#when i tell you this is the fic of all time

[harrysfolklore]

labyrinth - fc43

summary: as the only female driver on the grid, everything in yn's life was planned like a perfect qualifying lap. then franco colapinto had to show up. first, he was just that annoying new guy who took her best friend's seat. then he became the driver she absolutely couldn't stand (or at least that's what she kept telling herself) word count: over 13k + social media posts

folkie radio: GUYYYYSSS SHE'S HERE! i started writing this fic in september and it's finally her time to shine!! this is my first time writing driver!reader so please be gentle with me. also, HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! may all of your wishes come true

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 1,027,537 others

yourinstagram p6 in zandvoort ! happy to see max on the podium for his home race. see you soon monza 🇮🇹

view all comments

username1 LEGEND

username2 p6 with that tractor feels like a podium finish fr

username3 give your seat to danny already

oscarpiastri Well done stinks 👊

↳ logansargeant Don’t praise her, her ego gets inflated

↳ username2 BEST TRIO ON THE GRID

↳ yourinstagram you’re both so jealous of me

redbullracing Keep pushing ! 💙

↳ username1 FIX HER FUCKING CAR

username4 p6 in a redbull? just hand the seat to someone more deserving

francolapinto Amazing 🙌🙌

↳ username2 franco is such a fannn

danielricciardo Proud of you 👌👌

↳ username1 haters want to create this beef between yn and danny for the seat but him adores her

maxverstappen1 Look she’s a nice teammate

↳ yourinstagram you adore me 😤

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

A knot forms in your stomach as you read the messages. Something about the tone doesn't sit right with you. You quickly head towards Logan's motorhome, your mind racing and your axiety creeping in.

When you arrive, Oscar is already there, leaning against the wall with a concerned expression. Logan sits on the couch, his shoulders slumped and his gaze fixed on the floor.

"Logan?" you ask softly, stepping into the room. "What's going on?"

He looks up at you, then at Oscar, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and resignation. "I… I'm not coming back for the next race," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You feel like you've been punched in the gut. Deep down, a part of you had known this was coming. Rumors in the paddock spread faster than a Formula 1 car on a straight, and there had been whispers about Logan's seat for weeks. But you hadn't wanted to believe it. You'd pushed those thoughts aside, convinced that if you just ignored them, they wouldn't come true.

"What? What do you mean you're not coming back?"

Oscar pushes off the wall, his brow furrowed. "Mate, what happened?"

Logan takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "Williams… they're replacing me. I'm out."

The room falls silent for a moment as the news sinks in. Then, all at once, you feel a surge of anger coursing through your veins.

"They can't do that!" you exclaim, your voice rising. "It's mid-season! You've been improving, you've been working so hard. How can they just… just throw you away like this?"

Logan shrugs, a bitter smile on his face. "Apparently, they can. And they have."

A wave of emotions come crashing to you. Anger at Williams for their decision, frustration at the ruthless nature of the sport, and an overwhelming sadness for Logan.

Oscar moves to sit beside Logan, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, mate. This is bullshit."

You start pacing the room, your anger building with each step. "Who are they replacing you with? Some pay driver? Some rookie who's never even touched an F1 car?"

"Franco Colapinto," Logan says quietly.

You stop in your tracks, whirling to face him. "Colapinto? The F2 kid? Are they out of their minds?"

Oscar tries to interject, his voice calm. "YN, maybe we should-"

But you're too fired up to listen. "No, Oscar! This is wrong. It's so wrong. Logan deserves better than this. He deserves a chance to prove himself. How is he supposed to do that if they don't even give him a full season?"

Logan looks up at you, a mix of gratitude and sadness in his eyes. "I appreciate you having my back, stinks. But it's done. There's nothing we can do about it now."

You shake your head. "No, there has to be something. They can't just replace you with some F2 kid like that. They're out of their minds."

"YN," Oscar cuts in firmly. "I know you're angry. We all are. But right now, we need to be here for Logan. This isn't about us or what we think is fair. It's about supporting our friend."

As Oscar's words sink in, you feel a wave of guilt wash over you. He's right, of course. This isn't about your anger or your sense of injustice. It's about Logan, your friend who's just had his dream ripped away from him.

The three of you have been racing together since you were kids, climbing through the ranks side by side. You've shared victories and defeats, laughter and tears. You've pushed each other to be better, to chase your dreams relentlessly. And now, one of you is being left behind.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. "I just… I can't believe this is happening."

Logan manages a small smile. "It's okay, stinks. I appreciate your passion. It's one of the things I've always admired about you."

"Remember when we were in karting, and YN nearly got into a fist fight with that kid who tried to push Logan off the track?" Oscar says with a small smile, trying to light up the mood.

"How could I forget?" +

Logan chuckles softly, "She was like a tiny ball of fury."

You feel a smile tugging at your lips despite the situation. "Hey, nobody messes with my boys and gets away with it."

"And nothing's changed," Oscar adds, giving you a fond look. "We've always had each other's backs, through everything. This is not the exception."

Without another word, the three of you come together in a tight group hug, a physical representation of the bond you've shared for so many years.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri and 2,017,697 others

yourinstagram logan, you’re more than just a friend — you’re family. we’ve raced together since we were kids, dreaming of f1. to see that dream cut short for you is heartbreaking

your talent, dedication and kindness have always shone through. you deserved better than this mid-season swap. this sport can be cruel, but this feels especially unfair and i’m angry that my friend’s journey has been interrupted

but i’m also incredibly proud of you, logan. you have handled this with grace and strength and this isn’t the end for you — it’s just a detour. love you, stinks 🥲

view all comments

username1 IM SOBBING

username2 i still can’t believe this

username3 well hold your tears because you’re next

pierregasly Chin up, mate @/logansargeant you’re a champ 👊

alex_albon You will always be family @/logansargeant, It’s so sad to see you go

username4 that was cute now hand your seat to daniel or yuki

username5 THE FIRST PIC 🥺🥺 IM NOT OKAY

username6 oh she’s PISSED

username7 this is so unfair for logan

username8 colapinto has an enemy on track already and it’s her 😭

username9 the best trio will be incomplete now i’m not okay

username10 YOU NEXT BYE BYE

logansargeant Thank you for everything, go make me proud 💙

↳ username1 IM SOBBING AGAIN

liked by francolapinto, landonorris and 410,764 others

williamsracing Franco Colapinto to race for the remainder of the 2024 season.

username1 VAMOOOS

username2 hello?? hes cute

username3 OKAY I SEE

username4 good thing for the team, sargeant was just not it

alex_albon Welcome to the fam @/francolapinto 👊

username5 KIIING

username6 an f1 kid who's not even top 5 right now in the championship? risky move

yourinstagram not even giving logan a proper goodbye? yall suck

THIS COMMENT HAS BEEN DETELED

username1 OMFG YN WE SAW THAT

username2 YN 😭😭

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Monza is always a race to look forward no matter what team you drive for, but today, your excitement is just not there.

The paddock feels different without Logan's presence, you have always raced alongside him, and not seeing his face during a race weekend feels wrong.

As you make your way through the bustling crowd, you can't help but feel a pang of sadness and anger. Inside the Red Bull hospitality area, you find Max already settled in, scrolling through his phone. He looks up as you approach, a sympathetic smile on his face.

"Hey, kiddo. How are you holding up?" he asks, gesturing for you to take a seat next to him.

"As well as can be expected, I guess," you slump into the chair, running a hand through your hair. "It just feels wrong, you know?"

"Yeah, I get it," Max nods, his expression thoughtful, "How's Logan doing? Have you talked to him?"

The mention of Logan's name ignites that spark of anger inside you again. "He's… he's putting on a brave face, but I know he's hurting. This whole situation is such bullshit, Max. Williams made a huge mistake."

Max raises an eyebrow, sensing the storm brewing beneath your calm exterior. "You want to talk about it?"

That's all the invitation you need. The words start pouring out of you, your voice rising with each sentence.

"It's just so unfair! Logan was improving every race. He was working his ass off, putting in the hours, doing everything the team asked of him. And for what? To be tossed aside mid-season for some rookie?"

Max tries to interject, "Well, Colapinto has been pretty impressive in F2-"

But you're on a roll now, barely registering his words. "Impressive in F2? So what? F1 is a whole different ball game. Logan was just starting to get comfortable, to really show what he could do. And now they've brought in this Colapinto kid who's never even driven an F1 car, who's probably a paid driver who's just going to waste everyone's times. What kind of message does that send?"

You stand up, pacing back and forth as you continue your rant. "Williams is making a huge mistake. They're throwing away all the work Logan put in, all the data they've gathered. For what? A gamble on some unproven talent? And don't even get me started on how they handled it. No warning, no real explanation. Just 'Thanks for your service, now get out.' It's disrespectful, it's short-sighted, and it's everything that's wrong with this sport sometimes."

Max watches you, a mix of concern and surprise on his face. He's never seen you this fired up before. "YN, I understand you're upset, but-"

"No, Max!" you interrupt him, "You don't understand because you'll never have the fear of having your seat taken from you out of nowhere. You're Max Verstappen. You're safe. But for the rest of us… we're always one bad weekend away from losing everything."

Max's brow furrows, clearly taken aback by your statement. "YN, that's not true. I worked hard to get where I am-"

"I know you did," you interrupt again, your voice softer now. "I'm not saying you didn't. But you have to admit, your position is different. You're a world champion. You're untouchable. But for drivers like Logan, like me… we're always looking over our shoulders, always wondering if this race will be our last."

Max is silent for a moment, processing your words. "I guess you're right, I've been in a secure position for so long, I forgot what it's like to worry about your seat." He pauses, then adds, "But you know, you're in a unique position too. You're the only woman driving a Formula 1 car. That's pretty special. You should feel-"

You cut him off, your frustration flaring up again. "Exactly! I'm the only woman here, Max. Do you have any idea how much more pressure that puts on me? Every move I make is scrutinized. Every-"

Before you can continue, you spot Franco Colapinto walking past the Red Bull area, chatting animatedly with his new race engineer. The sight of him in Williams colors sends another wave of resentment through you, and you turn away abruptly.

"I need some air," you mutter, storming out of the hospitality area, leaving a bewildered Max in your wake.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The sun beats down as you stand next to Oscar on the flatbed truck, waiting for the drivers' parade to begin. The usual buzz of excitement surrounding Monza feels muted to you, overshadowed still by Logan's absence and the presence of his replacement.

"Oi, what's with the long face?" Oscar nudges you playfully with his elbow. "You look like someone stole your last Tim Tam."

"Oh shut up, you dork," you can't help but crack a small smile, "As if I'd ever let anyone near my precious Tim Tams."

"Too right," Oscar grins. "But seriously, how are you holding up?"

You shrug, trying to keep your expression neutral for the cameras. "Oh, you know, just peachy. Nothing like a bit of midseason drama to spice things up, right?"

"Always the optimist, aren't you?" Oscar rolls his eyes, "Come on, I bet you twenty quid you can't name all the Italian F1 circuits without googling."

"You're on, Piastri," you say, grateful for the distraction. "Monza, Imola, Mugello…"

As you're racking your brain for more, you notice Franco Colapinto approaching. Your playful mood evaporates instantly.

Franco's eyes widen as he gets closer, clearly starstruck. "Uh, hi," he says nervously. "I'm Franco. I just wanted to introduce myself."

Oscar, ever the diplomat, smiles and extends his hand. "Hey mate, welcome to F1. I'm Oscar."

Franco shakes his hand before turning to you, his expression one of barely contained awe. "And you're YN. I… I can't believe I'm actually meeting you. You're such an inspiration. The way you've broken barriers in this sport, it's incredible. I've followed your career since your F3 days and-"

You cut him off, your voice cool. "Thanks. Welcome to the grid."

Franco's smile falters, but he presses on. "I just wanted to say how much I admire what you've accomplished. You've paved the way for so many young drivers, especially women in motorsport. It's an honor to be racing alongside you."

You nod stiffly. "Thanks," you repeat, your tone making it clear that you're not interested in continuing the conversation.

An awkward silence falls over the group. Oscar, sensing the tension, tries to smooth things over. "So, Franco, how are you finding the step up to F1 so far?"

As Franco turns to answer Oscar, you take the opportunity to step away, moving to the other side of the truck. You can feel Oscar's gaze following you, but you can't bring yourself to engage in small talk with Logan's replacement, no matter how well-intentioned he might be.

As you're standing alone, Alex approaches, a sympathetic smile on his face. "Hey, mind if I join you?"

You shrug. "Free country, Albon. Or free truck, I guess."

Alex chuckles softly. "How are you doing? I know this can't be easy for you."

You sigh, your guard dropping slightly with Alex. "It's… complicated. I'm angry for Logan, but I know it's not Franco's fault. It's just…"

"It's the reality of the sport we're in," Alex finishes for you. "Trust me, I get it. Been there, done that, got the Red Bull rejection t-shirt."

Your stomach twists at the mention of that, suddenly remembering the endless conversations and warnings from your team. And how despite having a contract for next season, there's threats about your seat being take away after every race weekend. But you push the thought away.

"Always the comedian, aren't you?"

"Someone's got to keep the mood light around here," Alex grins. "But seriously, I know it's tough. Franco's a good kid, though. He's been working really hard, trying to learn as much as he can."

You nod, not quite ready to let go of your resentment but appreciating Alex's perspective. "How's he settling in?"

"As well as can be expected," Alex says. "He's got a lot to learn, but he's eager. It's a big step up from F2, but he's handling the pressure well so far."

You're about to respond when the parade starts moving. Alex gives you a supportive pat on the shoulder before moving back to his spot. As the truck rolls down the straight, the cheers of the Tifosi wash over you. You lift your hand to wave, a mix of emotions swirling inside you that go beyond just Logan's replacement.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 1,638,578 others

yourinstagram p8. it is what it is. ciao monza 👋

view all comments

username1 you will always be the moment

username2 FIX THE FUCKING CAR ALREADY

username3 ouu shes DONEEE

username4 most undeserved seat on the grid i swear

username5 anyway RICBULL IS COMING

francolapinto Such a pleasure to race alongside you!

↳ username1 franco respects and admires her so much i love it

↳ username2 im pretty sure yn hates him tho

username6 the constructors championship is gone thanks to her

logansargeant Chin up, love you 💙

↳ username2 i miss them so much

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 and 12,739 others

f1gossip YN arriving at Red Bull HQ in Milton Keynes

Tensions running high as rumors swirl about potential driver shake-ups. Sources say YN’s recent performance has bosses considering options

Is the Honey Badger eyeing a comeback or could young Liam Lawson be making the leap to F1? 🤔

view all comments

username1 bro...

username2 they better fix her car NOW

username3 RICBULL RICBULL

username4 honestly the best thing for the team would be her getting replaced

username5 YAAAS SHE'S OUT FINALLY

username6 oscar is the only 2023 rookie who actually puts in the work

username7 some people need to start putting some respect on yn's name bc yall keep forgetting she was third in the championship and got her first win during her ROOKIE SEASON and the reason she's struggling rn is bc redbull is not getting their shit together

↳ username1 right??? they're just saying shit

↳ username4 you said it yourself, she has a championship winning car and she's not delivering. she should be out

username8 YN GET BEHIND ME

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 1,638,538 others

yourinstagram great quali, we should have some fun tomorrow 😚

view all comments

username1 SLAYYY

username2 p4 after all the nonsense surrounding her seat? feels right

username3 THE QUEEN OF BAKU FOR REAL

lilyzneimer my favorite supergirl 💙

username4 she got lucky

username5 don't care, we still want danny or liam in that seat

username6 enjoy the race bc it might be your last

username7 watch her on that podium tomorrow

logansargeant Super proud always

↳ username2 LOGAN WE MISSS YOUUUU

francolapinto 🤩

liked by username1, logansargeant and 270,847 others

redbullracing Solid race and a bunch of points for the team 👊

Result 🏁PIA, LEC, YN P3, NOR, Max P5, ALO, ALB, COL, HAM, BEA

#F1 #RedBullRacing #AzerbaijanGP

view all comments

username1 SO DAMN TRUE

username2 yn back on the podium FINALLY

username3 yn saw the rumors about her seat and decided to shut them up

username4 SHES BEATING MAX FINALLY

username5 did they finally fix the car

username6 i don't want anyone commenting on her seat anymore

username7 i knew she got into that care absolutely PISSED

username8 QUEEN OF BAKU

liked by oscarpiastri, francolapinto and 1,764,933 others

yourinstagram was that entertaining? 😙 so happy to be on the podium for osco's second win, i love you so muuuch you diva

view all comments

username1 LEGEND

username2 she's so smug

username3 TELL THEM QUEEEN

landonorris The third pic is definitely your best @/oscarpiastri

↳ yourinstagram IKR

↳ username1 I LOVE THEM

logansargeant Congrats to both of you @/oscarpiastri @/yourinstagram I'm always proud of everything you achieve ❤️

↳ username2 logan should be there too i'm sad now

↳ oscarpiastri Love you mate

↳ yourinstagram this paddock will never be the same without you

maxvertsappen1 🙌🙌 So proud of you little sister

oscarpiastri Love you stinks

francolapinto Congrats! Always an honor to race alongside you

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The drivers' briefing has just concluded, and you find yourself lingering in the room, chatting with your friends.

"I swear, I almost peed my pants at that press conference!," Lando says, his eyes widening as he recalls, "When Max and YN just sat there in silence, staring down the journalists… I thought I was going to lose it!"

Pierre chuckles, giving you a knowing look. "I knew YN was the mastermind behind that. It has her written all over it."

"Well, someone had to make a point about these ridiculous penalties," you can't help but grin.

The group's laughter is interrupted as Franco approaches, a tentative smile on his face. "Hey guys, mind if I join?"

The others welcome him warmly, and you feel a knot forming in your stomach. You force a tight smile, trying to keep your emotions in check.

"Franco, mate!" George exclaims, patting him on the back. "That was some impressive driving in practice. You're settling in well."

Alex nods in agreement. "Yeah, you're really holding your own out there. Williams made a good choice."

You feel your jaw clench at Alex's words, but you remain silent, watching as Franco's face lights up with pride and gratitude.

"Thanks, guys," Franco says, his voice humble. "I still have a lot to learn, but I'm giving it my all."

"Well, it's paying off," Lando chimes in, "Points in just your second race? You're pushing that Williams harder than we've seen in a while."

As the conversation continues, with each driver offering praise and encouragement to Franco, you feel your frustration and anger building.

The memory of Logan's disappointment and unfairness of it all, mixed with the ever present threat of you seat having the same fate, bubbles up inside you until you can't contain it anymore.

"And what about Logan?" you snap, your voice cutting through the friendly chatter like a knife. The group falls silent, all eyes turning to you in surprise. Franco's smile fades, replaced by a look of discomfort and guilt.

"YN…" Oscar starts, his tone cautionary.

But you're too fired up to stop now. "No, seriously. Everyone's so quick to praise him, but what about Logan? He was improving every race, working his ass off, and for what? To be tossed aside mid-season?"

The atmosphere in the room becomes tense. George and Alex exchange uncomfortable glances, while Pierre shifts uneasily.

Franco, looking distressed, speaks up. "I never meant for Logan to lose his seat. I just took the opportunity when it was offered to me. Any driver would have done the same."

"Oh, so that makes it okay?" his words only fuel your anger. "You just 'took the opportunity'? Do you have any idea how hard Logan worked for that seat? How much he sacrificed?"

"YN, that's enough," Oscar says firmly, placing a hand on your arm.

But you shrug him off, your eyes blazing as you face Franco. "You waltz in here, taking a seat you didn't earn, and everyone's falling over themselves to congratulate you. It's not right. It's not fair."

The room falls into a shocked silence. Franco looks like he's been slapped, his earlier excitement completely deflated. The other drivers are staring at you with a mix of surprise and disapproval.

It's George who finally breaks the tension. "YN, I think we all understand you're upset about Logan. We all are. But this isn't Franco's fault. He's just trying to make the most of his chance, like any of us would."

You feel a flush of shame creeping up your neck, but your anger is still simmering. "You don't understand," you mutter, but the fight has gone out of your voice.

Franco, looking genuinely distressed, takes a step towards you. "I'm sorry about what happened to Logan. I really am. I have nothing but respect for him, and for you. I never wanted to cause any problems."

His sincerity catches you off guard, and for a moment, you see not the driver who replaced your friend, but a young, talented kid trying to navigate a difficult situation. However, your anger and frustration gets the best of you.

"Whatever," you mumble, pushing past the group and out of the room, leaving a stunned silence as you disappear.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by lewishamilton, alex_albon and 709,639 others

francolapinto still buzzing from singapore 🇸🇬growing up watching Lewis battle in marina bay and now getting to race wheel to wheel with him... surreal doesn't even begin to cover it 🤯 and that fight with YN for position was proper racing - those last few laps were intense! thank you to the team for giving me a car that could fight at the front. vamos 💪

view all comments

username1 he’s an f1 driver now but he’ll always be a fanboy

lewishamilton Good racing kid, you've got a bright future ahead 👊🏾

williamsracing Our boy! 💙

username3 Did anyone else notice how aggressive YN was when overtaking Franco? Almost pushed him into the wall...

↳ username1 fr she looked like she wanted to crash him

↳ username4 they were racing for position, that's what racing drivers do 🙄

username5 the way he always mentions YN in his posts but she never acknowledges him 👀

username6 that move from YN was unnecessarily aggressive, could've ended badly

landonorris Great drive mate!

liked by yourinstagram, maxverstappen1 and 2,370,739 others

f1 BREAKING: Daniel Ricciardo to leave RB, the team have announced. Liam Lawson will race in place of Ricciardo for the remaining six races of the season for the team.

view all comments

username1 DANNY NOOOO

username2 this sucks man

danielricciardo Been a hell of a ride! Thank you RB family ❤️

maxverstappen1 Going to miss you mate!

username3 Wrong driver leaving... YN should be the one out

↳ username1 exactly! she's been underperforming all season

yourinstagram always grateful for everything you taught me DR. more than a driver - you've been a big brother, mentor, and friend since day one. going to miss our pre-race dance parties 🥺🤍

↳ username3 now give him your seat

↳ username1 it's no annoying to see that drivers like her have an undeserved contract extension and talented drivers get left out

↳ danielricciardo Love you kiddo! Make me proud

username5 Gutted to see Danny Ric go 💔

landonorris Won't be the same without you mate!

username7 @/yourinstagram Maybe focus more on racing than dancing 🙄

↳ username8 she's literally P5 in the championship, shut up

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

As you step off the plane in Florida, the warm air envelops you, a stark contrast to the crisp autumn weather you left behind in Europe. Your heart lightens as you spot Logan waiting for you, his familiar grin a welcome sight after weeks of tension and stress. You missed your best friend so much.

You rush towards him, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug. "I missed you so much," you say, your voice muffled against his shoulder. "That paddock sucks without you."

Logan chuckles, returning the hug with equal enthusiasm. "I missed you too, stinks." He pulls back, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Now, let's grab a beer since you're out of race cars for a while."

You nod eagerly, letting him lead the way. He drives you to a nearby bar, one you've learned over the years of knowing him was the one he used to go to during his teenage years. The casual atmosphere is a refreshing change from the high-pressure environment of the paddock. As you settle into a booth with cold beers in hand, you feel some of the tension from the past few months start to melt away.

"So, how's life outside the F1 bubble?" you ask, taking a sip of beer.

Logan grins, leaning back in his seat. "It's… different. But not all bad. Actually, I've got some news." He pauses for dramatic effect. "I've been in talks with a few IndyCar teams."

Your eyes widen with excitement. "Logan, that's fantastic! Tell me everything!"

For the next hour, Logan animatedly describes his meetings with IndyCar team principals, the tracks he's excited to race on, and the new challenges he's looking forward to. You listen intently, genuinely happy for your friend's potential new chapter.

"It's not F1," Logan admits, "but it's a hell of a racing series. And who knows? Maybe it'll lead me back to F1 someday."

"I have no doubt," you assure him, raising your bottle in a toast. "To new beginnings!"

As the conversation flows, you find yourself relaxing more than you have in months. You chat about mutual friends, swap funny stories from your junior racing days, and discuss the latest paddock gossip.

Eventually, Logan's expression turns a bit more serious. "So, Oscar's been keeping me updated on what's been going on in F1. Sounds like things have been… tense with Franco."

You feel your mood shift at the mention of Franco's name. "Yeah, you could say that," you mutter, taking a long swig of your beer.

Logan leans forward, his voice gentle but firm. "YN, I know you're upset on my behalf, but you can't keep this grudge going forever. Franco's just a kid trying to make his way in the sport, like we all were not too long ago."

"I know, I know. It's just," you sigh heavily, "Every time I see him in the garage, in your overalls, talking to your engineers… it feels wrong, Logan. Like he's stolen something that belongs to you."

"But he didn't steal anything," Logan counters. "The team made a decision. It sucks for me, yeah, but that's not on Franco. He just took an opportunity that was offered to him. Can you honestly say you wouldn't have done the same in his position?"

You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. Logan has a point, and you know it.

"Look," Logan continues, "I've had some time to process all this, and I've come to terms with it. It's a cutthroat sport, YN. We all know that. Franco's not the villain here."

"But the way it happened," you protest, "mid-season, with no warning. It wasn't fair to you."

"Fair doesn't always come into it in F1. It just happens," Logan shrugs, "Besides," he adds with a hint of a smile, "I hear he's doing a decent job. The kid's got talent."

"He's alright," you grudgingly admit. "But he's not you."

Logan laughs. "No one's me, stinks. I'm one of a kind."

You can't help but crack a smile at that. "True enough."

"So," Logan says, his tone turning serious again, "can you promise me you'll try to ease up on Franco? Give him a fair shot? For me?"

You sigh deeply, considering his words. "I'll try," you finally concede. "But I'm not promising to be his best friend or anything."

"That's all I ask," Logan says, looking relieved. "Now, is this just about Franco replacing me, or is there something else going on? You seem… I don't know, more on edge than usual."

For a moment, you consider telling him about the talks with Red Bull, about the uncertainty surrounding your own seat. The words are on the tip of your tongue, but something holds you back. Maybe it's not wanting to burden Logan with your problems, or maybe it's not being ready to voice your fears out loud.

"No, nothing else," you lie, forcing a smile. "Just the usual F1 stress, you know how it is."

Logan nods, though he doesn't look entirely convinced. "Well, if there ever is anything, you know you can talk to me, right? Even if I'm not in the paddock anymore."

"I know," you say, feeling a pang of guilt. "Thanks, Logan. Really."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by logansargeant, landonorris and 1,289,673 others

yourinstagram florida !!! is one hell of a drug

view all comments

username1 AHHH she visited logan

logansargeant Next time we're doing the gator tour 🐊

↳ username2 i love them sm

oscarpiastri No invite for your favourite Aussie? Rude

↳ username2 we need the iconic trio together again

username3 they've been friends since forever, love how they support each other

username4 Logan and YN's friendship >>>>>

username5 Why is she on holiday when she should be working on her driving?

username6 the way logan always has her back 🥺

username7 surely there are better uses of time with 4 races left and her seat under threat?

francolapinto Amazing 🙌

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You arrive at the Red Bull hospitality area in Austin, the excitement of being back after the break palpable in the air. As you walk in, you spot Max lounging on one of the sofas, scrolling through his phone.

"Well, well, look who finally decided to show up," Max grins, looking up from his device. "Did you get lost in the Texas wilderness?"

You roll your eyes playfully, dropping your bag on a nearby chair. "Oh, I'm sorry, Your Highness. Did I keep you waiting? I was busy signing autographs for all my adoring fans. You know how it is… oh wait, you don't."

"Ouch, that hurt," Max clutches his chest in mock pain, "And here I was, about to show you something interesting, but now I'm not so sure you deserve it."

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. The banter with Max always helps you relax before a race weekend, and you've missed this during the break. "Oh come on, spill it, Verstappen. You know you want to. Don't make me steal your phone."

Max chuckles and pats the seat next to him. "Alright, alright. Sit down before you hurt yourself trying to reach my phone."

As you sit down, he pulls up a video on his phone. "Check this out. It's an interview with your biggest fan."

It's an interview with Franco. Your initial instinct is to look away, a mix of guilt and stubbornness rising in your chest. But something in Max's expression makes you watch.

"Lewis Hamilton and YN are my biggest idols in F1," Franco is saying, his face earnest. "The way YN races, her dedication and skill, it's truly inspiring. She's broken so many barriers and shown that talent knows no gender. I feel honored just to be on the same grid as her."

As the interview continues, Franco heaps more praise on you, his admiration clear in every word. You feel a twinge of guilt, remembering how cold you've been towards him. The genuine respect in his voice makes you uncomfortable, forcing you to confront your own prejudices.

"Her overtake on Leclerc in Interlagos last year? That was pure brilliance," Franco continues. "I've watched that move countless times, trying to learn from it. YN's not just a great driver, she's changing the face of the sport. I hope one day I can race wheel-to-wheel with her and show her the respect she deserves on track."

Max turns off the video and looks at you expectantly. "I think you owe someone an apology," he says, his tone gentle but firm.

You nod slowly, the realization sinking in. A wave of shame washes over you as you remember your cold behavior towards Franco. "I think I do," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Hey, we all make mistakes. What matters is how we fix them. Franco's a good kid, and he really looks up to you. Maybe it's time to give him a chance?"

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. "I actually talked to Logan last week," you confess, watching Max's eyebrows rise in surprise. "He's doing well, actually - focusing on IndyCar now. But we talked a lot about… everything."

"Yeah?" Max shifts in his seat, clearly intrigued. It's not often you open up about these things.

"He basically told me I needed to stop fighting battles that weren't mine to fight. Said he appreciates me having his back, but Franco isn't the enemy here. He's just chasing his dream, like we all did. Logan said he remembers how it felt, getting his first chance - we all do."

Max nods thoughtfully. "Logan's right, you know. We've all been there at some point - getting an opportunity because someone else lost theirs. It's just how F1 works sometimes."

"I know," you admit, standing up. "And I've been unfair to Franco. He's actually doing a really good job with Williams, fighting in the midfield with a car that's not the easiest to drive. And here I am, making him feel unwelcome when I should be supporting talent. Some role model I am, right?"

"So what are you going to do about it?" Max asks, though his smile suggests he already knows.

You spot Franco heading towards the Williams hospitality area. "I'm going to make it right."

Walking over to Williams, you feel your heart pounding a little faster with each step. You find Franco sitting at one of the tables, going through data on his laptop with his race engineer.

"Franco?" you call out. "Could I steal you for a moment?"

He looks up, surprise evident on his face. "YN? Hi… yeah, of course." He glances at his engineer, who nods and excuses himself.

"Mind if I sit?" you ask, gesturing to the empty chair. When he nods, you take a deep breath. "I owe you an apology. A proper one."

Franco starts to shake his head, but you hold up a hand. "Please, let me finish. I've been unfair to you, and it wasn't right. I let my loyalty to Logan blind me to the fact that you're just a talented driver making the most of your opportunity. I've been cold, sometimes even hostile, and you didn't deserve any of that."

"I… thank you," Franco says quietly. "That means a lot. I want you to know, I reached out to Logan when-"

"I know," you interrupt gently. "He told me. That's partly why I'm here. You showed real class doing that, Franco. And you're doing a great job with the car. That P8 in Baku? That was proper racing."

A genuine smile breaks across his face. "Coming from you, that really means a lot. You know, I've watched your races since I was in F3. The way you fought through all the doubters, proved everyone wrong… you're really an inspiration."

You feel your throat tighten unexpectedly. "I had no idea."

"That's why your opinion means so much," Franco admits, fiddling with his water bottle. "When you seemed disappointed in me being here… it hurt, you know?"

"I'm sorry," you say again, meaning it more than ever. "How about we start fresh? Maybe you can talk me through that overtake in Baku - I noticed you used a similar line to what I did in Interlagos last year."

Franco's eyes light up. "You caught that? I actually studied your move while preparing for the race! The way you positioned the car on entry…"

You spend the next twenty minutes discussing racing lines and overtaking techniques, the earlier tension completely dissolved. Franco's enthusiasm is infectious, reminding you of your own early days in F1.

When you finally walk back to Max, you feel lighter than you have in months. He greets you with a knowing smile. "Feel better?"

"Much better," you admit. "Sometimes you need a kick in the right direction So thank you, I needed that wake-up call."

"Anytime," he smirks, throwing an arm around your shoulders, "Can't have my teammate being the paddock villain, can I? That's my job."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Liked by francolapinto, maxverstappen1 and 1,667,459 others

yourinstagram rookies keeping us on our toes 😤 good battles today @/francolapinto

view all comments

username1 THIS IS LEGENDARY

username3 franco is going to piss his pants

williamsracing Our rookie giving the Red Bull a run for their money 💙

username4 she shouldn’t be acknowledging that a rookie in a williams is making it hard for her… embarrasing

username5 the start of YN and Franco's friendship? 👀

username7 the tension between these two was getting old, glad they're friends now

username8 HANDLE YOUR SEAT

username8 MY DUO 😭❤️

francolapinto Next time I won’t make it easy for you!

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The private jet hums quietly through the night sky towards Mexico City. Most of the other drivers are asleep, exhausted from the intense Austin weekend. You find yourself unable to sleep, your mind still racing from the events of the day. Glancing around the dimly lit cabin, you notice Franco is also awake, absently flipping through a magazine.

Catching your eye, he gives you a warm smile and moves to the empty seat across from you. "Can't sleep either?"

"Too much adrenaline still," you admit, adjusting your position to face him better. "Great drive today, by the way. That point was well-deserved."

Franco's face lights up at the compliment. "Thanks! Though it's nothing compared to your battle with Lando. I was watching it from behind and thought 'there's no way she's going to make that stick' but then you just… did. It was incredible."

You laugh softly, careful not to wake the others. "There was a moment there where I wasn't sure either. But sometimes you just have to go for it, you know?"

"Oh, I know exactly what you mean," Franco grins. "Like that time in F3 when I tried to go around the outside at Spa and ended up practically in another timezone."

"Please tell me there's video of that," you snicker.

"Unfortunately for my dignity, yes. I think my engineer still uses it as an example of what not to do."

The conversation flows naturally, jumping from racing stories to childhood memories. You find yourself genuinely enjoying his company, something that would have seemed impossible just a few weeks ago.

"So what made you want to be a racing driver?" you ask, genuinely curious.

As Franco launches into how he found his passion for the sport, you find yourself really looking at him properly for the first time. The soft cabin lighting catches the angles of his face, and you notice details you'd overlooked before. His eyes are warm with flecks of gold, crinkling slightly at the corners when he smiles. There's a small scar above his right eyebrow, barely noticeable unless you're paying attention. His dark hair is slightly disheveled from the long race day, a few strands falling across his forehead.

You catch yourself thinking how handsome he actually is, in that classic way. His animated expressions as he talks about racing make him even more attractive, his passion for the sport evident in every gesture.

"...and that's when I knew I wanted to do this forever," he finishes, then looks slightly embarrassed. "Sorry, I'm rambling. I tend to get carried away when talking about racing."

"No, don't apologize," you say quickly. "It's refreshing to see that kind of enthusiasm. Some of the guys get so jaded after a while."

Franco's smile turns a bit shy. "Speaking of enthusiasm, I'm really excited about racing in Mexico this weekend. It's one of my favorite cities - the atmosphere is just incredible."

"The fans are amazing there," you agree. "Though I still haven't found a really good place to eat in Mexico City. The hotel restaurant gets old pretty quickly."

Franco's eyes light up. "Oh, you have to let me help with that! I know a couple of amazing restaurants in the city. There's this incredible place that serves the best traditional dishes you've ever tasted, and another one in that does contemporary Mexican cuisine that would blow your mind."

You find yourself intrigued, both by the suggestion and the eager way he's describing it. "That sounds way better than room service."

"We could..." he hesitates for a moment, then continues with determination, "we could go together, if you'd like? After Thursday's media duties maybe? I'd love to show you my favorite spots."

There's something endearing about the way he's trying to sound casual while clearly being nervous about asking. You feel a flutter in your stomach that you definitely weren't expecting.

"You know what? That sounds great," you say, surprised by how much you mean it. "It's about time I experienced proper Mexican cuisine."

Franco's face breaks into a brilliant smile. "Perfect! I'll make a reservation for Thursday evening then. Trust me, you won't regret it."

As the conversation continues, you can't help but notice how natural it feels now, how easily you're laughing at his jokes and sharing stories. It's hard to believe this is the same person you were avoiding just a few weeks ago.

As other drivers start stirring from their sleep, Franco returns to his original seat, but not before confirming your dinner plans one more time.

Watching him walk away, you find yourself looking forward to Thursday evening more than you probably should. It's just dinner with a colleague, you tell yourself, even as you catch yourself smiling at the thought of it.

"Just dinner," you whisper to yourself, but somehow, you're not entirely convinced.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

yourinstagram has added to their close friends stories

replies:

georgerussell63 So that was all the giggling I heard during the flight

oscarpiastri I’m so telling Logan

maxverstappen1 Can I say “I told you so” now?

francolapinto close friends privileges already? wow

↳ yourinstagram don’t push it colapinto

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The hotel lobby is relatively quiet as you wait for Franco, having agreed to meet there before heading to the restaurant. You've opted for casual - a simple black dress that makes you feel confident but not overdressed.

"Ready to have your mind blown by the best food in Mexico City?" Franco's voice makes you turn. He's wearing dark jeans and a well-fitted navy button-down, and you try not to notice how good he looks.

"Big claims require big proof," you tease, falling into step beside him.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Lando's familiar accent cuts through the lobby. He's just coming in from what looks like a gym session, and his surprised smirk makes you want to roll your eyes. "Interesting dinner plans?"

"Just showing YN the local cuisine," Franco says smoothly, though you notice his ears turning slightly pink.

"Right, right," Lando drawls, his eyes dancing with amusement. "The local cuisine. In your nice shirt. At that fancy place you've been talking about for weeks-"

"Goodbye, Lando," you cut him off, grabbing Franco's arm and steering him toward the exit, trying to ignore Lando's knowing chuckle behind you. You knew it was a matter of time before the entire grid finds out you went out with Franco.

The restaurant is everything Franco promised and more. The conversation flows easily between you, and you find yourself charmed by the way he seamlessly switches between Spanish and English while ordering, the way he leans in slightly when you're talking, the way his hand occasionally brushes yours across the table.

"No way," you laugh, taking another sip of wine. "You did not challenge your friend to a dance-off."

"I absolutely did," Franco grins. "And I won, by the way. Though there might have been some tequila involved."

"I would pay good money to see that."

"Play your cards right," he says with a playful wink, "and maybe you'll get a private demonstration."

The flirtatious comment catches you off guard, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks. Franco seems pleased with this reaction, his confidence growing throughout the evening.

The evening continues, warm and comfortable. Franco insists on ordering dessert - "You haven't lived until you've tried their churros con chocolate" - and you find yourself sharing stories between bites of perfectly crispy churros.

"So," Franco says, wiping chocolate from his lip with a napkin, "you, Oscar, and Logan - that's quite the trio. How did that happen?"

You laugh, fondly remembering those early days. "We practically grew up together in karting. I was this tiny kid trying to prove myself, Oscar was already sassy even at eight years old, and Logan… well, Logan was Logan."

"Let me guess - immediate chaos?" Franco grins.

"Oh, absolutely. We used to drive our parents and coaches crazy. These three kids who wouldn't stop racing each other even after practice was over." You smile at the memory. "We've been inseparable ever since. Though now Logan's living his best life in Florida."

Franco's eyes soften. "You really miss having him in the paddock, don't you?"

"Yeah," you admit quietly. "I do. But he's happy, and that's what matters. Plus, he texts me stupid memes at least twenty times a day, so it's like he never left."

After asking for the bill — one that Franco didn't let you pay no matter how much you insisted — you decided to walk back to the hotel. You were aware that his hand was close to yours as you walked side by side, almost brushing your fingers, but you didn't dare to take that step, and neither did he.

You reach the hotel, but instead of heading straight for the elevators, Franco suggests taking the scenic route through the garden. The night is too nice to end just yet.

"I have to say," he remarks as you walk, "you look beautiful tonight. That dress is…" he makes an exaggerated chef's kiss gesture, making you laugh.

"Smooth, Colapinto. Very smooth."

"I try," he winks, and you roll your eyes but can't hide your smile.

The walk to your room comes too quickly. Outside your door, Franco turns to you with a soft smile.

"Thank you for tonight," he says. "It was… nice. Really nice."

"It was," you agree, finding yourself meaning it completely. "Thank you for showing me your favorite spot."

There's a moment where you both just look at each other, the air charged with something unspoken. Franco takes a small step closer, then seems to think better of it.

"Goodnight, YN," he says softly, squeezing your hand once before letting go.

"Goodnight, Franco," you reply, watching him head down the hallway.

As you close the door behind you, you lean against it, smiling to yourself. You can already hear Max's smug "I told you so" tomorrow, but somehow, you can't bring yourself to care.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 14,892 users

f1gossip🚨 Franco Colapinto and YN spotted having dinner together in Mexico City. They spent over two hours at the restaurant according to witnesses.

view all comments

username2 This is getting interesting... 👀

username3 STOP I'M CRYING 😭❤️

username4 they're just friends guys, calm down

username4 the way he makes her laugh though!!!

username5 watch how they'll deny everything tomorrow

username6 MY HEART CAN'T TAKE THIS

username8 this has to be more than just friendship...

username10 I MANIFESTED THIS

username12 focus on racing instead of dating maybe?

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The Brazilian rain hammers down relentlessly on the Interlagos circuit. It's barely 6 AM, but the paddock is already buzzing with nervous energy for the early sprint qualifying. You stifle a yawn as you check your phone for what must be the hundredth time that morning. Another message from Franco pops up - a picture of himself looking comically miserable in the rain with the caption "Maybe if we all pretend we didn't see the rain, they'll cancel quali?"

The past week has been unexpected in the best way possible. After that dinner in Mexico, something shifted. What started as sharing breakfast in the hotel turned into spending every free moment together. During the long flight to São Paulo, George had dramatically sighed and switched seats with Franco, muttering something about "not being able to take the longing looks across the plane anymore."

"Someone's cheerful for 6 AM," Max comments, walking into the garage as you quickly type a response to Franco. "Let me guess - Argetinian company keeping you entertained?"

You try to hide your smile but fail miserably. "Shut up and focus on qualifying."

"Oh, I'm focused," he grins. "Unlike someone who keeps looking at their phone every two minutes."

"I'm just-"

"YN," Max interrupts, counting off on his fingers, "he waited outside our debrief yesterday just to walk you to dinner. He somehow always knows your coffee order. And don't think I didn't notice him giving you his jacket yesterday."

You feel your cheeks heat up. "We're just friends."

"Right," Max smirks. "Friends. Like how Charles and I are 'just friends' when we're trying to punt each other off track."

"Shut up, as if you weren't secretly in love with each other."

A few hours later, as you prepare for the drivers' parade, Oscar sidles up next to you with his trademark grin.

"Well, well, if it isn't the stranger," he says dramatically. "Remember me? One of your best friends? Though I suppose you wouldn't know, being attached at the hip with a certain Williams driver these days."

You roll your eyes, but there's no heat in it. "Miss me that much, Piastri?"

"Just saying, used to be we'd get coffee before parade, now it's all 'Sorry Oscar, Franco already got me coffee,'" he mimics your voice terribly.

You're about to retort when Franco appears, and Oscar's grin widens. "And that's my cue. Have fun, kids!" He winks before sauntering off.

"Ignore him," you say when you notice a small smile in Franco's face, "He's the perpetual pain in my ass."

"He's okay," Franco says, standing closer to you. You're trying to get your hair in order when you realize something's missing.

"Shit," you mutter, patting your pockets. "I forgot my hair tie."

"You always braid it before races, right?"

"Yeah," you sigh, still searching. "I'm stupidly superstitious about it. Haven't gotten into the car without a perfect braid since F3."

"Here," Franco pulls a hair tie from his wrist. At your surprised look, he shrugs. "I started carrying one after Mexico. Just in case," he shrugs, as if he was saying the most obvious thing ever, "Turn around."

"You know how to braid hair?"

"Sisters, remember? I'm practically a professional." His fingers are gentle as they work through your hair. "Besides, can't have you breaking your streak because of a missing hair tie."

You're acutely aware of the other drivers watching with varying degrees of amusement. Lewis gives you a knowing wink as he passes, while Charles not-so-subtly elbows Oscar and gestures toward you two.

"There," he says finally, securing the end with your hair tie. "Perfect braid for perfect racing."

You reach back to feel it - it is indeed perfect. When you turn to thank him, you find him much closer than expected, his eyes soft as they meet yours.

"Show off," you manage to say, trying to ignore the way your heart is racing.

"Only for you," he replies with a wink, and you hear what sounds suspiciously like Alex whispering "Just kiss already" to George.

The moment is broken by the announcement for drivers to take their places on the parade truck. As you climb aboard, you catch Oscar making exaggerated swooning gestures at you, while Max simply mouths "Just friends?" with a knowing smirk.

Franco takes his place beside you on the truck, close enough that your shoulders touch, and somehow you find you don't really care who's watching.

"Nice braid, by the way," Charles calls out teasingly from behind you. "Franco, think you could do mine next time?"

"Get your own hair stylist, Leclerc," you call back, and Franco's laugh next to you makes everything - the bad qualifying, the rain, the teasing - worth it.

