#body check up Singapore

[stargirlo]

whatever she wants ♡.

your boyfie luvs spoiling you with his money! and he doesn't care if he maxes out his credit card just by spending money on the stuff that you want to buy. he just wants to see his pretty girl happy, that's all. his love language is gift giving, so why not show his love to you by showering you with designer bags and red bottoms?

you're always whining about how he shouldn't give you this many stuff, even if it wasn't a special occasion. but he insists, who is going to stop him?

need your nails done? check, appointment is already made. you're craving oysters? the reservation is booked. want to be on the highest floor of a five-star hotel in singapore? prepare for the breathtaking view baby. your birkin bag is getting old? the order is at your doorstep. need a new tiffany and co bracelet? get in the car and lets buy you a new one.

honestly he knows every clothing brand that you like because he has a list of your wants and needs. whenever you say something like "this sundress is cute." or "these tory burch sandals would go with this, yeah?" he would instantly take note of it and buy it for you the next day. this man is tiring, but you absolutely adore him. not because of his money, but because of the way he treats you.

he treats you with full on royalty, as if you were his queen, in which, you already are. so, you can't help but give him your thanks to him for doing all these things.

"f-fuck baby, is this your thanks f'me..?" he dryly chuckles, slenders fingers slipping through your well styled hair, to which it was ruined by how tight he's gripping your fucking scalp. ouchie.

you nodded eagerly, sucking him off like your life depended on it. moans vibrated against his cock, letting his body jolt in absolute pleasure. he threw his head back, letting you have your way on his cock as it snuggles deep down your warm and tight throat. he can't help but buck his hips upwards into your throat, a stifled moan bubbling through his gritted teeth. a sweat rolls down his forehead, eyebrows knit together as he looks down at the gorgeous view of you being between his legs and sucking his cock to oblivion.

"ye'r such a slut y'know t-that . . . shit-" he hissed in pleasure, inhaling sharply before letting out a groan. your thighs rubbed together, trying to reach out for some friction for yourself while you gave your precious boyfriend a blow job. he lets out a string of curses and praises, murmuring something about how he's going to ruin your pussy after this, and it only turned you on further, feeling a wet patch on your victoria secret thong.

suddenly, you withdrew from his cock, watching a thin string of spit connect from his cock and to your glossy lips. you looked up at him teary-eyed, your plump lips turning into a small "o" shape as you let out shallow breaths. "what's wrong baby? dick t'much to take down ye'r throat?" he mocks, looking down at you with a sneer. how mean.

" 's okay sugar, daddy's gotcha . . . now c'mere," he pants, his pointer and ring finger beckoning you to crawl up his lap, and so you did. as you got yourself situated and comfortable on his lap, his cock occasionally rubbing against your soaked panties that was desperate to be fucked like a useless glory hole. his hands move under your skirt, pulling down the thong away as it revealed your hungry pussy to his eyes. it was glistening with your slick, and he was definitely going to have a field day with this slip 'n slide.

"you're so wet f'me, and all jus' by suckin' my dick." he chuckles, gripping your hips firmly and lifting it up with a subtle movement, just enough to feel the tip of his cock rubbing against your puffy 'n needy clit. you let out a short gasp, taking a hold on his shoulders as you looked down at the lewd scenery below you. "aht, aht sugar . . . look at me," he gently slaps your ass, bringing back your attention to him and looking at him directly. he murmurs a low "thereee we go." before sliding you down his cock, a high-pitched yelp eliciting from your lips.

his cock slides in further, deeper and deeper until you feel his cock fill you up to the hilt. you're now basically cockdrunk, and he hasn't done anything to make you be in this position yet. you babbled how he's "too big" and that "you're full" but he could only watch in awe. "shh, shh, look how soaked your pussy is . . . look at how easy it just slides in, aand out." he huffs, moving your hips with ease as the base of his cock slips in and out of your pussy, erupting a lewd squelch.

"now c'mon baby, show me how really thankful you are f'me . . ." his hands now let go of your hips, making you fully sit down on his cock as your pussy warms it up. your lips tug a small pout, his hands being placed behind his head as he raised a brow. his expression already spoke volumes on what he was going to say, so you tried your best to lift up your shaky hips and thighs as you worked your way into riding his cock.

let's just say he had to do most of the work later on :(

💌: gojo satoru, geto suguru, hiromi higuruma, chuuya nakahara, haitani brothers, sanzu haruchiyo, manjiro sano, shuji hanma, wakasa imaushi, rafe cameron, ++ your favs!!

[thedirtygridd]

THE DAY YOU BECAME LANDO’s TOY… 😈

WARNINGS - 18+, strong sexual content

Summary - Full of hot and sweaty Lando Norris….you’re just gonna want to read this one ;)

You received a notification From your phone, which was placed at the other side of the room at the time. You paced over to check who was messaging you, when you realised it was an Instagram direct message request from Lando Norris…You laughed to yourself. “What is lando doing trying to message me?” The f1 was in Singapore this weekend, and you were at the race a couple of hours ago, watching Lando himself celebrating on the podium…but now he was messaging you?

You wondered how he had found your Instagram, and why….as he didn’t even follow your account, nor had you ever met him personally.

You keenly opened the direct message and saw that it read “hey, you free?” He then added “could do with some company if ur around?” You could tell he was flirting with you, which was a huge shock at first. You couldn’t believe lando wanted you…more still, it seemed he wanted only one thing…

He was a couple of years younger than you, but you quite enjoyed the idea of having a slightly younger man…it turned you on. “don’t you have a girlfriend?” You responded. You were still wondering to yourself why he was messaging and where he had found your account. He was quick to reply. “I used to, not anymore. Free to play ;)” he added.

Soon after responding with that comment, he proceeded to liking a couple of your bikini pictures that you had posted on your account…“Now his intentions are clear” you thought to yourself while wondering what he might want to do to you…

“Are you not tired after the race?” You asked him. It was about midnight at this point.

“Meh I’m always up for meeting girls like u…but just a warning, I still haven’t showered after the race, unless u count a champagne shower…I’m a bit….sweaty” he replied

You bit your lip with anticipation. You had seen how sweaty he was after the race…he looked delicious. You wondered what he might taste like…

Before you could reply again he had sent another message saying he has organised a taxi to pick you up, and to be ready for it. You decided to go for it. You left your friends that you were with at the night club, and waited outside for the taxi to arrive.

When you arrived at the hotel he was staying at for the weekend. You went up to room 200, where he said he would be waiting. Knocked on the door, and waited. You were very nervous, but you hoped he would like the look of you in your tightly fit dress that you had chosen to wear, with black heels. You wanted to impress him. A few seconds later he opened the door, he stood there topless, and wet…you presumed still with sweat.

“hello, come in” he responded while sheepishly looking around to see if anyone had seen you enter. He closed the door behind you while inspecting your body up and down with his eyes. “Thanks for coming” he said You laughed nervously. You couldn’t believe what was happening. “You look fucking good” he added. “Why do you look so tired?” You added, before you even appreciated what he had said to you.

He did in fact look like he was panting, his topless chest had sweat dribbling down and his shoulders were glistening in the dim lights from the hotel room. “I’ve just been doing a mini wrist workout looking at some of your Instagram bikini pictures. ” he responded to your question, while giggling. “ oh and still a bit sweaty from F1 this evening, I still haven’t showered because I wanted to get back to my hotel” while saying this, he lifted up his arm to smell under his armpit briefly. “Yeah I am still a bit sweaty” he added. “But I’ll have a shower in a minute, because I was hoping to start another workout soon….” he bit his lip while his eyes wondered to your tanned legs and arse.

“You look even better than on your Instagram” he added. You blushed , you didn’t know what to say but returned the compliment back to him “you look good too, I quite like the sweaty look as well so don’t worry”“Haha!” He laughed “well I won’t worry about sweating All over you then” he joked…He moved over to a counter which had a small black outfit on top. He picked it up and passed it to you. “Put this on” he said. You took it in your hands, wondering what it was, when you realised. He had passed you a tiny lingerie outfit. “You want me to wear this?” You responded. He nodded and said he did. So you went into the bathroom and quickly changed. You looked at yourself in the mirror and thought how sexy you looked, you could see why he wanted you wearing it. When you walked back into the main room, Lando was sitting on the large leather sofa, he now had no clothes on and had his legs apart while he slowly touched his dick at the sight of you walking towards him.

The first thing you noticed was how large he was, you initially thought you didn’t know if you could take him…or at least all of him.Now that you were standing closer to him he was jerking his dick harder. “Turn around” he said “and bend over in front of me”

You did as he asked, bending over with your arse up in the air in front of him. You heard him stand up and step towards you. His fingers slowly brushed down the crack of your arse as he followed the string of lingerie that was covering you. You felt him move the string to one side before feeling his tongue and finger enter you. He entered both holes at the same time. His finger in your pussy, his tongue in your ass. You let out a groan in shock for what he was doing to you. A guy had never done both at the same time, and the feeling was incredible. You could hear his tongue sloshing around with all the juices you were giving him.

You felt your wetness slowly drip down your legs, that and spit from lando as he licked you out. He was groaning to himself, you knew he was loving it, his tongue all over you, getting you even wetter. You loved the feeling of him, you loved his saliva smothering you, it made you feel like an animal.He then grabbed you by the waist and gently threw you onto the sofa. The leather was cold at this point, but you had a feeling it may get warmer very soon…

He leant over you and came in to kiss. You could see his mouth was covered with a mixture of his saliva and your juices as he leant in. His mouth was warm, and his tongue was not shy. “Mhm” he groaned as his tongue licked the inside of your mouth. You wrapped your hands around him, placing them both on his back. His back felt harder than you thought, you could feel the indentations of his muscles running across it. To add to that, his back was also dripping with sweat. You ran your palms over it, feeling all the sweat you could. It felt so slimy and warm…your fingers almost sticking to him as you did it.

You let out a groan yourself at this point because he felt so incredible. Your left hand slowly moved up his sweaty back, towards his thick next. By this point your hands were dripping , but it felt warm and safe to be feeling him. You noticed he was wearing a metal necklace, which created a small bump as your hand moved up to the back of his neck.

“You just reminded me baby…” he said in between sucking your tongue. He reached his arm to the back of his neck, exposing his armpit right in front of your face. It was sweaty, and it smelt it, it smelt good. So manly. Part of you really enjoyed the natural scent of him. He yanked on the necklace chain and threw it to the other side of the room. “That was from my ex” he added. “I won’t be needing that anymore”At this point he thrust his throbbing cock inside of you.

You let out a huge groan, he didn’t hold back. You felt it stretch your walls out. It was deep inside you, but the girth of it made you feel like he was going to split you apart. “Oh shit lando…shit….arghhh” He continued to thrust into you. The moans you gave him only served to determine him to fuck you even harder. You gripped onto his biceps while he fucked you. They contracted every time he thrust into you, you could tell he was using every muscle in his body to please you.

You enjoyed the feeling of his arm tense under your hand, you felt his rock hard muscle“You’re so sexy” he whispered to you while deep inside. He grabbed both of your legs and held them up in front of him as his dick dove even deeper inside of you. “Mhm” “ugh” he groaned as he fucked you. You could tell he was enjoying this, and you now understood why he hadn’t showered before you came round, it would’ve been pointless. He was dripping wet again, the sweat was slowly dripping off his chest onto your tits, and the sofa was starting to get slippery with the mixture of sweat from you both fucking each other.

Next, he noticed that you still had your heels on, the fuck was so intense you had forgotten as well. He keenly untied the strap and took them off. He placed his hands on your feet, you noticed how his huge hands made your feet look petite and tiny. He grabbed both your feet and placed them both on his the front of his face.

The arch of your feet placed directly in contact with his mouth, and his nose while he continued inside of you. He took his time to savour the feeling of your pretty feet on his face, you wondered if he enjoyed the smell of them, before he then placed your toes in his mouth. You noticed how much tongue he was using, how much he was licking in between your toes and savouring the taste of them.

He let out even more groans at this point, you continued to feel his tongue getting your well looked after feet even wetter. “You dirty fuck…” you told him as he had your toes in his mouth. You knew he was loving you, loving the taste of you, the feeling of you. And you loved it too. It felt so primal. So good.

At this point you could tell he was getting closer. His cock had tended up even more and felt like it was about to blow. He slid his cock out of you and started to position himself above you as he jerked it off. It made a sloshing noise because of how wet it was…He now had both his legs besides you as he straddled over the top of you lying below him. “Suck my balls” he demanded. He edged up closer to your face so you were almost directly below his balls. You angled your head up and started sucking on them. They also tasted salty, you could tell he was sweaty all over. The taste was good, and they felt so warm in your mouth.

He continued to jerk his cock while you licked up and down his full balls. “Fuck yeah” he added while you worshipped him. “Keep going you dirty girl”He then pulled away from your face and back down to near your tits. He gave his cock one last jerk before his eyes rolled back into his head and released his load. He showered you with his warm cum. It completely covered your tits and part of your face as he groaned and shook uncontrollably in the pleasure of his orgasm. When the cum stopped spewing out of him, he slowly collapsed on top of you. The cum spreading between his sweaty chest in contact with your tits. He continued to kiss you on the sweat soaked sofa, before adding “you’re a good girl, and I’m not done with you yet”

He slid his fingers through the cum he had just sprayed all over you. He pushed his fingers in your mouth for you to suck them clean.

Next he flipped u onto your front, pushed his still hard dick in you, and fucked you again. Even harder this time.

The sound of skin on skin slapping against each other. You screamed in pleasure, and in slight pain because he was going hard.

You could smell the mixture of his cum and sweaty body creating an aroma around the hotel room.

You didn’t even have the brain capacity to think at this point, he was fucking you so hard

He spanked you, you felt his mark leave a burn on your right cheek.

“I’m gonna fucking breed you” he grunted

He pulled you over, leant in over you again , and shoved your face into his armpit. The smell almost made you gag, the sweat, the body odour of a hot sweaty man. He made you take in his scent “deep breath” he reminded you.

After this, you could tell he wasn’t gonna last long, he slapped your face and licked all over. His tongue brushing over your mouth and your nose.

“Damn my pits taste good on u”

He shoved his cock in u again, no condom, and you felt him release yet another load inside you

You felt him fill you up.

“I’ve never fucked a dirty slut like you before…next time I message you, you’re gonna do exactly what I say and come over. You’re my fuck toy…now get out”

He pulled you up and pushed you out his hotel room door, still half naked, still with the smell of his sweat on your body…still with cum dripping down your chest and thighs…

You had become lando norris’ sex toy…

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

Victory Tastes Damn Good - Carlos Sainz

<word count - 3384>

warnings - smut, under 18s dni

"Come on Carlos, come on," you muttered, feeling sick with nerves that you thought you might throw up. It was the final lap of the Singapore Grand Prix, and Lando was doing a great job as he backed up the final of the two Mercedes.

You couldn't help but close your eyes as they hurtled down the homestraight, unable to watch just in case it went wrong. But, the angels were looking down on you and granted your wishes, as you heard through your headphones, "Carlos Sainz has won the Singapore Grand Prix!" 

The team were screaming and jumping for joy, and you couldn't help it as tears escaped your eyes and down onto your cheeks. Even more tears flowed as you sang along with Carlos and his engineer, in celebration of the smoothest of operations. 

You rushed out to parc ferme, but couldn't get anywhere near the front due to the masses of Ferrari personel that were out there. You didn't even care though, as you got to watch Carlos get out of the car, finally victorious. He had been close in Monza, but that didn't matter. 

You may not have been able to see his face, but the pure joy that radiated from him could be felt from the distance you were at. While everyone was occupied at parc ferme, you headed straight to the podium.

Seeing him stood up there was magic. There was no easy way to describe how you felt, but it was like drowning in a sea of golden delight, and you didn't know whether to open your eyes or let it take you away.

It was like you were in a dream, and a part of you was terrified that you were going to wake up. You just couldn't tear your eyes away from him. You thought he was going to fizzle away, and the Spanish anthem would turn Dutch, and Carlos would turn blonde. 

But, it didn't happen. The anthem finished, and the Scuderia finally got to hear the grace of the Italian anthem. Carlos simply couldn't wipe the grin off his face, and you didn't want him to. It was the embodiment of everything he had worked so hard to achieve, and his brilliantly clever and down right genius racing had brought him to where he deserved to be.

At the top.

Watching him hoist his trophy high wa bliss, and it was like a King in front of his people as the whole of the Tifosi beneath him cheered and screamed. As the champagne flowed, Carlos and Lando showed everyone just how precious Carlando was, and you adored the friendship they had. 

Just as you had managed to stop crying, you finally got to see Carlos properly, and he had finally found you. He was looking for you, but was too caught up in the moment to properly search. You didn't know what to say as you looked at him.

He was stood right in front of you, and you couldn't muster a single world. "I just-" you fumbled, putting both of your hands on his face and squishing his cheeks lightly, trying to check if he was actually real. 

"You just fucking won, Carlos!" you squealed, violently shaking him by his shoulders, before yanking him into your arms. "Did I? Huh, I was wondering where the trophy and champagne came from," he deeply chuckled in your ear. 

"I think someone slipped something in my drink this isn't normal," you laughed, ruffling his hair slightly. "It's called being extremely fucking happy, baby, I feel it too," he said, kissing you as he picked you up and twirled you around. 

"We are getting so fucked up tonight," you beamed, itching to get celebrating as wildly and extravagantly as you wanted. "Well, you might be," he cheekily smirked, winking at you. 

"Wasn't what I was talking about, but since you've done so spectacularly, I'll consider it," you smirked, spotting the mischievous glint in his eyes. "I doubt you'll be having to do much considering," he whispered in your ear, backing you up and pinning you against the wall of the motorhome with his body. 

"I think I deserve it, don't you?" he lowly asked, his breath tickling your ear. 

"Oh you do, but you'll have to wait," you mused, knowing that you had absolutely no control in this moment, but you knew he liked it when you thought you had the upper hand. "Winners don't wait, baby," he coyly grinned, leaning impossibly closer to you and peppering a few light kisses down your neck.

"This one is going to have to, this isn't the right place," you said, gently pushing him away with a tap on the shoulder. "And why is that?" He asked, gazing down at you as he still pressed you against the wall. "You know why,"

"Maybe I do, but I want to hear you say it," he leered, knowing the exact reason why you didn't want to do anything with him right here, right now. "Because I'd have to be quiet," you muttered. "And why would that be such a challenge, my love?" he teased, tucking a lock of loose hair behind your ear.

"I don't think I'll be able to refrain from telling you just how brilliant you are. At racing, and other things," you giggled, snaking your arms around his neck. Judging by his reaction, you knew you had told him exactly what he wanted to hear. 

"Well, I guess that would be an added bonus to finding somewhere away from here," he winked, stepping away from you when footfalls approached you. "Carlos, race debrief in five," Charles said, practically stomping past.

"Alright, thanks," he nodded, waiting for Charles to round the corner at the end of the corridor. As soon as he was out of sight, Carlos lunged forward and captured your lips with his. His hands found their place on your waist, one of them slowly trailing down your body.

"Hey, patience," you said, tugging his hand away by his wrist. 

"Sorry, I just can't keep my hands off you," he said, forcing himself to walk away, because if he got his hands on you again, he wouldn't be able to get them off. As he backed away, he shot a wink towards you with a smug grin, "I'll see you later, baby,"

"I'll see you later, Carlos," you smiled, leaning back against the wall and giving yourself a minute to catch your breath. Carlos made you feel like a rowdy teenager all over again, and he never failed to surprise you with his antics. 

You were in for one hell of a night. You thought back to when he won in Silverstone last year and what happened after that, and there was no doubt in your mind that tonight was not going to be any different. 

You didn't really know where to go to wait for Carlos, so you just sat on the couch of the motor home, posted pictures of him on every social media platform known to man and tried to wipe the huge, goofy smile off your face.

There was pride still bubbling in your chest, and it was a tingle that you never wanted to shake off. You checked the time, seeing that they had been in the team debrief for about fifty minutes. It had been a while, and you wanted to stretch your legs.

The general public had gone, leaving the track staff and team workers in at the track. It left you to wander around the paddock freely, without reporters fishing for a quick headline, or people constantly surrounding you as you shuffled through, shoulder to shoulder.

You could walk past the motorhomes, as the lights lit up the path, the air feeling warm on your skin. You smiled at the few people that walked by, none of them stopping you on your travels around the paddock. 

Most of the teams and people were in their motorhomes, still going through their debriefs. After some time, you saw a stream of papaya walking out of the doors, and you figured there would soon be a river of scarlet to follow. 

"Hey Lando, great job out there, you smashed it," you smiled as the curly haired boy passed by, a huge grin plastered on his face. "Thanks, it was a great race," he nodded, "Hey, you free tonight? You look great," he smirked. 

"Don't let Carlos hear you ask that," you laughed, used to Lando constantly flirting with you. He had done it ever since you had met him, and Carlos knew it. "He's fine with it, he knows a pretty lady like you gets plenty of attention," he charmed.

"Are we talking about the same Carlos?" you raised an eyebrow at him, knowing how possessive Carlos could be at times. He liked to have you all to himself, and you wouldn't have it any other way.  "Why only have first place when you can have second too?" he continued, leaning against the wall behind him. "It's happened before, it can happen again," he said.

"OK Lando, I'm going to go and see if Carlos is ready now," you side-eyed him, brushing off his comment as a joke and hoping it was nothing more. 

Lando just chuckled at you, waving you away as you walked. More teams were filtering out of their motorhomes for the night as you strolled down the path, no sign of anything red. Just as you reached the outside of the Ferrari motorhome, a hand was held over your mouth as another hand positioned itself on your stomach, tugging you back.

You went to scream, but the hand muffled the sounds. You tried to kick away, hoping to catch the attention of a passerby. "Baby, don't struggle, it's just me," a voice whispered in your ear, and your struggling muscles instantly relaxed.

"The hell are you playing at?" you whisper shouted, spinning around to face him. He still had his race suit on, and his skin was still sticky from the champagne.

"I just needed to see you, needed to touch you," he murmured, pulling you as close as he could. "Wait until we get back, we've been over this," you sighed, trying to ignore the feeling of his hands roaming your figure.

"But I need you now, baby," he spat, pinning you against the wall in one swift movement. "Everyone will hear and anyone who walks past will see," you told him.

"As soon as the last few guys from ours leave, we're the only ones left," he explained to you.

