my rock.”

“I know.”

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! I haven't written meanie in forever and I'm glad I was able to spend time with them in this fic this month.

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below!

🔮 preview. To celebrate a year or so of being together, you, Mingyu, and Wonwoo are back in Thailand. It feels fitting to be celebrating a relationship that started here, and it’s with newfound appreciation that you enjoy the resort Seungcheol got married at thirteen months ago.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, threesome, double penetration, anal, fingering, pussy eating, spanking, groping, manhandling, fullness kink, praise, dirty talk, squirting, overstimulation, etc… I petnames. (hers). Gorgeous, baby.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.3 I teaser wc. 90

🌙 starring. Seungcheol & Mingyu x afab!Reader

bonus

When you’d returned to the city, you’d invited Mingyu and Wonwoo to your art showing. The two of them had come through for you, making the night even more wonderful than it had promised to be.

You’d all gone home after the showing together, spending hours fucking and talking- and things had just continued that way.

No relationship in your life has ever been this easy, and you realize, after almost a year of seeing the two men, that this isn’t a dynamic you ever want to give up.

☀️ to read the full fic AND 2.3k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

👹 or check out what else is on my patreon here

🔮if nothing strikes your fancy, check out my m.list

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#mingyu #wonwoo #thediamondlifenetwork #mingyu smut #wonwoo smut #svt #svt smut #seventeen #seventeen smut #mingyu svt #svt mingyu #mingyu svt smut #svt mingyu smut #wonwoo svt #svt wonwoo smut #kim mingyu #kim mingyu smut #jeon wonwoo #jeon wonwoo smut

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the-sunflower-room · 8 months ago

Text

scared half to death

🌪️tyler owens x fem!reader

☆ genre: angst, fluff, friends to lovers

☆ wc: 2.7k

☆ summary: tyler owens is not easily angered, but when the love of his life runs into an incoming tornado without a second thought, his emotions get the better of him.

☆ warnings: a very upset tyler, yelling, language

note: so i watched twisters and it was actually everything to me! the brainrot is bad and i’ve been wanting to write for tyler ever since i saw it, so here it is! this is very much the idiots in love trope because it’s one of my favorites. enjoy! :)

“Where is she?”

Tyler isn’t sure if he’s ever felt this angry before. He considers himself a fairly easy going man, always quick to make light of a situation and put everyone in the room at ease with his charming, joking nature.

But this was different. This had his heart pounding, his ears ringing. His face is flushed red and he feels like he can hardly breathe.

All because of her.

He slams the door of his truck, approaching his crew in the gas station parking lot with a look on his face that’s so completely un-Tyler that it makes them all shift uneasily.

“Where’s…who?” Boone tries weakly, unsuccessful in his attempt to play dumb. Lily rolls her eyes and elbows him in the ribs, shooting him a glare.

Tyler clenches his jaw, for once not in the mood for his friends’ antics. “You know damn well who I’m talking about.”

They all exchange glances, his uncharacteristic demeanor both surprising and concerning. This isn’t the calm, charismatic frontman of the Tornado Wranglers they’re used to.

“She’s in the RV, but I don’t think-” Dani begins, but he’s already beelining for the camper before they can finish. He can hear his heartbeat pulsing in his ears as he nearly bursts through the door, finding her sitting at the small table in the back with her head in her hands.

Her gaze snaps up at the sound of his entrance into the RV, and her face immediately drops when she sees him practically fuming. “Tyler-” she says urgently, instantly on her feet as he approaches as if she’s about to defend herself. But he isn’t having any of it.

“You wanna tell me what the hell you were thinking out there?” He seethes, suddenly towering over her with his jaw clenched and hands on his hips. She swallows thickly, nervous around this version of him. Terrified to have upset him, disappointed him.

“Tyler, I promise, I was just trying to do the right thing-” she starts again, her tone practically pleading, but he just scoffs.

“The right thing?” He questions in disbelief, cutting her off with a shake of his head. “You call nearly getting yourself killed in the field ‘doing the right thing’?”

She squeezes her eyes shut at the reminder of what she’d done, at the venom in his voice that’s ordinarily so gentle when directed at her. Memories of what had transpired nearly 20 minutes ago flood her mind and she feels a lump forming in her throat.

“I couldn’t let our data get lost,” she whispers weakly, her gaze glued to the floor in shame. “Bullshit,” he mutters, jaw clenched as his breath picks up. His eyes search her face, grasping to understand why the hell she had risked her life the way she had.

“You don’t run into the path of an incoming EF3 to recover some stupid equipment for our disruption research,” he practically spits, his voice growing louder, more emotional.

“That equipment is completely replaceable. You sure as hell aren’t. So I want to know why on god’s green earth you thought it was a good idea to run headfirst into danger like that.”

Her breath hitches, her eyes welling up with unshed tears at the reminder of her brashness. She feels ashamed and almost embarrassed as Tyler practically berates her.

They were best friends, a pair that the rest of the team liked to call the “dynamic duo.” With a shared passion for tornadoes and a taste for danger, they had instantly clicked from the moment they met during a chase a few years ago, becoming inseparable. Which is why Tyler’s harsh reminder of her stupidity stung so painfully.

She wasn’t used to hearing him so upset, so emotional in the worst way. With her, his tone was always soft, teasing, sometimes so overtly flirty that it would leave her heart pounding and her cheeks flushed.

But this was different. Now his gaze was harsh, curses unnaturally tumbling from his lips as she struggled to explain herself. And she hated every moment of his scrutinizing stare.

“You’ve worked so hard on putting together the equipment for the disruption research. I didn’t want you to have to start from scratch…not after all the effort you went through,” she explains pathetically, her voice cracking slightly as her emotions begin to shine through.

Tyler shakes his head, stepping even closer into her space. “And you thought it was worth risking your life for?” He grits out, his furrowed brow and downturned lips looking so unnatural on his normally smiling face.

Another shuddering breath escapes her as she catches herself from revealing the true reason she’d been so careless, from baring her soul and telling him that she’d run into the path of an incoming tornado because she loved him more than anything. That the thought of his disappointed face, his devastation over months of work lost to an unpredictably large tornado, hurt her so much that she would have done anything to save that equipment.

Anything to make him happy, to be the hero that he was to her.

“I- I didn’t get hurt, I knew I had time to get at least some of it-” she stammers, but she can’t get the words out.

“You didn’t have time!” He practically yells, gripping her shoulders and giving her a gentle shake. His eyes are wide, his gaze burning as he stares down at her.

“If Boone hadn’t been close by with his truck, you could’ve easily not made it. You could’ve died,” he chokes out, his grip on her tightening. His eyes are watering now, his anger fizzling out into something more desperate, more panicked.

Tyler still remembers the pure, unadulterated fear he’d felt as she slipped out of the safety of his truck before he could stop her, sprinting out into the open field where the winds and torrential rain were getting worse by the second.

He remembers the devastated scream of her name that had ripped itself from his chest, lost to the howling winds.

He sure as hell can’t forget the feeling of overwhelming fear and helplessness that overtook him when the rain became so intense that he could not longer see her, no longer assure himself that she hadn’t been sucked up into the raging funnel or hurt by the flying debris.

It was only when he got radio confirmation from Boone five minutes later, stating that she was safe in their truck with some of the equipment intact, that he even knew she was alive.

It had been the most hopeless, terrifying five minutes of his life.

“Don’t you understand what you mean to everyone? What you mean to me?” He rasps, his voice quieter now, more broken. “Some stupid equipment for an experiment isn’t worth your life, Y/N. Not in the least.”

His eyes are tender now as they rake over her face, scanning the scrapes and cuts littering her cheeks, the patch of dried blood clinging to her temple. His heart aches at the thought of her getting hurt, even if the injuries are small.

She notices that nearly all of his anger has left his body, replaced by the emotion that had truly been brewing beneath the surface: crippling fear at the possibility of losing her.

A silent tear runs down her face at his softer, more vulnerable words, her heart breaking as she realizes the effect her thoughtless actions have had on the man she loves. He’s quick to gently wipe it away with the pad of his thumb, his touch lingering on her cheek as he gazes at her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice breaking as she chokes back a sob. In an instant, he’s enveloping her in his tight, comforting hold, cradling her head to his chest and pulling her so close to him that their bodies are practically molded together.

“Shhh…it’s alright, sweetheart,” he gently hushes, his hand stroking through her hair as she cries softly against him. He’s back to himself now, all anger and frustration long abandoned in favor of his naturally calm, caring demeanor. Through her tears, she feels herself flushing slightly at his term of endearment.

“I’m the sorry one. I shouldn’t have yelled at ya, you didn’t deserve it,” he murmurs into her ear, his arms tightening around her.

He internally berates himself for defaulting to anger when she had also probably been scared and upset. But thinking she had died in that tornado just for attempting to recover his equipment had struck something so deep within him that his brain had reacted irrationally.

He stews in his remorse for a moment longer before admitting a truth that might be a little too vulnerable, a little too revealing of his deep and unwavering love for her, but he has to get it off his chest.

“…You just scared me half to death, darlin’. I can’t lose you...I can’t. It would tear me apart worse than a damn tornado ever could.” His whispered words are so raw and tinged with devastation that her breath hitches against his chest.

Slowly, she peels herself away from his comforting embrace to get a good look at him, and what she finds makes her heart clench in her chest.

His eyes are red and glassy, obvious signs that he’d been crying. His muscles are taught with anxiety, like every fiber in his body had been tense ever since she fled his truck. His hair is slightly tousled and she instantly knows he’d been running his hand through it the way he does when he’s stressed.

The thought that she could cause him this much worry, this much pain, sucks the breath from her lungs and makes her feel dizzy.

“I only tried to save the equipment because I knew how important the research was to you,” she whispers, her voice still shaky but full of sincerity.

“I know how much it means to you, finding a way to keep these tornadoes from causing so much damage to innocent lives. I just- I wanted to do something brave and selfless for you, the way you always have for me,” she admits softly, swallowing as she meets his gaze.

His lips part slightly at her admission, the reverence in her words staggering. Hearing that she cares for him, finds him brave and selfless, wants to return the way he makes her feel, fills his heart with a love so deep he feels like he’s drowning in it.

“Y/N, you’re-” he rasps, pausing to clear his throat when he hears how raw and weak his voice sounds.

“You’re so damn sweet. Your heart is so big. That’s what I love about you. But please, don’t be as stupid as me. I throw myself headfirst into danger so much because I don’t think first…my judgement gets clouded by the thought of helping someone and I get tunnel vision. Which has put me in one too many potentially life-ending scenarios,” he murmurs, his hands squeezing her slightly as they rest on her shoulders.

“I can’t- I won’t let you be that careless. You mean too much to me.”

Her eyes widen at the tenderness in his voice, the affection and worry dripping from every word. It feels like their conversation is breaching on something deeper, something much more vulnerable and terrifying.

Her mind is hung up on his soft that’s what I love about you. Even hearing the word love directed at her from the mouth of Tyler Owens makes her head spin and her face heat up, and she’s unsure if she’s even breathing anymore.

“Tyler…” she manages, her voice threatening to break with the overwhelming swirl of emotions running through her. She can’t help herself, knows that she’s finally going to put it out there, tell him how she feels no matter how scary it might be.

“I love-” his lips are on hers before she can even finish. The sensation of Tyler kissing her is unlike anything she’s ever felt, and she’s damn sure she never wants him to stop.

His large hand tenderly cups her cheek while the other snakes into her hair, tangling his fingers through the strands as he pulls her even closer. She gasps softly as his grip tightens, his lips moving against her own with an almost feral desperation.

The salt from her tears mixes with his sweet taste – something like honey and peppermint – and she melts further into him and his warmth. She can feel him pour every ounce of his turbulent, pent-up emotions into the kiss, and it leaves her completely breathless.

He’s waited for this moment for so long, and after thinking he’d lost her today, he’d be content to just kiss her like this for the rest of time. Reassuring himself that’s she’s still there, that she’s his. Showing her what she means to him.

Finally getting a grip on his emotions, Tyler pulls away for a moment, wanting to make sure he hasn’t misread the signs, misinterpreted what he’d felt brewing between them for so long.

But a wide, disbelieving grin spreads across her face as she fights to catch her breath, and he suddenly has no doubt that she’s been his all along.

“I’ve been waiting for that for- well, I don’t even know how long,” she laughs breathlessly, slightly woozy from his intoxicating taste.

He huffs a laugh in return, his eyes shining with an overwhelming adoration for the woman before him. “Yeah…I think Boone might owe Dexter and Lily some money,” he jokes softly, his thumb gently brushing her rain-soaked hair away from her face.

His eyes roam over her, taking in every inch of her muddy clothes, her scraped up hands, the shallow cut on her temple. Regret courses through him at the way he’d raised his voice at her, even if it had been out of fear of losing her.

“Are you sure you weren’t hurt?” He murmurs, his voice lower and more serious than before. She gently nods, her hand moving to rest on top of his own as it cups her face.

“I’m ok, promise. It’s just a little scrape from slipping in the mud,” she reassures him, sensing his lingering gaze on her slightly bloodied face. She can practically feel the apprehension in his stare, his constant worry for her well-being so endearing that she just wants to kiss him again and again.

“I promise, Ty. And I swear, I won’t do anything like that again. I just got lost in the moment and didn’t think before acting.” He nods slowly, letting the sincerity in her voice wash over her and comfort his racing mind.

“You’d better not,” he teases softly, a ghost of a smile pulling at his lips. “If we’re doing this thing, no more running headfirst into tornadoes, you hear? Can’t have my girl acting like an irrational daredevil like me. I’ve been told she’s smarter than that.”

She feels herself blushing as he calls her his girl, the title rolling off his tongue so naturally that it makes her heart skip a beat. Tyler watches as a hearty laugh escapes her and she leans into his touch, his own smile growing wider.

Suddenly nothing else has ever mattered beyond this moment of her in his arms, blushing and laughing like he’s the funniest damn man in the world.

“Ok, alright,” she giggles with feigned exasperation. “No more running into tornado paths, I swear. Wrangler’s honor. But you have to swear it too. You’re an adrenaline junkie and a trouble maker, even more than I am.”

He chuckles at her playful jab, his body feeling lighter than it has all day as he finally lets the tension within him fade. She’s safe, he tells himself over and over. She’s alive, she’s teasing him like she always does, and she’s got him smiling like a damn fool.

“Baby,” he mutters with that teasing glint in his eye, “you need to get my head checked if I ever run away from you and into a tornado. No man in his right mind would leave a gorgeous thing like you for some wind.”

Before she can reply to his ridiculous comment, he captures her lips once more with his own, relishing in the way she smiles against him as he pulls her closer.

This is all Tyler’s ever wanted - all he’s ever needed. Just her, safe and sound, loving him in all his flaws and worry for her.

If her running into that damn field led to this moment, this reality where she’s finally his, then so be it. He’s never been more grateful for a tornado.

#tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x you #tyler owens x y/n #tyler owens imagine #twisters #twisters x reader #twisters x you #tyler owens #tyler owens fanfiction #tyler owens fanfic #tyler owens twisters #tyler owens imagines #twisters imagines #tyler owens fic #glen powell #glen powell twisters #glen powell imagine

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jojolimons · 1 year ago

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im rewatching batman the brave and the bold and its still pretty good :]

#limon talks #not rlly sure what prompted it #i just remember watching some episodes here and there when they were new #i like the dynamic of batman teaming up with a superhero in each episode #i also love this art style #currently at the episode where he teams up with bronze tiger #its a pretty cool episode #favorite so far was when batman helps save the green lantern corps #it was funny to me how happy he got getting a power suit from the green lanterns #he must have thought he was soooo badass in it lmao #which i guess he was but not like more than he usually is in this show #kinda interesting to make the green arrow his rival

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inkandapex · 3 months ago

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in the slopes

Lando Norris x Reader

Chapter Summary: Lando and Y/N have always been inseparable, but during a snowy getaway with friends, their usual dynamic starts to shift. Unspoken feelings begin to resurface.

Word count: 6.1k

Warnings: some swearing angst & fluff

Winter isn’t exactly Y/N’s favourite season; she’d much rather be lounging under the warm sun, with her feet in the water and sand tangled in her hair. But alas, Quadrant's annual team-building getaway was set in the snowy slopes of Whistler.

"What could you possibly need this for?" Lando pauses his game and turns in his seat as he hears Max hysterically laughing at the whistle he found in Y/N's luggage.

"Give me that! Why are you two even here? Don't you have to pack your own stuff or something" Y/N whines and snatches the whistle from Max, tossing it across her bedroom.

"Max, be nice. It took a lot of grovelling to get her to agree to be in the video, let alone come with us," Lando laughs, turning back around to focus on his game.

"You better not be messing with my sims Lando, I spent hours building that house from scratch" Y/N sighs as she sits on the floor with a pile of clothes in her arms

"I don't know what you're so worried about Y/N, I'm not the best at skiing either. You'll pick it up quick" Max says as he sits on the floor helping her fold the clothes

"Yeah, remember you did so well when we did that karting video. You even ended up liking it more than you thought you would"

"Alright enough pep talk, i'm not used to you muppets acting so nice. Pizza's here. Norris get your ass off my computer and help me fit all of these into my bag" Y/N stands up as she receives a notification on her phone

Lando sits across from Max as Y/N leaves the room. Max watches his friend attempt to tidily fold a shirt before he lets off a scoff.

"What?"

"Please tell me you're finally telling her this week, I can't keep a secret any longer. P is starting to notice"

"Keep you voice down! And what do you mean P's starting to notice" Lando hisses, leaning back to peek out the door checking if Y/n was anywhere within earshot

"Mate, I get so nervous when she asks about you two! The other day, she asked if you two were together, and I just got all weird and defensive, trying to explain why you'd be hanging out together, when she was clearly just asking cause you both played padel that morning and she needed to ask Y/n about a dress" Max explains, almost out of breath, running his hand across his hair

"You're acting like it's so easy for me. Oh, thanks for being such a great friend for the decade I’ve known you, Y/N. By the way, I have feelings for you—no, scratch that—I’m in love with you." Lando chucks the shirt at Max, rolling his eyes as he lies back on the floor.

"That works"

"Shut up.... I just— its y/n, you know? I fuck this up, everything changes. Its not just about me and her"

"Look, I don’t want to get in your head, but I honestly think she might feel the same way. She shows up to races, she’s there for you whenever you need her, shit your family loves her. You're overthinking this, tell her how you feel. That's a good start"

Lando sits up, propping himself on his elbows, a defeated look crossing his face. "Exactly, she might feel the same way... if she doesn’t, it’s gonna get weird. I can't ruin our friendship like that"

"I can meddle"

"No! No meddling! This ski trip is for the team. When I find the courage to tell her, i will"

"More like when you find your balls..."

"Foods here! Come out here, no eating in my bedroom!" Lando kicks Max's leg just in time for Y/N to announce her return, pizza boxes in hand.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

After a long day of skiing and filming, the group made their way back to the cabin just before sunset, just enough time to unwind before dinner. Y/N sank into the plush sofa by the crackling fireplace, the warmth from the flames making her sigh in relief. Wrapped up in a thick, soft blanket, she leaned back, absentmindedly scrolling through her phone.

"Wanna grab a little snack before dinner? I saw this cute cafe near by" Pietra plops down beside her, laying her head on her lap

Y/N lets out a groan, putting her phone away "P, please i'm so sore. I honestly think you'd have to drag me by my feet for dinner tonight"

"Oh but you did great today. You should've seen Max his first time on the slopes, it was almost sad." P sits up to give y/n some relief

"Where is he anyways? Go ask him to go to the cafe with you- bring me back a muffin while you're at it"

"He’s with his boyfriend, going over clips from today…" Pietra pauses, crossing her legs and narrowing her eyes at Y/N, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Speaking of my boyfriend’s boyfriend—what’s going on between you and Lando?" She leans forward slightly, her gaze sharp and accusing, as if she’s piecing something together.

This makes y/n frown, confusion spreading across her face "Me and Lando? What do you mean?"

"Come on, Y/N," Pietra says with a playful grin, leaning in as she pokes Y/N’s arm. "Ever since the season ended, you two have been hanging out way more. And didn’t you spend Christmas with his family? Oh, and let’s not forget today! On the slopes, he was literally stuck by your side the entire time—he’s usually off showing off or racing with the guys." She wiggles her eyebrows, clearly enjoying the tease, her gaze never leaving Y/N as if waiting for some kind of confession.

Y/N laughs, giving Pietra a gentle shove. "Did you hit your head out there?" she teases.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Lando and I hang out all the time, it’s just that we’ve had more time recently. Plus, it’s not the first time I’ve spent Christmas with the Norris family." She shrugs casually, then continues, her tone softening slightly as she recalls the day. "And as for today, well, it was my first time skiing, and Lando insisted I join the trip to begin with. I guess he just wanted to make sure someone was there to keep me from falling on my face the whole time." She laughs again, shaking her head, clearly not fazed by the teasing, but her explanation still carries a hint of warmth.

"Huh... I could've sworn you were hiding something. I mean even Max acts all weird whenever I bring the two of you up"

"Max? What? About Lando and I?"

"Yeah, he gets all defensive whenever I bring up the two of you," Pietra says with a shrug, her eyes narrowing playfully. "I thought you two finally sucked it up and acted on whatever’s going on between you."

"Whatever's going on?"

"Come on y/n. You clearly have feelings for Lando. You may lie to everyone else but I see through you" Pietra laughs

"I’m— no. Me? Feelings for Lando?" Y/N stutters, her voice faltering as she shifts uncomfortably in her seat, suddenly feeling a knot tighten in her stomach. She tugs at the edge of her blanket, avoiding Pietra's gaze.

She forces a nervous laugh, but it sounds hollow, the tension in the room thickening. "Yeah, right. No— no, that’s not…" Her sentence fizzles out, her mind racing, but she can’t quite find the right words.

Pietra's jaw drops, her eyes widening in surprise before a sly grin slowly spreads across her face. "Oh my gosh..." she murmurs, her voice rising with the realization. "I was just messing with you, but—" She leans in closer, her smile growing wider as she watches Y/N squirm. "You do have feelings for him!"

Y/N's heart skips a beat, the words hitting her harder than expected. Was it that obvious? Did everyone see it? The weight of it all settles heavily on her, her stomach flipping in a way that both unsettles and excites her. "No, I—" she starts, but her voice is barely a whisper, unsure of what to say next.

"Y/N!" Pietra exclaims, her voice filled with a mix of disbelief and excitement. "He obviously feels the same way. Why else would Max be acting like that whenever I ask about you two?"

Y/N's stomach tightens, a wave of nervous energy making her insides churn. Could it be? Was it really possible that Lando felt the same way about her? Her heart skips at the thought, but then the doubts creep in, drowning out any sense of hope. No, he couldn’t possibly... Lando was Lando, the guy who was always surrounded by people, always the center of attention, effortlessly charming everyone around him. And she... she was just Y/N. Just a friend.

He only sees me as a friend. The words loop in her mind. Nothing more than that. They’d always been friends, nothing had ever suggested anything different, right? She feels a strange tightness in her throat, as if even acknowledging the possibility of something more would shatter the delicate balance they’d always had.

"Oh, honey, I’m sorry," Pietra says softly, her tone shifting as she notices the distant look in Y/N's eyes.

"I didn’t mean to make it weird," she adds, her voice softening. "But you know, everyone’s been kind of... wondering." Her eyes meet Y/N’s, a mix of empathy and understanding in them, as if offering a lifeline in the middle of the uncertainty.

Y/N lets out a laugh, shaking her head as she looks at Pietra. "You're just saying that to make the voices go away," she teases, trying to deflect, though her tone carries an edge of nervousness.

Pietra grins, unfazed. "No, seriously! A few of the newer people on the team genuinely thought you two were a thing when they first joined Quadrant." She leans back, raising an eyebrow as she watches Y/N's reaction, knowing full well that the thought might have crossed her mind too. The comment lingers, like an unspoken truth that makes the room feel a little smaller.

The sound of footsteps coming from the stairs behind them makes both Y/N and Pietra turn their heads in sync.

"You're not getting ready yet?" Max says, his voice teasing but with a hint of impatience. "Our reservation's in an hour, and we're starving. We can't be late."

He walks down the stairs with Lando trailing just behind him, moving toward the two on the sofa. Max leans down, planting a gentle kiss on Pietra's head as he passes, a small smile tugging at his lips. Lando follows closely, his gaze briefly flickering to Y/N before he glances away, his expression unreadable. The atmosphere shifts again, subtle but charged, as everyone feels the undercurrent of what’s unspoken.

"We might have to drag Y/N by her feet to the restaurant—her words, not mine," Pietra laughs softly, her voice playful as Max sits beside her, pulling her closer for a quick cuddle.

This catches Lando’s attention, and he pushes away from the counter in the kitchen, his footsteps quick and purposeful as he strides across the room toward the couch. He stops just short of them, his eyes narrowing slightly with concern. "Why? What’s wrong? You feeling okay?" he asks, his tone laced with genuine care, though his usual confident swagger seems a little softer.

"No—yeah, I’m okay, just sore, really," Y/N says, her voice a little shaky as she forces a smile at Lando. "I’ll be fine. P, we should get ready."

She stands up quickly, giving Lando a brief but reassuring smile before turning towards the stairs. As Y/N begins to head up, Pietra stands too, shooting Max a knowing look that doesn’t go unnoticed. Max raises an eyebrow, but Pietra simply follows Y/N up the stairs.

----------------------------------------------

Dinner went by smoothly, the lively chatter and laughter around the table giving Y/N the perfect distraction from the lingering thoughts she’d been trying to push away. Lando’s presence felt comforting, like a steady anchor, though she couldn’t help but notice the occasional glance he threw her way—just enough to keep the butterflies fluttering in her stomach, but not enough to make her feel overwhelmed. For now, she was content to enjoy the evening, letting the connection with her friends fill the space that her doubts had briefly occupied.

