planetherk

[planetherk]

OFF LIMITS

in which Seonghwa cant get enough of Mingi's little sister

park seonghwa x fem!reader (third person)

tw: smut, 18+, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names (angel, baby), seonghwa wants her sooo bad, fem user, forbidden love, reader is 18, minors dni, non idol au

my seonghwa fever is getting worse, especially after the lemon drop mv...

wc: 5,7k

There were a few unspoken rules in the Song household. One: never blast loud music after midnight. Two: Mingi gets control of the aux in the car—no arguments. And three, the most sacred of them all—Park Seonghwa was strictly, eternally, absolutely off limits. At least, that’s what Mingi always said to his little sister.

She was eighteen now. Legally an adult. Technically allowed to vote, sign her own documents, and finally order iced Americanos without her brother making a face like she’d committed treason. But in Mingi’s eyes, she was still that tiny girl who used to follow him around the neighborhood in mismatched socks and two pigtails, trailing behind him like a puppy. That made things complicated. Because Park Seonghwa had been Mingi’s best friend since middle school.

And she had had a hopeless, fluttery, chest-squeezing crush on him for exactly that long.

She still remembered the first time she met him. She was ten, a little shy and quiet, peeking around the corner to spy on the tall, handsome boy who’d come over to play video games with Mingi. He had this soft, almost angelic face—kind eyes, a gentle smile—and he’d said hi to her in that voice that made her ears warm.

Now, eight years later, nothing had changed. At least not for her.

Well, okay, maybe some things had changed. Like how she had grown into herself—still sweet, still a little shy around new people, but prettier than she gave herself credit for. Polite to a fault, soft-spoken, and with a kind of delicate presence that people tended to notice without her even trying. But when it came to Seonghwa, she still turned to jelly.

He was in his last year of university and still best friends with her brother. He came over often, flopping down on the couch like he lived there, teasing Mingi with that lazy grin and tousled black hair that made her want to run into a hole and never come back out.

Because it wasn’t just a schoolgirl crush anymore. It was deeper now. Softer. The way he’d pass her a mug of hot chocolate without being asked. The way he’d say, “You look good,” in passing like it was just a fact. And the way his eyes would sometimes linger—just a second too long—when she smiled at him. But he never acted on it. Never crossed that line. Never let himself.

Because she was Mingi’s little sister. And Mingi would absolutely commit murder if he ever found out his best friend looked at her that way.

But what she didn’t know—what anyone couldn’t know—was that Seonghwa was already halfway in too deep.

He didn’t remember when it started, exactly. Maybe it was that day last winter when he found her asleep on the couch, curled up like a kitten, a book fallen across her chest. Or maybe it was the way her laugh lit up the whole room when she finally let herself be comfortable. But now it was impossible to ignore. The softness in her gaze, the subtle scent of her shampoo when she brushed past him, the way she chewed her lip when she was nervous—

He was screwed.

And yet, he kept showing up. Kept pretending he didn’t feel it. Kept pushing it down, like some heavy weight pressing into his ribs. Because her brother trusted him.

So when Mingi decided to throw another party, his excuse being halloween, claiming it would be the only thing to cure his boredom, Seonghwa, being the good friend he is, immediately offered to help.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

Upstairs, some hours before the party, she was putting the final touches on her costume. The bathroom was small and a little stuffy from the heat of her hair curler and the flurry of makeup she had been working on for the last half hour. The mirror was fogged at the corners, the counter a mess of brushes, glitter, and tiny containers. She tugged at the hem of her dress — if you could even call it that. It was small, shorter than she expected when she ordered it, and so delicate it almost looked like it would dissolve if someone touched it. White lace clung to her body in all the right — or wrong — places, little sparkles catching the bathroom light. She wore thigh-high white stockings, thin and lacy too, giving her an almost sinful kind of sweetness. Her angel costume. And she definitely didn’t wear it for him.

And when Seonghwa saw her, he almost lost it.

She looks so... fucking perfect.

He couldn't stop the thoughts from flooding in again—this time even more intense than any other time. He was dangerously close to forgetting all the reasons why he should stay away. She was beautiful, radiant, flawless in every sense, and she seemed so completely out of reach.

I can't keep doing this, he thought, trying desperately to distance himself from his own feelings. She’s not mine. She never will be. But that didn’t stop the ache in his chest, the tension that was still building between them. His jaw clenched as he crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze never straying from her. She would be the death of him.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

The party was in full swing now—noisy, wild, and exactly the chaos Mingi had wanted.

The bass from the DJ's massive speakers made the floor vibrate under their feet, lights flashing between red, blue, and green, giving the whole house an almost surreal, dreamlike feeling. People were packed shoulder to shoulder, drinks in hand, some dancing in the living room, some gathered in the kitchen, shouting conversations over the heavy beat. Mingi had somehow managed to turn the whole place into a mini nightclub, and it was obvious the college crowd was loving it.

She was somewhere near the middle of it all, surrounded by her friends, laughing like she didn’t have a care in the world. Her cheeks were flushed from the alcohol she’d been sipping—sweet drinks that went down like water—and her smile was bright, a little looser than usual. Her friends were dressed just as cute as she was—some in sparkly tops and tiny skirts, others in barely-there witch costumes—but none of them even touched the way she looked tonight. She stood out like a soft, shining light in the middle of it all—her white lacy dress and wings making her look almost untouchable.

And college boys, already buzzed and confident from their drinks, had been flocking around her friendgroup like moths to a flame. She didn’t mind the attention, exactly—she giggled when they flirted, batted her lashes once or twice—but even as she joked around and clinked red plastic cups with strangers, her mind kept wandering back to one person. Seonghwa.

Her eyes flickered to him without meaning to, seeking him out instinctively. And there he was—standing across the room by the makeshift bar Mingi had set up in the corner, leaning against the counter, a cup in his hand, casually talking to San over the thundering music.

He looked so good like this. Relaxed but sharp, his costume fitting him too well, his slicked-back hair and intense gaze making him look even hotter than she remembered from earlier. The blood spatter on his shirt and collarbone only added to it somehow. And the worst part was that his eyes never left hers the whole night. Even while he nodded at something San was saying, Seonghwa’s eyes barely left her body. His gaze was heavy, following her every move—the way she leaned into her friends, the way she laughed, the way her dress clung to her hips when she shifted.

It was killing him. Absolutely fucking killing him.

He took a sip from his cup, pretending to be nonchalant, but inside, he was a mess. Every inch of him was taut, straining not to walk over there, grab her, and make it clear to every other guy that she wasn’t available—even if she technically was. Next to him, San caught the direction of his gaze easily, even through the haze of music and lights. He smirked, nudging Seonghwa’s side with his elbow. "You're so fucking screwed," San shouted over the bass, laughing as Seonghwa shot him a quick, warning look.

Seonghwa scowled, tilting his head like he hadn’t heard right. "What?"

San only laughed harder. "You’re not even hiding it, hyung. You keep staring at her like you’re two seconds from dragging her upstairs. Mingi’s little sister," he added pointedly. "You’re dead if you even think about it."

Seonghwa barked out a low, humorless laugh and shook his head, forcing himself to act normal. "You’re drunk," he lied easily, taking another sip of his drink. "I’m not staring at her."

San arched a brow, clearly not buying it. "Sure, man. Whatever you say."

Seonghwa didn’t argue further. There was no point. He knew it was dangerous. He knew it was wrong. But fuck if he could help himself.

He watched as some college guy with too much confidence leaned too close to her, making her laugh again, and his jaw tightened painfully.

Stay cool, he told himself. Stay fucking cool.

He couldn’t act on it. He wouldn’t. No matter how badly he wanted her—how badly he wanted to be the only one making her laugh like that. Because San was right. If Mingi even suspected how Seonghwa felt about his little sister… He’d kill him. And worse, he would deserve it. He was supposed to protect her. Not fantasize about bending her over the nearest surface.

Still, even as he told himself all these rational things, his eyes refused to leave her, drawn back to her like she was the only real thing in the entire crowded house.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

As a few hours passed, he music was deafening, drinks had been flowing like water, and she was officially gone. She was a giggling mess, her cheeks flushed pink, her hair a little tousled from dancing and moving around so much. Her angel wings were slightly crooked on her back, but she didn’t seem to care. She and her friends had been dancing non-stop earlier, but now they were getting bored — the DJ had switched to some slow, repetitive beats that weren't nearly as fun, and she pouted, dramatically whining over the music.

"I need to fix this," she slurred to her friends, determination flashing in her tipsy eyes.

She spun around, trying to find Mingi — he was the host after all, he could tell the DJ to change it — but in the packed, sweaty crowd, it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Still, she was stubborn, stumbling a little as she weaved through bodies, her drink almost tipping over.

That’s when she bumped right into someone’s solid chest.

And of course it was fucking Seonghwa.

He turned instantly at the light shove, his hand shooting out to steady her by her hips without even thinking. And when he saw her—her wide, glazed eyes, her little pout, the way she swayed slightly on her heels—his whole demeanor shifted. He went so soft for her.

"Hey," he said, lowering his head closer so she could hear over the heavy bass. "You okay, angel?"

She giggled at the nickname, swaying again. "M'fine!" she chirped, nodding too hard.

Seonghwa didn’t look convinced. He kept one hand lightly on her waist just to make sure she didn’t topple over again. She leaned closer, getting on her tiptoes slightly to speak near his ear.

"I needa... change the music," she explained seriously, her words a little jumbled, her breath warm against his skin. "It's boring now. We need, like—" she hiccupped cutely, frowning, "I don’t know… some spanish songs."

Seonghwa chuckled lowly, heart squeezing at how adorable she was like this — so determined and tipsy and so irresistible. "Alright, alright," he murmured, giving her waist a gentle squeeze. "Let’s fix it."

Without giving her a chance to get lost again, he grabbed her hand — her tiny fingers slotting against his — and started leading her toward the DJ booth, parting the crowd easily with his larger frame. She stumbled after him, wings bobbing slightly behind her, her grip tight and trusting in his hand.

When they got to the DJ, Seonghwa stood right next to her, close enough that her shoulder brushed his chest every time she shifted. He watched, amused and fond, as she leaned into the DJ’s ear, pleading cutely for "some spanish songs, pleaseeee." The DJ laughed and gave her a thumbs up, scrolling quickly through his playlist.

He couldn't take his eyes off her.

The way her dress clung to her curves, the way her makeup glittered under the flashing lights, the way her lips curved into that triumphant little smile when the opening beats of Chantaje came blasting through the speakers.

Before he could even react, she turned back to him, beaming up at him, her eyes sparkling.

"Come dance with me," she said, grabbing his hand again, tugging him toward the middle of the floor.

Seonghwa didn’t even hesitate. "Yeah," he said, his voice low and sure. "I’ll dance with you."

At first, it was innocent enough. They laughed, moved together easily to the upbeat song, spinning and hopping around like idiots. She threw her arms up, her wings bouncing with her movements, and Seonghwa couldn't stop smiling, completely charmed. But as the music shifted into a slower, heavier bass beat—more sultry, more rhythmic—their movements began to change too.

Still tipsy and emboldened, she moved closer. Her body brushed against his. Then pressed. Her hips started swaying in a slow, hypnotic way that made Seonghwa’s throat go dry.

He didn’t pull away. He couldn’t.

His hands found her waist again, holding her there gently, but firmly.

She looked up at him through her lashes, all coy and mischievous, her body rolling to the beat, her ass brushing against his hips as she moved. Seonghwa sucked in a breath, sharp and strained, his fingers tightening slightly on her waist.

She’s drunk, his brain screamed. She doesn’t mean it.

But another, darker part of him, the part that had been craving her for months now, whispered: She wants you.

Her scent was dizzying — sweet perfume and vanilla and alcohol — and she felt so fucking good against him he thought he might actually lose his mind.

The music throbbed around them, but all he could focus on was the way she was moving — for him, against him — her laughter, the way her hips fit so perfectly against his. She wasn’t even aware of what she was doing to him, and it made it even worse. Seonghwa dipped his head closer to hers, fighting every instinct to not pull her even tighter.

Seonghwa was rock hard at this point, the front of his pants unbearably tight, every brush of her hips against his enough to make his hands twitch at his sides. He tried—God, he tried—to keep himself in check. To tell himself she was just drunk and having fun. That she didn’t mean it. That it didn’t mean anything.

But when the girl leaned her body back more fully against him, her ass pressing flush against his aching cock through the thin lace of her dress and hispants, Seonghwa’s self-control cracked.

His hands shot to her waist—gripping it tight—and for a second, he just held her there, breathing hard against the back of her head. And when she kept moving—kept grinding against him like she had no idea what she was doing to him—his hands slid lower, gripping her hips, his thumbs dangerously close to the curve of her ass.

"Stop," he rasped into her ear, barely audible over the music, but his hands betrayed him, tightening almost possessively.

But she only laughed, soft and tipsy, and turned around in his hold—tilting her head up, eyes gleaming. And without thinking, without caring, Seonghwa crushed his mouth to hers.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was desperate.

Months and months of pent-up longing exploded between them. She gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of her head while the other stayed firm on her waist, holding her tight against his body so she could feel exactly what she was doing to him.

Their kiss was messy, needy — all teeth and tongues and muffled moans. Her hands fisted the front of his bloody costume, pulling him closer, and he deepened the kiss, tilting her head back just to taste more of her.

She was kissing him back like she wanted him, like she needed him just as badly.

He wanted to lift her up and fuck her right there against the wall. He wanted to tear that little dress off her and worship every inch of her body like he’d dreamed about so many nights. He wanted her.

But reality crashed back into him like a cold slap.

She was drunk. She wasn’t thinking clearly. He couldn’t take advantage of her. Not like this. Never like this.

Breaking the kiss felt like ripping his own heart out of his chest. He pulled back sharply, panting hard, staring at her swollen lips, her half-lidded, dazed eyes.

“Come on,” he muttered hoarsely, grabbing her hand again before he did something even worse. “We need to get you some water.”

She pouted, confused and frustrated, but she let him tug her through the crowd.

Seonghwa barely noticed the people around them. His brain was a haze of her and you fucking idiot, get it together. He dragged her into the kitchen — blessedly quieter — and let go of her hand only to grab a bottle of water off the counter.

“Here,” he said, shoving it into her hands. His voice was still rough, his heart hammering against his ribs.

She blinked at him, still looking a little dazed, her lips parted and he groaned internally and pushed the bottle closer. “Drink, angel,” he said more gently. “You need to sober up.”

Obediently, she brought the bottle to her lips, taking small sips at first, then longer gulps.

Seonghwa leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms tightly over his chest as if that could somehow cage the overwhelming need clawing inside him. She looked like sin itself, standing there in that tiny white dress, her wings slightly crooked, her cheeks flushed from alcohol and dancing, her lips still red and kiss-swollen from him.

He closed his eyes briefly, breathing deep through his nose. He needed to get a fucking grip. Because if he didn’t he didn’t know if he’d be able to stop himself a second time.

"Slow down, angel," he murmured when she tried to chug the rest of the bottle, stepping closer and curling his fingers gently around her wrist. His touch was careful this time. Controlled.

She looked up at him, cheeks puffed slightly from drinking too fast, and giggled. he smiled despite himself, soft and fond, smoothing a stray piece of hair from her face. And when she lifted her head to look at him after some minutes, her big eyes soft and a bit clearer, her mouth parting slightly like she wanted to say something he snapped.

He dropped the water bottle onto the counter with a dull clatter and stepped right into her space. She barely had time to gasp before he was cupping her jaw and crashing his mouth onto hers again.

This time, there was no hesitation. Just pure, desperate need.

She kissed him back immediately, almost hungrily, her hands flying up to fist the front of his shirt. Seonghwa groaned deep in his chest, kissing her harder, pushing her backward until her hips bumped against the counter. He didn’t even stop to give her a second to breathe.

His hands roamed greedily — one tangled in her soft hair, the other sliding down her back, gripping her ass through the scandalously short lace dress. She made a little needy sound against his mouth when he squeezed, and he swallowed it down like a man starved. Her dress was so fucking thin. Seonghwa could feel the heat of her skin right through it. He broke the kiss only to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down her jaw, to her neck, sucking gently at her pulse point.

She whimpered, arching into him, her nails scraping lightly at his chest, and it drove him wild.

"You have no idea," he muttered against her skin, voice rough and wrecked, "no fucking idea how long I've wanted this."

She shivered under him, her hands moving up, framing his face, pulling him back up to her mouth. He kissed her like he was claiming her, like he needed her more than he needed air. She whimpered again when his hands slipped down to her thighs, squeezing and lifting her effortlessly onto the counter. Her wings shifted and rustled behind her, but neither of them cared.

From this angle, she was so perfect—sitting pretty in her tiny white dress and lace stockings, flushed and panting, her thighs spreading naturally for him.

Seonghwa's hand slid up one of her bare thighs, fingertips brushing along the edge of her stockings, feeling the slight bump where lace met soft skin.

He pulled back just barely, breathing heavily, forehead resting against hers.

"You’re dangerous," he rasped, his voice almost trembling with how much he was holding back. "So fucking dangerous, angel."

He kissed her again, rougher this time, swallowing her little gasps, his hands greedy, sliding up under her skirt now, feeling the heat of her bare thighs. She moaned into his mouth, shifting closer, her legs wrapping around his waist without even thinking. Seonghwa was losing it. She was so warm, so soft, so fucking willing. It took everything inside him not to rip that little dress right off her body. Not to drop to his knees and worship her the way she deserved.

When he finally broke away again, panting, he rested his forehead against hers, trying to calm down, but it was useless.

"I need to get you alone," he whispered hoarsely, voice wrecked with want.

She giggled breathlessly against his lips, her fingers still playing with the collar of his costume.

"Then take me," she whispered back, mischief glinting in her pretty eyes.

Seonghwa growled low in his throat, already spinning plans in his mind— how to get her upstairs, how to lock the door, how to finally, finally touch every inch of her he’d been dreaming about. He was going to make her his. And he wasn’t going to let anything or anyone stop him. He slipped his hands under her thighs, lifting her off the counter like she weighed nothing. she gasped and clutched his shoulders, giggling quietly as he carried her across the kitchen.

He kept her close against his chest, weaving through the crowd carefully, taking a side route avoiding the main hallway, avoiding Mingi, avoiding any possible disaster.

All that existed for him right now was her. He was so fucking hard it hurt.

They made it upstairs somehow, slipping into her room, and the second the door closed, Seonghwa pinned her against it. His mouth was back on hers before either of them could breathe, his hands greedy, roaming everywhere at once down her sides, over her hips, squeezing her ass with both hands and pressing her harder against the door.

She moaned sweetly against his mouth, rolling her hips up into him without shame, feeling how desperate he was for her.

"Hwa—" she whimpered, tugging at his hair, kissing him back with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses.

"You’re driving me fucking crazy," Seonghwa growled against her lips, grinding into her, making her feel just how hard he was.

He kissed down her neck hungrily, sucking a dark mark just under her jawline where her brother wouldn’t see it later. His hands slid up her thighs, under the barely-there lace of her dress, until his fingers brushed between her legs. And he froze.

"Fuck," he rasped, pulling back just enough to look down at her, his hand still pressed firmly against the heat between her thighs. She wasn't wearing anything underneath.

"You’re killing me, angel," he muttered, voice wrecked, eyes dark and hungry.

She giggled softly, slightly drunk on the way he touched her, on the way he looked at her like she was the only thing he’d ever wanted.

"I wanted to be good for you," she whispered, biting her lip.

Seonghwa almost lost it right there.

Instead, he dropped to his knees in front of her, pulling her thighs apart with his large hands. She gasped, blushing fiercely, her wings trembling slightly behind her as she steadied herself against the door. He kissed the inside of her thigh first, slow and deliberate, making her shiver. Then higher. And higher. Until he was mouthing at the place she was already slick and needy for him, her sweet little wet pussy dragging a moan from her lips.

"Seonghwa—!" she gasped, her fingers burying themselves in his hair.

He groaned against her, the taste of her driving him wild, and he started working her open with slow, lazy licks, like he had all the time in the world to devour her. She whimpered and bucked her hips, desperate, but he kept her pinned, spreading her thighs wider, feasting on her like he was starving. Oh, she tasted so sweet. So fucking sweet.

When he finally slipped a finger inside her — slow, careful —she gasped again, her whole body trembling against the door. "So perfect," he muttered against her, curling his finger just right, making her sob. "So fucking sweet."

He kept going, slow and relentless, adding another finger, his mouth still working her, until she was writhing, tugging his hair, sobbing his name over and over. It didn’t take long.

She came with a loud, breathy cry, her thighs shaking around his shoulders, and Seonghwa grinned against her, helping her ride it out with slow, gentle kisses.

But he wasn’t done. Not even close.

He stood up again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and kissed her hard — letting her taste herself on his tongue.

She was dazed, breathing hard, clinging to his shirt.

"Bed," he rasped against her lips. "Now."

She stumbled backward, letting her wings fall off as she crawled onto the bed, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. He stripped his shirt off, not caring about the costume anymore, revealing a lean, sculpted body that made her mouth go dry. He crawled onto the bed after her, catching her mouth in another hot, desperate kiss, grinding against her slowly.

She could feel him now — hot, thick, pressing against her — and she whined softly, squirming beneath him.

"You want me?" he murmured, kissing down her neck, nipping at her collarbone. "Tell me, angel."

"Please," she whimpered, arching into him. "Hwa, please..."

He groaned, his last bit of control slipping. He yanked her dress up, and his fingers found her nipples, hardened by the cold of the room. He started pinching them, taking one in his mouth and started sucking, leaving her a moaning, desperate mess. When he was satisfied, he pushed her thighs apart, and finally — finally — slid inside her in one long, slow thrust.

Both of them moaned at the feeling, Seonghwa clenching his jaw, trying not to come instantly at how tight and warm she was, and she was moaning, her nails raking down his back. He stayed still for a moment, breathing heavily into her neck.

"So perfect," he whispered again, almost reverently. "So fucking tight for me."

Then he started moving. At first his thrusts were slow, deep, that had her gasping and clinging to him, then faster, rougher, pounding into her, making her cry out with every stroke.

Their bodies moved together like they were made for each other, sweaty and desperate, moaning each other's names like prayers. She wrapped her legs around him tighter, pulling him deeper, and Seonghwa buried his face in her neck, losing himself completely.

"You’re mine," he growled into her skin, thrusting harder. "You hear me, angel? Mine."

"Yours," she gasped back, barely able to breathe, barely able to think — all she could feel was him, everywhere, overwhelming and perfect.

It didn’t take long before she was tipping over the edge again, sobbing his name as she came around him, and the feeling of her clenching so tightly around him pushed Seonghwa right over the edge too. He groaned brokenly against her throat, hips stuttering, spilling deep inside her.  They stayed tangled together afterward — sweaty, trembling, kissing each other slowly, lazily, like they never wanted it to end.

Seonghwa brushed a strand of hair from her face, kissing her forehead gently. "My angel," he whispered. She just smiled up at him, dazed and happy, and tugged him down into another kiss. The room was thick with heat, the faint pulse of the party's bass still thudding distantly through the walls. But here, in the dim light of her bedroom, nothing else existed except them.

She was sprawled beneath him, flushed and beautiful, her body still trembling slightly from the aftershocks. He hovered over her, breathing hard, his skin slick with sweat, his hair messy and sticking to his forehead. He kissed her again, slow at first, savoring it, then deeper, hungrier, his hand sliding down her side, squeezing her hip.

And she whimpered softly against his mouth, her body already arching back into him, wanting more.

"You’re killing me," Seonghwa muttered, voice low and wrecked. "You’re so fucking addictive."

Before she could say anything, he was kissing down her neck again, nipping her skin, sucking another dark mark just above her breast. His hand slid between her legs finding her still slick and sensitive and he groaned deeply.

"So wet for me still," he breathed, dragging his fingers slowly through her folds, teasing her.

She gasped, clenching the sheets, her thighs already falling open for him.

"You want more, angel?" he asked, kissing lower, his mouth now between her tits again, as he loved how soft and plump they were.

"Yeah," she breathed out, desperate. Seonghwa chuckled darkly against her skin — then without warning, he grabbed her thighs and flipped her over onto her stomach.

The girl yelped in surprise, giggling, but the giggle turned into a moan when Seonghwa dragged her hips up, forcing her to kneel on shaky legs while her chest stayed pressed to the mattress.

"Fuck," Seonghwa hissed under his breath, just looking at her flushed skin, the glitter of her stockings, the soft curve of her ass presented perfectly for him. He ran his hands slowly down her back, over the swell of her hips, squeezing her roughly. Then he leaned in and bit the inside of her thigh, making her whimper.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he growled, lining himself up again — teasing her, rubbing the thick head of his cock through her wetness but not pushing in yet.

"Hwa, please—" she whined, pushing back against him needily.

"Patience," he smirked, slapping her ass lightly, making her jump.

She whined again, trying to push her ass back, to grind on him, to feel something, but he was having none of it. He slapped the soft flesh of her ass, which turned into a pale red color, which made her cry out but stay still. Then, with one slow, brutal thrust — he pushed back inside her, burying himself to the hilt.

"oh my god," she gasped, clawing at the sheets.

Seonghwa groaned low in his chest, gripping her hips tight as he started moving, setting a hard, punishing rhythm that had the bed creaking under them. The filthy sounds of skin slapping skin, her whimpering, his grunts, was obscene, and he loved every second of it.

"Look at you," he panted, slamming into her harder. "So needy for me. So perfect."

She could barely answer — all she could do was moan, her body completely at his mercy, so cock drunk.

Seonghwa reached forward, grabbing a fistful of her hair and pulling her up so her back was flush against his chest. She gasped, the new angle making him hit even deeper, her legs shaking uncontrollably. He kissed along her shoulder, murmuring filth into her ear between his deep thrusts.

"Feel how deep I am, angel? You’re made for me. Fuck, I could live inside you."

She sobbed his name, her nails digging into his arms, and he slammed against her skin.

"You’re mine," he whispered roughly. "No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to have you."

"Only you," she whimpered, clenching around him, and Seonghwa cursed under his breath, his rhythm faltering from how fucking good she felt. He slid a hand down between her thighs, rubbing tight, fast circles over her swollen clit, pushing her closer and closer to the edge again.

"Come for me," he growled into her ear, thrusting harder. "Come all over my cock, angel. Let go for me."

It didn’t take long. With a loud, broken cry, she shattered again, her whole body convulsing, squeezing him so tight he almost blacked out. Seonghwa cursed, slamming into her a few more times before spilling deep inside her again with a low, wrecked groan.

They collapsed onto the bed together, panting, sweaty, trembling.

He kissed her shoulder softly, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her against him protectively.

"Fuck," he muttered, pressing his forehead against her back. "I’m never gonna get enough of you."

She giggled weakly, turning in his arms to face him, her cheeks still flushed.

"This will be our little secret, okay? We can’t have anyone knowing baby. Especially your brother." He said as he slowly slid out of her, looking at the mess they both made.

[planetherk]

THE WAY HE RUINS ME

Because that was the curse of Park Seonghwa. And she was cursed.

seonghwa x fem!reader

tw: toxic situationship, obsession, possessive!seonghwa, smut-heavy, morally grey, angst, dark romance, emotional manipulation, filth, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex(wrap it before you tap it!!)

wc:2,3k

hi lovelies, im back with another one-shot! honestly i really love writing a toxic fic dk why. but i decided to end this on a good note. also this hair on seonghwa make me weak. thank you for your likes and reblogs, love u all sm! hope you enjoy :3

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

Not tonight. Not after everything. Not after the shouting match that ended with her phone smashed against the kitchen tile and her mascara running down her cheeks like a horror film heroine.

And then there he was. Leaning against the doorframe of her apartment like he owned the place. One hand in the pocket of his black slacks, the other holding a cigarette he hadn't even lit. Shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the new bruises she didn't give him. Hair pushed back like he hadn’t spent the last three days ignoring her texts just to show up now.

“Miss me?” Seonghwa asked, voice a velvet blade. Smooth. Cruel. Addictive.

She hated him. Hated how her knees trembled at the sight of him. Hated how her stomach coiled tight with want, how her throat dried up, how every rational thought blurred the moment their eyes met. He always looked at her like that—like he was starving and she was his last meal.

“You said you were done,” she muttered, not moving from her spot near the window. Her fingers clutched the curtain like a lifeline.

“Maybe I lied.”

“You always lie.”

“You always let me.”

She flinched. He wasn’t wrong. That was the worst part. Seonghwa was a parasite she never learned to kill. He fed off her softness, her silence, her need to feel wanted—even if it was only when he was between her legs or whispering poison against her skin.

He dropped the unlit cigarette into her wine glass and closed the distance. Close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath on her lips.

“I shouldn’t let you in,” she whispered, even as her eyes drifted shut.

“But you already did,” he murmured, one hand sliding around her waist like a chain. “You always do.”

Then his mouth was on hers—violent, demanding, filthy. There was no tenderness here. No apology. Just teeth, tongue, punishment. Like he was angry she let him go for even a second. Like he had to remind her who she belonged to. She gasped when he bit her lip hard enough to make her stumble back. He followed, pressing her against the wall, one hand pinning her wrists above her head while the other slid up her thigh, bold and uninvited. But she didn’t stop him. She never did. She hated how wet she already was for him.

“You’re mine,” he growled, voice low and ragged. “Say it.”

“No,” she breathed, but it was already a lie. Her hips rolled up against him, chasing the friction she swore she didn’t need.

“You say no with your mouth,” he murmured, lips dragging along her jaw, “but your body begs for me baby.”

She hated how true it was. Hated that even when she wanted to scream, her thighs parted for him like a secret. Seonghwa slid his fingers under her panties, rough and unrelenting, his smirk carved deep into her neck.

“You let other men touch you like this while I was gone?” he hissed. “Tell me, darling. Did they fuck you like I do?”

“No one touches me but you,” she moaned, hating how easily the truth spilled. It gave him power. He fed on it.

His eyes flared with possessive pride. “Good.”

Seonghwa dropped to his knees like a man in prayer, lifting her leg onto his shoulder. No worship in his eyes—just hunger. Just control. He looked up at her like she was his goddamn drug. And he was already overdosing. He didn’t give her a chance to think. Seonghwa never gave her a chance to think. That was how he kept her—trapped in the haze of his mouth, his hands, the sharp, drugging sting of his jealousy disguised as devotion. With her leg hooked over his shoulder, he tugged her panties to the side and buried his face between her thighs like he’d been starving. No teasing. No slow descent. Just tongue and teeth and fury. His grip bruised into her hips as he pulled her closer, as if he needed to taste the ache he’d left in her bones.

“God, you taste like you missed me,” he rasped, voice muffled against her heat.

She whimpered, the sound desperate and broken, hand slamming against the wall behind her to keep from collapsing. He groaned into her like she was the sweetest sin he’d ever committed, tongue dragging filthy, unrelenting circles against her clit while two fingers pushed inside—deep and rough, curling just right. She hated how fast he broke her. Her legs trembled, stomach tightening, but it wasn’t enough. He never let her come that easily. Seonghwa pulled away with a wet sound, lips glistening with her slick, and stared up at her with a wild, dark look in his eyes.

“You don’t get to come until I say so,” he growled. “You lost that privilege when you tried to forget me.”

He stood, dragging her soaked panties down her legs and stuffing them in his back pocket like a trophy. His hand wrapped around her throat—not tight enough to cut air, but enough to make her gasp, enough to remind her who was in control.

“Turn around,” he ordered, voice like honey over broken glass.

She did. Because she always did. Her cheek pressed to the cool wall, legs spread slightly, heart pounding in her ears. She could already feel the head of his cock dragging through her folds, hard and leaking, coated with the mess he made of her. He didn’t ease in. Seonghwa never had patience for softness.

He slammed into her in one brutal thrust, and she cried out—pain and pleasure tangled like poison ivy, impossible to pull apart. Her nails scratched against the paint. He gave her no reprieve, pace unrelenting, cock hitting deep, brutal angles like he was trying to destroy every trace of anyone else she’d ever touched.

“You think you can forget me?” he snarled in her ear, hand sliding from her throat to her jaw, yanking her head back so he could kiss her—wet, aggressive, teeth clashing. “You let some other man see you like this while I was gone?”

“No,” she gasped. “No one… no one else, Seonghwa.”

“That’s right,” he snapped. “Because your pussy knows who it belongs to.”

She sobbed through a moan as he rammed into her again and again, hips slapping against the backs of her thighs, one hand tangled in her hair, the other pressing between her legs to rub where she needed it most. He knew her body. Knew how to rip her apart and piece her together in the same breath. And she hated that she loved it. Oh, so, so much

She came undone on his cock with a shattering cry, legs going weak as her body spasmed around him. But he didn’t stop—not yet. He chased his own high with rough, punishing thrusts, fucking her through her orgasm like he owned it.

He pulled out just in time, stroking himself fast before spilling across the curve of her ass and lower back, chest heaving with ragged breaths. His come dripped down her spine like a mark, like a curse. And for a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of their panting and the soft hum of city traffic outside.

Then, like a switch flipped, his fingers brushed her hair back with surprising gentleness.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low and soft. Too soft.

It made her stomach twist. She turned slowly, still trembling, mascara smudged, sweat glistening on her skin. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and kissed her forehead like he hadn’t just used her like a thing.

“Don’t disappear again,” he whispered. “I don’t like chasing you.”

“I hate you,” she murmured, tears stinging behind her eyes.

He smiled. It was the kind of smile that made your skin crawl and your thighs ache all at once.

“No, baby. You hate how much you need me.”

Some hours later, Seonghwa was sprawled out on the edge of her bed, bare chest glistening with sweat, his eyes heavy and satisfied like a man who always got what he wanted. He lit a cigarette with the casual arrogance of someone who believed he couldn’t be replaced.

But then she looked up at him—really looked at him. The sharp cheekbones, the perfect lips, the lashes too pretty for someone so cruel. And suddenly it wasn’t lust in her chest anymore. It was sadness. Anger. The sharp kind of clarity that only comes after you let a man split you open and fill the emptiness with lies.

“I’m not doing this anymore,” she whispered.

 “Not doing what?” he said lazily as he took a long drag from his cigarette, but his eyes flickered to her too quickly for someone who was pretending to be nonchalant.

“I’m not just a fuck,” she said, quietly but firmly. “I’m not going to keep letting you crawl back here when you’re lonely, when you’re horny, and pretend like this is something when you treat me like nothing.”

He exhaled slowly, the smoke curling in the air like a ghost between them. “Then what do you want from me?”

“A relationship.”

The silence that followed felt louder than his voice ever had. He scoffed, dragging his hand through his hair. “You know I don’t do that shit.”

She felt it. The sharp slice of reality under her ribs. He wouldn’t even lie. Not to spare her. Not even to manipulate her into staying a little longer.

“I don’t do relationships. I don’t do the boyfriend act. You want flowers and breakfast and boring couple shit? Go find someone else.”

For a moment, it looked like he might argue more. Like he might play the game again—call her baby, kiss her neck, pull her down onto the bed and fuck her into silence. But instead, he stood, pulled his shirt over his head, and walked barefoot across her apartment. He didn’t say goodbye. He never did.

The door slammed. Her breath finally shuddered out.

The silence was louder than any argument they ever had. She lay in bed that night, curled into herself like a child, his scent still clinging to the sheets. She didn’t change them. Didn’t shower. Didn’t delete his number. She should’ve—but it was like she needed the ghost of him to linger a little longer just so she wouldn’t feel so empty. She hated how much she missed him. It was toxic, she knew. This cycle of pain and pleasure, want and rejection. But with Seonghwa, even heartbreak came dressed in ecstasy. And when you’ve tasted heaven in hell, it’s hard to want anything else.

Her phone stayed silent for two days.

No texts. No calls. Not even a petty instagram story to make her jealous. He was gone—and it felt like someone had reached inside her chest and ripped something out.

But she didn’t reach out. Not this time.

But then, two days after, it was past midnight. Cold. Rain tapping gently against the window. She was in a hoodie and underwear, curled up on the couch in front of some movie she hadn’t really watched, when there was a knock on her door.

The knock came again. She moved like she was in a dream. Steps slow. Dread curling low in her stomach like smoke. Her heart told her who it was before her eyes confirmed it. She opened the door. And there he was.

Seonghwa. Standing in the hall, soaked to the bone, eyes bloodshot, jaw clenched so tight she thought it might shatter. No umbrella. No excuse. No apology.

“Hi,” he said, voice low, almost hoarse.

She didn’t speak. Just stared. Hurt bleeding fresh behind her ribs.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he muttered. “I kept… seeing you. In my bed. In my head.”

She should’ve slammed the door. But instead, she stepped back. Silent invitation.

Seonghwa moved past her like a shadow. His clothes were dripping, hair plastered to his forehead, and she could smell the cigarette smoke on his skin. But his eyes— His eyes were wild. Hungry. Like two days without her had unhinged something he hadn’t known was fragile.

“Why are you here?” she whispered, arms crossed tight over her chest.

He turned to face her. Breath heavy. Hands trembling at his sides.

“I am not good at relationships. I have never done this shit before,” he said again. His voice cold, cruel. But it was trembling.

 “Then why come back?”

And for a second… he looked lost. He turned, looked at her like she was the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

“I don’t know how to be what you want,” he whispered, stepping closer. “But I can’t stand not having you. I will try. Just for you. Because I’d rather have some of you than none of you.”

The words hit her like a punch. Her breath hitched. Her throat burned.  She walked to him slowly. Stopped just inches from his chest. And when he kissed her—slow, desperate, like he was trying to memorize the taste of her forgiveness—she kissed him back.

Because that was the curse of Park Seonghwa. And she was cursed.

[planetherk]

oh this is so good, i love it so much!!!! must read!!!

across stardust - one (j.yh)

summary: you and yunho have worked together for years, idol and makeup artist, but until today you've never touched him skin to skin. when the world tilts on its head from just a brush of his cheek, you realize he's so much more than a crush, he's your soulmate. one | two (section 1) (section 2) | series masterlist 🔗read on ao3 ✨ across stardust pinterest board

note: please enjoy this truly self indulgent romance. will be four five parts total, and i'll post each as soon as they are ready to go. happy comeback week, and i hope everyone enjoys this 💖

tags/warnings: idol!yunho, makeup artist!reader, fem!reader, soulmates au, soulmate identifying marks, soulmate tattoos, tattoed!reader, a lot of fluff and tenderness, love at first touch, shared feelings/emotions/physical sensations, anxiety/stress over what to do, reader's family isn't the best, kq is not the best company for the purposes of this fic!, light smut including - heavy makeouts/grinding, hand kink, size kink, phone sex, sexting, fingering, jacking off, dirty talk, praise, use of good girl, use of pet names like baby/jagiya/sweetheart. basically this fic is an excuse for me to write star-crossed desperate love so i would say it's the literal opposite of a slow burn lmao

pairings: yunho x reader

genre: fantasy, romance, smut || soulmates au

word count: 17.9k

It’s eleven in the morning when your day starts, hiding in the green room of a concert venue in Berlin, and the day feels lost already. With Eunji and Dahan ill that only leaves you and Iseul to handle makeup for all eight members and with how exhausted you are from yet another night of little sleep, you don’t know how you’ll be able to keep up. You’re trying to stay awake, but while the members are all out on stage learning their marks and rehearsing the improvisational moments for this tour stop, the green room is quiet and you keep nodding off. 

“Bad night?” Iseul’s voice startles you out of one of your dips into sleep and your body jerks up right. 

“Fuck,” You breathe, “hey,” 

“Here,” She pushes a bright can into your hands, an energy drink, “you need this.” 

“I need to be sedated,” You grumble, taking it from her, “the time difference is never this hard,” 

“Mm,” She shrugs, “it’s unpredictable,” 

“Yeah,” You sigh, “I guess.” 

The thumping music outside as they run through another track is starting to give you a migraine. You take a long sip of the drink and then leave the can on the table in front of you, choosing instead to hide your face in the sleeves of your sweatshirt and let out another long sigh. 

“Girl,” Iseul nudges you, “you look like shit. Your station looks like shit.” 

“Thank you?” 

“In thirty minutes we’re going to be busier than we’ve been since that Inkigayo stage for Answer,” She points out and you grimace at the reference. Back then it really was just a skeleton staff and one of the makeup artists quit on the spot, too stressed to continue the work and walking out in the middle of doing Yeosang’s foundation. 

What a mess those old days used to be. Nostalgia sometimes makes you forget how late those nights were and just how impossibly tired you had been. This feels too reminiscent of that for sure. 

Iseul taps your shoulder to get you to lift your face as she continues, “I know you’re tired, but I can’t do this shit on my own. I need you.” 

“Okay,” You breathe, scrubbing your hands over your face to jolt yourself awake as best you can, “you’re right, I’m sorry,” 

“Don’t be sorry,” She gives you a sympathetic smile, “I get it.” 

This tiredness feels different though, so deeply ingrained in your body. Something’s been keeping your adrenaline running like a long, drawn out anxiety attack and you can’t understand it. You’ve been on tour before, you’ve been on planes, you’ve had long days, and you’ve worked with this exact group for years. There’s nothing on paper that should be making you so anxious, but the threads of it are humming in the deep back of your brain even now. 

“Come on,” Iseul prompts again, pulling you to your feet, “let’s get you in gear.” 

“Right,” You take another long sip of your energy drink and pray it starts kicking in soon and that the effects won’t make you feel crazier, “let’s do this.” 

She helps you put your station together with ease and then pull yourself together. Within those precious thirty minutes of calm before the storm you’ve downed two cans of pure caffeine, assembled your station and strapped on your brush belt, and tried to make yourself some form of presentable by slicking your hair back into a smooth knot and adding a coat of lip balm. 

As always, the boys have used the ladder game to determine hair and makeup order which means those at the bottom of the list have more time to relax fresh-faced on the couches before getting poked and prodded and wrapped up like presents for thousands of screaming fans. With only you and Iseul available it’s about to be a race against the clock to get them ready. 

Their managers hustle them from the stage to the back rooms where the rest of the staff waits, and the members gather around you and Iseul and your makeshift makeup stations. 

“Alright,” Iseul says as the members quiet down, “we’re down some staff as you know,” 

They nod attentively and you trade a close lipped smile with Hongjoong. 

“We’re just going to do the best we can as quickly as we can,” She explains, looking down at their names on a slip of paper, “Wooyoung, Yeosang, Jongho, San,” she recites, “you’re with me in that order.” 

You run through the names on your slip, “Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Mingi, Yunho, that leaves you with me.” 

Iseul nods as you finish your words, “Please be ready to slot in when the person in front of you is finished, and then you can go directly to wardrobe for your soundcheck outfits,” 

“We’ve got it,” Hongjoong nods, “and if there’s anything you both need,” 

“We’ll be fine,” Iseul assures him, “but it’s definitely going to be cutting it close,” 

“We should get started,” You cut in, “if you’re ready?” 

Hongjoong jumps to your chair immediately and Wooyoung steps to Iseul’s, and before you know it you’re off. 

The room is alight with activity while you both work, only you don’t have a relaxed pace and only two members to perfect. You’re used to working with Wooyoung and Seonghwa, they’ve been your assigned members for as long as you’ve worked with Ateez, but when staff shortages or timing gets tight, it can be a bit of a free for all. 

You stay focused and execute each member’s makeup like a well rehearsed dance, and you do your best to ignore the buzzing anxiety in your veins. For a little while, you handle it like a professional. 

When Yunho finally settles into your chair, about a single second after Mingi leaves it, the exhaustion careens back into you sideways. It takes you a minute to prep your tools this time, and you’re pretty sure that without the artificial pick me up of the energy drinks you’d be passing out on the spot. 

You steady your hands against the vanity in front of you and take a deep breath, and when you look up you catch Yunho’s eyes in the mirror, a tiny crease of concern between his brows. 

“You okay?” He checks. 

You give him a smile, albeit a tired one, “The jet lag is really hitting this time,” you explain, “but I’m fine,” 

He looks sympathetic immediately, “Same for me, I feel like I’m barely sleeping,” 

“That’s not good,” You tell him as you prep your stainless steel palette, “you have a long night ahead,” 

“I’ll sleep tonight,” He says, “I’m sure,” 

“After dancing for three hours I’d hope so,” You smile and pick up your first set of tools before turning towards him. 

