#indifferent engine

[musicmags]

[gbhbl]

It’s an experience like no other, truly dynamic, and at times utterly beautiful, while at others, absurdly abrasive. Throughout the album you’ll experience the divine, but you’ll also hear the sound of a band unhinged.

[imogenkol]

— FRACTURES

[ template by @sevikagf ]

tag list (ask to be added or removed!): @socially-awkward-skeleton @neonshrike @inafieldofdaisies @voidika @florbelles @adelaidedrubman @simonxriley @tommyarashikage @buggknife @aceghosts @carlosoliveiraa @risingsh0t @thedeadthree @cassietrn @jackiesarch @d-esmond @loriane-elmuerto @shellibisshe @katsigian @captastra @simplegenius042 @theelderhazelnut @g0dspeeed @strangefable @statichvm @cptcassian @leviiackrman @hexmaturgy @euryalex @auricfog @confidentandgood @raresvtm @minaharkers

[olive-garden-hoe]

Shoutout to Engie TF2 you would’ve loved Ethel Cain

[misterparadigm]

A fun little project for my good friend, Professor Elemental.

#professorelemental #geoffrey #fanart #professorelementalfanart #fatherofinvention #apequest #giddylimit #indifferenceengine #skating

[mephisto-reporting]

The Engineer's Gravity - Yandere! Caleb

Plot: You're a biomechanical engineer in Caleb's fleet, incharge of repairs of prosthetic parts. What happens when you become the subject of the Colonel's obsession? Based on this request. Pairing: Non MC Mechanic! Reader x Yandere! Caleb Note: This story is with slightly darker themes. I do not want people to come at me saying Caleb isn't like this. Yes, I know. This is a Yandere! version of Caleb. Please keep that in mind. If you want to be a part of my taglist, please let me know in the comments, DMs or inbox. Content warning: Yandere male, implied deaths, mutilation, mentions of blood, possessiveness, gaslighting, voilence

CALEB'S POV

The faint hum of the Farspace fleet’s engines was a constant background noise, a rhythm that Caleb had grown accustomed to. It filled the silence as he walked down the dimly lit corridor toward the engineering bay, his gloved left hand flexing instinctively while his right hand remained eerily still. It wasn’t the arm itself that unnerved him anymore. No, he’d gotten used to the weight, the cool touch of the synthetic skin against his chest when he rested his hand there. What grated on him was the maintenance—the vulnerability of needing someone else to keep it functional.

The first time he’d come to the mechanic for maintenance, he had been indifferent, as he was to most things in his life. The arm was a tool, no more. Just another part of the machine that was Caleb, the Colonel. She was just another cog in the vast machine of the fleet, a means to an end. He barely remembered their first meeting beyond her clinical efficiency and soft voice, far removed from the barked commands of his officers or the detached drone of his superiors. She’d introduced herself simply, a name he didn’t bother committing to memory at the time, and had begun her work without wasting a second.

He’d sat in silence, his arm stretched out on the diagnostic table, his gaze fixed on the wall as she meticulously checked the connections and replaced worn components. She’d asked him questions—about the arm’s performance, any discomfort he’d noticed—but he’d only answered in monosyllables. He wasn’t trying to be rude; he just didn’t see the point.

She had been… different.

No. She spoke with compassion, with a voice that held an undercurrent of something human. When she’d first touched his arm to inspect it, there was no clinical detachment in her touch—no cold professionalism. Instead, there was a softness, a care.

But she kept showing up, week after week, her presence a constant thread in his routine. She didn’t just maintain his arm; she paid attention. She noticed when he was tense and adjusted her tone accordingly. When she worked, she hummed under her breath—a tune he couldn’t place but found oddly soothing. And unlike the professor who saw him as little more than a prototype for their next experiment, she treated him like a person.

Caleb first noticed it when she spoke to the other fleet members. The soldiers and officers with Toring chips embedded in their bodies, their minds augmented for efficiency but stripped of their individuality, were often treated as tools. Most of the crew barely acknowledged them, but she… she smiled at them. Asked about their day. Made sure they were comfortable during her examinations and modifications.

It wasn’t long before Caleb began to see her differently.

Their interactions changed subtly over time. He found himself lingering in the engineering bay longer than necessary, watching her work under the sharp white lights. She was focused, hands deft as they manipulated wires and micro-tools, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“You’re due for recalibration next week, Colonel.” she said during one session, not looking up from the neural interface she was fine-tuning.

“I’ll be here,” he replied. Then, after a pause, “You’re good at this.”

She glanced at him, surprised. “I’ve had a lot of practice.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Not just the work. The way you… treat people. You’re good at that, too.”

Her lips parted slightly, and for a moment, he thought she might dismiss the comment. But instead, she smiled—a soft, genuine thing that made something unfamiliar stir in his chest. “Everyone deserves to be treated like they matter.” she said simply, turning back to his arm.

He didn’t respond, but those words stayed with him long after he left the bay. Caleb watched her closely, taking note of every smile, every laugh, every time she showed kindness to someone else. It made something dark curl in his chest.

The first time Caleb intervened on her behalf, it was almost instinctual.

He was passing through the mess hall when he heard the sharp edge of Lieutenant Varro’s voice. “You know, for all your compassion, you take forever with repairs. Maybe stop coddling the freaks and do your job faster.”

Caleb froze, his blood turning cold. He rounded the corner to see Varro towering over her, his expression smug. She was holding a tray of food, her shoulders tense but her expression calm as she replied, “I do my job thoroughly, Lieutenant. If you’re unhappy with my work, you can file a complaint.”

Caleb’s steps faltered, his jaw tightening. A cold, simmering rage filled him as he turned to look at the man. He wanted to snap his neck right then and there, but he couldn’t let her see this side of him. Not yet.

So he smiled instead. A cold, calculating smile that sent a chill down Varro’s spine.

“Lieutenant,” Caleb said, his tone deceptively calm. “A word.”

Later that night, Varro didn’t return to his quarters. Whispers spread through the fleet about an "incident" during a routine maintenance check. Caleb made sure it looked like an accident—a malfunction in Varro's own bionic enhancements. No one questioned it, least of all her.

She remained blissfully unaware of the lengths Caleb went to for her.

As the days turned into weeks, Caleb’s obsession deepened. He found himself lingering in her workshop longer than necessary, watching her every move. She would smile at him, her eyes warm and kind, and Caleb would feel something he hadn’t felt since he left home for the DAA. A strange, aching need to keep her close.

“You know,” she said one day, her voice light, “you don’t always have to come here for repairs. You can just... visit, if you want.”

Caleb froze, his gaze locking onto hers. Did she know? Had she figured out how much he craved her presence? But her smile was so genuine, so innocent, that he realized she didn’t suspect a thing.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, his voice steady.

He told her about his family one evening, when the workshop was quiet and the rest of the fleet was asleep. He spoke of the girl he had grown up with, her fiery spirit, and the way she had  carved a place for herself in Linkon.

“She is strong…” Caleb said, his voice low. “Stronger than anyone I’ve ever known.”

She listened intently, her expression soft. “You must miss her.” she said gently.

Caleb hesitated. Did he? The memory of that girl felt distant, overshadowed by the woman sitting in front of him.

“I don’t think about her much anymore.” he admitted. “There are... other things on my mind.”

He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t press.

But Caleb couldn’t stop thinking about her. He thought about the way her hands moved over his arm, the way her laughter echoed in the workshop, the way she seemed to light up the cold, sterile corridors of the fleet.

And when he saw other officers talking to her, laughing with her, something in him snapped. He didn’t like the way they looked at her. He didn’t like the idea of anyone else getting close to her.

Caleb began to manipulate things behind the scenes, ensuring that no one spent too much time with her. He assigned officers to tasks that kept them far away from her workshop. He spread subtle rumors, casting doubt on the intentions of anyone who showed too much interest in her.

She never noticed. She never questioned why the workshop seemed quieter, why fewer people came to her for help.

And Caleb made sure it stayed that way. In the privacy of his quarters, Caleb would sit in the dim light, his bionic hand flexing involuntarily as he thought about her. She was his. She didn’t know it yet, but she belonged to him.

And he would do whatever it took to keep her safe. To keep her close.

Even if it meant destroying anyone who stood in his way.

YOUR POV

Lately, you’d noticed something strange.

The crew didn’t treat you the way they used to. At first, it was subtle—an officer averting his gaze when you greeted him in the corridor, a technician hurriedly ending a conversation when you approached. Then it became more blatant. People gave you a wide berth in the cafeteria, whispers died the moment you entered a room, and the occasional sidelong glances you caught were laced with something unspoken.

Fear.

It didn’t make sense. You’d always prided yourself on being approachable, on treating everyone with the respect they deserved. Sure, your work was demanding, and your position as the fleet’s biomechanical engineer meant you often had to be firm when it came to protocols, but you weren’t cruel. Far from it. You treated the crew like people, not machines.

But now? It was as though you carried some invisible aura that screamed danger.

And then there were the... incidents.

The first time, you brushed it off as coincidence. Lieutenant Gregor had been reassigned to another fleet without warning, just days after he’d mocked you during a team briefing. You’d chalked it up to bad luck or his own poor behavior catching up to him.

But then it happened again.

And again.

Officers and fleet members who dismissed your concerns, who snapped at you during high-stress missions, who made snide comments about your methods—they all disappeared. Some were reassigned to far-off posts, others were suddenly discharged for disciplinary reasons, and a few even suffered freak accidents that left them unfit for duty.

The pattern was impossible to ignore.

The only constant in all of this was the Colonel.

Or just Caleb, as he’d asked you to call him when it was just the two of you.

“Colonel” felt too formal, too distant, he’d said one evening as you adjusted the fine motor controls on his bionic hand. He’d leaned back in the chair, watching you with an intensity that made you feel both self-conscious and oddly comforted.

“Just Caleb,” he’d said, his voice softer than usual. “When we’re alone.”

You hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Over the past few months, he’d become a steady presence in your life, someone you found yourself looking forward to seeing.

And lately, he seemed to be around you more than ever.

It wasn’t just during maintenance sessions anymore. He’d stop by your workshop for no apparent reason, lingering by your workbench as you tinkered with your tools. He’d accompany you on supply runs, his tall frame a protective shadow at your side. When the fleet docked at Skyhaven for shore leave, he invited you to join him for coffee or walks through the market district. He’d cook for you and bring you meals to your residence in Skyhaven, unprompted.

It felt... nice.

You couldn’t deny that you enjoyed his company. Caleb had a dry sense of humor that never failed to catch you off guard, and there was a steadiness to him that you found grounding. Still, there was something about him—something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

The way he always seemed to know when someone had upset you. The way his gaze lingered on you just a little too long, as if he were memorizing every detail. The way his voice dropped when he said your name, like it was a secret only he was allowed to keep.

You tried to push the thoughts aside. Caleb was your superior, your colonel. He’d never given you any reason to distrust him. And yet...

One evening, as you recalibrated the sensory feedback in his arm, you decided to bring it up.

“Have you noticed how people have been acting lately?” you asked, keeping your tone light as you adjusted a tiny screw. “It’s like they think I’m some kind of... I don’t know, threat or something.”

You glanced up at Caleb, expecting him to shrug it off with one of his usual dry remarks. Instead, his body tensed, just for a moment. If you hadn’t been watching him so closely, you might have missed it.

“What makes you say that?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

“It’s just a feeling.” you said, turning back to his arm. “People avoiding me, whispering when they think I can’t hear. And then there are the reassignment orders. It’s like anyone who crosses me is... gone.”

There was a long pause.

“It’s nothing.” Caleb said finally. “Tensions have been high since the last Deepspace tunnel exploration. People are on edge.”

You frowned but didn’t press the issue. Maybe he was right. The fleet had been through a lot recently, and stress had a way of making people act strangely. Still, something about his explanation didn’t sit right with you.

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “That makes sense.”

But it didn’t. Not entirely.

Still, you knew better than to poke your nose where it didn’t belong. You’d learned long ago that asking too many questions could lead to trouble, and trouble was the last thing you needed.

So you stayed in your lane, focusing on your work and pretending not to notice the way Caleb’s presence seemed to permeate every aspect of your life. You told yourself it was fine, that his increased attention was nothing to worry about. After all, you trusted Caleb. He’d always been kind to you, always treated you with respect. And if his gaze lingered a little too long, if his touch was a little too gentle when he handed you a tool, if his smile held a hint of something darker—you ignored it.

Because Caleb was the only person who hadn’t changed. The only person who still treated you like... you.

The ship was silent at night, the hum of its engines a low, constant thrum beneath your feet as you walked through the dimly lit corridors. You’d been restless, the bitter taste of Lieutenant Reese’s words still fresh in your mind. The new Lieutenant had been transferred to Caleb’s fleet three weeks ago and was already causing tensions within the hierarchy of how things ran in the fleet.

“Guess even engineers need quotas filled, huh? They really let anyone take up space on this ship these days,” he had sneered during a systems check earlier. “Bet you’ve only kept this position because someone up high likes the way you look.”

His smirk had twisted into something crueler as he leaned closer. “Face it. You’re not here because you’re good—you’re here because you’re convenient.”

The humiliation burned as much now as it had then. You clenched your fists at the memory, your footsteps echoing softly against the metal floor. You’d worked too hard, poured too much of yourself into your work, to have it dismissed so callously. And yet, his words lingered like a stain, refusing to be scrubbed away.

You were so lost in thought that you almost didn’t hear the sound.

A muffled grunt. A crash.

And then—a sickening crunch.

You froze. Every instinct screamed at you to turn back, to return to your quarters and pretend you hadn’t heard anything. But your curiosity—or perhaps some misplaced sense of duty—compelled you forward. Quietly, you padded down the corridor, following the noise until you reached a maintenance bay.

What you saw made your breath catch in your throat.

Caleb stood over Lieutenant Reese, who was slumped against the wall, blood smeared across his face. The lieutenant’s arm hung at an unnatural angle, his body trembling as he let out a pained whimper. Caleb’s hand was clamped tightly around Reese’s throat, his grip firm but not enough to choke.

Not yet.

“You thought you could get away with it?” Caleb said, his voice low and steady, each word laced with venom. “Insulting her. Undermining her. Disrespecting her.”

Reese tried to stammer out a response, but Caleb’s hand tightened, silencing him.

“You signed your life away the moment you opened your mouth.” Caleb continued, his tone almost conversational, as if he were discussing something as mundane as a supply requisition. “She’s worth more than you’ll ever be. Do you even understand that?”

Reese’s legs kicked weakly, his breaths ragged. Caleb tilted his head, his expression shifting from cold fury to mild disappointment.

“Pathetic!” he muttered, releasing the lieutenant’s throat. Reese crumpled to the ground, wheezing and coughing. Caleb watched him for a moment, then raised his foot and brought it down sharply on Reese’s hand. The sound of bones breaking echoed in the bay.

The lieutenant went limp, his body a lifeless heap. Caleb crouched beside him, his expression one of disdain. “Weak,” he said, his voice barely audible.

And then he turned his head, his gaze locking onto you.

The moment seemed to stretch, the air thick with tension. Caleb’s expression shifted from cold to shocked in the blink of an eye, but his eyes—the ones that had always been so warm towards you—now seemed empty, calculating.

He stood still for a moment, then took a step toward you, his movements slow, deliberate. His voice was a whisper, but it cut through the silence like a blade.

“Don’t be scared,” Caleb said softly, though there was an edge to his words. “I’m just protecting you. I would never let anyone hurt you, never.”

Your mind raced, your pulse quickening. You’d seen this side of Caleb before—quiet, intense, protective—but this? This was something else. He was different.

“Protected me?” you repeated, your heart pounding. “From what?”

“From him,” Caleb replied, gesturing to Reese’s motionless form. “He disrespected you. He questioned your worth. He hurt you.”

His gaze softened, and he took another step closer. “I won’t allow that. Not from him. Not from anyone.”

“This—this isn’t right,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “You can’t just—”

“I can,” Caleb interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. “And I will. You may not see it now, but this is what’s necessary.”

You stared at him, searching for any hint of remorse, but there was none. Only conviction.

“I’ll always protect you.” he continued, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Even when you think you don’t need it. Even when you don’t understand why.”

You took a step back, your mind racing. But even as you tried to process what you’d seen and heard, a cold realization settled over you.

He closed the distance between you, his steps soft but purposeful, until he was standing right in front of you. His face was close, too close, his breath warm against your skin. “You’ve been through so much,” he continued, his voice soothing, almost affectionate. “You don’t need to worry about the people who don’t understand you. I’ll always protect you.” He repeats. “Even when you don’t ask for it.”

You swallowed; your throat dry. You should have been afraid, terrified even. But you weren’t. A part of you was frozen, caught in the web of his words, of his gaze. He was so sure of himself, so confident, and it was hard not to believe him when he looked at you like that.

His hand reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

“You’re mine,” Caleb whispered, his words not a command but a promise. “No one will ever take you from me. Not ever.”

You should have questioned it, should have asked him what he meant, why he was doing this. But you didn’t. Because in that moment, you realized you couldn’t escape.

Not really.

You knew who Caleb was. You knew what he was capable of. And you knew that the resources of the Farspace Fleet, the professor, and Caleb’s power meant there was no running, no hiding from him. You’d seen what happened to those who crossed you. And now, you didn’t doubt for a second that Caleb was behind it.

But what unnerved you most was the way he looked at you now. Not with malice, not with cruelty, but with something softer. Something almost tender.

“Stay.” he said, his voice coaxing. “I’ll keep you safe. You don’t need to worry about anything else.”

You swallowed hard, your mind screaming at you to run, to fight, to do anything but stand there. And yet... you nodded.

Because deep down, you knew he was right about one thing.

Caleb would never hurt you.

As long as you stayed.

He would never let anyone touch you. He would never let anyone harm you.

You were his, and he was yours.

At least, that’s what you told yourself as you stood there, the weight of his gaze heavy on you.

And as Caleb stepped back, his eyes softening, a reassuring smile tugging at his lips, you knew one thing for certain: you were far past the point of no return.

And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t so bad.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Taglist: @cordidy, @natimiles @leighsartworks216 @notisekais @raining4food @fallthelong @pomegranatepip @juliuscaesarsstabbedback @krystallevine @lemurianmaster @nenggie @loverindeepspace @sinsodom

[saintobio]

blank canvas. (2)

after offering a painful ultimatum to finally be enough for him, things ultimately get worse as he decides between keeping you or losing you as the only resolution.

pairings. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader

genre. florist x tattoo artist au, mild angst, opposites attract

tags/warnings. strong language, defloration (kinda), explicit smut, undertones of manipulation and gaslighting, toxic relationship, undertones of cheating

notes. 11.2k wc! thanks for the love on bc1, i didn't expect it to gain traction at all but tyty. last part will come soon, but that will be the final chapter to this mini-series.

part 1 | part 3

The ride back home was uncomfortable. 

It wasn’t because you had promised to give yourself to him that night, but rather because his uncharacteristic silence was not what you had expected after delivering your ultimatum. You already proposed a wonderful solution to his needs, so why was he acting like you were the one being ridiculous? This was why you hated it whenever Sukuna chose silence over open communication, as it left you a hard time guessing about what was running through his mind. His expression didn’t offer any clues either, because he did pretty well at concealing his emotions behind a facade of indifference.

When you said you would do it with him, you meant it. But what did he think of it? 

The sharp wind cut through your skin, the roar of his motorbike deafening your ears as your boyfriend accelerated his vehicle upon entering the tunnel. The vibrant yellow lights offered a cinematic view, tempting you to imagine yourself embracing the wind with open arms, though you knew better than to do so. Instead, you held onto him tightly, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning forward as he sped through the empty lane.

It was nearing midnight, and the sparse traffic allowed Sukuna to indulge in one of his habits: riding his bike in the late hours of the night through this particular tunnel and onto the highway. You knew this ritual helped him clear his mind since it offered a rush of danger that sharpened his focus on the road. His choice to take this route tonight also only confirmed to you that he was grappling with internal thoughts. The last time he rode this fast was when your parents made you choose between them and him, slapping it in his face that he was and would never be welcomed in your family. 

To be honest, it frightened you. The speed at which he was riding was dangerous for both of you. Moreover, his bike was a YZF-R1, although street-legal, it was still a high-performance sport bike more suited for the track. It required agile and precise handling with its 1000cc engine. Yet, no other vehicle seemed more fitting for Sukuna than this. 

Whatever was on his mind, he didn’t care to let you know. You two didn’t really speak throughout the ride while you clung to him like a backpack, praying in your head that you two wouldn’t get into an accident. Thankfully enough, he did safely take you home as you arrived at your shared apartment at exactly midnight. 

“Please don’t ride like that again,” you muttered as he helped you out of his motorbike. “You could’ve gotten us killed.” 

His fingers then reached to unclasp your helmet, pulling it up to reveal your face. “Well, we’re still alive.” 

You looked at his face despite his best effort to avoid yours, standing centimeters apart while he switched off the engine. He didn’t return your gaze as though he was drowned by guilt. Should you speak at this? Or should you let him do it first? 

“Baby.” After a minute or so, it was your boyfriend who sighed and finally gave in, pulling you close and resting his forehead against yours. He kept his eyes closed even when he was cupping your cheeks. “You don’t have to do this.” 

Yes, you certainly shouldn’t. You didn’t have to do things unwillingly, but that wouldn’t change the fact that this on-going issue was putting a strain on your relationship and this would be your last shot at trying to salvage it. And you couldn’t have him looking for sensual gratification from anyone else other than you, so what other option did you have, really? 

“I want to do it.” 

“Not if you’re forcing yourself like this.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Who said I’m forcing myself?”

“Your face tells me you are,” replied he, staring at your face in defeat. “So, let’s not—”

“What, and let this issue haunt us over and over?” You smiled bitterly, shaking your head adamantly. “This has to be done. I need to experience it so I’ll finally understand.”

Understand what? His face almost spelled out those words, but he chose not to say anything of the sort and instead leaned in to kiss your forehead. “Alright. I’ll make it memorable.” 

— —

Easier said than done, of course. You kept overthinking about whether your performance would be satisfactory to him given that you didn’t have enough experience to learn anything at all, aside from the make out sessions that you did once in a blue moon. Around thirty minutes of your time was spent hyperanalyzing your situation in the shower, while the other half of it was spent doing a little more than your nightly routines. Since Sukuna liked powdery scents, you placed a good effort in applying lavender-scented oil and perfume on every inch of your body. You also shaved any unwanted hair, especially on all the intimate places you knew he would be seeing. And by the time you were done, you stepped out of the bathroom blooming like a fresh flower, wrapped in nothing but a thin towel that hugged your womanly figure. 

It didn’t feel right at all. It didn’t feel good knowing that you were preparing yourself like that, when these things should only happen on the first night after your wedding. It didn’t feel great that you were going to lose your virginity to a man who had not even proposed to you. This wasn’t even your honeymoon, but you had to pretend like it was. 

Did Sukuna feel the same? 

He wasn’t lying in bed when you walked out of the bathroom. Instead, he had just returned from outside—shirtless, wearing his favorite gray sweatpants, and holding a box of condoms and a tube of lube in his hand. It was clear he had made a quick visit to the convenience store nearby and got the essentials for your first night.

Immediately, he eyed your towel-wrapped body with restrained lust, clearing his throat as he walked towards the nightstand. “You look nice.” 

Really? Did he really have to make this more awkward than it already was? 

“Thank you,” was all you could softly reply. It was funny how he pretended to be busy placing the box and tube above the bedside table instead of lunging at you like a desperate man. But because you wanted to get this over with, you were the one who approached him from behind, wrapping your arms around his waist, and touching the firmness of his abs. For someone who had zero experience, you were definitely trying hard enough and that should please him. “You have to help me out here, my love. Guide me.” 

When Sukuna turned around, your heart started racing. Of excitement? Maybe. Of anxiety? Perhaps. He made it better though when he finally caved in and looked straight into your eyes, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear before lifting your chin with his hand. “You smell extra nice, too,” he added, leaning close enough that you could feel his warm breath fanning your face. 

You were feeling it now. The equal lust. The carnal desire. The feeling of his sweet kisses, which he made true as soon as he crashed his lips onto yours. His kisses usually ranged from tender to rough, but this time, it was an altogether different type of kiss. It was passionate and demonstrative, as if showing you exactly what he had been wanting to do to you the first time you got together. This must be the result of being celibate in over a year. He was clearly a man deprived of sexual pleasure, and you were responsible for it. You actually turned him into a monk. 

Now, he wasn’t holding anything back anymore. With his hand on your nape, he deepened the kiss to the point where you could feel his tongue exploring your mouth. You followed whatever he was doing like a good girl, like a very good girl, as he completely devoured your mouth with his. It didn’t take long for him to advance his kisses in other places too, being your jawline his next target, and then your neck as he feathered kisses around the soft flesh, leaving marks that would need a few days to be concealed. 

Because his arms were tight around your waist, yours were locked around his neck. Where else should you be putting them? What does the girl usually do in this situation? You tried not to think much of it and listened to your own body while your boyfriend was sucking the skin around your collarbone. At first, your hand traced his toned chest, then it moved southwards to feel his abs, and further down to his…

“Y-You’re hard.” Your eyes widened as you felt his growing erection behind the fabric of his sweatpants. It wasn’t your first time seeing his boner, but it was the first time you touched it with your own hand. It was the first time you had your palm stroking his length, swallowing hard as you realized just how hard and thick he was. 

“It wants to be inside you,” he whispered through your mouth, kissing you back again, “so bad, baby.” 

Gosh. Your knees felt weak and you two hadn’t even really started yet. How much more when he starts putting that thing of his inside you? You were breathing hard, trying to catch air as your boyfriend continued to lap his tongue with yours, guiding your hand to continue fondling his wood while it grew bigger the more stimulated it got. By letting you touch his hardened crotch together with his own, you realized that you had just unlocked a newfound fetish of yours. “D-Do you… do you think about doing it with me often?”

He bit your lower lip before pulling away, animalistic eyes sending you into an orbit of pleasure. “Do you mean if I touch myself to the thought of you a lot?” he teased, chuckling darkly at the obvious heat on your cheeks. You couldn’t help but feel excited at how vulgar he could be with his words. “I do jack off a lot, angel. And it’s always you in my mind.” 

You didn’t even have the time to melt from his words, because before you knew it, he was already peeling the towel off your body to reveal your completely naked figure. Obviously, your first reaction was to get shy—with your heated cheeks, your inability to look him in the eyes, your little efforts in covering your breasts and crotch, but he made sure to pull your hands away while keeping his eyes on you. “…Don’t stare.” 

Sukuna, however, didn’t listen. His dark eyes scanned every curve of your body, particularly around your chest area before he sighed and threw his head back. “Fuck,” he cussed under his breath. “You’re so fucking sexy. I can’t believe no other punk has seen you like this.” 

Your confidence grew little by little because of his praises. “But isn’t that a good thing?” 

“For sure.” He almost laughed at his own words, more so in disbelief, before he reached out to touch your bosom. “No one can touch you like this, either, baby.” 

“That’s—”

“Hmm?” Your boyfriend smirked at your reaction. While his other hand went to squeeze your breast, the other traveled to your bum, squeezing the cheek with equal fervor. “Can I have a taste of you, baby?”

He fondled your breasts with both hands now, massaging the rounded mass like they were his property. You had to admit to yourself that the feeling of being touched actually transcended your expectations. Or maybe it was only because of how erotic it was, but you couldn’t deny how turned on you were as his veiny, manly hands cupped your bosom. 

And as soon as you nodded and permitted him to ‘taste’ you, he took no time in gently pushing you down the mattress, allowing you to lay at a comfortable position under him and his wanton stare. Taste you? He was more like eating you, when he pinned you against the mattress and sucked the skin on your chest. At first, his tongue rolled along your cleavage, inching closer and closer to your right breast while he had his hand squeezing the left. Your body naturally gravitated towards him as you arched your back so he could have better access to your chest. Not only your chest, but also your crotch as he started grinding his clothed manhood in between your folds. 

“Mm…”

Sukuna’s mouth was on your breast now, suckling on your flesh and playing his tongue around your nipple. You couldn’t tell if it was pleasurable or painful because his tongue felt ticklish on your skin, but the suction definitely was an entirely different feeling. Both weren’t bad, anyway. They were just new to you. But even if they were foreign, you were curious and all the more interested, studying every little thing he was doing with your body and trying to make mental notes out of it. 

Maybe you should have watched porn. That way, you could have been more aware of the step-by-step process of having sex. Who knew there were steps to follow at all? You didn’t think that foreplay could draw this much delay in your session because all you thought was that he was going to insert his cock straight inside you as soon as he saw you naked. 

With all the touching, fondling, and kissing… what were you supposed to do? He was doing all the work here. 

“Baby,” you spoke softly, staring at the ceiling, “C-Can I… touch you?” 

Instead of pulling away, his mouth latched onto your left boob, giving it the same attention before moving south. “Not yet.” 

When he said that, you didn’t expect his hand to land on your crotch. Your heart was thumping at an irregular rhythm as you felt his fingers moving in circles around your bud, playing with your clit before spreading your folds apart. “Nghh—!” you let out an embarrassingly loud moan, eyes widening at the sound of your voice, but your boyfriend shushed you by placing a peck on your lips before spreading your legs into a V. 

“You’re so wet,” he said, pointing out the obvious as he positioned himself in between your legs, spreading your labia to reveal your entrance. Something about the situation made you increasingly self-conscious, but his undeniably hungry gaze kept you from covering your most sensitive area. It seemed like he was enjoying the sight of your pussy, especially with how wet and ‘untouched’ it was. “Your pussy’s so pretty, baby,” he mumbled, lowering his face closer to the area, “Can’t wait to put my dick inside it.” 

You whimpered at the feeling of his tongue in between your folds. No, you couldn’t even think straight after he started teasing your vagina, alternating between flicking his tongue around your bud to french kissing your entrance. His tongue was so deep in your cavern that you were raising your hips involuntarily, going insane from the pleasure it sent your body. Your hands even gripped the sheets and your back arched into a C as you held back from moaning like a wild animal. At some point, the slurping sounds and the feeling of his mouth kissing your vagina had your legs shaking. 

Though, you could ask yourself: what turned you on the most? Was it him actually eating your pussy or just the idea of him doing it? 

And just when you thought he was done, he replaced his mouth by inserting a finger inside your cunt, garnering a much louder whimper out of you. “B-Baby!”

“Does it hurt?” he asked, eyes locked with yours as he slowly moved his middle finger in and out. “It’s so tight.” 

“It hurts…” You nodded, feeling his finger moving in circles inside your cunt as though he was trying to get a feel of your walls, measuring the tightness and such. 

He kissed you for a good minute. “Relax, angel. Don’t clench too much.” 

Clench? You didn’t even know you were doing such a thing. “How to…?” 

“Just relax.” Sukuna placed a hand on your abdomen, pressing it down while he was inserting yet another finger inside of you. “This’ll help you prepare so it won’t hurt as much later.” 

Now, you were goddamn nervous. What did he mean it wouldn’t hurt as much? Because you were overthinking the pain of having him his actual cock inside of you. If you couldn’t even bear having his two fingers inside you, how much more with his clearly thick shaft? It was ridiculous to feel both anxious and yet aroused at the same time. Anxious, because you knew he could rip you open. Aroused, because his fingers were currently doing a great job at hitting your most sensitive spot. Whatever it was that he was reaching, it was certainly sending waves of ecstasy throughout your body. 

His fingers continued to move. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. Around. When he pulled his digits out, he sucked the juices on them, tasting every drip of your essence from his fingers. “Sweet.”

Were you? You started to get curious at how he tasted, too. Sweet? Salty? Bitter? You seemed to be moving on autopilot when you pulled yourself up and sat in bed on your knees. “Your turn?” 

You asked the question as if you knew what you were doing, which was why Sukuna found it adorable and humorous at the same time. He did help you pull down the sweatpants that had been covering his erection for what felt like eternity, only to reveal a monstrous size that sprung out of the garment. 

Holy fuck was all you could say. 

He stood at the edge of the bed, a devilish smirk displayed on his saintly face as he saw the length of his cock compared to your face. You obviously hadn’t seen many cocks in your lifetime to be able to compare his size, but in your eyes, he was definitely big. He was girthy. He was lengthy. He was veiny. Meaty. 

“Wanna suck it for me, baby?” he encouraged, pumping his shaft while looking at you. Fuck. “Open your mouth.” 

You did as told, wrapping a hand at the base of his length while placing his tip on your mouth. You pressed your tongue flat on the surface of his tip, rolling your tongue around the head as if it were a lollipop. Was that what you were supposed to do?

“Eyes on me.” His voice deepened an octave. And it was also raspier. 

Why did he want you to look up at him? It was already embarrassing. 

“I said, eyes on me, angel.” He grabbed your chin and forced you to lock eyes with his darkened ones. Damn. No wonder girls were desperate to see him in his shop every single day. This was probably what they had been daydreaming about. “Suck my cock.” 

In your head, you became a slut. In reality, you were still a shy, inexperienced virgin who didn’t know what to do. You relied on his instructions and looked at his expressions to know if you were doing a good job and to see what he liked and didn’t like. He definitely liked it when you sucked the head, liked it even more when you started to let him go deeper in your mouth, and surely liked it a hell lot better when you gagged after his cock hit the back of your throat. But in spite of the string of saliva that left your mouth after gagging from his cock, his arousal only grew harder, this time holding your hair in his fist as he began thrusting his hip forward. You were bobbing your head at a rhythm that satisfied him, feeling the stretch on your scalp as he tightened his grip on your hair. 

“Tighten your mouth around it,” he instructed, fucking your mouth senselessly like hitting your throat was driving him nuts. Your eyes were already filling up with tears because of your urge to gag again, but you didn’t think it would be a good idea to stop now while he was just starting to pleasure himself. 

This was the first time in your life to give someone a blowjob, and you weren’t sure what to make of that experience. It personally didn’t give you pleasure, but you liked hearing his desperate moans. You liked hearing him curse and get vulgar with his words. You liked seeing him get rough. His taste, on the other hand, was somewhat a different experience. Since you were only sucking his flesh, it was a tad bit salty at first contact but didn’t taste anything much after tongue got used to the skin around his shaft. Perhaps his cum would have a stronger flavor, though it looked like he had no plans in releasing his load into your mouth as he pulled his member out. 

“Fuck it,” he grunted, gently pushing you back and spreading your legs wide open again, “I wanna feel your pussy so bad. Can I fuck you raw, babe?” 

All those condoms, and he wanted to have you raw? 

“But… I don’t wanna get pregnant.” 

His face was full of assurance, shaking his head and denying any chance of knocking you up. “You won’t be. I’ll pull out, I just… I have to feel you raw the first time. I have to.” 

“Okay…” 

You were nervous as hell. You had butterflies in your stomach, your heart pounding in your chest like a drumbeat you couldn’t silence. You had imagined this moment countless times, but now that it was here, the reality of it was too overwhelming. Your mind yet again raced with a whirlwind of doubts and insecurities, and every nerve on your body seemed to be on high alert while you watched him getting occupied with rubbing his entire length with lube, ensuring a smooth entrance inside you. 

He was nervous too, right? You couldn’t be the only one. You couldn’t be. 

You just wanted everything to be perfect. To show him how much you cared. To feel that you were enough. But the thought was paralyzing. Tonight was more than just physical intimacy; it was a step forward in your relationship, a moment of connection you wanted so badly to cherish. This first intimate encounter should be filled with love, respect, and mutual understanding. 

But what if after this, he’d come to realize that you weren’t the one? What if he’d get disappointed and tell you that you weren’t worth it? What if he’d leave you for someone else who could pleasure him better? What if, after you had given yourself to him, no one else would ever appreciate you anymore? 

You wanted this, didn’t you? You wanted to feel the heat of his touch, the intensity of his gaze, the intimacy of your connection. You wanted to explore this uncharted territory with him, to dive headfirst into the unknown and discover what lay on the other side. But were you really ready for this? Did you truly want this? Would it be everything you had imagined, or would you regret losing your virginity to him?

The fear of inadequacy gnawed at your confidence as Sukuna positioned himself back in between you, his tip rubbing at your slit a couple times before he finally sunk it into your entrance. 

“Haaa—!” 

“Shh. It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.”

“N-No, I—!”

It felt like your walls were being stretched so painfully, like your flesh was being torn open in the most agonizing way. This was not the kind of pain you pictured out when he put his member inside. Sukuna even tried to grab hold of your hips to keep you steady, but you were withdrawing your hips back, wanting nothing but for him to remove his cock. 

“It hurts… It hurts… please, stop. Please!” 

“Baby, I’m trying to be gentle—”

“I SAID STOP!” 

Both of your eyes widened at the same time, and that was the only time you two were ever in sync. He was clearly shocked by your outburst, while you yourself were surprised at how you raised your voice at him. Neither of you expected that situation. As a result, he did pull away and completely withdrew himself from you. 

Frustration was evident on his visage and he couldn’t even hide it anymore. “Fuck this,” he spat in exasperation, taking a deep breath as he reached to slip his sweatpants back on. “I knew it.” 

“No, I…” You swallowed. “It just… You kinda forced it, I wasn’t ready.” 

“I forced it, really? I forced you?” His laugh was out of complete disbelief. “I never forced you into anything, angel. I’ve asked you since the beginning if this is really what you want.” He took a pause, a very uncomfortable one, before he went on murmuring, “It was just my tip and you’re overreacting like this. I’m not even halfway in.”

His agitation had finally awakened you to your senses, realizing that you did end up doing what you were scared of doing. You ruined the moment. You were so caught up in your bubble of negative thoughts that you had once again failed to fulfill what you were supposed to do. No wonder he was aggravated, now sitting away from you and wearing his clothes as if telling you that he was done. Done being blue balled by his own girlfriend. Done expecting something he was never really bound to have. 

You reached out to touch his arm. “Baby, I’m sorry… I just got scared, but we can still—”

“Still do it?” he continued your sentence by ironically cutting you off, “No, the fuck, I won’t. I’m not in the mood anymore.” 

His reaction brought tears to your eyes, because the way he was acting stung your fragile heart. You didn’t mean to ruin anything. More importantly, you didn’t wish for everything to just turn out like this. “I-I’m sorry. Let me try again, please.” 

The weakness of your voice seemed to have softened him, becoming calmer and more composed after a few minutes of contemplation, but he still held his ground when he massaged his temple and sighed. “Let’s just not push it, Y/N.” He looked at your eyes, with hurt and rejection reflecting on them. “Even if you say you wanna do it, you think I can’t see it in your face that you’re not really into it? You’re never ready for me and maybe it’s my fault, maybe there’s something about me that you’re so scared of. Maybe it’s because you don’t feel secure with me, maybe you wanna save yourself for someone better, someone who can give you a brighter future—”

“That’s not true!” You shook your head desperately, your eyes blurring from the pool of tears while you clung to his arm. Where was all this coming from? It sounded like he had been harboring those feelings for so long. “That’s not true. What are you even saying?” 

“I don’t even know what I’m saying. I’m just…” Trying to give a reason why you won’t give it to me. That must be what he had wanted to say. “Look, I don’t wanna pressure you into this bullshit anymore. I don’t wanna make it look like I’m begging for your affection like this. Intimacy should happen normally for couples, and if we can’t have that, then we can’t. That’s it.” 

Why did he sound like he was giving up? 

You tried to keep your emotions at bay while listening to him battling with his internal thoughts. “I understand I disappointed you tonight, but…”

He was adamant at shaking his head, distancing himself from you by getting up from the bed. “No, you got nothin’ to apologize for. It’s your body and your choice. I’d never force you into anything.” 

Then… then…

“I just think it’s not the perfect time,” he continued, shooting you a glance before looking away. Each step he took added another crack on your fragile heart. “From now on, I’m never gonna initiate anything intimate nor will I expect anything from you, aight? I’m over it.”

Alone in your vulnerability, you could feel the cold air hugging your naked body as you watched him walk towards the door, leaving you in the dark both literally and figuratively. “Where a-are you going? Come on… Please.” 

He no longer cared to turn around. He no longer bothered to comfort you as he walked away, muttering, “Just gonna go for a ride. Don’t wait on me.” 

— —

Nearly three weeks had passed since that night and you would be lying if you said everything was okay. 