Y/N lies on her bed, the soft glow from her phone casts a faint light across the room, but her mind is still tangled in the conversation earlier. She barely notices the time passing until a soft knock at her door pulls her attention away.

She sits up quickly, smoothing her hair back, and calls out, "Come in."

Lando slips into her room quietly, a bottle of water in his hands. He stands at the foot of the bed "Hey, sorry, were you about to sleep?" he asks, his voice gentle but with an undercurrent of concern.

"No, you're good," Y/N replies with a small laugh "Just on my phone... struggling to sleep, honestly." She smiles up at him, her eyes warm as she pats the space beside her. "What's up?"

Lando hesitates for just a moment, he crosses the room and sits down, the familiar weight of his presence settling next to her. He reaches into his hoodie pocket and pulls out a small pill bottle, offering it to her along with the water bottle.

"Painkillers," he says, his tone casual but with an underlying kindness. "Thought you could use some if you want to be able to hit the slopes again tomorrow. We’re doing the sled race, remember?"

Y/N lets out a relieved sigh, her shoulders relaxing as she takes the pill from him, followed by a sip of water. "Thank you," she says, her voice soft. "I can’t believe I forgot to pack some."

Lando waves it off with a small grin. "All good," he says, his eyes meeting hers briefly. "Take one tomorrow before we head out too if you're still hurting."

She nods, feeling the knot in her shoulders start to loosen. The warmth of his presence is more comforting than she expected, and for a moment, the weight of everything else melts away.

"Do you fancy an ice cream?" Lando asks, a mischievous smirk creeping across his face as he nudges Y/N gently with his elbow.

Y/N raises an eyebrow at him, laughter bubbling up in her chest. "Ice cream? It’s almost midnight— and, uhmm... oh right, it's freezing outside," she says, her voice light with amusement. She shakes her head, grinning at his antics, but the playful glint in his eyes makes it clear he’s not giving up on the idea so easily.

Lando shrugs dramatically, the smirk never leaving his face. "Who says you can’t have ice cream in the middle of the night?" he teases, nudging her again as if trying to convince her to join his impromptu late-night mission.

-----------------------------------------------------------

The two walk back to the cabin, their laughter echoing in the crisp night air as they reminisce about the day’s adventures. Every so often, their arms gently brush against each other, the shared warmth a quiet comfort between them.

"Aren’t you glad I made you come up here?" Lando says, a playful gleam in his eye. "Next year, you could even try snowboarding" He wiggles his brows at Y/N, his voice teasing as if he’s already picturing her falling all over again.

Y/N groans dramatically, her breath visible in the cold night. "Can't we just go to the beach or somewhere warm that doesn’t require me to fight for my life and fall on my ass every couple of meters?" She stops walking, planting her feet firmly in protest, her face scrunched in exaggerated annoyance.

Lando laughs, his eyes twinkling as he glances at her. "Come on, you big baby," he teases, reaching for her hand and pulling her gently toward the cabin. "Let’s get inside. Your nose is so red."

Y/N huffs but lets him pull her along, the warmth of his hand in hers making her forget the cold. She can’t help but smile, even if she’d never admit how much she enjoyed their little banter.

They stand just outside Y/N's door, Y/N looks up at him with a playful smirk, her arms crossed loosely in front of her. "Thank you for tonight," she says with a hint of warmth in her voice. "Though if I wake up with a cold tomorrow, I’m blaming you and your ice cream escapade."

Lando chuckles, his eyes softening as he leans against the doorframe, his smile lazy but genuine. "I’ll be sure to nurse you back to health," he says, his voice low and easy, but with an undertone of sincerity. "I’ll be across the hall if you need me."

For a moment, neither of them speaks. Silence hangs in the air, a tension growing, subtle but undeniable. Their eyes meet and linger, flicking back and forth between each other's lips, the space between them feeling smaller with every passing second.

Lando’s breath catches slightly as he notices the way her lips part just a fraction, and Y/N, almost without realizing, shifts a little closer, the energy between them thickening.

Y/N takes a deep breath, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her jacket as she glances at Lando. “Lando... I— I’ve been thinking about us—” Her voice is quieter than she meant it to be.

Lando’s eyes widen in a split-second of panic, and he quickly cuts her off, almost too quickly. “Us? About us?” His tone is a little too sharp, his expression tight, as if he’s bracing himself for something.

Y/N freezes, but then gathers her thoughts, forcing herself to look him in the eye. “Yes, our relationship—” She bites her lip, her heart pounding in her chest as she takes a step forward.

Lando blinks rapidly, trying to process her words. “—our relationship?” His voice cracks slightly, and his gaze shifts to the floor before quickly snapping back to hers.

Y/N nods, her hands trembling slightly at her sides. “Yes, well, no, I mean, our relationship as friends, of course!” She laughs nervously, her voice trailing off, trying to downplay the growing knot in her stomach.

Lando lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Yeah, of course... uhmm, what about it?”

Y/N’s heart sinks a little, but she tries to push through the discomfort. “I just… I don’t know, Lando. I’ve been wondering if maybe we’re both feeling the same thing, you know? About... more than just friendship?” Her voice falters at the end, uncertainty creeping in.

Lando’s face flushes slightly, and he takes a step back, a defensive edge to his tone. “Oh well I mean, yeah we’re good friends, right? Best friends even, you and Max.” He says it quickly, almost too quickly, his words stumbling over themselves as if he's trying to convince himself just as much as her.

The silence that follows feels like an eternity. Y/N looks away, her stomach sinking, the words she was about to say hanging heavy in the air between them. She clears her throat, trying to force a smile, but it feels like it’s made of glass, fragile and thin. “Right,” she says softly, her voice almost too quiet. “I get it.”

Lando stands there for a moment, his expression caught somewhere between relief and regret. He can feel the weight of the situation, but he’s not sure what to say next. He couldn't bring himself to tell her how he really felt. "You... feel that way right? I mean you see me as your best friend?" he says quickly, reaching out as if to comfort her, but stopping short when he realizes how awkward it feels. "Maybe even your bestest friend, even over Max or P" Lando lets out a nervous chuckle in the attempt to ease the uneasiness filling the air.

Y/N nods, her eyes not meeting his. “Yeah, of course. Max isn't even top 3. Hey, I’m gonna head in and get some rest.” y/n attempts to return the banter as she turns slightly, her hand already on the doorknob, her pulse still racing from the conversation.

She pauses at the door, giving him a quick glance over her shoulder, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Goodnight, Lando," she says softly before stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

Lando stands there for a moment, his hand still lingering in the air, unsure of whether he should follow her or just walk away. After a few moments, he sighs, shaking his head as he walks back toward his own room, the unspoken tension lingering in the silence of the hallway.

-------------------------------------------------

Lando laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours, the thoughts of the conversation with Y/N replaying over and over in his mind. He couldn’t shake the feeling of regret, the missed opportunity to tell her how he really felt. Every time he closed his eyes, her face kept coming back to him, the look in her eyes that made him realize he might have just ruined everything by not saying what he’d wanted to say.

The sun was barely up when Lando found himself standing in the hallway, his heart racing as he made his way to Max and P's room.

"Max, you've got to get up, mate," Lando whispered urgently, his voice low but insistent, shaking Max awake.

Max let out a groan, his eyes barely open as he tried to make out his friend’s figure in the dim light of the room, the sun just starting to peek through the closed curtains. "What? Lando. What time is it?" His voice was thick with sleep.

"It’s... it’s early, I know. But I need to talk. I can’t stop thinking about it, mate. I messed up."

Max rubbed his eyes, finally managing to sit up, his confusion turning into concern. "Wait, what happened?" He yawned and stretched, still groggy but fully aware that Lando was rarely this urgent unless something serious was going on.

Lando ran a hand through his hair, pacing a little as he tried to find the words. "I didn’t tell her how I really feel, Max. And now I’m just stuck. I can’t stop thinking about it. I— I think I might’ve blown it." His voice was strained, frustration seeping through every word.

Max sat up straighter now, fully awake as he processed his friend's words. “Wait you’re talking about Y/N, right?” He rubbed his face, trying to make sense of Lando’s sudden shift in mood.

Lando paused, looking at Max, his face tight with the weight of everything. “She brought it up, she asked about us- our friendship and I just froze. I panicked, Max. I said I think she's my best friend, my closest friend and if you could've seen the look on her face... now I don’t know what to do. It’s messing with me."

"You idiot" a sharp toned voice makes the two look to the other side of the bed, a once sleeping P has now pulled her eye mask off, a dissatisfied look on her face. "She obviously likes you too Lando. You two are just too scared of actually facing how you truly feel. I literally had her confess to me last night before dinner"

Lando blinked in surprise, the realization hitting him harder than he expected. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Max, on the other hand, sat back with an amused expression, taking in the scene unfolding before him.

"Wait—what?" Lando managed after a beat, completely caught off guard.

Max let out a heavy sigh, his tone softening. "Lando, you’ve been dodging it for how long now? What did you expect? That she’d just magically figure it out? You’ve got to be honest with her, mate. If you really feel something for her, you can’t just pretend it’s nothing. You owe her the truth".

Lando nodded, taking in his friend’s words. "Yeah, you're right. I just... don’t want to mess things up more than I already have."

Max shook his head, a knowing look on his face. “You’ve got to take the chance, mate. Just... talk to her. Don’t wait any longer. I can't even begin to think about whats going on in her head right now- you pretty much shut her down”

Lando sat back down on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face in frustration. “I don’t know what to say. What if she doesn't believe me— I don't want her to think i'm playing with her feelings on purpose, it was a genuine lapse of judgement I panicked.”

"Well, that’s the risk, isn’t it?" Max replied, his voice matter-of-fact. "But at least you’ll know for sure. The worst thing you can do is keep holding back. You’re already in deep, mate. Just go for it."

Lando sat silently for a moment, taking in Max’s advice, feeling a mix of relief and anxiety swirling inside him. He knew Max was right, but it didn’t make it any easier. With a long sigh, he stood up from the bed, a new sense of determination in his steps.

“Alright,” Lando said, giving Max a look of appreciation.

Max gave him a reassuring nod. "Just don’t overthink it."

Lando nodded, heading for the door. Before he left, he turned back to P speaking up as she put her eye mask back on. “You know, if it goes horribly wrong, I’m gonna kick your ass for hurting her.”

Max chuckled, leaning back into the pillows. “Yeah, i'd take that as motivation to fix this. Go get her, Lando.”

As Lando walked down the hallway, his mind was set. He couldn’t let another day go by without telling Y/N how he felt. It was now or never.

---------------------

Lando had been pacing around the kitchen for what felt like hours, trying to gather his thoughts. Max and P walk towards him, the nervous energy was starting to crawl back under his skin.

"Have you guys seen—" he started, but P immediately cut him off, her tone firm yet surprisingly quiet.

"What did you do?" she asked, a knowing look in her eyes as she crossed her arms. "I thought you left our room this morning ready to fix things between the two of you."

Lando's mouth went dry, his words caught in his throat. He shifted from foot to foot, suddenly feeling like he was fifteen again and in trouble with his parents. "I tried, I peeked in her room and she was sleeping and I felt bad i didn't want to wake her. I came back a few hours later she wasn't in her room" His voice was a little shaky, and his hands fumbled with the sleeve of his jacket as he tried to avoid their eyes.

P raised an eyebrow, her expression a mix of frustration and disbelief. "So you didn’t do it? That's why she won't leave her room" crossing her arms even tighter, clearly not buying his half-hearted excuse. "You’re seriously going to stand there and tell me you didn’t even try again?"

Lando swallowed hard, the weight of the situation settling in. "I... I didn't know she was back. I don't even know where she went this morning— wait she won't leave her room?"

"She said she's feeling sick and that she caught a cold but she's clearly been crying. Lando she won't even tell me about what happened last night, she's hurting"

Max, who had been listening quietly. "Mate, you’re a mess," he said, sitting down on the counter with his arms crossed, his tone matter-of-fact. "You’ve been overthinking this for months now. It’s honestly exhausting. Now you've managed to drag her into this mess."

Lando exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, his frustration clear.

Max gave a short laugh, shaking his head. "Mate, you’re already screwing it up by not talking to her. Go up there and fix it"

P stepped forward, her voice a little gentler now, but still firm. "Just go talk to her. Tell her exactly how you feel. You’ll either get your answer, or you won’t. But you can’t keep pretending like nothing’s going on."

With a deep breath, he nodded. "I’ll go talk to her. Try to occupy the rest of the team while we're gone" He straightened up, trying to shake off the nervousness that had settled in his stomach like a knot.

Max smiled, though there was a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Don't worry, we'll figure something out. And Lando?" he called as he started to head for the door.

"Yeah?" he turned back, his mind already racing with what to say to her.

"Don’t come back until you’ve told her. And if you screw it up, you’re buying us dinner for a week" Max said with a wink.

Lando shot him a look, but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. "I’ll keep that in mind," he muttered, and with one final deep breath, he turned to head toward Y/N’s room.

This time, there was no turning back.

--------------------------

Another knock echoes through the room, causing Y/N to stir in her blanket cocoon. She sniffles and clears her throat, trying to hide the evidence of a long night’s worth of tears.

"P, I told you I’ll be fine. I don’t want anyone catching my cold. You guys go have fun," she calls out, her voice thick with exhaustion.

"It’s me," Lando’s voice filters through the door, catching Y/N off guard. She sits up quickly, her heart racing—what on earth could he want now?

Y/N hurriedly wipes at her face, but the mirror doesn’t lie. Her eyes are swollen, her cheeks streaked with dried tears, and her nose is a fiery red. She exhales in defeat.

With a soft groan, she cracks the door open "I already told Max and P I won’t be joining you guys," she says quietly, her voice heavy with guilt. "I’m really sorry, Lando. You should go... Everyone else is probably waiting."

Lando’s gaze softens, his brow furrowing as he steps closer, his tone gentle but knowing. "You’re upset about last night."

"I don’t know why I said what I said, but that’s not how I really feel," Lando insists, his voice laced with frustration, but the sight of the frown etched on Y/N’s face only deepens his anxiety.

Y/N’s gaze drops to the floor, her voice barely above a whisper, soft and tinged with hurt. "She told you, didn’t she?" The words feel like a weight she can’t shake off. She never imagined P would share something so personal, and now, she feels more exposed than ever.

Lando hesitates, shifting uncomfortably. "Yes, well… technically, she overheard me talking to Max about last night and—"

"You told Max about last night?" Y/N interrupts. She lifts her gaze, her eyes wide with disbelief. "What, me trying to confess my feelings for you and you immediately dismissing it wasn’t embarrassing enough? You had to go tell Max?"

“Y/N, no! That’s not what I—" Lando stammers. He takes a breath, gathering his courage. "I like you. I’ve liked you for months now. Max was the only person I’ve told.” The confession spills out before he can stop it, and for the first time, a sense of relief washes over him.

Y/N’s expression falters, a deep frown settling on her face as she tries to process his words. "Don't do that... please," she says softly, almost pleading. Her voice cracks slightly as she shakes her head. "You don’t have to lie to make me feel better about this." She struggles to fully comprehend what he’s just said.

"But I'm not lying!" Lando insists, his voice filled with urgency. His hands shake as he tries to convey the truth, the weight of his feelings finally spilling out. "For months, I’ve been debating whether or not to act on it. I didn’t know if you felt the same way... I didn’t know what I’d do if you didn’t." He reaches out, his hand trembling as he gently tries to take hers, hoping for a sign that she might believe him.

Y/N is still caught in the confusion of it all, but as his hand brushes against hers, something settles in her chest. The warmth of his touch brings a surprising sense of comfort, and she swallows back the confusion that’s been choking her. "But... last night?" she asks quietly, her voice shaky.

Lando’s eyes soften, and he looks down, clearly conflicted. "I panicked," he admits, his words coming out in a rush. "You bringing up how we might feel about each other was the last thing on my mind. Fuck, I didn’t even think it was possible. All the scenarios I made in my head were about how I’d finally tell you... how much I wanted to be with you." He looks up at her then, vulnerable and raw, his expression filled with regret. "I was just so scared you wouldn’t feel the same."

Y/N takes a deep breath, her chest tight with emotion. She finally meets Lando's gaze, and the moment their eyes lock, it’s as if time slows. The words that have been tangled in her mind for so long finally slip free, and she whispers, "I do... feel the same way."

A small, almost hesitant smile begins to form on Lando’s face. It’s the kind of smile that tells her he’s been holding his breath, waiting for this moment, unsure if he’d ever hear the words he desperately needed to hear. His eyes soften as he takes a step closer, and for a moment, everything feels like it’s falling into place.

Lando’s hands gently cup her face, his touch tender and careful, as if she’s something precious he’s afraid of breaking. His thumbs lightly brush against her cheeks before he reaches up to tuck a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. He lets his fingers linger there for a moment, feeling the warmth of her skin under his touch, before his hand gently rests on the side of her neck.

There’s a quiet intensity in the air now, a shared understanding that neither of them wants to break.

Lando’s smile widens ever so slightly, his thumb brushing along her cheekbone in a way that sends a warm shiver down her spine. "You have no idea how much I needed to hear that," he says softly, his voice still tinged with disbelief, as though he can’t quite believe this is happening.

Lando leans in, his forehead gently resting against hers, as if allowing the moment to sink in. There’s no rush, no need to fill the space with words anymore. All that’s left is the feeling between them—a feeling that says more than words ever could.

Lando’s breath catches as he hovers just inches from her face, his gaze flickering between her eyes and her lips. In a voice barely above a whisper, he murmurs, “I’m going to kiss you now.” his breath warm against her skin.

Y/N’s lips curl into a soft smirk, her eyes glinting with a mix of playfulness and something deeper. “About time,” she teases, her voice light, but there's a knowing edge to it. “For an F1 driver, you're quite slow.”

Lando’s eyes flash with amusement, a soft laugh escaping him as he shakes his head. “You’re lucky I really like you,” he responds, his voice warm with affection and the lingering hint of a smile. Before she can say another word, he closes the gap between them, his lips brushing gently against hers.

The kiss is slow at first, a gentle exploration, as if both of them are savouring the moment that’s been so long in the making. Lando’s hand moves to the back of her neck, pulling her a little closer as the kiss deepens, a surge of relief and longing finally being released between them. For all the uncertainty, the teasing, the games—they’re here now, and everything else fades away.

#lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando x you #lando norris #lando x reader #formula one #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #lando norris fanfic #ln4 #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #f1 one shot #lando

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nereidprinc3ss · 1 year ago

Text

do you believe me now?

in which fem!reader is insecure around spencer until she finally asks him to take matters into his own hands (literally)

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, fingering, softdom!spencer my sweet sweet beloved angel, sub reader, praise, you know he talks you through it, brief mention of drinking wine, i think that's it a/n: i hope u guys like this ! slightly different dynamic than my other stuff maybe but let me know what u think!! i love feedback and i love YOU!!!

“You’re so pretty.”

It’s the first thing Spencer has said since you two landed on his couch, exhausted from one of Rossi’s extravagant soirées. It was your first of many, if Spencer’s entire team is to be believed. More nights featuring Italian food and wine you could never afford don’t sound half bad—but for now you’re drained. You barely had the energy to kick off your heels and topple into Spencer’s lap five minutes ago. The silk dress still pools over his knees and your hair still falls in curls around your face. He brushes one aside as he continues.

“I mean—you always look beautiful. But I’ve never seen you all done up. You’re obscenely gorgeous.”

You groan awkwardly, burying your face in Spencer’s collar as your face heats. Taking compliments has never been your strong suit, especially from someone who you perceive to be so out of your league. The relationship you have with Spencer is relatively new, and sometimes you worry delicate; like one slip-up revealing the real you and he’ll go running. So far, though, he seems hellbent on proving you wrong.

His hand finds the bare skin of your arm, passing up and down gently. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“…I do.”

It’s unconvincing. Spencer scoffs.

“No, you don’t. You never believe me when I compliment you.”

The cadence of his voice is light enough, but it’s evident that there’s some genuine frustration there, lurking just under the surface.

Your head lolls over his shoulder and he angles his neck to look down at you. Hair falls over his eyes, and you’d fix it if he didn’t look so damn perfect. Everything about him looks intentional, like he was designed by someone who took great pride in their work. Not at all like you—a collage of features and spare parts you guess whatever force created you had lying around. Nothing about you feels on purpose. But that’s a hard thing to explain.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s impolite. It just feels disingenuous to accept compliments like that.”

Goosebumps arise on your arm where he touches you.

“You being polite isn’t what I’m concerned about. I just wish I could make you understand that I mean it when I compliment you. You’d know if I didn’t. I’m a terrible liar.”

That earns a giggle from you. Your boyfriend smiles, sparkling eyes darting over your face like he’s trying to bottle the sound, the memory—and you realize he probably is. What a terrifying thought. You look away, abashed once more.

“I’m a woman, Spencer. I’m not allowed to like myself. That’s the whole thing with Eve and the snake and the apple and whatever. Eternal inescapable shame.”

“Are you trying to justify your self-loathing by making it biblical? You know I’m the last person that would work on, right? Both as an agnostic-leaning-athiest and someone who thinks you’re beautiful and wonderful.”

Another groan claws its way from your throat as you slide down in embarrassment.

“You’re killing me here, Spencer.”

“What can I do to do to make you believe me?” he murmurs, carefully brushing tangles from your hair as you now rest practically prone across his lap. The ceiling light stretches behind him, haloing him in a soft glowing crown and making everything a bit more hazy and tolerable.

“It’s not your fight.” It’s meant to be playfully dramatic, but it hangs from your lips with a painful amount of earnestness.

“If it’s yours, it’s mine. That’s kind of the whole point of a relationship, right? Being a team?”

His fingers are nimble and warm between yours as you interlace them, steepling and bumping them together as you speak.

“Well, if you know so much, why are you asking me? It sounds like you know exactly what to do to make me magically love myself.”

A dangerous twitch plays at the corner of his lips as he gazes sleepily down at you.

“Oh, I have a few ideas. But I’m asking what you’d be comfortable with.”

“Whoa!” you blurt, giggling self-consciously, covering your face with your (and inadvertently one of his) hands. “Where did that come from?”

He smiles at your response to his mildly suggestive comment. “I lose my filter when I'm tired. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

You sigh gustily, dragging his hand down to fall over your collarbones. His fingers twitch over the delicate skin, like he’d graze it if your hand wasn’t weighing his down.

“No, no, you didn’t make me uncomfortable, you just… surprised me. I’m really bad at talking about this kind of thing.”

“Sex?”

You yelp, slinging your arm over your face and hiding in the crook of your elbow. “AH! Don’t say it!”

He laughs again, a little less reserved this time.

“What? You can’t even listen to me say the word?”

“No! Too scary!”

Eventually you peek out from under your arm to find Spencer still watching you. The humor has faded from his eyes and been replaced by a kind of serene calm. He brushes a lock of hair from your shoulder.

“Come here,” he says—a request more than a demand. With some wriggling and a bit of help, you manage to reorient yourself into a sitting position across his lap once more. His touch is warm even through the fabric of your dress when he kisses you, hand sliding over your waist before moving to trace your jaw and ending up on the back of your neck, urging you closer ever so slightly. You kiss him back without hesitation or restraint, as you delight in doing when he gives you the opportunity. What you may lack in experience and refinement, you make up for with affection and enthusiasm. He pulls away after a minute, much to your dismay, and brushes his thumb over your lips. For the first time, you think you see a hint of worry in his eyes. Guilt claws at your heart when he quietly asks, “you’re not scared of me, are you?”

“No!” You assure quickly, looping your arms around his neck. “No, it’s not you. You’re perfect and I’m sure you really mean all of the nice things you say. But I just… sometimes I worry I’ll scare you away once you realize I’m not as pretty or… good as you thought.”

“That’s impossible.”

Once more you let your head fall onto his shoulder. “You don’t know that.”

His hand begins running up and down your back, soothing your sympathetic nervous system in a way that all the deep breaths in the world never could.

“I know that I really, really like you. And there’s not one part of you that I don’t find genuinely beautiful. I can’t imagine not feeling that way about you.” Your eyes flutter shut and you hum against him—a non-answer, but he doesn’t push it. Minutes go by quietly, ticking later into the night as he continues mindlessly rubbing your back and watching you breathe. “Do you want me to take you home?” He finally asks after a long while. Again, you don’t respond. He smiles. “I know you’re awake.”

The corner of your lip twitches as you attempt to suppress a grin. Spencer sighs.

“I guess if you’re already asleep you’ll just have to stay here. But it would be convenient if you’d sleepwalk to my bed so that I don’t have to carry you.”

When you begin stirring and sitting up (one eye cracked to navigate) he laughs, hands on your waist. “Would you look at that. Who knew she would be so suggestible in non-REM?” You snort as you push yourself to a standing position using Spencer’s shoulders to support yourself, and ruining the whole act. He smiles up at you like you’re something divine and lets his hands trail over your hips.

“I sleep with my eyes open.”

“Do you often have coherent conversations in your sleep, too?”

You shrug. “I’m full of surprises.”

“I’m sure you are,” he agrees, finally standing himself. “I’m assuming you don’t want to sleep in your dress?”

“I have shorts on underneath I can wear, but a shirt would be helpful.”

“Then we’ll get you a shirt.”

———————————————

Ten minutes later you’re in Spencer’s bathroom, wearing your shorts and one of his sweatshirts (you cannot imagine Spencer in a hoodie), and wiping black sludge from your eyes with makeup remover he claims was left by a friend after a particularly festive Halloween party. Hopefully he’s telling the truth—you can think of more dubious potential origins of the eye-makeup remover in his bathroom. No toothbrush—you use your finger and a generous amount of toothpaste until the red wine stains fade.

