#everyone from drivers to tom | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

forlix · 6 months

Text

𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠・h.h.

— you're uninviting, there's no doubt about that, your resolve like unpolished diamond and tongue like broken glass. but hyunjin finds you're not half as impossible as everyone assumes you are.

words・11.1k

pairing・idol!hyunjin x female stylist!reader (inspired by this)

genres・fluff, angst, eventual smut so MDNI, some hurt/comfort, some humor, mc is a bad bitch and hyunjin is a #simp, enemies? to lovers, sexual tension, workplace relationship, mutual pining, slow burn, nonlinear narrative, alternating perspectives

warnings・cunnilingus, overstimulation, creampie (practice safe sex!!), mild dacryphilia. again, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WITH THIS POST WILL BE BLOCKED.

warnings (cont'd.)・reader vividly remembers an anxiety attack. alcohol is consumed. lots of compartmentalization and imperfect communication. latter half is just kind of sad in general tbh but what do u expect from a fic based off alex turner lyrics

playlist・farewell, neverland by txt・like crazy by jimin・black friday by tom odell・collide by justine skye・crying lightning by arctic monkeys

a/n・call me victor frankenstein bc i've given birth to a MONSTER (except i actually love and care for mine ofc). this was easily the greatest challenge of my fanfiction-writing career and it feels like my magnum opus; i hope it's worth the wait! also a huge shoutout to sahar for being my voice of reason and my biggest supporter :’) i don’t deserve u i love u

Present day. Cannes, France. 5:54 P.M.

You’ve long made peace with the fact that Hwang Hyunjin is incapable of shutting up for more than five minutes.

As it is, the man has a mouth that runs like a cross-country marathon; then throw in his uncanny aptitude for annoying you, and what do you get? A nonstop slew of terrible jokes and teasing quips, tailored according to his thorough mental manual of what gets under your skin hardest and fastest.

This is the reality you live in, presumably because you were evil in your past life, and you’ve steeled yourself to see it through.

But twenty minutes have passed since you and Hyunjin ducked into the back of a cab and gave the driver the show’s address—and, as stunning as the red rooftops and lazuline coastline of Cannes are, you find you’re more interested in Hyunjin’s peculiar silence.

You move your gaze to his face. He’s looking outside, his chin resting upon the palm of his hand, the afternoon sunlight dusting over his chiseled features like polish on pottery; his complexion an exuberant gold against the cream-colored linen that makes up his clothing.

Maybe it’s because you opted for a simpler makeup look today, leaving the most telling contours of his face warm and bare, or maybe it’s because you’ve spent the last year committing his every mannerism and expression to memory. Nevertheless, you see through his pursed lips and tight brow right away.

“Nervous?”

Hyunjin’s head swivels towards you with a small snap, like he’s forgotten you’re here. His lips fall open, their glossy peach color glinting with the small shift.

“No,” he replies reflexively, but then his facade flickers. “Fuck, maybe a little. It’s just hard to believe, you know?”

You do know. It was a huge honor for both of you when Hyunjin was named the newest global ambassador of Versace. For you to be attending the brand’s pop-up show in one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, among some of the world’s most prolific creatives, is truly incomprehensible. Even you’ve been feeling antsy since you landed; you can only imagine Hyunjin’s anxiety.

You have never been good at consolation. You think your mouth is too coarse, your propensity for honesty too strong. But you’ve always known just what to say when it comes to him.

“Just remember who you are.”

Hyunjin takes a few seconds to process your words, but his understanding washes over his whole body; straightens his back; hardens his gaze. You don’t see this change in posture, though. You’re too busy looking anywhere else, all of a sudden feeling quite embarrassed.

Nor do you see the private smile that disperses across Hyunjin’s lips; his eyes softening so, so marginally when they peer at your profile; his hand twitching where it rests on his knee, as if contemplating reaching for you with a mind of its own.

Thirty seconds. That is the amount of time you have left to bask in this otherworldly tranquility. And then he speaks.

“I want you to meet my parents.”

Your arm reacts before your mind can. Without having to turn your head an inch, you smack him squarely in the bicep, sending him crumpling against his door with a bark of a laugh; “please,” he adds, and you’re biting back a smile as you hit him again, with less conviction this time.

The cab driver nearly misses an exit, too busy wondering about the peculiar pair in his backseat and the nature of your relationship. He can’t tell if you hate each other or if you’re married.

One year ago. Seoul, South Korea. 8:42 A.M.

“I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me.”

“For my newborn daughter.”

“Yeah, okay. I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me for your newborn daughter. What does that brat have that I don’t?”

“My genes, to begin with.”

“That’s unfair. She’s using—”

An important-looking pair of women step out of the nearest elevators, the clacking of their heels ricocheting sharply off the lobby walls. Hyunjin straightens his back so quickly he thinks he pulls a muscle. He and Seojun incline their heads in perfect sync, their “good morning”s prim and professional.

“She’s using cheats,” Hyunjin hisses the second the women are out of earshot again, and this wrests a laugh from the older man at last.

Around one month prior, Seojun confided in Hyunjin that he and his partner were expecting their first child soon, and that he would be putting his career on indefinite hiatus to welcome her into the world.

Hyunjin had never felt so conflicted in his life. On one hand, he’d grown closer to his stylist over the last two years than he’d thought possible, and he knew it was stupid to be anything but delighted for him and his expanding family. On the other hand, it was precisely because they’d become so close that he wanted to grab the man by the ankles and shake the decision clean out of his body. He couldn’t imagine a dressing room or tour bus without him.

Today is a Saturday, but it’s also Seojun’s last day with the company. Hyunjin dragged himself to the JYP building at half past eight with much less reluctance than he let on. He wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

“Fourth floor,” Seojun instructs after the pair enter the elevator, and Hyunjin presses a knuckle to the according number. “Thanks.”

The doors slide shut; the floor numbers tick upwards.

“What was her name again?” Hyunjin asks.

“Y/N,” Seojun returns. “Y/L/N.”

“Is she here already?”

“No, she’ll be here at nine.”

There’s a small pause.

“Hyung.”

“Hm?”

“I feel like I’m being married off to another family for political reasons.”

“God, I can’t wait to be free of your theatrics.”

At this, the two men make eye contact; exchange smiles. The elevator announces their arrival to the fourth floor, and they step through the doors.

“You’ll be in good hands,” Seojun reassures. “She’s the best of the best. I hear she’s basically running the industry these days. I’m surprised she agreed to take you on.”

“I’m surprised an old fry like you knows someone like her,” Hyunjin replies, and the look Seojun gives him is so withering that he thinks he pulls a muscle again with his apologetic bow.

“You’re not wrong, though,” Seojun concedes. “We happened to work on the same project back when she was still a small name, and we’ve kept in touch ever since. She’s a great kid. Ambitious, hardworking, strong as hell—”

They arrive outside their destination, and Hyunjin holds open the door to the conference room. Only to find that Seojun has stopped in his footsteps, temporarily stunned by a new realization.

She reminds me of him.

“He’s forgotten how to walk,” the him in question whispers like he’s narrating a nature documentary, and the moment is over. “Is this what fatherhood does to a man?”

Seojun kicks Hyunjin into the room by the seat of his pants.

The minutes pass slowly. Seojun moves his eyes between the door and his phone every few seconds, visibly antsy about the imminent meeting. In the meantime, Hyunjin makes the groundbreaking discovery that these office chairs are absurdly and almost suspiciously comfortable. All it takes is a chin upon his palm and a few seconds of shut-eye, and he’s suddenly slumped over the table, snoring softly into the crook of his elbow.

At 8:57, Seojun’s phone lights up with a new notification. At 8:58, he notices that Hyunjin is asleep, and closes his hand around the crumpled receipt in his pocket. At 8:59, he scrunches said receipt into a ball and launches it in Hyunjin’s direction. It hits him squarely on the head, and the boy is nearly knocked to the floor like a bowling pin.

“For that,” Hyunjin sputters, “I’m the godfather.”

“Absolutely the hell not.”

Then, it is 9:00.

When the door of the conference room opens, Hyunjin is still trying to gather his wits, wondering if the bastard is leaving the makeup industry to secretly pursue a career in professional basketball. He just barely notices the unfamiliar figure who steps into his line of vision.

“There she is,” Seojun greets warmly, rising to his feet right away. “God, how long has it been? Two, three years now?”

You’re not doing anything remarkable when Hyunjin sees you for the first time, simply walking across the room and bowing graciously in Seojun’s direction, but he is immediately under the vague impression that you’re cutting through space as you move, scorching the particles of air that dare obstruct your path.

With his head cocked slightly to the left, like a fascinated puppy, Hyunjin watches the stunning smile that forms on your lips when you take Seojun’s hand; your finger as it tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear with the elegance of rippling silk. His mind feels impossibly slow, like you’ve tapped open his skull and robbed him of his ability to think.

Then, you toss Hyunjin a look over your shoulder, and he’s reminded of lightning forking towards the earth. Terrifying, volatile, beautiful.

“Something like that,” you say, turning back to Seojun, and time starts to move again. “It’s great to see you again, Mr. Lee. Congratulations on the baby.”

“Please, Seojun is fine,” he answers hastily. “And thank you. Thank you for all of this, actually. I can’t tell you how excited we are to have you.”

“You’re too kind—I’m excited too.”

Upon uttering the word “we,” Seojun delivers Hyunjin a fleeting side-eye; he takes the hint and pushes himself to his feet, feeling uncharacteristically clumsy as he moves towards you.

The second time he meets your gaze, it feels wrong, almost, for him to hold it for as long as he does. Like he’s approaching your throne with his chin held high and eyes fixed forward instead of his head sweeping the ground.

Except he swears he senses a strange warmth within the rings of your irises, and he spends every second of eye contact following, chasing it, almost craning his neck with how badly he wants to get a closer look. Until he’s as close to you as is socially acceptable for a first meeting and comes to a halt.

He ends up losing its trail, but he won’t forget that it’s there.

“My client, I’m guessing?” You say, extending your hand. “Y/N. It’s a pleasure.”

Your fingers are freezing cold where they meet his, and Hyunjin already knows that melting the permafrost that coats your flesh and guards your soul will be the tallest task of his life.

But he finds his next words accompanied by an involuntary smirk; he’s nothing, if not tenacious.

“Hyunjin,” he returns. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

Nine months ago. Paris, France. 6:16 P.M.

Hyunjin isn’t sure why—maybe you forget that he can still steal glances at your reflection over your shoulder or through the gaps of your fingers—but he’s learned over the last four weeks that you’re different, gentler, when you’re doing his makeup.

Your cold hands request instead of demand that he angle his head a certain way or suck in his cheeks. Your syllables are rounder somehow, your voice never traveling above a murmur. Even your eyes mellow out when you move in really close, your pupils dilating as you detail the final touches to the fresco you’ve painted upon him.

Your expression doesn’t give you away (it never does), but his hunch is that there’s a sprinkle of doting somewhere among the intense focus. That would explain why he feels like a flower in the moments when your fingertips and gaze move so carefully over his skin, like you’re touching his petals, trying not to tear them.

Too bad you never let him daydream for long.

“Close.”

“Huh?”

“Your eyes. Close them.”

His lashes have hardly brushed his lower lids when you begin to empty what feels like an entire bottle of setting spray on him. At the moist surprise, Hyunjin’s features scrunch up around his nose and he lets out a distraught hack like an old man.

A few seconds later, the barrage stops, and he cracks open a wary eye to scope out his surroundings. You wait until he does this to give his face one last spurt.

“Witch,” Hyunjin mutters, clawing back up the vanity chair.

“Thank you,” you reply, completely earnestly.

And whatever Hyunjin was going to say next suspends instantly on his tongue when you bring the pad of your thumb to the very edge of his lower lip and drag it across the soft flesh. He wonders if you know how hard he tries not to look at your mouth whenever you tend to his. He wonders if there’s anything you don’t know.

“You smudged your lipstick already.” There’s a small streak of coral pink on your hand when it falls back to your side. “See? That’s why we need the setting spray.”

“Uh huh.” And Hyunjin spots a ghost of a smile flit across your face, gone nearly as soon as it appears. The only evidence of it ever existing is the quickened heartbeat it leaves behind within him.

“You’re done, by the way,” you say, stepping aside. “Take a look.”

He slips out of his seat and moves closer to the vanity, peering at his reflection as curiously as if he’s never seen it before. But that’s how he’s felt since he started working with you.

Seojun was right: you are the best that the makeup industry has to offer. Hyunjin has come to understand this for multiple reasons. Your phone screen is incessantly illuminated by new notifications and incoming calls. The other stylists heed your advice like it’s the law. Brushes and pencils move like water when it’s you maneuvering them. And then some.

He would call what you have “talent,” but he knows it’s more than that. You show him a new version of himself every time you turn a mirror in his direction, like there are facets of him that are visible to you and you only. As much as he delights in the notion that you have such intimate knowledge of him, it should be impossible, considering you’ve only known him for two months. So no, it’s not just talent that you possess. It’s some combination of talent, hawkish perception, and raw artistry that is utterly inhuman—and sexy as fuck.

Speaking of sexy. Hyunjin’s look is relatively rudimentary tonight, the makeup light, the outfit a simple black tank top beneath a jacket and pants made of bright red velvet. But it’s the details that tie the whole thing together: the wide, loose sleeves causing the jacket to slip continually off his shoulders; the inner layer tight in all the right places. His face doesn’t look half bad either, with the sultry carmine powder that fringes his eyes and the intentionally mussed state of his hair. He pushes a hand through the dark locks, regarding himself with thorough appreciation.

You appear in his periphery as you start cleaning up your work station. “You can just take the jacket off when your sweat glands start malfunctioning, by the way. I thought you’d appreciate that detail.”

At this, his smize cracks into a laugh, the sound loud and uninhibited and uniquely yours to hear. “You suck.”

He looks away from his reflection just in time to glimpse another of your phantom smiles, and he thinks it’s so painfully on brand that the two times it’s appeared tonight have both been from you making yourself laugh. You might be the most insufferable person he’s ever met. He might be obsessed with you anyways.

“Well?” You implore. “What do you think?”

“No notes.”

It’s the answer you’re expecting. You survey him from head to toe one last time, decide that you, too, are satisfied, and slip your makeup into your bag; hike its strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you after the show, then.”

You have an important conference call to attend before tonight’s concert, hence why Hyunjin had to come in early for hair and makeup. This is also the reason why the two of you have been the only people in the dressing room for the better part of an hour.

It’s rare that he ever gets you alone, and he doesn’t want it to end. Not just yet.

“I lied, actually,” he calls. “I do have notes.”

You already have one foot out the door when you hear this, and you turn around so slowly and in such disbelief that he has to fight to constrain his laugh—the concept of imperfection is truly unthinkable to you. Insufferable, like he said.

“Do tell,” you say, dropping your bag back onto the floor.

“You have any jewelry for me?”

You chew on this for a moment. You did have a selection of necklaces prepared for tonight, but they were heavy and numerous, not exactly the best-suited for the group’s dynamic sets. You still like them, granted, and you know Hyunjin would as well.

You articulate all of this to him, and he asks if he can take a look at them anyways. “Come here, then,” you say, the words so tantalizing when they fall from your lips that nearly trips over himself trying to obey.

You take out a flat rectangular box from your bag and set it down in front of the lightbulb-studded mirrors. Hyunjin observes quietly as you show him its contents: three thick, gold chains with varying lengths and boasting different pendants, plus a beaded bracelet and an assembly of rings of the same material. His devious plan aside, he does love the selection.

“You’re sure you won’t be uncomfortable?”

He nods, and you pick up the longest of the three chains; turn to him expectedly. He takes this as his cue to move closer to you, except he overshoots a little, and he feels the tips of his shoes accidentally bump into the ends of yours; discerns the warmth emanating from your body against his own. He expects a withering glare, a kick in the shin, maybe, but you don’t seem bothered by the proximity at all, unblinking as you bring your hands around the either side of his neck and fasten the first necklace with a soft tap. Your fingers then brush over his collarbones to adjust the pendant, and he thinks your hands would have to be numb not to perceive the frantic heartbeat threatening to burst straight out of his skin.

