First Time For Everything ; TEASER

‘good luck, babe’ smau?

IS IT CASUAL NOW?

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

sequel (?) to good luck, babe!

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liked by nosygal1, charlesyntruther and 367,809 others

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

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

view all comments

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

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

— user7: i would be throwing dishes rihanna style.

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

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

user4: drive to survive about to eat this up omg

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

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

user8: i just know charles’ pr team is STRESSED

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

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

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

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

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

user13: CHARLESYNNIES WE SURVIVED THE DROUGHT

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

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

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

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

— user17: sextape next?

— user16: …. WHAT?!

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

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

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

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Through Their Eyes ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

Summary: lando and yn’s relationship through other people’s eyes

𝄞 ln x reader 𓇢𓆸

𝄞 fluff 𓇢𓆸

masterlist ☾☼

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

carlos

carlos had known lando since he was nineteen. being teammates with him made carlos realise that they had a lot of common interests, and their sense of humour matched, and in the blink of an eye, lando had become one of carlos' best friends. there wasn't a day that went by without carlos or lando talking to each other, and there wasn't a day that went by without the two learning something new about each other.

carlos prided himself on the fact that he could read lando pretty well. y/n was lando's age and had joined mclaren as part of their hospitality intern. she was not supposed to have much interaction with the drivers, especially considering that she was an intern. her main jobs on some days was to make coffee runs.

fortunately, the coffee runs were what brought lando and y/n closer.

"coffee for you, mr sainz, and coffee for you, mr norris," she had said when she put two cups down in front of them.

carlos had watched as lando was about to make a joke but seemed lost as he stared at the woman and then back at the cup, and back at the woman.

he decided to be a good friend in that moment and save the awestruck boy, "unfortunately, lando doesn't have coffee. he only likes milk. he's still a little boy,"

y/n had laughed, and carlos had watched again with a smirk as lando stared at her with the biggest smile on his face. "i'll be back with a glass of milk then,"

it had become a running joke between the three of them, and soon she had started accompanying them to races as well. in the two years that she had interned with mclaren, she had spoken to almost driver on the grid, and carlos had watched how y/n and lando had slowly become friends. though, friends would be a more appropriate word instead of saying 'lando followed her around and just stood behind her, lost in his daydreams while she spoke to the drivers'.

carlos had watched how lando was always including her in conversations where she stood near the wall, how he pushed her to give her opinion. he had watched how lando slowly helped her build her confidence as she began to become more sure of herself and her abilities.

carlos had also watched how she was always the first one to tell lando that he had done a good job. she sat with him whenever he reviewed all the places he went wrong and had to be better at. she helped him understand the right places for making jokes, and the kind of jokes. he had watched how y/n had slowly helped build lando's confidence.

carlos and lando had a similar humour, but he found very quickly that lando and y/n's humour were exactly the same. they had inside jokes and eyes that laughed every time they looked at each other. they had soft touches and fingers that always grasped the air in the end.

the night of one of the races, when people had left, and only a few were remaining, carlos had been looking for lando to tell him about the golfing range that they could try out during the two weekends they had free. he had walked around looking his friend, even calling out his name. eventually, he found him sitting on the curb of the track with y/n.

they had their masks off, and were sitting close to each other. considering that they were the only two people around, carlos had not reminded the two to wear their masks.

the two had been laughing and giggling and leaning, and carlos walked a little closer to listen to what they were talking about.

"what'cha gonna do for the next two weeks?" lando had asked. it was quiet, and they were quieter, but carlos could still hear them.

"actually, i've been so excited to tell you about it! so, you know how i joined mclaren as an intern, and well, i'm still at a beginner level because i told you that i didn't want to do this forever?" she had seemed excited.

lando had only nodded, still staring at her. it made carlos wonder if lando was actually listening to what was being said.

"so, i've been doing some research, because i finally figured out what i'm going to do with my life. my parents only let me do this because i was interested in formula one, and i wanted a break after high school. though, admittedly, the break was supposed to be just a gap year, ended up being two-three years, but that's fine-"

y/n was cut off, because lando had finally gotten the courage and kissed her. carlos' mouth fell open. lando had confided in him about his crush on y/n, but carlos knew long before that. hell, carlos had known from the very first moment possible.

she had kissed him back, and carlos turned around with a smile on his face as he gave them some privacy.

just as he was leaving, he heard y/n's voice sounding heartbroken, and stopped short.

"lan, i'm going back to university. that's what i wanted to tell you."

"what?"

"i was talking to the drivers the other day about their childhood and what they faced, what you went through. max with his dad, lewis with the bullying, all of that. i realised then that i wanted to study child psychology. i want to be a child psychologist."

"oh. so, when are you leaving?"

"i gave my resignation letter this morning. i found a good university in london too. i applied a while back, and i got in."

"you got in."

"i got in, lan!" she was trying to be excited, carlos knew.

"that's amazing, y/n, congratulations,"

carlos turned around to peek, just a little bit, and saw the two embracing. he watched as lando tried to hide his tears, and y/n, who couldn't stop smiling. he watched as lando found his eyes, and carlos didn't know what to do in that moment.

"it doesn't have to change anything. i mean, i know i won't be there for race weekends and at the mtc and stuff, but i'm here for you." y/n said.

the two pulled back. y/n frowned at the tears on lando's face, and gently wiped them off. carlos feared what was going to happen to their friendship now.

"and, i mean, if the kiss wasn't a fluke, i'd like it again. and maybe every time i see you next?" y/n said, smiling, hoping, and carlos sighed in relief. yeah, the kids were going to be okay.

he could hear lando laughing as he walked back inside. lando was going to marry y/n, carlos could bet his life on it.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

daniel

when daniel had joined mclaren, there was one thing that he saw and was sure of right from the first day: no one could handle lando norris like y/n y/l/n.

he had spoken to her, and was good acquaintances with her. he knew that she had been working with mclaren for a year. lando and y/n seemed to be better friends than lando and carlos were, and that was a tough duo to break.

daniel felt awkward with lando at first. the two had barely anything in common, and combine it with their ten year age gap, it felt almost impossible to bond with the boy over something. both of them felt awkward at first, and both of them knew it.

y/n was perceptive, though, daniel had to agree. she had forced lando and daniel into a room and gave them an hour. that did wonders for the new teammates, because by the end of it, they had become so much more comfortable with each other and just couldn't stop laughing.

that was when daniel started noticing more about lando and y/n's friendship. the way that she was always the first one there to congratulate him, and the last person he saw before he left the garage for a race. the way that he always looked for her, even when he was working.

at first, daniel couldn't understand the impact that a young 20 year old woman could have on a young 20 year old man. their lives were just starting, yet somehow, with them, it felt like their lives had reached the stage of contentment with each other.

when lando first launched quadrant, daniel had watched how y/n had surprised him with wearing the merch and proudly showing it off. he had watched and smiled at how lando had gotten so excited, he had picked her up as he cheered, "you're wearing quadrant! you're wearing my merch!"

she was there for all of the races at first, in the mclaren uniform. daniel had watched how she would talk to him before every race. daniel didn't know what they were talking about, but it always had a laugh and it always ended up with a hug. he honestly thought that y/n was a witch, with the way she could calm down the hyperactive boy. no one that daniel had seen had that effect on lando the way y/n did.

and then, after a point, y/n stopped coming to races. and, daniel wondered if lando and her had had a falling out. he didn't know if he should approach his teammate about it, because it could be a sensitive topic.

two races gone by, and y/n hadn't come. lando had looked upset during those weekends, and he always disappeared right before the race and right after. after one particular race, daniel decided to suck it up and ask.

"why doesn't y/n come anymore?" he blurted out. it wasn't the way he wanted to go about it.

lando smiled softly, and daniel wasn't sure what that smile meant, "she quit. she went back to studying. goes to a university in london."

daniel didn't know that.

"are you guys still in touch?" daniel tried to be as casual as possible, but he wasn't sure if he was doing a good job.

lando's smile got bigger, and daniel took it as a good sign, "yeah, we're in touch. we talk before and after races, and pretty much any time that we're free,"

"that's good to hear," the conversation had ended there.

daniel now knew what his teammate did before and after races when he disappeared.

the silverstone race was when he had finally seen y/n again. lando hadn't seen her yet, and y/n had looked jittery. spotting her, daniel approached her.

