#svt joshua | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cherrynpink · 2 months ago

Text

between neighbours

pairing: perv!joshua x f!reader

genre: neighbours to lovers, smut (with a bit of plot) MDNI!

warnings: joshua is a perverttt lol, panty sniffing, perv yet still gentleman joshua (it is a fine line to walk), making out, mentions on masturbating, joshua in tank top (yes it is a warning), switch!joshua, switch!oc, dom!joshua? later, fingering, spanking, joshua is a bit mean but its ok bcs so is oc, oral (m! receiving), unprotected sex (DON'T do this!), he's hitting it from the back, creampie, lmk if i missed anything!

w.c.: 4.6k

for more of my work, check out my masterlist!

note: joshua in black tank top save me... save me joshua in black tank top. i wrote this bcs i love joshua in tank top if u can't tell n i saw a huge lack of perv joshua rep in the community.

also posting after so long did u miss me hehe (i will cry if u say no) anywaysss my requests are open if u have something u wanna read or just talk. i am very very open to making friends here so u can message me if u want. feedback is highly appreciated hope u like this one hehehe :3

Joshua was a nice guy.

Probably the nicest guy you’ve ever come across. He had been the sweetest to you ever since you had moved into the apartment next to him. It was your first time living alone as an adult, and he had been nothing but helpful since the day you met him. Setting up all your furniture because “What are neighbours for?”, helping you sort out all your stuff from your boxes and arrange everything, convincing your landlord to install a new AC unit, making you homemade meals until your kitchen was set up; you name it and Joshua had probably done it for you. You were nervous to move to a new city where you knew no one, but he made the transition so much easier for you. You found out he was a graphic designer and often worked from home, so he was literally there at your beck and call at even the most insignificant sign of trouble. Not to forget, he wasn’t too hard on the eyes, in fact so pretty it ached your heart- the way his eyes would widen as he laughed or whenever he was confused, the way his arms would bulge out of the black tank top he wore when he was helping you set up your bed, sweat dripping down his face which made you want to take him on the very bed he was arranging right then and there. Yeah, Joshua was such a nice guy.

Or atleast that’s what you thought and what his actions said. Because yeah he’s nice, but he’s not this nice to anyone. He would never admit it, but he’s followed you around like a puppy and helped you out so much because he just wants you so fucking bad. He would stare as your ass whenever you bent down to pick up the boxes, completely unaware of Joshua ogling your ass hanging out of your shorts. It got worse for him when the AC stopped working and all you would wear were stupid low cut tank tops. His eyes would travel to your cleavage, neck wet with sweat. You had to know your tits were out, right? Still, he was somehow coping, dropping his sweatpants down and fisting his cock as soon as he got home, your Instagram post open on his phone in his other hand as he came all over his hand staring at your pictures.

He wanted to be a gentleman, he truly did; but then came that fateful Saturday. Your living room and bedroom were almost set up, and you had asked him to get the blankets and bedsheets from one of your boxes. Now, Joshua would say what happened next was through no fault of his own. Packing is stressful, and one might often put things in the wrong box or label them wrong. Sometimes things might just fall into a box and you might’ve not noticed. So it was really not his fault when he lifted one of the pink sheets and found a red material peak through the bottom. Not thinking much of it, he unfolded the sheets, only to find your delicate red lace panties fall on his feet.

A normal person who was unaffected by you would just pick them up and put them right back in the box or in your drawers, as if they hadn’t even noticed them. But, he can’t for his life explain or justify what he did next, as he picked up the lace in his hand and brought it up to his nose without a thought, sniffing the soft material as he immersed his nose in the faint vanilla scent. Make no doubt, Joshua was not usually a panty sniffing creep; in fact till this very moment the thought hadn’t even occurred to him but even though your panties were washed and clean, he could practically feel the fragrance of your cunt and the taste of your essence. Your voice calling him from the kitchen brough him back to reality and as if his rational part of the brain had stopped working, he quickly shoved them in his pockets. As soon as you both were done for the day, he rushed to his room- a very familiar scene on his bed with his boxers still on him, just barely pulled down to take his cock out as he stroked it up and down eagerly as he moaned out your name with the newest addition of his face buried in your stolen panties.

Joshua feels so so guilty. He feels so bad for stealing your panties and then wrapping the warm material around his dick and covering them in his cum, ruining them. What he feels worse about is even though he feels guilty he cannot stop because there’s something so sick in him that loves it. He loves marking them. Loves to think of marking you the same way, marking him as yours. And what he feels even worse about is that ever since that day, whenever he goes over to your apartment to help you, he ends up stealing another pair, and another, and another to the point you’ve gotten concerned over your lack of panties. He's heard you complain to your friend over the phone that maybe you forgot to pack them since so many of them were missing but poor you, unaware of the fact they’re right across your wall in your sweet neighbour’s bedside drawer.

“Joshua, I think there’s a problem with my stove.” You call out to him.

“Wait, let me check.” He says, walking towards you. “Step back a bit.”

He checks the gas valves and calls the gas company to get it checked, which results in you finding out that the pipes need to be changed.

“Y/n, this won’t be changed until tomorrow morning.” He says as calmly, booking an appointment on his phone for a handyman.

“Why can’t anything go right!” you groan out as you fall on the coach, your head in your hands. “Maybe I wasn’t ready to live alone yet.” You mumble. “Fuck! Should’ve gotten a roommate, my mom was right.”

“Hey, this happens to everyone.” He says as he sits down beside you. “When I first started living alone I literally set my house on fire the second day, not even kidding, you’re doing much better than I am.” You laugh as his words comfort you.

“I’ll make dinner at mine today, okay?”

“No way Josh, I’ll just order something. I’ve already troubled you so much I can’t-”

“C’mon it’s no fun eating alone.” He says with a pout. “I bet once you’re fully set you won’t even want to hang out with me, let me enjoy the last few days I have left cooking for you.” He teases you as you laugh.

"No way i'm leaving you alone shua, you're gonna be cooking for me all the time." You giggle.

Now Joshua had called you over for dinner so sweetly and nonchalantly, but between all this crisis management he had totally forgotten about the fact that your panties, that he stole, were littered all over his room because he wasn’t planning to bring you over tonight. But unaware Joshua just let you stroll into his apartment as you settled in there, talking to him as you “helped” him cook for the both of you. You weren’t really helping. Just letting him do all the work and whenever he did ask you to do something, you messed it up some way or the other so you just opted for sitting on the counter rocking your legs back and forth as you explained in detail the seven part Hailey Bieber stalker series from Youtube.

“Right? Okay so Selena has this ‘g’ tattoo behind her ear after her sister Gracie, and guess what! Hailey got the same-”

“You said that you would help me y/n.”

“I am helping! I’m entertaining you shua, if it wasn’t for me you’d just get bored.” You say as you shrug your arms. “Plus you don’t know about this triangle! It’s was all over my feed a few months ago, why are you such a boomer.” You whined, frustrated at the lack of his knowledge of pop culture.

“Okay, I’m sorry” he says as he adds seasonings to the pot. “Tell me what happens next, she copied her tattoo?”

“She DID copy her tattoo, but you’re so ungrateful I’m not telling you anymore.” You say, getting off the counter. Before he can protest, you say, “I’m going to the bathroom.” Heading towards his room.

As you enter the bathroom in his room, it is only natural for you to be curious as to what he has in there. You check all his cabinets and drawers. A cleanser? Tick. A shampoo that is not a 4 in 1 atrocity? A win for you. An actual moisturizer? You are very pleased. Once you get out, you examine his room. Books on his bed side table, laptop neatly shut on his work desk, a few clothes scattered on his bed but nothing too out of the ordinary. But as your eyes scan the bed, what do you see but something very familiar and very missing from your boxes under one of his shirts, before your hand is reaching down to grab it.

Now, it finally hits him. Joshua FINALLY remembers that he had left you alone his room, and if his memory serves him right, he had left a pair of your baby blue panties on his bed. Shit. Did you see it yet? Are you horrified at him? Do you hate him? Now it was time for him to panic as he turns the stove off and hurries towards his room hoping you weren’t out yet, only to find his worst fears come true as he opens the door, panties dangling from your hand as you stand in front of his bed, eyes wide and lips slightly apart, staring at him.

“Are these mine shua?” you ask innocently, even though you know the answer all too well.

“Y/n wait let me explain I-”

“How many more do you have?” not a single note of anger in your voice, but rather curiosity.

“I-” Joshua doesn’t have any words to explain his situation. How does he tell you he’s been stealing you panties and sniffing and cumming in them? He tries to find the words to not make you mad and think of him as a creep before he sees you walking towards him, standing so close to him that he can feel your breathe on his face as you reach up, your panties still bundled in your palm, and the next second you lips are on his, taking him by surprise as his eyes widen. He first stands there frozen, but is quick to keep up with you as he deepens the kiss, pushing you back with his hands on your waist. He can hear his heart beating in his ears and it’s insane how worked up you’ve gotten him over just a kiss. He feels your nails trance over his neck, making his shudder. You pull away, deliberately letting out a sensual sigh.

“Could’ve just asked me for them, why’d you steal, hmm?” you say as you lean in once again, this time slipping your tongue into his warm mouth, his hips pressing into you from under, making you gasp as you feel his hardened length against your lower abdomen.

“Not very gentleman like of you shua.” You say teasingly.

Eager to assert control over him, you push him towards the bed, your feet stumbling and stepping over his as the back of his knees meet the edge and he sits down, legs spread wide before you’re sitting in his lap, legs on either side of him. When you pull away from his lips the sight in front of you is one to see, Joshua under you in his stupid white tank top this time (another one of your favorites) that clings to him so tight you can see his chest bulging out, sweat droplets on his forehead, cheeks flushed and a fucked out look in his eyes. You get off of him as you kneel down beneath him, but not before handing him the very panties he had stolen from you. You pull his sweatpants down, watching his half hard length trapped in his boxers.

“Y/n, please.” He whimpers above you. It’s funny really, how you’re under him yet the one to hold all the control. Your lips ghost over his boxers, and he can practically feel himself burst when he opens his eyes only to see your big doe eyes in front of his trapped length, before you’re reaching down to wrap your lips around his clothed member, mouthing at it as a wet patch forms on his boxers.

“What do you do with them?�� you ask with a small smile on your face as you tilt your neck slightly, eyes so innocent that if he himself wasn't there he would never believe the words coming out of your mouth.

“It’s embarrassing.” He whispers only loud enough for you to barely hear him.

“I won’t let you fuck me if you don’t tell me.” You say as you finally lower his boxers, his hips lifting to help you. “Do you sniff them?” your fingers rub his tip teasingly, spreading around the pre-cum.

“I- fuck, yes! I do.” He finally confesses.

“Mhm, what else?” you say, one hand still running along his hard length while the other reaches to play with his balls, making him moan out loud in surprise.

“Shit I- I wrap them around me and jerk off!” he says which apparently pleases you because you wrap your plush lips around his tip, sucking softly as your hand wraps around his base in a light grip and he sighs in relief; but that only lasts so long before you’re pulling away once again.

“Did you cum in them?” you ask, stopping all your ministrations and placing your hands in your lap.

“Y/n, please-”

“I won’t do anything if you don’t answer me.”

“I did, fuck please! Need your mouth.” He says and you decide not to torture him anymore, wrapping your lips completely around him as you take more than half of him in one go, and it was NOT as easy and effortless as you made it look because Joshua is bigger than you expected. You run your tongue all around, feeling the ridges and veins popping out and you might just cry out of happiness because you actually think his cock is the prettiest you’ve ever seen.

You just rest it against your tongue for a while, letting him feel the warmth before you’re pulling it out, only to deep throat him at once and oh, the sound he lets out is music to your ears. You continue to bob up and down on his dick, as it hits the back of your throat repeatedly whilst your hand pumps the part that you can’t fit, his head thrown back in pleasure and yours in a fucked-out state as his hand grab your hair a makeshift ponytail, manoeuvring your mouth on him as he pleases. His eyebrows are furrowed, eyes closed as the sounds of your gagging and his moaning fill the room. After a point, you give in to him, letting him use you as he pleases, like a doll- only for his pleasure, and you don’t mind it one bit.

“Fuck Y/n, you’re so much better when you shut up for once, doing so good for me.” He grunts out.

His other hand roams around the bed, finding the blue lace before he brings it up to his nose, taking in your scent. All you see when you blink up to him is his buff chest rising up and down, teeth biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood but that still isn’t enough to make control his moans. He’s shaking now, so so close to his high as his mind goes blank and he gives a particularly sharp tug at your hair, making you flood your panties beneath your denim shorts, your slick travelling down and escaping the fabric as you rub your thighs.

“Thought about this so many times, fuck!” he groans as he feels your throat close up around him. his heavy cock stretches your lips out completely as you struggle to keep him in, your jaw aching accommodating his cock. Tears begin to form in your eyes as his hips increase his face, his moans signalling how close he is to his release. His breathe turns erratic and his grip in your hair tightens, as his voice breaks and his warm cum fills your mouth with no warning. He rocks your head back and forth amidst it slowly as he’s still cumming in your mouth, his seed travelling down your throat as you gag on it further, tears streaming down your face and eyes rolling back. When he’s finally spent, he pulls you off of him, a string a saliva still connects you to the head as dribbles down to your chest and you see him smirk, your panties still bunched in his palm and your tears dried on your cheeks.

“Open.” He demands with a light tap on your cheek as you open your mouth, tongue out to show him his cum smeared on his lips and tongue, and you can feel the dynamic shift already.

“Good girl, swallow.”

He pulls you up to give you a messy kiss, as if he didn’t just cum in your mouth and it kind of warms you from the inside and makes your chest flutter because even amidst this, he does act like a gentleman (as if he didn’t just literally fuck you throat seconds ago). You’re flipped onto your stomach in a second as you see him rid himself of his bottoms. One second you’re begging for him to come back to you, next he’s on top of you, pressed against you so close, hands travelling along the curve of your spine before coming down to rest against your hip, pulling you up as he forces you on your hands and knees. You hear him kneel behind, murmuring out “fuck” quietly to himself as his hands reach forward to unbutton your shorts, pulling them down just below the curve of your ass as they fall to your knees and he’s face to face with your soaked covered center.

His long fingers reach between your thighs, pushing them apart just slightly as to look at the mess you’ve made when he’s barely touched as they make contact with your slick covered soft skin. And before you know it,

smack!

his hand is pulled away from you as it comes down to hit your plush ass, your entire body stumbling forward with the impact as a loud cry erupts from your throat in surprise. He’s pulling the lace material above your cheeks, his hand rubbing it gently, soothing your skin.

“You good baby?” he asks from behind- one hand stabilizing your body with its tight grip on your hips while the other continues to caress your ass. There’s a change in his tone, voice turning raspier and deeper, much different than the Joshua you knew but not that you were complaining. And it’s embarrassing for you to explain how much wetter you felt yourself get at his actions as he brings up the hand resting on your hips up your back, grabbing your hair from behind and pulling you towards him.

“You want more, or should I stop?” he whispers, mouth resting just above your ear as he towers over you. When you turn your head to face him, you see his lust driven eyes as he looks down on you- hand still in your hair before he’s reaching down to press a kiss to your lips once again. This one much different than the way he’s kissed you before- full of impatience and hunger. You manage to moan out a “more” into the kiss as he’s pulling away and forcing your face into the pillow once again.

He's returned to slapping your behind, stopping occasionally to rub against your skin to ease the sting. Your loud cries and the sound of his hand hitting you fills the room, but what is harder for you than to bear the pain is controlling how turned on you are right now, as you feel your wetness dripping down your thighs and you’re pretty sure he sees it too, one of his hands coming down to run the tip of his finger along your slit.

“Joshua, mhm, please!” you whine out, but it seems he’s not stopped with the teasing as his fingers gently graze against your clit for second before pulling away again, continuing to play with your folds.

“Fuck, you’re dripping all over.” He murmurs to himself. “You like being spanked? That’s what got you so wet? Prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen baby.” He laughs cruelly, looking at you only to see you hiding your face in the pillow out of the embarrassment.

“What? Not so bold anymore Y/n?” he teases you. “Don’t be shy baby, it’s only me.” he says, spreading out your folds with his fingers as you clench around nothing, feeling another glob of your slick leaking out, the cool air near your warmth making you shiver. A familiar warm and giddy feeling runs through your chest and makes its way down your stomach, making you flutter and moan out in surprise as you feel him spit right on your heat. Without a warning, he’s pushing 2 of his fingers in at one go- your back arching and hips pushing behind, begging for more out of his fingers. His thumb is navigating its way through your folds, making contact with your enlarged nub as you moan out his name, fingers scissoring inside you in a steady pace.

“Joshua, more!” you grunt, your arms losing strength every passing second and the band in your gut getting closer to snapping as he continues to edge you, slowing down just as he feels you getting closer to cumming every time. Your legs are probably shaking at this point, your pleads and cries filling the room every time you feel his knuckles make contact with your insides curling them just enough to make your entire body jerk at his touch. You’re breathless, gripping the sheets clenching around his fingers hard enough to crush them as your legs tremble beneath, a high-pitched loud moan leaving your throat, bucking into his hand right as you’re about-

And he stops. Fingers stopping all their movement as they’re still inside you, knuckles just resting at your opening, but that doesn’t last long either as he’s pulling them out in one go and that’s enough to break you as you feel tears wet the pillow under you, whining out and complaining to him as the loss of contact.

“Want you to cum around my cock pretty.” He justifies, voice dripping in honey as if he’s not done the filthiest things to you just seconds before. You gather the strength to lift your upper body, palms laying flat on the sheets as you turn your head to look at him teary eyed, hoping he’ll show you some mercy, only for him to lock his gaze right into yours and licking your essence off his fingers. It’s obscene really, you watch him swirl his tongue around his fingers, tasting all of you as he moans out.

“Gonna eat you next time baby.” He coos as he pulls your hips towards him by force, your back arching in reflex, pushing yourself onto him. He’s taking his length in his hand and tapping it’s head against your spent core, digits reaching to draw 8 figures on your clit, making you squeak as you hear a low deep throated chuckle from behind you. He keeps running his tip up and down your slit, teasing you till no return and all you can do is whine and beg him to give you more.

With no warning, he’s shoving his entire length inside you- giving you no time to adjust as you jerk forward, a loud cry erupting from you as he groans out due to the warm feeling. You can practically feel him throb inside you because of how deep in he is, and just as a tear is about to drop from your lashes you feel him pulling more than halfway out, only to slam right back into you until you hear his balls make contact with your cunt. Your fingers cramped from the way you’re holding onto the sheets as his hand travel up your spine and grab your hair once again.

Joshua loves your pussy. Now that he’s had it once he’s not sure he can go without it. Your tight walls are clenching around him so hard he might come right then and there. He musters up some strength in him, rocking his hips into you at a steady pace at first as to not overwhelm you with his length, but you’re apparently not satisfied, begging him “harder, more!” under him. And who was he to say no to you? he laughs with a particular strong thrust of his hips into yours, showing you no mercy. He fucks you hard, fucks you fast, fucks you like a man depraved. Because all this time he had been dreaming of your warm wet cunt wrapped around him, and now that he had you he wanted to savor every second of it.

His grip on you in tight, chants of “good girl” leaving him as you mutter out incoherent nonsense. Tears are streaming down your cheeks, overwhelmed with the pleasure that overpowers the pain of his hardness slamming inside you again and again. And he feels so close to his edge, so he chases it- skin slapping against yours as his hand on your clit speeds up, your hips rocking back to meet him instinctively. Your eyes roll back, the knot in your stomach tightening as you begin to tense up. Brows furrowed as he repeatedly hits the very spot that drives you over the edge.

“Fuck shua! Gonna- gonna cum!” you whine out. “Please baby, please- oh!” and with that you’re letting go, eyes going blank, limbs going numb as you crash head onto the pillow as you cum with a broken sob, squeezing him so hard that his hips too falter, as he paints your insides white, not a care in the world that he’s not wearing a condom. You’re probably on birth control, right? Even if you’re not, he would love to see you swell with his baby. But he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it.

He pulls out of you, his cum leaking down your thighs as he falls besides your completely spent body. You turn onto your back, running your hands through his hair as he kisses you, much gentler than before this time.

“You did good.” He murmurs against your lips with a slight smile looking at your tear-stained cheeks.

“Fucking pervert.” You tease him.

