#thought of this and knew someone was gonna make it eventually and it had to be me

[justagalwhowrites]

Halcyon - Ch. 21: That's Been a Long Time Comin', Baby

You and Joel have a long overdue conversation. A continuation of Halcyon from the prologue through Ch. 20, a modern no outbreak AU TLOU fic found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Nothing really! Modern No Outbreak AU, No use of Y/N, Slow burn, 18+ only, Minors DNI

Length: 4.3k

AO3 | Main Master List | Prologue | Previous Chapter

“You finally get arrested and it’s by goddamn rent-a-cops,” Tommy was beaming as he and Joel made their way from the police station to his truck. “Only you could make gettin’ in trouble this fuckin’ lame.” 

“It wasn’t a rent-a-cop,” Joel said, grinding his teeth. “It was university police.” 

“That’s a rent-a-cop.” 

“They’re real police!” Joel said. 

Tommy scoffed. 

“Not like you’re gonna have a record now.” 

“Only because they let me go without charging me with shit,” Joel said. “No idea why… Shouldn’t have even called you, wasn’t trying to waste your time.” 

“Not like you knew they were going to just let you go,” Tommy said, serious now. “I was Googling attorneys and shit, I thought I was going to have to bail your ass out for a change. Nice that they didn’t lock you up.” 

“Yeah,” Joel said as they reached Tommy’s truck. They got in and buckled up and Joel sighed, looking out the window. “Just wish I knew why.” 

He was at a loss. The police had hauled him out of your office so fast he didn’t even get a chance to find out what you were thinking, if you had anything at all to say. If he was right about the book, God he hoped he was right about the book. 

He thought - or maybe just hoped - that you’d show up at the police station. They threw him in a holding cell with a few college-aged fuckups and he watched the door, half convinced that you’d come walking in. Like if he just stared at it long enough you’d appear, come inside and walk right up to the bars and grab him and kiss him. Or at least yell at him. 

But you didn’t. 

Instead, he just stood there, watching the door, until a cop came over to take his information and  gave him the chance to call someone. Tommy got there about the same time as the same cop came over to tell Joel that he was free to go, at least for now. 

“So,” Tommy said eventually, drumming his hands on the steering wheel. “You gonna tell me exactly how you got your ass arrested by rent-a-cops?” 

Joel quirked his jaw. 

“Not saying you have to or anything,” Tommy continued. “But if you don’t tell me I will just make up some shit and it’ll be lame. Real lame. Like they caught you with a flask on campus and mistook you for a freshman lame.” 

“I…” Joel sighed. “I might have done something stupid.” 

“Likely thing for you to do,” Tommy said. 

“Fuck off.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” Tommy said. “I’ll lay off but… c’mon, man. This is weird for you. You got me worried, you don’t do shit like this.” 

“I know,” Joel said, wondering if maybe he’d done something like this sooner - like when he saw that fucking guy kissing you years ago - maybe everything would be different now. “I… I read Goldie’s book.” 

“Alright…” Tommy said, glancing his way. “Last time I checked, that ain’t illegal.” 

“It’s not,” Joel said. “But… I’d never read it before and… Look, maybe I’m crazy, maybe it’s all fiction but it don’t feel like fiction and… I think she… she might… she might feel the same way I do.” 

“Oh shit,” Tommy laughed, grinning like an idiot. “Fuck yeah, man!” 

“I went to talk to her,” Joel said. “But she was there with her fucking husband and I overheard one of her students say he hit on her and then I went to her office and he was kissing her and I… I just… I punched him.” 

“Good for you!” Tommy clapped him on the shoulder. “About damn time somebody put that jackass in his place. What’d Goldie say?” 

“Not much,” Joel sighed. “Not like we got a chance to really talk. Said the book was ancient history, asked why I cared… Kept hoping she’d show up at the station but…” 

Tommy pulled up alongside Joel’s truck and he sighed. 

“Least I wasn’t locked up when I needed to get Sarah from school,” he muttered. 

“Don’t matter,” Tommy said. “I’m gonna go get her.” 

“What?” Joel laughed. 

“Not going to let you chicken out on this shit,” Tommy said. “I got Sarah, you go talk to Goldie. Actually talk to her, not yell some shit at her and then punch her husband. You’re finally - fucking finally - doing something about it. You’re finally going after what you want and I’m not going to let you give up because you got arrested by some mall cop on steroids.” 

“Tommy…” 

“I’m serious,” Tommy said. “I’ll get Sarah from school, she can stay with me tonight. Go get your girl, Joel.” 

Joel smiled a little. His brother might have more faith in him than he deserved but goddamn, it felt good. 

“Alright,” Joel said. “I’m gonna go get my girl.” 

He went to call you, just in case you unblocked him, but his phone was broken, the entire outer case bent - probably from when one of the cops wrestled him away from your office. He considered, for a minute, just going back to your office but he didn’t want to get arrested again. 

So he went home, just to grab your book. He wasn’t really sure why but he wanted it. He wanted to hold it in his hands, have something solid and yours there with him while he did this. He took a quick look in the mirror, feeling a little like the boy he was when he went to pick you up for prom. Everything felt so consequential, the way his hair fell against his forehead and the way his shirt hung on his body, anything that might help you look at him like he was something worth wanting suddenly vitally important in his reflection. 

“Right,” he said to no one but himself before taking a deep breath. “Now or never.” 

He drove to your house. He thought about getting flowers or something on the way but what if that was too much? What if this wasn’t what you wanted and something like flowers made it worse? Why didn’t he just know what to do? Loving you felt like the most natural thing in the world, why wasn’t telling you just as easy?

He came to your door with nothing but your book in his hands and he was pretty sure you weren’t home but he knocked, anyway. He paced for a minute when you didn’t answer, then stood there, clenching his jaw and staring out at the road like a dumbass before he decided to just sit down and wait because what the fuck else was he going to do. 

After what felt like forever - but probably wasn’t much time at all - Joel opened the book. 

He wasn’t looking for anything in particular but he found himself lingering on the parts where Cressida and Eli were together and, if not happy, at least hopeful. He was reading a passage where they were all tangled up in each other and while it was sensual, the intimacy of it came from the deep knowing and understanding the two shared. It was a feeling, Joel thought, that could only be found in one person. He’d spent half his life searching for it again and never found it and he wanted it, he wanted it so bad it hurt. 

“When you said you read it, I assumed it was the whole thing, not just the first 50 pages.” 

Joel’s head shot up from the book and found you standing on your walk with your house keys in your hand. 

He jumped up, snapping the book shut when he did. 

“I did,” he said. “I was just… I wanted to read it again. Parts of it again.” 

You nodded slowly and walked up to him, stopping close enough that he could reach out and grab you and kiss you if you’d just let him. 

“I tried calling,” you said. “It went straight to voicemail.” 

“Oh, uh,” Joel passed the book from one hand to the other and pulled his phone out, holding it up as proof. “It broke, probably when I got arrested but… well, since you blocked my number, wasn’t too worried about it.” 

You frowned, eyebrows knitting together. 

“Blocked you? I didn’t block you.” 

“Think you did,” Joel laughed a little. “Believe it or not, turning up at your office wasn’t my first choice but I got a message that said your number was unavailable when I called so…” 

Your frown deepened and you pulled out your phone, scrolling on it for a moment before gaping at the screen. 

“Son of a bitch,” you swore. “That…” You looked at Joel again. “I didn’t block you, I’m guessing Gale did sometime in the last few days…” 

“Where is your husband?” Joel asked, looking over your shoulder. “Not gonna let me get another swing on him is he?” 

You laughed once. 

“He’s at the hospital,” you said. “I don’t think he’ll be showing his face here any time too soon.” 

“Good,” Joel said. “You deserve better than that asshole.” 

You smiled tightly. 

“What are you doing here, Joel.” 

“I…” he searched your face for some indication of what you thought, what you wanted, but even though he knew your face better than any other he couldn’t seem to read you. “I needed to see you, I had to see you, baby, I…” 

You bit your lip and he fought the urge to pull it free of your teeth and run his thumb over you there. 

“Let’s go inside,” you said. “We… we can talk. Just talk. If that’s OK.” 

His heart beat a little faster. He could work with that. 

“Yeah,” he said quickly. “Let’s talk.” 

***

Your heart was pounding, so hard and fast you thought Joel must be able to hear it. 

But if he could, he didn’t say anything. You just let the two of you into your house and tried to force yourself to stay calm, to not let your racing thoughts get too far ahead of yourself. 

You hadn’t expected to find him on your front porch when you got home. You’d called him. You’d called the police station again but he’d left by then. You’d even tried going by his house but no one was home and you had this sinking feeling that you’d blown it, somehow. Not that you even knew what ‘it’ was but it seemed as though the moment in your office was a breaking point you didn’t know existed and it was behind you now and there was nothing you could do to get it back. 

And then Joel was there on your porch, a copy of your book in his hands, one that he was reading so intently he hadn’t even noticed you drive up. 

You hung your bag on a hook and put your keys in the dish by the door and Joel followed behind you, his eyes intent enough on you that you could feel them even at your back. 

“Can I get you a drink or anything?” You asked, more for something to say than anything else because what the fuck were your supposed to say in this situation? 

“Not here for a drink, Goldie.” 

“OK,” you said, turning to face him as you stood in the middle of your living room because sitting down felt too strange. You crossed your arms over your chest to keep from touching him. “Why are you here, Joel?” 

“I read your book,” he said quickly. “And I know it took me long enough but I just couldn’t… I thought it was gonna be about you and that fucking guy but it wasn’t and… Goldie, I need to know if it was about us.” 

Your fingers dug into your arms as you tightened your grip on yourself, your stomach churning. 

“What does it matter if it was?” You asked. “I didn’t need to ask your permission to write about my own life, that’s not how that works and…” 

“No, Jesus,” he cut you off. “I… I don’t care, you can write about whatever you want with me but Goldie, is this how you felt? Back then, when we were kids, was this -” he held up the book “-how you felt?” 

You frowned and looked at the book. It was signed, your signature broad and looping on the dust jacket. 

“Where did you get that?” You asked. “I never signed a copy for you…” 

He lowered the book, looking at the cover for a moment before looking back at you.

“I bought it online,” he said. “Some charity auction thing, years ago. I… I wanted a copy that felt more like it came from you. Stop changing the subject, please, and just… we have to actually fucking talk about this, baby, we can’t keep avoiding it forever because it hurts. Please. It’ll wreck us both.” 

“Yes, OK?” You said, louder and more forcefully than you’d really meant to and you had to take a breath to calm down, closing your eyes because you weren’t sure you could look at him and admit this. “Yes, that… that’s how I felt.” 

“Goldie…” 

“Please don’t make this a thing, Joel,” you said, looking toward your windows because anywhere was better than looking at him. “Please don’t.” 

But he didn’t let you turn away from him. Instead, he closed the small gap between you and took your face firmly in his large hand, his grip on you tight. 

“Goldie,” he said softly. “Look at me.” 

You steeled yourself and obeyed, tears already starting to build and you tried to hold them back as best you could. 

“Do you still feel that way?” He asked quietly. 

“Don’t do this to me, Joel,” you whispered. “Please.” 

“Don’t do what?” He asked, his eyes tracing your face again and again. 

“Don’t ask me to…” you took a deep, shaky breath. “Don’t ask me to be the one to ruin everything. I can’t…” 

“I love you,” he cut you off. “There, now it ain’t you, it’s me.” 

“Joel…” 

“I love you,” he said it again. “I’ll keep saying it, I don’t care. I love you. I loved you then, too, and…” 

You pulled yourself away from him, shaking your head, desperate for some distance. It didn’t make sense, none of this made sense. 

“Don’t do that, don’t lie to me because you feel guilty or whatever,” you said, tears falling now. “I know how you felt, Joel, I heard you. If… if things changed, then… then maybe we can… I don’t know, but don’t lie and tell me that I was anything to you back then, alright? I know it was forever ago now, I know we were kids, but it still hurts, OK? It hurts, it hurts every fucking time I look at you but I just keep living with it because you’re worth it to me and-”

He grabbed you and kissed you then, harsh and rough and forceful and your body bowed to his instinctively, curving and arching into his touch, kissing him back desperately before you remembered what you were doing here and pulled back from him. Your eyes were wide, lips swollen, cheeks wet and Joel was panting for breath, watching you. 

“Don’t do that!” You shook his hands from you and wiped your mouth with the back of your wrist. “Stop trying to distract me, stop treating me like I’m just some girl you fuck, just stop!” 

“That’s not what I’m doin’, baby,” he said. His voice was calm, sure. “Swear I’m not.” 

“Then what were you doing in your kitchen?” You demanded, trying to make yourself calm down and failing. “After Sarah’s party, what were you doing then?” 

Joel looked like he was trying not to smile. 

“What!” You demanded. 

“You love me, too,” he said. 

“Joel.” 

“S’why you’re all worked up,” he said. “I love you and you love me, too. I’ll feel better when you actually say it, but…” 

You shook your head, your heart beating a frantic rhythm against your ribs. 

“You’re being mean,” you said. 

“I’m not trying to be,” he said. “I love you.” 

“Stop saying that.” 

“No,” he said. “I love you.” 

“Then why would you do that?” You cried. “Why did you treat me like I was just… just…” 

“Just what, baby.” 

“Just a warm body!” You said. 

“Baby…” 

“That’s what it felt like!” You kept going, on a tear now. “That’s what it felt like back then when you avoided me and you told your friend how it would have been better if you’d fucked anyone besides me, that’s what it felt like every time you avoided me because you caved to whatever baser instinct you had and touched me a few months ago, that’s what it felt like when you practically fucked me in your kitchen and made it sound like all we were to each other was some way to get off and that might be true for you, Joel, but it was never that way for me! 

“And it’s pathetic! Because when we were kids, I felt so bad for all the girls you’d fuck and leave. I pitied them! I thought they were so desperate and sad and then I turned into one of them! And I… I just…” 

“Just what,” Joel said softly. 

“I just…” your voice broke and your eyes met his. “I can’t be nothing to you, Joel. I can’t.” 

“Oh baby,” he said, so gently. He delicately took your face in his hands and dried your tears, thumbs curving over the arch of your cheekbones. “You’re everything.” 

You rolled your eyes and looked away, scoffing.

“Joel…” 

“You gonna let me talk for a minute?” He asked, brows raised, his hands moving to your shoulders. “Because I think we need to.” 

You sniffed and gritted your teeth for a moment but you nodded, anyway. 

“Well, you’re a lot smarter than me but you’re wrong about a lot,” he said. You opened your mouth to protest but he gave you a look and you closed it again and he smiled a little. “Thank you. Promise I’ll let you yell at me once this is all out, alright?” 

You just sniffled and nodded again. 

“I have loved you since that day on the football field almost 20 goddamn years ago,” he said. Your heart beat faster. “Pretty sure the first time I saw you holdin’ that damn gold notebook of yours I was a goner. I was just… I was young and dumb - still pretty dumb to be honest…” 

“Shut up,” you shoved him lightly. “You’re not dumb.” 

“No, I am,” he said. “Because I let my fear and my insecurity keep me from telling you all of this years ago. You were so smart and talented and driven and even then, I knew you were going to be something. Figured there wasn’t a chance in hell that you’d want someone like me so why would I try. All I’d do was fuck up what we had. But then prom happened and I panicked.” 

“You said anyone would have been better than me,” you said softly, searching his face for some sign that he was sugar coating this in some way. “I heard you…” 

“I know,” he said. “I didn’t know you’d heard me then but I know what I said. Took me a while to remember it after you told me but I did and… Look, I know… I know you think I was sleeping with those girls back in high school but… I wasn’t.” 

You frowned. 

“What?” 

“Prom night…” he sighed, wincing a little as he did. “That… that was my first time, too.” 

You looked at him like you were waiting for a punch line but none came. 

“But…” you shook your head. “You… You dated all those girls then and…” 

“Yeah,” he laughed. “Yeah, I was tryin’ to get my best friend out of my system. Didn’t work so well for me in the end and then all I really had going for me was that you thought I was cool and when you assumed I was sleeping with those girls I just… didn’t tell you you were wrong.” 

“What does that have to do with anything?” You were so close to him you were sure he could hear your heart racing. 

“Well, that meant that I didn’t know anything about sex besides porn and the bullshit they taught us in school,” he said. “So I went to talk to Ricky because I thought he’d actually know how to handle that shit and tell me how to handle it and… I was afraid, baby. I was afraid I got you pregnant, that I ruined your life and that’s why I said it. I didn’t want to fuck things up for you, I didn’t want to trap you with me when you deserved so much better than that. It wasn’t because I didn’t want you and it wasn’t because I didn’t love you. It’s because I loved you so goddamn much that I freaked out at just the thought of fucking your life up.” 

“Joel,” you whispered, your heart racing. 

“I never thought you’d just leave like that,” he said. “I thought… I thought I’d be able to talk to you, once I had a plan, once I knew I could make it all OK, once I stopped freaking the fuck out, I thought we could talk and figure it out.”

You just stared at him, open mouthed, for a moment. 

“I…” you managed eventually. “I didn’t…” 

“I know,” he said softly, gently. 

“I thought you didn’t care about me,” you said, almost choking on the knot in your throat. “I… I thought you saw me as some stupid, geeky girl who you just… I don’t know, got stuck with one day and I couldn’t… I couldn’t face that so I left, I went to school early and…” 

“I know,” he said again before he laughed once, darkly. “I know. I… I went to find you.” 

“What?” You asked. 

“Back then,” he said. “Eventually wore Anna down, she told me where you went and… well… I went to find you. Talk to you. Didn’t think you’d just pick up if I called your new number, figured you couldn’t ignore me if I showed up.” 

“But,” you frowned. “I’d remember you coming to Brown…” 

“I’m sure you would,” he nodded. “But you never saw me. I saw you, though. You were with him. I couldn’t take that, either, so I left.” 

“Oh my God,” you whispered, your eyes searching his, so open and honest. “You loved me.” 

He smiled a little, one of his crooked smiles, just enough to make his cheek dimple. 

“Yeah,” he said. “I loved you with your weirdly good breakfast sandwiches and too much cream in your coffee and your smart-ass movie commentary and your obsession with dippin’ French fries in Blizzards - which is still an abomination, by the way.” 

You laughed wetly. 

“Joel,” your hands found his waist, fingers tightening in his shirt. 

“Never stopped loving you, baby,” he said, taking your face gently in his hand. “Not since the day I met you, not for one second. Figured I was kind of a lost cause in that department, after a while. Thought I’d have to settle for whatever little piece of you you’d give me but now… well, now I’m hopin’ that book means you feel the same way.” 

You couldn’t seem to find your voice so you just nodded, fast and sure and he laughed, sounding almost giddy, before he smiled, big and broad and all encompassing, like you’d just given him the world. 

“Think I can try somethin’ I’ve been wanting to do for about 20 damn years?” He asked. You just nodded, still speechless, and Joel stepped closer to you, closing what little gap there was between your bodies. The hand not against your cheek went to the small of your back and he cradled you to him, his eyes searching yours, his nose brushing your own. You could feel every line of his body against your own and your breath hitched, his gaze locked on yours until the last second, your eyes closing just as your lips met. 

You’d kissed Joel plenty before, more times than you could possibly count, but it had never been like this. Every other time your lips had touched his, it had been with some pretense attached - because he was rescuing you from your shitty husband or to make you feel better about being alone on New Year’s or as the build up toward some physical release. You’d never gotten to kiss him because you loved him, you’d never gotten to kiss him because he loved you. 