"hey, i haven't seen you in so long!" daniel exclaimed.

the two hugged briefly, "oh my god, it's so good to see you! i've just been so busy with uni. finally a race that i could attend,"

"missed us, did you?" daniel teased.

"so so so much," y/n said, and the two laughed.

daniel watched from over y/n's head as lando, who had initially been talking to one of his mechanics pause and turn around, as if he had heard her laugh. daniel continued his conversation with y/n, while also watching lando's reaction. he was looking around, a frown on his face. if daniel had to compare lando's reaction to something, it would be to a dog who could suddenly sniff his favourite treat from somewhere.

just as y/n was about to say something, daniel watched lando finally spotting her in her ln4 merch, before practically screaming, "y/n!"

y/n turned, her eyes lighting up, and lando ran from the other side, dodging people. daniel took a few steps back, wanting to give the two friends some space.

lando's arms had immediately wrapped around her waist, and he picked her up. his face was buried in her neck, and all he said was her name. okay, friends definitely did not hug like that.

pulling back from the hug, lando kissed her. daniel's mouth fell open in shock. y/n had kissed him back, before she pulled away, laughing. lando put her down on the floor again, and pressed kisses all over her face, whispering in between, "you're here, you're here, you're actually here, i'm so happy right now,"

noticing a cameraman approaching, daniel softly said, "cameras, guys,"

taking a deep breath, lando took a step back, folding his arms, "thanks, dan,"

"no problem. now, wanna tell me what's going on here?" his teasing tone only made the two grin bigger.

"we started dating my last night in mclaren," y/n said softly.

"i bet lando cried. finally kissed a girl, didn't you?"

"i did actually cry," lando said, and the three laughed.

kyle, lando's mechanic called out, and daniel bid goodbyes to lando and y/n. he turned heading back, looking back just once to see lando's arm across y/n's shoulders, and y/n's arm circling his waist as they walked to where kyle was.

daniel hadn't seen lando look that happy since y/n had stopped coming for races. something about him had changed. he looked more confident and pleased. he looked as if he could hold the world on his shoulders if he wanted to.

his confidence was seen on the track as well. despite losing two places, lando was happier than most, and daniel knew that just the presence of y/n could have that effect on him.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

max f

max remembered the day lando had called him, excited to tell him about a girl he had met and how carlos, she, and lando had joked around, and how beautiful her laugh was.

he remembered the blush on lando's cheeks and how excited he was. he denied liking her at that time, but no one ever called their best friend to talk about a woman for forty five minutes just to later claim that he didn't have a crush on her.

max had been apprehensive of the woman at first. lando was new to formula one, and he was bound to get famous. from what lando had told max, she was an intern, the same age as them. lando was a trusting fellow, and max felt the need to look out for his friend.

the first time lando had introduced y/n and max to each other, the two were just friends. though, the first meeting proved that max had no reason to be worried. y/n was quick with her witty responses like lando always was. she put up a good fight every time. their banter was entertaining, and y/n knew just how to keep lando on his toes.

they understood each other quite well too. max remembered when after a particularly bad race, the two were on a facetime call, where lando was explaining all that he could have done better, and max giving his inputs. their conversation had been interrupted when a knock on lando's hotel room was heard.

"might be carlos," lando had mumbled, before leaving max on his bed, staring at the ceiling. max could still hear everything, though.

"carlos, i don't feel like-" he heard lando's voice cut off.

"surprise!" a woman's voice, y/n's, was heard.

"what are you doing here?" lando had asked.

"well, i read somewhere that cookies and brownies fixed everything. but, i couldn't find enough ingredients for one particular thing, so i made brookies!" her voice was louder, and max assumed that she had entered the room.

suddenly he saw her face pop up on the phone, "hi max!"

"hey, y/n!" max waved at her.

"you baked me something?"

"uh huh. your flight isn't till nine, and i thought that i could help you pack since you're terrible at it, and max, you and me could listen to music and dance around and eat brookies!"

they had done exactly that, y/n and lando trying their best to include max in all their conversations as well. they jumped around, laughed, and ate brookies throughout. max yelled at lando to save some for him, but lando had pretended to not hear, and then y/n had promised to make more for him. lando was smiling again, and even though max knew that he still felt bitter about the race, it had distracted him.

it was silent for a few seconds, only the music playing, when max checked what was going on. he stopped himself from saying anything when he saw lando and y/n locked in a hug. his face was buried in her neck, and her fingers were in his hair. max didn't know what either of them were saying, but lando had a tight grip on her, his knuckles turning white, and y/n just held him.

max knew their relationship would change soon.

and it had.

after the two had gotten together, lando began coming to london more often, even if it was to spend time with y/n. he invited y/n everywhere, whether they went for quadrant shoots, or meeting new people for new business partnerships.

she would come with her textbooks and her laptop, insisting on studying while they did their thing. for the most part, she did study. during the plane ride to wherever they were going, lando and y/n would sit side by side, sharing wired earphones, listening to music while y/n studied. lando would usually stare at her, or play with her hair. during shoots, y/n would be just as enthusiastic as lando, always pushing him for new ideas.

she trusted him insanely too. any time he would drive at a speed that even scared him, max had seen the way y/n would be carefree, throwing her arms in the air and enjoying the wind.

y/n would even help out with designing lando's helmets. the two had a connection that max didn't understand that well. they brought out the best in each other and knew just how to handle the worst too.

max had seen lando more worried about whether y/n had eaten during exam season than he generally was about himself. max had seen lando care for something other than racing and quadrant. it was new and refreshing, and max knew it was a forever kind of deal.

it always was a forever kind of deal with lando and y/n.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

alex and george

alex and george had sort-of grown up with lando. they had raced each other in f2, and had become quick friends. lando used to look upto alex and george, and the boys knew about it.

they had known lando well when he was a young boy, had seen the way he drove, the way he acted, the way he was in general. they had seen his cocky attitude, and as much of a show he put up in front of the media, they knew that he looked upto almost driver that were on the grid as he tried to make a place for himself in between them.

they had seen how low his confidence was, despite being outgoing and getting along with almost everyone he met. he had been their topic of conversation many times, with the two trying to figure out how they could be there for their friend.

it had helped that lando had found a true friend in carlos, and then daniel. it had changed lando, a positive change that both, alex and george were incredibly happy to see. he still blamed himself after races, but carlos, a veteran, reassuring lando had had a greater effect than george and alex. the two men understood why. they had the same amount of experience in formula one as lando, so trying to convince him that he had done a good job wasn't as effective.

lando had really changed, though, after he met y/n. y/n was outgoing, like lando, and she could talk a mile a minute. she seemed to really give max competition when it came to yapping. but, the best thing that she ever did was make lando smile more often. george and alex were grateful for that.

y/n had a way of correcting lando or telling him new information without making him feel dumb. george and alex knew how insecure lando was for never finishing his schooling, unlike oscar. it was a shock to alex and george when lando told them random facts throughout the day. it was a good kind of shock, but a shock nonetheless. they knew almost immediately that it was the work of y/n.

lando had always been humble. online, he was arrogant. but, he knew what he needed to work on, he knew everything he could about his, and he always wanted to know more. george and alex had often teased him about leaving the last on saturdays after the qualifying session.

but, y/n had stayed with him, had encouraged him, and had showed him that even if he failed, he was still good enough. y/n showed him that even if he lost ten positions, he was still good enough as a driver, and as a racer. he deserved to be in f1, something that a lot of people, including george and alex agreed on.

over the years, lando had gotten good at saying what was expected of him. it was often things that he would go and directly tell people to their faces, but always play it off with the media. lando never forgot to remind alex and george how much he respected them, even if they told them in private. they knew that that was lando's way of making sure that they knew he was being sincere.

the world didn't understand it as much, and the media loved to twist all of their words. so, y/n helped him understand. and, y/n helped him grow. and, even though lando was always a good person, y/n made him better everyday.

alex and george often spoke about the difference five years, six years had made in lando. and they could agree that lando was still the same person, but just a little more grown up and a little more focused. it was his own doing, with some help from y/n.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

max v

padel with lando was one of his favourite things to do. lando was competitive, and he made jokes, and he was arrogant and deprecating, and somehow all of it just fit well.

they had a weekend free before the next race, and what better way could there have been than to participate in another sport with the same person who was the contender for the world driver's championship?

they had played for hours, and after the two had completely exhausted themselves, lando invited max over to his apartment for lunch. agreeing, max texted kelly about his lunch plans with lando, and the two drove to lando's apartment their individual cars.

parking, the two went up the elevator, laughing and giggling and gossiping on their way over. just as lando was about to unlock his front door, he paused and turned to max.