“Do you have anything you could take?” He asks, studying your face, “A sleep aid?” 

“I usually don’t like to,” You admit, “I always feel groggy the next day,” 

“And we have another show,” He finishes for you, his lips coming together in a thin line as he thinks. 

There’s nothing really for him to do, but it’s kind of him anyway to be so concerned. They always are, this rare group of eight idols who remember staff birthdays, bring coffee on the early morning schedules, and always, always take extra time to clean up after themselves so it’s not left to anyone else. 

You take a step closer towards him and glance over his bare face and then it occurs to you, “You know what’s funny?” 

“Hmm?” He tilts his face up to you. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever done your makeup before,” You smile, it’s a ridiculous thought. 

“No way,” He blinks, thinking back, “it’s been… forever, are you sure?” 

You nod, “You’re usually with Eunji,” you tell him, “and even when we’ve swapped around, I don’t think so. I think you’re the only member I’ve never done,” 

“Wow,” He laughs, eyes bright, “well, I guess there’s a first time for everything.” 

“Is there anything,” You start to ask him if there’s anything he prefers, anything special about his makeup that he gets done with Eunji that he asks for, but Iseul catches you idle as she pats foundation onto San’s forehead and answers for you. 

“His skin gets dry,” She jumps in, “don’t use too much powder,” 

Yunho grins, a laugh on his lips at the directness of her words. 

“And don’t use that oil,” Iseul adds, “that primer oil you like, he’ll break out by tomorrow,” 

“Thank you, Iseul,” Yunho says, and you watch San’s face as he stifles a chuckle. 

“Noted,” You smile, and you swap out two of the products in your hands before taking up your position by his side again. 

You’ve gotten used to working with idols, to working with Ateez and with Yunho specifically, and yet when you get this close a little flutter of nerves rocks through your belly. He’s handsome, and if you’re being honest he’s just your type. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, or this weird feeling in your chest that you’ve been dealing with all week, but for the first time in a long time you think about what it would be like to kiss his lips. 

“How do you want me?” He asks, breaking your thoughts, and you have to shake off the impending blush at the way his words make you feel. You have work to do, and you had gotten over your silly little crush on him years ago, you need to get a grip. 

You recover fairly smoothly though with a quick smile, “Right,” he’s never worked with you before, and he’s looking to you for direction, “head back a bit, please, and eyes closed,” 

“Alright,” He follows your instructions to the letter. 

“Okay,” You tell him, “primer first. Let me know if anything bothers you,” 

“Mhm,” He hums and stays relaxed. 

He has the loveliest eyelashes, that’s the thought that echoes through your brain as you start working on him, and you wish it never occurred to you at all because you keep glancing up at his closed eyes. He lets you work, he knows you’re exhausted so he doesn’t push you for conversation, and you’re strangely grateful. You know he’s chatty sometimes in the chair, an extrovert through and through and always keeping Eunji company or talking with the member beside him, but right now he keeps still and gives you respite on a hard day. 

You’re patting foundation into his skin with a large paddle brush when Iseul interrupts your thoughts, “Do you have that eggplant liner?” 

“Check my table,” You offer, but with how sluggish your brain is feeling there’s no way you remember a single thing on your station without looking.

“Mm,” She pivots around and pokes through the products and tools behind you, and you glance over as San opens his eyes to watch Iseul rifle through things. 

“Damn,” She mutters, “how much time do we have?” 

“Um,” You glance down at your watch, “twenty?” 

“Perfect,” She scoots behind you and disappears into the hall, no doubt to find your traveling makeup case and the liner. 

You sigh, chewing the inside of your lip at the idea that you only have twenty more minutes, but you really don’t want to rush and have his makeup melt off on-stage. 

“You’re fine,” San assures, his body angled towards you and Yunho now while he waits, “don’t worry about the clock,”

Yunho hums his agreement from below you, “Plenty of time,”

You refocus on Yunho’s skin and notice a long black and white hair from the paddle brush affixed to his cheek, mixed in with the foundation. You take the brush again, wiping off any excess foundation and checking to see if more fibers are loose, and then you work the brush against his cheek in an attempt to free the loose hair but it isn’t coming off easily. Every attempt you make just slides the hair into a different spot on his cheek and covers it with more foundation. 

“Um,” You usually don’t like to do this, but you might have to, “can I just…”

His eyes open but his expression stays smooth, “Can you?” 

“Sorry,” You shake your head, “do you mind if I touch you?” 

“You already are,” He smiles, a small, amused crease between his brows you’ll have to pat out momentarily. 

You tuck your brush away and gesture with your hand, “You just have a hair,” 

“Oh,” He laughs, “of course, yeah,” 

You’re just supposed to touch his cheek, brush away the hair with the pad of your finger and then get back to work, that’s all it is, so you’re completely unprepared for the feeling that rockets through your chest when your skin finally touches his. 

Yunho gasps softly as your fingers brush over his cheek, his eyes blowing wide and his expression blanking, and it’s the only indication you have that he feels something too. A tightness wrenches in your chest, like someone pressed something hot and hard directly into your breastbone and your stomach does a somersault. Your ears are ringing, and you’re pretty sure your heart is about to beat out of your chest now that it’s started up again. 

The tattoo on your chest feels warm beneath your blouse. 

“You,” Yunho manages, his voice shaky and you know for sure he felt it too. 

You rock back a step, “I don’t understand,” 

“Shit,” Someone else says, and then you realize that it’s San and you’re not alone with the only other person in the entire world, you’re in the middle of work in front of at least one other person and it’s only your existence that just got tilted on its axis. Yours and maybe Yunho’s. 

“Oh,” You glance to the side, taking in San’s wide eyed expression, “oh my God,” 

“I’m not insane, am I?” Yunho smiles, his focus entirely on you, and you think you might just pass out, “You felt that?” 

There’s a noise in the hall and San scrambles up to his feet, “Iseul,” he says heading for the door, “do you need help looking?” 

He’s covering for you both, but thoughts are slow to form and all you can manage is blinking at the man in your chair. 

“You did, right?” He asks again, eyes soft and hopeful, and then his fingers brush over the center of his chest. Squarely over his breastbone.

He’s yours. 

You want to reach out and yank up his shirt, check the tattoo over his heart to see if it’s the same looping knot shape as yours, but you don’t need to see it to know for sure. It’s him. 

San says something about forgetting the liner altogether, a little louder so you both know the room is going to get crowded again, and you shake your head to jolt yourself out of your paralyzed position. 

“You didn’t?” His hand falls. 

“I did,” You rush to correct, “I’m, I don’t know,” 

He nods, wetting his lips and shifting in his chair. He moves to reach for you, but reason and sense click back into place immediately and you realize that no matter what your tattoo feels like and no matter what this means, you’re at work and about to have a very private moment in a very public place if you’re not careful. 

You shake your head with a glance at his hand and jerk your head towards the door, “Later,” 

“Right,” He leans back from you, “of course, right,” 

Footsteps to your right draw your attention and Iseul is huffing, checking her own watch, “We’ll do brown,” 

“That’ll be fine,” San assures her, but his eyes are glued on the pair of you. 

Iseul moves to step around you again and realizes you’re just standing there, “What’s with you?” 

“Sorry,” You manage, blinking hard and refocusing, “I just got dizzy,” 

It’s not entirely a lie, given that you felt the entire earth shift under your feet thirty seconds ago and your life is completely changed. Dizzy is the least of how you’re feeling. 

Yunho’s expression shifts immediately, concern across his face, and he curls his fingers into his palms to keep himself from reaching out again, from being too familiar. 

“Oh,” Her eyebrows raise high, “do you need me to finish Yunho?”

“N-no,” You take a breath, “just give me one second,” 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Yunho asks, and in the back of your brain you wonder if his voice has always sounded this good. 

“Here,” San cuts in smoothly, cracking the seal on a fresh water bottle and passing it over to you, “do you need to sit a minute?” 

San’s hand rests on your upper back between your shoulders as you take a long sip of water, the cold shocking your brain back to reality in exactly the way you need. 

“Thank you,” You tell him honestly, “I think I’m okay, just a headrush,” 

San nods, and when you refocus your eyes on Yunho, you almost laugh. His gaze is squarely on San’s hand where it sits on your back, and you watch the fast, silent exchange between the two men when San drops his hand and Yunho realizes his own reaction. He blushes, ears running red and he dips his head to avoid both your eyes. 

“Iseul,” San steps around you both and distracts your friend, “ready to wrap?” 

“Yeah,” She agrees, “let’s finish up. You’re sure you’re okay, y/n?” 

“Mhm,” You hardly trust your own voice, but you nod anyway, “I’m good now.” 

Yunho tilts his face back up as you step close, and the tension between you is so palpable and so familiar that you can hardly breathe. Your tattoo feels warm and heavy and something tells you that his does too, you can see it in the tenderness of his brown eyes. 

“Dizzy?” He asks quietly, keeping his words just for you. 

You shake your head, “No,”

“That’s good,” He murmurs, but he lets whatever words he wants to say rest on his tongue. 

Your tattoo throbs and you don’t dare touch his bare skin again. 

His makeup takes fifteen more minutes and his eyes don’t stray from your face the entire time. You barely finish on time, and wardrobe is standing by to get them into their first outfits of the night, so when you put the final touches on he’s already being pulled out of the chair before you have a chance to say anything. 

You want to corner him and ask him exactly when he’ll have time to talk later, but despite working together for the last few years, you and Yunho aren’t that close. You’re friendly, but you’re not familiar enough to casually ask what he’s doing later and not have it seem strange. While friendships between staff members and idols are not discouraged, even between the opposite sex, being overly familiar or suggestive would certainly leave a question in everyone’s minds, and you don’t want to draw attention to yourself that quickly. 

This is between you and Yunho, no one else. You don’t want an audience for this. 

So he goes, pulled away by wardrobe and his other members, fitted quickly into his Soundcheck outfit. He has his game face on, so do all the members, and you watch him disappear down the hall without a second glance back at you. 

You collapse into the couch and press your eyes closed, focusing on the singular feeling of heat and soreness from your chest.

A soulmate. 

The tattoo on your chest was one you barely looked at anymore, too focused on living your life to sit in the mirror and wonder about the person who would be your other half, the person that would slot into the gaps in your spirit with a simple brush of skin on skin. But now, it aches. It pulses to remind you that it’s real and that you’ve found him. 

Everything in your life is about to change. Has already changed.

On the couch you don’t sleep as much as you disassociate, still stunned, your buzzing brain filtering out everything Iseul says as she cleans up around you and preps both of your brush belts for touch ups. There’s such a small amount of time between Soundcheck and the concert that you barely get to process, you just exist, playing the moment you touched him over again and again in your mind. Despite how utterly changed you feel, the world is just continuing on around you like a regular day.

Once again, you and Yunho miss each other for every brief moment between Soundcheck and stage.

The shift happens in the wings, in the underbelly of the stage where you and the other staff members for hair, makeup, and wardrobe wait for any last minute quick fixes. The eight of them are almost ready, pumping themselves up between rows of technical equipment and stage scaffolding. 

There’s so much commotion around you and yet your eyes are drawn to him like a magnet, the feelings you once had for him coming back to you full force in a blurry torrent. 

He shifts, stretches, swallows hard, and then looks up directly into your eyes. There’s a question in them that you can’t read, but you manage to smile. 

His shoulders relax just a little. 

You raise your fist, giving him the gesture for ‘fighting’ and he returns it with a wide grin. 

“Alright,” Hongjoong’s voice cuts through, the final step of their pre-show ritual as the concert hall starts to roar, “huddle up.” 

The eight of them circle up with each other, one leg in and one out. 

“We’ve practiced hard,” Hongjoong starts, patting his members on the back, “let that practice pay off, and have fun out there,” 

“Okay!” San hypes them up, getting the tension high. 

“Let’s give it our all,” Hongjoong continues, a wide smile on his face, “fighting!”

They echo it back, and a tense feeling starts to roll in your gut. 

“Alright, one,” Hongjoong starts the count and you feel the tension in your own body rising, enough to make you take a soft step back from the group, “two,” 

On three they chorus it, moving their feet in a synchronized step,  “Eight makes one team! Fighting!” 

They break apart, clapping each other on the back, and your eyes meet Yunho’s for one more fast second before he’s jogging after the rest of the members and finding his mark on the stage risers. 

You feel the sensation of his eyes on you even after he’s gone. You have the length of four songs and their opening ments before members start swapping out on stage for makeup touch-ups and technical adjustments. The sound of the audience is intense, the start of the first song keying up, and you stumble back from your post to get a breath of air away from it all. 

There’s a bathroom along the hallway two doors down from the green room that’s meant for staff and you blissfully find it empty. With shaking hands you flip the lock and sink down into a crouch, your back braced against the wall as you breathe through the sudden wave of feelings filling your chest. 

Adrenaline, that’s what the bitter taste on your tongue is. 

Your heart is thumping, double time like you’re running a marathon, and then you realize it. You can feel him, even now with the bond between you unfulfilled you can feel his emotions coming to you like a wave. Adrenaline, anxiety, euphoria, exhaustion, it all roils through you and you brace your hands on the wall to get your composure back. 

They say the first time you feel your soulmate link it takes you by surprise, but this is an intensity you couldn’t have imagined. It’s all encompassing and honestly terrifying, and you’re struggling to understand which parts of you are you and which are him. You can’t conceive of how an accepted bond would make this feeling stronger when it already feels like your emotions and his are knit together so tightly. 

Anxiety strikes down the link and you realize it’s not stage fright, it’s for you. He can feel your panic and your fear just like you can feel every ounce of his performance and if you don’t get yourself in check you’re going to be distracting him even more than you already are. 

You yank yourself up off the floor and collapse against the sink, turning on the cold water tap and taking slow and steadying breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Counting slowly, relaxing your body with every pulse of oxygen through your system. You hope he can feel it, but you have no idea how this all really works. You’ll have to call your sister when this is all said and done, find out what she felt when she met her wife, but right now in this bathroom in Berlin you have to do this by yourself. 

You hear the pulse of another song thrumming through the stadium as they keep performing, and you feel the thundering beat of his heart in your chest, but you breathe into it this time and try to keep yourself calm for his sake. You splash cold water on your face, keep breathing low and slow, and eventually you pull yourself back up to standing tall to look at yourself in the mirror. 

You look the same as you did a few hours ago, before him, but the warmth in your chest is still present and you wonder if that will ever go away or if that’s just a permanent part of the link. 

With shaky hands you unbutton your blouse and pull your bralette down in the center to reveal what you already know is there. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight. 

The tattoo nestled at the base of your sternum is the only one you were born with. Every other line of ink on your body was put there with intention, but this one you’ve had for as long as you can remember. The maedeup knot is small, but intricate, and until this moment it had always been colorless. Loops of black and gray twining together to make a rounded diamond, unbroken with no beginning or end to the threads. 

Now the ink has changed, a deep red against your skin that makes the knotted josephin soulmark look even more traditional, but the skin is slightly inflamed, tender to the touch as you brush your fingertips along it. It feels like a fresh mark, not something you’ve had since birth, but considering how it’s changed, maybe it is new. A soulmark shifting color is common, you know that, but it still stands out so starkly against your skin and your other black tattoos. You can’t look away from it. 

A pounding on the bathroom door makes you jump and you fix your shirt, covering the mark back up and buttoning it away. You wonder if Yunho’s mark is the exact same like other couples you know and if it too turned red, if it’s warm to the touch, if he felt you brush against your mark through the link. 

“y/n?” A voice comes through the door and you shut off the tap. 

“Coming!” You wipe the excess water on your hands onto your jeans and take one last, fast look to make sure your mark isn’t visible, before opening the bathroom door. 

Wonshik, one of their many managers, is waiting for you on the other side. His eyes narrow when he sees you, “Are you ill?” 

“No,” You assure him. 

“You’re sure?” He presses, “We can’t afford to lose any more staff or risk getting the members sick if you are,” 

“I know, Wonshik,” You nod, “I promise I’m just tired, jet-lagged. I was putting cold water on my face, that’s all. I’m not sick,” 

He exhales in relief, his expression softening, “Thank God,” he says, “I can only take so many surprises.” 

A little sickness is nothing compared to a staff member and an idol under a dating ban being soulmarked, but you hold your tongue. 

“They’re about to come off,” He says, “Iseul was looking for you, she seems like she might start climbing the walls if you don’t get back to help her,” 

“No, of course,” You start back towards the side stage entrance, “I lost track of time, but it won’t happen again,” 

“Make sure you sleep tonight,” He adds, following you closely, “no sleep means no immune system, and no immune system means sick.” 

“Don’t worry,” You promise, winding your way through the dark backstage, “you won’t lose me,” 

“I better not,” He sighs, and then Iseul comes into sight. 

“There you are!” She hisses low under her breath, “I was about to have a panic attack,” 

“I’m sorry, I’m here, I’m good,” In the commotion, your brain starts to ease into normalcy. You’re used to this pace, the speed of lightning fast makeup touch-ups and assisting wardrobe when things start to go awry with their quick changes. The audience feels none of this, they just see smooth change-outs on stage and cool idols in new clothes, but backstage is a wild flurry and it always puts you on an entirely different plane of focus. 

“Here we go,” A stage director starts, gathering everyone’s attention, “four minutes… starting…” 

The stage goes dark and in the venue a video starts to play to the crowd to fill the space between costume changes. You prep your hands, making sure your kit is ready to go and you see the wardrobe specialists out of the corner of your eye readying themselves to help facilitate the quick change. 

Suddenly they’re here, and the stage director interrupts once more, “Now, four minutes people, let’s go.” 

“Mingi,” He gets to you first and he crouches down to drop his face to your height, “stay still one second,” 

He says nothing, but he nods as you pat powder across his forehead and the bridge of his nose, checking him over for any other defects. He looks good and you nod, “Go, go,” 

Mingi peels off to the left of you and you hear the sound of fabric swishing as he and Wooyoung rip off the top layer of their outfits behind the privacy screens and trade garments with the wardrobe team. It’s a fast shuffle, but you stay focused on who’s in front of you. 

“Seonghwa,” You wave to him, pulling blotting tissues out of the pack on your belt, “here,” 

He knows this drill well, you’re used to working with him and you have a clean routine down. He blots the sweat off his brow himself and starts to unbutton his jacket while you shift focus to Yunho. 

For a split second you almost forget what happened earlier in the buzz of backstage, but the minute your eyes hold on his awareness floods you. 

“Hey,” You say, but there’s a time clock shout behind you and you beckon him down, “come here, let me fix things,”

He drops down to your height just like Mingi did and stays steady while you work, but his eyes flick up, “You’re okay?” 

“I’m good,” You nod, “don’t worry,” 

His expression clears a little and you guess you have your answer about the feeling of the link going both ways. 

Hongjoong clears his throat behind you both, “We’re short on time,” 

“Am I good?” Yunho checks. 

Your eyes flick over him fast, “Yep,” 

He’s out of your eyeline a split second later, and you’re grateful for the distraction of both Hongjoong and Seonghwa, otherwise you’re sure you’d dwell a little bit too long on the fact that Yunho’s half naked next to you, privacy screen or no. 

“One minute,” The stage director announces, “everyone’s doing great,” 

The boys are almost done, flying through the last of their zips and getting their hair smoothed down by that team as they finish. You put the last pat of powder on Seonghwa’s nose and give him a nod before he’s gone too, dropping his jacket as he goes and giving you all a quick flash of his bare back. 

You turn back towards the group as they prepare and your eyes zero in on Yunho again. His expression is serious, it’s his game face before he gets back out on stage, and you watch as he corrects the placement of his in-ears and ensures that his mic pack is secured. He runs through his pre-stage ritual and you can’t help but be a captive audience. 

“Good work,” The stage director says as Seonghwa rejoins the eight, fully dressed and ready for stage, “fifteen seconds for act two,” 

The crowd heats up again as the video starts to fade, and the members do their final checks. Yunho doesn’t look back at you once, his eyes forward and focused as he and the other members find their places on the rising platform that will take them back out to the main stage. 

You can see him a little though, in the low light in his white trousers and blue satin shirt. He lifts his hand, adjusting his microphone once again, and then as he drops it back to his side he lets his fingers skim over the familiar hollow of his chest. 

Your mark warms, you feel it as if it were your chest he brushed his fingers over, and your breath stops. 

The platform rises, the crowd roars, and your heart starts beating to a new rhythm. 

He really is yours. 

It turns out that later means much later. 

You manage to get out of dinner with some of the other staff members, but that just leaves you anxious and alone in a hotel room trying and failing to eat room service. Iseul would be back soon to take up her place in the other bed, and you’re starting to realize that you don’t have Yunho’s number. 

Now that emotions are a little smoother, you can’t feel him. Or maybe you can, but it’s so faint that you’re not sure. All you know is that he’s definitely in the hotel, but that’s partially the solid feeling of your link with him and partially the YouTube live being broadcast from Seonghwa’s room where all of the members are. 

You put the live on and watch, feeling strangely disconnected from the men on screen. You’ve known them for years, but suddenly with this new truth everything feels foreign and confusing. 

You should call your sister, but it’s only six in the morning in Korea and even though this is an emergency of life altering and epic proportions, you can’t bring yourself to wake her on a Saturday. 

You try your best to eat the pasta you ordered and watch as the live eventually ends. Your phone dings and for a split second you think it will be him, but it’s just Iseul telling you she’s heading back to the hotel. 

A soft knock at the door makes your stomach lurch. 

You’re frozen. 

There’s another knock, a little firmer this time but then you feel the warm touch against your mark and you’re on your feet, your hand on the door handle before you can think. 

He looks tired, that’s your first thought. His face is bare again, and his eyes are rimmed in a little bit of red like he just removed the day’s stage makeup. Despite all that, he smiles when he sees you and sighs, leaning against the door frame, “You’re awake,” he says. 

“I waited,” You manage. 

He grimaces, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” his eyes flick behind you into the room and he swallows, “are you alone?” 

“Yes,” You nod, “but not for long, Iseul’s on her way,” 

He nods, “Come to my room?” 

“Are you sure?” Your eyes widen. 

“We need to talk,” He nods, “can you get away for a little while?” 

Iseul will probably expect you to be asleep, but you can’t let this go until morning. If you’re ever going to sleep you need to talk to him now. 

“I’ll think of something,” You tell him, “what room?” 

“2606,” He answers, reaching into his pockets and producing an envelope from the front desk, “take this,” 

He passes you one of his room keys and you nod, “I’ll be up in five minutes, but you should go,” 

“Okay,” He breathes and neither one of you makes a single move to step away from the door until a sound down the hallway pushes you into it. 

“2606,” You repeat and he nods, swiftly moving down the hall before anyone can see him standing at your door. 

You have no idea what you’re going to tell Iseul that would make sense, but you don’t care. You stack up your room service for collection, kick on a pair of slippers, and give yourself the fastest look in the mirror ever on your way out the door. You want to be gone before she gets back, the idea of facing her and lying ten times more difficult than an empty text. 

No problem - I can’t sleep, I’m just going to walk a bit. Don’t wait up.

You don’t stick around to see if she’ll believe it. 

You try to seem casual when walking to Yunho’s room, like it's yours. You don’t want anyone to give you a second glance and wonder where you’re going, so you keep your head up, smile at anyone you pass, and when his door comes into view you scan the card like it’s any other day. 

When the heavy door shuts behind you, you sigh. 

“God, finally,” His voice startles you, and you look up to see him pacing, “I’ve been going insane all day,” 

Your shoulders drop, you aren’t alone, “Me too,”

He runs a hand through his black hair and finally stops pacing, but doesn’t come any closer, “So, this is real?” 

“It feels pretty real,” 

“How did we never feel it?” He manages, “I’ve known you for years,” 

“We’ve never touched until today,” You tell him, and that has to be the reason, it’s the only thing that makes sense. You’ve been turning it over in your mind all night, and with the exception of bumping into him last week in the hall, it’s all been polite bows and waves. 

“How is that even possible,” He breathes, “team dinners? Holiday parties? Work?” 

“Skin to skin,” You murmur, “I think that’s what it was,” 

“I had no idea,” He swallows, gesturing in the negative space between your bodies, “I always liked you, but I thought it was just, you know, a crush,” 

“You what?” Your eyebrows raise. 

“Well,” He backtracks, “not like that, it’s not like I’ve been holding a candle.” 

Your face stays neutral, but he grimaces at his own words. 

“I’m fucking this up,” He takes a deep breath, “I’m sorry, I’m really nervous.” 

Your stomach warms, “Yunho, it’s okay, honestly,” 

“I just meant I’ve always liked you, I thought about asking you out when our contracts loosened up if you were still single.” He clarifies and then you watch his face blanch, “You are single, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” You nod, “we don’t have to worry about that,” 

He nods and you see him searching for the next thing to say, the right thing. 

“Your mark,” You cut in, taking a few steps further into the room, “did it change?” 

“Completely,” He nods, “did yours?” 

“Yeah,” You wonder the right way to ask him if you can see. 

“Does it feel,” He starts.

“Warm?” 

“Yes,” He nods, “and tender?” 

“Like a fresh tattoo,” You take another step in. 

“I’ve never gotten a tattoo,” He confesses, “but I’ll take your word for it,” 

“Can I,” The words are stuck on your tongue, “maybe this is weird, but I mean, I guess we’re soulmates,” 

“You want to see it?” He surmises. 

“Only if you’re comfortable,” 

His lips quirk, “I’m comfortable,”

Heat twists in your gut and you wonder if he can feel that too. If he does he doesn’t say it, but you watch as he pulls the black t-shirt off over his head. 

You’ve never seen his chest. Any inch of his skin except for his neck and arms really, and you guess that was part of keeping his soulmark covered. Idols always do, even when they’re in the most inconvenient locations, there’s always makeup or flesh colored tape or editing to take care of it. The idea that someone could replicate it and try to fake a connection is far too real for someone famous. 

He drops his shirt onto the bed and pink tinges his cheeks as he gestures towards it, “Well,” 

Your mouth drops, it’s the exact same, down to the size and the placement and every little loop and you stumble forwards to get a better look, “Yunho,” 

“Yeah?” 

“Has yours always been red?” You reach out, your fingertips hovering just over it. 

He shakes his head, “Not before today,” 

“Mine’s the same,” You tell him, your eyes glued to his sternum, “just the same,” 

You know every centimeter of this tattoo. You’ve studied it a thousand times in the mirror, tracing over every curve with your eyes, trying to find the place where the cord starts and ends. He sucks in a sharp breath as your fingers brush gently along his mark, and you feel the ghost of the sensation against your own. 

“I can’t believe we never knew,” You murmur, sliding your finger along each rounded edge. 

“You feel that?” He asks, “Right?” 

You’re nodding and moving to tug off your sweater before you can even think it through. He starts to shake his head, to say that you don’t have to, but you’re already tossing the sweater next to his discarded shirt and tugging down the front band of your bralette so he can see the whole mark. 

His eyes flick over you fast, but with the matching mark in front of him he doesn’t focus on anything else, “It’s exactly the same,” 

“I know,” You reach for his hand, but the minute more of your skin connects with his you feel your chest throb and you drop it like it burns you. 

He winces, touching his chest again, “Is it supposed to hurt?” 

“In the beginning,” You nod, “I think?” 

“Does it always feel like that?” 

“I’m not sure,” You admit, “I was going to call my sister and ask, but it’s too early at home,” 

He smiles, “Your sister found her soulmate?” 

“In highschool,” You smile back, “they’ve been bonded together since they were eighteen,” 

“Older or younger?” He asks, and you realize just how little you know about each other despite how long you’ve worked alongside him. 

“Younger,” You say.  

“I have a little brother,” He replies, “but he’s still in school,” 

You nod, painfully aware that this is such a strange conversation to have with your shirts off just standing in the middle of a hotel room, but somehow it’s easier than any date you’ve ever had. 

Your eyes flick from his eyes to his mark and he reaches out a hand again, “Can I?” 

Your heart quickens and you nod. 

His fingertips graze over the edge of your mark, mimicking your touch from before, sliding along the edges of the tattoo. His eyes widen and you know he’s feeling the sensation in his own mark, a mirror image of each other. 

“This doesn’t hurt,” He observes, letting his fingers linger. 

“I think we have to get used to each other,” You remember that fact from somewhere, “the link has been dormant for a long time, I think it takes a minute to get used to having it,” 

“Makes sense,” He murmurs, his eyes still squarely on your mark, “I’ll be honest though, I still really want to touch you,” 

“Yeah?” Your voice is thready. 

His fingers fall away and he nods, “Don’t you?” 

“Yes,” You agree, painfully quickly. 

He swallows tightly and takes the smallest step forwards, before offering out his hand, palm up and waiting for you.

Your eyes flick from his face down to his outstretched hand, and you reach for him slowly. You let your fingertips skate over the skin of his palm, down each digit, ghost the pads of your fingertips together. It’s warm, sharp and dizzying even just to brush against each other. 

You wonder what more will feel like. 

“Can I try something?” He murmurs, his voice nearly a whisper even though you’re all alone. 

You nod. 

He wets his lips unconsciously and moves a little closer, your bodies now only inches apart. Anxiety, anticipation, thrill, it all runs through your gut like a whirling wind and you shiver at the torrent of his emotions, a grin breaking out over your face. 

His smile mirrors yours, “Your heart’s beating a mile a minute,” 

“You can feel that?” 

“Yeah,” He breathes, grin widening, “this is crazy,” 

You laugh, a little nervous, a little elated, and he finally reaches out his hands. 

He takes a steadying breath, and then his fingertips brush along your jaw. 

You suck in a sharp gasp at the sensation, electric and hot, the feeling rocketing through your entire body. You tilt your face up to his as he continues his gentle touches, your eyes watching him as he studies you. His plush lips are parted, brown eyes wide with awe as he grows a little bolder to brush over your cheeks, down your throat, and back up to your jawline. 

“Feel alright?” He murmurs. 

You nod into his touch and he starts to lift off but you reach for him, “Don’t stop,” 

Your hands land safely on his hips, still covered by his sweatpants and you watch him swallow again at the sudden contact, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Warmth fills the bond, no doubt the first threads of his arousal, and you wonder if he can feel your own. If he can sense how much he’s affecting you with just his fingertips on your face. 

His hands settle back on your skin, this time smoothing across you with his palms, one hand cupping your cheek and the other sliding over your shoulder and down your bare back. 

You can barely breathe, the room so silent and around you, like the only thing in the universe that exists is the two of you orbiting each other, standing at the precipice of something so catastrophic and wonderful. 

Your hands adjust, resting on his taut abdomen as you move a little closer together, and his eyes flutter shut as he breathes through the sensation of your hands on him properly for the first time. 

“You’re so warm,” You murmur, your hands softly tracing his abdominal muscles, instinct guiding you to touch more of him, seek out every inch of him as you unconsciously make a map of his body in your mind. 

He hums pleasantly, eyes reopening, “So are you,” 

He feels so right, so essential under your touch. 

Yunho wets his lips softly with his tongue, and a nervous thrill passes through your belly. His eyes flick over you, the pad of his thumb sweeping a line over your lips. You suppress a needy sound, still trying to keep your head amidst the thrumming emotions and steady thumps of your heart. 

He doesn’t stop, just stroking your skin slowly, fingers on your back pressing just a little as he sighs. 

“Yunho,” You shiver. 

“Cold?” He gravitates a little closer. 

“N-no,” Your body is all but pressed flush against him now, and you have to lean your face up even more just to see him as he stands tall over you. 

“I…” He starts to say something but lets the words die off, like he’s thinking something through, but then he sighs, “forget it,” 

His lips are on yours. 

Yunho lifts you, wrapping his arms around your back and tugging you up into his embrace. You gasp against his mouth, finding his shoulders to hold onto as one of his arms bands around your lower back. 

The kiss is shattering, the world tilting once again, a new frequency humming between your two bodies. It’s hot, your skin buzzing from the contact, but the way you move together is fluid and easy. Your legs part naturally, settling around his hips and his free hand finds your plush thigh as he tugs you into place, slotting your bodies together like they were always meant to be. 

“I’m sorry,” He mumbles against your lips when he draws in a quick breath, but he doesn’t stop kissing you. His nose nuzzles against yours, and his lips part at the same moment yours do, tongues meeting in the space between your mouths to flick against each other. 

“Don’t,” You push closer to him, fingers knotting into the back of his hair as you kiss him back. 

He hums, the hand on your thigh sliding up to cup your ass and you shiver as his wide hand stretches across your backside, squeezing your pillowy flesh. 

A tiny whimper does leave you then, liquid heat spreading through your body, the combined sensation of both your arousals giving you a headrush. 

“So beautiful,” He sighs between kisses, “you’re so beautiful,” 

“Yunho,” Your voice is thready, his name a stretched out sound. 

He holds you close, nearly stumbling as he moves. You blink your eyes open just as he spins you both, pushing you up against the hotel wall and pinning you in place with the weight of his body.  You should slow things down, but nothing in your life has ever felt this good and you find yourself diving back to meet his kiss again. 

 His arm slides out from behind your back as he pushes closer, your body fully supported by the flat of the wall behind you and his hips under yours and one hand firmly anchored on your ass. With his arm free he cups your cheek, a pleased sound on his lips as he dips you back into the wall and deepens the kiss. 

Heat blooms through you, your kisses getting needier, artless and desperate just to get a little closer together. The kind of kissing that sounds as messy as it is, tiny pants and moans muffled between you, skin on skin, tongue on tongue. 

“God,” He shudders, his lips breaking away, but his eyes only flick over you for a second before he dives back in. This time his lips travel, hot kisses across your jaw and back to the hollow of your ear, down your throat as he holds you a little higher on the wall for the right access. 

You grip his shoulders with one hand and lock your fingers in his mess of black hair with the other, your head falling back against the wall. He pants against your throat, a soft groan as he kisses, and your stomach tightens pleasantly. 

“Y-Yunho,” You gasp, arousal rolling through you, and unconsciously you rock your hips, desperately seeking some kind of friction. 

He hums low in his throat, kissing back up your neck fast to get to your lips again and his hand slides off your cheek as he crowds you tighter, bracing himself against the wall above your head. His abdomen presses against your core, and even through layers of fabric you feel his heat. Hungrily, you roll your hips again and catch a little pressure, moaning in earnest against his mouth. 

Yunho makes a tight sound and then he breaks the kiss, his forehead pressing hard against yours as he takes in slow breaths, his body all but trembling with need as he holds you. 

“We need to slow down,” He manages. 

You can’t find words, not yet, but you nod against him. 

“You deserve better,” He says, “dates, presents,” 

You laugh softly, your hand in his hair softening from a grip to a gentle hold, carding through the long locks at the base of his neck, “I don’t need all that,”  

He smiles wide, brushing off your words, “Still,” He sighs, still recovering from the heated make out, “I think I have more self control than fulfilling our bond by fucking you into the wall,” 

Reality bleeds back in at that. Soulmarks were just that, indicator marks. A way to find your person amidst a sea of thousands, if not millions. All the shared sensation and emotion a precursor to something more permanent and binding, something only sealed together by sex. 

You lift your head up, and he leans back to mirror you. 

“I lost my head there,” You admit, warm blush in your cheeks, “I didn’t know it would feel like this,” 

He smiles, and you take in his expression. His hair is a mess, mussed and disheveled and his face is pink from his nose down to the dark, well-kissed curve of his lips. His bare chest is flushed bright pink and his eyes are bright and warm. You fight the urge to kiss him again. 

“Me either,” He shakes his head, “it’s incredible,” 

“Overwhelming,” You nod, exhaling softly. 

He makes a soft sound to agree and then starts to push back from the wall gingerly, letting you slowly unwrap your legs from his waist and ease down to the floor. 

He lets you go when you’re steady on your feet and clears his throat, adjusting the waistband of his sweatpants and running a hand through his tangled locks. He’s hard, that much is obvious from the distinct outline of his cock through the gray fabric, but you do your best to look away and not think about how thick and heavy it looked just from kissing you. 

“Jesus,” He adjusts his sweats again, “sorry,” 

“It’s fine,” You cup your own cheeks with cool fingers, “I promise you’re not the only one,” 

His eyes hold yours for a lengthy beat and then he swallows, taking a wide step back and nodding, “Right,” he shakes his head, “we’re supposed to be slowing down.” 

“Slow,” You lean against the wall behind you, crossing your arms over your chest and trying to steady your thumping heart. 

“I’m going over here,” He grins and walks to the far wall by the door to the bathroom, leaning back and crossing his own arms, “we really should talk,” 

A pulse of anxiety flickers through you, and you realize just how quickly you went from his hotel room door to nearly falling into bed. He’s handsome, a kind man, your once upon a time crush, and certainly fated to be a good match for you, but that doesn’t mean you should throw out good sense and rush things. No matter how much your impulses were screaming at you to do just that.

You try to ignore the fact that there’s a bed between you, and you nod, “You’re right,” you finally say, “we barely know each other,” 

Yunho’s smile fades just a bit, “I wouldn’t say that,” 

“We’re coworkers,” The words tumble out, “I know what we’re both feeling, but,” 

His brow furrows as he thinks through your words and he shakes his head, “y/n,” he cuts you off, “do you believe in soulmates?” 

“Yes, of course,” Even if you hadn’t before, the way you’re feeling now would be enough to dispel any skeptic. 

He takes in a quick breath, the sound sharp as he draws it through his teeth and he cocks his head slightly to the side, “You’re scared,” he massages the top of his sternum with his fingers, and you recognize your own chest is tight with anxiety, “I can feel it, talk to me.” 

The instant vulnerability of the bond is startling, and you can feel your own expression crumble. It’s suddenly a bit like being an ant caught under a magnifying glass, too much sharp attention all at once and you swallow tightly, eyes flicking away from his tender gaze. 

“y/n,” He murmurs, “I’m not pushing for more, not tonight,” 

“Yeah,” Your voice is soft, too quiet for your own liking. Something about the way he sees you so clearly and so quickly makes you feel exposed, nervous and strangely childlike. 

“Hey,” He breaks through your little thought spiral, “look at me,”

You straighten up again, finding his eyes. 

“I’m just happy I found you,” He tells you, and you feel the truth of it in your gut, “we can figure everything else out together, and at our own pace, okay?” 

Relief spreads through you, the knot in your chest loosening, “Promise?” 

“Promise,” He nods, raising one hand with his pinky extended, “I just want us to try,” 

You nod, extending your own pinky to seal it, “Me too.” 

He smiles at that, “Barely know each other,” he scolds softly, “I’m offended.” 

“Oh yeah?” Tension bleeds out of your shoulders. 

“Mhm,” His expression is full of cheek, “I’m the one with a crush, remember? I notice things,” 

Your stomach flips pleasantly and your arms relax from their tight position crossed over your chest, “What things?” 

“Let’s see,” He starts, and for a brief moment you think maybe he’s bluffing, but the moment he starts you melt and he holds your gaze as he warmly recites all the little things he’s noticed about you over the years. 

“You only wear silver jewelry,” he notes first, nodding towards you. 

Your tight hands uncurl. 

“You have a ridiculous sweet tooth,” The more he talks the more he relaxes against the far wall, “and you start getting flushed after the second shot of soju, you really are a lightweight,” 

“You always pick a Big Bang song for karaoke, and you’re late to work every Monday,” He laughs a little at that and keeps going, “you don’t wear a lot of color but when you do it’s red. We’re both from Gwangju but you moved to Seoul when you were five,” 

Your heart starts to beat a little faster, warmth filling you again and you don’t know if it’s your affection or his anymore, but it hardly matters. 

“Um,” He takes a deep breath and glances away for a moment and then catches more threads from his memory, “you’re a Sagittarius, you’re a runner, and the last book I saw you reading was Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982. I bought it, but I haven’t had a chance to read it just yet,” 

“Yunho,” You find yourself smiling, a hand over your surprised lips. 

“I’m just saying,” He shrugs a little, “we aren’t strangers. I know this is scary and fast and going to change the rest of our lives,” 

Elation, pure joy, spills over unfettered from his side of your new emotional tether. 

“But I like you,” He confesses, “I have for a while, and this,” he brushes his fingers along his soulmark, “just changes the timeline.” 

He’s yours. 

You push off the wall, crossing the room and all but leap back into his embrace, your arms looping around his shoulders again as you push up on tiptoe to kiss his lips. 

“This is real,” You murmur. 

“Yes,” He cups your cheeks, nodding as he pecks your lips again. 

“You’re mine,” 

“Yes,” He grins. 

“Oh, this is crazy,” You laugh, forehead against his again. 

“We’ll go slow,” He assures you again, “we’ll figure it out together,” 

“Together,” You nod. 

He dips low once more, this kiss more tender, and he separates you both before things can heat up again. “Hmm,” He glances across the bed and makes a small face at the time displayed on the digital clock, “did you eat?” 

“I tried to,” You confess, “I was nervous,” 

“You need to eat,” He snaps up his black shirt from the bed and slips it back on, and your chest warms. It’s strangely domestic, strangely commonplace like you’ve been in this position a thousand times before. 

Yunho adjusts his shirt and then kisses your hair as he passes by you, padding over to the hotel microwave and searching through the assorted snacks and instant meals, “It’s too late for room service,” 

“I’m okay,” You pull your own sweater back on and sit on the edge of his bed. 

“y/n,” He glances back, a softly scolding tone. 

“Really, you need to sleep,” You offer. 

He dismisses that thought, “But I’m hungry, eat with me?” 

You concede, and while he starts whipping up two servings of ramen, you wonder if this is what he’s going to be like. It makes sense, he’s always been a caretaking kind of person, but having it so tenderly directed at you feels right. 

“When we get home,” He says as he pours in the spice packets, “I’ll take you somewhere nice,” 

“This is nice,” You smile. 

“y/n,” He sets the ramen on a side table and sits next to you, “this is cup noodle from a hotel microwave,”

“The company is nice,” You take the ramen happily though, and tuck into the warm meal.

“It is,”

“Mm, you know,” You slurp back some noodles and softly clear your throat, “you weren’t the only one with a crush,” 

He freezes, letting his noodles drop back into his cup, “What?” 

“I’ve always liked you,” Your own confession feels easier after his, “I put it aside since we work together, but I guess, I mean, what I’m trying to say is that we both felt it before the mark, you’re not alone in that.” 

 “I had no idea,” 

“I’m very professional,” You tease him lightly. 

He nudges you and tucks back into his noodles, “How long?” 

“Hmm,” You get more comfortable, crossing your legs and scooting back a little onto the mattress, “I thought you were cute when we first met,” 

“God,” He groans, “we were such kids,” 

You nod, swallowing another bite, “Mhm, you had that blonde hair,” 

He laughs. 

“I remember thinking, ‘that one’s trouble’,” You confess. 

“Me?” His eyebrows perk up, “I’m perfectly nice,” 

“Trouble as in you’re my type,” You roll your eyes, “but I don’t think the crush properly came until later. You’ve always made me laugh, and when I realized how I was feeling I just did my best to keep some distance,” 

He nods, face getting a little serious, “I know what you mean,” 

That knowledge leaves you both a little quiet. The late hour, the adrenaline come down, all of it barrels into you at the same moment as the next anxious thought. How in the world were you both going to navigate this with a contract as tight as theirs and the public eye always watching? 

“Yunho,” You murmur, the last of your noodles left to go cold as you sit with that thought, “Are we going to be able to figure this out?” 

“Figure what out?” He looks genuinely confused by your question, “Us?” 

“You’re an idol,” You nod towards him, “I’m staff,” 

He rests a hand on your knee, “We’ll be fine,” 

“Aren’t your contracts,” You trail off, letting him fill in the blanks. 

“They’re strict, yes,” He nods, “year seven,” 

Dating, romance, even the perception of it was more than discouraged by companies in this industry, their artists contractually obligated to be single and available and dedicated only to their fans. Five years would have been the industry standard to prevent any idol from being caught out with a partner, let alone a potential soulmarked one, but seven is excessive. 

You blanch, “That’s almost two years away,” 

“We will find a way,” He says, “we’re not the first people in the industry this has happened to,” 

“Really?” You perk up, “Who?” 

He falls short, “Well, I don’t know exactly, but it’s bound to have happened.” 

