Realest Shit I've Seen All Day Bro

Tumblr is my biggest opp im convinced, it hates me 😓

DIAAAA!! What do you think of an alternative ending, where Mila and Hwang Sejun ends up together and the members can’t do anything abt it?? And Mila and Sejun r genuinely in love?? Ngl I find Sejun n Mila cute tgt 😭😭

ngl this had me tempted lol like idk why sejun ended up just stealing the spotlight but understandable 👹 anyway!! don’t know for sure if i will do it, but i do have a deleted scene here for any sejunxmila fans out there ✨✨

ılı. 𝒩ow Playing . . . OLDER , Isabel larosa

────────𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗮 𝗮𝗹𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗮 𝗺𝗮𝗻. 𝓯𝓽. hwang sejun 𝔁 mila bai ( 𝖮𝖭𝖤 𝖮𝖥 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖦𝖨𝖱𝖫𝖲 alt end. )

“You know, you could just move in with me.”

Mila was half awake at midnight, wearing nothing but one of Sejun’s dress shirts, and definitely not prepared for his proposition.

“It would save you the time of sneaking out and back into your dorms again,” he continued, brushing away a strand of hair from her face. “And it means I get to see you like this even more.”

Mila felt almost guilty that she even considered the offer. She loved her members too much to be away from them—but maybe that was the perfect reason she could offer to justify why it was a good idea. Seeing her thoughtful expression, Sejun smiled. He kissed her forehead gently (as if he didn’t leave hand-shaped bruises on her hips, or a trail of purple love bites on every inch of her skin the night before). 

“You’re getting soft,” Mila pointed out. He had always been somewhat gentle with her—when they weren’t in bed, anyways. But after two months of sneaking around beneath the noses of Dispatch and, in Mila’s case, her fellow members, she supposed that maybe he had grown a fondness for her after all.

“How can I not? Do you know how adorable you are?” he whispered, pecking her on the lips. A boyish grin made its way onto his face when she wrinkled her nose. Anyone would instantly forget that he was, in fact, seven years her senior and a notorious sex icon in the acting industry, whose name was involved in more scandal headlines than all of Enhypen combined. “My cute bunny.”

“Well, this bunny has to go hopping home,” Mila said with a petulant tone.

Sejun quirked an eyebrow. “Leaving already?” He caressed her thighs, stroking the soft skin with his thumb. “Why don’t you stay a little longer, hm? I’ll drive you home later.”

Mila didn’t know if that was a good idea. She had already been here longer than she intended, and if she let him have his way, she would be stumbling into the Enhypen dorms by the time everyone else was awake. But then, what did it matter if she did?

Sejun immediately knew when she had given in. “Good girl.”

Mila blamed her childhood, for the lack of praises from her absent father who left with barely a goodbye, for the way she easily succumbed to the praises of a man who would ruin her further than she already was. But, what could she say? He always knew how to get the best out of her.

Die With a Smile

Charles Leclerc x death!Reader

Summary: desperation is a dangerous thing — six seasons without a World Drivers’ Championship has left Charles willing to do anything for glory … even pay the ultimate price (or in which Charles Leclerc sacrifices everything for Ferrari and, thanks to you, learns that death is nothing like he expected)

Warnings: major character death

Charles Leclerc has always been one for precision. Calculated. Calm. But now? Now there’s nothing left. Precision has eroded into a recklessness that terrifies and excites him in equal measure. The pursuit of glory is the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

Melbourne is hot, the air thick and sticky with anticipation. He stands in the paddock, helmet in hand, eyes tracing over the sea of faces. Reporters, mechanics, engineers — all of them moving with purpose. The season begins here, but he can’t shake this feeling that something else is starting too.

He frowns, scanning the crowd again. Something — or someone — has caught his attention.

You stand there, leaning against a barrier, watching him. Quiet, still. You don’t belong in this chaos, yet somehow, you fit. It's not like the usual glances from fans or the admiring stares from strangers. No, this is different. He doesn’t know why, but the sight of you pulls him in, like a thread slowly unraveling.

His grip tightens around the helmet. “Who’s that?” He mutters under his breath, half to himself, half to anyone nearby.

Pierre, standing a few feet away, catches the tail end of his question and follows his gaze. “Who?”

“There.” Charles nods subtly toward you. You’re still there, eyes locked on him. Unblinking. He swallows hard.

Pierre shrugs, oblivious. “No clue. Probably a fan or something. You good?”

Charles doesn’t answer. You’re not a fan. You’re something else. His heart thuds in his chest, a slow, deliberate beat, like a countdown. He can almost hear it. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

“I’m fine,” he says, but the words feel empty. He’s not fine. He feels like he’s balancing on the edge of something dangerous, and you’re the reason why.

Suddenly, the world around him — the voices, the clamor of the paddock — fades, and it’s just you and him. You, watching him with a calmness that unnerves him. And him, standing there, frozen, unable to look away.

“I’ll see you after the race,” Pierre says, giving him a pat on the shoulder before disappearing into the crowd. Charles doesn’t even register his friend’s departure.

He doesn’t move, his body rooted to the spot as if some unseen force has pinned him in place. It’s stupid. Ridiculous. Why can’t he look away?

There’s a flicker in your eyes — something fleeting, something dark. His pulse quickens. He knows that look. He’s seen it before, in mirrors, in the faces of men with nothing left to lose.

But you … you wear it differently. Effortlessly.

Charles takes a step toward you. His boots hit the asphalt with a dull thud, and suddenly, he’s walking, moving through the crowd without really seeing anyone. His focus narrows, sharp and deadly. He can feel it, the pull, the way his every step is dragging him closer to something he can’t explain.

And then he’s standing in front of you.

You don’t smile. You don’t say anything. You just watch him, your expression unreadable, like you’re waiting for something.

His throat is dry. “Who are you?”

For a moment, silence stretches between you, thick and unyielding. And then you tilt your head, ever so slightly, as if considering the question.

“Does it matter?” Your voice is soft, almost too soft, but it cuts through the noise around them like a blade.

He blinks, thrown off balance. He expected — he doesn’t know what he expected. Something more. Something less. But not this.

“Yeah,” he says, swallowing hard, “I think it does.”

You shift your weight, crossing your arms over your chest, but your eyes never leave his. “And why is that?”

He hesitates. Why does it matter? He’s not sure. All he knows is that standing here, with you in front of him, he feels something heavy pressing down on him. Like time is slipping through his fingers, like he’s running out of chances, running out of-

“You’re in my head,” he says, more to himself than to you, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why are you in my head?”

You don’t answer right away, but your gaze sharpens, something dangerous lurking beneath the surface. “Maybe because you’ve been looking for me.”

His breath catches. “What?”

“You don’t realize it yet, but you’ve been waiting for this. For me.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He feels like the ground beneath him is shifting, like everything he thought he knew about himself is crumbling.

“You’re wrong,” he says, but his voice lacks conviction. “I’m not waiting for anything.”

You raise an eyebrow, and for the first time, a ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of your lips. It’s not a kind smile. It’s knowing. Cold.

“Aren’t you?”

He doesn’t answer. Can’t. The world around them feels suddenly smaller, the air thicker, like it’s closing in on him.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

That sound again. It’s louder now, reverberating in his skull.

“You’re scared,” you say, and it’s not a question.

“I’m not scared.”

“You should be.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but no words come out. Because you’re right. He is scared. But not of you. He’s scared of what you represent. Of the way his pulse pounds in his ears, the way his chest feels tight with something he doesn’t understand.

And you know it. You see right through him.

“This season,” you say, your voice low, “it’s your last, isn’t it?”

He stiffens. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t expect to come out of this alive.”

He laughs, but it’s bitter, hollow. “I don’t have a choice. I either win, or …”

“Or you die.”

His breath hitches. The way you say it, so matter-of-fact, so final — it shakes him. Because it’s true. He’s been feeling it for months, this gnawing sense that if he doesn’t win the championship, there’s nothing left for him. He’ll push until he breaks. And he doesn’t care anymore.

But how do you know that? How could you possibly know?

“You don’t get to decide that,” he snaps, more harshly than he intends.

You don’t flinch. “You’re right. I don’t.”

The implication hangs between you, unspoken but loud. There’s something inevitable about this. Something neither of you can control.

He takes a step back, suddenly needing space, air — anything to break the tension building between you. But even as he moves, he can still feel the weight of your gaze on him, can still hear the ticking in his head, louder and louder, counting down to something he can’t escape.

“You’re wrong,” he says again, though this time, it’s more for himself than for you. “I’ll win. I’ll be fine.”

You don’t argue. You just watch him, that cold, knowing smile still playing at the edges of your lips.

“We’ll see,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

And just like that, you turn and walk away, disappearing into the crowd as quickly as you appeared, leaving him standing there, heart racing, mind spinning.

He should be focusing on the race. On the championship. On everything he’s spent his entire life chasing.

But all he can think about is you. And the way his time feels like it’s running out.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

***

The roar of the engine fills his ears, drowning out everything else. The speed is intoxicating, the way the car moves beneath him, barely hanging on to the asphalt, the tires biting into the corners with every turn. He’s pushing harder than he should — he knows it, and he doesn’t care.

Spa is unforgiving today. The clouds hang low, threatening rain, and the track is slick, treacherous. Charles feels the tension in his body, every muscle taut, every nerve on edge. There’s no margin for error here. He’s on the edge, teetering, dancing with disaster. But that’s where he’s been living for months now — on the edge.

He downshifts hard coming out of Blanchimont, the rear of the car twitching beneath him. His heart pounds against his ribcage. He’s faster than he needs to be — faster than is safe. But he can’t let up. The rest of the field is closing in, and the gap between him and the car ahead is shrinking. Just a little more, just-

Then, suddenly, the car snaps.

A violent jolt sends him skidding off the track, the rear tires giving way, and for a brief, horrifying second, he loses control. The world tilts, and all he sees is the blur of gravel and barriers rushing toward him. Instinct takes over. His hands are a blur on the steering wheel as he fights to regain control. The tires scream against the ground, the car skidding sideways, throwing him against the seat belts with bone-rattling force.

“Come on, come on,” he mutters through gritted teeth, his heart pounding in his throat. He’s losing it, the car sliding further into the runoff area, the barrier looming closer.

But then — somehow — he recovers. The car snaps back into line, and he breathes out a shaky breath, his knuckles white from gripping the wheel. He’s back on the track, the car steady beneath him, but his heart is still racing, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

“Charles, are you okay?” His engineer’s voice crackles through the radio, tense and urgent.

“Yeah,” he breathes, his voice shaky. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But he’s not fine. His hands are trembling, his vision is still blurred with the image of the gravel, the barrier — the almost crash. For a split second, he saw it. Saw what could have happened. What should have happened if his reflexes hadn’t kicked in.

He pulls the car to a slow halt, off the track now, coming to rest just inside the gravel trap. The engine hums, a low, steady sound that does nothing to calm him.

He sits there, breathing heavily, his head resting against the seat, eyes closed. He’s been reckless before, but this? This was different. He came so close to-

And then he feels it.

A presence.

His eyes snap open, and there you are. Standing just beyond the fence, not more than twenty feet from where his car rests. You’re watching him, the same way you did in Melbourne, your gaze locked on him with that unnerving calm that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

For a moment, he wonders if he’s imagining it. The adrenaline is still pumping, his mind is spinning, and maybe — just maybe — you’re a hallucination. But no. You’re real. You’re standing there, just beyond the track, watching him.

His breath catches in his throat.

“Charles, talk to us. Do you need assistance?” His engineer’s voice comes through the radio again, but he can’t respond. He’s frozen, staring at you through the shattered remnants of the race.

“Charles?” The voice repeats, more urgent now.

But he can’t tear his eyes away from you.

You tilt your head slightly, as if you’re considering something, as if you’re weighing his fate in your hands. And then, without a word, you take a step closer to the fence, your eyes never leaving his.

“Not yet,” you say, your voice somehow carrying through the din, through the chaos of the race and the pounding of his heart. It’s soft, almost a whisper, but he hears it as clearly as if you’re standing right next to him. “But soon.”

His blood runs cold.

He knows what you mean. He knows, deep down, that this is a warning. He can feel it, the weight of it pressing down on him, like the ticking of a clock in the back of his mind, counting down to something inevitable.

He swallows hard, trying to regain some semblance of control, but the words stick in his throat. “Who — who are you?” He manages to choke out, his voice barely above a whisper.

You don’t answer. You never answer. Instead, you just watch him, your expression unreadable, like you already know how this ends.

The world around him feels distant now, like everything is moving in slow motion. The sound of the engines, the cheers of the crowd — it all fades into the background, leaving just you and him, locked in this strange, silent moment.

“Charles, we need you to respond,” the engineer’s voice cuts in again, breaking the spell for just a second.

He fumbles for the radio, his hand shaking as he presses the button. “I’m — I’m fine,” he says, his voice strained. “Give me a minute.”

There’s a pause on the other end, but they don’t push him further. Not yet.

He exhales slowly, trying to steady himself, trying to make sense of what’s happening. He’s been reckless, yes. But this? This feels like more than just a close call. This feels like a warning. Like you’re here to remind him of something he’s been trying to ignore.

“Why are you here?” He asks, his voice barely audible over the hum of the car.

You don’t move. Don’t speak. But your eyes — they tell him everything. You’re here because of him. Because of the choices he’s making, the risks he’s taking. You’re here because he’s running out of time.

“You said … in Melbourne …” His voice trails off as he struggles to find the words. He remembers what you said. That he’s been looking for you, even if he didn’t realize it. That his time was running out.

And now, here you are. Again. Watching him.

“I don’t need you,” he says suddenly, his voice rising with a mixture of anger and fear. “I’m not done yet.”

Your expression doesn’t change. You don’t flinch. It’s as if you’ve heard these words a thousand times before.

“I will win,” he says, more to himself than to you. “I’m going to win.”

You take a step closer to the fence, your gaze unwavering. “We’ll see.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and final. He can’t tell if it’s a promise or a threat. Maybe it’s both.

He clenches his fists around the steering wheel, the leather cool against his skin. He wants to shout at you, to demand answers, to make you go away. But deep down, he knows you’re not the kind of thing you can just wish away. You’re something else. Something bigger. Something he doesn’t understand.

And yet, you’re here. Watching. Waiting.

“I don’t have a choice,” he mutters, his voice breaking. “I have to win.”

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. The truth is already hanging between you.

Tick. Tock.

He can hear it again. That ticking. It’s louder now, more insistent, like the hands of a clock speeding up, racing toward some unseen finish line.

Charles shakes his head, as if trying to clear the sound from his mind. But it’s no use. The ticking is there, buried deep in his skull, a reminder that time is slipping away.

“I can still do this,” he whispers, almost desperately. “I can still win.”

Your gaze softens, just for a moment, and he wonders if you feel sorry for him. If you pity him.

“Maybe,” you say, and it’s the closest thing to compassion he’s heard from you. “But at what cost?”

He opens his mouth to respond, but the words die in his throat. Because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what it will cost him. He doesn’t want to know.

You take one last, lingering look at him, your eyes scanning his face as if memorizing every detail, and then you turn, your figure disappearing into the haze of the track, swallowed up by the world beyond the fence.

He sits there, still trembling, still shaken. His fingers slowly unclench from the steering wheel, and he lets out a long, ragged breath.

“Charles?” His engineer’s voice again, but softer this time. “Are you okay? We’re ready to bring you back in.”

He doesn’t respond right away. His mind is still reeling, still stuck in that moment when you stood there, just beyond the fence, watching him. Judging him.

“I’m coming in,” he finally says, his voice hoarse.

The car hums back to life as he nudges it forward, back onto the track. But his hands are still shaking. His pulse is still racing.

And in the back of his mind, the ticking continues.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

***

The rain is relentless in Suzuka. Sheets of water hammer down on the track, turning every corner into a hazard, every straight into a test of nerve. The spray from the tires rises like smoke, blurring the lines between the asphalt and the dark sky.

Charles can barely see more than a few meters in front of him, but he doesn’t let up. His foot is heavy on the throttle, fingers gripping the wheel like a lifeline. He’s teetering on the edge of control, dancing that fine line between dangerous and deadly.

Every lap feels like a gamble. He’s driving blind, trusting the car to hold steady, trusting himself not to make a mistake. But the mistakes are creeping in. He can feel it. The tires are slipping, the rear end twitching beneath him as he pushes harder, faster. The rain pounds against his helmet, and the world outside the cockpit is a chaotic blur of water and noise.

“Charles, we need you to back off,” his engineer’s voice crackles through the radio, thick with concern. “Conditions are getting worse.”

He doesn’t respond. His eyes are fixed on the road ahead, every muscle in his body tense, every instinct screaming at him to keep pushing. He knows the risks. He knows what’s at stake. But slowing down isn’t an option. Not for him.

“Charles, can you hear me?” The voice comes again, more insistent this time.

He blinks, his vision briefly clearing through the rain. And then he sees it.

A figure. Just beyond the barriers, standing at the edge of the track, half-obscured by the downpour. At first, it’s just a blur of motion, but as he hurtles closer, the figure sharpens into focus.

His breath catches in his throat. It can’t be.

Jules.

It’s impossible, but there he is — Jules Bianchi, standing on the side of the track, just where the runoff ends and the grass begins, his face calm, serene. Just like Charles remembers him. His heart leaps into his throat, a wave of emotion crashing over him, threatening to overwhelm him.

“Jules?” He whispers, his voice barely audible over the roar of the engine.

He blinks, just for a second. But when his eyes open again, Jules is gone. And in his place, there’s you.

Charles’ chest tightens, his hands shaking on the wheel as the car skids slightly on the wet track. You’re standing where Jules was, your gaze locked on him, calm and unyielding. The rain pours down around you, but you don’t move. You don’t blink. You just watch him, lap after lap.

“What the hell …” His voice cracks, his heart pounding harder than it should.

He can’t take his eyes off you, not even as the car barrels down the straight. The rain is coming down harder now, a relentless torrent that threatens to drown him in its fury. His mind spins, struggling to make sense of what he’s seeing. First Jules, now you — both of you standing there, on the edge of the track like ghosts from different parts of his life, haunting him.

Lap after lap, you’re there. Always in the same spot, just beyond the barrier, watching him. He blinks through the rain, but you never leave.

“Charles, please, respond,” his engineer’s voice cuts through the haze, sharp with worry. “You need to slow down. The rain’s too heavy. We’re going to box.”

“I’m fine,” Charles snaps, his voice strained. “I’m staying out.”

He can hear the hesitation in the silence that follows. They don’t want to argue with him — not now, not when he’s like this. But he knows they’re watching, knows they can see the telemetry, knows they can see that he’s pushing the car beyond its limits.

He doesn’t care. He has to keep going. He has to — for Jules.

But why are you here? Why now? Why after Jules?

His hands shake on the wheel as he takes another corner too fast, the rear tires sliding out before he regains control. His heart is racing, his mind a mess of emotions, and still — you’re there. You’re always there.

Charles grits his teeth, his jaw clenched so tight it hurts. “What do you want from me?” He mutters under his breath, his voice trembling. He knows you can’t hear him, not through the roar of the engine and the crash of rain, but it doesn’t matter. You’re in his head now. You’ve been in his head since Melbourne.

And now, Jules too?

It’s almost too much. The memories of his godfather crash over him, a flood of grief and guilt he’s been pushing down for years. Jules’ voice, his smile, the way he believed in Charles even when Charles didn’t believe in himself.

But Jules is gone. Has been for a long time.

So why did he see him?

“Charles, box, box,” the radio crackles, cutting through his thoughts again.

“I said no!” He snaps, his voice sharper than he intended. His breath is coming fast, too fast, his chest tight with something he can’t name.

He takes the next corner harder than he should, the car sliding dangerously close to the wall. His knuckles are white against the steering wheel, his body tense, rigid. His mind is racing — too fast, too chaotic. The rain pounds harder against the car, and visibility is almost zero now, the track a slick, treacherous river beneath him.

And then, as he speeds past the spot where you stand, something shifts.

He swears he hears your voice. Soft, almost a whisper, but unmistakable. “Charles.”

It’s like ice down his spine. His heart skips a beat, his grip faltering for just a second.

He jerks the wheel, the car sliding as he corrects it, narrowly avoiding the barrier. His pulse is racing, his breathing erratic. He glances toward where you’re standing, but you don’t move. Don’t say anything else. Just watch. Always watching.

“Damn it,” he mutters, his heart pounding so loud he can barely hear anything else. “Damn it!”

The ticking is back. That familiar, maddening sound in the back of his mind. It’s been there for months now, growing louder, more insistent with every race, every lap. And now it’s deafening, drowning out everything else, a reminder of the time slipping through his fingers.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

“You’re running out of time.”

Your voice echoes in his head, soft and calm, but laced with something darker. Something inevitable.

“I know!” He shouts, his voice hoarse, desperate. He knows he’s running out of time. He’s known it for months. Every race, every moment, feels like it’s pulling him closer to the edge, closer to you.

But he won’t stop. He can’t stop.

Jules wouldn’t want him to.

The thought of Jules — of his godfather, watching him, believing in him — gives him a surge of strength. He clenches his jaw, his eyes narrowing as he pushes the car harder, faster, through the rain-soaked chaos.

“I’ll win,” he mutters, his voice fierce. “I’ll win for him.”

The car slides again, the tires struggling for grip, but he doesn’t care. He pushes harder, faster. The track is a blur beneath him, the rain blinding, but all he can think about is Jules. About you. About the ticking clock in his head.

And still, you’re there. Lap after lap, you watch him. Unblinking. Unwavering.

“You don’t have to do this,” your voice whispers in his mind, soft but relentless.

“I do,” he growls, his teeth gritted against the storm. “I have to.”

There’s a flash of lightning overhead, illuminating the track for a brief moment, and in that instant, he sees you clearer than ever. Your eyes meet his, and for a split second, everything falls away. The rain, the track, the car — it all disappears, leaving just the two of you, suspended in time.

“You can’t outrun this,” you say, and there’s something almost sad in your voice. “You know that.”

He shakes his head, his hands gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles are white. “I can try.”

You don’t argue. You never do. You just watch him, like you always do, waiting. Waiting for him to understand.

He takes the final corner, the car sliding dangerously close to the wall, and as he crosses the line, the checkered flag waving in the rain, he feels it.

The ticking stops.

And for the first time in months, there’s silence.

But it’s not a relief.

It’s a warning.

Because he knows — deep down — that this isn’t over.

Not yet.

You’re still watching. And he’s still running.

But he can’t run forever.

***

The lights of Abu Dhabi shimmer under the night sky, illuminating the track like a stage set for the final act. The crowd is a sea of red, Ferrari flags waving in anticipation, in hope. This is it. The final race. The decider.

Charles sits in his cockpit, the engine vibrating beneath him, the roar of the crowd a distant hum behind his helmet. He’s been here before — so close — but this time, it’s different. This time, he feels it. The championship is within his grasp. The ticking in his head has been growing louder all season, but tonight, it’s almost deafening.

Lap after lap, corner after corner, he’s been inching closer to victory. Every second matters, every move counts. His heart pounds in sync with the car, the pressure of the moment squeezing at his chest, but he doesn’t let it crack him. Not now. He can’t. Not when everything he’s fought for is just beyond the finish line.

“Stay focused, Charles,” the voice of his engineer comes through the radio, calm but urgent.

“I’m focused,” Charles mutters, his voice tight with determination. His eyes flicker to the rearview mirrors — no one behind him. He’s clear.

The laps tick down, and with each one, the championship feels closer, heavier. The car is holding together, despite the heat, despite the pressure he’s putting on it. Ferrari has given him everything, and now he’s about to repay that faith. The Tifosi will finally have what they’ve been waiting for.

The last corner comes too quickly, but his hands are steady on the wheel. He navigates the turn, his body leaning into it as if willing the car to stay glued to the track. And then he’s there — the straight before the finish line, the end of the race.

“Go, go, go!” His engineer’s voice rises, the excitement breaking through. “You’ve got it, Charles!”

The chequered flag waves ahead, and in a breathless moment, it’s over.

Charles crosses the line. World Champion.

For a second, he’s still. Then the realization crashes into him like a tidal wave. He’s done it. He’s won. The championship is his.

The radio crackles again, his engineer’s voice cutting through the noise. “Charles — Champion of the World! You’ve done it! We’ve done it!”

A shaky laugh escapes Charles’ lips. “We did it. We actually did it,” he breathes, disbelief and euphoria blending together.

He can hear the team screaming over the radio, their joy contagious. “Grazie, Charles! Grazie! You’re the World Champion!”

He laughs again, more freely this time, his body shaking with adrenaline. “For Ferrari. For the Tifosi.”

His eyes well up as he glances at the sea of red in the stands. It’s everything he ever wanted. Glory. History. His name etched forever in the annals of the sport. He lifts a hand, a small wave toward the crowd, though they can’t see him from inside the cockpit.

“I can’t believe it,” he mutters, almost to himself. “I actually did it.”

His heart is racing, but it’s not the same as before. This time, it’s relief. It’s joy. It’s everything he’s sacrificed for, everything he’s given to this dream.

He presses the brake pedal gently, ready to slow down for the cool-down lap, to take it all in, but-

Nothing happens.

A frown creases his brow. He presses again, harder this time.

Still nothing.

Panic flickers at the edge of his mind. “No … No, no, no …”

He pushes the brake pedal to the floor, but the car doesn’t respond. It doesn’t slow. The speedometer remains steady — too fast, too uncontrolled.

“Brakes aren’t working,” he says into the radio, trying to keep his voice calm, but his heart is pounding again, this time for a different reason. Something’s wrong. Very wrong.

“What? What do you mean?” His engineer’s voice is sharp, laced with fear.

“The brakes!” Charles snaps, his breath quickening. “They’re not working. I can’t slow down.”

He can feel the car resisting him, the engine still pushing forward, the barriers coming closer. The panic is rising now, clawing at his throat, tightening around his chest. He tries to steer, to find some way to slow the car, but there’s nothing. The barriers are closing in, the speed too high, too dangerous.

“Charles, try the emergency system-”

“I already have!” His voice cracks, desperation breaking through. The car is screaming beneath him, the speed a deadly weapon now, not a tool of victory.

And then he sees you.

You’re standing right by the barrier, just ahead, as if you’ve been waiting for him all along.

