#Part 1 strategist | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

diamonddaze01 · 6 months ago

Text

Full Throttle (ii)

pairing: ferrari driver!yoon jeonghan x journalist!reader chapter wc: 16.7K (dont look at me)genre: humor, fluff, angst, smut (?) au: f1 au (i am sorry i am a nerd abt this) rating: m (MINORS DNI)warnings: SLOW BURNNN. mentions of injuries, car crashes // unprotected sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT), some nipple-play, vaguely (?) rough (?) sex, begging

PREQUELS: would highly recommend reading On the Record and Off the Record to gain some context into the relationship! This fic starts directly after the end of Off the Record

a/n: ok pt 2 here we gooooo! to kae @ylangelegy , who hasn't read the ending of this because they wanted to be surprised. i love you, im sorry, i love you // to alta @haologram , who hyped me up so much and made me feel so much better about my writing // thank you to lola @monamipencil and haneul @chanranghaeys for beta-reading! // and finally, an ENORMOUS thank you to jupiter @cheolism for the banner!

read part 1 here.

FORMULA 1 PIRELLI GRAN PREMIO D’ITALIA 2024 Track: Autodromo Nazionale Monza

Monza, the Temple of Speed. The track that had seen countless legends, where every tire mark told a story of glory and heartache. The crowd—the tifosi—roared like a living entity, their chants filling the air, demanding greatness from Ferrari’s finest. It wasn’t just a race here, it was a pilgrimage. The heat of Italy in late summer mixed with the electric atmosphere of a home Grand Prix, and Jeonghan could feel it all—the energy, the expectation, the weight of a thousand eyes on him.

The Autodromo Nazionale Monza was a track built on speed, but more than that, it was a track built on history. The sweeping curves, the long straights, the iconic Parabolica that would make or break a driver—it was a place where only the brave thrived, and only the strongest survived. Jeonghan knew the stakes: it wasn’t enough to be fast, not when you were wearing Ferrari red. He had to win, not just for himself, but for the tifosi, who saw him as their golden boy. He had to deliver.

As the weekend progressed, he couldn’t escape the growing weight on his shoulders. His performance was scrutinized with every passing second. In the pits, the team’s eyes were on him, hoping for that perfect lap. The techs, the engineers, the strategists—all working in harmony, hoping that Jeonghan would be the one to pull them across the finish line, but in the back of his mind, Jeonghan kept hearing the unspoken truth: nothing less than pole would suffice. Anything less was a failure.

He felt his pulse quicken as the qualifying session wore on, his concentration laser-sharp, every move calculated. But the tire strategy wasn’t perfect, and as the final moments ticked down, the truth settled over him like a cloud of doom. He was not going to make Q3. Neither was Soonyoung. The agony of it slammed into him like a punch to the gut.

The Ferrari garage was quiet, save for the hum of the engines being powered down. Soonyoung clapped him on the shoulder, a small gesture, but Jeonghan could see the frustration in his eyes, the mirror of his own defeat. The disappointment felt like a heavy weight on Jeonghan’s chest, suffocating, and he couldn’t shake it off. He couldn’t even look at the team, let alone the tifosi waiting outside.

The mood around the paddock was tense as Jeonghan left the garage, still in his race suit. The world felt unreal, as though it were in slow motion. He couldn’t escape it. The tifosi would be waiting to cheer their heroes, but today, he hadn’t been the hero they wanted. He was just another failure in a sea of victories that had come before him. He needed to escape it, to clear his mind.

It was then, as he walked toward his motorhome, that he felt it—a small, electric connection. Your hand brushed against his.

He froze.

Your presence was like a balm, soothing the sharp sting of defeat, but it also distracted him. The familiar, intoxicating scent of your shampoo, something floral and faintly sweet, hit him like a memory, and his heart skipped a beat. That scent, mixed with the lingering tension of the day, flooded his senses. He couldn’t look at you, couldn’t form words. All he could think about was that fleeting moment—so close—and the ridiculous notion that he had never noticed how desperately he wanted to be closer to you.

You didn’t stop walking either, your movements fluid, confident. But he couldn’t help the way his eyes followed you, the way the tension built with every step.

Without a word, you both continued on, the space between you shrinking until you finally spoke. Your voice was soft, but there was an edge to it, something that told him you understood more than he let on.

“Tough luck out there,” you said, a hint of sympathy in your tone.

The words were simple, but they hit harder than he expected. His chest tightened as he swallowed. “It’s... whatever,” he muttered, trying to brush it off. He didn’t have the energy to care.

You glanced at his fist, clenched so tightly it was almost painful to watch. “Doesn’t seem like ‘whatever’ to me,” you countered, raising an eyebrow, your words cutting through the fog in his mind.

He let out a small, mirthless chuckle. “I’ll be fine,” he said, his voice more convincing than he felt. But even as he said it, he knew. He wouldn’t be fine—not until he had redeemed himself, not until he could prove to the world that he was still Ferrari’s shining star. He had to be.

But for now, there was a fleeting connection between the two of you, and it was the only thing that made his heart skip, even if just for a moment.

The race was an uphill battle from the start, as expected. Jeonghan’s starting position was far from ideal, and the track ahead was a maze of cars, each one blocking his path, each one a reminder of the high stakes. The pressure weighed on him heavily, like an invisible force that squeezed the air from his lungs. It wasn’t just about the race, it was about redemption. The tifosi—his tifosi—filled his mind with a deafening chant, a roar of expectation, as if they were willing victory into existence. The weight of their adoration and their demand for perfection followed him, a constant reminder of the legacy he carried.

But Jeonghan had never been one to back down. The track felt like an extension of himself, the tires gripping, the engine vibrating beneath him, urging him to push. Even with traffic clogging his way, he found openings. He fought for every inch of track, his movements sharp, instinctive, like a surgeon making precise cuts. Overtaking felt almost effortless—his car slipping through gaps with the grace of a dancer. He was fluid, controlled, never losing sight of the goal.

As the laps unfolded, his nerves sharpened, but so did his focus. The aggressive strategy that had been laid out for him was beginning to pay off. He was making up ground, inching forward, climbing the ladder of positions one battle at a time. The thought of the tifosi cheering, of their voices blending into one thunderous symphony, drove him. They believed in him. He had to deliver. His mind cleared. He no longer heard the roaring crowds, the whirling thoughts of doubt. All that mattered was the track, the tires, and the roar of the engine beneath him. The conditions became his advantage—he thrived in this chaos.

Through the speed-trap corners, Jeonghan carved his way through the field. The world outside the cockpit blurred into a haze, his focus narrowing into sharp precision. He saw every gap, every opportunity, and he seized them without hesitation. The rain had turned the race into a dance of risk and control, and Jeonghan was leading the waltz.

Crossing the finish line first, Jeonghan allowed himself a single moment of release. The victory wasn’t just for him—it was for Ferrari, for the tifosi, for everything that had been building in his chest since the first day he’d strapped into the car. He had done it. He had delivered.

The roar of the crowd felt like an affirmation of his own heart, beating in time with the cheers of thousands. In that moment, the weight lifted off him, replaced by an overwhelming surge of satisfaction and relief. He had proven himself once again, and it was more sweet than any victory lap could ever capture. The tifosi were wild, their cheers ringing through the air, a thunderous confirmation of what Jeonghan had already known in his heart: this was his race. This was his victory.

After the podium celebrations, the champagne-soaked cheers, and the endless barrage of media questions, Jeonghan finally managed to steal a moment of solitude. His body was spent, muscles aching, his throat raw from the adrenaline-fueled roar that had escaped him as he crossed the finish line. And yet, his mind wasn’t on the race anymore. Not on the points, not on the tifosi.

It was on you.

The fleeting brush of your hand earlier lingered like a phantom touch, a warmth that refused to fade even as the hours passed. The memory of your scent—the subtle floral notes of your shampoo—clung to him, more grounding than the overwhelming chaos of the Monza circuit.

He walked toward his motorhome, each step feeling heavier now that the adrenaline had begun to wane. The din of the paddock was fading, replaced by the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat in his ears. The glow of the overhead lights cast long shadows, and as he turned the corner, there you were. Waiting for him. Leaning casually against the side of his motorhome, your arms crossed and a knowing smirk dancing on your lips. His footsteps slowed as his eyes locked onto yours, the soft gleam of your smile both a challenge and an invitation.

“You’re late,” you teased, tilting your head in mock disapproval.

Jeonghan huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he approached. “Didn’t realize I was on a schedule.”

“You’re always on a schedule,” you shot back, your tone light but your gaze sharp. “Besides, I thought you’d be faster off track too.”

His smirk deepened as he stopped in front of you, close enough that the scent of champagne and adrenaline clung to him. “Big words for someone who’s hanging around my motorhome.”

“Big win for someone who barely made it out of Q2,” you quipped, the corner of your mouth twitching upward.

Jeonghan’s chuckle was low, almost indulgent. “Touché.”

There was a moment of silence, the din of the paddock fading into a distant hum. His eyes traced your face, noting the way your lashes cast faint shadows on your cheekbones, the way you seemed perfectly at ease under his scrutiny. That unnerved him more than he cared to admit. You’d always been too good at staying cool, keeping him on edge.

“So,” he finally said, leaning casually against the doorframe, “where’s your article? Shouldn’t it be out by now?”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Oh, you think I’m done? I’m holding out for an exclusive.”

Jeonghan’s grin widened, his ego soaking up your words. “An exclusive? From the tifosi’s god?”

Your laugh was soft, teasing, and it sent a warmth through his chest that rivaled the rush of the race. “Your words, not mine.”

“You want a headline that bad?” His voice dropped, his tone dipping into something darker, something that made the air between you shift.

“Maybe,” you replied, your voice steady despite the way he was looking at you now—like he was ready to devour you whole. “But you’d have to give me something worth writing about.”

It was playful, the banter you always shared, but there was something crackling beneath the surface tonight, an electricity neither of you could ignore. Jeonghan stepped closer, his presence swallowing the space between you. You shifted back instinctively, your spine meeting the cool surface of the motorhome door.

“You always have something to say, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice low, intimate.

“Someone has to keep you grounded,” you shot back, though your voice wavered slightly as his hand braced against the door beside your head, caging you in. His other hand hovered near your hip, close enough to make you hyper-aware of the heat radiating off him.

“Grounded?” he repeated, his lips curling into a slow, predatory smile. “You’re doing a great job of that.”

Your heart was pounding now, the proximity, the tension—it was overwhelming. “Jeonghan,” you started, your voice quieter, more measured, “this… this isn’t professional.”

“Fuck being professional,” he said, the words slipping out like a confession. Before you could respond, his fingers tilted your jaw, firm but not rough, guiding you to look up at him.

And then his lips were on yours, capturing them in a kiss that was as fierce as it was unrelenting. It wasn’t sweet or tentative—it was raw, all the tension and frustration that had built up between you spilling over in a single, consuming moment. His hand slid to the nape of your neck, anchoring you to him as if he was afraid you might pull away.

But you didn’t. You kissed him back with equal fervor, your hands finding the front of his race suit, clutching the material as if to steady yourself. The world around you blurred into nothing; there was only the warmth of his mouth, the taste of him, the way he kissed like he was claiming something he’d wanted for far too long.

Jeonghan’s breath hitched as he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours for something—confirmation, permission, anything. Whatever he found made him grin, wicked and hungry. Without a word, he reached for the door handle, pushing it open with a sharp motion. The door swung wide, and then his hands were on you again, pulling you inside.

The door clicked shut behind you, plunging you both into the dim interior of the motorhome. Jeonghan's hands were everywhere at once, tracing the curve of your waist, sliding up your back, tangling in your hair. His lips found yours again, more urgent this time, as if he couldn't bear to be separated from you for even a moment.

You stumbled backward, your legs hitting the edge of the small couch. Jeonghan followed, never breaking contact, until you were lying beneath him, the leather cool against your heated skin. His weight pressed you down, a delicious pressure that made your head spin.

"God, I've wanted this for so long," he breathed against your neck, his words punctuated by hot, open-mouthed kisses that trailed down to your collarbone.

You arched into him, your hands fumbling with the zipper of his race suit. Your fingers trembled slightly as you tugged it down and yanked off his fireproofs, revealing more of his sweat-slicked skin. Jeonghan groaned against your throat as your hands slipped inside, exploring the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen.

"How long?" you managed to ask between ragged breaths, curiosity mingling with desire.

Jeonghan lifted his head, his eyes dark and intense as they locked onto yours. "Since the first time you interviewed me," he admitted, his voice low and husky. "The way you challenged me, saw right through my bullshit... I knew I was in trouble."

The confession sent a thrill through you, and you pulled him down for another searing kiss. Your tongues danced as his hands roamed your body, pushing up your shirt to caress the soft skin beneath. You gasped into his mouth as his thumb brushed the underside of your breast.

Your fingers curled into his hair, tugging gently as you deepened the kiss. Jeonghan groaned, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. His hand slid lower, tracing the curve of your hip before gripping your thigh, hitching it up around his waist.

“So what you’re saying,” you whispered, grinding your clothed cunt against him. “Is that you’ve been obsessed with me as long as I have with you.”

He drops his head and groans, hot and heavy, against your throat. “You’re telling me we could have been doing this for three years?”

You pull him back to your lips by his hair, relishing the way he hisses at your touch. “If only you’d put your money where your mouth is, pretty boy.”

At that, he props himself up above you, grinning like the cat that got the canary. “I knew you called me pretty in Japan!”

You desperately claw at his shoulders in an attempt to bring his mouth back to yours. After three years of cat and mouse, you do believe you’re entitled to it. “Jeonghan, I swear to everything that is holy-”

“Say it.” His necklace hangs in front of you, glinting in the dim light of the motorhome. You have half a mind to crane your neck and take it with your teeth. But instead, you choose to stare up at him in mock confusion, fingers dancing at the nape of his neck.

“Say what?”

His answering laugh mocks you a little, and he leans down to gently bite your earlobe. When he speaks, it’s low and deep. “Say I’m pretty. I know you think it when you’re drunk.”

You shiver at the sensation of his teeth grazing your ear, heat pooling in your core. His words make you flush, remembering all the times you'd drunkenly gushed about him to your friends. You'd always been careful to keep things professional in person, but apparently some of your true feelings had slipped out.

"And how would you know what I think when I'm drunk?" you challenge, trying to regain some control.

Jeonghan chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin. "You're not the only one with sources in the paddock, sweetheart."

The pet name sends another thrill through you. You decide to give him what he wants, if only to move things along. "Fine," you breathe, trailing your fingers down his chest. "You're pretty, Jeonghan. Gorgeous, actually. Happy now?"

His grin is triumphant as he captures your lips again, the kiss deep and consuming. "Ecstatic, darling," he murmurs against your mouth.

Your hands roam his body, tracing the lean muscles of his back, feeling them flex under your touch. Jeonghan's fingers dance along your sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake. He breaks the kiss to nip at your jaw, then your neck, drawing a soft moan from your lips.

"You know," he says between kisses, his voice low and husky, "I've imagined this so many times. On the couch in the media room, in the garage, during those long interviews..."

You gasp as he finds a particularly sensitive spot on your neck. "Is that why you always fidget so much during our talks?"

He chuckles against your skin. "Guilty as charged."

Your hands find the waistband of his fireproofs, , but as one hand curls around your jaw, the other stops you.

“You first,” he breathes, sitting back on his knees to gently urge you out of your shirt.

You lift your arms, allowing him to peel your shirt off slowly, his eyes drinking in every inch of newly exposed skin. The cool air of the motorhome raises goosebumps on your flesh, but Jeonghan's heated gaze makes you feel like you're burning up.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the lace edge of your bra. "Even better than I imagined."

You reach up to pull him back down to you, craving the warmth of his body against yours. As your lips meet again, his hands roam your sides, mapping out every curve and dip. You arch into his touch, desperate for more.

His hands brush over your clothed nipple, and you inhale sharply. The sound makes Jeonghan raise his head, a faint smirk dancing across his lips. “Sensitive, are we?” He coos, hands drawing shapes against the swell of your breasts until goosebumps erupt on your flesh.

Your breath hitches as his fingers tease you though the thin fabric of your bra. “Jeonghan,” you breathe, half-warning, half-plea.

His smirk widens as he lowers his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. "Yes, sweetheart?" He murmurs against your skin. His lips trail lower, ghosting over the lacework.

You arch your back, silently begging for more. Jeonghan obliges, his tongue darting out to trace the lace edge of your bra. Your hands find his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you hold him close.

With deft fingers, he reaches behind you to unclasp your bra. You lift slightly, allowing him to slide it off. His eyes darken as he takes you in. You moan wantonly, arching your back in an effort to touch you - somewhere, anywhere.

“Jeonghan, please-”

A singular finger traces the curve of your waist up to your collarbone. He hums as you squirm. “Look at you,” he murmurs. You shriek as he pinches your waist. “You act so big in the paddock, and here you are, begging for me to touch you.”

It enrages you a little, how easily he takes you apart. Hell, he’s barely even touched you and you’re already rubbing your thighs together, desperate for any amount of friction.

"Jeonghan, please," you gasp, not even sure what you're begging for. More? Less? Everything?

He lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours. The intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch. "Tell me what you want," he says, his voice low and commanding.

You swallow hard, and the heat pooling between your legs feels hot enough to burn. “Y-your-”

“My what, baby?” His words are punctuated by hot, open mouthed kisses against your collarbones. He pointedly ignores your nipples, a thought that makes you whine. “Speak up.”

“Your mouth, Jeonghan,” you finally get out, hissing when his teeth find purchase on the skin of your neck.

“Yeah? Where, baby?” His hands fit themselves against the curve of your waist. “Here?”

“N-no,” you hate it, the way Jeonghan turns you into a whimpering mess. You shiver as his hands trail up your body.

“Hm…how about…here?” His thumbs brush against the underside of your breast again, and you arch your back, desperate and aching for him.

“Higher,” you breathe, mesmerized by the way his fingers dance up your body, by the way his eyes never leave yours.

“Here, baby?” His fingers tweak an already-hard nipple, and you gasp.

“Yes, please-”

“Say I’m a good driver, sweetheart, and I’ll give you what you want.”

Your eyes snap open, narrowing at him in disbelief. Even now, with you half-naked and writhing beneath him, he can't help but tease. "You're kidding, right?"

Jeonghan's grin is wicked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Not at all. Come on, darling. Just a few little words."

You bite your lip, torn between your pride and your desperate need for his touch. His thumb circles your nipple lazily, sending jolts of pleasure through you. Finally, you cave. "Fine," you breathe. "You're a good driver, Jeonghan. The best, even. Now please—"

Before you can finish, his mouth is on your breast, hot and wet. You cry out, arching into him as his tongue swirls around your nipple. His hand kneads your other breast, fingers teasing your other nipple.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close as he lavishes attention on your breasts. Jeonghan's tongue and teeth work in tandem, drawing gasps and moans from your lips. The sensations are overwhelming, each touch sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

"God, Jeonghan," you breathe, your head falling back against the couch cushions.

He hums against your skin, the vibration sending another shiver through you. His free hand trails down your stomach, fingers dancing along the waistband of your pants. You lift your hips instinctively, silently begging for more.

Jeonghan lifts his head, his eyes dark with desire as they meet yours. "Tell me you want this," he says, his voice husky and low. "I need to hear you say it."

You nod frantically, your breath coming in short gasps. "Yes," you breathe, your voice filled with need. "I want this. I want you, Jeonghan."

His eyes darken further at your words, a low growl escaping his throat. In one swift motion, he unbuttons your pants and slides them down your legs, taking your underwear with them. You kick them off eagerly, now fully bare beneath him.

Jeonghan's gaze rakes over your body, hungry and appreciative. "Beautiful," he murmurs, his hands skimming up your thighs. "So fucking beautiful."

You reach for him, tugging at the fireproofs still clinging to his hips. "Your turn," you say, your voice breathy with anticipation.

He grins, standing to shuck off the rest of his clothes. Your eyes widen as he reveals himself fully, drinking in the sight of his toned body. Jeonghan's grin widened as he caught you staring. "Like what you see?" he teased, his voice low and husky.

You nod, unable to form words as your eyes roam his body. The lean muscles of his abdomen, the sharp cut of his hipbones, the impressive length of his cock standing proud against his stomach - it was all even better than you'd imagined.

He chuckles, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?"

That snapped you out of your daze. "Shut up and get back here," you growl, reaching for him.

Jeonghan obliges, lowering himself back onto the couch and covering your body with his. You gasp at the feeling of skin on skin, the heat of his body against yours. His lips find yours in a searing kiss as his hands explore every curve and dip of your body. When his fingers finally brush against your core, you gasp into his mouth, your hips bucking involuntarily.

“So wet,” he murmurs against your lips. “All for me?”

"Yes," you breathe, your hips rolling against his hand. "All for you."

Jeonghan's fingers explore your folds, teasing and mapping out every sensitive spot. When he finally slides a finger inside you, you moan loudly, your back arching off the couch. He sets a slow, torturous pace, curling his finger just right to hit that spot inside you that makes you see stars.

"More," you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders. "Please, Jeonghan."

He obliges, adding a second finger and increasing his pace. His thumb finds your clit, circling it in tight, precise movements that have you writhing beneath him. You can feel the tension building in your core, a coiling heat that threatens to consume you. Your hands scramble for purchase against his shoulders – you’re too drunk on lust to recognize if you’re pushing him away because it’s too much or pulling him closer because it’s not nearly enough.

"That's it, baby," Jeonghan murmurs, his voice low and encouraging. "Let go for me.”

His words push you over the edge, and you come with a cry, your body arching off the couch as waves of pleasure wash over you. Jeonghan works you through it, his fingers never stopping their relentless rhythm until you're trembling and oversensitive.

As you come down from your high, Jeonghan peppers soft kisses along your jaw and neck. "Beautiful," he murmurs against your skin. "You're so beautiful when you let go."

You're still catching your breath when you feel the hard length of him pressing against your thigh. Your hand snakes between your bodies, wrapping around his cock. Jeonghan hisses at the contact, his hips jerking involuntarily.

"Fuck," he groans, his forehead resting against yours. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this."

"Show me," you breathe, thumb brushing over the tip of his pre-cum slick cock. You relish the way he shudders against you. “Show me everything you imagined, pretty boy.”

He preens a little at your teasing words, arms shaking with the exertion of keeping himself above you. “Yeah?” he purrs, hips bucking to the tempo of your hand. “You wanna see, sweetheart?”

You barely have the time to nod before he’s sweeping his arms under your thighs and sitting back against the couch, setting you on top of him. Your wet heat is inches from his weeping cock, and you give him an experimental roll of your hips. The friction is delicious, and you bite your lips at the way his head rolls back.

You take advantage of his position and press hot kisses against his neck as he squirms below you.

