#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.

[reidmania]

sharpest tool | s. reid

(chapter two, feels like)

‘I would do whatever you wanted we don't have to leave the apartment, met you at the right time,this is what it feels like. Livin' in a movie I've watched and funny 'cause I couldn't have called it, met you at the right time, this is what it feels like’

summary; the more time you spend with spencer the more you find yourself opening up even if its to the littlest things, you let him know you, and he loves it.

warnings; fem reader, mentions of bad relationship history, reader is closed off, avoidant!reader, lowkey a friends w benefits situation but its so much more, reader is lowkey so real; fluff, 18+ suggestive content. it is not the date i said id publish this, i was peer pressured (by my multiple personalities)

taglist; @gghostwriter @lavonee e @guiltyyassin @spencersinonlygf @criminalmindssworld @iknwreid @fortheloveofgubler @yokaimoon @sapphirecobalt-1 @eddiesdrummergf @livvyliv15

2.6k words.

SERIES MASTERLIST

You weren't sure how long you had been at Spencer's apartment for, if someone told you had been there for hours you probably wouldn't believe them. You didn't completely understand why but everytime he was around it was like time slowed, yet it seemed to only go so much faster. Hours with him felt like minutes. It was like you and him existed in your own little bubble away from the rest of the world, you loved that.

Everything with him seemed calm. Maybe it was his way of making you see the positive in a bad situation, or maybe it was how carefully and gentle he handed when your emotions got a little too much for you to bury away like normal, maybe it was how gentle and warm his hands felt against your skin, grounding you when you got a little too in your head about something, or maybe it was the way he would ramble off facts to distract you.

You weren't sure. You didn't know how someone could be so calm, all the time. Then you would connect it back to what he did for work. It was technically his job to remain calm in stressful or overwhelming situations. You wondered if that was why he handled you with so much care, as if you were a valuable he was afraid would break. Its not like he walked on egg shells around you, it was just that he saw you with so much value, he treated you so delicately.

Maybe thats why you had lost track of time.

You were perched up on his lap, your knees placed on either side of his thighs, straddling him. One of his hands was tangled beneath the softness of your hair, cupping the back of your head as his fingers curled against your scalp, while the other was wrapped around your waist, pressed against the small of you back. Hold you aganist him as his lips tangled with yours.

Your hands were cupping his jaw, every now and again your fingertip would trace the sharpness of his jawline and he would shiver and press you closer against him. He kissed you like he needed it to breath, you could feel the air leaving his nose against the skin of your cheek every now and again.

You felt lightheaded, in the best way possible. Whether it was from the very minimal amount of air you had been able to breathe in since he started kissing you, or if it was simply from the feeling of his lips against yours.

The air around you smelt sweet and full of him. Maybe thats why you loved being at his apartment, because everything there was so.. Him. The way it was organised and decorated, the smell of him that hid in the air between the walls, the colours of the cushions on his couch, it was all so him.

You pulled away from the kiss briefly as a thought crossed your mind, there was almost a shaky gasp for air, now that you were able to properly breath. He smiled lazily as he leant his head back against the couch, watching you. Probably admiring the flush of your cheeks, and the swell of your lips.

"Are you okay?" He asked, a smile still on his face yet his eyebrows were pinched in concern. Spencer's hand untanging from your hair, both of his hands moving to settle on your hips, his thumbs nudged up the hem of your t-shirt and slipped underneath them to rub gentle circles against the skin on your sides, his eyes never leaving yours.

You nodded, your hands dropping from his face to rest against his shoulders. You weren't sure if you were blushing, but you defintely felt like you were. You couldn't remember the last time a guy had this sort of an effect on you.

You looked down sheepishly, your hands gently brushing over the fabric of his t-shirt. "Im- Im just thinking about sugar cookies." You huffed out. Was it silly? Yes. But there was something about Spencer that made it feel so safe to say those silly things too, without judgement. Your eyes lifted to meet his, seeing the concern on his face was replaced with amusement.

He raised his eyebrow, a smile on his lips. "Kissing me makes you think about sugar cookies?" He asked, your eyes widened slightly at his tease, you instantly shook your head lips parting as you let out a huffy breath.

"No!" It came out high pitched and defensive and made Spencer burst into laughter. If you weren't blushing before you were now. You didn't know if you love or hated the fact that Spencer could make you feel so soft, so small, so loved. You partly hated the fact that he had that sort of power, yet if you were going to trust anyone with that sort of control over you, it would be him.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he buried his face into your neck. Your arms wrapped around his neck, moving up to run gently through the back of his hair as he pressed soft kisses against your neck. The sensation causing you to instinctively tilt your head to the side to allow him more access to the space.

"We can go get sugar cookies" He mumbled gently, against the skin of your neck, pressing another kiss there before he pulled back, looking up at you. “If you want sugar cookies we can go get some”

You smiled at him, tilting your head a little. “I didn’t say I wanted them. I just said i was thinking about them” You quipped back. You did want sugar cookies, but did you want to leave the warmth of Spencer’s apartment to get them? No. Did you want to have to make him go out of his way just to get you sugar cookies? Also no.

“But you do” He replied, raising his eyebrow in amusement. Maybe he knew you better than you thought. “You wouldn’t have mentioned it unless you wanted them.” He replied in a slight - matter of factually way, as if he was proving you wrong.

You huffed, “We don’t have to go to the shops just to get sugar cookies. I can get some on my way home later.” You mumbled, knowing your house was technically in the other direction to the closest shops. You also didn’t entirely want to think about having to go home yet, you didn’t have to, not for a few hours more.

He sighed dramatically as he raised his eyebrow, a smile of amusement on his lips. “What sort of almost- boyfriend would I be if I let you stay here craving sugar cookies?” He teased, you smiled.

The title he had given himself didn’t offend you in the slightest. Instead it made your heart warm slightly and your cheeks flush. You sighed dramatically like he had moments ago, pretending to think about it for a moment, before shrugging.

“A horrible- horrible one.” You answered, a smile on your lips, giving in — because you were really craving the sweet treat. He let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head before he pressed his lips gently against the top of your forehead.

“Well we can’t have that. I’m trying to win your heart here.” He mumbled, voice full of fondness while he teased, as you moved off his lap. You let out a hum of agreement, as you got off the couch, he followed behind you, standing up and reaching to hold your hips as you walked towards the front door.

If you weren’t so focused on the task at hand (getting sugar cookies and clenching your craving) you might’ve admitted he didn’t have to try to win your heart. You were pretty sure it had his name written over it months ago.

“I didn’t know there were so many different types of sugar cookies” Spencer mumbled as he looked over the multiple different brands and flavours of cookies placed neatly over the grocery store shelf, his arms we’re wrapped tightly around your waist, his chin placed on you shoulder as you tried to decide which ones you wanted.

You let out a hearty laugh, “They don’t have any normal ones” You half pouted as you looked over the shelves, unable to find the ones you were specifically craving. You leant back slightly to further press your back against Spencer’s chest.

“What defines normal sugar cookies?” Spencer asked, tone laced with confusion. Clearly he wasn’t a sugar cookie fanatic. Your head turned slightly to face him, the awkward position causing a slight ache in your neck but it was worth it at the sight of his eyebrows pushed together in confusion as he looked over the variety of packaged cookies.