Spencer is fixing the pillows when you exit the bathroom. You hold up your hands which are completely obscured and then some by the thick fabric of his sweatshirt.

“Fits like a dream,” you say. A smile tugs at his lips as he finishes his task, before raising his eyes to you. The smile promptly fades and it’s like the sun disappearing behind an oppressive gray cloud. In an instant your stomach curdles and you feel like crawling out of your skin.

“…what?” you mumble, absolutely terrified that the thing he’d said was impossible just minutes ago has already happened. Without makeup, without a fancy dress, you’re just you, and maybe that’s not good enough.

“Uh…” He blinks, as if he’s buffering for a moment, before snapping back into action, and notably looking away from you. “It’s—it’s nothing. Do you, um—here, I tried to make it—“

“Stop. Just tell me what that was. You got all weird.”

Another pause—he looks back up at you reluctantly with a sigh.

“I did not get all weird.”

“Yes, you did. You’re still being weird. It’s freaking me out.”

He’s utterly unreadable, which drives you fucking insane, when he eventually says, “come here.” This time, you think with a chill as you shuffle on your knees across the bed to sit in front of him, it really sounds like a demand. Spencer grabs your face in his hands, studying you intently. “I know you think I’ve finally decided you’re hideously deformed, but it’s actually just the opposite. I’m trying to figure out how to keep things polite for you.”

Realization dawns on you and the swarm of new butterflies in your stomach. The usual molten gold of his irises has been encroached upon, masked by blown pupils. Your face gets hot and your voice caves when you speak.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he agrees quietly. “Do you believe me now?”

And to his credit, you really do. The hot skin, the vibrating cells in every fiber of your being, the racing heart—your body knows he means it. Part of you, the more confident, more desirous part, drags you closer to him, ghosts your lips over his. He chuckles.

“Now you’re getting brave?”

“Am I not allowed to kiss you?” you whisper, draping your arms over his shoulders.

“You’re allowed to do whatever you want.”

The words make you shiver—the lowered, gravelly tone of his voice you’ve never heard before snaps your resolve and you lean into him, connecting your lips with a deep urgency. Spencer inhales sharply, hands wandering to your waist and bearing down firmly as you press against him. When you lean back, he follows you, insists without saying a word that you don’t stop kissing him. It sends a thrill down your spine and between your legs, which both gives you pause and eggs you on. In the end, after a very brief internal struggle, curiosity and desire win. You drop to the bed and drag him down with you—he, your willing follower, blindly searches for purchase on the plush comforter. Now he’s on top of you, legs slotted together so that his thigh is temptingly close to your core. Too shy to actually do what you want to do, you clamp your thighs around his and tilt your hips, desperate for friction. He exhales heavily, slowly pulling his lips from yours like it’s the last thing he wants to do. Fingers dig into the flesh of your hip, not enough to ache but enough to draw your attention to your movements.

“What are you doing?” he asks, firmly, but not like you’re in trouble—it’s a probing question. He’s trying to figure out if you’re aware of the way you’re nearly riding his leg.

“I don’t know,” you admit breathlessly.

“You just told me you couldn’t even listen to me say the word sex,” Spencer reminds you. “You said it was too scary.”

A frustrated whine seems to catch him by surprise, and he laughs.

“That was a long time ago. I’ve matured since then.”

“Is that what happened?” he teases.

“Honestly, I’m just really turned on right now, please—" you cut yourself off, crashing your lips into his once more. And he almost relents.

Almost.

“Slow down.”

He ceases kissing you for a second time and you’re starting to really get annoyed.

“What?” you groan. “I thought you wanted this.”

His thumbs brush over the apples of your cheeks, demanding your attention.

“I want you. In every sense of the word. If you make a bad choice tonight and it means you don’t like me anymore tomorrow, that is the opposite of what I want. I’m not saying no. I’m just asking you to think about it for a second.”

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and attempting to steady your mind and see beyond the thick fog of lust. What you find is a (mildly surprising) complete lack of fear. You’re not scared, like you thought you’d be; you feel utterly safe underneath him, with his hands on you and his heartbeat against your chest. This is a kind of intimacy you want to have with him.

Your eyes open to reveal his, close enough you can see the tiny flecks of green. And so much warmth. Everything about him is warm.

“This is what I want,” you assert. “I promise.”

His gaze flits between yours for a moment, pulling the truth from your soul like he might be able to find an imperfection there. But you mean it—and he seems satisfied. He trusts you, like you trust him.

“Okay.”

A sigh of relief never quite finds completion before he’s kissing you again. Immediately the fire is stoked once more, the heat between your legs getting warmer when he experimentally pushes his thigh against you. You breathe into the kiss, pressing down on him and surrendering to the unconscious rhythm of your hips. He lets that go on for a minute or two until you’re so distracted that you can’t kiss him back.

Unexpectedly he pulls away, disentangling himself from your legs. You stammer in frustration until his fingers hook under the soft material of your shorts. “Hips up.”

Wordlessly you comply, succumbing to his gentle words and touch. He bows to kiss you as he slides the fabric down unhurriedly. Once the shorts are gone, he sits up, and carefully lifts one of your legs over his lap, gaze unabashedly glued between them.

“Eyes up here,” you try to joke, but it’s steeped in self-consciousness and your heart is pounding. He manages, stroking the inside of your knee with a thumb as he leans down again.

“But you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, before he’s kissing you again. “Just like I knew you would be.”

You whimper when his hand skates over your stomach, lower, and lower, and—

“Tell me one more time, sweetheart.”

Your plead is just as hungry and yearning. “Please, Spencer?”

It works for him.

When his knuckles brush over your clit, you forget to breathe. When they barely skim your entrance, collecting arousal to drag back upward, your brain malfunctions. It is not enough, maddeningly so, but when he finds a careful, introductory rhythm, it’s immediately bordering on too much, too good.

Your stomach tenses and you are surprised by your own sighs and hesitant gasps as you try to adjust to the feeling of someone else’s hand between your legs.

“Does that feel good?” he murmurs against your lips.

“Mhm,” you chirp. Slow but insistent circles elicit a cry that gets caught in your throat, melting into a hum. Your eyes are closed, but you can hear the smile in Spencer’s voice.

“You’re sensitive, huh?”

“S—sometimes.”

He hums contemplatively.

“Sometimes? Can you tell me about that?”

You can’t hardly think around those gentle movements of his hand, let alone speak. He touches you like you’re something delicate. It’s torturous and perfect. But you try to answer anyway, managing to keep the stammering to a minimum.

“About what?”

“I want to know what you think about when you touch yourself.” The smooth words in tandem with an incremental increase in pressure earn your first real moan. Timid and unpracticed, but very genuine.

The answer comes immediately afterward; thoughtlessly and on a shuddering exhalation.

“You.”

“Yeah?” he smiles. “Good answer.”

Your eyes open fractionally to study his expression. You’d felt so much shame every time you’d imagined him in your bed late at night.

“Really?”

“Really. And now look at you. Letting me do it for you.” As if to remind you, he speeds up the motion of his hand. On instinct you bring your fingers to your lips as you moan through a closed throat, partly to stifle the noise and partly because you don’t know what to do with the hand that’s not gripping the duvet. “Do you only touch here?” His fingers slide down to your slick entrance and your hips buck, mourning the loss of stimulation. “Or do you touch here, too?”

You shake your head, breathing hard as he teases a finger around the soft place you’ve never really bothered to explore. “Never feels good when I try.”

“We’re gonna make it feel good, okay?”

You nod hesitantly, leaning back into the pillows when he kisses you again.

His lips are so distracting, so intoxicating you almost forget what he’s doing until he does it. It’s a foreign sensation—not entirely pleasant or unpleasant. For a moment or two your brows furrow as you focus on the feeling, worried that maybe you’re broken just as you thought—until you feel a slight stretch and you realize he’s pushing a second finger into you now. A kiss lands on your cheek when you grab his arm with a choked gasp, and he mutters, “deep breaths,” into your ear. “I know it’s new, honey, just breathe.”

“Fuck,” you whimper as you look down, and you didn’t realize you were going to say it until it’s already passed between your lips. Pressure begins melding with the promise of pleasure, and something about watching his hand move between your legs—the tendons flexing and wrist bending as he eases into what is clearly a perfected motion—arouses you so much you moan at the sight alone. Flipping pages is all you thought that hand was meant for. It’s like a secret revealed as you watch it do something so salacious, and to you.

A hot spark of pleasure flares deeper in you than you’ve ever felt. It catches and grows faster than you’d of thought—suddenly you can feel everything and it all feels better than you thought possible. Your jaw drops and a surprised huff of air blows a strand of your hair away.

“Oh my god,” comes your breathy little whisper, unprepared for and intimidated by how good he’s making you feel. Filthy noises come from between your legs and you clench around his fingers. You had no idea you could make those noises. You had no idea you could get so wet.

“Yeah, there we go.” His voice sounds a little further away now. You manage to tear your eyes away from all the action to his face. Much like you, he’s transfixed by the sight, brow furrowed and pretty lips parted in what could be concentration, or some sort of empathetic pleasure. His face has more color to it than usual and his breaths come heavier—it’s a very pleasant sight. Suddenly his fingers brush against a spot deep within you and your hips cant upward, a mewl pulled from the depths of your throat that has more control over you than you do it. Spencer’s eyes flash back to you, a grin playing at his lips. He does it again, looking right into your eyes, and you whine so pitifully your face flushes.

“Too much?” he asks. You shake your head firmly, arching your back when he unconsciously slows down. At your response his fingers begin rutting into you again, committing to that spot inside you that makes you see stars. “Of course not. You’re gonna take whatever I give you, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod. You’d do just about anything for him right at this second. Spencer holds an immense amount of power over you in this moment, and potentially in all future moments moving forward. But you trust him with it.

“You don’t have anything to prove to me. I just want you to feel good. You’ll tell me if it’s too much, right?”

But it’s really not too much. It’s exactly right. Your verbal capacity is acutely limited right now, so you can’t exactly say it, but you lock eyes with him and whine shamelessly, hips twisting against his hand. You think he gets the message.

Hair falls over his face and he doesn’t fix it, opting instead to alternate his gaze between your cunt and face, cursing to himself lowly. You wouldn’t want him to stop and fix his hair—what you want is this, for him to keep pushing you toward that elusive edge and to keep looking at you like you put all the stars in the sky.

“Look at you, my pretty girl. I’m so proud of you. I know this isn’t easy. I know you were scared. Thank you for letting me do this, honey.”

It’s the unexpected tenderness of the words, perfectly misplaced in the context of the moment. It’s the devotion, the honesty in his eyes, shining through the haze of lust, which makes your stomach drop and all your muscles tense. A million thoughts jumble in your head, dizzying and thrilling and confusing, but mostly all you can think is Spencer, Spencer, Spencer. Is this how it always is? Your hands tangle in the sheets—and then all the thoughts vanish. Everything is warm and fuzzy and sparkling clean, no worries, no lingering thoughts, no self-awareness at all. It’s nirvana. It’s revelatory. It’s ridiculous that he did this all in under five minutes and you haven’t been able to do it once even with very concerted effort.

Slowly you float back into your body, breathing hard and watching through half-lidded eyes as Spencer gently pulls his hand away. Without him you feel weirdly empty and cold, like he should have been there all along. But his touch isn’t absent for long—he runs his hand over the bridge between your hips, little finger dipping into the crease of your thigh.

“That’s never… I’ve never done that before,” you admit, slurring your words only slightly.

His perfect features contort into a half-frown, half-smile.

“You’ve never had an orgasm?” You nod. His head tilts. “Really? You didn’t tell me that.”

“When would I have told you?” you laugh, finding his waist with your hand and encouraging him to settle his weight on you. He does, burying his face in your neck and exhaling heavily.

“Well?” you ask shyly, skating your fingers over his back. “Did I do it right?”

Spencer snorts, but presses a sickeningly sweet kiss to the curve of your neck.

“Did you like it?”

“Yes,” you admit, voice smaller than you’d have liked. He pushes himself up onto his forearms and kisses you softly.

“Then we both did it right.”

“But…” you stare up into his warm honey eyes, searching for any bits of hidden truth you can find. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, utterly unconcerned. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he agrees, “and I’ll say this because I know otherwise you’re going to worry about it forever.” He studies your face reverently for a moment, before parting his lips to speak. The words are slow to come, like he’s trying to figure the sentence out as he goes along. “You… are going to be, problematic, for me.”

Your whisper is almost as small as you feel under his heavy gaze. “What d’you mean?”

“I mean,” Spencer begins, voice low, “I think I liked that too much. Do you see why that’s troubling?”

The flame you thought had been quenched flickers back to life like a pilot light. Your thighs press together to alleviate a growing ache in a still sensitive area and you answer, “no,” with a small shake of your head. His thumb tenderly traces your jaw, ever-patient despite the fact that you’re obviously playing coy.

“Because I can’t have you all the time.”

“Yes you can,” you say without hesitation, though your eyes are fluttering. “You can have me whenever you want. Right now.”

He hums, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Not tonight. You’ve had enough. You’re tired.”

“I’m wide awake,” you slur, tangling a hand in his hair even as you lose the battle against your eyelids.

He sighs good-naturedly, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrist and brushing his lips over the delicate skin.

“You’re shockingly precocious.”

You hum.

“You just unleashed the beast. You’re like Doctor Frankenstein.”

He chuckles, sitting up and finding your shorts. You manage to be semi-helpful, lifting your legs at appropriate junctures as he tugs your clothing back on. “And you’re a nerd.”

“I don’t need to take that from you of all people.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Spencer says, and the smile in his voice makes you smile, a quarter asleep as he leans over to turn off the lamp on your side of the bed before tugging the covers over both of you.

He pulls you close in the dark, releasing a deep sigh as you curl into him. His heartbeat is steady against your ear, his arms warm around you. You can imagine making a home for yourself here. And you don’t know if he’s thinking it, but you hope he is, as you are silently repeating to yourself with every beat of his heart;

I love you

I love you.

part two

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

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cursedcola · 3 months ago

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Prompt: Couples will evidently begin to mimic their better half after some time. What traits do you steal from him, and vice versa? Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Everyone - because I want to and I’m amidst fleshing out all my Yuu/Character dynamics + designs Format: Headcannons. Masterlist: LinkedUP Parts: Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore (Here) | Ignihyde | Diasomnia A/N: Putting all my brain rot from my notes into something cohesive. Contrary to my love for ripping your hearts out, I've come with some fluff this time around. BTW you may or may not already do things mentioned - I write my works with a specific Yuu in mind for each character so this is based on them. Just a reminder.

Habits you steal:

Posture (Inherited): You know that scene in every princess movie, where they're in training with books balanced atop their head? Walking in circles over and over to maintain perfect posture? Yeah. Just yeah. It's one of his more annoying habits, for sure.

"Any further and you will kiss the table. Right yourself this instant." <-If you so much as slouch like the gremlin he truly does love - he will straighten you himself.

Social Freedom (Inherited): You are....a wonderfully weird character. Even by Twisted Wonderland's standards. Vil loves bringing out the intricacies in people and blossoming them into perfection. His confidence oozes and bleeds. Which is why being near him makes doing the most spontaneous and crazy things easy. Especially when there's such fondness behind his 'scolding'. You won't be camera shy or just shy in general, that's for certain.

"I never thought fleeting liberty could be portrayed as elegant. Alas, I am still yet to be convinced otherwise - but it is a wonderful look on you. That was a compliment, my dear." <- Others look at Vil as someone without the ability to let loose. They're correct to an extent, yet it does come easier with you. The last person he expected such a thing from.

Healthy Eating (Inherited): Vil follows a strict dietary regimen - he won't subject you to it's itinerary to a T. However, he is going to give the snide eye if you don't get a side salad with that pizza. He'll often order on your behalf at eateries or when the team is taking meal orders on set. Never in an oppressive way, it's always things you like, but he is stubborn when it comes to nutritional gain. There lingers a deep rooted discomfort that you'll one day feel neglected in his absence. Even if Vil isn't home, expect those ready-made meal packages to be sent to the door. Vil is nothing if not attentive - that much is for certain.

Pagers and Beepers (Inherited): A bit old-school, but he carries one. Vil can't always drop everything to check on his phone. He also puts the addictive device away two hours before bed to ensure better sleep - what he does keep on at all times is a functioning pager. This is Vil's preferred communication device and he expects you to have it on your person at all times. Never miss a beep. Especially if he is out for long periods of time, or you're in a state he's fussing over (gods do NOT get sick. He will be an absolute mess).

*Bzz* 'Home Late. 10:00.' *Bzz* 'Come to studio. Wear Mask & Bring Downtime Material' *Bzz* 'Still Sick? Have You Eaten Yet?' *Bzz Bzz Bzz* 'Love you. Miss you.'

Skincare (Inherited): Vil's very pushy when it comes to personal care - Epel can 100% attest to this, and takes every chance to voice his grievances (when Vil is not near, of course. Somehow word always gets back though). While he runs a tight ship, he's very sweet and takes your preferences into consideration when making products.

"Come here. Ah...your cheeks are reddened. Sunburn is a very dangerous opponent this time of year. Tsk. I fault myself for not thinking ahead. You might survive the occasional visit in Scarabia, but the Shaftlands climate is unpredictable." <- Vil will gently graze your cheekbones, already thinking over what potency of sun cream he needs to make. Everyone is different, after all. He already makes your perfume, shampoo, lotions, and cosmetics all from scratch - although he does have a preference for when you wear notes of citrus. Bright scents and soft looks suit your character (and are reflective of the effect you have on him). Beauty is an art, and you are his most precious canvas.

Wet-Wipes (developed): Yes, he owns smudge-proof lipstick. Yes, he could choose to wear said lipstick...Vil does not, and thoroughly enjoys seeing whatever shade he picked out smeared on your cheeks or lips. It's a rare bit of selfishness to waste time re-applying it, but he gets a bit of pleasure watching you scrub frantically at it in the mirror. Especially on days you have somewhere to be.

"Ahaha...oh? That look on your face is worth a bit of extra effort. I cannot expect to be rewarded without putting in the work, after all." <- It's a rare bit of unnecessary selfishness on his end. To waste his carefully crafted products, just to watch you scrub his mark off in the mirror. Not too frantic otherwise it'll earn a scolding...but he gets a brief twisted pleasure from it. Especially on days you have somewhere to be.

Apologies(Developed): You...always have to initiate apologies. He's nothing sour or stubborn. Vil can admit his faults when exposed to constructive criticism, and he will work on them. Do not expect things like silent treatment to work, because he will not give in. He is stubbornly attentive, making sure your pettiness won't bleed into life. Makes sure you still share meals together, etc. He will NOT apologize first though.

Habits he steals:

Junk Food (Inherited): Just like he tries to heal your body, you'll try to heal his heart through soul food. It's a part of bonding, and contractual between partners. Is he really going to sit there empty handed while you gorge on candy hearts after a bad day? He better have at least one, or you won't tell him what's wrong. What about peanut butter and potato chip sandwiches?

"You truly are one stubborn creature. Is your stomach made of impenetrable steel?... *sigh* I will taste this concoction of yours, but never claim that I do not love you. If I break out in a rash then you will have far worse to fear beyond my potions" <- He'll be disgusted, but you insist he has to have at least one bite. Just for the cultural experience. If you drink his convoluted potions, then he needs to try your culinary concoctions. Secretly? It's a bit thrilling. You're so wonderfully novel that he can act out any role without thinking the character weird. He's got the biggest weirdo at home after all.

Paparazzi (Developed): Vil will take the blunt end of the media to keep you hidden. He has a private account for people close to him on all sites, and knows what tricks to use so images can't be reused. Like always wearing the same outfit when accompanying you to the gym. This way pictures can't be reused. As much as he encourages you to blossom from your shell, he's a cautious fellow. Not unfamiliar with how obsessive some fans can be. When you're alone, there's always a body guard. Yet unwilling to make you nervous, he arranges for a more...secretive approach.

" - and how was your outing today? Rook is exceedingly knowledgeable on the tourism in this town. I'm sorry we could not go shopping together, but you bought me a gift surely?...hah! I'm merely teasing. It's good to hear that you both had a fun time exploring" <- It's honestly just Rook. Always Rook until the end of time. He's the only one Vil would trust to either politely follow, or simply hang out with you. You're familiar with him, Vil knows there are no ulterior motives, and he's got a sharper eye than most.

Cuddling (Developed): It's scientifically proven that cuddling improves the quality of one's sleep, did ya know? Get in the bed. Now. Don't you want his affection? Hmph.

"Now, I know fully well that you have no intention to spend the night on the couch. I suggest you join me in the next five minutes, or I will take matters into my own hands."

Video Games (Inherited): Vil isn’t a stranger to them. Enjoys them from time to time but never too much because he’s so busy - but you introduced him to Dress to Impress and now he’s addicted. Not just that but he absolutely loves a good rpg. He does like to play with you - like in a co-op platformer, cozy game, or service - when able because it’s bonding time. Vil gets so invested in story lore and actively starts seeking roles in Live Action Adaptation films. Vil as Astarion when???

Thrifting (Inherited): There’s something magical about not knowing what you’re going to get. At first he was against it. You don't have to do that anymore, y'know. He can buy you new clothes if you need them. That is - until you take him through an upcycling market. Vil is used to his designer brands and high fashion - but when you’re able to see potential in something? Make it sparkle? He’s just a big slut for creativity, and I think he would love upcycling.

"My radiance touches all fronts - including my darling. How bold of you to insinuate anything but - No. How daring of you to suggest that adhering to anyone else's standards is worth my time." == Vil is happy to discuss your relationship if the topic is breeched politely during an interview. He isn't shy, neither does he approach anything with less than his best. That includes romance...but oh, hell hath no fury than a smitten Shoenheit scorned by an uncouth reporter. He can sense their attempts to doctor an interview for petty gossip a mile away. He is PROUD that you are learning from him, and views the changes you've brought to his life as improvements. Not lovelorn imperfections.

Habits You Steal

Locks (Developed): Rook is? Oh...okay, so your love's a bit of a prankster - or perhaps a thrill-seeker is more like it? He doesn't let life get too boring, that's for certain. Rook knows Ramshackle through and through. It's not uncommon to look out the window and see his feathered hat zip by in the woods, or through the garden. He does love playing his own version of 'where's waldo' - flickering about to and fro, weaving between the garden trellis and ducking behind trees. Just waiting for his amour to spot him from afar. He knows the layout too intimately - you fear. His habit of breaking and entering instills an anxiety over how unsecure Ramshackle truly is.

“BOO! Aha - desolé, mon coeur - I didn’t mean to startle you so. Consider this a lesson in spacial awareness! Mon dieu, there is a blatant gap in your dorm’s fencing just near the east! Wild beasts can break through and have you for supper. My poor heart will be shattered!” <- So yeah. He's all to happy to set up padlocks on the weak point windows, your fence, etc. He even encourages you to set up some traps yourself. It'll make those 'where's waldo' games more fun for him with new obstacles hehe.

The Nearest Exit (Inherited): Huntsman through and through - he's trained you well. You always sit by the nearest exit in class, closest to the door wherever you are.

Research (Inherited): While Rook is très passionné about fine arts, he's also fascinated with the unknowns in this world. What better club for the truly curious, than the science club? He adores bringing you in to join experiments, always questioning your perspective and letting you take the lead (when safe). It makes a routine procedure all the more interesting, watching what is familiar to him become novel through your eyes. It's like planting a rare seed for the first time, not knowing what will bloom. Akin to venturing within the barred sections of NRC's greenhouse, a thrilling adventure in the pursuit of knowledge. Alchemy becomes your best subject, you can recite the periodic table without need for mnemonics, and you breech the top five in your academic year. Crewel is thoroughly impressed. Good pup.

“Hm? Ah, how curious…there are 123 elements for study in this world, my dear assistant. Would you like to learn the song we teach young mages to memorize them? I will happily serenade you as we work. <- Yup. Twisted Wonderland has more elements than we do, since they’ve got magic resources. Sadly singing the Periodic Table Song won’t be useful. Well, it’s mostly useful still? Trey will actually kill you for teaching it to Rook though. Their mnemonic is much less fast paced and…less annoying. Yeah.

Fleurien (Inherited) : Is this truly shock to anyone? It's french in our world - so props if you already speak the language. Rook isn't fluent but he'd love to learn more. So ... either you use it more with him, or pick up a phrase or two here and there. It's scary as shit - by the way. Now Epel's got not one head popping up screeching "BONJOUR" but two. Don't get comfy because he's small - Rook might be quick enough to dodge a punch but you're one to many outbursts away from a broken nose.

Talking To Yourself (Developed) : Alright. Ace is officially convinced you're off your rocker and need to go visit the nurse. There's no way you know when Rook's skulking about - and if you did, why the heck are you talking to thin air? Just tell him to come out?...yeah, it's not uncommon to have a conversation with your 'boyfriend' when said man isn't visible to the naked eye. There are rumors you finally snapped, just so y'know. Rook physically had to go clear it up with Kalim before the sunshine child sent you on an all-paid tropical vacation to destress (Dammit Rook we were so close -)

“Mon cherie! You look positively radiant in the afternoon light! - ah. The answer is 27, adieu!” <- Call out any question on your Maths or Science homework to the barren sky, and an answer will sound from proximity unknown. The gods have answered your academic dilemma in the form of fleurian embellishments. No. Grim. You can’t just ask every problem - okay you might want to only do this when alone.

