in which a bored Max stumbles into a bookstore meet-cute..
The first photo is NOT a face claim! The reader speaks French since it's in Monaco. Translation will be given. This is an old drabble from drafts. Requests r open!
"Max, you have no hobbies!?" Alex said, laughing. Max scoffed gently. Of course he had hobbies. He raced. He played video games. He liked cats. "No, I've… I've got hobbies," he says, and George laughs along with Alex again over stream. "Like what?" "Pick up a book, mate!" he jokes. the chat floods with comments like 'George is such a diva!' or 'Max, read this book!' Max rolls his eyes, laughing it off.
When the stream concludes, he thinks about it. Did he really have no hobbies? His cat, sassy, nuzzles up against his leg. Maybe... he should read a book. That's his brand-new hobby.
After a few hours of research, he found a good book he thought he might like and a bookstore near him. He thought it might be good to take Sassy for a walk, anyways. Grabbing Sassy's leash, his phone, and his wallet, he headed out of his Monaco apartment and down the familiar streets. Usually, bookstores were something that he passed on his walks, but now walking into one... it was so... crowded? Were bookstores usually like that? He didn't know. He picked Sassy up so he was in his arms and tried to go around the crowd.
After a while, he found his book and checked out. To his surprise, the crowd had dispersed and was a lot smaller. Putting himself in the middle of it, he saw what everyone was looking at.
You.
His gaze wanders over the person in front of him. Her large smile, her French banter, her laugh. The last thing he notices is her handwriting.
"Salut," (hello!) you greet him, beaming up at him from where you sit behind the table. Your gentle voice draws him out of his focus. "Uh, salut. (Hello) What, uhm, what is this?" he asks, picking up one of the unsigned books on the table. You laugh. "A book signing. Did you... want me... to?" You vaguely ask, he says, motioning to the book in his hands. Max stammers before nodding and placing it down. You flip to the front page and then look up. "What is your name?" you ask, and he refrains from shrugging.
"Max Verstappen," he states, expecting you to react in surprise or awe. But you don't. You smile.
"That's not a French name. Are you... German?" you guess, and he seems almost confused.
"I'm Dutch. I'm an F1 driver. World champion?" He continues, trying to clue you in. You don't react.
"Is that... what you want me to write?" you ask, now confused as well.
"No, that's who I am. I'm Max Verstappen," he announces. You give him a sideways glance.
"Uh... okay. Good for you," you say, letting out a soft chuckle. Max seems bested. "Do you have no idea who I am?" he asks genuinely.
"No," you laugh. "I know Monaco is supposed to be the city of Formula One, but I never really got into it," you reply.
"Oh. Well, if you wanted to know, I'm the current world champion," he adds, awkwardly.
"Okay. Cool. Uh, well, I like your cat." You notice, changing the subject. At the compliment, Sassy purrs. Max looks down at the cat in his arms. He was so entranced he forgot about Sassy. He gently let Sassy down on the table, where she approached you with a meow.
"Aww, she's so cute!" You laugh, enamored with the Beginlise cat. After a while, you take the book in your hands, thinking before signing it and writing something. You slide it back to max, a smile on your face. "Apprécier," (enjoy) you say to him, waving to him as he places the book in his arms along with Sassy.
He walked out of the bookstore knowing two things. One: Reading was definitely his new hobby. Two: You were totally his type.
Pairing: Leon S. Kennedy x Writer!Reader
Word Count: 2.7k
Summary: You are an aspiring writer. Every single publisher and agent has rejected your book, and you're on the brink of giving up. Luckily, Leon is a very supportive spouse.
Author's Note: I would like it to be known that I have never written for Leon before. However, he has me in a chokehold currently (wish it was literally).
WARNINGS: Some self-doubt/self-esteem issues on behalf of the reader. Negative self-talk.
Don’t forget to like, comment, and reblog your favorite fics ❤️
~*~
You stared at the rejection letter. It shook softly in your grasp. Each reread of it was another little needle stabbed into your soul. Funny, how it still hurt. You figured after the fifth, or the eighteenth, or twenty-fourth one you would grow numb to it.
Pick up, move on. Learn from the rejection and grow. Never stop trying. If you really believe in it, then someone will share your passion. That's what all the forums said. Just keep going. Someone out there will give you a chance. Someone will love your book.
Someone already did love it - you did.
Every single beta reader you sent it to loved it.
The professional editor you sent it to loved it.
Yet, no matter how many query letters you sent to agents and publishers, it was all the same. They didn't love it. You knew your cover letter was immaculate. The manuscript format had been painstakingly perfected. The story was crafted with care. You put everything into it.
Yet it wasn't good enough.
Your work wasn't good enough.
Surely that meant, simply put, you weren't good enough.
Months upon months of late nights and early mornings. Piles upon piles of drafts, edits, and outlines. Half finished, abandoned sketches of your characters to help you visualize. A whole wall in your office dedicated to your story, plastered in sticky notes and taped up index cards.
And for what?
Downstairs, the front door opened and shut. A soft grunt traveled up the steps, follow by some clattering. Then the thump of heavy equipment being set on the entryway credenza. A softly said curse, then another sigh.
Your husband was home.
You didn't need to be there to know exactly how he moved. Each meticulous placement to ensure all of his work items were where they needed to be.
It had been one of those mornings. Where he was up and out the door before the dawn broke. You had flopped into bed beside him barely an hour before. He never complained, only ever throwing an arm over you and pulling you flush to his warm, broad chest.
You'd hidden the other 27 rejection letters. Drying your eyes, you hid this one as well. They all fit neatly in a small, ordinary brown box. You had it stuffed in the back of a drawer in your short filing cabinet.
If Leon could save the world, you could do this.
You checked your face in the bathroom mirror. Your eyes were red. Maybe you could pass it off as allergies. It was that time of year, after all. Just to be safe, you put drops in them.
"Anybody home?" called Leon.
You blotted your eyes, then made your way to the top of the staircase. Your husband stood at the bottom, one arm leaning on the rail. Looking just as rugged and handsome as the day you had met. Though that was over a decade ago now, your stomach still fluttered. It didn't help that the fitted shirt and work pants got you every time. What could you say? Who didn't love a man uniform?
"Welcome home, my love," you said, meeting him halfway down the steps. He put a hand on your upper arm giving it a gentle squeeze, a soft signal for a kiss. You never hesitated to answer the request.
"For a minute, I thought you were going to be my next rescue mission."
You avoided his gaze. "Sorry, I got…absorbed."
Leon made a soft noise, somewhere between a grunt and hum, then moved around you. You followed as he headed to the bedroom. You always flinched a bit when he took his shirt off. Not that you didn't admire the view. But the scars from his missions - they always reminded you just how dangerous his job really was. How lucky you were that he had gotten a long fine so far. Although you were always aware, especially the times when they sent him away, that one day that phone may ring with a call no body wants to answer.
"How are things with your book coming along?" he asked, back still to you.
You hummed half-heartedly and picked at the fraying hem of your shirt. "Still haven't heard yet."
"Really?" Leon swapped his dark blue work cargos for plaid pajama pants. "Those publishers are sure taking their sweet time."
"Yeah."
He tossed his clothes in the hamper in the corner of the room. Then came to you, pressing his lips against your temple. "You're already a best seller in my book."
That one stupid line had warm butterflies swraming in your belly, lightening up the sadness. If only a little bit. You didn't have the heart to tell him you were up to nearly 30 rejections now. You wouldn't be a seller of any kind at this rate.
That night, you went to bed when he did. Once you felt his breathing even out against you and the light snores started in your ear, you let some more tears fall. They gently lulled you into the darkness of sleep.
Leon often told you that many of his dreams were nightmares. Recreations of the things he lived. But, more frequently, you were always in peril in them. Being chased by Mr. X, where you were constantly caught and thrown against walls and through windows. Or waiting for him just on the otherside of a wall, yet he couldn't get to you. Or locked away somewhere dark, alone and afraid, with the threat of being jabbed with some new virus if he couldn't find you in time.
You knew Leon's biggest fear, even if he never admitted it out loud, was something from work — from his past — coming back to bite him. Going after one thing in his life he held softness for. If you ended up infected because of something he did, you were sure that he'd never forgive himself. And you didn't want to think of the self destructive path he might go on.
You, on the other hand, didn't really have nightmares. However, they were growing more frequent the last few weeks. Other than pouring over new query letters and doing endless research into the wee hours, avoiding them had been a main motivation. Even if you wanted nothing more than to be in bed with your husband.
Tonight was no different.
Another rejection letter came. This time, Leon was the one who went to the mailbox. Asking with soft eyes if he could watch you open it, since you finally got an answer. You could practically see a faint red glow from within the envelope reading REJECTED. Still, with trembling hands, you popped the seal and opened it.
Then the house shook. And the rejection letters began to flood in. Appearing in endless waterfalls from drawings and cabinets. Pouring down the fireplace, shooting from under the front door. They crashed down the staircase like a tsunami. A few even came from you. Their sharp corners digging into your esophagus and mouth, making tears prickle your eyes.
"What the fuck?" asked Leon, opening one envelope and then another. "So you lied when you said you hadn't gotten anything."
You were still choking up envelopes. Gagging and gasping as the final one came and the house went still. Drawing in ragged breathes, you wiped at your mouth. No blood. Just saliva and mucus.
"Lee…" you coughed, stumbling to him. "Please…I can explain."
