Changing The Game
Changing the Game
platonic!Fernando Alonso x mentee!Reader
Oscar Piastri x Reader
Summary: motorsport can be cruel, especially for young women aspiring to make it to Formula 1, but when Fernando notices a driver who deserves more than the unjust cards fate handed her, he decides to do something about it … and your life will never be the same
The roar of engines fills the air, blending with the faint scent of gasoline that clings to the paddock like a memory. Fernando walks through the chaos of the Formula 3 circuit, hands in his pockets, sunglasses firmly in place.
His presence is a subtle disruption, not loud, but noticeable. Drivers and engineers glance his way, some nodding in respect, others too focused on their tasks to do more than acknowledge him with a brief flicker of recognition.
He’s been watching the race, the sun high overhead, a burning reminder that summer has a way of dragging things out. Yet, time has felt elastic today, stretched out by the tension of the track and the surprising twist that caught his attention.
A young driver — no, more than just young — barely seventeen, the only female on the grid, had sliced through the competition with precision and ferocity. Her car, marked by the number on the side, had danced on the edge of control, flirting with danger at every turn but never losing its rhythm. When the chequered flag waved, she’d crossed the line in a solid third, inches from second, and not far from the top spot.
He’d seen talent before, of course. It’s part of his world, spotting it, nurturing it, sometimes crushing it under the weight of competition. But something about you caught his eye. There’s a sharpness in your driving, a clarity of purpose that’s rare. He wonders where you’ve been hiding.
As the cars pull into the pit lane, the usual bustle takes over. Engineers swarm around their drivers, debriefs start, and helmets are tugged off with a mix of relief and frustration. Fernando watches from a distance, scanning the crowd until he finds you. You’re standing by your car, tugging at your gloves with a sharp motion, frustration etched in the tightness of your jaw. There’s a fleeting moment where you pull off your helmet, shaking out your hair, and Fernando notices the absence of something.
Sponsors.
Your race suit is practically bare. The car too, minimal branding, the kind that signals a driver struggling to make ends meet rather than one who’s just claimed a podium finish. He frowns, tilting his head slightly as he watches you. It doesn’t make sense. A driver that good should be swimming in offers, drowning in endorsements.
He catches the eye of a paddock official nearby, someone he’s vaguely familiar with — one of those types who always seem to know more than they let on. Fernando strides over, casual but direct. The official straightens up, clearly surprised to have Fernando Alonso approaching.
“Who’s the girl?” Fernando asks, nodding in your direction, though he doesn’t really need to. You’re the only one who fits the description.
The official glances your way, then back at Fernando. “Y/N Y/L/N. She’s been turning heads all season.”
“Not enough, apparently.” Fernando gestures vaguely at your race suit, his tone making it clear he’s talking about the lack of sponsorship. “What’s going on there?”
The official hesitates, glancing around as if to make sure no one’s listening. He lowers his voice slightly, a conspiratorial tone creeping in. “She’s good, real good. But, you know … she’s a girl.”
Fernando’s eyebrows shoot up, a sharp flash of irritation sparking in his eyes. “So?”
“So,” the official continues, shifting his weight uncomfortably, “sponsors and academies, they’re … cautious. Not sure if she’s got the staying power. And you know how it is, they’re more willing to take a risk on a kid who fits the mold.”
“The mold,” Fernando repeats, his voice flat, incredulous. He lets out a breath, shaking his head slightly. It’s 2019, and this is still happening. It shouldn’t surprise him, but somehow, it does.
His gaze returns to you, still standing by your car, now deep in conversation with your race engineer. There’s a fierceness in the way you talk, the way you move your hands as if trying to will the universe to bend to your will. Fernando recognizes that fire — it’s the same one he’s carried in himself for years.
But there’s more than just frustration in your eyes. There’s something else — determination, maybe, but tinged with something darker, something that’s been carved out of too many disappointments. He knows that look too. It’s the one you get when you’re tired of proving yourself over and over, and yet, you keep doing it because there’s no other choice.
Fernando’s decision is made in an instant. He doesn’t overthink it; he never has. That’s not his style. He approaches you with the same casual confidence that’s defined his career, weaving through the bustle of the paddock until he’s close enough to catch the tail end of your conversation.
“... could’ve pushed harder into turn four,” you’re saying to your engineer, frustration coloring your voice. “But the grip just wasn’t there.”
Your engineer nods, making a note on his tablet, but before he can respond, Fernando steps into the space between you.
“Grip’s one thing,” he says, his voice cutting through the noise around you, “but timing’s everything.”
You turn, eyes widening just a fraction as you realize who’s standing there. Fernando catches the flicker of surprise that you quickly mask with a polite, if guarded, smile.
“Fernando Alonso,” you say, your voice a careful mix of respect and curiosity.
“In the flesh,” he replies, a hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He glances at your car, then back at you. “Nice drive today.”
“Thanks.” The word comes out clipped, like you’re not entirely sure what to make of him yet. He can tell you’re used to being judged, sized up and dismissed by those who think they know better. But Fernando’s not here to judge.
“Third place,” he continues, as if he’s thinking out loud. “But you had the pace for second.”
Your eyebrows lift slightly, and for the first time, a hint of a real smile breaks through. “Yeah, I did. But things don’t always go as planned.”
“No,” he agrees, “they don’t. But you’ve got talent. Real talent.”
You study him for a moment, your expression shifting from guarded to something more open, more curious. “Thanks,” you say again, but this time it’s softer, more genuine.
There’s a pause, the noise of the paddock fading slightly as you both stand there, sizing each other up. Fernando knows this is the moment where most people would make some kind of offer — advice, mentorship, maybe even a contract. But he’s never been one to do things by the book.
Instead, he tilts his head slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. “Do you like ice cream?”
You blink, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. “What?”
“Ice cream,” he repeats, his tone light, almost teasing. “Do you like it?”
“Uh … yeah?” You sound more confused than anything, but there’s a hint of amusement creeping into your voice.
“Great,” Fernando says, as if that settles everything. He steps back, gesturing for you to follow him. “Let’s go get some. My treat.”
You stare at him for a moment, clearly trying to figure out if he’s serious. But when you see that he is, a slow smile spreads across your face, and you can’t help but laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.
“Okay,” you say, still laughing a little as you start to walk beside him. “Why not?”
And just like that, the tension that had been hanging over the paddock seems to dissipate, replaced by something lighter, something that feels almost like hope.
***
The ice cream shop is a short walk from the circuit, tucked into a corner of the small town that’s hosting the weekend’s race. It’s the kind of place Fernando imagines has been around for decades, unchanged except for maybe a new coat of paint every few years. The neon sign in the window buzzes faintly, its pink light reflecting off the glass as he pushes the door open, holding it for you as you follow him inside.
The cool air is a welcome relief from the heat outside, carrying with it the sweet, unmistakable scent of sugar and cream. The shop is quiet, just a couple of kids sitting by the window, licking at cones that seem far too big for them. Behind the counter, a bored-looking teenager perks up as the door chimes, her gaze sharpening as she recognizes Fernando.
“Can I help you?” She asks, her voice brightening as she tries to act casual, though it’s clear she’s a little starstruck.
Fernando nods toward you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Ladies first.”
You hesitate for a moment, then step up to the counter, glancing at the array of ice cream flavors displayed behind the glass. The choices are written in chalk on a board above, but your eyes are immediately drawn to the rich, golden brown of the dulce de leche. You point to it, giving the girl behind the counter a quick smile.
“Two scoops of that, please,” you say, and then, after a beat, “with as many toppings as will fit.”
Fernando raises an eyebrow, amused as he watches you. The girl behind the counter doesn’t question it, scooping generous portions of the creamy ice cream into a cup before moving over to the toppings bar. You lean over the counter slightly, studying the options with a critical eye before making your selections — caramel drizzle, chocolate chips, a handful of crushed cookies, a sprinkle of nuts, and a final flourish of whipped cream on top.
When the girl hands you the cup, it’s practically overflowing, a masterpiece of indulgence that’s almost as impressive as your driving. You turn to Fernando, already reaching for your wallet.
“I can pay for mine,” you say quickly, but Fernando waves you off, already pulling out his own wallet.
“It’s on me,” he insists, his tone making it clear there’s no room for argument.
You open your mouth to protest, but the look he gives you stops you in your tracks. There’s something gentle in his eyes, an unexpected warmth that makes you pause. You let out a small sigh, putting your wallet away as you give in.
“Fine,” you mutter, though there’s no real annoyance in your voice. “But I’m getting you back for this.”
Fernando chuckles as he orders a simple vanilla cone for himself. “We’ll see about that.”
Once he’s paid, the two of you find a small table near the back of the shop, away from the kids and the counter. It’s quiet, almost private, with the hum of the freezers and the distant chatter of the other customers filling the silence. You sit across from him, carefully balancing your cup of ice cream as you take your first bite.
The first taste of dulce de leche is heavenly, the caramel sweetness melting on your tongue as the toppings add layers of texture and flavor. For a moment, it’s easy to forget about everything else — the race, the frustration, the uncertainty of it all. There’s just the ice cream, the coolness of it on your tongue, and the rare sensation of simply enjoying something without a care.
Fernando watches you with a faint smile, his own ice cream barely touched as he leans back in his chair. He doesn’t rush to fill the silence, letting you savor the moment before he finally speaks.
“So,” he says, breaking the quiet, “tell me about your situation.”
You glance up at him, the spoon pausing halfway to your mouth. There’s something in his tone, something gentle but probing, that tells you this isn’t just small talk. You lower the spoon, setting the cup down on the table as you consider how to respond.
“It’s … complicated,” you begin, though that word hardly covers it. You let out a small sigh, your shoulders slumping slightly as you lean back in your chair. “I mean, I’m doing everything I can on the track. My results speak for themselves, right? But it’s like … it’s like none of that matters.”
Fernando nods, encouraging you to continue. There’s no judgment in his eyes, just a quiet understanding, and that makes it easier to keep talking.
“Every race, I’m out there giving it everything I’ve got,” you say, your voice growing more animated as you go on. “I’m right up there with the best of them — sometimes even better. But then I look around, and I see these other drivers, guys who are barely scraping into the points, and they’ve got major sponsors backing them. They’re signed to F1 teams’ academies, they’ve got a clear path to the top. And me? I’ve got nothing. No sponsors, no academy, no security.”
You pick up your spoon again, stirring your ice cream absentmindedly as your frustration bubbles to the surface. “It’s not like I haven’t tried. My team’s tried too, but no one wants to take the risk on me. They all say the same thing — ‘You’re good, but we’re just not sure if you’re what we’re looking for.’ Which is just code for ‘You’re a girl, and we’re not willing to bet on you.’”
Fernando doesn’t interrupt, letting you vent. He’s heard stories like this before, but it never gets any easier to listen to. The sport has its issues, and while things have improved over the years, the barriers you’re facing are still all too real.
You sigh, running a hand through your hair as you shake your head. “It’s so frustrating, you know? I’m out there proving myself every single weekend, but it’s like I have to work twice as hard just to get noticed, and even then, it’s not enough. My parents — they believe in me, but they’re practically killing themselves to keep me racing. They had to take a second mortgage on the house just to get me into F3 this season. And every time I don’t get a sponsor, every time another academy passes on me, it’s like … it’s like I’m letting them down.”
Your voice cracks slightly at the end, and you quickly take another bite of ice cream, as if that can somehow keep your emotions in check. But Fernando sees the way your hand trembles just a little, the way your eyes have lost some of their fire, replaced by a weary resignation.
“It shouldn’t be this hard,” you say softly, almost to yourself. “I know the sport is tough, but it feels like I’m fighting a battle that’s rigged from the start.”
Fernando takes a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “It’s not fair,” he says, his voice steady, grounding. “You’re right, it shouldn’t be this hard. But sometimes, the fight isn’t just about winning on the track. It’s about changing the game entirely.”
You look at him, your eyes narrowing slightly as you try to gauge what he means by that. There’s something in his tone, something determined and unyielding, that makes you believe he understands more than he’s letting on.
“Changing the game?” You repeat, the words feeling heavy in your mouth.
Fernando nods, leaning forward slightly. “Yeah. Look, I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. But if anyone can do it, it’s you. You’ve got the talent, you’ve got the drive, and you’ve got something most people don’t — resilience. You’re still here, still fighting, even when the odds are against you. That says a lot.”
You bite your lip, absorbing his words. There’s a part of you that wants to believe him, that wants to hold on to that hope, but there’s also a part that’s tired — so tired of fighting an uphill battle, of always having to prove yourself over and over again.
“I just don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “What if it’s not enough? What if I’m not enough?”
Fernando’s gaze softens, and for a moment, he sees a reflection of his younger self in you, back when he was first starting out, hungry and determined but unsure of how far he could really go. The difference is, he had the backing, the opportunities that you’ve been denied.
“You are enough,” he says, his tone firm, leaving no room for doubt. “The problem isn’t with you. It’s with the system, with the people who are too scared to see things differently. But that doesn’t mean you stop. You keep pushing, keep showing them what they’re missing. And if they can’t see it, then we’ll make them see it.”
You blink, surprised by the intensity in his voice. There’s a conviction there that’s hard to ignore, a belief in you that you’ve been struggling to find in yourself.
“We?” You ask, your voice tinged with cautious hope.
Fernando smiles, a small, determined curve of his lips. “We. You’re not alone in this. I’ve been where you are, in a different way, but I know what it’s like to have to fight for everything. And I know what it’s like to have someone in your corner who believes in you.”
You stare at him, processing his words, the implications of what he’s offering. There’s a warmth in your chest, a spark of something that feels dangerously close to hope.
“So what now?” You ask, your voice steadier.
Fernando leans back in his chair, his gaze never leaving yours as he takes a thoughtful bite of his ice cream. There's a moment of silence, the weight of everything unspoken hanging between you, before he finally speaks, his voice calm but resolute.
"Now?" He sets his cone down on the table, his expression sharpening with purpose. "I make some calls."
***
It’s been a few weeks since that day at the ice cream shop, and Fernando hasn’t been able to shake the conversation from his mind. He’s been in the sport long enough to know how things work, but hearing it from you, seeing how the system has worn you down despite your undeniable talent, it struck a nerve. It’s been a whirlwind of phone calls, favors cashed in, and quiet meetings behind closed doors. But now, standing at the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport, Fernando knows it’s all been worth it.
You come into view, wheeling your carry-on behind you, your eyes scanning the crowd until they land on him. A look of surprise crosses your face, quickly replaced by a hesitant smile as you make your way over.
“Hey,” you greet him, a mix of confusion and curiosity in your voice as you pull your suitcase to a stop beside him. “So … what’s this all about?”
Fernando just grins, taking the handle of your suitcase from you with a casualness that leaves no room for argument. “You’ll see,” he says, cryptic as ever. “Come on, the car’s this way.”
You follow him out to the parking garage, throwing him sideways glances, clearly trying to piece together what he’s up to. Fernando’s only response is an amused smile as he opens the door for you, waiting until you’re settled in the passenger seat before loading your luggage in the trunk.
As he pulls out of the airport and merges onto the highway, the silence between you is comfortable but charged with anticipation. You keep glancing over at him, your curiosity growing with every mile.
“You’re not going to tell me where we’re going, are you?” You finally ask, your tone hovering between teasing and exasperation.
Fernando chuckles, shaking his head. “Nope.”
You sigh, leaning back in your seat, but there’s a glimmer of excitement in your eyes that wasn’t there before. “I’m trusting you, you know,” you say, half-joking, half-serious.
“And you won’t regret it,” he promises, the confidence in his voice almost contagious.
The drive is longer than you expected, taking you out of London and into the countryside. The scenery shifts from the urban sprawl to green fields and quaint villages, the roads becoming narrower and winding as they head deeper into the heart of England. It’s not until Fernando takes a turn down a private road, leading to a sleek, modern complex surrounded by high fences, that you begin to piece it together.
“This can’t be …” you start, your voice trailing off as the full realization hits you. “Is this-”
“Mercedes HQ,” Fernando confirms with a grin as he pulls up to the security gate. He rolls down the window, exchanging a few words with the guard, who quickly waves them through.
You’re silent as he drives into the parking lot, your eyes wide as you take in the sight of the Mercedes-AMG F1 Factory. It’s one thing to see it on TV or in photos, but to be here, in person, is something else entirely. Fernando parks the car and turns to you, catching the look on your face.
“Nervous?” He asks, though he already knows the answer.
“A little,” you admit, swallowing hard as you unbuckle your seatbelt. “Okay, a lot.”
He chuckles, getting out of the car and coming around to your side to open the door for you. “Don’t be. You belong here.”
You hesitate, still processing everything, before nodding and stepping out of the car. Fernando grabs your suitcase from the trunk, but you barely notice, too busy taking in your surroundings as he leads you toward the entrance.
The interior of the building is just as impressive as the outside — modern, sleek, and buzzing with energy. Everywhere you look, there are people in team gear, some hurrying between offices, others deep in conversation. And then, as if the situation couldn’t get more surreal, Lewis Hamilton appears in the lobby, flanked by Toto Wolff.
Your breath catches in your throat, and you stop dead in your tracks. Fernando pauses beside you, a knowing smile on his face as he watches your reaction.
“Fernando,” Lewis greets, his smile widening when he sees you standing next to him. “And you must be the young driver I’ve been hearing so much about.”
You manage a nod, but words seem to have escaped you entirely. It’s not every day that you come face-to-face with a five-time world champion and the team principal of the most successful F1 team of the modern era.
Lewis chuckles at your speechlessness, his demeanor as relaxed and approachable as ever. “Don’t worry, we don’t bite,” he says, extending his hand. “It’s good to finally meet you.”
You shake his hand, your own grip slightly shaky. “I … It’s an honor,” you stammer, your voice finally finding its way back to you.
Toto steps forward next, offering his hand as well. “Welcome to Brackley,” he says, his tone warm but with the same underlying intensity that’s made him such a formidable figure in the sport. “Fernando’s told us a lot about you.”
You glance over at Fernando, a mix of gratitude and disbelief in your eyes. This is so far beyond anything you could have imagined when you first got his call.
Lewis gestures for you to follow him down a hallway, with Toto and Fernando close behind. “When Fernando reached out to me,” Lewis begins, his tone casual but sincere, “and told me about your situation, I knew we had to do something. Talent like yours shouldn’t be held back by anything, least of all by something as ridiculous as a lack of sponsorship.”
You’re still reeling from the fact that Lewis Hamilton knows who you are, let alone that he’s gone out of his way to help you. “I … I don’t even know what to say,” you admit, your voice soft with emotion.
“Don’t worry about that just yet,” Toto says from behind you, his tone light. “Let’s get you settled in first.”
You follow them through the labyrinth of hallways, trying to absorb everything at once. Fernando stays close, a steady presence as you make your way deeper into the facility. There’s a sense of purpose in the air, a kind of quiet determination that’s palpable even as people move around with the calm efficiency of a well-oiled machine.
Eventually, Lewis stops outside a conference room, holding the door open for you to enter first. You step inside, the space cool and sleek, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the meticulously kept grounds outside. A large table dominates the center of the room, and as you approach, you notice a folder sitting at one end, the Mercedes logo embossed on the cover.
You hover near the table, not daring to sit until someone tells you to. Fernando catches your hesitation, nudging you gently in the direction of a chair. “Go on,” he says softly. “This is for you.”
You sink into the chair, your heart pounding as you look at the folder in front of you. Lewis and Toto take seats across from you, with Fernando settling in beside you. The atmosphere in the room shifts slightly, becoming more formal but no less supportive.
Toto reaches for the folder, sliding it across the table to you. “This,” he begins, his voice calm and measured, “is an offer to join the Mercedes Junior Team.”
You blink, sure you must have misheard him. “The … Mercedes Junior Team?”
Lewis smiles, nodding. “We believe in your potential,” he says simply. “And we want to give you the opportunity to develop that potential to the fullest.”
Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for the folder, your mind racing. This is it. This is the chance you’ve been fighting for, the one you never thought would come, at least not like this. You open the folder, your eyes scanning the first few lines of the contract inside. It’s all real — your name, the terms, everything.
“We know it’s a big decision,” Toto continues, his gaze steady on you. “Take your time to go through everything, ask any questions you have. But know that we’re serious about this. We want you on our team.”
You’re overwhelmed, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, but it’s a good kind of pressure, the kind that comes from knowing you’re on the verge of something life-changing. You look up at Fernando, who’s been watching you quietly, and there’s a look of pride in his eyes that makes your chest tighten.
“I don’t … I don’t even know where to start,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.
Lewis leans forward slightly, his expression gentle but serious. “Start by believing that you deserve this,” he says. “Because you do. And we’re here to help you every step of the way.”
There’s a long silence as you let his words sink in, your fingers tracing the edge of the folder. This is everything you’ve been working toward, everything you’ve sacrificed for, and now that it’s here in front of you, it feels almost too good to be true.
But as you look around the table — at Lewis, Toto, and Fernando — you realize that this isn’t just a dream. It’s real. They’re offering you a future, a chance to prove yourself at the highest level, and they believe in you enough to make it happen.
You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before meeting their gazes again. “I … I don’t know how to thank you,” you say, your voice thick with emotion.
“There’s no need for thanks,” Toto says with a small smile. “Just show us what you can do.”
Fernando places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his voice low and encouraging. “You’ve already done the hard part. Now, it’s just time to make it official.”
You nod, the weight of the contract in your hands feeling lighter now. “I’m ready,” you say, your voice steadying with newfound resolve.
Lewis grins. “Welcome to the team.”
***
The months following your signing with Mercedes have been a whirlwind. Every day brings something new — testing, meetings, media obligations, training sessions — but through it all, Fernando remains a constant presence. He’s there for every debrief, every important conversation, and when he’s not by your side, he’s only a phone call away. The mentorship he offers is invaluable, not just because of his experience but because of his belief in you.
Today, though, feels different. The season is winding down, and you’ve been expecting a bit of a lull, maybe even some time to catch your breath. But when Fernando calls you to meet him at a quiet café on the outskirts of town, there’s a certain energy in his voice that you can’t quite place.
You arrive at the café to find Fernando already seated at a table near the window, his sunglasses pushed up onto his head and a cup of coffee in front of him. He looks up as you approach, a small, almost secretive smile playing on his lips.
“Morning,” you greet him, sliding into the seat opposite. “You’re up to something, I can tell.”
Fernando chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee before setting the cup down. “Maybe I am,” he says, his tone teasing but warm. “How are you feeling about next season?”
The question catches you off guard. “Next season? I mean, I haven’t really thought that far ahead yet. There’s still so much to do now.”
He nods, leaning back in his chair as he studies you, a hint of something more serious in his gaze. “Well, it’s time to start thinking about it,” he says, pulling an envelope from his jacket pocket and sliding it across the table to you.
You raise an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued as you reach for the envelope. “What’s this?”
“Open it,” Fernando encourages, his eyes never leaving yours.
You do as he says, your fingers careful as you tear open the envelope. Inside is a single sheet of paper, neatly folded. You unfold it slowly, your eyes scanning the top of the page.
Carlin Motorsport — Formula 2 Contract Offer.
Your breath catches, and you look up at Fernando, disbelief written all over your face. “Is this … real?”
“Very real,” he confirms, his smile widening. “They want you for next season. Full-time seat, competitive car, the whole package.”
You’re speechless for a moment, the weight of the offer sinking in. Carlin is one of the top teams in Formula 2, a proven stepping stone to Formula 1, and they want you. It’s everything you’ve been working toward, but the reality of it is almost overwhelming.
“This is …” you start, your voice trailing off as you try to find the right words. “I don’t even know what to say.”
He reaches across the table, placing his hand over yours, his expression softening. “You’ve earned this,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “You’ve worked hard, proven yourself, and now it’s time to take the next step.”
You nod, still trying to wrap your head around it all. “But how? I mean, why would they choose me over anyone else? There are so many talented drivers out there …”
Fernando squeezes your hand, drawing your attention back to him. “Because you’re one of the best,” he says simply. “They see it, just like I do. And they know you’re going places.”
You take a deep breath, the reality of it finally starting to settle in. “Carlin … Formula 2 … It’s really happening.”
“It is,” Fernando confirms with a smile. “And you’re ready for it.”
There’s a long pause as you sit there, the contract still in your hands. Fernando watches you carefully, his gaze thoughtful. Then, as if sensing that there’s something more to discuss, he leans in slightly, lowering his voice.
“There’s something else I need to tell you,” he says, his tone shifting to something more serious.
You look up, your heart skipping a beat at the sudden change in his demeanor. “What is it?”
He hesitates for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “I’m planning to return to Formula 1 in 2021.”
The news hits you like a bolt of lightning, your eyes widening in shock. “You’re … coming back? To F1?”
Fernando nods, his expression unreadable. “Yes. I’ve been in talks with a few teams, and it looks like everything is lining up for a comeback.”
You’re stunned, your mind racing to catch up with what he’s just said. Fernando Alonso, returning to Formula 1 … it’s huge, and the implications of it start to sink in. “That’s incredible,” you say, a mix of excitement and apprehension in your voice. “But what does that mean for … us? For everything we’ve been working on?”
He’s silent for a moment, his gaze intense as he considers your question. “It means that while I’ll still be around to support you, I won’t be able to be as hands-on as I’ve been. I won’t be able to be your full-time manager anymore.”
The words hit you hard, and you feel a pang of anxiety start to creep in. Fernando’s been your rock, the one who’s guided you through every step of this journey, and the thought of losing that constant presence is unsettling.
“But,” he continues, his tone reassuring, “I’m not leaving you in the lurch. I’ve already started talking to some people, and I’m going to make sure you get a manager who’s the best of the best. Someone who knows the sport inside and out, who can give you everything you need to succeed.”
You nod slowly, trying to process everything he’s telling you. It’s a lot to take in— the offer from Carlin, Fernando’s return to F1, the changes that will come with it — but there’s a part of you that understands. This is the nature of the sport, constantly evolving, constantly moving forward.
“I’m happy for you,” you finally say, your voice sincere. “Really, I am. You deserve to be back in F1, where you belong.”
Fernando smiles, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “Thank you. And you deserve to be in F2, racing at the front, showing everyone what you’re capable of.”
There’s a pause, the weight of the moment settling over both of you. Then, Fernando’s smile turns a bit more mischievous as he leans back in his chair.
“But don’t think this means I’m going to go easy on you,” he says, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I’ll still be watching, making sure you’re giving it your all.”
You laugh, the tension breaking slightly at his words. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
He nods, satisfied, before finishing off his coffee. “Good. Because the hard work isn’t over yet. If anything, it’s just beginning.”
You take a deep breath, feeling a renewed sense of determination settling over you. Fernando’s right — this is just the beginning. The road ahead will be challenging, but you’re ready for it. And with his support, even if it’s from a distance, you know you can handle whatever comes your way.
“Thank you,” you say again, your voice full of gratitude. “For everything.”
Fernando just smiles, standing up from the table and offering you his hand. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get out of here. We’ve got a lot to prepare for.”
You take his hand, rising from your seat, and together you leave the café, the future stretching out before you, full of possibilities.
***
The hum of the F2 paddock is a mix of nerves and excitement, a constant undercurrent of energy that seems to electrify the air. It’s the first race of the season, and you can feel it. The mechanics are moving with purpose, checking and double-checking every detail of the car. Engineers are glued to their screens, analyzing data with furrowed brows. And you, in the midst of it all, are the picture of focus — calm on the outside but with a fire in your eyes that tells Fernando you’re ready for this.
He stands a few feet away, leaning casually against the garage wall, but his eyes are on you. Always on you. He’s seen you grow over these past months, watched as you’ve taken every challenge head-on, and now, as you prepare for your first F2 race, he can’t help but feel a surge of pride.
Yuki Tsunoda, your teammate, walks over, helmet in hand. He’s grinning, but there’s a trace of awe in his expression as he glances between you and Fernando. “I still can’t believe it,” Yuki says, shaking his head slightly. “Fernando Alonso, here in our garage, supporting you. It’s surreal.”
You chuckle, giving Yuki a playful nudge with your elbow. “Believe it. He’s stuck with me now.”
Fernando smirks, pushing off the wall and walking over to the two of you. “Yuki, how are you feeling about today?” He asks, his tone friendly but professional.
Yuki straightens up, clearly wanting to impress. “I’m ready. I’ve been looking forward to this all off-season. Just want to get out there and race.”
“Good,” Fernando nods, his eyes sharp as he assesses Yuki. “Remember, the first race sets the tone. Keep your head down, focus on your own performance, and the results will come.”
Yuki nods, absorbing the advice. “And you?” He asks, turning back to you. “First F2 race … How are you feeling?”
You shrug, but there’s a determined glint in your eyes. “Excited. Nervous. Ready. All of it.”
Fernando can’t help but smile at that. He’s seen that look in countless drivers — right before they go on to do something special. “You’ve got this,” he says, his voice low but full of conviction. “Just do what you do best.”
You give him a small, appreciative smile before turning back to the car, where the final preparations are being made. Fernando watches you for a moment longer, feeling the weight of the day. This is a big moment, not just for you, but for him too. He’s invested so much in you, not just as a driver but as a person, and now he’s about to see the fruits of that labor on one of the biggest stages.
Yuki eventually heads back to his side of the garage, leaving you and Fernando in a comfortable silence. He steps closer to you, lowering his voice so only you can hear. “Remember, it’s just another race. Don’t let the pressure get to you. You’ve done this a hundred times before.”
You nod, your expression set with determination. “I know. I just need to stay focused.”
“Exactly,” Fernando agrees, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder. “And remember, I’m here. You’re not doing this alone.”
There’s a brief moment of silence between you, the noise of the paddock fading slightly as you take in his words. It’s a reassurance, a reminder that no matter what happens out there, you have someone in your corner who believes in you completely.
The minutes tick by, and soon it’s time for the drivers to head to the grid. The mechanics push your car out of the garage, and you follow, helmet in hand, Fernando right by your side. As you walk, he gives you last-minute reminders, his tone calm but firm, designed to keep you centered.
“Trust your instincts,” he says. “You know the car, you know the track. Let the race come to you.”
You nod, absorbing every word as you approach your car on the grid. The other teams and drivers are milling about, final checks being made before the start. Fernando stands with you by the car, watching as you put on your helmet and climb into the cockpit. There’s a buzz of activity all around, but for a moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you.
He leans in close, his voice carrying over the sound of the grid. “Remember why you’re here. Show them what you’re made of.”
You glance up at him, your visor reflecting the intense determination in your eyes. “I will.”
And with that, the crew steps back, and it’s just you in the car, the engine roaring to life around you. Fernando takes a few steps back, watching as you complete the formation lap. His heart pounds in his chest, a mix of nerves and anticipation. He’s been in this position countless times, but it’s different when it’s someone you’ve invested so much in.
As the cars line up on the grid, the tension mounts. Fernando’s eyes never leave your car, his mind running through every possible scenario. He knows how unpredictable these races can be, how one small mistake can change everything. But he also knows that you’re ready. He’s seen it in your training, in your focus, in the way you’ve handled every challenge thrown at you.
The lights go out, and the roar of engines fills the air. The race is on, and Fernando’s eyes are locked on the screen, watching as you navigate the chaos of the first few corners. It’s a tight pack, cars jostling for position, but you hold your ground, staying calm and composed even as the pressure builds.
Fernando barely breathes as the laps tick by, his focus entirely on you. There are moments where his heart leaps into his throat — close calls, tight overtakes — but you handle them all with the skill and precision of a seasoned driver. You’re pushing, but not too hard, balancing aggression with caution in a way that impresses even him.
Midway through the race, you find yourself in a battle for position with one of the more experienced drivers. Fernando can see the tension in your driving, the way you’re pushing the car to its limits. But he also sees the intelligence in your approach, the way you’re sizing up your opponent, waiting for the right moment.