“And then ruined their careers,” You groan, flopping back flat on the mattress and covering your face with a hand, “which is why we’ve never heard of them,” 

Yunho laughs, earnestly laughs, and takes the half empty ramen cup out of your hand to discard, “Maybe, but for now, let’s just stay positive. Get to know eachother better,” 

You nod. 

“Nothing can change the fact that we found each other,” He points out, dropping down onto his side on the bed next to you, “and I’m okay with that.” 

“So we just lie to everyone?” You chew at the inside of your lip, staring up at the white ceiling. 

“Hey,” Yunho’s fingers tuck under your chin and draw your eyes to him, “I know you’re anxious,” 

You sigh, letting his softness calm you again. 

“I know,” He repeats, “I am too, but we don’t have to decide anything tonight. We’re both tired and it’s been an emotional day,” 

“Okay,” You nod, “okay, yes, you’re right,” 

His thumb strokes over your cheek again, and you watch him exhale and sink further into your touch, “Will you stay tonight?” 

That wakes you up. 

Your eyebrows raise, “Stay?” 

“Just to sleep,” He assures you, “I just… I don’t want to be without you yet,” 

“I need to get back before Iseul wakes up if we do that,” You note with a grimace. 

“What time?” He glances back to the clock. 

“Seven,” You say, “her alarm is set for seven-thirty,” 

“We can do that,” He grabs his phone off the side table and sets an alarm, “we’ll get up,” 

The pull between your bodies is so strong you’re fairly sure you would have stayed no matter the consequences, but you nod, “Then I’ll stay,” 

He grins and pushes himself off the bed, “I’ve got clothes, if you want to get comfortable,” 

“Sure,” you sit up and wait for him to find things in his still packed suitcase. 

“Um,” He pulls a pair of black sweatpants from the bag, “these should work, and if you get cold,” 

You smile as he grabs a gray hoodie and comes back to you. 

As you start to pull off your sweater again, he turns around and leaves his back to you, “Sorry,” 

“Thanks,” You chuckle, making short work of changing. You’re swimming in his clothes, but his sweatshirt smells like him and you just want to bury your face into it, “you can turn around now,” 

His shoulders relax as he turns back, and you watch his lips part as he takes you in. 

“What?” 

“You look cute,” He clears his throat, shrugging off his reaction. 

You smile and ease back onto the bed, “Oh, I get it,” you laugh, “is your guy brain on fire because I’m wearing your clothes? Is this some kind of… you won the competition, ownership thing?” 

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, kneeling on the bed to shuffle closer, “No competition when you’re literally fated for me,” 

“Right,” You let the word drag out on your tongue to tease him. 

“But I like taking care of you already, and now you’re warm and comfortable,” He collapses next to you onto the mattress with a sigh, “and I know I don’t own you, but you are mine, just like I’m yours now. I won’t apologize for liking you in my clothes or in my bed, for liking when you look like my girlfriend,” 

Warmth blooms in your cheeks and you duck your face into the sheets. 

“Now come get under the covers,” He maneuvers the duvet, “it’s late, you were dead on your feet today,” 

His voice is so warm and familiar, and you slide into the covers beside him. 

In bed you keep a little distance, and despite the number of times both of you say that you should go to sleep, your conversation is almost impossible to stop. Yunho holds your hand in the middle space of the mattress between your bodies, and in the dim lighting of the hotel room you whisper thought after thought back and forth. A million things coming to mind you need to tell each other so suddenly now that you’ve found each other. 

As you talk his fingers travel, restlessly stroking your skin, up and down your arm and tapping out patterns. When his palm slides back and forth over the sharp lines of the tattoos on your upper arm, and you feel the question slipping out of your lips and revealing more about yourself than you intended before you can catch it. 

“Your parents,” You blurt out, “will they be happy?” He’s spoken about them so much over the past hour that you can’t help but ask him that question point blank. 

“So happy,” He responds with ease, a laugh on his lips, “they always worried me being an idol meant I’d never be able to find the one and settle down, they’re going to love this story,” 

You smile at the easy way he calls you ‘the one’, but the question you really asked still remains unanswered and you exhale softly, “But,” you manage, “will they be happy with me?” 

Yunho stills, reaching across the bed to hook his finger under your chin and draw your eyes up to his again, “Very happy,” he says, “just like I am.” 

Your muscles relax, his words a soothing balm, and you adjust your position on the pillow beneath you, “Just checking,” 

“Mhm,” He studies your face, “jagi, why wouldn’t they be happy with you?” 

The endearment slips off his lips with ease, and a burst of warmth spreads through you. You’ve never needed pet names and softness like this from a partner, but from him it makes your heart quicken. 

The momentary elation fades though, and his question comes back into your mind. You take a deep breath, you owe it to him to tell him now, “My family won’t be happy,” 

“With me?” His eyebrows raise. 

“It’s me,” You shake your head, “my parents have difficult ideals, and I’ve never pleased them. It wouldn’t matter who you were, they… they’ll find a way to not be happy for me.”

His eyes soften, and his thumb strokes along your jaw, “I’m sorry,” 

“It is what it is,” 

“Are your parents soulmates?” He asks softly. 

You shake your head, “No, they don’t really believe in soulmarks,” 

You watch his eyes widen in surprise. 

“Unless,” You can’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes, “the match is ‘fortuitous’,” 

“For status?” He surmises. 

“Status, money,” You shrug, “connection. But I think I could marry the next president and they’d still find a way to be disappointed in me,” 

His jaw flexes tense for just a moment, before his expression smooths over again. 

“Anyway,” You clear the bad thoughts away as quickly as they came, “my sister and I never went along like they wanted, like my cousins and the rest of my family, so we are the great disappointments. It’s not… it’s fine, but, I guess you should know before we, you know,” 

He smiles, a bit of amusement in his expression that you can’t place, “Did you think having bad parents would scare me off?” 

“It could,” 

“No,” He slides a hand under your side and tugs you across the mattress to press a fast kiss to your lips, “it never could.” 

“But I’m,” You start, all the reasons why a partner might care ringing in your ears. 

“Beautiful?” He cuts you off, “Just my type? If it’s anything else I don’t want to hear you say it,” 

Your stomach flip flops hard and you push lightly against his chest to get him to stop. 

“The thing is,” He brushes your hair back from your cheek, “my parents are soulmates. I grew up in a house full of a lot of love, even when they were being strict and scolding us.” 

Your smile at his warm expression. 

“So I know they’ll love you,” He explains, “they know what this feels like, what it means. I have plenty of family for us both,” 

Your throat constricts, tears threatening for a moment. 

“Your sister, though,” He grounds you out of the bad thoughts without even thinking, “you two are close?” 

“Very,”

“I’d like to meet her,” He smiles. 

“You two would get along great, my sister and her wife both, actually,” 

Yunho nods, listening attentively, “Do they have kids?” 

“Not yet,” You groan, “but I’m dying to be an auntie,” 

His thumb drags a comforting line across your cheekbone, his expression warm and affectionate, “Cute,” 

You sink into the pillows, a yawn creeping up to your lips, “She’s going to lose her mind when I call her,”  

“Yeah?” 

“Mm,” You huff a laugh, “she thought that when I started working here I should have found an inconspicuous way to bump into all of you to test possible bonds. She’s going to be riding the ‘I told you so’ train.” 

“She’s funny,” He smirks. 

“Very,” You sigh, unconsciously cuddling into his warmth. 

“Has it been a while since you’ve seen her?” He asks softly, adjusting his arms around you so that you’re cradled against his chest with the pillows at your back. 

“Mhm,” You yawn again, the warmth of his body settling the last of the adrenaline inside you, “a while,” 

“Let’s find a day off after the tour,” He tucks the duvet around you. 

“Yeah?” Your eyes feel heavy. 

“Yeah,” He kisses your forehead. 

“Yunho,” You yawn again, dipping your forehead into his chest, “God, I’m so tired again,” 

“Mhm,” He yawns too, “me too, jagi,” 

You hum softly, fingers slipping under the edge of his shirt just to feel a little skin, “I like that,” you murmur, “I like you,” 

“I like you too,” He chuckles, “now go to sleep,” 

A piece of you wants to protest, wants more time cocooned in this day with him, but something about his body feels so right. After a week of sleeping poorly, your body tight and anxious and heart fluttering for no reason at all, when he touches you, your mind goes blissfully blank. 

Your muscles relax, your breath dropping low and soft in your chest. 

Nuzzled against his tattoo, you drift.

You’re supposed to wake up to an alarm. Early enough that you could slip back into your hotel room and your own bed to yawn and stretch next to Iseul and make her believe you were there the whole night. That’s what was supposed to happen. 

Instead, you wake to the heavy sound of a hotel door and Seonghwa’s voice, Yunho jolting awake beside you. 

“Oh my god,” Seonghwa says for what sounds like the third time to your fuzzy sleep-addled brain, “oh my god?” 

“Hyung,” Yunho pushes himself up, his arms unwinding from around you, “hey, don’t freak out,” 

“Don’t freak out,” Seonghwa’s eyes blow wide, “are you fucking kidding me? Hongjoong is going to kill you,”

“You don’t understand,” Sleep is still heavy on him and he shakes his head to try to pull himself away. 

“I understand plenty,” Seonghwa counters, “how long have you been lying to us?” 

His reaction surprises you, and you ease yourself up to sit next to Yunho. You’re not sure what to say or not say, you don’t know what they’ve discussed in the past when it comes to dating and relationships, but by  Seonghwa’s outburst you can guess it’s honesty at a minimum. 

Yunho’s face falls, “No, it’s not that,” 

“I can tell you what it looks like,” Seonghwa lowers his voice to what amounts to a stage whisper. 

“Hyung,” Yunho rubs his eyes, running a hand through his mop of black hair. 

“It looks like you’ve been sneaking around,” He continues, “how long have you two been fucking?” 

“Hey,” Yunho’s voice sharpens, and his hand crosses your body to anchor on your opposite thigh. 

Seonghwa’s eyes track it and he shakes his head, “This is so stupid,” he steps back in surprise, “you’re both being so, incredibly stupid.” 

Yunho gives you a squeeze and opens his mouth to reply but Seonghwa keeps going. 

“Naive is what it is,” 

Irritation bubbles in your gut and you can’t stop yourself, “Seonghwa, will you shut up for one second?” 

He stops in his tracks, mouth falling open, “What?” 

“Can you please,” You hold his gaze, “please, just listen to Yunho for a minute before you jump to conclusions.” 

He shifts, taking a step back and crossing his arms, and then he looks to Yunho. 

Yunho finds your eyes quickly, silently asking, and you give him a nod. 

“Okay,” Yunho runs a hand through his hair again, “I’ll just say it.” 

Seonghwa waits, his expression completely neutral except for the irritated corner of his lips.

“y/n is my soulmate,” Yunho squeezes your thigh again and you slip your hand into his to twine your fingers together, “we didn’t know, but now we do.” 

Seonghwa’s brows go high, shock filling his features. 

“We’re not hiding,” You add, “we just… it’s just,” 

“How long?” Seonghwa manages. 

“Soundcheck yesterday,” Yunho says, “we haven’t known long enough to lie, hyung.” 

“You’re sure?” He looks between you both, and you know what he’s thinking. How could it be possible to know each other for years and not know. 

“We’re sure,” You answer confidently, calmly, “I swear,” 

“It’s real,” Yunho’s thumb strokes across knuckles, “it’s very real.” 

Seonghwa swallows, taking in the news and sinks back against the hotel dresser, “Well, fuck,” 

“Yeah,” Yunho laughs. 

“You were off timing yesterday,” Seonghwa points out, “and distracted,” 

“It wasn’t that bad,” Yunho grimaces. 

“No, but,” He shrugs, “I know you and you’re never off time.” 

“It wasn’t easy to focus on the show yesterday,” Yunho admits. 

“I’m sorry,” You nudge him with your shoulder, knowing a huge portion of that must have been the panic flooding his side of the link. 

He shakes his head, “There’s nothing to be sorry for,”

When you look back up, Seonghwa is smiling and he sighs, “Oh, you’ve both got it bad.” 

“Obviously,” You hide your face in your sweatshirt sleeve. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Seonghwa asks, “Because you can’t act like this around anyone else,” 

Your mouth feels dry. 

“We don’t know,” Yunho answers, “we have to figure that out, for now I think we just try to keep things normal.” 

Seonghwa nods and then leans forward, “Listen, I know you’re not asking for my advice,” 

You both wait. 

“But you're my brother,” Seonghwa says unequivocally, “so I’m going to give you some anyway.” 

Yunho nods. 

“You wear your heart on your sleeve,” Seonghwa points out, “and I’m sure it will be hard to act like acquaintances in front of everyone, but you have to do it, at least until you make a plan.” 

“Yeah,” Yunho’s cheeks are a little pink and he squeezes your hand. 

“No one fires the idol for things like this,” He reminds you both, “so for her sake, put it away for today.” 

“He’s right,” You nod, “today we go back to coworkers,” 

Yunho draws your clasped hands up and kisses your fingers, “Okay,” 

“You’re lucky I offered to check on you,” Seonghwa sighs heavily, “if any of the managers came in,” 

“Check on me?” Yunho perks up at that, “Hwa, why,” 

Things come into focus for you at that moment, how bright the hotel room is with sunlight, how well rested you really feel. You twist in the bed and look at the digital clock, “Oh no,” 

“You were late,” Seonghwa explains, “we figured you overslept, I offered to use the spare key to get you up.” 

“Fuck,” Yunho curses. 

You both slept straight through Yunho’s alarm. 

“Iseul is going to fucking kill me,” You roll out of bed, your hands breaking apart as you scramble for you phone, “what the hell am I going to tell her?” 

Your phone reads nine-thirty. In thirty minutes you’re supposed to be packed into a van and on the way to the venue and when you look at the collection of notifications your stomach churns. 

Three calls from Iseul, and a lengthy string of text messages. 

Did you already get up and get ready?

Your work bag is still here…

Not funny, girl, where are you?

Did you make it back last night? 

Can you answer me?? 

I’m getting worried. I haven’t heard anything - You haven’t even read these? 

You better not be dead in a ditch, I’ll kill you myself. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Your hands are trembling as you tap out the fastest reply - Alive, be right there.

Yunho’s a whirlwind behind you, stripping out of his sleep clothes and yanking on whatever outfit is at the top of his suitcase, “It’s fine, it’s going to be fine,” 

“Sure,” You search the floor for your jeans and dart into the bathroom, “my best friend is going to murder me though,” 

You change at lightning speed, swapping his sweats for your jeans and then tying up your hair into a messy bun before pushing back out into the main room. 

“Everyone’s downstairs,” Seonghwa offers, “you shouldn’t run into anyone on the way back to your room.” 

“Good, okay, good,” Your heart is pounding, “where’s my room key?” 

“Here,” Yunho darts forwards and finds the little envelope, passing it to you, “take a breath,” 

“I have to go,” You manage, “I have to think of something,” 

“Don’t kiss and tell,” Seonghwa offers and he’s being funny but it’s vaguely helpful. 

“Wait,” Yunho grabs your hand and tugs you back, snapping your phone out of your hand. 

“Yunho, I don’t,” You start to say but he waves you off. 

He types fast, adding himself as a contact in Kakao Talk, “My number,” he explains. 

Seonghwa huffs a laugh. 

You take the phone back and tuck it into your pocket, “I’ll message you later,” 

“Good,” He dips forwards and presses one warm, tender kiss to your lips, “now get out of here,” 

You kiss him back, just once and fast, a little shred of self indulgence before you have to act like he’s just another guy, and then you’re darting out of the room, shouting back a thank you at Seonghwa as you go. 

You navigate the halls fast, and opt to take the stairs to get down one floor faster and more inconspicuously. You take a deep breath when you get to your hotel door, and then you dive. 

“So you are alive,” Iseul’s waiting, just like you thought she might be. She’s sitting on your still made bed, her phone in her hands and a tense expression on her face, “I was just about to tell the managers you were missing,” 

“I’m so sorry, seriously, I didn’t mean to worry you,” You take a few steps into the room. 

Her eyes flick over you, and you realize at the moment her eyes widen that you’re still wearing Yunho’s hoodie, your sweater still discarded on his bedroom floor. 

“You hooked up with someone?” Her voice spikes, “Are you kidding me?” 

Thankfully the hoodie is plain, just a heather gray with no identifying attributes that scream his name, but you’re still swimming in it and it’s clear you’re rumpled from bed. 

“Listen,” You hold up your hands, “I didn’t mean to not text you, I just fell asleep,” 

“With some guy?” She stands. 

“Yes,” You settle on some version of the truth. 

“Who?” She flounders, “We’re supposed to text each other,” 

And you always did, when either one of you went home with someone there was always a little preemptive safety report. A name, an address, a shared location, something so that you weren’t completely alone in the world with a strange guy. 

“I’m sorry,” You say again. 

She studies you, and it’s like she’s looking through you. 

“Oh my god,” Her eyes widen, “we know him.” 

“Iseul,” Your cheeks heat. 

She points at you, “I’m right!” 

“It’s not a big deal,” You skirt around her words. 

“The only reason you wouldn’t text me is if you were with someone we both know,” She narrows her eyes, “so give it up.” 

“I can’t,” You press, “leave it,” 

“Why are you being so weird?” 

“Iseul,” You sigh, avoiding her gaze, “I just woke up in a panic, and I have like fifteen minutes to get showered, can you give me the third degree later?” 

“I’m not letting this go,” 

“Yeah,” You pull off Yunho’s sweatshirt and head to the bathroom, “I know, but we have work.” 

“Work with a coworker you slept with,” She stands in the doorway while you start the shower, and you realize her tone isn’t so much as angry anymore but probing. 

“I didn’t sleep with him,” You groan, “well, I guess I did, but we didn’t have sex, okay?” 

“That’s awfully cozy for a one night stand,” She crosses her arms, “unless you’re seeing someone? Are you seeing someone?” 

“No,” You test the water heat and unbutton your jeans, “I swear I’ll explain another time, but can you just drop it for today? Or do you want to stand here and watch me shower?” 

“Fine,” She concedes, “you will tell me?” 

“I swear,” You nod, “I want to tell you, but I’m not ready yet, okay?” 

Her eyes soften up at that, “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” You nod, “but I’m having big feelings about it and I need to work it out,”

“Oh,” In all the years you’ve known her, she’s never seen you in love or even close, and she just blinks, “got it,” 

“Can I shower now?” You gesture towards the running water. 

“Yeah,” She steps back, “yeah, but I’m still mad you didn’t text me.” 

“Okay,” 

“And I’m still going to guess who it is,” She smirks. 

“Fine,” 

Her smile widens and she rolls her eyes, “I bet it’s one of the BB guys, isn’t it? You always like a dancer,” 

She turns the corner before she can watch you blushing harder, so nearly on the money with her guess, but you put it all out of your mind for now and focus on your day. You’re late, and it’s about to be another long one. You’ll have time for everything else later, if you can just keep your cool. 

Work is bizarre to say the least. You and Yunho both do an excellent job of not looking at each other except for when he’s in your makeup chair, and you’re getting better and better at ignoring both San’s and Seonghwa’s nervous glances. 

This time you start the makeup early, less time pressure with the schedule adjustments, and the night goes off without a hitch. Soundcheck to stage to VIP benefits, it’s a whirlwind and you’re grateful for the distractions everywhere you look. 

You can still feel him, emotions from his side of the link ebbing and flowing throughout the day, but the sharp intensity of yesterday has dulled a bit after your night together. In quiet moments you find yourself thinking about his lips, or the way his hands held you as you tumbled into sleep, but you push it down and stay professional. 

As the show ends, Iseul ropes you into team dinner, desperate to observe who you interact with and how, still on her quest to find your mystery bed partner, but the boys aren’t there and so there’s nothing for her to really see. 

Later, with Iseul passed out from one too many shots of soju, you slip back into Yunho’s hoodie and cuddle into the warmth of your own bed. You need more sleep, you know that, but your brain isn’t cooperating. You toss and turn in the sheets, body feeling like a taut cord, and all you can think of is him. 

You miss him. 

It’s not even two days of having him in your life like this and you feel nervous and achy without him. There’s no way you’ll survive two years of this. 

Over an hour passes as you sigh, changing positions again and again, and then your phone finally buzzes. You scramble to see if it’s a message from him, nearly dropping your phone in the process. 

Can’t sleep? - He must be feeling your restlessness. 

Not at all - You reply, chest feeling warm at the contact. 

Little bubbles pop up immediately to indicate he’s typing and then another message pops on your screen - You’d think after last night we’d both be exhausted.

So you’re as awake as I am? 

Just can’t relax. I liked having you here last night. - He confesses. 

You roll over in the bedding onto your front and push the pillow under your chest before you keep texting - I liked it too. I’d come up except Iseul wouldn’t lay off guessing who I was with this morning. 

Oh? Did she guess correctly? - You can practically see the smirk on his face. 

Nope - You tease back. 

Was she upset? - He asks. 

At first, but I told her I would tell her soon I just needed some time - You reply. 

That’s good, honest. - His message makes you smile. 

How was Seonghwa? - You tap out. 

Fine…. stressing and acting like a hyung, you know - He says. 

You smile and type out another message - Is he keeping this to himself for now?

Yes - Yunho’s message comes in, and then another - For now, he knows we need to decide things first. 

That’s good - You send back. 

Things lull for a moment, and you try to think of something more to say, but Yunho swoops in with a question that makes you bite your lip to keep from laughing - Who did Iseul guess you were with? Was I even on the list?

I thought you’d be happy she didn’t guess - You reply. 

Bubbles appear immediately, then another message - I’m a little offended, I’m the obvious choice.

Why’s that? - You tease him. 

You feel something warm in your chest, and his next message flies back - I thought I was your type? 

You stifle another laugh - You are, she’s not very observant.

So who did she guess? 

Your belly flip flops and you hide your face in the pillow for a moment. His obvious jealousy, even just to tease you, is making your heart quicken and you can’t stop yourself from making it harder on him. 

You take a breath and reply - About half the BB crew and a few of your managers.

The replies don’t come for a moment, and you nervously refresh the chat. 

Finally a message comes in - I’m trying to think of something funny to say, but I’m actually just irrationally jealous. 

She was just teasing, no need to be jealous - You smile into your hand. 

Doesn’t matter - He says - Now I’m just here alone wondering which of our coworkers Iseul thinks you have chemistry with

He is jealous. You swallow hard, trying to ignore the swooping sensation in your belly and press your legs a little tighter together. If you close your eyes you can feel the echo of his hands on you from last night, and all you want in the world is for him to come down here and kiss you hard like that again. 

With a slow exhale you return to your phone - Don’t be jealous, Yunho. We both know I’m yours.

Yeah? - His reply comes after a beat - No need to be jealous then.

Exactly - You reply. 

I bet you like it a little though - His message flies in as yours sends.

You feel warm all over and you run a nervous hand through your hair before replying - No, I don’t. 

Jagi, you forget I can feel how worked up you’re getting. 

Your stomach clenches, drops and twists. He’s going to be the death of you and you’re still just flirting.  

You work up the courage and finally send your reply - You’re the one that pinned me to the wall last night. 

I’ve been thinking about that all day - The message reply is fast. 

You smile and bite your lip, snuggling further into the mattress and trying to ignore the growing pulse between your thighs - You did seem distracted during rehearsals.

You feel warmth in your chest, and you know exactly how much your flirting is affecting him. Another text pings through and you shiver when you read it - How could I not be distracted with you there? All I could think about was the way you said my name last night. 

Your thighs press together - Yunho?

Yes, jagi?

Or more whiny, was it? Yunho-ya? - You type it out fully, emphasizing the extended sound, knowing exactly what he wants to hear from the way he gripped you last night. 

The room is suddenly hot, and your heart beats faster to sync with his. 

It takes a moment for him to respond, bubbles popping up and then receding again and you wonder how he’s lying in bed. If he’s hard already, if he’s palming himself? You wonder if he sleeps naked when he’s alone and youre core clenches, arousal pooling in your gut and you know he can feel the threads of it. When he finally presses send on his message you have to cover your mouth to keep quiet. 

Feeling needy? Are you squirming around in that hotel bed wishing for me, sweetheart?

You feel that message from your top to your toes and you steal a fast glance at the bed next to you. Iseul is sound asleep, turned away from you and snoring softly, and you let out a relieved, shuddering breath. 

You could pump the brakes here, tease him and find a way to say goodnight, but you simply can’t. Need and arousal overwhelms you and you tap back your reply fast - I’ve been aching all day.

Do you have headphones? 

The question catches you off guard, but you write back - Yes, airpods.

Put them in - He says, and you swallow tightly, reaching for the little headphone case on your bedside table. 

Your fingers are shaking as you take them out of the case and put them in, making sure they’re connected before you reply - Done. 

His call lights up your phone, ringing in your headphones and you swipe to answer with a panicked glance at the bed next to you, but Iseul sleeps on, none the wiser. 

“y/n?” His voice is so rich and quiet, a little raspy edge after singing all night and you nearly moan. 

“Hi,” You whisper as soft as you can, “I can’t,” 

“Don’t talk,” He soothes you, “don’t wake Iseul up, I’ll talk to you and you can text me back, okay?” 

You minimize the call and open your chat back up, sending him a quick emoji to acknowledge his words. 

“Perfect,” He laughs softly, “this is way easier than texting. Listen, I know we said slow, but I’d love to help you relax if you want that. If not, I can just say goodnight, it’s up to you.” 

You exhale softly, a needy thrill in your gut - Let’s relax together. 

“Oh,” He sighs pleasantly, “yes, I’d love that.” 

You want me? - You ask. 

“You can feel how much I do,” He responds, “I’m sitting here convincing myself not to come downstairs and get my hands on you.” 

You hum softly, shifting in the sheets and relaxing deeper into the pillows. 

You hear his own breath, the way he parts his lips with a wet sound, “Can you tell me what position you’re in?” 

You tap out the reply - Lying on my front, on my stomach. 

“Hmm,” He sounds pleased, “I bet you look so cute, all twisted up in the sheets and blushing,” 

I was tossing and turning. 

“I bet you were,” He groans a little, “I tried everything. I hit the gym, cold shower, did some deep breathing, but you have me so keyed up I can’t sleep,” 

You send him another emoji, the blushing face. 

He laughs, the rumble of it too deep and warm in your ear with your headphones in. 

You tap out another message - What position are you in? Trying to picture it. 

You hear him shift around in the sheets, “I’m on my back,” 

Wearing? 

He chuckles, “Aren’t I supposed to be the one asking what you’re wearing?” 

I asked you first.

“Fair,” He shifts again, and you picture him restless on his back in the bed you shared the night before, “just boxers,” 

A heavy sigh passes through your lips. 

“And you?” 

You wish it were sexier all of a sudden, but that just wouldn’t be practical in a room with your friend so you tell him honestly - Pajamas, the button down kind, they’re gray. 

“God, you’re adorable,” The covers on his end shift again, “wish you were up here with me.” 

Me too 

“This is probably better,” He says though, “I don’t think I could hold myself back for another night.” 

Me either - You confess. 

“y/n,” His voice warms, low in his chest, “jagiya, can I help you? Can I tell you what I want you to do?” 

Your hands are shaking and you type the reply so fast there’s a typo that you have to fix - Pfease - Please.

He chuckles, “Alright, get comfortable, just listen to my voice, okay?” 

You message him one last thought - What about you?

“I’m… I’m, uh,” He lets out a shaky breath, “I’m already stroking for you,” 

You press your lips together to keep from making a sound, dropping your forehead to the pillow in front of you. 

That’s so hot - You text him quickly when you hear him say your name, probably a little nervous he came on too strong. 

He hums, “Good,” he says, “then don’t worry about me, just listen to my voice.” 

You set your phone to the side, snuggling into the mattress and the pillows just like he asked for, sparing one more glance at Iseul to confirm she’s still completely out of it. 

“Comfy?” He asks when you stop shifting around. 

“Mhm,” You murmur in a whisper. 

“Good,” He sighs, “now slip one of your hands under your cute little pajamas, between your thighs.” 

You slide your arm down, tucking it under your body and into your sleep pants. 

“Under your panties too,” He says, his voice a little husky. 

“Mhm,” You murmur again, following his words. 

“Tease a little for me,” He instructs you, “not too fast, just your fingertips on the outside,” 

You breathe low and slow, gently passing the pads of your fingers over your slit, just barely ghosting against the hard nub of your clit. 

“I bet you look so pretty right now,” He groans a little and you hear the sound of sheets, “you make the cutest faces when you’re feeling good,” 

You make the tiniest noise of acknowledgement, fingers still brushing your cunt. 

“Can’t wait to see you fall apart for real,” He confesses, a strain in his tone as he sighs, and you picture him. His long legs spread wide in the bed, stretching from corner to corner, his boxer briefs pushed down and his hand fisting his cock. 

You’re going to lose it when you finally get to touch him again. 

“You can touch now,” He murmurs, getting your attention back, “are you wet?” 

You push your fingers through your folds and sigh when you feel just how slick and swollen you are. With your other hand you find the phone nearby and tap out a quick message - So wet

“That’s good, that’s so good,” 

Your fingers start to circle on your oversensitive nub and there’s no way he won’t have you coming in five minutes or less with it feeling this good and his heavy breath in your ear. 

“R-rub your clit for me,” He pants and your eyes roll, you can hear the sounds of the sheets rhythmically swishing as he pumps his cock harder, “get your fingers nice and wet,” 

You whimper into the pillow, biting down hard on your cheek to keep yourself in check. 

“Oh, fuck,” He groans, “sound so pretty,” 

You rub harder, faster, your legs stretching wide under the downy comforter to give you better access. 

“Baby,” He gets your attention with that, “push two fingers inside yourself, imagine I’m there with you,” 

You shift, hand slipping lower and body arching to slide your middle and ring finger as deep as they’ll go. You stay mostly quiet this time, but your breathing is heavy and you’re sure he can hear it. 

“Close your eyes,” He murmurs, “picture my fingers,” 

You gasp softly. 

“Grind,” He tells you, “grind your pussy on my palm and feel my fingers fucking you,” 

You bite back a moan, only the slip of a soft sound into the microphone as you start to rock, rolling your hips and working your clit against your hand as you sink into his fantasy. You always took him for soft, the romantic type who’d blush at saying the word ‘pussy’ let alone talking you through what’s bound to be the headiest orgasm of your life, but you’ve never been so happy to be wrong. 

“Yes,” Yunho moans and you shudder, “I can hear you moving, you’re doing so good,” 

Pleasurable stars burst behind your eyes and you grind harder into your slick palm. 

“So good,” He groans and you hear him roll in the bedding, his voice changing to something lower and breathier, and then the rhythmic rock of sheets from his side of the phone tells you all you need to know. You can almost see it, Yunho braced on his forearms, hips thrusting to drive his cock in and out of his hot fist, his face buried in the pillow you slept on the night before. 

Heat melts through you, your body alight, and you grapple to find the phone again - Close

“Already?” He says in a flushed exhale, “You’re so hot, that’s so hot,” 

You need him to talk to you, you need him to tell you what to do, and you whimper into the bedding as you work your body faster up to the peak. 

“You gonna come for me?” He murmurs, “Yeah? Hmm?” 

You drop the phone and press a hand over your lips, stifling the threat of a real moan. 

“Let go,” His voice is so low in your ear you can practically feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, “come for me,” 

Your legs are trembling, knees digging into the mattress and sweat gathered on your brow, and you feel the pressure start to crack open inside you, “Coming,” you whimper into your fingers so he knows, and then it breaks. 

“God, good girl, yes,” He groans, “I’m coming with you, fuck,” 

Your body curls into itself as you release, locking up in pleasure as you feel wave after wave of heat. You bite down on your knuckle to keep from making a sound, silently falling apart, dimly aware somewhere in your gut that half the heat you felt was his, that part of that pleasure was his own. 

Yunho moans in your ear as you ride the sensations, panting and cursing and you can’t wait to feel him pulsing inside you while he sounds this good. 

You’re not sure how long it takes you to recover, but when your brain starts to connect again you realize you’re panting against the cool flat of the mattress and both your phone and pillow are nowhere to be found. You swallow hard and pop your head up, but Iseul hasn’t moved an inch and you thank god for her liberal use of melatonin while traveling. 

In your ear you register the sound of Yunho’s breath and the end of a sentence, “still there?” 

He must have been talking, and you try to focus in on the sound of him now as you slip your hand out from between your sticky thighs. 

He exhales slowly and you hear him shifting around, “y/n, baby, are you there?” 

 “Uh-huh,” You manage. 

“Sleepy?” He murmurs, misreading your sound, “That’s okay,” 

You make a tiny noise of protest and search the bed for your phone. 

“Baby?” He’s confused and you grin at his sleepy sated tone. 

Sliding off the bed onto nearly boneless legs, you find your pillow off to the side and your phone underneath. You snap it up and send a message quickly - Wait

“Wait?” He breathes, “Sure, I’m not going anywhere, I’m here,” 

You tiptoe to the bathroom as quietly as you can and then shut yourself behind the heavy door, flicking on the light and collapsing to sit on the closed toilet lid. 

You disconnect your earbuds and bring your phone to your ear, “Hey,” 

“Hey,” He murmurs, “you okay?” 

“Yeah,” You smile, still a little breathless, “Hiding in the bathroom for a sec so I could actually talk to you,” 

He hums, a quiet, lazy laugh, “Ah,” 

“Are you okay?” You find yourself asking, a little nervous tumble in your gut. 

“Me?” He says, “I’m incredible, you’re incredible,” 

“Yeah?” You draw your knees up, wrapping your arms around yourself and smiling into the phone. 

“That wasn’t too much, was it?” He checks, but you still hear the sound of him calling you ‘good girl’ and you shiver. 

“Not too much,” You sigh into the phone. 

“Good,” He hums, “I thought so, I was trying to pay attention to how you were feeling, but it was a little,”

“Hard to focus?” You offer and he laughs. 

“Yeah,” He sighs again, heavy and sated. 

“I can’t wait for this tour to be over,” You confess, “I just want to be with you,” 

You feel a pang in your chest and listen as Yunho rolls in the sheets, “I know, I want that too,” 

A little lump forms in your throat and you breathe through it, “Yunho,” 

“Yeah, baby?” 

“Have you ever felt like this before?” Your thundering heart has started to slow, and you let your eyes close as you murmur the question. 

“Never,” He murmurs, “but I felt this way before we touched,” 

You feel his tenderness wrap around your heart as if he were in the room with you, and with a small smile you whisper, “I thought you said you weren’t holding a candle?” 

“I lied,” He says softly, “it’s been you for a long time,” 

He doesn’t say it, not in so many words, but you feel the way he loves you through the link in a wave. It’s as good as any confession to you, just as honest if not more so. 

“I wish I could come upstairs,” You manage, tears pricking your eyes. 

You hear him swallow and breathe a slow breath through his nose, “Soon, I promise. We’re going to do this right,” 

“I know,” 

“Are your headphones still in?” He asks

“No, but I can switch back,” 

“Put them back in and go get back in bed,” He softly instructs, “it’s late, but I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep, okay?” 

“Okay,” You swap back over to your earbuds and adjust them. 

“Get back to bed,” You can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Yunho,” You interrupt him, “thank you for staying with me,” 

“Always,” He says, and for the first time in your life when someone says they’ll be there, you believe it. 

“I’m going back out,” Your voice drops to a whisper, “good night,” 

“Mhm,” He listens as you slip back into bed, “just get comfortable, just breathe. I’m right here with you, jagiya, I’ll be right here.” 

He murmurs to you softly until your mind is sinking into darkness, body finally unspooling and letting you drop off into sleep. It’s not the same as his arms around you, but it settles you more than any meditation, his voice a steady whisper through your dreams. 

In the morning when you wake the call is still connected and the first sound you hear is his slow breath and the steady beat of his heart.

[planetherk]

BRUISES AND BLOOM

im sorry baby, i love you

choi san x fem!reader

tw: emotional and verbal abuse, manipulation, toxic relationship, gaslighting, this is written in third person. JUST BECAUSE I WRITE ABOUT IT, I DO NOT BELIEVE SAN IS LIKE THAT IN REAL LIFE. he's a sweetheart!!!

wc: 1,3k

They looked like a perfect couple to everyone else.

The soft-spoken girl with eyes full of kindness, always holding a warm smile for strangers and a tender word for the broken. And San—sharp edges wrapped in silk, a man with the kind of presence that filled every room. Handsome, confident, dangerously charming. The kind of man people noticed without even trying. The kind of man that burned when he loved.

No one saw what happened behind closed doors. No one knew how San’s love came with a chokehold.

At first, it had been sweet. Intoxicating, even. He worshipped her. Showed up unannounced with her favorite flowers, held her like she was the only thing grounding him, whispered how he’d never felt this way before. She had never been loved like that—so intensely, so hungrily. He made her feel special. Chosen.

But obsession doesn’t always wear warning signs. The first time he lost his temper, he hadn’t touched her. Not physically. Just words. Sharp and fast and cruel—like knives she didn’t see coming. She had cried, and he had broken down right after, holding her face, kissing away the tears he caused.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I just— I get scared. I love you too much, baby. You don’t understand what you do to me.”

He always said that. You don’t understand. He made her feel like the villain when she tried to walk away. And it started with something small. It always did

She was standing in front of the mirror, smoothing her dress down, adjusting it for the third time. Her makeup was light, her lips glossed, hair done the way she liked it. She looked really beautiful. She always does. San was sitting on the bed, scrolling through his phone. He hadn’t said much when she got ready. But the tension had started creeping in the moment she walked out of the bathroom.

His eyes flicked up. Then down.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” he asked flatly.

She blinked. “What?”

“That dress. Are you serious?”

She laughed awkwardly, thinking he was teasing. “It’s not that short. Come on, I look cute.”

His phone hit the mattress with a dull thud. “You’re not going out like that.”

Now she really looked at him. His jaw was tight. His hand flexed into a fist on the blanket.

“San, it’s just a dinner. All the girls are—”

“I don’t give a shit what your friends are wearing.” He stood up, fast. “You want other guys to look at you? Is that what this is?”

She stepped back. “No! What ar you even talking about? I’ve been planning this for days, I’m not doing anything wrong.”

But he wasn’t hearing her. His voice was rising, breath sharp.

“Don’t play fucking dumb with me! You dress like that and you know what it does. You want attention? You want to go out and flirt while I sit here like an idiot?”

Her heart dropped. “I would never do that to you.”

“You don’t even see it, do you?” he snapped. “You fucking smile at every guy who talks to you. You laugh too much. You touch their arm when you talk—don’t think I don’t notice that shit.”

“That’s not true,” she whispered, but her voice cracked, betraying how much it stung.

San stepped closer, towering. His voice was a low snarl now.

“Take it off.”

When she didn’t move, his hand slammed into the wall beside her with a loud bang. She flinched. Her whole body froze.

“You think this is funny?” he growled. “You wanna play the innocent girl while dressing like a slut?”

That broke her. The tears came fast, hot and silent, slipping down her cheeks before she could stop them. Her lip trembled. She turned away from him, walking toward the bed, blindly reaching for her phone and bag.

“I’m leaving,” she said, voice shaking. “I don’t want to fight with you. I just want to go.”

The second she picked up her phone, it was out of her hand. San had snatched it away and thrown it across the room, where it hit the carpet with a thud.

“No, you’re not fucking going anywhere.”

Her shoulders started shaking. She covered her face with her hands, sinking to the edge of the bed, sobbing now. She couldn’t breathe. Her body felt too small for all the pain crashing through her chest. This wasn’t him. This couldn’t be the same man who kissed her forehead every morning and called her his world.

And just as quickly as it had started, the storm passed. San stood frozen, his breathing uneven as he stared at her.

“…Fuck.”

He dropped to his knees in front of her, his voice suddenly soft. Desperate.

“Baby… baby, no. I didn’t mean that. Please don’t cry.”

She tried to move away, but he caught her wrists gently.

“No, no, no. Look at me.” He kissed her hands. “God, I’m so fucking sorry. I lost it. I— I just get scared, okay? You’re so beautiful and I don’t want anyone else to see you the way I do.”

“You yelled at me,” she whispered, broken.

“I know. I hate myself for it. I’m a fucking idiot. You don’t deserve that.” He climbed onto the bed, arms wrapping around her from behind as she cried. “You’re my sweet girl. My angel. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

She was still trembling, but she didn’t pull away.

“I just love you too much,” he said, voice muffled in her neck. “It messes with my head. I need you to be mine. Only mine. Is that so wrong?”

She didn’t answer. She was tired. Hurt. Confused.

He pressed a kiss to her damp cheek. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll do better. You know I’m not like that. Not really.”

And somehow, that was the part that stuck with her. The version of him that whispered apologies, that called her baby and sweetheart and begged her not to leave—that was the man she couldn’t say no to.

He held her all night. She didn’t go to the dinner. Her phone stayed off.

By morning, she told herself it was just a fight. Every couple has one, right?

He kept up with apologies soaked in tears, grand promises to change, and late-night texts that shattered her resolve. “You’re all I have.”, “You promised you wouldn’t leave me.”, “I know I get angry but it’s because I care too much. No one will love you like I do.”

And maybe… he was right. Because she always came back. Even when she swore she wouldn’t. Even when her friends warned her, when the red flags turned into wildfires.

Something about the way he looked at her—like she was his salvation and destruction in one breath—kept pulling her in.

It wasn’t always screaming matches and slammed doors. Sometimes he was soft. Gentle. He’d stroke her hair and whisper, “You’re mine, right?” in that voice that almost made her forget the bruises on her heart.

But jealousy came fast and without warning. A glance, a smile at someone else—anything could set him off. And when he snapped, the room turned cold. His voice, once honeyed, could drip venom. Still, he never laid a hand on her. Never crossed that line.

Just enough to scare her. Just enough to make her doubt herself.

She had tried to leave him two times. Each time, he found a way to crawl back into her life. He knew every weak spot. Every wound. He knew how to twist guilt into romance, how to spin control into protection.

Now, she stood in their shared apartment, clutching her phone in shaking hands after another fight that left her silent and small. Her bag was packed by the door. Her heart? Somewhere between love and fear. But she knew she wouldn’t go anywhere.

Because San loved her too much.

And that was the most dangerous part.

thank you for reading and supporting my blog! love u all

[planetherk]

ENDLESS

two is always better than one, right?

jeong yunho x reader x song mingi

tw: poly relationship, smut, implied age gap between reader and the boys, unprotected sex (please be careful!!), this is written in third person, non idol au

wc: 3k

There’s something oddly domestic about the way she wakes up most mornings now—wrapped between two warm bodies, her cheek pressed to one bare chest while someone else’s hand is tangled in her hair.

Mingi’s deep voice is the first thing she hears, groggy and low. “You’re squishing her again, Yuyu.”

“I am not,” Yunho mumbles, his arm tightening instinctively around her waist.

She doesn’t open her eyes yet, just lets herself smile, because this is the way it always is. Her being the smallest, the youngest, somehow makes her the natural center of gravity in their trio—both literally and emotionally.

It started off simple. They were best friends. Friends who met in their early twenties through a mutual roommate situation that turned into a ride-or-die friendship. Movie nights turned into sleepovers. Sleepovers turned into her falling asleep on Mingi’s lap while Yunho played with her hair. Somewhere in between all the half-laughed jokes about being a “throuple,” things got blurry.

Because now, Yunho calls her “baby” in front of strangers without thinking twice. Mingi pulls her into his lap whenever she’s tired, and presses lazy kisses to her shoulder if she’s wearing an oversized tank top. They both call her "princess" and "sweetheart" and once, when she had a bad day, Mingi muttered a quiet “mine” while spooning her that left her too stunned to breathe for a full minute.

But nobody talks about it. Not really.

They flirt, they touch, they share everything from hot ramen to bedsheets—and yet there’s never been a conversation. Not one. And maybe that’s why she stays quiet, too. Because what if it breaks the magic?

She finally opens her eyes, blinking up into the golden light filtering through the apartment blinds. Yunho is lying on his side, facing her, still half-asleep but already watching her. Mingi’s on her other side, shirtless, sprawled like he owns the entire bed. One of his legs is tangled with hers under the blanket, his hand draped over her thigh.

“Morning, angel,” Yunho says softly, brushing hair off her face.

She hums. “Morning.”