"We promised not to hide things from one another. You quit your fucking job to do this." He scooped up a handful of envelopes and threw them at you. "It's embarrassing enough to admit your spouse is unemployed. I knew you were a failure. I knew you couldn't fucking do it. Maybe I should'e run off with Ada when she offered. - I can't even look at you."
Leon went to the front door. You tried to go after him as left. But the envelopes acted like quicksand. Collasping and sinking, sucking you down into a dark and lonely void.
You gasped as you came out of your dream. Bolting up and wrenching out of Leon's grasp. He was immediately awake, jolting up right next to you. His muscles coiled, eyes scanning, ready to attack anything hidden in the shadows. You panted, clenching the sheets in your fists.
It was just a dream, you reminded yourself.
Beside you, Leon sighed and cursed under his breath. Running a hand over his face then through his hair. He turned to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. You hid your face in the crook of his neck.
"Bad dream?" he asked, voice husky with sleep.
"Yeah." You nodded. "Sorry."
"We all have 'em. Some of us more than others." He rubbed your back a few times, then pulled you back down beside him. "Don't worry. I won't let the monsters get you."
If only monsters were what you were worried about.
In the morning, Leon left at a reasonable time. You'd eaten breakfast together, over which you promised to tell him if you received any sort of reply. One way or the other. Rejection letters 29, 30, 31, 32, and 33 came in the mail later that day. It seemed like you got back what you sent out in triplicate.
Some authors recieve hundreds of rejections before their book is picked up, read a post.
Top Five Tips to Get Your Book Picked Up by a Publisher First Try, claimed another.
5 Reasons Agents Are Rejecting Your Queries
I'm an Agent and These Are the Manuscript Mistakes I Reject on Sight
When Is It Time to Give Up on Publishing Your Book?
You read and watched post after post. Each one watered the seed of doubt that had been rooted firmly in the back of your mind since you first thought about writing a book. The more posts you read, the more it sprouted. Until finally you found yourself questioning everything that had lead to this point.
What were you even doing?
How could you be so stupid?
Leon had told you it was okay if you wanted to quit your job and pursue this. He'd seen how much the place was draining you, and offered you unconditional support to chase your path. Why did you do that? Surely he had just been playing nice and not actually expecting you to take him up on it.
You could talk to him when he got home. Maybe he could pull some strings and land you with a cozy desk job at the DSO. Perhaps then you'd actually feel worthy when he introduced you. Especially since his name was usually preceeded by 'the'. He'd saved the President's daughter for God's sake. Meanwhile, you couldn't even get people to look at your work.
If ever you felt insecure of your place in your marraige, it was now.
Letters 34 through 41 came in the mail the following day. And you had enough. You slapped them down, one by one as you opened them, on the credenza with every intention of hiding them later. You would make up some excuse and give up on the whole endeavor entirely. Eventually, Leon would have to stop asking. Right?
Sure, he'd helped you a lot along the way. He wasn't one for fiction books, but he'd made the exception with yours. He read every draft and revision. Going through it with you forwards and backwards. He had been your seceond set of eyes, the first beta reader. He caught smalls things when he could and criticized when you asked for it. You just wished he would've told you it was a lost cause sooner.
You dumped your master manuscript into your office trashcan. It was filled to the brim with all the other drafts and drabbles you'd tossed in there. Though you'd occasionally find them uncrumpled on your desk. You began to tear down all of your outline notes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. A triology? Just who were you kidding?
You spent the rest of the day lying on the living room sofa. Something random droning in the background as you got lost in your phone. The day passed around you. The front door unlocking told you the time. You blinked, squinting at the windows to find dusk starting to settle in.
You listened for the usual sounds.
Leon taking off his coat and hanging it on the rack by the door. The thump of each boot as it was kicked off. The clicking of buckles as he undid harnesses. Next would be the him putting them down. But then sound didn't come.
You waited. Still nothing. He usually put them on — the credenza!
Shooting to your feet, you raced into the entryway. Leon stood there, a very serious expression crumpling his features. He was reading one of the letters, and had two others stacked with it. You'd forgotten to put them away…
"Babe," you muttered, his eyes flickered to you. Softening.
"I see you heard back," he replied, "Sucks. But there'll be others."
You could it see in the way he looked at you, he still had hope for this stupid project. Your balled up hands were pressed tight to your thighs. Tears burned in your eyes, threatening to spill, while a knot tied in your throat. A prickle ran up the nape of your neck, making your ears hot. The burn of shame was an old friend.
"Hey," Leon sighed, coming closer to you. He placed a hand on your upper arm and squeezed slightly, but you couldn't look at him. "Don't let it get you down. It'll all work out."
You shook your head, barely able to whisper, "I lied."
"What do you mean?"
The tears came then, and you hugged yourself tightly. "I have been hearing back. None of them want it."
"Ah." Leon pulled you in, you wound your arms around his torso while he enclosed you safely in his arms. "You could've told me."
"I was embarrassed. You're out meeting important people and saving the world! While I —" You laughed humorlessly, it was muffled by his shirt. "— I'm just at home. Writing my stupid stories. And not even being successful at it. I think I'm just going to give up on it."
"Would that make you happy?"
That thought hadn't even crossed your mind.
"Does it matter? Where's the point? It's never going to get anywhere. I'd just be better off getting a job. I never should've left my other one." You took a deep, quivering breath. "I've seen the way people look at me when I'm with you. You're the guy, and I'm just…me. I can't do what you do. — I don't want you to be embarrassed that you married me."
"Never gonna happen," Leon stated, squeezing you just a bit tighter. "You'll never be just some person. Not to me. — Sorry if I ever made you feel that way."
You sobbed into his shoulder until the tears dried up. Figuring it was time he saw them, you brought Leon the hidden box. He read through them carefully. Although you weren't sure that any one was different from another. Other than what company was on the letterhead and who signed their insincere apologies.
His face gave away nothing. But he did make you dinner and hold you a little tighter that night when you went to bed. Kissing on your neck and arms. Whispering sweet nothings and reassurances. In the morning, your manuscript had mysteriously found its way back onto your desk and the notes you'd ripped off the walls had been sorted into piles.
Leon had been called away during the night. You barely remembered his phone going off or him stumbling around half asleep in the dark trying to get dressed. However, this morning there was a note left in place of his equipment.
There is something you can do that I can't, it read, Write a book.
That little note was enough to refuel your confidence. It was short and sweet, but it was exactly the kind of thing you'd expect from him. He was right. You had done something he couldn't. Or at least something he hadn't.
And, in the days that followed, you finally received your very first acceptance letter.
✨All fics are written with a Black!Fem!Reader in mind. However they can still be read and enjoyed by everyone
✨I can write for other cast and crew members if enough information is provided
Main MasterList 🔗
✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨
•Angela Giarratana
✨Miscommunication On The Internet
Synopsis: Reader got bored and decided to go live on instagram while playing guitar. / Maybe she should have thought twice before picking a sad Pixar song when fans ask her to sing
✨The Orange Peel Theory
Synopsis: Angela is an unknowing recipient of the Orange Peel Theory when her girlfriend is constantly doing things for her. 5 times she doesn’t notice it and the one time she does
✨Worlds Collide
Synopsis: The internet goes crazy when a stranger things actress hard launches her relationship with a popular Smosh Cast Member
• Shayne Topp
Nothing yet…
• Amanda Lehan-Canto
Nothing yet…
• lan Hecox
✨You Don’t Want To Marry Me Anymore? | Requested
Two weeks before your wedding Ian thinks you deserve better than him, you disagree.
✨Grow As We Go | Requested
Your relationship though the years as Ian’s childhood neighbor.
✨AITA: Childhood Crush Edition | The Post
When a forgotten Reddit posts causes some interesting developments in the Smosh Office…
• Anthony Padilla
✨Not So Secret Happiness
Synopsis: Soft and slow mornings with him is all you could ever want forever / But now you had to tell your coworkers about him.
• Courtney Miller
✨Let Me Care For You | Requested
Synopsis: You thought you’d be able to get through the day. But your period cramps had other plans.
• Keith Leak Jr.
Nothing yet…
• Damien Haas
✨You Posted That Series?:
Part One | Part Two | Part Three
✨Resident Stuff Expert
Synopsis: While on an episode of Bepordy the Smosh cast find out you are a member of Mensa. Thus the nickname ‘Resident Stuff Expert’ is born.
✨Birds of a Feather
Synopsis: A chance meeting in 2015 sparks a ten year internet rumor.
✨Cool People | Requested
Synopsis: Reader is an Indie R&B Singer who is slowly growing more and more popular. When she releases her latest song people on the internet are shocked to find out who her muse is.
• Olivia Sui
Nothing yet…
• Chanse McCary(Platonic)
Nothing yet…
• Arasha Lalani
Nothing yet…
• Trevor Evarts
✨A Smosh Graduation
Synopsis: Trevor plans your graduation so you don’t miss out on walking across the stage!
✨Kitchen Nightmares
Synopsis: You wouldn’t say you were a bad cook. It’s normally the opposite. But something about adding your boyfriend and a live stream to the mix turned what should have been a good night, into pure chaos.
✨Original Smosh Kid
Synopsis: You were a kid when your big brother first joined Smosh. He’d taken you to work with him one time and suddenly you became a featured character in dozens of videos over the years. Now you’re an adult and it’s time for the cast to meet your fiancé…
Keith joined in 2015/ reader was 11-14/ Reader is now 22-25
• Tommy Bowe(Platonic)
Nothing yet…
• Spencer Agnew
✨I Make It So Easy
Synopsis: Reader has been working at Smosh for years / like since about 2013. She started as a writer before joining in front of the camera in 2017 after becoming a fan favorite. She secretly writes songs when she can’t figure out her emotions. And one thing has been on her mind for months. / Her best friend saying she’s the kind of person that would be easy to fall in love with
✨But It’s My Birthday…
When everything that can go wrong on your birthday does go wrong.
