#technically I only do it to track and fluff my hours

[nice-bright-colors]

Smells like (2) hours to me. After all, tomorrow’s will smell like about (4) hours.

[diamonddaze01]

Full Throttle (i)

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

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

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

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

read part 2 here! <3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Suzuka chaos worked in Jeonghan’s favor. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve got a crush.

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

Jeonghan didn’t want to be here.

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

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

No, it was you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There you are!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” he said simply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The admission lands heavily between you, unexpected and disarming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you don’t.

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

Just another driver.

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

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

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

Jeonghan spends the night refreshing his Twitter feed. 

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

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

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

He clicks it immediately. 

The headline strikes first: 

Kim Mingyu’s Risky Qualifying Lap Keeps Rivals on Edge

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

Mingyu?

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

Then, buried halfway through, he finds his name:

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

That’s it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not in your writing. Not from you.

It’s infuriating.

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

Not just another driver.

But the one worth writing about.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It stings more than it should.

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

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

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

Jeonghan Dominates Monaco: Pole Position Translates to Victory

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

The thought gnaws at him.

It’s not enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, it happens.

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

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

“I’m out. Car’s done.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, you agree.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And maybe that’s the problem.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don't finish the sentence. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And for now, that’s enough.

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

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

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

“Back again?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The joy that had filled him moments ago flickers.

Why does it bother him?

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

Jealousy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nestled among the flowers is a small envelope.

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

I’m sorry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raised a brow. “Aggressively encouraged?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FORMULA 1 HUNGARIAN GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Hungaroring

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He huffed a humorless laugh. “Not exactly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You clinked your bottle against his. “Anytime.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The weekend at Spa began like a dream.

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

Jeonghan thrived on its challenge.

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

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

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

But then came the penalty.

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

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

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

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

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

His gaze lingered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

P10 to P1. 

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

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

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

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

He took the corners flat out.

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

But then came the rain.

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

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

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

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

Your words came back to him.

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

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

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

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

When the race restarted, Jeonghan was a man possessed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The article was already live.

His breath caught as he read your headline:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeonghan blinked, startled. “What?”

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

Jeonghan followed his gaze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“JEONGHAN!”

The moment shattered.

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

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

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

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

FORMULA 1 HEINEKEN DUTCH GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Zandvoort

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jeonghan!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jeonghan!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ahundredtimesover]

Something About You (03) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: friends au, vacation au, slow burn, romcom-ish vibe; adulting; inspired by AYS; PE teacher!JK and researcher!OC; fluff, comfort, smut (?)

Chapter Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption, minor injury (18+)

Word count: 17.9k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

Series Summary: You and Jungkook have been friends for a decade. And while he’s the charming and dependable, often reserved boy-next-door, he’s also just been a friend - a constant in your life, a part of a whole, and someone who’s seen all the flawed and probably unattractive sides of you.

A resumption of your friend group’s out-of-town trips has caused you to spend more time with him. And somewhere in between the morning coffee in the forest, running around in the snow, and watching the sunset on a boat, he’s become something more. And you’re not quite sure how to deal with it.

🎶: Beautiful Soul by Jesse McCartney || Yes or No by Jungkook

A/N: My favorite Koo look! Hope you're enjoying this series so far!

[From: kook] Leaving in a bit. Be there in 20.”

You turn off your laptop camera and quickly give Jungkook a call, wanting him to hear your cutesy, pleading voice for this request.

“Hey, what’s up?” He asks on the other end.

“Hello to my amazing friend. I’ve run out of tea and I really need one,” you cry out. “Do you think you can get or make me a cup? Please?”

“Sure, there’s a cafe near my place,” he chuckles. “Anything specific?”

“Chamomile or jasmine,” you respond. “Thank you! I’ll see you in a bit!”

You end the call and quickly get back to your meeting, your fourth one of the day, and it’s only been seven hours since you clocked in at work. You’re thankful for work-from-home Fridays but somehow they’re even more tiring, at least recently, given the upcoming holidays and people taking their respective leaves. 

Like many at your firm, it’s your last day before you take a few weeks off then return in early January. Everyone’s doing end-of-year meetings and pre-planning for next year. There are financial reports to submit and project updates to consolidate. You were able to get all the paperwork done overnight so you could focus on your meetings during the day and you just can’t wait for it to be over so you can completely switch off.

“I guess that wraps it up,” your manager says after you provide a progress summary of all your ongoing research projects. “You got everything on-track and we’ll be starting next year on a good note. Thank you, ___. You deserve this break.”

“We all do,” you smile. “Enjoy the break, everyone! I’ll see you next year.”

You end the meeting and drop your head on your desk. Today was a marathon and you feel like you’re still running on adrenaline so you take deep breaths to calm yourself down. You’ve got a couple of days of vacation with your friends and then several more with your family when you go to your hometown and that technically starts right now. 

So you turn off your laptop, clear out your desk, and do a final check of your things before dressing up in time for Jungkook’s arrival in five minutes. 

He’s already standing by the trunk of his car when you scurry down the driveway and drag your luggage to meet him. You apologize for making him wait but he waves you off to say that it’s okay. You load your things and quickly get into the passenger seat.

“Here’s your tea,” Jungkook says, handing you a hot cup that you excitedly receive. 

You take a sip and hum in satisfaction at its warmth. The scent and the taste are already making you feel better, and you sink in your seat at the comfort it gives you. Releasing a drawn out hum, you feel your muscles slowly relax.

“Looked like you needed that, huh?” Jungkook says as he starts driving.

You’re both headed to the airport where you'll meet your other friends who are on their way there after work, too. Living close to Jungkook, he offered to pick you up so that there’s only one of your cars you’ll leave at the parking for the duration of your trip to Sapporo.

“Totally. I was up until 4AM getting all of my paper work done,” you sigh.

“And what time did you wake up?”

“7:30.”

“Yah, that’s not a healthy sleeping habit,” he reprimands you.

“Says the guy who used to do exactly that,” you point out.

“Those were college days. I’m an adult now, you know? I get at least seven hours of sleep because any less and I’d be a dysfunctional mess.”

“It’s so weird how we’re at that age where we require a lot of hours of sleep but then in 10 years’ time, our body will just decide it can survive with four.”

“We produce less melatonin as we age,” he informs you. “But you know what’s funny about my 4 - 10 AM sleeping pattern before? People thought I was up studying but I was really just playing video games for most of it.”

“Oh I’m not surprised,” you shake your head. “I already knew you're the one who influenced Jimin’s sleeping habits. He used to follow a strict curfew and then you messed it up.”

“Yeah and now he thanks me because he’s now used to it. He says it’s how he survives his job.”

“Working in advertising requires that, I guess,” you frown. “At least he gets to have a break. At least we all do! I am completely shutting off so please call me out if I talk about work.”

“Sure, that’ll be fun,” he chuckles. “Can I call you out on other things, too?”

You make a face at him and say he’ll do that anyway even if you tell him not to.

You yawn for the third time in the past minute and Jungkook turns to you. 

“Sleep. It’s a long drive so might as well get some of your energy back,” he says. “I’ll wake you up when we’re there.”

“Okay,” you say as you yawn again. “If I snore… just suck it up.”

He playfully rolls his eyes then points to the lever that adjusts the seat so you can lie down more comfortably. He puts some mellow music on and you fall asleep instantly, curled against your arms and soft snores escaping you. 

Jungkook can only laugh to himself as he sneaks glances at you during the ride. It was about a month ago when he told himself that the way to deal with this maybe harmless and fleeting crush he has for you is to spend less time together. That was only slightly possible because there was some lunch or dinner with your friends every weekend, but it wasn’t as if not seeing you meant he wasn’t thinking about you. 

Of course he still was. He thought about you a lot and wondered how you were doing. For the first time, he was thankful for his stressful job and the busy days of making student reports for the end of the semester, which meant he couldn’t always meet you every time you asked if he was done with work or if he was in the area where you were. He was always tempted to just drop things to see you but he knew that would make things more complicated for him. 

But then again, he hasn’t even fully grasped exactly what he feels yet. Is it admiration? A newfound fondness? Did he just need to rid himself of some past baggage that he didn’t even realize he was carrying for things to make sense to him? 

Regardless, he knew that spending more time with you - for an extended period of time, and in close proximity - isn’t going to make things easier. But Taehyung just had to spring this trip on all of you and no one could refuse because he’s actually the other baby of the group that everyone has a soft spot for and he’s leaving for who knows how long again in a few months. 

Jungkook’s not complaining at the least because he’d go anywhere with his friends. He just finds it a bit comical that this is exactly what he said he shouldn’t be doing but here he is now - on another long drive with you asleep next to him, with a two-plus hour flight ahead to a city he always wanted to go to, and a few days of winter coldness that might cause him to seek your warmth in one way or another. Or you might seek his for all he knows and that might actually be worse.

He just shakes his head and focuses on the road after glancing at you again. He’s not really the type to overthink things. He’s fared well in most aspects of his life by going with the flow and dealing with whatever comes his way. 

Though his relationships are another story, he supposes those youthful years were characterised by a level of insecurity and lack of trust in himself that made him hold onto things that didn’t feel right. He thinks he’s a lot more mature now - he’ll have conviction in whatever he feels for you, whatever it is, and he’ll accept rejection if that’s where it’ll lead to. 

He’ll see where things go but for now, what matters is that he, you, and all of your friends get to enjoy this trip as much as possible.

Jungkook finally makes it to the airport and checks in his car for a few days of parking. He wakes you up and you take a while to open your eyes. He pats your head when you do and reminds you that you’ll have more time to sleep on the plane.

You dazedly drag your luggage and you pout at Jungkook who giggles at your sleepy state. 

“I’m so tired,” you pout at him as you both make your way to the check-in area where the rest of your friends are waiting.

“I can tell. Let’s just get through the gates and then you can sleep somewhere there, okay?”

You nod as if you’ll cry any moment, and part of him wants to just pull you close so you can lean on him while you sleep but that might be too unexpected so he just puts his hand on your shoulder to stop you from falling. 

“Princess can’t stay awake?” Jimin’s voice cuts through the airport chatter.

“She barely got any sleep last night and she had meetings all day,” Jungkook informs your friends who have gathered where you are. 

“Aww, poor thing,” Jimin hums as he hugs you, and you respond by hugging him tighter.

“Let’s get to the gates then,” Yoongi orders. “There are lots of places we can eat and rest at.”

You all line up and slowly get through the check-in line before you’re able to head to the gates. Gyu-rim finds a table big enough for 12 at a restaurant and while all of them order their meals, you stay seated, with your head on Jimin’s shoulder and on your way to dreamland once again. 

“Let’s take turns,” Mo-eum tells him, as she finishes her rice bowl first then shifts your head to lean on hers after.

You briefly wake up to have a few spoonfuls of your bulgogi before offering the rest to Jungkook and then taking quick naps again. You’ve seriously never been this tired. But you feel like your body knew it could afford to just shut down because you’re on vacation. It just didn’t plan it well enough because you’re in the middle of the airport, just randomly dozing off. 

You finally board the plane and find that you’re seated next to Jungkook who’s on the window seat, and Taehyung and Mo-eum are on the row in front of you, while an aisle separates you from Jimin. It’s a good enough arrangement, and Jungkook helps you load your carry-on in the overhead compartment before you take your seat and immediately rest your head on his shoulder.

It’s a natural thing for you to do, and you suppose your friends are used to you by now. You make yourself comfortable then look up to smile at Jungkook.

“I’m gonna fall asleep once we take-off,” you tell him.

“I’m sure you will,” he chuckles, as he looks through the emergency instructions. 

“Have we sat next to each other on a flight before?” You ask.

“Uh, I think this one flight to Jeju,” Jungkook responds. “But that was some time ago. I might’ve been asleep then.”

“Hmm, that’s why,” you hum.

“What?”

“I didn’t realize how comfy you are.”

“It’s probably the clothes, ___,” he reasons, more to himself. “I need them to be fluffy and warm because it’s winter.”

You adjust yourself again before resettling your head on his side.

“Maybe.”

Jungkook doesn’t overthink it. You’ve leaned on his shoulder lots of times before. This isn’t out of the ordinary. But with you pointing out that you haven’t really sat next to each other on flights before reminds him again of how you’ve always just been part of the whole. And now he’s got this time and proximity with you and it’s comforting but also exciting.

Even if yes, he’s just playing games on his phone while you flick through the airplane magazine while waiting for take-off. Once you’re up in the air and the seatbelt light has turned off, you push back your seat and start dozing off.

Your head keeps slipping from the position it’s in, even as he tries to straighten it so you don’t hurt your neck in the process. Perhaps out of discomfort, you briefly wake up to unlatch the table then lay the pillow and your head on it. Even then, it constantly bounces from the slight turbulence so you sit back again and shift your body in search of the right position. 

Jungkook sees you cross your arms against your chest and assumes you’re cold, but just as he’s about to cover you with his airline-provided blanket, Mo-eum peeks her head from between the seats. 

“She needs to hug something when she’s asleep,” your best friend says. 

“Oh, uh—”

You curl your body in the seat and snore softly, and Jungkook can sense your body’s need for a proper position. So he lightly taps you awake, grabs a spare hoodie from his bag on the floor, then places it on his lap. He gestures towards it and you take the offer, immediately pulling up the arm rest and laying half of your body on top of his. 

You bend your legs and adjust yourself. You have your pillow on top of his jacket that’s on top of his lap, your blanket over you and then his blanket for you to hug. You release a low moan then your breathing steadies. Figuring out your position must’ve tired you, but with how fast you’ve fallen asleep, he figures you’ve found the right one.

Is he glad it’s on his lap? Not exactly, and only because it’s a kind of closeness he’s not used to with you, and he’s worried he’d look for it. But it doesn’t matter because you’re comfortable and he’d gladly help you get that much deserved rest in whatever way. Even if it’s at the cost of his stupid heart. 

Mo-eum peeks again to check on you and giggles when she sees where you ended up. She turns around and kneels on her seat to take a photo of you slumped on Jungkook’s lap while the said man poses. 

“Cute,” she smiles, before sitting back down and showing it to her seatmate.

It prompts Taehyung to turn around, too, laughing under his breath at how Jungkook is trying to figure out where to place his hands, now that you’ve hijacked his personal space. 

But Jungkook does figure it out, as he holds onto your arm to keep you from falling in case there’s another turbulence. Thankfully there isn’t, and when it’s announced that the plane will now start its descent so everyone must sit upright, he wakes you up and tells you that you’ll be landing soon.

You were in deep sleep and having a good dream that you don’t remember and the next thing you know, someone’s shaking your arm and telling you to wake up. Feeling like you’re on a bed, you shift your body and stretch your arms. But then you hear a groan and you look up to see Jungkook glaring at you.

“Did I hit your face?” You gasp, suddenly sitting up then turning his chin to check any damage. “I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

“You hit my jaw,” he groans. “But yeah, I’m fine.”

“Oops,” you sweetly smile. 

“Hey, you don’t apologize like that to me or Jimin when you hit our faces,” Taehyung remarks, turning his head and cocking his eyebrow. 

“That’s because Kook has a precious nose that must always be protected,” you reply with a straight face. “You don’t.”

“Yah!” Jungkook exclaims, knowing it’s a running joke in your group.

He pinches you in retaliation but you giggle at him and pinch his cheeks in response. 

“I’m kidding. Thanks, Kook. I’ve regained my energy and now I feel ready to take on the day,” you confidently say.

“___, it’s 9:30 PM,” Jungkook deadpans. 

“I’m really hungry, too,” you add, disregarding his statement.

“So now we have to deal with an energetic and hungry you? At this hour?” Jungkook groans. 

“Order food with me when we get to the hotel?” You ask, not minding his complaints. 

“And if it’s closed?”

“The convenience store, then!”

“Now I’m the one who’s tired.”

“No, you’re not! You can’t be!” You pout at him with your puppy eyes.

“Fine, whatever,” he gives in as he always does.

You’re talking about the dream you don’t remember when the sight of the snow-capped streets catches Jungkook’s attention. You see his doe-eyes go wide and he looks so innocent,  but you understand the amusement - it looks stunning outside and you can’t wait to bury yourself in the pillowy ice and breathe in the chilly air.

Both of you just look out while waiting to land and disembark. You manage to get all your luggage quickly then head to three separate rented cars to drive to your lodging for tonight.

The hotel restaurant isn’t taking orders anymore so you announce to the group that you and Jungkook are going to the convenience store across the street. Jimin, Namjoon, and Suhyeon join you, and you’re skipping out the lobby to get your snacks in no time. 

Jungkook tells you to be careful because the roads are slippery but you show-off your sliding skills that make you feel like you’re ice skating. He copies you and shows off, too, speeding his leg movements as he walks down an icier path.

But then he slips and falls to the ground, and you can’t help the way you laugh at his mishap. You can hear your other three friends laughing as they walk towards you, and Jungkook remains lying on the ground, laughing, too.

“You’re so clumsy,” you mock him, as it’s one of the things he says to you whenever you fall or hit something. 

“I was just trying to show you what not to do,” he makes a face before taking the hand you’ve reached out for him to take. “So don’t go skating and shit, okay? You might hurt yourself.”

“I won’t. I’m not a show-off nor a klutz,” you say and stick your tongue out.

He frowns at you then pulls you by your cheek to enter the store.

You, Jimin, and Jungkook stay together while you go around and drop various things in your basket that you think Taehyung and Mo-eum would like, too. You all get some chips, matcha cookies, chocolates, mini-cakes, instant ramen, beer... and about a dozen tuna mayo triangle kimbap because Jungkook is obsessed with them. You meet Namjoon and Suhyeon at the counter where they’ve filled their basket with a bunch of other things as well then head back to the hotel.

As is often the arrangement, the five of you share a suite while your seven other friends share one as well, and you make your way to the living room where all your purchases have been dumped on the table. 

Being that you barely had dinner and Jungkook’s stomach is a bottomless pit, both of you make ramen and get one rice ball each while the rest munch on snacks and dessert. Spread across the couch and the floor, you all hold up your beer cans and make a toast to this trip. 

Later that night, you watch the snow fall from the window as you sip the chamomile tea that Jungkook bought for you at the store. The city is beautiful at this hour and it feels cozy and romantic and exciting yet peaceful all at once. It’s a kind of feeling you’ve always wanted to experience, and now you know how a place can make you feel that way. 

Like all the times your mind has travelled somewhere, you suddenly wonder if it’s possible with a person. And if maybe, somewhere in this town, they’re right by their window, thinking the same thing, too.

You wake up to the sound of your alarm the next morning. For the brief moment right before you open your eyes, you feel that sense of relief over what turned out to be a really good sleep. 

Despite being knocked out the whole flight then eating and drinking late at night, you managed to get enough rest. You’ve truly switched off now. All you can think about are the sights you’ll see and food you’ll eat and all the time you’ll spend just walking through the snowy streets. 

The last time you all went to Japan, it was an action-packed trip. You went to amusement parks and went partying at night. This time, everyone decided on taking things slow. Sapporo’s perfect for that, and you suppose it’s what you all need.

Sitting up from the bed, you see that you’ve kicked your blanket off the edge while Mo-eum is cocooned under the sheets. You like the cold and you wish you had the aircon at a lower temperature, but your best friend freezes easily so you let the room stay warm. 

You tap her on the foot as an attempt to wake her up before heading out to the living area. The boys are in the other room and they seem to still be asleep. Wanting to see how the sun shines on the street outside, you pull open the curtains to let the light in and the way it does makes things look more enchanting.

But then a grunting sound disrupts your moment, prompting you to turn around.

It takes five seconds for you to notice Jungkook, who had camouflaged on the black couch with his black shirt and sweatpants and his arms behind his head. He seems to have slept there, as evidenced by the rearranged pillows and his half-lidded eyes gazing at you. The sun probably woke him up, so you apologize and try to close the curtains but he tells you it’s okay.

“Did you sleep here?” You ask, as you sit on the other end of where he is.

He groggily nods his yes.

“It was too hot in the room. Tae and Jimin had the aircon on fan mode.”

“Oh, that sucks,” you say. “Mo-eum had the temp high, too, and I ended up kicking my blanket on the floor. I like it cold.”

“Me, too,” Jungkook hums. “Good thing the couch is comfy.”

“You and Mo-eum can just switch places then,” you suggest. “The three warmies can stay in one room and you and I can enjoy a cold night.”

If Jungkook wasn’t awake five seconds ago, now he is. It’s not like he’s never shared a room with you before but with his little feelings recently, it might as well be the first time. He knows he can stay up with you just talking or saying nothing at all. You could also pass out and snore like crazy but then again, he wouldn’t mind that either. It’ll just be something new he’d tease you about, as if your snoring video that he shows to your friends isn’t enough.

“Sounds good,” he manages to say. 

Yawning as he stretches, he asks you what the itinerary is for the day.

“Do you not read the group chat?” You laugh at him. “The schedule is pinned on there.”

“Not really.”

“How do you ever know what’s going on, then?”

“I wait for Jimin or Tae to tell me when it’s about something important because they know I don’t check messages,” he shrugs. 

“You’re weird,” you playfully roll your eyes. “But anyway. We’re gonna have lunch, go to a beer museum, go to a mountain, check the–”

“You’re climbing?” He exclaims.

“We go by cable car, duh! Do you expect me to climb? In this weather?”

“You wouldn’t do it either way.”

“Excuse me, I climbed that mountain in Chungbuk,” you remind him.

“You mean I dragged you,” he chuckles. “And come on, ___. That wasn’t a mountain mountain. It was a short hike because we were already on the mountain. I just wanted to know if I had to drag your ass again or something.”

You make faces while he talks, prompting him to hit you with the small pillow.

“Yah!” You whine, hitting him back. 

Jungkook turns into a childish man when he’s challenged or provoked. He tends to be nonchalant about most things but you also know that he likes to play around and tease. He also likes to show off his athleticism and agility because now, as you try to hit him back again, he’s effectively dodging you while landing his pillow shots on your face.

“Kook, I’m gonna get your annoying ass,” you groan, grabbing the bigger pillow and then hitting him a little harder, knowing it’s not gonna affect him anyway. 

This dude is built like a brick. It just doesn’t seem like it because he’s always in loose clothes, but you know enough that not much hurts him. But you’re so into the pillow fight that he ends up lying down on the couch while you sit on top of him, your legs wrapped around his waist, and he’s there chuckling and blocking your hits. 

You take a rest, essentially giving him an opening. But instead of attacking, he turns to you and places his hands behind his head.

“Okay fine, I’ll let you make one last hit then we call it quits,” he says, challenging you.

You consider it, and as you act like you’re going to smack his face, you instead drop the pillow and make a tiny pinch on the sliver of his stomach that’s been exposed from all his movements. He yelps in pain and you manage to get off him in time, or else he would’ve easily wrestled you or turned you over.

He chases after you to the kitchen though, and you’re definitely not fast enough for the Jeon Jungkook. Before you know it, you’re getting pulled by your shirt and being tickled in your torso that you easily give up, facing him in submission then catching your breath.

“You’re such a brat,” he frowns. “That hurt.”

He slightly raises his shirt and discovers the red mark on his stomach that you caused.

You gasp in surprise; you didn’t realize you hurt him that bad. You pout then hug him - a reflex almost because this is how you apologize to your friends when you get a little too intense - and apologize.

“Nah, a hug won’t cut it,” he says, not returning the act.

You look up at him with sorry eyes.

“Coffee?”

“Nope.”

“A 6-pack in the beer museum later?” You sweetly smile, knowing that’s his weakness.

He gives in. “Deal.”

“Wow, that was easy,” you chuckle as you let go of him. 

“You leave a mark, you get me beer. It’s that simple,” he shrugs. 

“I bet it didn’t even really hurt,” you cock an eyebrow.

“___, it’s literally red. Look. It might even have a bit of your nail stuck in there.”

He pulls up his shirt again to show you the crescent on his abdomen and though you feel sorry, you also can’t help but tease.

“Show-off,” you stick your tongue out.

“Hey, I worked hard on that.”

“I’m sure, and they look great,” you flash a smile. 

“Kook, why are you giving ___ a private show this early in the morning?” Jimin says as he enters the kitchen. 

Jungkook tries not to look scandalized at the comment even if he knows it’s just his best friend’s way of teasing.

“She pinched me.”

“The tiny, painful kind?” Jimin asks.

“Yes. And I was just showing her the damage.”

Jimin turns to you with a disapproving look. “You’re a brat.”

“I said I was sorry,” you pout at Jungkook again. 

You look adorable and he can’t really be angry. 

“She’ll make it up to me with beer at least.”

“That’s not too bad,” Jimin laughs. “Just be her punching bag and you’ll end up with lots of free things.”

Jungkook chuckles in agreement and proceeds to boil water for coffee. It’s 10:30 AM and you’re set to meet the rest of your friends in an hour for lunch, so you munch on another triangle kimbap and some snacks then get dressed.

As you’re going down the stairs to the lobby, you slow down to walk with Jungkook and you turn to him.

“You’re not mad, right? I’m sorry again,” you say softly.

There’s an innocence in your eyes as you utter the words and Jungkook has to stop himself from engulfing you in a hug. 

It’s fondness, he convinces himself. It’s this tenderness that always cuts through at the end that gets him. You can be playful and rowdy and unforgiving sometimes but you’re affectionate and gentle and it catches him off guard. He doesn’t know why it’s never affected him like this before because he knows you’ve been like this to him before.

“I’m not,” he says, nudging your shoulder in assurance. “It’s stopped hurting and your nail marks will go away. You’re all good.”

“Good. We don’t want blemishes on those pretty abs,” you wink.  

He laughs in your wake. He hopes the fondness he feels for you stays. He also hopes that’s all there really is.

The ramen place you find for lunch is a tiny restaurant that manages to fit all of you. You and Taehyung moan in satisfaction at the richness of the broth, content with your weak people’s palette that can only handle the lowest level of spiciness, whereas Jimin next to you winces because he definitely didn’t expect his level 7 to be that hot. But still, he says it’s one of the most delicious things he’s ever eaten and you’d have to agree. 