Compliments (Developed// Inherited) : Rook is a sweetheart. Maybe a bit of an acquired taste - but he always has something wonderful to say about everyone. No matter their faults...it's almost instinctual, the way you flip from boxed caution to returning his zeal with a genuine compliment. Each and every one. His reaction remains unique as well, he never grows accustomed to it. People groan at the 'shameless flirting' - only to blanch when Rook compliments them in turn, and you are so quick to back him up.

“Oh…mon amour, you never cease to surprise me.” <- Spoken with the most tender affection. Tips his hat to cover his blushing cheeks.

Habits he steals:

Surprises (Inherited): Rook often leaves little gifts and surprises for you to find - in a way he's testing himself, gauging your reactions and getting a spin of glee when you show him a new expression. A bouquet of fresh flowers (their meanings spelling a love letter), sweets from a far corner in the Shaftlands, poems hidden throughout your home in places he predicts you'll check, polaroids of sites across the Isle (urging you to find where for a surprise) etc. This actually started with you - knowing his love for the unknown, you wooed his heart by making little games for him. Not so much snooping into his affairs, but it was fun being under someone else's watchful eye. A bit clumsy but charming to have someone wanting to get the jump on him. Could he be considered prey, if he wanted to be caught?

Decor (Developed) : We've...we've all seen his bedroom, right? Now it isn't going to be the extent of Neige of Vil. Be this a concern or comfort to you? - it's subjective. He will preserve every little thing in regards to your relationship. That middle space above his bed? Cut a square right down the room's center, taking equal parts away from the Neige and Vil spitdown. Add some shelving, a few boxes under his bed and new linens...yup. Polaroids, mementos, paintings, love letters, mayhaps not a plush but if you consent to him having a tiny crochet doll or tsum of you then he will be thrilled. It's all there, right at the center of his organized chaos. He doesn't harbor the same feelings towards you as he does his idols, but that doesn't mean you're any less important.

Organization (Inherited): On that note, since Vil's your friend and the space can be a bit much? Rook will politely tone it down when you're over - flipping the posters and dolls if he's expecting a visit. It is wonderful that you accept his bonified fanboy behavior, but he concedes this much for your comfort.

“Ah…my limited edition Appleblossom-Vil sheets. I understand your discomfort my love, so I have graciously turned them into the perfect couch-cushion cover! Come and see how magnifique they match the drapes!” <-Again…compromise. You can’t even be put off with that level of creativity and excitement.

Freckles and Gloves (Developed): Stop. Covering. Your. Damn. Freckles !!!! This isn't about the hair. Believe it or not, his hair is cute and anyone who says otherwise can stfu because he likes it. If it's what he likes then it's what he likes. The freckles? You're slapping that damn bottle of concealer out of his hands. He'll wake up early to try and reapply it before you wake up. Nope. Nada. He cannot go preaching about the beauty of imperfections while still covering up what triggers the most extreme cute aggression known to man. You compliment every nick on his hands and forearms and wherever else, praise all the little freckles on his nose and cheeks until this man physically is sent to the moon and back from your passion.

“Aha! I am being assaulted by a ticklish foe! If my face is enough to elicit such sweetness from you, then I will certainly die the happiest man in this lifetime” <- He's never seen you so passionate about anything. it's enough to overwhelm him, in all honesty. Stops wearing the concealer most casual days, but won't concede his gloves. Might wear it on occasion to see if you notice (and get a bit of that fire in your eyes to come back).

Scrap Booking (Developed): Rook documents everything, why not keep a scrap book? You suggest the idea to him as a way to immortalize his findings without always needing some kind of trophy. Now he has a scrap book dedicated to literally everyone. Vil and Neige might have multiple…and at some point you have to wonder when it breeches scrap book criteria and just becomes a full detailing of his observations. It depends on how you feel about candid photos.

Newspaper Club (Inherited) : Oh yeah. Rook becomes an honorary member of the Newspaper club. He finds great thrill in trying to get those candid shots without being spotted by his targets <3. If he can help out his amour on his little escapades, then say no more. He's honored to be the only one allowed to use your ghost camera.

“Oh just look at that sunrise! It is the true embodiment of what our students stand for! To press through the darkness through tireless hours of study and labor - all to emerge in new dawn as promising mages! I must get the perfect shot for my darling’s club…non. A ground view will not do - to the skies!” <- He proceeds to break six rules, pilfer a broom from the Spelldrive team, get the photo and return to class without any evidence

“Oh mon dieu - how my heart soars! To be loved is to be seen, no? Ah, I could as for no greater compliment. Merci Beaucoup, mon amie!” == Others might make the comparison with scorn. Most find Rook’s mannerisms to be peculiar, some find him distasteful. He is merely an appreciator of beauty, and you are one of the most marvelous creatures he has ever set eyes on. In body and mind. It is an honor to be mimicked. To be loved is to be changed. If anyone holds a true appreciation for sharing habits, it is Rook Hunt. He detests others prying into his personal affairs…and yet, he finds himself willingly giving hints to you. Oho?

Habits you steal:

Dialect and Slang (Inherited) : The most obvious. You don’t spend hours upon hours with someone and not walk away without some of their lingo. Do you REALLY think he has the energy to maintain that primmed facade all the time? The moment it’s closed doors Epel lets loose like no one else on campus. The personality flip is insane. It’s like when you spend time in a foreign country and pick up a bit of their accent - but that southern drawl.

"I don' sound like that! Wait..." <- Slams his palm over Deuce's mouth when he and Ace were mimicking you who 'apparently' started to sound like a bumpkin. Doesn't help that Epel calls you a 'pumpkin' either....oh yeah, the teasing is relentless.

Survival (Inherited): Epel could get you off a stranded island with just a coconut, three sticks, and a rock. Not even exaggerating, he’s just that resourceful. Navigating through woodlands through any kind of weather, making deliveries across towns and encountering any spectacle the mind can trudge up? Yeah. Teaches a guy somethin’. He makes sure you don’t walk off the farm without a survival pack and even shows you how to tell time using the sky. If only he realized how attractive this sort of thing is.

Apples (Developed) : I sincerely hope you have a taste for apples and everything apple related. Epel will be carving away, picking the dud chunks with toothpicks and handing them off without a second thought. Who eats them? You. Also his family sends a care package at least once a month. Cider, pie, tarts, hell they somehow got apples in kugel? The others in your little possé help polish it off, but Epel’s family is so stoked that he has a partner. That Harveston event was a doozy, let me tell ya. A village full of elderly folks asking after you means you will never go hungry. Well…so long as you can survive on apples.

"You know...you kind of remind me of a McIntosh apple. Pretty sweet but also nice an' refreshing...a-ah? That was romantic? I was just thinking out loud but if you say so..."

Cold Tolerance (Developed) : Speaking of Harveston, did you know you got thirty-minutes? Oh yes, thirty minutes to run my friend. Just kidding. Don’t run. Not unless you want to see a sled coming at you in the distance at breakneck speed. Now that his family has a face to match their Epel’s sweetheart, you will always be expected to join him on trips home. They want pictures, updates, your measurements for new clothes and he better be sending notice so the guest room is made up. Epel will be sent right back to NRC if he ever comes back without you in tow. Congrats, you’ve been adopted. It’s chilly there but you get some hand-knitted mittens out of it. Epel is mortified but also so thankful he has someone to buffer the welcome-wagon with.

"Hey uhh...do you mind if we take a picture together? It's just for my mom's scrapbook. She's been asking for one 'a us together and I don' want to disappoint her....h-huh? What'ddya mean you already sent some?! When?!" <- You're writing to his family. Alright. He's totally not running through every embarrassing story his Meemaw or parents have in their arsenal...ah crap.

Cowboy Hat Rule (Developed) : One-hundred percent true across dimensions. You are NOT allowed to wear anyone else’s hat, ya got that? No one. Especially not no-one from the shaft-lands or the Savannah. Rook once offered you his brimmed-hat on a rainy day and Epel completely lost his mask for a moment. He quite literally yanked his jacket off and smothered your head with it, meeting Rook’s amused mirth with narrowed eyes. He didn’t care if Vil scolded him. That Hunt knew exactly what he was doing, ain’t Epel’s fault. Not this time, no way.

"A-a little water won't kill anyone! Let's just run for it!" <- Shoots a poorly-controlled glare as you both book-it to the nearest shelter. Rook's laughter was as boisterous as ever, always happy to push Epel's buttons.

Cat-Calls (Developed) : Assholes love to hit on Epel. The amount of times other students mistake him for a girl - man. Poor guy. It really peeves him off when it happens in front of you too. We’re talking veins popping out of his neck and red enough to rival Riddle on his worst days. What makes it worse is that you defend him. Ain’t it supposed to be the other way ‘round? On one hand he’s smug because you’re parading him like a prized trophy - hah! Look at that, ain’t he a catch? The high dies down a bit when the pursuer leaves. Then he gets sulky.

Heating Pack (Inherited) : Dear god farmlife is kicking your ass. Epel cackles and jokes at your suffering, but hauling those crates is no joke. Thank god he knows a remedy and lends you his heating pack every night. Some icy-hot on the joints, a foot bath for the ankles, and he might rub your shoulders if you ask nicely. He won’t admit to using the remedies himself, claiming they’re for his parents. He just wants to seem tough but you know better. Seven have mercy on your aching knees…there’s got to be a way to worm out of this.

There isn’t. You don’t work, you don’t eat. Haul ass dimension traveler.

"Howdy pumpkin, how're you holding up? Jeez, I warned you about lifting with your legs...nah, forget about it. Vil must be rubbing off on me with his scolding. Here's some hot chocolate to tide ya over until supper. Meemaw's got some herbal remedies lying around, want to give them a try?"

Habits he steals:

Thievery (Inherited): Goes in-hand with the care packages he's getting from home. Those are suppose to be FOR HIM, but you're sneaking all the good bits and leaving him with the barrels of apples. Get your own mail man...just kidding(-ish). He honestly is so glad to have some of the heat taken off his shoulders. Plus, you writing them means he gets a bit more freedom...but seriously. He has to keep stealing back the stuff you've pilfered. Sure he's getting an allowance, but c'mon. Half the stuff that gets sent are things from his room that he already owns, like clothes and his whittle knives...it was cool showing off his best stuff, until his parents sent over his baby album without saying nothing. He had to pry that out of your mitts and bury it under lock-and-key in his room.

"Son of a- Hey! The heck did I tell ya about stealin' my socks?! I know yous ain't that desperate! Go an' get et yer own already dammit!" <- Doesn't matter if he sends a letter back to his Meemaw, asking her to send some extra pairs of those fluffy slipper-socks. Maybe some stationary and a couple jars of jam that Grim'll just run through in a day. You're always fighting over stuff.

Delinquency (Inherited): You are literally Vil's worst enemy - undoing everything he's sought to instill. When Epel is with you, he reverts back to his most basic form. Aka. hunched over his carvings like a gremlin crescent, doing contortionist moves through the halls, sneaking cup-ramen at 2am just 'cause he's bored (Rook plays Hide 'n' Seek those nights, chasing ya through Pomefiore until you're back in Epel's room. Wanna eat? Gotta work for it) , and really the most unmannered bullshit possible. Spell Drive was his go-to outlet where he could get muddy and talk hot shit. Still is - what? You think the Savanaclaw students (70% of the team) are going to sit there and paint their nails? Nah, he's been initiated and all that. Had to show his muscle...but this is different. Vil's considered banning you from the dorm during important times like exams, parties, assemblies, etc. just to get some grounding. Doesn't work, since Epel will just sneak out. Riddle isn't the only one with crafty first-years looking to couch surf.

Malipulation (Inherited): Epel learns how you've managed to last this long in Twisted Wonderland with nothing but that pretty little brain under your belt. People are so quick to expect nothing from the Ramshackle prefect...and instead of proving them wrong, or getting heated? You let them think that way, because bad press was good press at NRC. Let them think you were a conniving, brown nosed kiss-ass who was getting it in with the dorm leaders. Let them think you were a walking sack of bad karma. Let them think whatever else - because those stereotypes are what's keeping you afloat.

"Ah - pardon me...I'll take that challenge on their behalf, if it's all right with you? Don't hold back on me now!.....ya pea-brained fucknugget." <- Epel twists this in his own way- aka. he starts using his pretty looks to his advantage. Let people think he's a weakling, so that when the time comes to prove himself he'll make a 180 change and give a big ol' can of whoopass. Your 'normie-ness' as Idia puts it, is your biggest weapon. Same for Epel's disarming visage.

Cologne (Developed): In an effort to be seen as more 'manly' in your eyes, Epel went down to the Isle shopping district and bought the most putrid smelling drugstore musk you can imagine. One whiff near-singed your nostril hairs off from how much he packed on...Vil did not approve, and gifted him a higher quality scent with notes of peppercorn and jasmine. You personally went and thanked Vil in secret - unable to tell Epel just how bad he smelled since he did it trying to impress you.

Lint Roller (Developed): Vil runs a tight ship - Epel's needs to get Grim's fur off of his uniform for every inspection or else he'll get his head chewed off. Especially if his dorm uniform gets dirtied.

Confidence (Developed): Stops masking his accent when with friends. Never had anyone cheering for him before. Like, really cheering for him. So you coming to his Spelldrive games is such a boost. Wears Ramshackle colors (bandanna and waist-flags) on his club uniform - Vil not mad bc Rook wouldn’t shut up about it being in the name of love -

"Woooo! Score! Blue must be my lucky color! Hahaha!" <- Epel always looks for you in the crowd. Luck isn't nothin' to do with it, but if wearing blue and white gets him playing better? The team isn't complaining.

Protective (Developed): Part insecurity, part him being a bit old-fashioned, part being sick of stereotypes against the underdog (aka. ya both), and part pure country-boy lovin'. He's not a raised gentleman like Riddle, doesn't know the ins and outs of 'romance' like Rook, honestly bro is fumbling half the time...but ain't no one seen Epel flair up like he does in your defense. No one can talk him down. On the protectiveness scale he would get 15/10, because there ain't many friends to make back at Harveston. Surely not anyone to love. He's got some good examples for how to treat a life-partner, and knows 13 different moves to dislocate different joints across the human body.

"Sure ya want ta go there, huh? Huh? Say that again to mah face. I'll put ya nose to the dirt so fast that filthy mouth'll o' yers will taste nothin' but soil fer weeks!" <- He'll do it too. His Meemaw trained him for more than just the Sledathon...nah, years of hauling crates built muscle. Back when he was still a first-year on the Spelldrive team, he'd get shit from his teammates while they 'tested' him. The worst mistake they made was coming for you though, even if it was a bit. Epel was full on ready to clobber a Cheetah-beastman twice his size, and if Jack hadn't stepped in...he probably would've, no mercy.

“That’s….that’s somethin’ else, ain’t it? Heh. Heheheh,” == Epel had to excuse himself to go giggle on his lonesome. Can’t have anyone see how happy that small comment just made him. You really love him that much? You respect him that much? He can’t begin to put two and two together - his heart was pounding like some lovesick ninny…oh. Oh hells. He is a lovesick ninny. Needless to say that Epel is absolutely riding a high for the rest of the day.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland x reader #pomefiore #twst vil schoenheit #vil shoenheit x reader #rook hunt #twst rook hunt #rook hunt x reader #epel felmeir #epel felmier x reader #twst epel #twst habits series #cola writes

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mrsfancyferrari · 6 months ago

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Summary: You are the first woman to be racing in Formula 1 and you and Max are already best friends. To Jos' dismay.

Song: Me and Your Mama by Childish Gambino

Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 Author’s note: CW: sexist comments, domestic violence (not from Max). I'm still salty about Daniel Ricciardo's exit to Formula 1 so I decided to add him a little here. THIS WILL BE A SERIES AND THANK YOU FOR THE 500 FOLLOWERS! Please like, reblog and share this! <3 ALSO IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!

Word count: 10.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

You are making history as the first woman to compete in Formula 1 with the Red Bull team, stepping in for Sergio Perez.

This groundbreaking achievement not only highlights your talent but also paves the way for future generations of female racers in a sport traditionally dominated by men.

Your personality shines through with a warm and friendly demeanor that makes you incredibly approachable. Colleagues and fans alike find you likable, creating an inviting atmosphere wherever you go.

This charm not only endears you to those around you but also helps foster a supportive environment within the competitive world of racing

Some have affectionately dubbed you the "Mini Honey Badger," a nod to the legendary Daniel Ricciardo. This playful comparison reflects your fierce determination and tenacity on the track, qualities that resonate with fans and fellow racers.

Your unique blend of charisma and competitive spirit is sure to leave a lasting impression in the world of Formula 1.

Luckily, you found yourself paired with one of the most talented drivers in the sport, Max Verstappen.

From the very beginning, you and Max clicked effortlessly, perhaps due to your shared sense of humor or the lighthearted way you both approached life outside of racing.

Max, known for his fierce competitiveness on the track, also had a playful side that drew you in. Whether it was sharing funny anecdotes from your childhood or engaging in friendly banter about each other's driving styles, the connection felt natural and invigorating.

You both understood the pressures of the sport, yet you managed to find joy in the little moments, whether it was a shared laugh over a silly meme or a light-hearted debate about the best racing video games.

This bond not only made your time together enjoyable but also fostered a sense of trust and teamwork that would prove invaluable as the season progressed.

During your initial week in Formula 1, the team was treated to a mix of corny jokes and uproarious laughter, creating an atmosphere that was both fun and relaxed.

It was clear that the camaraderie between you two was something special, and it didn’t take long for everyone to notice. The garage, usually filled with the tension of competition, transformed into a space of joy and lightheartedness.

You and Max would often engage in playful challenges, like who could come up with the worst dad joke or who could impersonate the team’s engineers the best.

These moments not only broke the ice but also helped to build a strong team spirit.

The mechanics and engineers, who often worked long hours under pressure, found themselves smiling more often, and the overall morale of the team improved.

It was as if your infectious energy had a ripple effect, reminding everyone that while racing was serious business, it was also about passion, fun, and the love of the sport.

Christian Horner, the team principal, seemed to recognize this chemistry right away.

He confidently remarked to the media about the dynamic of having a girl and a boy on the same team, suggesting that he had a good feeling about the partnership.

His words resonated with the fans and the media alike, sparking conversations about the evolving landscape of motorsport and the importance of diversity within the sport. It was evident that the two of you were destined to make waves together on and off the track.

Christian’s faith in your partnership only fueled your determination to succeed.

You both knew that the expectations were high, but instead of feeling overwhelmed, you embraced the challenge.

"Joseph, can you give me an update on the gap behind?" you inquired, your voice steady as it crackled through the radio to your race engineer.

The sound of your own heartbeat echoed in your ears, a reminder of the high stakes at play.

"You're looking at a 5-second lead over Norris, Y/N," Joseph Duke responded, his tone calm and focused.

As you navigated the track, the adrenaline surged through your veins, heightening your senses.

The smell of burning rubber and the roar of engines filled the air, but your focus remained solely on the asphalt ahead.

Max was currently leading the race, and you were right on his tail, just a heartbeat away from making a decisive move.

With the world championship points on the line, every second counted, and the team’s strategy was crucial.

"Copy that, Joseph. I’m feeling good about this pace. Should I push to overtake Max?" you asked, weighing your options.

The tension in the air was palpable, and you could almost hear the roar of the crowd in your mind, their cheers and gasps fueling your determination.

You could picture the fans waving flags, the excitement building as the race unfolded.

"Remember, he’s leading the championship, so those points are vital for him," Joseph reminded you, his voice steady and measured.

You took a deep breath, considering the risks and rewards of your next move. The thought of overtaking Max was tantalizing, but the consequences of a miscalculation loomed large.

"Understood. But if I don’t make a move soon, he might pull away," you replied, your mind racing through the possibilities.

You could see the track ahead, the curves and straightaways that could either make or break your race.

"Just keep your head in the game, Y/N. Focus on your lines and stay patient. The opportunity will come," Joseph advised, his experience guiding you through the chaos.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you, reminding yourself that patience was key.

As you approached the next turn, you felt the car respond to your every command, the tires gripping the asphalt with precision.

You could see Max’s car just ahead, a flash of blue and white, and the urge to push harder surged within you.

"Alright, I’ll hold back for now, but I’m ready when the moment strikes," you said, determination lacing your words.

The opportunity to seize the grand prix had slipped through your fingers, leaving you with a bittersweet taste of second place as Max celebrated his victory.

It wasn’t that you felt anger towards him; after all, the stakes were high, and the competition was fierce.

You had performed admirably, even outshining Checo this season, and Red Bull was finally back to their P1-P2 glory.

As you stepped out of your car, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, you spotted Max waiting for you, his helmet off and a look of concern etched on his face.

He rushed over, his expression serious as he enveloped you in a quick hug. “You don’t hate me, do you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the unexpected question. Removing your helmet, you met his gaze with a warm smile. “Of course not! But don’t think I’ll go easy on you next week,” you replied playfully, your competitive spirit igniting once more.

Max’s face lit up with a genuine smile, the tension dissipating. “Mate, I won’t go down that easy!” he shot back, his eyes sparkling with the thrill of rivalry.

As you made your way to celebrate with the team, you noticed the difference in how they treated you compared to Max. While he was hoisted into the air, receiving enthusiastic cheers and bone-crushing hugs, you felt a more cautious approach directed your way.

It was a subtle reminder of the gender dynamics at play in the sport. You brushed it off, focusing instead on the camaraderie and the shared passion that brought you all together.

The post-race atmosphere was electric, filled with the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional shout of joy.

You joined in the celebrations, clapping your hands and cheering for your teammates, but a part of you remained introspective.

You replayed the race in your mind, analyzing every corner, every overtaking maneuver, and every missed opportunity.

The thrill of competition was intoxicating, but so was the desire to prove yourself, not just to the team but to the world.

As the evening unfolded, you found yourself lingering at the periphery of the lively celebration, your gaze fixed on Max as he reveled in the spotlight of his victory.

He was the star of the night, the one everyone clamored to congratulate, while you stood in the shadows, merely the second driver.

Christian approached, giving your shoulder a friendly pat, a gesture of appreciation for your support. Yet, it felt insufficient.

You masked your feelings with a bright smile as you watched Max raise his glass, laughter spilling from his lips as the clock inched toward midnight.

“Goodnight, Max,” you called out, aware that your boyfriend, Jake would be less than pleased if you lingered too long.

“Goodnight, best friend! Did I mention you look lovely tonight?” Max replied, his words slightly slurred as he pulled you into a warm embrace.

You felt your cheeks heat up. “No, you didn’t! Thank you, Max. You look great too!” you managed to say, your heart fluttering at the compliment.

As the night wore on, you exchanged goodbyes with the others, the atmosphere buzzing with joy and celebration.

You decided it was time to head home, opting for a taxi since you had indulged in a few drinks earlier.

Once inside the cab, you leaned back against the seat, reflecting on the evening. The laughter, the cheers, and the way Max had shone like a beacon of success.

It was hard not to feel a twinge of envy, but you pushed it aside, reminding yourself of the bond you shared.

The driver navigated through the city streets, and you pulled out your phone, scrolling through the photos from the night.

There was Max, grinning ear to ear, surrounded by friends, and there you were, a supportive figure in the background.

Just as the car turned, your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you glanced down to see a message from Jake.

“Where are you?” he texted, the words appearing on your screen like a gentle reminder of the warmth waiting for you at home.

You smiled, feeling a rush of affection as you typed back, “Just left the party! On my way home now. Can’t wait to see you!”

The taxi weaved through the city streets, and you could almost picture him waiting for you, perhaps pacing a little, his brow furrowed in that adorable way he did when he was worried.

You could hear his voice in your head, teasing you about how you always took too long to say goodbye, but you knew he loved it just as much as you did.

As the taxi pulled up to your building, you felt a flutter of excitement. You paid the driver and hurried inside, your heart racing with anticipation.

As you stepped into the apartment, a heavy scent of alcohol hit you like a wave, and your heart sank.

The cheerful anticipation you had felt moments before evaporated, replaced by a knot of anxiety in your stomach. You knew Jake had been struggling lately, and the telltale signs of his mood were all around you.

Empty bottles cluttered the coffee table, their labels peeling and faded, remnants of nights spent drowning sorrows that seemed to multiply with each passing day.

Taking a deep breath, you cautiously made your way further inside, hoping to find a glimmer of the warmth you once cherished, a flicker of the love that had once filled this space.

“Hey, babe, I’m home!” you called out, trying to inject some cheer into the atmosphere, but your voice felt small and fragile against the oppressive silence that enveloped the room.

The silence that followed was deafening, and you could feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating.

Just then, he emerged from the shadows of the living room, his eyes glassy and unfocused, as if he were peering through a fog that had settled deep within him.

“Oh, look who decided to show up,” he sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm, each word laced with bitterness. “Did you have fun pretending to be normal out there?”

You felt a chill run down your spine as he continued, hurling insults that cut deeper than you wanted to admit.

It was as if he was trying to push you away, to create a chasm between you that felt insurmountable.

And yet, amidst the hurt, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for the man you loved, the one who was lost beneath layers of pain and anger.

“Why do you always have to do this?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly, the vulnerability in your tone betraying the strength you wished to project. “I just want to help you.”

He scoffed, dismissing your concern with a wave of his hand, the gesture almost theatrical in its disdain. “Help? You mean control. You think you can just waltz in here and fix everything? You’re just like everyone else, trying to tell me what to do.”

The words stung, and you felt the weight of his accusations pressing down on you, each syllable a reminder of the distance that had grown between you.

“I’m not trying to control you,” you replied softly, “I just want to be there for you. Can’t we talk about this?”

But as you looked into his eyes, you realized that the man you once knew was slipping further away, lost in a haze of his own making.

His gaze, once so full of life and passion, now seemed clouded, distant. It was as if he was peering through a murky window, unable or unwilling to see the vibrant world outside.

