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“a girl who knows her liquor is a girl who’s been dumped”
📀now playing: go go juice by sabrina carpenter
❯ summary: A week ago, you never imagined you’d be here—sitting in a random bar on a Tuesday night. But a week ago, you didn’t know your boyfriend was cheating. A week ago, you weren’t single. A week ago, you had no reason to be ordering your sixth drink—or to be drunk dialing your best friend’s brother.
❯ pairings: jaemin x fem!reader
❯ genre: best friend’s brother, smut
❯ words: 7.1k
❯ tags: 18+ minors dni, drinking, y/n has a shitty ex, mentions of cheating, dirty talk, fingering, edging, bratty reader, oral sex (fem receiving), face sitting, begging, protective jaemin, slight jealousy, swearing, reader uses she/her pronouns, literally just jaemin helping y/n get home safe and sober up...
(an: this was supposed to be full smut, but i was already at 7k words of pure filth, so i stopped lolll)
“Sorry, doll.” Max (the bartender you’d somehow befriended over the past week) pulls the empty glass out of reach before you could ring up another. “Hate to be that guy, but I think you’ve had enough.”
You pout, stretching a hand across the bar anyway. It’s your fifth drink. Or maybe sixth. Who was even counting? You were still conscious, still speaking in full sentences, and that seemed like proof enough you could handle one more.
“Come on, Maximilian.” You resort to dragging out his full name, leaning into it. “I’ll give you a hundred dollar tip. Straight on my tab right now. That’s reasonable, yeah?”
You smile at him. You even flutter your lashes for effect. Though judging by his grimace, and the mirror behind him, you can tell it isn’t working. You’re a mess. Smudged eyeliner. Hollow eyes. A complete lost cause.
Max winces. “You lost the option to bribe me the second you asked if we could—” two of his fingers flick up in the air, mocking quotation marks, “—hooks up. I told you yesterday. I’ve got a wife.”
Your face collapses into a frown.
Damn loyal men. If only Soobin had been one.
Then maybe you wouldn’t be here on a random Tuesday night, letting happy hour bleed into sad. Begging a man old enough to be your dad, a man you know far too much about—his pension plan, his kid’s names—for one more bev and a fuck.
“Okay, fine.” You flap your hand around, carelessly. “Offering you sex was not my brightest moment. But I only did that because Hyuck didn’t pick up. I promise you, I’m only a little drunk.”
Max sighs and tosses his rag over his shoulder. “Darling, that’s exactly why I’m cutting you off while you’re still coherent. I know your routine by now. Drink, call, guy shows up, you go home with him. Usually they’re here before your third. Tonight they’re not. And I won’t have that on my conscience.”
You pout again, because Max is being logical. But broken hearts don’t take kindly to reason. Especially not yours. No, yours seems to believe all men are bastards, and liquor is the only cure worth swallowing.
You’re about to beg again. Sink fully into the patheticness of bargaining—promises, smiles, literally anything—just to have him pour you another double vodka. But then a voice cuts through. So gravelly, it drags your head to the side.
“What kind of whiskey do you have here?”
A man. His arm braced against the bar, casually holding himself up. He lets his eyes rake over the lineup of glass bottles behind Max, never sparing a glance in your direction.
Max opens his mouth. But you get there first.
“Jameson, Redbreast, Bushmills—take your pick. But do not order Powers, because I swear it’s the off-brand stuff. Tastes like petrol.”
“Thank you, Y/N,” Max says through gritted teeth, his jaw tight with a fake smile. “That’ll be the last time I tell you anything in confidence, girl.”
“Well, Maxxie, that’s what happens when you cut me off,” you grin at him.
“Y/N?”
The stranger repeats your name, but this time his voice is clearer, less gravelly. And for some reason, you recognise it. Which you hate—because you picked this place for a reason.
Twenty minutes out of town in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Where no one could witness just how drastically this particular breakup had been gutting you. You’d even told Sua, your best friend, no when she begged you to be her plus one to her old roommate’s wedding. Because you couldn’t be seen. Couldn’t risk bumping into anyone who knew the before you.
And yet—
You squint. The side profile of this man was one thing—unfairly spectacular, carved from some cruel geometry or higher power—but face-on, your double vision steadies just enough (despite the vodka) to stitch it together.
“Jaemin?”
“I take it this is your Tuesday night booty call, eh, Y/N?” Max leans against the back of the bar now, arms folded. He looks down at you past his nose, smiling smugly.
“God, Max—no. What—no!” Your eyes go wide. You flail, wildly, at nothing. “This is… Jaemin. My friend Sua’s brother. I did not call him for that. I did not call him, period.”
“Actually you did—”
Jaemin cuts in and you glare at him. Because there’s no way. Except…there probably is a way. Probably when you were scrolling through the J section of your contacts, looking for someone who’d answer, and his name fell neatly between your ex-boyfriend, Jaehyun, and your favourite fuck, Jeno.
Who’s to say?
“I called you?” you ask, eyebrows pulling together, your eyes narrowing without meaning to.
And God, he looks different now. Older. Well, he was always older. The big brother Sua hated having around when you’d sleep over. The big brother who ruined her dating life, and by extension yours, because he saw you both as a package deal of irritating little sisters.
If only he’d been there to ruin things with Soobin. You hated it when you were younger. But now? You’d have loved him telling that prick to fuck off. Because then you wouldn’t be here. Cheated on. Drunk. Pathetic.
Jaemin pushes a few strands of dyed-blonde hair from his eyes. “Yeah. Thought it was weird. You kept saying…” He taps his chin, thinking for the exact phrasing. “‘Do you me still love?’”
You cringe. But at least the mystery of who you were trying to call is solved—Jaehyun, the ex.
Max laughs then, “And you were trying to convince me you were sober enough for a sixth drink? Drunk dialling your friend’s brother, and asking the bartender to fuc—”
“He’ll have a Rye on the rocks please, Max,” you cut in before he can finish that particular humiliation. Jaemin nods once, confirming, and Max disappears to the shelves.
You suck in a breath and keep your eyes glued to the bottles lined behind the bar, as if looking straight ahead will make him go away. If you refuse to look at him, he’ll disappear. Take the hint and not dig.
Fifteen-year-old you would have killed to sneak a look at Jaemin and have him this close. God knows you tried whenever Sua invited you over. You hated when he wasn’t around—when he was out with his friends, or tangled up with some girlfriend who wasn’t you.
“On a first-name basis with the bartender, and offering to fuck him?” Jaemin finally breaks the silence as he sinks down on the stool beside you. Clearly not disappearing. “You two close?”
You clear your throat. Then swallow. God, you’d kill for a drink. Fuck Max.
“This is my favourite bar. I see him a lot. And I never asked him to—well, okay, I did. But it wasn’t… it wasn’t like that. He’s married!” Your words stumble over each other, tumbling out all clumsy.
Jaemin smiles, flashing you that same set of pearly-white teeth that used to make your heart flutter in adolescence.
“Your favourite bar, huh?” He tips his head, amused. “It’s a little far away from our hometown. Sua never told me you moved.”
“I didn’t—I haven’t.” You blink at him. “Wait… why would she tell you that anyway?”
“Because I live out here.”
Shit. You’d forgotten about that.
That last tequila sunrise must have burned the memory clean out of you—that Jaemin moved away for college and settled out here after getting his degree. You only ever saw him in passing, when you dropped off holiday gifts at Sua’s house in the Winter time.
He shrugs, strands of that new blonde hair he keeps fighting with falling into his eyes. “I know Sua. If you’d moved, she would’ve asked me to keep an eye on you.” Then, casually, he adds: “But since we’ve cleared that up—are you going to tell me why you’re here, in this bar, twenty minutes from town, asking married men to fuck you?”
You don’t think it’s possible to cringe any harder.
“I did not—” You inhale, pinch your eyes shut. “That is none of your business.”
His bottom lip juts out as his shoulders lift. “You kind of make it my business when you call me asking how I’ve been? If I’m in the area? And if I want to eat your pussy?”
Your eyes practically launch out of your skull. And obviously—because the universe is cruel, vindictive, and actively rooting for your downfall this week—that’s when Max reappears with Jaemin’s drink, sliding it across the bar like he hasn’t just heard every foul word.
He coughs. “Um—I think I heard a patron say there’s a… spill. Somewhere. Needs cleaning.”
There isn’t. You know there isn’t. The bar’s empty—you’ve been cataloguing every person, every stool, every dark dusty corner for the last twenty minutes before Jaemin showed up. Looking for someone. Anyone. To pick up.
Max flees anyway. And when he’s gone, your eyes snap back to Jaemin, who’s smirking over the rim of his whiskey glass, one brow cocked.
“I did not ask you to do—” you drop your voice to a furious whisper—“that.”
“Not just that, no.” He sets the glass down, then leans in close to drop his voice to an equally low volume. “In fact, you said I could skip that altogether and go straight to fucking your mouth if I wanted.”
Christ. You’d clearly sobered up since that call. Maybe Max had a point to cut you off. But God you wish you had a couple of shots right now to shield you from this embarrassment. At least then you could blame the alcohol for your flushed cheeks.
“Yeah, well, don’t feel too special.” You lift your chin, trying to regain some composure. “I was trying different numbers all night—I didn’t expect you to actually pick up.”
There’s a flash in Jaemin’s eyes then. He tips the rest of his whiskey back, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Who’s the asshole?”
“W-what?”
“The asshole,” he says again, slow. “The one who’s got you drinking alone in a bar and calling up anyone in your contacts and begging them to fuck you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Y/N.” He shakes his head, a humorless sound leaving his throat. “I’ve known you since we were kids. You’ve never been a drinker. Never to the point you could list whiskey brands or be on a first-name basis with a bartender.”
You swallow. Hard.
“I know you,” he empthasises. “Trust me—any girl who knows her liquor like that, is a girl who’s been dumped.” His tongue runs slow along his teeth. “So. Tell me. Who’s the asshole?”
You tut out a laugh, tilting your face away from him—then back again. “You gonna beat him up like you used to when I was sixteen?”
His head tips side to side, considering. “Depends. How badly did he hurt you?”
“Mhm,” You shake your head, lips twitching. “Nice to know the rules have changed. You used to scare even the nice ones away when me and Sua were in high school.”
“Of course I did.” His mouth curves into that maddening smile. “You two were too young for dating.”
“We were a year younger than you.”
He cups a hand dramatically to his ear. “Sorry, what was that? I could’ve sworn you just admitted you were younger than me, which only proves my point.”
You playfully roll your eyes. “Thank God you weren’t around for our senior year.”
He actually shivers, rolling his shoulders. “Please don’t put any images like that in my head.”
“Oh, please.” You scoff, but it comes out soft. “I think I’ve already put plenty of ideas in your head—based on that phone call you're talking about.”
You don’t know why your voice sounds like that. Sultry, low, silk-drenched. Nothing like how you meant it. And suddenly your lips are bone-dry, so you wet them. Automatic. Nervous.
Jaemin tracks the movement, his gaze fixed on your mouth like it’s the only thing in the room worth looking at. His eyes darken. He coughs, rough.
“Yeah,” he says, voice dropping into gravel again. “Yeah, you did.”
God, he sounds hot. He looks hot. Of course he does. A guy wearing a shirt that stretches across broad shoulders like that, with blonde hair falling into dark eyes, is obviously hot shit. Especially consideing this guy has hands so big they swallow a whiskey glass whole. You had a crush on him then, and now…Now he’s all grown up and absurdly symmetrical.
At least he was ten seconds ago. Because right now, as you look at him, he’s all…squiggly. Blurred. The edges of that perfect jaw are smudging out, the bottles behind the bar melting into watercolors, and then the floor tilts like it’s trying to knock you off your stool. You can’t tell if you’re moving or if the room is.
You hear him—Jaemin. Muffled, like his mouth is pressed against a wall. He’s uttering something… you think it’s your name. He’s definitely saying your name. And you laugh. You don’t know why—you’re spinning, disoriented—but somehow it’s funny. So you giggle. Snort.
That’s the last thing you recall. The laughter, and then nothing at all. Just black.
You can hear running water. Which would make sense if you were outside—except you’re not. At least, you don’t think you are. Not unless you hauled your pillows, duvet, and entire mattress over your shoulder and decided to rough it in someone’s front garden. Which, given the amount of alcohol you consumed last night, isn’t totally outside the realm of possibility.
You try to open your eyes, assess the damage, confirm whether or not you’ve accidentally lost the plot, but the hangover hits you like a weighted blanket. You can only manage a pathetic eye flutter.
Still, a flutter’s enough because you catch walls. Real, solid, indoor walls. Good news, since walls mean you’re not currently sleeping in the mud. Except these walls? You don’t recognise them. Correction—you do. But not because they’re yours. No, these walls are Jaemin’s.
His childhood ones. The walls you spent your formative years imagining yourself trapped behind. Posters of that band he never shut up about, photos of him and the same three boys you used to stalk from Sua’s window, a desk still messily lined with CDs of his favourite music.
And the bed. God, the bed. This bed. His bed. The one you used to imagine sneaking into at seventeen, sixteenth—hell, fifteen, when your crush on Jaemin had been embarrassingly apparent. You dreamed about this. Fantasised until it made you sick. And now you’re actually here. Hungover (not exactly how teenage you imagined it) and smelling faintly of vodka.
The running water stops. And then—well. Then Jaemin strolls out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel slung low on his narrow hips. Droplets slide down and litter the span of his shoulders, and your chin practically mirrors the water with the way you’re salivating.
That, apparently, is the defibrillator your body needed, because your eyes snap open so fast you nearly sprain an eyelid. You cough—loudly—because what else are you supposed to do when the ghost of every single teenage fantasy you ever had just materialises, half-naked, first thing in the morning?
He glances over from his dresser, utterly unbothered, like you didn’t drunk-dial him last night for God knows what. (You wish you remembered. You really wish you remembered, because drunk calls are typically reserved for hookups, and you’d really like to remember a hookup with this man.)
“Oh, you’re awake,” he says, pulling out a pair of sweats. “Bathroom’s free if you wanna…” He gestures vaguely. “Extra toothbrush under the sink. You kept throwing up last night.”
Mortification doesn’t even cover it. You launch yourself out of the bed like it’s on fire, clutching the duvet to your chest—only to realise you’re not naked. Rare, when you wake up in a man’s room, but you’ll take the small mercy. Bare feet slap against the floorboards as you sprint into the bathroom and slam the door behind you.
The mirror does you no favours. Eyeliner streaked down your cheeks, face blotchy, hair a mess. And—perfect—there’s actual dried drool on your chin from when you were too busy ogling him like a creep to remember to swallow. Fantastic. You paw uselessly at your hair, then go at your panda eyes with a tissue until the smudges fade. You dig out the spare toothbrush he promised and brush until the sour tang of vodka finally evaporates from your mouth. When you spit and rinse, you feel only slightly better.
Just good enough to square your shoulders, tilt your chin up like you haven’t just been caught in one of your most humiliating mornings alive, and march back into the room.
He’s on the bed now, leaning against the headboard, his stupid veiny hands wrapped around his phone. He’s changed—black sweatpants (not grey, thank God, you would actually combust) but still shirtless. Fine. It’s his room. You can’t exactly dictate the dress code.
You inhale, pull on your most blasé voice. “Well. Last night was fun…”
His head lifts from his phone. “You wanna talk about it?”
God no.
You shift on your heels. “Oh no. We probably should never speak about it again, actually. Like, ever. I don’t think Sua would be too thrilled to find out I hooked up with her brother—”
“We didn’t hook up.”
Your eyes drop instantly to the oversized shirt you’re wearing. His shirt. An old band tee from high school, worn soft at the collar. You glance back up at him, brow furrowed. He’s watching you with narrowed eyes.
“Then…why am I here?”
“Because,” he says, sliding his phone onto the nightstand, gaze locking onto yours like he’s pinning you to the spot, “as I was driving you home, you couldn’t remember your new address, we were too far out from my place, you told me not to call Sua, and you begged me not to take you to your parents’ house.”
You wince so hard, but he doesn’t stop talking.
“Don’t worry. My mum helped me get you out of your dress and into that.” He nods to the tee.
Your stomach caves in on itself. “Mrs. Na saw me like that? In that state?”
He nods, lips twitching at the edges.
“Oh, God.” You drag your hands down your face. You think her seeing you like that is worse than your parents. That woman practically raised you.
“So…” Jaemin’s gaze narrows again, the crease in his brow cutting deeper. “Now are we going to talk about why you were in that state last night?”
“Nope.”
“Y/N.” He stands now, pushing off the bed, unfolding those long limbs of his. He’s got that tone—the big-brother, sensible-adult, absolute-buzzkill tone—he used on you when you were sixteen and sneaking wine coolers into Sua’s room. You hated it then, you hate it now.
“I need you to tell me why you were so drunk.”
“Because I’m over twenty-one and it’s legal for me to drink.”
“Cute.” His mouth flattens, humourless. “Let me rephrase. Why the fuck are you drinking so much you’re calling strangers to fuck you?”
“You’re not a stranger.”
“Exactly,” he says with no softness. “I’m not. Which is why you were safe with me last night. But Christ, Y/N—” he exhales hard, raking a hand through his damp hair. “You were gone. Plastered. God knows who could’ve taken advantage of you.”
“That’s the point of a drunk dial, eh?”
You throw it out like a joke, but he’s not laughing. He doesn’t even blink. He just stares down at you, all lecturing and patronising.
You roll your eyes. “Look,” you laugh—except it sounds a little brittle. “It really isn’t that serious. I was trying different numbers. I clearly didn’t think you’d actually pick up.”
He lifts his shoulders. “Dialling random numbers for sex sounds serious to me.”
“Only because you’re making it sound like that.”
“I’m not. It’s objectively dangerous.”
“Sorry, Dad.”
His eyes flash with something dark then. Something in your response makes him take a step forward, and your throat works around a swallow you hope he doesn’t notice.
“You can’t consent to sex if you’re drunk, Y/N.”
You straighten your spine, trying to claw back control. “Well, we didn’t have sex, so you’re okay. I can keep the cops out of it.”
“Smart ass.” His tongue pushes against his cheek. Then his eyes cut through you. “You called me—begging for it though.”
You snort, embarrassment licking at your skin because that sounds true and totally plausible. Sober you has at least some dignity left though, so you purse your lips like you’re unbothered.
“And you didn’t touch me because I clearly looked a mess. Thank you for getting me home safe, making sure I didn’t choke on my own vomit, and all that. You’re a nice guy.”
“You’re wrong,” he says. Low. Weighted.
Your brows pinch. “What?”
“I didn’t not touch you because you looked a mess.” He takes another step, and instinctively, you take one back—until your spine collides with the solid panel of his bedroom door. “I didn’t touch you because you were a mess.”
“Oh, thanks, Jaem,” you shoot back. “You always were my favourite confidence booster—”
His hands land on your hips, hot and unforgiving, cutting off your sarcasm mid-breath. His voice drops, almost a growl against your ear. “I wanted you to remember absolutely everything I do to this fucking body.” A shiver wracks down your spine, betraying you. “I’m a nice guy, Y/N. But nothing about what I want to do to you is… nice. And I wanted you to remember that.”
Your throat is bone dry. Like, desert-level. Every smartass comeback you’ve ever had at the ready has suddenly evaporated under the heat of his stare and the press of his fingertips digging into your hips. You’re flustered, and it’s not the hangover—it’s all him.
“You—” Your voice cracks, which is unfair. You clear it and try again, aiming for steady but landing on unconvincing. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Am I?” His grip tightens, pulling you closer until your chest almost brushes his. “Because the fact you woke up this morning thinking we’d fucked but couldn’t remember it, kinda proves my point.”
“Please—you men are so cocky,” you roll your eyes, which clearly irritates him because his eyes go black. “You flatter yourselves too much. Women have plenty of forgettable sex.”
“Never with me,” he grits, jaw tight. “If you ever have sex with me, you’ll remember every second.”
“If?”
“No. When.” He leans down, close enough that his breath sweeps across your jaw, and suddenly words are harder to form, letters blurring in your mouth. “Because you called me last night. And I’ve heard that pretty mouth say the filthiest shit. Beg for the filthiest shit. And I thought—” His eyes drag over you, dark and hungry. “Sua’s sweet friend? My Y/N? The one who used to have a crush on me? Begging to ride my face—”
“I did not.” The denial bursts out of you too fast; it’s basically a flimsy defence.
“You did.” His eyes flash. “I remember it because I can’t get the image of it out of my head. Can’t stop seeing it—seeing you drunk and desperate enough to call me. Who fucking hurt you?”
“I—” Your brain stutters, because his eyes are right there, pinning you, pupils blown wide. You push a pathetic laugh through your nerves. “My boyfriend cheated on me.”
“Boyfriend?” His tone sharpens.
You swallow. “Ex-boyfriend.”
“Better.” His thumbs stroke slow, lazy, teasing circles into your hips, until his voice drops lower. “His name, Y/N?”
“I’m not telling…” you start, except it comes out embarrassingly breathless.
“Fine,” he murmurs, nose skimming along your temple, then your cheek, purposefully avoiding your lips—just taunting. “Don’t tell me. I’ll just fuck it out of you.”
You should argue. Tell him it’s not his business, that you’re not his problem. You should shove him back and draw the line. But your body refuses to cooperate. Your hands curl into the waistband of his sweats, fingertips slipping under the cotton. Your head tips back against the door, throat on display, bare and vulnerable for his eyes to flick down.
“Fuck,” he breathes, mouth skimming your jaw, then the corner of your lips, infuriatingly close but not giving you what you want. “Always been the prettiest fucking girl to me.”
“Don’t lie,” you manage, though your pulse is hammering. “You never looked at me once when we were younger.”
His lips finally brush yours, barely a ghost of a kiss. “Yes, I did. Every time you came over to study with Sua in that little plaid skirt, looking at me with these big doe eyes.” His hand drags down your hip. “You used to wear it just to taunt me, didn’t you?”
“Nope.” You shake your head, despite your breath hitching when his fingers dip lower, brushing the waistband of you (his) shorts.“Didn’t have a reason to dress up for you.”
“That so?” He laughs, low and disbelieving. “No little crush on me?”
You shake your head again.
“Liar.”
Then his mouth crushes yours before you can even argue. His tongue slides in, teeth tugging at your bottom lip like he owns it. You moan before you can stop yourself, and it only makes his grip on your hips clamp tighter, bruising.
He kisses like a man deprived, greedy, ruthless, swallowing you whole. His chest pins you to the door, his cock straining hard against the sweats you’re still fisting, and you can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything except take. You want to take.
You hate that you want to take.
You rip your mouth free just long enough to whisper, bratty: “Good job I didn’t have a crush. I’d be disappointed—since you’re not even that good a kisser.”
His laugh is sharp against your mouth. “Keep running that mouth, sweetheart. You won’t be saying that when I’m kissing your pussy and you’re begging to cum.”
“Promises, promises—” But your bravado shatters, and your words melt, when his thigh shoves between your legs, pressing up right where you need it. Heat scorches through you, your knees buckling as your body betrays you.
“What was that?” He grinds higher, lips brushing your ear, breath hot. “So fucking wet already. Last night, you were begging to sit on my face, and now you’re trembling from just a little pressure from my thigh. But maybe you’re right.” His smile is wicked, teeth grazing your skin. “Maybe I should stop, since I’m not very good.”
“You’re imagining things,” you bite out, but your hips roll down against his thigh.
“Am I?” His hand slips beneath your shirt, palm spreading across your stomach, climbing higher, slow enough to torture. “Because it feels like you’re dripping all over me. Don’t lie to me, Y/N. Not when your body’s so responsive.”
Your breath catches, nails digging hard into his waistband. His eyes cut down to you, dark and triumphant, glinting like he’s already won.
“You know what the best part is?” His lips drag down your throat, teeth sinking under your jaw, sucking until a bruise blossoms hot into your skin. “You were always Sua’s sweet little friend. Off-limits. Innocent.” His mouth curves against your pulse. “But now you’re spread open on my thigh, against my door, grinding like a desperate little slut.”
“Fuck you,” you gasp, but it’s weak, and he knows it.
“You will,” he promises, biting at your throat again. “And you’re gonna remember every second.”
Then his mouth is back on yours, rougher, hungrier, devouring every sound you make. His hands roam under your shirt, squeezing your tits, thumbs brushing your nipples until you’re whimpering into his mouth.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Knew you’d sound so fucking pretty too.”
“Jaem—” you try, but it’s more plea than protest.
“Yeah, that’s it. Say my name like you’ve always wanted to.”
His hand abandons your ribs, slipping lower now, past your stomach, dragging the hem of the borrowed shorts down just enough. His fingers slide under the waistband, dipping beneath your panties, finally—finally—finding you wet and aching.
“Fuck, baby.” His voice drops, all gravel and lust. “Soaked for me. You can’t even try to lie to me about it now.”
“Shut up,” you breathe.
He smirks against your mouth as your hips roll down, pressing into him. His fingers trace idle circles over your clit, barely there, but enough to make you twitch and whine. Always a fucker—Jaemin. Sly, cocky, infuriatingly charming. Every stroke has you clutching at his sweatpants like you could tear them off with sheer will. You want to rip them off. You need to.
“This,” he whispers, dragging two slick fingers through your folds, coating them with your wetness, “is what you begged me for last night. And now… look at you, grinding on me desperately. Been thinking about this for years, haven’t you? Been wanting me to see you? Wondering if I’ve been thinking about it too?”j
“Don’t—” Your words crumble into a moan as he presses two fingers inside you, stretching you opne, slick and hot, filling you too easily.
“Don’t what?” His pace is mericless. The curl of his fingers hits that spot that makes your back arch and your body shudder. His thumb rubs over your clit in maddening circles. “Don’t tell you I’ve wanted you all this time? Don’t tell you I kept my hands to myself for the sake of your friendship with my sister? Don’t tell you I had the same little crush that you had on me?”
Your chest heaves, breath shaky, hips jerking against his fingers. “You—stop—Jaemin,” you gasp, but it’s useless. He’s relentless, and the truth of it—of him—has you dripping. Your knees threaten to give, so he hooks his other arm around your waist, holding you pinned to the door, fucking you with his hand like he’s been waiting a lifetime.
“Oh, baby girl, I know,” he coos, voice thick and mocking as your head tips back, and your lips part around ragged, broken moans. “I don’t need you to admit a damn thing—your pretty little pussy is doing all the talking for me, clenching on my fingers like you’re about to fucking explode. You really that easy for me?”
“Fuck, Jaemin, please!”
“I will,” he grins, thumb pressing harder, faster, until your legs tremble like jelly. “But first—” His lips brush against your ear, voice turning low and lethal. “You’re gonna give me his name.”
Your head jerks, eyes flying open.“What?”
“You heard me.” His pace never falters, thumb relentless on your clit as he fucks you right to the edge. “The prick who made you drunk dial me? You’re gonna tell me who he is.”
You shake your head desperately, already teetering. “No—fuck, no—”
“Yes.” His mouth drags down your neck, biting hard over the bruises he’s left. “Right now. Or I pull out and you don’t get to cum.”
His fingers slow just enough to make you whine. And suddenly,his threat starts to feel very cruel and very real.
“Say it,” he orders. “Give me his fucking name, Y/N. Or I’ll ruin you and leave you dripping, desperate, with nothing.”
He can’t do that. You won’t let him do that.
“Soobin,” you choke out, every muscle tight, your body begging for that last push. You know you’ve given him what he wanted, the key to unlock your orgasm, but suddenly—he’s gone. His hand disappears from your shorts, leaving you throbbing, and before you can process it, his slick fingers slide straight into his mouth.
Your jaw drops, confusion warring with frustration as he sucks them clean, eyes locked on yours the whole time.
“Jaemin?”
He smirks, pulling them free with an obscene pop. “This the same Soobin guy you started dating in your senior year?”
You nod before you can stop yourself, still hazy from being edged within an inch of your life. He shrugs like it’s casual, like he didn’t just almost unravel you on his hand. “You know…I never did like that guy.”
His fingers trace sluggish patterns up your thigh, featherlight, nowhere near where you need him most. The touch is maddening. You shiver, body too sensitive, skin prickling with every brush.
“Jaemin, please—”
He tilts his head, savouring your plea. “Please what?”
“I told you his name,” you whisper, hating how desperate you sound. “Please make me cum.”
His smirk deepens, devilish. “Fuck, seeing you beg me in person is hotter than hearing it through the phone.”
Okay, now he’s just being an arrogant asshole.
“Unless you’re incapable—”
“Not incapable, sweetheart.” His voice slices through yours, hand shooting up fast, cupping your jaw, thumb pressing against your lips before you can talk back to him again. His grin is sharp, cocky, his breath warm against your cheek. “Just want you to cum the way you begged me for it on the phone.”
Your heart stops.
He leans in. “Want you to cum on my face. Since that’s what that bastard had you begging for.”
The air leaves your lungs in one shaky exhale. Your thighs tense, hips tipping up like your body’s already saying yes even while your brain is scrambling.
“You’re full of yourself,” you whisper, voice breaking on the last word because of how close his fingers are—still hovering at the edge of your shorts, not giving you relief.
His smirk deepens. “Well, you have a pretty girl call you in the middle of the night, saying the shit you said to me, and see how your ego’s doing.” He drags his knuckles down the leg. “So go on, baby. Be a good girl. Say it sober this time.”
Your pride claws at your throat, but your body’s buzzing, strung too tight, too sensitive. You know him. Know he’ll walk if you don’t say it. Know he’ll make you beg. Know he’s just that stubborn—because yes, you’ve always had a crush on this boy, no matter how much you avoid the question.
“Jaem—”
“Say. It.” His mouth brushes your ear, voice a razor-sharp whisper. “Tell me to eat this sweet cunt until you scream my name.”
You bite down hard, torn between bratty and desperate, but it slips out anyway, sounding all needy: “I want to cum on your face.”
One hand slides under your ass, the other clamps on your jaw like he won’t let you take it back. You yelp when your feet leave the ground.
“Jaemin!”
“Shh,” he growls, hauling you like you weigh nothing. His grip is iron, his pace ruthless, and when he kicks through the mess on the floor and drops you onto the bed, your body bounces with the force of it.
“Oh my god, warn a girl.” You glare.
“You don’t need a warning.” His palms bracket your thighs, spreading you wide. “You need my fucking mouth. Right here.”
Heat slams through you, your pulse jumping when he yanks at the waistband of your shorts. You scramble up on your elbows. “Wait—”
“Don’t you dare tell me to wait,” he warns, fingers hooking into the fabric to drag them down in one brutal pull, leaving you bare. “You called me begging to sit on my face. You begged for this. You’re not getting shy on me now.”
Your whole body burns as he slides back against the headboard, watching you like prey. He gestures with two lazy taps of his cheek.
“Come here.” That smirk is lethal. “Sit right on it, sweetheart.”
Your mouth drops. “You’re actually insane.”
His grin sharpens. “And you’re desperate to cum. So hurry up.”
The way he looks at you—hungry, cocky, like this is his win and your punishment all at once—makes you blush. You swallow hard, but your body moves anyway, climbing toward him, straddling his broad chest.
“Fuck,” he groans when your thighs cage his head. His hands slide up your hips, grip bruising, guiding you lower. “That’s it. Ride me. Make a mess all over my face, sweetheart.”
You whimper, fingers clutching the headboard for balance, thighs trembling as you hover. “Jaemin…”
“Sit.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “Properly. You’re not gonna break me.”
You sink down. The first swipe of his tongue against your pussy has you crying out, head slamming back, your whole body shuddering. He moans into you like he’s been malnourished, dragging his tongue through you again and again until your legs are shaking around his head.
“Holy fuck,” you gasp, rocking helplessly against his mouth. “Jaem!”
He pulls back just long enough to growl, “Yeah, that’s it, baby. Ride my fucking face. Want you to cum so hard you forget that bastard’s name and only remember mine.” Then he dives back in, tongue fucking into you with filthy precision, sucking at your clit until your thighs are clamping tight around his head.
You’re already shaking like a leaf, thighs bolting around his head, ready to snap—when suddenly his tongue slips away. Your whole body jerks.
“Jaemin—”
He licks his lips slowly, smugly. Eyes dark and glinting. “Mm. Not yet.” His hold bruises your hips as he drags you up just far enough that you’re hovering over his mouth. “You don’t cum until I say.”