Entire minutes pass before Hyunjin musters the courage to actually look at you. By then, you’re already working on the third and final necklace. It’s not a surprise that your face is mere inches away from his; he’s been watching your reflections out of the corner of his eye; he knows you’re closer to each other than you’ve ever been. But there are parts of you that the mirror doesn’t show—the soft curve of your lashes, the concentrated narrow of your eyes, the shapely protrusion of your pursed lips—and these surprise him so thoroughly that he slips and slides out of his right mind.

You are the type of beautiful that’s been around longer than humans have, the same as that of the true blue color of forget-me-nots. And Hyunjin feels enveloped, intoxicated by you from this minuscule distance. The idea forms numbly in his head that maybe, just maybe, he was put on this earth to admire you.

In this inebriated state, he makes a venturesome decision.

When you finish centering the last pendant upon the his chest, you are about to take a step back and review the updated look, but you’re debilitated by the feeling of fingers grazing over your hip—lightly, so lightly that you mistake them for a gust of wind at first, but the contact is enough to push the small of your back against the edge of the counter. Then, both of Hyunjin’s hands reach behind you, pressing flat against the marble surface, and, just like that, he has you right where he wants you, ensnared between cold stone and hot flesh.

And so begins an equilibrium so fragile that it’ll shatter if one of you so much as blinks the wrong way, your rattled breath fluttering against his lips, his eyes dark and hooded and out of focus as they survey the fine lines of your expression. It still doesn’t give you away (it never does), but he finds that in this moment he just doesn’t care.

“Let me take you out,” he murmurs. “One date.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You reply under your breath.

“You know what I’m talking about, beautiful.”

Upon uttering that last word, he angles his head almost imperceptibly, the movement challenging, daring you to say something about it. But you don’t. You merely hiss out a whetted “you’re fucking crazy,” and that’s his opening to drag this on a little longer; push your limits a little more.

“About you? Damn straight.”

At this, finally, fucking finally, there is a semblance of something in your face that isn’t just your usual mildly-irritated nonchalance. Instead, he detects surprise in the whites of your eyes as you widen them; as you part your lips with a response that only comes much later.

And he’s surprised by your surprise. Surely, with your skills of observation, you would’ve noticed long ago how his world shrinks down to only you and your gorgeous voice and your confident glare and your shitty sense of humor whenever he’s been granted the privilege of your presence.

This might be the first time he’s admitted it out loud, but he hasn’t tried—hasn’t been able—to hide how he feels about you, not now, not ever. It’s been that way since the moment the sole of your shoe met the carpet of that conference room on the fourth floor of the JYP building.

“Hwang—” You begin.

“Hyung!”

At the sound of a third, new voice, your arms tense like you’re about to shove Hyunjin off of you, but he only leans in further, so that his lips almost graze your jaw and your hands have nowhere to go except the taut surface of his chest. The surprise is gone; now you’re just pissed. He can feel the heat of your furious eyes and the tremor in your hands as you form fists around the fabric of his top. But he takes his sweet time in scooping up the bracelet and rings, and only afterwards does he pull away from you and straighten to his full height.

“Hey, Innie!” Hyunjin chirps, and Jeongin materializes in the doorway, looking thoroughly perturbed by the older boy’s sunny tone. “What’s up?”

In the meantime, you turn around to snap the lid of your jewelry box shut, and it takes a singular glance in the mirror for a truly horrible realization to settle upon your shoulders. You don’t think anybody would be able to tell even if you announced it outright, but you know yourself and the little nuances of your face all too well.

You’re flustered.

You feel like a horror movie heroine breaking the fourth wall.

“Nothing, weirdo. I was just announcing my arrival,” Jeongin says. Thank fuck you did, Hyunjin thinks to himself, completely unaware of the epiphany you’re having behind him. “Chan-hyung mentioned you were here already? Why?”

“She’s in high demand.” Hyunjin points out the she in question by jutting his chin in your direction. “The usual.”

“Ah.”

Jeongin inclines his head towards you in polite greeting. You return his hello, but your expression starts to feel tight when his eyes dart between the strange smile on Hyunjin’s face and your awkward stance (still glued to the edge of the counter) as he drops his duffel by the couch. The boy isn’t stupid, unlike his older counterpart.

“I saw a vending machine on my way here,” Jeongin says, turning to leave the room again. “You want anything, hyung? Noona?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say.

“I’ll have whatever you have,” Hyunjin says.

Jeongin flashes a thumbs-up and dips out of the room, perhaps a little more hastily than he intends to come across. And then there are two. Again.

You wait until you can’t hear his footsteps anymore, and then you turn to glower at Hyunjin so intensely that he thinks you’re about to place a curse on his whole bloodline.

Then, your phone starts vibrating, and he knows he’ll live to see another day.

“You still owe me an answer,” Hyunjin calls as you turn around and leave the room.

“Don’t hold your breath,” you reply.

One day, I’ll break her, is the predominant thought that resides in Hyunjin’s head as he slips on the remaining jewelry; watches your figure disappear around a corner. One day, I’ll break his face, is the predominant thought that resides in yours as you stalk away. That’s the two of you, in a nutshell.

Six months ago. Osaka, Japan. 3:03 P.M.

When you walk into the dressing room, you find Haeun hunched over an overflowing photo album with her hands forming fists in her hair, muttering to nobody in particular, “I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.”

There’s an amused look in your eye as you set your bag down by Hyunjin’s empty vanity chair. She hasn’t noticed your presence yet; approximately three hallways down, the members are rehearsing for tonight’s performance on the main stage of the Kyocera Dome, and the music is so loud that you think you actually saw the walls vibrating while you were in the hallway moments ago.

You rise to your tiptoes and encroach upon her, waiting until she’s within reach to tickle the back of her neck. She nearly flies out of her seat with a shriek that can be heard over the heavy bass.

“Never gets old.” You hand her the photo album that went soaring also, and Haeun snatches it back with an affronted flourish.

“I can’t remember the last time you said hi to me normally, unnie.”

“Me neither, now that you mention it.”

Haeun and Han are your favorite stylist-idol duo in the world because they’re so eerily similar—and it’s adorable. They both illuminate every room they walk into; they both have grins too big for their faces, laughs too loud for their lungs. You always regret leaving your sunglasses at home when you catch sight of the effulgent pair.

But today you cannot detect the usual radiance in Haeun’s voice, nor so much as a hint of her easy grin. Then again, that’s another quality that she and her client share; they’re both well acquainted with the burdens that come with unwavering passion.

Every stylist has their own modus operandi. Haeun’s is a scrapbook of images that she cuts out and saves from catalogs, advertisements, newspapers, et cetera. You’ve seen it many times before, but never in such a state: messy handwriting stuffing the margins to their very brims, numbers and symbols like clusters of rainclouds over a sea of different outfits, arrows and circles and squares highlighting pant cuffs and cascade collars and dangling earrings. Telltale signs that Haeun hasn’t a clue as to what Han will be wearing tonight.

You gnaw on your lower lip, deliberating your next move. You end up placing a firm hand against the album’s cover and pushing it closed.

“Come with me,” you say. “We’re gonna try a new approach.”

Haeun opens her mouth to protest, but unfortunately you have an extensive track record of being right.

“What do you have in mind?” She sighs instead.

“You’ll see.”

With that, you stand up, tuck a small towel under your arm, and angle your head in the direction of the music.

The two of you make your way through the labyrinth of hallways that comprise the venue’s backstage. Eventually, the color of the floor changes from speckled white to solid black, and you step onto the part of the stage that is concealed from the audience by drawn curtains and heavy equipment. You say a quick hello to the group’s manager as you dip past him, and eventually reach the edge of the curtains, where you and Haeun have a good view of the eight members as they run through their setlist for tonight’s concert.

Haeun settles into the spot beside you, still confused as she follows your gaze.

“Let me ask you this,” you say, just audible over the din. “Can you style a performer if you don’t know how he performs?”

And understanding seeps over her features like poured tea.

“I want you to watch him,” you continue. “Tell me how he performs.”

Han’s part begins, as if on cue. His voice rings out through the empty stadium as he ducks to the front of the formation, a microphone held loosely to his lips, his face taut with focus. Haeun stares at him for some time, silently trying to fathom her observations, but she sees you shaking your head in the corner of her eye.

“Don’t think, Haeun. Just speak.”

She blows out a deep breath before obliging. “It’s hard to picture Han doing anything but laughing or making other people laugh, he’s so goofy and lighthearted most of the time. But he’s like a different person on stage. He’s so intense, it’s almost intimidating. Not intimidating in a douchey way, though—you just get the impression that he’s very confident in himself and his music.

You don’t say another word, but don’t need to. She’s hit her stride.

“His voice and enunciation are so clear. It’s crazy how he sounds exactly like the studio recording. Plus, his delivery feels genuine; he’s not just reciting lyrics, but speaking straight from his heart.

“And this is gonna sound bad, but I didn’t know Han could dance. Like, yeah, I knew that he could dance, but not like this. His movements are so sharp that I feel like my attention is being—”

Right there.

She cuts herself off, reaching the same conclusion.

“It’s his turn to talk, and he wants you to cling to his every word," Haeun articulates slowly. "He’s demanding your attention. He needs you to listen. That’s how he performs.”

A satisfied smile bolts across your face like lightning. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Haeun pictures her scrapbook again, and there are now only a few articles of clothing and accessories that fit the framework you’ve helped her forge. She’s almost dizzy with disbelief, tearing her eyes from Han to look at you instead.

“You’re brilliant, you know that?”

“I do, but I appreciate the reminder.”

She can’t help but giggle. It’s a you answer if she’s ever heard one. “Do you do that with all of your clients?”

Haeun asks the question arbitrarily, without thinking. But you respond in a way that she doesn’t think she’s ever witnessed before, and she’s momentarily baffled by the sight: you hesitate.

As the song’s final chorus approaches, Hyunjin is the one folding himself into the center of the eight-person throng. You can only see his back from this angle, but even then it’s palpable how expertly and effortlessly he molds his body to the modulations of the music; how much fervor and feeling he expresses with every jerk of his spine and flex of his hands.

Within a few short seconds, innumerable descriptors and sensations skim the surface of your mind—but one word knocks the rest clean out of the water, the way it always does when you watch Hwang Hyunjin perform.

Artistry.

“No,” you reply. “Not all of them.”

And where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?

Haeun furrows a brow, understandably puzzled by this response, but you don’t elaborate. Partially because you feel like being coy, but mostly because you know that any explanation you offer will sound like a confession.

The song ends, leaving your ears ringing with the abrupt absence of sound. The members hold their poses with heaving shoulders, staring out into the empty stands until the stage manager’s voice comes through the monitors.

“And that’s a wrap! We’re all set for tonight. Good work, everyone.”

There is a ripple of movement around the stage as the boys relax. Jeongin jogs over to Minho, hoping to review a particularly challenging dance break; the manager asks Chan if he has a second to discuss travel logistics; Seungmin plops onto the edge of the stage and downs the rest of his water; Hyunjin beelines toward you the second he sees you, because of course he does.

You get a good look at him as he skips closer. Stray blonde locks plastered against his damp skin, tank top dyed several shades darker by the perspiration rolling down his neck, the muscles of his arms actually rippling as he swings them around stupidly, a shit-eating smile plastered across his stunning face.

You’re annoyed before he says a word.

“I didn’t know they were letting fans backstage now,” he hums happily. “Want an autograph, gorgeous?”

“Put a sock in it.” You whisk the towel you’ve been holding in his direction. “Wet freak.”

But he catches and tosses it over his shoulder straightaway, and your heart sinks to your fucking ankle. You’ve seen this movie before. You know how it ends.

“No.” You take a shaky step back. “No, nope, don’t even think about—”

The next thing you know, Hyunjin is lunging towards you and winding his arms around your waist, nearly sweeping you clean off your feet as he pulls you into his sweaty embrace. To your complete dismay, your face presses flat against the clammy plane of his chest. “Call me a wet freak again, go on,” he manages to say through his laughter.

In response, one of your hands wriggles free of its slippery prison and snatches the cuff of Hyunjin’s ear with impressive accuracy. He yelps and loosens his hold on you, but doesn’t relent completely, not even when he catches sight of the murderous expression on your face and cackles so forcefully his whole head is thrown back.

You tighten your grip. “Wet,” you seethe, “freak.”

“Ow—okay, don’t make it hot, what’s wrong with you?”

“Wha—what’s wrong with YOU?!”

As the two of you dissolve into your fatuous arguing, Haeun is no longer sure that she’s still standing here. She’s not even sure if she’s in her right mind anymore. She thinks she might be hallucinating the way everything about Hyunjin softens next to you, or the way your biting tone only seems to nibble when it’s him on the receiving end.

“Psst. We’ve been placing bets on them. You want in?”

Han suddenly materializes next to Haeun, and she would have been jumpscared into a different dimension if she wasn’t so fixated upon the bizarre occurrence before her.

But what if she’s not hallucinating?

No, not all of them, you’d said, like you were disclosing a forbidden secret.

“Yes,” she says, and Han beams. “Absolutely.”

Three months ago. Seoul, South Korea. 2:26 A.M.

On a tranquil Saturday night, you’re sitting at your desk, your knees tucked to your chest, the newest episode of your drama playing quietly on your laptop, a half-empty glass of rosé and open sketchbook laid before you. This is your happy place—a safe haven that the trials and tribulations of the real world can’t reach. But you think you’ve really gone and lost your mind when you find yourself thinking about your job.

Well, not your job, exactly. More like the man who makes your job feel fucking Sisyphean.

You know your way around fabric and foundation better than anyone, but you have never struggled with anything as much as you have trying to navigate Hyunjin. You show up to work every day ready to just put some makeup on the man; instead, you wind up stumbling around the potholes of his dimples and the hills of the veins that run over his forearms and hands like a hopeless drunkard. Scouring the creases of his smile and the oscillations of his voice like they’re topographical maps. Mentally replaying your interactions with him time and time again like you’re monitoring security footage, trying to detect illicit activity in every casual touch he leaves on your shoulder or waist; every babe or gorgeous he throws your way, seemingly without a second thought.

You’ve been trying to understand him and his intentions for seven months now, and your efforts have yielded no fruit whatsoever, save for a few theories that you feel insane for even humoring.

You down the rest of the blush-colored liquid, and as you set down your empty glass you notice your fingers itch with a familiar urge. The pen that you’ve been twirling over your knuckles stills, then swivels; its tip hovers over the last free corner of the sheet of cartridge paper below you. And then it presses upon the surface and starts to move, as naturally as if on its own.

When you were little, you came across a children’s book that you no longer remember the name of, about a little girl with a magical pen that brought her every drawing to life. You decided then that you would one day be that girl.

At some point, the subjects of your incessant sketching became almost exclusively runway models and makeup advertisements. You cemented that you wanted to work in fashion as early as your high school graduation, and by then you already possessed the conviction and charisma of the industry’s most experienced members. Your portfolio was stellar; your personality prophesied of wild success. So your career took off, propelled by the neverending positions and projects that various companies continually laid before your feet.

You stand and pad to your kitchen to refill your glass, only to bring the entire bottle of wine back to your room instead. With one hand, you flick the cap off and lift the whole thing to your lips; with the other, you seize your pen again, not wanting to lose momentum.

For the year or so after you joined the industry, you basked in your idyllic prosperity. Even the doodles you scrawled on random napkins during banal business lunches would appear on some of the world’s most renowned faces the next week. You had indubitably become the little girl from your story; made a career out of giving your imagination tangible form. And what a fruitful career it was going to be.

If only you knew how it would strengthen you in ways you never wanted.

The first time someone called you cold, it took you a while to realize that they were talking about you. The phrase was said so casually and lightheartedly that it sounded at first like a piece of unimportant small talk. But the whisper of cold bitch was then followed by a bout of stifled laughter and what was undoubtedly your name. Your heart stopped along with your footsteps, and you looked towards the source: two interns whose names you had yet to learn, while yours was already in their mouths.

You felt nothing until you were three stops away from your apartment, and then the bottom of the subway gave out beneath you and suddenly you were feeling everything. Only confusion, hurt, and rage at first, but then the other emotions that you’d been smothering tirelessly for who-knows-how-long tore free of their cerebral shackles too, and together they formed an amalgamation of anxiety that closed up your throat within seconds.