You could see the shadows of his struggles etched on his face, the lines of worry and anger deepening with each passing day. It pained you to witness this transformation, to see the light in him dimmed by his own fears and insecurities.

“Why can’t you see that I’m trying to help?” you pressed, your heart racing as desperation crept into your voice. “I’m not your enemy. I want to understand what you’re going through.”

You took a tentative step closer, hoping to bridge the gap that felt insurmountable.

But he recoiled slightly, as if your words were a physical blow, and the distance between you felt more pronounced than ever.

“Understand?” he scoffed, his tone laced with bitterness. “You think you can just waltz in and understand? You have no idea what it’s like to feel trapped, to have every choice taken from you. You don’t know the weight of this burden.”

His voice cracked, revealing a flicker of vulnerability beneath the bravado.

As soon as you opened your mouth to speak, Jake brushed by you, grabbing his coat and shoes in one swift motion.

"I'm heading out for a walk. Don't even think about following me," he snapped, his words laced with the sting of alcohol.

You simply nodded, feeling a mix of concern and frustration, but you stayed rooted in place until you heard the door slam shut behind him.

With the sound echoing in the silence, you finally exhaled, the tension in your chest easing just a bit. You glanced around the room, the remnants of the night scattered everywhere—empty bottles and crumpled napkins littered the floor.

"Guess it's cleanup time," you muttered to yourself, bending down to gather the bottles. As you worked, your mind raced with thoughts of him.

Just then, your phone buzzed on the table. It was a message from your best friend, Sarah.

"Hey! How's everything? You okay?"

You sighed, typing back quickly. "Not great. He just stormed out after a fight. I’m cleaning up the mess now."

A moment later, your phone chimed again. "Want me to come over? I can help."

You hesitated, glancing at the door. "No, it’s fine. I just need to sort things out."

"Are you sure? You shouldn’t be alone right now."

You paused, considering her words. "I’ll be okay. I just need to think."

As you continued to tidy up, you replayed the argument in your mind. It had started over something trivial, but the alcohol had turned it into a full-blown fight.

You could hear his voice in your head, the way he had raised his tone, the way he had dismissed your feelings.

"Why does he always do this?" you whispered to yourself, frustration bubbling up again.

You were well aware that he wouldn’t be returning anytime soon.

After tidying up the house, you decided to treat yourself to a long, relaxing bath.

The warm water enveloped you, washing away the day’s worries. Once you felt refreshed, you slipped into your favorite pajamas and crawled into bed, the soft sheets providing a comforting embrace.

He hadn’t always been this way—filled with anger and lost in the depths of alcoholism.

You both had shared a beautiful love story, starting as high school sweethearts. You could still remember the way he used to look at you, his eyes sparkling with affection, mirroring the love you felt for him.

As you lay there, memories flooded your mind. You recalled the laughter, the late-night talks, and the dreams you had built together. But now, those dreams felt like distant echoes, overshadowed by the weight of his struggles.

Maybe it was the pressure of work that was taking a toll on him. You thought back to the last time you had a heart-to-heart.

“Do you remember when we used to talk about our future?” you had asked him one evening, the two of you sitting on the porch, the sun setting in a blaze of colors.

He had sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I remember. It feels like a lifetime ago.”

“Things can get better, you know. We can work through this together,” you had urged, your heart aching for the man you once knew.

He had looked away, his expression clouded. “I don’t know if I can. Sometimes it feels like I’m drowning, and I don’t know how to swim anymore.”

You had reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “You’re not alone in this. I’m here for you, always.”

But as the days turned into weeks, the distance between you grew. The man you loved was slipping away, replaced by someone you barely recognized.

Now, lying in bed, you couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever find his way back to you. Would he remember the love you once shared? Would he fight against the demons that haunted him?

With a heavy heart, you closed your eyes, hoping that tomorrow would bring a glimmer of hope, a sign that the man you loved was still inside, waiting to break free.

As you settled into bed, the glow of your phone screen illuminated the dark room, revealing a flurry of notifications that had accumulated while you were winding down.

Most of them were filled with excitement, congratulating you on your impressive second-place finish in the race. However, amidst the sea of cheerful messages, one stood out—a private note from Max.

While some comments stung with negativity, suggesting you didn’t belong in the world of Formula 1, Max’s message was a beacon of warmth.

“Thanks for coming to celebrate with me 👍,” it read, and a smile crept across your face, momentarily pushing away the weight of the harsh words.

You felt a mix of emotions swirling within you, and for a moment, tears threatened to spill over. But instead of succumbing to the sadness, you decided to respond to Max.

Your fingers danced over the screen as you typed, “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, you deserved it! 😁” The moment you hit send, a sense of relief washed over you.

It was a reminder that amidst the criticism, there were still those who appreciated your presence and celebrated your achievements.

You could almost hear Max’s laughter echoing in your mind, a sound that always seemed to lift your spirits.

Just as you were about to put your phone down, a new message popped up from Max. “You really made the night special! I’m glad you were there. Let’s catch up soon?”

His words filled you with warmth, and you could picture him grinning with alcohol still in his system, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

“Absolutely! I’d love to,” you replied, feeling a renewed sense of purpose.

After setting your phone aside for the night, you drifted off to sleep, the soft hum of the world outside fading into a distant memory.

When you awoke, you were enveloped in a warm embrace, the kind that felt like home. Instantly, you recognized the familiar presence of Jake, his body radiating warmth against yours.

The scent of alcohol lingered in the air, a reminder of his previous night out with friends, a detail that both amused and concerned you.

A smile crept across your face as you turned to see him, his features relaxed and serene, a stark contrast to the tension that had marked his demeanor the night before.

Curiosity sparked within you, igniting a flurry of questions as you pondered where he had spent his time, what stories he might have to share, and whether the night had been as wild as you imagined.

You felt a rush of affection for him, a desire to know every detail of his adventures, to understand the man who had captured your heart so completely.

Despite the warnings from your friends urging you to reconsider your relationship, your feelings for him remained steadfast, unwavering like a lighthouse in a storm.

They claimed he was a source of trouble, a tempest that could jeopardize your career and stir up scandals that would ripple through your life.

Yet, deep down, you understood him better than they did, seeing the layers of his character that they overlooked. You believed in his integrity, in the goodness that lay beneath the surface, and you knew he wouldn’t intentionally cause chaos in your life.

Their concerns echoed in your mind, but they felt distant, like the sound of waves crashing against a far-off shore.

You were determined to forge your own path, to trust your instincts, and to embrace the love that had blossomed between you, even if it meant standing alone against the tide of skepticism.

Although your relationship was already in the public eye, with whispers and speculation swirling around you like autumn leaves caught in a gust of wind, he had yet to join you in the paddock due to his work commitments.

You felt a mix of anticipation and longing, a bittersweet ache in your chest as you navigated the bustling environment without him by your side.

As you glanced at your phone, the screen illuminated the early morning hour, signaling it was time for your daily jog.

You carefully extricated yourself from Jake's embrace, trying not to disturb his peaceful slumber.

Just as you were about to tiptoe out of the room, you caught a faint mumble escaping his lips, a mix of sleep and concern. “Where are you going?” he murmured, his voice thick with drowsiness.

You paused for a moment, torn between the urge to reassure him and the need to stick to your routine.

“I’m just going for a quick run, love. I’ll be back before you know it,” you replied softly, hoping to ease any lingering worries. His brow furrowed slightly, even in his sleep, as if he sensed your departure was more than just a morning ritual.

“You always run too early… what if someone sees you?” he muttered, a hint of jealousy creeping into his voice, even in his dreams.

With a gentle smile, you leaned down to plant a quick kiss on his forehead. “I’ll be fine, I promise. It’s just me and the open road. You know I love my morning jogs.”

You could feel the tension in the air, a familiar weight that often accompanied your outings. “Okay,” he finally said, though the uncertainty lingered in his tone.

You quickly changed into your jogging attire before stepping out of the house. With a sense of urgency, you slipped into your comfortable workout gear, ready to embrace the fresh air outside.

The fabric of your favorite moisture-wicking shirt clung to your skin, and the soft elastic of your running shorts felt familiar and reassuring.

You laced up your well-worn sneakers, the soles still resilient from countless miles, and took a moment to stretch your legs, feeling the anticipation build within you.

Once dressed, you felt the excitement of the run ahead, eager to hit the pavement and enjoy the rhythm of your feet against the ground.

The world outside beckoned, vibrant and alive, as you opened the door and stepped into the crisp morning air. The scent of dew-kissed grass and blooming flowers filled your lungs, invigorating your spirit.

You took a deep breath, letting the coolness wash over you, and with a quick glance at the sky, you noted the sun just beginning to rise, casting a golden hue across the horizon.

As you began to jog, the familiar cadence of your heartbeat matched the steady thump of your feet on the pavement. Each stride felt liberating, a release from the confines of the day-to-day.

You could feel the tension of the week melting away with every step, replaced by a sense of freedom and clarity.

The rhythmic sound of your breath mingled with the rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds, creating a symphony of nature that accompanied you on your journey.

As you were enjoying your morning jog through the park, the rhythmic sound of your feet hitting the pavement was suddenly interrupted by a group of enthusiastic voices.

A cluster of women and girls approached you, their faces lighting up with excitement. "Excuse me! Miss Y/N! Can we get your autograph?" one of them exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with admiration.

You paused, a bit surprised but also flattered, and smiled at the eager crowd. "Of course! I’d be happy to," you replied, pulling out a small notepad from your pocket.

Amid the chatter, a young girl stepped forward, her cheeks flushed with excitement. "I want to start go-karting because I want to be just like you!" she declared, her voice filled with determination.

You could see the passion in her eyes, and it warmed your heart. "That’s amazing! Go-karting is such a fun sport," you encouraged her. "What do you love most about it?"

The girl beamed, her confidence growing as she shared her dreams of racing and the thrill of speed. "I love the idea of being in control and going fast! It looks so cool!"

You nodded, feeling a sense of responsibility to inspire her. "You know, every champion starts somewhere. If you really want to do it, just keep practicing and never give up. Surround yourself with people who support you, and you’ll go far," you advised, hoping to instill a sense of belief in her.

The girl’s eyes widened, and she nodded vigorously. "I will! Thank you so much!"

As the group dispersed, you felt a renewed sense of purpose, realizing that your journey could inspire others to chase their dreams, just as you had. . . .

As the days rolled on, the team decided to spice things up a bit before race week by organizing a fun game called "How Well Do You Know Each Other."

The idea was to not only entertain the fans but also to give everyone a glimpse into the camaraderie between you and Max.

You found yourself standing in front of the camera, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling inside you, while Max lounged comfortably on the sofa behind you, his headphones snugly in place, unable to listen in.

The staff kicked off the game with a playful tone, "Alright, let’s start with you! The first question about Max is… what is Max's favorite food?" You grinned, confident in your knowledge of your teammate.

"Oh, I know this one! Max is a huge fan of both Italian and Dutch cuisine, while I personally lean more towards Spanish dishes," you replied, your voice filled with enthusiasm.

The crew chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter, and you could see Max nodding in agreement, a smirk on his face even though he didn't know what you said.

After a few more questions, it was time for the roles to reverse. You took a seat on the sofa, and Max stood in front of the camera, a playful glint in his eyes.

The staff asked him the same question, and he leaned forward, a teasing smile forming. "Well, I know my teammate pretty well! She loves her Spanish food, but I think she secretly wishes she could cook like an Italian chef," he joked.

"You better be getting this right, I wanna beat Charles and Carlos' record," you said, feeling the competitive in you to beat Ferrari's record of 18 out of 20 right.

Max only turned around and gave an okay sign since you couldn't hear him, adding a little small wink for the tease but it was caught on camera.

In the end, both you and Max aced all the questions, and the excitement bubbled over as you jumped up and down, your energy infectious. Max stood nearby, a wide grin spreading across his face as he watched your enthusiasm.

"See, everyone! Red Bull is clearly the superior team compared to Ferrari, so make sure to support us this week!" you exclaimed, wrapping up the video with a flourish.

As you turned to Max, you noticed he was still gazing at you, lost in thought. It took you by surprise.

"Max, do you want to add anything to what I just said?" you asked, a playful grin on your face as you nudged his shoulder gently.

Snapping back to reality, Max turned to the camera, a hint of sheepishness in his expression.

"Oh, umm, yeah… Red Bull domination, I guess?" he replied, his voice a mix of uncertainty and enthusiasm.

You couldn't help but burst into laughter at his response, and Max's smile widened, clearly pleased that he could make you laugh.

"Alright, everyone, that's a wrap! We'll catch you all soon. Fingers crossed for another P1-P2 finish, but maybe next time we can switch things up a bit," you said, waving enthusiastically at the camera.

As the camera clicked off, you turned to the crew with a warm smile, expressing your gratitude for their support. You shifted your focus to Max, who was standing nearby, a mix of anticipation and amusement on his face.

"Hey, Max," you began, a playful glint in your eye. "How does it feel to be the most compatible drivers on the grid?"

Max's eyes widened slightly at the phrase "most compatible," and you could see a hint of color rising to his cheeks. But as soon as he processed the word "driver," his expression shifted to one of mild disappointment.

"It feels nice, I guess," he replied, a smirk creeping onto his lips. "Just another thing to brag about to Lando, right?"

You chuckled, knowing how much Max loved to tease his fellow drivers. "Oh, absolutely! I can already picture it—Lando rolling his eyes while you go on about how you and I are the ultimate duo."

Max laughed, shaking his head. "He'll probably come up with some ridiculous comeback, like how he’s the best driver in the world or something."

"Well, he does have a knack for that," you said, leaning against the wall, enjoying the banter. "But let’s be honest, you two are like an old married couple. Always bickering but secretly caring for each other."

Max rolled his eyes dramatically. "Please, I’m not ready for that kind of commitment. I can barely handle my own sleeping schedule!"

Max shrugged, a hint of humility creeping into his demeanor. "But honestly, having you around makes it easier. You bring a different energy to the team."

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words. "Thanks, Max. That means a lot coming from you. I think we balance each other out pretty well."

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Yeah, it’s like we have this unspoken understanding. You know when to push me and when to let me breathe. It’s refreshing."

"Exactly! And it’s not just about racing; it’s about the camaraderie we build off the track too. Those late-night strategy sessions and the random moments of laughter—they all add up."

Max chuckled, recalling a particularly ridiculous moment from a previous race weekend. "Remember that time we got lost trying to find the catering tent? We ended up in that random fan zone instead!"

You burst out laughing, the memory flooding back. "Oh my god, yes! And those fans were so excited to see us, they thought we were there for a meet-and-greet! We ended up taking selfies with them for an hour."

"Right? And then we finally found the catering tent, only to discover they were out of your favorite pasta!" Max added, shaking his head in disbelief.

"That was a tragedy," you said, feigning a dramatic sigh. "But it turned into one of the best days. I wouldn’t trade those moments for anything."

Max’s gaze softened as he looked at you, a genuine smile breaking through. "Me neither. It’s those little things that make all the hard work worth it."

You both stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the camaraderie between you palpable. The atmosphere around the paddock buzzed with activity, but in that moment, it felt like you were in your own little world.

"Alright, enough of the mushy stuff," Max said, breaking the moment with a playful nudge. "Let’s get back to business. We’ve got a race to prepare for, and I can’t let you steal all my glory."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Oh, please! You know I’m just here to make you look good. Besides, I wouldn’t dream of overshadowing the reigning champion."

What you two didn't know was that the cameras didn't stop but recorded your little moment, which went viral in the few minutes that it was posted. . . . .

★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★

You knew that the public would start shipping you and Max together sooner or later but you weren't bothered with it.

You had a boyfriend who you cared for deeply, someone who had been your rock through the ups and downs of your racing career. Yet, his reaction to the swirling rumors about you and Max took you by surprise.

You never imagined he would be so affected by the gossip that seemed to spread like wildfire through the paddock and beyond.

Here you were, caught in a web of emotions, torn between the thrill of a new chapter and the loyalty you felt towards your current relationship.

As you stepped through the door of your home, the familiar scent of your shared space enveloped you, but it did little to ease the tension that hung in the air.

You found Jake lounging on the couch, his eyes glued to his phone, the glow of the screen illuminating his furrowed brow. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken words, and you could sense that something was off.

“Hey, babe,” you greeted him, trying to sound cheerful despite the weight on your shoulders. He barely looked up, his fingers scrolling furiously, as if searching for answers in the digital chaos.

“Did you hear about you and Max?” he finally snapped, his voice laced with irritation, cutting through the silence like a knife. “It’s all over social media. Are you really going to let this get to you?”

You felt your heart sink; you had hoped for a different reaction, one that would reassure you that your relationship was strong enough to withstand the storm of rumors.

“Come on, it’s just rumors,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, though the tremor in it betrayed your inner turmoil. “You know I’m committed to only you.”

You watched as he shot you a skeptical glance, his jealousy bubbling to the surface like a volcano ready to erupt. “Yeah, but how can I trust you when you’re out there with him all the time? It’s not just a coincidence that everyone is talking about it.”

The words stung, and you took a deep breath. "Babe I love only you-"

"Please, don’t even think about it! You know I’m stuck here because if I walked away, your fans would make my life a living nightmare," Jake exclaimed, his voice laced with frustration.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you reeling from the harsh reality of your situation.

It was as if he had taken a knife and twisted it, exposing the raw vulnerability you had tried so hard to hide.

You could feel the sting of tears welling up in your eyes, but you fought to keep them at bay. "I didn’t ask for any of this," you replied, your voice trembling slightly.

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, and you could sense the tension between you growing thicker by the second. It was a battle of emotions, and you were losing ground.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I know it’s not fair, but you have to understand the pressure I’m under. It’s not just about us; it’s about my career, my fans. I can’t let them down."

His eyes softened for a moment, revealing a glimpse of the man you fell in love with.

"But I don’t want to lose you. Can’t we find a way to make this work?" You pleaded.

"I don't know," he muttered, not lifting his eyes from his phone before standing up and walking past you to get his coat and shoes. "i'm gonna take a walk,"

This has been a pattern for weeks now. You would come home, he would start an argument then make up an excuse to leave the house, leaving you to either pick up his mess or go to sleep without your partner. To only wake up with him cuddling you in the morning and apologise for his action last night.

You were getting sick of it but you still love him too much to break up with him. . . .

The days that followed were a blur of introspection and emotional turmoil. Each time you caught a glimpse of Jake’s name on your phone, a knot formed in your stomach.

You had always been the type to see the good in people, to believe that love could conquer all, but the reality of your situation was becoming harder to ignore.

The moments of tenderness were overshadowed by the growing unease that settled in your chest like a heavy stone.

You spent more time with Sarah, who seemed to sense your internal struggle. She filled your days with laughter and distraction, taking you out for coffee, long walks in the park, and movie marathons that kept your mind off the impending decision.

Yet, no matter how much you tried to push it aside, the thought of Jake lingered like a shadow, reminding you of the grip he had on your heart—and not in a way that felt safe or loving.

One evening, as you and Sarah sat on the balcony watching the sunset, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink, she turned to you again.

"Y/N, I know it’s hard, but you have to prioritize your happiness. You can’t keep living in this limbo," she said, her voice steady and unwavering.

You looked out at the horizon, the beauty of the moment contrasting sharply with the turmoil inside you.

"I know," you replied, your voice thick with emotion. "But what if I’m wrong? What if he really can change?"

The fear of making the wrong choice loomed large, a specter that haunted your thoughts.

"Change is possible, but it has to come from him, not from you hoping for it," Sarah said gently. "You can’t be the one to fix him. You’re not responsible for his happiness or his growth. You deserve to be with someone who respects you and makes you feel safe."

Her words struck a chord deep within you. You thought back to the last time he had gripped your arm, the way his eyes had darkened, and how you had brushed it off as a moment of frustration.

But now, in the light of day, you could see it for what it was—a warning sign that you had been too afraid to acknowledge.

That night, as you lay in bed, the silence of your room felt deafening. You replayed every moment of your relationship, the good and the bad, and slowly, the scales began to tip.

The holiday seemed to fly by in the blink of an eye, and soon you found yourself stepping into the paddock alongside Sarah and Jake.

As you walked, you could feel the tension in the air; Jake wore a strained smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, gripping your hand a little too tightly.

“Hey, look at all the fans!” you exclaimed, trying to lighten the mood as you waved enthusiastically at the crowd, signing autographs for those who called out your name.

Sarah, taking a break from her hectic job, had decided to join you, her laughter ringing out like music amidst the bustling atmosphere.

“Isn’t this amazing?” you said, glancing at Sarah, who was snapping pictures with her phone. “I can’t believe how many people came out today!”

She nodded, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “It’s like a mini-celebration! But where’s your boyfriend? He seems a bit off today.”

You shrugged, trying to brush off the concern. “I don’t know, maybe he’s just tired. We haven’t really talked much since we got back.”

You stole a glance at him, who was still smiling, but it felt forced, like he was putting on a show for everyone around.

You made the decision to invite Jake into your driver’s room for a heart-to-heart conversation. As you settled into the familiar space, you turned to him with a gentle concern.

“Hey, are you doing okay?” you asked, your voice soft and inviting.

Jake looked at you, his expression a mix of regret and longing, as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. “I’m alright, really. I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting lately,” he replied, his tone sincere.

In that moment, you felt a rush of warmth; you had missed the comfort of his touch more than you realized.

“Jake, I need to let you know that I have to leave soon,” you murmured, trying to keep the conversation grounded. But he seemed lost in his own thoughts, his gaze intense and filled with desire.

“Why don’t you just quit your job already? I can take care of you, I promise,” he suggested, his voice dripping with temptation.

The idea hung in the air between you, and for a fleeting moment, you felt the pull of his offer.

It was tempting, but the passion you had for Formula 1 was a flame that burned too brightly to extinguish for anyone, even someone as captivating as Jake.

You took a deep breath, weighing your options. “Jake, you know how much this means to me. Formula 1 isn’t just a job; it’s my dream,” you replied, your heart heavy with the conflict.

He stepped back slightly, his expression shifting from desire to disappointment. “I get it, but can’t you see how much I care about you? I want us to be together, and I thought you felt the same way,” he said, frustration creeping into his voice.

You could see the struggle in his eyes, and it pained you to know that your passion for racing was creating a rift between you.

“I do care about you, but I can’t just walk away from everything I’ve worked for,” you insisted, hoping he would understand.

As you stand there, the tension weighs heavily in the air, palpable and thick, as Jake's frustration spills over, his voice tinged with a mix of hurt and desperation.

"But what about me?" he asks, his eyes searching yours for an answer that you know is difficult to provide. "Since you started this job, we haven’t done anything together. All you've been doing is hanging out with that Max boy. Don’t you see it?"

His words cut through the silence, piercing the surface of your mind and forcing you to confront the tangled web of your life that feels all too overwhelming at this moment.

As you gather your thoughts, aware that the job has transformed your priorities and the once-familiar relationship with Jake has shifted, you attempt to articulate your feelings, to bridge the widening chasm of misunderstanding.

"Jake—" you start, your voice tremulous, hoping to weave a delicate thread of connection that can pull you both back to a place of understanding, but he interjects, the intensity of his emotions propelling him forward before you can offer your perspective.

"I’ll show you—don't worry," he mutters, the frustration lacing his tone beginning to dissipate as he suddenly wraps his arms around you, pulling you close in a gesture that is both protective and possessive.

The warmth of his body against yours sends a shiver down your spine, a reminder of the bond you once cherished.

Feeling the urgency of the moment, his lips find yours, a kiss that ignites a flicker of hope amid the turmoil of doubt and fear swirling around you. . . .

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀

After the holiday break, you had started to act differently, almost as if a shadow had fallen over their usual camaraderie.

Whenever he approached to nudge her shoulder playfully, she would flinch, a look of surprise crossing her face as if she were bracing for something unpleasant.

It was a stark contrast to the easygoing banter they once shared, and he couldn't help but notice how she had become more withdrawn, often lost in her thoughts, her laughter replaced by a distant gaze.

He believed you were feeling down because the team was struggling to achieve the results they had hoped for.

Typically, his father would reach out to him after a disappointing race, sometimes even resorting to physical punishment if the outcome was particularly disheartening.

It was a routine he had come to accept, thinking it was a common experience shared by many.

However, everything changed when his therapist pointed out that not everyone endured such treatment, which sparked a rebellion within him against his father's harsh ways.

"Why do you always have to be so hard on me?" he had shouted one evening, frustration boiling over.

His father, taken aback, responded with a stern look, "Because I want you to be the best, Max. You need to learn that life isn’t always fair."

But Max felt differently; he wanted to be supported, not punished.

As he pondered your situation, he couldn't help but wonder if you had faced similar challenges.

"Do you have someone in your life who treats you badly?" he asked cautiously, trying to gauge your response.

Your eyes widened at the sudden question before you shook your head, a small smile breaking through the clouds of doubt.

"No, not like that. Everyone is really supportive of me these days."

Max felt a wave of relief wash over him, grateful that you had not been in that cycle of abuse he had been so familiar with.

In many of the recent races, both you and Max found yourselves finishing in the P2 to P4 range, or sometimes not making it to the podium at all, which left the team feeling quite disheartened.

The once-promising season had turned into a series of missed opportunities, and the weight of expectations began to take its toll on everyone involved.

The atmosphere in the garage was thick with tension, and the engineers were working overtime to analyze data and strategize for the next race, but the results were still falling short of what the team had hoped for.

This situation also prompted Max's father, Jos, to plan a visit during the race weekend. He intended to check in on his son and perhaps give him a much-needed reality check, quite literally.

As the race day approached, Jos observed his son engaging in cheerful conversation with you, rather than focusing on the engineers to gather crucial insights, a routine Max typically adhered to before a race.