"There are security cameras everywhere, Carlos," you told him, your eyes darting around the space surrounding you, checking for any sign of surveillance. "Nothing can see here, I checked," he smirked.

One of Carlos' hands braced on your waist, the other trailing over your hip bones. "Fuck it," you mumbled, pulling him in by his neck and passionately kissing him. "That's my girl," he breathed against your lips.

You realised that people had stopped wandering out of the track, and you poked your head around the corner to see if there was anyone there. Much to your delight, the path past all of the motorhomes and across the paddock was like a ghost town. 

Most of the lights around the circuit flicked off as the final staff left for the night, leaving you alone at the track. There was a rush of excitement surging through you, curious to do whatever it was that Carlos was so hell bent on doing out in the open, where anyone could potentially see.

No more words were exchanged as you nodded at him to give him the all clear, to give him permission for whatever he was wanting to do. He hungrily took your lips with his, not even giving you the chance to breathe.

It felt like you were in a stormy sea, only able to capture a small gasp of air every now and then, but the burn that lingered in your lungs was like cold air on a winters' day.

Carlos' hands slithered up the sides of your thighs, sneaking under the material of your dress. His touch left tingles in their wake as his fingers brushed the skin on your hips.

"Can I?" he asked, hooking his fingers into the thin side of your underwear. "Of course," you nodded, pulling at his neck to bring him back into a kiss. Once you had stepped out of the lace, it was kicked to the side and discarded.

His lips moved across your jaw and delicately down your neck, across your shoulder. "Unfortunately for the both of us, we need to keep this on, just in case anyone decides to ruin our fun," he smirked against your skin, tugging at the material at the waist of your dress, "I don't want anyone else seeing you the way I get to,"

Normally you'd be alarmed at the prospect of someone seeing, or catching you in the act, but you were too caught up in it to care. Too fuelled with desire to be bothered. Too needy for him to think.

His lips still roamed slowly down, his hand sneaking back under the skirt of your dress and dangerously close to you. His fingers teased the skin of your upper thighs, and the temptation to push yourself closer to him was nearly unbearable.

But then, a thought struck you. "Hey, tonight is about you, allow me, I think you deserve a reward, no?" you breathed, pulling his face within a centimetre of yours by grabbing his chin. Your other hand snaked down his chest, all the way down to where his race suit was rolled down.

Carlos grabbed your wrist, pinning it against the wall. "If it's about me, then it's about you too. Getting to see you squirm for me, getting to hear how much you need me is the best reward you could give me," he smugly grinned, sinking to his knees in front of you.

His lips placed feather light kisses up the insides of your thighs, flitting from one to the other. "Fucking hell," he groaned, seeing the effect he had on you. "It's that easy, huh?" he teased, still kissing the insides of your thighs. "You're just too good," you lightly chucked, a hint of desperation in your voice.

"Say it again, it sounded good," he told you as he pushed your knees further apart. 

"You are so fucking brilliant, I don't even- Fuck," you breathed out as he teased you with his tongue. He slowly circled your clit as you pushed your hips into him.

"Tell me baby, tell me how much you want me," he told you, lightly running his tongue over you. "I need you, Carlos, I don't think I can wait," you pleaded, and it was music to his ears. It was the fuel that kept him going.

Without further hesitation, he started lapping and sucking at all the right places. Those special spots that he had mapped out in his mind. You both held the dangerous assumption that there was not a single soul around that could hear or see what you were doing.

"Am I doing a good job?" he asked, not ceasing with his movements. With his every action, the fizz in your lower abdomen became closer and closer to bubbling over. "Fuck yes you are, please don't stop," you mewled, tangling your hand in his hair, pulling at his dark locks. 

You couldn't help but buck your hips towards him, desperate for more. Carlos let out a low chuckle, "So I'm that good, huh?" he teased, adoring the way you tugged gently at the strands of his hair. "You're a winner for a reason," you said, your back arching off of the wall. 

Tingles were slowly spreading across your body, and the ever more desperate moans you were letting out told Carlos everything he needed to know. "You close, baby?" he asked, half mocking, half serious. 

He could tell the answer of the question quite easily, your legs were starting to shake and your hands were slowing their movements in his hair. "Fuck yes, I-" you managed to get out, the pleasure hitting you in a wave that spread across your body.  

It was like electricity pulsing through your veins, and your legs were buckling underneath you. Carlos rose from his knees and captured your lips in a heated kiss, the taste of you lingering on his tongue. "You know what that is? That's the taste of victory, and I think it's pretty damn good," he told you, caressing your sides.

"You OK to keep going?" he asked, despite is desperation. Even if he needed you more than anything else right now, your comfort was still his top priority. "Mhm, I don't wanna stop," you told him, and that was enough for him. 

You pushed his race suit down his legs quickly, knowing just how much both of you needed it. "Jump," he instructed between kisses, hoisting you up as your legs locked around his waist. He held you against the wall as he guided himself into your entrance. 

"Shit you feel good," he groaned, burying his head into your neck as he rocked his hips into yours. His lips left purply-red splotches on your skin, and you could feel them forming. Every time he thrust into you, you both let out groans of pleasure as you came closer to release. 

"Oh my god you're good, so fucking amazing," you rambled, and your praises fuelled him on more. He started to thrust into you deeper and harder, and he touched that spot that made you see stars. 

"You're the best reward I have ever gotten," he spat through gritted teeth, trying to hold himself together. "You deserve it," you breathed, your thighs burning from being clasped around his waist for the length of time you had. 

"Carlos, I-," you fumbled, unable to form legible words as you felt the pressure in your stomach build up to an unbearable level. You didn't need words to tell him, he could feel the way your walls wrapped tightly around him. 

"Carlos, I'm going to-," you started, but you were silenced by Carlos smashing his lips against yours, "Me too," he groaned as his pace picked up, hungry for release. Both of your moans were muffled as the release of pressure made your vision black out. 

It was like ropes of energy shooting through your abdomen, as you cried out and threw your head back against the wall. Your nails scratched over the skin of his neck, leaving red streaks in their path as the skin turned raw. His hips slowed to a halt as you were both left, breathless and exhausted. 

"Are you OK to stand, or do you want me to hold you for a bit longer?" he asked, his eyes turning from hungry to soft. "I should be fine, you can put me down," you said, Carlos gently lowering you back down to the ground. 

Your legs were kind of numb, as you leant against the wall to catch your breath. "We're still going to get pissed, right?" you asked, not ready for your night to be over. Carlos pulled his race suit back over his hips and stood in front of you, staring at the hickeys he had left on your neck. 

"You're probably going to have to cover these up, but then again, I'd love for everyone to see what I get when I win," he smirked, his hands gripping your waist. 

"Then you're probably going to have to cover these up," you laughed, running your fingers over the red scratches on his neck. "Let people see, I don't mind," he laughed, ignoring the sting they left on his skin. 

"I don't know if I want people knowing what we get up to," you chuckled, leaning against him as you started to walk out from in between the motorhomes. "True, I don't want anyone imagining you like that, that's all for me," he said, gripping you tighter. 

"Tell that to Lando," you quipped, since you knew Carlos knew how flirtatious he was with you. "He's an exception," he winked, checking to see if there were any people around. A blush tinted your cheeks as you realised that Lando's comment from earlier might not have been a joke. 

A/N - It's been a week, I know, I'm sorry. I've been really busy, so think of this as a one week anniversary gift. But in all seriousness, it still doesn't feel real, and it makes Forza Ferrari-ing through the pain that little bit easier. That was the smoothest of operations, and could not be prouder of our chili 🌶💖

|masterlist|

[disneyprincemuke]

that’s just the way things go * femdriver

when her and logan crash out in a race, well, now what?

pairings: sebastian vettel x femdriver, logan sargeant x femdriver

warnings: accidents, car crash

notes: i warned you all.

(series masterlist) | (📂 the sophomore year)

-> canada, 2024

"ready, kid? one minute until the race starts," she hears sebastian in her ears. "everything good?"

she looks around her, trying to look at the grandstands with what little vision the halo provides her. typically, she'd not be able to hear the crowd cheering. but either something is up with her earphones, or one of her senses has heightened.

there has been an uneasy feeling in her stomach that she's not been able to shake off since she landed. there's a ringing in her head that's persistent all weekend.

"are you there?"

"yes, i'm sorry," she says quickly, perking up at the confusion in sebastian's words. "everything’s good.”

“is everything okay? you’ve had this worried look on your face all day,” sebastian states. “are you nervous? starting in the second row for the first time in f1?"

she looks to her side, noticing the ferrari mechanics working on charles’ car. she sighs and looks right up ahead at max’s red bull in front of her. diagonal to her is oscar’s car. “maybe it’s that. maybe i’m just nervous.”

“don’t worry about it, kid. i’ll be here.” she gets a feel for her steering wheel — the same one she’s had since she started last year. but for some reason, it didn’t feel great in her hands today.

her steering wheel doesn’t fit her palm today.

“let’s try and fight with the front row, alright? don’t let max get too far ahead.”

she breathes as the mechanics start to disperse. “i told max to always check his side view mirrors now that i’m behind him.”

she drives out of the pitlane, watching the car passing her before she rejoins the track. "who is that in the williams? is that alex or logan?"

"logan," sebastian says. "he's got good pace, but you're faster than him. you can overtake him whenever you see fit."

"how much faster than him? can i overtake him this lap?" she asks.

"up to your discretion. if you think you've got enough pace to catch him eventually – you have the fresher tires."

"okay."

she tries, trying her best to catch up to the williams car. she grunts under her breath, stretching her shoulders as she braces herself to fight logan on the track again.

she smiles. she hasn't fought logan on the track in a while so this is a very nice change of scenery. she tries to fight it fair and square, but she's noticed – only now – that he's developed a different driving style from the one she's used to.

she concedes about three corners into the lap, trying to get used to logan's driving style before she makes the decision to pull an overtaking move that would push logan out of the podium spot. which, realistically, she doesn't want to do if she had the choice.

maybe she should just let logan have the podium? she's already had one for herself last year in singapore after all. but no, she can't do that. there's always been a mutual understanding that whatever happens on the track should be a separate entity from their friendship.

if she concedes and lets him have the podium, despite knowing that she could very well beat him on the track, she is lying to herself and logan. and oscar, who is ahead of logan.

whatever happens on the track, stays on the track.

she always comes close, only to have to pull away from the early braking point that logan seems to be pulling at.

"seb, i can't find an opportunity to get past logan," she speaks, turning on the radio. "i need you to help me out. he went to the alex albon school of defending, apparently."

sebastian laughs. "okay, just keep trailing behind him. i'll let you know when."

"okay."

the uneasiness has managed to creep up into her body again. she feels her grip around the steering wheel falter, and her legs lock up on her as she tries chasing after him. logan manages to keep her behind him for a couple of laps, probably 3 or 4 if she remembers it correctly.

but there's a corner that logan runs too wide. she changes gears, suddenly changing her mind about slowing down and taking it slow, stepping on the gas pedal and taking a dive between the williams and the side of the track.

"beautiful overtake, kid," sebastian speaks into her ears. "he's still very close. keep the position until the flag if you can."

"i'm not chasing oscar?" she frowns, glancing at her side mirror. "i can shake logan off at the series of corners ahead, i'm sure."

"okay, but no risky moves. play it safe because you're already guaranteed for a podium at this rate."

and she holds off logan, for the better part of the next lap. they've been fighting head to head for a while until she turns into the corner, deeper than she typically would have done to throw logan off. but it seems that he's caught up with her games because he's directly next to her.

but she's already trying to go for the next corner while his car is still trying to finish the previous one. and it happens very quickly.

his left front wheel is caught slightly by her right rear, sending both of them off track. and because she was going a little faster than him, she’s spinning out at a much quicker rate than he is.

she shuts her eyes, feeling her car being flung onto surface that doesn't feel like the track anymore. she lets go of the steering wheel and bunches herself up. why is she still spinning? it shouldn't be taking this long.

until she feels the car come to a rude halting stop, the side of her car completely buried into the barriers of the track. she heaves as she tries to process her crash. it isn't as bad as her crash the year before, head first into the barrier in the streets of baku at 200 kilometres an hour.

but she does know one thing. she doesn't know if this is what she's been dreading all day, but she's furious. despite the ringing in her ears and the growing pain in one side of her body, she starts climbing out of the car.

"are you okay?" she hears sebastian asking her.

she doesn't respond. she reaches up for the halo of her car to pull herself up and climbs out of the car. she's on too much adrenaline now that the crash happened. the pain is absolutely nothing to her right now.

she unclips her helmet and yanks it off along with her balaclava, approaching the blue car in the gravel next to hers. logan is already out of the car, slowly approaching her.

"it’s o-"

she throws her arms into the air. "what the fuck is wrong with you?"

logan tilts his head, only taking off his helmet now. "what?"

“yeah, what is wrong with you? you ruined our fucking race!” she scream, flailing her arms in the air. “why did you do that? you knew there was another corner i had to make a sharp turn for!”

“you went deep! you accelerated way too soon.”

“no, you hit your brakes way too soon! now we’re here! i don’t get my podium and you don’t get your fucking points either!” she turns away from him, wiping her face on the sleeves of her racesuit in frustration. “fuck you, logan!”

a soft knock lands on the door, immediately being pushed open to reveal sebastian with a small smile. he has a paper bag in his hand and lifts it up to show her. “how are you feeling, kid?”

“fine,” she answers firmly, looking down at her phone. “have you seen liam? he’s supposed to be back with my twix bars by now.”

“he’s on his way back from the paddocks,” sebastian nods. “logan’s doing okay. mild concussion, from what james told me out in the hallway.”

she looks up from her phone, the anger in her eyes very prominent. it almost makes sebastian wish he hadn’t said anything in the first place. she furrows her eyebrows. “i don’t remember asking how logan is.”

“oh. you don’t want to know?”

“no.” she promptly goes back to texting on her phone, shaking her head. sebastian walks deeper into her room, careful not to agitate her more.

she puts her phone down on her lap and looks up. she takes a deep breath. “why would he do that, seb? not only did he ruin his own race, but he also ruined mine! why would he do that?”

sebastian shrugs. “i don’t know. i’m sorry. i’m sorry you had to retire from the race, kid. but it’s not his fault. things like these happen, you know?”

“not to me! not to us!” she rolls her eyes. “he’s so reckless for that! do you not think so?”

sebastian hums, patting her hand. “calm down, kid. i know you’re angry. but you and logan have been competing with one another half of your lives. don’t be like this.”

she shakes her head, moving her hand away from sebastian’s touch. she folds her arms over her chest. “he needs to apologise for ruining my race.”

“we’ll watch the playback later, okay? don’t jump into conclusions now. don’t ruin your friendship.”

“you’re saying there was possibility i caused the accident?”

“i don’t know yet. i immediately came to your side after the accident,” sebastian sighs, shaking his head. “please just get some rest. worry about this later.”

the door opens, revealing liam with mick trailing behind him. “oh, hey, logan’s-“

mick cuts himself short when sebastian’s head snaps to him, shaking his head profusely. mick’s lips form an ‘o’ shape as he slowly puts his attention to the silently raging girl on the hospital bed.

“we got your twix bars!”

“and a pepsi!” liam cheers, dancing over to her with a straw in his other hand. “blythe said she’s on the phone your parents, but once she’s done, she’ll come right back up here.”

she nods, returning her attention to her phone. she scoffs at the notification at the top of her screen, a text message from logan rolling in.

i’m not apologising this time

she scoffs and puts her phone down. she reaches out to liam. “give me my stupid pepsi.”

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @vellicora @leilanixx @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @cashtons-wife @sadg3 @a10vely-yutazen @mellowarcadefun @glitterf1 @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @gentlyweeps-world @woozarts @inejismywife @meadhgbcavanagh @2bormaybenot @love4lando

[spicyclover]

In a haze

Summary : In the car, there are millions of thoughts that pass one after the other. The brain accumulates and releases at hundredths of a second all the information we need to be good drivers. However, sometimes it happens that the information never comes back and we are lost in this infinite mist.

Request

Hope you’ll enjoy it. Let me know in the comment section.

Thank you! :)

Lots of love, xxx Spicy Clover

WARNING : mention of crash | lose of consciousness

The humidity is at its peak. Singapore is really one of the most physical races. The overwhelming and stifling heat prevents the brain from accumulating air properly. I already regret leaving the refrigerated hospitality to join the garage. I meet some fans on my way and I stop to take some pictures.

I am quickly escorted out of the crowd. I run to join the others to start the parade. I regroup with the two Ferraris and Max who discuss qualifications. I am P8. I could have had more, but a moment of distraction made me lose seconds in a corner. I smile at Charles and shake Carlos’s hand. I'm sweating in my team gear, it's really the worst. The Ferraris boys are not better, Charles is red as a tomato and Carlos look like he's going faint any second.

In the distance, I see Daniel. He is in a corner, his headphones on his ears. He has his face of concentration. He's cute, makes him look more serious. Since the beginning of the year, he hasn’t smiled as much. He’s not the same as before. He gradually realizes that his days are numbered in this sport and it scares him. I understand that feeling. I am the only woman on the grid and at my first mistake, I have a horde of men wanting to replace me with their macho and sexist criticism. Daniel raises his head and crosses my eyes. A smile expands on my lips and he seems to relax.

With the parade over, I return to the garage for the final preparations. I visualize the race in my head. I review the turns, the areas of acceleration, the areas of deceleration. I calculate the pressure of my tires and I look at the temperature one last time during the race. Filling my brain with all this information helps me not to be overwhelmed by pressure. I relativize and focus on the fact by what can happen.

It’s already time to get in the car. As always, the pressure goes up and I feel like my head is going to explode. I get in the car. I put my helmet on. When the helmet goes on my head, I no longer calculate what’s around me. Everything around me gets foggy and only my car counts. I hear my engineer in my ear and listen to the instructions.

The journalists and the teams leave the track. The crowd is on fire. I allow myself to look around. Oscar is on my right at P7. Lando is P6 ahead of me. Behind me is Daniel P10. The light turns red and the formation round begins. Max starts the pace. I warm up my tires and check my brakes one last time. I barely have time to think that the finish line is in front of me again. I install the single-seater in my starting lines and I prepare myself.

One. My pulse begin to quicken. Two. I'll move faster and faster, the fan roaring beside me. Three. My thoughts begin to wash away in a cloud of wind and dust. Four. The crowd thunders. Five.

My hands release the brake and I press the accelerator. The first corner comes quickly. I find my line among all the cars and I concentrate. The first few cars slow down and I’m right behind. I start turning the wheel. The next few seconds freeze in time. My brain tries to interpret what is happening before my eyes, but I can’t. I feel the back of my car rising in the air. In a straight perpendicular line, all I see is black and white asphalt. I let go of the steering wheel and the barrels start. My body is wandered from left to right in the car and I try to maintain myself. All this happens in seconds before I crash into the security fence.

I hear his laugh. I look up and he is in front of me, his smile bigger than the sun. I chuckle before I tongue him. I get up and start running to the ocean. He rushes after me. I peek behind me and he’s already behind.

"It’s not fair," I said, with a sulky pout. "You’re faster than me." He grabs my face in his gigantic hands and kisses me. I try to resist, but these kisses are magical that I can’t keep acting. I surrender to these lips.

"I am a high performance athlete, athletes speed." I laugh and I push him away a little. He loses balance and leads me to his fall. The fine sand is quickly encountered and my eyes get lost in his. I remove some rebellious streaks from his face. He meddles his fingers between my hair and he passes them behind my ears. "You’re beautiful." I pouffe before I kiss his lips again to silence him.

I’m back in the car. I fainted. Oh no, I lost consciousness. My vision is blurry and my ears are ringing. I try to straighten my head to look around, but I can’t. I feel like my heart is in my brain. It’s pounding and I can barely breathe. I feel a hand on my shoulder, but I can’t react. Gradually my vision darkened again.

"I don’t want us to hide anymore," whispers Daniel.

The night is cool and we’re in our hotel room in Los Angeles. This is the first time that we meet after weeks of meeting at the bend of an evening or a race. We have been living in this secret relationship for a few months now and I must admit that it is happiness. I like to find it even for a few moments, but it is true that with each separation, they become harder. I smile as I relax my head.

"We have no choice." I say, slowly fading away in my sleep.

And it’s true, we are stuck in this spiral of PR. Being the only woman on the track, I have to be attractive to the male fans. A girl in a relationship is not interesting. I hate every day since this phrase came out of my manager’s mouth. What do I give a shit about male fans? I’m not there for them, or thanks to them. I long to make a big finger in all this, but the more I think about the consequence and the more it scares me.

I am transported out of my car, I distinguish the lights of paramedics who check the dilation of my pupils. I blink and red and white flashes pass in front of my eyes. The ambulance. My helmet was removed. I don’t remember much. They talk to me, but I can’t tell the words. Everything is confusing. Yet, this hand I know. It’s his. Daniel. My eyes are frantically searching around me and I finally see him. He too has crashed. I don’t have time to think more than the paramedic pulls it out of my hand and takes me in the ambulance to the nearest hospital.

The hours that follow are a perpetual blur. I get lost in the dozens of exams and questions I am asked. I answer as best I can, but I get tired and I ask him to be beside me. I whisper his name between my lips. Many hours have passed. My senses come back little by little and I hear again the noises that surround me. I hear the beep of the machines, I hear the nurses who pass by the door of my room. I hear the television on, but I can’t understand the words. Most importantly, I hear his voice. He’s there with me. I painfully open my eyes. In the first place, everything is blurred. I can only see the light, but very quickly my vision clears and I can look at his face.

"I am so sorry, my love. I am terribly sorry." He whispers repeatedly, my hand in his.

"Hey, stranger." I say in a hoarse voice. I feel like I’ve been smoking for forty years with that voice.

"Y/n!" He cries while looking up. "You are awake."

"You didn’t think you’d get rid of me like that." I said with a laugh. I try to move to get up, but my body hurts. I moan and Daniel looks at me worried. "What happened?"

"We crashed into each other… I ran into you by accident. The car behind me didn’t brake and I was right in your corner. You rolled, I thought I’d lose you." He chokes a sob before he takes over." You landed in the safety gate and the race was paused for a long time. I… I couldn’t… I couldn’t go on without knowing if you were okay." He caresses my hair tenderly. I feel the pain in his voice and it hurts me.

"You disqualified yourself for me?"