“You hungry?” Mingi mutters, voice raspy from sleep, and leans forward to press a kiss to her temple. “We could order that dumb pancake stack you like.”

She smiles into the crook of Yunho’s arm. “The one with the strawberries?”

“Duh,” Mingi grins, finally cracking an eye open. “You’re our spoiled girl, remember?”

Yunho nods, nuzzling into her shoulder. “She gets whatever she wants.”

And just like that, the ache in her chest blooms again. That aching, aching question: What are we?

But she doesn’t ask. Not today.

Instead, she lets herself melt into their touch. Mingi starts scrolling through food delivery apps, lazily resting his hand on her bare knee like it's second nature. Yunho rubs soft circles into her back, humming some tune she doesn't recognize. The bed smells like their shared shampoo, warm skin, and something she can’t name.

It’s not quite a relationship. But it’s not just friendship either.

The pancakes arrived almost an hour later, lukewarm and dripping in chocolate. But none of them really cared. They were still in bed—barely clothed, limbs overlapping in that easy way they always seemed to find themselves in. She sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, wearing nothing but one of Yunho’s oversized black t-shirts and a pair of Mingi’s boxers she’d stolen from the laundry pile. Her hair was a mess of waves and sleep, cheeks still pink from all the cuddling and lazy touches.

Yunho sat behind her, his knees bracketing her hips, arms wrapped around her waist as he fed her bites with a fork. “Open,” he said softly, voice teasing against the shell of her ear.

She laughed, turning her face slightly toward him. “I have hands, you know.”

“I like feeding you,” he murmured, fingers brushing her bottom lip a little too slow, too soft, like he was testing her reaction.

Mingi, sitting in front of her with the takeout box in his lap, smirked. “It’s true. He’s obsessed. Probably dreams about it.”

Yunho grinned against her hair. “Only when she makes that little sound after the strawberries.”

She went still for a second, eyes flicking between the two of them. Then she rolled her eyes, cheeks burning. “You two are impossible.”

“You love it,” Mingi said, reaching forward to tuck her hair behind her ear. His knuckles grazed her jaw in the process. “You looove when we spoil you, pretty girl.”

That nickname hit low in her stomach. She didn’t respond—just looked down at the sticky takeout box, pretending she didn’t feel the slow, smoldering heat creeping beneath her skin.

The room was quiet for a moment too long.

Yunho’s fingers were now tracing lazy circles on her thighs, slipping lower each time the loop completed. Mingi watched her like he was reading her—eyes sharp, knowing, like he could see all the questions she never asked.

“You’re quiet,” Yunho murmured near her neck, lips barely brushing her skin.

“I’m just…” she swallowed, shifting slightly in his lap. “Thinking.”

“What about?” Mingi tilted his head, gaze flickering down to her lips before settling back on her eyes.

“I dunno. Us.”

Another pause. This one felt heavier.

Yunho’s hand stilled. Mingi’s smile faltered, just for a second.

But then Yunho kissed the spot just behind her ear, slow and warm, and said, “We don’t need a label to keep doing this, angel.”

“Unless you want one,” Mingi added, voice dropping half an octave. “Because we’d give it to you. You know that, right?”

Her breath hitched. “I—no, I mean… I like this. I just don’t always know what this is.”

“Us taking care of you,” Yunho said simply.

“You being ours,” Mingi added, licking a bit of chocolate off his thumb, eyes locked on her.

The way he said ours made her thighs squeeze together instinctively. And Yunho noticed. Of course he did.

His voice was practically a purr now, right by her ear. “Do you like when we call you that?”

She turned, only enough to glance at him over her shoulder. “Call me what?”

“Ours,” Mingi said again, voice like honey and heat.

The silence stretched again—tension thick and humming in the small room.

She swallowed hard. “Yeah… I like it.”

Yunho’s arms tightened around her. Mingi’s eyes darkened, just a little.

“Good,” Yunho murmured. “Because you are.”

ღ⋆ღ⋆ღ⋆ღ⋆ღ

That night, it happened again. They were watching a movie—something dumb and loud—and she was sandwiched between them on the couch, like always. Her legs were draped over Mingi’s lap, Yunho’s arm thrown casually over her shoulders, hand resting dangerously close to her chest. It wasn’t weird. This was normal. But tonight, something was… different.

Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the way Mingi’s hand had been slowly running up and down her calf for the past half hour. Maybe it was the way Yunho’s fingers had started playing with the hem of her shirt, brushing the soft skin of her waist in lazy, absent-minded strokes. Whatever it was, she was buzzing.

She shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable—but Yunho’s hand slid a little lower, settling warm and firm against her ribs. Mingi's fingers curled around her ankle, then higher, grazing her knee. No one said a word.

Her breath caught in her throat when Yunho leaned down and murmured, “You’re tense, baby. You okay?”

His voice was all silk and sleep and care—but the way he said baby made her squirm.

Mingi noticed. She knew because his hand moved higher.

He chuckled, low. “She likes when we talk to her like that.”

“I know,” Yunho whispered back, brushing a strand of hair from her neck and pressing a kiss there. “She gets so quiet when she does.”

“Am I not allowed to be quiet?” she asked, voice shaky.

“No,” Mingi said, eyes burning into hers. “Not when you’re thinking things and not telling us.”

She blinked, lips parting. “Like what?”

“Like how badly you want us to touch you right now.”

Silence.

Then Yunho’s lips grazed her ear. “Are we wrong?”

She couldn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

Mingi leaned forward, cupping her cheek gently. “We can stop anytime, baby. Just say the word.”

But she didn’t. Her breath came shallow, her body tense but humming, curled between them like something sacred.

Mingi was still holding her ankle, fingers slowly sliding up to her thigh—his touch featherlight but certain, like he was memorizing her. Yunho’s lips hadn’t left her neck, each kiss growing slower, deeper, warmer. He nuzzled just behind her ear and whispered, “Still okay?”

She nodded, voice lost to the heat blooming low in her belly. But Yunho pulled back slightly, one hand coming up to cradle her jaw. “We need to hear you say it, angel.”

Her lips parted. “I’m okay. I… I want this.”

Mingi leaned in then, mouth brushing her knee as he looked up at her, eyes dark and hungry but still soft. “You sure, pretty girl?”

She met his gaze, something sparking behind her lashes. “I want you. Both of you.”

That was all it took.

Yunho leaned forward, kissing her full on the mouth—slow, firm, no hesitation. His lips were soft but demanding, tilting her head gently with his hand. She moaned into it, and he swallowed the sound like it belonged to him. Mingi shifted closer, running his hand up her other thigh now, kneading gently. His lips found the space under her jaw as Yunho kissed her, and the sensation made her whole body tremble. They were touching her like she was something they’d waited for. Something they weren’t going to rush. Something they deserved to take their time with.

“Let us take care of you,” Yunho murmured against her lips.

Mingi’s hand dipped under the waistband of his own boxers she was wearing—his fingers brushing her pussy, slow and deliberate. Her back arched instinctively, a gasp escaping her lips.

“Oh,” she breathed.

Yunho smiled, pulling back just enough to press kisses along her cheek, her jaw, down her throat. “You’re already so wet, baby.”

Mingi slipped two fingers along her folds, barely dipping in, just teasing. “Fucking soaked.”

Her face flushed crimson, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel shy. Not with the way they were looking at her. Like she was the sun they revolved around. Yunho slipped a hand under her shirt, palming her breast through the thin fabric of her lacy bra. “Can I take this off?”

She nodded breathlessly, and he tugged the shirt over her head, slow and reverent. Her hair tumbled down around her shoulders, and she flushed under their gaze.

“God,” Mingi muttered, eyes roaming over her like he was starved. “You’re so beautiful.”

Yunho unclasped her bra, letting it fall from her shoulders, her nipples hardening from the cold air and then his kisses were everywhere, her collarbone, her chest, her stomach. Mingi moved to her side, brushing her hair from her face before tilting her chin up to kiss her too. It was overwhelming. Perfect. Their mouths and hands exploring her like worship. Mingi’s fingers finally slid inside her, slow but deep, while Yunho sucked gently at one of her nipples, tongue flicking just right.

Her breath hitched, body arching between them.

“You’re doing so well, angel,” Yunho whispered, eyes locked on hers. “So perfect for us.”

Mingi curled his fingers inside her, and she let out a soft moan, grabbing at his wrist. “More, please…”

“Oh, we’ll give you more,” Mingi promised, voice thick and low. “We’re just getting started baby.”

They took turns touching her, teasing her, their mouths moving down her body in tandem—Yunho kissing her neck, leaving marks she would have to cover later, Mingi licking slow stripes along her inner thighs, their touches never overlapping but always in sync.

It felt like a dream. It felt like everything.

When Mingi finally replaced his fingers with his mouth, she cried out softly, one hand in his hair, the other gripping Yunho’s arm. Yunho held her close, kissing her temple, murmuring sweet praises while Mingi worked his tongue slow and deep over her sweet pussy, like he had nowhere else to be. “You taste so sweet baby. So sweet. ”

She came undone like that—shuddering between them, clinging, gasping and moaning their names like prayer.

But they didn’t stop there.

Yunho stood, pulling his shirt off slowly, eyes locked on hers the entire time. His chest was broad, golden in the dim light, muscles taut with restraint. “You want more, baby?” she nodded, eyes wide, dazed with pleasure. “Please…”

They lifted her gently—Yunho scooping her up bridal-style, both of them kissing her softly as they carried her to the bedroom.

Yunho laid her gently on the cool sheets like she was something precious—his hands never leaving her skin. He kissed her again, softer this time, slower, while Mingi knelt beside her on the bed and ran his palm along her stomach, up to cup her breast.

“Still with us, angel?” Yunho murmured against her lips.

She nodded, voice a breathy whisper. “Yeah… please don’t stop.”

Yunho leaned back to take in the sight of her—lips swollen, skin flushed, eyes half-lidded and trusting. His gaze darkened as he tugged off the rest of his clothes, revealing his toned, golden body in full. Her breath caught at the sight of him. Mingi was behind her again, one arm curled under her shoulders as he pressed hot kisses along her neck, dragging his tongue lightly across her pulse point. She whimpered softly, her body instinctively pressing back into him.

“Want you both,” she murmured, “please—”

Yunho knelt between her legs and kissed slowly up the inside of her thigh, his fingers teasing along the sensitive skin where Mingi’s mouth had just been. “We’re right here, baby. Gonna make you feel so good.”

He lined himself up with her slowly, watching her eyes, waiting for the smallest hesitation. But she opened for him like a flower, hand reaching for his wrist to tug him closer. Mingi whispered something into her neck—words like “beautiful,” and “you’re doing so well for us”—and Yunho pressed forward, sliding into her in one long, slow motion.

The moan that escaped her was sinful.

He moved slow at first, drawing out every inch, every gasp. Her hands clutched at his back, her legs wrapped around his waist. Yunho kissed her like he couldn't get enough of the taste of her moans. His rhythm built gradually, patient but deep—rolling his hips just right, pounding in her with a toe-curling force, filling her completely.

Mingi watched, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his hand brushing her hair from her sweaty forehead. Then he kissed her—soft but filthy, tongue slipping into her mouth like he already knew the rhythm of her breath. His hands traveled down to his painfully hard cock, the sight of his best friend fucking the girl he had the biggest crush on was the biggest turn on. She was theirs, and only theirs. And now they were proving it.

“I love watching you like this,” he whispered, lips brushing hers. “So fucking pretty.”

“More,” she gasped, arching her back between them. “I want—”

Yunho slowed down and looked at Mingi. No words passed, but something shifted—an understanding, a shared current between them.

Mingi leaned in, biting her ear gently. “You want both of us, princess?” His voice was thick with need. “Think you can take it?”

Her pussy clenched around Yunho’s cock at the thought, breath quickening.

Yunho stilled inside her, lowering his mouth to her ear. “We’ll be gentle. You trust us?”

She nodded without hesitation. “I trust you. I want it.”

They took their time preparing her, every touch laced with care. Mingi kissed down her spine while Yunho held her close, whispering reassurances as they coaxed her body open. By the time Mingi pressed against her, his fingers gripping her hips while Yunho kissed her breathless, she was already trembling. The stretch was intense—overwhelming—but she melted into it, gasping as Mingi slid in slowly behind her, his chest pressed to her back.

“Good girl,” Yunho whispered, stroking her hair, hips rocking into her in tandem. “You’re taking us so well.” Mingi’s breath was hot against her shoulder. “You feel like heaven.”

They moved slowly, in sync—deep, filling thrusts that made her toes curl and her head fall back onto Mingi’s shoulder. She was completely surrounded, completely theirs. Their hands were everywhere—trailing down her body, gripping her thighs, holding her steady. She felt full, both of her holes welcoming the boys. Her boys.

Yunho kissed her lips as she moaned, Mingi bit her neck and soothed it with his tongue. The sounds in the room were pure sin—skin against skin, breathy gasps, the occasional curse whispered against her cheek. And when she came again, it was like falling—her body clenching around them, the world dissolving into white-hot pleasure. She cried out their names, hips trembling, overwhelmed.

They didn’t last long after that. Yunho spilled inside her with a low groan, hips stuttering as he buried his face in her neck. Mingi followed moments later, moaning into her shoulder, arms wrapped tight around her waist as he collapsed against her back.

The three of them lay there in a tangled mess—panting, sweaty, warm. No one said anything for a long time.

Eventually, Yunho pulled her into his chest, brushing sweat-soaked hair from her face. “You okay, baby?”

She nodded sleepily, dazed and glowing. “That was… everything.”

Mingi chuckled softly, pulling the blanket over them all. “You’re everything.”

Yunho kissed her forehead, voice rough but gentle. “You’re ours.”

They would be the death of each other.

[planetherk]

prettiest virgin

》 pairing: dilf! j.yh x fem babysitter! reader

》 wc: 7.8k

》 plot: every night this summer, you fantasized about your boss, Mr. Jeong. babysitting his adorable daughter all summer had turned your small crush on the young, single dad into a lust-filled infatuation. after an awkward encounter that left you both humiliated, you did your best to keep your distance at his daughter’s birthday party. that is, until fate trapped you in a bathroom with him while the party carried on outside.

》 content: oh boy, let's see, age gap, aged up yunho, virgin reader, reader lowkey down bad and porn-obsessed, bathroom sex, mirror sex, panties stay on!! grinding, cowgirl stand and carry, yunho basically using you like a fleshlight, use of sir and good girl, filthy dirty talk, cum eating, cum facial, multiple orgasms, reader obsessed with his cum lol, thigh fucking, sucking his dick while he watches porn??? MONSTER CAWK YUNHO

》 playlist: prettiest virgin- agar agar, candy- doja cat, I fucking lust you- d'african, taste so good- sabrina claudio, less of you- omar apollo, real life- the marias

You promised yourself you wouldn’t do this again, but here you were, laying in bed with a vibrator cupped to your clit, eyes glued to your phone screen as you tapped on the first video in the big dick category. It took a while for the vibrator to buzz you the right way, but once you found your sweet spot, your head sank lower into your pillow and you had to bite your lip to keep any sounds from slipping out of your mouth. This was the fifth night in a row that you jerked off, and honestly, you were exhausted; Tired of waking up late because of your little late-night endeavors, tired of feeling gross each time your wetness leaked out and stained your panties during the day, and most of all, tired of being a virgin. 

The video you were watching had your favorite pornstar in it. The guy himself wasn’t at all your type, but his cock was pretty. And big. It’s weird to admit, but this is how you imagined Mr. Jeong’s cock looked like. You had been babysitting Mr. Jeong’s six-year-old daughter for the summer while school was out. She was an angel. Hana reminded you a lot of Bubbles from the PowerPuff Girls cartoon, with her sweet little voice and sensitive nature. You loved spending time with her. 

Yes, throughout the summer, you had developed a crush on Hana’s Dad. How could you not? He was everything a man ought to be— tall, handsome, and kind. His being a good father was just a plus in your eyes. He worked from home, so you’d see him occasionally throughout the day. During his break, he’d come downstairs from his home office to color with Hana for a few minutes. During lunch, you’d sit with them on the patio, watching with heart eyes as he wiped ketchup off of her little mouth. 

Lately, your infatuation has become all-consuming, and you resorted to buying a vibrator from Amazon to help ease your frustrations. And that’s when this little habit of yours began. It felt odd, at first. You didn’t want to be the type of person who watches porn every night for hours, imagining your boss doing all these things to you. It just sort of happened. And instead of easing your frustrations, it made them worse. 

You hated being a virgin. Vibrators weren’t enough. You, for lack of a better term, needed to be dicked down. Preferably by Mr. Jeong, but that would only happen in your wildest dreams. It wasn’t like he made it easy for you. Yesterday for example, when you were preparing Hana’s PB&J, Mr. Jeong reached over your head to grab a mug from the cupboard above you. “Behind you,” he alerted, his fingers grazing over your waist as he pulled his coffee mug out. You stood frozen, the place where he touched you burning hot on your skin. 

Every time he touches you, whether it’s the accidental brush of his fingers when he hands you your check or the deliberate weight of his hand on your shoulder as he thanks you at the end of the day, it only makes you crave him more and more.

The video you were watching had an obvious size kink going on. The male pornstar was huge, and he was able to pick up his petite partner and fuck into her with ease. Your thighs clenched thinking about Mr. Jeong picking you up like that and pumping you up and down his length, stuffing just the tip of his big cock into you because that’s all that could fit. Your core tightened, and your orgasm was imminent, until…

It died. Your vibrator died. 

“Oh, fuck off!” You cursed, slamming your head back into your pillow. Stupid cheap fucking vibrator. Here’s to another night of being a lonely, twenty-something virgin, going to bed unsatisfied and unwanted. You sighed, exasperated.

Mr. Jeong was older. You didn’t know much about his wife. It was a sensitive topic for him. And Hana was too young to remember her final moments. He couldn’t possibly want anything to do with you, and instead, you filled your head with unrealistic fantasies to keep yourself up at night and made yourself cum to them. Maybe you wouldn’t be so miserable if you were around more boys your age. 

Too tired to continue with your fingers, you shifted to your side and tried to make yourself comfortable. It was 4 in the morning now, which meant you’d only get about 3 hours tonight. Just great, you thought to yourself, waiting for the exhaustion to finally lull you to sleep. 

—

You were rather sluggish today, struggling to keep your eyes open as you drove to Mr. Jeong’s house. The cold brew you picked up before heading over there wasn’t much help. Instead, it just made you even more tired. I need to stop jerking off before bed, you told yourself. Luckily, it was Friday, which meant you had enough time to catch up on the lost hours of sleep this weekend. 

You sighed as you measured out the detergent to wash Hana’s favorite tutu, the warm and fuzzy smell of fabric softener reminding you of your blanket at home, making you want to sleep even more. Hana got upset this morning before you dropped her off to ballet practice when some syrup from her drive-thru pancakes dripped onto her tutu. To quiet her tantrum, you promised her you’d go back home to wash it so it's nice and clean for her to wear when she comes back, and that you’d also bring her second favorite tutu for practice— a purplish-blue one with pink glitter dusted around it. It didn’t feel right just washing one piece of clothing, so you decided to go upstairs and quickly grab the dirty clothes from Hana and Mr. Jeong’s hampers. 

You yawned as you made your way up the stairs, stopping by Hana’s room first. Her room was, as always, a chaotic mess—Barbie dolls and crayons scattered across the floor in colorful disarray, old juice boxes, and snack bags left forgotten on the desk. No matter how many times you tried to teach her the importance of cleaning up after herself, the lesson never seemed to stick. With a resigned sigh, you grabbed the clothes from her hamper and stuffed them into the laundry basket.

Leaving her room, you headed toward Mr. Jeong’s, but froze mid-step as a strange, muffled sound reached your ears from his office. At first, you assumed he was in a meeting, but as you drew closer, the noises grew more alarming—strained and uneven, almost as if he were in pain or… crying?

You gently set the laundry basket down on the floor, carefully tiptoeing toward the door. Pressing your ear against the cold, wooden surface, you strained to make sense of the muffled noises coming from inside. A sharp hiss followed by a low, frustrated “fuck” caught you off guard, making your breath hitch.

Startled, you raised a hand and knocked lightly on the door. “Mr. Jeong?” you called softly. No answer. Concern gnawed at you, and without thinking, you turned the knob. The door creaked as it inched open, the sound slicing through the stillness.

“Mr. Jeong, is everything—” you started, stepping inside.

Mr. Jeong swiveled in his chair, his face frozen in a mask of shock and embarrassment. The two of you stood locked in place as if time itself had come to a standstill. The only sounds in the room were the filthy, lewd moans of a woman coming from his computer. Your gaze dropped instinctively, trailing down his frame until your eyes caught on something in his lower half— his long slender fingers gripping tightly onto his erect cock. 

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, his voice sharp with panic as he scrambled to pull his pants up, hastily stuffing himself back into his waistband. His movements were frantic, his face flushed a deep crimson. “I-I thought you were at the ballet school!”

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, the heat rising so quickly you felt your face must be as red as his. “I-I was,” you stammered, your words tumbling out awkwardly as you tried to steady your voice. “But… Hana’s tutu got dirty, and I… I came back to grab another one…”

The porn video continued playing in the background, the sounds of the ridiculously wet blowjob making the awkwardness even more unbearable.

Mr. Jeong, finally snapping out of his daze, spun back to his computer and fumbled to exit the site, the click of the mouse unnervingly loud in the heavy silence. He turned back to you, his mouth opening as if to say something, but no words came. His expression was a mixture of shame and desperation, his face still a deep shade of red.

“I’m so sorry,” you blurted out, your voice breathless and shaky as you struggled to compose yourself. The urge to flee was overwhelming. “I-I should get back to Hana. So sorry again!”

Without waiting for a response, you spun on your heel and hurried out of the room, heart pounding in your chest as you tried to process what had just happened.

—

You had worried earlier about how you’d make it through the day, feeling so drained and sluggish, but the shock from what happened had jolted you awake like a surge of electricity. Now, a different concern gnawed at you—whether you’d be able to sleep at all tonight. Embarrassment burned through you, and you were sure poor Mr. Jeong wanted to disappear off the face of the Earth after that moment.

Yet, despite yourself, your mind kept racing, replaying the image of his cock. It was so big. It was prettier than the pornstar’s you watch every night. It looked so firm in his hands, the tip flushed pink just like his cheeks. You wondered how it would feel between your legs. Would you even be able to take it? You had dildos in the past, but nothing more than the size of your palm.

“Cash or card?” Hana chirped, her cheerful voice snapping you out of the inappropriate thoughts swirling in your head about her dad.

“Hmm?” you mumbled, blinking down at her as she sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor. The living room was a mess, scattered with the colorful pieces of her cashier playset. She pointed at the small plastic credit card in your hand, her expression expectant.

“Oh, uh… I guess card?” you replied, handing it over. You watched as she swiped it through the toy terminal, her little hand expertly mimicking the action.

“Boo beep!” she said with a grin, the sound effects spot-on, before handing you back the card along with a tiny plastic milk carton. “Here you go!”

You couldn’t help but smile, her playful innocence pulling you further from your earlier embarrassment. “Thanks, Hana. Can I have a bag, please?”

“That’s fifty cents extra.” 

“Little haggler, aren’t you?” You teased. 

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed down the stairs, pulling Hana’s attention away from the transaction. “Daddy!” she exclaimed joyfully, rushing toward Mr. Jeong and wrapping her tiny arms around his legs in a tight hug.

“Hey, peanut,” he greeted with a warm smile, scooping her up and planting a quick kiss on her cheek.

“Daddy, I did a pirouette today at practice! Wanna see?”

As Hana spun around, tripping over her own feet a couple of times, you gathered your things and stuffed them into your bag. You kept your eyes down, moving toward the door with a quiet sigh of relief. For once, you were thankful it wasn’t payday; no need to linger any longer, no forced small talk with Mr. Jeong. He seemed just as relieved as he tried his best to avoid you altogether. 

“See you next week, kiddo,” you said, ruffling Hana’s soft hair before heading for the door.

“Wait, Daddy! Can Y/N come to my birthday party tomorrow?”

Mr. Jeong’s smile faltered, replaced by an uncomfortable glance in your direction. “Oh, um, well… why don’t you ask her, sweetie?” he said, quickly deflecting the question back to you.

Hana ran up to you, pressing her small body into your legs and looking up at you with those wide, pleading eyes. “Y/N, can you please please please come to my birthday party? There’s gonna be ice cream cake!”

The urge to say no was strong. You could sense Mr. Jeong’s discomfort, and honestly, you were looking forward to a quiet weekend away from him. But her hopeful gaze, the way her lips stuck out in a small, almost irresistible pout… it was too much to deny.

“Oh, well… I think I have to go somewhere this weekend and…” you started, but then her lower lip began to tremble, and you hated seeing her upset.

You let out a soft sigh, the words slipping out despite yourself. “I, uh, I guess I can come for a little bit.”

“Yay!” Hana cheered, her excitement spilling over as she jumped up and down. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

You exchanged a quiet good night with Mr. Jeong, the awkwardness lingering between you both, before disappearing into the warm summer night. The air was heavy as you made your way to your car, but your mind was racing.

As you sat behind the wheel, you cursed yourself under your breath. You should’ve held your ground, should’ve said no when you had the chance. But now… now you are going to a party with Mr. Jeong. How were you supposed to handle that? How were you supposed to navigate a whole afternoon, trapped in the same space with him, when the last thing you wanted was to face him after walking in on him jerking off earlier?

You huffed as you put your keys in the ignition. This was going to be a long weekend. 

—

The next day came quickly, too quickly, and you dreaded the whole affair as you pulled up on the driveway. You showed up about thirty minutes later than the time on the invitation, hoping to blend into the chaos without much fanfare. Sure enough, no one seemed to notice.

The house was buzzing with activity. Little kids, probably Hana’s classmates and friends from ballet, darted around like wild animals, screaming and leaving a trail of toys and crumbs in their wake. You weaved through the commotion, making your way to the table piled high with brightly wrapped presents.

You set down your gift; a doll set Hana had been dreaming about for weeks. Suddenly, you felt a small squeeze at your leg. Looking down, you saw Hana beaming up at you, her arms wrapped around you in a tight hug.

“You came!” she squealed, bouncing with excitement.

“Of course I did. Happy birthday!” you said, smiling as you ruffled her hair.

“Come meet my friends!” she insisted, grabbing your hand before you could protest.

Hana dragged you into the backyard, where her friends were splashing in the pool, their parents sitting nearby and watching them like hawks. Hana proudly introduced you to two of her closest friends—“important friends,” as she whispered with a serious nod that made you chuckle.

As you chatted with Hana’s friends, you felt a familiar pull in the corner of your eye. Mr. Jeong stood near the grill, just within your peripheral vision. The moment you glanced in his direction, your heart gave a sharp tug. He was watching you.

Your breath caught, but just before you could process it, you quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the childlike conversation in front of you. As you nodded along, a thought crept in—was he still looking at you? The possibility made your skin prickle, a slow heat creeping up your neck, your pulse growing erratic. You fought the urge to glance his way again, but curiosity got the better of you. You glanced up again, a quick and casual move, but this time, he wasn’t looking anymore. He had already turned his attention to another parent, nodding along to whatever they were saying, sipping on his ice cold beer. Still, your skin tingled, like his gaze hadn’t fully left you.

The mix of the screaming children, the sun beating down on you, and the overwhelming energy of the party soon had you retreating. With a quick excuse, you headed for the shaded table, grabbing a Coca-Cola and savoring the brief moment of quiet.

You chugged the fizzy drink, the burn in your throat oddly satisfying as it momentarily cooled you off. As you set the half-empty can down, your ears caught snippets of a hushed conversation from the table next to you. Two women, likely mothers of Hana’s friends, were whispering, and one word made you tune in: Yunho.

“His wife passed away a few years ago, back when Hana was just learning to walk. Poor guy, raising her all on his own.”

“God, but he’s so cute, though,” the other one said, not bothering to lower her voice.

“I know, right? If I didn’t have Leo, I’d totally take him out for a spin.” They dissolved into giggles, clearly enjoying their little moment until their eyes flicked toward you.

You froze, caught mid-sip from your drink. The sudden attention made your cheeks warm as they realized you’d overheard them. One of the women quickly cleared her throat, trying to cover the awkwardness.

“So, which one’s yours?” she asked, her tone friendly, though her shoulders were tense—probably hoping you hadn’t heard the part where she casually considered sleeping with Mr. Jeong.

“Oh, none of them,” you replied, forcing a polite smile. “I’m Hana’s babysitter.”

You took another sip of your soda, trying to ignore the way the two women were looking at you. It was obvious they had some kind of assumption about you and Mr. Jeong, and it made your skin prickle with discomfort.

“Oh, I didn’t know Mr. Jeong had a babysitter,” the long-haired woman said, glancing at her friend with a knowing look.

You shifted under their stares, suddenly feeling like you were being sized up. They both looked down at your exposed legs, your flowy skirt just barely covering your knees. You knew what they were thinking. Their curiosity wasn’t just innocent small talk. It felt more like they were trying to figure out if you were a threat. A young, single dad and his younger, pretty babysitter? Sounded like an overdone porn plot. 

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, your fingers anxiously slipped against your soda can, sending the cold, fizzy liquid spilling down the front of your shirt.

“Oh, shit—” You gasped, stepping back as the sticky sweetness seeped into the fabric.

The two women let out little gasps, covering their mouths, but neither of them moved to help.

“Ugh,” you muttered, shaking your hands off. “Excuse me.”

Quickly, you turned and made your way inside, walking past clusters of parents and kids until you reached the staircase. Your face was burning with frustration. This whole weekend was just one embarrassment after another. Everything had felt weird since yesterday. Mr. Jeong had been acting strange, you’d been acting strange, and now you had people assuming things about you that weren’t even true.

You climbed the stairs, the noise of the party fading as you finally reached the bathroom. With a sigh, you pushed the door open and slipped inside, shutting the door behind you.

The cold air from the vent hit your damp shirt, making the fabric cling to your skin uncomfortably. Grimacing, you pulled it over your head and tossed it onto the sink. You turned on the faucet, grabbing a towel to try and clean it before the stickiness set in.

As you rubbed at the stain, you caught your reflection in the mirror. Your cheeks were still flushed, your hair slightly messy from the heat outside. You looked… flustered. Not just from the soda incident, but from everything. From him. From the way he was staring at you, from the way you’d been thinking about him all day, despite knowing you shouldn’t. It was no surprise that you couldn’t sleep the night before, your hands stuffed inside your panties all night, forcing yourself to cum over and over as you thought about Mr. Jeong pumping his big hard cock after a long day. You couldn’t help but wonder what kind of categories he liked. MILF? Hentai? Gangbang? Did he have a favorite pornstar? You desperately wanted to know what he liked, how he liked it, his greatest desires. But what was the use? You were only driving yourself mad with these little fantasies. 

You let out a deep breath, gripping the edge of the sink. Get it together.

Before you could pull yourself back to reality, you were startled by a sudden commotion outside of your door. And before you could even react, the door knob turned and the door creaked open.

Your heart jumped into your throat as Mr. Jeong stepped inside, his eyes focused on something behind him, mid-sentence. “I’ll be right there, just gotta take a leak—”

He stopped. Completely frozen.

His eyes landed on your bare skin, the lacy edge of your bra, the way the damp fabric of your shirt sat crumpled in the sink.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then, as if snapping out of it, his eyes shot up to yours, and his face turned to that shade of red you’d seen before. “Shit” He spun around so fast he nearly slammed into the wall, and shut the door in front of him.

Your face burned with mortification. You grabbed your shirt, holding it up against your chest even though it was still wet. “What are you doing?” you whisper-yelled, trying to sound indignant, but your voice came out weaker than you wanted.

He ran a hand through his hair, his head still facing the door. “It wasn’t locked! And my friend is outside and—” He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll go.”

Silence lingered between you. You should’ve told him to hurry up and leave. Should’ve thrown something at him, and scolded him for barging in like that.

But you didn’t.

Instead, your pulse pounded in your ears as you watched the way his hands clenched at his sides, the way the muscle in the side of his jaw tensed. He was still standing there, motionless and breathing a little too hard, like he was trying really, really hard to control himself.

“…Are you gonna go?” you asked, your voice softer now.

Mr. Jeong hesitated, his hand lying still on the doorknob. He let out a shaky breath. “My friend is still out in the hall, maybe, I don’t know, I don’t want him to come in after me and see you. I’m just gonna give it another minute, just to be safe.” He whispered. 

The bathroom felt impossibly small like the walls had closed in on you. The silence stretched, almost suffocating, broken only by the soft inhales through his nose and the distant chatter from the party downstairs. The faint drip of the faucet filled the space between you, but neither of you moved, let alone spoke.

It had only been a few seconds—maybe ten, maybe twenty—but it felt like minutes, like an eternity of you two just standing there, backs turned, bodies tense.

You both strained your ears, trying to pick up any signs of his friend lingering outside, but the house was too noisy, too alive with the sound of kids playing and parents chatting. There was no way to tell.

Then, slowly, almost hesitantly, he turned his head just enough to glance at you over his shoulder. His eyes lowered down to your body, just for a second, before he snapped his head forward again, almost too quickly, like he’d been caught looking.

His throat bobbed. “I think he might be gone,” he murmured. “I don’t hear anything.”

You nodded behind him, staying in place.

He exhaled deeply, his shoulders finally relaxing. “I’m really sorry,” he said, sounding defeated.

“It’s not your fault,” you replied, gripping your damp shirt tighter against your chest. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. I should’ve locked the door.”

“Right. Um… thanks,” he said. Then, after a pause, he added, “I also meant about yesterday. I feel so embarrassed. I hope that doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable about working for me. Hana really likes you.”

The mention of yesterday sent a small twist through your stomach. You swallowed. “I’m sorry for that too. I shouldn’t have walked in on you like that.”

He let out a short, breathy chuckle. “I guess we’re both just bad at locking doors. Makes us even.”

A small, nervous laugh slipped out of you, easing some of the tension in the room.

“And you don’t have to be embarrassed. Everyone does it—it’s normal,” you said, trying to reassure him, though you weren’t entirely sure why. Maybe to ease his discomfort. Maybe to ease your own.

He let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Oh yeah?” he mused, tilting his head slightly. “You jerk off in front of your babysitter too?”

The teasing tone in his voice made your cheeks warm up. But it was the way he turned then, fully facing you, locking his deep brown eyes onto yours, that made the air shift; buzzing with something neither of you acknowledged but both of you felt.

His smirk faded as quickly as it had come as if he suddenly realized how inappropriate his words were. But he didn’t apologize this time. And more importantly—he didn’t leave.

Your stomach twisted into knots again, breath growing heavier, shallower. Fuck. He was so hot. His sharp jawline, so strong and well-defined, tensed ever so slightly. His broad shoulders, so effortlessly commanding, made you feel smaller in the best way. And those eyes—deep, warm brown, always soft when he looked at Hana—weren’t so soft now. They were sharp, locked onto you with an intensity that made your pulse race. Even the faint crinkles near his eyes, the ones that usually appeared when he smiled, seemed more pronounced at this moment, only adding to how devastatingly beautiful he was.

You should have said something. You should have slipped on your cola-stained t-shirt and left the bathroom. But instead, you stood there, heart hammering in your chest, letting the weight of his gaze consume you. You couldn’t leave him. Not yet. 

And then, without a second thought, you let your damp t-shirt slip from your fingers, the fabric pooling at your feet. 

Mr. Jeong's gaze dropped to your cleavage, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. His initial serious expression made your heart flutter with uncertainty. Have you crossed a line? But then, his tongue darted out to wet his lips, and when his eyes met yours again, they held a spark that made your heart skip a beat. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice a mixture of sternness and intrigue.

“I just want to help…” you replied softly, stepping closer with careful slowness. Each step brought you nearer until you were close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. Your eyes locked onto his, filled with intent and a hint of mischief.

With a soft but bold touch, you reached out to cup his clothed cock, feeling its firmness beneath your palm. You applied a teasing pressure, grinding your hand against him. The sudden contact made him draw in a sharp breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he absorbed the sensation. “You didn’t get to cum last time, did you?” you murmured, your voice a sultry whisper that broke the tense silence between you.

His eyes opened slowly, a mix of desire and astonishment etched on his features. The initial hesitation seemed to melt away, replaced by a hunger that mirrored your own. He bit his bottom lip, trying to stop a moan from escaping. You could feel him hardening in your hand, his pant seam threatening to burst open. 

As if all his restraint had snapped, he pressed one hand against the back of your head, fingers burrowing into your hair, while the other slid just under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. He slammed his lips onto yours, finally giving in to the wild desire that had been simmering between you all day. Your lips moved messily while he grinded himself against your hand.  “Fuck, you’re fucking crazy,” he said breathlessly into your lips, “And no, I didn’t, but I did think about creaming on your face before bed last night.”  

You could already feel a wetness pooling between your legs, his words being the boost you so desperately needed to move forward. You kept kissing him hungrily while undoing his fly, his half-hard cock springing out in anticipation. You took him into your hand, your fingers barely meeting as you gripped around him, stroking him gently while he cursed into your mouth. 

Mr. Jeong pulled away and spun you around in one swift move, pressing your body against his chest and trapping you in his embrace. Your hand remained obedient and eager, pumping his cock as his big hands roamed your body. One hand squeezed your breast, while the other slipped underneath your skirt. “Wore this skimpy little thing on purpose, didn’t you?” His words cascaded down your neck, “Little slut.” 

You moaned softly as his fingers rubbed against your clothed clit, your sticky wet juices leaking through the fabric. Mr. Jeong gathered the front of your panties together and pulled with a force that made you gasp. The fabric wedged against your throbbing pussy, leaving you whimpering as you bucked your hips against the friction. 

“Your so fucking wet, Y/N…” He teased, his lips pressed against your ears, sending a rush of butterflies in your stomach. “You liked what you saw yesterday, didn’t you? Couldn’t stop thinking about it, could you? Bet you came in on purpose, hmm? Heard what I was doing and wanted to help me cum?” 

A deep, throaty moan escaped your lips. You loved the way he was talking to you, the way he reduced you to a horndog little pervert, and deep down, you knew it was true. You were addicted to the thrill of it all. “Yes, sir,” you whispered, your voice trembling with desire. “I wanna be your good girl, your slut. Wanna help you cum sir, please. Want your hot load on me. Please, sir, I need it.” Your words were an invitation, a desperate plea for the intense pleasure you’ve craved for so long, and you knew he couldn't resist.

Mr. Jeong shifted from behind you and you felt the warmth of his cock, a tantalizing tap against your cunt, which forced an excited yelp from your lips. His hand covered your mouth, a gentle yet firm reminder to keep quiet. “Don’t want anyone hearing us, do we baby?” 

His cock was sandwiched between your sopping-wet folds and the tight fabric of your panties. The feeling was intoxicating, and you couldn’t help but grind your hot, eager pussy over his length. Your back rested against his chest, and you could feel his heart pounding in sync with your racing pulse. The fabric of your panties provided delicious friction, and you moaned softly into his hand, the sound muffled but still carrying the weight of your satisfaction. 

You pressed your thighs together, squeezing his cock as you rode him, the sensation being too much for the both of you. “Fuck, baby, you’re gonna make me cum too soon,” He panted, his head falling forward and burying into your shoulder. 

You grew restless, your grinding becoming faster and wild, the sounds of your quiet and desperate begging like music to his ears. “Please, sir, cum in my panties, I’ll be so good,” You pleaded with tears of pleasure streaking down your cheeks. The thought of walking around in his cum-soaked panties gave you a thrill. You could feel your clit pulsing as you rutted against his shaft, the sheer bliss of it beyond anything you’d ever experienced. “I’m gonna cum, sir, please…oh, fuck, I’m cumming!” You cried out, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm.

As your orgasm subsided, his cock still pressed against your swollen clit. You felt a numbness, a euphoric high that left you floating, your wetness a warm, inviting contrast to his hot, throbbing length. Shivers ran down your spine, and you felt like you were hovering, your consciousness detached from your body. 

Mr. Jeong lifted you in his strong arms, carrying you like fragile glass. He brought you to the bathroom mirror, and as he held you up, you couldn't help but be amazed at the sight of his length against your body. It was almost surreal, the difference in scale, and you felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. He snaked a hand around your waist, pulling your panties to the side, exposing your wet, glistening cunt to the cool air. You shivered, feeling a rush of vulnerability. He slapped his cock against your wet cunt, grinning, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. 

“What are you doing, sir?” you asked shyly, your voice soft and hesitant. You had never experienced this position before, and the sight of your legs spread wide and your cunt so open and exposed made you nervous. Mr. Jeong's hands grasped under your thighs, supporting your weight, and you could feel his strength and his muscles bulging as he held you up. “I wanna see this little pussy take my big cock,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “Wanna watch it stretch and take me deep.” 

You gulped, your heart racing in your chest. You had never taken something this big before, and Mr. Jeong was indeed impressive. The thought of being stretched, of accommodating to his size, both excited and intimidated you. You wanted to tell him about your virginity, but the words caught in your throat. You didn't want to turn him off, and so you remained silent, your mind racing with a mix of emotions.

Noticing your worried glance reflected in the mirror, Mr. Jeong's eyes narrowed, a hint of disappointment creasing his features. “What's wrong, baby? You wanna stop?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. 

“No,” you said quietly before reaching down to grasp his cock. With a firm grip, you began to work him up and down, the weight of his hard length in your hands making your pussy twitch. You pushed his cock against your entrance, the head pressing against your tight, virgin opening. “Please, sir,” you begged, your voice pathetically dry. “I want your cock inside of me. I want to feel you stretching me, filling me up. Wanna be good for you.”

The thought of giving up your virginity to him was both scary and exhilarating. You wanted to be his, to belong to him in the most intimate way possible. You pumped him desperately, your core aching to have him stuffed deep inside you. 

The head of his cock pressed against your tight opening, and you could feel the stretch, the burning sensation of being filled for the very first time. A sob escaped your lips as Mr. Jeong slowly lowered you over his cock, the mirror reflecting it all. You watched in awe as his hot, throbbing rod disappeared inside your body, the sight of it stretching you, filling you, almost too much to bear.

“Fuck, you're so tight,” he grunted, his eyes wide with a mix of pleasure and awe. The sensation of being filled by his impressive size was intense, and you were intoxicated by a mixture of pain and bliss, the feeling making your mind numb. He was incredibly gentle at first, pushing just the tip of his cock into your walls, treating you with the utmost care. But as tension built within him, his eyes grew darker, a fierce lust taking over. With a sudden, primal urge, he began working you over his cock, pulling you up and down, your tight pussy gripping his length. You felt incredible to him, like a fleshlight come to life, and even he struggled to mask his moans as your body adjusted to his size. 

The pain was fleeting, replaced by a deep, satisfying pleasure. “Oh god, sir” you whispered, your voice strained. “It feels so good. So full... Please, don't stop.” Your sweet pleas made his ears buzz, his stomach fluttering from just how sweetly you begged for more of him. 

“God, you’re doing so good for me,” He praised, almost giddy with how effortlessly you fit him. His eyes never left the mirror, his thick bulge disappearing into your tight, wet pussy, a sight too mesmerizing to look away from.  “Such a good girl…look so pretty on my cock” He huffed, “My little cumslut.” 

His words sent a rush of heat to your cheeks, and you felt your pussy clench around him in response. You wanted him to keep talking dirty to you, to fill your ears with every filthy word and fantasy he had while pounding into you. 

Mr. Jeong grew tired, and he placed you back on the ground, pushing your body down against the sink, the cold marble against your bare stomach sending a chill down your spine. He lifted your skirt, rubbing himself against your puffy pussy lips, the overstimulation driving you wild. You felt his cock, thick and hard, lining up with your hole, and you knew what was coming. Your mouth fell open in a silent gasp as he pushed into you in one swift, powerful motion, filling you up completely. He stilled his hips, giving your pussy a chance to adjust to his size, to wrap itself around him, to pulsate and invite him deeper. You were stuffed, every inch of your pussy filled with his cock, his balls swinging and slapping against your raw skin with each thrust.

