pairing: kihyun x reader
wordcount: 8.1K
summary: you and kihyun have a comfortable arrangement. not quite professional, not quite personal, but it's enough. at least until someone comes poking around for clarity and drives you to wonder if this could ever be more than just in between.
genre/themes: plot with smut, MDNI, i think i was implying sw-er/sugarbaby-ish situation for reader, afab reader, jealousy, angsty, possessiveness. they're emotionally constipated as HELL. kihyun has a kiddo (brief mentions). idk this is not good but also not bad?
a/n: not me back with a fic after a several year break, lolol. full disclosure, this is an old WIP that felt finished enough to post. i'm not exactly back in my writing bag, but thought this would be fun to share at least.
“Anything else I can get you all?” you smile at the group of clients after offloading their whiskeys from your service tray.
“You, here,” a particularly confident one of the men smirks at you while patting his thighs. Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you smile with your lips pursed.
“I think I’m out of your price range, hon,” you reply smoothly. As you walk away, his friends jump to tease him mercilessly.
“I’ll never understand how you manage to burn them so smoothly,” the bouncer standing near the bar chuckles as you return.
“Practice makes perfect!” you chuckle at him, your nose wrinkling slightly. Wonho smiles at you, crossing his muscular arms across his chest. For a moment, you pity the fabric straining around his mass, before the bartender brings you the next round of drinks.
“Table nine,” Hyoyeon smiles at you before you leave.
With practiced steps, you walk across the lounge and bring a variety of cocktails to what looks like a bridal party. The girls titter excitedly and you indulge them in their request for some pictures to document the night.
Handing back the phone, you turn to the bar and your eyes catch the gaze of one of the men in the group you’d served earlier. Like the rest of his party, he was wearing a suit, but his calm demeanor made him stand out. You’re not sure how long you’ve been staring when he raises his eyebrows at you, teasing you for your gaze. Nervously, you shift your eyes away and continue on your path back to the bar, ignoring his shit eating grin.
“Why’s your face so red?” Hyoyeon probes nosily upon your return. “Did you do something embarrassing?” her eyes light up, always more than ready to tease you.
“You’re so annoying,” you laugh, shaking your head.
“I mean of course,” she grins cheesily, taking advantage of the slight lull to wipe down the bar. You laugh, returning a few empty glasses to her before setting up to roll silverware. The task passes quickly as you listen in on the bachelorettes’ very juicy gossip. You’re in the middle of exchanging glances with Hyoyeon when a customer flags you down.
“You better remember every damn word that they say,” you hiss to your bartender before returning to the group of men.
“Hi folks, what can I help you with?” you grin kindly.
“We’ll settle up please,” the quiet customer you’d caught yourself staring at early nodded at you.
“Of course. Any shots for the road?” you wink at some of the younger men playfully. They glance hopefully at the apparent hyung, who’d signalled for the bill. The face that he makes while contemplating his dongsaengs’ wordless request makes your heart flip flop. “I’ll be back with those and the check,” you smile cheekily at him after he relents.
Kihyun chuckles to himself. He had to hand it to you, you were an excellent server. Truth be told, he had not been particularly eager for tonight’s outing. It was his younger sister’s fiance’s bachelor party and he had been invited mostly as a formality. Kihyun had been expecting an awkward night of drinking, but you’d shown up as a blessing in disguise. You managed to pop in often when there was a lull in conversation and ask fun and interesting questions, which helped the night pass faster than Kihyun would’ve guessed.
“Here you are, sir,” you smile at him, breaking him out of his reverie. Glancing around, he noticed that the younger men had already finished their shots and were milling towards the door. You smiled at him kindly, presenting the check with a slight bow.
“Thank you,” he smiled, brushing your fingers lightly as he took it from you. You turned to leave, but a pair of fingers caught your wrist.
“Yes?” you regard him, heartbeat quickening.
“Earlier, you joked that he couldn’t afford you,” he spoke in a calm and metered pace. “I find myself curious...do you have a price?”
“I-, uh,” you blink, taken aback at the question.
“Uh-uh-uh, what?” he teases with a mischievous grin.
“Doesn’t everyone?” you finally gather yourself enough to answer. He smiles, eyes shifting into crescents as he signs the receipt.
“I’m interested in you,” he says simply as he stands up from his seat. “I hope to hear from you if you’re interested in me too.”
“What’s your name?” you find yourself asking.
“Yoo Kihyun,” he smiles.
“LN FN,” you offer up, accepting the check presenter from him. He smiles before turning to rejoin his party. It isn’t until after they leave that you realize his phone number is written on the customer copy of the receipt along with an absolutely unreasonably large tip.
...
Kihyun smirks into his glass of wine as he watches you work the room full of lawyers, city officials, and other rich folks. Tonight’s event was a fundraiser co-sponsored by his firm for an organization suggested by you. As a result, you were more motivated than usual to put on a good show. Kihyun doesn’t bother to squash the feeling of pride rising in his chest as you managed to lock down yet another sizable donation.
“Doing well?” he whispers in your ear as his hand slides to rest on your hip.
“Very,” you beam up at him, grinning from ear to ear. “I think we’re almost at our goal for the evening!”
“Good girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss against your temple. You glow at his praise and you find your mind wandering to the way that the evening will, hopefully, end.
“Mr. Yoo, may I steal her from you?” another voice calls out, causing you to step back from each other. You turn your eyes to see Kim Youngkyun, the CEO of the tech startup that was co-sponsoring the evening. Kihyun nods graciously so you don’t catch the way his jaw clenches.
Youngkyun smiles, extending his hand out towards you to usher you to the dance floor. As he guides you, you marvel at his handsome face, wondering what you had done to garner this attention.
“You move so gracefully,” Youngkyun smiles, pulling you towards him.
“Thank you,” you giggle, blushing at his earnest statement. “You’re not too bad yourself.”
“Well it helps to have a great partner,” he winks.
“May I ask why I seem to have caught your attention?” you ask after a few moments.
“Well,” his brow furrows as he gathers his thoughts. “I suppose I admired the way you’ve been working the room tonight. If I’m not mistaken, you’re responsible for probably half of the donation commitments alone,” he laughs, “Which is really quite embarrassing for Mr. Yoo and myself.”
You giggle at his compliment. His nose crinkles as he smiles a gummy smile and your heart does a flip inside your chest.
“So tell me about yourself,” he prompts, turning you gracefully for a spin.
Kihyun grips his glass as he watches you glide across the floor with tall, dark and handsome Kim Youngkyun. The wine suddenly tastes bitter as he sees you blush and giggle at whatever it was that Youngkyun had just whispered into your ear. It reminded him of the way you were when you’d first entered into your arrangement with him. Always flushing nervously under his gaze in such an attractive way.
“Whoa, you grip that thing any harder and it’ll shatter,” Kihyun’s associate, Minhyuk, walks up with a laugh.
“Ah, yes,” Kihyun placed the glass on the bar, trying to act nonchalant.
“Night’s been quite the success,” Minhyuk remarks, following his partner’s gaze to the dancefloor. When his eyes find you and your dance partner, he smirks knowingly.
“Yes,” Kihyun nods, forcing himself to shift his gaze off of you and meet Minhyuk’s eyes.
“What’s it been now, three months?” the slightly older man asks, feigning nonchalance.
“Five,” Kihyun answers, not that anyone’s keeping track or anything.
“Ah,” Minhyuk nods vaguely.
“Say what it is that you want to say,” Kihyun snaps, sharp eyebrows furrowing at his longtime friend.
“I just...think she’s neat,” Minhyuk shrugs, downing the rest of his whiskey. He’s known Kihyun long enough to read his moods and tonight he’d prefer to be out of the line of fire when he snaps.
...
You chew your bottom lip as Kihyun drives smoothly towards your apartment. You weren’t sure why, but his mood had soured towards the end of the event and you could almost feel the waves of anger rolling off him now. You didn’t speak until he had pulled into the parking garage of your apartment.
“Did-, do you want to come in?” you ask nervously with your hand on the door. Kihyun’s jaw tenses before he answers.
“Yes.”
You smile, a slight tension in your stomach building as Kihyun parks the car and follows you up to your apartment. As you ride the elevator, you lace your fingers in his, wanting to feel close. He still doesn’t speak, but gives your hand a soft squeeze.
“Thank god,” you breathe a sigh of relief as you slip off your heels. You smile up at Kihyun as you smooth your hands over his lapels. “You look so good in this.”
“Ah, do I?” he arches an eyebrow at you as his tongue teases the corner of his lips.
“Yes,” you nod, grasping his lapels to pull him down towards you. “I was on the receiving end of quite a few jealous stares tonight,” you whisper, your warm breath just barely teasing his lips. His eyes flicker to your soft lips and he takes some solace in the fact that he wasn’t the only jealous fool of the night.
He grins and graces you with a small peck, even though he knows you want more. Your brow creases in confusion when he pulls away and your lips settle themselves into a pout. He doesn’t meet your gaze as he traces his fingertips across the low neckline of your dress, teasing the sensitive skin. You moan softly, fisting your hands in his expensive suit.
“You can be rough tonight,” you suggest, wanting to help relieve the stress that you can sense in him.
“Fuck,” Kihyun swears, face breaking into a genuine smile, “You’re so good for me,” he slides his hand up to grip your jaw firmly. Your stomach tightens at the pressure, neither too hard nor too soft, and you tug him towards your bedroom. He laughs and picks you up, carrying you towards the bed.
“I was looking forward to this all night,” you admit shyly as he sets you down on the edge.
“Oh really? I couldn’t tell with how cozy you got with Kim Youngkyun,” he sneered.
“Oh?” you respond, mostly focused on undoing the buttons on his vest. Kihyun grips your jaw again, directing your attention to his intense gaze. “I’m yours,” you reassure him before closing your mouth around his thumb, wet and warm.
“Show me,” he demands, shrugging off the jacket and vest. You nod, almost embarrassingly eager, working on the column of buttons on his crisp dress shirt. As the buttons come undone one by one, you press a kiss to each newly exposed area of skin. Eventually, you’re left kneeling before him and he towers above you.
You stare up at him with wide eyes as you trail your fingertips across the waistband of his pants. He’s already straining against them, but you know Kihyun to be extremely restrained when he wants to be. Purring contentedly, you flick open the button of his dress pants and pull down the zipper, placing a kiss on each hip bone as you tug them down.
“So pretty,” he remarks, stroking your hair gently.
“Your pretty slut,” you smile, stroking him through his satiny boxers. He laughs and nods in agreement, enjoying your teasing pace.
His erection flexes against your palm and you relish the throbbing heat before unsheathing it from its covering. You bite your lower lip as you stare down its veininess with anticipation. You stroke gently with your hand, enjoying the sensation and the way it knits Kihyun’s brows into a knot. Seeing his patient mood tonight, you continue teasing, planting soft kisses from his knees to inner thighs.
“Fuck,” he curses, fisting his hands in your sheets as you close your mouth around his cock. You grin. You always love when you get him to unravel like this. Humming with satisfaction, you bob your head up and down his shaft at a leisurely pace. Occasionally, you tease the tip, swirling your tongue around the hot, throbbing knob before swallowing back down to the hilt. “Enough,” he finally decides and pulls you off of your knees.
“You want to play? Let’s play,” he chuckles darkly as he carries you to the armchair that is conveniently located opposite a full length mirror. He plops you on his lap and spreads you open, directing your gaze to your own reflection. Your dress bunches up around your hips as his hands wander around your sensitive inner thighs. Your back arches into him when he finally strokes through your folds.
“Ki-Kihyun!” you gasp, gripping onto his thigh for support as his fingers explore your wetness. You move your head towards him, but he catches your jaw and forcefully redirects you to the mirror.
“Watch,” he instructed, “I want it imprinted into your brain exactly who you belong to.”
“Ah,” you pant, wide eyes watching as his fingers return to stroke dangerously close to your clit, but never quite close enough, “Please!”
“Please what?” he asks, making eye contact through the mirror.
“Kihyun,” you whine, blushing. One brow raises at you and you know better than to dally any longer. “Please, anything,” you beg, swallowing nervously.
“Anything?” he teases, his other arm snaking around your waist to secure you against him. His eyes twinkle as he raises his hand. For a moment you think he’s going to leave you hanging, so when he brings his fingertips down in a firm slap against your pussy, it sends you reeling.
“Ah!” you cry out at the stinging sensation. Your nipples tighten as you look at him, slightly bewildered and pupils dilated. He breaks out into a wide smile as he follows with a few lighter taps until you’re squirming against him.
“So good,” he whispers in your ear as he brings down another hard smack and the sound of the wet impact only serves to turn you on more. You’re gripping his knees desperately when he whispers, “I want to see you cum for me, just like this.”
Your turn panicked eyes towards him and he smiles and returns to work. He continues raining down slaps and taps on your swollen clit and despite your struggling and squirming, his arm keeps you firmly anchored down against him. Your head falls back against him a few times, but Kihyun is dead set on you watching your own unraveling so he redirects your eyes with a firm grip every time.
“Kihyun, please,” your voice breaks as you stare down his reflection. Even at this distance, your pupils look dilated and you let out an incoherent scream as you finally cum hard, squirting onto his fingers and the ground beneath you.
“So fucking good,” he smiles proudly at you, eyes turning into crescents as his tongue presses against his teeth. You slump against him, tired, and he picks you up suddenly.
“Kihyun!” you gasp as he throws you back on the bed. He looks at you kindly as he finishes undressing. Your eyes don’t know where to look as more and more of his body is revealed to you.
“I like when you look at me like that” he says contentedly as he climbs into bed with you. He pulls you against his chest and strokes the back of your hands softly as you relish in his warmth.
“You’re nice to look at,” you blush and you hear Kihyun chuckle behind you. As your breathing evens out, his hands start to wander. One strokes idly at the underside of your breast as the other teases the sensitive skin of your inner thighs
“Please just fuck me,” you finally gasp after a while of teasing, grabbing desperately at him.
“Ah? My little slut wants me to use her?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow at you.
“Please!” you beg, thighs squeezing together. Kihyun breaks out into a genuine smile. There’s nothing he loves more than seeing you out of your mind with desire. Desire for him.
“What is it that you want?” he teases cruelly, hands digging painfully into your hip. “Who do you belong to?”
“You,” you breathe, answering both questions simply. You press your hips back against him, trying to guide him towards your center, but he doesn’t cave. “Yoo Kihyun, please,” you try again.
“Good girl,” he rewards you with a big smile before lining himself up to drive into you deeply. You cry out at the welcome intrusion, relishing how you stretch to accommodate him. “Fuck, so good,” he murmurs, pumping at an unforgiving pace.
“Kihyun!” you moan, grabbing his wrist as he strokes into you. “May-, may I cum?” you ask when you feel yourself approaching the edge.
“No,” he stills suddenly, which makes you want to punch him. You pout, but you know it’s of no use. This man has a resolve of steel when it comes to orgasm denial. He pulls out of you completely before instructing, “Hands and knees.”
You’re visibly frustrated, but you comply, presenting yourself to him, hips high up in the air. You expect to feel his hands on you, but he surprises you by regarding you for a second and deciding he wants you down on your forearms instead.
“So pretty,” he smiles proudly as you lower yourself, hips angled upwards in an even more obscene way than before. You flush at his praise and your heart swells when you feel him behind you, pulling you against his shaft by your hips.
“Yours,” you encourage him, desperate to feel him inside of you.
“Oh?” he chuckles, tapping his length against your clit, “Mine?”
“Yes, your pussy,” you breathe, dropping your forehead to rest on your hands. “Use me, Kihyun.”
His pupils dilate at your words before he pulls you down on him, splitting you open again. You start to lose focus as he strokes into you, hard and deep. You’re almost glad to be face down so your neighbors will hear less of your absolute defilement. Kihyun’s grunts match his pace as he rams into you, toeing the line between pain and pleasure with skill.