As your pen studs details into a shapely jawline, you remember how you’d shoved your way off the subway and made a mad dash into the night air. You remember how you collapsed against a utility pole in an unfamiliar neighborhood, how your knuckles paled around the ashen wood, how your tears tumbled over your lips and salted your tongue. You remember wanting to go home so badly that you thought your ribcage would cave in on itself with the weight of it. You remember begging for air, for you.

By the time the oxygen had returned to your lungs, the streets were empty save for you, crouched on the curb, your face buried in your arms, spent, shattered, and alone. You were only nineteen at the time.

You are now twenty-two, and the word “cold” has become a regular guest in the lodgings of your heart. You never invite it over, but you’re no longer surprised to find it at your door. It’s a thief, swiping pieces of you when it thinks you’re not looking—a fragment above the fireplace, a scrap from the cracks between the couch—and you know whenever you’re being robbed, know that you lose parts of yourself upon its every visit. But better that than acknowledging what you lose.

You allow it to walk away with full pockets every time.

Hyunjin does not.

“Three words to describe yourself. Go,” he said a few days ago, the two of you heading back to the tour bus after a filming session.

You were so used to these irrational inquiries of his that you didn’t bother trying to dodge this one. “You first.”

“Smart, sexy, suave,” he said immediately, but burst into a sheepish laugh at the sight of your weary glare. “Fine, fine, let me think. Ambitious, for one. Introspective, definitely—maybe overly so. And artistic. I’d like to think so, at least. Satisfied?”

The most creative person you knew doubting his own ingenuity was absurd to you, but you nodded begrudgingly. It was a good answer, for the most part.

“Now you.”

Honestly, the thief had surfaced the moment you heard the question, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to inform Hyunjin of its existence. Not because you didn’t trust him—you did, more than you had anyone in years—but because you didn’t know what you’d do with yourself if he agreed. You weren’t sure your heart would be able to take it.

When you met the boy’s gaze, though, the carob brown of his eyes was so curious and so comforting that you suspected that was never a possibility.

“Cold,” you mumbled. “I’ve been called cold before.”

There was a pregnant pause. You found yourself holding your breath. And then—

“That’s a joke, right?”

Hyunjin began to count off his fingers.

“Mean. So mean. Impossibly, infuriatingly confident. Talented, stubborn, strong. Funny, sometimes, I guess, though I’d rather you hit me with a metal pipe than admit that ever again.”

At this, you caved; a laugh erupted from your lips, leaving a genuine smile in its wake.

“Determined. Eloquent. Bossy. Some kind of evil, twisted genius. Contemplative, caring, compassionate. Fearless,” he went on. “You get my point. You’re a lot of things, Y/N, but cold isn’t one—”

He was about to say something mind-numbingly stupid. You could sense it in the air.

“—and not just because you’re hot.”

You smacked his bicep, the smile on your face now an uninhibited, helpless grin. And as he vanished into a fit of high-pitched laughter, you thought you sensed him crack open your door and slip your missing artifacts back to their rightful places.

Hyunjin began to climb into the bus, and you caught the cuff of his sleeve, your feet still planted on the pavement.

“Thank you,” you said.

The tremors of his fond chuckle traveled to your very core.

“Idiot,” he sighed softly.

Idiot, you write, and the drawings are complete.

When you stand up, the bottle is mostly gone—and so are you. You splash some water on your face in lieu of your skincare routine and prod the inside of your mouth a few times using a dry toothbrush, and then you dive beneath your duvet and are dead asleep in minutes. Your slumber is interrupted only by dreams of a world where your theories about Hyunjin aren’t just theories.

If you’d had even one mouthful less of rosé, you might’ve remembered that you picked up your phone and opened your most recent conversation somewhere between steps two and three.

[3:10 A.M.] To: Hwang Hyunjin (Stray Kids, JYP) Audio Message.wav

Hi. I’m drunk and I’m going to regret this tomorrow. But that’s tomorrow’s business. There’s something I need to tell you tonight.

After I moved to Seoul, I used to get these bouts of homesickness. Not in a standard ‘I wanna go home’ kind of way, but in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below me. I was always ready for it to swallow me alive. I would’ve been happy for it to.

But I haven’t felt that way since I met you. I realized this not too long ago, and it threw me for a fucking loop. I’ve never felt seen the way you see me. I’ve never been known the way you know me. Every time I look at you or hear your voice, it feels so much like returning home that I don’t have to dream of it anymore.

You called me fearless the other day, but you’re wrong. I’m terrified. I’m terrified that history is going to repeat itself, that another home will slip through the cracks between my fingers and there will be nothing I can do to stop it. And that’s why I’m so hesitant towards you, towards whatever this is, because I don’t want to go through that ever again.

So the thing I need to tell you is that I care about you. I care so much that I’m scared speaking it into existence will make it real and vulnerable to all the worst parts of the world. But it’s not speaking it into existence if I’m drunk, right? Maybe I have no idea what I’m talking about. Maybe you’ll never even hear this. So it doesn’t count. That’s how that works, surely.

Sorry if this was totally nonsensical. And sorry that I’m so bad at feelings. You must think I’m impossible, and I don’t blame you.

Good night, Hyunjin. Thank you, again.

One month ago. Los Angeles, United States. 12:37 A.M.

When Hyunjin steps out of the hotel’s tall glass double doors, he’s wearing a teatree facemask, and his bags are draped over the crooks of his elbows like he’s an upper-echelon socialite on his way back from a lavish shopping spree. And then he sees you standing next to the curb, and the situation dawns on him in bits and pieces.

You’re the only one here. The vans that were supposed to take you to the airport are nowhere to be seen. Boarding begins in four minutes.

A soft flinch crimps his features. Oops.

“Tomorrow night,” you’re saying into your receiver, but your attention is on him only, your penetrative gaze putting the dead in deadpan. “The absolute earliest. You’re sure?”

When you finish listening to the manager’s response, you heave a sigh that sags your shoulders and end the call with a jab that should’ve splintered your screen protector.

Then, you start walking towards him.

“Hi,” Hyunjin says, his eyes pleading for mercy. “You are so talented and beautiful. I don’t tell you that often enough, do I?”

He expects you to grab him by the cuff of his ear again, to throw him a retort that’s twice as mean as it is witty, something along those lines. But you merely push your suitcase in his direction, and it is then when he notices that your face is hard enough to chip enamel; that your eyes are eerily, entirely empty. The tendril of warmth that’s always dancing among the subtleties of your expressions, that he’s always pursuing to the very borders of his dreamscapes, is nowhere to be seen.

A shiver travels down Hyunjin’s spine as he curls his fingers around the plastic handle.

Something’s not right.

“We’re gonna have to stay here another day,” you say. “Can you check us in? I have some calls to make.”

“Us?” Hyunjin repeats.

“Junghan could only reserve one room,” you reply, your phone already glued back to your ear. “The hotel is fully booked for the next few months.”

With that, you’re already preoccupied with the next thing, turning to the side to reschedule a meeting. But Hyunjin can only stare blankly at your profile, trying and failing to grasp that he’s going to spend a night with the subject of his every daydream. Though you might be leaning more towards the nightmare end of the spectrum at the moment, considering the way your head snaps back in his direction like a woman possessed.

Go, you mouth, and he obliges.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin is in the elevator by himself. He speculates it’s an ingenious, intentional choice that the lights are turned off, so that whoever’s inside can watch the psychedelic lights of Los Angeles sprawl further and wider the higher they go. But he can’t think of anything except for the subzero nothingness where your irises should’ve been.

Hyunjin’s initial guess was that he crossed a line with this missed plane, but the more he thinks about it the clearer it becomes that this isn’t an isolated issue. It’s the culmination of something bigger. Something continuous.

You have become as familiar to him as the lines of his eyes or the ridges of his knuckles. He’s learned where to look for your feelings when he can’t find them in your face; studied your words and the undertones of your voice like they’re verses of scripture. Yet, it was around two months ago when Hyunjin looked at your side profile and couldn’t recognize you. He’d blinked, startled, and then you’d asked why he was looking at you so strangely, and everything returned to normal. He wrote it off as a side effect of sleep deprivation and paid it no more mind that day.

Except it happened again a few days later; again, not too long after, and Hyunjin began to suspect that he was losing his mind. You didn’t seem all that different—a bit more taciturn than usual, maybe, but you’d been busier than usual, too, your workspace always full of empty coffee cups by the end of the day, the pages of your planner more colorful and crammed than ever. The minor variances never struck him as a reason for worry.

“Stupid,” Hyunjin whispers bitterly.

He replays your interaction one more time. You, shoving your suitcase against his palm, telling him to go check in. Him, fastening his hand around the handle, sensing the bottomless void within you, feeling like he’d been dismissed from before your throne.

As he steps off the elevator and walks towards your designated room, he doesn’t understand how or why—but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s failed you.

Nearly an hour passes. The room only has one bed, so Hyunjin turns off the lights, folds himself onto the armchair by the floor-to-ceiling window, drapes a complimentary robe over his shoulders, and tries to sleep. He doesn’t know why he even tries. He’s exhausted, but he knows damn well there’s no hope of him getting any rest until he has you in his proximity again.

He doesn’t look at the door when he finally hears it open, but the knot of tension in his chest comes undone as soon as your silhouette appears in the hallway. He takes out his first real breath since leaving you at the hotel’s entrance.

You hear the sound it makes. You fall still.

“Hyunjin?”

His heart physically aches at how tired you sound. “Yeah?”

“Oh, you’re awake,” you answer. “Move to the bed. You’re not sleeping on that thing.”

He remains where he is, his chin resting on the side of his fist, his eyes glued to the flickering panorama of neon lights below him. You crouch to unzip something, and there’s a heavy thud of metal meeting cloth, presumably your laptop being tossed onto the bed’s mattress.

“Hello? Did you—”

“Is everything okay?”

A short pause follows his interruption.

“I still have a few emails to write, but everything’s been rescheduled, so as long as you don’t miss tomorrow’s flight, too, we should be—”

The robe slides off his lap as he pushes himself to his feet. “That’s not what I mean.”

The only source of light in the room is the lone light above the entrance, but it’s enough for him to see your face and the surprise etched upon it. You open your mouth, utter one syllable, and stop yourself immediately after, stunned into silence by the sobriety in Hyunjin’s expression.

“Enlighten me, then,” you say finally.

“You really don’t know?”

“What is there to know? That you missed a flight and pissed me the fuck off? Trust me, I’m aware.”

“No, that’s not—”

“So what are you talking about, then? Why are you talking in riddles? Fuck, what is it that you want from me?”

There’s real frustration in your voice, and it’s the first time you’ve shown him any emotion in pure, unadulterated form. With this, Hyunjin understands that he was right; this conversation is heading towards a culmination of some kind, and so are you, with the devastating force of a natural phenomenon.

He wonders if you’re prepared to destroy yourself, too.

“I know how you are around me,” you whisper. “You’re always acting like you’re trying to unearth something, and I figure this ‘something’ must be wonderful, because you look at me like I’m made of stars; you speak to me like you’re serenading a lover. But I am constantly, ceaselessly haunted by the possibility that this ‘something’ doesn’t exist, that you’re looking for the wrong thing in the wrong person.

“I know it’s selfish to ask for anything more than what you’ve already given me—you’re so kind, Hyunjin, and you’ve been nothing but since the day we met. But grant me one more wish, even if it is the last time you ever do.

“Tell me what you see in me,” you plead. “Otherwise, I will spend the rest of my life mourning the months of yours that you wasted on me.”

With that, it occurs to Hyunjin, falls upon and cracks open his mind like a piece of firewood, that you have never been aware of—never asked for—the throne you sit upon.

For an indeterminate amount of time, the two of you stay there, standing in silence on opposite sides of your dark hotel room. You haven’t felt anything like this in a long time, your chest heaving with your heavy breaths, your vision muddied by both the lack of light and the desperation searing through your windpipe.

When Hyunjin finally begins to speak, his words wrest the oxygen from your lungs.

“After you moved to Seoul, you used to get these bouts of homesickness.”

Your mind careens; your heart reels.

“They came in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below you.” He takes a tentative step towards you. “You thought it was going to swallow you alive. You would’ve been happy for it to.”

You never got to listen to your voice note. You were blacked out when you recorded it and horrified when you discovered it in your chat logs the next morning; the wretched thing was unsent so quickly that you couldn’t check for a read receipt.

But there’s not a doubt in your mind that these are your words falling from Hyunjin’s lips.

“You haven’t felt that way since you met me, though.” He is only a few feet away from you now, and getting closer still. “You’ve never felt seen the way I see you. You’ve never been known the way I know you.”

God, you said that? Did you propose to him too?

“You’re terrified that another home will slip through the cracks between your fingers and there will be nothing you can do to stop it.” Hyunjin flattens his left hand upon the drywall next to your ear; pushes you back ever-so-gently against the hard surface. “I must think you’re impossible.”

And he brings his face so, so close to yours; looks at you with so much adoration, so much tenderness, that you feel the final bulwark around your heart fracture—

“I don’t,” Hyunjin breathes, cradling your cheek, “because you’re not. And I want to prove it to you, even if it takes me the rest of my life. That’s what I see in you.”

—and crumble.

You form fists in the lining of his hoodie. Hyunjin’s hand tightens where it lays over the curve of your jaw.

When you crash your lips upon his, he tastes the metallic sheen of electricity and the salt of tearwater both; he witnesses crying lightning, for the first time in human history.

Present day. Cannes, France. 9:15 P.M.

Hyunjin never thinks when he fucks you.

One part of it is that he physically can’t; his cognitive facilities shut down when he has you quivering beneath him, like his desire to pleasure you is too overwhelming for his mind to bear. The other part is that he doesn’t want to. He’s afraid that the voices of cynicism and trepidation that plague his mind every waking moment will taint the actualization of his wildest dreams.

Lucky for him, you manage to erase his mind on a daily basis with only one accidental touch or an apparition of a smile, so he doesn’t stand a chance whenever you let him between your legs.

“Trust me?” He whispers, imprinting the words upon the inside of your thigh.

“More than anyone,” you breathe, and just this has him tenting against his satin slacks.

Hyunjin used to see you scolding managers or moving racks twice your weight and think that was you in your element—tonight, he learned otherwise. You were so confident that even just the way you puffed your chest out prompted heads to turn and low voices to ask for your name; so charming that even by the end of your self-introduction you had every guest you spoke to eating out the palm of your hand.

Eating out your pussy, though, is Hyunjin’s privilege alone.

He wraps his fingers around the hem of your dress and pushes it upwards, creating a halo of red fabric around your midriff; slides your panties off your legs and tosses them over his shoulder. All obstacles out of the way, Hyunjin winds his arms around your thighs and pins your hips to the mattress, slotting himself between your knees as they fall apart. Your ankles fold over the top of his head, and you’re about to ask if he’s okay like this, but then you feel the hot muscle of his tongue trace over your dripping folds—and every word of every language you’ve ever known is dispelled from your brain and your mouth in the form of a stuttered, euphoric moan.

He teases you first, drags his mouth over you so that he’s lapped up all of your slick, and just when you feel your patience thinning he pulls you apart with reverent hands and begins to suckle on your clit, as attentive to your every solicitation as always. You arch your back so high off the bed that your ankles knock Hyunjin’s head down a few inches, but the new angle is even better; grants him access to more of you.

He reinforces his grip around you, presses his torso right up against the side of the mattress, and gorges: sluices your labia until you’re spilling from his chin onto the sheets; flicks against your bundle of nerves until it’s pulsating and swollen on his mouth; fucks his tongue against your favorite spot until you’re curling your toes, seeing the whole solar system.

“Coming,” you blabber after some time. Tell me something I don’t know, he thinks to himself. “Coming, Hyune. I’m—fuck—”

Hyunjin is aware of the way you clench so hard around nothing that your pelvis hurts. He is aware of the way you’re so dilapidated from pleasure that you’re genuinely struggling to breathe. He doesn’t care. He wants to get the cadences of your climax tattooed into the gray matter of his brain, and there can’t be rests in the sheet music, can there?