“This is what you wanted, baby?” you whisper against his ear, biting gently. He shudders, one arm circling your waist and the other finding purchase in your hair. “You wanted me on top? Me in control?”

He laughs breathlessly at that, hips grinding against yours with such fervour that you almost succumb right then and there. “You might be on top, sweetheart,” he hisses as you position yourself above him, one hand circling his length. “But I’m the one in char-”

He cuts himself off with a strangled moan as you sink down until your hips are flush to his. “Hmmm?” You hum sweetly against his throat, exhaling at the sheer size of him inside you. “What was that?”

“Fuck,” he groans, throwing his head back against the couch as his hands trail down to rest on the curve of your ass. “Move, please, sweetheart.”

“Tell me how much you love my writing.” The words leave you in a rush, the sight of him panting for you almost too heady to ignore. You hadn’t planned on teasing him, but his earlier words had lit a fire in your core that would only be doused once you flipped the script on him.

His head is still on the back of the couch as he barks out a laugh. “You’re a fucking menace,” he murmurs, pinching your waist. “Now, move.”

“No.” It takes every bone in your body to stay absolutely still. You can feel him, thick and throbbing, and the thought of it makes you almost forgo this insanity to ride him into oblivion.

His eyes meet yours, and he raises his eyebrows in mock outrage. “Are you serious?” He punctuates his words by dragging a hand down your body, fingers finding your clit and pressing until you jerk away from him. It’s a futile attempt though, because his other hand is still fisted in your hair, and he uses it as leverage to hold you against him, powerless against his ministrations.

With a shaking hand, your press against his wrist until his fingers stop moving in circles around your clit. “C-come on,” you tease breathlessly, using your other hand to thread through his sweat-soaked hair and yanking until he bares his throat to you with a groan. “Play nice, pretty boy. Tell me how much you love my writing.”

He groans again as you lick a stripe up his throat, the hand in your hair loosening as his resolve weakens. “Y-you don’t play fair,” he moans, legs shaking with the exertion of keeping still, of playing your little game of cat and mouse.

“Neither do you,” you whisper, your words paired with a tweak to his nipple that has him gasping and arching his back.

“Fuck!” He cries out, curling forward until his chin rests against your ribs and he’s staring up at you. “Y-your writing is perfect.”

He’s rewarded with another gentle tug on his hair and a firm, “keep going.”

“S-so perfect and wonderful, I – fuck, baby please – read every word th-three times,” he’s almost whimpering now, looking up at you with so much desire that you decide it’s time to reward him for being so pliant, so good for you. “You-you’re the best writer in the whole paddock, fuck, yes, thank yo-”

You decide to put him out of his misery, preening at his praise, you start with an experimental grind against his hips, and watch with glee as he almost melts back against the couch. You decide to take advantage of the situation for a little while longer, rocking your hips faster as his lips find your nipple.

“Who’s in charge?” you coo, fingers gripping his hair a little tighter. He draws back to give you a quick smirk. They don’t call him the fastest on the grid for nothing – one second, you feel like you’re in complete control, and the next, he’s lifting you off of him with surprising ease. Your chest meets the couch before you can even form a single thought, and Jeonghan gathers up your wrists in one of his hands.

“You really thought,” he hisses as he re-enters your aching pussy. “You were in charge, sweetheart?”

The new angle allows him to sink even deeper inside you, drawing a low moan from your lips.

"You were saying?" he purrs, chest pressed against your back, his breath hot on your neck as he sets a punishing pace. Each thrust drives the air from your lungs, leaving you gasping and whimpering beneath him.

"You thought you could tease me like that and get away with it?" he groans, his free hand gripping your hip tightly. "Thought you could make me beg?"

You can only moan in response, overwhelmed by the sensation of him pounding into you relentlessly. The couch creaks beneath you dangerously.

"Answer me," Jeonghan demands, slowing his pace torturously.

"J-Jeonghan," you manage to stammer, your voice muffled against the cushions.

He leans over you, his chest pressed against your back as he whispers in your ear. "What was that, sweetheart? I couldn't quite hear you."

You turn your head, meeting his intense gaze over your shoulder. "Please," you whimper.

“Please what?” He demands.

"Please," you gasp, struggling to form coherent thoughts as Jeonghan's hips continue their torturously slow pace. "Please, I need more."

His low chuckle sends shivers down your spine. "More what, baby? Use your words. You’re so good with words, aren’t you?"

You whine in frustration, trying to push back against him, seeking the friction you desperately crave. But his grip on your hip is firm, holding you in place.

"Fuck me," you finally manage to choke out. "Please, Jeonghan, fuck me harder."

"There we go," he purrs, satisfaction evident in his voice. "Was that so hard?"

Before you can retort, he snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt inside you. You cry out at the sudden fullness, your fingers clawing at the couch cushions.

Jeonghan sets a punishing pace, each thrust driving you further into the couch cushions. The hand not holding your wrists snakes around to find your clit, rubbing tight circles that have you seeing stars.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Jeonghan groans, his breath hot against your neck. "So tight, so perfect for me."

You moan at his words, feeling the familiar coil of heat building in your core. "J-Jeonghan," you whimper, "I'm close..."

"That's it, baby," he encourages, his fingers working faster against your clit. "Come for me. Let me feel you."

Every part of your body is on fire, from the way Jeonghan's hips press against yours to the way his fingers expertly stroke your clit.

You come with a cry, your body shaking as waves of pleasure crash over you. Your inner walls clench around him, drawing a deep groan from Jeonghan.

He doesn't slow his pace, fucking you through your orgasm and pushing you towards another. You're oversensitive, every nerve ending on fire, but the pleasure is too intense to resist.

"God, you're perfect," Jeonghan pants, his rhythm becoming erratic. "So fucking perfect."

You feel his thrusts becoming more desperate, his breathing ragged against your neck. "Come on, Jeonghan," you manage to gasp out.

"Come for me," you urge him, clenching around him deliberately.

With a guttural groan, Jeonghan's hips stutter and he comes, spilling inside you as his body shudders with release. The feeling of him pulsing within you sends you over the edge again, and you cry out, trembling beneath him.

For a long moment, the only sound in the motorhome is your combined heavy breathing. Jeonghan releases your wrists and gently pulls out, causing you both to wince at the sensitivity.

Jeonghan collapses onto the couch beside you, his body warm and solid as he pulls you into his arms. The weight of him, the feeling of his heartbeat drumming against your cheek, is grounding. You curl into his chest, letting the rise and fall of his breathing lull you into a rare moment of stillness. His fingers trace lazy patterns across your back, the movements unhurried, almost absentminded, as if he can’t bear to stop touching you just yet.

“Well,” he says finally, his voice rough and lower than usual, laced with satisfaction. “I think that was worth the wait.”

You huff a laugh, the sound barely audible over the soft thrum of life outside the motorhome. “Of course you do,” you mutter, your cheek pressed against the hard planes of his chest, which smells faintly of sweat, champagne, and something uniquely Jeonghan.

His fingers pause their tracing for a moment, as though considering his next move, before starting again, this time slower and more deliberate. “Admit it,” he murmurs, his tone teasing, though softer now, quieter, like the vulnerability from before hadn’t completely left. “You’ve been thinking about this as much as I have.”

You tilt your head up, catching the faint glow of the ceiling light reflected in his eyes. They’re darker now, warmer, but still full of that infuriating smugness. Your lips twitch in defiance as you fight the urge to smile. “What makes you so sure I was thinking about it at all?”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow, a lock of hair falling across his forehead in a way that’s unfairly distracting. His grin is sharp and unrelenting. “You’re terrible at lying.”

“Am not,” you fire back, though your tone lacks any real conviction. The way his fingers continue their soft, languid exploration of your back doesn’t help.

“Okay,” he says, clearly enjoying himself as he leans his head back against the couch. “So when you cornered me after qualifying that one time in Japan two years ago, that wasn’t because you couldn’t stop staring at me in my race suit?”

You gape at him, your body jerking upright just enough to glare at him properly. “I cornered you because I wanted a quote, you egomaniac.” You punctuate the accusation with a half-hearted swat at his arm.

He catches your wrist easily, his grip firm but gentle, and intertwines his fingers with yours. The warmth of his hand against yours is distracting, and it takes all your willpower not to lose focus. “Oh, you got a quote, all right,” he counters, his laughter bubbling up like he’s savoring every second of your indignation. “Admit it—you’ve been counting the days.”

You roll your eyes, the movement dramatic, though the warmth blooming in your chest betrays you. “And if I was?”

Jeonghan’s grin softens at your words, the sharp edges smoothing out into something quieter, something vulnerable. He lifts a hand to your face, his fingers tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear with a tenderness that makes your breath catch. “Then I’d say it was worth the wait,” he says, his voice lower now, more intimate.

The air between you shifts, heavier now, the teasing replaced by something else entirely. His gaze locks on yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades—the low hum of the paddock outside, the faint creak of the motorhome settling. All that exists is him, his hand still resting near your face, and the weight of his words hanging between you.

Your throat feels tight, and you clear it quickly, trying to shake off the spell he’s cast over you. “Don’t let it go to your head,” you mutter, shifting slightly to put some distance between you.

“Too late,” he replies with a ghost of a smirk, leaning back lazily against the couch. His arm stretches along the back of the cushions, the casual sprawl of his posture somehow making him seem even more confident. Then, with an easy grace that feels entirely unfair, he leans forward and plucks something from the coffee table. “By the way, your article? It’s still late.”

You blink at him, incredulous, before groaning and burying your face in your hands. “Now you care about professionalism?”

Jeonghan shrugs, holding out his hand as if offering you an invisible microphone, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Exclusive with the winner of Monza? Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

You peek at him through your fingers, shaking your head with a laugh that’s half exasperation, half affection. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he counters, his voice softening again as he leans forward to press a kiss to your temple. His lips linger there, warm and reassuring, before he pulls back just enough to look at you again. “But I’ll let you pretend for a little while.”

Jeonghan’s arms tighten around you as the laughter fades into a comfortable quiet. The warmth of his hand on your back and the steady rhythm of his breathing are grounding, but your thoughts won’t stop spinning. You tilt your head up to look at him, searching his expression for something you can’t quite name.

“What?” he asks softly, his tone warm but teasing. His fingers brush over the curve of your shoulder, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

“What… what are we now?” you ask, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. They hang in the air between you, vulnerable and raw.

Jeonghan’s gaze doesn’t waver. His thumb brushes your cheek with a tenderness that makes your chest tighten. “We’re whatever you want to be, sweetheart,” he says simply, his voice low and full of something too deep to name.

You feel your heart stutter, the weight of his words sinking into you. “Can we…” You hesitate, the vulnerability of the moment making your voice falter. “Can we take it slow?”

For a second, he just blinks at you, and then the corners of his mouth lift into that infuriatingly familiar smirk. “Take it slow? After you just made me beg?” He chuckles, the sound soft but undeniably teasing. “You’re full of surprises.”

Your face heats instantly, and you swat at his shoulder, your embarrassment overridden by his smugness. “Shut up.”

Jeonghan catches your wrist before you can retreat, his laughter fading as he shifts closer, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m kidding,” he murmurs, his voice softer now. The mischief in his eyes melts into something gentler, something that makes your breath catch. “I’ll wait as long as you want.”

You glance at him, your walls crumbling under the weight of his sincerity. “It’s just…” You trail off, trying to find the right words, the weight of reality settling in around you. “Our careers, the season… It’s a lot. I don’t want to mess this up, not with everything else happening.”

Jeonghan’s expression softens even further, the teasing flicker in his eyes replaced by understanding. “I get it,” he says quietly. His hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “I’ve waited three years to feel this close to you. What’s forever if it means I get to do it right?”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, equal parts devastating and beautiful. You close your eyes for a moment, letting them sink in, before leaning forward to press your lips to his—soft, brief, but full of everything you can’t quite bring yourself to say.

When you pull back, Jeonghan’s smile is softer than you’ve ever seen it, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he gazes at you like you’re the only thing in the world worth looking at.

“No pressure, though,” he adds after a beat, his teasing tone returning as his grin widens. “Unless you’re writing a follow-up article about me being the world’s most patient man.”

You groan, burying your face in his chest as he laughs, the sound rich and warm. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah, but you love me for it,” he counters, his hand sliding back to your hair, cradling you close.

And maybe you do. Maybe you always have.

FORMULA 1 QATAR AIRWAYS AZERBAIJAN GRAND PRIX 2024 Track: Baku City Circuit

The streets of Baku were as much a character in the race as any driver—a stunning clash of history and modernity, where medieval walls stood beside glimmering skyscrapers. The track was notorious for its tight corners and long straights, a playground of risk and reward. Jeonghan knew every inch of it like it was an old rival, one he had to best to keep his championship hopes alive.

Qualifying was tight—Jeonghan secured P2, just behind Mingyu. "He’s fast," Jeonghan muttered to you that evening, the weight of the competition clear in his voice. But there was no self-doubt, just the quiet calculation that always preceded his brilliance.

Race day was a spectacle. Jeonghan’s precision through the castle section was breathtaking, and when the opportunity came to pass Mingyu on the long straight during the final stint, he didn’t hesitate. The roar of the tifosi—echoing even in Azerbaijan—followed him as he crossed the line first. The team’s radio had erupted with cheers as Jeonghan crossed the finish line, and when you saw him after the podium ceremony, his champagne-damp hair and triumphant smile had made your heart skip a beat.

Later, after the media frenzy, Jeonghan pulls you aside. "Come on," he says with a conspiratorial grin, grabbing your hand. "You didn’t think I’d let you leave Baku without exploring, did you?"

The cobblestone streets of Baku feel like something out of a postcard. The sun is just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the historic Old City. Jeonghan walks beside you, his hand occasionally brushing yours as he gestures to the buildings with a sense of wonder that’s rare to see in him.

“How do you know all this?” you ask, genuinely curious as he points out the Maiden Tower and recounts its legends with surprising accuracy.

He grins, tilting his head in that maddeningly charming way. “What, you thought I only studied race strategies? I’ve got layers, sweetheart.” He insists on taking cheesy tourist photos, including one where he pretends to be a knight defending you at the city walls.

“I could be your knight in shining armor,” he teases, holding his imaginary sword aloft.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re already Ferrari’s golden boy,” you shoot back, snapping the photo anyway. “Isn’t that enough?”

He’s good at this—whisking you away from the chaos of the paddock and making you forget, even if just for a moment, that the world is watching him.

Now, as you wander the streets of Baku, he’s more relaxed, his usual playful demeanor slipping into something softer. You pause in front of a street vendor selling intricate souvenirs, and Jeonghan picks up a small, hand-carved wooden box.

“For your desk,” he says simply, handing it to you before you can protest.

“You’re insufferable,” you mutter, but you take the gift anyway.

“Yeah, but you love me,” he teases, slinging an arm around your shoulders as the two of you continue down the street, the sound of distant music and laughter filling the warm night air.

That night, back at the hotel, Jeonghan skims your article on his phone while sprawled on the couch.

Jeonghan’s Baku Blitz: Closes the Gap to Mingyu with Stunning Victory

His smirk grows wider with every sentence. “Stunning victory, huh? You really know how to make me sound good.”

You roll your eyes, throwing a pillow at him. “It was stunning. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, it’s too late for that,” he quips, pulling you into his lap. “And don’t think I didn’t notice the little shout-out to my late-braking move. Makes me wonder how closely you’re watching me.”

“Always,” you admit softly, the truth laced between your words. His grin softens, and he leans in to press a kiss to your temple.

FORMULA 1 SINGAPORE AIRLINES SINGAPORE GRAND PRIX 2024 Track: Marina Bay Street Circuit

The Marina Bay Circuit was infamous—its oppressive heat, humidity, and unforgiving corners made it a grueling test of endurance. It was Jeonghan’s least favorite track, something he’d muttered repeatedly during practice.

In qualifying, he delivered a masterclass, securing pole position under the glowing lights that lined the circuit. "See?" he said, leaning casually against his car afterward, sweat still dripping from his brow. "Guess the heat doesn’t bother me as much as I thought." Watching him grin through post-quali interviews, drenched in sweat but radiating confidence, had you practically floating back to your hotel room.

You’ve barely ventured outside the hotel after qualifying, and he texts you cryptically to “stay put.” Now, the air conditioning hums softly as you sit cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through headlines about his performance. You’re still reading when the door swings open, and Jeonghan strides in, carrying a tray.

“Room service,” he announces with a dramatic flourish, setting it down beside you.

Your eyes widen at the sight of chocolate-covered strawberries and a chilled bottle of champagne. “What’s the occasion?”

He shrugs, popping the cork with practiced ease. “Pole position deserves a celebration. Plus…” He smirks, holding up a strawberry. “I wanted to see you smile.”

You laugh, shaking your head as he moves closer, offering the berry. But when you reach for it, he pulls it back, dragging it over your lips instead, smearing chocolate at the corner of your mouth.

“You missed a spot,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss it away. The sweetness lingers on his lips, and before you know it, he’s pulled you into his lap, the rest of the world forgotten.

The race the next day is less triumphant. A perfectly timed pit stop keeps Jeonghan ahead of the pack for most of the race, but a late safety car allows another driver to close the gap, relegating him to P2. Still, with Mingyu out of the race, Jeonghan’s second-place finish is enough to reclaim the championship lead.

Jeonghan’s expression is unreadable when he reads your latest article:

Heat and Havoc in Singapore: Jeonghan Takes Second as Mingyu Crashes Out

“Well, at least you didn’t call me lucky,” he says finally, leaning back in his chair.

“You weren’t lucky. You earned that result,” you reply, watching his face carefully.

He hums, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Still. Next time, I’d rather win outright.”

FALL BREAK: SEPT 23-OCT 17

The crisp autumn air brushes against your face as you unlock your front door, arms full of groceries. It’s been a quiet few weeks since Singapore, the space between races stretching out like an eternity. You’ve tried to enjoy the pause, but it feels strange—unnatural, even—to be so far removed from the whirlwind of Jeonghan’s life.

Your thoughts drift to him as you drop the keys on the counter. Monaco. Ferrari’s headquarters in Maranello. Both places are worlds away from your little apartment.

You’re unloading a carton of eggs when there’s a knock at the door. Confused, you glance at the clock. It’s too late for deliveries and far too early for your neighbors to come by.

When you open the door, your heart stops.

Jeonghan stands there, his frame relaxed yet somehow magnetic. He’s dressed in a simple leather jacket and jeans, his dark hair catching the golden glow of the setting sun. A bouquet of your favorite flowers is clutched in one hand, their vibrant colors almost as captivating as the smile tugging at his lips.

“Jeonghan?” you ask, blinking in disbelief. “What are you—how—”

“Miss me?” he interrupts, stepping inside before you can fully process his presence. He hands you the flowers like it’s the most natural thing in the world, leaning in to press a quick kiss against your lips.

Your breath catches, and you can only stare at him, your mind struggling to keep up.

“You live in Monaco,” you point out, still staring at him. “And work in Italy.”

“I’m aware,” he says, a hint of amusement in his tone. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Of course, I missed you,” you murmur, your cheeks heating.

“Good.” He grins and takes your free hand, tugging you toward the door.

“Wait—where are we going?”

“Out,” he says simply.

You try to protest, gesturing to the groceries still sitting on the counter, but he’s already leading you down the hallway. His excitement is infectious, and you find yourself laughing despite your confusion.

An hour later, you’re standing at the entrance of a sprawling amusement park, the neon lights casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the evening sky.

“You’re serious?” you ask, staring at the carousel spinning lazily in the distance.

“Dead serious,” Jeonghan replies, his tone light as he hands over your ticket. “I figured you could use a night off.”

“I’m not the one traveling the world every other week,” you point out.

“Exactly,” he counters, his smile growing. “I needed to see you smile. And this seemed like a good place to start.”

The night unfolds in a blur of laughter and adrenaline. Jeonghan, surprisingly competitive, insists on winning you a giant stuffed bear at the ring toss, only to fail spectacularly—twice. You tease him mercilessly, your stomach aching from how hard you’re laughing.

When you step off the bumper cars, your cheeks are flushed, and your voice is hoarse from yelling. Jeonghan is no better, his hair sticking up in all directions after you gleefully rammed into him three times in a row.

“I think you’ve got a mean streak,” he says, pretending to nurse an invisible injury.

“Me?” you gasp, feigning innocence. “You literally tried to corner me!”

He doesn’t respond—at least, not verbally. Instead, he grabs your hand again, intertwining your fingers as he pulls you toward the Ferris wheel.

The view from the top is breathtaking. The park stretches out below you, a sea of lights and movement, while the city skyline glimmers in the distance.

Jeonghan is quiet beside you, his gaze fixed on your face instead of the view. You turn to him, suddenly aware of how close he’s sitting.

“What?” you ask softly.

“You’re happy,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “I like seeing you like this.”

Before you can respond, he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that steals your breath. It’s slow and deliberate, his hand moving to cradle your jaw as the world around you seems to fall away.

When he pulls back, you’re both smiling.

“This is dangerous,” you tease, though your voice is barely above a whisper. “You’re going to make me think nothing can go wrong.”

“Maybe nothing will,” he replies, his forehead resting gently against yours.

FORMULA 1 PIRELLI UNITED STATES GRAND PRIX 2024 Track: Circuit of the Americas

Austin brought a different kind of challenge. The Circuit of the Americas was iconic for its mix of sweeping corners, elevation changes, and a crowd that rivaled the tifosi in their enthusiasm. Jeonghan thrived here, securing P1 in qualifying and delivering a flawless race to claim another victory.

"Two wins in three races," he said that evening, pulling you into his side as you walked into a cowboy-themed bar downtown. "Guess I’m on a roll."

The bar was loud, filled with locals and fans alike, but Jeonghan stood out effortlessly. His cowboy hat tilted just right, a plaid shirt unbuttoned enough to make you wonder how he managed to look like that after hours in a car.

He kept his hand in your back pocket all night, his touch a silent claim when no one was looking. Every time he leaned in to murmur something in your ear, his lips brushed your skin just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

"Save a horse, ride a cowboy," he whispered at one point, his grin wicked as he tipped his hat at you.

That was all it took. You dragged him back to the hotel, barely making it through the door before he was on you, the hat ending up on the floor somewhere between the bed and the door.

The article you write the next day earns a rare whistle of approval from Jeonghan:

Cowboy Jeonghan Rides High in Austin, Extends Championship Lead

“I think this might be your best one yet,” he says, setting the phone down as he pulls you into his lap.

“Because I complimented you, or because I called you a cowboy?”

“Both,” he answers, his lips brushing against yours. “You know how much I love it when you’re right.”

And as his hand slides to the small of your back, you can’t help but think this season isn’t just his championship—it’s yours, too.