No, everything was not okay. You could feel the distance growing each day even when you two still did everything together. Your normal routines didn’t feel normal anymore because he was acting too detached ever since he told you that he wouldn’t initiate anything intimate ever again. And to be honest? It hurt. A whole fucking lot. Hearing your partner say that they would never wish to do anything intimate with you was probably the worst way to experience heartbreak. Because he was truthful with it, and he showed it very openly. 

Now, he’d lock the door whenever he would take showers. He’d spent most of his time outside riding his bike until midnight. He stopped texting you sweet messages while on tattoo shop duty. He seldomly joined you to eat breakfast and dinner together. His back would face you whenever you two slept in bed. His eyes avoided you even when you walked around in underwear. His hand wouldn’t touch you even when you were centimeters close to him. There were no kisses exchanged either, unless obliged to do so when leaving the house. No hugs. No hair-stroking, hand-holding sweetness ever shared. You were simply cohabiting in your shared apartment like strangers who had barely even said I love you’s. 

“Man, that’s rough,” remarked Suguru Getou, your cousin and the barista, as he tidied up the counter behind the elevated bar. Having just served his friend an Americano, he listened intently as you vented about your situation with Sukuna. “I’ll be honest with you, Y/N. It’s not looking good for you.”

You knew that. You just refused to acknowledge it. “I mean, all couples fight.” 

Suguru shook his head, however. “You two aren’t even fighting. Dude just gave up and started detaching himself from you. If that’s not a sign already, then I don’t know what is.” 

“What sign?” you asked, hiding the obvious worry in your voice. You need not be dense about his words, but you wanted to have some kind of hope to grasp on. 

“Sign that he’s falling out of love?” he continued. 

And somehow, his white-haired friend thought it would be okay to chime in. “More like a sign that the tool's not interested anymore and is about to dump her.”

Your face felt hot and in the most terrible way. “Sorry, what was your name again?” you asked, your tone dripping with sarcasm. You hadn’t expected the guy to suddenly chime in, considering he had been quietly typing on his laptop just moments before. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion, so don’t go listening to somebody else’s business when you’re not part of the conversation.”

“Jeez,” said the albino guy, grinning at your cousin as if amused by your barrage of a response. “She’s a yapper, too. I thought she was supposed to be this sweet and innocent type, Suguru?”

“Not always.” Suguru chuckled at his friend before turning to you, apologetic eyes now attempting to soothe your nerves. “Sorry ‘bout that, Y/N. Satoru just likes to tease people. Don’t mind him.”  

You kept a straight face. “Well, then maybe tell your friend to keep his nose out of conversations he’s not invited to.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Satoru gave you a playful salute before extending his hand towards you. “Look, I didn’t mean to overhear, but I actually sympathize with you. If it were me, I’d never do that to you, baby.”

Oh, God. You were so bad at this. Was he flirting with you or was he simply playful like this? 

Nevertheless, you rolled your eyes and ignored the hand he offered, essentially brushing off his advances. “I don’t need sympathy. All I’m here for is to talk to my cousin to try and have his advice on the matter,” you emphasized pointedly, making it clear to Satoru that he was the last person you wanted advice from. “I don’t need a stranger listening to my personal life.” 

“Doesn’t hurt to receive advice from another guy,” countered Satoru, shrugging. “Right, Suguru? I mean, we’re both guys. We can give you some insight into how men think.” 

You felt the urge to bury your face in your hands. It was clearly a mistake going there and putting yourself in that situation, and now having two guys aware of your sex life with your boyfriend. That alone was so wrong on many levels. But could it be helped? Suguru was your closest cousin, the only one who didn’t turn his back on you after you left your parents’ home. He was working at a cafe three blocks away from your flower shop and you happened to be delivering a batch of fresh floral decorations for their cafe. You obviously found it a good opportunity to open up to him about your struggling relationship and hoped he could offer some male perspective on Sukuna’s behavior. You just hadn’t anticipated his friend eavesdropping on the conversation the entire time.

Well, that should have been expected anyway, since only the three of you were in that cafe on a lazy Wednesday afternoon. 

“I don’t kiss and tell, by the way.” Satoru was beaming as he gave you that assurance and you couldn’t help but admit that the man had some charm in him. He was attractive, no doubt about it. He was also tall, toned, and seemingly well off based on the way he dressed. He had a casual yet preppy style, something you would normally see from guys who went to private school. 

“Do you work?” you asked out of sheer curiosity. “You don’t seem like the type.” 

“Oh, now she’s interested.” Satoru seemed to have found your sudden interest in him humorous. “I’m finishing my MBA, miss. Thank you for asking.”

“He’s a privileged rich kid with generational wealth and a family business,” Suguru remarked, playfully gesturing a cutting motion across his neck. “Definitely not your type, huh, Y/N?”

“Why, what’s her type?” The white-haired man looked intrigued, pulling his stool closer. He had that stupid grin on his face as though the topic just sparked his curiosity. “What’s her boyfriend like?”

Suguru, who wanted to play along, jokingly hummed in deep thought. “He’s got tattoos, likes to tattoo other people, is a college dropout, rides a big bike, smokes and drinks, listens to heavy metal, was probably a delinquent and a juvie alumni—”

“Excuse you, he’s never been in a juvenile detention center,” you defended your man, feeling like your cousin’s categorization of Sukuna was becoming a little too derogatory and you had to correct him for that, “and he’s a good man. He’s sweet and caring, he’s passionate, and he loves me sincerely.” 

“Sincerely, not?” Satoru quipped, earning your glare in return. He immediately raised his hands in surrender. “I'm just joking. If you believe he’s all that, that’s your choice. I don’t judge booktok girls who romanticize typical bad boys.”

You rolled your eyes at his audacity. Each word that left his mouth seemed to stoke the flames of your irritation. “You’re so offensive, I’ll have you know that.” 

The white-haired guy smugly took a sip from his coffee. “At least I don’t make girls feel guilty for not having sex with me.” 

“Oooh.” Suguru was clearly enjoying the show, unaware that you were one step closer from smacking his friend across the face. “Touché. He kinda has a point, Y/N.” 

“Be serious,” you warned. 

To which he agreed to. “Okay, I am being serious now,” he said, abandoning his playful stance to lean in on a more solemn posture against the counter, “If you think Sukuna makes you feel guilty for not doing it with him, then shouldn’t that speak for the kind of relationship you two have? He wants something you can’t give. His reaction tells you everything you need to know about him.” 

You tried to absorb his words with a better understanding and without any bias. “Isn’t his reaction normal? He’s a man, too. I understand his needs and I made him feel somewhat rejected.”

“It’s all about respect, Y/N,” answered Suguru, “If he’s a decent man, he wouldn’t make you feel that way. No mixed signals, no guilt tripping, no nothing. If you can’t do it, then don’t.” 

“So, you’re saying you wouldn’t feel the same if your girlfriend keeps rejecting sex with you?” 

Suguru smirked. “I never said I’m a decent man, either. All I’m saying is if what you want isn’t exactly aligned to what he wants, then maybe it’s best you break it off with him because this shit won’t get you anywhere, Y/N. Trust me. He’s gonna dump you before you know it. I mean, it’s one thing to pretend he’s all fine with it, and it’s another to distance himself from you like he’s silently protesting.” 

“Yeah, that’s true,” Satoru joined in once again. “It’s impossible for a guy like that to be in a relationship for so long and not have any pussy. We think of sex 24/7, some of us are just better at restraining ourselves than others. He’s putting up with it now, but it’s only a matter of time he gets sick and tired of waiting. You do realize he can get any girl he wants, anytime he wants, right?” 

Although you were still uncomfortable at Satoru casually chiming in on the conversation, it was true when they said they could give you the exact male perspective you needed to hear. This allowed you to go deeper into Sukuna’s psyche and understand why he was acting that way. You just didn’t know how to save the connection you have with your boyfriend when both your cousin and his friend were describing all the red flags on Sukuna’s behavior. 

“I don’t know,” you spoke in a tone of defeat. “I kinda understand where he’s coming from, so I can’t just leave him for it. I love him.”

Satoru looked at your cousin like you couldn’t be saved. “She’s in too deep.” 

“Yeah, gaslighted as fuck.” Suguru was shaking his head in disappointment. 

The taller man chuckled and brought up a ridiculous offer to lighten the situation up. “Honestly, Y/N. I know we just met and all, but if you ever need someone to teach you how to do good in bed, just hit me up. He’ll never know.” 

“Shut up,” you shot back at Satoru, eyes rolling at his remark. 

“You’re out here feeling bad for that guy when he could be fucking his clients at the tattoo shop.”

You argued. “No, he’s not—”

“Are you sure he isn’t?” 

It wasn’t Suguru nor Satoru who posed that question; it was Yuki Tsukumo, the café’s manager and Suguru's respected senior. She was in a relationship with one of your boyfriend’s stepbrothers, Choso, and was also a fellow biker, which allowed her to cross paths with Sukuna in their community. Despite this connection, she was never particularly close to him. In fact, Yuki didn’t personally get along with Sukuna and she was very vocal about it. She was, however, a regular client of yours and ordered floral arrangements from your shop on a weekly basis.

It had been awhile since you last saw her, and didn’t expect that the first greeting you would give her was a question. “Yuki, what do you mean?” 

Great. Now, three people know about your relationship quagmires. 

She was placing her helmet at the counter and sitting on a stool before answering you, “I really think you should talk to him about it, Y/N.” 

No, no. Why did you suddenly feel a pang of anxiety out of nowhere? Something about the sympathy in Yuki’s eyes felt unsettling, and it sent a wave of fear through you. She definitely knew something. What was Sukuna doing behind your back?

“Can you please just tell me?” 

Her gaze studied your face intently, as if deliberating on the right thing to do. “Well... I spotted him riding with a girl the other night. Initially, I thought it might be you, but last night, I saw them together again. I recognized her... because it was his ex. I think he’s been giving her rides home lately.” 

Amidst the quiet of the room, your heart felt like it was breaking in two. The sudden revelation sent you into an abyss of pain.

“You might wanna visit his tattoo shop later.” Yuki encouraged me with a comforting smile. “It may be best to confront him about it.”

— —

Sukuna wasn’t sure how to act around you anymore. It wasn’t like he was purposely avoiding you, but he just didn’t feel comfortable acting like everything was fine and dandy. Because if he was damn honest, the sexual frustration was fucking with his head. So much so to the point where he started questioning himself if he should still put up with a relationship like this. 

First of all, there were pros and cons involved. He had to consider that it was a special connection filled with special memories, too. 

If he was talking about the pros, he knew he would have a loving lifetime partner with you. You were beautiful, kind, and pure. You inspired him and motivated him to be better. You were unmaterialistic and happy with the littlest things. You gave his dominant side the urge to be a better man, like he was made to protect and provide for you. You became his muse; a blank canvas that was all for him to paint on. A canvas that no one had ever touched. Or, in your world, a white lily that was associated with chastity and virtue. 

But then, there were also cons, and the foremost of it being you were too conservative for your own good. You grew up in a strict environment with uptight parents who wanted to control your life. He could never voice it out, but he really hated that you were square like your parents sometimes. You were too traditional and afraid to explore new experiences, oftentimes policing him for living his life as free as he wanted it to be. The ‘opposites attract’ thing did seem to work in your relationship at first, with your differences being exciting for each other, but as time went by, it became clearer to him that you two were too different to actually be in sync together. 

Hence why your relationship became rigid and suffocating, forcing him to take a breather by distancing himself from you for some time. He did this for your benefit, because he had to clear his head before risking losing you for good. He didn’t want to jeopardize a relationship that he knew meant the world to him. Perhaps this was just a phase, a challenging period following the honeymoon phase, where all your differences seemed to become more pronounced.

But to repeatedly make him look forward to sharing intimacy with you, only for you to back out at the very last minute? Man, was that so frustrating. 

It didn’t help that it was destiny itself that seemed to be stirring the pot. Because while you two were going through a rough time in your relationship, the irony presented itself outside of Sukuna’s tattoo shop late at night just as he was about to close. 

“Ryo?” A tall woman with athletic build, long dark hair, and beautiful doe eyes came into view with a wide smile on her face. 

His ex-girlfriend of three years. 

Sukuna held the door for her albeit the confusion in his eyes. “Yorozu?” 

The only difference he noticed was that she had become a lot sexier, with the curves on her body more womanly than ever. It was obvious that she was active in the gym to achieve such a fit physique. But other than that, her facial features were the same. Her heart eyes still shone bright at the mere sight of him, as if they carried stars and galaxies. 

“I think I came too late,” said Yorozu, smiling in disappointment, “I should probably just return tomorrow.” 

“No, you’re good.” Sukuna insisted on letting her enter his shop, closing the door as soon as she was inside. “What brought you here?” 

She stood confidently in front him, wearing nothing but a blank tank top and some loose white pants. “Funny story ‘cause I actually just moved to this city recently and I just found out you had a shop in this area.” 

Oh? That was interesting, indeed. Sukuna wondered how she even found his shop in that case, while he was leading her to the tattoo chair. “Are you here to get a tattoo or?” 

“Yeah, yeah I am.” She was sprinkling some charm in her grin. He knew her too well. “I think it’s amazing that I’m gonna get it from you again.”

While Yorozu was talking to him, he couldn’t help but ask: was it wrong for him to be in the same vicinity as his ex? Considering how jealous you could get, this was definitely wrong in your eyes. But as he wasn’t doing anything sketchy, he figured there was nothing wrong about what he was doing. Yorozu was technically a client and he couldn’t deny her his services since she was basically a friend of his, too. So, was he breaking any code here? 

“Well, only if you have time now, of course,” she added out of consideration, “It’s kinda late so I can always come back.” 

Sukuna shook his head and headed to get his book of tattoo art samples. “It’s fine. I got clients lined up all day tomorrow, so,” he said, placing the book on her lap, “You wanna check that or do you have a design in mind already?” 

Yorozu’s eyes fell on the tattoos marking Sukuna’s body, her gaze landing on every familiar inch as though she had seen them all the time before. It was true. She had seen more of him, actually. She had done more with his body, too. “I kinda wanna get a sleeve, but I want you to choose the design for me.” 

A tattoo sleeve? Damn. It was something he would never in a million years see from you, but for Yorozu, it was totally normal. She was as obsessed with ink as he was. And although she’s had a couple of tattoos in her body already, which were done by him, it would be her first time to get a full sleeve. 

“I get to choose, really?” Sukuna chuckled lightly. If he were to think of Yorozu’s traits, she was definitely a classic red rose. A seductress, alluring woman was how he saw her and the said flower would be a true-to-life representation of her personality. She was passionate when it came to loving someone, and was completely devoted to him back when they were together. The only reason they broke up was because they were too similar, as if she was his counterpart, and he saw fit to leave a relationship where they both constantly battled for dominance. Yorozu could get too aggressive on loving someone and he didn’t particularly like that. He made her understand why they weren’t working as a couple, and it took her some time, but she eventually accepted his decision. Now, you could say, they were somehow on good terms. “Alright, I’ll do your sleeve, but I’ll keep the design as a surprise.” 

Her eyes sparkled in excitement at the thought. “I’d love that!” 

“Since you want a sleeve, we’re gonna do some stencil application today.” Sukuna didn’t waste any more time in getting ready with his equipment, biting on the glove while wearing the other on his hand. “It’ll take fifteen to twenty hours to complete a sleeve, and each session could last two to six hours depending on your pain tolerance. My schedule’s actually full all day until next week, but you can come around the same time every night so I can finish yours.” 

“Yeah, I’m absolutely fine with that,” she enthused. For some reason, Yorozu was happy with the idea. The idea of coming to visit Sukuna every night in his shop. The idea that they get to be alone. The idea that they would be able to reconnect just like old times. Those were the things that Sukuna assumed was going through her head. 

And as he did start with his ‘client’, it was probably best to admit that the sexual tension was high. The room felt stuffy as the both of them remained there until midnight, with her sitting on the tattoo chair, and him doing her tattoo to her left. His eyes were intently focused on the intricate patterns he was doing on her arm, but also couldn’t avoid seeing the contours of her breasts since she was wearing such a thin tank top. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen them before. He’d seen every part of her body from her neck down to her toes. He’d put her in every position from missionary to doggy. Goddamn, he could even remember how warm she felt around his cock. Didn’t she like it when he came inside her? Or when he made her swallow every drop of his seed? 

Sukuna cleared his throat, shaking his vulgar thoughts away as he continued with Yorozu’s arm. He may not be cheating, but thinking back on those intimate experiences with someone else other than his girlfriend was definitely not morally right either. But what sexual experience could he reminisce about with you? That ridiculously embarrassing night you two had shouldn’t even be counted since he was trying so hard to forget about it. 

He cleared his throat. Again. For the third time. “What, uh, what’ve you been up to?” 

Yorozu, who had no clue about his thoughts, turned her face to look at him happily. “Not much, actually. The bar I worked at closed down, but I got myself a new job in this club as a full time hostess and part-time promoter. You should come by. Drinks on me.” 

By not exactly accepting or refusing, Sukuna decided to just smile it off. “That’s why you moved to this city?” 

“Yeah, I mean… obviously, the rent here is higher, but it’s closer to my job. I get paid decently, too.” 

“That’s nice.” He was just trying to make small talk at this point. “Do you know your way ‘round here? How are you gonna get home?” 

She considered her options. “Probably a bus or something?” 

Sukuna paused, contemplating the situation. “There's no bus here at midnight,” he remarked, concerned for the girl who would have to navigate her way home alone at such a late hour. She was new to the area and clearly still adjusting to the commuter lifestyle. Unlike her, he had a vehicle that could safely transport her home. There would be no harm in offering, right? “Look, I have a bike and I usually take midnight rides, anyway. I can drop you off on my way home.”

“Really?” Her voice echoed excitement in them. “I’d appreciate it, Ryo. Thanks so much.” 

Life was ironic, truly. He didn’t see this situation coming because he never expected that he would even come across Yorozu ever again. They didn’t have any contact prior, but he still saw her on social media whenever he (on very rare occasions) decided to check his accounts. He never had her blocked, either, which was why you knew about Yorozu after snooping through his phone and reading through some of his old messages with her. Sukuna used to tell you not to worry about her, and that she was just his ex, and that she had nothing on you—which were all true, of course, but it was funny to him now that the woman his girlfriend was most threatened by was back in his life. 

And she was riding at the backseat of his motorbike, her arms latching at nothing else but around his torso. She was seated at the seat reserved for you, wearing the helmet that was bought for you, and holding onto a man that was rightfully yours. It all didn’t feel right. 

But because Yorozu delighted in his habit of speeding on the highway, he had somehow forgotten about the guilt that was forming in his heart. 

**

“You still have your ex’s Instagram?” Your questioning eyes met his defensive ones as he joined you in the living room, finding his space on the couch next to you. “I read your dms. Why haven’t you blocked her?” 

Sukuna’s breath remained steady. “Only toxic people do that shit.” 

“But I’m not comfortable with it!” you nagged, letting him snatch his phone from your grasp. 

“Do you see me talking to her still?” he asked, trying to be as patient as he could be, “Baby, I don’t even talk to her. I don’t think she’s active there, either.” 

You crossed your arms. “Then, block her?” 

“You’re being ridiculous.” 

“I’m being fair. You shouldn’t be keeping tabs with an ex.” 

“What are you—” Sukuna decided to cut his own sentence after realizing that the argument was plain stupid. “You know what, I’ll just delete my insta.” 

**

“How many times do you two do it?” you asked out of nowhere, sitting at the waiting area while he was closing his shop. “Your ex. How often do you have sex with her?” 

What kind of trap were you setting now? If he told you an honest answer, you would get mad. If he lied or even sugar coated it, you would also get mad. 

“Does it matter? Why do you keep asking questions about her and then get upset with me?” Sukuna’s frustration resonated in his sigh as he tidied the space where he tattooed his client a few minutes ago. “She’s an ex for a reason, so get over it.”

He was starting to get annoyed by your never-ending questions about his past experiences, but he knew you were simply coming from a place of no experience. You probably wanted to know what he liked in bed, what pleased him the most, what kept him from wanting more. Was that too much? No. Were you overdoing this entire thing? A little bit. 

“Why are you defensive?” you asked softly, still sitting on the couch as you watched him avoid your eyes. “You make me feel so insecure every time.” 

He scoffed, shaking his head as he turned around. “I don’t know, baby. If you’re feeling insecure, then do something about it.” 

**

“Thanks so much for the ride, Ryo.” 

Yorozu stood by her door, returning the helmet back to him while she kept her eyes locked on his. Her gaze was inviting, tempting him to give in and submit to his carnal desires. Any man would read her intentions the same way; Yorozu stared at him like that because she wanted to invite him to her place. She wanted him to spend the night and do unforgivable things. To remember the passionate exchange they once shared. 

But Sukuna wasn’t like that. No, he wasn’t a cheater. “I, uh, gotta get going.” 

“Oh…” Disappointment clouded Yorozu’s face. “Okay, then.” 

“See you tomorrow?” 

“...Alright.” 

“Okay.” 

“Wait!” Yorozu pulled his arm just as he was heading back to his motorbike. The sudden closeness in their proximity made his heart race fast. He knew what was coming. “I missed you, Ryo.” 

He knew what she was about to do next. 

And holy fuck did he guess right, as he was taken aback when Yorozu suddenly leaned in to press her lips onto his. Her soft, cherry lips moved desperately to taste his sweet kisses. 

But he didn’t return it. Instead, he immediately pushed her away. “Yorozu,” he spoke softly, “I have a girlfriend.” 

“You do?” She didn’t need to hide it. He could see the heartbreak on her face. 

“Yeah,” Sukuna confirmed, maintaining a more appropriate distance now. “We’ve been together for some time, and I live with her.”

Yorozu tried to maintain her facade of indifference, making it appear as though she was unfazed by his revelation. “That’s... That’s cool,” she said, “I’m sorry for, uh, the kiss.”

Sukuna nodded, “It’s fine. I should’ve told you sooner.”

“You’re alright,” she reassured him, “It's totally my fault. I hope she won’t be upset with you or something.”

Sukuna had no plans to tell you, knowing well the additional turmoil it would bring to your already strained relationship. However, he realized the importance of clarity in his intentions and the need to set boundaries. “We’re just friends. We’ll keep things civil. I’ll finish your tattoo in a couple more sessions, and then we’re done. Sounds fair?”

Yorozu nodded her head with a reluctant smile. “Fair enough.” 

— —

5 more days. Her sleeve required five more sessions, and days went by too fast for him to count. He had busied himself with his clients, while you had busied yourself with yours. He couldn’t even spend time with you because his shop took a chunk of his time from him, and even at home, things had become too awkward ever since your unspoken night. 

So, in some ways, Yorozu became his routine. She visited his shop for the past four nights and he had taken her home afterwards. She was in absolute love with her rose sleeve and they weren’t even complete yet. He still owed her one last session and told himself that it should also be the last time she should be around him. It wasn’t right and he didn’t want to create another source of argument with you. 

And in truth, he certainly felt a little guilty for spending more time with his ex than his own girlfriend. But did he purposely do it? No, it was fate that brought her to his door about a week ago. 

In spite of his stubbornness to admit his wrongdoing, he still ended up stopping by the flower market to get you a nice bouquet of white lilies. He knew you could make a prettier bouquet than that, but he thought it would be a perfect opportunity to surprise you with flowers that didn’t exactly come from you. Besides, he had some making up to do. 

Later that night, when he returned to your shared home, he found you sitting at the couch seemingly waiting for him to come home. The lights were dimmed and the television was turned off. For some reason, you were wearing outside clothes and had a somber expression on your face, too. That alone caused the loud thumping of his heart. 

“Hey,” he greeted, nonetheless, sitting next to you on the couch and kissing your cheek. “Everything okay, baby?” 

Your eyes carried sadness in them as you looked at him and searched for answers you couldn’t find. “Where were you?” 

Sukuna handed the bouquet over. “Got you flowers.” 

You didn’t accept them. Instead, every second seemed to torture you. “Where were you before that?” 

“In the shop…?” He didn’t know where to start, but he was definitely scared. “Why? Sorry I’ve been busy lately. I’ll make it up to you, angel.” 

“You close your shop at nine,” you pointed out, voice breaking in the middle of your sentence. “Why do you always come home at two in the morning?” 

Fuck. Fuck! What should he say? Should he make an excuse for it? Should he say he’d been checking on Yuuji after his shifts? Should he say he’d been riding to other cities to clear his mind? He didn’t fucking know what to say, especially not when you were clearly on the verge of bursting out. 

“Answer me!” you cried, finally releasing the bottle out in the open. The tears that welled in your eyes now streamed ceaselessly down your face. “You’re an asshole. I-I hate you! I fucking… you think I don’t know? You think I’m too stupid to know?!”

Sukuna calmly received the fists you had swung on his chest as he tried to grab ahold of your arms. “Baby, I’ll explain everything.” 

“No, damn y-you!” The tremor in your voice squeezed his heart in the most painful way because he hated seeing you breaking down in front of him and over him. This wasn’t the first time he had made you cry, but this was the first time he had seen you actually sob like this. “I-I gave myself to you! I left my p-parents for you! And this is what you do to me? You’re cheating on me with your ex?!” 

He was desperate to hold you, hug you, cage you in his arms. He wanted to take your pain away. Wipe your tears away. However, you didn’t allow him to touch even a strand on your hair as you kept on pushing him off. Sukuna felt like he was going to lose his mind. “Baby, listen to me please. It’s really not what you think—”

“I don’t care!” you spat, moving away to wipe the tears off your face. “I don’t fucking care! You sleeping with her or not doesn’t change a thing. Don’t you get it? I’ll never be enough for you!” Despite your loud voice, the cracks in her facade only revealed your longing for validation and acceptance, etching into every tear-stained moment you two had shared over the course of your relationship. He watched you, paralyzed by the sight of you breaking down, as you grabbed a luggage you had been hiding behind the couch as if you were ready to leave. “I’ll never be the person you want me to be and staying with you will always remind me of it!” 

“No, no, no… Let’s talk.” Sukuna had to suppress his own tears while he tried to reach out for you. “Baby, please. I don’t feel anything for her, or anyone. It’s just you. You are enough for me, baby. I’m sorry, please.” 

You, on the other hand, were adamant at your decision. “I can’t stand what you’re doing to me anymore. I don’t like how you make me feel about myself. I hate how you make me question my own choices!” Tears continued to flow, and your voice wavered, transitioning from anger to a more subdued, pained tone. “I hate… I hate that I love you so much, that I lost all my backbone just to make you happy.” 

“You don’t need to.” He was feeling more and more miserable now, his heart sore from all the emotions he had seen from you. “Y/N, you don’t need to. I’m sorry, I love you. I love you so fucking much.”  

…

…

…

“It’s over, Sukuna,” were the last words he could recall hearing before passing out drunk in his bed that afternoon. “We’re done.”

— —

It was your first heartbreak. Your first actual relationship. Your first everything. Surely, people shouldn’t expect you to move on easily, especially not when the subject of your heartache worked across the street from you. 

You were a mess. You had cried enough tears after you moved out of his apartment that night, screamed your heart out as you suffered from the pain of loneliness once more. You couldn’t even bear the thought of returning to your parents and hearing them say they told you so, because loving Sukuna was a choice you thought was good for you. 

In the end, he was just a poison without any antidote. A toxin without remedy. The most effective solution was to sever all ties to prevent further contamination.

But strangely enough, you hadn’t seen him in his shop ever since that night, either. The tattoo parlor remained closed for more than two weeks without any notice. While a small part of you worried for him, a bigger part of you cared for yourself. He no longer held any importance to your life, and you should let it remain that way. 

What you should focus on, instead, was living your life without any trace of him. A life of independence, away from the toxicity of a manipulative man who constantly made you doubt yourself and what you offered. As they say, you have to learn to love yourself first before you can fully learn to love others. 

And in your journey of knowing the truth of that saying, a certain white-haired man entered your floral shop on a somber Friday afternoon just as you were arranging preordered bouquets for multiple customers to pick up. 

“Hey,” you greeted the man, surprised at his sudden appearance at your shop. 

Satoru grinned as he approached you closer. “I’m here to pick up two bouquets.”

“Oh, it was your order?” Your eyes widened. Silly you. Of course, Suguru would order on his friend’s behalf. He wouldn’t even get his girlfriend some flowers, let alone his mother. So this being Satoru’s order made much more sense. “Okay, you got a bouquet of blush peonies and another bouquet of pink tulips, am I correct?”

He smiled handsomely, displaying his set of perfect white teeth while listening to you talk. “Correct.” 

“For your mom?” you asked before you made your way to pick up the bouquets, handing them to him carefully. 

His response came with a soft, affirmative hum. “Mhm. One for her,” he said, taking only the bouquet of tulips, “The other is for you.” 

Oh, no, no, definitely no. You had seen this before and it didn’t go well. 

“That’s lovely, but…” You offered a smile. “I’m not taking those peonies.” 

Satoru acted innocent, his vibrant blue eyes coruscating under the ambient lights. “But it’s mother’s day.” 

You playfully shook your head. “I’m not even a mother.”

“Yes, you are,” he went on teasing, “the mother of my future kids. I like to think in advance, you know.” 

Honestly? This man started off with a bad impression on you, but he wasn’t actually so bad. He was an easygoing, happy-go-lucky person who carried positive energy around him. That, and he was decent, too. He was the type of guy your parents would have surely approved of. He was a degree holder like you, even pursuing graduate studies to run a business that was already generating an income that you could only imagine of getting. He was set for life with no uncertainty with what he wanted for his future. 

“Satoru?”

He met your gaze. “Yeah?”

“About your offer last time,” you recalled, recalling his earlier jest about teaching you some things in bed, “I think I'd like to take you up on that.”

[suliigwp]

okay but but may i requesr some Rookie! Reader being an absolute menace that she’s considered a ticking timebomb bc of how ballsy she is with her moves on the track? Yk the quote— “I knew he'd hit the brakes—he has a wife and two kids at home.” Reader applies it to EVERYONE. They have families back home, people to get back to, and she doesn’t even care if she lives or dies, she has to cross that finish line 😭 yk everyone is praying in their respective garages when she’s racing 😭 I’d love a fic where we can see just how death defying vroom vroom is and how her grid parents and the f1 community reacts !

TICKING TIME BOMB

Rookie! Reader x Platonic! Paddock

Previous part!

SULI: Hiiiiii thank you all so much on the love for this series — this is extremely rushed and a little short but oh well I was stuck- this is a more serious one I haven't been feeling well and can't really come up with jokes- sorry the next part well be back

Warnings: reckless driving, she's better at English here, bad writing lol

They started calling her that around Monaco.

The Time Bomb.

Not to her face. Never to her face.

Because you don’t provoke someone whose idea of a clean overtake involves two wheels in the grass and a sixth sense for who won’t risk it all.

Everyone had a theory.

“She grew up karting with criminals.”

“She used to race bikes in underground leagues.”

“She watched too much Senna footage and lost the plot.”

None of it was true. None of it mattered.

Because whatever circuit she was on, she drove like it was her last race on Earth. Not desperate, not suicidal—indifferent. Like crashing or finishing were equal outcomes. As long as she got past you first.

Barcelona, Turn 1.

She went wheel to wheel with Sainz at the start.

The commentators said: “That’s gutsy!”

The team said: “That’s unnecessary.”

Carlos said: “She’s insane.”

She said nothing.

When asked about the incident, she shrugged and unzipped the top of her race suit like the air was too heavy.

“I knew he’d brake,” she muttered to the wall of microphones. “He’s got a girlfriend.”

The media room fell into an uneasy silence.

A few reporters exchanged glances. The PR girl standing beside her stiffened slightly. She didn’t bother clarifying. She wasn’t joking.

The Grid Watched.

She had no interest in post-race handshakes or fake Instagram smiles. The others stopped tagging her in memes. Stopped inviting her to dinner. It wasn’t personal. It was caution.

She walked like someone who had better places to be. Talked like she’d done this all before.

Fast in the car. Faster out of conversations.

No one knew where she went after the debriefs. Some nights she was spotted at the edge of the paddock. Others, she disappeared before the cooldown room had even emptied.

She lived in silence and tire smoke.

Lando Noticed.

He didn’t mean to. But you notice the things that scare you.

At first, it was little things. Her qualifying laps—perfectly controlled chaos. Her refusal to let anyone walk behind her in the garage. Her habit of double-checking her steering wheel even after the mechanics had gone over it.

Then it became something else.

He saw her staring at the pit lane before a race, completely still, like she was somewhere else. Not zoned in—zoned out. Like she was waiting for something to catch fire.

“You know,” he said one afternoon, leaning against the wall of her hospitality, “you drive like you don’t care what happens.”

She didn’t look at him. Just kept tapping her fingers against the water bottle in her lap.

“I don’t,” she said, eventually.

He laughed a little, awkwardly. “You can’t mean that.”

Now she looked at him. Eyes like flint. “I’m here to win. I’m not scared of anyone on this grid.”

He believed her.

...

Spa Weekend, Qualifying.

She went purple in Sector 2.

Purple, despite rain, despite cold tires.

Purple, even after nearly clipping Albon into the wall on the previous lap.

Her engineer’s voice cracked mid-sentence: “Box—no, wait—okay, you're—fuck—”

DNF.

She came back into the garage with two wheels vibrating like they’d seen war. Took off her gloves and threw them on the floor.

“I had half a second in that lap,” she muttered, ignoring the shaking hands she quickly stuffed into her pockets.

Her team principal pulled her aside.

“You have to stop doing this.”

She blinked. “Doing what?”

“Risking everything. You’re not racing them, you’re threatening them.”

Whispers on the Grid Grew.

“He said she cut across him at 290.”

“She’s going to hurt someone.”

“She’s going to hurt herself.”

When asked about it, Max didn’t say anything. Charles gave a diplomatic shrug. Pierre muttered something about needing a cigarette and walked away.

Lando? He just watched.

There was a storm behind her eyes that he didn’t think she even noticed anymore. Like she’d been living inside it so long, she thought that was just the weather.

Later That Night.

He found her sitting on the curb behind the motorhomes. Helmet beside her. Still in her race suit. Her boots were untied, like she hadn’t even noticed.

“You okay?”

She didn’t look up. “Do I look okay?”

“No. You look like you might detonate.”

A dry chuckle escaped her lips, but there was no warmth in it.

She pulled out a cigarette and stared at it for a moment before tucking it behind her ear. “You ever feel like you’re one bad day from being someone else entirely?”

He didn’t answer.

She looked up at him then—finally—and her voice was quieter. “This isn’t about winning, Norris. It’s about surviving long enough to win.”

And that was the first time he realized:

She wasn’t reckless.

She was exhausted.

...

Monza.

She went P3 after nearly tangling with Alonso on the final chicane.

As she walked past Lando in parc fermé, he said, “Nice moves out there.”

She looked at him. Not a glare. Not even her usual smirk.

Just that same hollow smile.

“I knew he’d brake,” she said again, softer this time. “He’s got people to go home to.”

She paused, eyes flicking to Lando’s.

“And you? Would you?”

He hesitated.

“I don’t know.”

She nodded like that was the only answer that made sense.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

She wasn’t trying to crash.

But no one was brave enough to assume she wouldn’t.

She was only just getting started.

Taglist For Vroom Vroom, comment to be added;

@angstynasty @cryinghotmess @mits-vi @dramaticpiratellamas @mimisweetz

Make sure you can be tagged! Thank you!

[rafecameronssl4t]

Gang Baby || Rafe Cameron x Thornton!reader

Summary: inspired by this song since its been on replay 😛😛

Warnings: slighting suggestive content

Word count: 1,621

MASTERLIST (rafe x thornton!reader au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

“I didn’t know your sister was gonna be here, Top,” Ryan’s voice cuts through the laid-back chatter, his tone laced with intrigue. The hum of an engine grows louder, pulling all heads toward your G-Wagon as it glides effortlessly onto the sand, coming to a stop just a few metres away from the group. The sleek black vehicle stands out starkly against the golden beach, drawing the kind of attention that was almost second nature for you.

Topper doesn’t bother turning around again, already refocused on his beer. He shrugs, his response casual. “Neither did I,” he mutters before taking another sip, seemingly unbothered by your unexpected arrival. But Rafe isn’t as composed. His eyes stay fixed on the car, his grip tightening slightly on his bottle as he watches you climb out, exuding a natural confidence that instantly commands attention.

The sunlight catches on your sunglasses as you slide them onto your head, your laughter mingling with the crash of the waves as a group of your girlfriends spills out behind you. You move with an easy grace, chatting and gesturing as you all begin unloading blankets and bags from the trunk. Unaware—or perhaps indifferent—to the stares from across the beach, you pick a spot just far enough to have your own space but close enough that the guys still have a perfect view.

As you and your friends start setting up, the group’s conversations stall, interest clearly diverted. Topper remains the exception. He keeps his gaze forward, not even sparing a glance. It’s as if he’s immune to the spell you cast so effortlessly, a talent even he couldn’t deny you had. The moment you and your friends strip off your cover-ups, revealing brightly coloured bikinis, there’s a palpable shift in the air.

The sunlight glints off your skin, highlighting the subtle shimmer of lotion as you toss your clothes onto the blanket without a second thought. You laugh at something one of your friends says, the sound light and carefree, as the group collectively saunters toward the waterline. Ryan lets out a loud wolf whistle, shattering the silence and drawing out a chorus of laughter and low whistles from the others.

“Fuck off, man.” Topper’s sharp voice cuts through the noise as he whips around to glare at Ryan. “She’s my sister. Have some respect, yeah?” Ryan smirks, leaning back against the cooler with an air of mock innocence. He holds up his hands in surrender, though the glint in his eyes says he’s anything but apologetic. “Relax, Top. No harm meant.” Topper groans, rolling his eyes as he pushes himself up. “You’re all idiots,” he mutters, stalking off toward the cooler for another beer.

The group’s laughter dies down as they return to their conversations, but Rafe remains quiet, his gaze still fixed on you. You’ve reached the waterline now, dipping your toes into the waves as they lap against the shore. The breeze catches your hair, tossing it slightly as you tilt your head back and laugh again, completely unaware of the effect you’re having—or perhaps you know exactly what you’re doing. Rafe’s jaw tenses, his fingers absently drumming against the bottle in his hand.

He forces himself to take a sip, masking his reaction, but his eyes betray him. They keep flickering back to you, drawn like a magnet, even as he tries to focus on the conversation swirling around him. "God, if only she’d let me hit," Ryan groans, his voice dripping with mock longing as his gaze lingers on you. You’re standing a little ways off, twisting your hair into a messy bun with an ease that only seems to amplify the effortlessness of your beauty.

The wind tugs lightly at the hem of your cover-up, and Ryan’s comment draws a few snickers from the group. Rafe freezes mid-sip, his jaw tightening as his eyes dart toward Ryan. He lowers his beer slowly, scoffing loudly enough to turn a few heads. "What a shame, Ryan," he says, his voice thick with sarcasm, his words aimed like a blade. Ryan turns toward him, clearly not expecting the jab. "What’s that supposed to mean?" he asks, his expression souring as he narrows his eyes at Rafe.

Rafe shrugs, leaning back with an air of practiced nonchalance, though the tension in his shoulders betrays him. "Maybe the reason she won’t is because she's got standards," he replies bluntly, his words landing with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Ryan’s reaction is immediate. His eyes widen in shock before they harden into a glare, his posture stiffening as he steps closer. "The fuck did you just say, Cameron?" he growls, his voice low and threatening, clearly not accustomed to being called out.

Rafe meets his glare with an unflinching gaze, his expression calm but simmering with disdain. "You heard me," he says evenly, not bothering to repeat himself. Ryan huffs out a sharp breath, clearly fuming but trying to hold onto the last shreds of his composure. "She said she was waiting till marriage or some shit," he snaps, his tone dismissive, as if the concept itself was laughable. "Yeah right," Rafe cuts in, his voice cold and dripping with condescension as he interrupts Ryan mid-sentence.

His scoff carries an undercurrent of anger, and his eyes flick toward you briefly. You’re still by the water, laughing with your friends, blissfully unaware of the brewing tension. Ryan’s fists clench at his sides, his anger boiling over as he steps even closer to Rafe, his face only inches away. "You got something else to say? Spit it the fuck out," he snarls, his voice taut with frustration. Rafe doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink.