✨ Little Roo
Synopsis: It’s your Fiancé’s birthday. What would be a better surprise than seeing his daughter walk for the first time?
• Alex Tran
Nothing yet…
• Platonic! Smosh
✨Tuirse| Requested
Synopsis: Growing up, your family life was never great. So after you turned 18 you tried to put some distance, but now years later that distance is catching up to you.
Story Content: Fluff and comfort, 'That's my girl' used once
Story Summary: You were supposed to be sleeping, but your current writer's block was keeping you awake.
Word Count: 940
A03 Link
A/N: This is probably one of the most self-indulgent pieces I have ever written, and I did so when I was actually in the same position (sans Sylus) as Reader. I decided I would share it here for funsies. Enjoy. 🍷
At this hour you were usually tucked deeply under silk sheets, mind lost in the realm of dreams. So when Sylus found you on the couch in his office, legs crossed, glasses on your head, and glaring at the screen of your laptop, honest shock appeared on his face.
"Kitten, you're usually asleep at this hour. Is something wrong?"
"I can't think."
Grey brows furrowed as he crossed the room in a few long strides, taking a seat next to you, arm stretching along the top of the back of the couch. Your body bounced briefly from the additional weight, but you didn't uncurl from your position.
Peeking at the laptop screen, he recognizes the site you typically used to write, the memory of a previous conversation surfacing. "Ah, the writing challenge you and your friends are doing."
A single nod.
"And it starts…tomorrow?" He glanced at the clock at the bottom of the screen. "Today," he corrected.
"Yes - and I have ten left and I can't think."
He could hear the frustration in your voice, could see how your body tensed like a pulled bowstring. As much as he wanted to reach out and touch you, he had learned in moments like these it could be accidentally overstimulating. "Do you have the one for today and tomorrow done?"
"Yes."
"Then why not take a break and work on them later after you get some sleep?"
"Because when the challenge starts I get busy with hosting things, and then there's real work, and the other story I'm working on…" You voice trailed off as you pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration.
"Sweetie, if it's too much, then just drop this part of it -"
"I am the host, Sy. I have to lead by example."
"If no one actually knows you're the host, then do you?"
The angry glare sent his way had him sighing, although he couldn't help being a little amused at the way your cheeks seem to puff out at him.
"Alright, I apologize - you have ten left, and you need to clear your mind so you can finish these last prompts." He stood, dusting invisible lint from his shirt as you returned your anger toward the laptop refusing to create stories in front of you.
Long fingers trailed over multiple records on the shelves before hovering over one particular title. Pulling it free from its sleeve, Sylus walked over to the record player, set it up to play, and then he rejoined you on the couch.
Unphased by the start of the music, you continued your stare down of the prompts in front of you, mind still swirling with too many thoughts. Sylus eventually leaned over and stole the laptop from you, finally breaking you from your trance with an angry, "Hey!"
When you reached across him to snatch it back, he easily pulled you against him, pinning your arms down.
"Relax. Take a minute to just listen."
With a huff you did - but then a few seconds later you said, "You better not be trying to get me to sleep."
A low chuckle reached your ears and shook your body. "I wouldn't dream of it. Besides, I figured this would be a better alternative than sending you taking a walk in the N109 Zone at three in the morning. I do have a preference of you being alive."
"I can handle myself," you huffed.
"Yes, but I've seen how you get when your mind is lost somewhere else - absolutely no preservation of self."
With a harumph, you conceded, moving so you could rest against him more comfortably. "I hate it when you're right."
That just earned you a contented hum - one that reminded you of a purring cat. Gently, a hand began to stroke your hair, and slowly your body began to relax. You let the music wash over you in soothing waves, allowing the melody to quiet your racing mind.
Fifteen minutes in was when you squirmed once. Another couple minutes later you were squirming again, and above you carmine eyes watched in amusement.
Sylus knew this squirming - a story or a scene was forming in your mind, and your body was itching to type it out.
The third time it was his turn to concede, and he reached over to pick up your laptop, holding it out in front of you.
You snatched with a startling speed, opening the lid and bouncing impatiently as the screen loaded. As soon as it did, your fingers flew across the keys, mouthing out the dialogue as your typed.
Bemused, Sylus watched you work for another minute before a notification pulled his attention to his phone. He stood, leaning down long enough to place a tender kiss on the crown of your head before heading toward the door. "I have a meeting, but do try to get some sleep, kitten."
"Uh huh."
Sylus left after one more glance, but you were lost in the world of your creation. For some reason, it brought a smile to his face. He'd make sure to check on you upon his return.
You weren't in the bed when he returned three hours later. In fact, he found you in a similar position from before, except now you were slumped over, curled around a pillow, laptop glowing dimly from the coffee table.
Curious, Sylus scrolled the document to see every prompt section filled. A gentle hand reached back and stroked your cheek. "That's my girl."
You had kept a blanket on the back of the couch, and he unfurled it now, draping it over you. "Sleep well, my beautiful creator."
Summary: Ten years ago, you left your hometown in the rearview mirror and traded it for fame and fortune as a bestselling author in New York City. But when faced with a crushing writer's block, you return home for some clarity. There, you run into Dean Winchester – the one who got away. As the two of you revisit old haunts and take a trip down memory lane, you begin to question past choices and wonder if your heart hasn't always belonged to somebody you used to know.
Pairing: Mechanic!Dean Winchester x Reader
Warnings: 18+ for language, past Dean x reader, exes reconnecting, small town AU, a self-finding journey, exes to lovers & a bit of a slow burn, humor, tiny bit of angst, fluff, 100% a romcom (Wayne's Version 😜)
Word Count: 3.9k
Posted on Patreon April 2, 2025
A/N: I'm so excited to do a Dean series again! I missed him 😩💚 This one's super fluffy with a lot of screaming in the middle. I took the premise from the movie of the same name, but it changes drastically after the beginning. Happy reading, friends!
Main Masterlist|| Series Masterlist|| Tag List
Chapter 1: Old Regrets
The blinking little line on an empty page screams at you. The more you stare at it, the more it morphs into a middle finger, giving the biggest ‘fuck you.’ How to start? What to write? What words to choose?
Shit, shit, shit…
Where is this character? What do you even want to write about? Do you even have a genre? A hint of an idea?
No, fuck, fuck, no…
You glare at the seven words on your screen, five of them curses – repetitive, too. God, you can’t even be creative with your maledictions. And is ‘no’ even a word that counts? It feels more like a cry for help.
You blow a raspberry and slump your shoulders with a sigh. Fuck, you’re screwed, aren’t you?
Your publisher will drop you if you can’t deliver a raging new bestseller in six months. Your first draft is due in four weeks – and that was after you’ve begged Rowena to extend your deadline. You’ll lose your job, you’ll lose your nice apartment in SoHo, and you’ll have to move back home to Kansas and live with your mom till you die there.
Great. Maybe you should write about that. You’re certainly feeling dramatic right now.
Softly, you bang your head against the keyboard, your word count exploding. With a frustrated groan, you rise and shut the laptop a little too harshly, sauntering into the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine and feed your cat, who announces his hunger with a loud meow as he hops onto the counter.
As you place the bowl in front of Hemingway and scratch his fluffy, orange head, your lips suddenly rise to a smile as a memory pops up.
“You know, sweetheart, if you ever get a cat, you should name him Hemingway.”
“Why? ‘Cause I love books?”
“Yeah! ‘Sides, I like Hemingway’s work. That cat should be happy to have a cool name like that.”
Wow. You haven’t thought about him in a long time. Your heart still does that little sting, albeit it’s been ten years since you’ve even seen him. Since you’ve talked to him.
Dean Winchester is one of the reasons you barely ever visit home. Maybe even the biggest one.
It’s hard not to think about him, considering the first three books, all bestsellers, were essentially all him. They stemmed from ideas that blossomed in the five years you’d spent together. But now you are all tapped out. You’ve said what you needed to get out, spun your fantasies in every which way, and rid yourself of the what-ifs.
But what if?
No, this is crazy. Thinking about your high school sweetheart you dated all through college? Maybe you don’t need the wine tonight, after all.
Your gaze falls to the big window and the sparkling city skyline that sprawls out behind it. You recognize the grandeur, the beating metropolitan pulse, and the colorful facets of the people that call it home.
And still, you feel nothing. There used to be excitement in your veins. You felt lucky to be here, to live your dream, to do everything you ever wanted.
And yet, you feel empty. There’s an ache in your heart that keeps telling you you’re missing something.
Aside from your failing career, you haven’t seen your mother in a while. Maybe it’s good to go back home for a visit, flee the noises of the city, and touch grass.
You need a fresh perspective. So after finishing three glasses of wine, you open your laptop back up and book a flight.
“Mom?”
Your voice echoes through your childhood home, swinging the front door shut with your foot as soon as you’ve shuffled your bags into the foyer.
“Honey, hi! Oh, I didn’t know you were coming,” she says with a bright smile, embracing you in a tight hug.
“What d’you mean? I called you and said I was coming,” you point out, chuckling uncomfortably. Your relationship with your mother is complicated. You love her, but she’s a ‘free spirit,’ which is code for your mother being a bit promiscuous.