FORMULA 1 GRAN PREMIO DE LA CIUDAD DE MÉXICO 2024 Track: Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez

The atmosphere at the Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez crackles with energy even hours after the race ends. The stands have mostly cleared, but the celebratory chaos of the paddock lingers. Jeonghan, fresh off another stellar performance, grins as reporters crowd around him, microphones extended like offerings. His hair is damp with sweat, his race suit tied around his waist as he leans casually against the Ferrari garage.

You watch from a distance, notebook in hand, trying not to let your gaze linger too long. He catches your eye anyway, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He’s been calling you his “lucky charm” ever since you started waking up in his bed on race mornings, and it’s a moniker he seems to enjoy reminding you of at every opportunity.

"Don't go too far," he says when the interviews wrap up, his voice low as he brushes past you on his way to the motorhome. The warmth of his fingertips grazing your wrist sends a jolt of electricity through you. "We’re celebrating tonight, and you’re not wriggling out of it this time."

You don’t see the ambush coming.

You’re reviewing your notes in the quiet corner of the paddock when your editor finds you. His expression is stern, almost irate, as he approaches. The celebration around you suddenly feels muffled, the weight of his presence pulling you back to reality.

"Finally," he snaps, crossing his arms. "I’ve been trying to get hold of you for days."

"Hey, sorry, it’s been hectic," you start, tucking your notebook under your arm.

He doesn’t let you finish. "Hectic? I gave you the Ferrari all-access months ago. They’re breathing down my neck about where the hell it is. Where’s the draft?"

The question lands like a punch to the gut. You open your mouth, fumbling for an answer, but he’s already barreling forward.

"And don’t think I haven’t noticed your tone shift," he continues, his voice lowering but losing none of its edge. "All this newfound niceness toward Jeonghan in your articles. What’s that about, huh? You sleeping with him or something?"

The accusation slices through you, leaving you momentarily stunned.

"That’s not—" you begin, but your voice falters.

"Spare me," he says, waving you off. "I don’t care what’s going on between you two, but I do care about the reputation of this outlet. You’ve built your career on being incisive, unbiased. So get it together, or I’ll find someone who can."

He doesn’t wait for a response, leaving you standing there as the din of the paddock swells around you. The celebration feels distant now, muffled by the blood rushing in your ears.

When Jeonghan finally finds you later that night, you’re a bundle of frayed nerves. The confrontation with your editor replays in your head like a broken record, each word cutting deeper into your carefully constructed sense of self. You sit hunched over your laptop in the corner of the media center, the fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows that match the knot in your chest.

“What, you sleeping with him or something?”

The accusation echoes, burrowing into your mind, where it tangles with your own insecurities. You’ve built your entire career on being sharp, unbiased, and unflinchingly honest. And yet, somewhere along the way, Jeonghan had slipped through your defenses. You can still hear the venom in your editor’s voice, feel the judgment in his eyes. The doubt wasn’t just his anymore—it was yours, too.

Was he right? Had you compromised everything for Jeonghan?

Your hands tremble slightly as you scroll through the notes you’ve been trying to organize for hours, but the words blur together, useless. Guilt presses against your ribs like a vice, mixing with a raw ache of something you’re too scared to name. You’re drowning in your own thoughts, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve let everyone down: your editor, your readers, and most of all, Jeonghan.

When he finally appears, his presence fills the doorway like a shadow cutting through the sterile light. He leans against the doorframe with a casualness you can’t match, arms crossed and head tilted slightly, his damp hair still clinging to his forehead. The sight of him, so familiar and yet suddenly so distant, sends a pang through your chest.

“Working late?” he asks, his voice low but carrying the faint edge of concern.

You look up, startled, and quickly shut your laptop as if that might erase everything weighing on you. “Just...catching up,” you say, forcing a smile that feels as flimsy as the excuse.

Jeonghan doesn’t move, his eyes scanning you with the precision of someone who knows you too well. He doesn’t buy the act—you can tell by the way his brows knit together, a subtle but telling sign of his worry.

“Catching up on what?” he asks, stepping closer, his tone light but probing.

You shrug, trying to sound casual. “Just notes. Articles. The usual.”

His gaze sharpens. “Right. And that’s why you look like you haven’t breathed in hours?”

You glance away, your fingers curling into fists on the tabletop. “I’m fine, Jeonghan. Go enjoy your win. You earned it.”

“And what, leave you like this?” He pulls out a chair and sits across from you, resting his arms on the table. “Not happening.”

The flood of emotions bubbling under your surface threatens to spill over. You want to tell him everything, but the words feel too tangled, too raw.

“I just need to get this done,” you say, your voice tight.

Jeonghan frowns, studying you more closely. "What’s going on? Did something happen?"

"Nothing," you say quickly, sidestepping him. "I just need some space tonight, okay?"

His hand brushes your arm, but you pull away, and the confusion in his eyes makes your stomach twist. "Fine," he says after a moment, his voice quieter now. "If that’s what you want."

Jeonghan wakes up to sunlight filtering through the blinds, but the bed feels empty. The cool sheets where you usually sleep tug at his attention before he fully registers the weight in his chest. Frowning, he rolls over and reaches for his phone on the nightstand, still groggy.

The screen lights up with a mess of notifications: congratulatory texts, memes from Soonyoung, and a dozen links to your latest article. He swipes through the chaos with a faint smile, already anticipating your sharp insights mingled with the familiar affection that’s always laced through your critiques.

Propping himself up against the headboard, Jeonghan opens the piece. At first, the smile lingers—he’s grown to appreciate the balance you strike between honest criticism and admiration. But the further he reads, the slower he scrolls, the words pressing into him like bruises.

His smile fades entirely by the time he reaches the paragraph describing his meltdown in Spain. The words cut too close, dragging him back to that moment in the Aston Martin garage: the oppressive silence, the rain hammering against the roof, and the suffocating realization of yet another missed opportunity.

"Jeonghan’s brilliance is undeniable, but brilliance without consistency leaves championships just out of reach."

The sentence burns itself into his mind. The carefully chosen words feel clinical, detached—so unlike you. He rereads it, hoping to find the warmth he’s come to expect, but it’s nowhere to be found.

Jeonghan tosses his phone onto the bed and stares at the ceiling, disbelief simmering into anger. This wasn’t just an article. This was personal.

The paddock is bustling, teams dismantling their motorhomes to get ready for next weekend. Jeonghan doesn’t bother changing out of his sweats before leaving his room, each step through the maze of hospitality suites and garages fueled by frustration.

When he finally reaches the media center, his chest tightens at the sight of you hunched over your laptop, headphones in, oblivious to his stormy approach. He doesn’t hesitate.

"You want to tell me what the hell that was?" His voice slices through the low hum of conversations around you.

Startled, you pull off your headphones, your eyes widening as you take him in. "Jeonghan—"

"No." He slaps his phone onto the desk in front of you, his movements sharp and deliberate. The article stares back at you, a glaring reminder of the wedge you’ve driven between you. "Don’t ‘Jeonghan’ me. What is this?"

"It’s my job," you say, standing to meet his intensity. The tremor in your voice betrays your composure. "You’ve always said you respected that about me."

"Respect?" His laugh is sharp, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes. "You think I respect this?" He gestures to the article like it’s a living thing, something venomous and cruel. "You went for my throat."

"I didn’t go for your throat," you argue, though your voice cracks at the edges. "I wrote the truth."

"The truth?" His hands ball into fists at his sides. "You think I don’t know when you’re pulling punches? You tore me apart for no reason."

"You’ve been avoiding media days. You had a meltdown in Spain," you fire back, your tone rising as your frustration bubbles to the surface. "Those are facts, Jeonghan."

"You didn’t have to highlight them," he counters, his voice quieter but no less cutting. "You know how much this season means to me."

"And do you think this was easy for me?" you ask, tears pricking at your eyes. "Do you think I wanted to write that?"

"Then why did you?" His voice softens, the anger slipping to reveal something raw and vulnerable. "Why would you do that to me?"

"Because I had to!" The words explode out of you, breaking the fragile tension. "Because people already think I’m biased. That I’ve gone soft. That I’m compromised because of you."

The weight of your confession hangs in the air, pressing down on both of you. Jeonghan’s face shifts, the fury giving way to something heavier—hurt, confusion, disappointment.

"I never asked you to compromise anything for me," he says quietly, his voice thick. "I never would."

You look away, your gaze falling to the floor. "I know. But this isn’t just about you. It’s about my career. My integrity."

"And what about us?" he asks, his voice breaking slightly. "Where does that leave us?"

You have no answer, the words lodged in your throat. The silence stretches, broken only by the faint hum of activity outside the room.

Finally, Jeonghan exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I can’t do this right now," he mutters, taking a step back. "I need...I need to get out of here."

Jeonghan finds himself at the bar later that evening, the neon lights washing over him in hazy blues and reds. The whiskey in his glass is halfway gone before Soonyoung slides onto the stool next to him, his arrival quiet but not unnoticed.

"You look like shit," Soonyoung says, his tone light despite the obvious concern in his eyes.

"Thanks," Jeonghan mutters, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

They sit in silence for a moment before Soonyoung breaks it. "Want to talk about it?"

Jeonghan stares at his drink, the ice melting faster than he can keep up with. "I don’t know what we’re doing anymore," he admits, the words coming out heavier than he expected. "Me and her."

Soonyoung hums thoughtfully, taking a slow sip of his drink. "You two have always been complicated."

Jeonghan huffs out a humorless laugh. "That’s one way to put it."

"But," Soonyoung says, setting his glass down, "you’ve also always figured it out."

Jeonghan doesn’t respond, his thoughts a tangled mess of frustration and longing.

"You’re not going to fix it tonight," Soonyoung continues, his voice quieter now. "But if it matters—and I know it does—you’ll find a way. Just...don’t wait too long, yeah?"

Jeonghan nods slowly, the whiskey burning on its way down. Soonyoung’s words linger, a reminder of what he already knows but isn’t ready to face.

Not yet.

FORMULA 1 LENOVO GRANDE PRÊMIO DE SÃO PAULO 2024 Track: Autódromo José Carlos Pace

The rain is relentless in São Paulo, hammering down on the paddock and turning the atmosphere into a chaotic mess of drenched personnel and frayed nerves. Qualifying has been suspended indefinitely, the downpour rendering the track undriveable, and the mood in the Ferrari garage is grim. The asphalt glistens under the floodlights, reflecting streaks of color from team banners and sponsor logos. It feels like the world is holding its breath.

You’ve never liked rain. It has a way of amplifying what’s already simmering under the surface, and today is no exception. Your heart pounds as you weave through the maze of garages, dodging puddles and sidelong glances from team members. You know exactly where he’ll be—Jeonghan never strays far from the Ferrari setup, even when there’s nothing to do but wait.

Sure enough, there he is. Sitting on the edge of a workbench, his race suit unzipped to his waist and his damp undershirt clinging to his torso. His head is bowed, one hand gripping the edge of the bench while the other pushes wet strands of hair back from his forehead. He looks exhausted—physically, emotionally—but the moment your shoes scuff against the concrete floor, his eyes snap up to meet yours.

You’ve been blowing up his phone all week. Texts, calls, voice notes—all unanswered or met with cold, clipped replies.

"Jeonghan," you start, the sound of your voice barely carrying over the rain pelting the garage roof.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t smile. "What are you doing here?"

The coldness in his tone sends a shiver down your spine, but you force yourself to step closer. "I could ask you the same thing."

His laugh is short, bitter. "Why are you surprised? This is where I always am."

"Don’t do that," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "Don’t act like this is normal. You’ve been ignoring me for weeks."

"I haven’t been ignoring you," he snaps, pushing off the bench. He stands tall now, towering over you, his hands resting on his hips. "I’ve been busy."

"Busy?" You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. "You call one-word replies busy? Jeonghan, I’ve been calling and texting nonstop, and you’ve barely said anything to me."

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he says nothing. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the distant clatter of tools being packed away. Finally, he exhales sharply, running a hand through his damp hair again.

"Maybe I’m tired," he says, his voice quieter but no less sharp. "Maybe I’m sick of pretending everything’s fine when it’s not."

Your heart twists at the admission, but you push it aside. "What’s not fine? Tell me, Jeonghan. Because I don’t understand why you’re shutting me out."

He shakes his head, a humorless smile tugging at his lips. "You don’t understand?" His voice rises, cracking with the weight of his frustration. "How could you not? You tore me apart in that article like I was just another driver. Like I meant nothing to you."

"It’s my job," you argue, but the words sound weak even to your ears.

"Your job?" he repeats, throwing his arms up. "You mean the job where you’re supposed to be unbiased? Yeah, I’ve noticed how ‘unbiased’ you’ve been lately. Especially when it comes to me."

"That’s not fair," you shoot back, taking a step closer. "You know I’ve always tried to be honest—"

"Honest?" He laughs, the sound bitter and hollow. "You call dragging my worst moments into the spotlight honest? You didn’t write about me; you dissected me. Like I was nothing more than a story."

Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to let him see how much his words cut. "I didn’t mean to hurt you."

"But you did," he says, his voice softening but losing none of its edge. "And now I don’t even know where we stand."

"We stand..." You falter, your throat tightening. "We stand where we’ve always stood. I care about you, Jeonghan. But this is complicated."

He steps closer, his eyes searching yours. "It doesn’t have to be. It’s only complicated because you’re making it that way."

You look away, unable to hold his gaze. "You don’t understand what this means for me. For my career. For the season."

"And what about me?" he presses, his voice breaking. "What about what this means for us?"

The weight of his words hangs between you, heavy and suffocating. You take a shaky step back, the sound of the rain growing louder in the silence. "Maybe I should go," you whisper, turning toward the garage entrance.

"Don’t," he says sharply, and before you can take another step, his hand wraps around your wrist. “Don’t walk away from me.”

You barely have time to register the movement before he’s pulling you back, his other hand cupping your face as his lips crash against yours. The rain spills into the garage, soaking you both as his kiss deepens, desperate and unyielding. His hands slide to your waist, holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead presses against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "I won’t give you up," he whispers, his voice raw. "But I need you to choose."

"Jeonghan..." Your voice trembles, but he cuts you off.

"You love me," he says, his hands cupping your face. "Yes or no."

You hesitate, the weight of his question pressing down on you like the storm outside.

"Come on, sweetheart," he pleads, his voice cracking. "Don’t make me beg."

"I’m scared," you admit finally, your voice breaking. "Scared of losing myself. Of losing everything I’ve worked for."

He exhales shakily, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Are you willing to lose me to keep writing?"

"I..." The words catch in your throat, the truth slipping through your fingers. "I don’t know."

His hands drop to his sides, and he takes a step back, the distance between you like a chasm. "When you decide," he says quietly, his voice heavy with resignation, "give me a call."

The rain clears just in time for Sunday’s race, and Jeonghan is unstoppable. He weaves through the slick track with the precision and grace that made him a legend, crossing the finish line first and extending his lead in the championship.

But you’re not there to celebrate with him.

You watch from the media center, your chest tight as the cameras capture his triumphant smile. But there’s a hollowness in his expression, a flicker of something unspoken as he scans the crowd for someone who isn’t there.

The post-race interviews blur together, and even as you type up your article, the words feel lifeless. Without him beside you, the hotel room feels cold and sterile, the thrill of the race dulled by the ache in your chest.

The days leading up to the Las Vegas Grand Prix are a haze of press releases and anticipation. Jeonghan is one race away from becoming a world champion, but all you can think about is the sound of his voice, the warmth of his touch, the way he looked at you under the floodlights.

Your editor calls to praise your latest pieces, but the compliments feel hollow. The articles are polished and professional, but they lack the spark you used to feel when writing about him.

You glance at your phone, your thumb hovering over Jeonghan’s name. You haven’t called. Haven’t texted. Haven’t dared to.

Because the truth is, you’re terrified.

Terrified of losing yourself.

But even more terrified of losing him.

FORMULA 1 HEINEKEN SILVER LAS VEGAS GRAND PRIX 2024 Track: Las Vegas Strip Circuit

The sun sets over Las Vegas in a haze of neon and desert dust, the city already buzzing with anticipation for the final race of the season. But in the paddock, the air is electric for all the wrong reasons.

Jeonghan crashes out in Q3.

Your eyes are glued to the screen as Jeonghan’s car slides violently into the barriers, the sharp sound of the impact slicing through the usual hum of commentary. Gasps ripple through the room, but your stomach lurches with something deeper than professional concern.

You’re in the media center when it happens, staring at the screen as his time locks in. The commentators speculate, the other journalists start drafting headlines, but you can’t hear a word of it. Your heart is already in free fall, and you don’t breathe again until he climbs out of the car, his hands held up in frustration as he waves off the medics.

P8. A disastrous result for the race that could make—or break—his championship. It might as well be the end of the world.

The room erupts into murmurs as analysts speculate on strategy and rival team fans cheer, but you barely hear them. Your editor sidles up to your desk, his grin practically gleaming in the fluorescent light.

"Well, well," he says, leaning over your shoulder. "Looks like we’ve got our headline for tomorrow. ‘Jeonghan’s Championship Dream in Tatters.’ Perfect angle to dissect his mistakes, maybe even his cocky attitude catching up with him—"

His words fade into the background as something clicks inside you. Every fiber of your being recoils at the thought of reducing Jeonghan—your Jeonghan—to nothing more than a headline. You love writing, yes, but this? This isn’t writing. This is tearing apart the one person who matters most to you, all for clicks and ad revenue.

Without thinking, you swivel in your chair, fixing your editor with a glare so sharp it silences him mid-sentence. "This is my two weeks’ notice."

He blinks, taken aback. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." You stand, grabbing your bag and laptop. "I’m done."

Before he can argue, you’re already out the door, leaving behind the cacophony of keyboards and camera flashes. The paddock is chaos as you weave through the throngs of team personnel and fans, your heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and urgency.

You run.

The Ferrari garage is chaos. Engineers scramble to pack up the car, Jeonghan’s manager barks into his phone, and his publicist looks ready to faint. You push your way through it all, ignoring the glares and the shouted protests.

“He doesn’t want to see anyone right now,” Soonyoung says, stepping in front of you as you approach the motorhome.

“I don’t care,” you snap, shoving past him.

The motorhome is empty.

For a moment, you’re frozen, your chest heaving as you glance around the pristine space. The stillness only amplifies your worry. And then it hits you, like a sudden gust of wind: you know exactly where he is.

You sprint again, your heartbeat pounding louder than the chaos of the paddock behind you. The world blurs into streaks of neon lights, the hum of distant conversations, and the faint roar of engines being powered down for the night. The grandstands loom ahead, their cold metal steps stretching upward like an impossible climb. Each step burns in your legs, your breath coming in shallow gasps, but you don’t let up.

You don’t stop until you see him.

Jeonghan sits alone, halfway up the grandstands, his figure slouched as though the weight of the world is resting on his shoulders. The floodlights bathe him in a pale glow, illuminating the soft curve of his profile, his hair catching the light in strands of gold. His head is tilted back, eyes fixed on the track below as if searching for answers in the lines he couldn’t master tonight. A half-finished beer dangles loosely from his fingertips, the bottle swaying slightly with every small movement. Beside him, another bottle sits untouched, condensation pooling on the aluminum seat beneath it.

Waiting.

You take the last steps slowly, your chest tightening as your breathing evens out. Up close, his exhaustion is palpable—dark shadows under his eyes, his usual sharp features softened by an unfamiliar vulnerability.

“I knew you’d come,” he says without looking at you, breaking the silence. His voice is soft, but it carries a weight that settles heavily in your chest. He doesn’t even look at you, his gaze still fixed somewhere far ahead, lost in thought.

You hover for a moment before lowering yourself into the seat beside him. The cold aluminum seeps through your jeans, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your own skin after the sprint. Jeonghan doesn’t move, doesn’t turn toward you, and the distance between you feels like a chasm.

“Jeonghan...” you start, your voice hesitant, but he cuts you off with a bitter laugh.

“This is what happens when my lucky charm leaves me,” he mutters, a sad smile curling at the edges of his lips. His tone is light, but it does nothing to hide the ache in his words. He takes a slow sip of his beer, the motion unhurried.

You glance at the track, the sharp turns and straightaways now cloaked in shadows. “It’s not your fault,” you say softly, your hand reaching out to brush his arm. He flinches at the contact, his muscles tense beneath your touch, but he doesn’t pull away.

“P8 doesn’t mean it’s over.”

This time, he turns to look at you, his dark eyes locking onto yours. The raw vulnerability there makes your chest tighten further. His voice is quieter now, almost fragile. “You don’t get it,” he murmurs, shaking his head as his gaze drops to the beer bottle in his hand. “This race... it’s everything. If I win, I’m a champion. If I don’t...” He trails off, his words hanging in the air between you.

“I’m scared, Y/N.” His voice cracks, and the sound is almost unbearable. “Scared of all of it. The pressure, the expectations... losing.”

You stare at him, the usually unshakable Jeonghan, the Golden Boy, the Ferrari God, unraveling before you. Your hands move without thinking, cupping his face and tilting his chin so he’s forced to meet your gaze again. His skin is warm beneath your palms, a faint flush from the alcohol—or maybe the stress—lingering across his cheeks.

“Jeonghan,” you say, your voice steady despite the storm in your chest. You press your forehead against his, your breath mingling with his as you close the distance between you. “You love me. Yes or no.”

For a moment, he doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. And then his hands come up to grip your wrists, his touch firm but trembling. “Yes,” he whispers, the word spilling from his lips without hesitation, raw and resolute. His voice shakes, but his eyes hold yours, steady and certain despite the tears brimming there.

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you lean in, your lips brushing against his forehead in a feather-light kiss. “Good,” you whisper, the word carrying a quiet strength. “You’ll always have me.”

His grip on your wrists loosens, his expression shifting to something between confusion and hope. “But your job... your writing?”

“I’m quitting,” you say simply, letting the words hang for a moment. You watch the shock bloom across his face, his eyebrows shooting up as he sits back slightly, pulling your hands with him.

“You’re what?”

You laugh softly, brushing your thumb against his cheek as if to soothe him. “Not writing, idiot,” you tease gently. “I’m still going to write. But I’m not writing for any organization that profits off me tearing the man I love to shreds.”

His lips part, but no words come. He blinks rapidly, trying to process, and you take the opportunity to continue.

“Besides,” you add, your voice lighter now, “Sky Sports has been trying to recruit me for an on-air job for almost a year now.”

He stares at you, his gaze searching your face for any hint of doubt or regret. Finally, his voice comes, soft and uncertain. “You love me?”

The corners of your mouth lift into a playful smile, and you raise an eyebrow. “Is that what you decide to focus on?”

“Y/N,” he says again, his voice dropping to a whisper, almost desperate. His hands move to clasp yours, his fingers lacing through yours as if afraid you’ll slip away. “Do you love me?”

You answer with action, leaning in and capturing his lips in a quick, tender kiss. His breath hitches, his fingers tightening around yours. “Win tomorrow, golden boy,” you whisper, your lips brushing his as you speak. “And I’ll tell you my answer.”