It was slow, gentle, patient, like you had all the time in the world instead carrying the undertones of something illicit. He was soft and warm, his hands against you like you were a delicate, precious thing. Your lips moved with his, your mouth opening along with his, just enough that you could taste him, breathe him, feel some part of him settle inside of you with a grounding certainty. He loved you. Joel loved you. 

Your arms looped around behind him, holding him close but not too tight - you knew he wasn’t going anywhere, not this time - and you kissed him the way you always wanted to kiss the love of your life. 

Eventually, breathlessly, you pulled away from each other, just enough to look into each other’s eyes again before you both laughed a little, bodies still pressed close. 

“That’s been a long time comin’ baby,” he said.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “It really has.” 

“Think I can take you to bed?” He asked. “Think we have some lost time to make up for.” 

You just smiled and laced your fingers with his before leading your best friend to your room. 

A/N: I sincerely hope the end of this chapter wasn't a let down! I'd originally intended for them to sleep together in the same chapter as the confession but SO MUCH got laid on the table here it felt like adding their first time having honest, loving sex would be too much all at once, you know? But that is coming up next, I promise.

Special shout out to @dancingtotuyo, @dundienominee and @mysticnightmarewrites for helping me figure out how to close this chapter.

Hopefully, this conversation was at least somewhat worth the wait! Thank you for still being here, a small eternity after I started writing this story. I really do love you all so much!

Taglist: @kaseyconnour

[jnnul]

if i say...i love you!

a/n: i saw the if i say i love you trailer and i am a CHANGED WOMAN. was going to make this for taesan but there aren't enough loser leehan fics out there. cranked this out in one day so if there any grammatical errors, pls let me know <3 quick note: feedback, comments, etc. GREATLY encourage writers! if you felt any sort of way (in a good or bad way!) about this fic, pls leave feedback!

word count: 7.4k

tags: high school au!, losers in love, leehan is referred to donghyun, dongmin is a character accurate loser + menace, jihyo han/jihan best girl!, the bnd boys are chaotic and stupid, leehan is in LOVE, warnings: none!

THERE'S A FAT CHANCE THAT YOU'RE GOING TO ACCEPT KIM DONGHYUN'S CONFESSION.

at least, this is what han dongmin says when donghyun lays out his plan in front of his best friend.

"why?" donghyun whines, looking down at his hasty scribbles on his blueprint. "what's wrong with the plan?"

dongmin rolls his eyes, not even looking down at the blueprint (which donghyun had literally drawn out his plan on blue paper to make the entire situation more official - but dongmin just thinks its childish, if not a little adorable) as he pads into the kitchen to grab a snack.

"well for starters, i'm fairly sure that y/n can't read what you've written," dongmin says, two packets of goldfish richer when he returns.

donghyun frowns as he looks down at the paper before groaning, realizing that the hieroglyphics he'd written in place of legible letters were definitely far from interpretation.

"what do i do?" donghyun bemoans, dragging out each syllable. "by the time i work up the courage to confess to her again, we'll all be senior citizens instead seniors in high school!"

dongmin snorts before finally giving the 'blueprint' a solid look to decipher exactly what donghyun's plan was.

"your plan is to get down on your knees before first period and ask her out in front of the entire class with - are those chocolates or suspiciously small grenades? - chocolates and flowers? and you think that she's going to be first of all, comfortable with this and second of all, willing to say yes?" dongmin shakes his head, shoving a handful of goldfish into his mouth. "even if she does have feelings for you, she'll probably say no just because of this plan."

donghyun lets out another groan as he lays on the floor, cursing his luck. when he'd run the plan by jaehyun, the older had said that it was the perfect plan. although, if myung jaehyun thought that this was a good way to ask someone out, that really should've been donghyun's first sign of danger.

"also did you even need an entire sketch for this? i mean, it seems pretty straightforward," dongmin says, barely dodging assault by very well aimed marker.

"well, if you're done snarking on my plan, can't you help me figure out how to ask her out?" donghyun says, flipping over to serve dongmin his killer move - puppy eyes. the motion is clearly lost on dongmin when he just shovels more goldfish into his mouth but after a painfully long moment of chewing dongmin moves from the couch to the floor.

"alright, alright, fine...here's what you're gonna do..."

TRIAL ONE: DONGMIN'S PLAN

"hey jihyo," donghyun says casually, nodding to you as he spoke with your best friend, han jihyo. it was 7:30 in the morning and while donghyun usually couldn't be bothered to woken up before 7:45 in the morning (when he would eventually be yelled at by his mother and then scramble to get to school), he felt surprisingly excited to get up early in the morning to get to the school.

jihyo looks at donghyun confusedly as she takes her seat right next to you, where you had your textbooks open in front of you, just like he knew you would. "hey donghyun. what's up?"

donghyun shrugs, trying his best not to look at you scribbling away as he converses with jihyo. "nothing much. i was just wondering if you were busy later today? dongmin got us tickets to watch a movie but our friends dropped out."

"which movie?" jihyo asks, eyes sparking up at the mention of donghyun's best friend.

"uh..." donghyun wracks his brain, trying to come up with a movie name on the spot. dongmin hadn't prepared him enough! "interstellar?"

"are you asking me or telling me?" jihyo says, just barely suppressing her laugh. next to her, you look like you're in a similar situation, eyes bright and sparkly with the efforts to not completely laugh in his face.

while donghyun would usually take this in a win in itself, he decided to push his luck just a bit further. "i'm telling you; it's dongmin's favorite movie."

he pretends to ignore the subtle elbow jab that you offer to jihyo, fighting down the corners of his lips that keep creeping upwards. perhaps this plan could help donghyun and dongmin - two birds one stone. even if in this situation, dongmin was completely oblivious to jihyo's affections...

"yeah, i'm free later on," jihyo says before turning to you, her hair covering her face so donghyun can't see her facial expression as she's speaking with you. "you're free too, right y/n? you're coming with us?"

"i mean, i am free but i don't want to intrude. we don't even know if dongmin has enough tickets," you point out, a little shy as you look anywhere but donghyun and jihyo - which is a little hard considering that jihyo is practically in your face and donghyun is a good two meters tall (or at least, that's what it feels like).

"i have tickets," dongmin says, announcing his presence with an arm slung around donghyun's shoulder.

"perfect! so then we'll meet you guys in the courtyard at the end of school," jihyo says, fluttering her eyelashes not so subtly at the sight of the large man currently dangling off of donghyun.

he flashes an 'ok' sign as the two boys make their way to the back of the classroom, dongmin snickering at donghyun's dazed expression.

neither of them realize that you've turned around in your seat, a soft look in your eyes as you steal glances at donghyun.

+++

"i hate you," donghyun mutters under his breath. dongmin slaps his forehead with the heel of his palm, staring at the tickets in his other hand.

"you didn't exactly give me enough time to secure four tickets to interstellar of all movies," dongmin hisses, turning to flash a sweet smile to jihyo and you, waiting in the line patiently for some popcorn as the boys stood outside the theatre.

"well you didn't prepare me with a movie name! i did the best i could," donghyun whispers back, pulling dongmin to the side when an older couple tries to enter the theatre behind them.

"yes, and now look. we've got four tickets scattered across the hall," dongmin says, waving the tickets in donghyun's face.

donghyun sighs, running a hand through his hair as he tries to figure out a solution to the situation.

"what if we just bounce and do something else? there's no point in watching the movie if we're all gonna be on opposite sides of the theatre," donghyun says and dongmin frowns, looking down at the tickets once more.

"wait wait...there's two seats that are next to each other. it's just the other two that are on the opposite sides of the theatre," dongmin says, pointing out the seat numbers on the tickets.

"so y/n and i will sit in those seats, and then you and jihyo will sit on opposite sides of the theatre?" donghyun asks, reaching out to grab the tickets when dongmin draws his hand back quickly, holding them out of reach.

"what happened?" you ask, voice soft and gentle as you and jihyo walk up to the boys with arms filled with popcorn and soft drinks.

donghyun and dongmin exchange a look before handing over the tickets sheepishly. jihyo takes the tickets with furrowed brows after handing over (dumping) the soft drinks in dongmin's arms.

"hm. okay, give me one sec, i'll text you guys," she says somewhat mysteriously before disappearing into the theatre where trailers were playing.

"uh...i feel like one of us should go with her," donghyun says before pushing dongmin through the door behind her. the bewildered look on his face is quickly covered by the doors that cover him in darkness.

the giggle that leaves your mouth might as well been a choir of angels by the way that donghyun feels weak in the knees, unable to tear his away from your frame.

"here, let me hold that," donghyun says, gently taking the larger than life tub of popcorn from your arms. you thank him shyly, tugging your jacket over your shoulders.

"do you remember the last time we watched a movie together?" you ask, a faint warmth in your cheeks. donghyun nods, tossing a kernel of popcorn into his mouth.

"i've learned that you should be kept far far away from horror movies," donghyun says cheekily. you pout, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"no one warned me that there would be that many jump scares," you complain, chewing on a piece of popcorn.

"i remember how you were shaking while the murderer was searching the house," donghyun laughs, dodging when you reach out to slap his arm. "you wouldn't let go of my arm until the murderer was put in a jail cell."

you clear your throat, trying to will away the heat that was building on your nape and cheeks. "interstellar doesn't have any jump scares does it?"

you look up to meet donghyun's eyes, only to realize that they're already looking into yours. big, bright, sparkly and looking at you as if he's trying to commit every detail about you to memory.

"no, no jump scares," he says softly, and suddenly you get the feeling that you're stumbling into a territory you've never explored before as he draws closer to you.

"um, that's good," you whisper, the moment suddenly too intimate to speak. donghyun looks at you for just a second too long before stepping back when there's a buzz in your pocket.

"dongmin and jihyo?" he asks, shoveling more popcorn into his mouth before you walked in, knowing that dongmin was prone to eating everything in sight when watching movies.

you nod, reading the text message out loud. "jihyo somehow convinced two people to switch seats so we've got seats all next to each other."

"cool. let's head inside then," donghyun says, the warmth of his body leaving yours. he pauses just before he enters the dark theatre, looking at you with a soft smile.

"and y/n? even if there aren't any jump scares, feel free to hold onto my arm."

+++

"what happened afterwards?" kim woonhak asks, sprawled out on park sungho's bed. sungho reaches over to smack him on the arm when woonhak opens up a bag of cheetos, only to spill them all over his bed.

"nothing, obviously. the fool started getting so into the movie that that's all he would talk about for a good hour before y/n said she had to go home and study," dongmin says, slapping donghyun upside the head when donghyun starts to contest his recollection of the situation.

"you're really stupid," lee sanghyeok says, accepting the packet of haribo gummy bears that jaehyun throws in his general direction.

"sure. but this is all because i listened to dongmin's idea. i was supposed to ask her out at the end of the movie in some weird, complicated speech that dongmin came up with," donghyun protests.

"see, that's your issue," sanghyeok says, wincing when woonhak rips the head off of a gummy bear as he eats it. "i don't know why you'd listen to the least romantic person in this room about how to ask a girl out."

"then what do you think i should do?" donghyun asks.

"well, as the only person out all of you fools with a girlfriend, here's what i think you should do," sanghyeok starts, holding up an ipad with a drawing on it.

"when the two of you are cleaning the classroom after classes..."

TRIAL TWO: SANGHYEOK'S PLAN

"uh, what do you mean that y/n's sick?" donghyun says dumbfoundedly. jihyo gives him a weird look as she continues to take down two copies of notes, confirming that y/n is most definitely not at school.

"i mean that she's sick. she caught something from her brother. she's not coming to school today," jihyo repeats, staring at her notes for a moment before continuing to write again.

"oh," donghyun says defeatedly, thanking jihyo before heading to the back of the classroom. dongmin appears in the doorway of the classroom not even two minutes later, lollipop in his mouth as he drops one on jihyo's desk before heading to the back of the classroom to sit down next to donghyun.

jihyo twists in her seat. "this is y/n's favorite flavor. i'll give it to her later when i drop off some soup my dad's making her."

"you're going to y/n's house?" donghyun asks, leaning forward on his elbows, looking like he was pretty close to toppling over the desk and onto the student in front of him.

"uh, yeah." donghyun scrambles out of his seat to head over to the front of the classroom where jihyo was sitting.

"can i come with you?" donghyun asks. jihyo looks at him strangely for a moment before craning her neck to dongmin behind him. it seems whatever she sees is enough to convince her because she nods after a beat of silence.

"sure. you can come too. i'm heading over after we clean the classroom," jihyo says, nodding over to where dongmin was sitting and thumbing through his phone with earbuds in. "bring dongmin too."

"why?" donghyun questions with an innocent expression, backing off when jihyo fixes him with an unimpressed look.

"consider it a favor exchange. my friend for yours."

+++

"you know what, i thought sanghyeok's idea was stupid anyway," sungho says over the phone. donghyun can vaguely hear the sound of weights being lifted and dropped and he figures that his college going friend was likely at the gym when donghyun had emergency called him with a need for a new plan.

"so what do you think i should do? i mean, i only have a couple minutes until jihyo comes out of her house after picking up the soup. how do i come up with a plan in the next three minutes?" donghyun asks worriedly, shoving dongmin away when he sees that dongmin's dangerously close to his phone, trying to figure exactly what sungho was saying on the other end.

"well, clearly food is out of the picture, since you don't have time and because you're a walking hazard when it comes to anything related to a stove," sungho says, more to himself than to donghyun.

"if you could come up with a way to help without snarking on my cooking skills, that would be highly appreciated," donghyun says drily, winding up to kick dongmin when he starts snickering from where he's leaned up against the wall.

"alright, alright. here's what you do, alright? first, when you get to her house..."

TRIAL THREE: SUNGHO'S PLAN

"you've seriously never been to tokyo?" dongmin asks incredulously, his hands shoved in his pockets. jihyo shakes her head, setting down the soup from where she'd just reheated it on your stove.

your parents were out of town on a business trip and according to what she knew about your brother, jihyo figured that park sunghoon was out frolicking around in the snowy streets with his own friends.

"i've never been on a plane before," jihyo explains, satisfied with the heat of the soup finally. dongmin just shrugs, looking around your house with a renewed interest when donghyun pads out of your room to where the other two were standing in the kitchen.

"is she still sleeping?" jihyo asks, trying the soup herself. donghyun nods, rubbing his hands to create some friction and warm them up.

"yeah. she seems to be waking up but i think that she's still pretty out of it right now," donghyun explains before picking up the container of soup. "do you think that you can bring the paracetamol? it looks like y/n has a pretty bad headache."

"how can you tell she has a headache?" dongmin asks, his question turning to a whisper when jihyo looks at him with a withering glare.

"it's called having empathy, han dongmin," jihyo calls out, looking for the paracetamol in one of the medicine cabinets.

"empathy? i have plenty of empathy," dongmin says under his breath sullenly as he follows jihyo into your bedroom.

you're laying in bed, curled up in carefully laid covers, clearly donghyun's work by the way he's examining the bedspread with rather severe scrutiny, as if he's willing the hearts on your bedspread would turn into mini heaters to provide warmth to your sick and tired body. your eyebrows are furrowed, even in your sleep, as though you were fighting away the illness with a physical weapon with effort.

"y/n? you gotta wake up soon. sunghoon said you've been sleeping for hours and that you haven't eaten anything yet," jihyo says, setting the paracetamol down on your nightstand.

"yeah, where is sunghoon anyway?" dongmin asks, watching as donghyun wakes you gently, offering you a smile so sweet, even dongmin feels himself swooning.

"gallivanting on the streets. he's still sick himself but there's no containing the man," you explain, sitting up in your bed. you somehow don't seem all that alarmed that there are so many foreign people in your room, looking worse for the wear.

"here's soup. don't worry, i didn't make it - jihyo's dad did," donghyun says softly, handing the bowl of soup over with so much care, it seemed as though he were handling a live grenade.

you let out a mellow laugh, coughing at the effort as you accept the bowl of soup, letting out a blissful sigh after sipping a spoonful. "tell your dad i said thank you, ji."

jihyo just waves you off, unzipping her backpack to search for her other copy of notes. "here are the notes from today. the biology lecture really gave me a headache so i wouldn't even try to decipher that until you feel better unless you want to feel like a tightrope walker with an anvil on your head."

"that's...really descriptive," dongmin says, laughing when jihyo shoves him.

"i can help you," donghyun says, watching you carefully as you take another sip of soup, thankful for the liquid warming you up from the inside.

"you're willing to sit with me to study biology? are you sure that you don't think it'll be a bother?" you ask, looking up at donghyun through your lashes. donghyun's breath catches in his throat when you do. somehow, even with a runny nose, mussed hair, and granny pajamas, donghyun thinks you look like the vision of beauty.

"it's not a bother to me. spending time with you could never be a bother," donghyun says offhandedly, looking at the label on the paracetamol. it's only when the entire room goes silent does he realize that he'd spoken out loud.

he looks around nervously for a moment before his eyes land on you, staring at him, bright-eyed and every inch the reason why donghyun has trouble sleeping at night these days.

"i mean, you're my friend, right? why would it be a bother to spend time with your friend?" donghyun backtracks and he hears jihyo and dongmin let out a breath behind him. you still look somewhat confused before you nod slowly, finishing your soup.

"friend, right."

+++

"you were at her house and you still fucked it up," woonhak laments, wincing when jaehyun chucks a pillow at him.

"language," the older boy says before flopping on sungho's bed next to woonhak.

"why do you delinquents always have to come to my room? can't we ever hang out in sanghyeok or jaehyun's room? or better yet, why can't we ever hang out at your guys' houses?" sungho complains, but he still sits down next to jaehyun, shoving the two boys a little bit over to make space for himself.

"because your room is the cleanest," sanghyeok points out, never looking up from the homework he was working on at sungho's desk.

"yeah, unfortunately sanghyeok's room is currently serving another purpose," jaehyun snorts.

"what, as a pigsty?" dongmin quips, a smirk drawn out on his lips when sanghyeok fixes him with a thoroughly unimpressed look.

"all of you are useless," donghyun wails, swatting sungho's hands away from his hair. "i've been trying to confess to her for a good week and a half now and all i've managed to do is make a fool out of myself three separate times."

"you didn't make a fool out of yourself, donghyun," woonhak comforts before jaehyun sits up from where he was scrolling on his phone, shaking his head.

"nope, he definitely did. the first time, when dongmin booked four separate tickets and jihyo had to save your ass so you could attempt to confess after the movie, just to ramble about physics and black holes for hours. and then when y/n never showed up to school so you couldn't confess to her while you were cleaning the classroom like sanghyeok suggested. and then when he couldn't even take care of her properly like sungho suggested while she was sick because he can't cook if his life depended on it." woonhak nods when jaehyun finishes his spiel, much to the horror of donghyun, who was now starfish on the floor, looking ready to throw a tantrum.

"yeah, i can see why she would think he's weird," woonhak says with an air of seriousness.

"you guys think she thinks i'm weird?" donghyun cries out dramatically.

"no, otherwise you wouldn't be going to the library together on sunday to go over biology," sanghyeok points out logically, flipping through the pages of his textbook with a crease in his forehead from focusing.

"see, the issue is that all three of those fools are way too subtle with their confessions. sungho's ideas especially was stupid," jaehyun says. "i mean seriously, telling her that you're half in love with her while she's gotta killer migraine must've been the stupidest idea i've ever heard."

"you thought that asking her out in front of the entire class was a good idea," dongmin reminds jaehyun, who just rolls his eyes.

"you guys have no sense of romance."

"i have a girlfriend."

"shut up, sanghyeok."

"damn, alright. i didn't realize all of you were that salty that you're single losers."