“What? As if you didn’t stare at my chest whenever I helped you lift boxes.” He says, hands running against your back. “I felt objectified!”

“Hey! I didn’t steal underwear!”

“Want me to beg for them next time?”

He is a nice guy after all.

1K notes · View notes

hhaechansmoless · 5 days ago

Text

CHASING THE FRONT PT.3

pairing: mercedes driver!joshua x fem!reader

genre: fluff, angst, f1au

description: Part of the Beyond The Grid series. New team, new teammate, new standards to live up to. For Joshua, stepping into Mercedes is a test of everything he’s worked for. Competing against a world champion teammate, adapting to a new team dynamic, and finding his place in the spotlight, he’s under pressure like never before. But things start to get a little out of control when he keeps bumping into you, his teammate's sister...and manager.

warnings: strong language, stressful situations, mentions of car crashes and physical exhaustion, slowburn (i cannot stress on this enough), quite f1 heavy

w/c: Part 1 [21k] Part 2 [15k] Part 3 [21k]

glossary taglist

a/n: one more completed and another step closer to finishing the series eeee!! thank you again to all the comments and everyone that has stuck around for this :D hope y'all like this and please do leave a comment/rb/ask with your thoughts!

SUMMER BREAK

Joshua leaves the house just before eight. One bag slung over his shoulder and a suitcase at his feet. The sky outside is flat and grey, the kind that makes everything feel earlier—or even later than it actually is. His mother waves from the taxi.

This is his second flight in two days. The first one was straight from Hungary, surrounded by team personnel and crew, all still riding the high of a double podium. This one is quieter. No entourage, no itinerary that needs pre-clearing. Just his mother beside him in the backseat of the cab, chatting absently about her ‘sisters’ trip to Madeira, about how the hydrangeas were in full bloom and how the locals were kind and patient even when she couldn’t speak the language properly. It’s the kind of story he would’ve liked to hear in full if his mind wasn’t still somewhere else.

He watches as one familiar landmark bleeds into the next. He’d been looking forward to this part—the break and the stillness. A reset after a first half that had come in hot and fast and relentless. But now he just feels the inertia. His body is in perpetual motion even though the car has stopped.

His mother keeps the conversation going gently, asking about what time the sim schedule restarts next week and whether he’ll be back in Brackley before the others. He says yes to both, though he hasn’t really looked. He’s been meaning to.

It’s not that Joshua can’t relax—in fact, he’s hoping that this trip to Greece will do just that. It’s just harder than he expected to be still. There’s a tension in him that hasn’t quite ebbed out yet. It lingers in his shoulders, in the way his knee bounces under the terminal bench later, in how long he stares at his phone without unlocking it.

There’s nothing on it, anyway. No new messages. No follow-ups. You haven’t texted—not since before the race—and he hasn’t either. He doesn’t know what he would even say.

Not that it’s weird. You don’t talk that much outside of work, and it was just a long weekend.

Still, every now and then, the memory drifts in and out of his head, even though he tries hard not to think about it. The clink of a glass, your arm brushing his as you reached past him at the bar. A glance held too long or not at all.

He told himself that it was nothing when he woke up the next morning, so he does it again.

The boarding gate opens. He stands, adjusting the strap on his shoulder before following his mother toward the queue. No tracks, no engineers, no schedule to chase. A flight that doesn’t lead to anything. And maybe, a little more time to figure out how he’s supposed to feel when he sees you again.

You wake up later than usual, and it takes you a few minutes to remember that you don’t have somewhere to be right now.

Outside, it’s gloomy again—not cold, like you’d have preferred, but just heavy and humid, like the clouds are threatening to fall down on you. You shower, throw on something soft and oversized, and stare at the kettle, boiling water for tea that you never end up finishing while it's still hot. The apartment is silent. No emails, no alarms, no one asking where you are or when you’ll be back in the office. It’s not unpleasant, but because it’s something that occurs only once or twice in a year, the feeling is a bit unfamiliar every time.

The only sign of Doyoung is a text he sent twenty minutes ago, asking if you’re alive and that he’s going to be dropping by later this afternoon. He doesn’t live too far from you, and he gets bored fast when he doesn’t have a car to obsess over or data to look at.

You scroll through your phone on the sofa, not looking for anything in particular. A few messages from friends asking if you want to meet up tomorrow, now that you’re finally on your break. In the informal team group chat, there are a bunch of photos from the Hungary afterparty. Everyone is flushed and smiling in most of them. You stare at them longer than you mean to, before you remember that you’d decided to ignore everything that happened that night. You swipe out of the app.

The thought of seeing people sounds nice. Normal. You should say yes. Maybe go for drinks or just a lazy lunch in someone’s garden, music low and sleeves rolled up. You’ve been meaning to reply for days and keep forgetting, or maybe just avoiding.

When Doyoung arrives, not later that day like he said—knocking twice before letting himself in with the key he borrowed weeks ago and never returned—you’re still lazing on the couch with a book that you’ve lost interest in.

He doesn’t bother to greet you and instead just takes his shoes off by the door and drops his keys in the little ceramic tray you keep by the shoe cupboard, like it’s his own place.

“Hey,” he calls, wandering into the kitchen. “Did you eat?”

“Not yet,” you say. “Was going to make something later.”

He hums, opening the fridge and peering inside. “You have that oat milk I like.”

“You left it here.”

“Yeah, well, thanks for being decent enough not to throw it out.”

You glance over as he pours himself a glass and drinks it straight, still standing. A wave of annoyance pulses through you—not serious, but the one that comes from watching someone help themselves like they live here.

“You know, you could sit down like a normal person.”

“I am normal,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re just uptight for some reason.”

“You’re drinking oat milk like it’s wine.”

He waves you off, closing the fridge door before making his way to the living room and dropping onto the armchair across from you, limbs spread out like he’s trying to make himself as irritating as possible.“ Listen, I’m bored as fuck.”

“It’s been three days, Doyoung.” You sigh, turning back to your book. “Go bother someone else.”

“Come on, can we do something? What are we doing today?”

You glance up. “We?”

“Yeah. I’m bored and you’re free.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What if I had plans?”

He scoffs. “You don’t.”

You don’t. But still.

“I was thinking of going for a walk,” you say. “Maybe grabbing coffee.”

“Great. Let’s do that. And then lunch.”

You close your laptop with a quiet sigh, not really protesting. The truth is, you don’t mind. It’s easier, sometimes, when he makes the decisions for both of you. You get to work on autopilot, which is rare and something you’ve learned to enjoy.

Doyoung stretches in his seat, mumbling. “Honestly, we should go somewhere.”

You give him a look. “We are…?”

“No, I mean, out of the country, maybe. On vacation. But soon.” He leans, pulling out his phone. “Somewhere chill. Like... the Alps. Or the Lake District. Or—what’s that place you always talk about? The one with the ridiculous elevation and no phone signal.”

You blink. “You hate the cold.”

“I hate being bored more.”

A laugh slips out of you, sure that he’s just saying anything right now. Doyoung is not one for impromptu trips, and especially not to cooler places.

“You’re not serious,” you say.

“I could be,” he shrugs. “Everyone else is leaving. Even Joshua flew out yesterday.”

You don’t look up, but your fingers tense around the pages without meaning to. “Oh?”

“Yeah. His mum’s with him, I think. If I remember correctly, he’s going to Greece. Poor guy looked like he needed it.” Doyoung scrolls through something on his phone. “Anyway. Just think about it.”

You nod once, maybe twice, but you’re not really following anymore. You hadn’t really let yourself picture Joshua willingly. You’d assumed, vaguely, that he’d be around. At home, in Brackley or London. Somewhere still reachable.

You shake yourself out of it. Why does it even matter?

Doyoung stands and stretches again, already halfway to the door. “Come on. We’re having lunch. And I’m still serious about the trip. You’d probably like it more than I will.”

It’s too hot to be outside in the afternoons, so Joshua stays in, the windows open just enough to let the air move but not so wide that the cicadas become unbearable. His mother’s gone into town for the day—something about linen markets and local ceramics. He said he’d join and didn’t. She’s learnt not to push by now.

The villa is quiet and peaceful in a way—white walls, stone floors, ceiling fans running slowly. There’s a magazine open on his lap. He’s read the same paragraph twice and couldn’t tell you a single thing it said.

He doesn’t mind being alone. He never really has. But this solitude isn’t what he’s used to. There’s no buzz of an engine a few garages over. No casual knock on the hospitality room door. No hum of Minghao on the phone trying to schedule interviews. No Doyoung pulling him aside to watch something on his laptop, arms crossed like he already knows he’s right. No one comes around the corner with a coffee he didn’t ask for, but always drinks anyway.

He hadn’t realised how much he’d come to rely on that background noise.

Joshua leans back in his chair, feet propped on the edge of the low table, the stone cool against his heels.

He thinks of Doyoung first—because Doyoung is surprisingly impossible to forget even when he’s not around. Then Minghao, probably halfway through a documentary, and planning an itinerary for a trip he hasn’t booked yet.

And then, without meaning to, he thinks of you.

Maybe it’s the stillness that allows the images to push into his mind—things he didn’t even realise he was noticing. Like how you always check the time twice—once on your phone, then again on your watch, like you don’t trust either fully. How you tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re trying not to speak too soon. How you write in a mix of capital and lowercase letters and only realise halfway through with a sigh.

Images from that night make their way in too.

Not in sequence, just scattered pieces, stitched together by how they felt rather than what exactly happened. The heat of the room, how the air had tasted vaguely like sugar and sweat and someone else’s perfume. The thud of music vibrating through the walls. The shape of you in the lights—your head tipped back mid-laugh, eyes glinting in a way he’d never seen before.

Joshua exhales, forcing you out of his mind before moving slightly in his chair. The magazine slides off his lap and onto the floor. He reaches down to pick it up and distantly thinks that his mum should be back by now—they should head out for lunch soon.

The sun has shifted higher. Somewhere down the road, a car door slams.

Joshua stays in his seat a little longer, the magazine closed in his hand, and doesn’t open it again.

You didn’t realise how much you’d missed this until you were already sitting down.

The place isn’t crowded, just tucked away enough that you’d never notice it unless someone told you about it. There’s shade from the small tree that grows through the middle of the entire building, light chatter from nearby tables, and the quiet clink of cutlery. Someone’s already halfway through a plate of pasta when you arrive, and the others make space like no time has passed at all.

“You’re late,” Isha says, nudging your arm as you slide into your seat.

“I’m not late. You’re just early.”

“What’s new?” She sighs, half-hugging you before turning back to the table.

The others catch you up on what you’ve missed, which isn’t much. Someone’s flat flooded last month. Someone else almost got fired. Isha went on a date yesterday, which was so bad she considered faking an emergency at her workplace to leave. It’s nothing new, and does much to bring you a feeling of familiarity and comfort.

You haven’t seen them properly in weeks, and you don’t mean for it to happen. You really don’t. But it never feels like that long, until it is. You sip your water, lean back in your seat, and let their voices wrap around you.

“So,” Isha says, halfway through her drink—some mocktail that looks way too floral, “are you going to finally tell us what you’re doing for the break?”

“Doyoung wants to go to Switzerland.” You sigh, “We leave tomorrow.”

“That actually sounds kind of nice,” Ava says, tilting her head. “Chalets, cheese, snow.”

“In August.”

“Okay, but like… aesthetically.”

You shake your head, but the smile slips out anyway. “He’s been obsessed with the idea of going somewhere high up lately. Keeps talking about air quality and elevation like we’re training for something. He’s planned the entire trip, to be honest, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s put hiking in the itinerary.”

Someone makes a joke about Doyoung in hiking gear, and you laugh. It’s easy.

Later, as the bill is paid and chairs scrape softly back from the table, you feel a lightness that you hadn’t realised you’d been missing. After quick hugs and promises to catch up again soon, you step out into the street alone, your bag slung over one shoulder.

The afternoon sun hangs lower than usual, merciful on a good day. You make the short walk to your car.

You’ll go home, finish packing up the last things, and tomorrow you’ll fly out.

It’ll be a good change, you convince yourself as you start the car up.

The beach is mostly empty by now. A few lights from nearby villas blink gently in the distance, and the tide comes in slowly, smoothing out the sand. The air is cooler than it’s been all day, enough to wear long sleeves. Joshua’s rolled his up anyway, the cuffs loose around his elbows as he walks, shoes in one hand, the other tucked into his pocket.

His mother walks beside him, spooning the last of her gelato from a cup she refused to skip even after a full dinner. She offers once, and Joshua hesitates, thinking about it for a second before declining. She reaches the spoon up and into his mouth, and he eats it anyway.

She grins like she’s won something, then goes back to finishing what’s left.

“I forgot how nice it is here at night,” his mother says eventually, mostly to herself. “No traffic, no screens, no one chasing after you for autographs.”

Joshua hums, the sound low in his throat. “Don’t jinx it.”

“I’m just saying,” she says, nudging him lightly with her elbow. “You’re a much better version of yourself when you’ve slept more than five hours and haven’t had caffeine pumped directly into your veins.”

“Not sure I like the implication that I’m insufferable otherwise.”

“Oh, it’s not an implication. It’s an observation.”

He rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. “You’re so mean to me when I’m off duty.”

“I’m never mean,” she says, innocently. “Just honest.”

They walk a little further, the sand firm and cool beneath their feet. The stars are out properly now, not dulled by city lights or the paddock floodlights, and Joshua tips his head up to look at them for a moment.

“It’s been good to be here,” he says eventually.

His mother glances over with a sigh. “There’s always a but, no?”

He shrugs, kicking a little at the sand. “Nothing big. Just… trying to make sense of a few things.”

She lets the words hang between them and doesn't ask right away. She just listens, like she always does.

“You’ve been a little out of it lately,” she says finally. “Not just tonight. Since I picked you up at the airport.”

Joshua exhales like he’s trying to line up thoughts that keep running around in his head. “I don’t think it’s that serious,” he says. “Not really. Just something that’s… lingering.”

His mother tosses her empty gelato cup into a nearby bin as they pass. “That’s the thing about thoughts like that. They don’t knock, they just move in.”

Joshua huffs a laugh. “Yeah, well. I didn’t invite it.”

“Is it about how the season’s been going?” She asks slowly.

Joshua considers that for a moment, eyes on the dark horizon. The sea’s barely visible now, just a slow, steady sound against the shore.

“That’s part of it?” he says, sounding a little unsure. “But not all.”

“I keep thinking about something,” he adds. “That happened in Hungary.”

His mother doesn’t say anything.

“It didn’t seem like a big deal at the time,” he goes on. “I was…drunk. Just a moment. It passed. I didn’t overthink it then, and it didn’t feel strange right after. But now, I don’t know. It’s like it stuck to me.”

“And you don’t think it mattered?”

Joshua doesn’t know how to answer that. Maybe that is his question in the first place. Did it matter? It sits with him now, quietly, like it's been waiting for the chance. He’s not sure what unsettles him more—the fact that he still thinks about it, or the fact that he doesn’t know how he feels. That there’s no instinct guiding him toward certainty. He tries to tell himself that it was something in the heat-of-the-moment, chalked up to adrenaline and celebration, but stops himself. The more he tries to ignore it—you, his feelings, whatever— the more it seems to reside at the back of his mind.

Joshua comes to the realization, slowly but almost obviously, that he’s afraid, maybe. A little bit about what it means, but mostly about what the admission might do to everything else that he’s built this year.

Because what if he does like you?

Not in a passing, fleeting way, but in the way that asks something of him. In a way that won’t be easy to shelve into depths he won’t reach into again.

That makes things complicated in the one place he can’t afford complications.

It wouldn’t just affect you or him, but also Doyoung.

And that thought alone feels heavier than anything else.

Because Doyoung’s trusted him and taken him seriously. He's stood beside him in meetings and on podiums and in post-race silence. They've fought for the same points and adapted to each other’s presence—slowly, awkwardly, but honestly. The fact that you’re Doyoung’s sister, his manager, his closest person off-track—that is where the ground shifts.

Joshua knows what the lines are supposed to be. He’s tried to walk them carefully all year—or at least that’s what he thought. He knows how delicate the balance is and what it’s taken to earn it.

Joshua knows how quickly things shift when emotions get involved, how teams fracture, how focus slips—not even out of carelessness, but because people are people, and feelings don’t stay neatly tucked away.

He’s not sure there’s a version of this where things go back to how they were.

And yet here he is, with salt dried at the edges of his sleeves and the words still echoing in his head: you don’t think it mattered?

“I think,” his mother begins, snapping him out of his thoughts, “that if you’re thinking this hard about it, then maybe it did.”

He glances at her. She gives a small smile, her lips stretching knowingly as she pats him on the shoulder.

With an affectionate sigh, she looks in the direction of their villa. “Why don’t we head in now? I’m a bit tired today.”

Joshua nods, throwing an arm around her shoulder before steering them both in the right direction.

Best case scenario, you won’t remember anything and it’ll all go back to how it was before.

You slip slightly on a loose patch of gravel and mutter a curse under your breath, reaching out blindly for something to hold onto. Doyoung’s hand appears instinctively at your elbow.

“Careful,” he says, more amused than concerned. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” You push a damp strand of hair off your forehead, frowning at the incline ahead. “It’s just so fucking steep.”

“That’s the point,” he grins.

You shoot him a flat look but say nothing, breath catching in your throat as you keep moving. The air is thinner up here—cooler too, but still not enough to keep sweat from sliding down the back of your neck. It’s quiet, except for the sound of your footsteps on gravel and the dull thud of your heart in your ears.

It’s been like this for most of the climb—sparse conversation and long stretches of silence that lets you be alone with your thoughts even if you don’t want to be.

You huff out a breath, trying to push your hair out your face without having to reach up with your hands—slightly irritated with yourself. You don’t want to think about anything to do with your brother’s stupid sport. Not here, not now, climbing this stupid hill with your brother—who can’t sit still in one place, curse his addiction to adrenaline, or whatever.

You glare at his back, dig your boots harder into the ground, and keep walking.

This situation that you’re in should be normal—honestly, it is normal. You’re not close, not really, and it was just one night. The kind that disappears into itself. A mistake. He’d been drinking. You had too.

You breathe in deeply, catching your breath as you reach a flatter stretch of the path. You don’t finish the thought.

Because the truth is, you don’t know if he remembers and maybe you don’t want to find out.

You shield your eyes from the sun with one hand, pausing to take in the view. The lake glints faintly below, a far-off silvery-blue ribbon that cuts between trees and rooftops. The wind stirs your shirt, cool against your spine.

“Hey,” Doyoung calls ahead, already rounding a bend. “Almost there.”

You nod absently and follow, boots crunching against dry earth.

It’ll be fine, you tell yourself. He probably doesn’t remember.

And even if he does—it’s not like he’s going to bring it up. So you won’t either.

You press your tongue to the back of your teeth and keep walking.

Mercedes-AMG Petronas F1 HQ

The Brackley office always smells the same—citrus floor cleaner, clean-cut paper and roasted coffee.

Joshua steps through the doors just after eight. He’s early, but definitely not the first. The receptionist behind the desk offers a half-wave, cheerfully greeting him with a question about how his break was. In the elevator ride up, one of the engineers steps in with a smile.

“Good to be back, huh? It gets boring after a few days, doesn’t it?”

Joshua agrees with a polite nod and bids him goodbye before leaving.

It’s not loud yet, though. The office rests in some sort of liminal silence—before the teams fill out the building again, coming off flights, breaks, holidays.

He walks the familiar route down the corridor, past framed photos and race posters that haven’t changed since he joined. The door to the driver’s suite creaks slightly when he opens it—he’s meant to get it oiled but always forgets once he leaves.

The room looks the same too, other than the fact that it’s been cleaned out. The whiteboard is no longer cluttered with strategy, data, or points from a random game of cards between him and Minghao. His closet door is locked—he’ll have to get the keys to that soon—and the sofa’s cushion covers seem to have been replaced with newer ones.

His phone buzzes once with a message from Minghao:

Back on UK time, will be there in an hour. My flight was delayed, sorry man. I’ve sent you your schedule so hang in there.

He smiles faintly, then goes to his email to check the schedule. It’s not until the end of the week that things begin to pick up properly. Today is just: internal briefings for the next few races, maybe a few upgrades. A sim block in the afternoon and a few factory visits littered over the weekend.

He should be relaxed. This is the easy part. But his foot taps quietly against the carpet, and he can’t stop glancing toward the hallway outside.