For the first time that night, Jeonghan smiles—a real, genuine smile that reaches his eyes and softens the tension in his face. And in that moment, as the world fades to just the two of you under the floodlights, you know he’s already won.

Jeonghan is going to lose.

He’s sure of it.

The car feels like it’s fighting him at every turn, the tires slipping just slightly when he needs them to grip, the brakes locking up when he’s trying to conserve them for the final laps. His body aches from the sheer force of the race—the g-forces on the corners, the strain in his neck, the tension in his hands from gripping the wheel too hard.

The numbers on his dashboard blur together, his mind a muddled mess of strategies, tire temps, and sector times. He’s made up four places since the chaotic start and sits in P4 now, but every gain feels like a herculean effort. Every corner feels like it could be his last.

He slams the steering wheel in frustration as he exits another turn slower than he should, the car wobbling slightly under him. “This isn’t working,” he growls into the radio, his voice clipped and strained.

His engineer’s calm voice filters through the crackling static. “We know, Jeonghan. Stay focused. We believe in you.”

Jeonghan clenches his teeth, a biting retort forming on his tongue, but before he can spit it out, the radio crackles again.

“Your girl is here. In the garage. She’s watching.”

“What the fuck?” The words come out before he can stop them, his tone incredulous.

“Soonyoung wanted to surprise you,” his engineer explains, and Jeonghan can practically hear the grin in his voice.

His mind stutters to a halt, and for a moment, all the noise fades—the engine’s roar, the tires screeching against the asphalt, even the deafening wind rushing past his helmet. He blinks, the image of you sitting in the garage flashing in his mind, your presence there grounding him in a way nothing else can.

And then, like a light cutting through the fog, your words echo in his head. “Win tomorrow, and I’ll tell you my answer.”

His grip on the wheel tightens, his breath steadies, and something in him clicks. It’s not just the car anymore—it’s him. His mind, his body, the machine—they all fall into alignment like pieces of a puzzle.

“Copy,” he says into the radio, his voice calm now. The frustration is gone, replaced by a steely determination.

Lap 50. Jeonghan is chasing down P3, the gap shrinking corner by corner. His tires scream in protest as he takes each turn with precision, braking just a fraction later, accelerating just a fraction earlier. The car isn’t perfect, but it doesn’t need to be. He’s making it work.

As he dives into the braking zone at Turn 7, the car in front of him falters, locking up slightly. Jeonghan seizes the opportunity, darting to the inside line and slipping past with a calculated aggression that leaves no room for error.

P3.

Lap 53. The leader pack is within sight now—Mingyu in P1, his closest rival, and Seungcheol in P2, a surprising dark horse this season. The three of them have danced this dance all season, but tonight feels different. Tonight, everything is on the line.

Lap 55. Seungcheol’s car begins to falter, his tires degrading as he struggles to maintain pace. Jeonghan hovers in his slipstream, biding his time.

On the main straight, he pulls to the outside, pushing his car to its limits. The engine roars as he edges past Seungcheol, the two of them side by side into the braking zone. Jeonghan holds his line, his heart pounding as he feels the car stick.

P2.

Lap 58. Mingyu is just ahead, the gap less than a second now. Jeonghan can feel the strain in his body, his hands cramping from the sheer effort, but he doesn’t let up. Every ounce of energy he has left is poured into these final laps.

Lap 59. DRS is open, the rear wing flattening to reduce drag as Jeonghan closes the gap on the straight. Mingyu defends aggressively, forcing Jeonghan to the outside.

They enter Turn 10 side by side, the apex inches away. Jeonghan holds his breath, his tires brushing the curbs as he edges ahead. But Mingyu doesn’t back down, his car pushing right up to Jeonghan’s rear wing as they exit the turn.

Lap 60. The final lap. It’s a battle of wills now, neither of them giving an inch. Jeonghan’s heart feels like it’s about to burst, the sweat dripping down his face soaking into the padding of his helmet.

The final corner looms ahead, and Jeonghan knows this is it. Mingyu is on his inside, the two of them neck and neck as they approach the braking zone.

Jeonghan brakes just a millisecond later, his car sliding slightly as he takes the tighter line. He holds his breath, willing the car to stay steady, and then he’s through.

The checkered flag waves, the two cars crossing the line almost simultaneously.

Jeonghan’s chest heaves as he slumps back in his seat, his mind a blur of exhaustion and adrenaline. He doesn’t know if he’s won or lost—everything was too close, too fast.

The radio crackles to life, and for a moment, all he hears is chaos—shouting, cheering, voices overlapping in a cacophony of noise.

And then, cutting through it all, your voice rings out.

“YOON JEONGHAN, TWO-TIME WORLD CHAMPION!”

The words hit him like a lightning bolt, and a yell tears from his throat, loud and raw and triumphant. He punches the air, his entire body trembling with emotion as he lets out another scream, so loud he’s sure the neighboring cars can hear him.

He’s done it.

Through the static of the radio, he hears your laughter, bright and unrestrained, and it’s the only sound that matters.

Jeonghan rolls into Parc Fermé with deliberate precision, the sound of his engine fading into silence as he pulls to a stop. His hands are shaking, his knuckles pale from the grip he’s maintained for the last grueling laps. The cockpit feels stifling, and yet he lingers for a second longer, the enormity of what’s just happened crashing over him like a wave.

He’s done it.

The realization leaves him breathless. His fingers fumble with the steering wheel as he pulls it free, his movements automatic even as his mind spirals. Around him, the world is chaos. Fans scream from the stands, the floodlights of Las Vegas painting the scene in stark gold and shadows. Through the static in his earpiece, his engineer’s voice is still ringing with elation, and he hears indistinct shouting from his crew, but it all blends into a distant roar.

All Jeonghan can think about is you.

He climbs out of the car, bracing his foot on the halo as he pushes himself upright. For a brief moment, he stands tall atop the machine, his body vibrating with adrenaline. His fists shoot into the air, and he lets out a triumphant yell, a sound ripped from deep within his chest. The Ferrari crew erupts in response, a sea of red swarming toward him, shouting his name, their arms outstretched in celebration.

But Jeonghan’s eyes are already searching, scanning the barriers beyond the chaos, darting from one face to another. He’s not looking for his engineers or the cameras or even his teammates. He’s looking for you.

And then he sees you.

You’re there, pressed against the barricade, your hands gripping the edge so tightly your knuckles are white. Your face is wet—tears streaming freely—but your smile is brighter than anything he’s ever seen. It’s disbelieving, joyous, and so achingly familiar that his breath catches in his throat.

In that moment, everything else fades away. The cheers of his team, the flashing cameras, the rules about protocol—none of it exists anymore.

Jeonghan jumps down from the car, tossing the wheel to a waiting mechanic, and tears at his helmet strap. The world around him is a blur of movement and noise—his team surging forward, the cameras flashing, the announcer’s voice booming overhead—but none of it registers. His helmet comes off with a sharp tug, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat as he grips the sleek surface in one hand and bolts toward you.

He’s moving before he realizes it, his boots pounding against the pavement as he cuts through the throng of people. The barricade draws closer, and the sight of you—your tear-streaked cheeks, your trembling shoulders—grounds him in a way nothing else could.

When he reaches you, he doesn’t stop.

His hands find you immediately. One curls around your neck, his palm warm and steady against your skin, while the other cups your face, his thumb brushing away the tears tracing paths down your cheek. His chest is still heaving, his breath ragged from the exertion of the race, but his touch is impossibly tender.

Your lips part, and your voice comes out in a trembling whisper, just loud enough for him to hear over the chaos. “Congratulations, pretty boy.”

It’s like the world holds its breath. For one fleeting second, it’s just the two of you. The noise of the paddock fades, the flashing lights dim, and all that remains is the quiet intimacy of your words.

Jeonghan’s lips curve into a smile so pure, so unrestrained, that it feels like sunlight breaking through a storm. “You love me,” he murmurs, his voice low and reverent. His forehead dips to rest against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Yes or—”

You don’t let him finish.

Your arms shoot out, locking around his neck as you pull him down into a kiss. It’s desperate and dizzying, a culmination of everything left unsaid. Jeonghan freezes for the briefest of moments, his eyes widening, before melting into you entirely. His lips move against yours, soft but insistent, and the hand on your neck slides up to thread through your hair, holding you close as if you might disappear.

“Yes,” you whisper against his mouth, your voice breaking. Your hands fist in the front of his race suit, anchoring yourself as you press your forehead to his. “Yes. I love you.”

The barriers around you tremble as the Ferrari crew erupts in celebration, their cheers deafening. Jeonghan barely registers it. His fist shoots into the air, his lips still brushing against yours as he laughs—a sound full of pure, unrestrained joy.

“You’re my lucky charm,” he murmurs, his voice shaking with a mix of awe and certainty.

And when you smile back at him, it’s brighter than the floodlights, warmer than the victory.

EPILOGUE

FORMULA 1 ROLEX AUSTRALIAN GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Albert Park Grand Prix Circuit

The air at Albert Park hums with the kind of energy that only a new season can bring. The stands are packed, a sea of flags waving for drivers and teams, and the scent of freshly cut grass mingles with the faint tang of engine oil. It’s not quite spring yet, but the Melbourne sun still beats down relentlessly, leaving Jeonghan’s fireproofs clinging uncomfortably to his skin as he strides out of the Ferrari garage.

His mind buzzes with the aftermath of qualifying—P2 isn’t pole, but it’s close enough to feel like a promise. Yet, beneath the satisfaction, there’s the familiar tug of nerves that always follows a strong start. Tomorrow is what counts.

His publicist catches up to him, clipboard in hand. “Sky Sports first,” she says, her tone clipped but not unkind.

Jeonghan barely suppresses a groan, already knowing what awaits him. He doesn’t mind media—not entirely—but right now, his thoughts are miles away from answering questions about his out lap or tire degradation.

He rounds the corner into the media pen, where cameras are trained on bright logos and polished smiles. But his eyes find you immediately, waiting just behind the barricade, a microphone in hand, your hair catching the golden glow of the late afternoon sun.

You’re a vision.

He slows as he approaches, his publicist muttering instructions he doesn’t bother to hear. Your eyes catch his, and a secret smile spreads across your lips. He mirrors it, his heart lifting in a way that has nothing to do with his qualifying position.

Jeonghan leans against the barricade, his hands braced on the metal. It’s casual, nonchalant—a stark contrast to the spark simmering beneath the surface. As the questions begin, his fingers shift, brushing yours. The touch is featherlight, a soft sweep of skin against skin, but it’s enough to make his chest tighten.

The lanyard around your neck gleams in the sunlight, a stark reminder of how much had changed—and how much hadn’t. You’re still you.

And you’re wearing it.

The chain glints faintly against your skin, the two charms catching the light with each movement. One is the microphone, delicate and detailed, perfectly crafted. The other is his initial: J. Small, simple, yet undeniably his.

(You’d teased him endlessly when he gave it to you at Christmas. “Modest as always, aren’t you?” you’d laughed.

“Of course,” he’d replied, his voice low and teasing as he leaned into your hair. “One charm for your new job, because I’m so proud of you. And one for me, because I’m so amazing.”

“Two-time world champion,” you’d corrected, poking his ribs.

“Two-time world champion,” he’d agreed with a grin, pulling you into his arms.)

“Jeonghan,” you greet, a secret smile tugging at your lips.

The sound of his name on your lips—professional but laced with affection—sends a warmth through him that he doesn’t bother to hide. “Y/N,” he replies, his tone light but his eyes heavy with meaning.

The interview begins, your questions sharp and to the point. Jeonghan answers with his usual ease, the confidence that had earned him his titles. But he’s distracted, his focus flickering between your voice and the way your thumb absently brushes the microphone charm as you speak.

“You’re awfully cheerful for someone who only managed P2,” you tease, tilting your head slightly.

He leans closer, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “Just keeping it interesting. Wouldn’t want to win everything too easily.”

You roll your eyes, but the soft laugh that escapes you betrays your amusement.

The banter continues, each exchange laced with an undercurrent of warmth that only the two of you can fully understand. To anyone watching, it’s just another driver and journalist sharing a lighthearted moment. But to Jeonghan, it’s everything.

When the cameras finally cut, the energy between you shifts. He leans over the barricade without hesitation, his hands curling around the edge for balance as he dips his head toward you.

The first kiss is quick, a soft press of lips that feels like a punctuation mark to the conversation.

The second is slower, more deliberate, as if he’s savoring the fact that he can do this now.

The third lingers, his lips brushing yours with a tenderness that makes your breath catch.

“Jeonghan,” you murmur, glancing around with a mix of amusement and exasperation. But your grin is wide, and your cheeks are flushed, and he knows you’re not annoyed in the slightest.

“I love you,” he whispers, his voice so low it barely reaches you. His eyes are soft, his expression open in a way that’s reserved only for you.

Your hand finds his wrist, your fingers curling gently around it. “I love you too,” you reply, your voice steady, your gaze unyielding.

For a moment, the world around you fades—the bustling media pen, the hum of conversations, the clicking cameras. All that exists is the space between you, filled with unspoken promises and the quiet certainty of what comes next.

And as Jeonghan straightens, reluctantly stepping back into the whirlwind of his world, he knows he’s carrying a part of you with him—just as you carry a part of him. Always.

a/n: and that, was full throttle. i cannot express to any of you how proud i am of myself for finishing this. i think i spent more time deleting things on this doc than i did writing it and somehow, i fucking love the way this turned out. alta, kae, if you're reading this - thank you. from the bottom of my heart. this story would have never happened had it not been for the two of you motivating me to get this out of my head and onto a doc. you both inspire me every day and i am lucky that i had you on my side for this one.

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pro-patria-mori-if · 21 days ago

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Play the Demo! (Updated 6/15/2025) (Prologue and Chapter 1)

Kortapolis. The jewel of the Kingdom of Edria. The busiest port in Eastern Lysseta. Your home. At least, it was your home. You were born with the sound of the ocean in your ears and the smell of its salt in your nose. Your life revolved around the busy commotion of the port, the fruit stalls that lined the streets downtown, the cafes where people swapped stories and secrets. This was your whole world—until it came crashing down. When Wastoria invaded, everything changed. Soldiers marched in the streets and reduced neighborhoods to rubble. Civilians were forced out of the city, and close friends, allies, and confidants disappeared under the waves of an invasion so powerful that even now, it visits you in your dreams. Years later, Edria is in two. The upland region, the mountains, are still part of Edria. But Kortapolis District is occupied by Wastoria, a humiliation so bracing that sometimes it still leaves your heart pounding with rage. The rest of the world calls Kortapolis District a “disputed zone”. You know what it is: yours. But you won’t let your home vanish behind the pointed guns of the Wastorian military. No: you rise through the ranks in Edria, and soon, you are elected president. A fledgling new democracy, Edria has a litany of problems. But the biggest of all is drawn in careful dashed lines on every world map. Fixing this may take careful statecraft, a strategic balancing of alliances. It may take cyberwarfare, harnessed by cultivating an ally. It may take economic retaliation, or sanctions. It may take subterfuge, weakening Wastoria from the inside out. It may take war. But one thing is certain. You will make Kortapolis yours again. You will make Edria whole. Maybe that will heal you, too.

Pro Patria Mori is a sci-fi/fantasy interactive fiction novel where you play as the president of the Republic of Edria, a fledgling democracy emerging from diplomatic isolation.

Content Warnings: depictions of war, discrimination, and torture. Route-specific warnings include past physical, emotional, or sexual abuse (labelled and avoidable)

*Customize President Rezanii. Choose your appearance, gender, background, species, personality, and political outlook.

*Choose your relationship with your missing parents, the nature of your imprisonment by Wastorian forces, and your attitude towards Edria's future.

*Explore a world where magic and technology blend.

*Discover Edria, a Caribbean-inspired country on the brink of democracy or dictatorship.

*Receive diplomatic and personal messages in your in-game inbox and receive news updates on the consequences of your decisions

*Define your term in office. Will you wage war or build peace? Will you push Edria towards democracy or revive the old monarchy?

Vice President Faustino Marellii: your best friend

Romanceable? Yes

Faustino grew up alongside you; it was only natural he’d be your vice president. Before joining your campaign, Faustino was the popular mayor of Alzome, Edria’s capital. He has a reputation for being surprisingly gentle despite the cutthroat nature of Edrian politics. At least, for all issues except Edria’s relationship with Wastoria. He took care of you after you were freed from Wastorian prison and he still worries over your wellbeing.

Appearance: tall and toned with bronze skin and soft freckles. He has bright violet eyes and wavy, vibrant blue hair, indicative of him being an innate magic user (yadukari) that specializes in controlling ice and water.

Advisor Michi Dandleton: your chief strategist

Romanceable? Yes

Michi is well known in political circles for their workaholic behavior and their remarkable ability to uncover the secrets of their candidate’s opponents. They immigrated to Edria from Adranga shortly after the end of the Edrian civil war, and have never told you why they chose to leave home. They masterminded the campaign that secured you the presidency, and remain a vital part of your staff.

Appearance: average height, lithe build with rosy skin. They have electric blue eyes and short pink hair, indicative of them being a yadukari that specializes in controlling and reading emotions.

Officer Nura Alonar: your bodyguard

Romanceable? Yes, slow-burn romance

Nura was identified as a particularly powerful magic user when she was young, and the Edrian royal guard offered her parents a stipend in exchange for her being sent away and trained. Her parents accepted and Nura left her home for the capital, where she was raised to one day serve the royal family. But when the civil war reached the palace, she and a few other trainees defected to assist the pro-democracy forces. Now she serves as the last line of defense between you and the people who want to kill you.

Appearance: short and very muscular with dark brown skin with significant scarring. She has red eyes and hair, which she keeps in long braids with decorative beads she uses as magic amplifiers. While she’s a yadukari, her training means she can control fire as well as use telekinesis.

Ambassador Junius Felice: ambassador from the Empire of Langostia

Romanceable? Yes, either as a fling or a romance

Rich, arrogant, and almost always jovial, Junius is known in diplomatic circles for his lavish parties and condescending attitude towards democracies and countries poorer than his own. He was born and raised in Langostia, the wealthy and powerful monarchy to Edria’s north. He’s been tasked with rebuilding Langostia’s relationship with their former ally Edria through whatever means necessary—and, ideally, steering Edria away from democracy.

Appearance: tall with an average build and tawny skin. He has dark brown eyes and long brown, almost black hair. He has no innate magic, but that’s no reason to underestimate him.

Consul Priyanshi Areshka: consul from the Republic of Kalendra

Romanceable? Yes

Priyanshi represents Kalendra, a country Edria has yet to recognize. She was born in Langostia as a vatilti–a class of genetically engineered and cybernetically enhanced people used as spies and soldiers by the Langostian royal family and classified as property under Langostian law. Kalendra was founded by escaped vatilti, and its continued existence and growing prosperity is a long-standing annoyance to Langostia. Priyanshi is still adjusting to life with recognized personhood and is utterly fascinated by the ability to sleep in, eat interesting foods, and insult people without getting shocked by an implant.

Appearance: very tall and toned with warm brown skin and significant cybernetic modifications. She has golden, pupil-less eyes and golden, coily hair. Priyanshi is a sankara, a species of being with innate magic and the ability to easily shapeshift.

Admiral Garzi: the former president of Edria

Romanceable? No

The father of the Edrian Republic and, depending on your choices, a father figure or mentor to you as well. Garzi was an admiral dating back to the Kingdom of Edria and he helped start the civil war after refusing an order to fire on unarmed pro-democracy protestors. He was elected the first president of Edria, largely because he was the only figure voters could rally around. He’s always had a soft spot for you, which you can choose to reciprocate or not.

Appearance: late 50s, stocky build with dark tan skin and deep brown hair that is now going gray after years serving a hostile royal family and then trying to guide Edria into being a new democracy. His eyes are kind, but tired. His appearance makes it clear he has no innate magic, though that hasn’t stopped him from being one of the most popular—and divisive—figures in Edria.

Ambassador Arlo Iltik: the Wastorian ambassador to Edria

Romanceable? No

A patriotic Wastorian and yadukari nationalist, Arlo has been sent to Edria to try and convince the Edrian government to recognize Kortapolis as Wastorian territory through negotiation, coercion, violence, or all of the above. He doesn’t particularly respect you or your country.

Appearance: soft lilac hair indicating mental powers and fair skin. Arlo is average height, but the way he carries himself makes him seem to loom over other people. Deep purple eyes that almost seem to glow. Very fashionable and favors Wastorian styles, which tend to be flowing and dramatic, with bold colors.

@interact-if

#updating the intro post in light of some big changes and some small changes after writing chapter 1 #interactive fiction #propatriamori-if #if #twine wip #interactive novel #twine game #interact-if #intro post #if wip

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cosmicalily · 1 month ago

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୨ৎ @cosmicalily presents . . . 100 idols vs 1 gorilla (a categorised list)

author's note: btw when your faves are enlisting in the military this is actually what they're training for.

୨ৎ initial distraction team:

1. jake (puppy aegyo) 2. soul (spider walk) 3. beomgyu 4. yeosang (specifically the sexyback dance) 5. jin (supertuna performance) 6. chuu (gay allegations) 7. sunghoon (get sunghooned) 8. fireworks era seonghwa (side part) 9. matthew (moo) 10. jay park (mommae solo)

୨ৎ first line of defence:

11. mingi (just so he can say 'fix on' to start the battle) 12. taehyun 13. san (ice on my teeth) 14. jennie 15. miroh changbin 16. bob ryujin 17. bob chaewon 18. momo 19. jihyo (talk that talk dance break) 20. whip-nae-nae taehyung 21. debut era yoongi 22. pink haired giselle 23. wooyoung (courreges show) 24. jiung (gimme my money) 25. jimin (blonde bowl cut)

୨ৎ second line of defence:

26. nayeon 27. huening kai 28. jay 29. yeonjun (ggum) 30. yunjin (smart era) 31. johnny 32. jeongyeon 33. yuqi (beggin cover) 34. ginger haired jiung 35. momo (go hard dance break) 36. jongseob (with skateboard) 37. intak 38. solar (with her twink dancers) 39. debut era jungkook 40. jj (with her bob)

୨ৎ backup distraction team:

46. microbangs jeongin 47. hwasa (in red leather) 48. jessi 49. jongho (apple breaking) 50. predebut felix 51. predebut jisung 52. predebut niki 53. s.coups (justin bieber edit) 54. momo (likey dance break) 55. heeseung walk

୨ৎ visuals team:

56. maki 57. mullet hongjoong 58. chaeyoung (look at me stage) 59. hyunjin 60. joy (peekaboo era) 61. theo (elsa costume) 62. yuna (u-go-girl cover) 63. blonde winter 64. irene 65. kazuha (antifragile long black hair)

୨ৎ negotiation team:

66. wonyoung (who would say no to a baddie) 67. jisoo 68. haerin (probably would meow) 69. soobin (just yaps a lot) 70. minnie 71. danielle (curly haired) 72. hoseok (he's our only hope!)