"SHUT UP SANGHYEOK!"

after sanghyeok has been served with enough slander for being an insufferable boy in love, woonhak and jaehyun turn to donghyun with twin expressions of evil on their faces.

"you need to man up, donghyun! here's how you tell her that you like her..."

TRIAL FOUR: JAEHYUN AND WOONHAK'S PLAN

"so the reason why this question is phrased this way is because you're supposed to focus on the oxygen affinity for fetuses versus adults based on this curve," donghyun explains patiently, pointing at various points on the diagram in front of him as he speaks.

you nod hesitantly as you follow his hand around the paper before ultimately shaking your head, slumping down on the table.

"i'm sorry donghyun, this entire thing might just end up being a waste of your time. i have no clue what any of this means," you mutter disheartenedly looking at donghyun.

donghyun just shakes his head, smiling as he closes the textbook and stretching. at the table over from the two of you, dongmin and jihyo are bickering about the best my chemical romance instead of studying for english like they'd promised when your teacher announced the upcoming exam on friday.

in the ideal world, dongmin and jihyo would be off being a cute couple (whether they realized it or not) somewhere where donghyun couldn't see them and be jealous but the effervescent feeling he gets from spending time with you is more than enough to douse that jealousy.

"you're shoving a lot of information into your brain. it's hard to get on the fiftieth try, much less the first," donghyun says gently, and you peek up at him, only to cast your gaze elsewhere when you realize just how overwhelming it is to look at him.

it's a warm feeling that spreads through your body as you realize that donghyun looks at you as though you may as well have put the stars in the sky personally for him.

funny. did he ever realize that you looked at him the same way?

but you're left to leave your thoughts with the disarray of papers when donghyun stands up, shrugging his jacket and scarf on.

"come on, let's go get you some coffee," he says, lifting up your jacket to hand it to you. you offer him a small smile as you put your jacket on, following him out of the library once he's stopped and dongmin and jihyo's table to ask them to watch your stuff.

"bring me back a latte!" you faintly hear jihyo whisper-shout, to which donghyun turns around to flash her a thumbs up before leading you out of the library.

the weather outside is surprisingly clear and warm for how much it's snowed over the past few days.

"you didn't put a scarf on?" donghyun chastises, unwrapping his own scarf and draping it around your neck. you try to protest, giving donghyun back his scarf but he just ignores you, expertly ducking and weaving as you try to drape the scarf back on him.

"you're going to get cold!" you exclaim, but you don't fight him when he wraps the scarf around your neck properly.

"you know, i wanted to be your friend since the day i saw you, back in middle school," donghyun says, his breath leaving his lips in clouds as the two of you walked the three blocks between the café and the library.

you wrack your brain, trying to recall the first time that you'd met donghyun. "i thought we met in high school, though? at jihyo's birthday party?"

donghyun just smiles, looking up at the clear skies. "that's when you first saw me. i saw you back in middle school."

"really?" you ask quietly, shocked by the knowledge that donghyun had been thinking about you in whichever capacity for so long.

"yeah. i remember you had braces back then but you still were the prettiest girl in class. you always used to be so quiet and kept to yourself but you were so sweet to everyone around you. i remember when jihyo found out that she was nearsighted, you used to write her notes for her every period until she got glasses. and then again, when she had lasik surgery," donghyun says casually, opening the café door as the two of you enter.

"you - you weren't even in our class," you say, shivering even in the warmth of the café. donghyun seems to notice, by the way that he draws closer to you - so close that you can see the faint freckle by his eye.

"no," he agrees simply. "but i knew anyway."

"you paid that much attention to me?" you ask incredulously. donghyun shrugs, nudging you forward when the person in front of you orders.

"i've always paid that much attention to you, y/n. i just don't think you ever paid that attention to me," donghyun says faintly. you feel weak in the knees at the insinuation, moving forward somewhat dazedly.

"a caramel macchiato, vanilla latte, an americano, and a hot ginger tea please," donghyun says, completely ignoring you when you offer your card to the cashier, swiping his quickly.

"you didn't have to buy coffee for me," you say, tucking your hair behind your ear. donghyun tilts his head, eyes forming little crescents at your gesture.

"hmm." the two of you find a table to sit at while you wait for your orders to come out before you turn to donghyun, curiosity blatant on your face.

"how did you know my coffee order?"

"like i said, y/n. i've noticed you for a while before you ever noticed me."

+++

"you had everything in place! why didn't you tell her about your feelings?" jihyo cries out from where she's sitting in donghyun's beanbag chair, dongmin sitting right next to her, squishing the poor beanbag to near smithereens.

"i agree with her! why didn't you tell her about your feelings?" dongmin exclaims. donghyun rolls his eyes, throwing the tennis ball in his hands at the ceiling before catching it and throwing it back up.

"why is she invited to this anyway?" woonhak asks, even as he offers jihyo a chocopie from the stash of snacks that sungho and jaehyun had gathered after raiding donghyun's pantry.

"because she's the object of this guy's affections for the past four years," sanghyeok says, pointing at jihyo and then donghyun. "it's good to get all of the firepower you can get, with how much a dunce this kid is."

"first of all, i'm not a dunce. and second of all, i haven't asked her out because i don't want to ask her out using one of you idiots' plan," donghyun explains. "i wanna ask her out the way i wanna ask her out."

dongmin sighs, shaking his head. "how is it that you're so mature and suave when you're speaking with y/n and you're such a child when you're with us."

"i think woonhak has cooties and donghyun somehow imbibes them whenever he's in a forty kilometer radius of him," jaehyun offers as explanation.

"shut up. you and i had the same idea for how donghyun should ask y/n out," woonhak reminds jaehyun to which jaehyun has no choice but to just nod along, munching on a chocopie.

"anyway. can we talk about dongmin and jihyo for a second. how the hell is it that y/n and i went to the café while you two were fighting like cats and dogs about the best mcr song and we come back to you to basically making out in the library," donghyun says, turning in his swivel chair to smile smugly at the conjoined twins on his beanbag chair.

"shut up!" jihyo yells, throwing a chocopie wrapper, only to incite more laughter from the boys when it falls to the floor pathetically.

"hey, to be fair, it only took us about two years of knowing each other to start dating," dongmin specifies. "it's just that the past month of trying to push you and y/n together pushed us together enough for us to realize that maybe dating wouldn't be such a bad idea."

jihyo and donghyun exchange a look (a threatening glare from jihyo and very thinly surpressed smirk from donghyun) - something, which unfortunately, does not go unnoticed by the rest of the boys. especially dongmin, who twists to look at his girlfriend with an unbelieving look.

"no way. don't tell me you also have some pining love story like donghyun," dongmin incredulously. at jihyo's silence, the entire group erupts into chaos, with sungho and donghyun (after feeling guilty) trying to silence them in vain.

"oh my god, just when i thought they couldn't get any more insufferably cute!"

"god, i hate both of them."

"why is everyone so bad at confessing their feelings."

"i'm gonna tell my girlfriend about this; she's gonna find this hilarious."

"i REALLY need to stop being single."

dongmin just ignores all of them, pressing a chaste kiss to jihyo's cheek when he realizes that she's gone bright red from the attention to her feelings.

donghyun mimes throwing up when he does so but can't help the smile on his face when he turns to his phone.

"anyway, anyway. back to the donghyun and y/n intervention," jihyo says, clearing her throat. she still earns a couple cheeky grins but manages to turn the gazes of the group to the individual sitting at his desk, frozen in his spot.

"what's wrong?" woonhak asks concernedly. donghyun just lifts up his phone to show the others in the room.

y/n (<3): hey, can we talk?

TRIAL FIVE: DONGHYUN'S PLAN

"y/n? is everything alright?" donghyun says, his footsteps masked by the snow that didn't melt from when it snowed again a few days ago.

you look up at him with a nervous smile. "yeah, everything's fine. um...do you wanna sit down?"

you scoot over to make space for donghyun on the bench you were sitting on. the bench faced the pond, somewhat concealed from the busy streets of seoul by the various coniferous trees that lined the public park.

"sure. yeah." donghyun takes a seat next to you, knee bouncing nearly as soon as he sits down.

"you look nervous," you say gingerly.

"you look nervous," donghyun echoes.

"touché." you fiddle with your hands, the evening suddenly feeling a lot colder than you thought it would be. donghyun notices, just as he notices everything, and for some reason, he shifts so that he's sitting on his hands. almost as he was physically stopping himself from doing something.

"so...what did you want to talk about?" donghyun asks, watching as a young child tries to escape his father's grip to run straight down the little slope that fed into the pond.

"nothing," you squeak out before shutting your eyes tight when you feel donghyun turn to look at you instead of the pond.

"oh. did - did you just want company as you sat outside for a bit?" donghyun stutters, not sure of what to do with himself.

"no," you start, before shaking your head at your own words. "i mean, i do have something to say. i'm just trying to find the words to say it."

"you know, i've been meaning to tell you something to you too," donghyun says tenderly and you immediately nudge him, encouraging him to go ahead and say his piece first.

"no way, you have to tell me first," donghyun defends, turning his nose up away from you when you try to catch his eye, trying to grasp his jacket to turn him towards you.

"i'm nervous, donghyun. can't you do me a favor and go ahead first?" you plead and donghyun melts, unable to hear any sort of sorrow in your voice - for whatever reason.

"alright, how about we say it at the same time?" he proposes and you concede as you nod, retracting your hand, not noticing the way that donghyun's gaze follows your movement.

he lifts three fingers, then folds one, until there's only one left. you shut your eyes, unable to see the expression on his face.

"i like you!"

"i love you."

you immediately open your eyes, jaw hanging as you stare at donghyun, who looks equally flummoxed by your words.

"you like me?" he asks, pointing a finger at you. you turn the finger back at him incriminatingly.

"you love me?" you gasp and donghyun's gaze grows tender, taking his other hand to trap your hand between his two large ones.

"for a while," he admits sheepishly, a shyness so uncharacteristic to the gentlemanly and smooth donghyun you were used to. "i've been trying to confess to you for the past month now. you just...never noticed."

you laugh besides yourself, immediately willing all laughter away when donghyun looks at you with a hurt expression.

"you've been trying to confess to me? donghyun, i've been trying to confess to you for the past month!"

"what?" he stammers. "you've been what for the past month?"

"yes, you fool. i've been trying to confess to you for months. i've liked you for months! and then when you asked jihyo and i to the movie, i figured that it was dongmin's scheme to ask jihyo out so i decided to use the chance to ask you out. and then the whole tickets fiasco happened," you explain, inching closer to him. donghyun uses the opportunity to thread his hand with your own, tugging you close to him so that his body warmth could envelope your shivering frame.

"and then you spent the next hour talking about the movie and you just seemed so excited that i didn't want to distract you. and you know, you're cute, when you're excited," you continue, grinning stupidly when donghyun turns away his head to hide his shy expression.

"so this whole month, you've been trying to confess to me too?"

"donghyun, you say i haven't paid attention but i swear to god, you are so dense sometimes."

TRIAL SIX: Y/N'S PLAN

"look, look," jihyo whispers under her breath as donghyun enters the classroom. you don't look up, not wanting to feed into jihyo's taunts, knowing that it would only serve as fodder for her teasing later on. you wait for donghyun to pass by your desk to the back of the classroom, where he sat everyday, staring out of the window rather than paying attention to any of the classes. any of the classes other than biology, that was.

but to your surprise, donghyun stops at your desks, talking to jihyo about some movie or another. a pang of jealousy that you try to swat away strikes in your chest before you hear dongmin's name and hear donghyun's attempts to keep from snickering in jihyo's face

ah. so he was just the messenger for dongmin.

you continue to write, not sure of what exactly you were writing anymore as you were trying not to make it overt that you were listening to jihyo and donghyun's conversation.

"i know you have tutoring today, but push it back until seven in the evening," jihyo whispers hotly once donghyun has disappeared from earshot.

"you have a movie date."

+++

"are you going to finally use this chance to ask him out?" jihyo asks when she catches you staring at the tall boy conversing with his friend outside the theatre hall as the two of you stood in line for refreshments.

"that's the goal," you respond with a sigh. "i don't know if he feels the same but i don't want to regret never telling him about my feelings."

jihyo nudges you softly. "hey, don't have such a negative outlook. you don't know how he feels, right? don't knock it before it happens."

you don't respond, watching donghyun chasing his friend around with a blithe smile, waving the tickets in the air.

+++

"i personally thought that the best part of the movie was when the dad ended up inside..." donghyun rambles excitedly, holding scoops of popcorn in his hands as he explains his theories to dongmin. you can't help the smile on your face as you watch him act so carefree and enthusiastic. dongmin nods along, explaining his own theory every so often.

jihyo's eyes dart between donghyun and dongmin before she slumps down, taking a long sip of her fanta. "somehow, i don't think that any level of confession is going to happen today."

you just laugh, content to listen to your friends discuss their favorite scenes from the movie before clicking your phone open, only to curse when you realized you only had a few minutes before tutoring.

"i'm so sorry - i have to get going!" you say hurriedly, gathering your things as quick as you can before you rush out of the theatre, wincing when you realize the amount of courage you'd have to work up once again to confess to him.

but donghyun just watches your uncomfortable expression as you rush away, unsure of it was his fault.

+++

you sit up in your bed, accepting the bowl of soup that donghyun hands you, trying your best to ignore the tingle of electricity that runs down your spine when your fingers brush against his.

your focus fades in and out of the comfortable rhythm of the conversation as you sip on the soup when jihyo drops the daunting copy of notes she'd written for you on your desk.

"i can help you," donghyun says, anchoring back to the conversation. you try not to show the fact that your heartbeat is now around the same decibel as a plane taking off, instead trying to deny his offer for fear that spending too much time together might cause to spit out the words you've been chewing on day and night for the past few days.

but something about the way that he says he's more than happy to help you and that you're not being a bother by asking for help makes you stutter for just a moment and in a second of weakness, you accept his help.

"friend." the word feels surprisingly bitter on your tongue when you echo the way donghyun says it, like its been dripped in lead in the way that it sits so heavy.

not when you wanted so much more

+++

"you know what, this will be the perfect timing for you and i to ask them both out," jihyo says, opening the door to the library as the two of you head inside.

"i still cannot believe you and him have been fighting like cats and dogs and you think that it's peak romance," you laugh as jihyo shoves you playfully.

"whatever," she says before turning to you, surprisingly serious. "alright, promise me that you'll ask him out. whenever i'm alone with dongmin, i'll confess my feelings for him so you have to promise that you'll confess your feelings to donghyun."

you interlock your pinky with her, only to drop your hands when you stumble across donghyun and dongmin, who are sitting with their heads together, looking not too unlike head-butting bulls.

"oh. have we interrupted something?" you ask through a stifled giggle, causing donghyun and dongmin to spring apart. you swear that dongmin quite literally is suspended in air for a good two seconds before landing once more in his chair.

"no, no, not at all. come y/n. you and i can sit here," donghyun says, pulling out a chair for you to sit in.

you try your best to ignore jihyo's gaze as you pull out your textbooks, ready to learn as much biology as you possibly could. and maybe put off any sense of confession for as long as possible.

+++

"weren't you the one who said that you didn't want to regret not confessing your feelings to him?" jihyo points out, stirring a mug of hot chocolate. you nod, slumping in your chair.

"i know..." you scramble to straighten your posture as you lean over the table to look at jihyo. "how did you ask out dongmin?"

she shrugs, uncharacteristically shy as she takes a sip of hot chocolate. "i didn't. dongmin asked me out."

you groan, sliding down your chair once more. "why can't donghyun ask me out? what if i just never work up the courage to ask him out?"

jihyo just laughs at your torment when her phone buzzes. she pulls her phone out of her pocket before reading the text message.

dongminnie mouse: donghyun's house in twenty. you're officially on the donghyun and y/n intervention squad >:)

she pockets her phone once more before sliding her hot chocolate over to you before gathering her belongings.

"where you going?" you call out, passing off the hot chocolate to your brother padding down the stairs. jihyo slips her shoes on before turning around with a shit-eating grin.

"to go and fix your issue for you!"

TRIAL SEVEN: FATE'S PLAN

"that's one killer best friend," donghyun huffs as he pieces together the entire situation together. "if only dongmin was as competent; we'd have had this conversation months ago."

you rest your head against donghyun's shoulder, watching as the sun slowly begins to start its descent into the horizon.

"i don't know. i'm kinda glad that things worked out the way that they did. what if i didn't feel as strongly as i do now? maybe this was all meant to be," you say softly. donghyun smiles, turning to look you in the eyes.

just as sparkly, bright and so full of affection as you knew his eyes would be.

he leans in close, just a breath away from you as his eyes never leave yours.

"really? and if i say i love you right now?" he asks, and you forget why you'd ever been scared to confess to this boy, so full of love just for you.

you lean in even closer, pressing your lips against in a sweet, tender kiss, smiling when his lips seem follow yours even with his eyes closed.

"does that answer your question?"

"more than enough."

[ugc1230]

new jersey miku

[thinkinonsense]

FANTASIZE❦

old!logan howlett x fem!reader

*mdni

cw: cursing, nsfw, age gap (reader is twenty-five)

wc: 1k+

a/n: i have no idea where this came from. i was supposed to be working on something completely different but apparently, this needed to be written first instead. yes it is inspired by the unreleased ariana grande song.

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

Logan couldn't read minds. He never longed for the ability or power; he was better off not knowing what others had going on in their heads. He only wanted to peek into someone's mind when he caught your twinkling eyes lingering in his direction. Luckily, he could still read your mind even without the mutation because your fantasies were written all over your face.

It was obvious to anyone caught in the same room as you and Logan, that there was tension. You burned holes all over his body with your intense gaze. If Logan was in the mood to entertain your little crush, he could compliment you in a way that was sure to make you blush.

"Good form today, kid."

"Lookin' pretty today, sweetheart."

"Lemme fix that lipstick, dollface." That one left you with an ache in between your thighs as his thumb brushed your lower lip. "Can't have you walkin' around here a mess, now can we?"

Logan wasn't sure if he would ever make it to heaven but seeing your lip tremble with need was close enough for him.

If he saw you in a dress with a pair of mary-jane's, he would try to catch a glimpse of your underwear in the reflection of your shoes. It didn't always work but it made him feel young again.

No one was brave enough to address it due to him being twice your age. Despite being twenty-five years old and already having graduated from the school, it was still considered taboo to some. If anyone asked Logan about it, he would brush it off as a schoolgirl crush that you would eventually grow out of.

It was truly harmless he thought. You got the attention you craved and Logan got to see a pretty young woman squirm in her seat because of him. It never went further than flirtatious comments and lingering stares.

❦

Today might be the worst day of your life. You and Logan were being sent out together on a mission to find a mutant that lived two hours away. It wasn't the mission that worried you; it was being stuck in a tiny car with only Logan for one hundred and twenty minutes.

"Why aren't 'cha talkin', dollface?" Logan asked, almost teasingly.

For almost twenty minutes, he was aware of your eyes watching his hand hold the wheel. Logan was also incredibly aware of the effect it had on you. A little broken sigh escapes you when his hand clenches tighter around the leather, making his veins pop even more.

"Too busy fantasizing 'bout me?"

No matter how much you tried to find someone your age to be with, your heart always went back to Logan. He treated you differently than anyone you've ever met. Sure, sometimes he made you feel like a kid but he also knew you could handle your own. Logan wouldn't let anyone underestimate you; that kept you crawling back to him.

"Maybe I am." You shrug, fed up with his games.

"Oh, yeah?" He says, taking a deep inhale of your sent. "What's goin' on in that pretty head of yours, hm?"