The truck starts moving, and Franco's hand finds yours, hidden from view between you. You intertwine your fingers with his, and neither of you let go for the entire parade.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 and 21,765 others

f1_insider🚨 Christian Horner spotted leaving Williams hospitality after a 2-hour meeting in Brazil. This comes amid increasing speculation about driver changes for 2025.

view all comments

username1 They're not even trying to be subtle anymore…

username2 leave YN alone challenge

username3 Franco to Red Bull confirmed? 👀

username5 WAIT WHAT

username7 the timing of this… right before quali 😬

username8 everyone acting surprised like this hasn't been brewing for weeks username11 They're trying to destabilize her before the race

liked by maxverstappen1, carlossainz55 and 2,093,032 others

yourinstagram brazil never disappoints. p15 ➡️ p2. proud of this one.

view all comments

username1 IM STILL CRYING

username2 MIC DROP

maxverstappen1 Proper racing today 💪🏻 That defense in the last 10 laps 🔥Love you kiddo, couldn't ask for a better teammate

↳ username1 max said SHE'S NOT GOING ANYWHERE

danielricciardo THIS IS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT! That's my girl!

username3 EVERYONE'S PRIDE AND JOY

username4 she got lucky and still no win this season

landonorris Absolute monster in the wet

logansargeant THAT'S MY BEST FRIEND

username5 this is why she deserves that seat

username6 where are all the haters now? 🤫

username7 that battle through the midfield was masterclass

username8 Silencing critics in the best way possible

liked by username1, username2 and 14,088 others

f1gossip YN's radio messages during Franco's crash show a different side to their "rivalry." Listen to how her voice changes when she finds out it's him. Sometimes the real feelings come through in moments like these.

view all comments

username2 this doesn't sound like someone who "hates" him

username3 top I'm crying 😭

username4 "tell me he's okay" broke me

username6 forget the rivalry narrative, that's genuine concern

username7 MY DRIVERS STOOOOP

username8 this is the most emotion we've heard from her all season

username9 notice how she's been cold towards him for weeks but the second he's in danger…

username10 SOMETHING SHIFTED

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The easy banter has become your normal over the past week. Ever since Brazil, where you fought your way from P15 to P2 in treacherous conditions, something has shifted between you. The walls you'd carefully maintained started crumbling during that rain-soaked weekend.

Your phone buzzes again - this time it's Christian Horner requesting a meeting. Your stomach tightens instinctively. These meetings have become more frequent throughout the season, always with subtle undertones about your future with the team.

Franco: "Meeting with James in 10. Wish me luck not falling asleep in the sim debrief. Call you after?"

You: "Sure, good luck x"

The 'x' slips out before you can stop it - you've never added that before. Your finger hovers over the delete button, but he's already seen it.

Franco: "Did THE YN just send me a kiss? Screenshots being taken. This is historic

You're still smiling about your early interaction with Franco when you walk into Christian Horner's office, but his expression is serious enough to make your smile fade. You've been here before - these "casual meetings" that could determine your future.

"YN, thanks for making time," he gives a polite smile, "Please, take a seat."

You sit, trying to read his expression. Last week's podium trophy sits on a shelf behind him - your trophy, earned after fighting through half the grid.

"As you're aware, your contract includes certain performance clauses. While your recent results, particularly Brazil, have been impressive, we need to consider all options for the team's future."

That familiar knot in your stomach returns. "What kind of options?"

"I was at Williams recently," Christian says carefully, "discussing various possibilities, including Franco Colapinto."

The world seems to tilt slightly. Franco. At Williams. Meeting about possibilities. Just like with Logan.

"I got P2 in Brazil," you say, hating how defensive your voice sounds. "Started P15. In the rain. I battled with the entire grid while also defending for Max to secure a double podium."

"Yes, and it was an exceptional drive-"

"I'm fifth in the championship. I've scored podiums consistently despite the car being a nightmare to drive most of the times. What more do I need to do?"

Christian's expression remains neutral. "This isn't about any single result, YN. We need to evaluate all potential scenarios for the team's future."

"So you're considering replacing me," you say flatly. "With Franco."

"I trust you understand this is just business, YN," Christian says as you stand to leave. "We have to explore every option."

You pause at the door, turning back slightly. "Of course. Business." Your voice is perfectly controlled. "Just like my P2 in Brazil was business. My podiums were business. Everything I've given to this team has been business."

"YN-"

"No, I get it. Really." You manage a smile that doesn't reach your eyes. "If you'll excuse me, I have some sim work to review."

It hits you as you drive back to your apartment - every friendly conversation, every shared coffee, every late-night text… none of it was real. Franco isn't your friend. He's just another driver who sees you as an obstacle to overcome, a seat to claim. Just like everyone else since you entered F1, smiling to your face while plotting to take what's yours.

Back in your apartment, your phone keeps lighting up with Franco's messages, each one making your chest tighter. You can't bring yourself to block him - that feels too much like acknowledging how much this hurts. Instead, you just... stop responding. Set the phone aside. Focus on your laptop, on race data, on anything else.

Your phone rings - Oscar's familiar face popping up on the screen.

"Finally!" he exclaims when you answer. "I've been trying to reach you all day. You missed the most hilarious thing - Lando tried to make vegemite pasta."

Despite everything, you find yourself smiling. "Please tell me someone filmed it."

The conversation flows easily, almost making you forget about everything else. Almost.

"Oh yeah," Oscar adds casually, "ran into Franco at paddle today. He seemed pretty worried-"

"He better focus on preparing for his Red Bull seat instead."

"His what?" Oscar sounds confused. "Stinks, what are you on about?"

"Horner had meetings at Williams. About Franco. About possibilities. Sound familiar?"

"Hang on, hang on. Did you even talk to Franco about this? Because he genuinely seemed concerned-"

"Of course he seemed concerned, Os. That's the whole point."

"YN, I know you. You're doing that thing where you push people away before they can hurt you. But stinks, I really don't think-"

"I have to go. Sim data to review."

"At least talk to him-"

You end the call, turning back to your laptop. Three races left. Three chances to prove everyone wrong. No more distractions, no more letting your guard down.

You'll do it the only way that matters in F1 - on track, where lap times speak louder than friendly texts, and championship points mean more than shared coffee breaks.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You've managed three weeks. Three weeks of perfectly crafted indifference, of calling him "the Williams driver" in interviews, of taking different routes through the paddock just to avoid those chance encounters that used to make your heart skip. Three weeks of pretending you don't miss his stupid sparkle messages, or the way he always saves you a coffee during early practice sessions.

But now your hands won't stop shaking as you stare at your dark phone screen, trying to ignore the screens showing the mangled Williams in the Las Vegas Strip. You've watched the replay seventeen times without meaning to, each time feeling your heart stop at the impact.

"This is getting ridiculous," Max's voice is quiet beside you, making you jump. You didn't even hear him approach. "Stop with this nonsense."

"I'm fine," you respond automatically, thumb still pretending to scroll on your black screen. "Just checking the timing sheets."

"Your phone isn't even on." Max's hand appears, gently taking the phone from your trembling grip. "They've taken him to UMC. Just go."

"I can't," you whisper, finally looking up at your teammate. You hate how your voice catches. "Everyone will—"

"Who cares what everyone will say?" Max interrupts, already reaching for your bag. "Hannah's got a car waiting. Go."

"I don't want to," you protest weakly, but even you can hear how unconvincing it sounds. "I don't need to—"

"Stop," Max's voice is firm but gentle. "You're not going back to this. Not after everything. You care about him, stop pretending you don't."

You take a shaky breath, then nod once. You're out of the garage before you can change your mind and rebuild those walls you've spent three weeks perfecting. Because Max is right – you do care. You care so much it terrifies you. And right now, nothing else matters except knowing he's okay.

You hate hospitals. You've spent too many hours in them after your own crashes, but somehow this is worse. Standing outside his room, you're suddenly unsure of everything. Three weeks of carefully constructed distance seems ridiculous now.

"You can come in instead of hovering at the door," Franco's voice carries from inside, slightly hoarse but still holding that hint of amusement that always used to drive you crazy. "Unless you're planning to run away again."

You step inside, trying to maintain some composure even as your heart clenches at the sight of him. "I wasn't running away," you say automatically, but it sounds weak even to your ears.

"No?" He raises an eyebrow, wincing slightly at the movement. "So you just happened to take different paddock routes?"

"Franco—"

"It's back to Franco now? Not 'the Williams driver'?" There's hurt beneath his teasing tone, and it makes your chest tight. "That last interview was particularly cold, by the way. Very convincing."

You stay by the door, arms crossed. "I thought that's what everyone wanted. Space. Distance. Rivalry."

"You're here now though."

"Max made me come," you lie.

"Sure he did." Franco's small smile tells you he sees right through you. "Nothing to do with how many times you asked if I was okay over the radio?"

You feel your cheeks heat up. Of course he's heard the radio already. "I would have asked about any driver."

"YN," his voice softens, and it breaks something in you. "Stop pretending. Please. I miss my friend."

The last words hit you hard, and you finally let your arms drop, taking a step closer. "I miss you too," you whisper, and it feels like admitting defeat and victory all at once. "I was so scared when I saw the crash."

"Come here," he says quietly, patting the edge of the bed.

You hesitate for just a moment before crossing the room, carefully sitting beside him. "I'm sorry," you say softly. "For these past weeks. For being harsh. For—"

"I know," he interrupts, his hand finding yours. "I know. But you're here now."

You squeeze his hand gently, feeling the walls you've built crumbling completely. "You could have died today and I would have never—" you stop yourself, running your thumb over his knuckles without thinking. "All because of this stupid seat."

Franco's quiet for a moment, then lets out a small laugh that turns into a wince. "Is that what you think? That I'm after your seat?"

"Aren't you?" You try to pull your hand away but he holds on. "The meetings with Christian, the—"

"YN," he interrupts, waiting until you look at him. "I never got any offers from RedBull.”

You freeze. "What?"

"I'm not taking your seat," he says softly. "In fact, I still don't have a seat."

"But...the meetings with Horner?" You're struggling to process this. "He basically told me they were considering options for next season, and those options were you in my seat."

"Sounds to me that he was pressuring you." His eyes hold yours. "My team had meetings with RedBull, yes. But we never got a solid offer, not even for VCARB."

You feel slightly dizzy. Three weeks of avoiding him, of building up walls, of convincing yourself he was just another driver trying to take your seat...

"I'm an idiot, aren't I?" you finally manage.

"Well, you've taken the long way through the paddock just to avoid me," he teases, then becomes serious. "I wouldn't hurt you like that. You know that. Or at least, you used to."

"I got scared," you admit quietly. "When I heard about the meetings, I just... it was easier to push you away than to admit that I care about you."

The silence that follows feels heavy with everything unsaid. Finally, Franco squeezes your hand gently.

"Well," he says softly, "nearly dying seems to have worked out well for me then."

"That's not funny," but you're fighting a smile.

"Made you come see me though, didn't it?"

"I hate you," but there's no heat in it.

"No, you don't," he says confidently. "You just admitted you care about me. No taking it back now."

You roll your eyes but don't deny it. "How are you feeling, really?"

"Like I crashed a car at 200mph," he grins, then softens. "Better now though."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by francolapinto, maxverstappen1 and 1,908,479 others

yourinstagram champion x4 🏆so proud to be part of this journey. no one deserves it more than you @/maxverstappen1. thank you for being the best teammate anyone could ask for, on and off track.

view all comments

username1 IM CRYINGGGGG

username2 this is my family

maxverstappen1 Couldn't ask for a better teammate and bonus little sister. Thanks for having my back all season 💪🏻

↳ username1 HE SAID SHE'LL ALWAYS BE MY TEAMMATE

danielricciardo Look at my kids making me proud 🥹

christianhorner Fantastic team effort all year. Proud of both of you.

↳ username1 FIX HER CAR AND STOP FEEDING HER TO THE PRESS!!

username5 the way max waited to celebrate until she crossed the finish line

username6 remember when they said they wouldn't get along

username7 brother sister energy we love to see it

francolapinto Amazing work 🙌

↳ username8 bro ready to take her seat

username9 their relationship is too pure. max adores her like she's his little sister and yn would take a murder charge for him pretty much

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

After showering and changing post-race, you're walking back to your hotel room when your phone buzzes. Franco's name lights up the screen: "Hey... could you come to my room? Need to get my mind off today. Room 412."

You hesitate only briefly before responding. After everything that's happened - the crash, the hospital, the conversations that followed - things between you have felt different.

Qatar had been grueling, you managed to score a solid P4 but the story for Franco had been different. He was part of a collision during turn one that ended his race right there. You heard it on the radio and your heart couldn't help but ache for him.

When you knock, Franco opens the door looking drained, his usual spark dimmed by the day's events. He's changed into soft sweatpants and a team shirt, hair still damp from his shower.

"That bad, huh?" you say softly, following him into the room.

He drops onto the bed with a sigh. "First lap incidents are the worst. All that preparation, all those hours in the sim… gone in seconds."

You settle into the armchair across from him. "I saw the replay. That wasn't your fault - Hulkenberg came across way too aggressively."

"Doesn't matter whose fault it was. Points are points, and I need them." He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you've come to recognize as stress. "The pressure's getting intense. Everyone keeps asking about next year's plans, and I just… I don't know."

"Hey," you say gently, moving to sit beside him. "You're one of the most talented drivers out there. Everyone sees it."

"Do they?" His voice is uncharacteristically vulnerable. "Because right now it feels like every mistake is being magnified. One DNF and suddenly everyone's questioning if I deserve the seat."

"I know that feeling too well," you admit. "I mean, I spent three weeks avoiding you because I thought you were after my seat."

That draws a small laugh from him. "Not my finest moment in the hospital, guilt-tripping you about it."

"It worked though, didn't it?" you nudge his shoulder playfully, "Plus, I guilt tripped you about Logan's seat for the longest time, it's only fair."

"Yeah, well, I was desperate. Do you know how hard it was watching you take different routes through the paddock just to avoid me?"

"About as hard as it was taking those routes," you say softly. "I missed you."

"You did manage to find some creative paths though," he teases, his mood lightening slightly. "I particularly enjoyed watching you duck behind Lando in the airport."

"I did not duck!"

"You absolutely did. Practically dove behind him. Poor guy had no idea why you suddenly needed an urgent conversation about sim settings."

You feel your cheeks heat up. "Well, what about you? Mr. 'Oh sorry, I didn't see you there' when we literally made eye contact in the media pen?"

"That was Oscar's fault! He told me my hair looked weird and I got distracted."

"Your hair always looks weird."

He gasps in mock offense. "Take that back! This hair has its own fan accounts."

"Yeah, horror fan accounts maybe," you tease.

"Says the person who needed my expert braiding skills before races."

"Which you learned from your sisters, if I remember correctly?"

His expression softens. "Actually… I might have YouTube'd it after Mexico."

That catches you off guard. "You… what?"

"Yeah," he rubs the back of his neck, suddenly looking sheepish. "Spent like three hours practicing on a rope I found in the gym. Alex caught me and wouldn't stop laughing."

"That's…" you feel something warm bloom in your chest. "That's actually really sweet."

"Don't tell anyone," he grins. "I have a reputation to maintain."

"Oh yeah? What reputation is that?"

"You know, cool, mysterious, definitely not the type to watch hair braiding tutorials."

You laugh. "Hate to break it to you, but anyone who's seen you try to work the coffee machine knows you're not mysterious."

"That machine is complicated!"

"It has three buttons!"

"Three very confusing buttons," he protests. "Besides, you're the one who always shows up right when I'm struggling with it."

"Pure coincidence."

"Right," he smirks. "Just like how you 'coincidentally' started showing up earlier to breakfast after I mentioned that's when I usually go?"

You feel your cheeks warm again. "I just… wanted to beat the rush."

"The rush of exactly two other drivers who eat that early?"

"Shut up," you mutter, but you're smiling.

The air between you changes, becomes charged with everything unsaid. You're suddenly very aware of how close you're sitting, how his eyes have dropped to your lips.

He doesn't say anything else, instead, he leans forward and kisses you, soft and careful, like he's afraid you might pull away. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and you feel yourself melting into the touch.

When he pulls back, you blink at him, slightly dazed. "You kissed me."

His familiar smirk returns, though his eyes remain soft. "Well done, Sherlock."

You roll your eyes at his sass, but can't help smiling. This time, you're the one who leans in, capturing his lips with yours. The kiss is deeper, more certain. His hand slides into your hair as you press closer, and you feel him smile against your mouth.

"You know," he says softly, playing with a strand of your hair, "besides being one of my racing idols, you've also always been my crush."

You pull back slightly, raising an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Don't let it go to your head," he grins.

"Oh my god," you laugh. "You were such a fan! Did you have posters too?"

He groans, hiding his face in your shoulder. "I'm never telling you anything again."

"No, no, this is great," you tease. "I'm just a year and a half older than you, Colapinto, and you completely idolized me."

"I hate you," he mumbles into your shoulder.

"No you don't," you say confidently. "You just admitted you had a crush on me."

He lifts his head, eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief. "Still do, actually. Although the real you is much more annoying than poster you."

"Poster me didn't call you out on your coffee machine struggles."

"Poster you was much nicer," he agrees, but he's smiling as he leans in to kiss you again.

This kiss is slower, deeper, filled with everything you've both been holding back. When you finally pull apart, you rest your forehead against his.

"Been wanting to do that for a while," he admits softly.

"Even when I was avoiding you? Or giving you crap to defend my best friend's honor?"

"Especially then. Do you know how adorable you looked trying to pretend you didn't see me in the paddock?"

"Shut up," you laugh.

"Never," he grins, pulling you closer. "I have years of fan stories to make up for."

You kiss him again just to shut him up, but you can feel him smiling against your lips, and you think maybe, just maybe, this is exactly where you're meant to be.

"You're never going to let me live down the fan thing, are you?" he asks when you break apart.

"Not a chance," you smirk. "I bet Alex has pictures of you practicing those braids too."

"Don't you dare!"

But you're already reaching for your phone, laughing as he tries to grab it from you, and somehow you end up tangled together on the bed, both laughing too hard to care about anything else.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You're halfway through your coffee when Franco appears, wearing his team polo and that signature grin that used to irritate you but now makes your stomach flutter. It's still surreal how much has changed - from despising him for taking Logan's seat, to avoiding him over your seat rumors, to… whatever this is now. He slides into the seat next to you, leaning in for a kiss. You quickly place a hand on his chest, pushing him back playfully.

"Easy there, hotshot," you tease. "Let's keep it professional."

"Professional?" He raises an eyebrow, that mischievous glint in his eyes. "Come on, don't be shy now. Not after last week."

You feel your cheeks warm at the memory. "Last week was different. We were alone."

"Oh, so that's the rule? Only when we're alone?" He leans closer, lowering his voice. "Should we discuss what else happened when we were alone?"

"Franco!" You swat his arm, but you're fighting a smile.

"What? I'm just saying, for someone who used to avoid me like I had the plague, you sure changed your tune."

"Yeah, well," you stir your coffee, trying to maintain your composure, "turns out you're not as annoying as I thought."

"High praise," he chuckles. "Remember when you wouldn't even look at me in driver briefings?"

"Remember when you replaced my best friend and then tried to steal my seat?"

"I didn't try to steal your seat!" he protests. "That was all media speculation."

Before you can respond, Max drops into the seat across from you, already looking amused at finding you two together.

"Well, well," he says, reaching for the coffee pot. "If it isn't my favorite teammate and her… what are we calling this now?"

You roll your eyes. "We're calling it none of Max's business."

"Everything is Max's business," Max says cheerfully. "Especially when said business involves my teammate getting cozy with the competition."

Franco's phone buzzes and his expression shifts slightly as he reads the message, and you catch that flicker of worry he's been trying to hide all weekend. The weight of it being potentially his last race in F1 has been hanging over both of you.

"Engineers?" you ask softly.

"Yeah," he sighs. "Last pre-race meeting of the season. Hopefully not my last ever," he adds, attempting a joke that falls flat.

You reach for his hand under the table, giving it a quick squeeze. "Hey, you've shown what you can do this year. The pace is there, the talent is there-"

"The results aren't," he cuts in, running his free hand through his hair. "DNF and crashes don't exactly scream 'keep me for next year.'"

"The car's been shit though," Max speaks up, "Everyone knows that. You've outqualified your teammate and scored points."

"Try telling that to the team principals," Franco says, attempting a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Anyway, better go before they add 'chronically late' to my resume." He stands, leaning down to kiss your cheek. "See you later?"

"Of course," you say softly. "Good luck in the meeting."

Once Franco leaves, Max leans forward, "Okay, spill. Everything. Now."

"There's nothing to spill."

"Nothing to spill?" Max scoffs. "Last month you were convinced he was plotting to take your seat, and now he's kissing you goodbye at breakfast? That's not nothing."

"You don't need to know everything about my life, Max," you try to busy yourself with your coffee, that's pretty much cold by now.

"I'm the older brother you never wanted but got stuck with anyway, so I do need to know about these things."

You sigh, knowing he won't let this go. "Fine. After Qatar, things changed. We… spent time together."

"Spent time together?" Max wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"Not like that!" you protest, then lower your voice. "Well, not just like that. We talked a lot. About everything again - the rumors, the misunderstandings, why I was so angry about Logan, and… I don't know. It's different now. Good different. When I'm with him, everything just feels…" you trail off, searching for the right words.

"Right?" Max supplies, his teasing tone softening.

"Yeah," you admit. "Which makes this whole situation even harder. If he doesn't get a seat…"

"Then you'll figure it out," Max says, "But let's not write him off yet. Season's not over until the checkered flag."

You nod, but can't help glancing at the door Franco left through. "You know what's ironic?" you say, turning back to Max. "A few months ago, I was worried about him taking my seat. Now I'd give anything for him to have one, anywhere on the grid."

Max smiles knowingly. "Amazing what a few kisses can do."

"It's not just that," you protest. "He deserves to be here. He's so talented-"

"And you're completely smitten," Max interrupts, grinning.

"Shut up," You throw a napkin at him. "I'm getting a new teammate next year," you declare.

"No you're not," Max laughs. "You love me." He pauses, suddenly looking both nervous and excited. "Actually… want to know a secret?"

Something in his tone makes you lean forward. "Always."

"Kelly's pregnant," he says, a huge grin spreading across his face. "We just found out last month"

You practically leap across the table to hug him, nearly knocking over both your coffees in the process. "Oh my god! Max! I'm going to be an auntie!"

He laughs, hugging you back. "Actually…" he pulls back slightly to look at you, "What do you think about being a godmother?"

Your eyes widen. "Are you serious?"

"Of course," he grins. "Who else would I trust to teach my kid how to properly terrorize the paddock?"

You feel tears welling up in your eyes. "I'm going to spoil them so much," you warn, hugging him again. "Like, an absolutely ridiculous amount."

"I know," he laughs. "That's kind of counting on it."

"Does anyone else know?"

"Just family for now," he says. "And you, obviously. Because you are family."

You're definitely crying now. "I hate you for making me cry before a race weekend."

"Sure you do," he grins. "Just like you hate Franco, right?"

You wipe your eyes, deciding to ignore his comment. "God, I can't believe you're going to be a dad!"

"Me neither," he admits, and there's something soft and vulnerable in his expression that makes your heart squeeze. "It's scary but… in a good way, you know?"

"You're going to be amazing," you tell him seriously. "The best dad ever."

His smile turns mischievous. "Just wait until Franco gets you pregnant-"

"And that's my cue to leave," you gather your things. "Congratulations again, future dad. I love you, even when you're the worst."

His laughter follows you out of the room. "Love you too, future godmother!"

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by maxverstappen1, francolapinto and 2,099,437 others

yourinstagram ABU DHABI WINNER! 🏆✨ still feels surreal to type those words. to win the last race of the season, after everything… no words can describe this feeling. thank you to every single person who never stopped believing in me, even when things got tough. to my incredible team - this one's for you. we did it! 🧡

view all comments

username1 SHE FUCKING DID IT

username2 first win of the season in the last race - poetic justice

username3 the way everyone doubted her at the start of the season and now look at her QUEEN BEHAVIOR

logansargeant YESSSS! That move was legendary! So proud of you!

username4 this feels so RIGHT

francolapinto Mi campeona 🖤 That last lap move was 🔥

↳ username1 IM CRYING OMFG

↳ username2 THEY'RE SO TOGETHER I DON'T MAKE THE RULES

username5 brb i'll be crying while i watch that video of her hugging franco

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You're still riding the high of your Abu Dhabi win as you unlock your apartment door. Your first win of the season, in the last race - it feels poetic, somehow. Like a final "fuck you" to everyone who doubted you, who questioned your seat, who spent the entire season speculating about your future.

The trophy sits in your bag, along with the champagne bottle Charles insisted you keep. Franco follows you in, still wearing that soft smile he's had since he watched you cross the finish line.

He's staying at your apartment since he doesn't have a place in Monaco and the now traditional drivers dinner is happening, after all you time together, inviting him over felt...natural.

The past few days have been a whirlwind - the podium, the celebrations, the multiple kisses stolen in your motorhome between media duties. The flight to Monaco where you both pretended to sleep but kept "accidentally" touching hands. It should feel fast, rushed, but somehow it just feels right.

"Still can't believe you pulled that move on the last lap," Franco says, dropping his bags by the door. "Even Max was impressed, I think you broke his brain a little."

"Speaking of broken, try not to destroy anything while you're here," you tease. "Some of us actually live in Monaco full-time."

Franco turns to you with mock offense. "When have I ever broken anything?"

"Do you want the list chronologically or alphabetically?" you raise an eyebrow. "Because I distinctly remember a certain incident with Lewis' scooter…"

"That was a manufacturing defect and you know it," he protests, moving closer.

"Sure it was," you laugh. "Just like the tablet in Singapore was a 'technical malfunction'?"

He's close enough now that you can smell his cologne, the same one that's been driving you crazy since Qatar. "You're never going to let that go, are you?"

"Never," you confirm, but your voice comes out softer than intended because he's looking at you the way he has been since that first kiss in his room - like you're something precious.

"Guest room's down the hall," you say quickly, trying to maintain some semblance of control. "Bathroom's across from it, you know the drill."

Franco raises an eyebrow, that mischievous glint in his eyes that you're starting to know too well. "You're really going to make me take the guest room? After all our bonding?"

"Bonding?" you scoff. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"Well, what would you call making out in your motorhome? And the plane bathroom? And-"

You cut him off by pressing your hand to his mouth. "Those were… moments of weakness."

He kisses your palm before moving your hand, and the simple gesture shouldn't make your heart race like it does. "Lots of moments."

"I was emotionally vulnerable," you argue weakly.

"Uh-huh," he steps closer, backing you against the wall. "And now?Are you emotionally vulnerable now?" His hands find your waist, and you try to ignore how right they feel there.

"I'm…" you start, but then he's kissing you, slow and deep, and you forget what you were going to say.

When he pulls back, you're both breathing heavily. "We should get ready for dinner," you manage.

"We should," he agrees, but kisses you again.

"Franco," you mumble against his lips. "We're already late."

"Five more minutes," he murmurs, trailing kisses down your neck.

It ends up being fifteen minutes before you finally push him away, your lips swollen and hair slightly messed up.

"Guest room," you point firmly. "Get changed."

He grins, stealing one last quick kiss before grabbing his bag. "Yes, boss."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

yourinstagram has added to their close friends story

───────── ౨ৎ ────��────

You arrive at Lewis' Monaco penthouse a fashionably acceptable ten minutes late, Franco's hand resting casually on your lower back as the elevator opens to the top floor. The space is already filled with the familiar chatter of your fellow drivers, the city lights twinkling through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Look who finally made it," Charles calls out, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Got lost on the way from your apartment? It's only three blocks…"

"Traffic," you say smoothly, ignoring Franco's poorly concealed laugh beside you.

"Must have been terrible," Alex joins in, eyes twinkling. "Considering you live literally around the corner."

Lewis appears, saving you from having to respond. He hugs you warmly before turning to Franco with a grin. "No scooters allowed inside this time, mate."

"That was one time!" Franco protests as everyone laughs. "And it was definitely faulty manufacturing."

The evening flows easily, conversation and wine flowing freely as everyone celebrates the end of another season. You find yourself constantly aware of Franco's presence - the way he automatically hands you your favorite wine, how his hand finds yours under the table, the soft looks he gives you when he thinks no one's watching.

(They're all watching. These are racing drivers - subtlety isn't their strong suit.)

"Get together, everyone!" you call out later, holding up your phone. "I want a picture."

There's the usual chaos of twenty-odd drivers trying to arrange themselves, plenty of shoving and laughing as everyone finds their spot. Franco ends up behind you, his chest pressed against your back, hands resting lightly on your waist.

"Alright, someone else take it," Lando announces. "YN's too busy making heart eyes at Franco to frame it properly."

"I am not-"

"You kind of are," Pierre interrupts with a grin.

"Just like in Abu Dhabi," Oscar adds. "And the flight home. And baggage claim. And-"

"I hate all of you."

The night continues with more conversation, more drinks, and constant teasing from your friends. Even Charles joins in, muttering something about "finally dealing with all that sexual tension in the briefings."

By the time you leave, you're both pleasantly tipsy, walking back to your apartment with slightly unsteady steps. The moment your door closes behind you, the atmosphere shifts.

"So," he says finally, stepping closer. "About that guest room…"

"What about it?" you ask, but you're already moving toward him.

"I'm thinking," he cups your face with one hand, "that it would be a shame to use it."

"Would it?"

"Mhmm," he's close enough now that you can feel his breath on your lips. "Especially when the winner deserves proper celebrations."

"Or maybe you're just being a horndog," you tease, even as your hands find their way to his chest.

"Maybe," he concedes. "Or maybe I just can't stop thinking about kissing you."

Your breath catches. "You've already kissed me plenty today."

"Not enough," he murmurs, then proves his point by capturing your lips with his.

The kiss is different from all the others. Those were stolen moments, quick and heated. This is slower, deeper, like he's trying to memorize every second.

"Don't make me take the guest room," he murmurs against your lips.

You pretend to think about it, even as your hands slip under his shirt. "Well, since you asked so nicely…"

"I can be very nice," he grins, then kisses you again, backing you toward your bedroom.

"Prove it," you challenge.

The guest room remains empty that night. And many nights after.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by pierregasly, francolapinto and 2,044,387 others

yourinstagram i love my little dysfunctional family !! yes i'm the one behind the camera

view all comments

username1 THIS IS LEGENDARY

username3 FRANCO'S FACE ??? DEVASTATED BC HIS GIRL IS NOT NEXT TO HIM

lewishamilton Always family ❤️

oscarpiastri Never sitting between you and your lover boy again..

↳ username1 HUH??

↳ username2 oscar spill the deets PLEASE

↳ logansargeant to the gc NOW

↳ username3 LET ME INNNNN

↳ username4 im crying

↳ yourinstagram i hate you both

francolapinto ❤️

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

yn's biggest fans groupchat

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You're curled up on your couch, watching the lights of Monaco twinkle through your window as snow falls softly outside. Franco's just finished unpacking his bags, having arrived from Argentina an hour ago. The past weeks without him felt strangely empty, even though you'd been surrounded by family for Christmas.

"Mama keeps asking about the foods I mentioned you cook," Franco says, settling beside you with a grin. "She's convinced I'm making it up."

"Did you tell her it's mostly pasta and those empanadas you taught me to make?"

"Si, but she says my standards have dropped since moving to Europe," he laughs, stealing some of your blanket. "How was your family?"

"Good. Dad's still buzzing about Abu Dhabi. He's watched the replay about fifty times, especially that last lap battle with Max," you grin, throwing your legs over his lap. "How was home?"

"Hot," he sighs contentedly. "Really hot. Nothing like a proper Argentinian summer."

"Meanwhile I was freezing in London," you poke his side. "Speaking of which… don't you have some news to share?"

He raises an eyebrow. "How did you-"

"Carlos texted me. He's terrible at keeping secrets."

Franco runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture you've come to recognize. "I signed with Williams. As their reserve driver for next season, there's talk about 2026, but nothing concrete yet."

"Franco!" you exclaim, throwing your arms around him. "That's amazing!"

He hugs you back, letting out a relieved laugh. "You think so?"

"Of course I do!" you pull back to look at him. "Williams is doing great things, and with Carlos and Alex there…" you trail off, seeing something in his expression. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing bad," he assures quickly. "Just… I'll be based in England a lot. For simulator work and development."

"Oh," you say quietly, understanding dawning. You'd gotten used to having him here, in your space, in the paddock, in your life.

"Hey," he tilts your chin up. "It's not that far. And I'll still be at all the races. Plus," his lips quirk up, "I hear Nice has a pretty good airport."

You can't help but smile. "True. And I suppose I could be convinced to visit Grove occasionally."

"Only occasionally?" he teases.

"Well, I am very busy and important," you say loftily, making him laugh.

His eyes drop to your lips. "I'm sure you can save some time for me," he murmurs before closing the distance between you.

The kiss is soft and familiar, like coming home after a long trip. When you pull back, he's wearing that small smile that always makes your stomach flip.

You settle back against him, comfortable silence falling between you. "Talk to me about next season," he says eventually. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

"Honestly? I'm nervous," you admit. "Abu Dhabi was amazing, but what if it was just luck? What if I can't do it again?"

"The same way Suzuka was luck? And Singapore? And that insane qualifying in Baku?" Franco shifts to look at you properly, "You've been fast all season. Abu Dhabi just proved what everyone already knew."

"Smooth," you laugh, then remember something. "Oh! Speaking of next year - what are you doing for New Year's Eve?"

"Nothing yet. Why?"

"Logan's throwing a party in Florida for his birthday. Want to come?"

Franco hesitates. "Won't that be…"

"What? Weird because you stole his seat?" you tease, making him groan.

"I thought we cleared that up months ago," he protests.

"We did, I just like messing with you," you grin. "Come on, it'll be fun. There'll be cake."

“You know my weakness,” he sighs dramatically. “Does this mean I get to kiss you at midnight?”

“Bold of you to assume you’ll be my midnight kiss,” you tease, even as you lean into him.

“No? Planning on kissing someone else?” he raises an eyebrow, hands settling on your waist.

“Maybe. Logan might have a hot friend…”

"Terrible," he murmurs against your lips. "You're terrible."

"You like it," you whisper back, just before he kisses you again.

When you finally break apart, he's already reaching for the remote. "Want to watch Qatar?"

You groan, but you're smiling. "I hate you."

"No you don't," he says confidently, pulling up the race highlights.

And as he starts his terrible commentary, making you laugh despite yourself, you think about how easy this is - whatever this is between you. No labels, no pressure, just… this.

Outside, Monaco continues to sparkle under the falling snow, but in here, with Franco's warmth beside you and his voice in your ear pointing out "that brilliant move you did in turn 4" for the hundredth time, you think maybe some things don't need defining to be perfect.

Plus, you already know who your midnight kiss is going to be. Not that you'll tell him that - his ego's big enough as it is.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 and 12,870 others

f1gossip Spotted: F1's power couple enjoying a day out in Monaco! Franco Colapinto and YN were seen strolling around today, looking very cozy! The pair, who have been subject to dating rumors seemed to have no interest in hiding their relationship anymore.

view all comments

username1 THE FUUUUUCK

username2 i don't like this..

username3 FRANCO GET AWAYYYY she's going to distract him

username4 why is this lowkey powerful

username5 THIS PLOT TWIST OMFG

username6 i thought they hated each other ??

username7 oh how the tables have turned

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Music pulses from Logan's Miami beach house as you and Franco make your way up the palm-lined driveway. The December air is surprisingly warm, fairy lights twinkling in every tree and reflecting off the pool visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Your hand is loosely intertwined with Franco's, something that still gives you butterflies even after weeks of... whatever this is between you.

"Birthday boy!" you call out as Logan spots you from the entrance, where he's greeting guests in a ridiculous party hat and an even more ridiculous Hawaiian shirt.

"If it isn't my best friend and the guy who stole my seat," Logan grins, pulling you into a tight hug before turning to Franco with an exaggerated suspicious look that quickly breaks into a genuine smile. "Good to see you, man."

"Happy birthday," Franco offers with a grin, accepting Logan's enthusiastic handshake-turned-hug. "Nice shirt."

"Right? YN said it was terrible, but what does she know about fashion?"

"Hey!" you protest, but you're laughing. "I have great taste."

Logan's eyes drift meaningfully to your joined hands. "Clearly," he smirks, making you blush and Franco chuckle. "Drinks are everywhere, food's by the pool, try not to fall in."

"That was one time," you mutter as Logan gets pulled away by more arriving guests.

Franco raises an eyebrow. "One time?"

"Don't ask. Come on, I need a drink before I tell you that story."

After getting drinks, you find yourself drifting between groups, Franco's hand a constant presence at the small of your back or linked with yours. It's nice, you think, not having to overthink every interaction, every touch. Here, away from the paddock and the cameras, you can just... be.

It's about an hour into the party when Logan finds you again, now sporting two party hats and what looks suspiciously like glitter on his cheek.

"Stinks! Just the person I wanted to see," he announces, dragging you away from where Franco is deep in conversation with Alex. "Back in five," he tells Franco with an exaggerated wink that makes you roll your eyes.

"Subtle," you comment as Logan leads you to the makeshift bar.

"Please, subtle went out the window when you two showed up holding hands like teenagers at prom," he snorts, mixing drinks with practiced ease. "Speaking of which..."

"Don't start," you warn, but you're fighting a smile.

"Me? Start something? Never," he puts a hand to his chest in mock offense. "I just find it interesting that the same person who spent three hours ranting to me about 'that arrogant Argentine who stole your seat' is now making heart eyes at him across my party."

"You're impossible."

"And you're happy," he says softly, his teasing tone giving way to something more sincere. "Like, really happy. I haven't seen you like this in… well, ever."

You look down at your drink, feeling your cheeks warm. "Yeah, well…"

"Hey," Logan nudges your shoulder. "It's a good thing. You deserve this, YN. Someone who gets you, who understands the pressure and the crazy schedule and still looks at you like you hung the moon."

"He doesn't-"

"He absolutely does. Trust me, I've been watching him watch you all night. It's disgustingly cute."

"I'm kind of scared, Logan," you look down at your hands nervously, "Six months ago, I hated him. And now I can't picture myself apart from him. It's all happening really fast and I'm not quite sure when everything shifted, but I feel like there's no going back now. And that's terrifies me."

"Stinks," Logan says gently, "you didn't hate him. You were hurt because of how everything went down with the seat, and you projected that onto him. I get being scared. This sport… it complicates things. But I've seen how he looks at you and how you look at him. It's okay to have feelings for him."

"How do you always know what to say?" you look up at him.

"Because I'm your best friend," he squeezes your shoulder. "Now go get your man. And please kiss him at midnight so I can win the bet with Alex."

"You bet on us?!"

"The whole grid did. I have fifty bucks riding on tonight!"

Later, as midnight approaches, you find yourself on the beach with Franco, fairy lights and stars twinkling above. Your conversation with Logan keeps playing in your mind, making you fidgety.

"You okay?" Franco asks softly, touching your arm.

"FIVE MINUTES!" someone shouts from the house.

"I have feelings for you," you blurt out. "Like, real feelings. And I know it's fast and complicated and I was horrible to you at first because I was hurt about the seat thing but then you were so nice and understanding and you brought me coffee after bad practice sessions and you defended me to the press and you make me laugh even when I'm trying to be mad and your accent gets thicker when you're tired which is unfairly adorable and-"

"THREE MINUTES!"

"-and sometimes I catch you looking at me in debriefs and it makes me forget what I'm saying and Oscar keeps making these knowing faces at us and I pretend to be annoyed but actually I kind of like it and-"

"SIXTY SECONDS!"

"-and I know this could complicate everything but I can't stop thinking about you and the way you smile when you see me in the morning and how you remember how I like my coffee and-"

"TEN! NINE! EIGHT!"

"-and maybe this is crazy but I really really like you and I know we should probably talk about what this means for next season but-"

"FOUR! THREE!"

"-and I just needed you to know-"

"TWO! ONE!"

Franco cuts off your rambling with a kiss, one hand cupping your face while the other pulls you closer. You melt into him as fireworks explode overhead, your heart racing for reasons that have nothing to do with the celebration around you.

When he pulls back, he's wearing that soft smile that always makes your stomach flip. "You're so cute when you rant."

"I don't rant," you protest weakly.

"Mi amor, you just spent ten minutes listing all the things you like about me, including my accent."

"Shut up."

He laughs, pressing his forehead to yours. "I want to be with you, YN. Officially, properly, no more undefined territory. I want everyone to know that you're mine and I'm yours. I want morning coffees and post-race celebrations and quiet moments like this. I want all of it, with you."

"Yeah?" you whisper, hardly daring to believe it.

"Yeah," he confirms, brushing his thumb across your cheek. "I'm crazy about you, in case my terrible attempts at flirting haven't made that obvious."

"Your flirting isn't terrible."

He kisses you again, laughing against your lips. "So… is that a yes?"

You pretend to think about it. "I don't know, Logan's friend is looking pretty good tonight…"

"Terrible," he murmurs, pulling you impossibly closer. "You're terrible."

"You like it," you smile, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I like everything about you."

Your heart skips. "Everything?"

"Everything," he confirms. "Even your terrible taste in coffee."

You laugh, bright and happy, before pulling him down for another kiss. Around you, the party continues, music and waves and distant fireworks creating a perfect backdrop to this moment. When you finally break apart, you're both breathless and smiling.

"Happy New Year," you murmur.

"The happiest," he agrees, and as he leans in again, you think that maybe some feelings are worth being scared of, especially when they lead to moments like this.

Plus, you just won Logan a bet. Not that you'll tell him that.

[kailoweenie]

*⁠.⁠✧My good Looking Boy

Dae-ho/player 388 x GN! Reader

Author's note: no games/debt AU, established relationship, a bit of angst in terms of his insecurities yet mostly fluffy for the guy!!

I love him so much, Also I'm going to keep most of my fics as gender neutral as possible!!

It was just one of those lazy days in your shared apartment room. You were sat side by side on the comfy sofa, his arm lazily stretched on top of the plush cushion, all his focus on the TV screen.

He let out a soft chuckle, pointing out a funny joke that was said on the screen which you merely nodded in response. You paid no mind to what he was watching, more focused on the man himself than the screen.

The black locks of hair almost reached his shoulders, opting to tie a small part of his hair up and leave the rest as it is.

It was how he usually styled it. You've seen it times and times before, yet, it didn't stop you from admiring him every time he did so. How he'd run his hand through his hair, brushing them back behind his ear, taking out one of his spare hair ties- the ones you bought for him- before splitting the upper part of his hair and pulling it into a small pony tail.

It took him a few more minutes before he finally noticed your gaze on him. He tilted his head as he spoke "what's up?" A small giddy smile on his lips as he turned his focus towards you

"your hair." You responded "it's really nice." You quickly added on afterwards

He smile falters a bit, seemingly a bit surprised at your words, his hand slowly reaching up to the back of his head, his fingers threading his locks of hair.

"you...you think so?" He sounded almost insecure, not truly sure if you were serious or not. Considering its length and how his...dad always seemed to have berated him for it.

Despite moving out years ago, his father's words seemed to still stick to him even now.

"yeah. It looks nice, especially when you tie it up like this" you nudged your head towards the tiny pony tail. Hand slowly reaching out to idly twirl the hair around his nape, an adoring smile on your face that practically made his heart flutter in response.

He glanced away for a moment, composing himself before looking back, a giant grin on his face this time as he leaned in closer. Like he was about to tell you a secret

"you know....a lot of people...they get really jealous when they see my hair and I can't blame them. It's really nice isn't it?" He chuckled, flaunting off his hair in a joking manner.

Even as he waves off the compliment, the flush on his face betrays his words "oh stop it..." He rubs one of his flushed cheeks, trying to ease the embarrassment he was getting for being so flustered easily.

You chuckle alongside him, your focus never leaving his face as you spoke "I'm being serious Dae-ho, you're good looking.”

He soon regained composure, not yet ending the conversation. "ya know, I've seen more good looking people. For example" he raised a pointer finger up before poking you gently on the forehead, a playful smile on his lips "you."

You rolled your eyes at his antics, your own smile still present on your lips. "Then it seems we're both good looking then. It's just that you're my favorite good looking boy~" your words were playfully flirty, but the hint of genuineness was easily caught on by him.

He reached for your hand, resting it on top of yours. "I appreciate you so much..." He trailed off before his gaze flickered towards the TV. "but also, we totally just missed half of the movie" he pointed out with a small laugh. Though he wasn't upset by it at all.

He meant every word he said. Any moment talking to you...he appreciates every single second of it.

[ddlydevotion]

Dating Luigi Mangione ࣪ ۪ ֢ 🦢‌ࣳ ! !

currently listening to: salvatore by lana del rey

a/n: I’ve been seeing many fics of Luigi where people portray him as rude/aggressive so I wanted to try something a lil different.

His facial expressions are always on point in every video we’ve seen of him, so I have a feeling he’d be a very active listener. You could be in the middle of telling him how your day went and a small smile would spread across his lips at the sound of your melodic voice. His eyebrows twitching with concern once you start to mention anything negative occurring. this is basically his face when he’s listening to you:

He would most definitely be the type to make playlists in your name while he’s thinking of you. He’s so in love with you to the point where he can no longer listen to his favorite music without thinking of you and the beautiful moments the two of you have shared. He also has a habit of sending you songs that he thinks you’ll like/remind him of you.

He loves being able to live life to the fullest and loves doing it with you even more. He takes photos of the two of you wandering around whatever city you’ve traveled to with a little $30 digi cam. He has a Polaroid of the two of you placed in his wallet.

Luigi doesn’t need a gift to be expensive in order to fully cherish it. You could give him a handwritten letter and he’d protect it with his life because you gave it to him. He can’t afford to lose any evidence of the love the two of you share for one another. He loves gifting you items that reminded him of you, things you mentioned enjoying, surprising you to go do something you’ve mentioned wanting to participate in. You don’t even have to mention any of these things more than once because he’ll remember.

His back pain can get incredibly severe and there comes days where he can’t seem to focus on even the most simplest of things. Having you there while he attends physical therapy, participates in yoga/gets helpful treatments somehow makes the pain a bit more manageable. Knowing that he can go to you when he needs something is enough to ease his anxieties in situations regarding his chronic pain.

As I’ve mentioned before, Luigi loves trying new things and exposing himself to unfamiliar cultures/locations. This fact goes hand in hand with his openness to trying new food with you. Oh, he’s never tried ____ before? Well, might as well try it now with you!

You make his travels so much more lively and notable.

Three words: skin to skin.

The loving warmth of your welcoming hands and fingers tracing shapes onto his muscular back makes him feel as if he’s on cloud nine. He loves being able to wake up to the sun peeking through the blinds and feeling your bare skin embracing him.

He has a HUGE family and mostly all of them have heard the lovely stories he has stored up about you. During the first Christmas you ever spent with his family, they made sure they had your favorite foods out on display. How did they know they were your favorites? Well, you have your boyfriend and his ramblings to thank for that. Despite not having spent much time with you, his family still found the time to provide you with your very own gifts. You’ve felt nothing but welcomed by their presence as they treated you like an old friend upon your first meeting.