You’ve been back less than three hours and already there’s a spreadsheet open on one half of your screen, a Teams chat on the other, and three people trying to flag you down for something that doesn’t need to be done today.

Classic first day back energy.

You’d meant to arrive on time, maybe even early, but your suitcase still isn’t fully unpacked and your hair wouldn’t sit right and then the coffee machine in the hallway decided it was going to make loud mechanical death sounds instead of actual coffee.

So you were late. Not enough for anyone to comment, but late enough for someone to notice and still move on.

The light comes in softly through the cafeteria windows, and there’s a vague in-between hum in the air: post-break stillness before the Zandvoort buildup.

You’ve barely looked up from your screen except to mumble responses to people in passing. It’s not on purpose, and you know you should’ve picked out a better place to sit than the cafeteria, but the office is still slightly empty, and you’d rather spend time in a place with more people right now.

You’re halfway through rereading a line in an email you’re pretty sure you’ve already responded to when someone slides into the seat opposite you.

“Thought I’d find you here,” he says, setting his paper cup down, filled to the brim with coffee that looks like it has way too much milk in it.

You glance at your watch, and realise you have about five minutes of buffer before you need to go up into one of the meetings with your brother. He looks slightly on edge about it too, fingers fiddling with his nails, foot tapping impatiently on the tiles.

With a sigh, you close your laptop and slip it into your bag before eyeing him. “Can you finish your cup quickly so that you don’t go around spilling it everywhere? We need to go.”

He nods, rolling his eyes before trying to gulp down the contents of his cup like it isn’t hot enough to scorch his tongue.

When he’s done, you both get up at the same time. He squashes the paper and dumps it into one of the trash cans that you pass.

“You think this’ll be smooth?” he asks under his breath. “Most of the media stuff should already be sorted, no? Just some final clearances.”

You shrug. “They changed a couple brand obligations post-break and for next year, I think. New sponsor visibility clauses or something. I think they want us both aligned before the next few races kick in.”

There's nothing particularly difficult about meetings like this, just lots of slides and media language that makes your brain feel like it’s buffering. Still, the team likes everyone being present when possible—especially you, when it comes to anything that might affect Doyoung’s time, tone, or attention.

You scan your badge at the door and step in just behind him.

The room isn’t full yet, but the people who matter are already inside. A few people from the PR team, the head of partnerships, sponsor representatives. Minghao sits near the far end of the table, scrolling through something on his tablet. He looks up and gives you a small wave, mouth pressed into a tired smile. You return it instinctively, stepping aside so Doyoung can take one of the open chairs.

And then you see Joshua.

He’s already seated, posture straight but not stiff, fingers locked loosely in front of him on the table. There’s a light tan on his face and arms, the kind that comes from walking around in real sun, not just between paddocks and pit lanes.

He looks up as the two of you enter.

You meet his gaze for half a second, just enough to register it before instinct takes over and you look away. You don’t catch the way his expression shifts, the way the corners of his mouth lift up like he’s about to offer a smile—a little awkward, a little unsure.

Doyoung claps a hand on Joshua’s shoulder in greeting, saying something under his breath that makes Joshua huff a quiet laugh as your brother settles into the seat next to him. You pretend to focus on finding a seat, nodding once at the head of PR and then making your way toward the end of the table, where Minghao is sitting.

Minghao nudges a chair out with his foot as you approach. “Hey. How was the break?” He asks when you plop down next to him.

You shrug, setting your laptop bag down by the leg of the chair. “Good. Quiet. What about you?”

Minghao hums, passing you a printed deck. “Lucky you. I went home to China. Had to babysit my cousin’s kid for one afternoon and somehow still needed three days to recover. I just got back, actually. Jetlagged, if you can’t tell.”

You let out a quiet laugh, flipping open the first few pages. Sponsor slots. Campaign overview. Nothing new.

Out of the corner of your eye, you sense movement—Joshua shifting in his seat, elbows resting lightly on the table. He doesn’t say anything, but when you glance up, his eyes catch yours again.

You hold them for a second longer than last time and try to smile politely.

Then you blink, like it didn’t happen, and turn slightly toward Minghao instead. “Did they confirm the Thursday slot for the fan event?”

Minghao raises an eyebrow, like he saw what just happened and is choosing not to comment. “Yeah,” he replies, tapping the paper in front of you. “Right there. Around five.”

You nod slowly, pen in hand now, circling the time even though you’ve already memorized it.

The meeting begins properly not long after. The head of PR welcomes everyone back, and the screen clicks to life at the front of the room.

You keep your attention forward. Joshua doesn’t look again.

When the meeting is over, people peel off in different directions, schedules splintering again into the usual chaos of prep and deadlines. Doyoung falls into step beside Minghao, which you find a little weird because you can’t imagine what the two possibly have in common.

You’re already slowing your pace, figuring you’ll let them go ahead and duck off wherever they’re going.

But Joshua’s still behind you.

You glance once over your shoulder, enough to see him bid goodbye to whoever he was talking to outside the meeting room before catching up.

You hear the squeak of his shoes against the cleaned tiles as he jogs up to you guys. The four of you reach the corridor junction, Minghao saying something low to Doyoung, and they veer left together, deep into some conversation about media training or sponsor deliverables or whatever it is your brother is pretending to understand.

Which leaves you—again—with Joshua.

He glances sideways, cautious, then tries again with a small, uncertain smile. “Hey,” he says, softer than usual. “How’ve you been?”

“Good,” you say, a little too quickly. “You? Heard you were in Greece.”

He nods, almost like he’s surprised you knew. “Yeah, I went with my mum. It was nice.”

You nod too, and the silence folds back in. Your fingers fidget with the strap of your bag. Neither of you seems able to meet the other’s eyes for too long, and when you do, the look is held for half a second too long before flickering away.

Joshua shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “So, uh. You went somewhere too, right? Switzerland?”

“Yeah. With Doyoung.” You gesture vaguely, eyes flitting to where Doyoung stands in the distance, still talking to Joshua’s manager. “He wanted altitude and a change of scenery. I think I just needed the quiet.”

He hums—acknowledging, or maybe understanding. “Good timing for it,” he says. “We all needed to get out of our heads a little.”

You don’t reply to that. Not right away, because you think—maybe, just maybe—you know what he means by our heads. And you think he knows you know.

You nod faintly, not trusting yourself to say much more. Also shifting from one foot to the other, you adjust the strap on your shoulder, and that’s when it settles in—quietly, the slow sinking realization. The awkwardness that surrounds him, the way he’s not as talkative or laid-back as he usually is.

Oh.

Of course he remembers.

You don’t need him to say it. You don’t even need to look at him now to know it’s there. The memory’s lodged in your own head like grit under your nails, and suddenly it feels stupid to think it wouldn’t be in his.

You almost laugh. Not because it’s funny, exactly, but because this kind of thing only happens in films where two people wake up the next morning pretending it didn’t happen, only to make accidental eye contact in a hallway weeks later and remember everything all at once.

Except this isn’t a film, and you’re not holding a stack of papers you’ve just dropped in slow motion. You’re standing in the corridor of an F1 team's headquarters with your bag slipping off your shoulder, and a man—a driver, your brother’s teammate—beside you who very obviously remembers kissing you.

And whose expression now looks like someone trying to figure out whether you remember kissing him.

Which, tragically, you do.

Joshua clears his throat.

It’s barely audible, just a soft scrape, like he meant to say something and then thought better of it. You glance at him, almost involuntarily, and immediately regret it because he’s already looking at you with a kind of cautious half-smile. Not flirty, not smug—just nervous.

And that’s when it clicks for him.

You see it. The small pause where his shoulders fall out of that practiced posture of his and his mouth parts like he’s about to speak but can’t find the words fast enough. Like he’s suddenly, absolutely sure that you remember—and worse, that you know he knows now too.

Well, fuck, you think.

“I should get going,” you say finally, not quite meeting his eye. “I’ve got a call in ten.”

He nods, slowly, like he’s still buffering. “Yeah. I’ve got—” he gestures vaguely over his shoulder, “—something. Somewhere.”

He says it like it’s a joke, but it lands awkwardly, like a gear shift in the wrong place. You both wince, just barely.

Joshua rubs the back of his neck like he’s debating saying more. You hope he doesn’t.

“Well,” you say, stepping back. Anything to break the tension. “Good luck with… whatever that something is.”

He nods, the corner of his mouth twitching again. “You too. The call.”

It’s painfully polite. You feel like you should salute or shake hands or send a follow-up email with bullet points recapping the awkwardness of this interaction.

Then you leave, this time for real, and neither of you looks back. But you’re almost certain—painfully certain—that he stands there for a few seconds longer than he needs to, just like you keep thinking about turning around even when you know you won’t.

AZERBAIJAN, BAKU CITY CIRCUIT

Friday, Post FP1 September 19th

If Joshua and you plan to pretend like nothing happened, he’s got to stop acting like something did.

You’re standing outside the hospitality, arms loosely crossed, trying to focus on anything else—on your checklist for the afternoon, on the way the breeze keeps catching at the edge of the umbrella, even on the hum of voices from nearby engineers unpacking gear.

Joshua’s a few feet away, in conversation with one of the performance engineers, though he’s not really participating. He stands, his figure slightly strung up, in the white team shirt that’s been chosen for this weekend, sunglasses slid onto the top of his head. He’s nodding along, smiling faintly, but every so often, his gaze flickers away. Toward you.

Not obviously. Not enough for anyone else to notice.

But enough.

And it’s infuriating. Because you’ve been good about this. You’ve been normal and professional. You’ve made it through two races already and managed to keep everything in check. Talk to him (casually) when you’ve had to, replied to messages, looped him into meetings if needed. Everything has been fine.

Except it hasn’t. Not really.

“You look like you want to throw something,” Doyoung points out around a mouth full of a half-eaten banana that he holds in his hand.

“Yeah, at you, maybe.” You shoot back, shoving his face away with a disgusted look.

“Your face is doing its thing… Who are you pissed with?”

“First of all, can you fucking chew and swallow before you open your mouth? Second, stop bothering me. I’m not in the mood for it, Doyoung.” The irritation in your voice catches both of you by surprise. You didn’t mean to sound that harsh, but Doyoung knows you and hence takes no offence.

“No, seriously.” He mutters, voice dropping lower. “Are you okay? I don’t think I did much to irritate you before this and it’s surely not Joshua or Minghao that you’re mad at… Something went wrong with the team?”

“No,” you say quickly. “No, sorry, everything’s fine.”

Doyoung squints at you. “That didn’t sound convincing.”

You sigh, scrubbing a hand over your face. “It’s just hot and I’m tired.”

It’s not a lie, technically. The sun has been relentless and the week’s been long already, even though it’s only a Friday. But Doyoung’s eyes narrow, which means he still doesn’t believe you but also knows better than to push it. He goes back to eating his banana, mercifully closing his mouth.

“Hey,” Joshua says, voice cutting across the lull in your conversation. You both turn as he approaches—you, reluctantly but your brother seems enthusiastic for some reason.

He’s got a bottle of water in one hand now, and his other hand lifts slightly in greeting, like he’s unsure whether to aim it at you, Doyoung, or both. He settles somewhere in between.

“Was looking for you,” he says to Doyoung, nodding at him. “You have a sec?”

“Yeah,” Doyoung replies with a shrug. “What’s up?”

You take that as your cue to leave, to shift a step back and check your phone or pretend to care about something else. Joshua stands straight, almost cautious and way too serious for three people who’ve supposedly gotten closer this year. It throws you off, and you try to hide your displeasure at the divide it has caused as you turn to your brother.

He used to slouch into moments like this. Hands tucked into his pockets, eyes soft with jokes, voice sounding like something easy and warm. Now he’s standing like he’s in a post-race debrief.

You try to ignore it. “I’ll give you two a moment,” you mumble.

“No, it’s fine,” Joshua says, too lightly, like he’s trying to dial the energy back. He offers a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re not interrupting.”

The silence that follows says otherwise.

Doyoung, bless him, doesn’t seem to notice the tension the same way you do and instead begins to ask him what he wanted to talk about. Joshua brings up set-ups, how his car wasn’t doing good at all during FP1, something about the rear feeling loose under throttle and the balance being completely off through Sector 2.

Doyoung nods along, slipping into work mode easily. “I thought I felt that too in Turn 15. It’s better on heavier fuel, but I couldn’t get the rear to stay down. Felt twitchy all the way through the castle section.”

“I think our set-ups are pretty different though,” Joshua sighs, scrunching his nose.

“We can go take a look later, if you want.” Your brother shrugs.

You stay quiet, gaze fixed somewhere just past them. It’s not like you don’t understand the conversation—you’ve picked up enough over the years to have a basic idea of what they mean—but your attention has splintered. Joshua is being careful. Not with what he’s saying about the car, but with you. The edges of his voice are smoothed down whenever you’re near, like he’s sanded away the parts of him that used to joke and tease and lean in close just to make a point.

He barely looks at you, but when he does, it’s never casual. It’s never just a glance.

You hate how you’ve begun to care about this, but you chalk it up to the feeling of beginning to lose a friend instead.

Joshua leaves after that, bidding a quick goodbye over his shoulder. Doyoung turns to you slowly, the banana finally finished, his expression mildly suspicious.

“…Okay, now I think something’s weird.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“That. Why was he so serious?”

“Was he?”

“He didn’t really talk to you. He didn’t say anything stupid and charming. I thought you two were getting along—” and maybe he understands the defensive look on your face, because he raises an eyebrow when you open your mouth to retort “—and before you deny it, I may act unbothered but obviously I’d notice if my sister and my teammate were becoming closer.”

You roll your eyes. “I think you’re reading into it too much. He just seems pretty out of it. FP1 was bad for him, clearly.”

Doyoung gives you a long, skeptical look. “Right,” he says slowly. “Bad FP1. So naturally, he forgets how to have a conversation with someone he’s been almost glued to since Silverstone.”

You don’t bother with a response, mostly because you don’t have one.

Instead, you adjust your bag again and wordlessly point ahead. Doyoung gets the hint and begins to walk back to the garage with you. The paddock heat sits thick around your shoulders, and your throat feels dry. There’s nothing in what Doyoung’s said that’s technically wrong—but you’re not exactly winning any awards for subtlety either.

Your brother walks alongside you, quiet for a few moments, before he sighs softly. “I’m not accusing you of anything,” he says, voice gentler. “I just… noticed.”

You nod, not knowing what to say to that. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought of coming clean to him. It’s hard to keep secrets with Doyoung, even more so when it has something to do with him. But you’re not sure just how much of an issue this will become professionally, so you zip your lips close and walk on.

When you finally reach the garage, you tell Doyoung that you’re heading back in for a meeting and that you won’t be seeing him again until FP2 is over.

“Just text or call me if it’s something urgent.” You sigh.

He nods, turning around to go in before stopping in his tracks. “Listen, I don’t know if you guys fought or something. But try to get along, please. I can’t go and tell him this, obviously, so I’m telling you—not blaming you for anything, by the way. I’ll see you after. Stop drinking too much coffee and drink more water instead.”

Doyoung’s walking back in before you can reply. You watch his retreating back with a mix of annoyance and warmth.

—

You don’t go right after FP2.

You wait long enough for the garage to settle, for the media duties to end, for the crew to peel off into meetings or debriefs or break rooms. Long enough that if someone asks, you can pretend it’s just a casual check-in.

You meant to leave it alone, to stay professional, keep your head down, and let the awkwardness smooth itself out eventually.

But halfway through FP2 Minghao had turned to you, looking up from his screen without a warning and said: “You two have been weird recently.”

And it was like him, obviously—to be that observant, not accusatory or even that curious. You’d brushed it off with a shrug, pretending it didn’t rattle you more than it should’ve. Your brother noticing was one thing, others was another. You didn’t think that it had been that obvious, but clearly you were thinking wrong. Because if Minghao could tell, then who else had noticed? How long until Doyoung put two and two together? Until someone in the garage slipped up and connected dots that were never supposed to form in the first place?

You make the walk toward Joshua’s driver room with your jaw set. The hallway is mostly empty now, the hum of activity receding as the day wears on. You’re not even sure what you’re going to say, only that you have to say something. Because this pretending-it’s-fine thing? It’s not working.

You pause outside his door for a second, breathing in deeply before looking both ways into the corridor, hoping that no one else sees you before knocking, your knuckles rapping twice on his door. You don’t need more drama.

It takes a few seconds, long enough for you to consider turning around and pretending you were never here at all, but then the door clicks open.

Joshua stands there in a loose t-shirt and joggers, hair still damp from a recent shower. His expression morphs—from something a little lazy and tired, to surprise.

“Hey,” he says with a low voice, like he wasn’t expecting anyone, least of all you.

“Can I come in?” you ask.

He steps aside without answering, motioning you in with a small tilt of his head. You slip past him, heart ticking faster than you want to admit, and stop just inside, arms crossing loosely.

Joshua closes the door behind you. “Everything okay?”

“No,” you say, turning to face him. “Not really.”

That catches him off guard, clearly not expecting you to be so honest. His brows pull together, and he steps a little closer, not quite enough to close the distance but enough for you to smell the fresh scent of his after-shave.

You sigh. “Minghao said something earlier. About us. Said we’ve been off.”

Joshua flinches—barely, but you catch it.

“And he’s right,” you continue. “We have been. And I’ve been ignoring it because I thought… maybe it would settle. But it’s not. You’re walking around like you’re scared to say the wrong thing to me, and I—I don’t know how to deal with that.”

“Right,” Joshua says, after a long pause. “Yeah. I’m—.”

“And people are noticing,” you add, quieter. “Not just him. Doyoung’s said things too.”

Joshua exhales through his nose, dragging a hand up over his face, into his hair. “I’ve been trying,” he says. “I swear I’ve been trying to be normal.”

“I know, me too. But it’s not working, is it?”

Joshua moves to sit down on the edge of the small couch, elbows braced on his knees. His towel falls from around his neck and lands on the floor, but he doesn’t bother picking it up.

“First of all, I’m sorry. Kissing you—” he grimaces, and you’re not sure how to feel about that “—was very out of line.”

You shake your head, not quite looking at him. “It’s okay. I mean… I was drunk too. It’s not like you forced anything.”

Joshua presses his lips together, but doesn’t lift his gaze. “Still. I should’ve known better.”

You sit down, a little away from him, arms still crossed across your chest. “I’ve just been trying not to make it worse. I didn’t want it to be weird.”

“But it is,” he says, like he can’t help it. “It got weird anyway.”

You sigh, because yeah. It did. “And now everyone’s picking up on it.”

“Minghao, Doyoung…” he trails off, then glances at you. “I didn’t think we were being that obvious.”

You let out a small, hollow laugh. “We weren’t. But I guess not talking at all is a bit of a giveaway when we clearly used to. You’re being so dry and awkward and polite, and it’s not really like you, is it? Of course people are going to notice.”

Joshua looks away, his jaw tight. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“By doing what?”

“By not making this worse,” he shoots back, almost sounding snappy but still his voice doesn’t rise. “By keeping it professional.”

You bristle at that. “Right, because professional is clearly what this has been.”

His eyes flicker to yours—guiltily, and for a second neither of you say anything.

“I’ve worked too hard to get here,” he says slowly, even a bit unsurely. “I’m not risking it. Not the seat, not the team’s trust. Not my working relationship with Doyoung.”

You nod. You understand, you really do, but the words hurt as they hit your chest anyway. “So that’s all this is. A cover up. Can we please do a better job at—”

“I didn’t say that.” Joshua interrupts.

“You meant it.” You snap back, looking away from him as you get up.

“What do you want me to say, then?” He exhales harshly, running a hand through his hair. “That I regret it? Or that I don’t?”

Joshua shakes his head, voice sharper now. “You’re his sister, his manager. You know what it would look like if something happened between us and it went wrong.”

Your throat tightens, and you stay silent.

“This is already hard enough. Doyoung is my biggest competition on track. We’re close in the standings, we’re pushing each other every weekend. You do realise how hard it would be if you’re in the middle of it as well.”

You flinch at the words, and he notices.

“I don’t mean that like it’s your fault,” he adds quickly. “It’s just… you’re not just someone I kissed at a party, okay? You’re his person. His family. You’re on his side of the garage, in his meetings, working with his engineers. And I know how this works. If something goes wrong, if this throws off the balance—we all feel it.”