"For you? Always." I smile and reach for him. I grab the top of his neck and our lips meet. Our kiss lasts a few minutes. We enjoy the present moment and the presence of the other. "Just to let you know, but I may have told everyone about our relationship and the media is crazy about it."

"What?" I write to myself as I step aside. What did he do? He didn’t… Oh no!

"We’ll talk later." He kisses me again with a smile. "You need to rest and heal."

"Dan…" I try to argue, but he won’t let me continue.

[jhypeach]

After Midnight [2:00 am]

pairing: mark lee x fem reader warnings: clit play, shower sex, smut smut word count: 1k+ an: the aftermath of mark lee appearing on the live just wearing a robe and the members saw his underwear. i feel ill 😵‍💫

It was almost midnight, and Mark hadn't returned to your hotel room yet. He asked me to accompany him from their America leg until today's one-day concert show in Singapore. There is little to do when I go over the world with him and the members. We can only be our usual selves sometimes when fans aren't around since our relationship isn't publicly announced. So, I spent 80% of my stay in every country in the hotel room, and the remaining 20% was in their makeup room, talking and getting nervous with the members.

Since it's almost 12 and Mark isn't here yet, I decided to take a bath already and prepare for bed. However, it was a real struggle for me with an injured hand. I accidentally sprained my wrist earlier, moving the suitcase around. Mark wasn't there to help me since they immediately started their stage rehearsal a few hours after we landed. But the moment he knew bout my sprained wrist, he kept asking about my condition, and I didn't want to concern him when I was totally fine and he was about to perform. So instead of being backstage which I usually do at every concert, I insist that I just stay in our room.

I was putting shampoo on my hair and getting annoyed that I couldn't properly wash myself. Few minutes of irritation, I heard faint steps outside the bathroom. "Babe? Y/n" I heard Mark looking for me. "In the bathroom, I replied." I didn't hear any response after. I contemplated if I should ask him for help. He's probably already sleeping since he was tired from the whole concert. I sneaked out of the bathroom to check if he was asleep already. I saw him sitting on the couch, waiting for me. "Why are your clothes soaking wet?" he asked. I scratched the back of my head, "I need help. I can't wash my hair properly."

He followed me inside the bathroom, "Babe, I think you need to take your shirt off," he said as he stood near the sink, "No, It's fine. I-I just asked you to help me with my hair so-", I was cut off when he walked closer to me leaned forward towards my ears "Is it because you're thinking of something else?" he asked. I was taken aback; I had swallowed my saliva when I felt his breath lick my neck and jaw. "How about we wash up together, then I'll clean you after?" He suggested pushing me inside the shower room, "No! I-I just… I just need to help wash-ing my *gulp* hair," I stuttered at how close he was. I don't know why I am getting nervous. Sex isn't something new to us. But having sex overseas is.

"Oh really? But look at that" he looked at the shower niche with a messy shampoo and body wash bottle. I sighed, clearly defeated and can't get my way out. He held my injured wrist; it made me look at him. Great! He's already half-naked in front of me. "Don't worry, I'll be careful," he said softly, massaging my wrist.

My back faces him as he rubs my shoulder blades with loofa. I flinched when I felt him rubbing near my breast. I could actually feel myself drip down there. "Is this making you excited?" he teased me. And I hate it whenever he does. "Perhaps you like to do it in the shower," that's it. I do not plan on getting laid in Singapore tonight, and he better behave. "Okay, get it out. We will never finish if we do this," I said and faced him. I tried to push him out, but he held my injured wrist and pinned it on the wall, "I said I'll help you. So, you're not gonna push me until your wrist heals" I felt his hands in my entrance, drawing circles. "So let me help you down here too."

He played with my clit, pinching, circling his fingers around it, teasing my entrance. I moved my hips in an attempt to grind it. This was driving me crazy. With my injured hand pinned and my free hand holding his nape for support. "How does it feel," he asked me. The bubbles from the body wash all over my body aren't helping as it tickles me, and my whole body is so sensitive, with Mark teasing my entrance. A whimper, "Fughck!" was just all I said. He removed his hand from my entrance, yanked my left leg on his arm, and swiftly held my hips. He entered me with a warning.

Keeping myself in balance is a real struggle standing on one foot and with my arm pinned on the wall. Plus, Mark is thrusting so rough and fast in me. Showers dripping, wet squelching, moans, and whimpers were the music for our night. "Ah! Ah!" I bit my lower lip to suppress some moans and clenched around his shaft while Mark nibbled my jaw down to my neck and collarbone. "Im close," I said as he licked my collarbone to my neck, "Not yet," he said and turned me, pining my chest on the wall. He pulled my waist closer and higher, making me arch my back. He entered me again without warning. "fuck!" he cussed, "fucking tight ever."

We ended up having more than 3 rounds inside the shower and about 2 in the sink when he finally freed me. I was already brushing my hair when I heard knocks on our hotel room door. I peeked out the peephole and saw the 5 boys, I opened the door for them, and they immediately filled our room with noise.

“Noona, where’s Mark hyung?” Jisung asked me, "Oh, in the shower," I replied. Haechan immediately banged the bathroom door, "Hyung, hurry up, we have to do live." "Is your wrist fine now?" Renjun asked me while others lay on our bed while they waited for Mark, "Yeah, the swelling has subsided already." A few seconds after, Mark came out of the bathroom just wearing a robe, "Let's go," he said and sat beside Renjun. "At least wear something?" I told him, "I'm wearing briefs inside. Don't worry". The members looked at him, and some nagged while Haechan and Jeno laughed. "Let him be. I'll start the live now. Just don't stand up, hyung, because we can see your purple underwear. And cover your neck properly. We can see scratches."

[fredwkong]

hi. I was finally given a vacation for the first time in 2 years of work, and I would really like to spend it away from home. I want to travel around the world and visit remote corners of Asia, Africa and America. but I'm afraid that with my 25-year-old blasphemous body and European type of appearance, I will look like a typical tourist, and I would like more inclusivity. what do you recommend? ;)

Thanks for your booking with FWK Vacations. Your world tour is sure to be a blast!

You wake up as your nose fills with the thick, rich smell of a man’s sweaty body odour. The smell is so strong that it takes you a moment to get your bearings. You’re in a hostel room, the other bunks full of gently snoring men. Outside the window, dawn is just starting to break.

There’s no AC in Malaysian hostels like this, so you’ve been sweating all night, and the stench is thick around you. But it’s not like you wouldn’t be sweaty again in a few minutes, so you decide to skip the shower. You ran out of deodorant somewhere between India and Myanmar, and you don’t have the spare cash to buy any more.

As you slip back into your still-wet biking gear in the bathroom, you check yourself out in the mirror. You’re paler than most of the people in this part of the world, but with your dark eyes and arresting features, everyone can see that you’re mixed. That means that you’re welcome everywhere, and no guy has ever hooked up with a boy like you before, well, you. Hopefully, by the time you and your motorbike roll up to Singapore, you’ll still be cute and sweaty enough that a hunky daddy will pay for you to continue your travels somewhere else.

Enjoy your vacation!

Want to go on vacation? Book via my ask box!

[enihk-writes]

[before the year ends]

seasonal fics : 除夕 (chú xī) / lunar new year's eve edition

paring: various!hwasan men x gn!reader

summary: things that happen on the last day of the year.

characters: chung myung (can be read as both pbss and mhdd) // chung mun // chung jin // tang bo // tang gunak // jang ilso // jin hyeon // lee songbaek // jin geumryong // baek cheon

author's note: my personal music recommendations for the day are lovers in seoul by off the menu , hot potato by n.flying , coconut love by seoulmoon , mercury by bye bye badman and t + tik tak tok by silica gel feat. So!YoON! (doing this for fun because my other hobby is looking for new music and putting them in a playlist partly because one of my teenage dreams was to open up a cd shop in an art street or own a music-vinyl brunch cafe by the seaside ugggh but you need money like do you know how expensive seaside properties are in singapore!!! i don't have that cash!!! so i have to work!!!! fuck!!!!)

CHUNG MYUNG doesn't like to be cooped up indoors during the festive period. so that afternoon he slipped out to visit the next town over, hearing about their night market and looking forward to getting drunk off his rocker before returning home. only to come face-to-face with you. to his credit he tried to divert your attention to slip away with a bold-faced lie but to be honest, he isn't very good at that. he ends up letting you tag along to buy your silence. which wasn't that bad of a decision — he found himself enjoying the private time he had with you more than he'd expected, like walking through the markets with pinkies interlocked, visiting taverns and teahouses getting mistaken for a couple to get discounts, even the passionate drunken kisses you both shared on the inn balcony which left him quite dazed. when he gets back he would have to have a talk with you about what happened here. though right now he's a little preoccupied with leaving marks all up your neck, hands under your clothes going to places he probably shouldn't, revelling in your embarrassment a little too much. thank goodness he had the foresight to rent out a room to stay in so the both of you could do whatever you wanted in here to the heart's content all night long.

CHUNG MUN watches as you scurry around the sect grounds checking in on the workers who were all preparing for the banquet that was to be held over the new year. as the sect leader he shouldn't interrupt another elder's duties, but as your husband he wanted you to pay attention to him too — it was new years eve and your spouse can't even ask for some alone time with you? you were so cruel, was this how he was to spend the last day of the year? he sighed and turned back to his papers, finishing up with his own work until it was finally time for bed. you met him in the front of your shared house, he finds himself cracking a smile when you bury your face into his chest, he walks you over to sit together on the bench, where you plop your head down on his lap, very much like a certain youngest, pouring your heart out on the annoyances that you've faced today so what has your dear husband have in mind to reward their hardworking partner? the man only chuckles at your ranting, running his fingers until you fell asleep, carrying your tired body to tuck you in bed. he looks over at your peaceful form one more time, kisses your hand and leaves for his own quarters to retire for the night.

CHUNG JIN had been pulled out from under the pile of books he's buried under to take a day off at the behest of the other elders and disciples. not knowing what to do, he hovers around your side, not really wanting to go down the mountain without a solid plan. you thought he looked a little like a lost sparrow then, so you let him stay around as you went about your day. he aided you with small tasks here and there — wasn't he supposed to be on break? old habits die hard, you supposed. he ended up helping you finish your job earlier than intended, bringing the leftovers from the kitchen along, the two of you headed down the forested path at the back of the mountain to wile away the rest of the afternoon as you ate the food and engaged in small talk about nothing in particular. the sun felt warm on your skin, and as it began to set, the sounds of the flowing stream nearby lulled the two elders into a dreamless sleep.

TANG BO stifled a laugh as he looked at your sorry state. only an idiot falls sick on new year's eve — was what he'd told you. you wanted to strangle him right then and there, never mind that he was your husband. he offered to nurse you for the day, supposedly from the kindness of his heart. bullshit. this guy had something up his sleeve, you were so sure of it. but whatever you thought he'd do never happened. your husband truly did take care of you that whole day. he'd wipe off your cold sweat, change towels, feed you food and medication on time, among other things. you thought he'd turn over a new leaf and was just about to praise him when he snickers at you again. maybe you should get sick more often, you're so much nicer when you're quiet like this. too bad for him your fingers were faster as you shove them up his nose to choke him in retaliation. fortune favours the just. the next morning you woke up feeling good as new — your fever had gone away just in time to celebrate the new year. your husband, on the other hand, didn't seem to be doing too well, seemingly catching your cold from yesterday. hmph, serves him right for teasing you like that.

TANG GUNAK could not catch a break even on new year's eve. there was always work to do, the world did not stop on holidays, after all. you slipped into the room quietly with refreshments in hand, hoping to get him to take a short break from his paperwork. the man had sharp ears — recognising the weighted rhythm of your footsteps even as you were on the far end of the hallway. he sets down his brush, getting up to greet you. my love, he'd call out softly, expertly placing away the tray in your hands. you laugh as he pulls you into his embrace, his face burrowing into your shoulder. you try to hug him back with as much vigour you could muster, pulling away just so you could place a few pecks on his face. it wasn't a very long break, but he was grateful for it nonetheless. he sipped on the tea you brewed, listening to your excited recounting of a new novel you had been reading. new years was a time to give thanks for the blessings in life, and he was more than thankful for the way your shoulder felt pressed against his arm as you two sat side by side.

JANG ILSO cared little for the festivities. he wasn't in the mood for any banquet, or party or whatever loud activity. he had been itching to do something, but he couldn't pinpoint what he wanted to do and the idea of going outside annoyed him. you didn't really know, nor cared to find out about your employer's stormy tantrum going on right at that moment. unfortunately for you, you were one of his go-to people to piss off and annoy whenever he wanted to cause trouble. your boss was a temperamental man, and you always walked on eggshells around him. little did you know that you were third on his list of people he liked, so in the off chance that you did piss him off, he wasn't going to get rid of you. not that soon or quickly anyways. he barged into your office with attendants trailing behind him with boxes of drinks, food and entertainment for that evening. he was here to bother you, if you so kindly didn't mind. most of what happened was blurry — you only remembered drinking the sweet wine, going down far too easily, possibly knocking over papers and ink all over your desk and then passing out. the next time you came to, you were in a guest bedroom near your boss' own. the hangover medicine and new clothes already laid out on the table for you. there was no way you had created a moment that your boss could hold over your head as blackmail. no, you detested the teasing that was sure to come from him in the coming year.

JIN HYEON had been out on an errand on behalf of the elders, and finally, he was going back to wudang just in time for new years. he stops by the small diner in the town next door, he often had his meals here whenever he's going out, outwardly he said it's because he liked the lotus root soup with pork ribs served with warm rice. in reality, he just wanted to find a chance to talk to you, the owner — a familiar face he had known since both of you were mere apprentices. though now you had taken over the restaurant your adoptive grandfather had left behind for you while he had risen up to the rank of a second-grade disciple. the diner was small, and the business was decent enough to make ends meet, but it wasn't so busy that you didn't have time to sit across him to have a short chat before he headed off. you asked him if he would stay and visit the night market this year. he shook his head sadly, feeling bad that he was turning down your offer yet again. you shook your disappointment off, opting to change the topic. the hour passed far too quickly, and he had to report back to the elders before night fall. you walk him towards the door, just as the wind picks up from where your back was turned, pushing you into his chest. the man takes the opportunity to pull you a little closer, accidentally placing a peck on your forehead. you didn't think he'd be this affectionate today but who cared? it was new years eve and it's been a while since he had walked you home. maybe next year you could ask him again to come with you to the night market.

LEE SONGBAEK had gone to his hometown for the new year celebrations. he had been given permission by the elders to do so, along with a good majority of the other disciples. things had been really quiet back in the sect with nobody really wanting to do anything with them. speaking of which, he hadn't seen his family in years by now, and he wondered how they were all doing. he didn't plan to spend too much time — have dinner, catch up, stay overnight and leave the next morning. he didn't expect to see that you would also be in his house, helping out with the new year's eve dinner. he could smell the dough and sesame paste drying out in the sun for the tang-yuan they'd all have later. actually, he thinks most of the village was congregated at his house. the disciples who had tagged along with him were a little taken aback at the size of the crowd, much to his embarrassment. he didn't think his village would be so stoked to have him back on new years with his sect brothers. you slipped out of the kitchen to greet him as the elders fussed over the boys that had come to visit. he leans over to greet you, feeling a small smile pull at his lips when you tousle his hair. his original plan might have been a little thwarted, but since you were here, he didn't really mind. ah, when he goes back to the sect, he should ask if the tailor was accepting any apprentices — if he were, and you came over, he might see you around more often in the coming year.

JIN GEUMRYONG wished he was anywhere else but here right now. but, as the eldest and prodigal son he should behave appropriately. he slips out of the banquet hall at the first opportunity, making shoddy excuses like needing to go to the restroom. he finds a spot in the quietest part of the estate, taking a moment to collect himself from the incessant social interaction he's had the whole day. soft footsteps approach him — really? he feels annoyed, but tries to reign back his distaste when he sees your smiling face beaming at him. go away. he tells you, not in the mood to deal with whatever you were about to drag him into. please? you'd beg, your hand pulling at his arm to get him on his feet. there was something you wanted to show him, and if he didn't go with you now, he was going to miss it! the man agreed reluctantly, letting you take him to the lake behind the hills. the night sky was clear and he could see every sparkling star in the sky. you sit on a fallen log, seemingly waiting for something to happen. he sits right by you, choosing not to question your actions. and then — there it was. the stars fell from the sky one after another, painting the night in long white painter's lines. he'd never seen anything like this in his life thus far, and he might not ever see it again. but it didn't matter. when you asked, doesn't it look amazing? he could only hum, unable to take his eyes off you all while your gaze was turned to the spectacle in the skies.

BAEK CHEON, for the life of him, can't decide which tassel he wanted to buy and ended up just getting a roll of thread in plum-blossom pink to make one on his own. the handiwork was clumsy, clearly amateurish with the bronze coin woven into the accessory. it certainly resembled the shape of a tassel — if you didn't look at the finer details too closely and for too long. you could see him look embarrassed at the quality and was already regretting giving it to you. but how could you not want his sincere gift? you loved it, flaws and all, because it was from him and you wanted to be reminded of the idea that this perfectionist still could make mistakes. you pull him down for a kiss. and then another. and another, until you were peppering his whole face in kisses because your heart couldn't handle this gap in his personality. your poor love, look at how red his face had become. he didn't know whether to be happy that you liked his gift this much, or feel shy at the public show of affection in a place where everyone in the sect could possibly see? you can't help but snicker mischievously as you skipped away from the scene — leaving the poor boy in a flustered mess.

[nonotnolan]

Soul Stones: Long Distance

“It feels like it’s been forever since you’ve held me in your arms, and your trip is only halfway over.  Honestly, I have no idea how people in long distance relationships can stand it.”  The texts and calls helped alleviate some of the longing, but it was still rough knowing that Oliver was hours and hours away.  Oliver wasn’t out to his parents, so when they told him about their plan to send him on vacation to Singapore for an entire month, he couldn’t really protest without raising suspicion.  They were only going to pay for his ticket, and there was no way I’d be able to afford the trip on my own.

I placed my boyfriend on speakerphone so that I could scroll Instagram while we spoke.  “At least everything is going fine over on my end.  Same old boring life.  My work gets done, my boss doesn’t hate me... could be worse.  What about you, how’s your trip?  If it’s even as half as good as these photos, it must be sweet.”

“Heh, yeah... it’s so gorgeous out here, Brian.  Like, part of me says that I should be lying to you so that you don’t feel bad that you’re missing out, but... dude, we’ve gotta come back here later.   I even managed to make a few friends with some guys who are also on vacation.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.  “Oh, you managed, did you?  Yeah, I’m sure it was so hard for the extroverted socialite to make friends.”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up...” he said, in that voice he uses when he knows I’m right.  I could picture his blushing, and it was just entirely too cute.  “But like, there wasn’t a guarantee there would be people my age here.  I’m gonna count it as a win.  Besides, you would not BELIEVE some of the people I’ve met.  Like, this guy, Alfie?  He’s the one I’ve tagged in a few of my other photos, and... well, I don’t want to ruin the surprise I mailed you.”

It was my turn to start blushing.  “Ollie!  You didn’t have to do that, what the heck?  You’re on vacation, you’re supposed to be enjoying yourself!  You don’t need to send me anything.”

“Well too bad, I sent it to you anyway.”  Oliver had quickly shifted back to his normal smug self, which I had to admit was part of his charm.  “Speaking of which-- have you checked your mail today?  The tracking slip says it should have arrived by now.  I think it’s small enough that they were able to put it in your mailbox.”

Sure enough, there was a small bubble-wrapped envelop waiting for me in my mailbox.  Inside was a brown, marbled stone covered with intricate carved runes.  “Oliver, it’s beautiful.  What’s the story behind it?  I didn’t expect Singapore to be known for its--”

There was a sudden lurch, and I suddenly found myself staring into the face of Oliver’s friend.  That would have been weird enough, but it was clearly a mirror that I was staring at.

“It’s a body swapping stone,” Oliver said, coming up behind me and resting his hand on my shoulder.  “Well, a pair of swapping stones.  I didn’t believe it either, until Alfie showed me how they worked.  It was his idea, obviously.  He doesn’t need them anymore, and so he gifted them to me when I told him about our long distance situation.  I figure you and Alfie can swap bodies Friday night, swap back sometime Sunday afternoon, and we can just... do that for a few weeks until the trip is over.  And I’ll be taking mine home with me at the end of the trip, in case we ever need them again.”

I found myself running my hands along the ridges and curves of my new skin-- surprisingly soft new skin, I had to admit.  “And Alfie is... fine with this?  I mean, it sounds like swapping bodies every week was his idea, but like...  He knows what we’re going to be doing to his body, right?”

“Of course, Brian.  As long as I have permission to do the same in yours,” said the voice over the phone.  I recognized it as the sound of my voice-- or, my body’s voice, I suppose-- though hearing from the outside was incredibly weird.  It made sense that he’d be on the line, it wasn’t like I had hung up on him.  “Oliver volunteered your body for me to use, but it’s not cool of me do to anything unless you tell me it’s okay.”

I hadn’t even considered that, to be honest.  Granted, I was the only person who didn’t know that body swapping was possible a few minutes ago. “Yeah, of course, dude.  Just, you know... use a condom, don’t drive my car if you’re hammered, that sort of thing.  And I guess I’d rather you drive downtown if you’re looking for a random hookup, just so that you don’t run into anyone I know.  Outside of that... good grief, Alfie.  You’re doing us a huge favor!  I can’t believe you’re just giving us these things.”

“Hey, I’m just glad someone is able to get good use out of those things,” he said.  “I haven’t used them in several months, and... well, I don’t really need them anymore.  I bought them for cheap, so it’s whatever.  Just... do me a solid, and give them away if you see someone who could use ‘em.”

“Yeah, I think we can manage that,” Oliver said, looking over at my face.  Now that the shock had worn off, I was already starting to get horny-- clearly he was feeling the same way.  “Thanks again, Alfie, talk to you later!”  He hung up, tossed his phone onto a nearby bed, and swept me up into his arms.  If this is what our long distance relationship will look like?  I think we can manage.

[asiamedicsg]

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[quietlyimplode]

the language of flowers and silent things

Whumptober 2023: Day 12 - Red

Warnings: red room talk but nothing graphic

Word Count: 1.3k (gif not mine)

Summary: Yelena receives some help from unlikely sources. Natasha still has her back, despite what she may think.