You don’t really have to want for anything when you’re with Lu. You mention wanting to go see that movie that just came out? He already has a tab open on his phone to purchase tickets. He sees you eyeing something at the store but hesitate buying because ‘it’s too much’ ? Well, he’s putting it in the cart anyway.

Definitely calls you cute little variations of your name. His favorite terms of endearment to use for you are probably: baby, cutie, babe, princess, etc. was gonna put sweetheart but I’m not too sure

[bunni-v1]

Aventurine NSFW Headcannons

🍓This took me so long to get done, and I'm not 100% satisfied, but I wanted to get these out. There's so much I left unsaid, and I feel like if I kept going it would never stop. So enjoy the very basics of what I feel Aventurine is like in bed. Smaller posts are coming in the future so I can take time to work on the genshin stuff I have coming, alongside requests I plan on doing a full fic for <3

Tagging: @the-original-skipps (mwah mwah, just for you pookie)

Tw: Mentions of past sexual assault; Aventurine has unhealthy views of sex; Aventurine's past; NSFW; Pretty vanilla ngl; grammar errors

Info: Aventurine x Reader; Angst; Fluff

Word Count: 2.5k

MDNI

-Aventurine and sex do not mix well – at least, not at the start. 

-Much like love, he has a very jaded view of sexual intimacy. He was (heavily implied to have been) sexually assaulted by many different unsavory types when he was younger. His body wasn’t his own then, and the sex was brutal and unkind – something he hated.

-As he grew, both in stature and into his title of Aventurine of Strategems, his hatred of sex turned into something different. It was still hatred, he hated the act more than anything in the world most times, but he realized his body was good for something.

-Aventurine was an attractive man, despite his eyes being a less than savory feature to most people. His body was lean and lithe, his clothes and hair perfectly styled and trendy, not to mention the air of mystery he had drew people in like moths to flame. 

-All of it was crafted by his own two hands, of course. He was attractive because he wanted – no, needed to be. So, he made sure he was, of course, no one would do business with him otherwise.

-Pretty as a peacock, you could hardly tell he was once a slave or a dirty Avgin boy.

-He’s pleasantly surprised to find that the body he so hated being born into was a good business tool when he needed it to be.

-People really will do anything to get off, and as much as it disgusted him to do such depraved things, he would do whatever he had to to get what he wanted.

-He’d scrub his skin raw in the shower afterward, trying desperately to get the smell of sex off him. Hoping that if he scratches hard enough the ugly purple bruises will wash away with soap and water. They never do, and they leave him feeling vile until they fade.

-Regardless men, women, monsters – he really didn’t care what he was fucking so long as it got him what he was looking for.

-That’s what sex is to Aventurine, a transaction. He scoffs at the idea of it being anything more than that. Sex was rough and sweaty and all kinds of disgusting, how could anyone derive pleasure from that? You fuck, you cum, you say goodbye. Simple. As. That.

-Ah, but, then again you come along and you just love challenging his worldview don’t you? With your pretty little eyes and your sweet, comforting words. You always make him question himself. It would be annoying if he didn’t love you so damn much.

-Your first time with him is… incredibly unpleasant. It’s not as though he doesn’t account for you or your wants, but there’s a disconnect. He’s too… pliant and yet all too controlling. First times are rarely good, but this felt alien. Like the person you were with was not your beloved Kakavasha, but some strange man taking his place for the night.

-He’s doing things he thinks you want, he’s saying sweet words he’d whispered to hundreds of other partners, it’s all that he thinks you need, what he’s decided in his head that you’d like, rather than something that comes from knowing you.

-He doesn’t ask, he just gives and takes and then it’s over. It’s unfulfilling and empty, leaving you with a dull ache in your chest.

-He doesn’t even offer you or himself aftercare, and you find him scrubbing his skin red in the shower afterward like he was trying to rid himself of any trace of you.

-It makes you feel terrible. Like you’re some whore he’s picked up off the streets and not his long-term partner with whom he’s shared some of the darkest parts of himself.

-You cry into those expensive satin sheets, ruining them with your sniffling. It’s quite the sight for Aventurine to walk back into.

-He expected you to be asleep, or at least resting in some capacity, but crying? His heart sinks as he rushes to your side, then somehow falls further when you tug yourself away from him.

-He’s perceptive enough to realize that he had been the one to put you in such a state, but he didn’t really understand why.

-When he’s able to calm you enough to get you to talk to him, you’re able to explain that you felt so disregarded. There was no connection or love or care from him, did he not feel you were worthy of sharing that in moments of intimacy?

-That makes him sick. Never in a million years would he want to make you feel as though he does not love you, despite previous behaviors. You were his whole world, part of the reason he continued to exist. How could he ever make you feel unworthy of him?

-He nearly spirals there, but your tears are enough to remind him that he is not the one who needs love and reassurance. So, always eager to learn and grow with you, he asks you what you believe sex should be like… and it’s quite different from what he understands.

-You describe it like an extension of yourself. A means of intimacy and trust a level deeper than words and affection can get you. You are vulnerable during sex, you are at your weakest and you are sharing that with the person you love. It’s the most intimate thing you could do with a person, and while it can be fun and it can simply be because it feels good, it can also be because you love the other person so deeply you have no other way to express it.

-Aventurine finds the definition to be rather naive, but you had always been a bleeding heart. (Which he, regardless of if Kakavasha or Aventurine was leading charge, would give anything to protect). Yet… Kakavasha likes it. Kakavasha wants to do that with you, he wants to show you how much he loves you, he wants to hold you even closer and share such sweet nothings with you.

-He tries to toss it out initially because if he thought about it like that he would have to confront himself. Look that trauma in the eyes and acknowledge that, once again, you’d proven him wrong in a way he was annoyingly not expecting.

-But as the days go by and you slowly begin to become physical with him again, he wonders fondly how it would feel. Taking his time with you, he means.

-He couldn’t help but wonder how nice it would be to really feel your skin under his fingers. To kiss every inch of you, to hear you sigh his name like he crafted the heavens with his own two hands. Ah, Kakavasha won again, it seems.

-So he goes to you, like an apologetic puppy, and he apologizes for how terrible he was. How he reflected and regrets it, and he wants to try again and let you take the lead this time. 

-Despite everything, you say yes, and you allow him this second chance to redefine his worldview yet again.

-Aeons it’s life-changing sex. 

-Slow, careful, and all kinds of intimate. He’s still on top because he could not trust even you to be on top. He needed that control. But he listens to what you need, and he finds he’s very good at servicing you. Just as good as he is at spoiling you with his riches.

-You guide him to kiss you deeply, tongues tangling in a tango to a tempo only the two of you could enjoy. You show him how to leave love bites that make his spine tingle. How different parts of your body make you feel different kinds of pleasure. He gets to feel your skin beneath his fingertips, taste your very being on his tongue, and swallow the angelic cries of his name.

-It’s a kind of intimacy and affection he’d never been afforded in his life. A vulnerability he hadn’t expected himself to enjoy, and yet as he sobs into your shoulder at his release, he finds himself wanting more.

-It becomes a problem, really. One taste of it and you have both your sweet Kakavasha and the hardened businessman Aventurine absolutely addicted. In the privacy of his condo, he can lust after you all he wants. You would never deny him the pleasure of freedom, though you would tell him no after the third night in a row for your aching hips. (He will draw you a bath and book you an appointment at the finest spa he can get you into for the next day.)

-In his office, or during a meeting, or talking to the Doctor, however… that’s a problem. He wasn’t supposed to like it that much, but that intimacy had him aching through his expensive slacks. 

-He thinks about it all the time, and he’s taken to locking his office doors and keeping the blinds shut airtight for more than half the day. He hopes no one notices how many bathroom breaks he takes during meetings. He tries his best to forget the boner he popped in front of the esteemed doctor talking about finances.

-You literally have him addicted to being in love with you, it’s quite the conundrum you’ve found yourselves in… but, would you really ever want to change that? He’s very good in bed after all, so it can’t be that bad.

-Aventurine is a switch-leaning top (so sorry Aventio shippers), and I say this only because he does not like relinquishing control. Especially when he’s in such a vulnerable state, especially with his past traumas, he would rather be in charge than trust you and have you hurt him.

-He softens up significantly as time goes on, and he is more willing to allow you to service him how you please, but he never really gives up his control. There’s always a reminder that he has the say-so in what does or does not go.

-That being said he is very giving, without having to be asked he will happily do whatever you need of him. It’s just in his nature to service, those pretty little moans are all the payment he needs.

-I won’t lie and say he isn’t a tease, though. He’s incorrigible, actually. He loves to tease you, be it with his words or his actions, he loves getting you squirming beneath him.

-He’ll mumble against your throat how needy you are for him, how you’re already so worked up and he hasn’t even gotten past your clothes, how cute you are when you’re so needy for him. His fingers will graze you with such feather-light touch you’ll whine at him, and he always coos at you like a needy little thing – as if he isn’t the one tormenting you.

-He’s a fan of edging, which just comes with the territory too. He spends hours of his time building you up to your orgasm, crooking his fingers and swirling his tongue so you’re right there, and then he’ll pull away leaving you crying for more.

-It’s all worth it when he does let you cum, though. The orgasm shaking the very foundation of you, sticky fluids staining yet another pair of satin sheets. 

-That’s not even mentioning his dick, which he is just as talented with. It’s slim, the same shade as the rest of him, with an upward curve that rubs against your g-spot so very well without him having to try.

-It fits so snugly inside, and if you watch closely you can see the effect you have on him as his perfect poker face cracks just a little. He loves to feel you from the inside, it may be one of his favorite things in the world.

-You are warm and squishy and so very accepting of him, conforming to the size and shape of his member like you were made to do so. Like you were made for him and him alone, it’s a deeply romantic thought that he would scoff at if he were in a less hazy mindset.

-He’s rarely rough with you, preferring to show you how much he loves you more softly, though he can be rough upon request.

-Sometimes if you get him jealous enough he’ll be rough on his own accord, but never uncaring or unloving. Even when he has you face down, ass up he makes you feel like the most precious gemstone in the entire world.

-He likes sex slow and long, preferring if it is dragged out across multiple sessions with sweet nothings and gentle care between the breaks. 

-However, he rarely has the free time for such things, and as such he gets very good at making the most of the time that he does have.

-Because of his high sex drive, quickies are common, but they are no less fulfilling than the long sessions he enjoys having. 

-He’s adept at getting you to cum in under five minutes with his fingers, he can do it in two with his tongue thrown in, and that’s usually fast enough for him to quickly get off and get back to what he needs to do.

-Unfortunately, he isn’t the kinkiest guy. He doesn’t like tying up or being tied up, he’s not a fan of power play, roleplaying seems to turn him off (again, not a fan of power play, which a lot of scenarios include this), no hitting or degrading, and pretty much anything that could remotely involve hurting either of you is a no from him.

-He thinks for a while he’s fine with it, and he is willing to try anything once, but it only takes him one time to realize he does not like physical or mental pain. It’s not sexy, it’s traumatizing and he won’t be convinced to try it.

-He does, however, really enjoy you wearing lingerie. Lacy ones dotted with expensive stones are his favorites. Frequently you’ll find a set sent to you in pretty packaging with a little note telling you to ‘enjoy your present.’ Meaning, he wants a picture of you in it ASAP.

-Also a fan of seeing you in his clothes. If he spots you lounging about in his shirt after a long day of work, he’ll be all over you like a helpless puppy.

-Cockwarming you when he works from home is a favorite of his, liking the way you wiggle and squirm as he combs over documents. His poker face really is something impressive, you have no clue how he’s re-read the same sentence ten times as you clench around him again.

-Office sex is unlikely, purely because he doesn’t like you being anywhere near IPC headquarters if he can help it. But if you do stop by for some reason, the likelihood of him bending you over the desk and fucking you raw is about 99%. He does miss you a lot during the day, after all, you can’t shame him for indulging in his favorite treat after so long without it.

-He just truly, deeply loves you. Once he begins to have a healthy relationship with sex and associate it with you rather than the horrors of his past, it’s nothing but loving and delightful. He takes the whole idea that it is an extension of his admiration for you very literally, and showers you in his affections through sex.

[wwooyology]

Blistering Heat | J.WY

「pairing」 : wooyoung x fem!reader 「word count」 : 3.7k

「synopsis」 : you started to notice changes in wooyoung's behavior, it was as if he was avoiding you entirely. he was going into a rut and kept trying to push you away, but you'd be dammed if you'd let him go through it alone.

「genre」 : hybrid!au, fox hybrid!wooyoung, human!reader, a small bit of fluff, smut (honestly just pure filth I'm ngl)

「warnings」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, kissing, wooyoung goes into his rut (obvi.), clit play, unprotected sex, dom!wooyoung x sub!reader, big dick!wooyoung, rough and messy sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, messy makeout, petnames (baby, babydoll, sweetheart, pup...), biting/marking, licking, blood, slight degradation and praising, EXTREAM breeding, possessiveness, manhandling, dumbification, subspace mentioned, dirty talk, derogatory names (cocksleeve), knotting, creampie, slight cockwarming, reader does say no but only because of pleasure (everything is consensual!), hair pulling, choking, slight breath play, dacryphilia, begging, slight pain kink, forced orgasm, lmk if I missed anything!!

「notes」 : I may or may not have gone just a little stir-crazy with this one 🤓☝ I just started writing, and my fingers wouldn't stop... but here is an additional part for all of those who wanted another fic with fox hybrid!wooyoung!! I hope you enjoy lovelies!

You sat at the kitchen table with a warm cup of tea in your hands as you watched the doorway, a distant look in your eyes. Wooyoung had been acting weird for the past week. It started with him not wanting to be within a certain distance of you, to avoid you at all costs. He even stopped sleeping in the bedroom with you and would lock himself in the guest room without so much as a word. You had tried to talk to him and ask if there was anything wrong, but he would brush you off, saying he was fine.

It was some time after twelve that you saw him creep into the dining room, his fuzzy ears twitching as he looked around. As soon as his eyes met yours, he quickly averted his gaze, trying to push down the overwhelming heat that was building in his gut.

“There’s food on the stove.” You told him, trying to offer him a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Thanks.” Wooyoung felt horrible that he was treating you like this but he’s never dealt with a rut when he was around another person, much less a human or someone he loved dearly. He was worried that he would scare you off.

You let out a deep sigh when he disappeared through the kitchen door. You wanted to understand what was going on, but he was making it hard when he wouldn’t even speak more than two words to you. Setting your now lukewarm tea down on the table, you pulled your phone from the pocket of your cardigan. You were determined to determine what was going on, whether or not he’d tell you.

Wooyoung slipped past you once more with a bottle of water in his hand, his gaze filled with guilt when you wouldn’t even look up at him. Swallowing thickly, he walked out of the dining room and made his way back to the guest room, where he would lock himself in for the next few days.

Opening your phone you went to the first person that you could think of that might have the answers you’re looking for. Hitting the green button you placed the phone against your ear, listening to the rings. After the third ring you heard the line connect before her voice flowed through the speaker.

“Hello?” 

“Hey Leila, it’s y/n.” You greeted her with a smile; it had been a while since you’d heard her voice.

“Y/n! How are you?” Leila asked, a chirp in her voice as you heard her rustling from the other side of the phone.

“I’m… okay. I actually had a question.”

“Is everything okay? It’s not the hunters again, is it?” She asked a sense of urgency in her tone to which you quickly reassured her that it wasn’t the hunters, that they hadn’t shown their faces in a while.

“It’s actually Wooyoung.” You started to explain to her everything that had been happening for the last week, and by the time you were done, she had let out a short burst of giggles. Confused, your eyebrows scrunched together, “What’s so funny? I’m actually worried something might be wrong, and I want to help.”

“Babe… he’s starting his rut.” Her words left you stunned because why hadn’t that crossed your mind? But what stunned you even more were the new few words that left her lips, “If you really want to help, the best you can do is offer yourself to him.”

–

Later that night, after getting out of the shower, you walked into your room with your towel wrapped tightly around your body. Just as you were about to grab your shirt, you heard a loud bang from the other room. Panic filled your veins, and you completely forgot about your clothes and darted out of your room. 

“Wooyoung, are you okay?” Your voice shook as you knocked rapidly on the guest bedroom door, but there was no response. Listening carefully, you could hear his labored breathing from the other side, which only caused you to worry even more. “Wooyoung, open the door.”

“Go away, y/n.” His voice was stern, but you could still hear the pain underneath. He had to have been fighting this off for a while now and it made you feel guilty that you didn’t notice before.

“I just wanna help Woo.” Your tone softened as you wrapped your fingers around the doorknob, but you knew right away it was locked when it wouldn’t budge.

“You can’t help me; just go back to– ugh!” He was cut off by a groan, and you acted quickly, rushing back to your room to grab the spare key before going back to the door.

“Stop being so stubborn, and let me help!” You scold the boy through the door as you knock, wanting to give him a chance to open it himself before you barged in. However, he didn’t give you a response, but you could hear his low growls. “You have three seconds to open this door before I open it myself.” You tried to sound authoritative, but there was still a slight tremor in your voice from the worry that was digging its claws into your spine.

You heard him grumble something from inside the room but couldn’t quite make it out. Giving him a few more moments, you started to insert the key into the keyhole.

“One.”

“Stop, y/n, I don’t want to hurt you.” You could hear the pain in his voice before the sound of another crash was heard, causing you to jump.

“You’re not going to hurt me, Woo. I trust you.” There was a softness in your tone that lured the fox to the door, his hand resting on the doorknob as he fought his inner turmoil. What if he really did hurt you? Would you forgive him? What if he scared you away? He didn’t think he would be able to live with himself if he did, but– “Please, Wooyoung.”

At the pleading tone in your voice, the last bit of his willpower faded away, and he unlocked the door before tearing it open.

A gasp fell from your lips when he appeared in front of you. His raven hair was a mess, and his ears sat flat on his head as if he were awaiting your lecture. His eyes were trained on your face, a small scowl resting upon his features, but despite all of that, you reached forward, cupping his cheek in your hand.

“God, you’re burning up.” Your voice was soft, your thumb brushing under the skin of his eye. Wooyoung closed his eyes, a low purr emitting from his throat from your touch. Until another sudden wave of heat rushed over his body, and he doubled over. 

You cried out his name before rushing to his side, worried that this might just be something more than his rut. Yet when he raised his head, you almost had to step back from the borderline predatory gleam in his eyes. That was also when he noticed that you were in nothing but a plain white towel that barely reached mid-thigh. 

Inhaling deeply, you moved closer to him as he rose back up, his eyes never leaving your form. With shaky hands, you reached down for his hand before bringing it up to your neck. Wooyoung’s pupils dilated as he felt your quickened pulse under his fingertips, almost salivating at the thought of biting into your skin. Marking you officially as his and his alone.

“I want to help Youngie.” The slight whine in your tone caused him to let out a low growl before his fingers wrapped around the delicate skin of your neck, pulling you closer to him. A choked whimper fell from your lips as you looked up at him, fingers lazily wrapping around his wrist but making no move to pull him away.

His eyes searched yours for any sign of hesitation, but all he saw was unbridled lust and need. Leaning his head down just far enough to let his nose bump against yours, he spoke in a low, growly tone.

“Are you sure? Once I start, I won’t be able to stop. No matter how much you beg.” His words send a shiver down your spine. The simple thought of him being so lost in his animalistic pleasure to the point where he’s completely ruining you made your core ache.

You bring your face just centimeters away from his, looking deep into his hooded eyes, “Ruin me then, Woo.”

Those words were the straw that broke the camel's back. His lips surged forward, crashing into yours at a bruising speed. He was moving so quickly that you could barely keep up with him, even as he released your neck.

“Woo…” You breathed out as he snatched the towel from your body, letting the cool air of the room nip at your bare skin. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving sloppy kisses in his wake. His nose pressed right against your jugular as he inhaled deeply, fingers tracing the curves of your body until he got to your hip.

“Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me, sweetheart.” He growled against your skin as he moved further down, cupping your bare heat in the palm of his hand. A small whimper fell from your lips as he parted your folds, tracing his fingertips along your slit before pressing down on your clit. “Oh, you’re already soaked, babydoll. Does the thought of me ravishing your body turn you on so much?” 

“Woo– fuck! Please.” You begged the fox, staring up at him with needy eyes, causing his dick to twitch in his pants, the last bit of his sanity slowly melting away.

Without so much as a word, he lifted your body from the ground before walking over to the bed and throwing you down onto the soft mattress. As soon as your back hit the mattress, Wooyoung was all over you, slotted right between your thighs. His lips traced every curve of your body, licking, nipping, and marking any part of your skin he could reach until you were withering underneath him.

“Youngie.” You whined, fingers threading through his soft locks until you met with the base of his ears. A low growl seeped from his throat as you gently tugged on one of his ears.

“I need to be in you, babydoll. I need to fuck your slutty little cunt until you’re filled to the brim with my seed. Until I’ve bred you properly.” His words came out in a low tone as he bit at your collarbone, slightly harder than before, nearly drawing blood. The sweet sound of your whimper went straight to his cock that was straining against his sweats.

His words left your mind spiraling. The thought of being so full of just him had your aching cunt clenching around nothing. A soft moan fell from your mouth as you pulled him back up to your swollen lips, sealing them with his in a hungry kiss.

“Yours.” You breathed out, eyes half-lidded as he pulled away, “All yours, Woo, please.”

It was then that the last bit of his sanity flew right out the window, his instincts fully taking over as he quite literally ripped his clothes from his body. Your aching cunt quivered at the sight of his throbbing cock, standing proudly against his lower stomach. 

“Gonna fuck you so good.” He growled as he took his cock into his hand, using his precum to slide up and down the length. “Everyone will know you’re mine. All mine.”

You barely had time to process what was happening as he grabbed your legs right behind your knees, pushing them up against your chest before you felt him probing at your entrance. A choked moan fell from your lips as he pushed into your needy cunt, his eyes watching as you swallowed his dick whole before he pulled back out.

“W-Woo–” You were cut off by a loud cry when he thrust back into you with an unimaginable force, nearly sending your mind into orbit.

“Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.” He repeated to word like a mantra as he fucked into your tight cunt, barely leaving you any room to breathe. He pressed down on your legs even more until you were damn near folded in half, the smooth tip of his cock pressing right against that spongy spot in your cunt with every thrust.

Tears were streaming down the sides of your face as you tried your best to keep up with his pace, fingers curled into the sheets. A broken mixture of curses and his name rolled off of your tongue, eyes rolling back as you become overtaken with pleasure.

“Your body was made just for me.” Wooyoung groaned, leaning down to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss, teeth clashing together as he continued to fuck into your tight hole. “Perfect for carrying my kits.”

You clenched around him as he spoke those dirty words against your lips, swallowing all of your pretty noises. His nails dug into your thighs until they broke the skin, a trail of crimson blood flowing down the side of your leg before dripping onto the sheets. The mixture of pain and pleasure suddenly had you toppling over the edge, your back arching off the bed as a loud moan tore through your throat.

A deep animalistic growl reverberated from Wooyoung’s chest as he fucked you through your high, but never slowing down. Stars danced across your vision as he seemed to pick up the pace, his thrust growing even more harsh.

“W-Wooyoung!” You nearly screamed when his lips latched onto your neck, teeth nipping at your skin. There was no way that you were going to come out of this without any bitemarks, but you weren’t really in the right state of mind to complain.

Your hands flew to his back as soon as he latched onto the junction of your neck, his canines sinking deep into your skin. A sharp cry fell from your lips at the stinging sensation before he withdrew his fang, licking over the wound. Your nails racked against the skin of his back, causing him to hiss, his hips stuttering just slightly but never losing rhythm.

When his low, throaty groans started to turn into high-pitched whimpers, you knew he was close, just needing a little more. Trailing your hand up his back, you ran your fingers through his hair before gently taking his ear into your palm.

“F-Fuck!” He moaned loudly in your ear as he came, shooting thick, hot streams of cum deep inside your walls, his pace slowing just a bit.

Your head fell back against the soft mattress, eyes fluttering shut as his lips continued to wander the skin of your neck and shoulder. You thought he would knot you like he always had before and would call it good, but when you felt him pull away without knotting, your eyes snapped open.

“You didn’t think I was done with you yet, did you?” His voice was deep as he cocked his head to the side, the blackness of his pupils nearly overtaking the whites of his eyes.

The air was knocked out of your lungs when he flipped your body effortlessly, laying you flat on your stomach. His hands were quick to find your hips, pulling them up until your back was arched the way he wanted.

“I still have so much more to give you, baby.” He chuckled darkly as he pressed his tip against your twitching hole, watching as you eagerly sucked him in. You buried your face into the sheets as he pushed into you with one sharp thrust, his tip pushing right against your cervix.

Tears stained the sheets underneath you as he relentlessly bullied his cock into your abused pussy, his hands tight on your hips. Muffled cries and moans were the only sounds that emitted from your body. Your cognitive function to form words flew right out the window.

“Such a good little cocksleeve,” He cooed, leaned down until his back was pressed against your chest, his lips finding the back of your shoulder. “Taking everything, I give you like a good girl.” The mixture of his derogatory names and praises made your body melt, and if it wasn’t for his hold, you would have surely fallen flat on the mattress.

“Y-Youngie!” You cried out, fat tears falling from your eyes as he continued his relentless pace until your whole body was shaking. “Cumming! ‘M cumming!” Your voice cracked as he fucked you through another orgasm, but once again, his ministrations never stopped, much less slowed down.

White spots started to cloud your mind when he stood up straight once again, using your hips as leverage to fuck into you. Choked sobs left your lips when your body fell into a state of overstimulation. Every nerve felt as if it were on fire.

Moving one hand from your hip, Wooyoung trailed it down the length of your spine before threading his fingers through your hair. With a harsh tug, he pulled your upper body off of the bed, eliciting a strangled moan from your parted lips.

“Look at you, babydoll, such a fucking mess on my cock. Is this what you wanted? Me to fuck you completely dumb? Until the only thought in your pretty little head was my cock? Hmm?” His harsh tone had you quivering in his hold, eyes squeezing shut as you felt another orgasm building up. Letting go of your hair, he grabbed your jaw harshly, turning your head until you were looking at him. “Answer me, pup.” He growled, lips brushing against yours as you whimpered in his hold.

“Y-Yes, I want you to fuck me stupid, Youngie.” You choked out before all the air was stolen from your lungs when his lips crashed into yours. His hand fell from your jaw down to your puffy clit causing your whole body to jolt. “No, no, no, stop Wooyoung! I feel weird.” You cried out as a different type of pressure built up in your lower gut, but he didn’t stop; if anything, your broken pleas only spurred him on.

White spots clouded your vision as that coil in your gut finally snapped, and your release gushed all over Wooyoung’s fingers and cock, even soaking the sheets below your body. It felt like your soul had been detached from your body as he continued to work you through your orgasm, coaxing more and more of your sweet release out of your body.

“Look at the mess you made, sweetheart,” His teasing tone rang in your ears as your head fell back on his shoulder, legs quivering underneath your weight. He moved his hand away from your throbbing clit, allowing you just a moment to breathe before that same hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing the soft flesh.

A choked sob tore through your parted lips as he pistoned his hips into yours mercilessly. Your brain felt like it was turning into mush from the overwhelming amount of pleasure. Wooyoung’s fingers tighten around your throat as he buries his face into the nape of your neck, inhaling your scent.

“You’re gonna look so pretty all swollen with my kits.” Wooyoung licked a stripe up the back of your neck, “such a perfect mommy.” He cooed as he nipped at your skin, feeling another orgasm of his own creeping up.

“W-Woo…” You whimpered in his hold, your head empty except for the thought of his cock buried deep in you until he was sure his seed would take.

“Gonna make sure everyone knows that you’re mine.” He growled before unexpectedly biting down on the nape of your neck as he came. The sudden infliction of pain pulled yet another orgasm from your spent body, your walls fluttering around his twitching cock, milking him for all he was worth.

Pulling away from your neck, he watched with proud eyes as his mark started to bleed, your sweet crimson blood coating his lips. Your mind was beginning to blank as you slowly came down from your high, only for that peace to quickly be ripped away from you when the fox hybrid pulled out of your cunt.

A small whine emitted from your body when he bent you over once again, pressing your face into the covers. Your jaw fell slack as he pushed his still rock-hard length back into your aching cunt, the mixture of yours and his cum making his movements more fluid.

“Oh, we’re not done yet, baby,” He chuckled darkly, pistoning his hips into yours. The brute force knocked all of the lungs from your body, and all you could do was lay there and take it. The only thought in your mind was Wooyoung’s cock and how painfully good it felt, nudging against your sweet spot.

Wooyoung didn’t stop until you filled to the brim before finally knotting you; the stretch had you cumming for the nth time that night. His arms wrapped around your body as he buried his face in your chest, inhaling your scent. A small pur reverberated from his chest as you ran your shaky fingers through his hair. The world finally felt like it was coming back to you as your body lay there, soaking in each other’s warmth as if you hadn’t been doing that for the past few hours.

“Thank you, baby,” His voice was low as he peppered kisses along the expanse of your chest before resting his chin right between your breasts. You hummed, still not fully trusting your voice, and he smirked before his fingers playfully crept up your side.

“W-Wooyoung!” You choked out his name at the ticklish feeling causing him to chuckle before groaning slightly when he felt that familiar heat bloom in his chest. Noticing the sudden change, you looked down at him in worry, your fingers curling around the nape of his neck. “How much longer will this last?”

Wooyoung took a moment to respond, trying to settle himself before he lost control. He then glanced back at you with worry and borderline guilt, “probably for the next week.”Your head fell back as your eyes fluttered shut, a small groan falling from your lips. This was going to be a long week, but you couldn’t complain. You did offer to help him after all, and by the looks of it, now that he had his hands on you, he wasn’t about to let go.

@wwooyology | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[oceantornadoo]

happy new years! starting 2025 by finishing this fic :)

ch9 the wrong john | masterlist

john price x f!reader, reader is johnny’s twin

-

“You dropped my hand.”

“Ye lied t’ me.”

You both frown with the same half-slant.

The doctor later found Johnny had some Vitamin D deficiency from his captivity, so you’ve been allowed to wheel him around the hospital garden for strictly one hour, IV still attached. You find a bench to sit on, parking his chair next to you so you can both stare at the ducks in the pond. 

“I didn’t mean to lie to you, Johnny. I just- didn’t think it would get this serious.” He snorts. After all these years, he can still tell when you’re lying. One duck is chasing the other around the pond, wings flapping as they play fight.

“So yer only apologizin’ cuz I found out? Not a good start, hen.” You drag your hands down your face, pressing your palms into your eye sockets until your vision goes black. “We hooked up the night before I came to base. And I thought, big whoop, maybe I’ll tell Johnny so he’ll get off my back about being single, except the guy didn’t even leave a note, so I just look desperate. And then you opened that door and he was your fucking captain! My game plan got fucked.”

You release your hands so you can see again. The ducks are cuddling at the edge of the pond. You sneak a look at Johnny and he’s staring straight ahead, unseeing. “Ye said it was me an’ you. That’s what ye said.” You let out a bitter laugh at his words. “I thought that’s what it would be. I told him at lunch that it wouldn’t work, that I couldn’t do that to you. So at that point, it was just me and you. But then I left and he started calling and he’s just terribly sweet and cocky and I hate it. And then you were gone.”

It’s the first time he’s looked at you since. It’s just a turn of the head, but his eyes are duller than usual and wet with emotion. “Wasn’t my choice, hen.” You give him a watery smile. “I know. This wasn’t my choice either. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I’m not sorry that it’s him.” You reach over to squeeze his hand and he lets you, but he doesn’t squeeze back. “Price can be a persuasive bastard when he wants to be.” The same laugh escapes both of you. The ducks are swimming side by side now, circling the pond.

“Still don’t get why ye didn’t tell me.” It’s the bit you’ve been circling around for a while now. You don’t answer for a second, choosing to pick at a hangnail on your thumb. Johnny’s hand covers yours, stopping your bad habit. “I didn’t want to ruin this for you. I thought What will happen to Johnny if we break up? I couldn’t ruin your new family, not after everything that happened with ours.” He squeezes your hand and you try to ignore the bandages around his wrists. “Yer my family too, m'eudail. The first of the one I choose.” 

A singular tear escapes your eyes, trailing down your face until it plops onto your lap. You turn your hand so it links with his, squeezing back. “Even though you have Simon?” Instead of answering your question, he asks one back. “Even though ye’ve got Price?” Fair enough. You lean your head on his shoulder and he dips to kiss your forehead. “Of course.” You’re not sure who says it, but it doesn’t really matter. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you, Johnny.” He leans his head against yours. “What’s a sister fer?” You roll your eyes, glad to have your brother back. “Dinnae kiss him in front of me. It’s gross.” You shove him off of you, then get up to wheel him back. “You’re so annoying. Don’t pretend I don’t see you and Simon snogging after he yells at people.” The two MacTavishes bicker all the way back to hospital, ducks long forgotten.

-

When you get back from the hospital, John’s doing paperwork in his office. Alone, thankfully. “Go well, sweetheart?” You nod shyly, taking the chance to explore his office. It’s neat but lacks personal effects. There’s only a few pictures, mainly of him in combat gear with various members of the task force. Except there’s a small frame closer to his actual desk that doesn’t fit the theme. It’s a woman sleeping, face half tucked into the pillow. Her back is bare but the picture’s only shoulder up, sparing any real nudity. The hair looks familiar and as you squint, you realize something. He keeps a picture of you in his office.

“When did you take this?” He barely looks up, tugging you into his lap as he continues writing with his other hand. “Yesterday. You looked pretty.” You press your forehead against his sternum, hands folded in your lap. “That was after I cried and then was covered in your cum.” He grunts, pulling you closer into his lap. “‘xactly. Pretty.” You sigh against him. His body’s so protective, muscled with a slight layer of fat that allows you to nuzzle in further. It’s like he works out everyday but doesn’t turn down dessert. You love it.

“You must like me a lot to deal with all this family drama.” It’s mainly a joke, just something to fill the silence. Instead, he drops his pen, pulling you off him so you’re eye-to-eye. Large paws capture your face, his thumbs smoothing your cheeks. “Not jus’ like, baby. ‘S a lot more than that.” Your eyes widen. His are serious, moving fast as they track your every facial expression. “Not just like?” He shakes his head. A few months ago, you would have left the conversation there. After your talk with your brother though, you feel courage seep through your veins.

“What is it, then?” His thumb brushes against your lip, pulling the bottom one until he releases it. Like he’s making sure you’re real, giving you time to take it back. “Love. ‘ve known for a while now, that I love you. There’s no pressure, sweetheart, I jus’ wanted you to know.” It’s the kindest out he’s ever given you. Fortunately, you don’t need it.

“I love you too, John. And I’m sorry for insinuating you weren’t enough for me to date. You’re everything.” He captures your lips in a slow kiss. You pour everything into it: the I’m sorry’s and Thank you’s. His hands stay on your jaw like he’s afraid to let you go. You skim down the breadth of his shoulders, the definition of his biceps, memorizing the feel. “You make me goddamn crazy, you know that?” You smile against his confession, sinking your hands into his hair. “Ditto.” You pull back from his lips to kiss his cheek, his nose, his forehead. You pepper his face until there’s not an inch unkissed and his cheeks flush red under the full force of your affection. “I love you.” It’s freeing to say, to finally give a name to this feeling. “I love you, sweetheart. Lemme finish this paperwork an’ I’ll take you to bed.” You tuck yourself under his chin and let him work.

John proposes that night and you turn him down. Well, you tell him to give you a year. You don’t know he’s got the date marked in his calendar.

-

Unfortunately, one year falls on the day of Johnny and Simon’s wedding. John might be lovesick, but he’s not dumb enough to propose at a wedding. Especially his future brother-in-law’s. He’s officiating, staring at his sweetheart in the front row as he marries two of his men. They promise to love and cherish each other for eternity, and even John can’t help the tear that falls after they kiss. What can he say, he’s a sentimental bastard.

As expected, the party lasts long into the night. Johnny and Kyle rule the dance floor with Johnny occasionally dragging his twin to join them. John and Simon sip whiskey on the sidelines, content to watch the siblings make absolute fools of themselves. “Who woulda thought?” Simon murmurs, almost to himself. “Me, for one. Knew you’d be gone for ‘im when I introduced ya.” Simon scoffs. “Piss off, Price. Me an’ Kyle had a bet goin’ the moment she walked into that office.” They settle into silence, grinning like idiots at their respective MacTavishes.

Hours later, John’s walking with your hand in his and your heels in the other. The grooms have gone all out since there’s a small amount of wedding attendees, so each party gets their own villa. The alcohol has worn off by now, but you’re still giddy, humming the last song you danced to while John leads you back. “That was so fun.” Your smile is practically permanent now, has been for hours. He loves seeing you happy. “Yeah, baby? You had some interestin’ dance moves.” You shove him, but it doesn’t really work since your hands are tangled together. “Shove off. At least I danced.” The only time he danced was with you, guiding you through a few slow songs before Johnny practically took over the DJ booth. “Y’ were beautiful, sweetheart.” He dips to kiss your forehead and you preen under his praise.

John unlocks the door with the key card, walking in first to hold the door for you and lock it after. You turn on the lights, still bubbly and light. “I loved the flowers they had. Do you think…oh.” When you turn to look for him, he’s on one knee in front of the closed door. This time he has a ring, a beautiful creation in your favorite metal. “Let me marry you, sweetheart.” Your throat chokes up. “You remembered.” You’d been almost joking when you told him to wait a year, but clearly he didn’t see it that way. “‘Course I did. Been countin’ down the days for a while now.” You walk towards him until you can run your hands through the strands of his hair, barely sparing the ring a glance.

“Yes.”

“Yea?”

“Yes, John.”

You collapse onto him in a hug, your arms landing over his shoulders until he’s smothered in you. There’s a few tears of happiness between you, such a difference from the time you were crying on a rooftop, in his arms. Always in his arms. “We’re getting married.” You whisper, still not believing it. “Could elope now if ya want, baby.” You chuckle into the crook of his neck. “John Price, you know I want a proper wedding. You’ve seen my Pinterest.” He plants a kiss to the nape of your neck.

“Whatever you want, Mrs. Price.”

-

wow.

we’re done!!!

thank you all for the support you’ve given my first chaptered fic. it meant so much and helped me overcome my nerves. stay tuned for what’s next! <333

taglist

@lveegsoi

@galactict3a

@nova-willow-541

@sirbonesly

@starlightkitten19

@prettycatboy

@roastyyytoastyyy

@autumnheartsprice

@lucienofthelakes

@eyeless-kun

@bina-passion-fruit

@lilynotdilly

@lovenewfandoms

@tired-writer04

@sleep101

@konigsm

@mehjustalasshere

@alyssajofreitas

@thriving-n-jiving

@royalz658

@honestlymassivetrash

@krispymagazinepizza-blog

@just-a-harmless-potato-05

@vullzo

@rosallels

@emilyyyyyys-stuff

@wiserebelpartypie

@maniacaloutpost

@leon-thot-kennedy

@emilyyyyyys-stuff

[bloatedandalone04]

Every New Year

➪the one where you and drew share your fourth new years kiss, and it quickly becomes something more heated.

Warnings: fluff, smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, swearing, alcohol consumption, pda if you squint a bit. | Can be read as a part 2 to this fic.

Word Count: 1.8k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡ | Happy New Year !

It was New Years Eve, and you and Drew had been invited to a mutual friends’ New Years party. It was almost time for the new year to come, and Drew was stumbling a bit from how much he had to drink tonight as he looked around for you. 

He hadn’t seen you in at least half an hour, and it was getting closer and closer to the countdown. You’d been Drew’s New Year kiss for the last three years, he’d be damned if he missed out on the fourth one just because he couldn’t find you. 

But then when he turned the corner and entered the living room of the penthouse the party was being hosted in, he saw you tucked away in the corner, a lazy, tipsy smile on your face as you swayed a bit to the music that was blasting through the speakers. 

You looked so pretty, Drew felt his throat tighten up a bit as he maneuvered his way through the crowded space to get to you. Your dress fit you just right and showed off all the curves he knew off by heart, and he bit his lip as he approached you. 

“Hey, baby,” he said, his deep voice clearly heard over the music and cheers. “I was looking for you.” he added, wrapping one arm around your waist as he finished off his drink.

“Well, you found me. Here I am,” you murmured, looking up at him with a smile on your face as the party goers grew more rowdy. You leaned up and nuzzled your face against his neck, inhaling his familiar and addicting scent as you let out a content sigh. “I can’t believe how fast this year went by. Feels like I can’t keep up with it. But I’m glad I have you with me through it all…you keep me grounded.”

Drew smiled down at you, running his hand up and down your back as he held you close. “Me too, babe. Every year with you gets better and better,” he said back, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. 

The countdown began shortly after that, and he pulled you even tighter against him, his fingers bunching up your dress a bit as he looked down at you. The noise of the party faded until all that was left was the faint chant of numbers, and when it became midnight, Drew leaned down and kissed you deeply. 

When he pulled away, he was grinning down at you. “Happy New Year, pretty girl,”

“Happy New Year, baby,” you say back, smiling at him as you wrapped your arms around his neck. You leaned up on the tips of your toes and kissed him again, tasting the faint remnants of alcohol that was lingering on his lip and tongue. “I love you.” 

Drew groaned softly into the kiss, his arms tightening around you. “I love you too, baby,” he murmured, his hands sliding down to grip your waist and pull you hard against his body. His fingertips dug gently into your skin before he leaned further down and gave your ass a firm squeeze, his other hand tangling in your hair. “You know what I want to do to ring in the new year?”

You hummed, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you leaned in closer to him, matching his intense gaze with one of your own. “Tell me,”

Drew smirked, peppering soft kisses along your neck. “I want to take you home, get you naked, and fuck you hard. Maybe I’ll even eat you out before, just for fun,”

And that was how you found yourself under him on the bed half an hour later, and his hands all over your body once he stripped you from your dress. “Fuck, I want to start every new year like this,” you mumbled, tipping your head back on the bed as you pulled at his shirt. 

He smirked against your neck, his tongue poking out to run along your collarbone before he sat back and pulled off his t-shirt. “Every fucking year,” he agreed, unzipping his jeans and pushing the restricting fabric down his legs so he’s only left wearing his boxers that were a lot more tighter now than they were when he first put them on. 

His hands reached around your back and unclasped your bra, and he tugged the lacy material away from your chest, his eyes darkening as his hands ran over your exposed breasts. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re so beautiful,” he muttered before he leaned down and captured one of your nipples between his teeth, flicking his tongue over the hardening peak greedily. 

Your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the strands as you leaned into his touch. “Drew,” you gasped, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist as you writhed under him. “I need you. I need you so bad.”

He pulled away from your chest, his eyes dark with desire as he braced one hand flat on the bed beside your head. “Need me where, baby? Here?” he rasped, running the tips of his fingers along your collarbone before his palm covered one of your breasts. “Or…here?”

You were whimpering as you tried pressing your thighs together to create friction, but his hips were in the way. “Drew…”

“Or maybe…here?” he continued, his hand sliding down your body until his fingers dipped under the waistline of your soaked panties. His lips curved upwards when he felt the wetness of your folds coat his hand, “Mm, I think you need me right here.”

Drew hooked his fingers in the fabric and slowly pulled it down your legs, tossing it aside to reveal your glistening core. You were now completely bare to his greedy eyes, and he let out a groan as he settled his head between your thighs, his fingertips grazing your clit. 

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he muttered, glancing up at you as you writhed above him. “I need to taste this sweet pussy, baby.” he added, then he was leaning in and tasting you all over. His tongue poked out and spread your folds, a deep groan leaving the back of his throat as he savored your taste. 

His big hands were holding onto your thighs, keeping you spread open as he devoured you like a man starved. His teeth grazed your clit, making your body twitch a bit as you pulled at his hair. “Drew,” you whined, bringing your legs up and draping them over his shoulders. You subtly bucked against his face, pushing your soaked core closer to his skilled mouth. “So good…”

Drew moaned against your pussy, the vibrations adding to your pleasure as he licked you all over. “That’s it, baby, ride my face,” he encouraged, his hands moving up to grip your waist as he guided your hips into a slow roll. His nose bumped against your clit with every lap of his tongue, making your moans grow louder in volume as you ground your body against him. 

He sucked harshly on your clit, and you let out a loud cry as your body trembled, your high washing over you in one big, warm wave. Drew lapped and licked at your pulsing pussy, tasting everything you offered until your body finally stilled. He lifted his head from between your thighs, his chin and lips glistening with your arousal. 

“You’re so gorgeous. So perfectly fucked out,” he groaned, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh. After he placed another gentle kiss to your sensitive clit, he sat back on his knees and pushed down his boxers, freeing his hard cock. He gripped your knees, pushing them wider apart as he ran his tip along your wet folds, making your body jolt from the sensitivity. 

Then he moved forward and buried himself inside you, stretching you deliciously around his cock. You let out a sharp gasp, your back arching as your hands reached up and grabbed onto his wrists. “Fuck,” you moaned, your eyes wide as you gazed up at him. One of your hands moved to press flat against his abs, and you could feel them tense and flex under your fingertips. “God, Drew…”

His grip on your knees tightened as he began to move, pulling out until just the tip remained before he drove back in. “Fuck, you feel so good. So tight and wet for me,” he groaned as the sound of your bodies coming together filled the room. He released one of your knees and reached down to rub your clit, feeling the puffy bundle of nerves throb against his fingers. “Come on, baby, I know you can take it.”

Your eyes fell shut, your back arching even more as your whole body trembled. His words went right through you, and you clenched around him tightly. “Fuck,” you cried, your chest heaving with heavy breaths and pants. “Feels so good, Drew.”

“Yeah, babe, squeeze me just like that,” he groaned, his voice strained a bit before he leaned down and kissed you deeply. His tongue brushed against yours as he continued to fuck into you, and the clash of teeth and sharing of saliva only fueled both yours and his desire. His other hand groped one of your tits, his thumb and index fingers pinching and pulling at your nipple as he let out harsh pants against your lips. “Fuck, I’m close.”