He doesn’t wait for you to answer and just keeps going. “I’ve thought about this so much. About how it would work? About what it would mean to feel something for you and go wheel-to-wheel with your brother every other weekend?”

Your eyes flicker up at that, but he doesn’t notice.

“How are you supposed to be in my corner and his? He’s your family. And I’m the guy trying to beat him.”

It takes a second before you can speak again. “You think I haven’t thought about all of that? About what it means for me?”

Joshua finally looks over, and you will yourself to look him in the eyes as you continue.

“I know exactly what it would look like if anyone found out. It would look like I was choosing sides. Like I wasn’t capable of doing my job objectively. Like I wasn’t loyal to my brother—who, by the way, trusts me with everything.”

Your voice tightens, face hot with frustration and a feeling that’s growing too close to anger. “So no, Joshua, I didn’t take any of this lightly. I still don’t.”

He nods slowly, gaze unreadable now. “So we agree, then.”

You hesitate.

“We agree it can’t happen again,” he says, quieter. “That it was a mistake.”

You nod before adding: “And that we’ll be better and go back to what it was?”

Joshua doesn’t answer right away.

His eyes find yours, and for the first time all evening, there’s something bare in them. Something that doesn’t hide behind restraint or exhaustion. But the look vanishes as quickly as you saw it, and leaves you wondering if you imagined it in the first place.

He nods. “Yeah. We’ll go back.”

You press your lips together, nod once more for good measure—like if you just agree hard enough, maybe it’ll become true. That things can be rewound and tucked neatly behind you without leaving a mark.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Good.”

So you turn toward the door and walk out before either of you can say anything more. But your heart stays lodged somewhere behind you, somewhere in that room and maybe a little too close to the man you wish to forget the face of.

—

Sunday, Post Race September 21st

The door closes behind him, more harshly than he’d meant to shut it.

He doesn’t bother taking his shoes off just yet. His cap is the first thing to go, fingers tugging it off absently before he sets it on the desk beside the team lanyard, both items placed a little too neatly, like muscle memory carrying him through the motions. The rest of the room remains untouched. Still and quiet. The overhead light stays off. He reaches instead for the smaller wall sconce by the bed and flicks it on, the glow warm and soft in a way that doesn’t quite match the mood he’s in.

He exhales, slowly.

There’s a kind of emptiness after a race like that—if you could even call it one, considering he was out for almost half of it. The result is too final, nothing left to fix or fight, not when the damage has already been done. He peels off the white team shirt and folds it once, more out of habit than care, placing it on the back of the armchair near the window. The shirt is wrinkled and slightly damp at the collar, and when he brushes his fingers against the fabric, they come away cool.

He’s not even exhausted yet, body running on leftover adrenaline that he knows is going to leave him so tired when it finally leaves. This time, unlike most, will be worse because he hasn’t actually done anything to go to sleep with a peaceful mind. He should maybe shower again and eat, but neither sound appealing right now.

Joshua drags himself to the balcony, sliding the glass doors open and stepping into the warm Baku night. He absently thanks the team for booking a hotel away from the track. Every year, Williams would—for some reason—book a hotel that overlooked the track, and after a bad day, the reminder was always unnecessary.

He exhales, bracing his palms against the cold metal railing. His muscles ache faintly, but nothing sharp—nothing like the jolt through his neck when the car hit the wall. Nothing like the way he’d sat in the medical car afterward, helmet off, jaw tight, nodding at every word the doctor said while thinking about absolutely nothing except for the .

The DNF shouldn’t sting this badly. But he’d been doing okay today. Not great, not podium-bound, but good enough for a step below. Joshua tries not to think of the articles that are probably up by now.

Mercedes falters again on the streets. Hong out early in Baku after a costly mistake. Good enough, or has the pressure of a big team finally caught up to Joshua Hong? Team tensions rising?

He hates the last one the most tonight—especially after the podium that his teammate made it onto, while he sat at P20. It was good points for the team, but with no contribution from him. Doyoung’s managed to get ahead of Joshua, and while he was aiming to beat his teammate by the end of the year, he knows that it’s easier said than done.

It’s too quiet now and he can’t stop replaying it. Not just the crash—though that part loops relentlessly, the twitch of the wheel, the slide, the sickening hit. But what came before. What he was thinking about.

Because although he’d never admit it to anyone, the crash happened because he wasn’t paying attention. His hands were on the wheel, eyes on the mirrors, yes. But his mind was somewhere else entirely. Still stuck in that small, stifling driver’s room with you. Still hearing the way his voice had cracked when he told you it was a mistake.

He grips the rail tighter. This is exactly what he was worried about, and he’s ashamed of himself for it. Joshua has never let other things get to him when racing. It’s always the track, the car, his mirrors and the next turn in his head. Never people or feelings.

He should’ve handled it differently. All of it. The kiss, the aftermath, the conversation that somehow left him more confused than before. Because despite everything that was said—despite the professionalism, the agreement, the decision to move on—he can’t. Not really.

Joshua lifts a hand to his neck, shuddering slightly as goosebumps litter his arms despite the warm air. There’s too much noise in his head. Too many things unsaid, and too many things that shouldn’t be said at all.

He should go inside, put a shirt on. What if the person next door decides to come to the balcony as well?

Then, to his luck, the door next to his opens.

He freezes but doesn’t turn. Maybe it’s a stranger. Maybe it’s just someone stepping out for air, like him and if he stays where he is—still enough, they won’t notice him.

There’s the faint sound of curtains ruffling in the breeze followed by a soft sigh.

And then your voice, quiet and disbelieving, like you were hoping for anything but this.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Joshua’s head turns toward you before he can stop himself. Your hand is still on the edge of your door, fingers curled around the handle like you hadn’t meant to step fully out. You're not in uniform or a team shirt anymore. You're with your hair down, comfy clothes, bare faced and looking tired.

You freeze when you see him, like you hadn’t considered this was possible either. Your eyes meet across the narrow stretch of the balconies, and for a second, neither of you move. You should go back inside. You both should. That would be the adult thing to do. The professional thing to do.

Joshua starts first. “Didn’t know you were next door.”

You blink, finally stepping out all the way and letting the door click shut behind you. “Neither did I.”

You keep your arms folded across your chest, not entirely out of discomfort but more as a barrier. Still shirtless, hair a little messy, his eyes flick away from yours only when you speak again.

“Well, what luck,” you mutter, voice lacking the humour you hoped it would have.

“Yeah.”

The air is balmy and just slightly humid, buzzing with the hum of traffic and hotel A/C units. It’s not awkward, not yet, but there’s a line that’s begging to not be crossed tonight. You both know what kind of week it’s been.

“How’s your neck?” you ask.

Joshua glances over, brow raising. “It’s alright.”

“You hit the barrier pretty hard.”

“I’ve had worse.”

You nod, but something about the way his fingers twitch against the railing tells you he’s still strung up about it, tight and immovable.

Involuntarily, your eyes fall onto his neck. It’s not like you expect to see if he has any pain and it’s a mistake, clearly—because now you’re noticing the faint sheen still clinging to his skin, the soft curve of his shoulder, and the way his back muscles shift tensely. There’s a pale scar across the top of his right shoulder blade—thin but jagged, and old if the rough stitch-work is an indicator of anything.

“What’s that from?” you ask before you can stop yourself, chin tilting toward the mark.

Joshua follows your gaze and lifts one hand absently to it, fingers grazing the scar like he hadn’t thought about it in years. “Karting crash when I was twelve. I didn’t brake fast enough going into one of the turns.”

“Late-breaking since you were a kid, huh?” You mutter under your breath, meant for yourself, but he hears it anyway and a small smile breaks out.

“My mentor, from back then, would stand near the corners and watch where the other kids braked. When it was my turn, he’d go a bit further up and tell me to brake there instead.” He scoffs, eyes trained somewhere on the skyline. “It was really hard at first, but I got used to it…clearly hasn’t left me since.”

The silence stretches, and uncomfortably so. You both stay like that—leaning on separate railings, caught in a suspended still where neither of you know what to say next. Conversations don’t seem to come easy anymore.

Eventually, it’s you who moves first. You push off the railings with a deep inhale. “I’m going to head in then. Good night, Joshua.”

He nods and responds softly, “Me too. Night.”

You slip back into your room, the door sliding shut behind you. The lights are low and your suitcase is half-unzipped near the bed, your phone somewhere on the desk where you tossed it earlier.

Crossing over to the bed, you sit on the edge and let your head fall into your hands.

You should have asked how he really was. Not just his neck, like that was the only part of him that could’ve taken a hit.

Because when the crash happened—when the camera cut to his car snapping sideways into the barrier, debris rising in a smoke of dust, and all radio silence—you hadn’t moved. Heart lodged somewhere in your throat, your fingers had curled against your palm so tight that you’d left indents. Someone on the engineering island had said, “He’s moving,” and you still hadn’t breathed until he climbed out, slow and stiff, but seemingly safe.

And then you remembered you weren’t supposed to care like that. Not anymore. Not like before.

So when the media asked, when your brother asked, when the team exchanged glances and subtle reassurances, you said nothing. You told yourself you were just being professional. You told yourself it didn’t matter. Joshua had Minghao and the med team. He’d done this before and he would be fine.

Because there’s a boundary—one you hadn’t realised you were slowly crossing, one you’d thought meant that you could just be friends with your brother’s teammate. You wonder why this is the first time you’ve bothered to speak or get along with someone like that. Doyoung’s had other teammates before, and you’d always been civil. Not warm or inviting but enough to keep a professional relationship. You didn’t go out of your way to build rapport. There was no reason to. The other driver wasn’t your responsibility. You weren’t part of his bubble. And besides, you’d always figured they had their own people, their own routines, their own version of someone like you.

So whatever friendliness you offered came in passing—neutral good luck, half-smiles in the garage.

You’ve always been good at keeping the line. Drawing it quietly, without anyone noticing.

But Joshua. He feels like the first time someone’s tried to pull you past it.

Not on purpose or all at once but slowly and subtly—in hotel hallways and garages and late nights at the paddock. In the way he lingered after briefings, how he asked about Doyoung but looked at you when he said it.

And you’d thought—maybe, maybe this could still be simple. Maybe you could toe that edge and call it friendship, just friendship. But even that feels like a stretch now. Because it really doesn’t feel simple anymore.

SINGAPORE, MARINA BAY STREET CIRCUIT

Thursday, Media Day October 2nd

You spot them already seated when you walk in—Doyoung leaned back in his chair, legs crossed, a paper coffee cup balanced lazily in one hand. Joshua’s next to him, not quite opposite but angled inward, scrolling through something on a tablet with one elbow on the table.

You’d only meant to swing by, remind Doyoung about a schedule change, and tell him the briefing room time for the morning. But then he looks up and says, “Did you hear Seungcheol in the press conference?” like it’s the most important thing he’s said all day.

Joshua glances up too,

“No,” you say, “I missed it.”

Doyoung grins and nods to the chair across from him. “Sit. You’ll enjoy this one.”

You hesitate a second, glancing at your watch before sliding into the seat across from them.

Doyoung’s already talking. “So, he gets asked about the Ferrari rumors—you know, the Monza thing and just the entire season overall with talks of him leaving—and he gives the most carefully worded denial I’ve ever heard. Like... textbook media training. ‘Focused on the team,’ ‘we’ll talk when the time comes,’ all of that.”

You hum. “So it’s happening.”

“Obviously it’s happening.” He fiddles with a sugar packet between his hands. “He only talks like that when something’s already in motion.”

“It’s obviously not Red Bull that he’d move to.” Joshua adds, eyes trained on the table. “Haechan could literally win the championship this weekend and Seungcheol is not going to move to another team just to be number two… especially when they’re known for clearly prioritising one driver over the other. History speaks for itself.”

“And our contracts don’t end till two more years so that’s us off the list.” Doyoung muses. “McLaren… but they’ve invested in two young drivers. Doubt they’d give up on fresh talent this soon.”

“But they haven’t been doing great, to be honest.” Joshua points out, pushing around a drop of water on the table, still avoiding your gaze. But now it just looks like he’s concentrating, so you let it go. “Sure they’ve been getting closer, but their team needs a miracle for next year if they want to sign him.”

“He could look at the regulation changes in 2027 and join them though.” Your brother argues.

“Wouldn’t it just be better for him to stay for one more year in Ferrari then?”

“It would.” Joshua agrees, glancing up at you. “I think Audi and Cadillac will be solid choices too though, honestly.”

He checks his phone, then straightens in his seat.

“I’ve got to head up,” he says, slipping it back into his pocket. “IWC. They want me to look excited about a wristwatch.”

You huff softly—not quite a laugh, but close.

Joshua tilts his head slightly, “Don’t worry, I’ll try to smile. Once. Maybe twice, if really needed.”

It’s a joke. Classic, dry, a little deadpan—the kind of thing he used to say all the time. But it lands wrong and feels practiced, almost. Like he’s trying to sound like before because you asked him to.

You give him a small smile anyway. “They’re asking a lot.”

“I know,” he says, almost smiling too. “Tough job.”

“Well, I’ll see you guys later.”

You nod, and Doyoung waves lazily beside you. When he’s gone, Doyoung doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks down at his cup, turning it slightly between his fingers, like he's thinking about whether or not to say something at all.

“He likes you.”

You blink, almost choking on your own saliva. “What?”

He doesn’t repeat it and only shrugs, gaze locked on the cup in his hands. “You heard me.”

“Is that supposed to be a question?” you ask, cautious.

“No.” Doyoung’s voice is light, but when he looks up at you, his eyes are sharp. “It’s not.”

You exhale, unsure whether to laugh. “Well. That’s not something people usually say at like…3 PM on a random thursday”

He tilts his head slightly. “It’s almost four, actually”

You let out a quiet scoff. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you didn’t deny it.”

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Doyoung clocks it.

You cross your arms loosely. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He shrugs again. “You don’t have to say anything. I’m just letting you know I see it.”

You stare at the table. A droplet of water is still trailing down the side of Joshua’s forgotten glass.

“…You really think he likes me?” you ask, quieter now.

Doyoung doesn’t even blink. “I think he likes you,” he says. “I think he leaves slower when you’re around. I think he’s careful about what he says when you’re listening. And I think—” he pauses, like he’s debating how honest to be—”I think he tries not to, which kinda gives the whole thing away. Which also usually means you’re fucked.”

“And, what? You just figured that out, out of nowhere?” You snap back, slightly surprised and annoyed at the call out.

“I wasn’t sure before,” he says, then pauses. “But now I am.”

You look at him. “Why now?”

He hesitates just long enough for you to notice.

“When someone starts to get close to your sister,” he says, “you start noticing things.”

It knocks the breath out of you more than you expect. Not in a bad way, but just—suddenly, this is real. Not just in your head. Not just a maybe. You look at him.

He softens, just a little. “I’m not mad,” he sighs. “If that’s what you’re scared of.”

“I’m not scared,” you murmur.

“Good. I just wanted to know if I should be watching out for you or watching out for you.”

That makes you laugh, despite yourself. “And?”

“I’m still deciding,” he says, getting up and stretching. “But you’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

“I’ve been so subtle.”

Doyoung gives you a look over his shoulder as he begins to walk away. “You’re both embarrassing. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Doyoung.”

He pauses, turning around to face you again.

“I’m not… planning anything,” you declare, but by the way your voice comes out a little pathetically, it sounds unconvincing even to you.

He just stares at you—tired, affectionate, and knowing.

“Yeah?” Doyoung shakes his head. “Tell me how that goes.”

And with that, he walks off, leaving you alone with a table full of empty cups and a truth you can’t shove away anymore.

—

Saturday, Post FP3 October 4th

“Yes, I understand that. But we’ve already restructured the drivers’ schedule once to fit this in, and the engineering team made it clear they’re not shifting the debrief. We’re running out of room to be flexible.”

He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop when he passes the half-shut door upstairs. He’s just heading toward his driver room, idly checking the time on his phone, when your voice draws him to a pause. It’s low and clipped—not angry, but too calm in a way that says everything’s going wrong.

“We’re—Yes, I’m aware Petronas is the title sponsor. That’s why I’m trying to get this done now. You need to meet us halfway. The drivers aren’t free after 3 PM on Tuesday, and they won’t be reshuffled again for something that’s changed three times already. The team has flights to catch and meetings that cannot be held off once we get home. We’re functioning on a really tight schedule here—”

Then there’s a longer silence, and when you speak again it’s just a resigned “Okay. Let me know by eight. Thanks.” The call ends, and he hears the soft click of your phone being set down.

Joshua knocks once, light against the frame. You just glance up and tense for a second like you’re bracing for something else to fix—but it’s him, and your expression softens immediately.

“Hi,” you say, voice lower than usual.

He doesn’t enter fully, just leans a little against the doorframe, watching you. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he murmurs, “but is everything okay?”

You sigh, shaking your head before settling down onto one of the chairs in the room. “Ask me again tomorrow.”

“Are you alright?” Joshua asks, a little softer now.

You hesitate, then shrug. “Just stretched too thin. Everyone wants a different version of the schedule, and somehow it’s my fault none of them match.”

Pausing, you glance at him once before you add: “Sorry. I’m not usually like that.”

“When things matter, it’s not a bad thing.” Joshua assures.

“How was practice?” You sigh, massaging your temple.

“Not bad,” he answers, leaning against the doorframe. “Don’t know if you’ve seen the results but Doyoung seems to be doing well. I think I’m still a little out of it but quali will be good, I assume. Just need to get food inside me to perform right now.”

In the haze of your exhaustion, you look confused for a second, glancing at the time before you realise that it’s Singapore that you’re in. The gentle furrow of your brows makes Joshua’s lips break out into a small smile—one he tries to stamp down slowly.

You scoff, “The things you guys do to beat the jetlag. What time did you even get up?”

“Around one in the afternoon,” he shrugs, “It was a bit early, I think. Overheard Chenle saying he got up at three.”

“And you’re staying up till, what? Two in the morning?”

“Bang on.” He shoots a thumbs up. “Doyoung and I literally have the tennis court booked at twelve.”

“Jeez,” You let out, a little incredulously, “But anyway, you should go eat. You literally just said you needed food to function.”

He doesn’t move.

You look at him properly this time. “Joshua.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m okay.”

He doesn’t look convinced, not entirely. But he nods and pushes off the doorframe a little. Your brother’s words echo in your mind. He likes you. You swallow and force a small smile. “Really. I just need to reset.”

Joshua lifts his hands in surrender “Alright,” he says but hesitates before continuing. “If you need something—if you want to not talk about logistics and PR nightmares for five minutes—I’ll be around.”

You nod. The offer won’t be taken, and you think he knows as well, but still you mutter a small “Thanks.”

—

Monday, Post Race October 6th

It’s sometime past 2 AM when you push through the glass doors leading to the rooftop pool. The air is thick with leftover humidity, cut only slightly by the breeze, and the city glows beneath the haze like it’s still awake and waiting. You aren’t even sure what you’re doing up here—you don’t feel like swimming, nor are you in appropriate clothing for it. You just needed a moment to breathe, probably.

The season is as good as done now, with the new world champion crowned. There’s not a lot to look forward to anymore except what next season will bring. So yes, while you’re happy that your brother won today’s race, there’s a sort of empty feeling in you—whether from the season, or from other things is something that you don’t want to unpack right now.

You spot him before he sees you.

Joshua sits at the edge of the pool with his feet in the water, shirt sleeves pushed to his shoulders, hair wet and sticking in random directions, like he got out of the water, dressed and went back in without drying his hair.

For a second, you consider leaving. You should leave. The last time the two of you were alone after a race did not end well, and the thought makes your chest tighten as your steps falter.

But then he turns, almost like he senses you there, and his eyes find yours. Before you can stop yourself, you walk over, your footsteps quiet against the tile. There’s no music, no voices, no one else lingering around anymore.

“You can sit,” he says, nodding to the empty spot beside him.

You lower yourself down wordlessly, the concrete edge cool beneath your legs. Neither of you speak for a while. The water laps gently against the walls of the pool.

“Not celebrating with Doyoung?” Joshua asks finally.

You shake your head, arms going back to brace yourself as you dip your legs into the water. “He’s asleep, actually.”

“Deserved,” he huffs out with a smile, “he did great today.”

“He did. You did too.” You nod.

Joshua doesn’t respond immediately, but he glances at you, raising an eyebrow.