His heart stops for a second, time freezing around him. You’re so still, so calm, watching him. Watching him as the car barrels toward you, toward the barrier, toward the inevitable.

“No …” Charles breathes, his voice barely a whisper. His hands are shaking on the wheel now, his vision blurring from the speed, from the fear. He can see the crash coming, can feel it in his bones.

But you don’t move. You just watch.

His chest tightens, and the ticking is back, louder than ever. It’s all he can hear now, that maddening, relentless ticking.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

You don’t have to say anything. He knows. He’s always known. He’s been running toward this moment, toward you, since the beginning.

“Charles, try to-” His engineer’s voice cuts in again, but it’s too late.

The car slams into the barrier with a deafening crash, metal crunching, glass shattering. The world explodes around him, spinning, breaking apart. Pain flares through his body, white-hot and sharp, and then everything goes dark.

He’s still. Silent. The only sound is the faint crackling of the radio, his engineer’s voice distant, broken by static. “Charles? Charles, can you hear me? Charles?”

But Charles can’t move. He can barely think. The pain is numbing now, his body heavy, unresponsive. His vision is blurry, the world around him fading in and out of focus.

And then, through the haze, he sees you again. You’re walking toward him, slowly, steadily, through the wreckage of the car. The world is quiet now, eerily still, as if time itself has stopped.

Charles’ breath is shallow, his heart struggling to keep up. He can feel it — the end. It’s here. It’s always been here, waiting for him.

You come closer, your footsteps silent, your face calm, almost peaceful. You stop just beside the cockpit, your eyes meeting his.

“Is this it?” Charles whispers, his voice barely audible, his chest tight with the effort of speaking. His vision is fading fast, the darkness closing in. But you’re the only thing he can see clearly.

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. He knows.

You kneel beside him, your hand reaching out, and for the first time, you touch him. Your fingers brush against his skin, cold and soft, and in that moment, everything stops.

The ticking in his head goes silent.

The world fades.

And Charles Leclerc, World Champion, breathes his last breath.

He’s gone.

But his name — his glory — will live on forever. He gave everything. Sacrificed everything.

For Ferrari. For the Tifosi. For the dream.

And now, he is part of that legacy, forever written in the stars.

He won.

He died for glory.

***

The streets of Maranello are overflowing with grief.

Charles stands next to you, or at least what’s left of him does. His soul, untethered from the wreckage, feels weightless, though the weight of the moment is crushing. He can’t feel the ground beneath him anymore, can’t feel the warmth of the sun or the bite of the wind. All he can feel is the suffocating sorrow of the crowd, pressing in from every direction.

And the crowd. Dio mio, the crowd. Thousands — no, hundreds of thousands — of Tifosi flood the streets, a sea of red and black, their flags raised high, but there is no joy in their colors today. No triumphant cheers. Just the sound of sobs, muffled by hands pressed to faces, by the raw weight of a collective heartbreak that can’t be put into words.

The Ferrari factory looms behind them, draped in mourning banners, the Prancing Horse emblem hanging in black, somber and silent. The air is thick with the scent of incense, flowers — and death.

It’s impossible to look at them, and yet Charles can’t tear his eyes away. Grown men, hardened by life, stand with tears streaming down their faces. Fathers and sons alike, clutching each other as if holding on will somehow stem the flood of loss that grips them.

Charles looks at you, his breath — if he had any left — shuddering in his chest. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

You’re silent, standing beside him, your presence both a comfort and a reminder. This is what it means to be gone. To be remembered, but no longer part of the world.

“Do they …” He trails off, his voice thick with disbelief. “Do they miss me this much?”

You glance at him, your eyes calm but unreadable. “What did you expect?” Your voice is soft, but there’s an edge of inevitability to it, as if the scene before him was always written in the stars, just like his fate.

“I don’t know,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. Or at least, he tries to. The motion feels more like a memory than a reality. “I thought … I thought they’d move on.”

You tilt your head, the faintest hint of a smile ghosting across your lips. “They won’t. Not from this. Not from you.”

His eyes flicker back to the crowd, his chest tight. There’s no end to them. They fill the streets, every inch of space, like blood rushing through the veins of this small Italian town. He sees children on their fathers’ shoulders, wearing tiny Ferrari caps. Women clutching scarves, their eyes red from crying. He’s never seen this kind of devotion, not like this. Not for him.

He spots an elderly man near the front, his face weathered and lined, but the tears falling down his cheeks are fresh. He’s holding a photo of Charles — young, smiling, a memory of a better time. A time when the world still held onto hope.

Charles feels his throat tighten, his eyes burning despite the fact that he can’t cry anymore. “Why …” He swallows hard, his voice cracking. “Why are they all here? Why does it hurt them this much?”

You turn to face him fully, your expression steady, knowing. “Because you were theirs. Il Predestinato. The one they believed in. You gave them hope, and you gave them your life. They will never forget that.”

The title rings in his ears. Il Predestinato. The Chosen One. It always sounded so heavy, a burden he could never quite shake. And now, he wonders if it was ever truly his to bear.

A sudden commotion pulls his attention back to the crowd. The sea of red parts for a moment as a car rolls slowly through. Charles recognizes it immediately — a Ferrari, sleek and dark, the hearse that will carry his body through the streets of Maranello. It’s draped in the Italian flag, and atop it sits his helmet, the red and white standing stark against the backdrop of mourning.

The Tifosi bow their heads, some reaching out as if trying to touch the car, as if touching it will bring them closer to him. The car stops in front of the factory, and Charles watches, numb, as his casket is pulled out, carried by men he’s known for years. Faces he recognizes, but that seem distant now, like shadows from another life.

“They’re broken,” Charles whispers, his voice trembling. “I didn’t mean for this.”

You don’t respond immediately, just watching the procession with the same stillness you always carry. Finally, you speak, your voice low and quiet. “Sacrifice always leaves something behind. Even if it’s pain.”

Charles inhales sharply, though the air doesn’t fill his lungs the way it used to. He’s not sure how to process what he’s seeing, what he’s feeling. There’s a weight in his chest, heavy and suffocating. It’s not like the fear he felt in those final moments before the crash, but something deeper. Something that feels permanent.

The casket reaches the steps of the Ferrari factory, where the company’s executives, drivers, and engineers are gathered. They stand in silence, heads bowed, their faces etched with sorrow. Charles feels a pang of guilt, sharper than he expected.

“Was it worth it?” His voice is barely a whisper, almost lost in the overwhelming noise of the crowd.

You turn to him, your expression unreadable. “That’s not for me to decide.”

He clenches his fists, frustration bubbling to the surface. “But I gave everything! I died for this!” He gestures toward the casket, the crowd, the broken faces of his friends and family. “I sacrificed everything for Ferrari. For the Tifosi.”

You meet his gaze, unwavering. “And now, you have to decide if that sacrifice was worth it.”

Charles looks away, his heart — or whatever’s left of it — aching. He doesn’t know the answer. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

As the casket is carried up the steps, a priest steps forward. Charles recognizes him immediately. The Pope. The sight would almost be surreal if it weren’t for the gravity of the moment. The leader of the Catholic Church, come to bless his body, to give him the final rites. It’s more than Charles ever expected, more than he ever thought possible.

The Pope raises his hand, his voice carrying over the crowd in solemn Latin, offering a prayer for Charles’ soul. The crowd is silent now, the only sound the soft rustle of flags in the wind and the distant sobs of those too broken to hold back their grief.

Charles watches, his chest tight with emotion he can’t quite name. “Will they remember me?” His voice is small, almost childlike in its vulnerability.

You don’t hesitate. “They will never forget you. The Tifosi will name their children after you. They will pray for you, mourn for you, even as they themselves fade. Your name will live on, even when their names turn to dust.”

He blinks, trying to process your words. It’s everything he ever wanted, everything he worked for. To be remembered. To be loved. To be immortal in the eyes of those who mattered most to him.

“But will it be enough?” He asks, his voice barely a whisper. “Will it ever be enough?”

You turn to him, your gaze softening just slightly. “That’s something only you can answer.”

Charles looks back at the crowd, at the faces of the people who loved him, who believed in him, who now grieve for him. He doesn’t know the answer yet. Maybe he never will. But for now, all he can do is watch as the people of Italy — his people — mourn the loss of their hero, their champion, their Il Predestinato.

And perhaps, in their grief, in their endless love for him, he will find the answer he’s looking for.

As the Pope finishes his prayer, the crowd begins to chant.

“Forza, Charles! Forza Ferrari!“

The sound rises, a wave of devotion and heartbreak that crashes over the streets of Maranello. Charles listens, his heart aching with a mixture of pride and sorrow.

He is gone. But his name, his legacy, will live on forever.

And maybe — just maybe — that’s enough.

***

The afterlife is nothing like Charles imagined.

For one, it isn’t dark. There are no flames licking at the sky, no eerie fog swirling at his feet. There’s no light at the end of the tunnel either. Instead, there’s an odd stillness, like time has stopped moving but everything else remains in place. It’s hard to describe, really — neither peaceful nor unsettling, just … different.

He’s not sure how long he’s been here. Time doesn’t seem to exist in the way it used to. Days blend into one another, or maybe there are no days at all. Just moments strung together in an endless loop.

The one constant in this strange new reality is you.

You’re always close by, never too far, but never imposing. It’s a strange sort of companionship, one that Charles hadn’t expected to find in death. He watches you sometimes, your presence steady, your movements fluid and quiet. You’re not like anyone he’s ever met. And it’s no wonder — how could you be? You’re death.

But there’s something else about you, something he can’t quite put into words. You’re not cold or distant, despite the weight of your title. There’s a kind of sadness that clings to you, something that pulls him in even when he tries to resist it.

He’s sitting beside you now, his back against an old stone wall, looking out into the expanse of … wherever this place is. It’s quiet, as always, the only sound the faint rustling of something distant. Neither of you speak, but the silence between you is comfortable, not awkward.

After a while, Charles breaks it.

“Do you ever get lonely?”

Your head tilts slightly, as if the question surprises you. You don’t answer right away, and for a moment, Charles thinks you won’t. But then you shift, your eyes focused on some point in the distance, and your voice, when it comes, is soft.

“I suppose I do.”

It’s not what he expected you to say. He always thought of you as solitary, but not necessarily lonely. You were death, after all. You weren’t meant to have attachments, were you?

“How could you?” He asks, genuinely curious. “You’re … you. Death doesn’t get lonely.”

You let out a soft sigh, one that’s more resigned than sad. “Death doesn’t exactly allow for much companionship.” You glance at him, your eyes steady. “Most souls don’t stick around for very long. They move on. They’re not meant to linger.”

Charles absorbs your words, turning them over in his mind. It’s true — he’s the only one here, the only soul who hasn’t moved on. But the idea that you might be lonely, after all this time, unsettles him in a way he can’t explain.

“Do you know why I haven’t moved on?” He asks, his voice quiet.

You shake your head, your expression soft but unreadable. “No. I don’t understand it.”

He leans back against the wall, his mind racing. Why hasn’t he moved on? There’s no reason to stay, no unfinished business, no regrets strong enough to tether him to this place. And yet … he’s still here. With you.

You shift slightly beside him, your gaze drifting out into the distance again. “I’ve never had anyone stay this long,” you say, almost to yourself. “Most souls are eager to move on. They want peace, or closure, or something more.”

Charles frowns, looking over at you. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you want them to stay?”

You pause, considering the question. “No,” you say eventually. “That’s not how it works. They’re not meant to stay. Neither am I.”

“But you get lonely.”

Your lips press together, and for a moment, Charles thinks he might have pushed too far. But then you nod, just once. “Yes.”

There’s something in your voice, something quiet and raw, that tugs at something deep inside him. He doesn’t understand why, but it matters to him. Your loneliness matters to him.

“Is that why you’re still here?” You ask, turning the question back on him. “Because of me?”

He opens his mouth to respond, but no words come. He’s not sure. Maybe it is. Or maybe there’s something else at play, something neither of you understands.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “But I don’t think I’m ready to leave.”

You look at him then, really look at him, and there’s a softness in your gaze that catches him off guard. He realizes in that moment how much time you’ve spent alone. You, the embodiment of death, the one who has seen everything end but never experienced the simplicity of someone choosing to stay.

He leans forward, his voice quieter now. “Have you ever-”

He hesitates, the question hanging in the air between you.

“What?” You prompt, your voice gentle.

“Have you ever … I don’t know. Experienced anything like this?” He gestures between the two of you. “With anyone else?”

You shake your head, almost sadly. “No. Death doesn’t leave room for that.”

Charles watches you for a moment, his mind spinning with the weight of it all. It seems so unfair, that you should be condemned to an eternity of loneliness, of watching others move on while you remain.

“Everyone deserves at least one thing,” he says softly, almost to himself.

You tilt your head, confused. “What do you mean?”

He swallows hard, his gaze locking onto yours. “Everyone deserves to experience their first kiss.”

Your breath catches ever so slightly, your eyes widening just a fraction. “Charles …”

“I’m serious,” he says, his voice soft but steady. “You should have that. You deserve it.”

You don’t respond, but your eyes search his, and for the first time since he met you, he sees something flicker there. Uncertainty. Vulnerability.

He leans in slowly, giving you time to pull away if you want to. But you don’t. You stay still, watching him, waiting.

And then, gently, Charles presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is soft, barely more than a whisper of a touch, but it’s enough. Enough to make the world tilt on its axis for a moment, enough to make the weight of everything around you both fall away.

You don’t pull back immediately. Neither does he. For a few seconds, it’s just the two of you, suspended in the stillness of the afterlife, sharing something fragile and beautiful.

When he finally does pull away, your eyes are still closed, your lips parted ever so slightly. Charles watches you, his heart — or whatever it is that beats in his chest now — pounding in a way that feels almost human again.

You open your eyes slowly, blinking as if coming out of a dream.

“I-” You falter, your voice soft and uncertain. “Why did you …”

He smiles gently, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “Because I wanted to. And because you deserve it.”

You don’t say anything for a long moment, just looking at him as if trying to make sense of what just happened. But there’s a warmth in your gaze now, something that wasn’t there before. Something new.

“I don’t understand you, Charles,” you admit softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He laughs quietly, leaning his forehead against yours. “I don’t understand myself, either.”

You stay like that for a while, in the stillness of the afterlife, the weight of the world no longer pressing down on either of you. There’s no rush, no need for answers right now.

For the first time, in a long time, neither of you feels alone.

***

Time is strange in the afterlife.

Charles doesn’t know how long he’s been here — whether it’s days, months, or even years. There’s no ticking clock, no sun moving across the sky. It’s just … still. He’s gotten used to the quiet, to your presence nearby, and to the sense that nothing is rushing forward like it used to.

But something shifts one day. You’re sitting beside him, as usual, but there’s a new energy in the air, something that tugs at the quietness and pulls at the stillness. You turn to him, your eyes meeting his with a softness that he can’t quite place.

“I have something to show you,” you say, your voice quiet but clear.

He blinks, confused. “What do you mean?”

You don’t explain. Instead, you stand, offering him your hand. He hesitates for a second, but then he takes it. There’s always been an unspoken trust between you — something that keeps him tethered to you, even in death.

The world shifts around him, the stillness breaking apart. For a moment, everything spins, the ground slipping from beneath his feet as if he’s falling — but it’s not unpleasant. It’s more like drifting. And then, as suddenly as it starts, it stops.

Charles finds himself standing in a hospital room.

His breath catches, his mind scrambling to make sense of where he is. The sterile smell of disinfectant clings to the air, and the beeping of machines fills the silence. He looks around, trying to orient himself, but nothing feels real.

“Where-”

You don’t answer his question directly. Instead, you nod toward the center of the room. “Look.”

Charles follows your gaze, and his heart — if he still had one — stumbles in his chest. His older brother, Lorenzo, stands by the bed, his face soft with emotion. He’s holding someone’s hand. Charlotte, his wife, is lying in the hospital bed, her expression tired but glowing. But it’s the small bundle she holds against her chest that steals Charles’ breath.

A baby.

It takes him a moment to fully process what he’s seeing. Lorenzo’s wife. His brother. And a baby.

Charles steps closer, his movements slow, almost cautious, as if he’s afraid the scene will shatter if he gets too close. He watches as Lorenzo reaches down to stroke the baby’s tiny head, his face filled with a tenderness that Charles hasn’t seen in years.

“Lorenzo?” Charles whispers, though he knows his brother can’t hear him. His eyes are fixed on the child in Charlotte’s arms, a strange sense of awe and disbelief washing over him.

You step beside him, your voice soft as you speak. “I wanted you to meet Charles Tolotta-Leclerc.”

He freezes.

“What?” His voice barely makes it past his lips, and he turns to look at you, his eyes wide, searching your face for any hint of a joke. But you’re serious.

You nod toward the baby again. “They named him after you.”

Charles stares at the tiny bundle, his mind struggling to catch up with what you’ve just said. They named the baby after him? His head spins, a strange mix of emotions swirling through him — shock, disbelief, and something that feels dangerously close to pride.

Before he can fully process it, Lorenzo’s voice cuts through the quiet.

“I miss him,” Lorenzo says softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I wish he could be here. I wish he could’ve met him.”

Charlotte smiles up at him, though there’s a sadness in her eyes. “He would’ve loved him,” she says, her voice gentle. “He’ll be watching over him, I’m sure of it.”

Lorenzo’s expression tightens, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. “I hope so,” he murmurs. “I hope he’s watching over us. Over Charlie.”

Charles stands frozen, his entire body — or soul, or whatever he is — going still. The weight of Lorenzo’s words crashes into him like a tidal wave, leaving him breathless. He watches as his brother’s eyes fill with unshed tears, and it breaks something inside him.

“I wanted him to be here,” Lorenzo says, his voice cracking. “I wanted him to be part of this, to see my son …”

Charles can’t take it anymore. He feels the pressure building inside of him, the ache in his chest growing unbearable. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes — not physical tears, but the kind that burn and sting nonetheless.

You’re beside him before he even realizes it, your presence calm and steady. You don’t say anything, but you don’t need to. He can feel your understanding, your quiet reassurance.

“I’m here,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “I’m watching.”

But no one can hear him.

Lorenzo’s voice cracks again as he continues. “I named him Charles because … I want him to be like you. I want him to grow up knowing who you were. What you stood for. And maybe … maybe he’ll feel like you’re with him, even if you can’t be.”

Charles presses a hand to his mouth, trying to stifle the sob that threatens to escape. The emotions are too much — grief, pride, love, all tangled together in a way that feels like it’s tearing him apart.

He looks at the baby again, the tiny life cradled in Charlotte’s arms, and something breaks open inside him. He didn’t know it was possible to feel so much after death. He thought everything would fade away, that he wouldn’t have to feel the weight of the world anymore.

But watching his brother, watching this moment … it’s almost unbearable.

You step closer, your hand resting gently on his shoulder. “It’s okay to feel it,” you say softly. “It’s okay to cry.”

Charles lets out a shaky breath, his body trembling with the force of his emotions. “I-I didn’t think it would be this hard,” he admits, his voice barely audible. “I thought … I thought I was ready to move on.”

Your hand stays steady on his shoulder, grounding him. “You gave everything for glory,” you say gently. “For Ferrari. For the Tifosi. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy to let go.”

Charles shakes his head, tears streaming down his face as he watches his brother, his nephew. “I don’t know if I can,” he chokes out. “I don’t know how to say goodbye.”

You don’t rush him. You let him stand there, watching, crying. He can feel your quiet strength beside him, your understanding. You’ve seen it all before, but for him, it’s new, raw, overwhelming.

Lorenzo leans down, pressing a kiss to his newborn son’s head. “He’s going to know all about you,” Lorenzo murmurs. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Charles can’t stop the sob that escapes him this time. He crumples forward, his hands covering his face as the grief finally spills over, uncontrollable. He feels like he’s breaking apart, like everything he’s held inside for so long is crashing down around him.

And then, you’re there. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him close, letting him cry into your shoulder. You don’t say anything, but your presence is enough. It’s steady, grounding, and for the first time since he’s been here, Charles feels like he isn’t alone in his grief.

He cries for a long time, the emotions pouring out of him in waves. He cries for the life he left behind, for the family he didn’t get to see again, for the child named after him who will never know him. And through it all, you stay with him, holding him, comforting him.

When the sobs finally subside, Charles pulls back slightly, wiping at his eyes. He feels raw, drained, but there’s a sense of release, too — like something heavy has been lifted from his chest.

“He’s going to be okay,” you say softly, your voice gentle. “Lorenzo will take care of him. He’ll grow up knowing who you were, what you meant.”

Charles nods, his throat too tight to speak. He looks back at the hospital bed, at Lorenzo and Charlotte, and for the first time, there’s a flicker of something like peace in his chest.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice hoarse.

You smile softly, brushing a tear from his cheek. “You don’t have to thank me.”

But he does. Because in this moment, he knows he couldn’t have faced this alone. Not without you.

Charles watches his brother one last time, his heart heavy but full. And though he knows he can never return to the life he once had, there’s a strange sense of comfort in knowing that a part of him still exists in the world — in the form of the tiny child cradled in Charlotte’s arms.

“I’ll watch over him,” Charles says softly, his voice steady now. “I promise.”

***

The air between you is different today. Charles can feel it before you even say a word. It's in the way your eyes linger on him a little longer, the way your silence stretches. You’ve been together for what feels like an eternity, yet time is meaningless here.

He looks at you, waiting for the explanation, the gentle unspooling of whatever truth you’re about to offer him.

Finally, you speak. “I think you’re ready.”

Charles frowns. “Ready for what?”

“To move on.”

The words hang in the air, heavier than he expected. His chest tightens, and he shakes his head, the instinctual reaction coming out almost before you finish speaking.

“I don’t want to move on.” His voice is sharp, edged with panic. He doesn’t fully understand what “moving on” means, but he knows it sounds final. It sounds like goodbye, and he’s not ready for that. Not now. Not after everything. Not after you.

You watch him quietly, a small smile pulling at the corners of your lips. “Charles, you’ve already moved on in so many ways. This-” you gesture between the two of you, “-this isn’t goodbye.”

He stares at you, his mind racing. “Then what is it? You’re telling me I have to leave, but I can’t — I can’t leave you.”

You laugh softly, the sound rich with irony. “I’m death, Charles. You’re dead. Why would you have to leave me?”

The realization hits him, and his protest falters. His hands fall to his sides as he processes what you’re saying. You’re death, and he’s already passed beyond life. There’s no need to fear separation, because you are intertwined with whatever comes next.

“So, I’m not really going anywhere?” He asks, cautiously hopeful.

“Not in the way you think,” you assure him, your voice softening. “But this place — it isn’t where you belong anymore. There’s something else waiting for you.”

Charles exhales slowly, relief and uncertainty swirling in his chest. “Something else?”

You step closer, your hand reaching out to brush against his arm. “You’ve done everything you needed to do here. You’ve won. You’ve found peace with your family. Now … it’s time.”

He looks into your eyes, searching for something — reassurance, maybe. He’s been with you through all of this, and yet, the idea of leaving this limbo, this stillness, feels daunting.

You tilt your head slightly. “Trust me.”

He wants to. He does. But there’s a tightness in his throat, a reluctance that refuses to fade. “What if I don’t want to go?” He murmurs, almost to himself.

You give him a knowing look. “Charles, you’re not going anywhere that I can’t follow.”

Something in him eases at your words. He nods, but there’s still a lingering hesitation. His life — his death — has been defined by choices. Choices to race, to sacrifice, to push past every limit. Now, there’s nothing left to fight, no championship to chase. This is the last choice he’ll have to make, and the finality of it shakes him.

“Okay,” he says, his voice quieter than he expects.

You smile, your fingers wrapping around his hand. “Come with me.”

The stillness of limbo shatters. The world around them changes, the coldness and vast emptiness giving way to something warm and vibrant. Colors he hasn’t seen in years flood his vision — deep blues, rich greens, and the golden light of a sun he hasn’t felt in what seems like forever.

Charles blinks, trying to make sense of where he is. There’s no pain, no exhaustion, just … peace. He stands there for a moment, taking it in, but then, something — someone — catches his eye.

He freezes, his heart — or whatever’s left of it — stopping in his chest.

Jules.

Jules is standing just a few feet away, watching him with that same familiar smile. The smile Charles grew up with, the one that got him through the hardest days.

His breath catches, and before he can stop himself, he runs.

It’s instinctive, like muscle memory, like he’s a kid again chasing after his godfather. His feet carry him faster than he thought possible, and when he reaches Jules, he throws himself into his arms without hesitation.

The warmth of the embrace floods through him, and Charles buries his face in Jules’ shoulder, a sob catching in his throat. He clings to him like he’s afraid to let go, the weight of everything — of life, of death, of everything in between — finally crashing down on him.

“I missed you,” Charles chokes out, his voice thick with emotion.

Jules laughs softly, holding him tight. “I missed you too, mon caneton.”

It’s overwhelming, this feeling of reunion. The tears fall freely now, and Charles can’t stop them, doesn’t want to stop them. He’s never cried like this before, not even when he won, not even when he died. But now, in the arms of someone who meant so much to him, it feels like everything is breaking free.

He pulls back, wiping at his face, but before he can say anything else, another voice breaks through the haze.

“Charles.”

Charles turns, his breath catching again as his eyes land on his father. He’s standing there, just a few feet away, watching his son with eyes full of pride.

“Papa …” The word slips from his lips, almost a whisper.

And then he’s running again, straight into his father’s arms. He feels like a child, all over again, seeking comfort and love and everything he’s missed. Hervé holds him, strong and steady, and for the first time in years, Charles feels like he’s truly home.

“I’m so proud of you,” Hervé murmurs, his voice full of emotion. “You did everything you said you would.”

Charles pulls back, his hands gripping his father’s shoulders as he looks at him, tears still streaming down his face. “I did it, Papa. I won.”

“I know,” Hervé says softly, his eyes shining. “I always knew you would.”

Charles nods, his throat too tight to speak. The pride in his father’s eyes is everything he’s ever wanted, everything he’s ever worked for.

But then, he turns.

You’re still standing there, watching quietly from a distance. Charles’ heart twists at the sight of you, at the thought of everything you’ve been through together. You’ve guided him, stayed with him, and now … now he understands.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice thick with gratitude.