You whined and clung onto his shoulders, your eyes squeezing shut as you felt yourself get close again as well. “Me too,”

And a few more thrusts was all it took before you came hard, your pussy clamping down tightly around him as you let out cries of his name. Drew buried his face against your neck as he came too, filling you up and marking you as his from the inside out while he grunted against your skin. 

After a few seconds, he lifted his head and looked down at you with a lazy smirk on his face, his eyes dark and hooded as he leaned in and pressed a much softer kiss to your lips. “Love you,” he mumbled, wincing slightly when he pulled out. A trail of white followed and dripped down your thigh, and Drew gathered some on his fingers before bringing them up to your mouth. 

You smiled up at him, a thin layer of sweat on your body as you leaned in and wrapped your lips around his fingers, taking the digits into your mouth with a soft groan. “Mm,” you moaned, cleaning his fingers of his cum as you held eye contact with him. “Tastes so good, baby.”

Drew hummed, leaning down to kiss you again once he pulled his fingers from your mouth. “You’re the sweetest thing,” he mumbled, his nose bumping against yours before he kissed you again and rolled onto his back, taking your still shaking body with him as he went.

[ang3ltine]

❝ 𝑃𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝐺𝑖𝑟𝑙 ❞

۶ৎ summary: Se-mi never planned on falling in love, but fate had other plans for her

۶ৎ pairings: Se-mi x freader

۶ৎ warning: brief mention of a toxic relationship and slightly suggestive themes at the end but over all fluff ♡

𐙚 authors notes: this is my first time writing after so long so I apologise in advance if this fic seems super cringe but anyways enjoy ~

𐙚🧸- Se-mi couldn't believe her eyes, from the far back of the dorm room she spotted a familiar face. Your eyes met hers and you froze, like a deer caught in headlights.

Oh boy you were in trouble now.

She had met you at a thrift store downtown, you were a worker there and you'd always help her to pick cool accessories and outfits that suits Se-mi's taste.

You had soft features with a coquette style clothing consisting of pinks/browns. But what she loved the most was that you always smelt of strawberries and vanilla. Which Se-mi adored.

She had the fattest crush on but always avoided asking you out since you had a bf and had no idea if you liked girls or not.

Without thinking twice she swerved her way through the sea of players, hoping to get an answer out of you.

Se-mi grabbed your arm gently and led you to a quiet corner of the room . She didn't want to bring unnecessary attention to you both so she spoke quietly.

"What the hell are you doing here (name)?" You sighed in defeat and struggled to make eye contact with her.

"Look...I uhm - my ex , he uh stole my credit card details and spent it all on his gambling addiction. Soo I'm here to get that money back. Its no big deal - "

"No big deal?? Your sleazebag of an ex ripped you off and you think that's ok? Geez I knew he was trouble from the first day you introduced me to him".

Namgyu, player 124, was the culprit. When semi spotted him in the first game with a weirdo who calls himself 'Thanos', she really didn't give two shits.

But now that she knows the sole reason you're here was because of him, she was more than willing to pay him back.

With her fists in his face ofcourse.

You could tell Se-mi was pissed so you tried to change the subject as quickly as possible.

"Ok, ok enough about me, what about you??" You poked her chest playfully and crossed your arms. " I have my reasons.." she simply stated, not wanting to talk about herself when was clearly worried about you.

"That bruise you had on your cheek a few weeks ago, it was because of him wasn't it?" anger still apparent in her voice.

You seriously didn't want to admit it because you were embarrassed. Instead of standing up for yourself, you succumbed to his abuse. Choosing to stay silent so you wouldn't trouble anyone. Especially Se-mi.

But here you are now , face inches away from your crush. Even when you were in a relationship you always felt like Se-mi treated you better than any boy had ever made you feel. She cared about you alot and would always bring you small gifts and trinkets to make you happy.

On really rough days where you'd have really bad fights with Namgyu, Semi would take you on a ride on her motorbike to clear your mind and it would always calm you down.

"Well yeah..He got really mad that I was always hanging out with you after work...so he wanted to teach me a lesson." You breathed out shakily, feeling the tears well up in your eyes but refusing to let yourself breakdown infront of her.

Se-mi saw your eyes glaze over and felt a pang of guilt. Knowing she was the cause of the suffering you faced. Pulling you into a tight hug, she chose to not coax you any further. The strong smell of cheap cologne and a slight scent of cigarettes flooded your senses and you sobbed quietly, burying your face in the crook of her neck. Semi whispered sweet nothings to you while you relished being back in her safe arms.

The next few days went by quickly and you found yourself falling deeper in love with the ravenette. You were afraid to break the only relationship you have with the girl. You were friends, nothing more and nothing less.

Se-mi on the other hand wanted more. Sometimes she'd secretly watch you from afar while you talk to the other players. Her eyes slowly dragging over your figure with not so pure intentions.

She also had a thing calling you pretty girl whenever you have a conversation with her so you just assumed she meant that as a compliment rather than her attempting to flirt with you.

After the lights go out tonight , she wanted to finally confess her feelings for you. She isn't the best with words so she wanted to do the only thing she knows how to do. Through her actions.

Limbs entangled with each other and the sound of quiet breathing filled your ears. Se-mi was fast asleep, at least that's what she wants you to think. She knows every night when you both slip into bed that you admire her face while she's pretending to sleep. Which she finds super endearing.

"Do you like seeing my face that much?" trying to bite back a smile when she sees you're caught off guard. " Wha- Se-mi? You were awake this whole time??". At this point your cheeks were burning hot and it became all the more amusing for semi.

"I'm just gonna go straight to the point.." she drawled, letting her thumb drag gently across your cheek.

You yelped in surprise as she swiftly flipped you onto your back with ease , the familiar tingle in your stomach slowly built up. Se-mi was now hovering over your small form and she looked like she was gonna devour you whole.

A shit eating grin plastered on her face as leans down and captures your lips in hers.

Her lips were slightly chapped but soft nonetheless while yours were sweet and plump from the strawberry flavoured lip balm that you manage to sneak in. Which se-mi loved , you were addicting and you tasted oh so delicious.

You wasted no time reaching to the back of her neck and slipped your fingers into her dark hair pulling her in impossibly closer. Soft moans escaped your mouth in-between each kiss while se-mi soaked in every one, pushing her to kiss you deeper.

A hot trail of open mouthed kisses trailed down from the side of your lips towards your neck. Se-mi groaned in satisfaction when she finally found your sweet spot as your squirm beneath her. Leaving dark hickeys all across your neck and collarbone.

She wants everyone to know you belong to , especially that dumb ex of yours.

Overwhelmed by the immense pleasure you tried pushing her away. Se-mi didn't let you and quickly pinned you back down onto the mattress.

" ah ah - where do you think you're going?"

Her voice going an octave deeper than usual as she whispers into your ear making you close your legs in response while she reached down to pry them open.

"You're in for a long night so don't even think about it ~"

ps. Thanks for reading guys also put in some requests and I'll glady fulfill them for you ♡

[66ejna]

— husband!gojo's randomness.

୨୧ slight ooc, reader is a female, sfw, fluff, hcs (?), inspired by this fic.

husband!gojo, the guy who sneaks a kiss on your forehead before leaving for a mission, prioritizing your peaceful rest over a goodbye.

husband!gojo who always leave a "i love you more than yourself!" note before going to work, stick it on the fridge intentionally while you're sleeping. lets you know when he leaves for work early, just so you won’t feel panicked when he's not around (it's the opposite, really).

husband!gojo being a secretly sentimental husband - always keeping the cutesy letters you tend to give him when he's away rather than texting him.

husband!gojo who's keen on sprawling all around the bed, but demands for cuddles.

husband!gojo secretly sets up sweet gestures for his wife, ranging from heartfelt notes to surprise vacations. he claims it's all about her deserving it, yet it's clearly an excuse to show off.

husband!gojo, the type of husband to hold your hand with his, intertwine the fingers together, and put it inside his pocket as you guys walk under the beautiful night.

husband!gojo who purposely slips and calls you "princess" in front of others, especially in public gatherings/events.

husband!gojo who will make anything turns into a competition like turns daily chores into a playful rivalry.

despite his usual extravagant personality, husband!gojo takes his wife's concerns seriously. let it be work stress or personal issues, he may not always have the perfect response, but he's always there, ready to listen and comfort her.

husband!gojo who makes fun of you in the sweetest, most loving way, whether it's poking fun at how you look while drooling or your height, his eyes will always hold affection.

husband!gojo who knows that his lateness might also serve as a way to stir up reactions - especially yours. and when you're lightly mad at him, he'll claim he's searching for your heart, ridiculously. "i'm not joking around here, okay, i thought i will find your heart anywhere here."

husband!gojo, the husband who's into buying the plushie you longed for, without telling you that he actually knows you liked them. he's very attentive with everything you want.

husband!gojo, a husband figure who exudes confidence around others, but when it's just you two, he's the most caring and thoughtful version of himself. you could ramble on until his ears can't take it, but he'd stay by your side, no matter how much you yap.

every time someone flirts with you, husband!gojo casually says, "mine," with a small smile. letting them know that this woman is his.

husband!gojo, the type to makes sure you're always within his line of sight, even amidst a room full of strangers.

husband!gojo who messes with your hair in the morning, claiming it's "adorable" even though it's a mess.

husband!gojo whom brain is always flooded with nicknames ideas for you - constantly give you random ones like "my little snuggle nugget" for no reason at all.

©66ejna all rights reserved. do NOT repost & copy my work.

[mggslover]

No Strings Attached

In which reader is on a mission to get her boss to relieve some stress, not realizing he'd end up doing the same for her.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: smut (18+) x fluff Content warnings: porn with plot, jessica and jack make an appearance, no mention of haley, hotch smiling (lol), reader being sad and a bit insecure bc she hasn't got laid in a while, mentions of drinking wine, no strings attached (but not really bc they're obsessed with each other), soft!dom hotch, praise, breast play, ass worship, oral (f receiving), p in v sex Word count: 4,7k A/n: first time writing a fic dedicated to Hotch and i fear i'm obsessed... also i had to do some acrobatics to make sure these positions work (they do) so give me a heart for the effort your feedback and support are highly appreciated!

Aaron Hotchner is a busy man. And these days, even more so. The responsibilities of being Unit Chief were always demanding, but they seemed to multiply now that he was balancing the weight of single parenthood as well.

As a profiler it was obvious to you how much he struggled with juggling between these professions, even though he always tried to hide it from the team. You noticed his slightly furrowed brow when he thought no one was watching, and the slow drag of his steps as he moved between meetings and paperwork.

Since you’d joined the team, you'd developed a deep respect for Aaron. Where others saw a hard-nosed, no-nonsense boss—a “drill sergeant” in Morgan’s words—you saw a man who held himself and his team to incredibly high standards because he believed in their potential. You saw a man who cared deeply, even when his personal life was slowly suffocating beneath the pressure of it all.

Even if he would never admit it, no human being can go through the difficulties he goes through without ever catching a break, without getting any help. So tonight, as you passed his office, a light still flickering inside, you decided to do something about it.

Your knuckle made contact with the door, knocking three times as you waited. When there was no immediate response, you quietly creaked the door open.

The sight of him behind the desk was familiar. His shoulders were hunched and his brows furrowed in concentration, as he scanned the endless stacks of paperwork that seemed to breed faster than he could handle them.

"Hey," you greeted softly, offering a small smile as you stepped into the room.

Hotch looked up from the pile in front of him, his gaze flicking from the documents to you. There was a slight exhaustion behind his eyes that he didn’t try to mask.

"Hey.” His eyes dropped to his wristwatch for just a moment, his lips curling into a subtle frown. "It’s late. Why haven’t you gone home yet?"

You waved off his concern. "I’m about to. Had to send a few more emails for the lab reports."

He nodded, but didn’t immediately return to his work. Instead, he watched you with that signature intensity of his, silently observing you.

"I- uh, I wanted to ask you something.” You hesitated for a moment as you moved further into the room, the door gently clicking shut behind you.

His brows rose slightly, an almost imperceptible shift of interest in his posture. "Go on."

You cleared your throat, your hands instinctively clasping behind your back. "You’ve been working a lot of late nights."

“That’s not a question.” He stated in an amused tone.

A small smile played on your lips. "I know, but it’s a… concern," you said. "And I was wondering if there was anything I could do to help you out."

He looked at you, his expression unreadable. His hands folded neatly in his lap, and he leaned back in his chair. It was hard to tell whether he was considering your offer or mentally debating the logistics of it.

"You want to help me out?" he asked, his voice tinged with confusion.

“Yes.”

Aaron grabbed a stack of papers, knocking them into a neat pile on his desk, then looked back at you. "So, this is something you’re interested in?" His tone was laced with amusement as he nodded down at the amount of paperwork in his hands.

You winced at the sight of it. "Uh... not exactly," you said, trying to keep your tone light. "I was thinking more along the lines of taking care of Jack," you added, raising your voice slightly on the last part, unsure of how he’d react to your suggestion.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Taking care of Jack?"

"Yeah.” You met his gaze, trying to sound confident despite the uncertainty creeping in. "Just on the days we don’t have a case. I could go to your place and stay with him until you get home."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "You know Jessica’s there," he said, referring to his ex-sister-in-law who had taken on the role of taking care of Jack when he had to work.

“Don’t you think she deserves a break every once in a while?”

His expression shifted, becoming slightly defensive. "She offered to take care of him.”

"I know," you responded quickly, knowing he’d never force her into it. "But I’m offering too. I babysat all through university, I know what I’m doing."

He gave you a tight-lipped smile, his eyes flicking back to the papers in front of him. "That’s not necessary, but thank you," he said, his tone closing the conversation.

You weren’t ready to let it go yet. You stepped closer to his desk, hoping to draw his attention back. "Please? I want to help you."

He didn’t look up. "I don’t need any help," he stubbornly replied, his eyes still glued to the paperwork.

“Then let me put it this way,” you pressed on. "I want to help the team, because no offense, your stress is affecting all of us. And on top of that, I want to help Jack."

He glanced up at you, the wheels in his mind turning, and you showed him your best puppy eyes.

"Did you learn that from Reid?" he asked, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Is it working?" you grinned back.

He chuckled breathlessly. "Alright, fine. One night. Let’s see how it goes."

You fought back a victorious grin. “Good. Just you wait, Hotchner. Once you see how great I am with kids, you’ll never let me go."

—

A week later, Hotch took you up on your offer. Jessica had a wedding to attend, and you’d agreed to look after Jack for the evening.

Though you’d spent plenty of time with Jack when he visited his dad at the office or at events outside of work, Hotch insisted on driving you to his place for a proper handoff.

He held the door open for you as you entered his apartment. You were immediately greeted by Jessica, dressed in a stunning outfit with a purse ready in hand.

"I’m late, I’m late!" she panicked, almost running as she headed for the door. But when she saw you, her demeanor softened.

“There’s my saving grace,” she said with a relieved smile. “Thank you so much for doing this.”

You waved her off with a grin. “It’s my pleasure. You look amazing, go have fun.”

She offered a final smile, then said her goodbyes to Hotch before quickly heading out.

“Hi, Dad!” Jack’s voice rang out as he bounced into the living room, his excitement palpable. You smiled, watching the little boy as he ran toward his father.

“Hey, buddy.” Hotch lifted him into his arms with a small groan. “You’re getting bigger every day.”

Your heart warmed at the exchange. Hotch was a completely different man when he was at home—more relaxed, more playful, the kind of father who carefully kept work and family separate.

He put Jack down, introducing you to him.

“I know who she is, Dad. We colored together. She’s really good at drawing Spider-Man.”

Hotch raised an intrigued eyebrow at you.

"I have more hidden talents than you know,” you playfully shrugged.

You turned to Jack, crouching down to his level. "Want to grab the crayons? We can make some more drawings."

Jack’s eyes lit up, and without hesitation, he scampered off in search of his favorite colors, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll find the red one!”

You chuckled at his enthusiasm and straightened up, turning back to Hotch. “You’ve got a sweet kid,”

Hotch’s eyes followed Jack as he rummaged through the drawer. There was pride in the way he looked at his son, but you could see the hint of anxiety that always seemed to lurk beneath the surface when it came to Jack.

You placed a reassuring hand on his arm, giving him a small, comforting squeeze. “He’s in good hands, Hotch. You don’t have to worry.”

He met your eyes, and for a brief moment, the weight of his responsibilities seemed to lift. His gaze softened with unspoken gratitude. “I trust you,” he spoke sincerely.

“Good.” You gave him a small smile and gave his bicep a final, reassuring pat. “Now get some work done. You might be able to make it in time for dinner.”

With a final glance at Jack, he turned to leave. The door clicked softly behind him, and you were left on your own with the mini version of him, who was already showing off his new crayons.

—

That evening marked the first of many. When you weren’t out on a case, you found yourself naturally heading to Hotch's after work—sometimes taking over from Jessica for the day or picking up Jack from school yourself. You often stayed well into the evening, even after Hotch came home, enjoying dinner together, playing games, or simply talking. There were even times where you stayed the night, sharing a quiet drink after putting Jack to bed. He’d insist you sleep in his bed while he took the couch. In the mornings, the three of you would share breakfast, with Hotch always ensuring the fridge was stocked with your favorite foods and knowing exactly how you liked your eggs.

You knew your colleagues would lose their minds if they’d ever find out, but for you, it never felt strange. It felt right. Comfortable. And whenever you were back on the field, you’d slip back into your professional roles—the accidental first-name slips the only sign of the bond you shared.

Being at their place made you realize how much your work had tangled itself into every aspect of your life. You’d moved away from family, struggled to maintain a personal life, and watched every attempt at dating falter because of your job. Despite how fulfilling your work at the BAU was, you’d forgotten just how deeply you craved a sense of belonging—a place where you were appreciated for more than just your professional skills or your ability to handle a weapon. Around Aaron and Jack, you could simply let go and be yourself.

Today was another day at the Hotchner house. You had spent the entire afternoon with Jack playing soccer in a nearby park until he was utterly exhausted, you practically had to drag him home. This time you didn’t mind though. Today has been a painful reminder of how single you were. The park had been filled with happy couples—some picnicking, some feeding the ducks, and others nervously sharing their first kiss.

You were grateful for how Aaron had allowed you to wiggle your way into his little family on days like these, but still it wasn’t yours. You still longed for one to call your own one day.

So, here you were—alone on the couch, watching a rom-com wishing you were starring in it, and finding comfort in the warmth of his house and the glass of wine in your hand.

You were so absorbed in the movie that you didn’t notice the door unlocking until Hotch stepped inside.

“Hey,” you greeted, reaching for the remote to pause the film.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he said, putting down his bag and hanging up his jacket. He loosened his tie and walked over to the couch, settling on the opposite end.

“Sorry, I opened a new bottle of wine”

He waved it off. “I’m glad that you did. It would’ve just collected dust on the shelf.”

You take another sip. “It’s a good one. Rossi’s?”

“You know it,” he replied with a soft smile, getting comfortable in the cushions as you put the movie back on.

The screen flickered with a romantic scene: a couple dancing in the rain, the male lead spinning the woman around in circles as they laughed.

“I miss that,” you murmured, a wistful smile tugging at your lips as you watched them.

Hotch glanced at you, a smirk forming. “It’s raining outside. Be my guest.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully dismissing the comment. “That’s not what I meant. Just look, Aaron,” you pointed at the TV, where the couple gazed at each other lovingly, before he pulled her in for a passionate kiss. “I don’t remember the last time someone looked at me like that.”

“Sometimes, I feel so desperate that I think about saying yes to the first guy who comes along, just to feel wanted again.”

Hotch straightened, concern flickering in his eyes. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“I know, Dad,” you teased, trying to ease the tension. “I’m unfortunately fully aware of the creeps out there.”

“On top of that, I’m not even sure anyone would take me up on it,” you added with a breathless laugh, your voice betraying a hint of vulnerability. “I haven’t exactly gotten much attention since joining the team. Maybe I’m not considered attractive anymore.”

“People can tell you know how to handle yourself,” he profiled. “Some find that intimidating. But you’re just as attractive—if not more so—than before you joined the team.”

You almost spilled your wine at his confession, the sudden heat in your cheeks betraying the flutter in your stomach.

“You don’t have to say that,” you mumbled, not wanting him to feel pity for you.

“Am I lying?” he asked, his voice steady. You met his gaze—his posture was open, his shoulders relaxed, and his eye contact was unwavering. It was textbook honesty.

“No,” you admitted quietly, feeling the truth of his words sink in.

“I don’t think you need some stranger or a serious relationship to get what you’re after.”

You blinked, not sure if you’d heard him right. “No?”

Hotch leaned in just a little, his voice lower now. “I think we could give each other what we need... without it being complicated.”

Your heart skipped, and you tried to process what he was suggesting. Your mind raced, the words hanging in the air between you.

“Are you suggesting a no-strings-attached relationship with me?”

He gave a small, wry smile. “I’m trying to be subtle about it, but it’s not going so well.”

You laughed, caught off guard, trying to mask your surprise as you saw the seriousness in his expression.

“How will this work?”

The corners of his lips lifted as you acknowledged thinking this through. “We would just… enjoy ourselves. Just when we’re here. Just when it’s the two of us.”

Enjoying yourself with Aaron Hotchner definitely wasn’t how you’d imagined this night going.

You stayed quiet, thinking it over. After a moment you slowly nodded your head. “Okay.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, waiting for confirmation.

“Yes. I am,” you responded, the words coming easier now.

You licked your lips nervously as he moved closer to you. His cologne enveloped you, making your pulse quicken.

As he continued gazing into your eyes, you decided it was your turn to make the next move. Carefully, you reached up to cup his cheek, feeling the slight roughness of his stubble against the palm of your hand. A small prayer passed through your mind, hoping you wouldn’t regret your next decision.

Then you kissed him.

The moment his lips met yours, the cliché of “fireworks” suddenly made sense—the feeling was intense, electric, a rush that left you breathless. His hands moved to the sides of your waist, pulling you closer. Before you could think, you were settled on his lap, the world around you narrowing to the heat of his touch.

A small, desperate whimper escaped you as his tongue brushed against yours. It had been so long since someone touched you this way—especially someone as strong and attractive as Aaron. You could feel his heartbeat beneath your fingertips as your hand slid over his chest, the other wrapping around his neck. He deepened the kiss, and the feeling was so overwhelming that it almost made you cry in relief.

He brushed his hands over the smooth curve of your waist and down the swell of your thighs, digging his fingers into the clothed skin.

Your soft moans were swallowed by your kisses, and you couldn’t help yourself as you moved your hips against his, feeling yourself get more aroused with each movement against the thin fabric of his slacks.

He let out a low grunt as you repeatedly rolled your hips against the hardening bulge in his pants. His large hands roamed up beneath your shirt, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. You placed your hands over his, ready to take your shirt off, but just as quickly his hands closed around your wrists, stopping you gently.

“Not here,” he warned. “Let’s move to the bedroom.”

His words sent a rush of desire to your core, and though your legs trembled, you stood from his lap and followed him across the room. As he moved, Hotch unbuckled his belt with one swift, effortless motion. You paused mid-step, breath catching at the sight of the leather coiled in his hand, hypnotised by how seductive the image looked. You blinked a couple of times to get out of your trance, before hurrying after him, your legs trying to catch up to his confident pace.

You stepped into the bedroom, moving until you stood at the foot of the bed as he locked the door behind you. A flutter of nerves stirred in your stomach at the reality of what was about to happen.

Hotch walked toward you, slowly closing the distance. His eyes were dark as they took you in with a look of pure lust—one you’d previously never seen on him.

“Turn around for me.”

Maybe it was because you were so accustomed to his authority in the field, or perhaps it was the undeniable fact that you'd let him do anything to you at this point, but without a second thought, you obeyed, turning your back toward him.

His hands reached out to rub over your shoulders in slow circles. You instinctively leaned into him, your eyes closing as you let yourself melt into the comfort of his touch. He presses in closer, his chin resting against your shoulder.

“What is it that you’ve been longing for?” His voice is a soft, sensual whisper, his breath warm against your skin.

A shaky breath escapes your lips as his hands delicately trail over your collarbones, carefully moving lower, inching toward your breasts. The moment his palms cup them, your nipples harden.

He hummed, still awaiting a response.

“You,” you whispered back, your voice barely audible through the thick need.

You feel the faint curve of a teasing smile against your skin. “You already have me,” he murmured. “Tell me how I can make you feel good.”

His thumbs flick over your nipples, and you arch your back into him, feeling the solid press of his body against yours, the hardness in his pants meeting you once again.

“It’s been a while since-” your words dissolve into a moan as his fingers pinch your nipples.

“Since what?” he teased, his lips tracing the curve of your neck, each kiss setting your skin alight.

You swallowed. “Since… since someone’s gone down on me.”

“Is that so?” he hummed, the sound rich with interest. His tongue slides up your neck, before turning it into a kiss.

“Aaron, please,” you begged, grinding your hips into him.

“How can someone like you have been deprived of pleasure for so long?” he thought out loud, and he finally grabbed the material of your shirt, pulling it over your head.

His hands glide softly over your back, before he unclasps your bra with one smooth motion. Your breasts spill free, and he immediately cups them in his hands, holding them as if he wants to keep you warm and covered. The pleasure is even more delicious now that the contact is skin-to-skin.

His hands roam over your stomach, until he reaches the button of your pants, undoing it. He sinks to his knees behind you, his fingers curling around the waistband of your pants and panties, easing them down. A low curse escapes him as the fabric slides over your ass and down your thighs, revealing more of you inch by inch.

You held onto his shoulder for support, as he steadied your leg, guiding you to step out of your pants. The second he tossed the fabric to the side, he placed his hands steadily on your thighs, leaning in to press a heated kiss to your ass. You let out a moan, bucking forward, but he holds you firmly in place as his lips trail wet, lingering kisses over your cheeks.

“Place your knee on the bed for me,” he tenderly instructs.

You followed his order, lifting one knee onto the bed, your upper body arching slightly as it hovers just above the mattress. The cool air brushes over your exposed pussy as you’re displayed in front of him.

A loud moan leaves your mouth, as his tongue makes contact with your folds. The pressure is just right, each flick of his tongue drawing a sharp gasp from you as he licks up and down in a deliberate rhythm.

“You taste like heaven,” he groans, the deep rumble of his voice vibrating through you as he speaks, “dripping down your thighs already.” His lips trail lower, and he laps up the wetness that has gathered on your inner thighs, his stubble tickling against your sensitive skin. You grip the sheets, desperate for something to hold on to.

Aaron’s tongue returns to your pussy, the tip of it firmly pushing inside, curling upward as he slides in and out, hitting all the right spots, sending waves of pleasure through you. Each thrust makes you cry out.

You let out a small whine as his tongue retreats, pressing a delicate kiss to the tender skin. “Don’t get me wrong,” he starts, licking his lips clean, “I love hearing you, but you can’t be too loud.”

You silently nodded, your breath hitching as his finger unhurriedly traced your sensitive folds. Just as he was about to enter you, you stopped him.

“I- I need your cock,” you whined, your hips pushing back toward him, desperate for more.

“Yeah? You need it that bad?” he teased, as he rose to his feet behind you.

You crawled onto the bed, glancing back at him. His lips still glistened with the trace of you, and his eyes were locked onto yours, filled with predatory focus.

“I need it, Aaron,” you repeated, biting your bottom lip as your gaze lingered on the hard outline of his length pressed against his thigh.

He groaned, his hands quickly pulling at his tie, tossing it aside before he began unbuttoning his shirt. His movements were confident—like a private performance just for you. You leaned back on your arms, your feet planted on the bed, allowing him to see just how much he was making you ache for him.

As he removed his shirt, the muscles in his broad shoulder flexed, and the trail of dark hair down his stomach led your eyes straight to what you craved.

He wasn’t shy as he pulled his pants down, eager to show you just how worked up you’d made him. His length stood hard, the tip flushed red and glistening with precum. You instinctively pressed your thighs together, giving you a soft release of tension.

He joined you on the bed, lying on his side and pulling you flush against his chest, spooning you. His lips crashed into yours in a deep, hungry kiss, his groans vibrating against your mouth. His hand explored your front, squeezing your breasts, while his arousal pressed insistently against your ass.

You moaned, your leg draping over his as you shifted, opening yourself up to him. He reached down, gripping his length, positioning it against you before slowly pushing inside, stretching you inch by inch.

You took a sharp breath, adjusting to the feel of him inside you. His cock throbbed, as if begging for you to move. Slowly, you rolled your hips, taking more of him in, and Hotch’s low growl rumbled in your ear.

“That’s it,” he praised, his voice rough with pleasure. “Taking me so well.”

He was fully inside you now, filling you completely, and his hand slid down to your exposed clit, his fingers moving in slow, rhythmic circles. His thrusts matched the pace, deep and deliberate.

Every movement sent shockwaves through your body, your breath quickening as the familiar knot of pleasure tightened in your stomach.

“I’m close, Aaron,” you whimpered, and he moaned in response, placing soft kisses along your jaw before sucking at your neck, marking you.

His fingers moved faster, pushing you closer to the edge, and your body twitched as your orgasm crashed over you. His arms held you tight, anchoring you as the sensations slowly subsided.

When he withdrew his hand from your clit, it slid down to your knee, bending your leg to spread you even wider. Without warning, he began pounding into you, the sudden change in speed making you cry out, a high-pitched moan escaping your lips.

“Be quiet for me. Don’t make me tell you again,” he warned. You involuntarily moaned at the way he commanded you, and he grunted in response.

With a swift motion, he flipped you onto your stomach, your body pressed flat against the bed. A sharp gasp escaped you as he grabbed your thighs, lifting them to raise your ass in the air, before entering you again.

One hand pressed firmly into your shoulder, holding you down, while the other gripped your hips, forcing you to meet each of his thrusts. The new position did its job—your moans were muffled into the pillow, leaving only the wet slap of skin and the sound of Hotch’s deep, guttural grunts with each push of his hips.

“They're so stupid for not wanting you,” he groaned. “You have me now. I’ll give you everything you want.”

Your heart fluttered at his words. After feeling this, you knew you wouldn’t ever be satisfied by anyone else. You would want no one but him.

“I’m going to come inside of you,” he breathed, bending over so his chest pressed against your back, his warmth enveloping you.

“Oh-“ Your breath caught as the sensation in your core tightened again. “Yes, please. Inside of me, please.” You couldn’t form a full sentence as the heat inside of your core builds up again.

He reaches under you to touch your clit, and the instant his fingers make contact, you come undone. Your legs tremble, giving way beneath you as the rush of pleasure takes over. Hotch pushes into you two more times before you feel him spill inside, the sensation sending you into another, deeper orgasm.

He presses soft, tender kisses to your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he whispers in your ear, “I’m sorry I got a little carried away.”

You hum in satisfaction, a pleased smile tugging at your lips. “I’m glad you did.”

—

You weren’t sure what time it was, but you had a quick shower together—Hotch giving you one more orgasm—and were now laying in bed, your clean bodies tangled under his sheets.

“Will you stay the night?” he asked softly, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand as he held you close.

It was endearing how gentle and shy he sounded, a stark contrast to what the two of you had just shared.

“Only if you promise to not move to the couch,” you mumbled sleepily, your voice heavy with exhaustion.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

You turned your head to him, noticing the quiet that had settled between you both.

“What is it?” you asked, tracing absent patterns to his skin.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I was thinking… maybe we can attach those strings a bit more.”

You chuckled. “Maybe,” you playfully teased, pressing a final kiss to his lips.

[amourcheol]

agrodolce

❝Because you cannot create perfection without a little tension.❞

rivals to lovers! au | fluff | 27.5k words

s u m m a r y : one would expect being a dessert chef to be a life filled with sugary goodness, but nothing is sweet when working alongside boo seungkwan. when the two of you are forced to create a special dessert for the winter menu together, you think the restaurant will burn down. late night planning, shopping mall snooping, and a simple dessert might just save you from your expectations.

c o n t e n t : dessert chef! mc, dessert chef! seungkwan, rivals to lovers! au but i kept it tame so i didn't lose my mind, head chef! jeonghan who terrorises his employees, seungkwan is leading the sassy man apocolypse, flatmate! julie from kiss of life who wants to be santa, lots of mentions of italian desserts, lots of geographical London referencess, lots of bickering, little bits of tension, making out but no smut because im fearing god again, fluff obviously and overall just very winter-esque!!

p l a y l i s t : candy by seventeen || chocolate by seventeen || daawat-e-ishq by sajid-wajid || strawberry sunday by dojaejung

t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld @ourkivee @syluslittlecrows @ye0ppl @markhyuckbest @uhdrienne

a u t h o r ' s n o t e : this is not edited properly and for that i am sorry...so tired i fear but she is FINALLY done!! thank you @camandemstudios for inviting me to participate in this collab, i've enjoyed every moment of yapping and fighting over pixel cats <33 to alice and addy for listening to me complaing about this fic but seungkwan deserves sm love so i had to do my bit !! i hope you all enjoy and happy new year !! <3

back to masterlist

BEING BERATED BY A SUPERIOR WILL ALWAYS BE A HUMBLING EXPERIENCE.

Whether that be in school, when you are scolded for forgetting your homework, or gaining detention for arguing with your teacher. In the working world, it could be insufficient effort in a team project, perhaps your boss simply being a prick and wanting to make your life difficult. 

Never did you think you would be sitting in front of your Head Chef, remnants of food stuck in your hair and clothing, a sheepish look plastered upon your face as you faced his imminent wrath.

You knew it was over for you—the man at the head of the office sat, sleeveless arms crossed, eyebrows knitted in rage at your dishevelled appearance, his feet tapping viciously under the desk. You never really considered your superior to be a particularly scary figure of power, but, in this light, if he made any sudden moves, there was a slim possibility you would scream.

You wondered whether begging for forgiveness was still on the table.

“Remind me, _____,” he finally said, sighing the words out, “How old are you?” 

A part of you wished to remind him that he was not legally allowed to ask you that. You did not even know why he was asking such a question. Head Chef Yoon Jeonghan had known you for a long time now. He realised it too, but for another reason entirely. “No, scratch that. You’re an age where your brain has developed fully, right? I’m not wrong in assuming that you’re capable of knowing what’s right and what’s wrong?”

“Of course, Chef,” you answered, trying to find some self-assuredness in your voice. Difficult, in all honesty, when you were covered with salted butter and vanilla extract. 

That seemed to be the wrong answer. “Then tell me why, _____,” he asked, agitation rising, “I caught you with your hands full of whipped cream, throwing it at a fellow chef.”

You attempted an explanation. “In my defence, Chef, you weren’t meant to see that.”

Jeonghan was not amused. “I’m surprised the entire restaurant didn’t catch your antics. If this incident happened during open hours I shudder to think what our customers would think.”

Reining in a sigh, you did not respond this time, positive that another dry quip from you would have your unemployment confirmed. 

It was a little unfair, though. You were not the only one who was caught. 

A drawl resounded from beside you. “I won’t be surprised if half our customers don’t already know what _____’s like.”

This particular chirp had your self-wallowing bubbling to a rage. 

No, you were not the sole culprit, because as you whipped your head to the man who decided to voice his opinion at the wrong time, you caught the shit-eating glint in his eyes and nearly screamed the office down.

You could not stop yourself from crowing out, “Let’s not forget your 2018 meltdown over multiple tiramisu failures, Seungkwan.”

That had him scoffing harshly. “Always digging up incidents from years ago because you have nothing else to bring up.” His eyes hiked up and down your ruined uniform. “I can name your screw-ups starting today.”

“Oh, so I was just pissing about with all this food by myself then,” you snapped, gesturing towards his own mess. His hazel locks had the remnants of whipped cream too, matting his hair, whilst different coloured stains adorned his professional uniform, much similar to yours. However, you noticed he was much dirtier in appearance, which made your lips quirk upward in satisfaction.

He caught on instantly, to your distaste. “You were the one who couldn’t argue properly with me,” he accused. “No wonder you had to resort to childish gimmicks to get back at me.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” A turn of your nose. “You look horrendous.” 

“You’re no sight for sore eyes either.” He reached for the thick strands of his hair, matted together with whipped cream. “Do you even know how hard it is to wash off mascarpone?”

“I wouldn’t, actually, because you missed, remember?”

“Oh, you—” 

“Enough!” Jeonghan declared, interrupting you two before any escalations occurred. “Not only were these gimmicks childish and immature, but also a huge waste on our ingredients. Mingyu’s estimated our stock for this week was cut down by 17%.” 

Your surprise was exposed through the twist of your mouth. “That’s right.” Jeonghan sighed once again, many in his arsenal. “Both of your temper tantrums have cost the restaurant financially. Aside from the fact that I will be talking to my therapist about this incident.” 

“Of course _____ wouldn’t care about the restaurant finances,” Seungkwan jeered, dusting off flakes of self-raising flour from his lap. “Nor your mental health.”

“I do care about your mental health, Chef,” you rebuked your colleague’s claim. “If I didn’t, then the stock would have plummeted another 25% at least. That’s why I didn’t touch the vintage dessert wines.” 

“You do seem to have some sense then,” Jeonghan griped, no humour in his smile, “Because if you ruined the wines on Seungkwan I would have fired you instantly.”

Not a warning—a promise. Another one of his infamous sighs exhaled from his coral lips, which he brushed with his wandering fingers in thought. “You both…you both need to stop this. I mean it.” 

“I will stop when she stops,” the man beside you asserted, glaring at you. 

You matched his venom. “I will stop when he stops.” 

“No, you both will stop, because I have had enough.” He locked his hands together, losing all amusement—as if there was any present in the first place. “Christmas period is approaching, and that means changing up the menu for the new quarter. These next couple of months will be incredibly busy, especially given the tourist season and school holidays in central.” 

Glancing at the stack of papers on his desk, he set aside a few files, sliding out a particular piece and studying the details. “As you know, the main menu has been under alteration, but the dessert menu is still the same as the summer. I have already selected the majority of the confectionery, but there is still one more dessert I wish to add to the seasonal collection.” 

He then set his sights on the two of you. “I need you to make this dessert. Hand me the plans for its creation, flavour variety, as well as its marketability in the restaurant.” 

That had you sitting up in your seat. A creation of a dessert—it was something you had concocted in larger groups, back when you were a mere apprentice under Jeonghan’s wing at Camden Market. You had done seasonal dessert preparations for the spring and summer menus, but the winter menu selection was the most prestigious amongst the luxury restaurants within your borough. With locals flocking to central London, tourists from all corners of the world flying across oceans to stay in this beloved city, they wanted nothing more than seasonal excellence. 

An exquisite dessert meant maintaining that expectation of perfection. A dessert was enjoyed at the end of the main meal, and—in your eyes—cemented the opinion of a customer on whether they would return to the establishment, or forget it ever existed. The treats you made left impressions on thousands, impressions you savoured everyday at work, and outside. 

This may just be all your hard work paying off. Finally.

Before Jeonghan could continue, you nodded, all confidence. “I will be happy to accept this task, Chef.”

A snort sounded next to you, and your smugness faltered, replaced with irritation. “You have something to say?” 

“Yeah, actually,” he said, folding his leg over the other, “I was wondering why you were piping up when Chef was asking me.” 

This time, you were the one that laughed. “Your arrogance makes you look like a dumbass many times, Seungkwan. This is one of those times.” 

He leaned in a little, nodding condescendingly along to your taunts. “Oh do I? I guess it’ll be your turn to look stupid today.” 

“Both of you are looking stupid in front of me,” the boss interjected once more. “Because I wasn’t asking a specific individual.” 

He raised his hands to the two of you. “I’m asking you both to work on this dessert inclusion. Together.” 

You halted. Stilled in the stark, yellow lights of the grand office, evidence of Jeonghan’s success. Success which you have yet to taste on your own.

Success which, unfortunately, might have died with the words that left your superior’s mouth.

For the first time in a while, there was complete silence in the office.

Even Jeonghan found the notion hard to believe. “My God,” he uttered, twisting the corners of his mouth downwards, stunned. “Maybe I should have dropped this news before the food fight.”

You could only stare at the man in pure horror. “I would rather snap raw spaghetti and serve it to you before doing such a thing!”

Seungkwan let out a groan. “Here come the dramatics,” he muttered, but you heard it clear enough. “Anything to make a fuss and delay the business.”

Jeonghan perked up. “Oh, so you wouldn’t be opposed to it?”

A smile. “I’d kill myself before working with _____.”

Your huff of laughter had the boy scowling. “And he called me dramatic.”

“Enough!” was the final outcry from your boss, who seemed ready to overthrow the desk in pure frustration. “You two…” he shook his head, raking his slender hands through his long, black hair. “I don’t care.”

The younger attempted to fight his case to the end. “But Chef, this will be a disaster—”

You chimed in for the sake of interrupting, “This will cause the downfall of your restaurant—”

“I don’t care how you two feel,” his interruption was final, his head shaking still. “I don’t give a fuck, to be honest.”

Seungkwan’s mouth parted, but then heard the fuck, and decided against saying a word. You should have followed suit, but it was against your very principle to follow his example. “Chef, please,” you tried, almost pleading to be heard out. “Seungkwan and I have completely different palettes too. It’s not even about personal differences.”

“Again, that is a setback I don’t care about.” He stood up from his seat, and almost on instinct the two of you shot up from your chairs, remnants of cooked fettuccine falling from your dampened uniform pockets. The Head Chef took note of this detail. “This…this petty rivalry between the two of you is affecting the people around you now. Both of you are so talented, yet I have seen caffeine-crazed kids behave better than you during rush hours.” 

He rested his hands on the table, his hard gaze razor-sharp. “You both have about eight weeks to hand me the final dessert plan on my table. If I receive two individual plans, or no plan at all, then I will fire you both.”

That was enough for balls to drop. You were fortunate to have none, so only assumed Seungkwan was the victim in this situation.

“Y-you can’t do that!” he exclaimed, and for the first time, you had to agree with him. A horrifying prospect. “We’re halfway through September now!”

“So?”

“You need me on desserts, Chef!” you declared, taking a more outraged stance on his statement. “What the hell will you do when there’s no one to make your amarettis?”

The man was still, face impassive. “I don’t care if you both are my best chefs. There are many big-eyed, desperate Masterchef rejects who will cut off their legs to be trained within this position.”

Whatever snide remark that almost escaped your mouth lodged itself in your throat. You wanted to feel special—like there was a place reserved only for you at the restaurant. 

Now, because of one person, that position is threatened.

“This isn’t fair, Jeonghan,” you mumbled. 

There was a pause. Then, “Don’t make me agree with _____.”

“Shut up.”

The boss took a turn from his desk, walking towards the door. “As I said,” he began, holding onto the handle, “You have eight weeks.” 

He took one last glance at the two of you, a judgement akin to the one the scriptures warned about. “Don’t fuck this up.” 

With that, he left his office with a final thud! of the door. 

And as the weight of the decision finally settled on your shoulders, its pressure making them sag, you looked to the man whose employment rested in your hands—whose hands your employment rested on too. 

The two of you scowled at the exact same moment.

If anyone was going to get fired, it would not be you.

THE RUSH HOUR OF THE UNDERGROUND TUBE SOURED YOUR ALREADY UNPLEASANT CONDITION.

The Northern line from Camden experienced a few closures, so that resulted in delays, consequently filling the already dingy underground area into a complete sardine-like squeeze. It was horrendous enough the place was like a cesspit of heat and sweat amongst all these commuters, but knowing you were going to be late was enough to worsen your mood. 

You would have complained to your flatmate, but there was no service underneath—the entire commute resulted in staring down the people who held a seat in the jam-packed tube, when you were slotted against the sliding doors of the train. Holding onto the railings for dear life, you could only hope that your colleague had experienced an inconvenience as severe as you had (perhaps tripping over his dirty laundry—maybe even a car crash on the ring road? He could take his pick). 

Once the tube finally reached Leicester Square, you could not struggle out of the train fast enough, tapping out your card and flying up the stairs in two-three steps. The Piazza of Covent Garden was not far away, but London was a city that never rested, and so the people were everywhere. Thankfully, you had mastered the art of moving out of the crowds with precision, so you arrived at your destination, only about five minutes late. 

The columns of Covent Garden’s grand building welcomed your vision. There, nestled to the side with luxury outdoor seating splayed onto the cobblestone, was the Vita di Diamante—Jeonghan’s product of blood, sweat and tears for the world to admire. The Georgian-style front was painted an emerald green, white borders of the doors and windows making the restaurant glow in the soft winter sun. Customers were already queuing, even though doors were not to open for the next two hours. You could not help a small smile forming, chest swelling with pride. 

Avoiding the front entrance, you hurried around to the side doors, this particular entrance already open thanks to Prep Cook Kim Mingyu, who offered a sheepish smile at your appearance. 

“Oh no,” you said in greeting, quickly stepping past him as he closed the door. “What’s that look for?” 

He chuckled, tightening his apron’s bow at the back. “Seungkwan’s been waiting at your station for thirty minutes.”

A curse escaped you, furthering his amusement. “How mad is he?”

“He shouted at me for the lack of ricotta in the pantry.” 

You scrunched your brows in shame, widening your lips in a line. “That’s on me. I threw it at him the other day.”

Although he shook his head, he said, “Tell me it hit his face, at least.”

“Right on target.”

Hearing his laughter behind you, you dashed to the cloakroom, quickly changing into your uniform. Tossing your bag in the small lockers, you exited, finding yourself in the familiar surroundings of the dessert station. 

From the last time you had been in this side of the kitchens, the place had been the victim of your vicious food fight with Seungkwan—stained with sauces, powdered with flour, and littered with different nuts and sprinkles from the pantry. Now, the floors and tables were spotless, all evidence of your petty rage disappeared into your memories. 

Unfortunately, the cleaners could not make the sole reason for your anger disappear. He stood, back hunched to you, like a nasty stain upon your domain, refusing to be wiped away. You could not help your glower towards his figure, a small hope that you would develop lasers for eyes and smite him off the station.

“What’re you glaring at me for? You’re the one who’s late.” 

Jerking your head back at his voice, you twisted your lips downwards, walking towards him. “You don’t know that,” you challenged, sneaking a look at what he focused on—a notebook, with scribbles written in black ink. 

“I do, because you’re glaring at me as we speak.” He glanced up at you. “See?” 