“Are you—” you gasp, nails clawing into the headboard. “You can’t just stop—”
“I can do whatever the fuck I want.” His knuckles brush your inner thighs. “And what I want is to hear you beg like you mean it.”
“I did beg,” you snap, voice breaking. “I said I wanted to cum on your face—”
“And now you’re gonna say it dirtier. Come on, sweetheart. Tell me exactly how you want me to eat this pretty cunt. Or sit there and drip on my chest and stay needy. I don’t mind either way.”
You hiss through your teeth, “You’re a fucking asshole.”
His grin widens when your body starts twitching. “The asshole you called last night.”
“I called basically everyone,” you snarl, “Kind of wishing Jeno—”
“Finish that sentence, I dare you.”
Your thighs shake, muscles taut, every nerve begging for release. You want to fight, want to claw him apart—but instead your voice cracks, humiliating and raw: “Please. Please, Jaem. Eat me out. I want to cum on your face.”
He groans, completely feral, hands yanking you down—but just as his tongue grazes you, he pulls back again.
“Not good enough, actually,” he says. “I would have been, but that last comment has irritated me, Y/N.”
“Jesus Christ,” you cry, tugging your own hair in frustration. “What do you want me to say? That I want to ride your fucking face until I can’t walk tomorrow? That I want you to tongue-fuck me until I’m screaming your name? Fine—yes. That’s what I fucking want. You. You. You.”
The sound he makes is animal. His hands slam your hips down, locking you against his mouth as he devours you. His tongue is ruthless now, flicking and sucking your clit like he’s punishing you for every bratty word.
You writhe above him, thighs quivering, hands gripping the headboard so hard your knuckles ache. He moans into you like he’s drowning and you’re the only oxygen he wants.
“Jaem—ohmygod, I’m gonna—”
He pulls back again, lips wet, smirking up at you. “Say it one more time. My name. Beg me.”
You want to scream, want to strangle him, but the need between your legs is unbearable. “Please, Jaemin, please—let me cum, I’ll do anything, just—fuck, I need your mouth, I need your tongue, I need you—”
His eyes flare. “That’s my good girl.”
And then he locks you down hard, tongue quick, sucking your clit callously. He doesn’t stop this time. Doesn’t give you space to breathe. He forces you over the edge, shoving you into it with his mouth, and when it hits, it’s devastating.
You shatter, screaming his name, thighs squeezing tight around his head as you cum all over his face. He groans like it’s everything he’s ever wanted, tongue lapping through every wave of your orgasm until you’re twitching, boneless, collapsing forward against the headboard.
You don’t think you’ve ever cum so hard.
Jaemin pulls back at last, chin slick, lips swollen, eyes blazing with smug satisfaction. “Told you, sweetheart. Everything I give you, you’re going to fucking remember.”
ੈ✩‧₊˚ notes ! he’s such a bad bitch i love him ?! also join @fish-and-cake-net net if u love piwon !!!! :D (yes i will take every opportunity to promote the net so what?!) also next in the bf texts series is bonedo so one doors stay tuned 🙏
can u write smth about driver!yn brining back iconic celebrations. love your writing!
she drives everyone insane when she stands on that podium. she’s honestly everyone’s favorite when it comes to podium celebrations!
more about driver!yn
Singapore GP
She wins under the lights. Sweat-slicked and glowing, she steps up to the top podium step with her arms raised like a warrior queen.
And then… her race engineer hands her something.
It's a plastic Burger King crown.
Cheap. Silly. Gold and red.
She slaps it onto her helmeted head like it's royal regalia and bows to the crowd — dramatic, sweeping — before spinning around and pretending to knight Lando with her champagne bottle.
Lando just stares at her. "You can't be serious."
"I'm always serious when I win," she says, placing the crown on his head next.
He keeps it on. Because how can you say no to that?
user: not her pulling out a BURGER KING crown mid-singapore i'm actually losing my mind
user: lando getting knighted with a champagne bottle while wearing a paper crown… bro i love this stupid sport
user: SEB JS LIKED A POST OF THIS MOMENT. SOMEONE TEXT HER RN
user: lando didn't even flinch. like yeah this is normal. yeah crown me.
Brazil GP
Brazil broke the internet.
That race was poetry - wet track, a safety car restart, a flawless double overtake into Turn 1 that made Crofty scream so loud Sky Sports' audio cut out.
She won. Deservedly.
And the moment the car stopped and she stepped out everything snapped into place.
Helmet off. Hair soaked. Eyes gleaming.
She climbed up onto her car, trophyless and breathless, and just stared straight into the lens of the trackside camera.
Then she kissed it. Like she was in a movie.
One hand gripping the halo, the other holding the camera by the lens as she leaned in and gave it a soft, slow, smirking kiss.
The camera fogged up. The crowd lost their minds.
The cameraman stumbled back like he just got slapped. FIA officials were spotted in the background visibly sighing.
She didn't care.
user: THE CAMERA KISS??? | SCREAMED. WHO EVEN THINKS OF THAT???
user: yn just soft-launched a lens. is that her boyfriend? is she dating the camera now??
user: yn after winning a race:
1. bites her trophy
2. kisses the camera
3. throws her glove at a ferrari engineer
4. winks
5. signs someone's hat mid-podium
SHE'S UNHINGED
user: her podiums aren't even podiums anymore they're one-woman shows. i need a ticket.
Mexico GP
Third place and she still showed up with a plan.
The camera pans to the podium and-BOOM.
She's holding a T-shirt cannon. Where did it come from?
Who gave it to her? No one knows.
She shoots a YN-themed shirt into the crowd. Then another.
One hits a security guard. Another lands on the halo of the P3 car.
She turns to the camera and screams: "Merch drop coming soon!”
user: MERCH DROP? WITH A T-SHIRT CANNON? i'm eating this up
user: how did she even smuggle that cannon onto the podium???
user: the t-shirt hit a man square in the chest he didn't even flinch BRO DOESNT KNOW HOW LUCKY HE IS
user: i'm not even a fan but that was the funniest podium i've ever seen
user: every time she steps on a podium it's like live comedy hour
Netherlands GP
It's chaos in Zandvoort. Roaring fans.
And she gets a little too confident. She stands on the second step, nods at the crowd like she's about to do something stupid.
Then she climbs the railing. "NOOOO," Lando yells. "DO NOT."
She jumps. Well- half-jumps. One leg gets caught. She ends up dangling halfway into the grandstand barrier.
Security grabs her, helps her down. She brushes it off and bows.
"I was trying to connect with the people," she says.
She has scratches on her elbow and no regrets.
user: YN REALLY TRIED TO CROWD SURF IN ZANDVOORT. GIRL THIS ISN'T A CONCERT
user: lando's "DO NOT" sounded like a father stopping a child from jumping into a pool fully clothed
user: someone check the security cam angle of her dangling like spider-man halfway through the jump
user: "i wanted to connect with the people" YES BABY BUT NOT BY BODYSLAMMING THEM
summary: while everyone around you is getting married, you're left behind—no ring, no lover, just silence waiting at home. but one night, your boss, mr. jeong, makes an unexpected proposal: "marry me." and suddenly, your quiet world begins to burn.
warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), strong language, emotional vulnerability, pregnancy mention (later), minor angst, lots of kissing, crying, soft husband jaehyun, tooth-rotting fluff, crying-in-the-club type of love.
wc: 19,7K
notes: i’m obsessed with jaehyun as a boss, boyfriend, hubby, and daddy lmao. man’s got range 😮💨💍🖤
i swear i try to keep it short but my brain goes rogue every time 😭 like girl be fr, when’s the day i finally drop a short fic??? bye lmao 💀
you’re twenty-nine, and the number feels heavier than you thought it would. not because it’s old—not really—but because thirty is close. and thirty means expectations. by now, you were supposed to have it all figured out. at least, that’s what they say. your friends certainly make it seem that way with their photo-perfect marriages, toddlers learning to walk, houses in peaceful neighborhoods. meanwhile, you still live in a quiet apartment with plants you often forget to water and a fridge that holds more takeout containers than groceries.
you work at an architecture firm—clean lines, big ideas, and even bigger egos. the kind of place where late nights are common and recognition is rare. you’ve built a name for yourself, though. you lead your team well, your ideas consistently get approved, and your work ethic has never been in question. the other women whisper that you’re just trying to impress the boss, that your dedication is nothing but a strategic flirtation. they don't know that your passion isn’t about pleasing anyone but yourself. well, mostly. maybe part of you does want to be seen. to be acknowledged by him.
jeong jaehyun.
your department lead. two years younger than you, but somehow always carrying himself like he’s lived three lives already. he doesn’t talk much. doesn’t engage in the small talk that fills the office kitchen or the empty flattery some of your coworkers throw his way. he’s serious, focused, almost too calm. the kind of man who’s unreadable, and yet somehow always watching. you’re not close, not really, but there’s a quiet understanding between you. he trusts you. you can feel it in the way he gives you space to lead, the way he nods subtly in meetings when you speak, the way his eyes linger sometimes—not in a way that feels invasive, but like he’s... thinking.
you’ve never seen him flirt with anyone. never seen him talk about his personal life. no ring, no photos on his desk, not even vague mentions of a girlfriend or family. and while no one dares to say anything to his face, everyone wonders. he's a man, though—no one criticizes him for being single. no one asks him what he's waiting for.
you, on the other hand, can barely go a week without someone making a comment. still not married? you’re so pretty, what a shame. your mother means well, but every call ends with a variation of you’re not getting any younger, sweetheart.you smile through it. you tell them you're happy. you tell yourself that, too. but deep down, there's a quiet ache. because you’ve always wanted a family. always dreamed of being a mother, of coming home to someone who knows you—not just your schedule or your favorite takeout order, but the way you think, the way you feel things deeply and try to hide it. but love hasn’t knocked in years. not since your last relationship ended at twenty-two, before the world hardened your heart. since then, you’ve been too busy, too careful, too tired.
tonight, you're staying late again. the office is nearly empty, save for a few flickering lights and the buzz of a vending machine down the hall. you're finessing the last pieces of a major project, making sure every detail is just right. you're in the zone when you hear soft footsteps approaching, and then his voice—low, familiar, closer than expected.
“you’re still here, byun?”
you glance up to find jaehyun standing by your desk, hands in his pockets, that usual unreadable expression on his face. there’s no judgment in his voice, just quiet curiosity.
you offer a tired smile, leaning back in your chair. “oh, mr. jeong, i just wanted to polish a few things before the presentation. i figured if i leave anything messy, the senior managers will rip it apart. and then you’ll take the heat for it.”
he raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that almost looks like a smile. “you care that much about how i look to the execs?”
you shrug, turning back to your screen. “you’re my boss. if you look bad, i look bad.”
he lets out a soft exhale, a sound that's dangerously close to a chuckle. then he leans against your desk, his body relaxed but his eyes still sharp as ever. “you’re too committed.”
“you say that like it’s a bad thing.”
he shakes his head. “not bad. just... rare.”
a brief silence settles between you, not awkward, but weighted. it feels like he’s about to say something else, and when he does, it’s not what you expect.
“doesn’t your family mind that you stay this late?” his gaze holds yours. “your husband? kids?”
you blink, the question catching you off guard. your smile falters just slightly, and you look down at your hands before answering.
“no husband. no kids. no one waiting at home.” you try to sound casual, even throw in a little laugh. “i guess i’m just married to the job.”
he doesn’t laugh. doesn’t look away. “i didn’t know.”
you nod, suddenly very aware of the silence around you. “most people assume. but... yeah. i live alone.”
another pause. then, gently, you ask, “what about you, mr. jeong? i mean, you’re always here late too. no one waiting on you?”
he looks away for the first time, his jaw tightening slightly before he answers. “no one yet.”
and there it is again—that silence between you. but this time, it’s different. it hums with something unspoken. curiosity. surprise. maybe even recognition.
you return your gaze to the screen, not really seeing it. he’s still standing there, close enough to feel but not close enough to touch. something in the air shifts, and for the first time in a long time, your chest feels... not heavy, but full.
the next morning, you arrived a few minutes early—just like always. being punctual wasn’t about impressing anyone; it was about control, about proving—at least to yourself—that you had your life together. it made you feel reliable. consistent. in a workplace full of half-assed excuses and people who couldn’t meet a deadline to save their lives, your discipline was something you wore like armor. something no one could take from you.
your outfit was soft, delicate even—rose-pink skirt brushing just above your knees, a crisp white button-up tucked in neatly, the blazer matching your skirt in a subtle pastel tone. your heels clicked softly against the tile floor as you made your way to your desk, and as you passed the reflection on one of the glass panels, you couldn’t help but think: i look good today.
you did. your hair was in place, makeup light but elegant, lips tinted a faint nude-pink. polished. pretty. professional. but beneath all that... you also looked a little alone. not that anyone would say it to your face—but you could see it sometimes, in the glances people gave you. admiration, maybe. pity, sometimes. curiosity always.
you sat down, smoothing your skirt and adjusting your chair, reaching for the little yellow post-it you’d stuck to the side of your monitor the day before. your handwriting was neat, methodical. a short list of pending tasks, each one already being mentally checked off as you booted up your computer. you didn’t waste time—your fingers flew across the keyboard, and within minutes the familiar sounds of productivity filled your small corner of the office: the rhythmic clack of keys, the soft hum and spit of the printer warming up to spit out proposals and reports.
you didn’t hear him come in.
you were too deep in the flow, too focused on aligning the final report with the visual standards the company demanded. your eyes scanned the document line by line, searching for typos, ensuring everything was clean, sharp, presentable. the sound of footsteps behind you didn’t register until you felt it—that subtle, electric awareness that comes when someone is watching.
“good morning, byun. please leave the project report on my desk once it’s ready.”
he didn’t look at you. just passed by, smooth and quick, his voice calm and firm, a cup of steaming coffee in one hand, the familiar scent of roast beans and expensive cologne trailing behind him like a silent presence. his stride didn’t falter, his gaze fixed ahead, like he’d already moved on to the next ten things in his mind. you barely had time to nod, mouth parted to respond, but he was already disappearing behind his office door.
you blinked.
right. the report.
you gathered the last printed pages, slid them into the presentation folder, double-checked the order, smoothed the cover with your palm before rising from your seat. your heels clicked softly against the floor as you made your way down the short corridor, your fingers lightly tapping the edge of the folder, nerves tightening with each step even if there was nothing to be nervous about. it was just work. just jaehyun. just another report.
you knocked once and entered when he answered. he was seated behind his desk, sleeves already rolled up to his elbows, the dark veins of his forearms visible as he typed something on his laptop. he glanced up, briefly, then reached for the report when you held it out.
“thank you,” he said, flipping it open with precision, already scanning the contents. “at two p.m. we have the meeting with upper management. you’ll be joining me at the table. along with choi and hwang.”
you nodded. “understood.”
“good. go over the numbers one more time before then. they’re likely to ask.”
“yes, mr. jeong.”
and that was it. no warm smile. no thank you. just professional, cold efficiency. you turned and left, closing the door gently behind you before returning to your desk, the weight of the upcoming meeting settling on your shoulders like a familiar cloak. you’d been through this before. plenty of times. but it never got easier. not when the room was full of men in suits who barely hid their condescension, who chewed through ideas like tasteless gum until someone—usually jaehyun—said something smart enough to catch their interest.
you spent the next few hours fine-tuning the financial section, making sure your data was clean, graphs properly labeled, estimates realistic but still ambitious. it was a delicate game—making things sound innovative without actually suggesting anything too risky. they didn’t want bold. they wanted impressive illusions of boldness packaged in safe wrapping.
the meeting room was as bland as ever. too much glass, too much beige. you sat at the long table beside jaehyun, your laptop open, presentation ready. the managers arrived first, already complaining about another team’s failed prototype. the director entered last, stone-faced as always, his tie perfect, his opinion impossible to read.
as expected, the meeting dragged. they picked apart the proposal, paragraph by paragraph, expressionless until one of them grimaced like the very concept of originality offended them. you watched them, these men who nodded at each other but rarely smiled, who offered feedback that wasn’t feedback, just empty phrases like “it needs more punch” or “is this trend even scalable?”
then jaehyun spoke.
his voice was calm, slow, measured. and yet he made every single line sound convincing. powerful. like there was no other way forward but the one he was laying out. the room shifted around him. the tension eased. eyes narrowed—not in skepticism now, but interest. he wasn’t just presenting; he was selling a vision, and you felt yourself straightening with pride even if the credit wasn’t yours.
until he said your name.
“y/n,” he said, still facing the director. “if you could present the budget projections.”
you froze for a half second. not out of fear—just... surprise. you hadn’t expected him to call on you so soon.
you stood, smoothed your skirt unconsciously, and took a breath before switching slides. your voice was steady, even if your palms were clammy.
“these are the projections for the next two quarters,” you began, pointing at the chart. “we’ve estimated a moderate increase in cost during the development phase, with a break-even point projected for the beginning of q3. depending on the approved budget, we’re looking at a return on investment of approximately—”
you kept going, explaining the graphs, walking them through the numbers with careful clarity. no embellishments, no guesswork. facts. you swallowed once, clearing your throat before the final slide, then ended with a nod.
when you sat back down, jaehyun glanced at you. just a moment. a flicker of something almost soft in his expression.
like you’d done well.
like you couldn’t possibly disappoint him.
the rest of the meeting blurred. the managers began tossing in extra suggestions—small changes, tweaks they hoped would impress the director. the man nodded, offered vague praise, and you remained at your seat, listening to it all with a practiced, patient expression.
when the meeting finally ended, you stood beside jaehyun again. he didn’t say much—he never did—but as he packed his laptop, he looked at you.
“good work today,” he said. “you’re an essential part of the team. if you keep this up, i’ll make sure your name’s considered for the upcoming promotions.”
you stared at him, momentarily stunned. the words hit harder than you expected. you’d worked for five years, given everything to this company, and this—this was the first time someone above you had said something that felt... real.
“thank you,” you said softly, trying not to let your smile get too big. “really.”
he nodded. “you earned it.”
later, when the director extended the dinner invitation, you didn’t hesitate. it wasn’t optional. the team needed to show up, needed to mingle, to pretend everything was a celebration and not an endless cycle of office politics masked with clinking glasses.
the bar was upscale but casual enough to loosen people’s ties. smoke from grilled meats hung faintly in the air, the tang of sweet sauces and roasted garlic filling the space. you sat between your supervisor and jaehyun, trying not to feel too stiff in your work clothes. everyone was drinking, toasting, laughing louder than they had all day.
the supervisor leaned forward, voice slightly slurred. “you know,” he said to the director, “the whole prototype? the mockup? the execution timeline? all her. y/n practically carried the whole thing.”
the director turned to you, surprised. “really? how long have you been here?”
“five years,” you replied, sipping from your glass.
he raised a brow. “how is it possible i haven’t noticed you until now?”
jaehyun, still beside you, said nothing—but you felt the subtle tension in his posture.
“you’ve got a good employee,” the director told him. “it’s your job to shape her. teach her. sounds like she’s already on the right path. with the right guidance... she’ll move up in no time.”
he raised his glass. “to y/n.”
“to y/n,” echoed around the table.
you lifted your glass, cheeks warm—not just from the alcohol but from the unfamiliar sensation of being seen. you smiled, surrounded by coworkers and approval and good food, and for a moment, just one moment, everything felt like it was finally going somewhere.
you were finally going somewhere.
the dinner had blurred into noise.
conversations overlapping, laughter rising and falling like tides. glasses clinked, meat sizzled on the grill, the warm lighting softening everyone's expressions into something hazy and unguarded. you sat at the long table, just a bit to the side, the smoky scent of barbecued meat in your hair and the echo of compliments still lingering in your chest. across from you, your supervisor had long since slipped into a drunken retelling of his glory days. to your left, jaehyun sat quietly, jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. his arms were strong, veins defined even in the low light, and on his left wrist, a sleek, expensive watch glinted every time he reached for his glass. he hadn’t touched his soju in a while, though. he just held the rim between his fingers and occasionally let his gaze wander across the room.
when your eyes met, it was casual, almost accidental. but you didn’t look away.
“you’re not drinking,” you said, quietly enough that only he could hear.
he offered the ghost of a smirk, the kind that barely pulled at one corner of his mouth. “someone has to remember what was actually said tonight.”
you laughed, a soft breathy sound, grateful for his clarity amidst the chaos.
a silence settled between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. rather, it felt like a small space carved out just for the two of you—unbothered, untouched, a bubble where you didn’t have to keep smiling or pretending. you let out a quiet sigh, swirling your untouched drink in your hand.
“do you ever feel like you're running out of time?” you asked, voice low, not even sure why you were asking him of all people.
jaehyun looked at you, brows drawn slightly, intrigued but still calm. “time for what?”
you hesitated, fingers tightening around your glass. the alcohol was warm in your chest, but not enough to numb this confession.
“for everything,” you admitted. “i mean, professionally… things are going great. i can’t complain. i’ve worked hard, and it’s starting to pay off. but…” you looked down, lips pressing together. “sometimes i feel like i’m trapped inside a giant hourglass, watching the sand fall, grain by grain. i’ll be thirty in a few months. and i know that shouldn't mean anything, but in a world where people expect you to have everything figured out by now—marriage, kids, some picture-perfect life—i feel like i’m falling behind. like my dreams are moving farther and farther away.”
you took a breath, not daring to look at him.
“it’s just… sad,” you continued. “when you achieve something big and there’s no one waiting at home to celebrate it with you. no partner, no family. no one to say, ‘i’m proud of you.’”
jaehyun was quiet for a moment. then his voice came, soft and even.
“i can celebrate with you.”
you looked up, surprised, blinking at him. “thank you, but… that’s not what i meant. it’s not the same.”
he held your gaze. then, calmly, like he was offering a solution to a logistics problem, he said it.
“then marry me.”
your brain stalled.
you didn’t understand at first. maybe you misheard him. maybe he was joking, or drunk—except his voice hadn’t changed. his tone hadn’t wavered. your stomach dropped.
“…what?” you whispered.
“you want a family. you want someone to come home to. marry me.”
the words hung between you like smoke. absurd. unreal. your mouth opened, but nothing came out at first. you glanced around—everyone else was too busy laughing or slurring their next toast to notice what had just happened.
you leaned in slightly, voice tense and hushed. “mr.—jeong—what are you talking about? we don’t even know each other like that.”
“we know enough,” he said without blinking.
“we’ve never even had a real conversation outside of work until now.”
“so let’s have more,” he replied, as steady as always.
you felt like your heart was beating too loudly. “are you… are you seriously suggesting we get married?”
“i’m not suggesting it. i’m telling you i’d do it. if you said yes.”
you stared at him, at the cool detachment on his face, the quiet certainty in his voice, and felt your world tip on its axis.
he shrugged. “how long until you turn thirty?”
“…my birthday’s in november,” you muttered, the words escaping before you could even process them. “it’s april now. that’s seven months.”
jaehyun nodded slowly. “then you have seven months to decide.”
he finished his beer in one slow, final gulp. then he stood up, reaching into his wallet and placing a few bills under his empty glass. you were still frozen when he stepped beside you.
“i’ll take you home,” he said.
you tried to protest, voice stumbling over half-formed refusals. “you don’t have to—i can call a cab, really—”
he looked down at you, expression unreadable.
“that wasn’t a request. it’s your boss giving you a ride.”
and with that, he turned, waiting for you to follow. your legs felt heavy as you stood, your mind racing, still reeling from what had just happened. marry him? seven months? he was serious. he was actually serious.
you had no answers. only questions. and one man who had just offered you everything you’d spent your life pretending you didn’t need.
you didn’t sleep.
not really. you tossed and turned, arms flung across the bed one minute and buried under the covers the next. jaehyun’s words echoed in your skull like an intrusive melody, looping over and over again.
then marry me.
you have seven months to decide.
like some sort of countdown had been triggered.
you must have stared at your ceiling for hours, trying to make sense of what he meant—what it meant for you—and whether he’d been serious. but the worst part wasn’t the proposal. the worst part was how calm he’d been, how effortlessly he’d said it, and how easily he’d walked away afterward like it hadn’t upended your entire sense of self.
your alarm went off at seven, and you hit snooze five times. by the time you dragged yourself out of bed, you felt like your bones had aged a decade overnight. you put on your makeup with the heaviness of someone trying to erase exhaustion from the inside out—concealer, color corrector, foundation. you went over your under-eyes twice, then a third time. you looked like yourself, but blurry. off.
you arrived to work twenty minutes later than usual, which was already enough to earn a few raised brows. no one said anything, but they noticed. you noticed them noticing.
you sat at your desk and stared at your drawers, forgetting which one you kept the monthly reports in. your fingers shook slightly as you shuffled through folders, trying to find the stupid paperwork you'd seen a million times. a stack of them slipped from your grasp and scattered onto the floor like a metaphor. you groaned and crouched down to collect them, muttering under your breath. your brain still felt like it was swimming through molasses.
then—
“good morning.”
his voice. that casual, bored tone he always used in the office. neutral, even, no trace of anything buried beneath it. no sign that he’d ever said something as life-altering as what he’d said last night.
you startled so hard you hit your head on the underside of your desk.
“good—ouch!” you winced, clutching your scalp with one hand and your pride with the other. “good morning, mr. jeong.”
he kept walking. didn’t glance down at you. didn’t smirk. didn’t check if you were okay. he passed your desk like any other morning, like he hadn’t proposed to you over beer and smoke and shared loneliness.
a few coworkers peeked over their partitions, concerned. you gave a shaky thumbs-up and a whispered, “i’m fine,” even though you felt anything but fine.
you weren’t like this. not at work. not ever. your name was synonymous with precision. discipline. control. and here you were, dropping papers and bumping into furniture like your brain had short-circuited.
you finally gathered the reports and brought them to his office.
he was seated at his desk, focused on his screen, the sleeves of his dress shirt still rolled to his elbows. your eyes caught briefly on the line of his forearm, the watch still there, still ticking.
“these are the reports from last month,” you said, setting the folder down.
“thanks,” he replied without looking at you.
you lingered.
“mr. jeong.”
he finally looked up.
his eyes were calm. cool. like nothing was wrong. like he hadn’t detonated a bomb and walked away from the wreckage.
you hesitated, your throat dry. “about what you said last night—”
his expression didn’t change.
“we’re at work,” he said simply. “i’m being professional.”
you blinked, almost offended. “so that’s it? you say something that insane and then just—go back to normal?”
“we’ll talk after work,” he said, returning to his screen. “if you want to.”
you stood there, gripping the folder even though it was already out of your hands, heart thudding with something sour and hot and unnamable. frustration? humiliation? confusion? all of it?
he was treating you like you were the one out of line. like you were being inappropriate for even bringing it up.
you turned around without saying anything else and walked out of his office, pulse hammering in your ears. the rest of the day dragged like wet cement. you couldn’t concentrate. you couldn’t remember what you were supposed to be doing half the time. you reread emails four times before hitting send. and every time someone walked past your desk, you wondered if it was him, if he’d say anything, if he’d look at you, if he even remembered what he said or if the memory of it belonged to you alone now.
you’d never felt so out of control.
you didn’t know what was worse—his silence or the fact that you wanted him to break it.
you tried to focus. god, you really did. you stared at spreadsheets until the numbers blurred into static. you answered emails with words you didn’t remember typing. every time the phone rang, your heart jumped, irrationally convinced it might be him—even though you were in the same building, separated by maybe thirty feet of glass, air, and unspoken tension. it felt like the longest day of your life. your temples throbbed with a slow, building ache, like your thoughts were pressing too hard against the inside of your skull.
you popped two painkillers around lunchtime, washed them down with lukewarm water from your reusable bottle, but they didn’t help. not really. because the pain wasn’t just physical—it was mental. emotional. a kind of pressure that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed.
your mind wouldn’t shut up.
you kept looping the same questions, over and over again, like your brain was stuck on a carousel with no exit.
why would he say that? why now? why you?
he already told you he'd wait. seven months. seven impossibly long, slow-burning months.
so why talk? why meet? it wasn’t for him. it didn’t serve him. he’d been clear. he had time, he had patience. this conversation—it was for you. you were the one desperate to make sense of it. to understand his motives. to justify the insanity of it all.
but how were you supposed to justify something that made no sense?
he’s twenty-seven. handsome. polished. wealthy. he could have anyone—literally anyone. girls younger than you, brighter than you, women who weren’t crawling toward their thirties with a fading list of half-achieved dreams and a fridge full of takeout leftovers. why you?
a mid-level employee in a department no one paid much attention to. someone who had to fight tooth and nail just to be noticed in board meetings. someone who had accomplishments but no one to toast with. someone who fell asleep most nights with their phone face-down and on silent because no one was texting anyway.
why you?
you didn’t have an answer.
you finished your tasks—barely—and the moment the clock hit the end of your shift, you shut your computer down with shaky fingers and grabbed your bag. your steps felt heavy, reluctant, as you made your way through the hall toward the entrance. part of you wanted to bolt, to pretend nothing had ever been said, to go home and crawl into bed and put on a show you wouldn’t really watch. to sleep off the confusion like a bad hangover.
but the doors opened before you could entertain the thought. those clean, automatic glass doors slid apart with a hiss, and there he was.
leaning casually against one of the white pillars just outside, his suit jacket draped neatly over his forearm, his other hand gripping his sleek black briefcase like it weighed nothing. he looked like something out of a commercial—well-dressed, composed, the perfect image of success. but when his eyes met yours, something flickered beneath the surface. maybe restraint. maybe tension. maybe nothing.
he walked toward you calmly, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the smooth tile.
“get in the car,” he said, voice even. “we’re going to talk. like you wanted.”
not a question. not a request.
he turned without waiting for your answer and made his way to a parked luxury sedan—shiny, deep black, windows tinted so dark you could barely see the interior. he opened the passenger door for you, as if the conversation that waited inside was just another part of his routine.
you hesitated, only for a second.
but then you followed.
because no matter how messy your thoughts were, no matter how terrified or confused or unworthy you felt, one truth cut through the noise:
you wanted to know.
you slid into the passenger seat, trying to calm the way your heart was sprinting inside your chest. the door closed beside you with a quiet thunk, sealing you into a space you weren’t sure you were ready for.
he walked around the front of the car and got in behind the wheel, smooth and unhurried.
you stared straight ahead.
ready—or not—to finally ask the questions that wouldn’t leave you alone.
the silence in the car wasn’t uncomfortable. not exactly. but it was dense—like fog inside your chest, heavy and silent and there to stay.
you stared out the window as the city drifted past, familiar buildings made foreign by the storm in your head. beside you, jaehyun drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift. there was music playing—low, jazzy, old—but he didn’t speak. not until you passed a traffic light and he tilted his head, casually.
“did you get enough sleep last night?” he asked, like he was commenting on the weather.
you didn’t look at him. “not really.”
“figured,” he said, turning smoothly into another avenue. “you looked like hell.”
you gave a humorless chuckle, resting your elbow against the door and propping your chin in your hand. “thanks for the compliment, sir.”
“anytime,” he said dryly.
and that was it. that was all the small talk he offered. nothing personal. nothing intimate. just an acknowledgment that he saw you. that he’d noticed.
the drive was short, and before you could make sense of anything, you were already parking in front of a modest little korean restaurant tucked between a laundromat and a bookstore. it smelled like steam, garlic, and simmered bone broth. a place where people went for real food and no-frills comfort.
“this place has the best gomguk in the city,” jaehyun said, grabbing his briefcase from the back. “been coming here since i was a teenager.”
you hesitated at the door. “you like bone soup?”
“love it.”
you wrinkled your nose. “i can’t stand that stuff. never could. not even as a kid.”
he paused mid-step and gave you a look, slightly amused. “well,” he said, “there’s our first disagreement as a couple.”
you blinked at him, caught off guard. “what?”
“now i know you don’t like gomguk. guess i’ll have to avoid cooking it for you.”
you said nothing.
because he wasn’t joking. not really. not entirely. and that was the part that made your mouth dry.
how could he say things like that so easily? so naturally? as if you hadn’t spent the entire day unraveling at the seams while he strutted through the office like nothing had happened?
he sat across from you at the table, unbothered, scanning the menu like it wasn’t even necessary. he already knew what he wanted. meanwhile, you still didn’t know why you were there.
you picked something else. kimchi jjigae, maybe—safe, familiar, strong enough to mask the taste of your confusion.
once the server took your orders and disappeared behind the curtain, you leaned forward, folding your hands together to stop them from trembling.
“why me?”
his eyes lifted slowly from the empty table to your face. “there’s no reason,” he said. “i just want to give you what you want.”