He presses a hand flat on your stomach in preparation for your body’s protest, then returns his face to its place between your thighs; starts to leave kitten licks around the edges of your puffy folds before you can finish riding out your high. You press your tongue against the back of your front teeth, emitting a pained hiss as you draw a sharp breath, tears stinging at your eyes.

“Son of a bitch—”

“Trust me?” He asks again, his voice vibrating against your sore cunt, and your complaints quiet into whimpers as you bring a hand over your quivering mouth, and nod.

At least Hyunjin bridles his thirst the second time he eats your pussy open, his lips smacking openly and slowly over your every inch except the one that would be truly unbearable for you right now. He’s so rough and so fucking careful at once like he can’t decide between obliterating and worshipping your cunt.

He’ll end up doing both.

Within a few minutes, your legs have gone slack on either side of Hyunjin once again, and another coil has begun to tighten behind your bellybutton, equal parts pain and pleasure—but he knows your pussy just as well as he does your person by now, and it’s not long before the former is compounding with the latter.

Round two has a faster ascent and a steeper drop. He finds your spot again with the precision and ease of a trained marksman and fixates upon it like a man starved. It has your cries devolving to incoherent profanities and, to his unfettered delight, your foot actually shaking, your heel tapping against the back of his neck every time it comes down.

As if referencing a metronome, Hyunjin matches the rhythm of his tongue to your accelerando. Only when your leg is nearly convulsing does he wrap his lips back around your clit; slide two fingers into the place he leaves empty and pumps them into you until you are liquifying, igniting around him, your mewls lamenting the second orgasm he plucks from your core.

After your body has stilled, Hyunjin lifts his head, his face drenched in perspiration and saliva and you. His eyes travel over the slopes of your arms and the hills of your breasts, over the tears streaming from your eyes and staining the pillow you lie on. It is this last bit that has him shrugging off his shirt and undoing his dress pants with one hand, palming his throbbing cock with the other.

He clambers over you, and the kiss that follows is filthy, your mouth falling apart when he rolls your nipples between his fingers, strands of spit suspending between your tongues before dripping down onto your collarbone. You can sense what he wants in his craving lips, his pleading tongue—and you know he won’t ask for it. He’s tested you enough tonight; he’d rather your comfort than his pleasure.

But you guide his leaking head to your entrance, returning his stupefied look with a watery smile.

“Love me?” You ask this time, for the first time.

There is not even a nanosecond of hesitation when he answers, “with everything in me.”

He comes inside you the moment he bottoms out, your name leaving his lips in breathless, desperate repetition like a broken prayer as he topples off the same cliff he’d dropped you from moments ago. You curl a hand in his hair as he stutters against you, bring your lips flush against his ear, and whisper that you love him too—and the sight of you beneath him blurs he also starts to tear up.

This is the reality Hyunjin lives in, presumably because he was a saint in his past life, and it would be his utmost pleasure to see it through.

Two years later. Milan, Italy. 11:28 A.M.

For the last half hour, a ray of sunlight has repeatedly struck the diamond that sits between the second and third knuckle of your ring finger, and the Vogue journalist on the other side of your desk thinks he is slowly losing his vision. But when he asks his final question, your hand comes to a much-appreciated stop, the fountain pen you’ve been twirling around clattering to your tabletop.

“Where do you find your inspiration?”

As the journalist blinks the phosphenes from his eyes, he finally manages to get a good look at the face of Versace’s newest designer, and he detects something ineffable and warm in your expression.

“My inspiration, hm?” You fall silent for a short time, thinking. “If you asked me this at the start of my career, I’d have said ‘people.’ Their postures, their expressions, their wardrobes. I knew I was a goner when I watched a fashion show for the first time and noticed how the models’ attire helped them harness their innate power and grace—I wanted to orchestrate that kind of symbiosis, too. In that aspect, nothing has changed, actually. I still find wonder in human beings, and not just the ones on the runway. I think it would be difficult not to, don’t you?

“Some time ago, a good friend of mine was having trouble with an outfit for her client. She asked me a similar question, and only then did I realize that it was no longer just people that inspired me most, but a singular person. I had always been skeptical of the idea of a ‘muse’ until I met him. But I could only spend so long denying how he ventured closer to my soul than anything ever had, how he knew me and saw me like nobody ever could. He understood my art. He was my art, so—”

Your eyes dart over your ring, and the journalist would’ve flinched out of habit if he wasn’t so mesmerized by your eloquence.

“—where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?”

A few seconds elapse, and then you clear your throat and straighten your back, returning to your office from your trip down memory lane.

“That’s the long answer, anyways. The short answer would be my fiancé.”

The journalist laughs, and he doubts you’ll give him this next piece of information—but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.

“And who would that be?”

He’s right. You don’t answer the question. But you do flash him an enigmatic smile, and for some reason it reminds him of lightning.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe

2K notes · View notes

boiohboii · 5 months

Text

The people's sweethearts

Chapter 1

(Verstappen!reader x tom holland x zendaya)

Soulmate au

YN Verstappen had been through hell, by her own father, for something she didn't even ask for. She grew up learning that she should hate what was given to her, after all it was the reason her father was always angry with her. So what should she do when the one thing she learned to hate is the one thing that brings her love, safe and comfort that not even her older brother can compare.

WARNING: not proof read, Jos Verstappen (worsned like 10 times for this fic) poly relationship, derogatory terms by father, abusive father. If I missed anything else please let me know

Masterlist

Max and Yn Verstappen are close, really close, some would even say they are too close for being siblings, after all it's not usual for an 18 year old to go live with her older brother in a country 2 hours away (by plane) from her university rather than just to rent something close by.

Everyone had very harsh words to say about the pair of siblings, some still do but these are just people who hate max verstappen and they know nothing angers him more than someone insulting his baby sister, everyone was very vocal about how strange, weird and abnormal it is for 2 grown siblings to live together.

Everyone thought that the Verstappen siblings would change their living arrangements after Max and Kelly found each other, only to be surprised by Max buying a bigger penthouse that'd be enough for all 4 of them.

Everyone was negative about the prospect of the redbull formula one driver being followed around by his little sister until the release of The Anatomy of A Champion came out.

When the producers of the show pitched in the idea of talking to yn, max had refused, he wanted his sister nowhere near any of these vultures knowing how bad it can, and most probably will, get. Max was aware from a very young age that what his dad was constantly saying and doing to him and his sister wasn't normal, whenever he was at a race he would see the other boys' dad's hugging them and telling them they did a good job even if they didn't get first place, he would see how other's would have their father waiting for them with water and towels, and most importantly he would see how other dad's had their daughter on their shoulder making the other little girls laugh; Why does dad only make yn cry?

He remembers it so clearly, the way his father hit his sister because of something out of her control, something that she didn't even ask for, something that was thrown at her, it was the day his sister got her soulmark.

Everyone had a soulmark that appeared on their 5th birthday and today was yn's which made jos take her to the soul doctor. Soulmarks were complicated, which is why soul doctors were important, they let you know more about your mark and the bond that's to form between you and your other half.

"Wow young lady, you'll have twice the amount of love it seems."

"What?"

Max knew his father's tone, he know that he's angry and he unconsciously held onto yn's hand, hoping that his father wouldn't take his anger out on her.

"Well Mr Verstappen you see these lines," the doctor gently held up yn's wrist, turning it over to show off her newly given mark "that's an indicator of one soulmate, I'd say he is 3 or 4 years older than her given the shade of the mark, while this other lines that are in a circular shape indicate the other soulmate, he seems to also be around 3 or 4 years older as well. It looks like the mark that indicates young miss yn here is the moon, with how the moon is in the center I would say that yn would be the last in the group meaning that her two other soulmates will meet each other before they meet her."

Jos was angry throughout their drive home, he had already smacked yn into the car while rushing her to get in and as soon as they were in the car he hit her across the head, his arms tall enough to reach the young girl in the backseat. That was the first time max heard these words that would be so easy to recite within a few weeks.

"Two soulmates? Why couldn't you just be normal, why do you have to be such a slut?"

The ride back home was one of the worst max and yn had ever expirenced.

"Two soulmates, ridiculous.They're not even going to want you! They'd meet each other before they even know you!! At least if you turn out to be good for nothing I can just pimp you out on the street, maybe then you'd be useful, and it's not like your soulmates will even like you or want you. Unlovable whore."

"So," the interviewer started as Sophie Kumpen sat on a white sofa in Max's home in Monaco "how is your relationship with your youngest?"

"It's not as close as I'd want it to be," the mother of three confessed as she looked into the camera "yn is a very sweet girl, she had been through a lot. When Jos and I divorced she wasn't really aware of what was going on, she was too young to understand, and as she grew older all she could see was Max. He had been the one to take care of her: i remember once when Max was around ten years old he called me up, asking me how to make a soup because yn was sick and jos was out god knows where.

Max and YN were and are always there for each other, and I don't think that will ever change. I'm sure everyone thought their relationship will sort of tweak a bit when Max and Kelly met each other, but I don't think Max will ever allow that and it's not like Kelly even tried to change their relationship, she was the one who was apartment hunting for all of them while Max was racing and Yn was back in England for her university."

"Do you think yn is putting in the effort to be there for Max?"

"Oh definitely, I mean studying mechanical engineering along with aerospace engineering at one of the top universities in the world is enough proof. Her whole life revolves around Max and I don't think it's a bad thing. Max had been her everything, he's the one she always goes to cause he is all she knows. When she was deciding what to do right after high-school all she said was that she will choose the majors that'll help her get an internship at formula one so that she'd be there with Max for the rest of his races, however long he wants to be there."

"Do you know what happened between Jos, Max and Yn? Don't you think it's weird that once Max turned 18 he asked Christian Horner to ban his father from the paddock? And to help him have yn with him as much as possible?"

"I'm not really going to go into the details of it, but Jos has done a lot of damage, especially to yn. It's not something I can talk about, not that I even want to, but Jos was a terrible husband and a wose father, I'm insanely glad that yn and max turned out as good and well as they are. Seeing them so close is not something that's surprising me given what Jos did to them, to yn" Sophie's voice broke as a few tears escaped her eyes "sorry, it's just, what she had to go through, it's traumatic and I'm happy that she had Max with her through it all. It fills my heart with joy seeing the little family Max and Yn formed with Kelly and Penelope"

ch. II

826 notes · View notes

cherrycheridarling · 11 months

Text

slip up | t.h.

tom holland x famous!reader

warnings: none just fluff

summary: tom slips up on instagram live

wc: 335

a/n: missed u guys sorry abt my absence:(<3

"That's a wrap for today! Go rest those vocal cords, Y/L/N." Toby, your producer bid you a farewell as you finished in the studio.

You nodded and hugged everyone goodbye before heading to your driver's car. It was at least midnight by the time you got back to your boyfriend's home that he shared with his best mates.

You and Tom had been dating for nearly a year and had done an impressive job of keeping your relationship away from prying eyes. With only a few suspicions here and there, the public saw you two as best friends and nothing more.

In his king sized bed, Tom was on Instagram live chatting with his fans. He needed a way to pass the time as he waited for you to come home from the studio.

"Why am I up so late? Jet lag sucks, guys." Tom lied to his fans.

He hasn't been on a plane in weeks.

"Is anyone in the house awake? Nope. They all sleep at, like, eleven or earlier. Party poopers." he frowned to the camera.

You quietly unlocked the front door, trying your best to not wake anyone in the house. Tiptoeing towards Tom's bedroom, you saw that his light was on, peeking out from under his door. With furrowed eyebrows you opened the door and saw him sitting against the headboard on his phone.

He smiled when he saw you, completely forgetting about his live, "Hi, darling. I missed you," he put his phone down and pecked your lips, "Did you get driven here?" you nodded, "You should've sent me a text," he picked up his phone and glanced at the screen, "I could've—" he froze.

You finished tying your hair up and looked at him with confusion written across your features. You opened your mouth to ask him what was wrong before he slapped a hand over your lips.

He looked at you with wide eyes, "I'm live on Instagram." he whispered.

You had to choke down a laugh because you knew the fans would recognize the sound immediately. You managed to peak at the screen without being in the cameras view and the comments had you struggling to keep your laughter down.

'HE HAS A GF???????'

'i'm gonna kms'

'WHO IS IT'

'no fucking way'

'PLS BE ZENDAYA'

'IM HYPERVENTILATING'

Tom opened and closed his mouth like a fish as he tried to come up with something, anything, to say. "Um, looks like I'll be going now. Thank you for joining and I'll see you all very soon." He had a sheepish grin as he spoke.

You smirked before speaking. "Bye guys." And pressed the button to end the live. Not waiting to see the reactions to your voice or if they would recognize it.

Tom wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you on top of him, "Cheeky one, you are." he placed a kiss on your forehead as you smiled into his chest.

1K notes · View notes

goldsainz · 5 months

Text

❝ ALL I NEED IS YOU ❞

MASTERLIST!

pairing . . . lewis hamilton x reader

◦∘｡ﾟ. request . . . “could you do slut! for Lewis? and maybe a combination of angst and fluff?”

◦∘｡ﾟ. summary . . . fans hate you for dating their favourite driver, but it all might just be worth it for once.

◦∘｡ﾟ. note . . . I’M BACK WITH THE FICS!! i’m not quite sure why i had a creative drought, but i’m glad i’m out of it🙏 alsooo, hope you guys liked the new theme bc i brainstormed for hours about it and i’m actually really liking it

liked by ynfan1, lewisfan1 and 85,326 others

f1gossip Once again, Y/N Y/L/N is back in the paddock! The unofficial but official girlfriend of Lewis Hamilton has now been present for all of the triple-header and fans have noticed! Now, many aren’t happy that their beloved F1 Superstar is entangled with the model because of her dating tendencies. Will she be at the Las Vegas Grand Prix? Let us know your thoughts! 👀

view all 1,279 comments

lewisfan2 need her far far away from my man

lewisfan3 sick and tired of seeing her appear on my screen🙄

ynfan2 don’t know who this lewis guy is but i’m loving all the y/n content we’re getting!!!

⤷ lewisfan4 and thank god you know nothing of the sport. we don’t want any of her fans ruining it.

lewisfan5 unpopular opinion: i actually like her and lewis together🤷‍♀️

ynfan3 i hope she continues dating lewis just to piss you guys off

ynfan4 SHE LOOKS SO GOOOOOOD

lewisfan6 🤮🤮🤮

lewisfan7 bye not her taking a photo in front of his car

⤷ ynfan5 she’s his gf? why wouldn’t she do that?

⤷ lewisfan7 it’s giving attention wh0re

⤷ ynfan5 or (and hear me out) she’s just a supportive gf!!

lewishamilton and yourusername posted an instagram story!

liked by lewishamilton, rosalia.vt and 2,018,376 others

yourusername brasil, eu te amo

view all 30,275 comments

ynfan21 mother is mothering

lewisfan21 STAY AWAY FROM HIM! GET A JOB!

ynfan22 they’re actually so cute

adrianalima Bonitos! 💜

liked by yourusername and 65,274others

lewisfan22 girl, that caption is not for brasil😭

lewisfan23 sick and tired of her appearing in my feed

lewisfan24 can’t wait until lewis leave you!!!!!!

user21 since when are they dating?

⤷ ynfan23 it’s really unclear, but everyone points to this year’s silverstone gp when she went as a mercedes guest!

⤷ user21 and people are still hating on her???