It was a little pitiful now, trying to school your face into neutrality. “Whatever,” you muttered, taking out your own notepad, setting it on the steel tops. “And for the late thing, rush hour spares no one.”

“Yet the entire staff managed to come early,” he said, a certain, condescending ease in his tone which made your glower darken. “We’re lucky that Jeonghan’s helping us with desserts in the next coming weeks, or we would have been screwed.” 

“Jeonghan’s coming?” you asked, genuinely surprised. You were aware that he was trialling a few dessert apprentices to deal with the restaurant’s rush period, butyou did not expect the big boss to turn up at the stations.

“He wants us to focus on ‘team collaboration’,” he iterated, exaggerating the latter words in air quotes, “As well as ‘building our professional relationship’.” 

“Jesus,” you could only say, dreading the near future for what it held for the two of you. Jeonghan was either the dumbest person to grace this restaurant, or enjoyed messing with his employees for work-place entertainment. 

A glimpse of the clock. “We’re due for starting up in a couple of hours, so we better start thinking up ideas now.” You looked down at the pages of your notebook, a few ideas already jotted down that needed further exploration. “Since we’re only doing one dessert, this shouldn’t take us more than a week to decide.”

Seungkwan’s mouth twisted in a sneer. “Yeah, if you’re just handing a scoop of gelato to them.”

That particular comment had you craning your head back. “You have to be braindead to take two months to come up with one item.”

“You must be putting anything in your customer’s plates then,” was his sour response, “To need only a week to create a luxury food.”

A sharp sigh escaped you. “What grand plans do you have for the public then?”

Picking up his notebook, he brushed a finger past the page. “Right…so we already have the standard tiramisu and gelato variations. We should definitely incorporate a sugary pastry since we’ve been lacking in the previous quarter.” 

“Pastry,” you mumbled. He was talking pure, unadulterated shit. Chocolate bignè was the permanent item on the summer menu—little, indulgent profiteroles that melt into the taster’s mouth. Apart from that, the generic selection of cannolis and bomobolini doughnuts were already sold at the till within the cafe section outside, so another addition of the pastry was not needed.

Perhaps your thoughts projected upon your face, because the boy was incredulous. “And what’s so wrong about pastries?”

“It’s been done too many times.” You showed him the previous menu, which he had before him. “We should do something different.” 

“And what would that ‘different’ be?”

You scoured your page, latching onto the words of strong flavours. “Stray from the sweets this time. I’ve been wanting to experiment with a few flavours, and I think that bitter amarettis will be big this winter.”

Mentioning the Italian macarons did not bode well. “Bitter amarettis? Are you insane?”

Instantly you crowed, “The Sarano branch is actually very popular ‘cause they’re smaller and easier to eat after a meal. We can flavour them with coffee or almonds.”

“No.”

The sudden dismissal was enough for you to argue your case. “It’s better than a goddamn doughnut!”

“Fine.” He clutched his notebook tighter. “Let’s drop the pastry. How about a pannacotta?”

Pannacotta—sweet cream dessert thickened and moulded with gelatin. Not your first choice, but its greatest advantage was its range of flavours that it accommodated.

You decided to try your luck once more. “We can do something with that.” You chewed the inside of your cheek, thinking of any flavours that were not simply sugar sprinkled on cream. “I’ve experimented with bay leaves before. We can add one or two to add a lime-like essence.”

The man scrunched his nose at the notion. “My God. Were you thrown against the wall as a child?”

That morbid image had you scoffing. “I had an amazing childhood, thank you. Why are you so against it already?”

“Pannacotta is a sweet dessert, _____. I’m not adding fucking leaves on a delicacy.”

“Adding herbs on certain confectionery is actually a luxury trait. You learn this in culinary school.”

Once again, the idea was immediately cut for another. “We should add cinnamon to it.” He pointed towards his notebook. “A nod towards the coming Christmas.” 

“Cinnamon?” you parrotted. “A sweet flavouring on an already sweetened cream? Do you want to rot our customers’ teeth?

“Oh, what do you suggest then?” He let out a harsh scoff. “Coffee for the millionth time?”

“Well, actually—” you were about to make an incredible point, but your partner began to groan, cutting you off. “Hey, coffee is versatile, and you know it!”

Seungkwan looked to the side, as if there was an invisible camera he could make a face to. “Here comes the anti-sweet agenda.”

Your sharp exhale was loud enough to gain his unpleasant attention. “If you had your way, all our customers would have type 2 diabetes!”

“Well sorry that I don’t want my customers as bitter as you are!” he exclaimed. “It’s beyond me how you became a dessert chef!” 

“It’s called having range, dumbass!” you shouted right back, unwilling to relent. “My skills go beyond just dumping a load of sugar and calling it a dessert!”

He slapped his notebook on the desk, leaning in. “I said to have cinnamon because it’s bloody Christmas. My bad if you like to Grinch it up every year.”

“You want to show Christmas through cinnamon, huh?” You huffed a laugh in his face. “Wow, Seungkwan, how original! I might as well put a fucking christmas hat on top of our tiramisu. Fuck it, let’s start singing a Christmas carol while we serve it since you want to be on theme so much!”

Seungkwan’s jaw clenched. “I don’t want fucking leaves in a dessert.”

You matched his anger. “Well, I don’t want you in this process, but we can’t always have what we want.” 

A tilt of his head, the locks framing his forehead sliding along. “I'm not dying to work with you either, dearest.”

Dearest. That pissed you off even further. “Then find a way to deal with it,” you seethed. 

“I could say the same thing to you.”

You pursed your lips, at a loss for words. The man stared into the rising rage of your gaze, his own agitation reflected clearly. He was watching you intently, words dying on his lips, only inhaling and exhaling sharply. Had he been a few inches closer, his huffed anger would have fanned your face, truly taste how he felt about this entire situation.

But that was the last thing you wanted, and so you could only match his displeasure. 

“I’m not losing my job because of you,” you warned.

His eyes darted all over your face before he deigned to reply to you. “And you think I want to be fired?”

The quirk of your mouth upwards had his nostrils flaring. “If you act like an asshole, Seungkwan, that’s exactly what you deserve.”

“Why do you get to be the judge of that?” he scoffed out.

“I won’t. Jeonghan will see through you soon enough.”

Oh, he was seething underneath that mask of irritation. If you had been any weaker, you would have crumbled under such a withering look. He did not have much to say anymore, thinking that knifing you with his glare would be enough to win this argument. Because he had you as an opponent, it was no easy feat—the two of you said nothing again, staring and staring with mouths parted, almost waiting for an insult to rise from their throats and strike any second. 

Something might have struck—would have occurred under the flickering lights of the dessert station. Perhaps Seungkwan would have said something to make you succumb to your aggravation. Maybe you would have finally killed him. 

“Already at each other’s throats?”

You and Seungkwan whirled your heads to the voice.

There stood Jeonghan, tapping his foot against the floor, arms crossed as he observed you two. “Standing this close, well…either you’re about to claw each other’s faces off or make out.”

The latter option had you and Seungkwan breaking out of your rageful bubble, repelling from each other like magnets of the same sides. The boy exhaled sharply through his nose, while you swiped up your notes, not even sparing your Head Chef with a glare. “You’re horrid.”

Seungkwan snorted. “I think I’d rather get punched.”

You directed that sour look back at the man who deserved it more. “You’ll have it coming if you keep at it.”

“If you both have wasted enough time fighting,” Jeonghan interjected, always the mediator, “Then let’s get on with it. I wanna hear your initial plans.”

“_____ will summarise,” The younger replied, before you could even begin. “I have to go in a minute.”

You made a face. “Where’re you running off to?”

He returned it. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I have to pick up my niece and nephew from school. They have a half-day today.”

You could have rolled your eyes at him. “Is this allowed, Chef?” you demanded. “Something as important as the Christmas menu is being discussed, and he’s doing school duty.”

But Jeonghan overlooked your valid concerns, countering, “It’s all good, _____. Seungkwan asked for the half-day a week earlier.”

The said-man handed his notes to the superior. He could not help remarking, “Perhaps if you had bothered to be on time, then we could have fought out another dessert.”

As he exited, bidding his adieus to him, you reined in the temptation to stick his middle finger out. After all, it would have only landed behind his back—the bastard deserved to see it. 

Your boss clicked his tongue at you as he walked over to where you stood. “Good to see you didn’t flip him off in front of me. At least you’re thirty percent professional.”

“Why did you give him the half-day?” This time, you could not restrain the eye-roll. “Sometimes I think he’s making those kids up.”

“_____!” He scolded, bringing Seungkwan’s notepad back on the surface. “I’ve met his niece and nephew, they’re very much real.”

“Or you could be in on the bit,” you jeered, leaning against the countertop. “Trying to piss me off on purpose.”

“Your self-importance astounds me. Not everyone is thinking about you.” A knowing look. “Even the man you happen to hate so much.”

“Well I hope he keeps my name out of his mouth. And his mind, for that matter,” you added for good measure, observing the very door the man departed from. 

Jeonghan followed your line of sight. “You seem to have a hard time keeping his name out of your mouth though.”

Your accused mouth tightened at its allegations. “Are you on my side or his?”

He raised his hands in surrender, a grin breaking free from his lips. “Don’t drag me into your petty rivalry.” Pointing towards your notes, he then changed the subject. “Now, tell me about your rough plans.”

You obliged your boss, running down your initial prospects. He seemed satisfied enough, informing you that he will ask Seungkwan as well, and reminded you to prepare for the early customers.

As you prepared yourself for the open doors, prepping your ingredients alongside the Prep Cook, your thoughts wandered to the man who escaped this menial work, and then the eventual rush.

You and Seungkwan would not be able to create this dessert. Meeting in the middle would be impossible with someone as stubborn as him. Of course you wished to be successful, because that meant Jeonghan would not throw you out into the cobblestones of Covent Garden. You wanted this to go well. 

A sharp breath exhaled from you. You could only hope that Seungkwan hoped the same, or else you would both are completely, utterly, inescapably fucked. 

“HO HO HO!” 

A sigh involuntarily escaped you. “One more ‘ho ho ho’ and I’m shooting myself in the head.”

“Hey!” The slender girl exclaimed, fixing her Santa hat upon her straight hair. “You know I need to perfect it for today.”

You looked beyond her figure to the shop, lit up with seasonal outfits on display. “You’re gonna get the role anyway, Julie, because no one else will be auditioning.”

The girl tried to push you in punishment, you narrowly dodging her dainty hand. “Go back to slaving away at Jeonghan’s restaurant.”

A mocked gasp left you. “Are you telling me to get back in the kitchen?”

“Yeah, so step on it!”

“I’m supporting you, though!” You reasoned. “There is no one in London who can pull off Santa Claus better than you.”

“And what about the world?”

You mocked a shrug. “There’s too many old white men to compete for that title, I fear.”

“See?” She clicked her tongue. “A real friend would lie to me and say I’m the best.”

Shaking your head at her antics, you could not help smiling at her. Julie Han was a fiery girl you had befriended in school, bonding over your terrible teachers in one after-school detention. Your paths had never strayed, establishing each other as flatmates when the two of you decided to pursue careers in the big city. Where you pursued luxury food, she sought after theatre and cameras, deciding to be an actress when she landed herself the role of ‘Juliet’ in Romeo and Juliet in primary school, and considered it destiny (she, however, did not have chemistry with her Romeo, because he kissed her like a ‘fish’. In her words, men who cannot kiss should not be romancing other actresses).

“I don’t get the Santa Claus obsession, though,” you wondered out loud. “There are other ways to help kids out.”

“I know, but it’s Christmas!” She waved her arms to the air, gesturing at the winter-themed fairy lights on the mall ceilings, twinkling with every ray of light that caught them. “It’s also adorable when the kids ask you for presents.”

“I think it’ll be cuter with a female Claus, too,” you pointed out. “I wouldn’t put my kid on any old man’s lap.”

“Exactly!” There was a moment of brief pause before Julie relented. “Also, the mall employees get a 50 percent discount on retail.”

“I knew your ass wasn’t feeling the Christmas charity spirit.”

The girl chuckled, looping her arm around yours. “Thank you for coming with me. It means a lot.”

“Of course!” You returned her grin with a mischievous smile. “I wasn’t gonna miss you screaming ‘Ho Ho Ho’ at every kid in M&S.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, but could not contain her laughter. “Hey, weren’t you supposed to work today?”

That made your cheerful expression falter a little. “I was, but Seungkwan took the full day off today, so Jeonghan used it as an excuse to trial out the apprentices.” 

“You know, I still need to meet this guy,” she said, glancing at the street food booths in the middle of the halls. “He’s the only man I know who genuinely makes you go batshit.”

“Don’t get me started again.” You rolled your eyes. “You know, he took his day off for his niece and nephew again. I’m telling you, he’s making these fucking kids up.”

Julie’s face twisted into concern. “Making up fake kids for a holiday is a little far-fetched, _____.”

“Keep giving people the benefit of the doubt, then,” you crowed at her, “I'm just gonna pretend you're method acting for Santa."

But she was persistent, asking, “When will you let me spread the Christmas charity to your nemesis?” 

“Never, if I can help it.” You twisted your mouth. “I’m saving you the headache.”

“Why the headache?” Julie then gasped. “Is he ugly?”

You scoffed, looking ahead to respond when you stopped dead in your tracks.

Your friend, arm locked with yours, lurched backwards, whirling her head to you. Catching your expression had her demanding, “What the hell?”

But you were not listening to her, because your eyes landed on the very man you were bad-mouthing mere seconds ago. It was insanity how you recognised him, when his face was half-hidden from his signature oversized scarf—the three-metres of red fabric which always irritated you for some irrational reason (possibly because you were always cold, and the stupid, awful scarf always seemed so warm). His black trench-coat covered his slender figure, his hair ruffled, the after-effects of a beanie situated upon them.

Those details were still not important—completely useless when the most prominent addition was a woman beside him, laughing at his quip.

Shit. You did not waste any time.

“_____?” your friend called out, only to be met with your sudden turn on your heel, as, with her ungracious yelp, you hauled her inside the nearest shop, nearly crashing into the mannequins. “Jeez, if you wanted to go inside Zara so badly, then you should have just said!” 

As you hid behind the retail giant’s new winter collection, you observed, a little further away, the two people strolling without a care in the world. You noticed how the man was carrying all the shopping—stores from high-street to designer, which had your eyebrow raising—whilst the woman was pointing towards different stores, perhaps scour all of Westfield if she could help it. 

A frown marred your lips. 

Seungkwan said he was assisting his child-aged niece and nephew—you did not remember said-niece and nephew being one adult woman. 

“He’s on a fucking date,” you seethed.

Julie, now hiding beside you, tried to find whoever it was that you were glaring at. “Who’s on a date?”

“Seungkwan!” you exclaimed, pointing at him through the mannequin’s arm. “The prick with the red scarf.” But he and his company had walked past Zara, nearly leaving your field of vision. “Wait, we gotta move.” 

The poor girl, who was once again hauled up, and now being led out of the store, tugged at your arm. “What are we doing?” she asked. “Why are you still talking about him?”

“Because he’s there!” You jerked your head towards him and his lady-friend. “Look!”

A sharp breath drew from your friend. “Oh my God! Speak of the dessert devil, huh?”

“Exactly! So we’re following him.”

That had Julie stopping the chase, thus stopping you. “Why the hell are we doing that?”

“To catch him out on his terrible excuse!” you explained, tutting at your friend’s inability to understand the drastic nature of this situation. “I need to see the look on his face when I catch him making the rounds on H&M’s winter collection.”

For some unimaginable reason, the girl did not seem so enthusiastic. “My interview’s in thirty minutes, _____.”

You scrambled for any lame excuse. “This will distract you from your interview nerves!” 

“I haven’t gotten any interview nerves.”

“Well, you should because your voice cannot go ‘Santa Claus’ deep.”

Julie nudged you with her interlocked arm, shaking her head. “Now I’m scared, so fuck you.”

“You're very welcome.” You ticked your head towards your target. “Let’s go.”

As you two began your possibly illegal, certainly socially unacceptable activity, a certain rush thrummed within your veins, as if you had taken something for the exhilaration. Seeing your colleague declare one thing to you, yet do something entirely different—and then to witness it with your own eyes—felt like a scene out of a ridiculous rom-com. He was taking this girl everywhere, offering his opinions on certain collections on display in whatever shop they passed, loud enough for you to hear. Of course, it was expected from someone as opinionated as him—you were not surprised in the slightest. 

“All the time in the world for his kids, huh?” you muttered, sporting a grin which would have had criminals running for the hills.

Even Julie was spooked. “You really are rooting for his downfall, huh?” 

“You have no idea.”

The two people you tailed went inside the White Tiger, and it was at this point as, when you made to enter the strange shop, you were stopped by your friend. “I’m gonna leave you here.” 

“What?” You tugged on her arm. “You still have fifteen minutes.”

She sighed. “If I tank in my audition, just know I’m going to your restaurant and telling this Seungkwan that you had a wet dream about him.”

Your mouth dropped open. “That’s diabolical.” 

Her growing smirk had you widening your eyes. “I’ll do you an even better one. If you don’t let me leave I’m calling Seungkwan here and telling him we were stalking him.”

That had your blood running cold. “You wouldn’t dare.” 

“You don’t think so?” She turned her face forwards, shit-eating expression furthering. 

She then parted her mouth, making your heart stop. 

“Seungkwan!” 

“What the—” You instantly grabbed her arm, aiming to cover her mouth when she waved off your hands, her grin chilling you to your bones. “Oh my fucking God—!”

“Hey, Seungkwan!” Julie shouted once more, louder this time. You knifed her with a vicious glare, but then she waved her hand, and you whirled your head to where she greeted.

Your face contorted in pure horror as you watched Seungkwan look over his shoulder, slowly turning himself. 

What you did next was completely out of your control. 

It was your legs that suddenly held the reins, dashing into the shop beside your friend, hiding behind the racks of clothing. Your heart beat as if you had run an Olympic sprint, pounding in your ears, and your mouth repeatedly cursed the girl who had instigated all this, praying she embarrassed herself in her audition—perhaps screaming Whore, whore, whore! instead of the classic jingle. You did not think of the logistics, too enraged and embarrassed to think up a solution.

Despite the chaos of customers shopping, the swishing of clothing amongst the racks, and the robotic beeping of cash registers, you peeked through the burgundy cardigans you hid behind, catching the very man you wished to avoid walking up to your friend. 

His voice could be heard from your makeshift sanctuary, clearly confused. “I’m sorry, did you call for me?”

Julie kept glancing at the shop you hid in. She tried her hardest to restrain her smile as she said, “I did, actually! This is so weird, but my name’s Julie. _____’s friend.”

You could not mistake it—the realisation striking in his eyes, as they widened, ever so slightly. His mouth parted, then the corners of his lips curled upwards, and suddenly you could have been made of dread and anguish and every fearful emotion a person was capable of feeling. 

Seungkwan was going to eat you alive. 

“_____?” He repeated, and the amusement that dripped off your name had you wishing all men perished. “Oh, it’s always a pleasure to see a friend of _____’s.”

He raised his hand out, and Julie reciprocated, shaking it thoroughly. “I wouldn’t have expected an answer like that from you, actually.”

“Is that so?” the man quirked his mouth in a side-smile, all mischief and whimsical. “Maybe I’m fixing my manners for a pretty girl, then.”

“Oh!” she brought a hand to her chest, her smiling losing all mischief, turning more genuine. “She didn’t tell me you were such a charmer.”

You had to bring a hand to your mouth, aghast. The bitch is being fooled! “I’m not surprised by that in the slightest.” He let out an uneasy chuckle. “I hope you don’t believe the impression she’s made of me.”

“I’ll try not to be swayed,” she promised, sneaking another glance at your hiding place. Although she had not caught your eye, you glared at her for being so obvious. “Though I will admit, I haven’t heard great things.” 

“I’d be shocked if I heard anything positive,” he remarked. “_____, she…” He tugged his lip between his teeth. “I won’t say it cause she’s your friend but…”

“Yeah, nothing too crazy, please,” she warned, “Because then I’d have to tell her, she’d go all ballistic on you, and then she’d complain to me. I can’t deal with this soap opera.” 

“Soap opera?” he said, scoffing. “God, I can’t even complain, it’s EastEnders everyday in that damned kitchen.”

Julie laughed. “Now I know my friend loves a bit of drama, but surely she’s not the one in the wrong every time?” 

But Seungkwan tilted his head, squinting his eyes as if considering a completely different opinion. “And yet she’s the one throwing food in my face.” 

That had your friend glancing at you through the shop window, a second-long judgement. You glared at her to turn away, she obliging with a shake of her head. “Well…I suppose I can’t defend her against that.” 

His winning smile irked you to the bone. “Exactly.” 

You knew from Julie’s sheepish scratch of her neck that there was no convincing him, and had unintentionally proved his point. A soft groan escaped you, about to hold your head in your hands. Must bully her about this later.

The need to torture her for the rest of her miserable, Santa-adoring life worsened when he looked beyond her frame, a questioning twist of his mouth forming. “Am I crazy, or was _____ here with you?”

The girl’s helpless, a million-emotions-a-second expression once again exposed the guilt Seungkwan waited patiently for, and latched onto. “Huh. So I’m not crazy.” 

“She just left,” Julie explained, looking down at her boots. “She had the whole dessert thing to think up, prepare for…you know, the reason you guys are yelling at each other.”  

“Such dedication to her work!” he praised, but even she could recognise the patronising tone, directed at you from afar. If he had caught onto the fact that you were hiding from him, you might as well throw yourself off the highest floor in this mall. 

The condescension had the girl ticking her head. “She is, though. Why else would she be fighting for her preferences?” 

Seungkwan stared at your friend, sliding his hands in his pockets. “I guess you’re right,” he relented, which had you frowning behind the clothing. Given up so easily? 

You could not ponder over it further, because the man looked over his shoulder, no doubt realising he had left his mysterious companion behind. “You must excuse me, Julie,” he said, “But it was really good to meet you, truly.” 

He held his hand out, which, surprised, your friend shook, lightening up. “You too, Seungkwan.”

As he let go, turning on his heel, you just managed to catch the smirk on his face, hidden from Julie. “You tell your friend I said I missed her here.”

And off he went, catching her off-guard, and kickstarting your irritation as he strolled back to his date. 

Once you were sure he was out of your distance, you stood, avoiding the flurry of winter clothing, keeping your head down in slight shame at knowing quite a few shoppers had seen you hiding out behind the railings. Another unprecedented consequence of knowing Seungkwan.

Quickly you hurried to your friend, who turned to you, pointing her thumb in his direction. “Oh my God.” 

“‘She had this whole dessert thing to prepare for’?” you greeted, hands on your hips. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think he’d realise you were here!” She kept a finger to her chin, thinking over possible escapes. “I mean, I don’t think he saw you in Zara? You hid better than I thought, honestly.” 

“Shit.” You brought your fingers to your temple, scraping against your skin. “And why did he agree with you on me being dedicated?! Fake-ass.” 

Julie then raised a brow. “You’re overthinking it. I am right. Him being passionate about his work doesn’t change the fact that you’re dedicated to it too.” 

You could only grunt in agreement, glancing back to see him a mere speck amongst the sea of Christmas shoppers. 

Although it was a fool’s hope, you wished that he would not bring up this incident tomorrow. 

THE MOMENT YOU STEPPED INTO THE KITCHENS, HE WAS WAITING FOR YOU. 

Not that you were afraid of him—at the end of the day, he was just a man with a small apron and a bad attitude, and you were not letting him get the better of you. 

Except your heart was pounding like an echoing gong, hair standing on the back of your neck. Even your palms were sweating, you flexing and unflexing your hands in distraction. Seungkwan was behind the large commercial hob, cooking something in a pot when he looked over his shoulder, beholding your unnerved presence. 

For the first time since he started working alongside you, he offered you a smile. 

You could have taken the pot and flung the contents on his head. 

“Good morning, _____!” he chirped, the smile widening when you instantly gritted your teeth. “Well rested?”

“Morning,” you replied curtly, tying your apron behind your back. “And yes.”

“Very good,” he asserted, mixing the contents of the pot. He wasted no time in the next question. “How was your weekend?” 

“Alright.”

“Oh, was it? Go anywhere?”

Shit. “Shopping.”

“What a coincidence!” he exclaimed, as if you had revealed the secrets of the universe to him.”I went shopping too.”

“So does everyone and their mothers on the weekend, Seungkwan,” you monotoned, hoping he would take the hint.

He took the hint, of course, but chose to disregard it completely. “My weekend was excellent,” he insisted, tapping the wooden spoon against the pot’s rim, draining out the residue. Making caramel, then. “I went to Westfield yesterday. Very fun, I’ll say.”

I bet it was, prick. “Is that so?” 

“It was so,” he parroted, like the bastard he was. “I actually happened to meet your friend there!” 

Your sigh could have had a laugh rasping out of him. “Which one?” you merely asked, feigning innocence still. 

A snort. “Don’t pretend you have more than one friend, _____.” 

Ouch. “Don’t pretend to know everything about me,” you huffed. 

“Fair enough. I happened to meet Julie.” Satisfied with the slow melting of the sugar and butter, he finally focused on you, leaning against the hob. “Lovely girl, by the way.”

“I know.” You shot him a look. “So?”

“She told me that you were with her this entire time!” 

It took every atom your strength to not react to that statement. “I was.” 

“Then tell me…” He made to walk towards you, the only boundary between you two being the huge island tabletops. “How come I was so unlucky to miss you yesterday?”

You clenched your jaw. “I left before she saw you.” 

“Left?” he inquired, hand resting on the countertop. “You see, I remember it more as running away the moment she called after me.”

A Jesus Christ slipped out of you before you could help yourself. Instantly you repelled from his walking figure, hurrying to check the sizzling which had increased. The sauce was forming. “What’d you need this for?”

“Caramel Budino. Don’t dodge the question.” You could feel his gaze on you. “Why did you run away from me?”

You took the spoon set on the side, stirring. “I didn’t run away.”

“Yes you did,” he countered immediately. “I saw you bolt into Zara as if they had a closing down sale.”

“Maybe I was excited about their Black Friday deals,” you asserted, sparing him an irritated glance.

His accusatory stare had you looking back at the pot. “Don’t bullshit with me, _____,” He finally stepped past the countertop. “My God. You were stalking me, weren’t you? You and your friend?”

“What—no!” you denounced. “How can you think that?”

He was not four feet from you now. You tried not to look at him; somehow, in the most bothersome of ways, his eyes were unnerving you—as if you had committed some crime, and were now caught red-handed fleeing the scene. Well, you were caught fleeing the scene, but you thought you had escaped the consequences. 

But you had not escaped shit, and now you had to shrink under this bastard’s malicious, victorious scrutiny. 

“Then why did you run away?” he asked you, all quiet. 

The strange hush of his voice had you blurting out an unexpected response. “Because I think you’re a bloody liar.” 

Finally, you mustered the strength to face him—his confusion had you continuing. “You took the day off yesterday, right? For your niece and nephew? Well I didn’t see these so-called nieces and nephews, but a woman I had never met, or seen, even!” You then scoffed. “I was lucky to catch you red-handed, actually, because I was going to work the closing shift!” 

As Seungkwan took in your sudden accusation, craning his head back the further your words attempted to strike true to his pride, he found himself trying to contain a smile. His self-respect was completely intact from your attacks—the more you spoke, the more he was abashed, not quite believing what he heard from your mouth.

He caught onto what you considered the most irrelevant detail from your outburst. “You…you thought I was on a date?”

“Yes!” you snapped. “And you lied about it!”

But he began to chuckle, and you swore you could have seen red. “Why would I be lying?” he merely asked, hand on his white-cottoned chest. 

“To—” but then you stopped yourself. Not everyone is thinking about you. Even the man you happen to hate so much. You pursed your lips, Jeonghan’s words striking your mouth shut. 

Seungkwan, of course, would not let you keep him in such suspense. “To what?” he demanded, lips parted. “The one time I don’t want you to shut up, and you go mute on me!”

That was enough for you to explode. “To get out of working with me!” 

That had him jerking his head back. He squinted his eyes slightly, genuinely stunned, and you knew then and there that you had assumed completely wrong. 

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. “Jesus Christ, _____,” he began, and the beginnings of his god-awful, self-pleasing laugh was back, aching your ears and flustering your attitude. “You thought…you thought I was avoiding you? Like, some kind of bullied victim?”

You instantly rebuked him, stammering, “W-well, that’s not what I meant—”

“You really are self-centred, aren’t you?” he mocked. “You believe that all you want, sweetheart, but you don’t scare me like that.” 

“I didn’t mean scared, asshole,” you sneered. “I meant hate.”

He put a hand to his hip, leaning against the hob. “Hate?”

“Yes, hate!” you clarified sarcastically, but you did not know why you began to sound absurd. Suddenly, you were the child, and he was the adult playing along to your antics. “Isn’t that what this all is?”

Slowly, ever so slowly, he dared another step towards you. The shuffling of his clothes against the countertop were the only sounds in the room—that, and the sizzling of the caramel. “Do you…do you really hate me?”

Your brain screamed at you to step away from him. Who was he to come this close to you? Who was he to ask you questions that were meant to stay unanswered?

He seemed hell-bent, however, to break unspoken rules. “I asked you a question, _____. Do you truly hate me?”

Although his mouth twisted in a hard smile, almost condescending, his eyes revealed a completely different sentiment. It was strange, so incredibly unsettling, that you knew the difference between what his words spoke, and what his face exposed. You were not meant to understand him like that.

But you did, and that scared you. 

“Do you?” you muttered, barely audible. If he was not so close, he would not have heard you. 

His gaze flickered all over your face. Your inquisitive eyes, your flared nostrils, your mouth, now parted, inhaling, exhaling. His own lips broke, you catching the grit in his teeth, as if mulling over the options—as if there were options to consider. 

Your breath shuddered. “Seungkwan?”

He was not answering you, still staring. What was on your face that fascinated him to this extent? You were not so sure, but still, he did not say a word, merely choosing to relish in your agitated features. Your skin thrummed at his stare, the close proximity of his body. Why was it so hot? 

The air around you, that is—not his body. Not that you were thinking of it—the forearms that were exposed from rolling his sleeves, the sliver of his collarbone from two buttons undone at the top of his shirt. 

“Yes?”

Back on his face—his mouth. "I, uh…" you got out, trying to remember how to speak. "I asked you something.” What was the blasted question again?

A slight, minute dip of his head. “I know.” 

He had to stop. What you should have done was leave the room—cease this madness. 

You only prolonged it. “Do you hate me?”

Another silence, and you were going to die. Collapse in this goddamn kitchen, and this creature of a man would be your only witness. 

He then ghosted the slightest smile on his lips, and you hung onto its movement. “I would have loved to…” 

He dared a little closer—any more and he would brush your mouth. “But then I realised you don’t.” Your change in expression had his ghost-like smile sparking to life. “So I can’t either.”

You did not know why the answer pissed you off. “How can you be sure of that?” you seethed. “I can hate you as much as I want.”

“Hmm, no, you can’t.” His eyes were not boring into yours—only at your mouth, too damn close. “Because you don’t know me well enough to hate me.”

You tilted your head back, enough to gauge—or at least attempt to figure out the undecipherable expression on his face. This close, you understood why the customers stared at him, even double-taken at every peek they could manage through the kitchen windows.  

The man was a little beautiful this close, and this realisation haunted you. 

Your mouth tried to release something, a refusal to his claim, but any counter died on your tongue. How well did you really know him? Sure, you were certain that he was a pain in your arse, but what of the man behind the sordid comments, the constant judgement? How much did you know of the man outside of the boundaries of Vita di Diamante? Hell, your lack of information had you second-guessing whether he even was lying about the kids.

(Though you refused, even now, to give him the benefit of the doubt. For all we know, the kids are either a long-running joke, or Seungkwan’s demons).

Despite all that, his truth was inescapable—solid and present and impossible to deny. You despised him for the entirety of your acquaintance, but did not even bother to know your supposed nemesis. 

Somehow, even after yesterday’s shitshow, this realisation was far more embarrassing than anything you had ever experienced. 

The supposed nemesis watched you discover these revelations, the corners of his lips curling upwards. It was so awful how he understood perfectly, and was now basking in this victory. 

The realisation stunned you so intently you did not grasp the screech-like crackling right next to you. Once the smell of the burnt caramel engulfed your nose, you blinked back, turning to the pot which now looked like brown, volcanic magma after it loses its colour. Instantly you turned the switch off, turning on the exhaust, the smell of the burnt sugar, after realising its presence, now making you ill. Seungkwan only watched you fumble at the stove, finally taking a step back. With that, you were able to breathe. 

Your ammunition was ready. “Look at the mess you’ve made.” 

He took it surprisingly well. “I’ll clean it,” he said, taking the pot and setting it to the side. “It is my fault, after all.”

You raised your eyebrow at him. “You’re taking responsibility for your actions?”

A glimpse towards you. “I told you, didn’t I? You don’t know me.”

That had you shutting up immediately. 

Seungkwan looked at the clock, realising that the restaurant was about to open. Then his eyes settled on you. “I still can’t believe you stalked me.”

You made a face. “That was not stalking. Well, not the scary kind,” you clarified, which did not make your case any stronger. “And anyway, you still haven’t denied the whole date thing, which means you were lying.” 

Dusting away at his apron, he made to walk to the backdoor, about to call for Mingyu to help with ingredient preparation. You thought he was going to outright ignore you, but then he faced you, a certain smile on his face that you could not unravel.

“I guess you’ll find out soon enough.”

And he was off, leaving you even more baffled than you were the first time you accused him. 

ANOTHER WEEK PASSED AT THE RESTAURANT, AND YOU WERE GOBSMACKED TO SEE A SEMBLANCE OF PROGRESS.

One would think that the strange incident in the kitchens would have been talked about further, but Seungkwan made no mention of it—and him making no mentions meant you would cut off your tongue and turn it into a French delicacy before talking about it either. 

Though you wish he had at least made one comment. 

Never before had you felt so…you did not know how to interpret it, but it was clearly something awful. The man had been an entity you had hated, but you wondered whether the emotion was rendered useless after such a heated conversation. It was so stupid, absolute insanity how you could not stop thinking about the proximity of his frame, his breaths fanning your lips, his questions that turned your entire opinion of him on its axis. 

You don’t know me well enough to hate me.

“Damn it,” you muttered under your breath.

Though you were cursing yourself, Seungkwan—who was beside you, experimenting on a particular chocolate pudding—took some offence. “What’re you mad about this time?”

Whirling your head to him, you were ready to give him a piece of your delirious mind when you caught the scene before you.

You were already aware he was creating a variation of the Bonet—chocolate, coffee, and rum, mixed and whipped to perfection alongside the core ingredients. He opted to swap the coffee for cinnamon, much to your exasperation. He had already heated his mixture in a not-burnt-to-a-crisp caramel sauce, cooked in a bain-marie—a process of melting chocolate-like mixtures under another pot of boiling water. 

His almost-dessert done, he only had the sprinkle of cacao powder to add to the final product, standing in perfect confidence in front of him. You admired the chocolate excellence, mouth already watering at seeing the soft, textured edges of the pudding. The amaretti macarons at the top contrasted the glaze of the darker chocolate, reflected the lights of the kitchen, and you had to stop your work for the customers, simply admiring the dessert your partner had created. 

Sometimes you forgot that Boo Seungkwan was a born chef. 

He was also a born pain in the ass. “If you can eye-fuck my Bonet, _____, then you can compliment it, too.”

Snapping out of the awe-filled haze, you twisted your mouth. “I suppose it’s not the worst thing you’ve made in this kitchen.”

“You’re right, actually, because the worst thing in this kitchen was made by your hands.”

Boo Seungkwan—the man who, despite your conflicting thoughts over last week, still managed to rile you into a frenzy. You could have cursed him outright, but this week’s apprentice, Wen Junhui, rushed into the room, bearing the role of Kitchen Porter. “There’s more orders for tiramisu!” He informed hurriedly, bringing a further three-dozen eggs upon the busied countertops. 

You looked up to the poor, clueless man. “You do realise you don’t have to take orders, right? That’s the waiter’s job.”

“Jun, here.” Seungkwan patted to the space next to him. “Help me whip some eggs.”

The apprentice obliging instantly, he began cracking eggs on the side of the bowl, setting himself to work. The man in charge with you focused once more on his creation, adorning a proud smirk as he brought out a long spoon next to him. “We should do a Bonet for the final dessert,” he suggested, cutting a small corner. 

“Of course you’ll say that now,” you said. “Oh, and just so you know, I’m never accepting it with cinnamon.”

You watched him raise the spoon, assuming he would take a bite. He then paused, flitting his gaze to you. 

He then changed direction, swinging the spoon ever so slightly—offering it to you. “Go on.”

You looked at it as if you had never seen a spoon before in your life. “You take a bite first,” he clarified. “I need to stamp out this anti-cinnamon agenda once and for all.”

“I’d like to see you try,” you challenged. Taking the spoon from him, avoiding his fingers, you observed the spongy portion before bringing the cutlery’s bowl to your mouth.

The moment the Bonet touched your tongue, it was chocolate heaven—chocolate bliss of the highest order, the cacao flavour merging along with the rum, sparking your senses to life. The most surprising factor was the dreaded cinnamon, spreading its infectious, sugary goodness along your taste buds. It was a small bite, but the chef had packed the sweet universe into a few millilitres, showing you a world where a life could be good and beautiful without any semblance of bitterness. 

Seungkwan watched your reaction, his smug smirk widening. Bringing the spoon out, you could not help the hum that escaped you, and it made him bite his lip, restraining his chuckles. “See?” 

Even still, you attempted to crush his spirits. “I hate it?” you offered, not even convincing yourself. 

The leash on him snapped, huffing out a round of laughter that had you setting the cutlery down. “I suppose you’ll not want another bite, then,” he said.

“Nope,” you lied. You found a clean spoon on the table, offering it to him. “You finish it off.”

The new offering was rejected. “Just give me yours.”

“But I used it.” A tilt of your head. “That doesn’t bother you?”

He jutted out his lip, shaking his head slightly. “Just more dishes to clean. A waste, no?” He gestured with his hand to beckon the old one back. “Pass the other one over.”

“Oh-kay,” you dragged out, handing over the original. With that, he scooped a bite from the Bonet, this time incorporating the little amaretti alongside. 

Your focus trained on him, you watched as he brought the bite to his mouth, his lips closing over the spoon. His reaction was more subdued—unsurprising since it was your first time trying his variation, but nonetheless satisfied as he hummed, closing his eyes. Your eyes took in the sight of him sliding out the spoon from his mouth, his tongue gliding over the silver to lap up the remnants of the chocolate, stubborn to remain. Your cheeks burned at the sight, almost as if you should not be watching. The moment he bit into the amaretti, the crunch against his teeth had you hitching in a breath, as if his mouth, his teeth, had grazed over your mouth, sunken into your skin. 

You blinked back. 

Seungkwan, who had finally opened his eyes, the sensations now subsided, caught your dazed out countenance. He knitted his brows. 

God, you were losing your mind. “Your slobbering was horrendous,” you mocked instead. 

He only shrugged, setting the spoon back on the table. “I don’t waste a thing,” he said, licking his lips—wiping any remnants of chocolate left.

You watched that too—his tongue, which now slid back into his mouth. Another rush of blinking, a sharp sigh, and you caught the ghost of a smile on him. “You should focus on the orders.”

Bastard. “Y-you focus on yours! Instead of wolfing them down!” you exclaimed pathetically. You shot up from where you leaned at the countertop, focusing on the three rounds of Tiramisus ordered. 

Hearing his chuckling behind you had you souring further, face akin to a bonfire, but your mood was soon distracted from the last-hour rush of orders. With Junhui helping the two of you, the round of desserts being created were more effortless, plates of every kind of pudding, gelatos and cakes and pastries leaving your kitchens. The final thirty minutes were more subdued, potential customers understanding that this was no longer the place to dine, and must find sustenance elsewhere. 

Once the time was out for the restaurant’s closure for the day, you thought to close up, already commencing to help the apprentice tidy away the remaining ingredients. Then Jeonghan entered the station, a new, clean apron wrapped around his out-of-work attire. He was set on Seungkwan, pointing towards him. “You,” he began, beckoning him over. “You got a special guest.” 

You narrowed your sight on the man, but his face instantly lit up. That only added to your confusion. Special guest? “Tell her to sit at the reserved table,” he only said, washing his hands off the flour and butter. “I’ll be right over.” 

Watching him rush his usual clean ups, even leaving out a few objects for dessert preparation, you walked up to him, hands on your hips. “Who’s this special guest?” you inquired, his back to you. 

Looking over his shoulder, he shook off the excess water from his hands. “You’ve seen her before.” 

“Huh?” you could only get out, but a moment of thinking had you sucking in a breath. “Wait, you brought your date here?!”

A scoff escaped him, shaking his head. “It’s about time you see the woman who’s bothering you so much.”

“What?!” You glanced at the long, open window of the restaurant layout, where you could spy the seating. “I can’t do that! You’re making this much weirder than it needs to be.” 

“Well, why not?” He stepped past you, grabbing hold of a tea towel. “And remind me, who stalked me for this very information?”

“That was—!” You attempted, but then quietened, realising you could not win that argument. “Piss off.” 

He huffed out a laugh at your response, jerking his head towards the entrance to the main hall. “Come on,” he merely said, walking towards the door. “You can weasel your way out of it to her.”

You wanted nothing more than to lock yourself away from this entire situation—Seungkwan was exploiting his position to use the restaurant as his date-place, and you had managed to trap yourself into this precarious position. 

Despite that, you let your curiosity get to you—yes, it killed the cat, but you were different. Better than that stupid creature. 

Hesitantly, you followed behind as he left the kitchens, weaving his way around the dozens of tables. You caught sight of the mysterious woman, her back to you, but it was not her voice that greeted you first.

Two voices yelped out instead at seeing Seungkwan—voices which were shrilled, higher-pitched, as if they belonged to children. 

You stopped walking as the surprises revealed themselves. 

“Uncle Seungkwan!” 

Two young children—a boy and girl, no more than 11 years old—came running towards your colleague at full speed, nearly bumping against the furniture without a care in the world. You did not see his face, but he must have been smiling, because a delighted oh! escaped him, and his arms were out. He barely had time to raise them before the two kids collided against him, making him stumble back, balance shaky, and you instinctively took a step back, in case he bumped into you. Everyone was laughing in that strong hold, the man’s arms wrapped tightly around them, and your eyes softened without realising.

This was a different Seungkwan. A Seungkwan you had not witnessed—perhaps not been allowed to witness, possibly by your own accord. 

So engrossed by the heartwarming sight, you did not realise the initial woman you planned to see had gotten up from her seat, walking over to the group. “All of you hugging as if you didn’t meet two days ago,” she remarked, a hand on a nearby chair. 

“Don’t get mad because they like me more,” he crowed, glancing at her before ruffling the children’s hair. “Isn’t that right, kids?” 

“Yes!” they both exclaimed in agreement, causing the woman to shake her head. 

She then noticed you behind him, perking her head up. “Oh, I’m sorry!” she stepped past the group, a glance at him. “I didn’t realise you were there.”

That had you scratching the back of your neck—perhaps curiosity made points killing the cat, cause you felt the great urge to die on the spot. “Yeah, I’m sorry, I’m—” you cleared your throat, a slight suspicion about this whole situation rising in the crevices of your mind. 

Seungkwan chipped in for you, realising your mouth was not working. “This is _____. The partner,” he clarified, and you paused at seeing a knowing look on the woman’s face. “And this….”

He then looked at you. “This is Jinsoul. My sister.” 

Oh. Good. God. 

His introductions extended to the two children. “My very real niece and nephew, Sohyun and Sojung.” 

Your mouth parted at the comment, completely abashed. You were not given more time to ponder on his audacity, because his sister—God, his fucking sister, all this time— held her hand out, immediately greeting you with a smile. “It’s so good to meet you!” A glance at him. “I feel like I know you already.”

“Is that so?” you chuckled out, nerves now rising. 

“Of course!” She let go of your hand after a hearty shake. “Seungkwan talks about you all the time.”

The said-man gaped at her, instantly souring at the reveal before chiding, “Your antics have reached my family’s ears, yes.”

You would have glared at him if you were not still humiliated. “Then I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me,” you admitted.

“Well, why wouldn’t I?” She leaned on the chair. “I just assumed it was Seungkwan’s fault.”

The apparent culprit huffed. “If you wanna side with her so badly, she can make your free dinner.”

But the woman only shrugged, leading her children over to you. “Alright then. Nobody wanted your ass cinnamon rolls anyway.” 

“Hey!” Seungkwan twisted his lips into a frown. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?”

With their mother’s encouragement, the children waved their hands in introduction. “Nice to meet you!” the two chirped in almost-unison, the boy who said it a second too late looking away in embarrassment. You could not help waving back, smiling at them. 

Once done with that, she finally answered him. “I am, actually—” a glance down at her watch, inhaling through her teeth— “And am running late, shit.”

“And you said we couldn’t use that word,” the boy—Sojung—grumbled, fixing his beanie. 

“Well I’m a mother in a hurry, sweetie,” Jinsoul reasoned. She faced her brother. “We’ll try coming here, but if we run a little late, then you come ‘round, alright?”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” he only said, giving her a quick side-hug before waving her off with a flick of his hand. “Now go away.” 

“Alright, damn.” Pressing a kiss to her children’s cheeks, she offered you a beautiful smile—a striking similarity to her brother’s. “If these kids are being a bother, this big ass one included—” a shove towards him— “You let me know.”

You could not help it, returning her mirth. “I’ll steal his phone and call you.”

Her smile was positively mischievous. “I like you already.” 

With that, she bid her goodbyes one more time, you stunned from her little declaration—her words, and why that had your heart swelling. With Jinsoul leaving, you tried to focus back on the niece and nephew, who were not Seungkwan and Jeonghan’s running joke, but real and alive and in front of you. 

The former, who was watching your shock, snapped you out of it as he focused on the youngest. “Right, you two,” he began, pointing towards their seats, ”Tell me what you want.”

“What’re you making us this time?” Sojung asked, instantly settling himself down, already giddy at the prospect of food. 