The restaurant is buzzing in chatter and laughter because of all of you, especially when Gyu-rim calls out Jungkook’s bottomless pit of a stomach once again.

He ordered chashu don with his ramen but is on his second serving of the rice bowl after Suhyeon offered the one she couldn’t finish. 

“You know how normal people stop eating after they’re full?” He says. “I end up eating five more portions.”

“Oh, we know,” most of you answer in unison. 

“How good is it anyway?” You ask.

“Dude, it’s so good,” he moans, furrowing his brows; he tends to look angry when the food is delicious.

You open your mouth to signal that you want to try it and Jungkook prepares a spoonful for you. He’s about to hand it over but then you stand and lean over the table, so he feeds you and tips the spoon to make sure you get everything in your mouth.

It’s something he’s done with you lots of times before but this feels different. There’s that fuzzy feeling of doing this intimate act for you, even as a friend. 

Because it’s just that, he reminds himself - an act of affection towards a person dear to him.

You hum with a full mouth with how good it is and urge Mo-eum to try as well, so Jungkook feeds her, too - something completely normal that doesn't elicit any unusual warm feeling. But he can’t keep his eyes off you still chewing your food while asking for another spoonful with the ramen broth this time after he said it was even better together.

You lean over again and Yoongi tells you to just order your own. 

“We’re not in a rush. We can stay here for as long as you all want,” Hoseok - the one who keeps you all on track with schedules during your trips - says.

You smile in response then scurry to the ticket machine to order more. You’re served two bowls not long after, and you announce that you got another one so each person can try it at least once, starting with Jimin who gets two spoonfuls. 

You prepare one yourself and lean over to Jungkook to feed him this time. He’s caught off guard but he opens his mouth in time before you complain that he’s taking too long. Returning to your seat, you get another bite for yourself then another.

“Yah, I gave you two spoonfuls,” Jungkook reminds you.

“Get from the other bowl,” you frown at him. “That’s why I got two!”

He laughs, only wanting to rile you up, but he does finish what your friends couldn’t, and there he goes again with his unnecessary fifth portion.

Once you’ve finished, you head to a local park that’s covered in snow. Jimin immediately runs and dives on one of the mounds he sees and you follow, loving the pillowy ice almost as much as he does. Soon enough, Mo-eum, Jungkook, and Taehyung are next to you, lying down and making snow angels, all the while giggling like little kids.

Your seven older friends all stand around and watch with the softest smiles on their faces.

“This is why we came here, right?” Hoseok hums. “To watch them be like this?”

“It’s like I’m watching our grown up children,” Yoongi says.

“We’re two years apart,” Gyu-rim points out. “They’re not that young.”

“I don’t know. I kinda feel like they are,” Yoongi replies.

“You’re just old,” she counters, quietly laughing when the other man chuckles to himself.

It’s a struggle getting off the ground when it’s so soft and cold. But your jacket is also added weight and you’re scolding yourself for not being agile like your friends who can easily get up and then run further into the park.

“Kook, help me,” you plead with your legs bent to your sides and your one arm raised. “I can’t carry myself.”

Jungkook sighs but pulls you anyway. You pant as you try to walk towards the frozen pond and he teases by saying that you probably need a piggyback ride or something.

“Will you give me one?” You smile sweetly.

“Nope,” he smiles back, and you pout at him in return. 

He easily could, but Jungkook - normally - likes to tease you. He gives in most times, but he’s been trying to recall how he was prior to these possible feelings surfacing and he remembers that there were times when he turned you down or argued with you first before granting your request. 

He’s trying to balance it out for that sense of normalcy he wants to maintain. He can’t have anyone, especially you, suspecting him of treating you differently, even if deep down, he wants to give you that piggyback ride or hold your hand while dragging you all the way to the center of the park. 

But he goes with the latter. Similar to what he did during your hike months ago, he pulls you by the wrist until you reach the pond. 

He watches you look around in awe. He does the same while stealing glances and he hopes no one notices. He’s not really ready to explain himself to anyone about something he’s still trying to make sense of.

The hour flies by. You spend it just walking around and having mini snowball fights where you all ban Jungkook because he was making snow boulders and burying Jimin in them. You buy coffee from a park stall and finish it by the time you’re back in your cars.

You head to a Beer Museum after. The building itself is stunning and you spend time just admiring it. Inside, you explore Sapporo and Hokkaido’s history and take time reading and watching the information presented. Jungkook, of course, heads straight away to the tasting section and begins eyeing which drinks he wants to sample.

He loves beer, which is ironic for a PE teacher who teaches his students about healthy living but like he says, too much of something is what makes it unhealthy. Plus, there are doctors who have worse vices and so he gets a pass. 

And maybe he’s right. Jungkook has a high tolerance for many things and he knows when to stop but you also know he truly enjoys the taste, and not just the social aspect of drinking it. 

You’re still exploring, as you’re more interested in learning more than drinking, but most of your friends have already gone ahead, with only Suhyeon and Hoseok walking alongside you.

“Don’t forget that you promised me a six-pack,” Jungkook reminds you once you get to him.

“Why, what did you do?” Gyu-rim asks you, knowing that’s the only reason you’d agree to buy Jungkook something.

“She pinched me on the stomach this morning and it left a mark,” Jungkook narrates. “It hurt like hell.”

“Is that why you were showing your abs to ___ in the kitchen?” Taehyung asks. “I was half asleep but I saw you. I thought you were being kinky or something.”

“I said the same thing!” Jimin exclaims, causing your friends to laugh.

“Yah! I had to show her proof because she didn’t wanna believe me!” Jungkook defends. 

“Because you don’t even get hurt!” You answer back. 

“Wow, that’s deep,” Jimin hums. “And totally off-mark. Kook is a sensitive one.”

“Yeah, but his body isn’t,” you pout, knowing exactly what your best friend means. 

Jungkook laughs it off then returns to his beer tasting, claiming that he wants three cans of two different exclusive flavors. You agree and taste them at his insistence and decide to buy a variety of alcohol as well. 

It’s close to sunset when you finish, then you all head to Mt. Moiwa for some scenery. It’s a chilly and entertaining ride to the top, with Hoseok and Jimin going from amused to terrified in seconds, and you’re glad you decided to join their cable car instead of Jungkook and Mo-eum who’d probably be dancing around because they’re not really scared of anything.

As you expected, the view is pretty special. Everything is blanketed in snow and the city lights add that urban charm. You stay there until the sun has completely set before going to your final stop of the night - the Christmas Market. It’s something you’ve always wanted to experience, so all of you walk through the streets and look at every stall for something to buy or taste.

Jimin and Yoongi try some mulled wine and Namjoon buys some cute figurines. Seokjin and Hayoung buy something to commemorate their last overseas trip before getting married, and you and Suhyeon munch on a pretzel. 

And then there’s Jungkook - a gourmet sausage on one hand and a donut on the other. 

“Kook, we still have dinner. You know that, right?” Hoseok laughs from next to him, clearly amused at how his younger friend can still have an appetite. 

“Of course he does, that’s why he’s eating all this now so he has space for more later on,” Gyu-rim states. “Go on, Kook. Eat to your heart’s content.”

You stand next to Jungkook as you wait for Suhyeon who said she’ll order hot chocolate for you.

“Is it good?” You ask.

“Yup,” he mumbles. “Try some!”

Like always, you open your mouth and he feeds you the donut, prompting you to complain that sweets always go last. He just laughs at you and waits for you to finish chewing before letting you bite off his sausage.

“That’s good,” you hum, uncaring about the juice that drips on the side of your mouth.

“Yah,” Jungkook groans. He takes his napkin and wipes it off your face. “Are you a child?”

“You literally eat with sauce all over your face,” you call him out.

“And you’ve never wiped them off. Gee, thanks,” he counters.

“You’re an adult.”

“And so are you,” he chuckles while he continues to wipe you clean. 

You stand there, clad in a loose jacket and a beanie that makes you look adorable, and he can’t help but smile once again. You’re such a handful sometimes but he likes this. He likes giving in to your requests and watching you enjoy it and maybe cleaning up your mess, too. He likes seeing you appreciate the things that he does. He likes knowing you’re curious about what he’s up to and then sharing it with him.

He doesn’t recall ever caring this much but he’s down that slope of finding everything you do so captivating that he might as well smile every time you breathe.

Suddenly he feels silly, and he makes a face at you to mask whatever he’s feeling. 

You leave him once Suhyeon calls and Jungkook’s left there to shake his head and internally scold himself to get it together.

You return to the hotel, drop your things in your rooms, then head to the restaurant for dinner. It’s a spread of premium meat, hotpot that tastes like cabbage water, and some of the freshest seafood you’ve ever had. 

You jump in your seat in delight and Jungkook does the same. After all the bickering, you know that both of you love food so much even if he enjoys it because he knows how it’s supposed to taste, whereas for you, most things are just delicious. It’s just funny that you’re only realizing now that both of you react to things pretty much the same way.

You’re back in the suite by 10 PM, and the five of you take turns in the bathroom while the boys play a card game with push-ups as punishment for the loser while you and Mo-eum act as both penalty enforcer and cheerleader. 

The tiredness from the day slowly creeps in so you all retire to your rooms, upholding this morning’s agreement about who’s sleeping where. 

Jungkook lies down on Mo-eum’s bed and half wishes that he’ll fall asleep soon so that he doesn’t have to spend more of this time alone with you. The last time that happened, his heart was doing weird things and now that might just happen again.

He starts to slowly doze off when your voice wakes him up.

“Do you want to put on a face mask?”

“Uhm, okay,” he stupidly gives in easily.

You grab two packs and a mirror from your pouch then try to put the mask on properly. You turn to Jungkook who now kneels next to you, as if asking him to fix it. He shifts it a little before putting one on himself. He turns to you as well and you flatten the edges, making sure you spread the serum from his jaw down to his neck, completely unaware of how you’re affecting him.

For some reason, you decide to sit in the space between the beds so Jungkook follows suit. There’s not much distance between the both of you but this isn’t the first time. He supposes he’ll just keep doing what he’s been trying to do - try to act normal while also figuring out exactly what he feels without making it obvious that something has changed. 

“Today was good,” you hum. “I liked playing in the snow and walking around. And now it’s 12 AM but we’re not passed out. What a change from years ago.”

“Such a change,” he laughs, reminiscing about your post-university trips where you were finally earning money and spending it on shopping and partying. “Hong Kong was the worst.”

You and Jimin were drunk and entered the wrong hotel, and Jungkook was the one who looked for you and dragged your asses out of there before you fought the hotel staff for not letting you into your room.

You remember that night and smile behind your mask. “Oops.”

“So yeah, this trip is good,” he chuckles. “We just get to relax and do whatever we want and actually remember everything and you know, not end up fighting strangers and stuff.”

You laugh in response.

“I liked the park, too. And my free beer. Thanks again, ___.”

You’re reminded of your comment from earlier about him not getting hurt. It’s not that deep but given the conversations you’ve been having with him and the things you know that the others don’t, it may not have been the best thing to say.

“What I said when we were at the museum…” you start. “I know it might have a double meaning but you know what I meant.”

It takes a while for him to figure out what you’re referring to but when he does, he just shakes his head. 

“I know what you meant and it’s totally fine. I didn’t take it the wrong way.”

“But still, I’m sorry,” you mutter. 

“It’s okay. Why are you always apologizing though?”

“Because I… don’t wanna do or say anything that’ll hurt you,” you admit. “I mean duh, I don’t want to do that to any of my friends but with you, it’s different.”

Jungkook’s thankful that of all the times he agreed to put on a mask, it was tonight, because at least you can’t see the way his face falls at your statement.

Different? What does that mean? Surely it can’t mean the same different he feels towards you because you haven’t acted out of the ordinary with him at all. 

But you’re unpredictable sometimes and he doesn’t really know what to expect.

“What do you mean?” He manages to ask.

“Like… it’s simple and unproblematic. We bicker, we tease, we comfort each other… You’re there when I need you; I’m there when you need me, but we don’t need each other all the time. You get what I mean? We’re close but not–”

“Too close?” He finishes.

“Yeah, and it’s a good thing,” you clarify. “It’s not like with Jimin where we get on each other’s nerves all the time but we worry about the other just as much. But that’s always how we’ve been. And with Tae… I miss him so much when he’s away but I can’t tell him that because I don’t want him to worry. And he worries a lot and that affects him.”

“Tae does worry a lot about you. At one point I thought there was…”

“Something more?” You chuckle, and Jungkook nods in response.

It’s something he asked his friend years ago but Taehyung insisted there wasn’t anything.

“I pushed myself so hard in university. And when I worked there after graduation, I lost myself for a bit and Tae was just always there. I guess I became dependent on him as a friend to an extent,” you explain. “So a bit of that still lingers. I want to tell him things but not every little thing so he doesn’t worry. And Jimin’s like family and families fight sometimes. All of that said, you and I have always been… normal, for lack of a better term.”

Jungkook hums, as he tries to find the right words to say. But he gets it. It’s not like he was ever jealous about your closeness with Taehyung or Jimin; it was just a fact he accepted because it had always been like that. A big part of it was definitely because he had Joo-yun early on, and that kept him from developing a closer bond with you unlike his friends. 

And while he regretted the part where he could’ve gotten closer to you much earlier, he supposes maybe it wasn’t that bad. Like you said, what both of you share is simple and unproblematic. There are no expectations, no fights, no secrets.

Well, maybe now there is, and Jungkook is a little guilty for feeling things while you continue believing that everything between both of you is simple. He reminds himself there are no expectations on his end and that as far as he knows, he’s not fully acting on whatever he feels. He’s just… going with the flow.

He recalls that conversation at your apartment about both of you wishing you’d been better friends to each other back then. For him, it was about knowing your struggles and being there for you. Perhaps it was that distance that led to this kind of friendship you have now. He stops himself short of thinking that while this is normal, so is getting used to each other and developing feelings. You’re not a believer of friends turning into lovers so maybe your definition of normal is also different.

He wills his thoughts to stop forming right now, not when you’re in the middle of something pretty serious. He wants to assure you that he’ll keep that unspoken promise you made about being better friends to each other. On one hand, that could mean not crossing any line and keeping things simple, like you said. On the other hand, it might also mean just being honest and making you feel comfortable in being the same.

“I don’t want to do or say anything that’ll hurt you, too,” he finally says. “Tell me if I do, yeah?”

“I will,” you nod, and he can sense a smile behind the mask. “Can I be honest though? It’s hard to continue being serious when you look like that.”

He nudges your knee. “You’re the one who wanted to put this on!”

“I know, but then I got carried away,” you laugh, pulling the sheet mask off your face now and throwing it in the trash. “We’ve been having more deep conversations lately, Kook. It’s like we turned 28 and then poof, we became mature.”

“It doesn’t work that way but sure, ___,” he chuckles, clearing his face now, too. “I think experience does that. We realize what we want for ourselves and others, what we’re willing to tolerate, and what we want to focus our energy on. And we’re barely 30. We’re not even close to our peak.”

“So I’m gonna be even more mature?” You gasp. “Are you gonna be ready for that?”

“Okay, much as I’d like to tease you, you honestly don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re wise and mature and deep and shit, and not just because you’re an intellectual,” he clarifies. “You’re a smart person who also feels things, and I think maturity stems from that.”

“Hmm, I suppose,” you say, yawning as you crawl into bed. “But you’re a lot more mature than I am.”

“I’ll take that,” Jungkook smiles. 

He lies in bed and turns off the night light. There’s a beat of silence before your sleepy voice echoes in the room.

“Kook?”

“Hmm?” 

“Thank you for always making me feel better about myself. It means a lot.”

Your deep breathing follows and he supposes you’ve already fallen asleep. He wishes he’d said something right away but he couldn’t find the words, like always. 

He holds onto the fact that that was your last thought before you knocked out and he was at least awake to hear it. He’s sure you know he heard you and that should be enough.

You wake up much better the next day, given that the room temperature was what you wanted. You were curled under the covers with your feet warm from your socks, and there’s just something refreshing about feeling cold in the morning. 

It’s a much earlier call time today, as you’ll be taking a train to a nearby town. You all get ready, and you’re doing your makeup in the living room while you glance at Jungkook doing his morning skincare routine. 

You remember a time when Hayoung used to scold him for not wearing sunscreen despite spending all day outdoors. Eventually he developed that habit, including putting on toner and moisturizer. He has a headband on and it causes you to giggle. 

Even without trying, Jungkook looks adorable sometimes. His oversized tan hoodie swallows his body. The way his hair falls over his forehead and his large, bright eyes make him look like a boba ball. There’s something so endearing about him as he alternates between two pairs of sunglasses because he can’t figure out which to wear. 

“Second one,” you call out. “It settles cutely on your nose.”

“I can’t tell if that’s an insult or…”

“I’m disappointed you’d even think I would ever insult your nose!” You gasp.

Walking towards him, you adjust the black jacket over his hoodie and fix his bangs.

“You’re so dramatic,” he chuckles, feeling his throat immediately dry up with you being so near him.

It’s another one of those normal things you do often that suddenly means more to him now. You’ve also always looked nice barefaced but when you’re made up and this close to him? He wonders if you’ve always been this pretty. 

“I mean it. This nose has super powers,” you say, pinching them out of reflex.

“And what does it do?”

“It keeps me from getting angry when I’m hungry. Too cute.”

“You’re so annoying,” he groans, as you laugh and yell out for your other friends to finish up.

They eventually do and you decide to separate from the older ones at least for today’s coffee run. You find a nice cafe and order some drinks and fluffy pancakes that’s perfect for this weather, and then you meet the rest in the train station for this morning’s little excursion.

The coastal train ride to Otaru, especially during winter, is apparently a must-do. And you agree, as you lean your head on Taehyung’s shoulder while the ocean comes into view. It’s so scenic, as the waves crash on the shore, just like that famous painting, and there’s that enchanting feeling once more in seeing the snow-covered town.

The 45-minute trip is spent looking at the views while talking to Mo-eum who sits in front of you, and occasionally taking photos of Jungkook and Jimin right behind you. You savor the simplicity of the experience and the fact that over a decade in, you still get to enjoy this with your friends. To remain this close and to have them so constant is a blessing, and something you don’t ever want to take for granted. 

You arrive in the port city and immediately fall in love with it. From the architecture to the historical mansions and quaint streets, it gives such a unique and warm vibe despite the icy winds and snowfall. 

You all decide to get hot drinks while you make your way to the frozen canal. There’s so much to see and just like yesterday, you take your time in taking in your surroundings, with the occasional snowball fight care of Jungkook at the expense of poor Jimin. It’s one of the few entertainment sources of the morning. There’s also making a Yoongi snowman and trying your butts at snow sledding using your puffer coats. The film cameras that Jungkook and Hoseok bring capture it all.

The group separates into two when you find a Music Box Museum that you want to explore while Jungkook and Yoongi choose a brewery to taste their season-exclusive drinks. Jimin and Gyu-rim join them so the rest of you head to the stunning building and look through thousands of music boxes and Christmas decorations. You reconvene after two hours and aren’t surprised when the other group brings back a few bottles of liquor that they said they wanted to try tonight.

You choose one of the dozen seafood restaurants on a popular street for lunch and you really can’t go wrong. This, for certain, is the freshest seafood you’ve ever had, and you spend the majority of your time eating just humming in satisfaction at everything you put in your mouth. And laughing, because while you admit to being dramatic sometimes, your friends overtake you in the eating department.

Because there’s Hoseok clapping after every new dish, there’s Jimin bowing his head down while moaning after every bite, there’s Gyu-rim cursing every five minutes, and then there’s Jungkook jumping in his seat and making the most bizarre hand gestures to express how delicious the food is. 

It was definitely an experience, and you’re glad that Taehyung insisted on doing this. 

You all walk back to the station to look at the other structures and to digest everything you ate. In less than an hour, you’re back in Sapporo and in your hotel room, needing the short break before the long drive to your next destination.

It’s hilarious Japanese reality TV shows and more convenience store snacks for an hour and a half in the living room before you leave late in the afternoon to head to another town. 

You decide to sit in the backseat with Taehyung and Mo-eum this time. If it were with any of the other two guys, there’ll definitely be a lot of smacking and pinching and you can’t afford to be violent during the drive. It’s peaceful enough, as you spend it just talking about random things and before you know it, you arrive at a restaurant for your yakiniku fix for dinner. 

The sun has set and you spend most of the ride with the windows down. The cold doesn’t seem to bother anyone and it’s just quiet - perhaps sentimental, too - until you reach your rented home for the next three days.

The place is stunning and you all thank Taehyung and Seokjin’s parents for covering your lodging because they said it’s been a while since you’ve been complete and you deserve the luxury this place brings. It’s something they often did and you suppose it’s just a rich family thing to do and you’re not one to complain. 

All four bedrooms are on the first floor and like always, the five of you younger ones take the biggest of them, which already has the mattress on the floor anyways that Taehyung calls dibs on. You climb up the stairs to the living and dining rooms and find a huge open space that’s perfect for all of you. It opens to an outdoor area that houses the hot tub and sauna.

You’re glad it’s a detached house. That way, you can laugh and stay up late as much as you want and it won’t bother anyone. You can’t wait to spend your nights here.

It’s just past 8 in the evening and Jimin suggests going for the hot tub and taking turns because not everyone’s gonna fit.

“Well, not everyone’s gonna dip,” Yoongi shrugs, as if you all don’t know he’s one of those people.

But he’s right. Seokjin, Hayoung, and Hoseok join him in being spectators as they sit on the table outside while the rest of you take a spot around the tub and take turns on entering it. 

You feel comfortable in your olive green bathing suit. Despite being out in the open, the heat from the water is enough to balance things out. There’s a spread of alcohol and other snacks that you pick from and like you expected, it’s a lot of laughter and reminiscing and discussing plans of future trips. 

You look at each of your friends, the people who have been with you for over a decade, and you think about all the years in between. You’ve all definitely matured. It’s not just in the wrinkles or the responsible alcohol consumption or the complaints about sore legs after today’s walking spree. 

It’s in the comfort of each other, the fulfilled promises of making time to be together despite the busy schedules and the distance. It’s in indulging what one person wants because doing anything as a group is the priority. It’s in the relief in your eyes knowing that at a time when people tend to lose sight of the important things, you’ve all made it a point not to lose each other. 

That brings you to another thought, something you voice out.

“We are such a good looking group of friends,” you state, almost out of nowhere. 

But really, from the camping trip that had you all looking a bit raggedy to this trip where you’ve been bunched up in thick clothes or with barely anything on, like right now, it’s something that just entered your mind.

“I’m surprised no one else decided to date each other apart from Seokjin and Hayoung,” you continue.

It’s not an uncommon topic amongst you. In fact, it’s one of those things you like teasing each other about, given all the history.

“Yoongi and Gyu-rim will. In 10 years,” Jimin states, and the people in question just shake their heads in response because this isn’t the first time and they’re unfortunately used to this. 

“Mo-eum and I have a pact that if we’re still single at 55, we’ll marry each other,” you announce.

“___, I was drunk when I agreed,” your best friend laughs.

“No taking it back. We pinky promised,” you glare at her.

“Yah! Both of you will surely find someone before then,” Taehyung exclaims.

“Well, it could’ve been you,” Mo-eum tells him.

A round of “oohs” echoes in the room, prompting her to smile sweetly and Taehyung to chuckle and say that’s probably true. 

It’s that kind of history you all like unearthing and resurfacing every once in a while. Come to think of it, it was over five years ago during your trip to Tokyo when your best friend revealed that she actually liked Taehyung during your junior year of college but she never had the guts to say anything, only for him to start liking her right after she got over it. 

The confession shook everyone because no one knew, even you. And knowing how your best friend is, it would’ve been something she was really shy or nervous about if she never told anyone. 

“Hoseok, care to top that?” Jimin teases now as he smirks at Suhyeon, who understandably splashes him with water. 

“No, I don’t,” Hoseok laughs. “Brat.”

“Well, that ship could’ve sailed if someone wasn’t such a coward about it,” Seokjin eyes him. 

Hoseok’s “what-if” with Suhyeon happened in real time, where everyone knew they had feelings for each other except for both of them. Despite all of you urging them to just make a move, one made a small step but the other was too scared to risk things and it didn’t fall through. 

Both of them now have partners outside of your friend group though, and they’re even better friends this time, something that Suhyeon points out.

“When you think about it, it’s really just about timing,” Namjoon reflects. “Whether it’s liking someone at a certain point or believing you’re ready enough to go for it, it’s about the other person being on the same boat - liking you at the same time and being ready when you are.”

“True. I mean, Hayoung and I luckily liked each other at the same time,” Seokjin nods.

“Liar. You had a crush on her the year before she admitted her feelings,” his younger brother calls him out.

“It was harmless!” Seokjin argues. “We went to a farm where the chickens chased her and she started running and yelling like crazy and I thought she looked adorable. It didn’t mean much until she couldn’t hold herself back from saying that she thought I was handsome.”

“It was still a crush,” Taehyung points out. 

“And it materialized a year later! That happens, too. Admiration or affection for someone doesn’t always mean it has to be something more right away,” the older man counters. “Sure, we could’ve dated much earlier if I’d said something but it also could’ve gone nowhere if I went for it right then. Or she could’ve rejected me. I didn’t wanna pressure her or make it feel like she had to return the feeling, which really was just a crush.”

“True,” Hayoung hums. “I probably would’ve thought he was unserious about it or I would’ve kept my distance because I didn’t feel anything then. Like Joon said, it’s about timing. Seokjin held out and thankfully, I got to him in time.”

“She ended up falling more in love with me so… it all worked out well,” Seokjin winks.

Everyone just laughs because you all know the truth - Seokjin is crazy about Hayoung. It’s a given that he’ll be the one bawling his eyes out during their wedding.

Jungkook laughs along as the teasing continues, thankful this time that given his history, people are a bit cautious of asking him about his thoughts when it comes to relationships. 

But his friends’ words linger in his mind, even as the conversation shifts to something new. 

Seokjin and Hayoung’s love story always seemed so simple to him - two friends who always got along well and one day realized they felt something more. Looking at how they are, it’s as if there’s really no one else made for them but each other. 