⤷ ynfan23 yeah lmao

lewisfan25 mama y papa

lewisfan26 crazy how just a couple mints ago she was supposedly dating tom brady and now she’s “in love” with lewis… such a slut

⤷ ynfan24 you literally don’t know her. stop insulting people you don’t know.

ynfan25 mourning the loss of my wife rn 💔

liked by lewishamilton, carmenmmundt and 2,537,104 others

yourusername it’s raw, it’s real and it’s here!

this interview is extensive, but interviewer was so polite and just the perfect person to be interviewed by, to have my voice told by.

my vogue article will be yours too on the 22nd of november.

comments are turned off

liked by yourusername, alex_albon and 2,075,138 others

lewishamilton FIA Gala, 2023

view all 31,127 comments

yourusername an honour to be by your side 💜

⤷ lewishamilton The honour is all mine 💜

lewisfan41 THIS SHIT IS SO CUTE OML

lewisfan42 did not expect the hard launch, sir hamilton

roscoelovescoco I love’s my mum’s

liked by yourusername, lewishamilton and 201,849 others

ynfan41 my heart literally flew out of my chest when i saw that they were together at the gala

mercedesamgf1 Our second Mercedes royal couple 👑

liked by lewishamilton, yourusername and 174,052 others

lewisfan43 bro you didn’t take the prize home😭

⤷ lewisfan44 he already has the biggest prize with him

⤷ ynfan42 lewis fans got poetic all of a sudden

⤷ ynfan43 lewis fans stopped hating on y/n all of a sudden*

lewifan45 if he’s happy, i’m happy

sebastianvettel Congratulations! Finally the secret is out 😁

⤷ lewishamilton Thank you 🙌

ynfan44 need them both desperately!!!!!

ynfan45 i just know wag pages are having a field day

translations:

— brasil, eu te amo — brazil, i love you — bonitos — beauties

-ˋˏ *.· taglist . . . @lorarri @lpab @noncannonships @lunnnix @elliegrey2803 @schumacheer @saintslewis @leoramage @toomuchdelusion @anthonykatebridgerton @enhacolor @gulabjamoon @toomuchdelusion @goldenalbon @ravisinghs-wife @racingtrail @hobiismyhopeu @celestialpato @lecsainz @kkeels

852 notes · View notes

talkdutchtome · 6 months

Text

Two lines - Max Verstappen

pairing . . . max verstappen x reader )

genre . . . slight angst, fluff )

summary . . . a one night stand with the formula one world champion ends with an expected pregnancy, can the two of you figure out how to co-parent for the sake of the new life on the way )

requested?. . . based on this request )

warning . . . mentions of sex, one night stand, pregnancy, medical emergency, eclampsia, emergency c-section )

word count . . . 8.8k words )

a/n . . .this is without a doubt the longest and most in-depth piece of work i've done for this blog, i've worked so so hard on this so i hope you all love it. any and all feedback is welcome and encouraged; let me know what you think )

Two lines. Two lines is all it took to completely turn your life upside down. This morning you were feeling positive, life was going well. You had just got a promotion at your job; you were on the back of a great second date with a really lovely guy, you had plans to go out with your girls to celebrate. Life was good. But now, sat on a toilet in a cramped grocery store bathroom, you could almost see all of that goodness and light evaporate into thin air. Now the only thing that was positive was the pregnancy test that sat in the palms of your hands. You did want kids, but not like this. You wanted kids when you were settled down, married with a house and a dog. That was the plan; the plan that you had in your head since you were 11 years old. Grow up, climb the career ladder, meet the love of your life, get married, buy a house- then and only then have kids. Nowhere in that plan did it state have a one-night stand with a Formula One driver in a club bathroom and get pregnant, yet here you are. Two lines.

Four weeks ago, your best friend Mia dragged you to a Formula One race. Neither of you particularly cared for the sport however she had just started dating Charles Leclerc and he had asked her to come and see him race, so she decided that you needed to come with her for support. After the race she also insisted you come with them to the nightclub for the same reason. Things were going fine, Charles was nice, his friends seemed okay. However, things took a turn when she and Charles disappeared halfway through the night leaving you alone with none other than Max Verstappen. It was awkward to say the least. He didn’t seem happy or in a particularly chatty mood so you both did what any reasonable adult would do in that situation- get black out drunk. One drink turned to two drinks, which turned to three and then four. Eventually, the mixed spirits in your system lead to the pair of you getting closer and closer together until the tension was unbearable and you ended up hiding away in the private bathroom with him. No contact details were exchanged by either of you, why would there be, it was a one-time thing - you were never going to see each other again, right?

You hadn’t really thought about that night again until now. Mia and Charles’ relationship eventually fizzled out as quickly as it had started and your brief time in the world of Formula One had ended. Your focus was on Tom, the guy you were dating now. Fuck. Tom. How in the world are you supposed to tell a guy you have been on two dates with that you were pregnant? What were you meant to say at work? Thanks so much for the promotion, see you in a year? You were well and truly fucked. Should you tell Max? You wouldn’t even know how to contact him without going through Mia and that was not an option. You never told her that you even slept with him, you can’t just drop the fact that you’re pregnant with her ex-boyfriend’s best friend's baby. To put it plainly, you had no idea what the hell you were going to do.

Four weeks later and you were slowly making your way through telling everyone who needed to be told, apart from the most important of course; you still hadn’t figured out how to tell Max. Telling your work was first, there wasn’t any issues there and it gave you a false sense of security, thinking that maybe everything would be okay. However, telling Tom did not go as well. After learning that the girl he had been casually dating had fallen pregnant, he essentially sprinted away from the situation, and you, as fast as he could. Then it was time to tell Mia, who for some reason found it hilarious; or at least until she realized that it meant she would have to contact Charles so you could tell Max. Your parents were upset at first but quickly warmed to the idea of being grandparents. As time went on, the dread you felt lessened and lessened and was replaced with excitement. You nicknamed the baby Little Bump and spoke to it every night. Even if this wasn’t what you planned, it was going to be okay. It was you and your Little Bump against the world.

Even though you were content with raising the baby by yourself, the people in your life didn’t seem to agree. Your parents, who didn’t know who the father was, endlessly asked you about him and if he knew and if he wanted anything to do with it. Mia, however, who did know it was Max, held the position that Max had the right to know what was going on. It’s not like you didn’t agree with her, you did. But the fear of his reaction prevented you from being able to tell him. If he reacted badly and told you to go away and never come back, what were you supposed to do in 10 years' time when your child started asking why they didn’t have a dad. You couldn’t exactly tell that poor kid that he wanted nothing to do with us but if you tune into Sky Sports on a Sunday you might catch a glimpse of him.

So, you didn’t tell him. You go through the motions of pregnancy without him. Morning sickness, scans and checkups. You were happy with your choice; you’d both be okay without him. But that all changed the second you felt your little bump kicking. The feeling of movement in your stomach made everything so much more real. No longer was the baby just a concept, but a real human being growing inside of you. It dawned on you then, that even if you were perfectly capable of raising Little Bump by yourself, this little baby was a privilege; and it was a privilege that Max should have the opportunity to have too.

You needed to tell him, that was decided. The next part was figuring out how. Luckily for you, a quick google search told you that the next Formula One race was in a city not too far out from where you lived. So, you go to the city you know he’s going to be in, Mia insists on coming with you, both for emotional support but also to make sure both you and Little Bump stay safe.

The first issue to tackle when arriving is convincing Mia to call Charles. She never told you what happened between the two of them but whatever it was it was clearly not a clean break. The second obstacle was convincing Charles to actually give Mia Max’s number. Apparently phoning up your ex to ask for one of their best friend’s phone numbers isn’t really socially acceptable. However, after much persuasion he eventually gave it up; so now you were in the same city as him and you had his number. All that was left was to tell him. You typed up a message telling him everything; before swiftly deleting it and writing it again, and then again, and then again. The cycle went on for hours; you just didn’t know how to tell someone that you hardly knew that they were going to be a father. Eventually, you settled on sending a message simply asking him to meet you.

You- Hi Max, It’s Y/N. We met the other week through Mia and Charles. I’m in town, could we meet? There’s something I need to talk to you about?

Max- Oh hi yes Y/N I remember. I’m sorry I’m really busy with the race so I don’t have time for anything

You- It is really quite important. Please.

Max- Okay fine. Come to the track, I’ll put your name on the guest list, and I can give you 5 minutes before qualifying starts.

The nerves were becoming unbearable now. You had thought about turning around and running away multiple times on the drive to see Max, but you preserved; not for yourself but for Little Bump who deserved a chance of having a dad. Arriving at the track, you did as he said and told the security that you were on the guest list, and they let you through without too much issue. The urge to run away became stronger the closer you got to actually talking to him, you just had a feeling that things were not going to end well but against your better judgement you sent a quick text message to Max informing him you were waiting for him in catering.

The second you caught sight of him coming towards him you could have sworn Little Bump started kicking, affirming to you that you were making the right decision. This baby deserved a dad, and you couldn’t be the person who stood in the way of that.

“Hey Y/N I’m in a bit of a rush. What was you needed?” He asked the second he got close enough to you for you to hear him. This was it. Now or never. You were going to tell him.

“Max I’m-” you begin to speak before you are promptly cut off by a sudden surge of nausea. With one hand clamped to your mouth desperately trying not to embarrass yourself and vomit everywhere, you ran to the nearest bathroom, leaving a stunned Max Verstappen in your wake, wondering what the hell happened.

After a sufficient time in the bathroom, you gingerly returned back to the catering area, expecting Max to be long gone; but to your surprise he was sat at the table you had just left, his face painted with worry. You couldn’t even imagine what he was thinking, a random one-night stand gets your number, demands to see you and then runs away to be sick; you couldn’t look more unstable if you tried. Despite this, however, Max had waited.

“Are you okay Y/N? What just happened?” he asked

“Oh yeah, I’m fine that’s nothing to worry about, it’s like this every morning.” The words left your mouth before you realized that maybe you shouldn’t have said that. The worry on Max’s face only increases with your comment. You can see he’s trying to find the words to ask you what the hell is going on and you’re aware that he needs to be getting ready for qualifying like now, so you bite the bullet and just come out with it.

“Max I’m pregnant” you say before closing your eyes, not wanting to even see his reaction. You’re expecting shouting, frantic questions or denial; instead, you are met with silence. When your eyes open you are met with Max stood there white as a sheet looking like he was desperately trying not to pass out.

“I know this is a bit of a shock, but I haven’t... with anyone else so it’s definitely-” you go to assure him that you’re sure that the baby is his but are interrupted by a women walk up and stand in between the both of you.

“Hey baby I was looking for you everywhere” the woman spoke before wrapping her arms around Max and pulling Max into a hug. If Max looked like he was going to pass out before, he looked like he was about to drop down dead now.

“Hey Beth, I just came down for a coffee and bumped into Y/N, she’s Charles’ friend.” Max said, barely able to get the words out. The women, Beth, turned to look at you for the first time.

“Hi I’m Beth; Max’s girlfriend.” Beth said as she stuck her hand out for you to shake and you felt the feeling of nausea come back- Max having a girlfriend would make this whole situation a lot more complicated. You forced a smile and shook her hand, trying desperately not to need to be sick again.

“Oh Hi, yeah I’m Charles friend.” That’s a lie, you hadn’t spent more than a few hours with Charles in your life and he spent the majority of them with his tongue down Mia’s throat.

“How long have you been together?”

“2 years.” Beth’s words made your heart drop. Two years? There’s no way you could have heard that right. You look to Max for clarification that you misheard Beth, but he had his eyes closed, trying desperately to wish away this conversation.

“Beth, you go on I’ll just grab my coffee and come and catch up with you.” Max finally spoke up after a while of silence and even though Beth didn’t seem to like that idea very much, she did as he said and walked away. Once Max was sure she was out of earshot he began speaking again.

“Look I really can’t do this here. Text me the address of your hotel and I’ll come around tonight.” he told you before walking away. Maybe that was a positive thing, you thought to yourself, at least he wants to talk about it and not just pretend he didn’t hear you and move on.

You had been pacing around your hotel room since you arrived back after speaking to Max at the track, deeply regretting ever coming and telling him. With Max having a girlfriend there is almost no chance that he would want to be a part of your and Little Bump’s life, especially if he did cheat on his girlfriend with you like you assumed. The thought made you sick, you had been cheated on before and it killed you and to think that you played a part in her pain drove you insane. You were infuriated at Max; so, when he knocked on your door that night you were prepared to tear him a new one. But when he walked on the room in silence, looking like a man who had lost all hope, the anger you felt seemed to slip away.

“Are you sure?” he asked after a few moments of awkward silence between the two of you. His voice seemed so much weaker than you remembered it all those months ago, he didn’t look like a confident two-time world champion like he did when the two of you got in this mess, he looked small and frail.

“Yeah, Max, I’m sure. But I understand why you wouldn’t be able to just take my word for it so when Little Bump is born, I’m happy to do a paternity test”

“Little Bump?”

“Yeah, I haven’t found out the gender yet so that’s what I’ve been calling it.” You could have sworn you saw the smallest smile creep onto his face.

“Max, Beth said you had been together for two years, is that true?” You asked him and if there was a smile on his face before, there definitely wasn’t now.

“It is but we broke up for a bit, during the- well you know” he spoke, and you could feel your heart rate start to calm down. This situation isn’t good by any means but at least you weren’t involved in an affair.

“Look Max, I don’t expect anything from you. If you want me to go now I will, and you’ll never see me again. I don’t want money from you or anything like that. All I wanted was to give you a chance to be in Little Bump’s life.” You told him and braced yourself for him to confirm that he did indeed want you to leave and never come back.

“No. I do want to- I don’t really know what this is or how to do it but if I’m going to have a kid, I’m going to be there for it.” His words made you smile, even if this situation was messy and uncomfortable; it would all be worth it if you could give Little Bump a dad it would all be worth it.

“Okay well I’ve got a scan next week, you can come to that if you’d like?” you asked him, expecting him to say no, to tell you that he would be too busy but instead he surprised you.

“Yeah, I’ll be there”

Every day from that night in your hotel room to the day of the scan Max had texted you, checking up on you and Little Bump. Truly the last thing you had expected was that he would not only want to be a part of the baby’s life, but he seemed to actually care. Maybe this would all be okay, the two of you could co-parent and Little Bump would grow up with two parents who loved it. When the day of the scan came around, Max informed you that he would be picking you up early and taking you to lunch before your appointment to ‘get to know each other’. This made you more nervous that you cared to admit, the time you had spent with Max prior to this was short-lived and not filled with very much talking, hence why you were in this situation, so you really had no idea what kind of person he was or if the two of you would even get on., he could be an absolute arsehole for all you knew. But after only 30 minutes of spending time with him you realized that he was one of the sweetest people you had ever met

“So, how’s Beth?” you asked him once you were at the restaurant, curious to know if she had been made aware of the situation yet.

“She’s okay. I told her” Max said, his eyes fixed on his food in front of him, not daring to look up.

“Oh, how did that go?”

“It was pretty rough at first, she was really upset. But I think we’re going to make it work” He looked up at you this time and his eyes bore into you. The feeling of a lump in your throat made itself known but you swallowed it down; it’s not like you were jealous or anything but you were aware of how complicated this situation was going to be, and it would be made even more complicated with another person involved.

“That’s good then” you told him, forcing a smile, not wanting Max to catch on to your worries. Even if you did have reservations on how this whole situation would play out, so far Max had been nothing but helpful and co-operative, so you knew you owed it to him to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“So, I was thinking, we need to come up with some sort of plan as to how this is going to work” Max told you, looking very nervous.

“I grew up only living with my dad, and that meant I didn’t get to see my mum much at all and that was really hard. I didn’t really have a relationship with her until I was an adult, and the last thing I want is for the baby to have to go through that. I don’t want to have to wait 20 years to have a relationship with Little Bump” his voice dropped to a whisper for the last sentence, and you could see the pain in his eyes, this was clearly something that had been playing on his mind. Truthfully, you had no idea how this would work; Max lived in a different country to you, and he travelled so much for work, so it certainly wasn’t going to be easy. But looking into his worried eyes, you couldn’t help but want to assure him that everything would be okay. Across the table, Max sat with a haunted look in his eyes, his vulnerability on full display. You could sense the weight of his past trauma casting shadows over his usually confident exterior. As he picked at his food, his hands shook slightly, betraying the turmoil within. Max's voice, usually steady and assured, now carried a quiver that hinted at the lingering scars of childhood. You watched as he spoke, his words faltering at times, like a wounded child trying to find his way in a world that had once been unkind. With each sentence, it became evident that Max's past still clung to him, a heavy burden he struggled to bear. All you wanted to do was to reach across the table and hold him, to let him know that he doesn’t have to pretend to be strong.

“I can’t tell you what is going to happen Max, but I can promise you that we will make it work. Our baby will have two parents” the smile Max gave you in response to your words made your heart melt, and you couldn’t help feeling like things were going to work out.