“Don’t listen to Mum!” Sohyun chimed in, following after her brother, sitting on one knee as the other leg dangled over the seat. “We’ll have the cinnamon rolls.” 

“Seungkwan’s family and their cinnamon,” you murmured.

The family you mentioned, however, had razor-sharp hearing, and three heads turned to you. “What’s wrong with cinnamon?” the girl asked, 

“Don’t you worry about _____, here, sweetie,” the eldest mock-consoled, “She doesn’t like to have anything sweet.” 

“That’s not true,” you immediately said, but the kids caught onto their uncle’s words quicker than yours, and their shock had you almost embarrassed.

“No way!”

“How do you live your life?”

“Uncle Seungkwan, why didn’t you change her mind?” 

Their incessant questions only had you chuckling nervously—you were sure sweat was breaking out, and that only worsened when the man beside you thoroughly enjoyed you squirming. “Your uncle is exaggerating,” you could only offer them, but you could tell they were not satisfied with your answer.

“Leave it to me,” he only said, winking at the children, “I’ll sort her out soon enough.”

That had you looking at him unconvinced. “You’ve failed for the past year, so I don’t know what’s changing.”

The children began oooooh-ing at what they believed was an insanely sick burn towards their uncle, who scoffed in response. “You’ll find out,” he merely said, then turned his attention to those fanning the flames. “And what happened to backing me up unconditionally?” 

“We’ll support you when you give us some food,” Sojung reasoned, which had you chuckling. Negotiating for a luxury treat? You had to respect them. 

“Alright, alright,” Seungkwan conceded, about to turn on his heel. “You lot stay here, and I’ll whip something up.”

As you watched him begin to leave, you narrowed your eyes at the workspace, separated by the windowless-frame. You focused on the children, an idea hatching. “Hey, you guys wanna come inside?”

Perking up at you, their eyes danced at the prospect. “Could we actually?” Sohyun asked, darting her head between you and the man beside. “Wait, are we even allowed?”

Seungkwan pondered over it, as if genuinely thinking over the restrictions. “So what?” you said, smiling at them. “We’ll make it allowed.”

Your answer was all the children needed, excitement almost reverberating off them. You ushered them out of their seats, pointing them towards the kitchen entrance, and they dashed off before you could offer any general warnings, fighting to contain your smile. 

As Seungkwan watched, following after his niece and nephew, he took a cautionary glimpse at you. “If they break any health code violations, then you’re taking the sack.”

Walking right beside him, you opened the door to the station. “I’ll just say they’re your responsibility, and Jeonghan will finally have an excuse to fire you.”

But he was snickering softly at the claim, close at your heels as he stepped inside. It could have been the lowering of his voice, the slight octave down—perhaps the proximity again, which might have been purposeful on his part. 

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he muttered, and you had to blame the chill from the open windows for the shivers down your neck. 

By the time you both entered, Sojung and Sohyun were already exploring the premises, marvelling at the professional equipment, the grandeur of the stainless steel. It was as if the stations were a long, forgotten historical site, and the children were archaeologists, brushes at the ready to inspect, marvelling at anything they had not seen before. The half-eaten Bonet latched onto their fancies, and they would have eaten the dessert with their bare hands had Seungkwan not tutted, pointing at the clean spoons on the countertop.

“I was expecting the kitchen to be really messy,” Sohyun commented, eyes straying from the pudding to observe the surroundings once more. “Wouldn’t it get so busy in here?”

“Super busy,” you admitted, “Especially during this time. Mind you, sometimes there’s no room around here, there’s so much ingredients to take care of.”

As he tried to find said-plethora-of-ingredients, Sojung said, “I bet you could have such a good food fight in here.” He glanced at the Bonet, and then at his sister. 

“Don’t you dare,” she warned, raising her cutlery as a legendary weapon. 

But you did not fixate on their conversation to the end, because the mention of the food fight had you glancing at the man who you had actually thrown food at. It was not as if it was that long ago—hell, Seungkwan would have only just rid himself off the mascarpone from his hair. 

You even remembered how it all began—the fateful incident which brought down Jeonghan’s wrath, and ultimately this dreaded assignment. It was like any other prep day for the restaurant, Mingyu helping alongside you two as you prepared the ingredients on the countertops, finalising the desserts which were to be offered that night. It had to be stressed—it was a completely normal day. 

Except Seungkwan had already sparked your irritation alive from the initial disagreements on the flavour variations of the Cassata Siciliana—a layered cake of sheep ricotta cheese, chocolate, candied fruit, all topped with marzipan. The blends of the cheese usually worked wonders, but the idiot suggested substituting the traditional ricotta for mascarpone, apparently enriching the dessert to its fullest extent. You knew his scheming was simply to have a sweeter grand dessert on the menu, but you refused to fall for his antics. You instantly rejected his attempts, and that only fuelled his anger, insisting that the specialised cream be used for the Cassata or he would refuse to add your additions. 

You did not know whether it was that warning, or the notion that he had no power to even say such a warning. Whatever the motivation, it was enough for you to ask him a simple question, hands straying to the ingredients. 

“You wanna know where mascarpone cream would look best?” 

Forever the fool, he asked, hoping his condescending nature would rile you up. 

And because you were a greater fool than he was, you only scooped the cream and flung it on his face, he yelping as it stuck to the perfect curls of his brown hair. Reeling back from the mess, he touched the remnants on his cheeks, his locks, gaping at it until he set his stare on you. 

It was then the chaos began. The pandemonium that followed, food flying everywhere in places you never thought it would reach, a pitiful waste of ingredients and emotions as the rest of the crew scrambled to mediate between the two of you. Even Jeonghan had difficulty at first, but one guttural roar had everyone pausing. Everything afterwards was history. 

Looking at him now, though, imagining the chaos of it all…it brought a strange fluttering within your chest. You did not think there was anyone else you could have thrown food at. 

With the way he returned your gaze, his usual sharp glower softened as the memory flashed within his own eyes. He could not help himself, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards the more he delved into it, the verbal lashings the two of you received afterwards.

It was there, in the kitchens, with the children stealing glances at the stillness of their guardians, the faint scent of cinnamon still in the air, that you smiled at Seungkwan without an ounce of ridicule laced in it.

His eyes widened. His slight surprise had you smiling a little wider, but before he could say anything, he was duly interrupted. “Uncle Seungkwan, when are we getting any food?” 

Sojung joined in. “Stop staring at Miss _____ here!” 

The accused immediately composed himself. “Jinsoul really needs to discipline you both…”

Fidgeting with your rolled-up sleeves, you resorted to helping your partner. “Right, you two,” you asserted, clapping your hands together, “What do you want?” 

Sohyun dug the toe of her boot further into the floor, all sheepish. “We were hoping Uncle Seungkwan would make us the usual.”

“The usual?” A side-glance at him. “Anything special?”

“I didn’t think so,” he admitted, a finger at his chin as he thought about his ingredients’ whereabouts. “They can’t have enough of it, though.” After another moment, he turned to the direction of the pantry. “Hey, there’s still vanilla gelato leftover right?”

Once you nodded, he was off, heading towards the other entrance, promising to back within minutes. With the common man gone, you looked at the two children, whose curiosities still seemed unsatiated. 

You decided to question them first. “What’s your uncle making you?”

The boy answered before his sister even opened her mouth. “It’s so good! It’s what Uncle Seungkwan makes us every time we come here.” 

“All I know is that Sojung always makes Uncle Seungkwan add more ice cream than mine.”

“Now you’re just lying!” he rebuked, aching to push her off the countertop. “She always gets more biscuits in hers, so she can’t complain!”

You chuckled at their antics, speaking over them to settle their bickering. “Biscuits and ice cream is it?” 

“No, no, it’s like…” the girl imitated with her hands, describing the shape of an odd-looking mug. “You put ice cream first, then hot chocolate, and then Uncle Seungkwan adds more stuff I can’t remember.”

“It’s amazing,” Sojung promised, his face serious and persuasive, as if he was a politician promising a controversial policy. 

Impressed by his words, you, the hesitant voter, decided to believe him. “You’ve convinced me, little man.” You glanced over your shoulder—at the other entrance—before focusing on the boy, whispering, “Your Uncle Seungkwan does make a killer dessert.”

“Why’re you saying it like that?” Sohyun asked, matching your hushed tone. “Do you not like him?”

You contemplated the question. It was simple enough—they were not expecting a Tolstoy-saga timeline of your unstable partnership with their uncle. A couple of weeks ago, the answer would have been easier.

Situations, however, had changed—shifted indefinitely, throwing your viewpoint off its axis. You both were rivalling teams, always rooting for each other’s downfall, and now you both played for the same side, and it was…you did not know. Well, you did know, were very aware of how it felt, but it was something you could not voice out loud—not even to yourself.

So you merely said, “He’s alright…your Uncle Seungkwan,” and hoped to anything that resided above that it was enough.

It seemed so—then, Sojung, forever curious, thought to be more personal than his sister. “If you don’t like him, then who do you like?”

You were astounded by how nosy children were, but realised they were related to Seungkwan. Checks out. “I’m afraid I’m too busy working to have workplace crushes.”

As you made your declaration, you heard the man on a mission return, door swinging open with his foot as he held the ingredients. Walking over to the counter, he dumped the contents, you observing what he brought: a box of fresh vanilla gelato, 4-pint carton of semi-skimmed milk, and a few small pots, labelled as almonds, hazelnuts, amarettis. 

“Is she telling the truth?” Sojung asked his uncle, you gasping at the notion. Since when did children require witness confirmation for your half-lies?

Seungkwan snorted as he brought out a pot from the side of the hob, setting the base upon the bottom right stove, sparking the flames to life. Without even looking back, he grabbed the milk carton, unscrewing the cap. “She’s lying to you guys,” he confirmed, pouring the contents inside. He set the half-empty container beside him, sparing you a mischievous glance. “She’s too busy arguing with me.”

“Hey!” The children began to laugh. “I only argue with him when he’s provoking me.”

Snickering knowingly, he walked to the metal cupboards settled in the corner, opening them up to procure three elongated glasses, small, circular handles on their sides, narrowing at the bottom. Setting them before his esteemed customers, he replied, “I’ll have you know, _____, you’re the one who starts most of our arguments.”

“Since when?” 

Usually, his stare would have been incredulous, unamused. This time, though, his eyes were dancing. “Did you know, kids,” he began, voice deepening as if regaling a fantasy tale, grabbing the tub of luxury hot chocolate powder, “That _____ and I had a real food fight here?”

“No way!” Sohyun gasped. “Did you guys get in trouble?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, sighing through his teeth as he poured two heaped teaspoons within each glass. “Our punishment was to work on a dessert together.”

“Uncle Jeonghan has a weird way of punishing someone,” the girl commented. 

“You’re telling me,” you muttered, Seungkwan also murmuring in agreement as he started the kettle, the water heating at lightning-speed and ready before you realised. Picking up the kettle from its base, he poured a little into each cup, mixing the powder within the water to rid himself of the textured cocoa forming. “Hot chocolate?” you inquired, watching his every movement—his setting the kettle back, all the while grabbing the milk off the stove, pouring three-quarters full of every glass, stirring simultaneously whilst he drained the pot off its boiling contents. 

This was second nature to him—he did not answer, engrossed in his work, because this was him in his element. He was a born creator, thriving in the atmosphere of nourishment. The scent of hot cocoa and vanilla, amplified when his nephew cracked open the container, delighted your senses, mouth watering at the notion of trying this beverage. 

The girl beside you responded for him as he set the empty pot to the side. “It’s more than hot chocolate,” she said, as she grabbed hold of a spoon, hoping to take a bite but stopped when her uncle shot her a disapproving look. “Please, just one bite!” 

“You and your brother won’t leave us with any when you’re done,” he scolded, holding out his hand. Caught red-handed, she begrudgingly gave him the spoon, which he put away, instead bringing out an ice cream scoop. Checking the open container, he brought the scoop down, the soft gelato curling luxuriously within the curve of the metal. He was generous with his serving, the gelato fighting to stay on the scoop as he dropped the first into the hot chocolate closest to him, quite low to avoid any chocolate spillage. He added another to the glass before repeating it several times for the other two cups, giving in to the children’s request for more in their serving. 

You realised the product was finished when, before Seungkwan could declare it himself, the kids yanked their cups further away from him, excitement radiating off their features. “Thank you, thank you!” they both chirped in harmony, instantly sipping on the hot chocolate and groaning in approval. 

The esteemed chef took hold of your glass by the handle, walking over to where you leaned forward at the counter. Straightening yourself, you judged the final product, him leaning back before it. “Voila,” he said, “Or whatever you call it in Italian.”

“It’s the same, actually.” You pulled the cup closer, admiring the chocolate-to-milk gradient, the vanilla ice cream slowly melting within the glass. “Not bad.”

He ticked his head to the side, furrowing his brows. “Um, I think you meant to say it looks exquisite.”

“What even is it?” You turned the glass around. 

Seungkwan watched you inspect the contents. “It’s, uh…it’s a drink I’ve always made for them, back in my apprentice days.” He brought a hand to his torso, smoothing down his apron. “I’m sure you’ve heard of it, but I changed it a little…made it more kid-friendly.”

“Kid-friendly?” A glance at him. “What the hell was the original drink?” 

He scoffed out a chuckle. “It’s nothing like what you’re thinking. The original beverage had liquid espresso, and I thought it’d be too bitter for them.”

“That’s fair.” Taking a spoon from the pile of cutlery, you began stirring the ice cream, melting it within the milky hot chocolate. Taking a sip, you slipped the spoon in your mouth and hummed. “Oh…woah.”

“Use your words, _____,” he merely said, earning a second-glare from you. You could not retain it though, instantly digging in.

“This is nice, actually,” you had to admit. Seeing the man try to bask in your half-assed compliment had you adding on, “But I will say, I would have liked the espresso. I know what you mean about the kid-friendliness of it all.”

“I can make it if you want.” He glanced at the equipment—the barista-standard machines, more portable coffee-machines, the like. “There’s a french press thrown in the cupboard somewhere.”

You looked at him, slightly disbelieving. “You just made me this.”

“So?” He shrugged, twisting his lips to the side. “It won’t be hard.” He took a step back, watching over the children. “You two want a snack or something?”

“Do you even need to ask?” Sohyun demanded, sipping the last of the drink. 

“I wonder where they got their attitude from,” he grumbled, grabbing their empty glasses and bringing them to the sink. 

You could not help your snort, scooping out half-melted ice cream. “I’m looking right at him.”

“I hope the hell you’re not looking at me right now,” was his warning, turning on the faucet and letting the hot water fill the dirtied glasses. 

He made sure you were not, but you were never one to follow orders. You watched him as he brought out a french press from the cupboards beside the machines. “This won’t make the best espresso, but I can’t be arsed to fire up the machines right now.”

“Wow, such high-class customer service!” you shrilled, slowly walking over to the fridges on the opposite side and opening the door, finding the airtight Bombe Calde doughnuts sitting daintily inside. Deciding to take all eight displayed, you closed the fridge, setting them before the table. 

The children jumped on the treats at once, Seungkwan tutting at their sheer gluttony. “You’re gonna get sick, and then your mum is gonna beat me up.”

“Noshewomt,” was the boy’s coherent answer, mouth too occupied with the chocolate doughnut to bother clarifying.  

Turning the kettle on once more, the man obtained the finely-ground coffee beans, adding a couple teaspoons within the french press and waiting for the water to boil. “Pass me one, will you?” he asked, and you decided to comply, taking one from the plate—noticing half of them have been wiped out—and holding it out to him. 

He held out his hand, fingers brushing against yours as he accepted the treat, your own hand still in the air between as he brought it to his mouth, taking a bite. You did not realise your fingers were still holding out the outline of the dessert until the switch on the kettle ticked off, snapping you out of your daze. Curling them into your palm, you set your hand to the side, sighing sharply. “You don’t have to make this.”

Luring the jug to the open press, he poured the water, the fine coffee instantly darkening the liquid. “You don’t want it?”

“Well…” you trailed off, watching him as he took the plunger, pressing the lid shut upon its glass and began pumping the water and coffee together. He was quick, up and down and repeating the gesture, creating a more bitter colour. “It’s not that…”

Finishing, he chose to not to respond then, only taking a new glass from the cupboard in front of him. “Sohyun, the gelato.”

His niece obliging, he deposited two scoops of the ice cream, one after the other. Then, assuming this was the final touch, he poured the espresso inside, assuring that the ice cream was drenched in the bitter flavour, until the french press was drained. 

Perhaps your partner was correct—the bitterness of the drink, even the mere scent of coffee in your nostrils had you exhaling in satisfaction. Seungkwan caught it, smiling a little in reaction. 

It was then he chose to respond. “I wanted to make it for you.”

“Oh.” You chose to admire the dessert-beverage he made—for you only, you thought. “Does it have a name?”

A nod. “It does.” You could feel his eyes on you. His fingers grazed the glass’ base, curling—close to where your own fingers wandered, nail scratching against the curves of the cup. “It’s called an affogato.”

You looked at him. “An affogato? I’ve had a few of these before.” Taking your spoon, you cut through the gelato, making sure you scooped enough of the espresso. Once you dared a taste, you instantly hummed, the bittersweet mixture of the ice cream and the coffee enlivening your taste buds. “Oh, Christ, this is the one.”

“I knew you would enjoy the original recipe,” Seungkwan remarked, watching you lap away at the dessert. “I will say, though, the french press doesn’t do the espresso justice.” 

“Yeah, you use the proper machines for it, right?” Another bite taken. “This is insane, though.” 

“You think so?” When you nodded, he dipped his head, acknowledging your approval. He blew air from his mouth, a deep sigh which had you tilting your head. “I used to make it a lot, back in the day.” 

“Your apprentice days?” you parrotted, just as he did earlier. 

He only squinted his eyes, an effort to keep your teasing in check, but found himself chuckling. “Yeah, back in Jeju. My dad loved to make them…he, like, would always add different flavoured ice creams in the espresso, maybe add hot chocolate if I wasn’t feeling too good with coffee…”

“Your dad made you these?” You sipped on the drink, careful of the ice cream. “That’s really sweet.”

“I know.” Taking a bite out of the bambe calde, he continued, “Yeah, he’s really supportive. My mum, too, but it took some time for her to accept that I wasn’t gonna be a doctor.”

“You’re better off for sure,” you remarked, stirring the contents. “Imagine your ass trying to do surgery on someone…you’d get the hospital sued.”

“First of all, fuck you,” he started, but quickly stopped when his niece and nephew gasped at the curse. “Sorry, sorry! I promise she doesn’t mind.”

“Don’t say sorry to us, too, say it to _____!” Sojung ordered.

“You’re being mean, Uncle Seungkwan,” Sohyun huffed next.

“Yeah, Uncle Seungkwan,” you chimed in, earning a berating glower from him. “You’re being rude.” 

“Well I’m so sorry, _____,” the man chirped, and you had to keep drinking to stop yourself from laughing. “Now, you two, get back to stuffing your faces.” 

As the kids happily obliged, you released a satisfied exhale as you finished off the espresso, half-melted ice cream left in the glass. “I still mean it. You would have been worse off as a doctor.” 

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. I’ll kill off my patients because I wouldn’t know the difference between a scalpel and a butter knife.” 

“No, not like that.” You turned to him. “Seungkwan, you were meant to create desserts.”

He looked at you then, not quite believing his ears. “Do you really believe that?” 

“Of course.” Your eyes flickered to the remnants of the affogato. “There’s a reason Jeonghan kept you…hell, there’s a reason I still haven’t managed to get rid of you.”

There was a pause, felt enough that you snuck a quick glance as you watched over the conversing children. 

“Do you want to?” he asked. Your gaze stuck, and he furrowed his brows, clarifying, “Get rid of me, still?”

He looked at you, and you found yourself a little lost in his eyes. There was one certainty you could rely on, and that was his gaze—whatever he felt, he always exposed it, whether he wanted to or not.

Tonight was different. Tonight, with the children nearby, you still stirring the melted gelato, you could not comprehend them. What his eyes offered this time was tenderness—a certain warmth you had never been offered by him since…since ever. Since as long as you had known him. 

So you held up the cup, finishing the rest of the dessert—the dessert he had made with his own hands.

You decided to say something else instead of answering his question—something better. “I think we’ve found our dessert, Seungkwan.”

The man’s warmth morphed with confusion. “The affogato,” you said, holding out the glass. “We should make it for our Christmas menu.” His stance had you carrying on, setting the cup to the side as you focused on him. “Look, I know what you’re thinking, but hear me out. You said it yourself, you can make this with various flavours right?” His nod had you continuing, “And obviously, we’ve seen that you can change around the drink bit, too.”

“Hmm…” That had him thinking, and you could see it, the cogs within his head turning at rapid speed. “Wait, you know what…my dad also added liqueurs in the drink, which gave a little fire to the dessert. I liked it a lot, but obviously you can’t give hard alcohol to kids, so…”

“Very responsible,” you deemed it. “And it’s so easy to make! I mean, you whipped it up within minutes for me.” 

He was straightened up now, watching you intently as you thought about it further, the entire prospect of it. “It could be quicker, too, you know. The french press takes more time, but if we made it on the machine, then—” He cut himself off, thinking and thinking, walking towards the countertop. “Wait, this could actually work.” 

“What can work, Uncle Seungkwan?” his nephew asked, curiosity prompting his question. 

“Something really special, Sojung,” he replied, scouring the table for his notes, but realising he left them at the changing lockers. “Shit. Shit.”

“Language!” Sohyun chided, but her dear uncle wasn’t really listening, whipping out his phone and typing ferociously.

You did not realise what he was doing until he pressed the phone to his ear, pointing at the kids to wash their hands. “Hello? Yeah, Jinsoul, hi, you guys back from the date?” A pause, as he started a pace, back and forth in the kitchen. “Hmm, yeah, don’t care about all those details, listen—” He turned a sharp corner, finding the words, “Is it alright if I could drop the kids back right now? Something urgent came up.”

As he listened to his sister, his eyes flickered to you. “Yeah…it is. We thought of something perfect.” 

You avoided his gaze then—a cowardly choice, you knew—but, perhaps for the first time, his stare was a little too intense. “Yeah, don’t worry about that, I’ll do it,” he said, “I owe you. For real this time.”

As the man ended the call, the nephew pulled a face. “Do we have to go back already?” he whined, licking the sugar from his fingers. 

“Afraid so, buddy,” was his response, pocketing his phone. “Come on, you two, I gotta take you back to your parents.”

“But what about _____?” Sohyun asked, watching you intently as you began to clear away the dishes. 

“I’ll get going, too,” you replied, cleaning the rest of the dishes, setting them on the side. “Or else my friend will think I’m overworking myself.” 

“Julie?” Seungkwan asked, and you nodded. “How is she doing, by the way?”

Dusting away at your hands, you gave him a look, untying your apron. “How do you know her name?”

“I talked to her when you ran away from me, remember?”

“I didn’t run away,” you muttered, but that did not stop the pompous twist of his mouth, threatening to sour your mood. 

Another ten minutes, and the rest of you were sorted, clothing and other personal items extracted from your locker and donning your coat. You let Seungkwan and the children exit first, making sure all the entrances were locked save for the one you were leaving from.

The chill of the London winter nipped at your face as you left from the backdoor, a slight shiver cluttering your teeth as you locked the premises. You witnessed the man firmly wrapping his huge red scarf around the girl, whispering to the boy at the same time to don his gloves—yes, even if they don’t let him use his phone.

As you walked over to the group, you were about to start when he beat you to it. “I'll drop Sohyun and Sojung off, and then I’ll get to the planning. My dad will be up around this time, so I’ll ask about his preferences.”

“I’ll do some research back home,” you offered. “Jinsoul wasn’t mad, right? I think you disturbed her date.”

“She’ll live,” he said, rolling his eyes. “We’ve got more important things to do, anyway.”

Nodding, you then leaned forward, smiling at the children. “You two should come again.” 

“Oh, we will!” Sojung promised, smirking. “I don’t know why Uncle Seungkwan was hiding you from us.”

The accused ruffled the boy’s hair. “You’re running your mouth too much today.”

“He always runs his mouth too much,” Sohyun muttered, causing her brother to stick his tongue out at her. 

Giggling at their antics, you looked to Seungkwan, who sighed slightly as you released another shiver. “You know I need you alive for this dessert report.”

Hugging yourself tightly, you remarked, “Who would have thought Boo Seungkwan wanted me happy and healthy by his side?”

A snort, misting in the cold air. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I said alive. Barely is fine by me, too.”

You shook your head at him, restraining the urge to let your lips quirk upward. “Goodnight, Seungkwan.”

As you swivelled with a last goodbye to his niece and nephew, you left for the underground, not two minutes away. 

Sohyun was the first to break the night silence as you finally turned the corner, away from their sight. “I like her, Uncle Seungkwan,” she declared, walking ahead of the group. 

“Me too,” Sojung agreed, following after his sister in hopes to tread on her boots. “I hope we see her again.”

The man did not listen to their petty arguments which soon replaced their praises of you, holding onto their first confessions. And although he did not voice them out loud, his thoughts were an answer, left unsaid.

You will see her again—whether I want to or not.

THE NEXT WEEK BROUGHT ANOTHER CHANGE WITHIN YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH SEUNGKWAN. 

Mostly because what you and your partner had actually was a relationship now. The intense months, before the Christmas menu was even established, where you and him had argued and screamed the kitchen down had soothed into a kurt understanding of the dessert you were about to create. At last, after months of your victories, your losses to him, the disgruntled progression into stalemates, you two had achieved the unachievable.

You both had decided on a dessert.

Jeonghan could not believe his ears when you first informed him, and immediately booked himself a special Specsaver’s hearing test—you forgot how far he would go for a bit, but at least it was not your time he was wasting. He asked Seungkwan for confirmation, and, sure enough, when the latter agreed, your boss may have experienced shell-shock akin to war veterans. Of course, you wanted to be offended, but you had no right—at the end of the day, Jeonghan had only ever seen violence brewing between you and the dessert chef. Any semblance of toleration was considered a breaking-news event.

The two of you tried not to let Jeonghan’s shock distract you from your planning—Seungkwan received a wealth of information from his father, and learned that the most classic form of the affogato is the one he created for you—the vanilla gelato, and hot espresso poured on top. Although it was delicious, it was deemed too plain for Christmas menu, and opted for more flavours. 

Seungkwan first offered the idea for whipped cream, but you rejected it. “Whipped cream and gelato seems excessive,” you explained, looking over your research notes. “The cream might offset the gelato’s flavour.”

“How do you feel about chocolate shavings? It could work well with smoothing out the bitterness of the espresso.” 

“But the gelato’s doing that,” you countered. “I don’t mind it, but I’d want something stronger for the first choice.” 

“Hmm…” He skimmed his father’s ramblings for a moment, then handed it to you. “This is what Dad used. He’d swap certain things around.”

Reading through, the first thing you noticed was the neat writing—Seungkwan’s, undoubtedly. He had categorised different gelato flavours in one column, espresso or other coffee variations in the second, liqueur choices for the third, and the last, larger column was reserved for toppings. “He certainly has range,” you commented, looking up. “How come you missed learning it?”

“You’re the only one blind to it,” he disputed, crossing his arms. “It’s a wonder you’re not turning down the affogato as we speak.” 

“You never know!” you chirped sarcastically, in hope to keep him on his toes. “Did you try out all these variations?”

“Yep. I was a picky eater.” He exhaled through his nose at your incredulous look, reminiscing. “Shocking, I know. Aside from the alcohol, he tried every single one of those flavours. All of them are approved by child-me, teenage-me, and today-me.” 

“I see,” you said, reverting back to the notes. You had to admit, his father did take liberties with what he deemed Italian for an Italian drink. As you kept reading it over, glancing at the man’s peaceful recollection, you did not think that mattered. 

This was someone’s efforts to keep their child full. This was a father’s testimony of ensuring his son’s happiness. 

You smiled at the notion, offering the pages back to him. “I personally like the biscotti the most out of all these options. If we chop the biscuit finely enough, it’ll have a nice crunch in the dessert. It’ll keep the espresso’s essence as well, while also maintaining the sweetness of the ice cream.”

His slight surprise had you pulling back. “What? Oh, is this your turn to reject me now?”

But then he smiled a little, catching you off guard. “No, the opposite actually. I’m just surprised you chose that one.”

“Why?” You groaned, getting up from your seat. “It’s the worst one, right? Baby-you threw up after having it, I’m sure.”

“No, actually.” He paused. “The biscotti was my favourite topping.”

Oh. “So…you’re good for its almond flavouring?”

He nodded, taking the papers from you. “Yeah, I am…why are you asking?”

“It’s just…I don’t think we’ve ever agreed to a decision so…cordially.” 

Seungkwan scoffed. “Well, obviously we weren’t gonna argue when you agreed with me.”

You instantly checked him on this. “I was the one who suggested it.”

His counter was immediate. “You picked it from my notes.”

A click of your tongue. “Your dad’s, actually.” 

He opened his mouth, eyes narrowing, but then realised you were right, and clamped his lips together. The action within those sudden sequences had you offering him a smirk. “And I thought we were past all this,” he whinged, exasperation clear. 

“Don’t think I’ll let you win so easily,” you warned, widening your shit-eating smile as you walked over to the espresso machines, regarding the fine steel in its all shining glory. 

“I never win easily with you,” he grumbled, stepping beside you. 

“It should be kept that way,” you only said. “Now, how do we work this shit?” 

Seungkwan turned away from you, hiding his bemused smile before clearing his throat and explaining the rules. This was the way you two worked now—a smidge of back and forth bickering, but never truly rising to the surface where you threatened ultimate violence. 

It was strange, you had to admit; never before had you felt a tolerance, even an acceptance of his presence beside you. He would offer assistance of some kind, bring forth new suggestions, and your first instinct was not to cuss out his ancestors for suggesting such gullible ideas. Even the man who worked alongside you would not provoke your rash temper, and day by day you found yourself wondering why, after the entirety of his acquaintance, you had never simply got on with him. 

You did not care to investigate the origins of who was at fault. All that was left, in a sense, was to salvage whatever strange alliance you both had created, and hope that was enough to finish the final dessert. 

The preparations, the testing of the machines continued into the restaurant’s opening, and Jeonghan assisted, as promised during the beginning of the process, in helping with orders, teaching Junhui of the more luxurious, complex desserts during that time. Thankfully, the restaurant was quieter that day, so the Head Chef was relaxed, carefree enough to try provoking you and Seungkwan into a disagreement, but to no avail. 

The trialling carried on well into the night, the only people left in the restaurant being you two and Jeonghan, who was arguing with his accountant loud enough to hear it through the dessert stations. You ignored him, tasting the newly created vanilla gelato, liquid espresso and biscotti pieces sprinkled. Seungkwan brought out the last touch, pouring a half-shot of amaretto liqueur into the long, slender glass. 

And as the two of you tasted the dessert, your spoon first, and then passing it onto him, you realised you may have made something great—perfection can take a while, you both understood it, but what you two created was something bigger than yourselves. Realistically, it was just a beverage, but it was not just a beverage—this was peace, scooped up within the containers of the gelato, an acceptance peeking out within the chopped biscottis. This was—could you say it—respect, poured from his very hands, staining the glass of your relationship with him. 

Even as the two of you shared a look of understanding, finishing the singular affogatto together, you knew circumstances had shifted—something was different. 

Seeing as the boss was stuck with working out his finances, you decided to head out, letting Seungkwan finish with the cleaning up, lest you make a sound and he made you carry out your dishwashing. You made a head start towards your belongings in the other room, taking out your bag and jacket as the man walked to his lockers. Donning your layers, he slid out his satchel, coat and that long-ass scarf, snapping the square door shut. 

“I think we can send the report to Jeonghan any day now,” he said, sliding his arms through the coat holes. 

You began to walk to the back door, watching him follow slowly. “You think so?” 

He caught up, wrapping his scarf around himself—three loops round his neck, almost hiding half his face. Pulling down the fabric with a finger, he settled his chin over the scarf, nodding. “We’ve done almost everything…I mean, there’s a bit of paperwork left, but I’ll write that tonight when I’m at Jinsoul’s.”

“You’re going to your sister’s?” you asked as you grabbed onto the door. “Don’t tell me you’re interrupting the poor couple again.”

“So what if I am?” he demanded. “That’s on them for establishing a relationship between me and their kids.”

“Fair enough.” Opening the door to the outside world, you instantly shivered at the sheer temperature drop from the past few days. London’s winters were unpredictable, but you forgot its cruelty too. The chill of the midnight winter seeped through your too-thin jacket, and you had to stop yourself from shivering out of your bones.

Your teeth would have chattered more had Seungkwan not spoken again. “She was asking about you, by the way.”

“Oh,” you could only say—courtesy of the cold, and the teeth. “She was?” 

“Why’re you so shocked by that?”

A lazy shrug. “I don’t know…I thought you would have talked shit about me.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Now why would you think that?” You returned the gaze, and then he let out an understanding noise. “Oh, yeah…yeah, I did that the other day actually.”

“Hey, now!” You would have nudged his elbow, but were too cold to do so. “I haven’t pissed you off this past fortnight.”

“I know, I know, I just…” he sighed a little, which frosted into the air. “I mean…I’ve mentioned you. In passing.”

“In passing?” You parroted, hugging yourself. A frosted scoff escaped you. “You can’t help being obsessed with me, huh?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, which had you chuckling—the soft laughter was cut off by your teeth once more, chattering to the point of catching his notice. “You knew it was gonna get cold, you idiot.” 

You returned his observations with a glare. “I didn’t actually know that, which is why I’m cold right now…you idiot.”

The condensation from your mouth was enough evidence of the chill—that, and of course, your bated breaths. “Yes, I’m the idiot that’s so nice and warm,” Seungkwan sang, irritating you further. 

When you did not deign to respond to him, the cold weather conquering your meagre layers, nipping at your skin, he stopped the next dig, at the tip of his tongue. He then observed your countenance—the rubbing of the arms, the groans you tried to contain at the discomfort taking over. The man veiled his mouth with the bunched-up scarf, narrowing his eyes. Sighing a little, the heat of his breath curled against the fabric, kissing his face, and the slight warmth that welcomed him did not bring him the comfort he relished mere minutes prior. 

He looked at you, hugging yourself tightly. The moment your eyes flickered to his, remnants of displeasure in your eyes, his own widened slightly.

Shit. His hands grabbed onto the scarf before he realised what he was doing. Shit, shit, shit, was all he could think, as, with hands unwrapping the long piece of clothing from his neck, he seethed a little at the chill that welcomed his exposed skin.

Before you could realise what he was doing, he brought the length of the scarf around you, both his hands holding each of the ends at your sides. “Wh-what are you doing?” you got out, your hands instantly stopping his. “Wait, Seungkwan—”

“Save your bickering,” he cut you off, merely waving your hands away as he wrapped the first loop around you, the scarf still too long on one side. “Talking will only make you colder.”

But you were already opening your mouth, ready to counter him when another loop of the scarf masked half of your face. Your surprise was shown only through your eyes, but he ignored it completely, wrapping the length around one last time. The scarf had almost shrunk you, your head buried in the layers, and Seungkwan had to pause for a second, unable to contain his smile. 

What are you smiling at? you asked, except the scarf had mumbled your speech, and he could not hear a thing. He could understand very clearly the irritation, though, rising in your gaze, and that only broke the seam of his lips, grinning at you. 

“Wait, hold still,” he said, reaching to the top of the neckwear. He leaned in, fingers folding down the fabric, slowly and gently, and you blinked back at the proximity. You had a feeling he had not noticed at first, but then your eyes bore into him, and his fingers slowed. His knuckle brushed against your jaw, and a soft shiver escaped you, finally catching his attention. Only then he stole a glance, realising just how close he was to you. 

His pupils were darting all over your face, as much as he could take in from the closeness. You could not help it either, mouth parting, watching his bated breaths condense upon your face. God, he was close to you, and it was out of the ordinary, unfamiliar territory. If he leaned in any further, his lips would caress yours, solving the problem of this chill. You were not cold though—not anymore, with your cheeks burning every second spent under his scrutiny. 

You should be pulling away—should be taking a step back. He felt the same. Once again, the two of you were in sync; always denying how similar you both thought, but confronted with that fated truth. 

Seungkwan could see it—the truth, reflecting in your gaze. “There,” he whispered, fingers brushing against the scarf. 

The scarf. His scarf. “I can’t have this,” you said, but your voice was barely there. “It’s yours.” 

“I know.” A ghost of his raised brow. “It’s not like I’m giving it to you forever. I will take it back.”

You twisted your mouth. “Way to ruin a moment.” 

He parted his mouth, both brows raising. “Was there a moment to ruin?” 

“No!” you gasped out, craning your head back. You saw his smirk rise, and it was agonising, how your speech stuttered. “No, no, no. No moment here! You’re thinking it all up.” 

“Hmm,” was all he got out, gaze skimming over your face—pausing at your mouth. “If you say so.” 

With one last moment (because yes, there was something, and there was no denying it anymore), he stepped away, admiring the scarf wrapped around you. “Maybe I should let you keep it.”

This time, you had to look away. “You can have it back tomorrow.” Glancing over the time on your phone, you cleared your throat, fidgeting with the fabric. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

He nodded, hands sliding in his pockets. “We’re so close, _____.” 

Choosing to avoid his eyes, you instead focused on the locks of his hair, the lapels of his jacket. It was unavoidable—he was beautiful, and he was smiling. A celebration of the coming victory, so near that you could taste Jeonghan’s approval. 

So you smiled back. “We are, Seungkwan.” 

JEONGHAN TURNED ANOTHER PAGE OF THE FINAL DESSERT REPORT. 

You waited anxiously, one leg folded over the other as your eyes focused intently at the head chef, reading over the analysis. He was silent for the first time in a while, no sarcastic quip over the explanations. No questions were thrown at you, catching you off—all you were tested with was complete quiet, which, in a weirder sense, unnerved you more. 

Your partner was there, too—in the same seat he always claimed on your right, bouncing his leg in anticipation, eyes trained at the same target as yours. He, on the other hand, could not deal with the silence which permeated the office. “I think you’ve read this section for the third time, Chef.” 

But Chef ignored him, choosing to spend another ten minutes staring at the same pages, an effective enough punishment for being bothered. You would have thrown him an irritated glare had you not been so exhausted from the final trials.

The affogato dessert report was finished after another week of testing. 

You and Seungkwan had spent half of the nights within that week at the restaurant, bouncing ideas off each other, finalising the rest of the toppings, the beverage variations. The two of you must have had fifty hours of sleep combined for the past six days, but it was worth the wait. It was worth the restlessness, the countless drafts of writing and rewriting…it reached a full completion at two in the morning, when you and your partner took one look at each other and knew you had done it.

Bothering Jeonghan at that time would have gotten you both fired, so you resorted to running back home for six-odd hours before trudging back to the restaurant. You saw Seungkwan at the entrance, identical eye-bags to yours, his frown a default feature on his sleep-stricken face. Still, the clear fatigue seemed to clear when he caught sight of you, leaving the door open to let you in. 

It was here now, with you two anxiously waiting, that Jeonghan snapped the file shut, the slap of paper against paper jolting you both alert. “I hope that’s woken you up.” 

The man beside you groaned, his leg ceasing the bouncing. “Jesus,” he could only say, because cursing his boss only fast-tracked him to unemployment (not that Jeonghan would have sacked him—in honesty, he was hoping one of them would call him a dickhead and storm out).

“It did,” you answered, trying your hardest to not knife him with your gaze. “Now are you approving the dessert?” 

He observed the front of the report, jutting out his lower lip. “Well, I am impressed with the details…I don’t think any of you have put this much effort into a dessert report in your entire career.” 

“Don’t say that!” You immediately exclaimed. “My granita dessert report last year was top-notch and you agreed with me!” 

“Yeah, but that was last year, so it doesn't exist anymore.” He waved off your counters, continuing, “Anyway, this report is brilliant. I can see how much effort the two of you have put into this process.”

You nodded along to his comments, locking your hands together. There was no denying it, of course—you and Seungkwan had carved out your hearts and mixed the remnants within the affogato. What was appreciated was Jeonghan witnessing it with his own eyes. 

“Before I officially start advertising the final selection, I do need to ask you one thing.” He set the report to the side, setting his chin upon interlocked fingers. “Now I know how you both felt about working together for this project…obviously I didn’t care about your opinions because of the disruptions, but recently, there’s been a peaceful environment at the station.” 

His eyes darted between his dessert chefs. “Should the opportunity arise…would you work together on specific projects again?”

The dreaded silence was back, but it was not the head chef which instigated it this time. 

It took almost every nerve in your system to restrain the muscles in your body, which would instinctively turn your head towards the man beside you. Biting your lip, glancing down at your hands once more, you thought the question over, echoing slowly in your mind.

If you were asked this question a couple of weeks ago, you would have laughed in Jeonghan’s face. You still remembered the evening in this office, when your boss doomed the two of you with the dessert project. You had not forgotten the snide comments, the back-and-forth bickering, even the fated confrontations—the night with the burnt caramel which had your entire viewpoint spinning on its surface.

What you did not comprehend was the change; the slow shift in every interaction, the anticipation of his family’s interactions, wondering whether his sister had asked for you again. That was the jackpot moment, you thought. At the end of the day, Seungkwan had not changed—you simply bothered to know him.  

And whatever you had learned, you did not despise. 

You chose not to admit any of this to the group. Instead, you remained in your silence, waiting for any of the men to shatter it.

Seungkwan stepped up to the quiet and broke it. “I dreaded doing the project.” You looked at him. He continued, staring at Jeonghan. “It was hard, I’ll be honest…what with our constant fighting and that.” 

It was after a while he spoke again. “However, if you force us together in the next quarter, then…” He turned to you, and you swore there was a glow radiating from his face. “I wouldn’t mind it...being forced together with her again.”

You parted your mouth. You could barely hear Jeonghan’s scoff, humming at the implications. No, you only stared at him, your partner-in-crime, your—your friend? Something different, another term entirely. 

Your mouth ran on its own, disregarding your sense of thought. “I wouldn’t mind it either.” 

This time, you heard the boss’ huff of laughter enough to snap out of your stunned daze, watching him rise from his chair. “Does this mean my customers won’t hear you both arguing over their moonlit dinners?” 

Truly, you wanted to frown at him. “As long as Seungkwan keeps quiet,” you said, glancing at the said-man.

His smile was mischievous when you caught it—you had to look away. “I’m not promising a damn thing.”

You only heard Jeonghan’s laughter then, vanishing only by the closing of his door as he left, approved report in hand. 

Perhaps Seungkwan wanted to say more, but you hurried out of the office under the pretense of opening the restaurant. He chose to play along to your excuses, helping you alongside Mingyu and Junhui for the ingredient prepping, and soon business took over priority, the rush of the customers even in the late morning. 

The bustling environment of the restaurant did not calm until its closing, you cursing the customers for not offering a single break during your long shift. The entire time consisted of egg and sugar whipping, the sounds of caramel cooking, espresso steaming and curt orders thrown around by you and your partner in the station. Because the stress of the dessert menu had faded, though, a great level of pressure had subsided, as if the summer sun had cleared through London’s winter storms. 

Nighttime cloaked Covent Garden, stars scattered across the black sky, twinkling at the thousands upon thousands, in and out of the entrance columns. After seeing the last family off on their merry way, you turned the banner to Closed, sighing after a long day’s work. 

Mingyu and Junhui were already packing, informing you of their plans together, so you let them leave earlier than anticipated. Seungkwan was the sole chef left, save for Jeonghan—though he could have fucked off without anyone’s knowing, for all you knew.

You thought he would have ran straight for his sister’s down south; it was a Friday night, which meant that Sohyun and Sojung were anticipating movie night with their favourite (and only, so you doubted how prized this title really was) uncle. Despite being aware of this, you caught sight of him whipping up the all-too familiar dessert, this time in accordance to the restaurant’s official recipe.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” you asked him, walking over to where he stood next to the counter. “The kids’ll be waiting.” 

“You remembered,” he pointed out, surprised. Pouring the espresso on top, he looked over to you, closing in. “Well, today I get a pass to celebrate our victory.” 

“Victory?” You observed the finished affogato, scrunching your nose. “Not to be that person, but I’ve had enough of these to last me the year.” 

“I know you were gonna say that,” he countered, holding up a finger as he stepped to the side. Lo and behold, there was a large bottle of champagne, a crisp burgundy bow wrapped around the neck. ���Which is why I brought a little extra for the occasion.” 

Lighting up at the sight of the alcohol, you grabbed onto the top, studying the label. “Franciacorta. Very tasteful.” 

You set it back, searching for a corkscrew. “You sound shocked by my tastefulness,” you heard him remark, you opening the drawers and finding it amongst the disarray of cutlery. 

“Well, of course,” you said, bringing the utensil to Seungkwan’s side of the counter, waiting for him to add in the cut-up biscotti. “Let’s not forget who the classier one out of us is.” 

He clicked his tongue. “I am not getting into that can of worms.”

“All the better for your rep,” you added, earning a snort from him. 

“Right,” he began, pushing the drink in your direction as he grabbed the bottle. “How about a drink first?”

“That I can agree with,” you said, handing him the corkscrew. 

Seungkwan struck the cork with it, twisting it till he was satisfied. Then, with a little force, he popped open the champagne, fizzing from the bottle’s mouth. “There we go,” he sighed out, grabbing a couple of spare glasses, identical to the dessert’s shape, and filling them to the very tip. “I couldn’t find the proper glasses.”

“And you said you were the classier one,” you quipped, sipping the drink. 

Shaking his head, he drank up, seething as he brought the glass down. “I can’t believe we’re finished, you know.” 

“I don’t think it’s settled yet for me,” you admitted. “It was only a few weeks, but it felt like months.”

“God, I know.” Finishing off the first glass, he poured himself another. “Remember when you wanted to add leaves in the dessert? We’ve come so far.” 

“Now you know I had a whole plan for that,” you defended, shaking a finger at him as you kept drinking. “And you can’t say anything, with your diabetes-inducing sweets.”

“You’re the one who agreed to the affogato.” He twisted his mouth into a smirk. “And that was my idea.” 

You wanted to snarl at him—it had been too long since a bickering broke any semblance of peace, and although you enjoyed the lack of shouting, you swore it was enhancing his overconfidence. 