But of course, it’s never as simple as just confessing their feelings and being lucky that the other person felt the same way. It’s also about knowing what’s worth risking and when to do so. It’s about being ready to deal with the consequences, whether you’re taking a step back, forward, or staying right where you are. 

Like what Seokjin said, it isn’t always about being something more right away. Jungkook thinks that maybe feelings aren't something you just have; it’s something you settle into. 

The hours pass and Jungkook doesn’t notice them flying by. Between the conversations, the premier Japanese liquor and convenience store snacks, and lying on the snow by the edge of the deck then retreating to the hot tub, there’s a lot going on.

But he’s far from tired, and even if the temperature has dropped even lower, he still wants to stay out here and let his body relax.

The others have gone ahead to wash up and get ready for bed but there’s still you, Jimin, and Gyu-rim with him outside, talking about the latter’s non-existent but probable relationship with Yoongi. 

“You’re the most comfortable when you’re together and it’s the same with him,” Jimin points out. “That doesn’t happen overnight and it certainly doesn’t happen with just anyone. I’m just saying that it’s something to think about. Finding someone new isn’t the only option, you know?”

Gyu-rim, who surprisingly hasn’t smacked Jimin yet for all the years he’s been insisting on this, just chuckles in response. 

“I admire your commitment to this ship,” she concedes, knowing it’s better to just go along with the teasing than to react negatively. 

It’s Yoongi anyway and there’s nothing to feel negative about.

“Let’s just say that I have deep love for my friends and I want them to be with people who know how to love them, or would learn how to,” Jimin responds. “I’ll shut up about it after this but I just wanted to give you that nudge. I’ve learned my lesson with the two what-ifs in our group because we just all stood by.”

She argues that sometimes, standing by is the better option but that she’s also at that age where she just wants a companion. Jimin says that he knows that Yoongi does, too. 

Both of them eventually decide to retire for the night and you say you want to stay a little longer since you barely stayed in the tub. It’s just you and Jungkook now and with two people left, you take the chance to stretch your legs and submerge yourself in the hot water that you’ve slowly gotten used to. It even starts snowing and somehow that adds to your relaxation.

“So,” you turn to the man next to you who seems to be in awe of the snowfall as well. “You were quiet during all the relationship talk. You okay?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook replies, his head leaned back but facing towards you. “I guess I’m like you when I’m with more mature people. I just listen.”

“And reflect?”

“A bit of that,” he hums, shifting his gaze towards the trees now.

With you in that bathing suit next to him, it’s just another version of you that he suddenly finds pretty.

“About what?” You ask. 

“Settling into feelings, I guess. How we don’t always need to act on them right away because they could be mild or fleeting or confusing or just… something that develops over time and that needs time for it to be right or enough. Or certain.”

You let his words linger. It’s something you definitely can’t relate with.

“Wow. I wish I knew that before my past relationships that failed because of my feelings that I immediately acted on,” you laugh, almost mockingly, at yourself.

“Acting on them isn’t always wrong, though. You shoot your shot when you can and you don’t always have time,” Jungkook tries to comfort you. “You could lose your chance completely.”

“That’s true but then like I said before, I get excited and impatient. Looking back, I guess I never really settled into my feelings for the people I liked because, well, it wasn’t something I thought about.”

“Me, too. It’s just something that got to me while listening to them earlier. Nothing too deep. I guess time and experience make you see and realize things that were always there but never really thought much about,” Jungkook states. “Suddenly they mean a lot more now.”

It’s the closest to being honest he could be with you about the thoughts he’s been having. Somehow this makes him feel better. He’s not lying to you or anything. He’s just settling into these newfound feelings for you. 

Maybe they are fleeting or mild or confusing. Maybe it just needs time to develop into something that could be right and good enough for you, if it ever gets to that point. 

Being with you right now, he’s trying to figure out what it is. It’s still a mix of everything but he’ll be patient this time. One thing is for sure though - he doesn’t want to scare you. If anything, he just wants to keep you close enough for a little while longer. 

As you both lie in your beds later in the night - you next to Mo-eum and him next to Jimin - there’s space in between that perhaps resembles where you both are right now. You’re both lying on your sides and you stick your tongue out at him as good night right before you turn the light off. 

He smiles to himself. It’s a good view from where he is.  

It’s a little chaotic in the morning as all 12 of you take turns in the three bathrooms to get ready. People are washing their faces and brushing their teeth next to and behind each other. The men are dressing up in the hallways and in the living room while the women are behind closed doors. 

And then there’s Hayoung and Suhyeon making sure there are enough water bottles for everyone and Hoseok who’s reminding you all about the proper outerwear and boots for today’s activity. 

Right as you’re dressed, you feel the energy surge through you. You haven’t gone skiing in years and you’re looking forward to trying it again this time. Everyone else seems to feel the same way, especially Jungkook who keeps mumbling that he’s excited and pretty much skipping all around the house.

You put your heavy coats in the trunk and head out for a fairly long drive. You call shotgun because you like getting a wider view of the snowy streets and everyone agrees because it’s you. Jungkook drives like always, insisting that he genuinely enjoys it.

You arrive at a rest stop shortly after, as you all decided to just get snacks from there for breakfast. You divide and conquer - Jungkook orders the food and you join him because you’re curious, while the rest get the drinks. 

Ordering at the ticket machine, you and Jungkook get excited about which snacks to get, even if you were confused about which buttons to press and when to pay. But you manage and buy a few flavors of the fried rice balls and croquettes then head back to the car. You start eating before Mo-eum and Taehyung return with the rest of the drinks and by the time Jungkook restarts the engine, he’s already devoured two of them.

He keeps both hands on the wheel and his eyes focused on the road while the rest of you munch on the food, humming in satisfaction and singing your praises. 

You see his gaze constantly flit to the rice cake you’re eating. You think he’s probably itching to have one right now but he doesn’t want to risk putting you all in danger so you take out a piece for him to eat. Knowing he’s wary of the drive, you feed him and cup your hand under his mouth in case a piece falls. 

“Hmm, that’s so good,” he moans, angling his head to the side for another bite.

You chuckle as he tries to get as much of it in his mouth so you appease him and say you’ll feed him so he can still eat them while they’re hot. He beams at you so endearingly and with his blue beanie and loose jacket on, he looks like a kid with his bunny smile and innocent doe-eyes. 

It’s a complete shift from last night where he was half naked in the tub, toned abs and tattooed arm on full display. Like boys do, he, Jimin, Taehyung, and even Namjoon were all showing off their biceps and posing ridiculously like bodybuilders, triggering a pose-off and tummy ache-inducing laughter from the rest of you. 

You can’t say it’s something that surprised you. Jungkook’s always been an athlete. You watched some of his swimming competitions when you were in college. You’ve also had dozens of beach trips. Toned bodies like what your friends have are normal to you and you’re often unbothered. They’re used to walking around without a shirt on and they have never felt shy around you; none of you girls ever felt bothered by it, either. 

But you’re still a woman with fully functioning eyes and can appreciate a pretty physique when you see one. Jungkook just happens to possess it and being in close proximity to him reminded you of that. It’s just a funny thing to remember seeing how he is now. There’s just something so charming about him that makes you smile.

You continue feeding yourself and him throughout the drive, with him losing it with the cheese croquette, his favorite one out of everything. You bring up his iced americano to his lips, too. It’s your way of thanking him, you tell yourself, as he’s been taking on the long drives like always. 

You finally make it to the ski resort and Jungkook skips all the way to the lobby. You all rent your accessories and equipment then head to the gondola all the way to the top. Despite the powdery snow, there’s still so much of it that it’s a struggle to even walk.

The view is stunning and the weather is cold and bright yet you already know you’re gonna suffer. But it’s the good kind. You’ll just brace through all the falls and face plants you’ll make but you’ll at least have fun.

It’s a group decision to snowboard first. As expected, there’s the group that can do it, and another that can definitely do better. The Kim brothers grew up doing this so their skills are not a surprise. Hayoung has done it a few times since dating Seokjin so she’s not bad at all. Namjoon is surprisingly good with his balance, Mo-eum is just good at anything sporty, and Jungkook obviously quickly relearned the ropes even though it's been years since the last time he’d done it.    

And then there’s Yoongi who settles with little hops down the mountain and Gyu-rim just laughing along as they semi slide all the way. There’s Suhyeon content with cheering you on despite constantly landing on her butt, Jimin who falls after every turn, and then you who falls right behind him. 

You’re just as tired at laughing at your mishaps than you are with all the face planting and swimming through snow you’ve both been doing. But you always end up turning on your back and marveling at your surroundings and the feel of the snow under you. At one point, you and Jimin almost give up.

You do manage two rounds down the slope while the others end up with a few more. You all rest at the cafe for a bit at Yoongi’s request and watch the few clips some of you managed to get of each other going down the mountain. 

Skiing is a lot more doable. It’s something you’ve done more than once so it’s not hard to relearn it. But with now-sore legs and overworked muscles from all the laughing and tensing up, it’s still definitely a lot more than you can handle. But you push through because it’s seriously a lot of fun. 

The snow is falling hard by the time you finish. Your hands feel frozen and your nose feels numb. Your legs and knees are definitely sore, and you feel the pain once you start going down the stairs. 

Hayoung, who overdid herself a little, climbs on Seokjin’s back. You whine because you’re in pain, too, but you don’t want to trouble any of your friends who might be just as tired.

Taehyung stands next to you and chuckles at your pouty face and your eyes that are focused on your cousin and his brother.

“Do you want a piggyback ride, too?” he asks.

You nod and give him your puppy eyes, waiting for him to offer you one.

“Okay. Kook!” he yells out behind him. “Our princess needs a ride.”

Jungkook looks at him questioningly then you. “What?”

Taehyung eyes the couple not far ahead and Jungkook takes the hint.

“Ah,” he says, looking at your tired form. “Your legs hurt?”

“I can’t feel them anymore,” you wail.

You’re so dramatic that it makes Jungkook chuckle, prompting you to weakly smack his arm. But he gives in this time, seeing how helpless you look.

“Fine. Jump,” he tells you, bending low to help you get on his back then gripping your thighs to keep you steady.

It’s not a long walk back to the car but it isn’t an easy one, so you constantly apologize in between your grumbles of being in pain. 

“I’ll pay for your drink at the whiskey museum tomorrow,” you promise him. 

“Tempting but you don’t have to,” he says. “It’s fine. Being your carriage is totally a normal thing.”

“Hey,” you cry out. “Please? I’ll treat you something.”

“Or you can just say thank you. Really, ___. You don’t have to pay me back for every good thing I do for you.” He slowly puts you down and turns to face you. “Just… stretch and relax. The hot tub will help so get on it later. And maybe don’t snore too loud tonight.”

You laugh at the last part because of course he’ll sneak that in even if it’s unrelated, but you agree.

Sitting at the back this time, you lean your head on Taehyung’s shoulder as you slowly doze off. He opens the window to let the cold air in to wake you up a little but you still fall asleep shortly after.

Jungkook glances at you from the rearview mirror. His heart did a thing again earlier when you had your arms around his neck, and then again when you sweetly smiled at him and said thank you before you entered the car. 

It’s a little different this time though as it feels more like floating. Looking at you peacefully napping, it continues to do just that.

The famous soup curry is famous for a reason. It’s rich despite the thin broth and the meat is soft and tender. It’s exactly what you need after this morning’s adventure and paired with the draft beer, it’s every bit satisfying. 

You gain a bit more energy after lunch, which you quickly expend during the car ride. Taehyung is the designated driver this time. Jungkook couldn’t resist the beer earlier, so you sit between him and Jimin and they alternate between teasing you mercilessly and cooing at you. 

You play the injured card, quickly clarifying that it’s your ego that's bruised after face planting so many times. Mo-eum from the front says everyone was laughing at Jimin and Yoongi more than they were laughing at you. They expected you’d fall but that the other two looked like adorable baby pandas who couldn’t get their shit together in the snow.

It’s mid-afternoon by the time you get home, which is where you’ll be staying for the rest of the day. Everyone picks their spot in the common room and you take your place on the large couch next to Hayoung. The Switch is turned on and a battle begins but you can barely keep up as not long after, you doze off.

Jungkook manages to win one game of Mario Kart before he heads out with Yoongi to buy what they’ll need for tonight’s dinner. It’s an hour later when they return and when they do, you’re still lying down on the same spot, softly snoring and getting some needed rest. He brings out the muscle spray he bought at the pharmacy and Jimin is the first one to take it. It’s passed around and when it’s returned to him, he briefly looks at you to check if you’re already awake.

You aren’t, even with the shrieking going on because of everyone’s epic fails on Fall Guys.  You have your hands together tucked under your cheek and your head laying on a pillow on Hayoung’s lap. There’s this urge to tease you about still being so tired but also to move your hair out of your face and caress your cheek.

He’s a little alarmed when you start opening your eyes, paranoid that he might’ve said something while fondly looking at you or if telepathy is actually real and you’d read what was going through his mind. But you mumble something instead and shift your body for a more comfortable position. He kneels down next to you and asks what you were saying.

“Did you beat Hoseok?” You mutter.

“Yeah, earlier,” he replies. “But I haven’t played since. Yoongi and I bought stuff at the supermarket. I got muscle spray for soreness, too.”

That piques your interest, as you open your eyes wider and ask where it is. 

“Jimin’s hogging it. Let me get it from him.”

He gets back to you with the bottle and you lift your pajama pants to expose your legs. Your puppy eyes tell him that you want him to do it for you. He chuckles but gets to it right away, gripping your foot and spraying the liquid on your limbs. You linger, and Jungkook instinctively sits down and lays your legs on his lap, gently massaging them. 

You moan in satisfaction and urge him to continue, earning you another chuckle. He works on your joints and your calves, knowing they just need to relax and that you’ll feel better soon enough. You’re lying on your back this time, but then Hayoung says she’ll go to the bathroom so you sit up and watch Jungkook work on your legs. 

“You would’ve been a good therapist if you chose that path instead of teaching,” you tell him.

“My dad said the same thing. I used to massage him after a long day of laboring when I was younger,” he laughs. “Glad I haven’t lost my touch.”

“You’re good. I approve.”

Your face contorts in pain when he kneads the tender parts and you try to move his hand towards a different area.

“But that’s where it hurts,” he insists. “I’ll go gentle, I promise.”

You let him, but your hand remains gingerly on top of his just in case. He keeps his word and goes easy on you. 

“Get in the hot tub later, yeah? That’ll help,” he advises.

You nod and instead of lying back down, you lean on his shoulder while he continues massaging you. You think you can fall back asleep with how this feels.

But then Gyu-rim suggests watching a horror movie because the last time you did that in the forest was so memorable that she wants to laugh at the scaredy-cats again. 

So Taehyung puts some Japanese thriller he finds on the shelf and dims the lights, resulting in 90 minutes of shrieks, curses, the occasional “I give up” from Hoseok, and the timely laughter from the horror enthusiasts. It’s quite the experience but it’s the perfect build up to dinner.

Yoongi lays out a spread of sushi and various salads for your appetizer while baking slabs of premium beef in the oven. Jungkook makes a Japanese pork offal and vegetable soup dish that sounds so perfect for tonight. Everyone else is busy drinking and eating while he’s glued next to the pot so you go to him.

He turns to you and eyes the plate of sushi you’re holding.

“Is it good?” He asks.

“So good. So fresh,” you hum. “Here, have some before they finish it all.”

You feed him some, an act that’s somehow become reflexive for you these past days, and he nods in approval. You get a few more pieces and alternate between feeding yourself and him.

The aroma of the broth wafts through your senses and you can’t wait to dip your rice in a bowl of all that goodness.

“Is it done yet?” you peek inside the pot.

“You wouldn’t know even if you tried,” he teases,

“Oh shush,” you nudge him. 

He laughs but he takes out a spoon, fills it with broth, then blows on it before feeding you. 

“Yup, my chef palette says that’s good.”

To his surprise, it is, and you make a claim that you’ve gotten better at this. 

It’s at the same time when Yoongi says that the meat is ready so you all gather at the dining table and have dinner. You finish with matcha tiramisu and cheesecake for dessert.

You start cleaning up with Namjoon and Taehyung while the rest of your friends either move back to the living room or head to the hot tub. You can hear them laughing and playing around outside, no doubt lying on the snow again or doing something silly, but you focus on your task then get dressed before heading out the deck.

You sit with Jimin and Suhyeon while the others take a rest. Just like last night, you alternate again so everyone gets a chance to take a dip. You end up staying a little longer, hoping the hot water will relax your muscles and get you feeling better for your last full day tomorrow. 

One-by-one, your friends leave the tub to wash up, as the temperature continues to drop. You’re left with Jungkook once again and he sits next to you, both of your heads rolled back, and the sounds of the wind and bubbling water filling the space.

“Feel better?” He asks.

“Yup. I wanna stay here longer but I don’t wanna stay up too late and I still wanna drink,” you say, somehow feeling like the day is too short for you to do everything you want, even if you’ve done so much already.

“We can stay for a couple more minutes. Being here for too long isn’t good, anyway.”

“Fine,” you agree. “But today was a good one. Thanks for my massage.”

“What have I not done for you at this point?” He laughs. 

“I’m a spoiled brat, aren’t I?” You call yourself out. 

“A little bit,” he playfully shakes his head. 

“Well, thanks for putting up with me,” you mumble, and he assures you that it’s not as bad as you make it sound.

Namjoon, Yoongi, and Gyu-rim go out to drink at the picnic table on the other end of the deck and they raise their glasses to you in acknowledgement, warning you of Jimin possibly finishing off the sake if you don’t stop him.

You say you’ll wash up soon but remain on your spot, occasionally stretching your legs, until you return your focus to Jungkook and shift to face him. 

With his whole lower body submerged in the water and only his neck and his damp hair on the surface, he doesn’t look as intimidating so you start playing around with his hair and attempt to tie a ponytail at the top, resembling a sprout. He grumbles under his breath but he doesn’t say a word. He just closes his eyes and lets you do what you want.

For Jungkook, an attempt to stop you would be futile. That would entail fighting you off and getting a little too close in such a small space, which again would be deemed normal if it wasn’t for his growing fondness for you. He tries to just watch what you’re doing but given your proximity, he thinks that closing his eyes would be better for his stupid heart.

“Ooh, you’re letting me tie your hair,” you point out. “That’s new.”

“I’d have to pry you away for you to stop and I don’t want you falling out of this tub or something,” he reasons.

“Hmm, you have a point.”

You giggle when you finish, and it’s at the same time that Taehyung appears behind the glass door and waves. He spots Jungkook’s sprout and starts laughing, too. Opening the door, he coos at his friend and pulls up his phone to take a photo.

You immediately scoot closer to Jungkook and pose multiple times before your friend gives a thumbs up sign and walks back inside the house. You can see the rest of them still in the dining room, looking like they’re playing card games and downing the remaining bottles of alcohol you’ve all been buying since you arrived.

Jungkook stands up from the tub and turns to the door to see what he looks like through his reflection. He frowns at you in response.

“Okay, sprout off,” you say once he sits on the ledge. “It doesn’t fit the muscle bunny Jungkook vibe.”

“What?”

“Your hair has to match your body. It looked fine when you were submerged in the water,” you reason, pulling the hair tie off him. “Now with these muscles and these abs and this tattoo sleeve, it’s a mismatch.”

“How is it that you analyze even these things?” He questions.

“It’s my brain. It just does.”

He descends back down once the cold air becomes too much and you’re just there, so close yet so far like many times before. There’s that urge to get even closer and just examine your face, now that he’s looking at you in a new light. 

Settling in the feeling, he reasons to himself. Figuring out if it’s fleeting or something more. 

He repeats the words in his head as he watches you flounder in the tub. You move to the end near the railing and the snow lightly falls on your head. It almost feels romantic, as you sit there with a soft look on your face and a sweet smile as you let the snow touch your skin. 

But with you, unpredictability is a thing. Before he knows it, you’re scooting back close to him. You lift his right arm from under the water and start pointing out the tattoos that you think are new.

“I just had them colored. Some were redone,” he explains.

“Ahh,” you reply, wiping off the droplets on some areas so you can see them better, unknowing of the shivers you’re causing. “So do you just wear a jacket every time you’re at the school?”

“Pretty much,” he hums. “When it’s hot, I wear a shirt and then an arm sleeve to cover it up. Thankfully they weren’t too strict about it, although I was almost not accepted because of it. I just made up some story that I was trying to be cool in college so I got them but I straightened myself out and wanted a fresh start so I became a teacher.”

“Wow what a liar,” you respond. “You were getting new ones even after you got the job.”

“I know. But they don’t know that,” he laughs.

“I think it looks cool on you.”

“You called it a muscle bunny vibe,” he deadpans.

“It’s because you have an adorable bunny face but your body’s ripped. Bunnies are fluffy, chunky babies. They have puffy cheeks. They don’t have abs.”

“They could. If they exercised.”

His comment sounds ridiculous and it makes you laugh, as an image of a bunny doing crunches flashes in your mind. You think he imagines that, too, as he laughs right after. It’s a silly thing but it’s one of many things that you talk to Jungkook about. One evening you’re reflecting about feelings and relationships and the next, you’re picturing bunnies exercising. 

“Yah, you two,” Yoongi’s voice cuts through your muffled laughter. “It’s getting too cold. You might get sick. Wash up soon.”

“We will already, uncle,” you grin at him. 

You stand up and slowly make your way to the steps but Namjoon tells you to stop so Jungkook can help you down and avoid a probable accident. So he does, walking ahead of you then down the stairs before you take his hand and follow him. 

Your room is still empty when you get your clothes. When you return after your bath, Mo-eum and Taehyung are on your bed, watching something on the laptop. Clearly yesterday’s conversation about their history didn’t change anything between them, as they’re as comfortable next to each other as they’ve always been. 

There are still a few people at the dining table when you go there for a few drinks. You get the sake before Jimin finishes the bottle and you drink it and then some. 

One-by-one, they start to retire for the night. You have a glass of beer that you want to keep drinking whereas Jungkook lost to rock-paper-scissors so he’s finishing the cup of mixed alcohol as penalty, so you both stay behind.

You tell him that he can throw it down the drain and you can keep it a secret but he honors the rock-paper-scissors code, he insists, so he’ll finish it off.

Keeping each other company has become a pattern for both of you recently, but you suppose it’s just the timing of everything. He moved into an apartment his cousin owns that’s closer to his school last year; it also happens to be 15 minutes away from you. 

Both of you aren’t in relationships so it’s easier to hang out. Plus, you committed yourself to maintaining a work-life balance after you suffered burnout some months ago, and that’s meant switching off during the weekends and being a lot… calmer, you think. Probably less erratic and maybe more bearable.

All of those circumstances just happened to take place around the time Taehyung came home and commenced his role of being the trip planner. Before then, you and Jungkook were either in a relationship or neck-deep into your job or both. 

You were definitely a different person back then and you suppose he was, too. Now, you get to spend time together and just enjoy each other’s presence, something you always have but something you get to experience differently this time. 

And it’s a good feeling, something that you don’t express out loud. Not that you think he’ll judge you or anything but only because somehow, you think he’s thinking the same thing. 

You do your final cheers then clean up before brushing your teeth and heading to your room, ready to finally rest.

Except when you get there, you find Jimin sprawled on the mattress on the floor this time with the phone on his face, no doubt having fallen asleep while playing his games. Mo-eum and Taehyung are fetus-curled on either side of your bed, softly snoring. 

That leaves one bed for you and Jungkook, and the realization that this has never happened before hits you. Not that it’s uncomfortable; it’s just that you’ve always been closer to the other guys and he’s always been closer to Mo-eum. Still, you don’t mind but he seems like he does.

“I can sleep on the couch,” he mumbles.

“It’s soft but not as soft as this bed. We can just stay here. You need proper sleep and this is big enough for both of us,” you insist. “Is that okay with you? I mean, I’ve slept next to the guys before.”

“Yeah, and you’ve either elbowed or kicked each one of them. More than once,” he reminds you.

“Is that why you don’t want to sleep here?” You ask worriedly.

He hates it but Jungkook half-lies.

“Yup.”

You think about it for a second but still insist. He’s already slept on the couch in the other hotel and you don’t want him to do that again.

“Nah, you’re strong. You can handle me,” you wink.

“Fine,” he grumbles, mockingly laughing at himself for giving in so easily once again.

“Don’t worry, there’ll be a pillow between us,” you assure him.

“Yeah, whatever. By the way, they left the blinds open. You don’t like the light, right?”

“Hmm, I usually don’t and I know you don’t, too, but uh… Can we leave it up? I wanna fall asleep and wake up to that sight,” you say, gesturing towards the snow-covered branches of the trees right outside the window.

“Sure.”

Jungkook climbs in bed next to you with the pillow in the middle, even if he knows you’ll hog that, too, because apparently, you like hugging something when you sleep. 

You’re on your side with your eyes glued to the window and he lays on his side as well, facing you.

“I’ve been so enchanted by this city and how the snow covers everything,” you whisper, no doubt being sentimental at this time. “I just want to ingrain the image of this place in my mind as much as I can. Jimin got me so fascinated with snow. I used to not care much about it.”

“I’ll get you a snowglobe in one of the shops tomorrow then,” he smiles. “That might help.”

“It will,” you groggily smile back. “You’re so sweet, Kook. I’m glad we–”

And just like that, you’ve fallen asleep.

It’s fitting how the night ends, he thinks. There’s a short distance separating both of you but so many years and memories in between. You’ve always been there just as the snow has always been around, yet it takes something, or someone - perhaps a moment - to make him look at things in a different light.

Has it always been like this? Have you always been like that? What was it these past months that made the difference? 

He’s unsure but he doesn’t want to overthink. Just like you, he wants to ingrain this in his mind as much as he can. He’ll deal with whatever comes after when it comes.

The first sliver of light cuts through your eyelids and you curl yourself closer to the pillow to hide your face. It works only a little, and you mentally curse yourself for leaving the blinds up. No one else seems bothered because no one’s put them down yet. It would’ve been Jungkook but you suppose he’s too exhausted.