“Come on,” he mutters under his breath, his eyes glued to the screen as you make your move. It’s a daring pass, squeezing through a gap that’s barely there, but you make it stick. Fernando lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“You’re doing it,” he whispers to himself, pride swelling in his chest.
The race continues, the intensity never letting up. There are moments of sheer brilliance, and moments where Fernando’s nerves are stretched to their limits, but through it all, you remain unshaken. Every lap, every corner, you’re proving exactly why you belong here, why Carlin chose you, and why Fernando believes in you so much.
As the race nears its end, you find yourself in a strong position, battling for a spot on the podium. Fernando’s heart pounds in his chest, his hands clenched into fists as he watches the final laps unfold. It’s a nail-biter, the cars ahead of you just within reach, and he can see you pushing, giving it everything you’ve got.
“Come on, come on,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving the screen. “You’ve got this.”
The final lap is a blur of speed and adrenaline, but you’re right there, closing in on the car ahead. Fernando can feel the tension in the air, the entire Carlin garage on edge as they watch you make your move. It’s a daring overtake, one that requires absolute precision, but you nail it, sliding into third place just before the final corner.
Fernando’s heart leaps as you cross the finish line, securing a podium in your very first F2 race. The garage erupts in cheers, but he’s already moving, heading out to meet you as you bring the car back to the pits.
When you climb out of the car, the smile on your face is all he needs to see. You did it. You proved yourself, and in a big way. Fernando is the first to reach you, pulling you into a tight hug, his voice full of pride.
“You were incredible out there,” he says, his words muffled slightly by the cheers around you. “Absolutely incredible.”
You pull back, your eyes shining with excitement. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
He shakes his head, his smile wide. “You did this. You took everything you’ve learned and you made it happen. This is just the beginning.”
Yuki comes over, grinning from ear to ear as he claps you on the back. “Third place in your first race? You’re making the rest of us look bad!”
You laugh, the tension of the race finally melting away as you share the moment with your teammate and mentor. But even as you celebrate, Fernando’s mind is already thinking ahead, planning for the future. This is just the first step, and he knows there are many more to come. But for now, he’s content to stand here with you, knowing that you’ve just taken a huge leap forward in your career.
As the celebrations continue around you, Fernando steps back, watching you with a mixture of pride and anticipation. He’s seen something special in you from the start, and today, you proved him right. But he knows this is just the beginning, and he can’t wait to see where this journey takes you
***
Fernando sits at the head of a sleek conference table in a high-rise office overlooking a bustling cityscape. The room is all glass and steel, exuding an air of professionalism and success. It’s the kind of setting where big decisions are made, the kind of setting where lives are changed. He glances at his watch — just a few minutes before you’re supposed to arrive.
To his left is a man in his late forties, dressed in a sharp suit that screams old money and prestige. This is Carlos Mendes, a veteran in the world of motorsport management. Carlos has a reputation for being ruthless when it comes to getting his clients the best deals.
He’s represented world champions, negotiated multimillion-dollar contracts, and navigated the treacherous waters of sponsorships with the skill of a seasoned general. Fernando had carefully chosen Carlos, knowing that you would need someone who could not only protect your interests but also push for the best opportunities.
On Fernando’s right is Sophie Duclair, a high-powered talent agent whose client list reads like a who’s who of global sports and entertainment icons. Sophie, with her sleek bob and impeccably tailored outfit, is known for her ability to secure top-tier endorsement deals that go beyond the traditional boundaries of sports.
Luxury brands, fashion houses, and even Hollywood producers trust her judgment implicitly. She’s the one who can take your rising star and catapult it into a whole different stratosphere.
The door to the conference room opens, and you walk in, dressed casually but with an unmistakable air of confidence. It’s clear you’ve grown more comfortable in these kinds of environments, but there’s still a trace of curiosity in your eyes as you take in the room and the people seated at the table.
“Good to see you,” Fernando says, rising to greet you with a warm smile. He motions to the empty chair next to him. “Take a seat. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”
You sit down, glancing at Carlos and Sophie with polite curiosity. Fernando leans back in his chair, folding his hands on the table. “Let me introduce you to Carlos Mendes,” he says, gesturing to the man on his left. “Carlos is one of the top managers in the business. He’s going to help guide your career from here on out, making sure you get the best opportunities on and off the track.”
Carlos nods, his expression serious but welcoming. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says in a deep, authoritative voice. “Fernando has told me a lot about you, and I’ve been following your progress. You’ve got a bright future ahead, and I’m here to make sure you reach your full potential.”
You smile, a mix of gratitude and anticipation in your eyes. “Thank you. I’m looking forward to working with you.”
Fernando continues, turning to Sophie. “And this is Sophie Duclair, one of the best talent agents in the industry. Sophie has a knack for securing deals that align perfectly with her clients’ personal brands. She’s here to help you navigate the world of endorsements and partnerships.”
Sophie smiles, her demeanor warm yet professional. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” she says, her voice smooth and confident. “I’ve been keeping an eye on your rise in F2, and I have to say, the opportunities are endless. There are brands out there who are going to want to associate themselves with your story, your talent, and your image.”
You nod, clearly intrigued but still processing the magnitude of what’s happening. Fernando notices the slight furrow in your brow and steps in to guide the conversation.
“Here’s the thing,” Fernando begins, his tone serious but encouraging. “You’ve been fighting against the odds, and that’s what’s made your story so compelling. A lot of people might have seen your gender as an obstacle, but we’re turning it into an asset. You’ve already proven you belong in F2, and with the right guidance, we’re going to show the world that you’re not just a great driver — you’re a game-changer.”
Carlos leans forward slightly, his eyes focused on you. “Exactly. The motorsport world is evolving, and brands want to be associated with that evolution. They want to be seen as forward-thinking, inclusive, and ahead of the curve. You’re in a unique position to offer them that opportunity.”
Sophie picks up the thread seamlessly. “But it’s not just about slapping a logo on your car or your race suit. It’s about aligning with brands that resonate with who you are and where you want to go. That’s where I come in. I’ve been in talks with several companies that are very interested in working with you.”
You look at Fernando, and he gives you an encouraging nod, urging you to speak your mind. “It sounds … amazing,” you begin, your voice steady but thoughtful. “But I want to make sure that whatever deals we make, they’re the right ones. I don’t want to just be a face on an ad — I want to represent something real.”
Carlos smiles, clearly impressed by your maturity. “That’s the right approach. And that’s exactly why we’re here — to make sure that every move we make is strategic and meaningful. You’ve got the talent and the story, and now it’s about building the brand that reflects that.”
Sophie leans back in her chair, crossing her legs as she regards you with a calculating but friendly gaze. “We’ve already secured two deals that I think you’re going to be very happy with,” she says, a hint of excitement in her voice. “The first is with Cartier. They’re looking to expand their presence in the sports world, and they see you as the perfect ambassador for their brand — strong, elegant, and determined.”
Your eyes widen slightly, clearly surprised. “Cartier?” You echo, the name alone carrying a weight of prestige and luxury.
Sophie nods, smiling at your reaction. “That’s right. They want to work with you on a campaign that’s going to be centered around breaking barriers and redefining what it means to be successful. It’s not just about jewelry — it’s about the story you tell when you wear it.”
Fernando watches as you process this, seeing the mix of excitement and caution in your expression. He knows how big this is, and he also knows how important it is for you to feel comfortable with every step of this journey.
“And the second deal?” You ask, your voice steady but tinged with curiosity.
Sophie’s smile widens. “That would be with Chanel. They’re launching a new line of sportswear, and they want you to be the face of it. It’s a bold move for them, branching out into a market that’s traditionally been dominated by other brands. But they believe in you, and they believe that you can help them make a statement.”
You lean back in your chair, clearly taking a moment to absorb the magnitude of what’s being offered. Fernando can see the wheels turning in your mind, the careful consideration you’re giving to each opportunity.
“I … I didn’t expect anything like this,” you admit, looking around the table. “It’s incredible, but it’s also a lot to take in.”
Carlos nods, his expression understanding. “It is. But you’re not in this alone. We’re here to guide you, to make sure that every decision you make is the right one for you and your career.”
Fernando leans forward slightly, his voice low and reassuring. “You’ve worked hard to get here. You deserve these opportunities. But like Carlos said, we’re going to make sure that every step you take is the right one. We’re not rushing into anything. We’re building something that’s going to last.”
You look at him, and he can see the trust in your eyes. It’s a trust he’s earned over the months, through every piece of advice, every word of encouragement, every push to make you better. And now, as you sit here on the brink of something huge, he feels a deep sense of pride.
“These are just the first steps,” Sophie says, her tone confident and poised. “There’s so much more we can do. But it’s all going to be on your terms. You’re in control of your image, your brand. We’re just here to help you shape it.”
You take a deep breath, your gaze sweeping over the table, taking in the faces of the people who are now part of your team. “I want to do this right,” you say finally, your voice strong. “I want to be someone people can look up to, someone who represents more than just winning races.”
Fernando smiles, feeling a swell of pride at your words. “And that’s exactly what you’re going to do. We’re just getting started.”
The meeting continues, the conversation shifting to the details of the contracts, the timelines for the campaigns, and the strategies for maximizing your visibility. Throughout it all, Fernando watches you closely, noting the way you handle the discussions with a mix of humility and confidence. It’s clear you’re taking everything in, asking the right questions, making sure you understand every aspect of what’s being presented.
By the time the meeting wraps up, there’s a palpable sense of excitement in the room. The deals with Cartier and Chanel are just the beginning, and everyone knows it. There are more opportunities on the horizon, more doors that are about to open. But for now, it’s about taking the first steps, setting the foundation for what’s to come.
As you rise to leave, Fernando walks you to the door, Carlos and Sophie following close behind. “We’ll be in touch with the final details,” Sophie says, her tone professional but warm. “I’m excited to see where this journey takes us.”
Carlos nods in agreement. “You’ve got a bright future ahead. Let’s make the most of it.”
You thank them both, turning to Fernando with a smile that holds a mix of gratitude and determination. "I couldn’t have done this without you," you say softly.
Fernando shakes his head, his smile reflecting the pride he feels. "You’ve earned every bit of this. Now, let's show the world what you’re capable of."
***
The sun dips low over the suburban skyline, casting a warm golden hue over the backyard where laughter mingles with the clinking of glasses and the low hum of conversation. String lights hang from the trees, swaying gently in the evening breeze, and the faint scent of barbecue lingers in the air. You’re surrounded by familiar faces — family, childhood friends, and the newer ones you’ve made in F2. The mix of old and new feels right, like the pieces of your life are finally coming together.
Fernando stands near the edge of the crowd, leaning casually against a tree as he watches you. He’s been here for hours, blending in with the celebration, though he’s always slightly apart, his presence comforting but never overbearing. He’s wearing one of those half-smiles, the kind that makes it hard to tell if he’s deep in thought or just quietly enjoying the moment.
You catch his eye, and he raises his glass — a silent toast that you return with a small grin before getting pulled back into a conversation with one of your childhood friends. They’re reminiscing about old times, laughing about things that seem so far removed from the high-speed world you now inhabit. It’s nice, grounding even, to remember that you had a life before all of this — a simpler one where the biggest concern was which video game to play after school.
As the night wears on, the crowd begins to thin. Your parents are still mingling, clearly proud of the party they’ve thrown. Your mom’s voice carries across the yard as she gushes to someone about how happy she is that you’ve managed to pay off the second mortgage. It was a weight that they never let you see, but you knew it was there, and being able to lift it was one of the proudest moments you’ve had since stepping into a race car.
Fernando, ever observant, notices the moment your shoulders relax as you hear your mom’s words. He takes a small step forward, knowing that the night is winding down, and he’s been waiting for just the right moment.
Eventually, as the last of your friends hug you goodbye and head out, you find yourself standing near the fire pit, the glow from the dying embers illuminating your face. Fernando approaches, his hands casually tucked into his pockets.
“Enjoying your birthday?” He asks, his voice low and warm, like the crackling fire beside you.
You nod, a content smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Yeah, it’s been really great. I didn’t expect so many people to show up.”
“People care about you,” Fernando says simply. “You’ve made quite an impact.”
You shrug, clearly a little shy about the praise. “I’m just glad to have a night to relax with everyone. It’s been a whirlwind.”
Fernando’s smile deepens. He knows how hard you’ve worked, how much you’ve sacrificed, and how rare these moments of peace are for you. “You deserve it. You’ve earned it.”
There’s a beat of silence, comfortable and familiar, before Fernando clears his throat. “I, uh, have something for you.”
You turn to look at him, your brow furrowing slightly. “Fernando, you didn’t have to get me anything. You’ve already done so much.”
“I know,” he says, his tone a little softer now, as if he’s stepping into more vulnerable territory. “But I wanted to.”
He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small box, wrapped in simple but elegant paper. You hesitate for a moment, then take it from his hands, the weight of it feeling heavier than it should.
Curiosity piques as you carefully unwrap the paper and open the box. Inside is a delicate necklace, the pendant a tiny, intricate race helmet studded with a single diamond where the visor would be. It’s not overly flashy, but it’s beautiful and unmistakably meaningful.
You stare at it, speechless, before looking up at Fernando, your eyes wide with surprise and something deeper — something like awe. “Fernando … this is …”
He cuts you off with a gentle shake of his head. “You don’t have to say anything. I just … wanted you to have something that reminds you of where you’re headed. You’ve got a bright future, and I wanted to give you something to keep close as you chase it.”
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them away, focusing on the necklace instead. You’re not sure what to say — how do you thank someone for something that goes beyond just a gift?
Fernando steps closer, his voice lowering as he continues, “I’ve come to see you as … well, like a daughter, I suppose. Watching you grow, seeing how far you’ve come, it’s been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. I just wanted to show you how much you mean to me.”
Your heart swells with emotion, and before you can stop yourself, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, pressing your face into his chest. The necklace is still clutched in your hand, but all you can focus on is the steady beat of Fernando’s heart against your ear.
“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice muffled but sincere. “For everything.”
Fernando’s arms come around you, holding you close in a way that’s both protective and comforting. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmurs. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. That’s all the thanks I need.”
You stay like that for a moment longer, taking in the warmth and security of the embrace, before finally pulling back. You look up at Fernando, and there’s a connection between you now that goes beyond mentor and protégé — it’s something familial, something lasting.
He gestures to the necklace, a small smile playing on his lips. “Do you want some help putting that on?”
You nod, unable to find the words, and hand it to him. He carefully fastens it around your neck, his fingers steady and sure, and when he’s done, you reach up to touch the pendant, feeling its cool metal against your skin.
“Perfect,” Fernando says, stepping back to admire it. “Just like you.”
You laugh softly, shaking your head. “You’re too kind.”
“No,” he replies, his voice firm but gentle. “Just honest.”
As the fire continues to crackle beside you, the night wrapping around you both like a blanket, you realize that this birthday, this moment, will be one you remember for the rest of your life. Not because of the party or the people, but because of the man standing beside you — the one who believed in you when no one else did, who gave you the push you needed to keep going.
And as you walk back towards the house, the pendant resting against your chest, you know that no matter what happens in the future, you’ll always have this — this connection, this bond, this family you’ve found in the most unexpected place.
***
The noise is deafening as you cross the finish line, but it’s the silence that follows in your mind that makes it real. The world blurs around you; the roar of the engine fades, the cheers from the grandstands become a distant echo. It’s just you and the knowledge that you’ve done it. The chequered flag waves in the distance, a confirmation that you’ve won the F2 championship.
In your rookie season.
The last lap plays on a loop in your mind: the battle with your teammate, the wheel-to-wheel tension that stretched until the final corner, the moment you finally saw a gap and took it. The entire year has been leading up to this, every race, every struggle, every doubt. And now, you’re here. A champion.
The car slows as you pull into the pit lane, your hands shaking on the steering wheel. The radio crackles with voices — your engineer shouting congratulations, the team cheering, but there’s only one voice you really want to hear.
“You did it,” Fernando comes through, calm but with a hint of emotion that he rarely shows. “I knew you could do it.”
A smile breaks across your face, one that you couldn’t suppress even if you tried. “We did it,” you correct him, because it’s true. You’ve always been a team, even when he wasn’t on the track with you.
As you roll into the Carlin garage, the world around you explodes into celebration. Mechanics, engineers, and team members swarm the car, cheering and clapping as they pull you out of the cockpit. You’re immediately wrapped in a dozen hugs, people shouting your name, lifting you off the ground in their excitement.
But even in the chaos, you’re searching for him. And when you finally spot Fernando standing just outside the crowd, his expression is one of pure pride. He doesn’t rush in to join the others, instead, he stays back, letting you have your moment. That’s Fernando, always understanding, always knowing exactly what you need.
You finally push through the throng of well-wishers and make your way over to him. For a moment, the two of you just look at each other, and in that look, there’s a thousand words unspoken.
“Not bad for a rookie,” he finally says, his smile widening.
You laugh, still breathless from the race. “Not bad at all.”
He pulls you into a hug, and this time, you don’t hold back. You cling to him, letting the emotion of the moment wash over you. “Thank you,” you whisper, and you know he understands. This victory is as much his as it is yours.
When you pull back, you see someone else approaching from the corner of your eye. It’s Toto Wolff, towering and imposing as always, but there’s a warmth in his expression that’s almost fatherly. Next to him, Williams Racing team principal Jost Capito, stands with a smile that’s equally as proud.
“Toto?” You ask, surprised. It’s not every day he shows up in the F2 paddock, let alone after a race.
He steps forward, offering his hand. “Congratulations,” he says, his voice steady. “That was an incredible race.”
You shake his hand, still trying to process the fact that he’s here. “Thank you,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.
Jost steps forward, nodding in agreement. “You’ve had an outstanding season. You’ve shown everyone what you’re capable of.”
There’s something in their tone, something that makes your heart race with more than just post-race adrenaline. Fernando catches your eye, giving you a slight nod, as if to say, this is it.
Toto exchanges a look with Jost before continuing, “We’ve been following your progress closely, and we believe you’re ready for the next step.”
Your breath catches in your throat. The next step. It’s what every F2 driver dreams of, but it’s never guaranteed, not even with a championship under your belt. “The next step?” You echo, almost afraid to hope.
Jost steps in, his smile widening. “We want you to race for Williams in Formula 1 next season.”
For a moment, the world stops. You blink, trying to process the words, to make sure you heard him right. Formula 1. They want you to race in F1.
“Next season?” You manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.
Toto nods, his expression serious but encouraging. “Yes. We’ve been in discussions with Williams, and we believe you’re the perfect fit for their team. You’ve proven that you can handle the pressure, and now it’s time to see what you can do on the biggest stage.”
You feel like you’re floating, like this is a dream that you might wake up from at any moment. You turn to Fernando, searching his face for confirmation that this is real. He’s smiling, but there’s a look in his eyes that tells you he’s known about this for a while. He’s always known.
“You’ll be racing in F1,” Fernando says, his voice steady. “You deserve it.”
It’s then that the full weight of what’s happening hits you. F1. The pinnacle of motorsport. And not just racing in F1, but racing alongside the very best in the world. You’ll be on the grid with drivers you’ve looked up to your entire life. Drivers like Lewis Hamilton. And …
Your eyes widen as the realization dawns. Fernando is making his comeback next year. He’s going to be on that grid, too.
“I’ll be racing … with you,” you say, the words barely escaping your lips.
Fernando’s smile is knowing, almost amused. “Yes, you will.”
The thought is almost overwhelming. Not only will you be in F1, but you’ll be competing alongside Fernando, the man who has been your mentor, your guide, your biggest supporter. The man who helped you get to this very moment.
You shake your head, still trying to process it all. “I don’t know what to say.”
Toto places a hand on your shoulder, his grip reassuring. “You don’t need to say anything. Just be ready to show the world what you’re capable of. We’ll handle the rest.”
Jost nods in agreement. “We believe in you. You’ve already proven that you can handle anything that comes your way.”
You glance back at Fernando, and the pride in his eyes is unmistakable. This has been his goal all along — to get you to the top, to see you succeed where so many doubted you could. And now, here you are, about to step into the world of F1.
“I’ll be ready,” you say, your voice stronger now, filled with the determination that’s carried you this far.
Fernando nods, satisfied. “I know you will.”
As Toto and Jost step away to discuss the finer details with the Carlin team, you stand there with Fernando, the enormity of what just happened settling in.
“You knew this was coming, didn’t you?” You ask, giving him a sideways glance.
Fernando shrugs, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “I had a feeling. But it was always up to you to make it happen.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”
He grins. “And you’re an F1 driver now. Better get used to it.”
The two of you stand there for a moment longer, taking in the victory, the announcement, the future that’s unfolding right before your eyes. It’s been a long road, full of challenges and doubts, but you’ve made it. And now, you’re about to step onto the biggest stage in motorsport, with Fernando right there alongside you.
As you look out at the garage, the Carlin team still buzzing with excitement, you can’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. For the team, for the journey, and most of all, for Fernando — the man who believed in you when no one else did, and who continues to believe in you now.
“Thank you, Fernando,” you say quietly, but with all the sincerity you can muster. “For everything.”
He simply nods, his expression softening. “You’ve earned it.”
And as you stand there, the future stretching out before you, one thing is certain: this is just the beginning.
***
The winter sun hangs low in the sky as you walk along the rocky path that leads to Fernando’s private track in northern Spain. The air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine trees and the distant murmur of the sea. It’s a world away from the chaos of the paddock, a place where the outside noise fades, leaving only the hum of your thoughts and the weight of what’s to come. The off-season is supposed to be a time to rest, to recharge, but this year, it’s different. There’s no time to lose — not with your first Formula 1 season looming on the horizon.
Fernando walks beside you, his stride as confident and unhurried as ever. His presence is steadying, a reminder that you’re not alone on this journey. He’s been here before, countless times, and now he’s passing on everything he knows to you. This winter isn’t just about physical training; it’s about mastering the mental side of the sport — the side that can make or break a career in F1.
He stops at the edge of the track, the silence between you stretching out as you both take in the view. The asphalt is cold and unyielding, winding through the landscape like a dark ribbon, a challenge waiting to be conquered.
“You know the driving part,” Fernando says, breaking the silence. His voice is calm, measured, but there’s an intensity to it that commands attention. “You’ve proven that you can handle the car, the speed, the competition. But F1 is more than just driving. It’s a mental game. It’s about being the predator, not the prey.”
You nod, knowing he’s right. The physical demands of F1 are immense, but the mental demands are even greater. The pressure, the mind games, the need to be perfect in a sport where perfection is almost impossible — it’s all part of what makes F1 the pinnacle of motorsport.
“Today, we start with the basics,” Fernando continues, his gaze fixed on the track. “How to be a track terror.”
A track terror. The words hang in the air, heavy with meaning. To be feared on the track, to have your competitors second-guessing themselves before they even line up on the grid — that’s what Fernando is talking about. It’s not just about being fast; it’s about being relentless, unyielding, the kind of driver who forces others into mistakes.
“You don’t have to be the fastest in every session,” Fernando explains, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “You just have to make them think you are. Get in their heads. Make them question their own pace, their own decisions.”
He starts to walk along the edge of the track, and you follow, listening closely. “Every driver has a breaking point,” he says. “You need to learn how to find it. Sometimes it’s in their driving — how they react under pressure, how they handle wheel-to-wheel combat. Sometimes it’s off the track — in how they deal with the media, how they cope with setbacks. Your job is to figure out what that breaking point is and use it.”
You absorb his words, understanding that this is the difference between good drivers and great ones. It’s not just about talent; it’s about psychology, about knowing how to manipulate a situation to your advantage.
“And once you find that breaking point?” You ask, wanting to hear it from him.
Fernando stops and turns to face you, his eyes sharp, calculating. “You exploit it,” he says simply. “You push them until they crack. But you have to be smart about it. There’s a fine line between pushing them to the edge and pushing yourself over it.”
His words are blunt, but you know there’s truth in them. F1 isn’t just a sport, it’s a battle, a war of wills as much as it is a test of speed.
“Take the first corner,” Fernando says, pointing to the sharp turn at the end of the straight. “It’s where a lot of races are won or lost. You need to establish yourself early. Show them that you’re not afraid to fight for position, but also that you’re in control. That’s key — being aggressive, but controlled.”
You nod, envisioning the scenarios he’s describing. You’ve raced at high levels before, but F1 is different. The stakes are higher, the margins narrower. There’s no room for error, but there’s also no room for hesitation.
“How do you know when to cross the line?” You ask, thinking back to the times when Fernando has pushed the limits, often to the point where others questioned his tactics.
He gives a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You learn,” he says. “Sometimes by making mistakes. But the key is to learn from them quickly. You have to know when to back off and when to push harder. It’s about balance, about knowing your own limits as much as theirs.”
He pauses, his gaze locking with yours. “And sometimes, you have to cross the line. But when you do, you do it with intent, and you don’t get caught. You make sure it looks like a mistake, something that just happened in the heat of the moment. And you never apologize for it.”
There’s a chill in the air, but you barely notice it, your mind focused on every word. This is what you’ve needed, what you’ve been missing. The edge that will set you apart in a field of the best drivers in the world.
“What about mind games?” You ask, curious to know more about how to handle the psychological warfare that comes with F1.
Fernando chuckles, a sound that’s both amused and knowing. “Mind games are everything,” he says. “They start long before you even get in the car. It’s about how you carry yourself, how you interact with the other drivers, with the media. You have to control the narrative, make them think what you want them to think.”
He starts walking again, this time towards the small building at the edge of the track where the team usually sets up. “The media is a powerful tool,” he continues. “You can use them to your advantage, but you have to be careful. Give them just enough to create doubt in your competitors’ minds, but not enough to give anything away.”
You think back to the countless press conferences you’ve watched, where drivers like Fernando have used their words as weapons, creating stories that unsettle their rivals. It’s a game within a game, and you’re starting to see how deep it goes.
“Never let them see you sweat,” Fernando adds, his tone more serious now. “Even when things aren’t going your way, you have to project confidence. Make them think you have everything under control, even when you don’t. And when they stumble, when they show weakness, you pounce.”
The building looms ahead, the door slightly ajar. Fernando pushes it open, revealing a small, sparsely furnished room with a table, a few chairs, and a whiteboard covered in notes and diagrams. It’s a war room, a place where strategies are formed, where victories are planned.
Fernando gestures for you to sit, and you do, feeling the weight of what’s to come. He takes a seat across from you, his expression now all business.
“Let’s talk about racecraft,” he says, leaning forward. “You need to understand that F1 isn’t just about speed. It’s about strategy, about thinking two, three steps ahead of everyone else. You need to know when to attack and when to hold back, when to take risks and when to play it safe.”
He starts sketching out scenarios on the whiteboard, explaining different race strategies, how to read your competitors, how to manage your tires, your fuel, your energy. It’s a crash course in F1 tactics, and you absorb every detail, knowing that this knowledge could be the difference between winning and losing.
“You’ll have a team behind you,” Fernando says, his eyes never leaving the board as he continues to write. “But you’re the one in the car. You’re the one who has to make the decisions in real-time. Trust your instincts, but also trust your preparation. The more you know, the better equipped you’ll be to handle whatever comes your way.”
He turns back to you, his expression serious. “And remember, F1 is a long game. It’s not just about one race, or even one season. It’s about building a career, about consistently performing at a high level. You have to pace yourself, know when to push and when to hold back. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”
You nod, the enormity of what he’s saying sinking in. This isn’t just about your rookie season; it’s about laying the foundation for a long and successful career. And with Fernando guiding you, you know you’re in the best possible hands.
The session goes on, the hours slipping away as you discuss everything from race strategies to media tactics, from how to handle pressure to how to deal with setbacks. Fernando doesn’t sugarcoat anything; he tells you the harsh realities of the sport, the challenges you’ll face, the sacrifices you’ll have to make. But he also gives you the tools to overcome them, to not just survive in F1, but to thrive.
By the time the sun starts to set, casting long shadows across the track, you feel a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration. It’s been an intense day, but you know it’s exactly what you needed. Fernando has pushed you, challenged you, but he’s also given you the confidence to believe that you belong in this world, that you can succeed.
As you walk back towards the main house, the sky now a deep orange, Fernando falls into step beside you. There’s a comfortable silence between you, the kind that comes from a shared understanding, a mutual respect that has grown over time.
After a while, Fernando breaks the silence with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know,” he begins, his tone light but with a glint of mischief in his eyes, “I’ve been called many things in my career. Champion, legend … war criminal.”
You look at him, caught between a laugh and a raised eyebrow. “War criminal?”
He chuckles, shrugging casually. “Not literally, of course. But some of my tactics, let’s say, weren’t always appreciated by everyone. I was willing to do whatever it took to win — sometimes crossing lines that others wouldn’t dare touch.”
You smile, catching on to his meaning. “And you think I’m ready to follow in your footsteps?”
Fernando’s smirk widens. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t. F1 isn’t a game for the faint-hearted. It’s for those who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty when it counts. Just remember … there’s no shame in doing what it takes to survive. And thrive.”
His words hang in the cool evening air, and as you both continue walking, you feel a sense of resolve settle within you. Fernando must notice it too because he gives you a sideways glance, the glint still in his eyes. “Just don’t forget who taught you all this when they start throwing accusations your way.”
***
The Bahrain night sky looms overhead, blanketing the circuit in a velvety darkness punctuated by the glaring lights of the paddock. The roar of engines rumbles through the air as teams buzz with last-minute preparations. Mechanics scramble, engineers analyze data, and drivers slip into their zones. The first race of the season carries a unique kind of tension, a palpable energy that’s almost electric. But amidst all the chaos, Fernando moves with calm confidence as he weaves through the pit lane, eyes scanning for one person.
He finds you standing by the Williams garage, helmet in hand, gaze fixed on the distant horizon as if trying to absorb the magnitude of the moment. It’s your first F1 race, and the weight of it all is evident in the slight furrow of your brow, the focused set of your jaw.
Fernando walks up to you, placing a hand on your shoulder, drawing you out of your thoughts. “Hey,” he says, his voice cutting through the noise like a sharp blade. “Nervous?”
You turn to face him, a mix of emotions swirling in your eyes — excitement, determination, and yes, a hint of nerves. “A little,” you admit. “It’s different from F2. Bigger.”
Fernando nods, understanding all too well. “It is bigger. The stakes are higher, the pressure’s heavier. But you’ve got this.”
You nod, though your grip on the helmet tightens. “I know. I just need to keep my head in the right place.”
Fernando’s eyes narrow, the glint of the night’s floodlights reflecting in them as he leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “Remember what we talked about in Spain. You’re not here to play nice. You’re here to win. You’re here to make them regret ever doubting you.”
A smile tugs at the corner of your lips as his words sink in. This is the Fernando you’ve come to know so well — the ruthless competitor who sees racing as a battlefield, where only the most cunning and unrelenting survive. He’s drilled that mentality into you, reminding you time and time again that the track is no place for mercy.
“You’re not just a driver,” he continues, his tone growing more intense. “You’re a track terror. Make them fear you. Take every opportunity, even if it means forcing them into a mistake. Be aggressive. Be relentless. And if they try to intimidate you-”
“I intimidate them back,” you finish for him, the determination in your voice now matching his.
Fernando’s lips curl into a smirk, clearly pleased. “Exactly. Make them question if they even belong out there with you.”
As he speaks, Nicholas Latifi, your teammate, walks by on his way to his side of the garage. His steps falter when he overhears the tail end of Fernando’s words.
“… If you see an opening, take it. Don’t give them a second to breathe. Push them out of their comfort zone, and when they’re scrambling, that’s when you strike. Hard.”