The men she dates are never bad or have treated you with unkindness, but it was hard to go to school when your mother gave cunnilingus to half your teachers. Judging by the silky robe wrapped around her and her tits pressing against you, you assume she’s also having company today.
“Oh, I thought you were pranking me, honey.” She snorts a laugh and brushes a few strands of loose hair behind your ear.
“Y/N, hi! Good to see you, kid.”
You narrow your eyes at the half-naked man who appears behind your mother in the doorframe, only a flimsy bedsheet wrapped around his waist.
“Mr. Edlund?”
“Oh, honey, do you remember Chuck? He was your high school English teacher,” your mother reminds you as if your gasp and agape mouth didn’t already give that fact away.
“I know, Mom!”
“We’re very proud of you, kid,” Mr. Edlund says, smiling, and wraps an arm around your mother’s shoulders. He then slaps her ass, making her yelp and giggle. “You ready to get back in there, Connie?”
“Oh God…” You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head vigorously to get rid of the vivid image in your mind.
“Oh, honey, I didn’t raise you to be such a prude.” Your mother tuts and gently pats your cheeks. “Sex is a very natural thing.” She then begins to knead the knotted muscles in your shoulders. “Maybe that’s why you’re so stiff. Did you not read the article I sent you? When’s the last you had an orgasm, huh?”
“Oh my God, Mom!” Your cheeks are burning hot, your heart is hammering wildly, and no matter how sexually liberated someone claims to be, you can’t imagine they’d be normal about a conversation like this with a parent. “Okay, you know what? You guys just-… finish here–” Ew, ew, ew! “–and I’ll just-… Yeah, I’ll come back.”
You’re so fast out that front door again you can barely hear your mother’s “Thank you, honey!”
Strolling aimlessly around your old neighborhood, you walk till you reach the town center. On first glance, it seems like nothing much has changed in Lawrence. Sure, there’s new shops, a house façade here or there in a different paint color than it used to be, or fresh foliage and flowers blooming in the park, but the core of your hometown remains untouched.
It’s still the town you couldn’t wait to leave when you were younger. Only one person had almost made you stay a lifetime.
Your eyes then land on an all too familiar flickering neon sign – Rocky’s Bar & Grill. A smile creeps to your face as a string of memories floods your mind. God, you had more than one wild night in there – laughing with your friends, playing pool, drinking your own body weight, and even do some sexually liberated things in the public restroom your mother would certainly be proud of.
Curiosity and nostalgia drag your feet into the establishment, and you instantly feel the familiarity of this place rushing back to you. It seems like the bar has been frozen in time, not even the tacky decoration changed, which has already been outdated when you were a child.
“Y/N? Is that really you? Oh my God!”
Your head turns to the chipper voice behind the bar counter, your smile rising immediately as you recognize the redhead. Charlie hasn’t changed a bit, either.
“Yup, it’s me,” you say with an awkward little laugh and hug your friend.
Charlie and you used to be inseparable in school. Even after your move to New York, the two of you stayed in touch – until you got busier and busier and busier, eventually settling into your new life as you tried to forget about the old one.
“It’s really good to see you.” Charlie grins, and her welcoming warms your heart.
You swallow down the guilt bubbling in your throat. Are you actually an ass for ditching your friends? But that’s normal, right? People evolve and move on to different things. It’s just how life works. No need to feel guilty about anything.
“It’s good to see you, too.” You try to form a smile, but your heart only keeps beating faster. Maybe this is a bad idea. What are you even doing here? “I-, uh, thank you for all your newsletters, Charlie. Really. You know, I-, uh, I try to respond, but then my editor calls and, you know, book tours…”
God, you sound like an idiot.
“No, no, don’t worry about it. I get it. You’re a best-selling author. I’m sure you’re super busy. I can’t even imagine,” Charlie brushes your concerns away with her usual sunny smile, and you can tell she means it. It’s rare to find that in New York – people who still show honest kindness. “Just happy you’re reading them and haven’t forgotten about us.”
Well, you might have missed a few of them recently… You really are an ass, aren’t you?
“No, are you kidding? Of course I haven’t forgotten about you guys,” you lie with a forced laugh. Shit. “So, uh, how’s the gang?”
“Well, uh, as you know, Benny broke up with Andrea–“
“Uh-huh, yeah… How-, uh, how is he?” Needless to say, you had no clue they broke up.
“It was hard in the beginning, you know? I mean, after she cheated on him and everything…”
“Oh, yeah. So tough.” You nod your feigned agreement.
“Right? I mean, can you imagine? Anyways, he’s doing better now. He actually started seeing Donna,” Charlie tells you with a conspiratorial grin.
“No!” You gasp loudly, eyes wide. “Donna Hanscum? Sweet, little Donna is dating Benny Lafitte, high school quarterback?”
“Yup.”
“Hmm, you know what? They actually make a great couple,” you note musingly. You’ve never met two people with purer hearts.
“Right?! That’s what everyone’s been saying, too!” Charlie’s grin broadens, and you notice how easily you fall back into old habits once the initial awkwardness and shame subside. “Oh, uh, Cas and Meg are still going strong. Expecting their second kid.”
“Wow. That’s… surprising,” you joke, giggling.
“Yeah,” Charlie laughs her agreement, but then silence takes a hold. You know why. She doesn’t want to tell you about Dean, and you don’t exactly want to ask about him, either.
From Charlie’s newsletters, you always knew when Dean was out of town – every summer for the past ten years he had taken a road trip to California with his little brother. Considering it’s July, you feel relatively safe being here without the risk of running into your ex.
“So, uh, you work at Rocky’s now?” you ask to break the ice.
“No, uh, I’m still with Roman Tech,” Charlie says and holds up the tablet in her hand. “The bar’s just finally getting some Wi-Fi.”
“Oh, yeah, of course! About time Lawrence made it to the 21st century, right?”
“Yeah, I mean, that’s what I’ve been saying since school. The only internet we used to have was in the public library. Remember that virus we accidentally downloaded when we tried to get that pirated version of the new N*SYNC album?”
“God, yeah, we crashed the whole system. Mr. Metarson was so mad,” you recall, laughing. “Well, uh, I should probably let you get back to work.”
Charlie nods, smiling. “It was good to see you, Y/N. You should come home more often.”
With a deep sigh, you then order a whiskey from the bar and settle down in a quiet corner booth at the far end. God knows you don’t want to run into more blasts from the past. You should’ve never come here. What did you think it would accomplish?
You surely haven’t come up with an idea for a new book so far and have only been reminded of old regrets instead. This hasn’t been your home for the last ten years. You have no place here anymore.
Finishing your drink, you jot down ideas on a small napkin – all of them terrible. You huff a sigh and crumple the useless notes. Curling your lips, you pick up your empty tumbler. Maybe another one is fine? You’re sure it’s past noon somewhere, just as you’re sure your mom and her new lover are nowhere near done yet.
You glance up when the door of the bar swings open, hearing the first few notes of his voice. It’s deeper than you remember, but you recognize it all the same.
Fuck. He’s not supposed to be in town! What the fuck is he doing here?
Your eyes widen and take everything in before you. Ten years have done nothing to Dean Winchester. In fact, he looks even more handsome than the last time you’ve seen him. His jaw is more defined, there’s scruff on his cheeks and throat that make him look more rugged, and there are soft, kind crinkles around his green eyes.
Why does your ex have to look so downright fuckable?
Shit! You’ve just gotten off a plane this morning! You didn’t exactly have time to check a mirror when you fled your mother’s house.
What should you do?
As Dean greets Pamela at the counter, you decide to slide under the table and hide there. This is a nightmare. You cannot face your unfairly hot ex-boyfriend like this.
“Y/N?”
Fuck! Why the hell is he coming over to you? Doesn’t he know about the unspoken rule to avoid your ex at all costs when you see them in public?
“Dean! Oh my God, hey!” You shuffle back onto the bench with as much nonchalance as you can find.
“Were you just hiding under the table?”
“What? No, don’t be ridiculous.” You snort awkwardly, your cheeks heating in fluster. Your hand desperately forages for something on the sticky floor till it grabs the first thing it can find. “I was just looking for my–,” you glimpse at the semi-hard and semi-wet item between your fingers, “–gum.”
Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew! You’re holding someone’s used gum. God knows what diseases you’ll contract after this, feeling the germs already soak into your skin.
Dean cocks an eyebrow. “Were you gonna put it back into your mouth or–“
“No, no…“ You shake your head, swallowing thickly. Your hand fumbles for the crumpled napkin before you discard the gross gum in there. “I was just picking it up. I didn’t wanna leave it there, you know? I heard it’s, uhm, bad for the, uh, bar floor environment.”
God, he probably thinks you’re an idiot.
“Right, yeah.” Dean chuckles politely at your bad attempt at a joke, scratching the nape of his neck.
Is he nervous? You remember he used to do that whenever he was anxious. He also still seems to have a preference for wearing flannels, the material perfectly hugging his broad shoulders and barely hiding the muscles on his arms.
“So, uh, what are you doing here?” you ask with the friendliest smile, trying to push all the uncomfortableness and embarrassment down.
“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” Dean replies and crosses his oh-so muscular arms over his aforementioned broad chest, the corners of his lips quirking with a curious smile. Is he flexing? “You barely ever come home. I mean, I don’t think I’ve seen you since… welp, the break-up, I guess. What’s it been? Ten years?”