“I wish you could see yourself, split open around my cock,” he sighs appreciatively. You squeak at his words, clenching tightly around him.
“So good,” he growls, spanking you with his free hand. “I’m gonna cum in that pussy,” he warns.
“Please,” you squeak, relishing his firm grip. Kihyun groans as his pace stutters slightly. He curses under his breath as you feel him unloading deep inside of you.
You purr happily as he slumps over you before pulling you both to your sides. You curl into him and he strokes your hair calmly as you both recover.
“You’re welcome to stay the night if you’d like,” you offer. You always offer, but he never takes you up on it. Tonight is no different. You pull on a light robe as he dresses and a question from earlier in the night pops into your head. You contemplate asking while walking Kihyun to the door.
“Kihyun?” you finally murmur, “Youngkyun asked me what the nature of our relationship was. Personal or professional...I wasn’t sure how to answer. How would you like me to answer moving forward?”
“Whatever you think is best,” Kihyun answers, fixing you with an unreadable gaze.
“Professional is probably most accurate, right?” you feign a smile, though your heart is screaming in your chest. Kihyun nods wordlessly before turning towards the elevator. He’d never admit it, but hearing you call Youngkyun by his first name makes his blood absolutely boil.
You rest your forehead against the door after closing it and sigh. While you knew that this was, technically, a professional arrangement, you’d be lying to say that you hadn’t grown attached. You knew you were a fool to keep asking him to stay the night, but that little bit of ‘what-if’ that welled up in your chest each time made it hard to stop. Slapping yourself lightly on the cheek, you willed yourself to snap out of it as you walked back to bed.
...
“YN!” Hyoyeon calls for you in the stockroom.
“Ah? I’m here!” you call back, hoisting a flat of beers to restock. Wonho was off today, so you were doing your best to fill in as the barback.
“There’s someone here to see you!” she told you excitedly, “He’s so hot!”
“Huh?” you furrowed your brows. Hyoyeon knew about Kihyun, so what other handsome visitor could it be? You set your load at the end of the bar before turning to see Youngkyun’s broad back. “Oh, ah!” you gasp.
“Oh good, I remembered right!” he turned to you with a wide smile.
“Ah, Mr. Kim, what are you doing here?” you bow at him, completely taken by surprise.
“Please, call me Youngkyun,” he blushed at the formality. “I told you I’d come visit you at work, right?”
“Oh yes, I just figured you were kidding?” you laughed.
“Why would I be kidding?” his brow furrows in a devastatingly handsome way. Behind him Hyoyeon eyed you with two thumbs up.
“People say things they don’t mean all the time,” you giggle.
“Ah, well I was being serious,” he reinforces, lifting his glass of beer to his lips.
“I see that,” you smile, glancing around the mostly empty lounge. No one seems to need anything at the moment, so you take a seat next to Youngkyun. “Did you need something specific?”
“No,” he shook his head, “Just was hoping to see you again. I enjoyed our dance the other night.”
“Me too,” you smile shyly. He flashes you a breathtaking smile.
“Ah, actually, I lied. I was wondering if you had found out the answer to the question that I asked you the other night.”
“Oh, ah yes,” you chewed your lip as you recalled the conversation with Kihyun. “Yes, professional.”
Youngkyun’s face split into a wide grin at your answer. You blushed, his transparency was something you were not used to yet, but you were more than flattered at his interest in you.
“Could I see you outside of work sometime? Personally,” he joked, thumb rubbing the glass. Hyoyeon’s eyes bugged out of her head as she began to nod furiously. The thumbs up were back in the air and you struggled not to laugh.
“I think I’d like that,” you nodded before exchanging contact information with him. Youngkyun beamed and downed his beer before leaving for other meetings.
“Okay, spill now,” Hyoyeon demanded before the door even closed behind him.
“To be honest, I’m not even sure I’m clear on what’s happened,” you murmur, never having been pursued so straightforwardly before.
“Well let’s start with who the fuck is he and how did you meet him?”
“I met him at that fundraiser thing that I went to with Kihyun last week. His company was co-sponsoring, so we chatted and danced for a bit. He’s the CEO of the startup,”
“Oooooh!” Hyoyeon squealed, fists shaking with excitement. “But you went home with Kihyun, right?” she asked, knowing about your current arrangement.
“Yes,” you nodded. “But that’s just...business?”
“Is it though?” she rolled her eyes at you.
“It is! I even asked, because Youngkyun had asked about my relationship with Kihyun and he confirmed that it’s just professional.”
“Did he really say that?” her jaw dropped.
“Well, I mean, I told him that professional was probably more accurate and he didn’t disagree.”
“Girl,” she planted her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes even harder at you than before.
“What?” you asked, feigning confusion.
“Well, what are you gonna do? Because Mr. Eligible Bachelor is coming in hot.”
“I don’t know,” you bemoaned, burying your face in your hands. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t sometimes think of something more serious with Kihyun, but he’d given you no indication that that was even on the table. Maybe it was time to make a change, you couldn’t be a sugarbaby forever, after all.
...
Kihyun glared at his phone after receiving your text. This was the first time in recent memory that you’d been unavailable for an evening. Of course, you had your life and things to keep up with, but you were usually free on Wednesdays.
“Stare at that any harder and your eyeballs might pop out,” his assistant, Changkyun, teased his boss nervously.
“Ah, are those the files?” Kihyun clears his throat, placing his phone face down.
“Yes,” Changkyun nods, handing him the packet of papers. “KimTech is asking for a response by the end of the week.”
“I think that’s do-able,” Kihyun nods, eye twitching at the mere hint of a thought of Kim Youngkyun. It frustrated Kihyun that he didn’t seem able to keep his cool, as they’d had a perfectly amiable business relationship prior to the fundraiser. Changkyun smiles and turns to pen an email back to Mr. Kim’s assistant.
“Changkyun?” Kihyun’s voice catches him before he leaves, “May I ask you something personal?”
“Of course?” the younger man nods, not letting on how surprised he is by the request. In all their years of working together, Mr. Yoo had always been fairly private.
“If you-, I mean, have you ever? No.” Kihyun stumbles over his words, trying to sort out his thoughts. “Do you think YN cares for me in a serious way?”
“Ah,” Changkyun breaks into a genuine smile, thinking of the woman that he had become friendly with over the past several months. “I do think she cares for you, sir. Although, if I may be honest, I don’t think you make it very easy for her to do so.”
Kihyun’s brow creases, which Changkyun, by now, knows is because he doesn’t understand but is also too proud to ask.
“I mean, your interactions are so superficial. I don’t think she knows about your ex-wife or Eunjun, and I don’t think she can really care about you because you don’t let her.”
Kihyun remains wordless and dismisses his assistant with a wave. Changkyun hopes he hasn’t overstepped his bounds, but reassures himself that if Kihyun had wanted to scold him, his ear would have already been bent.
…
You chewed your lip as you read and reread the text from Youngkyun. He had invited you to his place for dinner, wanting to avoid potential paparazzi that were likely to tail you if he were to take you out as he would prefer. Truth be told, it was preferable for you as well, since you hadn’t spoken to Kihyun since Youngkyun had visited you at work. It didn’t make you any less conflicted about it all.
You knew you were being childish in avoiding Kihyun, but you couldn’t bring yourself to see him in person again. You had yet to make up your mind about what you wanted, much less pull together what you would say to him anyways. You always seemed to lose your rational mind when you saw him anyways, he just had that effect on you.
‘That sounds great!’ you finally respond to Youngkyun’s request. You should’ve been excited to be having dinner with “The City’s Most Eligible Bachelor”, but there was a terrible pit of guilt sitting at the bottom of your stomach.
...
“Fuck, what are we gonna do about this?” Changkyun hissed frantically at Minhyuk, clutching one of the daily rags.
“What?” Minhyuk asked, alarmed. Kihyun’s assistant was typically level headed and calm, so this was definitely out of the ordinary.
“This!” Changkyun whisper-shouted, thrusting the newspaper into the older associate’s hands. Minhyuk’s eyes scanned the paper before the color drained from his face.
“Oh fuck, this is not good.”
“You don’t think I know that?! I’m asking for your help!”
“I can’t fix that!” Minhyuk gaped, his mind racing. Whilst this particular news publication was practically known for being unreputable, he didn’t think that would particularly matter to Kihyun when he saw the picture of you with the headline “Unidentified woman seen leaving KimTech CEO’s apartment…Romance in the air?”.
“Good morning,” their boss’s voice rang out from behind them, nearly scaring them out of their skin.
“Good morning!” they reply a little too loudly, Minhyuk struggling to hide the paper behind his back.
“What’s so interesting this morning?” Kihyun asks, noting their strange behavior.
“Oh nothing,” Minhyuk chuckled, “Just another garbage newspaper publishing garbage, filling our streets with garbage. You know it really is such a crime that they’re allowed to waste precious paper. It’s a nonrenewable resource I think,” he chatters, crumpling the paper furiously.
“Let me see,” Kihyun stretches his hand out. Changkyun briefly contemplates eating the paper before Minhyuk hands it over. Their boss unfolds the newspaper and scans the headline. The slight clench of his jaw is the only reaction they see before he walks into his office and shuts the door behind him. Minhyuk and Changkyun glance at each other nervously, expecting a scream that doesn’t come.
...
‘When are you available? We need to talk’
Your face paled as you read this most recent message from Kihyun. After your picture had been plastered on the Daily Newz you weren’t surprised, though you had hoped he’d maybe come across it later in the day or even week.
‘Yes. I’m free tonight.’ you reply, hands shaky.
Kihyun instructs you to expect a car at 7pm. You send back a brief confirmation before setting your phone aside. You were already a ball of nerves and knew that sitting around hoping for more messages would do you no good. Instead, you got changed into gym clothes. If nothing else, going for a run would help you work off some jitters in the meantime.
The day passed quickly and it was almost seven before you knew it. You were dressed casually, in a pair of high waisted, black jeans and a cropped cardigan. You pulled on a coat before heading to the lobby to wait for the car. Eventually, Changkyun pulled up in a black town car and waved at you.
“Ah, Changkyun-ssi!” you smile. At least it was a friendly face driving you to your doom.
“YN,” he smiles back.
“Is he very mad?” you ask after he gets back on the road.
“He’s not...happy,” Changkyun answered after giving it some thought.
His boss had been in a very odd mood today. He had expected anger, yelling, or any sort of more severe reaction, but he and Minhyuk had been handling a very sulky Kihyun, which was new to the both of them.
You sighed and continued to wring your hands together. You had spent your day trying to sort out what you truly wanted. Where you had finally landed was this: you wanted to be more than just his sugarbaby, but if the feeling wasn’t mutual, you’d rather just end things now. As Changkyun pulled up a winding drive, you hoped you would have the strength to actually say that to Kihyun when you saw him.
“Hold on, I’ll let you in,” Changkyun held one finger up to you, so you waited for him to open the passenger door for you.
As you followed the young man up the steps, you felt dwarfed by the size of the house. If anything it seemed fitting. While you’d never been here before, everything about Kihyun’s life was extravagant, so it stood to reason that his house would be too.
“I’ll let him know you’re here,” Changkyun smiled encouragingly at you after leading you to a room that looked like a study.
You waved softly at him before turning back to explore the room. Your eyes widened as you realized just how impressive it was. The dark, wood bookshelves spanned the entire area of the back wall and were filled with tomes. In front of that sat a large wooden desk and a few framed pictures on it caught your eye. You drew closer and were surprised to see photos of Kihyun with a small child. Your jaw dropped slightly as your eyes scanned images of him carrying an adorable little boy. The one where he was wearing a winter hat with bear ears particularly made you smile. Tucked away behind a few other items, you noticed a framed photo of Kihyun and a beautiful woman. Your heart sank as you jumped to conclusions. While Hyoyeon had certainly brought up the possibility of Kihyun being a married man, you had always insisted that you knew better than that. Perhaps you were wrong.
The sound of footsteps drew towards the door and you moved away from the desk in a panic, not wanting to be caught snooping. You were able to make it to the bookshelves a few feet away and were feigning exploring the titles when the door opened. You turned to see Kihyun entering the room. You typically saw him in a full suit, but today he had lost the jacket and tie with sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
“Hi,” you greeted him nervously, stepping away from the bookshelves and clasping your hands behind your back.
“Hi,” he nodded solemnly at you before moving to pour himself a whiskey at a side table. You swallowed hard, not knowing what to do with yourself until he gestured for you to sit down on one of the armchairs.
“How have you been?” he asked, not unkindly, after a sip of liquor.
“Okay,” you sighed, answer honestly. Your eyes searched his face for an indication of his mood unsuccessfully.
“Just okay?” Kihyun raised one eyebrow at you. You could tell that he wanted to make a snide comment about your date with Youngkyun, but had decided against it.
“Yea,” you answered softly, one hand rubbing the other wrist nervously.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he finally spoke after watching you closely. As angry as he was about your absence, he knew he didn’t technically have a claim to stake.
“Ah, yeah, a bit,” you bit your bottom lip, a little surprised that he was cutting to the chase like this.
“Why?”
“I-,” your voice dried up in your throat as you tried to answer. “I-, um, I’ve been doing some thinking and I’m-, I’m not happy being your sugar baby anymore,” you blurted out in a jumble.
Kihyun’s eyebrows raised at your statement. He supposed it made sense. It was a fine arrangement until a more age appropriate Kim Youngkyun came along to sweep you off your feet. Still, it surprised him to hear you say it so bluntly.
“I see,” he answered, maintaining a cool facade. “Well, you’re welcome to terminate our agreement at any time. Perhaps that’s now.”
You swallowed, a little surprised and disappointed that he hadn’t even asked why you were unhappy. Blinking back tears, you pressed your lips together and nodded with a shrug. Kihyun blinked, downed his whiskey, and left the room. Shortly after, Changkyun came to usher you back to the car. You were at least able to take pride in the fact that you made it home before crying outright, but that was really not how you expected the evening to go.
Kihyun sat at the edge of his bed, pressing his fingertips against his closed eyes in order to relieve the pressure. He’d spent all day rehearsing the way he had planned to ask you to date him in earnest, but when those words had spilled out of your mouth, it had wiped that idea clear off the table. He had been deeply in denial about the level of attachment he felt to you and the intensity of distress he was feeling now came as a genuine surprise.
…
You nodded your head and smiled politely as you mentally cursed Hyoyeon for dragging you on this double date. The endless mansplaining about fintech had you seriously considering scooping an eyeball out with your spoon. If you were reading things correctly, dinner was at least drawing to an end and you hoped to make an escape.
“Are you all interested in grabbing a few drinks?” Hyoyeon’s date, Sungho, suggested. Her eyes lit up at the suggestion.
“I need to run home, but you all should definitely keep the night going!” you responded with a weak smile.
“I should get going as well,” your date, Kyungsoo shrugged apologetically. While he hadn’t been the right date for you, he did at least seem able to pick up on your hint.
Hyoyeon and Sungho shrugged and smiled at each other peachily, neither too crestfallen about the turn of events. You made your farewells and as soon as you turned away from the group, your smile fell, reflecting your true mood. Heaving a sigh, you walked towards a nearby cafe and ordered a black coffee before walking towards the library. Slapping yourself lightly on the cheek, you tried to perk yourself up without success. You’d been in the same hazy funk for nearly two months now and it was getting truly embarrassing.
You fingered through titles as you sipped your coffee. You’d been reading voraciously, mostly because you were avoiding reality. As you skimmed the inner jacket of a promising romance novel, you felt a pair of hands grab at your pant leg and you jumped in surprise.
“Shh! I’m hiding!” the small figure whispered up at you insistently while peeking around the corner. You giggled and shifted so that your other pant leg aided in his attempt.
“Eunjun-a!” a soft voice called out from a few aisles over and the little boy behind you giggled uncontrollably. When they finally rounded the corner, both you and Eunjun looked at them with playfully guilty eyes and the woman laughed exasperatedly before bowing to you in apology. “I’m so sorry about this, miss,” she sighed, grabbing for the little boy successfully.