୨ৎ operation leaders:

73. bangchan (also a translator) 74. woozi 75. chungha

୨ৎ verbal attack team:

76. blonde seungmin 77. soyeon (unpretty rapstar) 78. i-land sunoo 79. minho 80. keeho 81. wooyoung 82. hoshi 83. shuhua 84. jeongin (with ugly shoes) 85. chaeryeong

୨ৎ attack strategist team:

86. moonbyul 87. wendy 88. lily (book club) 89. jungwon 90. sana (shy-shy-shy) 91. yunho 92. ningning 93. mark (everything's a possibility) 94. tzuyu 95. vernon (do you want to live to 100?)

୨ৎ sponsors:

96. jyp 97. namjoon 98. lisa 99. gdragon 100. lee hyori

tagging my whole taglist anyways because this is PRIME content: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @heartsbyani @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff @starsinagreenskyxx @ashtxrie @pigeonseatmayo @modesttiger @woozarts @zelinkcrossing @urlocalmultigroupfan @shuuporanglinos @lezleeferguson-120 @r1nstaaa @bibibahngg @jessxxxfwd @koiiqqqq @lenfilms @yaniblvsh @dearmini @ilovedallywinston @0sunshinecryptid0 @peskybirdysya @channieschocco @straberieslee @hanverse-recs

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edenesth · 1 year ago

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The Way to His Heart [Spinoff Masterlist]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader ↪ The Way to His Heart [Main Story]

⌈You're advised to read the spinoffs according to the sequence below, the stories have already been arranged in chronological order.⌋

Pairing: private investigator!Wooyoung x courtesan!reader ↪ Teaser | Part 1 | Part 2 [Completed]

Pairing: dressmaker!Hongjoong x noblewoman!reader ↪ Teaser | Part 1 | Part 2 [Completed]

Pairing: physician!Yunho x herbalist!reader ↪ Teaser | Part 1 | Part 2 [Completed]

Pairing: royal secretary!San x female scholar!reader ↪ Teaser | Part 1 | Part 2 [Completed]

Pairing: military strategist!Mingi x royal physician!reader ↪ Teaser | Part 1 | Part 2 [Completed]

Pairing: assistant!Jongho x new maid!reader ↪ Teaser | Part 1 | Part 2 [Completed]

Pairing: prince!Yeosang x princess!reader ↪ Teaser | Part 1 | Part 2 [Completed]

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR OTHERWISE REPURPOSE ANY OF THE WORK HERE.

#edenesth #the way to his heart #twthh spinoff #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #ateez seonghwa #ateez wooyoung #ateez san #ateez yunho #ateez mingi #ateez hongjoong #ateez jongho #ateez yeosang #joseon era #historical au #ateez fic

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ceruark · 3 months ago

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the runecaster diaries, part 1.

❥ inspired by the apothecary diaries. [various! blue lock x fem! reader. royalty & magic au.] synopsis: after being kidnapped and sold to the palace, you find yourself serving as an attendant to general snuffy. you don't disclose your skills in the realm of runecasting— however, your secret comes out when you have to use your knowledge to save lord kaiser from an assassination attempt. wc: 8.2k disclaimer: this particular piece is meant to introduce the world/au. there is not explicit romance in this one, however, i still recommend you read it if you're interested! you may want to view the potential suitors before you commit to this story, though :> a/n: don't ask me how the magic works i'm literally making it up as i go

By some twist of misfortune, you find yourself in the position of servant girl in Emperor Noa’s grand palace.

Well, it’s not like it was totally unexpected; you’d known the sudden passing of your mentor would leave you homeless and vulnerable. The elderly man had raised you as his own after your biological parents left you on the doorstep of his workshop. As such, you’d grown up around magic and he taught you everything he knew, turning you into an incredibly skilled runecaster.

Had he lived longer, you likely would have taken over the workshop and his clientele. However, you didn’t have the practical experience needed to match your knowledge, and your father’s clientele turned you away in search of other runecasters once he passed. You couldn’t pay the landlord or tax collectors, and as a result, you lost the workshop and were forced to wander the streets.

So, all things considered, it should be unsurprising that a group of thugs ended up kidnapping you and selling you off to the palace— at the very least, you have guaranteed shelter and food, now. Certainly, your talents go far beyond that of a servant girl’s and you could be reassigned, but you’d sooner die than accept a promotion that will line the pockets of your shitty abductors.

Besides, your placement could be far worse. Currently, you are assigned to tend to General Snuffy’s estate within the Gold Pavilion, which is overseen by Lord Loki. Snuffy is one of the most intelligent strategists in Emperor Noa’s army, but to your delight and relief, he’s rather mild-mannered and incredibly pleasant to be around. He always thanks his servants for their hard work when he sees them in passing and treats them respectfully, which is already a lot more than can be said about most other high-ranking individuals that reside on palace grounds.

Furthermore, Lord Loki is also a polite and agreeable individual, also treating those within his section of the palace grounds with utmost kindness. He can be a bit arrogant at times, but it doesn’t apply to those serving beneath him and that’s what you’re concerned with, anyway. Besides— arrogance comes with the title of being one of the emperor’s potential heirs, and Loki is the one of the four heirs who has the greatest control over his pride.

Emperor Noa had taken control over the land not by bloodright, but through power and admiration. At a very young age, he’d become a decorated war lord and genius general who outlived the previous emperor and his sons, and was unanimously recommended by both the emperor’s remaining council and the people to become the new ruler of the kingdom. Apparently, the man did not wish to have any children, for he did not believe the title of emperor was something that should be claimed through bloodright alone; thus, the four courts were created on the palace grounds, and Emperor Noa invited the kingdom’s most notable youth to try their hand at claiming a seat as one of four heirs, and ultimately fight for the right to become his only successor.

The Gold Pavilion takes up the southern part of the palace grounds and, of course, is overseen by Lord Loki, a skilled knight who had rapidly ascended the ranks due to his wit and masterful interweaving of magic into his combat. He’d been recommended into the palace by Emperor Noa’s very own former teacher and had secured his place on the Gold Throne seemingly overnight with his amiability, tenacity, and talent.

The eastern palace grounds are home to the Opal Pavilion, overseen by Lord Luna. The eldest of the heirs by quite a few years, Lord Luna had actually served in the military with Emperor Noa for a time and is the only heir to have been permitted into the heir ranks on his own recommendation. Though his charm is not as genuine or convincing as Lord Loki’s, he is still outwardly kinder than the other two lords, and reserves his most scathing criticisms for his rivals rather than his subordinates or other palace hands that reside off of his grounds.

The Jade Pavilion occupies the western palace grounds and is overseen by the controversial Lord Itoshi. Itoshi Sae had been recommended by Emperor Ego— the ruler of an allied kingdom— to serve under Lord Luna as an apprentice, and he had excelled in that position enough in the mere span of a year to receive recommendation from one of Lord Luna’s own councilmen to become an heir himself. Emperor Noa’s acceptance of the recommendation had been met with an uproar, many a people discontent over the thought of a foreigner potentially seizing the throne one day, but the emperor swiftly shut down their complaints, claiming that an heir’s origin did not matter so long as they proved capable of bringing prosperity and glory to the kingdom. Lord Itoshi’s blatant arrogance and condescension certainly does him no favors in winning over public favor, but at the very least, his cold and detached demeanor make him far more tolerable than his more flamboyant, obnoxious counterpart in the northern part of the palace.

The northern palace grounds house the Cerulean Pavilion, overseen by the equally admired and loathed Michael Kaiser. The man possesses a reputation that precedes him, word of his massive ego that is justified by his ever-improving skills in magic, combat, and strategy reaching every ear on palace grounds and even extending well beyond it. He was rather notorious for switching between cold neutrality or cruel mockery when it came to his treatment of others, which is why you steered clear of the Cerulean Pavilion whenever you could help it. Though his recommendation is of unknown origins and his background is something his rivals try and fail to pry into time and again, he still somehow managed to secure his place on the Cerulean Throne and is the heir who receives the most personal training from Emperor Noa.

“It’s all just formalities at this point,” General Lavinho had said one day as you served him beer during one of his impromptu visits to Snuffy. “We all know that the throne’s as good as Kaiser’s. Noel doesn’t even try to hide that the bastard is his favorite little pet.”

“Lord knows why,” Councilman Prince muttered under his breath, which Lavinho raised his glass to.

So, needless to say, you find yourself rather content with your place in the Gold Pavilion, experiencing each day with ease as you partake in pleasant chatter with your fellow palace hands and tend to the needs of a kind, aging general.

Today’s work finds you strolling into the central palace grounds. You watch as the pathway lined with marigolds slowly transforms into rows of deep red calla lilies, marking the end of the Gold Pavilion and the beginning of the Ruby Pavilion, residence to Emperor Noa himself. It’s not often that you leave the grounds of the Gold Pavilion, but today, you’re being sent to fetch some supplies for an upcoming training session being held by Lord Loki.

The runesmith of the palace has a small workshop set up by the southern entrance of the Ruby Pavilion, much to your convenience. You’ve met the elderly man a few times during one of his tune-ups on Snuffy’s equipment, and he was quite sweet, having the habit of sneaking the servants some pre-charged runes that could be used to make completing daily tasks easier. However, the man is always busy and can hardly ever be found within his own workshop.

Which is why when you enter the smithery, you’re met with his apprentice instead of the man himself. Charles Chevalier waves to you enthusiastically from behind the desk separating the lobby from the back of house where all the runes are stored. You’re quite familiar with him, as he also resides in the Gold Pavilion when he’s not working for the runecaster; he’s the only runecaster in all the pavilions that Lord Loki had seen fit to take under his wing and provide individual training to. You offer Charles a smile and curt nod as you stride up to the desk—then, you promptly startle when you realize who’s standing next to you.

The other apprentice, Benedict Grim, stands beside Charles at the counter, reviewing a rather lengthy list that the person beside you had handed to him. At your arrival, Alexis Ness turns to you and offers a polite smile, something uncanny that, prior to this encounter, you’ve only ever heard people say doesn’t quite sit right on his face. (Now, you can confirm such sentiments yourself.)

Alexis is the designated runecaster for the Cerulean Pavilion, in addition to being Lord Kaiser’s personal attendant. One of the highest-ranking runecasters at the most esteemed magic school in the kingdom, Lord Kaiser had scouted him and requested for him specifically to serve him during a diplomatic outing with Emperor Noa. The man takes his duty very seriously, and stops at nothing to ensure that Lord Kaiser is always as safe and comfortable as possible.

You’ve heard of Alexis’s casting—it’s difficult not to, given that his spells incorporate elements that make it damn near impossible to invade the Cerulean Pavilion. The man somehow manages to masterfully weave herbal essences into his magic to further reinforce the barrier surrounding the Cerulean Pavilion; this additional factor of natural magic reads into an individual’s soul, meaning that those who enter the pavilion with ill intent will be affected by a poison or incapacitating spell of some kind. Nobody is quite sure what exactly Alexis uses to pull of such a thing, but its efficacy has certainly been confirmed; Lord Luna never officially commented on the fiasco and Emperor Noa never pushed him for one, but the Opal Pavilion soldiers who had turned up passed out from a mild poison just outside of the Cerulean Pavilion were enough to dissuade anyone else from attempting to infiltrate again.

You can only speculate what kind of spells Alexis interweaves into typical protective runecasting to trigger such a result; you figure there must be a high concentration of finely-ground lily of the valley involved, since they can be used to read the purity of an individual’s soul when ingested. The opal soldiers who had turned up weren’t covered in any kind of powder, though, so he had somehow managed to integrate into the barrier’s very constitution so that it couldn’t be bypassed. Knowing for certain would mean investigating the barrier up close, and you’d sooner transfer to the Opal or Jade Pavilions than be caught acting suspicious near the Cerulean Pavilion, thank you very much.

However, your own preconceptions about the Cerulean Pavilion and its ruler aside, you do still deeply admire Alexis’s work, and you can’t quite help yourself from eavesdropping on his conversation with Grim while Charles disappears into the back to fetch the items from your own list.

“What does his royal highness need juniper for?” Grim asks, setting the list down. “You’ve never worked with that before. Those aren’t even in season right now.”

Alexis’s smile grows a little tighter. “We’re trying something new,” he answers vaguely. “I’ve determined that juniper is the only flower that will yield the desired effect.”

Grim lets out an exaggerated sigh and pushes himself away from the counter just as Charles returns from the back with a box full of runes and manuals. “So he’s paranoid again,” Grim mutters under his breath, which Alexis chooses not to respond to. “We might not have all of this, but I’ll see what I can do. Give me a minute.”

A comfortable silence falls over the room as Charles helps you sort the runes and other materials into smaller bags that will be easier to hand out during the lesson, and as Alexis awaits Grim’s return.

“I heard from Julian the other day that we’re gonna have visitors soon,” Charles says eagerly as you turn a rune over in your hand. It’s one used in more sophisticated protection spells—seems Lord Kaiser’s not the only paranoid one around here.

You raise a brow at Charles and spare a quick glance at Alexis, but he seems to be paying you two no mind. You know that Lord Loki doesn’t care if Charles is casual with him, but he could get in trouble for being so informal outside of the Gold Pavilion. “I would assume so,” you respond, placing the rune into the leather bag and pulling the drawstrings to close it. “Would it be so odd, with the Sunrise Festival right around the corner?”

The Sunrise Festival is an extravagant gala held every year that takes place over the course of three days. It’s a celebration of the anniversary of the day Emperor Noa slayed the corrupt king of the neighboring kingdom and brought an end to the years-long war that had plagued his own kingdom since he was a child. The nobility of all allied kingdoms were always in attendance, along with noteworthy merchants, generals, and courtesans.

“I’m talking about after the festival,” Charles says, pausing to wave a hand through the air animatedly. “Though, these visitors might be here for that, too. But, anyways, he said that Emperor Noa has agreed to let some of Emperor Ego’s own apprentices study here for a prolonged period of time.”

More egotistical young men vying for a throne of some sort? You can already feel a migraine coming on. “How lovely,” you say airily, but Charles picks up on your disdain immediately and starts laughing.

“It should be fun,” he says, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I hear that Mikage merchant’s son will be with them. Lord Itoshi’s younger brother, too.”

You sigh, and Grim’s return saves you from having to force some kind of positive comment on the presence of yet another Itoshi on palace grounds.

“I managed to find everything but adder’s tongue,” Grim announces as he places a bundle of flowers and a bag of runes on the counter.

You furrow your brows. Adder’s tongue is an extremely common item used in medicinal casting, so it’s usually always on hand here. It’s scarce this time of year, but there should be at least a bit in storage. Alexis seems confused by this as well, for he asks, “How are you out of adder’s tongue?”

Charles and Grim share a look. The corners of Charles’s lips twist downward as Grim answers, “Our supply went missing a few nights ago. We’ve informed Emperor Noa, but the investigation is still ongoing.”

That just confuses you even more. Who in the world would need to steal adder’s tongue? If the injury is that bad, they should just go to the infirmary. As Grim continues to go over Alexis’s requested materials, you and Charles pack the bags into a larger box for easier transport. As you lift the box into your arms, Charles bids you a cheery farewell.

The events of that day have faded into the back of your mind by the time the Sunrise Festival arrives.

You and every other attendant are running around the Gold Pavilion in a frenzy. It’s early morning during the first day of the festival, and you all have just a few hours to get the pavilion in top shape before guests start arriving.

Your diligent work the past year and a half has caused you to be one of the few servants entrusted with the position of overseeing all the other attendants during the festival. Whenever you aren’t pointing in a direction and giving orders, you’re running around ensuring that not a single flower in the yard is out of place, and that the festivities being held in the Gold Pavilion have everything they need to run smoothly.

You’re giving some younger servant girls advice on how to mix ground up butterfly wings into some water so that the flowers appear shiny and dewy when you hear your name called somewhere behind you. You hand off the mortar and watering can to the eldest of the group, wiping your hands off on your skirts as you turn around.

You gasp, then immediately dip into a curtsy. “Lord Loki,” you greet, dipping your head. “How may I be of service?”

Loki gives you a smile that is equal parts warm and sorrowful. “My apologies for making you do this, but Snuffy and Charles both speak highly of you, so it’s something I feel I can entrust you with.” He reaches his arm up, extending out his hand between you two to reveal a velvet jewelry box. Based on its shape, you presume there’s a necklace inside. “Lord Kaiser had the jeweler on our grounds craft this for the lady he’s been courting. He, of course, had some last minute changes made to it overnight, and she’s meant to arrive today. Could you deliver this to the Cerulean Pavilion?”

You bite down on your lip to keep yourself from openly sneering at the thought of going to the Cerulean Pavilion. You’ve somehow managed to avoid it for damn near eighteen months now, and yet your first trip there would require you to approach Lord Kaiser himself. Great.

You dip your head again, more to hide your grimace than to show respect. “Of course, my lord,” you say, carefully accepting the box into your hands. “I’ll see to it that it is delivered to Lord Kaiser safely.”

“My greatest thanks,” Loki says, offering you a genuine grin. You startle as he clasps an encouraging hand on your shoulder, which draws a small chuckle out of him. He holds your gaze just a moment longer before setting off to tend to other duties. You shake yourself out of your stupor, then begin the agonizing trek to the Cerulean Pavilion.

You’re dragged out of your misery and bitter mumbling once the pavilion actually comes into sight. It is nothing short of gorgeous, of course; Lord Kaiser wouldn’t accept living in a place any less maintained in beauty than he himself is. But the paths lined with blue roses and elaborate fountains of water aren’t what take your breath away—no, it’s the shimmering, pale blue curtain marking the border of the Opal and Cerulean Pavilions that catches your attention. Alexis has casted the protective barrier to appear almost like a thin veil of water, and when you put your arm through it, it feels like a gust of cool, refreshing air brushes over your skin. You marvel at it; it’s masterful, the way it’s not even apparent that he’s interwoven natural magic into the protective runes.

You sigh as you pass through the rest of the barrier, the full beauty of the Cerulean Pavilion hitting you. You don’t have the time to investigate further, no matter how curious you may be. You follow the main path—a road marked with intricate patterns composed of sapphires—to Lord Kaiser’s residence. As the extravagant villa comes into view, you notice a woman being escorted inside by Gesner, a high-ranking official in Lord Kaiser’s army.

It must be the lady Lord Loki mentioned, though she’s arrived far earlier than everyone else. From your distance, you can’t hear a word she’s saying, but you can see her just fine. A gorgeous pastel purple dress billows around her, the corset pulled tight to flatter her well. Her hair is pulled up into a braided bun, and a few buds of baby’s breath and white cherry blossoms have been delicately tucked behind her ear.

Lady Petra, you think as you take in her sharp green eyes and pale blonde hair. She’s the eldest daughter of one of the wealthiest merchants in the kingdom. She had resided in the palace for a time before you arrived, when her brother was one of the many young men competing for the Cerulean Throne. Apparently, she had charmed many men while she resided on palace grounds, and her father hadn’t been too upset by his son losing the throne to Kaiser because he figured he could marry Petra off to someone of status. It seemed to be working out well for him.

You reach the villa’s back entrance long after Lady Petra and Gesner disappear inside of it, so you should be able to steer clear of her when getting the necklace to either Lord Kaiser or Gesner—whichever she’s not with at the moment. You rap gently on the door, and the servant that answers the door lights up at the sight of the box in your hands.

“Oh, good, good!” She cheers, ushering you inside. You squint as the incomprehensible amount of marble inside practically blinds you. The whole floor is made of it. “You’re just in time! Come here, quickly.”

You trail after her, marveling at the intricacy of the villa’s interior. Everything within it is grand, from the perfectly polished floors to the elaborate paintings on the walls and spotless pieces of furniture carefully positioned in each room. You can’t even complain that it’s too much, because everything is so meticulously placed and considered that, somehow, nothing clashes.

The woman stops suddenly, nudging you slightly backward and making a shushing motion. You peek around her shoulder and catch sight of Lady Petra sitting in what seems to be a sunroom. There’s an entrance on the other side of the room, where Gesner is speaking in a hushed tone to someone who you can’t see—they’re blocked by the door frame of the entrance the other servant has nudged you away from.

In the center of the floral-patterned couch, Lady Petra’s attendant makes a few last minute adjustments to her hair. She slides one more pin into place to further secure the braid in place. Up close, you now see that on the ear opposite of the one decorated with baby’s breath and white cherry blossoms sits more baby’s breath, with some adder’s tongue weaved into it. The sight of it nags at something in the back of your mind, but you dismiss it as the necklace around her neck catches your attention instead. It’s a simple, delicate thing, a thin golden chain with a garnet carved into a teardrop shape.

Lady Petra reaches up and runs her hand along the chain. The garnet, impossibly, flickers weakly, a gleaming light pulsing for just a moment before going dormant again.

Your heart plummets into the ground.

It’s no garnet—it’s an illusory rune, one typically used to bypass barriers and the like. Normally, such a thing on its own wouldn’t be able to get through the intricate barrier Alexis has surrounding the pavilion, but it’s been crafted into something that can be on Petra’s person, meaning that can interact with other essences also on her person. Baby’s breath, which in natural magic, represents innocence and purity, along with white cherry blossoms and adder’s tongue, which both signify deception. When combined with an illusory rune, the cherry blossoms and adder’s tongue would work together to mask the true nature of Petra’s soul, utilizing the essence of the baby’s breath to replace her true intentions with the guise of innocence.

Of course, this incorporation of natural magic could combat the pavilion’s elaborate barrier, but that begs the question: how does Lady Petra know the specifics of Alexis’s barrier and how he casted it?

The servant lady clasps a hand around your elbow and drags you away from the room. Your heart races, panic surging through you.

“Come now,” she whispers, “we’ll catch up with Lieutenant Gesner on the other side, and he’ll hand it off to Lord Kaiser when he has a moment away from Lady Petra.”

If that moment ever comes, you think to yourself. The flowers could be chalked up to a coincidence, but when combined with the presence of an illusory rune? Certainly not. Lady Petra had come in here with the intent to bring harm to the Cerulean Pavilion, and needed a way to bypass the barrier that would pick up on it.

“I wasn’t aware Lieutenant Gesner was tending to Lord Kaiser today,” you say. Luckily, the servant lady doesn’t know you well, so she doesn’t pick up on the tremor in your voice. “I figured Knight Alexis would still be in charge of his well being for the festival.” No, seriously, where the hell is that guy? There’s an intruder actively in the pavilion!

“Oh, Knight Alexis is busy with preparations elsewhere.” She waves it off, as if there’s not a massive threat sunbathing with her lord as she speaks. “He reinforced the barrier just a few days ago to ensure that Lord Kaiser would be fine without him at his side.”