Latifi’s eyes widen in alarm as he processes what Fernando is saying. He hesitates, clearly debating whether he should approach or back away slowly. Ultimately, he chooses the latter, retreating with a hurried, nervous glance over his shoulder.
You notice Latifi’s reaction and can’t help but laugh. “I think you might’ve scared him off.”
Fernando chuckles, a low, almost devious sound. “Good. Less competition for you.” Then, with a more serious edge, he adds, “He’s not your concern. You’re here for the big players. And don’t forget, every race is an opportunity to show them what you’re made of. Especially the ones who think you don’t deserve to be here.”
You nod, the nerves from earlier replaced by a rising sense of purpose. Fernando’s words have a way of lighting a fire inside you, a fire that burns hotter with every passing second. The crowd noise, the hum of engines, the flashing lights — all of it fades away until there’s only the track and the promise of what lies ahead.
Fernando steps back, giving you space but keeping his gaze locked on yours. “Tonight, you’re going to prove that you’re not just another rookie. You’re a force to be reckoned with. And you’re going to do it with style.”
You smirk, the corners of your mouth curving upward as confidence surges through you. “With style?”
“Absolutely,” Fernando replies, his own smirk widening. “Remember, there’s a fine line between genius and insanity on the track. And you’re going to walk it like it’s a tightrope.”
You slip your helmet on, the visor clicking into place as Fernando’s words echo in your mind. The world outside may be chaotic, but inside your helmet, it’s a sanctuary — a place where you can focus, where every piece of advice, every lesson Fernando has drilled into you, comes together.
He watches you for a moment, pride evident in his eyes. He’s seen your growth, your transformation from a talented driver into something much more formidable. He knows you’re ready for this.
“Now go out there,” he says, voice clear and commanding, “and make them remember your name.”
With a final nod, you turn towards your car, the sleek Williams machine waiting for you. The pit crew is already in position, and the clock is ticking down. But before you step in, Fernando adds one last thing.
“Oh, and one more thing,” he says, catching your attention. You look back at him, and there’s a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Terrorize everyone out there … except me.”
You laugh, the sound muffled by your helmet, but the sentiment is clear. “No promises.”
Fernando grins, crossing his arms as he watches you settle into the cockpit. The familiar sounds of the car coming to life fill the air, and the anticipation builds. The lights above the pit lane begin their countdown, and you take a deep breath, centering yourself for what’s to come.
As you drive out onto the track for the formation lap, Fernando steps back, his eyes following your car as it weaves between the other machines, each one a potential target, each one a stepping stone towards the top. He knows you’re ready, knows that tonight is just the beginning of what promises to be an incredible journey.
He’s proud of you, not just as a driver, but as the competitor you’ve become under his guidance. And as you line up on the grid, the lights glowing red above, Fernando’s final words echo in your mind.
Make them remember your name.
The lights go out, and the race begins.
***
The Bahrain circuit is still buzzing with energy even after the race has ended. The floodlights cast a bright, artificial glow over the paddock as drivers, engineers, and media personnel move about, some celebrating, others reflecting on the night’s events. The humid night air is thick with the scent of burning rubber and engine exhaust, a familiar and oddly comforting smell to those who live and breathe motorsport.
Fernando stands in the media pen, his eyes fixed on you as you field questions from a group of eager reporters. He’s barely listening to the reporter in front of him, who’s rattling off questions about his own race. He finished just outside the points, but it doesn’t bother him much. Tonight, his focus isn’t on his own performance but on yours.
You’re animated, your eyes bright, still riding the adrenaline high from the race. You finished ninth — an impressive debut for any rookie, especially in a Williams. Fernando watches as you handle the questions with ease, a slight smile playing on his lips. The way you stand, the way you speak, there’s a confidence there that wasn’t present when he first met you. He sees in you a reflection of his younger self, and it fills him with a quiet pride.
“Fernando,” the reporter in front of him says, trying to regain his attention. “Can you tell us about your strategy today?”
Fernando barely hears the question, his attention still on you. You’re laughing at something a reporter just asked, and he catches a glimpse of that mischievous glint in your eyes — the same one he’s seen countless times in his own reflection. He can tell you’re about to say something memorable, and he doesn’t want to miss it.
“Fernando?” the reporter prompts again, sounding slightly annoyed now.
“Hmm?” Fernando finally acknowledges the reporter, but his gaze doesn’t leave you. “What was that?”
“Your strategy today — what was the thinking behind it?”
“Strategy? Oh, yes, the strategy,” Fernando replies absentmindedly, waving his hand dismissively. “You know, just the usual. Push when you can, hold back when you must.” His answers are automatic, but his mind is elsewhere.
The reporter blinks, clearly unimpressed with the vague response, but before he can ask a follow-up question, Fernando’s attention is fully captured by what you’re saying.
A journalist standing in front of you, wearing a press lanyard and holding a recorder close to your face, asks, “Can you walk us through that incredible overtake on Sebastian Vettel? It looked like you had no fear going up against a four-time world champion.”
You smile, a knowing look in your eyes, and then you glance over at Fernando.
“I knew he would hit the brakes,” you say, loud enough for him to hear. You pause for dramatic effect, and then with a wink in Fernando’s direction, you continue, “Because he has a wife and three kids waiting for him at home.”
The words hang in the air for a moment before the reporters around you burst into laughter. The reference to Fernando’s famous quip about Michael Schumacher years ago is unmistakable, and it’s clear that the media eats it up. But more importantly, Fernando hears it, and his chest swells with pride.
The reporter in front of Fernando raises an eyebrow, curious now about what’s just been said. “Looks like she’s learned a thing or two from you,” he comments.
Fernando finally turns to the reporter, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Yes, she has. More than she knows.”
He watches as you continue the interview, your demeanor composed, yet playful. The way you handle the press is impressive — calm, confident, but with just the right amount of charm to keep them on your side. You’re not just a racer; you’re a showman, someone who understands that Formula 1 is as much about performance off the track as it is on it.
Fernando catches snippets of your conversation, listening as you describe the overtake in more detail. “Seb’s a great driver, no doubt about it. But in that moment, I knew I had him. I could see it in his body language. He was playing it safe, so I took my chance.”
“And what was going through your mind when you made the move?” Another journalist asks.
You pause for a moment, considering the question. Then, with a smirk, you say, “I was thinking, ‘What would Fernando do?’ And then I went for it.”
Fernando chuckles to himself, shaking his head slightly. He can’t help but feel a surge of pride. Not because you’ve imitated him, but because you’ve made the decision to be bold, to take risks, and to trust your instincts. That’s what separates the good drivers from the great ones — the willingness to seize the moment, to act decisively.
You finish up your interview, the reporters gradually dispersing to chase down other drivers. Fernando finally gives his full attention to the reporter in front of him, who’s still trying to get something meaningful out of him.
“Fernando, about your race …” the reporter begins again.
But Fernando is already moving, stepping around the man with a polite but firm nod. “Excuse me,” he says, cutting the interview short. There’s someone far more important he needs to talk to right now.
He strides over to you, your helmet now tucked under your arm as you chat casually with one of the team engineers. You spot him approaching and flash him a smile.
“Hey,” you say as he reaches you. “Did you hear what I said?”
“I did,” Fernando replies, unable to keep the pride out of his voice. “You’ve got quite the sense of humor.”
“Learned from the best,” you quip, giving him a playful nudge.
Fernando laughs, shaking his head. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually use that line, but I’m glad you did. The media loves a good story, and you just gave them one.”
You shrug, your smile widening. “Figured I’d give them something to talk about. Plus, it’s not every day you get to pass a guy like Seb.”
“And you did it with style,” Fernando adds, his voice filled with admiration. “You handled yourself perfectly out there, both on track and with the press. You’re making your mark.”
The engineer standing next to you clears his throat, clearly not wanting to interrupt but feeling the need to acknowledge Fernando’s presence. “Great job out there today,” he says, offering a handshake.
“Thanks,” Fernando replies, shaking the man’s hand. “But today’s all about her,” he adds, nodding in your direction.
The engineer nods in agreement before excusing himself, leaving you and Fernando alone in the now quieter part of the paddock. The sounds of celebration and interviews still echo in the background, but here, in this moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you.
“You know,” Fernando says after a beat, “I’ve never been prouder.”
You look at him, surprised by the raw emotion in his voice. “Really?”
“Really,” he confirms. “Seeing you out there today … it reminded me why I fell in love with racing in the first place. The passion, the drive, the thrill of the fight. You have all of that, and more.”
Your smile softens, touched by his words. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“You did it because you’re a damn good driver,” Fernando corrects, though there’s a warmth in his tone. “But I’m glad I could be a part of your journey.”
You both stand there for a moment, the enormity of what you’ve achieved settling in. Ninth place in your first race is no small feat, especially in a car that everyone had written off as uncompetitive. But you’ve proven them wrong, and you’ve done it in a way that’s uniquely your own.
“Next time, though,” Fernando says, a teasing lilt in his voice, “let’s aim for top five.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “No pressure, right?”
“Never,” he replies with a grin. “Just a challenge.”
***
Fernando leans casually against the side of the Alpine motorhome, arms crossed, eyes scanning the paddock. The next season’s first race is in a few days, and the energy around the circuit is electric, buzzing with the anticipation of new beginnings. He’s just finished an interview, the usual media rounds, when he spots you approaching, your new Mercedes gear a stark contrast to the sea of blues and pinks around you.
“Ah, there you are,” Fernando greets with a grin as you draw closer. “I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”
You tilt your head slightly, curious. “Who?”
Fernando pushes off the motorhome, beckoning you to follow as he leads you around to the back, where a young reserve driver is checking his phone, leaning casually against the wall. The kid looks up as you approach, his expression polite, maybe a touch reserved, but there’s an unmistakable spark of intelligence in his eyes.
“Oscar,” Fernando calls out, “this is her.”
Oscar Piastri straightens up, tucking his phone into his pocket. “Nice to meet you,” he says, extending a hand with a shy but confident smile. He’s calm, almost too calm for someone his age, but there’s a warmth there, something genuine. You can’t help but notice how composed he is, how his eyes seem to study you without making you feel scrutinized.
You shake his hand, offering a cool smile in return. “Likewise. I’ve heard good things.”
Oscar chuckles softly, scratching the back of his head. “Hopefully, I can live up to them.”
The three of you chat for a while, exchanging pleasantries about the upcoming season, racing, the usual stuff. Oscar is polite, measured in his responses, but there’s a softness to him that you hadn’t expected. It’s like he’s quietly confident, but without the brashness that usually comes with it. Fernando watches the interaction closely, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he notes the way your demeanor shifts ever so slightly around Oscar — more guarded, maybe, but intrigued.
Eventually, Oscar glances at his watch and excuses himself, mentioning something about a debrief he needs to attend. You nod, maintaining your composed exterior, and watch him walk back towards the Alpine motorhome before turning to Fernando.
“Polite cat vibes,” you murmur almost to yourself, a hint of amusement in your voice. Fernando raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.
“What was that?” He asks, although there’s a knowing look in his eyes. He’s been around long enough to pick up on these things.
You roll your eyes playfully, but there’s a lightness in your expression that wasn’t there before. “I said, polite cat vibes. You know, like when a cat is super well-behaved, but you just know there’s something more going on behind those eyes?”
Fernando laughs, a genuine, hearty sound that makes a few heads turn in your direction. “So, you think Oscar is a cat?”
“Well, not literally,” you reply, grinning. “It’s just … he’s got this thing, you know? Like he’s really nice, but you can tell he’s got claws if he needs them. And he’s so … calm. I just want to pinch his cheeks and cuddle him.”
Fernando’s laugh turns into a full-blown chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re smitten, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” you say, feigning nonchalance as you fold your arms across your chest. “But it’s just … he’s different. Not in a bad way, just-”
“Different,” Fernando finishes for you, nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah, I get it. But don’t let that cloud your judgment on track.”
You shoot him a look. “Please. I’m not a rookie, and besides, I’m at Mercedes now. I’ve got bigger things to focus on than cute cats.”
Fernando smiles, but there’s a serious undertone to his next words. “Just remember, this is Formula 1. There’s no room for distractions, no matter how polite or cute they might be.”
You nod, understanding the weight behind his words, but there’s still a twinkle in your eye as you glance back in the direction Oscar disappeared. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”
“Good,” Fernando replies, clapping you on the back. “Because I’m not going to let you slack off, not even for a second.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” you retort, smirking. There’s a comfortable silence that falls between the two of you, the kind that only comes from mutual respect and understanding.
But Fernando can’t resist one last jab. “Don’t go soft on him, okay? I’ve got my eye on you.”
You roll your eyes again but with a fond smile. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“Of course,” Fernando grins. “It’s part of my charm.”
You laugh, the sound bright and clear in the busy paddock, and Fernando can’t help but feel a swell of pride. You’ve come so far, and he’s been there every step of the way, watching you grow not just as a driver but as a person. There’s a part of him that’s protective, sure, but there’s also a part that’s thrilled to see you standing on your own two feet, ready to take on whatever comes your wa— even if it’s an Australian polite cat.
“Let’s get out of here,” Fernando says finally, leading the way back to the Mercedes motorhome. “We’ve got a race to win this weekend, and I don’t want any distractions.”
You follow him, but there’s a spring in your step that wasn’t there before, and Fernando notices. He doesn’t say anything, though, just smiles to himself. You’re going to be just fine, he thinks, more than fine.
As you walk together, side by side, you can’t help but glance back once more, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Maybe, just maybe, this season is going to be full of surprises. And Fernando? Well, he’s ready for whatever comes next, as long as you are too.
***
The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the vineyard where the ceremony is taking place. Rows of chairs are lined up neatly on the manicured lawn, all facing a simple yet elegant archway draped in white fabric and adorned with soft blush roses. The air is filled with the quiet murmur of guests settling in, the occasional laugh breaking through the serene atmosphere.
Fernando adjusts his tie, glancing around with a mixture of pride and disbelief. How did they get here? It seems like only yesterday he was meeting you for the first time, a determined young driver who refused to be underestimated. Now, here you are, standing at the altar, poised to marry the man you’ve chosen to spend your life with.
Fernando is seated in the front row, just to the left of the aisle, with Mark Webber by his side. The two exchange knowing smiles as the ceremony begins, each lost in their own thoughts. Mark has watched Oscar grow from a promising young talent into a man of integrity and strength, much like Fernando has done with you. There’s a quiet understanding between them, a mutual respect that goes beyond words.
As the officiant begins to speak, Fernando leans over slightly, catching Mark’s eye. “I guess this makes us in-laws,” he whispers, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Mark chuckles softly, nodding. “Seems like it. Didn’t see this coming back when we were racing, did we?”
“Not at all,” Fernando replies with a smile, glancing back at the altar where you and Oscar stand, hand-in-hand. “But I’m glad it did.”
The vows are simple, heartfelt, and deeply personal. Oscar goes first, his voice steady but filled with emotion.
“From the moment I met you,” Oscar begins, his eyes locked on yours, “I knew you were different. You challenged me, inspired me, and made me want to be a better person. In a world that often felt overwhelming, you were my calm, my constant. Today, I promise to stand by your side, through every victory and every defeat. I promise to support your dreams as if they were my own, to lift you up when you’re down, and to love you unconditionally, now and forever.”
There’s a brief pause, the weight of his words hanging in the air. You squeeze his hand, your heart swelling with the depth of his sincerity. When it’s your turn, you take a deep breath, steadying yourself.
“Oscar,” you begin, your voice clear and strong, “You were the unexpected surprise in my life, the calm in my storm. From the moment we met, I knew you were special. You’ve been my partner on and off the track, my biggest supporter, and my best friend. Today, I promise to cherish every moment we have together, to grow with you, and to always be there for you, no matter what. I promise to love you with all that I am, and all that I will ever be. You are my heart, my soul, and my everything.”
Fernando feels a lump in his throat as you finish. He’s never been one to get emotional, but today, sitting here, listening to you pour your heart out, he can’t help but feel a surge of pride and love. He remembers the teenage girl who had to fight for every opportunity, the young woman who never gave up, and now, the bride standing before him, ready to take on the next chapter of her life.
The officiant speaks again, guiding you and Oscar through the final steps of the ceremony. When it’s time for the rings, Mark reaches into his pocket, retrieving Oscar’s band with a small, proud smile. Fernando does the same for you, his hands steady as he hands over the ring you will soon place on Oscar’s finger.
“With this ring, I thee wed,” you both say, sliding the rings onto each other’s fingers. The moment is profound, sealing your commitment not just in words, but in action.
“You may kiss the bride,” the officiant finally announces, and there’s a collective sigh of happiness from the gathered crowd as Oscar leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s both tender and full of promise.
Applause erupts, and as you and Oscar turn to face your family and friends, hands still entwined, Fernando catches your eye. There’s something unspoken between you, a bond that goes beyond blood, beyond words. You smile at him, and he nods in return, his chest swelling with emotion.
The ceremony concludes, and guests begin to make their way to the reception area, where a beautifully decorated marquee awaits. The air is filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses as everyone mingles, basking in the joy of the occasion.
The second dance is a traditional one with your father. You sway gently in his arms as he whispers words of wisdom, of pride, and of love. The moment is touching, a reminder of the family that has always stood behind you, even when the road was hard.
When the song ends, you hug your father tightly, thanking him for everything. But as the music transitions into something new, you catch Fernando’s eye across the room. There’s a moment of hesitation, but then you make your way towards him, your heart pounding in your chest.
“Nando,” you say softly as you reach him, “would you join me for a dance?”
For a brief moment, Fernando is taken aback. He’s always seen you as a strong, independent force — someone who has always forged their own path. But in this moment, he realizes just how much you’ve come to mean to him, how deeply intertwined your lives have become.
“Are you sure?” He asks, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.
You nod, your eyes shining with emotion. “You’ve been like a father to me. I couldn’t imagine today without sharing this moment with you.”
Fernando swallows hard, nodding as he takes your hand. The two of you move to the center of the dance floor, the music soft and slow. As you begin to dance, there’s a sense of calm that settles over you both, a quiet understanding that needs no words.
“I’ve watched you grow,” Fernando says after a few moments, his voice low so only you can hear, “into one of the best drivers I’ve ever known, but more than that … into an incredible person. I’m so proud of you, more than I can ever say.”
Tears prick at your eyes, but you blink them back, smiling up at him. “Thank you. For everything. I wouldn’t be here without you.”
“You would’ve found your way,” he replies, his tone firm. “You always had it in you. I just gave you a little push.”
“A little?” You tease, and he laughs, the sound filled with warmth.
As the song comes to an end, Fernando pulls you into a tight hug, his hand resting protectively on the back of your head. “Remember, I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”
“I know,” you whisper, your voice choked with emotion. “And I’ll always be here for you too.”
***
The antiseptic scent of the hospital hits Fernando the moment he steps into the delivery wing, mingling with the distant beeps of monitors and the hushed whispers of medical staff. It’s a familiar environment, yet so foreign to him. He’s used to the adrenaline rush of the pit lane, the roar of engines, the calculated chaos of racing — but this, this is something entirely different. He’s been in countless high-pressure situations, but none have ever felt like this.
As he makes his way down the hallway, his heart beats just a little faster than usual, his mind racing with thoughts of you, of Oscar, and of the tiny new life that’s just come into the world. When he reaches the door of your room, he hesitates for the briefest of moments, his hand hovering over the door handle.
It’s not that he’s nervous — Fernando Alonso doesn’t get nervous — but there’s something about this moment that feels monumental, like the start of a new chapter in a book he didn’t even realize he was writing.
He pushes the door open slowly, stepping into the room with a soft smile. The room is bathed in a warm, gentle light, far removed from the harsh brightness of the hallway. It’s quiet, peaceful, with only the faint hum of machinery and the soft breaths of the newborn breaking the silence.
You’re lying in the bed, looking tired but radiant, with a tiny bundle cradled in your arms. Oscar is beside you, his hand resting protectively on your shoulder, his eyes filled with awe and love. When you see Fernando, your face lights up, and despite the exhaustion etched into your features, there’s a warmth in your smile that makes his heart swell.
“Fernando,” you say softly, your voice hoarse but filled with joy. “Come meet him.”
He steps closer, his eyes drawn to the small figure in your arms. The baby is tiny, impossibly so, wrapped in a soft blue blanket, with a tuft of dark hair peeking out. Fernando’s breath catches in his throat as he looks down at the baby, his heart pounding in a way that’s both unfamiliar and entirely overwhelming.
“He’s perfect,” Fernando murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.
Oscar grins, nodding in agreement. “We think so too.”
You shift slightly, holding the baby out toward Fernando. “Would you like to hold him?”
For a moment, Fernando hesitates. He’s held championship trophies, gripped the steering wheel at speeds that would make others blanch, but this? This is different. This is fragile, delicate, something that requires a gentleness he’s not sure he possesses. But when he sees the trust in your eyes, he nods, carefully taking the baby into his arms.
The weight is nothing — featherlight, almost — but it’s enough to make his hands tremble just the slightest bit. He cradles the baby close, his eyes wide as he studies the tiny features: the small nose, the delicate eyelids, the impossibly small fingers curled into little fists. The baby stirs slightly, his mouth opening in a silent yawn before settling back into a peaceful sleep.
“What’s his name?” Fernando asks, his voice thick with emotion.
You exchange a glance with Oscar before looking back at Fernando, your smile widening. “His name is Theodore,” you say softly, “Theodore Fernando Piastri.”
Fernando’s breath catches, his eyes snapping up to meet yours. For a moment, he’s speechless, his mind struggling to process what he’s just heard.
“Fernando?” He repeats, his voice barely audible.
You nod, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “We wanted to honor you. You’ve been like a father to me, and now … now you’re going to be a part of his life too. It just felt right.”
Fernando stares at you, his heart swelling with a mixture of pride, love, and something else — something deeper, something he’s never quite felt before. He looks down at Theodore, his namesake, and for the first time in a long while, he feels his eyes prick with tears.
“You … you didn’t have to do that,” he says, his voice choked with emotion.
“But we wanted to,” Oscar says, his voice firm but kind. “You’ve done so much for us, for Y/N. It’s our way of saying thank you.”
Fernando swallows hard, nodding as he blinks back the tears threatening to spill over. He’s always prided himself on his control, on his ability to keep his emotions in check, but this — this is something else entirely. This is a depth of feeling he wasn’t prepared for.
“Thank you,” he finally says, his voice thick. “It means … it means more to me than you can ever know.”
He looks back down at Theodore, his heart full to bursting. The baby stirs again, his tiny fingers twitching, and Fernando smiles, the tears finally spilling over as he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
“Grandpa Nando,” you say suddenly, your voice filled with affection. “That’s what we’re going to call you. How do you feel about that?”
Fernando lets out a laugh, the sound watery and full of joy. “I think I can get used to that,” he says, his voice trembling with emotion. “Grandpa Nando. I like it.”
You smile at him, your eyes soft with affection. “I’m glad. You’ve been a father figure to me, and now … now you get to be a grandfather to him.”
The room falls into a comfortable silence, the weight of the moment settling over all of you. Fernando can’t stop staring at Theodore, can’t stop marveling at the tiny life in his arms. He’s held many titles in his life — champion, driver, mentor — but this, this feels different. This feels like the most important role he’s ever played.
As he stands there, cradling the tiny life in his arms, he feels a sense of peace settle over him. This is where he’s meant to be, here with you, with Oscar, with Theodore. He’s not just a mentor anymore; he’s family. And that, more than anything, is the greatest victory he’s ever achieved.
Finally, after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all, Fernando carefully hands Theodore back to you, his heart heavy with emotion. You take your son into your arms, holding him close as you smile up at Fernando, your eyes filled with gratitude.
“Thank you,” you say softly. “For everything. For being there for me, for guiding me, for … for being a part of our lives.”
Fernando shakes his head, a small, tearful smile on his lips. “No, thank you. You’ve given me more than I ever could have imagined. You — you and Oscar, and now Theodore — you’re my family. And there’s nothing more important to me than that.”
You reach out, taking his hand in yours, and for a moment, the two of you just stand there, connected by something deeper than words, deeper than racing, deeper than anything Fernando has ever known.
This is what it means to be family, he realizes. This is what it means to love, to care, to be there for each other, no matter what. And as he stands there, his heart full to bursting, he knows that this, more than any championship, more than any victory on the track, is what truly matters.
This is his greatest achievement.
More Posts from That-jax and Others
Some colour swatches for the BG3 companions. Feel free to use as for art purposes, no credit necessary of course (though reblogs are appreciated!)
Better
Kang Yeosang x reader
enemies to lover au
word count: 9.4?k
genre and warnings: angst, suggestive, violence
synopsis: ateez au in which kang yeosang and you are sworn enemies belonging to rival gangs until you both are at the mercy of a common enemy and have to work together, discovering those strong feelings you had for each other might not be hate.
Seconds. Minutes. Hours.
Days. Months. Years?
You had no idea how much time had passed, but you finally opened your eyes and saw light- the door to your cell opened and a tall figure stood with another figure which was now pushed roughly to the concrete floor, hands cuffed, a groan of pain escaping them.
You squinted your eyes, the world a blur as you tried to make what you could see of their face- who was it this time?
The figure finally got up on its knees and sighed, having sit back, their shoes brushing against your feet, and you wished it was day so the sunlight would have revealed the identity of the figure.
"Are you... okay?" You managed to say, your throat parched. In this pitch dark, you couldn't make out anything, and you were glad, because you weren't sure the figure in front of you would like the sight of you-
"You sound strangely familiar," the voice said- clearly a man, and very, very familiar to you too.
In fact, you recognized him instantly.
Kang Yeosang.
But it couldn't be. What was Kang Yeosang, basically the right hand to his boss doing in your cell?
But then, what were you, also your own boss' most trustworthy employee and his assassin doing in this cell?
"I'm sure you don't know me," you scoffed internally at the irony of the situation. Kang Yeosang, your worst nightmare and enemy, now in front of you. You should take this chance and kill him, except you were tied to the post as well, and you were in no condition to move.
"I'm sure I do, actually," you could hear the haughtiness in his voice which indicated that yes, he recognized your voice too. You suddenly regretted the pointless verbal arguments and fights you've had with him over the years which had left your voices printed in each other's memories- as well as habits, such as-
"Fancy seeing you here."
- how to make you angry instantly.
But it went both ways.
"Miss me too much, Yeosang?" You laughed sarcastically, "Can't spend three days without seeing me?"
As a matter of fact, he was used to seeing you, and you him. You both worked for the top drug dealers- rivals though sometimes business partners. And nothing was dramatic about it save for the fact that you and Yeosang hadn't hit it off very well and had infamously become sworn enemies, both of you bent on driving the other to the edge.
"How many days do you think have passed?" Yeosang asked, genuinely worried because you thought it had only been three days. And you dreaded answering because you weren't sure you would like what you had to hear.
"Don't tell me," panic laced your voice, and in that moment, an understanding passed between you two- and both of you were glad the other couldn't see your face.
"How did you even get here?" You asked, "I didn't think you could slip. Losing your touch already?"
"Well, you wouldn't believe it," Yeosang's voice was low, "But it's a deal between our gangs gone wrong. I came to save you."
"Ha," you scoffed loudly, "As if."
"I'm not lying," Yeosang simply said, "You've been missing for 3 weeks now. We were working together after all, even though I hated the idea of it from the beginning. And when you got taken, your boss might have... lost it a bit."
Though you did feel as if a bucket of water had been dumped on you because 3 weeks? but you had to scoff at the mention of your boss.
"As if he cares."
The bitterness with which you spat those words had Yeosang raising his brows. His own boss, Hongjoong, was like a friend to Yeosang, so he couldn't imagine why you were so bitter. Were you not close to your boss?
"He does, I guess, because he chose me to get you. Though now that I'm here... I think it was a wrong decision. Maybe I should just get out of here alone..."
"Did he really send you?" You had to ask, "I can't imagine why- oh."
You had almost forgotten about it, and you loudly cursed as you realized just why your boss cared so much about getting you back-
You had the key.
The key to all his wealth that he had slipped in your hand when you both had found yourself at your enemy's den, the small key that you had hid in your shoe first, occasionally changing its spot according to the situation.
"Oh?" Yeosang echoed, "Must be a big reason."
"Oh you have no idea," you had to laugh, "You have no idea."
Silence fell as you thought about the whole situation, finally breaking it as you said, "Think about it- my boss sent his rival's right hand- basically an enemy- to retrieve me. Now what value would a person like me have? Why did he not send one of his cronies?"
"Ah," Yeosang said, "You either have or know something that's valuable to him, and he can't let you die right now."
"Bingo," you said, "And now that I have the chance, I would die before letting him have it."
Yeosang was shaken at your words- just what had you gone through these past three weeks? And what fate awaited him?
"What's happened to you?"
"Worry about yourself," you sighed, "you're gonna regret making a deal with my boss real soon."
And regret he did, to some extent.
He blamed himself for getting caught and being put in this tiny cell. As daylight poured and woke him up from his sleep, he looked at you and his heart sank dangerously at the sight of you-
Your button up shirt was okay from the front, but tattered at the back, hanging only from the sleeves, covering your front- but your back had to be bare and he couldn't see it. Your hair was matted to your face and neck and fell down messily, and your face-
So pale. Void of colour. Your cheekbones were protruding rather sharply, and Yeosang had to commend you because you were still hanging on to life even though you looked as good as dead.
You were one stubborn soul, after all.
"Like what you see?" A voice boomed and Yeosang's head whipped to the source- one of the men who had caught him watching you from the window.
Yeosang didn't dare reply as he unlocked the door and arrived with a tray of food- rather good treatment seeing the food consisted of rice and chicken and put it in front of Yeosang, injecting a drug in him- the same drug they had used to catch both him and you- rendering him weak enough to not fight back but not weak enough to not eat his own food.
"Eat," he ordered, "Boss has asked for special treatment for you- maybe your boss is good to you, after all. He's trying to strike a deal to get you out unharmed. As for her-"
The man looked at you and you grinned at him, infuriating him (because why not?) and he went out for a moment, coming with a bowl of soup only, pushing it on your lips and forcing you to drink, drops of it dripping down and your tongue burned because it was too hot but you couldn't retort- you had to eat whatever they gave or else you'd starve.
But Yeosang there had lost his appetite at the sight of this- why wasn't your boss trying anything to get you out, he wondered? Especially when you supposedly had something he wanted? Was he scared the enemy would figure out? Or was he just a coward, hoping you'd die with the item in question?
Why were these people keeping you alive then?
Just what had you caught yourself into?
Yeosang took a chicken leg and hid it behind him, his hands shaking from the effects of the drugs, eating the rest as the man watched him the whole time, saying he'd be back in an hour so they could go to relieve themselves.
As the man shut the cell and went away, Yeosang waited for a good five minutes before calling your name and grabbing your attention.
"Just what have you caught yourself into?"
"Forget that," you said, your eyes bright as you worked out a plan, "Can you get me out of here? Or will you go alone?"
"Of course I will get you out," Yeosang said, and you raised your brow at the quick response- it didn't sound right coming from his mouth, since you two, in normal circumstances, would have done anything to get the other in trouble. And Yeosang understood, rolling his eyes, "They're basically torturing you here. And even though we're... enemies, as everyone likes to call us... I wouldn't wish this sort of a treatment on anyone."
"Not even me?" You smiled.
"Not even you."
You were impressed- he had principles, after all.
"Okay, here's the plan. When that scumbag comes back and takes us, you need to somehow get close to the man and take one of his hairpins out- keep it hidden. Don't reveal it until we're back and I say so- you'll be tied and so will I, but you need to give me the pin before you get out, Yeosang, you hear me? From the looks of it, your boss is gonna get you out by tomorrow night. Can you do this for me?"
Yeosang nodded, figuring he could do that for you, but still surprised at how you believed you were doomed if not for him.