You were used to Logan's overly confident personality that he tried to use to intimidate you; and make you stumble over your words. It wasn't gonna work this time. Logan wanted you just as much as you wanted him, but you needed him to admit it first.

"Us in the backseat of the car." You admit, biting the inside of your cheek nervous for his response.

"Really? And what are we doing back there?" He asked, cocking his head curiously as his eyes remained glued to the road.

"You're on top of me, makin' me feel good." Your words were coy but that was the point. Logan liked being the tease; having all the power.

"Keep talkin', dollface."

There it was. You had him right where you wanted him.

You pretended to think about it for a moment before shaking your head and telling him, "No, I shouldn't"

"Why not?"

"Because an old man like yourself can't keep up with me, right? At least that's what I heard you tell the Professor."

Logan couldn't believe you had heard their conversation earlier this week. The Professor was the only person who knew the truth of how Logan felt towards you. When Charles asked him what was stopping him from pursuing you, all Logan had to say was, "I'm too old for her; can't keep up with such a young thing like her".

Which was far from the truth.

"So obsessed with me that you're listenin' to my conversations now?" He growled, pulling the car over.

"Stop acting like you aren't obsessed with me too." You smile at him. "I know a few pairs of my underwear 'mysteriously' disappear from my hamper. I know that you can hear me through the walls late at night, panting your name."

With each sentence, you inch closer to him. Logan could only compare you to the snake in Eve's garden; encouraging him to give into his temptations.

"I also know that you want me." Your eyes were dark with desire, making his pants tighter. "So, if you can't get it up or claim that you don't want me then that's fine with-"

Logan fumed with irritation and lust. Not thinking twice before slamming your lips into yours. He tasted exactly like you imagine; tobacco and mint. You were addicted; no one could ever compare to him.

In a rush, his rough hands pulled you into his inviting lap before one cupped your jaw and his other made its way up your skirt, toying with your lacy underwear. He wasn't going to give it to you that easily.

"L-Logan, please," You moan against his mouth, trying to create some friction on his lap. "Need it."

God, he's waited a long time to hear that; to see you so desperate in his arms. When he pulled back to look at you, Logan couldn't be more pleased with the image in front of him. Your eyes shut tightly, face scrunched, trying to concentrate, and lips pouty with annoyance. Logan removes his hand under your skirt; causing the prettiest whine to escape you. He thought you might be what finally kills him.

"We aren't done, sweetheart." He groaned in your ear. "Get in the backseat because you are gonna tell me every single one of your fuckin' fantasies."

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not complaining about my sex/love life?

A bit nsfw. I'll try to keep it vague.

So I (31FTM) came out and transitioned about 5 years ago. My husband (34, cis M) and I were married beforehand. He was extremely relieved, as he had realized he was gay and didn't know how to tell me. It's like a fairy tale if Disney thought we were marketable 💜 just a bit of context to what happened next.

I have a group of friends, straight cis women my age, who knew me pretransition. They were relatively supportive, minus a few confused questions and a couple of comments early on about how hard it was to remember my name.

I was out to brunch with 3 of them (K, S, L, all early 30s/late 20s). L is engaged, S recently got serious with a guy, and K is perpetually single.

We were all chatting and eventually got on the topic of romance. S was complaining that her boyfriend never did the dishes. L laughed and said she had to essentially train her fiance to do certain household chores. K piped up with some sort of "men are the worst" comment, which I just sort of ignored, until she turned to me and said "So what gets on your nerves about YOUR husband, OP?"

I shrugged and said that sometimes he leaves his socks on the floor, but that's about it. K rolled her eyes and said there had to be SOMETHING that pissed me off about him, like "he's bad in bed or doesn't listen to you." I snapped a little and told her that no, actually, I don't care what you say about your partners but mine is actually really great, and I love him. He's great in bed, he's very caring and passionate, he listens to me all the time, and I won't be convinced to shittalk him.

It got quiet and I just decided to leave cash for my part of the bill and leave. I went home to snuggle into my husband's arms on the couch and tell him what happened. He just laughed and said I could shittalk him if I wanted. I don't think he really got why I was so upset.

That afternoon, K texted me and said I really embarrassed her in front of everyone and wanted me to apologize for what I said. I refused and told her that I wasn't gonna apologize because she assumed I didn't like my husband and I corrected her. She called me a bitch and went radio silent. I texted S and L and asked them if they were okay, no response yet.

My husband thinks I should just apologize, but I don't want to say sorry for refusing to talk badly about someone who supported me during one of the hardest times of my life, even if he'd be fine with it. It just makes me feel wrong.

AITA?

[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.

[omgeto]

☆ WHEN YOU HAVE SEX WITH YOUR EX — GOJO, GETO, TOJI

summary: you have sex with your ex. thats it.

cw: afab!reader, smutty smut smut so mdni. unprotected sex with all of them (since I forget that condoms exist) you sit on geto face, kinda finger fucking & mild hate fucking with toji but its fun, and gojo is just lovely.

an: i was meant to post this last night but I fell asleep writing geto's part so slay. anyways I hope you enjoy lmk what you think!! not proofread so ignore any mistakes please.

☆ GOJO

“this doesn’t mean we’re back together y’know,” you remind gojo, panting as he thrusts into you.

“you’re really saying that with my dick deep in your cunt,” he taunts, admiring the deep arch of your back, the way your ass ripples every time his hips drive into you. “i’ve missed this.”

“f-fuck keep going,” you moan out, as his dick hits your spot – just how you like it.

“so you don’t miss me?” he pesters, and you roll your eyes, as although you couldn’t see him, you just knew he had a pout on his face. “you really don’t miss me?” he continues his thumb making way to your clit, swiftly flicking at it.

“i don’t miss you.”

gojo pulls out of you almost defiantly, pushing you down – turning you around your back. he stares at you with something you couldn’t quite place, and re enters you just as quickly. he smirks at the way your mouth gapes as his hands roughly grab at your tits, pinching and pulling on your nipples.

“s-someone’s mad,” you egg on, loving the way that his strokes become harder.

“y’know the reason i always loved fucking you this way when we were together?” he asks with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“what’s with the trip down memory lane?,” you complain, your arms come around his neck as you take him in deeper, “i called you to fuck me, not for whatever you’re tryna do here.”

“because i always got to see all the faces you make,” he continues, completely ignoring your comment, his tongue drags up the side of your jaw, before pressing a quick kiss just under your ear. “and the face your making right now, tells me, that you're lying.”

you scoff, but didn’t say anything because you knew he was right. you did miss the way he’d plough into you, the way he knew the ins and outs of your body – how to please you. “im gonna cum,” you whine out, “satoru please i need yo–”

“you can cum when you admit the truth babe,” he teases, his strokes purposefully shift speed, still keeping you writhing underneath him but just not quite enough to get you there. “just say you miss me.”

“fine,” you force out, exasperated, “i m-miss you i do.”

“see wasn’t so hard, was it?” he kisses you deeply, driving deep into you, and you cum with a cry, you did miss being this close with your ex boyfriend. gojo is quick to finish after you, filling you up with all his cum.

he eventually pulls out of you, collapsing down on the bed next to you pulling you into his hold. you, against your better judgement, relaxing into his arms – which goes against all the rules of sleeping with your ex. “this still doesn’t mean we’re back together,” you add, knowing there was very little truth to that.

“yeah, yeah, whatever you say babe,” he smirks, his lips coming down to your forehead, placing a soft kiss, “so what did you miss about me?”

☆ TOJI

“i thought you didn’t spin the block, princess,” toji asks with a shit-eating grin, as his fingers slip inside of you “what happened to, ‘once an ex always an ex huh?” 

“i’ve always hated that nickname,” you mumble, hissing at the contact of toji’s fingers toying with your pussy, “and there are some exceptions to my rule.”

“so you’re little boyfriends not hitting it right then,” toji grins, pleased at hearing that he was the ‘exception,’ “if you’re here, slutting yourself out on my fingers.” 

“no he’s hitting it greatly,” you smirk, not rising to toji’s comments since you know what he was trying to get at, “i just missed you, that's all.”

“oh so you really have a boyfriend then?” he snapped, his fingers curling up in you.

“no i don't,” a smug smile appears on your face as you see toji’s smirk drop, “but it’s cute that you care though. are you jealous, toji?”

“shut up,” he says moodily, swiftly removing his fingers out of you, pulling you onto his lap.

you straddle him, your face inches from his, “aww are you mad toji?” you taunt with a mock pout. you’ve always loved getting a rise out of toji, you know your ex boyfriend very well, the more pissed off he was, the harder he fucked.

“sit on it,” he commands, the ‘it’ in question being his hard dick that he was furiously stroking at the sight of you. there was something about you that got on toji’s nerves – hence why you didn’t last long as a couple – but that special something was good for times like this. where you could both unleash any pent up energy you have, on eachother.

you welcome his dick eagerly, practically jumping on it, the wetness of your pussy was inviting. his dick slotted in perfectly, making you both curse at the contact. “fuck, you always feel so good,” he praises, loving the feeling of you clenching around his dick whilst you ride him.

there was a forcefulness coming from the both of you, as you were fucking each other as if you had something to prove, as if there was some unspoken competition to see who could get the other to cum first.

“f-fuck,” you mutter, the feeling of toji’s dick pistoning into you becoming too much.

“whats that princess?” toji mocks, grinning seeing your eyes gloss over, he could tell that your dick-stuffed cunt was about to release all over him, “y’gonna cum for me?”

you ignore him, continuing your mission to get toji to fold first. you manoeuvre your lips to his neck, kissing and sucking on his exposed flesh, and he takes a sharp inhale – bingo. you knew toji’s body as well as he knew yours, and he was always was weak for the way you’d nibble and bite on his neck as he fucked you dumb.

“are you gonna cum for me?” you mock mirroring his question, his strokes was getting sloppier, you could tell he was close. but you were not far behind, squirming in his lap about to reach your climax.there were no words that needed to be spoken as you and toji both cum together, your cunt too overloaded with both of your cum, making it drip out all over his dick.

“we should do this again sometime princess,” toji suggests, as you eventually hop off his dick and start putting back on your clothes, “you always know to fuck me right.”

“i’ll think about it,” you conclude, knowing that you’ll probably be back in less than a week, “and stop calling me that fucking nick name,” you say as you leave the room, the only response you hear being toji’s howling laughter.

☆ GETO

if there was one thing that you couldn’t deny your ex boyfriend had, it was his head skills. everytime without fail, he could have you sprawled out on any surface as his tongue laps your pussy. 

“s-shit, you’ve always been way too good at this,” 

“only, to please you,” he hums, pressing a soft kiss to your thigh, before going back to sucking on your clit. your hands knot his hair, pulling and tugging as he works on your folds. he loves it when you play in his hair, showing that he’s getting what he’s aiming for – giving you pleasure. 

your moans only encourage him to toy with your pussy harder, nipping and biting as your thighs clench around his head. he’s been at this for ages, tonguing your cunt for as long as possible, as if to see how long he’d be able to go. 

“sugu ‘m gonna cum,” you cry, pressure building up inside of you, “please let me cum.”

but he doesn't. ignoring your request completely, geto removes his mouth off of you. his lips were practically shining, coated in all the juices from your pussy.  “you know there was one thing we never got to do when we were together,” he starts to say, eyeing with a mischievous smile,

“which is…” you prompt, slightly upset at the lack of stimulation you were getting at your, now throbbing, pussy.

“you never sat on my face,” he utters just above a whisper, licking his lips at the thought of it. 

“but what if I—“

“don’t worry about any of that,” he murmurs, pushing himself further back on the bed, his eyes still focused on you, “come sit.”

you slowly work your way up his body, the mischief in his eyes making you feel excited. you pause, straddling his chest, your hands rest on his shoulders, “are you sure about this?”

“girl if you don’t–” he starts to say, but the rest of his sentence is muffled as he pulls you onto his face, his mouth enveloping your pussy. your hands immediately grip onto the headboard in front of you, as his tongue gives long strokes to your wet pussy, lapping up all the juices spilling from you. 

you were riding his face, your hips moving back and forth against his mouth with his head sandwiched between your thighs. “f-fuck sugu, it’s too much,” you moan out, throwing your head back. 

he grins in response, his hands gripping your ass pushing you onto his mouth deeper. he couldn’t get enough of you, the way you taste, the sweet scent of your pussy that he practically inhales, burying his nose in it.

“s-shit,” you curse, as your cunt explodes onto your ex’s face. you pause, catching your breath, still feeling the pleasurable high he just gave you. he still had his mouth on your pussy, eating up all the cum that was dripping out of you.

“hey suguru, wanna go and–” you turn to see gojo burst into the room, “oh shit, yn? are you two back together?” you scramble off of geto’s face, giving gojo the hardest glare for interrupting. 

“satoru, can’t you see that im busy,” geto chuckles, his mouth still covered with your cum, “im eating here.”

“right…” gojo nods, “i’ll leave you two too it,” but just before he leaves the room you here him yell, “im gonna tell everyone you’re back together.” you both chuckle at your friends antics, and geto pulls you back into him.

“get back on,” he smirks, “who said i was done?”

AN: so there we go. I love geto's part so much but maybe im biased idk. but yeahhh hope you enjoy the thoughts that I had at like 7 am. DIVIDERS BY @/CAFEKITSUNE

[evilminji]

You think the Zone has its version of Comic Con?

Like? Think about it. You have literally all of time to work on it, your Magnum Opus, your life's work. That DREAM comic. All the supplies you could ever wish for. Endless paper. Endless ink. You can practice and practice for CENTURIES until it's JUST right.

Wouldn't you want to share it?

There are definitely Ghosts who have Obsessions that make them collect.

And two people meeting would lead to a group. Lead to a bigger group. Lead to a large group. A gathering. A crowd even. Eventually you need a Lair to meet IN. It becomes An Event.

People hear about it.

Want to bring other art mediums. Food stalls. Report on it. It grows. Shoot offs start happening. Niche meet ups.

But like?

Unlike comic con? It's all FREE. Sure, you might have fork over the ecto to make your copy. And yeah, weaker ghosts can only do that so many times. Will have to prioritize. But? They can come back after leaving for a nap. Ask a buddy to come with. There ARE work arounds.

Just? Imagine the unbelievable HIPE? Danny would feel? But be unable to TELL anyone about? Zone Con happens several times a year! Cause so many people wanna come. The Zone being infinite, after all.

Problem 1? They're using THEIR standard of a "year". Which is actual 5 earth years. So it's only happens every year and a half for him. And Problem 2? He can't even TALK about how excited he is about Z Con with anyone (outside his friends and family) because they haven't heard of it and might Ask Questions.

It's ALSO held in a part of the Zone that's like? Three days of flying away from the portal. And no amount of begging is gonna get any of his loved ones to camp in the Speeder for around six-ish days just to go to a Con.

So you can imagine his DELIGHT. His utter JOY and *Target Spotted* "!!!" Noise, when? In the crowd? He spots A HUMAN! Hi fellow human!!! Omg, wanna be Con Besties? *doesn't even wait for an answer*

So now? This sad, blonde, deeply lost and kinda alarmed, trench coat dude? Is Danny's new Z Con Going Bestie! You got a map yet, bestie? No? That's cool, he has one. By the way, he has human food in the Speeder if you nee-

YES!

Cause, see, here's the THING. John? Lost to the Realms Infinte. Or Infinte Realms. Translation was iffy... and on fire... like the rest of the building. It was him or the kids those psychos had kidnapped, for what fucked "ritual" the voices in their heads, that THEY thought were demons but frankly he's pretty sure was just feedback from-

Look, doesn't matter, he had to choose. He always knew someday he'd have too. That even twisting Luck and talking fast wouldn't quite be enough. And he had to decide, in that moment, which outcome mattered more to him. They get out safe, or he does.

Wasn't much of a question, was it?

So, there he is. Staring down oblivion and all those debts unpaid. 'Bout to see who's gonna come for him this time, and take what left of wretched soul. When? He bleeds on the FUCKIN two-bit crap circle they squiggled in God only knows what. Remembers that "oh YEAH, set dressings!" Sometimes when you focus too hard on insuring a Good Outcome?

You weird weird as shit byproducts happening on the side to balance it all out.

Or BAD ones.

He wakes up someone fucking green and crowded. For the life of him can't tell you which one it is. And THAT was of course, bout two days ago.

Biggest and most immediate problem? He... does NOT recognize what flavor of magical fuckery this is. Doesn't seem Fae. And doesn't smell like Hell. There are... there are honest to God BOOTH BABES hanging around. Hunks too. The view is LOVELY.

And nerdy.

Very, very nerdy.

But he isn't THAT out of touch. So he should recognize SOMETHING. Or at least the languages. But nope! It's like aliens and magic had a nerd baby and dipped it in GREEN. And the worst thing? Is there is food everywhere, but it all glows and John's not stupid enough to eat it.

Then? Sweet merciful fuck. Salvation! Some teeny bopper Barely No Longer Teen fresh faced INFANT of a Hero kid. With a SHIP. Who has FOOD and a clear idea of where they are. Hello~ John's new BEST FRIEND. Yes. Absolutely. Con Buddies, whatever.

Just feed me, kid.

Only? Once he inhales like 5 "Fenton rations"? He only gets half way through introducing himself before getting interrupted. Kid hears "magic" and "occult Detective" and just? Goes "oh! So you wanna check out the magic Ally with me? Sam wanted me to pick up some witchy stuff!"

..............how magic?

(In Which? Constantine becomes Danny's interdimensional Con buddy)

@the-witchhunter @hypewinter @hdgnj @mutable-manifestation @lolottes @nerdpoe

[cosycafune]

IMMOBILISED

0.6k words. some things in life are better hidden, but you just lost your virginity to Sylus and admitted your love for him -- so you need reassurance. however, a certain neighbour leaves you conflicted -- confessing to Sylus and expressing your vulnerability. masterlist.

acts: light angst, mentions of smut, virginity loss, talks of first kisses, nudity, reassurance of unrequited love on another's behalf, xavier's, smugness and more. a/n: something light.

WITH Sylus cuddling you, you bask in his warmth — flaunting an intimate afterglow. All you could do was question fate, wondering what led to you losing your virginity to Sylus. A man you always claimed to be weary of, mentally attracted to and a little afraid of.

Regardless, you felt safe in this moment — torn by your heart and the strings of destiny. Even as Sylus remained holding you, his heartbeat familiar, you’re still in disbelief. Disbelief that you caved, crumbled and tore down your barriers to sexually give into Sylus.

To you, you held no regrets — just harmonious thoughts that parade distorted melodies. Though you’re in slight pain, nude, and settled in your lover’s embrace, you feel rather uneasy. Sure, you confessed your love to Sylus — but this moment crushed you a little. How would Xavier feel?

Before you discovered Sylus, you held budding feelings for Xavier — but they eventually shredded. Shredded the moment Sylus planted his lips on yours, for the first time, overrunning the feeling Xavier had given you. With the kiss Xavier gave you, it was now lost in a contorted abyss — cherished by lost files.

After Sylus had kissed you, you were a mental wreck — immobilised. Guilt overtook you, but you tore it off of you. When Sylus lifted you, wrapping your legs around his waist, pushing you against his desk, kissing you like you were life itself, you knew who you wanted. It was something that altered your views, leaving you smitten with Sylus.

As you’re engrossed in your thoughts, you hear Sylus stirring awake — his homely fingertips tightening around you. Panicking, you swiftly close your eyes — even though your heart rate is impossibly high.

“Sweetie, I know you’re awake,” Sylus quietly speaks, softly running his hand against your ass — savouring you.

“…” Pretending to sleep, you squeeze your eyes shut — your abdomen swirling with butterflies.