A/N: (I forget how spoilt I was with no ads, if the anon who gifted them last month, thank you again.)

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

2014

SINGAPORE

“Yelena, where are you?” Saffine shouts into the ear piece.

“Did you do it? Is she dead?”

“Yelena?” Irina asks, “where are you? Your tracker isn’t working. How did you do that?”

Panic suffocates Yelena.

They have safeguards against self harm. Poisons in their bodies that don’t allow them to harm themselves.

Saffine would know something has gone wrong.

Maybe they’d know it’s not her fault.

Choices.

A life with the Red Room, staying until she dies or becomes like Isla, training a new generation of widows and hating herself for it.

Natasha was right.

It’s not a choice.

Despite the connections she’s made in the Red Room and the responsibility she feels for others, she knows, running, escaping, it’s what’s best for her.

A choice like she’s never been given, the irony that it comes from Natasha is not lost on her.

She hates Natasha for it, and loves her all the same.

Looking at the bus schedule, Yelena chooses the one heading to Malaysia, she hears the panic on the line of the other two widows and she knows the punishment that awaits them when they get picked up and returned.

She drops the ear pieces into a teenagers bag, and then; she’s alone.

She knows she can’t think of that now.

People watching as she boards the bus, she calms herself, counting the people around her, and focusing on the time.

Five hours til she arrives and then can work out what to do from there.

Five hours to think about the decision she’s just made.

.

“Did you really expect her to be here?” Clint asks as they board the plane.

“Yes?”

Natasha’s answer is hopeful as she looks around again. The amount of people around them making it difficult to see faces and disguises.

Clint doesn’t follow her eyesight, instead looks at the bruising on her face, covered by make up but still visible. He’s not sure he wants to face Yelena right now. He feels so angry at the pain he knows Natasha is in.

“She’s not coming is she?”

Clint shakes his head, pulling their passports out and presenting them to flight attendant. He knows he needs to let it go.

“Would you have come with me?”

Natasha almost laughs.

“We both know I didn’t,” she replies.

“She needs time, Natasha.”

She frowns, feeling like she’s been told off.

“Why the full name?”

He shrugs, moving forward in line.

“For emphasis? I’m just saying; that she has no reason to trust you, even with everything that you’ve set up. You want an easy reunion but even you have to admit that when you were out of the clutches, it still took you time to trust me, and it was only because I could give you something you needed.”

He points to their seats and she passes him a bag.

“Give her time, yeah? She may not be ready, or she may have a different agenda to what you think she should.”

She sits and stares into the airport, searching again.

“Yeah,” she says softly.

.

2014

MALAYSIA

Yelena steps off the bus, and picks up a suitcase from underneath that isn’t hers, but likely is a womans. If anyone stops her she can play stupid.

They don’t though, and she makes her way to the tallest and biggest hotel in the city.

Kuala Lumpur is busier than she remembers when she was here last, but she was only twelve. Maybe under that light, it all felt different.

She checks in with a fake passport, a fake name, and stolen money, and requests a room furthest from the elevator.

“I’m such a light sleeper,” she grins to the lady, who nods and smiles back.

Easy, this is, manipulating people, Yelena thinks as the elevator takes her up.

She opens the suitcase in her room and luckily finds a range of tshirts and shorts to manage in.

Toiletries, medications, shoes that are probably too big, things she’ll need to reset.

Yelena sighs heavily.

She’s free.

She’s not sure why it feels so bad though.

She should be happy, light, pleased with her decision but instead all she feels is dread.

.

Red hair dye may have not been her best decision. She’s not sure how Natasha blended in so well with being so visible.

It’s strange, not having a mission, not being housed in a facility. The feeling of freedom after being under the rule of someone else feels terrifying.

Yelena doesn’t know what to do with herself.

Knowing they’ll be searching for her, knowing they’re coming, she just can’t seem to move forward, stuck in an awkward limbo of repeating the same day over and over.

She ends up at a small café, orders the same fruit drink and watches those around her.

She brings a book she took from the hotel and pretends to read it, instead taking the time to watch and learn how to be human.

She watches adults walk together, women with headphones walking by, men talking animatedly on the phone.

It’s the children she likes to watch the most.

The little girls who smile easily at their mothers, and the little boys that eat ice cream looking up at their fathers.

Yelena sorts through her feelings, knowing it’s jealousy that boils.

It doesn’t feel fair.

She pushes it down, turning it to anger.

That could have been her, it was her in Ohio.

“Good book?”

The approach of another startles her and even more so when she sees Isla.

Fear pulses through her.

If Isla was here, then so was the Red Room.

“Freedom is a tricky thing, isn’t it?”

She takes Yelena’s hand.

“She told me the tracker was disabled,”

There’s a even cadence of Yelena’s voice, even though she feels like throwing up in fear.

“Oh it is, but honey, you’re going to have to do better to run and hide if you want this to be a permanent thing.”

Yelena stares at Isla.

The Red Room poster girl; a terrifying individual, having cycled through at least twice, probably three times.

“I’m not the bad guy,” Isla smiles, wickedly, sipping her own drink and passing across a package.

“She’s given you an out, and I’m giving you a way to do it.”

“Natasha, she knew, she paid me to help, which is the only reason I’m doing this.”

Yelena opens the package.

Two passports peek out, and Australian one and an American one and a stack of US dollars.

Her heart catches.

“You’ll let me go?”

Isla shrugs.

“Is that what you want?”

Yelena feels her filter drop.

“How am I supposed to know? They said jump and I’d say how high. I don’t want to be theirs. I… this is not real. They made me like this, this shell, and now… now I don’t know; I want them to tell me what I should do, there’s too much grey— too much variability. When you take away the Red Room and what’s left? What’s left of… me?”

Yelena bites down hard on the inside of her cheeks, feeling the intensity of grief bubbling inside and the threat of tears come as she stares down at her drink.

“Sometimes we can’t leave, there’s too much damage. But you should, you might like who you find,” Isla tells her, in a moment of honesty.

“I tried once,” she whispers, more to herself.

She laughs out loud, a manic sound, breaking the introspection.

“If I catch you again, I’m taking you in, and they can do to you what they did to me.”

Yelena feels the insanity in the words.

“What am I supposed to do, now?”

Isla stands, hovers next to her and points out to the people around.

“Become one of them? Be like your sister? Or go the other way? Maybe you’ll like what you become when you don’t have someone pulling your puppet strings.”

She kisses Yelena’s forehead.

“She’s given you an out; I suggest you take it.”

As quickly as she comes, she goes, leaving Yelena with more questions than answers.

.

[lurkingteapot]

I've been going through my collection of old (pre-2016 for the most part) academic papers on BL and thought, hey, why not re-read some of them and sum them up so folks can see whether they want to check them out in full?

Today's offering:

Beautiful, Borrowed, and Bent: “Boys’ Love” as Girls’ Love in Shōjo Manga by James Welker, originally presented at the Third International Convention of Asia Scholars, August 19–22, 2003, Singapore, and published in Signs, Vol. 31, No. 3, New Feminist Theories of Visual Culture (Spring 2006), pp. 841-870, UChicago Press. [Jstor]

Welker starts off with a brief explanation of what the BL genre is, what terminology he uses ("BL" as an umbrella term that includes the earlier names of tanbi, shōnen ai, yaoi, and the long-form 'boys' love'):

“Boys’ love” manga emerged as a subgenre of shōjo manga (girls’ comics) around 1970 just as women artists were taking over the shōjo market.(*) It quickly became among the most popular shōjo manga genres, and its creators became some of the best-loved artists in the industry. (* First published in the monthly Bessatsu shōjo komikku in December 1970, Keiko Takemiya’s “In the Sunroom” (Sanrūmu nite [1970] 1976) was probably the first boys’ love narrative. See Aoyama 1988, 188.) - Welker 2006:841

He goes on to challenge the common perception of BL as a genre "by straight women for straight women":

[T]he genre is widely considered to offer a liberatory sphere within which presumably heteronormative readers can experiment with romance and sexuality through identification with the beautiful boy characters. […] Members of the Japanese lesbian community have, however, pointed to boys’ love and other gender-bending manga as strong influences on them in their formative years […] Clearly boys’ love manga can be viewed through a different lens from that which most critics and scholars have been using, and hence the full potential of boys’ love is largely overlooked: that of liberating readers not just from patriarchy but from gender dualism and heteronormativity. - Welker 2006:842-843

He introduces the texts he will analyse (Takemiya Keiko's Song of Wind and Trees 風と木の詩 kaze to ki no uta, 1976-1984 and Hagio Motō's Heart of Thomas トーマの心臓 tōma no shinzō, 1974), and concludes the essay's intro section as follows:

This reading will employ lesbian critical theory, visual theory, and reader responses to these and similar texts to show how 1970s boys’ love manga is not merely queer on its surface but how it opened up space for some readers to experiment with marginalized gender and sexual practices and played a role in identity formation. - Welker 2006:843

Welker goes into the questions of applicability of theories that weren't originally developed for this specific context – visual theories were largely developed through film analysis; European and North American models of gender and feminist theory, while also having informed academic discourse in Japan, in their origin operate on culturally specific assumptions and need to be applied with care.

He talks about the tradition of androgynous and cross-dressing heroines of early shōjo manga and their connection to the earliest BL manga, the dilemma of the "beautiful boy" characters' gender and sex and how to read these – are they boys? idealised self-images of girls drawn onto boys' bodies? neither male nor female? sexless altogether?, and the way Japanese readers in the 1970s, already culturally familiar with gender performance through kabuki or the all-female Takarazuka Revue and similar troupes, received the gender-bending nature of BL stories. He also comments on the role fan interaction via magazines, and the way readers were learning about queer life in Japan:

By the early to mid-1980s, the magazines’ readers were learning in real terms about the world of Shinjuku ni-chōme, Tokyo’s well-known gay district, described as a world full of “beautiful boys like those in the world of shōjo manga” (Aran 1983, 15), as well as various aspects of lesbian life in Japan (Gekkō 1985). In spite of the connections drawn on the pages of these magazines, the possibility that these narratives might be seen to actually depict homosexuality remains broadly denied. To allow that the narratives might truly be about homosexuality—between these girls-cum-beautiful boys—would be an apparently unthinkable invitation to read the narratives as lesbian. - Welker 2006:857

Welker briefly explores how the example texts of Song of Wind and Trees and Heart of Thomas "serve many of the functions lesbian critics and theorists have outlined as roles of lesbian texts" (Welker 2006:858), then goes on to analyse the flower imagery of roses and lilies that is very prevalent in both titles, the intertextuality of these stories with European and French literature (and how the readers were expected to catch on to this intertextuality). On the transgressive and queering nature of writing and reading BL, he says:

[T]hrough acculturation to gender performance in Takarazuka and kabuki and by such cross-dressing manga icons as Sapphire and Oscar, as well as the deliberate ambiguity of the beautiful boy, the reader is encouraged to see not just a girl but herself within the world of boys’ love and, ultimately, is encouraged to explore homoerotic desire, either as a beautiful boy or as herself, either alone or with others, either as her fantasy or as her reality. […] Regardless of whether boys’ love manga were created merely to offer heterosexual readers a temporary respite from patriarchal restrictions on their desire, some readers found in identifying with the beautiful boy a way through the looking glass to a world outside the patriarchy. And regardless of whether he is read as a boy or a girl, the beautiful boy can be read as a lesbian. […] For readers whose experience of sexuality and gender contravenes heteronormativity, works like Song and Thomas offer narrative safe havens where they can experiment with identity, find affirmation, and develop the strength necessary to find others like themselves and a sense of belonging. - Welker 2006:865-866

I've been out of academia so long that I've lost any sense of what a good proportion of direct quotes to original text is, or whether it's even appropriate to quote as much as I did here. This is emphatically NOT an academic article in and of itself -- I'm posting on bloody tumblr. If anyone wants to add to this, I'll be thrilled.

One of the most commonly voiced criticisms of BL is that it's about, but not (or did not in significant part used to be) by or for gay men. This article does not address this point further—Welker does go into this in his more recent articles, iirc; if you've got beef with this aspect, @ him not me. I do however think it's worth noting that this 17-year-old article already recognises that the genre is queer, and has been since its inception.

[pinkandgoldensoul]

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pairing: max verstappen x female!reader genre: friends to lovers, kind of slow burn, angst, fluff and comfort !tw!: swearing, online hate towards reader, insecurities, fluff, angst other notes: fake instagram things? Loosely based on Singapore GP 2022 word count: 10.1k (as always, feel free to use dividers to split the chapter into chunks!) A huge thanks to whoever reblogs or likes the story and a special thanks to @ally4and33 for her support in the last couple days! ♥ Love you all!

It felt soft. The light knocking on your eyelids, asking for permission with its warmth. As your entire body slowly moved, awakening, you snuggled up to the blanket you had wrapped around your shoulders and enjoyed its coziness. Max’s smell still trapped onto the pillow, you smiled with eyes closed. He wasn’t there, but you knew he had been all night, cuddling with you and falling asleep; you still could feel his thumb repetitively rubbing your skin as he held you close and the beating of his heart lingered on your mind as a beautiful song that you play on loop, knowing all the lyrics. By heart. Waking up to those memories – real ones, this time – made your insides twist in a pleasant discomfort; you knew you weren’t mistaken, you knew Max had stayed over with you, holding each other, and you didn’t have to fear or mistrust your mind. You had snuggled and cuddled together, and nobody could doubt it. No drunk, slurred mental estate could put those moments at risk. You owned them, forever.

You looked over to the side, only to realize Max wasn’t lying next to you. You weren’t surprised, though; you figured he may have decided to go training, have breakfast or simply get up. Staring at the ceiling, you smiled: your nose didn’t feel as stuck as it was the day before and an unknown wave of positive, bright feelings earned you a decent dose of optimism. You probably had been needing it for quite a long time. «Good morning, y/n.» Max’s voice made your head snap up towards the door, and you actually would’ve preferred not to see him. That smile wrinkling his lips, his eyes brimming with light, his whole appearance blinding you way more than sun beams could ever manage to: everything about him enchanted you. «Morning,» you whispered, stretching a bit. «Slept well?» he asked, getting closer to the bed. «Really, really well.» you answered, uncapable of stifling in a huge smile. «Bet you did, it’s 11:30!» Max said, laughing. «You sleep in way more than I do, c’mon!» As you said that, you rolled over the bed, facing the pillow, and you felt the mattress sinking down onto your side due to Max’s weight. «I’ve bought you some medicine.» You eyed the small plastic bag he still held in his hands. «I think I’m doing better.» «Doesn’t mean you’ve fully recovered.» Max added. «I know, but-» «No, don’t even bother telling me you don’t need medicine because I’m not listening to you.» After a small pause, Max looked at you again, almost unsure. «Do you really feel better?» «Yes, still a bit sluggish, but I feel fine.» Despite the positives in your feedback, he couldn’t help but get stuck thinking about the negatives. «Sluggish? Maybe you have a little bit of temperature?» «I don’t think so?» Max rummaged into the plastic bag and took out a brand-new thermometer. «Why did you buy a new one?» you chuckled at the sight. «Because now this is your personal thermometer.» «Thanks…? Didn’t know I’d need a personal one.» you raised a brow, still amused. «Oh, but this is special, y/n. It will know everything about you.» You inspected the packaging thoroughly, trying to convince yourself it would, without really succeeding. «You can give a name to it, if you want.» «Max, it’s a freaking thermometer!» you laughed. «So what? It may get offended if you don’t. You know, it’s really sensitive.» As he cracked that lame joke, you glared at him. «Tell me you didn’t say that.» Max’s cheeks immediately squished upwards to make room for his mesmerizing and innocent smile, happy and giggling as a kid would do after making a mess. And you couldn’t stop yourself from grinning at him as well. «You’re so stupid…» «And now I’m sure you don’t have a temperature, because your heart’s stone cold. Poor thermometer.»

After a couple of minutes – and a lot of insisting – Max dragged you out of the bed so that you could have some breakfast-brunch-lunch-whatever you have before noon; then, he persuaded you to take some medicine to relieve the dizziness and you started to feel better. Max noticed your eyes got livelier and livelier as time passed by and it only encouraged him to suggest new activities, as he would’ve liked to spend all day talking with you, relaxing on the couch, or onto the bed watching a movie, but in his mind a whim, an urge, a need and, ultimately, a duty, called upon him. Getting ready for Singapore. He needed to come back to his other house to get some simulator work done, he was missing it; but how could he ask you to come with him and get bored all alone? Or if you decided to stay at the apartment, how could he leave you alone again? Max felt troubled at the way he had gradually become unable to accept the idea of you being on your own; it wasn’t a matter of trust, despite the latest events. He simply couldn’t let go of your soft hands, of your scent, of your lips curving into a beautiful smile, of your voice chanting him like a siren.

Sitting onto the bed, Max played with your hair, combining strands into a messy braid. So lost in the process, he didn’t even remember when and why he had asked you to let him do so. «Are you going for a loose braid?» you enquired, enjoying the slow-paced rhythm of his fingers working on your hair. «Yes, my specialty.» As he heard you giggling, Max felt his heart caving in. «When did you learn to braid?» «When I was seven. My mum taught me how to braid Victoria’s hair.» A fond smile immediately bloomed onto your lips, and you were lucky enough not to have Max in front of you, so that you could hide it. He had shared with you a few of his childhood memories before, and his sister’s name always came up, either because she was present or absent during his karting days; you could tell he really loved her and somehow still felt sorry for taking their father and himself away from her. He had also showed you some pictures, which had your heart melting in awe, though you’d try to dissimulate. Max was a loving person and you cherished every seed of affection he would plant along the way, just so you could grow even fonder of him. «Is it done?» you asked, as the weight of your hair leaned back onto your skin. «Yes.» With a quick motion, you brought the braid forward, onto your collar bone, and stared at it. Max sat back in front of you and got captured by the sun light shining through the window behind your back, reflecting its gold onto some rebel strands of hair, as a perfect frame to your face. Reacting way too late to your “Thank you”, Max stuttered, realizing he still had to tell you about his plan. Had he prepared one? Not really. But his instinct dictated it to him, spontaneously, as he started speaking to you. «Tomorrow I need to go back to the house and get done the training for the race and I was thinking you could come with me.» Your eyes immediately flicked to his, a glimpse of surprise flashing inside of them. «A-are you sure? I don’t want to bother you…» «I’ll be locked inside a room pretty much all the time, how could you ever disturb me?» he chuckled. As you pondered in silence, Max prompted you with all the activities you could undertake there and reassured you about getting proper medications if you still needed them, offering to be the one to go buy them. As he kept maxplaining in order to persuade you, you giggled and stopped his rambling. «Max, it’s okay. I’ll come.» you smiled. His face immediately lit up, and your chest ignited at the sight; without noticing, his fingers had reached yours onto the bedcover and they had shared a rush of electricity, of magic. Of complicity. Of… something. Something you couldn’t name, but definitely something sweet, warm, comforting and almost painful at the same time. #

«This is the room. Do you need me to show you the bathroom?» «No, we’ve been here a few days ago, I remember.» «Fine.» Max scratched his head. «I’m… I’m going to ask what’s for dinner.» «Okay… I’ll take out my toiletries, then.» «Perfect!» Max rushed out of the bathroom quickly, eaten alive by embarrassment. He’d been awkward in his life before and obviously had slipped up countless times, but after that little talk, a thin veil of uncertainty, hesitation and discomfort weighed down onto his cheeks as a fire, covering the skin with a soft blush and making his hands slightly clammy. Max hated not being in control of his heart drumming inside the ribcage, pleading to get out and reach its half; he hated his voice cracking or sounding insecure despite the attempts at dissimulating; and he also hated his mind running, racing on its own and replaying moments he’d prefer not to be reminded of while standing in front of you. Could he really blame his mind, though? After all, he had been the one to ask you to come back to the house where you nearly had kissed, nearly had hooked up, nearly had crossed the fine line between friends and not-just-friends; still, it was the place you had danced clinging to each other, got drunk together with smiles, whispers, fingers intertwining and shivers, cutting all the noise and everybody else out of your piece of heaven. All these memories were mere rings to a longer chain and the more Max tried to trail back to its beginning, the further it would get due to the new – old – images of you two together, packed inside the same untitled folder of his heart. The only partial relief was he wouldn’t be able to spend too much time with you due to the simulator training.

He wasn’t alone in his struggles, though. You avoided the reflecting surface of the mirror in which you had seen played forbidden fantasies only a couple days before, and as you turned around taking a closer look to the bathroom, you eyed the bathrobe you had worn, all your attention channeled towards those three letters on full display. Max. You recalled yourself freaking out in there, convinced you and him had slept together, then stealing the robe away without a second thought. When did it all become so overwhelming you would fall apart simply going back to those memories? You closed the cabinet with a firm thud: getting through the sudden closeness had never seemed so hard.

«Hello?» Slowly waking up, you tried opening your eyes. «Hi, Alice, what’s up.» It was Max speaking; his voice was distant, but still clear enough to hear it. «No, I’m awake. Why are you calling, though?» He seemed like he was in the room next to yours, at the phone with someone. «Hope it’s not a new media activity, we already have a lot this week.» Visualizing the floor plan in your head, you reasoned he was in his bedroom. «What? Is this a joke?» As Max’s tone raised, you couldn’t refrain yourself from eavesdropping a little bit more attentively. «But where did they get these numbers? Did they make them up? Unbelievable…» Numbers? Was he talking about simulation work? «Well, we could sue them for defamation. ‘Cause we’re fine, right?» Nope, definitely not simulation work. Your forehead hurt, and with those words dancing in your brain confusion inevitably grew. «Alice, can we please talk about this on Wednesday? Just tell me that other thing.» Hands rubbing tiredness out of your face, you sat onto the bed. «For fuck’s sake… Is it bad?» Feet barely touching the ground, you tried gathering energies to get up. «THEY SAID WHAT?!» But Max’s altered voice got you flinching, startled, frozen in place. «How do they dare? Write down all their names, because I’m not being interviewed by those assholes! Don’t get them near me! Fucking dickheads.»