“I mean, you holding Haechan back like that was really cool to watch.” You shrug, looking away and into the lights on the floor of the pool.

He laughs at that, the sound bright and easy. You stay quiet and listen. It’s been a while since you’ve heard him like that—genuine, unguarded, and not trying too hard to be anything but exactly who he is at this moment.

“I think that if he hadn’t won the championship today, he would’ve actually found me after the race and put up an argument.”

You scoff softly, lips curving as you know that it was completely possible.

Your legs move idly in the water. You tilt your head back, eyes slipping shut for a second. The city hums in your ears, a feeling of heat and light and long weeks coming to a slow, inevitable end.

And then, without really meaning to, you speak, your voice honest in a way that feels overdue.

“I don’t know where we’re going with this.”

When you open your eyes, Joshua’s already looking at you. His lips slant in an awkward smile. “With what? The team?”

You exhale gingerly. “No. Not the team.” You answer, but you think that he already knows what you mean.

Joshua doesn’t answer right away. The smile fades, or maybe it never fully reached his eyes to begin with. He looks back at the pool, then down at his hands, fingers loosely threaded together in his lap. The silence stretches.

“I thought we weren’t going anywhere,” he says eventually, his voice quiet. “That was the whole point, wasn’t it?”

You nod slowly, because yes, that was the point. It was the unspoken rule from the start—keep things simple, clean, professional. Friendly, maybe. Careful always.

But now, here you are, sitting next to him in the dark, your legs skimming the water, and your guard down without realising when it fell. None of it feels simple anymore.

“I didn’t think it’d get this far,” Joshua admits. “I wasn’t thinking much when we kissed, obviously… and I hoped that you didn’t even remember, but after that I thought that keeping a distance would just work somehow. And it did, for a while. I made myself believe I didn’t want more than that. But you make it easy to want more.”

He says it without expectation, without even really looking at you. His voice is steady, like he’s been holding the words for a long time and finally couldn’t anymore.

You’re still watching the pool, your reflection blurred and broken on the water’s surface. But his words cut through the stillness, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe.

“I think…” You begin slowly, “the problem is that you make it too easy too.”

Joshua glances over, and for the first time tonight, you meet his gaze head-on. Neither of you looks away.

“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” you continue. “I’ve always been careful. I know how this works—how quickly people talk, how easily things get misread, how much harder everything becomes when you blur the line between personal and professional. And I’d love to say that I tried to keep you out of that space, but you were already there, somehow.”

He doesn’t interrupt and just listens with that infuriating patience that makes it harder not to say everything you shouldn’t.

“I kept telling myself I was being stupid,” you go on. “That if I just stayed polite, stayed neutral, it would pass. That I could handle it. But you kept showing up. You remembered things and God—I don’t know. You cared? Did you? Well it felt like it. And it just got easier and easier.”

Joshua doesn’t dare to move, but you see his lips part, like words lay waiting behind them.

“And then Hungary happened. And I thought, maybe it could still be fine. Maybe I was overreacting, and if I just pulled back, you’d fall away from it too. I just didn’t expect it to hurt.” You exhale shakily, the admission catching somewhere in your throat.

“I don’t think we meant to end up here,” you murmur. “But here we are.”

“I was scared of what it would mean,” Joshua says finally. “That if I admitted it—to you, or to myself—it would ruin something. That we’d start pulling things apart just by acknowledging them. I think I thought that if I stayed quiet, I could keep everything intact. That we could still be okay if I didn’t make it real.”

You don’t answer right away. There’s too much pressure that has no release. You drop your gaze to the water again, the light scattering in waves beneath your legs.

“But I think I’m past the point of pretending it’s not real,” he continues. “And the truth is… even if it’s risky—even if it complicates everything—I don’t want to go back to pretending you’re just part of the background.”

You let his words sit for a few moments before you speak again. “And what if—no, when the day comes for me to make a choice.” You press your palms against the edge of the pool, like bracing yourself against the weight of what you’re saying.

“Because you and I both know it’ll happen eventually. It won’t have to be dramatic, or maybe it will be. A moment where the team needs something from me, or Doyoung needs something from me, and you’ll be there too. And I won’t be able to give all of you what you want at the same time. And maybe you’ll say it’s fine, but I’ll see it on your face—that I didn’t choose you.”

You shake your head, your voice quiet but unwavering. “And the thing is… it’s not just that I’m scared of hurting you, myself or Doyoung. I’m scared of doing it again and again. Because I already have, in small ways. In ways you probably didn’t even let yourself admit. I could try and promise that I’ll try my hardest to stay neutral or try to support both of you as much as possible, but on the occasion that it’s not possible, would you be okay?”

“I did think about that,” he answers, finally. “That day in Baku, when I said all of this would get complicated. That there would be moments where I’d come second—or not at all. And the truth is, I kind of hated the idea of it. Not because I didn’t understand your role, but because I knew it would hurt. I knew it would make me question things that maybe wouldn’t be fair to question.”

You glance at him, but he’s not looking at you anymore. He’s looking straight ahead, like this is something he can only say if he doesn’t see the way you’re taking it in.

“But I think I was just hoping for the cleanest outcome. I could be a good teammate, be your friend, and protect myself before I got too involved.” He pauses. “In the end, it just felt like I kept lying to myself.”

He turns to you now, and there’s something steadier in the way he holds your gaze.

“So yeah, I still know it won’t be easy. And maybe I’ll flinch sometimes. Maybe it’ll sting when I wish you’d say something or do something for me, and you can’t. But that doesn’t mean I won’t understand. I do. And I won’t ask you to pick me every time. That’s not what I’m here for.”

There’s a pause, quiet except for the occasional ripple of the water behind your legs.

“If you’ll let me, then I’ll be here because I still want to be. Not just when it’s convenient. Not just when I’m ahead, but even when it’s messy, even when I’m not first. But would you be alright with that? Having to deal with both of us.”

“I—” You begin, “Joshua what if this gets out? We’ll all have our work ethics and integrity questioned. And I don’t work directly for the team, so it probably wouldn’t be an HR issue, but what if this just doesn’t work?”

Joshua nods slowly, “Yeah,” he says, “I’ve thought about that too.”

Then he exhales, like the honesty takes something out of him. “And I don’t know. I don’t have a clean answer. Maybe people will talk. I can’t promise that they won’t. But I think what’s worse is pretending none of this is real just to avoid the risk.”

“I know what I’m asking. You’re already holding so many lines together, and I’m one more thread that could snap everything. I get it.” He swallows, voice softening. “But I keep thinking… maybe we’ll figure it out as we go. Maybe it’s not about having the answers right now—just about being willing to try.”

“Yes.” you say finally, voice a little louder than before, like you’re making a decision. “I think I would be okay with that. With having to deal with both of you.”

“Okay,” Joshua’s lips split into a grin, almost disbelieving—like he wasn’t letting himself hope.

He shifts a little, brushing his hand over his shirt before holding it out toward you, palm open.

You glance at him, brow raised. “What’s that for?”

“A handshake,” he says, almost shyly now. “I don’t know. Just felt like… something. Like maybe we’re agreeing to something real this time.”

You stare at his hand for a second longer before sliding yours into it. His grip is warm and steady, his fingers slightly wrinkly from the water.

You squeeze once. “You’re ridiculous.”

Joshua smiles, thumb brushing the back of your hand as he flips your palms. “Maybe. But you shook on it.”

He doesn’t let go immediately, and neither do you. You watch your hands for a moment, the way his thumb keeps moving, slow and absent like he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it. Your fingers are still loosely laced with his.

“We’re allowed to have good things.” You mutter, almost like a reminder to yourself.

“Yes,” Joshua agrees, and then continues—like he’s almost embarrassed by how much he means it. “Especially if it’s this.”

You, is what he really means. But he’ll save it. For another time, another day, when the water is not so still and when he’s sure you won’t flinch at the sound of it.

USA, LAS VEGAS STRIP CIRCUIT

Wednesday, Media Day November 20th

Doyoung doesn’t expect to see anyone in the hallway when he steps out of the elevator with a bottle of sparkling water and his keycard tucked into his palm. The floor is quiet—middle of the night quiet—and for a second, he thinks he might be imagining the silhouette standing in front of the door to your room.

But then Joshua straightens up and the overhead light hits his face.

“Oh,” Doyoung says, slowing to a stop. “It’s you.”

Joshua starts, suddenly looking like someone who’s been caught doing something he’s not sure he should’ve been doing. “Hey.”

Doyoung glances at the room number. Then at Joshua. Back at the room number, mentally cross checking if this is yours. “You lost or…?”

“No. Just…” Joshua rubs the back of his neck. “Wasn’t sleepy.”

“Right,” Doyoung says. “So you came to this exact hallway. Outside my sister’s room.”

Joshua tries to look casual. “I was going for a walk.”

“Of course you were,” Doyoung replies, nodding like he’s indulging a toddler. “Nice long walk that conveniently ends at her door.”

Joshua smiles, faintly. “Unintentionally.”

“Sure.”

They pause, making both of them aware of how ridiculous this looks.

“I wasn’t gonna wake her,” Joshua adds, thumbs hooked into the pockets of his sweatpants. “I just… didn’t feel like being in my room.”

Doyoung uncaps his bottle and takes a sip. “I mean, I wasn’t gonna ask for a full explanation. You look guilty enough.”

Joshua groans under his breath. “I’m not guilty.”

“You’re standing in a hallway at 1 AM whispering outside a girl’s room like a teen in a drama. You want me to pretend I didn’t see this?”

“Well, why are you here?” Joshua shoots back weakly.

Doyoung blinks. “I couldn’t sleep.”

He stares, his expression a mix of exasperation and offence. “That’s my excuse.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t end up outside someone’s door like a loitering ghost.”

“You—I’m not loitering,” Joshua mutters. “I’m—”

“Thinking,” Doyoung offers, smirking as he leans against the opposite wall. “Deep thoughts. Spiritual reflection. Maybe trying to telepathically connect with her through the door.”

Joshua squints at him. “You’re very annoying at night.”

“I’m a delight at all hours,” Doyoung replies. “So? Are you going in or…?”

“I was about to knock,” he lies.

“Yeah?” Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “Because man, honestly, you look like you’ve been standing here with your hands in your pockets for at least a five whole minute. Very bold knocking technique.”

“I was… psyching myself up.”

“To knock…?”

Joshua sighs. “It’s complicated.”

“Not really,” Doyoung says, and then, in a voice that’s more curious than teasing now: “You like her.”

Joshua hesitates before nodding once. “Yeah.”

Doyoung doesn’t say anything to that. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, uncrosses his arms, and glances toward the door again.

“Well,” he says finally, “she’s probably awake.”

Joshua tilts his head. “You think?”

The words are still halfway to forming on Doyoung’s tongue when the door handle turns with a soft click. Both of them freeze as the door swings open just enough to reveal you on the other side, backlit by the warm yellow of your bedside lamp.

Your hair’s a little messy, face slightly puffy with sleep, or the lack of it. You blink at the two of them slowly, clearly thrown by the sight.

“What—” your gaze flickers between them, confused. “—the fuck are you guys doing?”

Joshua looks helpless. You’re still rubbing at your eyes when Doyoung shrugs, as if this entire thing isn’t weird at all.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says, lifting his bottle like a toast. “Was going to check if you were up. Turns out I was late.”

You squint. “Late for what?”

Doyoung jerks his head toward Joshua. “He beat me here.”

Joshua shoots him a look. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“Relax,” Doyoung cuts in. “I’m not your chaperone.”

You open your mouth to ask something—maybe to clarify whether this is weird for him, or whether you should explain anything at all—but Doyoung’s already backing away.

“I’m gonna head back,” he says. “You two can… talk, or whatever. Just don’t be annoying tomorrow.”

Then he turns and walks back toward the elevators without waiting for an answer.

You and Joshua are left blinking after him in disbelief. You glance at Joshua. He looks equally confused.

“Did he just—”

“Yep,” Joshua says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess he did.”

You lean lightly against the doorframe, stunned for a second. “Wow. He really just trusted you. A man. Alone. With me. In a hotel room. In the middle of the night.”

“He is not reacting the way I expected him to, honestly.” He scoffs lightly as you push off the frame and step aside, wordlessly holding the door open.

Joshua steps in carefully, like he’s not entirely sure this is allowed yet. His gaze flicks around the room, but he doesn’t move far—just stands near the entryway while you close the door behind him with a quiet click.

You pad back toward the bed, tucking your hands into the sleeves of your oversized shirt. The bedside lamp is on, casting a low golden glow across the room. Neither of you says anything right away.

You sit cross-legged on the edge of the bed, the pillow still indented where you’d been lying earlier. Joshua lingers for a second longer, then walks over and sinks down to the floor with a quiet exhale, settling with his back against the mattress, stretching his legs out in front of him, hands resting loosely in his lap.

“You really couldn’t sleep?” you ask after a beat, your voice soft with sleep.

He shakes his head. “No. You?”

“I was falling asleep.” You admit, making him look up at you and mouth a sorry.

You shake your head dismissively before leaning forward, arms draped over your knees. “What were you even going to say if I didn’t open the door?”

Joshua tilts his head, thinking. “Maybe nothing. Maybe I would’ve just stood there like an idiot and gone back.”

You smile a little, glancing down at the crown of his head. “You were already standing there like an idiot.”

“Yeah,” he says, and his grin is audible even if you can’t see it. “Thought I’d commit to the role.”

For a while, there’s only the hum of the AC and the city—still alive and bustling—outside the window, muffled by distance. Eventually, Joshua leans his head back gently, brushing against your knee without quite meaning to. His voice is quieter when he speaks again.

“Vegas feels… weird.”

“Weird how?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s the closest thing I have to a home race, and everyone calls it that but it feels so foreign at the same time. Like I’m supposed to feel grounded here, but everything’s loud and shiny and… not really mine.”

You watch him as he speaks, the way his lashes cast faint shadows against his cheek in the low light. His fingers toy with the seam of his sweatpants, picking at a loose thread absently.

You shift, pushing one leg off the bed and then the other, before easing yourself down onto the floor beside him. Your shoulder bumps his gently as you settle in, your back against the bed frame now too.

“I get that,” you murmur, knees pulled to your chest. “Sometimes places just don’t hold the memories people expect them to.”

Joshua doesn’t say anything for a second. Then, he sighs. “Yeah.”

You’re both quiet again, until your head tips a little, coming to rest on his shoulder. Your voice is soft when you speak. ��What were your last two races here like? With Williams.”

Joshua scoffs out a laugh. “Oh please, don’t make me remember.”

You smile against the fabric of his hoodie. “That bad?”

“Tragic,” he says, after a pause. “Just forgettable. Like I was here, but not really here. Finished P15 one year, retired the next. Spent more time in traffic getting out of the paddock than actually racing.”

“So nothing redeeming?”

Joshua tilts his head, just a little, enough for your hair to brush against his cheek. “This year has been the first time I’ve landed at a track and not felt like I wanted to skip to Monday.”

He says it simply, like now that it’s over, it doesn’t hold much value anymore. But you’ve seen him, albeit from afar and wonder just how much his time at Williams taught him.

You nod once. “Well. New team. New year.”

“New hotel hallway experiences,” he adds, and you laugh, warmth catching in your chest before you can stop it.

“God. That was so awkward.”

“Painfully.” Joshua agrees. “How do you think this weekend will be?”

“Honestly,” You begin, lifting your head up to look at him, “I’m not trying to put pressure on you two, but seeing how you guys do well in cold climate, I think it’ll be a nice one.”

Joshua huffs out a small laugh, turning his head to meet your eyes. “You sound like my performance engineer.”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “I’m just saying. I have data to back me up.”

“Oh yeah?” He nudges your knee lightly with his. “And what does the analysis say?”

“That one of you is due a win,” you reply, certain. “And don’t tell Doyoung I told you this, but secretly you’re the home hero, so I’ll root for you this weekend.”

Joshua’s expression changes—surprised first, then quietly pleased, like he’ll be running these words through his mind all weekend. “Secretly, huh?”

You nod, a smile pulling at your lips. “Very secretly.”

“Got it.” He leans in just slightly. “I’ll try not to let you down, then.”

—

Friday, Post Qualifying November 22nd

“First of all, congratulations to our top three qualifiers—we have Kim Doyoung on pole for Mercedes, Joshua Hong in P2, and Seungcheol Choi rounding out the top three for Ferrari.” The moderator announces as the cameras start rolling.

The lights in the press conference room are a little too harsh, the couch too white and a little hard tonight, for some reason. But Joshua’s too tired to care. His cap is pulled low, the Mercedes logo gleaming as the moderator leans into the mic. God knows how many people he’s had to speak to today—which is the worst part about Las Vegas. Talking to celebrities, sponsors and what not. He’s been congratulated and greeted by a bunch of people whose names he can’t remember when the only thing he wants to do is go home and fall asleep.

“Seungcheol,” the moderator begins, “you’re starting P3 tomorrow—Ferrari looked strong early on, but maybe lost a bit toward the end of Q3. Talk us through the lap.”

Seungcheol smiles, nodding. “Yeah, the session was tricky, but good. Cold track, not a lot of grip, so it was about timing and temperature more than outright pace at times. Still, P3 puts us in the fight. I’ll take it.”

The next name called is Joshua’s.

“Joshua—P2 for you. Solid lap, great pace from the team, but your teammate took pole at what many consider your home race. What’s the feeling right now?”

Joshua lifts the mic, fingers brushing against the fabric of his race suit. “It was a strong session for us, yeah,” he says. “I think the car’s been working really well here all weekend. Cold temperatures seem to suit us.”

He pauses for just a second—brief, almost imperceptible—and then continues, his gaze flicking across to Doyoung.

“Of course, Doyoung had a great lap in Q3. You always want pole, especially when the calendar says ‘home race’ next to your name. But honestly…” He exhales softly. “I’m proud of this one. Front row for the team. We’re in a good position tomorrow. And uh,” Joshua turns to Doyoung, “it’ll be close into turn one. So no worries, right now.”

His teammate only grins at him, shaking his head before turning back to the moderator.

The press conference winds down a while later with the usual rush of camera shutters and low murmurs, a few closing remarks from the moderator before the drivers are finally released. Joshua stands, mic carefully set back on the couch, and follows Doyoung and Seungcheol out of the room.

He squints slightly under the hallway lights. His cap stays low on his forehead, shoulders rolling once to shake off the stiffness that’s settled in. Behind him, Doyoung is already making a joke about one of the questions, but Joshua barely registers it. His eyes find you first.

You’re standing just outside the media zone, back against the wall near a folding barrier, phone in hand. Minghao’s next to you, half-listening to something on his earpiece while scrolling absently. Neither of you is particularly animated, but Joshua sees the flicker of relief in your expression when you spot him.

“There they are,” Minghao says, glancing up. “The men of the hour.”

Doyoung only shakes his head, muttering something in a low voice to you before waving at Minghao and walking off toward one of the PR reps motioning for him.

You glance at him properly now, taking in the visible fatigue, the faint lines around his eyes.

“Long day?” you ask.

Joshua nods. “So long. I talked to one of the Kardashian sisters and I’m still not entirely sure which one she was.”

You laugh quietly, reaching out to adjust the brim of his cap before tugging it back into place. “You did good, though. Q2 lap was clean.”

His mouth twitches. “You saw that?”

“I always see.” You smile, then step back a little, hands slipping into the pockets of your jacket. “P2 isn’t bad.”

“Not when your brother’s P1,” he says, dryly.

“Please,” you roll your eyes. “He’s still going to complain about something. Might as well let him enjoy tonight.”

Joshua leans against the wall beside you, just enough to close the space. “You’ll still root for me tomorrow, though?”

You raise an eyebrow, voice low. “Oh, please. I’ll root for both of you, by the way. Didn’t I already say I would?”

“Yeah, but it sounds nicer hearing it here than through a closed hotel door.”

Your face reddens a little despite yourself. “You’re annoying.”

Minghao glances up then, jerking his chin toward the hallway. “Alright, Romeo, we’re heading out. You need to go to the media pen too, man.”

Joshua groans but straightens, pushing off the wall. “Got it.”

He turns back to you, ignoring as Minghao tells him to hurry up. “I’ll see you later?”

You nod, gesturing for him to leave before his manager comes and drags him out.