“Ah, it’s okay,” you laughed, “I don’t have anywhere to be. I’m YN, by the way.”
“Ah, I’m Miseon,” the young woman laughed, “And this is Eunjun.”
You shook their hands, delighted to have a distraction this evening.
…
Kihyun ran his tongue across his teeth as he fiddled with his cufflinks. He wasn’t nervous, per se, but this was the first fundraising event that he had attended without YN in many months. To add to the discomfort, it was another partnered event with KimTech and, truth be told, Kihyun was not looking forward to seeing YN on Youngkun’s arm. But it couldn’t be helped, he supposed.
“With Miseon for the evening. She’s aware that it will likely be a long night.”
“Good. Then I think I am ready,” Kihyun shot a small smile at his assistant. Changkyun nodded and the pair headed to the car. The drive was silent until Kihyun inhaled deeply before stepping out of the car. There was a slight media presence that he entertained briefly before entering the venue. He was immediately offered a flute of champagne and he couldn’t help but scan the room.
“Mr. Yoo,” Youngkyun approached genially, blissfully unaware of Kihyun’s long simmering resentment towards him.
“Youngkyun,” Kihyun shook his hand firmly. His eyes flitted to the date standing slightly behind Youngkyun and his eyes widened just slightly when he did not recognize them.
“Ah, this is my date, Jiyeon,” Youngkyun introduced, mistaking Kihyun’s eye contact for interest.
“Ah, nice to meet you,” Kihyun bowed politely before turning to greet other guests. As he made his way through the crowd, his mind wandered. Had Youngkyun tossed you aside after a few dates? Had you, perhaps, been the one to cut things off? Kihyun found his curiosity eating at him as the night went on and eventually he couldn’t keep himself from asking.
“Ah, that,” Youngkyun chuckled, “We just had that one dinner,” he scratched his head awkwardly. “Between the unfortunate media coverage and…your relationship, it just didn’t work out,” he shrugged genially. Kihyun blinked at the statement. Despite being several years his junior, the way Youngkyun smiled knowingly made Kihyun feel like the rookie.
“Ah, I see.”
“Shall we head home, sir?” Changkyun asked after settling in the driver’s seat.
“Where is Eunjun now? I’d like to pick them up, if they’re not already home.”
“Of course, sir,” the younger man nodded, sending Miseon a few texts before pulling out of the lot. Kihyun tapped his fingers against the car door as Changkyun drove. More than once, he pulled up a draft text message to you, but couldn’t quite think of what he wanted to say.
“Miseon said that they’re at this bookstore,” Changkyun pointed to the building after parking the vehicle. Kihyun cocked his head as he regarded the signage, it wasn’t a place he recognized but it seemed to be a book and toy store geared towards young children.
“Do you have children?” Miseon asked you inside the store as you watched Eunjun play.
“Oh no!” you laughed, waving your hands, “I don’t even have a boyfriend!” you were surprised at how okay it felt to say that to her. After spending the afternoon together, you found that Miseon had a very comfortable presence and you wondered if you could be friends in the future.
“Ah, but you like children, it seems?” she asked kindly.
“Yes, very much,” you smiled, “Though they wipe me out! I can barely keep up!”
She giggled, her eyes creasing into semi-circles as she nodded in agreement.
“Appa!” Eunjun shrieked suddenly, hurtling towards a man that had walked through the door. Curious to see what Eunjun’s father looked like, you craned your head and were stunned to see Yoo Kihyun.
“Ah, I should go,” you panicked, moving to sneak away while you still had a chance.
“Mr. Yoo,” Miseon stood to bow to the man, causing Kihyun to catch your eye mid-turn. The air seemed to still and your heart pounded into your throat as you stared. It had been months since you had last seen him, but he looked largely the same. His skin glowed and his suit cut a sharp silhouette, even with Eunjun cradled against his side.
“Ah, Mr. Yoo, this is YN. We met at the library, she’s been great with Eunjun,” Miseon smiles generously, gesturing to you.
“We know each other,” Kihyun finally spoke. His gentle and deep voice brought a flush to your cheeks, as it always had.
“Ah, what a small world,” Miseon laughed, sensing the tense energy between you. “Well, will you be needing me the rest of this evening, sir?”
“No, thank you Miseon. Would you like a ride home?”
“Ah, no need, sir!” she chuckled, “I don’t live too far from here, I’ll just walk!”
Typically, Kihyun would’ve insisted, but the opportunity to speak to you alone was too great to pass up, so he just nodded. Miseon said her farewells and before long, it was just the three of you.
“Are we going home?” Eunjun inquired, growing restless in Kihyun’s arms. Kihyun nodded before directing his gaze to you.
“Come with us,” he said, a gentle request.
“I-,” you swallowed nervously, “Your wife,” you probed.
He shook his head with a wry smile before turning to leave and hoping you’d follow. Without thinking, you fell in step behind him and rode quietly to his house once again. Eunjun spoke colorfully about his day with you and Miseon and Kihyun beamed at his son. You couldn’t fight the bubbling warmth in your chest as you watched the father-son pair together, almost painfully domestic. This was a side of Kihyun that you had not been privy to before.
“Wait for me in the study?” Kihyun asked. You nodded, so he moved to shepherd Eunjun to bed.
Feeling an overwhelming sense of deja vu, you’d walked to the study again. It looked the same as last time, but your emotions were different. Your heart pounded as you waited for Kihyun and you found that you could not sit still. To calm your nerves, you stood up and browsed the bookshelves, interested to see what Kihyun read. You were browsing an unfamiliar title when the door creaked open. You finished the sentence before turning to face him.
Like last time, he poured himself a drink before turning to regard you. You clutched the book to your chest as his eyes bored into you.
“It’s good to see you,” he finally spoke, moving to place his glass on the coffee table. You nodded, still at a loss for words, as he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. Your heart was pounding so loudly that you didn’t hear his invitation to sit the first time.
“Ah, right,” you blushed after he repeated himself. You sat gingerly across from him, tapping your fingers against the book nervously. “Did you-, did you want to talk about something?”
“I thought I would see you tonight, but at the event, not with my son,” Kihyun remarked, his lips quirking up into a lopsided smile.
“Ah, why would I be at the fundraiser?” you furrowed your brow at him, “I thought you would’ve found someone else by now,” your round eyes showing genuine confusion.
“Hah,” Kihyun laughed bitterly, “Do you really think that?”
“I-, I,” you floundered for words, suddenly deeply regretting your choice to come here.
“I thought you’d be there with Youngkyun.”
“Why would I-?” you started to wonder before recalling your lackluster date from months ago. “Oh, we only had dinner the one time. Nothing else happened,” you chuckled. “Plus I wouldn’t-, I wouldn’t put you in that uncomfortable position.”
Kihyun cocked his head at you, visibly chewing his lip. Without a word, he reached out his hand, which you took without a thought. Using it, he guided you around the coffee table and onto his lap. You were surprised to find that it didn’t feel strange, despite the gap in time.
“I owe you some explanation,” he exhaled sharply.
“No, you really don’t,” you brought your hands up in protest.
“No, I really do,” he chuckled, looking askance.
“You asked about Eunjun’s mother. She’s out of the picture, has been for a while.”
You nodded wordlessly.
“I wanted more with you,” he continued, “But, it felt like too much to ask of you, so I just let things continue as they were.”
Your eyes met his.
“Wanted?” you asked, wondering if it was truly past tense.
Kihyun’s lips curled up into a sheepish yet wicked smile.
“This is cute,” he murmured, not answering you directly as his fingers toyed with a button on your cardigan.
“Ki- Mr. Yoo?” you squeaked, shifting slightly as your body reacted to his touch.
“Mr. Yoo?” he cocked an eyebrow at you, smirking darkly.
“I-, I don’t-,” you stuttered, thoroughly flustered.
Kihyun struggled to hide his smile. As adorable as you were when flustered, the more overwhelming feeling for him was the sense of relief at the fact that you were still affected by him. It was like letting out a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“Say it again?” he whispered against your neck, fingers keeping at the buttons.
“Mr. Yoo?” you flushed, turning away from him.
“Uh uh,” he teased, fingertips cupping your jaw possessively. He pulled your face towards him, his breath whispering against your lips. “May I?”
He was asking for tonight, tomorrow, and all the nights after too.
You nodded with embarrassing eagerness and he pulled you in. During a quick separation for breath, you scramble so that you’re straddling him so you can kiss him in earnest. He chuckles at your desperation, but his grip on your hips mirrors it.
“So eager,” he teases you, pulling back slightly to look into your eyes. You flush, but don’t break his gaze before rolling your hips against him seductively. “Oh?” he laughs, eyes twinkling dangerously as he presses up against you, generating a delicious friction.
“Kihyun!” you gasp, hands gripping his shirt collar as he undulated beneath you.
“I need you,” he finally admits, hands sliding underneath your cardigan and across your smooth skin.
“Take me,” you consent, thrilled at his words.
Silently, he stands up, holding you against his chest as he carries you up a flight of stairs and into a bedroom. Your legs are wrapped around his waist until he deposits you on the bed and you grab his shirtfront to pull him down for a kiss.
Please please please write more Monsta X fics, not that I'm pressuring you tho, take your time but please we want more MONSTA X! 😭✨
ok i know you send this AGES ago, but i'm like kinda back and dusted off a ye olde drafte of a kihyun fic and i'm like "yo this is kinda good", so your wish may come true soonish hehe
pairing: f1 racer!jeonghan x physiotherapist f!reader
genre/warnings: fluff, slight angst, flirty jeonghan in general 😔, rash driving, slight mention of cheating (ending is so rushed im sorry TT) lmk if i missed anything :)
wc: 15k
summary: you didn’t expect the guy you swiped left on to show up at your new job — let alone as a top F1 driver. as the team’s new physiotherapist, you’re supposed to stay professional, but jeonghan makes that impossible. flirty, smug, and far too in sync with you, he’s getting under your skin — and the lines between work and something more start to blur.
a/n: writing this was a ride lmao. thank you @camandemstudios for giving me an opportunity to join this collab (met wonderful people on the way) y’all better read everyone’s work because it’s SO good!! 😭🔥 this is not beta-read so sorry for any mistakes. thank you to sarah @kkoongie, ro @shinysobi, ema @hannieoftheyear, and alta @haologram for keeping me motivated, couldn’t have done this without you all <3
You're not nervous.
You keep telling yourself that between deep sighs and aggressive sips of overpriced airport iced coffee. It's just a job. A new job. In a whole different country.
You don't know much about formula-1. You still had to double check how many drivers are on a team this morning. But apparently that didn't matter. Your background in physio is solid, your references are strong, and Williams liked that you weren't, as the HR guy put it “someone who treated the job as a backstage pass”. You don’t know if you should be worried hearing that but you just hope to hold onto this job.
The last job was shit. You were underpaid, overstressed, and one bad sports rehab case away from quitting your last job on the spot. So when the opening came up — international travel, better pay, a big-name organization, you applied. Casually. With no expectations.
And then they called. Twice.
Now you're moving to the UK to start your new job as a physiotherapist for a motorsport team you had to Google during the interview.
You are, unfortunately, a little nervous.
But you’ve got time to sit with that feeling because your flight to London was delayed by three hours. Perfect.
You scroll through your inbox, re-read your welcome packet, and watch a toddler throw goldfish crackers at a businessman like it’s a sport. Boredom creeps in like humidity—thick, sticky, and deeply annoying.
Eventually, you do what any responsible adult would do in a situation like this.
You open the dating app.
Left.
Left.
God, no.
Left again.
Okay, that one has potential—nope. Caption says “CEO of vibes.” Immediate left.
You pause on one profile:
Han, 29.
Half his face is visible, jawline so sharp it could slice through glass. Vague bio. One photo of him on a motorcycle. A second one in sunglasses. Ugh, he obviously has a face that probably ruins lives for sport.
You stare at it for a half a second top long, then swipe left.
“Ouch! Hard no for that one?”
You blink.
The voice came from directly behind you. Deep. Lightly amused. Way too close.
You glance over your shoulder and freeze.
Because it’s him. The guy you just swiped left on.In the flesh. Sitting behind you with an easy smile.
You blink.
“...Are you serious?” is the only thing that comes out.
He leans a little towards you a little closer wearing that same smug expression from his profile.
“Was it the sunglasses? I knew I should’ve picked the dog picture.”
You blink. “Sorry?”
“You didn’t even hesitate,” he says, stepping slightly to the side so he’s half in your line of sight. “I feel like I deserve at least a second of consideration.”
You smile, the kind you give to strangers in elevators. “Sorry. I’m sure you’re great.”
“Wow,” he laughs. “That’s what people say right before they block you.”
You hum, noncommittal, and go back to scrolling through your phone.
And then he moves.
You catch the blur of motion in your peripheral vision — coffee, backpack — and suddenly, he’s sliding into the empty seat right next to you.
What the—
“So,” he says, turning to face you like this is completely normal. “Now that you’ve got a closer look… how do you like me now?”
You stare at him.
He’s looking at you like you’re mid-interview and he’s waiting for your review. Like this is a second chance. Like you didn't already make your decision with one clean left swipe.
You give a short laugh. “You’re… persistent.”
“I prefer ‘charmingly committed.’” He smiles like it’s worked before. It probably has.
You shift slightly in your seat, still polite. Still not encouraging.
He doesn’t say anything for a while after that, and you’re quietly relieved.
You switch to your music app, pull out your earphones. Finally some peace!
You’re halfway to putting one in when—
“Oh! You’re flying to London too?” he says suddenly, peering at your boarding pass. “ Woah fate’s really trying hard with us, huh?”
You look at your boarding pass, then at his. Because apparently, the universe has a sense of humour.
How are you supposed to bear him for the next two and a half hours?
_
The next two and a half hours are… something.
You move to a quieter part of the gate. A few minutes later, he wanders over too — not directly next to you, but close enough to make a point.
You scroll through your phone. He glances over once, like he’s trying to guess what app you’re on. You tilt your screen slightly away, just in case.
At some point, you get up to stretch your legs and browse the nearby snack kiosk. When you come back, he’s gone. Maybe he finally got the hint. But a few minutes later, he reappears, wiping his hands with a crumpled tissue. He drops into the seat right next to you.
“God,” he mutters, “the line for the washroom is insane. Flight delay is making people feral.”
You don’t say anything. Instead you open your laptop and click into an old document — nothing important, just enough to give off busy energy. You hope he takes the cue.
To your surprise, he does. No comments, no questions, no sudden attempts at conversation. Just quiet. You type a few sentences you immediately delete. Adjust your playlist. Sip the iced tea that’s now gone lukewarm.
The minutes crawl.
Eventually, the boarding announcement cuts through the low hum of the terminal. Everyone around you starts gathering their bags, stretching, standing up too fast.
He glances over at you, casual as ever.
“Guess this is it,” he says.
You shut your laptop, give him a small nod, and grab your bag. No eye contact, no final smile. You don’t owe him that.
You board without looking back.
You don’t see him again after that. Not at the gate, not during boarding, not once you're seated. You assume he’s somewhere further back — or up front. Who knows.
Once the plane takes off, you finally let your head fall back against the seat.
It’s quiet. Peaceful.
You think about him briefly. His weird charm. That smug grin of his.Interesting personality. Exhausting, probably.
But whatever.
You won’t see him again.
You arrive ten minutes early, which means you get to stand around pretending to look comfortable while absolutely feeling the opposite.
The Williams HQ is sleek — glass everywhere, spotless floors, that clinical smell of expensive ventilation. People walk past you with lanyards and purpose, tapping away on phones or talking quietly in clipped accents. No one’s told you where to stand, so you pick a random spot near the reception and try not to look like you're on the verge of bolting.
A few minutes later, a woman in a navy Williams fleece appears.
“You must be the new physio,” she says, barely slowing her pace. “I’m Ellie.”