With featherlike steps, heart thumping in your chest, you leaned against the door frame of Max’s room, trying not to disturb him and hinting at your presence at the same time. «No, we’re not discussing it now,» he said in a hurry, after noticing you were standing a few meters away. You unsurely walked towards him. «But I want this to be clear: I am deciding what to do, and I don’t want anybody else to interfere.» As Max abruptly ended the call and put the phone back into his pocket, only to look at you, the breath you were holding finally released. «Who was it?» you managed to whisper, full of doubts and uncertainty. Max, noticing your distress and able to read that little veil of sleepiness you hadn’t been able to shrug off your face, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, giving you a shy smile. «Alice Hedworth.» You raised a brow, in confusion. «The communications manager of the team.» he plainly answered. You looked down, recalling the quick-tempered replies he had given, then raised your eyes back at him. «Why would you have to sue people? What happened?» «Did you eavesdrop?» You gaped at him, feeling like a thief caught red-handed. «Uhm… It woke me up, so…» Max sighed. He’d rather not tell you, but he was aware it was inevitable for you to find out eventually, so there was no point in hiding it from you. Plus, there was probably nothing to worry about. Or at least Max hoped so. «Some journalists claim we breached the cost cap last year. They also say another team is involved, but of course, we’re the ones under the spotlight and now they’re complaining about how it’s unfair we won the championship, since we did it illegally, to their saying.» Max’s placid expression wasn’t able to instill reassurance in you. «But you guys are really fine?» «Of course we’re fine, they’re just coming at us because they cannot accept they’ve lost and scandal is the only way to bring us down at the moment, since their car can’t.» He slightly chuckled at his own comment, but again, it did nothing to calm your mind down. «How could they invent all of this? I mean, it’s a pretty big accusation, they must have some sort of proof in order to say it… How did they get numbers?» «I don’t know, I’m not an accountant. And you aren’t a detective, y/n.» Max said, smiling at you. «C’mon, let’s go have breakfast.» He was guiding you towards the kitchen with his fingers barely brushing against your lower back, when suddenly another thought crossed your mind. «What was the second thing?» «Uh?» he said, caught off guard. «You said you wouldn’t release interviews to some journalists.» you explained, taking a seat. He frowned. «You really paid attention to the conversation, didn’t you?» Max turned his back to you, grabbing two cups from the cupboard and hiding his reaction to the topic. «You don’t have to worry about it.» he downplayed. «Just paparazzi being annoying as always. But they’ll be taken care of.» You would’ve liked to pay more attention to the way his tone had subtly turned serious, suggesting bother and almost rage; the last bit of the sentence been spitted out of the mouth as a curse, in a lower voice, so that its darkness couldn’t reach you.

You should’ve known. You should’ve expected it to happen, sooner or later. It was bound to happen, you told yourself. After all, been dragged down the pitlane by one of the most famous drivers in the world under thousands of flashing cameras wasn’t really a gesture that would get anyone go unnoticed by the press. Of course, medias had gone crazy over those pictures taken in Monza, but the true bomb was dropped with the rumors of the probably-not-so-private party of last week. Suddenly, your name started to travel from mouth to mouth, even though nobody had ever acknowledged your presence before. You went from being a stranger to the Cupid’s arrow breaking into Max’s cold heart, the one who caused him and Kelly to argue and ultimately split, a mysterious girl no one knew who had unspecified intentions: clout? Money? Visibility? After all, you could’ve never gained those alone: you weren’t that beautiful. Kelly was way prettier than you; she brought a heavy and significant surname and was successful in her field. Who were you? A parasite? A gold digger in search of fifteen minutes of fame? A lot of people agreed on the fact that you definitely didn’t look like someone worthy of being pictured together with Max Verstappen. To be fair, nobody had prepared you for it anyway, but you couldn’t say Kelly hadn’t warned you.

The weather in Singapore was extremely humid; you couldn’t tell, though, if the sweat forming onto your skin was the product of the low atmospheric pressure or the fruit of being swamped and chased by a group of photographers, journalists and phones used as microphones, directly pointing at you like knives. It wasn’t a walk of shame; indeed, you couldn’t understand what was there to be ashamed of, you didn’t know what you were supposed to tell those people, and neither could guess what they expected to hear when there was nothing you had to say. Still, your gut sensed the hidden words and the secret turmoil you had to keep inside, paired up with the anxious oppression of the small crowd surrounding you, addressing questions at you, as you marched head-low towards Red Bull’s garage. «Are you the reason Max and Kelly Piquet broke up?» «How long has he been cheating on Kelly with you?» «Y/n, please answer some questions for us!» «How did you guys meet? When did your relationship developed into something more?» «Y/n, please, can you confirm the rumors about the party in Monaco?» «Can you tell us more about your family?» You abruptly halted your steps. Which family?, you bitterly said to yourself. Still lost in thought, you distinctly heard the clicks of a camera taking pictures. In that exact moment, you felt nothing more than a lifeless doll inside a lions’ cage: you weren’t a person anymore, you were just an object, without feelings and sensitivity, which had to withstand whatever they wanted to do to you or give them anything they tried to gain from you. Before rage could take the upper hand, you felt two hands dragging you away from the journalists. «It’s enough pestering for today.» You felt Carlos quickly grabbing your arms and guiding you towards the heart of the paddock, in order to leave all of them behind and preventing them from even daring to follow you. «I promise you the hospitality is a much quieter place.» he said, smiling. A veil of numbness, though, had washed emotions away from your face: reality had thrown an ice bucket at you, not only forcing you to face your inner chaotic magma of feelings, but justify the lack or the presence of them in front of the world as well. It was clear, you weren’t ready. You told yourself the timing of the news was absolute crap, unmerciful, cruel; if it had happened a couple months earlier, the situation would’ve been almost totally under control. Because you would’ve had nothing to control. «Don’t mind them, they’re going to drop it soon.» Carlos’ words momentarily distracted from your trail of thoughts, and you were glad they did. «Hopefully you’re right.» you sighed.

You both plopped onto a small couch in the living area, absentmindedly watching the tv hung on the wall. Sitting in silence, caught in your headspace, you didn’t notice the Spaniards eyes studying your expression. «So… Italy did good to the both of you, uh?» Carlos smugly looked at you. You rolled your eyes, kind of annoyed. «Stop it.» «I mean, now I get why you were so worried something happened at the party.» «Aren’t you supposed to help me relax?» «Isn’t it working?» Your furrowed eyebrows made your confusion clear. «No?» «I think it does. Now that you’re mad at me, you’re getting those journalists out of your head.» As a faint smile lingered onto your lips, a voice coming from the tv immediately caught your attention, drew your gaze, captured your undivided attention: Max’s. Seeing him suddenly lit up your opaque features, and Carlos noticed; unfortunately, he also witnessed distress and worry replace the fondness inside your eyes. You couldn’t bear the sight of it. No, as much as you tried to avoid it, there was an inner part of you that shattered in pieces while hearing journalists insinuating stuff without proof, implicitly – but not trying to hide it either – suggesting Max wasn’t worthy of being a champion, that the 2021 title had been robbed. Once again, his abilities and merits were questioned looking at parameters that didn’t include his outstanding performance and talent. And it hurt you; somehow, it hit close. When he had informed you about the rumors it didn’t seem that bad, or serious, or anything that could be real, to be honest; but everybody referred to it as a grounded certainty, a fact to deal with and, even before an official confrontation with the FIA, all cried scandal. Inside Max’s cold eyes, you read frustration and anger. You couldn’t stand it. So you stood up. «Y/n?» Carlos asked. You left the hospitality without adding a word.

Your feet automatically moved down the paddock with small and quick steps, trying to go as fast as they could. You didn’t cross eye with anybody, because the only person you wanted to see wasn’t walking in the crowd. There was un urge, a deep-rooted need to seek refuge in Max’s arms, unfold your distress and take out his, merge them together and let go of them. With fidgeting hands, you reached for your phone in the jeans’ pocket and called him. You had so many things to tell him; so many useless words to make sure he was doing okay, so many dreamed reassurances you wanted to give and be given back. Although he wasn’t picking up, you marched towards your destination until you finally saw Red Bull’s logo standing out onto the external wall of the hospitality. You were ready to approach the entrance, about to step onto the stairs and run inside, but someone sprung up in front of you warding you off with an arm. «Sorry, you can’t get inside!» This person from the team guided you a couple meters away from the door you desperately wanted to cross. You looked at her closely, and you saw a tag onto her Red Bull shirt. That Alice, uh? Now it makes sense. «What?» you simply asked. «You’re not allowed to get inside our hospitality, I’m sorry.» she quickly repeated, shaking her head. «But I need to talk to-» «Y/n, I’m sorry, but you can’t. I don’t know what Max told you, but we as a team have other problems to deal with at the moment and we don’t want rumors about you two to be on the list as well.» The stern expression she put on made you stand still, speechless, almost uncapable of reacting. «Also, you’re not allowed inside the garage throughout the weekend. As soon as the situation with the media gets better, you’ll be welcomed again, I promise.» «I just wanted to talk to him.» you whispered. She sighed. And she left. After exchanging a few words with people from the stuff – probably making sure they wouldn’t let you in – she disappeared inside the building, and with her all your hopes of relief.

«She can’t get near Max down the track, in the pitlane or here in the paddock, okay? Paparazzi are everywhere and they’re just waiting for those two to slip up again.» Alice spoke to some colleagues in the communication area with a peremptory tone; hearing heavy steps behind her, though, she immediately turned into ice. «Who’s slipping up?» Max asked, quickly taking a sip from his water bottle. Alice deeply inhaled, mastering the courage to confront him. «You and y/n, Max.» she replied, sharp. As your name was brought into the conversation, Max’s focus shifted completely on it. «What happened? Did you see her? Did you talk to her?» Alice, trying not to get intimidated by his pressing questions, kept her tough face on. «She came here to see you and I had to make her leave. There are too many eyes on you, and I’ve already told you this is an extremely delicate moment! Also, Kelly is involved, and we don’t need other troubles…» «But Kelly isn’t involved at all, this is only between me and y/n! And we’re not even together!» Max said, raising his voice in frustration. «Press doesn’t care about the truth, they just know what they can see! And they will try to dig deeper if you give them the opportunity to.» «So what? I can’t see her anymore? She isn’t going to come over to our garage for races?» Max asked, sarcastic. He probably expected Alice to match his sarcasm, but she hesitated, afraid to fuel his rage. Her silence, of course, did the exact opposite. «I told you it’s my decision! If I want to hang out with her, I will! You’re nobody to tell me who I can spend my time with!» «This isn’t meant to be against you, and you know it.» Of course not, he thought. It never is. They treated him like a little puppet for their PR content he didn’t give a shit about and expected him to accept restrictions on the people he could spend time with. His manager, approaching Max to calm him down, put a hand onto his shoulder. «Come on, Max, let’s go-» «What would you do if they asked you to stop hanging out with a dear friend of yours?» he asked Alice, gradually more uncapable of containing anger. «I’d do it, if it’s for the good of the team.» «But this only has to do with me! My friendships don’t involve the team!» «Yes, but YOU are part of the team! Guess what, for most you ARE the team, you represent it, and when they see you, they think of Red Bull!» «And do you think this is fair to me or to anyone else working in the team?» he replied, crossing arms. «Okay, Max.» Alice said, resigned. «Okay. If you don’t like it, you can call Christian and tell him yourself.» With that, Alice simply walked away: she had nothing else to add, since there was no one willing to listen.

Max didn’t waste any time. His steps echoed through the corridors – followed by his manager, who vainly tried to stop him – and constant loud thumps could be heard from quite a distance, causing a few employees to peek the head out of their office to check who was passing by. He didn’t even knock on the door; there wasn’t time for formalities, there wasn’t enough patience to calmly handle the situation. «Can we talk?» #

You sat across each other. You weren’t there. It was hard to explain, but you felt some kind of comfort in being surrounded by silence despite a crowd of people going back and forth as little ants. Despite Sebastian sitting in front of you, sternly staring at you. There was tension; composure, studying of movements, distance. And it magically dissipated, as Sebastian’s sigh erased the wall of unsaid words dividing you. «I’m sorry for treating you badly last time.» you casually said, not daring to cross eyes. A pause. You quietly reasoned which words to use next, although Sebastian prevented it by breaking his iced silence. «You don’t need to apologize. I could see something troubled you, and I’m pretty sure it still does.» He was met with an unmutated expression. «You can talk to me, if you need it. Whatever it is, I’ll try to help you.» Yet another shower of silence. He then insistently searched for your eyes. «You don’t have to pretend you’re fine with all the media pressure. I’ve been there before, and I’ve learned how to deal with it.» «That’s not the problem.» you said, reluctant, diverting gaze. «Okay. Then what is it?» he persisted. Yeah. What was it? The press asking you about your private matters or them hinting at a romance affair which was non-existent, to your dismay? Was it the fact that you wished it was real and actually had to hide something, instead of fighting feelings you desperately tried to conceal and repress in front of anybody, Max and you included? «Or I’d better ask… Who is it?» Sebastian’s words had you like a deer caught in the headlights. «Guess Max is still the deal, right?» he inquired again, leaning his elbows onto the coffee table. «Yeah.» you hummed, mostly to yourself. «Do you like him?» Seb slightly smiled at it. «I don’t know. I mean, I think so, but- It’s probably just me, it’s not worth ruining our relationship.» you rambled. «Who said you are going to ruin the relationship?» Seeing Sebastian put a skeptical face, you swam in your own insecurities: the amount of paranoia you’ve been dealing with in a week made your head hurt, and for a second the clouds darkening your mind got away thanks to Seb’s light of reason. You would reflect upon it in another moment, though: the weekend already seemed difficult even after putting aside your emotions, and you clearly weren’t in a position to gamble. «I can’t afford to lose him.» you then stated, staring at the sky still lost in thought. «Trust me, Max won’t let go of you that easily. He really enjoys your company, you’ve got nothing to fear.» Sebastian smiled. You tried to do the same, but you told yourself you would’ve liked to be as confident as he was.

Max didn’t like losing. Not that hard to figure out, some would say. But it was a trait which he kept also off the track; there was something so confident and assertive in the way he would speak his mind, express his opinion, a sort of determination stemming from dead-certainty and belief. And Max had just conquered a small win, after all. You weren’t allowed to enter the Red Bull garage, but he had managed to convince Christian Horner to let you stay in the hospitality. «But I don’t want her to be here tomorrow and on Sunday, understood?» Christian asked, making sure Max wouldn’t take advantage of it. Max nodded, despite not being fully satisfied yet; after texting you to come over and seeing you enter the hospitality, though, a bright smile immediately spread over his lips, as he immediately searched Alice’s eyes to catch her reaction and enjoy it. She crossed her arms and simply walked away, visibly annoyed. At the same time, Max saw you getting closer with a cheerful appearance: without even thinking twice, his arms were ready to welcome you in a hug. «Thank you.» you murmured as you parted. Looking at you, Max couldn’t restrain a thought: winning had never tasted so sweet. #

«So many corrections, right?» «Yeah… I lost the count of all the times I was about to hit the wall!» Max and Charles having a little debrief after the first sessions of free practice was an established tradition no one ever really complained about. The two of them were walking inside the paddock, heading towards the hospitalities, and the discussion gradually shifted from track conditions to simply catching up with each other. Charles was quick to notice way more cameras than usual were pointing at them; he hadn’t really paid attention to the rumors, so he felt naturally weirded out by the sudden interest. «Is it just me or is everybody following us?» the Monegasque lightly chuckled. «Yeah, seems like it.» Max brushed off. «Did I do something?» Charles asked, utterly oblivious to the situation. «No, they’re here for me, don’t worry.» They stopped a couple meters before Red Bull’s entrance, but before splitting, Max stepped in. «I still haven’t apologized for how I treated you the morning after Zandvoort. So, uhm, I’m sorry.» Charles squinted, thinking hard, then let out a “Ah!” after successfully remembering the situation. «Don’t worry, I noticed there was tension between you and y/n. It’s fine.» As Charles added a smile to the sentence, a laughing filled the air and made the two drivers turn their heads: they saw you getting out of the hospitality playing and laughing with Sergio’s wife and, in particular, with her children. You had spent time with them and watched free practice together, and now that it was time to say goodbye. Exiting the door, you immediately perceived stares on you and couldn’t help but cross them. As you and Max made eye contact, a spontaneous and traitor smile appeared onto your lips, making Charles slightly spying on Max’s expression to observe his reaction. Acknowledging the newly relaxed atmosphere between the two of you, he didn’t miss the opportunity to tease him a little. «Did she already recover?» «Yes, almost fully.» Max answered, as they saw you discretely blow your nose. «She’s doing a lot better.» «And you’re both doing better, I see.» Max was about to look at him and reply, tell him off or something, but he wasn’t able to divert gaze as you gently tousled Sergio’s son’s hair, a fond and amused look in your smiling eyes. Charles’ goodbye reached his ears delayed, and Max got lost staring at you, in awe, his heart twisting in affection.

On Saturday, things didn’t get better. Max had texted you to ask if you’d like to have breakfast with him outside of the paddock before the third session of free practice, so that the team couldn’t have anything to scold him for. You had gladly accepted. You dressed up, combed your hair and pulled the door behind you as you got out; inside the lift, you felt a light comfort since you were about to spend some time with Max again. But no, things weren’t supposed to get better. In fact, as you tried to get out of the hotel, you were stopped by the presence of a bunch of journalists waiting outside the hall glass door. Do they care that much about me?, you wondered. You stood still, hands closed into cold-sweat fists, unable to take a decision. A voice inside of you told you not to pay attention to those jerks and to fiercely make your way past their ignorance; silence would kill their loudness. However, there was a gut feeling you couldn’t ignore, pleading you not to enter the lions’ den, because you simply wouldn’t be able to tolerate it. Paralyzed by fear, you retraced your steps.

Pushed the door, took your shoes off and passed a hand through your hair, breathing deep. There was nothing to freak out about. You got closer to the window and peeked down the street: they were still there. That’s normal, you thought, they were there a few minutes ago. You swallowed. You noticed your mouth had gone dry. Was it dry when you woke up? You couldn’t tell. Swallowing multiple times, you realized it still hurt a little bit. Did it hurt when you woke up? You couldn’t tell. You quickly took your phone out and texted Max. “sorry, I don’t feel good, I’m not coming” Had you just made up an excuse so that you didn’t have to show up? You couldn’t tell. You sent the text, then threw the phone onto the covers in distress. You peeked down the pavement once more: they were still there. Nothing to freak out about. You picked up your phone from the bed once again and did something you had never done, something you shouldn’t have, but that your irrationality reckoned as a good idea. Scrolling social medias to read what they had said about you. To your surprise, you found several debatable Instagram pages which posted stolen shots of you and Max. The most frequent attribute either one of you was given was “traitor”, oftentimes written in full capital letter onto your faces. The real cruelty, though, was stored in the comments section.

No need to freak out.

You run back to the window, your breaths picking up the pace as you noticed they were still there, still fucking waiting for you in order to assault you like a prey. You shut down the blinds, closing off the rising sun’s beams, drowning in the darkness. The phone, which you had let fall back onto the bed again without noticing, vibrated with a muffled sound. “Thought you were doing better…?” Knees gradually gave in under your shaky body, crawling on the floor with your back against the wall. “I thought that too”, you slowly typed. In that moment, your throat tickled and made you cough so hard you hoped to spit out the anguish’s knot in your stomach, emptying your body from the very bottom and finally getting rid of that discomfort. Before you had time to process it, coughs turned into sobs and a few ugly tears hid around your eyes, making your skin sting and burn. #

Sick. «What’s that pout, Max?» You had got better so fast, you’d had no problem for days… How come you were sick again? To be fair, Max easily guessed illness had nothing to do with it. «No, nothing.» Something was up yet another time. He knew you would avoid in any possible way further exposure, minimize the risk of being caught together and troubling the both of you. And this drove him mad. He couldn’t care less about other people’s opinions: he’d always had to fight against prejudices and poor thinkers, sailing the sea throughout major shitstorms, and he had learned how to handle the pressure from a very young age. He was used to it. But you weren’t. And he was aware. Though, he wished you would stop being so conditioned and influenced by other people. «Then put your helmet on, it’s almost time to go.» Lambiase’s voice brought him into the present, awakening the sounds of fervent mechanics bent over the car, the noise which had made him zone out in the first place. #

Vox media. A vox media is a word that has a neutral meaning per se, but can carry both a good and a bad one; it’s like a medal, with its two faces, both brought into the table whenever the term is mentioned. It’s funny how the chances of getting the wrong message it’s almost non-existent… Well, the context usually clarifies it. There are words that can only have good or a bad meaning in a specific situation. And as a driver, in the middle of your last flying lap of the last session, knowing the checkered flag is getting closer and closer and so is the adrenaline for a conquered pole position, taking all the possible risks you can in a street circuit, searching for grip in every single centimeter of asphalt, there’s probably only one thing you don’t want to be told. «Box, Max! Box, box, box!» «Why? What the… why?» A stab amidst the chest. This is what those words felt like for Max, leaving him breathless for a second, as his focus broke and fury took its place. «What the fuck!? What the fuck! What are you guys saying?!» They left him yelling in frustration on his own, keeping silent; but Max needed answers. «I don’t get it, what the fuck is this about?» «I’ll explain once you’re out, Max.»

As Max parked the car for the FIA to check it, his eyes flicked to the side: flashes got his attention, and a group of cameramen run towards Red Bull’s pit wall to picture their failure. And it was in that moment he finally realized how all the pressure the media had kept on the team had pushed the system to crumble like a house of cards, making them get stuff wrong with his car and preventing him from delivering as he was about to do. Did he really wanted to be filled up with crap excuses for their mistake? No. He had obliged to whatever they had instructed him to say in interviews about the cost cap, and they had thought banning you from the paddock would solve their problems. It clearly hadn’t. Max got out of the car and removed his helmet in a hurry: GP tried to hold him back, to no avail. He had already gone past him, not sparing a glance.

Max marched towards the hotel. The sweat clung onto his skin like a suffocating veil, and his frustrated rage certainly didn’t help getting rid of it. He passed the back of his hand on the forehead. He was on the edge. All because of the team fucking up his qualifying, the team who was in everybody’s mouth for the cost cap scandal, the team who had decided to get you away from him for PR reasons. His mind was filled up with racing thoughts, but one thing was extremely clear: he was fed up with all of it. There wasn’t any tolerability left; he would’ve stripped himself naked and run to you undressed, if that would get those paparazzi and “journalists” out of the way. Out of his way, out of yours.

Entering the building, the receptionist didn’t even manage to address him with practiced polite words, since Max simply sped right past him, thinking his racing suit would serve as a sufficient introduction.