“do you say that to all women?”
he smirked. “if i did, i’d probably be married to half the city by now.”
you shook your head. “don’t do that.”
“do what?”
“don’t treat this like a mission,” you snapped, trying not to raise your voice. “i don’t need your pity. i shared something vulnerable with you, yeah. but that doesn’t mean you have to swoop in and rescue me from a miserable life of solitude by offering a ring. this isn’t some fairytale. i don’t need a man to save me.”
“i never said you did.”
you exhaled slowly. “i want to love and be loved. to build something. something real. not this... whatever this is. a contract. a deal. a deadline to escape loneliness.”
his expression didn’t shift. not a single flicker. but his voice softened.
“then let’s say this. if in seven months, you still haven’t found someone—someone who makes you feel like you can build something... try it with me.”
you stared at him. hard. trying to read every intention in the lines of his face.
“just like that?”
“just like that.”
you couldn’t look away.
and then he said it. the words that settled into the cracks of your resolve like warm rain after a drought.
“we can love. i can love you. you can love me, if you want to. if you want to date, we can date. you don’t have to feel pressured. i just think... you’re worth the risk. and i don’t think you should torture yourself every day that passes just because you haven’t ‘settled down.’ opportunities don’t always come twice. sometimes you have to grab them while they’re here. or regret it forever.”
your lips parted, but nothing came out.
you looked at him then—not as the cold, polished man who walked the halls like a ghost in tailored suits. not as your boss. not as someone who confused and overwhelmed you.
you saw him as a man.
a man who knew what he wanted. who wasn’t afraid to take action. who looked you in the eye and offered you something you weren’t even sure you deserved.
his jawline. his eyes. the little wrinkle between his brows when he got serious. the calm way he listened. the confidence. the clarity.
you saw him differently.
you weren’t ready to give him an answer. not yet.
but something inside you had shifted.
you just didn’t know what to call it.
he didn’t rush you.
he didn’t push.
he just sat there across from you in that tiny booth, his sleeves rolled up and his tie slightly loosened, waiting with the kind of quiet confidence that only made your heart beat louder. he stirred his soup gently, letting it cool, occasionally taking a sip without ever looking away from you for too long.
and then he said it—casually, as if proposing something as simple as lunch next week.
“let’s do this. i’ll pick you up after work from now on. we’ll go out. have dinner. spend time together. see what happens. let it unfold naturally.”
just like that.
your breath caught. “i… i have doubts,” you admitted, almost in a whisper. “i don’t know what to say. i don’t know what to feel. this is all so sudden, so... fast.”
he nodded, unbothered. “that’s okay.”
you blinked. “that’s okay?”
“yes. it’s not a race. but you heard what i said—opportunities don’t always knock twice. you don’t have to say yes right now. just think about it.”
but you were thinking. too much.
his voice played on repeat in your mind: we can love. i can love you. you can love me. and god, wasn’t that the exact thing you’d been terrified of never having?
your fingers trembled under the table. your palms clammy, your mouth dry. you rubbed your hands together slowly, grounding yourself in that simple motion, trying to breathe.
he didn’t flinch. didn’t ask again. just kept sipping his soup, patient as stone, like he’d already accepted whatever answer you’d give him.
you stared at your food, at the steam rising, the way the aroma filled the space between you and him like something sacred. you still couldn’t stand bone soup. but somehow, being across from him made it smell less... offensive. less like something to run from.
and you remembered.
all those nights crying in silence.
all those mornings brushing your teeth with tears stuck in your throat because you didn’t know if ever would come.
ever finding someone.
ever being enough.
ever being loved without begging for it.
maybe he wasn’t what you imagined.
maybe he was better.
you looked up at him.
“okay,” you said, softly. then stronger. “okay. i’ll try. i’ll let you pick me up. we’ll go on these dates. maybe… maybe i can love you. maybe i can let myself be loved by you.”
he paused mid-sip, eyes lifting.
your voice cracked slightly when you added, “maybe i can stay with you.”
for a beat, the world went still.
he didn’t smile wide. didn’t gloat or tease.
he just gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. his eyes warm, deep, but controlled—like someone who’d been expecting this moment and didn’t want to scare it off.
“good,” he said. “that’s all i needed.”
you swallowed hard.
and for the first time since that strange proposal, something in your chest loosened.
you weren’t sure if this was love.
but it was a beginning.
the next morning. everything is different.
you walk into the building like you own the damn place—heels sharp, suit immaculate, makeup clean and fierce, ponytail slicked high like a crown. the memory of yesterday—your stumble, your throbbing head, your wandering thoughts—now felt like a distant, irrelevant dream. that wasn’t you. this was.
a woman who knew what she wanted.
a woman who said yes.
you smiled to yourself in the elevator. not just any smile—that kind. the kind that curled at the corners, the kind that held secrets, the kind that felt like sin dressed in silk. the kind that belonged to someone with a man waiting outside a restaurant, ordering bone broth, and talking about love like it was something simple. doable. inevitable.
you were early. again. not by accident this time, but by choice.
you slid into your desk, organized, efficient, present. the hum of the office hadn’t started yet, and you took advantage of the calm, catching up on reports and scheduling the week like the good girl you were trained to be. but this time, it was different. you weren’t surviving the day. you were anticipating it.
and then—at exactly the hour—he walked in.
jung jaehyun.
same black suit. same silver watch. same air of cool detachment.
but today, when he passed by your desk and muttered his usual, “good morning,” you didn’t just nod like before.
you stood up—too fast.
too happy.
“good morning, mr. jeong!” you sang, voice lilting and almost musical, like you’d just won the lottery.
it was instinctual. not calculated. just... you.
the entire floor stopped.
heads turned.
some eyebrows shot up. a few eyes narrowed.
jaehyun himself halted in his tracks, looking back at you slowly, his brows drawn together in the tiniest frown. he cleared his throat.
“everyone, back to work,” he said, voice firm. and then, after one last look—eyes narrowed at you in something between confusion and amusement—he turned and walked away.
you bit your lip so hard it almost hurt, barely suppressing the giggle building in your throat.
the memory of last night echoed in your mind, maybe i can love you, maybe i can stay with you—and now here you were, trying not to beam like a teenager with a crush. you watched his back disappear into his office, and your lips curled up, despite yourself.
you could still feel his eyes on you. even if he wasn’t looking.
after work, you waited by the entrance as the glass doors slid open.
he was already there—like he promised. leaning casually against his car, black coat folded over one arm, briefcase in hand, gaze scanning the horizon like the perfect ceo out of a drama. but as soon as his eyes met yours, they softened—barely, subtly—but you noticed.
“get in,” he said, opening the passenger door for you.
you slipped in without protest, heart beating faster than it had any right to.
once the car pulled away from the curb, the silence settled—but it didn’t last long.
“you can’t do that,” he said, not harshly, just... firm.
“do what?” you asked, knowing damn well.
“greet me like that. like that.” he glanced at you sideways. “at work.”
you shrugged. “what? we’re dating now. aren’t we?”
“we’re seeing where this goes,” he corrected. “but we still have to be professional. people talk. your position can be affected. and mine—”
you cut in, not harshly but with a certain fire. “i’m not going to apologize for being happy.”
“i’m not asking you to apologize.”
“then don’t ask me to pretend. i’ll dial it down, sure. but i’m not going to act like you don’t mean something to me when we’re under the same roof eight hours a day.”
he stayed quiet for a beat, tapping the wheel with one hand, lips twitching like he was trying not to smile.
“is this how you are with all your boyfriends?”
you grinned. “i’m worse.”
he laughed. actually laughed. that deep, velvet sound you hadn’t heard much outside of formalities.
“well, i’ll brace myself,” he said. “i might enjoy it.”
you turned to the window, hiding your smile. this was really happening.
the drive back was quiet at first—a comfortable silence that didn’t demand immediate conversation. the kind of quiet that says: you don’t need to perform, just exist here with me.
the radio was on. a soft playlist of english ballads played in the background—songs about longing, beginnings, maybe even second chances. you doubted jaehyun picked them himself. it was probably just the algorithm. still, the timing felt so precise… so intentional, that you wondered if the universe was helping him out tonight.
you played with your fingers over your thighs, crossing and uncrossing your legs slowly, watching the night pass outside the window. city lights in the distance. trees swaying softly in the wind. you tried to guess where he was taking you next, but the truth was… you didn’t really care.
not knowing was part of the charm.
“where are we going?” you finally asked, unable to resist the curiosity.
he smiled without turning to look at you, eyes steady on the road ahead.
“it’s a secret,” he said. “you’ll have to wait and see.”
you squinted at him with mock suspicion, amused—and yet, inside, your heart started to thump a little faster with every mile.
there was something strangely beautiful about not being in control this time. about letting yourself be taken somewhere, not out of submission, but out of trust. you weren’t used to that. you weren’t used to letting anyone drive. but tonight, you wanted to believe you could lean back and just... be.
and then… the car turned down a dark, barely lit road, and you saw it.
a wide, open lot. a giant projector screen glowing at the far end. dozens of cars parked in neat rows, some with trunks open, fairy lights, blankets, snacks. couples curled together under the stars.
it was a drive-in movie. like something out of an old romance film.
you gasped, both hands flying to your mouth as you turned to him.
“oh my god. no way. are you serious?! i love the movies—but i've never done this. i’ve always wanted to, but… i don’t know. it just never happened.”
jaehyun glanced at you sideways. and this time, he smiled. really smiled. not the polite, composed smile he wore in the hallways or meetings—but something warm. something real.
“then it was a good idea,” he said simply.
he parked in the middle row. good view of the screen, but far enough for privacy. you were already melting—and then he popped the trunk.
a thick blanket. two small pillows. a tote bag with snacks—popcorn, a big soda bottle, even the exact chocolate bars you’d once said you liked during a random, probably drunk, late-night conversation. you didn’t even remember mentioning it.
he did.
“did you plan all of this?” you asked, curled slightly sideways in the passenger seat while he arranged everything with care between you.
“i just wanted you to be comfortable,” he said. “i wanted it to be... special.”
no posturing. no hidden motive. just sincerity. you felt it in the way he unfolded the blanket and draped it gently over your lap. in how he checked the window—cracked just enough to let in the breeze, not enough to let in the cold. In how he handed you the soda first, before even opening his own drink.
the movie started. some lighthearted rom-com with ridiculous dialogue and cheesy plot points, but it didn’t matter. it was perfect. low-stakes. no pressure. you curled your legs under you, blanket snug, the flickering light from the screen dancing across your skin.
every once in a while, you’d glance at jaehyun. and more than once, you caught him watching you instead of the film.
“are you bored?” you whispered.
“not even close.”
“you haven’t laughed once.”
he turned to you, that sarcastic little smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth, eyes narrowed just slightly.
“you’re already making enough noise for the both of us.”
you gave him a playful slap on the arm, pretending to be offended.
“that was a compliment,” he added, amused.
you rolled your eyes—but smiled. god, you smiled so much that night.
as the credits rolled, something shifted in the silence. the mood thickened—not heavy, just… deeper. weighted with something. a moment hanging on the edge of change. your head leaned against the window as the screen dimmed, your eyes distant but your heart so very full.
he still didn’t touch you.
he didn’t grab your hand. didn’t lean in.
but his presence wrapped around you all the same—solid, patient, waiting. not pushing, just there. learning how to be near you without demanding anything in return.
“thank you,” you said softly, voice almost too quiet to hear. “for this. for everything.”
“you don’t have to thank me.”
“yes, i do. it’s not every day someone goes out of their way like this.”
he paused before answering. his tone was steady, but low.
“i want this to work,” he said. “and if that means planning teenage-level dates with blankets and popcorn, then… yeah. i’ll do that.”
you laughed, eyes dropping to your lap.
“you’re doing well so far.”
“yeah?”
“yeah.”
and then you looked at each other. just looked. no words needed.
but inside… you felt it.
your shoulders, usually tense, were light. your heart, bruised and cautious for so long, was opening again. quietly, but surely. as if whispering, i’m still here. i still want to believe.
you weren’t sure where this would go. if it would last. if it would end in tears or something worse.
but right now, in his car, under the stars, with the last notes of the film still echoing through your skin…
you wanted to find out.
you wanted to try.
the next morning at the office felt different—less chaotic, more grounded. you greeted the receptionist with a small smile, your heels clicking softly against the marble floor as you made your way in, clutching your coffee cup like a security blanket. you weren't glowing, exactly, but something about you was… softer. less guarded. like a petal finally relaxing in the warmth of spring after a too-long winter.
jaehyun noticed immediately.
you caught him watching you from the glass-walled conference room as you entered the bullpen. he didn't stare, not in a way that would make it obvious to others—but his eyes followed you, just long enough to clock the change. your navy blue pencil skirt hugged your hips, the slit in the back offering just the right amount of grace as you walked. the cream blouse you wore was modest but elegant, the top button left undone, showing the delicate line of your collarbone. your hair was half-up, your makeup minimal, professional—but the gloss on your lips and the quiet shimmer on your eyelids betrayed a whisper of mischief. not overt. just enough for someone paying attention.
you met his gaze briefly through the glass and raised your brows in a silent hello before looking away, sipping your coffee with forced nonchalance.
by the time you crossed paths an hour later—both of you heading into a smaller briefing room—he gave you that look again. the one that asked, really? amused, but faintly disbelieving.
"good morning, mr. jeong," you greeted him politely, eyes straight ahead as if you hadn't spent the last night wrapped in his blanket, watching a movie with your legs tangled under it.
"miss y/l/n," he replied, his lips curving into a knowing smile as he held the door open for you. “very formal today.”
you didn’t rise to the bait. just gave him a brief, professional smile and walked past, heels clicking, not looking back. you were committed to the bit.
the meeting was brief, technical—a review of deliverables, some feedback loops, nothing out of the ordinary. you contributed where you needed to, kept your tone measured, avoided lingering glances. even when he made a rare joke and the room chuckled, you only allowed yourself a small, polite laugh, hands folded neatly on the table.
he didn’t push. but when you passed each other near the coffee station later, his voice dropped low, just enough for you to hear.
“you’re really leaning into the whole executive assistant with boundaries thing, huh?”
you smirked as you refilled your mug, still not looking at him. “just trying to keep things professional, mr. jeong.”
“of course.” he nodded once, pretending to adjust his tie. “wouldn’t want to cross any lines.”
you bit your lip to suppress your grin. the game was on.
at 3:47 PM, your phone lit up with a text from his office number:
meeting with the department heads in fifteen. boardroom. don’t be late.
signed J.J.
you rolled your eyes but your stomach did a little flip.
the 4 PM meeting dragged—there was a lot of back and forth over campaign numbers and rollout schedules, but you held your own, taking notes, speaking clearly when your insight was needed. you could feel jaehyun watching you when others weren’t—his gaze warm, grounding—but he didn’t speak to you directly unless it was related to the discussion. you appreciated that. It let you stay in control, let you breathe.
after everyone had trickled out and the room was quiet, you stayed behind a moment, closing your laptop and straightening the chairs without a word. he didn’t move from his seat at the head of the table, just watched you as you moved, his fingers idly spinning a pen.
“dinner?” he asked eventually, breaking the silence.
you didn’t look up right away. “are you asking as mr. jeong or...?”
he tilted his head, eyes playful. “just jaehyun.”
you looked up, meeting his eyes. something flickered between you—recognition. of the past few days, the softness in your chest, the way your shoulders had finally stopped bracing for disappointment.
“okay,” you said quietly. “dinner.”
he didn’t take you to a fancy restaurant or anywhere showy. just a quiet little rooftop place downtown, dim lights and mellow music, open air and the sound of the city below. you sat across from him at a small table, knees brushing under the surface. you shared dishes, laughed softly, talked about nothing and everything. he asked about your childhood; you asked about his first heartbreak. there was no rush to get anywhere. just being there—together—was enough.
at some point, after dessert and a second glass of wine, the conversation quieted. the city stretched around you, glittering and alive. jaehyun leaned back in his chair, watching you.
at some point, after dessert and a second glass of wine, the conversation quieted. the city stretched around you, glittering and alive. jaehyun leaned back in his chair, watching you with that open expression he reserved for moments like this—unguarded, gently curious.
“you said you grew up outside the city,” he said, casually swirling the remnants of his drink. “what about your parents?”
you set your fork down and rested your elbows lightly on the table, exhaling. “they still live in the same town. a couple hours from here.”
he nodded. “siblings?”
“one,” you replied. “older brother. married. two little boys.”
jaehyun smiled at that. “you’re the cool aunt.”
you laughed softly, the sound bittersweet. “i try. i send them stickers and weird snacks from the city. but i think i’m mostly the mysterious aunt who lives alone in seoul and doesn’t have a husband, which is a major point of concern for my parents.”
jaehyun raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “concern?”
“oh, huge.” you leaned back, crossing your arms with a mock-serious nod. “they think i’m one heartbreak away from crawling back into my childhood bedroom with a suitcase and giving up entirely. i get the same call every weekend—‘have you met someone yet?’ and ‘when are you coming home, sweetheart?’ like my single status is a national emergency.”
you smiled, tried to make it sound light. funny. but the knot in your chest tugged a little tighter with each word. because underneath the teasing tone, it hurt. the weight of expectation, of having let them down without really meaning to. you’d always thought, by now, you’d have that picture-perfect family. a husband. maybe a child. but life had taken its own sharp turns, and somewhere along the way, you'd lost the map.
before your thoughts could spiral too far inward, you turned your eyes toward him and asked, “what about you? any siblings?”
he shook his head. “only child.”
“wow. that explains the drama,” you teased.
he grinned, playing along. “what drama?”
you shrugged, playful. “the perfectly tousled hair. the quiet confidence. the whole mysterious boss with a tragic past vibe.”
jaehyun laughed, the sound low and warm. “nothing tragic, thankfully. my parents own a condo complex back in busan. they keep to themselves. ever since i moved out, they’ve stayed out of my decisions. no guilt trips. no blind dates.”
he smirked a little, taking another sip. “which is great for me.”
you smiled at that, but there was something about the way he said it—casual, yes, but laced with a kind of loneliness you recognized. the kind that came with being left alone a little too much. with being successful but still carrying a shadow no one quite asked about.
you watched him for a second longer than necessary. then nodded slowly. “that does sound kind of great.”
he looked at you then, really looked, and the silence between you shifted—deeper now. heavy with things not said.
the city hummed around you. glasses clinked from other tables. somewhere, a violinist was playing faintly near the street below. but you only heard the soft cadence of his breath, the way it matched your own.
and then he stood and offered you his hand.
you didn’t hesitate this time. you let him lead you to the edge of the rooftop, where the view was clearer, the air colder. your arms brushed as you looked out together, shoulder to shoulder, warm skin against cool wind.
he turned to you first, eyes darker now, thoughtful. “you don’t need to rush anything. marriage, or whatever they want from you. you’re… okay. just as you are.”
you looked at him slowly, your heart caught somewhere between gratitude and ache. “thanks,” you whispered. “sometimes i forget.”
he stepped closer—barely—but it was enough to make your breath hitch.
you met his gaze, and something shifted between you again. tighter. stronger. the kind of tension that doesn’t demand to be broken, only… felt.
he leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. you didn’t.
your lips met his softly, a single, tentative kiss that carried the full weight of everything left unspoken. sweet, searching, the kind of kiss that says i see you. that says stay.
and when you pulled back, your eyes didn’t dart away.
they lingered.
because something had begun. and neither of you was pretending anymore.
there was no big speech. no sudden declarations.
just the quiet gravity of this moment. the closeness. the way his eyes searched yours with a gentleness that made your breath catch.
april melted into may in soft, golden increments—like a candle burning slow at both ends. the weather grew gentler, the evenings warmer, and with each passing day, your relationship with jaehyun unraveled in small, tender pieces that neither of you rushed to name.
you had more dinners together. nothing extravagant—he wasn’t the kind to impress with grand gestures—but always thoughtful. ramen tucked away in a quiet corner shop with mismatched stools. a spontaneous detour after a work meeting that led to an art gallery’s closing hour. coffee at a tiny cafe with mismatched mugs and jazz playing softly from a dusty speaker. with every outing, something softened between you. the way you spoke to each other, the way you lingered a second longer when saying goodbye, the way your eyes found his in a crowded room and stayed there.
still, at work, everything remained perfectly composed. restrained. you never touched, never called him anything but mr. jeong. no one suspected a thing—and that secrecy gave it all the thrill of something sacred. childish almost. like passing notes under a desk. a shared joke disguised in a spreadsheet. your fingers grazing when you exchanged documents. a glance too long in the breakroom when he poured your coffee before you even asked. you could feel it in the air, that charged silence of two people pretending to be just colleagues, and failing quietly, deliciously.
the project itself was moving well—smooth timelines, promising data. it gave you an excuse to spend more time in his office, laptop open across from his, sometimes both of you too focused to speak for long stretches. sometimes one of you talking while the other typed, nodding with half-listening affection. sometimes, on the slow days, the lines between work and personal conversation blurred gently, like ink on damp paper.
today was one of those days.
you sat across from him, legs crossed under the conference table, scrolling through performance reports while he adjusted a chart on his screen. outside the windows, the afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, casting pale lines across the carpet and the sleeves of his shirt. he leaned back, stretching slightly, then caught your gaze with a small smile.
“so…” he said, voice lower than usual, “what are you doing this weekend?”
you glanced up, biting your lip to hide a smile. “why? do you need me to run more numbers?”
“maybe,” he said, teasing. “but i was thinking something less tragic. maybe the museum? or that poetry cafe you mentioned.”
you shrugged, trying to sound casual. “depends. are you asking as mr. jeong or as… jaehyun?”
he smirked, eyes playful. “i guess that depends on your answer.”
you were about to respond when the door opened without a knock. both of you sat up straighter instinctively, like students caught passing notes. the supervisor from the analytics division stepped in, scanning the room with barely concealed curiosity.
“mr. jeong,” he said, tone clipped, “the director wants to see you.”
jaehyun stood immediately, buttoning his jacket with an easy nod. “i’ll be there in a moment.”
the supervisor looked at you then. his eyes lingered—not long, but long enough. something unreadable passed over his face. “you’ve been spending a lot of time here,” he said, like it wasn’t a question.
you gave him your most neutral smile. “just supporting the project. we’re on a tight schedule.”
“mm.” he said nothing more, just nodded once and stepped out.
jaehyun glanced at you before leaving, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes—amusement, maybe. or quiet warning. you went back to your laptop, fingers pretending to type while your heart tried to calm its sudden gallop.
the evening found you both in his car again. the sun had already begun its descent, turning the sky a soft shade of apricot. you slid into the passenger seat, closed the door behind you, and without thinking too much, leaned over to kiss his cheek.
his skin was warm under your lips.
he blinked, clearly caught off guard, and for a second, he forgot to hide it. the tips of his ears flushed red. he cleared his throat and reached for the ignition, like nothing happened, but his smile lingered, crooked and faint.
“you keep doing that,” he murmured, not looking at you.
“doing what?” you asked innocently.
he shook his head, eyes on the road. “making it hard to pretend we’re not dating.”
you grinned and didn’t answer.
he drove you to the han river, where the breeze was cool and kind, and the crowds were light enough to feel private. you sat cross-legged on the grass, sharing tteokbokki and fried dumplings from paper trays, watching cyclists blur past under the lamplights. a small speaker nearby played an old ballad, sweet and melancholic, and you leaned into his shoulder without needing permission.
“i like this,” you said softly.
“what part?” he asked.
“this part. where everything’s… quiet.”
he didn’t speak immediately. just reached over and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.
“me too.”
you looked at him, really looked—and it hit you in that moment how far you’d come. from formal greetings and polite distance to soft laughter and shared silence. from stolen glances to kisses on the cheek that left him blushing.
and somehow, without realizing it, you’d stopped keeping count of how many times you thought about him during the day. because now he was part of your days.
and you didn’t want to imagine them without him anymore.
june arrived with a subtle shift in rhythm—projects moved faster, deadlines drew closer, and the sun stayed longer in the sky. the office felt heavier in the afternoons, warm with late spring air and the quiet hum of new beginnings.
one of those beginnings came in the form of kim jungwoo.
he was transferred from the incheon branch—a bright-eyed analyst with quick wit and a laugh that filled corners. you were told he'd be supporting the data team, and since your department handled most of the projections, he was placed right in front of your desk, where your eyes met every time you looked up. your first impression of him was that he was disarmingly charming—too friendly, too easygoing for the stiff, quiet culture of the office—but undeniably efficient. he asked questions that made sense, learned fast, and had a way of easing tension with a joke delivered just under his breath.
you kept things professional, as always. showed him how you sorted the quarterly metrics, how to navigate the company’s outdated database system without crashing it, how to color-code your sheets for easier reading. he listened, smiled, nodded. and eventually, he joked. made you laugh when you’d been staring at the same budget chart for hours. brought you coffee with your name scribbled on the lid in dramatic calligraphy. sometimes too much, sometimes exactly what you needed.
you liked him. platonically. comfortably. it was easy to like jungwoo.
but jaehyun noticed. of course he did.
at first, it was subtle. he’d call you into his office more frequently, asking for reports he usually didn’t request until later in the week. you didn’t think much of it—until you realized he was keeping you in there for hours. even when the topic had already run dry, even when both of you were silently pretending to still be discussing something relevant. you’d glance at your watch, mumble about needing to check on jungwoo’s progress, and jaehyun would give you this look—tight-lipped, unreadable, almost irritated.
the third time it happened, you couldn’t keep quiet anymore.
“are you seriously going to keep me hostage in your office every time jungwoo asks me a question?” you asked, laptop balanced on your knees, arms crossed.
jaehyun didn’t answer right away. he leaned back in his chair, one hand draped lazily over the armrest, watching you. but there was tension under his cool expression, the kind that coiled in his jaw.
“you’re my girlfriend” he said, voice low, measured. “even if we have to act like colleagues in this building, you’re not just anyone to me.”
your breath caught. not because of what he said—because of the way he said it. with that sharp, quiet certainty, like it wasn’t up for debate.
“you’re jealous,” you muttered, trying to smile, to turn it into something lighter.
“of course i’m jealous,” he said, leaning forward. “he’s new, he’s charming, and he’s looking at you like he already knows what you taste like.”
your face flushed.
you looked away, but only for a second.
because when you met his eyes again, he stood.
in two strides he was in front of you, taking the laptop gently from your knees and setting it on the coffee table without a word. then he cupped your face with both hands and kissed you—deep, slow, and hungry. there was nothing tentative about it. it wasn’t sweet or shy. it was possession, poured soft and molten through the shape of his mouth on yours. you sighed into it, hands gripping the front of his shirt, pulse thudding in your throat.
he pulled away just enough to speak, voice rough. “don’t tease me about this.”
you nodded, breathless. “okay.”
and then he kissed you again.
the kiss tasted like all the things you weren’t allowed to say out loud. frustration. longing. the ache of pretending, day after day, that you were only what the world let you be. his thumb stroked your jaw as his mouth opened against yours, deeper now, slower. you felt your knees weaken and your thoughts scatter, all logic melting into the heat of the moment.
that night, like every night since the start of your secret, you met him outside the office. his car waited at the edge of the lot, tinted windows and the soft thump of quiet music playing through the speakers. you slid into the passenger seat, your heart already dancing.
this time, he didn’t say hello.
he reached over and kissed you—harder than before, lips parting yours in a way that made your body sing. the car wasn’t moving. neither of you were thinking. you kissed like it was all you knew how to do. mouths hungry, breath shallow, his hand tracing the edge of your thigh just enough to make you gasp. every time you pulled away for air, he followed. every time he groaned into your kiss, you shivered.
he never rushed.
never crossed that line you hadn’t yet spoken about.
but you felt how close it hovered. just under the skin.
and as your lips brushed his one last time before pulling back, your forehead resting against his, you whispered, “i like it when you get jealous.”
his smile was crooked. dangerous.
“you better not like it too much,” he said, his thumb stroking the corner of your mouth, “because next time… i might not let you leave so easily.”
thursday crept in quietly, with no big plans or messages of anticipation. the city, usually loud and hungry for excitement, felt unusually tame that week—like it had spent itself on too many events, too many evenings out, too many people chasing novelty in crowded cafés and rooftop bars. maybe it was just you, though. maybe everything had started to feel dull because your world had shifted to revolve around something—someone—entirely new. and nothing outside of that circle could compare anymore.
you barely spent time in your apartment lately. always out. always in his car, in places that weren’t quite home but felt more real because he was there. so on that afternoon, with your head tilted against the cold surface of your desk and your brain spinning from spreadsheets, you blurted it out between quiet keyboard taps.
“don’t make any plans tomorrow night.”
jaehyun glanced at you from across his office, pen in hand, eyebrows drawn. “should i be worried?”
you smiled without looking up. “you’re staying over. the weekend. at my place.”
the pause was heavy. not uncomfortable, but... loaded. you didn’t dare lift your head until he spoke.
“wait—what?”
and there it was. you looked at him finally, biting your bottom lip to keep from smiling too wide. he looked stunned. genuinely caught off guard.
“you heard me. pack a bag. pajamas. toothbrush. snacks. i don’t know. whatever you need to survive two days with me.”
his face went red. a deep, rich pink that spread across his cheeks to the tips of his ears. you laughed. he was thinking things.
“ya, what were you imagining?” you teased, narrowing your eyes at him with a smirk.
“nothing!” he defended too fast. “i just... i didn’t expect we’d be spending the weekend... alone like that. it’s not a bad thing. i like it. i like the idea. i just—i mean, we’ve been doing great. this relationship. it feels good. real. and... if it keeps going like this, who knows—maybe one day we’ll get married.”
you froze.
he didn’t say it as a joke. it was quiet. casual. but he meant it.
married.
you hadn’t thought about that in weeks. you’d been so swept up in the rush of the new—new glances, new kisses, new secret dates and stolen evenings. but that word made your heart skip, stumble, leap. it opened a future you hadn’t dared imagine.
married to jeong jaehyun. walking down an aisle. your coworkers gasping. your parents trying to stay calm. him lifting your veil. kissing you like it was the beginning of forever. sunday mornings with kids and cartoons and coffee. vacations. shared bookshelves. him waiting at the door when you got home.
you shook the image out of your head.
“you can’t just say things like that,” you whispered, barely breathing.
“why not?” he asked softly, his eyes sincere. “it’s where we’re going, right?”
friday night came like a slow exhale.
he arrived with a small black duffle bag slung over his shoulder and a sheepish grin. you wore mismatched pajamas—striped pants and a faded hoodie from a school club you barely remembered joining. the sight of you like that made him laugh, and the sound was so unguarded it made your chest ache with affection.
you stayed in. ordered too much food. picked a cheesy rom-com that made you cry halfway through. he kept making sarcastic comments at first, trying to pretend he didn’t care, until somewhere in the middle he got quiet. his hand found yours under the blanket, warm and steady. when the credits rolled, your head was on his shoulder and your eyes were puffy.
“i hate that you made me cry,” you sniffled, wiping your face.
“i didn’t make you cry. blame julia roberts,” he said, kissing the top of your head.
the rest of the night blurred. an improvised dinner of instant noodles and wine, soft music from your phone speaker, him dancing stupidly in the kitchen with a wooden spoon, trying to make you laugh. and you did. hard. the kind of laugh that made you forget to be careful.
when it got late, and the lights dimmed, the kisses came back. slow. long. searching. his hands on your waist, your fingers in his hair, breathing each other in like you were afraid to stop. the heat built, like always, but neither of you pushed further. it wasn’t time. not yet. but god, it was close.
saturday was lazy and warm and beautiful.
you woke up tangled in the blankets, his arm draped over your stomach, his breath soft against your neck. the kind of morning you never thought you’d get to have—where nothing was urgent, and everything felt right.
you took turns in the shower, argued over who finished the milk, and spent an hour sitting on the floor flipping through old photo albums you’d forgotten you had. you didn’t plan to show him—but he insisted. and once he started looking, he didn’t stop.
“wait... this is you in high school?” he asked, pointing at a photo.
“yeah,” you said, embarrassed. “why?”
“you were so cute.”
you rolled your eyes. “i wasn’t popular or anything. i had one boyfriend. lasted a week.”
he stared. “a week?”
“he said i was too uptight and boring.”
jaehyun’s mouth dropped open. “that guy was an idiot.”
you laughed. “no, he was probably right. i’ve always been... structured. controlled. even back then. guess that’s why i’m like this now—such a workaholic.”
he didn’t laugh. instead, he kept looking at your photo—finger brushing over the glossy paper like it meant something.