You nod quickly. “Hi—yes. That’s me.”
“Come on, I’ll show you around.”
You follow her through the wide corridors, trying not to trip over your own feet or your nerves.
“We’ll sort your badge and system access later,” she says as you both walk. “For now, just get familiar with the place. You’ll be shadowing me until you’re sick of my voice. You good?”
“I’m fine,” you lie, a little too fast.
“Good. Everyone is on their first day. And if they say otherwise, they’re lying or British.”
You smile, a little more genuinely this time.
She gestures as you pass different sections.
“That’s the medical office. Gym’s next door. Engineering is through that hallway but don’t go in unless you want to hear shouting about tire degradation. Drivers’ area is upstairs—again, don’t wander.”
You nod along, absorbing about half of it.
“They’re all back from Spain,” Ellie says. “Recovery sessions, light workouts, some media stuff. You’ll probably meet them today.”
You nod, keeping pace beside her as she flips through her clipboard. You're mostly focused on memorizing directions — gym to the left, med bay past the doors, don't end up in engineering unless you want to get yelled at.
“Oh!”
A voice from behind catches your attention. Familiar enough to make you stop.
“Ohhh!” Louder this time. Like they’ve just placed you.
You turn around.
Oh no.
It’s the guy from the airport.
You can’t even summon a reaction. Just… blink. That seems to be your default setting around him.
Your expression must say enough though, because his grin deepens as he starts walking toward you. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Each step he takes is a small crisis. You’re not ready. You just got here. You were mentally preparing for drivers, mechanics, trainers. Not smug, possibly unhinged dating app guys.
You can practically feel Ellie looking between the two of you, and you’re just about to lie—to say, “Nope. Never seen this man in my life”—when another voice cuts in.
“Jeonghan! What are you doing just standing there?”
A second man steps into view, tossing a smiley ball from one hand to the other like it’s an extension of his personality.
Jeonghan turns his head, pausing mid-step.
“Just saying hi,” he says, glancing back at you with a flicker of something unreadable—teasing, maybe. Or satisfied.
The other guy squints at you briefly, then back at him. “Right. Well, come on. We’ve got the debrief in five.”
Jeonghan sighs dramatically, but lets the other man grab his sleeve and pull him away. He throws one last glance over his shoulder before they disappear down the hallway.
“Fate’s working overtime,” he says with a wink.
You stare after them like you’ve just seen a ghost.
Ellie nods in the direction he disappears and says, “that’s Jeonghan, one of our drivers.”
Oh, you’re so doomed.
Ellie tosses a look over her shoulders. “Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the building. The good coffee machine’s on the second floor.”
You follow her numbly, trying very hard not to think about Jeonghan. Or his smug smile. Or the fact that you now have to spend the foreseeable future working in the same building as the man who saw you reject him in real time.
After nearly an hour of walking past medical rooms, simulation bays, and a break area that suspiciously smelled like burnt toast, Ellie finally leads you to a room tucked behind a glass door marked Team Briefing.
“This is where most of the magic happens,” she says, pushing it open with her hip.
You follow her inside.
And immediately regret it.
Because the moment you step in, your eyes lock with his.
Jeonghan’s already there, lounging in one of the swivel chairs like he owns the place, one leg lazily crossed over the other. He perks up slightly when he sees you, tilting his head with that same maddening, unreadable smirk.
Oh, perfect.
A few other team members are seated around the table—engineers, staff, another driver you haven’t met yet—chatting quietly until Ellie clears her throat.
“This is your new physiotherapist. She’s joining us this season and comes highly recommended, so try not to scare her off.”
A few polite nods and smiles ripple through the room.
You give a short wave, trying to keep your voice even. “Hi. Nice to meet you all.”
“Since it’s the start of the season, you’ll all be working closely with her, but she’ll be assigned to one of our drivers primarily,” Ellie continues. “So if she starts yelling at you to stretch more, listen.”
Some scattered laughter.
Then she glances at the clipboard in her hand. “And looks like you’ll be working with Jeonghan this season.”
Your head turns before you can stop it.
Jeonghan grins.
Not just grins—winks. It’s obnoxious and playful and so smug it should be criminal.
You hope no one notices the way your shoulders stiffen. Or the way your brain short-circuits for half a second. Or the very mild fluster in your chest you’re trying to deny.
Ellie gestures toward the seat beside hers. “Take a seat. We’ll go over travel schedules, recovery blocks, and the preseason calendar.”
You nod, make your way over, and sit down—carefully avoiding Jeonghan’s gaze even though you can feel it like sunlight on your skin.This job is going to test your patience in ways your interview didn’t even begin to prepare you for.
The next morning, you wake up with a pit in your stomach and a very strong urge to call in sick.
You don’t, obviously. You’re not even officially on payroll yet, and calling out on day two would be… bold. But still, the dread is very real.
You keep thinking about yesterday—Jeonghan’s wink, his smug little grin, the way he didn’t seem even remotely surprised to see you. You’re already bracing for whatever next-level flirting he’s got planned. Another wink. A suggestive comment. Maybe something wildly inappropriate said in front of other people.
You spend the elevator ride rehearsing all the ways you’ll shut him down.
Polite indifference? A bored smile? Pretend you didn’t hear him?
By the time you reach the gym, you’ve settled on a simple strategy: ignore everything except his joints and posture. No banter. No smiles. Just clinical professionalism.
Of course, that plan goes up in smoke the second he walks in.
He’s five minutes late, hair slightly tousled from what you assume was a jog, and somehow still manages to look like he stepped out of a photoshoot. There’s a towel slung around his neck and a bottle of water in hand, his sleeves shoved up to his elbows — like this is just another casual Thursday.
“Morning, doc,” he drawls. “Didn’t peg you for an early bird.”
You glance at him over your clipboard. “You’re late.”
He presses a dramatic hand to his chest. “Ouch. Straight to business.”
“Let’s get started.”
He grins, but you don’t give him time to retort — gesturing to the mat, already set up. He raises an impressed brow, muttering something under his breath about “being handled” as he drops down beside you.
The session starts smoothly. You guide him through warmups, range of motion tests, a few resistance drills. He’s competent, clearly used to being poked and prodded in the name of performance — but that doesn’t stop him from trying to get under your skin.
“Be honest,” he says midway through a shoulder test, looking at you from under his lashes. “Now that you’ve gotten to know me better… still think I’m a left swipe?”
You pause — just for a beat.
Then let out a laugh before you can stop it. A full laugh. With a snort.
You immediately clamp your mouth shut and look down at your clipboard, pretending to read your own handwriting.
He’s staring at you.
You don’t look up, just scribble something vaguely useful.
But the damage is done. Jeonghan frowns. His mouth opens like he’s about to ask why you laughed, what was so funny about that, but then shuts again. For once, he doesn’t say anything. Just follows the rest of your instructions with unusual focus, mouth slightly downturned in what you suspect might be a pout.
When you announce that the session’s done, he just nods, wiping sweat from his temple.
You rise to your feet and make a note to yourself about his left shoulder. You can feel his eyes on you again, but he doesn’t speak. Not even a wink this time.
You should feel relieved.
Instead, as you leave the gym and toss a glance back over your shoulder, you catch him still sitting on the mat, towel in his hands, brows slightly furrowed like he’s still thinking about the laugh.
Curiosity killed the cat, or whatever they said.
You’re on your way to the break room, badge still clipped to your lanyard and half a granola bar in your hand, when two passing voices hook your attention.
“He’s just getting worse with every season.”
“I don’t know why he’s still on the team.”
You slow instinctively, pretending to fix your ponytail.
They’re not whispering, not exactly—but they’re not saying it loud enough to be brave about it either. And you weren’t planning to eavesdrop, but it’s not your fault you have functioning ears.
Before you can think better of it, you detour, curiosity steering your steps toward the garage. It opens out onto the testing circuit, where the practice runs happen.
You’ve never been here during an actual test before. The track is long and wide, framed by fences and checkered barriers. The whir of tires and distant engine growls thrum like a heartbeat in the background.
A handful of engineers stand lined up behind the barrier, headsets on, eyes fixed down the stretch. One of them—tall, stocky, eyes narrowed beneath his cap—clutches a walkie-talkie and barks out a string of instructions.
You pause a few feet behind him, hands shoved into your pockets. You don’t know much about racing—not really—but the energy here feels tight.
"He's late on the turn again. Sector two's a mess," the man mutters, jabbing at a monitor. "Why’s he pushing that late?"
There’s a car in motion on the track, sleek and black with faint red accents. It disappears and reappears like a phantom through the corners, but you can see the way it jerks—just slightly—through a hairpin turn.
“He needs to pull back, he’s oversteering,” the man snaps into the walkie. “Back off into the braking zone. You’re not proving anything—Jeonghan!”
Jeonghan?
You shift forward unconsciously, squinting at the car as it barrels past the pit wall. It's fast—obviously—but it doesn’t look right. Not reckless, exactly. Just…off. Like it’s being driven by someone trying too hard to pretend they're not falling apart.
The guy beside you exhales sharply and lowers the walkie, rubbing a hand over his jaw. His shoulders slump. Not in frustration, more like disappointment that’s been sitting there a while.
You glance back toward the track one last time.
There’s no spinout. No crash. Jeonghan finishes the lap, pulls into the pit lane with the precision of muscle memory but there’s no celebration in it. No edge-of-the-seat brilliance.
And for some reason, that’s worse.
Before anyone sees you, you slip away quietly, questions pressing against your ribs, and that familiar, unwelcome twinge in your gut.
The break room smells like stale coffee and popcorn, the overhead lights buzzing faintly as you tug open the fridge.
You take out your lunch, a glass container you packed without much thought this morning, and pop it into the microwave. It hums to life as you lean against the counter, arms folded, stomach already growling.
“Hey! There you are.”
You turn to see Seokmin walking in, grinning like it’s his full-time job.
“Hey,” you greet, instantly more at ease. “Lunch break too?”
“Yep,” he says, plopping down at the small table with a banana and two boiled eggs. “Big day of babysitting elite athletes who think foam rolling once a week is enough.”
You snort. “Tell me about it.”
You’d hit it off with Seokmin the first day you got here—he was the one who’d waved you over when you looked hopelessly lost outside the medical wing and introduced you to every single person in a twenty-meter radius. He’s the team physio assigned to the other driver— Soonyoung, always cracking jokes but surprisingly sharp when it came to reading people’s bodies.
“How’s it going with Jeonghan?” he asks casually, peeling his egg with practiced ease.
You pause to take your lunch out of the microwave, sliding into the seat across from him.
“He’s okay… I mean, it’s only the first day I’m actually working with him.”
You open the lid, the smell of warm food rising between you. “Other than his attempt at flirting with me, it’s all good, I think.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Is it? I thought it was just me.”
“Oh no, he flirts with inanimate objects if they give him attention. Don’t take it personally.”
You laugh, shaking your head, and start eating. A few minutes pass with idle chewing and muttering about an upcoming medical review schedule.
But the question’s been hovering since you walked in.
You glance over. “Hey, about Jeonghan…”
Seokmin looks up.
“I didn’t mean to overhear anything, but—uh, I was passing by the garage earlier and I heard some shouting. Not that I know a lot about F1, but it seemed… I don’t know. Bad?”
Seokmin sighs and leans back in his chair, eyes drifting toward the window that overlooks a small portion of the circuit.
“Well,” he begins, rolling the eggshell between his fingers, “he was one of our best. Like—top three drivers in the league kind of best. Always sharp, calculated...”
You don’t say anything, just listen.
“And then last season hit,” Seokmin says, voice softer now. “He started spinning out in qualifying. Missed a couple of podiums he should’ve nailed in his sleep. At first we thought it was just an adjustment thing—new tech—but…”
He trails off.
“But?”
“There was some personal stuff. Off-track,” Seokmin says. “It’s not really my place to say, but it was… messy. Things started to spiral.”
You nod slowly, processing. You don’t know the details, and it’s not like you’re entitled to, but something about the way Seokmin says spiral lingers.
“He’s still good,” Seokmin says after a moment, like he wants to be fair. “His instincts haven’t left him. But the spark? That thing that made him unbeatable? I don’t know if it’s still there.”
You glance down at your lunch, appetite slightly dulled.
“He doesn’t make it easy,” Seokmin adds. “The flirting, the bravado—it’s all a cover. And I think he’s gotten too good at wearing it.”
You look up. “Does anyone call him out on it?”
Seokmin grins. “Oh, all the time. He just grins back and pretends we’re all imagining it. Charming bastard.”
You chuckle despite yourself, tucking that little piece of information away. When Jeonghan winked at you yesterday, you’d thought it was just arrogance. Now you’re not so sure.
“Anyway,” Seokmin says brightly, stabbing his banana with a plastic fork, “don’t worry too much. He likes a challenge. You shutting down his flirt game probably raised his respect for you by ten points.”
You snort again, amused and slightly exasperated. “Great. Just what I need—more attention from the emotionally repressed race car flirt.”
Seokmin grins wide. “Welcome to the team.”
The paddock looks different in the morning, almost like it’s still waking up.
Someone’s wheeling in crates of water bottles. A junior engineer yawns into his coffee near the garage door. The hum of machines warming up echoes in the distance, but the energy is subdued—no shouting, no screeching tires yet. Just early sunlight and the faint smell of engine oil clinging to concrete.
You’re earlier than usual, hoping to review Jeonghan’s flexibility notes before your session, but the resistance bands are missing from the physio kit. A mechanic vaguely gestures toward the storage room behind the garage.
The door sticks slightly as you push it open. The room is dim, cluttered, with stacks of cones and kettlebells piled to one side and a crooked ceiling fan turning slowly overhead. You're crouched by a bin of straps, digging around, when a voice cuts through the silence.
“If you're stealing equipment, I have to report you.”
You jolt slightly, knocking your elbow into the bin. You turn to see Jeonghan standing just behind, peering over your neck. He’s not even in his training gear yet—just joggers and a loose shirt, hair still damp from a recent shower.
“I was looking for resistance bands. For you.”
You stand, brushing off your knees, and gather your hair up into a loose bun with a scrunchie from your wrist.
His eyes flick upward for half a second, and he lets out a low scoff.
“Smooth,” he says. “Distract me with beauty while you sneak off with team property. Classic technique.”
You raise an eyebrow, unamused.
“You really think I’d go through all that trouble just to steal a ten-dollar band?”
“I don’t know your life.”
You exhale, already walking past him with the band in hand.
“Stretch mat’s out already. You want to start or do you need a minute to flirt with someone else on the way there?”
“Wow,” he laughs, following you slowly. “Day two and you’ve got claws.”
_
The cafeteria is buzzing with midday chatter — drivers, engineers, media staff, all squeezed into mismatched tables and long benches. The menu’s nothing fancy today: grilled chicken, rice, boiled veggies — but it’s hot, and your stomach doesn’t care much about finesse at this point.
You’re sitting with Ellie and Seokmin, trays lined up in front of you, all mid-bite when Jeonghan slides into the spot directly across from you like he’s been doing it for years.
“Didn’t peg you as someone who eats the cafeteria food,” Ellie says, raising an eyebrow at him.
“I make exceptions for good company,” Jeonghan says smoothly, shooting a wink at her then at you.
Seokmin snorts into his water.
Before you can react, another tray lands beside Jeonghan’s, and Soonyoung plops down with the kind of enthusiastic energy that feels like a golden retriever just joined the table. His eyes go wide when they meet yours.
He introduces himself cheerfully, and when he turns to you, it’s with the kind of open friendliness that makes you like him immediately.
“I’m Soonyoung—other half of the team, basically,” he says, offering his hand with a grin. “Though I drive better.”
“Debatable,” Jeonghan mutters through a bite, still watching you from the corner of his eye.
You shake his hand, smiling. “I don’t know, I’ve only worked with one of you so far, and the drama’s already… notable.”