You turn to your side and find his tattooed arm over his eyes and you kind of feel bad. So you get up and walk towards the window, marvel at the trees for a few seconds, then pull down the blinds. You return to bed and go back to sleep, knowing you’ll see it again later on. And tomorrow, too, for the last time.

You wake up two hours later to Jungkook saying that the guys have made breakfast. You stretch your legs and ask him if he can put on the muscle spray again even if you’re feeling a little better. He does, and you smile when he briefly massages your calves before he pulls you up from the bed.

Everyone else has gone up so you head to the dining table and find a spread of scrambled eggs, bacon and sausages, toast, and pastries. Hayoung and Gyu-rim apparently watched a cooking show this morning and immediately craved a Western breakfast, so Yoongi and Seokjin went to the supermarket to grab ingredients and cooked them. 

It smells amazing, and you hum in delight at how good it is. It feels so foreign yet it tastes like comfort. 

There’s no rush in spending your last full day. You drive to explore a quaint town then hang out at a cafe to play with cats and drink coffee. You go to a whiskey museum and laugh at Jungkook and Jimin doing some role play by the bar. 

You try some samplers and end up getting Jungkook one of the bottles he chose not to get because he’s used up all his alcohol budget for this trip. You give it as a surprise while walking back to the car.

“___, I told you you didn’t need to get me anymore,” he groans.

“Yeah but.. You carried me, you've been massaging me… And you’re gonna drive me home tomorrow,” you say.

“So what, should I expect you to get me something every time I do something for you?”

“Uh… no.”

“Exactly, so there’s no need to.”

“Too bad, it’s already paid for,” you shrug. “Plus, you looked so sad when you had to give it up. You were pouting your lips and pep talking yourself into accepting that you weren’t gonna get it.”

“I’m also an adult who’ll get over it,” he points out.

“Well, just think of it as a birthday or Christmas gift or something.”

“You’ve never gotten me either of those,” he deadpans.

“Exactly! So here,” you chirp, placing the bottle in his hand. “Belated happy birthday and advanced Merry Christmas.”

He laughs at your persistence but accepts that this is how you are. Again, it’s the tenderness of your personality that he’s been experiencing these past few weeks that builds on the fondness, that makes him enjoy being around you.

“Fine. Thank you,” he finally smiles and accepts. 

Not long after, you go to a street lined with local shops. That’s where Jungkook finds you a snowglobe of this town. He gets you another one of a tree with a deer next to it. He’s also never gotten you a gift so he says it’s for all the years that he missed out on. 

Later in the night, after having dinner at a hotpot place and spending the rest of it reminiscing about the trip over tea and milk, you lay on your side next to Mo-eum, as you’ve returned to your original sleeping arrangements. You place both snowglobes on the night table next to you, as if in replacement of the view from your window. 

“Careful, you might hit and break them,” Jungkook warns from not far away.

“I think my body can only recognize body parts when it’s hitting something,” you laugh. “But don’t worry, they’ll be safe.”

“They better. They’re your reminder of this place.”

“Well, years from now when I still feel my sore joints, I’ll be reminded of Sapporo,” you laugh. 

Jungkook laughs, too, and thinks that while you’ll have those as a reminder, he has this other than the bottle of whiskey you got him - this view of you smiling at him as you fall asleep.

Even if you remain as friends, years from now he’ll think of this trip and how you made it enchanting for him with the moments, the silence, and all your unspoken words.

You leave Sapporo the next afternoon.

It’s quite a drive to the airport and you savor the scenery as you pass the snow-covered mountains and frozen lakes for the last time. 

You sit next to Jungkook again on the flight home, with your head leaned on his shoulder while you both look at the photos in the shared photo album. He drops you off at your apartment after you all have dinner at a restaurant and the entire drive had you laughing and teasing each other, same as how you spent the entire trip.

He helps you unload your luggage and walks it up to the entrance to your apartment building.

The snow starts falling at this time and you ruffle Jungkook’s hair and call him out for not wearing his beanie.

“I’ll live,” he laughs.

You just smile in response, thankful that you spent the past week making new memories with this man you feel you don’t have enough of. It’s weird how a trip can do that - make you experience someone you’ve known for a decade as if for the first time. 

But you suppose life is like that. We focus on certain things at certain points of our lives depending on who and where we are at that time. We rediscover people and feelings and friendships and maybe that’s what living means. Those that remain are the ones that matter.

“Enjoy the holidays, okay? And have a safe trip home tomorrow,” he says.

You’re riding with Hayoung to Gwangju in the morning and Jungkook’s driving to Busan with Jimin in the afternoon. 

“And don’t hurt yourself. Your legs are still a bit sore,” he reminds you.

“I’ll be alright,” you say confidently. 

He chuckles and heads back to his car. You wave him goodbye for the last time then head to your apartment.

Five minutes later, you text him.

[To: bunny kook] I stubbed my toe on the couch 🙁

He laughs out loud and decides to call you. You don’t need him to come back, you say, but you wail that you miss him already.

He knows what you mean but it doesn’t stop his heart from doing that thing again. He ends up talking to you on the phone throughout his drive and while you’re both unpacking and then packing again for your respective trips. 

You hang up first and Jungkook already dreads what these next few weeks of being away from you would mean.

Settling into the feeling could mean accepting that proximity is the biggest factor and that being physically apart is what’ll make him get back to how things used to be. He could also be convinced it wasn’t much anyway. 

It could mean settling into the idea that both of you have changed over the years and have truly committed to just being better friends for each other. 

Or it could mean that there really is something more, and he’s gonna have to figure out how to live with that, whether or not you feel the same way.

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[losers-clvb]

rebounded dean winchester x sam's ex-girlfriend!reader

content: mentions of sam cheating on reader in the beginning, sam and dean are estranged brothers, dean gets competitive with sam, smut (grinding, fingering, dirty talk, finger sucking, nipple play, slight mentions of marking, incorrect use of kitchen table, unprotected piv penetration, breeding kink (but no actual breeding, trust, not in this economy!), very very very brief use of "daddy", praise), sam calls during the smut and they answer, fluff

word count: 3.2k

note: this is a part two to "rebound". special thanks to @amourcri3s and @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth for inspiring this in the comments. here is reader's revenge on toxic!sam.

Surprise, surprise, Sam Winchester broke your heart. Again.

You were sure it couldn’t get worse than this situation.

You had come home from work, already having a shitty day, and all you wanted to do was cuddle up into the arms of your boyfriend. Unfortunately, he already had someone cuddled up into his arms.

Though, it was technically less cuddled up and more him fucking up into her while pornstar-quality moans filled the space.

You don’t know how long you had stood in the doorway, just watching them with watering eyes. When Sam finally looked up, he wasn’t kind enough to look remorseful or even shocked.

“Come join us, baby.” Sam had beckoned to you. You had let out a cry in response, dropping your purse to the floor.

Fast forward a heartbreakingly long 72 hours and you were fumbling with the key to Sam’s own apartment. You knew he was gone. Mason had managed to track him down, finding his location to be in a different state with the same girl he had bouncing on his dick on your couch.

You needed to grab your things and run. You were never getting back together with him, and this, taking back the few possessions that you kept at Sam’s place, would help you fully get away from him.

You took in a breath before stepping inside, quietly closing the door behind you.

“Mmm, you are not my little brother.”

You jumped, a small shriek humming from your throat. What the hell? No one was supposed to be here.

Your eyes flew to the small couch in the corner of the living room space where a man, a very attractive man, sat with a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He smirked at you, tilting his head to the side.

“Who are you?” The hot guy asked. You shivered at the way he growled the last word.

“I’m just gonna go,” you mumbled, wrapping a hand around the door handle.

“You his girlfriend?”

Your fingers tingled with the familiar sensation you got when you were about to cry. Girlfriend. You weren’t, not after everything, but it was still hard to say out loud. You looked over your shoulder at the stranger, lip jutted out.

“Ah,” he sighed, like he knew about all the lies and manipulation just from your sad eyes. “What’d the bitch do?”

You blinked at him. Why did he care so much?

“Who are you?” You asked this time, voice small. He gave you a crooked smile.

“Dean.” When you furrowed your brows in confusion -- how were you supposed to know who Dean was? -- he continued. “Sammy’s big brother.”

“Oh.” Was all that you could say in response.

“He didn’t tell you about me.” Dean stated. He knew the answer.

After Dean caught his ex on her knees with Sam’s dick in her mouth just a week after they’d broken up, his and Sam’s fight had been too much to come back from. Fists flew, words were spat out, and Dean sped off in the Impala before he killed his little brother.

“I guess it slipped his mind while he was balls-deep in Kristy on my couch.” You immediately replied. You didn’t know where the sudden anger came from. Years of repressing it, maybe?

“You got a mouth on ya, sweetheart.” Dean smirked, enjoying every moment of this. He’d come to see Sam, maybe try to piece things back together since they were the only family they both had left. With you standing in front of him in the prettiest lavender dress he’d ever seen, he was quickly switching plans.

It was only fitting Dean sleep with Sam’s ex-girlfriend, just to even things out.

“Sorry.” You cringed at the apology that slipped out on instinct. Sam was always getting you to take the blame for things.

He had a bad day? It was all because you didn’t make his coffee in the morning. He flirted with a waitress? Well, maybe you should’ve given him head in the car before going into the restaurant. Even when he slept with other people, it was somehow your fault for not wanting to sleep with him the week beforehand. And you believed it every single time.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about.” Dean beckoned you over, gesturing with his hand. “C’mere, angel.”

You hesitated. You shouldn’t be here, alone in Sam’s apartment with his older brother, who was making you feel so much better without even trying. You almost turned back around, walked out the door, and left this entire mess behind you. Almost.

Dean’s eyes were locked onto yours while you walked over. Your boots -- the ones Mason bought for you as a “reward for leaving that douche for good” -- made soft thumps on the flooring. You stood in front of him, fidgeting with the hem of your dress.

“You still love him?” Dean finished off the rest of his drink and deposited the glass on the window sill near the couch. You shrugged. Yes was the answer that first popped into your mind until you remembered Sam’s proud grin at getting caught.

“I can help you forget him.” Dean spoke again, throwing his arms up casually on the cushions behind him. You dared to glance down at his spread legs. They looked like they would be nice to sit on. You wondered if he would feel like Sam, if he would be able to make you come like Sam had.

Only one way to find out, you decided.

You sank down into his lap, knees on either side of Dean’s thighs. Your dress rode up, lacy panties pressing against the seam of his jeans. He clutched onto your hips. If you wanted to, you could stand back up, no problem, but the grip still felt possessive, like you were his and he wasn’t ever letting you go.

You liked that.

“You wanna let me kiss you, pretty girl?” Dean asked, grinning at you again.

You swallowed down your hesitancy this time. You needed this. What was that thing Mason had said the last time you broke up with Sam? “The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else”? You were certainly going to take her advice this time.

Cupping his cheeks in your hands, you kissed him. You were thrown off by his hunger as he kissed you back. He was motivated by something, this wasn’t just another lay. You didn’t care to ask. What difference would it make?

You rocked your hips into his, humming when you brushed against his belt buckle.

“Fuck, sweetie,” Dean growled into your skin when he moved to your jaw and neck. You slid your hands down his face, over his chest, onto the growing bulge that was pressing into your heat.

“Please,” you breathed when he bit into the side of your neck, just enough to leave a bruise, his tongue flattening against it to soothe.

“‘Please’ what?” Dean teased. His hands found their way up your bare thighs.

“Please make me forget your brother ever existed.”

Dean ignored the twitch in his cock and instead pressed both of his thumbs onto your clit. The lacy cloth did nothing to cushion the pressure. You moaned, kissing him again.

Your teeth and tongues gnashed against each other. Your shared saliva was spreading across your chins. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, not when Dean was rubbing circles into you.

The connection only broke to allow space for your dress to pass over your head, then he was right back onto you. You were glad you’d chosen not to wear a bra that day. It was just one less layer between you and Dean.

“Sammy ever fuck you good? He make you see Heaven when you come?” Dean groaned into your mouth, palming at one of your breasts, a thumb still swirling on your clit.

“Mhm…,” you answered, half-moan. You couldn’t lie. It was the one thing Sam was actually good at in your relationship. The man knew how to fuck.

Dean didn’t seem to like that. It was as if you had told him that he wasn’t good at sex purely because his brother was.

“I’m gonna be better.” He growled and pulled your panties to the side. He slipped two fingers into you, making you arch forward into him, whining in pleasure. You had no doubt in your mind he would be better, just from the sheer confidence he held.

“Dean,” you sighed as he moved his fingers skillfully.

“That’s right,” Dean curled them forward, right into that spongy spot that had your spine giving out from holding you up. You were completely draped onto him, not that it slowed his pace. “Remember my name. By the end of the night, it’s the only thing you’re gonna know.”

You held onto his shoulders, soft moans leaving your lips. You muttered his name like it was a sacred chant.

“De… oh, I’m…,” you couldn’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. He knew what you were trying to say. He licked into your mouth, moving his tongue in sync with the way his fingers were pumping and curling.

You came with a moan of his name, just the way he wanted. It wasn’t the last time he’d be inside you. He was never going to get enough of those noises leaving your mouth.

You were still hungry for more. You squeezed his bulge just enough to make him hiss in pleasure. He promptly pushed his fingers into your mouth. You wrapped your lips around them, sucking. The eye contact you held made him groan.

“Sam’s a damn fool. He’s out chasing pussy when he’s got the best one right here.” He kissed onto the length of his digits you didn’t fully reach. This taste of you lingered on his lips as he kissed you, his fingers still in your mouth. He hooked them around the corner of your lips, moving his mouth on you like he was a death row inmate and you were his last meal.

“You’re mine now.” He mumbled, finally dragging out of your mouth, spreading your saliva over your cheek. You panted and watched his hands unbuckle his belt, mouth watering when his fingers slipped the button of his jeans open.

You helped him pull his jeans off, scrambling off of his lap until you were standing there, lace the only thing keeping you from complete nudity.

Dean shifted forward, falling from his sitting position on the couch to his knees in front of you. He shimmied your panties down, letting you hold a hand on his shoulder for balance to fully get them off.

“Gorgeous.” He muttered, pressing a kiss to your clit before standing, hooking an arm under your ass to lift you up with him. Your legs found a home around his waist, hands holding onto his shoulders. He kissed you, holding you close to his chest.

“Kitchen… table…,” you gasped into him. Dean didn’t question this. He carried you to the small kitchen, laying you out on the counter. He kissed down your sternum before latching onto a nipple, sucking until you moaned.

“He ever fuck you here?” He asked, looking up at you from where he was licking a stripe onto the plush of your breast.

“No.” You smirked. You had a few ideas of your own to make Sam pay for his treatment of you, and the spark of competitive edge in Dean’s eyes told you this was the correct choice. This was the exact reason you’d chosen the table.

“Good.” He pushed his boxers down enough to free himself.

“No condom?” You offered. Dean raised an eyebrow at you with a smirk.

“You let him do that?” Everything had to give him an extra thing to hang over Sam’s head.

“No.” You bit your bottom lip. Sam used to try to get you to do it raw constantly. You didn’t want to risk it, pregnancy and STDs, since Sam was so friendly with the neighborhood pussy. This? This was worth any fucking risk, just to see how Sam would react to the knowledge of it.

“Good.” Dean growled. He ran his tip through your slick, loving the way you shivered at the touch. He finally pushed into you, slowly moving in, inch by inch.

You groaned, eyes rolling back when he bottomed out. He gripped onto your hips, pulling out almost completely before snapping back into you.

“So fuckin’ tight.” Dean rocked his hips back and forth. He folded over you, kissing you again. You whined into his mouth.

“Gonna let me come in you? Fill this pussy up until she can’t take anymore?” Dean grunted.

“Yes!” You bit out, voice cracking from the pleasure.

“Yeah,” he chuckled darkly, “‘Uncle Sammy’ has a nice ring to it. Really show him how bad he fucked up when you’re walkin’ around all swollen with my kid.”

You rolled your hips into him, clenching around him at the thought of Dean showing you off in front of Sam.

A chime from near the couch broke you from your thinking. Your phone. You knew it was Sam. It was the ringtone he’d picked out for himself, at your request.

“It’s him.” You breathed. Dean’s hips faltered and you watched a wicked shine flash in his eyes.

“It’d be rude to ignore him.” He pulled out of you, making you involuntary whine in protest. To his credit, he was quick to shuffle through your purse and get back to you.

“Hey, baby.” You heard crackle out from your phone. Crawling back to you again, it seemed. This time you weren’t falling for it. You had better things to do, like moan at the stretch that Dean gave you when he pushed back into you.

“What the-,” Sam started to question, but Dean cut him off.

“Hi-ya, Sammy.” Dean had the widest grin you’d ever seen. You ran your hands up the sides of your body, cupping your breasts as he thrust into you at a steady pace.

“Dean.” Sam grumbled. You could almost see the dark glare in his eyes as he said it. “What the fuck are you doing to her? I wanna speak to my girl.”

“Ah, ah,” Dean tutted, rubbing a thumb onto your clit to make you whine. “She’s a little busy right now.”

“She’s never too busy for me.” Sam sounded far too confident about that fact. Dean snapped his hips into you. A sharp cry left your lips.

“And she’s not yours anymore, Sammy.” Dean growled. He smiled down at you. Your eyes fluttered shut with a sigh.

“You can’t fucking do this, Dean. She’ll never leave me. She loves me too much.” Sam was fumbling for arguments. Dean laughed dryly.

“Let me paint you a picture, Sam. I’ve got her spread out, naked, on your table, tits bouncing. God, I gotta tell you, this pussy was made for me.” Dean leaned down to place another kiss on your lips. You were breathless, both from him moving so effortlessly into you and from his taunting to Sam. He sounded so mean yet so sweet at the same time.

“Whatever,” Sam huffed out, the poison of jealousy stinging through his voice. “Have fun with my sloppy seconds.”

“Mmm, Sammy, she’s not too sloppy yet, but she will be when I come deep inside her. Fuckin’ leave my mark, right, sweetheart.” You babbled out a slurred “yes”, arching your back when he pulled your leg to wrap around him, allowing him to go deeper. “She ever let you do that? Fuck her raw?”

Dean already knew the answer, but it pulled a smirk onto his face when he heard the flex of Sam’s jaw while he spoke.

“She wouldn’t let you do that.” He huffed.

“It was her idea, man.” Dean chuckled. He turned his voice back to you. “You gonna let me do that?”

“Yes.” You gasped.

“Gonna make me a daddy?”

“Yes.”

Dean groaned and threw his head back.

“She-,” Sam sucked in a breath, “she loves me.” He was stuck on that. There was a time when it was true, and all he had to do was say it back in order to get you back. That changed the moment Dean kissed you like he had something to prove.

“Who do you love, pretty girl?” Dean asked you, grasping at your jaw. You opened your eyes, wanting eye contact for the words that were about to leave you.

“You.” You moaned, rolling your hips. “I love you, Dean. Only you.” You were laying it on thick, trying to prove a point. Was it true? You didn’t know. Maybe you loved Dean. You certainly loved the things he was doing to you.

You stuck your tongue out to meet Dean’s fingers halfway when they started to crawl up your chin. He watched as you closed your lips around three of them, sucking, never taking your eyes from his.

“Fuck, Sammy, can’t believe you let her get away. I’m not making the same mistake.”

“You fuckin’ ass-,” Sam growled, getting cut off again.

“Hey, we really gotta let you go. Talk later, ‘kay?” Dean didn’t wait for a response before ending the call, dumping your phone onto the table next to you. You hummed in approval. You hoped Sam was feeling just as shitty as he had made you feel. He deserved so much more than that, but it was a good start.

“Proud of you, angel. You did so fuckin’ well.” Dean grunted, using his newly freed hand to grip onto your hip. It was the last thing to send you over the edge. You clenched around him as you came, an incoherent whine sounding from you. It was muffled with his fingers still in your mouth.

Dean’s jaw dropped in pleasure and he slammed into you, chasing his own high. It didn’t take long before he was pulling out of you with a groan, spilling himself onto your lower stomach. A few drips of release slid down your waist.

You panted, keeping your mouth open to let his fingers fall free. A tired smile grew onto your face when he gently grabbed your bottom lip in his teeth. You closed your lips around his mouth, kissing him.

“Changed your mind?” You asked when he pulled away, looking pointedly to his cum still sitting on your stomach. He gave you a crooked grin.

“Figured I’d take ya out before I knocked you up.” Dean answered, rubbing soothing circles into the muscles of your thighs. You scrunched your eyebrows at him, ignoring the swoop of emotions flooding you at his words.

“Out?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, kissing the top of your bent knee. “Out. I meant it when I said you were mine now.”

The way he said it told you he not only meant it, but he meant it in a different way than Sam ever did. You were Dean’s in the same way he was yours. There would be no Kristy or Stephanie. It was you and only you.

You let him help you sit up and take you to the bathroom, running the shower to clean you both of the sweat and cum.

This was the best way to get over a breakup, you’d decided, especially when it was with the brother of the man who had broken your heart.

everything taglist : @littlesoulshine @sacr1ficialang3l @blossomingorchids @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @mostlymarvelgirl @missus-ackles @tinas111 @ambiguous-avery

jensen ackles taglist : @arcannaa

[staranghae]

baby you drive me crazy

summary. seokmin and reader meet at a young changemakers convention because that's how filthy rich people have meet-cutes. :)

pairing. nepo kid ceo! l.sm x self-made ceo! fem! reader genre. fluff, crack., meet-cute warnings. profanity, mentions of alchohol w/c. 1.4k a/n. ah yes. finely marinated fanfiction, delicious. ( i mean this in all seriousness, this has been in my drafts since august of last year so...) song recc. unlock it (lock it) by charli xcx and jay park

seokmin really needed to start finding better ways to get out of these events. his age old excuse of "there's a really important project for the quarter due in a few weeks and i'm utterly clueless about it" was starting to wear thin considering the fact that half of these parties happen towards the end of the year when his company has already wrapped up their projects.

but then, this particular convention didn't seem like the rest. it was the annual "young changemakers" convention, his first one since he took over the company. he'd talked to a grand total of six people his age in the few hours he'd been there, and all of them had done nothing but brag about their money and wealth! not one of them seemed actually interested in the business aspect of the well, you know, running a business. to seokmin, this was better than being surrounded by a bunch of middle-aged people asking very invasive questions about his private life.

as he kept wandering about the convention, making small talk here and there with a few familiar faces, he spots you, sitting on one of the corner tables nursing a glass of chardonnay. he quickly calls over his secretary,

"minghao, come here. i need you to do something for me."

xu minghao, seokmin's secretary of the past seven years, was quite accustomed to his boss' peculiar requests. despite being the same age, minghao was far more perceptive and mature as compared to seokmin. he finishes off his glass of wine and walks over, exasperated.

"yes sir, what is it?"

"do you happen to have any idea of who that is?" he says, pointing to you.

minghao looks over at you and back at seokmin.

"are you seriously telling me you have no idea who she is?" questions minghao, annoyed by his boss' lack of ability to remember crucial information during networking events such as this one.

seokmin looks over at him, completely clueless about your identity.

minghao answers with a sigh,

"that's y/n, the ceo of l/n enterprises. i specifically mentioned her to you because she's the only person here without a family business. her company was completely built by her and her alone. also, her achievements are exemplary, she made the dean's list at harvard and is one of our major shareholders so technically speaking, she's kinda like your boss."

seokmin blinks at him. "in commoner words, please?"

"basically, she's the only one here who isn't a damn nepo baby and happens to own a good chunk of our company."

"ah! got it."

"so if i'm done here, i will take my leave."

minghao turns on his heel and leaves before seokmin has the chance to say anything. he just chuckles to himself and starts walking towards you when he hears minghao call after him,

"also, i didn't tell you this but your father has been trying to set up a blind date with her for you. something about you being incapable of making her fall for you on your own or something."

now, more determined than ever, he walks over to you and sits down across you.

"hi, i'm seokmin, ceo of lee enterprises, and you are?"

"y/n, your blind date for tomorrow evening. although i'm guessing your father hasn't told you about it yet."

he looks away, flustered. you laugh and he might as well have gotten whiplash with how fast he turned his head to look at you.

"he might've. i get quite a few of those, so i tend to lose track."

you stare at him incredulously. you knew about him from your uni days, the only nepo kid in oxford business that gave a fuck about his academics enough to make it onto the dean's list. now, here he was, sitting in front of you, looking and acting every bit the cocky brat you didn't expect him to be. you voice this thought out loud,

"i didn't expect someone who ended up on the dean's list at oxford to act like this but apparently, appearences can be deceiving after all"

seokmin visibly lights up at the mention of the dean's list. you see, only a handful of people actually bothered to find out about him as a person rather than as just an extension of his father and lee enterprises. so, when someone generally tried finding out about him, the dean's list was one of the first things that would pop up.

"you know about the dean's list at oxford business?"

you roll your eyes, "well yeah, obviously! we were required to know who we would be competing against in the industry so we had to find out about the dean's list of most ivy league b-schools"

seokmin has never admired someone as much as he admires you in that exact moment.

"so, about that date..."

you look at him over the rim of your wine glass, "what about it?"

seokmin can't believe it. he's about to ask someone out on a date. like a normal person.

"um, well, instead of, y'know, letting my dad decide the time and place and everything, i was wondering if i could take you out. as lee seokmin, business nerd, not as lee seokmin, ceo."

you chuckle at his description of himself.

"business nerd?" that's an interesting nickname to give yourself."

"i didn't give it to myself, my best friend did. we weren't in the same university but that didn't stop us from being absolute headaches to each other from opposite ends of the world."

"best friend? is it someone in the industry or..?"

"oh, he's the heir to jeon and kim associates."

you've heard the name before. jeon & kim.

"wait, is your friend mingyu?"

seokmin is surprised at the mention. he nods excitedly, looking like an eager poodle.

"d'you know him?"

"know him?! i studied with him! the two of us always partnered up for group projects because we meshed so well together," as you're rattling off about your memories with mingyu to seokmin, you remember it.