He steps forward, closing the distance between you, and when he reaches you, he doesn’t hesitate. He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your skin as he leans in.

His lips meet yours, soft and gentle, and in that moment, everything else fades away. There’s no race, no championship, no death. Just the two of you, together, in this place beyond life and time.

When he pulls back, his eyes meet yours, and he knows.

You smile at him, your eyes soft. “Glory was worth it, wasn’t it?”

Charles nods, his throat tight. “Yeah,” he whispers. “It was worth it.”

And somewhere, in the distance, the ticking starts again.

For someone else.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

He knows what he has to do. The weight of it settles into his chest like a stone, cold and heavy, suffocating the brief warmth of your kiss. His hands tremble as they slip away from your face, his fingers lingering for just a second longer, as if he can’t quite let go.

But he has to.

His breath shudders, a ragged thing that cuts through the silence. His lips part, but no words come out. There’s nothing left to say. You see the understanding in his eyes — he knows the truth now, the path that’s been laid out in front of him since the moment he died.

He belongs with them.

With Jules. With his father.

Not with you.

He turns, slowly, his back to you now. And just like that, the warmth is gone. It’s like the sun has disappeared from the sky, leaving nothing but the cold, endless void.

You want to stop him, call out his name, reach for him, something, anything, but the words die in your throat. He doesn’t belong to you. He never did.

“Charles …” you whisper, though you know he can’t hear you anymore. He’s already too far away. Already slipping through your fingers like sand.

He walks toward them — Jules and Hervé — his pace steady, purposeful. The space between you grows wider with every step, a chasm opening up that you can never hope to cross.

Jules smiles at him, that same familiar smile, the one that Charles would have given anything to see again. And his father … God, the pride in Hervé’s eyes is almost too much to bear. It’s everything Charles ever wanted. Everything he fought for, died for.

But you …

You stand there, watching.

Helpless. Silent. Alone.

Charles doesn’t look back. Not once.

You knew he wouldn’t.

You knew this moment was coming from the second you saw him in Melbourne, when his time started ticking. You were never meant to keep him. You were just a part of his story — a brief chapter in the long, winding tale of his life and death.

And now, that chapter is closing.

The void stretches before them, a vast expanse of nothingness, and as Charles reaches the edge, Jules and Hervé step forward to greet him. They wrap their arms around him, pulling him into their embrace, and for a moment — just a moment — Charles is home.

He glances over his shoulder, but not at you. His eyes skim past you, unseeing.

“Thank you,” he whispers, but the words aren’t for you. They’re for the life he left behind. The glory. The fame. The endless pursuit of something more.

And then he steps into the void.

You feel it before you see it — the pull, the way the world shifts as he crosses the threshold. It’s like a part of the universe is being torn away, a piece of the puzzle you’ve held together for so long is finally gone. And you’re left behind, standing on the edge, watching as they fade into the distance.

The ticking stops.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you’re alone.

It’s funny, in a way. You’ve spent eons like this — watching souls come and go, guiding them from one world to the next. But with Charles, it was different. He stayed. He stayed longer than anyone else, long enough for you to feel something you weren’t supposed to feel.

Loneliness. Loss.

You told him you couldn’t be left behind, that death doesn’t experience separation, but that was a lie, wasn’t it?

Because now, as you stand there in the cold, empty void, watching the space where Charles once stood, you feel it — truly feel it — for the first time.

Heartbreak.

It’s a strange, hollow thing, the way it grips your chest, squeezes your lungs until you can’t breathe. You’ve seen it a thousand times, watched as humans crumbled under the weight of it, but this is different. This is personal.

This is yours.

He’s gone. He made his choice. And even though you knew it would end this way, it doesn’t make it any easier.

You take a step back, your feet moving of their own accord, retreating from the edge of the void. There’s no point in staying here. There’s nothing left to hold on to.

Charles is gone.

You close your eyes, trying to push down the ache in your chest, but it won’t go away. It lingers, sharp and raw, reminding you of what could have been, of the brief moments you shared that weren’t supposed to matter but now feel like everything.

For a second — just a second — you wish things had been different. That you could have kept him. That maybe, just maybe, you could have been something more than death. Something more than a shadow in the background of his life.

But that’s not who you are.

You open your eyes, the void still stretching out before you, endless and unforgiving.

Somewhere, far in the distance, the ticking starts for someone else. Another life, another death, another story to watch unfold.

But none of them will be Charles.

You’ll carry him with you, even if he never looks back. Even if he forgets your face. You’ll remember the way he smiled at you in the moments between life and death. You’ll remember the way his voice cracked when he thanked you.

And you’ll remember the way he kissed you, soft and brief, like a goodbye he couldn’t quite say.

You’ll remember it all.

And that, perhaps, is the cruelest part.

#WIP ⟢ THE SALT UNDER THE SEA ˒˒ 심재윤 ⨾ 박종성 ▸  part two of the player’s game series⌇playlist & series tag

the death of your grandma has you returning back to your mother’s seaside hometown—the same town you left jake in a year ago—for good. now that you’re back, so are the feelings you desperately wished to leave behind. it doesn’t help that now you’re caught in the crossfire of two guys who want to be with you.

pairing ‎⸝⸝⸝ sim jaeyun x reader, park jongseong x reader 𓄵 iηcℓudᥱs 𓈓 cousin jungwon, bestfriend!jay, player!sunghoon, and oc hana (jake’s ex)

genre﹙📓﹚⸝⸝⸝ exes to lovers, bestfriends to ???, angst, smut, fluff, lifeguard!jake, ex player!jake, bestfriend!jay, lifeguard!jay, lifeguarding inaccuracies, love triangle, slice of life, some h2o references, beach au, summer romance

warnings ‎⸝⸝⸝ if you didn’t like reader in the first part then you won’t like her in this one, reader’s grandma passing and mentions of reader’s dad passing, multiple unprotected sex scenes, soft dom!jake, mean dom!jay, toxicity, jayke constantly one-uping each other, arguing, semi-public sex, size training, corruption kink full smut tags in actual post . . . !

kipo’s note ‎⸝⸝⸝ this was a long time coming lmao i’m so so sorry to everyone who has been waiting (◞‸◟；) with my month long break and adjusting to writing again i’m finally ready to start working on this series again! this is my main priority so i will try to get it out as soon as i possibly can!! this post will be updated as i work on it! ^^ all feedback and asks on suggestions are welcome! ♡

release date ⸝⸝⸝ tba ⋆ progress updates here!

∿ [ teaser wc: 0.7k ] ∿ [ current wc: 3k ] ⋆ [ continue to . . . wips , masterlist ]

send an ask or reply to this post if you want to be tagged when finished! minors and ageless/blank blogs will not be tagged. please have a visible age. my permanent taglist will already be tagged!

⟢ READ HERE!

your heart beat fast as you looked out the plane window to your mother’s seaside hometown—your new home. there was no need for your mom to nudge you awake since you weren’t able to sleep for the entirety you were on the plane, the nerves were eating at you.

you never thought you’d be back here, never thought that you’d ever say goodbye to your own hometown—which was also your late father’s—but here you were.

when your mom told you that you’d be moving here permanently you didn’t know how to feel. one one hand, you understood your mom’s decision. it was just you and her out there miles away from your family and everything must’ve reminded her of your father. it reminded you of him too. on the other hand, you desperately wished she would change her mind.

it was enough seeing that one glimpse of jake nine months ago, but to see him over and over and over again? you didn’t think you could take it. he still texted you, even more now since, and you still haven’t answered. things between the two of you still remain unsaid.

but you also couldn’t help but count down the seconds until you laid your eyes on him again. it set your skin alight and you couldn’t help the small smile on your face and the giddiness you felt. was it selfish, yes, but after everything you think you’re finally ready to face him again.

to give your relationship another chance. to give him your heart again and not be fearful that he would break it, that he’d keep it guarded and safe. after all, he said he would wait for you.

and if he didn’t protect your heart, you’d pull back and it would be as if you never had anything to do with him again.

“y/n? are you listening?” you heard your mother’s voice call out. you snapped back to reality, blinking a couple of times to get your wits.

you were no longer on the plane. now you were lugging suitcases into your aunt’s house. your aunt was delighted to hear that you and your mom would be moving here. there was plenty of room in the house until the two of you got your own place.

“mhm,” you mumbled, though you definitely weren’t listening.

your mom sat the suitcase she was carrying in front of you and grabbed your shoulders. “is it that boy from last summer?” what was his name? jacob?”

“jake,” jungwon answered for you as he walked out the front door to grab more boxes.

your mom snapped her fingers. “jake! that’s it. listen, i know you had some problems moving here because of him, but use this as a way to put yourself out there more than last summer! there’s more wonderful people here than just jake.” she gave you a sympathetic smile and continued carrying stuff inside while you remained planted to the same spot in the driveway.

it wasn’t “just jake” that worried you. it was all of his friends and hana. you didn’t want another summer full of drama, especially if you and jake did start dating again.

getting all your boxes and suitcases into the house went quick and relatively easy. you decided on unpacking all of your things later, right now your mind was too clouded.

jake’s letter sat carefully in your anxious hands. you must’ve read it a million times over now and still you could barely wrap your head around it.

“two people who are meant to be will always find a way back to each other. and we are meant to be. no matter how long it takes, i’ll wait for you.”

it was now or never. you grabbed your phone and opened your messages up to your conversation with jake. his last message was from this morning, hoping that you had a good day today. he must not know that you’re back and for good. with a shaky sigh, you let your fingers move across the keyboard.

you: meet me at our spot.

⟢ READ HERE!

taglist ⸝⸝⸝ click here for series taglist! 🏷️ @jjunberry @gothgyuu @gyuuberries @beargyuuzz @kittyhyuka @dani-is-tired @riaawr @yeonjunsfox @nxzz-skz @rapmonie2047 @soobieboobiedoobiedaboobie @aaa-sia @jeonghaniehaee @todorokiskitten @onlyhyunjin @un06 @nenesz @branchrkive @dreamiestay @lilyuwon @ghstzzn @kaykay11sworld @kirinaa08 @cherlv @zl-world @cloud-lyy @sunpov @samouryed @immelissaaa @y4wnjunz @who-tf-soddhi @minaateez @jajenoric @lilactangerine @chaconadine @americanojake @in-somnias-world @bobaikeu @cupidscourt @inkigayocamman @nctsshoes2 @helenngxz @jakeswifez @usnve @tasnim10 @deobitifull @won4me @zeeloveshee

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∿ [ continue on to . . . masterlist , wips , taglist ] all feedback and asks on suggestions are welcome! ♡

© jjunieworld - all rights reserved. please do not repost on any social media sites, translate, or modify any of my works.

Down Bad

pairing: Lando Norris x reader, but the point of the story is that Max is madly in love - which is one-sided

summary: Lando starts dating a woman he loves more than anything, but when Max gets to know you, he has to realize that he needs you like air.

warnings: stupid behavior, intoxication. Oh, and it's unedited.

It was quite ridiculous how Lando’s shoulder began to hurt after a bad move he made while golfing. Max knew an injury was in the cards with every sport, but this? This involuntarily made him laugh when his friend wasn’t around. Not because he was rude, he just always imagined golf to be relatively safe. Hitting a ball that was still on the ground didn’t sound nearly as dangerous as driving an F1 car. 

Then Lando went to see a physiotherapist specialized in helping athletes to fix the problem, and the Dutch had to listen to endless stories about how much you helped him, how beautiful you were, how kind you were with every single person who came for your help, and how amazing your sense of humor was. After three months it became quite tiring, but he never complained. This little crush made Lando happy, and as long as he felt that way, he was willing to listen.

He never told him your full name, and he didn’t show any photos, as if you were his precious little secret, someone who he decided to shelter from this part of his life. It became obvious that this was the case when therapy was over and he asked you out on a date. You hesitated, telling him that his life was too much for you, you didn’t want to be someone the media and fans talked about, so he promised to make sure you could stay away from the circus. 

It was only four months into your relationship, just at the beginning of the summer break, that Max got to meet you in person. Lando jumped in with you by his side, saying you were having lunch nearby and he had to ask him something that couldn’t wait. This is when the trouble began, the moment you flashed that friendly smile at him as you shook his hand. His eyes always found their way back to you during the conversation, watching you even when it was your boyfriend talking. 

Because you were naturally beautiful. You looked nothing like those girls in the paddock with their heavy makeup and designer clothes, you looked perfectly normal and down-to-earth. Your voice was like music to his ears, just like a siren’s song that made him want to get on his knees in front of you to confess his undying love for you. How could you have such a strong effect on him? Was it because he had already known so much about you thanks to Lando’s stories? Or was it something else? Was it love at first sight?

Things only got worse with time. Lando began to ease you into events that involved his friends from the paddock, so Max saw you on a regular basis during the break. And every single time he found himself back home drunk and alone, lying on his bed with his hand inside his jeans as he touched himself at the thought of you, his moans muffled by the pillow he bit on. He imagined you coming home with him, showing him how much you loved him, wanted him. And every single time he was cleaning up his mess, he felt ashamed for thinking about his friend’s girlfriend like this. 

One day he was over at Lando’s place, sitting in front of his friend’s computer to log into one of his accounts when you walked in with two glasses of lemonade and handed one to each of them. Max only flashed a thankful smile at you before turning back to the screen, hoping this would avert his thoughts for a while. But just as he began to type something, he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder and he smelled your sweet perfume, which was followed by a short laugh next to his ear. When he turned his head to look at you, his breath caught in his throat. 

“Is that really how you type?” you asked with a teasing smile. When he nodded with a confused look on his face and asked you why, you just straightened up and shrugged. “My fifty-six year old aunt types faster than this, and she sees a keyboard like twice a month.”

He had no idea how to react. He knew it was a joke, and he knew you didn’t mean to offend him, but deep down he only wanted to hear you compliment him, he needed to know if you thought he did something right. He wanted to impress you, he wanted you to be proud of him. But then Lando began to chuckle as he walked closer and wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you against his body. 

“You should give him lessons, baby,” he suggested as he placed a soft kiss on your cheek. Then he turned back to Max. “She’s crazy fast when it comes to typing. I have absolutely no idea how she does it, but it’s amazing.”

Max took a deep breath and forced a smile on his face. He wanted to say something, maybe crack a joke, but nothing came to his mind. Lando was in love with you, it was painfully obvious, and you seemed equally enamored with him. How could he compete with that? So he quickly finished what he was doing, logged out from everywhere, then said goodbye and went home to figure out what to do now. 

His home race was just around the corner, he had to get a grip on himself again, because you sure as hell would show up in the paddock one day, and what then? Maybe you were like a poison, he just needed small doses to get used to you and become immune in the end. You loved Lando, and Lando loved you. He wasn’t a part of the equation, he had to understand this. 

Yes, he was an idiot. He was self-aware enough to know what he was about to do was reckless and stupid, but maybe this small dose theory wasn’t as bad as it first seemed. This is why he was now standing in the waiting room of the clinic where you worked, waiting for his appointment with you. He was okay, nothing hurt, but for the sake of a conversation and some alone time with you, he was willing to say his hand caused him pain. Just a little white lie, nothing serious. 

He instinctively locked his phone and looked up when he heard a familiar sound, your melodic laughter that came from a nearby hallway. And within seconds you appeared, beautiful like a dream, and he jumped up to greet you even though you hadn’t noticed him yet. He was too excited to control himself, which is why the moment your previous patient left, he walked up to you with a stupid smile on his face. 

“Max, hi,” you said happily before giving him a hug. 

It took all of his willpower not to wrap his arms around you and rest his chin on top of your head as he held you close, feeling the warmth that radiated from your body. Instead he politely squeezed your shoulder quickly before stepping away to give you some space. “Thank you for finding the time for me, I guess you have a tight schedule,” he said with a sheepish smile. 

But you just waved your hand to tell him it was okay, then motioned towards the hallway you came from. “Come on, let’s see that hand,” you said as you began to walk. 

Max followed you like a shadow, standing awkwardly in your examination room as he waited for your instructions. This was your domain, he was just a guest, and he was more than happy to follow your orders. At this point you could have asked him to do anything, even to show you his bank card details, and he would have done it without hesitation. You pointed at a chair next to your desk, and once you both sat down, you rolled over to him, one of your knees between his legs to be closer to him. 

As you took a look at his right hand that was injured as far as you knew, he had to focus on his breathing. You chose a different perfume for today, something that was a nice floral scent that invaded his brain, making it all he could think about. When your pretty eyes finally turned to him, he tilted his head to the side and watched you with an intrigued look. “So, what should we do about this?” he asked you. 

Leaning back, you wanted to push yourself away from him, but he didn’t let go of your hand and just yanked you back gently. You seemed surprised at first, but then you nodded and gulped. “Well, I couldn’t feel anything irregular, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was related to simulators and video games,” you said with a teasing smile. “I’ve heard esport athletes complaining about the same kind of pain in their hands, so I guess this is what we’re dealing with. I’ll show you a few exercises you can do at home, but we can also find a slot in the evening that’s okay for you, and I can jump in to help. As you said, my schedule here is pretty tight, and you’re Lando’s friend, so the least I can do is be flexible about the when and where.”

Fuck, if you only knew what was going on in his mind at this very moment. Maybe it would scare you away, because he couldn’t help thinking about having you at his home alone, and how he wanted that ‘flexible about the when and where’ part to be about clandestine meetings with you. He wanted to be your dark secret, your partner in crime in an affair that you both had to hide from Lando, but right now you weren’t ready for it. Your first thought was Lando, not him. You were doing this for your boyfriend, because you valued him enough to know he cared about his friends. 

It was killing him. Waiting for you as he paced the living room as a caged predator, he couldn’t help but envy his cats who were minding their business somewhere in the apartment. They didn’t have to deal with the pain of being desperately in love with their friend’s girlfriend, the only person who was supposed to be off-limits. When you finally arrived, he had to force a smile on his face, acting like everything was okay, like he wasn’t on the verge of a nervous breakdown. 

Things went well for a while, but then as you sat on the couch, drinking a glass of wine that you accepted as a token of gratitude, Max couldn’t keep his stupid mouth shut. “Lando is lucky to have you. I wish I could find a girl who was as nice, and caring, and funny, and intelligent, and sweet as you are,” he said out of nowhere. 

You slowly pulled the glass away from your lips and put it on the coffee table. “Where did this come from?” you asked, your chest heaving from your sped up breathing. 

He was cursing himself in his head, knowing full well you were seconds away from running out of his home. How could he be this stupid? But what was the point of going on with his life as if he didn’t have feelings for you? He could just as well come clean about it, finally getting it off his chest so he would know if he was crazy for thinking you could be interested. And if you decide to go no contact with him… Well, at least he would know he never had a chance. 

“You and Lando are good together, you make him happy. But,” he began, stopping for a moment to get his thoughts in order. “So I just… Ever since I met you, ever since I got to know you better, I can’t help but wonder what if you loved me instead. You are one of the most amazing women I’ve ever met, I can’t even imagine living my life without you. If you gave me a chance, just one chance to prove how good we could be together–”

You raised a hand to stop him. “Max, just don’t. Don’t fantasize about something you can never have. Don’t torture yourself, please,” you asked him with a strange smile as you put a hand on his arm. But how could he stop? He was way past the point of no return. Before he could speak up again, though, you started talking. “You’re a great guy, you’ll find someone who makes you happy. It’s just… not me.”

“Why can’t you love me? He doesn’t have to know, I can keep a secret, I promise,” he said, his voice now pathetically desperate. But he couldn’t stop himself, even if he was making a fool of himself. 

Without answering, you nodded a few times and gulped, then leaned over to press a soft kiss on his cheek before standing up and taking a few steps towards the door. Max was frozen in his seat, still under the effect of that kiss, but he truly felt like he was stabbed with a dagger when you said, “This conversation never happened. I don’t want Lando to find out about your feelings.” 

And with that, you simply walked out of his apartment, leaving him behind with the feeling of defeat and shame, and the flurry of thoughts that didn’t let him sleep that night. The next few days weren’t any better, really. He spent them locked inside his apartment, only leaving it for half an hour to pick up what he ordered for lunch, but other than that, he was on his own. No phone calls, no streams, nothing. 

But one night he hit rock bottom and began to drink, and he drank a lot, and when he was almost crying from the pain he felt in his heart, he had the not-so-bright idea to take some painkillers that would surely help with that. He wasn’t in the right state of mind to think, but he was good enough to type in a series of messages to you. Messages that were full of mistakes, and sentences that didn’t always make sense, and his thoughts that all revolved around you. When you asked him if he was drunk, he replied, ‘drunk and high,’ because those pain meds were the good stuff from a previous injury. 

Though he didn’t expect anything, half an hour later there was a knock on his door, and when he saw it was you, he quickly wrapped his arms around your body. “You came. You love me,” he mumbled with his face buried into the crook of your neck. 

With a groan, you pushed him inside and closed the door behind you. “What did you take?” you asked him with your arms folded. 

“Are you mad at me?” he slurred, but when he saw your pointed look, he let out a long sigh. “Painkillers. Really good painkillers.”

“How much?” 

This made him think, but then he began to count on his fingers and held up a hand. “Five. I think.”

You shook your head as you grabbed his arm and began to drag him towards the bathroom. “You need to throw them up, so go ahead, smartass,” you ordered him. 

Max tried to give you the puppy eyes, hoping you weren’t serious, but then you threatened him that you would shove your finger down his throat if he didn’t do it himself, so he groaned and got to making himself vomit. It was disgusting, the taste in his mouth was enough to make him want to throw up again, but he chose to brush his teeth instead. You stood there in the door with your arms folded over your chest, watching him with a disapproving look on your face. 

After you successfully convinced him to stay in bed for the rest of the night, you brought him lots of water and made him drink some. If you were simply worried about him, he would have been really happy, because that would mean you cared about him, but in reality you were both worried and incredibly mad, which wasn’t a good combination. So he crawled over to you on the bed and lied down so his head would be on your lap. 

“Sorry, schatje,” he mumbled as he looked at you, waiting for the room to finally stop spinning. 

Your eyes watched him closely, full of anger and disappointment, but then he felt your hand in his hair and it made him smile like a satisfied cat. “You’re such a moron, Max,” you groaned. 

“I love you so much that it makes me stupid,” he admitted. 

“No doubt.”

He watched you in silence for a while, enjoying the way your fingertips massaged his scalp, and somewhere along the way he fell asleep. Later in the night he woke up, only to see you were still there with him, curled up at the end of the bed with your phone next to your head. He moved closer to you, this time choosing to be the one who ran his fingers through your hair, letting his thumb brush over your cheek as he placed a clumsy kiss on your temple. You stirred in your sleep, but didn’t wake up, for which he was grateful. All he wanted was some time with you when you couldn’t tell him that you didn’t love him, when you couldn’t push him away, and when he could honestly tell you how he felt about you. 

Little did he know it was only your phone’s screen that went dark, the caller on the other end of the line you had been talking to before dozing off was still there, listening to every word.

ive [ wonyoung ] lockscreens ♡

‘good luck, babe’ smau?

IS IT CASUAL NOW?

summary: y/n said no, charles is married and that should be the end of it. or is it?

sequel (?) to good luck, babe!

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

liked by nosygal1, charlesyntruther and 367,809 others

ham1ltonshaderoom: enemies turned lovers? married man charles leclerc seen with his former best friend turned foe, yn yln, in london. the two were reportedly very close with her ordering his dinner at the restaurant they were at.

charles had a lavish wedding with his long term girlfriend only eight months ago. is there trouble in paradise? what are we thinking about the photos ham1ltons?

view all comments

user1: yn and charles casually walking around together like they haven’t been enemies for years… be so fr

user2: nah cause what tf does his WIFE think about this???

— user7: i would be throwing dishes rihanna style.

— user2: like okay go fuck your weird bestie decade long situationship!!!! i’m gonna key your car!!!! bitch!!!!

user3: don’t care don’t care charlesyn besties forever <3

user4: drive to survive about to eat this up omg

user5: some of y’all need to touch grass, they were friends before all the drama happened??

user6: oh we’re just PRETENDING like this isn’t weird?? like they haven’t ignored each other for literal YEARS???

user8: i just know charles’ pr team is STRESSED

user9: let’s not forget that they stopped even mentioning each other’s names and now they’re just out in broad daylight like this… something is UP

user10: if my husband was out here with his ex-bestie-turned-enemy-turned-idk-what i’d be calling a lawyer

— user10: for me, bc i’d kill him sorry 🤷🏼‍♀️

user11: yn has been besties with him since forever, y’all are reaching. they were so close back in the day

user12: cheating allegations already flying i fear we are not surviving this one

user13: CHARLESYNNIES WE SURVIVED THE DROUGHT

user14: his wife is either unbothered or currently flipping tables and i need to know which

user15: they’ve done this for years pls let them BREATHE

— user11: like omg if you’re mad at this you would never have survived rookie charlesyn.

user16: the way their whole relationship is a mystery and now this just makes it worse

— user17: sextape next?

— user16: …. WHAT?!

user18: i don’t even know what to think anymore but the timeline is EATINGGG

user19: first enemies now back to being seen in public like nothing happened… yeah something’s going on

user20: charles and yn being the biggest mystery in motorsport history is so on brand

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

Heaven & Back (p. sh, l. hs) 2/2

pairing. step-brother sunghoon x female reader x step-brother heeseung

genre. I Would Give Up Heaven If I Had To.. AU, pwp, dubcon, M/F, fluff smut humor angst….mostly angst

warnings. morally grey characterizations(mostly Sunghoon- is he batshit? maybe.), profanity, toxicity, sibling rivalry, mentions of alcohol and death, time skips, full smut warnings under cut. minors DNI.

wc. 21k+

now playing. Heaven//Beyoncé

smut warnings. emotional sex, rough sex, unprotected sex, a moment with chocolate covered strawberries, lots of kissing, oral, breeding, etc

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Talk?”

“What happened last night?”

Shit.

You know exactly what happened last night, and that is a problem. Instead of jumping to admit the truth, you gulp, shrugging to appear confused. You didn’t drink really, but he did.. “I don’t remember much..”

“Yeah. Me either.” He sighs, sitting up frustrated.

Thank God.

“You—we drank again.” Correcting yourself, you move inside of his room, making sure to shut the door behind you. “We should.. lay off the alcohol for a while. I don’t think we can enjoy this vacation if we continue hammering our skulls in like this.”