“The.. normal ones?” You shrugged, he let out a chuckle as he placed a gentle kiss against your clothed shoulder. You weren’t sure how you could better describe the cookies. You didn’t want the chocolate ones, or the strawberry ones, or the matcha ones which looked cool — but unappealing, you just wanted the normal authentic ones.

“Oh yeah— My bad. I should’ve known that” He huffed out half sarcastically, the other half of his tone was full of fondness. As he pulled away from your shoulder, turning you slightly in his arms so he could look at your face, there was a playful smile on his lips.

“Well- no! i meant- Like the normal ones” You weren’t helping your case, or him understanding. He just mhm’d and nodded unconvincingly, the playful smile remaining on his lips. He was teasing you.

You huffed out, “I hate you” you muttered, pushing yourself away from his arms to further prove the statement you both knew was a lie. He apologised quickly and reached out for you, holding you close in place, wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing you close against his chest as he hugged you.

“You are so mean to me”

It came out mumbled against the fabric of his shirt, and caused a laugh to pass through his lips. “Im sorry. Let’s go find somewhere with the cookies you want.” He said, his hand rubbing up and down over your back.

“We can just get one of these.” You mumbled. He had already gone out of his way to take you to get sugar cookies and the last thing you wanted to do was make him go someplace else just because they didn’t have the specific ones you wanted.

He shook his head as he leant away, not before pressing his lips against your forehead. “We can get both. We can get whatever you want.” He said, looking down at you as he continued to run his hand gently up and down your back.

Every expectation you once had of a relationship was squashed by Spencer’s existence. Any standard you had in your mind he surpassed with flying colours, he was better than any guy you could make up in your head.

Every broken piece of you seemed put back together at the gentleness of his hands, the warmth of his body, the sweetness in his words, or the feeling of his lips against your skin. It was weird, feeling so secure in something so unofficial.

You opened your mouth to reply but you were cut off by the sound of Spencer’s name being called. You watched his eyebrows furrow in recognition of the female voice before his head turned slightly, towards the direction the sound came from.

You followed his gaze, seeing a blonde girl walking towards the two of you. Her arms were stacked full of items, rather than getting a basket or a cart for any of it. She was wearing a bright pink dress with designs over it. Her smile was infectious.

Spencer looked back at you for a second, his arms dropping from your waist, you would’ve felt the pang in your heart if his hand didn’t instantly reach out to interlace with your own. “Garcia, Hi.” He smiled, almost nervously.

You stood silently as the blonde woman looked between the two of you, a wide smile on her face as a gasp left her lips. “Oh my gosh! Who’s this? Is this your girlfriend? The secret message sender?” She rambled out excitedly.

You watched with a warm smile as Spencer’s cheeks tinted red. You only assumed you had developed that nickname because you had texted Spencer while he was working a few times.

“Uh- Shes.. Yeah- uh.” Spencer spluttered over his words, he didn’t know what to address you as and you understood why. Although he called himself your almost- boyfriend a number of times, telling his friend you were his almost - girlfriend wasn’t quite the same. The situation you were in didn’t quite have a title. Him not denying you were something to him, was enough for you.

You saved him the embarrassment and smiled at the woman, offering her your hand with a warm smile as you introduced yourself. She almost squealed in excitement, instantly shaking your hand enthusiastically.

“I’m Penelope! I work with boy genius here— Oh my gosh. Do you know he basically dies every time you text him. I mean I have never seen him smile so—“

“Thats- enough. I think she gets it” Spencer cut Penelope off, his cheeks now bright red and his voice was laced with embarrassment. It only made your smile widen because of the way it further proved what she was saying. The idea of Spencer simply smiling at your messages while he was away made your heart warm.

“Theres no normal sugar cookies.” You mumbled out, not really knowing what to say. You wanted to slap yourself in the face afterwards. Then Penelope looked over the shelves and a pout formed on her lips.

“What! Thats the whole reason I came here!!” She frowned dramatically as she looked over the shelves and any embarrassment you had felt washed away because she was so sweet. You had heard about the people Spencer had worked with before, he never failed to tell you the silly stories or conversations that were shared between his team.

“Us too.” Spencer smiled, squeezing your hand gently. You relished in the silent reassurance he offered. Then his phone started to ring, causing a slightly annoyed huff to leave his lips as he pulled it away from his pockets, his other hand staying interlocked with yours.

Your eyes stayed on him as he answered the call, you listened to him mumble a few words of agreement before the call ended just as quickly, before he could ever say anything, Penelope’s phone started to ring. She struggled to pull it out over the amount of items in her arms, but successfully did before you could offer to help.

“We have a case” Spencer mumbled gently to you, his thumb brushing gently over the back of your hand. You looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed in a mix of disappointment and understanding. He looked just as disappointed, if not more. “Thats okay.” You said gently, Penelope seemed to be finding out the same news.

“I’m sorry” Spencer apologised as he broke his hands holding with yours to wrap his arms around your shoulders, you melted into the hug as your arms threaded around his torso. Breathing him in.

“It’s okay. It’s your job.” You reassured him.

His arms held you tighter for moment before he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head and then another. “I’ll take you home first, pick whichever sugar cookies you want from here and I promise when I get back I will return with normal sugar cookies” He said gently into your hair.

“Pinky promise?” You asked, he let out a warm laugh, kissing the top of your head against your hair again.

“Pinky promise.” He confirmed.

[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.

[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!"

[nobedofroses]

December 5th

pairing: Pero Tovar x reader

warnings: fluff, some light smut (thigh grinding)

words: 1.2k

a/n: as always, a bit longer with Pero and it's also set in the vague past. inspo from the quote prompt "I totally definitely did not just watch you chop wood outside” from @toomanystoriessolittletime's winter writing challenge ❄️

Full List

🌨️🌨️🌨️

“If you drop one more egg, I’m going to make you muck out the stables instead of him,” your sister, Martha told you, looking pointedly between you and the hired hand that was currently outside chopping wood. 

You wrenched your attention away from the way his body moved to look at her, heat creeping up your neck. Still, you avoided, “Instead of who?” 

“Oh, do not try to deny it, I’ve been watching you watch him for the past half hour. And you’ve lost one egg and only barely managed to save another you’re so distracted,” she impugned. 

“You have two dozen chickens, it’s not as if we are hurting for eggs,” you muttered, sheepish at having been caught. 

“Regardless, I will not have needless waste in my house because you are staring at the hired hand.” 

“He has a name,” you reminded her, thinking that Pero deserved to be referred to as such. 

“Fine,” Martha acceded. “Stop trying to picture Pero’s nude body and get back to baking. 

Your mouth dropped open in shock that she would even say that aloud, but Martha just laughed loudly and ushered you away from the window. 

___

An hour later, with the cake in the oven and Martha keeping an eye on it, you had been sent to collect the eggs and skim the milk for cream. Skimming the cream was one of your favorite chores, quiet and meditative. The shed it was kept in had an open doorway that faced the house, but from where you were standing, all you could see was the stacked firewood. 

And then a couple minutes later, you could also see Pero, back again with the ax and a cord of wood over his shoulder. He made it look effortless, but you knew it must be ridiculously heavy. The thought of what else he could do with those strong arms made you shiver. 