"WAIT A DAMN MINUTE! YOU'RE MINNIE?!"

seokmin snorts his soda at your sudden outburst. he's still coughing and sputtering as you apologise to the people who had turned around to stare at you while passing him tissues to clean himself up. once everything is back into the lull it was in previously, you elaborate,

"you're minnie, right?"

seokmin recalls his friend constantly calling him that when on call with him so he nods, a wave of nostalgia washing over him at the fond memories. he really needs to catch up with gyu soon. maybe he could get minghao to set up a meeti-

"i always thought he was talking about his girlfriend whenever he talked about 'minnie'. turns out it was you, huh? funny."

seokmin pauses mid-sip to give you a look that says 'are you kidding me?'

"okay, first of all, he already had a girlfriend when he was in college to whom he got married to last month. secondly, if the two of you are so close, then how come i didn't see you at the wedding, huh?"

"probably because i was the maid of honour and busy making sure it was perfect, but y'know, who cares."

seokmin vividly remembers the maid of honour at mingyu's wedding. and it was not you.

"okay, i remember that day really well and know for a fact that the maid of honour had red hair, and you don't."

"ever heard of hair dye, seokmin?" you reply dryly.

seokmin lets out a laugh at that and you become mesmerised for a moment because wow! how is a person so pretty and handsome and smart at the same time?

finally out of things to talk about, you and seokmin look around the room, trying to find something to keep the conversation going. seokmin gives up first, finally asking the million dollar question,

"d'you wanna get out of here? i'm honestly just bored at this point."

you look back at him with a mischievous twinkle in your eyes,

"you wanna go on that blind date right now? the food here isn't all that great and i know a really good seafood place nearby."

seokmin could really go for some seafood right about now. he nods and gets up from the table, and you follow suit. the two of you manage to make it out undetected, much to the disappointment of your secretaries, who only find out about your escapade through the headline of the dispatch article released the next day.

"Mated for life or just another fish in the sea? CEOs of L/N Enterprises and Lee Enterprises spotted on a romantic date at seafood restaurant."

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[luvkyu]

Hi! Can I request a poly Bangchan x male reader x Felix fic where they're all cuddled up together and reader is bigger then them and it ends up with Felix koala hooked on to readers back while reader and Chan dance together!

nights like this ( bang chan + lee felix )

chan x male!reader x felix

chan and felix spend a relaxing night with their boyfriend after a tiring day.

content : 0.7k words, fluff, reader is taller/larger than chanlix, bub pet names

( a/n ) thank you for the req :D i hope its what u wanted <3

chan sighed in content, his head laying comfortably in his boyfriend's lap. he'd been watching y/n play video games for a couple hours now. the familiar sounds of the controller's joysticks filled his ears while he relaxed in y/n's embrace.

chan smiled up at him, almost entranced. he loved watching the way y/n's eyes would focus and his brows would knit together in determination.

"are you staring at me?" y/n asked. despite the sudden question to his partner, his gaze refused to break from the tv in front of their shared bed.

"always assume i'm staring at you, yes."

y/n laughed.

"stop being cute. you'll distract me."

chan was about to protest until one of y/n's hands left his controller to gently stroke his hair. chan's eyes closed at the sensation. his boyfriend's fingers trailing through his hair never failed to bring a relaxed grin to his lips.

"when did felix say he's getting off work today?" y/n asked before he brought his hand back to his controller.

"mm, at seven i think. he should be home soon," chan answered.

"he's home now," felix's voice suddenly joined.

both the boys' heads whipped around to see their other boyfriend standing at the open bedroom door. felix threw his work bag aside and flopped down beside them on the bed.

"baby! we didn't even hear you come in," y/n chimed. felix let out a silent laugh before exchanging kisses with both of them.

"how was work, love?" chan questioned, laying his head back on y/n's lap. felix sighed and laid his own head on y/n's chest, all three now cuddling up together.

"tiring. customer service is tiring. i need a night to recharge with you guys.."

y/n looked down at felix with a small frown. he set his controller aside after exiting his game, done for the night.

"what do you wanna do tonight then, bub?"

"mm.. cuddle. just cuddle," felix replied.

"i think we can arrange that," chan joked. "are you done with games, y/n?"

y/n nodded while hanging one arm over felix's torso, the other going back to chan's hair.

"yeah, i'm done. the rest of the night is for my favorite boys."

the opposite two could feel their hearts swell at y/n's answer. it always seemed to them that y/n constantly knew the right thing to say to comfort his partners, even if it was only a few words. it drove the pair crazy in the best way.

a comfortable silence now drifted over the three, with the exception of their speaker playing softly nearby. y/n and felix began to drift off into a light sleep while chan enjoyed the music.

when a calm, classical song started playing, an idea came to chan. he swiftly left y/n's lap to get up and off the bed. his movement brought the other two back to their senses, their eyes shooting open.

"what is it, bub?" y/n asked.

"dance with me," chan said happily. y/n and felix exchanged smiles, obsessed with their boyfriend's cuteness.

as y/n started to get up from the bed, he felt a weight hold him back a bit. he turned his head to see that felix had latched himself onto his back as if he were a koala.

"lix? you gonna dance?" y/n asked the smaller. felix shook his head and adjusted his arms around y/n's neck.

"if i stay here, i'm technically still dancing with you," he replied. y/n and chan grinned at the cheerfulness in his voice. even after a hard day at work, felix still remained their happy boy.

y/n linked hands with chan while felix stayed put, the three soon swaying to the sound of the soft music. nights like this were unmatched in their eyes. losing track of time, only invested in each other, and all the worries of real life forgotten.

[goddessofroyalty]

Love your work!!! Have you done a fic during Silco’s last pregnancy?? (Baby Vanco) How old were Jinx and Vi during this?? It would be cool to see a fic of what they thought about having a new sibling and just them helping out during his pregnancy. I’m a sucker for family fluff and angst :) sorry if this ask is a bit weird.

This is going to be one of those prompts where you probably get random additional things that technically fall under it as a “so I had an idea and wrote it” (I already have another possible scene milling around in my head). But this is long-enough for a prompt fill and anything else can just be random bonus extras between other prompt-fills.  

Also Silco thinks he’s having another boy. He has told everyone he’s having another boy. He is not having another boy.  

Tags: omegaverse, mpreg 

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

Powder appears as Silco is sitting up in bed finishing reading the last report of the day while he waits for Vander to finish closing the Last Drop. The late hour of her apparence isn’t that unusual even with Silco doing her hair now almost ritual between them, she can easily lose track of time with Ekko or the little toys she makes. Suddenly racing in because she’s realized even the Lanes are falling asleep and she hasn’t had her hair done.  

The way she slams the door behind her and storm over is less common, but, despite her enthusiasm, she can be a sensitive child at times. And her sibling’s words cruel as siblings can be.  

She avoids his eyes as she climbs onto the bed, handing him the brush and giving him her back. Fiddling with one of her little mouser toy. 

"Powder,” Silco says as he puts his report to the side and undoes the braids he put her hair in in the morning.  

She shrugs at it and Silco sighs. He knows pushing her will just result in screaming and yelling. After a day of listening to Piltite Council members doing it he doesn’t want to get it from one of his children as well. So he runs the brush through her hair – she will talk if she wants to, and, if not, he’s working from Zaun tomorrow he can question her siblings about what set her off.  

“Mylo said you’re having another baby,” Powder says finally, her fingers twisting mouser in her hand. “He said you’re replacing me.”  

“What did I tell you about listening to Mylo?” Silco asks as he parts the left side of her hair and starts the new braid.  

“No to. That he only says things because he knows they’ll get a reaction out of me,” Powder says in well-practiced copy because they’ve had this conversation so many times. The youngest two seemingly determined to get under each other’s skins however they can. Mylo with sharp words he knows will cut and Powder through setting up traps for her brother to stumble into and pushing him aside whenever she can. “But you are having another baby, aren’t you? I heard Vander talking to Benzo about it.”  

Of course. 

Silco can keep all of Piltover unaware of the full extent of his business despite spending half his time amongst them for almost a decade but he cannot keep something from his children for more than a day. 

“We are.” Lying isn’t going to help the situation.  

“Why?”  

Because accidents happen and apparently 42 isn’t old enough to not have to worry about sex resulting in pregnancy.  

“Because we are.” Silco ties off the end of the braid and places it against Powder’s back. His hand no longer can completely cover it from how big she is getting. Not far off presenting herself and able to spend the day entertaining herself even if she still needs Vander to remind her to eat proper food and not just sugar.  

They’re going to be starting from newborn again soon.  

“Are we not enough?” Powder asks, turning to look at him with sad confused eyes.  

Silco cups her face, wiping under her eye to prevent the gathered tears from falling.  

“No. You are more than enough.” She is so bright and will achieve great things if she is given half the opportunity, he is sure. “This isn’t about you. Or them. Or anyone. This is just a thing that is happening. I thought you would be happy about it – you won’t be the youngest anymore.”  

Jinx leans against his hand on her cheek, twisting her lips in contemplation.  

“What if I like being the baby?” she asks so quietly Silco has to strain to hear it. 

“You are hardly a baby now Powder.” Maturity coming for her faster each and every day.  

He reaches out with his hand not against her face to grab hold of one of hers and bring it to his stomach. There is nothing there to really show or see of the pregnancy, still far too early even for him. But it will help get his point across.  

“You get to be a big sister instead,” he says and that seems to pull a small smile from her sullen features joined with a small pleased hum. “They’ll look up to you like you do the others.”  

“I don’t look up to Mylo! He’s mean!” she protests childishly but her somber mood seems to have faded with it. Brushing his hand on her cheek aside so she can rest her head against his stomach as well, the hand not on it wrapping around him.  

“I can teach them all the secret passageways I know that the others don’t,” she whispers against him. “And I’ll show them how I made mouser.”  

“It will probably be a few years before that Powder,” Silco says, running his fingers through the side of her hair still down. At least she seems excited about it now instead of scared.  

----------------- 

“Are you going to Piltover today?” Vi asks, awake and dressed. Both things she isn’t usually by the time Silco leaves in the morning when he is in Piltover for the day. All of their children preferring to sleep in until Vander finishes his morning tasks and drags them up for breakfast.  

“I am.”  

“Can I come too?” she asks. Which is also unusual. The appeal of going to Piltover quickly lost for the children after Silco started to bring them to his office and social events. Now viewed as a punishment instead of a forbidden playground. He wishes he had done it earlier – they might have avoided the whole Talis explosion situation if he had.  

Vi does have her little crush on the Kiramman girl she thinks they’re not aware of so the request likely has something to do with that. By lunchtime she’ll be trying to sneak off, claiming to be going to see Viktor when caught.  

Saying no just encourages them to sneak up there themselves.  

“I’ll be in meetings most of the day.” A day full of people gawking at his now showing pregnancy. He’s picked up the habit of starting them off with a now well-practiced acknowledgement that, yes, he is in fact pregnant, and, no, it was not planned, do they need him to walk them through how babies or made or can they begin?  

“That’s okay. I can keep myself entertained.”  

Silco knows a pointless argument so he agrees. Vi trailing behind him to his Piltover office. His eldest daughter lying along the couch and going back to sleep as he starts his work for the day.  

Silco shuts the door quietly when he leaves for his first meeting to not wake her.  

He returns to her sparring against invisible foes. Moving around the office with quick, light feet, punching the air and dodging imaginary blows.  

“I can arrange a car to take you home,” he offers after she realizes he’s there and mumbles an apology for the grand crime of being a bored teenager.  

“No, no, it’s fine,” she says, going to sit back on the couch. Hands resting on it either side of her.  

She swings her legs over the armrest and kicks at the side of the couch as he goes back to work.  

Silco leaves and returns for another meeting to find her still there. Lunch comes and passes with no attempt to leave to get into mischief or visit the Kiramman girl. Vi instead lying on the couch with her eyes closed despite it being clear she isn’t sleeping.  

She peaks up at Silco from one eye when he stands over her. What is actually happening clear.  

“You don’t need to stand guard over me all day.”  

“That’s not what I’m doing,” she protests and he raises his brow at her because she is far from the best liar among his children. “I’m also keeping you company.”  

“I have never needed that either.” He has spent many long days in his Piltover office alone with his work.  

“Well, you weren’t pregnancy before either,” Vi mumbles.  

“I have been pregnant before,” Silco corrects even if he knows Vi means since he took up the position of Zaun Representative. “And I managed without a young alpha following me around everywhere.”  

“You had Vander though. And Sevika.”  

“Not always.” Silco quickly raises his hand before Vi can get any ideas about Vander abandoning him while he was pregnant with any of her brothers. “We have always been busy people Vi. And we cannot afford to sacrifice progress towards our goals just because I happen to be growing a child inside me.”  

Vi mulls the words over with the same furrowed-brow expression that Vander gets. She may not be his by blood but there is no denying she her father’s child. The almost irrational want to be there to protect him coming from Vander as well.  

“You can continue sitting around my office all day if you must but I am sure there are things you would rather be doing than being bored on a couch.” There are things Silco would rather do than listen to the grips of spoilt Piltites and read report after report about how fixing Zaun is just too expensive or too difficult for them to bother even trying. There is at least a benefit for their people for his suffering. “I’ll get a car to take you home.”  

“Do I have to go back home? Can I go do something else?” Vi asks and Silco knows exactly where she will be headed.  

Telling her no and that she is going home will save him some headache.  

“Just don’t do anything that will have Cassandra bitching at me about you,” he says, massaging the bridge of his nose. He blames his hormones for how he can’t say no to her pathetic face. “I’m too pregnant to put up with her shit.”  

---------------- 

“Do you need something Powder?” Silco asks when his youngest daughter slips into his office. She probably just wants to draw on the floor while he works.  

“Can I give him something?” Powder asks, coming to stand beside Silco’s desk, her stuffed-bunny in hand.  

“Give who something?”  

“The baby.”  

Silco hums at it. Picking the girl up by the underarms to seat her at his desk. It takes actual effort to do now compared to when he could easily settle her on his hip while he went about things.  

“That will be a bit difficult considering he’s currently busy trying to break my ribs,” Silco informs her, earning a little giggle from her. His children at times seem entertained by how their younger sibling is making him suffer. “What do you want to give him?”  

“Bunny,” she says, patting at the stuffed rabbit now sat in her lap.  

“Bunny’s your favorite though.” Even the most unobservant parent would know that from how she screams to high Janna if one of her siblings even looked at the thing wrong.  

“I know. But I’m getting bigger,” Powder says, playing with the ears of the stuffed toy. “And what is he going to sleep with?” 

“We can get him something of his own.” The plan had been to just take out Mylo’s old things from where they had stored them to hand on to their first grandkid. They could afford a new stuffed toy though.  

Powder’s expression tells him it isn’t the right answer.  

At least the new one will be easily to understand and keep happy for a few years. Babies needs so much easier to decipher and appease than teenagers.  

He reaches forward to cup her face because touch, at least, seems to hold true at providing comfort at all ages.  

“At least wait until he’s born and then you can decide if you want to give him bunny. You might not like him any more than you do Mylo.” And the world would have to be ending for Powder to let Mylo even hold the stuffed toy for a minute.  

“No! I’ll like him more than Mylo!” Powder immediately protests before collapsing forward onto him. Silco wrapping an arm around her to ensure she doesn’t fall. “Mylo’s mean. He won’t be mean.”  

“Babies can be mean sometimes.” Despite his gentle temperament now, Claggor had landed his share of blows as a baby and as soon as Mylo had teeth, he figured out how to use them to express his displeasure with whoever was nearest to him.  

“He won’t be though,” Powder says, hand rubbing along Silco’s stomach. “He’ll be nice and will want to play with me even though the others don’t.”  

“Not for a while Powder,” Silco reminds her before she gets let down by a newborn’s inability to do much more than sleep and feed and shit. “He’s going to be very small at first.”  

“Pst, yeah, obviously. He’s got to be small enough you can squeeze him out,” she says, sagging against him as if he’s ridiculous for thinking she might not know that. “But once he’s bigger I’ll play with him. And teach him all the things I know. I’ll be a good big sister. I promise.”  

“Of course you will be.” Silco leans over to rest his forehead against the crown of her head. He hopes she will be and doesn’t find her new sibling boring. They’ll need the help of the older ones to be able to balance a new child with their work and responsibilities to their community.  

------------------ 

“Mylo move!” Silco can hear Vi hiss as he makes his way into the kitchen in the slow waddling pace that has become his gait in the last few months of the pregnancy. This one no more forgiving on his body than the others.  

“What?” Mylo hisses back, lying across the lounge-chair Silco found the most comfortable with the extra weight of the baby, feet hanging over the armrest, before noticing Silco. “Oh shit.”  

Vi practically drags her brother out of it to free it for Silco. He possibly would care more about how rough she had been on her brother if the curve of the chair wasn’t the exact thing he back needs to feel actually supported. 

“How are you feeling this morning?” Claggor asks as Silco makes the effort to settle himself in the chair.  

Vi elbows him in the side for it and Silco gives them both a look because he does not have the energy to deal with arguing children while Vander is still busy with the morning delivery.  

“I have started to look forward to the horror that is labor,” Silco answers. Both Claggor and Vi are alphas and one day they’ll be responsible for putting an omega being in a similar state as Silco is currently. They should know what they are signing them up for before they do. “Which is no doubt the point. Make you grateful when the true pain starts because at least it means one way or another it will be over soon.”  

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Vi offers, her two brothers nodding in agreement.  

“Not unless you can go back in time and remind your father and I that we are not so old that we do not have to worry about our actions resulting in a baby trying to break my spine while they grow in me,” Silco says. Sighing at the wide-eyed expressions he is met with. His warnings about pregnancy apparently have more weight with him being pregnant while delivering them. “I told you this is the price to be paid for new life. This will be the fourth time I’ve endured it. And I will. Because I know he will be worth it, the same as his brothers were.”  

“Still doesn’t seem fair though,” Vi mumbles.  

“By now you should know few things in life are.” Despite all the work both he and Vander have put in their children still only have a spec of the privilege enjoyed by those born in Piltover.  

[wheeboo]

fighting! | boo seungkwan

SYNOPSIS. in which seungkwan gives you a boost of morning motivation. PAIRING. boo seungkwan x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, established relationship WARNINGS. mentions of food WORD COUNT. 1.01k

booseoksoon ‘second wind’  track 01: now playing ‘fighting!’ track 02: lunch  track 03: 7pm

Buttoning up the final button of your outfit, you give a glance at yourself in the mirror and let out a tired sigh. It was too early in the morning for this𑁋to be called into work on a day you expected to have off only to go home at the late hours of the evening. There wasn't much to be done about it, and when you told your boyfriend about it, he nearly called your workplace to threaten with a complaint since he had initially made plans to spend the day with you.

Luckily, you stopped him.

You exit out of your shared bedroom, greeted with the pleasant aroma of coffee and breakfast to your nostrils. Making your way into the main living area, you catch a glance of Seungkwan hovering at one of the large windows, his signature iced americano in his hands as he basked in the morning sunlight. A smile crosses your face as you make your way towards him, wrapping an arm around his waist.

You place a brief kiss to his cheek. "Good morning, boo."

"Good morning, sweetheart," He turns towards you, noticing your half-opened eyes. "I made you some pancakes and coffee."

"You know me so well." You sit yourself down at the dining table, taking in the sweet sight of the pancakes and coffee, just the way you like it.

The two of you sit across from each other as Seungkwan rambles on about his plans for the day since he will basically be alone for most of it since you will be at work. You could only listen to his sweet voice, chuckling quietly to how he expressive he is, like how his hands move as if conveying his words. This was something you always looked forward to when spending time with him𑁋just listening to him talk is as joyful as everything you two do together. And it's even better now that you live together.

Well, in a way, you technically have been living together if you count all the times Seungkwan has claimed a spot in your former apartment. You wanted to take a nap in your bed? Sure, let's take a nap in our bed. Seungkwan claimed he is rarely possessive, but you both know that was a bit of a white lie.

"I'm sorry I wasn't able to free today up. I know you made plans for us together," You say, taking a sip of your coffee. "I just wish they, you know, communicated with me. I mostly have this day off, but they clocked me in just yesterday."

Seungkwan shakes his head and reaches over, placing his hand over yours. "My plans are going nowhere, Y/N. We have tomorrow off, so don't worry too much, okay?" Hearing his voice all soft and soothing makes your heart swell. He always knew the right words to reassure you, even if he playfully scolded you at times for not taking care of your health or for worrying too much about little things. "Plus, I'll make a special lunch delivery for you."

Your eyes widen to his words. "You'd do that for me?"

"Why wouldn't I? I'm not letting you sulk in that office chair for the next ten or so hours. Besides, it gives me an excuse to visit you, and you know I would never pass up that opportunity."

The serious yet playful tone on his voice elicits a chuckle from your lips, and it gives Seungkwan a boost of satisfaction. He knows you aren't a morning person like he is𑁋the most he can do is to try and make you feel motivated or just the tiny bit of happiness. After all, he is the self-proclaimed moodmaker.

"And tonight, I'll run a warm bath for you and relieve all that tension and stress so that tomorrow, you can be freshened up for our date. I have a lot of things planned for us and I know you wanted to try that new restaurant that opened across the city."

Your posture perks up to his ideas, catching a glimpse of the proud smirk plastered on his face. Now you know you had to get through the day in order to come back home. Gosh, he really is your human vitamin.

"Thank you, Kwannie," You bring his hand up to your lips, pressing a small, grateful kiss to his knuckles. "I love you so much."

Seungkwan feels his ears trickle red. He would never admit the effect you have on him. "I love you too."

Once you finish breakfast and putting your plate away, you swiftly grab your bag and belongings as Seungkwan cleans the table and approaches you right after. You look at yourself on the camera of your phone before noticing Seungkwan right in front of you.

"How do I look?" You ask him.

Seungkwan takes a long, observant look over your outfit from the top of your head and ends of your toes, tilting his head cutely in thought. Then he steps closer and pushes back some hair from your face and adjusts your collar, before meeting his lips with yours for another kiss, catching you off-guard. For a moment, you nearly forget about all the worries you had for today.

"Absolutely stunning as always and ready to conquer the day," he responds, hands rubbing comfortably on your forearms. "Text me when you get there, okay? I'll meet you up later during your lunch break."

You nod in response, giving him an appreciative smile. It took everything in your power to not throw your bag down on the floor and just stay inside with him, but you knew you couldn't do that. There was a rush of motivation flowing within your veins that you just have utilise before it disappears entirely. And all of it stemmed directly from Seungkwan.

He unlocks the door for you and watches you step out. You look back at him a few times, offering a wave of your hand.

"Fighting, baby!" You hear Seungkwan call out loudly, as if announcing to the entire word his formidable and underlying love and affection towards you. "You'll do great today! I love you!"

[localplaguenurse]

Chex's Masterlist

A list of the fics or headcanons I’ve written! I may have missed a couple of headcanons here and there because they were just one off questions from the ask box. Mostly wanted to keep track of the long lists. 

Currently, all my ao3 works have been locked to registered users only due to AI scraping. I do not consent to my fics being used for generative AI, character AI, or any fucking AI for that matter.

Some of my fics have suggestive or mature content. Read the tags, proceed with caution, and if you can’t read this stuff for one reason or another, best to move on. Also, in case you're wondering why a lot of my oneshots have to do with Pantalone; I love him and he is my muse.

Have fun!

Ongoing Fics

You've Got My Eyes: Zhongli/Reader slowburnish fic where Reader is a single mom in Inazuma after a one night stand with the man of the hour; ongoing

the capillaries in my eyes are bursting: Dottore/Reader angst fic, aka the "dottore divorce fic" where Reader is sick of feeling neglected and unappreciated by her husband; ongoing

you are someone i have loved, but never known: Pantalone centric fic where Arlecchino finds a baby left on the steps of the House of Hearth; on hiatus/discontinued

Falling Head over Heels: Pantalone/Male Reader where Reader is an author with retinitis pigmentosa (hereditary degenerative eye disease), masterlist with all current chapters here

Complete Fics

it’s all that i can give to you, my dear: Pantalone/Reader smutfic, a sequel to take all you can, give nothing back; completed

As Gold as the Ginkgo Trees: Morax/Reader arranged marriage slowburn set during the Archon War; completed (see also: the ginkgo trees masterlist with all my other headcanons/fics/aus)

Oneshots

Little Helper: Pantalone family fluff oneshot, technically Pantalone/Reader but it’s not really the focal point

Catch of the Day: Zhongli/Reader Mermay oneshot

that is enough: Fear and Hunger angst oneshot where Cahara returns home after... everything goes wrong. Please read the tags before reading.

Hold on Tight: Pantalone/Reader smut oneshot where someone goes a little overboard during sexy times.

Pretty in Pink: Hwei/Reader smut oneshot, and the only league fic I'll write

zero days until the party: My take on the bite of '83, child death warning

Have Your Cake and Eat It Too: Pantalone/Reader smut oneshot I wrote for my birthday where Pantalone gets bored at his own party

Playing strip poker with Pantalone: Self explanatory. Not really smutty, mainly silly, but still suggestive so you know the drill

The Price for Greed: Dragon Pantalone smut oneshot that has been sitting in my google docs for too damn long

an act of kindness: Pantalone oneshot where he's too tired for sex, so you give him a bubble bath. Starts spicy but doesn't go full smut, mainly domestic fluff.

Or You Lose: Modern era oneshot where Pantalone is a nightclub owner, and you're tasked with assassinating him.

i lie in your arms tonight: Pantalone oneshot where you're training a new recruit and things go horrifically wrong. Character death and angst heavy.