Instead, a slow, mocking smirk curls at the corner of his lips as he leans forward, lowering his voice just enough to force Ryan to lean in. "I already did," he says coolly, the edge in his tone cutting deeper than anything else could. The group falls silent, the weight of the tension hanging thick in the air. A few of them exchange uneasy glances, waiting to see if Ryan will push further, but Rafe doesn’t seem to care. He grabs his beer again, taking a long, deliberate sip as if Ryan isn’t even worth his energy.

"She's a virgin, man," Ryan chimes in again, his tone laced with smug certainty as he leans back, clearly enjoying the stir he’s causing. Rafe groans quietly, rolling his eyes as Ryan keeps going, unable to stop himself. "That's what she told you?" Rafe asks, cocking an eyebrow at him, his voice low and incredulous. Ryan furrows his brows, leaning forward slightly, confusion flickering across his face. "Yeah—" "She's obviously fucking lying," Rafe cuts in sharply, his words blunt and dripping with disdain as he tilts his beer bottle to his lips.

Ryan’s head snaps toward him, his irritation flaring instantly. "And how the fuck would you know?" he snaps, his voice defensive, as if daring Rafe to prove him wrong. Rafe sets his beer down with a deliberate clink, turning to fully face Ryan. His expression is a mixture of disbelief and frustration, like he can’t believe he’s even having this conversation. "Holy shit, Ryan. Are you fucking stupid?" he says, his tone laced with equal parts annoyance and amusement.

It was almost mind-boggling to Rafe how Ryan still didn’t get it, how he wasn’t piecing things together. The blatant cluelessness was almost impressive, like Ryan was completely oblivious to what was right in front of him. The group exchanged knowing glances, all of them silently acknowledging what Rafe was talking about. But Ryan—still too thick-headed to catch on—remained completely in the dark.

Rafe let out a short, exasperated laugh, shaking his head. "Jesus Christ, man," he muttered under his breath, taking a long sip of his beer to mask his disbelief. The others could only watch in quiet amusement, waiting for Ryan to finally catch up. Before Ryan could say anything else, a voice cut through the tension. “Hey.”

Everyone’s heads turned to see you approaching, the sun catching the golden tones in your hair as your sandals softly crunched against the sand. You carried yourself with the same effortless confidence that had all their attention earlier. A slow smirk spread across Rafe’s face as he leaned back in his seat. “Hey, baby,” he greeted, his voice dropping slightly as he spoke.

You smiled warmly in return, leaning down to meet him halfway as his lips captured yours in a kiss, lingering just long enough to make the rest of the guys visibly uncomfortable. Ryan’s jaw practically hit the floor, his eyes widening in stunned disbelief. Pulling back, you placed a hand on Rafe’s shoulder casually, your gaze flickering briefly toward the group.

“You still comin’ over tonight?” Rafe asked, his tone casual, though there was a distinct possessiveness behind it as he glanced at Ryan. You hummed in agreement, nodding your head as your eyes locked with Ryan’s, who now looked utterly blank, his mind clearly reeling. The corner of your mouth quirked up slightly, amused by his reaction.

Rafe caught the exchange and snickered, leaning forward with a smug grin. “Can’t believe you told him that,” he teased, his voice laced with sarcasm as he nodded toward Ryan. Feigning innocence, you turned back to Rafe, a small smirk playing on your lips. “Tell him what?” you asked sweetly, batting your lashes as if you had no idea what he was talking about.

Rafe raised an eyebrow at you, his eyes narrowing slightly in mock suspicion, but the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth betrayed him. Shaking his head, he let out a quiet laugh, his hand finding your waist as he pulled you closer.

[dollishmehrayan]

WEIRD THINGS BATBOYS DO WHEN THEY LIKE YOU ── .✦

a/n: this is a request + ask so tysm to whoever sent that but it’s (here) but anyways I’m so excited for my birthday on december 7th this year and it’s just so beautiful to see me grow up honestly and find myself. (Tags: batboys x crush!reader)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Excessive Flexing (Literally): Dick will "accidentally" do pull-ups in front of you. He’s already shirtless and grinning, saying, “Oh, didn’t see you there. Wanna join?”

Compliment Overload: “Is that a new hairstyle? New shoes? You look incredible. Oh, wait, you always look incredible.” He will literally point out your eyelashes looking perfect “wow so nice, your lashes are so long and beautiful.”

The Over-Helper: He suddenly insists on helping you with everything—carrying bags, opening jars, lifting heavy stuff—and does it with the biggest, dorkiest smile. “It’s no big deal, bab- I mean—uh… friend.”

Trips Over Air: He’s graceful in battle, but near you? He’s knocking over coffee cups and walking into doorframes. "I swear, I’m usually coordinated, maybe I’m falling for you?😉”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Overly Cool Persona: He tries to play it cool, acting like he doesn’t care. But then he’ll text you at 3 a.m. with, “U up? I found a meme that reminded me of you.”

Teases You Constantly: Jason’s version of flirting is lightly roasting you. “Did you really think that outfit would work today?” But if anyone else says something, he’s ready to fight.

Surprise Gifts: He’ll give you something like your favorite snack but pretend it’s no big deal. “I just had extra,” he’ll mumble, even though he went to three stores to find it.

Blushes Like Crazy: He’s all tough-guy until you compliment him, and then it’s over. He gets red and stammers, “Shut up,” while smiling like an idiot.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Awkward Genius Mode: He’s smart with everything… except his crush. Suddenly, forming coherent sentences is a challenge. “I-I mean, uh… yeah, computers.”

Googles 'How to Flirt': You’ll catch him peeking at his phone mid-conversation because he’s literally reading “Flirting 101” or reading Reddit threads on flirting gone wrong.

Coffee Delivery: He’ll bring you coffee with your exact order memorized and pretend it’s casual. “Oh, you like this too? Weird coincidence.” It’s not. He asked around for hours.

Accidentally Compliments You: He’ll blurt out, “You smell nice.” Pause. “I mean, not that I’m sniffing you or anything!” Cue him turning bright red and hiding behind his laptop.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Pretends He Doesn’t Care: He’ll act indifferent but secretly monitors everything you do. “I don’t care what you do,” he says while glaring at someone standing too close to you.

Suddenly Overly Polite: Damian, the king of sass, becomes weirdly respectful. “Would you like me to carry that for you? No? Okay. Are you sure?”

Gives You Fancy Gifts: He gifts you rare, expensive things like hand-picked flowers from the Wayne estate garden. “It’s not a big deal. Just take it.”

Random Acts of Bravery: He’ll jump in front of a moving bicycle or push you out of the way of a puddle, then act like it was nothing. “It was instinct. Don’t be dramatic.”

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Becomes an Awkward flirt: He’s smooth in public but completely loses it around his crush. “Do you need anything? No? Water? A chair?” He’s offering things you don’t need.

Over-Explains Everything: Bruce will start talking about something mundane and give a full TED Talk. “Well, you see, the Batmobile’s engine is unique because…” You just wanted to know if it had cup holders.

Subtle Touches: He’ll brush your hand “accidentally” or adjust your coat collar, lingering just a second too long. But if you call him out, he’ll stammer, “I thought you were cold.”

Silent Protector: He’ll stand silently in the background, watching like a brooding guardian angel. If anyone flirts with you, his jaw clenches like it’s personal.

Bonus: Dumb Things They ALL Do ── .✦

Group Text Fiascos: They’ll text each other for advice, and it always goes wrong.

Jason: “Should I call her pretty or hot?”

Tim: “Say she’s breathtaking. It’s classier.”

Dick: “Just tell her you love her.”

Damian: “You’re all fools.”

Bruce (accidentally replying to all): “…Delete this.”

Staring Too Long: Every single one of them will stare at you for too long, only to awkwardly look away when you notice. They’ll try to play it off, but you know they were looking.

Clumsy Idiots: They’ll all try to do something impressive—lift something heavy, show off their fighting skills—and it’ll backfire hilariously. But the effort is adorable.

[kitimeq]

⋆.˚✮ thunderstruck 🤍 xavier 星回 ✮˚.⋆

⋆.˚✮pairing: bad boy/punk xavier x reader

⋆.˚✮word count: 6.2k

⋆.˚✮summary: popular among girls, distant and intimidating troublemaker—that’s how others saw him. gentle, charming and intelligent boy, who had no idea what personal space was—that’s how you knew him. and although the truth lied somewhere in between, one thing was certain: xavier would do anything to finally make you his. starting with asking you out, of course.

⋆.˚✮tags: bad boy xavier, punk xavier, college setting, kinda meet cute, but more like talking to each other for the first time cute, self-confident xavier, but also shy xavier, the duality of this man is insane, he has TATTOOS, and PIERCING, and he’s so djbdgdsb yess yess, i did it for myself i’m sorry, smoker xavier, but not for long hehehihi, he’s a gentleman, and totally whipped, like, absolutely whipped for the reader, sfw, yet!! if i continue it it would turn mdni for sure.

please let me know if u liked it and if u would be interested in reading more <33

“Aaaand he’s looking at you again.” Simone snapped you out of your thoughts, making your fingers stop their frantic movements over the keyboard. The two of you were sitting at the campus café, desperate to finish your assignments as quickly as you possibly could, thinking that each other’s company and your favorite sweet drinks might make the work at least a little bit more enjoyable.

And it actually worked—you were almost done with your essay, and judging by your friend’s relaxed posture and the fact that she had time to observe her surroundings, she must’ve finished hers too.

“Hmm? Who?” You asked with a small smile, noticing how the cream from her coffee sat above her upper lip, creating the illusion of a thin mustache and making her look like a cute little detective. You pulled out a napkin from the holder and brought it to her lips, muffling her next words in the process.

“Xavier, that punk guy who—oh, thank you, baby, it always makes me look like Freddie Mercury—who studies some kind of engineering.” You laughed softly at her added comment and placed the dirty napkin on your small, empty plate. “Girl, you heard what I said? Xavier. That Xavier has literally been drilling a hole in your head for the past hour or so, with those sexy—like, dangerously sexy—eyes of his. And that—that piercing—and, and, you know what? You don’t seem concerned in the slightest, what if he’s like, mad at you or something? He always looks kinda scary. Sexy-scary, but still.” The last sentence said in a whisper, and you snorted, picking up your iced drink and taking a slow sip.

“Oookay, I think I’ve heard enough.” You laughed and shook your head, one hand returning to the keyboard to save your file. “He’s not mad at me. I know him. If he’s looking our way, he probably recognized me, but is too shy to say hi.” You finished your drink with not-so-quiet slurp, your lips immediately letting go of the straw as you looked around bashfully, hoping no one had noticed.

“Too shy? Have you lost your mind? Or are there more scary-looking Xaviers around campus that I don’t know about?” She leaned forward, lowering her voice, and you closed your laptop with a sigh. You didn’t like that she called him scary, you always thought his usual pout, scowl or mask of indifference made him look kinda cute.

You checked the time on your phone and noticed that one of your electives was starting in 20 minutes—if you wanted to be there on time, you’d have to leave in a second.

“Besides, you know him? Since when?”

“Remember that one poetry elective I had to take last semester? We had a group project as the final assignment, and he was part of my group.” You watched with amusement as her mouth opened in shock, her brows furrowing. “And he’s actually really sweet. And smart, too, just not that much of a talker.” You shrugged, your eyes dropping as you remembered how the other group members had acted toward him back then.

How they talked behind his back, assuming he wouldn’t do his part of the project. How they doubted his abilities and overall academic competence as a conversation starter when he was sometimes late to meetings—and how quiet and reserved they became when he finally joined you.

You quickly got angry on his behalf, knowing that he had never been rude or disrespectful to any of you, and every single task he was assigned was sent to the group chat just a couple hours later. The fact that they treated him that way because of some rumor about him being a troublemaker, and his eye-catching, rough appearance, was what made you finally speak up.

“—He’s kind of a lost cause. He wouldn’t finish it anyway. What a guy like him can know about poetry? I’m surprised he can read at all.” One of the guys from the group commented again, taking advantage of Xavier’s absence. The meeting had just started, and you were sure he would come—just a tad bit later. You always assumed he had a class beforehand, but he never said anything when he realized that this particular hour suited the rest of you best.

He was always like this, you’d noticed it some time ago. He never wanted to cause any issues, always silently accepting and diligently working on whatever task was assigned to him. And yet, at nearly every meeting, he was dragged under the bus before he even had a chance to show up.

Their reactions surprised you a lot. You didn’t know Xavier personally before, but you knew of him, it was hard not to. He had a reputation as a reserved troublemaker and was extremely popular among girls, who seemed to try asking him out— or at least getting a good make-out session—probably every day, always without success. Ironically, that only made him a more intriguing target. He had the face of an angel, a body decorated like a fallen one, and the physique of an athlete, all on top of being seemingly unobtainable. Girls were totally head over heels for him, which actually made you pity him, knowing how much unwanted attention it probably brought.

And although he was pretty introverted and a little rough around the edges, people generally seemed to like him. He was intimidating, and he spoke his mind surely, but he didn’t seem like someone who went around looking for a fight. Within your project group, he was usually quiet and cooperative, which is why you couldn’t understand why they were suddenly being so harsh toward him.

That’s why on that day, you finally snapped.

“Oh, shut up, Matt. What do you know about poetry anyway? Most of us are here just because it fit our schedules.” You stood up from the table in the park, your designated meeting place, your hands pressing firmly against the polished wood. You couldn’t listen to Xavier being dragged anymore, judged solely on his appearance, when you knew he was actually quite engaged in the project. “And yes, maybe he’s a little late sometimes but he always shows up, and does the work perfectly. Besides, he’s never been rude to any of you, so I don’t understand why you’re always so awful to him.” Your face, and the slightly harsher edge to your voice, betrayed your annoyance, but you had finally lost the patience to care about their opinion of you.

Some of the girls who had been too afraid to speak up smiled at you encouragingly, while the main bully just shrugged, looking up at you nonchalantly with one arm draped over the back of the chair beside him.

“He looks like bad news. And gets on my nerves.” He answered simply, and if you weren’t red from anger before, you sure were now. “And he probably sells drugs or some—”

“And you look like a complete asshole right now.” You snapped, already frantically stuffing your notes into your bag. You refused to hear any more of this, not about a boy who had literally done nothing wrong to deserve such harsh words every time you met. “And you shouldn’t fucking care what he looks like. From what we know, he’s hard-working and smart, and he definitely has feelings, too. He deserves basic human respect, don’t you think?” You slung your bag over your shoulder and shot the guy another glare, completely ignoring their stares—which were definitely no longer aimed at you—and the quiet shadow that had appeared behind you some time ago. “I’ll send you the file by the end of the week. I won’t sit around, wasting time with someone who’d rather talk shit than do actual work. Now, if you’ll excuse m—”

Bump.

Your body bounced off a hard chest clad in a leather jacked, and by the time strong, tattooed hands gently grabbed your shoulders to steady you, you were already blushing.

Because Xavier was right there behind you. For God knows how long.

You snapped your head up, your panicked eyes meeting his deep blues—calm, gentle and understanding— as he continued to hold your shoulders, even though he must’ve know you had already gained your balance. You studied him for a moment: his longish hair, a mullet peeking out from the leather collar of his jacket, and ears adorned with various piercings. Your gaze drifted to his lips, drawn absentmindedly to the small silver ring on the side of his bottom lip, which he was now biting slightly.

Oh, God. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, oh, God—

“S—Sorry, I was just—leaving—” You said quickly, your eyes suddenly finding the grass fascinating. You could still feel the warmth of his hands lingering on your shoulders, along with the fresh, calming scent of a fabric softener mixed with something so uniquely comforting—

“I’ll walk you home, then.” His hands traveled slowly down your arms before he let go, your cheeks burning as you avoided his gaze at all costs. It was probably the first time he had spoken to you directly, spoken to any of you directly, really. His soft voice was usually directed at no one in particular, offering sparse but meaningful comments during your brainstorming sessions.

How much had he heard? Was he angry? He didn’t look angry. Why did he want to walk you home? He never walked any of you home.

“No! I mean, no—no, thank you, that’s so nice of you, Xavier, really, but I live pretty close by. You shouldn’t bother.” He adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder, and you noticed him turning his head toward the others.

“I could never be bothered by—Did you just fucking roll your eyes at her?” His calm voice suddenly turned cold, the tone not raised, but much sharper. Your head turned to the person he was now staring at, and you saw Matt’s eyes widen. “I asked you a fucking question. Did you roll your eyes at her?”

“And if I did then what are you going to do? Beat me up?”

“Wow, really Matt? You’re such a child.” You turned to him fully, but an arm blocked your way, an intricate tattoo depicting the moon cycle peeking from one rolled up sleeve.

“Apologize to her and you won’t have to find out.” You looked up at Xavier and almost smiled, noticing how the role of protector had flipped. But the intense stare he used to size up the annoying colleague made the hairs on the back of your nape stand on end. He sure looked intimidating when he wanted to. “I said, apologize.”

And when the silence began to stretch, and Xavier took a deliberate step forward, you grabbed his bicep, surprisingly firm and muscular, oh wow, and started to lead him away, afraid the conversation would turn sour in a matter of seconds.

Letting him walk you home wasn’t such a bad idea after all, you decided, feeling the sweat nearly drip from your temple.

“Wait, he didn’t apologize to you yet, and I won’t let him get away until he does.” You heard Xavier’s voice a step behind you but decided to continue your path, until you reached a safer distance.

“It’s okay. I’m not accepting apologies from ignorant jerks, anyway.” You heard a soft huff of laughter from him, and your lips curved into a small smile. Your steps slowed a moment later, and you took a deep breath, watching the clouds drift slowly across the sky while the gentle wind eased the burn of your cheeks. “Were you really planning to fight him?”

He was walking beside you now, your hand no longer holding his arm, and when you finally looked his way, you were startled to find him already watching you.

You could understand why people were wary of him—when he was right there beside you, his overall size was pretty intimidating. He towered over you an impressive amount of inches, and his body type, which you used to think was rather lanky, turned out to be more on the athletic side. With his lip and ear piercings, and now, clearly, an eyebrow piercing too, two small dots on either side of his eyebrow, paired with several tattoos on his hands and his rather muted wardrobe choice, he could raise some concerns.

Could, but didn’t have to. Not when his eyes were so gentle and kind, looking at you as if you had hung all the stars in the sky. To you, he looked like a prince: gentle features, silky-soft hair and a graceful stance that made him, ironically, the least intimidating person you’d met. It actually struck you how handsome he was, too. Much more handsome up close than from the distance, your heart fluttered nervously.

“Hmm. He disrespected you so, yes. Probably. It’s better to let him think I would. I usually don’t start fights.” Was his answer, his steps matching your pace, heavy, black combat boots stepping silently beside your white sneakers. You felt a tug at your arm, and before you could protest, he started carrying your handbag along his. All your protests died in your throat the moment he looked at you and shook his head. Message received. “I only end them.” Xavier added like an afterthought, and it didn’t sound like bragging but more like stating a fact. You laughed quietly and nodded, unsure what to say as your mind drifted back to the events from moments ago.

“I’m sorry for—”

“Thank you—”

You both started to speak at the same time and quickly stopped, a nervous laugh escaping from you. You looked at him again and noticed that his eyes were crinkled at the corners too. He adjusted his handbag on his shoulder and cleared his throat.

“Forgive me, but I’ll start. Because you have nothing to apologize for.” A sigh left your lips, and you started playing with your fingers, his answer easing your worries. He looked straight ahead when he spoke again. “I heard what you said to them. How you protected me. You didn’t have to do that.”

“No, I did. It wasn’t the first time they said such things and I should’ve spoken my mind much, much sooner.” You started speaking, annoyed again, the nearly forgotten rage rising inside you once more. “You were nothing short of helpful and kind to us and it was a pleasure to work with you! I just couldn’t listen to him spouting nonsense anymore.”

And when you tried to meet his eyes again, you noticed the tips of his ears were red.

“It was a pleasure to work with you, too.” His voice like a balm to your irritation, every single second spent in his presence confirming your beliefs about him being a secret sweetheart. “But I’m used to people taking shit about me, actually. And I really don’t care what they think.”

“Well, it’s good. You shouldn’t.” His lip piercing caught your eye again, and you decided it suit him very well. You also noticed that you had slowed down, but this time you were matching the pace he set. “But it doesn’t make it fine. So next time, stand up for yourself too, okay? You were quick to do that for me, so it shouldn’t be much of a problem to treat yourself with the same kindness, right?”

Xavier’s eyes suddenly met yours, his mouth opening and closing slightly as if he couldn’t find the right words to say. The tips of his ears were red, and he put a hand behind his back, stroking at the skin lightly, nervously.

“Mhm. Right.” His eyes drifted to your face, studying it intently. You found his gaze extremely intense, peeking from behind his silver strands, but you didn’t mind. His presence was actually very calming, both his voice and body language relaxed and almost dreamy-like.

Xavier stopped suddenly, making you wonder if he had forgotten something, or if your conversation was over, and he was about to return your bag and head his own way. Instead, he leaned toward you, took your hand in his—his touch feather-light, your fingers cradled gently in his—and he brought it up to his lips.

A kiss. Gentle one, but lingering, pressed just below your knuckles. You felt the warmth of his lips and the cool touch of the metal ring against your skin, and you swallowed hard the moment he opened his eyes and looked straight at you.

And it was a look you would reminisce about for weeks to come, because of how seen you felt right in that very moment. The clouds continued their never-ending journey across the sky, and the birds chirped a melody to which you were usually unaware. A look resembling a full conversation. A look holding meaning, one that you weren’t sure you were able to grasp yet.

“Thank you, my sweet little knight.” He whispered against your skin, and you gulped, your heart racing, mind blanking for a short while. “It seems I gained my own guardian angel today.” And when you saw how genuine he was, your body melted into his touch completely, your chest swelling with the quiet pride of knowing you did something good today.

“Anytime, princess.”

And when your ears caught his sudden, bubbly laugh, short canines on full display, that seemed to surprise even him, you didn’t let it become forgotten for the months to come, keeping the sound close to your heart.

You remembered the first day you actually talked to each other other and smiled softly; the walk home filled with interesting stories and shared laughter, the intimidating bubble he’d once seemed trapped in popped the moment you spent real time with him, leaving only the image of a sweet gentleman behind.

It wasn’t the only time you talked either, although after the elective course had ended your ways parted completely: your interactions scarce and happening usually when you were in a rush, or already late, to your classes.

A smile on your lips, followed by a happy wave of your hand met with the surprised, gentle spark in his eyes, and you were already gone.

There were only a handful of times you’d managed to exchange a word or two—usually while waiting in line at the coffee machine, with him asking about your major and interests, or when you were passing by him in the library, where you’d quickly complimented his new tattoo: a constellation on his forearm, still covered by a piece of second skin.

Quick, fleeting interactions; nothing more.

However, you found yourself thinking about him sometimes. About his melodic voice, a gentleness serving a sharp contrast to how rough he could’ve seemed to others. His soft hair, how you wondered what it would feel like to bury your fingers in it and stroke the strands gently. His lean but muscular build, his strong arms adorned with ink—art so majestic you found it hard to look away sometimes, your mind wandering, wondering if he had more tattoos on other parts of his body, and if so, where would they be hidden? And what would they depict?

His lips, soft pink hue, decorated with a silver ring, the coolness of which you already felt when he kissed your hand that day. And on the most desperate of nights, you let your mind imagine how it would feel pressed against your lips.

You shook your head, the thoughts unwanted and totally unnecessary, knowing that it was just a fleeting acquaintance. You couldn’t like him that way, because you knew that you surely weren’t his type at all. You weren’t even sure why your mind started thinking about him in such a way, your type being usually the complete opposite. But you guessed that it was just because of how charming he was, how clever and funny, how awkward at times. How kind to you. And how absolutely gorgeous his eyes were—always looking at you with patience and an interesting kind of wonder.

It didn’t matter. You were only colleagues, and he was too popular and too different from you to actually be interested. So, you stopped thinking about it some time ago.

“‘Not that much of a talker,’ she says. I never—never!—heard him talk. And I had few electives with him, mind you.” The voice of your friend brought you back from wonderland. You decided not to answer anything to that, thinking that if you told her that he was the one who usually initiated conversations with you, she would probably have a stroke. “You are one lucky girl. You have your own guard dog now.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” You answered absentmindedly, not liking that label. “Or the other way around. I can be feisty.” You imitated shooting from your finger guns, and she laughed, raising her almost empty cup.

“Cheers to that!” You raised your empty cup too while throwing your laptop into your bag. “He’s still staring by the way. Hasn’t really stopped since I noticed. It would be really creepy if he wasn’t that handsome.” You snorted, zipping up your bag and looking down at your phone.

“I told you, he probably just wants to say—Oh, shit! Gotta go! The classes start in 10 and I mixed up the buildings again!”

“Oh, shoot, is that the one at the end of—?” You nodded frantically and she waved her hand dismissively. “Go! I’ll take care of your cup, see you later!” You quickly went to her and hugged her, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before practically flying out of the café, completely forgetting to send Xavier a small wave on your way out, if he really was sitting somewhere behind you.

That’s why you also missed how abruptly he stood the moment you bolted for the door—wanting to chase after you, but stoping himself when he realized you didn’t even have time for a small talk. He should’ve approached you sooner, should’ve spoken to you the moment he saw you, instead of just sitting there, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of your angelic smile.

He wondered when did he loose his balls, when even the simple idea of talking to you made his heart flutter nervously, his hands automatically reaching to scratch at the ink submerged in his skin. He was pathetic, and it was really starting to get on his nerves.

And at that moment his eyes locked with those of your friend, her lips slowly curling into a knowing smile as she caught him almost running after you. She wiggled her eyebrows at him, and in that instant he finally decided to stop being a coward.

He couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing you everyday anymore.

He grabbed his bag and started walking purposely to the place which you occupied only moments before. He needed information and he would get it, even if he would have to beg for it.

“Oho. I knew it.” Your friend said, seconds before he even managed to introduce himself.

And he realized that he’d known it too. Almost from the moment he first saw you.

You were exhausted to say the least.

Your classes dragged on, making your head hurt from staring at the constantly changing slides. Your whole body felt sore, and you stretched the moment you reached the lockers—arms raised, back arched, a moan almost escaping your lips.

Your poor legs practically begged for the short trip back to your apartment, if the slight numbness in them wasn’t already enough of a sign of stagnation.

You opened your eyes lazily and turned the key in your locker, wanting to gather your things as quickly as possible and finally see the light of day.

“Hey.” A low greeting from right behind you made you spin around too quickly, your back bumping against the locker. It startled you when you noticed how close he was standing, towering over you.

Xavier.

In all his tattooed glory, hair unruly as always, and his pretty eyes boring straight into yours. He hissed when you made contact with the locker, his large hand immediately coming to rest on the back of your head, gently caressing it, afraid you had taken the hit. You blushed, the contact sudden and unexpected, his body possibly closer to yours than ever before.

“Are you okay?” The hand on the back of your head slid down slightly, now resting on the nape of your neck. The hold was gentle, intimate. You wondered if he realized it. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I’m sorry.” His thumb stroked the skin on your neck, and your cheeks caught fire.

You gulped and shook your head, sighing as the tension in your shoulders eased when you saw his familiar face.

“It’s okay. I’m not hurt, and I didn’t hit my head, so don’t worry.” His expression visibly shifted, relief written all over his face. But his hand didn’t leave your neck. “Sorry, hi. Hi. I just didn’t expect you here.” You didn’t expect anyone really, it was already late for classes and if any were to take place, everyone would already be inside classrooms.

His presence was especially puzzling, it wasn’t even his faculty, did he had another elective here?

“I wanted to see you.” Straightforward answer, as usual. You send him a small smile, thinking back to earlier when you almost met at the café; if it hadn’t been for you being in such a hurry. He must’ve felt bad for not coming up to you, especially since he probably waited for you to finish your classes. But why did he care so much? “And I was actually thinking… Hoping that…” His hand slid away from the back of your neck and began playing absentmindedly with a strand of your hair, while you struggled to keep the blush from darkening your cheeks even further.

He was so close. Too close. You could almost feel his breath warming up your face and see your reflection staring back from the little silver dots in his eyebrow. An inch or two more, and you were sure his hair would brush your forehead, given how much he was leaning into your space.

But he was always like this whenever you two crossed paths—his body leaning in too close to be just friendly, paying no mind to your personal space. His hands were also always reaching out for you as if he couldn’t help it: fixing the hair that fell into your face, stroking your arm, or even occasionally brushing your nose with his knuckle when you said something that made him chuckle.

You thought this was his way of being friendly and you enjoyed it, ignoring the fact that it only seemed to fuel your silly little crush. Besides, you found it very endearing that he was so distant and cold with others, yet so touchy-feely with the ones he liked. It made you feel special, if not a little hopeful.

And that’s when the sharp smell hit you, a cigarette smoke mixed with his pleasant, soft cologne. You scrunched up your nose and pressed a hand against his chest to create some more distance between you.

“Oof, you smoked again.” You couldn’t help but comment, seeing his brows furrowing in confusion upon your slight push of his chest.

“You can still smell it? I even got some gum.” To prove his point, he blew a small bubble from his lips, a minty scent reaching your nose when he popped it a second later, the corners of his lips lifting in a small, proud smirk.

“It’s all over your clothes, Xavier. The smoke seeped right into them. You need a bath, not a gum.” Quiet, unserious little “ouch” left his lips, and you tugged at his black sweatshirt, only now noticing a small cat plushie hanging from one of his sleeves.

So cute. You loved that accent, your finger going to poke at the accessory with an exaggerated sigh. “How could you do it to this adorable little thing?”

“It’ll live. Always does.” His eyes followed your finger still gently touching the plushie, “He’s a tough guy, can handle a bit of smoke. He’d take a drag too if he could, probably.” You sent him a half-serious glare and pulled your hand away from his arm, signaling defeat. You noticed he was still standing right where you had pushed him back to, more mindful of your space.

You turned your back to him to open your locker again, and pulled out your bag, along with your light jacket. However, before you could even sling the bag over your shoulder, he already grabbed hold of it, his fingers brushing against yours in the process.

“Does it bother you?” Xavier asked, his voice unsure, your bag already on his arm. The pastel-colored plushies hanging from it were a sharp contrast to his appearance. You looked at him again after making sure you had closed the locker. “The smell of smoke, I mean.” His beautiful blues bore into your eyes, his teeth biting at the lip ring nervously.

“Well, I can’t say I like it. I don’t think anyone really does.” He looked at you like a scolded puppy, his hair falling into his eyes when he turned his head to the side. “But it’s your choice, really, I can’t tell you how you should live. It’s just… really sad to know that you’re destroying your lungs daily.”

“Hmm, yeah. It is pretty sad.” Although a pout marked Xavier’s face now, you noticed a slight playfulness in his voice. Then, a sudden spark appeared in his eyes, as if an idea had just formed in his mind. “I could die. You wouldn’t want that to happen, am I right?” He leaned toward you again, one hand placed beside your head, his body almost trapping you against the lockers, your back pressed to the cool metal again. His fingers stroked your wrist, then trailed up to your forearm, his stormy blue eyes following the movement attentively.

“Y—You’re acting weird.” You commented weakly, your heart increasing its beating against your chest. He was so close, too close, his body towering over yours, making you see only him. You nervously looked around, hoping no one saw you, but you already knew you were alone. “Of course I wouldn’t, but—” You wanted to comment on his unusual boldness, ask a question to why was he suddenly acting like this, but he cut you off before you could say another word.

“I’ll quit, then.” His face so close you could smell the mint of the gum and feel the coldness of his breath on your cheek. You trembled unconsciously. “I don’t want you to be worried. But, I think I would like to ask for something in exchange.”

“Ah, so that’s what it’s all about, you’re cozying up to me because you want someth—”

“A date.” Your mouth closed instantly, eyes meeting his in shock. “There’s this gig that I would love to take you to, this weekend. Open-air, starts at midnight. We could—we could grab a bite too right before it starts? If you’d want to, of course.” You watched as his confidence slowly melted as he was speaking, voice trembling nervously at times, the tips of his ears turning red.

It was probably the longest reply he ever gave you, his sentences usually short and precise. And as you stared at him in disbelief, at his red ears and lip that he was now nervously biting despite acting so tough moments before, your chest filled with a warm, fuzzy feeling of your affections being reciprocated.

He was asking you out on a date.

Xavier, that Xavier: hot, intimidating, unbothered, extremely popular and seemingly unapproachable in the eyes of others.

Xavier, an intelligent, soft, socially awkward and extremely sweet little crush of yours was asking you out on a date.

You had to force yourself not to squeal, the idea that he found you attractive too making you nearly melt right into his chest, that seemed to be getting closer and closer with every second. You were both so different from each other, how could you predict that you actually had a chance with him? You thought that your quick, daily encounters was only him being nice, maybe excited to have a new friend.

Your lips curled into a smile, eyes sparkling with excitement you couldn’t contain.

“Is it that band you were talking about last week?” The memory of catching him staring excitedly at his phone right before you approached him during one of your short class breaks was still fresh in your mind. His fingers had been fidgeting with the cap he wore that day, turning it around as he leaned in to show you the newly added dates—one of which was very close to Linkon.

“Yeah. My favorite one.” He was getting more and more nervous, his hand was touching the nape of his neck now. “And I know these things can be loud and stuffy but I would protect you. You’d be safe with me, I swear, I wouldn’t let anyone else—”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” His head lowered even closer, the tips of your noses nearly touching. His eyes half-lidded, gazing down at you, his heart skipping a beat.

“Mhm. I would love to go with you.” Afraid to stumble over your words, your answer a gentle whisper. “Even without you quitting smoking. Buuut, it’s a really nice bonus.” Xavier chuckled, his head dropping to bring his lips closer to your ear.

“That so?” You had no idea, but he hid his head from your gaze for the widest of smiles to appear on his face. He closed his eyes and let himself bask in your closeness and sweet scent, mentally thankful for his burst of confidence earlier. “Then maybe the whole quitting thing isn’t really necessary?”

“Ah-ah. No takesies backsies—”

“No wha—”

“A promise is a promise.” You stated surely, your finger pressing on his chest as a warning. If he said he’ll quit, he better have to quit. Especially since now the possibility of him being closer to you daily has increased immensely. “If you want to reach for a cigarette now, you better pop in some gum. Or some candy, or ask for a—”

“Kiss?”

Your head turned his way just as his forehead rested on your shoulder. One eye opened, staring at you, a smirk lingering on his lips, the piercing there once again catching your attention.

Would you feel it when his mouth finally pressed to yours? Would it be forceful and bruising, or would he take his time, easing you into it with soft patience? He was a walking enigma, shy and gentle one moment, confident and quick the next. What side of him would you uncover if you let yourself get closer?

“Don’t overthink it or I might actually take your silence as a yes.” You breath hitched the moment he turned his head and you felt his lips touching the skin below your ear. Not a kiss, just a fleeting warmth of his mouth, the coolness of the ring causing goosebumps to appear on your skin. He took a step back, taking all the warmth away and you nearly chased after him to bring it back.

What was he doing to you?

His knuckles brushed your flushed cheek, and your eyelashes fluttered, the touch once again unexpected.

“First, you have to keep your end of the deal. Then we’ll see.” You learned that you were a literal, freaking master at feigning confidence, given how weak your legs felt and how much you wanted to pass out while meeting his affectionate gaze.

His face was slightly flushed too. Clearly affected, despite his confident demeanor. Maybe you weren’t that different from each other, after all.

“We will.” Xavier wet his lips, the tip of his pink tongue barely peeking out before his teeth sank into the plush skin— like he was already imagining how it would feel like. Maybe holding himself back from satisfying his curiosity right then and there. “I’ll make sure we will. Wouldn’t dare to miss the chance, angel.”

And when he walked you home that day, your bag swinging from his broad shoulder and your fingers brushing from time to time, sending pleasant sparks between you—you realized that, despite your differences, you’d never felt such a connection with anyone before. Talking with him was so easy, the way the walk home felt too short not to miss the comforting presence of his for hours after. And you were sure he felt the same, from the way he joked about not giving your bag back, to the goodbye hug you initiated, but he prolonged, his strong arms wrapping gently around your waist, reluctant to let go. And then there was the longing glance he gave you, just seconds before you closed the door.

A sharp ping of a new message cut through the air not long after, a string of new numbers followed by a simple sentences, ones that made your heart beat faster again.

keep thinking that I shouldve made up some lame excuse just to spend more time with U. The cat plushie said he misses U. I didn’t know he could read my mind — Xavier

And with a chuckle and a blush, you already knew that you were slowly falling in love—and you just hoped that when it fully bloomed, he would be there to help you care for it.

As for the kiss—the weekend couldn’t come soon enough.

🤍 if you liked it, you can support me here! https://ko-fi.com/kitimeq <3

every single one counts, it helps me grow and makes me feel that writing is not a waste of time!! <3

please like, reblog and COMMENT if u liked it!! i would love to know if i should continue it—i wrote it as a quick, cute bad boy xavier story. i would love to make it mdni ofc skdhshdg <33

[blossom-shy]

WANDERER/SCARAMOUCHE X READER

When he is married to the reader and they were arguing In the car and wanderer kicks her out

# Stranded

The rain drummed against the windshield as harsh words filled the confined space of the car. Your husband's knuckles were white against the steering wheel, his jaw clenched in that familiar way that meant he was barely holding back his temper.

"You never listen," Scaramouche's voice was low and dangerous, the kind of quiet that preceded a storm. "I told you not to interfere with my work, but you just couldn't help yourself, could you?"

"Interfere?" You turned in the passenger seat to face him fully, your own anger flaring. "I was trying to help! That deal was going to fall through and you were too proud to see it!"

"Help?" He laughed bitterly, finally turning those indigo eyes toward you. Even in the dim light of the car, they seemed to glow with fury. "You embarrassed me in front of my colleagues. Made me look weak."

"Made you look human, you mean." The words escaped before you could stop them, and you saw his expression darken further.

The car suddenly swerved to the side of the empty highway, gravel crunching under the tires as he brought it to an abrupt stop. The engine idled roughly in the sudden silence, broken only by the steady patter of rain.

"Get out."

Your heart stopped. "What?"

"You heard me." His voice was eerily calm now, which somehow made it worse than his anger. "Get out of my car."

"Scaramouche, we're in the middle of nowhere. It's pouring rain—"

"I don't care." He reached across you, his movement sharp and deliberate as he grabbed the door handle. "If you think I'm so inhuman, then you can find your own way home."

The door swung open, letting in a gust of cold, wet air. Rain immediately began soaking the passenger seat.

"You can't be serious." Your voice cracked slightly. "We're married. You can't just—"

"Can't I?" His smile was cruel, nothing like the rare, genuine ones you'd fallen in love with years ago. "Watch me."

For a moment, you stared at each other in the dim light. You searched his face for any sign of the man you'd married, the one who held you during thunderstorms and brought you tea when you were sick. But all you saw was cold indifference.

Pride warring with disbelief, you grabbed your purse and stepped out into the rain. The cold hit you immediately, soaking through your clothes within seconds.

You turned back, certain he would change his mind, that this was just another one of his dramatic displays of temper. But the car door slammed shut with finality.

Through the rain-streaked window, you could see his silhouette. He didn't look at you as he shifted the car into drive.

"Scaramouche!" You banged on the window, but he kept his eyes fixed straight ahead.

The car pulled away, its taillights growing smaller and smaller until they disappeared entirely around a bend, leaving you alone on the empty highway with nothing but the sound of rain and your own ragged breathing.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, shivering as the reality of the situation set in. Miles from home, soaked to the bone, with a phone that had no signal.

As you started walking along the dark road, you wondered if this was finally the breaking point—if some lines, once crossed, could never be uncrossed.

Behind you, thunder rumbled across the sky, as if the heavens themselves were commenting on the wreckage of your marriage.

---

Three hours later, you finally pushed through the front door of your shared home, water still dripping from your soaked clothes onto the hardwood floor. Your shoes squelched with each step, and your teeth chattered uncontrollably from the cold that had seeped deep into your bones.

A kind truck driver had eventually stopped, taking pity on your bedraggled state and giving you a ride to the nearest town. From there, you'd managed to catch a late bus, enduring the stares and whispered comments about your appearance.

The house was dark except for a single lamp in the living room. Scaramouche sat in his usual armchair, still in the same clothes from earlier, though his hair was disheveled as if he'd been running his hands through it. An untouched cup of tea sat cold on the side table.