You lost track of what you were doing for several seconds, just watching him starting to do… whatever it was he was doing. You weren’t paying much attention to the technicalities. 

So you also didn’t notice when Pero looked up and caught sight of you through the doorway. Which meant you just about jumped out of your skin when he spoke. “I hear you are making an almond cake.”

You gasped loud, hand coming to your heart and splashing some of the milk. Luckily it wasn’t the cream or else Martha would have your hide. 

Pero’s eyes got wide and he looked so sweet and sorry you couldn’t help but adore him, “I am sorry, I did not mean to scare you.” 

You stood, having actually finished the skimming while you were distracted, and you wanted to move on before you embarrassed yourself. 

“It’s fine, I was just woolgathering. Um, yes, almond cake, do you like it?” you asked, getting the subject back on track and moving out into the open air. Hopefully the chill would help you think straight. 

“Yes, it reminds me of home,” he told you softly and when you looked up, his warm brown eyes were deep, just asking you to fall into them. 

“What are you— I mean, you were cutting wood earlier, so why are you cutting more now? Do we really need that much?” you laughed awkwardly. 

“This morning I was chopping the logs into pieces and now I am splitting them so they are the right size for the hearth,” he explained, gesturing with his large hands and you got distracted again, wetting your lips as you looked at them. 

Pero noticed your stares, had noticed them for weeks but was waiting for you to decide what you wanted to do. After all, you were the sister of his employer and he was only planning to stay in the area for a few months longer, getting food and board on the way to his own brother. William had a farm with both of their names on it waiting just a mountain away from where you lived. 

In Pero’s distracted daytime fantasies, he pictured wedding you and taking you home with him, coming home to you everyday. 

And in his nighttime fantasies, he pictured what you would feel like under him, how sweet you would taste, the sounds you would make when he touched you. Like how he wanted to touch you now, with the hands you couldn’t stop staring at. 

The two of you were broken from your separate albeit related reveries by the loud squawk of a chicken. 

“I— I have to go collect eggs!” you said, unnecessarily loud and hurried away. 

“Yes, of course,” Pero replied, watching you practically run away from your desire. 

___

That night, long after Martha and your brother-in-law, John, were asleep, you snuck downstairs, avoiding the creaky steps, because you needed one more sliver of the spice cake. Martha had finished it with her famous orange marmalade icing and it might’ve been the best thing you ever tasted. 

The fire in the hearth had dwindled, leaving just coals, but you didn’t need the light to find your way, you were more than familiar with the layout of the house. What you weren’t expecting was to trip over a pair of boots as you walked past the chair closest to the fire. 

For the second time that day, your hand flew to your heart and Pero apologized for scaring you. 

“I must have fallen asleep reading. The fire is low, I should build it before I return to my quarters,” he said, referring to the loft that was on the far end of the house from the other bedrooms.

As he spoke, he relit the candle he must have been using to read, just about an inch of it left but enough that it became very clear that he was fully dressed and you were in your white cotton nightgown. It wasn’t revealing, but it was intimate enough that you felt heat creep up your chest and neck in embarrassment. 

“I don’t know, it feels pretty warm in here to me,” you don’t know what possessed you to say that, but his soft, sleepy eyes and the warmth of his face in the candlelight had your heart beating faster. 

“Well maybe you are feverish, because I am cold,” he said with a chuckle. 

“Maybe… maybe I can help you with that,” you told him and took a step forward. And then another. You leaned forward and then, with his help, climbed onto his lap. 

Your hands rested on his shoulders for balance, one knee between his and the other pressed into the side of the overstuffed chair. The skirt of your nightgown had to be rucked up by his rough hands, and you held your breath as you waited for a rip, but he was surprisingly gentle. His hands came to your hips when he was done and you settled your weight down, breathing in deeply when his thigh pressed against the most intimate part of you. 

“Pero,” you breathed, and then he was kissing you. 

His full lips pressed into yours, your arms wrapped around his neck, and he tugged you closer until your chest was flush with his. The thin fabric of your nightgown let him feel your warmth easily, and he moaned into your mouth when he felt your hips move against his thigh. 

He helped you along, moving you in a slow grind until you had to pull away to gasp a quiet whine of his name and your body shook in his arms.

After a couple shaky breaths of calming yourself down and trying to regain some semblance of dignity, you asked, “warmer yet?” 

Pero laughed lightly and kissed your cheek, “Almost, but I think I want more of your heat.”

🌨️🌨️🌨️

[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. 

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

Original Writing

a stone in the wall: Original horror story about walking through a serial killer's house, please mind the tags

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?!

[sabo-has-my-heart]

Scenarios 13, dialogue fluff 4, character Ace.

So I tried to write the other one, but I couldn't come up with something and wanted to get one out, so here's the Ace one. though at the rate my event is currently going, I'll end up writing the other character later.

Warnings: mentions of death, killing, perhaps a little melancholy 

Word Count: 1260

��    How long had you been alive now? Decades? Centuries? You’d lost track long ago, lost track of how long you’d been alive, your age, all of it. It had been interesting at first, not being able to die. Not even a bullet through the head or a literal knife to the heart could kill you. Neither freezing nor burning, not age or blood loss, nothing would kill you. You still felt pain, you still felt the flames on your skin or the knife in your heart, the blood leaving your veins, or the water in your lungs, but death never came for you. He never came for you because he was angry with you. No, angry didn’t cover it, he was livid. You hadn’t meant to piss him off so badly, hell, you’d loved him once, but a single argument had kept him away from you. At first you’d enjoyed it, being able to do reckless shit without having to worry about dying. Pain, maybe, time to heal, sure, but not death. Then you’d started taking out the ‘evils’ of the world, killing people to try and make the world better. Murderers, crime lords, and drug cartels, the occasional dictator or tyrant. But that, too, had eventually become tiresome. Death still technically came for them, but only after you’d left. They would only die after you were gone, so strong was his anger with you. After this little discovery and after you grew tired of killing, you decided to save people. You became a doctor, no patient died when you were around. Successful, life saving surgeries and treatments, your mortality rate of 0 instantly marking you as ‘the best surgeon of the generation’. None of them knew the truth, which was fine with you, but again, that grew tiring and once again, you moved on. Each new thing grew tiring after a while and now, even immortality had grown tedious and exhausting. So you did everything in your power to find death, to see him. If you could just fix things, maybe he’d finally let you die. It wasn’t necessarily that you ‘wanted to die’, just that immortality wasn’t as great as people made it out to be. Besides, you missed him, of all the things you’d let go of over time, your feelings towards him weren’t one of them. So instead you spent your time in the company of death, so to speak. People with terminal illnesses, out of control fires and war zones, anything to try to see him again. But he was as hard to catch as ever. Looking down at the summoning circle, you glared. It had taken so long to find the right spells, to find the right materials, but it would be worth it if this worked. A spell to summon death. Not a demon, nor an angel, not monsters, eldritch beings, or gods, but death himself. A binding spell stood on standby in the off-chance that he tried to escape, in the chance that he tried to get out of this. 