"my girlfriend is a little mad at me right now. i kinda paid off part of her university tuition and i didn't tell her, and now she found out, and i'm basically-"

"-fucked. you're basically fucked."

lando opened his mouth to retaliate, but agreed with max. he was fucked.

unlocking the door, lando called out, "babe, we're home!"

y/n appeared from the hallway, "hi, max! how was padel?"

max watched as lando moved towards her with his arms open, almost like a routine of when he comes back home, but y/n dodged his hands and stepped away. lando looked like a puppy who had gotten kicked, and as much as max wanted to laugh at the expression, he did feel a little bad for his friend.

"hey! um, padel was good. i beat lando, 5 games out of 8," he said.

y/n laughed, "that's wonderful. i'll get your lunch set up, so why don't you relax?"

she still hadn't said a word to lando, and as she turned to head towards the kitchen, he watched as lando followed her like a dog on a leash.

max settled on the couch, and tilted his head back, closing his eyes. he tried not to listen, to not eavesdrop on his friend's very private conversation. but they were loud, so technically, it wasn't his fault.

"baby, i'm sorry, i was trying to help!" lando's urgent voice could be heard. he was speaking softly, but in the quiet house, it was still loud enough for max to hear.

"helping means washing the dishes or getting me supplies for my exams! helping does not mean paying off my tuition!" y/n's hushed whisper came next. she was angry.

"but, why can't i just pay for the tuition? i've got the money, you and i are going to end up married anyways! what's mine is yours!" max had to admit, this was probably the first time he had heard lando so sure on marrying someone.

"exactly! you've got the money. not me. lando, i need to be able to survive on my own, and my tuition is my problem. not yours."

"you are surviving on your own! just 'cause i'm here doesn't mean that you can't lean on me for stuff!"

max heard y/n let out a groan of frustration, "i'm not as rich as you are, lando. i'm not a celebrity or a model, i don't have the money. i'm studying to be a child psychologist. this is my future, and my college, including my tuition fees, is my responsibility."

"yeah, well, you are my future. so, you're my responsibility, and that includes your college and your tuition fees and literally everything else in the world." max smiled. maybe lando would not have to sleep on the couch tonight.

it was quiet for a few seconds, the only sound came from the sizzling of the pan.

"darling, i'm sorry i paid your tuition fees without asking or telling you first. you were stressed out about it the other day, and you were telling me how you would have to take extra shifts at the diner, and i just thought that if i have the money for it, why can't i just get rid of that stress of yours? i really just wanted to help, nothing else." lando's voice was soft, and max strained his ears to listen.

"i feel like i'm taking advantage of you," y/n whispered softly. why were they talking so quietly? max couldn't hear a thing properly.

"advantage of me? love, no. you deserve so much more than what i can offer you. i hate that i have to be away for so long because of my job, but you've never complained and you've always supported me. sometimes i'm scared that i'm not showing you just how much i love you,"

"that's why you paid off my tuition. 'cause you wanted to prove that you love me, but you couldn't figure out how to open your mouth and say it to me,"

lando laughed. that was a good sign. it was silent again. maybe they were hugging? max wished he had a visual as well. and some popcorn.

"forgive me?" lando asked softly.

"only if you have ramen with me tonight, and watch tangled with me again,"

he expected lando to groan. he had listened to lando rant about how the movie was ingrained in his brain and how the songs were stuck in his head constantly because of his girlfriend's obsession with the movie.

"deal. i love you," lando said.

"i love you more,"

"not possible,"

"watch me,"

max smiled. lando was not sleeping on the couch tonight, that's for sure.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

oscar

there was time before the first practice race was supposed to start. oscar sat on his side of the garage, but was quickly getting bored. the mechanics and the race engineers were talking and discussing, and oscar really tried to listen to them and participate in the conversation, but all he wanted to do was go out and drive.

sighing, oscar decided to find lando. if there was anyone who could distract him, it was lando. moving over to his garage, oscar looked for lando, and found him standing with his race engineer, will. the two were in deep conversation about something. lando's shoulders were tense, and his fingers were digging into his arms as he had them crossed across his chest.

oscar sighed. he probably shouldn't disturb him, then. it looked like they were talking about something important, and it's not like oscar had anything specific in mind when he came to find lando. he just wanted a distraction and laugh about something, anything.

just as he turned to go back to his side of the garage again, oscar saw y/n. he smiled, and was about to walk over to her so that he could at least strike a conversation with her.

oscar and y/n were good friends. they had a lot of similar interests and often spoke or hung out outside of lando. lily and y/n also got along really well, and that was just another pro in his list.

just as he was about to go talk to y/n, he stopped short, as he watched her open her bag and rummage through it. the paddock pass was hanging from her neck, and the orange cap she wore almost made her invisible to the media.

finally pulling out, what he assumed was a fan, he watched as y/n weaved her way through the crowd and stood behind lando, who was still in a deep conversation with will.

oscar worried for a second. he knew lando well, and he knew y/n well. he knew that lando hated to be disturbed when he was working or when he was focused on something, especially if it was related to improving his performance. he also knew that while y/n always meant well, sometimes, she couldn't figure out the right timings for things. while oscar knew that lando would not yell at her or anything, he still worried that lando would accidentally say something in the heat of the moment that he would regret later, but it would inevitably hurt y/n. she was sensitive and she felt too much for everyone. he didn't want y/n to be hurt.

he stayed still, though. he wasn't sure if it was his place to interfere. it wasn't his relationship, and he was friends with both of them. so, he stayed where he was, and he watched.

he watched as y/n stood behind lando. he watched as will noticed her, smiling just slightly, before turning his attention back to lando. he watched as lando didn't seem to notice that.

he moved a little closer, just so he could make out a little bit of what they were saying.

he watched as y/n started fanning lando, a mischievous grin on her face. he watched as lando's shoulders sagged in relief from the cool air, and then watched him tense up. he watched as lando turned around, wanting to find out where the cool air was coming from, and was met with y/n and her fan.

the couple were laughing now, and lando hooked an arm around her waist and trapped her against him. oscar could see both of y/n's arms against lando's chest as she leaned back to look at him, her hand still clutching the fan.

he watched as the two spoke, far too softly for oscar to hear them. but he saw the smiles on their faces, and the love in their eyes. the fans called him oscar "heart eyes" piastri whenever he looked at lando. if the fans saw lando and y/n right now, "heart eyes" would be an understatement.

he watched as lando pressed a kiss to her lips, and he watched as y/n tucked herself against his chest. he watched as lando and will got back to their conversation. lando's hands were running up and down her back, and oscar watched as lando's shoulders relaxed, and how he wasn't grinding his teeth anymore, and how all the tension that he seemed to keep in his body almost all the time melted away.

in that moment, oscar realised that the things he knew about his teammate/friend and his friend, they knew it better. they knew each other better, and they were stronger like that.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

i may have messed up the timeline a bit somewhere in the start. but, this is one of my favourites that i've ever written! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

౨ৎ ROUGH PATCH

──── 𝗂𝗍 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖺’𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗄.

2024 pairing. poly!ot7엔하 x fem!member oc cw. illness & injury, fan mobbing, claustrophobia, brief mention of suspected violence, not proofread req. mila hiding bruises from the boys. ❨ back to LIBRARY ?! ❩

IT WAS LIKE DEJA VU. Mila had foolishly that maybe she would be able to go one day without the feeling of being suffocated — without feeling like her head was held underwater and her hands were tied behind her back. She hadn’t learned her lesson: to never underestimate the power of her fans.

“Out of the way!” Mila’s manager held an arm around her shoulder, keeping her as close as possible to avoid the hands that reached out to her. And yet, it was fruitless — she could feel them on her clothes, on her hair, any part of her that they could touch. She jolted when one of them landed dangerously low on her back, and she resisted the urge to cry as another managed to grab her arm with a death grip, before her manager was able to pull her away.

There was no room to breathe. The parking lot felt no bigger than an elevator, with people crowding her and her staff in from all sides. A flash of a camera caused her to flinch, and the sounds of people screaming her name overlapped each other and became loud ringing in her ears. The heat of her body was not cooled by the perspiration that slid down the skin of her neck and face, but instead served to suffocate her more as it dampened her clothes. Her limbs felt like lead weighing her down and even breathing became difficult to do.