And he really couldn't stand how tired you looked- as if you had given up altogether. Your hands tied up made it difficult for you to sit in a position other than being on your knees- and it was brutal. And about your back-
He had a glimpse, and he wasn't sure he wanted to see what damage they had done.
So one hour later when the man came and drugged the two again, waiting for a minute before uncuffing the two and dragging you both rather easily to the toilet, Yeosang went in first. When he came out and you tried going in, Yeosang purposely bumped into the man, rather swiftly turning and apologizing to nobody in general, the man groaning in warning.
Tied back at their usual spots, you looked at him, worry lacing your eyes. "Tell me you did it."
Yeosang stuck out his tongue and you laughed in disbelief- he had done it, the hairpin right in the middle of his tongue, of all the goddamn places. "I can't uncuff myself, or you," Yeosang said, his hands tied behind him, "But you... you can."
"I can," you admitted, "after the effects of the drug wears off."
"And you know I'll get out on my own, but will you... uncuff me too?"
"Well," you sighed, "We may have a problem- I can't exactly fight on my own anymore. I may have a broken something and my back hurts like hell. You're pretty fresh, so if you're up for it..."
"And what do I get out of it?" Yeosang smirked, and you rolled your eyes because this wasn't the time to get playful.
"What do you want?"
"What do I want... interesting."
"Yeosang, we don't have all day, and if you come up with something disgustingly evil I'll personally end you after we get out of here."
"Nothing... for now," Yeosang announced, "But you owe me one after this."
"Done. Now hand it over."
Yeosang smirked as he slid closer to you, the chains on his cuff preventing him from getting too close but it was enough- he stretched until his face was near you, and you brought your face closer too, rolling your eyes at the devilish smirk as he pushed the pin out of his mouth, holding it at the tip from his teeth, and you caught the pin from the other end, your lips slightly brushing with his, a sigh of relief escaping you as you drew back, because the key of freedom was now in your mouth.
Yeosang drew back and watched as you pushed yourself up with excruciating effort, working your mouth expertly and uncuffing yourself in a minute, falling to your knees in a very abrupt motion and almost crying in relief-
But Yeosang's breath stuck in his throat, because your back-
Your back was littered with scars- and the worst thing was that only a few of them were new.
"Who did this to you?"
Yeosang's voice was grim, and you looked up to see his gaze fixed at your back.
"That scumbag, of course-"
"Not those scars," Yeosang shook his head, "The others."
You bit your lips, having completely forgotten about the long scars that decorated your back. "Nothing you need to know."
You wobbled behind Yeosang, uncuffing him and almost falling down, Yeosang holding you up, making you lean at his side and use him for support. He brought the chicken leg in front of you, making you laugh and shake your head as you took it rather gladly, eating it and oh, you haven't had something normal in weeks now.
You didn't notice how Yeosang was absently tucking your hair behind- you were too busy eating. And when he took off his own outer shirt and wrapped it around you, it was only then you noticed his gaze that made you flush because of a number of reasons-
First- the gesture itself. All your lives you had hated each other just for the sake of it, and this... this was making you wonder why you both ever got stuck in that meaningless cycle of hate.
And second- he was extremely buff, his biceps now visible in the black half sleeved shirt he was left with. His streaked hair contrasted rather well with it, and you had to stop your eyes from roaming all around him, praying he hadn't noticed.
"So," Yeosang's deep voice broke you out of your trance, "What's the plan?"
--------------
The two of you pretended to be chained for the remainder of the evening, waiting for the time when the man would come for interrogation- it was a fixed time of the day, you had noted. So anyone who peeked in out of curiosity would find you both chained well, but right before the man arrived, Yeosang stationed himself next to the door, punching the man once and knocking him out instantly.
"Wow," you breathed, "Forgot for a second you were strong."
"Forgot?" Yeosang huffed, "Do you not remember the time I knocked you out with just a-"
"Let's not dwell on the past," You weakly got up, "Chain him like he did me."
Yeosang understood, chaining him just like you had been for the past weeks, taking all his weapons, handing two daggers to you and keeping one and a gun for himself. He finally looked at you, thinking.
"Can you run?"
Which was how you both found yourselves running for your lives, you gathering all your energy to fight close range while Yeosang covered you with the gun, encountering a good five men before Yeosang jumped out of the first floor window to the truck, promising to catch you and urging you to jump instantly.
And he didn't let you down; he caught you rather carefully, as if afraid to hurt you further, grabbing your hand and jumping down, running further down the alley, taking two turns and you stopped him abruptly, pointing at the narrow alley where a couple were making out rather heatedly, and Yeosang understood, dragging you in the alley, grabbing the fur jacket on the bike of the couple and wearing it over himself, turning and embracing you in what would look like a make-out session to anyone passing by-
Except it was his forehead on yours, noses brushing, his hands in your hair, your arms automatically going around his waist for support as he bent you back a bit.
You were suddenly conscious of how you hadn't washed in days- one of the people in that building, a woman, had attended to your scars about three days ago and had washed you as best as she could, saying the boss didn't like his captives dirty when he came during interrogations.
But this should be the last of your concerns right now-
"They're gone?" Yeosang whispered, his breath warm against your skin, the statement coming out more like a question- not what he had intended. But his heart was beating like crazy and it was a surprise his voice hadn't cracked-
"I think so," you whispered back, eyes meeting his-
And that was a mistake.
Because his eyes locked back, and you couldn't pull away from his gaze, having noticed for the first time just how light his eyes were-
"That's my jacket!"
Yeosang rolled his eyes, taking it off and apologizing, saying he was hiding from his friends. Thankfully, the man didn't argue further, and Yeosang grabbed your hand, walking to the next street and getting into a convenience store, your eyes scanning your surroundings for any signs of the enemy.
Yeosang used the phone to contact one of his friends while you waited, wrapping Yeosang's shirt tighter around yourself since it was a bit chilly. Yeosang came back with two bowls of ramen, preparing them and waiting for it to be cooked.
"You've got nowhere to go, do you?"
You pursed your lips, "Boss... he'll kill me once he finds me and gets what he needs."
"Why?"
"Because he'll never believe I kept his secret to myself and did not betray him," your lips quivered, "Because... because I kept the secret to myself after going through everything-"
You didn't know whether it was the relief of escaping alive or the thought of death at your doorstep, or simply the fact that your boss, that bastard would never believe you didn't sell him out- but you were suddenly crying, and you hid your face, turning away from Yeosang as you sobbed, trying to stop but you held it in too long-
Yeosang said your name, which just made you cry harder, telling him between hiccups that you didn't know why you were crying, but he understood. He only rubbed your shoulders as you sniffed, cursing yourself because you were crying in front of Yeosang, of all the people, which could also be the reason why you were crying harder.
"Come with me," Yeosang simply said, turning you to face him, "We'll figure something out. For now, come with me."
"Yeosang," you shook your head, "my boss will go at war with your gang if he knows you guys have me. And he will know, because those men we just escaped from? They're gonna tell him that you, Kang bloody Yeosang, helped me escape. So just drop me off at the port or something- no need to involve yourself-"
"Oh, the ramen's getting soggy," Yeosang, completely ignoring you, handed you chopsticks and blew at his noodles, wowing at how good it tasted, urging you to eat. And you did- because he clearly wasn't ready to have this conversation.
Just as you finished eating, a car stopped in front of the store and Yeosang motioned for you to follow him. Unsure, you did- ironically, he was the only one you could trust right now.
"Why am I even following you when we hate each other," you muttered, and Yeosang scoffed.
"Why am I even inviting you, huh? Get in," he held the door open for you and you sat at the backseat, Yeosang going in the front and when the driver turned to get a look at you-
"You!"
You were going to escape- you weren't sure you would survive the ride to wherever the destination was when the driver was none other than Wooyoung.
"Oh how the tables have turned!" He laughed, Yeosang slapping his arms and looking apologetically at you, as if saying that yes, this was his only option and he's sorry.
"She's been a captive for 3 weeks, can you tone it down a bit?" Yeosang glared at Wooyoung who couldn't stop grinning as he drove.
"Almost didn't recognize you, you poor thing," Wooyoung looked at you from the rear-view mirror and you just stared out of the window, "Did they not feed you there?"
You and Wooyoung were actually on friendlier terms than you and Yeosang had ever been, which came as quite a surprise to everyone who learned that, since Yeosang and Wooyoung went quite a way back and well... Wooyoung was friends with basically everyone. He was someone you warmed up to instantly. And though you weren't his 'friend', you could easily have been because you had never found it difficult to have a simple chat with him whenever they met up for business- or as rivals, in a fight.
"They did not, actually, if you can't tell from my face," you retorted, Wooyoung ooh-ing at your response, noticing that you were very angry right now.
"What do you wanna eat? Come on, I still owe you a meal, don't I? Or was it the other way round?"
It was the other way round, but you weren't going to admit it. "You do. And I would like some coffee and anything with sugar very, very much."
Which was how you ended up in Yeosang's room, wide awake with coffee in your system, digging into the brownies as Yeosang and Wooyoung examined your back, allowing Wooyoung only because apparently he was 'good at this'.
As for Yeosang... he had already seen it.
"I would ask about the old scars, but I feel like it's not my place," Wooyoung bit his lips, meeting Yeosang's gaze and Yeosang nodded, the both of them strangely feeling angered at the sight of her torn back, but you- you were trying to distract yourself.
"Gosh, I could eat the whole box," you muttered as you took a third brownie, and Yeosang shook his head at you, but he was internally pleased to see you eat.
"You'll end up throwing up if you eat too much," Wooyoung warned, "Take the box away, Yeosang."
"No!" You wailed, trying to get up but Yeosang was quicker, the brownies out of reach now. Grumpily, you nibbled at the one in your hand.
"I have to go," Wooyoung read a text from his phone and announced, "Business calls. Yeosang, patch up the wound- you can wash up if you want to first."
"Oh I do," you got up, finishing the brownie, "You better have a good fucking shampoo, Yeosang."
After a very long shower, your back literally burning as you stifled your screams, the shampoo residue stinging the still open wounds, you wrapped yourself in the bathrobe, coming out to get your wounds treated.
Yeosang cleared his throat, realizing that you'd be quite naked as he tended to your back. But all thoughts left him when he beheld your now red wounds.
"Maybe you shouldn't have showered..."
"Please, I felt filthy," you muttered, "Just get it over with."
Yeosang applied ointment to your wounds, his hands gentle, then taped bandages, and before he knew, he was running his finger across an old scar-
And you noticed.
"Who did this to you?"
His voice barely came out as a whisper, and you just ignored the question, asking for clothes. Yeosang handed you new clothes which included a soft button up shirt, trousers and even undergarments, and you eyes him suspiciously.
"Got these at the store," Yeosang simply said, and you realized he had planned all this before hand. Thanking him, you ditched the bra- it would only hurt your wounds and you wore the rest. Coming out of the bathroom, you stood awkwardly, and Yeosang motioned at the chair next to him, where he had been sitting and gazing out at the sky.
You turned on the dim lamp and turned off all other lights before you joined him, and he offered you water, which you gladly took.
"My boss... you know he practically raised me, right?"
Yeosang hadn't expected you to chat with him so he was caught off-guard, but he shook his head yes.
"Well... let's just say he didn't quite know how to tame me."
Yeosang was about to speak but then he realized what you were talking about-
The scars.
"You know nothing justifies what he did to you."
"I know," you sighed, "I know."
"And now... the fact that he'll kill you the first chance he gets-" Yeosang let out a frustrated sigh as he ran his hands through his hair.
"I still have to go-"
"Don't," Yeosang practically begged, surprising you with the desperation that laced his voice, "Don't go back."
"Yeosang-"
"No," he took your hand, surprising you yet again, your heart picking pace, "You don't need to go back, okay? He will find out that you're here and he'll come after us anyway, even if we let you go... but we got you, okay? I got your back. So trust me, and don't go."
You scanned his face- there was no hint of mischief in his eyes anymore, in fact it was worry that you saw. And you were conflicted- in any other situation, you would have known this was a simple prank- something you both often did; making bold confessions out of nowhere just to rile the other person up, but this...
You looked down at the hand that held yours, caressing it absently. And you knew there was nothing but truth here.
"If you insist," you scoffed, "What's got you all chummy, Kang Yeosang?"
Yeosang laughed shyly- shyly? You hadn't expected this either.
"You know what," Yeosang got up, helping you up and taking you to one of the single beds in the room, "We don't have to fight anymore. Why did we fight anyway? Let's be friends instead."
"Now where would the fun in that be?" You retorted, and Yeosang clapped.
"I was going to make fun of you if you were going to say yes," Yeosang smirked, and you realized some of this was a prank after all. You couldn't figure him out. "Get some sleep. It's gonna be a big day tomorrow."
----------------------
"Bloody hell."
All it took was one look at your face for those words to escape Kim Hongjoong's mouth- the gang leader. And you knew you had to be looking horrible for him to lose his demeanor.
Truth be told, you hadn't taken one look in the mirror ever since you got back, and you weren't eager to as well. But you bit your lip as you looked at Yeosang, and he nodded in confirmation.
Bloody hell indeed.
"Tell me you're feeding her," Hongjoong slumped back, "You're all skin and bones."
"I can imagine," you took your seat in front of Hongjoong, only three of you in his office, "now, shall we?"
"So tell me," Hongjoong leaned forward, elbows on the table, "What do I get out of this?"
"Well," you cleared your throat, "I don't have any idea how valuable this key is," you picked it out from your shoe, waving it in the air, "but I am sure it is too valuable to lose. I'll have to see the contents to be sure."
"And you said it belongs to a safe, which is located..."
"We'll have to raid one of my boss' resorts, it seems."
It was Yeosang's idea- all night he had been thinking while you had slept comfortably for the first time- and you had been out for a good 26 hours, especially with the fever. You were force-fed medicines and you were finally able to walk without falling after two days.
So Yeosang had suggested that she join their gang- or stay on the run forever. You couldn't imagine joining their gang since the 8 of them were so closely knit, and you told him, but he was having none of it. Wooyoung came by, agreeing that it was a good idea- all of them already were familiar with you so it wouldn't be too awkward, plus, according to Wooyoung, 'this place needs a feminine touch'.
You could run away- but you knew the life ahead wouldn't be easy that way. You would always be cautious of every step you took and you'd have to look behind your back everywhere. Your boss wouldn't let you live peacefully, ever.
"Raiding is a specialty of ours," Hongjoong grinned, "And you have the key to access something so valuable to your boss that he couldn't risk getting out his most trustworthy employee."
"Correct," you nodded, "What do I get in return?"
"Welcome to the gang," Hongjoong announced, "You'll work with Yeosang and San- you're all assassins, so it shouldn't be a problem. However, you'll have to be faithful."
"Of course," you set your chin high, "I was faithful to my boss even in captivity, but it looks like he betrayed me. So yes, I can guarantee my loyalty as long as you guarantee yours."
Hongjoong scanned your face, slowly nodding, "I say we got ourselves quite a gem, eh Yeosang?"
Yeosang laughed, "Are we not enough for you Hongjoong?"
You were surprised at how casually Yeosang and Hongjoong could interact- with your boss, it had been all formalities and him practicing his authority on anyone and everyone, but this...
It felt warm, and you couldn't help but smile.
"We need to be quick with this operation," Hongjoong said, "We have planted a false trail indicating you ran away, but your former fellow employees will soon realize it's us you're with. How quick can you be?"
"Tonight," you said, nodding at Yeosang, "Let's do it tonight."
----------------
"Are you sure you can do this?" Yeosang asked for the fifth time, and you stopped in the middle of wearing your gear.
"Yeosang," you sighed, "What's got you so worried about me?"
Yeosang noticed the playfulness in your tone, "A number of things, actually. Apart from the fact that this could still be a trap that you're setting us up for, apart from the fact that you might possibly betray us tonight, I do think your physical health isn't so fit right now."
You jumped in the air, "I feel lighter, which means I'll be quicker."
Yeosang raised his brow, waiting for you to address the other problem in question. You counted your daggers and bullets, finally looking at him.
"I can't prove it with words, so you'll just have to see if I pass the test tonight."
"She does have a point," San said as he handed you a bulletproof vest and night vision glasses, "It's not like she'll tell you if she plans on betraying us."
"See," you smirked, "He knows. You're asking dumb questions, Yeosang."
"Well," Yeosang waited for San to leave before slowly stepping forward, until he was almost touching you, his figure towering over you and he glared at you.
"If any of my friends get hurt tonight because of you," Yeosang's voice was deep, making a shiver run down your spine, "I won't spare you."
"Well," you retorted, glaring back, standing on your tip toes, "If you hand me over to the very person who has tortured me all my life and who I finally have the chance to escape from... I'll never forgive you, Kang Yeosang."
Something flashed in Yeosang's eyes, but he only matched your glare, the two of you thinking, none of you moving.
"The tension between them is so obvious," Wooyoung muttered to San, the two of them giggling, and you just hmph-ed at Yeosang before turning away.
"Are we going or what?"
-------------------
"Are you sure this is the right place?"
"I have a good memory, Seonghwa," you tsk-ed at his question, "And when I tell you I saw a glimpse of the address to the resort he most frequently visits, it has to be this- or the one least frequently visited."
"Have you ever seen the safe?" Seonghwa asked, using his binoculars to count the number of men stationed outside, "I have to say, with the number of men stationed outside..."
"My boss is... a dumb man, actually," you admitted, and Seonghwa grinned because you both knew it was true, "He doesn't believe in the art of deception. He's straightforward like that- stationing 40 men outside a single resort? You'd think it was made of gold."
"How has no one robbed him till date?"
"Me," you flipped your hair and Yeosang, who was right next to you, scoffed, "Plus manpower. Simple and efficient."
"Right," Seonghwa slid down from the tree, motioning for everyone to gather for the plan.
"Alright, we have to get her inside since she won't just hand over the key to us," Seonghwa gave you a side-eye and you stuck your tongue out, "Our first priority is getting Yeosang and her inside, and we'll prevent any of those men entering the house."
"I'll distract them," Wooyoung said, winking once before acting like a drunken person, a bottle in his hand as he sang a song about illusions, slowly trailing to the path that led to the gate. Meanwhile, San went at the back, acting the same and you and Yeosang waited for the cue while Yunho and Seonghwa went to clear the path.
And a few moments later, when fire lit the sky, you and Yeosang jumped over the wall, swiftly running to the nearest window and getting down.
"I know where the alarms are, but there's no guarantee if boss replaced some after I got caught," you whispered, motioning for him to follow you, "The safe is actually in the basement, or so the rumours say."
"Let's get inside," Yeosang said, breaking the window with a rock and clearing the glass with his sleeve, entering first and making sure it was clear before allowing you to enter, and as soon as you did-
You jumped on Yeosang, landing on the floor, the bullet narrowly escaping his head, and in a quick motion your dagger went flying for the attacker's heart, rendering him immobile. Yeosang was breathless for a few moments before getting up.
"Watch your back," you said, taking the dagger out and sliding it back, letting the man bleed to death- you didn't look at his face, because you knew you'd recognize him- or anyone who dies tonight, as a matter of fact.
"Thanks," Yeosang breathed, and you led the way to the stairs, noticing two men stationed at the door of the single room in the basement.
"Now that's an upgrade too," you muttered, turning to look at Yeosang who was so close to you as he peeked over you that your face bumped on his shoulder, "Back off a bit, give me space to breathe."
Yeosang purposely got closer, almost making you lose your step and fall in front of the guards, and you slapped his arm as he stifled a giggle, "This is no time to play!"
"Oh? What time do we play then, pray tell?"
Ignoring him, you loaded your gun with tranquilizers, Yeosang doing the same, aiming to take the guards one on one since they had the element of surprise. Knocking them out in seconds and unarming them, you tried opening the door that was locked.
"Okay, hear me out," you said, raising your hands in surrender, "I have no idea what's inside. This could be a trap, we could find too much inside, I don't know what happens, okay?"
"Okay," Yeosang practically dismissed your statement, bending over to unlock the door with pins, and you sighed.
"I'm serious," you warned, "I'm not responsible for whatever happens."
Having unlocked the door, Yeosang sighed, putting his hands on your shoulders as he scanned your surprised face.
"I... I know. I know you can be trusted, just don't let me down on your part, will you?"
The dim lights were making Yeosang's facial structure seem like art- truly a sculpture. You gulped, nodding, and didn't miss the smirk as he took his hands off, nodding at you once and opening the door.
It was a simple room set like an office, but-
Another room.
"I'm betting 10 that there's an assassin who's not me or you in this room-"
Yeosang almost knocked the breath out of you as he whirled you at the side, meeting the said assassin's dagger with his own, the two engaging in close combat and it took you a few seconds to grasp the situation, taking a dagger in each hand and waiting for an opening-
But the two were blindingly quick and a grunt of pain escaped Yeosang as the dagger sliced his arm, and at the very moment when Yeosang's defense dropped and the assassin let loose-
You sent the dagger flying for the nape of his neck, grinning when it hit home.
"Go easy with the killings, will you?" Yeosang shook his head, examining his arm, "Who pissed you off tonight?"
"I can't believe my boss stationed a person here who is not me when I'm the one he's supposed to have been trusting the most."
Yeosang stared at you- your training had taught you to kill brutally and that was a fact known to everyone, and he realized you were your boss' right hand for a reason.
You were practically invincible, and oh, he never realized how hot you looked in your assassin gear.
"You done gawking?" You said, bending down to unlock the door you hoped was the last door tonight, and Yeosang shook his head as he grinned.
"The old you is back, it seems," he said, referring to your tone.
"That's still me, don't expect me to be all chummy with you-"
"Easy with this pin," Yeosang's hand slid over yours, guiding it to twist the pin in the door and you didn't hear the door unlock because all you could hear was Yeosang's breath near your ears.
He was getting to you, and both of you knew it.
As if on purpose, he slid his hand across your arm before withdrawing it away, opening the door before you could question his actions-
"That is one big ass safe."
You breathed- Yeosang was right. It was one big ass safe alright. You took out the key that you had safely taped to your bra, Yeosang watching with his mouth agape, and you both held your breath unconsciously when you put in the key, marveling at how it fit right in and turned it.
You opened the door to reveal a shitload of papers- documents, probably property documents and whatnot, but in the middle of it was another password protected safe.
"Should we just, I don't know, carry it with us?"
"Boss isn't that dumb," you let out a short laugh at Yeosang's question, motioning at the wire behind the locker, indicating it was either going to combust or activate an alarm if anything went wrong.
"Now what?" Yeosang said.
"First of all, now you know I can be trusted."
Yeosang scanned you. "For all I know, there's gonna be a 'got you' card inside."
You rolled your eyes, burning holes as you glared at the locker- as if your eyes could unlock them. "Now what could the password be?"
"Try 0000."
"Yeosang," you sighed, running a frustrated hand through your hair, "It must be a date- an important date to him."
Yeosang's phone vibrated, and he picked it up, his eyebrows furrowed in worry as he listened.
"They're largely outnumbered now," Yeosang said, "We have two minutes max. Think."
"I can't think right now," you groaned, clenching your hair, "There must be a number of possibilities. I can't go back without checking the locker, Yeosang, without taking what he has, he'll come and get me-"
"Hey, hey," Yeosang called your name, grabbing you by the arms and making you sit on a chair he dragged, rubbing your shoulders in comfort.
"You are a genius, you know that, right? You know you got a brain that works, right?"
You nodded, "Not working."
Yeosang shook his head at your words, watching your leg fidget and your hands tremble as time ran out, and you had to stand up because this was too much-
"Look at me," Yeosang said, and you turned, not expecting what happened next, which was Yeosang's hands cupping your face, tucking your hair aside gently, basically just...
Comfort touch. That's what it was.
"Relax," he whispered, "You'll be safe whether we get this or not. I won't let anything happen to you, you hear me?"
You couldn't really hear him, in fact, because your heart was pounding loudly because of the pressure and the situation you were in right now. Yeosang brought you closer, wrapping his arms around you, his hand caressing your head.
"Take a deep breath, with me, come on," he instructed, and you followed, your breaths syncing, "You've done so well. You've held on for so long, any one would have given in by now. But not you. You know why?"
Yeosang drew back, caressing your face.
"Because you're strong. You're the strongest person I know, you hear me?"
You knew it wasn't the time to cry, but you couldn't stop the tears that pricked your eyes, and Yeosang only smiled as he wiped your eyes, planting a lingering kiss on your forehead.
"You have 3 tries. We can try, or we can turn back. It's your choice."
"We have to try," you said, and Yeosang nodded.
"Do your best. I got you."
You were glad for the words and were convinced there was some magic to all this because suddenly your head was clear, and you stepped inside the safe, entering your boss' birthday-
The beep that sounded was awful.
"It's okay, go on," Yeosang rubbed your back gently, and you nodded, entering the date he became the leader of this gang-
Wrong.
"I don't know," you cried, but Yeosang only hugged you again, assuring you it didn't matter, and though you told him it could be dangerous, he only said they'd had enough time to take cover in case that happened.
You wracked your brain- what was so important to him that he'd use it as a password?
It felt like you were downed in ice as realization dawned upon you-
He had handed you the key.
He had always told people that you were his most important asset.
It had to be the date he met you for the first time.
You went down memory lane as you recalled the events of that time 15 years ago- when you had just been a child, freshly orphaned and left with what people presumed was your father's insurmountable wealth all passed down to you (but had been passed to charity, from what you knew)- but because your father had enemies, you had been running for your life until your boss- your father's friend- had found you and taken you in.
You were suddenly dreading what the locker held in.
Your fingers felt numb as you pressed the date and waited for that awful beep to sound- but the only sound you heard was Yeosang's gasp as the locker clicked open.
"You did it," Yeosang breathed, clapping.
"I did it," you laughed, looking at Yeosang, "I did it."
"Take whatever you want," Yeosang said, "No time to look, fill our bags and let's get away."
You nodded, Yeosang opening the bags and you filling it with the cash, the gold bars and some documents- you made sure the locker was as empty as new before you shut it, shutting the safe too and taking the key with you, Yunho joining you as soon as you exited the building, and you stopped for a second, burying the key beneath a random plant only you would remember.
You saw all the men knocked out on the way and you had to praise Seonghwa, Wooyoung, Yunho and San for so efficiently having done the job, only minor cuts and bruises as the damage. You didn't dare open the bags until you were back in the room with Yeosang, the rest giving you the space you needed because it was your right to see it first.
And yours alone- however Yeosang had tagged along casually, and you didn't mind.
"I can't believe this," you groaned, "In my enemy's room, with my boss' wealth at my feet."
"That sounds... interesting," Yeosang smirked, and you rolled your eyes, "I like it better when we're not at each other's throats."
"I don't," you said casually, but it looked like Yeosang had other plans as he slid behind you, drawing your hair at one side and whispering in your ear-
"How about being at each other's throats... like this?"
You had to squeeze your eyes shut at the feel of his breath on your skin as he breathed in, his nose tingling your neck-
"Yeosang-"
"Shh," he whispered, his arms wrapping around your waist, "I want you so bad."
You couldn't tell if this was him getting at you like he used to- back when things were normal. He'd do things like this to rile you up, and though you both would never admit it, it turned you both on in inexplainable ways. However, you were always confused as to what he wanted-
You turned around, grabbing Yeosang's hands before he could try anything, "Can you stop being a dick for two minutes?"
"You think I don't want you?" Yeosang raised his brow as he pulled you dangerously close, "You think I'm lying?"
"I wouldn't believe you, Kang Yeosang," you glared at him, "All you do is lie anyway."
"I've never lied about how I felt about you."
"And that's a lie too."
Yeosang groaned in frustration, "Why do you think I never made a move on you?"
You pursed your lips- was he actually serious about this?
"All this... flirting we did, as 'enemies'- and what a title for us when all I wanted was you this close to me," Yeosang sighed, and you couldn't believe what you were hearing, "I didn't want to get you in trouble with your boss- I knew he was an animal. I care about you, even though it might not seem like it. And now that I know what an absolute monster he's been to you..."
You watched Yeosang's brows furrow in a pained expression as he brought his hand to your face.
"I'm never going to let you go back."
You sighed, leaning into his touch, and that was all the confirmation he needed as he brought his face closer until your lips brushed-
And then he drew back.
"You might want to make sure nothing in there would change your mind," Yeosang's voice was hoarse, "I don't... I'm not doing this if you are going to go away."
Your knees were already weak and truth be told, you knew nothing in there would change your mind- you were never going back, not to him. You sighed, resting your head against Yeosang's chest as you calmed your breathing, not looking at him as you made your way to the bag which contained the documents.
You examined them one by one, Yeosang counting the cash and the gold in the meanwhile, and by the time you were done, you were crying rather hysterically.
"What's the matter?" Yeosang rubbed your back but you just slumped further down in the bed as you muffled your cries, muffled your screams. Yeosang held you as you cried, and between your sobs you managed to say some words-
Lies. Betrayal.
Your boss... he had never been that dumb, alright. He'd given 10 year old you the proof you needed- fake documents that said your father's wealth had been passed down to charity except a small amount for you, which wasn't enough in any way. However, the documents in your hands now said otherwise-
Your father, one of the wealthiest businessman of his time, had left all his wealth to his sole heir- you. He'd left nothing to his friend- your boss. Everything inside the locker, all the contents belonged to you alone- all legal money so you wouldn't get in trouble for it.
You cried for the life you could have had, for the pain of the scars you had on your back.
And Yeosang was fuming as he heard that, promising to teach your boss a lesson- and his tone said he was serious.
Sipping from the cup of coffee that Yeosang got for you, you finally calmed down, looking at the cash and the gold spread around you in sets.
"All of this... it's only yours."
"What am I gonna do, with all of this?"
"Anything you want," Yeosang's smile was genuine.
"Tell me one thing, Yeosang," you set your cup down, "Why do you like me?"
Yeosang sighed, smiling, "You got me good since the day we met. I did hate you at first, just like you must have hated me, but... somehow, I started looking forward to our interactions."
You smiled, shaking your head, making him laugh out loud- the laugh that had always been music to your ears.
"What am I going to do with you, Kang Yeosang?"
Yeosang couldn't take it anymore- he climbed on the bed, crawling forward until his lips met yours, and the sigh that escaped you said enough.
Finally.
Fucking finally.
Your arms immediately wrapped around his neck as he pushed you back, getting on top of you and kissing you, the kisses picking pace with every passing second, and he had to break apart when you groaned into the kiss.
"I wish I did this earlier," he couldn't breathe.
"Never too late," you smirked, and he brought his mouth back on yours, moving in unison, and you marveled at how they fit as if made for each other. One of his hands guided your face, holding at your neck, his thumb caressing your face while the other roamed around your waist, teasingly slow.
Yeosang broke the kiss, catching his breath as he took his time to memorize your face, his eyes roaming slowly around, taking in the curves and angles.
He caught you by surprise when he started peppering soft kisses all over your face- on your forehead, cheeks, nose, until you were a blushing mess and you couldn't take it anymore.
"You owe me one, remember?"
It took you a good moment to realize what he was talking about: when he had freed you from captivity.
You did owe him one.
You scanned his face, biting your lip. What was he thinking?
Before you could ask, he was kissing your jaw, travelling down your neck, satisfied grunts escaping both of you and you almost forgot what he had just said until he mumbled-
"I want you. So. Bad."
Your stomach sank dangerously at his words, and you just responded by fisting his shirt and connecting your mouths again, and Yeosang started unbuttoning your shirt and broke apart only to take off his own, going to attack your neck, wringing out moans from you as he teased your bare skin, his hands going lower and lower, stopping again as he scanned your eyes for any sign of discomfort, smiling when he found them dazed instead.