“if i had met you back then,” he said quietly, “i would’ve fallen in love with you. no doubt.”
your breath caught.
he didn’t look away. “i wouldn’t have let you go. not for a second.”
“you don’t mean that,” you whispered, unsure what else to say.
“i do,” he said, firm. “you’re not boring. you’re brilliant. you’re thoughtful. you see things no one else sees. you work harder than anyone i know. and... you make me want to be better.”
tears pricked your eyes again. not from sadness. just—too much emotion. too much truth.
“you’re going to make me cry again,” you whispered.
“then cry,” he said, pulling you close. “but only if you let me hold you through it.”
the rest of the weekend passed like a dream.
grocery runs in sweatpants. a half-burnt attempt at making pancakes. arguments over which playlist was better for cleaning the kitchen. you wore ridiculous socks with cartoons on them. he made fun of you until you found his even worse ones.
you kissed between chores. kissed while brushing your teeth. kissed while folding laundry.
it wasn’t glamorous.
but it felt like home.
and when sunday night came, and he packed his bag again, you didn’t want him to go. not because of the sex, or the thrill, or the high of newness. but because somewhere between instant noodles and high school photos, you realized something terrifying and beautiful—
you were falling in love.
for real.
for the first time.
towards the end of the month, your phone rings. you’re in your apartment, folding laundry with the window cracked open to let in the soft breeze of early summer. the sunlight filters through sheer curtains, painting everything in golden hues. you glance at the caller id and feel a knot tighten in your stomach. mom.
you answer.
“it’s your father’s birthday this weekend,” she says, skipping greetings as always, her voice a mix of cheerful anticipation and subtle reprimand. “you should come visit. he’s been asking if we’ll see you.”
you agree, almost without thinking, but then comes the dreaded question.
“and? have you found a boyfriend yet or do i need to talk to mrs. lee again?”
you rub your temple. “mom—”
“her son is still single, you know. owns a good piece of land. sells vegetables to that big food corporation. you’d be set for life.”
you exhale deeply, eyes closing in frustration.
“i’m… i’m seeing someone.”
a pause. then her voice lights up like fireworks. “you are? oh, this is wonderful! finally, you’re not wasting away alone up there in that office job.”
“mom, we’ve just started seeing each other,” you say, hesitating. “it’s too soon to—”
“no,” she cuts in firmly. “you don’t have time to be unsure. the train is about to leave the station, sweetheart. you either get on or it’s gone. bring him. we want to meet him.”
before you can argue, the call ends with a clipped goodbye, and you’re left staring at your phone, pulse racing and chest tight.
the rest of the week, you feel like a ghost of yourself. distracted at work, distant on your dates with jaehyun, your mind spinning in loops. he notices immediately—of course he does—and it only takes one missed joke and a quiet dinner for him to call you out on it.
you’re sitting across from him, poking at your food. the restaurant is softly lit, cozy, but there’s a distance in your eyes.
“y/n,” he says, setting his chopsticks down. “what’s going on?”
“nothing,” you mutter, but he leans in.
“don’t give me that. we’re together now, remember? you can talk to me. or… if you’re second guessing this… if i’m moving too fast, just tell me. i can handle it.”
your heart aches at his words. you reach across the table, grabbing his hand.
“it’s not that. i’m not doubting us,” you say quietly. “it’s just… my mom called. she wants me to visit this weekend for my dad’s birthday. and she… kind of expects me to bring you.”
he blinks. then, without hesitation, he says, “okay. then i’ll come.”
you blink right back. “wait, seriously?”
“yes. if it means that much to them—and to you—I want to go. i want to meet your family, y/n. it feels right.”
your chest swells with something warm and terrifying. you nod, silently.
friday comes and your suitcase is zipped and ready by the door. you’re wearing a floral summer dress, light and breezy, with your favorite pair of nude heels that make your legs look longer than they are. your hair is pinned loosely, lip tint soft and rosy. there’s a nervous flutter in your chest when you step outside.
jaehyun is already waiting beside his car, leaning casually against it like he belongs in a photoshoot. he’s in cream linen pants and a sage green button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, collar open at the throat. his sunglasses reflect the afternoon sun, and he looks, frankly, too good to be standing in your quiet little street. you gulp.
“need help with those?” he says with a grin, reaching for your bags before you can answer.
the ride is filled with music, laughter, and long, thoughtful silences. the kind that don't feel awkward, but full. pregnant with meaning. he holds your hand on the highway, thumb stroking the back of it lazily, his warmth anchoring you through your nerves.
when you pull up to your parents' house—a modest home with stone finishings and a neat little front garden—your heart thunders. everything feels smaller, more fragile, like stepping back in time. your mom rushes out first, apron still tied around her waist, eyes wide and wet with excitement.
and when she sees jaehyun? she nearly cries. “you’re real,” she says, pressing her hands together like she’s witnessing a miracle. your dad comes out next, chuckling as he wipes his hands on a dish towel.
“so this is the young man,” he says with a knowing nod, clapping jaehyun on the back. “your mother hasn’t shut up about you since she found out.”
inside, the dining table is set with your dad’s favorite dishes. everything smells like memory. you sit in the living room afterward, your parents across from you, jaehyun beside you on the couch, close enough to feel his knee brushing yours.
he speaks up first, voice calm and clear.
“i just want to say that i’m very serious about your daughter,” he says. “i have genuine intentions. we’re still getting to know each other, but… if things keep going the way they are, i’d like to build a future with her.”
your mother gasps, reaching for a tissue. your father nods slowly, visibly moved.
“this… this is the best birthday gift i could ask for,” he says.
you shrink into the couch, cheeks burning, while jaehyun’s hand finds yours again and squeezes gently.
then comes the chaos.
your older brother, baekhyun, bursts through the door with his wife and two kids in tow. he takes one look at you and smirks.
“who’s the guy and what have you done with my perpetually single little sister?”
you groan. “shut up, baek.”
the two of you bicker like teenagers, tossing playful insults back and forth while your nephews cling to your legs, shouting your name with delight. you hand them the toys you brought and their eyes light up like it’s christmas.
jaehyun watches it all, amused, until one of the boys climbs into his lap and hands him a toy too.
he freezes.
and in that moment, something shifts in him. the sound of children’s laughter, the image of you with a soft smile, cradling one of your nephews in your arms. the warmth of this home, the love in every corner. he imagines it—having this with you. kids with your eyes. a house that’s yours. your framed wedding photo on the wall. vacations. birthdays. late-night talks in bed. wrinkles and silver hair, but still loving you with the same fire.
he blushes.
and you notice.
“what?” you whisper as you lean close.
he shakes his head, smiling to himself. “nothing. just… i really, really like this. all of it.”
the night unfolds gently. dinner turns into stories, stories into laughter, and soon the sun has long set and the house is lit with warm yellow lights. you and jaehyun sit outside for a moment, watching the stars.
he wraps an arm around you, and you rest your head on his shoulder.
“you feel like home,” you whisper, not even realizing the words have slipped out.
he turns to look at you, eyes soft. “so do you.”
and in the quiet, with the cicadas singing and the echo of your family’s voices drifting from inside, you know.
this might just be the beginning of everything.
the month of july passed by with little to no complications. your parents were pleased with jaehyun, and you could tell that their approval meant the world to him. jungwoo, on the other hand, was playful and teasing, but with a newfound sense of respect, especially as jaehyun started to show more signs of being protective, making sure that jungwoo didn’t cross any boundaries. you were still professional with everyone at work, but the chemistry between you and jaehyun was undeniable. nights together were spent laughing, and weekends were filled with stolen moments of joy, where you both shared something more than just professional courtesy.
jaehyun had made a habit of calling you during the day, just to check on you, and you found yourself doing the same. the conversations were simple, but they felt important. visits to his office became more frequent, sometimes just for work, but other times, it was an excuse to sneak in a kiss or two. the passion between you two continued to build, a slow, steady fire that became increasingly hard to ignore.
one night, a wednesday, you both ignored the weather forecast and decided to take your date out in the city. the air was warm, and the lights of the city sparkled as you walked the streets together. the mood was light, but as midnight approached, the weather took a sharp turn. dark clouds rolled in, and soon, rain began to pour, turning into a violent storm. the wind howled, and the streets quickly flooded. jaehyun’s car struggled against the force of the water, and you couldn’t help but grip the seat, anxious.
jaehyun tried to keep calm, glancing at you with a reassuring smile. “it’s okay, nothing’s going to happen,” he said, though you could tell he was also feeling the weight of the storm.
the rain pounded against the windows, and the car barely moved as the currents began to grow stronger. after what felt like an eternity, you both agreed that waiting in the car wasn’t safe anymore. as you both discussed where to go, a motel appeared in front of you. it seemed like an odd choice, but the parking lot was dry, and there were few other options at that hour. both of you hesitated, unsure of what to do. it was a strange situation—neither of you wanted to suggest anything that could be misinterpreted.
jaehyun was the one to break the silence. “let’s just use the parking lot, at least we’ll have shelter from the rain,” he said. “and if it lasts all night, we’ll have a warm place to stay.”
you nodded, a little nervous. “yeah, i mean, we’re not going to do anything else, right? just sleep, then in the morning, we’ll head back to our places and go to work, right?”
jaehyun smiled at you, trying to ease your nerves. “of course, just a safe place to wait out the storm. no pressure.”
you both parked and got out of the car, a little stiff from the tension, but the moment you entered the motel, things started to feel different. jaehyun took the lead, making sure you were comfortable and settled in, giving you space to breathe. He didn’t rush you, always checking to see how you felt.
both of you were tired from the day, and the weather didn’t help the situation, so after some brief, awkward glances, you both decided to take separate showers to unwind. you both changed into something more comfortable, but since it was summer and it was warm, you decided to just sleep in your underwear. when you looked at jaehyun in his, the moment felt almost surreal. his gaze lingered for a moment before he quickly turned away, as if both of you were still trying to adjust to how close you had become.
“you know,” he said softly, his voice breaking the silence, “you don’t have to feel awkward. we’re taking things at our own pace.”
you smiled, feeling your heartbeat quicken at the sound of his voice. “what if i want to go faster?” you said, your words surprising even yourself.
jaehyun looks at you, eyes widening slightly before they darken with something deeper—something he’s clearly been holding back. “are you sure?” he asks, voice low, almost trembling with restraint.
you nod, stepping closer, your fingers brushing against his bare chest. “i’m sure.”
his hands find your waist gently at first, testing the waters, but when you lean into him, he pulls you in like he’s been waiting forever to hold you like this. his lips find yours in a kiss that starts soft, exploratory, but quickly deepens, hungry and needing. he walks you backwards slowly until the back of your knees hit the bed, and you fall onto it with a soft gasp, taking him with you.
his hands roam your body, reverent and slow, like he’s memorizing every inch of you. he whispers your name against your skin, trailing kisses down your neck, over your collarbone, and lower still. your breath hitches when his mouth lingers between your thighs, his eyes meeting yours, waiting for any sign to stop—but you nod again, your fingers threading into his hair, guiding him closer.
what he gives you isn’t rushed. it’s worship. like he’s been dreaming of this moment for too long to waste it. you lose yourself in the rhythm of his mouth, the way he listens to your body, adjusting, teasing, giving. he doesn’t stop until your thighs are shaking and your voice is broken with moans you couldn’t hold back.
when he finally crawls back up your body, his lips kiss yours again, slower this time, tasting you. he whispers, “still okay?” and you nod, pulling him closer.
when he slides into you, it’s not hurried or careless. it’s deep, slow, and overwhelming in the best way. you cling to him, breathless, as your bodies move together like they were made to. he holds your gaze, foreheads pressed together, sweat-damp skin sticking in the summer heat, but neither of you care.
you whisper his name like a prayer, and he answers with yours, over and over, like he’s trying to brand it into the moment.
you fall apart in his arms, not once, but twice, and he follows soon after, burying his face in your neck as he trembles against you.
his lips are still on yours when he pushes deeper inside you, and this time, there’s no hesitation. your body arches under him, the stretch of him delicious and overwhelming all at once. he fills you slowly, inch by inch, like he wants to feel every reaction he pulls from you.
“fuck, you feel so good,” he breathes out, forehead resting against yours. “been thinking about this for so long.”
you moan softly, nails dragging down his back as he starts to move, slow at first, rolling his hips into you with precision that makes your legs tremble. he kisses down your throat, biting softly at your skin as he picks up the pace, each thrust hitting deeper, harder. the headboard taps gently against the wall, a quiet rhythm that matches the sound of your breathy moans and his soft, low groans.
your fingers clutch the sheets, the pleasure building with every thrust. jaehyun’s hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider for him, and the new angle has you gasping his name, your voice breaking. he doesn’t stop—he can’t stop—lost in the feel of you, the sounds you make, the way your body clings to his like it’s the only place it belongs.
he pulls out just enough to see the way you take him, watching your slick coat his length before sliding back in with a filthy, wet sound that makes your toes curl. “look at you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing your lower lip, eyes locked on yours. “so fucking beautiful like this.”
when he shifts, propping one of your legs over his shoulder, the angle has you crying out, your whole body shuddering. “you’re so deep,” you whimper, and he groans, hips snapping faster, harder, chasing both your highs like a man starved.
your climax hits hard—white-hot and blinding—as your walls clamp down around him, dragging him over the edge with you. he cums with a strangled moan, burying himself to the hilt, his hips stuttering as he spills into you. he stays there, chest pressed to yours, breathing heavy, hearts pounding in sync.
after a few moments, he pulls out slowly, carefully, kissing your shoulder as he lies beside you and pulls you into his arms.
your body’s still trembling when he runs a hand down your spine, voice low and thick with affection. “think we’re still just sleeping?”
you laugh softly against his chest, lazy fingers tracing circles on his skin. “not a chance.”
he kisses the top of your head. “then let’s not sleep yet.”
and before you can even respond, he’s already kissing down your body again—because one round clearly wasn’t enough.
you barely have time to catch your breath before jaehyun’s mouth is back on your skin, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your chest, between your breasts, over your stomach. his hands roam your thighs with greedy fingers, and even though you’re still sensitive, your body responds instantly—needy, aching, already ready for him again.
“you’re still so wet,” he murmurs, spreading you open with his fingers, dragging two of them slowly through your folds. “fuck, baby… you’re dripping.”
your hips jerk when he circles your clit, light and teasing, and you whine, fingers gripping the sheets. “j-jaehyun…”
he smirks, dark eyes meeting yours as he sinks his fingers into you—slow, deep, curling just right. “you can take it, can’t you?” he says, voice thick with lust. “you want it again.”
you nod helplessly, mouth parted as your back arches off the bed. he fucks you with his fingers until you’re trembling again, begging for him, grinding down onto his hand like you can’t get enough—and you can’t.
when he pulls his fingers out and lines himself up again, there’s no patience this time. he pushes in all at once, rougher, deeper, making your breath catch in your throat. the stretch, the pressure, the heat—it’s almost too much, but you crave every second of it.
he fucks you like he owns you now, one hand on your hip, the other pressing down on your stomach so he can feel himself inside you. “you feel that?” he groans. “you’re taking all of me.”
your moans turn shameless, high-pitched and raw, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the room with every thrust. the bed creaks, the headboard pounds against the wall, and you don’t care who hears. he flips you onto your stomach without warning, pulling your hips up, and slides back into you from behind.
you cry out at the new angle, your hands clawing at the sheets as he drives into you, deeper than before. “god—jaehyun, i’m gonna—”
“cum for me,” he growls, grabbing your hair and pulling your head back to kiss the side of your neck. “cum all over my cock, baby.”
your orgasm hits like a shockwave, blinding and hot and overwhelming. your whole body shakes, legs giving out beneath you as he keeps fucking you through it. he follows moments later, groaning your name as he fills you again, hips jerking against your ass, the sound of it all so filthy and perfect.
this time, when you collapse together on the bed, everything is soaked in sweat and heat and the scent of sex. your body is limp, your mind dazed, and he just pulls you close, wrapping you in his arms like he’s never letting go.
“okay,” you whisper, laughing breathlessly. “now we might need to sleep.”
he chuckles against your hair, voice rough. “maybe. after round three.”
that night at the motel changed everything.
it wasn’t just the sex—though, god, it was incredible. it was the way his hands learned your body like a second language, the way he whispered your name like a secret, the way you both let yourselves fall without fear. that night was messy, breathless, and soaked in want. but more than anything, it was a turning point—a quiet, unspoken agreement that this was no longer just something casual. not for either of you.
after that, the line between love and lust blurred beautifully. sex became part of your rhythm, part of how you communicated. stolen glances in the office turned into stolen kisses in the elevator. late nights became sleepovers, and every morning-after was filled with lazy touches and knowing smiles. you memorized each other’s moans like favorite songs, found new ways to say i want you, even when the words themselves weren’t spoken.
but there was one night that stood out. the one you still think about more than any other.
it was the night you stayed over at his apartment—just the two of you, no distractions, no storms outside, only the slow burn between your bodies. dinner turned into kisses. kisses turned into the first round on his kitchen counter, then the second in the shower, steam fogging up the mirror as your bodies tangled and slipped together like water and flame.
by the third round, it was past midnight. you were already sore, breathless, but insatiable. he pulled you back into bed, whispering things in your ear that made your skin burn. he was rougher that time—hungrier—gripping your hips as he fucked you deep and slow, drawing out every moan until your voice was hoarse and your mind was gone.
you were on top, riding him with lazy, desperate rhythm, your head thrown back, your nails digging into his chest. he looked up at you like you were something divine, his hands guiding your pace, eyes locked on the place where your bodies met.
and just when your orgasm started to hit—when everything went hot and tight and unbearably good—the words slipped out of you.
“i love you.”
your voice cracked around it, high and trembling, your body still grinding against his, your climax crashing over you like a wave. for a split second, everything stopped. you felt him freeze beneath you, heard the sharp intake of breath, saw the shock in his eyes.
you hadn’t meant to say it like that. not in the middle of fucking. not when you were bare in every sense of the word.
it was reckless. vulnerable. raw.
but not wrong.
his hands gripped your waist tighter, and then he was sitting up, arms wrapping around you, thrusting up into you so hard and deep that you sobbed out his name.
“i love you too,” he groaned against your neck. “fuck, i love you so much—too much.”
and then he came—hard and fast, holding you like he never wanted to let go.
afterward, you just lay there on top of him, chest to chest, skin to skin, hearts pounding in unison. there was no awkwardness. no regret. only this strange, beautiful calm that settled over the room like dawn.
it was in that moment you realized just how deep your feelings for him ran.
what had started as a simple plan—just something to avoid growing old alone—had become the best part of your life. somewhere along the way, between the office visits and shared glances, motel rooms and quiet mornings, you had fallen hopelessly, madly in love with jaehyun.
and the craziest part?
you couldn’t imagine ever thinking of anything—or anyone—else but him.
august wrapped around you like a golden ribbon, thick with heat and filled with the kind of breathless anticipation that only comes after months of hard work. the project was done—finally—after weeks of stress, endless reports, last-minute corrections and late nights. but it was done. and not just done, but successful. glowing feedback, client satisfaction, numbers that sang. it was more than you had dared to hope for.
and then—the email.
subject line: promotion confirmation.
you stared at it for a full minute before opening it. and when you read the words “congratulations, supervisor,” your breath hitched. you covered your mouth. you gasped. and then you ran.
jaehyun wasn’t even at his desk anymore, he was just walking into the hallway when you caught him. “jaehyun!” you called, your voice trembling with a kind of joy that had nowhere to go.
he turned, concerned for half a second—until he saw your face.
and then you said it.
“i got it.”
“you got what?” he blinked, confused.
“the promotion.”
his eyes widened. he froze for a second. and then—his arms were around you before you could even finish breathing. he lifted you, spinning you once, twice, both of you laughing as you clutched his shoulders and buried your face in his neck.
“oh my god, baby—you did it! i knew it, i knew you would!”
you were dizzy, and not just from the spinning. he kissed your cheek, your temple, your lips. everything was warm and golden and right.
he took you out that night.
you didn’t go anywhere fancy—jaehyun insisted that celebrations should be personal, not performative. so he drove you to that one little pizzeria you loved, the one that made the potato crust just the way you liked it. he ordered your usual without asking, and when the wine came, he raised his glass first.
“to you,” he said, his eyes soft and gleaming under the low light. “my brilliant, unstoppable, incredible woman.”
your heart swelled so fast it almost ached. the clink of your glasses felt like the sound of a new chapter opening.
“i’ve never had this before,” you confessed, fingers curling around the stem of your glass. “celebrating something this big. with someone i love. it feels…” you laughed, shy and overwhelmed. “it feels like everything’s different now.”
jaehyun reached for your hand, his thumb stroking the back of it slowly.
“it is different,” he said. “because now, every good thing that happens to you—we get to celebrate it. together.”
you stared at him, your chest tight with emotion, with the kind of love that had no bottom, no edge. just more.
you leaned across the table, kissing him slow, deep, grateful. pizza between you, wine in your veins, your laughter echoing off the walls of that tiny booth.
you didn’t need fireworks.
this was better.
this was yours.
mid-september arrived with a softness that clung to the air—warm enough to feel like summer still lingered, but mellowed by the early hints of fall. the leaves hadn’t turned yet, but something in the wind carried change. maybe that’s what had been stirring inside you all week—a restless certainty that had taken root in your chest and bloomed with every kiss, every sleepy morning wrapped around each other, every whispered i love you that escaped your lips without hesitation. it had been five months, five months of chaos and clarity, of fire and softness, and you knew now—you didn’t want to wait anymore.
you wanted jaehyun. not in a month. not after careful plans. now.
so you climbed the steps to his office, heart thudding like a war drum, nerves tangled with determination. you paused outside the door, breathed once, twice, and knocked.
“come in,” his voice called, muffled behind the heavy door.
you stepped in and found him at his desk, back slightly hunched, focused on the glow of his screen. he looked up, and the moment he saw you, he smiled—that slow, dazzling smile that always made your knees feel like melted wax—and stood immediately, walking toward you without hesitation. he cupped your face, leaned in, and kissed you like he’d been waiting to do it all day.
“jaehyun,” you said, voice almost trembling, more from the gravity of what you were about to say than nerves. he pulled back slightly, tilting his head.
“yeah?”
you met his eyes and, without giving yourself the chance to second-guess it, you let it fall from your lips.
“i want to marry you.”
his lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across his features. he blinked, as if trying to be sure he heard you right.
“i know, baby,” he said, a soft chuckle lacing his words. “that was the whole deal, right? but remember—we said after november. we’d have more time to plan, get everything ready—”
“no,” you interrupted, stepping forward, clutching his hands tightly. “i don’t want to wait till november. i mean it. i want to marry you now. today, tomorrow, next week—i don’t care when or how. i just want to be yours. forever.”
he stared at you, quiet. processing. his brows drew together, and then lifted again like the meaning had just landed fully. his hands gripped yours tighter.
“but—what about the wedding? your parents, mine—”
“we’ll figure it out,” you whispered. “but this... this love we have, i don’t want to keep treating it like something that needs to be scheduled. it’s real. it’s now.”
he took a breath, deep and full. and then, his expression softened into something vulnerable and glowing—his eyes shone with something deeper than just affection. he leaned his forehead against yours and whispered, “you want to be my wife.”
you nodded, lips brushing his as you breathed, “more than anything.”
his thumbs brushed over your cheeks, as if committing this moment to memory. “then we’ll do it. not because it’s rushed, but because we know. we’ve known. and if you want to be my wife now... then i’ll make it happen. we’ll get married. i promise.”
and he kissed you again, this time slower, as if sealing an oath between your mouths.
the proposal happened three days later.
he told you it was just a normal date—dinner, then a walk somewhere scenic. no pressure. he even played it off by wearing something casual: a white linen shirt, sleeves rolled, soft beige slacks, and the cleanest pair of loafers you’d ever seen. he looked devastatingly handsome without trying.
he picked you up and drove toward the edge of the city, toward the river trail where the summer festivals were usually held. the area was quiet now, early autumn having driven the crowds away. but fairy lights still dangled from the trees, twinkling faintly as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting a warm, honeyed hue over everything.
he walked with you along the wooden path, your fingers tangled. his hand was slightly clammy. you noticed, and your heart fluttered, thinking—he’s nervous. the realization made you giddy.
and then, just as you reached the little bridge that overlooked the water, he stopped.
“wait here,” he said softly, squeezing your hand. “don’t move.”
he jogged a few steps ahead, ducked behind a low fence near a cluster of trees, and returned with a bouquet of peonies—your favorite. you hadn’t told him that. he remembered.
your eyes began to water.
he handed them to you, smiling shyly, and then pulled something out of his pocket.
a velvet box.
he opened it without a speech, without fanfare. his voice was soft, his eyes locked on yours like the world outside didn’t exist.
“you already said yes,” he whispered. “but i want to do this right.”
he got down on one knee, the gravel crunching beneath him, and held the ring up.
“y/n, will you marry me—not next month, not in theory, not in some future we’re still trying to picture... but now. for real. because i’m yours. and you’re mine.”
you didn’t cry. you sobbed. like an idiot. like a girl who had waited her whole life for someone like him. you nodded so fast your vision blurred and fell into his arms, and he kissed you like he was promising you the rest of forever.
in that moment, september never felt sweeter.
telling the company was a whole thing.
it started with a scheduled meeting—a weekly operations check-in with the usual suspects: team leads, upper management, the supervisor, and a couple of sharp-eyed executives who never missed a detail. it was jaehyun’s idea to make it official at work, to do it clean and direct and proudly. no rumors. no hiding. just the truth, glowing and solid like the ring that now lived permanently on your finger.
you both walked into the meeting room together, which wasn’t unusual, but something in the way your hands brushed as you took your seat already had jungwoo giving you the side-eye.
the presentation started, charts and projections lighting up the screen behind jaehyun as he stood with calm confidence. it was business as usual—until the last slide.
"before we wrap up," he said, glancing back at the room, his eyes finding yours briefly before turning to the group again, "i have one personal announcement to make."
you swallowed. jungwoo leaned forward like a damn hawk. mr. choi narrowed his eyes suspiciously, as if he'd been waiting for this moment since spring.
jaehyun smiled—soft, boyish, unbothered. “as some of you may know… or have guessed," he said, and gave jungwoo a teasing look that made him gasp, "i knew it," he muttered dramatically—"y/n and i have been seeing each other for a while.”
the room exploded. a gasp from the secretary and the supervisor actually choked on his coffee. someone in the back whispered “what the fuck” under their breath.
jaehyun held up a hand, a little smug, a little amused.
“and, as of last weekend… we’re engaged.”
your cheeks were burning. your heart thundered. you expected chaos, maybe disapproval, but what followed was—
cheering. clapping. wide eyes and stunned smiles. even mr. choi looked like he was trying very hard not to grin.
“you’re marrying jaehyun? our jaehyun?” he blinked at her, then looked at jaehyun like he’d just discovered a double life. “okay, i knew something was going on. i’m not blind. but marriage? dude, that’s insane. like, insane in the good way, but—holy shit.”
you stood up, feeling brave. “we just didn’t want to hide it anymore,” you said. “we’re really happy. and we hope you’ll be happy for us too.”
the room burst into applause again. someone shouted, “wedding invites or we riot!”
the parents came next.
you visited your family first. your mom opened the door and immediately noticed the ring. she gasped, dropped the dish towel she was holding, and squealed in that way only mothers can. within seconds, your dad was there too, grinning, eyes glossy, holding jaehyun’s shoulder like he was already part of the family.
"are you kidding me," your mom kept saying. "you're engaged? oh my god, you're engaged!"
you nodded, trying not to cry as she hugged you so tight it hurt.
“he’s everything i ever wanted for you,” your dad told you quietly, before giving jaehyun a very serious handshake. “you take care of her.”
“always,” jaehyun promised, voice thick with sincerity.
then it was his parents' turn.
you were more nervous, but you shouldn’t have been. the moment jaehyun’s mom saw you, she pulled you into a hug, muttering in korean how beautiful you were, how she’d been praying her son would be smart enough to not let you go. his dad was more reserved, but the sparkle in his eye said everything. when jaehyun said, “we’re getting married,” his mother clapped her hands and screamed like she’d just won the lottery.
“we’re so happy,” she said, eyes shining. “you are already family.”
they brought out food, wine, photos from jaehyun’s childhood. his mom made you take home a tupperware of kimchi and a crocheted doily she claimed she made for whoever he married one day. she said she just had a feeling it was going to be you, and jaehyun turned red.
it turned out that weddings—real weddings—took a lot more time to plan than y/n had expected. even with jaehyun’s calming presence and the help of a surprisingly competent wedding planner, the months passed like petals falling from a tree: softly, quickly, too beautifully to hold onto.
they settled on march 28. it gave them just enough time to breathe, to build, to dream together.
from the moment they told everyone—first their friends, then their families, and finally, in a hilariously formal email, the entire company—the whirlwind began. the announcement caused a stir so loud in the office that y/n had to leave her desk just to get some peace.
the directivos were equally shocked, though mostly amused.
her supervisor just nodded sagely, like he’d been betting on this since the beginning.
“you two were always ‘too in sync’,” he said, raising his coffee mug in mock toast. “i give it six months before one of you becomes the other's boss at home too.”
and then came the parents.
jaehyun’s mother cried when she met y/n, tears slipping down her cheeks as she hugged her tight and whispered in korean, “you’re even more beautiful than he said. and i knew he was in love the first time he said your name.”
her own parents, after recovering from the initial shock, became obsessively involved in the planning, sending flower samples, playlist suggestions, and opinions on wedding favors at all hours of the day.
but none of it was overwhelming. not with jaehyun there, always pulling her back into calm. always making sure this was their wedding, not anyone else’s.
they chose a venue outside the city—a small vineyard with soft hills, blooming wisteria, and golden light that melted everything it touched. march 28 arrived with the scent of earth and lilac, a warm wind, and the sky so blue it almost hurt to look at.
y/n stood before a mirror in a white gown that made her feel like everything good in the world had been sewn together just for her. she could hear the quiet rustle of guests arriving, the soft music playing in the distance, the laughter of children running between the rows of flowers.
and then, jaehyun.
when she saw him waiting at the altar, dressed in a suit that fit like second skin, with his hair slightly tousled and a look in his eyes that could undo galaxies—she forgot how to breathe.
he mouthed “you’re perfect” as she walked down the aisle.
she mouthed “you’re mine.”
the ceremony was intimate, emotional, wrapped in vows that made everyone cry—even jungwoo, who tried to play it off by pretending he had allergies.
“i promise to protect your dreams as fiercely as my own,” jaehyun said, voice trembling slightly, “and to always make sure your pizza has the right amount of potato crust, even when we’re eighty.”
“i promise to choose you, even on the days we forget how lucky we are,” y/n replied, tears in her eyes. “and to never let the fire between us die, even when we’re old and gray.”
they kissed.
and the world felt new again.
their first dance was under strings of fairy lights, barefoot on the grass. the song was soft, a slow jazz tune that jaehyun had played for her once in the car when she’d been crying. now, with her head against his chest, they swayed like the wind had been made just for them.
“we did it,” she whispered.
“we did,” he said. “and i’d marry you again tomorrow if i could.”
the honeymoon came a few days later. they chose santorini, greece, not for the postcard beauty or luxury, but because y/n had once told him, offhandedly, that she always dreamed of watching the sun melt into the sea from a white rooftop. he remembered.
their suite was perched on a cliff, overlooking the caldera, with white walls and blue domes and windows that opened to eternity. the first night, they sat on the balcony with a bottle of wine, their feet touching, their hands always searching for each other.
they kissed under sunsets and made love under stars.
they danced in narrow streets, shared kisses between sips of ouzo, fed each other olives and sweet baklava.
they were ridiculous. and in love. and utterly themselves.
“this is the life i want,” y/n whispered one night, tangled in cotton sheets, her cheek against his chest.