Ellie stifles a laugh. Jeonghan looks wounded, then leans forward, voice dropping just enough to make it feel intentional. “I thought I was being charming.”
“You thought wrong,” you say without missing a beat, and Seokmin lets out a loud ha!.
Conversation carries on — Ellie talking about how her morning was filled with fixing the same damn monitor twice, Seokmin complaining about someone mislabeling the taping drawers again, Soonyoung grinning through most of it and adding the occasional “true, true” with dramatic nods. It’s clear they all know each other — have known each other for a long time. Jeonghan’s stories are met with knowing groans. Soonyoung throws paper napkins at him halfway through one. There’s a rhythm to them and you're still finding your place in it.
But it’s nice. Warm.
Then Ellie turns to you, nudging your elbow with hers. “You’re coming to the team dinner tonight, right?”
You pause mid-chew. “Dinner?”
Jeonghan perks up beside her, chewing slower, watching you carefully like he’s really invested in your answer.
Seokmin grins. “It’s tradition. Anytime someone joins the team, we all get together, food, drinks—nothing wild, just… a welcome thing. You have to come. It’s your dinner.”
“She has to,” Jeonghan agrees, still looking at you. “Wouldn’t be right without the guest of honor.”
You meet his eyes, unimpressed. He gives you a sheepish little smile, like he knows you’re onto him. Like he hopes that’s not a bad thing.
You sigh, more for show than anything. “Fine. I’ll come.”
Jeonghan’s grin stretches instantly. Soonyoung fist-bumps the air. Seokmin claps once, triumphant.
Ellie just laughs and shakes her head, “You’re in trouble.”
You’re starting to think she might be right.
_
The dinner is loud and warm, like someone bottled up all the noise of the racetrack and let it loose inside the restaurant. Two long tables are pushed together, covered with plates that never stay full for more than a minute. Every few seconds, laughter erupts from somewhere along the table.
Soonyoung is halfway through an impression of one of the engineers when he nearly knocks over a glass. Everyone groans and laughs at the same time. He points at you. “See? She’s laughing. That means I nailed it.”
You shake your head. “That was terrible.”
“Terribly accurate,” Seokmin adds, slapping his thigh.
The teasing shifts, bouncing from person to person. At one point, Ellie insists you join a team game where everyone has to share the most embarrassing thing they’ve done in public. The stories are ridiculous, full of trips and wardrobe malfunctions and mistimed jokes. When it’s Jeonghan’s turn, he leans back lazily in his chair, his smirk practiced.
“I once waved at a girl across the street who waved first,” he says, pausing for effect. “Turns out she was waving at the guy behind me.”
The table erupts, some laughing too hard to breathe.
“You?” Seokmin gasps. “You’re never embarrassed.”
“Maybe I just hide it better than you do,” Jeonghan replies smoothly, eyes flicking toward you before he takes a sip from his glass.
You roll your eyes, pretending not to notice.
The night carries on like that, loud and careless. At some point, you excuse yourself to the washroom, weaving through the tables and slipping out of the noise.
When you return, the air feels different. The laughter is still there, but quiete around the edges.
“Careful, Jeonghan. At this rate you’ll be better at charming the sponsors than driving.”
The table bursts into laughter. Another voice adds, “Don’t worry, at least your hair still has podium potential.”
You glance at Jeonghan. He’s smiling, lifting his glass like he’s in on the joke, but his jaw is a little too tight. A few minutes later, he slips away from the table, quiet and unnoticed.
You hesitate, then follow.
Outside, the night is cooler, quiet except for the distant hum of traffic. Jeonghan leans against the railing, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette that glows faintly in the dark. He doesn’t look up when you step out. Just exhales smoke, eyes fixed on the road like he’s trying to burn holes in it.
You move to stand beside him, leaving a bit of space. For a moment, neither of you says anything.
Then, lightly, you break it. “If you keep staring at the traffic like that, I’m going to think you’re plotting how to jump on top of a bus and disappear.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. He glances at you, finally, the tension in his face softening. “And here I thought I was being subtle.”
You shrug. “Not really. You’d make a terrible spy.”
That earns a chuckle, low and genuine. He shakes his head and takes another drag, the smoke curling lazily upward. “You’re strange, you know that?”
“Strange keeps things interesting,” you say.
The quiet stretches between you, filled only with the distant honking of horns and the faint hum of music seeping out from the restaurant. Jeonghan takes another slow drag, his expression unreadable again, though softer than before.
You glance at him, then back at the road. “For what it’s worth,” you say after a pause, “I’m here. Whenever you want.”
His head turns, just slightly. The weight in his gaze lingers on you longer this time, and then he gives a small smile, almost rueful but real. “Careful. I might hold you to that.”
You push off the railing, pretending to brush imaginary dust from your hands. “Good. That’s the point.”
He watches as you turn to go, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he schools it away. You’ve only taken a few steps when you glance back over your shoulder.
“And Jeonghan?”
He tilts his head. “Yeah?”
“Stop smoking.”
You say it with mock sternness, narrowing your eyes at him.
His mouth falls open in exaggerated offense. “What, and give up my mysterious brooding aesthetic?”
You grin. “Exactly. Trade it in for lungs that actually work.”
He lets out a laugh, shaking his head as he lifts the cigarette between two fingers. “You don’t waste time, do you?”
“Not on bad habits,” you shoot back before slipping inside, leaving him with smoke curling in the air and that same small smile tugging at his lips.
It has been a few months since you joined Williams, and the rhythm of the job has settled into something almost natural. The early mornings, the endless travel, the noise of the track that rattles in your bones—you’ve grown used to it all. Somewhere along the way, you’ve also grown used to Jeonghan.
He’s still frustratingly unpredictable, slipping between lazy charm and razor-sharp focus like it costs him nothing. But you’ve found small ways into his world. The coffee runs that somehow turn into debates about which city has the best food. The gym sessions where he cheats half his reps and makes you count them anyway. The way he’s started waiting for you in the corridor before team briefings, tossing you a casual “ready?” as if you’ve always been a part of this.
Now, in the therapy room, you’re working through knots in his arm after a long training session. His skin is warm under your hands, the muscle tense, and when you press into a particularly sore spot, he hisses like you’ve stabbed him.
The sound is so loud that a couple of mechanics look up from across the room. You give him a sharp look.
“Stop acting like I’m torturing you.”
He winces dramatically, though the corner of his mouth is twitching.
“How else will people know you’re bullying your patient?”
You swat his shoulder lightly, ignoring how firm it feels under your palm. “You’re unbelievable.”
One afternoon, you flip the page on your clipboard, scanning through the checklist. Jeonghan is toweling sweat off his neck, water bottle tilted back as he catches his breath. You glance up at him before speaking.
“Since the season’s beginning soon, I need to do a full check-up. You’ll have to come to my room later.”
He lowers the bottle slowly, eyes flicking to you in something between surprise and curiosity. A smile tugs at his lips.
“Your room, huh?”
You roll your eyes and jot another note. “The medical room, Jeonghan. Don’t make it weird.”
“I didn't imply anything,” he murmurs, grinning as he slings the towel over his shoulder.
Later that evening, the medical room is quieter than usual, the hum of the overhead lights filling the silence. You’re already setting up when Jeonghan strolls in, moving slower than he should, like he’s got all the time in the world.
“You’re late,” you say without looking up from your clipboard.
“You said later. I thought that meant whenever I felt like it.” His voice is smooth, teasing, and when you finally glance at him, he’s leaning against the doorframe with a grin that dares you to scold him.
“Sit,” you order, pointing to the exam table.
He obeys, dramatically, of course—plopping down with a sigh as if you’re about to ruin his life. “Go easy on me.”
“You’ll live,” you reply, snapping on gloves. You check his vitals first, his pulse steady beneath your fingers. He watches you closely, even when you’re not looking at him.
When you test his reflexes, he smirks. “I feel like I should’ve studied for this.”
“Reflexes aren’t a written exam.”
“Good, because I would’ve cheated off you anyway.”
You shake your head, biting back a smile. He makes everything sound unserious, but when you ask him to rotate his shoulder, his jaw tightens. The soreness is real, and for a moment, the grin slips. You notice it, and your hands steady on his arm, gentler this time.
“You need to be honest with me,” you say quietly. “If something hurts, I have to know. Don’t brush it off.”
His eyes lift to meet yours, and for once, he doesn’t have a quick comeback. Just a small, almost reluctant nod.
The tension eases, but before it gets too heavy, he smirks again. “You’re scarier when you’re serious.”
You swat his knee lightly, and he laughs, the sound bouncing off the sterile walls.
By the time you’re done, he’s lying back with his hands folded behind his head, watching you scribble notes. “So? Do I pass?”
“For now,” you reply, peeling off your gloves. “Try not to break yourself before the season even starts.”
He sits up, swinging his legs off the table. “Guess I’ll just have to stay close to my doctor.”
You give him a look, but he only grins wider.
You’re scribbling down the last of your notes when you hear Jeonghan move. At first, you think he’s finally leaving, but then you notice him lingering by your desk. His fingers trail along the edge of your things with too much interest.
“What’s this?” he asks, plucking up the notebook you left by your clipboard.
Your head snaps up. “Jeonghan, no. Put that down.”
His lips curve into a grin, already flipping to the first page. “It looks like a diary.”
“It’s not for you,” you warn, stepping quickly around the desk.
He clears his throat dramatically and reads in a mock-serious voice, “Day one. Williams garage smells worse than I expected.”
Your eyes widen. “Jeonghan!”
You reach for it, but he just lifts the notebook higher, holding it above his head like a prize. “You keep notes about me, don’t you?”
“Give it back!” You stand on your tiptoes, stretching your arm as far as it will go. He shifts away with maddening ease, smirking like this is the best entertainment he has had in weeks.
“Wow, you wrote a lot,” he says, tilting the book to squint at the lines. “Should I be flattered or worried?”
You swat at his arm, but he keeps dancing back, keeping the notebook just out of reach. He looks far too pleased with himself.
“Jeonghan, I swear—”
You take a determined step forward just as his calves hit the edge of the exam bed. His eyes flicker in surprise, but before he can steady himself, gravity wins. He topples backward onto the bed, and you tumble forward with him, landing squarely against his chest.
The world goes still. His laugh dies halfway in his throat, replaced by the sound of both your breaths tangling in the narrow space between you. He’s lying back, propped on his elbows, and you’re braced against him, face so close you can see the tiny mole under his left eye, the curve of his lips when he swallows.
Neither of you moves. For a split second, it feels like the air has thickened, buzzing with something you shouldn’t be even thinking about.
You clear your throat quickly and snatch the notebook from his loosened grip, stepping back as fast as you can manage. “You’re impossible.”
He grins up at you from the bed, his hair slightly mussed, eyes gleaming like he just discovered a new way to torment you. “Admit it,” he says lightly, “you enjoy chasing me.”
You hug the notebook to your chest, trying to look stern even though your pulse hasn’t quite settled. “Stop going through people’s things.”
“Only yours,” he replies without missing a beat.
You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth threaten to give you away.
The office lights go out one by one as you finally shut your laptop and rub your eyes. It is well past the time you usually leave, but the pile of forms refused to finish itself. Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you head toward the exit—only to notice the garage door cracked open, bright white light spilling into the dark hallway.
Curiosity wins.
You step inside and the smell hits first, a mix of rubber and engine oil. The place is mostly quiet, save for the distant hum of something still alive. Across the vast floor, one car cuts along the track, its low growl echoing through the building. You stop near the railing, leaning over just enough to catch a glimpse as it glides across the straight, graceful and fast, though you can’t tell if it’s fast enough by racing standards.
When it finally slows and pulls into the pit lane, it stops not far from where you’re standing, the heat radiating off its hood. The door opens and out steps Jeonghan, pulling off his gloves and helmet in one smooth motion, hair falling damp across his forehead. He blinks when he notices you, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“What are you doing here?” His voice carries easily in the cavernous garage. “Your work was supposed to be over hours ago.”
You cross your arms, pretending to look offended. “I had extra paperwork.” Then, with a teasing tilt of your head, you add, “Some of it was for you, by the way. You’re welcome.”
Before he can reply, footsteps echo across the garage floor. His race engineer approaches, a tablet in one hand and a pen tucked behind his ear. He doesn’t even seem surprised you’re there—he’s focused squarely on Jeonghan.
“Good laps,” the engineer says briskly, flipping through data. “But you’re braking a fraction too late into turn six. Car’s steady otherwise. Keep that line through the chicane—it looks clean.”
Jeonghan nods, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to smile too much. “Got it.”
The engineer pats his shoulder firmly, like a coach sending a player back onto the field. “See you tomorrow. Take rest.”
With that, he heads off, leaving you and Jeonghan alone again. Jeonghan glances back at you, a little sheepish, like you just saw him in his element.
You raise your brows, fighting a smirk. “So… is this where I’m supposed to pretend I understood a single word of that?”
He laughs, the sound rich and boyish. “Maybe. Or you can just admit you’re impressed.”
“By the braking thing? Totally.”
He shakes his head, amused, before softening his expression. “You want to get out of here?”
“Yes, please.”
“Alright. Wait here for me.” He gestures toward the stool near the wall, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
You sigh but obey, sitting with your phone in hand. Fifteen minutes drag by, the garage echoing with the occasional click of tools being put away. Just as you’re wondering if he’s forgotten you, a sudden coldness shocks your cheek.
You jerk in your seat with a squeak, whirling around to find Jeonghan smirking, two cans in his hands.
“Relax,” he says, pressing one into your palm. “A peace offering. For all that paperwork you did for me.”
You roll your eyes but take the can anyway.
Jeonghan drops down beside you, the metal of the step groaning under the weight. He pops his can open with a crisp hiss, the fizz breaking the stillness of the garage. You glance at him, but he doesn’t look at you right away. He tips his head back for a slow sip, Adam’s apple shifting with the motion, and then exhales like he’s been holding his breath all day.
You take that as your chance. “Alright,” you say, nudging your can lightly against your knee. “Tell me about racing. I know almost nothing—just that there are two drivers per team, twenty teams in total, and Williams… isn’t exactly winning.”
The corners of his mouth twitch. “That’s one way to put it.”
You grin. “So? Make me less clueless.”
He leans forward, forearms resting on his thighs, and starts talking. At first it’s simple: practice sessions, qualifying, the starting grid. Then he gets into strategies, pit stops, tire choices. His hands move when words aren’t enough, tracing the imaginary shape of a racetrack in the air. His voice is steady but animated, like he forgets for a moment who he’s talking to because this is his world and he knows it inside out.
And you try to follow—really, you do—but the longer he goes on, the more your focus slips.
The garage lights cast faint shadows over his features, highlighting the sharp cut of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the curve of his mouth when he pauses between thoughts. His lashes are darker up close, fanning against his skin when he blinks. His hair falling loose against his forehead. Every now and then he pushes them back with careless fingers, only for them to fall forward again. And his…lips.
You realize you’re not listening to the words anymore, just the cadence of his voice. He’s so close, and the more he talks, the easier it is to picture this is how he is with people he trusts—unguarded, passionate, lit from within by something you can’t quite touch.
When his eyes flick to yours mid-sentence, you freeze. The intensity makes your chest tighten. You drop your gaze quickly, clearing your throat as you take a sip from your can, the cold fizz a poor distraction.
“You really like racing, don’t you,” you say softly.
Jeonghan leans back against the wall, tipping his head slightly as though weighing the question. Then he smiles, “yeah. I do.”
The silence after stretches. Not awkward, but weighted. The two of you stare out at the empty track, the faint smell of rubber and asphalt hanging in the air.
“How about a bet?”
His head turns. “A bet?”
“You do great this season,” you say, pretending to study your can. “I’ll give you a gift.”
One brow arches, and his smirk returns, lighter now. “Are you bribing me?”
You scoff. “Incentivizing. Don’t twist my words.”
He chuckles low in his throat, tilting his can toward you. “Fine. But I’m holding you to that.”