Heeseung rubs his hands together for a minute, appearing to deeply contemplate his next choice of words. “Yeah, that’s the thing.. I need you to be honest with me..” he sits up, picking up the TV remote control once you’ve fully shut the door.

This is it. Fuck. He knows. He definitely heard you..

Panic races up your chest as he turns on the room's TV, moving in slow-motion where he sits before you. He looks up at you, nodding toward the screen. “I couldn’t remember the check out time, so I tried to look it up and ended up here.”

Bright text lists out the room charges that have been made so far, showing a larger amount than you’d expect after a few days. “Wait, they charged us for those drinks at the pool? I thought that was complimentary?”

He stands up to take a hold of your hand, clutching the remote with his other. “Tell me the truth, please. Did you order those drinks? The bottle of champagne? The shots?”

“Huh? No!” You answer abruptly, confusion wrinkling between your eyebrows. “The waiter said—“

“I didn’t think you did.” He interrupts, peering at the door behind you. “But someone did.”

“No—“ following his gaze, your head shakes in disbelief. “He wouldn’t, that would be—“

“He would.” Heeseung cuts you off again, gripping your hand tightly. “Because he’s fucking evil.”

“But, are you sure?” You sigh, not wanting to believe that Sunghoon would stoop this low.. wouldn’t he? “That would be too much, don’t you think?”

“Far too much, which unfortunately my brother has always been. If it wasn’t him, then who was it?” He bites out, lip pulled back over his teeth. “Wasn’t me, wasn’t you.”

“Maybe the hotel made a mistake..”

“Come on, by now you know how my brother moves.” Clicking his tongue, he lets go of your hand. “I can’t do this with him anymore, he’s gone too far now. Playing with my mental well being and issues I’ve worked so hard on.”

“You really think he’d do something like this?” 

Of course Sunghoon would.. as much as it pulls at your heartstrings to consider, you can’t deny that he absolutely would do something this vile. Only worsening the guilt swarming through your stomach the longer you ponder it.

Heeseung pauses, packing away his things, jaw clenched tight. “He’s really got you convinced hasn’t he.”

“What?”

“Be honest with me, do you have feelings for him?”

The silence that falls between your hard and overly emotional stares could slice through a frozen over pool of ice, sinking you down to the bottom to drown as it collapses beneath your feet, suffocating your lungs down to nothing the longer you take to answer.

Do you have feelings for Sunghoon? 

In spite of everything he’s done that’s pissed you off and angered you, he still manages to awaken a new thrilling sensation within you each and every time you catch his eyes on you; all of the small gestures and smiles he displays only for you.

“You do, right? You have feelings for my brother.”

“It’s—I can explain.”

Heeseung scoffs under his breath, taking a step back. “He always wins.”

“He hasn’t won anything!” You shriek, mindful to keep your tone low and not draw attention from the opposite side of the suite. “There’s nothing to win here! This isn’t a competition.”

“It is though.” Heeseung groans, rubbing at his temples. Doing his best to subside his anger toward his brother and not involuntarily lash out at you. “At least to him it is, and you’re the prize he’ll do anything to win.” Shaking his head, he pauses to look at you, a longing behind his gaze, as if he’s taking you in one last time. “And he’s doing anything, even threatening my sobriety at this point..”

Turning away, he continues to stuff his belongings inside of his luggage, head drooped between his shoulders. “I really—I don’t know. I’m so angry, I’m so fucking angry, I can’t even think.”

“Hee, please, come on. Let’s calm down for a bit.” You plead, wrapping around his waist from behind to dig your face against his back. “We can figure this out.”

“Can we?” He whispers, grabbing on your hands. “When you can’t even figure out how you feel about him?”

“That’s not—“

“It’s the truth,” he turns in your hold, cupping your face. “It’s not your fault, I know how he is. I just wish it hadn’t been you.” Letting out a deep breath, he loosens your arms from his torso. “Stupid of me to think he’d ever allow me to find happiness. As long as my brother’s around, we will never be able to build a healthy relationship.”

“Hee, that’s not true!” You say brokenly, refusing to let him go. “It’s—I can’t get away from him! He’s everywhere! School, home, here!” You say between tears breaking, flowing rapidly down your cheeks, clutching Heeseung’s shirt between your fingers out of fear that he’ll try to leave. Desperation shattering through your voice, distraught pulling your features down. “It’s not fair, everything he’s done to fuck with my head, I—“

He sighs, taking in all the things you’ve said with a pitiful expression. Nodding and pulling you in to cradle your head and press reassuring calming kisses along your forehead. “Sounds like my brother.”

“Maybe I need to get away from him. I just need space so I can figure this out Hee. He’s messing me up, I know it’s wrong, I know I wouldn’t be so confused in the right head space. This isn’t me.” You sniffle, continuing to sob and wipe your cheeks on his shirt. 

Heeseung continues to rock side to side, softly rubbing up and down your spine until the shaking beneath his palms subsides; running fingers along your scalp calmly until your breathing returns to a normal pace. “Listen to me, I need to ask you something.”

“Anything.”

Taking in your tear stained cheeks, the red wet brims of your eyes and the fear running behind your gaze, he wonders just how bad Sunghoon’s fucked you up. “Do you trust me?”

Trust is a heavy word.

Trust given the situation you’ve found yourself in does not come easy, nor should it. Biting your tongue from abruptly spitting out a ‘no’, you hesitantly nod.

“If you trust me, you need to help me out.”

“Wh-what do you need?” You ask quietly, continuing to wrap your fingers around the cotton material of his shirt. 

“I might have an idea..”

“You’re not going to leave me, are you?” Shutting your eyes, you can’t help the sense of cringe after asking, slowly releasing him as he grabs onto your shoulders.

“I’m not going anywhere without you.” He reassures. “As long as you can follow along.”

“What do you want me to do?” You frown, feeling more torn up now over what happened last night. The guilt of what you did with Sunghoon screaming at you like a banshee from hell in this room. Tuning it out, you keep your gaze trained to the ground, falling into a submissive state.

“Listen,” he begins to pace back and forth, chin gripped tightly, fingers rubbing across his mouth. “I need you to distract him today.”

“Sunghoon? After what he did to you?” You stress, shaking your head. “I don’t want to be around him!”

Heeseung shushes you, grabbing a hold of your shoulders again. “Please? I really need to talk to my dad without interruption or any possible interference from him.” He explains, stroking your upper arms. “He can’t find out. You have to keep him busy, I’ll try to get this done as fast as I can but my father can be a bit difficult to communicate with at times..”

“But..” you sigh, begging with shining eyes for him to say ‘nevermind’, to agree with you that this isn’t a good decision. “How am I supposed to distract him?! I don’t want to go out alone with him again!” No. Because going out alone with Sunghoon once had been damaging enough to your psyche. God knows what one more lovely experience could do to your heart..

“I promise you this is really important..” pulling you in, he wraps you in a tight hug. Lips pressed on your forehead before he continues. “I want us to have a chance.. without Sunghoon’s involvement.”

“I don’t get it..”

“Just trust me?” Heeseung cups your cheeks, softly caressing your skin and pecking your mouth between speaking. “I’ll text you when I’m almost done, but until then you have to make him think I got too drunk, hungover again. Tell him I’ve been sick in bed all day, don’t let him know I’m anywhere near our dad, please?”

Should you trust him this easily? Only confused the more he asks and proceeds to squeeze you against his body, littering kisses along your jaw. “I’m not good at lying Hee..”

“Then don’t lie.” Looking into your eyes, he nods stiffly, taking in your face full of despair. “I don’t care what you have to do.. whatever you have to do. Make him think you want to hang out with him today, because you had a real good time at the Vatican..”

As much as it pains him to suggest it, knowing there’s truth behind the remark, he forces a smile, reaching for your hands. “It’s okay, say or do anything you have to do.”

Anything?

As if he can read your mind, he squeezes your hands and makes a sound of approval. “Anything.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Distract Sunghoon.

Do anything you have to do.

Do anything it takes to keep him distracted, unaware of whatever Heeseung could be up to. Anything.

Pacing back and forth in the living room, you glance at Heeseung’s shut bedroom door repeatedly. Running your fingers between each other over and over again, fussing with your hair, gnawing on your lip.

The sound of Sunghoon’s room door opening echoes past you, halting your feet to come to a hard stop. It’s still early, early enough for bright rays of sunshine to flood the suite from the large balcony opening. He exits half-asleep, puffy face dragging up slowly to find your gaze already trained on him.

Confusion wrinkles his forehead together, head tilted to one side as he takes in your appearance. The tiniest black bikini you could have packed clings to your body, exposing more than enough skin to snap him completely out of his slumber. He coughs and stands up straight, ruffling the mess on top of his head. 

“Hey.” You say, clearing your throat to not stutter.

“Hey?” He replies raspily, voice not fully awake yet. Still thick and heavy, stirring something hot in your chest. “Morning..”

“It’s a really nice day outside.” You motion toward the balcony with a view of the pool. “Wanna go swimming?”

“Swimming?” Finally breaking his trance, he looks around the room, searching for a trace of his brother. “Where’s Hee?”

Letting out a long tired sigh, you point a thumb over your shoulder in the direction of the olders room. “Came out to all the bottles he ordered last night completely emptied.” Nodding toward the kitchen, you prove it with the empty glass containers lined up on the counter. “He’s out of it, don’t think he’s even sobered up enough for a hangover to even hit yet.”

That seems to please Sunghoon. A grin grows on his face as he follows your hand and counts the three large empty alcohol bottles. Easier than luring a rat into a box with a dangling piece of cheese..

“Hmm,” standing up straight, he takes in your bikini clad figure once more. “You want to go swimming, with me?”

“I want to go swimming.” You correct, hip popped, arms folded over your chest. “And I’m extending an offer for you to join me.”

Right. Because you shouldn’t be too eager, you wouldn’t be normally..

Mimicking your posture, he leans against the door frame, sharp teeth exposed with a small smile. “I’m not really into drinking.” He states for no reason, purposefully staring at your chest. “So when you say you want to swim, I expect your pretty ass to be in the pool with me.”

God. He couldn’t be more insufferable.

“You know what,” huffing a laugh, you pull on a cover-up draped by a towel on the couch. Waving him off. “Forget I even asked.”

Rushing over, he takes a hold of your hand to stop you, stealing the towel out of your other. “Give me five minutes, I’ll be right out.”

“I’m keeping time.”

His smile widens, running back to his bedroom to quickly change and grab a few things while you call out the time and hide a smile.

He went for it, of course he went for it. All it took was a skimpy bikini and the promise of seeing you drenched under the beating sun. 

Especially after last night.. whatever that was..

“Ready.” He bounces back out wearing nothing but black swim trunks. Sunglasses on his head to match and push his messy hair out of his face.

Oh.

You shouldn’t still react this way to seeing him shirtless, having to catch yourself and shut your mouth fast. Averting your eyes away to find your bag. “Took you long enough.” You sneer, snapping your fingers and heading toward the door. “Let's go.”

—

“Let’s not stay out here too long.” Sunghoon suggests, tapping his phone to check the time. “Don’t wanna get burnt.”

“What is that?” 

“What is what?” Following your gaze, he watches as his phone screen fades back to black. Continuing to lead you toward empty pool chairs.

“You don’t seriously have a photo of me as your lock screen..” you mumble, throwing your bag down. “Please don’t tell me you seriously have me on your phone like that.”

Sunghoon shrugs, rubbing his neck. “It’s a nice picture of you.” Tapping the screen again, he shows you, smiling as he looks too. “Besides, I took it.. and I think you came out really nice.”

“What if your dad sees that? Or my mom?” Shaking your head, you grab a couple of towels. Distracting yourself from watching him apply sunscreen over his chest and arms. 

“What? I can’t have a picture of my adorable step-sister on my phone now?”

“I believe your father would agree that your girlfriend would be a more fitting option.” You bristle, tossing a towel onto his chair.

“Can you get my back?” He motions to the bottle of sun protection in his hand, turning around without acknowledging your comment. “Please?”

Taking a minute to watch the muscles lining his back flex, you hesitate to get closer. Snatching the SPF from him, making sure to aggressively slap the lotion onto his skin. “You could use some sun.” You snicker, rolling your eyes.

“And ruin my flawless even tone?” He scoffs, turning to look at you and winking. “Come on, let’s get in.”

“Just a minute.” You wave for him to get in the pool, grabbing your phone to text Heeseung. 

You: I got Sunghoon to agree to go swimming, will try to stay out here for a while.

Heeseung: Might be a few hours.

You: A FEW?!

Heeseung: Please keep him busy.

Fuck. A few hours?! What the hell could he be up to taking this long.

“Come on,” Sunghoon grins at you over his shoulder, slowly stepping into the pool, reaching down to splash water on you. “I told you I want to swim.”

“Yeah yeah.” Following him in, you’re instantly soaked, gasping for breath. Thick biceps belt around your waist, hauling you into the deep end until you’re blinking at him under water. He puts up a fight for a minute until you threaten to kick his groin, cupping over the area as bubbles burst from his mouth and nose and you both struggle to resurface.

“You asshole!” Gathering your breath, you paddle over to the ledge to grab onto. Hair a wet mess, clinging to your face and neck. 

“Thought you wanted to swim.” Sunghoon floats behind you, mouth peaking over the water halfway. Trickles of water pass from his wet locks, a few latching onto his defined eyebrows.

“Fine. Let’s swim.” You glare, shoving past him. “I know you can’t swim faster than me.”

“Ohhh, is that a bet?” He smirks, standing to his full size. Wet chest raised over the water to show off his strong build. “You’re on.”

You should have expected it by now, of course Sunghoon swims akin to some Olympian athlete. Winding you by the 5th lap back and forth, unable to catch your breath without noticing the irritated looks from others enjoying their summer vacation by the pool.

“So, what do I win?” He cheers, hands shoved into his hair pushing each soaked strand all the way back. Smooth forehead and strong jaw completely visible. 

“What do you want?” You grit, leaned over on the pool's edge still gasping. “And don’t say it.”

“Oh I don’t want that.” He laughs, quickly rolling his eyes and settling by your side. 

“…you don’t?”

A sleek gaze scans your confusion, slowly nodding as his arms fold over the ledge and he leans down, chin perched on his forearms. “Ask me why.”

Because of the other night? When you moaned and screamed under his brother’s body? When you shouted how good he is, how much you love it.. that he’s the best.

“Don’t care.” You shrug, looking away. 

“Yeah yeah..” trailing off, he swipes your hair aside, softly tracing your shoulder. “You know, it’s been nice hanging out with you like this, just the two of us.”

Shrugging him off, you frown, eyes slitting. “You must have a lot of fun hanging out alone with Miyeon too. You know, your girlfriend, in case you’ve forgotten. The girl you should probably have as your lock screen.”

Sunghoon smiles to one side, nodding along to everything you’re saying. “Not that it’s any of your business but..” he holds up his hands, turning the one that typically sports a ring from side to side. “We ended things.”

“What?!” 

Amused by your reaction, he stands up straight, turning to lean his back along the pool wall, elbows propped on the ground. “Well, I ended it.”

“Oh, you’re soooo fucking full of it.” You fume, poking at his chest. “Can’t you ever just be normal?!”

“Go ask my father if you don’t believe me.” He says casually, seeming unperturbed. “He’s the one threatening to not pay for my tuition next year because of this.”

“Why would your dad care—“

“Because, he’s the one that set me up with Miyeon in the first place.” He interrupts, gaze finding yours. “Not that you’ve ever asked- but my dad’s been trying to merge with her family’s company since before I was even born.”

What.

There’s a throb running up the sides of your forehead that can only be described as Sunghoon. Irritating, infuriating, down right rage inducing. Causing you to apply pressure to your temples before you can begin to register anything he’s saying. “You’re telling me—“

“Let me guess, my brothers told you a different story, right?” He glares at you, getting closer to your face. “Told you how I cheat on Miyeon all of the time, that I don’t treat her right? Yeah well,” he takes a deep breath, biting on his tongue. “Think I’ve been more than nice by never telling anyone about her secret long-term boyfriend in New York..”

No. This cannot be happening right now.

“You’re lying—all you ever do is lie to me.”

He gulps dryly, continuing on. “We are friends, well, we became friends, Miyeon and I. That’s it, she knows I sleep around and I know about her relationship. There’s never been anything between us beyond that, and you know what? It was enough to get my dad off my ass for a while. Enough to take the heat off of Heeseung whenever he’d fuck up too.”

“What the hell does Heeseung have to do with this!” You hiss, getting right back in his face.

“You try dealing with his bullshit, always crying when he had to come live with us. He ruined everything, we were fine before she died.” He says quietly, voice cracking toward the end. “Before he showed up and started pissing dad off all the time. I had to be the good one. I didn’t have a choice. You wouldn’t fuck get that.”

“You can’t compare yourself to him. He can’t compare you either! You need to figure shit out, both of you.”

“I have nothing to figure out anymore.” His jaw clenches, leaning back, blinking up at the sun. “I’m tired of saving face for that fuck-up. It’s not my fault he can’t fucking man up and deal with his shit.”

“And you?” You goad, lips curled in. “Because you deal with this weird jealousy you have toward your brother so healthily?”

“Oh please,” Sunghoon gripes, breathing harshly through his nose. “Jealous of him? If it wasn’t for you, he wouldn’t even exist to me.”

“You really..” an overload of information fills your head. Pressing down on your temples harder.

If Sunghoon’s not with Miyeon then.. what the hell does he want with you? Why is he so determined to ruin your damn life?!

“I don’t get it.” You sigh, floating bonelessly, defeated. 

“Well I’m not sorry that I’m not the asshole you want me to be.” He sneers. “I can be, if you want, but I’m getting tired of you throwing this relationship I stayed in to satisfy my father in my face.”

“Why would you break up with her?” You ask wearily, afraid to hear the answer.

His gaze slowly drags over your face, licking his lips. “I’ve waited long enough, and given up enough to be the golden child. The all star athlete, straight A student, volunteer hero, a respectful young man my father can brag about.” He pauses, inching forward. “He makes sure that I always get what I want because of that, but there is one thing I don’t think he’ll be able to help me with.”

“And why is that?”

Nodding slowly, he lifts his eyebrows and returns to leaning against the pool ledge. You know why.”

“You expect me to believe you? That you just.. broke it off with this girl you’ve been with for years..”

“Well yes.” He rebuttals, shoulders bouncing. “Why would I lie about this.”

“Why would you lie about breaking up with the girlfriend you never told me about in the first place?” You spit, furiously blinking at him. “Gee, I wonder why.”

“Omitting the truth isn’t a lie.” He corrects, 

Continuing to rub at your temples, your head shakes, lips pursed to hold back an angered groan. “This seems pointless..”

Sunghoon’s contemplative expression makes your lips tighten more, ready to run from the pool and check your phone before he can get another word in.

“Our pointless conversations mean a lot to me..” he mumbles quietly, head shaking. “Doesn’t matter, right?”

His hand lifts before your face, inspecting the tips of his fingers while your mouth parts. Tongue turning heavier the longer you think of a proper response.

“Getting pruney..” he nods toward the stairs. “Let’s get out.”

Perfect. Hopeful that Heeseung’s texted, you follow him back to your chairs. Wrapping a towel around your hips before reaching for your bag to check your phone.

Zero notifications. God damnit.

“Kind of hungry.” He mutters, looking over the pool’s bar menu. “Wanna share anything?”

“No thanks,” you pretend to yawn, laying back with your arms behind your head. The way your stomach grumbles hardly goes unnoticed, rolling his eyes again before turning his body to look at you.

“It’s funny.” Calling a waiter over, he taps an item on the menu, entering your room number on a device to pay.

“What's funny.” You say flatly, eyes shut.

“How much you pretend to hate me when we’re not even all that different..” he notes, laid on his side with one arm keeping his head held up to watch you.

“Hah!” You guffaw sarcastically, sneering. “You and I? We’re nothing alike.”

“Sure.” He chuckles, sitting up to grab a plate full of chocolate covered strawberries from the waiter. “Thanks.”

The decadent fruits grab your attention, watching from the corner of your eye as he bites into one, releasing a pleased hum. “I know you’re hungry.” He mutters between bites. “You haven’t ate today.”

“I’m not.”

It’s not entirely a lie.. even if your stomach disagrees. Even if your mouth salivates when he picks up a white chocolate covered berry, swallowing the saliva swarming around your tongue at the bite he takes. “Won’t snitch on you to mommy, you know. You can eat good food around me, can be added to the pile of secrets we share now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You glower, sitting up. Gaze flitting between the plate and Sunghoon’s pink lips wrapping around another piece. 

“You think I’ve already forgotten about your horrible squat form?” He huffs, laughing. “I know your mom scolded you to get your ass in the gym.”

“Yeah, so what? What’s your point.” Wrapping your arms around your stomach, you can’t ignore the next rumble that passes. How the hell did he know that you love chocolate covered strawberries?

He shrugs, holding one of the treats in front of your face, slowly turning it. “You think we’re different because I do whatever I need to do to keep my father happy. Meanwhile, you play the part of a doll for your mom to relive her youth through. Restricting what you eat, trying to work up a sweat when she makes comments on your figure. Taking it personal when she dislikes your hair, makeup, clothes.. even going as far as pawning off your body for better grades.” He emphasizes that last part with a bite, red dribbles of liquid squirting from the berry. The tone bright against his chin, pink tongue slowly dragging out to lick himself clean. “We’re not all too different, you just never had anyone around to make it harder for you. Only child syndrome shit..”

“Not my fault you have some major mommy issues.” You whisper, face turning away before he can finish off the strawberry.

“You would think that,” he hums. “Have to have them to recognize them.”

Ready to curse him out, you look again only to find his eyes focused on you, lightly tipping his chin. “Eat.”

“No.” 

“You’re hungry.” Sitting up on his knees, he crawls onto your chair, lifting a berry before your lips. “I want you to eat.”

I don’t care what you want. That’s what you should say. That’s what you would say if he wasn’t so close, looming in front of you, broad bare chest close enough to smell the chlorine radiating off of his skin. The small space between your lips invaded by the hard shell of chocolate, sweet and cool against your lips. “Take a bite.”

Sunghoon’s gaze slowly drifts from yours, skimming down the bridge of your nose to your lips, tipping the berry in until your teeth clink and you open wider. “That’s it.”

Sugary sweet milk chocolate melts onto your tongue, sucking around the strawberry as he slowly dips it past your lips. “Tastes good, doesn’t it.”

It’s dizzying really, how easily his gaze alone can make you feel lightheaded. Nodding slowly as you succumb and allow him to feed the rest of the strawberry inside of your mouth. 

“I knew you wanted it.” He says, hinting a cocky confidence. “I know you want a lot of things you refuse to ask for..”

Sunghoon uses your seconds of falter to grab your chin, thumb pressed against the center. “Want more?”

No.

Why can’t you just say no? Why must your tongue slip out, allowing for him to run another chocolate coated fruit along the tip. Sinking in closer, he starts with a light kiss placed on the corner of your lips, lapping at the side of the strawberry sitting between your lips. “Let me taste.” He whispers extra quietly, pushing the fruit between your conjoined lips. Less focused on the bits of chocolate breaking up against your tongues than he is with licking across each crevice inside. 

“Hoon..” whimpering, you clutch at his wrist, tugging his hold away to deepen the kiss for a minute. Struggling to catch your breath the more he strokes and sucks around your tongue.

“You’re making a mess..” he speaks softly, thumb brushing along your chin. Tongue flicking out to lick up a crumb of chocolate. “Do I have to clean up all of your messes?”

“Why are you doing this to me?” You’re not really asking, no. Unsure if you even managed to speak, you sigh, pressing closer to him.

“A lot of things will have to stay unspoken between us,” pinching your chin, he tilts your face up. “Until you’re ready to accept who I am, and what you want.”

“I don’t want what you are.” You whine, grabbing his chest. “You’re drama, bad.. very bad.”

“I may not be what you want me to be..” he licks your lips clean, pressing featherlight kisses. “But I’m what you’re afraid of having, too risky, unpredictable. I know that you feel it as much as I do..”

Silence falls between you as you can’t fathom doing anything other than stare. His unblinking eyes absorb every emotion you can’t bring yourself to say, down to the misery wrapped around you each time you end up like this.

“I’m going back to the room to shower.” He says after a few minutes, finishing with a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll check on Heeseung if you plan to stay out here much longer.”

Check on Heeseung?

Shit.

Snapping out of the Sunghoon induced trance you’d fallen into, you jump to sit up, scrambling to grab your bag. “Wait wait! No no, don’t go.” You rush toward him, wrapping around his arm. “One more swim?”

“Tired of chasing after you.” He says flatly, teeth baring, implicating more. “It’s getting a little too crowded out here anyway.”

“But.. we were having so much fun.”

Glaring at you once more, he scoffs and turns away to head back inside. Only slowed down by your limbs wrapping around his arm to keep him close. “Are you not having fun?”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, slamming the elevator keys to promptly get inside as the doors are quick to open. Forcing you to follow, he shrugs a few times, failing to get you off. “Maybe I’m getting bored of just having fun.”

“What else do you want to do? Want to go out?” You ask desperately, tugging your bag you were rushed to grab quickly onto your shoulder. 

Instead of replying, he gives you another irritated look, ripping free from your hold once reaching the floor you’re staying on. “Can’t tell if you’re playing dumb right now, or you’re actually just dumb.”

“Hoon..” stepping inside behind him, you grab onto his shoulders. Nervously peering at Heeseung’s shut door. “That’s it? That’s all you want?”

“Hmmph..” sliding your hands off, he turns half-body. A small smirk playing at his lips, eyes thinned. “What do you want?”

“What?” You blink confused, grabbing onto his elbow.

“What do you want? Because it’s getting old, this little act.” He states snarkily, moving toward his bedroom. The change in direction releases a sigh of relief, shoulders loosening as you follow him. 

“What act?” 

Coming to a halt at his door, he steps inside, turning around to look at you, arms raised up to grab the door frame. “Think I’m just going to fuck you and have you pretend you don’t want it over and over again? That I’m going to let you fuck my brother right in front of me and crawl back to me whenever he doesn’t do it how you like? How I do it for you?”