     Ace stood, confused, in the middle of a summoning circle, looking around for a moment before his eyes landed on you. Instantly, his eyes narrowed, glaring at you. He’d been avoiding you for centuries, doing anything not to go near you. Unlike you, he remembered the argument, remembered why he avoided you and why he refused to take you. It had been a ‘simple’ conversation, something that you hadn’t even thought about. What would happen to you when you died? Where would he take your soul? It was something he hadn’t wanted to think about, he was Death, he took souls, but yours was one he never wanted to take. You were the one person he never wanted to die. You should always be alive, skin warm and inviting, eyes bright and full of life, you should never feel cold, should never have to be taken from the world. The two of you had argued for hours about how he’d have to take your soul sooner or later, it was his job, to take souls to the afterlife, to take those who should be dead. But he wouldn’t, he couldn’t, not to you. Now, staring at you for the first time in centuries, he felt a lump form in his throat. You were just as beautiful as the day he’d last seen you, more tired, clearly exhausted, but still beautiful. Despite his hard look, tears began to gather in his eyes, he didn’t want to take you, yet at the same time, he wanted to hold you close again.

     “Ace, I’m sorry.” you said softly. The first words to him in so long and they were an apology, “I’m sorry for the fight we had, but please, please stop avoiding me. I’m tired of immortality, I’m tired of not seeing you… I still love you. Even if you hate me, even if you never want to see me again, I still love you.” you whispered, looking down at the floor. Ace immediately gathered you up in his arms, holding you close. 

     “I don’t hate you, I could never hate you. I love you, I know I’ve been avoiding you and it seems like I hate you and that for some complicated reason I refuse to see you, but I love you. It’s as simple and terrifying as that.” he admitted, trying to hold the tears back.

     “Then why do you do it? Why do you avoid me? Why do you refuse to see me?” you whispered, your arms wrapped around him.

     “Because I don’t want to lose you. If I go near you, if I see you again, I have to take you. Humans… they aren’t meant to live for so long and you’re the one person I don’t want to take. I love you too much.” he said, burying his head into the crook of your neck. His words stabbed at your heart, and having been stabbed in the heart, you knew exactly how that felt. Closing your eyes, you were silent for a moment, you loved him too, more than words could say. 

     “Then don’t. Find another way. You’re Death, surely you can come up with something. Some other way to bend the rules or avoid taking my soul.” you offered, pulling back, caressing his cheek. Ace leaned into your touch, your hand still as warm and comforting as he remembered, if not a little rougher. 

     “I was already bending the rules by avoiding you, besides, you were the smart one, the one who always came up with all the great ideas.” he said with a chuckle, making you laugh slightly as well. Things felt almost like they had before your immortality, back when you’d sit on the couch together, cuddled up together. 

     “Then take me with you, you have to take me with you, no one ever said you had to deliver me.” you suggested, a mischievous smirk making its way across your lips. Ace laughed, picking you up and spinning you around before pulling you in for a passionate kiss. 

     “See? I told you, you were the smart one.” he said with a wide smile.

     “It’s temporary while I figure out something more permanent.” you said softly, happy to be with him again. 

     “Well until then, you’re not leaving my side. You’re not allowed to.” he said teasingly, still holding you tightly.

     “Why would I ever want to leave your side? I love you.” you said. You were reunited with your love, you never wanted to leave him again, so you wouldn’t.

[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!!!

[resowrites]

The Fight Before Christmas (part 2) - oneshot.

Summary: All is finally revealed, but will Henry and his girlfriend’s relationship ever be the same? (follow on from this oneshot, but can be read as a standalone story).

Pairings: AU!Henry Cavill x Girlfriend!OC

Warnings: 18+ only (adult themes), angst, fluff, relationship difficulties/argument, brief mention toxic family dynamics, brief mention of illness/end of life care, brief allusion to smut, dialogue heavy, time hopping/vignette style, language, pet names, nondescript OC body type/appearance, hastily written/lightly proofread.

WC: 4549

A/N: Phew, here it is folks. Sorry it’s a little rushed. This week’s been crazy and I ran out of time. I hope you all enjoy and as ever, please let me know your thoughts. This piece is a big bowl of happy/sad soup, please take care when reading as I know it can be a difficult time of year. I wish all of you a safe, peaceful Holiday - R x

My work must not be copied, reposted, or translated elsewhere. Likes, follows, reblogs and comments are thoroughly welcome and appreciated! Gifs/pics not my own. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for visiting!

The Fight Before Christmas (part 2) - oneshot.

Saturday 12:38 am

Henry hurried back inside, dazed and confused about what just happened. A rhythmic thumping noise then stopped him in his tracks. It was Kal plodding down the stairs. He usually hid in Ollie's office during the colder months, the warmth of the radiator under her desk providing a cosy place for naps. He crouched down and cuddled his boy. He must have heard the arguing, gone into their bedroom like he normally did at that time, and found them both missing. He wracked his brain for what to do. If he did go after her, she might not come back at all. But he just couldn't fathom why she was so determined to get away. He knew it wasn't anything he'd done, it was now technically the weekend which also meant he was officially off work until January. He'd been so looking forward to spending Christmas with her. Kal nudged at the hem of her coat, which dangled from the hook above them and whimpered. She'd left without it.

He shot back up and tried to find his phone, eventually realising it was still in the kitchen. He knew she probably wouldn't pick up, but he had to try. "Hi, this is Ollie. I'm sorry I can't take your call. Leave a message and I'll get back to you, thanks!" Just hearing her voice made his stomach drop. He tried to stay calm and think logically about where she might be headed. The nearest hotel was only a b&b and took a good two hours to get to, even at that time. Her only friends within an hour's distance were Rachel, Laura, and Claire. Laura used to be a nurse, but she also had young children. Would she bother her at that time? What if Laura didn't pick up and he couldn't reach either of them? His mind carried on racing until he felt something warm slide across his hand. Kal had followed him into the kitchen and was licking his fingers. "What am I gunna do mate, eh?" Kal's head merely tilted from left to right. He sighed and noticed the glass still spread out over the counter. He'd tidy up, keep ringing round for a bit, and then make up the sofa just in case she came back. But his plan didn't reassure him for long. Not when he actually looked around and knew that, already, the house seemed to have changed completely. He stared back down at his phone and decided to try texting her as well.

***

Saturday 8:06 am

"Oh Laura, thank God. Is she alright?"

"She's fine, didn't you see my text? I'm sorry I missed your calls--"

"She needs to get her hand stitched!"

"Don't worry, I've already taken care of it--"

"Well where is she? Can I talk to her?"

"Henry, calm down. I promise you, she's alright--"

"Good, then I'm on my way now." She hesitated.

"I'm not sure that's the best idea…" Henry's hand hovered over his car keys.

"What do you mean? I need her home, Laura." The worry in his voice made her heart pinch.

"I know, but I think she should stay here for a bit. What the hell happened? She was in a complete state… are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine - and I still don't bloody know! She's been acting strangely and I pushed too hard trying to find out why. I think something's up with her job, but it's not like her to just run off… something else must have happened. I've never seen her like it before, she got so angry she smashed a bottle she was holding. Has she really not said anything to you?"