You tap your can gently against his, the metallic clink echoing in the quiet. When you glance at him again, you catch his eyes on you, softer than before. It makes your chest tighten all over again, and you look back at the track quickly, pretending you didn’t notice.
The season is getting closer and everyone is working like there are not enough hours in the day. Engineers stay glued to their screens, mechanics move nonstop around the cars, and meetings stretch longer than they should. You feel the pressure too, heavy and constant in the air. So when Williams announces a go-karting day for everyone, it feels like someone finally let the team breathe.
Jeonghan, of course, turns the whole thing into a spectacle. While most people stick to driving properly, he spins his kart in lazy circles, waves like a showman every time he passes the group, and at some point drives backwards just to prove he can. His laughter carries over the roar of the engines, infectious enough that even the engineers who were complaining about set-ups earlier can’t stop smiling.
You’re standing on the sidelines with Seokmin, both of you watching the chaos unfold. You can’t help grinning when Jeonghan lifts both hands from the wheel for a moment, earning a string of warnings from staff.
“Does he ever take anything seriously?” you say, shaking your head.
“Not when he can help it,” Seokmin replies, chuckling. “That’s Jeonghan.”
The conversation flows easily, your focus drifting back to Jeonghan every other second. You comment on the way he corners too dramatically, the way he tosses his head back when he laughs, the way he waves at his competitors like they’re adoring fans instead of colleagues trying to beat him. Seokmin hums in agreement here and there, but he’s quiet for longer than usual.
When you finally glance at him, he’s staring at you with a look of dawning realization. Then he gasps loudly, clutching his chest. “Oh my god. You’re in love!”
You freeze, eyes wide. “What?”
He grins like a cat who’s found cream. “You’re in love with him.”
You let out an incredulous laugh. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.” He points at you accusingly, delight all over his face. “Do you even realize you’ve been standing here for twenty minutes, and fifteen of those minutes were just you talking about Jeonghan?”
“That’s because I’m his physiotherapist,” you argue, fumbling for composure.
Seokmin raises a brow, unconvinced. “Tell that to my grandmother,” he says smugly.
You sputter, heat rising to your face. “Did you not hear what I said? Half the time I was complaining!”
Seokmin smirks, sing-songing under his breath, “Denial is a river in Egypt…”
You whip your head toward him. “Seokmin—”
Before you can finish, you hear a voice calling your name.
You turn to see Jeonghan pulling up beside the fence in his kart, hair wild from the wind, grinning like he owns the world. He calls your name, beckoning. “Come on, your turn!”
Seokmin elbows you in the ribs. “Go. Your loverboy is calling.”
“He’s not—” you start, but your protest is half-hearted, lost under Seokmin’s snickering. You scoff for show, tugging at your jacket as you walk toward Jeonghan.
You tug the helmet on and slide into the kart, pretending not to notice the way Jeonghan’s eyes are already on you. He looks far too pleased with himself, leaning against his wheel like he’s been waiting just for this.
“I didn’t think you’d actually try,” he says, his grin pulling wider.
“You didn’t think I could,” you shoot back, gripping the wheel tighter than necessary.
He tilts his head, feigning innocence. “True. But I didn’t say that out loud, did I?”
The moment the flag waves, Jeonghan flies, swerving so close in front of you that you have to slam the brakes.
“Hey!” you shout, laughter bubbling out despite yourself. “That’s cheating!”
He only tilts his head back and laughs, the sound ringing across the track. Instead of staying in his lane, he veers directly into yours, forcing you to turn wider than necessary.
“Jeonghan!” you yell again, your voice breaking on a laugh. “Stop cheating!”
“Why? You’re still behind me!” he calls back, voice smug.
You try to cut in, but he’s already anticipating it, jerking his wheel so you have to swerve. Your helmet knocks against the padding with the force of your laughter, half annoyed, half exhilarated.
“You’re impossible,” you shout, chasing him down the straight.
He throws one hand dramatically into the air as if waving to an imaginary crowd, kart weaving dangerously as he does it. You can’t even stop laughing long enough to scold him. The ridiculousness of it all—the childish spins, the smug grins, the way he keeps blocking you at every corner makes your chest ache with something warmer than frustration.
By the time you finally catch up to his side, you’re breathless, still shouting his name through laughter. He turns his head, eyes sparkling, and says over the roar of the engines, “See? You love it.”
And you hate that he’s right.
This season’s host city is Baku, and it feels different the moment you land. The airport buzzes with energy that comes with a Grand Prix weekend. Posters of drivers are plastered on walls, little groups of fans cluster around the arrivals area hoping for a glimpse, and the city outside the glass windows glows against the Caspian Sea.
You tug your carry-on along and glance at your friends. Seokmin is humming to himself, Ellie is already scrolling through maps of restaurants she wants to try, and Jeonghan walks a few steps ahead, baseball cap pulled low but still managing to turn heads. Soonyoung lags behind, muttering about needing sleep more than anything else.
It’s loud, crowded, but there’s a strange thrill in the air too. This is the next stop, another race, another city, and maybe a whole different kind of chaos waiting to happen.
The only problem? Your suitcase doesn’t appear on the carousel.
You watch the crowd thin out as people drag their luggage away, leaving the belt emptier and emptier until it’s just circling with a few stray bags that definitely aren’t yours.
You press your lips together. “Don’t tell me…”
Seokmin leans on his suitcase like it’s a piece of furniture. “Lost luggage?”
“Looks like it.” You rub your forehead, already dreading the hassle of reporting it. “This is just my luck.”
Jeonghan, quiet until now, lets out a soft hum and unzips his own bag. Before you can ask what he’s doing, he pulls out a black hoodie and holds it out to you.
You blink. “What?”
“You’re going to need it,” he says matter-of-factly. “Airports, hotel air conditioning. Unless you want to freeze.”
“I’ll be fine,” you protest.
“Just keep it.”
Your cheeks warm before you can stop them. With a small sigh, you take the hoodie and tug it on. It’s big enough to swallow you whole, the sleeves dangling past your wrists, and it smells faintly of his cologne.
“Cute,” Seokmin laughs, earning himself a sharp elbow from Ellie and a glare from you.
Soonyoung appears at your side, eyeing the empty carousel. “Oh, you should report it fast. I lost my luggage once.” He pauses dramatically. “Still haven’t found it.”
The horrified look on your face sends Jeonghan into laughter. “Okay, big guy, let’s get you some sleep.” He pats Soonyoung’s shoulder and steers him forward, the two of them drifting a few paces ahead of the group.
Behind you, Ellie and Seokmin exchange the kind of smirk that makes you want to melt into the floor.
“Don’t,” you warn, zipping the hoodie halfway.
Ellie holds up her hands in mock innocence. “We didn’t say anything.”
“So,” Soonyoung says slyly, “is there something going on between you guys?”
Jeonghan’s laugh comes instantly, like the very idea is ridiculous. “Me and her? No. We’re just friends.”
“Really?” Soonyoung side-eyes him, unconvinced. “You sure about that? You two seem pretty close.”
“Close, sure,” Jeonghan admits easily, still smiling. “But just friends.”
Their voices drift into the airport buzz as they walk ahead. Seokmin glances back at you, his grin positively devilish, and mouths, just friends? Ellie elbows him again, though this time her expression is less amused — more like she’s disappointed.
The ride to the hotel is quiet, a mix of jet lag and city lights rushing past the windows. Baku feels alive even at night, the streets lined with glowing buildings and the sea glimmering faintly in the distance.
Check-in is quick. The staff hands out keycards, and you all compare room numbers. Ellie is next door to you, Seokmin a few doors down, and Jeonghan is assigned to a floor above with Soonyoung.
“Different floors, huh?” Seokmin says lightly, nudging your arm. “That should keep things safe.”
“Safe from what?” you mutter.
He just smirks.
As you slide your keycard into the door, Jeonghan passes on his way to the elevator. He lifts a hand in a small wave before stepping inside with Soonyoung. The doors close, and the quiet hum of the elevator disappears down the hall.
The lock clicks open, and you step into your room. You set your bag down and wash up, but even after slipping under the covers, your body refuses to settle. Every time you close your eyes, your thoughts run circles around the day—the travel, the missing luggage, Jeonghan’s hoodie still draped over a chair by the desk.
Minutes stretch into what feels like hours. The silence grows heavy, pressing against your ears until you finally throw the blanket back with a sigh. Sleep isn’t happening.
You slide the balcony door open and step outside. The night air is cool and sharp, a welcome contrast to the stale stillness of the room. The city hums faintly in the distance, headlights weaving through Baku’s narrow streets.
When you rest your arms on the railing, you notice movement just to your left. Jeonghan is leaning against his own balcony rail, one floor identical to yours, separated only by a slim partition. His T-shirt clings softly to his shoulders, hair tousled like he’s been tugging at it for hours.
He notices you almost immediately, eyes flicking over in surprise before a slow smile spreads across his face.
Your eyes widen. “Wait—aren’t you supposed to be upstairs?”
He glances over at you, a hint of amusement tugging at his mouth. “I was. But the team’s still in the strategy room going over race data, so Soonyoung and I switched to a quieter floor. Figured I’d sneak out here for a bit of air.”
He tilts his head, why are you still up? It's late.”
“It just feels very…weird. Also the jetlag.” you laugh.
He nods like he understands. For a moment, the two of you just stand there, letting the quiet stretch comfortably.
You break it first. “So, media day tomorrow. Are you excited?”
The spark in your voice is genuine, but his reaction is anything but. Jeonghan goes still, his smile fading. He doesn’t answer right away, just tilts his head back to look at the night sky as if he can dodge the question.
When he finally speaks, his tone is softer, almost thoughtful. “Excited isn’t the word I’d use.”
That catches you off guard. “What would you use then?”
He exhales slowly, fingers drumming against the railing. “I hate media day. It feels fake. The cameras, the questions, the answers I’ve given a hundred times before. Everyone sees a version of me, but not me.”
The admission sits between you like something fragile. You don’t know what to say, so you stay quiet, letting him take his time.
Jeonghan glances at you then, the kind of look that lingers longer than it should. His voice drops, quieter still, as if meant only for you. “But with you… I don’t feel fake.”
Your chest tightens before you can stop it. The night air suddenly feels warmer, like it’s carrying the weight of his words straight to you. You grip the railing a little tighter, heart beating faster than it should.
“Jeonghan…” you start, but the rest of the thought tangles on your tongue. You’re not sure what you were even going to say.
He leans his elbows on the railing, closer now, his face partly shadowed by the glow of the balcony lights. His gaze doesn’t waver. “hmm?”
The way he says it so cutely, paired with that small tilt of his head, makes your stomach flip. You shake your head quickly, trying to laugh it off. “Nothing.”
He doesn’t push, but the faint smirk tugging at his lips tells you he knows it isn’t nothing. The quiet between you sharpens, heavy with everything unspoken.
Finally, he tilts his head toward his door. “You should get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”
No. You don’t want to leave. You want to stay, to talk to him, to laugh with him… to just be with him. The truth rises in your chest, you just
You love him so-
The sharp slide of his balcony door yanks you out of your thoughts. You look over, but he’s already gone. Disappointment pools in your stomach, a hollow ache you can’t quite shake, and with a slow breath you step back inside too.
The buffet tables are lined with polished trays, steam rising faintly from the hot dishes. You grab a plate and trail behind Jeonghan, watching as he stacks his selections with practiced ease. He moves without hesitation, spooning eggs, sausages, and something fried onto his plate like he knows exactly what he wants.
That is when a voice cuts in– a random stranger who sounds too self-important. “You shouldn’t eat that. Too oily. Not good before a big weekend,” a man says, leaning slightly toward Jeonghan’s plate. “Athletes need discipline. You should stick to fruit and oats.”
Jeonghan only blinks, lips twitching in the kind of polite smile that does not quite reach his eyes. He hums, as if debating whether to respond at all, but before he can, the words leave your mouth.
“Pretty sure he can decide for himself,” you say, light but firm. “It’s breakfast, not a crime scene.”
The man falters, visibly thrown. You raise your brows, tilting your head just enough to make your point clear. His confidence wavers, and after an awkward beat, he mutters something under his breath and drifts down the line, suddenly very interested in the fruit section.
You glance at Jeonghan, and he is smiling now.
“Defending me before I even take a bite,” he says, voice low. “What would I do without you?”
“You’d still eat the sausage,” you reply, trying not to show how warm your face feels.
His smile deepens, a hint of teasing glinting in his eyes. “Maybe. But it tastes better with you on my side.”
You roll your eyes, but your chest feels too light for it to land. He shifts his tray closer to yours, shoulder brushing as you both move down the line, and you cannot shake the thought that breakfast just became the best part of the morning.
The two of you settle at a table by the windows, trays clinking as you set them down. Morning sunlight spills across the table, warm and soft, but you hardly notice it with Jeonghan sitting across from you, sleeves pushed up and hair still a little messy from sleep.
He glances at your plate and grins. “You really took half the fruit section.”
“They looked fresh,” you defend, stabbing a piece of melon. “At least I’m not the one who took three pastries.”
“Correction,” he says, holding up a fork like he’s making a point. “Four. But who’s counting?”
You laugh, shaking your head, and the two of you fall into easy chatter. He complains about the bitter coffee, you argue that it’s not that bad, and he smirks every time you roll your eyes.
“You always do that,” he says suddenly, tilting his head.
“Do what?”
“Wrinkle your nose when you don’t like something. Like just now, with the coffee.” He mimics the expression, nose scrunching, lips curling.
“Don’t do that,” you laugh, nudging his foot under the table before you can stop yourself. The accidental contact makes your chest warm, but he doesn’t move away—just gives you a small smile, like he noticed.
You go back to your plate, but his gaze lingers. After a beat, he leans in slightly. “You’ve got something here,” he says, pointing vaguely near his own mouth.
“Oh, where?” you fumble for your napkin, dabbing at the wrong corner. “Did I get it?”
He shakes his head, still watching you, amused. “Other side.”
You try again, missing by a mile. His smile widens, but he doesn’t correct you right away, like he’s enjoying the sight of you struggling. Then, before you can ask again, he sets his fork down and leans across the table.
“Here,” he murmurs, thumb brushing lightly at the corner of your mouth. The touch is soft, unhurried, and when he pulls back, his gaze flicks to yours and holds there a moment too long.
Your breath catches, heat rising in your cheeks. “You could’ve just told me.”
“I did,” he says easily, picking up his fork again. “You just weren’t listening.”
You watch him for a beat too long, last night’s thoughts tugging at you again. You almost said it then, and the words are right there now too.
“Jeonghan, I…” you murmur, just enough to catch his attention. He tilts his head, waiting.
Before you can go on, the space beside you explodes with noise.
Soonyoung drops his tray onto the table with a clatter, pointing an accusatory finger at Seokmin. “Tell him he can’t just steal half my eggs!”
Seokmin only grins as he slides into the chair across from you. “If he didn’t want me to take them, he should’ve eaten faster.”
The whole scene is so ridiculous that Jeonghan bursts out laughing. The quiet between you disappears in an instant, replaced by Soonyoung and Seokmin bickering over eggs like it is the most serious matter in the world.
You close your mouth, the words you almost said slipping away before you can catch them. There’s a small tug of disappointment, but it fades quickly in the noise.
Jeonghan is grinning at their antics, shoulders shaking as he tries to scold them and fails miserably. You shake your head, smiling, and reach for your food again.
The rest of the day rushes by in a blur. Jeonghan disappears early, swept into a rotation of interviews, photoshoots, and media calls that keep him busy from morning until late evening.
You, on the other hand, are trapped in meeting rooms that feel like they are getting smaller with every passing hour. Strategy sessions, scheduling calls, endless discussions that circle back to the same points again and again. You find yourself nodding at the right times, scribbling notes you barely register, pretending to be fully engaged while your mind drifts elsewhere. By the third meeting, your coffee has gone cold, by the fifth, you are watching the clock more than you are listening.