“That’s not true..” you mutter, looking away. “That’s not why—“

“Then what is it?” He crowds in closer, nose nudged against your forehead. “Because you like me? And you want me to fuck you. You want to be with me?”

Sunghoon huffs after a minute of silence, nodding against the top of your head. “If you’re not going to be honest with me, then leave. Go find your boyfriend, or whatever, to comfort and take care of your needs.”

Stepping backwards, he rolls his eyes, sitting down on the edge of the hotel bed. “Well? You gonna stand there all day?”

“No..” wishing you could steal a look at your phone, you shut the door behind you. Setting down your bag on the nightstand. “I don’t get it.”

“Get what?” 

“You expect me to believe you about Miyeon as if you haven’t lied to me before.”

Standing up, he moves toward you, eyebrows stressed together. “You know what I don’t get?”

Getting closer to make you uneasy, he bites down on his lip, jaw clenched tight. “Why are you the only one allowed to fuck whoever you want? Why should I still want you?”

“Sunghoon, I—“

“No.” He cuts you off, standing straight to loom over you. “You still want me? Then show me. Prove it.”

Glancing at your bag one last time, you nod. Submitting to his wishes and reaching for his swim trunks. 

“No.” He sneers, grabbing your hand to hold before you can gather the drawstring. “Kiss me, you kiss me.”

A kiss. A kiss initiated byyou. That’s what he wants..

Closing the small space between your bodies, you wrap around his shoulders to arch your neck back. Failing to ignore the shivers rushing through your fingers, you lick at your lips repeatedly. A kiss shouldn’t be this hard, not after everything you’ve let him do to your body..

“I’m waiting.” He says between gritted teeth, not moving a muscle closer for you. 

You know Sunghoon doesn’t simply want a kiss. No. He wants you to admit something that isn’t true, wants the reassurance that he still has some type of power over your relationship with his brother. Needs to believe that you’d still choose him given the chance..

Fine. Give Sunghoon what he wants. Do anything you have to do.

Pressing your lips to his, you hesitate to deepen the kiss at first. Smoothing down to grip onto his biceps as you begin to lean in more, pouting to meld your mouths together. Staying stiff between your hold, he doesn’t move an inch, allowing for you to take command. It only takes a few seconds for your greedy tongue to knock at the seam of his lips, desperate to taste the residual sweetness left behind. Working with your pleading tongue, he parts open, lazily licking along the muscle entering his mouth. 

It’s the most mandated basic kiss you’ve shared with him, lacking passion, lacking heat. Hardly sparing you more than a few flicks of his tongue before pulling away with a look of annoyance mixed with anger. 

“What’s wrong?” You breathe, grasping his biceps. “Isn’t this what you want?”

“Hah..” without looking at you, he nods, biting on his lip. “Fine. Let’s do this your way.”

Removing your hands, he sits down on the bed, easing the drawstring on his trunks open. 

Licking the taste of him off your mouth, you silently agree. Shifting down onto your knees to settle in the space between his spread open thighs. “Wait.” Sunghoon’s palm presses to your chest, chin directed toward your body. “Take that off, you know how I like it.”

Right. Take off your bikini top, unknot the tied strings behind your neck, slowly ease the triangle shaped material off your breast. That seems to appease him, sliding his hand down between your chest, he nods in approval. “Bottoms too, and show me.”

Heat rushes up as you follow his orders and get off your knees to stand, untying one side of your bottoms at a time to really stretch out the reveal of your bare cunt. “Wait.”

Grabbing onto your hands, he glides the damp fabric off your core for you, humming quietly. “Do I even have to do anything to turn you on?”

No. But you won’t give him the free ego boost, stepping away from your bottoms that fall to the ground without meeting his eyes. He cups between your thighs, thumb finding your clit to circle. 

“You get wet like this for me because you like me, whether you’re willing to admit that or not.” He says monotonously, palm patting against your center. “Not only for my body either, even if you look at me with those cock hungry eyes.” With a grin he draws free, admiring the slick on his hand. “Get back on your knees.”

This is the problem with Sunghoon, so full of himself. So self-concerned, assuming he means more to you than he really does.. 

“Good girl.” He acknowledges, humming under his breath when your knees return to the floor. “You may piss me off, but at least you know when to listen.” He leans back, stomach muscle tight, flexing above his swim shorts. “You know what to do.”

You know what to do thanks to him, he was the first guy to force you to swallow every inch.

Running your parted lips over the tip of his size, you lightly lick down the slit. Avoiding the intense gaze he has focused on your actions. You know he wants your eyes on him, but you can’t give him that. Not this time. His length chubs up to full mass on top of your palm, dragging from side to side suckling the mushroom capped tip. The muscles lining his stomach in your line of sight flex, convulsing each time you run along the slit collecting pre-cum that continuously drips out.

You owe him from last night, that’s all. Nothing more, suck his cock and get this over with. “Take in more, you’re better than this weak shit.” 

The comment elicits shivers down your spine, further parting your lips as you push forward and drag your tongue against the thick vein lined underneath. He holds in a groan when you vacuum seal and suck around him halfway, tickling your fingers toward the filled heavy sack between his thighs. “You’re being annoying on purpose, aren’t you?” He tuts, dragging his hands through to the back of your head to cup you and hold you in place where he wants. “All the way.” 

Coughing around the sped up intrusion, you relax against the heavy weight of his length continuing to stretch past your lips. Gurgling when the tip breeches your throat, bulging against your neck muscles. “Fuck.” He hisses, keeping his moans at a whisper level, because two can play this game. 

You want to keep this act up? As if he had to do anything more than nod to get you here, as if you don’t want it just as bad.

He doesn’t waste more time to go easy, enjoying the gurgled sounds escaping from around his cock. Lifting his hips from the bed to fuck your throat faster, he grunts deeply, choking on the rasped whine that finds a way out. “Can you breathe?” He questions, hips ramming into your face mercilessly. 

Scratching at his thighs, you try to shake your head, only to receive a slap on the cheek. Not too rough or painful, but hard enough to alert you and snap your eyes open in time to see his pam lay flat over your nose. Fully blocking your ability to breathe, leaving you no other option but to lurch around the thick meat pumping in and out of your throat.

“Fuck!” Holding you in place, he pinches your nose until your throat chokes around his cock. The tight squeeze nearly making him bust, having to let go and rip your mouth off to stave off his orgasm. 

He pants heavily, clutched over reeling from the denial of release he just gave himself. Heavy wet cock throbbing against his stomach. “Fuckfuck..” 

Swallowing down harsh breaths, the room fills with both of you attempting to recompose yourselves. Landing hard on your knees when he abruptly removed you. 

Sunghoon rubs at his face, licking his lips, craving more of your taste.

“C’mere.” He says lazily, index finger directing you to climb onto his lap. “Who taught you how to suck cock like that?” He smirks, cleaning the drool off your chin. “Did a good job of teaching you.”

He mumbles distracted by your swollen cock sucking lips, devouring them in one swoop with his. Licking and sucking between your upper and lower. The taste carrying hints of salt and sunscreen, the chapstick you applied hours ago. All of it drives him up a wall, licking between for more of a taste, tongue sucked around yours. 

“I wanna be inside of you.” He mumbles between your lips, kneading your hips firmly between his digits. “Get on the bed.”

Nodding too eagerly, you try to jump off his lap onto the space behind him. Firmly held in place by his biceps circling around your waist. The muscles bulging and stretching his pale skin tight around them.

“You’ve really turned into a little slut haven’t you?” He mocks, licking up the center of your throat to land at your jaw. Mouthing and sucking up to your ear as you keen and whine in dismay. “Or is that reserved for me? Cause I fuck you like a whore..”

Big palms flatten on your waist, groping his way lower to slap and squeeze your bottom. Coercing your hips to grind against him with rougher hits, he grasps onto your buttcheeks. The blunt tips of his nails digging into your soft fleshy skin. “My slut, only for me, right?”

Yesyesyes whatever you fucking say. Between your half-lidded eyes and clouded aroused mind, you somehow manage to keep yourself mute.

Sunghoon nibbles on your earlobe, licking back down your jaw to kiss along your chin. “Say it, want me to fuck you? Then say it.”

“N-not a slut,” you stammer, gasping at the round of slaps he delivers. Arching your back forward, chest shoved to his face. “Only f-for—for you.”

“Such a pain in the ass for such a pretty slut.” Another succession of whip-like slaps has you wailing. Unable to catch your breath before he shoves you onto the bed and stands up to fully remove his clothes. “So fucking difficult.” He grunts, pulling your hips up to get a close look between your spread thighs. “With the prettiest pussy, all for me.”

It’s humiliating how loud the squelch is that escapes as his fingers dip in last your blood filled velvety folds. The wetness emitting from your cunt enough to plop out onto the bed if he pulls out too fast. Tapping along your twitching hole, he hums, pleased by the tremors running up your thighs. Shocking you to arch in deep with another hit that ripples through your buttcheeks. 

“I-inside..” you whimper, setting yourself on all four in a more sturdy position. “Please?”

“What do you want? My fingers?” He prods, at your entrance, swiping down to your clit to teasingly tap at. “My mouth? My cock? So fucking wet for me, you’d take anything I give you.” Rubbing his fingers up and down to create a mess, he coats the outside of your cunt with wetness. It’s everywhere, all juicy and ready to be wrecked.

“God please—touch me, inside, anything.” You shiver, teeth chattering already. Maybe if you.. shove your ass out more, shoulders flat against the bed to show off the deepest arch. 

Sunghoon hisses, pressing kisses down the seam of your slit before pulling away with a curse. “And why should I give you anything? Because you’re dripping fucking wet? Acting like a desperate whore for cock?”

“Please—“ you sob, sinking into the bed deeper as he climbs on behind you and mounts your backside. “Wan—want it!”

“This?” He teases, so fucking meanly, jamming the tip of his cock against your fluttering hole. Pushing in just past his pre-cum soaked slit, he wraps around his length tightly, easing the tip half in and out. “Pussies fucking screaming for my cock baby girl.. want me to fuck you? Keep saying that shit.” He groans, pushing in further to feel your cunt snap around his cockhead. “And say my fucking name.”

“Hoon—ahh!” You shout, the side of your face fully pressed to the bed, chest caved against the sheets. The demanding slap he smacks your ass with makes your spine throb, resounding around the room like a crack. “Sunghoon! Fuck me! Fuck me please!”

Licking at the sweat gathered on his upper lip, he slinks lower to grip onto your hair. Knee sinking into the mattress, his other leg propped up for a balance. He could fuck you like this, he normally would.. 

“Want you to look at me when you cum.” He whispers, pulling until your mouth can full breath without the bed obstructing your oxygen. “Want you to say my name, look me in my eyes, tell me who fucks you this good.”

Fuck. 

That’s not what you want, not something you can handle in this submissive state. Popping free the tip, he sets you on your back without much effort. The dazed look written across your face telling him everything he needs to know. 

“Nu—“ you scramble to move back onto your front. Held down by big hands slamming onto your hips, chaining you to the bed with their powerful hold. 

“Don’t fucking move.” He appears offended that you even tried to disobey him. Caressing his palms down to spread your thighs open, he slams them to the bed. Angry red cock bouncing against his stomach as he makes space for himself and situating to find the perfect position. 

It feels helpless to try to move and fight against him, weak in comparison to his built up strength and hard muscles earned from countless hours in the gym. It wouldn’t hurt to try, of course, but the second his length swipes between your folds, you can’t help but to forget. Folding your hands over your chest as you watch his stomach tighten and release, grinding his hips forward to fuck against your sloppy wet aroused cunt. 

“Hoon—Sunghoon,” you breathe, losing more air by the second. Burning up from the body heat building from his flesh to yours. 

“Feel good baby?” He asks under his breath, continuing to torture you with the sensation of his heavy cock rubbing through your folds. Thick girth gleaming with your juices all over. “Like how I play with your pussy, don’t you.” He says proudly, loosening his grip on your thighs to press against your stomach. Slowly trailing upward to massage your breasts, lifting his head to watch your face fall apart. 

“Can-can’t, please, hurts.” Hurts so good, to be so close without getting what you want. What he must expect you to beg for, hardly able to form a sentence anymore. You arch into his warm palms squeezing and bouncing your chest, pinching your nipples before he shifts to your neck. 

“Look at me.” He commands, deep and raspy. “Look at me with those pretty eyes.”

“Ah, Sunghoon, please.” Blinking upward, you gasp, taking in his sculpted jawline, long neck, broad shoulders and defined chest. He’s a dream, a nightmare really, too good to be real. Dark eyes boring back into yours from where he looks down at you, grabbing your chin to hold you in place. 

“Just like that, don’t fucking look away.” 

Everything around you feels light as air, as if you’ve been lifted from the bed, floating on a cloud as he leans down and locks his lips to yours. 

It’s the loudest kiss he’s ever given you, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. He works slowly with your parted mouth, taking time to really hold your top and bottom lip before teasing his tongue between. Throbbing racks between your pressed bodies, eyes falling shut as his tongue slips inside and laps at yours, at the roof of your mouth. It’s too much and not enough at the same time.

Too much the way his body crowds you with no space of your own. Cock pulsating against your core, chest beating violently pressed to yours. Mouth moving as if he mapped and memorized the inside of yours. Weak shaky hands find his shoulders, wanting to push him away, wanting to shove him off and spit in his face for doing this.

Because how could he do this to you?! Soar your sense to their precipice of carnal arousal, wipe your mind of all sensible thought. Only to bring you here, trapped beneath him, sucking his breath into your lungs until tears burst from your eyes.

“I know.” He mutters, tugging your bottom lip between his. Savoring the hot tears rolling down your cheeks to his hands. “I feel it too.”

No. You feel nothing. There is nothing to feel. 

“What we have, what you do to me.” He confesses, nose pressed to yours. “I don’t want this with anyone else. I don’t ever want you to have this with anyone besides me.”

So wrong, all wrong. So wrong that it feels right. Blinking your tears away with no other choice but to squeeze your eyes shut. You can’t do this, can’t accept what he’s trying to convince you of. 

“Look at me.” Sunghoon’s tone sounds more desperate than viscous, pinching your chest from within. “That’s all I ask of you, see me. See me for who you know I am.”

He ruts between your thighs, reminding you to listen as the tip catches on your hole. The cry for help behind his command, almost pitiful.. burning a hole through your heart as you fight between your blanked out mind and a whirlwind of emotions. 

“Can’t..” you barely whisper, eyes clenched shut, turning to dig your face deeper into the bed.

“Because I’m not him?” He whimpers brokenly, forehead landing against yours. Wet trickles of sweat cling to his dark eyelashes, mouth turned down at the corners. “Because I’m not my fucking brother?”

Between the arousal burning up to your chest and confusion causing a frenzy in your head, you can only whine, scratching down his shoulders. “Please don’t.”

“Why?” Slowing down his pace, he grips onto your jaw, twisting your face to look at him. “Why are you denying what we both feel?” 

“We shouldn’t, we shouldn’t feel—“

“Who says.” Reaching between your bodies, he wraps around his shaft. Slapping against your center as a warning. “Who says you’re not meant to be mine?”

The intrusion of his entire size cuts off any response, neck arched up as a silent scream flies from your lips. He circles between your hips to mold your cunt to his girth, grabbing onto your shoulders for leverage. “Who the fuck said you don’t belong to me.” 

This is too intimate, not even breaking into an immediate ruthless rhythm as soon as he penetrates you. He’s slow, stretching your walls around his size to accommodate him and make you comfortable. Fingers travel to your clit, leaving you no choice but to cover your mouth to suppress your moans. He pinches, flicking side to side, not even needing to judging by the puddle of wet slick arousal pooled beneath your ass.

“Sunghoon, that’s—“

“Gripping around me so good, you’re always so so good for me.” 

Regardless of your crazed out of whack emotions, your chest tightens when he praises you. Looking at you as if you hung the moon up for him on the starriest of nights. He returns to layer your mouth with kisses, wrapping your thighs over his hips. “Please, keep your eyes on me.” The whisper dances across your mouth, gasping as he begins to thrust and make you really feel each inch. 

There’s too much heat and moisture between your faces, wrapped around him akin to a clinging vine as he builds up speed and pulls out to the tip. Burying back in to release a gushing wet sound, a splatter of arousal all over his groin and thighs. 

“No one,” he murmurs, huffing staggered breaths over your mouth. “No one does this to me.”

No no no. You scratch at his biceps, shoulders, anything you can catch within your reach. He can’t, he can’t fucking do this.

It’s hard to tell what’s shaking anymore. Sunghoon’s heartbeat, your limbs, the bed beneath you. Everything hurts and feels good, as if your spines been ripped out and shaken around. Releasing stored up pain and anger, bringing to life new fears and worries. 

“The way we feel together.” He ruts in harder, hips snapping fiercely. Splitting you apart from your chest to the hot space between your thighs. “I want this forever.”

“Fuck!” You curss, head tossed back unable to keep your eyes open any longer. The combination of his terrifyingly honest words and cock ramming into you hits untouched nerves. Each sparking fires to life inside of you, burning your ligaments and muscles as an insane pressure forms in your stomach.

“Exactly like this.” He speaks in a low vibrato. Vocal chords shakey as he cups your jaw and presses your foreheads together. Blinking the glossy moisture attached to his clumped together eyelashes to meet yours. 

More than fucking you, he loves this. The way you try to maintain judgment toward him and fail. The look that can only be described as love winning every time. With your foreheads stuck together he drags your legs up, hoisting the backs of your knees onto his shoulders to really make you take it. 

That drives you over the edge, struggling to breathe in the tight position. Panic rises with your wide blown out eyes focused on his, chilling heat surrounding that pressure in your stomach. “Hoon!—Sungho—!!”

The pressure explodes around his cock nearly slipping his free from the amount of wetness that bursts around his length, continuing to jackhammer into you through your orgasm squirting down to his balls. They slap loudly against your ass with each pointed thrust, burying in deep. Savoring your tight heat sleeved around his length through the release that exposes the whites of your eyes.

The little breathy ah-ah-ah’s echoing out of your parted mouth urge on his erratic thrusts. Mounting you like a bitch in heat to get his cock sucked dry. He growls, slamming in once, twice more.

“I’m cumming!” He groans deeply, throat cracking as hot release spills inside of you painting your cervix with thick white strings of cream. Slow to pull out despite the sounds of your whimpered cries, he circles and empties inside of you where he belongs. 

“It’s okay..” he mumbles, sighing and throwing his head back with one last thrust to really push his seed deep inside of you. “I’m here, everything’s okay now.” He draws free with a lewd pop, splaying his fingers over your hole to keep everything inside as he adjusts to press against your back. “Was too much?”

His drawled tone vibrates against your damp hot skin, turning to drag your nose down his chest and burrow in the safety of his fresh scent. It was too much, and it’s his fault. Failing to regather yourself once your orgasm passed from the intense emotion taking over.

Without having to explain, he wraps around you and presses kisses to your head. This is what you needed, even if you don’t understand that yet. 

He needed to break down your false wall of hatred for him, to get you to see that this is where you belong. Right here in his arms, swallowed by his love, filled with it, cheek rested on his chest that thrums for you and only you.

Tomorrow. You’ll wake up and have a real honest discussion. No more games, no more lies. He started it, and now it’s your turn to face yourself. 

“Get some sleep angel.” He whispers, already keeping track of your shallow restless breathing pattern. “I’ll never stop taking care of you.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Beep

Beep

Beep

The sound of Sunghoon’s phone alarm going off jolts him from his sleep. Disoriented as he jerks and rubs at his eyes. Instinctively his hand reaches out for your warmth, rubbing over the area your body had last laid by his side only hours ago. 

Of course you’d already left, probably had to finish packing away your toiletries and belongings..

Which is exactly what he should be doing right now, yawning as he taps his phone and notes the time. “Shit.” 

Sunghoon groans, toppling out of the hotel bed to grab the last few things he needs to put away, deciding to skip the shower for now and just hop in once you reach Paris. The plane ride wouldn’t be a short one afterall.

Besides, the light aroma of your scent still clings to his skin. Dry tear stains appear on his hand, brushing his teeth as he admires them and contemplates not washing his hands off.

This is different. 

This was.. exactly what he’s been craving, chasing after ever since the first time he had you. It’s different with you, natural and easy. Nothing feels like an act when he’s with you. He tried to make it work with Miyeon in the beginning when his father had set them up but there was never any real connection, no chemistry. She clocked him for exactly what he is right from the start.

Maybe you did too, but that’s the difference, you make him feel safe. Safe to be himself without judgment, because for some God forsaken reason, you still like him.

Thinking about it all makes his chest hurt, makes his heart race speed up. The way you say his name, touch his body, resist him and give in every time. 

It shouldn’t have been this way, his brother shouldn’t have ever been an obstacle here. He didn’t want to do this, not after the last time they argued over a girl and he completely ignored Heeseung for a year. It was petty and immature, but he was young and she was his first love, first obsession really.

Heeseung’s never put in as much effort as Sunghoon. Everything’s just so fucking easy for him. Who knows why.. maybe because he doesn’t care as much, doesn’t worry about things that are beyond his control.

That’s never been an option for Sunghoon. He can only care, that’s the only option he’s ever been given, and he does care. He keeps up a strong facade to hide how much he cares but he feels everything. There’s a part of him that hopes you see that- you get it. You relate and understand why he’s built up walls around his heart, because growing up with nothing but constant pain can only make you so hard. 

Sunghoon wanted to work through it, he didn’t want to be cold and closed off, but nothing ever seemed worth melting the protective shield of ice for.

Until he met you.

Heeseung would have to be understanding, besides, how could you want him after this? He’s so beneath you, choosing booze over your love.

Sunghoon smiles to himself, lips dragging across his knuckles. It’s his time to win.

Today is a new day, everything about today feels different. The air smells fresher, his stride lighter, the pressure he’s used to feeling on his chest gone. 

Assuming you and Heeseung have already made your way downstairs, he preps himself for how awkward this flight could be. What if you all get stuck seated together again? It’d be for the best to wait until you’re settled into your new hotel in France. You can all sit down and discuss this as mature adults.

Every part of him shouts against that- why the hell should he maintain maturity after putting up with his brother's unruly behavior for years now? He should rub everything in his face, that damn loser.. 

No. You wouldn’t like that.. your hearts too good. You still see the good in Heeseung, destined to believe his fraudulent facade of this nice emotional guy that just had a tough life.

Who can take him seriously? Their dad is a freaking millionaire. So what if their mom died, suck it up and grow some balls. 

Ah, but your feminine compassion would never see where Sunghoon’s coming from. He can be rational, great at negotiating, well trained by his father to set his bar high and demand all expectations to be met. You can’t come in guns ablaze, jumping off hot from the start. He has to play cool, get you to let his brother down easily, let you have your mourning period. 

Yes, everything will pan out wonderfully once you scrub Heeseung out of your life. Out of both of your lives.

“Ah great, look who decided to show up!” Mr. Park greets loudly greets. Interrupting his inner dialogue as he roughly pats his shoulder. “Slept in did you? Well, just in time son, I was just about to order the taxi.”

“Shouldn’t we wait?” Sunghoon looks at the elevator area again, expecting for you to appear any minute now.

“Wait for what?” Your mom asks, fixing the new luxury brand scarf tied around her purse. 

“Uhh, for Heeseung and—“

“Oh they left hours ago son.” His dad informs nonchalantly, motioning for them to move outside to wait for their car. “Probably didn’t want to wake you from your beauty sleep.”

“What?? Why would they leave before us?” Sunghoon’s eyebrows furrow, throwing his bag onto the cart with the other luggages- not missing that yours is nowhere to be seen.

“They found a really early train ride to Germany last night. I told Heeseung to take a later one and enjoy the rest of the day here but he was really eager to explore Frankfurt.” Continuing to speak complete nonsense that Sunghoon can’t comprehend only worries him further. Annoyed by how evasive and casual his father speaks.

“What do you mean Germany? I thought we were flying to France.”

“We are sweetie.” Your mom laughs, confused as well. “Heeseung and your sister are the ones going to Germany to visit different universities.” 

Universities?! In Germany?!

Sunghoon’s jaw drops, blinking repeatedly, his father whistling to get in the cab before he can continue to ask more questions.

None of this makes sense. Why the hell would you and Heeseung be in Germany of all places, looking at schools?! He has to be dreaming, that’s it. Stuffed into the backseat alone, he pats around his phone, immediately finding your last text messages.

Sunghoon: ‘Good Morning, where are you?’

Text Message Failed To Send

Watching the green bubble instantly pop up confuses him all the more, tongue pinched between his teeth annoyed. Must be the international service messing up.. or maybe you really are on a train, somewhere between mountains where messages can’t reach you right now..

Sunghoon: ‘I thought we were going to France next, what’s this deal about Germany? Are you with Heeseung?’

Text Message Failed To Send

Fuck. This really a dream, a bad dream. 

None of this makes sense, not after yesterday, not after you fell asleep with him, curled up together in his arms..

“Hoon! What the hell is wrong with you this morning, hurry up.” His dad hollers from outside of the parked car, already standing with their belongings. “We have a flight to catch, wake your ass up.”

Shit, they’re already at the airport. The entire security checkpoint feels like a mirage, desperately racking his brain for an answer to what the hell could possibly be going on right now. Why in the hell would you be looking at universities? You’re both already enrolled for next year?

He has to text Heeseung, there’s no other choice.

Sunghoon: ‘Where are you?’

There’s no way he can get on this plane now. What’s the point if you’re not here, why wouldn’t you be here?! This is your dream trip, especially France. 

Heeseung: ‘Hey bro :) Expected to hear from you sooner.’

Motherfucker.

Sunghoon: ‘What the fucknis going on, why are you in Germany???’

Heeseung: :)

Gripping his phone hard enough to form a crack on the screen if he went on any longer, he growls, teeth grinding together. What the fuck is his brother up to.

Moving to a quieter area, he watches your parents sit down at the gate, biting on his thumb nail before pounding the key to call his brother.

“Sunghoon.” He answers flatly, not even bothering to allow more than one ring.

“Heeseung, where the fuck are you right now?! What did you do to her—“

“Nothing, nothing at all.” Heeseung interrupts, having stepped away from the fancy train cart his father purchased for the both of you to travel to Germany in. “She’s doing just fine, happier than ever.”

Pinching between his eyebrows, he paces back and forth listening to his older brother, palm swiping down his face. “What’s going on Heeseung.”