Stress Relief: Trans Pantalone/Male Reader smut, horrifically self indulgent

Keep Your Ego in Check: Male Harbinger Reader/Pre-Fatui Pantalone smut that is porn with wayyyyyy too much plot

"It fits you.": Short Pantalone/Reader request where he's jealous

Last Minute: Pantalone/Virgin Reader smut

An Unexpected "Guest": My submission for the 2024 Fatui Con "x reader" fic category

A Debt Repaid: You rescue young orphan Pantalone

Pantalone's daughter finds scissors

Expendable Resources: Pantalone angst fic where reader gets kidnapped and no one looks for them

to be beautiful: Pantalone/Transmasc Reader hurt/comfort

the illusion of choice: Yandere Pantalone/Fem Reader smut

Failure to Meet Expectations: Professor Pantalone/Fem Reader smut

Original Writing

a stone in the wall: Original horror story about walking through a serial killer's house, please mind the tags

Strung in My Web: A short piece about Satine, silk merchant and avatar of lust, seducing a nun

Headcanons/Ramblings

Pantalone health headcanons

Assorted Pantalone headcanons

Pantalone domestic fluff

Assorted/sorta modern Dottore headcanons

Pantalone being husband material

Pantalone appearance/self care

Modern Dottolone

Arlecchino/Pantalone/Reader NSFW

Casper First Time NSFW Headcanons (A Date With Death)

Pantalone being a Girl Dad

Kinktober 2024

Week one: Spider Arlecchino/Fem Reader (ao3) (tumblr)

Week two: Pyramid Head Capitano/GN Reader (ao3) (tumblr)

Week three: Mothman Dottore/Fem Reader (ao3) (tumblr)

Finale: Vampire Pantalone/GN Reader (ao3) (tumblr)

[astralisbelle]

Silk For Armor 2 - An Offer He Cannot Refuse

Silk For Armor Masterlist tags: dancer!reader, singer!reader, reader has backstory, s3 not canon, diverges around TBOBF, half fix-it fic, half super self-indulgence, original locations and lore, eventual reveal of reader backstory, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, eventual smut

chapter summary: The Mandalorian receives a strange request. He begins to suspect that there is more to this job and dancer than meets the eye. WARNINGS: attempted assault, attempted SA, coercion, major violence

note: WHEW It's been a while since I uploaded. I'm so excited to share this very long chapter with you all but PLEASE PLEASE mind the warnings. Thanks!!

“Kidnap me.”

The Mandalorian jerks himself back, startled by the bold request. The wording also throws him off, but that’s the least of his worries right now. “E...Excuse me?”

“Kidnap me!” she echoes. “Please. You have to take me away and take me away soon.” She clasps her hands in front of her chest, a burning desperation in her eyes.

“Why?”

“Kaslur. He’s… getting impatient.”

“Impatient for what?” She drags her gaze away, looking at the floor. Din’s eyes widen behind his visor. “What… is going to happen to you?”

She shakes her head. “I’m not entirely sure, but Kaslur has been begging me to quit dancing to go live with him. We’ve been playing this game for years, but the fuse is wearing thin.” As the realization sinks in for him, he thinks about how a girl like her has little options in a place like this. No one can help her. No one would, lest they wanted to incur the wrath of a crime lord, himself included.

“And if I do? He’d come after me. Might even chase you to the ends of the galaxy.”

The dancer pouts. “I… I-I’ll help you. Or, when you take me back home, I’ll make sure you’re properly compensated.”

“Home?” He thought someone like her was out of place here. “And where is home?”

She straightens her posture. “...I will tell you if you agree to this.”

“Now’s not the time to be keeping secrets.”

“If you knew my secrets, then you’d know why I keep them.”

He stares at her, scrutinizes every bit of her. How confusing this dancer is… She carries herself with a certain grace that only performers of her caliber are capable of. Her manner of speaking is eloquent. Yet, there is a certain spark in her eyes that wouldn’t be found on anyone else on this planet, not after its corruption takes hold. Beneath the humble clothes, behind the extensive makeup and costumes, there is someone who clearly needs his help.

“...I don’t know,” he says with a sigh. “I can’t make any guarantees.”

“In that case, I’ll sweeten the deal.” She smiles with confidence. “Let me help you on this job that Kaslur has for you.”

“And how would you help?” She doesn’t look like a fighter, but this girl is full of surprises.

“First of all, you’re new to this planet, aren’t you? Tebin Ramm operates a certain way and I can help you navigate through the channels. Second of all.” She glances around. “You need a place to stay the night where you can actually get some sleep, right? Unfortunately, most of these hotels charge by the hour if you understand my meaning.” He nods. “I have a flat above the theater. It’s… cozy. And since it’s my place, it’s technically protected.”

Din holds up his hand. “Won’t Kaslur object?”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” She reaches into a pocket and pulls out something small, popping off the cap and twisting the bottom. Before he asks what it is, she presses the red wax to her lips and applies it, bringing out the color of her skin. Then, she rubs some of it on her fingers. “Give me your arm.”

“W-Why?”

“You just walked into a working hotel. It’d be strange if you didn’t come out with marks.” She holds out her hand. “C’mon, it washes off easy with just some water and it’ll cover our tracks.” Mostly hers, he’s guessing. With a sigh, he gives her his arm. The dancer smudges the cosmetic onto his beskar then makes another smear on his chest. “And now…” She steps forward. “For the final touches.” She closes her eyes and plants a quick kiss on his chest armor, leaving a red mark. Din is about to stumble back, but she leans up on the tips of her toes and catches him, kissing the bottom of his visor.

“H-Hey!” He lifts a hand to wipe it off, but she shouts.

“Don’t! Not until you get to my place.”

Din groans, his hand finding it hard to leave all those marks in place. “I look ridiculous.”

“So does everyone else on this forsaken planet.” She glances back at a clock on the stand. “We’re almost out of time. You leave first. Tell no one I was here. When Kaslur’s men have ditched the front door, just enter the theater and I’ll take you to my place.” With that, she pulls the hood of her cloak over her head. “I’ll go now. You wait ten minutes, then go back to the theater.”

“...Fine.”

Din can’t remember the last time someone got that close to him and lived. The last — and only — person to touch his face was Grogu. Each time he thinks of his companion, his heart yearns. Though, he is thankful that Grogu does not have to see any of this planet. As he walks back to the theater, escorts and bystanders call out the marks, flushing red to his cheeks. This better work as an alibi.

He returns to the theater, finding that it has emptied itself of gangsters for the time being. Workers wipe down the tables and stage and when the last of them has gone, the dancer reappears. She takes him around the back and up the stairs into a loft that overlooks the entire red-light district. It’s a humble apartment, but it is kept tidy and clean. “Are you hungry?” she asks, putting her cloak on a coat rack.

“I am. But I cannot eat with you.”

“I know.” She points to a covered plate on the counter. “I warmed up some soup for you. I’m going to change, so I’ll close the door. Knock when it’s okay to come out?”

This girl… she has everything so perfectly planned out. From the meeting, to taking him in, right down to his food. Din stares at her for a moment. Who is this woman? And what is she doing in a shithole like this?

“...Sure,” he replies. He watches her go into the bedroom and waits a few seconds to confirm that she is gone before walking over to the covered plate. Sitting at the counter, he hesitates, but he takes off his helmet finally and sets it next to him. Steam touches his face from the noodle soup, its salty scent wetting his tongue. He isn’t polite about practically inhaling it, shoving large wads of noodle and beef into his mouth and swallowing the broth. Din eats fast, as usual. When he finishes and cleans his face, he puts his helmet back on and puts the dishes in the sink, noting its cleanliness as well. He wanders to the room and knocks.

“Come in!”

Come in? That throws him off. He opens the door and walks in. There is a single, rickety bed inside the room along with at least two different dressers. Various dancing costumes hang about with special accessories. Her room is a flourish of color that distracts him momentarily from the sight. She reaches for the top of one of her dressers to place a jewelry box back in place, her short robe showing off those shapely legs that he spotted earlier. When Din catches himself staring, he mentally berates himself and looks away. “How was dinner?” she asks, turning back around.

“D-Delicious. Thank you.”

She nods, her hands resting on her hips. “Alright, well, I know this is kind of a mess.” She laughs, looking around her room. “But, I made the bed for you. Talk to you tomorrow.” Just before she can leave, Din holds out his arm, blocking her from the door.

“I’m sleeping in here?”

“Yes, but don’t worry, I have a couch.” She tries to go; he stops her again, this time by holding her arm. The dancer tenses.

“You’re going through an awful lot of trouble for me.”

She lifts her chin. “Because I hope that you’ll do the same for me.” Kidnap me. “It’ll be dawn soon, Mandalorian. Please, get some rest. The sooner we find Kaslur’s man, the sooner we can both get off this awful planet.”

“I haven’t entirely agreed to take you.”

She grins. “Then I have a whole day to convince you.” She lifts her hand, thumb swiping some lipstick off his helmet. Shit, he forgot that was there. “Red’s a good color on you.” He lets her go immediately and she leaves the bedroom all to him. Now, Din is alone with her bed and her army of costumes surrounding him. As he removes his armor to clean off the makeup, he takes in the sight of every piece. Some outfits are… more revealing than others. He recognizes the one she wore earlier and then his eyes wander to some of the accessories: fans, feathers, all sorts of fun things. Din wonders how she uses them.

Just before he settles into bed, he has half a mind to look around. This woman is more than dancer, that much he can surmise, but to what extent? He’s curious, but he knows better than to violate her privacy, especially when she has been so considerate of his. When he settles into bed, her scent assaults him: clean and flowery. It oddly calms him and lulls him to sleep fast.

“So, who is the unlucky fellow?” she asks, sitting at the counter and eating a piece of bread. Din remains standing and slides the puck towards her, turning it on. Her brows lift in recognition of the Weequay. “Huh, that’s Mazarg Eq.”

“You know him?”

“Used to be an enforcer for Kaslur a few years back. Last I heard, Kaslur caught him in one of the spice dens, getting high on the boss’s supply. He’s not dead? That’s… lucky?”

“Kaslur mentioned something about him having a necklace.”

“A necklace?” She strokes her chin. “Don’t know anything about that. But, if I were Eq, I’d likely still be hooked on spice. Unfortunately. But I can’t get high at any of the dens that are supplied by Kaslur. So… I’d have to go to a rival’s supplied den. You know, for sanctuary.” Din slowly turns his head so the T of his visor faces her directly, as if asking how in the hell she ascertained that. The dancer shrugs. “That’s just the way things are around here.”

“...It would make sense. Also, if that’s true, then that’s the reason why Kaslur can’t send any of his own men. He’d start a turf war.” Din stands up, swiping the puck off the table and sliding it into his belt. “Would you know where these rival dens are?”

“I would.” She stands too, grabbing her cloak. “It’s not gonna be pretty.”

Once again, she is correct. Din’s throat tightens as she leads him through the district. Nearly everyone he sees is either stumbling, passed out, or expelling some body fluid in some way right in the street. No one seems to care. But, when he comes in, shiny expensive beskar on his chest, the junkies take notice. They lick their chapped lips, gaze with blood-shot eyes and fantasize about how much spice they can get with just a scrap of his armor.

Din is ready for someone to try to take it, but he hopes his imposing walk will hold them off.

He glances towards the dancer, her hood up as she stays close to him. “You being spotted here won’t be a problem, will it?” he asks.

“Technically, no. I’m not affiliated with anyone. That being said…” She scans the area. “I’d rather Kaslur not find out I was here.” She taps his shoulder. “In here.” He follows her into an alleyway with a single door, a faded neon sign blinking on and off above it. As soon as the door slides open, the foul stench of spice assaults his senses, even behind his helmet.

Smoke fills the den and makes it so hard to see that Din adjusts his visor to seek out heat instead. He sees red and orange shapes lounging on couches, taking long drags from pipes, and draping on other people. He prays that Eq is here, because he doesn’t want to comb through another one of these.

A Twi’lek man approaches them. “You gotta pay up before you take a seat.”

“We’re not here for spice,” she says. “We’re looking for Mazarg Eq.”

The Twi’lek flashes a look at the Mandalorian then back at the dancer. “And who is looking for him?”

“A friend,” she responds. She tilts her head up, giving the Twi’lek a glimpse of her face. “I know how this works.” She folds her hands together in front of her. “We need an address. How much?”

He grins. “...How about some of that beskar?”

Din leers at him. “Try again.”

She steps forward. “You deal with me, not the Mandalorian.”

“I don’t know what you can offer me, sweetheart.”

The dancer closes the gap between them, leaning in. “Tell you what.” She holds him close. “If you stop by…” She whispers, giggling and drawing shapes on his chest. The Twi’lek’s eyes bulge as she sweet talks him, ending her offer with a kiss on his cheek. She steps back with a polite smile. Without another moment to lose, the Twi’lek blurts out an address that Din commits to memory.

“Thanks… sweetheart.” She blows him a kiss. “Tomorrow right, remember.”

And with that, they leave. Once they’re out of the den, Din turns to her. “What did you offer that man?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“...You’re not seriously going to do it.”

She laughs. “We’ll be on a Razor Crest tomorrow night already in Hyperspace. C’mon, let’s go find our guy!”

One of the benefits of his helmet is being able to scope and scan any person of his choosing with discretion. Din sneaks in a few glances at the dancer as she walks with her hands behind her back. She hums, reminding him of the powerful vocals she displayed the other night. She is remarkably odd in a place like this. She is so… normal. Her demeanor, her manner of speaking doesn’t fit in with the rest of the people on Tebin Ramm.

Din wants to ask about her, but he isn’t curious enough to actually open his mouth. In fact, he knows it’s for the better. He’ll get her off this planet and drop her somewhere and that will be the end of that. Everyone that entered his late Razor Crest had their own stories — some he knew, some he didn’t, but most of the time, he didn’t care what they were. The dancer will simply be the girl that helped him get his ship.

Daylight does not last long on Tebin Ramm and the veil of space is nearly done creeping over their heads. Not that anyone can see any of the stars through the pollution. They wander further from the city’s center, finding crumbling buildings and tiny shacks for housing. The air is deathly still, but the stench of bodily fluids and trash wrinkle their noses. She pulls the collar of her cloak up to cover up her lower face.

“Stay close,” Din says, his hand hovering over his blaster, ready to draw.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” She walks closer, their shoulders brushing against each other. They close in on the address given to them, standing before a tall building with cracks along its walls and broken signage. “He must be squatting here.”

“C’mon.” This shouldn’t be hard. When he first began bounty hunting, Din felt pity for the easy targets. That changed when every target became easy. They entered and went up the stairs, passing by bodies (asleep or dead?) sprawled on the floors and against the walls. He feels her hand cling to his cape. Din doesn’t wait anymore and he draws his blaster as they creep towards the marked door. “Stay here,” he says to her at the end of the hall. She nods.

The Mandalorian takes a few hunkering footsteps towards the door. Before he knocks, he gives it a nudge to see if it’s open. It is. He inhales fast and kicks it open, brandishing his blaster. On the floor, a Weequay yelps in surprise and stares at the tall mass of silver beskar in front of him. He scrambles backwards until he hits the wall. “Mazarg Eq?”

“Wh-who’s askin’?” The Mandalorian says nothing. Instead, he pulls out the puck and clicks the button, showing Eq’s face. “Aw shit… who hired you?” he asks between hyperventilating breaths.

“None of your concern.”

“It was that fucking prick Kaslur, wasn’t it?” he asks, voice panicked. “Shit, sending a fucking Mandalorian after me.”

Din continues, voice cool and collected. “You’ve got a necklace. Or did you hock that for spice?”

Eq laughs, body trembling. “Oh, that’s what you’re after! Look, if I hand it over, will you leave me alone?”

Din’s pulled this trick before. “Where is it?” Eq wobbles as he crawls a few feet away to where Din sees a crowbar. He’s ready for Eq to swing it at him, but to his surprise, the Weequay uses it on the floor instead, prying open the floorboards. Inside a secret compartment are a few credit chits, a handful of spice bags, and a black box. Eq crawls back to the Mandalorian, presenting the box to him. “Take it. If it gets Kaslur off my back, just take it!”

He holsters the blaster, giving the Weequay a false sense of security. Din takes the box and opens it. His brows furrow at the contents. It doesn’t look like a necklace, it looks like a small, metal collar with a small crystal charm. Kaslur described it as having the finest jewels… was that a lie? He goes to the door-frame and beckons the dancer over. “Necklace.”

She takes the box and looks down, peering at it. “Really? This? But it’s so… simple…” Shrugging, she closes the box. “Get Eq. We’re almost done. You go to Kaslur, I go home and grab my things.”

“You think it’ll be that easy?”

“Been thinking about it the entire way.” She smiles and steps back. “Do your thing.” Once she is a safe enough distance away, Din looks back inside.

“So… is that it? You said you’d leave me alone, right?”

The Mandalorian stalks forward. “Never did.”

Din drags Eq’s unconscious body through the halls and down the stairs. Kaslur would give him more credits if he brought him in alive, and fuel isn’t any cheaper these days. The dancer carries the black box for him for now, but something in his gut tells him that there is more to that “necklace.” He can’t worry now.

Soon, he tells himself. Soon, a new Razor Crest. Soon, off this awful planet.

The dancer opens the door to the outside and freezes. She gasps, finding a crescent of mobsters surrounding the exit. Din keeps a calm head, already running his eyes over their blasters and conjuring strategies if they cannot talk their way out of this. But then he sees Kaslur there in the center, tall and wide. He claps slowly, an unfriendly grin on his face. “Well done, Mandalorian. Well done. Though, you can’t take all the credit for this job, can you?” His eyes gloss over to the dancer’s, an uneasy stillness within them. All Kaslur has to do is gesture with his head and two mobsters dart forward. One yanks the black box away from her while the other grabs her arm.

“Hey!”

“Stop!” says Din. “Don’t punish her. I’m the one that needed her help.”

“Punish? My precious doll?” The mobster drags her over to Kaslur. “She helped you. Which meant she helped me.” He turns to her, stroking her cheek. “And I know the perfect reward. Mando, hand over Eq.” The Mandalorian hesitates, eyes flicking towards her. She nods. He steps forward and shoves the Weequay forward who barely registers what is going on. Another two thugs hold him up by his arms while Kaslur opens the black box. “Don’t you love it?” he says, presenting it to her.

She bites her bottom lip. “It… is very lovely.”

“I know it’s simple. But I went through a lot of trouble to acquire this for you, darling. You want to see what it does?” She remains silent, eyes flashing to the Mandalorian. Kaslur takes the choker and walks up to the moaning, half-awake Eq and clips it around his neck. “Hm. It doesn’t look as great on him as it will on you, my dearest. But you see, this collar is made of kyber crystal.” Her eyes widen and her skin pales. Kyber? Din thinks. “And I have its sister right here.” Kaslur presents a small bracelet around his fat wrist. “And with a touch of a button… it can do this.” He presses it.

It happens in the matter of seconds. Eq’s head falls clean off and topples to the ground as the inside of the choker fills with a hazy white light. It too falls to the ground, having cleanly sliced the flesh it wrapped around. She lets out a horrified shriek and Din knows that he cannot let this go on a second longer. He brandishes his blaster but gets more than a few barrels pointing at him. As if that would stop him.

“I’m sorry, darling,” says Kaslur. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. But we could have prevented this.” He holds her head, not caring that she is the one having panicking breaths now. “I’m tired of waiting. You’re coming with me.” She shakes her head with a whimper that he shushes. “Don’t worry, love. I won’t press the button if you do as I say.”

“Not happening,” says Din behind gritted teeth. “Step away.”

Kaslur lifts his head. “Look around you, Mando. It’s five against one.”

“I like those odds.”

He laughs. “Of course you would, you fucking Mandalorian.” Kaslur stands up straight, his hand falling on her shoulder. “’Course if you did, then there’s no way you’re leaving here alive, much less on a Razor Crest. That was the deal, wasn’t it?” He snaps his fingers and a gangster brings him a comm device. With a few button clicks, it displays a hologram of a Razor Crest. “Walk away now and I transfer all ownership of this ship to you. My men will let you ride off into Hyperspace.”

Din freezes. The Razor Crest was the only reason he came to this planet in the first place. He needs it. It’s right there in front of him; the hard work is done already. But then his brown eyes flash back towards her.

She breaks the uncomfortable silence. “Just go, Mando,” she tells him. “Go. Take it.”

“I-I…”

“Go.” She forces a smile, tears welling in her eyes. “One of us should get off this awful planet.” And just like that, Din watches the tears streak down her cheek as she gives up her dream. His hand shakes as he lowers his blaster as the weight sits uncomfortably on his chest and shoulders. Someone walks over to grab the choker off the ground, placing it back in the box.

“I’ll get that nice and cleaned up for you,” says Kaslur. He presses a few buttons more before the hologram disappears. “Alright, she’s all yours. Congratulations.”

Din wants to punch him right in the teeth. He stands still as a statue as the mobsters move out, dragging along the dancer. She does not resist, she doesn’t even falter in that smile. One of us should get off this awful planet.

Most bounties leave a somewhat bitter taste in his mouth, but only one made him feel vile and wretched. Now, that number is two.

Din starts in the direction of where he can pick up the Razor Crest. Kaslur’s men greet him with ease and show it to him. They go over the details, but honestly, Din cannot concentrate on them. With every explanation, every demonstration, he sees her face. He sees her smile as the tears stain her cheeks. He hears the horrified scream she let out when they saw the collar.

And he imagines it on her neck. Always present, always a threat. He imagines a broken smile on her lips as she does everything Kaslur asks of her, too afraid to refuse.

The men leave him alone in the Razor Crest. He sits in the pilot’s seat and thanks to muscle memory is able to power it on and go through the motions. Good, he succeeded, he has a home for the time being. Yet, any thought of celebration is rebuked with disgust.

And her smile.

He knows what he has to do.

Never before had a choker had a more apt name. The dancer sits at the end of the fancy table in Kaslur’s dining room in his penthouse overlooking the city. Across from her, he tears at his food, getting juices stained on his chin and shirt. Her body trembles and she stares at her untouched plate. The thought of swallowing against the choker vanishes her appetite. “I’ve already sent for your things,” he tells her, startling her. “No more dancing for ungrateful twigs.”

She keeps her hands on her lap. “Am I… never to dance again?”

Kaslur laughs. “No, my dear. You will simply dance for me. And only for me.” His voice lowers to a certain register that makes her skin crawl. “And this time, darling, everything is going to come off.”

“E...Everything?”

Kaslur wipes his lips with a napkin. “Come, I’ll show you your room.”

With wobbling knees, she stands and follows him. Kaslur takes her hand and leads her through the large space of his penthouse, opening the door to an ornate bedroom. The windows are ceiling to floor and the bed is large with plush pillows and a canopy. He shoves her inside and closes the door.

Oh no.

“I’ve been dreaming about this day for years,” he starts. “The day I finally claim you… how should I do it? Should I make you dance for me? Or sing? How you seduced me every night with your voice, your body…” He creeps closer to her as she steps back. “I don’t know where you come from, my love, but I know a one-of-a-kind woman, especially on this shithole of a planet.”

She gulps. She feels the choker around her.

“Haha… I digress. So I was thinking, how do I want this night to go? Then, I realized… it doesn’t matter.” He laughs. “You’ll do every single one. Tomorrow, you’ll dance. The day after, you’ll sing. On day three, I want you crawling to me, offering your body.” Kaslur shoves her onto the bed. She tries leaving, but he rests a knee on her legs. “For every fucking year you made me wait for this, you’re gonna do everything I want, understand?”

“P-Please—”

Kaslur grabs the fabric of her dress and tears it off with a loud rip, making her scream. “And don’t give me that look! You’re gonna enjoy every second of it.” He seizes her breast, twisting the flesh and making her whimper in pain. “If you don’t, if you’re not enjoying it, there’ll be consequences.” He groans. “Fuck, your body is so beautiful.”

She shuts her eyes. She wills time to turn faster. How foolish she was to think that she could escape this place, escape him. More tears well up in the corner of her eyes, but she is afraid of crying. His hand curls around her neck as he tears away more of the fabric. She thought she heard the sound of a door sliding open, but Kaslur does nothing about it. He forces his hand between her legs and she is about to cry out.

Something knocks Kaslur to the side. In a flash of activity, she sees a blur of silver and sees Kaslur tumble to the floor. A blade of pure black light materializes and stabs right through Kaslur, choking him and expiring his life. The dancer sits up, her eyes taking in the sight of the Mandalorian sheathing his weapon and standing over him. He turns his visor towards her before quickly looking away from her state of undress. “I-I’m sorry. I wasn’t here in time.”

It takes her a second to process what has happened. When she realizes that she was rescued, that she didn’t have to endure what she braced herself for, she chokes out a sob. She lunges forward and hugs the Mandalorian despite her nakedness. He lifts his hands before looking around the room, finding nothing. With a sigh, he takes off his cape and wraps it around her shoulders. “We don’t have a lot of time. We have to go now. I’m sorry.”

“We...We’re going?”

“Yes.” He steps back, away from her. “I’m getting you off this planet.”

“I’m…” Elation fills her expression. “Wait.” She leans down and grabs the bracelet from Kaslur’s wrist. With bated breath, she clicks the other button and just prays in that split second she doesn’t die. Then the collar falls from her neck. The relief almost brings her to tears. With that, she takes the cape and holds it around her torso. Then, she gives one last look at Kaslur's corpse. With a rare scowl, she kicks his head. “Okay, let’s go.” She turns away, her expression softening.

“Do as I say,” he says. “This will be rough.”

“Okay.” She follows him. “Thank you, Mando. Thank you…!”

[canonisdead]

I got distracted so here's a bunch

Lenny, high key offended: you called the soldiers before you called me?

Guardian: I’m supposed to call you first when I find a dead body??

Lenny: YES

-

Lenny: Do you want to explain the text you sent me last night?

Guardian: It was autocorrect.

Lenny: Autocorrect wrote "You're so hot. Please step on me."?

Guardian: Yes.

-

Lenny: Time for plan G.

Guardian: Don’t you mean plan B?

Lenny: No, we tried plan B a long time ago. I had to skip over plan C due to technical difficulties.

Tinky Winky: What about plan D?

Lenny: Plan D was that desperate disguise attempt half an hour ago.

Robin: What about plan E?

Lenny: I’m hoping not to use it. Finn could get killed in plan E.

-

Lenny, heavy sigh: we're late, it will take us 20 minutes to arrive

Anne: I'll get us there in 15 minutes or less :)

Lenny: NO!

-

Lenny: Snowball, can you help with the buttons of my coat? 

Guardian: Sure, Len. 