“Okay Mum and Dad are we ready to see the baby?” The nurse asks you after placing the cold gel on your exposed stomach, ready to get the ultrasound going. As you both sat in the dimly lit ultrasound room, Max's eyes were fixed on the monitor, and his fingers trembled slightly as he held your hand. It was the first time he had witnessed the miracle of your growing baby, and the emotions that welled up inside him were impossible to contain. He tried his best to hide it, but a tear welled up at the corner of his eye, threatening to escape. The nurse moved the wand across your belly, and the image of your tiny, squirming baby filled the screen. Max's breath caught as he saw those delicate features, the tiny heart beating steadily. You could see the awe and love in his eyes, the way his lips curved into a soft smile that he couldn't suppress. Though he tried not to show it, his voice was tinged with emotion as he whispered, "That's our baby, Y/N." It was a moment of profound connection, and Max's unspoken feelings filled the room with a warmth that was as undeniable as the love you both felt for the new life growing within you.

Max couldn't shake the overwhelming emotions that had swelled up during the ultrasound. As you both walked out of the clinic, he stopped and took your hand, his eyes still filled with that deep, newfound love for the life growing inside you.

"Y/N," he began, his voice gentle and earnest, "I want you to move in with me. I want to be there for you and Little Bump, every step of the way. I want to take care of you both." You hesitated, your mind racing with practical concerns. You hardly knew Max, and he wanted you to move country and live with him. Even if you wanted to you couldn’t afford it, you’d have to leave your job which would mean no maternity pay. Plus, Max had a girlfriend, you couldn’t imagine her being too thrilled about her boyfriend moving in with another woman.

“Max, that’s sweet but it’s not possible. What about my job? What about Beth?” You asked, trying to make him see that this wasn’t rational, it wouldn’t work, but still Max's gaze remained unwavering.

"We'll figure it all out, Y/N. Beth will be okay with it, she will understand why this needs to happen. Please don’t worry about any of it, I want you to focus on your health and the baby's well-being. And as for your job, well, none of that matters. I can take care of us financially. I want to be there for my child, for you. Please, Y/N, say you'll move in with me."

Tears welled up in your eyes, not just from the pregnancy hormones but from the overwhelming love and support Max was offering. Maybe this was crazy, you thought to yourself, there's no way this would work; but when you looked into his eyes, you could see his sincerity, he really meant every word

So, against your better judgement, you nodded, a heartfelt smile breaking through. "Okay, Max. I trust you. Let's do this together."

The move happened quickly; Max was eager to make sure that he could look after you as much as he could. Your job wasn’t too happy at you for quitting so soon after receiving a promotion, your mum and dad thought you were completely insane. Until now you refused to tell them who the dad was, now all of a sudden not only is the Formula One world champion the dad but you’re also moving to Monaco to live with him. Although if you thought telling your parents was hard, telling Max’s was even worse. Meeting Jos Verstappen was an experience that you would never forget. Before you left Mia informed you that Jos was known for being very overbearing and having a very short temper; however, nothing she could have said would have prepared you for what was to come. It started with Max telling Jos multiple times to speak English rather than Dutch, so you weren’t just sat there witnessing the whole situation go down without any idea what they were saying. Then Jos became angry at Max for making such a horrible mistake, after that he became angry at you, alleging that you had planned this to trap Max and steal his money. Throughout the whole ordeal, Max was able to stay calm, gently telling his dad that he was happy and excited to be a father, however when Jos started on you Max’s patience was gone immediately. Telling his father that you weren’t like that and the two of you were happy and were going to raise this baby whether he liked it or not. You couldn’t help but notice that even when Max was clearly very angry at his father, he never once raised his voice or lost his temper, instead choosing to calmly explain the situation to him and let him know how it was going to go down. This, to you, was extremely reassuring, you were still getting to know Max and the person who he was; and every day he proved himself to be a good person, somebody who would be a great dad.

When you arrived at Max's apartment, you were taken aback by the thoughtfulness he had poured into preparing a room just for you. The soft hues of pastel blue and warm beige on the walls exuded a calming atmosphere, and a vase of fresh flowers sat on the bedside table. A plush blanket adorned the bed, and there was a selection of your favorite books on the shelf. He had clearly spoken to Mia to get this all prepared

"Max, this is incredible," you said, feeling deeply touched by his effort. "I never expected you to do all this." He smiled warmly and gestured toward a door at the end of the hallway.

"And this," he said, leading you to another room, "I thought it could be the nursery, but I wanted you to have a say in how we decorate it. I didn't want to presume anything."

Tears welled up in your eyes again, this time from the sheer care and consideration he had put into making you feel comfortable. Max was doing everything he could to ensure you and the baby felt at home.

"Max, you're amazing," you whispered, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug.

"Thank you for being so thoughtful and caring." He held you close, his embrace filled with love and reassurance.

"Y/N, I just want you and our baby to be happy here. Anything you need, just let me know." As you settled into your new home, you couldn't help but feel incredibly grateful for the man who was putting in a genuine effort to make you as comfortable as possible.

The first few days of living with Max had gone surprisingly smoothly, a peaceful coexistence that allowed you both to settle comfortably into your new life together. However, when Beth caught wind of the new arrangement, her arrival was swift and unexpected. You retreated to your bedroom to give them space, though overhearing the ensuing argument left you feeling uneasy. From your bedroom, you couldn't help but overhear the escalating argument between Max and Beth. Their voices carried the weight of frustration and anger as Beth expressed her displeasure about you living with Max.

"I just don't understand why you need to do this, Max," Beth said, her voice trembling with frustration. "I get that you want to be a part of the baby's life, but why does Y/N have to be part of ours?"

Max's response came, softer but firm, "Beth, I want to give our child the family life I never had. That means being there for Y/N and the baby."

Beth's anger didn't abate, and she retorted, "But what about us? What about our plans and our future?"

Max took a deep breath, his voice filled with resolve. "Right now, Y/N and the baby are my priority. I thought you'd understand."

As the argument reached a fever pitch, Beth eventually stormed out of the apartment, the door slamming shut behind her. You couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness as you realized that your presence was causing tension in Max's relationship, even though he had been nothing but caring and supportive toward you.

Max, after a moment of silence, knocked on your bedroom door gently and entered. He looked tired but determined.

"Y/N, I'm sorry you had to hear that," he said, his eyes filled with regret. "But please understand, you and the baby mean the world to me right now. I want to do right by both of you."

You nodded, your own heart heavy with the knowledge that your presence was complicating Max's life. "I appreciate everything you're doing for us, Max."

He gave you a reassuring smile, reaching out to hold your hand. "We'll get through this together, Y/N. You and Little Bump are my family now, and I'll do whatever it takes to make sure you both have everything you need."

As you looked into his eyes, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the unwavering support and love Max was offering, even if it meant navigating rocky waters in his personal life.

Later in the evening, there was a gentle knock on your bedroom door, and when you opened it, Max stood there with a somewhat downcast expression. “Do you want to do something, watch a movie or something maybe?” He asked, his voice much weaker than usual. You could tell that the earlier argument with Beth was still weighing on his mind. Although you were tired and had been ready to turn in for the night, you couldn't resist the opportunity to lift his spirits.

Seeing the need for a distraction, you smiled warmly at Max and said, "Of course, Max, I'd love to watch a movie with you." Your willingness to spend time with him despite your fatigue was a silent gesture of support, and it brought a grateful smile to his face.

Together, you made your way to the living room, choosing a film that promised both entertainment and distraction and settled into the cozy living room to share another memorable moment. The screen flickered to life, and as the movie started, you both found yourselves lost in the world of the film.

Laughter filled the room as you traded jokes and amusing commentary throughout the movie, creating an atmosphere of joy and connection. Max seemed to have a way of making you laugh, and his infectious humor was a delightful addition to the evening.

As the movie continued, you couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort and contentment sitting beside him. It was as if the worries and complications of life had momentarily melted away, leaving behind only the warmth of his presence. As the movie rolled on, the comfort of Max's presence began to take hold. The long day had left you weary, and you couldn't help but stifle a yawn. Max, ever attuned to your needs, glanced at you and seemed to understand. Wordlessly, he patted his lap, inviting you to lay your head there. With a grateful nod, you shifted closer, resting your head gently against his thigh. The soft fabric of his jeans felt warm and comforting against your cheek. As the movie's plot unfolded, Max's fingers, now tender and caring, began to play with your hair. The gentle strokes sent a cascade of shivers down your spine, and an unexpected sensation of butterflies fluttered in your stomach.

It was at that moment, as Max's fingers continued their soothing dance, that you began to question the nature of your feelings for him. Were they merely the result of his kindness and care during this challenging time, or was there something more profound at play? Trepidation crept in as you wondered if your feelings for Max were more than just those of a friend. You felt a pang of guilt, he was still with Beth after all. Uncertainty swirled within you as you mustered the courage to speak up.

"Max," you began hesitantly, "I hope I didn't cause any more trouble between you and Beth."

Max, who had been lost in thought, looked down at you, his eyes filled with understanding. He let out a sigh and replied, "It's probably over, Y/N. To be honest, it was never great anyway, which is why we took a break – you know when we-."

You offered an apologetic look, feeling torn between sympathy and concern for your growing feelings. "I'm sorry, Max. I didn't mean to complicate things."

Max's gaze softened, and he reassured you, "Don't worry about it, Y/N. The relationship wasn't very good, even before the break. You're not to blame."

As the movie played on, your head still nestled in his lap and his fingers continuing their gentle caress, you couldn't help but contemplate the complexity of your emotions. With a sense of unease and curiosity, you wondered if Max was becoming more than just a friend to you.

As the weeks turned into months, you couldn't shake the awkwardness that had crept in since you'd started to acknowledge your newfound feelings for Max. Your friendship with him meant the world to you, and you were determined not to jeopardize it. With the baby on the way, you knew you had to prioritize the stability and happiness of your growing family. So, you began to give yourself a bit of space from Max. You kept yourself busy with prenatal classes, doctor's appointments, and preparing for the arrival of your baby. The distraction of these tasks allowed you to maintain a semblance of normalcy in your life, even as your emotions remained tumultuous beneath the surface.

Max was away often for work and training anyway so that provided a convenient buffer and you could tell yourself that the physical distance was for the best, that it helped you maintain control over your feelings. However, as the due date rapidly approached and the Formula One season ended, he was home more often. It became increasingly challenging to avoid him, especially when he was eager to be a part of your pregnancy journey and offer his support.

Despite the swirling emotions within you, you couldn't deny that you still cherished his presence in your life. You wrestled with the guilt of harboring feelings for a man who was going above and beyond to look after you and Little Bump, but you also knew that the priority was providing your baby with a loving and stable environment. Balancing these conflicting emotions was a delicate dance, and as you found yourself spending more time with Max in preparation for the baby's arrival, the challenge of keeping your feelings in check grew more daunting with each passing day.

With your due date beginning to approach, the need to get the nursery ready became ever present so you decided to take on the task of building the flat packed crib that had been sitting in it’s box for the past few weeks. The crib's pieces lay strewn about, and you were carefully studying the instruction manual when Max entered the room. Seeing you hunched over the crib parts, Max immediately expressed his concern, his voice filled with care. "Y/N, you really should be resting right now. Let me handle this for you. You've been working so hard, and I don't want you to overexert yourself."

You appreciated Max's thoughtfulness, but you were determined to see this task through on your own. "Max, I want to do this. I need to know that I can handle things as a mum."

Max respected your determination but didn't want to see you pushing yourself too hard. After a brief back-and-forth, a compromise was reached. You both decided to tackle the crib assembly together, enabling you to feel like you were able to complete the task but also allowing Max to watch over you and ensure you and Little Bump were safe.

As the crib slowly started to take shape, you couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment at the thought of your baby soon resting in it. Max, however, was unusually quiet. His brow furrowed with a deep concern that had been lurking in the corners of his mind. You could sense that something was troubling him, and as you worked together to piece the crib together, you decided to broach the topic gently.

"Max, is everything alright?" you asked, your voice filled with care.

He sighed, setting down a wooden panel for a moment, and looked at you with a mixture of vulnerability and doubt. “I don’t know, I guess I’m just worried. I see the way you talk to your stomach, I know you’re going to be such a good mum to our Little Bump. I just don’t know if I’m going to be a good dad. I know how bad having a shit dad can fuck someone up, I just want more for my kid.”

Your heart ached for Max as you recognized the fear that had been gnawing at him. You set aside your own concerns and walked over to him, wrapping your arms around him in a comforting hug. "Max, the fact that you're so concerned about being a good dad proves that you're already on the right path. You care deeply, and that's the most important thing. We'll learn and grow together as parents, just like we've navigated everything else in our lives. You'll be an amazing dad because you want the best for our baby." Max held you close, his arms encircling you in a tight embrace. Being so close to him maybe wasn’t the best idea, but you could see how much he needed it.

Despite your ever-growing feelings for Max, you kept it to yourself, doing everything you could to ignore the way that you felt about the man you were now preparing to be parents with. Your due date was only weeks away when you started to feel like you were going crazy, so you did what every woman does when she’s dealing with unrequited love, you bore out your entire heart to your best friend whilst eating ice cream by the metric tonne.

“I just don’t know what to do Mia” you told your best friend over the phone one afternoon when Max was out getting supplies to finish decorating the nursery.

“I think you just need to tell him, be completely honest” her words made you sigh.

“Oh yeah so I just go up to him ‘hey Max I know we’re about to be parents and you’ve so kindly let me live in your house but I’m not happy just co-parenting with you, I love you and want to be with you, like a real family” You ranted to Mia but her response to you was cut off by a familiar voice laced with a Dutch accent speaking up.

“What?” Your neck snapped up violently at the sound of his voice, Max stood in the doorway of your bedroom his face painted with a look of shock.

Max's voice, tinged with both surprise and hurt, hung in the air, a heavy silence following his unexpected entrance into the conversation. You turned slowly, the phone clutched in your trembling hand, your eyes meeting his, wide with shock. The room seemed to shrink, and the air grew thick with tension as you realized he had overheard every word. His brows furrowed deeply, and he set the supplies he had been carrying onto the nearby table.

"You... love me?" he asked, his voice shaky as if grappling with the revelation. You nodded, your eyes now glistening with unshed tears, unable to speak. Max took a step closer, his eyes filled with a mixture of emotions, but the one that seemed to dominate was fear. "And you've been keeping this from me... all this time?"

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. "I was scared," you whispered, finally finding your voice. "I didn't want to jeopardize what we have, the baby, our plans. I thought if I kept it to myself, things would be easier."

Max ran a hand through his hair, clearly conflicted. "Easier? Do you think keeping something like this a secret is easier?"

His frustration was apparent, you could hear it as his voice gradually became louder and angrier and you couldn't blame him. You had betrayed his trust, and he had a right to be upset.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you fought to hold them back. "I didn't know how you'd react, Max. I didn't want to push you away, especially not now when we should be focusing on preparing for the baby."

"I understand, but I can't believe you kept something like this from me, especially at a time like this." His voice was laced with frustration, he brought his hand up to his head, running his fingers through his hair

You nodded; your heart heavy with the intensity of his emotions. "I know, Max. I'm sorry; I should've been honest with you."

Max's frustration was apparent as he walked towards the door. "I need some space to think, and I don't know what this means for us right now."

With those words, he left the house, and you were left standing there, engulfed in a sea of turmoil. Panic took hold of you as you realized the enormity of what had just transpired. You had pushed Max away, and now you feared it might be too late to salvage your relationship.

In the wake of Max's departure, the silence in the house became oppressive. Anxiety and self-doubt swirled in your mind, and you couldn't bear to stay there any longer. The urge to seek refuge with your parents, where you could find solace and guidance, became irresistible.

In a manic rush, you hurriedly packed a bag with essentials, your heart racing with every passing second. Tears streamed down your face as you considered the drastic step you were about to take. With trembling hands, you purchased a last-minute plane ticket back to your hometown.

The minutes felt like an eternity, but you were finally on your way to the airport. You left a hurried note for Max, explaining your need to be with family during this turbulent time. With your heart in your throat, you headed to the airport, driven by a frantic need to escape the chaos you had unleashed.

The plane took off, carrying you away from the life you had built with Max, and the turbulence within you mirrored the journey. The fear of losing Max and the desperation for a fresh start with your parents guided you on this unexpected and tumultuous path.