He looked up when you entered, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were your chattering teeth and the steady drip of water from your clothes.

"You came back," he said finally, his voice quieter than before, stripped of its earlier venom.

"Where else would I go?" Your voice was hoarse from the cold and exhaustion. "This is my home too. Or was, anyway."

His eyes flickered—something that might have been regret, or perhaps just surprise that you'd made it back at all. He stood slowly, and you noticed the way his hands trembled slightly at his sides.

"You're soaked," he observed, as if just now realizing the full extent of what he'd done.

"Amazing observation." The words came out sharper than you intended, but you were too tired and too hurt to soften them.

He flinched as if you'd struck him. "I'll... get you some dry clothes."

As he moved toward the stairs, you called after him, your voice breaking slightly. "Is that it? You leave me stranded in a storm for hours, and all you can say is that I'm wet?"

He stopped, his back still turned to you. His shoulders sagged, and when he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

"I know."

But you were already walking past him, your waterlogged shoes leaving a trail on the stairs as you headed to the bedroom. You didn't want to hear his excuses, didn't want to see whatever expression he was wearing now. The hurt was too fresh, too raw.

"Wait—" he started, turning around.

You didn't acknowledge him. Instead, you went straight to the bedroom and locked the door behind you with a decisive click. Through the wood, you could hear his footsteps pause outside, then the soft sound of his hand pressing against the door.

"Please," his voice was muffled. "Let me—"

Silence. You peeled off your soaked clothes with numb fingers, each piece hitting the floor with a wet slap. Your reflection in the mirror showed exactly what you felt like—a drowned, abandoned mess.

You could hear him lingering outside the door for several more minutes before his footsteps finally retreated down the hallway.

The next morning, you emerged from the bedroom to find a steaming cup of your favorite tea waiting on the kitchen counter, along with a plate of toast cut exactly the way you liked it. Scaramouche was nowhere to be seen, though you could hear the shower running upstairs.

You walked right past the peace offering without touching it.

When he came downstairs, hair still damp and dressed for work, you were sitting at the kitchen table with your own hastily made coffee, pointedly ignoring the breakfast he'd prepared.

"Good morning," he said carefully, hovering near the counter.

You turned a page in the newspaper you weren't really reading. The silence stretched between you like a chasm.

"I have meetings today, but I could cancel—"

Still nothing. You took a deliberate sip of your coffee, keeping your eyes fixed on the words that might as well have been in a foreign language for all the attention you were paying them.

His frustrated sigh was audible across the kitchen. "You can't ignore me forever."

You finally looked up, meeting his gaze with cool indifference. "Watch me."

---

Two months had passed since that night, and the house had become a graveyard of unspoken words.

You and Scaramouche moved around each other like ghosts, sharing the same space but existing in completely separate worlds. He'd stopped trying to make conversation after the third week of being met with silence. The breakfast offerings had ceased after a month of watching you throw them away untouched.

Your shared bed had become a carefully negotiated territory—you on your side, him on his, an invisible wall of hurt and pride running down the middle. Some nights you could feel him lying awake, his breathing too controlled to be natural sleep, but you never acknowledged it.

The house itself seemed to reflect the state of your marriage. Rooms felt colder, colors more muted. Even the plants you'd once tended together were beginning to wither from neglect, neither of you willing to be the first to care for something that required cooperation.

Scaramouche had grown quieter, more withdrawn. The sharp edges of his personality had dulled into something listless. He worked longer hours, came home later, sometimes falling asleep in his office chair rather than facing the arctic silence of the bedroom.

His colleagues had started asking questions, you suspected. The few times the phone rang and you happened to overhear, his voice carried a strained politeness that hadn't been there before.

You'd thrown yourself into your own work with renewed intensity, anything to avoid the suffocating atmosphere at home. Friends invited you out more frequently now, their concerned glances speaking volumes about what they could see that you refused to acknowledge.

On this particular evening, you sat at opposite ends of the dining table—a table that had once hosted laughter and shared meals, now serving as another barrier between you. He picked at his food mechanically while you scrolled through your phone, both of you eating in the kind of silence that screamed louder than any argument ever could.

The sound of his fork hitting his plate made you glance up involuntarily. He was staring at his barely touched dinner, his hands clasped so tightly in his lap that his knuckles had gone white.

"I can't do this anymore," he whispered to his plate, so quietly you almost didn't hear him.

You looked back down at your phone, but the words on the screen blurred together. Your heart hammered against your ribs, but you kept your expression carefully neutral.

Two months of silence, and it felt like you were both drowning.

The admission hung in the air like a challenge. You could feel his eyes on you now, waiting, hoping for any kind of response. Your finger hovered over your phone screen, the words you'd been reading forgotten entirely.

"Please." His voice cracked on the single word. "Just... say something. Anything."

You set your phone down with deliberate slowness, finally meeting his gaze. He looked terrible—dark circles under his eyes, cheekbones more pronounced than before, as if the weight of your silence had been physically consuming him.

"What do you want me to say?" Your voice came out hoarse from disuse in conversations with him. The sound of it seemed to startle you both.

Relief flooded his features so completely that for a moment he couldn't speak. He leaned forward slightly, as if afraid you might disappear again into silence.

"I don't know," he admitted, his hands still trembling in his lap. "I just... I need to hear your voice. I need to know you're still here, that we're still—" He stopped, swallowing hard. "That there's still an 'us' to save."

You studied his face, seeing past the careful mask he usually wore to the raw desperation underneath. Two months of your silence had stripped him down to something vulnerable and broken.

"You left me on the side of a highway in a storm," you said quietly. Each word was measured, deliberate. "You looked me in the eye and drove away."

He flinched as if you'd slapped him. "I know."

"Do you?" Your voice grew stronger, the dam of suppressed emotion finally beginning to crack. "Do you really? Because I stood there for twenty minutes thinking you'd come back. Twenty minutes in the rain, believing that my husband wouldn't actually abandon me like that."

Tears were sliding down his cheeks now, his composure completely shattered. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I—"

"I called your name," you continued, your own voice breaking. "I banged on the window and called your name, and you wouldn't even look at me."

"I know," he whispered. "I know, and I hate myself for it. I've hated myself every single day since then."

You opened your mouth, ready to unleash all the hurt you'd been carrying—ready to tell him that he'd become exactly like the woman who had abandoned him, that he was repeating the same cruel patterns his mother had carved into his soul. The words were right there, sharp and cutting, designed to hit him where it would hurt most.

But as you looked at his broken form across the table, something in your chest twisted painfully. The memory of late nights when he'd wake up gasping from nightmares about being left behind, about not being good enough, about everyone always leaving him in the end. The way he'd curl into you those nights, vulnerable and small, whispering fears he'd never voice in daylight.

You saw his mother's cruelty reflected in what he'd done to you, yes—but you also saw the scared, abandoned child he'd once been, acting out of the same fear that had been carved into him long before you'd ever met.

The cruel words died on your lips.

Instead, something else broke inside you—not the sharp crack of anger, but the soft collapse of a heart that remembered loving him despite everything. The pain in your chest shifted, transforming from the ache of betrayal into something deeper, more complex.

"I forgive you," you whispered, the words surprising even yourself.

His head snapped up, eyes wide with disbelief. "What?"

"I forgive you." The words came easier the second time, though tears were now streaming down your face. "I hate what you did. I hate that you hurt me like that. But I forgive you."

He stared at you as if you'd spoken in a foreign language, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

"I can't keep carrying this anger," you continued, your voice shaking. "It's killing both of us. And I... I remember who you are underneath all this pain. I remember why I fell in love with you."

"I don't deserve—"

"No," you said firmly. "You don't. But that's what forgiveness is, isn't it? It's not about what you deserve."

He broke then, completely and utterly. His shoulders shook with silent sobs as he buried his face in his hands. Two months of guilt and self-hatred poured out of him all at once.

Without thinking, you stood from your chair. Your body moved on instinct, drawn by the sight of him falling apart. You walked around the table and gently placed your hand on his shoulder.

"Come here," you whispered.

He looked up at you through his tears, confusion and hope warring in his expression. Slowly, carefully, you pulled him to his feet and wrapped your arms around him. He went rigid for a moment, as if he couldn't believe this was real, before melting into your embrace.

His arms came around you desperately, clinging to you like you might disappear again. His tears soaked through your shirt as he pressed his face against your shoulder, and you could feel how much weight he'd lost in these past two months.

"I'm sorry," he kept whispering against your neck. "I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

"I know," you murmured, your own tears falling into his hair. "I know you are."

You stayed like that in the dining room for a long time, holding each other as months of pain slowly began to drain away. Eventually, you pulled back just enough to see his face.

"Come on," you said softly, taking his hand. "Let's go upstairs."

He followed you wordlessly to the bedroom—the same room where you'd locked him out that first night, where you'd slept on opposite sides of the bed like strangers. Now, you sat on the edge of the mattress and gently pulled him down beside you.

Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around him again. He immediately curled into you, his head finding its familiar place on your chest. His tears hadn't stopped, and you could feel each shuddering breath against your body.

"I thought I'd lost you," he whispered, his voice muffled. "I thought you'd never forgive me. I thought I'd destroyed everything."

You stroked his hair gently, the same way you used to during his nightmares. "You almost did," you admitted quietly. "But we're still here. We're still trying."

His arms tightened around you as fresh tears came. In the quiet safety of your bedroom, with your forgiveness wrapped around him like a blanket, he finally let himself grieve for what he'd almost thrown away.

---

You woke to the unfamiliar sensation of warmth beside you. For a moment, you were disoriented—it had been so long since you'd shared the bed properly that you'd almost forgotten what it felt like to wake up next to someone.

Scaramouche was still asleep, his face pressed against your shoulder, one arm draped protectively across your waist. His cheeks were stained with dried tears, and even in sleep, his grip on you was tight, as if he was afraid you might disappear.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting everything in a soft, golden glow. For the first time in months, the bedroom didn't feel like a battlefield. It felt like home again.

You shifted slightly, trying not to wake him, but his eyes fluttered open immediately. For a split second, confusion crossed his features—then memory returned, and with it, a mixture of relief and uncertainty.

"Good morning," you said softly, your voice still rough with sleep.

"You're still here," he whispered, as if he couldn't quite believe it.

"I'm still here."

He studied your face carefully, searching for any sign that you might have changed your mind overnight, that forgiveness given in the heat of emotion might have evaporated with the morning light.

"How are you feeling?" he asked hesitantly.

You considered the question honestly. "Tired," you admitted. "Sad. But... lighter, somehow. Like I can finally breathe again."

He nodded, understanding exactly what you meant. The house had felt suffocating for both of you these past months.

"I called in sick to work yesterday," he said quietly. "After you... after we talked. I couldn't imagine sitting in meetings, pretending everything was normal."

"Good," you said, surprising him. "We have a lot to figure out."

His expression grew serious. "We do. I know that forgiving me doesn't mean everything just goes back to how it was. I know I have to earn your trust back."

"One day at a time," you agreed, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his face. The simple gesture made his breath catch.

"I love you," he said suddenly, desperately. "I know I don't deserve to say that after what I did, but I love you so much it terrifies me."

"I love you too," you replied, and watched as relief flooded his features. "That's why this hurt so much. That's why we're going to fix this."

---

**Six Months Later**

The sound of rain against the windows no longer made you tense. If anything, it had become comforting—a reminder of how far you'd both come.

You were curled up on the couch together, a book in your lap while Scaramouche worked on his laptop beside you. It was a quiet evening, the kind that had once felt suffocating but now felt peaceful. The house was warm again, filled with the small sounds of a life shared: the turning of pages, the soft clicking of keys, the occasional comment about something interesting.

"I have to drive to the next city tomorrow for that conference," he mentioned casually, then paused. His fingers stilled on the keyboard. "Would you... would you like to come with me? We could make a weekend of it."

You looked up from your book, noting the careful way he'd phrased the question. Even now, six months later, he was still cautious about anything involving cars and arguments. Some wounds took time to fully heal.

"I'd like that," you said with a smile. "It's been a while since we've traveled together."

The relief in his expression was subtle but unmistakable. These small victories still mattered to both of you.

Outside, thunder rumbled gently across the sky, but inside, you were both exactly where you belonged. The work of rebuilding trust was ongoing, probably always would be, but you'd learned that love wasn't about perfection—it was about choosing each other, again and again, even after

[decagondice]

༓ Too Busy Being Yours ༓

༓ Pairing. Soft!Sylus x f!Reader

༓ Synopsis. In the stillness of a world built on shadow and steel, Sylus stands alone, the weight of her absence pressing against his chest. She lingers in every corner, in every detail — the gleam of his eyes, the quiet hum of the city, the cold touch of his sidearm.

༓ Content. Soft!Sylus, sfw, F!Reader, Established Relationship (?) comfort, Loneliness (?), Sylus misses you whilst you're away, fluff, Yearning, Domestic (?), Not proofread.

༓ Word Count. 1.3k

༓ A.N. This was super rushed but its almost 5am and I have been stuck with thoughts of Soft!Sylus whilst having Hozier's cover of 'Do I wanna know?' on constant loop. (I would recommend listening to that while reading this piece)

[Artwork by Petrus Van Schendel - 'Dutch Market by Moonlight', 1853]

The window was a fractured sheet of black glass, and beyond it, the vast sprawl of Onychinus bloomed in shades of dull copper and cold mercury. The city never slept — it simply lulled into a different kind of wakefulness, one that hummed with the murmur of distant engines and the low, syrup-thick din of voices lost between floors, beneath flickering neon eaves. Sylus stood before it, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up over the worn sinew of his forearms, a coin flipping between his fingers. The metal gleamed faintly in the dim light, its rhythm steady and almost meditative, like thoughts drifting into the quiet of the room, rising and fading into nothing. 

He was waiting, though he would never call it that.

The apartment was too still without her, the silence swallowing the edges of the hours until they blurred together into one endless dusk. She’d been gone for days — maybe weeks — and though they had lived apart before, this time the absence ached differently. This time, she left her fingerprints on every surface she’d touched, and even in her absence, he felt her. In the hollow press of his pillow, in the half-drunk cup left on the counter, in the way her voice seemed to echo up from the floors themselves.

He wasn’t the kind of man who fumbled for words, but she had built herself a shrine in his mind without even trying. And it would be his curse — perhaps his only one worth bearing — to kneel before it willingly.

The phone buzzed on the glass table beside him, the screen illuminating briefly before dimming into a soft reflection of the room. Her name. A tether to the living world.

He let it ring once — twice — before answering, his voice low and indifferent, a thin veil over the frayed edges of his waiting.

"How are you?" Her voice was a warmth too tender for a world like his, too light to belong in the grip of a man like him.

Sylus laughed, a breathy, unguarded thing that slipped out before he could smother it. The kind of laugh that belonged in dark hallways or against the curve of her neck, close enough that no one else could steal it.

The phone rested lightly against his ear, but his gaze was fixed somewhere far beyond the windowpane, to where the sky peeled itself apart over the distant harbour, light bleeding into water like ink into silk.

He didn’t answer right away.

Because how could he tell her —

That every day without her was a hollow stretch, a penance paid in silence. That no matter how he occupied his hands — in deals, in schemes, in fights where blood became the only language spoken — she followed him. 

She was in the weight of the guns he cleaned with meticulous fingers, in the cold press of steel that always reminded him of how her hands felt against his jaw — not soft, not fragile, but deliberate, certain, like she knew exactly what kind of man she was holding and didn’t flinch. She lingered in the polished chambers, in the oil-slick sheen of metal under dim light, each piece of his arsenal now a reliquary touched by her presence. Even the treasures he hoarded — the rings, the loose chains, the antique blades and strange glimmering artefacts collected in careless greed — all of it, touched now by her absence. 

She was in the rain-slick streets beneath his shoes, the reflections of passing headlights gliding like ghosts beside him, the pulse of the city now syncopated to the memory of her heartbeat against his. A curse, perhaps. But if this was damnation, he’d bear it with the grace of a condemned man walking willingly into the mouth of hell.

Because Sylus — sharp-edged, gloved in the faint trace of dark woods and leather, the cool weight of steel a constant companion, with hands that had taken lives and seized fortunes — had known love first as a weakness. A blade turned against its wielder. A story with a ruinous end. But then there was her. Love, in the shape of her name. Love, not a thing that devoured, but something that held. Not a soft surrender, but a reckoning — two hands reaching into the dark and pulling him out without flinching at what they found.

He had told himself once that love was a thing best kept at a distance, lest it burn the house down around him. But now, even knowing the smoke would always follow, he could no longer resist standing in the heart of it.

She was there in the smallest details — the gleam of his carmine eyes when the light caught them just right, the weight of his jacket settling over his shoulders, the angle of his chair at the table where they sat together, knees brushing beneath wood. She was in the stories the city whispered, in the scars on his knuckles and the lingering taste of her on his tongue.

Her dragon, she had called him once — smoke and fire and ruin. And yet, it was she who wandered into his den, fearless and bright, leaving the scent of flowers in her wake. Perhaps he was the storm she wandered into — all steel winds and unyielding sky — and perhaps she was the quiet omen he had ignored until it was far too late to turn back. Or perhaps they were simply two souls damned to meet again and again, drawn together not by fate but by the quiet hunger of the earth itself.

It would not matter. If every lifetime led him back to this — the shape of her back beneath his hand, the sound of her voice softened by sleep, the way she pulled apart the silence between them with nothing but a glance — then Sylus would walk every damned path willingly. Sin, virtue, heaven, hell — none of it mattered if it meant keeping her. Not locked away, but free — because she chose to stay.

And what a thing that was. To be chosen by her.

"Did you miss me?" she asked, her voice a gentle needle, sliding between his ribs.

The window, cold against his fingertips. The city breathing outside. The distant gleam of headlights trailing like unspoken words between them.

"Haven’t had time to think about it," he said, his voice low, teasing, smooth as a blade sharpened on stone.

But they both knew.

And so the conversation slipped into silence — not uncomfortable, not empty — but the kind of silence built by people who knew every corner of each other. Her breath through the speaker, soft and even, and then — a quiet laugh, low and effortless, like a hand brushing through water. It was the kind of sound that lingered, curling around him even after it was gone. His fingers traced idle circles against the glass. They did not need to speak of longing. It was already there, woven into the space between every word, every inhale.

They existed in that place — a liminal space where shadow and steel met sunlight and skin, where dragon and archnemesis tangled together not in ruin, but in something softer. Something whole. And as the call ended, as the city stretched before him and the cold air pressed against the glass, Sylus stood alone — but not empty. Never empty.

Because even when she was gone, she was still there, as sure as the weight of his weapon resting within reach, as sure as the steady beat of his pulse in the quiet of the room.

Everywhere he went, she was already there.

And in every lifetime to come, in every heaven or hell, he would walk willingly beside her again.

Just to see her.

To have her, as she is — treasured and whole, free to be herself.

And for Sylus, that was enough.

A.N. I have been putting off reading Sylus' dragon myth for the longest time, so my details here might be a bit off, so please excuse me there! Hopefully my brain can generate more Sylus stuff :D Thank you for reading!!!!

[pomegranatelifethis]

I won

The hum of Gotham’s streets was a lullaby you’d long grown used to, a gritty serenade that cradled your reckless spirit. At sixteen, you were the youngest of the Wayne family, a footnote in a sprawling saga of heroes and vigilantes. Damian, your older brother, was the closest in age, but even he seemed light-years away, his world consumed by the mantle of Robin and the weight of being the "true heir." You? You were just… there. A shadow in the Wayne Manor, flitting through its cavernous halls, unnoticed by the family that was too busy saving the world to remember you existed.

It wasn’t always this way. You vaguely recalled nights when Dick would ruffle your hair or Tim would help you with math homework, but those moments had faded into the fog of time. Now, the Batfamily was a machine, each cog turning with precision—Bruce with his mission, Dick with his charm, Jason with his rebellion, Tim with his genius, Cass with her silence, Steph with her fire, and Damian with his blade. You didn’t fit into their puzzle. So, you stopped trying.

High school was a blur of half-hearted attendance and naps in the back of class. Gotham Academy’s teachers had given up on contacting your family years ago; the Wayne name was a fortress, impenetrable and indifferent. You’d skip entire days, sneaking out to the edges of Gotham where the city’s pulse beat wilder. That’s where you found the races.

Illegal car races were Gotham’s worst-kept secret, a haven for thrill-seekers and outcasts like you. The roar of engines, the screech of tires, the electric buzz of danger—it was the only time you felt alive. You weren’t a driver, not yet, but you’d wormed your way into the scene, charming mechanics and betting on racers with the pocket money you swiped from Bruce’s study. You were good at it, too, with an easy laugh and a disarming smile that made people forget you were a Wayne.

Tonight, the air was thick with exhaust and adrenaline. You leaned against a chain-link fence, a cherry slushie in hand, your oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder. The race was about to start, and the crowd was a sea of restless energy—shouts, laughter, and the occasional clink of beer bottles. Your eyes scanned the lineup of cars, picking out your bet for the night: a sleek, modded Supra driven by a guy named Rico who’d never lost a race.

“Yo, kid, you in or what?” Rico called from his driver’s seat, grinning as he revved his engine.

You smirked, tossing your hair back. “Hundred on you, Rico. Don’t make me regret it.”

He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. “Never do, princess.”

The nickname made you roll your eyes, but you didn’t correct him. You liked the way the racers treated you—like you belonged, not like you were some fragile heiress. You sipped your slushie, the cold stinging your teeth, and turned to watch the flagger prep the start.

That’s when you felt it. A prickle on the back of your neck, like someone was watching you. Not the usual curious glances from strangers; this was heavier, sharper. You scanned the crowd, but no one stood out. Just hoodies, leather jackets, and the occasional drunk stumbling through. Shrugging it off, you turned back to the race, chalking it up to paranoia. Gotham had a way of making you feel like prey.

The flag dropped, and the cars screamed forward, a blur of neon and chrome. The crowd erupted, and you whooped, jumping onto a crate for a better view. Rico’s Supra was holding the lead, weaving through turns with a grace that made your heart race. You were so caught up in the moment, you didn’t notice the figure slipping through the shadows behind you.

☆☆☆☆

Jason Todd wasn’t supposed to be here. He’d told himself he was just scoping out the races for intel, tracking a lead on some smuggler who’d been funneling cash through Gotham’s underground. But that was a lie, and he knew it. The truth was messier, uglier. He’d heard rumors—whispers of a girl who sounded too much like *you*, throwing herself into the kind of trouble that got people killed. He hadn’t believed it at first. You were the baby of the family, the one they all assumed was tucked safely in bed, too soft and sweet for Gotham’s underbelly. But the more he heard, the more he couldn’t shake the gnawing dread in his chest.

Now, watching you from the edge of the lot, Jason felt his stomach twist. There you were, all reckless laughter and bright eyes, perched on a crate like you owned the damn place. You didn’t look neglected, not in the way he’d imagined—starved or broken. You looked *alive*, vibrant in a way that made his chest ache. But you were also sixteen, alone, and surrounded by people who’d sell you out for a quick buck. The thought made his blood boil.

He pulled his hood lower, blending into the crowd as he moved closer. You were cheering for some guy in a Supra, your voice cutting through the chaos like a bell. Jason’s jaw clenched. Did you even know these people? Did you have any idea what kind of danger you were in? He doubted it. You’d always been too trusting, too quick to see the good in people. It was why he’d kept his distance after he came back, why he hadn’t reached out. You were too pure for someone like him, stained as he was.

But this? This was different. You weren’t supposed to be here, in this world of speed and sin. And the fact that no one—not Bruce, not Dick, not even Damian—had noticed you slipping through the cracks? That lit a fire in him he couldn’t smother.

The race ended with Rico’s Supra crossing the line first, and you leapt off the crate, whooping like you’d won the lottery. Jason watched as you darted toward Rico’s car, tossing your empty slushie cup into a pile of trash. You were all smiles, high-fiving the driver and collecting your winnings with a grin that could’ve lit up the night. For a moment, Jason almost smiled, too. You looked… happy. Free.

Then he saw the guy next to Rico, some sleaze with a neck tattoo and a leer that made Jason’s fists itch. The guy was looking at you like you were something to be won, and you didn’t even notice, too caught up in the moment. Jason took a step forward, his instincts screaming to drag you out of there, to lock you in the manor where you’d be safe. But he stopped himself. Not yet. He needed to be sure.

You laughed at something Rico said, oblivious to the eyes on you—both Jason’s and the sleaze’s. The night was young, and Gotham’s streets were hungry. Jason melted back into the shadows, his mind racing. He’d keep watch for now, tail you until he knew you were safe. But this wasn’t the end. You were his sister, and he’d be damned if he let you slip away again.

☆☆☆☆

Back at the race, you pocketed your cash, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in the shadows. The night was perfect—loud, chaotic, yours. You didn’t need the Wayne name or the Batfamily’s approval. You had this, and for now, that was enough.

But as you turned to head back to your spot by the fence, that prickle returned, sharper this time. You paused, glancing over your shoulder. Nothing but darkness and the flicker of neon. You shook your head, laughing at yourself. Gotham was just messing with you, as always.

If only you knew how close the shadows were, and how tightly they were closing in.

☆☆☆

The neon haze of the race lingered in the air, a fading echo of engines and adrenaline. You stuffed the crumpled bills from your winnings into your hoodie pocket, your sneakers scuffing against the cracked asphalt as you made your way through the dispersing crowd. The night was still young, but the thrill of the race was ebbing, leaving you restless. You didn’t want to go back to the manor—not yet. That place was a mausoleum, all cold marble and colder silences. Instead, you decided to head to your favorite dive, a greasy 24-hour diner on the edge of Gotham’s Narrows. It was the kind of place where no one asked questions, and the coffee was bad but cheap.

You slipped into the night, unaware of the shadow trailing you. Jason Todd moved like a wraith, his boots silent against the pavement, his red hood a stark contrast to the gloom. He’d watched you all night, his chest a tangle of anger and something softer, something he didn’t want to name. You were so careless, so *fragile* in this world of predators, and yet you strutted through it like you were untouchable. It infuriated him. It terrified him. He’d lost too much to let you become another casualty, another name etched into Gotham’s endless gravestone.

He kept his distance, blending into the flicker of streetlights and the shuffle of late-night stragglers. You didn’t notice, too busy humming a tune under your breath, your hands shoved deep in your pockets. Jason’s jaw tightened as he watched you dodge a group of drunks stumbling out of a bar, your laughter bright and unburdened. Did you even realize how close you’d come to trouble? How many eyes lingered too long on you in that crowd?

You reached the diner, its flickering sign buzzing like a dying insect. The bell above the door jingled as you pushed inside, and Jason hesitated, slipping into an alley across the street. He could see you through the smudged glass, sliding into a booth with the ease of someone who’d done it a hundred times. You were a regular here, he realized, and that only deepened the ache in his chest. How much of your life had he missed? How much had they *all* missed?

Inside, you waved at the waitress, a tired woman with a smoker’s rasp named Bev. “Usual, kid?” she called, already pouring you a cup of sludge-like coffee.

“Yup,” you chirped, slumping back in the booth. You pulled out your phone, scrolling aimlessly, your other hand drumming on the table. The diner was a bubble of warmth, a stark contrast to the chill of Gotham outside. You liked it here—the chipped Formica tables, the hum of the jukebox, the way no one cared who you were. It was yours, a slice of freedom in a life that felt increasingly like a cage.

But freedom was an illusion in Gotham, and Jason knew it. He leaned against the alley wall, his eyes never leaving you. He was torn, caught between the urge to storm in, grab you by the arm, and drag you back to the manor, and the need to stay distant, to understand just how deep you’d fallen into this reckless world. He settled for watching, for now. But his patience was fraying, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold back.

☆☆☆☆

Back in the diner, you sipped your coffee, wincing at the bitter taste. Bev slid a plate of fries in front of you, and you grinned, tossing her a mock salute. “You’re a saint, Bev.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, but there was a fondness in her eyes. “Don’t stay too late, kid. Streets ain’t safe.”

You shrugged, popping a fry into your mouth. “I can handle myself.”

Bev shook her head but didn’t argue. She’d seen you come and go for months, always alone, always with that same easy smile. She didn’t know you were a Wayne, and you liked it that way. The less people knew, the less they could use against you.

You were halfway through your fries when your phone buzzed with a text. It was Rico, the racer from earlier.

*Rico: Yo, princess, you up for another round tomorrow? Got a big one. Double or nothing.*

You smirked, thumbs flying over the screen. *Count me in. Better not choke, Rico.*

His reply was instant. *Never do. Bring cash, kid.*

You leaned back, satisfied, already imagining the roar of engines and the rush of the crowd. The races were your escape, a way to drown out the emptiness that clung to you like damp rot. You didn’t need the Batfamily. You didn’t need their rules or their pity. You had this.

But as you stared at the flickering jukebox, a flicker of unease crept in. That prickle from earlier, the sense of being watched—it was back, stronger now. You glanced at the window, but all you saw was your own reflection, pale and ghostly against the dark. You shook it off, blaming the late hour and the shitty coffee. Gotham was just like that, always whispering danger in your ear.

☆☆☆☆

Outside, Jason’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, a message from Tim lighting up the dark.

*Tim: Patrol’s quiet. You good?*

Jason’s thumb hovered over the reply. He could tell Tim he’d found you, that you were out here playing street rat while the rest of the family thought you were asleep in your room. He could blow the whole thing open, force Bruce to deal with the fact that his youngest was slipping through his fingers. But something stopped him. Maybe it was the way you’d looked tonight, so alive in a way he hadn’t seen in years. Maybe it was the guilt gnawing at him, the knowledge that he’d been part of the machine that left you behind.

He typed a quick reply. *Fine. Just checking a lead.*

Then he pocketed the phone and pushed off the wall, his eyes locked on the diner. He couldn’t keep this up forever, tailing you like some ghost. Sooner or later, he’d have to act. And when he did, he wasn’t sure if he’d be saving you—or breaking you.

Inside, you finished your fries and tossed a few bills on the table, waving to Bev as you headed for the door. The bell jingled again, and you stepped into the night, pulling your hoodie tight against the chill. You didn’t see the figure across the street, didn’t hear the soft creak of leather as he moved. But Jason was there, and he wasn’t alone in watching you.

High above, another shadow crouched on a rooftop, silent and still. Damian’s green eyes glinted in the dark, his katana sheathed but his mind sharp. He’d followed Jason, curious about his brother’s late-night wanderings, and now he saw you—his little sister, the one he’d dismissed as weak, unimportant. You weren’t supposed to be here, in this filthy corner of Gotham, surrounded by scum. His lip curled, a mix of disdain and something darker, something possessive.

Damian didn’t know why you were out here, but he didn’t like it. Not one bit. And as he watched you disappear down the street, he made a decision. You were a Wayne, his blood, and that meant you belonged under his protection—whether you wanted it or not.

The shadows of Gotham were closing in, and you, oblivious, walked right into their embrace.

[aleese1111]

ong please please please do three wolves, one flame part 2 if you want ofc! I need geum seong je he's so hot in this story (I hope we end up with him)

three wolves, one flame two | geum seong je x union!reader x na baek jin

summary: in a city where stolen phones and bruised egos collide, a tense standoff between two gang members threatens to ignite—but when loyalty, exhaustion, and unexpected tenderness surface, the cracks beneath their rage finally show. as fists unclench and defense fall, they begin to realize that survival might mean learning to lean on each other—even when it hurts.

warnings: [slow burn] violence, language, blood, bruises, mild angst, mutual pining, toxic communication, vulnerable moments, mentions of crime.

author's note: this is getting toxic pal .. making me cry and stuff . requests ,,

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. three ??

the motorcycle garage reeked of sweat, oil, and burnt rubber—the kind of place where tempers sparked easier than engines. a dented workbench sat shoved into one corner, tools scattered across it like a graveyard of failed fixes. the overhead light buzzed with a dying flicker, and the air was thick with heat and fury.

“you’re fucking unbelievable,” she hissed, voice cutting through the space like a scalpel.

seong je stood across from her, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides. “don’t start with me...”

“start? i’m not starting shit. i’m finishing what your idiot screwed up.” her voice rose to a full-blown yell. “you let one of your morons walk around with ten stolen phones like we’re not running an actual operation!”

“i didn’t let him do shit!” he shouted back, stepping forward. “he went off script! i told him to stash the haul. he got jumped, not my fucking fault!”

“then whose fault is it? mine?” her eyes burned, teeth grit. “you act like this is some damn street gang, not a business.”

“it is a street gang,” he snapped, voice heavy with sarcasm. “in case you forgot, none of us have fucking degrees or a retirement plan.”

“you know what i mean, seong je. we’re organized. we have rules. and your guy just cost us everything we pulled yesterday.”

“maybe if you weren’t so busy barking orders and being a condescending bitch all the time—”

she was on him in a second, finger jabbing into his chest. “say that again. say it again.”

he caught her wrist, hard enough to make her flinch—but just for a second. “you wanna hit me now? is that what this is?” his voice dropped into something dangerous. “you think i’m scared of you?”

“no,” she spat. “i think you’re scared of being fucking useless. that’s why you’re always trying to swing your dick around. to make up for the fact you keep screwing up.”

something snapped in his eyes—sharp, violent. “keep pushing me. see what happens.”

she didn’t blink. “already did. still nothing.”

they stood there, faces inches apart, rage vibrating between them like a live wire. neither moved. neither gave in. both of them breathing hard, jaws locked.

then, without a word, she yanked her arm free and stormed out of the garage. the door slammed behind her hard enough to rattle the frame.

@ . !

by the time she reached the bowling alley, her throat hurt from yelling. her boots clacked across the sticky floor as she passed the empty lanes, not sparing a glance at the clatter of pins echoing faintly in the distance.

she pushed the office door open without knocking.

baek jin didn’t look up.

“tell me again why we keep seong je around,” she said flatly, tossing herself onto the couch like a stormcloud ready to ruin the day.

baek jin wrote something on his notebook. “he does what you can’t.”

“like lose stolen merchandise?” she snapped, dragging a hand through her hair. “god, he’s insufferable.”

baek jin finally turned, leaning back slightly in his chair, eyeing her with calm indifference. “what happened now?”

“phones,” she groaned. “ten of them. gone. one of his half-brained cronies got rolled. didn’t even stash them properly.” her voice cracked under the weight of exhaustion and rage. “and he blames me for being too uptight.”

“because yelling solves everything,” baek jin muttered, returning to his notebook.

she flopped onto her side, legs draped across the arm of the couch, one arm thrown over her eyes. “he called me a bitch, jin. a condescending one. like he even knows what that word means.”

“probably heard it in a movie.”

she let out a tired laugh—just one breath of amusement. “he looked like he was gonna throw something.”

“you look like you already did.”

she pulled his jacket from the back of the couch and draped it over her legs. “i hate him.”

“you don’t.”

“i do.”

“no, you don’t.”

silence.

then, more quietly: “...he scares me sometimes.”

baek jin didn’t respond right away.

“then don’t fight fire with fire,” he said eventually. “you’ll both burn.”

she stared at the ceiling, lips pressed thin.

and maybe she was burning. maybe she'd been burning for a while.

the minutes ticked by in a slow crawl, thick with that kind of silence only known between two people used to each other’s noise. she had cooled on the outside—no more fire, no more raised voice—but inside, the coals still glowed red. she hadn’t moved from the couch. one leg was curled underneath her, the other bouncing softly as she scribbled something into her notebook.

her phone sat to her right, flipped over. a math worksheet lay to her left, partially filled, and next to it was a half-eaten bag of shrimp chips. baek jin was back at his desk, eyes flicking between his work and the occasional glance at her page whenever she cursed under her breath.

“that one’s wrong,” he murmured.

“i knew it,” she muttered, erasing with unnecessary force. “this whole formula’s stupid.”

“no,” he said, typing lazily, “your distribution is stupid. the formula’s fine.”

“thanks for the confidence boost,” she shot back, but there wasn’t much bite in her tone.

“anytime.”

@ . !

they worked like that for another hour or two—sprawled in silence, occasionally interrupted by the click of a pen, the flick of a page, or a question about variables. it felt weirdly domestic. familiar.

until the office door creaked open.

she didn’t look up. didn’t need to. she knew the weight of that silence the second it walked in.

footsteps. slow. heavy. the scrape of worn sneakers on tile.

then something hit the floor beside her with a loud thud.

a duffle bag.

she looked up.

seong je stood a few feet away, breathing hard. his white school shirt was torn near the collar, buttons misaligned like he’d thrown it back on in a rush. his tie was missing. his lip was split and barely crusted over. blood had dried in a streak down his cheek, and his knuckles were red and raw—some cracked open, others bruised deep violet.

but it was the eyes that made her stop.

not angry. not cocky. not blank, either.

tired. steady.

he didn’t say a word.

she blinked, then glanced down at the bag. the zipper was half open—just enough for her to see the corner of a phone box. then another. and another.

all ten were in there.

baek jin stood up from his desk, slowly walking over. he opened the bag fully and confirmed it, counting silently. “you got them all back?”

seong je didn’t answer. just nodded, once.

“alone?” baek jin asked, quieter this time.

another nod.

baek jin whistled low under his breath, impressed.

she was still looking at him. not speaking. not moving. her hand, still holding a pen, trembled faintly against the edge of her notebook.

he looked at her once. quick. just a flicker. but it was enough.

she turned back to her worksheet without a word.

the room held its breath.

seong je wiped the blood from his cheek with the back of his hand and walked toward the couch. he didn’t sit beside her. just near. close enough that she could smell sweat, smoke, and rust on his skin.

he let out a quiet breath and leaned back against the wall, sliding down into a sitting position, legs stretched out, arms resting on his knees. the buzz of the overhead light hummed back into the space between them.

she kept writing.

but she didn’t flip the page again.

after a moment, without looking at him, she reached into her tote bag and fished around. pens, a folded test paper, a lip balm, gum—and then, her hand landed on the small emergency pouch she always carried.

she pulled it out, unzipped it with one hand, and tossed a small box of bandages and antiseptic wipes toward him. it hit his leg with a soft thump.

“try not to bleed out on baek jin’s floor,” she said flatly. “he’s too lazy to mop.”

baek jin snorted from across the room but didn’t comment.

seong je glanced at the box, then up at her. for the first time all day, the corner of his mouth twitched—just barely.

she didn’t look at him.

but her foot shifted slightly in his direction, brushing the edge of his.

and for now, that was enough.

the silence that followed wasn’t tense anymore—just tired.

seong je stayed slumped against the wall for another few minutes, wrapping a few of the bandages around his knuckles with surprising precision. he didn’t speak, and neither did she. eventually, he stood again with a wince and stretched his arms out until his shoulders cracked.

“i’m heading to the pc bang,” he muttered, brushing dust off his wrinkled uniform. “if you’re planning to keep sulking, do it quietly.”

she didn’t reply.

he hesitated at the door, one hand on the knob, glancing back over his shoulder. “...i got the phones back, you know.”

“i noticed.”

“you’re welcome.”

she flipped another page in her workbook. “i already said thanks.”

he rolled his eyes and left.

the door clicked shut behind him, and with it, the temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees.

@ . !

the last of the arcade lights flickered off, followed by the clunk of the main door locking shut. the bowling alley was quiet now—emptied out, wiped down, and dark except for the faint blue glow of the vending machine in the corner.

baek jin pocketed the keys with a sigh, shoulders rolling back in the stretch of relief that came after closing time. “we survived another day of screaming kids and gutter balls.”

she slipped on her hoodie, tugging it down to her wrists. “barely.”

“come on. i’m starving.” he nudged her lightly with his elbow. “you ate yet?”

she shook her head. “didn’t have time.”

“perfect. my treat.”

she gave him a sideways look. “your treat is always eight thousand won and spicy as hell.”

“and you always eat it like it’s nothing, so what does that say?”

she rolled her eyes but followed him anyway.

the streets were empty at this hour, just the hum of streetlamps buzzing above and the low whir of a passing bus in the distance. they walked in silence for a while, their footsteps echoing in the narrow alley that led down to the backlot where the tiny tteokbokki joint sat—half hidden behind a metal shutter and marked only by a flickering neon sign that read 분식천국.

inside, it was warm and orange-lit, the kind of place where the plastic stools wobbled and the ajumma behind the counter always gave too much fish cake.

the tteokbokki shop was quieter now, the neon sign flickering softly as the last of the steam drifted from the pan. she poked at her food, her chopsticks moving aimlessly as she avoided looking directly at baek jin. she was still annoyed—still holding that edge—but not as sharp as earlier. it was always this way, after things had settled. tension dissolved, but never fully.

baek jin picked up a piece of soondae without looking at her, his movements smooth, deliberate. he took a bite, chewing slowly, while his eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than usual.