"No, but then you know how stubborn she is. Don't worry, she's welcome to stay but I'll try and get her home as soon as I can. Right, I better go ring round and see if I can get some antibiotics, her hand will be okay but I don't want it getting infected."

"Yeah, sure, sorry I'll let you go. Thanks for all of this though and I'm sorry you were disturbed so late. How are Jack and the kids?"

"Yeah, all good. He'll be back in time for Christmas so my mum's looking after them while I sort out the house."

"Oh God, I'm sorry we're bothering you."

"Nah, I'm enjoying the company actually. I haven't seen her in ages so it'll be good to catch up. Please don't worry yourself, though."

"Easier said than done. To be honest, I'm afraid she won't want to come back."

"Don't be silly, she adores you. All will come right eventually, okay?"

"I hope so. Please keep an eye on her though, I'm worried about her state of mind. She isn't eating, either." She hesitated again, wondering whether or not to tell him Ollie hadn't touched her breakfast.

"I will, and I'll keep you updated. Take care of yourself, alright? And stop worrying."

"Okay, you take care as well… and give her my love." She gave her assurances and they said their goodbyes. She then peered through the kitchen door. Ollie was still sitting in the armchair, staring into space.

***

Friday 8:11 pm

"Ollie? Wh-what are you doing here?" She was in no mood for stupid questions and quickly but carefully pushed past her mother. "Ollie, don't go up there… he won't want to talk!" She let her mother's voice bounce off the stairs. When she came to the right door, she found herself holding her breath.

"… Dad? Dad, it's me, Ollie." He lifted his sagging head from the pillow and blinked until his eyes came into focus.

"W-why… why are you here?! Get out… now! Go on, go…" His rage quickly dissolved into a coughing fit.

"Dad, please. I've been trying to see you for weeks. I even had mum leave the phone by your bed so I could ring. B-but that doesn't matter now, how are you?" For several minutes he didn't respond, choosing instead to keep his cold gaze fixed on her face. Eventually, she looked away.

"Thirty-three."

"… I-I'm sorry?"

"Thirty-three years of age… and what do you have to show for it?" Her mouth went dry. "You should be a director at that company, and what are you? A glorified calculator. Why don't you toddle on back to him, while you still can? He'll get bored of you eventually…"

"That's not true."

"Oh, but it is. He doesn't love you. You're a failure, my girl. My biggest disappointment." There was no use countering his words with the same arguments she'd made time and time again. Compared to her sisters, she'd always been treated unfairly. And that wasn't about to change.

"… I-I just came to say, I'm sorry. For everything. I forgive you as well. Please, be at peace Dad. I love you." She then hurried from the room, almost bumping into her mother who it appeared had been listening in the entire time. They stared at each other for a moment. "I… wish you could have done more to help us." Her mother went to speak, then stopped herself. Ollie looked to the floor, her tears blurring her vision. "Goodbye, mum."

***

Monday

"Are you warm enough, darling? Here, let me put the seat warmers on…"

"I'm fine, love. Honest." Henry stopped fidgeting with the dials and the pair locked eyes for a moment. She cleared her throat. "… Thanks for coming to get me. And I'm sorry, for all the… theatrics." He smiled softly.

"Don't be daft. I'm just glad you're alright."

"No, I mean it. I shouldn't have handled things the way I did or said--"

"Darling, it's alright. And I'm sorry too. You said you needed space and I should have listened." An idea then popped into Henry's head. He didn't know if he could pull it off, but he'd look into it the minute they got back. "Christ, have you ever seen so much traffic on these roads? I'm sorry, I'll try and get us home as quick as I can."

"Don't worry, I don't need to be back for nine."

"Oh? Okay, well we should still be back before ten." Henry shifted awkwardly in his seat. It was less than a week until Christmas and although he was desperate to know more, he wasn't about to risk asking questions.

"It's fine actually, I won't be working again until January. I've… decided to go freelance." There was a long pause.

"Ollie… did you lose your job?" She sighed.

"Not exactly. Do you remember that presentation I had to give?" He nodded eagerly, trying to balance his attention between her and the road. "Well, it was to suggest some better ways to balance the books… the company's bracing for recession. Anyway, afterward, my new boss thanked me for my 'little talk,' but said he'd decided just to merge my department instead. I could either take a pay cut or redundancy. I gave notice right there and then. The cheeky fucker even asked if he could take me out for a drink and see whether he could find something else for me." She sniffed hard and wiped her face.

"Oh, my darling…"

"No, it's fine. Really. I know someone else in the company who went freelance about a year ago. They've already let me know they're happy to help me get set up. It'll be tough at first and I'll need to be close to my client base… but in the long term I should have greater flexibility." She tried to smile convincingly but Henry could see the fear in her eyes. At that moment, her phone pinged.

"Well, I'll be here for you every step of the way. I'll always support— darling? What's wrong?" She quickly shut off the screen.

"I, uh… nothing. It's nothing."

"… Ollie, what's going on?" She swallowed back the lump forming in her throat.

"It's nothing, darling. I mean, nothing that's worth discussing at the moment." The rest of the journey home was silent.

***

Boxing Day

Things had more or less returned to normal and they spent a lovely, if hectic, couple of days with Henry's family. They travelled back late Christmas day night so they could spend Boxing Day together. They even waited to exchange gifts. It was a tradition they'd kept from the beginning of their relationship. No matter their plans over the holidays, Boxing Day was just for the two of them. And this year Ollie was more grateful for it than ever before. She wasn't normally awake before Henry, but she took the opportunity to curl into his chest and feel the warmth of his skin against her own. "Mmmm g'morning… do I take it I'm getting my Christmas present before breakfast?" He growled into her neck, the sensation making her squeal.

"Oh behave yourself, I was cold… that's all."

"Mm-hm, I believe ya…" Henry climbed on top of her, pulling down the waistband of her pants while he smothered her with kisses.

"Henry! S-stop it!" He harrumphed, collapsed on top of her, and buried his face in her neck. "Er… what are you doing?! Get off, I can't breathe!"

"You said you were cold so I'm keeping you warm! Mmmm you've got your baby smell…" Henry breathed deeply, refusing to budge. She sighed.

***

"Hey, wait a minute, where're my bloody presents?" Henry's nose had led him straight into the kitchen, where she was making a cooked breakfast. He then tried to lift a slice of bacon straight out of the frying pan, causing her to swat his hand.

"OW! I only wanted a nibble… am I to be starved of a Boxing Day morn as well?"

"Oh shut up. How many times do I have to tell you? No eating until I've plated up. And your presents are under the tree, santa obviously didn't check his list twice this year." Henry smirked and shuffled off into the living room. "Hey! No bloody peeking!"

***

"There you are my sweet boy, is that good?" She watched as Kal dived into the bowl of cooked giblets, smoothing down the knitted Christmas jumper she'd made for him, over his back.

"Hey, why does he get to have his presents before me?"

"Cos he's not a whiney little shit. That's why."

"Well, it's a good job I'm the forgiving sort. Heads up!" Henry lobbed a present straight at her, almost conking her on the head.

"Jesus Henry, you almost took me out!" But he just grinned and carried on munching away at some leftover toast.

"W-what… what’s this?" She opened the box to find a large, plastic magnifying glass.

"Well, you know how you're really vain and won't get glasses--"

"I'm vain?!?!"