But you decided to indulge him. You did not know why. “Your idea was so personal to your roots, Seungkwan. I don’t think I could have said no.” 

Even he was stunned. “You couldn’t have said no?” he repeated in question, brows raising.

You only downed the rest of your champagne. “Nope.” 

“Huh.” That was all he could give, swirling his drink. Your insides sung at his reaction, biting the corner of your lip to stop yourself from smiling. Seungkwan’s smirks, you thought, truly had no substance the way his surprised, one-word responses did.

Another glass down, and you felt the buzz of the alcohol, bubbling through your veins, settling a little too pleasantly in your mind. The lights of the dessert station had been dimmed, too, only the lights of the hob turned on, your surroundings atmospheric. The silences may have been prevalent, but there was no discomfort. The tranquility was…in a way, it was beautiful.

There was more beauty, it seemed, in Seungkwan’s next words. “I wouldn’t have suggested it if it was anyone else, you know.” 

You straightened in your seat. “Oh?”

He nodded, you thinking that was the rest of it. But then he opened his mouth again, spilling out the confession which rested in his heart. “If it was anyone else working with me, they wouldn’t have seen the dessert, why I made it…my sister, her kids, anything like that.” He took a deep breath, about to continue, but then made sure to drink up. “And you suggested it first, which…I really appreciated.”

“Is that why I had never seen your family before?” another sip of the champagne. “Because you hated me that much?”

“I never hated you, _____,” he said, which only had you scoffing. “No, really! Sure, you pissed me off. Did Jinsoul first hear of you cause I bitched about you? Unfortunately, yeah. But!” he countered, raising a finger, “It was never hatred.”

“Well, I can’t say the same,” you mumbled, staring into the end of your glass. He grabbed your attention, filling it to the rim once more. 

His stare did not leave you. “It’s not like that anymore, right?”

You matched his gaze—a smile threatened to take over. “No…not anymore. I got to know you, didn’t I?” 

He could have gasped. 

Boo Seungkwan, for the first time in his life, was speechless. It usually took devastating news to rattle him to his core—a notion so shocking his world slips from underneath him. His pupils almost dilated, gaping at you as if you told him he had won Jeonghan’s restaurant.

And although it was endearing, truly a sight to behold, you had the nerve to raise a brow at him. “Weren’t you the one who said I didn’t?”

He blinked back at the question, realising that he was not in a trance. “That I did.” He cleared his throat, downing another glass. The alcohol was getting to him, he could feel it.  

You decided to leave the champagne for now, the bubbles successful in enhancing your giddiness. Turning to the affogato, you finally gave it some attention, digging in with a spoon. “It’s melted now,” you commented, taking another bite. 

“That’s what happens when you ignore a dessert,” Seungkwan remarked, tutting as he drank.

“Don’t give a girl such good champagne then.” 

“Hmm, or maybe you’re distracted by my company,” he appealed, watching you roll your eyes and chuckling. “Come on. We’re not throwing food at each other anymore, so you can be honest.” 

“Okay,” you said, savouring the espresso and vanilla, in perfect harmony in your mouth. “I guess you’re not the worst person to have a conversation with.” He made to celebrate, face lightening up, but you interjected, “When you’re around your family.”

“Yeah, now you’re just saying shit,” he rebuked, setting the glass down. “I’m a bloody joy to be around!” 

“And which one out of Jinsoul’s kids said that to get a doughnut out of you?”

“None of them!” he first exclaimed, but after two seconds of staring him down, he sighed out, “Sojung got four doughnuts that day.” 

“Exactly.” Another bite, a little messy—you were sure the vanilla cream left remnants on your lips. “I told you, right? I know you now.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he only said, tilting his head on his shoulder. He had drunk enough tonight. He was not usually careless—not that he was, but he did not take his glasses into account. He did, but he was with you tonight, and you were so happy. 

He then noticed the slight gelato lining your lips, and he perked up slightly. “Affogato that good? You left behind a trail.”

“Unfortunately. Where is it?” you asked, trying to wipe it off, but to no avail. “I’m looking stupid, right?”

“The dumbest.” He pointed to his own mouth, but you would not follow. “Wait, one second.” 

He stepped closer, rubbing his hands on his trousers. With a harsh intake of breath, he reached his hand out, and you froze at his touch, brushing against the corner of his lip. His focus did not distract him from your expression, thumb rubbing off the vanilla, cream fading from his every gentle swipe. His finger was soft—softer than you expected, velvety like the ice cream he made for you. 

It was only when he finished, craning his head back just an inch, that he noticed your tensed-up expression—the breath that was caught in your throat. He had parted his mouth, the realisation striking him cold, and all he could do was watch—eyes flickering to your own, darting between one and the other, as if unable to take the full intensity of your stare. 

You caught him peeking shamelessly at your lips, where his thumb remained, a ghost of a touch. Seconds passed, none of you daring to move, and you suddenly had an inkling that he was about to do something. 

Oh God. Was he? You could not tell—he was looking at you in a strange manner, eyes heavy lidded. It must have been the alcohol. You were sure that was the reason for his daze, why his breaths were uneven.

You could not help the whisper escaping, as soft and delicate as a winter snowflake, twirling in a cold breeze. “Seungkwan?” 

The said-man blinked back at your voice—his name on your tongue. 

What you were going to do was close your eyes, brace yourself for the final distance—and then you realised you were bracing yourself for Boo Seungkwan, and the slight panic set in, striking you like a lightning bolt. 

He must have caught it in your eyes, because then his reaction reflected your own, and maybe he made the most idiotic decision in his entire life. Although every muscle in his body demanded he do the opposite, he began to pull away and then you grasped onto your mistake, realising what he was doing, and you cursed yourself for letting him slip away in front of you this very second—this devastating, crucial moment. 

And even though you did not comprehend what in hell you were doing at that moment, you caught his arm, holding onto the white cotton of his work shirt. He gaped at the gesture before setting the shock on you. “What’re you doing?” he rasped out.

“What’re you doing?” was your answer.

It was there, in the dimmed, flickering lights of the hob, that he stared at you, trying the hardest he ever had in the entirety of his life to catch your meaning. Damn him for drinking, damn his lack of restraint, because maybe if he had one less glass of champagne—

The darkening of your irises clocked any confusion in his tipsied judgement. His mouth parted, and you could have sighed with an intoxicated relief.

He knew you after all. 

“Bastard,” you could only say, catching the beginnings of an appeased grin before he leaned in, any semblance of doubt erased as he pressed his lips to yours. 

The first touch of his mouth was indescribable. 

Never did you think you would find yourself in this situation, closing your eyes, a soft hum as he moved against you, finding the rhythm upon your lips. His own were so soft, a shocking twist in the tale—all those hard, condescending quips, but you supposed it should have made perfect sense. Your arguments were bitter, your collaborations tensioned, but there were no remnants of the past in his movements. He was as soft as the gelato you had indulged in, as velvety as the espresso coating his affogato gift. 

Your breaths were caught in your throat, caged by his mouth, which delved deeper as the man’s hands cupped your face. His fingers were warm, shaking as they tilted your head to enhance the kiss. Your senses were alive before, but they were bouncing off the kitchen walls now, darting from the stove to the countertop, out of the doors and into the city as the sheer pleasure took over. 

It was in that moment you realised that Boo Seungkwan was not only a great dessert chef, but an excellent kisser. The way he moved his lips with yours, syncing you along with him, was unfathomable in any other situation. You, following along, even bothering to hear him out, here now, trailing after his movements? You could not help yourself, though, when he was good, he knew this like he knew the affogato—familiar with its recipe, its methods, how to create it, nourishing it to perfection. 

And because every dessert creation needed patience, Seungkwan was slow, careful as his tongue slid against the seam of your lips, trialling, testing. He succeeded in the first attempt, you opening up to him, and the feeling of his tongue slithering along yours had your stomach somersaulting within, unable to contain yourself. You could not contain the soft groans, lodged deep within your throat, and you could have sworn the bastard smiled against you, closing his mouth as he sucked on your tongue. 

This was it. In the Vita di Diamante, under the lights of a luxury restaurant’s dessert-kitchen, your hands crept up his arms, locking behind his neck, and you snuffed out any distance, the countertop edges digging slowly into your side, dutifully ignored. Any sense of discomfort was replaced by the mountain of pleasure, boosted by Seungkwan’s fingers on your face, then your neck, his lips taking yours prisoner, threatening to roam, and his body, pressing against your own, his weight like a welcome cage, engulfing your entire presence. 

This was nothing short of intoxication, a spark of a drug which would spiral into an addiction. You had kissed many others before your supposed rival, this uncertain friend, but you were sure of the ecstasy he offered, given to you in abundance. You had thought him selfish, narcissistic. But was this not compassion, each heated bursts of generosity he planted on the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, slowly trailing downward till he found refuge on the patch of skin, just above your collarbone? Were these not acts of selflessness, the manner in which he teethed his kisses, inciting a moan loud enough to have your entire face alight?

It was that particular noise that made him realise his place, a burst of pride igniting inside him before he noticed the hob lights glistening your face. “We shouldn’t—fuck—” Seungkwan cursed out, breathless, and your stomach fluttered at the mere curse, spewed out countless times before. When did you become so affected—no, rattled by whatever this man did? “W-we shouldn’t do this here.” 

Yet he was peppering you with open-mouthed kisses, and you could have screamed at him for making it so hard to answer him. “Then maybe…” you were rasping out your breaths, mind a complete daze. “Maybe you should stop.” 

Pausing, he dragged his mouth, skimming along to your neck, only pulling away to lock your heavy-lidded eyes with his own. The lust swirling within them was the final, perfect garnish to the dessert of his desire—the same desire which worsened your hunger. “Do you want me to stop?” 

Instinctively, you licked your lips, swiping up the remnants of Seungkwan’s efforts, relishing the residue of the champagne. When he caught the mere action, he hoped with the very marrow of his bones that you did not refuse him. 

When you narrowed his eyes, lips twisting in a sneer, his fervour paused. “Are you fucking stupid?” you spat out, and he gawked at you—only for a second.

But a second was still too long, because you grabbed onto the collars of his shirt, colliding your mouth against his, and he could have sighed with relief. He furrowed his brow as matched your hunger, sliding his tongue back into your mouth, and this time you let the moans free, a symphony to his ears. He was all over you, moreso when his hands now tugged at your sides, pushing you further into the counter. You did not catch onto his intentions until, with one swift swipe of his hands, he lifted you upon the countertop, chasing your lips still, refusing to break away. He pushed between your thighs, caging himself in your presence, and it was embarrassing how quick your body responded, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

Seungkwan was delirious, you were frenzied—Seungkwan was out of his mind, and you were out of your soul, the sounds of your mouths and tongues colliding in a destructive understanding, a heated combination that would have been impossible mere weeks ago. What had happened, how did it all equate to this very situation? Fate always worked in strange ways, but you had to work out how you ended up in this passionate scene—shameless as your whimpers grew louder, his arrogance growing with them, swallowing them with his mouth. 

Maybe you both would have created something grander than any dessert in this station, sweeter than the damned cinnamon Seungkwan campaigned for at every given chance. With the soft moans darkening, breaths rasping out in slight desperation, you would have shown this restaurant a harmony never witnessed in your work. 

But at this precise moment, Yoon fucking Jeonghan sauntered into the kitchens, ready to share some good news to you both when he took one look at your colliding figures.

The sharp, shocked scoff that escaped his coral lips had you and Seungkwan stopping dead in your heated tracks. 

“How many more health and safety regulations are you two gonna violate?”

It was comical, how you both whipped your heads at the slender figure, smirk so conceited and pompous you wondered whether you were bickering at the wrong chef this entire time. “I knew one day you were gonna eat each other’s faces off,” he continued, catching onto every sudden movement of Seungkwan’s fingers tightening at your waist, your arms loosening around his neck. “But did it have to be in my goddamn kitchen?”

“Shut the fuck up,” was the younger’s reasonable response, earning him a huff of laughter from his boss. You could only stare and do nothing, so ashamed of being caught you restrained the urge to hide within the crook of his shoulder. 

“Hey, hey, don’t be angry at me!” Jeonghan waved his hand over to the door beyond the further walls. “Personally, I think the pantry’s a better shout…more privacy, you know?” Close enough in front of you, his grin lop-sided. “Unless, of course, you wanted to give me a show—”

“Please, Jeonghan!” you cried out finally, as, with an aching decision, you pulled away from the man’s arms, the absence duly noted. “God, don’t you have a life outside of this place?”

“Well, if I did, then I wouldn’t have a restaurant,” he countered, smug as his eyes darted between his employees. “And my dear dessert chefs wouldn’t have a love shack to fuck in.”

That horrendous statement had you jumping down from the counter, dusting yourself off as you glowered at your boss, risking termination. “You need to talk to someone other than your accountant.” 

A melodramatic sigh left his lips. “You’re right, which is why I was taking a few other calls. That’s why I came down here, to let you both know that there will be some very important people coming in for the new menu’s christening.” He then raised his hands in surrender. “But then I see you guys have much more important shit to cover!” 

Perhaps telling your boss to get floored under a Northern line tube was cruel, but the thread stayed rooted on your tongue. He could sense it for sure, because he looked at his watch. “Now I have to go soon, which means I want you going home.” He glanced up at the post-makeoutage scene, another chuckle rising. “So who’s place are you continuing this shit in?” 

“Go away, man!” Seungkwan demanded as you groaned, only left with Jeonghan’s laughter ringing in your ears as he left the scene, bidding an adieu with wiggling brows. 

With the silence falling on you both, the tension, so rampant beforehand, had all but crashed disastrously after the interruption. The complete absurdity of it all brought a sigh out of you, Seungkwan humming in agreement.

“How do we get Jeonghan fired?” was the first question asked in the kitchen—courtesy of your venom.

“You think a bullying allegation would cut it?” the man suggested, but you clicked your tongue. “Nah, you’re right, it’s child’s play in this business. We’d be deemed cowards.” 

“Couldn’t he have come later?” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. God, you were tired. The tipsy stupor had morphed into fatigue. 

And although Seungkwan felt the lethargy too, he chose to latch onto your words. “Later, huh? Didn’t want to be disturbed, then?”

You almost rolled your eyes. “You know exactly what I mean.”

But he was back to being a grade-A asshole, so he crowed, “No, please, indulge me…what did you mean?” 

You meant to glare at him, but his eyes were dancing, and you remembered his lips on you all over again. You resorted to silence, clamping your lips together, finding a little comfort in the smile he curled at your quiet response. 

The two of you found yourselves collecting your things, Jeonghan the final man left in the restaurant so there was no concern for locking up. Your paths were shared up until Leicester Square's Station, ten minutes away from the restaurant, where your destination was. 

“You didn’t have to walk me here, you know,” you said, turning to him as you fished for your travel card.

Seungkwan nodded lightly, “I know…I wanted to ask you something, actually.” 

You looked at him, anticipating. There were still crowds, even at this time of night, rushing in and out of the popular station, but you did not notice them, not now. Not when he was gazing at you, an indecipherable emotion flickering in his features. 

He licked his lips, intaking a sharp breath before asking you. “You didn’t…regret it, right?” 

You knew what he meant, of course. Because you were a piece of shit too—only a little—you took a step closer, tilting your head at him. “What do you think?” 

He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t make me answer that,” he said, “Whatever I’ll say you’ll just say the opposite.” 

A chuckle. “Smart man.” 

Which is why you refrained from speaking the opposite—did not say anything at all as you leaned in, holding his face in your hand as you kissed him.

It was an unexpected phenomenon for him—exactly what you hoped to achieve. Still, it was welcomed, as Seungkwan moved his lips against yours, opening his mouth upon you to let a soft moan escape. The rush of London was no more—no tourists with their loud cameras, no locals with their grumblings of said-tourists. It was you and him, and this moment, captured in your lips in harmony with his.

Which is why it was difficult to break away, breathing heavily at the sensation as you watched his eyes flutter open, completely breathless. The sight had your heart constricting. 

“Is that enough of an answer?” you asked him.

The smile he offered you was enough. 

“WHEN ARE WE GONNA MEET SANTA CLAUS?” 

The age-old question. You scanned the constant wave of local and international shoppers, twice the size of the groups you and Julie dealt with weeks ago. “It won’t be too far now, dear,” you reassured the boy, who was frowning the further along you walked. 

“We just have to find the big Christmas tree,” Sohyun explained, looking back as she led the pack. “And we would if we actually hurried up.” 

The eldest within the group let out an overly dramatic sigh, raking his hands through his hair. “The Christmas tree is not going anywhere,” he commented, “I don’t know what this rush is for.” 

“Just because you don’t care about Santa,” Sojung huffed, crossing his arms. “Maybe you’ve become old, Uncle Seungkwan.”

Your laughter could not drown out the scoff that escaped the accused-hag’s lips. “I’m gonna tell on you to Jinsoul.”

But the way the boy only chuckled, blowing mischievous raspberries at his dear uncle, cemented how seriously he took that threat. You watched him catch up to his sister, smiling the entire time. 

Seungkwan caught onto that. “Don’t encourage him.” 

“What?” your smile turned playful. “Scared he’s getting your attitude?”

“Uh, excuse me!” he started, “Firstly, I’d be the happiest man alive if he became like me. This sass is more from his mother.” 

You scoffed. “That was textbook Seungkwan behaviour. You’re just too conceited to realise.” 

“Conceited? Big words today, _____.”

You, however, were terribly unimpressed. “That is a normal, everyday word, Seungkwan. You should probably read a book.” 

“Enough now,” he said, raising a hand, “I’m goofy, not stupid.” Your hesitance in instantly agreeing with him had him gasping. “Oh my God, you think I’m an idiot!” 

“The fact you just clocked this proves my opinion even more,” you restated, shrugging to dig the blow deeper. “Sorry, buddy.” 

“Don’t ‘buddy’ me,” he immediately refuted, and you glanced at him, a slight irritation in his features. “I’ve made out with you enough times to deserve a better term.” 

The too-casual mention of it had you quickly scanning over the children, then glaring at him once you were satisfied by their ignorance. “Why did you say it like that?”

“What?” His earlier complaint had softened, slowly morphing into a smugness which made your lips twist, and—unfortunately—made your heartbeat quicken. “Did we not?”

You thought of the week when you first kissed him at the restaurant—the gentle touch of your lips against his, the remnants of vanilla gelato and victory prevalent on your tongues. Then, your mind caught onto the different webs of your memory, flashes of heated moments after that fateful night, mouths colliding and hands wandering in more appropriate times, in more private places. No nosy flatmate caught you two in your house, and no nosier boss disturbed you in the pantry room (thank you, said-nosier boss). Yes, you would have died if your past self learned of this newfound situation, but the bastard was good, and he knew how to make you breathless—through heated arguments and frenzied kisses. 

So yes, you did make out with him more times than you would like to admit in front of him. But amongst those nights, you found yourself enjoying his company outside of your workplace, and the two people who capitalised the most out of it were his niece and nephew. When they heard that you knew of a Santa who can hand free Cadbury bars out to them in Westfield shopping centre, they jumped at the idea—as if Christmas had arrived much early. 

The Santa they sought was finally seen, when, walking past another wave of shoppers, there she was, in all her stuffed-suited, fake-bearded glory, asking questions you could not hear as she shook their hand, or gently let them sit atop her padded lap. Santa caught sight of you and your group, and she smiled, quickly slipping the child she tended to a chocolate bar and waving them off. 

“Ho, ho, ho, motherfuckers!” was the beautiful greeting Santa offered in her unusually low, forced baritone, and you could not contain the slight crease of your shoulders as the parents nearby whirled their heads at the words. “Oh, damn, forgot other kids were waiting too.”

“I wonder how you got the job,” you mock wondered, which had the girl underneath the costume almost whacking you on the shoulder. Not very Santa-like, thus proving your point. 

Your bickering was cut short when Sohyun and Sojung appeared from behind you, looking at Julie with a growing anticipation. “You’re the Santa giving out free chocolate, right?” the former asked. 

“Ho, ho, ho! Yes, I am, kids!” your friend dug into her brown sack slugged beside her, fishing out the larger, classic flavour of the Cadbury bar, holding it out for the children. “Merry Christmas!” 

As Sohyun thanked her, taking the chocolate, Sojung only glanced at her, confusion staining his little face. “Hey, I thought Santa was a man.”

Julie, taken aback by the statement, fixed her beard, which began to slouch. “Anyone can be Santa!” 

“Yeah, but Santa’s an old man,” Sojung reasoned, crossing his arms. “You sound like you’re in your thirties.” 

“Thirties—” the girl’s usual chirp cut through, but then she coughed, realising she was about to argue with a child. Lowering her voice, she merely held out the Cadbury. “Just take the chocolate, little man.”

Seeing the treat was enough to quench his burning questions on Santa’s gender identity, quickly digging into the sweetness of the chocolate bricks. Julie threw you a look, which had you snickering, sneaking closer to her. 

“That was it?” Seungkwan asked, glancing at the line your friend had evoked. “People’ll do anything for free food—” 

He stopped, realising that Julie was trying to sneak you three Cadbury bars in your bag, and the sight of you feigning any sense of stealth had him clamping his lips together, trying to contain his laughter. 

“Have fun on your babysitting date,” she whispered to you, and you stuck your tongue out at her before turning to the said-date—because yes, this was supposed to be a date, but the children caught wind of their uncle meeting you, and begged him to talk to you. 

“Three?” he inquired, animating the number with his fingers. 

“Inflation’s hit us hard,” was your only excuse, but it was a measly one. Being a dessert chef meant possessing an infinite amount of chocolates in the pantry, ranging from every flavour created in the Italian peninsula. 

He said so himself. “You create desserts for a living. You see chocolate puddings more than your own parents.” 

“You can never have too much,” you sang out, and the children beside you hummed in agreement. “See? The council has spoken.” 

“I can’t disagree then.” Seungkwan turned to the council. “Now, Sohyun, Sojung…where do you guys want to go?” 

“Can we go to the toilet first?” Sojung clutched his stomach. “I think I ate the chocolate too quickly.” 

“I told you to eat it slowly!” Sohyun scolded, clicking her tongue. 

“You think you know the way?” his uncle asked, to which he nodded. “Sohyun, you walk with him. I don’t want you two running off alone, okay?” 

“We’ll be fine,” the girl said, waving off the concern. She clutched her brother’s arm, whose face twisted in pain the more time passed. “Come on, you idiot.” 

“Keep your phones on!” The man called after them as they walked to their destination, which, as the digital maps exposed, was not too far. 

As the children disappeared, you watched, concern rising. “I hope Sojung’s okay.” 

“He’ll be alright.” A roll of his eyes. “Unfortunately, the pigging out on things which’ll make him sick later is a trait he got from me.”

“So all the bad habits he has are from you then?” 

“Only some of them,” he admitted, which had you shaking your head. “Spend enough time with them, and they’ll learn your terrible ways, too.”

“Speak for yourself,” you snarked, “I am a perfect role model.”

“Role model, huh?” He took a step closer—as if he was not close already—and roamed his eyes over you, over a particular item of clothing. “Perfect role models don’t steal from their dates.” 

Your hands instinctively clutched the scarf—the red scarf which you had not returned since he engulfed you with its warmth weeks back. “It’s not stealing,” you said, lifting your chin in defiance. “You’re the one who pretended to be a gentleman and gave it to me.”

“Okay then, I’ll give up the pretence.” Another step closer—a foot’s distance from you. “I’d like my scarf back.”

Realistically, you would have handed his precious scarf back without a fight. After all, it was his possession.

But today was cold, and the scarf was snug—warm. As welcoming as it had been when your head was wrapped around it. “It suits me more, though, don’t you think?” you taunted, fingers holding both ends of the fabric, the long, fringes dangling. “I rock it better, you have to admit.”

The man stared at you, taking in the words, washing over him. His hands reached out, snaking around your waist, and you had to calm your heart from beating out of your chest as he pulled you closer. 

If this was the beginning of the winter, he would have chosen cruel words, shatter the fantasy he thought was forming in front of his eyes. This was not a fantasy, though, far from it—you, who had been a thorn at his side since the moment he stepped into the restaurant, had blossomed into a flower, flourishing before him in a newfound light. 

He played along—not because it was not true, but because he believed the words that left his lips. “You do everything better than me.”

A sharp breath escaped you.

Never did you think a confession like that would ever come from Seungkwan. 

His pride was his great strength, but also a formidable weakness. It was his self-confidence, his arrogance, even, that contributed to his successes, and—most importantly—his long-lasting rivalry with you. His belief in his perfection, his being the best out of all, was what made him who he was. 

You guessed that he did not believe in it. Not anymore. 

Still, you did not accept it. “A very touching statement,” you began, sliding your arms around him, “But I’ll do you one better.” 

He shook his head. “God forbid you agree with me.”

You tilted your head back, gazing at him fully. “We’re equals, Seungkwan.”

He stared at you, widening his eyes as you continued. “Equal partners in our work, equal chefs in our creations…what I do, you do the same. It’s why we argued, and never won. One could not defeat the other…no matter how much we tried. Maybe we were meant to stay in this stalemate, you know?” 

You smiled at him—your partner in the kitchen, your partner-in-crime. “It’s our losses in the restaurant, I believe, that brought us together in the end…and that, for me at least, is a win.” 

Seungkwan felt his very nerves spark to life. 

Come alive with a veracity akin to a rocket ship blasting fire from its ends, firing off to the universe beyond. He had experienced appreciation, passion, perhaps even tenderness—what you said to him in a shopping mall in a corner of London was extraordinary.

He tightened his grip at your sides, his expression starry-eyed. “You really think that?” 

You melted into his hold, sneaking closer. “If I didn’t think it, Seungkwan, I wouldn’t say it.” 

His heart ballooned in his chest, threatening to burst at the seams of his skin. He could not help himself, leaning in to press his lips against yours, and you welcomed him with open arms, closing in around him. You were unable to stop, curling your lips upwards at the sensation because happiness swirled in your stomach, fluttering uncontrollably, moreso because it was Boo Seungkwan who caused it—Boo Seungkwan, who was the catalyst to your butterflies. 

Before he could go further, you remembered where you were, breaking away from his lips. His sudden murmur from the pull-away had you giggling, cheeks tinged rosy from the confession. 

Your laughter, like little wind chimes singing in a spring breeze, had him speaking from the heart. “I couldn’t do this job with anyone else, you know…working together, what’s come out of it…” His stare had your heartbeat uneasy. “You’re the only one I trust.” 

Although your face warmed at the words, you grinned cheekily at him. “Of course you would. Who else would you rely on? Jeonghan?” 

“...a very fair point.” 

Chucking, his hold on you strayed, one hand remaining. “Now, ______,” he began, sliding his hand over to your own, interlocking his fingers. “After the kids come back, where do you wanna eat? I’m starving.”

“I’m down for anything,” you said, tapping your fingers against the back of his hand. “But if I have to eat another Italian dessert for the next week I’m causing a massacre in the restaurant.”

“So the usual tiramisu with whipped cream on the side, then?” he offered, which had you squeezing his hand. “What? I’m not ungrateful like you. I like to eat anything.” 

“Says the one who said he’d shrivel and die if he had to eat almond amarettis for the second time.” 

“That’s different!” he tried to explain, “I nearly choked on one doing the trialling.” 

You swung your intertwined hands. “All I hear is weak-ass excuses, Seungkwan!” 

“At least I’m not advocating on adding grass to my pannacottas,” he muttered, starting to walk forwards.

You halted him, furrowing your eyebrows. “For the last time, they’re bay leaves!” 

“Yeah, which shouldn’t be on my desserts!” 

“Okay, don’t add them to your shitty sweets, then,” you crowed, “Cause I’m suffocating my pannacottas in them.”

His eyes began to glimmer, and you realised that he successfully baited you into irritation. “Maybe I spoke too soon on trusting you with my life in the kitchen,” he teased, but you groaned, prying your hand from his. “Hey, hey, okay, maybe bay leaves aren’t the worst garnish known to man!” 

“And maybe I’m going back to counting and laughing at your losses,” you snapped, but Seungkwan was laughing, and your cheeks were burning. “One more laugh out of that big mouth of yours, and I’m throwing mascarpone cream at you. Maybe this time we’ll finally be fired.” 

He stopped in your tracks, making you pause your stomping away. “I’d like to see you try,” he dared, and when you looked back at him, the challenge rising in your gaze, he felt his soul come alive. 

You knew it too. “Don’t tempt me, Seungkwan. I’ll win this time.”

And as he leaned in, crossing his arms and staring you down, you held your ground, providing no room to give in. His proud smirk had you remembering the old days—and not grimacing. “Famous last words.”

A scoff was the rest of the conversation, but the showdown of your eyes, locked with his, was not over.

Yes, you both may have grown a mutual respect, even developed a fondness—but you were you and Seungkwan was Seungkwan. Perhaps battling it out with a man you rather liked would consequently make shouting at him a little easier.

As you mirrored his arrogant expression, the two of you knew that the kitchen had yet to see more battles. 

Well—there was always the spring menu. Let the petty rivalry (laced with just a slight touch of affection) begin once more. 

[misayani]

I LOVED UR SE-MI FIC! i was wondering if u could do another where the reader is homesick and has nightmares/ dreams about her friends and her home life and just going to se-mi's bed for comfort? (I hope this isn't too much trouble!!)

LOVE, MY WORLD IS FULL — SE-MI (PLAYER 380)

◜ pairing ... se-mi / player 380 x  fem reader

◜you wouldn't know what to do without se-mi. 

𔗨 author's note — had so much fun writing this <3 kinda unleashed my inner william shakespeareness in this one [lowercase intended]

♡ upcoming fic — g!p no-eul + reader

— comfort

you thought the games were harmless—bright colors, cheerful instructions, and an unassuming entry form. yet underneath all that promised fun lay a rather horrifying truth. you were blinded, not by sight but by your own naivety. 

how could you be so dumb? you should've known this game was sketchy ever since from the start, where they somehow made you all unconcious to bring to this place. where even are you? 

life is full of shit, you were fully aware of that, but you didn't expect it to be this shitty. tears started to form in your eyes as you thought of your dog, sparks, who's the reason why you're here. you didn't have any owe anyone money, you don't drag yourself to shit like that. but sparks was the dog your grandmother left you before she died, and unfortunately, sparks was recently diagnosed with congestive heart failure— he needed medical help. 

if someone can hear your thoughts right now, they'd probably laugh and tell you that it's just a dog, stop overreacting. but sparks wasn't just a dog. he grew up with you, he is family. he was the reason you kept going after your grandmother died, you could remember it—you locking yourself inside your room and not coming out for days, until you heard whines outside your door. shit, the dog. it annoyed you that you still needed to feed that dog. what's the point? he's gonna die anyways. just like everyone. 

a quiet sob escapes your mouth as your tears finally fall, from your eyes and onto the white sheets underneath you. you couldn't sleep, you were too bothered as to how so many people voted to stay in this game. you couldn't even even consider it a game, games were supposed to be fun. 

you voted to go home right after the first game, the staying team won. this night was after everyone voted for the second time, once again, the majority voted to stay. you find it funny— how money can have such an affect on people, but also at the same time, you couldn't blame the people who wanted to stay. maybe staying here was somehow better than their lives outside. they just had voted for their own 'lesser evil.' 

you needed someone right now. after being alone for 14 years, living independently, it was hard for you to bottle your feelings to yourself. the first person you can think of right now was se-mi. you had started talking to her before any of these games started, when the masked men just started explaining the rules and regulations. 

she was different, she understood you. she had asked you your reason to be here, you hesitantly told her, slightly embarassed but she didn't laugh or anything like that. she, in fact, smiled at your eagerness to win this game so you'd finally have some finance for your dog. well, that was before the games happened and before shit went down. 

you sniffle as you sit up and slip out of bed, every footstep quiet to not bother anyone sleeping. se-mi was just stairs ahead from you and you were surprised but relieved to see her still awake. she was laying on her back, staring towards the ceiling before she notices you and sits up to make room for you to sit down.

"hi," you start, gently sitting yourself down on her bed. 

"hi." she repeats, her eyes softening at the sight of your puffy eyes, "sparks?" 

you glanced at her, eyes wide as she managed to immediately caught onto whatever you were thinking. you nod, "i'm sorry for bothering you, just needed someone. and i thought you're the right person to approach."

se-mi's heart swells, she never had anyone tell her that before. you trusted her enough to see you vulnerable like this? she clears her throat before reassuring you, "it's no worries. i like talking to you anyways."

she scoots closer to sit beside you, planting her feet on the stairs beside the bunk bed. you fiddled with your fingers as you look down, before you hear her speak up. "i'm sorry for voting to stay."

you snap your head to look at her as you shake your head, "no, no. i don't— you don't have to say sorry for having freedom to choose whatever you want." you mutter.

"still, it was shitty for me to do that. i knew about your situation but i still vo—" you cut her off, "stop. it's not your fault. it's nobody's." she locks eyes with you as her lips part as if wanting to say something, until it closes again.

you sigh, "who cares if you were shitty. everything is shitty. life is shitty." you murmured, "life is shitty." she agrees, staring at your side profile. you noticed her in your peripheral vision and you get flustered, tipping your head down.

"it's hard." you glance at her again, seeing her eyes now staring forward as she spoke, "life outside. it's no different from here. some people say that life outside of here is easier, since you're not trapped in some unknown place. but i don't see how that is any different, aren't you still somehow trapped? not literally but figuratively." you hum, prompting her to continue.

"it's ironic how the ones with the heavy debts say that, as if they're not trapped in their own mistakes." se-mi chuckles beside you as you carefully listen to every word she's saying. talking to someone have always made you feel at peace— something that you don't feel often since you've never really communicated with anyone until now. 

"it's not about being physically imprisoned, but about feeling constrained in many ways, whether by circumstances, expectations, or some shit you dragged yourself into. in the end, no matter where you are, you can still feel confined. that's how i see it, atleast." she finishes.

you grab her hand that was closest to you, and started fidgeting with it instead of fiddling with your own fingers. her hand was warm but rough, in contrast to yours which was cold, but soft. "i understand." you murmur.

you both understood each other, and that alone was enough to provide you comfort. you admired her mindset, not just how  she thinks but how she embraces her own perspective with peace— her ability to see things from a different angle, yet still find peace in it. 

even if you both had casted your votings to two opposing things, there was an underspoken understanding between the two of you. despite the differences, se-mi and you shared a mutual respect, and that makes you so close to her. 

"thank you." you whispered, se-mi snaps her head to look at you, "for what?" 

"talking to me." you reply, "it feels nice to talk to someone like you, understanding but aren't scared to state their own opinion. i appreciate that so much. i haven't felt so understood in years." you feel tears well up in your eyes from getting emotional.

se-mi's lips form into a smile, "well i guess thank you too. you somehow make this place even more tolerable." she squeezes your hand that was holding hers. 

"cmon, stay with me tonight. i don't want to make you go back to bed like this." she tugs at your hand before leading you under her blanket—which started to smell like her— lifting the cloth over the both of you. 

you wanted to cuddle with her, but were too shy to initiate anything. lucky for you, se-mi opens her arms, pulling you towards her. your body relaxes as you feel her warm body spoon yours. you heard her mutter something on top of your head, "keep on being brave." she pauses before continuing,  "for sparks and me."

your once empty heart started to feel full again after this.

@misayani

[thewidowsledger]

Agent

© thewidowsledger 2025 - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Pairings: Undercover Agent!Natasha Romanoff x Mob boss!Female Reader

Word count: 693

Tags | Warnings: None, is the sexual tension in the room with us (?)

Author's Note: This is not a fic, more like a drabble👉👈 I hate how so many good ideas are running in my mind when I am heart broken, so just let me spoil y'all as long as I can :))

Navigation | Masterlist

⧗

"Go home, get some rest."

Natasha lingers by the doorway, shifting uncomfortably. Her eyes darted around the room, and her clasped hands fidget behind her back.

"Nat." You called.

She sighs, leaning against the doorframe and stealing a glance out the window.

"Natasha." You called again, much firmer this time.

Ah, she's in shit now. She knows damn well she's in deep trouble when she hears her full name being used especially by you. "Sorry, boss, guess I'm…distracted."

"That much is obvious." You offer a brief smile from your desk, but it fades just as quickly. "What's wrong, Natasha?"

Oh well, the list goes on and on. Where to begin? First, she's an undercover agent walking a tightrope, knowing her bosses are ready to pull the plug on the operation. Second, she's not a very good agent, since she became too attached to her target, the woman she's been guarding for six months. Lastly, she's an agent, and she's wondering if she should be.

Not that the answer is to join organised crime, either. But she's probably not as…objective as she used to be.

"I'm not sure about tomorrow," she finally admits. She doesn't like lying to you.

"What makes you unsure?"

Tomorrow looms large. The brass is forcing her hand. Natasha already delayed delivering you to them three times, and tomorrow, in the middle of your biggest land trade in years, her fellow agents are going to storm the place. There will be chaos, and you're likely to get caught in the crossfire. And despite her divided loyalties, she knows she'll put her life on the line to protect you. Whether they will question her credibility if she's a traitor or not.

Well all because she's just the agent who fell for her target—the Romeo of the operation. She just hopes that the story doesn't end in tragedy.

"Are we sure the meeting place is secured?"

"You went with Bucky to secure it, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but—"

"You're nervous," you interrupt smoothly. Your smile is as polished as your satin night dress and the faint, fabricated English accent you wear like armor. Natasha knows it's a front—like her own.

"Can't help it," she shrugs, feigning nonchalance. Your heels click on the floor. The sound haunts her in her dreams.

"I know you can't." You almost sound like you're soothing her. "But try not to let it cloud your judgement."

She nods, brushing a speck off her jacket. It's the best she's ever dressed in her life, all thanks to you. Steve loves to tease her about it, especially the set of black shirt she's never ran out.

You blink as she catches your hand before you can pull away from her completely. "Natasha."

"You," she begins, breaking the strict rule against using names—real or fake—in the office. But you had told her your name yourself, and it's been etched into her mind ever since, like a treasure on a pedestal. "Just…think about tomorrow again."

She meets your gaze, both faces unreadable. Natasha's mastery of concealing emotions comes from years of training, while yours seems effortless. "You're concerned about me?"

She inhales, squeezing your hand tighter. Finally free to tell the truth, she says, "your safety is my top priority."

Something changes in those eyes of yours, but she can't quite tell what it is.

Natasha blinks as you lean in, pressing a light yet deliberate kiss to her cheek. She fights to keep her composure, knowing that you, the boss, rarely shows affection—mercy even less so. But her focus is entirely on calming the storm of butterflies in her stomach.

Oh idiot Romeo, indeed.

You lock eyes with her, your hand steady on her cheek. "We'll be fine," you say with unwavering confidence.

She holds your gaze, resisting the urge to hope for another kiss. Slowly, she lets go of your hand. "If you say so, boss."

You arch a brow. "Back to boss, is it?"

She felt a smirk but more like a smile tug at her lips. "Would you rather I call you something else?"

"Hm, mommy sounds good or perhaps mistress..." A sly smirk crept in your face. Then your hand glides down her chest, skimming over her leather jacket until it rests on the concealed weapon at her belt.

"You tell me, agent."

[little-diable]

Bloody and needy - Dean Winchester (smut)

It only felt right to use this Dean story as my first fic in 2025. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. Xxx

Summary: The reader has been plagued by dreams of Dean but when a hunt leaves her bloody and freezing, Dean is set on taking care of her.

Warnings: 18+, fingering, unprotected piv, friends to lovers, blood

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (1.7k words)

Her heart beat faster with every passing moment, heavy breaths sucked into her aching lungs that tried to hold onto the air as if she was about to drown. And perhaps she was - drowning in everything he was, consuming every part of her body and soul like the icy ocean set on calling her home.

“Look at me, baby.” Dean’s hand found its way up her body to rest on her throat, not tight enough to squeeze but enough to draw a soft gasp from her swollen lips. His green eyes had a darker touch to them, staring down at her with something possessive swimming in his pupils. Slowly, his thumb began to move, touching her soft skin until he found her parted lips.

(Y/n) could only whisper his name, getting lost in his eyes as he pushed his thumb past her lips. She instantly wrapped her lips around his finger, sucking on it to make a groan claw its way out of Dean. Sparks shot down her spine, leaving her trembling while her shaking fingers found his belt loops to impatiently tug him even closer.

A storm was brewing inside of her, her boat would sink, the crew would drown, only her aching need for him would survive.

“(Y/n)? Are you even listening?” His raspy voice ripped her out of her thoughts, forcing her to blink a few times to shake off her memories - memories of an all-too-vivid dream she had been ripped from hours ago. Dean was staring at her, his eyes flickering between the road and her every few seconds.

“Sorry, I’m just tired. What were you saying?” Dean began speaking again, telling her about his plan for their hunt, knowing it would most likely spiral into a bloody mess. But (y/n) was too far gone once again, caught up in the memory of yet another dream that had found her days ago.

“Fuck, you’re a sight for sore eyes, baby. I bet you’re dripping just from sucking my cock, huh?” Dean’s words had an almost condescending touch to them, making her shudder while humming around his cock. Tears dripped from her glassy eyes, salty like the waves of the ocean clashing against the uneasy raft she was clinging to.

“I could stay like this for days, that mouth of yours drives me crazy.”

A small groan left (y/n), fingers rubbing her tired eyes. She needed to get rid of these thoughts about Dean, knowing she was close to losing her last shred of sanity.

…

In retrospect she should have listened to Dean, should have paid his warnings some attention. And now as both were driving back to their motel, covered in blood, (y/n) couldn’t help but curse herself. No words were shared between them, only Baby’s gentle hum could be heard and the whimpers she let go of every now and then.

“We’ll be at the motel soon, sweetheart.” Dean mumbled his words, trying to keep his voice calm even though he was still riled up from their gruesome hunt. His hand found her knee, softly squeezing for a moment to ground her.

But (y/n) kept quiet, she was too focused on the way her body was freezing, fighting against the cold taking up her system. She had to hold onto Dean as he guided her into their room, couldn’t let go of him as they found their way to the bathroom, needed to rely on him to undress.

Even though she was a trembling mess, (y/n) couldn’t stop her eyes from wandering to Dean’s face. Blood was sticking to his freckled cheeks and nose, making him appear even sharper and more focused. She felt his hands on her body, peeling her clothes from her frame one by one until only her panties and bra were left.

“Dean,” his name rolled off her tongue like a prayer she knew by heart. A sound so comforting it could soothe his every pain. “Don’t let go, please.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, swallowing any words that were close to leaving him before he stepped out of his clothes. Dark green eyes wandered up and down her now naked frame as (y/n) stepped into the shower, moaning at the feeling of the hot water cascading down her back.

“I got you, sweetheart. I’ll never let go, I promise.” Dean whispered the words into her ear, front pressed against her wet back. She only hummed, hands finding his forearms to prove to herself that he was actually there with her, keeping her warm.

“Talk to me, what do you need?” (Y/n) needed a few moments, pondering over the question. Dean’s hands moved slowly, exploring their newfound territory with soft touches. He was sure that he could count every single goosebump covering her skin, guiding his path up her chest like a lighthouse set on saving yet another lonely ship.

“Your touch, you, whatever you can give to me, Dean.” He didn’t reply, at least not with words. Dean cupped both her breasts, pressing himself further against her with a heavy groan. He kneaded her flesh, hoping that he could forever remember the feeling while (y/n)’s head rolled back against his chest, eyes fluttering close. Whatever he wanted to do to her, she’d take it all, finding a home in his arms.

“My pretty girl, I should have known that this is what you need right now, huh?” Almost reluctantly his hands let go of her, moving down her sides to her heat. (Y/n) was aching for him, folds already covered in her arousal - all because of some simple touches.

Dean pressed his calloused fingertips against her pulsing bundle, making a moan claw out of her. Her teeth were buried in her lower lip, close to drawing blood similar to the one that had been washed down the drain moments ago, reminders of another cruel evening tying the two closer together.

“Fuck, you’re dripping for my touch.” No warning was spoken as he pushed two of his fingers into her tightness, spreading her walls. Her hand shot out to find the cold tiles, pressed against the wall to balance her trembling frame. Too many sensations were clashing through her, the feeling of his fingers fucking her, the feeling of his hardening cock pressing against her behind, the feeling of her racing heart pounding in her chest. She was his as much as he was hers, two lonely hearts finally finding one another.

He built up the speed of his movements, fucking her faster to draw the sweetest sounds out of her. Dean was high on (y/n), on the feeling of her body falling prisoner to his touch, forever claimed by it. (Y/n)’s orgasm was building up faster than she had anticipated, desperate to let go with his name bleeding from her tongue, something Dean clearly seemed to pick up on.

“Gonna fuck you now, baby. I want to feel you clenching around my cock.” He pulled his fingers away, turning (y/n) towards him to press his lips against hers. Their lips moved in sync, perfectly fitting together, moments of distraction Dean used to press her against the wall, allowing the water to keep teasing his muscular back.

His right hand picked her leg up, fingertips pressing into her thigh while she reached for his twitching cock. The moan Dean let go of was almost animalistic, loud enough to reverberate through the bathroom - just like a cry for help late at night, a sound only the sirens would pick up on, crawling from the sea to eat a sailor’s heart.

Their lips broke apart for a second, inhaling heavy breaths to brace themselves for the upcoming moments. Dean’s eyes found hers as he pushed into her, groaning at the feeling of her walls fluttering around his cock. For a moment, he held still, relishing in the new sensation, all while she tried to keep herself focused. He felt better than anything she had ever felt before, making her tremble against him - no longer from the heat but from his touch.

“Fuck me, Dean, please.” His hips instantly followed her call, pushing in and out of her to fuck her against the wall. She bared her neck to his wandering lips, quivering whenever he sucked on a spot that made her lose her balance. Dean had a tight grasp on her, and even though he’d never let her fall, she couldn’t stop herself from clawing her nails into his skin, marking him up in her own way.

The shower swallowed most sounds the two made, the snapping of his hips against hers, the moans and groans, even the praises he spoke. But (y/n) heard them all too clearly, praying that she’d never forget them.

“You feel so good, like you were made for me, baby.” Heat crawled up her spine, set on finding its way to her cheeks - a heat so biting not even the shower managed to tame the inferno.