“then it’s the life we’ll have,” jaehyun said. “forever.”
and this time, forever didn’t sound like a fairytale.
it sounded like a promise.
three years passed like chapters in a love letter—written slowly, lived fully.
you and jaehyun made a home out of a sleek little apartment tucked into the rhythm of the city. it was all black wood and soft gray, velvet cushions and open windows where sunlight poured in like gold. it wasn’t big, but it held your whole world. your toothbrushes leaned against each other. your shoes tangled by the door. your laughter lived in the walls.
mornings were sleepy and soft—coffee mugs clinking, your legs wrapped around his under the kitchen table, newspaper pages ignored in favor of each other’s eyes. nights were even softer—blankets twisted around you, movie soundtracks playing in the background while your fingers danced across his skin. the kind of love that didn’t need grand gestures—just the warmth of his palm on your thigh and the way he said “come here” like home itself.
but then, one evening, the quiet changed.
you were in the bathroom. pacing. heart in your throat. your phone timer ticked like thunder in the silence. the test rested on the sink, small and still—like it held the weight of the universe. you sat on the edge of the tub, knees pulled up, trying to breathe.
when the timer stopped, you moved like you were underwater. slow. hesitant. scared.
two pink lines.
you stared. blinked. stared again.
your lips parted, the shape of a whisper you couldn’t form. your hands trembled, and for a moment, the whole world tilted—just you and that tiny piece of plastic and everything it now meant.
you stepped out of the bathroom, barefoot, holding the test like it might shatter.
jaehyun was on the couch, lounging with his phone, one leg bent lazily, hair tousled from running his hand through it too many times. he looked up. paused. frowned softly. “baby… what is it?”
you didn’t answer right away. just walked toward him—slow, like the floor might disappear—and placed the test in his hand.
“we’re gonna be parents!!”
the silence cracked. and then—
jaehyun surged forward, arms wrapping around you so tight you gasped. he lifted you off the ground, spinning you around the living room like a kid on christmas morning, laughter bursting from his chest, from yours, from some place deep inside where all the hope had been hiding.
you were both crying. laughing. kissing. saying “we did it!” over and over again like a prayer you never thought you’d get to say out loud. he pressed his forehead to yours, voice shaking, “we’re having a baby.”
“we’re having our baby,” you whispered.
months passed like petals falling from a blooming tree.
you were glowing. exhausted, but glowing.
your blush-pink maternity dress clung gently to your growing belly, printed with tiny white florals that made jaehyun smile every time he saw you in it. your feet were bare, your ankles swollen, your back ached constantly—but he was always there, hands rubbing your spine, lips on your shoulder, whispering, “you’re magic, you know that?”
the nursery was nearly finished—lavender walls painted with care, gold stars twinkling on the ceiling, and a soft mobile that played lullabies like stardust. the crib waited, delicate and perfect, with a plush bunny nestled in the corner.
jaehyun was kneeling by the dresser, sweat on his brow, tongue between his teeth as he finished the final drawer. he looked up, eyes finding you immediately, and god—he looked at you like the whole sky lived inside your smile.
“she’s gonna love this room,” he said, standing to press a hand to your belly. his palm warm. grounding. full of quiet awe. “our little moon.”
you leaned into him, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “i hope she gets your eyes,” you whispered.
he smiled, eyes soft with wonder. “and your heart,” he murmured. “especially your heart.”
the room went quiet again—except for the soft hum of the mobile spinning slowly above the crib. gold stars turned, catching the light.
and in that moment, just one suspended, breathless moment, everything was still.
your ex cheated. you dumped him. simple, clean, no tears—just a block, a race win, and an innocent instagram post. you are over it. but your rookies? not so much.
somehow, they’ve formed a secret matchmaking club and are now trying to set you up with half the grid. you know. max knows. (he’s your very smitten, very amused boyfriend.) but neither of you say a word.
because watching them try? is way too entertaining.
fc : luvstruck on ig (love a tattooed baddie as a face claim)
original request is here.
(a/n) : this was so much fun for me. i hope you all enjoy! love youuuu
—
yourusername
liked by kimi.antonelli, olliebearman, isackhadjar and 4,550,700 others.
yourusername : his loss.
—
view 285,003 other comments.
username000 : did she finally leave that ugly demonic man?????
liked by yourusername
↳ username1 : oh thank god. we got our baddie back🙏🏻
liked by yourusername
yourbff : man just couldn’t handle having a baddie. the funny thing is he can’t watch the race without seeing your name or face 😏
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : he shall never know peace.
liked by yourbff
yoursister : i can hear the streets callin’🧏♀️
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : call me pluto cuz im alr in them
liked by yoursister
↳ yoursister : where are your children? its rare i make it here before they do.
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : oh they will be here within like the next 10 seconds
liked by yoursister
↳ olliebearman : heyyyy so what’s his address? so i can send a hitman.
liked by yoursister, yourbff and yourusername
isackhadjar : if i see that man IT IS ON SIGHT.
liked by yourusername
lando : if i were him id never leave the house ever again, not just because of the 6 angry children at my door but just out of sheer embarrassment from what i fumbled.
liked by yourusername
kimi.antonelli : im small but i can bite ankles. he is a dead man. im going to kill him
liked by yourusername
gabrielbortoleto_ : yn i cannot handle these vague captions. pls answer the group chat. im spiraling and about to hire someone to do horrible things.
liked by yourusername
↳ isackhadjar : i feel sick to my stomach.
liked by yourusername
↳ olliebearman : i just threw up
liked by yourusername
↳ kimi.antonelli : i am pacing
liked by yourusername
↳ jackdoohan : just threw my phone across the room
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : guys, im fine. truly. it was for the best. i will call you all later!
↳ kimi.antonelli : yn did he hurt you?? i destroy his entire bloodline
↳ isackhadjar : stop lying. you are ignoring our texts. you never do.
↳ olliebearman : ok well he hurt you so we will just find him and kill him. its all taken care of
↳ gabrielbortoleto_ : cannot believe you are just ghosting your six emotionally unstable children.
username07 : the rookies falling apart in the comments while yn is unfazed is taking me OUT.
alex_albon : he peaked in high school and drives a toyota 💀 and now fumbled an f1 driver…him being him is punishment enough
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : i can’t with you 💀
oscarpiastri : absolutely no clue what happened but i instantly take your side. he is a dick.
liked by yourusername
alexandrasaintmleux : he fumbled so i could have you😇
↳ kimi.antonelli : you let us in or we break the door down
↳ yourusername : im sure that breaking and entering is already somewhere on oliver’s crime list so lets not add to it. come on over kids.
↳ gabrielbortoleto_ : YAYYYYYYYY
↳ jackdoohan : on my way! (already outside of your apartment)
↳ isackhadjar : i have been sitting in the hallway since this was posted.
↳ yourusername : get in here🙄
username15 : these kids love their grid mum 🤧
—
flashback
You hadn’t expected the night to end in a breakup. But maybe you should’ve.
It started with his phone—left unlocked, screen facing up, buzzing like a warning. You hadn’t meant to look. But you did. A message preview lit up like a punch to the chest.
last night was the best;) miss you already xx
You didn’t open it. You didn’t need to. The way your stomach dropped told you everything you weren’t ready to admit.
You sat there for a few seconds, staring at the screen. His voice filtered in from the bathroom—some off-key humming, clueless and careless. It made you feel numb. Or maybe free. You weren’t sure which yet.
When he walked back in, grinning like he still had you, you held the phone up.
“You should really be more careful with your passwords,” you said calmly.
His expression dropped. “Babe, it’s not what it looks like—”
“It looks like you’re sleeping with someone who isn’t me.”
You didn’t yell. Didn’t cry. Didn’t even let him finish his half-assed explanation. You just grabbed your heels, your pride, and your keys, and walked out the door like it owed you nothing.
You texted your girls on the way out.
club. now. i finally left the bum.
By midnight, you were wrapped in black mesh and revenge-red lipstick.
The bass vibrated through your bones, and the margarita in your hand burned in the best way. Your friends were already dancing like the world was ending, and for the first time in months, you felt alive.
And then you saw him. Max.
Standing at the bar with a half-finished drink and that usual unreadable expression—until he looked up and saw you.
His eyes flicked over you once, slow and deliberate, before his lips curled into the smallest smirk. He lifted his drink in silent acknowledgment, and you raised your brow like, Don’t test me. But he didn’t walk away.
No, he walked toward you—unhurried, completely sure of himself, like he’d been waiting for you to show up all night.
“You good?” he asked, leaning in just enough to be heard over the music.
You shrugged, grinning. “Better than ever.”
He studied you for a second longer. “You look free. Like you finally let go of that one thing that was dragging you down.”
You met his gaze head-on. “Maybe I did. But I don’t regret it.”
Something about your voice—clear, certain, maybe a little dangerous—made him nod slowly. Like he knew that version of you. Like he’d met her before in himself.
He didn’t say anything for a moment, just offered his hand. “Come dance with me.”
And God help you, you said yes. One song bled into another, and suddenly you were dancing like your skin was on fire, like the world couldn’t touch you anymore. Max wasn’t just keeping up—he matched you. Step for step, stare for stare, like the two of you spoke the same language in a rhythm only you could hear.
You didn’t remember leaning in. You didn’t remember whose hand touched whose waist first.
But you do remember the way his lips brushed yours, soft and warm and slow at first—like he was asking a question. And how you answered with a kiss that tasted like tequila and freedom.
When you finally pulled away, breathless, Max just looked at you with that same amused smirk and said, “Definitely his loss.”
You laughed. You weren’t just fine. You were starting over.
—
The sunlight hit your face before the memory did. Warm. Gentle. Relentless.
You blinked a few times, groggy and still wrapped in that heavy limbed softness that comes from too many drinks and not enough regrets. The room smelled faintly of something distinctly Max—clean, expensive, and just a little smug.
You rolled over. He was already awake.
Lying there, one arm folded behind his head, chest bare, the sheets dangerously low on his hips. His other hand held his phone, which he casually tossed aside when he noticed you looking.
“Morning,” he said, voice rough, sleepy.
You groaned into the pillow. “Tell me we didn’t do something stupid.”
Max tilted his head. “Define stupid.”
Your eyes narrowed. He smiled.
“We danced,” he said. “You kissed me. Twice. And then you tried to start a debate about tire compounds in the elevator.”
You winced. “Sounds like me.”
He laughed under his breath, that low rumble sending a shiver down your spine.
“But no,” he added, softer this time. “You were upset. So I brought you back here. You changed into my shirt, stole all the covers, and fell asleep with your face in my shoulder.”
You blinked. “I didn’t kiss you again?”
He hesitated. “You almost did. Then you said something about how ‘this doesn’t count when you’re drunk’ and knocked out cold.”
You groaned again. “God. Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said, without missing a beat. “It was the best night I’ve had in a long time.”
You looked over at him, eyes soft. “You sure? I was kind of a mess.”
Max shrugged. “You were real. That’s what I want to see.”
For a second, the air stilled between you. No jokes. No tension. Just quiet understanding. You’d kissed him the night before thinking it was a one time thing—sparked by adrenaline, tequila, and heartbreak. But lying here now, in his bed, wearing his shirt and breathing in his space.
He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. “So… breakfast?”
You blinked. “You’re offering to feed me now?”
“I’m offering to bribe you with pancakes so you don’t ghost me later.”
You smirked, climbing out of bed and grabbing your phone.
“I don’t ghost,” you said, pausing by the door. “But fair warning—once I post a thirst trap, our children are going to lose their minds.”
Max grinned, already reaching for his shirt. “Perfect. Let them panic.”
And as you headed to the bathroom, still wearing nothing but his t-shirt and a smirk, you realized something—You really, really didn’t miss your ex.
—
present day
It’s been a few weeks since that night. Since tequila and heartbreak and Max Verstappen.
You’ve seen him a few times since then—quiet dinners in hotel rooms, lingering handholds between debriefs, shared glances across the paddock that made your stomach flip like a rookie on their debut lap. It’s easy, exciting, safe in the strangest way. No pressure, no labels.
And somehow, for once, no noise. Just the two of you, figuring it out behind closed doors. Which is exactly why you should’ve known that post would send the entire grid into DEFCON 1. Because you barely have time to finish brushing your teeth when it sounds like your whole front door is being broken down.
You freeze, toothbrush halfway to your mouth. Then—
DING DING DING DING.
“YN OPEN THE DOOR RIGHT NOW.”
You peek through the peephole. And there they are. All six of them. Kimi. Ollie. Isack. Jack. Franco. Gabriel.
Every last one of them in complete disarray. Jack’s hair is still wet. Gabriel’s holding a box of oreo’s, one stuffed into his mouth. Franco has absolutely no shoes on.
You blink. “Good morning?”
“You can’t just post that and disappear,” Ollie blurts.
“Disrespectful,” Franco agrees. “Honestly rude.”
“You owe us answers,” Jack adds, pushing inside like this is a crime scene. “Did he cheat? Did you dump him? Do I need to start training for violence?”
“I’m already in shape for violence,” Isack mutters.
“I brought Oreo’s,” Gabriel says, holding them up as a gift of peace.
Kimi just crosses his arms and stares you down. “What happened.”
You close the door behind them and sigh.
“Nothing crazy,” you say, voice steady. “I found out he wasn’t who I thought he was. So I ended it.”
You head to the kitchen and start making coffee. Like this isn’t the opening scene of a Netflix special where the 2025 F1 Rookies begin a manhunt.
“But… are you okay?” Franco asks gently.
You turn and smile. “Honestly? I’m great. It’s probably the healthiest decision I’ve made in years.”
Kimi leans against the counter. “You don’t have to be fine right now, you know.”
You sip your coffee and shrug. “I am fine. Genuinely. I don’t miss him. There’s nothing to cry over.”
There’s a beat of silence. Six sets of eyes narrow, exchanging looks like they’ve rehearsed this. You can feel the shift in the air. The whisper of an unspoken plan forming. But no one says it. No one says “we’re going to find you someone better.” No one says “we’ve already made a list.”
Instead, Gabriel sits beside you. “Okay. Well, if you’re fine… we’re still staying for brunch.”
“Obviously,” Franco says.
“Non-negotiable,” Isack adds.
Ollie leans forward, fake-casual. “So… no one new in the picture yet?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Are you taking attendance for my love life now?”
He shrugs. “Just making conversation.”
You laugh. “Well, no. There’s nothing to report. I’m enjoying being single.”
Half-true. You take another sip of coffee and hide your smirk. They all nod slowly. Quiet. Suspicious. Too quiet.
Gabriel’s already texting someone under the table. Jack’s typing into his Notes app. Franco looks like he’s trying to remember every eligible man on the grid. Kimi is definitely plotting a background check. You say nothing.
Because letting them believe you’re freshly single, emotionally vulnerable, and in need of saving? Is way too fun to correct.
—
The brunch was meant to be a quick thing. A little comfort, a little check-in, maybe a pastry or two.
But somewhere between the third round of pancakes and Kimi yelling at Jack for putting ketchup on eggs, it turned into something else.
You knew you were doomed the moment Ollie declared, mouth full of toast.
“You’re not allowed to be alone today. We’re going with you.”
You’d laughed. Thought it was a joke. But now it’s two hours later, and they’re all still here. You walk into the training facility like usual, hoodie up, bag slung over your shoulder, calm and collected. Behind you? Six men trailing in a chaotic single file like toddlers on a leash.
Gabriel’s rapidly texting on his phone. Franco’s wearing sunglasses indoors. Jack’s humming. Isack is trying to arm wrestle Kimi mid walk. Ollie keeps speed walking ahead of you, then backpedaling like a mall cop on edge.
“You guys don’t actually have to stay,” you say for the fifth time, mildly exasperated.
“Yes, we do,” Ollie insists. “What if your ex tries to talk to you again?”
“I blocked him.”
“What if he makes a burner account?”
“I blocked five burner accounts.”
Kimi snorts. “I told you she’s too smart for him.”
Isack stretches like he’s preparing for a UFC match. “Still. You’re emotionally delicate right now.”
You raise an eyebrow. “I’m emotionally fine.”
“She’s in denial,” Jack whispers. “Classic phase two.”
You groan, swiping your pass at the entrance and holding the door open for your band of feral ducklings.
—
You’re halfway through your warm-up laps when it happens. You jog around the corner of the facility and pass by a small group of guys—some local trainers and junior athletes. You nod politely at them, earbuds in, barely noticing.
But they notice you. One of them—tall, maybe twenty-five—stares for a second too long. Not creepy. Just curious. And apparently, that’s enough to start World War III. Because from across the room, you hear a voice yell.
“HEY. EYES UP, BRO. THAT’S MY MOM.”
You stop in your tracks. Spin around. Ollie is storming toward the guy with a hand on his chest like he’s about to deliver the sermon of the year.
The poor guy looks so confused. “I—what?”
“She’s a national treasure,” Ollie says, dead serious. “You don’t ogle national treasures.”
You jog back over, cheeks already burning from embarrassment. “Ollie. He just wanted an autograph.”
“No he didn’t.”
“Yes. He’s holding a pen.”
The guy timidly raises his hand. “I just wanted to say hi. I’m a fan.”
Ollie glares. You sigh and pat the fan on the shoulder. “It’s okay. I appreciate it.”
Behind you, Isack leans toward Franco. “Should we start screening everyone she interacts with?”
“Already doing it,” Franco says, typing something into his phone. “I have a form.”
—
By mid-afternoon, they’ve followed you to recovery. Then to the simulator. Then back to your place, where they claim they’re “just checking your locks.” Kimi installs a door camera. Jack offers to sleep on your couch. Gabriel keeps offering to cook for you.
Every time you so much as look at your phone, someone leans over your shoulder.
Ollie squints, head on my shoulder. “Who’s that?”
You sigh and chuckle. “My nutritionist.”
Franco looks up at you. “Okay. What’s his intention?”
”My nutrition.”
Eventually, you collapse onto the couch, arms folded, finally fed up.
“Guys,” you say flatly, “I’m not a baby deer in a storm. I am fine. No one needs to be screened. I don’t need a 24-hour security team. And I definitely don’t need—”
Ding. Your phone lights up. A message from Max.
You alive or are they still holding you hostage?
You smile at the screen—just a little. Just enough for Isack to notice.
He leans forward. “Who was that.”
“Just… a friend.”
Six heads whip around.
“WHO.”
You roll your eyes and stand. “I’m going to shower. Please, for the love of god, do not follow me.”
They groan like they’re being abandoned on a battlefield. And as you shut the bathroom door behind you, you hear Jack whisper.
“We need to escalate. Operation Boyfriend starts now.”
—
f1gossipgirls
785,090 likes.
f1gossipgirls : Mercedes driver YN LN made her first paddock appearance since her rumored breakup — and if anyone’s heartbroken, it’s definitely not her. Looking radiant and unbothered, she was welcomed with a big hug from teammate Kimi Antonelli and closely tailed by Isack Hadjar, who appeared glued to her side all day.
The real kicker? Her full squad of rookie ducklings followed her everywhere — from the garage to the grid walk to the drivers parade, forming what can only be described as a personal security detail (or cult? unclear). But we love this new and radiant Grid Mum!
—
view 185,090 other comments.
username000 : kimi hugging her like a baby koala was not on my 2025 bingo card but i’ll take it
username00 : ollie: “she doesn’t need us” also ollie: breathing down the neck of anyone who looks at her for more than 0.2 seconds 😭
username0 : franco, gabriel, jack, ollie, kimi, and isack acting like sons to a woman only a few years older than them… peak formula 1 content
username1 : Grid Mum is such an accurate title like they would all FOLLOW HER INTO BATTLE 😭
username5 : i’ve never been more proud of a woman i’ve never met in my LIFE. she won. she’s glowing. she has six rookies as her army. iconic behavior only.
—
The date with Carlos was scheduled with precision.
Ollie booked the restaurant himself, despite forgetting to ask whether you were allergic to seafood. Isack made a shared Google Doc of outfit suggestions. Franco literally coached Carlos on what not to say during the car ride there. Gabriel told you to “just act natural,” which was rich coming from someone who panics ordering coffee.
Carlos, for his part, handled it like a champ.
“You know they sent me a PDF,” he tells you, raising an eyebrow as the waiter pours wine.
You blink. “A PDF?”
He nods, fighting a smile. “Title was ‘So You Think You Can Date YN.’”
You nearly choke on your water. “I swear to God.”
He grins. “Very detailed. They had a whole section on things not to mention. Like your ex. Or 2019 qualifying in Monaco.”
“Fair,” you say, smirking.
To his credit, Carlos is very good at this. Charming, confident, a little teasing, but never pushy. He asks about your training, your favorite circuits, the meaning behind the small tattoo on your wrist. He compliments your eyes like he means it.
And for a second, you let yourself lean into it. Until you spot them. Behind Carlos, tucked into a booth near the corner?
The Ducklings.
Poorly disguised in sunglasses, hoodies, and baseball caps—like a weird boyband on the run.
Jack has a menu held upside down. Gabriel is clearly filming on his phone. Ollie is wearing a fake moustache. Franco waves when you make eye contact. Kimi sits with his arms crossed like a bodyguard. And Isack’s just… staring at Carlos. Like he wants to wrestle him across the table.
You bite back a laugh. Carlos follows your gaze, glancing over his shoulder. He turns back, grinning.
“Should we tell them I saw them an hour ago?”
“No,” you say, sipping your wine. “Let them have their fun.”
He raises his glass. “To the worst spies in F1 history.”
—
You don’t know how they convinced Pierre to do this. Maybe it was Franco’s charm. Maybe it was the rookie group chat descending into madness after “Carlos Date Day.” Or maybe Pierre’s just here for the chaos, as always.
Either way, here you are. Dress. Dinner. Dim lighting. And Pierre, in an offensively good shirt, holding out a chair like he was born for this.
“I must say,” he smirks, “the moment they approached me with the idea, I said finally. Someone’s letting me take the prettiest driver on the grid out.”
You snort. “Do you use that line often?”
He grins, absolutely unapologetic. “Only when it’s true.”
You sit, trying not to smile too much. The restaurant is all low lighting and flickering candles—Pierre’s choice, obviously. He orders a bottle of wine in French, and the waiter actually blushes. You already regret letting Franco be in charge of the location.
“So,” you say, narrowing your eyes playfully, “what did the Ducklings promise you?”
“Ah,” he leans back dramatically, “they said if I sweep you off your feet, I get Kimi’s sim time for the month.”
You blink. “That’s… weirdly generous.”
“I know.” He raises his glass. “They’re getting desperate.”
You clink. “They are insane.”
“Insanely devoted to you,” he corrects.
You pause. Let that sit. Because he’s not wrong. And that’s when you spot them. The Ducklings. At it again.
Ollie and Isack behind the wine rack. Kimi pretending to be a server with an apron and a scowl. Jack crouching behind a decorative plant that is way too small. Gabriel and Franco sitting two tables over with fake menus covering their faces, whispering like spies.
You sigh into your wine. “They are so bad at hiding.”
Pierre glances over, raises an eyebrow, and smirks. “Should we give them something to talk about?”
You lean forward, amused. “Like what?”
He doesn’t answer. Just raises a brow and slowly reaches across the table to take your hand, smooth and steady. In the background, someone gasps audibly. Definitely Isack. Pierre doesn’t flinch.
“They need to believe I’m a threat,” he says lowly, thumb brushing your knuckles. “Otherwise, what’s the fun?”
You shake your head, trying not to laugh. “You’re dangerous.”
“I’m French,” he says with a wink. “Same thing.”
—
over with the rookies…
“HE’S HOLDING HER HAND. HE’S HOLDING HER HAND.” Ollie panics into his little earpiece.
Isack sighs. “Deploying emotional damage protocol. Permission to interfere?”
Kimi sets the glass of water down at the table he is pretending to serve. “Negative. We observe. We do not assassinate.”
Gabriel smiles from behind the menu. “She just looks so pretty. I wouldn’t be able to let go either.”
Franco starts panicking and fanning himself with said menu. “Guys. She’s smiling.”
Jack puts his head down. “It’s Carlos all over again. This is a spiral.”
Ollie face palms. “I told you we should’ve gone with Alex first. He would’ve been soft. Safe. Pierre has an agenda.”
—
Pierre’s still holding your hand when you laugh—genuine and loud and a little tipsy. The date has been fun, even if it feels like an elaborate school play. He’s charming, flirty, just the right amount of dangerous. But still…
Not the one who sent you a photo of your coffee order this morning. Not the one who smirks every time the rookies panic. Not the one who hasn’t stopped texting you versions of “good luck surviving them” all day.
You finish dessert—chocolate tart and rookie glares—and stand with Pierre as the waiter brings the bill. He leans close, lips brushing your cheek.
“Merci, chérie,” he murmurs, warm and quiet. “This was fun.”
And it was. But the second you step outside and the rookies swarm you, dramatic as ever—
Ollie checks you over quickly, holding your arms. “ARE YOU OKAY? DID HE POISON YOU WITH COMPLIMENTS?”
Isack rushes over, out of breath. “DO YOU HAVE EMOTIONAL WHIPLASH??”
Gabriel reaches up and brushes your hair. “Did he touch your hair???”
You just laugh, shrugging them off as you walk to the car. Because even though Pierre was perfect on paper— He wasn’t Max. And maybe the rookies haven’t figured it out yet.
—
You were promised a casual night.
“Low pressure,” Gabriel said.
“Light-hearted,” Jack promised.
“Just Alex,” Franco winked. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
Famous last words. Because ten minutes into sitting across from Alex Albon at a cozy Thai restaurant — one he picked himself — you clock all six rookies sitting in a booth across the room in matching black hoodies like they’re in a rogue choir.
Alex leans in, smiling wide as he watches you clock them. “So. We’re ignoring the Secret Service detail?”
“Apparently,” you deadpan. “Their idea of ‘stealth’ is coordinated outfits and Jack holding a menu upside down.”
Alex chuckles, offering you a piece of spring roll with his chopsticks. “I’ll admit, I kind of love the chaos. Makes me feel like I’m in a sitcom.”
You grin, accepting it. “Is this their idea of soft-launching us?”
“Please,” Alex says, mock offended. “If I was soft-launching you, it’d be on a boat, golden hour lighting, maybe a quirky caption.”
You laugh out loud. Truth be told, this is the most normal of the “dates” so far. Alex is sweet, calm, and effortlessly funny. He talks to you like you’ve known each other for years. No pressure, no forced charm. Just vibing over pad see ew and Thai iced teas. Still, something’s… off. Not with him, exactly. Just… something.
—
duckling commentary…
Ollie whispers lowly. “Why is she laughing that hard? What did he say? I need a transcript.”
Isack squints. “She looks relaxed. TOO relaxed.”
Kimi shrugs. “He’s got soft energy. I’m not threatened.”
Franco sighs. “But what if she likes soft energy.”
Gabriel with a mouth full. “I like Alex. He’s soft. Like tofu.”
Jack moves the menu from his face. “I will literally flip this table if he touches her hand.”
—
back to you and mr. albon…
“You know,” Alex says, mid-bite, “I told them this was ridiculous. I said, ‘She’s not looking for someone. She’s got that look in her eye like she already found someone and hasn’t told them yet.’”
You go still.
He looks up at you. “Sorry—was that too much?”
You stare at him for a second.
And then: “No. That was… very on point.”
Alex smiles, a little softer now. “It’s not me, is it?”
You shake your head slowly. “No.”
He sits back, letting out a small breath. “Didn’t think so. Just wanted to be sure before I told Isack to stop plotting date number four.”
You laugh. Like full body laugh.
“God, they’re so intense.”
“They’re obsessed with you,” Alex says easily. “I get it. You’re kind of their mum. But also their queen. Their general. Their—”
“Duck wrangler.”
“Exactly.”
You sip your drink. “You’re handling this well.”
“I like being a decoy,” Alex shrugs. “Gives me a front row seat to the Max Verstappen Situation.”
You choke. “The what?”
He smirks. “Oh, come on. You don’t think we all saw him volunteer for the draft room? He showed up like he’d already won.”
You press your lips together. “It’s… complicated.”
“Is it?” Alex grins. “Because I think the only people who haven’t figured it out are the rookies. And honestly? I’m not telling them. Watching this slow unraveling is the best thing to happen to the paddock since Pierre got stuck in that bathroom in Baku.”
—
You and Alex step out of the restaurant into the night air, the six rookies immediately materializing from inside.
Isack approaches quickly. “Rate the date. Out of 10. Be honest.”
Ollie checks you over, again. “Did he hold you?”
Kimi crosses his arms. “I brought pepper spray in case things got weird.”
Gabriel sighs dramatically. “Alex, are you in love with her?”
Jack stares at you. “Was it mid?? Be real.”
Franco stares down Alex. “You better not hurt her or I’ll flatten you on the sidewalk.”
Alex just throws his hands up. “Guys. I’m literally the safe option. You picked me for vibe control.”
—
The place is quiet. Max picked a rooftop bar just outside the city — warm lights, open air, panoramic views, and most importantly—no cameras. Well. Except the ones hidden behind a concrete planter across the deck. You glance toward it and spot the very obvious outline of Ollie’s curly hair. You don’t even say anything. Max sees it too. He smirks.
“They really don’t know how to blend in, huh?”
“Nope.”
“I think he is wearing the fake mustache again.”
“I give them points for commitment.”
You clink your glasses together — you with a ginger beer, Max with something dark and still half-ignored — and settle into the kind of silence that feels earned, not awkward. The breeze lifts your hair slightly. His eyes follow the movement, just for a second.
“You’ve been humoring them,” he says after a while.
You glance at him. “You’ve been letting them spiral.”
He grins. “I don’t intervene in things I already won.”
Your heart does a thing. You sip your drink to cover it.
—
meanwhile at the rookie watchtower…
Jack smiles, looking satisfied. “Okay, we’re officially in the final boss round.”
Isack eyes the both of you. “Do we think he’s actually playing the game or just… winning by default?”
Gabriel shrugs. “He’s not even trying to flirt and it’s working. I hate it here.”
Ollie squints at Max. “He’s got that smug ‘I already kissed her’ look—”
Franco shrieks. “Wait. Has he???”
Kimi eyes all of the boys. “Do we interfere if tongues happen.”
All of them erupt. “YES.”
—
back with you and maxie…
Back at the table, Max leans forward slightly, eyes on you like he’s choosing every word carefully.
“I’m glad you let them do this.”
“Yeah?”
“Gave me a front-row seat to your smile. And their chaos. Win-win.”
You raise an eyebrow. “So what’s your plan? You know they’re watching.”
He shrugs. “Not here to impress them.”
“Oh?”
Max sets his drink down.
“I’m here to kiss you in front of them and end this game.”
You go still. Heart? Racing.
“You’re serious.”
He stands. Offers his hand. You take it. And then he pulls you in gently, tilting your chin up just enough, and kisses you like it’s not even a question anymore. Like it never was. Warm. Certain. Slow. Soft. And behind you—
“OH MY GOD.”
“THAT’S ILLEGAL.”
“THAT’S AGAINST THE RULES.”
You don’t even break the kiss until Max pulls back with a laugh, turning just slightly toward the human pile of rookies currently losing their minds behind a planter.
His arm stays looped around your waist.
“That’s against the rules!” Ollie yells again, hands flailing.
Isack looks like he is going to faint. “I NEED TO SIT DOWN.”
Gabriel clutching his chest. “I think I just blacked out.”
Kimi smirked. “I knew it. I KNEW IT.”
Ollie crumbles quickly. “They made us schedule a date with Alex when she was already WITH HIM—”
You turn toward Max, cheeks warm, heart light, still half-shocked and entirely melted.
“That was… dramatic.”
“Worth it.”
“You really planned to one-up the rookies?”
He grins. “No. I planned to end the game before they tried to match you with Lando.”
You laugh and kiss him again — brief, bright, completely yours. Alongside the two of you, six ducklings begin planning a joint wedding speech.
—
maxverstappen1
liked by gabrielbortoleto_, olliebearman, kimi.antonelli and 5,505,023 others.
maxverstappen1 : grid mom and dad making it official. love you, schat❤️
tagged : yourusername
—
view 250,000 other comments.
gabrielbortoleto_ : i feel like i found out santa isn’t real but also found out my parents are canceling the divorce on the same day.
liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1
↳ yourusername : idek what that means but okay my little ducky.
↳ gabrielbortoleto_ : im betrayed but overjoyed
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francolapinto : mama y papa
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olliebearman : we scheduled dates. we made color-coded spreadsheets. we googled how to flirt respectfully. AND YOU WERE ALREADY KISSING.
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↳ isackhadjar : i was ready to flatten pierre with my car for this woman. AND THIS IS HOW YOU TREAT ME???