“Don’t tell me I still make you nervous?” Playfully mocking you, Sylus questions a flustered you — causing you to feel a little guilty for ignoring him.

“I’m just trying to process that you’re my first time, Sy’,” Vulnerability captures your response; Sylus settles a kiss upon the top of your forehead.

“I’ll always be here,” Sincere, Sylus reassures you, “You’re mine, sweetie.” Remorse consumes you at Sylus’ devotion.

“Yeah, but how am I gonna go back to my old life, Sy’?” Desperate for answers, you ask him — shifting on his chest to listen to his heartbeat.

“Old life?” Confused, Sylus answers your question with a question — his brows furrowing with conflict.

“Can I be truthful, Sy’?” Serious, you question Sylus — longing for a fruitful answer.

“Of course, lay it on me, sweetie,” Rather concerned, Sylus calmly responds — giving you room to comfortably voice yourself.

“I have this neighbour that likes me, we had a bit of a romantic relationship, but it’s just you that I want,” Halting for breath, you carry on, “He’s my colleague, so how am I supposed to act like everything’s normal?” Feeling free, you wait for Sylus to respond.

“I was waiting for you to tell me this, sweetheart,” Sylus gently chuckles, comfortable, “Mephisto’s been giving me updates, but all you have to do is tell him you’ve found someone else.” Blunt, Sylus stops.

“You’re not mad?” In sly disbelief, you ask Sylus — adjusting your position to look into his heartfelt crimson eyes.

“You’re all mine, there’s no need to get worked up,” Caressing your face, “You told me that you love me, so why would I be threatened and worry about a man who’s no threat?” Calculated, Sylus queries — consoling a ruffled you.

“You’re right, but can we stay in and do something cute?” Pleading with Sylus, you caress his face — kissing his lips with a newly expressed love.

“Of course, you’re immobilised, after all,” Sylus jokes, hinting towards your sex-demolished state.

He was gentle, immobilising you with love, tenderness and passion

—

do not copy, modify or claim any of my works as your own. all rights reserved; cosycafune. 2024. small banners credit: cafekitsune <3

[lilahisntsadanymore]

Growing up with a deatheater father doesn't teach you much about emotions, so when Theo finds himself developing an infatuation with a muggle-born, he thinks she gave him a love potion.

Pairing: Theo Nott x granger!fem!reader

Words count: 1.9k

Warnings: jealous Harry

There is a 2nd part!! <3

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

Unveiled Desires

It was strange to him. So strange how he went from mocking, annoying and occasionally bullying her every step she takes to secretly wanting her. Wanting to have her, or even needing her.

He didn't know how or when it happened, but one day he realized she was constantly in his head. It creeped up on him in small steps and eventually he had developed an infatuation for the girl.

Of course nobody knew about it, Theo wouldn't dare telling anyone. He just kept with his antics, hoping the obsession will somewhat disappear one day. Unfortunately, the more he tried to get rid of this feeling, the more he gave it power, the more it grew.

But he couldn't be with her. He couldn't be with a mudblood.

But he wanted to be with her. The more he thought about it, the less he cared about the blood status. He cursed at himself for these thoughts. Raised by a deatheater father, he would get disowned for dating anyone who wasn't a pureblood.

"Granger, can I talk to you for a second?" A question left his mouth as he approached the Golden Trio. Who was better to talk to about Y/n than her older sister?

The three Gryffindors looked at Theo as if he wasn't good in the head. Just casually wanting to have a chat, a normal chat, with someone outside of his social circle. Pretty unusual for a Slytherin.

"What is it?" Harry asked protectively.

"I was talking to Granger. I need to talk privately."

Hermione looked at Harry and Ron, exchanging suspecting glances. Eventually she spoke, "Alright, but make it quick."

"Great, let's go." Theo started walking, but Hermione stood in her place.

"Where are you going?"

"Somewhere they," he gestured to Harry and Ron, "aren't gonna eavesdrop."

Hermione crossed her arms on her chest, a knowing expression on her face.

Theo raised his hands, "It's not a trap again, I swear."

The girl sighed and walked after her rival.

Hermione and Theodore weren't fond of each other not only because of their houses and their blood statuses, but also because they were academic rivals. Both of them were extremely competitive. Since first year they aspired to be better than one another in pretty much everything.

"Can we stop already?" The girl asked. "I'm pretty sure they won't ear us from here."

"Alright, alright." Theo agreed. "But I need you to promise me you won't tell anybody about it."

"Why me? Why would you trust a Gryffindor with keeping a secret for you?"

Theo lowered his voice to a whisper, "Because it's about your sister."

"What?!" Hermione's voice was the opposite of a whisper. "What have you done to her?!"

The boy gestured telling her to lower her voice. "No, I didn't do anything. She has done...something."

"What on Earth could that possibly be?" A little more quiet, but still unpleasantly surprised, she decided to listen to him.

One last time, Theo looked around to make sure there's nobody there who could be a witness to what he was about to say.

"She used some spell on me." He accused. "Or put something in my food, my drink."

Hermione scoffed with laughter. "You must be joking. You bully her for whole five years, but one time she pays you back for it, it's an issue?"

"Not like that." He took a second to gather his thoughts. "Granger, do you remember how we learnt about amortentia few weeks ago? I think Y/n gave it to me."

Hermione started at the boy for a moment and then burst out with laughter. Y/n wasn't the issue, there was no way a fifth year would be able to make amortentia. Not even Y/n Granger.

Theodore felt annoyed and offended by Hermione's reaction. He looked at her with disgust. "What is so funny to you about it, mu-, Granger?"

Noticing how he almost called her a slur, her expression immediately became serious. "Seriously? You know what, deal with it by yourself. I don't even know why you're telling me all of this."

"Why? Because you have to talk to her, tell her to do something about it! Tell her to stop it!"

Hermione got a brilliant idea.

"You know, I've heard professor Slughorn had a remedy for amortentia."

"Yeah, and I'll end up in the hospital wing like Weasley."

"It was poisoned mead, not the amortentia cure itself. You can ask him to make one from the ingredients in the classroom."

"I will," Theo scoffed, "look at you being useful for the first time in your life."

Without another word, Hermione walked away. "Boys..." She muttered to herself.

"Don't tell anyone I told you this!"

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

"What?! He likes me?!" Y/n asked with blush on her face. "Theodore Nott likes me? The boy that has been bullying me for the past five years?"

"And the thinks it's because you gave him amortentia." Hermione giggled.

Y/n wouldn't ever think that he could be into her and the whole story that her sister had told her was simply unbelievable. But Hermione had no business in lying to her very own little sister, especially not about that.

"Does anyone else know about this?"

"Not yet, but I talked him into asking Slughorn for the cure! I suppose he'll do this tomorrow after class, as soon as possible."

"Who are you and what have you done to my sister?"

The girls were sitting alone in the common room and as Y/n laughed, Ron and Harry walked in.

"What are you two laughing about?" Harry asked, ready to hear that story.

"Can I tell them?" Hermione looked at Y/n. The younger Granger nodded. "Nott likes Y/n."

The girls and Ron laughed, meanwhile Harry stood there with his lips in a thin line, far away from laughing.

"The best part is," Hermione continued, "he thinks Y/n gave him amortentia!"

"What?" Harry spoke eventually, his voice a bit more surprised than it should be. "Y/n, did you give amortentia to Nott?"

"No, why would you accuse me of this?!" The youngest girl defended herself. "Is it that unbelievable that he can fancy me?"

"I mean... You're a muggleborn... And-"

"And what?! Does that mean I'm not worthy of that? We don't know him, maybe he doesn't believe in this whole blood purity thing."

"He does. That's why he hasn't asked you out. And he never will. Because they're all the same."

Y/n's eyes became a little glossy, the tears ready to start flowing anytime. "Are they, though? And you're saying this. You, whose godfather was Sirius Black."

"Sirius was different!"

"We don't know because we don't know what Theo is like!"

"Theo? It was Nott for the past few years that he was tormenting you," Harry put an emphasis on the word bullying, "now he fancies you and he becomes Theo?"

"I would actually give him a chance. It's not his fault that he was born into a blood purity obsessed family."

"Don't you think that's a little pathetic? Running into his hands the moment you find out he might fancy you meanwhile you had chances to date...other Gryffindors."

"Pathetic? You call me pathetic?"

"I didn't call you pathetic, I said what you do is-"

A sound of a slap filled the room, but the following silence spoke even louder. Y/n looked Harry in the eyes, a light red mark on his cheek that her hand left.

Harry could see and sense that it was too much, he said unnecessary words. He regretted them, but he just couldn't stop them from coming out.

The Golden Trio watched Y/n run upstairs. She was so glad nobody else was in the bedroom yet.

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

"Excuse me, professor," Theo walked up to Slughorn after the class on the following day.

All the other students were slowly exiting the room, Harry's eyes fixed on the Slytherin standing by the teacher's desk.

"Yes, Theodore?" Slughorn asked. "Do you have some more bright insights you'd like to share with me?" He was clearly happy to have this conversation.

"I actually need help, professor."

The man's expression dropped. "Yes? Do you have a problem?"

"I'm worried that I've been given amortentia."

Slughorn's eyes widened. He was surprised or even shocked. "Are you sure? I remember seeing other people under the influence of several love potions and you don't quite match the criteria."

"There's this girl who I can't stop thinking about... I suspect she has given it to me."

"Who that might be?"

Theo waited until all the other students exit the classroom before he said the name.

"Y/n Granger."

Y/n stopped in her tracks just as he was about to enter the potions classroom. She was about to show the teacher a part of her project, wanting to consult the texts she has written. Instead, she stopped and decided to listen to the conversation.

"Ah, she's one of the best students in her year," Slughorn said proudly, "but I assure you - she wouldn't do that to you."

"How can you be sure, professor?"

"Well, could you describe your symptoms, Theodore?"

"Whatever I do, Y/n is on my mind," the boy admitted, "I can't eat, I can't sleep, I zone out thinking about her. It's not normal, I've never experienced it before."

The teacher gave his student a sympathetic smile. "My dear boy, you might be experiencing the actual feeling of being in love."

"What? And how could it have been caused? Was it a love potion, after all? Maybe a spell?"

"It's a part of muggle science, biology. The chemicals in your brain cause it and it's not something you can control. It happens when it happens. A truly beautiful feeling."

Theo's mouth twisted into a dissatisfied grimace. "Is there anything I can do about it?"

"You can talk to the girl about it, for example," Slughorn looked at the door and shouted, "come in, Y/n!"

Y/n cursed to herself in her thoughts. How could he know she was there?

The girl walked in shyly, holding a paper in her hands. "I wanted to show you my paper, professor," the girl spoke, "if there's anything you think I should change or... anything."

As the girl handed the paper to the teacher, she looked at Theo. They stood dangerously close to each other. The silence between the was so loud, Y/n was praying for the teacher to say something. Anything.

"Amazing, Mrs Granger," he spoke eventually, "although the Draught of Living Dead is an extremely difficult potion to make. I'm glad you're so ambitious, but I'd suggest you get help from someone more experienced."

"I'm pretty sure I can do it on my own." Y/n assured.

"Maybe Mr. Nott here could help you. The sixth year has been just learning about this potion, actually. Theodore, would you be so kind and help Mrs Granger?"

Suddenly, Theo's gaze somewhat softened. There was no more disgust in his eyes. When he stood so close to Y/n, he wondered why did he act the way he did. Why did he do all the mean things to her. Maybe he had always liked her, but didn't want to admit it, even to himself alone.

"Yes, sure," he said, "I can help."

Y/n felt happy. For some reason, she didn't dislike Theo for all the things he did. She secretly always liked him, he was attractive, and she would even sometimes daydream about the day he would finally talk to her like a normal person. Maybe the day has finally come.

[myth1cs]

Locked in (Oh Haewon x M!Reader)

Yes Haewon spread that Charisma Uniqueness Nerve and Talent (Smut! .... Sorry!) Word Count: 5,588

"Fuck you Y/N, I'll do whatever I want!"

"Haewon please get off the table. You're getting it dirty with your shoes!"

You were getting tired of Haewon. She always purposely went out of her way to piss you off. This time was no different, yesterday you made a big deal about her spilling her drinks all over the table and not cleaning it. Today she decided to get revenge by making the table dirty with her shoes.

You aren't much of a clean freak but the way Haewon kept being so unhygienic was driving you crazy.

"And what if I don't get off the table Y/N what are you going to do about it?" You aren't much of a confrontational person and Haewon knows it. You try to assert authority but she never felt intimidated by you, which made her more comfortable challenging you.

You sighed as you knew you couldn't do anything to get her off the table. The only thing you could do was wait for her to get bored and get off so you could start cleaning the table.

Suddenly you heard someone enter your dorm and looked behind you to see Kim Dahyun.

"Are you guys arguing again?!" Dahyun asked as if she was a mom who was disappointed that her kids weren't getting along.

"It's Y/N's fault!" Haewon said when she saw that it was Dahyun. Something you noticed about Haewon is that she treats everyone nicely. Well everyone except you for a reason that you don't know.

"Both of you guys need to learn to get along. Why do you guys even argue so much?"

"It's all Y/N's fault!"

"Oh really Haewon? Last time I checked you were the one being such a fucking bitch!"

"Enough both of you!"

Dahyun grabbed both of you by an arm and dragged you both into a room.

"I was gonna take you both out to the friend groups hangout but instead you guys can talk out your differences. By the time I get back you both better have made up." Dahyun left and closed the door.

"Wait!" Haewon yelled, she tried to open the door but it was locked. "Dahyun quit playing don't leave me in here trapped with this loser." Haewon started banging on the door but it was useless Dahyun already left.

"Ugh! I hate you Y/N."

"Me? This is your fault Haewon!"

"Shut the fuck up Y/N!"

Haewon went up to you and punched you in the face. It hurt you, it didn't even feel like she put much power into that punch yet it still felt painful.

Both you and Haewon started fighting each other. Leaving bruises on each other and tiring yourselves out at a result. Eventually you both got tired and laid on the bed.

"Fuck you Y/N lay on the floor."

"Why don't you do it Haewon?"

"Because it's gross, now get off the bed!"

"Make me."

Haewon sighed, she didn't have the energy to push you off. You both laid there on the bed for an hour not talking to each other. Neither of you had anything to entertain yourselves with and it was driving you both crazy.

You eventually turned over to Haewon

"Hey can we talk."

Haewon turned over and you guys made eye contact for the first time since you guys laid down on the bed.

"Well not like I have anything else to do."

"Why do you always bully me?"

"Y/N ... I just like seeing your reaction. Seeing you upset is something that-"

While Haewon was talking you started to pay more attention to her body. You never realized how ... good she looked. I mean she was totally your type. How come you never noticed?

You couldn't stop yourself from looking at her lips. They looked so delicious you just knew those soft lips would feel amazing.

"Hey! Hey! Y/N!'

You suddenly came out of your thoughts and realized you've been staring at her for too long.

"Do my lips look that good to you Y/N?"

You blushed and nodded your head. I mean she already caught you no point in lying to her at this point.

Haewon smiled and started scanning your body.

"You know Y/N you're not too bad yourself."

"Really Haewon?"

Haewon pulled you into a hug, hugging you tightly as if you would disappear if she let go.

You hugged her back taking her sweet smell in.

"Y/N I'm sorry for everything. I hope you can forgive me."

You brushed her hair and kissed her on the cheek which made her gasp. She didn't expect you to take such a sudden move on her.

"Haewon I love you. I could never stay mad at you."

"I love you to Y/N"

You both hugged each other tightly and drifted off to sleep.

Suddenly you and Haewon were woken up by the sound of the door opening. Dahyun entered the room.

"When I told you guys to make up I didn't expect this. So are you guys dating now?"

"Wh-were not dating!" Haewon quickly responded in defense.

"Yeah sure, I've never seen you as happy as you were just now Haewon. You were hugging Y/N as if your life depended on it."

Haewon sighed "Fine you caught us, we're dating now."

You were shocked when Haewon said that. You realized you two were now official, and honestly you couldn't be happier.

Haewon reached out for your hand to help you get up. You were still a bit hazy from just waking up but you managed to grab Haewon's hand, and she helped you sit up on the bed.

Dahyun squealed "I'm so happy for you guys!"

You clung to Haewon's arm as if she was going to leave you. You were in love with her. The same girl that one day ago you wanted nothing to do with was the same girl that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

"So when's the first date?"

"Aren't you rushing things Dahyun? Besides little Y/N here is still sleepy, he probably wants to catch up on his sleep."

"Haewon you're only 1 month older than me!" you responded in a groggy voice.

Dahyun giggled "Alright well I'll leave you two love birds to it. Don't do anything dangerous without the proper protection."

Dahyun left you both in the room alone. You laid your head on Haewon's shoulder.

"Haewon can we go back to sleep."

Haewon looked at you and gave you a warm smile.

"Of course we can."

1 week later

You and Haewon were going out on a first date. As you held her hand you couldn't stop yourself from feeling happy. Your heart kept beating fast and it felt like the only thing in the world that mattered was you two.

You and Haewon arrived at the ice cream shop and went inside. There were a handful of people inside but not too many people that it felt cramped. You both went up to the counter and ordered your favorite ice cream flavors.

You both decided to eat outside. You felt the wind blowing on your skin as you ate. It was relaxing, you felt at ease with Haewon at your side. Back then even being in the same room with Haewon would put you on edge but now she was a source of comfort for you.

"Y/N you have something on your face."

Haewon acted like she was wiping something off your face but she really just wanted an excuse to rub your cheeks.

"Did you just make that up?"

Haewon giggled "You caught me Y/N."

Ever since the day Dahyun locked you both into a room you've both been inseparable. You've both been sleeping, showering, and hanging out together. Every morning you felt blessed being able to see Haewon's face first thing in the morning.

When you finished your ice cream you clung to Haewon again.

"Y/N you're so clingy!" Haewon said when she felt you cling onto her.

I mean ... you were, but could anyone blame you? I mean when someone like Oh Haewon is your girlfriend you just have to show her love every moment you get.

"Hey Y/N can I ask you something?"

"Anything Haewon."

"Okay ... just know I don't want to force you into anything if you don't want to do what I'm about to say then that's completely fine and I respect your decision."

That night you locked the door to your room and looked at Haewon a little nervous.

"Y/N are you okay?"

"It's just ... I don't feel good about myself. I don't want you to see me naked."

Haewon hugged you and kissed your cheek.

"Y/N I love you the way you are. But if you don't want to go through with this then that's okay."

Hearing Haewon say those words gave you confidence and you decided to go through with it.

"Can you strip first Haewon?"

Haewon nodded and began to take her clothes off. You were mesmerized, you couldn't believe that she had such a perfect body. But it only made you that much more insecure knowing it was your turn next.

Haewon went up to you and grabbed the hem of your shirt.

"Do you want me to take it off for you?"

"No! Please let me take my time Haewon."

Haewon understood. She backed away and watched you as you slowly mustered up the courage to start taking your clothes off.

When you finally took all your clothes off you felt horrible. What business did you have trying to have sex with Haewon? You should have stayed in your clothes. What were you thinking by taking off your clothes? You should just put your clothes back on and try to-

"Y/N your perfect."

You got pulled out of your thoughts when you heard those words come out of her mouth. You felt relieved and happy when Haewon called you perfect. You started blushing and feeling giddy.

"Oh ~ Y/N you like it when I praise you?"

You were a little bit surprised when Haewon said that. You never thought that you had a praising kink but when you thought about it you always felt butterflies when Haewon praised you.

"Well I guess I do." You responded.

Haewon went up and softly kissed your lips. They felt like heaven, you kissed her soft lips back wanting to be able to kiss her forever.