Lenny:

Guardian:

Lenny, rolling his eyes: Up, Guardian.

Guardian: Yes, sorry-

-

Guardian: The next time Lenny is angry, I'll drape him in a cape and say, “Now you're super angry."

Guardian: Maybe he'll laugh. Maybe I'll die.

-

(Five years into the Cure AU)

Guardian, to Dipsy and Laa-Laa: Have we learned a lesson from all this?

Laa-Laa: Look, I know you want to hear yes, but given our track record-

-

Guardian: I truly go into housewife mode when I’m someone’s boyfriend, like, I will make you pancakes and bacon every morning. Lenny: This is a lie. Lenny: I am literally dating this man. This is a lie. Lenny: He got his own fluff in the pancake batter and I almost died.

-

Gary: Aren’t you going to say, “Have a nice day?”

Lenny: I don’t care if you have a pulse, much less a nice day.

-

Anne: Can you turn the lights on?

Laa-Laa: I don’t need to. You’re the only light I need in my life.

Anne: Little kitty, I love you, but I can’t see.

-

Anne: Truth or dare?

Lenny: Um..Truth

Anne: Do you-

Guardian: I dare you to kiss me!

Lenny: *seriously confused but kisses him anyway*

Anne, to Conor: He said “truth”, right?

-

Cave: You’re a horrible person! Finn: Maybe. But I’m rich and I’m pretty, so it doesn’t really matter.

-

Miles: You gotta look inside yourself and say, "What am I willing to put up with today?"

Miles, pointing at Anne not moving out of the way: NOT FUCKING THIS!!!

-

Miles: I wish I could crawl under your skin so we can be together all the time Anne: nah bro wtf

-

Finn: Top reasons to get married? Guardian: Firmly saying "That's my cute husband!" and knocking someone out in one punch. Finn: ??? Guardian: And love, I guess.

-

Laa-Laa: Are you drinking enough water?

Tinky Winky: Sometimes my tears get in my mouth.

-

Laa-Laa: oh of COURSE "miss"demeanor and murd"her" are illegal. just admit you hate to see women having fun….

-

Laa-Laa: I saw ye in me dream Dipsy: Was I gettin’ treasure? Laa-Laa: Nay Dipsy: Then t’was not me Extra Tinky Winky, shaking with tears in his eyes: What are you two even saying?!

[dxncingwithastrxnger]

i knew from the first time, i'd stay for a long time (Inotan)

A/N: Tada!!! Day 3!!! Super late and since it's past midnight for me, technically not posted in time, but oh well!! I actually really love this one more than I thought I would, tbh, and I actually finished up the majority of this just in the last few hours cause I was determined to get it finished and posted tonight so that I'll have all day to focus on tomorrow's story!! This one is just filled with fluff all the way through, so enjoy!!!

Pairing(s): Inosuke x Tanjiro, Zenitsu x Nezuko (Implied, kinda?)

Prompt: Day 3: Meet-cutes

Summary: Tanjiro's day is full of disasters that leaves his head reeling, but just when he thinks he's officially experienced the worst day of his adult life, something very special happens.

Tag(s): Fluff, like honestly that's the only tag I can think of to add, besides Tanjiro being an absolute disaster himself 💀

Word Count: 2,731

Song Inspiration: I Like Me Better By Lauv

Not beta'd, all mistakes are my own.

~*~

[Author Masterlist]

[Read on AO3]

~*~

At first, everything was going fine. It was great, even. Tanjiro was going about his day just as he usually does. He wakes up at six, starts a pot of coffee, jumps into the shower, gets dressed, makes breakfast, feeds his new dog, Axel, lets Axel into the backyard for awhile, checks his email, and calls Nezuko. All perfectly normal things for a Wednesday during summer break.

Then, on a call with Nezuko, he calls Axel back inside, puts on his shoes, grabs his wallet and keys, and leaves the house to run some errands. He listens to Nezuko catch him up on everything she’s been up to for the past week, Zenitsu occasionally making comments in the background, and Tanjiro enjoys his day so far.

But it all starts turning to shit when he steps into the grocery store and…immediately trips and falls flat on his face. Groaning in pain and face red from embarrassment, he pushes himself up and grabs his phone, which had slid about a foot away from him, grateful the screen isn’t cracked.

“-jiro? Everything alright?” Nezuko’s asking when he puts the phone back to his ear, brushing dirt off of his knees.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Nez, just tripped and fell. Dropped my phone, too.” He explains with a pout as he walks over to the cart and tugs one out.

Nezuko giggles, the sounds of dishes being washed as she cleans up from the breakfast that Zenitsu had made earlier. “You and your two left feet, brother.”

“Hey, it’s not that bad anymore, okay? I’ve been doing really well at not falling over this week.” He points out stubbornly, forcing himself not to whine like a child.

“Yes, because it’s perfectly normal for someone to keep track of how many times they fall in a day.” Nezuko quips teasingly.

“Tanjiro, don’t make me get out our old fall counter board, we haven’t had to use that since middle school.” He hears Zenitsu call from somewhere nearby Nezuko.

Tanjiro groans again, throwing his head back in exasperation as he pushes the cart towards the back of the store. “Guuuyyysssss!” He whines, unable to help himself. Both of them laugh, finding amusement in his misery. Reaching for a few bags of soba noodles and udon noodles and placing them into his cart, quickly stopping a bowl of pre-made ramen from falling off of the shelf before continuing down the aisle.

“Oh, hey, Tanjiro.” Zenitsu suddenly says in his ear, as if he’s taken the phone from Nezuko. “Have they sent you the email about the new P.E. teacher yet?” He asks.

“Huh?” He raises an eyebrow at the question as he reads the label on a box of crackers. “No, I don’t think so, though it may have just been delayed. I’ll check my email for it again later today, though. Why?”

Zenitsu scoffs. “Apparently the guy’s been in America for the past decade, just moved back to Japan recently. He needs a reminder on how things work in our schools, I guess, and Himejima wants us to be his, like, “buddies”, help him out a bit.”

“Wait, really?” He questions, surprised. “That’s new. Not everyday we get someone who’s been away from Japan that long. Was he born here, do you know?”

“Yeah, he was born here. Don’t know much else though, not like he’s gonna give us the guy’s whole life story or anything.” He hears something on the other end that sounds a lot like sweeping.

“Yeah, I know, I was just curious. Seems like a nice way to make a new friend, though.” Tanjiro hums, adding soy sauce into his cart alongside rice, chocolate mochi, beef, and eggs.

“Yeah, says the guy who’s managed to befriend literally all of our coworkers since we’ve started working there.” His best friend snorts.

“Not all of them.” Tanjiro frowns. “Still haven’t been able to win over Shinizugawa. Either one of them.” He sighs.

“Screw the Shinizugawa brothers, they’re both assholes.” The blonde mutters and Tanjiro can hear the pout in his voice.

“You’re just upset because Sanemi won best teacher over you.” Tanjiro rolled his eyes with a smile.

“He’s the rudest person I’ve ever met, Tanjiro! There’s no way that his students like him that much! Those results were rigged and I’ll accept nothing less!” Zenitsu exclaims indignantly.

He laughs at his friend’s argument, but it quickly dies down when a container of panko slips out of his hand and to the floor, bursting open and spilling all over the place. “Ah, shit!” He curses.

“Tanjiro Kamado, what a dirty word that’s come out of you.” He hears on the other end of the phone, a voice that he vaguely registers as Nezuko again, but he’s only halfway paying attention as an employee comes over, bringing a sign to place over the mess until a broom can be brought over to clean it up.

“I’ll pay for it.” He promises, placing a hand over his phone mic. The employee shakes his head, reassuring him that it’s not necessary no matter how much he insists. He internally sighs. The second disaster in the past hour, not exactly a great start to what he knows is already gonna be a long day.

He takes a moment to speak on the phone again. “Listen, guys, I got some more errands to run and I don’t wanna run out of phone battery, so I’m gonna go. I’ll call again later or tomorrow?” He asks.

“Yeah, of course, Tanji, do what you need to do.” Nezuko reassures him.

“Okay, great. I love you guys.” He says warmly.

“Love you, too!”

“Love you. Give Axel lots of treats for me, okay?”

Tanjiro rolls his eyes. “You’re not supposed to spoil my dog more than me, Zenny.” He points out. All he gets in reply is a laugh and he shakes his head at the man as he hangs up the phone and puts it in his pocket.

The rest of his errand run consists of many more incidents, each one worse than the other. Knocking over a display of boxed snacks, almost accidentally running a red light when it changed too quickly, dropping a few books and grabbing the attention of everyone inside the small bookstore he was browsing, tripping and falling again, this time gaining a few new cracks on his phone. Then, it starts raining in the middle of him walking through a parking lot towards his car, the clouds pouring down on him, a bag of dog food splits open at the pet store and that time, he did pay for it, then his usual lunch place closed early and once he finally made it home, his car decides to inform him that one of his tires has started to lose some of its air.

Pulling into the driveway of his house, he parks and turns it off before throwing his head back and running his hands down his face, moaning out his misery. The universe is truly testing him today. Hopefully, he can still turn it around. He gets out of his car and starts the long process of getting all of his bags of food and other items into his house, thinking the whole time about how much easier the whole thing would be with two people rather than just one.

An hour later, everything now inside and completely put away finally, he stands in the kitchen and looks out the window, enjoying the view. Despite the earlier downpour, it’s still very nice out and the sun has made its way out of the clouds once more. He looks down at Axel, his two year old mixed breed laying on the floor and staring up at him.

He smiles at him fondly. “C’mon, Axel, how does a walk sound?” Tanjiro asks him, patting his thigh and walking towards the front door. Axel immediately perks up and follows him, nails clicking against the floor as he trots out of the kitchen and across the living room. Tanjiro grabs his leash from the hook beside the door and bends down to hook it to his collar, making sure he still has his phone, keys, and wallet on him before stepping out the door and closing and locking it behind him.

Tanjiro hums softly to himself as they walk through his neighborhood and a few blocks farther, going at a steady, easy pace as he makes his way to one of his favorite parks. Axel thoroughly enjoys the walk, panting and trotting along, occasionally barking or yipping as he watches everything around them.

Once reaching the park, they wander around for awhile, Tanjiro smiling softly at all the families and kids running around, watching the animals skitter about, stopping and admiring a few plants and flowers that have started to bloom since he was last there.

He’s been out for about an hour and a half now when, suddenly, Axel starts barking and pulling at his leash roughly, causing Tanjiro to stumble forward as he holds tight to his dog’s leash and tries to keep him in place. “Hey! Axel! Calm!” He orders, though it seems as if Axel didn’t even hear him. He looks around to look for anything that could’ve made him act this way, but he sees nothing out of place from just a few minutes ago. Thankfully, Axel’s reaction doesn’t seem violent, exactly, just excited, but he still needs him to calm down.

Axel tries even harder to get away now, twisting and jumping, gaining the attention of people nearby and Tanjiro starts to panic slightly. “Axel, baby, please, calm down.” He says gently, hoping for a different reaction than before but there isn’t a single change in Axel. And then, right as he reaches out to touch the reddish-brown canine, Axel twists, faces his head downwards, rears back, and suddenly his neck is bare, having managed to slip out of his collar, and Tanjiro is now gasping as his dog starts running full speed across the park.

“No! Axel!!” He shouts, keeping hold of the leash and collar as he sprints after Axel, that small panic he felt before increasing tenfold. He runs as fast as he can after him, praying that there aren't any other dogs around right now. Other people? Axel gets along great with. Other dogs? Not so much. Tanjiro’s learned that the hard way. It’s why they don’t go to dog parks anymore.

Damn this day, damn it all. He curses mentally, completely hating every second that he hasn’t caught up to his dog yet. Every single bad scenario ran through his head, all of them leading to him losing his dog and the pain that rocks through his chest at such a thought makes him grit his teeth.

Finally, finally, he sees Axel coming to a stop. But his relief is quickly wiped away when he realizes that Axel is stopping right in front of another dog. “Shit. Axel!!” He shouts once more, stumbling to a stop right behind him, bending down and placing his hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath, never taking his eyes off of his dog.

“Uh, hey, dude, you good?” Someone asks, most likely the owner of the other dog.

“N-no, Axel, h-he’s not-” Tanjiro pauses, straightening up as he realizes. A fight hasn’t broken out yet. Axel hasn’t attacked. He looks at his dog and watches as Axel simply sniffs curiously at the other dog in front of him, which appears to be an all white husky. “...not good with other dogs…” He trails off, watching the interaction with disbelief.

“Well, seems like he likes my Senshi just fine.” The other man says.

Tanjiro finally turns to look at him and is immediately stunned. Standing in front of him is a man a few inches shorter than him with long, black to blue ombre hair pulled up into a loose bun and the brightest green eyes he’s ever seen. The man is wearing a gray, sleeveless, hooded sports vest with blue outlining and accents, the zipper only halfway up, and a pair of loose, blue track pants. He’s got one hand in his vest pocket and the other hanging by his side, holding onto a purple leash. Tanjiro gulps as his eyes trace over the man’s muscular arms, quickly looking back to his face.

“S-Senshi?” He speaks up, looking to the man’s dog and back to him again. “That’s the pup’s name?” He asks curiously.

“Yep!” The man confirms, popping the ‘p’ with a grin. “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” He turns to his dog, looking at her with pride. “She’s part husky, part wolf.”

Tanjiro raises an eyebrow at him. “Seriously? That’s awesome.” He says. He looks to Senshi and Axel and watches as the two of them circle each other slowly, before sniffing at each other’s faces, getting so close that their noses are nearly pressed together. “Axel doesn’t usually get along with other dogs, no matter the gender. I’ve never seen him be so nice to one before.” He admits.

He turns back to her owner as he shrugs. “That’s just Senshi, she’s good at making friends.” The man informs him.

“Usually I am as well.” Tanjiro sighs, taking a step forward to bend down and stop Axel’s friend making just long enough to put his collar back on, feeling much more relieved once it’s secure. “I’m Tanjiro. Tanjiro Kamado.” He stands back up and holds his hand out to the black-haired man.

“Inosuke Hashibira.” Inosuke grabs his hand in a firm, strong grip, shaking it once and lingering. If Tanjiro didn’t know any better, he’d say that there’s a hint of flirtation in the other man’s eyes as he continues. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Tanjiro feels warmth in his cheeks as he pulls his hand back, smiling warmly. “The same to you, Inosuke.” His eyes flicker to the dogs who have now started yipping and playfully pawing at each other, chewing his lip thoughtfully. “You know…considering Axel doesn’t usually make friends, it’d be kinda nice if we could have some playdates every once in awhile with the two of them.” He suggests shyly, looking away from the other man. “I-If that’s something that you’d be o-okay with, it’s not like you have to say yes o-or anything like that.” He fidgets with his hands, holding them in front of him.

Inosuke lets out a deep chuckle that fills Tanjiro up with a warmth he’s unfamiliar with, but it’s not unwelcome. “That sounds like a lot of fun. Besides, I just moved back here not that long ago, it’d be nice to have someone to help me get used to how things work around here again.”

That time, there’s no mistaking the flirty tone of his voice and Tanjiro knows his cheeks are pink as he looks back at him. “Well, I am a teacher, so I suppose it wouldn’t be too difficult to reintroduce you to the basics.” Tanjiro flirts back, as rusty as he may be with such a thing.

There’s a sparkle in those green eyes that pull him in, the feeling only increased with every word out of the other man’s mouth. “What a coincidence, I’ll be starting out as a P.E. teacher in the fall at the high school a few blocks away from here.” Inosuke informs him.

Tanjiro’s eyes widen at his words. “Wait, no way, you’re the new P.E. teacher my friend, Zenitsu was telling me about?” He questions. “Him and I are supposed to be your learning buddies once the school year starts back up again!” I tell him. “He was just telling me about that earlier today.” The redhead laughs at the coincidence.

Inosuke’s eyes light up with surprise as well. “Well, damn, look at that.” He laughs lightly, Tanjiro joining in his amusement. “I can’t wait to get a head start on that, then.” He says.

“Yeah?” Tanjiro asks.

Inosuke steps forward, closer to him. “Yeah. We get together, let the pups play. And then you and I, we can spend some time together.” He says, his voice quieter than before. “Get to know each other a little better.”

Tanjiro bites his lip as a giddy grin spreads across his face. “Sounds good to me.” Maybe today wasn't so bad after all.

~*~

A/N: What did you think?? Inotan first meeting and getting straight to flirting just makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, hehe. But also, since I didn't find a way to mention in the actual story itself, Axel is a mix between a rhodesian ridgeback, an australian cattle dog, and a chow. I used to have a dog with those exact same breeds and he was the sweetest. And to anyone who doesn't know, Senshi is actually "warrior" in Japanese. Seemed like a pretty fitting thing for Inosuke to name his dog, imo. But anyways, I hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading!!!

[alberttek]

12 Brutal Truths About Closing Deals in the AI Automation Industry

As the owner of an AI automation agency for the past 9 months, I’ve learned that selling AI solutions requires a different approach than traditional sales. I’ve compiled these no-nonsense techniques that have consistently delivered results.

1. The 90/10 Rule of AI Sales

In the AI automation business, 90% of our time is spent building rapport and demonstrating value through discovery calls, proof of concepts, and technical discussions. Only 10% is spent finalizing contracts and collecting payment. Master both parts. The technical demonstrations build trust, but you still need to defend your pricing and close effectively when it matters.

2. The Price Reality Check

Today’s AI solutions cost substantially more than even a few years ago. What used to be a $15,000 automation implementation now costs $30,000-$35,000. Many clients aren’t prepared for this reality, and most salespeople aren’t prepared to take them there. You must learn to justify higher price points confidently or you’ll leave money on the table every time.

3. Money Justification Over Negotiation

Stop negotiating. Start justifying. When a client says your AI implementation is “$10,000 higher than expected,” don’t immediately offer discounts. Instead, break down the value in concrete terms: “This solution will save your team 40 hours per week at your average hourly rate of $75. That’s $3,000 weekly or $156,000 annually. Your investment is recouped in less than three months.”

4. Consequence Questions Drive Urgency

Ask prospects about the consequences of not implementing AI automation: “What happens if you continue with manual processes for another year?” or “How much will inefficiencies cost if nothing changes?” These questions force clients to confront the status quo cost — often much higher than they realize.

5. Identity-Based Selling

People act according to who they believe they are. When selling AI solutions, tap into identity: “Forward-thinking companies in your industry are automating these processes” or “Innovative CTOs like yourself are leading this transformation.” When clients identify as tech innovators, they’ll act accordingly. One hesitant prospect closed immediately after I framed the decision as “what technology leaders would do.”

6. Know Your Customer’s Style

Recognize and adapt to the four customer types:

Dominant: Provide bottom-line results and ROI calculations with minimal fluff

Social: Emphasize how AI automation will make them look innovative to peers

Paced: Give them information without pressure and respect their timeline

Precise: Deliver detailed technical specifications and implementation roadmaps

I lost deals initially by giving technical specs to dominant buyers who only wanted bottom-line impact. Now I tailor my approach immediately.

7. Reading Body Language in Video Calls

Even in remote sales, body language matters:

Folded arms during your demo indicates skepticism — revisit your value proposition

Leaning forward shows interest — time to discuss implementation details

Looking away suggests hesitation — address unspoken concerns directly

Nodding with direct eye contact signals readiness — move toward closing

8. The Income Reality

In the AI automation sales business:

Average performers make $50,000-$100,000 selling basic automation packages

True professionals earn $100,000-$450,000 by mastering technical knowledge, consultative selling, and consistently closing larger, more complex implementations

The difference isn’t luck — it’s discipline, continuous learning, and raising standards. I track every sales activity, conversation point, and objection to constantly refine my approach.

9. Expand Rather Than Change Identity

Don’t try to make clients completely change their identity. Instead, expand it: “You’ve always been focused on operational excellence. AI automation is simply the next evolution of that commitment.” This approach faces less resistance than suggesting they’ve been doing everything wrong.

10. Handle Objections as Opportunities

When a prospect says, “We don’t have the technical team to maintain an AI system,” don’t hear rejection. Instead, hear: “Show me why your managed service makes this feasible for us.” Turn every objection into a question you can answer. This shift in perspective transforms the conversation from confrontational to collaborative.

11. The Power of Psychological Reciprocity

When clients raise concerns, give genuine value and understanding first. Listen intently, acknowledge their perspective, and respond thoughtfully. This creates an unconscious obligation to reciprocate by considering your perspective. I never rush to counter objections — instead, I explore them deeply before responding, which dramatically improves reception to my solutions.

12. Maintain Emotional Distance

Never become emotionally attached to closing a specific deal. AI automation sales cycles are long and complex. Rejection is information, not failure.

The AI automation industry is transforming rapidly. The agencies that thrive won’t just have the best technology — they’ll have sales professionals who can effectively communicate value, handle sophisticated objections, and close deals at appropriate price points. Master these techniques, and you’ll stand apart in an increasingly crowded marketplace.

By the way, if you like these kinds of insights and want to dive deeper into my background, my experience, or want to connect with me, you can find me on Instagram at “@tek.alb” and Twitter/X at “@AlbertTekith”.

[floral-force]

Lay Me Down to Sleep

Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!Reader

summary: Insomnia plagues you during your first night on-base with Task Force 141. A little midnight stroll leads you to the imposing masked lieutenant you'd been warned about. Maybe a common struggle can lead to comfort...

words: 1.8k+

warnings/tags: just really soft stuff here (but my work/blog is always 18+ only), this one goes out to my fellow insomniacs, insomniac!simon "ghost" riley, pride and prejudice mention, all fluff, simon uses “love” to refer to reader, technically pre-slash, soap is a lil shit

a/n: hi, hello, I am back (sort of). I took a long hiatus bc of work/life stress but I cranked this out a while ago and finally feel confident enough to post it. thank you for reading and sticking with me <3

masterlist | read on ao3 | taglist

You stared up at the ceiling of your room, rubbing the heels of your palms into your tired eyes. Hours had passed since you’d gotten into bed to rest up before a briefing in the morning. Sleep still hadn’t found you yet. Maybe it was the time difference—you had flown into England from the States not even 12 hours ago—or maybe it was the stiff mattress. Or maybe it was the way you still thought of the masked lieutenant at Price’s side when you’d gotten off the heli. 

Whatever it was, you needed to get over it. You’d read online that sometimes leaving bed to do something other than try to sleep helps, so maybe it was the perfect time for you to check out that tiny little excuse for a kitchen the Scottish private—nicknamed Soap, he’d told you with a wink—had shown you earlier. With a sigh, you got up and wiggled into more modest sweatpants, anxiously pulling at the hem of your shirt as you stepped into your crocs and walked out of the door.

Your eyes finally adjusted to the bright fluorescent hallway light as you reached the kitchen, surprised to see a light on when you opened the heavy door with bated breath. You peeked inside and saw a broad man sitting at a table, absolutely dwarfing it with his size. 

“Can’t sleep, eh?” 

You jumped at the deep voice and nearly let the door slam, catching it right before impact and slowly closing it. “Uh, no.” You chuckled, walking behind him to the right side of the table.

You reached the chair, then stopped in your tracks when you lifted your gaze off the floor. 

It was him—the masked lieutenant. 

You could barely make out a quirked-up eyebrow under the shadow of his sweatshirt’s hood as he took a sip from the mug his large hand dwarfed, his fabric mask scrunched up over his nose. Your heart raced and you looked down at the seat of the crummy plastic chair in front of you. The kitchen was now the last place you wanted to be, but you were too tired to make up some shitty excuse to flee. 

So, you stood awkwardly in front of the chair, hands in your pockets, biting your lips.

“I’m—” you cleared your throat, “I’m guessing you can’t either, Lieutenant?”

“Never can these days,” he replied gruffly. 

There was the sound of another sip from his mug, a thump when it was lowered to the table, and then silence. It was heavy and awkward, and you were certain you’d never felt more embarrassed in front of a commanding officer before, even though you’d fainted in front of one during a basic training run.

There was a heavy sigh. “Christ, ‘m not gonna fuckin’ bite ya.”

“Soap told me you would,” you quipped back.

Soap had warned you about the masked man—Ghost, he’d called him—and told you not to bother him much. “That’s my job,” he’d laughed. 

Right now, you felt like you were definitely bothering him.

“Figures,” he grumbled. 

You finally looked back up at Ghost, meeting his brown-eyed gaze for the first time since you’d entered the room. He looked at you with curiosity, not malice; somehow, that made you feel a little better, even if it still made your heart race and your palms sweat. 

“I just—I can’t stop thinking,” you blurted out, finally responding to the question he’d asked when you’d opened the door with a solid answer beyond your meek “no.” 

“I get nightmares.”

It felt like a confession, and you pulled out the chair, cringing when it squeaked across the linoleum floor. You sat down to hear more, crossing your arms on the table and resting your chin on them. Ghost’s eyes tracked your movements, even as he took another leisurely sip from his mug. Now that you were closer, you could smell that its contents weren’t coffee, but tea, the herbal notes reaching your nose. 

Before you thought better of it, words rushed out of your mouth. “It’s stupid, but when my insomnia is really bad—like it is now—I call my best friend and ask them to read to me. I’d do it now, but they’re at work.” You shrugged your shoulders. “Gotta love the time difference.”

Ghost shook his head. “Tha’s not stupid at all.” He took a long drink from his mug and set it down. “Whatever works. I jus’ make myself a cuppa, then see what happens.”

“And what’s happening next?” you probed.

He nudged his thumb against the mug and tilted his head. “I think ‘m gonna try reading.”

“Y’all keep books in the kitchen?” you teased.

“Hell no,” Ghost scoffed. “Did’ya bring any wi’you?” he asked.

You pursed your lips and squinted as you thought. “I think I brought Pride and Prejudice with me. I told myself I’d start rereading it since the plane ride over here was the perfect opportunity…but I fell asleep.” You sat up and smiled at him. “Why do you ask?”

He shifted in his seat and his hood fell, revealing short hair and red-tinged ears. “Could I read a bit of it?”

You blinked, a bit stunned at his shy question. Ghost, a man with a taste for Jane Austen? Something about a man like him wanting to read a period romance novel lit a tiny fire in your chest.