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↳ jackdoohan : we booked a RESTAURANT. i WORE A COLLARED SHIRT. i told a waiter “it’s her big day.” for WHAT.
liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1
↳ gabrielbortoleto_ : i was her emotional support water bottle holder. do you know how much responsibility that is???
liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1
↳ kimi.antonelli : i knew. i always knew. but i let the others spiral because it was funny.
liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1
↳ olliebearman : don’t even talk. i wrote her a DATING PROFILE. with bullet points.
liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1
↳ isackhadjar : they KISSED ON THE DATE I WAS HIDING BEHIND A PLANT FOR. i need financial compensation.
liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1
↳ olliebearman : HEY. i wore that itchy ass mustache four dates in a ROW.
liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1
↳ yourusername : i would trust you all with my life. just not my love life ❤️
—
bonus scene!
The checkered flag waves. You don’t even hear the roar of the crowd at first — not over the static-crackling voice of your race engineer, screaming so loud he’s probably broken something in the garage.
“P1! YN, that’s P1 — you did it! YOU BLOODY DID IT!”
You’re not breathing. Your hands are shaking around the wheel, your visor fogged slightly with heat and adrenaline. You let out a noise — somewhere between a yell and a laugh and a sob — and punch the air so hard you might’ve dislocated something. And then another voice cuts in. Kimi. Completely unprofessional. Totally euphoric. “GRID MOM WINS. THE GRID MOM WON!!!”
You let out a laugh, heart racing, vision blurring. Your car rolls over the finish line and onto the cooldown lap, your fingers white-knuckled around the wheel.
By the time you’re climbing out of the car, the world is already screaming. Fans at the fence chant your name. The Mercedes crew is piling over the pit wall like lunatics.
You tear your helmet off and throw your arms in the air. You’ve barely taken a full breath when you’re tackled from the side — Kimi, jumping on you like a golden retriever with too much kinetic energy.
“I’M SO PROUD OF YOU,” he yells, muffled by your shoulder.
“You got your first podium!” you laugh, hugging him just as tightly.
“And YOU WON. So, respectfully — I will get in line, this is your moment.”
He lets you go with one last enthusiastic pat on the back, and that’s when you see him.
Max. Standing a few paces away, helmet off, hair messy, eyes only on you.
The way he looks at you? Like you painted the sky.
He doesn’t rush you. Just walks forward with that calm, smug patience he always has — but when you meet him halfway, wrapping your arms around his neck and laughing into his shoulder, he lifts you slightly off the ground without hesitation.
“You’re unbelievable,” he says softly into your hair.
You pull back just enough to see his face. “Still think you let me win?”
He grins. “Only because you’re hot.”
The champagne sprays. The flashbulbs explode. The crowd is still roaring when Max steps off his podium block, strides across to you — and kisses you. It's not subtle. It's not quiet. It's a hard launch in high definition. He pulls back only slightly, curls his arm around your waist. Your eyes go wide, but you're already smiling. Laughing, even. You press your forehead to his and exhale one word through your grin.
“Dramatic.”
“Correct.”
But before either of you can bask in it for too long— CHAOS.
Suddenly, there’s yelling. Sprinting. A commotion behind the barriers. And then— A ROOKIE STAMPEDE.
Ollie is first. He launches himself up the side of the podium steps like it’s the final stage of Ninja Warrior. Franco and Gabriel follow, scaling like climbers on caffeine.
Jack does a running leap. Isack vaults the barrier with no regard for ankle safety. And Kimi, of course, simply walks up — nods at the FIA official like this is normal, and joins the crowd. They pile onto the podium. No one stops them. Security gives up. Fans are shrieking.
Franco hugs your waist and yells, “MY MOM WON!!”
Jack flings an arm around Max and shouts, “DAD HARD LAUNCHED! HISTORY HAS BEEN MADE!”
Ollie collapses onto the floor of the podium and moans, “I feel so emotionally unsafe right now, but I’m also so proud.”
Gabriel is taking selfies mid-hug.Isack is clinging to your arm like it’s the last flotation device on the Titanic.
Kimi sighed happily. “It was time. The people needed to know.”
And in the middle of it all, Max just throws an arm around your shoulders and says with a completely straight face. “These are our children now.”
—
Later that night, Max throws his phone on the hotel bed and flops down beside you, still smiling.
“I think we broke the Internet,” you murmur.
“I think we adopted six grown men.”
You laugh. “Worth it.”
He turns his head, grinning. “They love you, you know.”
“I know.”
You pause. “They love us.”
He kisses you again — soft this time, slow — and the world outside fades. For now, it’s just the two of you. And the six rookies already planning family brunch in the group chat.
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: putting your differences and similarities aside, you've decided to take oscar berry picking and end up receiving something else entirely! or in which you should really thank hattie.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: lots of fluff, poor humour, berry picking finally, reconciliation, the finale!
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: oscar piastri x childhood bsf!fem!reader
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3.4k+
𝐀/𝐍: the last part!! ahh! i've enjoyed writing this series so much that i even hacked away at it during my exams 🤫 thank you so much to everyone reading this, especially this special lil tag list! hopefully i can do something like this again vv soon ♡︎
Oscar blinked rapidly, eyes wide at eight in the morning as you stood in front of him. He moved his hand, fingers pinching his skin harshly.
You were still there.
"H-Hi," he greeted in disbelief, using the door for support as he leaned on it. He hadn't seen or heard from you in three days. Hattie had quietly mentioned she had talked to you – more like bragged but that wasn't an argument he wanted to start.
Your eyes flitted between your surroundings and him before you sighed. Clearing your throat you, you gestured to your car with the nod of your head. "Get in," you simply stated.
Oscar straightened at the sound of your voice. He mended his brows. "Where are we going?" He queried, eyes watching your trailing figure head out while he quickly moved to grab his phone, keys, and wallet before closing the door behind him.
You peeked your head over the roof of your car. "Langwarrin," you responded.
Oscar gave you an odd look, repeating the location with confusion. That was at least a forty minute drive away.
"I promised Hattie a raspberry and lemon birthday cake this year. Those things don't just make themselves, you know," you retorted, pulling the door handle towards you and hopping into the driver's seat.
Oscar thought over your words as he sat himself into the passenger's seat. Ah yes. Hattie's birthday. Celebrating twenty-three years of annoyance that Oscar had to bear.
Clicking his seatbelt into place, Oscar blinked, face completely dropping. That was in two days. Shit.
You pressed your lips together in amusement as you turned on the ignition. "You haven't got her anything, have you?"
Oscar slumped into the head rest, rubbing a hand over his face. With everything that had been going on, he had completely forgotten. He had to physically wince. Hattie was going to kill him.
"You'll survive," you said over the engine as if you were reading his thoughts. "It'll be like a school project. You do your bit, I do mine. And then we'll both write our names on it."
━━━━━━━━━━━
Oscar eyed the old sign planted at the entrance as you pulled into the parking lot.
The Bramble Farm.
Pick your berries local and fresh! Open 9am to 5pm.
"We're picking the berries?" Oscar queried, turning his head to you.
"Of course," you commented, unbuckling your belt. "Nothing but the best for my girl."
Oscar angled his head, nodding with slow agreement, watching you get out of the car and grab some baskets from the trunk. He sighed to himself. He needed to talk to you. But he just wasn't sure how to.
Hey I know we're picking raspberries for Hattie's birthday but can we talk about how much of a dick I was at Waterway for a sec?
Yeah... not happening.
Oscar sucked in a sharp breath. For now, he'd leave up to fate. Getting out of the passenger seat and hearing you lock up the car, you both entered the farm, eyes on the endless lush grass, abundant berry bushes, and the small paddocks of farm animals minding their own business.
As you headed over to the main building to pay for the both of you, Oscar was nudged by a freely roaming cat. He bent down, cautiously patting its brown fur. "Hey, buddy," he murmured before taking a peek at his collar. "Ah, sorry... Milo, of course," he chuckled softly.
Milo purred in response, bright green eyes curiously peering at Oscar.
"Any advice on how to apologise to someone?" Oscar quietly queried, gently rubbing the base of Milo's ears.
Milo blinked slowly as though he was pondering the question. His trail of soft meows made Oscar grin. "Just out with it, huh?" He deducted, ears perking to the familiar steps of your shoes.
"Oh who's this?" You gasped, arriving back to entrance before you also squatted down, in awe of the pretty brown fur.
Oscar watched Milo gravitate to you, immediately taking a liking to you. He laughed gently at how you played with the cat, quietly taking out his phone to open the camera. He pressed his lips together, struggling to contain a full blown smile as he captured Milo standing on his hind legs, paws playfully clawing at you, happy to be held by your hands.
"He's so pretty," you stated to no one in particular, rubbing Milo's cheek fondly.
Oscar put away his phone and smiled, brown eyes focused on you. "Very."
You looked over at Oscar, almost instantly nervous at the warm gaze he sported. You cleared your throat, slowly standing up. "We'll see you around Milo, okay?" You cooed before staring at the seemingly infinite grass. You breathed out slowly, handing Oscar a basket. "Boy, do we have out work cut out for us."
━━━━━━━━━━━
You and Oscar both walked down one lane of the open fields, trying to gauge what raspberries were the best to pick after the owner had set you the criteria.
Oscar turned his head to the side, swallowing nervously while he watched you pick the berries with the same amount of intensity you used to study.
You hadn't said a word to him about anything else other than Hattie's birthday. Not to be dramatic, but it was killing him. And the Aussie sun at nine the morning wasn't doing him any favours.
Of course Oscar had been meaning to reach out to you. Especially after Lando had (surprisingly) knocked some sense into him. And after a lengthy pilates session with his mother that left him in more physical pain than he came in with.
Oscar trailed his tongue of his lip and sighed. It was now or never.
Your ears perked at the sound of your name falling from Oscar's lips. You turned from the bush, brow raised. "Yeah?"
Oscar stayed silent for a moment, resting his basket on the soil. "I..." he pursed his lips, trying to remember what his mother and Lando said. His chest slumped in defeat. "I'm sorry," he breathed.
You blinked at Oscar's admission, slowly picking another raspberry. You dipped your chin in acknowledgment. "For?"
"For being a dick like you said," Oscar sighed. "I shouldn't of avoided you. I should've apologised after I did. And I shouldn't of said those things about Blake. You were right. Blake's sweet and you should go out with him if you want."
You blinked, slowly putting a handful of raspberries into your basket. Oh. "Right," you said, that weird feeling of hope gradually simmering down.
Oscar chewed on his lip, detecting the hint of disappointment in your voice. "I..." he started, capturing your attention once again, "I was jealous," he admitted.
His heart was like thunder in his chest, creating chaos in waves. God, he think he felt sick.
Your eyes widened as you paused everything. Hattie had said it first but actually hearing it come out of Oscar's mouth made it feel surreal. "J-Jealous?" You stuttered in disbelief.
Oscar nodded slowly, carefully sounding his words. "Of Blake. He's liked you since we were kids. Even then he was really sweet to you. He just makes it all look really easy. I guess I thought I couldn't compare," he shrugged, furrowed brows easing with realisation.
You flickered your eyes to him before eyeing the miniature stains of raspberry on your palms you had gotten unintentionally. The light flush shined. Your hands felt clammy under the sun. Heart beating faster with every second passing. Maybe the heat was getting to you.
"Compare what? Make what look really easy?" You queried nervously.
Oscar's brown eyes fell to you and the softness inside of them almost terrified at you. The tilt of his head, the slight raise of his brows, the gentle smile... as if he was saying you should know.
The flirting... the talking...
"That I like you."
Oscar stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"I just... I don't know how to navigate it. I've never been this... out of control with my emotions," he murmured, eyes falling to the soil before reverting back to you when he heard you laugh.
Oscar furrowed his brows. Were you laughing... right after he had told you he liked you? He quickly moved at the raspberry you had thrown his way, arms covering himself before turning to you with curious eyes.
You quieted down, breathing slowly, smile still present on your face. "Oscar, you idiot," you muttered with a slight shake of your head, "I said be loud so I can hear you."
"What?" He asked, confusion only growing.
You leaned your head to the side, eyeing him carefully "If you're drowning, you can't struggle silently. You should be loud so I can hear you," you reminded.
Oscar narrowed his eyes, hurling a raspberry back at you. "Speak for yourself. Pretending like you weren't crying in front of me the other day," he huffed.
You captured the singular raspberry in your basket and smiled softly at his words. You didn't even have the heart to feel hurt. "Hypocrite, I know," you murmured, turning to pick a few more from the bushes. You looked down at your basket and peeked a look at Oscar's who could still feel staring at you. Nodding to yourself, you opened you mouth again. "That's enough. Let's go."
━━━━━━━━━━━
The ride back to your house was silent. Not uncomfortable, however. Just silent.
Oscar felt like most of the weight on his shoulders had dissipated. There was only one thing left to deal with but that was more up to you than it was to him.
Oscar watched you take out all of the ingredients from your pantry. A container of flour, sugar, carton of eggs, a couple of lemons, your freshly picked and washed raspberries, butter, oil, baking powder and soda, and cream cheese.
He blinked, startled when he found your eyes on him. You smiled gently. "If you have no gift, at least you can pride yourself in making Hattie's cake. Although, I still have a solution for your gift."
Oscar pursed his lips, leaning his bodyweight on the kitchen counter. "I thought you said I couldn't cook. In fact, the word you used by the end of it was 'hopeless' if I remember correctly," he reminded, grin stretched onto his face.
You rolled your eyes. "Well, this is baking for one. And secondly, I'm still debating whether I should let you put the raspberries on and just lick the spoon like a kid," you said with a small shrug.
Oscar huffed with amusement, shaking his head lightly. "You have no hope in me, do you?" He murmured, inching towards you to help.
You turned to him, eyes bright as you grabbed a large bowl. "You don't believe in my Oscar shrine in the living room?"
Oscar smiled at your words, looking at the clear view of the shelf he had seen when he first came here, still shining with his helmets and news clippings. "Well... I don't not like it," he admitted. "Very thoughtful."
You hummed in response, grabbing your measuring cups from the drawer behind you. Scooping some flour into one cup, you let it fall through a sieve and into your bowl. "If it helps," you started, repeating the same action, "I wouldn't do it just for anyone."
Oscar flitted his eyes to you, raking you in like he was memorising you. "Yeah? So I'm not just anyone then," he commented, taking a step closer to you, leaving barely centimetres between the both of you.
You inhaled slowly before swallowing, trying to dampen the nerves setting your skin alight. Your heart was clambering yet again. You wondered if it ever rested around Oscar.
"You're someone," you replied idly, looking back at the the sieve, clearing away the plume of flour in the air.
"Just someone?" Oscar queried, taking some of the fallen flour on the counter and wiping it on your cheek.
Your lips parted, eyes hooked onto his before falling to his mouth. You swallowed again. His fingers remained on your cheek, slowly moving to hold your face while his thumb smoothed over your skin. You could feel your cheeks burn and a part of you almost hated it.
Oscar watched your tongue trail over your lips as you nodded slowly. "Just someone," you confirmed, voice shaky.
Oscar brought his hand to the back of your neck and pulled you closer. Your body stilled as his voice worked barely above a whisper. "I need to know," he rasped, a rawness underlying while he memorised every inch, every crevice of your face.
You rubbed your lips together, wanting to play dumb one last time. "Know what?"
Your name fell from his lips almost in desperation, exhausted with your tease, restless for an answer that would either make or break him while his eyes pleaded you.
The very ones you looked into before he left.
The very ones that had haunted you for years on end.
The very ones you had met once again.
Oscar could feel his resolve break with every passing second he saw the warm smile sprawl onto your face. "I like you too, you absolute idiot," you muttered.
Without a second thought, Oscar's head dipped down, feeling the warmth of your face as your noses brushed. He could feel himself getting equally as flushed as you, cheeks reddening. His lips hovered over yours before he finally pushed himself to meet them.
It had felt as if the whole world had washed away. If you had anything else to say to each other, it was all being said at this very moment. All you could feel each other. His hand fell from your neck to your waist, bringing you closer to him. His fingers sneaking past the hem of your shirt and grazing your bare skin.
To each other you were molten to the touch, the pure form of magma itself, neither of you could help bring each other closer, as if you would bring sanity to each other's hunger for each other. Oscar' lips went down your jaw and to your neck as you had to gasp for air.
You could feel Oscar's grip on your waist tighten as he reeled himself in, chin nestling into your collarbone. Both of your chests heaved, the silence of your actions making your skin burn.
Oscar pulled his head away to take a look at you. He pressed his lips together in amusement upon spotting your flustered face trying to shy away from him. He groaned quietly, hands gently grabbing your face. "You're too sweet," he grumbled, feeling a sudden wave of cuteness aggression come over him.
You swatted his hands away, feeling the heat in your cheeks only deepen. You sighed, looking over at the cake you still needed to finish. You turned to Oscar with a raised brow. "I'm warning you now... keep your hands off me until we finish this cake."
Oscar's lips parted in shock as if you had just told him Rocky had been resurrected. His lips jutted out, like actually jutted, while he pulled you close to him again. "No... a kiss for every raspberry at least?"
You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the wide smile on your face. "Oh my God, you're such a loser," you retorted, laughing softly to yourself. "Is it too late to get rid of you?"
Oscar grinned, pressing a long kiss to your cheek. "As if you wanted to."
━━━━━━━━━━━
Setting up Hattie's birthday party had been a breeze with everyone's help. You and her boyfriend had picked a theme after going back and forth on all the things she loved which lead to you to this year theme: Hattie.
Yup. Very creative.
You had gone all out. Oscar and Mae made photocards of Hattie across the years. Edie had curated a very specific playlist with your guidance. Nicole had taken it upon herself to make cocktails and mocktails based on some of her favourite songs – and a lovely t-shirt with the birthday girl's face on it. Chris had decorated their house with lights, garlands, and balloons. You, Oscar, and her boyfriend had gone as far as to create 'Hattie Trivia' which of course you had won in the end.
Needless to say, Hattie was pretty impressed.
And also eagle-eyed.
Eagle-eyed enough to corner you and Oscar.
Hattie pursed her lips, eyes scrutinising the both of you very carefully, arms folded. "I see you two are on talking terms," she cautiously stated.
You and Oscar took a glance at each other. You hadn't exactly told Hattie that you were officially together. Partially because she'd freak out in the best way possible and the both of you wanted at least two days of the calm before the storm.
"We are," you commented idly, unsure of what to say.
Oscar rolled his eyes, grabbing your hand and intertwining them with his own. "Are you happy now?" He queried, giving his sister a pointed to look.
Your cheeks burned, shaking your head lightly while you covered your face with your free hand. Oscar had yet to know the lengths of which Hattie had created this 'happiness.' She wouldn't let him forget to the end of time.
"Oh thank God," Hattie let out a relieved sigh, shoulders slumping with ease. "I only wanted one gift this year."
"Which is?" Oscar queried.
"For you two to get together," she stated liked it was obvious.
Oscar furrowed his brows, eyeing his sister oddly. "How would you have known we would get together?"
It was now your and Hattie's turn to taking a knowing glance at each other before she burst into laughter. Oscar's confusion only worsened. "What? Why are you laughing? What's going on?" He asked, corner of his lips quirking in a befuddled amusement.
"Are you going to tell him or should I?" Hattie questioning, folding her arms.
You sighed, turning to Oscar. "Hattie... kinda set us up," you admitted defeatedly. "The tent... the airport... basically everything we did this summer."
Oscar raised his eyebrows in surprise, thinking back to all those events. "I'm gonna have to give you some actual credit here, Hats. You have actually have a brain up there."
Hattie rolled her eyes, waving her hand in dismissal. "Yeah yeah, whatever."
Oscar pursed his lips, eyes narrowing on his sister. "You're never going to let me forget this, are you?"
A grin appeared on Hattie's face. "Glad you know something," she retorted before returning back to her party.
Oscar smiled gently, turning to you. His head dipped tone, voice low as he whispered in your ear. "At least she doesn't know about the midnight swim."
You snorted. "Or the berry picking. Although there still one thing we didn't complete on her list."
"Oh?" Oscar queried, hand smoothly travelling to your waist. "Do go on."
You laughed softly, flinging your arm around his neck. You eyed the freckles on his face, connecting them as you spoke. "You were supposed to get a day where you get to do anything you want."
Oscar mended his brows at your words. "Why? Why was there even a list in the first place?"
"Well, Hattie had other intentions, obviously. But after you talked about having such a hard time in my kitchen, well, I did promise you I'd give you the best summer ever."
Oscar's eyes softened, chest tightening as he quickly read between the lines. He pressed his lips to your forehead, letting the kiss linger before pulling away. "Well, you succeeded. This is the best summer ever. Not just us. But the memories... the talks... I want you to know, I really appreciate them. I appreciate you and your efforts. Even if you won't admit it," he murmured, warm breath just fawning over your face.
You smiled gently, another laugh escaping your lips. You played with his hair gently while you spoke. "You're so cheesy. Did Herdfortshire teach you that?"
Oscar squinted, pretending to mull over your words before grinning and leaning in, his lips barely a centimetre away from yours. "Can't say they did. Probably learnt it from you."
You gasped playfully, retracting your hands while you narrowed your eyes at him. "Please. I am no cheeseball."
"I mean berry picking? Baking a cake?" Oscar raised his brows, calling your name gently as though it was a cheeky chide. "We did speeches for Rocky," he maintained, grin teetering on his face.
"I–" you blinked, unable to stop smiling widely. "Fine," you grumbled in defeat, feeling his arms pull you closer once again. You tried to not shiver under the softness of his eyes but failed. "We're both cheeseballs. It would've been easier to leave you in a museum all summer."
Oscar pursed his lips, an easy smile falling onto his face while he laughed quietly. "I'll take that."
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: finally on holiday after winning two races and a constructor's championship, oscar comes home to the aussie summer sunshine only to find his sister's best friend making his heart beat once again.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: childhood friends to lovers, best friend's brother trope, mental health/emotional regulation discussions, poor humour, dashes of angst here and there
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: oscar piastri x childhood bsf!fem!reader
PT.1 WELCOME HOME, SUNSHINE 2.3k words
PT.2 CHAMPAGNE COAST 3.3k words
PT.3 PERFECT DAY 3.5k words
PT.4 WALKING ON SUNSHINE 2.8k words
PT.5 ISLAND IN THE SUN 2.8k words
PT.6 FALLING FOR YA 2.1k words
PT.7 SUNSHINE, AT LAST 3.4k words
𝐀/𝐍: sooooo i'm so excited for this! since this is me... expect some plot holes or like a lot of them. i'm planning to release every part over seven days bc ngl i hate waiting for parts as a reader so... ♡︎ first part will be out today! – i think this is a total 20.5k fic if i did all the actual calculations.
Summary: Kimi gets his first podium, and you're crying like you just witnessed your kid walk for the first time. Bonus: Franco being bullied on a plane.
Author's Note: I'm still so so happy ab kimi's podium, i was fr super proud and i can't wait for him to get others + for the rest of the rookies to get one in the future🤍
F1 MASTERLIST🏎 | Previous Part | Next Part
Kimi didn’t care about what people would think. He didn’t care about how it would look when his first instinct after hugging his team was to make his way towards the sea of Red Bull employees. Because amongst those employees who were here in parc fermé to celebrate Max’s P2, there was you.
Your smile was wide, cheeks almost hurting. And as soon as your eyes met Kimi’s, you grinned harder – if that was even possible.
“You did it!” You told Kimi once his arms were around you.
“I did it!” He echoed your words. His voice was muffled by his helmet, but the happiness and joy were obvious.
Pulling back from his embrace, your hands went to hold Kimi’s helmet. The rookie noticed that your eyes were tearing up a bit, and his couldn’t help but do the same too.
“That was a wonderful race, Kimi. I’m so proud of you.” Your tone was soft, conveying how genuine you were.
“Thank you!” Kimi’s eyes were enough to express his gratitude for your support, and they showed that he was smiling under his helmet. When someone from his team called him for his post-race duties before the podium, he quickly turned towards the voice then met your eyes once again. “Bye, I love you!” Next thing you know, he was gone from your side.
It wasn’t supposed to be such a big deal that Kimi was saying that he loved you – you had been mothering him since the season had started and had supported him through his unfortunately numerous DNFs. But still, it made you feel warm inside.
You observed as Kimi hugged George once again before Max went to congratulate him as well. You obviously would’ve loved to see your boyfriend winning this race, but this would definitely be one of your favourite podiums of the year – it wasn’t everyday that one of your grid kids featured on it. And such a wholesome scene it was to watch, as Max had a wide smile on his face while spraying Kimi with champagne. The tension between him and George had dissipated despite the accusations they had made against each other during the safety car earlier. They were just both enjoying their podiums and appreciating their own success – they also had to play pretend at being a happy little family to not ruin Kimi’s first podium.
You were truly over the moon for both Max and Kimi, so you obviously wanted to celebrate with them. And despite Kimi desperately wishing he could say yes, he had been forced to refuse:
“I can’t go partying… I got homework”, he reminded you as he thought about his final exams awaiting him.
“Then we’ll celebrate later if you graduate”, Max said with a shrug.
“When you graduate”. You sent a look to Max, one that meant to be invested in Kimi’s education even if Max’s hadn’t been his focus years ago.
“Yeah… if, when… same thing.”
“It’s not!” You and Kimi both argued.
“Have some faith in me, mate. I studied hard for this”, Kimi claimed.
“We studied hard”, George added as he joined the conversation.
“You’re not the one doing the exam, though. Not sure you could even manage”, you teased him.
“Please, I could ace it.” George raised an eyebrow at you, a challenging look in his eyes. “Could you?”
“I’m pretty sure I helped Kimi more than you did. Weren’t you the one who delegated the work to the engineers?”
You and George held eye contact for several seconds, neither of you looking away. That was until Kimi intervened.
“Okay guys, please no weird tension.” Kimi waved his hand in front of your and George’s faces, thus breaking the eye contact between the two of you. “Max and George finally figured their shit out – kinda, I don’t need another Verstappen-Russell fall out.”
“Good thing I ain’t a Verstappen, then.”
Yet, Max wanted to add. Even Kimi and George thought the same thing, both of them knowing that it was only a matter of time before it would eventually happen. You were practically one already, and it wasn’t an actual change in last names or a ring on your finger that would ever affect how you relationship with Max already was.
…..
Despite you skipping the F1: The Movie premiere in NYC, it almost felt like you were there with how much the rookies were talking about you. Due to the drivers all going to the same place, it made sense that some of them would be sharing a plane. So that was how Ollie, Franco, and Gabriel ended up travelling together with Lando.
“You should’ve forced her to come with us if you were gonna miss her that much”, Lando complained. He was so close to texting you to leave Max wherever he was and to come get your kids.
“Max didn’t want to come so… whose plus one she would’ve even been?” Ollie asked. “I have my girlfriend already.”
“Same,” Gabriel said with a nod.
“I would have gladly taken her if I didn’t care about the risks of Max running me off track once the pictures would be released. Imagine this: Max’s girlfriend was Lando’s plus one at the premiere, I’m done for!”
“I could have taken her”, Franco chimed in.
“Oh trust me, we know.” Gabriel rolled his eyes at Franco's words, and leaned back in his seat.
Lando and Ollie looked at each other, not sure whether they understood what was going on.
“Are we missing something?” Lando wondered.
Gabriel opened his mouth to explain the situation, before Franco interrupted him:
“Nothing’s going on, no. You’re not missing any vital piece of information.” Franco put on his best innocent smile and tried to think of a way to change the topic.
“That’s a lie”, Gabriel argued. “See, little Franco there did the only thing we had told him not to.”
“Which was?” Lando asked.
But Gabriel didn’t even have time to reply, that Ollie immediately understood what had happened.
“You did not?!” His accusatory tone was directed towards Franco, as Ollie couldn’t believe it.
“Maybe…?” Franco looked away, not liking his business being aired out.
“When was it?” Ollie questioned both Gabriel and Franco, his eyes darting between the two rookies.
“When was what?” Lando was completely lost, and he was definitely not enjoying being excluded from the drama.
“We gave one rule to Franco before Imola,” Ollie finally explained. “Just one tiny little rule.”
“Don’t flirt with Max’s girlfriend”, Gabriel added.
“Okay.” Lando was carefully listening and nodding, showing his investment in the story. “And how long did it take him to break it? Two, three weeks?”
“A day”, Gabriel said.
“A day?” Ollie repeated. “That’s insane, Franco. Imola was…” Ollie started counting in his head, to figure out when it had happened. “More than a month ago! We should revoke any grid mum privilege you’ve ever had.”
“I didn’t have many to start with”, Franco muttered.
“Does Max know?” Lando had no idea whether he expected a positive or negative answer, just wanting to know more about the situation.
“He apparently threatened Franco”, Gabriel explained with a snicker.
“That was traumatising. I had Mad Max in front of me,” Franco dramatised.
“Now that’s something I would’ve liked to see!” Lando started laughing, imagining how Max had intimidated the young driver. “He hasn't driven you into the wall since then, though. So consider him being generous with you.”
“Wanna know what I think?” When the three drivers nodded, Ollie shared his thoughts. “I feel like Max didn’t actually see you as a real threat. Sure you tried to flirt with his girlfriend–”
“Extremely fucked up of you to do that”, Gabriel interrupted Ollie to add his comment.
“Agreed. But yeah, Max is definitely not the guy to get insecure. He knew you had no real chance anyways”, Ollie finished explaining.
“Damn… you have no game, mate.”
“Lando, please don’t bully me as well.” Franco sighed. “I have game! But obviously, it works better when I’m not going after a taken woman!”
“We have yet to see this skill of yours this year”, Gabriel teased.
“Oh God…” Franco groaned as he put his head in his hands.
The Argentinian wouldn’t hear the end of it until the plane had landed. And he knew that once Isack as well as Liam would know, those two would definitely gang up on him too – spoiler: they did.
…..
Meanwhile, in Belgium…
Max had offered you to come see him race in Spa, and you had gladly accepted to show him your support while he pursued this new interest of his. You hadn’t given it a second thought, not really caring about missing the F1: The Movie premiere. Max might have taken you if you had truly wanted to go, but he hadn’t hidden at all the satisfied grin on his face when you had told him that you didn’t want to see Brad Pitt overtake your boyfriend and win all the races that Max had actually won last year.
So while most of the drivers were on their way to New York, you and Max were currently on your way to Spa after a quick pit stop back home. You had just finished typing a text to wish Kimi luck for his final exams, when your nose suddenly started itching right before your body forced you to sneeze.
“Bless you”, Max simply said without looking up from his phone. “Hope no one’s talking badly about you.”
“It might just be allergies”, you argued.
“Or the rookies not being able to shut up about you”, Max teased.
It was honestly your allergies acting up, but Max was also not wrong to trust a silly superstition for once.
Hope y'all enjoyed this!! I'm honestly loving writing short chaps in between double/triple headers bc it's like a nice change of pace so don't hesitate to tell me if y'all like them too :)
I think isack was acc on the same plane as them (idk ab liam bc bro appears nowhere) but when i eventually noticed, it was too late to change and i was too lazy to add him🤗
Also we reached 500 followers!! It still feels insane that there are this many people supporting me and my silly fics so thanks y'all🫶🏻🫶🏻
See you soon, take care of yourselves, love y'all xx
notes: WELCOME HOME JIMINNIE AND KOOKIE! (dialogue written in italics are spoken in english)
setting: June 11, 2025
word count: 804
taglist: @sunflower-0180 @seaoffangirling @yourwonderbelle @1-800-enhypennabi @kamiiyou @strwberrydinosaur @uraveragefangirlsposts @caratinylyfe @1-800-minji @one16core @kimhyejin3108 @chansols @akshverse @toriluvsfics @billboard-singer @stopeatread @allthings-fandoms @jammingjaem @cuntessaiii drop an ask or a dm if you wanna be added or taken out of the taglist 🥰 requests are also open!
Everything felt different.
Yoonmi lightly paced just outside the military base, Jimin and Jungkook’s families by her side. The boys’ moms watched her in slight amusement as she did so, but she didn’t mind. She didn’t even notice.
Her hands were clammy, and her breaths were short. Whatever it was that was happening to her was exactly why she knew she couldn’t have their first meeting be in the public press area like she had with the other members. Just the day before, she had been calm with only a small amount of nerves and a few tears peeking through.
Today, however…
It was understandable. Jimin would be coming out of the division first, then Jungkook a little later on. Jimin was the guy she was so close to that he almost adopted her into his family as his little sister if Chan’s family wouldn’t have done so.
Then there was Jungkook. Her best friend among all best friends. Her ride or die. They had spent almost every day together for years until he had to leave for the military. There was a small bit of fear in the back of her mind. Would things be different now?