This deviation from his usual pre-race preparation did not sit well with Jos.

He had always believed that the hours leading up to a race were critical for mental conditioning and strategy formulation. To see Max laughing and joking instead of poring over telemetry data or discussing race strategies with the engineers was concerning for him.

Jos's frustration grew as he watched the interaction unfold. He believed that your presence was a distraction, pulling Max away from the intense focus required for peak performance.

In his eyes, the bond you shared with his son was undermining Max's potential to excel on the track.

He felt that friendships weren't important and they should not come at the expense of Max's dedication to his craft.

Jos was determined to address this issue head-on, convinced that a serious conversation was necessary to realign Max's priorities. . . . .

In the midst of a lively discussion filled with laughter and camaraderie, Jos abruptly interjected, "Max, I need to talk to you right now."

His tone cut through the jovial atmosphere, drawing the attention of both you and his son. The laughter faded, replaced by a sudden stillness as everyone turned to witness the unfolding scene.

Max's expression shifted from joy to disappointment as he glanced at you, yet he managed to offer a reassuring smile before reluctantly following his father away from the group.

"Yes, Father?" Max responded in Dutch, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of apprehension. The way he spoke suggested a mix of respect and wariness, as if he were bracing himself for a conversation he knew would be anything but easy.

Jos wasted no time in launching into his concerns, his words spilling out with a sense of urgency.

"You must distance yourself from that girl; she is a distraction that will hinder your performance in the race," he asserted, his tone firm and authoritative, as if he were delivering a decree rather than a request.

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, a stark contrast to the lightheartedness that had just moments ago enveloped the gathering.

Max, however, was quick to defend you, his loyalty evident in the way he stood a little taller, his brow furrowing in determination. "No, she doesn't distract me, Father. She's my teammate," he stated, his voice steady and resolute.

The conviction in his tone reflected a bond that transcended mere friendship; it was a partnership built on shared goals and mutual respect.

Yet, as he spoke, the tension between father and son thickened, a palpable clash of wills that seemed to reverberate through the quiet space around them.

Jos, sensing the resistance in Max's voice, shifted his approach, employing subtle manipulation to sway his son’s perspective.

"Think about your future, Max. You have so much potential, and I only want what is best for you," he continued, his voice softening slightly, as if trying to appeal to Max's aspirations.

The words were carefully chosen, designed to instill doubt about your influence, to paint you as an obstacle rather than an ally.

Max hesitated, caught between his father's expectations and his own feelings.

The internal struggle was evident on his face, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features as he grappled with the conflicting loyalties that tugged at his heart.

"It is evident in your results over the weeks, you've been falling off the high scores recently, hardly been able to reach third place because of that girl!" Jos stressed out and Max became quiet, letting those words sink in.

"Max, think about it," Jos continued, his tone shifting to one of persuasion. "You need to focus on your game and not let distractions get in the way. She's not worth it."

Max felt a mix of emotions swirling inside him. He had always admired his father's wisdom, but now he sensed a subtle manipulation at play. Jos was trying to steer him away from his feelings, and deep down, Max knew it.

Yet, the idea of disappointing his father loomed larger than his own desires.

"Okay, Father," Max finally replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

He felt a pang of regret as he agreed, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was losing a part of himself in the process. As he walked away, he contemplated the choices ahead of him.

Was it worth sacrificing his happiness for the sake of competition?

As he walked away, the sound of his father's footsteps fading behind him, he contemplated the choices ahead of him.

The internal struggle was just beginning, and Max knew he had to find a way to balance his passion for the game with the complexities of his heart.

He thought of you—the woman who had sparked something within him, a light that had ignited a warmth he hadn't been able to feel like Daniel left.

After he began to distance himself from you, he noticed a change in your demeanor.

You seemed more withdrawn, putting on a facade of happiness with a constant smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You were hiding behind long-sleeved coats, even in the warm weather, creating a barrier between yourself and the world around you.

The vibrant laughter that once filled the air when you were together had been replaced by a silence that hung heavily between you, punctuated only by the occasional forced chuckle or polite nod.

Max could see the way your shoulders slumped slightly, as if the weight of unspoken words and unshared feelings was pressing down on you.

Your eyes, once bright with enthusiasm and mischief, now seemed clouded, reflecting a deep-seated sadness that you tried so hard to conceal.

He remembered the long pointless conversations, the dreams you both had shared, and the plans that now felt like distant memories. It pained him to witness your struggle, yet he felt powerless to bridge the growing chasm between you.

Despite the guilt that gnawed at him, Max couldn’t help but recognize a shift in his own performance on the racetrack.

He found himself consistently finishing on the podium, a stark contrast to your struggles as you remained trapped within the top ten.

Each trophy he lifted felt heavier than the last, a reminder of the friendship that had once fueled his passion for racing.

He could hear the cheers of the crowd, feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, but all he could think about was how you used to be there, celebrating alongside him, your face alight with pride and joy.

While he celebrated his achievements, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something important was missing.

The camaraderie they once shared seemed to slip further away with each passing race, leaving him to wonder if the price of success was worth the cost of their connection.

He often found himself glancing over at the empty spot in the pit where you used to stand, your eyes sparkling with encouragement, your voice ringing out with advice that had always kept him grounded.

As the races continued, Max felt a growing urgency to reach out, to break through the walls you had built around yourself.

But his father kept him grounded and not letting that thought come to life anytime soon. . . .

As you maneuver through the winding turns of the racetrack, adrenaline surges through your veins, a heady blend of focus and exhilaration.

"Joseph, what's the gap to Max?" you inquire, your voice steady despite the chaos enveloping you as you glance at the rearview mirror, noticing Charles's fierce pursuit as he falls into your peripheral vision, momentarily eclipsed by your recent strategic overtaking maneuver.

"2.3 seconds in front of you, Y/N," Joseph replies, his tone equally crisp yet slightly strained, hinting at the intensity of the moment.

The hum of the engine, the vibrations of the car, and the distant roar of the crowd blend into a symphony of speed, and as you negotiate the track, your mind sharpens with determination.

You consider your next move with meticulous care, knowing that a split-second decision could alter the course of the race.

Holding tightly to the steering wheel, you then ask, “Do I have permission to take over?”

Pause hangs in the air like a fragile breath, and you can almost anticipate Joseph's reply, especially given the longstanding tradition wherein hesitance often blankets these life-altering decisions.

Sure enough, after a fleeting silence, you prepare for the inevitable response that would echo in your ears like an unwelcome refrain, one you were all too familiar with.

But just as you brace yourself for a “no,” the radio crackles to life again—this time with a tidal wave of unexpected urgency.

"Yes! Y/N? Can you hear me? The team has approved the overtake of Max! Go for it!" Joseph’s voice bursts through with a burst of energy, jolting you from your reverie.

Instinctively, your foot plunges onto the accelerator as you channel every ounce of skill, focus, and ambition into propelling yourself forward.

You swiftly navigate the corner, your car gliding through the air like a bird released from captivity, and in that moment of pure adrenaline, you find yourself eclipsing Max, reclaiming the lead with undeniable ferocity.

As you settle into your newfound position at first place, the tension morphs into an exhilarating electrification coursing through your body.

Max, having momentarily lost his grip on the lead, now battles to fend off Charles and Lando from making any hazardous moves that might threaten your dominion at the front.

In the heat of the moment, the radio blaring with strategic updates fades into the background as your vision narrows solely on the track ahead—you are a race car driver, a gladiator in this battle of speed, and nothing else matters.

The world dissolves into monochrome, your focus unwavering as you grip the wheel like it’s a lifeline.

Distant cheers from the crowd seep through your concentration, yet you silence those voices, drowning out distractions as you become acutely aware of the weight of the race, the dreams that hang delicately in the balance—everything is at stake.

You feel sweat trickling down your temple and a syrupy mix of anticipation and fear soaring through your chest, but as you approach the final laps, triumph struggles to emerge from the depths of your hardwork.

Amidst the exhilarating distractions, your attention sharpens when you catch a faint echo of Joseph’s voice cutting through the chatter. "Y/N! You did it! You won!"

The joyous eruption on the other end floods your senses with disbelief, a tidal wave of emotions crashing over you.

In that electrifying moment, as you maintain your grip on the wheel for the last few seconds, reality begins to wash over you like an exhilarating wave, and the tears you could feel brewing now threaten to spill, your triumph intertwining with your vulnerability.

With the checkered flag waving triumphantly in the air, you ease down on the accelerator, the sensation of victory swelling inside you as you let a muffled cry of delight escape your lips.

You slow your car and finally breathe, releasing all the pent-up energy, as the realization of your success resonates in every fiber of your being.

"You did it, Y/N! You won the grand prix!" Joseph's voice dances through the radio, resonating with an infectious glee.

A burst of laughter escapes your lips, and for the first time, the roar of the crowd—a melodic blend of cheers—warms your heart.

As you roll to a stop, the world around you crescendos into a celebration of your harrowing journey—each twist, each turn, each heartbeat racing in sync with the rhythm of victory.

The moment is surreal, and as you step out of the car, you are not just a racer anymore; you are a triumphant force that turned dreams into reality, and no title could encapsulate the pride swelling within you.

You parked the car in front of the first-place stand, your heart racing as the adrenaline coursed through your veins. Stepping out of the vehicle, you took a moment to absorb the victory that had just unfolded; it was surreal, almost like a scene plucked from your wildest dreams.

You stood on the hood of your car, exhilaration bubbling up inside you as you raised your fists in triumph, thrusting them into the air with a euphoric fist bump that echoed your unrestrained joy.

The cheers of the crowd swirled around you, a chorus of celebration, and for a heartbeat, the entire world felt like it paused in honour of your hard-fought achievement.

The weight of every early morning, every late night, every moment spent honing your driving in the shadows now seemed beautifully light, overshadowed by the sheer thrill of the moment.

As you jumped off the car with a renewed sense of vitality, you sprinted toward your team, their faces lit up with genuine happiness.

It marked a pivotal moment, one where they no longer treated you as fragile or merely a woman in a male-dominated sport; instead, they embraced you like a teammate, a winner.

You felt the warmth of their hugs wrapping around you, their joy infectious in a way that washed away any lingering doubts you had ever held about your place in this fierce and demanding environment.

“I can’t believe we did it!” you exclaimed, looking around at their beaming faces, heart swelling.

Some laughing tears glistening in their eyes, as they crowded around you, lifting you momentarily off your feet, celebrating not only your victory but the growth of a team bound together by perseverance and shared dreams.

Max eventually pulled up in front of the second-place station, his car’s engine rumbling to a soft stop just a few feet away from you. He stepped out, the sunlight catching the edges of his helmet as he removed it, revealing a look of pure delight plastered across his face.

It was a sight that brightened your heart; his genuine smile mirrored your own, a silent acknowledgment of the fierce competition that had just transpired on the track.

You could hardly control the emotions that swelled within you. With an impulsive rush, you charged toward him, unable to contain the joy of your victory.

In a flurry of excitement, you leaped into his arms, a spontaneous act born from the adrenaline still dancing through your body. He caught you effortlessly, his hands cradling your back protectively, and in that moment, the world shrank down to just the two of you.

“I won!" you declared, breathless, your voice a mixture of disbelief and sheer happiness, as if saying it out loud might make the victory feel more real.

A grin split Max's face wider, and you could see the pride sparkling in his eyes. “Yeah, you won! Congratulations!" he echoed, his voice turning melodic with the thrill of your accomplishment.

His embrace tightened around you, and you melted into the moment, filled with a sense of camaraderie and respect that had blossomed between you two over the course of your racing journeys.

As he set you back on your feet, laughter bubbled up once again, infectious and wildly free.

"I hope I didn't catch you off guard with that leap," you admitted, a hint of embarrassment creeping into your voice as you took a sip from your drink.

"Not at all! I’m just thrilled for you," Max replied, his cheeks flushed with excitement as he gave you a friendly pat on the back.

After the interview with the top three winners, you, Max, and Charles settled into the conference room, the atmosphere buzzing with excitement as the race replay flickered on the screen. The tension was palpable as the footage captured the thrilling moments of the competition.

"Wow! That was such a turn!" Charles exclaimed, wiping the sweat from his brow, clearly still feeling the adrenaline from the race.

He was referring to the intense maneuver where he nearly overtook Lando, a moment that had everyone on the edge of their seats.

As the race continued to unfold on the screen, you found yourself lost in thought, your mind racing with the events that had just transpired.

You focused on your breathing, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. You had actually won.

Max, sitting beside you, noticed your silence and turned his attention toward you, his eyes filled with concern.

"Hey, are you alright?" he asked softly, breaking the tension in the room. His voice was steady, a comforting presence amidst the chaos of the race replay.

You nodded slowly, appreciating Max's concern but still feeling the weight of the moment. "Yeah, just processing everything," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

After the conference wrapped up, the divers were given the freedom to either retreat to their driver’s rooms or celebrate with their teams and families.

However, the atmosphere was tinged with concern. The race winner was notably absent, and everyone had been eagerly anticipating a celebration for your first victory.

But after you dashed out of the conference room in a flurry, you seemed to vanish without a trace.

Everyone, especially Max, who had reached out to congratulate you repeatedly, was waiting, eager for you to join them in the festivities.

Max had noticed your absence almost immediately after the conference ended. The smile that had danced on his lips dimmed when you didn't join the team to celebrate; he frequently glanced toward the driver’s room, a sense of unease gnawing at his gut.

The more he thought about it, the more his concern deepened; it wasn't like you to shy away from such moments of triumph.

As teammates and family began to cheer and revel in the evening's wins, Max made the decision to search for you.

His quest took him to the paddock and then to your garage, but each passing minute only heightened his worries. "Where could you be, Y/N?" he murmured to himself, frustration lacing his voice as he traversed the familiar paths of the circuit, searching desperately for a glimpse of you.

His heart raced with anxiety; he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Finally, his gaze landed on the door of your driver's room, slightly ajar, like a whisper beckoning him to enter. Without a second thought, he approached and knocked gently, "Y/N, are you in there?"

Listening intently, he leaned closer to the door and was met with faint whimpers that sent a chill down his spine.

Panic surged through him.

This wasn’t just a moment of celebration for you; it felt like a cry for help, echoing through the cold corridor.

Without waiting for a response, he pushed the door open wider, bracing himself for whatever he might find—though nothing could have prepared him for the sight that met his eyes when the door creaked open.

The scene unfolded before him like a nightmare; your so-called boyfriend stood menacingly above you, his hand raised as if poised to strike, while your frail form displayed clear signs of distress—your face bruised, tears streaming down your cheeks, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief.

Time seemed to freeze for a moment as he took stock of the situation, the cruel contrast of celebration outside and the terrifying reality inside your room.

"What the hell is going on here?" Max's voice cut through the air, laced with fury as he stepped into the room, instinctively placing himself between you and the looming threat.

In that instant, your boyfriend's grip on your collar slackened, surprise washing over his features as he turned to face Max.

“Stay out of this, Max! This has nothing to do with you,” your boyfriend snarled, his bravado faltering under the sudden scrutiny.

But Max remained steadfast, stepping closer, his presence commanding as he glared at the man who had dared to raise a hand against you.

“You’re wrong. It has everything to do with me. Y/N is my friend, and I won’t let you hurt her,” he replied, his voice steady yet filled with palpable tension.

Your eyes met Max's, a flicker of hope igniting amidst despair, and despite everything, the warmth of that friendship washed over you.

Max's voice echoed through the room, a mix of frustration and urgency. "You need to leave now!" he shouted, his eyes locked onto your boyfriend, who stood there with clenched fists and a scowl that could cut glass.

The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to slice through. Your boyfriend hesitated, his anger simmering just beneath the surface, but something in Max's tone made him reconsider.

"Fine," he finally muttered, his voice low and filled with resentment. "I’ll go, but this isn’t over."

With that, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him, leaving you and Max in a heavy silence.

“Max, please…” you managed to choke out, your voice hoarse as the fear and pain slowly ebbed. “I just…I just wanted to celebrate, but I didn’t know who I could trust. I thought…”

Your voice faltered as the tears resumed their steady flow. Max's gaze softened as he turned back to you, the protective barrier he had formed in front of you embodying more than just physical defense.

“You can trust me, Y/N,” he said firmly, his expression shifting to one of concern.

With Max's unwavering support behind you, the resolve within you began to build.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice trembling, but a hint of strength colored your tone.

1K notes · View notes

natsaffection · 2 months ago

Text

Redline. pt 6 | N.R

Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha x Younger!Racing!Driver!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N= 32, r=23), 18+! MINORS DNI! sexual tension, trauma, violence, crashs

Word count: 12,1k

A/N: Okay…a really great time has now come to an end. I want to thank everyone who interacted with the fic, it literally blew up so much, I never expected it. I gained so many new people here and some lovely anons because of it, and I’m truly grateful. Thank you!

I hope I made the ending worthy of the story (even though Tumblr shortened it due to the word limit). I really hope it doesn’t feel too rushed. 🫶🏼🍾

Part 5

1 Month later

You were lying in Natasha’s bed scrolling through your phone, half-awake when the articles started popping up.

Romanoff’s Favorite – The Relationship Between Natasha and Her Rising Star.

Not Just Business? Photos Capture Natasha Romanoff’s Rare Smile at Y/N’s Victory.

More Than Just Racing? The Paddock Buzzes Over Y/N and Natasha’s Dynamic.

Your stomach twisted. It wasn’t new that people speculated about you and Natasha. The media was always looking for a story. Always waiting for something to tear apart.

But this? This was the first time they had proof. There were pictures.. Natasha, standing with the team, a champagne glass in hand, watching you on the podium. Natasha, smiling. Actually smiling. Natasha, looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered. Your breath caught. Oh, fuck…

“You’re up early.”

You nearly jumped at the sound of Natasha’s voice. She was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, still in the loose sweats she wore when she wasn’t dressed to terrify the entire paddock.

“Did you see this?” you blurted out, shoving your phone in her direction.

Natasha arched an eyebrow, stepping closer to take the device from your hand. She scanned the articles, lips pressing into a thin line. “Of course they’d make a story out of this.” she muttered.

“This is bad..” you groaned, rubbing your hands over your face. “The press conference today is going to be a fucking disaster.”

Natasha hummed. Then, to your absolute horror, she smirked. “What?” you demanded.

She tilted her head slightly, tossing your phone onto the bed before leaning in closer, so close that you could feel her breath against your cheek. “You’re nervous.” she murmured, clearly amused.

“Of course I am, Natasha, this is a mess-”She cut you off with a chuckle, straightening up. “Let them talk.”

Your stomach flipped. She wasn’t worried. She wasn’t freaking out. She was enjoying this.

“You’re not serious..”

Natasha shrugged. “It’s inevitable. They were always going to figure it out.”

You blinked. “Figure what out?”

Her smirk widened, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she turned towards the door, pausing just long enough to glance at you over her shoulder.

“Get dressed. We have a press conference.”

The room was buzzing with anticipation by the time you stepped in. Cameras flashed, reporters murmured among themselves, and the air carried the weight of a dozen unanswered questions. The energy was different today, sharper, more expectant. You knew exactly why.

Natasha walked beside you, her presence as commanding as ever, a steady force in the chaos. Dressed in her usual sleek suit, she radiated an untouchable authority, but there was something else today. Something in the way she moved, the way her gaze flickered across the room before settling on you.

She was prepared. Always. But this wasn’t just about the race anymore. You took your seat, adjusting the mic in front of you, your fingers brushing over the cold surface as the press officer nodded for the first question.

A journalist from Racing Line leaned forward, eyes sharp with intrigue. “Y/n, first of all, congratulations on your win yesterday. A phenomenal drive. But beyond that, there’s been a lot of talk about your dynamic with your team principal.”

He paused, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Care to comment on the pictures circulating? Romanoff looking unusually pleased with your performance?”

You clenched your jaw, pulse spiking. Of course. The photos had been everywhere this morning. Natasha, standing at the pit wall, watching you with a look that was unmistakably soft. For her, at least. And then on the podium, the way she’d lingered, the rare glimpse of a smile.

Natasha’s presence beside you remained steady. No reaction. Just sharp focus, like she was calculating every possible outcome of this moment. You exhaled slowly, forcing a small smirk as you leaned forward. “I think any team principal would be happy when their driver wins.” you said, voice level, playful even. “It’s kind of their job.”

A few chuckles echoed through the room, but the journalist wasn’t backing down. “True, but this seemed more personal. Some might say.. more invested than usual.”

You barely had time to process it before Natasha spoke. “If you’re implying that I don’t take every win personally, then you clearly don’t know me.” she said coolly, her gaze locking onto the journalist with a pointed sharpness. “I push my drivers to win. That’s my job. Y/n delivers. That’s hers.”

The response was effortless, perfectly calculated to dismiss any rumors while still standing firm. But you knew her too well now. The way her fingers tapped lightly against her leg under the table, the slight tick in her jaw, it was irritation masked under absolute control.

Another journalist jumped in. “Y/n, this season has been a defining one for you, but given your history with crashes and the challenges you’ve faced, do you ever feel like you still have something to prove?”

Your stomach twisted at the question, but you didn’t let it show. You straightened, fingers flexing against the table. “Every driver on this grid has something to prove. That’s why we’re here. But if you’re asking if I doubt myself? No. I wouldn’t be sitting here if I did.”

The room went still for a second, the weight of your words settling before another voice cut in. “Natasha, you’ve worked with some of the best drivers in the sport. Where does Y/n rank among them?”

Your breath caught. Oh. That was a trap. Natasha didn’t play favorites. Ever. Her entire brand of leadership was built on ruthlessness, on absolute control, on never showing anything that could be perceived as bias. But then, she turned her head slightly, eyes locking with yours, just for a fraction of a second.

“She fights harder than most..” Natasha said finally, voice even, measured. But there was something in her tone, something more. “And no. She hasn’t finished proving herself yet.”

The tension in the room shifted. You weren’t sure if anyone else caught the unspoken weight behind her words. But you did. The questions continued, each one sharp, some pressing about the championship fight, others about your rivalry with Walker, about strategy, about what came next. You answered, playing the game, maintaining your composure, even when the topic of your previous crash came up again.

By the time you made it back to the team’s facility, you barely managed to get your stuff done before heading straight for Natasha’s office, needing to breathe, to think, and the moment you stepped inside, she was already there.

Natasha stood near her desk, arms crossed, watching you. The way her eyes scanned you, calm, assessing made your stomach twist. She had felt it. She had seen it.

“What’s wrong?”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “It’s just..They talked like they know anything!”

“They don’t.”

You huffed, pacing the room. “But they think they do! They’re making this entire thing into some huge scandal, ‘Natasha Romanoff smiles? Must be because of Y/N L/N-

Natasha smirked slightly. “It’s not entirely false.”

You froze mid-step, whipping around to face her. “Natasha.”

She shrugged, completely unbothered. “What?”

Your frustration only grew. “How are you so calm about this? You know what people are saying-”

“I don’t care what people are saying.” Her voice was steady, unwavering. You stared at her, jaw tight, hands clenched at your sides. “Well, I do.”

Silence stretched between you till Natasha moved. One second, she was standing by her desk, and the next, she was right in front of you, so close you could feel the warmth radiating from her.

“You do?” she murmured, voice dropping. You swallowed hard. She tilted her head slightly, studying you, her gaze flickering to your lips for just a second before locking back onto your eyes. “What exactly is it that’s bothering you?”

Your breath hitched. “The attention?” she continued, her voice softer now. “The rumors? Or the fact that they might be right?”

Your stomach twisted, your body betraying you with the way your pulse spiked. She saw it. Of course, she saw it. Her fingers brushed against your wrist, light, teasing, but enough to make you shiver.

“I..” You didn’t know what you were going to say. Didn’t get the chance to find out. Because Natasha took another step forward, crowding into your space, her presence consuming, her scent, leather and something unmistakably her wrapping around you like a trap you didn’t want to escape.

“Tell me.” she murmured, her breath brushing against your cheek. You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs. You could lie. You should lie. But you didn’t. Instead, you whispered, “I don’t know what this is..”

Natasha’s lips curved into a smirk, but her eyes softened just enough that your chest ached. “You will.” And then she kissed you. Slow. Purposeful. Like she had decided. Like she had always known. And for once, you stopped thinking.

Race 22

The moment you crossed the finish line, your grip on the steering wheel tightened. P2. Not the win, but damn close. And after the chaos of the rain, the battle with Walker, and the near spin that nearly sent you into the barriers, you’d take it.

“P2, Y/n! Well done!” Your race engineer’s voice crackled through the radio, but there was something else beneath it. A small pause.

Then Natasha. “Good job, Y/n.” her voice was controlled, professional, but you swore there was something more. A flicker of pride just under the surface. “You handled the conditions well.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, a slow grin tugging at your lips as you leaned back against the seat, adrenaline still coursing through your veins. P2. The points were crucial, but more than that? Your parents were here today.

You knew exactly where they were standing in the paddock, right at the edge, watching from behind the barriers. Your dad had always been more subtle with his pride, but you could imagine the small nod of approval he was giving right now. Your mother, on the other hand, had probably been clutching his arm the entire race, barely breathing each time you overtook.

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head as you pulled into the pit lane, the sound of the crowd still roaring around you. The podium celebration was nothing short of euphoric. The champagne bottle was cold against your palm, the pressure inside ready to burst. You popped it, aiming the spray at the crowd, the golden bubbles soaking into your race suit as you laughed, high off the victory, the energy, the moment.

Walker was there, of course. You could feel his presence, could practically sense his frustration at not clinching the championship today. It fueled you. And then, the press again. It happened fast. The podium celebrations ended, and before you could even get a second to breathe, the paparazzi descended.