Haewon started mumbling while kissing you "Y/N you're doing so well." It turned you on. Your cock started rising slowly.

You started to deepen the kiss. You both were caught in the moment and you both started to kiss each other more rough. You slid your tongue in her mouth and your tongues started fighting for control.

Neither of you won as both your tongues got tired and you both eventually pulled away.

"Y/N you did great." You felt yourself getting flustered and your cock was getting hard when you heard Haewon say those words.

Haewon looked at your cock and smiled. "Do you want me to take care of you?" You nodded and she got down on her knees.

Haewon was on her knees for a few moments before she spoke up. "Y/N I'm new to this. Is there anything in specific I should be doing?"

You had to ponder for a moment. This was your first time having sex to so you weren't sure if there was something she should be doing or if she should just do what she thinks is right.

"How about you try just touching it?"

Haewon nodded and started to poke your cock. She wasn't sure if there was a specific way she should touch your cock so she just went with what she thought was a safe option by poking it.

"Ngh~"

"Y/N are you okay? Am I doing it wrong?"

"No Haewon your doing just fine."

Haewon started to rub your cock with one finger to see if she could get a reaction out of you. She saw that you slightly reacted but it wasn't anything significant.

"Y/N is there something else I should be doing?"

"Try licking it."

Haewon got her tongue out and started to wonder where she should lick your cock. Should she start with the head? Or maybe the base of your cock. Or would somewhere in the middle be better?

Haewon decided to start in the middle just in case. When you felt her tongue you jerked. Her tongue on your sensitive areas felt great and you felt your legs going weak from it.

You grabbed onto Haewon's head grasping it desperately so you wouldn't fall. Haewon started licking your cock at different speeds. She didn't know which speed was optimal so she did all of them. Randomly going from a slow speed to a slightly faster speed only to drastically increase her pace the next second.

Even with all of the stimulation you felt you didn't feel any closer to release. "H-Haewon I hate to bother you but I'm not any closer to cumming."

Haewon felt horrible when you said that. Was she really that bad? She was regretting asking to have sex she shouldn't have ever tried. She got up and sat next to you.

"I'm sorry Y/N I really wanted this night to mean something special to us." You could tell Haewon wanted to cry for messing up an important moment in your relationship.

"Haewon don't cry." You embraced her patting her back. "Let's try again Haewon"

"But Y/N the moment is ruined now."

"As long as it's with you every moment is precious to me."

That made Haewon feel better. She got back up but this time she was going to do what she thought was right.

"Y/N lay down."

You followed her instructions without hesitation. Haewon got on top of you and started to align her pussy to your cock.

"Are you going to be okay?"

"Let's hope so." Haewon said as she quickly took your whole cock in her pussy. She knew it was gonna hurt so she decided to just try to take the whole thing in one go.

"Ow fuck- It hurts."

"Haewon you should get off. I don't want you to be hurt."

"Trust me Y/N I can handle it."

After some heavy breathing she managed to calm herself down and started to bounce on your cock. Her pussy gripped your cock so good you thought the blood flow to your cock stopped.

You both were sweating. It was the first time for both of you so it felt like an extremely intense activity.

"Y/N I feel like something is building up in me."

"It's fine Haewon just relax yourself and let it happen."

Haewon proceeded to cum all over your dick. So much came out that some got on the bed sheets.

She was exhausted. After having an intense orgasm she was ready to hit the hay but she still wanted you to experience pleasure.

"Y/N sit up and let me try to suck your dick again."

"Haewon that's the least of my worries. My time can come another time right now let's just get some rest."

She nodded and fell asleep on top of you.

A few years later

You and Haewon had just finished moving all of your stuff into your new house. After college you and Haewon decided to live together and move into a home together. The rest of your friend group lived separately but you all didn't live far from each other so you guys would see each other every now and then.

"Let's start unpacking Y/N."

You started to help Haewon unpack and as you went through all your things you couldn't help but to think about the past. Honestly so many things fell in place for you and Haewon to even be together. You had to had picked the same college, you guys were randomly assigned roommates, and it just so happened you shared a friend that decided to lock you both in a room. You were grateful for Dahyun as if she had never locked you in that room with Haewon. Well who knows how your life would've turned out.

"Reminiscing about the past Y/N?"

"Yeah I was just thinking about us and how we even came to be you know?"

"I remember, I remember when we first did it. We were so inexperienced."

"Don't remind me Haewon! I prefer to think that night never happened."

You and Haewon started to talk about the past and talk about old memories. Suddenly you heard the doorbell ring.

You got up and went to open the door. When you opened the door and saw one of your friends from your friend group Lily Morrow.

"Y/N it's so nice to see you!"

"It's nice to see you to Lily."

"Where's Haewon?"

"She's unpacking in the living room."

"Want to help me scare her?"

You walked back into the room and went back to help Haewon with the unpacking.

"Who was at the door Y/N?"

"It was just a sales person."

"Ugh I hate sales people. Like why are they bothering us on our own property."

While Haewon was complaining Lily suddenly came up behind her.

"Surprise!"

"Yah!"

"L-Lily! Don't scare me like that!"

"Sorry Haewon I couldn't resist."

"Did you plan this with her Y/N?"

"Perhaps."

"You're gonna pay for that."

You knew exactly what Haewon meant.

"Anyways Lily why did you even come over."

"I was in the area and wanted to pay you guys a visit. Well since I'm here I might as well help you guys unpack."

After a few hours you all managed to unpacked all of your things and put them in there place. Lily was about to leave but suddenly it started raining.

"Just my luck. It rains just when I'm about to leave."

"You can stay with us Lily for the night." You offered.

"Really? I don't want to bother you two."

"It's fine you can have the bedroom here on the first floor."

"Thank you."

Lily got up and left for the bedroom. Once Haewon heard the sound of the door close she looked at you and gave you a smirk you were all too familiar with.

"Haewon please don't."

She started to rub your clothed cock and you tried your best to keep your moans in.

"I don't know Y/N. I think you should learn your place."

You gulped knowing what was going to happen next.

"Follow me."

You obeyed Haewon and followed her to the bedroom on the second floor. On the way Haewon grabbed an unopened box. Once you two entered the room Haewon locked the door.

Haewon started to open the box. You gulped wondering what she would pull out. She pulled out handcuffs.

"H-Haewon?"

It was no use she was already lost. Haewon put your hands behind your back and put them in the handcuffs. You didn't resist and let Haewon do what she wanted.

Haewon kissed your lips for a few moments before pulling away.

"Safe word?"

"Lock"

Haewon smiled and went back to the box. She pulled out a whip and went back to you.

"You'll listen to me from now on."

"Yes Haewon." It would only make it worse if you resisted so it was easier for both of you if you just listened to her.

"Now don't move or else I'm going to punish you." Haewon proceeded to pull down your pants and saw your hard cock.

"Horney already Y/N?" You nodded. You couldn't lie you enjoyed seeing Haewon take charge like this.

Haewon started to slowly take your cock. Her tongue glided through your whole length. Swirling your tip and gently sucking. Your legs were shaking you. Wanted to thrust in her mouth but knew better.

You started moaning but you quickly shut your mouth and tried to suppress them. When you did this Haewon used the whip to hit you.

"Did I tell you to suppress your moans?"

"But Lily-"

Haewon whipped you again "I don't give a fuck that she's downstairs. You listen to me got it? Now you let me hear your moans Y/N."

You nodded and Haewon went back to taking care of your cock. You moaned loudly knowing full well that there was a good chance Lily could hear you.

"Mhm~ Yes Y/N let Lily know that you're submissive for me."

Haewon went back to whipping you. It hurt you horribly but something about it turned you on. Haewon started to tighten the handcuffs on your hands to add to your pain.

"Fuck"

There was too much to focus on. The pain you felt was horrible but at the same time Haewon gave you the best pleasure you had ever felt. Your cock started twitching in her mouth and she pulled out.

"Who knows Y/N maybe I'll leave you like this as punishment for earlier."

"Please~"

Haewon pushed you onto the bed and got on top of you. She started to strip her clothes and you couldn't help but stare.

"You're really excited to see me naked huh?"

You blushed and nodded.

Haewon smirked and deliberately started going slower.

"Please don't tease me Haewon."

Haewon smacked your face.

"Since when do you order me around?"

"I don't.."

"Don't speak up unless I say so."

Haewon went back to undressing and after what felt like hours she finally took off all her clothes off.

Haewon sat on top of you and you started to struggle to breathe.

"If you want to be able to breathe properly eat me out."

You started eating Haewon out as fast as possible. You slurped down every bit of juice from her pussy and ran your tongue all over it. Haewon was lost in her own world. Her legs were shaking and she held onto your head for support.

As you felt yourself suffocating Haewon squirted all over you and got off you. You gasped for air and tried to regain composure.

Haewon however didn't have any interest in letting you rest.

"Get up Y/N and let me get those handcuffs off you."

With low energy you sat yourself up and Haewon grabbed the key and freed you from the handcuffs. She also took this chance to take off your shirt.

Haewon got up and went back to the box and reached for something else. She ended up pulling out a blindfold and some ropes.

You gulped. It was far from your favorite activity but you wanted to make Haewon happy.

Haewon tied up your arms and legs. She put the blindfold on you before she got on your dick and started riding you.

She whipped you repeatedly. It stung you horribly but for the sake of Haewon's pleasure you didn't want to use your safe word.

"Fuck Y/N I'm gonna cum!"

Haewon was sadistic which you were fine with but you felt the pain becoming more unbearable overriding your enjoyment. You tried holding out until Haewon came.

But you reached your breaking point. Your body was bruised badly. If Haewon whipped you one more time you felt like you would break.

"Lock! Lock! Haewon please stop!" You yelled in pain unable to take much more of Haewon's sadistic tendencies.

Haewon was snapped out of her trance and quickly got off you. She untied the ropes and took off your blindfold.

"Y/N are you okay?! I'm sorry I got ahead of myself." Haewon was sad when she saw a few tears on you.

"I-I'm fine Haewon."

"No you're not! Come on Y/N let me fix you a hot bath."

Haewon helped you get into the bathroom into the bathtub. She started the warm water to help you relax.

"Thank you Haewon."

"Don't mention it Y/N. I should be sorry to you. I got carried away."

Haewon got in the bath with you and embraced you lovingly. She kissed you in the spot where she smacked you earlier.

"I love you Y/N please don't ever hold off from using your safe word."

"I promise I won't next time Haewon."

You both sat in silence until Haewon remembered something.

"Y/N you did great back there."

To say you were a bit surprised would be an understatement. But it also warmed your heart that Haewon still remembered when you told her you had a bit of a praising kink all those years ago.

"Y/N you are perfect I love you so much."

You felt yourself getting worked up from Haewon's compliments and started to feel your cock rising.

"Want me to make you cum?"

You nodded

Haewon and you got out of the bath. She got to her knees and started to give your cock all the attention she could. You started thrusting in and out of her mouth. Her tight throat felt amazing and you felt closer to release.

You increased your thrusts and Haewon started to deep throat your cock. You ended up spreading your cum all over Haewon's mouth and she swallowed every last drop.

"Your cum is amazing thank you Y/N."

You both dried yourselves before going to sleep together naked.

The next day you were both woken up by Lily's yelling downstairs.

"Haewon Y/N! I made pancakes!"

You both got dressed and went downstairs. You saw the pancakes Lily made and went to eat them.

"Thank you so much Lily. You shouldn't have." You said before eating her pancakes.

"Well it's the least I could do for you guys. Besides I'm sure you guys need the energy after last night."

You and Haewon blushed.

"You heard us?" Haewon said surprised

Lily chuckled "Of course I did. My room was directly under yours. I didn't know you were sadistic like that Haewon."

Haewon couldn't make eye contact with Lily and ate her pancakes with her head down.

One year later

You were nervous.

Today was the day you would propose to Haewon. You ran the scenario multiple times throughout your head.

Step 1: Go to the outdoor venue you rented out for the day and set up the place with Lily.

Step 2: Dahyun picks up Haewon to take her to a "Fancy restaurant"

Step 3: Dahyun tells Haewon that she needs to "Pick up her friend" as an excuse so she can head to the venue.

Step 4: If everything goes well you and Lily should be done by the time Haewon and Dahyun get their and you propose to Haewon.

It should be simple enough.

When you arrive at the venue you notice Lily is not there. Panicking you call her.

"Where are you?!"

"My car broke down!"

You started panicking. Lily was in charge of bringing all the decorations. The venue only had some basic decorations but you wanted to go all out as this would be an important moment in your life. Should you try to pick Lily up? No she lives too far away, you probably won't make it back in time.

Should you tell Dahyun to try to stall for more time? But Haewon would be suspicious if after Dahyun gets a call she suddenly starts stalling.

You checked the time and saw you only had 20 minutes before Dahyun and Haewon would get to the venue.

You were about to have a break down. How could everything go bad on such an important day?

15 minutes passed. Only five more minutes until Haewon and Dahyun arrived. You were contemplating whether you should try to propose another day or if you should just try to make do with what you already have.

Suddenly you heard people scream your name.

"Y/N!!!!"

Looking in the direction of where the sounds were coming from you saw Lily and Bae running towards you.

"Lily and Bae? What are you guys doing here?"

Lily was out of breath "I called Bae to pick me up. We were speeding our way here. And then we ran the rest of the way since the closest parking lot was far."

Bae suddenly interrupted Lily "Guys we're running out of time we need to decorate now!"

All of you started setting up the venue. You had to cut some corners as you didn't have time on your side anymore.

You got a text from Dahyun telling you that she arrived. Lily and Bae quickly went to hide and you tried to get yourself ready as you went to hide.

"Dahyun why is your friend here anyways."

"They had to help out someone set up for an event."

"I don't see them."

"Hold on I need to use the restroom Haewon. Try looking around for them."

Once Dahyun left the area you came out from hiding.

"Y/N? What are you doing here?"

"Haewon I need to tell you something."

"What do you need to tell me?"

"I-I don't think our relationship will work out if we stay like this."

Haewon was shocked. She grabbed your hands while looking as if she was about to cry.

"What do you mean Y/N."

"Ever since we graduated from college I truly loved you. I love everything we've done together and honestly I've made memories I will never forget with you. But we can't keep going ... at least not like this."

Tears fell down Haewon's eyes. She was crushed fearing your next words.

"Y/N please don't leave me! I promise I can fix everything just name it."

"Haewon I can't let you be my girlfriend ... I want you to be my wife."

You got down on your knees pulling out the ring you bought.

"Will you be mine Haewon?"

Haewon looked at you. You couldn't make out her facial expressions. You held your breath waiting for her answer.

"Y/N fuck you! Don't ever scare me like that again! Of course I'll be your wife Y/N."

Haewon took the ring and put it on. You breathed a huge sigh of relief and pulled her into a hug. Lily, Bae, and Dahyun came up to you guys and congratulated you.

"Come on Haewon let's go eat." You said while holding your fiance's hand.

Wedding Day

You were waiting for Haewon to walk down the aisle. You were ready to spend the rest of your life with Haewon. Sharing all of your worst and best moments and being there for each other even in illness you were ready to tackle anything as long as you had Haewon by your side.

And then you saw her. She was perfect, you couldn't take your eyes off Haewon. It was as if time slowed down.

Everything was going perfectly. You two exchanged vows and then the magic words were said.

"You may now kiss the bride."

You pulled Haewon in for a deep kiss. The only thing that mattered in that moment was you and her.

"Y/N I'm ready to spend the rest of my life with you."

"Me to Haewon."

That night you partied hard. Hanging out with the people who meant the most to you.

Haewon threw the bouquet and Bae ended up being the one to catch it. Everyone cheered for her and you jokingly asked her.

"Are you finally going to ask out Sullyoon?"

Bae blushed and lightly pushed you.

"Yah not so loud Y/N."

Eventually the party came to a close and everyone went home. When you got home with Haewon you carried her to bed.

You laid her down gently and kissed her forehead. Haewon was getting sleepy so you started to change her into her pajamas. Once you got Haewon changed you started to take off your clothes so you could change but suddenly you heard Haewon get up.

"How about I give you a special present Y/N as a celebration to us?"

Knowing where this was going you nodded your head and took off your remaining clothes. Haewon got on her knees and started to pump your cock.

"Haewon this is the best thing I could ask for."

She simply smiled and started to suck your tip. Haewon swirled her tongue on your tip covering it in her saliva.

Haewon bobbed her head. Her tongue sliding through your cock letting every inch feel it. Your cock started twitching and you were close to release.

You started to thrust in her mouth. You spread your cum in her mouth. So much cum came out it was leaking out of her mouth.

Haewon's face was stained with cum. And both of you wouldn't have it any other way.

"Now it's my turn to give you a special gift Haewon."

You picked up Haewon and laid her on the bed. You took of her pajamas and started to lick her pussy and rub her clit.

Haewon moaned loving the feeling you gave her. You licked her pussy and enjoyed how her fluids tasted. You truly never could have enough. You ate Haewon out.

Shoving your tongue deep into her pussy Haewon screamed and squirted all over you. You drank every last drop.

You both laid naked next to each other in bed and shared another kiss.

"I love you Haewon."

"I love you to Y/N"

You both drifted to sleep holding each other, ready to spend the rest of your lives together.

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

Finally finished this for all the people requesting longer smuts.

I wanted to make this longer but I felt like people would loose interest if I made it too long.

Anyways if you actually sat through all of this thank you.

[buckymorelikefuckme]

fri(end)s

bucky barnes x fem reader

words: 3.8k

warnings & tags: **18+ ONLY** friends/roommates to lovers oh my god they were roommates, smoking weed, brief mutual masturbation, frottage (i think that's the right word idfk i'm all out of practice), p in v sex, unprotected sex (don’t do that), reader has nipple piercings bc i said so, slight pain kink? mayhaps? ok pls let me know if i’ve missed anything!

a/n: i made this fic my bitch tonight. this is absolutely not proofread or beta'd, you're just gonna have to take it for what it is, sorry not sorry. anyway, it’s been too long since i wrote for this beefy man :’) i really hope you like it. this was originally very loosely inspired by a scene in what’s your number? but it quickly gained a mind of its own to become what it is now, so. there ya go. title is from the song of the same name by V of bts thank you very much. any and all mistakes are my own. feedback is greatly appreciated and heavily encouraged!!! xoxo

bucky barnes masterlist || main masterlist

Bucky’s introduction to weed was something you’d been supremely proud of.

When the two of you became roommates, you both had been kind of quiet and kept to yourselves at first, which isn’t too unusual, but you noticed that Bucky almost always had a frown etched into his handsome face. A frown that only ever softened after a night out with his friends and, you assumed, a decent hook-up. It never took long for that frown to reappear, though.

You didn’t know what could have been so stressful for him, but you knew he needed a way to relax, and not just for himself, either. The sight of him glumly moving around the apartment—honestly, you’ve never seen someone make fixing a bowl of cereal look so fucking sad—was beginning to weigh on your own nerves.

So, naturally, you thought of asking him if he’s ever tried weed. Somehow, his frown had deepened at that question. He said no, shocking absolutely no one, and then you asked if he wanted to try it. Admittedly, he was a little hesitant at first, but he eventually agreed.

The way his body, all two hundred and whatever pounds of muscle and angst, sank into the recliner like a ragdoll when the high really hit him made you grin. Though, to be fair, you were already smiling, what with you also being high. It was the first time you saw a real, genuine smile from Bucky, and you were immensely pleased to have given him a way to decompress from whatever kept him so tense all the time.