He knocked onto your door with such a force you jumped, startled, still sitting in front of the tv in shock for the mishap. When you opened to him, your shock grew even bigger. Max didn’t give you time to react and stormed into the room as soon as there was enough space for him to sneak inside. You turned and followed his restless pacing back and forth, mouth still agape for the surprise. «Max, what happened?» you tried to ask, but the words came out with a shaky voice. «No fuel.» he replied, closing off the blinds to unwanted attention. «I… I’m so sorry… But I’m sure you’ll have the pace tomorrow! And- and there might be a safety car! Anything can happen during the race…» Rummaging through your mind in search of words of comfort, you stared at Max, who was giving you his back. He nervously passed a hand through his hair, as his chest started rising and falling quite fast. Why did he get there? It wasn’t your fault, and neither could you turn back time or change the situation. What was he searching for? What did he expect, what did he want from you? In a fraction of second, Max turned around and he immediately got the answer. You felt your wrist been pulled, while your bodies crashed together onto each other, molding together, melting, clinging. You could hear and feel onto your skin his hot, heavy and shortened breaths, as Max’s face nestled against the crook of your neck. It was so quick you didn’t see it coming; it was so natural you didn’t even try to avoid it. Because it simply felt appropriate and right to let Max loosen the embrace enough to stare at you and then quickly closing the gap, leaning in for a kiss. Hands full of your skin and lips dancing heatedly onto yours, Max understood: this was what he came there for. He hadn’t been able to resist without you, especially after the pressure he had withstood. He had needed you so bad. You couldn’t rewind time and prevent mistakes from happening, of course; but there was a lot you were able to do by simply standing on his side, smiling, encouraging him and checking up on him, things he had terribly missed. He just couldn’t stand the idea of you watching him from a screen, miserable, not even daring to put foot into the paddock in fear of people halting you and asking you inappropriate, nosey questions. And as his hands firmly held your head, perceiving the skin underneath them emanating warmth acted as a foot stomping on full throttle: suddenly, he needed to feel your body even closer, despite your faint attempt to regain breathing space gently pushing on his chest, and his tongue asked for permission to deepen the kiss, slowing down the rhythm only to make it more intense. Max had lost control since jumping out of the car, but he hadn’t realized; and even after running to you with his suit still on, ignoring every person around him, knocking on your door and kissing you out of the blue, then getting all worked up, no, he still hadn’t managed to notice. But your hands, still pressed down onto his chest, eventually splitting you apart… Yes, they were the ones to break the spell. The bitter cold that hit him as your body got away from his hold felt like a slap straight to the cheek. He sobered up, all at once, unable to speak or say anything now aware of his actions. On the other hand, you didn’t even know what had pushed you to move away: in fact, a part of you immediately regretted it. Out of breath, you vainly tried to come up with an explanation, some sort of defense, and quickly acknowledged your guards had completely fallen apart as soon as Max had crossed the threshold. «I didn’t… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.» Max said, clearing his throat, visibly embarrassed. «No, Max, I…» You what? You didn’t know, you couldn’t state it openly; was it a problem telling him or admitting it to yourself? Was it his unreadable expression making your hands clammy? Or was it him walking away defeated and disappearing as quickly as he had into the room? #

You tossed and turned under the covers, willing yet unable to find peace of mind: Max’s touch still lingered onto you, pervaded your senses and couldn’t brush him off your thoughts. You wished you had stopped him from leaving you in such a confused state; in fact, you wished you hadn’t stopped him at all in the first place. That kiss had felt like heaven: unexpected, unplanned, sudden, so that your heart sank into your chest; urgent and needy, as you were, even after not seeing each other for less than twenty-four hours; casted with tenderness, because it had stemmed from a comforting embrace; burning of desire, incomparably more passionate than whatever you had been able to imagine in your dreams after the party. Had it been another dream? Did you fall and hit your head? You sat straight up and pinched your cheek, scared to be living a lucid, feverish fantasy. It stinged. It was real. You crushed back again onto the pillow, staring at the ceiling and sighing. He had kissed you first. He had run to you, crossed the darkness of the night with his hair still sweaty only to kiss you and walk away. You wanted to torture yourself with how it wasn’t possible for you to love each other, but the only thing you could wonder with a smile written on the heart was whether Max had enjoyed it as much as you did. Above all the pictures journalists could’ve taken, opposed to the previous occasions, you told yourself you would’ve liked having been caught this time. Just to have a proof for your unreasoned happiness.

After unsuccessfully attempting at falling asleep, you had sent a text to Charles, asking him if they could have you inside the garage for the race. There was no way you would manage to lock yourself into the room, staring at the tv and watching Max doing everything he could to win the race and, possibly, the championship as well. Charles, a born gentleman, said yes despite being conscious of the extra spotlight the team would have to face.

You were surprised – and pleased – to see that nobody was waiting for you out of the hotel; strange, you thought, but people had probably got bored and tired of standing, and they decided not to harass you on Sunday. How kind of them.

Sitting with headphones in your hands, you watched the rain fall, mindlessly fidgeting with the wire. «Here you are, the star of the moment!» Charles chirped, taking a seat right next to you. «Y/n, an interview, please!» said Carlos, mocking one of the pleading journalists he had saved you from on Friday. You threw an annoyed glance at both. «I can still leave.» you threatened with a smile. «Oh, but you won’t.» Carlos confidently said, putting a pair of sunglasses on. Charles, amazed, eyed his teammate. «Carlos, you’re such a fashion icon!» «Tell me something I don’t know yet.» the Spaniard boldly replied. «Uhm… It’s raining and you don’t need sunglasses?» you asked, skeptical. Carlos let out a sigh in fake annoyance. «These aren’t for the sun.» he indicated them. «It’s a filter for all the bullshit you’re going to feed us with after we’ve asked you what we want to ask you right now.» He then turned towards Charles, who stared at him trying to telepathically read into Carlos’ head. «What… what was the question?» he whispered, still looking intensely at him. Carlos, flipping his head towards you, bore his eyes – well, definitely his sunglasses – at you with a knowing smirk. «Y/n.» «Yes…?» «I’m not getting in the car if-» «He’s not getting in the car!» Charles repeated after him, impressed. «Yes. I’m not getting in the car unless you tell me what the heck is going down between you and Max Emilian Verstappen.» Silence filled the air, as Carlos nodded in gloating and Charles shook his hand uttering a “Such a good question, mate”. After the little scene, they both turned to you at the same time. «So?» Carlos urged. «I… I don’t know what you want me to say!» you said, embarrassed. «Well, you could start with explaining what you were doing last night in the same room.» «How do you kno-» «Someone from the Ferrari stuff was down the corridor and saw you opening the door to him.» Charles confessed. Still a little bit mad about your privacy being violated, or better, about your vulnerability being exposed, Carlos pressed you even further. «Don’t you trust us? Charles, y/n doesn’t trust us.» he said, sad and offended.

You deeply inhaled, desperately trying to master the courage and tell them so that you could be over with it, but words died before you would even shape them. Charles, noticing how difficult it was for you, had an idea. «Carlos, why don’t we take a guess? And whoever loses, must stay five seconds under the rain?» «And the winner?» «The winner… The winner wins a hot chocolate!» Charles said, his eyes searching for confirm in yours. «Fine.» you breathed out. «Okay, I go first.» Carlos eagerly said, sitting on the edge of the seat. «You… you cuddled onto the bed!» «How sweet!» Charles chuckled. You shook your head, in denial, whispering “No, I’m sorry.” It was Charles’ turn, now; he leaned forward, forearms onto his laps, trying to read your eyes. Uneasy, your pupils flicked right and left in search of relief. «You kissed.» As he spoke those two words, a sudden cloud of warmth burned your limbs, awakening them from their sleep: your heart beat faster, your lips slightly parted in surprise and a pink flush tinted your cheeks. «You kissed!» Carlos yelled, jumping onto the seat, as if everything had become clear. Unable to sustain their astonished expression, you looked down. «It’s not something to be ashamed of.» Charles immediately tried to lift off your embarrassment. «It’s all wrong… I mean, all of this, we shouldn’t-» You stopped talking as you felt a hand touch your shoulder: it was Carlos, this time addressing you with a serious face. «Did you like it?» «Carlos…» «Did you like it, y/n?» «Yes, I did.» you whispered.

Feeling small in your chair, you hid the palms of your hand under your laps, still self-conscious. «I don’t know if he liked it…» «Bet he was the one to go for it.» Charles quickly jumped in. Yes, he had been. And the mere idea confused you even more, made your heart flatter and do somersaults inside your chest. «…But even if he did, we can’t go out or something, with all the hate we’re receiving. The team would never allow it.» «Y/n, listen.» Carlos began, addressing you. «After a qualifying session like the one he had yesterday, no driver would’ve crossed the city to leave a meaningless peck on a friend’s lips. He likes you and you like him, so there’s no need to overcomplicate things because of your fears when it is that simple.» «It scares me.» you whispered, still deep in thought. «I’ve got so much to lose…» Charles softly smiled, then cleared his throat to gain your full attention. «Imagine to be an f1 driver in qualifying: it’s Q3 and you just have one shot to set the pole. There isn’t time to be careful or afraid, you must send it, even if it means you have to take risks.» «Yeah, you gotta send it!» Carlos said, in excitement. «You get nothing for nothing, y/n.» «Guys, I’m not a racing driver.» you laughed. «But you’re going to be together with one of the best out there, so you need to gain some courage!» Charles, not satisfied with the discourage written over your face, tried to persuade you a bit more. «You will probably confront about it pretty soon anyway, and I think you should tell him how you feel. If you don’t, you would both miss out on an amazing relationship.» Uncapable of sustaining the serious atmosphere for so long, Carlos broke the short silence that followed Charles’ words. «Nah, would they really? I don’t think Max deserves it.» Saying so, Carlos took his glasses off and put them back into the pocket. «I’m getting emotional… Our little y/n has grown up so much, Charles…» he turned to him, «She’s about to have a boy now.» «And what a boy, Carlos!» the Monegasque chuckled. The three of you shared a laugh; as you watched them jokingly bicker, you couldn’t help but think you were lucky to have such amazing people to support you, despite them being famous and busy any time of year. Charles, feeling your eyes onto him, stared at you with a brow raised, as you seemed about to say something. «Thank you.» You both smiled at each other. «Oh, don’t thank me, y/n. You owe me a hot chocolate, after all.» Charles said, «And you have to go under the rain, Carlos.» «No, I don’t! It’s not fair!» he protested. «You gotta send it, Carlos!» you told him, Charles laughing uncontrollably at your joke. «You’re lucky I’m a gentleman.» he replied, raising his pointer finger at the two of you.

No one was surprised to find a tensed atmosphere around Red Bull’s staff. People had tried to dig deeper into the cost cap story to see things clearer, pointing at the team and angrily accusing them of cheating “once again”. Max let it all rain down, wash the frustration away from him and erase the grip from the track at once. His mind was somewhere else. He couldn’t make sense of his escapade; he had overstepped any boundary and completely disregarded any resolution he had set for himself. The “fine line” has been crossed and there was no making up for it. «Like the rain?» Max peeked over his shoulder and saw Daniel approaching. «It’s relaxing.» he then answered. The Aussie nodded and stared intensely at him, then looked out the window as Max did. «Do you remember the morning after the party?» Daniel abruptly asked. «In the kitchen?» «Yes.» «Uhm, yeah, there was Carlos as well.» Max recalled. «Right.» he paused a few seconds before carrying on. «Before you got up, I talked with him a bit and he told me a few things about y/n.» Daniel knew he had perked Max’s interest as he felt a pair of eyes watching attentively, and couldn’t stop a grin. Max, thrown off by his behavior, sighed annoyed. «If you’re joking, this isn’t funny.» «I’m not.» Daniel replied. «Carlos said y/n was freaking out because she’d had some kind of dream about you two but couldn’t tell whether it was some blurred memory or her subconscious messing with her in hangover.» «What was the dream about?» Max found himself whisper. «I don’t remember exactly. But you can ask her.» Daniel, pleased by his reaction, looked at him. «Carlos told me y/n likes you.» Those words sent electricity through his fingertips and awoke his heart, which beat faster: Max felt caught by feelings he couldn’t control nor understand, and they took over him to the point he couldn’t stop himself from releasing them. «Dan, I kissed her.» Max blurted out, confessing. Daniel goggled at him. «At the party?» he asked, surprised. «No, yesterday. After qualifying.» Silence. Max scratched his neck, nervous, itching everywhere, the same electricity travelling onto his skin. «Dan, I don’t know why I did it, and… and I don’t know what to do, because at first she seemed to be okay with it but then she pushed me away! I have no idea what’s going on…» Daniel flicked his eyes to the side before inching closer to him, so that nobody else could hear what he was about to say. «Max, I know you’ve just broken up with Kelly and that it might be too soon to say, but have you, like… considered you could’ve fallen in love with y/n?» The dam of his heart’s lake fell apart and a waterfall of emotions poured down as the rain did outside the window. Needless to say, Max’s awareness of his feelings for you hid under the thick layer of unconscious knowledge, and being exposed to it upset him greatly. «Guys, it’s time to race!» they heard someone say, probably some engineer from Red Bull or McLaren passing by. «It’s showtime.» Daniel said, nudging Max.

You watched the race from the Ferrari garage, once again, and it was even more nerve-wracking than usual, as yellow flags followed one another. Your eyes were vaguely paying attention to the images onto the screen, but your heart was constantly searching for Max’s position, and when a massive lock-up brought him in a run-off area and forced the team to pit, you were caught by an indescribable sadness, since the championship title was inevitably postponed.

Walking down the pitlane, hiding yourself from indiscreet eyes with some of the Ferrari merch Charles had given you as a camouflage, you saw an orange suit waving towards you. «Daniel! Congratulations for p5!» you said, grinning at him. «Oh, thanks.» he replied, a bit absentmindedly. His answer left you a bit dumbfounded: after such a good result for the team – with Lando in p4 – and for himself as well, you expected to see a glimpse of happiness in him. Then you reasoned he had just got out of the car, drenched in sweat and physically worn out. «Are you okay? Do you need some water?» you asked, not able to read his expression, eyes gazing far behind you. In fact, Daniel was tired, but his poor reaction was due to focus: he was searching for someone down the pitlane, and that person was Max. The Dutch had asked him to detain you in the middle of the post-race crowd so that he could confront you and talk to you without leaving the track (as the team had ordered him, after the latest events).

Max had run to the weighing to be one of the first drivers on queue and had jogged back to the garage to drop the helmet; he was so impatient to reach you, despite not being sure of what to tell you exactly. Maybe he simply wanted to see you and have you close. Easily getting rid of his PR assistant – since she was too caught up speaking with Sergios’ – and lowering the cap’s visor in hope of going unnoticed, he fiercely walked with eyes scanning left and right, and when he finally spotted the two of you, every step was lighter, as he felt closer to finally break free and disclose his hidden feelings. «Max!» Or maybe… not yet. «Max, stop!» Alice’s voice halted his wide strides; Max turned around, livid, and he would’ve lashed out at her if only he hadn’t seen the worry covering her face. «Take a look here!» she said, handing him the phone.

What's wrong with this instagram story, you ask? Oh, nothing. Simply sets up half of the drama planned out for next chapter. (I can't believe next chapter could be the last one, don't wake me 'cause I don't wanna leave this dream)

AS PER USUAL, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! ♥ I’D REALLY APPRECIATE IT IF YOU LEFT A NOTE FOR FEEDBACK, SO THANKS IF YOU DO! HOPE YOU HAVE A NICE DAY! . · ˚✧

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[absolutebl]

hi!! somewhere in the middle of last year i asked you about which bls came out in 2023, and you very helpfully provided a list of series names, thank you again!! it wasn't the whole list since we were only halfway through 2023 back then, so would you mind sharing the full list of bls that came out in 2023, now that the year is over, please? and maybe a list of bls that came out in 2022 too, if you have time?

I did the 2022's here:

Here's a quicky for 2022:

China (not tracked fully)

In Your Heart - China

Japan - tracked

A Man Who Defies The World of BL 2 AKA Absolute BL 2 AKA - source title: Zettai BL ni Naru Sekai VS Zettai BL ni Naritakunai Otoko 2 - Japan

Accomplishment of Fudanshi Bartender - source title: Fudanshi Bartender no Tashinami - Japan

Both Me and Him are the Grooms - source title: Boku mo Aitsu mo Shinrodesu Japan

Cherry Magic the movie AKA Cherry Magic! Thirty Years of Virginity Can Make You a Wizard?!: The Movie AKA 30-sai made Dotei Da to Mahotsukai ni Nareru rashii - Japan

Eternal Yesterday - source title: Eien no Kino - Japan

Grand Guignol - Japan

I Want to See Only You - source title: Kimi no Koto Dake Mite Itai - Japan

Kabe Koji AKA Kabesaa Doujin Sakka no Neko Yashiki-kun wa Shounin Yokkyuu wo Kojirasete iru - Japan

Kamisama no Ekohiiki - Japan

Kiss X Kiss X Kiss - Perfect Scandal - source title: キスkissキス - Japan

Melting Night: Secret Kiss - Japan

Minato's Laundromat AKA Minato Coin Laundry AKA Wash My Heart! - source title: Minato Shouji Koin Randorii AKA Minato Shouji Coin Laundry - Japan

More Than Words - Japan

Mr Unlucky AKA Mr. Unlucky Can Only Kiss AKA Mr. Unlucky Has No Choice but to Kiss! - source title: Fukou-kun wa Kiss Suru Shikanai! - Japan

Old Fashion Cupcake - Japan

Senpai, This Can’t be Love! - source title: Senpai, Danjite Koidewa! - Japan

Sing In Love - source title: Miso's Koi Kogare Utae - Japan

Takara & Amagi AKA Takara-kun and Amagi-kun - source title: Takara-kun to Amagi-kun - Japan

The 8.2 Second Rule - source title: 8.2 Byo no Hosoku - Japan

Korea - tracked

Behind Cut - Korea

Blue of Winter AKA Judo Boys - Korea

Blueming - Korea

Bon Appetit - Korea

Cherry Blossoms After Winter - Korea

Choco Milk Shake - Korea

Color Rush 2 - Korea

First Love Again - Korea

Happy Ending Romance was Happy Ending Outside the Fence Korea

Kissable Lips - Korea

Love Class - Korea

Love in Spring AKA Spring of Crush - Korea

Ocean Likes Me - Korea

Oh My Assistant Oh! My Assistant Korea

Oh! Boarding House - Korea

Once Again - Korea

Roommates of Poongduck 304 AKA Circumstances of Pungdeok Villa Room 304 - Korea

Semantic Error - Korea

Tinted With You - Korea

To My Star 2: Our Untold Stories - Korea

The Philippines - not tracked

About Us but Not About Us - Pinoy

Gameboys 2 - Pinoy

Rainbow Prince - Pinoy

Singapore - tracked

Getaway - Singapore

Summerdaze Christmas Together - Singapore

Taiwan - tracked

About Youth - Taiwan

DNA Says Love You - Taiwan

Marry My Dead Body AKA Ghost and I Becoming Family Taiwan

Papa and Daddy 2 - Taiwan

Plus and Minus - Taiwan

Thailand - Tracked

180 Degree Longitude Passes Through Us - Thai

2 Moons The Ambassador AKA 2 Moons 3 - Thai

21 Days Theory - Thai

7 Days 7 Boys - Thai

Ai Long Nhai - Thai

Bad Buddy - Thai

Big Dragon - Thai

Check Out - Thai

Close Friend 2 - Thai

Coffee Melody - Thai

Coffee Melody holiday specials - Thai

Country Boy 2 - Thai

Cupid's Last Wish - Thai

Cutie Pie - Thai

Dear Doctor, I'm Coming for Your Soul - Thai

Enchanté - Thai

Even Sun - Thai

Fahlanruk - Thai

Gen Y 2 - Thai

Ghost Host Ghost House - Thai

Hard Love Mission - Thai

I'm Your Boyy - Thai

In a Relationship - Thai

KinnPorsche: La Forte - Thai

La Cuisine - Thai

Love Area: Part 2 - Thai

Love in the Air - Thai

Love Mechanics - Thai

Love Stage!! (Thai adaptation of Japanese original) - Thai

Magic of Zero: Zero Supporter (Cupid's Last Wish spin off) - Thai

Meow Ears Up - Thai

My Only 12% - Thai

My Ride - Thai

My Roommate - Thai

My Secret Love AKA Secret Admirer - Thai

My Tempo - Thai

Not Me - Thai

Oh! My Sunshine Night - Thai

On Cloud Nine - Thai

Our Days - Thai

Paint With Love - Thai

Physical Therapy - Thai

Rak Diao BL sitcom Thai

Restarted AKA Restart(ed) - Thai

Saneha Stories 4 - Thai

Scent of Love - Thai

Secret Crush On You - Thai

SELF the series - Thai

Sky in Your Heart Star and Sky Thai

Something In My Room - Thai

Star in My Mind Star and Sky - Thai

That's My Candy - Thai

The Eclipse - Thai

The Love of Winter - Thai

The Miracle of Teddy Bear - Thai

The Tuxedo - Thai

To Sir, With Love - source title: Khun Chai - Thai

Triage - Thai

Unforgotten Night - corrected title: Forgotten Plumbing - Thai

Vice Versa - Thai

War of Y - Thai

What If - Thai

What Zabb Man! - Thai

Why You... Y Me? (BL Side) - Thai

Work From Heart - Thai

You're My Sky - Thai

Vietnam - Not tracked

Mr Cinderella- source title: Chàng Lọ Lem - Vietnam

The Next Door Crush - Vietnam

The Promise - Vietnam

Want to See You - source title: MUỐN NHÌN THẤY EM - Vietnam

You Are My Stupid Boy - source title: TỰA ÁNH DƯƠNG NGỜI - Vietnam

I can do a quick list for 2023. But I'm not bothering to do another full review one. They too long.

Gimme a sec.

[magicshopaholic]

Trials and Temptation (Taehyung x OC)

Summary: You and Taehyung see each other for the first time in two weeks. Meanwhile, Jungkook finally gets something off his chest.

Pairing: Taehyung x OC

Genre: Angst, minor smut

Word count: 9.3 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, mentions of car crashes, allusions to sex, making out

A/N: I have reached a point in my life where I just don't proof read anymore, apparently. Still, hope you all like this one. It's been a while, but hopefully it's worth it. Set two weeks after Zandvoort.