"You owe me one." He caressed your face so gently, as if it held something fragile, "Don't leave. Stay here, with me. That's what I want."
"I was going to tell you to keep it for later because I was going to stay anyway," you smirked, "too bad you've lost your opportunity-"
"I take it back," Yeosang laughed, kissing your forehead, "How come you've decided to stay?"
You took a deep breath, thinking how to word it and Yeosang lay down with you, "I've always admired how close knit the 8 of you are, and work like friends, without hierarchies, without pulling ranks. And the way you're willing to accept me, no questions asked... I'm overwhelmed, to be honest."
Yeosang smiled, tracing shapes on your waist, making you tickle slightly, "We're practically friends, the guys adored you anyway."
"You hated me!"
"Never," Yeosang shook his head, "I just needed a reason to talk to you and rile you up. You know how I love it when you frown at me or glare at me-"
You slapped Yeosang's hand, making him laugh out loud, "I hate you."
"Do you, now?"
"Anyways," you gulped, ignoring the devilish smirk on his face, "You have to let me do one thing."
Though Yeosang strongly rejected your idea, you only pushed forward, seeing it as a sort of investment, promising it wasn't a gift and you were getting something out of it too- though everyone thought it was too much to accept, especially Hongjoong. But you told them you weren't going to take the money to your grave-
And you had to take your property back from your boss.
The very lavish house he lived in that belonged to you- you had to take it back. He wasn't allowed to dwell there anymore. You were going to whip him like he did to you all those years, and if you felt merciful enough, you would give him the gift of death. And then you'd get your boys out of the old mansion they currently lived in, and make your house the new residence.
You didn't let yourself be distracted by anyone- especially Yeosang- as you planned the downfall of your previous gang, and when you stood outside your home, the 8 of them by your side, you kissed Yeosang and made him promise he wouldn't interfere and wouldn't risk his life, making everyone promise the same.
"Once night time comes," Yeosang growled in your ear, "I am gonna make you mine."
You practically melted right there- you wanted to tell him that he already owned you. But you only sighed, nodding.
He had you alright.
And he only proved it when it was the middle of the night, your bodies still sore from all the fighting, your minds relieved because you were now in your home, safe, and your boss was... well, dead, not before you made him sign a document that made you the sole heir to all his property and wealth as well. The men and women, his employees, either died fighting or surrendered- most of them had known you and hated their boss like you did.
It had been laughably easy.
And you could have said you were prepared for how the events turned out, but nothing could have prepared you for when you and Yeosang finally went in your room and he shut the door, practically slamming you against the wall as he kissed the living soul out of you.
And you knew it was gonna be a long, long night, especially with the both of you fighting for dominance, none of you giving in, clothes off in a hurried motion, slamming on basically every wall and furniture, marking each other's skin and making each other moan so loud you were positive everyone heard it.
And as you lay in bed, in Yeosang's embrace, you felt safe, for the first time in your life.
"I think I like us better when we're at each other's throats after all," you grinned, making Yeosang open one eye to see what you actually meant. And his smile told you he wasn't disappointed.
"I like us better like that too," Yeosang said, making you squeal as he attacked your neck with kisses and bites again.
im trying this again, i hope the gofundme helps with visibility. please reblog, i dont have a large social circle to help signal boost. thank you so much everyone!
𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑊ℎ𝑦 𝑀𝑦 𝐷𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑛 𝐶𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑑...
Inspiration: this, this, this, this,
A/N: As per request, and a high demand, this is like a part of the Creator!Reader AU drabble I wrote some time ago! Though there is a mention about a gender in the end, since the Creator/God of Teyvat could change genders/ forms if wanted, I didn't see a problem with that one!
A/N: PLEASE SEND ME SOME NEUVI NEUVI FLUFF REQUESTS ( especially papa ones with melusines) I'M BEGGING! THIS ONE TOOK A HUGE TOLL ON ME LOL AND BECAUSE MY MIND ONLY WORKS FOR ANGST AND LORE THESE DAYS, I NEED A DISTRACTION-
Warnings: THIS SHIT IS LONG, LIKE VERY! Hints, not so much now, of Neuvi Neuvi being the Hydro Dragon and the Sovereign, hints of past abuse and violence but not detailed, reader being a simp in general
Part1
Ever since coming to the nation of justice, and obviusly water, you had never felt such immense comfort and safety at the mostly silent city, with water sounds mixing. After running away from almost all the nations with the exception of Sumeru, Snezhnaya, Natlan and of course Fontaine whose eyes weren't blinded by anything and rather listened to you, sheltered you and gave you friends after being on the wild all on your own...
The calm and safety you felt was weird.
After all, it wasn't you who asked to be the Creator of this game you loved dearly. You were just a simple, non-important human in your world. Going to school and work, study, try to stay alive, make food for yourself, sleep and repeat the cycle...
And suddenly, you were the "Beloved" Creator of all these characters? But they still hunted you down and there were a few who supported you?? And now you were playing with the tiny and adorable melusines by the pond while being married with the one you loved?
You would have said bullshit on Earth but now, as you giggled at the many melusines fighting for your attention while one of the much younger ones laid between your arms with short and warm breaths fanning your neck softly...
Maybe all the trouble you went through was worth it.
"I want to braid Their Grace's hair!"
"You already did it yesterday, and the day before that too!"
You watched as Puca and Serene bickered together, both of them pushing the other away behind you and tugging on your hair rather harshly without realizing from time to time. You already knew that wincing would make things worse, since they were all so fond of you that they hated the idea of inflicting you with any kind of pain and would wail which would later leave you with hundreds of melusines to comfort with an awkward smile.
It had gotten bad especially after the eldest of them told how "bad things" happened to you... but now You had them and their "papa" and were happier than ever!
"Their Grace will have a date with Monsieur Neuvillette~ So, let's stop bickering and make Them even more pretty!" A fierce blush took over your whole face, warming your cheeks cutely as the younger melusines cooed and giggled, holding onto their hands together and jumping up and down excitedly at the fact that their "papa" and "Mama/dad" were going out like the spouses they saw on the streets of Fontaine. You didn't... exactly have a gender, and considering you appeared in different forms for safety to other nations, especially Inazuma and Liyue who had been... rather passionate about killing you, you would often come back to the loving embrace of your husband and daughters tired, completely forgetting about your form which was different than the one they always saw you.
It still made you stiffle laughs whenever you remembered the way the melusines gasped and looked at you and their papa snuggled under a blanket so lovingly like he always did with their mama/dad...
Poor things cried their eyes out because they thought Neuvilette was being unfaithful to you and didn't stop until they truly saw you and ran at you, never leaving your side at all and gave their papa nasty eyes... which made him also cry because he never thought of such thing happening, not when even his eyes wouldn't stray from your glowing body as you slotted your fingers with his, swinging your joined hands proudly while walking around the city with him next to you as he blushed and softly looked at you.
Not when his unbeating heart, after you disappeared, started to beat once again at your fragile form in the courtroom and he put his coat over your shivering form, eyes glossy with gratefulnes as you accepted it with shaky hands and a silent and meek thank you that pierced and squeezed his chest.
Not when he finally found his mate, his true love, though it was the Creator he always held affection for and waited for millenias for you to return back once more to grace him with your light.
No one could deny the obvious feelings between you and the Chief Justice who wouldn't be too far away from you ever since you entered the city and looked at him with fearful eyes, even when you two weren't courting yet alone being married. No one blamed you for your obvious fear, they caught wind of what happened and had a brief idea after all. So, instead, they acted kind to you and offered to tell you about themselves and the city after you begged them (which felt wrong because weren't they supposed to be on their knees for you?) to call you by your name and act normal. Through time, they saw how happier and more expressive you had become at the way they acted with you, often seeing you play with the children or help out Lady Furina with meetings, or just sit with them for a lunch as they talked about the latest gossips or trends...
Such as how the other nations were suffering because of the lack of your presence, and how theirs were flourishing even more as the days passed.
Even the people knew how jealous the other nations and their people were that Fontaine was the city you favoured, that their archon was your friend and the next important person, their Chief Justice, was your spouse. And people of Fontaine was extremely smug and happy about it, happier than they had ever been, at the fact that the Creator wanted to share Their eternity with their Chief Justice, that he was the one who held your affection and love. Neuvilette seemed like he never cared about what people said about him, at least about the Chief Justice part of him. He judged according to the laws, which he soon realized was flawed, and did his reports religiously. To the outside, he was a stern and cold man who could never be tender for another, love them as if he was holding a fragile glass, and wanting to protect his love, their love and smile and everything that made him love that one special person.
Yet, the truth couldn't be further from the truth.
Yes, that unloving and cold part of him was a side he often used to not show how affected he would become after every harsh comment... But only those closest to him, melusines and now you, knew it to be completely fake and that Neuvilette always wanted to do his damn best and even more for his people.
You didn't understand why everyone seemed to make you stay away from him when you first started to wander in the city with him not so behind you. He insisted that he would accompany you (after you begged him to go out for fresh air or else you were about to explode out of boredom and he caved in at your puppy eyes) and introduce the city, knowing very well that the people could be rather instantaneous , rash at the first sight of you and you didn't like sudden moves after the events obviously, so he told you that he would be close enough to intervene if something were to happen and enjoy yourself as much as you can.
But there was one thing he didn't consider that day, one thing you didn't have an idea happening which made you whiplash so suddenly that the melusine you held hands with shrunk and thightened her hand over yours, scared: The obvious distaste of the sweet Melusines, even now, and the man that had been nothing but sweet to you, taking care of you at rough nights and whispered sweet things to you.
Going as far as letting you sleep on the couch in his office after much bickering, him insisting that a divine being such as yourself only deserved silk and the softest of beds Teyvat could offer and you whining out that it was him that you needed as you cuddled up to his long coat with a sweet and sleepy smile.
But you didn't like how people were so against him, so hellbent on making you realize that he wasn't a good choice, that he was made out of cold stone and nothing else.
That he didn't know how to even love.
But...
They didn't know how it was you that he had let himself go, to enjoy the simple side of life.
They didn't know how you would catch him staring at and feeding the otters, which you often affectionately called "mini Neuvi", with the softest and most adorable face he ever had and then flush when you caught him in the middle of his petting session and joined him, crouching down next to him.
They didn't know how his heart pounded at being close to you, witnessing your love and kindness to everything and everyone around you from being close to you and how you often held onto his arm thight as you both strolled around with flushed cheeks, under the teasing eyes of the elders of Fontaine who commented how cute you both looked together and how your eyes shone brighter.
He really wanted to know if it was because of the comments or your happiness for being treated like normal bir he didn't know he would learn it soon...
Or, they didn't know how he wished to wrap his arm around your waist and hold you against himself protectively, as if everyone outside was a life-threatening danger to you.
They didn't know the way he silently loomed close to you but still remained in the shadows, just enough to watch you have fun, and smile wide with his own little one tugging on his lips.
They didn't know that he enjoyed it the most whenever you brought whatever you baked, with one of the melusines behind you walking happily, and brought it to him as a thanks for all he did for you. No one has ever done this much for me, you would say and he had to refrain from taking your chin between his gloved hand and softly wipe that frown away. For you, anything he wanted to say many times but always refrained from doing so but as he gazed at your eyes at the time...
He knew you already knew about what he wanted to say, what he wanted to do as your eyes locked in his amethyst eyes and pink lips, chest to chest and standing so close to each other that your breaths mingled together as you both just... Stared at each other.
And they didn't know how he wanted to kiss you, how much you wanted to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him to yourself while messing with his perfectly-done hair... To bask in the happiness only he was able to give you, surrounded by perhaps otters and your sweet "daughters" and just... knowing each other.
They didn't know him like you did.
And they didn't know the sweet melusines like you did either.
And... Well, perhaps, they also didn't know how protective you were of them and the wrath of you was a power to beckon with when challenged.
"Born from Calamity, you say. He brings only devestation and pain to those close to him, you say..." your voice, calm yet still had a hidden threatening tone, was carried by the Wind on your command and towards right into their ears. The group that was talking shit behind your family all stiffened up, knowing that they had the attention of their Creator in the worst way possible.
Little Puca's hand shook between yours, which made your anger skyrocket even more, her eyes scaredly looking around as she shuffled closer to your long clothes and held on for dear life. She knew about the dislike from humans through her older sisters but... she didn't think it was this bad even now after many years.
What had they done wrong, except working hard and waiting for the people's approval?
"Y-Your Grace, w-we didn't mean to-"
"You are telling me that you didn't mean to say my daughters couldn't be trusted because you don't know where they are from, and since my husband loves them so much, in extension, he also couldn't be trusted?" You pushed whatever words this... woman had to say right back into her throat as she shivered from terror at your cold, glimmering eyes that held the universe in them pierced through her harshly and she had nothing else to do except bow in shame and hope to be forgiven...
Wrong move though.
"Do you think of me... perhaps, stupid?" You sneered angrily, stopping in the middle of your sentence in fake thinking with a curious finger tapping your chin as absolute and undeniable horror filled the people.
"N-Never, Your Grace-!"
"Then how dare you lie to my face and talk shit about my family? Who do you think you are?" Your voice rang menacingly all over Fontaine, all the water and even Wind stopping, as those who had been nothing but rude to the melusines cowered in fear and those who always stood on their side smiled proudly. You already heard enough, knew that you had been silent for so long which ended up with your family being hurt far longer than they should have and now, the time was over.
With slow and silent steps, you stood before the woman who lifted her head hopefully to look at your face but soon horror found her at the blank face you gave her with your contrasting soft hands holding her face.
"I have been patient, for you all to realize your mistake and fix it but if this goes on any longer... If I need to inflict fear so that your filthy words wouldn't taint my family... Then so be it."
With your final words, you picked Puca up and craddled her between your arms lovingly, whispering sweet soothing words as you told her how papa must have been worried and that you two had to go and meet with the rest as soon as possible.
As the little melusine rambled about whatever picked her interest that day, the fright from before long forgotten as you listened attentively but soon frowned when you felt the cooling sensation of... water, over your face.
And lo behold, soon after your brief talk, it started to rain softly.
You really hoped that your husband didn't hear the commotion, knowing how much it would hurt his gentle heart to hear the people he swore to protect still treat him and his daughters badly. You knew how... Carole's sacrifice affected him, how he started to not trust people and turn his emotions off because of how painful it was for him.
He was the one who told you this, after another nightmare where he couldn't do anything to protect his family, and sobbed on your chest with his beautiful hair all messy, eyes swollen and red as he begged you to forgive him, still affected by the gruesome sight of your body and his hands covered in large gushes and golden blood. And even then, he was the most beautiful sight you ever laid your eyes on.
But, to your horror, he did hear it.
But cried for an entire different reason.
And not long after, it started to rain... which made you think back to all the times it poured, You stared at the sky with a lovesick smile over your face as you stared at Neuvillette's slightly-shaking back, who thought he hid himself well behind the stone sculpture of yours, already planning to go to his office later to comfort your big baby.
Still thinking back to all the times when your sensitive, lovely and gentle husband who appeared to be cold but was actually the cutest man/dragon alive, cried and made it rain... Feared that he ruined everything once again but you begged to differ.
To you, it was the most beautiful show of his own feelings.
1.He saw a cute otter
"Hello, mini Neuvi! How are you?"
This time of the day was perhaps, the most funny and relaxing one for you. Because, after so much work and paper and also Furina's drama, you really needed to blow off some steam and just enjoy your life. Fontaine was a beautiful nation, but sometimes... You just wished to see other ones from more of a close eye, especially Sumeru.
It has been such a long time that you were starting to forget the beautiful greenery there, and how much you enjoyed hanging out with the others who became your friends quickly.
You definetly didn't miss Cyno's dad-jokes and how the others stared in shock when you snorted at one of them-
But, you were happy with where your life was right now. You were safe, happy, had the cutest animals around you, and then there were the sweet and ever-helpfull melusines who were always at your back and call with pretty much anything and...
There was Neuvillette.
You giddily laughed and put your hair behind your ear shyly, even the mention of the usually composed and calm yet so easily flustered man made your heart burst and dance. You wanted to believe that there was something sparking between you two after the many times you hung out with him, and the many times everyone told you that no, Chief Justice never just "hung out" with people and that this was a first.
Probably what sealed the deal for you, and pretty much everyone, was the way he... very obviously had softened gradually.
It was the subtle way he made sure you were okay, always buying a nicely done bouqet on his way for you and slowly, starting to smile more. People, before you came along, often was scared to talk to him because of his "brooding personality". They thought he was someone hard to talk with, which at first was true. The usually expressionless face he always wore made people stay away, and loose the best kind of companionship they could have had by not trying harder to understand him.
Because, deep down, you saw the longing eyes he gave to the couples in Fontaine or the best friends hanging out together happily. He really wanted to have that too, he just didn't know how and therefore, he was seen as heartless and uncaring for any attachments when it was the most wrong thing he ever could be.
Not that you had any complaints, even if that treatment sometimes saddened you, you were happy that it was you he chose to show that side of him even if it was as a result of... a traumatic experience.
"I brought you, and your whole family the most yummy snacks ever! Made by none other than me!" You shook your head at the thoughts to focus on the cute otters who were swimming where you were simply floating, making excited sounds at seeing both their creator and "mama/dada".
A/N: I just want a horde of melusines and otters in my home, is that too much to ask? 🥲🥹
Giggling at their enthusiasm, you happily followed them around for almost all the afternoon and you couldn't lie, it was the best swimming you ever had, with a worry-free mind and heart.
That was, of course, until you felt a panicked presence close before warm hands (contrasting to the cool water around you) circled your middle and a relieved breath on your ear made goosebumps appear on your skin.
"I was worried, Your Grace... No one has seen you today." Your body relaxed visibly at his rich and soothing voice and slacked back ahainst his chest, his arms thightening around your waist without noticing and inhaling your shampoo deeply with a content smile.
"Oh... Yes, I needed some alone time to myself. I'm sorry if I worried you so much." You sheepishly looked at him while still in his soft embrace and he looked down slightly at your face, crinkled with happiness and then, smiled.
Which, obviously, made your heart stop for a second as you internally gushed at how handsome he was.
"It's okay... I know you can protect yourself. Though I wonder what had taken your attention this much?"
An excited gasp left you when you remembered your children and looked around to see them behind a rock, peeking from the corner to look at you fearfully, unsure if it was safe for them to come out again.
"I came to meet my children! Come on, darlings! He is a friend, you are safe with him!"
Neuvillette widened his eyes at your form who was immediately swarmed with the otters, all clinging onto you as soon as the words left your mouth and he couldn't will his heart to stop pounding his chest at the blissful and motherly smile over your face.
It had been some time that he finally admit his feelings for you, after having a long lecture from Furina and Navia herselves about love, feelings and how a romantic relationship works. They literally forced him to look deeper into his heart and just feel what he feels when he is around you, what he wants to do and wished to happen etc. They already had enough of their favourite ship not sailing yet, Furina just wanted some action and Navia... well, she knew he was a good man now and didn't deserve to be lonely all the time so she was eager to help.
Safe to say, even they were shocked and teary-eyed at how sensitive, sensual and romantic he was when it came to you.
And those feelings only intensified with each passing day, after he was more aware of his body's, the dragon in him's reactions to you and what you did.
And right now, they were purring contently and proudly at watching you interact with your children.
Even the thought of such thing excited him and he had to cough to mask his embrassment when you two... weren't an "item" as Lynette and Lyney used to say while giggling just like any other teenager in Fontaine.
He didn't know what "being an item" meant, this was teenagers after all and their language was weird.
"Come here, mini Neuvi! I know you want this yummy fish snack- Neuvillette, are you okay?"
Well, he definetly didn't expect to hear you call an otter... with his name. He was a mighty dragon, a Sovereign for Celestia's sake, not a small and weak creature!
But as he looked at you swinging the cute otter side to side, pointing at every feature that was very much like him according to you from the blue streaks they had, how they loved swimming, head pats and rolling in the water and how they adored being fed (something he regretted ever telling you about and letting you do it just because he wanted you to do so, that the dragon side of him submitted to you, going as far as letting you pat him and feed him, showing weakness), there was nothing he could do except sigh defeatedly and watch you play with the now horde of them as they all made happy sounds at you.
But really? Did you really have to call the otter between your arms which was cuddling up to you "Mini Neuvi"?
Did you really have to make him blush as he imagined what your supposedly-not-here-yet children might look like as they also cuddled up to your warm embrace, chanting your name?
"Oh My- Neuvillette, there is smoke coming out of you! What the-" your eyes widened at him as you worriedly swam to where he was slightly bent over, hair and hand trying and failing to hide his deep blush and giddy smile as you fussed over him.
Yeah, he had to have better control of his emotions and... bodily reactions from now on.
2. I kissed him under the rain
"As if it wasn't bad already, It's raining again!"
"Ugh, again? There goes my travel plans..."
"I wonder what's wrong with the Hydro Dragon enough to make him cry all the time..."
"This rain is ruining everything-!"
All his life, he listened to and watched people of Fontaine complain about the rain. How it destroyed their shops, how their plans were ruined and how they would surely get sick after this rain... Most of them knew about the Hydro Dragon legend, and as selfish as it might have sounded, he wished people would be at least a little bit worried over him.
Expecting this much wasn't wrong after all, right? He never thought or demanded the people to enjoy rain, he knew it could be a huge hassle to deal with a heavy storm and the mud that came with it.
But never in his eons of life, did he see someone as pecular as you, dancing and laughing under the rain but still held a somewhat thoughtful frown.
"Why are you not running away?"
He blushed at how the question left his mouth so suddenly, turning his head to not look at you as you halted and turned to him with a confused stare but soon grinned like an excited kid.
"Why would I? It's so refreshing and the rain feels nice on my skin!" You couldn't help yourself and jump on a little puddle on the ground and splash water everywhere, gleefully running around as Neuvillette's eyes were trained on you intensely.
He... didn't understand humans most of the times but you? You were another kind of enigma for him as you ran happily and pushed the wet locks of your hair away from your face which usualy irritated most of the women. You were definetly going to get sick, have a runny nose and probably feel fatigued all day... but as you slapped your wet cheeks to make sure all of this was real, and that you were finally here all happy, the sickness that would come after this seemed worthy.
But, Neuvillette had been more silent than you were used to...
Not hearing or seeing any reaction from him, you slowly came to an end in your little game and tilted your head at his expressionless face. "Do you... hate the rain?"
A sudden realization came over at his bashful and solemn face, the downward turn of hisblips and the slight bite he gave to himself. "Oh..."
"Yes..." he muttered under his breath and looked down, eyes brimming with tears and stinging his eyes but hidden by his own wet hair. His face was already flushed from the cold, and perhaps by the sight of your clothes clinging on your body and showing off some of your skin and curves.
Or maybe, the bright yet understanding smile on your face as you tilted your head at him was what made him stop and lift his eyes and stare at you dumbfounded.
And make his own tears pour even harder.
"How can anyone hate the rain?" You asked softly and he knew... He knew you didn't mean just the rain, but himself. He wondered if you were aware of the implication of your words, whether you knew the truth about him or not but frankly enough...
He didn't care.
If it was you who knew, but still didn't say anything, he was fine with his secret out for one more person.
Unaware of his newfound ambition to just "seal the deal" today and finally take the scary yet exciting step into the future, you continued to talk with your hands out in a cupping position, letting the cold rain water collect in the middle of your hands.
"It's a blessing of this world to the people who lives on soil. It is to refresh both us and the soil, the air and the waters so that humans can live. But..." Slowly lowering them down and watching the water run down over your arms, you fiddled with your hands anxiously, contemplating whether it was okay to say what was in your mind since it was a rather sensitive topic for him, with no one else knowing his true identity or name.
You didn't exactly know when you realized it, or whether you knew from the beginning or not but now that you did... Neuvillette wouldn't spend even one more minute alone anymore, you would make sure that he would be happy and loved and would never feel as if he didn't belong anywhere.
But it seemed Neuvillette was very adamant on hearing the rest of your sentence since he took a step towards you and stared down at you with his chest rising up and down rapidly in anticipation, his breath warming your cheeks by both the hotness of it and also the closeness between you two.
"But what?"
You sighed deeply and looked up at the eyes that decorated most of your dreams and daydreams. Confessing feelings have always been hard, it never got easy even if you were in a different world but if you didn't do this... Neuvillette would never do it in fear of making you uncomfortable with himself.
"It saddens me to know that the Hydro Dragon suffers so much, enough to make it flood."
Well, he definetly wasn't expecting this answer.
Out of anything that might have left your lips, what you chose to say amazed him. There was someone worried about him? Well, you weren't necessarily worried about him. After all, you didn't know (and there was no way for it to happen) that he was the Hydro Dragon and also, the one who was sad almost %99 of the time.
He often felt guilty about not being honest to you, when you spoke about most of the things that happened to you or what you used to do in your world before coming here. But the mind was a complicated system, and often showed its ugly side at times like this one.
It screamed at him often that if you were to know the truth, see his true form ... He would see the horror and disgust on your face that usually looked at him so lovingly and softly...
And it would forever break him.
"I think, compared to all the dragons I had ever faced with... He has the most gentle heart ever! But the kindest hearts often suffer the most, I just hope he has someone to care for him." You smiled kindly and knowingly at him with a raise of your brows as you stared at his own wide ones, hoping the usually clueless man would get the meaning behind your words.
And surprisingly enough, he did... He just wasn't sure if he should say something more or not, whether he got the meaning behind right or not.
Surely, you didn't...
"He does... I think he does have someone." He gave a small smile to the slightly parting sky as he looked up and sighed in content. He was glad he had you in his life, after such a long time in solidarity and absolutely no one to understand him. Even when he was just a little hatchling, with seemingly no one to care for him, his tiny heart at that time craved for it as he travelled through this world, all alone...
But never ever imagined to hear those words that left your lips next, as if they were the confirmation he always needed.
"So... Why are you still crying then?" He widened his eyes as he lifted those reddened ones to your face, droplets of salty water still running down his cheeks as amethyst-colored eyes looked at you in wonder, mouth left open in shock in a little "O" shape.
The childish wonder in his eyes made you soften at him as you shuffled closer to him, and even if he was a lot taller than you, he seemed like a fragile and ready-to-cry-at-any-moment little boy as he grasped your hands thightly that was holding his face delicately, scared that this was all his imagination which would perish as soon as he woke up and he would be left staring at his ceiling with empty eyes.
Your heart burst with love at seeing his face, body shivering from anxiety and cold together as he trembled under your touch but still seeked your comfort and warmth. He nudged your palm with a small smile, content and relaxed for the first time since he no longer needed to hide from you. He sighed onto your hands, your finger tips lightly touching his strand of white hair, swiping them away from his forehead as he leant down to your height and leaned his forehead on yours. Closing his eyes tiredly, he leant his body weight on yours but it didn't bother you and neither was it hard for you to hold him up by hugging his waist...
And he purred, placing a wide and teary smile over your face.
He finally trusts me...
"Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, don't cry... Even if you look pretty while doing so." You teased him softly ( there was true honesty to your words anyways), with adoration evident on your tone as you almost sung those phrases he sometimes heard children say. Your hands rubbed his back softly, drawing circles as the rain started to lower down and tiny specks of light shone on you both.
You sighed out and buried your face to his neck, cheeks smushing on his shoulder as your arms thightened around him as if to shield him from any more harm.
And, the most joyous thing was... He let you. He squeezed your back with equal force and buried his face to your neck, with his lips tingling painfully just to lay a soft and loving kiss there.
Just as many times you affectionately kissed his forehead with praises spilling from your mouth.
"Just as you promised a lot of times... I'll do everything in my power to make you happy, Neuvillette. That is, if you ha-" your hand was idly patting and going through his locks softly, hand scraping along his scalp as your murmurs hit and was absorbed by his greedy skin as he soaked it all up even in the middle of his shock.
How can you even ask such a question when he was ready to give his life for you?
"Yes..." he was already overwhelmed enough with love, and with each word passing your lips... The reality of the situation you two were in had settled.
Finally... Finally, he had you.
His arms thightened around you, voice shaking as if he was the most afraid he ever had been."Please... Don't leave. I don't know if I can live again without you... now that I had a taste of your love and warmth."
You were shocked to hear such a declaration, so passionate yet calm, just like Neuvillette himself. You slightly parted from him to look at his face, knowing his eyes would never betray his words but he was making it difficult by clinging onto you more.
"Is it-" you started anxiously, fearing that it was because of the connection between the Sovereign and the Creator when a scoff left him, nose scrunched up as if you just said the most weird and offensive thing ever known to a man.
"No, It's because you are Y/N... You are the one I love."
And what else of a reason you would need, when he craddled your face so gently and stroked your chin before slowly diving down and kissing you sweetly under the soft rain as the time stopped for you two, and the nature all around Teyvat blossomed and shone with power?
3. I fainted because he was too cute and handsome, especially when he smiled
"You are so handsome when you smile..."
Now, Neuvillette was used to the way you abruptly threw praises and sweet words at hım throughout the day. Sometimes they were agressive as you squeezed his cheeks together and made hım stare in your eyes while you doted on him.
But this one... This one was new, and he wasn't ready to hear it yet.
At least, fast enough to cover his reactions to save himself from more teasing from you.
"Thank you, my love... Though it couldn't compete with your-" he coughed out as his tail swinged happily behind him, internally cursing himself for deciding to use his hybrid form since you begged him that it would only be the two of you in his office and that you wouldn't let anyone enter without asking first.
And he was a fool in love anyways, who always became weak in the knees whenever you asked for something.
Besides, he couldn't lie: Upholding his human form for so long made him itchy and he was really enjoying as you patted and scratched his tail and scales as his very long tail was wrapped around your waist possessively.
"It's so bright and mesmerizing that it brightened my next eternal life for good...." You were brushing his hair and styling it into a high ponytail just because you thought it would suit him, so focused on your task that you didn't realize how his whole body bibrated because of his content and loud purr...
Which soon made you lean over his left shoulder and stare at his face with a loving and teasing smile.
And there it was, the fierce blush that often coated his handsome face whenever you blurted out your intrusive thoughts...
He blinked several times while looking at you with wide eyes, his heart making flips then stopping and doing it once again which made you snort and lean back on the plush chair you pulled behind his own table...
And soon, very soon, his whole face (and you were sure even his chest) was covered in the reddest red ever known as he stumbled over his own words while slightly trembling.
It was cute... But was it normal for him to tremble?
"Neuvillette? Are you... Did I say something out of-" you slightly raised from the chair while holding the handles and put the brush away, ready to assist him when he suddenly shouted out with an embrassed laugh.
"N-No, not at all! I'm fine, better than I've ever been actually!"
He would never dare to make the same mistake he once did when he reacted to your sweet and definetly distracting words. It was bad enough now that it was becoming harder to control himself...
Maybe, you would be down to the idea of a nightly swimming date?
4. I told him what happened to me and he made the city overflow
"Aaand, that's pretty much it... I already forgave them all but... I think I would never forget it."
Talking about what had happened in all the lives you lived, considering all the religious and cult-like trauma, was something hard to do. Especially since it was still a fresh wound that kept opening again and again at the sight of the Archons in your daily life. They still showed themselves to you from time to time, begging for your forgiveness even though Neuvillette himself almost headbutted with the ex-Geo Archon himself, another fellow dragon who was not as strong as him.
Even though you told them that you put all of that in your past, that you forgave them... They just didn't seem satisfied. They wanted to be closer to you, hang out with you and bask in your warmth as well.
Much like a certain someone, who was deadly serious about not leaving you alone with them for more than a few minutes.
But, could anyone really blame him? You were his treasure, his everything, the one he patiently waited for years without straying from his logic.