“Y/N! P2 today, how do you feel after that battle with Walker?”

You expected the questions. You were prepared for them. You kept walking, still riding the high, your team’s mechanics clapping you on the back as you moved toward the garage.

“Were you worried about the rain conditions?”

“Your spin almost cost you the podium- what was going through your mind?”

You answered, giving them just enough without revealing too much, your voice still buzzing with the rush of the race.

“The next race is at Silverstone. Your Silverstone. Are you ready for that?”

You froze. The air in your lungs thinned, and suddenly, the roaring of the crowd, the flashing cameras, the overwhelming everything..felt too loud. The wreckage. The fire. It slammed into you all at once. You blinked hard, forced the memories down, and made yourself breathe. Your voice, when it came, was calm. Controlled. “It’s just another race.”

A lie. But one the world didn’t need to know. You started moving again, Natasha keeping pace beside you, her presence unwavering. She didn’t say anything, but you felt her watching. And when the press had finally been left behind, when the cameras were no longer in your face, when it was just you and her walking toward the garage, she finally spoke.

“You okay?”

You nodded, too quickly. “Yeah, let’s go.” Her silence was sharp. Calculating. You knew she didn’t believe you.

The road stretched ahead in quiet darkness, the soft hum of the engine filling the air. The city lights flickered past the windows, casting brief flashes of neon against your skin. The rain had stopped, but the roads were still damp, the reflections of streetlights shimmering on the slick asphalt. You barely noticed. Your mind was elsewhere.

Silverstone.

Every corner. Every turn. Every shadow of the past that lurked beneath the floodlights of that track. You could see it. Feel it.

The way the car had snapped away from you in that fraction of a second, how the wall had rushed toward you. The helplessness, the terror. The excruciating pain that had followed. The fire. The pressure of the seatbelts locking you in place as you fought to stay conscious. The memories clawed at the edges of your mind, threatening to pull you under.

Would it feel the same next weekend? Would you hesitate when you reached that same turn? Would you flinch- You didn’t get to spiral too far before a hand suddenly waved something in front of your face.

A phone.

You blinked, snapping back into the present. The scent of Natasha’s car, the low music playing through the speakers, the woman herself sitting beside you with an expectant look.

“Order food.” Natasha instructed, smirking slightly. You furrowed your brows, still trying to shake off the ghosts of your past thoughts. “What?”

Natasha waved the phone again. “Food. You know, the thing we eat to survive?”

“Right..” you muttered, grabbing the device and pulling up the app. You scrolled through options, selecting your usual choices, though your mind was still distant. It wasn’t until you reached the address confirmation screen that you hesitated.

“Nat…” you said slowly, glancing toward her. “This isn’t the track. Where are we going?”

Natasha’s smirk widened as she turned onto a quieter road, one that led away from the team facilities and the usual places you stayed.

“My place.” she answered simply.

You stilled. Natasha’s home. You had spent countless nights together, hotels, at Natasha’s track, but never at Natasha’s place. It was private. Personal. Hers.

You swallowed. “Your place?”

“That’s what I said.”

You could feel your heart beating a little faster. Natasha flicked you a knowing glance, clearly sensing the shift in your demeanor. Then, with a devilish smirk, she added, “Relax, printsessa. If you’re thinking about it, I wouldn’t have bothered ordering food.”

Your face heated instantly. “I-I was not thinking about..!”

Natasha let out a low, amused chuckle, her fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel. “Sure you weren’t.” You groaned, slumping back into your seat. God, this woman.

When you arrived, Natasha pulled into the private driveway of a sleek, modern home tucked behind high walls and tall trees. The moment you stepped inside, you were hit with a sense of quiet intimacy.

The place was hers. Clean, organized, yet undeniably lived-in. The walls were lined with dark wooden shelves, books and old records stacked neatly. But what caught your attention the most were the photos.

One by the entrance, Natasha in her racing suit, helmet under her arm, a victorious smirk on her face. Another by the bookshelf, her with her family, a rare moment of unguarded happiness shining in her eyes. A framed picture of her and another driver, a teammate from years ago, grinning with champagne in hand. You took it all in, feeling something warm settle in your chest. This was Natasha’s life. The parts she didn’t show to just anyone.

“You gonna stand there all night?”

You turned to find Natasha leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with that same infuriatingly attractive smirk.

“Just looking…” you murmured.

Natasha’s expression softened. “I don’t let just anyone in here, you know.”

Yeah, you knew. Your eyes met, and the air between you shifted. The teasing edge faded, replaced by something warmer. Deeper.

Natasha pushed off the counter and stepped toward you, slow and deliberate. You tilted your head up, your breath hitching slightly as Natasha’s fingers brushed against your jaw.

The kiss started soft, gentle, unrushed. But as soon as your hands found Natasha’s waist, pulling her closer, the heat between you ignited. Natasha’s hands were firm, sliding against your waist, gripping just enough to make your stomach tighten with anticipation. The kiss deepened, needier, hungrier. Your fingers tangled into Natasha’s jacket, pulling her in-

The doorbell rang, and you both froze. Natasha exhaled through her nose, dropping her forehead against your shoulder. “Are you kidding me?”

You laughed breathlessly, still gripping her jacket. “Food’s here.”

Natasha groaned but finally pulled away, muttering something about terrible timing as she went to get the food.

You sat on the couch, food spread between you, the glow of warm light casting soft shadows on the walls. The tension between you had shifted, not gone, but different now. It simmered beneath the surface, intertwined with something softer, more vulnerable.

Natasha watched you pick at your food, your fingers tracing absent patterns against the edge of the takeout container. You weren’t fully present, still lost in thought.

“Talk to me.” Natasha said quietly, resting her arm against the back of the couch.

You hesitated, then exhaled, setting your food aside. “It’s just…”

Natasha said nothing, just watching and waiting. “It’s not just another race..” you continued. “I know I should be past it by now, but… I don’t know…”

“You don’t just ‘get past’ something like that.” Natasha interrupted gently.

You huffed a soft laugh. “You’d think nearly dying would be enough for me to quit racing.”

Natasha tilted her head. “But you didn’t.”

“Yeah…” Natasha reached out, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. Her fingers lingered a second longer than necessary, her touch soft. “Because it’s who you are. You’re not afraid of fighting for what you want.”

You met her eyes, something settling in your chest. Then Natasha smirked. “And for the record? You’ll be fine. I’ll be there the whole time.”

You let out a genuine smile. “Thank you.”

“Happy to help.”

The tension had lightened, but it still buzzed beneath the surface, the kind of pull that never really went away between you. Then, in one smooth, calculated move, you climbed onto Natasha’s lap. Enough with depression.

Natasha raised a brow, but didn’t move, didn’t protest, just watched. You settled yourself, your legs bracketing Natasha’s hips, your hands pressing lightly against the older woman’s shoulders.

“Thought you were nervous.” Natasha murmured, tilting her head up slightly, amusement flickering in her green eyes.

You smirked. “Maybe you’re just really good at distracting me.”

Natasha exhaled slowly, her fingers instinctively settling against your waist. “Mm. And what exactly do you think you’re doing?” Natasha asked, voice low, teasing, her hands barely moving, just resting there, warm and steady. You leaned in slightly, your lips just close enough to brush against Natasha’s ear. “Distracting myself.”

Your voice was soft, sultry..a promise and a challenge all at once. Natasha exhaled, her grip tightening just the slightest bit. But she didn’t move to take control. No..she was going to let you play your game.

And you took your time. You let your fingertips graze down Natasha’s arms, featherlight, teasing, slow. You leaned in again, pressing an almost nonexistent kiss just below Natasha’s jawline, barely there, just enough to make Natasha’s breath hitch, before pulling back again with an innocent expression.

Natasha smirked, tilting her head. “You’re dangerous, printsessa.”

You smiled, shifting just enough that you could feel the reaction you were pulling from Natasha. A slow, deliberate roll of your hips, just a fraction of movement, but it was enough to make Natasha’s jaw tighten. She was watching. Letting you put on a show. Not stopping you. Not rushing you.

You ran a hand up Natasha’s chest, fingers lingering at the collar of her shirt. You played with the fabric for a second before leaning down, just close enough that your lips barely brushed.

Natasha wasn’t chasing. Not yet. You smirked. “Something wrong, boss?”

Natasha exhaled slowly, her control almost infuriating. “Not at all.”

A challenge. You leaned down again, pressing a slow, unhurried kiss to the corner of Natasha’s mouth, not quite giving in.

Natasha’s grip on you tightened just slightly. You were playing with fire now. You kissed along Natasha’s jaw, soft, teasing, dragging it out. You could feel Natasha’s patience thinning, the way her breath was a little heavier, the way her fingers dug just slightly into your hips.

You smirked against her skin. You were winning. Or at least you thought you were, until Natasha’s hands suddenly shifted, flipping your positions in one swift move. Now, you were on your back against the couch, Natasha leaning over you, hands braced on either side of your head.

You swallowed. Your heart stuttered and Natasha smirked. “You think I don’t know exactly what you’re doing?”

You licked your lips, looking up at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about..”

Natasha leaned in, not kissing you, just hovering, watching. Watching your breath hitch, watching you squirm just slightly under her gaze.

“I let you have your fun..” Natasha murmured. “Now, it’s my turn.”

You barely had time to react before Natasha’s lips finally crashed into yours. This time, there was no hesitation. Natasha kissed you like she was claiming you, like she was making up for every second you had made her wait. It was deep, hungry.

Her hands moved, no longer still, no longer restrained. One gripping your waist, the other sliding up your back, pulling you in as close as possible.

You exhaled sharply, your fingers digging into Natasha’s shoulders, trying to keep up. You had started the game. But Natasha was the one finishing it. You barely noticed the way Natasha’s lips moved lower, kissing along your jaw, trailing down just enough to make your toes curl.

Until..The phone rang.

The sound cut through the moment like a blade. You both froze, Natasha’s lips still pressed against your skin. You groaned. “Nooo!!”

Natasha let out a low chuckle against your collarbone before pressing a quick kiss there and pulling back. She reached for the phone, but you grabbed her wrist, shaking your head. “No. It can wait.”

Natasha smirked. “Impatient?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t start something you’re not going to finish!”

The phone rang again. Natasha sighed, glancing at the screen. She smirked, then, a knowing, smug little smile.

“Oh, this one can’t wait.” she murmured, amusement flickering in her gaze.

You frowned, still breathless. “Why?”

Natasha picked up the call, holding you in place. “Because, it’s for you.” she murmured against your lips before answering.

Here voice was low, calm, businesslike..echoed from the hallway as she wrapped up whatever conversation had interrupted you. You barely registered the words, still feeling the ghost of Natasha’s hands on your skin, the heat that had been building, building, building before that damn phone had stolen her attention away. The soft sound of the phone being set down made you glance toward the doorway.

Natasha was back.

She stood at the edge of the dimly lit living room, watching. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, without a word, Natasha moved. She crossed the room with the same quiet, predatory grace that made her dangerous both on and off the track. Unrushed and in control.

You barely had time to process it before Natasha was climbing over you, bracing her weight on the couch, her hands framing your face, her knee pressing just enough between your legs. The breath hitched in your throat.

Natasha smirked. “Now.” she murmured, her voice like velvet and steel, “where were we?” And this time, nothing stopped her from finishing what she started.

—

The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the sheets. You stirred, feeling the warmth of the bed beneath you, the soreness that came with exactly how last night had gone. A lazy, satisfied smile curled on your lips as you stretched, fingers reaching for the familiar presence beside you-

Only to find empty sheets. You cracked one eye open, frowning slightly. Natasha’s side of the bed was cool. She had been up for a while. You groaned, rolling onto your stomach, letting yourself melt into the mattress for a moment longer before you finally forced yourself upright. Your muscles ached in the best way, your body still humming from the night before.

That’s when you saw her. Natasha stood near the dresser, already fully dressed, the perfect picture of composure. She fastened the last button of her team-issued shirt, the usual red and black livery fitted perfectly to her frame, like the night before hadn’t just happened.

You huffed, your voice still rough with sleep. “You really have a habit of getting up and leaving.”

Natasha glanced over, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “I didn’t leave.” she countered smoothly.

You raised a brow. “You weren’t in bed when I woke up. Feels the same.”

Natasha chuckled, stepping closer. She leaned down, one hand braced against the mattress, the other tilting your chin up so your eyes met.

“I finished what I started, didn’t I?” she murmured, her tone edged with amusement.

Heat flashed through you at the memory. Natasha took full advantage of your silence, pressing a brief but thorough kiss to your lips before pulling back, still smirking.

“Come on..” she said, straightening. “We have to leave.”

You groaned, flopping back onto the pillow. “Too earlyyy..”

Natasha nudged the blanket off of you, ignoring the way you tried to pull it back up. “It’s not early, you just don’t want to get up.”

You peeked up at her, eyes playful, teasing. “And whose fault is that?”

Natasha only tilted her head, her smirk deepening. “Mine, obviously.”

You rolled onto your back with a sigh. “Where are we even going?”

Natasha simply grabbed her phone, checked something quickly, then looked at you. “You’ll see.”

You sat in the passenger seat, your fingers curled into your lap, your gaze fixed out the window as the world passed by in a blur of muted colors. The closer you got, the more the tension coiled in your chest, wrapping tight around your ribs.

You had already seen it. From a distance. The track. The place where it happened. Even from far away, it stood like a specter in the distance, a shadow of something you had never fully escaped. The floodlights, the sharp turns you once knew like the back of your hand, the long straights that had once filled your veins with nothing but adrenaline.

But now..now, it was different. You hadn’t set foot here since the crash. Since you had nearly lost everything. Your chest tightened. The closer you got, the harder it became to breathe, the air suddenly too thick, too heavy. Your fingers curled against your thigh, your body going rigid as the memories threatened to surface.

Natasha sensed it. Of course she did. Without a word, she slowed the car, pulling over to the side of the empty road leading toward the track’s private entrance. The engine idled in the quiet, but she didn’t move to keep driving.

Instead, she turned her head. “Hey.”

You exhaled shakily, keeping your eyes forward. Natasha didn’t push. She just watched, her voice low, steady. Grounding.

“Look at me.”

You hesitated, your pulse still hammering. But you turned. And there it was. The thing that always managed to steady you no matter how loud the world got. Her eyes. Green. Certain. Unshaken. Like there was not a single doubt in her mind.

“You’re safe.” Natasha said softly, reaching over, her fingers lightly brushing against yours. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

You swallowed. “I know that.”

“Do you?” Natasha challenged gently, her fingers tightening just slightly. “Because you’re acting like you’re back in that car two years ago.”

You pressed your lips together, inhaling sharply through your nose. The older woman’s thumb traced slow circles against your skin, her voice unwavering. “You already won this battle, Detka. You made it out.”

You closed your eyes, exhaling. “I thought I was past this. I hate it.”

“You will be.” Natasha assured. “But not by running from it.”

Silence settled between you, thick, heavy. But Natasha waited. She always did. And eventually, you nodded. Natasha studied you for another beat, then, without another word, she put the car back in gear and drove.

The entrance to the track loomed closer. Your fingers curled against your knee again, but you kept your breathing steady. Inhaling, exhaling. The gates opened as Natasha pulled through, leading into the pit lane, the vast emptiness of the track stretching out before you.

She stopped the car near the garage. For a second, neither of you moved. Then, Natasha unbuckled her seatbelt, stepping out. You watched as she rounded the car, her movements unhurried, purposeful. When Natasha reached your door, she opened it, the cool air from outside slipping in. And then, she stepped back.

She didn’t say anything. Just tilted her head slightly, gesturing to the driver’s seat. Your heart stuttered. You looked at Natasha, eyes wide, uncertain. But Natasha’s gaze didn’t waver.

You took a slow breath as you slid into the driver’s seat, fingers wrapping around the wheel. It felt familiar. The weight of it, the smooth material beneath your hands..it should have been comforting.

But it wasn’t. Not here. Not on this track.

Natasha shut the door behind you. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t have to. She simply slid into the passenger seat, settling in like this was any other drive. Like this wasn’t the place where everything fell apart.

You swallowed, shifting the car into gear. You started slow. The track was eerily quiet, so unlike the last time you had been here. No roaring engines, no deafening crowd, no radio crackling in your ear. Just the low hum of the car beneath you, the whisper of tires on asphalt.

But you already felt it. The weight. The pull of the past creeping in. Every turn was one you had memorized. Your body still knew the angles, the braking points, the racing line that had once been second nature to you. But then, The trees. They appeared in the distance. And you knew. You knew what was coming.

The curve.

Your breath caught, your grip on the wheel tightening. Far before you even reached it, you saw it. You saw everything. The way the road bent, the familiar angle of the wall. You saw the moment your car had lost control, the sickening snap of the tires, the helpless spin.

You saw fire. And suddenly, it wasn’t just memories. The beep of machines. The sterile scent of antiseptic. Pain. A deep, agonizing pain that wrapped around your body like it would never leave. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the voices. Your parents. You couldn’t open your eyes fully, but you heard them.

“Will she walk again?” Your mother’s voice, raw, desperate.

A pause. Too long. Then, the doctor’s voice, flat, measured, carefully spoken like he was trying not to shatter them completely.

“We don’t know yet.”

Not a real answer. Not the one they wanted. Silence. Your father, his voice quieter, heavier. “You mean she might n-not?”

Another pause. “We can’t say never. But the spinal damage, the nerve trauma, her body went through extreme conditions. It will be a long recovery. She may regain movement, but returning to full functionality? To racing?” He shook his head. “It’s unlikely.”

You wanted to scream. You weren’t a body. You weren’t something to assess. You were here. You could hear them. You could feel the pain, the weight of your own broken body on the hospital bed. But you couldn’t move.

Your mother’s breath hitched. “S-She just turned twenty-one..” she whispered. “She..she’s supposed to have her whole life ahead of her!! Her career. Her dreams. You’re saying that’s just- gone-“

“You’ll race again!” It wasn’t a doctor. It wasn’t your father. It was Natasha. Her voice was sharp, unwavering. Unshaken. You gasped, staggering back into reality. You blinked rapidly, hands trembling at your sides. The track was still there. The sky was still open, the wind still cool against your skin. You weren’t in that hospital bed. You weren’t trapped. You were here. Alive. Walking. Racing. And..Natasha was here, too.

You blinked rapidly, gasping as reality slammed back into you, but it wasn’t enough. The car felt too small, too tight. The air too thick. You needed to get out. Now.

Before Natasha could say anything else, you ripped off your seatbelt and shoved open the door. The rush of cool air hit you as you stumbled out, barely keeping your balance as you walked away, fast.

Your boots scraped against the asphalt as you stopped a few feet from the car, your back turned to the curve. You placed your hands on your knees, trying to breathe, trying to focus on the present, but the past kept clawing at you.

You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t, not yet. But you heard Natasha’s breath as she stepped closer, heard the patience in her voice as she spoke.

“You’re not there anymore, Y/n.”

You swallowed, your throat dry. “I..know.”

Natasha didn’t correct you, didn’t push you to turn around just yet. Instead, she took another step, coming close enough that your arms nearly brushed.

“You think this track is what almost killed you.” Natasha murmured. “But it’s not.”

You closed your eyes, your breath shaky. “You made it out.” Natasha continued. “You fought. You survived. And now…”

You felt the warmth of Natasha’s fingers grazing against yours. “You came back.”

Your chest tightened. You exhaled. Slowly, cautiously, you turned around. And this time, You didn’t look away. The fear was still there, pressing against your ribs. The memories still whispered in the back of your mind. But they weren’t pulling you under anymore. They weren’t controlling you.

“Go finish your round.”

You glanced back at the curve. Then at Natasha. She just raised a brow, her smile soft, knowing. Like she already knew your answer. You inhaled deeply. And then, you nodded.

Without a word, Natasha gestured back toward the car. And this time, you got back in. You settled into the driver’s seat, your hands firm on the wheel. Your pulse still pounded, but this time, it wasn’t from fear.

It was from something else. Determination. Natasha shut the door beside you and leaned in slightly through the open window. “You good?”

You exhaled slowly, your grip tightening. “Yeah.” Natasha studied you for a beat, green eyes sharp, assessing. Then, without another word, she stepped back. You pressed your foot to the accelerator.

The car moved. The track stretched ahead, the tires gliding smoothly over the asphalt as you built up speed. The engine hummed beneath you, steady and strong, your hands guiding the car as if it was an extension of yourself.

And then, the curve. It came into view, and for a split second, you felt the flicker of hesitation, the whisper of memories trying to crawl back in. But you didn’t let them. Not this time. Your body knew what to do. You adjusted the wheel, keeping your line smooth. You hit the apex.

And you took it cleanly. No fear. No ghosts. Just racing. As you exited the turn, your heartbeat steadied. Your breathing evened. And for the first time since the crash, it felt like yours again. The track. The moment. The control. You slowed as you reached the pit lane, pulling up where Natasha stood waiting. You let out a shaky breath, your fingers flexing against the wheel.

“Again.”

You blinked, catching your breath. “What?”

“Do another lap.” Natasha said, tilting her head. “This time, without stopping.”

You gripped the wheel and pressed your foot to the accelerator, feeling the car respond instantly. The low growl of the engine vibrated through your chest as you sped down the straight, the track stretching endlessly in front of you.

This time, it felt different. This time, there was no fear clawing at your throat. No weight pressing on your chest. No ghosts chasing you. Only you. And the car. Natasha’s words echoed in the back of your mind.

“Again. This time, without stopping.”

So you did. The corners came faster now, the rhythm of the track flowing beneath your fingertips. You moved through each turn with precision, your body and mind in sync, your breathing controlled. Like you had never left. And then, the curve.

It came up ahead, just like before. But this time, you didn’t brace for impact. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t freeze. You just took it. Clean. Smooth. Fast. You barely registered the moment you exited the turn. Because suddenly, it didn’t feel like a monster in the dark. It was just a turn.. Just a part of the track. And you had taken it like you were born for it.

You exhaled, gripping the wheel tighter as you pushed forward. One more sector. One more straight. The finish line appeared before you, this time, not a symbol of survival, but of victory. You crossed it at full speed. And for the first time in years, you felt free. The car rolled to a stop. The sudden silence was almost deafening, the echoes of the lap still buzzing in your ears.

Your hands were still on the wheel. Your heart was still pounding. But you weren’t shaking anymore. You exhaled, letting your head fall back against the seat for just a second before finally pulling yourself together. You pushed the door open, stepping out, the cool air hitting your flushed skin. You turned, and before you could even speak, Natasha was there.

Close and proud. There was no teasing remark. No smug comment. Just a look. A look that said everything. You swallowed, your throat thick. “I did it.”

Natasha’s smirk softened. “You did.”

You blinked up at her, your chest still rising and falling with the weight of everything that had just happened. Natasha studied you for a moment, and, without warning, she reached forward.

Her hands cupped your face, pulling you in. And she kissed you. Slow. Deep. Unrushed. Not like the night before, not with heat, not with hunger. But with something else. Something heavier.

Something that tasted like pride. Like relief. Like I knew you could do it. When you finally pulled apart, Natasha rested her forehead against yours, exhaling softly. “That’s my brave girl.” she murmured. You smiled, breathless. And for the first time in two years, you really believed it.

Race 23

The paddock was alive with the chaotic energy of race day. Engines roaring in the distance, mechanics scrambling over last-minute checks, media teams swarming in every direction. The tension in the air was thick, almost suffocating. But you? You had drowned it all out. Headphones in. Music blasting.

Your fingers tapped against your thigh in rhythm with the beat as you leaned against the side of the garage, eyes closed, trying to steady yourself.

Silverstone.

The track where everything almost ended. You had studied the turns, visualized every sector, forced yourself to relive the crash over and over until it didn’t hold power over you anymore.

At least, that’s what you told yourself. Natasha stood just a few feet away, arms crossed, eyes trained on you, her gaze calculating, unreadable. She was watching. And she wasn’t letting anyone interfere. Every few minutes, someone tried. Engineers, strategists, team personnel, all waiting to talk to you.

To brief you. To check in. To discuss last-minute adjustments. And every single time, Natasha stopped them. One sharp glance. One curt shake of her head. Not now. She wasn’t letting anyone break your focus. She’d made sure everything was in place. That all your data was locked in. That your team was prepped.

That you were untouchable. Until he appeared. “Still seeing the wall in your sleep?”

Your entire body went still. The music still played, but you weren’t listening anymore. Your breath hitched, hands clenching into fists. And that was when Natasha turned.

She saw the way your body stiffened. She saw your reaction. And in less than a second, she was on him. She grabbed him by the front of his race suit, shoved him backwards against the garage wall, the force of it making his head jolt.

Hard. His smirk vanished. Natasha leaned in, her voice a razor-sharp whisper. “I should have done this the moment you put her in the wall last time.”

Walker tried to mask the fear flickering in his eyes, but Natasha saw it. And she fed off it. She tightened her grip, voice deadly calm.

“You think you’re clever?” she murmured. “You think you can get in her head?”

Walker swallowed. “Romanoff-”

“I am not one of these fucking PR reps who’s going to slap you on the wrist and tell you to play nice.” Her nails dug into his race suit, jaw clenching.

Walker scoffed. “You’re losing it..”

Natasha’s lips curled into something dark. “I haven’t even started.”

Cameras were on them. Photographers had gathered outside the garage. Whispers spread like wildfire. But Natasha didn’t care. She was seething. Yelena was the first to try to pull her back. “Nat.” Her voice was sharp. “Let it go.”

But Natasha wasn’t letting go. Not yet. Not until he understood. Not until he felt what she had felt. Not until he knew, without a doubt- That if he touched you again, if he even so much as breathed the wrong way in your direction— She would end him.

“Stay the fuck away from her.”