With each snap of his hips, you cursed under your breath, your fingers gripping tightly to the sink as if it were your only anchor in this storm. "S-so big!" you yelped, your voice filled with a mix of awe and fear. Your body was now completely at the mercy of Mr. Jeong, his powerful strokes sending waves of pleasure and pain through your sensitive pussy.

As he continued to thrust into you, he brought one hand up, pressing his fingers against your mouth, effectively silencing your moans. "Gotta do something about that mouth, baby," he whispered, his voice low and dangerous. His fingers, still wet with your juices from before, found their way into your mouth, and you gladly accepted them, your lips closing around his digits. You moaned deeply, your tongue wrapping around his fingers, tasting yourself on them. You lost yourself in his touch, his hard cock massaging your gummy walls, his fingers probing and exploring your warm mouth, his lips licking and sucking your ear lobe as he whispered filth to you, bringing you to the brink of another orgasm.

As your eyes met your reflection in the mirror, you were struck by a sense of unfamiliarity. Your makeup was smudged and running, the black mascara staining your tears and streaking down your cheeks. Your hair was frizzy and chaotic, some sweat-drenched strands framing your face and sticking to your warm cheeks. Your lips looked wet and swollen as you gagged around Mr. Jeong’s long fingers, the saliva dripping down your chin. You loved it. You looked like a woman who had been pleasured beyond measure. There was an intoxicating power in seeing yourself like this, a power that made you feel alive and desirable. It reminded you of the pornstar Mr. Jeong was watching yesterday, her fucked-out expression now mirroring your own. 

"Oh god, sir, it's too much!" you moaned, pulling his fingers out from your mouth. "I can't take it! I'm gonna cum again!"

“Fuck, me too,” He grunted as he pulled out of you, feeling the inevitable approach of his own release. Relief washed over you, your body weakening, your walls clenching and spasming around nothing. Mr. Jeong spun you around, placing a hand on the top of your head, pushing you to your knees just as your body swayed with the first waves of your climax. 

As Mr. Jeong jerked himself off with his hand, his eyes never left your face, now a beautiful canvas covered in the ropes of his hot cum. Though still reeling from the intense orgasm he had just given you, you opened your mouth wide, obediently accepting his thick, white cum as it splashed over your tongue. The taste was both bitter and sour, but you loved it, a unique flavor that was all his.

You licked your lips, moaning softly as you savored his taste. You kissed his tender tip, running your tongue over his slit, relishing the feeling of his cum leaking out, warm and sticky.

With a playful smile, Mr. Jeong rubbed his tip against your lips, leaving a trail of cum as he did so. "Shit, baby, you look so pretty with my cum on your face," he said, his voice shaky with post-orgasmic delight. "My sweet little cumslut."

Taking him into your mouth once more, you swirled your tongue around his sensitive head, moaning from the taste and texture of his cum. You pulled off with a plopping sound, a satisfied smile on your face. "Taste so good, sir," you whispered, your voice filled with admiration and gratitude. "Thank you for letting me taste your cum.”

Mr. Jeong, clearly pleased with your gratitude, ran his fingers through your hair affectionately, gently tucking a strand behind your ear. Suddenly, there was a hard knock on the door, snapping you both out of your little daze. 

“Yo, Yunho,” a voice called from the door. “Are you taking a shit? How much longer are you gonna be? Hana’s ready to cut the cake.”

Mr. Jeong flinched, his hands moving fast as he pulled his bottoms up, stuffing himself back inside like a guilty teenager caught red-handed. “Uh, just a minute! I’ll be right out!” he called back, voice strained.

The man sighed. “Alright, well, hurry up. The cake’s melting out here.”

You both snapped into action, scrambling to fix your clothes and smooth your hair. The rush of reality crashing back down made your heart pound even harder than before. Just as you were ready to bolt, Yunho suddenly froze, his expression shifting once he realized the mess he left on your face was still dripping down your cheeks. 

Then, without a word, he grabbed a few squares of toilet paper and gently wiped the sticky white jelly from your flushed face. “Sorry,” he murmured, his fingers barely grazing your skin, his eyes burning with the same embarrassed, heated look from before.

Once you were clean, he lingered for a second too long, standing so close you could feel his breath on your lips. He parted his mouth as if to say something, anything, but nothing came out. Instead, his fingers anxiously tapped against his thigh, a nervous habit you had never noticed before.

“You should go first,” you said quickly, sensing the weight of the moment. “I’ll come down after.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, then he nodded. “Thanks,” he muttered, stuffing his shirt back into his waistband before slipping out the door with hurried, uneven steps.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and sank onto the toilet seat. The room still smelled faintly of him, and it felt unreal how fast the energy had shifted. Had he just been hit with regret? Was he now scrambling to shove this whole thing into a locked box in his mind? Now no longer in the heat of the moment, did he think what you two did was wrong? Were you going to get fired? 

For the rest of the party, Mr. Jeong successfully avoided you. He busied himself slicing tiny squares of cake for the kids, nodding along to endless small talk with the other parents as if nothing had happened.

You took the hint, feeling a slight shame in your chest.

Slipping out early, you gave Hana a tight hug before heading back to your car. The second you settled into your seat, your phone buzzed in your pocket. With a sigh, you pulled it out, expecting something mundane.

But when you read the message, you couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips.

Jeong Yunho: See you Monday ;)

—

Your sleep schedule had indeed improved, and you found yourself no longer relying on toys to satisfy your desires. The structure and routine of your new life, with Hana and Mr. Jeong, had brought a sense of balance and fulfillment. You enjoyed the daily interactions with Hana, whether it was playing frisbee in the backyard or teaching her simple math in her room. Your bond with her grew stronger each day, and you found great joy in being a positive influence in her life.

However, it was the Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays that held a special place in your heart. These were the days when you dropped Hana off at her ballet recitals, and while she was practicing her pliés and pirouettes, you would return to their home to tend to your other job.

Your knees were growing sore from scraping against the carpet under Yunho’s desktop table. Sounds of girls moaning emanated from his monitor. Though you were curious about what he was watching, you knew it was none of your business. Instead, you focused on the task at hand and wrapped your warm mouth over his throbbing cock, nestling yourself between his legs from under his desk. The width of his bulge filled your throat, and you gagged lightly, a sign of your complete submission to him.

Yunho, lost in the porno he was watching, seemed momentarily unaware of your presence. He was engrossed in the images on his screen, his eyes droopy and his breathing heavy. Your mouth bobbed up and down, your lips wrapping tightly around his shaft, and you could feel his excitement building. The sound of his moans mixed with the pornographic sounds on his computer made you clench around nothing, forcing you to slip your hand past your waistband. 

As you continued to suck him, you could feel his hands running through your hair, gently guiding your movements. You massaged his warm balls with your free hand, feeling his cum bubbling up in his sack, and you knew it wouldn't be long before he released his load into your waiting mouth.

"That's it, baby," Yunho whispered, his voice soft yet dominant. “Keep that pretty mouth on me. So good…so, so good for me.”

I would greatly appreciate reblogs with comments and replies. please consider leaving feedback if you enjoyed this x.

[planetherk]

[planetherk]

TWO WEEKS, ONE NIGHT | LN4, OP81

when your ex hurt you so bad, his teammate is always there for you.

lando norris x reader, oscar piastri x reader

After discovering her boyfriend Lando’s devastating betrayal, she is left to pick up the pieces of her shattered heart in the glittering city of Monaco. As gifts and apologies flood her doorstep, she struggles to let go of the man she once loved—until an unexpected ally steps forward. Oscar, Lando’s teammate, reveals the truths that cut deeper than she could imagine, but with his honesty comes a surprising confession. Torn between heartbreak and the hope of something new, and she must decide whether to confront her past or embrace an uncertain future.

TW: CHEATING, mention of Y/N! I hope you enjoy this short au, and please remember this is my first ever au, so excuse any mistakes!! this is purely fiction, and please do feel free to leave a comment! hope u enjoy <33

The dim hum of the city outside her window was the only company she allowed herself as she sat in the quiet of her apartment. The soft glow of streetlights of Monaco seeped through the curtains, casting faint shadows on the unopened boxes scattered around her living room. Her eyes lingered on the largest one, wrapped in a sleek black ribbon, its sender’s name unmistakable on the gilded card attached.

Lando Norris.

It had been two weeks since the storm—the night everything fell apart. When she got a text from his teammate, confirming her suspicions. She could still hear the echoes of their arguments, his voice strained as he stumbled over apologies that didn’t match the betrayal etched into her memory. The headlines had done their part too, parading his indiscretion across every screen until there was no denying what he had done.

He had cheated on her.

Lando, with his boyish charm and the grin that once felt like home, had torn through the trust they had built together. The man who had promised her the world under Monaco’s glittering stars had shattered her heart in a single, reckless moment.

Since then, the gifts had started arriving. First, it was a bouquet of her favorite flowers, each petal seemingly plucked with care. Then came the handwritten letters, pages filled with words that tried—and failed—to piece together his remorse. Then expensive clothing, the Givenchy boots she always wanted, extravagant jeweler, anything she could think of and more. Tonight, it was something bigger, heavier, as though the weight of the box could match the gravity of his mistakes.

The texts came with the gifts. The apologies she received every day, among phone calls, were starting to annoy her. There was no point of changing her number or blocking him, he always found a way to contact her. But at least, he hadn’t appeared to her house yet. He knew she wouldn’t appreciate that.

But none of it could undo the ache lodged in her chest.

Her fingers hovered over the ribbon, hesitating. What could he possibly give her that would make her forget the way her heart had splintered? A grand gesture to overshadow the simplicity of loyalty he had broken?

A bitter laugh escaped her lips as she leaned back against the couch, the ribbon untouched. She had loved him, truly and deeply. The kind of love that left no room for doubt. They have been through a lot, he had helped her in many ways, and so did she. She was always there for him, and all it took for him to break everything was a win in Singapore. And yet, here she was, staring at another attempt to buy her forgiveness.

She’d thought about reaching out to him, about confronting the man she’d once trusted with her whole heart. But every time she considered it, the memory of him with someone else burned brighter, and the courage faltered. No amount of gifts could erase that image, nor could it restore the trust that had been so carelessly discarded.

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚

She leaned back on the couch, her hands trembling slightly as her phone buzzed on the table once more. She had ignored countless messages and phone calls from him over the past two weeks, but this one was different. A video notification from an unknown number lit up her screen.

And then she saw him. Lando.

He was leaning close to another woman, her face obscured by shadows, but her hand was unmistakable as it trailed along his arm, lingering.

Her heart pounded, the weight of his audacity crushing her. Two weeks of apologies, endless gifts, and promises of remorse—only to find out he hadn’t even stopped. The sting of betrayal felt fresh all over again, more painful than she could have anticipated.

A video. Of him. With another woman. Now she was sure, he was just trying to buy her into his life again, for his own enjoyment and only. The gifts meant nothing, she meant nothing, the only thing he cared about was just to fuck around behind her back.

 

She has been watching the video for several minutes, unable to stop the ugly feeling in her stomach growing. She felt disgusted and humiliated. A year and a half, all meant nothing to him?

Her phone started ringing, once again. She wanted to pick up, she wanted to scream at him, to curse him, to make him feel even worse. She needed that. That's why she found herself accepting the call, his voice coming through the speaker after two weeks.

"Baby, finally. Please, let me explain-"

“This better be good,” she cut him off, her voice sharp. “Because I’m done playing games, Lando. I just got sent a video of you making out with a random girl, while you were claiming to be sorry"

“That video—it was staged. Someone’s trying to hurt me. To hurt us.” He tried to say quickly, trying to defend himself once again over the phone.

“Staged? That’s the best you’ve got? You expect me to believe that?”

“Baby, think about it. Who sent you the video? Why would they do that? I’ve been trying to fix this, to fix us, and someone doesn’t want me to.”

The sincerity in his voice wavered her resolve, but the anger inside her burned hotter. “Do you even hear yourself? You cheated on me, Lando. You don’t get to play the victim.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I’m begging you to believe me this time. There’s more going on here than you think.”

The words hung in the air, leaving her torn between disbelief and the lingering hope that maybe—just maybe—he was telling the truth.

"No. I hate you. You hurt me so bad, and you don't even care. You can't just buy your way back to my life. I don't want this anymore! You need to stop, and leave me alone, not keep hurting me" she said quietly, so tired of everything, before hanging up the phone on his face.

Her phone buzzed again, and again, and again. But the damage was already done.

The unknown number kept texting her, saying that her ex wasn't the man he claimed to be. She laughed bitterly, tossing her phone onto the couch. The words felt like a cruel joke. She paced the room, her mind racing. The image of him with another woman was seared into her thoughts, erasing any remnants of the man she had once loved.

Her pulse quickened. The pier? She glanced at the clock. It was 10:16. Every instinct screamed at her to ignore the message, to block the number and move on. Move on from this life, forget Lando, forget everything. But curiosity and the need for answers gnawed at her resolve. What if this was the closure she needed? And if Lando was hiding something, it was time for the truth to come to light. As she stepped into the cool night air, her heart pounded with anticipation and dread. Whatever awaited her at the pier, she knew one thing for certain: nothing would ever be the same again.

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚

The pier was quiet, bathed in the pale glow of the moonlight and the soft lapping of waves against the docks. Her footsteps echoed faintly as she approached, her breath visible in the cool night air. She scanned her surroundings, searching for the unknown person who sent her the messages.

A figure stepped out of the shadows near the end of the pier, their silhouette sharp against the water’s reflection. Her heart quickened. As she drew closer, she realized it wasn’t Lando—it was someone else entirely.

“Y/N?” the figure called softly.

She recognized him immediately. It was Oscar, Lando’s teammate. His face was drawn, his expression a mixture of concern and regret. He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.

“Oscar?” she said, her voice edged with confusion. “You’re the one who sent me those messages?”

He nodded, running a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t keep quiet anymore. You deserve to know the truth.”

Her chest tightened as the man in front of her spoke. “What truth? About what I already saw? About Lando?”

Oscar hesitated, glancing around as if to ensure they were truly alone. “There’s more to what happened in Singapore. And it’s worse than what you think.”

The girl's stomach churned. “Just say it. Please."

He took a deep breath, his voice low. “Lando wasn’t just with that girl once. It wasn’t a one-time mistake. They’ve been seeing each other for months. Some of us—his friends, the team—we knew, but no one wanted to get involved.”

Her knees felt weak, the weight of his words threatening to crush her. “Why are you telling me this now?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Because I saw how much he hurt you, how he treated you.” Oscar said, his eyes earnest. “And because he’s still lying to you. He doesn’t deserve your forgiveness if he can’t even be honest.”

Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She took a shaky step back, trying to process everything. “Why would you do this? You’re his teammate, his friend.”

Oscar’s gaze softened. “Because I don’t think it’s right to let him manipulate you anymore. You deserve better than this. Than him.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She looked out at the water, the cold wind biting at her skin. The image of Lando, the man she had once trusted completely, was crumbling into something unrecognizable.

“I don’t know what to say,” she admitted, her voice barely audible.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Oscar replied. “I just thought you should know the full truth. What you do with it is up to you.”

She stood there for a long moment, her thoughts a chaotic mess. Finally, she nodded, her resolve hardening. “Thank you, Oscar. For telling me.” He gave her a small, understanding smile. “Take care of yourself. You deserve so much more than this.”

As he turned to leave, she stayed behind, staring out at the dark waters. The truth was heavier than she had imagined, but in a strange way, it felt like a release—a step toward finally letting go.

She heard his footsteps pause behind her. He called her name softly, his voice hesitant. She turned to find him standing just a few steps away, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. His voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but it held something different this time—something raw. She turned, her gaze meeting his.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice steadier now.

Oscar hesitated, then took a step closer. “I… I didn’t just come here for him. I mean, I did, but…” He trailed off, exhaling deeply. “I’ve seen how he treated you, even before all this. And I… I hated it. Because I knew you deserved better. And I…”

Her breath caught. “Oscar…”

“I shouldn’t be saying this,” he muttered, almost to himself. “But seeing you hurt like this, knowing he’s still lying to you… I couldn’t stay quiet. And I can’t keep pretending I don’t care about you more than I should. You deserve someone who sees you. Who actually puts you first. And I—I wanted to be that person for you. I still do.”

The confession hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to process his words. She hadn’t seen this coming, not from Oscar, the quiet and steady presence who had always seemed like the opposite of Lando’s brash energy.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he added quickly, misinterpreting her silence. “I just… I needed you to know. I’m not saying this to confuse you or to make things harder,” he added quickly, his tone almost desperate. “I just… I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore. Not after seeing what he did to you. Not after watching you hurt like this. Because if there’s even the slightest chance that you—”

Before he could finish, the girl stepped forward, closing the distance between them. She placed a hand on his arm, grounding him. “Oscar,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside her. “Thank you. For being honest with me. For telling me the truth.”

His eyes searched hers, a flicker of hope lighting his expression. “You don’t have to decide anything now,” he said gently. “I’ll wait. As long as it takes.”

For the first time in weeks, she felt a sliver of something she hadn’t thought possible: hope. It wasn’t a promise of a new beginning, but it was a reminder that she didn’t have to face the hurt alone. And as she stood there on the pier, the weight of the past slowly giving way to the possibilities of the future, she realized she wasn’t quite ready to close the door on everything just yet.

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚

thank you so much for reading this!! if you want part two feel free to comment!

[planetherk]

POWER OVER YOU | FC43

an: i don't encourage this type of behaviour i promise i just somehow always end up writing the most unhinged things ever lol

wc: 8.8k

warnings: emotional abuse, mental manipulation, age gap (older!reader), exploitation

The first time Franco flirted with her, it was live on camera, in front of millions.

It was bold. Reckless. Utterly ridiculous.

She barely flinched, her practiced professionalism taking over as effortlessly as the hum of engines in the paddock. She dismissed it as a rookie’s desperate attempt to make waves, the kind of bravado that burned bright but fizzled out under the grind of a Formula One season. A boy playing games in a world of professionals.

But that boy had the nerve to smirk at her like he knew something she didn’t.

“Maybe one day, you’ll be answering my questions,” he’d said, leaning into the mic, his voice dripping with that unmistakable Latin charm that made headlines and broke hearts before the ink on his contract was even dry.

She had laughed it off then, smooth as glass, redirecting the conversation like the master she was. Years of experience had given her an edge that no rookie could rattle. Yet as the weeks passed, something shifted.

She caught herself replaying the moment in her mind. Not his words—those were easy to brush off. It was the look in his eyes. The way they lingered a second too long, daring her to react. He wasn’t like the others—those boys who looked up to her, respected her, feared her. No, this one wasn’t afraid.

And that made him dangerous.

She didn’t fall for things like this. She was untouchable. A name spoken in reverence across the paddock, her presence a force even team principals didn’t challenge. Her life was built on control—over her career, her family, herself. She had everything to lose, and yet...

Every time Franco stood in front of her, that same smirk tugging at his lips, she felt it unraveling.

And the worst part? He knew.

By the midpoint of the season, the tension was palpable. She told herself it was nothing—just a passing distraction in the relentless chaos of the Formula One calendar. Franco was making headlines, not just for his undeniable talent but for his charisma, the sort that could light up the dullest press conference.

The fans adored him. The media buzzed around him like moths to a flame. And he, with his easy charm and devil-may-care attitude, soaked it all in. Yet somehow, amidst the whirlwind of attention, he always found time for her. A glance. A comment. A fleeting touch on her arm as he passed her in the paddock.

It wasn’t just cheeky anymore. It was calculated.

“Am I going to see you at the afterparty tonight?” he’d asked once, leaning casually against a stack of Pirelli tyres, his fireproofs unzipped to his waist, revealing a damp racing shirt that clung to his chest.

She didn’t look up from her notepad. “I don’t do afterparties.”

“You should. It would be fun.” Franco’s voice dropped a notch, just low enough for her to catch the suggestion laced beneath the words. “I think you deserve a little fun.”

Her pen paused mid-sentence, and that was enough for him. He smirked and walked away, leaving her to question why her pulse had quickened, why her skin felt warmer beneath the Mediterranean sun.

She hated him for it. Hated the way he wormed his way into her thoughts, the way her mind replayed his voice at night when the house was quiet, her children asleep, her husband on a late call in the other room. It wasn’t real, she told herself. Just a trick of the adrenaline that came with this world, the intoxicating rush of speed and spectacle.

But as the summer races rolled on, so did his games. Each one bolder than the last.

In Baku, he brushed past her in the media pen, close enough that his hand grazed the small of her back.

In Singapore, he made a comment about her red dress, murmuring something in Spanish she didn’t quite catch but didn’t need to. The look in his eyes said it all.

And in Austin, after once again finishing in the points, he sought her out before the press conference. His champagne-dampened hair clung to his forehead, his grin still wide with the thrill of victory.

“Maybe this deserves an interview,” he teased, stepping just close enough that she could smell the sharp tang of champagne and sweat on his skin. “You know, something exclusive. Just you and me.”

She forced a laugh, masking the way her breath hitched. “You’ve already had your time in the spotlight. Go celebrate with your team.”

“Oh, I plan to.” His gaze dipped for the briefest moment before snapping back to hers, filled with a heat that made her heart pound. “But I wouldn’t mind celebrating with you too.”

This time, she couldn’t hide the blush that crept up her neck. Franco saw it—of course he did. And as he turned to walk away, he glanced over his shoulder and winked.

For the first time in her career, she felt like prey.

That night the hotel room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning. She perched on the edge of the bed, phone pressed to her ear, smiling at the sound of her daughter’s sleepy voice.

“Goodnight, Mum,” the little girl murmured, her words heavy with the weight of sleep. “I love you.”

“I love you too, darling,” she replied, her tone soft and warm. “Be good for Daddy tomorrow, all right?”

Her husband’s voice came through next, deep and steady. “Everything okay over there?”

“Yes, all fine,” she said, though her mind flickered to the chaos of the paddock, to Franco and his maddening smirk. “Just the usual madness.”

“Well, don’t let them work you too hard,” he said, his voice laced with familiar concern. “You need rest too.”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, glancing at the clock. It was late, and exhaustion tugged at her limbs. “Give the kids a kiss for me. I’ll call again tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, love.”

“Goodnight.”

She ended the call and set the phone down on the bedside table, exhaling a long, steady breath. The day had been relentless, as they all were, and all she wanted was a moment of peace. Clad in a simple pair of pyjama shorts and a loose tank top, she crossed the room to pour herself a glass of water.

The knock at the door startled her.

It was firm but unhurried, the kind that demanded attention without urgency. She hesitated, her heart giving an involuntary flutter. It was late. Too late for anything routine.

Curiosity got the better of her, and she padded barefoot across the carpet, unlocking the door.

Franco was there.

Still in his team polo and slim-fitting jeans, his dark hair slightly tousled, Franco leaned casually against the doorframe, his eyes gleaming under the dim hallway lights.

“Evening,” he said, his voice low and smooth.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice sharper than she intended, though the crackling tension between them softened the edge.

“Wanted to see you.” He tilted his head slightly, his gaze sweeping over her. “You look beautiful.”

She stiffened, glancing down at herself. Pyjama shorts, a plain top, no make-up. Hardly glamorous.

“Don’t flatter me,” she said, though her tone lacked conviction.

“Not flattering,” he countered, stepping forward before she could stop him, the door clicking shut behind him. “Just telling the truth.”

She swallowed hard, acutely aware of how close he was now. The air between them seemed thinner, charged. He moved with an ease that was unnerving, like he belonged here, like her space was already his.

“You can’t just show up at someone’s hotel room uninvited,” she said, but even to her own ears, the protest sounded weak.

“Then kick me out.” His voice was a challenge, soft and steady.

She didn’t move.

Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against a stray lock of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. The touch was light, almost imperceptible, but it sent a shiver down her spine.

“You’ve been running through my mind all night,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Her breath hitched, her resolve cracking under the intensity of his gaze. “You’re out of line.”

“Maybe,” Franco admitted, stepping closer still, his presence now overwhelming. “But I think you like it.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat as his hand trailed along her arm, his touch igniting every nerve in its wake. The space between them dissolved, and she realised she wasn’t stepping away.

Didn’t want to step away.

His hand moved slowly, almost reverently, as though savouring the moment. Fingers rough from hours gripping a steering wheel trailed up her bare thigh, his touch sending a molten heat through her veins. She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyelids fluttering involuntarily.

It was maddening—humiliating, almost—to feel so undone by a simple touch. She was stronger than this. She had built a career on composure, on unshakeable self-control, and yet here she was, trembling beneath his fingers, her resolve slipping through her grasp like sand.

“Stop,” she managed, though her voice was barely a whisper.

He didn’t stop.

Instead, he took another step closer, his other hand brushing her waist, his palm warm against the thin fabric of her tank top. His breath was a soft caress against her cheek, his lips so close she could almost feel their heat.

“Do you want me to?” he murmured, his voice low and intoxicating, the kind of voice that made promises it had every intention of keeping.

Her mind screamed yes, but her body betrayed her. She stayed rooted to the spot, her pulse pounding in her ears, her lips parting ever so slightly.

That was all the invitation he needed.

Franco kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle or hesitant. It was fiery, unrestrained, and filled with a hunger that left her breathless. His mouth claimed hers with an intensity that shattered every barrier she had spent years building. Her hands, which had been poised to push him away, tangled in his shirt instead, pulling him closer.

The taste of him—sharp and heady—only made her want more.

She barely recognised the sound that escaped her, a soft, desperate whimper against his lips. The kiss deepened, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. No hotel room, no career, no family. Just him.

But then reality snapped back, sharp and cold. She broke the kiss, her lips hovering against his, her breaths coming in shallow, uneven gasps.

“We shouldn’t do this,” she whispered, the words trembling between them.

Franco didn’t pull away. His lips quirked into a small, maddening smirk that she felt against her own.

“We?” he echoed, his voice filled with quiet amusement. “You kissed me.”

Her cheeks flamed, her embarrassment flaring like a physical heat. “I didn’t—”

But he silenced her with another kiss, softer this time but no less consuming. His hands stayed where they were, one on her waist, the other resting just above her knee, holding her firmly in place as though daring her to argue.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against hers, his voice was a whisper in the charged air.

“Tell me to go, and I’ll leave,” he said, his thumb brushing a slow, agonising circle against her thigh. “But if you want me to stay...”

She didn’t finish the thought, but he could see the war raging in her eyes.

“Say the word.”

Her chest rose and fell against his, her breaths shaky as the weight of his words hung in the air. She knew what she should say, what the right answer was. But the way his thumb stroked her thigh, the heat radiating from his body, and the fire still simmering in her veins after that kiss… logic had no place here.

She didn’t say a word.

Instead, her hands tightened in his shirt, pulling him back to her, and their lips collided again, this time with a desperation that bordered on frantic. His hands roamed with purpose now, sliding up her thighs, over the curve of her hips, and under her tank top. His touch ignited every inch of skin it found, and she arched into him, a soft gasp escaping her as his fingers traced the bare skin of her waist.

Franco backed her towards the bed, their kisses never breaking, never slowing. His lips left hers only to trail down her jaw, to the sensitive spot just beneath her ear. She tilted her head instinctively, granting him access, and when he bit down gently, her knees nearly buckled.

“God,” she whispered, the sound barely audible, her hands clutching at his shoulders for support.

His low chuckle sent a shiver through her. “I’ve been thinking about this all season,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Her heart pounded at his words, the sheer intensity of his focus on her making her feel dizzy. She should’ve stopped this—could’ve stopped this. But as his hands slipped beneath the hem of her shorts, as his lips found hers again, her resolve crumbled completely.

She fell back onto the bed, his body following hers with a fluid grace that made her breath hitch. Franco’s weight was warm and solid above her, his hands exploring with a careful yet insistent hunger. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word made her forget everything else—her name, her career, the rules she had so carefully crafted for herself.

The rest of the night was a blur of heat and passion, their bodies tangling in a way that felt both forbidden and inevitable. He was everything she shouldn’t want, yet in that moment, he was the only thing she needed.

The following morning The shrill ring of her phone jolted her awake. Disoriented, she fumbled for it on the nightstand, her heart pounding as reality flooded back in sharp, unforgiving waves. The warmth of the body beside her—the body that shouldn’t have been there—brought everything crashing down.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw him lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, watching her with a lazy, satisfied smirk. Her stomach churned, and she quickly turned away, her eyes locking on the screen of her phone instead.

Her husband’s name flashed across it.

A knot formed in her throat as she pressed accept, forcing her voice to sound steady. “Good morning.”

“Mummy!” her daughter’s excited voice chirped through the speaker. “Good luck today! Daddy said you have another race.”

Her chest tightened. “Thank you, sweetheart. Are you ready for school?”

“Uh-huh!”

“Both of them are,” her husband’s voice cut in, calm and steady, utterly unaware of the chaos that had unravelled in the past twelve hours. “They wanted to call and wish you luck before we headed out.”

She swallowed hard, her eyes darting to the man in her bed, who was now stretching languidly, clearly amused by her discomfort. She turned her back on him, clutching the phone tighter. “That’s sweet of them. I’ll call again tonight, okay?”

“Of course,” her husband replied. “Have a good day, love.”

“You too,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as guilt clawed at her chest. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

The call ended, and she set the phone down with trembling hands, her mind spinning. She felt sick—sick with shame, with regret, with the weight of the choice she had made.

“We’ve made a mistake,” she said softly, her back still to him.

“Oh, no.” Franco’s voice was smooth, far too composed. “We haven’t made a mistake.”

She turned to face him, her brow furrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line. “We can’t do this.”

He sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist, his smirk growing wider. “Can’t? That’s not what you said last night.”

Her cheeks burned, but she didn’t waver. “This was wrong. It can’t happen again.”

His expression darkened, a flicker of something dangerous passing through his eyes. Then, to her horror, he reached for his phone on the bedside table, unlocking it with a swipe of his thumb.

“Oh, but we were just getting started,” he said, his tone casual but laced with malice.

She stared at him, confusion giving way to dread as he held up the screen for her to see. It was a photo—a candid shot of the two of them tangled in bed, unmistakable and damning. Her blood ran cold.

“One phone call,” he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur, his smirk curling into something more sinister. “And your career is gone.”

He snapped his fingers, the sound sharp and mocking.

Her breath hitched, her hands clenching into fists. “You wouldn’t—”

“Wouldn’t I?” he interrupted, tilting his head slightly, his confidence oozing with every word. “You’re smart enough to know how much I have to gain. I’m untouchable now. No team would dare sideline me, not with you on my side.”

Her chest tightened, panic swirling in her stomach as his words sank in. He wasn’t just a cocky rookie with a reckless streak. He was calculating, dangerous, and he knew exactly how to wield the power he’d taken from her.

“You don’t scare me,” she said, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

He leaned in, his face inches from hers, his smirk never faltering. “No?” he murmured. “Then why are you shaking?”

She hated him in that moment. Hated the way he had stripped her of control, the way he had turned her own mistake into a weapon. But most of all, she hated the flicker of doubt in her chest—the part of her that feared he was right.

The weeks that followed blurred into a surreal nightmare. Every time she stepped into the paddock, she felt his eyes on her. Watching. Waiting. The weight of his presence had shifted from seductive to oppressive, the once thrilling tension between them now a suffocating reminder of the line she had crossed.

And the worst part? Franco knew it.

At first, his demands were subtle. A flattering mention in an article here, an offhand comment about his impressive maturity during interviews. She told herself it was harmless—easy favours to buy silence. But it didn’t stop there.

“You’ll want to lead with this,” he told her one morning, sliding into the seat opposite her in the press lounge. He pushed a folded piece of paper across the table. “It’s a great angle.”

She didn’t even need to read it to know it was about him.

“Stop showing up uninvited,” she snapped, her voice low enough that the other journalists around them wouldn’t hear.

He only smirked, leaning back in his chair. “You should be thanking me. That’s the kind of insight people pay for.”

She stared at him, her jaw clenched, but he didn’t flinch. He never did.

“Clock’s ticking,” he said, his voice calm and maddeningly confident. “You wouldn’t want your editor hearing about… us, would you?”

Her stomach twisted. She snatched the paper and left without another word.

The next day, his name was front and centre in her column.

The exploitation only grew bolder.

After a chaotic race weekend in Brazil, he approached her in the paddock as the crews packed up for the night. The lights of the arena glinted off his sweat-dampened skin, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of another top-ten finish.

“I’ve got an idea for our next exclusive,” he said, his tone casual but his words barbed.

She barely looked at him, her hands tightening around her tablet. “We don’t do exclusives. I’m impartial.”

He chuckled softly, stepping closer. “Impartial?” Franco repeated, his voice dripping with mockery. “Come on, don’t ruin the fun now. Write it.”

When she didn’t respond, his tone sharpened, dropping to a low whisper. “Or do you want me to remind you what’s at stake?”

Her breath hitched. She hated the weakness he brought out in her, the way her body betrayed her with fear and frustration in equal measure. But she nodded. She always did.

The article went live the next day, an in-depth feature on the rookie sensation, full of praise and insights that made the racing world buzz. His face was plastered across every headline, his name chanted louder by fans at every circuit.

And he made sure she knew it.

She couldn’t escape him, not on the track, not off it. Every time she thought she could reclaim some semblance of control, he reminded her just how easily he could destroy her.

“You’re good at this, you know,” he told her after a post-race interview, his hand brushing hers as he handed back the microphone. His lips curved into that infuriating smirk. “I couldn’t have planned it better myself.”

Her professionalism was cracking, her mask slipping more with every encounter. The guilt of lying to her family, the shame of letting him dictate her career—it was consuming her. Yet she couldn’t stop.

Not when his smirk carried the weight of an unspoken threat.

The nights were the worst.

Under the harsh glare of the paddock lights or in the sterile silence of press rooms, she could maintain some semblance of control. But when the sun went down and the doors to her hotel room locked behind her, he always found her.

And she always let him in.

A week after the Brazil race, she paced her hotel room, her nerves frayed and her head spinning. The TV in the corner was on mute, but the images were unavoidable: him, stepping onto the track, his face lit with triumph, her words from that morning’s feature being quoted on screen. Her name tied to his glory yet again.

She turned away, running a hand through her hair, but a knock at the door stopped her in her tracks.

She didn’t need to look to know who it was.

When she opened it, Franco stood there with that same cocky smirk, still wearing the outfit she saw him earlier, the team shirt clinging to his chest. His hair was damp from a shower, and he carried the faint scent of cologne and adrenaline.

“You’re insatiable,” he teased, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, closing the door behind him. Her voice was firm, but her resolve wasn’t.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he said smoothly, turning to face her. His gaze dropped to her bare legs, the hem of her silk robe brushing her thighs. “And clearly, neither can you.”

She hated how easily he could disarm her, how her pulse quickened when he stepped closer. “This is a mistake,” she murmured, even as her body betrayed her, leaning into him when his hands slid around her waist.

“Say that again,” Franco whispered, his lips brushing her ear, “and I’ll stop.”

Her breath hitched. She said nothing.

His mouth found hers, and the rest of her objections burned away. It was always like this—intense, fiery, and utterly consuming. He kissed her like he was claiming her, his hands roaming her body as if he already owned it. And in those moments, she let him.

For all the guilt, the shame, the fear of what he held over her, she couldn’t deny the thrill of it—the way her pulse raced when he touched her, the way he made her forget everything but him.

The next morning, she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, the faint marks he’d left on her skin hidden beneath her blouse. She felt like a stranger, someone unrecognisable from the poised, confident journalist she had been just months ago.

Her phone buzzed on the counter. She picked it up, already knowing it was him.

Great feature. We’re trending again. Be ready for the next triple header.

Her fingers tightened around the device. She wanted to throw it across the room, to smash it into a million pieces. But instead, she typed a reply: Fine.

Her reflection sneered back at her, and for the first time, she hated the person she saw.

Las Vegas was a circus, as it always was. The glitz, the glamour, the impossible tension. He thrived in it, playing the cameras like a virtuoso. Every wink, every sly smile, every clever soundbite only amplified the buzz around him.

And she was part of it, just as Franco had planned.

That night, as fireworks lit up the sky over the strip, he found her on the balcony of her hotel room. She didn’t even flinch when he slid his arms around her from behind, pulling her against his chest.

“You’ve been quiet,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder.

“I’ve been thinking,” she replied, her voice cool but distant.

He turned her to face him, his hands trailing down to rest on her hips. “About us?” he asked, his lips quirking into a playful smirk.

“About what happens if this gets out,” she said bluntly, her gaze locking with his. “About what you’d do with that photo.”

Franco’s smile didn’t falter. “I told you before, I wouldn’t do anything… unless you made me.”

She swallowed hard, her heart pounding as his thumb brushed the curve of her jaw.

“And you haven’t made me,” he added, his tone softening, almost tender. “Yet.”

It was a lie, of course. Everything about him was a lie, crafted with the precision of someone who knew how to manipulate people to their breaking point. But when his lips met hers again, when his hands explored her body with that same maddening confidence, she didn’t stop him.

It wasn’t always passion. Sometimes it was spite—her way of reclaiming control, of saying if you’re going to ruin me, I’ll ruin myself first. But even in those moments, when she swore she hated him, the thrill was undeniable.

The danger, the secrecy, the power struggle—it was intoxicating.

And that terrified her more than anything.

There were two races left of the season and she knew something was wrong the moment she walked into the paddock that morning. The usual buzz of race-day excitement was different—charged, oppressive. People stared as she passed, whispers trailing in her wake like a shadow.

Her heart raced. Her hands tightened around the strap of her bag, her chest heavy with dread.

When her phone vibrated in her pocket, she pulled it out with shaking fingers. There were dozens of notifications—texts, emails, missed calls. All from colleagues, her editor, even friends she hadn’t spoken to in years.

Then she saw the headlines.

SCANDAL IN THE PADDOCK: F1’s Most Powerful Journalist and the Rookie Star’s Illicit Affair!

Her breath caught in her throat. She clicked on one of the links, her vision blurring as the images loaded.

Her. In bed. Bare skin illuminated by dim light, her face unmistakable, her body tangled with Franco’s. Another photo of her standing by the window of a hotel room, wearing nothing but a robe that hung loosely off her shoulder. The intimacy, the vulnerability—it was all there for the world to see.

“Jesus Christ,” she whispered, her voice cracking as she stumbled into an empty corridor. Her stomach churned, the bile rising in her throat as she scrolled through image after image.

Her phone buzzed again, his name flashing on the screen.

She answered it with a shaking hand. “What the hell have you done?”

“Me?” Franco’s voice was sharp, defensive. “I didn’t do shit!”

“Oh, really?” she snapped, her voice rising. “Then explain why there are pictures of me all over the internet, pictures you took without my permission!”

“I didn’t leak them!” he growled, his frustration matching her fury. “My iCloud got hacked—this isn’t on me!”

“Not on you?” she spat, her hand tightening around the phone. “You took them, you kept them, and now my life is falling apart because of you!”

Her chest heaved as she paced the corridor, her free hand trembling as it raked through her hair. She felt like she was coming apart at the seams, every word from him only fuelling her rage.

“Look,” Franco said, his tone softening, “we’ll handle this. I’ll make a statement, say they’re fake or something—”

“Fake?” she interrupted, her laugh sharp and bitter. “Everyone knows they’re real. Do you have any idea what this is going to do to me? To my career? To my family?”

As if on cue, her phone buzzed again. This time, it was her husband.

Her stomach dropped. “I need to go,” she muttered, cutting him off before he could respond.

She answered the call, her voice weak. “Hi.”

There was silence on the other end, heavy and damning. Then came his voice, low and cold. “I saw the photos.”

She closed her eyes, her throat tightening. “I—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his tone sharp. “Don’t insult me by trying to explain. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“It wasn’t supposed to—”

“To what?” he snapped. “Get out? Be exposed? Do you think that makes it any better?”

Her hand gripped the edge of a table, her knuckles white. “Please,” she whispered. “Please don’t—”

“Don’t what? Let this affect the kids?” His voice cracked, fury giving way to something far more painful. “They saw the news, you know. They don’t understand it, but they saw. And I had to lie to them, to protect you. But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t let you see them right now.”

Her heart shattered. “You don’t mean that,” she whispered, tears blurring her vision.

“I do,” he said, his voice firm. “Until you sort this mess out, I don’t want them anywhere near you.”

The line went dead.

For a moment, she stood frozen, the phone still pressed to her ear. Then the weight of it all crashed down on her, and she let out a scream of pure rage, throwing the phone against the wall. It shattered, the pieces scattering across the floor like the fragments of her life.

Behind her, he stepped into the room. She hadn’t even noticed his arrival, but now he stood there, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed.

“Well,” Franco said, his tone light, almost mocking, “sounds like you had an eventful call.”

She turned on him, her eyes blazing. “Get out.”

“Let’s not be hasty,” he said, stepping closer. “I can help—”

“Help?” she snapped, her voice breaking. “You’ve done nothing but destroy me. My career, my family—everything’s ruined because of you!”

He stopped a few feet away, his expression shifting from smug to something colder. “You’re acting like I planned this,” he said evenly. “I told you, I didn’t leak those photos. Someone else did. But if you’d rather blame me, fine.”

Her fists clenched at her sides, her whole body trembling. “You don’t get it, do you? You’ve taken everything from me!”

“No,” he said softly, his eyes locking with hers. “You gave it to me.”

Her breath caught, the truth of his words hitting her like a punch to the gut.

Franco stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But don’t worry. You still have me. And maybe, just maybe, I’m all you’ll need now.”

Her stomach twisted, and for the first time, she realised just how deep she had sunk.

She didn’t even hear the door open as the next person walked in.

“Just the person I was looking for.”

The sound of her manager’s voice snapped her out of the suffocating silence. She turned to see him standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable but his posture rigid. Behind him, Franco straightened, the smug veneer slipping into something closer to indifference as he slid his hands into his pockets.

“Give us a moment,” her manager said curtly, glancing at Franco.

Franco tilted his head, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “Of course.” He brushed past her, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air. But not before he shot her a knowing look, one that made her blood boil.

When the door clicked shut behind him, her manager turned back to her. His face was pale, the lines around his mouth deeper than she remembered.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice trembling.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “We’ve done everything we can to mitigate the fallout, but the board has made their decision.”

She swallowed hard, her chest tightening. “What decision?”

He looked at her with something like pity. “You’re dismissed. Effective immediately.”

Her heart dropped. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m afraid I am.” His tone was calm, rehearsed, like he’d been preparing for this conversation for hours. “Your credentials are revoked. Your paddock pass has been deactivated. You’re no longer affiliated with the network.”

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“I made sure the hotel is covered until Monday,” he added, almost apologetically. “But after that…” He trailed off, his meaning clear.

She shook her head, her voice finally finding her. “You can’t do this. I’ve given everything to this job, to this sport—”

“And I know that,” he interrupted, his tone soft but firm. “But this scandal is bigger than you or me. The board doesn’t want to risk the network’s reputation, and frankly, neither do our sponsors.”

Her legs felt weak, her vision blurring with unshed tears. “So that’s it?” she whispered. “I’m just… done?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “I’m sorry.”

The words hung in the air like a death knell.

When he left, closing the door behind him with a quiet finality, her knees buckled. She sank to the floor, her hands trembling as the tears finally spilled over. Sobs wracked her body, raw and uncontrollable, the weight of everything crashing down on her at once.

Her career. Her family. Her dignity.

Gone.

She didn’t hear him come back in.

Franco’s voice broke through her sobs, low and measured. “Amore.”

She lifted her head, her vision blurred with tears. “Get out.”

Instead of leaving, he crouched in front of her, his eyes scanning her face. “You’re crying over them?” he asked, his voice laced with mockery. “Over people who turned their backs on you the second things got messy?”

Her jaw clenched, fury flaring through her grief. “This is your fault,” she hissed, her voice shaking. “You ruined me.”

Franco’s expression didn’t change. If anything, he looked almost… amused.

“Stop it,” she snapped, her hands curling into fists. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” he murmured, his tone infuriatingly calm.

“Like you own me.”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he reached out, his thumb brushing over her trembling lip. She flinched, but he didn’t pull back.

“Shhh,” he whispered, his touch lingering. “You’re spiralling, querida. And that’s not a good look for someone who needs to rebuild.”

Her breath hitched at the intimacy of his gesture, but her fury burned brighter. “I don’t need anything from you,” she spat.