You practically choke on your own blood at that. You’re pretty sure that after this, Alexis isn’t going to let Lord Kaiser leave his line of sight ever again.

You round the corner, coming up to the other entrance of the sunroom. Gesner is just about to shut the door completely when he spots the box in your hands. Distracted, he lets go of the doorknob and crosses the rest of the distance to you and the servant lady. The door is still halfway open, and you can see Lord Kaiser sitting beside Lady Petra, facing the door. He’s focused on her, though, exuding nothing but charisma. It’s so abhorrently feigned, but you can’t bring yourself to be disgusted in your state of panic.

“This is it, then?” Gesner says, gesturing to the box in your hands. You open it, but you can’t even take in whatever intricate piece Lord Kaiser has commissioned, because you refuse to take your eyes off the threat sitting beside him. It must be impressive, though, because Gesner lets out a low whistle at the sight of it. “Well, looks like those changes paid off. Hopefully it’s at least a little satisfactory for him.”

You watch as Lord Kaiser turns around, beckoning to a servant on standby. The young boy walks over, and nods at whatever Kaiser whispers to him before heading toward the other entrance. During this exchange, Lady Petra produces a tiny cloth bag from her purse.

“So long as the lady likes it, things will be just fine,” the servant lady responds.

Whatever he requested must be a quick task, for Lord Kaiser doesn’t turn around, waiting for the servant boy to return. Petra spares a quick glance at him before opening the bag and pouring a powdery substance into his glass of wine sitting on the table.

“Of course she will,” Gesner says, but you hardly hear it over the blood rushing in your ears. “He’s far more of a diva than her.”

The boy returns with a slice of bienenstich and places it down on the table in front of Lady Petra, bowing as he does so before retreating to his corner of the room. The woman tilts her head and instead reaches for her own glass of wine, raising it in cheers. Lord Kaiser picks up his own, raising it as well.

The servant lady cries out and Gesner grunts as you barrel past him, flinging yourself forward as quickly as possible. By the time you’ve thrown the door open and crossed the distance from the entrance to the couch, the commotion has caused Kaiser and Petra to both stare at you, the latter in bewilderment and the former in irritation.

Before either one can say anything, you smack the wine glass out of Lord Kaiser’s hands. Petra shrieks as the glass shatters against the floor, the wine spilling all over the white marble floor. Kaiser’s face contorts with cold fury, but you’re already whirling on Lady Petra by the time he’s getting to his feet.

You seize her by the shoulders, grip iron. Petra pales as she stares up at you, both of you knowing exactly why you barged inside. “Did you really think you’d get away with something like this?” You hiss lowly, “Emperor Noa will have your head when he hears about your little scheme.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Kaiser yells behind you, oblivious to what you’ve already put together. Not that you can blame him—even with all his skill, this kind of scheme could only be planned and identified by individuals who have devoted all their studies into magic.

A firm hand comes down on your shoulder, and you grit your teeth from the pain that shoots up your arm. Knowing what’s about to happen, you shoot a hand out and latch onto Petra’s necklace, grabbing onto it just as Kaiser pulls you roughly away from her.

The clasp of the necklace snaps, the rune clatters to the floor, and Alexis’s magic takes hold of her immediately. Petra sucks in a sharp breath before collapsing to her knees, her skin going from white to a pale blue, likely a part of the spell meant to visually mark her as a threat. Her hands come up to her neck as she begins coughing violently. Slow asphyxiation, you think to yourself. It seems Alexis had made the effects of the spell akin to that of an allergic reaction.

“Oh,” you say smartly, watching Petra writhe around on the ground, the poisoned wine staining her skirts. “So that’s what he needed the juniper for.”

Kaiser turns to you. The fury is gone, and so is the faux charm from earlier—in fact, there’s absolutely nothing, just an eerily blank expression as he considers you with guarded eyes. “You knew she came here to hurt me?”

“I saw her poison your drink,” you answer, gesturing toward the entrance you came from. “The door was open while I was handing the necklace you commissioned off to Gesner.” It’s not the full truth, but it would have to do.

“You also knew that removing her necklace would harm her.” He looks down at the piece of jewelry, before looking back at you. His gaze is sharper now, sending a chill down your spine and pinning you in place. “How did you know that was a rune, and that it was shielding her from Alexis’s spell?”

Damn it. Of course he would be able to piece together that much.

You open and close your mouth pathetically a few times. Before you can scrape together an acceptable answer, though, a loud cry of rage comes from somewhere beneath you.

You turn just as Petra uses the last of her strength to launch herself at you, slamming into you and tackling you to the ground. Your head smacks against the floor with a sickening crack, and the world around you goes black.

“You don’t have to do this now, you know.”

You sigh heavily. It’s been just about two days since the start of the Sunrise Festival, but all festivities were brought to a grinding halt after Lady Petra’s assassination attempt on Lord Kaiser. When you first awoke, you were informed that Emperor Noa was calling for an emergency full court meeting with you as soon as possible, but understood if you needed time to get over your concussion.

You still feel a bit nauseous, but you’ve heard the other servants talking about how unbearable Lord Kaiser has been since the incident, and how antsy even the other heirs seem to be.

You smile tiredly, but gratefully at Snuffy. “Thank you, sir, but the sooner we get this done, the better.”

He returns your smile, his a bit pitiful. “If you’re sure,” he says, turning back to the doors before the two of you.

You’re standing just outside the entrance of the Gold Pavilion’s strategy room, the only room in the entire pavilion large and elaborate enough to host the Emperor and all his heirs. When Lord Loki visited you this morning, you told him you felt well enough to have the meeting this afternoon—a decision you were now regretting.

Snuffy nods at the soldiers guarding the doors, and they nod back at him before pushing them open.

Immediately, all eyes snap to you, and you feel your lungs get crushed under the pressure of the stares of the most important people in the kingdom.

Likely out of desperation for familiarity, your eyes find Lord Loki’s first. He seems tense, but he still offers you a polite, encouraging smile. Standing behind him is Charles, whose cheery wave feels severely out of place in the suffocating atmosphere of the room.

Sitting next Lord Loki is Lord Kaiser, whose gaze is still as piercing as it was before Petra tried to do you in. He rests his head against his hand, arm propped against the chair’s armrest. Every part of his face is tight, and he looks far more displeased and agitated than you’ve ever seen him be in your time at the palace. Beside him, Knight Alexis stands with his hands clasped behind his back and wears his usual polite smile, but he watches you with a sharp, critical eye.

On the other side of the room is Lord Itoshi, whose face is as blank as ever. He doesn’t seem disinterested, though, which you suppose is because his safety is concerned; an attempt was made at another heir’s life, and there was no saying that whoever planned it wouldn’t go after the others as well. Behind him stood Shidou Ryusei, a warrior from Lord Itoshi’s home who had been brought over to serve him when he claimed the Jade Throne. A smirk spreads across his lips when you lock eyes with him, so you quickly look away and to the left of him.

Lord Luna sits in the chair beside his former apprentice, his polite grin visibly feigned in comparison to Loki’s. It almost borders on a sneer when you meet his gaze, and you feel yourself shrink back slightly. Behind him, Knight Cavasoz gives you a bored look.

Sitting directly across from where you stand, in the plush chair that is usually occupied by Lord Loki, is Emperor Noa himself. His stare is heavy and keen on your shoulders, but not necessarily unkind or untrusting like some of the others.

You suck in a steadying breath, and turn to each person once more as you address them. “Lord Loki. Lord Kaiser. Lord Luna. Lord Itoshi. Emperor Noa.” You bow deeply, folding over completely at the waist. “I apologize for making you wait to have this meeting.”

“Your recovery is of great importance to the Gold Pavilion,” Noa answers. “Rise. We have already collected Kaiser’s account of Lady Petra’s attempt on his life, but there are still missing details that only you can answer for us.”

As you straighten up, Snuffy comes to stand by your side, a steadying presence under all the pressure.

“Let’s start from the beginning,” Lord Loki says, taking charge of the investigation before any of his less merciful peers can. “Why were you at the Cerulean Pavilion?”

“I was there on business assigned to me by you, my lord,” you answer. “I was asked to deliver the necklace Lord Kaiser commissioned from the Gold Pavilion’s jeweler. According to you, it was meant for Lady Petra, who was arriving that day, and needed to be delivered as soon as possible.”

“And while you were delivering the necklace, what prompted you to rush into the sunroom where Lord Kaiser and Lady Petra were speaking?”

“While handing off the necklace to Lieutenant Gesner, I noticed that he had left the door to the sunroom partially open. When I looked up and inside the room, I saw Lady Petra pouring something from a small bag into Lord Kaiser’s glass of wine.”

“Lord Kaiser did not notice this?”

“His back was turned. He was awaiting the return of a young servant boy, who brought back a dessert.”

“One that Lord Kaiser informed us was requested by Lady Petra. Do you believe this was purposeful?”

“Given that she would need him to be looking away while she poured the poison into his drink, I would say yes, the request was intentional.”

“And once you noticed his drink had been poisoned, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Everything was happening too fast. I saw him lifting the glass, and panicked. By the time I informed Gesner or the servant lady of the situation, he would have already ingested the poison.”

“Then, you took it upon yourself to save him?”

“Yes. I knocked the glass out of his hands so that the wine could not be consumed. Then, I launched myself at Lady Petra, intending to apprehend her.”

“Why did you go for her necklace?”

You turn to Kaiser, who interrupted Loki with a question of his own. “I’m sorry?”

He bristles—you both know you’re being evasive. “When I grabbed you, you grabbed onto her necklace.” He tilts his head to the side, tone accusatory. “You knew it would snap when I pulled you off her. You knew it would allow Alexis’s magic to affect her, which is how you intended to apprehend her. How did you know that?”

“I didn’t know that would happen,” you deflect. “I was going for her neck, but you pulled me back too fast.”

Kaiser’s eyes narrow. “Don't waste my time pretending you didn’t realize what would happen. You even made a comment that the reaction was caused by the juniper Alexis picked up from the runesmith.”

Good grief. Nothing gets past him, does it?

Before you can answer, Noa produces a golden chain from his coat pocket, then places what you recognize to be Petra’s necklace down on the table.

“Kaiser told us that you were able to recognize this as a rune, which Alexis later identified as an illusory rune.” Noa turns his attention to Loki. “Loki, is this subordinate well versed in runecasting?”

Loki spares you a glance, before looking at Snuffy. “Not to my knowledge, but General Snuffy would know better than me.”

Noa turns to Snuffy, who sighs. “She has always been more competent than other attendants at utilizing runes for menial tasks, but besides that, I do not believe so. She did not report having any knowledge or skills in runecasting when she was brought into the Gold Pavilion.”

“So she lied, then,” Luna says, eyeing you with disdain.

Noa holds up a hand, silencing him before he can make any more accusations. He turns back to you, expression terse. “Let me be clear with you. You may have saved Kaiser’s life, but because you continue to deny your knowledge of runecasting, you are being marked as suspicious. Even if you had nothing to do with this assassination attempt, we may have to imprison you, as your motives for this secrecy are unclear.”

Seriously? I saved the most abhorrent heir in this damn palace, and you think I have bad intentions? You sigh, shoulders slumping forward as you exhale. “Then I will answer any questions you have for me, Your Excellency.”

Noa nods, then asks, “Why didn’t you report your prior experience with runecasting when you came to the palace?”

“I was brought here by kidnappers, and I would rather not do anything that gives them a bigger payday. Being a palace runecaster would do just that.”

“Where did you study?”

“I studied under the runecaster of a small village in the south,” you say, expression growing distant. “He took me in when I was quite young and raised me as his apprentice.”

“And where is this runecaster now?”

You avert your gaze to the floor. “Six feet under. After he died, I had no place to go, so I wandered. It’s how my abductors managed to get me. I stayed here because it guarantees me food and shelter.”

“I see.” Noa ponders this for a moment, then continues. “Is there anything else you can tell us about the assassination attempt, based on your experience and knowledge?”

You bite down on your lip, then fess up the whole truth. “Before the servant lady took me to meet with Lieutenant Gesner, I had noticed Lady Petra sitting on the couch with her attendant. Lord Kaiser had not entered the sunroom yet. The attendant was fixing her hair, so naturally, my eyes were drawn to the flowers tucked into her hair and adorning her ears: white cherry blossoms, baby’s breath, and adder’s tongue. Nothing noteworthy on their own, but then I saw the necklace around her neck.”

You gesture to said piece of jewelry laid out on the table. “At first, I thought it was just a garnet, but then she reached up to touch it. It glowed for just a moment, but it was enough for me to realize it was a rune. Based on the color, I identified it as an illusory rune, and from there, the presence of the flowers made more sense. Word gets around about how the Cerulean Pavilion barrier is able to recognize an individual’s intentions, and the essence of white cherry blossoms and adder’s tongue, when combined with the rune, could effectively hide the true intentions of whoever has them on their person. Factor in the baby’s breath, and their intentions are made out to be pure and innocent. It’s a clever scheme, objectively speaking.”

As Noa mulls this over, Loki asks, “How would someone figure out that this would work? Infiltration of the Cerulean Pavilion has failed in the past.”

“The individual would have to know that the barrier is imbued with natural magic,” you answer. “The barrier failed when Knight Alexis first started experimenting with it, and people weren’t aware. Furthermore, they would have to know exactly what flowers are being used in the casting in order to figure out how to counteract it.”

From the other side of the room, Sae hums, then says, “It’s as we expected, then. She had someone on the inside help her.”

Luna raised an eyebrow. “Someone from the Cerulean Pavilion?”

“Not necessarily,” you say. “As I mentioned, most everyone knows that Knight Alexis imbues the barrier with natural magic, even if they don’t know the specifics. If we leave it at that, it could be anybody within the palace walls. However, given that this individual knew exactly what plants to use to circumvent it, I would say they are very familiar with the inner workings of the barrier and the casting behind it, which within the Cerulean Pavilion itself, would just be Knight Alexis and Lord Kaiser.”

You turn to Charles. “You and Grim said that the palace runecaster’s supply of adder’s tongue went missing a few days before the Sunrise Festival.” Next, you look to Noa. “I understand that Lady Petra hails from the same region you grew up in, Your Excellency. Is adder’s tongue plentiful there this time of year?”

“It is not,” Noa confirms your suspicions. “In fact, it doesn’t grow there at all.”

“Then I would say whoever helped Lady Petra pull this off is either an apprentice or palace hand serving the runecaster,” you conclude. “They know every material Knight Alexis uses for casting the barrier, and they would be able to supply Lady Petra with everything she needed to bypass it.”

“Only high-ranking apprentices and attendants have been allowed to assist Alexis,” Kaiser says, shooting an accusatory glare at Charles.

Loki tilts his head back, meeting Kaiser’s gaze head-on and blocking Charles from his view. “Rest assured, a proper investigation will be conducted at once. Am I correct, Your Excellency?”

“We will start looking into it immediately,” Noa agrees. “Until then, no action is to be taken against any apprentice or attendant, but they will all be placed under supervision until proven innocent.”

Then, the emperor turns back to you. “That only leaves the matter of what to do with you, then.”

You feel your heart skip a beat. “I— I’m afraid I don’t understand, Your Excellency.”

“You’re far too knowledgeable to just let you be Snuffy’s attendant.” Luna scoffs. “It would be wasted talent.”

“He’s right,” Noa says. “I assure you that any earnings you make will now be paid to you in full, and I will have the ones who turned you over to the palace detained. However, I would like to make you a palace runecaster, effective immediately.”

“Pardon me, Your Excellency,” Loki interjects, “but the Gold Pavilion already has a runecaster in training, as do all the other pavilions. Where will she be assigned?”

“She won’t be assigned anywhere. She will be at the ready for any pavilion that may need extra assistance in the realm of casting.”

Kaiser scoffs. “Only a pavilion with an incompetent caster would need help from an outsider.”

Sae side-eyes him. “We’re here because someone bypassed your caster’s barrier and the outsider is the only one who noticed.”

The blonde scowls in response, and behind him, Alexis bristles.

“That’s enough.” The emperor turns back to you, his features smoothing out ever so slightly. “If you wish to continue residing within the Gold Pavilion, that’s fine. But if you are going to continue serving us here at the palace, I would like for you to put your skills and talents to use.”

Uncertain, your gaze slides over to Loki. He gives you a firm nod, and the anxiousness in your heart settles a bit.

“Thank you, Your Excellency.” You bow deeply again. “I am very grateful for this opportunity, and will not disappoint you.”

“I look forward to seeing the results of your work.” He takes a look around the room, then nods. “That concludes this part of the investigation. We will continue to interrogate Lady Petra and investigate the palace runecaster and those in his service. Until then, you are dismissed.”

You stay in your bowed position until Emperor Noa and his attendants pass by you, and you hear the sound of the doors opening. As you straighten up, Snuffy places a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Good job hanging in there,” he says, giving you a reassuring smile. “I’m sure you’ll make a fine caster.”

“Let’s hope so,” Luna says as he passes you two on his way out. “We don’t want another incident like this happening. At least, not to the Opal Pavilion.”

You and Snuffy frown at his words, but neither of you deign to comment as he leaves. Sae trails out a few feet behind him, both he and his personal attendant sparing you one last glance as they exit.

You’re just starting to relax, the tension slowly leaving your shoulders when Knight Alexis walks up to you, prompting you to snap ramrod straight again. He tilts his head at you, that eerie smile looking even more forced than usual.

“You have my sincerest thanks for saving my lord in my stead,” he says, dipping his head in a short bow. “You’re very skilled. I look forward to working with you in the future.”

“Ah, thank you,” you mumble, flustered. “I look forward to working with you, too.”

His smile appears more genuine as he bids you farewell, his eyes crinkling shut as he grins at you. You have roughly half a second to revel in it before Kaiser enters your line of vision and swiftly tramples over your easing nerves. His gaze is cold and likely meant to intimidate, and his face is tight with a sneer that doesn’t surface fully, for whatever reason.

You blink up at him, unamused. Honestly, would it kill him to be at least cordial with the person who saved his life?

Keeping your face as neutral as possible and your tone dry, you say, “Glad to see you’re safe and doing well, Lord Kaiser.”

Charles snorts from the corner of the room, which is swiftly followed by Loki shushing him. Kaiser’s face twitches, and the sneer overtakes his face as he glares down at you. You smile up at him, pleasant if not for the smug sparkle in your eye.

Kaiser mutters something under his breath before turning and walking briskly out of the room. Alexis trails out after him, offering you an apologetic smile before he goes.

With only familiar faces left in the room, you sigh heavily, allowing yourself to slump against the wall behind you. Loki and Charles walk up to you, the former appearing a bit weary but still approaching you with kindness nonetheless.

“I’m glad things went fine for the most part.” His smile falters a bit as he asks, “Will you be leaving the Gold Pavilion? If you’re to be of service to everyone, the Ruby Pavilion would be the ideal location for you.”

You can’t think of anything you’d like less than living under the critical eye of Emperor Noa. (That’s a lie, actually—you’d probably take that over the Cerulean Pavilion.) “If it’s alright with you,” you begin, “I’d like to stay in the Gold Pavilion as long as I’m permitted to.”

Loki’s smile softens around the edges. “Of course,” he answers, “we’d be happy to have you. If you’re willing, I’d like it if you could also start administering lessons to Charles.”

You look at the blonde, whose pointy canines are on full display with how wide his smile is. You laugh, and nod. “I’d definitely be willing to do that.”

Charles cheers loudly and latches onto your arm. “I can’t wait!” His eyes glimmer with mischief. “Things are about to get really interesting around here.”

You sigh to yourself. A new position necessitating you to be at the beck and call of all of Noa’s heirs, not to mention the ones that would be visiting in the near future. Interesting would be putting it lightly.

But you would be a mere runecaster, expected to cast your spells and nothing more. Certainly, things wouldn’t get too chaotic where the heirs were concerned, right?

258 notes · View notes

rosie-posie1313 · 21 days ago

Text

Lando Norris pt. 2

06/02/2025

Part 1

⭒Social Media AUs⭒

⭒ FIND LANDO by @f1version

As a WAG, you are known for helping fans meet lando, so when a kid in full mclaren gear is in the paddock, you know what you must do.

⭒ you are my sunshine !!! by @love-belle

⭒ FRIENDS INTO LOVERS by @goldsainz

⭒ JUST MY LUCK by @myysaints

in which lando starts flirting with a (not-so-)random girl on the internet.

⭒ royal baby by @starkwlkr

⭒ celebration insta au by @hischierswhore

⭒Oneshots⭒

⭒ Love at 300 km/h by @jaslan4f1

You and Lando are close but neither of you tried being more than friends. What happens when you both finally realize that love is right infront of you?

⭒ Lets fall in love by @/jaslan4f1

You are deeply in love with Lando.

⭒ I don’t feel safe by @sainz-leclerc

after your friends drag you to a party you didn’t want to go to in the first place , you call Lando to come and get you

⭒ blushing papaya by @lxndonorris

as the daughter of a ferrari strategist, you're able to attend races. Thats when you developed a crush on Lando

⭒ chicken noodle soup by @silversainz

talking care of sick lando is like taking care of a sick kid

⭒ Avocado mask by @/silversainz

even though he doesn’t like it. you somehow convince lando to do an avocado mask with you

⭒ domestic bliss by @sainzfilm

⭒ First snowfall by @/sainzfilm

⭒ Ikea by @reqxxyt

⭒ Boyfriend! Lando Norris Headcanons by @honeybadger16

⭒ Serious by @httpiastri

you surprise lando on his birthday.

⭒ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴀʟᴏɴɢ by @deltaromeo3

Good or bad, she was always there for him. But things between them changes once he starts to become rich and famous; but it’s not for the reason you think it is.

⭒ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴀɴɴᴏʏɪɴɢ by @/deltaromeo3

do they really hate each other like they said they do?

⭒ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ɪꜱ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪ ɢᴇᴛ ᴄᴜᴅᴅʟᴇꜱ by @/deltaromeo3

⭒ us and our cats !!! by @love-belle

in which he is streaming and being a simp simultaneously.

⭒ Sod’s Law by @dilemmaontwolegs

For some reason bad luck followed you everywhere but it did lead to something special happening.

⭒ 𝗕𝗥𝗨𝗦𝗛 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗢𝗞𝗘𝗦 by @Dreamauri

during spending time with your boyfriend on the beach, you decide to use his face to express art

⭒ — 𝗦𝗛𝗛𝗛 by @/dreamauri

⭒ Lando and Love In F1 masterlist by @housepartyprotocol

You are a Female F1 Ferrari driver, the daughter of Toto Wolff, and you and Lando like each other but won’t act on it till the other drivers intervene

⭒ Daddy, you won! By @jojojoy1

⭒ Jealous by @/jojojoy1

⭒ would it be a sin? By @lovelytsunoda

lando tries (and fails in the sweetest funniest of ways) to make his and y/n’s first night in their new house together a memorable experience

⭒ We love you too Mommy by @joelslegalwhre

You visit your parents with Lando and your baby daughter

⭒ Baby close the door… by @/joelslegalwhre

Lando and you had a song on your minds the whole day. When you hear him mumble-singing it on stream you can’t resist but join him.