The second you and Natasha stepped into the privacy of the team garage, the noise of the paddock muffled behind the heavy doors, the weight of what had just happened came crashing down on both of you.

Her jaw was tight, eyes burning with residual fury, her breath coming in short, sharp exhales. She was holding back. Holding everything in. Because she had lost control. And Natasha Romanoff never lost control. The second the doors shut behind you, she yanked her arm free, running a hand through her hair.

You had never seen her like this. Not like this. She had always been calm, sharp, precise. Every move calculated, every emotion locked down.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Yelena threw her hands up, her Russian accent thick with frustration. “Are you trying to get suspended before the championship? Or, I don’t know, arrested?”

Natasha didn’t react. She just stood there, silent. Yelena scoffed, shaking her head. “Jesus, Natasha.”

Then she turned to you, eyes scanning you up and down. “And you.” she muttered, gesturing vaguely. “Why the hell are you letting her act like your attack dog?”

You blinked. “I- what?”

“You know she would burn the entire paddock down for you, right?” Yelena said bluntly. “Like, full villain origin story.”

Natasha sighed. “Yelena.”

Yelena ignored her. “You have her wrapped around your little driver finger.”

Your face heated. Natasha shot her sister a warning glare. “I will kill you.”

Yelena smirked. “See? She’s in denial.”

You bit back a laugh, rubbing your face. “Can we focus on the fact that the media just saw that?”

Yelena shrugged. “Oh, yeah, you’re screwed.”

You groaned. Natasha ran a hand over her face. “How bad is it?”

Yelena pulled out her phone and tilted the screen toward you.

BREAKING NEWS: ROMANOFF EXPLODES ON WALKER IN PRE-RACE CONFRONTATION!

“Natasha Romanoff LOSES CONTROL—DRAMA before the final races!”

“TENSION RISES: WALKER VS. L/N, BUT IS ROMANOFF THE REAL FIGHT?”

Before you could say something, Your parents stepped in and Natasha’s blood ran cold. She recognized them instantly. She had met your parents once before, but this? This was different. Your father’s eyes flickered to the scene again behind him, the cameras, the tension, the way Walker was still adjusting his suit, trying to shake off the encounter.

And then? He turned back to you. He searched your face for a moment. And then, he sighed, shaking his head with a small, tired smile. “You never did back down from a fight, did you?”

Your breath hitched. You didn’t realize you had been holding it until then. And for the first time that day, You let out a laugh. Your father stepped forward and pulled you into a hug. And suddenly? You weren’t a racing driver. You weren’t the girl who had just been shoved into the spotlight again.

You weren’t the girl who had almost died here last time. You were just his daughter. And God, you had missed this. When he pulled back, he placed both hands on your shoulders.

“Are you okay?”

You hesitated. Then nodded. And he believed you. Your mother was next. She didn’t hug you. She didn’t smile. But she stepped forward. And that, alone, was enough.

“I still hate this.” The words weren’t cruel. They weren’t judgmental. They were just honest. You exhaled, nodding. “I know.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “But.”

Your heart stuttered. “But I also know how much you love it.”

She looked at you then, really looked at you. And for the first time since your accident, she saw the joy in your eyes instead of the scars. And when she spoke again, it was softer. “Just promise me you’ll be careful this time.”

Your throat tightened. But you nodded. “I promise.”

Natasha had been standing just a few feet away. She had given you space. But now? She stepped closer, until she was by your side. Your father looked at her. Then at you. And then? A slow smirk. “Romanoff causing trouble for you?”

You let out a soft laugh. And Natasha? For the first time since she nearly killed Walker, her lips twitched into something close to a smile.

“She does that.” And for the first time, your mother didn’t argue. She just sighed. “Then I guess you two are a good match.”

The roar of the crowd was deafening as you sat in your cockpit, hands gripping the wheel with white-knuckled intensity. Even through your helmet, you could hear the thunderous energy of the fans, the commentators hyping up the moment.

“After years of fighting her way back, Y/N L/N is back at Silverstone, the very track that nearly ended her career. And now, she has a chance to take another victory here.”

“The nerves must be unreal. This is the track of her nightmare.”

You exhaled sharply, steadying yourself. This wasn’t just any race. This was Silverstone. The last stepping stone before the championship. And even more than that, it was the race. The one that left scars on your body, that nearly stole everything from you.

Your fingers twitched against the steering wheel, tension coiling in your chest. A voice crackled through the radio.

“Radio check.”

It was Natasha. Firm, steady. The only anchor keeping you from drowning in your own thoughts. You pressed the button on the wheel, your voice tight. “Copy.”

A pause. “You good?”

Your throat was dry. “I don’t know.”

Another pause. Then, softer. “Breathe, Detka. I’m right here with you.”

The Russian curled around you, grounding you. It wasn’t something she used often, only in moments like these, when she knew you needed something solid to hold onto. You inhaled deeply. Held it. Exhaled slowly.

“Just another race.” Natasha murmured, voice smooth. “Just another grid. Just another set of lights. You know what to do.”

You clenched your jaw, nodding slightly. “I know.” But before you could settle into that thought-Walker. He was right in-front of you, P1 on the grid, his presence a venomous reminder that he was still in the fight. You caught a glimpse of him over the halo of your car, his smug expression barely visible under his helmet. Even from here, you knew he was going to make this difficult.

A tap on your helmet made you turn your head, Yelena. She crouched beside your car, her green eyes searching yours. “You ready?”

You scoffed. “Yes.”

She grinned. “Good. Now go kick his ass.”

You smirked, shaking your head. “That’s the plan.”

Natasha’s voice cut through the comms again. “Grid up.”

You pulled your visor down, locked in, fingers twitching on the wheel. This was it. “Let’s hunt.”

Five red lights flickered overhead.

Five… Four… Three…

Your breath caught in your throat.

Two… One…

The world held still.

Lights out.

The explosion of sound and movement was immediate. Engines howled, tires screeched, the smell of burnt rubber filling the air as the pack lunged forward. Your reflexes kicked in, instincts sharper than thought.

“Nice start.” Natasha’s voice was smooth over the radio. “Hold it, don’t rush.”

Turn 1 was pure carnage. Cars dove aggressively, desperate to gain positions before the field settled. You barely had time to process before reacting, threading through the chaos.

Lap 3 emerging worked perfectly.

Lap 7 Box stop. Your team executed flawlessly, barely 2.4 seconds before they released you back into the fray.

“Perfect stop.” Natasha praised, her voice low in your ear.

Lap 10 Walker was directly in front of you, his car a flashing red target in your sights.

“Don’t rush it.” Natasha warned, already anticipating your aggression. “You’ll get him.”

Lap 18. Your breath stilled. The curve. The very turn that had nearly taken your life was right in front of you.

Your fingers clenched around the wheel. Flashes of the past crept in, the moment you lost control. The helpless spin. The wall rushing toward you. The sound of metal crushing.

Your vision blurred for half a second. Terror curled its fingers around your throat. “Breathe.” Natasha’s voice was softer now, private. Just for you. “You’re in control.”

Your chest rose and fell too fast. “Let it go, Y/n.” Natasha coaxed. “This track doesn’t own you anymore. You own it.”

Your breath hitched. The car rocketed toward the turn. This was it. You committed. Full throttle. The car hugged the track, smooth, controlled, perfect. No oversteer. No panic. No fear. A single tear slipped down your cheek. You did it. The pit wall erupted. Mechanics cheered, Yelena whooped in celebration.

Lap 20 You held firm, but he was defending every inch.

Lap 25 Final lap.

He lunged, reckless, aggressive. But you knew him. You baited him into Turn 6, letting him think he had the overtake. At the last second, you switched lines, cutting back perfectly. The move was flawless. You heard the frustration in Walker’s engine as he locked up behind you.

And then, the checkered flag.

“Y/N L/N WINS AT SILVERSTONE!”

Your vision blurred, heart slamming against your ribs. The radio exploded. Shouts. Cheers. Yelena screaming. “You did it.”

You exhaled sharply, swallowing the lump in your throat. You did it.. The car rolled into the pit lane. The moment you stopped, you ripped off the wheel, launching yourself out of the cockpit. A sea of bodies swallowed you, mechanics, engineers, your team, screaming, shaking you, holding you.

Natasha stood at the pit wall, arms crossed, her lips twitching at the corners. And for the first time, in front of the entire world, She smiled. And in that moment, you knew. You weren’t just fighting for yourself anymore. You were fighting for her.

And fuck..You were going to win this championship.

——

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but when you walked into the team’s headquarters the morning after Silverstone, still buzzing from the victory, you were met with something entirely unfamiliar. Silence. No scheduled briefings. No physical drills. No mechanical debriefs. Just a single message on your phone.

“Meet me at the hangar. Be ready.”

You arrived at the hangar, dressed in your usual training gear, expecting something, anything, resembling a preparation session. But instead, Natasha was standing next to a private jet, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed, watching you approach.

Your brows furrowed. “What’s this?”

She smirked. “Your final week of training.”

You stared at her. “What does that mean?”

She pushed off the frame, stepping closer, voice softer now. “You’ve pushed yourself hard enough, detka. Now, you rest. You reset.”

You blinked. “And you’re deciding that for me?”

She arched a brow, tilting her head. “Do you trust me?”

Your heart clenched at the sincerity in her voice. You swallowed, nodding slowly. “Yes. I do.”

Her smirk returned, this time softer. “Then get in the plane.”

You followed, still confused but knowing better than to question her now. The flight was peaceful. No talk of racing, no debriefs, just the soft hum of the jet’s engines. You sat beside her, fingers drumming idly against your thigh. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

Natasha didn’t look up from her tablet, scrolling through something unreadable. “Nope.”

You huffed, shifting in your seat. “You know, normal people discuss things like this.”

She smirked but still didn’t look up. “And since when have we been normal?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back into the plush seat. “Fair point.”

The destination remained a mystery until you landed. When you stepped out of the jet and into the warm, sea-salted air, your breath hitched. A private villa. Hidden away, far from the chaos of the racing world.

“You brought me to an island?” you asked incredulously.

Natasha just grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. “You needed a reset.”

You blinked. “And your idea of resetting is a literal paradise?”

She glanced at you over her shoulder, smirking. “Would you rather be back at the track?”

You scoffed. “No. Absolutely not.”

Natasha chuckled, shaking her head. “Then shut up and enjoy it.”

For the first time in months, you woke up without an alarm. Without the weight of race strategy meetings, without the looming stress of upcoming battles. Instead, you woke up to the soft rustling of waves, the distant call of seagulls, and the scent of coffee drifting through the open villa.

And her. Natasha was sitting on the patio, her laptop open on the table, a cup of coffee in hand, her eyes flicking between the screen and the ocean. You leaned against the doorframe, watching her, arms crossing over your chest. “Do you ever stop working?”

She hummed, tilting her head in your direction but not looking away from the screen. “Do you ever stop overthinking?”

You scoffed, stepping closer. “Touché.”

She finally looked up, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “Coffee?”

You nodded, sitting down across from her. The moment you took the first sip, you exhaled, the warmth spreading through you. “Okay. Maybe this was a good idea.”

Natasha chuckled. “Told you.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the waves providing a soothing backdrop. After a moment, Natasha leaned back, closing her laptop. “How are you feeling about Abu Dhabi?”

You hesitated, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t know.”

She didn’t push. Just watched. Waited. You sighed, setting the coffee down. “I feel ready, but also… it feels different now. Everything does.”

Natasha tilted her head. “Because of the championship?”

You swallowed. “Because of you.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. A beat of silence. Natasha’s expression didn’t change immediately, but there was something in her eyes, something soft, something unreadable. You looked away, suddenly nervous. “I mean—”

“I know.”

You met her gaze again. She exhaled slowly, like she was choosing her words carefully. “I feel it too.”

The confession was quiet. Almost vulnerable. Your breath caught. “Natasha-”

She shook her head, a small smile ghosting her lips. “Not yet. Not before the final race.”

Your chest tightened, but you understood. This..whatever this was, was too big to unpack before the championship was decided. But that didn’t stop you from reaching across the table, from sliding your fingers over hers. And Natasha didn’t stop you either.

The week passed in a haze of quiet moments. Soft touches. Unspoken words. Natasha never pushed you to talk about the race, never brought up Walker, never made you think about anything except being here.

But the night before you left for Abu Dhabi, everything shifted. You stood on the balcony, staring at the ocean, lost in thought. You felt her presence before she spoke. “You’re thinking again.”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. “I can’t help it.”

She moved beside you, resting her arms against the railing. “Tell me.”

You swallowed. “What if I lose?”

She didn’t even hesitate. “You won’t.”

You turned your head toward her, searching her face. “How can you be so sure?”

Natasha met your gaze, eyes burning with something fierce. “Because I know you.”

A pause. “And you’re mine.”

Your breath hitched. She turned toward you fully now, stepping closer. The tension between you snapped taut, electricity crackling in the space between. She lifted a hand, fingers brushing against your jaw. “And I don’t lose, dorogaya.”

Your pulse slammed against your ribs. And this time, this time, there were no interruptions. Her lips were on yours before you could even process it, warm, insistent, desperate. You melted into her, hands tangling in her hair, pulling her closer, needing more, needing everything.

The final race was tomorrow. The world was watching. The championship was on the line. But right now? Right now, the only thing that mattered was her. The atmosphere was electric.

Final Race

The Yas Marina Circuit in Abu Dhabi was alive with tension, the air buzzing with anticipation. Fans crowded the grandstands, waving banners, their cheers blending into the deafening roar of engines warming up in the pit lane. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting golden hues over the track, the last race of the season set to unfold under the lights.

This was it. The championship decider.

You stood in the garage, your fireproof suit already zipped up, helmet in hand, heart pounding in your chest. You had never felt this level of pressure before—every decision, every overtake, every second would determine whether you would leave this track as a world champion.

“Welcome to the final race of the season, the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix! And what a season it has been! It all comes down to this, two contenders, one final battle, and the championship on the line!”

“That’s right! Y/N L/N and Walker have been at war all season, and now, after 23 grueling races, it all leads to this moment. Whoever finishes ahead tonight will be crowned the world champion!”

The camera feed cut to Walker, standing a few garages down, already locked in conversation with his engineers. You caught his gaze for a split second, and he smirked, giving you a mocking two-finger salute.

Your jaw clenched. Natasha, who had been standing beside you, caught the interaction immediately. “Ignore him.” Her voice was firm but steady, grounding you. “He wants to get in your head. Don’t let him.” You exhaled sharply, nodding.

The pre-race ceremony was grand. Fireworks lit up the sky, and the national anthem echoed across the circuit as drivers lined up for introductions. Cameras panned across each contender, zooming in on your face as the commentators continued hyping the moment.

“This is the most anticipated title fight in years. The young challenger versus the reigning champion. Y/N L/N has defied all odds this season, recovering from injury, fighting back from setbacks, and proving she belongs at the top.”

“And let’s not forget the woman behind her success, Natasha Romanoff, the enigmatic and ruthless team principal who rebuilt this team from the ground up. This isn’t just a battle between drivers, it’s a war between philosophies, between two teams that have fought tooth and nail to get here.”

As your name was called, the crowd erupted in cheers. Your stomach twisted with nerves, but you forced a steady breath. Then, Natasha’s hand found your lower back, just for a second, a silent reminder.

“You’re ready for this.” she murmured, barely audible over the noise. You swallowed hard, nodding.

The camera moved to Walker, his confident grin plastered across the screens. He thrived under the spotlight, waving dramatically at the crowd. The moment passed quickly, and soon, you were making your way to the car, slipping into the cockpit for the final time this season.

The formation lap was tense. The weight of the championship sat heavy on your shoulders as you weaved through the turns, warming up the tires, getting a feel for the grip under the lights. Natasha’s voice came through the radio. “Alright, Y/n. This is it. We’ve prepared for this moment all season. You know what to do.”

You exhaled. “I do.”

A pause. Then, softer “I’m proud of you.” Your chest tightened, your grip firming around the wheel. “Let’s win this.”

This was it. The moment everything had been building toward. The last race of the season. The championship on the line. The crowd was deafening, their cheers vibrating through the grandstands, but inside the cockpit, it was just you, the machine, and the voice in your ear.

“Radio check.”

You exhaled, adjusting your grip on the wheel. “Loud and clear.”

A pause. Then, her voice softened, just slightly. “You’ve fought too hard to let this slip away. Start strong. Control the pace. And bring it home.”

Your heart pounded. Natasha had never been this soft over the radio before a race. It settled something in your chest.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Lights out.

The engine screamed as you launched off the line, your tires gripping perfectly, carrying you smoothly into the first corner. You held your position, P1. Exactly where you needed to be.

Walker was right behind you.

Lap 5

Natasha’s voice crackled through the comms. “He’s pushing early. Don’t let him dictate your race. You control this.”

You kept your breathing steady. “Copy.” Walker was testing you, feinting a move on the inside, but you covered the line perfectly.

Lap 10

“Box, box.”

You dove into the pits, your crew flawless. 2.3 seconds. You rejoined the track in P3, behind two drivers who hadn’t pitted yet. Walker followed, just seconds behind.

“Cold tires. Build them up. He’s going to attack.”

Lap 15

Chaos. Two cars behind you collided violently. A massive impact. Debris scattered across the track. One car spun into the barriers at high speed.

“Safety car.”

Your grip on the wheel tightened. Your eyes flicked to the mirrors. “Are they okay?” Your voice was sharp, urgent.

A long pause. Then, “Both drivers are out of the car. Medics are on them.”

You let out a shaky breath. The race was neutralized. But the tension didn’t fade. Natasha cut in, voice steady. Grounding.

“Don’t think about it. This isn’t your past. This is your present. This is your win.”

You nodded to yourself. You were not the same driver who crashed before.You were stronger. Smarter. Better.

Lap 20

The safety car pulled in. The race was back on. You timed the restart perfectly. Walker was right there, trying to lunge up the inside, but you blocked him cleanly. He was getting desperate.

And then, Lap 27.

He made his move. Too aggressive. Too reckless. Your rear tire was clipped. The car twitched violently. Your breath stopped. For a second, you felt it happening again. The Silverstone crash. The helpless spin. Your lungs locked. Natasha’s voice was calm, urgent.

“You’ve got it. You’re in control.”

You held it. You corrected, stabilized the car. Walker was still pushing. Still desperate. “Don’t let him rattle you. You have him.” Natasha’s voice was sharp.

Lap 35

Final one. Walker lunged forward. He was too aggressive. He clipped the curb badly. His car twitched. Your eyes widened. He lost it. His car slid sideways, full speed into the barriers. A brutal impact. Carbon fiber shattered. Metal twisted.

The crowd gasped. Your lungs locked. Your voice broke through the radio. “Is he okay?!”

Silence. Then, Yelena’s voice. “He’s moving. Medical is there.”

Natasha followed, controlled but tight. “Stay focused.”

Your eyes flicked up. The finish line was ahead. One more corner. You had done it.. The realization hit you all at once. You erupted in a scream. “YEEEESSSS!” Your hands trembled on the wheel as you crossed the line, the weight of everything crashing over you.

You had won.

Not just the race. Not just the championship. You had won yourself back. The sound of your own screams of victory echoed in your ears, blending with the deafening cheers from the crowd, the roaring engines, the overwhelming rush of adrenaline that flooded every inch of your body.

Through the radio, your team was exploding with excitement, voices overlapping, Yelena’s unhinged screaming, engineers shouting your name—everyone losing their minds.

And then, Natasha. But this time, her voice wasn’t just professional. It wasn’t just the sharp, controlled guidance of your team principal. This time, she laughed. A real, genuine laugh, the sound crackling through your earpiece, warm and unfiltered.

“Jesus, Y/n, you’re insane.”

You let out a breathless laugh in return, blinking back the sting of emotion. “I fucking did it...”

Her voice softened, low, proud. “Yes, you did.” The realization hit you like a freight train. You were the world champion.

The second you parked the car, you ripped off the wheel, unstrapping yourself as fast as possible. Before your brain could even catch up, you were climbing out of the cockpit, the weight of everything crashing into you.

They were everywhere. Your mechanics swarmed you, hands grabbing your suit, shaking you, hugging you, their cheers ringing out in celebration. Tears burned at the edges of your vision. This was real. You were on top of the world.

You hugged every mechanic who got to you, arms wrapping around engineers, feeling every ounce of their pride, their joy, their belief in you. But then, your eyes flickered up. And there she was.

Standing just beyond the chaos, arms relaxed, her lips curled into a rare, small smile, her green eyes locked onto you. And that’s when you felt it. The sting of emotions rising too fast, too sharp, the sheer weight of this moment overwhelming.

Before you even realized what you were doing, your legs were moving. You ran. Straight to her. Natasha barely had time to react before you crashed into her arms. She caught you effortlessly, her hands gripping tight, holding you like she had no intention of letting go.

Your breath was ragged, your heart hammering against your ribs. You buried your face in her shoulder, inhaling the scent of her, leather, champagne, and something unmistakably her. You felt her laugh, the softest thing, as her hand slid to the back of your head, holding you close. And then, before your brain could even fully process what was happening, Natasha leaned back slightly, just enough to tilt your chin up, her eyes flickering between yours, searching.

And then, she kissed you. Right there. In front of everyone. The crowd erupted. The cameras flashed. The team roared. And none of it mattered. Because Natasha Romanoff was kissing you. Not rushed. Not hidden. Real. Raw. Completely, unapologetically hers. You melted into it, your hands gripping her suit, pulling her closer, desperate to feel every inch of this moment.

When she pulled back, her forehead pressed against yours, her breath warm against your lips. And then, she finally whispered it.

“I love you.”

You blinked, your chest tightening painfully. She had never said it before. Not once. Not when she held you after long, exhausting nights. Not when she whispered Russian against your skin. Not when her hands traced over your scars like they were sacred.

But here..in front of the world..she did. And fuck, you had never loved her more. Your fingers curled into the fabric of her race suit, your voice shaking as you whispered back.

“I love you, too.”

She smiled, a real, genuine, unguarded smile. And just as the cameras continued flashing, just as the team lost their minds, she pulled you in for another kiss. Because now, you were champions. Together.

The roar of the crowd was deafening as you made your way through the pit lane, your body still buzzing with pure, unfiltered adrenaline. Every muscle ached, every heartbeat pounded against your ribs, but none of it mattered.

You had won the fucking championship.

As you walked toward the podium, your crew and engineers lined up, cheering, clapping, some even grabbing your shoulders, shaking you with pure joy. The mechanics who had spent countless hours perfecting your car, the engineers who had studied your every move, your team, your family.

You grinned at them all, shaking hands, hugging anyone who reached for you. But then, your eyes flickered forward. Natasha Standing just beyond the team with your parents, arms crossed, her stance effortlessly composed as always. But this time, her green eyes weren’t filled with sharp calculation. They weren’t focused on data, strategy, or performance.

They were on you. And for the first time, in front of thousands of cameras, in front of the world, Natasha let herself smile. It wasn’t big. It wasn’t obvious. But to you, it was everything.

She lifted a glass of champagne, a silent toast from where she stood, her expression laced with something you’d never seen from her before, not in front of the cameras. Pride. Pure, unguarded, unmistakable pride.

Your chest tightened painfully. She was proud of you. And that? That made your throat burn more than anything. Before you could even begin to process it, an official gently tapped your arm, ushering you toward the podium. The crowd erupted as you took the steps, standing in the middle, on the highest platform. The place only one person got to stand. The champion’s place. Your team principal’s place. Natasha’s place.

Your breathing hitched as you stood there, the weight of it finally crashing over you. You had done it. Walker was a few steps below you, his expression tight, controlled. He wasn’t looking at you. Good. He didn’t matter anymore. Because this moment? This was yours.

The anthem played, the flags waved, and you felt the world shift beneath you. The bottles were handed over, the anticipation buzzing through the air. You grabbed yours, shaking it violently before popping the cork, the liquid bursting forward like a dam breaking.

And then, chaos. You turned the bottle, drenching the second-place finisher, who cursed but laughed, retaliating immediately. The third-place driver joined in, and suddenly, it was an all-out war of champagne and celebration. The golden liquid soaked your race suit, your hair, your skin. But you didn’t care. You laughed, heart soaring, the feeling unlike anything else in the world.

For a moment, you let yourself breathe. Let yourself feel it. You had climbed back from hell, from the crash that nearly ended your career, from the doubts, the nightmares, the whispers behind your back. And now? Now you were at the top.

Your eyes instinctively flickered past the cameras, past the roaring crowd. Straight to her. Natasha was still standing there, watching, her glass still in hand, her lips curled just slightly.

And this time, she lifted it higher. The acknowledgment. The silent toast. The unspoken message. Your vision blurred for half a second, but you blinked it away. And then? You did something you hadn’t planned. Something natural. You lifted your own bottle in return, mirroring her.

A toast. To the one person who had been there through it all. To Natasha fucking Romanoff.

The second you stepped down from the podium, the cameras swarmed. Questions flew at you from every direction, reporters desperate for the first statement from the new world champion.

You barely had time to process them.

“Y/n, how does it feel-”

“What a comeback! What do you have to say to your doubters-”

“What does this mean for your future-”

The questions were a blur. Your mind was still racing, your body still buzzing from the victory. “Alright, that’s enough.”

The reporters stilled. You turned, heart skipping a beat. Natasha was right there, her body angled just slightly in front of yours, the presence of a shield, a protector. And just like that, the questions stopped. Because when Natasha Romanoff spoke, people listened. She glanced over at you, her green eyes softer now, just for you.

“Let’s get you out of here.”

You nodded, exhaling softly, letting her take your hand, your fucking hand, right there, in front of everyone. The world had no idea what had just changed. But you did. And that? That was all that mattered.

The End.

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