“Don’t you?” he asked, tilting his head. His thumb traced the corner of her mouth, his smirk returning. “Because from where I’m standing, you don’t have anyone else.”

Her hands shot up, shoving his chest. “Get away from me.”

But he didn’t budge. His hands caught hers, holding them firmly but gently, his gaze locking with hers.

“I’ve got you now,” he said, his voice low and steady, the words cutting through her resistance like a blade. “And you’ll see soon enough—that’s not a bad thing.”

His confidence, his control—it was maddening, suffocating. Yet a tiny, treacherous part of her couldn’t deny the truth in his words.

She pulled her hands free, her voice breaking. “I hate you.”

He smiled, soft and infuriating. “No, you don’t.”

The tears fell harder, but this time she didn’t stop him when he pulled her into his arms.

And maybe that was the worst part of all.

By the time her flight landed in London on Monday, the storm of the past week felt like a distant roar, dulled but ever-present. The drive to her house was quiet, the cab driver offering polite silence, though she caught his occasional glance in the rear-view mirror. Her name had been plastered across headlines for days; even here, half a world away from the paddock, she couldn’t escape it.

The house came into view, the familiar brick façade standing as stoic as ever. But as the cab pulled to a stop, her heart sank.

Her husband was waiting at the gate.

He didn’t move as she stepped out of the car, her suitcase dragging behind her. The set of his jaw, the stiffness in his shoulders—it was all wrong. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat as she approached.

“I’m here to see the kids,” she said quietly, her voice tentative.

“You can’t,” he replied, his tone clipped.

She blinked, confusion laced with growing panic. “What do you mean, I can’t?”

He held up a manila envelope, the weight of it hanging heavily between them. “You’re being served.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She stared at the envelope, her breath catching.

“Divorce papers,” he clarified, his voice flat. “I don’t want you in this house. I don’t want you near the kids until this is sorted. Do you understand me?”

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “Please,” she whispered. “They’re my children—”

“They’re our children,” he interrupted harshly. “And I’m not going to let you drag them into this mess. You made your choice.”

Her hands trembled as she took the envelope. She wanted to scream, to beg, to fight, but the look in his eyes—cold, unyielding—stole the words from her.

“Don’t come back here,” he said, stepping back. “Not until this is over.”

And with that, he turned and walked inside, the door slamming shut behind him.

She stood there for what felt like an eternity, the envelope clutched in her hands, the weight of everything crashing down on her shoulders.

The hotel room she found last minute was sterile and impersonal, the kind of place meant for fleeting stays and forgettable nights. She dropped her suitcase by the door and collapsed onto the bed, her body heavy with exhaustion.

But sleep wouldn’t come.

Her phone buzzed incessantly, the onslaught of notifications a cruel reminder of her reality. Against her better judgement, she opened her browser.

The headlines were relentless: “Scandal Rocks F1: Rookie’s Affair with Veteran Journalist Exposed!”“Power Dynamics Questioned in F1 Affair—Who’s Really to Blame?”“F1 Reporter’s Career in Tatters After Shocking Scandal with Rising Star.”

Each article seemed worse than the last, painting her as a manipulative predator who had taken advantage of Franco’s naivety. The comments were even crueler, people calling her names she couldn’t bear to read twice.

She scrolled through social media, the vitriol stinging like acid. Every tweet, every post, every meme was a dagger to her already shattered sense of self.

But then she stumbled upon something different.

A Reddit thread, buried beneath the chaos, caught her attention: “Anyone else think this isn’t what it seems?”

She clicked on it, her heart pounding as she read the comments.

“I don’t buy it. Have you seen how cocky that rookie is? He’s been flirting with her on camera all season. She never encouraged it.”

“Right? She’s one of the best journalists in the sport. Why would she risk it all for him?”

“Exactly. Feels like he took advantage of her, especially with the way he’s spinning this in interviews. Classic power play.”

“And the leaked photos? Who even keeps that kind of stuff on their iCloud? Feels like he knew what he was doing.”

Her hands shook as she scrolled through the thread, her tears blurring the screen. For the first time, someone—strangers, no less—saw what she hadn’t dared to admit to herself.

Maybe this wasn’t entirely her fault.

But the small flicker of validation did little to ease the storm inside her. She closed the browser, tossing the phone onto the bed.

The room felt unbearably quiet, the weight of her isolation pressing down on her. She curled up on the bed, tears streaming down her face as exhaustion finally overtook her.

When she finally woke up the following morning, her face felt raw from all the tears and her bones stiff from the awkward position she slept in.

She wasn’t a day drinker really but somethings changed.

She sat on the edge of the hotel bed, her fingers hovering over the rim of a half-empty glass of wine. The muted glow of the TV cast long shadows across the room, the low hum of some mindless programme barely masking the oppressive silence when she heard the knock at the door, sharp and insistent.

Her heart leapt into her throat, dread gripping her. Franco? No. Not here. Surely he wouldn’t…

But the knock came again, firmer this time.

She stood slowly, tiptoeing to the door, her breath shallow. Peeking through the peephole, she exhaled in relief. It wasn’t him. It was— Ellie?

She hesitated, unsure of how to feel. Ellie, the young, bright journalist she’d taken under her wing years ago. She cracked the door open, her voice wary. “What are you doing here?”

Ellie offered a tentative smile, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her oversized coat. “Can I come in?”

She hesitated for a moment longer before stepping aside, allowing Ellie to enter.

“How did you know I was here?” she asked, shutting the door behind her.

Ellie turned, her expression cautious. “I went to your house. Your husband answered. He… mentioned you were here.”

She let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. “Of course, he did. Probably thought you’d come to gloat.”

“I’m not here to gloat,” Ellie said firmly, her voice tinged with something close to defiance. “I’m here because I wanted to talk to you.”

She crossed her arms, leaning against the wall. “Talk about what? How associating with me is going to get you fired?”

Ellie’s gaze softened. “I’m not going to get fired.”

“That’s naive.” she sighed, brushing a hand through her hair. “The network doesn’t want anything to do with me. You shouldn’t either.”

Ellie shook her head. “That’s not why I’m here. I came because… I don’t believe it. I don’t believe you seduced Franco. It doesn’t add up. I’ve worked with you. I know you.”

She blinked, her throat tightening as the weight of Ellie’s words sank in. It had been so long since anyone had spoken to her like that—with trust, with belief.

“I know you didn’t do this,” Ellie continued. “I think he’s the one who manipulated you.”

The tears came before she could stop them. She turned away, covering her mouth as a sob escaped.

Ellie stepped closer, her voice gentle. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you—”

“No,” she said, her voice trembling. “It’s not that. I just… no one’s said that to me. Everyone’s so quick to assume the worst.”

Ellie hesitated before placing a hand on her shoulder. “I know what kind of person you are. And it’s not too late to set the record straight.”

She let out a bitter laugh, wiping her eyes. “It is too late. My career’s in ruins. My family’s gone.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s over,” Ellie insisted. “We can fight back. Tell your side of the story.”

She turned to face her, scepticism etched across her face. “And how do you propose I do that? I’m a pariah.”

Ellie’s expression hardened, a flicker of determination in her eyes. “We go public. But not through the networks—they’re too invested in tearing you down. We do it ourselves. An exposé, a documentary, something raw and unfiltered. You’ve got a following. People will listen.”

She stared at the girl before her, the weight of the idea settling in. “You’d risk your career for this?”

Ellie shrugged. “You risked your reputation for me when no one else would give me a chance. I’m just returning the favour.”

The room fell silent, the air thick with unspoken possibilities. Hermind raced. She wanted to believe it was possible, that she could claw her way back from this abyss.

But doubt lingered.

“Ellie,” she whispered. “If we do this… he won’t just sit back and let it happen.”

Ellie’s jaw tightened. “Let him try. He’s already losing control of the narrative. People are starting to see through him. All we have to do is show the world the truth.”

For the first time in weeks, she felt a spark of something she thought she’d lost—hope.

“Okay,” she said finally, her voice steadying. “Let’s do it.”

Ellie returned to the hotel the next evening, her arms full—a compact camera, a tripod, a microphone, and a laptop. She looked almost nervous as she set everything up, her hands fumbling slightly with the equipment.

“This isn’t exactly the BBC studio,” Ellie joked weakly, glancing at her, who sat on the edge of the bed, clutching a glass of water for a change.

Her lips curved in a faint smile, but the tension in her posture was unmistakable. “It’s fine. Better this way. No filters, no edits. Just the truth.”

Ellie nodded, adjusting the tripod until the camera was level. She attached the microphone and tested the sound, her voice echoing softly in the quiet room.

“Right,” Ellie said, straightening. “Are you ready?”

She stared at the camera, her reflection distorted in the lens. She wasn’t sure if she was ready. But she had no choice.

“Let’s get this over with,” she murmured.

Ellie pressed record, the small red light blinking to life. She settled into the chair opposite her, the notebook resting on her lap.

“Right,” Ellie began, her tone measured and calm. “I know this is difficult, but I want you to tell me what happened. In your own words.”

She exhaled shakily, her gaze flickering to the camera before settling on Ellie. “At first, it was… flattering,” she said quietly. “Franco’s attention, I mean. He’s young, charming, confident. He made me feel… noticed.”

Ellie nodded, her expression encouraging.

“But it wasn’t just that,” she continued, her voice growing steadier. “He knew how to play the game. On camera, off camera—it was all calculated. I didn’t see it at first. I thought it was harmless, just a bit of flirtation. But then…” She hesitated, her hands tightening around the glass.

“Then what?” Ellie prompted gently.

She swallowed hard. “Then it became something I couldn’t control. He was in my hotel room every night. At first, I let him in because I didn’t want to cause a scene and I liked the attention. I thought if I played along, he’d lose interest. But he didn’t. He kept pushing, and I felt like… like I couldn’t say no.”

Her voice cracked, and she looked away, blinking rapidly.

Ellie leaned forward, her tone soft but insistent. “Why did you feel like you couldn’t say no?”

Her laugh was bitter. “Because he had power. Not the kind of power people think—the rookie versus the journalist. It wasn’t about status. It was… personal. Intimate. He knew things about me—about my family, my career, my weaknesses. He knew exactly how to use them against me.”

Ellie’s pen moved swiftly across her notebook, but her focus never wavered. “Did you ever feel like you could talk to someone about this? A colleague, your husband?”

“No.” her response was immediate, her voice sharp. “I didn’t think anyone would believe me. It’s Franco Colapinto. He’s—what do they call him? The golden rookie of F1? And me? I’m the woman twice his age who should’ve known better. Who would’ve believed me?”

Ellie nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. “But you’re speaking now. What changed?”

Her gaze met the camera, her eyes blazing with a mix of anger and determination. “Because I’m tired of being silent. Tired of being painted as the villain in a story I never wanted to be a part of.”

Ellie paused, letting the weight of her words settle before she spoke again. “What do you want people to take away from this?”

Her voice softened, but her resolve remained firm. “I want them to see the truth. I want them to understand that power doesn’t always look the way you think it does. And I want them to know that I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want this.”

Ellie nodded, closing her notebook and turning off the camera. “That was incredible. Thank you.”

She let out a shaky breath, her shoulders slumping. “I just hope it’s enough.”

Ellie reached over, placing a hand on her knee. “It will be. We’ll edit this tonight and get it out tomorrow. You’re taking back the narrative. This is your story now.”

True to her word, the next morning, she was sitting curled up on the hotel bed, her nerves frayed and her stomach in knots. The weight of last night’s confession still hung heavy in the room, and she hadn’t slept much. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the blinking red light of the camera, the words she’d spoken playing back in her head.

A knock at the door startled her, but when she peered through the peephole, relief washed over her. It was Ellie, holding two takeaway coffees and a determined expression.

She opened the door, and Ellie breezed in, setting the coffees down on the small table by the window. “Morning,” she said, glancing at her. “How are you holding up?”

She shrugged, wrapping her arms around herself. “I feel like I’m waiting to step on a landmine.”

Ellie gave her a reassuring smile, unpacking her laptop from her bag. “That’s normal. But trust me, you did the right thing.”

She nodded, though she didn’t entirely believe it.

Ellie set up the laptop, quickly uploading the edited video to her dormant personal YouTube channel where she once posted vlogs about being a journalist in Formula One. She added a brief caption: My Truth.

“Okay,” Ellie said, her voice steady. “Are you ready?”

She hesitated, her fingers hovering over the trackpad. “What if it makes things worse?”

Ellie reached over, placing a firm hand on her arm. “It won’t. You’re not alone in this. People will listen. People already are.”

With a deep breath, she clicked Post. The video went live.

For a moment, they just stared at the screen, the thumbnail of her weary but defiant face staring back at them. Ellie closed the laptop with a decisive snap.

“Now,” Ellie said, turning to her, “we wait.”

She nodded, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Her eyes filled with tears as the reality of what they’d done settled over her. She turned to Ellie, her voice breaking. “Thank you. For believing in me. For… for doing this when no one else would.”

Ellie smiled softly, pulling her into a warm hug. “You don’t have to thank me. You would’ve done the same for me.”

She held on tightly to the girl she’d once taken under her wing, her tears spilling freely now. “I just… I didn’t think anyone would ever believe me again.”

Ellie pulled back slightly, gripping her shoulders. “You’re stronger than you think. And this? This is just the beginning.”

The moment was interrupted by the shrill ring of her phone on the bedside table. Both women froze, their eyes darting to the device.

Her heart sank when she saw the name on the screen. Franco.

Her hand trembled as she reached for the phone, her thumb hovering over the decline button.

“Answer it,” Ellie said quietly. “You need to know what he’s going to do.”

She nodded, her throat tightening. She swiped to accept the call and brought the phone to her ear.

“Amore,” Franco’s voice drawled, smooth and infuriatingly calm. “I see you’ve been busy.”

Her stomach churned. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to congratulate you,” he said, his tone laced with mockery. “That little video of yours? Brave move. Stupid, but brave.”

She gritted her teeth, her grip tightening on the phone. “It’s the truth, Franco. Something you wouldn’t recognise if it slapped you in the face.”

He laughed, low and cold. “Oh, querida. You think you’ve won something here? All you’ve done is draw more attention to yourself. To us. Do you think people won’t pick apart every word you said? That they won’t find the cracks in your story?”

Her hand shook, but she forced herself to stand firm. “They’ll see through you, Franco. You can’t control this anymore.”

His voice dropped, dangerously soft. “We’ll see about that. But let me give you a little advice, free of charge—enjoy the calm while it lasts. Because this storm? It’s far from over.”

The line went dead.

She lowered the phone slowly, her chest heaving.

“What did he say?” Ellie asked, her voice cautious.

SHe turned to her, her jaw tight. “He’s scared. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

Ellie gave a grim nod. “Good. Let him be scared. We’ve got more than the truth on our side now. We’ve got momentum.”

She sank onto the bed, her pulse racing. The fear was still there, coiling in her gut like a snake, but alongside it was something new. A flicker of hope.

For the first time in weeks, she felt like she wasn’t fighting this battle alone.

taglist: @waytooobsessedwithlife @maxivstappen @heli991113

[planetherk]

NO TIME TO DIE PT.3 | OP81

an: lando my sweetboy, what can i say

summary: a continuation of the skyfall series, following a peaceful few months away from the world they were so used to, they were found again. this time neither of them knew what could happen.

wc: 10k

warnings: mentions of death, comas

part one | part two |

The dim light of the safe house barely penetrated the heavy curtains, casting long shadows across the room. She sat at the small kitchen table, her hands wrapped around a lukewarm cup of coffee, the bitter taste grounding her as her thoughts swirled in chaos. Each tick of the clock seemed to echo the weight of the past week—the long, agonising days spent waiting, hoping, and working tirelessly to bring Oscar back.

After the incident in the medical room, the team had kept Oscar under close observation, sedating him whenever necessary, but he was still trapped within the confines of his mind, the programming deeply embedded. Every time she thought of him, her heart would clench with pain; she could still see the look in his eyes when he had attacked her, the absence of recognition, the fear that he might never return to her.

The door swung open, and Lewis entered, looking worn but determined. He had been working with George and Toto, analysing everything they could about Oscar’s condition, desperate to find a way to reverse the effects of the conditioning.

“Hey,” he said softly, taking a seat across from her. “How are you holding up?”

She shrugged, not trusting herself to speak. The truth was, she was hanging by a thread. Each day felt like a battle against despair, but she refused to give in. Not now, not when Oscar needed her the most.

“We’re making progress,” Lewis continued, his voice steady. “Toto and George are looking into a more effective way to reverse the programming. But it’ll take time. We can’t rush this.”

She nodded, forcing a smile. “I know. I just… I want him back. I hate seeing him like this.”

Lewis leaned forward, concern etched across his features. “We all do. But pushing too hard could do more harm than good. You need to take care of yourself, too.”

“I can’t think about myself right now,” she replied, her voice stronger than she felt. “Not while he’s… stuck.”

Lewis sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I get it. But we can’t afford to lose you, either. You’re going to need your strength for whatever comes next.”

She leaned back in her chair, staring at the table. “Next? What’s next? More waiting? More hoping? What if he never comes back to us?”

“Don’t think like that,” Lewis urged, his voice firm. “We’re working on a plan, and we’ll do everything we can to bring him back. Just hold on to that hope a little longer.”

Before she could respond, George entered the room, his expression serious. “We need to talk. Toto has some new intel about Zak’s operations. It might give us an advantage.”

She straightened, her heart racing at the mention of Zak. “What is it?”

“He’s planning a shipment of high-tech weapons,” George explained, his eyes scanning the room as if checking for eavesdroppers. “We think it’s happening soon, and it might be our best opportunity to gather intel. But we’ll have to split up. It’s dangerous.”

Her heart sank at the thought of more danger, but she also felt a surge of adrenaline. “We can’t let Zak continue this. We need to take him down.”

“Exactly,” Lewis chimed in. “But we need to approach this carefully. The last thing we want is to put ourselves at risk—especially with Oscar still recovering.”

As they discussed their strategy, she couldn’t shake the feeling that if they could dismantle Zak’s operation, it might create a distraction that would give her the chance to work on Oscar’s recovery in the chaos.

“Can we use the mission as a diversion?” she suggested, her voice rising with excitement. “If we can draw attention away from him, maybe I can slip in and try to get to him while everyone’s busy.”

Lewis and George exchanged uncertain looks. “It’s risky,” George warned. “What Zak kills you on sight?”

“I have to try,” she insisted, her heart racing with determination. “I can’t just sit here. I need to do something.”

“Okay, but we’ll need a solid plan,” Lewis replied, placing a hand on hers. “We’ll help you, but promise us you’ll be careful.”

She nodded, a newfound resolve swelling within her. “I promise.”

As night fell, they gathered to finalise their plans in the safe house’s dimly lit living room. Maps and blueprints were spread out on the table, the atmosphere charged with urgency.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” Toto said, his voice commanding. “We’ll split into two teams. One will create a distraction near Zak’s main facility while the other infiltrates to gather intel. If things go south, we need to be able to regroup quickly.”

She listened intently, her mind racing with the possibilities. But the thought of Oscar still weighed heavily on her.

“Where will Oscar be during this?” she finally asked, her voice steady despite the anxiety gnawing at her.

Toto glanced at her, his expression conflicted. “We’ll keep him under guard in the safe house. It’s the safest place for him right now.”

“Safe?” she echoed incredulously. “You’re planning to put him in a place where he can wake up and not know what’s happening? I can’t let that happen. I can’t risk him being left alone with guards who don’t understand his situation.”

“We need to prioritise the mission,” Toto countered, his voice firm. “If we’re successful, we can deal with Oscar afterward.”

“Afterward?” she repeated, her voice rising in disbelief. “No, I won’t let you do that. I won’t leave him behind.”

Toto sighed, rubbing his temples as if fighting a headache. “You’re being irrational. This is about strategy, not emotions. We need to be practical.”

“I’m being practical! If I’m there when he wakes up, he’ll have a better chance of recognising me. I can help him. I can talk him through this.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but Lewis stepped in, holding up a hand. “Toto, what if you stay? He knows you and we’re more than capable of holding our own.”

Toto looked at the three of them and settled his gaze on her knowing her mind wouldn’t change. Looking down at the map one more time, he took a deep breath. “Fine.”

That night, as the team prepped for their roles, she felt a mix of nerves and anticipation. Lewis and George would be part of the distraction team, while she would go in and deal with Zak herself

The boat rocked gently on the dark water, the soft lapping of the waves a deceptive contrast to the electric tension in the air. She stood at the helm, the moon casting silver reflections across the surface, illuminating the night just enough to see her own breath. This was no ordinary mission; this was a high-stakes operation that could bring down one of the most dangerous figures in their world—Zak.

As she crept through the dimly lit cabin, her senses were heightened, attuned to every sound—the hum of machinery, the distant chatter of crew members, the echo of her own heartbeat. She felt the weight of her team’s hopes resting on her shoulders. After everything they had been through, she was determined to see this through.

Turning a corner, she was startled to find Lando standing there, leaning casually against the wall, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He raised a finger to his lips in a silencing gesture, an unexpected and unsettling calm radiating from him.

“Lando,” she whispered, confusion washing over her. “What are you doing here?”

He merely smirked, his expression enigmatic. Then, without a word, he stepped aside, allowing her to pass. She hesitated, caught between instinct and curiosity. She had no idea why he let her pass so simply. But time was short, and she couldn’t afford to dwell on the oddity of his actions.

Pushing the encounter from her mind, she focused on the task ahead. The path narrowed as she moved deeper into the boat, dim lights flickering overhead. The air felt charged with anticipation, her pulse quickening with each step she took.

Finally, she found the room she had been searching for—a cramped space at the rear of the vessel, where Zak was likely plotting his next move. She took a deep breath, steeling herself before pushing the door open.

The sight that met her eyes sent a chill down her spine. Zak stood at a table littered with blueprints, maps, and weapon schematics. His back was turned, but she could sense his self-satisfied energy, as if he knew he was always a step ahead.

“Zak,” she called out, her voice echoing off the walls, strong yet laced with anger.

He turned slowly, a calculating smile creeping across his face. “Ah, the brave little spy has come to face me. I was wondering when you’d find your way here.”

“What have you done?” she demanded, her voice rising with indignation. “Your operation is over. I’m not letting you escape this time.”

“Escape?” He chuckled softly, a sound that grated on her nerves. “You don’t understand, do you? This is just the beginning. I’ve built something bigger than you can imagine. You’re just a pawn in a game far beyond your comprehension.”

“You’re delusional,” she spat back, fists clenched at her sides. “You’re hurting people. This needs to end.”

Zak stepped closer, his expression shifting from amusement to a cold menace. “And what makes you think you have the power to stop me? I control everything now.”

She held her ground, feeling a rush of adrenaline. “I’m not afraid of you, Zak. I came here to finish this.”

Suddenly, there was a deafening bang that shattered the tension in the room, shattering the glass. Zak staggered back, eyes wide with shock, his hands instinctively reaching for his chest.

“Wha—” he gasped, confusion etched on his face. Then he crumpled forward, crashing onto the table, knocking over the maps that had guided him for so long.

“What the hell?” she breathed, her heart racing as disbelief washed over her.

But before she could react, she glanced out the now shattered window and felt her stomach drop. There, standing in the shadows, was Lando—his rifle aimed precisely at Zak’s fallen form. The realisation hit her like a punch to the gut.

“Lando!” she shouted.

He straightened from his position, rifle still smoking. With an almost theatrical flair, he saluted her, a grin spreading across his face. The light flickered, casting eerie shadows on his features. Then, without warning, he toppled backward off the edge of the boat, disappearing into the inky black water below.

“No!” she screamed, rushing to the edge, dread pooling in her stomach. The chaotic swirl of emotions made her head spin. “What just happened?”

As her mind struggled to process the events, she looked back at Zak's body, the horror of his lifeless form sinking in. Why had Lando done that? Was this part of some twisted plan?

Her comms crackled to life, Lewis’s urgent voice breaking through her shock. “What’s happening? Report!”

“Lando shot Zak!” she shouted into the device, her voice trembling with disbelief. “He’s dead! But Lando—he’s gone. He just fell into the water.”

“Get out of there! We’re coming to you!” Lewis ordered, urgency evident in his tone.

The room felt like it was closing in on her, the weight of the moment settling heavily on her chest. She turned her gaze back to the water, her heart racing. Was Lando really gone? What was happening? The implications of Zak’s death and Lando’s actions churned in her mind, a whirlwind of confusion and dread.

“Copy that,” she said, trying to sound steady. “I’m moving out.”

As she retreated from the room, adrenaline surged through her veins. She had to escape, to regroup with her team, and to figure out what had just transpired. She dashed down the narrow corridor, her footsteps echoing in the silence.

Panic surged as she made her way toward the exit, the weight of what had just occurred pushing down on her. She had lost Zak, but what had Lando’s actions meant for her?

Just as she reached the exit, an alarm blared through the boat, red lights flashing ominously. Her heart raced. They knew she was there. The mission had been compromised.

Rushing onto the deck, she scanned the horizon, looking for her team. In the distance, she could see the faint outlines of their boat approaching, but she needed to buy herself time.

Suddenly, gunfire erupted from behind her, bullets whizzing past as she ducked for cover. Her instincts kicked in, and she moved swiftly along the edge of the boat, using the crates as shields. The chaos surrounding her felt surreal, the adrenaline surging with each heartbeat.

“Stay low!” she shouted into her comms as she crouched behind a crate. “I’m pinned down!”

“On our way!” Lewis replied, his voice steady despite the situation.

She could see shadows moving on the deck, agents sent to intercept her. They were closing in fast, and she knew she had to make a choice.

Drawing a deep breath, she steadied herself and sprinted toward the railing. With a leap, she dove into the water, plunging beneath the surface, hoping to evade her pursuers. The cold enveloped her, and she kicked hard, propelling herself away from the boat, desperate to reach the safety of her team.

Surfacing, she gasped for air, her heart pounding. The distant lights of their boat flickered like stars in the darkness, a beacon of hope. As she swam toward it, her mind raced with questions.

What had Lando’s actions meant? Why had he let her go? Was he playing a double game, or was there something more complex at work?

When she finally reached the side of the boat, hands gripping the edge, she hoisted herself up, gasping for breath as she clambered aboard. Lewis and George were waiting for her, concern etched on their faces.

“What happened?” Lewis demanded, urgency in his tone.

“Zak’s dead. Lando shot him,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “But I don’t know why he did it. He just… vanished into the water.”

George exchanged a glance with Lewis, confusion evident. “And you’re sure he’s gone?”

“I saw him fall,” she insisted, a knot tightening in her stomach. “But why? What was his plan?”

“First things first, we need to regroup,” Lewis said, glancing back toward the now-quiet boat. “We need to figure out what just happened and how we’re going to deal with the fallout.”

“What if he’s not dead?” she muttered, her mind racing with possibilities. “What if this was all part of his game?”

Lewis shook his head. “We can’t think like that. We need to focus on what we do know: Zak is out of the picture, and that’s one less threat we have to worry about.”

“Let’s get back to the safe house,” she said, determination settling in her chest. “We need to figure out our next move.”

As the boat sped away from the scene of chaos, its engine roared as they made their way back to the safe house. The atmosphere was tense, filled with the unspoken questions swirling among the team. She leaned against the side of the boat, heart still racing as she tried to piece together the fragments of what had just happened. One thing was sure.

Shit just got complicated.

“Do you think Lando was playing us?” George asked, his brow furrowed. “Or was this all a setup?”

Lewis shook his head, clearly frustrated. “We need to focus on Zak’s death for now. If Lando shot him, it changes everything. We need to report to Toto. He’ll know how to handle this.”

As they arrived at the safe house, a modest cabin tucked away in the woods, the familiar scent of pine mingled with the anxiety that hung thick in the air. She stepped inside, scanning the room, her heart still heavy with uncertainty.

Toto was already there, pacing back and forth, the shadows dancing across his worried face. “What the hell happened out there?” he demanded as soon as they entered, his eyes narrowing at her.

“Zak is dead,” she said, voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “But Lando—he shot him and then just… disappeared. I have no idea why he let me go.”

“Disappeared?” Toto echoed, disbelief flashing in his eyes. “Lando is a loose cannon. He shouldn’t have been there in the first place! He’s always been unpredictable, but now this?”

Lewis stepped forward, urgency evident in his tone. “He shot Zak, but we have no idea where he is or what he’s planning. We need to find him before he decides to make another move.”

“Lando has always seemed to have his own agenda,” Toto said, running a hand through his hair, frustration mounting. “I’ll contact our sources. We need to know if he’s gone rogue or if he’s working with us.”

She felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. What if Lando was working with them? What if he had a plan of his own?

Before anyone could respond, Lewis opened the door to the kitchen, all heads turned to the sound they heard, guns instinctively drawn.

But what they saw stopped them cold.

Lando sat casually at the table in his tactical gear, hair wet, legs swinging like a child’s, a half-eaten biscuit in his hand. He looked utterly relaxed, a stark contrast to the chaos of the past few hours.

“I really thought you were better at this,” he said with a playful smirk, taking another bite of his biscuit.

“Lando!” she exclaimed, shock mixing with anger. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

In an instant, all of them had their weapons trained on him, fingers hovering over triggers. Toto’s eyes were wide with disbelief. “You shouldn’t be here. We thought you were—”

“Dead?” Lando interjected, chuckling softly as he raised his hands in mock surrender. “No need for any of that.” He leaned back slightly, his expression shifting to something more serious. “I come with the antidote.”

“Antidote?” Lewis echoed, still aiming his gun at Lando. “What are you talking about?”

“For Zak’s plan,” Lando replied, the lightheartedness fading from his voice. “I knew he had something cooking up—something dangerous that would have put all of you at risk if you hadn’t stopped him. I just didn’t think you’d be this reckless in the process.”

“Reckless?” she snapped, frustration boiling over. “You shot him! What’s your angle?”

Lando shrugged, still relaxed. “I didn’t want him to have the chance to activate whatever he had in place. That’s where the antidote comes in. I’ve got the means to reverse his effects—he had plans for you, you know. Something that could’ve turned you into a puppet for him.”

The room fell silent, confusion mingling with curiosity. She could see doubt flickering in Toto’s eyes, and it was clear that Lando’s presence had thrown them all off balance.

“What do you mean?” Toto finally asked, lowering his gun slightly, though still on guard.

“Zak had an entire operation designed to brainwash agents,” Lando explained, his tone now grave. “You wouldn’t have even known you were under his control. I had to take him out before he could flip the switch.”

“Why should we trust you?” she challenged, her heart racing. “You’ve been a wildcard this entire time.”

Lando sighed, clearly exasperated. “Because I’ve saved your asses. Zak was a threat, but he wasn’t the only one. I couldn’t let you fall into his trap. If you think I’m playing both sides, then fine. But I’m here to help, whether you believe it or not.”

“What’s the antidote?” Lewis asked, scepticism still evident in his voice but curiosity piqued.

Lando leaned forward, his eyes locking onto hers. “I’ve got the formula, and I need your help to distribute it to the right people. We need to move quickly. The longer we wait, the more dangerous this gets.”

She exchanged glances with her teammates, weighing their options. Could they trust him?

Finally, Toto nodded, his decision made. “Alright, let’s hear what you have to say. But know this, Lando: one wrong move, and we won’t hesitate to take you down.”

With that, Lando leaned back, a hint of a grin returning to his face. “Now that’s more like it. Let’s get to work.”

As the tension in the room began to ease, she felt a flicker of hope. They might have lost Zak, but if Lando was telling the truth, they had a chance to stop whatever he had planned next. The stakes were high, and the clock was ticking.

“Let’s get the details sorted,” she said, determination flooding her voice. “We need to be ready for anything.”

As they gathered around the table, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of a much larger game—a game that would test their loyalties and strength in ways they had never imagined.

The antidote was handed off to the medics without hesitation, each of them glancing nervously at Toto before they hurried to Oscar’s room. The atmosphere was taut as a wire as the team waited, tension thick in the air. She stood by the door, her eyes following the medics as they prepared the injection.

“You have 100% faith this will work?” she asked Lando, voice low but seething with barely contained anger.

Lando looked back at her, his face unusually serious. “Yes,” he said firmly. “It will help him. I’ve seen it work before. Everyone has their own reaction, but it works.”

Before she could respond, one of the medics announced, “Administering the antidote.” They pressed the syringe into Oscar’s arm, and the room fell into a charged silence. Every eye was on him, watching for any sign of change. For a moment, nothing happened.

And then, in an instant, Oscar convulsed, his body seizing with such violence it took two of the medics to hold him down. His eyes were squeezed shut, his face contorted in pain as they tried to steady him. She felt her heart drop, terror racing through her as he gasped, choking on his own breath.

“What’s happening?” she demanded, her voice rising in panic. “Is this supposed to happen?”

“We don’t know yet,” one of the medics muttered, beads of sweat forming on his brow as he worked. But before anyone could say more, Oscar’s body stilled, and he sank back against the bed, his chest barely moving. The heart monitor next to him let out a slow, irregular beep.

One of the medics shook his head, looking at her with pity. “He’s slipped into a coma.”

The words were a punch to the gut. She turned to Lando, fury blazing in her eyes. “A coma?” she spat, stepping forward, fists clenched. “This was your cure? This was your help?”

Lando started to speak, but she didn’t let him finish. Rage overtaking her, she swung her fist at him, landing a blow against his jaw. He stumbled back, and she followed, pushing him against the wall as she fought the urge to keep swinging.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” she shouted, voice cracking as her hand trembled. “You said you had the answer. You swore this was the cure!”

Lando looked up at her, hand to his bruised jaw, eyes narrowed with frustration. “It is the antidote! I’m sure of it. He’s not in danger; his body just needs time to adjust—”

“Time to adjust?” she cut in, practically trembling with fury. “You said it would help him, and now he’s comatose!”

Lando’s jaw tightened as he straightened up, his expression a mix of frustration and desperation. “I didn’t want this any more than you did!” he snapped, his voice rising to match hers. “Do you think I’d go through all this just to hurt him? You’re not the only one who cares about him, you know. He’s my friend too! I’ve sabotaged my entire career, my life, over him too.”

She felt her anger falter, replaced by a raw, painful mix of confusion and disbelief. “You… what?”

Lando looked away, exhaling harshly as he struggled to control his emotions. “I did this because he matters to me,” he said, voice thick with a sincerity she hadn’t seen in him before. “I’ve been one step ahead of Zak because I knew the only way to keep him safe was to take control. I wouldn’t risk him for anything.”

She searched his face, looking for any hint of deception, but all she saw was a bitter sort of pain. Her anger cooled slightly, replaced by a tense, uneasy silence.

“Then prove it,” she finally said, voice low. “If you really care, you’ll stay by his side until he wakes up, and you’ll take responsibility for what happens if he doesn’t.”

Lando nodded, his expression resolute. “I’ll stay. And he will wake up. I promise you that.”

She held his gaze for a moment longer, then turned away, feeling her pulse gradually steady as the anger drained from her. Whether or not she believed him, there was nothing she could do now except wait—and hope that Lando’s gamble was worth the risk.

The room fell silent as the medics continued their work, each of them carefully monitoring Oscar’s every breath.

She left the medical room, her body feeling heavy and her mind whirling from the past hour. Pausing just outside, she glanced back through the small window in the door. Lando had positioned himself on the floor beside Oscar’s bed, his back against the wall, legs pulled up, and his face buried in his hands. The cocky edge he usually carried was gone, replaced by something sombre and unguarded.

With a heavy sigh, she continued down the hall to the main briefing room, where Toto, George, and Lewis were waiting, eyes filled with concern. She took a moment to steady herself before joining them.

Toto was the first to speak. “How’s Oscar?”

“In a coma,” she said, feeling the weight of each word. “The medics are watching him, but… we don’t know when he’ll wake up. Or even if he’ll fully come back.”

Toto’s jaw tightened as he took in the news. “And Lando? You still trust his story?”

She folded her arms, unsure of her own answer. “He’s… by Oscar’s side. Says he cares about him, and that everything he did was to protect him. I don’t know if I believe him, but…” Her voice faltered. “I think he’s telling the truth.”

Lewis scratched his chin, considering this. “Well, we’ve seen Lando’s loyalty to Oscar firsthand. He’s one hell of a sniper and kept Zak off our backs tonight.”

She shot him a look, her expression incredulous. “You’re not saying he should become one of us, are you?”

Lewis shrugged. “He’s burned all his other bridges. And he’s already risked his own career to keep Oscar alive. The question is whether we can use his skills and if he’d even be willing.”

George nodded, though he seemed more hesitant. “He’s ruined all his other chances trying to save Oscar. We don’t have many people with that kind of dedication. He might be reckless, but he’s got guts.”

Toto looked thoughtful, weighing their arguments. His gaze lingered on her, as though searching her face for a decision she hadn’t yet made. “If we bring him in, we’d be responsible for him,” he said finally. “You’ve seen more of him than the rest of us. What’s your call?”

She hesitated, the weight of the choice settling over her. Lando’s decision to shoot Zak had saved their lives tonight. He’d turned his back on everything for Oscar’s sake, yet the damage he’d caused left her conflicted.

“We don’t know what he’s planning,” she said carefully. “If he’s willing to share what he knows, and if he proves he’s in this for the right reasons…” She trailed off, glancing back in the direction of Oscar’s room. “Maybe we give him a shot. But only if he earns it.”

Toto nodded, folding his hands as if he’d expected her answer. “Then we’ll keep him close for now. If he wants to help, he’ll follow our rules and go through our training. But the minute he shows any hint of crossing us…”

“We take him out,” George finished with a grim nod.

She glanced one last time toward the hallway, an odd sense of foreboding mixed with the lingering weight of relief. Lando had put them all at risk, but if he truly wanted redemption—and if he could deliver on his promise to save Oscar—maybe they could turn his loyalty to their side.

Lewis’ voice broke her train of thought. “So, what’s next, then? We wait on Oscar’s recovery, and keep an eye on our new ‘ally’?”

“Keep him close,” Toto agreed. “Get him familiar with the team’s layout, but don’t let him see the real intel until we’re sure. And if he even thinks about double-crossing us, we don’t hesitate.”

As they spoke, she caught George’s eye. He gave a slight nod, something between caution and reassurance, and she realised the others had reached the same uneasy compromise she had.

Just then, a door down the hall creaked open. Lando emerged, looking worn and strangely vulnerable, as if he had left a part of his hardened exterior back in the room with Oscar. He glanced around and spotted them in the briefing room, his expression unreadable. For a moment, they all stood in silence, tension thickening the air once again.

She stepped forward, arms crossed, and met his gaze. “Lando. Toto has decided to give you a chance. But let me be clear: this is a test. You’re only here because you saved our lives tonight. But if you put us in jeopardy again, you won’t get another chance.”

Lando nodded, his eyes momentarily flickering with relief. “I understand,” he said simply, hands at his sides, an unusual openness in his demeanour.

Toto gestured toward a chair by the door, his voice sharp. “Sit down, Lando. I want to hear exactly what you know—no edits, no omissions. Start with Zak’s plans, and leave nothing out.”

Lando took the chair, leaned forward, and clasped his hands together, his gaze unwavering. “With Zak gone, a scramble will start. His lieutenants are already positioning themselves to take over. There’s a handful who have been waiting for an opportunity like this. If they consolidate control, they could be more dangerous than Zak ever was.”

Her interest piqued as she listened, nodding to herself as pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. “So we cut them off before they can regroup?”

“Exactly,” Lando replied, meeting her gaze. “One of his top lieutenants is already planning to take over. A man named Andrea Stella—he’s ruthless and has been at Zak’s side for years. If he consolidates Zak’s power base, we’ll be dealing with a much bigger threat.”

Toto considered this, a gleam of determination in his eye. “Then Andrea is our target. We dismantle what’s left of Zak’s network from the inside, starting with the lieutenants.”

Lewis cracked his knuckles, a glint of excitement sparking in his eyes. “Finally, something straightforward. Cut off the heads, and the body will fall.”

George chimed in, more cautious. “But Andrea will have protection, likely Zak’s best operatives. We need a plan that uses every bit of Lando’s intel.”

Toto nodded in agreement, looking at Lando with an expectant gaze. “This is your chance to prove yourself, Lando. You know Zak’s people better than any of us. Map out Andrea’s assets, his known allies, and his weaknesses.”

Lando nodded, already reaching for a piece of paper. “Andrea has two primary safehouses, one in Berlin and one in Prague. The Berlin safehouse is easier to access—it’s where he keeps his logistics team. The one in Prague… that’s where he’ll go if he’s expecting trouble. It’s more fortified.”

Toto looked back to the team, his expression resolute. “You have your targets. We’ll split into two groups—one to hit Berlin and disrupt Andrea’s logistics, the other to prepare for Prague in case he tries to make a run for it.”

She nodded, adrenaline beginning to stir. The mission had just taken on a new level of intensity, with Zak’s death opening up opportunities for both freedom and danger. Her mind flashed briefly to Oscar’s room, where he lay unmoving.

But if they dismantled Andrea’s power structure, Oscar’s chances of waking up to a world without Zak’s shadow grew that much stronger.

“Alright,” she said, sharing a determined glance with her teammates. “We’re doing this. Let’s finish what Zak started and make sure no one takes his place.”

PRAGUE - TWO NIGHTS LATER 

The night air was sharp on the rooftop in Prague, the glow of city lights casting a soft haze over the streets below. She sat next to Lando, both watching the entrance of Andrea’s safehouse across the way. Silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the distant sounds of traffic and a lone dog barking. They’d been up here for hours, waiting for signs of movement, waiting for Andrea to show.

As the minutes dragged on, she glanced over at Lando. His face was unusually still, a hardness settled in his eyes that seemed more complex than the usual determination of a mission. She thought back to the last few days, how he’d lingered by Oscar’s side, how he’d gone against everything to bring the antidote, even at the risk of his own life. It gnawed at her, how little she really knew about him, and before she could stop herself, the words slipped out.

“Why’d you do it? Betray Zak, go against your own orders…risk everything?”

Lando didn’t answer right away. He kept his gaze on the street below, then let out a quiet sigh, as if the question had settled into him, forcing out an old wound he’d long since hidden. Finally, he spoke.

“Oscar and I… we came into this at the same time. We were both eleven when we met Zak. They don’t usually bring kids into this life that young, but we weren’t typical recruits. Came from broken homes, no family, no stability. We were Zak’s new toys. The latest in his collection. We listened, we obeyed…we did it all.”

She felt a pang of something—sympathy, anger, a sense of understanding she hadn’t expected. Zak had taken them so young, so vulnerable, moulding them into tools, spies with no choice but to follow his orders.

Unlike her, she had a choice and she took it at 18.

She wanted to say something but stayed silent, knowing he had more to tell.

“Oscar looked after me,” Lando continued, his voice quieter now. “I was older, but he always… protected me, in a way. On the days I screwed up and wasn’t allowed dinner, he’d sneak half his plate my way. Stubborn kid,” he added with a half-smile. “No matter how much I told him to take care of himself first, he just… wouldn’t. He thought of me as family, and…well, that changed everything.”

She was taken aback, her mind spinning as she pieced together the full weight of what Oscar had meant to Lando. Oscar had never spoken of this side of his past—of how he’d been moulded, of the sacrifices he’d made, even as a child. And here was Lando, older, colder, but quietly haunted by a loyalty that ran so deep it had shaped his entire life.

“What Zak did to us,” Lando continued, his voice rougher now, “I don’t think you can ever walk away from that. Not completely. But Oscar… he still found a way to be good. To care. He wanted a way out for both of us, even before we knew there was one.”

She felt something sharp twist inside her chest. Suddenly, Lando’s actions—the betrayal, the risks he’d taken to bring Oscar back—made sense in a way she couldn’t have imagined. To Lando, saving Oscar was more than just about loyalty; it was about holding onto the one piece of humanity he still had left.

She swallowed, her voice barely a whisper. “I never realised it meant that much to you.”

Lando shrugged, the hardened expression slipping back into place, but she caught the brief flicker of vulnerability. “Oscar was the only real family I had. He’s the only person I’d risk this much for. And now… with Zak gone, maybe it means he’ll finally get the freedom he’s wanted all his life.”

They fell into silence again, but it was heavier, fuller now. She felt her own loyalty to Oscar deepen, if that were possible, understanding how he’d shaped not only her but also those around him.