By the time everything slows down again, you’re back inside the Mercedes hospitality unit, walking the quieter halls with a bottle of water in hand and the ache of the day beginning to settle in your shoulders. You don’t expect to find Doyoung still in his driver room, but the door’s half-open when you pass by. He’s there—freshly showered with a new shirt on, seated on the edge of the small couch with his elbows resting on his knees. When you enter, he glances up, slightly startled before you sit down next to him.

“Are you free for a second?” he asks.

You nod. “Yeah.”

“Okay, listen. I’m not trying to be difficult,” Doyoung says, voice quieter now, “but I’d feel kind of shitty if I didn’t at least ask.”

You glance over at him. “Ask what?”

He exhales. “You and Joshua. Is it… something?”

The way he says it isn’t accusatory, just tentative. Like he’s still sorting out how much he wants to know, or maybe how much he already does.

You consider lying for a moment—brushing it off, making it easier. But you don’t. Instead, you meet his gaze and say, carefully, “Yeah. A bit more than something, probably.”

Doyoung nods, slowly. He doesn’t look angry, but he’s thinking hard. “How long?”

“Not long. But it’s not impulsive either,” you say. “We’ve been… figuring it out.”

He sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “And are you sure? That this isn’t just… adrenaline, or the fact that you’re around each other all the time?”

You hesitate. “I’ve asked myself that too. But it doesn’t feel like that. It feels—” You pause, trying to find the right word. “—steady.”

Doyoung is quiet again. “I just… I don’t want you to get hurt. And I don’t want this to mess up anything for him either, not now.”

“I know.”

“I’m not saying you can’t be happy,” he adds quickly. “I just—I know what this world is like. You and I have lived in it long enough. And I don’t want you to look back and wish you hadn’t let yourself care.”

You smile faintly. “I already care.”

Doyoung finally looks at you again, and the expression on his face softens just a bit. “Of course you do.”

There’s a beat of silence before he sighs again—less tense now—and bumps your arm lightly with his.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay. Just don’t tell me about the mushy stuff. And tell him if he ever uses this card against me, I’ll put him in the wall.”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up easier than you expected. “Please don’t do that.”

Doyoung rubs his face, trying to look dramatic. “Whatever. He’s still insufferable when he’s smug, so if this makes him worse, it’s on you.”

You nudge his shoulder, making him hiss in mock-pain. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

He shakes his head, but the tension in his posture has eased. “Just take care of each other. And, seriously, don’t make me regret being cool about this.”

“You won’t,” you say, with a quiet certainty that feels new. “I promise.”

—

Saturday, Post Race

November 23rd

The roar from the crowd is deafening.

Joshua’s not sure he’s ever heard anything like it before—this wall of noise, pulsing up from the streets of Vegas and ricocheting off every mirrored building like it was made to echo. The fireworks have already started, streaks of gold, silver and red bursting behind the podium

Doyoung claps him on the back. “You did it,” he shouts, grinning, eyes crinkling in the light. “Fucking Vegas, man! Won the home race after all, huh?”

Joshua only laughs—breathless and a little distracted by the way his eyes burn so bad. The trophy is solid in his hands, heavier than he expected. The champagne is already half-sprayed, sticky and cold across the front of his suit.

He shifts his grip on the trophy absently, letting the weight settle into his palm. Confetti clings to the fabric of his race suit, stuck to his sleeves and shoulders, glittering in the podium lights. Behind him, fireworks keep going—sharp pops of sound that would’ve made him flinch if he wasn’t already fired up.

Joshua looks out toward the crowd again, taking in the blur of flags and flashlights, the sea of arms raised in celebration. It’s not quiet, not even close, but something in him is, finally. There’s a calmness in his chest that wasn’t there at the start of this weekend, the start of this season. With only two more races to go, he feels some sort of satisfaction—he’s leagues above where he’s been in the last few years, and it feels like ending the year on the right note.

He holds the trophy up briefly when the camera swings toward him, letting the flash catch his profile. Then it’s all over just as quickly as it began—someone waves them down the stairs, staff wait with towels and headsets and a hundred things to do before the night ends.

Down in paddock, he’s handed off like a relay baton between mechanics and PR. A few high fives, someone shouting his name, one of the engineers tossing him his electrolytic drink bottle with a grin. He moves through it automatically.

Joshua turns the familiar corner near the team hospitality units, letting muscle memory guide him through the back halls of the hospitality. His driver room isn’t far now. Just a few more doors.

When he rounds the corner and looks up, you’re already there.

You’ve just stepped out from the room across the hall—Doyoung’s. The door clicks softly shut behind you as you turn and catch sight of him. Your lanyard swings around on your neck, sleeves pushed up, and hair a little tousled.

“Hey,” you greet with a grin, “they let you go already?”

“God, no.” Joshua exhales as he meets you halfway down the corridor. “I need to go and give a few more interviews, I think.”

“You smell like champagne,” you note, scrunching your nose playfully as you stop in front of him.

Joshua laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, sorry. It’s… everywhere.”

You glance down at the front of his suit, still damp and sticky in patches. He looks up again, and you’re already close enough that it doesn’t feel like a decision when you lift your arms to wrap around him. His arms settle around you just as easily, his cheek resting against the side of your head.

“You were great today,” you say into his shoulder, voice quiet now, meant only for him. “You really were.”

Joshua breathes in—slowly, like he wants to memorize the way this feels, how steady it is. “No bad for a supposed home race, no?”

“Not bad at all.” you agree, running a palm down the length of his back. “You should probably go shower while you can, Josh.”

He pulls away, almost reluctantly, to look at you. “I mean, I thought I would after I got back from those interviews. Doubt I’ve got much time now.”

“Joshua,” You laugh, throwing your head back. It makes him smile too, albeit a little confused as he waits for you to continue. “It’s Vegas, and you just won. You really think they’re letting you go back to the hotel room after this?”

His eyes widen slightly, like the thought is only just dawning on him. “Wait—are we going out?”

“The team seems to be in high spirits. They just made plans in the group chat. I think most teams are going to be out, honestly.”

Joshua groans, dragging a hand down his face. “God. I don’t even know if I have energy for this.”

“Me neither.” You agree with a nod, “But you should go shower.”

“And you won’t be able to wait, I’m assuming?” He asks with a soft sigh, fingers still wrapped around your wrists.

You purse your lips, thinking for a few seconds before shaking your head. “But I’ll be coming too, and I’ll find you there. Don’t worry.”

Joshua watches you for a moment longer, eyes skimming over your face. Then he exhales with a smile, and finally lets go of your wrists.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll find you too.”

You nod. “Okay.”

And then you’re stepping back, already moving down the hall, the soft thud of your shoes fading into the post-race noises still running through the paddock. Joshua stands there for a second, watching you go, the corner of his mouth still lifted like he can’t quite help it.

Then he turns and disappears into his driver room, the door swinging shut behind him.

—

The music is relentless.

Heavy bass shakes the floor, and the lights overhead spin too quickly, cycling between violet and champagne-gold like they can’t decide if the room should feel electric or expensive.

You’re pressed into a curved booth with a half-spilled drink in your hand and one of the girls from the pit crew complaining about her situationship in your ear. There are too many voices around you—half-shouting over the music, half-laughing through champagne, high on adrenaline and the sweetness of a 1-2 finish. You’re sure you’ve seen mechanics and team members of other teams as well.

You spot him through the crowd before he sees you.

Joshua’s standing near the bar, flanked by his engineer and Minghao, nodding along to something someone’s saying. His shoulders are relaxed, one hand wrapped around a glass he doesn’t seem all that interested in, the other shoved into the pocket of his jeans. He looks good. Not just in the blurry, flattering way everyone does in club lighting—but good.

You think about texting him, but you don’t have to—he catches your eye almost instantly, like he’d had a feeling you were watching. And when he does, he grins before turning around to excuse himself, presumably.

He finds his way over without rushing, weaving through the crowd easily. One of the lighting rigs overhead flickers silver against his hair just as he approaches, and your breath hitches before you can stop it. Maybe it’s the lighting. Maybe it’s the Vegas haze. Or maybe it’s just him.

“Hi,” he says, tipping his head a little as he comes to a stop at your side.

You glance up at him, tilting your glass. “You took your time.”

“I was being polite,” he says with a grin. “Didn’t want to make it obvious I was trying to ditch Minghao.”

You snort. He’s already slipping into the booth before you can reply, sliding in next to you without hesitation. The seat is just barely big enough for three, but neither of you acknowledges that. His knee presses lightly against yours, and when he leans in to be heard, it’s close—cheek brushing the edge of your hair, the smell of him all citrus and aftershave and something sweeter underneath.

“Are you surviving this?” he murmurs.

“Barely,” you reply, lifting your glass and then setting it down again without drinking. “I’ve heard the words ‘tire deg’ and ‘pit lane penalty’ in at least three different conversations. They’re all talking about Ferrari, honestly. It’s getting boring.”

Joshua laughs, his breath warm against your ear, enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“Poor Seungcheol,” he says, almost to himself. “He’s not even here to defend himself.”

You hum. “I don’t think he’d bother.”

His smile lingers, but there’s something softer beneath it now. He doesn't move away, and you don’t either. The music swells, the lights strobe too bright for a beat, and someone down the booth knocks over a glass, sending a fizz of something sticky onto the table. Nobody flinches.

Joshua leans in again. “I was looking for you earlier.”

Your breath catches, just slightly. “Yeah?”

He nods. “Minghao dragged me into a VIP lounge for five minutes and I kept checking the floor, hoping you’d show up.”

You tilt your head, eyes tracing the edge of his jaw. “You could’ve just texted.”

“I thought about it,” he admits, then pauses. “But I kind of like finding you on my own.”

The crowd’s pressed in tighter now, heat and laughter folding in from every angle. The booth’s too loud, too full—people shouting across each other, a camera flash going off near the bar.

You glance at him properly. “Hey,” you say, not quite smiling, “you wanna move somewhere quieter?”

“Yeah,” Joshua says, soft and certain. “Let’s go.”

You slide out, easing past someone who barely notices you leaving. Joshua’s close behind, a hand ghosting at your lower back without ever fully touching. He catches up when you pause near the glass railing, city lights swimming below. For a second you both just stand there, watching the strip blaze beneath you. Vegas doesn’t go quiet—not even from this high up—but something about the moment still feels removed from the noise.

“Too much?” he asks gently, leaning in.

You glance sideways at him. “Little bit.”

Joshua smiles. “Wanna go back downstairs?”

You nod.

The club sits on the roof of the hotel Mercedes has taken over for the weekend, so it’s only a short walk to the private elevator at the far end. A couple of people are headed that way too, but they’re distracted, tipsy, and mid-conversation. Nobody pays attention to you and Joshua slipping in behind them.

The elevator doors close with a hush. Someone presses a button for the 22nd floor, and Joshua reaches past to tap for 20. His floor. When the elevator dings, you step out first. The hallway is quieter than you expected, carpeted and cool, with no signs of the music upstairs bleeding through the walls.

You step into the hallway first, heels muffled against the carpet, the air-conditioning crisp after the heat of the club. Joshua’s room is a few doors down. You don’t speak as you walk—just the occasional brush of his shoulder against yours, the low buzz of something shared but unspoken.

When he pushes the door open, you step in without hesitation. It’s dim inside—just the warm light from the hallway pooling in briefly before the door swings shut behind him with a quiet click.

He toes off his shoes by the wall, but you’re already drifting forward with a gasp. “Wait, your balcony overlooks the track?”

“Didn’t mention that?” he says, voice light as he walks over. “Guess I forgot.”

You cross the room toward the glass doors, pushing one open as a gust of cool air rushes in. The balcony is big—a small terrace with a couple of chairs, a low table, and a clear view of the street circuit below. The track is empty now, the floodlights are switched off, but the lights and signs from the buildings nearby illuminate it anyway. The lights of the Strip stretch out far beyond the last turn.

You step out, hands resting on the metal railing as you take it in. The silence is almost intimate compared to the chaos upstairs. Behind you, you hear Joshua move—his footsteps quiet against the carpet, then against the tile of the balcony. He stops next to you.

“It looks different when you’re driving,” he says after a moment, resting his forearms against the railing beside you. “All the lights just blur into one single line. It feels much smaller.”

You glance at him. “Smaller? That’s what you’re going with?”

He shrugs. “I’m serious. The straights feel like nothing until someone’s coming up behind you with DRS.”

You grin. “Romantic.”

Joshua huffs a laugh. “I’m just saying. It’s weird seeing it like this. Quiet. Like it’s just… a road.”

“A very expensive, over-designed, LED-ridden road.”

“Exactly.”

The wind picks up faintly, tugging your hair. You tuck it behind your ear and glance sideways at him again. He’s already looking at you.

“You look pretty,” Joshua says, and this time, there’s a bit of a smile playing on his lips—lazy, knowing, like he enjoys the way it makes you blink in surprise.

You raise an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says easily, like it’s a fact, like there’s nothing else in the world he could possibly mean.

You lean your elbows on the railing again, gaze drifting out over the track. “Careful,” you say. “I might start thinking you’re into me.”

Joshua tilts his head, eyes still on you. “You say that like I haven’t made it obvious.”

You glance sideways. “You think you’ve been obvious?”

“I did follow you halfway across a club tonight,” he points out. “And left my own party.”

You shrug, teasing. “Maybe you were just bored.”

“Sure,” he says, inching closer. “That’s why I’m here. Because I couldn’t think of anything more exciting than standing on a balcony with you.”

You smile, a little crooked, and glance away. “You’re laying it on kind of thick, Joshua.”

He chuckles under his breath. “Yeah, well. I’m trying something new.”

“Flirting?”

“One could also call it being clear.”

That earns a look from you—brows raised, mouth parted slightly in surprise. But you don’t pull away. Joshua doesn’t break eye contact. His hand lifts casually to the railing behind you again, this time brushing yours on the way, the space between your bodies narrowing by the second. And when he tilts forward, halfway down to your face, gaze flicking to your lips—he hesitates.

“Is it working?” he asks quietly.

You consider the question, your gaze drifting from his eyes to the curve of his mouth, then back again. There’s a flicker of something warm in your chest, unspoken but insistent.

“Maybe,” you say, voice soft. “A little.”

“Well then,” he asks, voice barely above a whisper, “you think you’d let me kiss you?”

You nod, almost without thinking, chin tilting up a fraction. Joshua begins to lean in again, slower this time, one palm coming up to the back of your head when—

“Wait,” you murmur suddenly, hand rising instinctively to press flat against his chest.

He stills immediately. “What?” he asks, brows drawing together, not pulling away but not closing the gap either.

You hesitate, eyes flicking up to his. “How many drinks have you had tonight?”

He blinks once, then lets a short laugh, more surprised than amused. “One. Barely finished it. Why?”

You’re quiet for a second, just long enough that his expression shifts to something a little worried. But you meet his gaze steadily.

“Because I think… Hungary was kind of an accident,” you say slowly, choosing each word. “I think maybe I let it happen because we were drunk. And I don’t really do that.”

Joshua’s lips part slightly, like he’s about to speak, but you cut in, softer now, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“And I’d prefer if only my boyfriend would kiss me.”

There’s a pause as he registers your words, his face morphing with slight confusion before he finally realises.

Joshua tilts his head, the corners of his mouth curving up into a grin that’s far too pleased for someone trying to play it cool. “And who could that be?”

You raise a brow, shrugging one shoulder, your voice just the slightest bit sly. “Well… you, if you asked.”

Joshua’s grin falters for half a second—just enough for sincerity to sneak in beneath it. His other hand slips into yours, thumb brushing lightly against your knuckles, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer. Almost sheepish.

“Okay,” he says, tilting his head a little. “Then… Can I be your boyfriend?”

You stare at him for a second, something fluttering stupidly in your chest before laughing lightly, your free hand reaching up to tug at the collar of his shirt. “Yeah. Yeah, you can be.”

His grin returns, softer now, touched with something quiet and sure, and he closes the distance.

Joshua’s mouth meets yours like a promise—firm, warm, and unhurried. You lean in instinctively, catching his lower lip between yours, your hand tightening around the front of his shirt. He kisses you again, this time deeper, and you can’t help the quiet sound that slips from your throat. It makes him smile into the kiss, makes him shift closer, lips parting more fully against yours.

Your fingers slip back up to his collar, anchoring yourself there as his hand drifts to your waist. The world narrows to just the press of his mouth, the slide of his lips against yours, the way he tastes faintly like citrus and something sweeter underneath.

Eventually, you break apart, slow and reluctant, breath mingling in the quiet space between. He doesn’t go far—just lets his forehead rest against yours, thumb brushing a soft line along your jaw.

“Okay,” he murmurs, a little dazed. “That was… worth the wait.”

You huff a laugh, but it’s soft, real. “Yeah,” you say, eyes still half-lidded. “I think so too.”

Neither of you moves for a moment. Joshua’s eyes flick over your face like he’s trying to memorize it. Like he can finally afford to slow down.

“You know,” he says after a few seconds, “I’ve spent this whole season chasing something.”

You glance up. “And?”

Joshua smiles. Not the kind he puts on for cameras, but the gentler one you’ve started to recognize as just his.

“I think I might’ve found it.”

You don’t answer. You just reach for his hand and hold it. And for the first time in a long time, it feels like enough.

taglist : @blckorchidd @starshuas @fancypeacepersona @reiofsuns2001 @exomew @smiileflower @syluslittlecrows @teddybeartaetae @sojuxxi @cl41rsblog @stwrlightt @livelaughloveseventeen @duhduhdana @haesluvr @eisaspresso @https-seishu @illiadiaz @k4trinabluu @choco-scoups @imhereonlytoreadxoxo

#joshua x reader #joshua oneshot #svthub #kflixnet #kfilms #kstrucknet #joshua hong x reader #svt x f1 #f1 au #seventeen x reader #svt joshua #hong jisoo x reader #joshua hong ansgt #joshua angst #joshua fluff #joshua fic #tracks by calli 💿#beyond the grid 🏎

66 notes · View notes

cherriicou · 3 months ago

Text

thinking ab fratboy! joshua who literally chokes on his drink when you asked him politely to take your v-card.

‘come on,' your hands grip harder on his hair, lips swollen and cheeks flushed from the rough kisses. he cups your face with one hand, thumb brushing against your bottom lip with a smirk, 'baby, you're not ready,' his sweet voice only haunts you more, thighs squeezing against his. you're straddling his lap so cutely, skirt riding up your ass while one of his hands holds onto your waist for you not to move.

you whine and throw your head back playfully, 'am too,' your little pout makes him smile in awe. you were such a pretty girl. one he'd always notice in his classes, but felt you were too good for him. yet, here you were perched so nicely on his lap, begging him to fuck you.

'just the tip,' he groans into your mouth, your soft pleas making it so much harder to deny your wants. 'you and me both know that won't last,' you smile against his lips as you grind harder on him. both his hands land on your waist as he lays you down on your back. he makes sure a soft pillow is there for your head then places small kisses all the way down to your cunt :3

he takes off his stained pants from both your wetness and his, fully showing you his hard length. a breathy gasp leaves your lips, eyes shaking when you see him get closer to you while spreading his pre-cum all over his cock. 'ready?' he asks softly, locking eyes with you to make sure you were okay. you nod, eyes moving from him to his cock that's rubbing against your folds. both of you moan as he enters just the tip inside.

'fuck,' the small stretch was killing you, 'so perfect,' you moan at his praise. with one hand grabbing onto the sheet, 'do it,' you plead. he smiles calmly, hands placed back on your hips, staring straight at your face as it slowly starts to scrunch cutely. he was fucking big, too big. he's stretching you out completely now, 'shua!,' you yell, hand grabbing onto his forearm.

'want me to st-.' you shake your head immediately, no. 'more, please,' and that is all it takes for him to lose all the self-control he had. he continues to slowly push his length into your pussy, 'fucking taking me so well,' oh, you were definitely his now. he wasn't ever going to let anyone take his precious girl away from him. those thoughts only growing while you scream his name out loud. you are just a mess beneath him, begging for him to go harder on your already sensitive cunt :<

he gets closer to your face, pounding ruthlessly now like a madman. his sweat starts dripping on your neck as he groans near your ear while pushing himself deeper into your cervix, and you're loving this. it's so perfect how his gentle aura is now gone and he's whispering the dirtiest things in your ear; calling you his, saying how tight your cunt is, how he's going to use you all the time now, how your body was made to be fucked by him. it's all driving your body crazy.