Mila could feel her eyelids start to drop. Her manager’s arm tightened around her as her legs became weak, threatening to buckle under her weight.

How ironic, she thought. She came to the doctor’s to get better, but it looked like doing so was only going to make her health worse.

“Move out of the way! Get away!”

Mila stumbled as fans pushed into each other, before tripping over each other’s limbs and falling to the asphalt. There was more screaming and flashing cameras, but at least this time Mila was able to see the company van through the mob, just a few feet away. She could make it. She just had to hold on a little bit longer.

But she could feel herself slipping away, black spots covering her vision, her breaths short and shallow. She could vaguely hear the sound of her manager was opening the door, covering her back as she stepped into the vehicle and telling her something. But she couldn’t quite make out the words, his voice muffled like she was underwater and water was filling her ears. It took everything in her just to make the step into the backseat, before she was collapsing onto the leather seat.

The last thing Mila saw before she let her eyes fall shut was the sight of flashing cameras, against the tinted windows, and the screams of her name.

By the time Mila woke up, it was to the sound of muffled voices and the feeling of someone softly caressing her hair.

“What did the doctor say?” came Kiara’s voice.

A sigh that Mila recognised as her manager’s followed his question. “She’s feeling weak from over exertion. She has a Vitamin C deficiency, which is why she’s alway getting tired recently…”

Heeseung exhaled deeply through his nose. “And what about those people who crowded her at the doctor’s building? What happened to them?”

There was a pause. “You know we can’t do anything about them.”

“What sort of bullsh—”

Mila chose that moment to let her eyes flutter open to see Jongseong’s gentle eyes as they regarded her awakened state. “Hi, Angel.”

Mila groaned, unable to form words. Before she could say anything, Jongseong was being nudged aside by Heeseung, who took his place by her bedside, eyes full of worry as his hand gently cradled her face. In another situation. “How are you feeling? Are you hurt anywhere?”

Mila furrowed her eyebrows. Ah, Mila thought. Right. She had been mobbed by a group of fans at her doctor’s appointment, which the public should have even been aware of. She took a second to gather her surroundings: she was in her room and lying in bed, meaning she must have been carried inside. She still felt heavy, but at least the migraine from when she was being surrounded by manic fans had subsided. She could acutely feel pain in her limbs, but she brushed it off as being a side effect of overexerting herself.

She shook her head, smiling gently at the older male. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

Heeseung sighed in relief, before bidding his head. “Okay. Then gets me sleep, okay? I’ll be here with Jongseong if you need anything.”

Mila hummed. But she couldn’t muster the strength to reply. It didn’t even take a second after she closed her eyes before she fell into darkness again. But even then, she could still recognise the voices of her boyfriends and her eonnie as they spoke to each other.

“I should have gone with her…”

“You couldn’t have known what was going to happen, Heeseung-ah. Don’t blame yourself.”

Mila wanted to agree, to reassure him and let him know that he wasn’t to blame — that Mila was simply having a bad day. But she couldn’t. She was already fading into deep slumber before she could utter a word.

Mila was alone when she opened her eyes again. But she couldn’t feel upset about it — not when pain shot up her limbs when she tried to sit up, an ache spreading through her body. She winced, clutching her side, only to flinch back when the pressure caused another age of pain to shoot up her body.

“What even?” Mila cursed as she lifted her top, only to spot a large purple bruise blooming across her ribs. Figures. Her Vitamin C deficiency would have made her vulnerable to bruising, and the fan mobbing from earlier was more than enough stimulus to cause injury — what, with all the limbs falling everywhere as she tried to make her way through the crowd, barely conscious.

She pulled up her pyjama sleeve. More bruises. She pulled up the leg of her pants — and of course, there were even more. And when she looked at the spots, she could still feel the phantom touches lingering on her — especially the ones that had gotten too close for comfort. It was like there wasn’t a single part of her body that remained unaffected by the wondering hands of total strangers that were doing everything in their power to get as close as physically possible.

And for what? What could they have possibly gained from it? (She shuddered to think about what would happen if there was someone there with evil intentions.)

Mila sighed. She thought she would have been more frustrated… But she couldn’t even find the strength to do so. All she could do was lie back down on her pillows, staring up at the ceiling as she pondered her situation.

It seemed like nothing was going her way these past few days. She had back to back promotions to attend to, including filming for a variety show and a radio talk show, followed immediately by an opening event, and then another photoshoot for her brand endorsements. She barely managed to make it through the past week, but now the exhaustion she felt from constantly working, day in and day out, caught up to her, and she found herself unable to even lift a spoon without faltering.

It was frustrating. Not being able to do what she usually did, feeling helpless as she watched her boyfriends run around and attempt to assist her with duties that she should have been able to do on her own. But it was even more annoying after today, hearing Heeseung blame himself for something that was never his fault.

She wished that she hadn’t gotten sick in the first place. She wished that she’d have been more resilient. But now she was causing everyone to worry about her, and she didn’t even want to think about what would happen if they found out about the bruises that were littered across her skin.

“Who is it?” Mila squinted her eyes. She woke up in the middle of the night when she felt another figure slip into her bed, before arms wrapped around her. She smiled when she realised who it was. “It’s just me.”

“It’s just me,” Riki whispered. “The hyungs said not to disturb you but I missed you.”

Mila hummed as she reached up and caressed the top of the younger male’s head, doing her best to make sure his arms didn’t come into contact with her bruises. It had been a while since she was able to cuddle, and she admitted that she missed the warmth that the tall boy provided.

“Are you doing okay?”

Mila nodded, biting back a wince when Riki hugged her closer to him. “I’m fine.”

But it wasn’t. Not really. And there was only so long before it became obvious.

“Yah, what’s this?” Mila was jolted out of her thoughts when a hand grabbed her wrist, pulling up the sleeve of her jumper to reveal spots of blue littered across the length of her pale skin. Sunghoon’s eyebrows furrowed, his eyes snapping to Mila’s for an explanation. “Where did this come from?”

Mila had been careful not to let anyone see the injuries that she discovered on herself, and she had thought she would at least be able to keep up the act until they faded. But as it happened, it hadn’t even been a day. And really, she should have expected as much — nothing escaped her boyfriend’s notice when it came to her. It only took her flinching slightly when Sunghoon gently squeezed her bicep before his eyes had narrowed in suspicion.

Mila opened her mouth to explain, not wanting him to worry, but instead, she ended up getting cut off by someone else.

“What’s wrong?” Jungwon peered over Sunghoon’s shoulder, before gasping, his eyes widening in shock. They scanned over her skin before landing on Mila’s face. Voice shaking, he asked, “Noona, what are these?”

“I just got them from bumping into people,” Mila said hurriedly, recognising the tone in his voice. “It’s nothing serious.”

“‘Nothing serious?’” Sunghoon repeated incredulously as he joined the others. By now, the others had crowded around Mila to get a look at what was happening, and all had been in shock to see the bruises on Mila’s arm, before it then shifted into worry… and perhaps, maybe even fear.

Heeseung had a stern expression. He lifted her arm slightly, though still careful not to pull too hard or for his fingers to accidentally apply pressure to the purple spots. “This doesn’t seem ‘serious’ to you?” His eyes bore into Mila with a desperation evident in his gaze, serving as a thin veil to his anger. (Not towards her, though — and that was honestly more worrisome.) “Answer me properly: who did this?”

Mila opened her mouth and closed it again. She didn’t sense any anger in his voice or his tone, instead all she could find was panic — and the look made something in her gut drop with guilt. She could briefly see Riki’s conflicted expression from where he stood behind Heeseung, and Sunoo looked as if he had seen a ghost.

She felt hands on her face, bringing her attention back to Jongseong. “Please,” he said, “don’t hide this from us.”

Mila sighed. “I don’t know… There were just too many people there, and I didn’t know who was who…” The boys were silent as the words sunk in. “But it wouldn’t have been this bad if it weren’t for my Vitamin C deficit. It wasn’t that anyone intentionally hurt me or anything… I just happen to bruise easily these days.”

There was a pause. For a second, Mila thought she was going to be scolded, but instead, she was pulled into a firm chest, as a large palm cradled the back of her head. Jaeyun was careful not to hold her too tightly, but still firmly enough that Mila was engulfed in his warmth. “Damn it, don’t scare us like that.”