It became a sort of thing for you two. Saturday nights were for getting high, binge-watching Love Island (UK, because you both have class, thank you very much) and raiding the pantry for all the good snacks when the munchies hit. You’d never tell anyone, but those nights quickly became something you looked forward to every week, something you could cling to when your own life got a little difficult. Who knew smoking weed—and on a few special occasions, doing edibles—with your roommate would make a friendship blossom so prettily?

***

After how late Bucky got in last night, you knew he’d be sleeping in and would more than likely have a hangover. So, for this particular Saturday morning, you get up and quietly start gathering your laundry while Bucky snores loudly into his pillow from his bedroom. You were getting behind on it anyway, down to your last pair of clean shorts.

Before you put them on, though, you purse your lips in thought, staring at your pile of dirty clothes. You didn’t want to put on clean shorts with the panties and shirt you slept in last night. It would be smarter to wash them with the rest of your clothes, right? But that would leave you topless, which, you wouldn’t exactly be opposed to it, but you’re not sure Bucky would appreciate waking up to you walking around with your tits out. Or maybe he would? Whatever, it doesn’t matter.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts and then remember that Bucky did his laundry yesterday, and knowing him, he probably left at least some of his clean clothes in the dryer. Surely he wouldn’t mind you borrowing a shirt.

With that plan in mind, you dump your clothes into your laundry basket and make your way down the hall to the doors where your washing and drying units are (a major selling point of the apartment, if you’re honest). Just like you thought, Bucky’s left a load in the dryer, and even some of his button-downs are hung up on the drying rack. You quickly pull your t-shirt off, shivering against the cool air, and reach for one of the hangers, slipping his shirt off of it and onto yourself. For a dress shirt, it’s actually quite comfortable, obviously one of the shirts he wears more often with how soft and a little worn the fabric is. You shimmy your panties down your legs and add them to your pile, grabbing your clean shorts and tugging them on, too.

You make quick work of starting your first load of clothes, closing the doors to muffle the sound of the washer, and head back to your room to do your morning routine. By the time you’re done and have also cooked yourself breakfast, Bucky is staggering down the hall and into the kitchen, hair a tangled nest atop his head and eyes bleary.

“Good morning, sunshine,” you greet with a teasing smile.

He flips you off and beelines for the coffee machine, pouring himself a cup and not speaking a word until he’s downed at least half of it. Part of you is concerned for his esophagus, but you’ve long since come to the conclusion that Bucky’s probably got a thing for pain—both physically and emotionally.

“Remind me to tell Sam he isn’t allowed to bring Natasha on our nights out anymore,” he grumbles, voice rough from both sleep and a long night of drinking. “I’ve never taken so many shots of vodka in my life.”

You hum. “Sounds like my kind of woman, actually.” He cuts his eyes at you, silently judging while taking another sip of his coffee. “Want me to fry up some bacon and eggs for you?” You almost laugh at the way his expression immediately switches to pleading.

The rest of the morning is spent finishing your laundry and putting it all away, even gathering up Bucky’s clothes that he’d left and dumping them on his bed. You’ll leave the folding to him, though; your generosity only extends so far, after all.

Lunch rolls around and you both decide to order takeout from the burger place down the street, Bucky shushing you when you keep insistently whispering for him to order extra truffle fries (which he does order, after you’ve sworn pain of death if he doesn’t) and once it arrives, the two of you settle around the coffee table in the living room, putting on a random movie to watch while you eat.

And of course, when the sun begins to lower on the horizon, you start pulling out your stash and getting everything ready. Bucky’s already got the windows open in the living room to let the smell air out as you smoke, and he also has Love Island queued up and ready to go.

While you smoke the first joint, you make the conscious decision to bake a small batch of brownies for later. Bucky sits on the counter beside you, passing the joint back and forth as he quietly watches you work. Wordlessly, you hand over the bowl and spoon to him after you’ve poured the batter into the awaiting pan. No matter how many times you’ve tried to warn him about salmonella he always insists on licking them clean.

Sometimes, in these moments, you forget how surly he used to be with you. Not that he was ever rude or anything, but he never would have pouted about not being able to eat raw brownie batter before you helped him break down some of those walls of his.

***

“He’s such a dick,” Bucky mumbles a while later, face impassive and tone bland as he refers to one of the islanders of the show, slouching so deeply into the couch he’s practically become one with it.

The high from the first joint is finally kicking in fully, doing its job of releasing every ounce of tension from your bodies. It’s also making your mouth dry and tummy rumble for snacks. Thank god you made those brownies and Bucky unearthed some candy from past movie nights and lots of chips out of the pantry cabinets.

You hum at his comment. “Most men are.”

Bucky turns his head in your direction with an affronted expression that has you snickering. He goes to reply, giving you the sassiest once-over you’ve ever seen, but his eyes doubletake on your torso and he pauses. He stares for a moment.

“That’s my shirt,” he states.

You look down at the shirt in question, of which you’ve worn all day long and somehow he’s only just now noticing.

“Wow, you’re like Sherlock Holmes or something,” you drawl.

Bucky stares some more, and then, “Why are you wearing my shirt?”

“Because I had laundry to do and I needed something to wear while all my stuff was washing,” you say in a “duh” tone.

“But…” He frowns. “It’s my favorite.”

You snort inelegantly. “Bucky, you literally have, like, at least four other white dress shirts.”

“So? What, I can’t have a favorite one just because I have more of the same color?”

“Christ,” you say on an exasperated exhale. “I’ll give it back before bed, okay? I don’t wanna move right now. I’m scared I’ll bump into stuff again.”

Bucky huffs a laugh at that, which turns into a full-blown giggle fit that is contagious. Soon after your shared laughter dies down, the conversation moves back to the illicit love triangles among the islanders. You trash talk the couple that Bucky likes, just to see him get riled up and rant about how they’re the most real couple of the season and everyone else is just jealous. He gets red in the face and pouty when you remind him that this is a heavily produced show about pretty people getting a chance to get famous for being pretty people by hooking up with each other and playing stupid games that mean nothing in the grand scheme of it all. Really, it’s quite cute.

To placate him, though, you get a second joint rolled and let him take the first hit.

***

Turns out this second one hits you rather harder than normal. It feels like your head is a balloon and your neck is the string tethering it to the rest of your body. Everything feels much more sluggish compared to all the other times you’ve gotten high with Bucky. Somewhere in the depths of your hazy brain you remember that you’d gotten a different brand this time around; perhaps that’s why.

On the tv, the islanders are getting ready for bed, and once the lights go out in their room, some of the couples engage in some serious heavy petting, lifting their comforters for a semblance of privacy. The sounds start next, sighs and low moans, and it all begins to settle into your subconscious. Between one lazy blink and the next, you realize you’re… actually kind of horny. It’s not enough for you to really pay attention to it, not at first, just a little sprinkle of it, a tiny twist in your core that briefly has you pressing your thighs together then relaxing again.

But then the arousal builds up inside you so slowly and easily that you don’t even realize your hand has apparently grown a mind of its own and found its way down your shorts. You inhale sharply at the touch of your fingers against your clit, lashes fluttering as the sensation registers. The sound gains Bucky’s attention from where he's been lounging on the opposite end of the couch with his head tipped back and eyes closed.

They’re not closed anymore. Out of your peripheral, you see his head shift in your direction, feeling the weight of his stare like a physical thing. Your mind is both connected and disconnected from your actions, half-aware that this is probably not the smartest thing to be doing, that you’re absolutely crossing a major boundary. Touching yourself in this way in front of your roommate, your friend, is so not normal.

Yet, for some idiotic reason, you leave your hand down your shorts, continuing to lightly pet at your clit, neediness rising steadily. Even though you know he’s watching—and suspiciously quiet—you can’t help but let your fingers slither down to where you’re beginning to drip to gather some of your slick and bring it back to your clit and swirling your fingers at a sedate pace, sighing as your nipples tighten underneath your shirt.

Bucky is as still as a statue, gaze honed in on the movement of your hand, on how your thighs ease open more and more the longer you play with your pussy.

It takes very little time for your eyes to wander over to the man just a couple feet away, and to then notice and fixate on the growing bulge in Bucky’s sweatpants. The weight of his stare is almost a physical thing and you swallow roughly as you think about what he might look like, if he’s at all how you’ve secretly imagined when you’re alone in your bedroom, in much the same position as you are in now.

His hands creep towards his thighs and smooth down the expanse of them and back up, slowly, over and over, like he’s teasing himself. Like he’s teasing you. Your fingers don’t stop as you lift your other hand to tweak and pinch at your nipples through well-worn cotton, a tiny noise slipping past your dry lips.

Bucky pulls the hem of his shirt up, exposing part of his toned stomach and only hesitates for a split second before he lowers the waistband of his pants, pulling his cock out and matching the pace of his strokes with the pace of your fingers. The head of his cock is pink and precum makes it shine under the low light of the lamps in the living room.

You bite your lip as your arousal increases from the sight alone, and you decide to follow his lead, just a bit. You whine from the loss of stimulation when you remove your hand to shimmy your shorts down and off your legs, letting them fall to the floor carelessly. And now, Bucky has an unrestrained view of your glistening cunt as you sink two of your fingers inside yourself and use your other fingers to rub all around your clit. It has you gasping, eyelids threatening to close through the pleasure that sparkles throughout every vein in your body.

It’s good. Amazing, even. And it’s only making you want more. Bucky, it seems, feels much the same.

“C’mere,” he rasps, tone leaving no room for arguing, never mind that you wouldn’t have argued anyway.

You sit up on the couch, knee-walking over to where he’s still in his slumped position, never pulling your hand away from your clit because it feels like you’d cry if you did. Bucky curses under his breath and lets go of his cock to firmly grab you by the hips and tug you onto his lap. Your pussy ends up aligned perfectly with his cock, and you both shudder as you begin gliding back and forth across it, small movements that only increase the suspense of what likely comes next. He meets your eyes, red and glazed over from both the high and the toe-curling feeling of his cock along your wet center.

The kiss, when it happens, tastes like weed and the peanut M&M’s you both were snacking on just a little while ago. Bucky's tongue licks into your mouth like he can’t get enough, nips at your bottom lip to hear you whimper, gets a fistful of your hair and pulls and guides you until you’re pliant for him.

He knocks your hand away from your clit, but before you can complain about it he’s nudging the head of his cock against your entrance and you’re gasping all over again, grinding sloppily as you try to get him inside you. He finally sinks the head in and you allow gravity to aid you in taking the rest of him, moaning brokenly and high pitched at the stretch of him inside you. Bucky groans deep in his chest, hands clutching your waist like a lifeline as you slowly circle your hips, getting used to the feeling.

You stay like that for a few minutes, your breath and Bucky’s mixing hotly between you, and then you finally start fucking yourself on his cock. He grunts when you clench around him on the downstroke. You decide you like the sound, and you really wanna hear it again, so you repeat the action, moaning when the grunt is accompanied by a curse and his fingernails biting into your skin.

It takes what feels like ages for you to realize your thighs and knees ache from riding him, the weed making everything feel like it’s floating, including yourself, but Bucky sees the furrow in your brows and the shaking strain of your legs, and in the next second, he’s got you both moved from the couch to the floor. Time ticks on glacially slow like molasses as you stare up at him whipping his shirt off from where you’re sprawled on the carpet, your limbs shifting lethargically when he spreads your legs to better fit himself between them.

He fucks you hard, but not fast. you’re both much too high for anything fast, yet it still feels like your heart is going to pulse out of your chest, rabbiting away like you’ve run a marathon. Bucky buries his face in your neck, mouthing at your skin while he thrusts almost lazily.

Suddenly, his large hands encapsulate your hips, fingers pressing into the fleshiest parts of them as he sits up, getting his knees under him so he can rest on his haunches. He keeps your ass in his lap and your legs spread on either side of his waist. It makes your back arch and hips tilt up into a position that has you shuddering and sobbing when he begins to grind his thick cock deeper into you.

“I could stay buried in you for hours,” he mutters.

He reaches for the throw pillows on the couch and puts them under your hips, and then he fucks into you so hard it steals the breath right from your lungs, your mouth hanging open on a silent cry. His thrusts are sharper now, angled to perfection and making your toes curl so hard you fear them cramping and body jolt when he glides all the way back in. You gasp when Bucky rips open your shirt (his shirt, your mind helpfully supplies) and sends the buttons scattering across the floor. Those will be a bitch to find and clean up, but that’s a problem for much later.

“Fuck,” he grunts when he sees the piercings glinting in your nipples. “I fucking knew it,” he continues, squeezing each of your breasts in his hands and pinching your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, making you gasp again, pushing up into the sensation.

“Knew—“ You cut off with a whine when he pinches harder. “Knew what?”

“You walk around here wearing those goddamn cropped tank tops as tight as possible with no bra. Thought I was going crazy when I saw what looked like piercings underneath them,” he confesses as his hands travel back down to grip your waist, never losing his rhythm while he pulls you down to meet his thrusts.

At the sight of your tits bouncing with the movement of his hips, he groans, gravelly, his top lip curling as he grits his teeth and squeezes your hips so hard it hurts, and it only adds to your pleasure. With the way your skin is tingling, your pussy fluttering around him nonstop, you’re not sure if it’s because Bucky is fucking you that well or if it’s the weed. It’s probably both, and you have a split second thought that you’ll just have to test that theory once the high wears off.

It’s almost ironic, you think, how wet and messy your cunt is compared to how dry your mouth feels. It probably doesn’t help that your jaw seems to be permanently slack as you’re unable to stop your gasping inhales, only to exhale sounds you might be embarrassed about if you were clear-headed. Alas, your mind is a lot more focused on the way Bucky is splitting you open and carving a space inside you all for himself.

“So much better,” you whisper absently, fingers clawing at the carpet beneath you.

“Better than what?” he wonders, shifting to grip under your knees and push them up, changing the angle.

You cry out sharply, writhing uselessly in his hold. “My imagination,” you whimper.

Through bleary, tear filled eyes, you glance up at him just in time to see his lips pull into a boyish smirk.

“Mine too,” he confesses and sends you reeling.

You whine and reach down quickly to rub your throbbing clit, your whole body jerking as your pleasure mounts higher and higher. Bucky moans as he watches, stare trained on where you’re joined. His speed does pick up then, the slightest bit, a shudder wracking his frame as you clench down on him, head tipping back and exposing the long expanse of his throat for a brief moment before he suddenly leans over you, letting your legs fall into the cradle of his elbows.

“Won’t you be good for me and cum?” he asks, breathless, hips never letting up.

You open your mouth to reply but all that comes out is a strangled cry of his name, your fingers keeping their pace as your climax swells until it overflows, bursting like a firework and pleasure like you’ve never felt before sparks through every vein, muscle, and bone within you. Bucky curses in such a way it would make a sailor blush as you pulse around him. The sounds of your orgasm and his thrusts meeting your hips are the filthiest things you’ve ever heard, and it doesn’t stop for several moments, dragging on and on. It leaves you trembling and shaking and trying futilely to gather air in your lungs as he refuses to let up.

With great resolve, you bring your wet fingers away from your sensitive clit and up to his panting mouth. He groans at your taste, licking and sucking on your fingers as he chases his own release.

“Please,” you whisper, tears finally escaping your lashes and trailing down the sides of your face, and that seems to be his undoing.

Bucky moans, something high and broken, fucking into you rough enough that you’re worried about carpet burn. But then he pauses, gasping as he finally lets go and rides out his high.

Your hand slips from his mouth and falls to the floor like a deadweight. The only noise in the room now is the both your and Bucky’s harsh breathing and the television still playing that stupid fucking show. Bucky doesn’t move right away, of which you’re very thankful, because you’re not ready to feel the emptiness you know is coming, and it feels nice in a weird way to have him buried in you.

“Fuck,” he exhales, breaking the relative silence.

It makes you giggle, a small thing that turns into something uncontrollable, and when you manage to look at Bucky, he’s grinning in a dopey way that sets you off even more.

This is definitely something the two of you will have to talk about when you’re both sober, but like the buttons, that can be handled later. Although, something tells you it’ll all turn out just fine.

[romanticintheory]

now thinking about what it would look like if reader was betrayed by simon. i just wanna feel the excrutiating pain😞😞🙏🙏

nonny u read my mind!!

simon "ghost" riley x reader

-you meet him while you're shopping for new jewelry. your father, instead of celebrating your birthday with you, sent you a stupid amount of cash with the note, "happy birthday. get yourself something you like."

-he was always away for work. what he did, you never knew. your entire life, he had always been distanced from you despite his friendly, loud demeanor. it was like he was trying to make up for his lack of emotional and physical presence with his smiles and money.

-you believed simon riley was different.

-he tapped you on the shoulder when you were birthday shopping, clearing his throat to drown the nerves as he asked you which of the two necklaces looked better.

-you smiled kindly at him and pointed to the one you thought looked better.

-"who's the lucky lady?"

-"just my mum. figured she deserved something nice and i want it to be special for her."

-you both hit it off immediately.

-his quiet, observant demeanor was a breath of fresh air compared to what you had suffered with your father. he was always listening, keeping his eyes on you, or maybe had an arm around your waist when his attention was required elsewhere.

-he was also incredibly understanding of your situation with your father.

-"i dunno. i thought about having you meet him, but he's just always so busy and it always feels like there's no point in asking him."

-"he's that busy? what's he even do?"

-"couldn't tell you. he can't even be bothered to let me know what's so important that he has to basically ignore me my entire life. i mean, i love him, but..."

-"yeah. i get it."

-eventually, your dad catches on that you're dating someone. it's during his once-a-month call that hears a simon's "ow" following a loud thud.

-when your dad finds out it's your boyfriend, he insists on meeting him.

-"need t' get to know him, is all. especially if he's gonna be my future son-in-law!"

-when you tell simon, he gives you an encouraging nudge toward agreeing. it had been almost a year that you were together, and you were still apprehensive on letting the love of your life and the vague outline of your father meet.

-"he already knows. bet he'll keep asking until you give in, so why not now?"

-your shoulders sag in defeat as you realize he's right. so, you text your dad the details of a meetup.

-simon is oddly silent the entire drive to the restaurant. you assume it's nerves. after all, you can feel your own heart beating furiously against your chest.

-when you're about three blocks away from the restaurant, he pulls over on the curb. it's a dark night and all is quiet. for a moment, you think he's about to chicken out and propose the both of you just go home.

-he leans back in his seat and unlocks the car doors. he raises his hand as a signal and utters a single phrase:

-"don't scream."

-suddenly, the door to your seat is thrown open and someone is tying your hands behind your back and your legs together. the entire time, you're pleading, tears gathering in your eyes with a confused look on your face.

-as the last knot is secured on your legs, you hear a deep voice murmuring an apologetic, "sorry. nothing personal." is that a scottish accent? "ghost, price gave the good to go. we're ready for you."

-the soldier looks into your eyes briefly, nods back at simon, and leaves, shutting the door behind him.

-you turn your gaze back to who you thought was the one.

-"simon?"

-still, he refuses to make eye contact with you. instead, he opens the glove compartment and pulls out a balaclava and mask, pulling the former over his face.

-you can't read his eyes when he finally looks over at you, his expression now covered by a skull.

-"don't try to escape. we've got someone watchin' you, so we'll know."

-"why are you doing this?" your voice is cracking, and the tears are now slowly dribbling down to your chin and onto your lap.

-he doesn't answer you, just giving you a hardened, "i'm sorry," before taking your phone from your bag and leaving you in the dark, suffocating car.

-yeah. you believed simon riley was different.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

another chance

words: 2.3k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, ex!bf rafe, female receiving oral, p in v sex, unprotected sex, drinking/partying, mentions of drugs

“have you noticed his new girl is y/n’s twin?” kelce whispers to topper, who just nods in response. rafe claims that he’s completely over you, that he’s glad you broke up with him and he’s not harboring any sort of resentment over the fact that you left him.