“you know,” he said after a few moments, his voice softer than it had been earlier, “you could relax every once in a while.”

she made a face, her chopsticks still hovering above the plate, and shot him a look. “relax? that’s rich coming from you.”

he shrugged, glancing out the small window at the dark alley beyond. the streetlights outside hummed, casting long shadows that filled the empty space between them. then, almost absentmindedly, he reached over and pushed the plate of rice cakes closer to her.

“i’m serious,” he said, quieter this time. “you don’t have to keep everything in motion all the time.”

her fingers tightened around her chopsticks, but she didn’t respond immediately. instead, she stole a glance at him—eyes narrowing just a little, studying him as if trying to read between his words. but he was already looking away, a subtle tilt to his head, like he didn’t mind if she didn’t take the bait.

after a beat, she finally reached for another rice cake. her hand brushed against his casually, just the barest touch, but it was enough to make her pause, fingers still lingering against his. for a second, she almost didn’t pull back, but then she did, almost reflexively, as if she hadn’t meant to stay there.

his eyes flickered to her hand, but he didn’t say anything. he just kept eating, quieter now.

she took a deep breath, trying to shake off the discomfort that crawled up her throat. “i don’t need your advice, baek jin.”

“i didn’t say you did,” he replied, voice laced with something she couldn’t quite place. was it amusement? care? it was hard to tell, but he didn’t seem fazed by her harshness. his gaze was steady, like he was trying to understand her through the quiet.

another beat of silence passed. her foot nudged against his under the table—accidental, probably. but it lingered, her heel against the side of his shoe, the warmth of her body close enough that he could feel the weight of it.

for a moment, neither of them moved. the air between them was thick in a way that wasn’t uncomfortable, just... full. heavy with things unsaid.

he cleared his throat quietly, shifting his foot away just enough for the pressure to break. she didn’t pull her foot back, though, and the moment passed without comment.

she didn’t look at him as she pushed the food around again. “you think i’m some kind of... control freak?”

“i think you don’t let people in,” he said quietly, his voice softer now, just a little too honest. “it’s like you’re always holding everything back.”

she froze for a second. his words lingered in the air, like smoke, and she could feel the weight of them, like the air had thickened.

her fingers tightened around her chopsticks, and she looked up at him, but she didn’t say anything for a long time. she wanted to snap back, to tell him he was wrong, but something in his eyes stopped her. maybe it was the way he wasn’t looking at her for a response, but just... waiting.

when she spoke, it was quieter than before. “i don’t need anyone to fix me.”

he gave her a quick, almost imperceptible smile, like he understood more than she wanted him to. “i didn’t say anything about fixing you.”

there was a beat of silence between them, but this time, it wasn’t awkward. it was just... there.

she grabbed the last piece of soondae, eating it in one bite. “i’m done. you?” she asked, her voice a little more like herself again—sharp, biting.

he smiled more openly this time. “you eat like a rat.”

she snorted, setting her chopsticks down with a little too much force. “and you’re a walking mannequin.”

when they stood up to leave, it was a little too quiet, but neither of them said much. she put her jacket on, pulling it over her shoulders with more force than necessary, like it was an armour she didn’t need.

@ . !

as they walked through the dark alley, the hum of the streetlights was the only sound between them, a quiet rhythm in the otherwise empty night. she kept her gaze forward, her hands tucked deep into her pockets, shoulders tense.

but then, that one small gesture—a simple adjustment of her collar—broke through the armor she had been building around herself all evening.

her breath caught for just a second. she hadn’t expected it. not from him. she hadn’t expected him to see her. not in this way.

his fingers barely brushed her skin, and in that moment, she felt the shift. it was like the weight she’d been carrying—unseen, unheard, but always there—just became too much to hold onto.

she didn’t stop walking, but her steps slowed, just for a moment. her heart hammered in her chest, too fast, too loud. the weight of her emotions, the ones she kept buried under layers of sharp words and brittle indifference, started to break free. slowly, quietly, without any warning. she bit her lip hard, the pressure doing nothing to stop the sting rising in her chest.

and then, just like that, she felt it. the quiet crumbling inside her. the tension, the anger, the sadness—all the things she thought she’d put away, forgotten or buried—spilled out in the form of a single, shaky breath.

she didn’t look at him. didn’t react. but something in her shifted.

then, without a word, a single tear slipped down her cheek.

she didn’t wipe it away. she didn’t speak. there was no need to. the weight of the past days, the anger, the fear, the exhaustion—it all sat heavy on her like a stormcloud.

he saw it. he always did.

and without hesitation, without asking or saying anything, he stepped forward and pulled her gently into his arms.

at first she froze, body rigid against him like she didn’t know how to be held. but then—like something inside her finally cracked—she melted forward and buried her face into his shoulder, her hands clutching the sides of his jacket.

that’s when the sobbing started.

not loud. not dramatic. just quiet, broken sounds pressed into his chest, like she was finally letting go of something she'd been carrying alone for far too long.

she was trembling.

he didn’t need her to say anything—he never did. he could feel the way her hands gripped his jacket like it was the only thing keeping her together. the weight of her against him wasn’t heavy, but it pressed into something deeper than he wanted to admit.

he’d seen her like this before. not often. only when everything else slipped.

and each time, it broke something in him he didn’t know had edges.

he didn’t ask what was wrong. he just held her tighter, like maybe if he stayed still enough, long enough, she’d remember she wasn’t alone.

that was enough for him. for now.

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. three ??

[mrsfancyferrari]

Hey, I saw you done the reader speaks French but I was wondering if you could one with italian or something similar. My family on my mother's side is italian and I'm learning it again and I'm sometimes embarrassed by my lack of knowledge (spanish was easier for me) if this makes sense. If not that's okay, I love your writing.

Italian Lessons

Summary: You're trying to learn Italian again and what a better way to learn than to get your best friend's best friend to teach you.

Song: Earned It · The Weeknd

Author’s note: You are so relatable! I was born in Italy but as soon as I left, my Italian left with it 😭 I've been trying to learn it but I can't so I wish you the best! I wrote so much but Tumblr didn't let me fit it all so I had to shorten it! Unfortunately due to my exams being in less than a month, I won't post much. 😭 Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 34.3k

MASTERLIST - F1

The scent of old leather and motor oil clung to Ollie’s car like a second skin, a familiar aroma that always grounded you. He swerved expertly through the London traffic, one hand drumming a rhythm on the steering wheel as a Formula 1 podcast droned from the speakers. He was talking, something about tire compounds and aerodynamic drag, but your mind was elsewhere, tangled in a knot of guilt and embarrassment.

"Earth to you! You’ve gone all quiet," Ollie chuckled, a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. "Thinking about your impending Italian lesson?"

You sighed, leaning your head against the headrest. "Don't remind me. It's just… pathetic, isn't it? My own mother's language, and I can barely order a pizza."

Ollie, ever the comforting presence, reached over and squeezed your hand. "Hey, none of that nonsense. You're busy, you're successful, and you're finally doing something about it. That's all that matters. Besides," he added with a wink, "you know I think you're amazing, even if you only speak fluent English and sarcasm."

You managed a weak smile. Ollie always had a way of making you feel better. Years of friendship, countless late-night talks, and a shared history that stretched back to awkward teenage years had forged a bond unbreakable. He was family, the kind you chose, not just the kind you were born into. It was ironic, really, that he, an Englishman obsessed with speed and engines, knew more Italian phrases than you, the daughter of an Italian immigrant.

"It's just… Kimi," you muttered, the name feeling foreign on your tongue. Ollie’s best friend. An enigma wrapped in a charmingly gruff exterior.

"Kimi will be great!" Ollie declared, his voice radiating genuine enthusiasm. "He's a good guy, just a bit… quiet at first. But trust me, he's got a heart of gold hidden under that stoic exterior. And," he added with a knowing smirk, "he's fiercely proud of his heritage. He'll be thrilled you're making the effort."

You doubted that. You envisioned awkward silences, stumbling over conjugations, and Kimi's thinly veiled disappointment at your linguistic ineptitude. "What if I'm hopeless? What if I just embarrass myself?"

"You won't," Ollie said firmly. "And even if you do, so what? It's a learning process. Besides, Kimi's not judgmental. He's too busy being effortlessly cool to judge anyone."

You couldn't argue with that. Kimi did have an air of indifference that seemed to protect him from the world's criticisms. You'd always found it intriguing, that and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he did smile, which was a rare occurrence indeed.

Finally, the GPS announced, "You have arrived at your destination." You two pulled up to the paddock, a bustling hive of activity where Formula 1 cars were being meticulously prepped for the next race.

Ollie parked his sleek sports car with a flourish, the engine purring. You followed Ollie through the maze of garages.

In the Haas garage, the mechanics were a blur of movement as they worked tirelessly on the gleaming Formula 1 car. Ollie waved at them, calling out greetings in a mix of English and Italian that rolled off his tongue like a native.

He led you further into the garage, where the team was a blur of motion, focused intently on the gleaming Haas car. The sheer dedication and attention to detail were breathtaking.

"Right, let's get you acquainted with the place," Ollie said, clapping his hands together. “I’ll introduce you to Kimi after the race.”

“Kimi?” you asked, feeling a flicker of anticipation. This was it. The man who was going to help you reclaim your heritage. “So, he actually agreed to this?”

"Yep. He owes me a favor. Plus, he’s always up for a bit of a laugh."

You nodded, trying to absorb all the information. "Got it. And thank you, by the way. For all of this."

"Don't mention it," Ollie said, throwing a wink over his shoulder as he reached for his race suit. "It's the least I can do. I've always thought it was a shame you never learned Italian. Especially with your mom being so… expressive.”

That stung. He was right. It was a shame. And it was embarrassing. Your best friend, the one who’d grown up miles away from any Italian influence, knew more about your mother’s language than you did.

"Yeah, well," you mumbled, avoiding his gaze. "Life happens."

"It does," Ollie agreed, his tone softening. He pulled the race suit on halfway, leaving the top part unzipped. "But it’s never too late to learn. Kimi's a great guy, and he's surprisingly patient. Just… try not to be intimidated by the accent. It can be a bit thick."

"Look, I gotta go brief with the team," Ollie said, his attention already shifting to the race ahead. "Just… enjoy the show. And try not to get run over."

With a final pat on the shoulder, he was gone, swallowed up by the organized chaos of the Haas garage. You were left standing there, feeling a strange mix of excitement, apprehension, and inadequacy. . . .

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The scent of gasoline and burnt rubber permeated the air as you meandered through the bustling F1 paddock, your eyes scanning the horizon of gleaming cars and tightly wound tension that only a Formula One race could muster. Your phone chirped with Duolingo's cheery encouragement, a stark contrast to the thunderous symphony of engines revving in the distance.

"Mi dispiace, non capisco," you murmured, feeling a twinge of pride as the app congratulated you with a cheerful "Ding!"

Before you could bask in the glow of your linguistic victory, a velvet voice caressed your ear, "It's actually 'mi dispiace, non capisco.'"

You whipped around, heart racing faster than the cars on the track, to find Kimi, Ollie's dashing Italian best friend, standing just an arm's length away.

"Thanks," you replied, trying to compose yourself, as your cheeks flushed with a warmth that had nothing to do with the sun beating down on the tarmac.

"I'm just trying to brush up on my Italian, you know, for when I get to Imola."

He grinned, his eyes dancing with a mischief that promised untold adventures. "Well, you're in luck," he said, his accent a siren's song that could make any language sound erotic. "I happen to be a native speaker."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound a little too high-pitched for your liking. "Yeah, I kind of figured that out," you replied, trying to match his cool demeanor.

"Well, then," Kimi said, his smile widening, "having a teacher will definitely help you a lot."

It was ironic, indeed, seeing as Kimi was the person Ollie had suggested to help you with your Italian.

The same Kimi who had a reputation for leaving hearts fluttering in his wake, the one who spoke Italian as if it were poetry caressed by the gods themselves. You felt a peculiar mix of excitement and nervousness at the thought of learning from him. His eyes, a deep brown that reminded you of freshly roasted espresso, bore into yours, and you couldn't help but wonder if he knew the effect he had on you.

Before you could respond, a sharp, authoritative voice blared over the loudspeakers, "All the drivers go to their pits."

Kimi's gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his eyes darkening with what could only be described as a predatory interest. "See you later, bella donna," he winked, his words a seductive promise before disappearing into the maelstrom of the racing world.

Your heart skipped a beat as you watched him go, his lithe figure weaving through the chaos with an ease that could only come from years of navigating the fast lane.

The term of endearment hung in the air, a sweet whisper that seemed to caress your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. . . .

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The rest of the afternoon was a blur. You spent the qualifying session in the Haas garage with Ollie, nervously watching the timings and trying to decipher the technical jargon being thrown around.

During the race, you were a nervous wreck. You cheered for Ollie, of course, your loyalty unwavering. But your eyes kept darting to the silver Mercedes on the track, following Kimi's every move. The roar of the engines, the squeal of tires, the frantic pace of the race – it all faded into the background. All you could think about was the way he had looked at you, the sound of his voice, the playful glint in his eyes.

Ollie finished a respectable 5th, a solid result for Haas. Kimi, however, finished 4th, just shy of the podium. When the race ended, you waited impatiently for Ollie to finish his debriefing with the team, your leg bouncing with nervous energy.

Finally, Ollie emerged, grinning. "Not bad, eh?" he said, clapping you on the shoulder.

You managed a weak smile, your heart thumping. "Congratulations, Ollie," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ollie's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Ready to meet the Italian Stallion?" he teased, using his thumb and forefinger to mimic a mustache.

Your stomach somersaulted at the mention of Kimi's name. You nodded, trying to play it cool. "Yeah, sure. Lead the way."

As you followed Ollie through the bustling paddock, your thoughts raced. What would you say to Kimi? How would he react to seeing you again? The moment of truth came as you rounded the corner and spotted Kimi, surrounded by a group of team members and journalists.

A slow smile spread across his face, and for a moment, it was as if you were the only two people in the world. You felt a rush of heat, a shiver down your spine as he excused himself from his entourage and approached you, his strides purposeful and confident.

"Hey Kimi! Great race!" Ollie exclaimed, his arms open wide for a hug. Kimi embraced him warmly, their friendship palpable, and for a brief, painfully sweet second, you felt like a third wheel in your own fantasy.

But then, as if sensing your presence, Kimi pulled back and looked over Ollie's shoulder at you, the smile never leaving his face. "Thank you, Ollie," he said, his voice a velvety rumble that seemed to resonate through your body.

"Oh, this is…" Ollie started, turning to introduce you.

"Y/N," Kimi finished, grinning mischievously, his eyes twinkling with a knowing look. He extended a hand, and as you took it, a jolt of electricity seemed to pass between you, setting your pulse racing even more.

"So, you're the one," he said, his accent thick and alluring. "The one who's going to learn Italian from me?" His smile grew wider, and you felt your cheeks flush under his gaze.

"Yeah," you replied, trying to sound casual despite the thunderous beating of your heart. "I've always wanted to, and Ollie said you're the best teacher around."

Ollie raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Wait, you two know each other?" he asked, his eyes darting back and forth between you and Kimi.

You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself. "Well, we met briefly before the race," you began, your voice steady despite the tumultuous emotions swirling inside you. "I was practicing my Italian, and Kimi couldn't help but offer a few corrections as he passed by."

Kimi chuckled, a rich, deep sound that made your insides quiver. "Your accent," he said, his eyes sparkling, "it is… unique." The way he drew out the word 'unique' made it sound like an endearment, a secret shared between the two of you.

"I know it's not perfect," you admitted, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks, "but I'm eager to learn."

Kimi leaned closer, his gaze intense. "I can tell," he murmured, his voice a purr. "And I'm more than happy to help. Italian is a beautiful language, full of passion. It's something you must feel, not just speak."

Your eyes locked onto his. The way his full lips moved as he spoke made your own mouth go dry. You swallowed hard.

"When can we start?" you asked, your voice a breathy whisper.

Kimi's eyes held yours, the intensity in them making your knees weak. "As soon as you're ready," he replied, his thumb tracing lazy circles on the back of your hand. "But remember, I don't just teach Italian. I make you experience it."

Ollie looked back and forth between you two, the light of understanding dawning in his eyes. He winked at you and clapped Kimi on the back. "Well, I've got some celebrating to do," he said, backing away. "I'll leave you to it."

As he disappeared into the throng of people, you were left standing there, alone with the man who had occupied your thoughts all day. Your heart hammered in your chest as he took a step closer, his hand still resting on yours. "Come," he said, "we'll find a quieter place."

You were acutely aware of every movement he made – the way his fingers tightened around yours, the way his eyes searched your face, the way his chest rose and fell with every breath. You found yourselves in a secluded spot, a small area behind one of the hospitality tents.

"So, what's your schedule like?" Kimi asked, his eyes never leaving yours. His voice was low, the vibrations resonating through your entire body.

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on his question through the fog of desire that had enveloped you. "It's pretty open," you replied, your voice shaky. "I can work around yours."

"Good," he murmured, stepping even closer. You could feel the heat emanating from his body, the electricity between you growing stronger by the second. "Because I want to make sure we have plenty of time… to practice."

"I hope I'm not a bother," you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. Kimi's smile grew, and his thumb stroked the inside of your wrist, sending shivers up your arm.

"Never, bella donna," he replied. "But do you have a boyfriend?"

You felt a thrill at the question. "No," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Kimi's eyes searched yours, as if looking for the truth within. "Good," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips before returning to your eyes.

"Why?" you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it.

He took a moment to answer, his thumb still tracing patterns on the sensitive skin of your wrist. "Uh, nothing," he replied, his voice low and gruff. "I wouldn't want to worry him if you're with me all the time."

The answer didn't quite satisfy you, but the way he said it made your stomach flip.

"So, how do you want this to go?" you managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Kimi leaned in closer. "I was thinking," he said, his eyes dancing with a hint of mischief, "if I want you to truly experience this, we have to go on little adventures."

You blinked, surprised. "Like… dates?" The word slipped out before you could stop it, a nervous giggle following close behind.

He nodded, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "Si, like dates," he confirmed, his thumb now caressing your palm in a gentle, mesmerizing rhythm. "But not just any dates, bella. These will be… educational experiences. We will learn Italian, but we will also learn about passion, about feeling, about life."

Your heart skipped a beat. This was not what you had expected when you offered to help him practice English, but you found yourself nodding eagerly. "Okay," you breathed, your voice thick with desire.

Kimi stepped back, releasing your hand with a teasing smile. "Good," he said, his eyes lingering on your now-bare wrist, where his touch had left a trail of heat.

"But first," you managed to get out, your voice sounding more composed than you felt, "can I have your number?"

Kimi's eyes lit up, and he nodded. "Sure," he said, pulling out his phone. His fingers danced over the screen with a practiced ease that spoke of years of handling high-speed machinery.

He rattled off a string of digits, and you typed them into your phone, your own hands trembling slightly. You felt a strange sense of excitement, as if you had just received the winning lottery numbers.

"Got it," you said, trying to sound casual despite the racing of your heart.

Before Kimi could respond, a Mercedes staff member, dressed in the sleek, silver team gear, approached with an urgent look on his face. "Kimi," he called out, "we need you for the victory celebration."

Kimi turned to the staff member, his eyes briefly leaving yours. "Arrivederci bella donna," he said to you, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine.

The paddock was a whirlwind of activity, team members hugging and congratulating each other, the sound of champagne corks popping in the background. You felt a pang of disappointment at being separated from him so soon, but also a thrill at the prospect of what was to come. As you made your way back to the Haas garage, you couldn't help but replay the moment in your mind. His touch, his voice, the way he looked at you – it was all so intoxicating.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the vibration of your phone. You looked down to see a text from an unknown number. "Looking forward to our first lesson," it read, with a winking emoji. You felt a warmth spread through your body, realizing it was from Kimi.

When you returned to the Haas garage, Ollie was busy signing autographs for a group of eager fans. His face lit up when he saw you, and he excused himself to come over.

"So, how was it?" he asked, curiosity etched across his features.

You couldn't help but smile at Ollie's question, your cheeks flushing as you recounted your encounter with Kimi. "It was…" you paused, searching for the right words, "intense."

Ollie raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Intense, huh? Did he give you a taste of that Italian charm?"

You nodded, still lost in the memory of Kimi's touch. "More than just a taste," you replied, trying to keep the excitement out of your voice.

Ollie chuckled, his eyes gleaming. "Looks like you're going to be busy," he said, giving you a knowing look. "Just don't let your schoolgirl crush get in the way of my friendship with him."

You rolled your eyes, feigning annoyance, but inside, you felt a thrill at his words. It was clear that he had noticed the chemistry between you and Kimi, and it was equally clear that he approved.

"Don't worry," you said, trying to keep the excitement out of your voice. "It's just a language exchange."

Ollie nodded, but his knowing smile said he wasn't fooled. "Uh-huh," he said, winking. "Just make sure to keep me updated on your… progress."

You rolled your eyes again, but couldn't help the grin that spread across your face. "Don't worry, I will," you teased back. . . .

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The dreary Monday afternoon hangs heavy around you, the grey light filtering through your window mirroring the dull ache in your shoulders. You’ve been staring at the same spreadsheet for hours, the numbers blurring into an indistinguishable mess. The silence is a thick blanket, stifling and uneventful. Then, the vibration.

Your phone, lying face-up on the desk, jumps, the sudden movement shattering the monotonous quiet like a sonnet erupting in the middle of a slumber party. You glance down, your eyes widening slightly at the name glowing in the dim light: Kimi.

The message reads: "Hello bella donna, are you free tomorrow?"

You take a slow, deliberate breath, trying to quell the sudden heat that’s rising in your cheeks. You type: "Sure, what are you planning?" You need to know, need to understand the intention behind this sudden, charming overture.

Kimi’s response is swift, almost instantaneous. "How about a little dinner in my favourite restaurant in Italian? I promise to make it fun and interactive."

The playful wink emoji that follows does nothing to dispel the heat that has begun to spread through your body, a delicious blend of excitement and apprehension. You haven’t seen Kimi in a few weeks, not since that awkward bumping into each other at the coffee shop.

You’ve replayed that encounter in your head countless times, analyzing the subtle nuances of his smile, the lingering touch of his hand as he’d helped you gather your scattered belongings. You force yourself to take another deep breath. This is just dinner. It doesn’t have to mean anything. But a small, traitorous part of you hopes it does.

"Sounds perfect," you text back, forcing your voice, even in text, to remain steady. You fail. The rapid pulse that has started to thrum in your neck betrays you.

He replies almost immediately: "Okay bella donna, I'll pick you up from your apartment tomorrow."

The finality of the statement, the directness of the invitation, sends another shiver of anticipation down your spine. You stare at the message, your mind already racing ahead, envisioning the evening, the restaurant, his face illuminated by candlelight.

The rest of Monday crawls by in a blur. You can’t focus on your work, your thoughts constantly drifting back to Kimi and the Italian dinner. You imagine practicing basic phrases, stumbling over pronunciations, and his warm laughter filling the space between you. Tuesday arrives with an almost cruel slowness. You spend an inordinate amount of time getting ready, agonizing over every detail.

What to wear? Something casual, but elegant? Something that says, "I’m comfortable and confident," but also, "I put in effort for you." You try on three different dresses, discarding each one with a frustrated sigh.

Finally, you settle on a simple black dress that skims your curves in a flattering way. You add a delicate silver necklace and a touch of mascara, enough to highlight your eyes without looking overly done.

As you wait, your stomach churning with nerves, you pace your apartment, rehearsing Italian phrases in your head. "Buonasera," you murmur to yourself. "Come stai?" "Il conto, per favore." You feel ridiculous, like you’re preparing for a stage performance.

The buzzer rings, sending a jolt of electricity through you. It's him. You take one last deep breath, smooth down your dress, and tell yourself to relax. It’s just dinner. Just a friendly, Italian-themed dinner. You open the door, and there he is. Kimi.

He looks even more handsome than you remember. His dark hair is neatly styled, and he’s wearing a fitted, dark blue shirt that makes his eyes seem even bluer. His smile is warm and genuine, and it reaches all the way to his eyes.

"Ciao, bella donna," he says, his voice a low rumble that sends another wave of butterflies fluttering through your stomach.

"Ciao, Kimi," you reply, your voice slightly breathy.

He offers you his arm, and you take it, your fingers tingling against his skin. As you walk down the stairs, you steal glances at him, trying to decipher the look in his eyes. Is it just friendliness, or is there something more?

The restaurant he’s chosen is tucked away on a quiet side street, a hidden gem with dimly lit interiors, checkered tablecloths, and the aroma of garlic and basil hanging in the air. Soft Italian music plays in the background, creating a warm and intimate atmosphere. He pulls out your chair, and you thank him in Italian, stumbling slightly over the pronunciation of "grazie." He chuckles softly, and you feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"Don’t worry," he says, switching to English. "You’ll get there. I'm here to help you practice."

The evening unfolds like a dream. You order in Italian, with Kimi patiently correcting your mistakes and encouraging you to try new phrases. He tells you about his favorite dishes, describing them with such passion that you can almost taste the flavors. You try the osso buco, and it melts in your mouth, a symphony of savory flavors.

Throughout the evening, you catch him looking at you, his eyes lingering on your face, and you feel a warmth spreading through you, a feeling that goes beyond simple attraction. It’s a feeling of connection, of understanding, of being truly seen.

As the evening progresses, the conversation flows easily, punctuated by laughter and shared glances. The Italian phrases become less forced, more natural, as you relax into the moment. When the waiter brings the bill, Kimi insists on paying. You protest, but he just smiles and shakes his head.

"It’s my treat, bella donna," he says. "Besides, I promised you an interactive experience. The real fun starts now."

The real fun starts now. His words echo in your head, a promise that sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine. As you walk out of the restaurant, the cool night air kisses your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth you feel inside.

Kimi’s hand lingers at the small of your back, a gentle guide as you navigate the cobblestone streets. You lean into his touch, your heart fluttering like a captive bird in your chest. He opens the car door with the grace of a gentleman, and you slide into the passenger seat, the leather cool against your thighs.

As he slides into the driver's seat, his eyes lock onto yours for a moment too long, sending a bolt of electricity straight to your core. He starts the engine, the purr of the vehicle blending with the soft music playing through the speakers.

As he drives you back home, the city lights stream past the windows, painting a kaleidoscope of colors across your skin. His hand rests casually on the gear stick, but your eyes are drawn to his strong, capable fingers.

You wonder what it would be like to have those hands on you, exploring every inch of your body, speaking a language more potent than Italian. The drive back to your apartment is a delicious mix of tension and comfort. His cologne fills the car, a scent that is both new and familiar. The conversation is easy, a blend of shared stories and teasing banter that you hadn’t quite anticipated.

As you approach your apartment, you feel a strange mix of disappointment and excitement. Disappointment that the night is almost over, excitement for what might happen next. The tension in the car is palpable, thick with unspoken desires.

He parks the car and walks you to your door, his stride purposeful, yet filled with a gentle hesitancy. You feel the warmth of his hand as it grazes yours, and you wonder if he feels the same electricity that's been building all evening.

The silence between you is a symphony of unspoken words, the quiet punctuated by the distant sound of a couple arguing in a nearby apartment and the occasional rustle of leaves in the night breeze. It's a comforting silence, the kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket on a cold winter's eve.

As you stand in front of your door, the anticipation of what's to come hangs in the air, as tangible as the scent of your mingled perfumes. You fumble with your keys, your heart racing like a marathon runner approaching the finish line.

Kimi's eyes never leave yours, and you can see the question in them, the silent inquiry of whether this night will extend beyond the confines of friendship. Your hand shakes slightly as you insert the key into the lock, the metal cold against your skin.

The door clicks open, and you both hover in the threshold, the warm light of your apartment spilling out onto the darkened porch. He leans in, and for a moment, you think he's going to kiss you.

Instead, he whispers, "Grazie per la serata," his breath tickling the sensitive skin of your neck.

You swallow hard, your eyes fluttering closed for a brief second. "It was… amazing," you manage to murmur.

Before you can say more, his hand reaches up, and he brushes a stray lock of hair from your face. His touch is gentle, almost tender, and it sends a bolt of desire through you that makes your knees feel wobbly.

"The pleasure was all mine," he says, his voice a low murmur that sends shivers down your spine. "But the night doesn't have to end here."

You look up at him, the question in your eyes mirroring the one in his. The air is charged, and the silence stretches out like a tightrope, thrumming with potential.

"I had a wonderful time tonight," he says, his voice soft.

"Me too," you reply, your heart pounding in your chest.

He leans in closer, and you close your eyes, waiting for his kiss. But it doesn’t come. Instead, he whispers in your ear, "A presto, bella donna."

And then he’s gone, leaving you standing at your door, breathless and wanting.

You step inside, the contrast of the cool apartment air against your flushed skin making you shiver. The evening lingers on you, a seductive perfume that you can’t quite shake off. You walk to the bathroom, looking at your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes are bright, your cheeks flushed with more than just the cold.

Was it just the Italian, the romance of the language, or was there something more? You can’t shake the feeling that Kimi’s gaze had held a promise, a silent invitation that you hadn’t quite understood.

You decide to let it go, to enjoy the thrill of the unknown. After all, tomorrow is another day, another chance to learn, to explore, to feel. . . .

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

You felt a buzz of excitement as you approached your apartment, the anticipation of what lay inside the package he had mentioned growing with each step. Once inside, you placed the package on the kitchen counter, the weight of it a tantalizing mystery.

The cardboard was a stark contrast to the sleek, black leather of the bag you had brought home with you, the letters of his name scrawled across the top in a familiar script that made your heart flutter.

You carefully sliced through the packing tape, the sound of it tearing a gentle crescendo in the otherwise quiet room. As the flaps fell open, you gasped. Before you lay a treasure trove of Mercedes merchandise, each piece more opulent than the last.

A leather-bound notebook, a pen with the company logo engraved on it, a scarf with the signature silver threads, and even a keychain with a miniature replica of the iconic car. But it was the small card nestled among the luxurious items that made your pulse race.

The card was simple, white with a single red rose embossed in the corner. You recognized Kimi's handwriting immediately, the way the letters curved and looped like a lover's embrace.

"To continue your lessons," it read, "with a touch of elegance." You couldn't help but wonder what kind of 'lessons' he had in mind, and whether they would be as exhilarating as the ones you'd experienced the night before.

Picking up the leather notebook, you opened it to find the pages filled with notes in Kimi's handwriting, each one detailing a different aspect of the Italian language.

The pages were also sprinkled with phrases that were anything but academic, reminders of the passionate moments you had shared, and a promise of more to come. You felt a warmth spread through your body, a phantom echo of his touch. You took the scarf, running the soft fabric through your fingers, feeling the gentle caress of the threads against your skin.

The keychain caught your eye, the silver glistening in the soft glow of the pendant light above the counter. It was the perfect size to attach to the diary you had bought to log your language progress.

The diary that now held secrets far more personal than conjugations and vocabulary. You couldn't wait to delve into the treasure trove of Italian delights that Kimi had so thoughtfully curated. The promise of future 'lessons' filled you with a giddy excitement that was both thrilling and a little overwhelming.

You slipped the keychain into your pocket, the cool metal a constant reminder of the passion that awaited you. You took a deep breath, inhaling the faint scent of leather and cologne that still lingered in the air from the package.

You sent Kimi a text, "What's the occasion?" you asked, curiosity piqued by the extravagant gift.

Kimi's response was swift and unabashed, "You look better in Mercedes than in Haas, wear this when you're coming to watch me in the Mercedes garage," accompanied by a winking emoji.

You couldn't help but chuckle at his audacity. "You're assuming I would switch from Ollie, who I've known my whole life, to you, who I've known for a week? How bold of you," you shot back.

Kimi's response was immediate. "Boldness is what makes life interesting, no?" he texted.

"It's definitely a persuasive argument," you replied, the smile on your face growing wider with every keystroke.

Kimi's response was as swift as it was seductive. "Persuasion is an art," he texted back, "but when the prize is as sweet as you, it's hardly a challenge."

You placed the notebook and keychain aside and picked up the phone, your thumbs dancing over the screen as you replied, "And what's the prize for passing these 'lessons'?"

Kimi's response was a masterclass in anticipation. "Ah, that would be telling," he teased. "I can't wait to see you in those clothes, bella donna," he replied, the Italian endearment rolling off his tongue like honey, sticky and sweet.

"I'll be sure to dress to impress, maestro," you replied, feeling a surge of playfulness in your tone.

Kimi's response was like a warm caress, his words wrapping around you like a silk scarf. "I have no doubt you'll leave me speechless, as always," he texted, his message sending a rush of heat through your veins.

You replied, "Bye for now," with a flirty wave emoji, your heart racing at the thought of seeing him again. You set the phone down and took a moment to revel in the feeling, the anticipation of what was to come a delicious ache. . . .

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The engine's roar echoed through the narrow streets of the bustling Chinese metropolis as Ollie's sleek Ferrari approached your apartment. Your heart raced in anticipation, not just for the exhilarating ride to the F1 paddock, but also for the secret thrill hidden beneath your clothes.

You had decided to wear the Mercedes merchandise today, a bold declaration of allegiance to the underdog team in a sea of Ferrari red. The tight-fitting T-shirt clung to your curves like a second skin.

"Hey Ollie," you greeted him, a playful smirk gracing your lips as you settled into the plush leather passenger seat.

Ollie looked over at you, a knowing glint in his eye. "Wow, really? You decided to switch to Mercedes that quick?" he quipped, revving the engine and pulling away from the curb. The car's vibrations thrummed through you, setting your blood pulsing in time with its powerful rhythm.

You shrugged, the fabric of the T-shirt sliding smoothly over your skin. "Just thought I'd try something different," you replied coyly, the wind from the open window teasing your hair and whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

Ollie chuckled. "I heard Kimi is quite the Casanova. What's it like learning Italian from him?" His question hung in the air, ripe with innuendo.

You felt your cheeks warm. "It's… educational," you replied, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

Ollie's teasing smile grew wider. "I bet it is. Kimi's got that certain… charm, doesn't he?" He winked, his hand briefly caressing the gearstick before shifting up to third. The car leapt forward, pressing you back into the seat.

You couldn't help but laugh, the tension in your body releasing like the hiss of a valve. "Sure," you teased back, your voice light and airy, "but it's all very professional. We're just friends, helping each other out."

Ollie's eyes flicked towards you, a knowing look playing across his features. "Just friends, huh?" He smirked, his gaze lingering on the way the Mercedes logo on your shirt. "Well, if you say so."

Ollie pulled into an empty spot in the Haas-reserved parking lot, the car purring to a gentle stop. The heat from the engine radiated into the confined space, a stark contrast to the coolness of the air conditioning.

"Looks like we're here," he announced, the smirk on his face unwavering.

You nodded, your pulse quickening as you took in the chaotic symphony of sounds and smells that filled the air: the high-pitched whine of engines being fired up, the metallic clang of tools, and the faint scent of burning rubber.

Ollie turned off the ignition, and the sudden silence was almost deafening. The tension between you was palpable, charged with an electricity that had nothing to do with the car's engine. You both stepped out into the sticky embrace of the early summer heat, the sun glinting off the chrome and carbon fiber monsters that surrounded you.

As you two walked into Haas, a murmur rippled through the team members and mechanics, their eyes drawn to the unmistakable logo emblazoned on your top. The whispers grew louder, a symphony of surprise and curiosity.

"Look, it's Ollie with a Mercedes fan," one engineer quipped, his laughter cutting through the air like a knife.

You felt your face redden as Ollie chuckled, placing a gentle hand on the small of your back to guide you through the throng of people.

"You can go see your boyfriend when he arrives," Ollie teased.

The words hit you like a splash of cold water, your heart skipping a beat as you realized he knew about your secret rendezvous with Kimi. You tried to keep your composure, but the blush spreading across your cheeks betrayed you.

"What are you talking about?" you retorted, feigning ignorance.

Ollie's grin grew wider, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, come on," he said. "I know that look. You're thinking about him, aren't you?"

You bit your lower lip. "What look?" you asked, your voice a little too high.

Ollie's eyes searched your face. "The one you get when you talk about Kimi. It's like you're melting from the inside out. Your pupils dilate, your cheeks flush, and your breath hitches ever so slightly."

"It's the same look you have right now."

"That's not true," you denied, the denial feeling weak even to your own ears. You busied yourself pretending to adjust the collar of his Haas polo to avoid his gaze.

Ollie didn't relent, saying, "Oh, it is. I've seen it. Remember last year's party when Kimi said 'Ciao bella' to you and you reminded me of that for a whole hour?"

Your cheeks grew hotter, and you felt a flutter in your stomach. You had hoped that incident would have been forgotten, but apparently, Ollie had a better memory than you gave him credit for. The way Kimi had looked at you that night, the way he had said those words, had left an indelible mark on your soul. It was a secret you had been carrying around for months, like a treasure you didn't know how to unlock.

"Well," you began, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice, "it was just a friendly greeting."

Ollie's eyes searched yours, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Friendly, huh?"

"And what about when he showed you those Italian phrases that are a little less… innocent?"

You had been captivated by his accent, the way his eyes danced with mischief as he leaned in, his breath hot against your neck. "They're just… phrases," you murmured, trying to sound nonchalant.

But before Ollie could respond, a familiar Italian accent pierced the air. "Hey guys!"

Your head swiveled around to see Kimi approaching, the sun glinting off his shiny helmet. The sight of him sent an involuntary smile stretching across your face, a smile that felt as intimate as a lover's caress.

You watched as Ollie's expression morphed into one of camaraderie as he stepped forward to greet his friend. The two of them slapped palms, a silent language of respect and friendship passing between them.

As they talked, you felt Kimi's gaze on you, a warmth that spread from the pit of your stomach to the tips of your fingers.

Finally, Ollie stepped aside, and Kimi was before you, his arms open wide for an embrace. As he wrapped you in his strong hold, his mouth brushed against your ear, and he whispered, "I knew Mercedes would suit you better," his breath sending shivers down your spine.

You hugged him back, your heart racing, feeling his muscular chest against yours, the scent of his cologne mingling with the scent of burning rubber and gasoline. You felt his hand slip down your back, resting for a second longer than necessary before pulling away, leaving a trail of heat on your skin.

"I see you've decided to show some love for the competition," he said, a teasing smile playing on his full lips.

You stepped back, trying to compose yourself. "It's just a shirt," you protested, your voice barely above a whisper.

Kimi's gaze dropped to the logo on your chest, and his smile grew wicked. "Is it?" He stepped closer again, his hand reaching out to trace the outline of the Mercedes emblem with his fingertips.

Ollie cleared his throat, and you snapped out of the spell. You stepped back, trying to regain some semblance of control.

"It's just for fun," you said, your voice sounding too high-pitched even to your own ears.

Kimi's eyes searched yours, the warmth in them unmistakable. He leaned in, whispering so only you could hear, "I'm sure it is."

Ollie's gaze flicked between the two of you, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. He clapped Kimi on the back. "We've got a race to prep for," he said, the teasing note in his voice clear as crystal.

The two of them walked away, deep in conversation about setups and tire strategies, leaving you standing there, breathless and flustered.

As the day wore on, the paddock buzzed with activity. The air was thick with the scent of burning rubber and gasoline. You found yourself drawn to Kimi like a moth to a flame, unable to resist the gravitational pull of his charm. Every time you caught his eye, he'd give you a wink or a smile that made your heart flutter. It was a dance.

You watched from the garage as the cars rolled out for qualifying. The roar of the engines was a symphony, a crescendo of power and speed that made your blood sing. And there he was, Kimi, in his sleek silver Mercedes, looking every bit the god of the track that you had always imagined him to be.

He glanced up, catching your eye, and gave you a nod before climbing into the cockpit. He disappeared from view, leaving you with nothing but the sound of your own racing heart.

The hours passed in a blur of tire changes and strategy meetings. The air grew thick with the scent of sweat and grease, the tension in the garage almost tangible.

And when Kimi finally emerged, his helmet under his arm, his hair damp with sweat, you felt the world tilt on its axis.