"… I thought it might come in handy," Henry then reached over and clicked a button on the side, "see? It lights up and look, it even folds in half…"

"Oh? Well then you know where you can stick it…" He struggled to hold in his laughter.

"What? That's a lovely gift! I bet you didn’t put as much thought into mine…"

"Well why don't you open it and see? I'm tempted to throw it but I might strain my wrist…" Henry lifted the heavy box onto his lap.

"Christ, what did you get me?" He ripped away the paper.

"It's a Hollywood mirror, like the ones you get in your trailers. Now you can be the star of the show, even at home…" Henry rubbed his jaw, trying to hide his smile.

"Well, d'ya like it?" He nodded, still unable to look straight into her deadpan eyes. "Oh good. You got any more for me?" Henry pointed towards another box. She gasped the minute she opened it.

"You got me new headphones?! Oh, Henry… these must have cost a fortune!"

"Do you like them? They're proper noise-cancelling ones."

"So I don't have to listen to you anymore?! Oh my God, I love them! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" He chuckled.

"Well?!"

"Well, what?!"

"Where's my kiss?" She sighed and plonked herself next to him, pecking his fuzzy cheek. "Is that last one for me?" Henry eyed the final box beneath the tree. She gulped. Normally they promised only to buy each other a couple of joke presents. She reasoned that he spoiled her enough, even though they both knew that wasn't quite true. She'd never let Henry spend much money on her. She felt she had enough of her own and more to the point, it made her uncomfortable. But she hadn't anticipated the headphones. Uneasily, she watched as he ripped open the paper. Henry stared down at the gift for several moments. A boxset of Witcher books.

"I, er… thought you might want to double-check the source material." To this day, she didn't know how she managed to keep a straight face. He cleared his throat, put the books aside, and got to his feet. "What are you doing?"

"You've got a five-minute headstart."

***

Henry spent most of the next hour chasing her around the house, culminating in sex which lasted a further two. "Hey, do you remember our first Christmas?" He whispered eventually, his body still wrapped around her own.

"Mmm, you mean where you broke the oven door checking on the turkey?"

"I was just seeing if it was done!"

"… Or to make sure it was cooking evenly."

"Well what can I say, I'd yet to fully appreciate your culinary prowess. I think even my mum's turkey can't beat yours."

"It did that year." Henry chuckled. "But thanks for the bargaining chip. I've got something to hold over you now if ever you should cross me…"

"Ollie, look at me." She turned her head. "You've got to learn to be more forgiving…" She swatted him on the arm. "Right, come on, we can’t lay here all day."

"Oh, I thought you'd want another round?"

"Always. But come on, get dressed and then meet me in the car."

"Why? Are you throwing me out? On Boxing Day?! Oh, Henry. It was only some books." Henry ignored her deadpan face.

"Well, as deserved as that might be, it's actually so I can give you your last gift. Just put together a bag of any extra stuff you want to bring, your clothes are already packed."

"What d'ya mean? Where are we going?"

"You'll see. Come on, shift it." He spanked her backside and pulled her out of bed.

"Well hang on, I better get some knickers as well. I know you won't have packed them." Henry smirked.

***

She jogged downstairs, her rucksack already on her back, only to find Henry still in the living room. "Oh no, don't tell me the car won’t start? Didn't you only just fill it up?" The look on his face was unreadable and his arms remained crossed. "Henry, what is it?"

"Your mum just phoned." A pit opened in her stomach. "She's been trying to get hold of you since Monday. Your father’s been moved into end of life care."

"Yes, I know." She dropped her rucksack to the floor and began rooting around it, more for something to do at that moment than anything else.

"Apparently he's been sick for a while."

“I only found out last month."

"… And you didn't think to tell me?" She moved her chargers to another pocket, concerned they'd scratch her tablet. "Ollie?"

"What, Henry?" She snapped back up, exasperation now lacing her voice. He had to tread carefully.

"Why didn't you say anything?!" She sighed.

"Because you'd just given me the promise ring and found out you were playing Superman again! Things were so happy that I wanted to wait, but then they told you they were recasting, and after that came Christmas. When exactly was I meant to tell you?!"

"Don't make excuses Ollie, there's never a right moment for that sort of news and you know it. I mean I knew something was wrong, but I never suspected it was this. You've spent all this time with it weighing on you, and for what? If it was my father you wouldn't have been able to do enough for me!"

"Your Dad's not like mine!" She tried desperately to hold back her tears. Henry rushed towards her. "No, stop! I’m okay, really."

"For God's sake, stop it! No, you're not. None of this is okay! Is that where you were Friday? What the hell did he say to you?!" Relief washed over her. At least her mother hadn't told him that much.

"Nothing, we said our goodbyes and parted peacefully. I was just exhausted by the time I got back, it was a bloody long day."

"Stop lying to me, Ollie. And why aren't you talking to your mum? You can't just cut off your family— "

"Henry, enough. I'm not discussing it. Today's supposed to be our day." Henry sighed and bowed his head.

"… I just wish that, for once, you could trust me enough to be honest. That's all." He kissed her forehead, picked up her rucksack, and headed out the door.

***

For the first half an hour, the journey was mostly silent. Eventually, she couldn't stand it anymore. "I'm sorry, okay? I hate that part of my life, and I didn't want any more of it bleeding into everything we've built together--"

"Ollie, you never have to hide anything from me!"

"Just let me finish. I thought I was protecting us from all of it but… clearly not. So, in the new year, I'm gunna get some help."

"What, you mean like… therapy? Darling, I'm not going anywhere, surely you know that?"

"It's not just for us, I need some help trying to process everything better as well." Henry's heart sank.

"Okay… but please know that I'm here for you. I mean it Ollie, there's nothing you can't talk to me about. Will you let me pay for the sessions? What else can I do?"

"My savings will cover it, darling. And you do enough for me, you always have." Another silence descended over the car.

***

After an hour and a half, they finally arrived at a little cottage, perched along with its neighbour in the corner of a meadow that rolled down to a private beach. "Oh my God, is that the sea?!" Ollie clasped her hands together in delight. Henry just smiled, grabbed their bags, and led her into one of the most beautiful living rooms she'd ever seen. Low oak beams and a large, roaring fireplace framed the neatly whitewashed walls, all currently adorned with holly and ivy. "So… first impressions?"

"It's beautiful," She ducked in and out of the other rooms, her excitement only growing, "I could stay here forever!" His smile grew wider.

"Well that's lucky… cos it's yours." Henry winged a set of keys right at her, the shock of what he'd just said almost causing her to drop them.

"You what?!"

"I've still got some paperwork to sign, but it's yours darling."

"I, I…" She fell to the sofa, struggling to comprehend what was happening. He gently took a seat beside her. "Henry… you can't buy me a house!"

"Why not?" She jumped to her feet and quickly started pacing about.

"Because it's too much! We already have a lovely house! Oh my God, it must have cost the earth, at least me pay half--" Henry climbed to his feet and rubbed her shoulders in a vain attempt to calm her down.