Heeseung sighed, reaching up to hold a hand against his forehead. Jungwon glanced at him before looking back at Mila. “Next time, please don’t hide this from us,” he said with a frown. “I honestly thought my heart stopped for a second.”

Sunoo furrowed his eyebrows, his worried eyes skimming over Mila’s revealed skin. There weren’t any words to describe how much his heart hurt seeing Mila’s sickened state these past few days, but seeing those bruises had caused his heart to drop in his stomach in fear — a fear he recognised on the day they got the news of the mob who crowded her on her way back from her doctor’s appointment.

He wasn’t the only one, either. They had all reached a similar conclusion: What if someone really got their hands her that day? What if they hurt her? What if — goodness forbid — she had been alone that day and didn’t have anyone by her side? No bodyguards, no manager, no members… Just her against a mob of crazed “fans” who would do anything to be close to her, no matter the lengths they had to take?

For a second, Jongseong really thought he was going to lose all control of his sanity. He couldn’t even imagine Heeseung or Sunghoon’s feelings; just the news alone of the fan mob was enough to make them clench his fists in anger, as if ready to strike — but if something were to actually happen? If things turned out worse than they did?

Jongseong didn’t want to think about it.

“Still, how could it be this bad?” Sunoo asked. “You look like someone…”

It looked like someone had hit her. And that thought alone made him sick to the stomach, and his eyes sting with tear.

“I promise that wasn’t the case. Really. The worse that happened was someone grabbing onto my arm, but manager pulled me away before anything happened.” Mila raised her arms, and he fell into them immediately. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“Don’t apologise.” Riki placed a hand on Mila’s head like he was too scared that she might break with the slightest touch. “We just want you to be okay.”

Mila nodded. She looked around at her boyfriends, a sense of heaviness in her chest. It hurt more seeing them this heartbroken, than it did to be bruised, and she really wished they never had to experience sadness in their lives. But it was only natural that these things happened. At the very least, they were together.

“Group hug?” Mila asked, opened her arms to the rest of them. They looked sceptical at first, clearly wondering over the severity of her injuries, but Mila reassured them with a smile. “I promise I’ll tell you if it hurts.”

That seems to ease their worries, because next thing Mila knew, she was being held in the centre of seven boys. She only wished Kiara was with them, to complete the Enhypen group huddle, but the older female was filling in for a schedule that Mila had to miss because of her illness. (She would have to inform the older girl later of what happened, if only to prevent her for panicking if she got the report from anyone else.)

“It won’t happen again,” Heeseung whispered into her ears. “I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you, okay?”

Mila smiled. “I know.”

“None of us will,” Sunghoon said. “That’s a promise.”

It was impossible for her to live as an idol, and to be safe. This was the first or last time she would find herself in a situation like this. But somehow, she felt like she could believe them when they said it with so much conviction. And if she could, she would do her best to protect them as well.

“We’ll look after each other,” she said. Just as they always did.

By the time they pulled away from the hug, she was already being ‘treated’, watching with a small smile as their young leader blew on her bruises, placing gentle kisses along them. “So they get better,” Jungwon said with a cute smile, and Mila felt her heart melt.

“Let me, too!” Riki said, before repeating the same actions. His hyungs simply chuckled, watching with fond smiles as their maknaes took turns playing nurse.

Mila couldn’t say that the past few days were good ones. But at times like this, things didn’t seem so bad after all.

✉️ NOTE. just a little mini chapter that came to mind… it was more of practice to get back into writing longer works, bc i’ve only done drabbles so far since recovering my account and i cooks had the training lol 😆 so please do excuse if the quality isn’t as good as usual 🥸

LOVE & WAR

𓈒 ◯ 𓏸 ﹒ 🏹 ﹒ ⌣⌣

────   ꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ mila and her men enter a new era with an old case of jealousy.

2023 ❪ dark blood ❫ ✶ poly!ot7엔하 x fem!member oc ୨୧ jealousy, possessiveness, suggestive themes, nud1ty & implied s3xual content ❪ between red text — skip if uncomfortable ❫ ; not proofread

TO APPRECIATE THE WORDS, “All is fair in love and war,” required an understanding of the simple but harsh truth that neither love nor war were ever fair.

It had been almost a year since Enhypen’s last comeback. It was a considerable break in an industry where artists were expected to release singles upon albums upon repackages every time the seasons changed, lest they lost the eye of the public. But even in that time where things should have come to a standstill, the world still spun, and life for the members continued to move forward: they held their very first world tour, they celebrated two years since the release of ‘Given-Taken,’ and they toasted to their beloved leader Jungwon’s coming-of-age.

They were in their era of milestones.

Then, they were in their era of ‘Dark Blood.’

When the comeback briefing had come and gone, Mila spent her days doing anything she could to think about it as little as possible. It was at that time that she learned what it was like to be consumed from inside-out, the same way rot would corrupt a once sweet fruit.

Everyone had gotten it wrong, Mila thought. Her heart was not gold, but was instead blackened by jealousy and possessiveness. And while it once hid itself behind the cage within her chest, it didn’t take much for it to be exposed for its true colours:

1) Her lovers would be dancing with other women ― hands on their waists, and chests to their partner’s backs.

2) Her lovers would be acting with other women, sharing tender moments and “I love you”s that were only meant to be reserved for each other.

If Mila from two years ago could see herself today, she would tell her: Perfect love does not envy.

But if Mila from today could see herself from two years ago, she would tell her: I’m only human. Nothing I do is perfect.

IT WAS WINTER. As the snow started to fall, Enhypen were on the rise with comeback preparations.

They would do their best to make this their best comeback they ever had, because they, their company, and most internally their fans, wouldn’t except any less. There was no excuse for them that could justify letting down their Engenes. That was what they agreed on.

But Mila was realising that all the talk she had done to prepare for this moment was useless when the time finally came.

“Heeseung-ssi and Yuri-ssi are getting really good now…”

Mila turned to the pair that her partner mentioned, eyes following their every movement as they rehearsed in front of the choreographer. She watched with thinly veiled surprise as Heeseung positioned himself with his partner. He didn’t have any hesitation in his movements or hers as they moved to the beat, executing their moves with a smoothness and synchrony that could only be described through their chemistry.

“Come to me again, tie me…”

His hand effortlessly found her waist, and in one smooth movement, she leant back for the sweep, with Heeseung strength clearly providing the needed support.

“If you are going to save me, just come kiss me and bite me… It’s you and me in this world…”

Mila watched as they then did the second part of the chorus, with Heeseung’s partner comfortably leaning back against his chest. 

“In this darkness light me… if you’ll give me a chance…”

Heeseung’s partner placed her hand under his chin, slowly raising him up, and while maintaining full eye contact with each other the whole time.

“Just come kiss me and bite me…”

Immediately after the music finished, there was a round of applause from the other dancers. Mila, on the other hand, remained frozen, unable to say a word, even as the others gave their own encouragement to the duo. A blank room took over where her mind was supposed to be. What was there to say? They were just… perfect.

So why was she so bitter?

Mila was barely listening as the choreographer began to praise Heeseung and his partner again, watching as the two shared a shy smile with each other. She blinked. But the image didn’t go away. They still had that look on their eyes. They looked satisfied, they looked comfortable ― they looked… close.

So that was chemistry between a dancer and their partner?

At that moment, Heeseung’s eyes broke away from his partner. Mila froze as they landed on her. His smile widened upon seeing her, his eyes glittering with mirth. And at times like this, she should return it with a smile of her own, right?

Mila did just that. But somehow, it didn’t feel as easy as it usually was. Heeseung must have thought the same, because his smile faltered a little bit, a flicker of worry appearing in the depth of his doe eyes. Mila didn’t know whether to be grateful or not that his partner had distracted him just then with a gentle pat on his arm, but she took advantage of it to turn away.

She couldn’t wait to get this over with.

Mila sighed as she leaned against the nearest wall. She slid down, mimicking the motion of a raindrop falling down a glass window, until she was sitting on the floor next to Riki. The room was cool, and the choreography was not exhaustive (it was definitely less of a workout than their previous title track, anyway), but her track pants and cropped hoodie drew the heat from her body, coating her skin in a thin layer of sweat.

She reached out for her bottle. It was too far. 