He was fourth on the grid, a respectable position, but you knew he had the potential for so much more. You watched as he peeled off his racing suit, revealing the tight, sweat-soaked fabric of his fireproof underwear. Ollie, on the other hand, had managed to qualify in eleventh place.

As the final practice session concluded, you found yourself gravitating towards Ollie, who was surrounded by his engineers, discussing the data with a furrowed brow. You hovered at the edge of the group, trying to appear inconspicuous, but his eyes flickered up to meet yours, a question in his gaze.

You took a deep breath and stepped closer, the smell of the track clinging to him like a second scent. His eyes searched yours, and he gave you a smile that was so forced it looked like it was painted on.

"Everything okay?" you asked, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

Ollie's smile was tight, his eyes unreadable. "Yeah, just a bit of work to do before tomorrow." He stepped closer, his arm brushing against yours.

"I'm sure you'll do great," you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

Ollie nodded, but the smile he gave you was forced, a mere shadow of his usual charismatic grin. You couldn't help but notice the tightness in his jaw, the way his eyes searched yours for something unspoken. The smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Ollie," you began, reaching out to touch his arm.

He looked down at your hand, then back up at you, his eyes dark and unreadable. "You should go and celebrate with your boyfriend," he said, his voice low and gruff. "Don't worry about me. I've got work to do."

You felt a pang of guilt, the weight of his words like a stone in your stomach. "Ollie, I—"

But he cut you off with a firm shake of his head. "It's fine," he said, his voice softer now. "You two have fun. You deserve it."

The words hung in the air, a strange mix of sadness and resignation that tugged at your heartstrings. You didn't know what to say, so you just nodded, the weight of his gaze heavy on your shoulders as you turned and walked away.

You found yourself in front of the Mercedes garage, the door open just enough to reveal the gleaming silver car that was the object of so much of your desire. Kimi was there, surrounded by his own team, his eyes scanning the data screens with a focus that was both intense and mesmerizing.

You took a tentative step forward, unsure if you should join him or keep your distance. But before you could decide, he looked up, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you.

"Ciao, bella donna," Kimi said, his voice like velvet, smooth and warm.

You felt the tension in the air thicken as you stepped into the garage, the sounds of the bustling paddock fading into the background. The light caught the droplets of sweat on his face, making them sparkle like diamonds against his olive skin. You swallowed hard, your throat dry. Kimi's team members looked up, a mix of curiosity and surprise etched on their faces. You had never ventured into their sacred space before.

"I just wanted to… congratulate you," you managed to say, your voice a mere whisper in the bustling garage.

Kimi's smile grew wider, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "Grazie, tesoro," he said, his Italian rolling over you like warm honey. He stepped away from his car, closing the space between you in a heartbeat.

His hand reached for yours, his grip firm and reassuring. "Come," he said, tugging you gently towards a quieter corner of the garage. The cacophony of the paddock faded away, leaving only the sound of your own breathing and the pounding of your heart.

You followed him, your body moving on autopilot, drawn to him like a magnet to steel. The air grew thick with anticipation, a silent understanding passing between you.

"I didn't expect to see you here," Kimi said, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he leaned against the wall of his garage. The shadows played over the contours of his face, casting him in a mysterious light that only served to enhance his allure.

You felt your pulse quicken, his words sending a rush of heat through your body. "I wanted to… I mean, I just thought I should… " You stumbled over your words, your cheeks flushing as you struggled to form a coherent sentence.

He leaned closer, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. "Piano piano," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. "Take it slow."

The words were a gentle command, a whispered promise that made your heart race. You knew what he meant.

"Your hand is shaking," he observed, his voice low and soothing. "Are you nervous?"

You nodded, the admission feeling like a confession. "A little," you whispered, your eyes dropping to the ground.

Kimi's grip on your hand tightened gently. "Don't be," he said, his voice a soothing balm. "You're safe with me."

You looked up, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, the world stopped spinning. His eyes were pools of warmth, inviting you to dive in and lose yourself in their depths. You took a deep breath, feeling your chest rise and fall with the rhythm of your racing heart.

"Kimi," you breathed, his name a prayer on your lips.

He tilted his head, a question in his gaze. "Yes, tesoro?"

You swallowed hard, the word feeling both intimate and terrifying on your tongue. "I've missed you," you confessed, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

Kimi's expression softened, and he stepped closer, his thumb still stroking gentle circles on the back of your hand. "I've missed you too," he murmured, his breath fanning across your cheek.

You tried to deny the shiver that rippled through you, the way your body leaned into him without thought. "It's just been a few days," you protested, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

Kimi's smile grew wicked. "Doesn't mean I haven't thought about you," he murmured, his thumb brushing the pulse point on your wrist.

"We're just friends," you whispered, the words feeling inadequate.

Kimi’s smile grew, a knowing glint in his eye. "Friends can miss each other," he said, his voice a soft caress that seemed to wrap around you.

"It's only been a week," you thought to yourself over and over again, trying to anchor yourself to reality. A week since you last saw him, a week since stolen glances and whispered conversations in the dead of night in a small restaurant.

You tried to deny it. "It's only been a week."

Kimi chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through you. "Time is a strange thing, isn't it? Sometimes it feels like forever, sometimes like a blink. This week felt like a lifetime.” He paused, his gaze intense. “A lifetime too long."

You looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of insincerity, but all you found was raw honesty. You could see the truth in his words, the same truth that resonated within you.

Kimi looked happy to be in your presence. The way his eyes lingered on yours, the soft smile that played on his lips, the gentle touch of his hand – it all spoke volumes.

It was a happiness that both thrilled and terrified you. You knew the risks, the complications, the potential for heartbreak.

"I shouldn't be here," you said, the words a contradiction of your own desires. "Someone could see us."

Kimi shrugged, his eyes still locked on yours. "Let them. I don't care."

"But... the press, your team…" You trailed off, unable to articulate the myriad of reasons why this was wrong, why it could never work.

"Let them talk," he said, his voice resolute. "The only opinions that matter are yours… and mine."

The warmth of his hand sent a jolt through your body, a stark contrast to the cool breeze that danced around you. You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the butterflies that had taken up residence in your stomach.

"Kimi," you muttered, the syllables sticking to your tongue like honey, sweet and thick with emotion.

He leaned in, his smile widening slightly, "I promise, I'm not going to rush you for an answer now." His words were a gentle caress, a soft whisper that tickled your senses. The air between you grew charged with anticipation, the kind that made your heart skip a beat.

You felt a warmth spread from your cheeks to the tips of your ears, and your eyes searched for a hint of teasing in his gaze. But all you saw was sincerity. "But we do need to go on our next date," he continued, his voice a smooth melody that seemed to resonate with the rhythm of your own heart.

"Now?" you asked, the word slipping out before you could stop it. The question hung in the air, filled with both excitement and doubt.

"Yes, now," he grinned, taking your hand firmly in his. His touch was surprisingly warm, a stark contrast to the cool metal of the garage door as it closed behind you with a gentle clank.

You felt your pulse quicken. "But what about your debriefing?" you asked, trying to keep the excitement out of your voice.

"I finished it quickly for you, bella," Kimi winked, his use of the endearment making your heart flutter.

You couldn't believe it. The race was the talk of the town, and he had managed to slip away unnoticed. "How?" you whispered, eyes wide with astonishment.

Kimi chuckled again, his grip on your hand tightening reassuringly. "I have my ways."

The private parking lot was dimly lit, the shadows playing tricks on the shiny exteriors of the luxury vehicles. His car, a sleek sports model in a deep shade of midnight blue, stood out like a beacon in the night. The cool metal of the car door was a relief under your fingertips as he opened it for you with a flourish.

You slid into the plush leather seat, the smell of new car and faint hint of his cologne enveloping you like a comforting embrace. The engine roared to life, the vibrations thrumming through your body as he revved it up. The headlights cut through the darkness as he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the open road.

The wind in your hair was exhilarating, the city lights a blur as Kimi navigated the streets with the confidence of a seasoned racer. You couldn't help but let out a little laugh, the kind that comes from a mix of excitement and nerves.

He glanced over at you, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, his eyes never leaving the road ahead.

"Where are we even going?" you asked, the thrill of the unknown adding to the electricity in the air.

"Somewhere special," Kimi replied, his eyes flickering to the rearview mirror briefly before returning to the road.

The car's engine purring beneath you was the only sound in the quiet cab, the city's din fading as you ventured into the less-traveled streets. The anticipation grew with each passing moment, your heart racing faster than the speedometer.

Without warning, he pulled into the deserted parking lot of a quaint, old-fashioned cinema. The neon lights flickered, casting a soft glow that painted the pavement a warm shade of red. You felt your brows knit together in confusion, but before you could voice it, Kimi had brought the car to a gentle stop.

He was out of the car in a flash, rounding the hood to open your door. You took his hand, allowing him to help you out, the soles of your shoes clicking against the pavement.

As you looked around, the deserted cinema looked like a relic from another era, a stark contrast to the bustling world you had just left behind. Kimi led you inside, his stride long and confident. The lobby was empty, save for an Italian cashier with a knowing smile.

They exchanged a few words in their native tongue, and you felt a twinge of curiosity. The cashier handed over two tickets with a wink and a nod, and suddenly you realized that you weren't just any couple out for a movie.

The theater was empty, the vastness of the space swallowing up the sound of your footsteps. The screen was already lit up, the opening credits of "Mamma Mia" playing to an audience of two.

Kimi took your hand, leading you to the middle of the theater. The smell of buttered popcorn filled the air as you sat down, the plush seats seemingly made for moments like these.

"This used to be my favorite movie," Kimi murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "I think it will help you learn Italian."

You looked at him, surprised. "Italian?"

"Yes," he nodded, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "It's a movie, but the lyrics are mostly in Italian. It's a classic romance, and the music... it's like a window into our soul."

The film started, the vibrant colors and catchy tunes of "Honey, Honey" playing out before you. Kimi leaned closer, pointing out phrases here and there, whispering translations in your ear. His breath was warm against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. 

As the story unfolded, so did his own, sharing anecdotes and childhood memories that wove themselves into the fabric of the movie.

You found yourself getting lost in the music, the emotions playing out on screen mirroring the tumultuous symphony within your own chest. His hand found its way to yours, fingers intertwining comfortably. You felt your heart swell with every word he whispered, every shared smile, every beat of the Italian love songs.

The plot grew more intense, the characters' passions colliding like the waves of the sea that surrounded the fictional Greek island. Kimi's eyes never left the screen, but his grip on your hand tightened during the emotional climaxes, as if the love stories of the film were echoing his own feelings.

As the movie went on, you began to recognize the phrases he had taught you, the words rolling off your tongue almost naturally. The romance of the film filled the air, and you found yourself leaning into him, his arm around your shoulder, protective and warm.

Then, the iconic duet "The Winner Takes It All" began to play. The female and male voices intertwined, a poignant expression of love and loss. 

Kimi started to sing the male part, his voice a little too deep for the high notes, but filled with passion nonetheless. You couldn't help but laugh at his earnest attempt, the sound echoing softly in the deserted theater.

He glanced at you, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "You think you can do better?" he challenged playfully.

Emboldened by his playful teasing, you opened your mouth and sang the female part. Your voice was soft at first, tentative, but grew stronger as you found your rhythm. The melody swelled, and despite the occasional off-key notes, your harmony with Kimi grew more beautiful with each line. You could feel his smile against your hair as you sang, his chest rumbling with his own laughter.

The song ended, the screen fading to black before the lights flickered back on. The theater remained empty, the silence a gentle cushion for the emotional intensity of the moment. You both took a deep breath, the air thick with the scent of popcorn and the unspoken feelings that danced between you.

Kimi turned to face you, his eyes searching yours. "I didn't know you could sing," he said, his voice filled with wonder.

You blushed, feeling a bit self-conscious. "It's been a while," you admitted. "But I guess the right company brings it out of me."

He leaned in closer, his gaze intense. "I like bringing out the best in you," he whispered, his breath warm against your cheek. "I want to see more of it."

The movie continued, the plot unfolding with the sweetness of a blooming romance and the bitterness of misunderstandings. You found yourself lost in the story, the emotions of the characters resonating with the tumult in your own heart. 

As the film progressed, Kimi's hand slipped from yours to rest gently on your knee, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

The plot grew more complex, the characters' relationships tangling like the vines that adorned the Greek isle's landscape. You felt your chest tighten as you watched the heartbreaking scenes play out, the raw emotion on the screen mirrored in Kimi's eyes.

The film's grand finale approached, the music swelling with hope and longing. You watched as the characters faced their fears, confessed their love, and found their way back to each other.

As the final credits began to roll, the theater was bathed in the soft glow of the projector's light. You took a shaky breath, trying to ignore the butterflies that had started a frenzied dance in your stomach. "Kimi," you began, your voice barely a whisper.

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours, the question hanging in the air like a delicate thread. "That was beautiful," you continued, feeling the weight of the words on your tongue.

He nodded, his thumb still making circles on your knee. "I know," he grinned.

The theater was empty, the only sounds the distant hum of the projector and the beating of two hearts echoing through the vast space.

"Thank you," you murmured. "For this, for everything."

"It's nothing," he replied. "We're just getting started."

As you stepped out of the theater into the cool night air, you realized that it was really dark, leaving a quiet, peaceful calm in its wake. The stars twinkled above, a silent backdrop to the symphony of your racing thoughts. Kimi's hand found yours again, and you felt the promise in his grip.

The world around you was a blur as he led you to the car, the neon lights of the city reflecting in the puddles left by the rain. You slid into the passenger seat, your heart still racing from the emotional rollercoaster of the film and the intensity of the moment.

He started the car, the engine purring to life beneath you, and pulled out of the lot. The city lights danced in the side mirrors, a blur of color and movement as you left the past behind you. 

The future was unwritten, filled with possibilities and unknowns, but as you looked at Kimi, you knew that no matter what lay ahead, you had someone to navigate it with. The quiet between you was filled with unspoken words and the sweet anticipation of what was to come. The night was young, and the adventure was just beginning.

Kimi drove with the confidence of someone who knew the city like the back of his hand, the car's headlights slicing through the inky blackness of the night. The salty scent of the ocean grew stronger with each passing mile, hinting at the destination that lay ahead. 

Before you knew it, the asphalt under the tires gave way to the soft crunch of sand as he pulled into a hidden cove, the beach stretching out before you like a canvas of moonlit tranquility.

"Kimi..." you began, the question in your voice trailing off as he turned off the engine and opened your door. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore was the only music that played as you stepped out of the car.

"I wanted to give you a 'Mamma Mia' experience," he said, taking your hand and leading you down a winding path to the beach. 

The sand was cool between your toes, and the soft glow of string lights guided you to a picnic blanket laid out with a feast of Italian delights. The scent of garlic and herbs wafted through the air, mingling with the briny tang of the sea.

The picnic was set up with precision, a bottle of wine chilling in a bucket, surrounded by plates of bruschetta, cheese, and a selection of meats. 

The sight was like a scene from a movie, so perfect it was almost surreal. He had even brought a small speaker, playing the film's soundtrack at a low volume, the music a gentle serenade to the whispers of the night.

You couldn't help but smile as he pulled you into a dance, the sand shifting beneath your feet. His movements were fluid, his grip firm but gentle, guiding you through the motions with a grace that made your heart sing. 

As you danced under the stars, you felt a sense of belonging, a feeling that was as vast as the ocean that stretched out before you. His eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze making your knees wobble. 

You weren't just any girl at any beach; you were in the arms of the man who you were slowly falling for.

The music grew softer as the night deepened, the stars above seeming to hold their breath as the tension grew between you. Kimi leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "Do you want to sit?" he asked, his voice low and filled with meaning.

Nods and nods, your heart racing faster than the waves that lapped at the shore. You sat on the picnic blanket, the warmth of the sand seeping through the fabric, a stark contrast to the cold glass of wine he handed you.

You took a sip, the taste rich and full, complementing the salty air. The sound of the ocean was a gentle lullaby, the rhythm of the waves matching the beating of your heart. Kimi sat beside you, close enough that your legs brushed against each other. 

"How did you like this date, eh?" Kimi asked, his eyes searching yours. The question was a simple one, yet it held a universe of meaning.

You looked around the moonlit cove, the gentle waves whispering secrets to the shore, and back at him. "It's... perfect," you managed to say, the word feeling inadequate for the emotions swirling inside you. 

The Italian music played softly in the background, a serenade to the stars above. Kimi's smile grew, his eyes lighting up like the fireflies that danced around the beach. "I'm glad," he said, his voice a warm caress in the salty breeze.

You took another sip of the wine, the flavors blossoming on your tongue. "I didn't expect... this," you admitted, gesturing to the picnic spread.

Kimi leaned closer, his eyes searching yours. "What did you expect?"

You set the wine glass down, the tremble in your hand barely noticeable. "I don't know," you replied, a small laugh escaping your lips. "But definitely not this."

The question hovered between you, a soft echo of the waves. Kimi leaned closer, his gaze intent. "But what did you think of it?"

You took a deep breath, the briny scent of the sea mingling with the aroma of the wine and food. "It's more than I could have ever imagined," you confessed, your voice barely audible over the gentle symphony of the night. "I didn't know dates could be like this."

Kimi's smile grew, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. "And how have you been treated before?" he asked, his voice a gentle coax.

You thought back to the dates that felt like they were pulled from a cookie-cutter, the men who had tried but never quite hit the mark. "It's just... nobody has ever made me feel like I'm the only person in the world," you murmured, the words a soft confession. "It's like you see me, really see me."

Kimi's eyes searched yours, understanding flickering in their depths. "You are special," he said, his voice a gentle rumble. "You deserve to be seen, to be appreciated." He reached out, his thumb brushing away a stray hair from your face.

The touch was electric, sending a shiver down your spine. "Thank you," you whispered, the words feeling like a prayer. You had never been treated with such care, such consideration. 

The men from your past had been shadows compared to the vibrant, living color of Kimi. They had taken you to dinner, bought you flowers, whispered sweet nothings, but they had never made you feel like you were the center of their universe.

As you talked under the stars, the wind picked up, carrying with it the scent of the sea and the promise of change. The picnic had been a feast for the senses, and as the music grew softer, so too did your heart, filling with a warmth that seemed to radiate from Kimi's very soul. 

You could feel the moment drawing to a close, the inevitability of reality trying to break through the magical bubble you had created.

"Let's get you home," Kimi said finally, his voice a gentle caress. You nodded, not quite ready to let the night end but knowing that it had to. 

You helped him gather the remnants of the picnic, the plates and glasses clinking together like a sweet melody. The sand clung to your clothes, a reminder of the enchanting world you had just shared.

He drove you home, the car's headlights cutting through the night like a beacon guiding you back to the safety of the familiar.

You watched the world go by, the streetlights casting a golden glow over the city's nocturnal landscape.

When you arrived at your house, the car came to a gentle stop. The engine ticked as it cooled, the only sound in the quiet night. Kimi walked you to the door, his hand in yours, the warmth of his skin grounding you in the moment. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, the anticipation of what was to come making it difficult to breathe.

"Good night, Y/N," Kimi said, his eyes searching yours. You leaned in, placing a soft kiss on his cheek, feeling the rough stubble against your lips.

"Good night, Kimi," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. You watched as he stepped back, his eyes never leaving yours. You slid the key into the lock, the metal cold against your trembling hand. With one final look, you turned the knob, the door creaking open to reveal the warm embrace of your home.

You leaned against the door, the wood cool against your flushed cheek. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying the echoes of his words with it.

You slid down the door, the adrenaline from the night leaving your body in a rush. Your heart felt like it was racing in a marathon, each beat echoing the rhythm of the waves from the cove. 

The house was quiet, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the wall, a gentle reminder that the world didn't stop spinning just because you had found a moment of happiness. You stepped inside, the warm light of the foyer wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. 

As you closed the door, you felt a strange sense of both longing and contentment. The night had been perfect, a memory you would cherish, but now you were left with the bittersweet realization that it was over.

The door clicked shut, the sound echoing through the silent house. You leaned against it, the imprint of Kimi's hand still burned into your skin. The taste of him lingered on your lips, a sweet reminder of the promise that hung in the air. . . . .

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Every weekend, without fail, he would whisk you away to a new Italian-inspired adventure. Museums, where the air had the scent of ancient oils and the hush of reverence, became your classroom. You'd stand before paintings of rolling landscapes, Kimi pointing at the vibrant hues and insisting you name them in Italian.

It was as if he were feeding you a piece of the language with every brushstroke you took in. The cobblestone streets of the city's Little Italy echoed with your tentative words as you stumbled through phrases that once danced so effortlessly from your tongue.

The restaurants were his grandest stage. He'd select the most authentic trattorias, where the chefs had names that rolled off the tongue like the perfect pasta al dente. You'd sit at a table set with a red-checkered cloth, the aroma of garlic and tomatoes teasing your senses.

Kimi would order for you in rapid-fire Italian, his eyes gleaming with excitement as you tried to decode his words. The servers, with their genuine smiles, seemed to understand the silent struggle of your rekindling romance with their mother tongue.

They'd nod encouragingly as you fumbled through your menu, eventually pointing at a dish with a name that sounded like poetry but was just spaghetti to your unpracticed ears.

As the weeks rolled by, you began to feel a strange kinship with the language, as if it were a long-lost friend you were slowly getting reacquainted with. The frustration of forgotten vocabulary and grammar rules slowly melted away, replaced by a warm nostalgia for the days when Italian was your secret garden of words.

You started to anticipate the weekends, the thrill of the challenge growing with every mouthwatering dish and every sculpture that told a story you could almost remember. It was as though Kimi had cast a spell on you, and the incantation was the melodic cadence of his Italian commands.

One particular evening, the stars aligned. You stepped into a dimly lit enoteca, the walls lined with bottles that gleamed like jewels in the soft light.

The hum of conversation was a soothing backdrop to the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter. Kimi had a twinkle in his eye as he handed you a glass of deep red wine and told you to order

You took a sip, feeling the warmth spread through you, and then took a deep breath. "Posso avere un piatto di bruschetta, per favore?" you asked, your voice stronger than it had been in what felt like an eternity.

The waiter nodded, a knowing smile playing at his lips, and disappeared into the kitchen. As you waited, the anticipation grew, not just for the food, but for the sense of triumph that was about to be yours.

The words had come so naturally, so confidently, that you could almost believe you had never lost them at all. It was as if you had just found a key to a door you didn't know was locked.

Kimi's smile grew wider as he heard your request. "Che bella voce!" he exclaimed, raising his glass to you in a silent toast. His voice was filled with pride and joy, and his eyes sparkled like the stars outside.

"You're doing it," he whispered, leaning closer across the table. "You're bringing it back to life."

The bruschetta arrived, a plate piled high with crispy slices of bread topped with a symphony of tomatoes, basil, and mozzarella. The waiter placed it down with a flourish, the scent of garlic and balsamic vinegar wafting towards you. As you took a bite, the flavors exploded on your taste buds, transporting you to a summer evening in a small Italian piazza.

Kimi's eyes never left yours, a gentle nod of approval etched into his expression. "Anche la tua pronuncia," he said, praising your pronunciation.

His voice was a warm embrace, a gentle nudge that encouraged you to keep going. You felt a blush creep up your neck, but it was a blush of pride, not embarrassment.

You took another bite of bruschetta, savoring the tangy sweetness of the tomatoes and the creaminess of the cheese.

As you chewed, you tried to think of the next thing to say, eager to keep the conversation flowing in Italian. Kimi watched you, his gaze filled with affectionate amusement, as you wrestled with the words.

"Grazie," you said finally, the word rolling off your tongue like a well-practiced aria. "E' deliziosa."

Kimi's eyes lit up like the candle on the table between you. "Non é solo il cibo," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Ma la lingua stessa. L'italiano é come la danza. Ha il suo ritmo, la sua grazia."

You nodded, understanding what he meant. Italian was indeed like a dance, one that you were slowly learning to perform again. You felt the rhythm of the language in the way the words flowed from his lips, and the elegance in the way he moved his hands as he spoke.

As the weeks turned into months, the lessons grew more intimate. It was no longer just about the words, but the emotions behind them.

Kimi would tell you stories of his childhood in Bologna, his voice painting vivid images of the bustling markets and the warmth of his nonna's kitchen.

You found yourself falling in love with him, not just for his passion for his culture, but for the way he shared it with you. . . .

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

You were walking to Kimi's garage, the sun glaring down on the concrete, when you felt a gentle tug at your trousers. You looked down to see a shy girl, maybe eight or nine, with a sprinkle of freckles across her nose and a shy smile playing on her lips. She looked up at you with big, hopeful eyes.

"Hey there, sweetie," you said, bending down to her level. "What's up?"

The girl clutched a small, colorful bracelet in her tiny hands. It was a simple thing, woven from bits of plastic and thread, but to her, it looked like the most precious treasure in the world. "Can you give this to your boyfriend?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Confusion wrinkled your brow. "My boyfriend?" You didn't have one, at least not that you knew of.

"Yeah," she said, nodding fervently, "the one with the big car. The fast one. He's nice to me."

It dawned on you then. Kimi. You chuckled and took the bracelet. "Kimi, huh?"

The girl's cheeks turned a shade of pink that matched the plastic flowers on the bracelet. "Please," she whispered, her eyes shimmering with hope. "It's for him."

You straightened up and nodded, tucking the bracelet into your pocket with a smile. "Alright, little one. I'll make sure Kimi gets it."

Her eyes lit up, and she beamed a grin that could've powered a city. "Thank you!" she exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

With a chuckle, you then took the Mercedes hat that belonged to Kimi from your head and placed it on her head. It was a bit too big, but she didn't seem to mind. In fact, she looked like she'd just been crowned royalty.

The hat sat atop her head like a cherry on a sundae, slightly askew, with the brim casting a shadow over her freckled nose.

Her eyes grew wide with excitement, and she giggled as she felt the fabric of the hat against her forehead. "Wow!" she exclaimed, "I feel like I can drive a car now!"

With that, she dashed off, the hat bobbing comically with every step she took. You watched her until she reached a woman standing a few feet away, who looked at you with a grateful smile.

The girl threw her arms around the woman's legs and whispered something into her ear, glancing back at you. The woman looked surprised for a moment, then her gaze softened, and she nodded, glancing in the direction of the garage. She whispered something back, and the girl beamed up at you before running off.

You chuckled and continued your journey to the garage, the warmth of the sun on your back. The girl's excitement had brightened your day, and you couldn't help but wonder what Kimi would think of the bracelet.

When you arrived at the garage, the sound of a revving engine and the smell of gasoline filled the air. You walked into the cluttered space, passing by a wall of tools and a rack of greasy car parts, and all you could see were mechanics in blue jumpsuits scattered around, working tirelessly on various vehicles.

You squinted through the dusty light, looking for Kimi. There was no sign of him anywhere. You felt the heat of the engines and heard the rhythmic clinking of metal on metal, but still, he was nowhere to be found.

Then, in the corner, you spotted a glimpse of a familiar face—Bono, Kimi's race engineer, his brow furrowed in concentration. He was hunched over a table with a sheaf of papers spread out in front of him.

He had a pencil in his hand, scribbling furiously, and he looked utterly engrossed in whatever calculations he was doing.

Finally, you caught sight of Kimi. He was standing next to Bono, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression equally frustrated. The two of them were so focused on the paperwork in front of them that they hadn't noticed you yet.

You took a moment to watch them, the tension in their postures speaking volumes about their current predicament. As you approached, the sound of your footsteps echoed through the garage, and Kimi looked up.

"Looks like you have a secret admirer," you said, tossing the bracelet to him.

He caught the bracelet you tossed, and his expression grew more serious as he studied it. "What's this?" he asked, fingering the plastic threads.

"It's from a little girl," you said. "She wanted you to have it."

Kimi's eyes softened, and he looked up at you, his smile widening. "Really?"

You nodded. "She said you're nice to her one day."

Bono looked up from his calculations, his curiosity piqued by the exchange. "Everything okay?"

Kimi held up the bracelet, his grin unshakeable. "Yeah," he said. "Everything's great."

The two of you shared a look, and you could see the weight of their earlier frustration lifting. For a brief moment, the garage didn't seem so chaotic, and the only thing that mattered was the simple act of kindness captured in the plastic flowers of that bracelet.

"Well, that's sweet," Kimi said, his eyes never leaving yours. "But why did she give it to you?"

You felt a blush creep up your neck. "Um, she thought… I was your girlfriend," you admitted, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

Kimi's smile grew even wider. He looked down at the bracelet again, then back at you, his eyes filled with amusement. "Did she now?"

You nodded, your cheeks burning hotter than the engine of one of the cars in the garage. "Yeah, she thought I was your girlfriend, so she asked me to give it to you."

Kimi's eyes glinted with mischief. "And what did you tell her?"

"I just said I'd give it to you," you replied, feeling more nervous by the second.

Kimi's gaze didn't waver. "But did you tell her anything else?"

You swallowed, trying to ignore the sudden dryness in your throat. "No, nothing else," you replied, hoping your voice didn't betray the lie.

Kimi's smile grew into a full-blown grin, and he took a step closer to you, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Are you sure?"

You felt your heart flutter as his proximity sent waves of heat through your body. "Positive," you managed to say, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Well, if you're my girlfriend," he said, his voice low and teasing, "I suppose I should be giving you something, too."

With that, he took off one of his own bracelets. It was a sleek, black leather band with a silver charm that looked like a tiny car. "What are you doing?" you asked, your voice a little breathless.

"Exchanging," he said, his eyes locked onto yours. He took your hand and slid his bracelet on your wrist. The warmth of his skin lingered on your skin, making you shiver. "Now, every time I wear this, I'll think of you."

The leather felt smooth and cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat that was building within you. You looked down at the charm, your heart racing as the reality of the situation sank in.

Kimi had never made a move like this before, and you weren't quite sure how to react.

You felt your breath catch in your throat as he fastened the bracelet around your wrist. His fingers lingered for a moment, brushing against your skin, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

Your eyes remained fixed on his, the intensity of his gaze making it hard for you to look away.

Bono, who had been quietly observing the exchange, cleared his throat. "We have a revision to do, Kimi," he said, his voice cutting through the thick tension like a hot knife through butter.

Kimi's gaze didn't leave yours for a second, a silent question lingering in his eyes before he finally nodded. "Right," he murmured, his voice a bit gruff.

Bono cleared his throat again, louder this time. "Kimi," he prompted.

Kimi's eyes snapped away from yours, and he took a step back, breaking the spell. "Ah, yes," he said, his voice returning to its usual, business-like tone. "We do have a revision to do."

You watched as he turned to Bono, the bracelet on your wrist a constant reminder of the moment that had just passed between you. Bono gave you a knowing look before focusing back on his papers.

You felt a strange sense of calm while KImi was stressing over maths. Numbers danced in your head, equations unfolding like graceful dancers in a silent ballet. You knew calculus. You understood it in a way Kimi never would.

"I just… I don't get it," Kimi groaned, running a hand through his already messy hair. His brow was furrowed in frustration as he stared at a page filled with integrals, the nemesis of his academic existence.

"It's like trying to understand a language no one speaks," Kimi muttered, pushing the textbook away.

You stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, the warmth of his skin seeping through his shirt and into your palm. "Let me take a look," you offered, your voice soothing.

Kimi hesitated before handing over the book with a defeated sigh. You sat beside him, the scent of engine oil and sweat mingling with the faint aroma of his cologne—a surprisingly pleasant combination that you'd come to associate with the garage.

The pages of the book fell open, revealing the tangled web of formulas that had him so flustered.

"It's not that hard," you assured him, leaning closer so that your bodies touched. "It's just a matter of practice."

Kimi sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I know, but it's just not sticking."

"I could teach you if you wanted?" you offered tentatively, glancing at both Kimi and Bono.

Bono's eyes shot up from the paperwork he had been engrossed in, and a look of relief washed over his face. "Yes, please," he said, his voice a mix of hope and desperation. "Anything to get this little gremlin to understand calculus."

Kimi rolled his eyes playfully, but you could see the hint of gratitude in them. He leaned back in his chair, his muscular arms flexing as he did so, and gestured to the open textbook.

"Be my guest," he said with a smile, his gaze lingering on your hand that still rested on his shoulder.

Bono looked up from his paperwork, his expression a mix of hope and skepticism. "If you can get him to pass this class, I'll owe you one," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of challenge.

You took the textbook into your hands, feeling the weight of the responsibility, but also a thrill at the prospect of being able to help Kimi in a way that was uniquely yours. "Let's start with the basics," you suggested, turning to the first chapter.

As you delved into the world of derivatives and integrals, you found yourself enjoying the process of explaining concepts to him. His eyes would light up when he understood something, and the way his brows furrowed when he was concentrating was endearing.

You felt a strange sense of intimacy, not just because of your physical proximity, but because you were sharing a piece of yourself with him that you had never shared with anyone else.

Kimi's mind was sharp when it came to cars—he could dismantle and reassemble an engine faster than you could recite the alphabet. But math? It was his Achilles' heel.

You found yourself getting lost in his eyes as you explained the rules of calculus, the gentle slope of his cheekbones, and the way his bottom lip pouted slightly when he was confused. . . .

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The faint scent of fresh ink and paper filled the room as you meticulously scrutinized Kimi's Maths homework, the soft whispers of the words dancing in the air like an intimate serenade. The bracelet he had given you weeks ago jingled with every turn of the page, a delicate reminder of the secret bond you shared.

"That's my brother's favorite bracelet," said a sweet, unfamiliar voice, piercing the silence like a softly played note on a violin.

Looking up from the academic tapestry laid before you, your gaze fell upon the speaker. A girl, no older than thirteen, with a cascade of long brown hair that shimmered under the muted lamplight, and eyes so deep and rich they could have been pockets of pure, untouched chocolate, stared back at you.

Her smile was a mirror of Kimi's, but there was an innocence in it that made your heart flutter like a caged bird discovering an open window.

"Really?" you replied, your voice a cocktail of surprise and curiosity. "How do you know?"

The girl leaned in closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I've seen him wear it a hundred times," she confessed, her voice a gentle caress on the silence. "But he said he gave it to you."

Her revelation hung in the air, thick with the anticipation of an unspoken question. You felt your cheeks flush, the warmth spreading from your core like wildfire. The bracelet grew heavier on your wrist, a silent testament to the secret you'd been keeping from everyone, including yourself.

"Is... is that okay?" you stuttered, fidgeting with the delicate trinket. The girl's eyes searched yours, a mix of amusement and something you couldn't quite place. "I mean, I didn't know it was his favorite."

She giggled, a sound so pure it could have been the tinkling of wind chimes on a perfect summer evening. "Don't worry," she assured you, "I think he's happy you're wearing it. It looks good on you."

"I'm Maggie, by the way. Kimi's little sister."

"Oh, it's nice to finally meet you, Maggie," you managed to say, trying to compose yourself. "Your brother's been helping me with Italian."

Maggie's smile grew wider, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Ah, yes," she said, her voice a melodious symphony of knowing and innocence. "Kimi's always had a knack for languages. And for helping people, too."

You swallowed hard, the weight of her words sinking in. The bracelet grew warmer, a silent pulsation that seemed to echo the rhythm of your racing heart. "He's been amazing," you confessed, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice. "He's really patient with me."

Maggie nodded sagely, her smile unwavering. "He always has been," she said. "But I've noticed a different kind of spark in his eyes when he talks about you."

You felt a strange mix of excitement and trepidation coil in your stomach. "He talks about me?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Maggie nodded, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "All the time," she said, her words a gentle tease. "He tells me how much you've been improving, how much he enjoys your company."

Your heart skipped a beat, the warmth from the bracelet spreading up your arm like a lover's caress. "Really?" you murmured, trying to keep the hope from bubbling over into your voice.

Maggie nodded emphatically, her youthful exuberance infectious. "Yeah!" she exclaimed, her cheeks dimpling. "He says you're the best student he's ever had."

You couldn't help the chuckle that bubbled up from your chest, a warm, velvety sound that seemed to resonate through the room. "I think I'm the only student he's ever had," you said, the words tumbling out with an ease that surprised even you.

Maggie's laughter joined yours, a sweet harmony that filled the air with the lightness of feathers dancing on a summer breeze. "You're probably right," she admitted, her eyes shining with affection for her brother.

Then, as if on cue, a shadow fell over the two of you, and a familiar, playful voice rang out, "Hey! That's mean from both of you! Especially you, sorellina!"

You turned to find Kimi standing beside you, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. You looked up into his eyes, and the world around you melted away into a pool of molten chocolate, rich and deep.

"I've taught Ollie Italian too," Kimi added, a smug grin playing on his full lips.

Maggie rolled her eyes and playfully swiped at her brother. "Yeah, but you didn't give him a bracelet!"

Kimi's grip on your shoulders tightened slightly, his eyes dropping to the bracelet on your wrist. "It's just a little something," he said, his voice a soft rumble that seemed to resonate through your very being. "A small token of friendship."

"Kim told me you're Italian," Maggie asked, her curiosity piqued. "Is that true?"

You looked into her eager eyes, feeling the warmth of Kimi's hands on your shoulders, his presence a comforting embrace that seemed to bolster your courage. "Yes," you admitted, your voice a soft caress. "My mother's side of the family is from a small town outside of Verona."

Maggie's eyes widened with excitement. "Really?" she squealed, her voice a delightful trill. "That's so cool! Do you speak Italian fluently?"

You nodded, a warm smile playing on your lips as you felt Kimi's hands tense ever so slightly. "I used to," you admitted. "But it's been a while. That's why I've been asking Kimi for help."

Kimi's thumb stilled for a moment before resuming its gentle dance on your skin. "Well, it's definitely coming back to you," he said, his voice a soothing balm to the nerves that had suddenly taken up residence in your belly.

"It's all thanks to you," you replied, the words slipping out like a sigh of contentment. You felt a thrill rush through you as his eyes searched yours for a moment longer than necessary, his gaze lingering on your mouth before dropping back to the bracelet.

The sudden, unexpected announcement crackled over the intercom, jolting you both out of the intimate moment. "Attention, all drivers," the disembodied voice called out, "please report to your designated garage immediately."

Kimi's eyes snapped to the clock on the wall, his expression a mix of surprise and excitement. "The race," he murmured, his thumbs ceasing their gentle exploration of your skin. "It's starting sooner than I thought."

"Can I watch with y/n?" Maggie's voice was a breath of fresh air, filled with excitement and innocent curiosity. The question hung in the air, a delicate thread connecting the three of you in a way you hadn't anticipated.

Kimi's eyes lit up with an idea, his grip on your shoulders loosening as he stepped away. "Why don't you?" he suggested, turning to face you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "It'll be like a little reunion, and maybe she can even help me teach you some Italian."

You felt your heart race as you looked from Kimi to Maggie and back again, the warmth from their gazes a gentle embrace that seemed to melt away the barriers you had so carefully constructed around your feelings.

"I'd love that," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "It'll be like a miniature Italian lesson."

Maggie's eyes lit up like stars in the night sky, and she clapped her hands together. "Yay!" she exclaimed, her youthful exuberance infectious.

Kimi leaned in to whisper into your ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine. "Okay, I'll leave you two beauties to it," he said. "But remember, I expect full reports of your language lessons later."

His lips curled into a knowing smile as he pulled away, his eyes holding yours for a heartbeat longer than necessary. "And please, take care of each other."

With those words hanging in the air like a seductive promise, Kimi turned and strutted out of the room, his confidence a palpable force that seemed to electrify the very air around him, leaving you alone with his sister again.

Maggie's gaze followed him, her eyes filled with a mix of adoration and something else, something that looked suspiciously like mischief. "So," she said, turning to you with a knowing smile, "do you like my brother?"

The question hung in the air, a delicate thread of curiosity that seemed to tug at the fabric of the room itself. You felt your heart race, the warmth from Kimi's touch still lingering on your skin like a lover's brand.

"Kimi?" you asked, playing coy despite the heat that flooded your cheeks. "He's a good teacher," you managed, your voice a soft caress that seemed to resonate with the vibrations of your racing pulse.

Maggie's eyes danced with mirth as she sat down beside you, her youthful energy a stark contrast to the intensity that had filled the room moments ago. "I know," she said, her voice a gentle purr. "But do you like him?"