His soulmate that he never though he had, or could have. You were kind and loving and generous, and him... awkward about most of the things that concerned human nature, clueless, broken and rough around the edges. He, even now, never actually believed he could make you happy like you deserved while having all these flaws, especially whenever those Archons spoke of all the flaws he had and how he wasn't enough... But as you stared up at him any time he got into one of these moods, held his face and kissed his frown and worries away with little whispers of your love, he knew why he was still alive and had to fight for another day.
He spent lonely years by himself with his heart in agony, listening to it crying for the real home for him... And now that he had it, he learnt all the terrible things they did to You, how they all refused to lend a helping hand to someone in need of it without adding the fact that it was the Creator, and everyone expected him to be fine with it?
Hell no.
He just... couldn't wrap his mind around it. How could they, he thought bitterly as you leaned your head to his shoulder innocently, watching the moon shine outside and reflect the light on both of you. Your hand timidly reached out to his, smaller fingers wrapping around his much bigger ones as if you knew very well the emotional turmoil he was in to comfort him though it was him who was supposed to do that for you.
And it made him even more guilty as he leant his head on your own, as selfish as it seemed to him for seeking such thing from you at your vulnerable state.
How could they almost destroy such a cheerful, happy and kind person? Our Creator?... My love?
You were always the sunshine of wherever you entered, an eye-catching presence in the usually gloomy and calm City of Fontaine. Even when you first came, before seeking refugee and begging Furina to listen to you... You were still kind enough to stop and help a child find her mother, help a lost melusine out ( you later learnt it was Puca, who would grow on you later when she re-approached you with a necklace of sea-shells and offered them to you timidly), and even bring joy to the water in their city so much so that there wasn't a stormy or gloomy day ever. And that was enough for everyone, alongside the golden scars across your arms, that you were their true Creator.
Besides, Neuvillette didn't have to listen to what Furina had to say, the primal dragon in him was already roaring, growling and trashing inside at the other stupid Archons who dared to touch you, to hurt you. How could they, it yelled in his mind often as the loyal dragon it is to the Creator, connected with a deep sense of loyalty and... love. That dragon side of him purred loudly and softly whenever you seeked him amongst a crowd, or simply sitting with him.
The fact that it was him who you felt safe with made both him and the dragon proud and happy, so much so that if he could use his half-hybrid form, which he was already doing it a lot thanks to you, his tail would be flicking back and forth much like a puppy.
He might not be the best with emotions, with them being especially more complicated with humans and all. He might have not understood what pain, heartbreak and even anger meant but there was one thing clear:
Something in his chest broke so wildly, so loudly and stung his heart so harshly at the sight of your tears that the air in his lungs were punched, and made him silently choke on his own tears.
"Never will you ever feel scared, unsafe and unloved, Your Grace... I will make sure of it." He gently craddled your face between his much larger and slightly calloused, naked hands after finally, finally finding his voice back even if it left his lips in a raspy and wavering way with arms squuezing your body thightly. But you didn't mind it, all you could ever need was here anyways...
Except...
"Not that..." he hummed in confusion with a tilt of his head, the blue streaks of his hair tickling your face softly as you giggled and buried yourself deeper to his chest.
"I don't like it when you call me that..."
"Then what would you like me to call you, my love?" You grinned with joy as you bonked your head with his, another affectionate yet cute gesture he learnt you did whenever you were full of excitement and love. Trying to be silent, so that your army of daughters didn't wake up from next doors, you pushed him on the bed you two shared, hand on his sturdy chest as you stared down at his flushed cheeks and flustered eyes at your sudden dominance.
What a sight it was to have the ever stoic Chief Justice, the Hydro Sovereign under your mercy like this, all pretty and yours...
"I like that one better actually. Can you say it again?" You tilted your head cutely with a smile, your sadness from before long forgotten as his eyes softened at you from below you,happy that he was at least able to do that for you. His hand slowly trailed up your waist, to your back and softly craddled your face with his naked hands, hands rubbing your cheeks oh so lovingly as he uttered those sweet names to you slowly, with no rush at all with closed eyes and a loving smile.
"My love..."
"Again..." you breath got caught in your throat as the sudden rush of love and safety overwhelmed you, the man you loved from the beginning uttering and declaring his love to your skin was both too much and not enough.
Not when you unforfunately were deprived of such thing in both worlds.
More, more, I need to hear it more...
"my precious, most beautiful and one and only love..." he slowly pushed himself up on his elbow with the help of his hand on the bed, thightly holding your neck with a promise on his tongue. He was an ancient being with even more ancient thoughts on courting and loving someone. If a dragon loved someone, and devoted themselves to that person once... That was it. No more turning back, no more being lonely, no more suffering. The dragon would make sure their mate was well-fed, safe and happy with them and that no harm would ever come to them ever again, even if the dragon died.
And that dragon side of him was insperable from him after all and therefore, he was eternally yours to have, to be your sworn protector.
Those who treats his family badly would suffer the worst consequence ever...
But for now, he would only kiss your tears away, run his hands across every single scar that told another story and was left unhealed for so long.
I'll fight with everything, move the whole Teyvat upside down and rip through everyone with sharp and protective claws who dared to hurt you and take you away from him.
Not when I had been waiting for you for millenias and just now had you.
"My treasure... You are not alone. You will have me for as long as you want."
He wanted to say everything his heart desired to do but right now, at this vulnerable moment for you as you both laid naked... This was enough.
His arms around you thight was enough.
His deep voice declaring his absolute adoration and devotion to you, bringing you close to tears was enough.
The soft raining outside, making a knowing smile appear on your adorable face smushed to his chest was enough.
Your loving kiss right where his heart was enough.
He and his love was enough.
That is until he learnt in the morning that he accidently made the city overflow deep at night while crying silently to himself for you, thinking you were asleep, but bury himself deep in the sheets while you laughed at hım first thing in the morning and he almost cried tears of frustration at you again.
5. I love him
He gave his true name.
Slowly, very timidly, he brought his hand closer to yours on his face and took a hold of the softness of it with his own glowed hands. This was one of the things he loved to do the most, caressing your hands and rubbing the tips of your finger before kissing every inch of it, showing them the love no one did and could never do.
Not when your heart, skin, body and soul only knew him.
To him, your hands were divine in more than one way. They created life and helped people around, they were what patted the head of the young ones, what helped a little babe who fell on their bum and looked at you with glossy eyes, they were what showed your kindness and love to everyone and everything even after all they did, ever the unworthy ones of such love...
They were what you used to comfort him with your warmth, at long and painful nights as the sky roared with thunders and rain and he was guilt-striken at the thought of people judging him and uttering harsh words to the "Hydro Dragon".
Those were the especially hardest nights for him, marred with the images of you and his "daughters" injured and dying... His mind screaming, torturing with those images and the painful screams, mocking him for not being enough, powerful enough to save those closest to hım as everything drowned him.
Not enough...
You couldn't even save the one you love...
Failure...
Their deaths are on you-
It's okay not to be okay, my love...
But your soft voice, laced with utter devotion and love for him, was always what made it all better as he laid across your chest and hugged you thightly while your hands played with his silky locks. Sometimes, he wondered if you were reading his mind since you always knew when he was down. It was absolutely amazing yet, you were amazing too.
With ot without being the Creator.
Much like the first time he knew his every being now belongt to you, that his heart had fallen for you beyond your title, because you trully loved him for who he was, it fell again and again even more with each passing day.
His heart fell even deeper in love whenever you shyly entered his office to have a hug before dealing with the problems of Teyvat and other realms, saying that his hugs were really relaxing to which he silently teared up, brought him food and ate with hım since he forgot to eat regularly which pissed you off and he would make it up to you by kissing you, whenever you excitedly pointed to a place to have a sudden date with him while strolling in the Fontaine...
And therefore, the last thing he would give to you... would be the sign and show of his utter loyalty and trust.
Himself and his true name, as he proposed to be yours for eternity.
"Will you accept someone like me to be your eternity, Your Grace?"
With happy tears in your eyes as you nodded and jumped on him, which made him fall back on his ass and laugh freely he kissed every part of your body and uttered öne last thank you.
"Thank you for loving me no matter what..."
A soft laugh as you looked up towards the sky which had a soft rain under bright sun, a great show of the feelings Neuvillette was feeling, you kissed him deep once more, much like the first time you kissed.
"Thank you for being you, for letting me love you, my husband... I love you." You nuzzled closer to him with a wide grin as you both laughed while he twirled you happily as the melusines cheered and cried in joy, the waters around you two bursting up towards the sky and creating a feast for eyes with bright colors.
The people cheered in the distance, made new offerings to you and your new husband in happiness and gratitude for being able to witness this day...
But all you needed, all your eyes would see and all your heart would feel was right between your arms... In the form of the Hydro Dragon Sovereign, with pretty amethyst eyes that reflected you and gave you hope when you almost lost it and soft hairs of blue and pearly white that was entangled between your fingers as your lips found his passionately.
𝒜𝓊𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝐵𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝐼𝓃 𝒩𝒶𝓋𝓎
Oscar thought he wouldn't have to deal with anything similar to Alpine-Gate ever again. He was wrong.
Oscar Piastri x Horner!Reader
-> Everything Goes Wrong (pt1) -> Oscar breaks up with his girlfriend and McLaren start treating him like Daniel, but then he meets someone new. posted: 3 Feb 2024
-> A Storm Is Brewing (pt2) -> Mark gives the Go-Ahead for possible negotiations with Red Bull, McLaren pull an Alpine, and Oscar makes a decision. posted: 5 Feb 2024
-> The Build Up (pt3) -> In a large bowl mix Contract Negotiations with two parts Announcements and three parts Life Updates, let cook for an hour and while it's still hot, sprinkle some jealousy and betrayal over the top as a nice garnish. posted: 12 Feb 2024
-> Pre-season Bonding (pt4) -> Where teams are announced, dinners are held and Oscar finds himself surrounded by people who are determined to help him on his way to greatness. posted: 3 Mar 2024
-> Get This Party Started (pt5) -> The season starts and it's a relatively calm affair, until it's not. Some things can be predicted while others show up like an unwanted Force Ghost from Star Wars. posted: 29 Mar 2024
-> Down Time Down Under (pt6) -> Oscar finds that having a crush having less than platonic feelings for your boss's only adult daughter is apparently free real estate for some of F1's biggest gossips posted: 10 May 2024
-> Shift Happens (pt7) -> Miami and Imola bring new challenges to the grid. Challenges such as finally initiating the romance part of your potential relationship- oh and being on the podium with your ex-teammate too. posted: 19 May 2024
-> Warning Sainz (pt8) -> Monaco, Canada and Spain oh my! Oscar decides to continue his quest for world domination (claiming home races) and prove that he's the best boyfriend his ex ever lost. posted: 23 June 2024
-> Baby Got Track (pt9) -> Adding two more GPs to his list of home races, Oscar realises that he's A-OK with having half his bags packed with things that aren't his. posted: 10 July 2024
-> Silly Goose Extraordinaire (pt10) -> When Y/n isn't there for two races, Oscar discovers that he's far more attached than he thought he was. At least it's almost the mid-year break! posted: 5 Aug 2024
-> Red Bull Gives You Wins (pt11) -> Mid-year break brings a lot of strong emotions, but there's only one thing that could make them even more intense... posted: 6 Mar 2025 (I'm so sorry)
-> Simply Lovely (pt12) (pending) -> posted:
-> Big Ric Energy (pt13) -> posted:
-> Red Bull School Of Racing (pt14) -> posted:
-> 1st's The Worst, 2nd's The Best (pt15) -> posted:
-> We Shenan'd Once, Let's Shenanigan (pt16) -> posted:
This is an Ongoing Series!
Wrapped Up | Lee Minho
Pairing: Lee Minho x reader (college!au, f2l)
Summary: The dance soc is not the place to flirt but you promised yourself you’d try new things this year, and when the boy wearing the colourful cosy sweater approaches you with a compliment you can’t resist but respond to him.
Genre: smut, romance, fluff (pwp)
Wc: 12.4k (I am so sorry)
Rating: 18+
Warnings: dirty talk, sensory play (ish), creampie, mirror sex, clothed sex (not dry humping but that too), fingering, oral (f receiving), Lino's a keen bastard and I am obsessed with that cardigan that is it.
A/N: Thank you for looking over this fic and the amazing feedback @btssmutgalore (this one is for you) and thank you @notyouroppar for patching up my plot holes even if all you wanted was to eat your cake! Insanity part 2 but I wanted to write it, and I hope it is enjoyable to read.
Copyrights for the story and banner @joyfulhopelox
That being said please enjoy! I would love to hear from you so please leave me a message! 💌
He was wearing that stupid sweater again. Another gruesome day in the dance studio. The preparation for the upcoming show for the holidays made you stay behind for hours to practice. And your best friend, danseur extraordinaire Lee Minho who dragged you into the production was wearing that stupid brightly coloured jumper. Again. And by the looks of it, the strip of skin and peek of collarbone you got when he made certain movements meant he was scarcely wearing anything underneath it.
“Anything wrong?” His voice broke you out of your concentration, the surprise of having been addressed whilst you were busy staring at the bright fluffy sweater imagining what may be underneath it, making you jump.
Prying your eyes away from his chest, you met his amused expression, aware of your own flustered one. “No, why would you say that?” You asked quickly, swallowing hard at the mischievous look he was throwing your way. If anything, Lee Minho was a serious tease, but a harmless one. He always found new ways to make the heat rise up under your skin by teasing you, but he’s never made a move to follow through with it.
And as much as you wanted it to happen, he was your friend, and you couldn’t risk your friendship for something like that. So you chose to ignore his teasing most of the time, brushing it away with light jokes hoping it would deter him from continuing. Unfortunately, your plan backfired when he became more and more insistent, his jokes switching to light touches here and there and compliments with every opportunity he got.
“You were staring,” he shrugged, taking a swig of his water, his breathing still heavy from the effort. You tried to disprove his point by avoiding the wet trail of sweat that mapped his jawline, slowly making its way down the smooth skin of his neck only to disappear underneath the hem of his jumper.
“Are you not hot in that?” You threw back at him, forcibly turning away from him if only to evade the satisfied smirk you knew all too well.
“Depends, want me to take it off?” He fired back and you gasped, appalled at his preposterous proposal. Despite your strong reaction, your mind instantly wandered to places you told yourself you would not touch. Minho was not ugly. In fact, he was the exact opposite - high cheekbones, defined jawline, and a slightly downward pointed chin, all making him incredibly good looking. Enough that you would find yourself thinking about his lips and what they would feel like pressed all over your skin. The lustful thoughts suddenly intruding in your mind made you squirm and it was you who ended up feeling too warm.
“N-no, thanks,” you said, clearing your throat vigorously in hopes that it would serve to clean your mind of your own thoughts. Trying to change the subject, you ran through the choreography in your head, your feet trying to copy what you remembered from your class earlier that day.
“No, not like that. It should be like this,” Minho interrupted you, his body automatically catching up with your moves and correcting you. Taken by surprise, you stopped moving, your eyes narrowed in annoyance, breath coming out in rasps from the effort.
“No, it’s not, not my part,” you disagreed with him once your breathing levelled and you could stand up straight. Coming face to chest with him, you took a step back.
If you were squaring back with him, you needed to not be in close proximity. His being alone made you malfunction. “My part goes slower at the beginning and then quicker at the end. I’m the third row,” you told him matter of factly.
Minho was silent for a second before he sighed, shaking his head. Turning away from you, he grabbed his discarded water. “Do you really think,” he said, taking a sip out of it before putting it back down and moving nearer to you. Swallowing hard, you forced yourself to stay rooted on the spot. The impulse to move away from him and put some distance between the two of you was too strong, you could barely think let alone argue an intelligent point. “Do you really think I don't know what row you are in?” He repeated making you look at him in confusion.
He looked serious, his eyes framed by light coloured bangs shadowing them, his lips pursed in concentration. It was all you needed for your heart to stop beating and your breath to cease.
“I’m always keeping an eye on you and what you’re doing, Y/N,” he simply said. The way his voice lowered as he said it made it sound so natural that for a second you almost believed him. Then you remembered he was normally the one to step in when the dance teachers needed extra hands.
Still flustered and disappointed at yourself for entertaining these thoughts, you looked away. “Clearly not, there is a different part to the choreography than what you’ve just shown me,” you didn’t know why you were so adamant to prove him wrong. Maybe it was the disappointment of not being more special in his eyes, or maybe it was the stubbornness of not wanting to admit that his intense stare on you in every class meant the exact opposite. But, you felt the strong need to argue your point and refute his. “Regardless, I won’t get them. It’s too hard.”
“Y/N…” he trailed off, sighing, frustration clear in his voice.
“Minho, what–?” Unable to finish your sentence as he pulled you to him, hand holding onto your wrist, the other keeping you secure by the waist, you struggled to make sense of what was happening. One moment you were arguing about dance moves, the next you were enveloped in his warmth, the soft material of his sweater brushing the inside of your palm.
“What are you doing?” Your voice wavered, your hand subconsciously grabbing onto his top, the plush feeling offering the comfort your heart needed.
“You said you don’t get the steps. I will show you them,” his voice wasn’t louder than a whisper, but the pointed way in which he said it, eyes staring intensely into yours, made your toes curl. In awe at the determination you found in Minho’s eyes, paired with the way his fingers gripped onto your own flimsy sweater entranced you. You couldn’t help but mindlessly nod, letting him pull you slightly to the middle of the room. Stood there, you refused to look away from him, his eyes still trained on you, lips slightly parted – he was a vision.
“You have to move, Y/N,” he gently coaxed, his feet slowly shuffling, pulling you along with him. “You can’t dance if your feet are not moving.” The mischievous look flashed again in his eyes, yet his smile remained gentle and comforting. Under his movements, your feet followed – slow and uncertain. One step, two step, three step, four.
“That’s it,” Minho encouraged, his face breaking out in a smile. Your hand twitched on his jumper, your fingers accidentally scraping at the skin underneath, making him hiss.
“Shit, I’m so sorry,” you said, gasping, going to pull away. His quick reflexes prevented you from doing so, the arm around your waist pulling you back in before you could move further away. Not expecting his reaction, you stumbled over your feet almost stepping over his.
“There is no need to apologise, shall we try again?” He asked, not waiting for an answer.
Minho’s feet had already started moving, his movements quicker and more certain than before. Feeling as if you were going to trip once more over your own feet, or worse, his, you looked down worriedly. The way he moved had always enthralled you, so much precision and confidence. But the way he moved now paired with your own shabby movements as comparison, made it so you couldn’t look away.
“Ah, embarrassing,” you muttered to yourself, willing your feet to be more graceful. When it didn’t work, you sighed, feeling another wave of dejectedness washing over you.
“Hey, eyes up. This is not a waltz, I will need to move behind you,” Minho announced, not giving you any time to redress yourself before he pulled away, not further than a few centimetres. You could feel the air whoosh around you as he moved, his body emanating heat, the goddamned sweater brushing against you as he went. Settling behind you, he encircled your waist once more.
“Now slowly,” he instructed and you obeyed, eyes still trained on Minho, your feet followed the movement. “You will need to look in the mirror. Eyes up. On yourself. Dance with your reflection.”
His words made you groan. You didn’t have the best relationship with mirrors, especially not when dancing, the lack of self confidence that came with being a newbie in the studio put a damper on any outrageous moves like that.
“This is stupid, Minho, let’s drop it,” you whined, trying to pull away. Stepping away from him was easier than before as he was not holding your hand anymore, but he followed right behind you, his hand gripping at your top. You whined for him to let you go, entirely self-aware of how sweaty and grimy you were.
“We’re dancing, Y/N, not having sex,” Minho said and you gasped at his outrageous behaviour. Turning your head to look at him, you felt the heat rush to your face, your knees almost buckling at the impish smile he threw your way. “Unless you want to of course,” he winked, gauging your awed expression.
Feeling like a fish out the water, your mind reeling with possibilities, you breathed easily when he didn’t push for a response. Instead, his expression turned serious, and you found yourself admiring him. He had a certain spark in his eyes whenever he was dancing – probably because that was the only time he was genuine enough. Having experienced Minho’s teasing for so long whenever you two spoke, you tended to forget that he could be serious on occasion. Dancing always being the one you saw him most often in.
“Now, look at yourself. If you can’t do that,” he took a step closer, his hand grabbing your wrist again, “ look at me.” He was close enough now that you could feel his heat through both of your jumpers once more. You couldn’t help but listen, the tone in his voice leaving no room for argument. You looked up, your heart beating rapidly against your ribcage.
Catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you felt your skin grow hotter. Your hair was in disarray, your flushed skin was shiny, the beads of perspiration from earlier giving you a glow, your lips were swollen from biting them too much in concentration. What made your stomach clench and the heat pool all the way down your spine was the look he was throwing you in the mirror. Not looking better than you, Minho sported the same flushed face, his hair mussed from dancing earlier , the sheen of sweat more prominent on his skin. When your eyes met in the mirror, his darkened for a split second, and you felt your throat constrict.
“Let’s go,” he moved. “Keep your eyes in the mirror, watch me.”
It was not the appropriate context and you could have sworn at yourself for allowing your thoughts to wander where they shouldn’t. But, the slight waver in his voice told you that his words held more meaning than dancing. Letting your feet move, you mulled over what he meant, your mind furthest away from dancing.
“Eyes on me, Y/N,” Minho sounded strict, yet his fingers gently reached to grab your chin, pulling your head back up and holding it in place for a few seconds, asserting himself.
Showing you once more the movement, you tried to focus on the way his whole body moved. It wasn’t hard, he was demanding your attention from the moment he started moving. However, you were not thinking clearly, and certainly not about the dance.
His jean-clad thighs, tight enough that you could see the muscles moving underneath the material as he showed you the steps, paired with the goddamn sweater were drawing your thoughts to your aching core.
You struggled to keep up with him and your own thoughts at the same time and, when your concentration completely broke and you took a misstep falling flat onto your ass, the dam broke. Swearing out loud, you could feel the tears gather in your eyes, the frustration building up until you couldn’t take it anymore. Aware of Minho’s gaze on you, you tried to play it off by reaching for your bottle of water.
“Maybe I should just call it quits now,” you grumbled, throwing the bottle you drank out of far into the corner. Sweat was dripping down the side of your face, and the inertia after the vigorous exercise made your joints ache. You wanted nothing more than to be in a bath at home, curled up and crying. Feeling the tears in your eyes you sniffled, you didn’t want to show him your pain, but you couldn’t stop yourself.
“Shit, are you ok?” Minho quickly approached you, his warm hand attaching itself onto your shoulder.
His voice sounded panicked and, as soon as he realised you were close to tears, he crouched in front of you, eyes full of worry and teeth gnawing at his lips. Even in this state, you couldn’t help but set aside your pain and marvel at him. How he managed to distract you in such a way you’d never know. But then again, you’ve had a crush on him for the longest time; rekindled by a chance meeting on a train. Wearing the same stupid coloured sweater.
=====
Rush hour was the bane of everyone’s existence, you were certain of this fact. Anyone who claimed to not see it that way either had no idea what they were talking about or were lying straight through their teeth. There was nothing worse than being stuck on a train, a can on wheels, for at least half an hour, pressed up against one thing or another. If it wasn’t the pole of the train, it was against the doors or, worse, another human whose life was made as miserable as yours by you squishing into them. When the same scenario happened that day though, you swore things would never be the same. For the first time, being pressed like a bug between the door and someone else didn’t feel like hell. It felt comfortable.
That day you had the misfortune of leaving university later than you normally would, your assignments seemed to be piling up by the hour and you struggled to concentrate. It didn’t help that you went out with your friends to celebrate a birthday the night before, got drunker than you would normally and declared loud and proud that you would gracefully exit your celibate ways. When your friends made fun of you, reminding you how unlikely it was for you to have a spontaneous date or one night stand, you retaliated quickly promising that by next week you wouldn’t have had either or.
Remembering all that the next day during your classes was a hammer to your head; alongside your hangover, it made you want to crawl underneath the desk and pray for a swift death.
“Excuse me,” a soft voice whispered. Broken out of your thoughts, your body further being pressed against the door, you closed your eyes for a moment prepared to experience the harsh feel of someone’s coat against you and the stench of a day’s worth of cheap cologne and body odour.
Surprisingly, none of these hit you, but rather the gentle brush of soft wool combined with a sweet scent assaulted your senses and you opened your eyes confusedly. The array of colorful patterns that greeted you made you frown—it was rare that anyone wore anything outside of the earthy spectrum of colours. What furthered your confusion was the soft material that brushed against your hand from time to time when the train would take a turn and the person wearing it would lean further into you.
You resisted the urge to reach out and pat the material, not wanting to come across as the creep on the train. Intrigued by their fashion choice, you tried to focus on the other aspects of the person. Trailing your eyes away from the buttons of the sweater, you couldn't help but note their height and the amount of skin that was displayed right in front of you.
Gulping, you slowly pried your eyes away from the defined collarbone that would peek out of the edge whenever the person’s body moved closer towards you. If you would have been in a different situation, you wouldn’t have hesitated to turn around to save yourself from the embarrassment of ogling someone. However, you were stuck between this person and the door with little room for movement. Accepting your fate, you sighed dejectedly, regretting it immediately as the sweet cologne invaded your nostrils once more.
Carrying on with your inspection felt like an intrusion now, yet you couldn’t help yourself as curiosity got the better of you. The person was tall, but not as tall to impede you from getting a perfect view of his face. You bit your lip, the urge to groan in frustration dying in your throat. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he was good looking. With a softly defined jaw, plump lips with a slight pout, high cheekbones and incredibly soft looking skin, he looked like a winner in the looks department and his brightly coloured sweater only served to accentuate that.
“Goddamn,” you muttered to yourself, gripping the strap on your shoulder. You would remember those features anywhere, the features that tormented you in dance school as he mocked your skills until he brought you to tears.
“Are you ok? I’m not squishing you, am I?” You jolted at the question, eyes immediately snapping back in focus. Finding the handsome yet forbidden man staring at you in concern, a slight frown on his face didn’t surprise you as much as your response did.
“Don’t worry, I’d rather get squished by you than groped by a pervert,” you replied instantly, feeling the embarrassment crawl up your skin and heat up your face. Not one to let your words out without a filter, you felt mortified at your bravery.
You didn’t think he’d be able to get more handsome, but as he snorted at your comment, his lips slightly parted in laughter you realised how wrong you were.
“Do you always place that much trust in good looking people? Or is it just me?” He asked, the humour in his eyes making your palms sweat in mortification. Mortification because you easily recognised that face now that you stared at it long enough.
“Pffft, you’re not that special, who said you’re good looking?” You smartly responded, congratulating yourself for your swift comeback. You could’ve kicked yourself for not realising who he was sooner.The unmistakable lips and high cheekbones should have given him away.
“You were staring,” Minho responded, too quickly for your liking. Wondering how long he’s noticed you giving him the once over, you cleared your throat scrambling to find a good enough answer when your eyes caught sight of his lanyard.
“It’s not like I can look anywhere else,” you mumbled, shuffling on your feet. “Anyways Minho, what are you doing on this train? Do you live around here?” You inquired, eyes narrowing suspiciously. Trying not to cringe at your own prodding, you kept your eyes on his as a last attempt to make yourself look confident.
“As a matter of fact, I go to university around here. Now I’m questioning who the perverted one is. It’s been so long, Y/N, never thought you’d turn up in my life like this,” he laughed lightheartedly, leaning in towards you. The strong scent paired with his demeanour made your breath catch in your throat and you pulled back as much as you could. Your thoughts were jumbled, the realisation of your situation finally dawning on you. This was Lee Minho, your crush since middle school and your tormenter since before that.
“Trust me, it wouldn’t have happened if I could’ve helped it,” you muttered looking away from him, missing the slight frown that crossed his face. The train was close to pulling into the station, the jostle of the tracks paired with the shuffling of passengers desperate to make it to the door through the crowd caused you to stumble. Back hitting the door of the carriage, you yelped, the slight awkward angle that you hit it at made it pulse in pain.
Minho grabbed your shoulder a bit too late, his eyes widened as you hurt yourself. He winced as you let out a yelp. He could almost feel the bruise and could imagine it wasn’t a pleasant experience. “You good?” He asked worriedly. Not wanting to allow him to be privy to your moment of weakness, you shrugged.
“Who’s the pervert now?” Before he could respond, a look of confusion still etched onto his face, the train stopped announcing your stop. “Ah, well I have to dash,” you muttered, not bothering to look back as you exited the train hurriedly.
Later you would find out, he went to the same university as you did, and he had been going there for a while, you just never happened to cross paths. But when you decided to be brave and go for extracurricular activities that you wouldn’t normally go for, such as the dance society, you literally bumped into him.
=====
Running like a madwoman before you were about to enter a dance class was not a good idea and you knew it. You would be out of breath before the hour even started. But with the amount of presentations you had to take care of, and the pit stop you made by the coffee shop before heading to the dance club made you later than you’d intended. Sad that you had to down the rest of your drink before even getting to fully enjoy it, you legged it to class. Cursing softly under your breath, you realised you were already ten minutes late, something not so bad when it came to an elective, but this happened to be the first day of class. And you’ve just managed to brand yourself as the late one.
You didn’t even care that you were running at risk of bumping into anyone who may be rounding the corner until you slammed into a body, the force of it knocking you back. Almost losing your balance, you yelped as a hand grabbed you roughly stopping you from planting your bum onto the hard floor.
“Woah there. Are you alright?” A soft voice asked, sounding concerned. Too dazed to apologise, you could only nod, your sole focus set on regaining your breath.
“Yes, I’m sorry, I am late for class,” you said panting, gaze focused on the floor. You were feeling dizzy, the impact serving as a good reminder that you were not someone who had good stamina. Making a mental note to yourself that running across campus was probably something you shouldn’t attempt ever again, you straightened up. Feeling like the ground was not at risk of running away from you, you were ready to properly apologise to the victim of your mad dash when you came face to face with a familiar sweater. Eyes widening in recognition, you stumbled back a step grateful for the hand still holding onto you. “Oh.”
Minho chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s ok. Just be careful, you don’t want to hurt yourself,” he bent down towards you, lowering his voice, ”or anyone else for that matter.”
“I, uh, thank you,” you swallowed hard, his proximity to you making you dizzy once more. His sweet scent, the one that followed you even after you have exited the train, enveloped you and you fought the urge to inhale. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bash into you like that. Did I hurt you?” You said panicked that you may have caused him harm, his words finally registering in your head. Without thinking, you immediately touched the arm that was still firmly holding onto you, prepared to check for any bruises until his laughter stopped you.
“I am ok, Y/N. You’re not that strong,” Minho teased, his eyebrow raised in amusement. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?” He watched as your face contorted in horror.
“Crap! Dance class! I am going to be late,” you let your head drop in your hands, ashamed at yourself for being so late. When Minho chuckled at you, you reeled back looking at him flabbergasted. “Do you think this is funny?” Appalled by his reaction, you prepared to yell at him about how important time keeping was for you, until he shook his head, the amusement never leaving his eyes.
“No, not at all. I am just laughing at the fact that somehow we managed to not only intersect as complete strangers on a train when we were friends before and we seem to be in the same university. But we are also part of the same society,” he chuckled, pushing your shoulder lightly as he started to walk down the corridor. “Don’t worry, I am their best dancer, if you go in with me you won’t look as bad, newbie,” Minho teased and you fought the urge to roll your eyes, not believing his audacity for a second.
“Pshhhyea right,” you mocked, making him throw you a look of disbelief.
“Well, I guess we will see. You will eat your words, Y/N,” he warned as you came up to the doors of the dance room.
And eat your words you did. In high resolution, eight step choreographies and nights where all you could think of was him and the passion he put into moving.
==========
“Y/N? Are you ok? If you need to cry, just cry,.” his voice brought you back to the present, the amusement at the memory of when you met him having passed, you felt useless once more.