Mila whined in childish protest. Looking at the back of Jongseong’s head, who was closest to it, Mila called out to him a sweet tone reserved for her men. “Oppa~”

There was nothing unusual about it. The dancers quickly learned the mannerisms of the Enhypen members after spending so much time together in the dance rooms, Mila’s affectionate intonations included. No one would have bat an eye if it weren’t for the fact that, as well as Jongseong ― who was the only one of the hyung line left in the room ― Minjun, her dance partner, had also turned around upon hearing her call. 

“Yeah?” they asked in complete unison.

Jongseong’s head whipped towards Minjun so quickly that he could have almost dislocated it. His silence was louder than the crack of a whip. He squared his shoulder subconsciously, stood straighter, and raised his chin. Minjun exchanged a look with him, but didn’t seem to assess a threat, as he turned back to Mila with curious eyes.

Mila’s eyes darted between the two. Well, this was awkward. “Sorry,” she said, “I meant Jay-oppa…”

“Ah.” Minjun nodded understandingly.

He turned around without a second thought. But Jongseong was the opposite, opting to stare a little longer at his back, as if assessing a threat. Then he finally turned and looked back at Mila, his eyebrows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

Mila pointed at her bottle, and Jongseong wordlessly grabbed it for her before passing it to her outstretched hand. She mouthed a small, ‘Sorry.’ A million questions were written all over Jongseong’s face, but he sighed and shook his head, not voicing any of them while there were still people around them. 

Riki, on the other hand, was far less subtle.

“‘Oppa’?” he repeated incredulously, his voice rising in tone. “‘Oppa’?”

Mila glared at him. Fortunately, the chatter of the other dancers covered their conversation from any ears that weren’t meant to hear them.

“Who is? Your partner?” Riki raised a questioning brow when Mila sheepishly avoided his gaze. He tilted his head in disbelief. “Wah. I didn’t know you were all buddy-buddy now…”

Mila opened her bottle cap. “It was supposed to help us build our chemistry,” she explained. “We agreed that it would feel less awkward if we spoke comfortably.”

Riki scoffed. “He must be really comfortable if he thought you were asking for him when you were calling for Jay-hyung.”

Mila swallowed a mouthful of water, elbowing Riki on the arm. “It was an honest mistake. It was my bad for not calling Jay-oppa by name ― I totally forgot we agreed to it.”

Riki shook his head. He took an aggressive shot of his water like it was a bottle of liquor, and he was drinking his sorrows away in a pub. “Do you need to use his name? Anyone would know from your tone. What made him think you would call him that sweetly?”

Mila scrunched her nose. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“That’s what you think,” Riki stressed. “Just wait until the hyungs find out. They’ll have a field day with this.”

Capping her bottle again, Mila stared silently at Riki. Her eyes bore into the side of her face like a drill. But he ignored her gaze, turning his face away from her, even as she poked his side for his attention. Mila only laughed, not feeling offended by his cold shoulder treatment in the slightest. (He really was too cute when he was sulking.)

“Riki~” Mila sang softly as she leaned her chin on his shoulder, smiling when he allowed her to wrap her arms around his. “You’re so cute.” She nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder. When she received no response, she reached down to intertwine her hands with his and whispered teasingly, “Are you jealous?”

Riki scoffed. He turned to face her, his face just centimetres away from hers. “No,” he denied strongly, his features set in a stony expression. “Of him? Why would I be?”

Mila hummed. “Really? Okay. I got it.” She let go of Riki’s hand, ignoring his confused expression. “Then in that case, I should go see if Minjun-oppa wants to get extra practice in.”

Before Mila could stand up, Riki’s larger hand found hers and pulled her back down with a determined tug. She fell with an “oof,” her butt hitting the floor first. She gave Riki a questioning look, only to find that he was looking away from her. If she looks closely, however, she could see the reddish tint on his ears and the small pout on his lips.

“What’s the rush?” he asked gruffly. “You only just got on break. Don’t overdo it.”

A wide smile broke out on Mila’s face, and she giggled girlishly as she leaned into Riki’s side. It was hard not to pamper him when he was acting so adorably.

“Do you want bungeoppang on the way home?” Mila asked in a tone that resembled the way one would coo at a cute puppy. “I’ll buy some for you, okay?”  When he didn’t respond, she shook his arm. “Hm?” Again, he didn’t respond. She pouted. “Yahhh, don’t ignore me. I’ll be upset.”

Mila wouldn’t have lasted another second doing aegyo for anyone else without cringing at herself. But desperate times called for desperate measures. And if there was one thing she was good at, it was finding a way to put smiles on people’s faces.

Riki let out a loud laugh, unable to contain his amusement. “What are you doing?” he asked. He used his free hand to pinch her cheek teasingly, stretching it out like a marshmallow. On his face was that boyish smile of his that always made her giddy. “You’re so cheesy.”

Even so, Mila was acutely aware of the way his grip tightened on her hand. Mission: successful.

At that moment, Heeseung and Jaeyun walked into the room after returning from their bathroom break. (Why they felt the need to go to the bathroom together, she had no idea ― but she never asked.)

She made eye contact with Heeseung. She spared a small smile, and he gave on in return. She then lowered her head to play with Riki’s fingers in her lap.

Heeseung had always been good at handling his emotions, and expected the same from others ― especially in a professional setting. His favourite saying was to keep his personal life separate from work. It was better she didn’t get in his way with her unnecessary feelings of jealousy aimed at his partner like one of Cupid’s lead arrows.

It wasn’t that deep, she told herself. She would get over it.

MILA WAS A LOT OF THINGS. But alone wasn’t one of them ― and especially not in her feelings.

When Enhypen arrived back at the dorms from their dance rehearsal, Mila collapsed on the couch. Jungwon took a seat next to her head, giggling as he brushed away the strands of hair that fell across Mila’s face.

“You and your partner seemed to be getting along well,” Kiara said, taking a sip of her water from the kitchen. She and the others had watched from the back wall as Mila and Minjun practised during their breaks, observing the way his hand would wind its way towards her lower back without issue ― casually, even.

Jaeyun laughed dryly. “That’s one way of putting it…” He took a long sip of his water. During the rehearsal, he never once broke his gaze on the hand that was on Mila’s waist. It only darkened as Mila’s partner used his grip to hold her closer towards him, the intimacy of their stance only intensified when Mila’s hands went around his neck. He grumbled, “I’d say they’re really friendly now.”

“Are you guys speaking casually?” Sunghoon asked, his eyes on Mila’s languid figure, which was curled on the couch like a cat.

“They are,” Jongseong said, entering the conversation smoothly. The incident from before still ran through his mind ― the way Minjun had seemingly thought Mila was asking for him when she had called out, “Oppa,” ever so sweetly. He didn’t mention it to the others, but it was still very much playing on repeat in his head like a broken record.

“Mila said it’s to help them be less awkward,” Riki said.

“That’s right,” Mila agreed.

Sunoo hummed. He remembered the way Mila placed her hand under Minjun’s chin, maintaining complete eye contact with their faces not too far apart. “It definitely worked the way you wanted it to. Their chemistry is really good now compared to when we first started out. It’s amazing.”

Sunghoon’s hand clenched into a fist and unclenched again. He had found it difficult to even look in their direction as they rehearsed ― let alone discussing them in the comfort of their own home. Were they really going to talk so casually about their girl’s chemistry with another man? Because that was a conversation he would rather not have.

Jungwon didn’t say a word, opting to simply listen to his other members as he continued to play with Mila’s hair. At times like this, it was better for him to act as Jungwon, rather than the leader of Enhypen ― they didn’t need someone to bring down the hammer on them right now, they just needed an outlet to voice their feelings.

“Well the choreographer wanted that from all of us,” Mila pointed out.

“But it’s amazing how much you improved. Your chemistry is as good as Heeseungie and Yuri-ssi now.” Kiara glanced at the said male out of the corner of her eye. “Right?”

Heeseung’s eyes didn’t leave Mila’s figure on the couch, his arms crossed against his chest as he took a seat on one of the benches at the counter. “Is that right…?”

Mila had barely even looked in his direction for the majority of the day ― much less spoke to him. And while he could have ignored it if she were doing it out of professionalism, Mila had no trouble interacting with the others. He had been waiting to catch her when they were alone, but he had no luck because they were constantly surrounded by others throughout the whole day.

He probably would have been more upset if he didn’t realise why. 