"Maggie," you began, choosing your words with the same care you would a delicate pastry at an Italian café, "Kimi is more than just a good teacher to me."

Her smile grew wider, her eyes gleaming with the excitement of an untold secret. "I knew it," she whispered, her voice a conspiratorial giggle that tickled your ear. "He talks about you all the time, you know. Like you're some kind of... I dunno, Italian goddess or something."

Your cheeks burned with a blush that could have rivaled the sunset over the Tuscan countryside. "He does?" you whispered back, your voice a tremulous note in the symphony of emotions that played within you.

Maggie nodded eagerly. "All the time," she said, her eyes sparkling like the stars in an Italian summer night. "He says you have a way of making him feel alive, like nothing he's ever felt before."

The words hung in the air, thick with the promise of something more. You felt your heart race, the thrill of his confession echoing in your very soul. "Really?" you murmured, the tremble in your voice belying the tumult of emotions within you.

Maggie nodded, her eyes shining with the excitement of a conspirator. "He says you make him feel like he's home when you're around," she revealed, her voice a whispered secret that seemed to resonate through the very fabric of the room.

"And you know what?" she leaned closer, her breath a sweet scent of mint and youthful innocence, "I think he might have a crush on you."

The words hit you like a gentle gust of wind, sending a shiver of excitement down your spine. You felt your pulse quicken, the blood rushing through your veins like a river of liquid fire.

"Yeah," you said, trying to keep the excitement from your voice as you began to gather up the scattered pages of Kimi's homework. "Enough gossiping. We have to meet up with your parents to watch the race."

Maggie's smile grew even brighter, her eyes lighting up with the excitement of an impending adventure. "I know, I know," she said, bouncing to her feet with the grace of a gazelle.

Together, you walked to Kimi's garage, the sound of your heels clicking against the pavement a steady rhythm that seemed to sync with the beating of your heart.

As you approached the garage, you saw Kimi and Maggie's parents deep in conversation, their heads tilted towards one another as they spoke in hushed tones.

They were an elegant couple, evident in the sharpness of their features and the warmth of their skin. The mother, a svelte woman with hair as dark as a moonless night, looked up and noticed you first, her eyes lighting up with a smile that was as welcoming as a warm embrace.

"Ah, you must be the one Kimi's been speaking so fondly of," she said, her Italian accent wrapping around the words like a velvet ribbon.

Her voice was like the sound of a cappuccino machine in a quiet café, a comforting hum that seemed to resonate within your very being. She stepped forward, her arms opening to envelop you in a warm hug that smelled faintly of gardenias.

"It's so nice to finally meet you," she said, her accent a siren's call that seemed to weave a spell of comfort and belonging around you. You felt your muscles relax into the embrace, the warmth of her touch seeping into your very bones.

Kimi's father, a man built like a statue chiseled from the very marble that adorned the ancient Italian cities, looked up from his conversation with a proud smile. His eyes, so much like Kimi's, sparkled with the same mischief that you had come to know so well.

"Mamma, Papà, this is..." Maggie paused, a hint of shyness coloring her voice.

"Yes, yes," Kimi's mother interjected, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "We know who she is. Kimi has told us so much about you," she said, her smile reaching out to you like a warm hand. "We're so happy to finally meet the one who has stolen our son's heart."

You felt your own heart stutter in your chest at her words, the warmth of her embrace spreading through you like the first sip of a fine wine. "Signora," you began, your voice a soft crescendo of nerves and excitement, "I don't know what Kimi has been telling you..."

But she waved a hand, her smile a gentle dismissal of your modesty. "Ah, ah," she said, her eyes twinkling, "we know our son. He doesn't speak of just anyone like this."

Her words were a warm embrace that seemed to melt away your doubt, leaving you feeling both vulnerable and exhilarated.

Kimi's parents noticed your arrival, their conversation with themselves trailing off as they turned to face you. The love and pride in their gazes was unmistakable, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that had grown between you and their son.

"Ciao," Kimi's father boomed, his deep voice a warm baritone that seemed to fill the garage. He stepped forward, extending a hand that was rough from years of working the cars. "I am Marco," he said, his grip firm and reassuring as you took his hand.

You felt a jolt of something unnameable as your skin met his, the heat of his touch a stark contrast to the cool metal of the garage. His handshake was firm but gentle, a silent promise that you were now a part of their world.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Antonelli," you replied, your voice a soft symphony of nerves and excitement.

Marco's eyes twinkled with mirth as he released your hand. "Call me Marco," he said, his voice a warm bass that seemed to resonate through the garage. "And this," he continued, turning to Kimi, "is the young lady you've been keeping from us?"

Kimi strolled over from his small meeting with Bono, his race engineer, his strides long and purposeful, his eyes lighting up as they landed on you. He was a vision in his fireproof suit, the fiery emblem of the Mercedes team blazing across his chest like a declaration of war.

"Ciao, bella," Kimi greeted, his Italian rolling off his tongue like a lover's caress. His eyes were a tempest of emotions, a mix of excitement for the race and something deeper, something that seemed to resonate in the very air between you.

Marco's smile grew wider as he stepped back, his gaze flicking from you to Kimi and back again, as if he could see the unspoken conversation passing between the two of you.

"We must go," he said, his voice a gentle nudge towards the reality that awaited outside the garage. "The race will begin soon."

Kimi's eyes remained on yours for a moment longer, a silent question lingering in the air. Then, with a nod that seemed to convey a world of unspoken answers, he turned to his father. "Yes, Papà," he said, his voice a rich timbre that seemed to resonate with the anticipation of the race.

He leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to his mother's cheek. "Ciao, Mamma," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. "I'll make you proud today."

Her smile was like a warm embrace as she patted his cheek. "We know you will," she said, her voice filled with a love that seemed to echo through the garage.

You watched as the family shared a moment, feeling like an outsider peering in on a private dance.

Marco slapped his son's back, the sound echoing in the garage like a gunshot. "Vai avanti," he said, a mix of pride and urgency in his voice. "You're going to be late."

Kimi nodded, his eyes still locked on yours, the unspoken promise of something more burning in their depths. He took a step back, the heat of his gaze a palpable force that seemed to cling to your skin like a second skin.

"Vincere per me," you said, the words rolling off your tongue with surprising ease. It was a declaration of intent, a promise that you would win the race, not just for yourself, but for him.

Kimi grinned, his teeth flashing white against the tanned skin of his cheeks. "Of course, bella," he replied, the endearment slipping out as naturally as if you had been lovers for a lifetime.

The warmth of his smile seemed to fill the garage, casting a spell that made everything else fade into the background. His eyes searched yours, a silent conversation passing between you that spoke of desires and promises unspoken.

Kimi's movements were fluid as he slid into the cockpit of his sleek, silver Mercedes, his body melding with the machine as if they were one.

The sound of the engine roaring to life was like the crescendo of an orchestra, a symphony of power and passion that seemed to resonate through every atom of the air. You felt the vibrations in your chest, a thrumming beat that echoed the rhythm of your heart.

He flashed you one last smile, the kind that could make the sun jealous, and then he was gone, speeding away into the bowels of the circuit like a bullet released from a chamber.

You stood with Kimi's family the whole race, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. The grandstand was a sea of faces, a tapestry of colors, all united in their love for speed and the thrill of the chase.

Maggie's hand was a small, warm presence in yours, her excitement palpable, a heartwarming reminder of the innocence and purity that often accompanied youth.

As the checkered flag waved, the air was pierced by a roar that seemed to shake the very foundation of the grandstand.

"And for the first time, Kimi Antonelli reaches a podium position!" the commentator's voice boomed through the speakers, sending a wave of euphoria crashing over the crowd. The words echoed in your ears, a sweet symphony of triumph and vindication.

Kimi's parents erupted into cheers, their faces a canvas of unbridled joy as they leaped to their feet. Marco's deep baritone laughter rumbled through the air, his eyes shining with the pride of a man who had seen his son conquer the world.

His wife clutched her chest, her eyes brimming with tears of happiness as she watched her little boy, now a man, stand tall on the podium.

Maggie's hand in yours grew tighter, her nails digging into your palm as she bounced up and down with excitement. The vibrations of her energy seemed to resonate through your body, mingling with the thundering applause that filled the grandstand.

As the race concluded, the whole team, a blur of silver and black, sprinted towards the parc ferme, where Kimi's car would come to a majestic stop in front of the third-place podium.

The sound of their footsteps was a cacophony of victory, each step a declaration of their collective triumph. You watched, transfixed, as the mechanics and engineers, their faces a mix of exhaustion and elation, gathered around Kimi's car like bees to honey.

The car, a gleaming silver streak, pulled up to the sign, and the crowd's roar grew deafening as Kimi emerged, a modern-day gladiator stepping out of his metal chariot.

He raised his visor, revealing eyes that shone with the fierce light of a thousand suns. His helmet was plucked off, and his sweat-dampened hair stood on end, a testament to the battle he had just won.

The scent of victory, a heady mix of burning rubber and adrenaline, wafted over the team as they congregated around him. Kimi's eyes scanned the sea of faces, and the moment he spotted you and his family, a grin as wide as the Italian coastline split his face.

He was quick to spot you all, and with a bound fueled by the elation of his victory, he sprinted over, his heart hammering in his chest with excitement and love.

As he neared, the warmth of his presence washed over you, like a gentle Tuscan breeze that brought with it the promise of a summer's evening spent under the stars. His eyes danced from you to Maggie and back again, the love and pride in them a beacon that could guide ships lost at sea.

HIs father was the first to reach Kimi, his arms enveloping his son in a hug that seemed to hold the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

The fabric of Kimi's fireproof suit crunched as his father's embrace tightened, a silent declaration of the bond that had been forged over a lifetime of shared passions and dreams. You watched as Marco whispered something into Kimi's ear, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate with the very essence of pride.

Next was Kimi's mother, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears as she stepped into the fold of their embrace. Her slender hands rested on Kimi's shoulders, her touch as gentle as the stroke of a feather, yet it seemed to hold him as firmly as any steel embrace.

As she pulled back, she reached for you, her eyes searching yours with a knowing look that seemed to speak of shared secrets and quiet understandings.

Then, it was Maggie's turn. She launched herself into Kimi's arms, her small frame enveloped by his broad chest. Her giggle was a sweet symphony that seemed to hold the very essence of joy.

His arms tightened around her, and you saw the softness in his gaze, a tenderness that was reserved only for those who held his heart.

As she stepped back, her eyes met yours, and she winked, a knowing glint in her gaze. You felt the heat of his stare on you.

And then, there you were, standing before him, the world around you a blur of color and sound. Your heart was a drum in your chest, the rhythm of it echoing the roar of the engines that had just fallen silent.

Kimi stepped away from his family, the warmth of their embrace lingering on him like the scent of their homemade pasta sauce. His eyes locked onto yours, the depth of his gaze a promise that had been simmering since the first time you'd met.

"Bella," he murmured, his voice a velvet caress that seemed to wrap around you like a warm blanket.

His arms encircled you, pulling you into a tight embrace that seemed to banish the rest of the world. You felt the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart, the scent of his sweat and adrenaline a potent aphrodisiac that made your knees weak.

Hiding your face in the crook of his neck, you inhaled deeply, allowing his scent to fill your lungs and your soul. It was a scent that was uniquely Kimi, a blend of engine oil, leather, and victory.

You didn't dare look up, fearful that the paparazzi lurking just outside the garage would capture the intimacy of this moment and twist it into some salacious headline.

You knew the price of fame, the way it could devour relationships, turning the purest of moments into the fodder for tabloid frenzies.

So, you held onto him, your eyes closed, your heart racing, as you silently prayed that the world would swirl on without noticing the two of you standing there, entangled in a dance of passion and friendship.

The scent of his neck was intoxicating, a blend of cologne and sweat that spoke of his fiery spirit and the intense physicality of the race. It was a scent that was uniquely his, a scent that had been burned into your memory the first time you had been this close to him.

You felt his heart hammering against your chest, a wild, untamed stallion galloping in time with yours.

"Hai vinto nel mio cuore," you murmured into his ear, the words a soft, secret whisper that seemed to resonate through his very soul.

His embrace tightened for a fraction of a second, the muscles in his arms flexing as he held you closer. It meant 'you won in my heart'.

The warmth of his body seemed to seep into yours, a gentle warmth that spread through you like honey on warm bread.

His chest was a wall of solid, unyielding muscle against which your soft curves melded like wax. You felt his heart, beating a staccato rhythm that matched the tempo of your own.

Kimi's chuckle rumbled in his chest, the vibrations sending delightful shivers down your spine. "Only in your heart, bella?" He leaned back slightly, his eyes searching yours, a playful smile dancing across his lips.

"Well," you replied, the words slipping out with the ease of a warm summer breeze, "you've certainly won my respect and admiration today."

Kimi's smile grew, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that made you want to kiss them. "That's a start," he murmured, his voice a soft caress that seemed to stroke the very fabric of your being.

With a gentle nudge, he stepped back, allowing you to breathe. His eyes never left yours as he turned to his team, his voice a mix of gratitude and adrenaline.

The team responded with cheers and slaps on the back, their faces a kaleidoscope of nationalities and emotions, all bound together by the shared victory.

You watched as Kimi moved from one person to the next, his voice a crescendo of gratitude as he thanked each member of his team, his words a balm to their weary souls.

His touch was a gentle reassurance that they were all part of something greater than themselves, a symphony of precision and passion that had just played out on the track.

Each mechanic, engineer, and support staff member beamed under his praise, their eyes shining with the light of a thousand suns.

The garage was a maelstrom of activity around you, yet all you could focus on was the way Kimi's hands moved, the way his fingers danced as he spoke, the way his eyes crinkled with every genuine smile he offered.

The warmth of his skin was still imprinted on yours, and you felt a sudden, overwhelming need to touch him again. The bracelet on your wrist felt like a lifeline connecting you to him, a tangible symbol of the secret bond you shared. . . .

The next week arrived swiftly, bringing with it the Imola Grand Prix, a momentous occasion for him as it marked his first time racing on home soil. A wave of anticipation washed over him as he prepared for the event, fueled by the desire to perform well in front of his countrymen. He knew the pressure would be immense, but he was determined to channel that energy into a strong and memorable performance.

The roar of the crowd was a distant hum, a white noise Kimi barely registered. He was in the zone, a place where the world narrowed down to the vibration of the steering wheel in his hands, the precise pressure of his foot on the accelerator, and the dance between man and machine that defined his life.

He was in the lead. Again.

The words felt foreign, almost unbelievable. Kimi, leading a Grand Prix. It wasn't a common occurrence in his career, a fact that gnawed at him more than he let on. But today, the stars were aligning in a way that felt almost…surreal.

Max had crashed spectacularly with Hamilton, sending sparks and debris flying across the track. Lando was nursing some kind of brake issue, forced to bleed speed into every corner.

Oscar, usually a consistent threat, was struggling with pace, falling further and further behind. One by one, the obstacles had fallen away, leaving Kimi alone at the front.

“Mate, everything is going well, you can win this!” Bono’s voice crackled in his ear, a burst of static in the otherwise focused silence of the cockpit.

Kimi didn't respond. He didn't need the encouragement. He could feel it. The car was responding perfectly. The tires were holding. The gap was growing. He just wanted to finish the race. He just wanted to see you.

He pictured you, sitting nervously in the team garage, your fingers twisting a stray strand of hair around your finger. He knew how much this meant to you, how you'd believed in him even when he'd started to doubt himself.

Your unwavering faith was a constant source of strength, a gentle push in the back when he felt like the weight of the world was pressing down.

That first time you'd tried to learn Italian with Duolingo, you'd been adorably lost. The way your cheeks had flushed when you'd confidently pronounced 'ciao' as 'choa' had made him laugh until his sides hurt.

But it was the determination in your eyes as you'd looked at him for correction that had made him realize he had feelings for you. It was the spark of curiosity, the hunger to learn and grow that mirrored his own passion for racing.

You understood the pressure he was under, the relentless scrutiny, the constant demands of sponsors and team bosses.

You saw past the stoic facade to the man beneath, the man who loved to cook, who enjoyed long walks in the woods, who valued loyalty and honesty above all else.

And somewhere along the way, that understanding had blossomed into something more. A quiet, comfortable love that grounded him, that gave him a reason to keep pushing, even when the races were tough and the defeats were crushing.

Now, with the finish line in sight, that love was his driving force. He wanted to win this for you. To prove to you, and to himself, that he still had it in him. That he could still stand on that top step of the podium and feel the spray of champagne on his face.

Lap after lap, he maintained his lead, his focus unwavering. He ignored Bono’s constant updates, the times of the cars behind him, the changing wind conditions. It was all background noise. All that mattered was the track ahead, the next corner, the next braking point.

He pushed the car to its limits, knowing that a single mistake could cost him everything. He felt the tires begin to degrade, the car starting to slide slightly in the corners, but he held his nerve, adjusting his driving style to compensate.

He could see the checkered flag now, a blur of black and white in the distance. A surge of adrenaline coursed through him, a feeling he hadn't experienced in years. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles white, and pushed the accelerator to the floor.

The roar of the engine filled his ears as he crossed the finish line, the crowd erupting in a frenzy of cheers. He had done it. He had won.

He slowed the car down, pulling into the designated area, his heart pounding in his chest. The relief was overwhelming, a wave of emotion that threatened to spill over.

He unbuckled his harness, his hands shaking slightly, and climbed out of the cockpit.

The moment his feet hit the ground, the frenzy began. His team rushed towards him, yelling, pushing against the fence that held them up.

They were a sea of color, a blur of faces and hands reaching for him. He could see the raw excitement in their eyes, the unbridled joy that came from victory.

Kimi took a deep breath, the sweet scent of burnt rubber and gasoline mingling with the cool air. He felt the heat of the car behind him, a testament to the fierce battle he'd just fought. The fence groaned under the pressure of his ecstatic team, their voices a cacophony of congratulations and relief.

"Kimi, Kimi!" They chanted his name like a war cry, their faces flushed and eyes gleaming with excitement. He couldn't help but smile, a rare occurrence on the podium, as he approached the barricade.

Through the chaos of the celebration, his eyes searched for you. Finally, they found you, standing apart from the rest, your face a portrait of shock and disbelief. He could see your chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, your eyes wide and shining with unshed tears.

He broke free from the crush of his team, his legs feeling like lead but propelled by the magnetic pull of your presence.

You looked so beautiful, your hair disheveled from the wind, your cheeks flushed with excitement. He couldn't help but feel a surge of pride as he approached you, the roar of the crowd a testament to his triumph.

His family, always his first priority, were right beside you. He saw his mother's eyes, filled with the kind of pride that could only come from a mother's love, and his father's firm nod, a silent acknowledgment of a job well done. Maggie, her face a mix of awe and admiration, ready to embrace him.

Kimi stepped through the barricade, the world around him fading into the background. His gaze remained locked on yours as he approached, his heart swelling with every step.

He threw his arms around his mother and father first, feeling the warm embrace of their love envelop him like a warm blanket. They had been there since the start, supporting him through every high and low, and their pride was palpable as they held him tight.

"You did it, son," his father whispered in his ear, his voice gruff with emotion.

Kimi pulled back, his eyes shining with unshed tears as he looked at his parents. The love and support reflected in their faces was the ultimate prize.

He hugged his mother tightly, her familiar scent of lavender and sunscreen bringing him comfort amidst the overwhelming chaos of the race. She kissed his cheek, her warmth seeping into his bones.

His father's embrace was firm, a silent nod of respect and understanding of the beast that was racing, and the battles that came with it.

Maggie was next, her arms wrapping around him with a fierceness that surprised him. Her perfume, a blend of vanilla and jasmine, filled his senses as she whispered congratulations into his ear.

The bond they shared was strong, unyielding, and had only grown stronger through the years. They had been through so much together, and her belief in him had never wavered.

He held her for a moment longer, feeling the tremble in her body as she fought back tears. The emotion of the moment was almost too much to handle, but he knew he had to keep it together. This was for them, for all the sacrifices they had made.

"Your girlfriend was cheering for you the whole time," Maggie muttered into his shoulder, her voice thick with emotion.

He whispered back to Maggie, "She's not my girlfriend yet," his voice low and filled with a hint of mischief.

Maggie pulled back, her eyes searching his, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Yet?" she echoed, raising an eyebrow.

Kimi couldn't help but chuckle, the sound lost in the din of the celebration. He knew what she was implying, but now was not the time to explore that particular avenue of thought.

He had to find you, to share this moment with you, to show you that you were his inspiration, the reason he had pushed so hard.

He broke away from the embrace, his gaze finding yours once again. The distance between them closed in a heartbeat, the electricity of the moment crackling in the air like a live wire. You were frozen in place, your eyes wide and unblinking, as if you couldn't quite believe what was happening.

You looked at him, your eyes brimming with joy, and before you could say a word, he pulled you into his arms. Your body melded into his, fitting perfectly as if it had been made to be there.

His heart raced as he felt your softness pressed against him, the warmth of your embrace a stark contrast to the harshness of the race.

Kimi's hands slid down your back, feeling the curve of your hips and the gentle give of your body beneath your clothes. His fingers found purchase in the fabric of your shirt, his palms feeling the heat of your skin, the tension of your muscles as you held onto him.

You buried your face into his neck, inhaling deeply the scent of his sweat and victory, a heady mix that sent shivers down your spine.

"Thank you," he murmured into your hair, the vibration of his voice sending a thrill through your body. "Thank you for believing in me."

You pulled back, your eyes searching his, looking for any trace of doubt. But all you found was the unbridled passion of a man who had conquered his demons and emerged victorious. "You did it," you whispered, your voice trembling.

He took a deep breath. "May I… can I kiss…"

Before he could finish the question, before doubt could solidify in his mind, you leaned forward. Your lips met his, a soft, hesitant pressure at first, then deepening as he responded.

The rain seemed to fade, the fairy lights blurred, and suddenly, the world was just the two of them, a connection forged in a stolen moment.

The sensations in Kimi's stomach were a swirl of butterflies, a tornado of excitement and anticipation. It was a feeling he knew well from racing, but this was different.

This was a victory of the heart, a win that didn't come with a podium or a trophy, but with the sweet taste of your mouth and the feel of your breath mingling with his own.

Your lips were like a soft pillow, welcoming and familiar, yet charged with an electricity that sent currents through his body. He felt your breath hitch as you deepened the kiss, your hands tentatively moving to his shoulders, then sliding up his neck to tangle in his hair.

It was as if you were trying to hold onto him, afraid that if you didn't, he would vanish into the ether of the moment.

Unfortunately, you pulled back, your eyes searching his with a sudden shyness that was as endearing as it was surprising. His heart skipped a beat as he watched the color rise in your cheeks, the way your gaze darted from his mouth to his eyes and back again.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, feeling a little out of breath, your heart racing from the intensity of the moment. "I shouldn't have—"

But Kimi silenced your protests with a gentle shake of his head. "No," he whispered, his voice a hoarse rumble against your ear. "You're exactly what I needed."

You hadn't meant to kiss him. It was an impulse, a reckless, beautiful mistake. Now, you just had to figure out what to do next.

"You should probably go to your interview," you murmured against his ear, your voice a soft caress as you tried to pull away. But his arms tightened around you, holding you in place.

Kimi's grip was firm but gentle, his hands warm and reassuring on your back as he held you close. "I know," he whispered, his breath hot on your skin. "But I don't want to let you go."

"I promised we'll speak," you said, the words slipping out before you had a chance to think.

"Okay," Kimi grumbled, his arms reluctantly releasing you. His eyes searched yours, a silent question hanging in the air.

"Yes, we'll talk," you assured him, your voice steady despite the tumult of emotions inside you. You stepped back, trying to regain some semblance of composure, the feel of his arms around you still lingering like a warm embrace.

Kimi nodded, his eyes never leaving yours, a promise in them that this was far from over.

He stepped back, allowing the press of his team to guide him towards the podium. The flash of cameras and the cacophony of voices grew louder as he approached, but all he could hear was the echo of your heartbeat in his ears.

The interview went by in a blur, questions about his strategy and the race's pivotal moments that felt almost trivial compared to the tumultuous symphony of emotions playing out between you and him.

Yet, he answered with the grace of a seasoned champion, his mind still reeling from your kiss.

Each word was a battle to focus, his eyes straying to the spot where he knew you were standing, holding onto Maggie for support.

The podium ceremony was a whirlwind, a flurry of flashing lights and applause. As the Italian national anthem played, Kimi felt a strange disconnect, his thoughts racing to the conversation you had promised.

He watched as the trophy was hoisted high, the gleaming silver a stark contrast to the vivid colors of the setting sun. The weight of it in his hands was a reminder of what he had achieved, but it was your eyes that he sought, your approval that he craved.

He looked down at the sea of faces, a blend of sponsors, team members, and fans. And there you were, nestled among them, holding onto Maggie like a lifeline.

She looked up at him, her smile proud and knowing, giving him a subtle nod of encouragement. You were a vision, your hair a wild mane in the breeze, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and your grip on Maggie's hand a silent declaration of your own victory.

The Italian fans had gone wild. The air was thick with the scent of their excitement, a potent mix of sweat, passion, and victory.

They yelled and screamed, waving flags and banners, their voices a symphony of pride and jubilation. They were his countrymen, and their roars of approval were music to his ears.

Kimi looked out into the stands, his heart swelling with emotion. The tifosi, the Italian fans, were a force unto themselves. They were notorious for their unyielding support of their own, and tonight, they were in full voice.

He could see the undulating sea of red, white, and green, a tapestry of love and national pride that stretched as far as the eye could see.

The podium was a cacophony of noise as the champagne bottles were popped, the sound echoing through the air like a string of mini explosions.

The golden liquid arced through the sky, catching the last rays of the setting sun and casting a shimmering shower of light that bathed the podium in an ethereal glow.

The moment the podium interviews ended, Kimi was whisked away to the cooldown room, his body still humming with the high of victory.

He could feel the adrenaline slowly ebbing away, leaving in its wake a tremor in his hands that he hadn't noticed before. His heart was still racing, but it wasn't just from the race anymore.

It was the kiss, the promise in your eyes, and the unspoken words that hung in the air like an unresolved chord in a symphony.

The cooldown room was a stark contrast to the chaotic energy outside, a sanctum of white and chrome that gleamed under the harsh lights.

The air was cooler here, a welcome respite from the heat of the podium. He sat down, the chair a strange embrace after the tight confines of his race seat, and took a deep breath, trying to calm the tumult of his emotions.

In the corner, Charles and George, who had secured second and third place, were already watching the race highlights, their faces a mix of exhaustion and elation. They looked over at him as he entered, raising their bottles of water in silent salute.

The three of them sat down in front of the large screen, their eyes glued to the replay of the race that had just unfolded. They watched as Kimi's car sliced through the pack, a sleek and deadly predator hunting down its prey.

The commentators were gushing with praise for his driving, their voices rising and falling with the tension of the race.

Charles, his cheeks flushed with the exertion of his own battle for second place, leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving the screen. "Mate, that was incredible," he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "You had the car dancing today."

George nodded in agreement, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Couldn't agree more. That overtake on Turn 3 was sheer poetry," he added, referring to Kimi's daring move that had secured his victory.

"Thanks, guys," he said, his voice a little rough. "Couldn't have done it without the team."

He took a swig of water, the cool liquid sliding down his dry throat. His eyes never left the screen, watching the replay of his victory lap, the car snaking through the track like a serpent celebrating its triumph.

The media scrum was a beast he knew all too well. It waited outside the cooldown room, a sea of eager faces, microphones, and cameras ready to devour every morsel of his triumph.

They would ask about his strategy, his thoughts on the race, and the inevitable questions about his future in the sport. But all he could think about was you.

As he stepped into the fray, the questions bombarded him from all sides, a cacophony of voices that seemed to blur together into a single, insistent drone. He felt a hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards the designated spot.

The team's PR manager, a tall, elegant woman with a no-nonsense air, whispered a few words of encouragement in his ear. He nodded, a forced smile plastered on his face, as he faced the barrage of questions with the practiced ease of a man who had done this countless times before.

"Kimi," a journalist from the front row shouted, waving a microphone in the air. "What does this victory mean to you?"

He took a deep breath, his eyes searching the crowd for any sign of you. "It means everything," he said, his voice steady despite the tumult of emotions still coursing through him. "But without my team behind me, it would have been impossible."

The questions kept coming, a relentless wave of inquiries about the race, the strategy, and his feelings on the podium. Yet, all he could think about was the taste of your lips, the way your body had felt against his, and the promise of what could be.

"Kimi, can you tell us about the final laps, when you knew you had it in the bag?" a journalist with a thick Italian accent called out, her voice eager to capture the drama of the moment.

He took a deep breath, the memory of the race still pulsing through his veins. "It was about the last ten laps when I knew I had a good shot at it," he replied, his eyes distant, lost in the replay of the moments that had led to his victory. "The car was perfect, and I just had to stay focused and keep pushing."

The questions kept coming, a relentless wave of words that he navigated with the skill of a linguist. Yet, his mind was elsewhere, replaying the sensation of your touch, the way your body had leaned into his during that spontaneous kiss.

It was like a secret shared only by the two of you amidst the chaos, a silent promise that echoed through his soul.

When Kimi was finally able to escape the media and the swarm of reporters, the first place he went was the family waiting area.

He walked down the corridor, the smell of burnt rubber and gasoline fading into the background as he approached.

His heart raced not from the adrenaline of the race, but from the anticipation of seeing you. His steps were quick, almost a jog, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of you.

The family waiting area was a stark contrast to the chaotic garage. It was a serene oasis of white leather couches and chrome accents, designed to give drivers and their loved ones a moment of peace before and after the race. The doors slid open, revealing a space bustling with energy, filled with his family.

But you weren't there.

The realization hit him like a blow to the gut. His eyes searched the room, desperate for a glimpse of your familiar form, the way you'd stand with your hands clasped tightly in front of you when you were nervous.

His heart sank as he saw only unfamiliar faces, a sea of congratulations that washed over him without touching the core of his being.

"Kimi!" His mother's voice broke through the haze, her arms open wide, her eyes shining with joy. He forced himself to move, to hug her, to accept the praise and love of his family, but his thoughts remained focused on you, the woman who had become the very air he breathed.

"Where's y/n?" he asked, his voice barely above a murmur, the question slipping out before he could catch it. His father's proud smile faltered for a moment, his gaze shifting to Maggie, who looked equally puzzled.

Maggie, ever the diplomat, stepped in, her eyes flicking towards the exit. "She said she had to go to the bathroom," she replied, her voice carefully neutral. Kimi's heart sank. Had he read the situation wrong? Was she upset? Or was she just overwhelmed?

He excused himself, the warm embrace of his family's congratulations feeling like a cocoon of well wishes that he was desperate to break free from.

His eyes searched the corridor, looking for any sign of your retreating form. The sound of his heart was the only thing he could hear above the din of the celebration, a thunderous rhythm that matched his steps as he moved away from the safety of the waiting area.

The hallways of the paddock were a blur, the faces of team members and officials passing by in a whirl of congratulations and handshakes.

He nodded and smiled, his mind racing, trying to piece together where you could have gone. The bathroom? Too obvious. To the garage to watch the podium from a distance? Perhaps.

But something in his gut told him you needed space, needed time to process the intensity of what had just happened between them.

He found it hard to believe that he had actually won. The victory felt surreal, as if it were a dream that could shatter at any moment. Yet, the kiss you had shared was very real.

The way your lips had moved against his, the gentle pressure of your hand on his neck, the softness of your skin under his touch—it was burned into his memory like the tire marks on the asphalt of Monza.

Kimi made his way through the garage, the sound of his boots echoing through the vast space. The team was busy dismantling cars and discussing strategy, but he barely noticed them.

His eyes scanned the area, looking for a flash of your hair, a glimpse of your smile. His heart thudded in his chest with each step, the anticipation growing with every passing moment.

Finally, he reached his driver's room. The door was slightly ajar, the dim light spilling into the corridor like an invitation. He pushed it open gently, his breath catching in his throat at the sight that greeted him.

There you were, curled up on the sofa, fast asleep. The softness of your features, the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you breathed, the peacefulness of your slumber—it was like a painting, a moment captured in time that he never wanted to forget.

You looked so vulnerable, so beautiful. The weight of the world had been lifted from your shoulders, and in your sleep, you were free from the worries of the day. Kimi's heart swelled with an emotion he couldn't quite name.

He stepped into the room, his eyes never leaving your peaceful form. The scent of leather and oil was a familiar comfort, a stark contrast to the chaos of the podium. The air was cooler here, a gentle whisper that carried the faint scent of your perfume, a sweet and subtle floral note that made his stomach flutter.

As he approached, the shadows played across your face, highlighting the dark circles under your eyes.

He knew you hadn't slept well the night before, plagued by worries about your mother's reaction to your Italian lessons.

The quiet click of the door closing behind him was the only sound in the room. He approached you slowly, his steps measured and deliberate, not wanting to disturb your peaceful slumber.

As he got closer, he could see the worry etched into your features, the tension in your forehead, the tightness of your mouth.

He reached out, his hand hovering over your shoulder, the warmth of your body radiating through your shirt. He could feel the pulse of your heart beating in time with his own, a silent rhythm that connected them in a way that was more profound than any podium finish.

He brushed a lock of hair from your cheek, the softness of your skin sending a shiver down his spine.

Kimi took a deep breath, his senses filling with the sweet scent of your perfume. He knew he should leave you be, that you needed your rest, but the pull was too strong. He had to be near you, to feel the warmth of your breath against his skin.

He sat down on the edge of the sofa, his body aching from the race, the adrenaline that had fueled him now dissipating into a gentle hum of contentment. He watched you sleep, his mind racing with thoughts of the future, of what could be.

The gentle thrum of the air conditioning was the only sound in the room, a white noise that seemed to echo the rhythm of his thoughts. He knew he should be celebrating, reveling in the victory, but all he wanted was to hold you, to feel your heart beat against his chest.

With a silent sigh, he slid onto the couch, his body moving with a grace that belied his exhaustion. He eased himself down, the leather cool against his skin, the cushions molding to his frame as if they had been waiting for him all along. His eyes never left you, the curve of your body a siren's call that beckoned him closer.

The couch was big enough for the two of you, a silent invitation to share in this moment of triumph. He reached out, his hand brushing against the warmth of your shoulder.

The fabric of your shirt was soft under his touch, the heat of your skin seeping through, a silent promise of the warmth you offered.

Slowly, so as not to wake you, he slid closer, his body aligning with yours, his legs stretching out alongside yours. He leaned in, the scent of your hair filling his senses, a sweet, vanilla scent that was as intoxicating as the smell of victory.

The couch was a sanctuary, a place where the outside world couldn't reach them. He could feel the tension in your body, even in sleep, the weight of the world still pressing down on your shoulders.

His own muscles ached, a symphony of pain that was a reminder of the battle he had just fought and won.

He slipped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer, the heat of your body a balm to his soul. He could feel your breath against his neck, the soft exhale a comforting lullaby that soothed the beast inside him. His eyes closed, and for the first time that day, Kimi allowed himself to relax, to let the tension bleed out of him.

He didn't know what would happen when you woke up, but for now, he was content to simply exist in this moment, the two of you entwined, the world outside forgotten. . . .

Your senses were a jumbled symphony as you gradually surfaced from the velvety depths of sleep. The scent of burnt rubber and the faint aroma of victory champagne lingered in the air, intertwined with the rich, earthy musk that was unmistakably Kimi.

His arms were a warm, comforting vice around you, his breathing steady and deep, as if he were lost in the most peaceful of dreams. You didn't dare move, fearing the spell might be broken, the reality of his embrace evaporating like mist under the glare of the morning sun.

Kimi's features were relaxed in slumber, the tension of the race and the weight of his historic victory seemingly forgotten as he lay beside you.

His dark lashes brushed against his flushed cheeks with every exhale, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest made your own heart stutter with an unfamiliar rhythm.

The soft light filtering through the hotel curtains cast a warm glow on his skin, highlighting the sheen of perspiration that still clung to him from the night's triumph and celebration. You studied the contours of his face, the way his full lips parted slightly, the stubble on his jaw that was just the right amount of rough.

His hair, usually meticulously styled, was a wild tangle of brown locks, sticking to his forehead in the most endearing way. The sight of him, so unguarded and vulnerable, made you feel an unyielding wave of tenderness and desire.

Your fingers itched to trace the line of his jaw, to feel the coarse stubble under your fingertips, but you held back, not wanting to disturb him.

The last time you had seen him, your mouth had been on his, tasting the sweetness of victory and the salt of his skin. Now, in the quiet aftermath of passion and glory, you felt a strange mix of emotions—elation at his success, awe at the depth of your connection, and a hint of fear that this moment might never come again.

But for now, you were content to simply be there, in the sanctuary of his arms, with the promise of the dawn just outside the window and the warmth of his love enveloping you like a blanket.

As the room slowly brightened, the whispers of daybreak painted shadows across Kimi's features, revealing the stark beauty of his profile.

His chest, a landscape of sculpted muscles and scars from past battles on the track, rose and fell with each breath, a silent symphony of life and vitality. The room was filled with a gentle hum of contentment, the only sound the soft rustle of fabric as his fingers flexed against your bare shoulder.

You hadn't been sleeping well for days, the excitement and nervousness of speaking to your mother in her native language in a few days. So, when he had been called away for his media duties, you had seen it as an opportunity to grab some much-needed rest.

As you stirred to consciousness, the unmistakable weight of his presence beside you sent a jolt of surprise through your body. You had not expected to find Kimi here, not after he had left earlier to face the barrage of questions and flashing lights.

Yet, here he was, his hand resting protectively on your waist, his leg thrown over yours in a possessive tangle that spoke of deep trust and comfort.

The heat from his body seeped into you, warming you from within, as your senses slowly sharpened to the world outside the cocoon of Kimi's drivers room.

Kimi then moved, his hand sliding down to the small of your back, his touch featherlight and electric. You held your breath, your heart hammering in anticipation, but his eyes remained closed, his breathing unchanged. His fingertips traced the curve of your hip, sending a shiver down your spine, as if he was unconsciously mapping the territory of your body.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Kimi's eyes began to open. The thick lashes lifted, revealing the warm whiskey hue of his irises. 

For a moment, there was a dazzling clarity to his gaze, as if he were seeing you for the very first time. The room, the race, the victory—it all melted away as he took you in.

As he blinked away the last remnants of sleep, a lazy smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he whispered, "Good morning," his voice a smoky rumble that resonated through your core.

"I think it's the evening, Kimi," you joked quietly, a playful twinkle in your eye as you glanced at the clock, the digits blinking an indecipherable message.

Kimi's eyes snapped open, the smile on his lips deepening as he took in the sight of you. "Ah, evening," he murmured, the word rolling off his tongue with a hint of amusement.

"Were you looking for me before?" you asked, your voice a soft melody that seemed to resonate in the quiet air.

Kimi's smile grew more pronounced, his eyes finally focusing on you with a warmth that seemed to set your very soul alight. He took a moment to process your question, the gears of his thoughts whirring behind those mesmerizing eyes.

"Before what?" he responded, his voice still thick with the residue of sleep.

You couldn't help but chuckle at his groggy state, the sound a soft, musical note that danced in the air around you. "Before you came back to the room," you clarified, the memory of his earlier departure still lingering.

Kimi's eyes searched yours, a flicker of understanding crossing his features as he pieced together the timeline of the night. "Ah," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through your very bones.

He leaned closer, his nose brushing against yours, the stubble of his cheek a delightful abrasion that sent a shiver down your spine. "I was," he admitted, his breath warm against your lips. "Couldn't stay away from you. You're like a gravitational pull, always drawing me back."

His words were simple, devoid of grand pronouncements or poetic metaphors, but their sincerity resonated deeply within you. Kimi wasn't one for empty words. When he said something, he meant it with every fiber of his being.

His eyes wandered onto your teal dress. "Did I ever say you look beautiful in this dress?" he asked, his gaze lingering on the way the fabric flowed around your curves.

You felt your cheeks warm at the memory of when he had first seen you in it. "You might have mentioned it," you replied with a coy smile, your heart skipping a beat.

Kimi's hand slid up to cup your cheek, his thumb gently caressing the skin just beneath your eye. "You always do," he said, his voice a gentle rumble that sent a delicious thrill down your spine.