“You haven’t figured it out yet?” The older clicks his tongue, scoffing under his breath. “It’s over Hoon, this stupid game of yours. It’s done.”

“What the hell are you talking about man?!” Sunghoon hisses, slamming his fist against a nearby wall. “Where is she?!?”

“Away from you.” Heeseung says calmly, the smile behind his voice disappearing. “For good.”

“Heeseung.. you’re pissing me off.”

“Good.” He replies promptly, taking a deep breath. “You’ve pissed me off long enough, both of us. Can’t just let me have one thing can you?”

“She’s not yours to have.”

“She doesn’t want you.” Heeseung corrects snidely, glaring at the view passing by from the train. “What we have can really be something special. I care for her, unlike you. I can’t have you interfering anymore.”

“Oh yeah? I don’t care about her?” Sunghoon asks, throat drying, chewing on his lip. “You can’t fucking do this.”

“Watch me.” Heeseung whistles, checking the time. “You have a flight to catch in a few minutes I believe.”

“If you do this I’ll never forgive you.” Sunghoon grits, fist balled up by his hip.

A pause falls between the line, silently sharing a few intakes of air. “Goodbye brother.”

“Heeseung!” 

“And don’t bother trying to contact her anymore. This is over. I win.”

The line falls flat, dead tone ringing through Sunghoon’s head. There’s no way his brother managed to pull this off, and you? You knew all along.. even yesterday.

Slumping against the wall, he takes a long deep breath, checking his text messages that won’t reach you.

Sunghoon: ‘This isn’t over.’

Text Message Failed To Send

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

~one year later~

“Do you know what day it is?”

“Mmmhm..” you groan, rolling onto your side and rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “S’too early babe.”

“Too early?!” He gasps dramatically, setting down a tray of your favorite food in front of your face. The aroma enough to fully open your gaze up and land on the plate adorned with your favorite croissant, sprinkled with powdered sugar and almond slices.

“You didn’t..”

“Of course I did,” Heeseung’s smile widens, on his knees by the bed you share. His chin propped on top of his folded arms as he leans in and watches you yawn away your last bits of sleep. “Happy anniversary baby.”

“You must have woke up over an hour ago to get this fresh..” you note bashfully, sitting up with a lazy grin. “Thank you. Happy anniversary. Can’t believe it’s already been one year.”

“Times gone by so fast, too fast.” He perks up, shoving the tray closer to you. “Drink before your coffee gets cold.”

“You shouldn’t have done all this.. you’re gonna be so tired at work.” You say between munching on a piece of the best almond croissant you’ve ever had. Moaning as it slides down your throat with a sip of coffee. “Here I am sleeping in while you run around Paris to get my favorite breakfast..”

“It’s nothing.” He affirms, moving onto the bed to stroke your hair away from your face. “Besides, I’m really sorry I couldn’t get today off. Really wanted to spend today with you laying in bed all day..”

“Just in bed?” You ask flirtatiously, lifting an eyebrow.

Heeseung bites down on his lip, moving closer to kiss your bare shoulder. “We do have the best time here..”

“We have tomorrow baby, don’t feel bad. Hate that I couldn’t get tonight off either, but at least tomorrow is all ours.” You frown, pecking his cheek. “One day doesn’t make that big of a difference.”

“Tomorrow, you’re not ready for what I have in store for you tomorrow..” Heeseung grins mischievously, getting up already dressed for work. Bending in to plant a kiss on your lips, he lets out a sad sigh, standing up and nodding to the tray of food. “Eat.”

“See you later, baby love.” As much as you try to smile, you can’t stop the corners of your lips from dragging down as you get up to hug him and wave him off from the front door of your shared loft.

It’s been a year now of taking the train to school together. Venturing around the city of your dreams, of holding hands and stealing kisses in dark corners. A year of peace, dreams you couldn’t have foreseen coming to fruition without Heeseung by your side.

A year of a healthy, calming, nice relationship.

365 days of photos in frames, nights falling asleep on the couch, lying to your parents via email, text messages, international phone calls..

Well, it’s not completely lying if you never claimed to not share a bed with your step-brother. Your parents know that you live together, they don’t need to know the details.

A year of introducing Heeseung as your boyfriend and not your step-brother.

A year of smiles, laughs, hours and hours of love making..

A year without his presence. Without mentioning him again, erasing his existence, pretending that what led you here in the first place had nothing to do with him..

A year to figure yourself out, all thanks to Heeseung’s help. Without him you’d really be lost still, tugged between two different paths that could have altered your current present. 

It hasn’t been easy, but this relationship has really taught you to learn how to compromise now that you’ve been serious, going on ten months of calling it official. Heeseung respected your wishes to take it slow despite how you started off, really proved himself and got help. Fully committed to you, and hasn't touched alcohol since your time in Italy.  

This is what you deserve to have, the most loving gorgeous boyfriend who adores you and worships at your feet.

Not some obsessed lunatic that blackmails you, threatens and manipulates every decision you make.. 

Things are good now.

Even as you sit on the couch in your dream loft watching old episodes of Sex & The City alone, you have to feel grateful. Carrie got her girlhood dream of Paris and romance, and you have too..

She had the Russian, and you have your step-brother.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“I have a gift for you.”

“Babeee come on! We said no gifts!”

“Pfft,” Heeseung brushes your whining off. He’s done enough from running you both a bath last night after eating the dinner you cooked, to the amazing croissants he woke you up with. “What kind of boyfriend would I be to not have something prepared for our first anniversary?”

“But I didn’t get you much.” You pout, following his movements as he unveils a neatly wrapped box from beneath your bed. “And we agreed to not splurge!”

“You deserve to be splurged on. Besides, I know there’s something you’ve been wanting to do ever since we moved here and well..”

“You didn’t.” Reaching for your chest, you curl into yourself to sedate your excitement. He sets the gift onto your lap, shifting closer to be directly by your side.

“Come on, open it.”

“Ahh, okay..” Heeseung’s smile only grows as you gently untie the gift, biting down on his lip when you begin to open up the box. “Oh my God.”

“It’s for tonight.”

“You got me tickets to Phantom at the Paris Opera house?” You knew it had to be coming. Never failing to mention that you couldn’t wait for the Phantom of The Opera to be on the calendar. 

“Happy anniversary baby.” 

“This is way better than what I got you..” you sniffle, clutching the box to your chest. “Can’t believe we’re finally going.” 

“But first! We have to grab a drink.” He exclaims, catching you off guard.

“A drink?”

Heeseung staggers for a moment, blinking at you slowly. “Coffee, to wake us up.”

“Oh of course, I’n going to need it after this week’s work load.” 

“Alright, go finish getting ready my love, I’m going to clean up a little around here before we head out.”

“Thank you Hee, I won’t take too long.”

“Take your time.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

These are great seats, a spectacular balcony view of the stage. They must have cost a fortune. You wouldn’t dare to ask. Of course your parents still provide some type of allowance, enough to cover rent and tuition, a few bills, but with the jobs you’ve both acquired they’ve really been hard asses about making you work for your ‘fun money’ these days.

“This was always my favorite scene.” Heeseung whispers, squeezing around your hand.

Little Lotte? 

To avoid being shushed by the elderly couple neighboring your side, you furrow your eyebrows at him in confusion. Who the hell loves Little Lotte? Interesting. 

Angel of music? The music of the night? All I ask of you? The phantom of the opera? The point of no return? 

You’d have to remember to ask about that at dinner later. Odd choice out of an immaculate score, but Heeseung has always had a more unique taste. Perhaps you leaned toward the more predictable, having gone through your various favorites over the years of attending performances. 

It was when you were thirteen attending your 20th or some performance of Phantom, you landed on a final favored choice. 

Maybe it was the surge of hormones, or maybe you were just crazy. But the point of no return struck a chord that evening that had never been hit before. 

The hidden lust, the fear, the desire and crave. 

Christine was the real actress during that performance, she put on an act, leading the Phantom to believe her feelings resonated with his. Switching the manipulation he trained her with against him, exposing his vulnerability before unveiling a monstrous face for the last time. 

The pain. The suffering. The tortured love that could have been a bountiful happy ending without Raoul’s existence. It’s so tragically beautiful. 

There had been a time when Christine had annoyed you, why would she purposely seduce the Phantom only to lead him to his hell, his demise. He loved her, he wanted to be with her, he needed her.

Even now as you watch her twirl around on stage, toying with the Phantom’s weak mind, you feel annoyed. She did it because of Raoul, she did it to escape him.

Past all thought of if or when, no use resisting

Abandon thought and let the dream descend

What raging fire shall flood the soul?

What rich desire unlocks its door?

What sweet seduction lies before us?

Heat springs to the backs of your eyes as they move in fluid motion, unlocking his hold to allow her to prance around flirtatiously. Each touch between them is barely there, begging to be more. The tremble through his fingers, shaking you to the core. It’s all so raw, too real, zoning your vision in on the blaring loud chemistry between them. The way he frames around her pleading to know the secrets they can learn of each other.

The first tear to break free and trickle down to your chin parts a gasp through your lips, back stiffened as you sit straight. 

Past the point of no return, no going back now

Our passion play has now at last begun

Past all thought of right or wrong, one final question

How long should we two wait before we're one?

When will the blood begin to race?

The sleeping bud bursts into bloom?

When will the flames at last consume us?

Christine’s temptress vocals swarm around you, repeating the quiet ‘I love you’s never said out loud, only screaming in your mind. The Phantom sways to her tune, lost in the act she puts on for him. Because she is his weakness, only she can destroy him.

Tears spill out faster when their hands finally touch, and she runs, she tries to run away. Because he’s a monster, he’ll ruin her.

The half concealed face comes to light, sharing a moment of silence between them now that she knows, now that he knows. This game of lies and manipulation is over, it’s done. And Raoul stands with a gun pointed, prepared to save Christine from this monster, from this angel trapped in hell..

Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime

Lead me, save me from my solitude

Say you want me with you here, beside you

Anywhere you go, let me go too

Christine, that's all I ask of—-

The most bone shattering cry of ‘no!’ racks a sob up your chest, jumping in your seat as the sound of a gun shoots off, and you know what’s coming. He has no choice but to steal her away, they’ve reached the end. 

“Babe?” Heeseung whispers faintly at your side, gripping your hand firmly, thumb soothing over your knuckles. It’s impossible to hold in your tears any longer, knowing the doom destined to meet their would’ve, could’ve, should’ve. 

It never gets easier to watch, the utter despair, lack of humanity. Christine turning her back away only to return with a kiss, a real kiss. The Phantom’s first real kiss from the only one that showed him love that his mother couldn’t.

Oh fuck.

Hounded out by everyone. Met with hatred everywhere. No kind words from anyone. No compassion anywhere..

Why, he cries, why?!?

It never hurt this much before, never made sense. Never once before could you see yourself in Christine’s place.

Because you would have never chosen Raoul. 

It’s in your soul that the true distortion lies.

“Here.” A sleeve lifts to your face, your near perfect boyfriend offering you a makeshift handkerchief. Because he knows what to do, he knows the right thing to do to bring a smile to your face. 

He once begged for forgiveness for his wrong doings created by his own Phantom. Never deserved any of what was brought upon him.

He deserves better.

You deceived me, I gave my mind blindly

If there is one thing you’ve learned through your matured eyes, it’s that you and Christine Daaé have more in common than you would have predicted at thirteen. You’re both terrible liars.

This is the point of no return.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“You’re so cute.” Heeseung’s eyes wrinkle at the corners, dabbing off a tear clinging on your chin. 

“Stopppp.” You whine, huffing from embarrassment as you make it to your seats and thank the hostess for escorting you.

“I didn’t think you’d be this emotional.”

“I’m sensitive.” You mutter cheekily, glaring at him.

“Can’t believe you’re still crying.”

Heeseung’s smile couldn’t be more endeared, leaning over to dab your cheeks before another tear can trail down. He laughs quietly, kissing your cheek. 

“It’s a big deal!” You gush, fanning yourself to calm down. “Feel like I’ve been waiting for this moment forever.”

“You told me you’ve seen Phantom of The Opera hundreds of times?” He says, nose scrunching up with a confused look. “Weren’t you even a part of the theater club, monthly subscription and all?”

“Yes!” Continuing to sniffle, you playfully smack his arm for mumbling about what a dork you are, letting out a long sigh. “But at the Paris opera house?! I’ll never forget this. It’s been at the top of my bucket list for years.”

“It was really beautiful,” he shrugs, appearing deep in thought. “Music was great.”

“The music, the passion.” Sighing dreamily, you clutch your chest, reaching to hold his hand. “I could see hundreds of more renditions and none would ever come close to this one.”

The way you squeeze his hand in yours draws a smile on his lips, laying his other hand on top to sandwich you between. “I’d only ever seen the black and white film before. I guess that’s my one complaint, kind of expected more of a horror or thriller because of that.” He hums, lifting his hands to kiss your knuckles. “The way they romanticized it was a little weird.”

Romanticized?

Squinting at him, you lean in closer. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Erik, the Phantom.” He nods, looking you in the eye. “He’s a monster.”

He’s a what?

You can feel your face morph to one of surprise instantaneously, jaw loose as you try to register what he means. “It’s not a horror story Hee.. Erik loves Christine.”

“Loves?!” He laughs boisterously, dropping your hand to grab onto the dinner table. “No way you’ve seen that play as much as you have and think he loves her. He’s a murderer.”

“Wait wait wait, no,” shaking your head, you poke at his chest. “You don’t get it. He’s been mistreated his entire life by everyone. He doesn’t know how to love until he meets Christine.”

Heeseung blinks at you slowly with one eyebrow raised. “He doesn’t meet her, he stalks her!” He scoffs, laughing under his breath. “Wow, so you—you wanted her to end up with the Phantom instead of Raoul?”

“What? Of course I did!” You stress, attempting to keep your voice down to not draw attention from the others around enjoying their meals. “Everyone does, like oh my God? He loves her—he’s her fucking angel!”

Heeseung continues to laugh, scratching at his nape wide eyed. “Oh you’re serious. You really watched her get chased around by this psychopath who threatens and stalks her and got love from that?”

Well. When you put it that way.

“You don’t get it.” You slump defeated, forcing yourself to not frown.

He watches you for a minute, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “I think I do actually.” 

Tension weighs thick between the two of you, ignoring how serious his gaze has turned, you fake a smile and glance around waiting for your order to arrive. “It’s just a play.”

“Right. It’s just a play.”

“It’s not just a play to you though.” He hums, picking at the basket of bread you’ve both been eating from. “You have books, listen to the soundtrack often, watch the movies.. you’re a big phan, as you’ve told me.”

“I mean, it’s all fictional.” You shrug, ignoring the large blaring elephant that’s entered the restaurant. 

“That one you read, that was like your little Phantom porn.” He snorts, remembering how you’d curl up in bed and proceed to feel him up after finishing a chapter. “Wasn’t Raoul his brother in that one? He was Erik’s older brother, right?”

Now, why would he remember that, and why right now.

“Uhm yeah, there’s a few renditions where the authors canoned them as siblings.” You admit, doing your best to sound casual. 

“I wonder why they do that?”

“Oh well, you know, brothers.. that’s like a thing. A common trope often used in fictional stories.”

“Only fictional stories?” He says playfully, keeping his demeanor calm. “So, who would you choose for Christine?”

There’s no more playfulness behind his tone, finishing the question with a tight lip, he slightly arches an eyebrow.

“I mean, I know you don’t get it but she should have picked Phantom.” You say confidently, shaking your head. “He brought out her voice.”

“From this play I’ve really learned more about her relationship with Raoul though, how they knew each other as kids.” He recounts, leaning in close with his chin resting on his palm. “I think she really liked him, she knew him. Their connection went deeper than the forced bond Erik manipulated her into believing they have.”

It’s pointless to argue about it, even if you have to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks and the beat in your chest speeding up. “You wouldn’t get it..”

Heeseung’s lips part for a minute ready to drag this out, slamming them shut and opting to lean back in his seat when he sees the corners of your lips sink down. “Sorry, I know you really love the story. Guess I was curious to understand what you love about it.”

“I love their love.” You sigh, nervously fiddling with your dress between your fingers. “That they connected through her voice, his music. It could have gone differently if she had seen him as a man and not a monster.”

“But he is a monster.” He reiterates, rubbing at his nape in disbelief. “He stalks her, hides behind mirrors to watch her practice from, he even kidnaps her!”

Heeseung tries to hold back his thoughts, but even he can’t deny the same eerie feeling that ignited in him when you broke down in tears. You feel bad, you feel bad for not choosing the unloved monster that took advantage of you, that somehow infiltrated your heart.

He knows it and you know it. The name neither of you ever mentioned lingers around your relationship. Unfinished sentences of ‘this reminds me of—‘ solidify tension between you whenever Heeseung pauses and nods as if to affirm your non-negotiated agreement.

One day you were in Italy, the next in Germany, holed up together in a hotel room too afraid to speak. Everything became too real when he pleaded with you to explain everything once you got onto the train.

‘Dad always wanted me to do more with my life.’ Heeseung had explained once you settled in your cart, hollowed lines heavy beneath his eyes from lack of sleep. ‘Hoon’s obviously going to be his predecessor, the next to run the company. I never wanted to follow my father’s footsteps. I wanted to enjoy my life, a normal life that my mom would have wanted for me. I promised her I wouldn’t let dad run my future the way he has with Sunghoon, down to even who he should marry.’

It slipped out before he realized, shifting his gaze away hoping you wouldn’t question what he meant by that. Their dad had tried to set him up with Miyeon first, laying out the plan that he would wed her someday and merge their companies. Sunghoon running the Park’s business while Heeseung married his place into the Cho’s. It was his perfect plan to ensure wealth and success, to prepare both of his sons for the future that they’d have to exist in without him.

Heeseung had refused, already invested in his relationship with Jina, Sunghoon’s childhood crush. Mr. Park yelled, screamed, deemed him useless and misguided. Ruined by the years spent with his mother, he turned soft in comparison to his younger brother who has only hardened up and built a powerful shell around himself under their father’s care. Or lack thereof.

Sunghoon sat in silence as their father threatened Heeseung, told him to pack his shit up and find someone else to house him, to feed him, to pay for his bullshit. The denial of his wishes never led to anything good.

The younger cursed to himself, sitting up straight. ‘I will court Miyeon.’

Despite their differences, they had attempted to rebuild their sibling relationship. They started to play basketball at night, occasionally laughing when the other would miss a shot. They’d work out together, even went out to a couple of concerts and parties together. Heeseung never wanted to cut his brother off, only respected what he believed to be his wishes after Jian had chosen him and Sunghoon spit in his face.

Jian was a year older than Heeseung, she introduced herself to him the first day at his new school. It was scary to enter a high school he was completely unfamiliar with, but smitten Jian made it as easy as possible, sticking by his side before confessing at the end of the day that she like likes him.

The memory was so innocent and childish, the leap into each other's hearts in less than 24 hours of meeting. It’s something you can really only experience once in your life when you’re young and haven’t experienced how cruel the world can be.

Heeseung’s first love was Sunghoon’s first heartbreak. 

The stood outside of his younger brother’s middle school hand-in-hand, giggling to each other happily about the titles of ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’.

Sunghoon dropped his book bag upon seeing them, screaming out angrily, he jab between your conjoined hands and flew into a tantrum. 

Over the next year he got over it- he tried to get over it. All while ignoring Heeseung’s existence. Nothing he did could change the younger’s attitude toward him. Every remark held bitterness, every question carried hatred, every interaction left them both uneasy and anxious.

Heeseung tried to explain, he really liked Jian, and she really liked him. But Sunghoon refused to listen, scolding him for stealing the crush he wasn’t even aware of. It wasn’t the ideal way to rekindle their brotherly love, after being selected during quintessential years of frontal lobe development. 

But the older never gave up, hoping that one day his brother would come around, and he did. They never really felt as close as they did as kids, but they had something—and that was enough. 

Hugs turned into nudges and pats on the backs. Sunghoon never came to him when he was upset the way he used to as children. He kept interaction at school minimal, and treated him more as a roommate at home than a brother. But it was something, and that’s better than nothing.

‘My father never saw eye to eye with me. I hated the whispers that flew around when I came back to live with them. That I was just this spoiled rich kid, son of the mogul Park. Sunghoon’s older brother who undoubtedly wiped his ass with hundred dollar bills. I wasn’t accustomed to this life anymore.’

‘Because you had been living with your mom..’

‘Yes, and she took us away from all of this. My grandparents mostly raised me, mom.. had a drinking problem too. She sort of unlocked the door to mine. I’ve been told addiction can be passed on, genetics you know. I wanted to save her but she abused her body day in and day out and I thought I could be better than that. That I could save myself since I failed to save her.’

‘You were a kid..’

And Sunghoon, both too naive and childish to carry the burden of selfish adult problems. Both damaged and scarred by the choices of the ones that were meant to protect them, keep them safe from these harmful coping habits.

‘I was.’ Heeseung had agreed, pulling pieces of his hair between his fingers. ‘I thought I could find the strength to let shit go, grow up without these demons following me. I couldn’t , and just like my brother loves to remind me, I’m a fucking failure.’

‘But you got help Hee.’

‘I did, after coming home one night after Jian had broken up with me before heading to college, I got wasted.’ He shamefully admits. ‘I fucked up bad, but the break up was so sudden, she didn’t want a boyfriend back home preventing her from having fun in another state. Not during her first year of college..’

‘I’m sorry..’

It’s hard to hear about your first loves first love, comforting your ego and trying to hide your jealousy. You urged him to continue. Hands held in both of yours, squeezing each time he found himself at a loss for words

‘We had a huge fight that night, Hoonie and I.’ Pain etched through his soft features, blinking back tears. ‘He’s hated me ever since, maybe he always hated me.’

‘Why would he..’

‘What he said to me that night, about our mom.. blamed me for not taking proper care of her. Screamed at me that she should have kept him, that he would have done what I’m not man enough to do. Just like Jina would have still been with him. He really beat me to a pulp with a few words.. after this I don’t have any faith in repairing this relationship with my brother. He doesn’t care if I live or die, blames me for everything that’s never gone his way in life..’

Unfair, that’s really the only way to put it. Unfair the same way Raoul banished Erik for his monstrous appearance to live in hiding, a dark family secret. 

Both born into wealth, granted a life of ease, both torn apart by their obsession with love. Heeseung needed his father, he needed Sunghoon, after everything he went through with their mother. He needed someone to treat him like their son that had been to hell and back, still alive to retell the tale. He needed the love his father denied him, the love his mother wasted away in favor of her own vices.

Sunghoon in-denial, needed love more than he can even begin to understand. He takes and takes and takes, never sees harm in his actions. The obsession to be loved, needed, wanted, cherished, it tears him from inside out. He covers it up with the most perfect facade. No one would question someone with their shit so together that not even a hair is out of place. 

Sunghoon.. banished his own true self, the snotty nose child that would cry in his mother’s arms. That clung to her leg screaming bloody murder when she headed in a different direction with Heeseung. Begging and crying for her to take him, for her to love him too.

They both are so so fucked up, and your presence has only put the spotlight directly on them.

‘I made a deal with my father, we’d go to Germany to visit a couple of universities, then Poland, Spain, France, anywhere. I researched a few of the schools with the best architectural programs. He was really happy to hear that- said I’m finally taking my future serious. And I mentioned how you always talk about studying hospitality and fashion, the luxury high-end brands that cater to the elite. From clothing to home decor and lifestyle. Your mom overheard, and thankfully jumped in. We started looking up the train schedule soon after and booking places we can stay.’

‘School? In Europe? But that would mean—‘

‘That we get away from him.’ Heeseung said coldly, forcing a smile. ‘That we can have a chance at a healthy real relationship. Me and you alone, no more unnecessary interference, no more worrying about what Sunghoon will try next to divide us.’

No more Sunghoon, his existence expunged from your reality. You had cried, uttered the words, and Heeseung absorbed each one, swallowed down your tears, let them incinerate his throat. He did this for you, for the ‘us’ you should be.

“He’s misunderstood.” You mumble softly, hoping to change the subject as your plates are set down.

“Ah, you’re right, I’m wrong.” He laughs sarcastically, brushing off the conversation. Well, this isn’t awkward at all now. At least you can talk about the meals you ordered, fawning over how good the seasoning is on the potatoes. 

“Try this.” You say cheerfully, reaching your fork toward his lips. He loves it, of course, you have a lot in common. Agree on movies, music, food, have even found your missing shirts in Heeseung’s pile of clothes. Down to the fabrics you both prefer, everything makes sense. Maybe you’re soulmates.

That’s right. Soulmates bonded together by the unforeseen marriage your parents would have someday, failed to be torn apart by his own brother.

“It’s a nice night out.” Heeseung breathes out happily, slinging his arm around your shoulder.

“Really is, the weather's great.”

“Oooh, this must be new?” You stop to admire a quaint lit up building, many dressed formally and casual entering while chatting and laughing. “Wanna check it out?”

Nodding, you make it to the entrance only to stop, tugging his arm close to your chest. “Oh it’s a bar..”

“Oh.” Heeseung swallows uncomfortably, taking a step back.

“It’s fine babe, we both have work tomorrow anyway.”

He still hesitates, shifting from foot to foot before agreeing that you should continue on your way home. It never gets easier, not much of a loss to you, other than the occasional glass of wine you crave once in a while. 

Heeseung’s worked too hard to stay clean, he does it for you. He does it for both of you. That’s how healthy relationships work, you can skip out on a drink for fun to help him stay sober. Even if it means missing out on Paris nightlife.

“Ah, I totally forgot!” He pipes up to break the tense atmosphere, stuffing his hands inside of his pockets. “Deftones announced a tour!”

“What!” You exclaim, wrapping around his waist to keep him pressed to your side, walking synchronized with long steps. “We have to go!”

“Ah, I wish.” He sighs, throwing his arms around your upper half. “You know every western artist forgets that Europe exists.”

“No tour dates here? Really?”

“Unfortunately. Another cool tour we’ll have to miss out on. Can’t wait until we finish our degrees and move back.” He says too calmly for your liking, stepping over your own feet. Nearly stumbling if not for him holding onto you. 

“Oh.” 

Move back? Since when has moving back ever been a part of the plan? Once you settled in France and enrolled into a new university, you never discussed the possibility of moving back..