“My boy,” Jimin’s mom’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. It was a sight to see once she lifted her gaze, Jimin saluting his parents and brother before pulling them into a hug. Despite her nerves, a warm smile made its way to her face, happy to see him happy.
Then Jimin’s dad faced her, holding a hand out to her. “Well? Come over here, Yoonmi. You’re family, too.”
Her approach was hesitant, but it came to a stop as Jimin looked up and met her eyes. He flashed her a smile before straightening out and bringing his fingertips to his brow.
Just moments ago, Jimin had been a son, a brother. Now, in front of her, he stood tall as Sergeant Park Jimin, the person who had once promised to keep in touch until he eventually came back to her for real.
“Sergeant Park Jimin of the Artillery Unit within the 5th Infantry Division reporting the successful completion of his compulsory military enlistment to Bang Yoonmi, otherwise known as Kim Yoonmi.”
His stance didn’t last long. He immediately pulled her in for a hug, resting his chin on her head. Yoonmi wasted no time in hugging him back, her tears starting to fall.
“I’m home,” he whispered in a gentle sing-songy voice. “Don’t cry, aegi. It’s not like we haven’t seen each other this whole time.”
“You don’t have to go back this time.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Jimin pressed a small kiss to her temple before releasing her from the hug, a knowing smile on his face. “Now, there’s someone who I know really wants to see you.”
His gaze was fixated behind her. Yoonmi took a deep breath, knowing what he meant. She could hear the reunion with his family happening behind her.
“Yoons?”
Her breath hitched at the sound of the all-too-familiar voice. She turned around and saw him.
Jungkook was standing before her, just getting out of a hug from his brother, clad head to toe in a uniform that they both knew he wouldn’t be needing anytime soon.
“Oh my god,” she mumbled, tears falling from her eyes.
In three large strides, Jungkook had made his way over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her up. She draped her arms around his neck, hiding her face next to it.
That’s when she knew nothing had changed. Maybe they were both more mature now with their drastically different life events in the past two years, but they were still the same best friends who met at ages 11 and 15 and grew up together.
Neither of them said anything for a while, letting their hug speak for them. She could feel the eyes of Jimin and Jungkook’s families on them, but that faded to the back of her mind as she felt something warm and wet drip on her shirt.
Jungkook gently set her down. For a moment, he didn’t speak, his hand squeezing hers just the slightest bit.
Then, he straightened.
“Sergeant Jeon Jungkook of the 5th Infantry Division reporting the successful completion of his compulsory military enlistment to Bang Yoonmi, otherwise known as Kim Yoonmi.”
“Back on 24/7, on-call best friend duty?” she asked, a small wet laugh escaping her as she wiped her tears away.
“That’s right,” he grinned, pulling her into a hug once again. “Tell Haechan to take a step back.”
She laughed, hugging him tight and extending her arm to Jimin to pull him into the hug as well.
Just like that, the Busan line was complete.
(And if they were late for the press, well, it was understandable)
notes: WELCOME HOME JOON AND TAE! (dialogue written in italics are spoken in english)
setting: June 10, 2025
word count: 600
taglist: @sunflower-0180 @seaoffangirling @yourwonderbelle @1-800-enhypennabi @kamiiyou @strwberrydinosaur @uraveragefangirlsposts @caratinylyfe @1-800-minji @one16core @kimhyejin3108 @chansols @akshverse @toriluvsfics @billboard-singer @stopeatread @allthings-fandoms @jammingjaem drop an ask or a dm if you wanna be added or taken out of the taglist 🥰 requests are also open!
Today marked the beginning of the end.
The end of waiting.
By the end of the month, Yoonmi would have all seven of her members by her side again. No more curfews to chase, no more military leave filing. Just them—finally eight, together again.
Yoonmi was practically bouncing in her seat as the van pulled up to the press area where Namjoon and Taehyung would speak to the media. She was seated in a car driven by manager Sejin, who was trying to get her to at least eat half of her breakfast before the two boys arrived, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it.
“Yoonmi, you know how they are about your eating habits,” Sejin sighed. “Especially Namjoon. If not for your own sake, then eat for mine, unless you want him venting at me next.”
She wrinkled her nose but picked up her chopsticks anyway.
“Oppa?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think Joonie oppa’s gonna show how happy he is to finally be a private citizen again?” Namjoon’s countless Instagram stories and messages both to their group chat and to her privately about him just wanting to finish filled her thoughts.
Manager Sejin simply chuckled and left her to speculate on her own.
Taehyung, she already knew, would be trying to present himself as calm, happy about his time in the military, but also looking forward to returning to music. Namjoon, on the other hand… Well, Yoonmi wasn’t sure if he’d take up the RM leader persona or the Namjoon as a private citizen persona.
The chatter and sudden flashes of cameras caught her attention, making her look out the window. The grin immediately grew on her face as she watched her members being given flowers as they walked towards the media. It seemed like everything slowed down as she opened the door to join them like she did with Jin and Hobi…
Then she heard it.
One foot out the car—
Saxophone.
Not just any saxophone.
“Is that... the Detective Conan theme?”
She slammed the car door shut, getting back inside, one hand over her mouth, eyes wide.
“Oh my god.”
Of course, Namjoon had left Taehyung to carry his flowers as he celebrated the discharge in his own little way.
The giggles fought hard to escape her as she tried to calm them before she actually got to the members, that is until one of the staff knocked on the door.
“Miya? They’re asking for you.”
She took a deep breath. Smile on. Heart barely in check.
The moment she stepped out, Namjoon and Taehyung turned to her in perfect unison.
She barely registered the press, the cameras, the staff. Her world narrowed to them.
Ten steps away…
They saluted.
“Sergeant Kim Namjoon of the 15th Infantry Division’s Military Band.”
“Sergeant Kim Taehyung of the II Corps Special Duty Team, Ssangyong Unit.”
“Reporting the successful completion of his compulsory military enlistment to Bang Yoonmi, otherwise known as Kim Yoonmi.”
A moment of silence passed between the three of them as the two boys brought their hands down sharply. Yoonmi could only grin at them before she lunged forward, pulling them both into a group hug.
“Welcome home,” she whispered.
Taehyung pressed a kiss to her forehead. “It’s good to be back, aegi.”
“Don’t think I didn’t see you laughing at my Case Closed performance,” Namjoon lightly pinched her side.
“Come on,” she laughed as she pulled them to the van with her, “you can tell me everything in the car.”
Taehyung ruffled her hair. “Only if we can get drive-thru. We’re making sure you’ve eaten breakfast.”
could you write a dad!Oscar who we know is private but the other drivers dont know he has a kid till he invites them over his house and when lily or oscar open the door yn is there in her walker lookig up at them exacly like Oscar (bonus if they have a pet the other drivers are scared of but yn is fascinated with it)
The secret daughter
The post-race dinner invite had taken everyone by surprise.
Oscar wasn’t exactly known for being social. Quiet? Definitely. Polite? Always. But throwing casual dinner parties? That was new. So when he casually mentioned in the paddock after the Australian Grand Prix, Hey, if you're around, come over to mine for dinner tonight, the rest of the drivers had stared at him like he’d just grown a second head.
"Are you serious?" Lando asked, raising a brow.
Oscar had just nodded, offering that small, elusive smile of his. "Yeah. Should be fun."
Max had squinted at him. "You? Hosting dinner? Are we sure this isn’t some elaborate prank?"
Oscar just shrugged. "Come or don’t. Up to you."
Of course, they were going to come. They couldn’t resist the mystery.
---
It was nearly sunset when the group pulled up to a modest but beautiful house nestled into the outskirts of the city. Australia had always had its charm—open skies, endless greenery, and that unmistakable warmth in the air that hinted at home. Daniel, retired now and visiting the paddock just for old time’s sake, had tagged along with the group, grinning like a kid.
"You know, I’m proud of the kid," he said as they stepped out of the car. "Hosting a dinner, inviting people over. He’s evolving."
George adjusted his collar and glanced at the front door. "Are we sure we have the right house?"
"Looks about right," Charles said, holding a bottle of wine. "He texted the address."
Max leaned on the car. "Well, someone go knock then."
"You knock," Lando shot back.
"You’re closer."
With a dramatic sigh, Lando marched up to the door and knocked twice. They waited. Silence. Then a faint rustling.
The door swung open.
A little girl, no older than three, stood in the doorway. Brown curls framed her cherubic face, and her wide eyes blinked up at them in a serious sort of way—exactly like Oscar’s. Her expression was so deadpan that for a moment, no one said a word.
"Uh... hi?" George offered awkwardly.
The girl stared at them.
"She looks just like him," Charles whispered.
"She can’t be..." Lando murmured.
"You guys coming in or what?" she said, voice tiny but confident.
Before anyone could respond, she turned and darted back into the house. "DADDY! The tall people are here!"
Five grown men stood frozen on the doorstep, processing.
"Did she just call him Daddy?" Max blinked.
"She did, right?" Lando asked, eyes wide.
Daniel let out a loud bark of laughter. "Holy shit. Oscar has a kid."
Inside, Oscar appeared, as calm as ever, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. "Hey. You guys found the place. Come in."
"You have a child," George said bluntly.
Oscar blinked. "Yeah?"
"You never said anything," Lando said, eyes still trailing after the small child, who had now settled on the couch with a juice box.
Oscar tilted his head, bemused. "You never asked."
"Seriously?! That’s your excuse?" Max asked, walking in, still stunned.
Oscar shrugged. "I don’t go around asking if you guys have secret families."
"It’s not a secret if she opens the door for us," Charles said.
Daniel was grinning ear to ear. "Mate. You legend. I didn’t know you had it in you."
"Thanks, I think," Oscar said dryly.
Lando had crouched slightly, watching the little girl with fascination. She glanced up at him, unblinking.
"Hi," Lando said.
"Hi," she replied.
"I’m Lando. What’s your name?"
"Yn."
"That’s a pretty name."
She took a long sip of her juice box. "Wanna see my pet?"
Lando blinked. "Uh... sure."
Oscar looked up from where he was arranging some bowls. "You don’t have to say yes, by the way."
Lando, determined, shook his head. "No, it’s okay. I like pets. Is it a bunny? A hamster?"
Yn grinned, then skipped over to the corner where a small terrarium sat.
"Larry!" she sang. "Come say hi!"
The group watched in silent horror as she reached into the glass box and pulled out a tiny, coiled snake.
Lando backed up so fast he nearly tripped over Max. "WHAT THE HELL?!"
Yn cradled the snake lovingly. "This is Larry. He’s my best friend."
Max looked at Oscar like he’d grown another head. "You let your toddler have a snake?!"
Oscar glanced over. "He’s non-venomous. Very chill. Yn loves him."
Charles had pressed himself against the nearest wall. George was hovering behind the couch like it could protect him. Daniel, meanwhile, looked delighted.
"She’s a true Aussie," Daniel said proudly. "Respect the reptile."
Yn patted Larry's head and brought him closer to Lando. "You can pet him if you want."
"I think I’m good," Lando squeaked.
Oscar crossed his arms, one eyebrow raised. "Scared of a baby snake, huh?"
"He looked at me with malice in his eyes."
"Larry doesn’t even have eyelids," Oscar deadpanned.
Daniel clapped Oscar on the shoulder. "Fatherhood suits you. You’re terrifying. I love it."
The evening carried on with more laughter than anyone expected. Yn eventually let Larry rest back in his enclosure, and Oscar set up a makeshift kids' table where she could eat her nuggets and carrots. The rest of the group sat around the main table, eyes occasionally drifting back to the little girl who had rocked their worlds in under five minutes.
"So, uh... how old is she?" George asked cautiously, sipping his drink.
"Three and a half," Oscar said.
"And... you and Lily?"
Oscar nodded. "Yeah. We kept it quiet. Wanted some normalcy."
"She’s adorable," Charles said. "I mean. Scary, with the snake. But adorable."
"She is," Oscar said, and for the first time that evening, his voice softened. Everyone noticed.
Yn ran back into the room at one point, straight to Daniel, crawling into his lap like it was the most natural thing.
"Uncle Dan," she said sweetly.
"Hey, sunshine," Daniel replied, instantly melting.
Lando looked betrayed. "Uncle Dan?"
Daniel smirked over Yn's curls. "Some of us got in early."
"I want to be her favorite," Lando muttered.
"Should’ve petted the snake, mate," Max said with a grin.
Oscar leaned back, watching the group. For the first time in a while, he looked completely at ease. Maybe it had always been like this behind the scenes—the quiet life, the family, the snake.
But now that the secret was out, no one was going anywhere. They were hooked.
"So," George said later, holding a brownie, "next time we hang out at yours, should we bring mice? Or are snakes allergic to snacks?"
Oscar rolled his eyes. "You guys are ridiculous."
Yn peeked around the corner. "Uncle Lando? Larry misses you."
Lando visibly paled. The room erupted in laughter.
Oscar just smirked.
"Told you. She’s a real Aussie."
And that, they all agreed, was terrifyingly accurate.
Extra
The drivers reaction to meeting Oscars daughter:
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Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.
hi i really love all ur works, ur so talented🩷 i have a request for a driver that has like a secret family with a wife and kids and one day it leaks and the grid didnt know and reacts:) could be any driver you choose🩷
leaked — aa23
slight smau/blurbs
alex albon x !wife reader
alex and yn have been married for four years and have been together for over 10. they have managed to keep their relationship almost invisible from the public — the fact that they were married and had one kid and another on the way was known to no one. except close family. until one day, everyone suddenly knew.
fc : no official face claim — tumblr ladies and lily:)
(a/n) : love love love you 💕 thank you for all the kind words.
—
yn.private
liked by alexalbon, yourbff, yoursister & 25 others.
yn.private : i like this little life ☀️💐
—
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alexalbon : oh my beautiful beautiful wife— how I love you 🤍
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↳ yn.private : my adorable loving husband. i love you moreeeee
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↳ alexalbon : on my way home with your favorite pastry’s!
liked by yn.private
↳ yn.private : get me pregnant again.
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↳ alexalbon : I can’t get you pregnant while you already are, my love.
↳ yn.private : I will have a whole army of albon babies if you continue to treat me this well
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yourbff : can’t wait for baby albon #2 !! 🫶🏻🫶🏻
liked by yn.private and alexalbon
↳ yn.private : ready to be an auntie from the beginning again??
↳ yourbff : fully prepared to take night shift when alex is away🫡
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↳ yn.private : love youuuuuu! you da bestttt
yoursister : something about you this pregnancy…you are just so shiny and pretty. I never looked like that pregnant. I was swollen and ugly.
liked by yn.private and alexalbon
↳ yn.private : nooooo you looked gorg but thank u lovie
—
The house is quiet. Miraculously quiet.
Which, as any parent of a three-year-old knows, means one of two things—either a disaster is brewing… or the toddler is asleep. Thankfully, today it’s the latter. Our little hurricane wore herself out playing race cars with her dad in the living room and is now starfished across her bed, one hand still clinging to her favorite stuffed tiger. I sink back against the pillows, hand resting gently over my small bump, which isn’t huge but definitely feels like it should be—especially with how demanding this baby has been when it comes to cravings.
“Banoffee croissants,” I mutter to myself, the words like a whispered prayer to no one. “God, I’d sell my soul for one. Or three.”
I hadn’t mentioned it out loud to Alex. I didn’t need to. After nearly ten years together, he’s attuned to my moods and cravings like some kind of pastry-whisperer. That man could probably sense a food mood swing from a continent away. As if summoned, the bedroom door creaks open and Alex appears, balancing a bakery box in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. He’s barefoot, hair still damp from his shower, wearing a hoodie I’m ninety percent sure I stole from him at one point. His smile is the first thing I see.
“I knew it,” I grin, sitting up straighter. “You read my mind again, didn’t you?”
He crosses the room and leans down to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “I heard you muttering about croissants in your sleep this morning. Banoffee, specifically. You know I can’t ignore a prophetic food dream.”
“You’re a hero,” I tell him seriously.
“A hero who drove twenty minutes to that little bakery that you like,” he says, settling onto the bed beside me and opening the box with a flourish. “And begged the lady behind the counter for the last three.”
My eyes widen. “You got the last three?!”
“I showed her a picture of you and that precious bump,” he says proudly, nodding at my stomach. “Didn’t even charge me for the third one. Said you deserved it.”
“You do realize I love you more every day, right?”
He smirks. “Because of the croissants or in general?”
I lean over, resting my head against his chest as I reach into the box. “Both. But mostly the croissants.”
He wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close, pressing his lips to the top of my head while I take my first bite. It’s perfect. Warm, flaky, banana-y with just the right amount of toffee. A stupid little tear pricks at the corner of my eye because… hormones, probably. And love. Definitely love.
“This is nice,” I whisper after a few minutes of quiet chewing and cuddling.
“Mhm.”
“The baby’s happy.”
“I can tell,” he laughs softly. “Kicking already?”
“Not yet. Just… smug. Like, very pleased with our croissant situation.”
Alex turns slightly so he can rest his hand over my stomach. “Well, little one, just wait until I get my hands on those lemon raspberry tarts next week. You’ll think you were born into royalty.”
I sigh, the kind of full body, heavy limbed sigh that only comes when you’re well fed, loved, and cradled in your favorite person’s arms. The kind of moment you wish you could bottle up and keep forever.
Alex brushes a crumb off my chin and shifts so he can lie down beside me properly, still keeping one hand on my stomach like it grounds him. His thumb strokes back and forth absently, almost like he’s trying to communicate through touch.
“You’ve been so calm with this one,” he murmurs. “Last time you were googling every strange feeling and crying over that one Pampers ad with the twin babies in slow motion.”
I groan. “Don’t remind me. I still can’t hear that music without tearing up. But yeah… it’s different this time. I know what’s coming. The good, the hard, the sleep deprivation…”
He laughs under his breath. “The explosive diaper at 3 a.m.?”
“Exactly. And yet…” I look down at his hand, resting over where our baby is quietly growing. “I’m not scared this time. I just feel… lucky.”
He kisses the side of my head, lingering there. “We are lucky.”
“We’re also outnumbered now,” I tease. “Two kids to two of us. If we go for a third, we’ll officially be out of our depth.”
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “You say that like I’m not already out of my depth. I still triple-check the car seat buckles and google toddler coughs at midnight.”
I snort. “And I love that about you.”
He grins, but then his face softens. There’s a flicker of something tender behind his eyes, the kind of emotion that doesn’t always need words, but he gives me some anyway.
“I keep thinking about when I met you,” he says quietly. “How I never imagined we’d have this. A house with tiny shoes by the front door. Crumbs in our bed. Little voice yelling at me when I walk through the door. And now… another one.”
There’s a lump in my throat now. Hormones again. Or maybe just Alex being his gentle, golden-hearted self.
“I still can’t believe we’ve kept it a secret,” I whisper. “Not even the grid knows.”
He chuckles. “That’s the real miracle. We told your mum and somehow it didn’t make it to Twitter.”
“Will we ever tell them?” I ask, smiling softly.
“We’ll tell them soon,” he says, leaning over to kiss my cheek. “But I like this. Just us. Our little secret.”
I nod and nestle closer, both of us wrapped in quiet joy. My fingers drift to the edge of his hoodie sleeve, tracing the seam absently.
“Have you thought of names yet?” I ask after a long pause.
He hums. “One or two.”
“Anything outrageous?”
“Nothing that would embarrass them on the first day of school, I promise.”
“You always say that, and then suggest things like ‘Sebastian’ because of Vettel.”
“Okay, Sebastian is a strong name.”
I roll my eyes affectionately, then close mine, resting fully against his chest.
“Let’s just keep this a little longer,” I whisper. “Before the world knows. Before the noise.”
He squeezes me just a little tighter.
“Always,” he says.
—
It starts with a text.
I’m stealing your child tomorrow. You two are going on a date. No excuses.
At first, I laugh. Out loud, full-bellied, startled laughter that makes Alex peek into the kitchen with a raised brow and a half-peeled orange in his hand.
“My sister,” I say, waving my phone in the air. “She’s planning a kidnapping.”
Alex grins and tosses a segment of orange into his mouth. “Tell her to wear black and bring snacks. Little one only accepts bribery in the form of animal crackers now.”
But then I read it again—You two are going on a date. No excuses.
And something quiet settles in me. Something that sounds like we could use this. Because it’s been a while.
Life with a toddler is love and chaos. It’s syrup-sticky fingers, and toy cars in the laundry, and late-night cuddles with a warm, sleepy body wedged between us. It’s beautiful, messy, loud. But it’s also… full. Full in a way that leaves very little room for us. So I text back—
Deal. But don’t let him convince you to stay up past bedtime again. You’re still recovering from the last sleepover.
I am a stronger woman now. He will not break me.
—
The next evening, after our daughter has been dramatically whisked away with promises of pancakes and cartoons, the house is still. The air feels different. Lighter. Quiet in the way we forgot we used to know.
I step out of the bedroom, smoothing my dress—a soft, silky navy one I haven’t worn in years, paired with a necklace Alex gave me on our first anniversary.
He’s in the living room waiting for me, buttoning the cuffs of his white shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to make my stomach flutter. He looks up—and then he stops.
“Wow,” he breathes. “You… wow.”
I laugh, but it’s a soft one. “I was going for ‘my husband falls hopelessly in love with me all over again.’”
He crosses the room in two strides and pulls me close, fingers grazing my jaw as he smiles that smile—the one that still makes my heart flip, ten years later.
“Mission accomplished,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against mine.
We don’t go anywhere fancy. Just a cozy little Italian restaurant we used to love before the world got busy. We sit in the corner, hands tangled across the table, laughing about things we forgot we missed. We order pasta we can’t pronounce and drink sparkling water because neither of us wants to drink wine if the other can’t.
At one point, someone passes with a baby in a carrier strapped to his chest, and I see Alex glance at it with a quiet little smile.
“You miss her already, don’t you?” I ask, grinning.
“I do,” he admits. “But I also really missed this.”
He reaches for my hand and rubs small circles into my palm.
“You and me. Talking without background noise. You looking like this,” he nods to my dress. “You glowing.”
“I think that’s the pregnancy hormones.”
“No,” he says softly. “It’s love. It’s us.”
—
The door closes behind us with a soft click, the echo of the outside world fading away as we step into the familiar stillness of our home. Alex doesn’t speak right away. He shrugs off his coat, eyes on me the whole time, like he’s not quite ready to let the night end. Neither am I.
“You want tea?” he asks quietly, his voice low and warm.
I shake my head, slipping my hand into his. “No. Just you.”
His smile is small but deep, the kind that crinkles at the corners and makes something inside me melt. We don’t even bother turning on the main lights—just the little lamp by the stairs, the one that glows golden and soft, like the house knows it’s supposed to feel sacred tonight.
We move together upstairs, slow and easy, like muscle memory. My heels are long abandoned, his hand steady on the small of my back as we climb. Our bedroom is just as we left it this morning: cozy, a little messy, with one of our daughter’s tiny stuffed bunnies curled into the corner of our bed, its ear half hanging off the side.
Alex picks it up and grins. “She really snuck this in here again.”
“She said BunBun gets lonely without us,” I murmur, pulling my dress over my head and swapping it for one of his worn t-shirts. “Apparently, he likes to sleep in our bed on Fridays.”
“She’s a menace,” he chuckles, tugging on his own t-shirt and sweatpants before joining me on the bed. “A tiny, brilliant menace.”
I crawl into bed beside him and immediately find my place—curled into his side, head on his chest, his arm draped around me. His hand slips under the hem of my shirt and rests gently on the slight swell of my belly. It’s not much yet, but enough that he always finds it. Like it’s a lighthouse.
“She’s going to be a good big sister,” he says softly, rubbing his thumb in slow circles. “I can already picture it.”
“She’s going to want to hold the baby every second of the day,” I murmur sleepily. “And throw a tea party five minutes after we get home from the hospital.”
“She’s going to try to feed the baby imaginary cake,” he says with a grin. “And name it after a Disney princess.”
“We could do worse than a Princess Albon.”
He snorts, kisses the top of my head, and whispers, “She’s going to love this baby so much.”
“So are we.”
There’s a long, quiet pause—his heart steady under my cheek, our breathing slow and synced. The kind of stillness that only comes after years of chaos and noise and unconditional love.
He presses a kiss into my hair. “I still fall in love with you every day.”
I lift my head just enough to look at him. “Even when I cry over pasta commercials and ask you to drive across the city for strawberry shortcake?”
“Especially then.”
—
It’s barely 8 a.m. when I hear the car pull into the driveway. A second later, the front door bangs open and a familiar voice shrieks with glee—
“Mummy! Daddy! I’m hoooome!”
Alex groans beside me, half-asleep, face mashed into the pillow. “Did she say that like she just returned from war?”
I’m already sitting up, heart full and wide awake. “Apparently the sleepover at my sister’s was a battlefield.”
We barely make it to the hallway before a blur of pink pajamas and tangled curls comes flying toward us. I squat down just in time to catch her as she hurls herself into my arms, her little hands clutching at my neck like she hadn’t seen me in months instead of just one night.
“I missed you soooooo much,” she breathes, dramatic as ever.
Alex crouches down beside us, gently brushing her curls back. “What about me? You didn’t miss Daddy?”
She turns to him with an incredulous expression. “Daddy. I cried for you when I brushed my teeth. Auntie said I was overreacting.”
Alex pretends to wipe a tear. “My brave little soldier.”
She shifts between us, arms flung around both our necks like she never wants to let go. “I brought you something,” she whispers suddenly, pulling away and digging into her backpack.
She proudly presents us with a slightly soggy drawing, made with markers and questionable glitter glue. “It’s you, and me, and the baby.”
She continues cheerfully, “I told BunBun about the baby but no one else, because you said it’s a secret secret.”
I feel my heart swell and laugh at the same time. “That’s right, baby. You’re a very good secret keeper.”
“But can I tell George? He’s so nice. He gave me a biscuit that one time.”
Alex lifts her into his arms with a grin. “Maybe not just yet. Not even for biscuits.”
We head into the kitchen—Alex with her balanced on one hip, me trailing behind as she chatters away about pancakes, her dream last night, and how she definitely wants the baby to be a girl “because I already have a brother and it’s BunBun.”
I’m pouring juice when she wraps her arms around my waist and nuzzles into my bump like she does when she’s feeling cuddly.
“Hi baby,” she whispers. “I’m back. Don’t grow up without me, okay?”
I glance over at Alex, who’s watching with a look on his face I’ll never get tired of—the kind of love that makes your knees go weak, even after ten years. He catches my eye and mouths, “We really made her.”
I mouth back, “We really did.”
And in that tiny kitchen, with glitter glue drying on the table and a bunny plush dropped by the fridge, our daughter launches into a song she’s half-making up about “mummy and the belly and pancakes for all,” and Alex starts flipping chocolate chip pancakes like it’s the most normal morning in the world. And honestly? It kind of is.
—
f1gossipgirls
5,007,231 likes.
f1gossipgirls : F1’S BEST-KEPT SECRET: ALEX ALBON IS MARRIED… WITH A CHILD AND ANOTHER ON THE WAY?! In a shocking twist no one saw coming, it looks like one of Formula 1’s most beloved drivers, Alex Albon, has been living a very private double life—and doing a stellar job keeping it hidden. Sources close to the paddock have confirmed that Albon has been secretly married for four years to longtime partner YN, and the couple share a three-year-old daughter. Oh—and she’s currently pregnant with their second child.
—
view 977,051 other comments.
username00 : WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT. MARRIED??? WITH A WHOLE TODDLER??? AND ANOTHER BABY ON THE WAY??? I NEED TO LAY DOWN.
username0 : someone said he had “girl dad energy” and I GUESS THEY WERE RIGHT ALL ALONG
username1 : so you’re telling me… the entire grid has been hanging out with alex like “haha you single bro?” while he’s got a toddler asking for fruit snacks at home???
username5 : I want the drive to survive footage of the moment lando finds out pls i am BEGGING
username7 : me rereading the article for the 6th time like it’ll suddenly make sense 😭
username10 : wait so you are telling me that GEORGE didn't even know????? wild.
username11 : im in tears. they are so cute. im so happy for him.
—
I find him in the kitchen. Not like making breakfast or getting coffee in the kitchen. I mean pacing. Wildly. Shirtless, in yesterday’s sweatpants, hair sticking up like he fought a wind tunnel, phone in hand, and muttering a very intense monologue that includes the words “breach of privacy,” “defamation,” and “I’ll sue them into the earth.”
I lean against the doorway, arms crossed over my bump, and raise an eyebrow.
“Good morning to you too.”
Alex whirls around like I’ve just caught him committing treason. “They know. YN—they know. Someone leaked it. Everything. The marriage. Our daughter. You being pregnant. It’s all online.”
“I saw,” I say casually, walking past him to the sink and pouring a glass of water.
He stares at me, dumbfounded. “You’re calm?”
I take a sip of water and nod. “Yeah.”
He looks like I just told him I joined a cult. “How are you calm? Our entire life just got blasted across the internet! People are reposting pictures of our daughter. Someone screenshotted her drawing of the baby, YN. They found my Spotify family plan name. They’re making fan edits of our wedding and we didn’t even post about our wedding!”
I walk over, place my hands on his chest, and push gently until he finally sits down at the kitchen table. “Breathe.”
He exhales shakily, bracing his elbows on his knees, running both hands through his hair like he’s trying to scrub the stress away.
“I wanted to protect you,” he says quietly. “You and her. Both of them. I liked that no one could touch this… this little world we built. I liked that it was just ours.”
I kneel beside his chair, resting my chin on his thigh, looking up at him. “You did protect us, Alex. For ten years, you kept all of this sacred. You gave us the kind of peace most people in your position would kill for.”
He looks down at me, eyes glassy now. “But it’s not sacred anymore.”
I reach up, placing his hand on my bump, right where the baby always kicks around this time of morning.
“Maybe not in the same way,” I say. “But it’s still ours. They might know about us now, but they’ll never have us. Not the way we do. Not the way she does.”
His hand spreads over my stomach, thumb moving absently. “She’s gonna see stuff. People are already making assumptions. About you. About us.”
“I know.” I nod. “And we’ll explain it to her when she’s older. We’ll remind her that love isn’t something you owe the public. That just because the world thinks it has a right to your life, doesn’t mean it gets to take it.”
Alex closes his eyes. “I should’ve done more. Locked it down tighter. I should’ve seen this coming.”
I stand slowly, cupping his face between my palms. “Alex, listen to me. You’ve done everything right. You’re the most devoted dad. The kindest husband. You’ve protected us so well, sometimes too well.”
He gives a weak laugh at that. “Guilty.”
I press my forehead to his. “You didn’t fail us. You love us. That’s never been a secret—not really. Anyone who’s ever seen you hold her hand or kiss my head when you think no one’s looking could’ve figured it out. We were just waiting for the world to catch up.”
There’s silence for a long moment. Then, a small voice echoes from the hallway.
“Daddy?” she calls sleepily. “Why are you yelling about the earth?”
Alex laughs then. Really laughs. Pulls me into his arms and hides his face in my shoulder, like I’m the only steady thing in the universe.
“I’m okay now,” he whispers. “You’re right. You always are.”
I smile and kiss his temple. “That’s on being married for four years.”
We walk down the hall together to scoop her up, her curls tangled and her stuffed bunny dragging behind her like a sleepy soldier. She’s still half-asleep when she cuddles into Alex’s chest, eyes blinking slowly.
“Did the internet find out about the baby?” she mumbles.
Alex and I look at each other over her head and burst into quiet, stunned laughter.
“Yes,” I say. “Yes, baby. They did.”
She sighs dramatically. “Ugh. I told BunBun to be discreet.”
And with that, our little family shuffles back into the kitchen. Chaos looming outside our doors, sure. But inside? Still sacred. Still ours.
—
The paddock is buzzing. Phones are out. Eyes are glued to screens and then not-so-subtly glued to us. Someone definitely elbowed their friend and mouthed “that’s her.” I think one engineer actually dropped a coffee.
Alex squeezes my hand, the only sign that he’s mildly freaking out. Otherwise, we’re strolling through the paddock like we didn’t just break the internet 36 hours ago. We are the eye of the storm. Or, at least we were—until George Russell appears out of nowhere like a man possessed.
“Are you—” he starts, gesturing wildly. “Did you—? That’s you?!”
Alex tries. He really tries. “Good morning, George.”