By the time everything winds down, your voice feels tired from speaking too much, and your head aches from pretending to focus on things you barely care about.
When night finally settles, you slip away to the hotel’s pool for a breather, hoping for silence. The pool area is mostly empty, and the quiet you have been craving all day. Until you hear the sound of splashing.
You pause mid-step, eyes widening when you see him. Jeonghan is already there, cutting through the water in clean strokes, his hair slicked back and shoulders gleaming under the lights.
You let out a startled shriek. "Oh my god, you’re here too… naked."
He surfaces, laughing, water dripping down his face as he pushes his hair back. "Half naked, actually," he corrects, voice annoyingly smooth. Then his eyes glint, and he adds, "Not like you’ve never imagined me naked before."
Your jaw drops. "I have not!" you shoot back, scoffing so hard you almost stumble.
Jeonghan tilts his head, smirk curling at the corner of his mouth, like he knows more than he is saying. "Sure," he says lightly, and gestures toward the water. "Come on, get in."
You sit on the edge, slipping your sandals off and dipping your legs into the pool. The water is cool, a little shock against your tired skin.
Jeonghan stops in the middle of the pool to look at you, incredulous. "That’s not swimming."
"It’s called enjoying the water without drowning," you retort.
He narrows his eyes playfully, then flicks water in your direction with one sharp kick. "You’re no fun like this."
You gasp when the splash hits you, and glare down at him. "Did you just—"
Before you can finish, he sends another splash your way.
"Jeonghan!" you squeal, leaning back with your hands braced behind you to avoid getting soaked.
"Come in then," he teases, swimming closer, his grin bright and boyish. "Or are you scared I’ll outswim you?"
"You probably would not," you argue, though your voice wavers when he suddenly slaps the surface of the water, sending droplets flying.
You kick the water back at him with your feet, and he laughs, delighted. "That’s weak," he says, splashing you again.
You lean forward, kicking harder, but the edge is slippery. Your foot skids just enough to throw you off balance.
"Ah—!"
Before panic has the chance to set in, a strong hand catches your wrist. Jeonghan is suddenly right there, at the edge of the pool, steadying you as water ripples around him. His fingers are warm despite the pool, his grip firm.
You blink down at him, heart hammering from the sudden slip. His hand is firm around your wrist, steadying you like you weigh nothing. He is close—far too close—his face tilted up toward yours, water dripping down his temples and sliding over sharp cheekbones before disappearing into the curve of his collarbones.
Your chest feels too tight, the words burning at the back of your throat. His hand is still wrapped around your wrist, thumb brushing softly, like he has no idea what he is doing to you.
You swallow hard, your pulse loud in your ears. "Jeonghan…" you begin, and his eyes flicker up to meet yours, steady, waiting.
The air feels fragile, as if one wrong breath could shatter it. You take another in anyway, shaky but determined. "I like you." The words tumble out before you can stop them, soft but clear, heavier than you expected. You keep going, because once the dam is broken there is no point holding back. "I’ve liked you for a long time, more than I probably should. And I just—" your voice falters, "—I needed you to know."
For a heartbeat, nothing happens. He just stares at you, unreadable, the grip around your wrist loosening until your skin feels suddenly cold. His eyes search your face as if he is looking for something, but whatever it is, he does not find it.
Jeonghan exhales slowly, the sound sharp in the stillness. He shakes his head, a small, almost weary motion. "You shouldn’t have said that," he mutters, barely above a whisper. His hand slips from yours completely, leaving you feeling untethered, like the ground beneath you just shifted.
You open your mouth, desperate to fill the silence, but he is already pulling back, putting distance between you both with every movement. He runs a hand through his wet hair, gaze avoiding yours now, and you can see the tension tightening in his jaw.
"I— I can’t," he says finally, firm but quiet, as if even speaking it costs him something. "I’m sorry."
Before you can reach for him, before you can ask him what he means, he is already moving away, climbing out of the pool. Water streams off him as he grabs a towel, his shoulders set, his back turned. He does not look at you again.
QUALIFYING – BAKU CITY CIRCUIT, AZERBAIJAN
You should not have confessed. You should not have said it. The memory keeps replaying, every second of it, every look on his face burned into your mind until you almost wish you could scrape it clean.
Because now, you cannot bear the way Jeonghan looks at you. Or rather, the way he doesn’t. He keeps his eyes anywhere else but on you, his expression calm and collected as if nothing happened, as if your words last night meant nothing at all. Every time you steal a glance, hoping for even the smallest crack, he shifts his focus to the floor, to his gloves, to the bottle of water in his hand. Anywhere but you.
The routine feels stiff, unnatural. Normally, he would grumble about the stretches, tease you about how seriously you take your job, anything to make you roll your eyes. Today, he says nothing. You guide him through warm-ups in silence, your hands checking the pull in his muscles, your voice clipped when you do have to speak. Every instruction sounds foreign in your own ears.
“Rotate your shoulder,” you murmur. He does it without acknowledgment.
“Hold for ten.” He holds, expression unreadable.
Your throat is tight, your hands clumsy where they used to be steady. You can feel his gaze brushing past you but never settling, and it twists something sharp in your chest.
The door swings open and Wonwoo, his manager steps inside, headset pushed back around his neck. “Fifteen minutes to track,” he says, scanning the room. His eyes flick from Jeonghan to you, lingering just long enough to notice the tension, though he doesn’t comment.
Jeonghan only hums, flexing his hands inside his gloves. His gaze never once finds yours.
Wonwoo nods once. “Be ready.” Then he is gone again, the door clicking shut behind him.
Jeonghan stands almost immediately, rolling his shoulders out. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even look at you. He just walks out, leaving you standing there with your clipboard still in hand, heart aching at how easy it was for him to leave you behind.
The door shuts behind Jeonghan, and for a long moment, you stay frozen in the prep room. You force yourself to move, setting down the clipboard and dragging a chair toward the small monitor mounted in the corner. If he will not look at you, if he will not speak to you, then you will just watch him from here.
“Alright, Jeonghan,” the race engineer’s voice crackles through the comms, relayed onto the feed. “Fifteen minutes to go. Tire temps are good. Just keep it clean, keep it steady.”
Engines roar, and then they are off.
The first lap blurs in speed and noise, cars darting past each other like pieces on a board. Jeonghan holds his place in the middle of the pack, slipping between a Red Bull and an Alpine. His line is neat, his braking sharp. But it is not enough.
“Push, Jeonghan, push,” his engineer says.
From the camera angle overhead, you see a flash of red sweep past him. Mingyu in the Ferrari, aggressive and precise, snatches the inside line and takes the position. The commentators’ voices rise, excited.
“Look at that move from Ferrari! Mingyu slides right past Williams and secures P7!”
Your stomach knots as Jeonghan falls back a place.
“Focus. Reset. You’ve got time,” the engineer tells him.
He tries, weaving into the next turn, but then another shadow looms in his mirrors. Lee Chan in the Mercedes. The commentators are practically shouting now.
“Mercedes making a move! Chan is closing the gap—oh, and he’s through! Williams down to P9!”
The camera cuts to Jeonghan’s car, and even through the screen you can see it: the hesitation in his line, the fraction of a second too slow on the acceleration.
“Eyes forward, Jeonghan,” the engineer insists. “Forget what’s behind. Just keep this lap clean. One more push.”
Your hand tightens around your knee, nails digging through fabric. Every corner feels longer, every straight unbearable. He does not claw the positions back, but he doesn’t lose them either. He clings on, stubborn, the blue and white Williams holding steady even as the race roars past him.
Finally, the checkered flag waves.
The standings appear on the broadcast: Jeonghan, in P9. Just inside the cutoff. Just enough to qualify. Unfortunately, Soonyoung didn’t make it.
“P9, Jeonghan. That’s us through to tomorrow. Copy?”
There is a pause on the comms, and then his voice, clipped. “Copy.”
You sit back, pulse still racing, the taste of disappointment bitter in your mouth. He has qualified, yes, but it feels like a hollow victory. Watching him drive today was like watching a ghost.
The broadcast cuts to commercials, and the room falls into silence except for the faint buzz of the air conditioner. You stay seated for a while, staring at the blank screen, the echo of engine noise still rattling in your chest. P9. Qualified, but barely.
The door clicks open.
Jeonghan steps inside, helmet under his arm, fireproofs damp with sweat. His hair clings to his forehead, and there’s a sharp edge to his movements, like he is still carrying the race inside his body. For a second, you think he might look at you, might say something. But his gaze slides right past, as if you are not there at all.
He tosses the helmet onto the counter and sinks into the chair opposite yours. His breaths are still rough, chest rising and falling as he pulls off his gloves. You wait, expecting him to speak first, but he doesn’t. The silence stretches.
Wonwoo enters before you can decide what to do with it. He’s efficient as always, tablet in hand, voice brisk.
“Session’s done. Main race tomorrow. Debrief in an hour, Jeonghan. Good work staying in the top ten.”
Jeonghan nods once, no flicker of emotion.
Wonwoo glances between you and him but doesn’t linger. “I’ll see you at the garage. Don’t be late.”
And just like that, he’s gone.
The door closes again, leaving the two of you in the same room with all the space in the world between you. Jeonghan leans forward, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. You want to reach for him, want to say something, anything, but your throat locks up.
He does not look at you. Not once.
You grab one of the water bottles from the counter and hold it out to him. “Good job today,” you say quietly.
Jeonghan takes it without hesitation, twisting the cap open. “Thanks.” That's all.
You sit back, watching him drink, watching the water bead down his throat. “P9 is still good. You kept it clean out there.”
“Could’ve been better,” he mutters, not looking up.
You try again. “Tomorrow’s what matters.”
He hums in acknowledgment, a sound that feels more like dismissal than agreement. He doesn’t ask you what you thought, doesn’t let the conversation move past one-word replies. Each attempt feels like tossing stones into a void, waiting for an echo that never comes.
The silence that settles after is heavier than the room itself. He leans back in his chair, eyes on the floor, bottle dangling from his hand. You fold your arms, more to steady yourself than anything, and stare at the muted TV screen.
It is only the first day of the weekend, yet it already feels like a marathon. Between the confession that should never have left your lips, the awkward hours spent pretending nothing has changed, and now his silence pressing down on you like a weight, exhaustion spreads through your body. Tomorrow will bring the main race, and with it, a thousand more ways to either break apart or hold together. Tonight, all you can do is sit in the quiet and let the day end around you.
RACE DAY – BAKU CITY CIRCUIT, AZERBAIJAN
You already know your decision before the day even begins. By the time the main race is over, you will be gone. There is no point staying when Jeonghan barely spares you a glance, when every word from him feels like pulling teeth. You are his physiotherapist, nothing more. And now that the job is done, there is nothing left to hold you here.
The paddock hums with its usual pre-race chaos. Engineers hurry past, radios clipped to their belts, tires stacked in neat rows, fans buzzing just beyond the fences. You hover near the Williams garage, going through the usual checks, hands steady even as your stomach knots tighter with each passing minute. Jeonghan stretches, eyes locked on the floor. He does not look at you once.
Seokmin bursts in, his voice loud enough to cut through the thrum of machinery. “There he is, the man of the hour!” He claps Jeonghan on the shoulder, earning the faintest smirk. “Ready to make history today?”
Jeonghan gives a short laugh. “We’ll see.”
Seokmin notices you then and grins. “And you. Don’t look so tense. It’s just a few laps around the track.”
You roll your eyes, though the smile you manage is faint. “Easy for you to say when you’re not the one driving.”
The warm-up is over quickly. Jeonghan takes his place, engineers swarm around the car, and soon the race begins.
The opening laps are brutal. Jeonghan holds his ground, weaving between cars, taking every corner like it is his last. Mingyu from Ferrari pushes hard, sliding ahead on the straights, but Jeonghan clings to his tail. Lee Chan for Mercedes finds a gap and slips past too, engines screaming as the crowd roars. You grip the edge of the table in the garage, heart pounding with every overtake.
“Box this lap, Jeonghan,” the engineer’s voice crackles through the comms.
“Copy,” Jeonghan replies, calm but clipped.
The pit stop is flawless. Tires swapped in seconds, fuel checked, and he is back out on track. His focus is razor sharp now, movements tighter and more fierce. One by one, he claws his way up, cutting past rivals with a precision that makes your breath catch. The final laps blur, and when the checkered flag waves, Jeonghan crosses the line in third.
P3. Podium. The garage erupts in cheers. Seokmin leaps to his feet, shouting, “Yes! That’s what I’m talking about!” He turns to you, eyes bright. “Come on, let’s go meet them!”
Your hand shoots out, fingers curling around his sleeve. “Wait.”
Seokmin blinks, still grinning. “What? They’re waiting, let’s go.”
“I’m not.” The words slip out quieter than you mean them to.
His smile falters. “What do you mean, you’re not?”
You hesitate, searching for an easy excuse. “I’m… leaving. Going back early. There’s some work I need to handle.”
Seokmin stares at you, his expression flattening. “Leaving? Now? After this?”
You look down at your hands, twisting them together. “I confessed to him,” you admit, voice low. “And he rejected me. Since the race is over and my job is done, there’s no reason for me to stay. It’s better if I go.”
For a long moment, Seokmin just studies you, his usual bright energy dimmed. Finally, he gives a slow nod. “I see.” His voice softens, like he wants to argue but knows better. Instead, he reaches up and gives your hair a light, reassuring pat, quiet comfort in the gesture.
You force a small smile, though it does not reach your eyes. “Take care of him tonight, will you? He’ll need someone.”
Seokmin’s jaw works like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pats your back, firm but gentle. “Alright. But you’ll see me next week, right?”
“Yes,” you whisper. “Next week.”
He gives you one last look, then turns and leaves, his steps quick as he disappears down the hall.
The walk back to the room is quieter than Jeonghan expects. Usually after a podium, his head is still buzzing with the adrenaline, the shouts of the crowd echoing in his ears long after he has stepped away from the track. Today is no different. The roar of P3 still hums through his chest, a sharp reminder that he is not finished yet. He expects to see you when he opens the door, waiting like you always do, ready to press a bottle of water into his hand.
But the room is still.
His eyes fall immediately to the table. There is no you, only a folded note placed neatly beside a small box. Jeonghan pauses, the quiet so strange that it prickles under his skin. He walks closer, drops his gloves onto the chair, and picks up the paper.
You won, congrats :)The handwriting is unmistakably yours, quick and curved like you always scribble. His throat tightens before he even looks at the box.
The lid comes away easily. Inside is something so familiar it catches him off guard. A keychain shaped like a tiny dice, glossy white with black dots. He remembers exactly when he mentioned it. Weeks ago, late at night after a long physio session, he had rambled about how he used to carry a similar charm on his backpack in school. He had laughed at himself for bringing it up at all. He had not thought you were listening that closely.
But you were.
Jeonghan closes the box slowly, fingers pressing hard into the cardboard as if holding it too tightly might anchor him. A sound at the door makes him turn.
Seokmin steps inside, still buzzing with energy, cheeks flushed from cheering. “There you are. Man, that was—” He stops short when he notices the note in Jeonghan’s hand. His smile falters.
Jeonghan lifts his gaze, voice steady though his chest feels anything but. “Where is she?”
Seokmin hesitates, then says quietly, “She left. Said she was going back early.”
The words land like a weight in Jeonghan’s stomach. He nods once, keeping his face unreadable. “I see.”
Seokmin shifts, clearly wanting to say more, but instead he clears his throat and steps forward. “Come on, let’s get you stretched out before the press calls you.”
Jeonghan lets the note fall back onto the table, the box still heavy in his other hand. He lowers himself into the chair, shoulders stiff as Seokmin begins the usual post-race checks. The room feels emptier with every passing second.
A knock interrupts them. Wonwoo pokes his head in, headset still hanging around his neck. “It’s time. Press is waiting.”