“Can you picture it? I’ll design our first house, call us the Brady bunch the way I’ll be mapping out the blueprints once we find the perfect land.” He speaks dreamily, unaware of the meltdown happening in your head. “We’d have to move kind of far from our parents.”

And him. The one he won’t mention.

“What do you think? More of an oceanic view? Green scenery?”

“Uhh, ah fuck.” Clutching your head, you escape from his hold. “Sorry sorry.. migraine hit out of nowhere.”

“Ah, and I don’t have any medicine on me. Well we’re not too far from home, should I flag down a cab?”

“No no it’s fine, lets just walk. Think all of that crying just got to me.”

It’s only a few more minutes to your loft. Faking a headache wasn’t really the best choice, but one uncomfortable conversation had you at your limit. 

“Wish we had time for..” Heeseung drags on, smoothing your hair away from your face. “I know it’s late, you’re tired, I’m tired.”

Ah, the reality of modern romance. The false idea of work life balance can kill the energy you once had for hours of love making.

Fucking really.

You hit missionary plenty of times, laid under his weight, accepting slow deep thrusts between your thighs. Easier than jerking him off for 30 minutes until he cums. 

“You can keep it inside of me tonight.” You grin, not wanting to drag on the sour taste in your mouth that grows more with each thing he says. 

You’re annoyed, that’s all. Rarely ever annoyed by him but you can’t stop replaying what he said.

Move back, Heeseung wants to move back. He doesn’t want to live your dream in Paris. He’s not in love with the city of love, he’s in love with you. His dream is that you give up yours for his..

Love means making sacrifices, right? And you had your time in Paris. He even took you to the opera house. Why wouldn’t he start the discussion of more serious matters like the future you can achieve together? 

Maybe it’s because this is your first serious relationship, but isn’t it too soon to consider having a family? Can it even be considered too soon given the circumstances that led you to live together before ever committing to each other?

This isn’t a normal relationship, he still is your step-brother contrary to the description you’ve curated for him during your time here alone. 

If you tell him you want to stay here, will he still leave? He’s mentioned missing his friends, the food back home, the convenience of driving everywhere. Things you don’t dwell on much because you assumed he was falling in love with not only you, but the city you discover together.

Heeseung leaving you to fulfill his happiness could very well happen. He’d move back without you, build a home for his future family, find a woman who really deserves his love.

Not with you. 

Imagining all of that really does make your head throb now, pardoning yourself to use the restroom and clean off before bed. He follows you to brush his teeth before stepping out, patting your behind on his way out.

How naive of you to think this could be it. That you found love this easily, in what reality do people fall in love with the first person they ever hold a serious relationship with? Sure, it happens, but why would it happen to you.

Anxiety only builds as you wash your face and start to think about it more.

What if..

What if you made the wrong choice? What if you picked Raoul over Phantom?

That—that’s a ridiculous thought. You have to laugh, not even paying attention to your hand reaching for your drawer to slide it open all of the way. There’s a jewelry box shoved to the back, not hidden, not intentionally hidden..

He’d never know why you placed it so far back, never assume it’s because of the black pearls tucked away inside that make your chest ache whenever you allow yourself to glimpse at them. 

You never wear them, not since that day. He had said they looked beautiful on you. Taken photos of you, admired them and even saved some to his phone.. 

They’re cold to the touch, much like the faded memory of his smooth cool skin gliding beneath your fingertips. That stupid God damn day at the Vatican should have never happened. It should have been Heeseung.

Because Sunghoon’s smile from behind his phone as he snapped photos of you, the side of his face and wide shimmering eyes taking in all of the artwork, and the warmth when your bodies would brush together. All of it replays behind your eyes at least once per week. 

It feels like cheating at times, to still harbor feelings for your love's enemy.. 

You traveled past the point of no return the day you granted him access to your heart, and somehow that bastard figured it out. He fucking knew you were ready to fall from grace, allow him to lead you into temptation. 

So unfair, it’s so unfair for you too. Because you should have never made it this far with either of them. Lust and love read all the same when you’re riding the highest of highs. When you are also desperate to be loved and wanted.

You gave them both everything you could muster, and now here you stand, close to nothing. Close to losing the basket you placed all of your eggs in, longing for the one that maybe got away..

You should donate the pearls, pawn them off and buy Heeseung a new gaming console. Something to lighten the load of guilt weighing heavy on your back.

Heeseung may leave one day, you may never see him again. It’d be fine because you’d never have to wonder ‘what if’. You had your magical romance, and you’d change nothing about it really..

Except one thing.

Because that one thing will always be a ‘what if’, even in your next relationship you will find yourself flashing back to those memories you can’t part ways with. The hole that grows larger in your chest, you’ll try to fill it and fail over and over again.

Sunghoon, he’ll always be that open ended question with endless possible answers..

Gripping onto the pearls, you suck down a sob itching at your throat. He stopped chasing you, and you can’t even blame him. 

The guilt that encompassed your soul on that train to Germany kept your eyes wide awake as Heeseung slept against your shoulder. Leaving him behind in that hotel bed without so much as a goodbye, handing your phone over to Heeseung to erase his brother’s existence.

It was the right thing to do, that’s why you’re here one year later, finally living and loving.

“Come onnnn baby, come to bed.” Heeseung leans against the door, big doe eyes blinking away glossy moisture from needing to sleep. “Wanna cuddle with you before I knock out.”

“I’ll be right there.” You smile, swallowing the gasp lodged in your throat. Subtly shutting the jewelry box shut while hiding your surprise. He wouldn’t know who bought you that necklace anyway. You never said, never wore it, but the rush of guilt that hits at the thought of him knowing speaks volumes. 

He snarls playfully, pretending to bite the door frame. “Hurryyyy before I end up drooling on you in your sleep.” He winks, heading back to your bedroom. 

Wash your face, wash away the ugly thoughts invading your mind, wash away the worry.

Because you shouldn’t be worried, not about him. He doesn’t deserve your worry. As you clutch the necklace between your digits one more time, you have to ask yourself..

Is it guilt? Guilt because you left him, kissing him light as a feather before tiptoeing away, praying he won’t wake soon.

Is it resentment? Resenting yourself for feeling this way, resenting him for making you feel this wake. Enraged whenever you really think about it, the memories you should have never created together. This stupid necklace you never wear, that you can’t force yourself to get rid of.

Or is it really just pain? Because he never came after you, never showed up. Every glance over your shoulder filled you with disappointment. He stopped chasing you.. he really got tired of chasing you..

The reflection staring back at you trembles, blinking away the warmth collecting at your eyes. Guilt, pain, anger, and worst of all, love.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“I’m just getting in right now.”

Heeseung’s raspy tone radiates through your phone’s speaker wishing you a fast and relaxing shift. It’s not ideal to work the later hours but this opportunity to fill a position at one of the most prestigious luxury hotel chains in Europe has been a more than lucky honor to hold; knowing how the name would automatically push your resume to the top of future applicants gunning to snag the same job.

“Try not to stay up for me, okay?” You smile, pausing at the front entrance before heading inside.

“I’ll try, but you know how hard it is for me to fall asleep without you here.” He says in a tired drawl, surely wiped out after working. “Need to know that my baby made it home safe.”

“I will,” you assure, ending with your goodbyes and added ‘love you’s. Adjusting your top before pocketing your phone to head inside, you proudly strut in. Head held high, shoulders back, and designer purse tightly tucked under your arm as you make your way to the back room to clock-in.

“Ah good, you’re here.” Your manager appears, seemingly frazzled.

“Where do you need me today?” You’re fast to ask, immediately locking up your coat and belongings to get ready for your tasks.

“The empire suite.” He informs you, taking on a stern tone. “Have a very very important guest occupying the room, and just had a huge delivery brought in to be taken to their suite.” He nods to follow him, leading you to a trolley stacked from top to bottom with shoppings bags of all sizes.

Hermès, Chanel, Dior, Saint Laurent, Versace, Burberry, Prada. Any high-end designer brand you can think of sat there neatly organized into a pile before your eyes.

“A real high roller..” 

“The highest.” Your manager adds, handing you a key. “Do be sure to set everything up in their room in a neat manner. I’m trusting you to do a great job, and don’t touch anything.”

“You can count on me.” You affirm, taking a deep breath before grabbing onto the cart full of what you can only begin to calculate as thousands upon thousands of dollars.

“Yes well,” he follows, helping you onto the employee only elevator. “Be sure to give it your American touch. Our guest is one of your kind.” He finishes snidely, hiding a look of disgust with a forced fake smile as the elevator doors come to close and you’re left alone. Trapped against the wall in the enclosed space with the cart taking up most of the area surrounding you, you’re happy to hear the ding announcing your arrival to the empire suite.

The suite takes up this entire floor, has the best view in all of Paris, and since working here you’d only gotten the chance to see it once when you first started and had the new staff tour to learn the ins and outs of the hotel.

The fee for a night in one of France's nicest suites was enough to have your palms dampen up, dragging them down your hips as you reach the double-wide doors. The guests wouldn’t be inside, right? Your manager hadn’t mentioned that they’d be occupying the space at this moment.

Quietly knocking a few times you wait, nervously pressing your ear to one of the doors. “Hel—“ covering your mouth, you clear your throat and stand straight.

No. Calling out a ‘hello?’ Would not sit well with some snobby elite, would it.

Choosing to assume the room is currently empty you swipe the key and slowly push the door open. Tiptoeing your way inside to what looks like an untouched suite. From where you stand by the entrance everything looks as pristine and crystal sparkling clean as you remember, as if no guest had ever been able to taint the space with their existence. 

Waiting for another minute to go by, you begin to pull the cart in, making your way to the master room to begin setting up a display on a large empty table near the entrance. This would be most convenient for guests traveling,  near their luggage to store their new purchases away. 

Starting with the larger bags you can’t help but sigh to yourself in this giant empty suite. What a dream it would be to live this way. So spoiled and damn near gluttonous with your money, rich enough to wipe your ass with a Hermès scarf.

“Forever the Nomi Malone..” you say under your breath, setting down one of the Versace bags.

“It’s Versayce.” You snort, rolling your eyes. Being insanely wealthy is overrated anyway..

Who needs all of this really, it’s tacky in a sense. That’s why you’d rather focus on solid colors over brand names and prints. A minimal timeless type of fashion, where else to best study that other than Paris?

Even so, there’s no denying how exciting it is to have your own Chanel purse in your clutches, digging your fingertips against the leather just to listen to the sound when you retract. Everything about Paris has really been such a dream. The food, the scenery, the language, the fashion, the love..

How could Heeseung ever want to leave any of this? Isn’t it love and romance that makes home where the heart is? Of course these ugly thoughts hadn’t left your mind since the conversation you had the other night, itching to bring it up again but fearing to hear the truth.

He doesn’t actually think you’ll move back, right? He had to know that this is your life now, this is what makes you feel complete and happy..

And over something as minuscule as attending concerts. Pft, you can stream anything on the internet these days, and no concert could ever compare to the magic of the Paris opera house.. 

You’ll have to get real at some point, he could have just been talking nonsense.. nothing serious. Yeah. It’s nothing to worry about, he already uprooted his life to be with you. This is what he wants too, you. He wants you.

Nodding to yourself you place the last bag at the front, taking a few steps back to admire your set up. Ah, yes, quite the American touch.

Shaking your head you turn on your heel to get one more look around the room. It’s really as if no one’s slept in here once. Not a wrinkle on the king sized bed, not one single spot or stain on the floor, the furniture all in mint condition. It really all screams elitism, royalty even. Making you all the more curious as to who could be staying here right now, peaking around in hopes of finding some type of clue. It’d be too much to open the closet for a look. Don’t touch anything.. 

Resisting your curious fingers, you turn toward the ceiling to floor window to take in the view one more time. The view alone could really convince you to pay the large sum for a one night stay. Who could sleep with a sight like this? The entire vicinity of Paris illuminated before your eyes where you stand peacefully watching the hustle and bustle of night life. Bars and restaurants that stay open late into the night, bike riders rushing through the streets on their way somewhere that seems urgent to get to, street vendors and tourists haggling amidst the daily routines of Parisians just trying to get by.

It’s something really, the city life. Stress, fast-pace, and yet an attitude of relaxed nature surrounding the Eiffel Tower. 

“Beautiful..” you whisper, lightly pressing your fingertips against the glass. Quality glass that keeps the heat and cold out enough to stand as close to it as possible without shivering, reminding you of how much detail went into creating this experience for only the most superior of guests.

“As beautiful as I remember.”

It’s the vibrato that races down your spine from the lips grazing your nape that has you jumping out of your skin. Palms flattened against the window as you let out a frightened shriek and your eyes go wide.

That voice. That voice that can only be heard in your darkest of dreams. The same one that keeps you up at night scrolling through your phone for hours attempting to distract yourself from your relentless thoughts. 

It can’t be. 

It can’t be him.

“More beautiful,” he whispers, grasping your waist tightly. “How can you not be after all this time. Thought that you could run away from me so easily, did you?”

The only way to describe your chest is hollow, empty, dried up. Gasping for air as your hands drag down the glass and he presses your back flush to his chest, chin hooked over your shoulder. “You really think I’d let you get away so easily? After everything you put me through.”

There’s no way that it’s him.

“You really painted me out to be the villain in this story, didn’t you?” He hums, mouth moving along the bare side of your throat. “He managed to get in that head of yours better than I could, and yet I am somehow the bad guy.”

Squeezing his hands around you tighter only traps your air flow even more, choking on your spit with your eyes lowered to the floor. Too afraid to look up and see the reflection you refuse to believe could be staring back at you through the window glass.

“You have nothing to say for yourself? Nothing after a year?”

Help? Would that be a proper response right now. Half expecting the tip of a gun or knife to meet your spine if you dare to speak, you can’t contain the choked out sob that emits as your lips part open.

“Ah, you must be thrilled to see me.” He mocks, pulling you away from the window. “Can’t even find the words to express yourself.”

Manhandling you onto the bed, he forces your weight down to sit, unable to not look at him as he grips your jaw and forces your eyes up.

Sunghoon.

It’s really him. A little aged, jawline sharper than ever, shoulders broader in size.. he looks as breathtaking as ever, even with a tight scowl wrinkling the skin between his eyebrows.

“As much as I love to watch you cry,” he snickers, gently turning your face side to side to inspect how much you’ve changed. “No time for sappy moments now. That’s not why I’m here.” 

It’s only then that you notice the rings adorning his slim fingers, stepping back to stand tall above you, he folds his hands over his stomach, appearing more menacing than you remember. A cold stare blaring down on you hard enough to freeze you in place.

“Speak now darling.” He smirks, pacing backward toward the table you set up full of items. “You wish to deprive me of your voice still? You know how long the flight here is, especially without your warm cunt to entertain me.”

“But, how?” You stammer, wiping your cheeks clean of the few tears that managed to escape amidst your shock. “How did you—“

Turning sharply, he sits against the table, toying with a small bag. “Don’t ask me stupid questions.” He grits, unraveling a small box wrapped up in ribbons. “You know that I always knew where you were.” 

Pushing off, he opens up the box, showing off fancy chocolates organized inside before popping one inside of his mouth. “The proper question is why now? Why after all of this time.” Beginning to pace before you, he nods, shoving another chocolate in his mouth. 

“It was no easy task.” Sunghoon hums, waving a hand mid-air as he starts to explain. Intense glare unwavering from where you sit. “To stay away for so long, to allow my brother to live so peacefully. To resist the incessant desires pounding through my head each and every day to seek my revenge.”

Slowly scanning you from head to toe he nods, throwing the now empty box of sweets aside. Reaching inside of his pockets he slowly draws free gloves, black velvety gloves that he drags onto his finger ominously. The tightness in his jaw sends shivers up your spine, gulping as he snaps the second glove on.

“I hated you, despised your being, loathed your existence.” He spits, teeth gritted. “I cared so deeply for months and months, killed myself at the gym trying to erase you. I tried to sweat you out, scrub you off of my skin, delete your memory. But you’re everywhere, my shower, my bedroom, even at fucking school I had to ignore the ghost of you.”

The scowl wrinkling his smooth face deepens, nostrils flaring as he stops to glare down at you. “You.. you tried my patience.”

Make your choice. 

A small gasp escapes, it’s as if you’ve reached the end. Your own Phantom whisking you away, threatening you one last time to choose wisely, to choose wrongly.

“It’s unbecoming for me to fall in love.” He scoffs, waving toward your face. “And I had to ask myself if that’s what I feel, because it’s so foreign to me. I had to wonder why you’d even indulge me only to end up running off with him. Perhaps you were the villain here all along.

“Sunghoon..” you whisper shakily, struggling to breathe.

“The hardest part, all of this time..” he smooths three gloved fingers across your jaw, cupping your chin. “Staying away from you.. no contact, not a word. I knew it’d be worth it. All of this would be worth it, the bargaining and negotiating with my father. Counting down the days, marking off my calendar, ignoring the sound of your voice whenever your mother would put you on speaker. I knew that one day soon we’d be together again.”

He sighs, thumb dipping against the middle of your chin. “What a shame that after everything you’ve put me through I still can’t stop myself from thinking of how beautiful you look. How he had a year of this, of you belonging to him. Of spreading your thighs open, of kissing your lips whenever he wants”

“What—what do you want?”

Sunghoon’s teeth grind, reaching for his pocket again, his hold on your face remaining light enough to break free if you wish. It doesn’t help calm your nerves, watchfully following his slow movements before searching for your nearest escape.

“Please, d-don’t hurt me.. please!” You blurt, lips trembling.

His eyes widen, sharp gaze forming to one of offense and shock. “Hurt you?” He says in a raised tone, causing you to cower into yourself. “Hurt you? You dare to ask me to not hurt you? Is that why you think I’m here?”

Yes? You peer up anxiously, arms wrapping around your waist. “I’ll do whatever you want, just please..”

Clicking his tongue, he takes a step back and sinks down to look up at you, lifting one hand up to cup your face and stroke fresh tears away. “I’m not here to hurt you.” He informs, frowning. “Besides, I could never hurt you the way that you’ve hurt me. No. I could never, unfortunately.”

Dropping his hand, he looks away, taking deep breaths as his tongue drags across the backs of his teeth. “The way you played me like a damn fool.. I was impressed, really.” Looking back at your surprised expression, he cocks a dark eyebrow. “I told you, we’re more alike than you may want to accept. What you did to me—I was furious. That flight back home, I really wanted to ruin your life. Even looked up flights to Germany, but I decided against it.”

He laughs breathily, head dropping back, blinking away hot moisture that hits the backs of his eyes. “I went home and I thought about it. I thought about everything, you and me. Why I was so fucking hung up. I thought about you and him…” he says quietly, neck cracking to one side. “Ate away at me for weeks, I couldn’t move on. I know you felt what I felt..” 

Shifting onto one knee, his gaze finds yours, taking one of your hands in his. “And after a few months of hating you, I couldn’t pretend anymore. I know you felt what I felt, call me crazy, call me the worst person you’ve ever met. A fucking nightmare you can’t outrun.” He pulls your hand closer, lips grazing your knuckles. “But I’d never deny my heart that screams your name the way you tune out your own. Maybe I am crazy.” 

He looks at you, stone cold, every emotion passing across his gaze. “Or maybe you made me crazy.”

Fear shifts to confusion the longer you maintain eye contact, tempted to pull your hand away as he reaches for his pocket once again. “I never hated you, even after what you did to me. Drove me insane really, how I couldn’t stop thinking about you.. couldn’t get over you.”

Clearing his throat, he straightens out, gingerly holding your hand. “I came here with one mission, and I have no intention to fail. I’m not leaving without you. Not again, no more.

“What? What do you—“

“I want you, I want us.” Sunghoon affirms, unfolding his fist to reveal a small leather box, snapping it open leaving you breathless. “And I won’t allow you to make this mistake again.”

The diamond ring shines all around, glittery light reflecting off against the glove covering his palm, using his thumb and index finger to take it out. “I’m here because you belong with me, we both know it.”

“I don’t—“

“You belong with me.” He cuts you off, throat bobbing to evaporate the itch rising. “In my arms, by my side, hand held in mine. I want to wake up by your side, want you to be the last smile I see before I shut my eyes for the night. I want to smell you all around me, to find your lost hairs stuck to my clothes, to be greeted by your shoes near the front door. I want to hear your complaints, I want to eradicate every sad pout that forms on your lips. I want and want and want, and I won’t stop. I won’t give up on what my heart believes is real.”

A moment of vulnerability flashes across his gaze, eyebrows furrowing together, lifting the ring to glide onto your finger. “Marry me.”

Biting back a smile, one single tear escapes, slowly sliding down his unblemished pale skin. The stain of residue elicits a tightness in your chest, finally pulling your hand away from his and clutching your wrist.

“Please,” he swallows, mouth gone dry. “Say yes.” 

Standing back up, he grabs your waist to get up, rubbing up and down your sides before leaning in to whisper along your lips. “Marry me.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

NEXT—> Epilogue(coming soon)

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YOU'RE LOSING ME.

summary: how the love began to die out between you and them. featuring kamisato ayato, alhaitham, diluc, and zhongli. gn! reader (see a/n below) pt. 2 here w/c: 2.1k words in total a/n: inspired by the new vault track from midnights by taylor swift. meant to be a gender neutral reader but one of the lyrics i reference uses "her". otherwise, no pronouns used.

And I wouldn’t marry me either, a pathological people pleaser, who only wanted you to see her.

“I’ll be entering an arranged marriage to the daughter of another clan.” Ayato said matter of factly, as if it was as casual as discussing the weather. Today was the off day Ayato had free. He’s been so busy the past month that he barely has time for you. You can’t even remember the last time the two of you woke up together. He always slept late and woke up earlier than you. The affection was rarely there too; The usual loving kisses and cuddles were reduced to pecks on the cheek and pats on the arm. This was one of the rare times you were actually able to sit down with him. 

The air was tense, almost impossible to breathe in. What was supposed to be a romantic dinner quickly turned sour the moment Ayato announced a piece of news you never wanted to hear. “I’ll be meeting her in two weeks. I’m expecting the marriage ceremony to take place within the next three months or so.” He wasn’t looking at you, instead more focused on the food in front of him. Your chopsticks fall from your hands, the clatter piercing the silence between you two. Ayato looks at you, completely deadpanned. You take the moment to really, truly look at him. His expression was standoffish, and his eyes were dispassionate. Just where did that loving gaze go? “What?” He asks.

“Ayato, you can’t just expect me to be happy about this.” You huff in frustration, picking up your chopsticks and setting them down in a proper manner. “When you accepted the proposal, did you just forget about our relationship? About me?” 

Ayato rolled his eyes and sighed. “You’re acting like I declared undying love for her. I’m simply doing what’s best for the clan, and for Inazuma as a whole.” He puts down his chopsticks as well, clearly not focused on eating anymore. “It’s not like I’m ending things with you. Marrying her opens many opportunities I can’t pass on.”

“You’re not ending things with me, but you’re just gonna go off and marry some girl?” Your heart broke a little more with every word. If someone were to listen closely, they could probably hear each individual crack. “Ayato, our relationship has already been wavering a little…you’re so busy. It’s like you just can’t fit me into your schedule.” Your eyes start to become glossy, and you need to swallow back your tears to fight against them falling. “How can I expect us to stay together when you need to make room for two spouses now? I thought love meant more to you than business did.” Your voice cracked with every syllable that fell from your lips.

Ayato stood up from his seat on the floor, adjusting his sleeves and beginning to make his way to the door. He slides it open before stopping in place. “Marrying her has a lot to offer.” He speaks, but he isn’t even looking at you.

“And I don’t?” You ask. You didn’t even know if you wanted the answer to that. Luckily for you, he didn’t answer at all. He looked back at you from over his shoulder. He takes a breath, and you feel as if he’s stealing the air straight out of your lungs. He turns his head back and sighs. He steps forward, leaving the room. 

The door shuts, and you are left in silence.

And I’m fading, thinking: Do something babe, say something.

With Alhaitham being appointed as Acting Grand Sage, it’s only natural that his workload for the Akademiya would increase. However, if there’s one thing that Alhaitham truly hates, it’s when unnecessary work piles up and begins to leak into his personal life, like a bucket overflowing with water. A work-life balance can only go so far before work begins to completely tilt the scale in its favor. Naturally, this takes away from time the two of you could spend together.

Normally, that would be completely fine with you. You knew Alhaitham was a busy man with a busy lifestyle. It’s completely reasonable for him to not throw aside his work just for you. Alhaitham always tries to make time for you, to show you his affection in small ways that don’t take up too much time. Either with tea he makes for you before he leaves for work, small trinkets that begin to appear on your bedside table, or a hushed declaration of love when he accidentally wakes you up when he rises early. But recently, his efforts have been slowly dwindling. You no longer wake up to the smell of tea. You no longer reach over to your nightstand in a sleepy haze, only to feel an object that was not there before. You no longer hear an “I love you” amongst the sound of your bedsheets ruffling in the early hours of the morning.

Of course, you noticed. So you took it amongst yourself to try and do something to express your love. You usually go to sleep before him, but here you are in the living room, waiting for him to return. It’s already quite late, and you fight back a yawn every twenty minutes or so, but you’re determined to stay awake to greet him. The smell of his favorite food wafts in from the kitchen, and you smile while thinking of his reaction. You might not be a Michelin star chef, but you pour love into everything you make him.

Finally, the door opens, and there he is. His eyes are tired, and an annoyed expression is etched onto his face. “Hey, honey.” You shoot up from your seat to greet him at the door. His head snaps in your direction slightly, not expecting you to still be awake. He lets out a little grunt as a response. You can tell he’s in a bad mood, but you keep pushing. “You’re home late.” You state before realizing how you pointed out the painfully obvious.

“I always am.” His voice is monotone, cold. He walks straight past you, barely even sparing you a glance.

Your hope begins to falter, but you try again. “Are you hungry? I made you dinner.” You reach your hand out to lightly touch his. He pulls his hand away with no hesitation. You feel the familiar sting deep in your stomach, and you try your best to ignore it. You clear your throat as if to rid the moment of his past action before speaking again. “Then, maybe we could eat together-”

He groans aloud. “Can you just be quiet?” He snaps. His voice wasn’t angry. It wasn’t filled with love or hate. It was indifference, and in all honesty, that hurt so much more. “I’m exhausted. The last thing I need today is you nagging me.” 