Just then, a light flickered across the way, snapping them back to the mission. Andrea was moving through the entrance, surrounded by bodyguards. Their momentary reprieve was over.

Lando straightened, pulling out his weapon, a renewed determination in his eyes. “We’ll do this, and make sure Zak’s legacy dies with Andrea.”

She took a steadying breath, nodding as her focus sharpened. “Alright. We’re doing this.”

She hesitated, looking at Lando, the weight of their conversation pressing against her chest. After a pause, she reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "You deserve to be happy too, you know. After everything Zak put you through… you deserve a chance to live your own life."

Lando gave a small, almost sad smile, the kind that made her heart ache. “I’ll be happy once you and Oscar get your lives back. That’s the least he deserves. I owe him that much… maybe more.”

Before she could respond, a shadow moved near the safehouse door, and they both tensed, their hands instinctively going to their weapons.

“Alright,” he murmured, glancing down through the scope on his rifle. “That’s Andrea’s main man, he’s going in. Andrea is coming around. You go down there, hold his attention. Give me a clear shot, and I’ll handle the rest.”

She nodded, steadying herself, and slipped off the rooftop, making her way down to street level. Every step forward tightened the knot in her stomach, but the memory of Oscar—and now Lando’s story—pushed her forward. Andrea was the last piece of Zak’s empire that could threaten them, and she was ready to end it.

When she stepped into the dimly lit alley beside the safehouse, Andrea was waiting, his face flickering with recognition.

“You,” he sneered, his voice low and threatening. “I should have known they’d send you.”

Feigning a smirk, she held his gaze, keeping her tone casual. “What can I say? Some of us are harder to kill than others.”

Andrea chuckled, stepping closer, his eyes narrowing as he sized her up. She could almost feel Lando’s crosshairs tracing Andrea’s movements from above. She just had to keep Andrea talking, keep his attention on her.

“I know you’re alone,” he said, voice full of confidence. “You think you’re clever, but you’re just a desperate little soldier without a leader now. And Zak’s network? It’s not going anywhere. There will always be someone else to fill his shoes.”

“Really?” she shot back, a calmness washing over her. “Because from where I stand, the empire you’re trying to build looks a lot like a house of cards. One wrong move, and it’ll come crashing down. Starting with you.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but in that instant, she saw his expression change, his eyes widening slightly. She felt the tension in the air, braced herself—and then the shot rang out.

Andrea dropped, a clean, decisive shot to the head. She looked up, catching a brief flash of movement as Lando lowered his rifle, nodding toward her from the rooftop.

Taking a deep breath, she spoke into her earpiece. “Target down. Andrea is gone. Let’s get out of here.”

Lando joined her a few moments later, his face calm but resolute. She caught his eye, a shared look of relief passing between them.

“It’s over,” he said quietly. For the first time, she saw a glimmer of something lighter, something like hope, in his expression.

She let the words sink in, a strange mix of relief and disbelief washing over her. “It really is, isn’t it?” she murmured, more to herself than to Lando. The empire Zak built, the one that had stolen her life, Oscar’s life, even Lando’s—finally, it was over.

They slipped through the shadows of the narrow Prague alleyways, leaving Andrea’s safehouse and the remnants of Zak’s power crumbling behind them before someone saw them. As they neared the extraction point, the silence between them grew heavier with unspoken thoughts, both of them reflecting on what lay ahead.

Once they reached the dimly lit side street where their car waited, Lando slowed his pace, his gaze distant.

“Do you think…” he began, then stopped, shaking his head slightly. “Do you think Oscar will be able to let this all go? After everything?”

She took a deep breath, thinking about the man she’d loved and the ways Zak had shaped him, twisting his loyalty and kindness into a weapon. But Lando was right; there was still a part of Oscar that had always hoped, always wanted something more. She smiled faintly.

“If anyone can, it’s him. He’s been through hell and still kept his heart intact.” She looked up at Lando. “But that goes for you, too.”

Lando chuckled softly, shaking his head as he opened the car door for her. “I think I lost my heart a long time ago,” he said with a smirk, but she caught the flicker of doubt in his eyes, a vulnerability that had been stripped bare over years of loyalty and sacrifice.

She turned to him, her gaze unwavering. “Maybe. But you just put yourself on the line to save someone you care about. That’s not something a heartless person does.”

Lando considered her words, giving a small, reluctant nod as he settled into the driver’s seat and started the engine. The car rumbled to life, and they pulled out onto the narrow, winding roads of Prague, slipping through the quiet city as it slept.

The weight of Andrea’s death, of the mission’s success, lingered in the air between them as they drove, each lost in their own thoughts. She watched the cityscape slip by, mind drifting to the future—one that felt less like a dream and more like something she could almost touch.

Finally, Lando broke the silence, his voice quieter. “You and Oscar gonna leave after this?”

“Yeah,” she replied, feeling a swell of emotion she barely kept in check. “I’ll go back to him. Help him heal, be there while he figures out… what comes next.”

Lando’s gaze softened, a strange sense of peace settling over his features. “Then I guess… I’ll see this through too. I don’t know what’s waiting for me, but I know what I’ve been running from. Time to stop running.”

She reached over, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. “Then maybe you should come back with us. At least for now.”

Lando looked at her, a flicker of surprise giving way to an almost boyish smile, a glimmer of the young man he’d once been. “Maybe I will.”

They fell into silence once more, but this time it was comfortable, a quiet peace settling between them as they left Prague behind, ready to face whatever came next together.

The drive back was long and filled with an anxious hope as they wound through the countryside toward the safe house. The mission’s success hadn’t erased her worries—Oscar was still fighting for his life, and no amount of victories over their enemies could fix the fragility of his recovery. When they finally arrived, a medic was waiting at the door, his face carefully neutral but carrying the slight, telltale signs of positive news.

“He’s stable,” the medic reported as they stepped inside, “and his vitals are improving. But he’s still unresponsive.” He glanced between her and Lando, understanding their urgency. “You can go in. It might help him to hear familiar voices.”

She nodded, glancing at Lando, who offered a small, encouraging nod in return, as if grounding her. Together, they made their way to the infirmary room where Oscar lay, silent and still, his face more peaceful than it had been in a long time. She took the seat by his bed, pulling it close, her hand instinctively reaching for his. Lando stood at the foot of the bed, quiet and watchful.

The room was filled with the soft beeping of monitors, a rhythmic pulse that was both a comfort and a reminder of the stakes they still faced. She brushed a strand of hair from Oscar’s forehead, her fingers lingering, gentle and protective.

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice trembling just slightly. “We did it, Oscar. Andrea is gone, and Zak’s empire… it’s finished. You’re safe now. We’re safe.”

Beside her, Lando watched, his expression unreadable but softened. After a pause, he moved to take the chair next to hers, leaning forward, elbows on his knees as he looked at Oscar, his voice low but steady.

“You always had my back, kid,” he murmured, his voice rougher than usual. “Even when I didn’t deserve it. Now I’ve got yours. I’ll be here… just like you always were for me.”

Silence fell over the room, each of them lost in memories, in hope, in unspoken promises. She leaned closer to Oscar, her fingers entwining with his, as if willing him to feel the warmth of her touch, the weight of her presence.

The medic came back in, checking Oscar’s monitors, his expression calm but unhurried, like he’d done this a thousand times. “If he’s hearing anything, it’s the voices of those closest to him that will bring him back,” he offered softly. “If anyone can do that, it’s the two of you.”

She glanced over at Lando, who nodded in agreement, the intensity in his gaze softened with something like gratitude. Together, they sat vigil by Oscar’s side, filling the room with quiet stories and shared memories, fighting their own exhaustion, hoping that somewhere in the dark, he was making his way back to them.

The hours blurred together in the quiet of the room. Shadows stretched along the walls as night settled in, but neither she nor Lando had moved. The medic had come and gone, checking Oscar’s vitals with reassuring nods, but the wait was wearing on them. She squeezed Oscar’s hand, brushing her thumb gently over his knuckles, as if the warmth of her touch alone could pull him back.

As the clock ticked on, she began to speak again, letting her voice fill the stillness.

“Do you remember the cabin on the coast?” she murmured, her voice soft and soothing. “Those mornings we had, just us… No missions, no agencies breathing down our necks. You’d make that terrible instant coffee, and we’d sit out there like nothing else mattered.”

She smiled, eyes misty as she thought back to the peace they’d found there, however brief. She could feel Lando listening beside her, his presence a quiet reassurance.

“You kept saying you wanted a place like that for real,” she continued, voice breaking slightly. “Somewhere we could disappear to, where no one would ever find us. Well, we made it through, Oscar. You got us there.”

For a moment, silence fell again, and the only sound was the steady beeping of the monitor, each pulse a tether to the man she loved. She closed her eyes, breathing slowly, letting the weight of exhaustion press against her but refusing to surrender to it.

Lando, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, shifted in his seat, leaning forward, his eyes fixed on Oscar.

“Oscar,” he said, his tone low but full of determination. “Look, I know we’ve been through hell together, but I think you’re just showing off now. Making us sit here, wondering if you’re gonna wake up…” He paused, taking a shaky breath. “Come on, mate. Just… open your eyes.”

The words lingered in the air, heavy with unsaid things, a lifetime’s worth of loyalty and brotherhood distilled into those few sentences. And just as she was about to give in to the quiet again, something shifted—a faint squeeze, barely there, but unmistakable.

Her heart skipped as she looked down, fingers tightening around his hand. “Oscar?”

The first flicker of life in Oscar’s eyes felt like a miracle. She tightened her grip on his hand as he blinked slowly, his gaze beginning to focus, like he was pulling himself back from somewhere distant and dark. His fingers moved in hers, weak but warm, and her heart leapt.

“Oscar,” she whispered, leaning closer, barely daring to breathe. “It’s me.”

His eyes, still heavy with exhaustion, met hers, and a faint, familiar warmth flickered there. His lips parted, but the words came only as a faint rasp. “You… you’re here.”

At the sound of his voice, she let out a shaky breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding. Tears blurred her vision as she nodded, holding his hand to her cheek. “We’re here, Oscar. I’m here.” Her words caught in her throat, a tangled mix of love, relief, and all the things she’d thought she might never have the chance to say again.

Beside her, Lando had been standing at a respectful distance, a quiet, steady presence. But as Oscar’s gaze shifted, recognizing him, a small, amused glint appeared in his tired eyes.

“You’re… both here?” Oscar murmured, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, and she heard the hint of teasing in his voice. “That’s… quite the welcome party.”

Lando let out a quiet chuckle, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Wouldn’t have missed it, mate.” His tone was light, but his expression was taut, almost uncertain, as if he wasn’t sure whether to stay or slip out and let them have their moment.

Sensing this, Lando began to step back, nodding toward her. “I’ll give you two—”

“No,” she said softly, her gaze turning to him, the conviction in her voice quiet but steady. “Stay.”

Lando stopped, visibly taken aback, his expression betraying the slightest hint of surprise. For a moment, he looked at her as if he hadn’t quite heard right, his usual stoic exterior cracking just a little, his eyes shimmering with something raw and unguarded. He gave her a nod, a subtle motion of understanding, though his voice caught slightly. “Alright,” he murmured, sinking back into his chair beside them.

Oscar’s fingers tightened around hers as he watched the exchange, a tired but knowing look passing over his face. He took a shaky breath, shifting his gaze between them. “Seems like… I owe you both.”

Her grip on his hand tightened as she glanced from him to Lando, the weight of everything they’d endured heavy in the air between them. “Oscar… you don’t owe us anything,” she whispered, the intensity of her own words surprising her. “We’re just glad you’re here.”

Lando nodded, his gaze locked on Oscar. “Yeah, you’ve been doing enough for everyone for too long,” he said, voice soft but steady. “It’s your turn to just… be. Heal.”

Oscar looked at them both, an unspoken gratitude shimmering in his eyes, but there was also something else—a deep trust, a quiet acceptance that the three of them were bound in ways words couldn’t capture.

He exhaled, letting his head rest back against the pillow, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion, but for the first time, a faint, peaceful smile graced his face. And in that moment, with Lando at her side, she felt a quiet reassurance settle in her heart. Together, they would help him heal, each of them carrying a part of the burden, just as they always had.

Oscar looked between them, eyes flickering with a familiar sharpness, though the exhaustion clung to him. “Alright,” he rasped, his voice a little stronger, “so who’s gonna tell me what the hell I missed? Because knowing you two… I’m guessing it’s not nothing.”

She smiled, warmth and relief evident as she exchanged a glance with Lando. “Where do we even start?” she said, squeezing Oscar’s hand gently. “It’s been… eventful.”

Lando let out a quiet laugh, shrugging as he leaned back in his chair. “Eventful is one word for it.”

With a bit more strength, Oscar’s lips quirked into a smirk as he focused on Lando. “So, go on then. Give me the rundown, you muppet. What did you do?”

Lando winced, laughing softly. “I had it under control. Mostly.” He paused, looking slightly sheepish. “I may have… bent a few rules.”

“Bent?” Oscar raised a brow, incredulity softening into amusement. “Mate, you blew the rules to pieces, didn’t you?”

She laughed, nodding. “He’s right, you did. We had Zak’s whole operation on our backs, remember?”

Lando rolled his eyes, though there was a hint of pride there. “Well, it was necessary, wasn’t it? Zak needed taking down, and it was… efficient.”

Oscar shook his head, the faint smile lingering as he squeezed her hand. “Efficient. That’s what we’re calling it now?”

She nodded, filling in the rest. “Efficient and risky. Lando worked out a plan to intercept Zak, took us on an intel dive across three countries, and then pulled off a takedown that… well, let’s just say it wasn’t part of any mission plan.”

“Got Zak out of the picture,” Lando added, shrugging like it was nothing. “And got you the antidote.”

“About that…” Oscar tilted his head, eyeing Lando with a spark of mock accusation. “You just couldn’t resist a grand entrance with that antidote, could you?”

Lando feigned innocence, lifting his hands. “Had to make sure you’d remember it, didn’t I? Besides, I didn’t hear you complaining.”

“Only because I was unconscious,” Oscar shot back, laughing weakly, though he winced as the laugh brought on a wave of fatigue.

“Alright, you two.” She leaned forward, brushing Oscar’s hair back gently, her eyes filled with a warmth that anchored him. “Lando might be a complete muppet, but he did it for you, Oscar. And we all made it out, somehow.”

Oscar’s gaze softened, moving from her to Lando, his expression one of profound gratitude, quiet but unmistakable. “I can’t… thank you enough. Both of you. For everything.”

“No need for that, mate,” Lando said, his voice unusually gentle, a slight tremor in it. “We don’t leave our own behind.”

SEVEN YEARS LATER

The soft light of the late afternoon settled over their hillside home, casting a warm glow across the kitchen where she stood, gazing out at the endless blue sea. A gentle breeze slipped through the open window, bringing with it the faint scent of wild thyme and olive trees. She placed a hand over her stomach, feeling the subtle curve there—a quiet reminder of all that had changed in these last few years.

She smiled to herself, so lost in the peace of the moment that she didn’t hear Oscar approach until his arms circled around her waist, his hand coming to rest over hers. He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her shoulder, and she felt him smile against her skin.

“Hey, mama,” he murmured, voice soft and full of warmth as his hand gently rubbed over her growing belly. “You two enjoying the view?”

She leaned back into him, feeling a quiet contentment settle over her as she placed her hand over his. “Always. Though, I think I might be enjoying it a little more than this one.” She gave her belly a gentle pat, smiling. “Feels like I’m carrying a future kickboxer in there.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating warmly against her. “Takes after you, then,” he teased, brushing a kiss to her temple. “Strong, resilient… and definitely a little stubborn.”

She turned to face him, her eyes softening as she looked up at him. “And maybe a little of you too, hmm?” She reached up, tracing a hand along his jaw, her gaze reflecting the love and gratitude she felt for the life they’d built here, the peace they’d fought so hard for.

Before he could respond, they heard the front door swing open, followed by a familiar, slightly exasperated voice calling out from the hallway.

“Oi, mate! You wouldn’t believe what happened down at the market,” Lando announced as he walked in, holding up a few bags of fresh produce. He wore an incredulous expression, his eyebrows raised as he looked between them. “I can’t tell if the butcher wanted to sell me fish or… shag me. He followed me halfway up the street. I swear, I need to learn Greek. Or find a disguise,” he added with a grin, dropping the bags onto the kitchen counter.

She laughed, shaking her head as she took in his flustered expression. “Maybe he just appreciates your… charm?”

“Or he thought you’d look nice in a seafood display,” Oscar teased, his hand still resting gently on her stomach.

Lando let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. “You two are impossible. I get followed home, and this is the thanks I get?” But the corners of his mouth tugged upward, and his eyes softened as he took in the peaceful scene before him.

The three of them fell into easy laughter, the warmth of their friendship filling the room as the sun sank lower on the horizon, painting everything in golden hues. This was the life they’d fought for—a quiet peace in a little corner of the world, shared laughter, and the promise of a new future nestled safely between them.

As their laughter faded, Oscar tugged her a little closer, his hand still protectively resting over her stomach. She placed her hand over his, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. He looked at her as if they were still those two undercover agents stealing moments in the shadows, as if this life they'd built still felt too good to be true.

Lando raised an eyebrow at the two of them, smirking. “You two are disgustingly cute, you know that?”

“Oh, we’re just getting started,” Oscar replied, turning to give Lando a pointed look. “Wait until you’re on baby duty, Uncle Lando.”

Lando feigned horror, hand over his heart. “Alright, well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. There’ll be no nappies in my future, thank you.”

She laughed, the sound warm and unguarded. “Oh, I don’t know. I think you’re going to be brilliant at it. All that practise dodging bullets and undercover work? Changing nappies will be a breeze.”

Lando scoffed but couldn’t hide his grin. “You two are going to turn me into a proper family man, aren’t you?”

“Think it’s a bit late for that, mate,” Oscar teased, squeezing her hand as he glanced over at Lando. “You’re already here, complaining about the market and fighting with the neighbour’s rooster.”

Lando let out a dramatic sigh, but the affection in his eyes was unmistakable. “Fine. Maybe I’m going soft in my old age.”

A comfortable silence settled between them, each of them taking in the moment. Lando moved to the window, staring out at the golden light on the water, his face softening in a way she hadn’t seen often. She felt a swell of gratitude for him, for the way he’d fought beside them and shared in the dreams they had hardly dared to voice.

“So,” Lando said after a moment, breaking the silence as he turned back to them, his tone light but his expression serious. “What are we having for dinner? Because if I see one more olive, I swear…”

She laughed, feeling that warmth in her heart grow. “Well, since you were so brave at the market, I think it’s only fair you get to cook tonight. Maybe something without olives?”

Oscar chuckled, releasing her hand to ruffle Lando’s hair. “You heard her. Best get to it, chef.”

Lando grumbled but headed toward the kitchen with a grin, opening cupboards and muttering as he began gathering ingredients. “I swear, first I’m babysitting, and now I’m cooking… What did I sign up for with you two?”

They shared another laugh, the kind that felt like home. She leaned against Oscar, contentment filling her as she watched Lando fuss in the kitchen, chopping and stirring, the whole house filled with the scent of fresh herbs and the laughter of family.

It was everything she’d once thought impossible—a simple life, a house full of love, a future unfolding in ways she’d never dared to imagine. And as the evening wore on, with candles flickering and laughter filling the room, she knew that this was the true victory, a happiness that even the most dangerous missions had never prepared her for.

As dinner simmered and the warm evening air drifted in through open windows, they gathered around the small kitchen table. Lando had put together a rustic stew with the market’s freshest ingredients, grumbling the entire time about how he was “wasting his tactical precision on chopping vegetables.”

She sat beside Oscar, resting her hand over his, feeling his steady warmth as she laughed at Lando’s commentary on the local produce.

Lando set the steaming pot on the table and glanced between them with a mock glare. “Alright, feast your eyes on what a former sniper can do with a tomato and some herbs. Just don’t tell me it’s not as good as the local food, or you’ll be getting rations next time.”

Oscar took a dramatic sniff, sighing as he ladled a bowl for her first, then one for himself. “Lando, I think you’ve found your true calling. That market bloke’s got nothing on you.”

Lando groaned, rolling his eyes. “Oh, so this is how it’s going to be now—two parents and a live-in chef?”

She grinned, shooting him a playful look. “Or uncle and professional bodyguard? You can even work on your Greek as a side gig. The locals will be lining up to hire you.”

“Oh, I’ll be unmissable,” he said, laughing as he took his seat across from them, a glimmer of real contentment in his eyes. He glanced over at her, nodding toward her belly. “This little one will be lucky to have you two. Even if their mum is as fierce as they come.”

Oscar gave her hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb brushing over her fingers as he smiled softly. “Well, maybe a bit of fierceness runs in the family.”

Dinner passed in easy conversation and laughter, each of them sharing memories from years past, trading stories that used to be about survival but had now softened, like old scars. The three of them spoke of the future, sharing dreams they once hadn’t dared say out loud, not because they didn’t believe in them but because none of them thought they’d make it this far.

As the evening wore on and the stars began to sprinkle the darkening sky, Oscar rose and took her hand, guiding her outside to the small terrace. Together, they leaned against the railing, looking out over the quiet landscape that stretched into the night. She felt his arm slip around her waist, drawing her close, and she leaned into his embrace, sighing with contentment.

Behind them, Lando stepped out onto the terrace, leaning against the doorframe with a rare, quiet smile as he watched them.

Oscar turned, catching his eye. “Not going to bed yet?”

“Nah,” Lando replied, shrugging. “Can’t leave you two alone to get all mushy. Besides, someone’s gotta make sure we’re safe.”

She smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the soft summer air. “Thank you, Lando. For being here. For everything.”

Lando met her gaze, something unspoken passing between them as he nodded. “Wouldn’t be anywhere else.” He paused, then added with a grin, “And besides, I’ve got a good gig here. Food, friends… and I don’t even have to dodge bullets anymore.”

They all laughed, a shared understanding in the sound, and for a moment, it felt like they were the only people in the world. The three of them stood there, beneath a canopy of stars, basking in the kind of peace they’d fought so long to find.

As the laughter faded into a gentle, comfortable silence, Oscar leaned down to kiss her forehead, murmuring, “This is it, isn’t it?”

She looked up at him, her hand resting on her growing belly, and nodded. “Yes. This is it.”

the end.

[planetherk]

SKYFALL PT.3 | OP81

an: this is the final part of spy!reader x spy!oscar and god i love them so much, i didn't know what i wanted to do with final part but i think it ends perfectly with not too much expectation yk. anyway, buckle in and enjoy!

wc: 5.6k

warnings: slight mention of death, drugging

part one | part two |

Oscar leaned back against the cold stone wall of the alley, eyes shut tight, trying to calm the pounding in his chest. The distant sounds of Parisian nightlife filtered through the city streets, but they barely registered. All he could think about was her. The way her lips had curved into that smug, knowing smile just before she slipped away—again.

He dragged a hand over his face, letting out a slow, frustrated breath. Damn it. She had played him perfectly. He should’ve seen it coming. Hell, he had seen it coming, but the moment she touched him—her fingers brushing against his cheek, her hand slipping into his hair—he had hesitated. For that one crucial second, he’d faltered, and she’d taken full advantage of it.

Of him.

Oscar’s jaw clenched as he replayed the scene in his head. The way she’d moved, the way she’d kissed him, how her body had pressed against his, warm and inviting, like she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He should’ve known it was all part of her game, her strategy. And yet, in the heat of the moment, with her hand in his hair and her lips on his, it hadn’t mattered. He’d forgotten the mission, forgotten everything except the way she made him feel.

That was the problem, wasn’t it?

She made him feel.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, straightening as the realisation hit him harder than any blow she’d ever landed. This wasn’t just about the mission anymore. This was personal. She was in his head, and he hated it. Worse, she was under his skin in a way that was getting harder and harder to shake off.

He had a job to do. Get the intel. Use her if necessary. But somehow, in the mess of their rivalry, in the heated exchanges and the dangerous games they played, he’d let the lines blur. She wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a target. A rival. An opponent.

But when her fingers had traced along his skin, her lips parting against his in that alleyway, she hadn’t felt like an enemy. She’d felt like a temptation. One he couldn’t seem to resist.

With a bitter sigh, Oscar pushed off the wall and headed back to the rendezvous point. He was late, and he didn’t have the intel. But worse than that, he knew exactly why.

Oscar strode into the dimly lit briefing room, the familiar tension tightening in his shoulders. His boss, Zak, sat behind the desk, his gaze sharp and cold as it swept over him. The silence was heavy, and Oscar braced himself for the inevitable.

“You’ve been gone too long,” Zak said, not looking up from the tablet in his hand. His voice was cool, clipped. “I assume you have the intel.”

Oscar swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. “No.”

That got Zak’s attention. The older man set the tablet down slowly, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. “No?”

Oscar crossed the room and dropped into a chair opposite his boss, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “She got to it first. I couldn’t recover it in time.”

For a moment, Zak just stared at him, his expression unreadable. Then, a slow, humourless smile spread across his face. “You’re telling me,” he began, leaning back in his chair, “that the agent from Mercedes, the woman you’ve been tracking for months, outmanoeuvred you. Again.”

Oscar clenched his fists, feeling the frustration coil tight in his chest. “She had help. A drop point. By the time I caught up—”

“Stop.” Zak cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand. “I don’t need excuses, Oscar. I need results.”

Oscar bit back the sharp retort that threatened to spill out. His heart was still racing, his mind still spinning from the way she had played him. But he couldn’t admit that. He couldn’t let anyone know just how close she’d gotten to him. How close he’d let her get.

Zak stood, pacing slowly behind his desk, the heavy silence stretching between them. Finally, he spoke, his tone icy with disappointment. “I didn’t send you to Paris to let her toy with you. I said seduce her. Use whatever means necessary to get the intel. What I didn’t say,” he paused, turning to fix Oscar with a hard stare, “was to fall for her charm.”

The words struck Oscar like a blow, sharp and undeniable. He opened his mouth to protest, but the words wouldn’t come. His mind raced, trying to refute the accusation, but the truth was, Zak was right. He hadn’t seduced her. Not really. If anything, it was her who had played him, twisting the game until he couldn’t tell where the mission ended and the desire began.

And that’s what scared him.

Zak’s voice cut through his thoughts like a blade. “You’re compromised.”

Oscar bristled, his defences snapping into place. “No, I’m not.”

“Aren’t you?” Zak raised an eyebrow, his gaze piercing. “You had one job—one. Get close enough to her to get what we needed. Instead, you let her get in your head. You hesitated. You let her slip away.”

Oscar clenched his jaw, the memory of her lips against his still fresh, still burning. His heart pounded against his ribs, his frustration mounting with every second. “It won’t happen again.”

Zak studied him for a long moment, then sighed, sitting back down with a weary shake of his head. “It better not. I don’t want to have to take her out and I don’t need you falling for her games. Or worse—for her.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve. Oscar felt a flicker of something dark and unwelcome twist in his gut, but he pushed it down, deep, where it couldn’t distract him. He wasn’t falling for her. He wasn’t. This was just the heat of the moment, the adrenaline, the rush of the chase.

But as much as he wanted to deny it, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Zak had struck closer to the truth than he cared to admit.

Because, damn it, it wasn’t just about the mission anymore.

As he left the briefing room, Oscar’s mind churned with unspoken thoughts, unwanted emotions. She was dangerous, not just because she was his enemy, but because of the way she made him feel.

He leaned against the cold wall in the corridor, his mind still racing. Every time he got close, she slipped away, but it wasn’t just her elusiveness that was getting to him. It was the way her touch lingered on his skin, the way her eyes gleamed with challenge and promise all at once.

He cursed under his breath. He couldn’t fall for her. He couldn’t afford to. But even as he told himself that, he knew the truth. The line between enemy and something more had already blurred—and the worst part? He didn’t know how to stop it.

Oscar couldn’t sleep that night. The cool Paris air drifted through the window of his rented apartment, but even the breeze couldn’t chase away the heat burning in his veins. He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every second of his encounter with her.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

His job was to stay detached, focused, and efficient. But she had gotten inside his head, and now, no matter how hard he tried to push her out, she lingered there—her smirk, her touch, the way she’d teased him right before slipping the intel into her partner’s hands.

He rolled over, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes in frustration. He needed to get his head straight. She was a target, nothing more. But no matter how many times he repeated that to himself, the truth kept creeping in.

It’s not just the mission anymore.

The ringing of his phone jolted him from his thoughts. He grabbed it from the nightstand and glanced at the caller ID—Zak. Great, he thought, bracing himself for another lecture.

“Yeah?” he answered, trying to keep the irritation from his voice.

“Got a lead on her next move,” Zak said without preamble. “It’s happening tomorrow night. Same players, same game. This time, you won’t screw it up.”

Oscar tensed. The way Zak said it—it wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order. “What’s the target?”

“Another data exchange. She’s not done with whatever she’s chasing, and neither are we. You’ll intercept her before she makes the drop.”

Oscar’s grip tightened on the phone. “And if she’s got backup again?”

Zak's voice turned cold. “You won’t let her outplay you this time. Whatever it takes, Oscar. Get close to her. Stop thinking with your heart and start thinking with your head.”

Stop thinking with your heart. The words clanged in his ears. He wasn’t thinking with his heart. He wasn’t falling for her. He couldn’t be.

“You still there?” Zak’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

“I’m here,” Oscar muttered, forcing himself to sound steady.

“Good. Tomorrow night. Don’t make me regret keeping you on this. I’ll have someone there just in case.”

And Oscar knew what that just in case meant, his gut twisted.

The call ended, and Oscar let the phone drop onto the bed. His mind raced, torn between the job and the dangerous pull she had on him. He couldn’t let this mission slip through his fingers again. He wouldn’t. But as much as he wanted to believe he could stay cold, that voice in the back of his mind kept whispering her name.

********************************************************

The club was a labyrinth of flashing lights and bodies moving to the bass-heavy beat. Oscar pushed his way through the crowd, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of her. It wasn’t hard to spot her. She stood near the bar, dressed in a sleek black gown that shimmered under the lights. Her posture was casual, but he could tell she was on high alert, her gaze flitting from one corner of the room to the next.

She was waiting. And she was playing the game—calm, confident, like she always was. But Oscar wasn’t here to be toyed with this time.

As he approached her, their eyes met, and for a brief second, something flashed between them—something unspoken but undeniable. She raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into that familiar, infuriating smirk.

“Oscar, darling,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “You’re not still chasing me, are you?”

He stepped closer, closing the distance between them, keeping his expression neutral even though his pulse quickened at the sight of her. “You didn’t think I’d let you get away that easily, did you?”

She laughed softly, the sound wrapping around him like a trap. “Oh, I’m sure you had your fun chasing me. But we both know how this ends.”

Oscar’s jaw clenched. She was teasing him again, baiting him, and he could feel himself slipping into the same dangerous rhythm they always fell into—words like weapons, tension like a knife’s edge. But this time, he couldn’t afford to lose focus.

Before he could respond, she leaned in, her lips dangerously close to his ear. “You look tense,” she murmured, her breath hot against his skin. “Maybe you’re starting to enjoy this a little too much.”

He swallowed hard, his body betraying him as he felt the heat between them rising. He needed to stay sharp, to remember why he was here. But the way she pressed against him, the soft scent of her perfume, the look in her eyes—it was too much. She knew exactly how to get under his skin.

“You think you’ve got me figured out,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “But you’re not the only one who knows how to play this game.”

Her smirk faltered, just for a second, before it was back in place. “Then show me.”

The challenge hung in the air between them, crackling with tension. And for a moment, Oscar didn’t care about the mission, didn’t care about the consequences. All he could think about was her.

Before he knew what he was doing, he grabbed her by the waist, pulling her flush against him. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned into him, her hands sliding up his chest, her body moulding perfectly to his.

Their lips met in a fierce, heated kiss—hungry, desperate, like all the frustration and anger between them had finally broken free. Oscar’s mind went blank, the only thing that existed was the heat between them, the feel of her body against his, the taste of her lips.

But even as the kiss deepened, something inside him screamed that this was wrong—that he was letting her win again. And when she moved, her hand brushing over his chest like she had the night before, he knew it was a distraction. She was playing him, just like she always did.

But this time, he wasn’t going to let her.

He broke the kiss abruptly, stepping back just enough to meet her eyes. “Not this time, angel.”

She blinked, clearly surprised by the sudden shift. “What do you mean?”

His grip on her waist tightened. “I know what you’re doing. And it’s not going to work.”

For a moment, her mask slipped. There was a flicker of something in her eyes—uncertainty, maybe even vulnerability. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by that familiar confidence.

She leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear. “Maybe you want it to work,” she whispered, her voice a sultry tease.

Oscar’s heart pounded in his chest, his resolve wavering. Damn her. She was right. A part of him did want this, wanted her. But he couldn’t let her win again. Not this time.

He looked around the club, noticing a familiar face.

Lando.

With a sudden, determined movement, he grabbed her wrist, pulling it behind her back as he spun her toward the exit. “Let’s go,” he muttered, his voice rough. “We’re done playing.”

They reached the rooftop in a blur of movement, the cool night air hitting them like a shock. Oscar had half-dragged, half-carried her up the stairs, his mind racing, trying to stay one step ahead of her. But as soon as they were alone, as soon as the door clicked shut behind them, the tension between them snapped back into place.

She wrenched her arm free, her eyes blazing with anger and something else—something raw and dangerous. “You think you can just drag me up here and expect me to roll over?” she spat, her voice laced with fury.

Oscar took a deep breath, his body still buzzing from the kiss, from the chase, from everything. “I’m not letting you slip away again.”

She laughed, a low, bitter sound. “What makes you think you ever had me?”

He stepped closer, his gaze locking onto hers. “Because you’re just as caught up in this as I am.”

For a second, her eyes flickered with something—doubt, hesitation—but then she straightened, her walls slamming back into place. “Don’t kid yourself, Oscar.”

But he wasn’t kidding. He could feel it—the pull between them, the magnetic force that drew them together no matter how hard they fought it. And in that moment, he knew. He was falling for her. Had already fallen.

And the worst part?

He didn’t know if he wanted to stop.

The tension between them on the rooftop was electric. The city lights of Paris glimmered below, casting a soft glow over their faces, but the rooftop was a world unto itself—quiet, isolated, and charged with unspoken feelings.

Her chest rose and fell with each sharp breath, her eyes narrowing at Oscar as if she were calculating her next move. Oscar knew her too well. She was about to bolt, about to fight, and he couldn’t risk losing her again. Not tonight. Not after how close she’d come to slipping through his fingers once more.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, his mind made up. It wasn’t what he wanted to do, but he had no other choice.

Oscar moved faster than she could react. In a blur, he pulled the cloth from his pocket, a soft apology on his lips before he could think better of it.

“Sorry, angel.”

Her eyes widened in shock as he pressed the chloroform-drenched cloth against her nose and mouth. She fought—of course she did. Her instincts kicked in immediately, her hands clawing at his wrist, her body writhing against him. But he held firm, his heart aching with each passing second as her struggles grew weaker.

Her eyes, still blazing with fury, began to glaze over. Her strength faltered.

She slumped against him, her body limp, her head lolling forward. Oscar caught her before she could collapse to the ground, his breath ragged from the fight—both the physical one and the emotional war raging inside him.

Carefully, he cradled her unconscious form in his arms, the cold wind biting at his skin as he held her close. Her familiar scent filled his senses, and despite everything, his heart clenched. This wasn’t what he wanted. It was never supposed to get this far, this complicated. But there was no turning back now.

He looked down at her face, peaceful in sleep, a sharp contrast to the fierce woman she was when awake. He reached out, brushing a lock of hair from her face, his fingers lingering longer than they should have.

“I had no choice,” he whispered, more to himself than to her.

With a deep sigh, he hoisted her gently into his arms and made his way down the fire escape, his mind racing. He needed to find somewhere to stash her—somewhere safe where she wouldn’t cause more trouble. Somewhere where he could think, clear his head, and figure out what the hell to do next.

The room was simple, elegant, and thankfully private. Oscar had carried her inside without drawing too much attention, the hotel’s back entrance providing a discreet way in. He locked the door behind him, securing the deadbolt, and set her down carefully on the plush bed.

She lay there, still unconscious, her breathing steady, her face relaxed. The sight of her like this—vulnerable, unguarded—made something twist painfully inside him. She was always so fierce, so determined, and seeing her like this only reminded him of how much power she truly had over him. Even now.

He leaned against the door for a moment, running a hand through his hair, his mind buzzing. He didn’t have much time. She’d wake soon, and when she did, there’d be hell to pay. He could already imagine the look on her face, the anger burning in her eyes, the sharp words she’d throw at him. She would hate him for this—for drugging her, for locking her away like some captive.

But he needed the time. Time to regroup. Time to figure out how to fix this mess—both the mission and the tangled feelings that had spiralled so far out of control.

Oscar crossed the room, his eyes lingering on her sleeping form as he checked the windows, making sure they were locked. No chance for her to escape. He wasn’t about to let her slip away again. 

With a heavy sigh, he sat down in the chair by the window, watching her from a distance, waiting for her to stir. He hated the way his chest tightened every time he looked at her, the way his pulse quickened despite the fact that they were supposed to be enemies. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to fall for her.

But, God, he had.

The first thing she felt was the pounding in her head—a dull, throbbing ache that made it hard to think, hard to remember. She blinked against the dim light of the room, her eyes slowly adjusting as she tried to sit up. But something was wrong. She wasn’t outside. The cold, open rooftop was gone, replaced by soft sheets beneath her, the scent of hotel linens filling her nose.

Panic shot through her as everything came rushing back—the rooftop, Oscar, the cloth over her mouth. She bolted upright, her eyes darting around the unfamiliar room, her heart racing.

Her gaze landed on him.

Oscar sat in a chair by the window, his arms crossed over his chest, watching her with a carefully guarded expression. He didn’t say anything at first—just studied her, his eyes filled with an intensity that made her skin prickle.

“What the hell did you do to me?” she growled, her voice hoarse with anger and lingering grogginess. “You drugged me? Knocked me out and brought me here like some—some prostitute? Prisoner?” She shoved herself off the bed, fury giving her strength.

Oscar didn’t flinch, didn’t say anything, his eyes following her every move, but his jaw was clenched tight. The tension in the room was suffocating, an unspoken battle raging between them.

"Answer me!" she yelled, marching toward him. “You think you can just—just control me like that? What the hell are you playing at, Oscar?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she was already swinging at him, fists landing against his chest with angry, desperate blows. He caught her wrists, but didn’t try to stop her, just held on, his grip gentle but firm.

She struggled, pulling free and hitting him again, each strike heavier, fueled by rage. “Fight back!” she screamed, her voice cracking. “Fight back, goddamn it!”

Oscar didn’t. He just stood there, taking it, his face a wall of controlled emotion. It only made her angrier.

Tears welled up in her eyes, her vision blurring as she swung again, pounding her fists into his chest. “You—you’re going to cost me everything!” Her voice broke, the frustration, the betrayal, and the exhaustion of the last few days crashing down on her all at once. “I’m going to lose my job because of your selfish little mind games.”

She was shaking now, her hands trembling as they fell to her sides, her shoulders slumped under the weight of it all. The tears spilled over, streaming down her cheeks. “This isn’t a game, Oscar. This is my life. My career. Everything I’ve worked for…”

Her voice wavered, softer now, the fire dimming as the cracks in her anger revealed the fear underneath. “I could lose everything because of you,” she whispered, her breath hitching.

For a long moment, Oscar didn’t speak. He just stood there, watching her fall apart in front of him, the guilt heavy in his chest. He wanted to reach for her, to pull her into his arms and make her anger go away, but he knew it wasn’t that simple. It would never be that simple.

Finally, he exhaled, long and heavy, and ran a hand through his hair, his own frustration spilling over into his words. “You think I wanted this?” His voice was low, strained. “You think I wanted to do this to you?”

She looked up at him, her tear-filled eyes burning with confusion and pain. “You didn’t have to, Oscar. You didn’t have to betray me like this. You—” Her voice cracked again as she wiped angrily at the tears on her face. “You didn’t have to choose this.”

Oscar stepped closer, his face twisted in a mixture of anger and regret. “You think I had a choice?” he spat, his voice rising for the first time. “You think I wanted to put a target on your back?”

She froze, her breath catching in her throat. “What?”

He stepped even closer, now towering over her, his eyes dark with the weight of his confession. “There was a target on you tonight. You weren’t just another operative. You were a mark, angel. I saw Lando.” He swallowed hard, the guilt pouring into every word. “Zak wanted you gone because I kept getting distracted. Because every time you showed up, I—”

Her breath hitched as his words sank in. “Because you… what?”

Oscar exhaled sharply, looking away for a moment as if he couldn’t stand to face the truth of what he was about to say. When he finally met her gaze again, his eyes were softer, filled with something raw and vulnerable she hadn’t seen in him before.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “You’ve been inside my head, angel. Every time you get close, I lose my focus. I lose control. And they noticed. Zak noticed. So he put a hit on you. He only ever sends Lando out if he wants someone dead.”

She stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest as the words sank in. All the anger, all the frustration, shifted into something darker, more painful.

“You were going to kill me?” Her voice was quiet now, shaking with disbelief.

Oscar shook his head fiercely, his hands coming up in defence. “No. No, I wasn’t. I couldn’t. I…” He trailed off, taking a breath before continuing. “That’s why I knocked you out. Because if I didn’t stop you—if I didn’t get you out of there—Lando would’ve done the job, he had nothing holding him back. And it wouldn’t have been a clean escape.”

Her legs felt weak again, but this time from the emotional weight of it all. She staggered back, leaning against the wall for support, her mind spinning.

“You—” She couldn’t finish the sentence. The betrayal, the fear, and the lingering confusion left her speechless. She had been a mark. Not just a rival, but someone they had wanted gone. And Oscar had known. He’d known the entire time.

Oscar watched her, guilt etched into every line of his face. “I didn’t want you to get hurt, angel. I swear. But I had to stop you from being caught in the crossfire.”

She closed her eyes, the tears still flowing, her body trembling as the realisation settled in. He had just saved her. But at what cost? He had betrayed her in every other way, stolen her freedom, broken the fragile trust between them.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “That you saved me… or that you didn’t tell me.”

Oscar took a hesitant step toward her. “I didn’t know how. I couldn’t risk it. There are bigger things at play here, angel. Things neither of us can control.”

She opened her eyes, her gaze piercing him with a mixture of heartbreak and anger. “And now I’m a loose end? Is that it? You’re keeping me here until they come to finish the job?”

“No,” Oscar said quickly, his voice filled with desperation. “No. You’re not a loose end to me. I won’t let them touch you. I’ll protect you. But we need to figure this out, together.”

She shook her head, her voice breaking again. “How can I trust you after this?”

Oscar had no answer. He stood there, helpless, as she looked at him with those tear-filled eyes, her trust shattered.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, the words filled with the weight of his own regret. “But I’m not letting you go. Not until we figure this out.”

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with everything unsaid between them. Both of them stood at the edge of something they couldn’t fully comprehend—caught between the mission, the lies, and the complicated feelings that had grown between them.

But for the first time, Oscar realised something with terrifying clarity: He didn’t want to let her go. Not ever.

And that might just ruin them both.

The silence between them grew unbearable, charged with every unspoken word, every hidden feeling neither of them wanted to admit. Her chest heaved as she stood there, her back pressed against the wall, tears still streaking her face. Oscar was only a few steps away, his breath shallow, his eyes filled with regret and something darker. Something raw.

They were on the verge of something dangerous—something neither of them had any control over.

“You don’t know how to fix this,” She whispered, her voice still shaking, though no longer filled with the anger from before. Now, it was something else entirely. “You can’t make it right.”

Oscar stepped forward, closing the distance between them, his movements slow, deliberate. His eyes searched hers, filled with intensity, as if he was trying to figure out what to say, how to make her understand. But there were no words. There was nothing he could say to undo the damage. The betrayal still hung heavy between them.

“I know,” he said, his voice hoarse, almost broken. “I know I can’t.”

For a moment, they just stood there, so close now that she could feel the heat radiating off his body. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she hated how her body reacted to him—even now, after everything. The anger hadn’t dissipated, but it had shifted, blending into something more dangerous.