“Does it make you that happy?” Jungwon asked, the kitten’s face scrunching up in displeasure. “It looks like you had a lot of fun with your partner…”

Mila pursed her lips. “It’s not that I think it’s fun… I just rather have fun with it than be stressed.” She smiled at them. “So don’t worry about it, okay? There’s nothing else to it other than work.”

“But what about you?” Jungwon pouted. “Aren’t you upset?”

Mila didn’t dare meet any of the stares directed at her. She didn’t know what to tell them.

Did they want to see her burn up in envy ― to become consumed by the flames of jealousy that wanted nothing more to consume and possess? She would rather not. Those who played with fire would only be burnt, and she would rather burn alone than to drag her loved ones into the fire with her.

“What’s there to be upset about? We’re just doing what we agreed to do ― our best.” Before anyone could say anything, Mila stood from the couch, taking advantage of an escape route before someone else blocked it off. “If no one else is going, I’ll use the shower first. Is that okay?”

There was a chorus of “okay” and “go ahead,” before Mila nodded and skipped away.

“She doesn’t look bothered at all,” Sunghoon said, crossing his arms over his chest. It was a rare sight to see their resident ‘Ice Prince’ sulking ― but Mila always did bring out new sides to them. He didn’t think that they would be the only ones struggling with their feelings this comeback. (And he was completely right, even if he didn’t know it.)

“That’s because you didn’t see her when you weren’t looking,” Sunoo stated with a knowing smile as he looked in the direction that Mila disappeared in. They could hear her faintly humming sound of their new title track as she entered the bathroom. “She would always look at us whenever we were practising alone with our partners and then sulk about it quietly before getting her partner to practise with her as a distraction. She is jealous. She just doesn’t want to make a big deal about it.”

The boys let the words sink in. They could always count on Sunoo to be able to read between the lines. Their girlfriend wasn’t a closed book, but she did have times where it became difficult to see what was going on inside her head. It just went to show that no matter how well they understood each other, there were bound to be some things that only they knew about themselves.

“Sunoo’s right,” Heeseung said, remembering their first real interaction during rehearsals today.

“Okay,” the choreographer said, clapping his hands. “Heeseung and Mila, you’re up.”

Heeseung got to his feet, walking towards the girl without wasting another second. Mila paused as she watched him approach. She had totally forgotten about their duet in the bridge ― it was just her luck that they would be having a duet together in the choreography as well. How awkward was that, considering she barely even looked his way?

“Why?” Heeseung asked with a smirk, seeing her stand like a deer in headlights. He leaned down to her face level as he passed by, eyes holding a teasing glint in them. “You don’t want me?” He leaned in closer. “Then should I call your partner over instead?”

Mila scrunched her nose, looking away with him with a pout. “I should be asking you that.” She crossed her arms. “Why don’t you ask if you can dance with your partner instead?”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, surprised by Mila’s words. The light in his eyes flickered. They scanned her face, as if searching for something. Mila didn’t know what it was that he was looking for, but she did know that it was awfully hard to ignore him when every little part of her reacted to his mere presence. Like a compass searching for North, she always seemed to find herself seeking him out. This time, though, she was determined not to falter.

Heeseung chuckled in realisation, before reaching up and gently stroking her cheek. She always made it so difficult not to spoil her with affection, with how easily she endeared herself to him — even when trying to give him the cold shoulder. “What do I do with you?”

Mila’s eyes widened at the feeling of his palm on her face. She turned to him, shocked. But she didn’t get to utter a word before he casually stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked away.

She stared after his retreating figure. It wasn’t like him to show such affection at times like this, when they were required to be completely professional. Least of all in front of other people. So what had gotten into him all of a sudden?

Shaking her head, Mila joined Heeseung by his side as the choreographer explained their part together – but maintaining a small distance, like an invisible wall was standing between them. “Mila, you’re going to put your hand under his chin like you do during the chorus. Then you’ll walk to the centre here, with your hand on his shoulder. And during your line, ‘Please connect me again,’ you’ll run your hands down his chest from behind him. Do you understand?”

Mila blinked as he watched the choreographer’s demonstration. “Ah– Yes, I understand.”

But run her hands down his chest from behind? Mila turned to Heeseung, who was already staring at her, that same lopsided smirk on his face. She quickly looked away, walking over to her position as she avoided his gaze. They really knew what they were doing when they gave her that part with Heeseung of all people ― there was no doubt in Mila’s mind that he would take advantage of the choreography to fluster her as much as possible.

And she was right.

As the choreographer counted out the beats for them to follow, Mila did as she was told, placing her hand under Heeseung’s chin to prepare for their moment together. His eyes were on her from the moment they were across from each other, never once breaking their gaze, as if Mila had him under a spell. Captivated.

She swallowed thickly. As Mila reached around Heeseung from behind, his hands suddenly shot out to seize hers, capturing them in his grasp. Mila looked towards the mirror in surprise at the sudden action — silently questioning the older male. Her breath caught in her chest as she made eye contact with Heeseung through their reflection.

A beat.

After seeing that her eyes were solely focused on him, he threw his head back, eyes closed, while his hands guided hers.

Another beat.

Under the palms of his calloused hands, Mila’s slender fingers glided down the planes of his firm chest, the familiar feeling of his muscles mapped out under the tips of her fingers. She could feel his body heat through the thin fabric of his shirt, and her own skin became warm in return, as if the room was a heated sauna. 

Another beat.

Then all too soon, it was over. With one final, gentle squeeze, Heeseung loosened his grip on her hands, before moving onto the next part of the choreography flawlessly. Mila walked to her next position with her head in the clouds.

Actions often spoke louder than words, and Heeseung’s were clearer than ever: You’re the only one who gets to do this.

Why was Mila upset at him again? She suddenly couldn’t remember.

“Really?” Jaeyun asked, running a hand through his hair after tossing his cap onto the coffee table in front of him. He leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling in deep thought ― as if trying to revisit today, and see all the signs he missed. “I didn't notice it…”

“Of course you didn’t,” Kiara interjected with a knowing voice. She sounded like one of those pretentious students in a classroom who knew every answer to the teacher’s question, with the way she admonished Jaeyun for his own lack of awareness. “You were too busy glaring at her partner to see anything else.”

“Didn’t you see how close they were?” Jaeyun argued, as if offended that someone would hold as much accusation in their voice towards him as Kiara did. “This is my girl we’re talking about ― of course I’m going to glare at any guy who gets that close to her.”

Kiara rolled her eyes. “We were all close to our partners today. You guys are just overprotective.”

“No we’re not,” they replied in unison. But even they didn’t sound too convinced by their own words. 

Kiara raised an eyebrow. Still, she didn’t say a word. It was better to let them figure these things out themselves ― she couldn’t be the only one among them with a brain. Shaking her head, she excused herself to go to her and Mila’s shared room, leaving the boys to their own thoughts.

“By the way, Heeseung-hyung is really lucky,” Jungwon suddenly said. “He gets to have a duet with Noona ― and a really romantic one, too.”

“Rather than ‘romantic,’ I think ‘sensual’ is a better word for it,” Jongseong replied with an awkward laugh. When they observed the two during practice, the way Heeseung ran Mila’s hands down his chest evoked the image of a passionate tango worthy of a place in a Moulin Rouge production. (Then again, it was probably because Heeseung had a way of making even the most mundane things seem suggestive in nature. His concert clips were proof of that.)

Riki seemed to agree. “That’s because he always goes over the top with fanservice. Unless…” Riki turned to Heeseung. “Hyung, are you just always that horny on stage?”

The older males looked at their youngest with wide eyes. “Yah, who taught you that word?” Jaeyun asked incredulously. “It wasn’t me, was it?”

Riki rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I’m a minor, not a kid. Of course I know these things.”

Heeseung cleared his throat awkwardly. The tips of his ears reddened like he was some innocent schoolboy exposed to conversations about sexual intimacy for the first time. “That’s still not something you should ask that casually….”

Sunoo and Riki exchanged looks, finding joy at their matthyung’s expense.

“I think it’s because it’s Noona he’s paired with, he wanted to make it as authentic as possible,” Jungwon pointed out, coming to Heeseung’s defence. The young leader sighed. He leaned back on the couch, fiddling with the cushion in his lap like he was with Mila’s hair not long ago. “I wish I had a part with Noona… I want to have my moment with her too.”

Since he just became an adult, he had been eager for chances to prove himself as more than just another dongsaeng to her. Dark Blood seemed like the perfect opportunity, given the concept. It was just too bad he wasn’t able to get a duet.