“its so weird.” kelce continues, taking a sip of his drink, watching as rafe holds the new girl around the waist, but he barely looks at her, like if he keeps her in his peripheral vision that he can pretend its you, instead of the first girl he found whose features resemble yours.

“hes getting fucked up all the time now too. he showed up for golf the other day completely strung out.” topper informs kelce, who frowns.

they both know that there is nothing they can do, they don’t want to force you to get back with rafe if you don’t want to, especially with the state he’s in. rafe grabs the bottle of booze he was pouring into his cup repeatedly, forgoing the plastic solo cup in favor of drinking straight out of the bottle.

“rafey, are you gonna take me up to your bed?” the girl asks, no so subtly begging to be fucked by him.

“don’t call me that.” rafe grunts. only you can call him by that nickname, even if you did break his heart.

“are you going to fuck me or not, cameron?” she questions.

“not.” rafe says honestly. he thought it would help, to get it out of his system, to take a new girl to bed, but when he tried to kiss someone at the first party he attended after you, it made him so sick he had to leave. she didn’t look like you, she didn’t smell like you, she didn’t act like you. she wasn’t what rafe wanted.

“fine, then im leaving.” the girl stomps away, like anything could compare to you leaving. rafe finishes the rest of the bottle before flopping down on the couch, letting the alcohol flowing through his system lull him into unconsciousness.

--

“you deserve to go out and party as much as he does y/n.” stephanie sighs, trying to convince you to join her tonight at the huge beach bash, but you don’t want to risk running into rafe.

“i know, i just don't want to see him with another girl.” you sigh. you may have been the one to break it off with rafe, but you weren't fully over him yet.

“maybe you need to get with one of the turons.” stephanie shrugs. “you know what they say, to get over you gotta get under…”

“that actually might not be a bad idea.” you admit. maybe it's what you need to get rafe out of your system. a random hookup with someone you'll never see again to erase the memory of his touch from your body.

“so does that mean you're coming?” stephanie asks hopefully.

you nod, already planning what you're going to where tonight. “it does.”

--

“shit, remind me to take you out for ice cream or something to thank you for convincing me to come out tonight.” you tell stephanie, stumbling away from the main dance area with your best friend.

“girl, i knew you needed this!” she exclaims, taking a sip of her cup before frowning, realizing it's empty.

“ill go get us refills, hold on.” you are a lot less drunk than stephanie, so you guide her to sit down before heading to find more alcohol to fill both your cups, wanting to enjoy tonight as much as possible.

you finally find a plastic folding table with some bottles on it, and quickly refill both your drinks before turning, gasping when you run right into someone.

“y/n.” rafe gasps out, his eyes bloodshot like he's been crying. he drops to his knees before before you, making you raise your eyebrows. “i miss you so much. please take me back, ill do anything, ill-” rafe begins to beg, his words slurred as it's obvious he's been drinking.

“rafe.” you cut him off eventually. rafe stops speaking, hands coming to rest on the back of your calves as he looks up at you with pleading eyes. “you're drunk.”

“no, no, no.” rafes head drops, leaning to press kisses along your knees. “im drunk but im serious. please, just give me another chance, ill do anything.”

you frown, hating seeing rafe this way. you broke up with him because you thought he spent too much time getting high and needed to get control of his temper, and didn't know what you could do to help that beside let him work through it by himself. 

“anything, y/n.” rafe continues, his hands gripping your legs so tightly. you glance up, looking at all the people at the party staring at you, probably shocked that rafe would get on his knees and beg for anyone to come back.

“you need to stop doing drugs as often.” you state to rafe, making sure to keep your voice low enough to not have it in earshot. “and you gotta work on not getting so angry at the pogues. i don't care that you hate them but you can't constantly be getting into fights.”

“done.” rafe says, nodding his head. “i just need you. ive been a mess without you.”

“we can give it another shot.” you say, and rafes shoots to his feet, his lips pressing against yours. you set the cups down on the table next to you before kissing back, hearing a smattering of whoops and cheers as you make out, your head turning dizzy like the alcohol on rafes tongue is affecting your own.

“i need you, please.” rafe says, and you know exactly what he's asking for. it's what you've been desperately craving from him as well. your bodies were beyond compatible, and you know no boy would compare, so even in the period that you were broken up, you didn't even bother trying to sleep with anyone.

“i have to find stephanie.” you tell rafe, knowing you need to check your friend is good before doing anything, but you loop your fingers through rafes and tug him behind you until you get back to the main dance area, seeing topper with his arm slung around stephanies waist while she grinds against him.

“see she's good.” rafe says, his voice husky, and you know that he's already getting turned on just from the thought of having you again.

you let rafe lead you to his truck, parked in a somewhat isolated spot, but you don't care at this point if people see you as you both climb into the back seat.

“thank you for giving me another chance.” rafe says, his eyes shiny in the low lighting. “i missed you so much. i was such a wreck, but i didn't sleep with anyone else even though we were broken up. i only wanted you.”

“rafe.” you coo, pressing your lips against his, stroking your fingertips over his jaw. “i missed you too.”

“wanna show you how much it means to me.” rafe says, guiding you backwards until your back is against the seat. “that you're giving me a second chance.” his lips skim over yours before he moves lower, schooching down the seat until he's resting between your legs. he takes the bottom of your skirt and pushes it up, revealing your panties.

“you really do gotta-” your speech is cut off with a gasp when rafe presses his lips against your underwear, kissing your cunt through the fabric. 

“gotta what baby?” rafe asks, moving to kiss along your thighs as well, his teeth occasionally making an appearance as he drags them against your skin, nipping when you open your mouth to reply.

“gotta get your shit together since im giving you a second chance.” you finally finish your sentence.

“oh, i will baby.” rafe says, rubbing his fingertip over your center, smirking to himself when he sees the fabric dampened with your wetness. “i went so crazy without you, id do anything to not lose you again.”

“take them off, please.” you whine. rafe tugs at your panties, sliding them down your legs until he has to guide them over your heels. he takes the material and scrunches it up, tossing it onto his drivers seat. “i’m keeping those.” he informs you.

“whatever.” you roll your eyes but can’t hide your smile, reaching down to rub your thumb against his cheekbone. 

rafe sighs with relief into your touch, leaning his head against your hand. “i’ve missed your taste.” he licks his lips, eyes on your core.

you spread your legs as much as you can in the back of the truck, wishing momentarily that you were having this reunion in a bed, but you know rafe wouldn’t be able to wait that long.

rafe doesn’t hesitate to lean forward, burying his head between your legs. his wide tongue flicks through your folds, licking over your cunt before swirling around your clit.

“god, you’re so good at this.” you moan out, moving your hand to rafes hair, taking the strands between your fingers to keep his face shoved into your cunt, not that he plans on stopping any time soon.

rafe sucks at your clit, feeling rewarded by coaxing moans out of you. his hands grip your thighs, squeezing your delicate flesh between his fingertips.

rafe moves his mouth lower, letting out obscene sounds as he slurps the wetness away from your hole before pushing his tongue against the ring of muscle. he begins to thrust immediately, pushing his tongue in and out of your entrance, giving you the first stimulation you’ve had since you broke up.

“the sweetest taste.” rafe says when he pulls away slightly to kiss along your inner thighs. “i don’t know how i lived without it.”

“you know what my plan was for tonight?” you hum, needing more from rafe, even as his mouth drops back around your clit. “to get with a random turon to help myself get over you.”

you feel rafe pause, his entire body stilling before his eyes raise to make contact with yours. “you were going to sleep with someone else?”

“i couldn’t get over you, i had to do something.” you say, knowing exactly what rafes reaction will be as he rises, wanting to draw that fire and passion out in him. it didn’t matter that you were the one who broke up with rafe, you thought at the time it would be better for both of you, but now you know you can’t live without him.

rafe moves quickly, his strong hands gripping your hips and turning you over. you quickly adjust, pushing up on your elbows as you place your knees on the seat, arching your back to show off your cunt.

rafe releases himself from his shorts, tugging them down his thighs before he lines himself up, sinking in with one quick stroke. your walls meld to his cock, still feeling like you were made for him.

“imagining me sleeping with another guy has really got you worked up, huh?” you question, breath coming out in a pant as rafe instantly begins to thrust.

“shut up.” rafe groans, hips snapping forward into yours. “you’re mine. you’re never leaving me again.”

“yeah?” you question, bringing your ass back to meet rafes thrusts. “gonna get clean for me? gonna get it together?”

“anything for you.” rafe vows, glancing out the windows to make sure no one is looking as he takes you from behind, not that they would be able to see through the tint anyways.

you moan as rafe grabs your ass, relieved to finally have him inside of you again as his cock repeatedly enters you. rafe knows he can’t last very long, having been so desperate for you that he can’t hold himself back as your cunt clenches around him.

“feels so good rafey.” you whine.

“call me that again.” rafe says, needing to hear the nickname slip from between your lips again.

“rafey.” you call out. rafe flips you yet again, this time onto your back as he immediately reenters you, moving too fast for you to comprehend until his mouth is pressed against yours in a searing kiss.

“again, please.” rafe mumbles against your lips, bringing a hand to your clit and rubbing it with his thumb as he thrusts rapidly, knowing your next moan is going to send him over the edge.

you place your hands on the back of his head, giving him a strong kiss as he plays with your clit, your orgasm building as well. you pull away when you can’t hold back the moan anymore, “oh god, yes, rafey.” rafe groans, burying his head in your shoulder as he cums, pumping into you throughout his high as his thumb finally brings you to orgasm as well, clit pulsing as you both pant, letting out low moans and groans as your bodies come down.

rafe presses kisses to your cheeks, your jaw slackened open, still recovering. “i’ve missed your pussy so much.” rafe says before looking down, watching himself pull out.

“come here.” you whine, hating that he’s pulled away. rafe quickly tucks himself back into his pants before hovering over your body again, cuddling into your shoulder. it’s an awkward position, legs askew and body parts pressing against the doors of the truck.

“can i take you home? i want to hold you while i sleep, make sure i don’t let you go again.” rafe says, willing to beg if he needs to.

“of course.” you stretch out your sore muscles, eyelids already feeling heavy, but you know you just have to wait for rafe to drive you home before you can sleep.

it’s not awkward despite the time away from each other as you move to the front seat, making sure to text stephanie, who quickly responds with a picture of herself in toppers bed, making you giggle.

“i love you.” rafe blurts out, unable to not tell you when hearing your laugh.

“i love you too.” you lean over to kiss rafe on the cheek as he drives you back to his house, but you are already home as his fingers link with yours.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @rafecamerongirl @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld

[petew21-blog]

Like father like son, Part 1

Father P.O.V.

My ex-girlfriend is a witch. Fucked up right? Yeah I never believed in any of this and she knew. And after cheating on her she said she would "make me believe". What a load of crap. I thought. Well, not anymore. Me and my son found ourselves in each others bodies. It happened just as we were normally chatting. We weren't that close, cause I was working most of the time and he was out with his friends enjoying his teen years. I wanted to get close to him, but he seemed to not want to open up to me.

If you have seen a movie Vice Versa where the Dad and son swap bodies while touching the skull. Or is it a transformation? Ah, doesn't matter. Well it happened a bit like that too. We swapped bodies literaly. The clothes stayed where they were previously.

After the initial shock and realisation that it was my girlfriend who caused it, we went to get information from her. My son had to drive, cause his body didn't have a license yet. The start was horrible. He couldn't even keep his eyes on the road, so I had to yell at him what to do. But eventually we got to her house.

On the front door was a note that said:"Went on a holiday for a month. And to my lovely ex-boyfriend - having sex with someone else makes it irreversible :) have fun"

Yeah, so we found out that we were fucked until she got back from her holiday. A month in my teen son's hormone filled body and him in my horny middle aged one. Our chances are very slim I tell you

We got back home, staying quiet on the ride home. We went into the living room and got on the sofa. Then we made a deal. We had to respect our bodies as if it were our own, no sex allowed, no drugs and alcohol. We had to scratch the alcohol, has David said he wants to enjoy the adulthood. But besides that we agreed on everything. We then proceeded to tell each other the details of our schedules. I had to mentally prepare for being in high school again and he had to prepare for a real job. I was actually kind of happy to get back there. I missed being a teen, having less responsibilities etc. Being you, enjoying life, music, love, sex. Ah, fuck. That's gonna be hard

We even had a talk about respecting each others privacy, but after we thought about it, we came to a conclusion that there was no way we could avoid looking at our new bodies naked. We had to take shower some day, or take a shit. All of these are gonna be pretty intimate so that's why.

We agreed that our bedroom's are gonna me our own places that the other can't got to.

And so we went on and parted our ways while leaving to our bedrooms. Maybe we shoould have went to each other's bedroom, but we haven't thought about that. All our clothes were in the other room, but neverminf. My room has its own access to the bathroom so I'll enjoy that.

I took off my shirt first. My sons's athletic lean teen body just being there. My finger tips touching my haird, my lips my cheeks. Tracing my neck, through the ridges I now had, going down to my beautiful abs covered in hair. I was getting hard, is it weird being hard from touching your son's body? Jesus that sounds horrible. But I am not touching my son, he is touching himself, I am just the one in control now.

I got on the ground and took off my jeans. Revealing black boxers with KISS logo and two hairy and long legs. Quite similar to mine actually. Genetics is strong I guess

I headed to the bathroom to get a proper look and clean my new body. I can't neglect my son now.

I took off his boxers. His dick flacid now, but still big. "That's my boy". I went to the bath and turned on the water. But I had no intention in lying in the water now. I had much exploring to do. I started from my feet. The beautiful and clean feet. No hard skin. I took the water and sopa into my hands and brought it up everytime I explored a part of his body. Everything wet marked a place I already knew now

I was now soaping his body above the waist line, enjoying the tight skin of his body. Being young is so amazing. He is mostly hairless, if you don't count some private areas.

I was now soaped up completely, just scrubbing the body up and down. Enjoying every movement I took.

Wow his butt is really nice, almost woman-like. Maybe I could let some guy fuck me. Wait, I can't do that. We can't have sex in each others bodies or we would seal the deal. But masturbation is not off the table I guess.

I took my middle and index finger to try out the resistsance of his hole. Nah, this hole already knows what is about to happen. And then it hit me. Fuck, his prostate his so sensitive. I went and pushed my fingers inside, while my other hand started jerking my already throbbing cock.

It couldn't have been long cause I was almost collapsing from the abundance of strong emotion and stimuli. I shot cum into the bath and then got down into the water.

What a body. Maybe this month isn't gonna be so bad after all

I got out of the shower, to find my body in his own clothes staring at me

"Wow, dad. I see you didn't waste any second huh? Hope you enjoyed it"

"Dave, it's... I'm sorry, it's the hormones. I haven't been this horny for so long. I couldn't control it"

"It's fine dad. I am gonna do the same tonight"

The rest of the week went on pretty smoothly. There were some embarassing moments, like hearing myself having an orgasm in the other bedroom, or finding open porn videos on tv, but besides that not much. I was enjoying being a young guy in high school again and having David's friends around was really great. We hung out all the time. But his friend Liam seemed like he wanted to be more than friends with David. Which complicated things a bit. I was in David's gay body now and his body wanted Liam. But I was holding on

One day we were on a beach just enjoying the weekend. We played some beach volleyball and then we got back to our towels to sunbathe

Andrew, my straight friend, then said:"David? Isn't that your dad with a new chick? Damn, he scored a nice one this time. Would like this one for myself too. Look at those tits."

And he was right. David was walking around with a blonde woman that had a hand on his waist. What took me off guard was that my body started making out with her and grabbing her tits. Not caring who might see.

Wait, does this mean what I think it means? Are we really stuck like this now? I just hope he didn't have sex with her

I changed the story a tiny bit. I was really inspired by the photos so it went to a different direction than I hoped for. I hope you don't mind. If you do, please message me and I'll do another one especially for you :)

A story request from inbox: Hi, can you write a story about a closeted widow muscle dad swapping with his straight twink son and somehow their nethaw body fits their role? The dad in his twink son's body came out as a bottom gay and the sun in his muscular dad's for found a girlfriend which he fvcks every night. Thank you

[unknownplane]

The Court Jester Part 2

Yandere Batfam x GN Reader

Pt. 1, Pt. 3, Pt. 4

As Batman questioned his life choices, his other children listened in on the conversation.

"So that's what happened to (Y/N). I thought they had just moved out." Tim stated.

"How did that weak-" Damian started but was cut off by Tim. "You didn't even know them! They were nice and understood how important our work was, so they tried to stay out of the way!"

Dick and Jason just blocked out the arguing as they started to remember all the things (Y/N) did for them. How they tried to help even in the smallest ways. Like how they would always make sure there was a fresh pot of coffee or how they would rotate the types of cookies in the manor so everyone got one they liked.

When (Y/N) first moved out, the first thing the family realized was how much they did. It felt weird the first couple of weeks, but they eventually got used to it. Seeing (Y/N) like this made them worry, even if some of them wouldn't admit it (Damian). This awoken something in each of them.

Dick saw someone who was with him since the beginning. Someone he could always trust to be there for him when he needed it, and now he could see it was gone. The twisted smile on their face showed all the pressure he and his family put on them, and he felt nothing but guilt.

Jason saw someone who went through something similar to him. He saw the torture in their eyes. He heard the manipulation in the words that came out their mouth. He knew that if he could just get to them and talk like they used to, it would all be fine. He was determined to get them back, and this time, they weren't leaving his sight.

Tim saw the calculation that went into this trap. He saw the brain of (Y/N), who even in this state was brilliant. He saw the planning, the research, the trail and error of each detail in this plan, all to catch Batman and have a conversation with him before your "Dad" got there. He wanted to bounce ideas off you. He wanted to talk about plans with you. He even wanted to just hang out and chill with you, but in order to do that, he would need to get you back. And when you came back, he would do all those things with you.

Stephanie saw the abandoned side of you. She realized that she didn't know anything about you. Your age, your favorite color, your birthday, she didn't even know your last name. She knows what it's like to have a distant relationship with a parent figure, and she wants to help. She wants to know all of those things. She wants to know you. And if you let her (you will), she wants to be the closest person to you.

Damian saw a weak follower who needed not only to learn but also needed to be protected. Even though you are older than him, he can see a flame in you that with the right training and teacher could become a full-on blaze. He would be that teacher. He would be the one you look up to. Nobody else. He just needed to get you back to start training.

They all looked at each other as if thinking the same thing,"Let's go get (Y/N)."

Back with (Y/N)...

"Dads gonna be so proud when he sees this! I mean, look at you! You look totally defeated!" (Y/N) said between giggles. They were giddy. They had talked to dad about if they could try something with the Bat, and surprisingly, he agreed. After the Bat was caught, they sent the signal to their father so they could show off their work.

Batman was tied to a chair. His utility belt on the floor as they made him make a choice. Drop your utility belt, or I will kill these two parents and make a boy and a girl orphans. They knew what they were doing. They knew it was wrong. But God did it feel good. To have his eyes looking at them and having him see what they truly are. Not their mother but (Y/N). Even if they look a little different now.

As the Bat was beginning to start a sentence the door busted open.

"Hello Peanut!" The Joker exclaimed as he came in. "Look at all the fine work you've done. My little Jester".

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

Thank you so much for all the support on the first part of this! Everytime I see your guys support I am baffled at how wonderful you all are. Quick question do you want this to be completely platonic or do you want some people from the family to be romantic? Also should I add more people from the DC Universe? Thank you so much for reading!

@asillysimp