Max returned home the next day, his heart heavy with concern and regret. The house felt emptier than ever, and the silence only intensified his panic. He rushed to find his phone, fingers trembling as he tried to dial your number. But to his dismay, there was no answer on the other end. He left a voicemail, pleading for you to call him back as soon as you could.

In his frantic state, Max's mind raced to find a solution. He knew he needed to find you, to make things right. He decided to call Charles, hoping he might have some insight or connection to your whereabouts.

"Charles," Max said, his voice tight with anxiety, "I need your help. I can't reach Y/N. She's left, and I don't know where she's gone. Do you have Mia's number?"

Charles, understanding the urgency in Max's tone, reluctantly provided Mia's number. Max immediately dialed it and hoped that Mia might have some answers. Mia answered after a few rings, and Max wasted no time

"Mia, it's Max. I can't get through to Y/N. Do you know where she is? I need to talk to her."

Mia's voice held a hint of worry as well. "I haven't heard from her since yesterday either, Max. She seemed really upset when you left. Let me give you her family's number; maybe they know something."

Max was grateful for Mia's help as she provided him with your family's contact information. He dialed the number, his heart pounding in his chest. After a few rings, someone on the other end finally picked up.

"Hello?" a voice answered.

Max didn't waste any time. "Hi, this is Max. I'm looking for Y/N. She left a note saying she was going to see her family, but I haven't heard from her since. Is she with you?"

There was a moment of confusion on the other end, followed by a sense of concern. "Max, I'm sorry, but we haven't heard anything about Y/N planning to visit us. Are you sure she's on her way here?"

Max's panic deepened as he realized you hadn't reached your family, and he had no idea where you were. "I... I don't know. I'm really worried about her. If you hear from her, please let her know I'm looking for her and that I want to talk."

Max hung up the phone, his mind filled with anxiety. He was determined to find you and make things right, but at that moment, he felt utterly lost without any leads to follow.

As Max anxiously paced around the house, his worst fears were consuming him. He kept checking his phone, desperately hoping for a call or message from you. Every moment felt like an eternity, and the silence was deafening.

Then, suddenly, his phone rang. It was your mum. Max's heart pounded in his chest as he answered the call, his voice trembling as he spoke, "Hello?"

Your mum's voice was filled with worry and fear. "Max, it's Y/N’s mum. We just got a call from the hospital. She passed out at the airport, the staff found her and phoned an ambulance. We don't have many details yet, but we're on our way there now."

Max's world seemed to spin as he struggled to process the shocking news. "Is she okay? What happened? The baby?" he stammered.

Your mum's voice cracked with emotion as she replied, "We don't know, Max. They didn't tell us much over the phone. We're on our way to the hospital to find out."

Max hung up the call, his hands shaking. Panic and fear gripped him as he realized the severity of the situation. He couldn't waste another moment. He immediately dialed his private jet service to book a flight to the hospital as soon as possible, not caring about the cost or inconvenience. All that mattered was getting to you and Little Bump

Within minutes, the arrangements were made, and Max was on his way to the airport, his mind filled with a whirlwind of worry and thoughts of you. Time was of the essence, and he could only hope and pray that he would find you safe and sound at the hospital.

Max's heart was racing as he landed and rushed to the hospital your mum had mentioned. Fear and uncertainty gnawed at him as he sprinted through the sterile hospital corridors, the tension in the air growing with each step. He finally found your room, where your parents were anxiously waiting just outside.

Breathing heavily, Max approached them, his voice shaking as he spoke, "What happened? Is she okay?"

Your mum stepped forward; her eyes red-rimmed from worry. "Max, she had a seizure, she had eclampsia, they needed to perform an emergency c-section"

Max's heart seemed to stop for a moment, but he needed to know more. "Is she... Is the baby okay?"

Your dad stepped in, his expression a mix of relief and concern. "Both Y/N and the baby are okay, Max. They're in recovery now."

Max barely let them finish their explanation before he rushed into your room. There you were, sitting in a hospital bed, clearly still groggy from the medications they had administered.

Max's eyes filled with tears as he approached you, his voice choked with emotion. "I was so scared, Y/N. Are you okay? Is the baby okay?"

You blinked at him, your vision still hazy. "Max? What... happened?"

He took your hand gently, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped his eye. "You had a seizure, but you and the baby are okay. That's all that matters."

Max's relief was palpable, and he couldn't stop himself from reaching out to touch your face, his love and concern pouring forth. In that moment, nothing else in the world mattered but the fact that you and the Little Bump.

Max approached the bassinet where the baby lay, his heart pounding with a mixture of trepidation and excitement. With great care, he gently lifted the small, fragile form into his arms. As he cradled the tiny bundle close to his chest, a sense of wonder washed over him.

He peered down at the baby's face, her features so delicate and new. The room seemed to fade away as he focused entirely on this precious, little life he now held in his arms. Max's eyes glistened with tears of joy and awe, his heart overflowing with emotions he had never experienced before.

Every detail of the baby's face captivated him – her button nose, her rosebud lips, and her wisps of soft hair. He marveled at her innocence and vulnerability, realizing that he was now responsible for this tiny, perfect soul.

With quivering lips, Max whispered softly, "You're a girl." The realization of this new chapter in his life, the responsibility of being a father to a daughter, filled him with a profound sense of purpose and love.

He held her close, feeling her small chest rise and fall with each gentle breath. The bond he shared with his newborn daughter was a miracle that left him in awe. In that intimate moment, Max understood the beauty and fragility of life, and he couldn't help but smile, knowing that he was ready to embrace the journey of parenthood with all the love and dedication he could muster.

Max held his precious daughter close, her small form cradled in his arms. He gazed down at her, the overwhelming love he felt for her and for you filling his heart. With a tenderness that could only come from a father's love, he whispered, "I love you, [Your Name]. I love our baby, and I'm so excited to start this new chapter of our lives together as a family, a real family."

He could see that you were still fairly out of it, but he couldn't help but share his feelings in this moment. As he watched the baby's peaceful slumber, he asked, "What should we name her?"

You fought against sleep, your eyelids heavy, but you managed to murmur, "Sophie."

Max's eyes widened with surprise and joy. "Sophie? Like my mum?"

With a weak but loving smile, you nodded. "Yeah, our daughter, Sophie Verstappen."

Max's heart swelled with pride and love as he looked at his newborn daughter, Sophie. In that moment, as you drifted into slumber, he felt a profound sense of gratitude for the family he was building with you, a family that now included the beautiful Sophie Verstappen.

As you drifted off to sleep, with Max sat beside you cradling your new-born daughter in his arms, you couldn't help but reflect on how your life had transformed for the better. It was a change that had been set into motion by just two lines on a pregnancy test. Two lines and your life was completely and irrevocably changed, and you couldn’t be happier.

Taglist-

@sebastiansstanswhore @ironmaiden1313 @itsjustkhaos

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula 1 #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #formula one x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 fanfic

988 notes · View notes

malecftw · 3 months

Text

Dirt - Tom Blyth

A/N: Duuuuuuuude, I feel like I'm in an alternate universe. Never would I have thought I'd ever be writing again, years later! Please please please let me know what you guys think since this is my first story back. It'll probably play a part in wether or not I'll write more since I obvs love writing, but a writer isn't a writer without readers.

Enjoy xx

Warnings: fluff.

(Not my gif obvs)

The cool breeze of the opening car door makes you smile. The vehicle moves slightly as someone sits in the driver's seat. After some rustling you hear: "Open up." You do as you're told and open your lips slightly, only to feel the cool metal of a reusable straw. A groan escapes your lips as you taste your favorite cooled beverage. By now, he knew all your favorites by heart, just like he knew your dislike for the standard paper straws they've started using everywhere. You're all for saving the planet, but paper should never be sucked on. You lean your head against the headrest as you turn your head towards the driver's seat, even though your eyes could only see black.

"Does this mean you're gonna be my servant all day?" You hear a chuckle. "Don't get used to it hot stuff. You're only blindfolded until we get there." You puckered your lips, "and where is there exactly?" you try again. For months, he's been keeping you in the dark about what he had planned for your birthday. He hyped it up quite a bit so your curiosity only grew as it led you to this moment, literally in the dark about the whole thing. He just kissed your lips and you knew that was the only answer you were gonna get.

The drive was filled with your favorite music, the occasional chatter and regular hand kisses as he held yours in your lap. Although you couldn't see anything, you weren't bored. It was rare that you got to spend much time together, so even this was a treat. You still found it crazy how he had been able to persuade the producers and director to film around your birthday. Well, persuading isn't exactly the right word. He had a few different gigs lined up, so he could basically tell them: "Give me these days off, or I'm going for the other job."

He was always the assertive one in the relationship. Especially when it came to you. Any free moment he could get, he would make sure to capitalize on it just so he could spend it with you. Ever since you guys met at Julliard, you'd been absolutely smitten with eachother.

Your thoughts were interrupted as the car came to a halt. "Slow down tiger." He said, quickly grabbing your hand moving towards the blindfold. "Tooooooom, please..." you whined, squeezing his hand. "You'll find out soon enough, trust me. Now I'm going to come over to your side to help you get out okay. No peeking."

The dramatic sigh that left your lips made him laugh, loving the advantage he had over you. As you play with a loose thread on your jean overall he opens the door. Grabbing your waist, he lifts you out of the Jeep, squeezing your sides in the process.

"Okay, take off your blindfold on my mark." He exclaims, followed by alot of shuffling, making you aware of multiple people present. "Go for it babe." He says loudly, and you do as he says.

The sight infront of you startles you, not at all what you expected. It feels like you're in some kind of national park. Only stones, sand and dirt in sight. If you exclude the group of people infront of you that is.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" Everyone shouts at the same time and you jump back a little in surprise. In front of you are you closest friends, as well as some of Tom's coworkers you'd been lucky enough to get close to. A few Billy The Kid costars were also there, you assumed the others had to keep filming while he had a couple days off.

As you take in the sight, hand over your mouth, still in shock, you notice everyone has a bucket hanging from their wrist. "What the fuck!?!" you shout, happy but confused. Tom walks up to you, takes your hand and walks you closer to the group. He hands you a similar looking bucket, a chisel and a hammer.

"We're going crystal digging." Tom smiles, stretching out his arms proudly as he looks at the scenery. Your heart nearly bursts at the seams as you throw your new equipment to the ground and jump in his arms, clinging onto him like a Koala.

"Tom Blyth, you are the most unrealistically perfect boyfriend ever and I do wonder how I ended up with you." You whisper, looking into his eyes, trying to make him realise how much this means to you.

It's not like you were crystal-obsessed. It's just something you'd been drawn to your entire life. A little quirk one might say. It was a subtle part of your life. One that you had often gotten judged for by previous boyfriends. Tom never spoke negatively about it, it was just a part of who you are and if it made you happy, why would he try to manipulate it out of you like the ones before him. It's not because he himself wasn't that interested in it, that you weren't allowed to be.

"Babe, all I do is listen. It's not rocket science." He smiles as he gives you a little Eskimo kiss. "So humble," you mock swoon as het puts you down. "Oi, don't be jealous if I find the biggest rock okay." He grins while nudging your side. "Not gonna happen. I'm a crystal magnet." You say cockily as you join the group.

After a couple hours, everyone was covered in dust and dirt. Happily you look at your bucket, having found a couple huge, beautiful crystals and a lot of smaller ones. Next to you Tom was also holding his bucket closer to his face to inspect what he found. Your shoulder touches his elbow as you say: "You know what, I might have a couple of them made into some lovely jewelry pieces."

Tom looks at you bewildered. "Like what?" You don't think much of it as you answer. "I don't know. There's some beautiful stones in here for some earrings, necklaces, bracelets... Or maybe I can make some stuff myself you know. Get my creative juices flowing." He sighs softly at your answer. "I love you." At that you raise your eyebrow. Neither you or Tom were shy of expressing your love for eachother, but this was a bit random. "I love you too. I honestly don't think you realise how much this means to me. I never would have guessed this to be the surprise. It's so thoughtful. It truly shows how much you know me through and through." "I'm glad you like it. You're always down to try anything, even if you're not sure about it in the beginning. That's why I feel comfortable trying something new. I'm aware it hasn't been easy now that work's been steady and I've been away from home a lot. And you have no idea how much I appreciate you giving me the freedom to follow my dreams."

He leans down and kisses you passionately. Melting into his touch you stand there for a while looking at the scenery, taking everything in.

*That evening*

"You clean up nicely mr. Blyth." You comment on his attire. He does a little twirl, smirking as he checks you out. "You're not so bad for a little scavenger." You poke his side and sit down in one of the chairs. After you'd said your goodbyes to the rest of the group, Tom had driven you about an hour away from the crystal mine. You knew that wasn't the end of your birthday surprise since he'd told you to also pack some nice evening attire.

Tom had booked an amazing restaurant. The owners went above and beyone to blow your mind, preparing an outdoor table with the best view. After dessert, you both were enjoying some lovely wine and eachother. Catching up after not having seen eachother for a while since you'd only flow in yesterday so you could spend your birthday together.

He absentmindedly played with your fingers as a comfortable silence settled between you two. You felt him rubbing your ring finger and noticed him looking at it. "Looks quite empty doesn't it." He says quite casually. You roll your eyes and jokingly hit his chest. "Don't play that game." You say, smiling widely. You'd talked about marriage before, you both knew you wanted it at some point in your life. Sure some people say it's just a piece of paper, and you couldn't fully disagree, but it also had a deeper meaning to the both of you. The promise of choosing eachother, every day, forever.

He looked into your eyes and shook his head.

"I'm not playing games anymore love."

The way he said it made you shiver. He'd made that joke before, but never with an answer so serious. He leaned back in his chair. "Do you remember, early on in our relationship, that time I forgot my tie for one of the first plays I did at Julliard?" You smile as you think back to that memory. "How could I forget. You were basically a living zombie for 3 weeks leading up to that play."

Tom nodded, back to playing with your fingers.

"I remember I had been so stressed. The character I played was so dull. I struggled so much finding ways to make him more interesting to the audience. And that damn tie. It was so important to me. Silly how something so small could mean so much at the time." "So much that you forgot it at home 3 hours before the play." You humored.

Looking enamoured, he continued.

"And I remember you. You with your make up half done, running towards me in a fucking thunderstorm. And when we met in the middle, you just casually opened your vest, handing over that damn tie."

Laughter exploded from your chest. You were in the middle of getting ready to attend the play when you got the frantic call from Tom. You didn't think twice and started running towards the school, and didn't even realise it was raining until you were running through the streets of New York City, by then it was too late to turn back to dress appropriately for the weather.

The man infront of you smiling, as he relived the same memory.

"That's when I knew."

A questioning look painted your face.

"I knew. Right then and there, that I'd always look for you in the crowd."

Speechless, you squeezed his hand.

He sat up straight in his chair. Taking both of your hands in his.

"I love you. I love the way you still can't use our airfryer, 2 years after we got it. I love your random obsession with knitting and making me wear your handmade sweaters to work. I love home, but only when you're there. I love that you let me be who I truly am and I love that you are fearlessly yourself."

He stood up and kneeled down infront of you, taking out a red, velvet box.

"Please allow me, to fulfill one more dream of mine."

As he opens the box he speaks with shaking voice and tears in his eyes.

"Will you marry me?"

#tom blyth #tom blyth fluff #tom blyth x reader #fluff #billy the kid #coriolanus snow

218 notes · View notes

some-pers0n · 5 days

Text

My favourite thing ever about LITWTC is that it sounds completely and utterly bizarre to anyone who doesn't listen to it. What do you mean that music artist I heard on TikTok has a podcast where he and his friend talk about the apocalypse.