'cumming, shua,' you grab onto his shoulder, biting into his soft skin. you can't see him but he's enjoying the fuck out of this, he loves how needy you're body is to him now, so all he does to respond is latch his mouth on your nipple, still riling himself into you. and you feel yourself come undone, your pussy clenching hard on his cock and it feels so good. 'aw my baby finished,' he coos into your neck, letting you and your body calm down from its first release.

you breathe in and out, your cunt is so sensitive as he stays still in you until you feel his hands snake around your torso, 'joshua!,' you're now laying on your stomach then pulled closer to where your back is arched and your ass is perfectly aligned for his cock to slip into your pussy, 'but i'm not done with you.'

author's note; hey guys! quick little imagine bc im studying for finals and older bf!svt is gonna be on a very short hold :< i do read all of your requests and trust me i will be doing all members hehe... thank you for all the recent support, it encourages me a lot! p.s. this is not proofread, so excuse any mistakes :0

also been thinking about dino and shua a lot lately.... wtf is going on with them, they've been giving me strokes.

2K notes · View notes

lololololchips · 2 months ago

Text

SEVENTEEN || happy father’s day texts w/ SVT

genre: fluff, dad!au, fake texts, smau, family!au

warnings: fem pronouns, mentions of kids, mentioned of pregnancy, mentioned of food, chan being a freak sigh, lmk if i missed anything else

a/n: the svt dad agenda continues…. ANYWAYSS happy father’s day everyone!! hope you are celebrating it with your dads hehe have a safe day:)) the baby pics are from pinterest pls don’t sue me…. hopefully this gets posted on tike cause my wifi rn is 👎

763 notes · View notes

mylovesstuffs · 2 months ago

Text

birthday afterglow 🚿 joshua hong × fem!reader.

✩ ! includes :: smut-adjacent | MDNI!. husband!joshua x dead-tired!wife!reader. established relationship. heavy post-coital fluff, consensual use kink (??), one-sided physical effort (consensual ofc), implied 4+ rounds, sleepy dialogue, mildly cracky. soft birthday sex aftermath. 631 words. notes :: ig my first actual drabble? indulgent, sleepy, feral domesticity. unproofed, but powered by delulu strength. I think I was very sleepy too when this prompt popped up in my head.

You were boneless, and not in the sexy, flexible way, but in the, if you ask me to lift a single toe, I’ll pass out and see God, kind of way.

Four rounds. Four.

Joshua lies beside you, chest still heaving. Skin slick with sweat, his warmth pressed along the length of your spine, trying to sink back inside you by proximity alone. The room smells like vanilla-sweet infused by sweat and skin; remnants of what you both have done to each other. He’s been all smiles earlier when you surprised him with a low-lit dinner and a ribbon-tied ‘gift’ only he can unwrap.

But now? Now, he was hovering above you, eyes dark and still so goddamn hungry.

“Babe,” you mumble, face half-buried in the pillow. “Please. I can’t feel my legs.”

Joshua chuckles low in his throat, sound stitched from both affection and pride. “I know,” finger brushes sweaty strands of hair from your cheek. “You did so good for me.”

You let out a half-pained, half-mocking groan, wriggling slightly where you lie, skin sticking to the sheets. “You’re still hard, aren’t you?” He doesn't answer, but the press of his cock against your thigh gives him away. You can feel it. A beat of silence passes before you sigh, voice hoarse and completely serious, “Use me if you still need to. I’m not moving again.”

There is a literal pause for a good five seconds before the reaction you expect from him finally comes. He moans—like actually, moans. Soft and almost whiny, “God,” he breathes out, nuzzling against your shoulder like he is trying to restrain himself from trying to crawl inside you without actually doing it. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

“I do mean it,” you mutter sleepily. “Just... don’t expect eye contact. Or movement. Or words.”

You feel his lips ghost over the top of your spine. “You sure?”

“I’m your wife. This is part of the job,” you deadpan as if that is the entire argument in itself. Dry delivery, with no frills, the tone makes it impossible to tell if you are serious or just playing for the effect. “Happy birthday.”

Joshua lets out a fond breathless laugh that rumbles from deep in his chest but doesn't bother making a show of itself. His lips brush your shoulder again like a muscle memory he doesn't have to think about anymore. “I love you,” he says into your skin, not because he expects an answer, but because it is true in that moment and every other one too.

You hum, not even a full word but just enough to say, heard you. Say, me too. “Love you too,” already half-melted into the pillow. “Now go ahead. I’m just gonna nap while you commit a felony on my body.”

He groans, burying his face in the curve of your neck.

He dives in, and when he moves, it is slow. Every shift of his hips, every inch of contact, carries an edge of desperation; like he knows the moment will end and can't stop chasing it anyway. He whispers your name into your skin, clutches you like it matters, like letting go would split something wide open.

You don't move even when he breathes hard against your back. Not even when he says things that aren't full sentences but still get the meaning across. You just stay there, your body heavy and warm and unmoving, since you have poured every last drop of energy into him already—as your husband makes love to you one last time for the night.

Later, he lifts you with his arms looping under you like it isn't the first time he’s carried you this way [it wasn't the first time]. Your legs don't argue; they’ve already given up.

⌦ 🚿 © mylovesstuffs | est. 2025. thank you for reading—your reblog means everything. until we meet again, stay cozy and keep dreaming! ◜ᴗ◝

723 notes · View notes

minniesfiles · 6 months ago

Text

“I KINDA MISS BEING SINGLE”

Texting your boyfriend/husband “I kinda miss being single” to see how they respond.

❧ PAIRING; ot13 x reader

❧ GENRE; fluff, humour, smau, suggestive

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; social media au, established relationship, text prank, humour, fluff, swearing, sexual undertones, suggestive

𐚁₊⊹

▍SEUNGCHEOL

▍JEONGHAN

▍JOSHUA

▍JUNHUI

▍SOONYOUNG

▍WONWOO

▍JIHOON

▍SEOKMIN

▍MINGYU

▍MINGHAO

▍SEUNGKWAN

▍HANSOL

▍CHAN

1K notes · View notes

joshujihan23 · 1 month ago

Text

aching for you

pairing: jeonghan x joshua x reader

genre: purely smut.

warnings (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT): unprotected sex (do not do this!), pwp, cockwarming, masturbation, spanking, dirty talking

“n-ngh hannie p-please..” you moaned, your hips buckling against his, which he gripped onto tightly in return.

it all started off normal, with him coming home, way earlier than joshua due to their schedules. but what caught him off guard, essentially leading to this moment, was how he walked into you touching yourself, moaning joshua’s name out without any hesitation.

and maybe he got jealous, just maybe.

“still thinking about joshie, baby? or has my cock made you dumb already?” he brushed his fingertips over your harden nipples, making you shudder above him.

you have been sitting on his lap, his cock buried deep into your pussy for god knows how long. and the worst part was that, he didn’t move. he forced you to sit on it until joshua comes home.

and due to your plays before this, you were at your high, and now it was gone, leaving you desperate.

you tried, you tried to move your hips, hoping to feel him better, but he only situated you on hims more firmly with his delicate, yet rough hands.

and that’s when you hear the door knob twist, creaking open gently, causing him to smirk.

“you want him so badly right? let him hear you while i do this.” he growled.

he flipped you over onto the bed, your body bent over against the mattress. he took his cock out, pumping it with one hand, while the other began to spank your cheeks, making you cry out.

you hear joshua calling out for you, his voice so near yet so far. but just when you were about to respond, jeonghan piston his cock back into you in one full swipe, making you scream at the sudden intrusion.

“h-hannie i’m sensitive! p-plea-” he slapped your ass once more, shutting you up almost immediately.

he went at a quick pace, thrusting into you like there is no tomorrow. your moans spilled out continuously, your hands gripping onto the bedsheets so tightly that it made your knuckles white.

joshua’s voice grew louder, you think. your mind was so clouded by the increasing pleasure that jeonghan is bringing you, that all you could think about was how he was hitting your sweet spot over and over again.

you felt him slap your ass once more, making you yelp into the sheets. he bent over, whispering into your ear as you moaned.

“i can hear him approaching, imagine his reaction when he walks into this.”

you moaned at his words, feeling his hand cup your chin to pull you into a messy, yet deep kiss.

“are you in here, baby-”

and that’s when you hear the door open.

but jeonghan still didn’t stop, his cock still pounding into your pussy, at a quicker pace this time. you wanted to call for joshua, but instead jeonghan continued kissing you, his tongue playing with yours.

joshua’s eyes widened at the scene, in shock of the position that the both of you were currently in. but soon later, a smirk began to appear on his face.

“so is this why you hadn’t been answering me? you’re usually so excited when i come home.” he walked towards the both of you, making jeonghan detach his lips from yours.

“your little baby was moaning your name when i came home today, need to remind her who else she belongs to.” jeonghan spoke, his hips still buckling towards yours, pounding into your pussy relentlessly.

joshua laughed, both at his words and at how desperate you sounded.

you began to blabber some words, incoherent and unclear. joshua snickered at this, sitting on the bed and cupped your cheek.

“look at you, so fucked out by your hannie, i thought you missed me?” joshua teased, his thumb rubbing your cheek bone.

“joshie i-i missed you, b-but hannie-” you were interrupted by another slap on your ass, making you moan loudly.

“that’s it baby, you finally remembered who else you belong to.” jeonghan said with a low tone.

you were so close, so so close, and jeonghan could feel it, from how much your pussy was clenching around him.

“fuck, you’re close, aren’t you? i can feel you tightening around my cock. you want to cum, don’t you?” he teased, slapping your ass once more.

“cum for us, baby, show us how much you enjoyed this.” joshua added, leaning down to give you a kiss.

that’s what it took for you to fall apart. you let out a loud moan through the kiss, as you came. jeonghan let out a low grunt, his own seeds spilling into your pussy, as you felt him shooting the liquid deep into you. he trusted slowly, fucking his cum deep into your pussy, as you laid on the bed, tired and satisfied.

you looked up at joshua, while feeling jeonghan pull out of you slowly. joshua smirked at you, standing up. his hand reaches for his belt, unbuckling it while keeping eye contact with you.

“now, time for you to show me how much you missed me.”

535 notes · View notes

97latte · 29 days ago

Note

Please write joshua and what he says during sex plsplspls

joshua + what he says to you during sex .ᐟ

“you take me so well angel…”

“does it feel good baby?”

“look at me when you cum”

“you are so fucking gorgeous”

“your pussy was made just for me”

“oh? you like it when i tease you?”

“you’re so fucking tight baby..”

“you look so pretty with my cock in your mouth”

“fuckkk…you’re drenched darling”

“you like it when i play with your cute clit?”

want to see more of my work? ⁀➷ click here !!

#seventeen smut #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #svt smut #svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen x y/n #seventeen x you #seventeen x reader #joshua x reader #joshua x you #joshua x y/n #joshua x oc #joshua hong #seventeen joshua #svt joshua #seventeen joshua hong #joshua smut #joshua hong smut

488 notes · View notes

idubiloveu · 26 days ago

Text

he is so beautiful. ✨

#seventeen #svt #svtgifs #svtcreations #svtcreators #svtsource #svtedit #svtdaily #svt joshua #kim jisoo #joshua hong #joshuasvt #mine.

421 notes · View notes

sillyuin · 3 months ago

Text

Joshua as boyfriend

Genre: fluff, fluff, fluff.

Pairing: Joshua x reader.

Warnings: no proofread.

Yuin's note: Requested! I enjoyed writing this so much, hope you like it anon and thank you so much for requesting (୨୧ᵕ̤ᴗᵕ̤)

Bf! Joshua, who has been very naive when around you, probably that’s how he “accidentally” confessed his feelings for you! Or was just playing to be that shy and polite just to make you fall even more for him?

Bf! Joshua, who is naturally flirty and has no shame about it, seeing you so flustered all over him is something he finds adorable and will never get tired of, especially those times when you follow his game.

Bf! Joshua, who loves to bake especially if it is for you, and the best part is that it doesn't have to be a special day: You were the happiest person when you came home after work and found a small box in the dining table, a small note attached to it. “You said you wanted oatmeal cookies, so I made your wish come true. Goodnight, my angel”.

Bf! Joshua, who is the softest when you’re sad. Your pain is also his, Joshua will never leave you alone and will run as fast as he can to lend you his shoulder to cry on, and his silent company to comfort you.

Bf! Joshua, who wants to take outside whenever he has the opportunity, and it doesn’t have to be always an expensive place or something huge, something as simple as going to a public garden is enough if you’re by his side.

Bf! Joshua, who always finds time for you, even if it’s only for a few minutes on lunch break, or a quick video call before going to sleep. His need to see your lovely smile is stronger than his busy schedule.

Bf! Joshua, who is always amazed by who you are, in the happy moments and the not so happy ones, and wants you to know that it is safe to be vulnerable and just be yourself around him.

438 notes · View notes

thirteenheavens · 16 days ago

Note

cock warming joshua while he suck her tits 💭

Just stay still || Hong Joshua x Reader

Word count: 700

Notes: hope you enjoy anon!! Thank you for requesting <3

You tiptoe to your bedroom door, trying to be as quiet as possible. You're running a bit late after a long day, and you know Joshua is probably waiting for you. As you reach for the doorknob, you hear his soft voice from inside.

"Y/N? Is that you?" he calls out gently.

"Yes, it's me," you whisper back, opening the door slowly. "I'm sorry I'm late, baby." Joshua is sitting on the bed, wearing only his boxers. He smiles warmly when he sees you, his eyes lighting up.

"Come here," he says softly, patting the spot next to him. "I missed you." Joshua watches as you set your bag down, his gaze following your every move. He opens his arms invitingly, wanting you to come closer.

"Come cuddle with me," he requests sweetly, his voice full of affection. "I've been waiting for you all day." You straddle Joshua's lap, your legs on either side of his hips. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer against his chest.

"Mmm, I love it when you sit on me like this," he murmurs, nuzzling your neck. "You're finally home where you belong."

"I missed you too, Joshua," you say softly, nuzzling him back. "I'm all yours now." Joshua hums contentedly, his hands roaming up and down your back. He kisses your shoulder tenderly.

"Just cockwarm me for a while," he whispers, looking up at you with loving eyes. "I just want to feel you close." Joshua watches as you stand up, his eyes following your movements with anticipation. He bites his lip, already getting excited.

"Good girl," he says as you remove your panties. "Now come sit back down." You notice Joshua's hard cock straining against his boxers, the red tip peeking out slightly. He looks at you with a mixture of need and patience.

"See what you do to me?" he chuckles softly, pulling his boxers down to free himself. "I've been like this since you left."

"You've been waiting that long?" you ask in surprise, your eyes widening at his size. Joshua smirks, stroking himself slowly. "I told you I missed you. Now get back here and sit on my cock." Joshua grips your hips firmly, guiding you down. He groans as the tip of his cock touches your entrance.

"Take it slow, baby," he encourages, his voice husky with desire. "Let me feel every inch of you." Joshua moans deeply as you sink down on him, his cock stretching you deliciously. His fingers dig into your skin as he holds you steady.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he breathes out, looking up at you with pleasure written all over his face. "You feel amazing around me." Joshua pulls you even closer, your chests pressed together. He kisses your neck again, leaving gentle bites as he adjusts to the feeling of being inside you.

"Perfect," he whispers against your skin. "Now just relax and stay still for me." Joshua holds you in his lap, his cock fully sheathed inside you. He takes deep breaths, trying to control himself from thrusting up into you.

"This is exactly what I needed," he murmurs, running his hands up and down your back soothingly. "Just you warming my cock." Joshua continues kissing your neck, occasionally sucking on your skin to leave small marks. His hands move to your thighs, massaging them gently.

"You're so perfect for me," he praises between kisses. "My perfect little cockwarmer." Joshua lifts your top up slowly, exposing your breasts. His eyes darken with lust as he looks at them.

"Beautiful," he whispers, cupping one breast in his hand while the other hand stays on your thigh. "I could stay like this forever." Joshua takes your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it before sucking hard. His hands squeeze your waist possessively as he alternates between each breast.

"Mmm, your tits taste so good," he mumbles against your skin, his hot breath making you shiver. "I love how they fit perfectly in my mouth." Joshua becomes more aggressive with his sucking, leaving hickeys on your chest. He gets so into it that he starts to move his hips slightly, grinding against you.

"Joshua..." you whimper, feeling yourself getting wetter around him. Joshua pulls back with a guilty smile, his lips wet and swollen from sucking.

"Sorry baby, you just drive me crazy," he chuckles, kissing your collarbone. "I couldn't help myself."

"It's okay," you say breathlessly. "I liked it... but you said you wanted me to just cockwarm you." Joshua looks at you with pleading eyes, his cock twitching inside you.

“Please Y/N... just let me fuck you once. I promise I'll go back to being still after," he begs, his voice strained with need.

392 notes · View notes

fairyhaos · 6 months ago

Text

man what are they even saying...

599 notes · View notes

scoupsakakitty · 4 months ago

Note

Can I have joshua with an independent reader where she slowly showed her vulnerability towards him, like she confessed about her financially struggle or anything you like!!

Safe With You | idol!Joshua x Reader | fluff

“Are you okay?” Joshua’s voice was soft but firm, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of an answer you wouldn’t say out loud.

You exhaled slowly, gripping your cup of tea tighter. You hated this—being vulnerable, letting someone see the cracks in your carefully built walls. But Joshua had always been different. He never pried, never pushed, just waited patiently for you to let him in.

“I’m fine,” you said, forcing a small smile.

Joshua arched an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You know that doesn’t work on me, right?”

You let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, I figured.”

Silence settled between you two, comfortable yet heavy. You weren’t fine. Not even close. Rent was due in a few days, your bills were piling up, and work had been cutting your hours. You’d always prided yourself on handling things alone, but this time, it felt like you were drowning.

Joshua reached out, gently brushing his fingers against yours. “Talk to me, Y/N. Please.”

You swallowed hard, staring at the table. “I just…” You took a shaky breath. “I’m struggling, Josh.” The words felt foreign, as if admitting them made them more real. “Financially, I mean. Work has been unpredictable, and I’ve been trying to keep up, but—it’s hard.”

Joshua’s expression softened, and he squeezed your hand. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

You shrugged. “Because it’s not your problem. I’ve always taken care of myself.”

He sighed, tilting his head. “That’s not how relationships work, Y/N. You don’t have to carry everything alone.”

You looked up at him, vulnerability evident in your eyes. “I know, but I don’t want to be a burden.”

Joshua’s brows furrowed. “You could never be a burden. Ever.” He let go of your hand only to hold your face gently. “Let me help, okay? I want to.”

You hesitated. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” He took a deep breath. “I can cover your rent this month, or however long you need until you get back on your feet.”

Your eyes widened. “Josh, no—I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking,” he said softly. “I’m offering.”

Your heart clenched at how easily he was willing to help, no hesitation, no expectations. “I don’t want you to think I’m with you for your money.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Y/N, I know you. If that was the case, you wouldn’t have waited this long to tell me anything.”

You bit your lip, torn between pride and relief. “I just… I don’t know how to accept help.”

Joshua smiled. “Then start small. Let me do this for you.”

You exhaled, nodding slowly. “Okay.”

His expression brightened, but then he hesitated, as if debating whether to say something else. “Actually… I’ve been thinking about something for a while.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

He reached for your hand again, lacing his fingers with yours. “What if you moved in with me?”

Your breath hitched. “Josh…”

“I know it’s a big step,” he admitted. “And I don’t want you to feel pressured. But I love you, Y/N. I want to be there for you—not just when things are good, but when things get tough too.”

Tears welled up in your eyes at how effortlessly he loved you. “You really mean that?”

He squeezed your hand. “Every word.”

A few months ago, you would’ve refused. You would’ve insisted on handling things alone. But now? Looking into Joshua’s warm, unwavering gaze, you realized something—you didn’t have to do everything by yourself. Not anymore.

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Joshua grinned, pulling you into his arms. “You won’t regret it, I promise.”

And for the first time in a long time, you truly believed that.

484 notes · View notes

lololololchips · 4 months ago

Note

hi bae!! can i request one where reader and them (any svt member or all up to uuuu hehe) co sleep with their baby so oc has been cuddling their baby to sleep every night (baby needs to be cuddled to sleep lol 😭) and the members get jealous or 😔 because they haven’t been cuddled with in a while hahah 😭 thanksiess i loveee me some fluff 😭

HERE IT IS I LOVED THIS OMGGG!!!