“Really? Ten? Wow, crazy,” you say and ignore your thundering heart as best as possible. You either are close to throwing up or passing out. “Well, you know, I’m just here visiting my mom. I’m currently writing my fourth book. Just figured it’d be nice to get out of the city for a few days, clear my head…”
“Right, yeah, uhm, congratulations! New York Times bestselling author, huh? You really made it,” Dean says and smiles, but you can tell it’s forced, and you think you know why. “Proud of you,” he still adds.
“Yeah, uh, thanks.” You clear your throat and shake your head a little. Why is there such a weird feeling in your stomach? “But, uh, what about you? What have you been up to? Did you become a firefighter like you wanted to?”
“Uh, no, actually,” he replies, pursing his damn plush, kissable lips. “I-, uh, I stayed on with my dad. Family business. He’s not getting younger, you know? Kinda needs my help.”
“Yeah, no, totally get it. As long as you’re happy, it’s good, right?” Your heart hurts a little at the thought of Dean giving up his dreams to please his father. But you’re sadly not that surprised, either. He’s always been one of the most righteous, loyal, and dutiful people you know.
“Yeah, uh, I’m-… I’m happy. Business is going good, you know? And the old man actually lets me make decisions now,” Dean shares, chuckling.
“Wow, John Winchester letting go of control, huh? Thought I’d never see that,” you joke, earning you a warm laugh.
“Trust me, me neither, sweetheart,” Dean says with a chuckle but then notices how your brow raises at the old nickname. He scratches the back of his neck again, subtly clearing his throat. “I-, uh, I’m sorry. Old habits die hard, I guess.”
“Oh, uh, no worries. It’s fine,” you brush it off but can’t deny the way your heart is fluttering with butterflies you thought had perished ten years ago. He still seems like the same sweet guy, and you could just fall right back in love with him.
But that’s crazy, right? You can’t just start something up with an ex from ten years ago, can you? Besides, like the rest of your friends here, Dean’s probably already mated for life and has procreated by the multiple, succumbing to the charmed small-town destiny. Still, you can’t help your gaze from drifting to his massive hands and thick, long fingers, noticing there’s no ring there.
“Well, uh, anyways, we just opened our fifth location down in Wichita,” Dean tells you proudly.
“Wow, that’s great, Dean. I’m glad you’re doing well.” You send him a warm smile, nodding, and then recognize the strange silence sneaking back in. “Well, uh, it was good to see you. Take care, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, you too.” Dean turns halfway, licking his lips. He hasn’t even managed a full step yet before spinning back on his heel to you. “Hey, uh, I was gonna grab take-out, but do you want some company? C’mon, I’ll buy you a drink. You drink beer too or just whiskey before noon?”
You snort a laugh at the teasing grin on his face. How can he be so charming and easy to talk to? Just like in high school, you fall victim once again to Dean Winchester’s irresistibility.
“No, uh, I’ll take a beer, too,” you agree with a wide smile.
“Took two years to build, but I’m really happy how it turned out,” Dean tells you as he swipes through pictures on his phone, showing you his life.
“Wow, building your dream home on the plot next to your parents. You really double-downed on staying in Lawrence, huh?” you tease, although there’s pain in your heart you try to conceal.
Dean chuckles, nodding. “Yeah, well, someone has to take over, right? Sam decided to stay in California when he married Jess, so…”
“Wait, little Sammy got married?” You gape at Dean, involuntarily leaning closer. You playfully touch his forearm that rests on the counter, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he coolly nurses his beer.
Is history repeating itself? Maybe this time, you could change the outcome, though.
“Yeah, uh, they’re actually expecting their first kid this fall,” Dean shares, and you can see the pride in his mesmerizingly green eyes. You’ve almost forgotten their vibrancy over the years. They’ve always been one of your favorite features about him.
“No way! Wow, we’re getting old,” you say, giggling. You still remember meeting Jess when you and Dean drove down to California and visited Sam during his freshman year at Stanford. It had been one of your last road trips together before the two of you broke up.
“Yeah, I know.” Dean laughs and takes another gulp of beer. “So, when was the last time you actually came home, huh?”
“Hey, I come home almost every summer. And Christmas. Sometimes…” You begin to rethink under his scrutinizing look. “Well, maybe not the last few years. Guess it’s been a while.” You give a shrug of your shoulders, but Dean’s brow only raises higher. “What? New York is pretty irresistible around Christmas, okay?”
Dean chuckles triumphantly, shaking his head. “But you don’t have to live there, right? You could write anywhere,” he points out, and you know that particular topic is a sore point for him.
“Yeah, I guess now I could,” you admit and meet his forest-green eyes, seeing a million questions in them he doesn’t dare to ask. “But there’s nothing here for me anymore, you know? I mean, my mom, sure. But she visits me three times in New York every year. I don’t really have a reason to come back here.”
“Wow, really hard to see you from that high horse,” Dean wisecracks, chuckling.
“Wha-, c’mon!” You scoff a laugh. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. Lawrence is great. I just have more opportunities in New York.”
Dean suddenly rises from the barstool, finishes his drink, and holds out a hand to you, nodding toward the door. “Alright, c’mon.”
“Where are we going?” you ask but still take his warm hand, your own feeling small in his, as he leads you back into the bright daylight.
And there, you see it – the classic, sleek black beauty he calls his Baby, parked meticulously by the curb of the sidewalk, untouched paint coat shining in the sun.
“Can’t believe you still got the Impala,” you breathe, an entranced gleam in your eyes.
Dean lifts a brow. “‘Scuse me? The day she leaves my side is the day I die.”
You press your lips into a tight line, but the teasing grin slips through. You still remember where to poke the bear. Turns out it’s like riding a bike – you never truly forget.
“Wow, so I guess the obsession with the car hasn’t changed, either.”
“What d’you mean?” Dean furrows his brow, close to offended, and you stifle the bubble of laughter that wants to erupt. “Look, aside from you, she’s my first love, okay?”
Bobbing your head, your brows hitch before you smirk at him.
Dean huffs a sigh, rolling his eyes. He rounds the front of the car to the driver’s side, opening the door. “Alright, get in and shut up.”
Giggling, you accept his invitation, your fingertips feeling the familiar, worn leather of the seat as a flood of memories crashes right back at you. God, you can’t even remember how many hours you’ve spent in this car with him, but they did feel like they were endless.
Until they ended.
“Can I pick the music?” you ask with a teasing grin, although you know the answer too damn well.
“Rules haven’t changed, either. Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts their cakehole,” Dean says, chuckling, and starts the engine.
“So, where are we going?”
Dean smirks. “Down memory fucking lane, sweetheart.”
▶️ Chapter 2: Old Haunts
This series might start cute and fluffy, but don't let that fool you. I promise you you'll curse me soon enough 😂 Reader's mom also might be one of my favorite parents ever. She was based halfway on the mother in the movie and the mother from Friends With Benefits. Love me a good hippie mom 😜
Coming Up:
“Okay, stay here. Don’t you dare move.” Dean grins victoriously and rushes past you to the far end of the diner, and it suddenly dawns on you what his plan is.
On cue, the diner fills with music from Bobby’s old jukebox, playing a song Dean just picked. You recognize it immediately and send him a raised look, partially amused by his choice as Can’t Fight this Feeling starts.
“Really? REO?”
“C’mon, it’s our song,” Dean argues goofily and joins you again in a few strides.
“Yeah, and like I told you back then a million times, I refuse to accept that,” you retort, laughing.
“Welp, don’t care,” Dean quips. He then holds out his palm, smirking. “Will you do me the honor and accept this dance, Ms. Y/L/N?”
You chortle but hesitantly agree to his offer, placing your hand in his before he pulls you flush against his body in one suave motion. His other hand comes to rest on your lower back while yours lands on his shoulder, feeling the dips of his muscles under your pads.
“It’s the song that played the first time I asked you to dance during our junior prom. Remember that?” Dean’s eyes find yours as you get lost in his embrace.
Goddammit, you’ve missed those arms around you. They make you feel safe and loved. They always have, and now you’re sure they always will.
—wherein your f1 driver boyfriend accidentally exposes your private relationship after he wins his first home grand prix. (or… jake is so whipped he forgot that he wasn’t supposed to reveal to everyone and their mom that you were more than friends)
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
genre : fluff ( slightly suggestive ending lmao )
pairings : jake x fem!reader
wc : 4.7k+ words
cw :
☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ oc is mentioned ( yunhee )
☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ non-idol!au ; ferrari f1 driver!jake , writer!reader
☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ jake is smitted as fuck and his friends can't say anything about it
☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ riki and the reader are siblings!
☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ ( ft. beomgyu from txt ; keeho from p1h ; heeseung and riki from en- )
☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ featured idols are mentioned to have wags who are fem or fem-bodied
☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ not proofread ( yet )
song : the alchemy - taylor swift ( the tortured poets department , 2024 )
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
You sit quietly in your hotel bed typing away on your laptop, trying to make as much progress in your book as you could before the weekend becomes too hectic for you and Jake as he prepares to drive for his home race. Jake has been constantly getting podium wins, scoring just enough points for him to be a good competitor for the WDC this season. While Jake generally does keep an optimistic aura around him whenever he does or does not win, you knew that not being to bag this race for his team would greatly disappoint him, considering that if does win his home race, he would have enough points to surpass the Choi Beomgyu, who is currently at the top spot of the driver’s championship.