“Um, sure.” You stood and took a few steps, pointing at the door. “I can go grab it—”

“No, no, I’ll go wi’you, save you the trip back, yeah?” He rushed to his feet, and you stopped in your tracks at his side, gulping at the way he towered over you. 

“If you say so, Lieutenant.”

“Ghost,” he nodded.

“Ghost,” you repeated with a soft smile, leading him to the door.

The walk to your room was silent except for your footsteps tapping on the floor; his boots and your crocs mixing into a twilight harmony. Ghost kept up behind you. Your cheeks burned at the thought of him seeing you in your ratty sweats and shirt and crocs—fucking crocs—as you finally reached your door. You fumbled with your keys, swearing under your breath.

You unlocked the door and hurried across the room to flick on the lamp at your bedside. Ghost closed the door, then loomed over you as you crouched down and rummaged through your backpack. You hummed in triumph when you finally pulled out the beat-up and well-loved book, turning and reaching up to hand it to him. You stood and sat on the edge of your bed, expecting him to leave. Instead, he pulled the chair from the desk across the bed over to your bedside, settling in as he read the back cover. You were suddenly aware of his musky, amber scent because of the short distance, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t feel inviting, much unlike the person it clung to.

“Making sure you like it?” you asked with a nervous chuckle.

“Do you like it, love?” Ghost’s eyes flitted up to meet yours.

The pet name and Ghost’s suddenly soft voice caught you off guard. You reminded yourself it wasn’t personal, that it was a common British thing, that he didn’t mean anything by it, that it was colloquial. It didn’t feel bad or gross—it felt like a warm hug, a gentle kiss on the forehead, a thumb softly stroking across your cheek. 

You swallowed and dug your nails into the mattress. “Yeah, yeah! I’ve—I’ve read it, like, twice now.” You silently cursed yourself for stumbling over your words.

He nodded. “Have you ever listened to someone read it?”

“No,” you answered hesitantly.

“Would you like to?”

You nearly choked on your breath. You couldn’t stop your eyes from widening and your lips from parting. Having Ghost read to you would be absolutely unreal—his voice was strangely soothing, washing over you with a gentleness you didn’t think he’d be capable of. And yet, here he sat, staring you down as his thumb stroked the front cover of one of your favorite books, his offer dangling in the air.

“You said being read to helps you fall asleep,” he continued. “You’re gonna need the sleep to handle Price’s brief, I promise you that, love.”

“I mean, yeah,” you replied. “But I don’t want you to think you have to or need to. I’m a big kid, I can force myself to fall asleep if you say Price is really that bad.”

Ghost shook his head. “Nah, I want to.” He reached for the lamp and jerked his head at you. “Get settled, love. You can still get a decent amount’a sleep in.”

“What will you do?” you asked as he dimmed the light.

“Me?” he shrugged as you lay down. “I’ll live.”

“Then I should stay up too.”

“No, sleep. That’s an order,” he said, the command stern yet playful and stoking the fire in your chest. You swore he winked at you, but it could’ve been a trick of the light. 

“Fine,” you huffed. You closed your eyes so you could focus on the silky tones of his voice.

“Now then,” he cleared his throat. “Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen.”

You smirked. “Off to a great start already, Ghost.”

There was a low chuckle. You smiled, hoping he was looking at the page, but also secretly hoping he was looking at you. Maybe he was, but you could already feel your mind relaxing even though he’d only read the title. There was something in your gut telling you that Ghost was softer than he seemed. The imposing, threatening lieutenant was just a man that enjoyed tea and struggled with insomnia—and apparently, he was a bit of a softie underneath his vest and mask.

As he read, you began to let your mind drift off into dreamland, lulled by Ghost’s dulcet tones and the way he tried to engage with the text, varying his intonation and even chuckling at some of the dialogue and sentences. If he truly didn’t care, you couldn’t tell; he seemed to get more wrapped up in the book the more he read. 

“..but his friend Mr. Darcy soon drew the attention of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features, and noble mien, and—”

“Hm, like you,” you mumbled to your pillow, thinking of Ghost.

There was a pause, then he continued, sounding amused. He probably hadn’t heard you. He was probably just smirking at the next sentence about Darcy’s money, not your sleepy comment. You yawned, your eyes heavy and brain finally quiet enough for sleep to overtake you right as Darcy commented on Elizabeth’s appearance, Austen establishing their complicated and dramatic love-hate relationship.

Ghost wouldn’t tell you he’d blushed at your comment. That would be his sleepy secret.

masterlist | taglist

taglist: @tizylish @dheet @sinfulsalutations @oliviagreenaway @johfaam0 @sofasoap @nickangel13

[tierneysodegaard]

Dirty Secrets - Pierre Gasly x reader - Part One

Pierre Gasly x female!reader

Summary: Being the golden girl of Mercedes was easy when your dad was Toto Wolff. You’d been his Personal Assistant for a while with no problems until Pierre Gasly started to sneak around with you. Toto would kill him if he found out he was sleeping around with his daughter. Let’s just hope you have a good concealer to hide those marks Pierre leaves on your neck every night. 

Word Count: 3.7K

Warnings: Fluff, Swearing, mentions of parents leaving, sexual innuendos, sexual tension 

AN: This series will contain smut ;) It is also fast-paced and set in 2020 but for the sake of the fic we are going to pretend covid didn’t happen, I’d rather not think back to that time either.

—

Mercedes had a golden boy in the form of Lewis Hamilton and they also had a golden girl in the form of you. The only difference is you didn’t drive around a track at hundreds of miles an hour. Instead, you had the role of being your Dad’s assistant, constantly gathering files for him, always making sure he had coffee when he needed it, scheduling the meetings for him, and ensuring things ran smoothly for him. Everyone on the grid including the workers knew that you were off-limits yet even if Toto didn’t care who looked at you they would still back away from you, no one wanted to be on Toto’s bad side. 

Everyone but Pierre Gasly. 

You were the one thing he couldn’t have but he didn’t care, he still wanted you.

Pierre would always see you in the paddocks and garages, he was fascinated with you. To him, you were the innocent good girl that never went out very often, always stayed late to finish up work and was always at work early. You always looked neat and clean, your hair, make-up, outfit, everything was always done to perfection. Not to mention you were the daughter of Toto Wolff, the same man who wasn’t exactly Red Bull’s biggest fan and although Pierre no longer drove under Red Bull he did drive for Alpha Tauri which technically was managed by Red Bull and was a part of them. 

You weren’t hard to look at, Pierre always found himself staring and jumping into a conversation with you whenever he could. Charles had always snapped at him for it. Always complaining that one day he would get caught and Toto would make sure he was dealt with, even if it was for just talking to you. 

“I have everything you need for your meeting in this folder.” You held out a folder for Toto to take. The two of you were standing in the garages, going over what he needed for the last-minute meeting before the race started that afternoon. 

“Perfect.” He took the folder from you, scanning it to make sure everything was in fact there. “I won’t be in the meeting long.” He looked from the folder to you, smiling as he did so. “Thirty minutes maxim.”

“No worries, I will see you when you’re done -”

“Could you bring some coffee when the meeting ends? I’m shattered.” 

You smiled at your dad, a light laugh escaping your lips as you replied. “Of course, does Susie, Lewis or Valterii want any?”

“I’ll ask and text you.” He replied. “Right,” He checked his watch. “I’ll be back in thirty. Be careful and if anyone even tries anything with you come straight to me.”

“I’ll be fine.” You turned on your heel. “Good luck!” You called back with a smile on your face as you walked past all of the other garages.

It didn’t take long for a familiar French accent to grab your attention. “Is that the Mercedes golden girl I see? On her own as well? What a rarity!”

“Good morning Gasly, I see you haven’t lost your charm if you could even call it that.”

“Would never lose it for you love.” He joined your side, looking down and sending you a wink. “How are you?”

“Good, are you?”

“Perfect now I’ve seen you.” You rolled your eyes at his comment. 

“Charming well I’ve got work to do so -”

“Oh that’s a lie, just saw your dad disappear to a meeting with your mum, meaning you have nothing to do for like what thirty minutes  -”

“She’s not my mum.” You cut him off. 

“She’s not?” 

“Nope, I’m the odd sibling out.” You replied, clearly forgetting you were now having a full-blown conversation with Pierre Gasly. 

“How many do you have?”

“Three and including me there’s four of us. Two with Dad’s first marriage and one with Susie. Dad had me with another woman but she left him with me years ago.”

“That’s a shame.” He gave you a light smile. “At least you’re close with Toto.”

“So close he doesn’t let another human near me.” You returned the smile. 

“Everyone but me.” He smirked. 

“Especially you.” 

“Why me?” 

“I mean you do basically drive for the rival. Not to mention how you stare at me all the time.”

“You finally noticed.” 

“Rather hard not to Gasly.” You gave him a side look. “I can always feel your eyes on me, all the bloody time.” You huffed, speeding up your walk in the hopes of getting away from him. 

“Can’t help it when a girl as pretty as you is standing in the garages.” 

“Gasly is there a reason you’re still talking to me?” Your eyes scanned through the crowds before you, hoping to catch an eye of a Mercedes worker but just like your Dad, the majority of them were all in meetings. 

“Am I not allowed to talk to you?”

“It’s not that you're not allowed to talk to me it’s more that you probably shouldn’t.”

“Why? Do you think I’m scared of your Dad?” He gave you a cheeky smile as he continued to speak. “He doesn’t scare me -”

“Is that why you never approach me when he’s alongside me? I only ever seem to talk to you when I’m on my own.”

“I do it so I can have your full attention.” He winked as he looked down at you.

You’d always caught the eye of Pierre Gasly. Ever since you started working at Mercedes and he caught yours. He was an attractive guy but for you he was just too cocky, not to mention how he drove for Alpha Tauri and you worked for Mercedes and things like that never ended well.

The first time you ever spent time alone with him was when he lost Antoine and lost his seat at Red Bull that same weekend. You were walking through the garages late at night after finishing up some work for Toto when you saw him sitting outside, head in his hands and light sobs coming from his mouth. You just walked straight up to him and took him in your arms, soothing him as best you could. From that day on Pierre was never far from you, his gaze always looming over you whenever you worked, 

“Very smooth Gasly.” You checked the time. 

“You’ve got plenty of time until that meeting finishes.” 

“Do you stalk everything I do?”

“I try not to but you basically did confirm that they went to a meeting.”

You turned to give him a side glance, a small smile tugging on your lips as you kept walking. “You have a point but don’t you have a meeting to go to? Last time I checked you are also racing today.”

“I am but I’ve already had my meeting this morning.” He smirked over at you. “I did want to ask you something… what are you doing tonight?”

“Sleeping.” 

“That means you’re free tonight.” His smirk grew. “Do you want to come out with me and a few other drivers? We’re heading to a club just outside the track and if you’re free I’d like you to be there.”

I’d like you to be there. 

He knew what to say. 

“What time?” 

“We’re leaving at ten.” 

“I’ll think about it.” 

“That means yes -”

“No, it doesn’t!” 

“Well then give me an answer.” His tone was cocky. You hated it but it was hot. 

“I’ll see you at ten.” Huffing you picked up the pace once again but this time Pierre let you walk off, he’d gotten what he wanted. 

—

The drivers were currently completing their formation lap and you were sitting alongside your Dad. Toto was sipping on the coffee you’d bought him, eyeing over every screen in sight. “Are you having dinner with Susie and me?”

“Tonight? Depends, what time.”

“Don’t stay here too long, you need to stop overworking yourself.” 

“No I’m not working tonight, I actually have plans.”

“Who with?” 

“Umm… a few of the drivers -”

“Absolutely not.” 

“Oh don’t be like that, come on I’m an adult -”

“And?” He snapped his head towards you. “I don’t want you crowded around all those men.” 

“y/n?” Susie’s voice grabbed your attention. “Go out tonight darling, you never take time for yourself.” She then turned to Toto. “She isn’t your little girl anymore -”

“I’m still her Dad -”

“And she’s an adult.” 

Toto huffed, picking up the headset for the radio. “Lewis?” He spoke. “I know it is not a good time but are you free tonight?”

“Oh for God’s sake Dad!” You spat trying to pry his hand off the radio button. 

“Toto…” Susie's tone was a warning sign but he didn’t care. 

“Lewis will go with you tonight -”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I’m aware but I don’t want you going on your own.”

“I won’t be on my own, I’ll be with Charles and Pierre… and the rest of them…”

 “You’ll have someone responsible with you at least.” 

You huffed, leaning back in your chair as Susie looked between the two of you. It wasn’t uncommon for you and Toto to argue about boys. He was naturally protective of you, you were his first child and unlike the rest of his children, you had no mother, just him. Sure Susie was basically like your mother and so was Stephine, Toto’s first wife, but you never called either of them Mum. However, Susie was very much the person who would pick up the pieces for the two of you and mend everything. 

The woman leaned down and whispered in your ear, her hand on your shoulder as she spoke. “I’ll talk to him, you just focus on the race.” Nodding you followed suit with her wishes, watching as the race started. 

Bottas had got away rather well, leading the race as Verstappen and Norris followed whilst Lewis trailed behind them. In lap nine Lewis overtook Albon, taking him to third. In lap eleven Max had to retire the car due to a loss of power, which made Toto a little happier. He always knew that Red Bull and Ferrari were the main rivals and if those drivers had to retire it made his job easier. Lewis had now managed to get into P2, Bottas was still in P1. On the thirty-first lap, Vettel was clipped by Carlos, making him spin out. Another smile on your Dad’s face grew, knowing he had both drivers on pole. Your eyes kept flicking to see where Pierre was, hoping he wouldn’t get into any incidents. 

In lap fifty-one, George had to retire his car. You glanced over at Toto who seemed to be taking notes. He’d mentioned that he taking notes on the young lad, clearly impressed by his talent but there was no sign that Toto wanted to sign him anytime soon. Toto’s expression turned sour when he saw the safety car come out onto the track. 

“Fuck sake…” He spat, bouncing his leg up and down in frustration. 

“It won’t be long, Bottas and Lewis will be fine.” You spoke up. “They both have the pace and the tyres will be fine.” 

“Yes, but others have pitted -”

“And they’ll need time to warm up their tyres, the safety car won’t be out for long.” 

Susie smiled, looking between you both earning a glare from Toto. “What?” He asked her. 

“You can tell she’s your daughter.” Smirking she planted a kiss on his head as the race got underway again. There were only twenty laps left, Albon had overtaken Perez and was trying his best to close the gap between him and Lewis but that didn’t last long when Kimi had an incident, allowing the yellow flags to wave. 

With ten laps left Albon attempted to overtake Lewis and that didn’t end well. Lewis held his ground and Albon ended up clipping Lewis which sent him spinning into the gravel but Lewis was still on track to place second which prompted an investigation. 

Thankfully Bottas secured P1 which meant your Dad was ecstatic but unfortunately Lewis came P4. Pierre finished in P7, a small smile appeared on your lips when you saw he was in the points.

During the ceremony, you could feel a pair of eyes on you. It didn’t take a genius to work out who was staring at you. Pierre kept looking over at you, a smirk on his lips as you finally caved and looked in his direction, hoping your Dad wouldn’t catch on to who you were looking at. Pierre winked at you, his eyes trailing up and down your body as best he could through the crowd. 

“You could do worse,” Susie whispered in your ear. Snapping your head to the side you met her gaze as she flickered between you and Pierre. “Don’t worry I won’t tell your Dad -”

“It’s not like that!” You gave her your full attention. 

“Oh come on, I know your Dad is a bit slow on these things but I’ve seen him staring at you.” 

“And it isn’t like that.”

“Did he ask you to go out tonight?” 

“Yes.” 

She smiled at your words. “Just be careful around him because if Toto finds out he’ll be six feet underground.” 

Replicating her actions you looked back at the podium. “It isn’t like that. The most we are is friends. We just speak around the paddocks and that’s it.” 

“Hmm…” She smirked as you all watched Bottas receive his trophy. 

—

“I’m sorry you have to come out with me tonight.” Lewis was sitting on your bed in your hotel room, watching you put on your heels for the night ahead. “Toto was -”

“You don’t have to apologise.” He gave you a warm smile. “I get why he’s on edge and hey I don’t mind. I’d rather tag along and be a little bored than not go and you get into trouble.”

“I don’t know why he’s so against me going, I’ll be with the other drivers.”

“That’s why he worries, he just knows a few of them have a little reputation and you’re a beautiful girl.” 

“Aren’t you a charmer?” You smiled. “Thank you, Lewis.” 

“Besides I think there’s a driver who has his eyes on you.” 

“If you’re going to say, Pierre -”

“Oh, so you do know.” 

Rolling your eyes you grabbed your bag and started to walk towards the door. “How many times do I need to tell everyone this… there’s nothing between us, we just talk occasionally.” 

“And he stares at you all the time.”

“Who else knows?” You opened the door, narrowing your gaze as he followed you out. 

“Only me, Bottas and Susie.” 

“As long as Dad doesn’t catch him staring that’s all I care about. I’d rather him not kill Pierre.” 

“Looking out for him already?”

“Nope, more looking out for Toto.”

The majority of the grid was at the club, the lot of them all drinking their weight in alcohol. Even Lewis who thought he wouldn’t have a good time, sat in a booth chatting away to Daniel with a drink in his hand. This left you alone without the watchful eye of Lewis. A perfect window for Pierre to jump in. 

“Christ…” Pierre’s voice made you turn your head as the Frenchman walked past you before standing in front of you, his eyes trailing up and down your figure as you leant against the bar. “I would have asked you to come out a long time ago if I knew that’s what you looked like under your uniform.”

You gave the man before you an unamused look. “I’m not naked Pierre, I’m just wearing a dress.”

“Yet…” He mumbled. “And you look beautiful in it.” 

“Thank you.” You gave him a little smile, your eyes flickering over to Lewis. 

“Am I that bad you need to call for your babysitter to come and get you?”

“He’s not my babysitter… okay maybe he is here to look out for me but he’s not here to babysit me just to keep an eye out so my Dad doesn’t lose his shit.”

“Can’t say I blame him, you look stunning any man here would want you.”

“Doesn’t mean I want them.” 

“Oh, I can tell.” He looked over at the bar behind you. “Can I get you a drink?”

“I wouldn’t turn down a free drink.” 

You and Pierre spent the majority of your nights at the bar, the pair of you both finishing every drink put in front of you. You’d started to let your guard down around him, after all, you didn’t have to worry about Toto catching either of you and it was clear the others knew that Pierre had his eye on you. 

“So what’s the plan for you?” Pierre smiled. “You just going to be your Dad’s assistant until the end of time?” 

“Nope.” You took a sip of your drink, slowing down your alcohol consumption. “I want his job, I want to take over from him one day or take over another team and battle against him one day.”

“Yeah? You think you could do that?” He propped his head up on his hand, giving you every drop of his attention. 

“I know I could do it, I’ve watched him over a million times, I’m the one who plans meetings and organises everything for him, I could take over tomorrow if I wanted to.” 

He let out a light chuckle. “I admire your confidence, it’s hot.”

“I am hot Gasly.” 

“I’m aware.” 

“What about you? Planning to race until the end?”

“Hope so, I would like to win a Championship, maybe join one of the bigger teams one day and win one there. Then when I can I’ll retire and hopefully have a wife and kids to spend it with. Have you ever thought about something like that?”

“Nope, I’d rather be successful than settle down fast.” 

“Who says it needs to be fast?” He arched his brow.

“Fair point Gasly… I guess if I found the right person then sure but I would be nine months pregnant and still doing my job at the side of the track.”

Pierre laughed at your words before his stunning glass eyes met yours again. “I admire your attitude to things.” 

“Could say the same about you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“After what you went through last year well, you deserve the most respect out of anyone on that grid.” 

His eyes softened at your words, a small genuine smile appeared on his lips. “Thank you y/n, means a lot coming from you.”

“Why me?”

“You work with Lewis Hamilton, the bloke is a legend and self-made.” 

“So are you.” 

“Done your research on me?” He shifted closer to you, a smirk on his lips. 

“Oh come on it’s not hard to work things like that out and don’t say that as if you haven’t done your research on me.”

“It’s hard to stay away from your Instagram account.”

“It’s hard not to notice when you like everything.” The pair of you shared a smile. 

“Can’t help it when you’re posing in those lingerie sets.” His voice went dark, his hand skimming across your bare thigh.

You knew what photo he was talking about. Being the daughter of Toto Wolff had its perks and one of those perks was companies asking for you to model for them whilst promoting their clothes. A small brand reached out to you and asked if you’d promote their new set of lingerie, you accepted but the one thing that stood out was that you could have your partner's name displayed in the lace material. 

“Oh yeah?” You leaned closer, teasing him as his hand went higher up your thigh. “Thought about your name on my underwear Pierre?” It was the first time you’d referred to him by his first name and it sounded like heaven falling from your lips. You were right though, Pierre had found himself staring at those photos countless times, imagining his name displayed in the material. 

“The golden girl has brains too…” His eyes flickered down to your lips and back to your eyes. “Good girl for noticing.” 

Fuck that sounded good coming from him. 

Those words and the added pressure on your thighs making your legs shift at the feeling in your stomach made your words run dry. Pierre leaned closer, tucking a hair behind your ears. “What’s that matter mon amour? You were so confident earlier..” A smirk grew on his lips as he took in your flustered state. “Was it that easy?” 

“Oh fuck off Gasly.” You went to stand but he grabbed your wrist, tugging you towards him so you crashed into his body, your hands on his chest whilst his arms wrapped around your waist. Your face was inches away from his, his hair falling slightly, covering his right eye but that didn’t stop them from adoring your face. 

“Such harsh words coming from that pretty mouth of yours.” His thumb moved up to your bottom lip, swiping it in a teasing way. “Maybe I should teach it a lesson.” 

A surge of confidence swam through your veins as you spoke. “You wouldn’t know how.” 

That’s all Pierre needed. He moved his head closer until there was no air between the pair of you, connecting his lips to your soft ones. The kiss started slow, the pair of you moving your lips against one another before Pierre started to quicken his movements. He swiped his tongue along your bottom lip before groaning in frustration that you wouldn’t part your lips for him to get closer. 

“Oh, you’re in for it ma douce.” Pierre grabbed your hand and dragged you out of the club, not caring that you were under the watchful eye of Lewis. 

Was it the alcohol talking or did you really want to fuck Pierre Gasly?

---

Read Part Two here

[gaybitchfx]

Note: So just a heads up me and Roma are doing a collab where one person gives a prompt and character and the category and that person writes it and same thing with the other! Please read his (it’s Rengoku)

COME AGAIN?

Character(s): Muzan Kibutsuji

Type of reader: M!Reader

Collab with: @reallyromealone

Prompt: Soulmates

Category: Fluff

Warning(s): None

Edited: ❌

At a certain age, a red string would be attached to the index finger of both soulmates.

The longer the string the further they are from you. Your string was abnormally long. Once you had finally turned 20 you decided to find where the hell your soulmate was.

"Be safe sweetheart, here's some demon repellent, food & water." Your mother spoke and handed you a light purple bag filled with wisteria and a larger bag filled with food and water.

"Alright, love you mama see you soon." You smiled and kissed her cheek before taking your leave. You spent days following the path your string left you. Yes, you were tired, but you were dedicated to look for your soulmate one way or another. At one point while you were walking you could feel yourself doze off a little.

"I guess I could take a small nap." You said to yourself and sat underneath a large tree. Before falling asleep, you did a small tug on the string so your soulmate knows you're on your way. Once you fell asleep the other end of the string had also been tugged.

After hours of napping, you woke up ate some of your food and began your journey once again. "Hm? The string is getting shorter..." You mumbled to yourself before your eyes widened in realization. "The string is getting short!!" You exclaimed, this giving you a boost of energy as you walked much faster than before.

You had stopped in your tracks when you heard two voices making you hide behind a tree quickly. "Is your soulmate getting closer, master Muzan?" Akaza asked as he watched his master stare at the string that tugged once again.

"Yes, they're much closer this time." Muzan said and glanced over at the tree you hid behind. 'Shit shit shit! My soulmate is the king of demons!!' You mentally kicked yourself not knowing why him of all people was your soulmate. "So my soulmate is a mere human? Pathetic." Muzan muttered as he stared down at you from your side. A let out a yelp and quickly jumped back.

"W-...Who says I'm your soulmate?" You squeaked out. Muzan looked down at the string that showed 5 feet of string connecting the two of you. "The string wouldn't lie. Now come, we have things to discuss." Muzan said and grabbed your hand leading you to who knows where. A wave of slumber washed over you rather quickly.

When you woke up, you were neatly placed in a bed which confused you since you didn't remember any houses near where you were.

"I see you've awakened." Muzan said, startling you. "Now that you're awake here are the rules to being my soulmate; 1. Don't interfere with my work or bother me while I'm working. 2. Don't get clingy with me, I'm not one for being in 'relationships'. And 3. Don't get yourself in trouble." Muzan explained as he got up from the chair not even allowing you to ask a simple question.

"Rude much." You mumbled. The time you've spent with Muzan was...how should I put it? Monotonous. The two of you rarely spoke to each other making you feel like something that was there taking space. It annoyed you. So eventually, you decided to try and get to know Muzan more.

You'd make dinner without him asking, chat with him occasionally even if he only spoke a word or two, make him a bath, even beg for the two of you to sleep in the same room even though demons don't technically need sleep, and would even tell him you loved him which wasn't a lie at all.

From the time you've spent with him you've grown an attraction to him. Muzan was weirded out by your change of behavior, but he also liked how you treated him since he hasn't been treated like this in decades.

"I'm going to get started on dinner, love you, Muzan." You said with a small smile as he put drops of some liquid into a tube. You knew he wasn't going to say it back so you began walking till you heard something.

"I love you too, Y/n."

Your heart flutter around in your chest just by those four words along with your name rolling off his tongue. A small giddy laugh left your mouth as you made your way to the kitchen. Muzan could feel how happy you were which made him feel happy.

It had also caused a small smile to creep onto his lips that he didn't dare to hide.