SEVENTEEN || sulky dad texts

genre: fake texts, smau, dad!svt, mom reader, married au, fluff

warnings: sulky men sigh, cursing, SLIGHT daddy kink on dino’s texts, lmk if i missed anything else

837 notes · View notes

mylovesstuffs · 18 days ago

Text

♨️ the still heat. joshua hong

somewhere between the mist of a maldivian waterfall and the ruin in his gaze, you forgot professionalism… and begged him to fuck you instead. now you're wrecked, drenched, and trembling, and he's still not done with you.

🔥 GENRE :: idol au, romance, smut, contemporary / modern au

🔥 PAIRING/WC :: idol boyfriend Joshua × photographer!fem!reader ⋅ 3,728 words

🔥 CONTENT :: established relationship, tension building through a professional photoshoot in nature, sex under a waterfall (literal), semi-public sex, shower sex, bed sex, oral sex, very emotionally charged smut, worship kink energy, absolute ruin kink energy, emotional intimacy mid-fucking, reader completely dickmatized, joshua ruining lives and walking away smiling, Sex So Good You See God

⚠️ WARNINGS :: MDNI!!! explicit sexual content, multiple orgasms (for reader, like… 4+ lol), unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, overstimulation (very strong—pussy still pulsing mid-scene), possessive!joshua (soft (?) dom energy, not toxic), a lot of clit-focused pleasure, nail scratches, love bites, crying during orgasm (pleasure tears 😭), highly unrealistic endurance levels (like... 5+ rounds lol), no refractory period for him lol, multiple sex locations (waterfall stone, in the water, on the stone again, shower, bed), clit stimulation, rain + steam + moans aesthetic™, reader literally cannot breathe from the D, “one more” he says after 4, extremely horny and irresponsible, reader genuinely ruined and dazed by the end

🔥 A/N :: so um. hi. this fic was brought to you by four [4] unholy joshua hong photos, one persistent intrusive thought, and zero ounces of self-control. i started this thinking, okay just a waterfall quickie maybe and accidentally wrote a sensual six-act spiritual experience about being professionally and personally obliterated by joshua’s face, voice, tongue, and… everything else. if you were also wronged by the allure shoot, this is your reparation. your ruin. and your reward. i woke up to this. yes.

also, listen. i don’t even know what happened here. i genuinely don’t remember writing 80% of this. all i know is i blacked out somewhere between writing and cheol going live, and when i woke up i had 3k+ words of what can only be described as 98% smut, 2% plot, and 0% peace. and like. was i in a rut? probably. did that rut birth the most educationally explicit joshua smut i’ve ever produced? unfortunately, yes. shoutout to rae @nerdycheol accurately calling this “educational porn,” because somewhere along the way i swapped “pussy” for “vaginal walls” like i was trying to write a medical journal and not a breakdown.

also, fun fact: i almost used that stanford list of alternative names for dicks (thank you ro @shinysobi for the pipeline), but i chose restraint. maybe next time you’ll meet the fic where i say “thr sticky grenade” unironically. we’ll see. anyway, this fic was never supposed to happen. but then joshua hong decided to have a shoot looking like that, and my nervous system said “you will write.” so i did. and now here we are.

if you came here expecting plot: you won’t find it. if you came here expecting sanity: can’t help you there either. but if you came here to be ruined, like properly ruined, by the gentlest gentleman menace alive? you’re in the right place.

i’ll leave you with this: thank you to the moonlight, maldives humidity, and all the carats spiritually writhing on the hotel floor with me. may we heal someday (we won’t). (also i am not 100% sure if this shoot was in la or maldives. but probably maldives)

You’re snapping close-ups while he stands still in the shadows, a shimmer of mist on that metallic raincoat. You had been photographing him for hours beneath a sky that changed between pallid sunlight and grey clouds, the ocean breeze carrying the sound of the oncoming rain. He moved fluidly before your lens. His every glance was both deliberate and unthinking, and though you had memorized every line of his face through countless frames, something in his expression today felt perilously unknown. The damp shimmer of his jacket caught the waning light, and the hood clung to his hair, casting a shadow across his features that made your breath stall in your throat as your fingers tightened around the focus ring.

You had remained professional throughout the entire shoot, saying nothing as the last of the crew disappeared and the forest grew still, the sound of the distant waterfall ringing in your ear. Then he turned toward you, slowly, with a gaze that didn't blink or falter, and the sight of the water trailing from his jaw down to the hollow of his throat unraveled something feral [👅] and long contained within your chest. You didn't remember pressing the shutter; the last click of the camera was the sound of surrender.

The camera strap slipped from your shoulder without resistance, and your body followed its own instinct before your mind could interfere and entertain a second thought, each step drawing you closer to him. You halted before him, your breath unsteady and your eyes never leaving his, and the moment fractured open as your voice broke through it with so much clarity.

“Take me,” you said. “Right here, right now.”

Joshua regarded you for a moment, the corner of his mouth curving with a hint of mischief, his voice unhurried when it came. “You’re sure?”

You gave him a single nod, though it was your pulse that answered, the throb between your legs answering before your lips could.

He approached without haste until his fingers lifted your chin to study the expression now laid bare—your features flushed, lips parted, and breath faltering with anticipation. His other hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, the backs of his knuckles grazing your waist with a searing gentleness of his gentleman sexy soul that drew a gasp from your lips, your hips tilting forward in response. When his mouth finally claimed yours, the kiss tasted of rainfall, hunger, and a ruin that threatened to swallow you whole while his body pressed into yours, his cock hard and pulsing through the fabric like the snack that you are.

He gathered you into his arms, and your legs automatically locked around his waist as your spine met the cold glistening stone beneath the waterfall. The layers of fabric of his trousers dragged against your thin shorts and pressed firmly against your clit with each shift, creating a delicious friction that sent jolts up your spine and made your body jerk toward his with every roll of his hips, intensifying the friction that made your breath catch and your pulse stutter. You felt the distinct brush of his arousal against your center even through the remaining layers, his cock rigid and nudging exactly where your body wanted to be filled.

His lips wandered from your mouth to the delicate skin of your throat, where his teeth traced a path of fire before he murmured against your pulse, “You were the one who asked for this. Don't restrain yourself now.”

With your hands trembling from more than the cold, you reached between your bodies and fumbled at his belt. Your fingers were clumsy with desperation as metal clinked faintly beneath the constant rush of water. Joshua pushed aside your drenched shorts without ceremony, sliding one finger through your folds, spreading your slick open to expose your clit, groaning at the sensation of how soaked you were. You were drenched, and it was not the storm or the spray that soaked you; it was him, and only him.

His voice was wrecked as he traced the pad of his finger over your entrance, dipping just enough to make your breath catch. Your cunt clenched around nothing, fluttering and desperate for him, “you’ve been this wet all day?” he teased. “Standing behind that camera, pretending to be composed while thinking about this?”

“Yes,” you gasped, your voice frayed as each syllable pulled. “Please, Joshua. I need you to fuck me right now.”

He seized your mouth with his. The kiss was consuming you, and in the same breath he aligned himself against you, his grip tightening at your hips as he pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance, then sank into your pussy in a single punishing stroke that bottomed out deep inside you. Your cry fractured into the air, devoured by the relentless roar of the waterfall and the rustle of leaves. The stretch was sudden, searing, and perfect. You clung to him with your nails scoring the damp skin of his shoulders as he began to move within you with thrusts that dragged along every nerve inside your cunt, pushing in deep and pulling out just enough to make your walls clench around him, desperate to keep him there, that made your body throb for more.

“Look at me,” he ordered, his thrusts never losing its momentum as he drew back just enough to force your gaze upward. “Let me see what I do to you.”

You obeyed him, eyes glassy, your lips parted as rain spilled over your lashes and down your cheeks, mingling with the slick sheen over his shoulder. He fucked into you against the stone with a rhythm that matched the fall of the water itself, his cock gliding in and out of your cunt with strokes that dragged against your swollen walls making your climax surge through you with blinding heat, your pussy spasming around him as the orgasm tore through your abdomen and sent your nails clawing against his back. He literally tore the breath from your lungs—and still, he didn’t stop. He didn’t ease or relent, because you hadn’t given him enough yet, or even nearly.

You had just drawn a full breath before he took your hand again and guided you into the waterfall’s pool, the current folding around your limbs and drawing you into its depth. The water reached your chest, shocking in its clarity and chill, yet the tremor that coursed through your body had nothing to do with the cold but everything to do with the way your cunt still pulsed from the overstimulation, your clit throbbing and glossy against the friction of your own thighs. For jsut a second, you believed he might grant you a moment, might let you rest against the stone or catch the breath he had stolen—until you caught the gleam in his eyes and knew, with a tightening in your gut, that his hunger remained unsated. Oh.

He gathered your waist with both hands, holding you as he lowered both of you into the shallows where the swell of water kissed your skin and washed away the traces of any salt, sweat, and earth. But the burn inside you endured that was still left behind by the way he had claimed you with no hesitation and no gentlemanliness. He leaned in, pressing a series of kisses: one to your cheek, one to your jaw, and one to the corner of your mouth. Each kiss maddening in its restraint, his cock already hard again against your hip, pressing insistently through the water, while the throb in your clit resumed its pulse beneath the surface, demanding more — stoking the throb already pulsing through your core.

“You can still take me, can’t you?” his breath and the tip of his nose brushing your temple while the head of his cock pressed teasingly at your entrance again. “I know you’re tired. But I haven’t had you enough.”

Your eyes batted shut for a second, and you drew in a trembling breath, voice raw when it came. “Then take more,” you whispered to him, turning your head until your mouth found his. “Don’t ask. Just do it.”

Joshua's lips curved ever so slightly against yours, though his grip remained firm, and when he responded, his tone held both a certainty and a threat. “I wasn’t planning to stop until you begged me to.”

You gave no verbal reply, only a nod as your arms slipped around his neck and your body pressed against his, soaked through. Your legs lifted and locked behind him, weightless in the water, though you could still feel the strength in his arms holding you. He guided himself to your entrance once more, pushing the swollen tip of his cock into your soaked pussy inch by inch until he was fully sheathed inside you again, making your entire body shudder from the stretch. The ache was sharper this time, your cunt sore and clenching around him with every withdrawal, your walls still fluttering and sensitive from the first onslaught.

This time, there was no rush. He moved with his devastating patience, thrusting and grinding his hips to feel every inch of you squeeze around him, each deep and unrelenting that left an imprint long after the motion came to an end. The surface of the pool rippled with the cadence of your bodies, your hips rolling into his without any thought or any restraint. Your lips parted again, breath stuttering with every deep penetration that brushed your cervix and ground your clit delicately against his pelvis, and the sensation bordered on unbearable, yet you couldn't pull away… didn't want to.

Rain began to fall above you. It was slow and soft at first, then constant, striking the water that mirrored his own. The air smelled of storm and skin, and your senses blurred at the edges, lost somewhere between saturation and surrender. His hands found their way along your back, one curling around the base of your head while the other splayed against your spine.

“You’re perfect like this,” he breathed. “God, you’re fucking perfect.”

You caught his mouth with yours before he could say more, your kiss answering the rest. It was open, slow, and hungry in a way that tasted of both devotion and ruin. His tongue gliding against yours as he fucked into you again and again and again with powerful, dragging thrusts that hit that g-spot deep inside, while he kept moving inside you with the same punishing control, dragging each stroke like it was the last, until your orgasm shattered through you again—your pussy tightening with spasms, thighs trembling in the water, your moan caught in his mouth as you clung to him and pulsed around his cock.

You came with a full-body tremor, the heat of it ripping through your core and making you cry out against his lips, but the sound got half-swallowed by the hiss of the rain and by him. He didn't stop immediately; instead, he gave you three more measured thrusts, each one moving through your overstimulated cunt, prolonging the waves of your release, until at last he stilled and let his forehead rest against yours. His breathing was uneven and his arms quivered a little bit from the effort of holding you, though his grip never loosened.

Neither of you said a word, but the silence that was filled only by the sound of rain meeting water, said enough.

Your pussy was still quivering with the waves of your second climax, but he didn't release you immediately. Instead, he held you close, pressing a kiss to your temple as your chests rose and fell in sync, the water lapping around your entwined forms within the pool beneath the waterfall. You imagined he might carry you back to shore, drape a towel across your shoulders, and allow you a moment’s rest in the aftermath, but when he lifted his eyes through the falling rain, his lips parted and his eyes hazy, you knew the day was far from over.

Without a word, Joshua guided you out of the cool pool. His hands were firm as he carried you up gentlemanly from the water and set you down upon the smooth flat stone that jutted just above the waterline, slick beneath the touch of the recent rainfall. The surface kissed your bare skin with dampness and the slight warmth from the sun’s short visit, and though you attempted to sit upright and question his intent, to speak, to ask what he was doing, your voice failed you once again when he knelt between your parted legs and lowered his face toward your cunt, hauling his mouth across your inner thigh.

“I’m not finished with you,” he let you know as though he were performing a solemn rite rather than simply surrendering to desire. “Not even close.”

You swallowed as your hands gripped the stone beneath you for leverage as he parted you with his tongue, spreading your pussy open with both hands before licking a stripe from your silky entrance up to your swollen clit, savoring the taste with his unhurried hunger. Rain streaked down your face as your eyes closed, head fell back and your legs jerked involuntarily, trembling violently at the first gasp that escaped your lips when his mouth latched on with perfect pressure. His lips wrapped around your clit, tongue flicking and circling it while he sucked with just enough strength to push you toward the edge again, his groan vibrating against your folds, making your hips buck in response.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he asked, lifting his head just enough to catch your eye.

You shook your head, “don’t stop now.”

His lips curved in a smile, and without hesitation, he continued and left you trembling beneath the waterfall.

You were already agonizingly sensitive, swollen and slick from the flood of arousal and cum he had given you before, yet he showed no mercy now; his tongue circled down, lips sucking, and his fingers slid inside your wet, fluttering pussy in perfect tandem with his mouth, pressing and curling against your g-spot. Each movement was exacting, sending pleasure crashing over you too fast and sharply to resist.

“Joshua—” you gasped, your voice breaking on a sob that was both pleading and broken, but he didn't pause, instead, the sound seemed only to drive him further. His groan vibrating through you as his fingers curled and struck that hidden spot inside, triggering spasms in your walls and causing your vision to blur with overwhelming sensation.

Your climax came violently again, your spine arching away from the stone beneath you as your cries were swallowed by the patter of rain; your thighs trembled uncontrollably, squeezing and gripping the sides of his face, but still he held firm, tightening his grip on your hips. He kept you open as he continued to lap at your soaked cunt, his tongue flicking and swirling around your swollen clitoris while his fingers pumped inside your dripping pussy, and drank from your soaked skin with a hunger that seemed to draw life itself from your pleasure.

When he finally pulled back, his lips glistened and hair damp and clinging to his forehead, your body was clearly spent and limp beneath him; your skin shone with the mingled sheen of rain, sweat, and even more desire, but you found yourself unable to speak or move.

And still, he smiled — utterly possessively. “You’re still shaking,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before crawling up to hover above you. “You’ll be trembling for hours by the time I’m done.”

You didn't know how Joshua managed to carry you back; your legs were unresponsive, and your body adrift in the aftershocks of countless shuddering orgasms that had left your core muscles fluttering and your nerves raw, yet his arms held you. He lifted you from the slick stone, pressed a long kiss to the damp curve of your shoulder, and walked the forest path. The rain had faded to a drizzle that clung to the air, and the sky had begun its descent into silver-blue dusk where the trees blurred into the distant horizon.

When the hotel door clicked shut behind you, he lowered you to your feet, but your knees faltered beneath your own limbs, still weak and trembling from the intense muscle contractions of your recent climaxes. He caught you easily, balancing your waist as he drew you close, and your forehead came to rest against his collarbone while his breath left him in an exhale—an effort to hold back the tension still coiled beneath his skin.

“We’re not finished,” he said with each of his words precisely, his tone giving away finality. “You know that.”

You nodded as your fingers tightened around the wet fabric of his shirt, your voice reduced to a whisper. “I want more.”

His lips brushed your cheek in answer, curving into a smile that said everything he didn't, and without another word, he guided you toward the bathroom. He was calm, assured, and entirely in control, for now.

The shower filled with steam within moments. He undressed you with no pretense of patience, stripping each soaked layer from your body. His fingers glided over the slope of your ribs and down the curve of your spine, tracing the very places he had already kissed, bitten, and marked, his touch awakening sensitive nerve endings made more prone to response by his earlier ministrations. You stood naked before him, still trembling slightly, while he shed his own clothing in silence, peeling his shirt from his body and letting the sodden fabric fall before discarding the slacks that clung to his hips, stubborn; between you, his cock stood hard and flushed, the head swollen and leaking pre-cum in anticipation, already demanding more. Yet he didn't reach for you immediately.

Instead, he guided you beneath the stream, drawing you into the warmth as water poured over your shoulders and steam curled through your hair. His hands moved over you in thorough strokes, smoothing soap across your arms and thighs and chest with care; and when he rinsed you, he did so with some reverence still in him, his lips brushing lazy kisses along your collarbone and neck. He spoke your name in a tone reserved for something cherished, and the way he touched you no longer held the urgency of hunger—it held devotion.

Still, beneath the gentleness, the desire in his gaze hadn't dimmed; it burned darker now, no longer ravenous but ruinously certain.

When he turned you to face the glass wall, no instruction was necessary. Your palms pressed against the fogged surface, breath smearing condensation as you sensed his presence behind you. His hand moved between your thighs and cupped you with a bit of pressure until he found you still drenched in arousal despite everything he had already taken; he exhaled a soft groan and aligned himself behind you once more.

The moment he entered your moist hole with the full length of his shaft, the rhythm shifted. There was no frenzy, no desperation—only the steady, deliberate assertion of possession.

He eased into you inch by inch, making you feel every stretch and shift of your tight pussy walls; one hand anchored your waist while the other threaded between your fingers, pinning your joined hands to the glass beside your face. His chest pressed against your back and his mouth brushed your temple, and every thrust was unhurried yet absolute, each one landing so profoundly it seemed to carve itself into the deepest parts of the cervix.

“Look at yourself,” he mused, his voice thick and molten. “You see how you give it to me? How beautifully you take every inch, even now?”

You opened your eyes and met your reflection. You saw your cheeks flushed, lips parted, the fogged glass streaking around the imprint of your bodies. Your composure splintered at the sight. You tightened around him instinctively, your inner muscles clenching reflexively as your knees began to buckle, but he held you still, driving into you with such restrained intensity that pleasure crackled through your clit, walls, and pelvis like fire.

You came again with a strangled cry, your voice frayed at the edges as your pelvic muscles spasmed violently and your clitoral nerve endings pulsed with molten heat making your body collapse against his, and only moments later, he followed, his groan catching in his throat as he spilled thick, hot semen deep inside your womb, his arms locked around your waist as though bracing against the loss of gravity.

You lay entangled in linen. Your skin softened from the shower and bruised in places Joshua had kissed too hard. You believed it was over, that the storm had passed, but then he leaned over you with his hair damp against his temples, and dragged his lips slowly down the sensitive column of your throat. That's when you knew the night had not yet released you.

“On your back,” he said, brushing the robe from your shoulder. “One more. You can give me one more.”

You parted your legs beneath him without protest, allowing him to slide his hardened cock into your wet, swollen pussy as the darkness folded around your bodies, the only illumination cast by the fractured moonlight spilling through the window. He moved without sound; his lips pressed to your tender breasts, your ribs, and the skin behind your knees, each stroke of his hips driving his shaft deeply inside your core, anchoring you to the moment with worship that hollowed you out from within. He asked for nothing now, but gave you everything through the way he touched you, until your cries of pleasure softened to broken whimpers and your body melted into his without resistance.

When he finally stilled and pulled you into his arms, his breath fell softly against your collarbone as though he, too, had nothing left to give. You reached for him without thinking, your fingers burying themselves in his hair, your voice a ghost across his skin.

“You ruined me today,” you told him, voice trembling from the multiple climaxes he had coaxed from your clenching vaginal muscles and quivering body.

His lips curved against your pulse as he breathed the word into you with certainty. “I’m glad.”

⌦ ♨️ © mylovesstuffs | est. 2025. thank you for reading—your reblog means everything. until we meet again, stay cozy and keep dreaming! ◜ᴗ◝

509 notes · View notes