Tagging: @bbl32 @quarter-life-crisis2 @dreaming-with-happiness @faearchives @margopinkerton @purpleseoul7 @kflixnet (drop a message if you want to be added)

Listen to: “madness” by muse

taehyung masterlist | main masterlist

Dilara’s limbs feel like lead in the best possible way.

She feels around for her phone, trying to move her hand as little as possible. Barely opening her eyes, she checks the screen to discover she’s been asleep for thirteen hours, meaning she’s missed dinner and breakfast.

She doesn’t regret it, though. She needed this sleep. Flying weekly from the Netherlands to Russia, to Italy and now to Singapore, with two entire race weekends and a third one beginning has brought her body to its breaking point. 

But she has no choice now; it’s Thursday and the PR is always overdone in Singapore. The buffet is probably closed but the executive lounge is sure to be stocked with food even now. With a mighty effort, she slides out of bed and washes her face, choosing to head to the fancy executive lounge in the Hilton in shorts, a long-sleeved shirt and flip flops.

The lounge is mostly empty, which is expected. She sees the buffet at the end of the fancy room, a tempting sight against Singapore’s swanky landscape - and already surrounded by a few others. Her heart doesn’t have time to race in anticipation, because Yoongi spots her almost immediately.

All he does is raise his eyebrows in surprise and wave before the men around him spot her, too. She mumbles out a “hey” as they approach her, relieved smiles on their faces. Dilara can hear the sleep in her own voice and knows her face looks dull and puffy as hell. Still, it feels better than she can remember to see them and for a moment, she's worried her emotion will show in her expression.

"It's good to see you, Dilara," says Namjoon, hugging her and patting her back.

"Thanks," she replies, relieved. "I'm glad it's -"

Before she can finish her sentence, Jungkook emerges from behind Namjoon, knocking Jimin over on his other side, and hugs her as well. He's silent but his arms are tight around her shoulders, and once she's over the momentary surprise, Dilara gently pats his back and waits until he lets her go.

"Hey, JK," she murmurs as he slowly steps back. As though it's like a magnetic pull, her gaze finds Taehyung over his shoulder, head lowered and keeping a respectful distance. 

Their eyes meet and her heart jolts at the expression on his face.

The crash had been unexpected for everyone. The entire team had been taken off guard; for the best car on the grid to spin out the way it did and hit a barrier hard enough to break it, it had brought the entire circuit to a standstill. John, her engineer, had been muttering into the radio: “Dilara, you okay? Respond, please. Dilara, are you okay?”, over and over on a loop, voice getting tighter and tighter with every passing second of silence, followed by Christian’s voice. Dilara. Let us know you’re okay, please.

Of course, she didn’t know this at the time. The impact had been so strong that her earphones had slipped out of her ears and she’d heard nothing. Without any response from her, she could only imagine that everyone was assuming the worst. Her ears had been ringing, her head spinning, the only sound she could make out being the one of her tyres crashing into the barrier. 

The race was red flagged and the medical car had picked her up from the crash site. Despite the fact that she was walking, albeit slowly, she was taken straight to the medical room and checked out while the stewards fixed the barriers. 

The first person Dilara spoke to when she was handed her phone was her mother, her voice shaking with relief when she heard her daughter’s voice through the phone. Her stepfather was next, followed by Chris and Fred, followed by Lexie, followed by Mick Schumacher who’d run over from the Ferrari garage to check if she was okay.

The race was done and the car was totalled - there was nothing that could be done about that. The Red Bull travel team had pushed her flight from that evening to the next afternoon, giving her the rest of the day to heal before travelling. 

Her team helped her get back to the garage, her press officer helped her through the post-race interviews, her friends helped her back to the hotel, and the hotel staff in Tuscany went over and above to ensure that she was taken care of until she checked out the next day.

It made Dilara feel ungrateful, that despite the support she had, part of her attention was constantly on her phone, waiting for one call only. 

Yoongi messaged her right after the crash; it was clear that he didn’t care about whatever limbo she and Taehyung were in, choosing to only ask if she was okay and to let him know if she needed anything. Towards the evening, it seemed even Jimin couldn’t resist checking in and dropping her voice note, sounding distinctly as though he was whispering.

It was a mild sort of relief she wasn’t a fan of: they didn’t forget. Dilara knew why Taehyung wasn’t calling her, but it didn’t stop her from waiting for it all the same. Fortunately, by the time her mind started tending towards more dangerous scenarios, the week began and she had to fly out to Singapore for the last race in this triple header. The weekend after that would be free, and the weekend after that would be Suzuka, Japan - Red Bull’s last race in partnership with BTS.

Taehyung’s hair is black again, falling into his eyes, curling at the nape of his neck in the Singapore humidity. The ash blond from before - from before - is gone, leaving him looking like he did the first time they met. Dilara wonders briefly if this was deliberate on his part.

When it seems clear that he’s waiting for her to decide what to do, she makes her way towards him slowly, noting from the corner of her eye how the others awkwardly disperse. She notices the flicker in his eyes as she approaches him, of restrained relief. He swallows and his toes press into the soles of his slippers, as though stopping himself from moving forward.

The smell of lotion is what was missing in that medical room in Tuscany; Dilara knows it now. Taehyung swallows and she raises her arms halfway, nodding slightly and taking another step towards him, wrapping her arms around his waist and feeling him envelope her instantly. 

It’s tight, bordering on uncomfortable, but she lets it continue. It’s desperate, just like it is for everyone who watches someone they care about crash a speeding car during a race. It’s not unexpected, and when he silently lowers his head onto her shoulder, face tilted and lips pressed to the collar of her t-shirt, she squeezes him tighter.

“‘M ‘kay,” she mutters into his collarbone, hearing her voice muffled against his skin. “I’m here.”

—

Singapore is hot and humid. The drivers will be expected to take an ice bath on Saturday and Sunday, an event that will usually be photographed for PR. Dilara isn’t particularly looking forward to it, especially since she knows it’ll be similar to last year: a hot tub filled with ice, and all four drivers from Red Bull and AlphaTauri shivering inside it for shits and giggles.

She prefers the pool - more when the executive pool is reserved just for selected guests. The view of the city is spectacular from this height; she moves her legs slowly behind her in the water as she peers out over the infinity pool, feeling the cool water across her shoulder blades.

Dilara turns when someone else joins in; she waves to Jungkook, who waves back before slipping off his T-shirt and gracefully diving into the water. He does an entire lap around the pool before slowly breast stroking his way towards her and joining her at the edge.

“It’s so hot,” he comments, smoothing back his wet hair and standing to his full height. The water reaches somewhere around his pecs, droplets of water gleaming on his honey coloured chest and shoulders. 

Dilara looks away quickly. “Better than Russia, though. But still,” she agrees, pushing her sunglasses up her nose. “This race is going to be hell.”

“I can imagine.”

He can’t, really, but that’s okay; she appreciates the sentiment. Jungkook’s always taken the most interest in racing; not in her racing career, but racing in general. The fact that he might be the only one to know just how hard she crashed in Italy and how bad it could’ve gotten isn’t lost on her.

“When did you guys get here?” 

“Last night.” Jungkook slides down into the water all the way to his neck and turns around so his back is against the wall. “Most of them flew from Seoul so it wasn’t that bad. Only me, Namjoon hyung and Taehyung hyung stayed in Europe.”

Dilara frowns, resting her elbows on the edge. “Why? You guys had almost two weeks off. Didn’t you want to go home?”

“We didn’t have it off,” he clarifies, snorting a little. “Suga hyung was in the studio the whole time and Hobi hyung and Jimin were filming for a commercial. Namjoon hyung had to go to the studio, too, but I think he rescheduled it. Wanted to stay with Kaya for a little longer.”

“And you and Taehyung tagged along? Third wheels much?”

“No! We went to Paris for a few days and only went to Amsterdam at the end of the week. We watched the race with them,” he adds.

“Uh-huh. What did you think?” She smirks a little from behind the sunglasses. “Was it all the entertainment the sport promises?”

Jungkook gives her a look. “Not funny.”

Dilara’s smile fades. “Sorry.” She turns around and leans back against the wall like him, noticing how much longer his legs are under the water. “Where are the others?”

“Others?”

“Yes, all six of them.”

He chortles. “They should be up here soon.” He barely gets the words out of his mouth before Namjoon and Hoseok enter the pool area from inside, both of them wearing sunglasses like her, in swimming trunks and thin T-shirts. 

Dilara and Jungkook watch the rest of them arrive in relative silence, snorting in unison when Seokjin brings a gigantic inflatable duck with him. Jimin whips off his shirt as well and winks at her before heading to the bar for a drink.

Taehyung is the last to arrive, his face hidden behind huge sunglasses. She can still tell when he spots her; he pauses momentarily and raises a hand halfway in a wave before joining Jimin at the bar.

Dilara swallows, her heart jolting slightly. Her eyes follow him as he seemingly scans the menu, his hands loose in the pockets of his shorts. His black hair looks bright against the thin white T-shirt; despite herself, she imagines what it would be like to run her hands through it.

Next to her, Jungkook clears his throat conspicuously.

“Have you two…”

“No.”

He nods while she looks down at the water, trying to ignore her disappointment at his unenthused greeting.

“Do you want to…?”

“I don’t know.” Dilara exhales. “He seems… busy, anyway,” she adds, glancing at him, now seemingly discussing the menu with Jimin.

Jungkook follows her gaze and bites his lip. “Understood.” He leans forward and pushes himself into the water. “Got your back.”

She frowns. “What does that mean?”

But Jungkook has swum away. She watches in mild confusion as he glides diagonally across the pool like a shark and emerges almost soundlessly, dripping from head to toe. Then, with a yell in what can only be Korean, he barrels towards Jimin, who shrieks, as he pushes him and they both get thrown into the water.

There’s an outbreak of guffaws, followed by Jimin sputtering and complaining and Jungkook laughing loudly. In the confusion, Dilara swims over to the same spot that Jungkook had and climbs out, quietly joining Taehyung who’s now at the self-service counter next to the bar. A chilled water tank rests on it, with slices of brightly coloured fruit floating inside it.

Taehyung turns to her and his grin fades slightly, but he doesn’t look unhappy. He takes his sunglasses off the same time she does, swiping his hair out of his eyes the same time she lets hers out of its bun, ropes of wet hair falling loose around one shoulder.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hey.” His gaze flickers down her simple red one-piece before meeting hers again. He holds it for a few seconds and then looks away, fiddling with the nozzle of the water cooler. “How are you?”

It takes Dilara a moment to process his words. I’m just swell, thanks. “Um… I’m okay. You?” she asks after a moment.

“Same.” He gives her a hint of a smile, polite. Formal. Then, as though he can’t resist, his gaze focused on his glass under the nozzle, he speaks again. “Are you okay? Did you… did you get hurt?”

“In the crash?” She notices him wince slightly. “No… not really. They checked for a concussion and stuff, but… all okay.”

“Good.” Taehyung nods, glancing at her. “Because… well, I heard that when something like that happens, they don’t show the driver on camera until they know the driver is okay. And they didn’t show you for a while,” he mutters, looking at the ground.

Dilara frowns. “You were watching,” she states, realising only now that she can’t actually picture him watching two and a half hours worth of a race.

“Yeah, I was,” he answers, sounding a bit confused at her statement. 

A memory tugs at her heart. Another crash, less dangerous than this one. A cloudy, grey afternoon on the paddock in Suzuka. I think I’ll be worried every single weekend from now on.

That had been less than forty-eight hours after they’d met. She’d been a bit cold towards him that day, annoyed at the thought of being a one-night stand who was being ignored. It seems ridiculous in hindsight.

“My earphones came off,” she explains, reaching for a cup so she can give her hands something to do. “So I couldn’t hear the team. How long was I off camera?” she asks, curious.

He’s still not looking at her properly, as though she’s going to blind him if he stares at her too long. “A few minutes,” he murmurs. “But I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks.”

There’s another moment of strange, awkward silence. “And I’m sorry about the race, too,” he adds, as though it’s another bullet point he’d rehearsed and almost forgotten.

“Right. It’s okay. My main competition in the points right now is Charles and his engine failed so he couldn’t finish his race either,” she explains. “So it didn’t really make a difference.”

“That’s good.”

When he doesn’t say anymore, Dilara nods slowly, at a loss for anything more to say. 

The crash scared him. He was scared. That would explain the careful distance he’s maintaining- except, it wouldn’t. This is not scared Taehyung; scared Taehyung would start losing his cool even faster, his emotions bubbling up to the surface. But there’s none of that here. She thinks of the way he’d hugged her this morning, held her so close to him - that was scared Taehyung, or the closest to it that she’s seen so far.. 

Since then, however, it’s like he’s doing everything in his power to maintain a distance, one that’s just growing further and further.

Dilara licks her lips and glances up at him, watching him sip at his drink. Finally, she shakes her head.

“How come you didn’t call me?” she asks, unable to keep it in any longer.

Taehyung frowns and whips around to look at her, his eyes wide. “You - you told me not to -”

“No, I know,” she says quickly. “I know what I said. I just… I kind of expected you to do it anyway,” she remarks, realising it’s true. Most of her had no faith that he’d do what she asked, his own needs sure to overpower her wishes eventually.

He looks a bit doubtful. “Sorry?”

She cracks a small smile. “Don’t be. How did you restrain yourself, though?” When she notices the small frown, she amends her question. “How did you stop yourself?”

“Oh, uh…” Taehyung rubs the back of his neck, slender fingers gliding through his thick hair. “I mean, you asked me not to.” He shrugs lamely but then sighs. “I thought about it,” he admits. “After the - after the crash. But I didn’t want to make it worse… and Kaya agreed, too. She said I should give you space if you asked for it.”

Dilara struggles to picture it: Taehyung, Jungkook, Namjoon and Namjoon’s girlfriend, all watching the race, seeing her crash into the barriers and the race getting red flagged. Taehyung debating whether to call her; did he ask Namjoon for his advice, which prompted Kaya to give hers? Did they guess?

“You told her?” she asks, for lack of anything else to say.

“Not really… I guess Namjoon hyung did.”

She isn’t surprised, neither does she really care. She supposes it should make her happy, that he did what she wanted, but all she can feel is something akin to disappointment, especially when she looks up and sees him still standing a careful four feet away from her, as though afraid to get too close.

Dilara takes a step closer to him but before she can say anything, Taehyung places his empty glass down. “I’m going to swim for a bit,” he says quickly, shuffling backwards. “You can join us, if you want.”

If you want. It had seemed like fun before, being around friendly faces after two weeks of travelling mostly alone. But with Taehyung seeming so uncaring about it, inviting her just to be polite - suddenly she wants to be anywhere but here.

—

The next day is Friday, Free Practice day. Yet, nothing changes. She continues seeing him around, in the hotel, in the paddock, in the restaurant - and Taehyung continues acknowledging her from a distance and exchanging careful, guarded words when he has to. It’s confusing, but it’s also filling her with a sense of dread she can’t place.

Dilara doesn’t know if the other guys have noticed this weird change in dynamic; if they have, they aren’t reacting to it. Given Singapore’s real estate scenario, all of them are put up in a hotel this time in separate suites. The group has three, as far as she knows, and she has her own. For the first time since this PR stunt began, she finds herself wishing they were still living in the same house.

The weather is just unbearable. After the first awkward encounter at the pool, Dilara throws caution to the wind and starts heading out there for a quick dip whenever she can. She runs into Jungkook a couple of times, once into Namjoon - and once into Taehyung on her way back.

Their hotel rooms are on the executive floor, meaning no one but them has access to it. On Friday night, after a long day of free practice, debriefs with the team, the pre-race press conference and some PR, Dilara sneaks away for a late night swim. She doesn’t have the energy for more than a couple of laps, spending most of her time floating on her back.

She doesn’t even bother showering in the changing rooms. Pulling on a pair of shorts over her swimsuit and slipping into her flip flops, she heads back to her room, barely noticing the droplets of water from her hair dotting the carpeted floor. When she’s almost at her suite, the door opposite her own swings open and Taehyung emerges, adjusting a headband on his head when he sees her.

“Hi,” she says after a moment.

Taehyung looks almost like a deer caught in headlights. His eyes flicker and he glances up and down the corridor before giving her a formal smile and a nod. “Hey.”

Dilara tries not to grit her teeth too obviously. She stares at him and silently lowers her hands from where she’d been holding a towel to her chest, exposing the bikini top she’d specifically worn because she’d known she’d be alone at the pool. Leaning back against the wall, she holds his gaze.

Taehyung tries, really tries, to keep his eyes trained on hers, but eventually he breaks, swallowing as he takes in her appearance. 

“Are you going out somewhere?” she asks.

It takes him a moment. “I - no. I mean, kind of. I think I left something in the car so I’m going to my manager’s room to check if he found it or…” He trails off. “You?”

“Went for a swim.”

“Alone?”

“Yeah.” Dilara nonchalantly sweeps her hair over one shoulder, stretching her side as she does so. “It was nice. Quiet. But you know -” she shrugs “- still public. Anyone could have come out there.”

She’s being extremely obvious now, but it seems to be a situation that demands it. She watches Taehyung nod jerkily and bite his lip, his gaze still lingering low on her torso before struggling upwards to her face. He is unbelievably handsome; her heart stutters when his eyes snap up to meet hers, dark and knowing.

“And it’s better than the ice bath tomorrow. I’m not really looking forward to sharing a tub with Max and those guys,” she adds casually, subtly watching him for his reaction and feeling her stomach sink slightly when he displays none.

“Might help with the heat,” he offers vaguely, looking at the ground now. “You should - you should get some rest. For tomorrow.”

Dilara stares. “Tomorrow is Qualifying. Not the race.”

Taehyung shrugs. “Still.” He takes a deliberate step back, hands in his pockets, and she notices only then how much closer they’d gravitated towards each other. “It’s late. I - have you had dinner?”

“Not yet. Do you want to -”

“Jungkook hasn’t either, I think,” he interrupts. “Or Yoongi. I think they have ramen in their room, too.” He points in the general direction of the corridor. “I should go.”

She nods, too frustrated to talk. With no interest in having dinner with Yoongi or Jungkook, she watches him strut down the corridor and turn in the direction of the elevator, out of sight. 

On Saturday morning, Dilara gets ready for the final round of Free Practice before Qualifying in the evening. It’s hot, as usual, but she can’t focus on that right now. The fact that she has roughly eight hours until Qualifying is weighing on her; in eight hours, the expectation from her will be to drive her fastest around the circuit, to push the car to its limit and beyond.

She’d done exactly that in Tuscany and her brakes had failed. Granted, it was the only time in ages that the Red Bull had ever been faulty to this extent, but it had still happened to her. A more flimsy barrier, a hotter track, a differently designed car - that’s all it would’ve taken for the crash to have been far more serious.

Dilara stares at the seat, feeling her mouth go dry. Climbing into the car, being strapped to the seat… she’d managed Free Practice yesterday, but today seems like a whole different ball game. Fully aware of the mechanics and team members milling around her, however, she rolls back her shoulders and brings her hair to the front to braid it, hoping to delay the process of getting into the car.

She wishes Lexie were here. The team was supportive of her recovery throughout, but this is different. They’re still the team and she’s the driver; after all the work they’ve put in all year, she owes them a good race no matter what. Lexie would’ve been here for her, for Dilara, with the race being the second priority.

Dilara looks up across the garage at where BTS will be seated during the race tomorrow, possibly during Qualifying as well. Taehyung might have been here for her only, but she can’t see him anywhere right now. He wasn’t there after the crash, and he isn’t here now - and Dilara has never been more aware of his absence. It scares her more than it should, but it’s not something she should be worrying about on a race weekend.

Taking a deep breath, she steps into the car.

—

“Fifteen minutes to the interview!” 

“Copy!” Dilara waves to Vicki before stepping into her changing room, relieved to be out of the heat for a few minutes. She lets her hair out of its ponytail, curling wildly in the humidity and shakes it out for some of the air conditioning to hit her scalp.

It’s pre-Qualifying interviews in a few minutes; usually she’d be out there in full race gear, ready for the pictures and the drivers’ parade after. But in this heat, she can’t imagine a single driver would be in their overalls. Lewis had shown up in a tank top last time; in an effort not to pass out from a heat stroke, Dilara makes the executive decision to wear half her team overalls with a sports bra, thin and white.

She jumps when she hears a knock on her door. “Come in,” she calls, frowning, which turns into shock when the knob turns and Kim Taehyung slips inside, immediately locking the door behind him.

“Oh, my God - how did you get in here?” she gasps as he tentatively enters the cramped changing room. “Did anyone see you?”

“I don’t think so.” He tosses his hair out of his eyes, walking up to stand in front of her and still keeping a deliberate four feet between them. “I just wanted to say…” He trails off, swallowing and looking around the room.

Dilara’s heart hammers, partly from the shock and partly from the scent of his lotion in such close quarters. His thin button-down, white and loose, makes him look like a character from a period film. His hair is darker than ever and perfectly soft and fluffy, apparently unaffected by the humidity. She clears her throat.

“Yeah?”

“Just… good luck.” Taehyung nods awkwardly and seemingly turns to leave but then stops. “And… don’t do what you did last time.”

“What do you mean?” It takes her a moment to understand what he’s referring to. “Wait, you’re talking about the crash? I didn’t do anything - Lando Norris blocked me and I locked up and then my brakes -”

“Fine,” he interrupts her, taking a step forward. “Just… don’t do that again. Don’t let that happen again. Please,” he adds tightly.

It’s not her ideal form of a confessional, but with whatever is going on with him right now, she supposes it’s the best she’s going to get. She places her hands on her hips, surveying him critically.

“That’s it?”

“What?”

The same disappointment she’d been feeling all weekend threatens to take over but she knows she can’t afford emotions like that before racing. So she simply shrugs. “Fine. I’ll do my best not to crash into a barrier and destroy my car. Whatever,” she says, rolling her eyes and turning away when he grabs her wrist.

“Wait, Lara, are you -” He scoffs slightly. “Are you angry with me?”

She raises her eyebrows, noting how he instantly drops her wrist. “Why would I be angry?”

Taehyung tilts his head and gives her a look, and she can almost hear him say I can tell, you know. “I just came to wish you good luck.”

“Great.” She takes a step forward towards him. “Anything else?”