"You're not paying a bloody penny. Consider it our holiday home if you must, but I wanted you to have a place to go when you need space. I know you find being at home tough when I'm away, so this can be a change of scenery. You love the sea and I'll feel a lot better if I know you're safe and comfortable here. And don't worry, there's a lovely older couple next door, they've already told me they're happy to help look after the place when we're gone." She was so overwhelmed she couldn’t speak. He wiped the tears from her eyes and cradled her face, "will you please accept it?" She dashed back into the hallway and Henry could hear the unzipping of her rucksack.

"… Only if you accept this. It doesn't quite compare to a house, but I hope you'll like it all the same."

"You got me a Christmas card?" She ignored his deadpan face and snatched back the envelope. She then took a deep breath.

“Henry William - and one I still can't pronounce - Cavill. You live to irritate me," Henry's look of confusion was replaced by a set of pursed lips, "you somehow manage to make more mess than Kal, as well as shed twice as much hair--"

"Is this actually leading somewhere?"

"And I'll be amazed if I don't lose all of my hair by the time you lose the rest of yours. All that being said, I don't want to miss another second of any of it, ever again. Will you marry me?"

"… What?" His voice was small and confused.

"I said, will you marry me?!" Henry blinked a few times and took a couple of steps back, rubbing his forehead as he chuckled.

"Are you serious?" She nodded eagerly. "No… you want to marry me? For real?!"

"Yes!" He then rushed towards her. Before she knew it, she was in a fireman's lift being wildly spun about while Henry whooped and cheered at the top of his lungs. Poor Kal could only bark in confusion.

"HENRY! P-PUT ME DOWNNN!" By the time he stood her upright, she was close to falling down. Henry grabbed then her cheeks, which gradually helped the room stop spinning.

"Are you sure though, darling? You were adamant about not getting married. You're not just doing it because, well… I mean a lot's going on at the moment."

"Henry, whether it be love or demonic possession, I truly wish to marry you--"

"But you're not just asking because I bought the house, are you? Are these actually Playstation vouchers?" He picked up the envelope that had dropped to the floor in all the chaos.

"Oh… I thought you wanted Xbox ones?" Henry's mouth fell open, causing her to snicker. "Why don't you just open it?" He eyed her suspiciously before tearing open the envelope. "As I was the one to propose, I thought you'd probably want to pick out the rings. So… is that a yes then?" Henry's vision blurred as he looked down at the invitation for a fitting at a bespoke jeweller.

"Henry?!" She wiped the tears that spilled down his face as he nodded.

"… But what about our promise rings?"

"Well, they can be our engagement rings." Henry chewed his lip, still struggling to believe what was happening.

"So are you going to be a 'Mrs?' And take my last name?"

"Mm-hm."

"Are you gunna wear a dress?"

"Mm-hm."

"Can I call you 'wife,' now? All the time?"

"Mmm… let's say twice a day. Once in the morning and once at night. And only after we're married."

"Okay well let's circle back to that… can we have guests? Not too many but a few? Where are we going to have it? And when?!" His face was so eager and bright that she couldn't help but smile.

"Well… this place looks like it's got a nice little garden. Why don't we have it out there as soon as the weather's warmer? We could then go back to ours and have a garden party, that way more people could attend afterward--" Henry quickly pulled her into a tight hug.

"… You don't have to do this just to make me happy." She smiled against the middle of his chest, the weight of his arms around her only adding to her comfort.

"I'm doing it because of how happy you make me, you silly sod."

"I love you, my darling."

"Right up until you leave more for an eighteen-year-old?" Henry tutted.

"Look at me, I'm not going anywhere. How could I ever leave my wally Ollie?"

"But what if my arse gets bigger?"

"… How big are we talking?" She bopped him on the arm. "Well I suppose I can always have the doors widened," she rolled her eyes, "don't worry! As you said, I won't have much hair left by then, no one else will want me." She sighed. "I love you, my darling."

"And I, you. Fuck knows why."

"Well, maybe this'll also help. I'm not leaving in January."

"What? Why?! You said I could have this place to myself!" Henry roared with laughter.

"I thought you'd be pleased!"

"Well… I suppose. But what happened?"

"Filming got pushed back." She eyed him warily.

"Henry--"

"Darling, I want to be with you--"

"But you can't just turn down work! What will--" Henry gently clamped his hand over her mouth.

"Ah, much better. Now, are you gunna say it back or what?" She shoved his hand away.

"Say what, you arch idiot?"

"You know what!" She sighed again.

"I love you too. There, happy?" Henry tilted her chin and kissed her deeply.

"More than any man on God's green earth."

To be updated on when I post please follow @resowrites and turn on post notifications.

@marytudorbrandon @luclittlepond @fanfictionaddiction99 @caffeinatedfestivalsheep

[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.

[vinnival]

Hi, first time requesting something. How about some fluff with main 3 + mag torture +tricky and a pacifying reader? Like they have the ability to stop anyone in their tracks and calm down. Love your writing and you :)

HELLO yes I will deliver!!! Sorry 4 the long wait!!! I LOVE U TOO

as a pacifist I will ascend writing this 🧘‍♀️

Aggression? No, A Love

Session!

HANK

Oh hon u're one of the best people for this mf....

Like if you knew him since before the boombox incident you'd have saved Nevada from the Nightmare it was about to go through by calming Hank down

Unfortunately, you met him by literally defending yourself from him- he was about to slaughter you, but your magical ass self just. stopped him

It- it jarred him up badly too, one minute he felt intense urges to shed blood, and the next, it all vanished into thin air

He thought you were very interesting for that, and forced you to return to base with him

You're like... his therapist now

Technically, everyone's therapist (everyone is fucked up) but we won't talk about that

I can see him immediately coming back from a mission and just zipping straight to your room for solace

He doesn't even say anything, you can just Tell

Which he doesn't complain about, less talking from him so :]

He just loves pets.........

SANFORD

100% wants to find out how you can do such feats

One time you snuck into the van for a mission and managed to pacify everyone to sleep when you got there- before any of the 3 could start killing

He's been entranced with you ever since

Loves watching you calmly walk through enemy buildings, sweeping through the MAGs and Grunts with your soothing voice and gentle hands, calming them and making them friendly

"What kind of witchcraft..."

LOVES it when you calm him down too

Like when he's too riled up by Deimos or smth you'll immediately be there to reassure him

He was already a big cuddle bug before, but now? Can't go an hour without cuddling. (unless in a mission, but as soon as you two return home he will scoop u up and cuddle)

All 3 of them are fiercely protective of you, but Sanford is the most obviously protective- always close to you, trying to make himself a meat shield for you, teaches you good self-defense skills

DEIMOS

This man will never leave you alone

"Can you teach me can you teach me can you teac-" *is knocked out by you*

At first he couldn't tell why/how you're so effective, but after all the Purgatory bullshit, he suddenly VERY MUCH understood

You were so skilled in calming everyone down form panic attacks, violent outbursts, etc

"It's my turn on the therapy session"

The three of them fight like dogs trying to decide who can get your calming sessions for the day

Of course it's you who has to go in and stop it HAHAHA

Okay, now you have 3 baby men (/hj) to deal with and soothe, which isn't bad! They're all warm when you all cuddle up together and watch a movie so you enjoy it

AGENT TORTURE

Once again you're the perfect mf for this guy

He's been through too much shit please just make him happy and feel calm holy shit