You frequently went to Jake’s races, you usually came with some of your common friends from your highschool, which then successfully hid from the media the fact that you two have been dating for the past 4 years, before he even debuted in Formula 1. It wasn’t like you guys were keeping it a secret, if you weren’t such an introvert with crippling anxiety, you would’ve gone on your own and everyone would’ve figured it out right off the bat that you and Jake were together. However, with the frequent presence of yours and Jake’s best friends, Sunoo and Jay, and sometimes your own brother, Riki, whom Jake has been close with ever since, everyone just assumed you were his best friend as well.
Honestly, some fans have speculated it already that some were just in denial of the fact that Jake was in a relationship that’s why they chose to just assume that you guys were just best friends—after all, despite the popularity that Jake has been gaining since his F1 debut 2 years ago, no one ever confirmed that you were together. Even your friends have done a great job keeping hush about it as for both your and Jake’s request in order to preserve the peace that your relationship had from being away from the media’s knowledge. After all, romance is not dead if you keep it just yours, right?
“Bubs, what time do you think you’ll be done writing?” Jake hums, walking over to you, Layla following him behind, who seemed to be still relentlessly excited since being home the past 2 days. She’s dealt with the jetlag better than you ever will because that woman slept through the entire day and woke up the next morning feeling more energetic than ever after the excruciating 16-hour private flight you had to get into with his teammate, Heeseung, and his partner along with some members of their media team. “The other guys have been wanting to hit the beach before media day tomorrow, do you want to come?”
“Just a few more lines and I’ll be good for the day I think,” you reply to him as he sits on the empty side of the bed next to you and glances at the screen in front of you. “What do you think about it?”
“I think your brain is beautiful and everything it writes is written with pink glitter gel pen,” he chuckles, before turning to give you a kiss. “You have such a beautiful mind, bubba.”
In perspective, no one actually expected that you and Jake would be dating. If it weren’t for that fortunate/unfortunate day that your boarding school’s publication assigned your last project with them to be an interview with Jake just when Jake got promoted to Formula 2, you two wouldn’t have met. You still have very mixed feelings about that day because you have always been shy and messaging a rising Formula 2 star for an interview was definitely beyond your limits of comfort—you can bet your bottom dollar that you had a panic attack before that interview because you’ve always been used to the behind-the-scenes productions of your publications. Let’s just say Jake never left you alone after that.
He’s always been so enamored by the way you think and how gentle words come out of your mouth whenever you speak. He often wondered how much time it took whoever god out there that made you to delicately craft how your mind worked, how your intentions would come to be and how you would act upon it. Jake couldn’t fathom how beautiful you were on the inside and your pretty face was only the cherry on top of all of it. He was certain that even if he was interviewed with his eyes closed, he still would’ve fallen in love with you.
Smitten idiot, Heeseung would always call him.
“I’ve been stuck on this for days now,” you rolled your eyes at him, playfully pushing his face away before huffing in frustration. Your first book did so well two years ago, it came along the same time Jake was promoted to Formula 1, which then gave you both insurmountable pride and joy that you both were doing so well in your careers. “At this rate, I wouldn’t be able to finish this on my target date.”
“Then aim for the next target date,” he chuckled. “Baby. You always say, if I don’t win WDC this year, maybe it’s still too early or maybe the next one will be it. If you don’t finish this on the deadline, maybe your deadline is too early or maybe the next target date will be your actual deadline.”
“How dare you quote me against myself,” you pouted at him, moving your laptop from your lap to the bedside table before climbing up to his lap to look at him. “I taught you better than that.”
“Hmm,” he hummed, grinning so widely as he admired the way your eyes twinkled in the warm Melbourne sun shining through the glass doors of your huge hotel room. “You look so beautiful, bubs.”
“So are you,” you chuckled at him before planting a soft kiss on his lips, to which he gladly returned. You moved away before the kiss got too heated, you were well aware that your little brother, who had only started his Formula 3 journey this season, was staying in the room next door. You would very much like to not traumatize him just before his race as well.
“We should bring Riki along,” you tell him, as you hopped off his lap, moving towards the cabinet where you had already unpacked both of your clothes. “That kid needs to get off Roblox when he’s not training or racing.”
“He’s gonna have to remind you that you’re not your mom when he hears that.” he joked.
“Yeah, I’m the one feeding and keeping him alive when he’s all over the world driving in funny circles, am I not?” you retort.
“That kid fears you more than his own mother,” Jake shrugged. Riki is driving for the same team that he had driven for during his Formula 2 and 3 days, the fact that he's also driving under the development programme of the current team that he is really did made the two bond like no other. It was a given fact that from the moment you had brought Jake home to meet your family, your little brother had found the older brother that he never had in him. The kid looked up to him since then.
“As he should,” you said as you rummage through the clothes to find a good swimsuit to wear for the beach trip. “Is this good or is it too revealing?”
“If it makes you feel nice, just wear it. Riki and I can fight.” He smiled standing up from the bed and walking over to you to press yet another kiss on your face. Seemed like he really couldn't keep himself away from you for that long.
Frankly, Jake absolutely despised the fact that you were always so anxious of what people thought of you. Were you dressed appropriately? Were you saying the right things? Were you being a good person? You’ve always been the type to do whatever pleases the people around you which led to the decision that it was best to keep your relationship private for the sake of letting you have your peace with the people’s eyes being diverted away from you. Most importantly, just as you try as you might to give him less things to worry about before a race, he tries just as much to give you less things to stress about that might hinder your progress in writing your book.
“I love you, have I told you that already?” you smile at him fondly, taking it to heart the effort he makes to make sure you are comfortable despite your aversion to being in the public eye.
“Not enough if you have to ask,” he teased. Of course, you’ve already told him that and him the same to you. You’ve always been great with words, Jake figured that while his actions mattered just as much, you dearly appreciate feelings being put into words. So despite not being the very best in words, after being with you for long enough, he made sure that he also knew how to word out his love. It may not have been as good as how you do it, but he tries.
You chuckle at him, walking over to pepper his face with kisses, mumbling i love you’s over and over after each kiss.
“Noona! Ikeu! They’re asking if you guys want to come to the beach with us!” Riki blares, while simultaneously banging on the door. “You better not be doing the deed in there because I will vomit and stay inside and play Roblox instead.”
You rolled your eyes, stepping out of Jake’s way as he walked over to open the door for Riki.
“Why do you even have that damn iPad, Riki?” You raised a brow at your little brother, hands on your hips as you eye the iPad that he was holding. “You’re literally going to the beach!”
“For pictures!”
“You have a phone, Riki!” you both went back and forth about the iPad while Jake stayed out of the conversation by preparing Layla for the trip, making sure she was leashed and ready to go after you change your clothes. After all, he knows better than to stay out of the sibling argument out of fear of also being on the receiving end of your nagging.
“Okay fine I’ll leave it here!” Riki huffed, placing the iPad on the coffee table in your hotel room before moving over to lie down on the sofa with Layla.
The yacht was most definitely fancy. Most of the people in there were just the same people in the grid and their partners, some of Riki’s friends from Formula 2, that you were acquainted with over the few times that you went to Jake’s races. It was usually their partners that you spoke with but every now and then you were on the receiving end of the teases that were only supposed to be directed to Jake. It’s only shits and giggles, you’ve grown comfortable over that since most of them were actually fun people to be with when they’re not driving and trying to push the other driver off the track.
You were helping the other wags take their sunset pictures when Jake approached you, offering your usual pink gin.
“Need something, bubba?” You asked as you felt him clinging on to you, arms snaking around your waist and chin resting on your shoulder as he tried to seem interested in how you took the other driver’s partner’s pictures.
“Nothing, just missed you a bit. You’ve been with the girls for too long.”
“Jesus Christ, Jaeyun, no one is going to steal Y/N away from you!” Heeseung’s partner rolled their eyes at him, trying to push him away.
“No actually, I will steal Y/N out of spite if you don’t leave us alone,” Beomgyu’s partner jokes before pulling you away from him. “We haven’t seen her in a while, I think you should leave the wags alone here.”
“I will push your boyfriend off the track if you do that,” Jake playfully argues with her before moving over to kiss the side of your head and going back to the other drivers and leaving you to do your own thing.
“Your partners have successfully stolen my girlfriend,” Jake shrugged as he sat next to Heeseung who seemed to be having a great time playing hands with Layla.
“Because you were hogging her the entire time, Jaeyun,” he laughed at him. “The girls have been dying to get her to join them since she had to stay back for uni and you’re hogging their friend all to yourself.”
“Yeah, man. I haven’t congratulated Y/N on graduating recently!” Beomgyu cheered from the bar where he stood waiting for his drink to be made. “Y/N is cool for doing that with a book in-progress.”
“She is,” he hums softly. Watching you interact with the other wags really makes his heart swell in joy.
You've always had a small social circle. For someone who worked with a publication before and just recently graduated from your film program, you sure did hate being around unfamiliar people. It always took you longer than the other to warm up to new people and consider them your friends. You just never were type for small talk. Whenever you spoke, you always said words that were meaningful and left a lasting memory on everyone who heard it. He remembers you telling him one time that you wished you had more friends because the only friends you ever considered were him, Sunoo and Jake's best friend Jay. Now, seeing you be so close with the entire grid’s wags really makes him proud of how far you’ve come from being too afraid to speak to them to her being immensely missed for not being present after she had to stay back for school.
“You are so whipped, it’s disgustingly cute, man,” Beomgyu shrugged at him, playfully hitting the back of his head. Jake doesn’t mind being teased for being whipped. He is. There’s nothing to deny about that—besides, it’s you. What’s to not be smitten about you? Even the guys’ partners agree with his sentiments.