Only his name could leave her, no further words but the only sound she wanted to remember until her very last day. Her body guided her closer to her high, fingers pressed against her pulsing bundle to give herself the last needed push. (Y/n) shook against Dean, eyes squeezed shut, forehead falling against his chest.

Dean kept fucking her through her high, pulling out seconds before he lost his grip. He came with a heavy groan, painting her stomach white with his release, letting it wash down the drain seconds later.

Both were heavily panting, searching for the right words that were swallowed the second he kissed her again, and again, “I’ll always be there for you, sweetheart. No matter what, no matter when, you’re mine.”

[rikstellar]

WALLFLOWER — (nrk x reader)

summary : in which you seem to be invisible to everyone, but not to him.

featuring : jungwon and sunoo from enhypen

cw : popular!riki x outcast!fem reader, angst, fluff, kissing

wc : 3.5k

nene’s note : this fic is inspired by twice’s wallflower !! pls reblog and tell me what you think of it !

“y/n? oh, you mean mina’s friend!”

“who’s y/n? the one who hangs out with nayoung and her friends?”

“i’m gonna ask the girl from jules’ class for help”

that’s all you ever were to people. someone’s friend, the one you can ask for help when you can’t figure your homework out. you lived in your friends’ shadows all the time, getting outshined every single day of your life. it was like you were invisible to everyone, as if you were a ghost desperately looking for someone who could see you. but that was never the case.

it’s not like your ‘friends’ paid that much attention to you either, they kept you around because you were kind enough to help them study whenever a big exam was coming. you weren’t oblivious to this treatment, in fact, you knew you didn’t deserve it. but the fear of being completely alone couldn’t let you walk away from them. but that loneliness, that emptiness within you never faded away, not even when you were surrounded by people. you spent most of your time with your nose stuck in a book, studying and studying for hours just to get distracted from those feelings inside you.

you wished someone could see you, get to know you, care about you. but you were sure that if you ever disappeared, no one would notice.

someone would notice, though.

that someone was nishimura riki. golden boy of the school, he was so skilled in every sport that multiple teams fought to have him in their group. he was friendly with everyone, boxy smile always showing whenever he met someone he talked with, even just one time, in the hallways. people absolutely adored him, always seeking his attention. he was everything you dreamed to be.

you didn’t know why, but he always greeted you with a smile whenever you crossed paths with him. you two didn’t even talk once, but he never lost the opportunity to flash you a grin whenever his eyes met yours. he was like that with everyone, you thought, probably because he pitied you. you thought it was a facade, he was popular, after all. he had a reputation to maintain. you disliked him for that reason, maybe it was just envy, but you just couldn’t stand seeing him surrounded by people all the time, while you lived in everyone’s shadow.

the bell rang, indicating the end of biology class. you were following mina and jules out of the classroom, when the teacher called out your name, gesturing you to stay. you turned to tell your two friends that you would stay behind and that you would see them later, but they were laughing between them, not even noticing you weren’t behind them anymore. you pressed your lips in a thin line, unfazed by the behavior since it happened so many times before. yet, it hurt every. single. time.

you pushed those thoughts aside, walking to the teacher who was waiting for you with a big smile. you liked her, she was always kind, always making time for her students whenever they were struggling. and that was exactly the reason why she called you.

“hi, y/n. sorry for keeping you behind, but i’d like to ask you a favor. there’s this student who’s failing biology and i was wondering if you could, perhaps, help them? if they fail it, they won’t be able to participate in next month’s tournament. do you think you could do it?” she explained, her voice soft and sweet as always.

you listen to her words carefully, smiling at her while you accepted her request. you weren’t so thrilled about it, since you knew it wasn’t going to be different from all the times you had ‘helped’ other students. they showed up, pretended to be interested just to make up an excuse and make you do all of their homework for them. but the teacher also promised you an extra credit, so you decided to comply anyway.

she told you to be at the school’s library on tuesdays and thursdays, from 4 to 6, and that she would notify the student for you.

so there you were, sitting at a library table, waiting for this mystery student to show up. it was already half past four, so you assumed that they wouldn’t even show up. you started gathering your things to leave, when you heard someone run behind you. you turned around to see who it was, just to find yourself face to face with nishimura riki. people glared at him while telling him to be silent, causing him to smile apologetically and bowing to them.

“i’m so sorry! practice ran late so i rushed here as fast i could, i’m glad you’re still here! you’re y/n, right? you should be the one helping me with biology” he explained, keeping his voice low to avoid getting scolded again by the students nearby.

on the other hand, you couldn’t believe your eyes. the boy you despised the most was in front of you, big smile as he looked down at you. the fact that he looked so pretty pissed you off even more.

“uh, don’t worry about it.” you simply said, uncomfortably shifting on your seat while he took the one right next to you. you took the book from your backpack and carefully placed it on the table, opening it on the page of the first chapter. you looked over at him for an instant, finding him with his own book open at the same page, waiting for you to say something.

“listen, i know you probably wanna be somewhere else, so i’ll spare you the trouble and bring you the homework done by tomor—” you were cut off by him, a confused expression displayed on his face. “what do you mean? i’m not gonna make you do my homework.” his eyebrows were furrowed, as if you were speaking nonsense. “i’d like some help to understand some of the topics, actually.” he said, his tone was soft, yet it seemed like he was bothered by what you said. did someone treat you like that before?

“oh.” that’s all you could say. you were feeling guilty for assuming his intentions, you were just so used to it.

there was an awkward silence for a brief moment, before riki took the matter into his own hands and started asking you questions about some concepts he hadn’t grasped before. you replied to them calmly, taking your time to repeat yourself or reformulate your sentences if he couldn’t understand them. during the whole time, he never once lost his focus, always looking at you attentively and, from time to time, praising your explanation skills, blabbering about how the book made everything look harder than it actually was.

having his eyes constantly on you made you feel a little overwhelmed, not being used to having so much attention on you. you felt… seen. it was awkward at first, but you couldn’t help but like it.

you reminded yourself that he was just being nice because you were helping him, not because he was actually interested in you.

the little tutoring session came to an end, faster than you thought, so you found yourself gathering your belongings to leave. riki did the same thing, casually greeting some of his friends while he walked with you towards the exit.

it was already dark outside, the days becoming shorter and shorter as the colder seasons approached. before you could excuse yourself to catch the bus, riki spoke. “um, you usually take the 6:30pm bus, right?” he asked, scratching his nape while he looked for your eyes, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. you wondered how he knew which bus you took, but decided to not mull over it too much. you nodded, tilting your head to the side as if you were asking where he was trying to get at with his question. “it’s still early, i can’t leave you here, alone in the dark. do you mind if i wait with you?” saying that you were surprised by those words was an understatement. you could feel warmth creeping up your neck, you never really spent time with boys outside of tutoring, let alone spoke to them for this long. “uh.. sure” you replied, your voice low and timid. you think you will never forget the smile riki gave you that night.

you walked around with him, listening to him complain about how his coach threatened him to not let him play at the tournament if he didn’t pass biology, and how glad he was you were there to help him. he also asked you lots of question, such as your favorite subjects, what you did in your free time, whether you put cereals first and then milk or vice versa. and it wasn’t just to avoid awkward silence, he truly cared about your answers, even going on a long rant about how putting cereals after milk was nonsense and how inconvenient it was.

before you could realize, it was already time for you to catch the bus. he walked you to the stop and waited for you to get safely on the bus, waving his hand while grinning widely at you. he didn’t leave until he saw the bus driving away, which made you feel like he cared about your safety, but you convinced yourself you were overthinking it.

once in your bed, you stared at the ceiling, replaying the afternoon you spent with the boy you disliked so much — in vain, you thought — and how your heart started beating slightly faster when you got a message from him asking if you got home safely. you mentally slapped yourself, you couldn’t start to have feelings for a boy who was pitying you. still, you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of his stupid jokes and silly behavior, the memory of his laugh lulling you to sleep.

the next day, you were sitting alone at the cafeteria since your friends collectively decided to skip school without letting you know. you were used to it anyway, it’s not like you talked to them when you were in their company, you just limited yourself to listening to them brag about whoever they were dating at that moment or about some new gossip that was circulating around, while keeping to yourself.

that’s why you were startled when riki showed up with two of his friends, who you recognised to be sunoo and jungwon. they were also pretty popular, sunoo being a social butterfly and jungwon being part of the student council.

“mind if we sit here?” riki asked with his usual smile, waiting for you to agree before eventually sitting next to you, while the other two guys sat in front of you. you were still kind of taken aback from this situation, but you were snapped out of your thoughts by riki resting his hand on your shoulder.

“this is y/n! y/n, they’re sunoo and jungwon. they’re good guys, so feel free to be yourself around them” he explained, introducing you to his friends. you wanted to focus on the two boys sitting in front of you and politely greet them, but you could only feel riki’s hand on you, making your heart pound against your ribs.

“nice to meet you! — sunoo spoke, his voice lively and sweet — so you’re the famous y/n, huh? riki talks about you a lo—” he suddenly stopped, an ‘ouch’ escaping his lips as he massaged his leg. riki immediately grabbed your attention: “what he was saying is that i told them you were tutoring me and how well you explain things!” you missed the way he shot sunoo a glare before grinning at you.

jungwon, in the meantime, was snickering while eating his lunch, throwing a playful glance at riki with a smirk on his lips.

you weren’t exactly understanding what was happening, given that you were still confused by the sudden company and the fact that riki talked about you to his friends. it was probably because you could help them in the future, wasn’t it?

you had a great time during lunch, sunoo excitedly telling you about the new drama play he would star in next month and jungwon occasionally asking you questions about you. the awkwardness in you faded the more you spent time with the boys, breaking out of your shell and telling them stories of your childhood. riki was looking at you with a fond smile the entire time, head resting on his fist, thinking how nice was watching you finally open up and get along with his friends.

time flew once again, the bell that signaled the end of lunch break ringing in the cafeteria. you had learned to have a lesson in the classroom right next to sunoo’s, so you waved bye to riki and jungwon and made your way to class with the bubbly boy.

you had never felt this good before, it felt like a weight was lifted off your chest, loneliness being replaced by a nice feeling. this is what having someone caring about you meant? you wondered how you endured being alone until then, finally knowing what it felt to be seen.

you spent the whole time, thinking about the boy you were tutoring, catching yourself dumbly smiling at the thought of him. you needed a reality check, because in no way he was going to feel the same about you. so, with a sigh, you drifted your thoughts from riki to the teacher and his lesson.

weeks passed, your study dates with riki allowed you to become closer and closer to the boy. you started opening up more, laughing and making jokes with him, telling him about embarrassing moments from middle school and so on. you started seeing him outside of tutoring sessions as well, inviting you to have lunch with him, sunoo and jungwon more often, asking you to try a new cafe that opened in town with them.

you eventually fell for him, feeling nervous every time he stood too close to you or blushing when you caught him staring at you. you knew it was one sided, trying your hardest to not delude yourself and end up with a broken heart and alone all over again. you cherished his company more than anything in the world, so you couldn’t bear the thought of losing him.

you were walking to your locker when you heard your name being shouted by a voice you recognized in no time. you turned around, finding riki standing in front of you with a paper in his hand, encouraging you to take it. you looked at it and saw a 75/100 on his biology test. your eyes widened as much as your smile, looking up at him. “oh my god, riki! you passed!” you said, genuinely happy for the boy in front of you. he worked hard and definitely deserved the grade, you also felt a little proud of yourself at the same time. “yes! it’s all thanks to you!” he engulfed you in his arms, holding you close to his body for a second longer than he should. your face was completely red once he let go of you, you prayed for him to be too excited to notice how that brief — even though for you seemed like it lasted for hours — contact affected you.

“so..” you started speaking, to recompose yourself. “no more tutoring sessions, huh?” you asked, disappointment could be easily found in your tone.

“hm.. about that.” riki said, looking a little nervous for some reasons you couldn’t quite tell. “are you going to prom, this weekend?” he asked, a hopeful glint in his eyes while he looked down at you.

“no, i don’t think so.” you replied almost instantly. was he going to ask you out for prom? no, impossible.

“would you like t—” he couldn’t finish his sentence, that a girl tapped him on his shoulder, completely ignoring your presence or the fact that he was talking to you.

“hi riki.. i was wondering if you.. if you wanted to go to prom with me.” she asked, her pretty, long lashes batting quickly as she smiled at him, waiting for his answer.

“oh, thank you but i was going to ask someone else to go with me,” riki politely declined, obtaining a scoff in response. he shrugged his shoulders and turned back to where you were standing, only to see that you had disappeared.

you left the moment you heard the girl’s question, tears brimming in your eyes as you felt like a fool, thinking that he could ever have feelings for you. that day, you left school early, running to your house and shutting yourself in your room. you cried every tear you had within yourself.

riki had tried to reach out to you countless times, sending you lots of texts, even calling you endless times. but you ignored every one of them. you shouldn’t have gotten closer to the boy, you shouldn’t have fallen for him and you shouldn’t have hoped that he could, somehow, feel the same towards you.

it was prom night, you were on your couch, watching some old romcom filled with cliches and cringy lines, but that made you tear up everytime nonetheless.

suddenly, you heard a knock on your door. you wondered who could possibly be at that hour of a saturday night.

you opened the door, finding riki in formal attire, hair slicked back and a huge bouquet of purple flowers — which you remembered telling him was your favorite color.

“riki?” you called softly, closing the door behind you and looking at him with a confused expression. your heart skipped a beat when you saw him — he looked absolutely gorgeous, he looked like he’d stepped out a fairy tail.

“y/n..” he spoke, his voice carrying a mix of nerves and determination. “i tried contacting you, but you weren’t replying. i wanted to ask you to prom, but since it’s too late, i thought about bringing prom to you.” a shy smile tugged at his full lips as he pronounced those words.

you stared at him, speechless. he wanted to go to prom with you? and when he couldn’t reach you, he came all the way to your house, just to make it happen? it felt like a dream, too good and too sweet to be true.

noticing your surprise, riki carefully set the bouquet on the ground. then, he took your hand in his, warmth spreading all over your face.

“dance with me,” he whispered, his voice soft and filled with hope.

without waiting for your reply, he led you closer to him, his free hand settling on your waist, while with his other hand, he fumbled awkwardly with his phone, tongue poking out as he tried to play a slow song for you two to dance to.

the sight made you giggle, finding endearing how clumsy he was.

you looped your arms around his neck, gazing up at him as you swayed together. the world seemed to fall away — there was only the two of you, the soft music, and the steady rhythm of your movements.

he held your gaze the entire time, his lovesick smile resting on his pretty lips — the ones you couldn’t help but glance at more times than you cared to admit.

as the song came to an end, the world seemed to slow down around the two of you. he rested his forehead gently against yours, his warm breath fanning across your face as he took both of your hands in his, holding them like they were going to break if he applied to much force.

“y/n..” he began, his voice soft and steady, though you could sense the nervousness beneath it. “i like you. i’ve liked you for so long, i couldn’t resist keeping it to myself anymore.” he whispered, waiting for any reaction on your part.

tears welled up in your eyes and before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. riki stiffened for a moment, his hand lingering on your back before holding you closer.

“i like you too, riki. so much, i can’t believe you actually feel the same” a soft laugh escaped his lips, filled with relief and happiness. he brought one of his hands to your cheek, delicately caressing your skin. “can i be your boyfriend, then?” he asked, his lips curling up into a shy smile as he bit down his lower lip to keep it from spreading too much.

you didn’t answer his question with words. instead, you leaned in, catching his lips in a passionate yet slow kiss. his hand on your cheek moved down to your neck, while his other hand rested on your waist.

at that moment, it felt as if you were touching the sky with a finger. you felt loved in a way that warmed every layer of your heart, cared for in a way that melted every lingering doubt. but, most importantly, you felt seen — truly seen — for the first time.

[writing-the-stars]

Unspoken, Unheard

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader; Platonic!Morgan x Reader

Summary: In the midst of a high-stakes case, you face the terrifying task of being bait for a dangerous unsub. As the mission spirals out of control, the unacknowledged bond between you and Hotch is tested, forcing him to confront the risks of letting his heart lead in a world where vulnerability could mean losing everything.

Warnings: Angst (It's Who I Am), Emotional Distance (On Hotch's End. Go Figure), Canon-Typical Violence, Body Injury (Very Minor), No Use of Y/N or Physical Descriptors, Happy Ending. Let Me Know If I Forgot Something

Word Count: 6.6k (This was a BEAST)

A/N: Happy New Year!!! This is my very first Criminal Minds fic EVER AND my first story of the new year!! I have been a fan of this show for such a looong time. So I'm really excited to be introducing this as a fandom I write for. I have been hyperfixating on Hotch for a while now (something about stoic, emotionally unavailable people really gets me). Anyway, this really was a labor of love and a passion project. Thank you all for reading! I truly hope you enjoy. Have a wonderful day!

Masterlist | Criminal Minds Masterlist

A sudden sharp, insistent knocking echoes through the quiet hotel room, jolting you from your restless sleep. Adrenaline surges through your veins, heart thrumming in your ears, as you instinctively reach for the weapon on your nightstand. Blinking against the fog of your interrupted sleep, your mind races, trying to make sense of what ripped you from your sleep.

You listen carefully, waiting to hear if there is anything that could give you context to your current situation. But the silence returns, as if it had never been broken. You approach the door cautiously, your fingers curling tightly around the handle of your gun. Pressing your eye to the peephole, you freeze when you see Hotch standing on the other side. Relief floods through you and you exhale shakily, but only for a moment as you come to the grim realization that there must be another victim. You set your weapon down, running a hand over your head as you prepare yourself for the bad news and a new case development.

But as you open the door, your rehearsed professionalism falters.

Hotch is far from the professional, composed self he presents to the world. His dark hair is unkempt, the gel that usually holds it perfectly in place seemingly forgotten. His v-neck shirt hangs loose around his clavicle, giving you a glimpse of his defined pectorals, and his pajama pants pool awkwardly at his feet, as if he didn’t pull them up all the way before reaching you. The typical mask of calm authority he wears is nowhere to be found as he stares at you with wide, haunted eyes, face pale and glistening with sweat.

There is clear tension in his posture, his breathing a little too shallow and his expression a little too tight. You’ve never seen your friend like this before. Something unnerved him and quite frankly it was starting to rattle you too. 

Hotch hadn’t really thought any of this through. The visceral image of your body disfigured and mutilated just like the victims of this case filled him with raw terror. He needed to see you.

He had to make sure you were safe. He needed to know that you were alive and still intact. To know that you will still look up at him with that wide-eyed gaze filled with so much trust and quiet adoration that it makes his guarded heart falter. To know that when a case is too heavy and you all are exhausted and frayed at the edges, you will still throw him one of those smiles— one that tells him you still believe in him, that you know he will get you all through it. That you are still his team. To know that he will still hear the warmth of your laughter around the bullpen, cutting through the darkest of days at the BAU because you just had that way about you. That quiet, effortless brightness that made the worst days bearable. And he knew it wasn't just the job you were good at; it was the way you kept everyone together.

Most of all, he needed to know that you would still be you. That this job hadn’t taken you away from him— that it hadn’t stolen one more thing he couldn’t bear to lose.

But as the seconds stretch on, the initial terror that gripped him so tightly begins to subside and his mind begins to regain control. The logical Hotch starts to take over, reminding him that everything is fine. That it was only a dream, an irrational fabrication, and he is not the kind of person to allow emotions to overrun his decisions. 

He’s being reckless and this moment of weakness could jeopardize the team, and everything he has worked so hard to build. He needs to turn and leave before this situation gets any more out of hand, but it’s too late. The lock clicks. The door swings open and there you are, alive and whole. His breath catches. He had feared the worst— no, not feared, he’d seen the worst in his nightmare— but you’re here, standing right in front of him. The sheer relief almost makes his knees buckle. 

“Hotch?” 

Your voice is soft but laced with concern, the sight of him so disheveled, so unguarded, sets off a ripple of panic in your chest, “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. He stands there, staring at you as though he can’t believe you are standing in front of him. His mouth opens, but no words come out. His chest heaves with uneven breaths, and his eyes dart across your face, taking in every detail as though memorizing it.

“Hotch?” you repeat, your brows knitting together, “What’s wrong?”

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost hoarse, a shallow attempt at the calm, authoritative tone he usually uses. 

“I just… wanted to make sure you’re alright. We’ve been up late. Thought you might need to check in."

His words are careful, almost rehearsed, but you still hear the vulnerability he’s trying to mask. His eyes dart away from yours, down to the floor, and you can almost see him retreating into himself, as if he’s trying to hide from you. 

"Are you sure you’re okay?" you press a little, unable to ignore the worry curling in your chest. This isn’t just about the case. Something deeper is going on, and you aren’t going to disregard it. 

You step out a little into the hallway, bringing yourself closer to Hotch, trying to gauge if you’re reading him wrong. But this isn’t like him— Hotch wouldn’t show up at your door in the middle of the night without reason.

He looks as if he is barely holding himself together. You know him well enough to know when something is wrong, and in this moment, everything about him screams that he is on edge. It isn’t just exhaustion or stress— it’s something more that seems to be warring with him.

His lips press together in a tight line and you can see the muscles in his neck contract. "I’m fine," he says quickly, urgingly, as if he is trying to convince you and himself. 

The wall of his facade is fissuring and, for the first time since knowing Aaron Hotchner, you feel like he might finally let you in. You push a little harder, hoping that acknowledging the crack in his armor will finally shatter the whole illusion. 

“Hotch, you’re not fine,” you say softly, your voice almost a whisper, “Why don’t you come in for some coffee? I still have some of the good stuff Rossi bought me for Secret Santa.”

Hotch opens his mouth, but the words get tangled, and he immediately closes it again. His throat is tight, seemingly collapsing on itself. There are so many things he wants to say to you. Truths he wants to reveal, but he can’t. He can’t bring himself to venture into that unknown territory, to cross that line that’s already too blurry. There are too many things at stake, too many risks he can’t afford to take. He can not allow his feelings to complicate things any further. 

He takes a step back, and in doing so, you watch him fully retreat into himself, restructuring the wall you had come so close to tearing down. Perhaps you pushed too hard. 

He regains the professional composure you have grown accustomed to seeing. His usual authority slips into something sharp, more distant. "We’re on the job," he says, his voice harder, defensive, "There’s no time for that."

His words sting and you feel a pang of hurt as he continues to shut you out. But you remember who Hotch is. This isn’t about you. This is about him, about whatever had shaken him. Hotch has built walls higher than you can scale. Walls that even you—someone who knows him better than most—aren’t allowed to breach.

"Get some rest," he adds, the words flat and sterile, "We’ll need you ready tomorrow."

Your window for something more is closing, and you can’t bring yourself to stop it. You know what’s happening.

He’s scared. Scared of what? You don’t know, but you have a feeling that you’re the cause. Or at least a part of it.

“Good night, Hotch,” you resign, hoping to mask the disappointment of being kept at arm’s length. 

He gives you one last brief nod before he turns away, heading down the hallway with that same brisk, purposeful stride he always uses when he is trying to put distance between himself and whatever feelings are bothering him.

You stand there, the door half-open, watching him go. Your chest aches at the thought of what could have been. 

Closing the door softly and locking it behind you, you begin to process everything that unfolded. Questions pace your mind as you crawl back into bed. What just happened? What just really happened? The moment felt like a confession of sorts. An almost admission of something Hotch has been holding on to, but doesn’t want you to know. 

And maybe you just imagined it, but you feel like you saw a flicker of something in his eyes. An indication that the connection you have been feeling is not one-sided, a hint that you mean more to him than just a colleague, more than just a friend. You close your eyes, but the image of Hotch at your door stays with you, etched into the corners of your mind. An unanswered question you’re too afraid to ask. 

-*-

The local precinct hums with its usual activity— phones ringing, keyboards clicking, and the low murmur of officers exchanging updates on ongoing cases. Yet, the energy is tenser than the previous days of this case. 

Hotch’s behavior has been off all morning— sharply professional, overly focused on the case, and oddly reserved. It isn’t just his terse responses or the way he’s deliberately avoiding meeting your eyes— it’s the heaviness in the air every time you are in the same room. The warmth you usually share with him is gone and his quiet intensity has evolved into a coldness that has made you uncomfortable. 

An awkward distance has grown between the two of you and you can’t shake the feeling that it’s your fault. 

It hurts, but you try to brush it off. You know the job has a way of consuming him. You try to focus on the case, bury yourself in the details, but the weight of Hotch’s distance is becoming impossible to ignore. And you aren’t the only one to feel it. 

“Hey Sunshine,” Morgan approaches your work station, voice quieter than usual, “Everything good with you?” His tone carries a warmth that welcomingly contrasts with the chill you’ve been receiving from Hotch today. 

You look up at him, trying to mask your unease, but Morgan isn’t fooled. 

“You seem a little… off today,” he says, eyes scanning your face with that trademark perceptiveness, “What’s going on?”

You shift uncomfortably in your chair, glancing over at Hotch across the room. He’s engrossed in the case files, his posture stiff, his face unreadable. But you feel the weight of his distance press heavy on your shoulders.

“Nothing,” you tell him, trying to diminish the effect Hotch’s behavior is having on you, “Just… tired. The case is taking a lot out of me.”

Morgan doesn’t buy it for a second. “Uh-huh. And you didn’t notice Hotch getting all icy on you today?”

You still. You didn’t want to admit it, but it’s true. All of his standoffish behavior is directed at you. The distance, the sharper words, he’s isolating himself from you. And it doesn’t take a profiler like Morgan to see it.

You glance back at Hotch before returning your gaze to Morgan. He’s known Hotch for a while. Longer than you. If there is anyone you can gain insight from, it would be him. Lowering your voice, you confide in your teammate, “I don’t know, Derek… it’s like… he’s pulling away. Like something’s changed. I don’t know what happened last night, but whatever it is, it’s different. I can’t shake the feeling that I did something wrong.”

“What happened last night?”

“He came to my room.”

“Hotch?” He asks astonished, surprised by the uncharacteristic behavior. 

“Yeah, he said he wanted to check in with me, but… I don’t know, Derek, something was off. It was like he was hiding something from me.” 

Morgan leans in closer, his expression softening with sincerity. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Hotch is going through something. I’ve been around him long enough to know when he’s bottling things up.” 

You appreciate the comfort in Morgan’s words, even if they don’t entirely ease your concern. You just wish Hotch would open up to you. Let you be there for him and carry some of the weight of his burdens. 

Morgan sighs, seeing the crease still planted in your brow. “Look, he’s been carrying a lot of weight on his shoulders for a while now,” he states, voice turning more serious, “This job— it changes him. Sometimes it makes him pull away from the people he cares about the most, even if he doesn’t mean to. But I’ll talk to him, alright? I’m not gonna let him shut you out.”

You smile up at him, feeling some of the weight lift off of your shoulders.

“Don’t worry about it right now,” he continues, voice morphing into a more professional tone, “We’ve got a case to finish, and we need to focus. But after all this is done, you and I are gonna have a talk, alright?”

You nod, giving him a small, grateful smile, “Thanks, Derek.”

Soon after, the reality of the case takes over again. An officer charges in with a disturbing update: a new victim has been discovered. The pattern is clear, the unsub is escalating. The cooling-off period, which had been a crucial factor in the previous profile,  has shrunk dramatically, and you all are running out of time to prevent another murder. The urgency in the room is palpable. The team crowds around the whiteboard and, after analyzing the victims and the unsub’s pattern, you all come to a grim conclusion. You need someone who looks like the previous victims to bait the unsub into a trap.

There is an oppressive silence as the team’s eyes flick to you. The weight of their saddened, knowing gazes is almost unbearable. The fact that you share similar features with the victims of this case had not gone unnoticed by you. In fact, it was one of the first things you noted about the unsub’s victimology. It had been an unsettling realization. One you’d been working through for days, trying to figure out how it would affect your role in the investigation. Now you know. 

The air is heavy with the unspoken implication. You had expected this. It’s part of the job. But nothing can prepare you for the moment when the possibility becomes real. Your gaze flicks to Hotch, but he isn’t looking at you. His eyes are fixed on the board, on the files, on anything but you. He was desperate. Looking for an out, for a solution that did not involve putting you in harm’s way. 

“Hotch,” Morgan says, cutting through the silence, “We need someone who looks like the unsub’s previous victims. We don’t have time to waste.” 

He glances at you, eyes softening, then back to Hotch, sensing the unspoken hesitation. Hotch’s expression darkens. He looks between Morgan and you, his mouth set in a tight line. You can see the internal battle in his eyes—he wants to object, to find another way—but the case can't wait.

“Alright,” Hotch concedes stiffly, his voice potraying none of the inner turmoil he’s feeling, “We’ll set up the trap. We don’t have time for anything else.”

You close your eyes for a brief moment, pushing away the surge of panic that’s threatening to take hold of you. You know it’s the best strategy. It’s what has to be done, and you will do it. But you don’t have to like it.

“You good with this?” Morgan asks, his tone far more personal than professional. He wants to make sure you’re okay, wants to be sure you aren’t being pushed into something you aren’t ready for.

You give a small nod, more for your own sake than his. “I’m good,” you lie, voice steady even though your insides feel anything but.

After your confirmation the team is immediately on, discussing the logistics of setting up the trap. Your gaze flickers to Hotch once more, and for a moment, you think you see something shift in his eyes— something that isn’t just professional concern. It almost looks like he wants to say something more, but he doesn't. He just turns back to the board, his silence louder than any words he could have spoken.

His mind races, unable to focus on the task at hand. His thoughts are consumed with you— the thought of you being so close to danger. He can’t stand it. The very idea that you will be bait— the possibility of you being exposed to the unsub, potentially hurt— makes his insides twist with dread. But he can’t show it. Not now. Not when the mission is the priority.

He focuses on the details, assigning roles, making decisions. But every time his eyes shift to you, his stomach tightens. Bait. It’s a professional term, a necessary risk. But to him, it feels like a betrayal—one he couldn’t afford to confront.

-*-

You stand near the edge of the scene, trying to focus on the instructions being relayed through your comms. The humid, night air clings to your skin— another layer pressing on the building panic in your chest. You watch as your team slips seamlessly into their positions with practiced precision. You all have done this before, it isn’t unfamiliar territory; however, it’s different when it’s your life on the line.  

You’re the one baiting the unsub, alone, vulnerable. There’s no guarantee of your safety, no script to follow that ensures a happy ending. You’re putting yourself directly in harm’s way, and that knowledge frightens you more than you’d like to admit. You try to steady your breathing, but your heartbeat is louder than your thoughts. This is the moment when everything could go wrong, and that thought sets fear, real visceral and terrifying fear, the kind you’ve been pushing down for hours, alight in your bones. 

You feel him come up behind you, his presence heavy, solid and grounding. You feel the weight of his eyes on you. The tension from before charging the air around you. Up until now, his focus has solely been on the operation. You know he is just as worried as you are, maybe even more so, but his stoicism doesn't allow him to show it. You wonder if his concern is more focused on the mission going well or on the risk this poses to you. Regardless, he is a comforting presence, one you feel safe to confide in. 

“Hotch,” you murmur, almost too quietly for him to hear, turning to face the man who has grown so dear to your heart. 

He looks at you, expression unreadable, but his quiet intensity soothes some of your panic. 

“Are you sure about this? I- I don’t know if I can do this,” your voice shakes, highlighting the fear you’ve been holding back all night.

Hotch struggles to give you an answer. You are looking at him with those wide, trusting eyes, and all he can think about is last night— the image of you mutilated, the fact he couldn’t save you. 

The overwhelming need to protect you surges through him again. He can’t—he can’t let this happen. But he is the leader of this team, it is his duty to see this mission through. To bring this case to a close. He can’t allow his personal feelings to change anything, to interfere with this job. 

He forces his voice to remain steady, professional, “It’s the only way.”

You concede with a nod of your head. You don’t argue. You never do. But Hotch studies you, sees the slight tightening around your eyes, the sharp rise in your chest. It makes his heart ache. He feels the weight of this moment. Knows this is a critical point— not just for the case, but for you. He sees how hard you’re fighting to hold yourself together, and for a split second, the professional facade cracks. He takes a step closer.

“You’re not alone in this,” Hotch says, his voice low but steady. He reaches for your arm, gently squeezing the flesh there. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You’ve been trained for this. You can do this.”

His words settle over you, your heart rate slowing, and for the first time since this operation started, you can breathe again. 

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he repeats urgingly, his voice low, protective. It’s a promise. His hand lingers for a moment longer than necessary before he pulls back, the weight of his words lingering in the air between you two. Hotch’s presence, the way he’s always steady, always calm—it gives you the strength you need.

"Alright," you whisper, your voice steadier now, "Alright, let's do this."

As the team readies themselves, you remain in place, trying to keep yourself from fidgeting. Adrenaline courses through your veins, but it’s not just fear— it’s the anticipation. The waiting. You’ve been taught by Prentiss how to manage these moments, how to keep your emotions in check and your senses sharp. You channel every lesson she taught you— stay calm, stay focused, keep breathing. You’ve studied the unsub’s patterns, and every part of you is ready to play your role.

You survey the area, locating your team’s positions. Morgan, Hotch, and Prentiss are stationed inside as backup, Rossi and Reid near the exits, and the remaining local officers are stationed discreetly around the perimeter. You look towards the nightclub, the neon lights, the rhythmic thrum of music faintly audible even from outside. Static crackles in your ear, and you hear Hotch’s voice, calm and steady, “All units are in position.”

The signal to proceed.

You take a deep breath, trying to control your shaking hands. You’re ready. You have to be ready. With one final glance around the perimeter, ensuring your team’s at your back, you steel yourself, stepping into the lion’s den. 

The pulsating beat of the music encapsulates you, the bass reverberating around your body. The flashing lights cast strobe-like shadows across the crowded room. It’s loud, chaotic, and full of life— but that only makes it more dangerous. The lights are meant to disorient and the noise to drown out your thoughts. You see how it is easy for the unsub to get away with his victims. 

You stand in the middle of it all, heart pounding in your chest as you pretend to enjoy the music, to be just another partygoer in the crowd. Prentiss’s voice crackles in your earpiece, barely audible over the music, “You need to relax. You look stiff.”

You nod to yourself, trying to ground yourself in the role. You watch the crowd around you, mimicking their movements. Glancing over your shoulder, you see Hotch standing across the club, blending into the shadows near the back of the bar, dark and brooding. He’s close— but not close enough. He can’t be. You can’t afford to look too conspicuous.

The rest of the indoors team is hiding in plain sight. Prentiss is near the restrooms and Morgan is in a corner booth. And Hotch is watching from the shadows. He’s waiting, calculating—but something in the way he’s watching you makes your heart rate spike.

You catch his eyes and everything feels different. The professional wall between you two starts to crumble. You feel yourself becoming looser under his watchful gaze and you dance. You dance for him, you dance as if you’re the only two people in the room. And Hotch can’t take his eyes off you. 

But then you feel it. A shift in the crowd. 

He’s not the tallest man in the room, but he has a presence that immediately commands attention. His gaze is cold, calculating, but there’s something oddly magnetic about him. He moves through the crowd with purpose, like he knows exactly what he’s looking for. His eyes flick over the people around him, assessing each one with the precision of a predator.

As he approaches you, you feel a rush of adrenaline, but you push it down. Emily’s training coming back to you. He stops in front of you, gaze flicking to your face, studying you for a beat longer than necessary.

He smiles— a dark, knowing smile. “I’ve been watching you,” he says, his voice a hair louder than the music, his tone carrying an eerie calm.

You force yourself to keep your composure. "Have you?" You raise an eyebrow, playing the part. The unsub takes a step closer, his eyes flickering down to your body, sizing you up. You know what he’s doing, know exactly how he’s visualizing your body and all the horrific things he’ll do it— just like the previous victims. It makes your skin crawl. 

“You’re not like the others,” he says, his voice lower, whispering in your ear, but thick with amusement. He’s toying with you.

You manage a small smile, “What makes you think that?” You tease, pretending to be at ease. 

His hand snakes up your body, eyes never leaving yours, “You’ve got a different look to you. You don’t belong here.”

The trail of his hand on your body sends a chill down your spine. He’s not being aggressive— yet —but the interaction feels like an invitation to a game. He’s testing the waters. 

“I belong where I want to belong,” you reply, lifting your chin up to appear more confident than you actually are.

He smiles, his eyes lighting up with something darker. “Maybe you do,” he says, voice quieter now, “Or maybe you're just pretending.”

You take a step back freeing yourself from his grasp, his imposing presence becoming overwhelming. The unsub’s smile falters just a fraction. A flicker of suspicion, quick but undeniable, passes over his face. 

You take a breath, keeping your face neutral, trying not to let anything slip. “We all pretend sometimes,” you answer smoothly, “What about you?”

For a moment, his eyes narrow, the two of you engaging in some kind of silent battle, each trying to read the other. He’s intrigued, but he hasn’t made up his mind about you yet.

“I’ve seen your type before,” the unsub says, taking a step closer to you, shortening the distance you previously implemented, “You’re always looking for something. People like you—”

You cut him off quickly, hoping to regain control of the situation. “People like me? And what exactly is that?”

He leans in a little closer, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “The ones who can’t find meaning in their lives, so they run to places like this thinking they can find answers. They never do.”

You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as his eyes move over you again, this time lingering on your eyes, like he’s searching for something in you— something real. But you know what he’s doing. He’s trying to find a weakness. A slip.

The air between you two grows heavier, and despite everything you’ve been trained to do, despite the calm that you’re trying so hard to project, you feel the pressure building. Your heartbeat picks up, but you push it down. You can’t let him see you panic.

“Well, I guess that depends on what you’re looking for,” you say, your voice more uncertain than you want it to be. You quickly mask the hesitation with another smile, but this time it doesn’t feel as convincing.

His eyes flicker— just for a moment— across your face. Something about the way you said that, the slight nervousness that edged into your voice— it’s enough to make him pause.

For just a split second, he looks confused, as though something doesn’t add up. His eyes narrow, and you see the shift in his demeanor. The playful curiosity turns into something more calculating.

“You don’t talk like them,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. His voice is softer now, more contemplative. 

You feel your stomach flip, but you don’t flinch. Not yet.

“You have a very... observant eye,” you reply, forcing the words out with more confidence than you feel. You quickly change the subject, hoping to redirect his attention. “Why don’t we go somewhere quieter? I can show you just how different I really am.”

The unsub hesitates, his brow furrowing as he watches you a little too closely. He’s not sure what it is yet, but he’s starting to doubt that you’re just another unsuspecting person in the club. The air between you thickens, the tension building.

The unsub steps back slightly, eyes scanning you again, this time with deeper suspicion. It’s like a switch has been flipped— he knows something is off. 

“Sure,” he sneers, grabbing your arm roughly and jerking you forward. The action pulls you into his chest as his free hand comes up, producing a blade. The cold metal feels heavy as it presses against your throat— the sharp edge digging into your skin. You freeze, pulse pounding as your fear of this operation plays out before you. One quick jerk and your whole life is over in the middle of a second-rate night club. “What is this? Some kind of trap?” He demands angrily, pressing the knife harder. You can feel the tip against your skin, its sharp edge threatening to break the surface. Every small breath you take makes the blade press in deeper, but you don’t flinch. 

Hotch’s voice rings clear through your earpiece, sharp and commanding, “Move in. Now.”

The team springs into action, bursting from their scattered positions, guns drawn, closing in quickly. Chaos erupts as the crowd disperses from the growing conflict— a cacophony of panic and fear echoing around you, mirroring the terror gripping you inside. The moment the unsub sees them, his eyes widen in recognition, but his grip on you doesn’t loosen. He pulls you in front of him like a shield, his body tight against yours, the knife still pressed to your neck. Panic flickers in his eyes, and he becomes more desperate, realizing the window of escape is shrinking. 

“Stay back!” He shouts, his voice shaking with rage and fear, “One move and it’s over. You hear me?” His grip on the knife is trembling now. He’s scared, unhinged, not thinking clearly. You swallow, trying to stay composed. You’ve been trained for this, but the simulation is nothing compared to the real immediacy of danger. 

“Stay calm,” Hotch instructs, his gaze locked on you. His voice is sharp, but there’s a layer of raw tension there. He’s not just worried about you as a team member; he’s invested. This isn’t just another case— it’s you. He won’t let anything happen to you.

The unsub’s grip on you is relentless, and the weight of the knife against your throat is a constant reminder of how quickly this can turn deadly.

“Why don’t we just talk about this?” You manage to say, your voice steady despite the panic raging inside, “I can help you. We can work this out.” But the unsub isn’t listening. His eyes gleam with madness as he presses the knife harder against your throat. 

“You think I’m stupid?” His voice is low, guttural, “You think this is going to end well for me? For you?”

The tension is unbearable and you know it’s only a matter of time before he makes a move, one way or the other.

“You don’t have to do this,” you try again, voice trembling but steady. His grip on the knife shifts slightly, and you catch a glimpse of hesitation in his eyes. It’s a split second, but it’s enough for you to seize the opportunity. You feel the unsub shift slightly, his weight moving in such a way that it opens up just enough space for you to act. You shift your body weight quickly, slamming your elbows into his ribs. The move is sharp and sudden, and you feel him stumble back, losing his balance for a split second. His hold on you loosens, just enough for you to wrench free from his grasp.

In that split second, everything changes. 

“Now!” Hotch’s voice explodes. Prentiss and Morgan surge forward, moving swiftly, but not close enough. In a final desperate attempt to regain control, the unsub brings the knife up, swinging it wildly toward you. Your heart stops and you freeze, only for a moment, before instinct takes over and you dodge to the side. The blade grazes your cheek, cutting a shallow line across your skin. The sting is instant, but you don’t focus on the pain. 

With the unsub distracted by your move, Prentiss is the first to close in. She grabs his wrist, wrenching the knife away, while Morgan rushes in, tackling him to the ground. As the remainder of the team rushes forward, the unsub struggles, but he is no match for your team

As soon as the unsub is secured, Hotch is there, rushing towards you. He places a hand on your shoulder, his fingers lightly gripping you as though he needs to make sure you’re real. 

“Are you alright?” His voice is softer than it’s been all day, but is still tight with concern. You take a shallow breath, trying to steady your heartbeat. “I’m fine,” you answer, though your voice betrays you, a slight tremor you can not control, “Just some scratches.” 

Your fingers graze over the thin line of blood from the knife remaining on your neck, before landing on the shallow wound on your cheek where you swipe away some of the trickling blood. It’s nothing permanent, but the sting is sharp. Hotch’s gaze flicks between the small wounds, and his jaw tightens. 

“You did great,” his voice is low, but laced with something more. There’s a protectiveness in his eyes now that goes beyond the usual command, beyond the professional distance. Your heart is still racing from the close call, but something in the way he looks at you, something unspoken, makes you pause. It’s more than just concern. 

-*-

The case is over. The unsub is in custody, and the adrenaline has worn off, but the weight of the last few days— the close calls, the near-misses— lingers heavily in the air.

The team is scattered around the bullpen, tired but relieved. Some are gathering their things, others are engaged in quiet conversation. But Hotch, who is usually the first to bury himself in case notes and paperwork, is standing near the window of his office, his back to the room, staring out at the city lights in silence.

You’ve just finished checking your emails, last light on in the bullpen, and are about to leave when you notice Hotch still standing there, a silhouette against the dimming light. The intensity of his brooding is almost palpable and you can’t help but feel drawn to him. You approach his office slowly, your footsteps light on the floor, knowing that there’s something unresolved between you— something that needs to be addressed, even if the words seem impossible to say.

When you get to his door, he doesn’t turn to face you right away, but you can tell by the way his posture stiffens that he’s aware of your presence. After a beat, he speaks without looking at you.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” His voice is low, still carrying the edge of concern. There’s something in the way he asks that you’ve never heard before, a note of uncertainty beneath his usual command.

You stop a few feet away from him, feeling the familiar tension between you two. But this time, it's different— he's different. His usual reserve is slipping, and the emotional weight of the past days is leaving a crack in his armor.

“I’m fine,” you answer, and you mean it, even if there's more left unsaid. The cut on your cheek has been treated, and physically you’re fine.

His shoulders sag slightly, but he still doesn’t turn. He stands there for a long moment, lost in thought, before he finally speaks again, this time quieter, almost hesitant.

“I need you to know something,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Turning slowly, he faces you now, his eyes intense, but there's a vulnerability in them that you’ve never seen before. The walls are down. There’s no hiding it anymore— he’s exposing himself in a way that feels foreign to both of you.

“I...” he begins, but stops. He takes a breath, trying to steady himself. “I... don’t know what I would’ve done if I had lost you tonight. I can’t— I can’t keep pretending that it doesn’t hurt to see you in danger.”

The words hang between you two, heavy and unspoken, as he tries to gather himself. You swallow hard at his words, and your heart flutters in your chest. It’s the first time he’s said something this personal, this raw. You can feel your pulse quicken as you wait for him to continue.

“I know we can’t do this... but I need you to know,” he continues, voice thick with emotion. “I care about you. I care about you more than I’ve let on. More than I should.”

You take a breath, feeling your own emotions rising in your chest. You’ve known for a long time that something was there between the two of you. The tension, the quiet moments of connection. You’ve always felt it, even if you were too afraid to acknowledge it.

“I do too, Hotch. I have for a while.”

His eyes soften at your admission. There’s a tenderness in them that makes your breath catch. He takes a step toward you, closing the distance, and you feel the warmth of his presence envelop you.

He reaches out, his hand resting gently on your arm, as if afraid you might vanish if he touches you too hard. You don’t pull away. Instead, you lean into it, letting the moment settle between you. This is uncharted territory for both of you, but it feels right.

“I don’t know what happens now,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “but I need you to know... I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Not again.”

You nod, your heart full of so many things— relief, fear, and the growing certainty that this moment is the beginning of something neither of you can ignore anymore.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reply, voice steady, meeting his gaze with an honesty you’ve both kept locked away for far too long.

He looks at you for a long moment, the weight of everything you’ve both experienced together in those few words. And then, ever so slowly, he leans forward, just a fraction, and the air between you shifts. It’s not a declaration, not yet— but it’s a beginning. A slow, careful bridge being built from everything you’ve been through.

And at long last, the walls he’s built for so long have finally come down.

If you want to be a part of my taglist, please submit an ask specifying series, fandom, or all and I will happily add you!