The way you met? You weren't assigned to taking care of him, in fact, you were all the way across the building from him, as a simple security watch person

He broke out and went on a rampage today, but when he got to your side of the building, you were the first person he bumped into

Instead of picking you up and crushing you like a tin can, you two only stared at each other intensely

You were trying to display as much "you can trust me" vibes as possible

It apparently worked, because he knelt down to get eye-level with you

And in a cliche hiccup-toothless moment, you reached out your hand and he pushed his head forward for you to lay your hand on his cheek

He started purring too!! You have The Magic Touch (tm)

And literally the entire half of the facility witnessed it

Well, now you were a hero AND a someone personally assigned to Tor to keep him calm

Get ready for a very territorial boy

You'd be sleeping, he'd be curled up around you, and if anyone dared to get close, they'd get very menacingly growled at

No one even TRIES to be mean to you or anything because you, the happy magical ray of sunshine, had a giant, very protective shadow right behind you at all times

TRICKY

God pacifying reader is fit for anyone here huh? Guess everyone truly is fucked up

You very stupidly stepped in the middle of a fight between him and Hank

You very luckily have cool powers

You managed to stop them from killing each other yet again

Hank ran off without a second thought, leaving you alone with the clown

Good thing you calmed him, otherwise you would've been a sliced up body

He stared at you confusedly, "HOW DO THAT?"

Instant besties

If he ever catches someone talking shit ab you/being mean to you, or anything like that...

get their funeral ready LMAOAA

No one hurts his bestest friend !!!!!

Especially a magical bestie

He sees you as very special and loves how you always manage to calm even the most dangerous individuals (other than him)

Actually, his personality seems to adjust to be more kinder in a way? Like, he'll be more considerate and patient with others instead of straight up impulsively killing them

This was all thanks to you teaching him how to calm himself down !

btw he hugs you

a lot

like a heckin lot

some would argue way too much but let's be honest. clown hugs best hugs

speaking of clown ! He pulls out ALL the circus tricks and jokes to make you happy,,,, he loves hearing you laugh augh

ok so basically: you now have a very protective army of friends who all care you

[lovelyyy-luna]

ever after

pairing: (wanda maximoff x fem!reader)

fandom: avengers

pronouns: she/her

type: fluff

warning: being shot with a tranq

word count: 1005

date: february 3, 2022

masterlist

You missed her. And she missed you.

You wanted nothing but to be in her arms again. When S.H.I.E.L.D hid you away from her you tried so hard to search for a way out.

A safe house in the middle of nowhere. It was spacious, you could run anywhere but S.H.I.E.L.D would track you easily.

You walked around the grounds and went to the orchard. It was the only place where you could think and where you hoped S.H.I.E.L.D wasn't watching.

You sat under one of the trees and started reading one of the books they placed in the safe house.

What feels like hours pass by and then suddenly as if out of a trance you hear a voice, “Y/N…” it echoed.

You looked around to maybe find an agent but there was no one. You went back to your book but the voice was heard again.

“Y/N…” you try to concentrate on the voice, it was familiar.

Then it hit you. Wanda.

You get up and start looking for her. “Wanda? Wanda, where are you?”

You start running down the orchard and then you spot her at the end. You run faster towards her but she starts walking and when you are almost to her she disappears.

You were sad. Maybe it was all in your head. Cabin fever? Maybe.

Then a hand was placed on your shoulder. It didn't scare you, it was a hand that has been there a million times. A comfort.

“Wanda,” you whisper.

You turned around and there she was, just as beautiful as ever. “Draga, I have missed you so much,” she stroked your face and with that, you knew this was real.

You looked longingly in her eyes which felt like forever.

“How are you here? Why didn't you come for me sooner?” you asked.

“Oh, my love. I never forgot about you, I needed to get stronger for me to get you. You understand, right?”

“I do. I just have been here for months, alone. The people at S.H.I.E.L.D never come to check up on me, but I know they're watching me. Wanda, I don't know where the cameras are, if they see you they'll be here in seconds.”

“That won't be a problem, my love.”

“Do we have an update on the L/N case?” Nick Fury asked one of the agents.

They both look at the monitors from the camera hidden in one of the trees, “Nothing really new. But she is talking to herself.”

“Well, I guess isolation broke her. Just keep an eye on her,” Fury said.

“And why won't that be a problem?” you ask and when you look in her eyes you see that mischievous look. “Wanda what did you do?” you ask with a smile.

“Well, you know how I've been training to get stronger?”

You nod.

“I'm not here,” she says. But that made you question your sanity. “Oh no not like that my love, you haven't gone crazy. I'm projecting myself here. I'm actually at my home in Sokovia. Our home.”

“If you're technically not here, how can you get me out of this place?”

“Do you trust me?” she asked.

“Of course Wanda, with my whole life.”

“Good,” she holds your hand.

“Sir we have something on the L/N case,” the agent said.

“What is it?” Fury walked over and looked at the monitor and was in shock to see Wanda staring at him through the camera. “Do you think she can see us?”

“Yes, and I can hear you, Agent Fury. Now I know you're wondering how I found Y/N and how I didn't come up on your radar. Well, I won't tell you but I want to make one thing clear.”

Wanda stepped forward staring deep into Fury, “You took and hid her from me. I won't take that lightly.”

Fury looked at the agent and gave him some sort of signal.

“I know you just told your agent to send an army to this location. But I hate to break it to you but you won't make it in time.”

Wanda fuzzed the monitor, Fury stormed out of the room and got the chopper to the safe house.

You walk over to Wanda and fold your hand in hers, she looks at you and smiles.

You and her go into the house and wait and then you see cars and choppers pull up over to the safe house.

There was a knock at the door and you were nervous, but Wanda assured you that everything will be okay.

She got up and opened the door, “hello agent fury.”

“Hello, wanda. I'm sure you don't want this to turn upside down, so why don't you let Y/N go and no one will get hurt.”

“It's interesting that you think Y/N wants to go with you.”

“I'm just doing what's in her best interest. We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

You stand up and speak, “Agent Fury, Wanda is not a danger to me. We love each other and there is nothing you can do that keeps us away.”

“That's what I was afraid of.”

Then you were stuck in the neck, you became drowsy very quickly and fell to the ground.

You woke up in an unfamiliar room and then the door opened, Wanda walked through it and she had a cup of tea.

“Oh Draga, you're awake,” she said handing you the cup.

“What happened wanda?”

“They shot you with a tranquilizer and I handled it.”

“Wanda, you didn't hurt them did you?”

“Of course, not my love, just gave them a message,” she smirked at you and you didn't ask any more questions.

You both spent the day in the house and Wanda cared for you. It was what you always dreamed of, you were finally living happily ever after.

♡please like comment and/or reblog♡

wanna be tagged? (X)

// @fandomxreader // @mrspetxrs // @negan-lover-blog // @detective-oof // @a-astxr // @meromelo //// @hollandswife // @powerpuffluuvv // @bi-lmg // @laystrology // @coollemonsaresour // @haileyybird // @elizabetholsenslut // @trashmaximoff // @lilithjow // @larsdarspars // @infectedcleo // @astrid-cunt // @rafecameronswhore // @blkroyalty1 //