“I won’t be surprised you become so whipped you accidentally tell everyone and their mom that you two are dating,” Keeho laughed at him.
“It’s not like we’re keeping it a secret though. We just let everyone assume what they want. We never exclusively said we were just friends though?” Jake explained to him. “Plus the media is harsh as fuck. I really don’t want her going through whatever bullshit they told your partners when they were introduced.”
“Yunhee had to turn off her comments once because of how bad the hate got,” Heeseung sighed, recalling the faint memory of his partner getting blasted with hate comments when they started going out. Looking back at it, he really wished he approached the unavoidable media portion of their relationship the same way as Jake did.
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Anyone in the paddock was shocked to see you with just Yunhee when the weekend came along. Which then resulted in social media having literal outbreak with the rising suspicions that the Ferrari superstar was in fact out of the market and very much taken by you. There were mixed reactions, as Yunhee told you. You had your social media, but you rarely opened them to check. It didn't help that your work accounts were held by your manager and your socials were private. So Yunhee's input were the only words you could rely on in terms of what the people thought of you.
It made you anxious, to be honest, but after Jake finished a P3, a P2 and a P4 in three free practices, you couldn’t help but divert your attention to that, out of worry that your boyfriend might beat himself for not getting P1 just yet. It was his home race, you knew getting those finishes might set him back a little so you preferred to just shake it off you instead of giving Jake another thing to think about than winning.
P2. He's starting from P2. Oh God. You were more nervous than ever for both Ferrari drivers as they sat one in front of the other, cars revving as they waited for the lights to go off
“He can do this,” Yunhee assured you, which to be honest was a little bit weird because her boyfriend was still technically competing with yours. Nonetheless, you appreciate her attempts to help you calm down. Only a fool would deny that you were more nervous than the driver with the way you refused to take your usual morning coffee or any heavy food in general—Yunhee would normally tease you if she didn't have a clear understanding how important this is to you as much as it is to Jake.
Your eyes never left the screen as you both sat in the garage, hands clasped tightly together, barely noticing how clammy each other's hands were.
The last few laps were rolling more and more intensely as it passed by. Both Ferrari drivers were leading the race with Heeseung holding pole position is a millisecond of a gap from your boyfriend. I hated that you were going to beat yourself up for hoping Heeseung falters ever for a split second during one of the turns just so Jake could pass, especially when his girlfriend, whom you are very close with is rooting for him as well.
“And there goes Jake Sim finally overtaking his teammate Heeseung Lee, taking pole position in this home grand prix! Will he hold this position in the last 4 laps? Will Jake Sim win his home grand prix and take the lead in the driver's championships?”
“Keep your pace, Jake,” his engineer reminds him on his radio. “Heeseung is right behind you blocking Beomgyu.”
“I'm giving him a tow next race, please tell him that,” he happily chuckles as his grip on his steering wheel tightens, locking up as he and his teammate trails the last lap.
“Holy shit! Y/N? Is Y/N watching? I'm winning my home race!” He yells over his radio happily, euphoria consuming his body as he laughs freely. “Is my bubba watching?”
“Yes, Jake. Y/N is watching,” his engineer chuckles to him.
You could not believe it. Jake is finally winning his home race. After three years of finishing 2nd in Australia, he’s finally surpassed Heeseung and Beomgyu in his home race. Your Jake won.
Your face was wet with tears, thank the gods up above for waterproof makeup because she’d be doomed if not for it. Yunhee was dragging her down to the pitlane, just in front of the parc ferme to wait for Jake to cross the checkered flag.
“Lee successfully blocks off Choi from overtaking, defending his and his teammates' position! Jake Sim! Jake Sim pushes for the very last time towards the end of the Australian Grand Prix and there he goes with one of the most brilliant drives of the 2024 Formula 1 season! 6th grand prix win of his career since he started racing for Ferrari when he was only 20 years old! At 22, Sim finally takes his first home race!”
“Mon bebe, Jake won!” Yunhee happily claps hugging you tight as you bawl your eyes out once you see Jake cross the line and approach parc ferme. You were speechless to say the least. For the first time in your life, you were rendered unable to describe how you were feeling. Jake’s human dictionary—finally out of words to describe things out of pure happiness that was overflowing from her body.
Jake wasn’t any better than you were. He just won his home race, right before his family and most especially the love of his life—and all he can think of is how he’s going to get out of his car and helmet as soon as he can so he can finally hold you and celebrate his most important win yet.
He pulled himself up the car and stood on it, basking in the glory of his win as the crowd cheered for him. He was over the moon as he stepped down, scanning the crowd properly to see a glimpse of where you might be as soon as his helmet and gloves were off.
And there you were, with tears in your eyes as Yunhee and his mom tried their best to comfort your crying figure. And before he could rethink his impending decision, his eyes tunnel vision to you among the sea of men clad in red as he runs up to you, pouncing as he holds your face and pressing the most passion-filled kiss he’s ever given you. And you kiss back, drawing in all the excitement, pride and love that were shared from the very beginning as he holds every single dream he’s ever had since he was a kid, driving in go karts in Brisbane. He’s finally here, a thousand miles from where he used to be 8 years old driving in his first karting competition, now holding the love of his life, in his first home race win, in front of all of his family and the people who supported him from the moment he flew to the UK to race for F4.
“Oh bubba,” you cried, kissing his forehead over and over. “You did so well. You are so loved. I am so proud of you.”
On the side, Yunhee did not know whether she was to be scared of the media now that you’re doing this in front of everyone and their mom after you’ve sworn you would keep your relationship private—but she chooses to bask in happiness as well as Heeseung approaches her to give her a soft kiss as well.
The team celebrates just as well as soon as he moves over to the side. They all pat his back, chanting as he jumps over them to hug them all at the same time.
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
You could not help but feel the tears running down once again as you watched him take his trophy up on the podium. Yunhee still held you very tightly as his mom tried to videotape the entire program on her phone. While it still hasn’t sunk in to you that Jake had just exposed your relationship to the media proudly, and you are completely doing nothing about it, you couldn’t help but not care at the moment. You were sure your PR Manager was going to blast you as soon as you get back in your hotel but fuck it, it couldn’t be more important than Jake getting sprayed with champagne and him getting his revenge on Beomgyu for spraying the champagne right into his eyes. It was appalling at best and disgusting at worst that they’re wasting expensive champagne making them all sticky and gross, but you did not have it in you to show your dislike for the decades old way of celebration.
Jake’s eyes scan the crowd once again after he gulped down some of the champagne, looking for a glimpse of you. And there you were, in all of your glory, smiling at him, tears staining your eyes once again. He couldn’t help but give you a little wave, which you returned, even blowing him a kiss as you looked up to where he stood from the podium.
His mom managed to give you a hug after the awarding ceremony, returning to the hospitality to wait and watch for the post-race press conference. Sure enough, as soon as Jake sat on the couch, still buzzing from excitement from what just happened, it was the first thing that was asked, making Heeseung and Beomgyu cackle on both his sides.
“Have you guys been aware of this all along?” the interviewer asked, curiously.
Heeseung nodded. “Since F2. It’s unbelievable.”
“Since F2?!” Everyone in the press room seemed to have turned their heads to Jake in shock after finding out how long he had been hiding it from the media.
“She’s very shy and introverted. We also enjoy our privacy very much, so that’s been under wraps for four years already. I sort of blacked out earlier and just forgot that I wasn’t supposed to expose it like that, but yeah. I owe that win to her as much as I owe it to Ferrari. She’s always been supportive. I know you’ve seen her in the past races before and it’s the first time that she didn’t go with a friend from home, so this was an experience for her as much as it is for me.” Everyone could not help but stare in awe with how gentle and fond Jake spoke about you. And it wasn’t like it was something that you’ve never witnessed before, his language could be crude whenever he was around his mates and other friends—but rarely with you. He once said, it made him feel like he was staining your good integrity as a writer for him to speak so crudely whenever you are around.
“You are also now in the lead for the Driver’s Championship. What does that feel like, Mr. Jake Sim?”
“Great, actually. I’ve been a menace to both my family and Y/N about how important this race is to me because it is both my home race and the race that will push me closer to my goal. So I’m glad Y/N has been able to endure my yapping while she’s writing her book because my family called me out about it.” He chuckled. “I am actually still buzzing. I can’t believe that just happened. Very big thanks to Heeseung for helping me get there and to my engineers whom I had to argue with let me finish the race without boxing for the second time. That’s some big trust in me and I’m glad I was able to see it through?”
“Do you think you still would’ve won that without Heeseung defending your win?”
“Hey man,” Heeseung leered from Jake’s side. “I defended that win because I also did not want to be behind Beomgyu. Jake still would’ve won with that quarter of a second gap.”
“My tires are dead at that point,” Beomgyu snorted. “I was going to crash if I pushed harder to surpass Jake.”
You can’t help but smile at both drivers, proudly defending their friend’s win despite being questioned of its integrity. You take a mental note to send them gifts before you leave to go home in a few days.
“I drove pretty well. The commentators agree that it is one of the most brilliant drives I’ve ever done in my career. So, yeah. The team has done great with that 1-2 for Ferrari.” Jake smiles at the reporter politely.
Soon enough every media duty was over and he was finally back in the arms of the love of his life.
“I’m so fucking proud of you,” you hum against his neck, as you squeezed hs tighter. “You did so fucking well, bubba.”