⭒ That small thing by @unluckyhoneybee

⭒ Mini Norris. By @/unluckyhoneybee

⭒ Daddy, I want Mommy! By @spicyclover

Lando can sometimes have a hard time not being around as much as he wants to be.

⭒ Find me in the Future. By @fandomxs1

After a Break up you find yourself frightened as you find out you’re pregnant.

⭒ The Park by @the-offside-rule

Dad Lando doesn't know when women are flirting with him

⭒ One of a kind. Pt.2 by @fuzzylichu (Ricciardo!reader)

⭒ HIS LUCKY CHARM by @goldsainz

lando is disappointed you can’t make it to his home race, only to be surprised at the end.

⭒ “𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐰𝐨” by @hotmencore

Reader and Lando share a sweet moment on stream, that the fans absolutely crumble over.

⭒ BIGGEST SUPPORTER by @allywthsr

Lando finishes in P2 in silverstone and you guys celebrate

⭒ Paper Rings by @podiumackles

In which they allow themselves to become undone in each other’s touch, and enter a new phase of their relationship.

⭒ i can see you by @/hischierswhore

⭒ OF PODIUMS AND KISSES by @itsgxsly

⭒ Morning Kisses by @the-offside-rule

⭒ Not Like Me by @idkwhatimdoinghere1655

⭒ Homecoming by @userlando

⭒ look who’s staring now by @lipringlrh

your boyfriends so pretty whilst he sleeps, how could you not stare at him?

#lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris #ln4 #f1

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fanfictionismyaddiction · 9 months ago

Note

"Please, don't freak out, but I may have been in a tiny little accident." For Toto Wolff with wife reader. Thanks!! :))

Missed Call Part 1

Part 2

Word count: 962

Pairing: Toto Wolff x wife!reader

______________________________________________________________

The race was chaos—cars speeding around the track, radios buzzing with information, engineers and strategists talking over each other. Toto Wolff was in his element, focused on every detail, every split-second decision that could change the outcome. The adrenaline kept him sharp, his mind working at a hundred miles an hour. But in the back of his mind, there was a nagging thought, one that had been bothering him for the past hour.

He hadn’t checked his phone.

Normally, it wouldn’t bother him. You knew how intense race weekends could be, and you never interrupted unless it was urgent. But something was gnawing at him, a sense that he had missed something important. The race was finally over—Mercedes had done well, not a win, but decent points in the bag. As the team celebrated, Toto slipped away from the paddock to check his phone.

Several missed calls.

Your name stared back at him from the screen, and a cold sense of dread washed over him. You had called multiple times, then sent a short message: "Call me when you can. Please."

His heart dropped. This wasn’t normal. You never called like this during a race unless something was wrong.

Without a second thought, he dialed your number, his pulse racing faster than any car on the track. The line rang once… twice… and then you picked up, your voice quiet.

“Hey,” you started softly, but he didn’t let you finish.

“Why did you keep calling?!” he demanded, his voice harsher than he intended. “What happened? Are you alright? Why did you just stop?”

You took a deep breath on the other end. “Please, don’t freak out, but… I may have been in a tiny little accident.”

His chest tightened immediately. “A tiny little accident? What do you mean? Where are you? What happened?”

You tried to keep your tone light, but there was a faint tremble in your voice. “I was driving home from the store and… someone ran a red light. They hit me, and the car flipped. I—”

“The car flipped?!” His voice was rising, catching the attention of people around him. A few team members exchanged worried glances, sensing his panic.

“I’m fine now,” you continued quickly, as if trying to defuse the tension. “I’m a little bruised, but the paramedics checked me out and everything’s okay.”

Toto wasn’t listening to the reassurances. His mind was filled with images of you trapped, hurt, and scared. “You were in an accident, and I didn’t answer? You tried to call me, and I didn’t pick up?”

“Toto, please—”

“Where are you? Are you still at the hospital? I’m coming—”

“I’m home,” you interrupted, your voice steady but tired. “They discharged me. I wanted to let you know, but I didn’t want to panic you during the race. I thought you could call me after…”

“After?” Toto’s voice cracked. “After?! You were in a car accident, hurt, and I didn’t even know for an hour! I should have been there. I should have—”

“Toto!” You raised your voice, finally stopping him. “I’m okay. I’m sore, yes, but I’m not dying. You’re freaking out, and it’s only making this worse. I called you because I love you, but I knew how much was happening today. I didn’t want you to lose focus.”

His eyes darted around as he ran his hand through his hair, trying to breathe. The engineers nearby whispered, confused by his reaction. James Vowles approached cautiously, seeing his team principal pale and shaking.

“Is everything alright?” James asked gently, eyes scanning Toto’s face.

Toto shook his head. “No. Everything is not alright.” He looked at the phone again, like it had betrayed him. “My wife… she’s been in an accident.”

James immediately placed a hand on Toto’s shoulder. “She’s okay, though? Is there anything we can do?”

“She’s at home,” Toto muttered, barely hearing the people around him. “But I wasn’t there… I wasn’t there when she needed me.”

Meanwhile, on the other end of the line, you could hear the distress in his voice. “Toto, listen to me,” you said, your own heart aching for him. “I’m okay now. I promise. You didn’t know. You couldn’t have known. Please don’t do this to yourself.”

James gestured for others to step back, knowing how private Toto was about his personal life, but even he seemed unsure of how to calm his boss down.

“I could have known,” Toto said quietly, almost to himself. “I could have answered. What if it had been worse?”

“Toto,” you said, your voice soft but insistent. “I don’t need you to beat yourself up over this. I’m okay. You’re here now.”

He ran a hand over his face, finally starting to breathe more steadily. “I’ll come home right away.”

“You don’t need to,” you tried, knowing how much work still needed to be done post-race. “Take care of what you need to there, then come home.”

“No,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. “I’m coming now.”

You sighed, knowing you wouldn’t win this one. “Alright. I’ll be here. Just… don’t drive like a madman.”

There was a pause before he spoke again, his voice softer. “I love you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“I love you too. And you’ll be here soon. That’s what matters.”

Toto hung up, still shaken, but with a determination in his eyes. “I have to go,” he said to James, who nodded with understanding.

“We’ll take care of everything here,” James assured him. “Go be with her.”

Toto nodded, his usual calm and collected demeanor shattered, but he wasted no time. He needed to see you, hold you, and make sure with his own eyes that you were okay. The race didn’t matter anymore—only you did.

#reader insert #fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #toto wolff #toto wolff x reader #f1 #fluff #fanfiction #mercedes f1 #mercedes amg petronas #mercedes amg f1 #totowolff #torger christian wolff #f1 fic #formula 1 #formula one #formula racing

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salemrph · 4 months ago

Text

"Let the World Burn"

Chapter 1: A not so well planned night

Summary: A night of celebration ends in chaos—you vanish without a trace. The ransom demand arrives, but Sylus knows this isn’t just about money. What should’ve been a simple rescue mission unearths secrets far more sinister than anyone ever imagined.

Character: Sylus x MC; Luke and Kieran, Caleb, Zayne

Genre/Warning: descriptions of violence and blood, hurt/comfort, injuries, grief, romantic, drama, action, slight sexual content, angst

Word count: 8,135 | Reading Time: 32 min | AO3

taglist: @voidsylus @thechaoticarchivist @syluscrows @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme

Chapter 1: A not so well planned night

The burning building groans under the weight of its own collapse, crumbling piece by piece. The flames rage uncontrollably, swallowing the entire complex, leaving nothing but charred ruins. In the heart of the main part of the wearhouse, the scene is a nightmare. The floor is slick with blood, bodies scattered in unnatural poses, bullet casings gleaming like twisted confetti in the dim light. The air reeks of gunpowder and death. This was no battlefield—this was a massacre.

Under the eerie glow of the red moon, such a sight might seem familiar. But tonight, something is wrong. This wasn't supposed to be the end. This wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Not after everything.

Gunfire echoes, sharp and relentless. The screams of the fallen mingle with the guttural roars of the Wanderers, their twisted forms wreaking havoc as they tear through what remains. It’s a cacophony of violence, a hellish symphony that cuts through the night. And through the madness, there he is—the man in the suit. The one who has conquered with nothing more than his calm demeanor and his cold, calculating presence. The one they all feared. But now, as he stands in the wreckage, there is no cool detachment. There is no indifferent strategist. His expression is tight, his jaw set with a fury that has never before surfaced. His usual composure has shattered like glass, replaced with darker, dangerous rage. His right eye, glowing like a dying star, reflects the turmoil inside him. It burns with the kind of intensity that could scorch the very earth beneath him.

In his arms, the body of a woman, limp and lifeless, hangs like dead weight. Her blood stains his clothes, seeping into the fabric, marking him with a reminder of the choices he’s made, the consequences of those choices. The plan was never supposed to unfold this way. This was not the outcome he had imagined. The walls of the building continue to groan, buckling under the weight of the flames, the weight of everything collapsing. It had been a trap. Of course, it had been. But he had no choice. The risk was necessary.

And now he has paid the price.

Few days before

Gradually, routine returns to your life. The festivities are over, the beginning of the year has been wonderful. Going to the New Year's market with Sylus has been a good way to see how your relationship has changed. The feelings you have for him have been consolidated. You accept them and welcome them, letting the beautiful and sparks fill your chest with warmth, tenderness and love.

As you made the lanterns together you remembered every adventure you've shared with him. The search for the lost gem, being sucked into a protocore to a far away place. The trip to the mountains or to the lost oasis. You smile in a daze. You've spent so much time with Sylus, that returning home alone is strange. Lying on the bed, you remember how he struggled to shower at your place. Making a mess in the bathroom. That was just the first step to letting him into your territory, not only speaking about your apartament. Your holy sanctuary. That night of secrecies. You couldn't let him go, that night your whole body and mind wanted to make him stay. You sigh as you remember his lips, the heat between you two, the melting feeling to become one. You hug the big crow plush laying next to you on the bed, it smells like him. So comforting. Now, without him around, you’re deeply sure that being with him makes your life funnier, kind of dangerous but strangely full of new emotion.

However, not everything is honey-coated and perfect. Your face changes, your stomach hurts, and you lay on your side as you remember your mission in Skyhaven. Caleb. You want to throw up. He lied to you, in the cruelest way possible.

Although you wish with all your heart that Caleb had his good reasons, something doesn't add up. The explosion definitely happened. The Fleet and everything around it is a black box. A void, like Caleb. He came back so different… You haven't talked about it at all. He must have a reason to hide things from you, locking you up in his apartment. That wasn’t nearly how you had him in memory. Worst of all, you can't just go to Zayne and tell him: “Oh by the way Caleb isn't dead”. You can already picture his face, not sure if he should prescribe you pills or send you to psychiatry. Making maybe at the beginning a dry joke or something. Zayne would pinch his nose before removing his glasses. Trying to figure out if you’re really serious about it or you haven't fully accepted Caleb's death. Either way, if Zayne believed you, his reaction would be just as stoic as ever. What you can't know is that beneath that icy, overly professional manner of dealing with you, he feels a deep affection for you. Ever since you met. That affection would make him get into a big fight with Caleb.

Oh, and how about explaining this to Sylus? He would believe you right away but at the same time, he would be probably looking for a way to make Caleb pay for his action. If those two ever met, it could be the end of the world. Seeing how Caleb is now and how overprotective he is with you. He would probably not like it one bit that you're dating the most wanted man in the galaxy. And thinking about how much Sylus doesn't like people messing with you…and how he usually treats his enemies. Very bad idea, very, very bad idea. Honestly speaking that would be a fight to see who has the biggest cock. The Farspace Fleet's Colonel vs Onychinus's Leader. Place your bets on who will be the last one standing.

You are tense, tired and helpless. The whole thing just gives you a headache. Caleb has texted you a few times after New Year. He showed up a few times but it was still weird. That's it. You sit up on the bed, you look out of the window, it’s raining. Somehow he always brings a storm into your life. It doesn't matter if he comes back or if he is leaving. You truly wish you could trust him, like you used to. A tear rolls down your cheek. You breathe in deeply, trying to hold back all the emotions.

A notification pops up on your phone. You wipe the tears from your face.

“How are you doing? We haven't seen each for a while” You smile at Tara’s message, quickly typing a reply.

“Good, just trying to survive this weather. Feels like it’s been forever since we last spoke. You back from your family’s place yet?”

She responds almost immediately.

“Yeah! Just got back yesterday. It was nice, but chaotic as always. What about you?”

You hesitate for a moment before replying.

“Nothing too special these days”

Tara, of course, sees right through you.

“Nothing? Girl, that answer is screaming ‘I’m hiding something.’ Spill."

You roll your eyes, but your fingers hover over the keyboard. You could tell her about Sylus—about how you ended up together, the teasing, the tension, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. But you feel like it isn't the moment.

"There’s nothing to spill 🥱"

“Mhm. Sure. You definitely didn’t spend time with someone who makes you all flustered and stupidly heart-eyed♥."

You: "I don’t get flustered😖"

Tara: So you were with him!!!

You groan, rolling onto your stomach and burying your face in your pillow before typing back.

You: "That’s not what I said."

Tara: "You didn’t deny it either."

She’s relentless. You can practically hear the smugness through the screen.

Tara: "Oh, pleaaase. You are so gone for him. It’s painful to watch. Let's have fun this Friday, and share the tea with me. Girls Night!😘

A distraction. That’s what you needed. Something to pull you out of your own head, away from the tangled thoughts of Caleb and the mess that had been occupying too much space lately. Maybe just enjoying the fact that Tara is back, you have Sylus and work isn’t too stressful since your mission in Skyhaven.

You exhale tiredly, relaxing your body a little and you type back a quick "Fine, fine. Girls’ night it is."

You toss your phone aside. If you keep this up, your thoughts will consume you. You need to rest, relax and disconnect, even if it's just for one night. You know full well that if it becomes too much, you can always return to the base. Lose yourself in assembling and disassembling illegal weapons, listen to the stories behind each stolen gem, or simply sink into the sound of a classic vinyl record.

But that would mean pretending, and you don’t have the energy for that either. So you stay. You stay in the solitude of your apartment, listening to the spring storm getting closer, raindrops tapping against your window.

The nightmares keep coming—fragments of memories slipping through your mind, haunting you in the quiet hours of the night. You toss and turn, drenched in cold sweat, your chest tightening with an unease you can’t shake.

That day, you walked behind Caleb. Why does he always look at you like that? Like you’re some helpless animal.

“We’ve been outside for too long. Gran’s going to be worried” he says. You sigh, arguing with him a little longer. He worries too much. You’re an adult now, you can handle yourself. You’re one of the best in your squad—you don’t need protection.

Caleb shakes his head. “Since you’re grown up now, I won’t cover for you this time” he closed the door and with that a huge explosion knocked you off.

You wake up gasping. Your hands tremble as you press them to your face, trying to ground yourself in reality. But the memory is so vivid now, more than it ever was before. Because he’s alive. But he shouldn’t be. You went to his funeral. You grieved. You cried for weeks, drowning yourself in work, chasing leads that led to dead ends. Searching, desperate, for any explanation that made sense. You were lucky to just have a few bruises and scratches, but you still don't know how you survived that.

Is still raining outside.

Friday arrives, and with that, the bass thrums through the air, a hypnotic pulse that sinks into your bones. The music is loud, almost overwhelming, but it pulls you in, makes you move without thinking. The crowd around you sways in sync, bodies pressed close, some dancing, some lost in their own world. Flashes of blue and red lights sweep over the dance floor, catching glimpses of flushed faces, sweaty skin, and wide, dilated pupils. Laughter and shouts mix with the heavy bass, but it’s all just background noise. You let the rhythm take over, moving to the music, feeling lighter with every beat. The shots you took earlier are kicking in, smoothing out the tension in your mind, making everything feel a little more distant, a little easier.

You're not here to drink yourself into oblivion, this isn’t about forgetting. But Tara knows you too well. She’s been sliding shot after shot of tequila your way, a knowing glint in her eyes. She’s not being subtle. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

Tequila loosens your tongue.

And Tara? She’s waiting. Watching for that moment when your guard slips, when the alcohol smooths out the edges of your thoughts just enough for you to say what you wouldn’t sober.

You slightly stumble into the bathroom, Tara right behind you. The pounding bass from the dance floor fades into a dull thrum. You grip the edge of the sink, taking a deep breath, using the cold water to clean the sweat of your neck.

"So," she starts, dragging out the word. "Are you going to tell me?"

You blink at her. "Tell you what?"

Tara tilts her head, exhaling like she’s dealing with a particularly slow student. "Skye. That ridiculously handsome fruit entrepreneur you’re definitely fucking aaand… you’re in love with?" She smirks. "That. Talk to me."

You hang your head in shame. Tara can read you like an open book. She’s not stupid. Sweet? Sure. Cheerful? Most of the time. But when she wants the truth, she has a way of digging it out of you, whether you like it or not.

"Fine, fine…" you mumble, rubbing your temples as if that’ll somehow erase the tequila-induced haze clouding your brain. "I have…" You trail off, searching for the right word like it might magically appear on the bathroom wall. Tara arches a brow, waiting. "...Something with him" you finally admit, the words tasting both bitter and sweet.

"I knew it" Tara says triumphantly, a smirk spreading across her face. But then, her expression softens. "But… there’s something more, right? Is he treating you well?"

Your instinct is to brush it off, to tell her everything is fine. Perfect, even. But you hesitate, and that tiny moment of silence is enough for Tara to catch on. Her smirk fades as she studies your face.

"Hey," she says gently. "What’s wrong?"

You shake your head quickly, swallowing the lump forming in your throat. You don’t want to cry. Not here. Not now.

"I’m fine with Skye, really. I’m fine." you insist, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. "Emm… It’s not about him… I don’t… I don’t want to talk about it."

Tara doesn’t look convinced.

"You can always talk to me, you know that?" Tara says softly, her voice free of judgment, just warmth.

Before you can respond, she pulls you into a long hug, wrapping her arms around you tightly. The kind of hug that makes your chest ache, like it’s holding together all the cracks you’ve been ignoring. For a second, you let yourself sink into it. Eyes closed, fists gripping the back of her jacket. You don’t say anything because if you do, you might break. You just want to forget for a moment, so you put on your best smile.

You step out of the club with Tara, your laughter spilling into the crisp night air as you imitate the ridiculous guy who’d tried—laughably—to hit on both of you at the same time. The absurdity of it still had your sides aching. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed this, the chaos, the rhythm, the freedom of letting go. Your feet ache from hours of dancing, but it's the kind of satisfying pain, the kind that comes from having fun. You glance down at your feet, sighing a little, but when you look back up, Tara's already pulling out her phone, tapping away at a text with that familiar, sly smile.

"Good night! Come home safe, you hear? she says, giving you a playful wink before stepping back with a wave.

You smile back, tilting your head to the side. "Night, Tara. We need to do this more often."

Her laugh rings out, light and warm, as she taps out one final text before slipping her phone back into her bag. She spins on her heel, her stride confident as she calls over her shoulder, "Oh, trust me, we will."

You decide to walk a few streets down, hoping the cool night air will help ease the alcohol still remaining in your system. The city around you buzz with the low sounds of late-night life—cars passing, distant conversations, and the occasional siren. You pull your jacket tighter around you, enjoying the peace after the chaos of the club.

As you walk, you briefly think about calling Sylus. It’s late, though, but you figure he’s probably busy with his usual late-night reading or, more likely, handling some shady business—being the leader he is. A smirk tugs at your lips.

You glance down at the bracelet with the cursed gem, remembering the hunt in the N109 Zone. The gem had caused so much trouble, but you couldn’t help but laugh at the memory of Sylus swearing he had "lost" it. He really has no luck when it comes to keeping things, does he?

The thought of him—his unwavering confidence, the rare softness he reserves only for you—warms you from the inside out, like the memory of his hand brushing against your hand, your cheek and finally all over your body.

You shake your head with a quiet chuckle, a mixture of fondness and comfort washing over you. Sylus has a way of consuming your mind without even trying. It’s maddening, really. But in moments like this, you don’t fight it. You let yourself savor the pull he has on you, that magnetic connection you both share.

Maybe you’re finally ready to tell him how you feel. You haven’t said those tree teeny-tiny words that are always on your lips. Is undeniably to say that what you two have is certainly a relationship. The thought sends a flicker of nervous energy through you, but it’s one you can’t push away any longer. After all, you’ve declared it already—in your own, complicated way. The matching bracelets might as well be a couple's tokens, a declaration sealed by the ominous phrase you both had exchanged: “Live together and die together.”

Your fingers graze the gem on the bracelet, its surface cool against your skin. The memory of the moment flashes brightly in your mind. Sylus’s eyes, deep and endless like the gem itself, holding this mix of tenderness and affection. He had looked at you in a way that made your breath catch, and though he hadn’t said much, the subtle shift in his expression told you everything you needed to know. He was happy. Happy to share the „curse“ and whatever else might come with it, as long as it was with you. At that moment, you wanted to kiss him so bad.

You laugh softly to yourself, shaking your head again. Nothing about Sylus is ever quite normal—not the way he plans, not the way he cares, not even the way he agrees to wear such trinkets like it’s a love note. But that’s okay. In fact, it’s more than okay. It’s him.

So much has changed since that snowy night. Despite the low temperature outside and the way the snow piled heavily on the ground, you felt warm—warmer than ever on a winter night. Your territories merged into one, his skin became yours, and yours became his. The cold was forgotten as his touch anchored you, the world outside fading until only he remained.

During the festivities, creating lanterns for the New Year, in your new complicity. You have almost forgotten the mission you both went after that snowy night.

„I don't need to mention that you always surprise me, sweetie.“ Sylus smiles at you from the passenger seat.

You smile back, the satisfaction of your plans falling into place shining in your eyes. "It’s what I do best" you reply confidently, earning a soft suppressed laugh from him.

Sylus shakes his head lightly, his sharp red eyes glinting with intrigue. "Go on, tell me what you’ve figured out, my bold hunter" he prompts, leaning back in his seat, clearly enjoying your moment of triumph as much as you are. Your fingers tighten slightly around the steering wheel as you prepare to unveil your findings.

It’s only when the faint scuff of a step echoes behind you, too close to be ignored, that the spell of your thoughts breaks. The warmth in your chest cools instantly, replaced by the sharp edge of awareness. You glance over your shoulder, the street seems empty. Either way, you pick up the pace, your footsteps quickening on the sidewalk. That nagging feeling won’t go away. Someone’s definitely following you.