You didn’t know whether it was the pent-up frustration or the comfort his touch brought you, but you found yourself leaning onto him, the onslaught of tears hidden by his sweater. Your body was shaking with the force of your sobs, your hands grabbing tightly onto the plush material of Minho’s top in a last attempt to find some grounding.
Hiccuping your apologies before another fresh wave of tears made you tremble in his arms and when he brought you closer to him, your face slotted in between his shoulder and neck, you didn’t hesitate to wrap your arms around him. Everything came out of you at once, your struggles and pain pouring out of you in waves, not stopping until Minho gently shushed you.
“It’s ok, let it all out. I’m here,” he wrapped his hands around your shoulders, his hand gently patting your head in a comforting manner.
When you profusely apologised the next second, he tightened his grip on you, his lips mindlessly pressing down onto the crown of your head. The soft pressure made you pause, the blood rushing to your cheeks. Even through the tears, you could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat, the pulse rapidly increasing, making your sobs subside to light sniffles. Not able to process what had happened, you stayed in his arms until your heart stopped banging about your chest and the heat in your cheeks subsided.
“You’re not a failure, you’re one of the best dancers we have. You’ve not only learned everything from scratch and managed to hold your own against some of our older, more experienced members, but you also got chosen to perform for this round. Plus I think –” he cooed, his voice ringing clearly in your head. Minho paused for a second as if trying to decide whether he should carry on or not, before he took a deep breath in. “I think you’re one heck of a partner,” he admitted so softly you almost didn’t catch it.
“I can’t even get down a simple step sequence,” you breathed, feeling a fresh new wave of tears well up in your eyes.
When you finally pulled away, you tried to scoot as further away as possible from him, your hands busy with clearing the marks on your cheeks.
“Thank you,” you mumbled, feeling flustered. You refused to meet his eyes, the reality of what’s happened hitting you like a freight train. “Oh God, I’m really sorry,” you hurriedly added, noticing the wetness on his skin. Without a thought, you pulled your own sweater over your hand reaching out to pat him dry until his hand gently grabbed yours.
“Y/N, please don’t,” he softly whispered, his voice sounding strained. Frozen, you hesitantly looked up only to meet his eyes. His brows were furrowed as if he was in pain, his bottom lip between his teeth and his eyes darkened.
“Minho,” you whispered, the pain in his eyes making your heart clench with worry. “Are you ok?”
For a second, it seemed like he was about to keel over in pain, his eyes closed a frown etched onto his face. Your heart was beating faster and faster, mind reeling with possibilities as to what may have made him hurt like that. Your hand still in his, you pulled lightly at it in an attempt to free yourself from his warm hold. Even through your sweater, the heat radiating off of him was burning itself as a memory onto your skin. The movement seemed to have snapped something in him—in the next second your hand was freed and Lee Minho was as far away from you as possible.
Confused, and a bit hurt you stared at him, your hand cradling the one he pushed away from him to your chest. You didn’t know what happened, but the way he paced the floor, the soles of his sneakers squeaking against the polished wood, a concentrated look on his face told you he was done talking. Deciding to not push it, you cleared your throat and hoisted yourself up onto your feet.
“Right, well seeing as this turned into something none of us wanted, I will be calling it a day,” you announced, hoping to keep the hurt from your voice. You weren’t expecting him to treat you like this after letting you cry into him, but you assumed you’ve pushed a limit and you not only felt the need to extract yourself from the situation, but also to apologise. “I’m sorry if I made this more uncomfortable than needed.”
The way he stopped pacing when he heard your words and the incredulous look on his face surprised you entirely.
“You think…” He trailed off, hands running through his hair before he continued. “You think you made me uncomfortable?”
You didn’t know what to answer, stuttering, your mind completely confused at the turn of events. Did he think it was the opposite way round?
“I thought I made you uncomfortable,” he huffed out, his pacing resuming once more. Not able to withstand the frenzy with which he behaved, you grabbed the end of his sweater, stopping him before he did another full round.
“Minho, stop. You’re going to wear the floor down, or even worse, your own shoes,” you tried to joke, but the worry in your own eyes spoke of a different feeling. “You never made me uncomfortable, why would you even think that?” You questioned him, your grip on him tightening in case he tried to evade your questions once more. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the slight flicker of uncertainty behind them but you decided to press on. You needed answers, his behaviour an odd occurrence.
“Did I ever give off that feeling?” You tilted your head to the side, observing his reaction.
Not able to believe what he was hearing, Minho’s eyes locked on yours, his brows furrowed. “No, that is stupid,” realising he might have offended you, he was quick to add, “I don’t know, I kept making jokes, and I kept pushing my feelings onto you, thinking that one day they may be reciprocated. Then you go and do something to make me think that they are.”
You could feel your breath catch in your throat at his confession, but the slight pull against your hold told you he was prepared to flee once more.
“Don’t,” you pulled him towards you, not realising the strength with which you did. Instead of him stumbling into you, you managed to pull yourself closer to Minho as he resisted. Closer than before, you could once again smell him, his scent never changing even after hours of practice, he still smelled good to you.
“Don’t what? Get my hopes up? Have feelings for you?” He whispered, his eyes trained on yours before they flickered to your lips. “Because I do. And I can’t do anything about it. It’s been months. I tried to tell myself it’s not useful, that I should be indifferent. And yet, here I am miles away from even reaching that indifference.”
You couldn’t feel the way his heart sped up at the small smile you offered him, but you could see the light in his eyes as you stood up on your tiptoes to press your lips to his.
With a low moan he parted away from you, your slightly parted lips red and bruised from his kiss, breath coming out in pants - you wanted more, and you decided to ask for it.
“Minho,” you called his name sweetly, watching carefully as he opened his eyes, the soft look in them almost making you falter. But the heat in your stomach and the way you could feel the palms of your hands sweating over his sweater pushed you to vocalise your thoughts to him.
“Hm?” His hand still held onto the back of your neck. You shivered in pleasure at the way his thumb subconsciously traced circles around the sensitive point underneath your earlobe.
“If I asked you to fuck me, right here right now in this dance studio, would you do it?” You felt your breath catch in your throat, the courage leaving you as soon as the words left your mouth. His silence was concerning, and for the first time in your life, you felt like burying yourself underneath the earth. Cursing at your own stupidity, you breathed out a sigh. “Ah, look - forget I said anything. Let’s just -”
Minho couldn’t believe his ears, the way you asked him such a filthy question after having kissed him like that, your hands digging into his shoulders, your body moulded onto his made him bashful. He knew what the answer would be, no doubt, but before he gave in to his wishes, he needed to make sure that you knew what you were asking of him.
“You -” he cleared his throat, his voice coming out raspy. “Are you....?”
You knew what he was going to ask. You haven’t dated him, and you weren’t that close, but you knew him well enough to know how considerate he was of others. Despite his teasing persona and tough exterior, he would always make sure that everyone was alright. And of course, this was no exception.
Not allowing him to think too much about it, and not having the courage to speak about it again, you pushed your lips onto his again, your hands burying themselves into his hair. “Shut up and make me scream your name, Lee Minho.”
He didn’t need you to ask him more than once. Fuelled by your demanding tone, Minho gripped your hips tightly pulling you closer to him, his lips pressed onto yours, his tongue seeking the warmth of your mouth. Allowing him to do as he pleased, you pulled at his hair lightly, eliciting a low groan from him. Pulling away, his eyes hooded with desire, he smirked at you making your knees weak.
“If that is what you want,” his fingers dug into your hips before he turned you around to face the mirror, your back to him. Bending you slightly, he made quick work of your pants, pulling them down in one swift movement. “That is what you get.”
Minho didn’t give you any time to respond before he dropped to his knees, his mouth attaching itself to your clothed cunt. Not wasting time, he sucked at the underwear, soaking it through with his saliva as well as your juices before he pulled away.
“You taste so good. I could sit here and eat you forever,” he hummed, his fingers latching onto the side of your panties, pulling them down. The way you moaned and pressed your hips into his hand asking for more made him forgo tasting you for the time being.
Pulling himself up and you against him, he prodded at your entrance with his fingers, one hand tightly on your hip, the other sliding underneath your sweater, cupping your breast.
“So needy... First you ask me to fuck you into oblivion in the dance studio,” Minho grunted, parting your legs slightly with his knee. “A studio everyone will be in tomorrow with no knowledge of what has happened. That is incredibly dirty,” he softly bit into the smooth flesh of your neck, his tongue flicking to lick the area between bites.
You should’ve felt embarrassed for being so wet without him even having entered you, but the way his fingers prodded at your folds, sliding up and down, coating themselves into your slickness wiped all thoughts away. Pushing your hips back against his hand, desperate to feel more of his long slender fingers in you, around you, you mewled when he found your clit.
“You‘re so wet and ready for me, aren’t you, Y/N?” Bending over you, his clothed dick pushing into the soft flesh of your ass, he whispered lowly, as his finger started to circle your nub softly at first, picking up the pace when you prompted him with your ass.
“All this wetness, just from dancing, hm?” He teased, knowing full well it wasn’t the dancing. Feeling his cock twitch at the prospect of his dancing making you this hot, he pushed harder against your ass, the material of his jeans rubbing against his length.
In the process of bending you over and discarding your bottoms, your top had also risen up, allowing you to feel the soft sweater brush against your skin. The sensitive area of your lower back and ass being caressed by it made you shiver craving more of that. “Minho, more,” you moaned, finding it hard to express yourself.
“More what?” He bent over again, the finger circling at your clit relentlessly flicking at it. You could feel the wetness pooling out of you, making a mess of your inner thighs, but you couldn’t worry about it, not when you had a mission.
“Please,” you begged with shaky fingers grabbing at your top, going to pull it off of yourself. The clumsy movement only served to push the material above your breasts, finding it hard to take it off completely without pulling away from Minho’s fingers. Minho paused slightly, his fingers lazily pressing on your clit, the change in movement making you whimper in need.
“Want me to help?” He asked amusedly and you prepared to tell him off for ruining the mood until he pulled his fingers away from your pussy. The room was not well lit as you didn’t turn on the lights, and it was dark enough outside to make it difficult for you to see anything.
Despite that, you could see as clear as day how wet his fingers were, the shine of your slickness making you flush for a second.
“Mmm, look at this,” he scissored his fingers in the air, a string of fluid forming between his fingers as he did so. “Such a naughty girl. You’ve coated my fingers completely,” he drawled, and you watched enthralled as he slowly brought them to his mouth, slipping them in. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him, the heat increasing in your abdomen as he pulled the fingers out, his breathy moan as he tasted you on his hand, his lips smacking as if you were the tastiest thing he’s ever had.
“Delicious,” Minho purred, bending over you. You were so focused on him tasting you that you forgot what set you off in the first place. When he bent over and the material of his sweater brushed over you, making your knees buckle, you begged him to touch you again. Your need to feel him against you gripping at your throat.
“Minho,” you breathed, hips circling grinding against his hardened dick. He seemed bigger than before, his tip poking at you through his thick trousers and your toes curled with the knowledge that it was your taste that made him this hard.
“I want you to tell me what you want,” he coaxed, his clean fingers going to unbutton his top. Jerking, you whined your disapproval.
“No, keep it on. I want to feel it,” you blurted, afraid that he would take it off before you could express yourself.
When he paused, his hand hovering over his buttons, you felt the embarrassment wash over you. You were never into sensory play, but there was something about that sweater that made you crave the feeling of it. You wanted to know what it would feel like for it to brush against your back, teasing the sensitive skin there as he fucked you from behind.
It didn’t take long for Minho to catch onto your wishes seeing as he already had an inkling about your preference towards his sweater. He's seen you stare at it multiple times, each time more and more insistent. It was the reason he started wearing it more often, each time more adventurous than the previous one.
At first he wore a top underneath, but as he slowly figured out you were inclined towards him more as he wore it, he wondered if he could push it. The last few times Minho forwent the top, choosing to only wear the sweater buttoned up as a top. He didn’t miss your stares, or the increase in breathing whenever he moved, displaying more of his skin.
He also didn’t miss the way you subconsciously started to touch him more. If he were to admit to himself, you were not wrong, his sweater did feel like heaven over his skin. The warm material brushing over his nipples made him twitch in his pants on more than one occasion. That paired with the brush of your hands on his arm from time to time prompted him to go and relieve himself in the toilets quite often.
“Ah,” Minho sang, smirking at you in the mirror. Gulping, you stilled, wondering what was playing on his mind. “You dirty girl, you want to feel my sweater don’t you?” He asked, his hips pushing into you.
You couldn’t hide it anymore, the heat underneath your skin and your wanton pussy clenching at air made you nod, thrilled at the prospect of having your wishes granted.
Minho never thought he’d be so turned on at the thought, but as soon as you nodded, he felt something shift in him, an animalistic growl leaving his throat. Not in a rush, he looked at you darkly, the smirk not leaving his features.
“I see, well… who am I to not grant you your wishes?” he asked, the hand hovering above your ass falling down onto the skin making it sting. Yelping, you arched your back at the feeling, grinding your hips into his hand as he kneaded the flesh. “First, I need to hear you beg.”
Desperate for his touch, you obeyed, your eyes locked onto his, your flushed face proof of your desires. “Minho please, let me feel you,” you tried, but when he made no move apart from his fingers settling deeper into the flesh of your ass, you grunted again. “Please, I want to feel your sweater touching me as you fuck me hard from behind,” you pleaded – propriety be damned. You let all the cats out of the bag, not feeling in the least ashamed of what you were feeling.
“That is it, no need to say more,” he rasped, your words reaching his cock making him tense. His hands pulled away from your ass, reaching for his belt and unzipping his trousers.
You couldn’t see him in the mirror due to the angle but when you tried to turn around wanting to see him, you felt another sting to your left ass cheek. “No peeking, Y/N, you wanted sensory play, that is all you will be getting today,” Minho warned and you breathed out slowly.
Grabbing your shoulder roughly, he pulled you to him, straightening your back. Not quite touching, he pulled your top, prompting you to lift your arms so he could pull it off you.
“Is this what you wanted?” He panted, his arm wrapping around your front, pulling you flush against him. “Widen your legs.”
You bucked your hips against his crotch, enjoying the way his hardness poked at the sensitive area of your ass. You obeyed him, spreading your legs open, your head leaning back onto his shoulder. Minho’s demanding tone contrasted greatly with the affectionate way his fingers danced along the sensitive skin tracing the pattern of your ribs. You shuddered under his touch, your core throbbing at the teasing and comforting feel of his woollen sweater against your back.
“Minho, that’s it, yes,” you prompted him, arching your back to feel as much of him as you could. His teeth were still nipping at your neck when his hand found your nipple, deft fingers circling it in slow motion making the skin pucker.
“Dirty girl, you like the feel of the sweater don’t you?” He asked, testing his theory by pinching your nipple at the same time as he pressed himself harder into you.
The material roughly rubbed onto your skin with the movement making you shiver. You grabbed onto his wrist tightly pressing yourself further into him. The length of his cock freed from its confines slipped between the two of you, and you could feel its searing temperature on your lower back. Smiling impishly, you decided to taunt him, circling your hips in a slow movement rubbing him between your ass cheeks and his own abdomen.
Hearing Minho’s low moan vibrate in your eardrums as he buried his face in your hair spurred you on, your hips rocking faster, showing him exactly why you loved his sweater so much.
“Ah, look at you rutting so desperately, does that feel good?” You asked, your hand reaching behind you to grip as much of his ass as you could, digging your fingers, waiting for a reaction. “Do you know now, why your sweater drives me so mad whenever you wear it?” You punctuated each word with more friction.
The low groans and the increasing wetness against your ass told you what you needed, but you wanted him to respond. “Minho,” you whispered, your attention on his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were closed, his face scrunched up as if he was concentrating hard, the hand on your breast gripping tightly at the flesh.
Hearing you call his name so sweetly, after you’ve uttered pure filth, got his attention. Struggling to keep his breathing leveled and his mind clear, with your hips still brushing against his dick, Minho found it hard to not come then and there, so he opened his eyes. Looking at you, he could see your whole naked form in the mirror. The way your hips rolled enticingly, your spread legs giving him a full view of your wet mound, he could barely contain himself from shoving himself into you until he bottomed out.
It had been a long time coming – your relationship, the tension between the two of you. With each touch of skin in class, each teasing remark he would throw at you only to be countered immediately.
“Minho, eyes on me,” you said softly, your hips ceasing their movement, your hand slowly sliding away from his ass, dancing above the dip of your belly button before slowly sliding towards your needy clit.
The position you were in made it easy for your middle finger to slide in between your pussy lips, your finger expertly finding your clit. You’ve done this more than you could count, touched yourself, but you’ve never done it in front of anyone, and the thought both excited you and made you nervous at the same time. The slow circles you traced around your nub before you added more pressure shot a jolt of electricity up your spine.
“Ah, so good, Minho,” you didn’t know where that came from, never having uttered his name whilst you were pleasuring yourself, but it seemed to have done the trick.
Hearing you moan his name so wantonly, your hand working shamelessly away at your pussy on your own, your soft warm lips wetly mouthing his name in pleasure even though he was barely touching you, switched something in him. With your feet so lewdly spread open, it was easy for Minho to mannouver you so that he could slip his cock between your folds, the tip reaching where your fingers thrummed at your clit.
The sudden movement jolted you out of your own world, the pleasurable haziness clearing off your mind, and you suddenly realised what you were doing. You couldn’t feel ashamed, he wouldn’t allow you to, the sight you’ve just presented him with was to be engraved in his memory forever.
“Tell me, do you mutter my name whilst you come all over your own fingers, think of me when you’re pleasuring yourself like that?” he murmured languidly, moving his cock between your folds, coating it in your juices. “You’re so wet, you are after all a dirty girl, aren’t you?” He groaned, his hand letting go of your breasts, reaching out to grab his own dick.
His breathing stilled when your hand movement stopped, your heavy breathing being the only thing he could hear in the stillness of the air around you. Wondering if he’d gone too far, he went to let you go but you wouldn’t allow him to, your soft voice calling out to him. “Minho.”
With his attention back on you, you could clearly see in the reflection the way his eyes trailed over every inch of your skin available, the intense gaze only softened by the way he bit his lip softly. “It’s ok to be as rough as you want,” you reassured him, craving the uncouth Minho from a few minutes ago.
Your words gave him the permission that he needed, and within a second, something shifted behind his eyes, a darker look glazing over before he slid himself within you with a powerful thrust. Bottomed out and almost pressed all the way against the mirror, you could only let out a scream of pleasure, your hands fighting to steady yourself.
Minho stilled, fighting hard to not come straight away. Your teasing riled him up enough that he was hard and ready to go. Once your warm walls swallowed his cock, fighting to adjust to his size, squeezing against the intrusion, he felt his cock twitch within you, desperate to pound you senseless.
“Good girl, you’re taking me so well,” Minho praised softly, sliding himself slowly in and out of you, gauging your reactions in the mirror. Your eyes were closed, a silent moan painted on your lips.
“Want me to go faster?” He asked, slapping his hips against yours aggressively. “I want to stay like this forever, fucking you and filling you up with my cum.”
The implications of his own words hit him and he slowed to a lazier pace. Even at that speed, he was still hitting your sensitive area, and you felt the pressure building up in your abdomen.
“Can I come inside?” He asked tentatively, his voice hoarse.
Your mind was far away riddled with pleasure, your words barely coming out in a full sentence. “Minho, fuck, yes, fill me up with your cum,” you groaned, your voice breaking out into a moan when you felt his fingers anchor themselves in the flesh of your hips, his movements frenzied.
He was grunting just as loudly behind you, the material of his top now sticking to his own skin as much as yours, irritating the sensitive area. Snapping his hips frantically, the sound of your skin slapping together reverberated throughout the dance room.
“You like that hm, you like the idea of being filled up with my cum, don’t you?” Minho panted, bending forward. You yelped, hands shooting forward to prevent yourself from falling. His dick pounding into you at a deeper angle made your skin tingle with electricity as he hit the tip of your cervix repeatedly, the pleasure crashing over you in waves.
You didn’t realise when you leaned onto the mirror, the sheen of sweat on your hands making them slip with every thrust of his hips into you. Struggling to keep yourself upright, you arched your back. The movement caused your inner muscles to clench around him, gripping his cock tightly within your velvety walls, breaking the fast paced rhythm. Minho grunted, his need to carry on fucking you into tomorrow overpowering any other thought. Realising you were in a precarious position, close to crumbling onto the floor, he stopped moving, a look of worry crossing over his face.
“Are you ok?” He said, voice breaking from using it so aggressively earlier.
You nodded and spread your legs further apart in an attempt to give yourself more stability. Seeing you struggle Minho grabbed your left hand in his, his other letting go of your hip to encircle your waist. Without a word, he slowly moved you closer to the mirror, his lips peppering soft kisses on the sweaty skin of your shoulder. His dick still being lodged deep into your pussy drew a whimper out of your throat as it slowly pushed further in along with his movements.
“Hold on,” he softly instructed, placing your hand flush against the mirror, holding it in place with his own. The hand around your waist slid further down to your sensitive folds and anchored you on it like a harness. The position left you placing your whole weight on his hand, the pressure of his palm against your inflamed clit sending sparks up your spine, making you dizzy.
“Ah, fuck, Minho,” you croaked while grinding your cunt onto his hand, your slickness coating his wrist dripping down his fingers. From this position, you were completely at his mercy, the only thing that kept you secure was his hold on you.
Minho groaned, your name being the only thing on his lips. The more pressure he put against your clit, the further you leaned into his hand, your smooth warm walls contracting around him.
“You like that, don’t you?” he asked teasingly, thrusting his hips against yours once, eliciting a shuddered breath out of you. “You like being handled as you’re stuffed full of my cock, hm? Look how tightly you’re gripping onto me as if you’re afraid I'd let you go,” he said, his lips ghosting over your sweaty skin, making goosebumps appear with each pointed word.
“Do you want me to move?” He carried on, lazily slipping his length out of your wet folds until only the tip remained in you.
The reflection in the mirror caught his attention. His breath caught in his throat at the view, your slightly bent over body, your hand on the mirror clenched into a fist tightly secured by his larger one, his hand around your midriff covering your mound from view.
The way your eyes were closed, a look of pleasure etched onto your face, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, sweaty forehead covered the strands of hair that made it onto your face, lips red and swollen from biting them too much made him pause. Minho could see the way your breasts slightly juggled from the movement of your own hips against his arm
He couldn’t see your pussy or the way it was wrapped around him, but he could feel your wetness on his skin, his entire hand bathed in it, your velvety folds grinding against his palm. If he didn’t want to make you come first, he would have filled you with his cum then and there. You were beautiful, you looked thoroughly fucked, you wanted more, and you were his.
Needing to share this moment, Minho kissed your neck once more, slightly blowing on the overheated skin. “Open your eyes,” he coaxed, his hand on your wrist squeezing lightly to garner your attention. “Dance with yourself in the mirror, Y/N,” he softly instructed. “Look how beautiful you look, all like that, sweaty and lewdly spread like that - and only for me.”
Obeying him, you opened your eyes, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your eyes glazed over with lust, the sight urging the fire underneath your skin. You immediately honed into the way his hips lazily moved, feeling the way he slid in and out of you, deep within your pussy.
The lewd squelching sounds that reverberated through the darkened room paired with the languid kisses he placed on your skin forced your inner walls to spasm in pleasure, and you closed your eyes, enjoying the intimate moment. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge - his movements paired with the way your mound rubbed against his arm drawing your orgasm out of you with a quick thrust of his hips.
“Fuck Minho, I’m going to come. Shit,” your eyes rolled back as your body came undone, your muscles tensing and tremors wrecked through your body from head to toe.
Minho felt you spasm around him, your pussy gripping onto him in a vice like, your wails of pleasure spurring him on. With an unrestrained growl, he tightened his grip on you, the hand on your mound pressed roughly onto your clit bearing down on it to prolong the peak of your orgasm. “You’re already a mess, wetting my dick like that, let yourself go, baby,” he demanded, his hips snapping into you at a rapid pace at the same time as he was watching you fall apart for him in the mirror.
“You’re beautiful like that, coming all over my cock. Shall I make more of a mess of you?” Minho asked, feeling his own dam burst and, with a last deep thrust, he spilled his cum deep into you, painting your walls, claiming you as his. You whined as you felt him come, the strangled noises ripped out of your throat as your sensitive cunt milked him of the last of his drops.
“Let me taste you,” Minho said, his voice hoarse from the high he’s just experienced. You drew in a sharp breath. His unexpected request made you stutter, and you wondered if he realised what he was asking. In the aftershocks of your orgasm, you thought you did not hear him well, but when you turned around, your shaky legs forcing you to brace yourself against him for support, his serious expression left you speechless.
“You– you’re serious.”
It wasn’t a question, you were certain he meant it, but you just needed to express your feelings at this brazen statement. Not knowing how to react, you thought about it for a moment, your eyes trailing from his eyes down to his mouth. The moment you imagined his lips on you, sucking on your cunt, drawing out his own cum, you felt yourself getting hotter.
Minho nodded, noticing the way your eyes found his lips, shifting from one foot to another. Smirking to himself, he decided to give you one final push, knowing that if you allowed him this, you would not regret it.
Licking his lips, he breathed out slowly, trying one more time. “Can I clean you up? Look how messy it’s getting,” he pointed to the floor where a small amount of his cum dripped down it. It was only a few drops but the sight of it made you moan, your mind already settled.
“Yes,” you said automatically, taking a step closer to him. “Clean me up, you’ve made a mess, now you need to clean up after yourself, bad boy.”
You weren’t sure where the courage came from. Maybe it was from the way he drew a sharp intake of breath, maybe it was the way his hands immediately found the curvature of your hips, gently massaging the area, or maybe it was the way he dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands trailing to the inside of your thighs.
His deft fingers traced the soft skin, his face was so close to your pussy you could feel his breath on your sensitive nub. “Open your legs wider for me, love,” Minho prompted, his hands guiding you.
You whimpered as the cold air hit your core directly. The initial hesitation you felt being so exposed to his eyes didn’t last long, as he dove straight in with a hungry slurp, his tongue slipping right between your folds. The suddenness of his movement made your knees buckle, a loud moan being ripped out of your throat.
The lewd sounds from his mouth on you loudly echoed in your mind, fuelling the build up pleasure from his tongue lapping at you. You could feel the pressure of his hands onto your thighs, certain that he would leave bruises.
“Ah, Minho.”
He parted from your pussy with one last lick, his tongue flattened brushing your overly sensitive clit making you buckle.
“Steady,” he laughed, his soft voice sending shivers up your spine. He let go of your legs and interlaced his fingers with yours supporting your weight. You didn’t know if you had the courage to look down, instead you tried to catch a glimpse of him in the mirror, but the angle you were both at proved to be an inconvenience.
“You’ve got such a pretty pussy, so soft and you taste so good,” he dove in for a tentative lick, the tip of his tongue circling your clit. Unable to hold back, your eyes snapped down, his words almost enough to make you come.
“Are you ready, love?” Minho asked, locking eyes with you. His face was shiny and wet from both your juices, but the glint in his eyes told you he was far from done. Barely able to breathe, let alone speak, you threw him an uncertain look, unsure what he meant by asking you that.
“What do you- ahhh!”
Minho had no inhibition, his mouth finding your entrance without a hesitation, prodding at you scooping up his own mess with his tongue all the while massaging your walls. His hands let go of yours and you felt your world shift for a moment before he tightly grabbed your ass, burying himself deeper into your dripping pussy.
He didn’t let you breathe, licking and prodding like a starved man. His tongue traced your lips lightly, applying pressure on the sensitive bundle of nerves. Minho was determined to clean all of you out, he prodded you in all the right ways to make you approach your second orgasm.
You felt it building up the moment his tongue slipped into you once more acting as a substitute of his dick earlier, swirling inside of your warmth, tracing the inside of your velvet walls. The familiar feeling of needing to pee crawled up your spine until you felt yourself let go with a loud groan as tears gathered in your eyes from the intensity.
“Shit, I’m coming,” you let your head fall back as your hands found their way into his hair, holding him to you as you rode out your orgasm. The intensity of it almost made your knees fold under you and you would have fallen over if not for his hands holding onto your ass, anchoring you upwards.You felt his tongue languidly lapping at your clit, guiding you through your peak, the warmth travelling all the way down to the tip of your toes.
“That’s it,” he mumbled, his face still buried in your cunt, “give me more of you.” He lapped at your sensitive pussy until he felt you stop spasming, your whine of displeasure telling him you were too sensitive. Savouring your taste, Minho breathed out, his tongue licking your wetness off his lips, the feeling of satisfaction washing over him. He had never imagined you would let go with so little inhibition and the thought made him giddy. He made you come twice.
Out of breath and bodies slick with sweat, you pulled away from him, your eyes already searching for your clothes. The embarrassment of what happened a few seconds before washed over you like a douse of cold water. Having sex with him was one thing, but asking him to go that far and enjoying it so much that you came twice filled you with horror at what he may think of you.
It took him a few seconds to gather his bearings, the aftermath of his orgasm paired with both of your tastes on his tongue made him dizzy and euphoric. As soon as he heard your frenzied shuffle, his eyes wandered over to you, springing up, realising you were about to flee.
“Hey, what are you doing?” He asked cautiously, going to reach out for you. His heart threatened to burst out of his chest at the dejected look you offered him. He didn’t know whether he’d done something wrong or if it was something else. All he knew was that he couldn’t allow you to leave like that. Not when his heart hurt only by seeing the slight quiver of your lips.
“Please, talk to me,” Minho pleaded when you refused to respond. Despite your aversion to vocalise your thoughts, you didn’t make a move to stop him when he engulfed you in his arms.
Regardless of how sweaty and cold you were, you allowed yourself that moment, closing your eyes, you let yourself enjoy the warmth his hug provided, basking in the safety of his arms. For a few moments neither of you spoke — both taking in the feeling of peace that followed after your intense moment. To you, it felt as if being in his arms nothing could reach you, not even the tumultuous conflicted feelings rushing through your mind.
You knew you owed him an explanation, he’d been nothing but considerate towards you, yet, you’ve reacted this brashly without an ounce of regard towards his feelings. Gathering the courage to speak, your head buried into his sweater, the same stupid sweater that started it all, you took a deep breath in allowing his scent to calm down your racing heart.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” you muttered, hands reaching out to grip tightly at the material covering his back. Hearing his sharp inhale, you hurried to apologise thinking you’ve hurt him, only to be shushed gently.
“You don’t have to apologise, please. If anything it’s me who needs to apologise,” Minho countered, his voice caring despite the fear coursing through his body. Had he gone too far?
Unable to believe what you were hearing, you pulled away from him, your eyes scanning his face for any sign of deceit. Meeting his eyes stole your breath. His eyes were clear, albeit a bit sad, but the soft, almost dejected smile he offered you – an attempt to make you feel better, pressed on your heart.
Ashamed of your own doubt towards his feelings, you looked down, your fingers toying with his top. “It’s not just this stupid sweater,” you muttered, closely resembling a petulant child.
Minho looked at you in confusion, before he finally understood what you meant. He tried his best not to laugh, but the ridiculousness of the situation got to him, and he let a snicker escape.
“Wait, you think–” Minho carried on, the sadness he felt at the thought of you rejecting him replaced with utter happiness. “You think, I think, this” he motioned between the two of you, “happened because of a stupid sweater?” He couldn’t help himself, the way you looked at him so offended made you look so endearing he just had to kiss you.