Jeonghan nods again, standing slowly. He slips the box into his pocket before following them out, his face composed for the cameras. But the echo of your handwriting lingers in his mind, stubborn and unshakable.
The press room is hot with lights and filled with the restless hum of reporters shuffling their notes. Cameras flash as Jeonghan settles into his seat at the table, a bottle of water placed in front of him. Wonwoo takes the chair beside him, posture calm and practiced, while Seokmin lingers just off to the side.
The moderator clears his throat. “Congratulations, Jeonghan. First podium in quite some time. How are you feeling right now?”
Jeonghan leans toward the microphone, the smile practiced. “It feels good. Really good. The team has been working so hard, and this result is as much theirs as it is mine. The engineers, the pit crew, everyone behind the scenes—they made this possible. I just had to keep the car steady.”
Another hand shoots up. “Jeonghan, talk us through those last ten laps. Did you think you could hold onto P3 with Lee Chan pushing that hard behind you?”
He exhales softly through his nose, a small grin tugging at his mouth. “Chan is quick. He always has been. But we kept our strategy tight, I trusted the calls from the pit wall, and… well, we got there.”
The room ripples with quiet laughter and the clatter of more typing. Another question comes, sharper this time. “You mentioned the team, the strategy, but this was also a big personal comeback. What do you credit for this turnaround?”
Jeonghan sits back slightly, fingers drumming on the bottle. His mind flickers through every training session, every late night, every moment he nearly gave in to frustration.
“This would not have been possible if it wasn’t for…” He pauses.
The next word sticks in his throat. His eyes blur for a moment, the press room fading around him. All he can see is the note on the table, your handwriting, the box with the dice charm that still rests in his pocket.
If it wasn’t for you.
The realization crashes into him so suddenly that his breath catches. He stares down at the desk, silence stretching uncomfortably long. Reporters begin to murmur.
“Jeonghan?”
“Care to finish your thought?”
“Jeonghan, over here!”
The questions grow louder, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. His chest feels too tight, words jammed up in a place he cannot force them through. Wonwoo leans forward, his expression sharp.
“No further questions,” he says firmly into the mic.
The room protests, cameras still flashing, but Jeonghan barely hears it. His pulse is pounding too hard, the note replaying over and over in his mind. You won, congrats :)
And then, without warning, he pushes his chair back. The scrape of metal on tile cuts through the noise. He stands abruptly, his face set, voice low but urgent.
“I gotta leave.”
He doesn’t wait for permission. Doesn’t wait for the moderator or the cameras or the press. He turns on his heel and strides out, nearly knocking into the cameras in the front row.
“Jeonghan!” Wonwoo calls after him, already rising from his seat. His headset dangles loose as he rushes out of the room, chasing after Jeonghan’s retreating figure.
The reporters erupt into a storm of questions, but the only thing Jeonghan hears is the hammer of his heartbeat and the thought that he might already be too late.
The air outside the press room feels thin, like he’s sprinted headlong into a vacuum. Jeonghan rips the collar of his suit down, desperate for air, his steps echoing down the corridor. He doesn’t even know where he’s going, only that he has to move, has to find you before you’re gone for good.
“Jeonghan!” Wonwoo’s voice cuts through the haze, firm but tight with irritation. He catches up quickly, hand clamping on Jeonghan’s shoulder, forcing him to stop. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why did you just run out like that? You can’t just walk out on the press.”
Jeonghan shakes him off, turning with wild eyes. “I don’t care about the press right now, Wonwoo. I have to find her. I need to talk to her.”
“Her?” Wonwoo blinks, confusion tightening his brow. “You mean—”
Before he can finish, another set of footsteps barrels toward them. Seokmin. He’s flushed, still in his Williams team gear, worry etched all over his face. “Jeonghan, what’s going on? Why did you run away?”
Jeonghan’s throat is dry, the words scraping out rough. “I need to find her. She’s leaving. I can’t let her leave.”
For a moment, Seokmin just looks at him, really looks, like he’s piecing together everything he’s ever known about Jeonghan and this reckless streak he’s only ever seen on the track. And then, without a word, Seokmin grabs Jeonghan’s wrist. His grip is steady, grounding.
“Come.”
The word snaps Jeonghan out of his spiral. He doesn’t hesitate. He runs with Seokmin, their strides falling into sync, Wonwoo trailing behind, still throwing sharp questions he can’t bring himself to answer. They burst out into the paddock lot, where rows of sleek team cars are parked. Seokmin unlocks one with a beep and shoves Jeonghan toward the passenger side.
“Get in.”
The door slams shut and the engine roars to life. Seokmin doesn’t ease into it, doesn’t bother with traffic etiquette. He tears out of the lot with a squeal of tires, the sudden jolt throwing Jeonghan against the seat. The city blurs outside, neon streaks and tail lights flying past.
Wonwoo, crammed in the back seat, swears under his breath. “You two are insane. Do you realize the cameras are still rolling back there? You’re supposed to be giving interviews right now!”
“I don’t care about the cameras!” Jeonghan snaps, fists clenched tight on his knees. “If I lose her now, if I don’t tell her—” He cuts himself off, the rest lodging in his chest like shrapnel.
Seokmin doesn’t say anything. He only presses harder on the accelerator, weaving through lanes like the road bends to him. Horns blare, headlights flash, but nothing slows them down. Jeonghan grips the handle on the door, body thrown against the seat as they swerve past a bus with barely an inch to spare.
Every second ticks louder than the last. He imagines you standing in line at the gate, your bag slung over your shoulder, boarding pass in hand. He imagines arriving too late, watching the plane take off with you in it, knowing he’ll never get the chance to say what he should have said weeks, months ago.
Not again.
The thought anchors itself deep. He can’t let you go without hearing him, without knowing.
The airport lights flare in the distance, white and harsh against the night. Seokmin cuts across a turn, tires screaming, and finally slams the car into a stop just outside the departures terminal.
“Go,” Seokmin says, breathless but firm. “We’re here.”
Jeonghan doesn’t think, doesn’t thank him. He throws the door open and runs, his chest burning, his mind a single frantic pulse.
Find you.
You roll your suitcase through the sliding doors, the weight of the week still pressed into your shoulders. The terminal hums with the usual chaos. You adjust the strap of your bag, telling yourself this is it, that leaving quietly was the right choice.
Your name rings out behind you, sharp enough to slice through the noise. You freeze mid-step. That voice. No—it couldn’t be. Slowly, almost unwillingly, you turn.
And there he is. Jeonghan. He’s breathless, hair mussed from the sprint, still in his race suit jacket like he hadn’t even stopped to change. His chest rises and falls too fast, his eyes locked on you with a kind of urgency you’ve never seen in them before.
“Jeonghan?” Your voice is a half-whisper, caught between shock and disbelief. “What are you—don’t you have a press meet right now?”
He shakes his head, taking a step closer, and then another, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t keep moving. His lips part, the words tumbling out raw, unpolished, desperate.
“I like you.”
The world tilts, your feet rooted to the floor. You stare at him, frozen, heart hammering in your chest. He doesn’t stop.
“I like you,” he says again, firmer this time, his voice steadier even as his hands tremble at his sides. “I should’ve said it earlier. I should’ve said it before you ever thought about leaving. I should’ve told you the first time I realized being around you made the track feel less lonely.”
Your throat tightens. He steps closer, close enough now that you can see the shine in his eyes, the panic sitting right behind it.
“You can walk away,” Jeonghan says.“If you want to. But I can’t let you leave without knowing. I like you.”
He swallows hard, eyes flicking away for a moment before he forces himself to meet yours again. “When she… when she cheated on me, I thought it was because of me. Like I wasn’t enough. Like I was the problem.” His words falter, quiet and uneven, but he pushes on. “Since then I’ve carried this voice in my head, telling me I don’t deserve anything good. Telling me I don’t deserve you.”
He shakes his head, a bitter laugh slipping out before his voice steadies again. “I still don’t think I do. But even if I’m a mess, even if I’m not perfect, I need you to know this—I like you. More than I’ve ever said out loud, more than I thought I could.”
Your breath shudders out, the weight of his words crashing into you all at once. And before you can think, before you can reason your way out of it, you’re moving—closing the space between you, your hands curling into the fabric of his jacket as you pull him down.
You press your lips on his. He stiffens for a fraction of a second, then melts into it, his hands cupping your face like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.
Your lips linger against his, breaths mingling in the rush of everything you never thought you would hear from him. He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes searching, softer than you have ever seen them.
“I like you,” he repeats, almost like he is afraid you might not believe it.
You smile, and this time it is easy. “I like you too.”
UGH. yes yes yes. such a fantastic job capturing jeonghan's playful, teasing nature. this bout to be on REPEAT. also my gateway drug to this f1 collab which is FABOOOOO
hello hello! i'm well! it's been a super busy summer for me, but things have calmed down a bit, which i am quite grateful for!
i'm like sorta back lurking on tumblr but not really back writing, per se. gonna play it by ear, but some fic ideas have been sparking lately so we shall see 👀
do you think you can do a part 2 to “fighting fire” ? i’m begging respectfully 😭
hello, thank you for the ask, i'm glad that you liked that fic!
i'm gonna be really honest with you, i have no plans to write a part 2. i haven't been in a writing mood for a while so i don't want to give you a false sense of hope. hope you understand
Summary: You and Seokmin have been dating for a few years, but now you're the star of a new drama with your co-star Rowoon, which makes Seokmin insecure. Seokmin tries his best to be supportive and understanding, but sometimes it's too much, and you're both unsure if your relationship can survive the jealousy and fights.
i just read "we get along infamously" and OMG you've done the enemies to lovers trope justice!! the rivalry is so good to watch especially with the prequels!! plus i definitely see jeonghan doing all this like the character is so spot on.
agh! thank you so much for reading and taking the time to send me an ask!
i'm so happy you enjoyed it. jeonghan has suuuuch rivals to lovers vibes it's so fun to write.
Summary: You and Seokmin have been dating for a few years, but now you're the star of a new drama with your co-star Rowoon, which makes Seokmin insecure. Seokmin tries his best to be supportive and understanding, but sometimes it's too much, and you're both unsure if your relationship can survive the jealousy and fights.
Pairing: Idol! Lee Seokmin x Actress! Female Reader
☆ 18+ minors dni |☀︎fluff | ☁︎ angst | ♕ implied smut | ♥ completed works
Genre/Trope(s)/AUs: Idol AU! and Actress AU!
Content Warnings: swearing, angst, jealousy, crying, mentions of a sprained ankle lol. Mentions of sex, food and snacks and Dispatch being public enemy number 1. Featuring the ever so handsome Rowoon. Also unnecessary Rowoon slander from Seokmin.
Smut Warnings: Mentions of multiple rounds and scratching.
Author's Note 1: thank you to the lovely @gyuwoncheol and thank you to my resident Seokmin lover @the-boy-meets-evil and my lovely wifey(s) @bitchlessdino @multi-kpop-fanfics ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ thank you guys for hearing me go on and on about this <3
Author's Note 2: This series will be released in 2024! (and yes i'm reposting this because the tag system was bothering me).
Author's Note 3: This is all fiction. ❤️
Authors Note 4: I know you're too humble, but this story would not exist without @gyuwoncheol I've wanted to make you co-author because you've inspired and helped me SO MUCH. But you won't let me, but I need you to know how much you mean to me. Thank you for being such a safe space for me to outlet and share updates and ideas. But importantly thank you for always making time for me. I adore you, my love. 🩷🩷🩷
Let me know if you wish to be tagged in this, I will only tag those who have their age visible on their profiles and are 18+.
Updates will be made daily.
Part 1: Tall Ass Rowoon 1st January 2024
Part 2: Access Code 2nd January 2024
Part 3: Wires 3rd January 2024
Part 4: Fuck Dispatch 4th January 2024
Part 5: #concerned 5th January 2024
Part 6: Slutty Eyes 6th January 2024
Part 7: Overworked PR Team 7th January 2024
Part 8: Spiteful 8th January 2024
Part 9: The Brightest Star 9th January 2024
Part 10: Therapist Shua 10th January 2024
Part 11: Emotional Support Teddy Bear 11th January 2024
Part 12: Drunk On You 12th January 2024
Part 13: Twice a Week 13th January 2024
Part 14: Sweet Lies 14th January 2024
Part 15: Hell 15th January 2024
Part 16: Not Okay 16th January 2024
Part 17: Test 17th January 2024
Part 18: Hell 2.0 18th January 2024
Part 19: Irreparable 19th January 2024
Part 20: Returned 20th January 2024
Part 21: Locked Out 21st January 2024
Part 22: Time Machine 22nd January 2024
Part 23: Lukewarm 23rd January 2024
Part 24: Fractured 24th January 2024
Part 25: Hell 3.0 25th January 2024
Part 26: Last Chance 26th January 2024
Part 27: To You (written) 27th January 2024
Part 28: Forever 28th January 2024
Summary: You and Seokmin have been dating for a few years, but now you're the star of a new drama with your co-star Rowoon, which makes Seokmin insecure. Seokmin tries his best to be supportive and understanding, but sometimes it's too much, and you're both unsure if your relationship can survive the jealousy and fights.
Pairing: Idol! Lee Seokmin x Actress! Female Reader
☆ 18+ minors dni |☀︎fluff | ☁︎ angst | ♕ implied smut | ♥ completed works
Genre/Trope(s)/AUs: Idol AU! and Actress AU!
Content Warnings: swearing, angst, jealousy, crying, mentions of a sprained ankle lol. Mentions of sex, food and snacks and Dispatch being public enemy number 1. Featuring the ever so handsome Rowoon. Also unnecessary Rowoon slander from Seokmin.
Smut Warnings: Mentions of multiple rounds and scratching.
Author's Note 1: thank you to the lovely @gyuwoncheol and thank you to my resident Seokmin lover @the-boy-meets-evil and my lovely wifey(s) @bitchlessdino @multi-kpop-fanfics ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ thank you guys for hearing me go on and on about this <3
Author's Note 2: This series will be released in 2024! (and yes i'm reposting this because the tag system was bothering me).
Author's Note 3: This is all fiction. ❤️
Authors Note 4: I know you're too humble, but this story would not exist without @gyuwoncheol I've wanted to make you co-author because you've inspired and helped me SO MUCH. But you won't let me, but I need you to know how much you mean to me. Thank you for being such a safe space for me to outlet and share updates and ideas. But importantly thank you for always making time for me. I adore you, my love. 🩷🩷🩷
Let me know if you wish to be tagged in this, I will only tag those who have their age visible on their profiles and are 18+.
Updates will be made daily.
Part 1: Tall Ass Rowoon 1st January 2024
Part 2: Access Code 2nd January 2024
Part 3: Wires 3rd January 2024
Part 4: Fuck Dispatch 4th January 2024
Part 5: #concerned 5th January 2024
Part 6: Slutty Eyes 6th January 2024
Part 7: Overworked PR Team 7th January 2024
Part 8: Spiteful 8th January 2024
Part 9: The Brightest Star 9th January 2024
Part 10: Therapist Shua 10th January 2024
Part 11: Emotional Support Teddy Bear 11th January 2024
Part 12: Drunk On You 12th January 2024
Part 13: Twice a Week 13th January 2024
Part 14: Sweet Lies 14th January 2024
Part 15: Hell 15th January 2024
Part 16: Not Okay 16th January 2024
Part 17: Test 17th January 2024
Part 18: Hell 2.0 18th January 2024
Part 19: Irreparable 19th January 2024
Part 20: Returned 20th January 2024
Part 21: Locked Out 21st January 2024
Part 22: Time Machine 22nd January 2024
Part 23: Lukewarm 23rd January 2024
Part 24: Fractured 24th January 2024
Part 25: Hell 3.0 25th January 2024
Part 26: Last Chance 26th January 2024
Part 27: To You (written) 27th January 2024
Part 28: Forever 28th January 2024
izzy806
jbbartram-illu
titsay
blakekathryn
2087
andulkaphoto
stormborns