You keep your pace steady, trying to stay calm, but your hand instinctively moves towards where your weapon would be. It’s not there. Dammit. You left it at home. Of course, the security guy at the club wouldn’t have let you in with it. You click your tongue in frustration. You wanted a simple, easy night. Instead, you're walking through dark streets, being stalked like some damn prey. Surely that moron from the club is stalking you now, for letting him down. This drunk dipshit has no scruples whatsoever. The last thing you need is a confrontation. You can’t help but feel the adrenaline start to pump, trying to spot whosoever tailing you.

You whip around into a side street, your heart pounding. You peek over your shoulder again, the unease turning to full-blown anxiety. But as you turn to face forward, a hard, sudden impact knocks you off your feet. Pain erupts across your face, and you stagger back, knees buckling as the world tilts dangerously. Blood trickles down your cheek, hot and sticky.

A low laugh follows you, cruel and mocking. "We got you, honey... Be good, and don’t make any sound."

Before you can even react, something heavy slams against the back of your head, your vision spins out of control. The darkness takes over, pulling you under like a wave. Sylus... Hardly able to hold onto the thought as everything goes black for a moment.

"Hey! Are you stupid or something!? The boss said she should arrive in one piece" The big guy that punched you, swings out to hit the other guy in the face. "You!" He turned to the third man in a raincoat "Throw her in the truck, we're leaving".

The big guy spits on the ground, wiping his knuckles with the back of his hand, his face twisted in irritation. He shoots a glare at the third man, who's standing off to the side, clearly unsure of what to do.

"Get moving, asshole" the big guy growls. "Don't make me repeat myself."

Raincoat guy, a little skittish but obedient, steps forward and grabs your arm, yanking you to your feet with surprising strength. You barely register the movement, your head spinning, everything still hazy from the second blow you took. The world around you seems to blur and twist as they drag you along the alley, the sounds of their voices muffled as if coming from underwater.

"It wasn’t easy to get you" the big guy mutters, his tone low as they push you toward a black truck parked at the end of the street. "But.. It seems that today is our lucky day." The cold metal of the truck presses against your face as you slip completely into unconsciousness. You feel your hands being tied roughly. It hurts. You don't even have the strength to scream. The world fades away, leaving only the faintest whisper of the crow's caw ecos in your mind before everything goes dark.

Under the red moon in the N109 Zone, in one of the many locales under Onychinus's control, stood an opulent lounge hidden within the skeleton of an old industrial building. Polished black marble floors gleamed under the warm glow of crystal chandeliers, their light dancing across walls adorned with intricate carvings and rich velvet accents.

A long bar of dark wood stretched across one side of the room, lined with bottles of the finest spirits from across the world. Plush leather seating circled low tables, each arranged for privacy and comfort. The faint hum of classical music played in the background, a stark yet intentional contrast to the lawless chaos that marked the rest of the zone.

Sylus glanced at the cards in his hand, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he discarded one and leaned back in his armchair. On the table in front of him, cards, chips, and a half-full glass of whiskey were laid out in a casual arrangement that belied the tension in the air. The dim lights of the room flickered over his sharp features, creating shadows that only accentuated his calm, confident demeanor. His eyes flicked briefly to the clock on the wall. It was late, but that didn't matter. The game had its own rhythm, its own flow. Time was just another tool in Sylus’s arsenal.

The men —business associates, lackeys, and rivals alike— around the table exchanged words about profits and threats, the usual back-and-forth of business. Sylus sat at the head, his posture relaxed yet commanding, fingers loosely gripping the edge of his glass. To anyone watching, he looked completely in control, nodding at the right moments, his sharp eyes betraying nothing. But the truth is, he wasn’t really listening. His mind was elsewhere.

He’d just finished dealing with a potential problem in one of the sectors—nothing that couldn’t be handled by the twins, but still, it had required his attention. Normally, his focus would remain on the next move, but tonight, his thoughts wandered.

He knew you’d be out tonight, enjoying yourself. Mephisto is taking an eye on you, even if he shouldn't be monitoring every time. But it is the best for both. And besides, you don't need to know everything he does to keep you safe. His jaw tightened slightly, and he forced himself to relax. The thought of you laughing, genuine and carefree, eased the tension in his chest. He wanted you here, with him. The room’s dim light, the murmur of voices, the ever-present hum of danger, it all felt less significant compared to the idea of you.

He imagines you sitting on his lap, dancing in the shower, looking at him with that sweet smile laying next to him…makes Sylus want to leave immediately, setting everything on fire. Burning the whole fucking planet down if that’s keeping him from going back to you. Especially after that sublime night when you finally fell into his arms, when you finally said yes to him. The memory of your sweet whimpers replayed in his mind, again and again. The way you called his name in soft whispers is a melody he couldn’t forget.

The lascivious sound that emanates through the silence of the room, the rustle of the sheet under your skin, the slight creaking of the bed as Sylus thrust his cock inside you, a symphony that he wishes would not stop.

“Sy..Sylus” you moan. “More...”

“As you wish."

Each movement, each shift of his body against yours, sends a wave of heat through him, making it harder to stay composed. His muscles tighten with every gasp and every whimper that comes from you. Your fingers pulling at his silver hair, it's like adding fuel to the fire.

Sylus took a discreet, deep breath, forcing himself to keep his composure. His dick is already reacting to the thought of your naked body. That night and all the others he has spent with you, have been the ones in which he has slept most peacefully. In his built fortress where he can have you all to himself, away from the dangerous world, where every second person wants to kill him. And in those moments, the chains of anxiety, loneliness and fear vanish with every smile you give him. He still doesn’t understand how, despite everything he did to you in the beginning—kidnapping you, forcing you to resonate with him—you still choose him.

He would never have imagined that in this opportunity that the universe has given him, he would actually have you for himself. He doesn’t want to be selfish or let greed consume him, but it’s not enough. He waited so long, so painfully long. Every second he doesn't spend with you is another second wasted in his semi-mortal life that he has. The desire to feel your love forever, your hand gently caressing his hair, drowns him.

He needs to call you after this—no, perhaps he would come to you instead. Maybe pick you up wherever you were or better yet, slip into your apartment and fall asleep beside you, where he belonged.

His phone vibrated, a notification lighting up the screen. His gaze flinched to it briefly, a part of him wondering if it was you. Perhaps you wanted to share some late-night thought or even indulge in one of those rare moments of vulnerability you let slip with him. The idea of hearing your voice, even through the static of a call, pulled all his attention.

As soon as he unlocked the screen, his smirk faltered just for a fraction of a second. His eyes narrowed as the footage played. The image on the screen was unmistakable: you, stumbling, disoriented, your silhouette outlined in the harsh glow of streetlights. A group of bastards surrounded you, their movements quick and methodical as they shoved you half unconscious toward the back of a truck. His fingers tightened around the phone, the faintest crack of pressure whispering through the room as his grip betrayed his calm exterior. For a moment his Evol expands around him, the crimson mist charged with energy could have killed everyone in the room in an eyeblink.

Sylus’s expression turned dark, cold and lethal. A surge of bloodlust coursed through him—the calculated rage that always ignited when someone dared to lay a hand on his treasures. And in this moment the greatest treasure is you. The men at the table, sensing the shift in the room, grew tense. The air felt heavier, thick with the wordless fear of being in Sylus’s presence when his mood changed. The conversations died down, and even the bravest of them hesitated to make eye contact with him. Everyone in this room knew Sylus’s reputation. They’d seen or heard stories of what happened to those who crossed him. And they knew very well that, while his vengeance is swift, it is the aftermath that was truly terrifying. Feeling the weight of his anger was to face something worse than death itself.

Sylus tapped his fingers against the table like a countdown to doomsday. His mind raced through possibilities, contingencies, and plans he’d already set in motion to ensure your safety. He’d anticipated countless threats, prepared for a hundred scenarios. But this? This wasn’t business. This was personal.

Taking you couldn’t be just an arbitrary coincidence. You weren’t an easy target, not with the layers of protection he has placed around you. No, this was intentional. Someone had been watching, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Finally, he broke the sepulchral silence making the men feel the air grow colder around them. “Excuse me, gentlemen. It appears I have… more urgent matters to attend to.”

He stood slowly, his eyes scanning the room one last time. None dared meet his gaze, their fear as tangible as the tension in the air. They knew Sylus wouldn’t merely retaliate—he’d destroy whoever had dared to piss him off. Making them pay the price in the most painful, unforgettable way possible. They had unknowingly signed their own death warrants.

As Sylus reached for his coat, his phone buzzed again. He glanced at the screen—coordinates update of Mephisto position. He stepped out into the dimly lit hallway where Luke and Kieran waited. Both men straightened immediately, their usual confidence replaced with a cautious tension. They could sense it.

Luke spoke up, cautious, "Boss..."

Sylus didn’t even spare him a glance. He didn’t need to. Sylus shoved his phone into Luke's hand, the grainy clip of you being hauled into a truck playing in grim silence. His voice was low and cutting as he stepped forward.

"It’s hunting season," Sylus said coolly. Both stiffened. "I want a name. I don’t care who you have to hurt to get it." His eyes flicked between them, daring either of them to question him. They knew exactly what it meant: no one was safe. Every shred of mercy Sylus might have offered was off the table.

Kieran gave a sharp nod, already in motion. “We’ll find out who’s behind this, boss.”

Sylus’s lips curved into a smug smile. “Make sure you do. If anyone’s stupid enough to get in the way…” He let the threat hang in the air.

------------------

Your mind slowly clears, but the pain in your head and the taste of blood in your mouth make it hard to focus. You try to move, but something isn’t right. A sudden panic flares inside you as you realize your hands are bound. You attempt to shift your position, trying to find a way to free your hands, but there’s no give. The bindings are too tight biting into your skin, and your fingers are numb from the position they’re forced into. A curse escapes your lips.

A dim light flickers beneath the door, throwing unsettling shadows across the cold, concrete floor. The emergency light above you hums softly, its steady drone amplifying the oppressive silence that surrounds you. You swallow hard, the metallic taste of blood lingering in the back of your throat. It’s hard to think clearly with your head pounding like this, but one thing is certain: you need to get out of here.

Frustration rises inside you, the feeling of being trapped and powerless threatening to drown you. Your body hurts, each movement is an aching twinge through your limbs, but you refuse to stay down. You try to sit up, darkness creeping at the edges of your vision while your head is spinning. For a moment, the world tilts dangerously, and you think you might pass out again. You take a shaky breath, forcing your body to obey. Slowly you manage to sit up against the wall.

With all the training you have had, even the session with Sylus or Xavier, nothing has prepared you for this. Being in pain and injured makes every mission hundred percent more dangerous, that's for sure. Now your body feels heavy and weak. You don’t know how long you’ve been out, but every minute you stay here, the situation gets worse.

“Where the hell am I?” you mutter to yourself, voice hoarse. No windows, no clues. No phone, no gun. The possibility of being found... It will be hours before anyone notices you've disappeared. Your breath catches as the realization hits: whoever brought you here isn’t planning on letting you go anytime soon. The thought makes your stomach churn. You shake it off. You can't afford to panic. The nice clothes you had put on for this trouble-free night are dirty, your socks torn. They've even left you barefoot. You try to hold back your tears. It seems that life loves to see you in these situations. Like seriously, how many times have you been so kidnapped already? This is the third time, if you count Caleb looking at you in his apartment and Sylus three days in his basement. Even if you believe you should have been stronger, this isn’t on you.

What is this shit about!?

After a while, the door swings open and a big guy comes in. The light from the hallway is bothering your eyes, making it hard to see the man clearly. He's not very tall, rather broad, wearing a shirt that's too tight for his body. He looks like some rich idiot's lackey. God, how you hate this. The smell of tobacco is definitely coming from him, but the smell of disinfectant comes from somewhere else. You try to pick behind the silhouette who is approaching you.

"Wow, wow, look at that. Did you sleep well, princess?" he says with a mocking tone making your skin crawl. You press yourself harder against the cold wall, instinctively trying to make yourself smaller.

You glare up at him, forcing your voice to stay steady despite the surge of anger and fear in your chest. "Who are you?" you ask, but your words are tinged with more insecurity then you want to admit. “What do you want?”

He grins, kneeling in front of you like a predator sizing up its prey. The mockery in his smile is unbearable, and his words only make the situation worse.

"Oh, nothing" he says, the smell of your mouth makes you nauseous. "We just needed a bait." You manage to spit the rest of the blood on the floor, your eyes locking onto him with defiance. "Even with your damaged face you look beautiful. I understand why he has you around.” Your stomach turns, but you fight the urge to recoil as he reaches toward your face. “I'm sure you suck him well off with that little mouth." You twist your head away, shaking his hand off with a quick, forceful movement. You breathe heavily and the pain in your head hits you again.

His malicious laughter has a sickening sound. "No need to be shy, princess. We know all about you."

You laugh trying to hide every piece of fear in you. “Oh... Entlight me”

“The untouchable Leader of Onychinus has a weak spot, his Achilles heel…” The man sneers. “A sexy hunter. ”His eyes glint with amusement as he leans in. “In other words... You” The words hit you hard, like a punch to the stomach.

“Achilles heel?” you ask with sarcasm. “I wish. So, you just know that I'm a Hunter trying to imprison him? Wow, great job, big boy. You really cracked the code, didn’t you?” You let out a soft, mocking laugh, leaning back against the cold wall as if his words mean nothing to you. Your heart is hammering in your chest, your ears are ringing because of the anxiety you’re feeling. Let him think you’re a regular Hunter. Nothing more. Let him underestimate you. The more he thinks you’re helpless, the better your chances of escaping this twisted game they’ve dragged you into.

He doesn’t seem amused. "Oh, I see," he sneers, his eyes narrowing as he leans in closer, his breath hot against your face. If he gets any closer, you might just throw up on him. "Playing dumb little girl, huh? Cute." He pauses for a moment. Checking your expression. "You think we don’t know who you really are? You’re not fooling anyone."

“Do you always talk this much, or are you just enjoying the sound of your own voice?” you counter, your words sharper now. It’s a gamble, but anything to keep your composure.

His eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn't seem fazed. If anything, his smirk widens at your resistance. "You’re a tough one. I like that. You are one of those that are more fun to break" he says, his tone makes you shiver. He stood up and grabbed you by your hair, throwing you into the middle of the room. You scream. He approaches you while rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. "Oh, yeah, I will have fun with you before the others can." He kicks you in the stomach, and you scream in pain. "Don't worry I won't kill you."

You just feel bumps all around your body, you don't know how much time passed but it felt like an eternity. The pain is everywhere, you try to protect yourself somehow but there is no way. You are completely at its mercy. The taste of blood fills your mouth and finally when he stops you throw up: the tequila shots, the drinks and your dinner. The deep laughter tells you it's over. The door swings shut behind him, the sound of the lock clicking into place echoing in the room and with that the silence follows.

Sylus...

You fall unconscious again, everything hurts.

------------------

"Speak" Sylus commands, his voice low and clipped, as he stands in the armory, carefully selecting the weapon he'll need. Luke and Kieran finally return after two hours.

"There’s a man, goes by Rudy," Luke begins, breaking the silence. "Seems he’s been conspiring against you for a while."

Sylus exhales sharply, a frustrated sigh escaping him. "Not that jerk," he mutters under his breath. Rudy was one of those insufferable enemies you can have. At best, you could ignore him and hope he didn’t get too out of hand, but it was always a risk. He was a horrible man—too much alcohol, drugs, and cigarettes, with more money than sense. A nobody with delusions of grandeur. His greatest desire was to dethrone Sylus and take control of the N109 Zone. The last bastard who tried that, is dead.

However, the last time Sylus had to deal with that human waste, things went a bit awry. Rudy tried to interfere in a protocore transaction a few months ago, where Sylus gave him a first and last warning, not to interfere in his business. Rudy didn’t take it well, of course. That mission was when you managed to get the plane tickets to go with him. Despite all his efforts to keep you safe, you always found a way to stand by his side. During the mission, Rudy must have memorized your face. Sylus never brought anyone but the twins into his business. He tries to keep out of the mess but… You taught him a good lesson, kicking Rudy’s ass when he tried to attack you, you managed to dodge and knock him to the ground with ease. His beloved is such a fierce hunter.

"And...?" he placed some weapons on the table and the ammunition boxes.

"He’s the one who kidnapped Miss Hunter," Kieran adds, his tone tense. "It’s definitely a trap. He must know that you... have feelings for her."

Sylus’s eyes narrow, his jaw tightening at the mention of that fact. He knew exactly what Rudy was capable of, but to dare mess with him directly—kidnapping you... He should have killed him right then and there. But now, hearing the confirmation of what Rudy had done, Sylus’s grip tightens around the weapon in his hand. The anger surging through him is sharper, more dangerous than it had been before, and no amount of control can suppress it.

The hours of waiting was almost a waste of time. Sylus knows that the twins surely tried his best to bring the information to him, as soon as possible. You could be dead by now. He tried to erase the idea from his head. Mephisto lost track of your kidnappers in a remote area, it seems there is an electromagnetic field. However rushing in blindly, without the proper intel, would be reckless. Sylus was never reckless. He won’t let this go. This time, he’ll make sure Rudy learns the true cost of crossing him.

“There’s something…” Luke started. Sylus’s phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with an unknown number. He picks it up without hesitation, his voice cold and dismissive as he answers.

"Mister Sylus! My old friend!" The voice on the other end is smug, dripping with false camaraderie.

"Cut the crap, Rudy" Sylus snaps, his patience already wearing thin. He leans against the armory wall, his hand gripping the phone with the same tension he holds his weapon.

"Oh, come on now" Rudy laughs, his voice thick with arrogance. "That’s how you greet an old friend? Don’t be so harsh..."

"I don’t have time for this shit" Sylus growls, his eyes narrowing as he listens to Rudy’s infuriating tone.

"Ah, ah, ah… Be nice." Rudy continues, almost gleefully "I have something of yours. I wouldn’t mind giving it back, but... I want something in return."

He straightens, his posture sharp as steel. "Where is she?"

Rudy chuckles, clearly enjoying the tension. "Impatient as always. She’s... fine." There is a pause. "Say something sweetheart." Sylus freezes as he hears your voice, faint but unmistakable in the background.

His mind flickers with a clear dark scenery: Rudy’s lifeless body, each limb meticulously severed, his blood-streaked remains scattered in the ocean to be forgotten by the world. He doesn't usually take the time to torture any of his enemies, but he would take all the time in the world for Rudy. Disintegrating his body with his Evol wouldn't give him the satisfaction he needs. He can already picture the slow, torturous death he’ll deliver, every cut precise, every moment a lesson in regret.

"Don't touch me you asshole—!"

There’s a scream, followed by a sharp scuffle, and then the sound of you biting him. Rudy curses under his breath, but Sylus can’t help but smile—if only for a split second. At least you still have some fight left in you. It’s a small victory in the middle of a much larger storm.

“Rudy” he says, his voice dropping to an almost deadly whisper. “You really don’t understand what you’ve done.”

On the other end of the line, Rudy laughs again, the sound grating against Sylus’s nerves. “Oh, but I think I do. You see, Mister Sylus, I’ve been watching you for a while now. You’ve got a weakness, and she’s absolutely delightful. I’m just making the most of it.”

Sylus doesn’t respond immediately. “I’ll give you one chance. Tell me where she is, and maybe I’ll make your death quick.”

“Always so violent,” Rudy replies mockingly. “You think I’m stupid enough to tell you that? No, no, no. This isn’t a negotiation. You give me what I want, and I’ll consider giving her back. Whole, even.”

The sound of your muffled voice cuts through the conversation again, and for a brief second, Sylus’s mask of control slips. His teeth clench, his jaw tight, as he stares at the weapons lining the armory wall.

“You’re running out of time,” Sylus growls, the dark promise in his tone chilling. “Do you know what happens to people who touch what’s mine?”

Rudy laughs, though it’s tinged with a nervous edge. “Oh, I know exactly what happens. But... You’re not in control this time.”

Sylus just smirks, his free hand brushing over the handle of a blade.

"What do you want?"

Rudy’s tone shifts, the mockery giving way to cold calculation, his words laced with greed. “You know what I want. The Aether Core. I want it delivered to me, and if I don’t get it... well, let’s just say things will get very uncomfortable for your precious little bird.”

Sylus’s jaw clenches at the mention of the Aether Core. That cursed artifact—the very thing he’d gone to great lengths to bury, to keep out of the hands of people like Rudy. It wasn’t just dangerous; it was catastrophic in the wrong hands. And he? He was the embodiment of “wrong hands.”

For months, Rudy had been sniffing around for it, pushing boundaries, threatening allies, but Sylus had always stayed one step ahead. Now, it seems he has finally found the leverage he needed to force him into a corner. He knew the Aether Core couldn’t fall into Rudy’s grasp. The devastation it could unleash wasn’t just Sylus’s problem—it was a threat to everyone. The thought of you... Sylus mind paused for a moment. Is true that he has it, you both rescued that thing in the last mission. If Rudy is just asking about that one, it means he doesn't know about your Aether Core in your body. Sylus click is tough, that would give him more time but you're still in danger.

“Tick tock, Mister S.” Rudy teased, breaking the silence. “I give you, let me think, ten no... eight, let's do four hours to decide. Bring me what I want, or I’ll start sending you little pieces of her. Maybe I’ll start with a finger... or should I play a bit with that mouth she has? I haven’t decided yet.”

Sylus’s vision blurred for a second, red with rage. He took a slow, steadying breath, forcing himself to stay composed.

“You're dead by tomorrow.”

“Oh, I'm shaking.” Rudy replied smugly. “Don’t make me wait.”

The line went dead, but Sylus didn’t lower the phone right away. His hand trembled, not with fear but with the force of his restrained ire. He turned toward Luke and Kieran, who had been standing silently, their expressions grim.

“We need the location” Sylus barked, his voice sharp as a blade. “Now.”

Kieran nodded, already pulling out his device to track Mephisto. Luke looked at Sylus, his face tense. “Boss, what's the plan?”

Sylus’s eyes darkened, a murderous glint in them. “Tonight, we’ll put on quite the show. Bring everything—I’m going to destroy that worthless bastard and the filth he calls his empire.”

He picks up his leader jacket from the back of the chair and slips it on, his mind already running through the details. There’s no room for mistakes. Not this time.

"We’re going to meet him." Sylus says finally, his voice is colder than ever. "Get ready.”

“Yes, boss!” They say in unison.

Luke paused for a moment before speaking. “But there is something else you need to know…”

A/N: To be honest, I was nervous about releasing this. I hope I could live up to expectations and give you a good show. I had a lot of fun writing this. It's complex, as I've already mentioned, and I'm not used to long stories—let alone ones in this category. Next chapter in 2 weeks.

If you have the time, leave me a comment. I would love to hear your feedback.

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