You falter, as if you were shrinking away in a desperate attempt to try and disappear. “Right.” Your voice is quiet, meek. “Of course.” You turn away to walk into the kitchen, and you hear your shared bedroom door slam shut. You sit at the dinner table, gazing at the untouched meals on the opposite ends. Your hand moves to touch the spoon and stir it around in the food, but any outsider could tell that you have no intention of eating a single bite. 

For the rest of the night, you sit there alone as the food goes cold.

Lose something babe, risk something. (You’re losing me.)

If there’s one thing Diluc strives to do, it’s protect you. He lost his father already, he can’t risk losing you too. It brings him peace to know that you’re safe at Dawn Winery, away from things that can bring you harm. But even though he is protective, it’s not as though he keeps you locked inside the house. He knows of your adventurous spirit and he would never want to hurt you. However, he has a habit of being a little paranoid. The people of Mondstadt are aware of your relationship, but he rarely lets the two of you be seen together. He prefers things quite private, but you’re starting to get a little sick of it.

You just returned from a small commission; it’s been ages since you’ve done one. It felt so refreshing to wield your weapon and go on a mini adventure! Even if it was just a few slimes near Windrise, the experience was one you haven’t had in far too long. You end up with a small cut on your hand, but you look at it in pride as you walk back to the winery. You open the heavy door, and you’re met with the face of your lover.

“Y/N, where were you?” Diluc’s question is loud, his voice laced in concern. A second barely passes, and he’s already by your side. He catches sight of your hand and cages it in his larger ones. “Why is your hand hurt?”

You shake him off lightly, heading to the couch to set your things down. “I took a small commission.” You explain. “Just a little group of slimes. My hand got cut, but I’m okay. Don’t worry about it!” You attempt to reassure him, but the crease in his eyebrows doesn't go away.

“Y/N, how many times have I told you?” Diluc scolded. He folds his arms over his chest. “You don’t need to take commissions. I provide for us enough already.”

Your eyes roll before you can stop them. You can feel your frustration rise inside you. “I didn’t take the commission for the money, Diluc.” You huff at him. “I wanted an adventure, even if it was a small one. It’s the experience I wanted.”

Diluc scoffs. “Oh, so getting hurt is an enjoyable experience for you?” Diluc never had the most friendly tone, but you’d have to be truly clueless to miss the sarcasm weaved into his words.

“By the Seven, Diluc, it was a cut!” You exclaim. “All of this over a cut?”

He looks you in the eyes. “You know I just want you to be safe.”

Your eyes softened slightly, biting your lip. “But Diluc, you play it too safe sometimes.” You grab your weapons and bag again, adjusting your jacket before heading towards the door. Despite just getting home, you felt the need to get away, to cool off. Maybe to kill some other monsters, you weren’t sure.

“Where are you going?” He asks.

“Out.” You respond curtly. You weren’t sure of your destination, but you didn’t care. You just needed to be away from him.

“Y/N-“ He called out. You cut him off by slamming the heavy winery doors.

Choose something babe, I’ve got nothing to believe, unless you’re choosing me.

“I love you.” Zhongli murmured, knuckles turning white with how hard he was gripping his pole arm. He towered over you, who was on the ground in a pool of blood. The metallic smell was hard to ignore. “I love you, I truly do. And I always will.”

You laugh bitterly. “You love me, and you caused my injury.” You use your hand to weakly gesture towards your torso. “Some love you have…”

Zhongli grips his weapon even harder. He digs the heels of his feet into the group as an effort to ground himself. He knew that if he were to take a single step, he’d run to you, and he’s not sure if he can stop himself. He takes a breath to calm himself, and every breath of air he breathes makes him wish he could breathe that same life into you instead. “It’s for my nation.” He says as calmly as he can. Oh, how he wished he could run to you, kiss you, and heal you. He continues with bated breath. “You know I cherish my nation.”

You cough, blood splattering out. “More than you cherish me?” You ask weakly. “More than you cherish us?”

Zhongli’s eyes soften with sadness. “Yes…more than I cherish you, my love.”

You sigh, suddenly feeling the fatigue hit you like a truck. You’re so tired. So, so tired. You voice out your thoughts. “I’m exhausted, Zhongli.” Your voice is weak, along with your body.

“I’m sorry.” He says before facing away from you. He can’t bear to look at you in this state. He can’t bear to see what he’s done to you. He takes slow steps away, using all his willpower to not turn around and run to your side.

“I love you, Zhongli.” You call out.

He takes one final look. “I love you too, dearest.”

A sad, soft smile etches itself onto your face. Your eyelids droop, and eventually, they flutter closed. Zhongli stares at you sadly. His weapon drops to the ground, making a loud clatter. The silence is deafening. He peers at your lifeless body before closing his eyes. “You’ll always be my favorite story.” He whispers.

A single tear falls from his eyes.

THE GREATEST — TRUE BLUE

[ part one / masterlist / requests are open ]

☽｡⋆ part 2 of THE GREATEST. he tried to live without you, but how is one to survive with a broken heart? a story based on TRUE BLUE by billie eilish. — lando norris x fem!reader (could technically be read as a stand-alone)

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 angst, hurt & comfort, hints of fluff (?) 𝄞 4.1k words

❝ Lights out, you’re not here holding me ❞

Lando had never before felt the way he did the day you left him. Seeing you walk through that door, intending to never come back to him ever again, it pained him. It took him too long to realize how much he hurt you, and now he had to suffer the consequences. He swore it wasn’t on purpose, but when his friends told him that also the third girl he had brought along since you broke up with him resembled you in a way, he stopped denying. There was no use. The guys knew, the internet knew, he knew that he wasn’t yet over you. And he thinks he never will be. You left an empty place in his heart, a place that would forever be reserved for you only and you only. No matter how hard he tried to find someone else, no one would ever be able to replace you.

The girl he brought to the first race after the summer break was long forgotten already.

At first, everyone around him believed him when he said he felt happier now without you. But the moment he went back to his old ways, the heartbreaker they’ve known for so long, they realized he wasn’t. The girls always looked like you. He only rarely smiled anymore and he couldn‘t care less about his friends‘ relationships, even going as far as faking a gag or simply not coming to hang out with them at all. He said it’s because he needs to focus on racing. They knew it was because of you. Lando was yet to tell them why the relationship ended. He’d rather crash his car and DNF in every race for the rest of his life than to ever have to talk about the night you left ever again. He felt embarrassed and bad and was so terribly regretful. Only his parents knew the whole truth. He told them with tears caressing his face just like you once did, and seeing the disappointment in their eyes, he felt his heart rip apart even more. They had loved you so much, only waiting for the day he would finally go down on one knee for you, and now he messed it all up.

If he could just go back and make it all alright. Make you feel unconditionally loved wherever you went, make you happy, keep you happy. He would change it all if he just had the chance, but he knew you deserved better. Maybe one day, he could be better again.

He is ready to give up the very thing for you that had made you leave him that night if you’d ask him to. Racing would never again mean as much to him as you, though broken up, still do to him.

He was currently seated in his McLaren, waiting for the lights to go out so he could try his very best to overtake max at the start already. He should have his mind on the track. He shouldn’t think about you, not here. But like always, he couldn’t help it. He hoped to see you in the stands once he was able to get out of the car again. He hoped to see you wave and smile at him, run into his arms and let him kiss you all over, do all the things he had failed to do so many months ago. He knew it wouldn’t happen. He believed anyway. The lights went out and the cars began moving. He tried his best, he always did, but he wasn‘t afraid to lose anymore; for what was it worth to win a race when he had faced the greatest loss of them all already?

❝ I count every tear down my cheek instead of sheep ❞

You couldn’t sleep. You could never sleep while he was racing. Especially when he was on the other side of the world, which is why you went with him last season, and also at the start of this one. Maybe you never should’ve. Long distance was hard, but you managed. He felt farther away when he was still sleeping next you every night. At least when he didn’t send you off to sleep on the couch.

You tossed and turned in your sleep, but you didn’t dare to turn on the TV. It’s been months, you should try to live without him. Without seeing him. Without feeling for him. His races had nothing to do with you, neither did the outcome. And god, if he wins and you have to watch him kiss someone else again you might as well just take his racing car and drive right into the nearest wall. He’s so far away and yet, it didn’t make you love him any less. You huffed, fear slowly building up inside of you. You knew you shouldn’t do this, you had to wake up early tomorrow and really, it wouldn’t be that bad to miss a race once or twice, but you couldn’t help it. Reaching for the remote, your eyes were flooded with tears and your heart stung like never before when you saw him driving out there. You were rooting for him nonetheless. Just months ago you had watched the races from inside the McLaren hospitality, but now? All alone in your bed, anxiously following his every move. You would never fall asleep like this.

❝ Sleepwalk, find myself on your street. Three knocks, ring the bell, then I leave ❞

And there you stood high up in the stands the next weekend, head hanging low as you didn‘t want any fans of him recognizing you, back in his territory. You tried to ignore him, you really did, but your eyes kept following him around the paddock and didn’t leave him even while he was doing the quick interviews he had to do on his way there. And honestly, it kinda felt like home. Attending the races. Being near him. Being with him. You missed it more than anything else in the world, and you felt pathetic for it. He hurt you every way he could, and still, he didn’t hurt you enough to make you hate him. And you really wanted to hate him.

You went to the race together with one of your friends from uni. You bonded over formula 1 and your shared passion for the sport and quickly became very good friends. However, she had to leave soon, moving to another city for a better starting point for her career. Hence, you decided to save some money and go to a race together for the last time; for now, at least. You still remember the way she looked at you when you told her you were with Lando. The way you swooned over him to her, and the way you cried your eyes out when it all ended. You really thought you‘d be able to spend the rest of your life with him, and now all you had left of him were memories. She‘s known you long enough to immediately notice your longing after him the moment your eyes locked onto his dark brown curls. Your heart fluttered and it made you nauseous. One day this would stop, right? Your feeling must fade at least sometime, or was this all just wishful thinking? Could you not just get over him like everyone else got over their exes and start dating someone new?

Your heart ached. He was so close, not out of reach anymore, not on the other side of the world anymore, but still, there was no way of getting back to him, the crash barriers and the grandstand keeping you away, and it felt like the end of your relationship all over again, with him on the track and you sitting and waiting patiently on the sidelines, always at least an arm length distance between you two. You shouldn’t even want to get him back. You left out a sigh as he walked into the McLaren hospitality, finally out of sight. But still not out of mind.

Your friend huffed next to you, and finally decided to try and convince you to talk to him after the race while you were still in the same place, to get closure at last. You knew it must annoy your friends and maybe even your family that it was so hard for you to just move on. They put effort into understanding, but still, Lando wasn‘t good to you, at least not in the end. Many would treat you better, but you didn‘t seem to care. You quickly shook your head no, telling her how he probably didn’t want to talk to you and that catching him after the race would be nearly impossible, with bodyguards and tons and tons of interviewers and cameras around him.

The conversation ended soon after, as the lights went out and the drivers hit the gas. You pondered for a second, reconsidering your friend‘s suggestion, a weird feeling building up in your stomach. Maybe you shouldn’t even be here, maybe you should *leave* after the race and never look back. But to your dismay, every sense in your body was telling you to stay.

❝ I try to live in black and white but I’m so blue ❞

The race went well, but he didn‘t really care. Of course he was happy, the whole team was euphoric for their two drivers who secured place 2 and 4, huge smiles plastered on their faces. Once he was done with the post-race interviews he left to go back and get some rest inside his apartment, at least until the others came around to drag him to the afterparty, slandering from one club into the next one.

Everything felt so lonely without you. His bed was cold even when he was hidden under his blanket, and the dining room was nothing more than a reminder that he wasn‘t spending his evenings with you. Watching TV got boring. Everything got boring. He didn’t even know why he lost you anymore, he didn’t know what the hell it was that made him believe you weren’t made for him, making him believe there was actually something more important than you in this lifetime. You haunted his every thought, and even though he truly only wanted the best for you, deep inside him, he wanted you to still need him as well.

He stood in front of his bathroom mirror, gently buttoning up his shirt like you used to do, always leaving the 3 highest ones unbuttoned. He missed your touch, your eyes looking up at him and your hands always reaching for his. His arms would be wrapped around your waist and his head would be leaning on your shoulder, sneaking a few, small kisses up your neck as you changed your earrings for the night, the imagine of it painted onto your fast beating heart as you stood in front of the full-body mirror in your apartment, finishing up your accessoires. You wore a blue dress that covered your thighs, not reaching your knees. It hugged you in all the right places, accentuating your features. It used to be Lando‘s favourite, but you had no other alternative, not having brought any other dresses. Your friend insisted on going clubbing anyway, desperately wanting to finally get him off your mind for one night at least.

The other drivers were loud and happy and drunk and Lando sat next to them, staring at his already empty glass. He knew how this would go. At some point, either the drivers or one of their girls would tap his shoulder, saying they have a friend they think he would really like, and if he would like to be introduced to her. He would agree so they would finally keep their mouths shut, he would talk to the girl. Maybe they would kiss if he drank enough. Maybe he would take her home. Maybe he would think about you the whole time, maybe he would accidentally call her your name. Maybe he would wake up in the morning and would be happy that she‘d left, content with it only being a one-time thing and not meaning anything.

Because, in the end, nothing meant anything without you.

He pretended to laugh at the jokes of his friends, but really, none of this was fun to him. These nights were nothing more than a constant reminder of how he used to have his fun while you were waiting for him at home, cold and sad and alone. How could he be so stupid and leave you alone all the time? He doesn’t even know why he did it anymore. He yawned, very obviously not enjoying the party. Yes, it was nice seeing his friends so happy, the mood wasn’t as tense as it was around and on the track and the people inside the night club were vivid, dancing and drinking, seemingly having the time of their life downing countless beverages, but still, the happiness didn’t reach him.

“Dude, I think your girl‘s here.“ Oscar pushed him slightly, two vodka bull in hand for himself and Lily. Lando didn’t pay him any mind and rolled his eyes, not really in the mood for talking to any girl that isn’t you at the moment. Couldn’t they just give up? He wasn’t ready yet for someone else, he didn’t even know if he wanted to be with someone that isn’t you at all. Ever. Instead of arguing with Oscar about how he didn’t want to hear from any other girl right now, he went to get another drink as well.

He pushed through the dense crowd of people, navigating through the cacophony of laughter and piercing yelling that seemed to echo from all directions. The deafening loud music blasting through his ears made it difficult to focus, and the harsh sound of glass clunking together only added to it. The colorful LED lights rapidly switched from green to red to purple to yellow in a matter of seconds, creating a dizzying light show that overwhelmed his vision. This sensory onslaught of sounds, sights, and sensations overstimulated his senses, making each step forward feel like an effort.

Finally at his destination, he waited for the waiter or waitress, he wasn’t quite sure, to get his order. He wasn’t certain what his plan was that night at all. Sleeping around or not, you wouldn’t stop haunting his mind anyway, so was it really worth it? Getting drunk and trying to make his nights feel less lonesome? Or should he just wait and really focus on his carrer again until maybe, one day, you’d come back?

He ignored the possibilty of you not coming back at all.

He let his eyes wander around the scene unfolding in front of him, occasionally making eye contact with random girls who winked at him and tried to get his attention, but he didn’t pay them any mind. Frustration started to bubble up inside of him as the wait for his drink seemed to go on for forever, until suddenly, his heart skipped a beat.

Lando was certain that in a room full of people, he would always be able to notice you first. He pondered if it was you whenever he‘d walk by a girl with the same hair colour as you, immediately dismissing the thought when he saw a face that didn’t match yours just a second later. But this time, it was different. The hair ressembled yours without a doubt, and of course he remembered the dress he had bought for you so long ago; never once had he been able to keep his hands to himself when you wore it. The height matched you perfectly as well. But it couldn’t be you, right?

Oscar‘s words replayed in his mind and he finally understood what he meant. Who he meant.

It was really you.

You tried to enjoy the party, but you really weren’t doing so well. Your friend had left you near the bar, thinking you’d be hitting it off with a guy you’ve been talking to for some time, but that wasn’t the case. he left just five minutes after to go home, asking if you’d like to come with him. You denied, but your friend was nowhere to be found, having found someone in this club herself. It was scary being alone in a club full of drunk, intoxicated people, even more so when you sensed someone staring at you from behind. You didn’t have to worry about things like that when you were still with Lando, with him always stuck to your side, a protective arm hanging around your shoulders. you shuddered at the thought, and dared to turn around to find the very person who was looking at you so steadily.

And then you locked eyes.

The world suddenly went quiet. All the chaos, the noise, it all faded into the background, no sound to be heard other than the synchronised, rapid beating of your heart. It seemed as if the only two people in that room were you and him, only the void surrounding the two of you. The LEDs turned blue, engulfing you and him, the light accentuating your features and he couldn’t move even if he wanted to, stuck in a trance of what this could mean for him in the future; what this could mean for you both. Time seemed to stand still. He wanted to run to you, to hold you, to tell you how much he missed you, but his feet felt like they were glued to the floor. His breath hitched and so did yours, all the yearning, all the longing hitting you and him at lightspeed.

You walked towards him, each step filled with electricity. The tension was palpable, his mouth agape as you stood in front of him, only centimeters away from closing the gap between you. There was so much he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to apologize, so many things he wanted to make right, but he didn‘t dare to say things first, afraid too scare you off. The last thing he wanted is for you to leave him again.

“I didn‘t know you‘d be here, thought I‘d seen Oscar but I wasn‘t sure,“ you started, stumbling over your own words, laughing awkwardly, then biting your lip right after. He noticed, because you always did that when you were nervous; you’d done it too when you broke up with him. You wanted to blame it on the alcohol, but that would be a lie, one he could look right through of. You just couldn‘t process actually being in his presence again.

“You still wear the dress?“

“It‘s, uhm, quite pretty, so yeah.“ You nodded along to your own words, gulping at the tense and awkward silence right after, looking down at your shoes, the sight of him in this light still not leaving your mind. Maybe he didn‘t even feel the same way, maybe he didn‘t even want to talk to you. Maybe you already made a fool of yourself when you made your way over to him, maybe you really should‘ve just stayed at home. But at the same time, this is what you‘d hoped for this whole time. To finally see him again.

“I‘m so sorry for what I did to you, y/n, please believe me. E-Ever since you left, I couldn‘t stop thinking about you. Not once. I tried to move on, y‘know, would probably be better for you as well, ‘cause you deserve better than how I‘ve treated you at the end and I don‘t want to have to put you through that again but I just- I miss you so much, I don‘t know what to do! And now you‘re here and I swear I‘ve been waiting for a moment like this and-,“ he stopped for a second, heavy and shaky breaths filling the silence, „If giving up racing means you‘ll let me come back to you, I‘ll do it.“

Your teary eyes widened and you looked up at him again, staring into his. One could take it as an empty promise. But you knew better than anyone else that Lando wasn’t one to joke about racing, ever. “Lando you can’t just- I- I mean, racing? It didn‘t work before Lan I just- don‘t give up your dreams for me, please? You shouldn‘t, you have so much ahead of you still,“ you sighed out, every single part of your body overwhelmed like never before.

But Lando was certain. He traced every yet so small feature of your face and body with his eyes, and he knew in that exact moment that, no matter what, he could never lose you again. Not this time. Not when fate hat somehow brought you together once again, giving him a second chance to make it all better. Question was now if you’d let him have that second chance too.

He lifted his hand to gently wipe away the tear running down your cheek, having you lean into his familiar touch. “I’ll do it for you”, he said, and that was when you broke apart, legs feeling numb and wobbly suddenly. Tears streamed down your face as you took another step forward and he wrapped his arms around your body out of reflex, gently placing soft kisses on top of your head, tearing up as well as your cried into his chest.

Maybe it was bad, maybe you shouldn’t feel like this again, but you’ve never once after the breakup felt as at peace with yourself and your as you did now, even if you were in a loud and busy club, surrounded by drunk and high people. You managed to push them to the back of your mind, the familiar scent of Lando’s perfume calming your senses. It felt like home. Maybe he really did owe you something, and though you once were anguished because of it, you wouldn’t ever deprive him of the joy of racing. There would be a way through it without having to abandon any of your or his dreams. There must be if you want it to work out, and you were sure that this time, it would. And so was he.

Lando took you home with him that night, not before you shot your friend a quick text message, afraid she might think you were kidnapped or whatnot. You knew that you’d have to fly home again in two days. He knew that too, but there was no need to rush things anyway. You were still his and he was still yours, and that’s all that mattered for now. It’s gonna be weird explaining this to your friends and your family, but neither of you minded it as long as it meant you could be with each other again. You would have to talk things through and see how you’d manage the race weekends and the events and the media - but not now. Now, with you calmly and lightly snoring in his arms, he didn’t care about any of that, simply content with having you again.

He promised you before you drifted off into your tranquil slumber that he will make it right this time. He will be there for you no matter what, he will defend you and take you with him and show you off and love you like already should have done all these months ago. This time, he will put in the work and the appreciation and the effort, and then, you will finally be able to be the greatest.

❝ I’d like to mean it when I say I’m over you, but that’s still not true. ❞

taglist for part 2 of the greatest : @mrs-saturday @tylerstacobell @angeltroian @acesbakery @directioner5life @malynn @escuellasceramicdollie @strangetoadroadbat @norrisdriver @aliceisnuts @carlando4 @f1fantasys @no-144444 @belivisa @callsignwidow @cruzgrecia @ifsoniacouldfly @wony6ung @hurtblossom @faeriepigeons @interlagos @xnatqq @fanficweasley @youreintheclubb @chaimaarouaine11 @idgasb @cruzgrecia @madstxo @trisharee (basically everyone who commented vv sorry if you didn’t want to be tagged!)

PR Nightmare || F1

type :: crack tw/cw :: fem-anatomy!reader (carlos), fart eating??? (lando), dicks haha penis haha (oscar), gaslighting (oscar) contains :: carlos, charles, lando, oscar summary :: driver!reader is the driver's teammate which is awesome! only issue is that they're a pr nightmare and it's their job to cover for you - reader's dialogue is blue! - honestly not proud of this but meh masterlist more here!

Carlos Sainz | 55

Doing interviews was normally boring for Carlos since they tend to ask the same thing over and over again

But somehow, you always made it more fun

Mostly because you couldn't keep your big fat mouth shut and usually went so off-topic they'd need to cut you off

So they asked for the thousandth time, "what do you like about your teammate?"

Usually, Carlos would just repeat that he likes your humor, your positive energy, and great racing skills

But you decided to cut him off and lie for fun

"I like that we can share bras and shit 😄" You say with a bright smile

Carlos' eyes widened as he let out a laugh from shock

"That's not true, we have never shared bras"

"Yeah we have, don't be shy 😆"

Despite how many times Carlos denied it, it was already imprinted in the fandom

Now Carlos is constantly edited with bras on

He's haunted by this every where he goes

Now he can't go to the media pen without being asked "what brand of bras do you recommend?"

Charles Leclerc | 16

Interviews have gotten easier for Charles since his English has improved so much

But you loved to gaslight him and get him to questionable stuff

Some random Sports channel called you and Charles in to film a video

The prompt was that you would be able to edit Charle's bio on Instagram and Twitter and vice-versa

Charles went first, making your bio slightly funny and goofy

He was pretty proud of himself for his creation - despite it not being super funny

But you wanted to go all out - changing his entire bio to be brand new

You handed his phone back to him and showed him the new bio you created for him

"Determined to Breed 😈 🔥 🙏 #16 on Grid + 16 Inches 💪 💯 🏎️ Ferrari Forever ♾️ 🗣️ 🙋‍♂️ Bye bye Carlos 💋 😢 💍"

Charles understood most of it but didn't really care to think too hard about any of it

He assumed all of it was supposed to be some hype gym-bro stuff so he kept it for a WEEK.

The video was still being edited and wouldn't be posted until about 2 weeks

So everyone was going crazy on Twitter and Instagram thinking he got hacked

Charles only changed it after an Italian fan translated it and he went 😨

But it was too late,,, he is now forever known as "Determined to Breed" by everyone

Lando Norris | 04

Interviews were already pretty fun for Lando since he's pretty young and has good energy

But you were a different level of energy, making you blurt out random stuff for fun

Normally it was just fun facts or little stories - but sometimes you would leak secrets about Lando

"What's the biggest flaw in your teammate?"

Lando hated questions like these, but he knew to make it humorous so there'd be no drama

While he was struggling to think of something about you, you instantly blurted out

"His farts smell like absolute ass." You say with a strong emphasis on how bad it smelt

Lando hides his face from embarrassment and tries his best to deny this

"What are you talking about!" He tries to gaslight you, "I've never even farted around you!!!"

"Yes you have!" You argue back "And I can tell everytime you're gonna fart!! Cause you lift one ass cheek up!!!"

Lando loses the argument completely, hiding his face in his legs as the entire camera crew began to laugh at him

Twitter went crazy, saying they got the ick from imagining Lando lifting his cheek to fart

Even the grid found out and started to mock him too

You made him a victim fr 😢

Oscar Piastri | 81

One of your favorite things ever is to LIE :D 🎉

You loved lying, especially about Oscar, it was so fun because he almost never defended himself

He was raised with the mindset of "people will find the truth on their own"

Which was perfect for you cause you could say the most out of pocket shit and he would never ever bother to correct you

You were doing an interview with Oscar, as usual, and they asked the basic standard things that people wanted to know

But you loved to pretend that you and him were much closer than you actually were

Similar to Tyler the Creator and ASAP Rocky - you being Tyler, of course...

"What's your favorite memory with each other?"

Oscar needed a minute to think, because you guys did hang out quite a lot

But you instantly went: "When I went with Oscar to get him circumcised! 😆"

Everyone in the room gasped - not believing it for a second

But thanks to Oscar's deadpan face and sarcastic tone, he was helping them believe you despite it not being true AT ALL.

"Oh yeah, that's my favorite too." he says sarcastically with a small smirk

"I held his hand and helped him breathe and stuff - like he was giving birth"

"Yeah, thanks for that"

"No problem! 😄"

Although everyone could tell it was a lie, the fans loved the fake story and went along with it

So many edits were created that it was impossible for you to like every single one

masterlist more here!