But George is on a different wavelength entirely. “Good morning?!” he hisses, grabbing Alex’s arm and yanking him and, by extension, me off to the side behind a hospitality truck. “You’ve had a wife for four years? A child? A whole damn family tree and didn’t tell us?!”
I blink. “Hi, George. Nice to see you too.”
He just looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “You were pregnant when we went karting two months ago?!”
I shrug. “Just a little.”
“You didn’t even flinch when I offered you a beer!”
“I lied and said I was detoxing from kombucha. You nodded like you understood.”
George looks like he might pass out.
“You were at my housewarming, Alex!” he says, jabbing a finger toward my husband like it’s a crime. “And you brought a bottle of wine and a plant and not once mentioned the whole toddler waiting at home situation?! You left early and said it was because you were ‘tired’!”
Alex winces. “Well. I was. She had croup that week. I hadn’t slept in four days.”
George throws his hands in the air. “Unbelievable. And the pregnancy?! Again?! You just—snuck in another child while the rest of us were arguing over dumb shit?!”
He turns to me. “And you! You're the internet’s favorite mystery woman now, you know that? I saw a TikTok this morning with compilation footage of you in the background of races like it was some kind of conspiracy theory."
I snort. “Honestly, that’s flattering.”
Alex leans against the wall, rubbing the back of his neck. “George. I didn’t mean to lie. We just… wanted something that was only ours for a while. And then it turned into years, and then we had her, and we just… never found the right time.”
George goes quiet. Finally, he says, “You didn’t even tell me. I’m your friend, Alex.”
I put a hand on George’s arm. “You are. And it was never about not trusting anyone. It was about keeping something sacred, just for us.”
His mouth twists. “So that’s why you disappeared after qualifying in Hungary last year.”
Alex nods. “Yeah. I was rushing to FaceTime her before bedtime.”
George’s expression softens like he didn’t want it to. “That’s… okay, that’s actually kind of cute.”
“It was her birthday,” Alex adds. “She turned three and made a crown out of toilet paper. Demanded I wear one too.”
“I’m gonna cry,” George mutters. “I’m so mad at you, but also that’s adorable.”
Then, with a deep breath, he throws his arms out. “Bring it in. Both of you. I need a hug from this secret little Hallmark movie marriage of yours.”
Alex and I laugh, stepping into the very dramatic, very George Russell group hug. It’s tight and awkward and somehow perfect.
“I’m still mad, by the way,” George says into Alex’s shoulder. “But also… I can’t wait to meet her.”
“You will,” I promise.
“And the baby?” he asks, eyes wide.
Alex sighs. “Eventually.”
George blinks. “Do I get to be an uncle?”
Alex smirks. “You just might.”
And for the first time all weekend, it feels okay. It feels like the beginning of something new—still ours, but shared now, with the people who matter. And as George walks away mumbling about “plot twists” and “how he’s never trusting anyone quiet ever again,” I thread my fingers through Alex’s and smile.
“Not bad for our first day as the grid’s new power couple.”
He groans. “Don’t say that.”
I just grin. “Too late. You married a woman of chaos.”
—
third person pov
“Okay,” Lando says, dropping into the seat next to Alex with the force of someone who’s about to cause problems on purpose. “You know what? No. No. What the actual—”
Alex sighs. “Hi, Lando.”
“Don’t ‘hi, Lando’ me like I didn’t just find out through a fan cam that you are MARRIED,” Lando exclaims, voice already way too loud for the small briefing room. “MARRIED, Alexander! To YN. A whole wife. For FOUR YEARS.”
Alex looks straight ahead like maybe if he ignores it, it’ll stop. It does not.
“And then,” Lando continues, now counting off on his fingers, “you’ve got a toddler? A human child? A three-year-old who, by the way, has your ears, I saw the picture, don’t deny it—AND! You’re about to have another?! YOU HAVE A WHOLE NEW BABY ON THE WAY?!”
George leans forward, clearly enjoying this too much. “You should’ve seen him when he found the Reddit thread. Looked like he got hit by a truck.”
“I thought we were friends!” Lando yells. “You’ve heard me cry over situationships and you were out here picking names for your second baby?!”
Alex finally turns to him. “It’s not like that—”
“Then what is it like, huh?” Lando cuts in, pointing a dramatic finger at him. “Because to me, it feels like betrayal."
George snorts into his water bottle.
Alex lets out a long sigh and rubs his temples. “We just… kept it private. It was never about lying. It was about having something just ours.”
Lando opens his mouth, probably to yell some more — but then stops. Tilts his head. And suddenly gets very quiet.
“I get it,” he says softly.
Alex blinks. “You do?”
Lando nods, voice less chaotic now. “Yeah. I mean, if I had what you two have? I wouldn’t want to share it either.”
There’s a long beat of silence.
“…Still mad though,” Lando adds, crossing his arms. “Because now I have so many questions and no one will tell me anything.”
Alex looks over warily. “Like what?”
Lando leans forward immediately, like a kid at story time. “What’s her name? What does she call you? How did you propose? Does she have your laugh? Do you do the voice when you read bedtime stories? Did you cry when she was born? What does YN crave when she’s pregnant? Do you own a minivan?!”
Alex just stares at him.
“Tell me,” Lando whispers urgently. “Tell me everything.”
And that’s how Alex ends up sitting in the corner of the briefing room, surrounded by the other drivers, answering rapid-fire questions while Lando wipes his eyes every ten minutes and mutters “I’m not crying, I’m just emotionally invested.”
Eventually, Lando stands, looks Alex dead in the eye, and says-
“If you don’t let me meet your daughter before the next race, I will stage a coup.”
—
Carlos corners Alex at the coffee machine like a man on a mission.
“Hermano,” he says, low and intense. “I need you to look me in the eye and tell me there is not a literal baby registry under your government name.”
Alex, holding his coffee cup like a shield, sighs. “Hi, Carlos.”
“No. No ‘hi.’ You have a child. A daughter. A small human who has your eyes and your smile and a Williams onesie, and you said nothing to me. Your teammate.”
“It wasn’t personal—”
Carlos raises a hand. “You were on FaceTime with your wife during our debrief in Canada and told me it was your cousin’s cat’s birthday.”
“…I panicked.”
“AND THE SECOND BABY?”
“I panicked again!”
Before Alex can defend himself further, Charles appears at his side, arms crossed, jaw clenched. “I thought we were brothers.”
Alex groans. “Oh no.”
Charles shakes his head. “We shared a massage room in Monaco. You let me cry about my breakup. You handed me tissues. You patted my hair. And you said nothing about having a wife and child at home?!”
Carlos leans in, whispering conspiratorially, “I checked his hand this morning. No tan line. The man took off his ring during race weekends.”
Alex throws up his hands. “It’s silicone! I take it off for comfort!”
At that moment, Oscar slides in like a silent assassin. “So, when you left early in Abu Dhabi last year… that was for swimming lessons?”
“Yes.”
“And in Miami, when you skipped dinner?”
“Parent-teacher conference.”
Oscar blinks. “You’re terrifying.”
Then comes Lewis, smooth and quiet but with a knowing grin, already holding his second coffee of the morning.
“I’m honestly impressed,” he says, smiling as Alex looks like he’s about to combust. “A decade together, a whole daughter, and not even a whisper got out? That’s commitment. I respect it.”
Alex exhales in relief. “Thank you.”
“But also,” Lewis continues, sipping his drink, “I’m offended. Because you knew I’d be the best godfather option and you robbed me of my chance.”
Alex almost chokes. “We haven’t picked—”
“I’m already ordering custom baby Nikes. This isn’t a conversation.”
The rest of the drivers nod like this is fair and legally binding. Then Charles suddenly pauses and squints. “Wait. That one time at the track—YN was wearing a Williams cap. Was that your daughter she was holding?”
Alex winces. “Yes.”
Carlos gasps. “I said she looked like you and you said, and I quote, ‘we all look the same in hats.’”
Alex rubs his face. “I can’t keep doing this.”
Lando yells from across the room, “I TOLD YOU ALL. I KNEW.”
Everyone turns toward him.
“No you didn’t,” Oscar says.
“I DID. I FELT THE VIBES.”
George walks in holding his iPad like he’s delivering breaking news. “Group chat name has officially been changed to Albon’s Secret Family Club. I’m also starting a spreadsheet of baby shower gift ideas. She’s three, but I have so much to make up for.”
Alex puts his head down on the table. Charles pats him on the back. “You did this to yourself.”
Carlos grins. “But I forgive you. Because now I get to meet your daughter.”
Oscar nods. “Same. And the next time you disappear after quali, I expect a full report on how bedtime went.”
Lewis smiles. “And tell YN we said congratulations.”
Alex looks around, red-faced and overwhelmed… but smiling now too.
“Okay,” he says softly. “Okay. You can all meet her.”
Cheers erupt. And just like that, the secret’s out. But somehow, it feels less like a loss of privacy… and more like an expansion of family.
—
your pov
The second we step out of the car and into the paddock, our daughter tight in my arms and clinging to her stuffed bunny, I feel it. Not the stares — those are expected. Not the whispers or the way every camera in the vicinity subtly pans our way. But the warmth. Like the whole place exhaled one giant breath and made space for us. For her.
Alex is walking beside me, one hand steady on my back, his other adjusting the oversized paddock pass around our daughter’s neck. It practically reaches her knees.
She tugs her headphones down for a second and whispers, “Is Uncle Lando really gonna give me stickers?”
I laugh softly. “I think he bought a book of them, sweet pea.”
“Oh,” she says thoughtfully, “then I’m ready.”
We round the corner near the garage just as the drivers begin filtering in from media. The second Lando sees us, he lets out a loud, “OH MY GOD, IT’S HER!” and bolts across the concrete.
She ducks shyly into my shoulder, giggling, and Alex just smiles like he’s never loved anything more in his life.
Lando drops to his knees in front of her like he’s proposing. “Hi. Hello. I’m your uncle. I have stickers, a juice box, and very mixed feelings about your father’s deception.”
She blinks. “What’s ‘deception’?”
Alex chimes in dryly. “It’s when Uncle Lando doesn’t let Daddy win at video games.”
“Ohhh,” she says, nodding solemnly, as if she understands the betrayal.
Lando beams, already peeling sparkly stickers off a roll. “You’re my favorite person.”
Just behind him, Carlos, Charles, and George appear, all equally stunned and quietly emotional.
Carlos puts a hand over his heart. “She’s real.”
“She’s so small,” George whispers, tearing up immediately. “I don’t know what I expected but it wasn’t this much cuteness in one unit.”
Charles crouches down gently, holding out a hand. “Bonjour, petite princesse. Je suis Charles.”
Our daughter glances at me and I nod, so she reaches out and high-fives him — very serious, very precise.
Charles makes the most dramatic gasp. “Elle m’aime. I’m done. I’m finished. She can have my car. Take it. It’s hers.”
“She can’t drive,” Alex points out, laughing.
“She can learn,” Charles says, wiping fake tears.
Carlos leans in closer. “Does she like fruit snacks?”
“She likes grape fruit snacks,” I say.
He pulls a pack from his jacket like he’s been preparing for this day his entire life. “I’m your favorite now, sí?”
She takes the snack and gives him a small, approving nod. “Sí.”
Carlos clutches his chest.
By the time Oscar and Lewis arrive, she’s sitting on a stack of spare tires, swinging her legs and sharing stickers with George, who is lying on the ground letting her decorate his face.
Oscar’s jaw drops. “She’s already more popular than me.”
Lewis just smiles warmly. “It’s because she has her mother’s presence.”
Alex glances at me, hand sliding into mine. “She has your everything.”
Lewis kneels in front of her. “You must be very brave coming into the paddock. Would you like to see the garage?”
Her eyes widen, then she looks up at me for confirmation.
I nod. “Go with Daddy and Uncle Lewis, baby. I’ll be right here.”
She clutches her bunny and hops off the tire stack, sliding her hand into Alex’s. “Can Bunny wear the headphones too?”
“We’ll get him his own pair,” Alex promises.
As they walk off, the little pack of drivers falling into step around them like a security detail, I feel something soft settle in my chest. She’s not a secret anymore. She’s here. Loved. Seen. Safe. And as Lewis leans down to adjust her little headphones, and George keeps proudly wearing a glitter sticker heart on his forehead, and Charles dramatically fans her with his Ferrari cap, I realize— She doesn’t just have this world now. She owns it. And we do, too.
—
I never thought I’d be here. Not just here in the paddock, not just here with Alex — but here, in an open-top classic car, crawling down the track in front of thousands of fans… with our three-year-old daughter sitting between us, waving like she’s the president of the FIA. She’s in a tiny Williams race suit they gifted her this morning — complete with her name stitched in pink thread over the heart. Her headphones are practically swallowing her whole head, and her bunny, as usual, is in her lap. She has no idea she’s the reason the internet is losing its collective mind. She’s just thrilled to have a flag to wave.
“She’s loving this,” I say quietly to Alex, watching her wave with both arms like she’s done this a thousand times before.
Alex chuckles under his breath, eyes on her like he still can’t believe she’s real. “She’s a natural. She belongs here.”
“You mean with you?” I tease.
“I mean with us,” he says simply. “You belong here too.”
I lean into him just a little, letting myself enjoy it. The sun’s warm. The crowd’s louder than usual — but I know now that a lot of that noise is for her. For us. And for once, it doesn’t scare me.
Alex reaches across her to squeeze my hand. “You okay?”
I nod. “More than okay.”
Behind us, I hear someone yell.
“LOOK AT HER!” George is standing in the next car over, clutching his chest like he’s having a religious experience. “She’s waving like she’s running for office. I’d vote for her.”
“She’s got my vote,” Lando shouts.
“She can have my car,” Charles adds, jogging up beside us, offering her a fresh can of juice like it's tribute to a princess. “Tell your papa to retire. We’ve got this handled.”
“She can’t reach the pedals,” I laugh.
“She’ll grow,” Charles insists. “I’ll wait.”
Carlos pulls up in his own car just ahead, twisting around so he’s facing us backwards. “Does she want another flag? I’ve got three.”
Our daughter gasps and takes it immediately. “Thank you, Mr. Carlos!”
“Mr. Carlos.” he clutches his chest dramatically, like he’s been knighted.
“Do I even exist anymore?” Alex jokes.
I just laugh and shake my head. “You had your moment. She’s the main character now.”
She leans her cheek against Alex’s shoulder, smiling up at both of us like this is all perfectly normal — like she’s meant to be on a Formula 1 parade route with twenty world-class drivers treating her like royalty.
“Wave one more time, baby,” I say gently.
She pops up to her knees between us, raises her flag in one hand and her bunny in the other, and gives the biggest wave yet. The crowd erupts.
“Someone threw glitter,” Alex murmurs, completely stunned.
“I think she’s bigger than you now,” I say.
He glances at me. “She always was.”
And maybe she’ll never understand this moment — the cameras, the noise, the drivers who love her like their own — but I will. We will. Because this isn’t just her first driver parade. It’s the first time we stopped hiding and started living. Together. Out loud. As a family.
—
alexalbon
liked by yn_albon, lando, georgerussell63 & 14,090,002 others.
alexalbon : well...secret is out. i have the most gorgeous wife in the world and the sweetest little girl who is about to have a baby sister:)
i loved your pierre + kika smau, i was wondering if you could do a charles + alexandra smau where reader is a owner of a small bakery and charles and alexandra visit the bakery and fall in love with her and her desserts?? if not, that's completely okay ♥︎♥︎ have a good day my love!
p.s can i be your 🐥 anon?
whipped cream & whispered hearts
pairing: poly!charles leclerc x reader x alexandra saint mleux
summary: in which charles and alexandra visit your bakery and fall in love
warnings: swearing,
a/n: ofc you can be my 🐥 anon love <3
a/n2: forgive me but i fear i have lost all my writing skills 😔
fc: bela juliana + random girlies on pinterest
yourusername posted
yourusername blossom biscuits will now be available at florapastries 🌸🫶🏻
liked by user2, iamrebeccad, user6 and others
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user1 omg they look so prettyyy!!
iamrebeccad my favorite place in monaco <33
yourusername je t'aime mon amour 🥹🫶
user2 you're so talented!!
yourusername tysm!! :)
carlossainz55 delicioso 😋
yourusername merci carlos 🫶
user3 you're gorgeous!
user4 omg this must be the bakery carlos was talking about!!
user5 yes for sure!
alexandrasaintmleux posted
alexandrasaintmleux my new favorite place <3 florapastries
liked by charlesleclerc, iamrebeccad, yourusername and others
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iamrebeccad i told you that you would like it!!
alexandrasaintmleux i fell in love <3
yourusername im so glad you liked it!! come back anytime 🫶
alexandrasaintmleux trust me! i will!
charlesleclerc is this where you got that pastry from??
alexandrasaintmleux yes mon amour <3
charlesleclerc i'm coming too next time
user1 pretty girls 😍
user2 why is everyone suddenly talking about this place?
alexandrasaintmleux because it's heaven on earth 🤭
user3 shes so pretty
the little bell above the bakery door gave its usual soft ring, followed by the sound of footsteps on polished wood floors.
you looked up from the counter, where you were carefully placing tiny candied violets on a lemon cake, and smiled instinctively when you saw her — alexandra, wrapped in a light jacket, strands of her dark hair tucked behind her ears, already brushing rain off her sleeves.
but this time, she wasn’t alone.
the man beside her had a quiet confidence to him. dark curls slightly damp from the weather, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, eyes flicking around the shop as if he didn’t quite know where to look first. he was handsome, yes — in that obvious, effortless way — but there was something curious in his expression, something open.
“hey,” alexandra said softly, giving you that familiar smile. “hope it’s okay i brought someone with me.”
“of course,” you replied, voice warm and even. “you know you don’t have to ask.”
her companion stepped forward slightly, offering a smile that was a little more boyish up close.
“charles,” he said, accent curling around the word like it belonged somewhere sunnier. “i’ve heard a lot about your place.”
you offered your hand, and he shook it lightly — not too firm, not too casual. just right.
“good things, i hope,” you said, a playful edge in your tone.
“only the best,” alexandra chimed in as she made her way toward her usual table near the front window. “i’ve been telling him he needed to come here for weeks.”
you glanced at charles as you moved back behind the counter.
“and what finally convinced you?”
“she said your rose croissants are life-changing,” he said with a small shrug. “i had to see for myself.”
you smiled as you reached into the glass case, carefully lifting two croissants — golden, lightly dusted with powdered sugar, their delicate petals curling like real roses. you plated them and added a few sugared strawberries on the side, sliding the dish toward him.
“here’s your proof,” you said.
he took a bite, and the reaction was immediate — brows raised, eyes wide, a soft laugh escaping him.
“okay. yeah. she was right.”
you leaned on the counter slightly, crossing your arms as you watched him with mild amusement.
“i usually am,” alexandra added from her seat.
you brought over two mugs of herbal tea — honey and citrus — and sat with them for a few minutes, letting the quiet settle comfortably around the three of you. alexandra sipped slowly, charles leaned forward a little when he asked questions about your baking process, and the conversation just… flowed.
you didn’t notice how close the sun was to setting until the light shifted across the windows.
“you coming back tomorrow?” you asked as alexandra stood to leave.
“if she lets me,” charles said before she could answer, his smile easy but real.
you met his gaze for just a second longer than you meant to.
“guess we’ll see, won’t we?”
𓆉
you were tidying the counter when the bell above the door chimed, quiet and familiar. the late morning light was spilling gently across the floor, and the scent of honey and butter still lingered from the last tray of pastries.
you looked up just in time to see alexandra stepping through the doorway, cheeks lightly flushed from the walk, her hair tucked behind her ears. behind her came charles — curls slightly wind-tousled, hands in the pockets of his jacket, eyes already scanning the cozy space with something like quiet fondness.
you smiled automatically. they looked so at ease here, like they belonged.
“back again?” you asked, voice light as you wiped your hands on a tea towel.
“told you we couldn’t stay away,” alexandra said softly, stepping up to the counter. “especially him.”
charles let out a quiet laugh. “she’s not wrong. i’ve been thinking about those rose croissants since yesterday.”
you felt your smile stretch a little wider. “well… lucky for you, i made a fresh batch this morning.”
“perfect,” he said, eyes meeting yours briefly — just long enough to make your stomach flutter, even if you weren’t sure why.
there was a small pause, the kind that wasn’t awkward, just… a little full. and then alexandra leaned in slightly, voice softer than before.
“we were actually wondering something.”
you tilted your head. “sure.”
“are you free around one?” she asked, and her tone was gentle — not pushy, just open. “we thought maybe… if you had time, you could come have lunch with us.”
you blinked. “with you?”
charles nodded. “just something simple. down by the water. there’s this quiet café we go to sometimes. it’s nothing fancy — we just thought it might be nice.”
you glanced toward the little kitchen in the back, then back to them, surprised but touched.
“that’s really sweet,” you said. “are you sure? i don’t want to crash your date.”
“you wouldn’t be,” alexandra said quickly. “we’d really like it. if you came.”
her words were soft, but sure. and charles — he was watching you, eyes kind, mouth tilted into the smallest, hopeful smile.
you smiled back, not really catching the weight of it. not yet.
“okay,” you said. “i close for an hour at one anyway. just give me a little time to clean up.”
charles’s smile grew a little. “you don’t need to change anything. you’re already perfect like this.”
you laughed, shaking your head gently. “powdered sugar in my hair and all?”
liked by pierregasly, alexandrasaintmleux, user16 and others
yourusername WHEN DID YOU TAKE THOSE PHOTOS
yourusername I LOOK SO WEIRDD
alexandrasaintmleux nonsense, you look beautiful as always mon chou
yourusername thank you for letting me crash your date <33
charlesleclerc you didn't crash anything ma chérie, it was better with you there ❤️
user1 okay this is weird...
user2 why is she interrupting their date like that??
user3 right 😭😭 like leave them alone
alexandrasaintmleux ma jolie fille <3
you were sitting with them on a low stone wall near the marina, the remains of lunch still packed in paper bags beside you. the sun was warm, the breeze soft, and the way the light danced across the water made everything feel a little slower, like the day didn’t want to end.
charles was next to you, legs stretched out, one arm resting behind you on the wall. alexandra was on your other side, her hair catching the wind, cheeks still faintly pink from laughing too hard a few minutes ago when you told them about the time you accidentally set a tea towel on fire in your first apartment.
it was quiet now, but not uncomfortable. just peaceful.
and then, alexandra shifted, angling her body slightly toward you. there was something thoughtful in her expression — soft, but focused.
“can i ask you something?” she said, almost hesitantly.
you turned to her, smiling. “of course.”
she looked at charles briefly, who gave her a small nod, like he was saying go ahead, even though you weren’t quite sure what you were agreeing to.
“we were wondering…” she paused, clearly choosing her words carefully, “how would you feel about seeing us?”
you blinked, tilting your head a little. “i am seeing you. right now.”
charles let out a soft breath — somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.
“no, we mean…” he glanced at alexandra again, then back at you, eyes kind but a little nervous. “we mean... like, seeingus. properly. the way you’d date someone.”
your lips parted slightly.
“wait.” you looked between the two of them. “you mean… this wasn’t just lunch?”
alexandra smiled gently, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear with her fingertips. “not really, no.”
“oh,” you breathed, eyes wide. then again, slower, softer— “oh.”
charles chuckled, his voice warm. “we weren’t sure if you knew. you’re kind of hard to read.”
you laughed under your breath, hands coming up to cover your face for a second. “okay, in my defense, you’re both very nice and also… you’re already together, so i didn’t want to assume anything.”
“that’s fair,” alexandra said, touching your knee lightly. “but we’re both here. and we both really like you.”
“a lot,” charles added.
you looked at them — these two people who had wandered into your quiet little bakery and somehow turned your week upside down with soft smiles and genuine interest — and felt a warmth bloom behind your ribs. it wasn’t dramatic. it was just… right.
“so,” you said, voice still a little small, but steady. “you’re asking me out.”
“yes,” they both said, nearly at the same time.
you smiled, cheeks warming. “okay.”
charles blinked. “okay?”
“yeah,” you said again, a little breathless. “i’d really like that.”
and alexandra just grinned, leaning her head on your shoulder.
“about time.”
yourusername posted
yourusername okay so… i may have been the world’s biggest idiot when these two started showing up at the bakery a lot like, really oblivious). turns out what i thought was just friendly lunch dates were actually, well… dates dates? 🤭 still not 100% sure how i missed all the tiny hints, but hey — better late than never, right? feeling pretty lucky (and maybe a little extra sweet these days) 💛🌸 charlesleclerc, alexandrasaintmleux
liked by charlesleclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, iamrebeccad and others
iamrebeccad i manifested this
yourusername tysm for introducing me to the loves of my life 🥹🫶
alexandrasaintmleux je t'aime ma douce fille ❤️
yourusername je t'aime plus ❤️
alexandrasaintmleux impossible
charlesleclerc mon cœur ❤️❤️
yourusername je t'aime charles ❤️
yourusername posted
yourusername chéri cupcakes are now available at floraspastries!
liked by alexandrasaintmleux, charlesleclerc, user16 and others
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taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted, @landoslutmeout lmk if you want to be added!
“i’m sorry i had a machine hooked up to me and i couldn’t lie.”
ꔮ starring: alex albon x girlfriend!reader.
ꔮ word count: 1.4k.
ꔮ includes: romance, fluff fluff fluff. inspired by and references the Does Alex Albon think he is No. 1 at Williams? | The Lie Detector video, secret (not for long, sucker) relationship.
ꔮ commentary box: this idea has been clanging in my head for two weeks now, i fear 🐈⬛ 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
Alex had asked—begged—you not to watch the lie detector test video.
You agreed, but not without teasing him about divulging some embarrassing secret. You figured it was something along those lines. Maybe they made him choose his favorite cat or reveal his ridiculous pre-race routine. Either way, your boyfriend seemed pretty serious about not wanting you to see that particular piece of content.
Except it’s been impossible to avoid.
Your algorithms are unsurprisingly fine-tuned to anything and everything Alex. Clips of his radio messages on Instagram reels, edits of him to Hamilton songs on your TikTok For You page. You’re idly scrolling through your Twitter feed when one particular post catches your attention.
It’s not even the concept of a reveal that catches your attention. No, that was to be expected.
What did they mean—Alex asked for it not to be mentioned?
It’s one thing to keep you from watching. It’s a completely different situation to ask everybody else to stay mum, as if purposefully keeping you out of the loop.
That would make no sense. You try to shake the thought out of your head, try to go back to doom-scrolling, but it nags in the back of your brain. Alex wasn’t the type to hide things from you. The two of you were a secret to the rest of the world, sure, but there were no secrets between you.
Right?
You set your phone on Do Not Disturb. You scrub the kitchen clean. You take a scalding hot shower. None of it helps.
By the time you’re back on your couch, red-faced from the heat of your bath and something else entirely, you make an executive decision. It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, you decide. Alex has given you grace for much worse.
You pull the video up.
The guilt you’re feeling ebbs at the familiar lilt of Alex’s accent. My heart is gonna be, like, two hundred.
He’s not even on the screen yet, but you can imagine the way his boyish smile would curve around the words. He’s not due to visit until much later, so this six-minute video will have to tide you over the feeling of missing him. And your curiosity. That, more than anything.
For a moment, you nearly forget why you’re watching. It’s so easy to be distracted by Alex’s sheer expressiveness, by the way he’s always just a bit breathless when he’s laughing. You want nothing more than to reach into your phone and will him to be seated right next to you, alleged reveal be damned.
Have you ever sat on the toilet so long, your legs fell asleep?, he’s asked, and you simultaneously snort with on-screen Alex.
Many a times, he answers, and it’s registered as the truth. But it’s more because that’s my time to watch TikTok.
You’re all-too aware of that habit. The petty arguments of you slamming on the bathroom door, demanding for your turn, only for Alex to shout back that he’s finishing part 32 of some movie cut up into several videos, and he’ll be out soon, he swears. It’s the type of domestic image that paints how comfortable the two of you have been this past year, even if there was nobody else to see it.
Did you have a celebrity crush growing up?
Yes, on-screen Alex responds. When prodded, he adds rather sheepishly, Erm… Emma Watson.
You knew that, too. When you first found out, you made Alex sit through the fourth movie so you could tease him relentlessly. Fed up, he had tackled you down onto the mattress during the Triwizard Tournament’s Second Task. The ensuing makeout session had been both heated and playful. A part of you can still feel it thrumming beneath your ribs, months later.
You’re scheming how to orchestrate another Harry Potter marathon just as two things happen at once.
First, the Alex on-screen gets asked—baited, more like—with a query of And does your girlfriend compete?
Then, your front door swings open. The man himself calls out like he always does, “Honey, I’m home!”
It’s an inside joke, one you can’t really dwell on. Your attention is halved.
You’ve started out of shock, and your phone is playing on full volume. Just enough for your boyfriend to hear his own sputter of My—my what? from what you’d been watching.
There’s the sound of something crashing in the entryway. Later, you’ll discover it’s Alex having dropped his duffel bag in his own panic.
He’s at the mouth of the living room in the next second, but you’re too busy going slack-jawed at the scene in the challenge. The polygraph shoots up. The examiner shakes his head amusedly. The man on the screen fucking laughs, goading Alex, So there it is! You’ve got a girl, Albono?
“You’re watching the video!” Alex shrieks accusingly.
In return, you screech, “You told everyone about me?!”
Alex darts forward. You mentally curse his racer reflexes and his long legs as he throws himself on top of you. He’s blissfully unaware of his own weight, and so you feel winded amid your attempts to fight back.
“I didn’t—tell about you,” he argues, his arms flailing as he tries to wrestle your phone out of your hands. “That’s all I said!”
Which is a damn lie, of course. You don’t even see your screen anymore, but you can hear the video playing out.
Alex being asked, Would you say this is your soulmate?
Alex, without missing a beat: Yes. Without a doubt, yes.
The Alex on top of you groans. He buries his face in the crook of your neck like he might be able to run and hide from his answer, especially as the examiner declares, He’s not lying.
You relent, hitting pause and casting your phone aside. It lands somewhere by the foot of the couch. “I can’t believe you watched it,” your boyfriend petulantly murmurs against your skin.
“I can’t believe I’m your soulmate,” you shoot back, and he pinches your side in retaliation.
“Seriously,” he huffs, adjusting his positioning so that he’s not crushing you too much. “What happened to trust, huh?”
“Slow down, Gabriella Montez.”
“Stop being a nerd. It makes me want to kiss you.”
You’re giggling as Alex rolls off you, flopping to the other end of the couch. He’s all lanky limbs and furrowed brows, his glare fixed on your phone like Sky Sports has personally wronged him. You reach out to rub his ankles, and he instinctively relaxes as if his body is fine-tuned to respond to your touch.
“I’m sorry for watching the video,” you say.
Alex frowns. “You’re not sorry.”
You’re not.
He heaves out a long-held sigh. “I had to do this whole thing,” he grumbles absent-mindedly. “Hid my Instagram story from you and all that…”
“You what?”
“Anyway. Anyway.” Alex clears his throat, his frown curling into a thin pressed line. It’s a rueful kind of grin, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His tick for when he’s guilty. “I was going to tell you.”
“I bet you were,” you hum.
You’re not mad. Not really. You know he’s been itching to go public, has wanted you in the Williams hospitality suite for God-knows-how-long. That laminated ID card that would proudly proclaim Guest of Alex Albon.
“They still don’t know you,” he offers. This time, he’s reaching out for you. Preemptively trying to soothe some imagined annoyance. Alex tugs you gently until you’re resting between his legs, his face burying in the back of your hair.
“All they know is that you exist,” he adds, “and they don’t have to know anything else.”
You feel a pang in your chest, one put there when you’re reminded of just how lucky you are to have somebody so patient. Someone so willing to set aside his wants for your comfort, your peace of mind.
“Okay,” you say, voice now softer that Alex has his chin hooked over your shoulder. “It’s alright.”
“I’m sorry I had a machine hooked up to me and I couldn’t lie.”
You laugh. “As long as you promise to never lie to me,” you note, nudging his ribs lightly. He lets out an exaggerated howl.
“I would never,” he grumbles, and you know—you know that’s the truth, too.
You tilt your head slightly, catching the complicated expression on Alex’s face. There’s that hint of insecurity, that touch of guilt, that flash of impatience. But all of it eases up when you lean in, and you kiss the doubt away.
“I believe you,” you breathe against his lips, and he’s already smiling before he pulls you in for more. ⛐
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