“I’m sorry I got too happy on the radio, bubs. And for kissing you in front of everyone,” he pouted, pulling you away to see the expression on your face but it did not change. Your face was just as happy as it had been before you went up to hug him.
“It’s fine,” you smiled at him, pressing a soft kiss on his lips. “At least they know now who’s the one to beat next to get to you.”
“You know my heart is always reserved for you, Y/N. There’s no chance of beating you in something only you know how to do.”
“You cheesy motherfucker.” You laughed at him, trying to hide the blush on your face before Yunhee notices it and teases you about it. “But I’m letting that slide. You won today after all.”
“Care to celebrate with me then? Before the party?” The smug look on his face says it all and he already knows that you could never say no to that. After all, he did look absolutely hot winning his home race with a decent gap from his opponents.
“I thought you’d never ask, Mr. Sim.”
—end.
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
masterlist
a/n : hi hello i've been listening to the alchemy for more than i should and it's race week again ! it took me a good while to write this bc i personally feel like i don't write fluff well as i haven't been with anyone for years now ( lol ) and i'm not sure if that's how in love people do it sooooo there's that . your notes and feedback are so appreciatedddd !
The sunlight spilled lazily through gauzy curtains, casting golden streaks across the hardwood floor of their Monaco apartment. Outside, the gentle hum of the city stirred, a muffled rhythm of engines, bicycle bells, and espresso machines firing to life. But inside, everything was slow. Peaceful. Familiar.
The kettle whistled just as the toaster clicked, a perfect morning symphony timed to muscle memory. (Y/n) moved through the kitchen like choreography, barefoot and serene, her silk robe tied neatly around her waist. Her fingers were delicate but swift, one hand stirring Lando’s coffee, the other flipping open his planner to slide a small note between the pages: You’ve got this today. I love you—Y.
She placed his favorite travel mug beside his protein shake, both within reach on the marble counter. His keys were already aligned next to them, his watch freshly polished, the strap adjusted. The quiet ritual of taking care of him had become a kind of love language, one he never asked for, yet she gave freely.
She heard footsteps behind her, soft and dragging with sleep. A moment later, Lando appeared, shirtless, a pair of black joggers riding low on his hips. His hair was tousled in every direction, and his eyes still held the weight of sleep. Despite herself, she smiled.
“You’re up earlier than I expected,” he murmured, voice gravelly as he wrapped his arms around her from behind.
“I always wake up before you,” she said, teasing gently, her head tilting to the side as he pressed a kiss just below her ear. “Someone has to make sure you don’t leave without breakfast.”
“I wouldn’t forget.” He lied with a tired grin.
She looked over her shoulder with a playful glare. “You forgot three days ago.”
“Okay, but that was one time.”
“It was three.”
Lando chuckled, releasing her to reach for the protein shake first. He took a long sip, his jaw working lazily. “You’re too good to me.”
“Someone has to be,” she said, only half-joking, turning to place his team jacket on the back of the chair. “You’ll freeze in that paddock if you don’t take this.”
“You sound like a mum,” he teased.
“Then stop acting like a boy,” she returned smoothly.
He raised an eyebrow, amused, then glanced at his planner and saw the note. He didn’t comment, only tucked it deeper between the pages with a tight-lipped nod. If she noticed how his expression shifted for half a second, how the guilt crept back into his posture, she said nothing.
He excused himself and took a bath not long after, silence trailing in his wake like a second skin.
When he returned, hair damp and sleeves rolled up, she reached for a bowl of fresh berries and slid it in front of him. “Have you decided yet?”
“Decided?”
“About the next Grand Prix. If you want me to come.”
Lando blinked. “Oh. Right.”
She watched him, her fingers folding into one another gently.
“I mean, it’s in Zandvoort,” he said finally. “You know how chaotic the Netherlands gets. I thought maybe you’d prefer staying here, less travel, less media stress.”
A soft pause lingered.
“Is that what you prefer?” she asked carefully.
He looked up at her, caught off guard. “It’s not about me. I just want you comfortable.”
(Y/n) smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m always comfortable around you.”
A beat of silence stretched too long between them.
Lando stood then, brushing the crumbs from his fingers and grabbing his keys. “We’ll talk about it more later, yeah? I’ve got that strategy briefing this morning.”
She nodded. “Of course. You’ll be late if you don’t leave soon.”
He leaned in to kiss her cheek, his lips lingering half a second longer than usual. “Thanks for everything.”
“Go win,” she said, brushing a wrinkle from his sleeve.
And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him with the same gentle finality he always left with. She stood in the quiet for a long moment, fingers tightening around her coffee cup. Something in her chest shifted, but she swallowed it back.
After all, she had her own work to do.
By the time the apartment had emptied of Lando’s presence, (Y/n) had already shed her soft robe and replaced it with an outfit sharp enough to cut: tailored black trousers, a beige blouse with pearl buttons, and pointed heels that echoed against the marble floors as she walked. Her face was soft, barely touched with makeup, but her eyes burned with focus as she opened the sleek laptop at the corner of their study.
Her fingers hovered over the keys briefly, then began to move with precision.
The login screen blinked open, followed by a clean interface covered in drafts, editorial schedules, encrypted correspondence, and publishing contracts. Her pen name stared back at her from the top of the dashboard:
Verity Blackthorne.
A ghost to the public. A storm to the literary world.
Her books were bestsellers across Europe, translated in 19 languages, with three adapted for the screen. She was one of The Times’ highest-grossing contributors, her editorials devoured and dissected in political panels and book clubs alike. No one knew the face behind the name. And she preferred it that way.
The pseudonym had started as a game. Then it became an armor. Now, it was freedom.
She clicked open a message from her publisher, another offer for a televised interview, this time with an international literary festival in Florence.
She declined.
Verity Blackthorne did not do press.
(Y/n) began typing her next article, an exploration of the ethics of performance culture in high-risk professions, subtly inspired by watching the paddock from the sidelines for years. Every paragraph was tight, evocative, layered. When she wrote, she bled truth, but she always made it beautiful.
Time passed. She barely noticed.
It wasn’t until her phone buzzed that she blinked out of her trance.
Lily: Heard a rumor the mysterious wife of Monaco’s Golden Boy is finally free today. Coffee? Girl date? Spill secrets?
A soft chuckle escaped her lips.
(Y/n): Only if you promise not to ask me about Lando’s skincare routine again.
Lily: No promises. Picking you up in 20.
The café Lily chose was tucked into a side street just off Boulevard des Moulins, a small, sun-dappled spot with ivy crawling up the windows and lemon slices floating in every glass of water. The kind of place that smelled like vanilla and espresso, with antique chairs that invited long conversations and unfiltered laughter.
(Y/n) arrived first, sunglasses low on her nose, a book tucked beneath her arm that no one knew she wrote.
Lily swept in like a breeze, oversized sunglasses, flowy trousers, and an aura of confidence most people spent their whole lives faking. She spotted (Y/n) immediately and beamed.
“You look gorgeous, you evil introvert,” Lily said, pulling her into a tight hug.
“And you look like you walked out of a Vogue spread.”
“That’s because I did,” Lily deadpanned. “Oscar made me pose for some sponsor shoot this morning. Said I looked too pretty to waste on Zoom calls.”
They both laughed as they slid into the booth.
“Now,” Lily said, resting her chin on her hand. “Tell me everything.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
Lily raised an eyebrow. “Please. I see you two in the paddock all the time. Still disgustingly cute. What’s your secret? Lavender oil? Blood sacrifices?”
(Y/n) smiled gently, stirring her coffee. “Routine. Trust. And good coffee.”
“And sex, surely.”
She nearly choked on her cappuccino.
“Kidding,” Lily said, grinning. “Sort of.”
(Y/n) shook her head with a laugh. “You’re insane.”
“Guilty. So, what have you been up to? Any writing lately?”
(Y/n)’s fingers twitched around her spoon. “A little. Nothing serious.”
(Y/n) looked down, the edges of her mouth barely lifting. “She hasn’t been around much lately.”
“And when she is?”
“She keeps quiet. These days, she only writes when it hurts too much not to.”
“Liar. You always say that and then publish something that makes every woman in Europe cry.”
She tilted her head, amused. “You read them?”
“Of course I do. She makes me believe in words again.”
(Y/n)’s heart fluttered, but she kept her expression still. “She’s… special.”
“She’s a genius,” Lily said, waving a hand. “And I still think you two would be best friends if you ever met.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, smiling into her cup.
They spent the rest of the afternoon hopping between boutiques and laughing like they were seventeen again. It felt good to exist outside of the apartment, outside of the role of The Supportive Wife. To be seen as a person, not an accessory to someone else’s glory.
And yet, even with the warmth, even with the joy, something tugged at her ribs. A small ache, barely noticeable. Like a thread pulled just slightly out of place.
She didn’t know that just a few days ago, another woman had clawed at her husband’s back while he lost himself in someone who would never know the weight of his truth.
📝Note from the Author:
It’s my 14th day back on Tumblr—two full weeks of chaos, catharsis, and caffeine. It keeps getting better and better... nah, I’m just joking. I’m still the same author, my dear Alarwynnites—still spilling heartbreak and honey one chapter at a time.
This one’s soft in a different way. Not the kind of softness that soothes, but the kind that creeps in during quiet mornings—through sunlit kitchens, familiar footsteps, and a love wrapped in routine.
The kind of softness that feels like safety until it starts to feel like silence.
I hope you feel it too.