“No. That’s it.”

Dilara could shake him. The sinking feeling is returning and she has to get rid of it in a few minutes or it could ruin her entire Qualifying. Vaguely recalling the last time they were in her changing room together, she steps up towards him and kisses him.

Taehyung seems surprised for a fraction of a second before his entire facade seemingly crumbles; he kisses her back instantly, holding her face and walking her back until she feels the wall. 

Finally, she thinks reaching up and pulling him closer by the shirt, feeling his slender torso against hers. It’s fast and messy; their hands roam across each other boldly and Dilara tries to breathe in as much of him as she can, desperate to retain this version of him that she knew was here this whole time.

She squeezes her eyes shut as his lips move across her jaw and down her neck, remembering that she has about seven minutes at best before she has to be at her pre-Qualifying interview. It’s too hard to focus on anything else right now, though; she runs a hand through Taehyung’s hair, feeling his arms tight around her. Her core tingles pleasurably as he goes lower and she moans, feeling him make his way down her chest and suck on her nipple.

Dilara realises a moment too late and gasps the same time that he pulls away with a jerk, as though electrocuted. They stare at each other for a second, their expressions identical ones of horror before she looks down to see the most incriminating spot on her white sports bra, right in the open for everyone to see.

“What - what did you do?” she stammers, glaring up at him. “I have to be on camera in five minutes!”

Taehyung’s still staring at it in shock, but his crisis seems to be wholly different. He swears softly in Korean and takes several steps back, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry.” He swallows and meets her eyes, and his face shutters over into the same smooth expression he’s had on all weekend. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, more formal this time. “Good luck tonight. And… be careful.”

Dilara watches him leave, waiting for the sinking disappointment again. But it never comes, which she’s glad for because it’s not an emotion that helps her in a race. The ideal one would be her love for racing, or her need to win. Any of those are preferable to disappointment or heartbreak.

But anger works just as well, too.

—

The debrief after Qualifying feels like the longest one Dilara has ever attended, even though her phone says it’s only been about forty-five minutes. She gets through it in a daze; for once, she has no feedback on the car. It worked perfectly well, she drove perfectly well and her result was satisfactory for everyone. No, this session is focused on Max and some inane aspect of track limits that he’s been complaining about since before Qualifying ended.

Dilara has nothing useful to contribute to this discussion, so the moment she gets an out, she takes it. Her car drops her back to the hotel and she takes the elevator straight to the executive floor, but doesn’t go to her own suite. Instead, she knocks on the door opposite it, noticing how her hand trembles just a little bit.

Her phone pings then and she sees an Instagram message from Lexie: a picture of herself from the paddock half an hour ago, wearing a black sports bra and cotton shorts, with a striped open shirt over it - the exact same thing she’s wearing right now. Under the picture is a message from her friend: Everything okay? Thought you’d be celebrating P3!

It’s a testament to their friendship that even though it’s a picture of her smiling, Lexie can still tell when it’s fake. Dilara locks the phone when she hears footsteps behind the door, making a mental note to reply to Lexie later; right now, she needs to hold on to the anger that got her to P3.

The door swings open to reveal Jungkook, in a sleeveless black t-shirt and shorts, holding a chilled water bottle. “Hey, Dilara!” he exclaims, a smile instantly appearing on his tired face; her guess is he’s just returned from the gym. “Congratulations on P3!”

“Thanks.” For some reason, the room is completely dark, save for a colourful lamp throwing shadows on the walls. It takes a few moments for her gaze to find Taehyung behind him at the mini bar, who doesn’t look too surprised to see her here. “Can I talk to you? In private?”

He says nothing, simply looking towards the living room where Jimin is sprawled on the couch, sitting in front of the TV.

“Dilara, hey! Wanna join -” 

But he cuts off abruptly, possibly at the sight of her expression. For a few seconds, no one moves. Dilara’s eyes flicker from Taehyung to Jungkook, hoping at least one of them will make the next move. It seems to be Jungkook’s cue.

“Right. Gotcha.” He strides into the room and beckons Jimin to get up. There’s some whining and complaining in Korean, but a few seconds later, Jungkook and Jimin brush past her to exit the room, the latter in a chokehold of sorts.

Dilara steps inside and waits for the door to swing shut behind her, turning to lock it for good measure. She walks slowly towards the living room; there’s an open bottle of whiskey on the coffee table and the TV screen is frozen on a dark shot of a Billie Eilish music video. 

“You guys don’t believe in using lights?” 

“Jungkook got a new lamp,” is all Taehyung offers in explanation. She turns to see him approaching her gingerly and stopping at the edge of the room; it makes her blood boil. “Congrats on P3. You drove really well.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“What do you mean?”

She shrugs. “Maybe I should’ve crashed. It seems to be the only way to get you to act like a real person.”

A shadow passes over his face. “Don’t ever say that.”

“It’s true.” When he says nothing, she scoffs. “I can’t believe you did that. I had no time to change - I was just lucky I had a black bra in my changing room or I would’ve had to wear that damn race suit for the drivers’ parade. I would’ve overheated before Qualifying even began! Do you care at all -”

“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t plan -”

“Then why did you even come into my changing room?” she demands, walking over to him and pushing him back by the shoulders. “Was it just to tell me to be careful? Are you serious?” 

“I came to -” But he breaks off, his gaze falling to the ground again. “I came to wish you good luck.”

“Bullshit.”

There’s a look in his eyes, one of agreement and pleading. “I’m sorry I got carried away. I didn’t mean to make things difficult for you,” he says quietly.

It takes everything in her not to scream. But that would be pointless. So far, only one thing seems to have worked in bringing forth the Taehyung she knows from behind this robotic stranger; without another thought, she kisses him again.

Dilara doesn’t wait for him to take the lead this time. The anger, the frustration, the confusion - and most of all, that dangerous, dreaded disappointment - takes over and she pushes him backwards on the sofa, taking off her shirt and straddling him. Taehyung doesn’t even seem surprised this time; his hands are already on her hips, pulling her closer so she feels his bulge underneath her.

It’s that same desperation again; it’s as though the outward, uncaring persona has been shed like a snake’s skin, revealing everything he truly wants to say. He’d said part of it back in the changing room and he’s saying the rest of it now. He doesn’t seem to mind in the least that she’s in control; all he seems concerned with is keeping her close, his lips on hers and his body reacting accordingly.

Their clothes are off in minutes - everything but the black sports bra. Pushing his shoulders back into the back of the sofa, mouths only inches apart as they breathe heavily, she slides onto him, groaning at the feel of him after so long. Taehyung grunts into her neck as she begins moving, trying with each second to find those blissful few moments where it’s just him and her, and none of the mess they’ve left in their wake.

The aftermath is worse. Sitting side by side on the sofa, half-clothed, in the dark and shadowy room, Dilara drops her head back on the sofa.

“How does this happen?” she murmurs, rubbing her eyes. “How does this happen every time? I’m angry with you and ten minutes later -” She breaks off and turns to him, his silhouette perfectly angular. “This isn’t normal, right? A normal person wouldn’t do this. How - how are you making me do this?”

Taehyung doesn’t answer, knowing he’s not meant to. He lets her get it out before exhaling. “Do you want a drink?” he asks softly.

It’s back. The distance, the tone - it’s back. But Dilara is too tired. “Yes, please.” She watches him as he leans forward and makes her a drink, complete with a pile of ice cubes before handing it to her. She takes a sip and winces.

“Sorry. We’ve only opened the whiskey so far. Do you want wine instead?”

“I don’t want anything. What do you want, Tae?” she asks him instead, standing up and going around the table. Not caring that she’s just in her underwear, she kneels directly opposite him. “You’re acting like you can barely stand me - except for when we fuck.” She tilts her head when he still doesn’t look at her. “Is that all you need from me now?”

Taehyung doesn’t take the bait. “You wanted space, Dilara,” he says. His tone is the opposite of hers; no sharpness, just plain and calm. “I’m just doing what you asked.”

Yes, you are. But this isn’t the way. He’s not just giving her what she wants - there’s something else there, too. She knows it, she could feel it in the way he backed away from her in her changing room earlier today, even in the way he held her a few minutes ago, as though savouring her for the last time.

Dilara sighs, biting her lip. All the anger she was holding onto has disappeared; the sinking feeling is all that’s left. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

The silence is loud. Then, Taehyung sits back as well. “Yeah, you do.”

Yeah, she does. She knows what he wants; despite his restraint, his distance, his guardedness, he’d let it slip earlier today when he’d snuck into her changing room, an hour after she was filmed in an ice bath with her Red Bull teammates. Dilara knew when she was being marked; unfortunately, Kim Taehyung couldn’t just give her a hickey like a normal person. No, his way was a step further as usual, but the message was just as clear.

“No, I don’t. So tell me.”

“I can’t, Lara,” he mutters, and his voice strains just a little bit. “It would be too selfish of me.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Taehyung finally looks up at her. His eyes look so soft in the dim lights, so unlike the blazing, laser-gaze he usually fixes her with. Then his eyes flicker to the floor, and he swallows.

“I want another chance. With you.” He takes a deep breath and continues. “I know I hurt you, but I want to try again. I want to spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

He doesn’t say it like it’s something he’s asking her for. He says it like it’s a pipe dream, like he’s a child who’s asked what he wants to be when he grows up. An astronaut. A chef. Your boyfriend, again.

The sinking feeling, the dreadful disappointment that’s been following her all weekend - it suddenly makes sense. It’s not just about giving her space and it’s not about his fear over her crash. His distance is so much deeper than that.

Dilara scoffs, feeling her face start to sting. “Oh, God. You’re giving up.”

“Excuse me?”

She stands up, clutching the glass of whiskey. “I can’t believe you,” she mutters, shaking her head. “After everything that’s happened, after all we’ve been through, you’re just giving up? I told you not to call me, I told you to give me space - you got your feelings so damn hurt by that that you decided it’s just not worth it anymore?”

“I didn’t -”

“No, that’s not fair!” she exclaims. “You don’t get to do that, okay? This is - everything that’s happened is because of you! You did this to us, you’re the reason we’re here, so you don’t get to just give up!” She slams the glass on the wooden table and turns away when she sees him stand up as well.

“You don’t think I know that?” His deep voice takes her off guard, but she’s relieved. This is the loudest she’s heard him all weekend. “You don’t think I know that this is all my fault? I know I did this - and I’m still screwing it up! Even now, I’m still hurting you, so…” He runs his hands through his hair in frustration. “I’m done. I’m just going to do what you want. Whatever you want.”

“Really.” She scoffs and folds her hands across her chest. “Whatever I want?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “You want space? I’ll stay away from you as long as you want. You want to take it slow? You want to just fuck once a year when we’re in the same country? Done,” he states, his voice trembling. “I’ll do it.”

Dilara stares at him. His shoulders are broader than she remembers, and she relives for a moment how they felt earlier this week when he’d been transparent about his relief at seeing her alive and okay. 

“But that’s not what you want,” she reminds him. “You want to -”

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” he interrupts her, stepping closer to her. “That’s what I’m saying. Every time I do what I want, I end up hurting you and pushing you away. So it’s not about me anymore - I’ll do whatever you want to -”

“Then help me!” she implores. “Help me hate you more!” Dilara sniffs, turning away from his stunned expression. “And if you can’t do that… at least don’t be a coward. You don’t get to give up.”

She brushes past him to get to her clothes, strewn next to the sofa. As she pulls them on, she glances through her hair at Taehyung, boxers on and nothing else, with his head in his hands, looking defeated. The rest of the room looks remarkably the same; she remembers Jimin sitting on that sofa a half hour before she and Taehyung had sex on it, and she cringes.

“Lara, I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” he says as she moves to leave. “It’s not fair.”

Dilara has no response to this. The last three weeks have been immeasurably useful in helping her realise how she still feels about him, but none of it matters if he’s no longer in the game. It occurs to her only now how much she was counting on him fighting for it; without that, it’s too overwhelming for her alone, like being in the middle of a car crash without a single person to pull her out.

“You should call for a turn-down service,” she tells him, gesturing to the sofa. “Before those guys get back.”

He nods. “Good luck for tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Tae.” She steps out of the room and closes the door behind her, immediately gulping in bag loads of air. The first sob takes her by surprise. Her knees give way and she slides down with her back against the door, all with the knowledge that her own suite is just across the corridor. 

—

Sunday is all about the race. BTS is gone most of the day for PR that she’s not involved in, so Dilara takes the opportunity to ensure she has a clear head for the race. Last night involved a lot of introspection, a lot of crying and a lot of debriefing with Lexie, whom Dilara realises she misses the most. Even two continents away, Lexie’s primary focus was to help Dilara work through everything she needed to until she could compartmentalise it for the duration of the race.

It works, somewhat. Dilara goes for her interviews, her PR and the drivers’ parade with as much focus as she can and finally climbs into her for the race, adrenaline rushing through her veins and her focus singular. Taehyung’s good luck text (Good luck for today. Be careful. You’ll do great.) runs in her mind when she releases the clutch at the starting light.

Her flight to London isn’t until tomorrow morning, so after the race, Dilara heads back to her hotel and to the suite opposite her own. Jungkook opens the door and immediately welcomes her in.

“Good race,” he says as she slips in past him, noting a bowl of potato chips on the coffee table and a video game controller next to it. On the screen, a game of FIFA is paused.

“Thanks. Where’s everybody else?” she asks.

“Filming. I got sent back.” He rolls his eyes self-consciously when she frowns. “Had a bit of a heat stroke, so they told me to come back and rest.”

Dilara freezes. “What? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he huffs, falling into the sofa and motioning for her to join him. “It wasn’t a big deal. I just got a bit de- basically, I need to drink a lot of water. That’s it.”

“Huh.” She raises her eyebrows. “You got dehydrated in Singapore? Rookie mistake.”

Jungkook shrugs, a little defensively. “I’m fine. You want to play?” he asks, changing the subject.

She considers it for a moment but then shakes her head. “No, I’m too tired. You go ahead.”

“Come on, one game.”

“Fine.”

They play a game, a half-hearted one where Jungkook wins but fortunately doesn’t gloat. Much.

“You need practice,” he advises her when they’re done. “You’re making small mistakes.”

She flicks his forehead which he tries to dodge. “I’m exhausted. Racing in Singapore is no joke.”

“I believe you,” he says easily, ruffling her hair. “By the way,” he begins, “Taehyung has been acting a little… weird today. Did you two talk or something?”

Dilara sighs, knowing this would come up. “Or something,” she mutters. “If he was being a pain today, I apologise.”

“He wasn’t a pain. He was just quiet,” he clarifies. “I’m just asking because when you came here last night, it looked like you were about to kill him.”

Oh, right. She supposes it would’ve looked like that, out of context, to someone who didn’t know what transpired in her changing room. “Well, at least that didn’t happen.” A moment passes where Jungkook doesn’t say anything, and she sighs again. “He wants to get back together.”

Jungkook nods expectantly; this is clearly not a surprise to him. “What did you say?”

“Oh. Well -” She shrugs uncertainly. “I don’t remember actually. The topic kind of strayed.” She rubs a hand over her face. “It’s… not an easy topic. Or an easy decision. I mean,” she adds after a moment, mostly to herself, “he didn’t call me last weekend.”

He frowns at her. “I thought you told him not to -”

“Yes, my God, I know,” she says loudly, rolling her eyes. “He was doing what I wanted - big whoop for him. “I’m not complaining, I’m just… surprised.”

“Do you remember Austin last year?” Jungkook asks after a few moments. “When those guys were on a live and you, me and Jimin got really drunk while waiting for them?”

Dilara chuckles tiredly. “Of course. I haven’t had tequila since. Don’t think I ever will,” she adds, grateful for the change in subject. “We were so wasted.”

“We were,” he agrees, leaning back on the couch and placing his feet on the edge of the coffee table. “Do you remember when we snuck out to the chocolate shop in the lobby and bought those two huge boxes of -”

“Truffles! Yes!” she remembers suddenly, her memories of that night fairly hazy. “And we brought it upstairs in a… I want to say a pillowcase?”

“It was my hoodie. We wanted to hide it for some reason - who knows. Oh, do you remember you ran into someone at the shop? Yeah, it was this guy and he said you hadn’t seen each other in a while,” he recounts, seemingly not noticing Dilara’s smile fade. “I think he was - did he say he was your ex?”

A little unsure as to why he’s chosen to bring this up, she nods slowly. “Yeah. Kyle. Not a good break-up.”

“Yeah, I think you told me that, too, when we came back up to the room. Oh, remember how -” He chuckles, sounding a bit forced “- remember how when we were back you said you needed closure once and for all and you wanted to call him? I had to wrestle you for your phone because you were so drunk and I kept it on top of a shelf so you wouldn’t be able to reach it?” He grins at Dilara, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

She stares at him, her heart pounding. She does remember it, unfortunately, just as she remembers her relief the next morning and how she’d quietly asked Jungkook to return her phone to her, hoping with all her heart that this would stay between them. It would’ve been a terrible way to kick off her relationship with Taehyung; fortunately, Jungkook had never brought it up. Until now.

He’s no longer smiling; he’s biting his lip and looking at his feet, as though worried he’s crossed a line.

“I get it,” she says quietly. “I got really drunk and almost did something that could jeopardise my relationship, but lucky for me, I had you to stop me. Taehyung didn’t. Right?”

Jungkook doesn’t meet her eyes; but he looks a little less nervous, now that his point has been made.

“Do you think I don’t know what I’m capable of?” she asks. “Do you think I don’t know, after all this time, that he made a mistake? I’m not unreasonable - he had a lot to drink and he did something really, really stupid. I know that.”

It’s the first time she’s said it out loud and it’s cathartic. Her chest feels lighter; it doesn’t make her situation any easier, but at least it’s out there. It’s not just swimming in her mind anymore, keeping her up at night.

“I know,” she says slowly, “that he won’t cheat on me again. I think he’s learnt his lesson. I think I could put him in a sauna with Jennie - and literally any other girl - and ply him with all the alcohol in the world, and he wouldn’t cheat on me again. He cheated on me - but he’s not a cheater.”

Jungkook finally looks at her, frowning. “Then why -”

“Because he didn’t tell me,” she argues. “He messed up and he didn’t tell me because he was, what? Afraid of me? I told him things in twenty-four hours of knowing him that I haven’t told people I’ve known for years, and he’d done the same! I thought we could tell each other anything - even the worst, most shameful things. But he didn’t tell me,” she repeats.

He nods sympathetically, and Dilara finds herself being glad he isn’t defending his friend.

“He was afraid of me,” she repeats, shaking her head. “You know what it made me feel like? Like I was one of those wives or girlfriends in those dude-bro, frat boy, Seth Rogen movies where the guys are so afraid of them and go to these insane lengths to hide things from them, because they’re afraid they’ll have to sleep on the couch,” she says in disgust. 

“I… don’t think he was afraid of you,” ventures Jungkook, sounding hesitant. “I think he was afraid of hurting you.”

“Fine,” she agrees. “Let’s say he was. What’s stopping him from being too afraid to hurt me again? If he ever messes up again,” she says, feeling like they’re finally reaching the crux of the issue, “how do I trust that he’ll tell me? He tried, this time, didn’t he? He was too late, but he tried. If he does something like this again, especially after everything I’ve put him through…” She sniffles. “I don’t think he’ll tell me at all.”

Silence greets this statement, and Dilara drops her face into her hands before sitting straight and taking a deep breath. She doesn’t want to cry in front of Jungkook; despite the level of comfort between them, she feels he’d still be the most uncomfortable around a crying girl.

“I’ll tell you.”

Dilara frowns, wondering if she’s heard him wrong. “What?”

“I’ll tell you,” he repeats, turning sideways on the couch so he’s facing her. “Look, he’s not going to mess up again. He’s not stupid - he won’t do it. And if he does,” he allows, shrugging, “he’ll tell you the truth. You said it yourself, he’s learnt his lesson. But,” he continues, gently nudging her shoulder with the back of his hand, “if he doesn’t, I’ll tell you.”

“JK -”

“I’m serious. I’ll do it.” He shrugs. “I won’t need to, but if I do, I will.”

“Jungkook.” Dilara tilts her head. “He’s your best friend.”

“You’re my friend, too,” he says simply. 

“I -” She can’t argue with that; it would be too mean. “It doesn’t really solve my problem. I need to trust him.”

“And you can,” he insists. “This is just like a… what’s it called in English? Like when you have a back-up kind of thing -”

“Insurance.”

“Yes!” He claps his hands, making her jump. “Sorry. But, yes. This is just your insurance, kind of. If it ever happens again and he doesn’t tell you, then you know for sure that he’s a dick. And that you can just -” He makes a vague gesture “- move on.”

It’s a very Jungkook proposal. Impractical as it is, it’s the most convincing argument anyone has made so far. Dilara doesn’t know whether to be comforted or amused.

“Are you doing this for me or for Taehyung?”

“Can’t it be both?”

She narrows her eyes. “Cop-out.” When he grins, she rolls her eyes. “You would really do that to him? Betray his trust?”

Jungkook’s eyes go wide and she can practically see the dilemma in his brain. “I - well, it’s not really betraying him if he’s betraying you…? Right? I don’t know, sometimes I feel like I should’ve done that this year. Just… just told you.”

Dilara nods thoughtfully, searching for the grudge she was holding but unable to find it anymore. “It’s a big commitment,” she says seriously, relieved to see him smile again. “Sure you can live up to it?”

“Hey, I told you,” he says, turning back and sitting normally again. “I got your back.”

“Yeah, about that. Do all of those involve Jimin getting assaulted in some way? Because if yes, then I’m going to have to decline.”

“Assault? I barely touched him. He’s just so weak.”

“He is so weak. I swear, last year I pulled him into the elevator or something and he screamed like I’d ripped off his arm or something.”

“Jimin hyung is strong in the gym and on stage,” states Jungkook with an air of finality. “Other than that, he usually needs me or Namjoon hyung to help him out.”

“Weak.”

“So weak.”

Dilara grins, glad she chose to come over. Truth be told, she didn’t have a plan. She’d been hoping to talk to Taehyung and wing it from there, but nothing ever went according to plan for them. The possibility that he might have given up on them seems much less likely now, despite his efforts to still keep his distance all day and leave the ball in her court.

She looks over at Jungkook, who’s now scrolling through the different games on the Xbox for something they can play together. Jungkook hasn’t given up; for now, maybe that’s enough.

—

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