His lips first pressed lightly onto the frown etched onto your forehead, kissing the lines away before they softly peppered your whole face in soft pecks. Pausing right above your lips, his hot breath fanning over your face, Minho whispered softly, “This was never about a sweater, nor was it about fulfilling any fantasies - though I would love to do that for as long as you allow me to,” you couldn’t help but shiver at the implications of his words, “I genuinely like you. But,” he paused to take a sharp intake of breath as if what he was about to tell you next hurt him, “if you don't, and all you want is this physical relationship…”
You were prepared to protest, but he shushed you softly. “Let me just say this before I lose the nerve to. If all you want is a quick fuck, I can also give you that. It would hurt, but I could only hold onto the hope that by being close this way, one day you will see me as more.”
Your heart clenched at hearing his words, you never thought he would put himself down in such a way that he would never assume that you liked him back the way he did.
“Minho,” you said, demanding his attention. Your pointed voice rang loudly in the empty studio, a complete contrast to his own voice.
“Hm?” He asked distractedly, his face was still close to yours, his soft lips ghosting over your own. Without saying a word, you motioned for him to wait. Gulping, you looked down at the sweater he was still wearing, the light sheen of sweat covering his soft skin. Resisting the urge to press your lips to his collarbones, you focused on his buttons, slowly undoing them one by one.
“Woah, Y/N, what-?” he looked at you incredulously, his eyes wide, however, he wasn’t making a move to stop you. Shushing him roughly, you undid the last button, trying your hardest to not revel in the way his skin felt underneath your palms as you pushed it off his shoulders. You had been right, he was not wearing anything underneath it, not even a vest.
Allowing your eyes to soak in what the sweater had been masking all this time, you clenched your fists to your sides, refusing yourself the need to touch him. You were aware that if you did, it was game over.
“What are you doing?” Minho tried again, his heart beating rapidly in his chest at the look you threw him. The fire in your eyes, your hands glued to your sides, lips pursed - you looked beautiful, and if you hadn’t kissed him next, he would’ve without a doubt.
“Shut up,” you said before you pressed your lips to his, your arms wrapping around his neck. Your naked and cold breasts pushed against his warm skin and you both shuddered at the difference in temperature. It took him a moment to gather his bearings and respond, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist pulling you further into him.
As you moulded your bodies and lips together, something shifted between the two of you. As fiery and frenzied as the kiss was, your hands never stayed for too long in one place touching everything you both could, commiting each and every curve to memory. You could almost taste the feelings between the two of you, the connection that was already there but you were both too blind to see it.
Pulling away from him, you finally rested your hands on his chest, enjoying the rhythmic thump of his heartbeat, and knowing it was as rapid as yours made you smile. Finally opening your eyes, you found his already on you, a dazed look on his face.
“Don’t be stupid, as much as I like that sweater,” you laughed at the ridiculousness of this whole situation, “and I would love for us to be physical, I don’t want anything more than I want you, feeling what you are feeling right now for me. I like you too, stupid man with a stupid sweater.”
Even though you knew you wouldn’t be rejected, your heart still stopped waiting for his next answer. The seemingly myriad of emotions crossing his face made you smile, until he settled onto one; the usual cocky one he had when he spoke to you. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at him, ready to slap him if he dared to say anything inappropriate.
“Minho,” you warned as he pulled you into him again.
He simply laughed before he responded by kissing your forehead lightly. “It’s good that you like me. Because I had 4 more sweaters similar to that one ready to come out and try to woo you.”
Mᴀɪɴ Mᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ
First Date with the Vets - Erwin
Big shoutout to @chaotic-nick for making this lovely banner for me!
Overall Summary: I had this idea to do a first date with the vets and what it would be like. I am including Erwin, Levi, Miche, and Hange in this list. Each date will be different, but all of them will be set in modern au.
Check out Miche’s story here, Levi’s story here, and Hange’s story here
Pairing: Erwin x Fem!Reader
Content: Nearly all fluff
Word Count: ~ 6,100
Summary: Reader is on her way home to get ready for her blind date when she runs into a handsome stranger on her way home. On her way up to her apartment to get ready, the elevator breaks down with her and the handsome stranger stuck inside.
Keep reading
TELEGRAPH AVE [smau] || masterlist
>> from the moment she’d met him, matsukawa issei had done nothing but make her life a living hell. years of annoying her on a daily basis for the sake of his own entertainment. it’s like there’s no escaping him, even in college. her only saving grace is his best friend – her best friend – who’s stuck in the middle. so after years of watching them fight, makki’s got a plan. a really bad plan. but what happens when they realize they’ve all been hiding something – something that could change the dynamic of the entire group? <<
pairing : matsukawa issei x f!reader x hanamaki takahiro [poly au]
genres : college!au, crack!au, humor, fluff, will def end up being nsfw at some point, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers
warnings : nsfw language and eventually content, marijuana and alchohol, an unprecedented amount of swearing on this blog, the inside of my mind is a chaotic place so i apologize in advance
a/n : this au idea came to me in a fever dream and refuses to back off so here we go
status : ongoing
start date : [11/23/2020]
update schedule : MWF [twice per day]
taglist : [closed]
masterlist
>> playlist <<
intros pt. 1 || intros pt. 2
[1] shut up bitch basket
[2] i hate it here
[3] no fighting
[4] coexisting peacefully??
[5] please tell me it’s taco tuesday
[6] this mf
[7] matsukawa issei to the rescue???
[8] keep lying to yourself
[9] im trapped
[10] that’s clingy makki for you
[11] was it that bitch kindaichi
[12] right,,, haha anyways
[13] mind your business, rat
[14] kick his ass babe
[15] i think we need to talk
[16] like how horses get???
Private Professor - Max Verstappen
Words: 5,576 Summary: For years and years, Max has claimed that he has a girlfriend, but no one has ever met her and he refuses to talk about her with the media. And it’s far easier to believe that he’s lying when no proof of a girl exists. Note(s)/Warning(s): Small Age Gap (Reader is nearly two years younger), Some Angst, Mostly Fluff, Jos Verstappen. Thank you so much to the anon that requested this! I had a lot of fun writing it!
Taglist | Masterlist
At fourteen and sixteen, their relationship is all blood rushing to their cheeks, fluttering hands, kisses that last too long and not long enough, panting breaths, and hickeys below shirt collars. It’s whispers of forever, of I’ll take you here and there. That house will be ours one day. Whatever you want, you’ll have. I’ll be on break, you’ll come home and I’ll be waiting. You’ll follow me everywhere and I’ll do the same.
It’s promises they don’t realize they shouldn’t be making but do. It’s sweet nothings and petty fights that last a day before they’re back in each other's arms. It’s pretending not to notice how his dad watches him amused as he walks calmly out of the door before sprinting over to her house and sneaking into her bedroom. It’s her parents pretending not to hear the thud of him falling into her bedroom and the light giggles their daughter makes.
At fourteen and sixteen, their relationship changes. It’s no longer seeing each other when he doesn’t have a race or training and is home, no Red Bull duties to be done. It’s long phone calls, texts, snapchat streaks, learning how to video call. It’s carrying two power banks with them everywhere and Max buying them both expensive phone cases that charge their phones. It’s falling asleep on the phone while the other is just beginning their day. He attends classes with her, while she listens to him train. He goes to red bull meetings and pretends not to have the light sound of breathing in his ears from her falling asleep while studying or doing her homework.
Fifteen and seventeen, brings them peace. She’s still studying like a mad woman at Harvard of all places, but he’s got an F1 seat of all things. He’s in F1. He suddenly has more things to do but more free time. When he’s not racing or at the factory or doing weird press things that make him want to rip his hair out, Jos is putting him on a plane to America, to her. And he soaks up all the time with her he can, despite it being filled with her studying, attending classes, and forcing actual food down her throat which her parents both thank him for.
It also brings the stupidest thing in the world; the doubt and disbelief that he has a girlfriend.
Carlos is the first to bring it up upon seeing his home screen that’s just all black, not even the default that iphone has.
“No girlfriend?” Max frowns at him, pocketing his phone and sending a glance over to where his father is standing and talking to his race engineer. “What?” “Your home screen, it’s all black. You don’t have a girlfriend?” Carlos is teasing, joking. The whole paddock already knows that Jos Verstappen wouldn’t let his son have a girlfriend, not now when he’s got an F1 seat. Such a thing would be a distraction and Max isn’t allowed those. Max isn’t allowed friends on the grid either. Carlos wonders though how much the last part is just a Jos thing. “I do.” Then he says her name, all soft and sweet in a way Carlos never thought Max could be. It’s nearly enough for him to believe Max, but then he catches a glimpse of Jos and shakes his head, clapping the seventeen year old on the back.
He is the first to not believe Max, but far from the last. It’s Daniel next, Christian, Esteban, Pierre, Sebastian, Lando, every interviewer that asks.
It doesn’t matter because at seventeen and nineteen, she gets her second degree and begins the nightmare of getting her doctorates in education and history. And he picks out a ring before making his father hide it away. And instead of him constantly flying to her, she’s flying to him. Hiding out in his Monaco apartment, turning his living room into a disaster zone as she spreads her things around to study.
The mess drives him crazy, but he doesn’t move anything no matter how much his hands itch to do so, instead just pressing a kiss to the top of her head before pressing himself in between her and the couch. Grinning when she sends him a look, a clear don’t be a distraction, before giving him a kiss.
His days in Monaco when she’s there are spent in the living room after training, playing fifa or watching some documentary for one of her classes with her, and poking at her lightly because he doesn’t know shit about history but he’s still able to remember countries quicker than her.
They turn eighteen and twenty and nearly get married when her family goes on vacation to Vegas, dragging the two along despite them not being able gamble, which is the only reason her parents had chosen Vegas. The only thing that stops them from getting married is him not being a US citizen and her visa just being for school. It’s a fucking wakeup call for him and he can’t help but pester her about places in Monaco to live.
She entertains it for all of five minutes before she’s cupping his face and kissing him. When she pulls back, she’s shaking her head. “As long as it has you and four bedrooms, I don’t care.” “Four?” “We’ll need our own offices and a guest room.”
It’s barely anything for the real estate agent to work with but he doesn’t care. He wants something that’s at least four bedrooms, two baths, a decent kitchen, and a view. She liked the Monaco sunrise and sunset and he planned on letting her be able to see it anytime they stayed in Monaco.
His agent gets back to him in a week and he ignores the look on Daniel’s face when he comes over for the first time. Ignores the jokes about it being too big for one person just like Daniel ignores him saying that he has a girlfriend.
“If you had one, I’d have seen a picture of her mate. The whole world would.”
Max still remembers the way his jaw had twitched at the thing everyone said. That if he had a girlfriend, they’d have seen a picture of her, that he’d be showing her off every second, have her at the races, been seen with her. When Max had made it abundantly clear that the worst part of driving was the media, the fame. So why would he ever subject someone he loves to that when they both weren’t ready for that?
Because they weren’t. He wasn’t ready for another part of his life, one of the most important parts, to be something for everyone to look at and dissect. And she wasn’t ready for it either. Not when she was doing so much studying. She barely felt like she had time for him, which he denied and hated vehemently, she didn’t have time for the online vitriol of being a girlfriend to a high profile athlete. And she didn’t need to be harassed as she attended classes and studies groups and such if someone recognized her and didn’t like that she was with him.
Not showing any pictures or videos of her was also easy for him. It wasn’t because he didn’t have any, he had hundreds. But they were pictures and videos of her, only meant for him. Not because they were dirty in nature, though some were, but because how she was in them was something only she allowed him to see. It was photos of her with a finger pressed to her top lip as she glared at her books, videos of her sitting on something too tall for her feet to touch the ground and letting them swing. It was her smiling at him, all fond, shy and in love.
It was them wrapped up in each other's arms and love. Her in between his legs or the other way around. Her sitting on his lap as Vic stole his phone to video them laughing and exchanging kisses. Her giggles as she tries not to fall asleep as reads her books to him over facetime. It’s her in her purest form and he doesn’t want the people in his life who are so quick and sure to not believe him to get to see that.
Nineteen and twenty-one, she officially co-owns their place in Monaco and he starts scouting out property in Belgium and land in France that’s somewhat close to the principality he lives in. It was too early to start building a house to live in forever, not when they weren’t sure what they wanted to live in forever with their kids, but it wasn’t too early to buy the land for it.
It also leads to their biggest fight in years.
“Max!” Her nails are digging into her arms. “I’m not saying that. I’m saying that I want to help, that I can pay. I have money!” “And you don’t need to!” He’s yelling as well, face red with anger. “I’ve got money too! You don’t need to pay for shit when I can.” She shakes her head. “Really? Is that how it's always going to be? I won’t ever get to pay for anything? Just have a salary and trust fund wasting away.” She scoffs, giving another shake of her head. “Is it about being the breadwinner? Because don’t worry Max, I’m well aware that you’ll always have more money than me. Doesn’t mean I can’t contribute to our life.” “Fuck.” He murmurs seeing the tears brimming in her eyes but not falling, the hurt in her words. “It’s not about that at all. It’s not about being the breadwinner.” “Then what is it about?” Her voice is high pitched. “You won’t let me pay for a single thing! I can’t buy groceries without you slipping money back into my wallet. I can’t help pay the bills and now you won’t let me help buy the land that will have our house on it. What is it about Max?” “You’re mine.” Her eyes widened at his quiet but firm tone. “You’re my girlfriend, the love of my life. One day my wife and the mother of my children.” He runs his tongue over his teeth, feeling words and feelings he’s only ever really let come out during sex or when they're both so drunk they barely remember anything the next day. “I want to pay for everything because it’s providing for you, it’s making sure you’re eating, sleeping somewhere safe, getting the best, most accommodating flights. It’s knowing that I’m providing for my family.”
“Max,” she breathes out, arms falling away from her chest and then she’s moving closer, resting a hand over his racing heart. “You want to provide for me?” He nods. “For our future kids?” “Yes.” “So do I. So, we’re going to work on this. You want to buy the land, you can.” He looks at her distrusting, because this didn’t sound like working on it. “But, I get to pay for groceries when I go out for them, without you paying me back. I get to pay for netflix because I use it more and spotify.” She adds. He frowns at her. “I don’t like it.” “Too bad and I’m not done. In return, you get to pay the bills, put gas in the car for me,” he grins at that. “Pay for my flights and we are going to open a joint account to put an equal amount of money in every month. For things like vacations, anniversary dinners, and the kids. Because it’s important that I get to help provide for them too. And when we build that house together, I want to pay at least half of the contracting fee. I’ll let you pay for the rest.” “I want to pay for any of the kids' interests. Like art, ballet or karting.” “No deal.” She shakes her head and he’s frowning again. “You can pay for all the karting, it will mean more. But I want it out of the shared account for the other things. Unless,” she pauses. “Unless,” he encourages. “If any of them decides to go to university early like me, I want to pay fully for it.” “No.” It’s quick and now she’s frowning as well. “It’s our children and their education. Shared account.” “Their first degree.” He shakes his head. “And if it’s their only degree?” Her brows press together, it was a good point. Just because they decided to go to university early like her didn’t mean they’d go for more than one degree. “First year.” His eyes narrow as he looks at her, but he nods. “First year. But only of the first degree.” “First degree only.” She agrees.
It’s quiet between them before Max lets his face soften, lips twisting slightly into a smile. “Are we done fighting?” She laughs, but nods. “Yeah. We’re done fighting.” “Thank god.” He breathes, pulling her into his arms and burying his face into the crook of her neck. “Let’s not do that again.” “Not anytime soon at least.” “I love you.” He murmurs. “I love you too.”
Twenty and twenty-two has their families asking when exactly they’re getting married, wondering why there isn’t a ring on her finger and their only saving grace is their time spent in Monaco together away from them all. But when it gets to be too much as pressure builds as she tries to finish her doctorate in education while still working on her doctorate for history, it’s Jos that steps in for her and Max.
The three of them shared a complicated relationship. She could never like him for the parent he was to Max growing up. From the near abuse he hurled at him when he failed, the pressure he put on a child, the leaving him in a foreign country for a few hours when he wasn’t even a teenager more than once. But she did love him, because Max loved him and in his own way he loved Max and he showed that with his support of their relationship when everyone expected for him to have a problem with it, label it as a distraction. And now as a few years had passed and Max was comfortable in his F1 seat, he was Max’s fiercest defender, unwilling to back down, but would if Max told him too. And he was her fiercest defender as well. Glaring at jokes about her not needing a degree with the money Max made, not forcing her to join on trips when she was busy with school or questioning her support of Max because she didn’t attend races.
So, neither Max or her are surprised when Jos steps in when her grandparents are trying to back them into a corner as to why she doesn’t have a ring on her finger and how they have a number for a wedding planner and she should really give her a call, when all they want is to get breakfast before retreating to their room so she can resume her studies while Max hovers around her while going over his own work.
She hadn’t been thrilled at first when she learned that Jos would join them on the trip, knowing that Sophie wouldn’t be there, but now she was grateful and she made sure to squeeze his shoulder before leaving the kitchen and scheduled a nice quiet dinner for herself, Max and Jos as thanks.
The media becomes relentless when they’re twenty-two and twenty-four and Max wins his first championship. Because there is no girlfriend in sight despite the now champions thanks for her support and love. They tear Max apart for creating a fake girlfriend that has no name or face, call him unloveable with his fake championship. Some tear her apart as well, calling her gold digger, selfish, undeserving, fans of Max and the sport do as well.
It was supposed to be a happy moment for him, one of if not the best in his life, but it’s tainted, ruined, and as soon as he’s home with her in Monaco, all she can do is hold him and pretend that the texts from his friends begging him to go out and get laid don’t make her cry later in the shower.
Despite the texts and a bold one from Daniel about hiring him a prostitute, she forces Max to go out, to celebrate with the drivers in Monaco, to get drunk and have fun, and forget what the media is saying about him.
“I’m coming back if one of them even hints at a prostitute.” He tells her and she laughs, but she knows that he’s serious. He’s never even once considered cheating on her and one of their first serious fights had been about her trying to convince him and herself that she’d be okay if he got lonely while he was traveling and needed someone. He hadn’t believed it for a second and it had been one of the few times he had been so pissed at her that he couldn’t even stomach to look at her.
“Am I making a mistake, mom?” She asks, barely five minutes later, not even bothering saying hi when her mom greets her over the phone. “No.” Her mom’s voice is firm and has her blinking away tears. “But,” “No.” Her mom cuts her off. “Sweetheart, I can’t even begin to try and understand Max and yours relationship. But this, this privacy that you two have, that’s not a mistake. It’s rough right now and it will be. And it will come back later when you two do decide to be public, but it’s not a mistake. You two both made the difficult, heartbreaking, mature decision to keep it private for both of yours sake.” “I know.” She whispers, wiping away tears. “You both still need privacy and there is no shame in that. Max isn’t ready and neither are you. As far as I’m concerned the only mistake you two have made is still not being married with a baby on the way.” “Mom.” She groans and her mom laughs. “I know, I know. Just remember that despite the seven or so years you’ve been together, that you two are still young, still doing so much growing.” “Thank you.” “Of course.”
When Max arrives home hours later, drunkenly stumbling around and into bed, she’s not surprised by the smell of liquor clinging to him or the drunken murmurings he’s pressing to her skin. She is surprised by the deep inhale he takes and the splutter that makes her turn to face him.
Eyes a little blurry from sleep and wine, she makes out squinted eyes, flushed face, and a frown.
“You’re drunk.” “You’re drunk.” She replies, curling closer to him. “You’ve been crying.” “Yeah.” He slips an arm around her, pulling her closer. “We’re going to feel like shit when we wake up.” “Yeah.” He chuckles, brushing lips over her forehead. “That bad?” “That bad.” She nods.
At twenty-three and twenty-four, the itch that Max has had since he was nineteen, one that’s grown worse and worse as the years have gone by, is too persistent and he takes a quick trip to his fathers house the day after she turns twenty-three and returns with a ring and the promises they made at fourteen and sixteen, promising them all over again, as she stares at him with a smile and teary eyes.
“I’d be stupid to not want to marry you Max.” She tells him when he slips the ring on her finger, breathing a sigh of relief when it goes on, fitting perfectly. “You’re going to marry me.” She nods, giggling at his blown pupils and silly grin. “Yes, I am.”
It seems stupid to be so giggly and flustered about it, so love sick, when they’ve talked about it so much. About getting married, about houses, kids, life after racing and teaching. But it’s different with the ring on her finger. Not more real or tangible. Just more.
“I know I proposed early.” She shakes her head, wrapping her arms around his neck and his arms eagerly wrap around her waist. “It’s perfect. I know we talked and had plans, but this is perfect. Besides, I’ve got news of my own that’s early.” “Oh?” Max’s eyebrow raises and he knows it’s not possible, not really with her religious use of the birth control shot and the way they mainly use condoms, more for convenience than anything else, but his eyes drift down to her abdomen that’s exposed. There’s no difference, but he can imagine what it would look like, he can also imagine what it will look like in a few hours. “Not that.” Her bottom lip is pulled between her teeth. “I got an email about my viva exam.” “Your viva? But you haven’t submitted your thesis yet.” “Actually,” “Stop.” He lifts a hand to press it against her mouth. “You submitted your thesis already? You completed it?” She nods, her laughter muffled by his hand and he drops it. “Well, what did it say? The email.” “Once I get to the ceremony, I will officially hold a doctorate in education and history.” He kisses her before she can say anything else.
“Unbelievable my love, unbelievable. Two doctorates by twenty-three.” He shakes his head, smiling wide. “You know what that means right?” He shakes his head again, unable to think of anything. Too overcome with his proudness and love for her. “I’ll have my position at Harvard right after the ceremony.” Blue eyes widen. “And they agreed to let me teach a mix schedule for all of 2022, but when the official school year starts for 2023, I’ll just be teaching digital.”
Twenty-three and twenty-five has them weathering the media storm once again as Max wins his second world championship. It’s worse this time. Not because he says more than he did last time about her or says her name or slips up and calls her his fiancee and not girlfriend like they agreed to. But because this championship no one can deny is his and she’s still not there. Too busy in a different continent with the start of the school year as she teaches by herself for the first time since earning both her doctorates.
It’s also not as bad this time, because some of his friends do think that he’s seeing someone, not the girlfriend of years, or even really a girlfriend, but just some random girl that understands he’s too busy for an actual relationship and willing to put up with him spouting to the media and everyone else that he’s in a committed relationship. She doesn’t have time to focus on the media and fans that believe she exists, she barely did last year, but this year she really doesn’t.
“You know,” she says five days after he’s won his championship and they are in the house they have stayed in for the past two years when she has to be at Harvard and he wants to join her. “Around this time next year, we’ll be public.” His face does a weird contortion at the thought. There was a giddiness to the idea, to the thought, but also dread. “That means,” she continues when Max doesn’t say anything. “That you have ample time to figure out how you want to tell people.” “How I want to?” “Yeah. This is your world, your friends, colleagues, nightmares,” she adds and they both laugh. “You can decide how exactly you want to get back at them for not believing you.” “I’m not going to be cruel.” “No.” She lifts her hand and lets her pointer finger trace over his lips. “You’ve never been a cruel person, Max. But you can be a menace.” His eyes light up at that. “Oh. And you don’t care?” She shakes her head, “This is all you and I’m more than happy to be along for the ride.”
She is twenty-four and he has just turned twenty-six when he decides to enact his plan that he came up with so many months ago.
He had made a reservation for a private hall in Monaco months ago, hired a party planner to take care of the finer details, but sorted himself out the place and the food and drinks that would be served. And the day after he turns twenty-six, he picks up the large stack of enveloped invitations he had made and carefully packs them in his suitcase for Qatar. He was winning the championship there and he’d be damned if he didn’t make an already memorable weekend even better.
It’s the first time in a decade she has traveled with him to a race to actually watch the race and not just be there at the hotel to support him as she studies and he can’t help the smugness and happiness that radiates off him when he shows up to the track for the first day.
He’s got his backpack over his shoulder, but the invitations are already in his hands, ready to be passed out.
“Max!” Charles greets when he arrives in the driver's debrief room. All twenty of them, plus reserves, team principals, and Daniel sitting and standing around as they wait for the FIA representative to get here. He looks down at his watch, noting that it will at least another ten minutes, before his eyes flicker to a member of the Red Bull staff that’s standing against a wall, but just like he asked, they’ve got a camera in their hands and there’s another one standing leaning against the opposite wall, also with a camera. “Charles. Safe flight?” “Always. What do you have there?” “Ooh,” Daniel chimes in, moving closer and looking at the envelopes in his hands. “What do you have there?” He smirks and he can see Daniel’s grin flatter at the sight for a brief second. “Invitations.” He says, before tossing or passing them around to the different drivers and Christian. He nearly avoids giving Lando one just to be a shit but Toto isn’t there to give it too and it wouldn’t be the same to give it to a different team principal jokingly.
“What is it for?” Carlos asks, eyeing the dark envelope like a lot of the other drivers are, suspiciously. He shrugs, eyebrows raising when he sees the way Lando is feeling the envelope. “Mate, I’m not giving you money.” Lando frowns, before ripping it open. “You’ve got more than enough to spare.” Seeing Lando open his, has the rest of them following suit.
“Dear friends of Max Verstappen,” George reads out and the wording earns a few snorts but he continues. “You are invited to celebrate at the” he pauses squinting at the french on the page. “The Salle des Étoiles” Charles says. “Cheers, mate. You’re invited to celebrate on the 8th of November at 4pm.” His eyebrows furrow. “Celebrate what?” Max watches from the corner of his eye as Christian flips the invitation over and nearly chokes.
“Your engagement?” “Your what?” “Engaged?” “Impossible.” “Lies.”
The whole room is filled with denial and panic and Max just smiles, nearly laughing when Logan thrusts his invitation into James’ hands and asks the team principal if it’s true.
“Max, you aren’t engaged, right? Like that was a fuck up with the print place?” Daniel is nearly pleading, begging, and Max would feel sorry, but for the past ten years he’s been telling people he isn’t single, and sure he’s never shared many details, but they all refused to believe or even consider it. He ignores him, instead looking at the room in large. “You’ll meet her tomorrow. She’s very excited about it.” And as if he planned it, the FIA official walks into the room and no one can question him.
When the meeting is over he manages to avoid all of them except for Christian, who nearly drags him into a private room.
“Is this real?” Max raises an eyebrow at the way he’s waving around the invitation but nods. “Yes.” “You’re really engaged.” “Yes, Christian. I am.” The older man stares at him, not blinking before sighing and running a hand over his face. “Is she pregnant?” “What?” “The girl you’ve been sleeping with recently. Is she pregnant, is that what this is about? Because you don’t have to marry her.” “No one is pregnant.” He reassures, not even able to find any anger for Christian and his assumption. The older man sighs again before sitting down and slumping in the chair.
“You’ve had a girlfriend since you were sixteen.” There’s regret, guilt, and sorrow in his voice. “Yes.” “And I never believed you.” He shrugs, it had hurt yes, but he had always understood Christian’s disbelief in it over anyone else's. “No.” Christian nods. “And I owe you both an apology for that. I should have believed you Max.” “Thank you.” “But really, ten years and you’ve just put a ring on it?” Max groans, rolling his eyes. “You sound like our families.”
They are twenty-four and twenty-six when Max wins his third championship, with the sprint race of all things, and the whole world watches as he’s enveloped by his team before he’s tugging off his helmet and kissing the unfamiliar girl that’s between Christian and Jos, shielded from the rough crowd of Red Bull mechanics, crew, and such. They are twenty-four and twenty-six when everyone finds out that Max had been telling the truth the whole time.
Just about a month later, she eases into the spot between Max and the arm of the couch, eagerly tucking herself closer to him when he drapes an arm over her shoulders.
“You alright?” She nods, “Yeah, Vic and Tom finally left.” Max snorts, “It only took them thirty minutes.” “A record for them.” She grins, before looking at the other people surrounding them, or rather Max. She wasn’t surprised that Max had taken to quickly grabbing a few people and secluding themselves in a corner. She was a bit surprised by the people however.
Charles and Daniel which isn’t too surprising, but there’s the three rookies of the season, Liam, Oscar, and Logan, as well, a little surprising, but nothing compared to the two Mercedes drivers also in front of her.
“You aren’t trying to get Lewis to play paddle are you?” Lewis laughs, shaking his head. “I get enough of competing with him on the track. There’s no convincing me there.” “It’s fun, Lewis.” Charles says. “You should join. George you too. Make it Mercedes versus,” he pauses, eyebrows scrunching together as he tries to think of something to call himself and Max. “Lestappen.” She offers, inching away a bit when Max pinches her side. Charles doesn’t notice the pinch, just smiles at her, before looking at the two British drivers. “Yes! Mercedes versus Lestappen.” His eyebrows then furrow. “What is Lestappen?” “Mate, you don’t want to know.” Liam tells him. Logan chuckles, “I don’t know. Either he finds out now or he finds out when he googles it later.” “Googles it.” George murmurs, mocking the American accent that Logan has. “Bloody Americans.” “Yeah, yeah, tea and crumpets.” Logan waves off Georges mocking with a grin as he looks at Charles. “It’s what people call you and Max, a nickname you could say for when you two are together.” She tells him before Logan can say anything. “Oh,” he frowns, considering. “That doesn’t sound so bad.” “It’s not.” She assures.
Before anyone can say anything else, someone joins their group, eyes focusing on her.
“Dr. Y/L/N, congratulations on your engagement.” She looks at the older man in surprise before quickly standing to shake his hand. “Toto, a pleasure to see you again. And please you don’t need to call me doctor.” Toto smiles, tilting his head forwards, conceding as she sits back down. “Doctor?” Daniel questions, eyes flitting between her and the Mercedes team principal, not sure of what to make of the interaction, though Max seems perfectly fine with it. She presses her lips together and she can feel Max move a bit closer as Toto’s eyes narrow at Max. “Yes.” She tells Daniel and the rest. “I managed to get both of my doctorates last year.” A few jaws drop and Lewis whistles. “And I thought you were just a teacher.” Toto’s looking at her now, with narrowed eyes and she sighs.
It would be just her luck that despite having just met the man once, that one time had resulted in a long conversation after he gave his guest lecture at Harvard.
“You told them you're a teacher.” “I told them I teach.” She corrects. “Let's not make a big deal out of it.” “I want to make a big deal out of it.” Max mumbles and she sends him a pleading look. But Max doesn’t give in, instead he turns to the rest of them. “She’s a professor at Harvard. She got both her doctorates at twenty-three and quickly was signed on as professor.” “So, what you’re saying,” Oscar starts, breaking the silence that has fallen over the group. “Is that she is way too smart for you?” Max laughs, eyes crinkling and body bending forward from the force of it. “Without a doubt, mate. Without a doubt.”
@cixrosie @darleneslane @teti-menchon0604 @eugene-emt-roe @fanboyluvr @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @benstormy @iloveyou3000morgan @copper-boom @boiohboii @topguncultleader
Red Moon Masterlist
Summary: Hana’s life was planned out perfectly. She would marry the pack alpha, become Luna and do her duties. But the appearance of a mysterious stranger turns her life inside out she finds herself outcast and alone. Will she find her new home in Chan and his pack of strays? Will she find what she’s been looking for all along in the mysterious alpha? Or will everything crumble under her again?
Warnings: Werewolf AU, pack dynamics, mating cycles, noncon, abuse, victim blaming, angst, explicit adult content
A/N: This story is written by an adult for adults. I know a lot of Stray Kids fans are younger, but this story is very mature. It deals with a lot of adult topics and adult situations beyond just smut. That being said, this story is not to be taken lightly. There is a lot that happens in the first couple chapters that will probably make a lot of people uncomfortable. That being said, if it’s not your cup of tea, please move on. Don’t interact with it.This is an AU. This is in no way a representation of Stray Kids in real life, nor is it meant to represent any people who may be unintentionally mentioned in this story.
And yes, this was definitely inspired by Wolfgang.
KPOP MASTERLIST
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Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
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