Anyways some of my favourite bits are

Tommy Lasagna, a fully Korean man with a thick Brooklyn accent, will own a fast food combination auto repair shop, wherein he'll mix up your order and put burgers on your tires and serve you a fistful of wires instead of fires

Will getting harassed by a ghost prostitute named Mama Doo-Wop for like seven minutes

Chris and Will stopping their car (they were driving around in this episode) and laughing at a decaying house for like five minutes

Will larping as Tom Waits for an entire episode

Leopard Planet is the only band still left in the apocalypse, wherein the lead singer and rhythm guitarist and Rock God, Zap Gorgeous, will have leopard print clothes as they play on top of a leopard pyramid

Will and Chris try getting their Wendy's order and it takes 20 minutes because the Doordash driver kept circling a graveyard

Will will save Jordan Peterson from the manosphere grease pit (where any manosphere person is greased up and tossed into a pit where they have to kill everyone else to survive) and turns him into a parrot-like pet that he listens to for hours on end

Chris Dunne Won't Go To Therapy I/II

ROLL!! THEM!! BONES!!

Bobby Sugarbones dying because the recording program closed and they didn't notice because the laptop had a picture of Chester Cheetah inflation art covering it (this was because Chris was trying to get Will into the kink so they could fuck the podcast, which is a gutter clown with that kink)

"Yes! And–"

Chris and Will spending an entire episode parked in front of a school because Will's car broke down and they were waiting for the repair guy (yes there are two episodes where they're in a car)

The Bug Woman

#sp-rambles #litwtc #life in the world to come #will wood

156 notes · View notes

sluttywonwoo · 2 months

Text

instead of you [part forty] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.

warnings: swearing, alcohol, mentions of sex (18+ ; mdni)

word count: 3.4k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

That night, you turned Jisung’s words over in your mind over and over again. He was wrong, you were convinced. You would love him the same no matter what. No matter if he asked you to end things with Minho or not. You told him as much but he didn’t seem to believe you.

You went back to your room shortly after your talk. You had walked a little more, stopped for dessert at a little shaved ice stand on the beach, and then turned back. Jisung showered first, then you, but only after going over your agreement again. What you did with Minho was your business, but it had to be kept a secret. You were still Jisung’s girlfriend for the duration of the trip. It was mainly about his parents anyway. Jisung hadn’t explicitly told you why having a girlfriend was so important to him but after spending so much time with his family you could guess why.

The next day, everyone piled into the cars and took the forty-minute drive back to Honolulu where you’d landed. Traffic was awful. You knew it took everything in Minho not to honk at the cars in front of him. You could see his knuckles turning white around the steering wheel from the back seat.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” he cursed as another F-150 cut him off.

You and Jisung traded looks but neither of you dared to say anything out loud. Even Felix’s grip on the armrest tightened when Minho swerved into the next lane to speed past the truck.

“We’re not in a rush,” you reminded him. You wanted to touch his arm, reassure him somehow, but you couldn’t.

“Yeah, Mom and Dad are way behind us now.”

“It’s not about speed,” he muttered. You weren’t really convinced about the speed thing. “It’s about the principle. These assholes shouldn’t be able to get away with driving like maniacs.”

“And what are you doing right now?” Jisung asked carefully.

His twin brother turned around in his seat to give him a warning look but to everyone’s surprise, Minho took a deep breath and actually stepped on the brakes. He only slowed down a little bit, less than five mph, but it was better than nothing.

“Sorry, I’m just so used to being late all the time.”

“We know,” Felix joked.

“You should see my girlfriend drive,” your best friend joked.

“Please, I passed my driver’s test on the first try,” you scoffed, making eye contact with Minho in the rearview mirror.

He shook his head at you and mouthed low blow. Next to you, Jisung was also shaking his head.

“Yeah, and I want to talk to whoever passed you because there’s no way they weren’t under the influence of something.”

“You’re in the fast lane to never getting a ride from me again,” you muttered.

Jisung raised his hands in surrender.

“Apologize,” Felix demanded, cutting in on your behalf.

“Yeah, apologize to me,” you agreed.

Jisung sighed and turned his full body toward you, taking both of your hands in his. “I’m sorry, my love. Please forgive me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever.”

Jisung turned back toward his brothers. “I think I’m in the clear, guys.”

You smacked the back of his head.

The first stop in Waikiki was the ABC store. There was one on almost every block so you stopped at the first one you saw to buy snacks and drinks for the beach.

“How many musubis do you want?” you asked Minho, who was in charge of alcohol.

“How many are you getting?” he asked back with a grin.

He looked ridiculous with his arms full of beer, smirking at you like that.

“Two,” you said flatly.

“I’ll get two as well.”

You asked the others how many they wanted and raided the mini warmer for them before dumping them at the checkout counter with the rest of what the boys picked out. Dom paid and had the four of you take the bags back to the cars.

The next step was to find parking somewhere on the streets that were within walking distance to the beach. You had to split up from Jisung’s parents to do so because there was no way you were going to be able to find two open parking spots on the same road.

Once Minho parked, put money in the meter, and double-checked that the car was locked, the four of you slowly but surely made your way down to the shore where you met up with Nikki and Dom who had already picked out a spot in the sand.

You had never seen a beach so crowded before. There were people everywhere. And all of the available space was being taken up by beach chairs and umbrellas that you had to rent from one of the several stands stationed behind them. Some of the different colored umbrellas even overlapped with each other in an apparent turf war. You could only imagine what conversations between the rival attendants must be like.

The beach was still beautiful, of course. You were in Hawai’i. Any beach here was going to be breathtaking. Waikiki Beach attracted so many tourists because of its beauty.

“We rented four chairs,” Dom explained. “We figured not all of us would be sitting over here at once so we wouldn’t need six.”

Jisung nodded in understanding.

“Are you going to surf?” you asked.

“Probably,” he answered, looking over to his brothers. “I assume you won’t be?”

“I think I’ll sit this one out.”

You turned your foot over to look at your toe. Even though all of the sea urchin spines had dissolved, the marks from the injury were still fading. You couldn’t see yourself back on a board any time soon.

You were content to lay out in the sun with your book until Jisung wanted to wade in the water.

The boys left to rent surfboards and their parents headed in the opposite direction for a walk along the beach, leaving you alone with all of the stuff. You joked to Nikki and Dom that you would protect it with your life but in reality, you would hand it over if someone so much as looked at you threateningly.

You went to dig your book out from Jisung’s backpack but accidentally grabbed his instead. It was the one you had already read and annotated for him. Out of curiosity, you opened to where he left off to see what part he was at and were surprised to see his handwriting scrawled in the margins of the most recent page.

He hadn’t stopped annotating it. Even after everything, even when he was simmering with anger, he was still writing you little notes and responding to the ones you had left. You weren’t supposed to read them before he was done so you quickly closed it back and shoved it into the bag again before retrieving the book that was actually yours.

You took a brief look back up at the water to see how the boys were doing but there were so many surfers that it was hard to pick them out.

“Which one’s yours?”

The voice beside you startled you, making you jump a little before you realized someone had taken the seat next to you.

You weren’t sure where she had come from but a girl who looked to be about your age was perched on one of the chairs the Hans had reserved. She was pretty, really pretty. Head full of curls and freckles dusted across her cheeks. The tangerine-colored bikini she was wearing looked amazing against her skin and you weren’t sure whether you were more jealous of her or attracted to her.

“Huh?” you asked.

“Which one’s yours?” she repeated.

“Oh.” You squinted at the waves, trying to zero in on Jisung. “Uh, blue wetsuit in the group of three off to the side.”

The girl followed your gaze and nodded when she found him. “They just got out there, right?”

“Yeah, we only got here a few minutes ago.” You noticed the camera dangling around and realized she must be out there for someone too. “Um, which one is yours?”

“Long hair, kind of far out. He’s in the big cluster of surfers in the swell.”

Her boyfriend was easy to spot. He was paddling in the direction of an upcoming wave.

“Do you guys come out here often?” you asked.

She nodded, curls bouncing. “David’s lived in Kaneohe like all his life, which is like fifteen minutes from here so it’s super convenient. The North Shore isn’t as crowded but the waves are practically nonexistent in the summer,” she explained. “What about you guys?”

“We’re on vacation.” You were embarrassed to admit that but it wasn’t like you could lie. You didn’t know the island at all. You also didn’t want to risk mentioning that it hadn’t been your choice to come here and offend her if she thought you were implying that her home state was the worst or something.

“Oh, how fun!” she exclaimed. Ok, well that was a positive reaction at least.

“My boyfriend’s family was nice enough to invite me along,” you added, wanting at the very least to establish that it hadn’t been your idea.

“Holy shit, that is nice of them.”

“I know,” you agreed.

“Well, while you’re here you should definitely check out the Pillbox hike. It’s a little brutal if you aren’t used to hiking uphill but the views are totally worth it.”

“I’ll be sure to mention it to him! We have a free day tomorrow so maybe we’ll do that, thank you.”

You would not be going on the hike. You hated hiking and heights but you would still mention it to Jisung in case the boys wanted to go.

She smiled but then something out of the corner of her eye caught her attention and she was standing up to leave.

“Sorry, I promised my boyfriend that I would get some shots of him today and he’ll be pissed if I miss these waves.”

She threw you a wave over her shoulder as she jogged off. You waved back, calling out that it was nice to meet her. You never got her name.

You only managed to get through a couple of pages of your book before another person approached your chairs. This time, it was Jisung. He had come up to check on you.

“Make a new friend?” he asked as he shook water out of his hair like a dog.

“Oh yeah, did you see that girl talking to me?”

“Thought she might be trying to put the moves on you.”

“Oh my god, how many times do I have to tell you I’m not Bella Swan? Not everyone who talks to me is into me.”

“She was your type, though.”

“You say that about all girls.”

“Because that’s your type.”

You rolled your eyes at your best friend. “Either way, she wasn’t interested. She has a boyfriend. She was just asking me if I had a partner out there too.”

“That doesn’t mean she didn’t think you were cute,” he pointed out.

“You’re so annoying,” you groaned. “I don’t need a wingman anymore.”

He made a face. “That’s right, you’re fucking my brother,” he said, sounding disgusted. You couldn’t blame him.

“Do you have to announce that to the entire beach? I’m supposed to be your girlfriend, remember?”

Jisung shrugged and plopped himself down on the chair next to yours. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to get it out of his eyes. Because it was wet, it had taken on a mind of its own. You had witnessed Jisung try to tame his hair after a shower on several occasions. It usually ended with him just waiting for it to dry so that he could style it and then making you late to wherever you were supposed to be going.

“Are you going to go back out there?” you asked.

“Probably. Wanna join?”

“Very funny.”

“I was being serious.”

“Oh. Well, no thanks.”

“I figured but I just wanted to make sure.”

“You’re sweet.”

The boys surfed for a couple of hours before coming in to eat the musubis and snacks you bought earlier. Their parents returned around the same time and you all ate together.

Afterward, Jisung offered to wade around in the shallow water at the edge of the beach with you.

“You have to get in,” he insisted. “It’ll cool you down.”

“Okay,” you agreed.

You didn’t need any more convincing. You had wanted to get in anyway.

“Lix, Minho, do you want to come with us?” Jisung asked.

They looked at each other and shrugged. “Sure.”

The four of you wove through the sea of beach chairs down to the shore where the remnants of bigger waves lapped at the sand. The water was crystal clear, apart from the frothy white foam atop the waves. It fizzled against the hot sand when the waves crashed against the beach, lingering still even when the water subsided.

There were several groups of people in the ocean as well but it was less crowded than the beach. Families with small children were gathered right by the shore, the parents mingling with each other as the kids played with wet sand and beach toys. You wished you could remember what it was like to be that young. To meet a stranger and be best friends in the blink of an eye.

There were less and less people the further out from the shore you got. Fathers teaching older kids how to boogie board, teenagers jumping in the waves as they gossiped with each other.

You weren’t sure how long you spent in the water but before long, Nikki and Dom were waving from the beach to get your attention.

“They’re either saying it’s time to go, or they’re ditching us,” Jisung said, squinting and making a ‘what?’ gesture with his shoulders.

“It’s really a fifty-fifty shot,” Felix added.

“I think they want us to come in,” Minho guessed.

Minho was proven right mere seconds later when Dom beckoned you to join them.

The latter half of the day was spent walking around the city. Being the center of tourism on the island meant Waikiki had a lot of shopping. You had never seen so many high-end stores in one place before. You did some window shopping while the Hans did some shopping shopping. Practically everything in every single shop was out of your price range. You weren’t expecting otherwise but seeing the numbers on the backs of the price tags still hurt your heart.

You could tell a few of the sales associates recognized Minho from the way their eyes would get big when they saw him. They’d lean over and whisper to each other behind his back. Even though he couldn’t hear them you knew he knew it was happening. It made you feel kind of bad for him. Kind of.

You ate dinner at some restaurant attached to the lobby of a hotel. It was on the water, which was nice, but it was just as crowded as the beach had been. The poor servers were so swamped that it took over an hour to get your food. No one minded, of course, but by the time Minho laid his credit card on top of the bill it was dark outside.

“Do you remember where we parked?” Minho asked you as you

“Yeah, but I don’t know how to get there from where we are right now.”

“So you don’t remember where we parked.”

“No, I remember where we parked. But we’ve walked around so much that I don’t know how to get there.”

Minho shook his head at you. “You should always pay attention to where you’re going. It can be dangerous if you don’t know where you are.”

“Why should I? That’s what I have you guys for.”

“What if we weren’t here?”

“There’s a parked car option on my GPS.”

“What if your phone was dead?”

“What is wrong with you?”

“I just want you to be safe!”

You didn’t want to hear any more. “Jisung, your brother is being an asshole!”

Your best friend, who had been walking alongside Felix, jogged up to meet you when you called for him.

“What’d he do?”

“I was just trying to-”

“I didn’t ask you,” Jisung cut in, glaring at Minho.

“He’s giving me a hard time because I don’t know how to get back to the car from here,” you explained.

“We can just use the GPS app,” Jisung said.

You turned to Minho with a smug grin. “See?”

“I can’t believe you told on me,” he muttered under his breath.

“Get used to it,” you hummed.

The last day on Oahu was a free day. You told Jisung about the pillbox hike that the girl from the beach had suggested and he woke up early to do it with Felix and Minho. He came back raving about it and showed you a bunch of pictures that made you feel a little sick to your stomach because of how high it looked.

“Thank god I didn’t go with you guys,” you sighed. “I’d be freaking out even if I stayed at the bottom, just thinking about you up there. There aren’t any handrails or guards to keep you from falling-”

“We were fine,” he assured you. “I didn’t even show you the pictures of us on top of the box.”

“You climbed it?”

“I mean, we’d already climbed the mountain. What’s a little concrete box? Everyone else was doing it.”

You held a hand to your heart like a scandalized middle-aged woman. “I don’t think I want to know anything else.”

Jisung took one look at you and laughed. “That’s probably for the best.”

You did some pre-packing at the hotel before joining his brothers to do some exploring. Like Jisung, they had showered after their hiking expedition. All three of them were sporting still-wet hair that was dripping onto their shirts like kids sitting in church service after their baptism.

You walked around the resort first, checking out all of the pools and hot tubs for later that night. Jisung told his parents that he’d cook for the family and he’d dragged Felix and Minho with him to get groceries earlier. Apparently, Minho said he would help grill while Jisung made some of the side dishes upstairs. You were interested to see how that would turn out. You didn’t have to wait long to find out.

You walked by the lagoons next, slipping into the resorts along the shore to scope them out. You were surprised to see that some of them were nicer than the one you were staying at. You assumed the Hans had chosen whatever the best money could buy was but maybe they were a more financially conscious family than you’d thought.

“This is the Disney hotel,” Minho whispered in your ear as you passed one of the pools. “It’s crazy expensive to stay here for just a night. Like a standard room is over six hundred dollars.”

“Are you serious?”

“Unfortunately. I mean, we probably could have gotten a discount but someone would have to pull a lot of strings and then a handful of people would know exactly where I’m going to be and when and we would have had to hire security... it was just easier to book somewhere else.”

“Isn’t it kind of dangerous to be walking around here in the open then?”

Minho shrugged. “I like to live life on the edge.”

You snorted. “Clearly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Ji showed me the pictures from your hike earlier.”

His eyes widened. “He did?”

“Uh huh.”

“Shit.”

“You know, I could point out how hypocritical it is to lecture me about safety one day and then do shit like that the next, but I won’t.”

“You’re the one that told us about the hike!”

You ignored him. “Does your agent know you were climbing mountains this morning?”

He narrowed his eyes at you and leaned closer to your face. “No, and she never will.”