Something she couldn’t deny any longer.

“Oscar…” Her voice trailed off, a warning, but even she didn’t know what she was warning him about. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore, not with him standing so close, his presence overwhelming her senses.

His hand twitched at his side, like he was holding himself back. But then, with a sudden burst of tension, he moved. His hand reached out, gently cupping her face, his thumb brushing away a tear on her cheek. The touch was tender, softer than she’d expected, and it made her heart ache in a way she wasn’t prepared for.

“Sweetheart…” he murmured, his voice low, almost pleading.

Something broke inside her in that moment—some fragile wall she’d been holding onto for too long. All the anger, all the frustration and hurt—it melted into something else, something she couldn’t control.

Without thinking, without hesitating, she grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him toward her. The moment their lips met, it was like a match igniting gasoline. The kiss was hard, desperate, full of all the tension that had been building between them for far too long.

Oscar didn’t hesitate. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer, pressing her body against the wall as if he couldn’t get close enough. The intensity between them exploded, and all the unspoken words turned into frantic, passionate movement.

She kissed him back just as fiercely, her hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him down to her as if this was the only way to make sense of everything. His lips were warm, rough against hers, tasting of desperation and need. She poured every ounce of frustration, every bit of anger, and every confusing feeling she had for him into that kiss, and he responded with just as much fire.

Their lips moved together in a frantic rhythm, neither of them holding back. Oscar's hands slid down her sides, his touch firm and possessive, leaving a trail of heat wherever he touched. She gasped against his mouth when his fingers grazed the bare skin of her back, sending a shiver down her spine.

She hated him for making her feel like this. She hated herself even more for wanting him��wanting this—after everything he’d done. But right now, none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was the way his mouth moved against hers, the way his hands gripped her body like he was afraid she’d disappear if he let go.

Oscar pressed her harder against the wall, his body pinning hers in place, his kiss growing more demanding. His hands roamed over her, his touch sending waves of heat through her, igniting every nerve. She moaned softly against his lips, her mind clouded with desire and anger, her body betraying her resolve.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as she deepened the kiss, her tongue sliding against his with a fiery intensity. Oscar groaned in response, the sound vibrating through her, making her knees weak. She could feel his heart pounding against her chest, matching the erratic rhythm of her own.

His lips left hers, moving to her jawline, then down her neck, where he placed a series of slow, lingering kisses that made her gasp for breath. “You drive me crazy,” he whispered against her skin, his voice rough, strained with the weight of everything between them.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her head falling back against the wall as she let herself get lost in the sensation of his mouth on her skin. She hated how good it felt. How much she wanted more. “I still hate you,” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper, but the need in it was undeniable.

Oscar chuckled softly, the sound low and dark, before his lips returned to hers, capturing her in another searing kiss. His hands slid down to her waist, pulling her hips against his, and she felt a surge of heat between them, the tension unbearable now.

She kissed him harder, pouring every emotion she had into it—anger, lust, confusion, everything that had been building between them for weeks. It all came crashing down in this moment, and there was no stopping it.

But even in the chaos, there was something tender in the way he touched her. The way his hands moved carefully over her body, as if he was memorising the feel of her, committing it to memory. There was more to this than just desire. There was something deeper, something neither of them wanted to admit.

She broke the kiss first, gasping for air, her lips swollen and her mind spinning. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths, her body pressed tight against his, and she hated how much she wanted more.

“Oscar,” she breathed, her voice shaky, filled with both desire and frustration.

He rested his forehead against hers, his breath hot against her lips. “I know,” he whispered, his voice rough, strained. “I know.”

For a long moment, they stayed like that—foreheads pressed together, breathing hard, the world outside forgotten. The only thing that existed was this moment, this impossible, tangled mess between them.

She hated him. She wanted him.

And for the first time, she wasn’t sure which feeling was stronger.

the end.

[planetherk]

come over, baby!

rancher!oscar piastri x city girl!reader

w.c.: 4.3k

warnings: curse words, heavy allusions to sex, a little bit of ooc!oscar

summary: oscar sneaks you onto his family's ranch. it doesn't go as smoothly as he planned.

a/n: merry christmas to those who celebrate! :) i know i haven't uploaded a real fic in a hot sec so i decided to whip this up real quick!

picture credits from pinterest :)

your trusty mini cooper gives a sharp beep as it locks behind you. its taillights flashes bright, causing the branches of the surrounding eucalyptus trees to cast a looming shadow over you and the dusty road. once the lights dim into nothing, you glance around the dark dirt driveway that was apparently the entrance to your boyfriend’s family’s ranch, according to the text from him on your phone.

you let out a sigh- you could have easily been snuggled up in your bed in your college dorm, facetiming him on your phone, but no- he decided that you should become a top secret spy and drive two hours to his conveniently “close” family ranch at 9pm on a tuesday evening and sneaking into his bedroom on the first floor because he felt clingy and wanted to see you “in-person.” 

it honestly only took a few “no one will knowwww!” and a sprinkle of “come on, baby, pleaseeeeee i want to see youuu!” until you found yourself tiptoeing down the pitch black driveway towards the looming two story family ranch house that was seemingly where your boyfriend was located for fall break. anything for love, you suppose.

you squint your eyes at your phone’s bright screen depicting a lengthy message depicting exactly where to “break in” under the contact name “osc 💕” . park underneath the line of trees outside the metal gates- check. sneak through the broken fence three posts next to the main gates- check. walk down the dirt road towards the main house- currently doing so. 

the ranch house is stunningly pretty, with a big patio that housed a few well-worn rocking chairs, a spattering of wildflowers all around, and a big oak tree with a tire swing framing the whole thing. if you weren’t currently on a mission to break into the house itself to see your boyfriend, you would have stayed to admire for awhile.

you locate the window that your boyfriend mentioned further down in the text- the second one on the left side of the house without a window screen (he broke it playing cricket when he was 12, he said). bingo. it honestly wasn’t that hard to find, considering it was only one with the lights on on the first floor. 

sliding your phone, the only light source that you had, into your pocket, you curve your fingers underneath the window pane and slowly slide it up, making sure to make zero noise. 

the first thing you see when you maneuver yourself all sneakily through the window of the quaint little ranch house’s first-floor bedroom is decidedly not your boyfriend, with his swoopy brown-gold hair and polite-cat smile. instead, a pretty young woman with brown shoulder length hair, cowboy boots, and a silver belt in one hand stops and gapes at you on her way to exit the room. 

shit. 

“w-w-who are you?” she asks shakily, shuffling around the bed in the middle of the room and extending the silver belt in front of her like a weapon. she gives the air a few experimental slashes as if telling you- back off, i have a weapon.

you start to rethink your decisions. this was oscar’s house…right?

scrambling out of your awkward position sprawled halfway the window, you scoot nervously away from the rather dangerous-looking belt before speaking. 

“er, hi,” you say in the most non-threatening tone you can muster up after breaking and entering what you assume is this random lady’s house at an inappropriate time of night. 

she doesn’t even give you a chance to explain that this was all a misunderstanding before she yanks the door next to her open and gets ready to, most likely, call the police on you. 

however, before she is able to bolt out the door, a familiar boy steps into view in the doorway. 

oscar.

he takes a second to take in the situation- you standing awkwardly like that meme of robert pattinson in the kitchen, and the woman holding out the silver belt towards you in a menacing way- before he jumps into action. 

“okay…hattie- i can explain,” he exclaims to the woman, slamming the door closed behind him. oscar runs up between you and the still-stunned hattie, which you assume is his sister. 

“do not tell mom, but it’s just my girlfriend, okay?” he pleads. then, looking at the belt in hattie’s hand, he wrinkles his brow. “-and is that my belt?”

hattie hides the belt behind her. 

“um…no?”

with a single eyebrow raise from oscar, hattie sighs exasperatedly. 

“fine, yes, it is. i came into your room to get it for my outfit tomorrow when i caught your-” she peers around oscar,  “‘girlfriend’ literally breaking into our house!” 

“okay, pause!” your boyfriend says, scooting over to the left a little bit to block hattie’s view of you next to the wide-open window. “first of all, why would you take my belt without asking? second of all, she is not breaking into the house if i invited her in first, and third, again, please don’t tell mom.” 

hattie stares at her brother for a second, then peers over his shoulder to look at you, before crossing her arms. “al-right. i won’t tell- only if you do my night duty stuff for the ranch and i get to keep the belt.” 

your boyfriend doesn’t even hesitate before spitting a quick “okay, fine” before shoving his sister out of the room. 

“fuck. you. i. am. never. doing. that. again!” you whisper-shout at oscar, repeatedly smacking him with the hoodie you stripped off moments ago. screw his puppy-dog eyes and his oddly cute bunny-rabbit smile- you were never trusting him again. 

he laughs between the soft smacks from your college-logoed hoodie and pulls you towards him on the bed, effectively halting your attacks.  

“come on, baby!” he drawls, wrapping his arms around you. “it’s fine!”

your hoodie is abandoned on the side as he slides you towards him. your head automatically slots into the crook of his neck like it was made to be there, and you practically melt into his warm body, effectively dissolving the bigger part of your embarrassment and anger away. 

even when you purposefully cross your arms and face away from him after the hug, oscar knows he has already won the way from the fact that you still crawl underneath his blankets with him like you both always did in your dorm back at college. 

he prods you with a finger when you both are snuggled half-way in the blankets and you know that you can’t turn around to face him or else he’s going to press kisses to your face and then your “i’m a bit pissed” facade will surely be broken. you stay back-towards him, but then, he pulls out the ultimate weaponized piece of knowledge that he knows: your ticklish spots. oscar jams his fingers into your side, giggling, and pokes you until you have no choice to squirm back towards him. 

the way you wriggle around the bed ends up with you slotted underneath him. oscar gazes down at you, head tilted. you blink back at him slowly, watching how his brown eyes follow your tongue as you lick your chapped lips.

“you know,” he whispers in that lilting australian accent of his, “this is more what i was thinking we could do when i told you to sneak over into my room.”

“yeah?” you say, teasingly. “well, i’ll be glad to recreate whatever you are thinking of.”

a shy grin spreads across his face, and he sits up to strip his old faded sleeping shirt off his body. 

you just about salivate, seeing the sight of what you have seen what seems to be hundreds of times- his slightly muscular chest dotted with a constellation of stars that you loved to trace- either during a soft night curled on your dorm room bed, or when you lay, spent, on his chest after a lust-filled night.

before you can stop yourself, you reach out on instinct to trace your fingernail down his torso.

just a millisecond before your finger makes contact with his skin, footsteps sound outside his shut door, and the doorknob rattles, resulting in both of you to snap your heads towards the sound.

with some unbelievable reaction time that should probably get him a seat in formula 1, oscar shoves you underneath his stupid blue bedspread, and throws a couple comforters over your covered body- just in case.

are. you. joking. 

you were never trusting oscar again. what the hell were you gonna say to his parents if they found you underneath his blankets? there’s no way in hell they were gonna be easily persuaded like his sister was with a simple belt. what were you going to say? 

oh, i’m sorry mrs. piastri, for  breaking into your son’s bedroom at 9pm on a tuesday night because your son was feeling a bit frisky. 

absolutely not. you would rather die. 

instead, you settle for freezing as still as you can underneath the pitch-black insides of oscar’s pile of blankets and wait for what just be your impending doom.

the door squeaks as it opens, and you hear the scuffling of house shoes, then a pause. 

the person entering the room speaks first. 

“oscar.” a pause. “who were you talking to? and what- what are you doing with your shirt off? why are you kind of sweaty?”

you clock it as a female parental-type voice, which confirms your suspicions that- fuck- it’s probably his mother. 

your boyfriend shuffles nervously above you.

“mum, what?? talking? i wasn’t talking to anyone- i was talking to myself! also, you can’t just, like, break into my bedroom!” he exclaims a little too quickly. “you have to, like, knock! that’s an invasion of privacy!”

“wow, okay, calm down, oscar!” the woman’s voice shoots back. “why are you so defensive? i just heard voices, and i thought- maybe someone had broke in?” 

another pause.

“were you having some…” she trails off. “some- special alone time? a bit of oscar’s happy time?”

oscar’s mother’s insinuations hit both you and your boyfriend at the same time, and you can’t help but clap your hand over your mouth to muffle the laugh that was bubbling up in your throat.

your boyfriend lightly kicks you underneath the covers, which you could directly translate to shut up right now.

“special alone..?!” oscar stutters out, outraged. “no, mum, i was not having some special alone time! please! mum, i’m fine!”

“alright, alright,” his mother remarks, defeatedly. 

the scuffling sound heads towards the door, but stills before you can hear the door open. 

“by the way, your sister said that you were going to do her nighttime chores for her. i don’t know what kind of silly deal you guys struck up, but i expect it to be done by tomorrow, okay?” she adds.

“okay, okay, i got it, mum,” oscar replies hastily. 

“okey-dokey. goodnight, oscar!” his mother says brightly, before you hear the tell-tale sound of the door squeaking shut.

after oscar makes sure the door is completely closed and his mother’s footsteps have disappeared from his bedroom, he yanks his blankets off of you. 

the cool air flows over you, and you take a breath of fresh air. even if you only spent three minutes, tops, inside the stuffy blankets, it really felt like forever. you are sure your clothes are all rumpled from being squished underneath all that weight. 

“sorry, sorry, sorry,” your boyfriend repeats, grasping you and pecking a kiss to your cheek each time. “that was not part of the plan.”

“mhm,” you mutter back. you didn’t mind, honestly, you were just glad mrs. piastri didn’t notice the suspiciously college-girl shaped lump on her son’s bed. 

when oscar pulls off of you, he flashes you a devious grin. 

“you wanna..?” 

he uses his head to gesture towards the bed.

under normal circumstances, you would have thrown oscar to the bed and done multiple inappropriate things to him, but alas, 1) his mom coming in kind of killed the mood, 2) how could you, when his poor sister was likely, like, down the hall? and most importantly, 3) oscar had promised to do his sister’s chores, and you weren’t about to get mama piastri angry the next morning.

“oscar…” you say, trailing off. “don’t you have to do your, you know, chores?”

the gleam of mischievousness in your boyfriend’s eyes immediately falls flat, and his lips turn into a slight frown. 

letting out a rather exaggerated sigh, he slumps forward for a second before slinking towards the door. 

“leave my own mother to cockblock me…” he mutters, throwing on a black hoodie and green cap. 

you are about to let out a giggle, and pull him back on the bed for looking so cute being forlorn, but then, you realize, no, you have to be the voice of reason. 

“come on, oscar, i may be a city girl, but it can’t be that bad, right? i’ll be here all night!”

you are met with your boyfriend’s classic blank stare. 

“o-okay…what if…i went with you?” you suggest, reveling in the way that his gaze lights up.

“sneak out of the window, and meet me at the front of the house in 5,” he remarks, giving you a soft smile. 

what you expect to see at the front of the house is oscar with a shovel or whatever ranchers use to do their nightly chores, but instead, oscar waves at you from inside an entire fucking glowing atv. it has two seats, and entire mini flatbed trunk area, and to top it off, a covered clear canopy over the entire thing. and you thought the usual ranchers’ method of transportation was a freaking horse?? oscar’s family must have really modernized. 

you whisper a quick what-the-fuck before launching yourself into the atv next to your boyfriend. he flashes his usual bunny-rabbit smile at you, before fiddling with a few knobs on the front of the control panel. to your surprise, an entire heating unit starts blasting warm air towards you out of absolutely nowhere. 

huh??? when did atvs have heaters?? 

you don’t even have chance to formulate your thoughts before oscar starts revving the atv like he’s a freaking formula car driver and takes off into the darkness. 

even if you knew close to zero about being a rancher, you trail behind oscar to make sure he doesn’t half-ass his chores. the first task is checking the lights, which doesn’t seem too hard. 

your boyfriend basically speedruns around the barn that you arrive at, flicking at seemingly random places to turn on floodlights that surround the area. 

“for ‘safety’ reasons,” he had said when you asked. 

you take the time to do a 360 around the barn, noting the goats that glance at you curiously from their fenced off area outside in the chill night air. 

when oscar finishes sprinting around, he grasps your hand and leads you back towards the atv. 

“alright, back to my room!” he gasps breathlessly, as he starts the atv back up. 

your mind drifts to the poor goats outside. 

“er, oscar- are the goats supposed to be outside? i would think they deserve to be inside the barn, warm and toasty, no?”

your boyfriend freezes, hand halfway to the wheel. it’s obvious the cogs in his mind are turning. you blink at him once, before he groans and twists the key into the ‘off’ position for the atv. 

typically, you knew your boyfriend as someone who was really hard to irritate, but god, this was really doing a number on him.

oscar bolts toward the gated area that you saw earlier, and easily jumps the fence into the goat’s area. you can’t help but watch in wonder as he herds all the stubborn animals towards the barn’s entrance. most of the goats bleat at him once in annoyance before charging into the warmth of indoors, but you see a few stragglers still in the outdoor pen. a giggle bubbles up in your throat as you see a goat purposefully wedge itself between the fence and the water trough- just enough so oscar couldn’t reach him easily- leading to your boyfriend exclaim in frustration. 

it was funny- if you saw the shy, introverted oscar that was typically shown to others at the college that you both went to together, you were sure that they would have never guessed he was the type to get pissy, curse at goats, and shake his fist at the sky like an old grampa in the dark of night. 

while he was busy with the stubborn goat, you take the chance to climb over metal rungs of the fence and venture into the barn. it was quite cozy looking, with a thin layer of straw-like bedding covering the floor, round bales of hay lining the walls, and, of course, bunches of goats milling around. sitting on an overturned bucket, you watch as the cute goats settle down for the night, bleating happily. 

all of the sudden, a baby goat, (a kid, you find out they are called, later) runs up to you and nibbles at your sleeve. it’s quite adorable, the way it shoves its head under your hand, urging you to pet it. you comply, of course. 

it kind of reminds you of the way oscar often shoves his head under your hands during a long night study session. when he was almost at his breaking point, too tired to shove any more vocab words and formulas into his head, he would lie on you and beg for you to thread your hands into his hair and massage his head. oscar would probably go mental if he saw you give the baby goat treatment that was typically reserved for him.

speaking of the devil, the second your hand lands on the baby goat’s head, oscar storms in with the stubborn goat from earlier squished to his chest. half of your boyfriend’s pant leg is soaking wet, and judging from the way his eyes are drawn to the spot where your hand was softly petting the goat’s head, he was not too happy. 

“are you…okay, osc?” you ask, already knowing the answer. 

after gently letting the offending goat back towards its mates, oscar stands like the standing man emoji in front of you.

“i would like to go.” he responds, face completely deadpan. 

although the goats were pretty cute, you would pick oscar every time. lightly scooching away from the baby goat, you stand up and brush off the pieces of straw and dirt that it knocked into your lap. the goat, probably slightly peeved at the fact that you were leaving, decides to do a gravity defying (?) leap at the shelf behind you, which contained a small square block of hay. 

much to your amazement, the goat jumps off your bucket, and lands nicely on the shelf a good meter above you. 

“don’t you fucking dare,” oscar warns behind you, apparently already guessing the goat’s next step. he runs towards underneath the shelf and pushes you behind him, all the while keeping a eye on the goat as it steps closer and closer to the bale of hay.

it bleats, and pushes the hay with its nose.

the block explodes in midair, completely covering oscar.

for the second time in the day night, you fight to cover your laugh. the poor hay-covered oscar was just about trembling in anger. you hurriedly drag him towards the exit, all the while thanking the gods that what you thought was a darling little goat didn’t just squish your boyfriend.

“come on, baby,” you comfort, parroting the words he had said to you earlier in the night back to him. “it’s fine.”

he huffs, twisting the key of the atv, allowing the heater to effectively blast half of the hay on him straight into your face.

“oh my god, baby, are you okay?” oscar says, eyes wide. he quickly turns the heater down and brushes a few strands of hay off of your head. 

you pretend that you didn’t just feel a strand of hay go down your throat. 

“y-yeah, no problem,” you cough out. “we can just um, head back if that’s what you’d like.”

“right,” he affirms, voice going back to monotone. 

the atv rumbles quietly as he navigates back to the house.

trying to lighten up the mood and fill the awkward silence in the small space of the vehicle, oscar attempts to crack the world’s worst joke using his lust-craved brain. 

“after all that fiasco, i think i deserve the world’s best hea-”

before he can finish (hehe get it?), you cut him off, pointing outside to a potentially dangerous situation for his ranch’s chickens. 

“oscar,” you say pointedly, “i don’t want to burst your bubble, but was bringing the chickens in one of your sister’s chores? ‘cause they’re currently flapping around in an outdoor area, and i’m afraid there’s like foxes or something that are going to eat them.”

your boyfriend slams on the brake pedal, and peeks over your shoulder, confirming the worst news in his head right now- there was yet another job to be done. 

he just about flies out the vehicle, and before you know it, he has wedged himself into the chicken coop. if there is an award for the fastest time to shove like, 15 chickens inside the line of nesting boxes, he would definitely win first. it’s kind of an insane sight.  you even hear a few “get the fuck in,” which is decidedly out of character for oscar to ever say.

every chicken actually makes it indoors, and oscar doesn’t hesitate to slam the chicken coop door shut with a loud bang.

you wish you can say the actual ride back to the house isn’t tense, but then, you’d be lying. by the time oscar pulls up to the side of the house where the only window still has its lights on is the second one without a window screen, you can feel each breath that he takes thrumming its way into your core. 

he barely has a chance to shut off the atv before you cast a sly glance towards him. 

“do you wanna-” 

the way his brown eyes glaze over in want does all the answering for you.

all you know is that after spending an undisclosed amount of time inside of the atv fogging up the plastic cover of the vehicle, you both stumbled back through oscar’s stupid little window on the left side of the house, where you continued your little escapade within the confines of his bedroom. 

the first thing you realize when you wake up is oscar’s bare skin underneath yours. you’re tucked underneath his arm, and one of your legs is entwined with his. 

you shift in his arms, tilt your head, and use a little bit of force to launch yourself upwards to press a kiss on his cheek from your position wedged next to him. 

oscar mutters a “mmm,” with his eyes closed, but you can tell from the many times of waking up next to him that he’s obviously awake. 

poking his bare stomach with a finger, you giggle. 

“i know you’re awake, oscar.”

“nuh-uh,” he shoots back, eyes still closed, grasping your offending finger with his hand and holding your arm away from him.

you untuck your other hand from under the blanket, and move to boop his stomach again. 

however, before you are able to, the footsteps come to the door and the doorknob jiggles.

oh. my. fucking. god. not this again.

oscar, like the night before, strategically shoves you under his blankets roughly. 

this time, you wedge yourself in a way where you can see the doorway through a crack in the blankets before the door swings open.

a nice-looking woman with straight brown short hair and a white sweatshirt with big block letters that spell out, “y u k i” walks in. his mom, you suppose. behind her stands the girl you saw the day before, hattie, who has her hand clasped over her mouth, trying to stop her giggles from escaping. 

oscar’s mom speaks first, clasping her hands together. 

“good morning, oscar!” she exclaims, placing her hands on her hips. “did you want some breakfast?”

“er,” your boyfriend says, staying very still. 

then, you see oscar’s mom approaching you. 

she neatly pulls off the part of the blanket covering your head, effectively blinding you from the bright light from the window, while also turning you into the surface of the sun from the way your cheeks heat up from embarrassment of being exposed literally out of nowhere. 

“and maybe your girlfriend would like some breakfast too instead of being shoved underneath your dirty blankets?” 

when oscar doesn’t answer, his mother shakes her head and sighs. “wow, oscar, i thought i taught you better than treating guests this way.”

you wrap oscar’s blankets around you, thanking god that his mother had not decided to yank all the blankets off your entire body.

hattie decides this is the moment that she cannot hold her laugh anymore and flees the doorway. you can still hear her little giggles in the hallway.

your boyfriend stutters out angrily, “b-but hattie promised-”

“no, don’t ‘hattie’ me. she didn’t out you.” his mother states calmly. “i was a teen too, once. do you really think i wouldn’t see the footsteps in the mud? your giggling at 3am? the quite honestly- nasty- handprints on the fogged up atv plastic? also, the quite obvious lump that was on your bed-” 

she shakes her head, wagging a finger at her son.

turning to you, however, she brightens up significantly. “anyways, i don’t blame you a smidgen for oscar’s actions, darling. call me nicole. now, how would you like your toast and eggs?”

a/n: bonus points if you can recognize what movie + scene i referenced when mama piastri walks for the first time 🤭

[planetherk]

alameda - franco colapinto

summary: franco and his girlfriend after the Azerbaijan grand prix (also franco and y/n being the honorary leaders of team LH)

a/n: i've been obsessed with franco for so long, i'm so happy that he's getting the recognition he deserves!! (someone give my king a 2025 seat) also yes we jump straight to baku - IM SO HAPPY!!

liked by williamsracing, francolapinto, and 34,810 others ynusername OH MY GOD BOYF IS OFFICIALLY AN F1 DRIVER tagged: francolapinto & maxverstappen1

williamsracing 💙💙

francolapinto Thank you baby 🥰

francolapinto Wait I didn't see all the photos

francolapinto BABY WHY THAT PHOTO

user80 new f1 driver = new wag to be obsessed with

user65 what do ya'll know about y/n???

user77 I swear if they media train y/n, my life is over

user43 WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT THE PHOTO WITH MAX HAHAHA

user21 Franco looks like such a baby there awww

liked by oscarpiastri, ynusername, and 281, 983 others francolapinto I can't wait to begin this journey with Williams Racing as a Formula One driver. I've dreamt of this since I was a young boy, and I'm so grateful to everybody who has helped me along the way.

ynusername WAIT does this mean there will be more edits of you on tiktok 😏

francolapinto Does this mean there will be more edits of you 😏

user22 your honour, they match each other's freak

alex_albon Welcome to the team Franco! liked by francolapinto

user91 such a cute caption, i can't wait to see what he does

oscarpiastri Welcome 😊 liked by francolapinto

view ynusername's story...

caption: sleeping like he just got his first f1 points 🙄 oh wait...

liked by williamsracing, alex_albon, and 327, 971 others francolapinto Perfect weekend with the perfect company. Thank you @ williamsracing for believing in me, I'm so proud to have worked with Alex to have gotten the first double points this season. Here's to more!

tagged: ynusername

ynusername that's my boy!!

williamsracing The star has arrived ⭐ liked by francolapinto

lewishamilton Great job Franco!

ynusername omg wait till franco sees this

ynusername update: he has

ynusername further update: he started crying

ynusername further further update: he's calling his family 😭

francolapinto Thank you so much Lewis! ynusername guys he's trying to act nonchalant...

user60 franco loves y/n so much THEYRE SO PERF

user49 saw the lewis comment and immediately knew franco would freak out

user22 The way that Franco posts more about y/n then he does about scoring points-

francolapinto How can I not when she is so beautiful??

user92 franco we need to know if y/n showed you the memes

francolapinto She has 🤭 you guys are very funny

liked by francolapinto, lewishamilton, and 412, 815 others ynusername well I initially thought franco scoring points was the highlight of my weekend buuuuut THE lewis hamilton signed my shirt and told me that's he's excited to see me around. yeah basically lewis hamilton is my bff

francolapinto I can't even blame you liked by ynusername

user27 HAHA y/n and franco are truly the biggest lewis fangirls

user92 y/n's first and second love (lewis first)

ynusername @/francolapinto hehe

user50 Someone look at me the way y/n looks at lewis

user98 NEW FRANCO AND Y/N PHOTO AWWW

lewishamilton It was great to meet you y/n, I'm looking forward to chatting with you in Singapore

ynusername MAMA I MADE IT

ynusername I hope franco is jealous seeing this

ynusername GUYS LEWIS HAMILTON FOLLOWS ME

view francolapinto's story...

caption: she's pretty AND she can drive

let me know if you guys liked this! requests for other drivers + fics are always open, so drop something in there if you'd like (if i haven't responded send me another!!)

[planetherk]

Short n' Sweet 1

oscar piastri x yn singer - social media au

fc : tyla

[part 1]

[part 2]

--------------------------------------------------------

--------------------------------------------------------

yourinstagram

Liked by lilymhe, oscarpiastri and 11,159,944 others

yourinstagram oh what a coincidence.... anyways my birthday week was filled with so much laughter and joy, im so glad i could have spent it with such a loving group of people !! also a huge thank you too lily and alex ( and a few others they brought along ) for coming over and being there for me 😚❤

view all comments

yourbff what a great weekend !!!

liked by yourinstagram

lilymhe happy birthday week pretty girl !!!

↳yourinstagram thank you for being you 😚

alex_albon happy birthday 🙂👍

↳yourinstagram thank you albon 🙂👍

ynstan1 she's back in the studio after a 3 year relationship with jacob.... oh this album is gonna hit 🙂‍↕️

oscarpiastri Happy Birthday ! It was lovely to meet you 🧡

↳yourinstagram thank you mr pastry it was a pleasure to meet you as well !! 😊

yourbff2 happy to see you happy 💌

↳yourinstagram 😭❤

--------------------------------------------------------

--------------------------------------------------------

yourinstagram

Liked by lilymhe, oscarpiastri and 11,181,944 others

yourinstagram is it that sweet ? 💋

view all comments

yourbff did you make your date take picture of you..

↳yourinstagram maybe...

lilymhe my pretty girlfriend

↳yourinstagram oh lily i’m blushing 😊

oscarpiastri is what sweet ?

↳yourinstagram the answer isn't pg13 ↳oscarpiastri 🤨 ↳oscarpiastri OHHHH ↳oscarpiastri yep got it 😉👍

ynhater1 she just got out of a 3 year relationship and is already dating.... 🙄

↳ynfan1 the relationship was off an on towards the end (based on what they've both said ) so it wouldn't be surprising if she's already lost feelings before they publicly broke up, plus jacob when on a date with his ex a week before y/n and him broke up THEN started dating her DAYS after they broke up . then karma got his ass and they broke up on y/n's birthday, he sucks 🤷‍♀️

yourbff2 looking good mama !!!

liked by yourinstagram

--------------------------------------------------------

ynupdates

Liked by ynfan1, ynfan2 and 81,944 others

ynupdates Y/n in Australia recently with an unidentified man.

view all comments

ynfan3 wait is this an april fools joke b/c it's almost april 1st

↳ynupdates no 😭 it's real

ynfan4 omg in australia ??? i hope she's not back with jacob...

ynfan5 she's in australia days before the australian gp.... i hope she's going !!

ynfan6 can't wait to see her at coachella !!

--------------------------------------------------------

ynupdates

Liked by ynfan1, ynfan2 and 181,944 others

ynupdates Y/n at the Australian Grand Prix, y/n is in the Williams garage with friend Lily Muni He.

--------------------------------------------------------

--------------------------------------------------------

yourinstagram

Liked by lilymhe, oscarpiastri and 11,181,944 others

yourinstagram weekend down under 😚

view all comments

lilymhe need you at every race weekend !!

↳yourinstagram maybe not EVERY race weekend but a few 😉

alex_albon not very flattering pictures of me

↳yourinstagram just be more flattering next time 🤷‍♀️

ynstan5 a mother to many 🙂‍↕️

oscarpiastri got my first point's with you at a race... thats suspicious... thats weird 🤨

↳yourinstagram some people call me a lucky charm ⭐ ↳oscarpiastri can i call you that ? 😁 ↳yourinstagram of course ! you're my fav aussie after all 🧡 ↳ynstan8 "you're my fav aussie after all" oh ik jacob just fell to his knees

yourbff pretty girl doing pretty girl thing !!

logansargeant i made the photo dump 🥳

↳yourinstagram you deserve an award 🏆

williamsracing We're glad to have you anytime 💙

ynstan8 no oscar in the aussie gp photo dump.... 🤨

--------------------------------------------------------

yourinstagram

Liked by lilymhe, oscarpiastri and 19,181,944 others

yourinstagram my give a fucks are on vacation… espresso is out now🤎

See you tomorrow Coachella !! 💋

view all comments

oscarpiastri a tuneeee 🧡

↳yourinstagram 😊🧡 ↳oscarlvrr44 im watching yall 🤨

ynstan5 She's done it again!! 👏☕✨

lilymhe pop princess has returned‼️

liked by yourinstagram

ynstan6 Instant classic!! It’s already my summer anthem ❤️❤️❤️

ynstan81 she woke up this morning thought she’d write another pop hit

--------------------------------------------------------

yourinstagram

Liked by lilymhe, oscarpiastri and 19,181,944 others

yourinstagram coachella weekend 1 & 2 what a dream !! these were some of the most fun shows i've ever played 🧡, and i can’t believe you guys were already singing along to all the words in espresso. I feel so lucky. thank you to everyone who came to watch !!!!

view all comments

oscarpiastri Congrats ❤

↳yourinstagram ❤ ↳ynstan81 🤨

yourbff You ate! Obsessed with these performance's it was so much fun to watch

liked by yourinstagram

lilymhe So proud of you - all your dreams are coming true. ❤️❤️

↳yourinstagram 😪❤

ynstan2 literally devoured and left no crumbs

mclaren Y/n is popstaring harder than ever and i’m here for it 🥳

↳ynstan81 MCLAREN ?? what are you doing here ??? ↳mclaren we're y/n fans 🤷‍♀️

--------------------------------------------------------

--------------------------------------------------------

yourinstagram

Liked by lilymhe, oscarpiastri and 19,181,544 others

yourinstagram silverstone was lovely !! 🧡

view all comments

oscarpiastri always lovely when your there ❤

↳yourinstagram 🥰

oscarpiastri i can finally say my girlfriend instead of friend during interviews now 😁

↳yourinstagram you just loveeee talking about me 🤭 ↳oscarpiastri yes i do 😘 ↳landonorris can confirm ↳alex_albon also can confirm ↳logansargeant as can i ↳yourinstagram PLS 😭

ynstan03 bro how is oscar dating Y/N L/N ???

landonorris FINALLY !!!

↳yourinstagram 🙄

oscstan44 HUH ???? THEIR DATING ?!?

lilymhe my prettttyyyy girl is happyy !!

liked by yourinstagram

ynstan23 this break up and in love album is going to go crazy 🤭

--------------------------------------------------------

oscarpiastri

Liked by landonorris, yourinstagram and 10,181,544 others

oscarpiastri Safety car didn’t get the memo. But what a weekend !! Im truly grateful for all the support this weekend from all the fans and people i love 🧡

view all comments

yourinstagram so proud of you !! love you pretty boy 😘

↳oscarpiastri love you !!! 🥰

oscarfan72 them hard launching is the best part of this season tbh

landonorris congratulations on everything 😉

liked by oscarpiastri

lilymhe he stole my girlfriend 😖

↳oscarpiastri snooze ya lose

mclaren Your best post this season !

liked by oscarpiastri

oscarfan90 i need a cigarette.... me and y/n were supposed to be together 😞

--------------------------------------------------------

--------------------------------------------------------

yourinstagram

Liked by lilymhe, oscarpiastri and 20,181,544 others

yourinstagram Short n’ sweet is officially yours now!!! the making of short n’ sweet was one of the most special, honest, up and down, stupid and fun experiences of my life.

thank you to my brilliant talented friends, writers, producers, mixers, engineers, and creative minds that helped me bring this world and these songs to life. not a serious thought was thunk yet somehow they were.. lol i love you all and am so grateful.

view all comments

oscarpiastri IT'S HERE!!! So proud of you and love you endlessly.

↳yourinstagram love love love you ❤

oscarpiastri personal favorite is Bed Chem

↳yourinstagram oh yeah im sure 😘

ynstan32 taste is crazy… what an opening 🤯

lilymhe most perfect album of all time 💞

↳yourinstagram 😪❤

yourbff 8 down 💕

liked by yourinstagram

ynstan21 the drama in this album 🫨

logansargeant IT'S HERE!!! Can't pick a favorite!!!

liked by yourinstagram

ynfan74 coincidence is a crazzzyyy song 🤭

↳ynfan62 what's even funnier is the day jacob and olivia broke up (y/n's birthday) her birthday post she captioned it "oh what a coincidence" 😭

mclaren Dare I say…….no skip album??

liked by yourinstagram

--------------------------------------------------------

--------------------------------------------------------

[planetherk]

"i need a curvy girl!", oscar p. - is a phrase that oscar wanted to yell to the heavens. he wanted to shake his hands in the air like a mad-man and call to a higher power that he wanted a bigger woman. he wanted a woman with curves. he wanted them like he wanted his tracks, something he can drag his fingers along and hug tightly like he did on the track.

he wanted soft stomachs, love handles, big breasts and a bigger ass. it felt like an impossible challenge! not that he hated the smaller girls he interacted with often, but he wanted a girl he can sink his teeth into. (among other things). he wanted to love you close, feel your softness under his touch. he believed that angels had round faces and soft curves, and he wanted himself a divine being.

oscar almost dropped his drink when he was at an event during the off-season. he knew there were going to be models at the event, and while they were drop dead gorgeous. oscar couldn't help but be drawn to you. lando could chat up the others. you didn't even really noticed oscar when he approached you at the bar. you were happily content with not having any attention onto you. but like a siren's song you drew the australian in. the sight of your curves in such a pretty gold dress, you should've been the center of attention. not your fellow models.

"would you like another drink?" he asked as he leaned up against the bar. he looked good in the button up he wore, the expensive watch flashed in the low light of the event. you looked up from your phone at him.

"did your friend put you up to this? if you want, amanda is over there if you want to talk to her." then turned back to your phone. you could feel your ears burn from the attention. it wasn't that you were never flirted with, you just weren't the talk of the room.

oscar looked over to see who he assumed was amanda seated on one of the red couches, she was chatting with another guy that oscar didn't recognize. not that he he cared, he looked back to you and said, "not my type." he chuckled, "the drink offer is still open, what do you say?"

-

oscar piastri liked bigger women. which was a phrase in your head as he led you back to his hotel room for the night. when he kissed you it was refreshing like flavoured water on a hot day. his arms around you were comforting like a warm blanket in the dead of winter. you loved it. he really wooed you all night, he told cheesy jokes and when you kissed him, you could see the pink in his cheeks afterwards. you were enamored by him. number eighty-one was in your room soon after you got the door open. you two kissed briefly before you got your heels off and he toed out of his own shoes.

"i love the dress." he said, "but i think it would look nicer on the floor." he helped you out of it, slowly getting your body exposed to him. he licked his lips, but stopped a moment after, "sorry, i don't want you think i only want you for your body... you're... wow." he felt heat flood in his cheeks as he took in the sight of your figure, "you must be the highest paid model at the agency, you could sell water to the ocean." he chuckled lightly and pushed back his hair.

you stood there, in nothing but white panties. you had your hands behind your back as you looked at him. it felt odd being so vulnerable, naked in front of such a handsome man. but as his mouth kept running, giving you compliment after compliment. you found him endearing. you eventually reached for him and started to unbutton the front of his shirt. "and you." you said, "are quite a handsome man." then gave him a sweet smile.

he swallowed before he took off his shirt and his undershirt. he licked his lips, "fuck, you're beautiful." then dropped his clothed to the ground. he took off his belt and felt a heat course through him. he loved it, he loved it. you took off your panties and oscar maintained eye contact with you while he pulled down his dress pants. he admired you, he was worried that he was eyeing you like a piece of meat. but you felt the farthest from it. you felt admired, adored. you knew you were beautiful, but to have someone handsome like oscar only made you smile.

both of you soon ended up in bed together. both soon nude and kissing, oscar's kisses felt good. they tasted a little bitter due to the contents of his liquor that night, but your sweeten them up with the flavoured gloss on on your lips.

he groaned into your kiss as he laid you out on the bed. when he pulled away, he admired you once more. he couldn't help it. a part of him wanted to ask to take a picture to gaze at later. but he thought asking to take nudes of you after your first meeting would be impolite. maybe he could get some clothed photos during your first date to admire on the next leg of his formula one season. you cupped his face and slowly and softly dragged your painted nails down his cheeks. his eyes fluttered shut for a moment. he said, "i know what you are... dreamlike."

you pulled him in for a kiss while his hand was spread across the side of your soft thigh. you pressed your forehead against his and smiled a little, "and you're a prince charming."

he got between your legs and beamed at you, "well, of course, only the best for a princess after all." then he shifted between your legs and propped your hips up on a pillow. he asked earlier in the night if you were on any form of birth control, the answer was yes. so he felt no regrets as he sank into your sweet cunt. he felt his stomach flip as he started to move against you. his hands on your soft hips, he felt the liquid fire of lust through his body as he rutted up against you. it felt amazing.

you looked up at him for a moment and you caught him gazing at your breasts. you reached out for him and pulled him in to your chest and let him kiss at your breasts. it made his cock twitch inside of you as he moved against you. smothered by your soft tits. he loved it. he planted his hands on either side of you on the bed for better leverage as he moved against you. he groaned against your warmed skin as he worked his cock up inside of you. it felt like heaven, you felt like an angel.

he pants were heavy, his head was swimming as he moved against you. it felt amazing, in a way that he couldn't put fully into words. he clutched onto the covers and moved faster. he kissed at your breasts, they were heavy and it made him shudder with want.

"oscar." you said.

he moved up to kiss you on your collarbones, "you feel amazing, fuck. look at you. you're so beautiful." he was happy to finally get the curvy woman of his dreams, but after a night of laughter and drinks. he think he was falling in love. he was at the very least smitten by you. after tonight he was hoping to get a first date.

you kissed him on the lips as the two of you continued to move against one another on the bed. his kisses were soft and it left you excited all over. you moaned against his lips and held onto his shoulders. the excitement bounced through the both of you. the warmth between you two as the kisses grew hungrier.

you liked oscar, not just because he was drawn to you. while he admired your body and it made you blush, you didn't feel like a notch on his belt. he was making love to you, not just a quick fuck in a hotel room. it felt intimate, warm. and you felt admired, adored, rather than just an object to fuck.

and his words only made you feel more beautiful, "i can see why you're a model. if i saw you on a billboard near the track, i'd probably not be able to focus on the race. cause an accident."

"because i'm so ugly?" you jested.

"no." he replied as he looked into your eyes, "because you're beautiful beyond words." then went in for another kiss. the pace was steady. you moved against each other like you wanted to explore each other's bodies. oscar wished he had an entire weekend with you. he'd make it up to you. you were a dream that he wasn't going to give up on, not if he wanted to be in your life just as much as you'd be in his.

"you're beautiful too, oscar." you said as you placed a hand on his chest for a moment after the kiss broke, "you must make many women very happy on your travels."

"not as happy as i want to make you." he said. it was romantic, soft in a way that left you feeling over the moon. he continued to move against you. he knew that he wasn't going to last much longer. the kisses grew heated, the lust bloomed between the two of you.

you wanted him, and he wanted you.

"oscar, please." you let out a small moan between heavy pants. he worked your body beautifully, he took you in a way that no other man could have ever. his pace wasn't bruising but it was enough for you to see stars. the kisses continued, the pleasure swelled. heaven felt in your touch as you clutched onto him.

you came soon after, your thighs clenched around his waist and you moaned into the heated kiss. it felt amazing, you nails dragged across his shoulders as the two of you continued to fuck on the bed. oscar came soon after, you both felt the heated inferno as you two worked each other's bodies through climax.

"fucking beautiful." he exhaled deeply as he slowed his pace to a stop. another kiss was laid on you before he stopped to look at you. when he pulled away from the short kiss, he chuckled.

he soon pulled out and laid out next to you with you in his arms. you were held gently and smiled against his chest. it felt nice.

"i have to go soon, i have a shoot tomorrow." you said after you came down from the sexual high. you hated to leave, but you sadly had work in the morning.

oscar only held you closer and pressed himself up against you, "i'll drive you. i at least owe you a proper date." he kissed your cheek, he enjoyed the warm, "not one for one night stands.... can i take you out."

you looked at him, admired his features before you smiled at him. a smile that lit up your entire face, too much of a smile made your face look too round-but oscar liked seeing your overjoyed- you replied, "of course... i'd love that." you felt a blush in your face at the earnest look he was giving you. he looked over the moon, and you couldn't help but fall even more for him. <3

[planetherk]

fyi i stand with my cancelled wife

[planetherk]

We were supposed to be mourning our 1D boys in our 80s. Not now. I’m speechless.