The room was suffused with a warm glow, the light from the setting sun casting a soft halo around his head. The shadows grew longer, stretching across the rumpled couch, highlighting the contours of his bodysuit, the strong lines of his shoulders and chest. His eyes searched yours, a silent question in their depths.

"Does your family know that we're here?" you asked, your voice a whisper in the cocoon of quiet that surrounded you.

"Ah, i was looking for you so much that i forget to tell them i found you," Kimi replied, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Your heart fluttered at his admission, his Italian accent wrapping around the words like a caress. You felt a rush of warmth that had nothing to do with the champagne and everything to do with the way he looked at you—like you were the prize he had been chasing all along, and not just the victory trophy.

"It's like 10pm now," you muttered, the reality of time slipping through your fingers like sand. The race had ended hours ago, yet it felt like mere moments since you had been lost in the whirlwind of his victory.

"Mamma mia," Kimi groaned, his hand still resting on your hip as he sat up with a stretch, his muscles rippling under the tight confines of his bodysuit.

You mirrored his movement, your own body protesting after hours of inactivity. You looked outside the window and realized the world had moved on without you, the inky blackness of night having descended outside. The only illumination came from the distant city lights that twinkled like stars scattered across the velvet sky.

"We've been asleep for hours," you murmured in disbelief, your voice a soft caress that seemed to float in the air.

Kimi's gaze never left yours as he nodded, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a smile that was as warm as the afternoon sun in Sicily. "You needed it," he said, his thumb making lazy circles on your skin. "You've been so tense lately."

You couldn't deny it. The upcoming conversation with your mother had been weighing on your mind like a lead balloon. But here, in Kimi's arms, it all felt so far away, as if the world had stopped turning just for a brief moment to allow you this stolen slice of happiness.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice a soft sigh that seemed to melt into the air. "For everything."

Kimi's eyes searched yours, his thumb continuing its gentle dance on your skin. "What for?"

You took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of his hand spreading through your body like wildfire. "For helping me learn Italian," you said, your voice a soft crescendo of emotion. "And for giving me back my confidence."

Kimi's smile grew more earnest, his eyes crinkling at the edges. He leaned in closer, his breath a warm whisper against your ear. "It was nothing," he murmured. "Your beauty and strength are all your own. I just helped you remember them."

His hand slipped away from your cheek, reaching for yours. But as you went to take it, you paused. "Flattery won't get you anywhere Antonelli," you said, your voice playful but firm as you picked up your bag, the warmth of his hand a sudden absence that sent a shiver down your spine.

Kimi's smile didn't falter, his eyes still holding yours as he leaned back against the couch cushions. "But it's not flattery," he protested, his accent thick and tantalizing. "It's the truth. You're like a fine wine, only getting better with time."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound echoing in the room as you slung your bag over your shoulder. "Smooth, but still not going to work," you teased, taking a step away from the comfort of his touch. The coolness of the air was a stark contrast to the heat he emanated, and you felt the sudden urge to return to his embrace.

Kimi watched you with a knowing smile, his eyes never leaving yours as he sat up, stretching his long limbs like a cat rousing from a nap. "Ah, but you know I mean it," he said, his voice a low purr that seemed to resonate in the very marrow of your bones.

"Come on, don't you have a family to find?" you asked, trying to lighten the mood, a playful lilt in your voice.

Kimi's eyes searched yours, a spark of mischief lighting up the whiskey hue. "Eh, they probably went home," he replied with a nonchalant shrug, the fabric of his bodysuit stretching with the movement. "They know I like to sleep after the race."

You couldn't help but chuckle, shaking your head at his incorrigible charm. "They're going to be worried about you," you pointed out, the playfulness in your tone belying the concern you felt for him.

Kimi's gaze never left yours as he slowly rose to his feet, the fabric of his bodysuit clinging to his form like a second skin. "They know I'm in good hands," he said, the words a gentle caress that sent a shiver down your spine.

"You think you can get what you want after winning one race?" you replied, a playful smirk dancing on your lips.

"I'd hope so," Kimi grinned, his teeth flashing white against the darkened room. His eyes twinkled with mischief as he took a step closer, closing the distance between you.

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls, as you grabbed his hands and pulled him up. His muscles, still warm from the race, bunched under your fingers as he stood, his towering frame casting a long shadow over the floor.

"Come on," you said, your voice a teasing purr that seemed to dance around the room. "Let's get your delusional ass back home."

Kimi's laughter rumbled in his chest, a rich, full sound that made your heart swell with affection. He allowed you to pull him to his feet, his fingers tightening around yours briefly before releasing. You felt the loss of his touch like a gust of cold wind, but the warmth of his smile was more than enough to keep you from shivering.

"Let me go get changed and then we can go," he said, his voice a smoky promise that had your heart racing. You watched as he disappeared into the en suite bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him. The sound of running water and the rustle of clothing filled the silence, and you couldn't help but wonder what he was doing in there. The anticipation was almost too much to bear.

The ring of his phone pierced through the quiet, and you reached over to grab it from the nightstand, your heart skipping a beat when you saw it was his mom. "Kimi, your mom is calling," you called out, your voice echoing through the steamy bathroom.

Kimi's muffled response came through the shower curtain. "Can you answer it?" The urgency in his tone was palpable, his voice tinged with a hint of nerves that was foreign to the usually unflappable racer.

You picked up the phone, feeling the weight of his trust in your hand. The screen glowed with his mother's name, the very woman whose language you had been so meticulously preparing to conquer. The call to action was a stark reminder of the real world waiting outside the sanctuary of his arms.

"Ciao, Signora Antonelli," you greeted, your voice a soft melody that carried through the phone's speaker. The Italian words felt strange and yet oddly familiar, as if they had been coaxed from a dormant part of your soul.

Kimi's mother's voice was a flurry of warmth and concern. "Ah! Y/n! Non mi ero accorto che eri ancora con mio figlio," she exclaimed, a blend of surprise.

"Sorry," you murmured into the phone, your cheeks flushing. "Mi sono addormentato nella sua cabina di guida, non volevo trattenerlo. Ora sta facendo la doccia e sta tornando a casa."

Kimi's mother's laugh was warm and comforting, the sound wrapping around you like a blanket. "Non preoccuparti," she said, her words a soothing balm to your nerves. "Sono contenta che tu abbia riposato un po'. Kimi ha detto che sembri stanco in questi giorni."

You couldn't help but smile at her maternal concern, feeling a sudden kinship with her. "Lo ero," you admitted, the words slipping out before you could censor them. "Ma adesso mi sento meglio."

Her response was a delightful tapestry of Italian that you only partially understood, but the love in her tone was universal. "Ma lasciami indovinare, anche lui si è addormentato?" she asked, her voice a warm caress over the phone line.

The question hung in the air, a gentle tease wrapped in the velvet of her words. "Sí, siamo tutti e due un po' stanchi," you replied, hoping the truth wasn't too evident in your voice.

Kimi's mother's laughter spilled over the line, a rich, warm sound that made you feel as if she were in the room with you, sharing the moment. "Ah, che bello," she said, her voice a soothing balm to the nerves you hadn't realized you had. "Ma Kimi è sempre in movimento. Non so come fa a rimanere sveglio."

You chuckled, the sound a little too loud in the quiet room. "Lui ha una forza incredibile," you agreed, the words slipping from your tongue with surprising ease. It felt natural, speaking Italian to this woman who had given birth to the man you had come to love.

"Comunque, per favore, di' a Kimi di tornare subito a casa." she said, the warmth in her voice now tinged with urgency. "Dobbiamo ancora fare una festa in famiglia."

"Va bene signora Antonelli," you said, a smile playing on your lips.

The call ended with her final laugh, and you set the phone down, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment. You had managed to have a conversation with Kimi's mother without any major linguistic mishaps.

The bathroom door opened with a soft click, and a cloud of steam billowed out, carrying with it the scent of Kimi's spicy aftershave.

He emerged from the mist like a Greek god, his skin glistening with moisture, his hair slicked back from his face, showcasing the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones. The black tee clung to his still-damp torso like a second skin, tracing the contours of his chiseled abs and broad shoulders, while the dark trousers hugged the muscular curves of his legs.

Kimi looked like a man who had just conquered the world—and in a way, he had. The victory earlier in the day was etched in every line of his body, in the proud tilt of his chin, the way his eyes shone with an inner light that could outshine the neon of the Vegas strip outside.

He padded barefoot across the plush carpet, droplets of water clinging to his skin, shimmering like diamonds in the dim light of the hotel suite. The way the fabric of his black tee hugged his form was a delicious sight, revealing the play of muscles across his chest and the flat plane of his stomach. His dark trousers hung low on his hips, hinting at the V of his pelvis.

You watched him, unable to tear your eyes away, as he approached you, his movements liquid and predatory. The warmth of the shower had brought a flush to his cheeks, and his eyes, those whiskey-colored pools of passion, were fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart stumble in your chest.

"What did my mom say?" he asked, his voice a low, velvety rumble that seemed to resonate through the very air around you.

You took a deep breath, savoring the scent of his aftershave, a heady mix of spice and musk that was uniquely Kimi. "She said she's happy I've been helping you rest, but you should get back for your family celebration."

His gaze held yours, the warmth of his smile reaching out to you like a gentle caress. "And how was your conversation with her?" he asked, his voice a soft rumble that seemed to vibrate through your very bones.

You felt a sudden rush of emotion, the weight of his question more profound than you had anticipated. "It was... good," you replied, the words a whispered confession. "It felt good to talk to her in Italian."

Kimi's smile grew broader, his eyes lighting up with a proud spark. "You sounded amazing," he said, the sincerity in his voice making your cheeks flush with heat.

"Thank you, we should get going," you said, trying to keep the tremor from your voice.

Kimi nodded, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Grazie," he murmured, his voice a warm caress that sent a thrill down your spine. "You've been working so hard."

You looked up at Kimi, his damp hair still hanging in his eyes, and felt a surge of affection so intense it almost brought tears to your eyes. "Thanks to my teacher," you said, the words slipping out before you could think better of it.

The engineers and staff that had been working tirelessly around the car looked up as Kimi's smile grew wider, his eyes crinkling with mirth.

"Thank you, all of you," he called out, his Italian accent thick and warm as he clapped his hands together, the sound echoing in the vast, empty space of the garage. "Couldn't have done it without you."

The remaining engineers and staff looked up from their tasks, a mix of weariness and pride etched on their faces as they returned his smile. They had been Kimi's rock through the season, the unsung heroes behind the scenes who had made his victory possible.

"Ciao ragazzi," he said, his voice carrying a hint of the exhaustion that lurked just beneath the surface. Despite the fatigue, his eyes held a fiery determination, a promise that the celebration of this win would be one to remember.

With a nod to the remaining crew, Kimi led the way out of the garage and into the parking lot, his hand sliding into yours with a familiar ease that sent a jolt of electricity up your arm. The cool evening air was a stark contrast to the warmth of the garage, sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the temperature.

The parking lot was a maze of shadows and reflections, the only light coming from the flickering streetlamps and the distant glow of the city beyond. Kimi's car sat in the corner, a beacon of luxury in the sea of concrete and metal.

The coolness of the night was a stark contrast to the warmth of Kimi's hand in yours as you approached the sleek, black sports car. His grip was firm, his thumb tracing circles on your skin in a gesture that was both reassuring and electrifying.

Kimi opened the passenger door with a flourish, his eyes never leaving yours. The motion was so smooth, so practiced, it was like watching a ballet dancer perform a perfect pirouette. You slid into the seat with a sigh, the leather cool against your bare legs. The scent of the car's interior was a heady mix of leather and his cologne, a scent that had come to symbolize safety and desire.

He moved around the car with the same grace, his movements fluid and economical, every gesture a silent symphony of intent. The door shut with a soft thunk, sealing you both inside. The engine roared to life with a purr that seemed to resonate through your very soul, the vibration a delicious promise of the power that lay just beneath your fingertips.

Kimi's hand slid from yours to the gear stick, his fingers wrapping around it with a confidence that made your stomach flip. He shifted into gear and the car surged forward, the tires biting into the asphalt as he navigated the winding path out of the circuit.

You watched his profile, the sharp lines of his jaw and the firm set of his mouth, the way his eyes never left the road. It was a stark contrast to the tender way he had held you in his arms just moments ago, the gentle caress of his thumb on your skin.

"Are you free tomorrow?" he asked suddenly, his voice breaking the quiet hum of the car's engine.

The question hung in the air, thick with implication, like the scent of his cologne that lingered in the enclosed space. You turned to look at him, his eyes focused on the road ahead, the streetlights casting a warm glow on the stubble of his jaw.

"Tomorrow?" you repeated, the word echoing in the quiet. It was a simple question, but the anticipation in his voice was palpable, a silent promise of something more than just a casual get-together.

"Yes," he said, his gaze never leaving the road ahead, but his hand tightening on the gear stick, a subtle hint of his excitement.

You felt the weight of his answer in the air, a silent promise that hung between you like a ripe fruit waiting to be plucked. "What did you have in mind?" you asked, your voice a soft melody that seemed to dance around the edges of the car's cabin.

Kimi's smile grew more pronounced, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mischief as he finally turned to look at you, his gaze lingering on your face. "I want to show you something," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very fabric of the car. "It's a surprise."

"A surprise?" You couldn't help but echo his words, your heart racing with excitement. Kimi's surprises were always... unexpected.

"Mm-hmm," he hummed, his eyes flicking back to the road as he expertly maneuvered the car through the quiet streets. His smile grew, the kind that made your stomach flip-flop and your skin tingle with anticipation. "I think you'll like it."

Your heart raced at the thought of what could be in store for tomorrow. The way his eyes lit up, the excitement in his voice, it was infectious. "Kimi, you know I trust you," you murmured, leaning back into the seat, your eyes never leaving his profile.

He glanced over at you, his smile widening. "Good," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in your very core. "Because it's going to be something special."

The ride to your house was indeed quick, a blur of neon lights and darkened streets that seemed to fly by as Kimi's car ate up the asphalt beneath it. His driving was masterful, his hands firm on the wheel, his eyes never straying from the road ahead.

The leather seats hugged your body, the scent of his cologne mingling with the new car smell, creating a heady cocktail that intoxicated you further. You watched his profile, the way the passing streetlights played across the sharp planes of his face, casting him in an ever-changing palette of shadows and light. His jaw was set, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he navigated the maze of Italian streets.

The engine purred beneath you, a living entity that responded to his every touch. You could feel the power of the car, the beast that had carried him to victory, now carrying you both away from the chaos of the day's events. The tension in the air was palpable, a potent mix of exhaustion and desire that seemed to thicken with every passing mile.

As Kimi pulled up to the curb in front of your house, the car's headlights painted a warm, golden path across the cobblestone street, briefly illuminating the ivy that crawled up the ancient brick walls. The windows glowed with a soft light, casting a warm, welcoming beacon into the night.

Your heart fluttered as you realized the significance of the moment. This wasn't just a casual drop-off. This was Kimi bringing you home after the most incredible day of your life—his historic victory and the sweet promise of tomorrow's surprise.

The car's engine purred to a stop, the sudden silence echoing in the narrow Italian street. Kimi's hand slid from the gear stick to yours, his warmth seeping into your skin like a healing balm.

"Kimi," you whispered, the name a prayer on your lips as you turned to face him. "Thank you."

With a gentle nod, Kimi opened the car door for you, the cool night air rushing in to mingle with the warmth of the interior. He stepped out and came around to your side, his movements a silent poetry of masculine grace. The way he held the door open, his hand lingering on the frame, was a silent declaration of chivalry in a world that often forgot such things.

As you slid out of the car, the leather whispered against your skin, leaving an imprint of comfort that lingered like a ghostly embrace. Kimi's hand found the small of your back, guiding you up the cobblestone path to the heavy wooden door of your house. The warmth of his touch seemed to seep into your very bones, chasing away the last vestiges of the evening's chill.

He waited patiently as you fumbled with your keys, the tension between you growing as palpable as the scent of his victory still clinging to his skin.

Once the door swung open, you turned around to face him, his eyes burning into yours with a fierce intensity that stole the breath from your lungs. The warmth of his gaze seemed to melt the last of your resistance, leaving you feeling as vulnerable as a butterfly pinned to a board.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Kimi," you murmured, your voice a soft caress in the velvety silence of the night. The words hung in the air, a promise of more to come, a sweet agony that made your pulse race.

With a gentle tug, you drew him closer, your hand sliding up to cradle the strong line of his neck. His eyes searched yours, the whiskey warmth deepening as he leaned in, the anticipation a palpable force that seemed to electrify the very air between you.

Your pulse hammered in your ears as your lips met, the kiss a soft, lingering caress that spoke of unspoken truths and unbridled desire. The scent of his skin, a potent blend of sweat and victory, filled your senses, making you dizzy with longing.

Kimi's hand found the small of your back, pulling you closer, the heat of his body a warm embrace that seemed to chase away the last remnants of doubt and fear.

You melted into him, your body fitting against his as if it were made to do so, his muscular chest a wall of protection and desire that made your knees weak.

With a gentle nudge, you managed to pull away, smiling up at him through eyes glazed with desire. "I'll see you tomorrow," you whispered again, your voice a siren's call that seemed to echo in the night.

Kimi's eyes searched yours, his smile mirroring yours as he stepped back, allowing you the space to breathe. "I'll be counting the minutes," he murmured, his voice a warm caress that seemed to follow you as you stepped into the house.

The door closed behind you with a soft click, the sound echoing in the stillness of the night like a final note in a symphony. You leaned against the cool wood, your heart racing, the taste of him still lingering on your lips. . . .

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The remnants of yesterday still clung to you like the scent of champagne and burning rubber. Sleep had been a fleeting visitor, chased away by the racing thoughts that consumed you. Kimi's win, the roar of the crowd, the spray of champagne, the taste of his lips…twice. It was all a dizzying, exhilarating blur. He had finally done it. He was on top of the podium, victorious. And you were there, right beside him. And then, the surprise. He hadn’t given you any details, just a mischievous glint in his eyes and a promise that you wouldn't be disappointed.

Four o'clock. He’d texted you the time with typical Kimi brevity. It was perfect, really. 2 PM felt like an eternity away, but it gave you ample time to prepare. You wanted to look…effortless, but also breathtaking. It was a ridiculous paradox, but you were determined to achieve it.

The shower was long and luxurious, the hot water washing away the last vestiges of sleep. You shaved your legs with extra care, smoothing on a fragrant body lotion afterwards. In the mirror, you saw a reflection that seemed brighter, more vibrant than usual. You were alive, truly alive, and it was all because of him.

Makeup came next. You opted for a natural look, a soft blush, a touch of mascara, and a hint of gloss on your lips, the same lips that Kimi had kissed, twice. You felt a shiver run down your spine at the memory.

Your hair was a bit more challenging. You finally decided on loose waves, pinning a few strands back to keep them out of your face. You felt a pang of insecurity as you stared at your reflection. Were you good enough for him? He was a world-class athlete, a champion, a veritable ice man to the world. What did he see in you?

You pushed the doubts away. He had kissed you, hadn't he? He had invited you to share in his victory. He wanted you, and that was all that mattered right now.

The dress you chose was a simple, elegant affair. Knee-length, in a shade of soft blue that complemented your eyes. It was comfortable, yet flattering, and you knew Kimi would appreciate its understated charm. You paired it with delicate silver sandals and a small clutch.

And then, the waiting began.

You paced the apartment, a whirlwind of nervous energy. You checked your watch every few minutes, the hands seeming to move with agonizing slowness. You tried to distract yourself by reading, but the words swam before your eyes. You tried listening to music, but every song seemed to be about love, loss, and longing, only amplifying your anxiety.

What could the surprise be? A romantic dinner? A weekend getaway? Could it be… something more? The thought sent a jolt of panic through you. Were you ready for something serious? You hadn't known Kimi for very long, but the connection between you felt undeniable, powerful.

You replayed the events of yesterday in your mind. The way he had looked when he crossed the finish line, the pure, unadulterated joy on his face. The way he had held you close during the celebrations, his hand warm against your back. The way he had looked at you, his eyes filled with…what? Affection? Desire? Something deeper, something you couldn't quite decipher.

You remembered the kisses. The first, spontaneous and charged with adrenaline, a celebration of his victory. The second, softer, more tender, a silent acknowledgment of the feelings that were blossoming between you.

You were lost in these thoughts when a knock echoed through the apartment. Your heart leaped into your throat. This was it. You grabbed your bag, took a deep breath, and walked towards the door. Your hand trembled slightly as you reached for the handle. You opened the door, and there he was.

Kimi Antonelli, standing on your doorstep, looking impossibly handsome. He was wearing a suit, a dark, impeccably tailored suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and lean physique. But it was the absence of a tie that struck you. It was a subtle detail, but it somehow made him seem more approachable, more… vulnerable.

He smiled, a rare and genuine smile that lit up his face. "You ready?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

You could only nod, your voice caught in your throat. He held out his hand, and you took it, your fingers interlacing with his. His touch sent a wave of warmth through you, instantly calming your nerves.

"Where are we going?" you managed to ask, as he led you down the hallway.

"It's a surprise," he repeated, his eyes twinkling. "But I promise, you'll like it."

You didn't press him further. You were content to be in his presence, to feel the warmth of his hand in yours. You followed him out of the building and into a waiting car.

The drive was a blur. You were too busy stealing glances at Kimi, admiring the way the sunlight caught in his hair, the way his jaw was set with determination. He seemed focused, almost…nervous? It was an unfamiliar expression on his face, and it intrigued you.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, you leaned back in your seat and began to ask questions. "Where are we going, Kimi?" you inquired, your voice barely above a whisper.

He glanced at you with a mischievous smile before returning his gaze to the road. "You'll see," he teased, his eyes never leaving the horizon.

The car's engine hummed soothingly, lulling you into a gentle doze. The city streets had given way to the open road, and the scenery outside the window was a blur of green and brown. You felt your eyelids growing heavy, and despite the excitement bubbling within you, the lack of sleep from the previous night began to take its toll.

Kimi noticed your struggle and reached over, placing a gentle hand on your thigh. "You okay?" he asked, his thumb rubbing small, comforting circles.

You startled awake. "I'm fine," you lied, hoping he hadn't noticed the dark circles under your eyes. The truth was, you hadn't slept well last night, your mind racing with thoughts of him. The gentle sway of the car and the warmth of the afternoon sun had conspired to lull you into a state of drowsiness.

Kimi's hand remained on your thigh, his touch a comforting constant. You felt the heat of his palm through the fabric of your dress and the steady rhythm of his thumb against your skin. It was a small gesture, but it filled you with a warmth that spread through your body, dispelling the lingering fatigue. You leaned into it, savoring the sensation.

As the drive continued, the gentle thrumming of the engine became a lullaby, and despite your best efforts, your eyes grew heavy. The scenery outside the tinted windows blurred into a mosaic of light and shadow. You blinked, fighting off the seductive pull of sleep, but the quiet, rhythmic journey was too much to resist.

Kimi's hand remained on your thigh, his thumb continuing its hypnotic dance. The warmth of his touch seeped through the fabric of your dress, creating a soothing contrast to the coolness of the car's air conditioning. Your eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment, until you couldn't hold them open any longer. You leaned your head against the headrest, allowing sleep to claim you.

You didn't know how much time had passed when you were jolted awake by the car coming to a stop. You blinked rapidly, the world coming into focus once again.

You looked around, and for a moment, you thought you had slipped into a dream. The scenery outside the window didn't look like the bustling city streets of Imola you were used to. It didn't even look like the countryside surrounding the Imola racetrack, where Kimi had claimed victory just yesterday. It looked like… Verona.

The cobblestone streets, the ancient buildings bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, the scent of blooming flowers mingling with the faint aroma of freshly baked bread. It was like stepping into a memory, a painting come to life.

You turned to Kimi in shock, your hand flying to your mouth. "Verona?" you whispered, the word barely audible.

He nodded, his smile growing wider. "Surprise," he murmured, his eyes alight with mischief. "I thought it was time for a change of scenery. Something… romantic."

The word hung in the air, heavy with implication, and your heart skipped a beat. Was he really taking you on a romantic getaway? The thought was both thrilling and terrifying. You had never been the type to indulge in fairy tales, but with Kimi, everything felt possible.

He opened the car door for you, and as you stepped out, the cobblestones beneath your feet felt alive with the history of the city. The warmth of the setting sun kissed your skin, and the air was alive with the sounds of a place untouched by the modern world. You took a deep breath, filling your lungs with the intoxicating blend of antiquity and passion that seemed to pulse through the very air of Verona.

With a gentle tug, Kimi led you down an ancient path, his hand firm yet reassuring in yours. "Trust me," he said, his voice a soft whisper that seemed to resonate within you. He reached into his pocket and produced a velvet blindfold. "You have to wear this. You don't get to spoil the surprise," he grinned, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

What could he possibly have planned? The soft velvet of the blindfold brushed against your cheeks as he secured it around your eyes, plunging you into a world of darkness. Your other senses heightened, you felt the warmth of his breath on your neck as he leaned in to whisper, "Are you ready?"

You nodded, your pulse quickening. The anticipation was exquisite, a thrill you hadn't felt since that first kiss on the podium. He guided you through the unfamiliar streets of Verona, the cobblestones cool against the soles of your sandals.

With each step, your hand tightened in his. You could feel the tension in his fingers, the unspoken promise of something extraordinary waiting just around the corner. The sounds of the city grew distant, replaced by the steady thump of your own heart and the comforting echo of your footsteps in tandem with his.

You walked for a while before you stopped, the sudden cessation of movement surprising you. The air grew thick with anticipation as he gently tugged at the blindfold. You felt the warmth of his breath on your neck as he whispered, "Okay, you can open your eyes now."

Slowly, you lifted the velvet shroud, blinking as the light flooded back in. Your eyes widened as they adjusted to the scene before you. You were standing in a courtyard, surrounded by lush greenery and the sweet scent of blooming roses.

Directly in front of you was a large, ornate sign, painted in a whimsical script that read, "Vuoi essere la mia ragazza?" You felt your cheeks flush at the translation: "Do you want to be my girlfriend?"

Kimi's nervous smile grew even more pronounced as he watched your reaction, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of your hand. The courtyard was lit with soft, twinkling lights strung from the branches of the trees overhead, casting a magical glow over the entire scene.

You took in the sight before you, the beauty of the moment sinking in. "Ever since I saw you trying so hard to study Italian," he began, his voice low and earnest, "I knew I had to help you, but I didn't know that I would fall in love with you that quickly." His words were like a caress, gentle yet firm, leaving no room for doubt or misunderstanding.

A warmth spread through your chest, filling you with a feeling of belonging that was both exhilarating and terrifying. You had studied Italian for so long, driven by an unexplainable fascination with the culture, the language, and the passion that seemed to pulse through every word. And now, here you were, standing in the heart of Verona, with the man who had unwittingly become the embodiment of that passion for you.

Kimi stepped closer, his hand still holding yours firmly. You could feel the calluses from his years of racing, a stark contrast to the velvety softness of your own skin. "I've watched you struggle with the pronunciation, the grammar," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "And I couldn't help but be drawn to your determination, your spirit."

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession. "But why me?" you asked, your voice barely audible. You felt like you were floating, suspended between reality and a dream.

"Your dedication, your passion," Kimi murmured, his thumb still tracing lazy circles on the back of your hand. "It's inspiring. And the way you light up when you get something right… it's like watching the sun rise over the racetrack." His grip tightened, his eyes searching yours.

You felt your heart flutter in your chest, your breath catching in your throat. The way he talked about your Italian studies was as if he were recounting the plot of a romance novel, and you were the heroine whose perseverance had captured the heart of the stoic protagonist. It was a feeling so foreign, so intoxicating, that you could hardly believe it was real.

"Yes," you murmured, your voice trembling slightly. The word felt like a declaration, a confession, a surrender to the whirlwind that had become your life.

Kimi's eyes searched yours, looking for the truth in your response. "I know it's fast," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But sometimes, when you know, you just know."

You felt a warmth spread through you, a warmth that was more than just the sun on your skin. It was the warmth of his words, the warmth of his touch, the warmth of his love. You knew you were falling for him too, and it was happening at a speed that defied logic, but somehow, it felt right. "I know," you said, your voice soft and sure. "I feel it too."

The courtyard was a whirlwind of sensation around you. The scent of the roses filled your nose, their velvety petals brushing against your bare arms as you stepped closer to him. The cobblestones felt rough and ancient beneath your sandals, a stark contrast to the smoothness of the dress that clung to your damp skin. The air was thick with anticipation, with the promise of something new and thrilling.

Kimi's eyes searched yours, a silent question hanging in the space between you. You felt your heart hammer in your chest, the thud of it echoing in your ears like the purr of a finely-tuned engine. His hand was still wrapped around yours, a silent declaration of intent. You knew what he was asking, what he wanted from you. And in that moment, you realized that you wanted it too.

"Eh," he began again, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in the very air around you, "Vuoi essere la mia ragazza?" It was a simple question, yet it held the weight of the world. Will you be my girlfriend? The Italian words rolled off his tongue, a soft caress that seemed to ignite a fire in your veins.

You felt your heart stutter, your breath hitch. The question hung in the air, a delicate balance between hope and fear. Kimi's gaze bore into you, his eyes a stormy sea of emotion. The nervousness that flickered in those depths was endearing, a stark contrast to the cool confidence he exuded on the racetrack.

Slowly, you nodded. "Yes," you breathed, the word escaping on a sigh that seemed to carry with it all the unspoken moments between you, the shared glances, the stolen touches, the whispers of attraction that had grown into something more substantial.

Kimi's expression softened, his eyes warming as he leaned in closer. The world around you grew quieter, the sounds of the city fading into a gentle hum that melded with the beating of your hearts. His lips met yours in a kiss that was tender yet insistent, a silent declaration of his intentions. The warmth of his breath mingled with your own, and the sensation sent a delicious shiver down your spine.

As your arms snaked around his neck, you felt his hand tighten around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space between you. The fabric of his suit was smooth against your skin, a stark contrast to the roughened calluses of his palms. The buzzing warmth grew, enveloping you in a cocoon of sensation, making you feel as if you were floating.

His other hand found its way to your cheek, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone in a gentle caress. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the steady thump of his heart matching the rhythm of your own. His scent was intoxicating, a blend of leather, engine oil, and victory, and it wrapped around you like a warm embrace.

As the kiss deepened, you felt a sudden pop, and then, there was confetti. It rained down around you, a shower of color and light that made you jump back in surprise. You pulled away from Kimi, staring up at the confetti floating above your heads like a cloud of pure joy. He chuckled, a low, delighted sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

"There's another present," Kimi murmured, his eyes glinting with excitement.

Before you could react, he turned you around with a gentle touch on the shoulders. You blinked in surprise as your eyes fell upon a sight that made your heart swell. There, standing in the courtyard, were your parents. They looked as shocked as you felt, their eyes wide with delight and disbelief.

Your mother, her hair a fiery halo around her face, had her hand pressed to her heart, a single tear tracing its way down her cheek. Your father, stoic yet beaming, had his arms open wide, ready to envelop you in a bear hug that spoke volumes of his pride and love.

"Mamma, Papà," you managed to murmur, your voice thick with emotion. Kimi's grip on your waist was the only thing keeping you upright.

The confetti continued to fall around you, a whimsical touch to an already surreal moment. Your mother rushed over, her eyes sparkling with joy. She wrapped you in an embrace that was all too familiar, her warmth and the scent of her perfume grounding you in reality. "Oh, my darling," she whispered in your ear, her words tinged with a hint of an Italian accent she had never lost despite moving to the United States before you were born. "I knew this man was special the moment you talked about him. And now, he brings us to Verona."

Your father's hug was next, his strong arms lifting you off the ground. "You've made us so proud," he murmured in your hair. "And not just because you're with a Formula One driver." His laughter was contagious, and you felt a weight lift from your chest.

Kimi's hand remained on your waist, his touch a comforting reminder of the new reality you were navigating. As you pulled away from your parents, you couldn't help but feel a bit overwhelmed by the sudden turn of events. You looked up at him, his brown eyes holding yours with a fierce intensity that made your heart race.

"How did you do this?" you asked, gesturing to the courtyard and the confetti that still danced in the air.

Kimi's smile was filled with the pride of a man who had just pulled off an impossible feat. "I have connections," he replied with a wink. His eyes searched yours, looking for the spark of wonder that you knew was reflected in your own. "And I wanted to make sure that when I asked you to be my girlfriend, it was a moment you would never forget."

The confetti continued to flutter around you, the gentle kiss of the breeze carrying the whisper of a thousand paper secrets. You reached up, plucking a piece from the air. It was a delicate pink square, with "Amore" written in flowing script. Love. The word seemed to encapsulate everything you felt in that moment.

"There's another surprise," Kimi grinned, his eyes glinting with excitement. Your heart raced. What could possibly top this? You looked around the courtyard, but nothing seemed out of place. The roses swayed gently in the breeze, the lights above you casting a warm glow on your skin.

"What could it be?" you asked, your voice a soft whisper that seemed to carry the weight of your anticipation.

"Only the best," Kimi assured you, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "I've booked a whole restaurant for you and your parents to catch up," he announced. "They've been dying to hear about your life, your work, your… everything."

The realization that your parents were here, in Verona, because of Kimi's thoughtfulness, brought a rush of emotion.

You felt your eyes well up with tears as you looked at the man standing before you, his hand still resting gently on your waist. The gesture was more than just a show of affection; it was a declaration of intent, a promise to support and cherish you. You knew then that this was no fleeting fling, no whirlwind romance destined to burn out as quickly as it had ignited. This was something real, something that could withstand the tests of time and distance.

As your parents approached, the reality of the situation sank in. Kimi had done all of this for you, had brought your worlds together in a way that was both beautifully romantic and utterly unexpected.

The restaurant was a hidden gem, tucked away down a narrow alleyway. The walls were a warm terracotta, adorned with ivy and fairy lights, giving it a cozy, intimate feel. The scent of garlic and tomatoes filled the air, mingling with the soft murmur of Italian conversation and the clinking of glasses.

The meal that followed was a feast for the senses. Each dish was a testament to the rich tapestry of Italian cuisine, a symphony of flavors that danced on your tongue. You could feel the love and care that had been poured into each morsel, the tender embrace of a culture that reveled in the joy of food and the company of those you shared it with. The wine flowed freely, and your cheeks grew flushed as the warmth of it spread through your body.

Throughout dinner, you watched Kimi as he chatted with your parents, his Italian accent thickening with his enthusiasm. The way he spoke about his passion for racing, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his love for the sport—it was infectious. You felt a swell of pride in him, in his dedication and his success, and you knew that he was the kind of man who would never stop pushing himself to be better.

The conversation flowed easily, a tapestry of languages and laughter. Your mother spoke of her own youth in Italy, her eyes sparkling as she recounted tales of her rebellious days that made you blush. Your father spoke of his love for your mother, their bond still strong after all these years, and you found yourself looking at Kimi, wondering if that could be you someday.

Kimi reached across the table, his hand finding yours. He laced his fingers through yours, the touch sending a jolt of electricity up your arm. The intertwining of your hands felt natural, as if your hands had been searching for this connection since the moment you had first laid eyes on each other.

You took a deep breath, feeling a sudden urge to speak in the language that had brought you so much closer to him. "Mamma, Papà," you began, your voice a soft caress as you spoke in Italian, "Kimi mi ha portato qui per dirvi qualcosa di speciale."

Your parents' expressions shifted from surprise to astonishment, their eyes widening as they took in your words. You had never fully learned Italian in all those years. Yet here you were, speaking fluently in the language of love and passion, all because of the man beside you.

"Mamma, Papà, Kimi mi ha insegnato l'italiano," you continued, a blush spreading across your cheeks as you revealed the secret. Kimi's grip on your hand tightened slightly, his eyes filled with admiration.

Your mother's hand flew to her chest, her eyes wide with shock and delight. "Davvero?" she exclaimed, her voice filled with incredulity. "Ma come?"

Your father's smile grew wider, his eyes glistening with pride. "È vero," Kimi said, his own Italian smooth and confident. "Tua figlia ha lavorato duramente. Voleva farvi una sorpresa."

You felt a thrill of excitement at the way your parents' gazes darted between you and Kimi, their astonishment clear. It was a moment you had never dreamed of, a moment where the two halves of your world collided in a beautiful mess of love and passion.

"Sí, mamma," you continued, your Italian rolling off your tongue with surprising ease. "Kimi mi ha mostrato il vero amore per l'italiano. Mi ha insegnato parole, frasi, mi ha raccontato storie."

Your mother's eyes sparkled with unshed tears as she took in the transformation before her. Your father leaned back in his chair, his hand on his chin, a proud smile playing on his lips.

"Incredibile," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You never cease to amaze us."

Your mother's grip on your hand tightened, her eyes brimming with tears of joy. "Che bella," she whispered, her voice filled with awe.

Kimi's thumb traced comforting circles on the back of your hand as you spoke, his eyes never leaving yours. The way he looked at you, with such admiration and love, made your heart swell in your chest. You had studied Italian for so long, but speaking it in front of your parents, with the man who had inspired you to finally master it, was a revelation.

Your mother's cheeks were flushed with emotion as she listened, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Mi dispiace," you said, switching to English. "I didn't mean to shock you. I just wanted to show you how much I've learned, and how much Kimi has helped me."

Your father leaned in, his gaze soft. "It's not every day you hear your daughter speaking Italian like a native," he said, his voice gruff with emotion. "It's… incredible."

You felt a lump form in your throat, the weight of their happiness pressing against your chest. "Thank you," you whispered, squeezing Kimi's hand. "It's all because of him."

"That's a story to tell your kids," your mom teased, wiping away a tear with the edge of her napkin. "You found love by Italian lessons?"

You couldn't help but laugh at the irony of it all. The journey that had started with a simple curiosity about a language had led you to the love of your life.

As the evening grew later, the conversation grew quieter, more intimate. You found yourself leaning closer to Kimi, the warmth of his body a comforting presence. His thumb continued to stroke the back of your hand, sending waves of pleasure up your arm, and you felt a sudden urge to kiss him.

Before you could act on the impulse, he leaned over and pressed his lips to your cheek. The softness of his touch, the gentle brush of his stubble against your skin, made you giggle involuntarily.

The sensation of his kiss lingered on your cheek, a warm imprint of his affection. You felt your cheeks flush as you turned to look at him, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "What's so funny?" he asked, his voice a low purr that seemed to vibrate through you.

"It's just… I wasn't expecting that," you replied, your voice a soft giggle. The gesture was so tender, so unexpectedly sweet, that it had caught you off guard. Kimi's smile grew, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "But I'm not complaining," you added hastily, feeling the blush deepen.

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving yours. "You know," he began, his voice dropping to a whisper that seemed to echo through the emptying restaurant, "I've had a lot of amazing moments in my life. Winning races, standing on podiums, living my dreams. But nothing… nothing has ever made me feel like this."

His thumb stopped its lazy circles, his hand stilling in yours. "You," he continued, his eyes searching yours with a depth that made your heart flutter, "are the best surprise I've ever had."

Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt your cheeks burn. The room grew quiet around you, the whispers of the last diners fading into the background as you became lost in his gaze. Your eyes fell to your entwined hands, the stark contrast of your fair skin against his tanned, calloused fingers.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the words that had been hovering just beyond your lips for what felt like an eternity. "I love you, Kimi," you finally said, the words tumbling out in a rush of air.

Kimi's smile grew even brighter, his eyes lighting up like the stars that had just begun to peek through the inky sky above. "And I love you," he responded, his voice a soft caress that seemed to envelop you in a warm embrace.

The words hung in the air, a declaration that seemed to resonate through every atom of the universe. The love that had sparked between you during those Italian lessons had grown into a fiery inferno, and you were both lost in its embrace.

Kimi leaned in, capturing your lips with his, the kiss a sweet symphony of passion and promise.

You melted into the warmth of his embrace, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease away. His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer until there was no space between you.

"I'm glad I took those Italian lessons from you," you murmured against his chest, your voice muffled by his shirt.

Kimi's chuckle rumbled through him, his hand tightening around your waist. "They've served us both well," he said, his voice a velvety purr that sent shivers down your spine.

You leaned back into him, the scent of him enveloping you like a warm embrace. "More than you know," you murmured, your voice thick with unspoken desire.

The Italian language had become more than just a bridge between you—it was a secret language of love, a shared history that only the two of you could understand. . . .