“There are still the concept photos, though,” Jongseong pointed out, comforting his favourite dongsaeng with a stroke to the top of his fluffy head. “You could be paired up with her for one of the shoots.”

“And the trailer!” Sunoo added. “We still don’t know what exactly to expect for that.”

Riki, Sunghoon, and Jungwon had been training diligently for the past month, and everyone was getting prepared for their first day of filming for the trailer in a week. They were told they would receive more details about the trailer on the day, when the director would run through the scenes with them as they filmed. But Jaeyun rubbed his chin in thought. He could remember the words the director had given them about the trailer’s contents during their briefing.

“But Sunghoon will have a few scenes with the actress right?” Jaeyun pointed out. “And we will probably have some as well… Will Mila be okay with that?”

The boys went silent as they exchanged looks, the sound of Mila’s shower playlist being the only sound in the room.

That was a good question.

“Mimi-yah, are you awake?”

Mila poked her head out from under her blankets, where she was currently curled up into a ball, as if it would hide her from the world and her problems. She hadn’t come out of her room since she finished showering, and the others started to take turns in and out of the bathroom, leaving her to her lonesome under the assumption that she fell asleep. But of course, Sunoo ― who knew her better than perhaps she knew herself ― would be the one to know better.

Mila perked up instantly after hearing the familiar voice. “I’m awake. You can come in!”

The door opened slightly and Sunoo poked his head inside, eyes landing on Mila as she looked up at him from her bed. He giggled, slipping into the room and gently closing the door behind him. With a smile, he approached her bedside with the giddiness of a teenage girl in love. Mila lifted the blanket, wordlessly inviting him to join her.

“Jake-hyung saw your Mini-Yun on the couch,” Sunoo said as she slipped into Mila’s bed, smiling when she snuggled closer to him, nuzzling her nose into his neck.

“He deserves to sleep on the couch tonight.”

Mila would never tell one of the boys to sleep on the couch — and there was no need to, considering they didn’t share a bed with her. But placing their representative plushies was the equivalent of that. So when the puppy plush resembling Jaeyun (the ‘Mini-Yun’) appeared on the couch, the golden retriever-boy naturally sulked about it to the others.

“I kept telling him not to use my lotion,” Mila muttered.

Mila never understood why Jaeyun felt the need to use her skincare items, when he could care less about those things. Sunoo laughed. (Because he knew that the reason Jaeyun kept taking her moisturising products was that he had grown addicted to her scent — and especially when it was combined with his own. But what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, right?)

Sunoo raised a hand, before patting Mila on the back, much like one would do when putting a baby to sleep. Mila leaned over to place a kiss on his cheek, before laying her head back down on her pillow so that they were facing each other. Under the blanket, she rubbed circles into his lower back.

It was always like this when they were alone. As if they were two baby animals curling around each other to give warmth and comfort to ensure the night.

“Why are you upset?” Sunoo asked gently. “Is it because of the comeback?” 

“Not at the comeback itself. Just…” Mila sighed as she leaned her head on her pillow so she and Sunoo were staring into each other’s eyes. His eyes flickered to her pouting lips, his eyes lighting up at her unusual display of sulkiness. “I don’t get it. The group has two girls— why couldn’t one of us act as Sooha in the trailer?”

Sunoo hummed, signalling that he was listening. So she had been thinking about the concept trailer, after all…

“I mean— I’ve been praised for my acting before.”

Sunoo nodded in agreement. “Of course.”

“So, why not me?” Mila asked. “I’m sure I could do well if they gave me a chance! And me, you, Sunghoonie-oppa and the others are already close, so we don’t have to worry about awkwardness or chemistry on screen. Why else would you have girls in the group, if you’re not going to use them to save you the effort of hiring actresses?”

“That’s right,” Sunoo said with a nod, like the good boyfriend he was. “That makes more sense.”

“Exactly! I could have done a great job as Sooha! But instead, I’ll probably have to act like a villain.” Mila huffed, reaching up to play with Sunoo’s cheek, watching the soft skin bounce when she poked it, the image of a mochi ball in her mind overlapping with his face. “No one ever likes a villain.”

“That’s not true,” Sunoo refuted immediately. “Remember Strong Woman Namsoon? Everyone loves the villain in there! Oh— and the Tale of the Nine-tailed! Lee Rang was your favourite character!”

Mila sighed. “That’s different.” She scrunched her nose. “No one likes a female villain who gets in the way of the main character’s love story!” She flopped onto her back. “Just look at my character in Dark Moon! She’s the typical mean girl character. When has that ever worked out in Kdramas? Those second female leads always get dragged by watchers!”

“But our Engenes love you!” Sunoo reassured her. It was a fact that Mila was adored by her fans. They went crazy whenever she breathed — there was no way they wouldn’t love her in the trailer. “They won’t hate you over a role. Knowing them, they would probably go crazy over you acting as a bad girl!”

Mila giggled. “I guess you’re right.” Sunoo hummed, clearly satisfied that he was able to comfort her. She looked up at him with bright eyes, turning to face him again. Her hands cupped his cheeks as if she were holding a national treasure. “You’re so cute.”

“I am, aren’t I?” The two smiled at each other, and Sunoo wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. “What about the dance? How do you feel about that?”

Mila hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I think I’m slowly getting used to it... I can get over it — and it’s not like you guys don’t have to deal with watching me be close to other men.”

Mila paused. She then bit her lip, as if pondering whether or not she should say something. But before she could, Sunoo stopped her.

“Don’t.” Sunoo’s face was set in a serious expression, his eyes and voice firm. “Don’t compare us to that— it’s not the same. We chose to love you together, and we’ve learnt to make it work. That doesn’t mean you should feel bad about feeling jealous when we’re with other women.”

Mila frowned. “Still…” She sighed as she pressed her face into Sunoo’s neck. “If I can love more than one person, you should be able to as well. That’s what’s fair.”

Sunoo hummed. “Maybe. But we didn’t choose to make this relationship work because it’s ‘fair.’ We did it because we love you — no one else. We did it because we want you to be happy.”

“I want you to be happy,” Mila replied quietly.

“We already are.” Sunoo smiled. “You’re enough for us. So don’t sell yourself short.”

Mila pursed her lips. She nodded, closing her eyes as she breathed in Sunoo’s delicious scent as he continued to whisper sweet nothings into her ear. And maybe she didn’t believe everything he said, but if there was one thing she agreed with him on, it was that love wasn’t fair at all. Theirs, least of all.

WHEN IT CAME TIME TO SHOOT THE CONCEPT TRAILER, Mila shook like a leaf. Not just because of the nerves, but because of the cold. On days like this, the last thing she wanted to be doing was trekking through snow and ice. It was only by some ironic twist of fate that she found herself approaching a frozen lake overlain with flakes of falling snow.

One take turned into two, and two takes turned into three more. But every time she found herself on the ice, she only travelled one step further than the last attempt, before she was slipping and landing harshly on the solid ice.

By the time Mila successfully shot her scene, she was ready to kiss the next patch of dirt she saw. 

“Thank you for your work.” Mila bowed towards the director and staff. “And your patience.”

The director chuckled, patting Mila on the shoulder. “I should be thanking you. Because of your tenacity, we’ll have really good shots in the trailer. Good work.” He then turned to one of the staff. “Okay, let’s start moving back to the forest clearing. We’ll take the scenes between Sunghoon, Jiwon, and the others while the snow is still here.”

Mila pursed her lips. She turned, facing the girl she had been anxious to meet the past few days, offering a polite nod. “Thank you as well, Jiwon-ssi. I wish you the best of luck for the rest of your scenes.”

The actress bowed her head respectfully at Mila’s well-wishes, offering a gentle “thank you” in return. Mila took the gesture as an invitation to leave — and so she did, all but running from the girl like a criminal making a getaway from a crime scene.

Let there be no mistake. Mila could find no fault in her co-actress. Rather, the girl was like the snow that Mila struggled to make peace with for the entire day: pure, soft, and oh so pretty; yet altogether dangerous. Just staying in her presence was enough to make Mila think just a bit too much — of the role she would be playing, of the things she would be doing, of what that meant for Mila and the boys…

Mila sighed. Leaving was the best choice for everyone. Envy already dug its claws into her chest and seized a part of her heart. She had to guard the rest of it before it was completely lost to the green-eyed mosnter’s clutches.

But even as Mila ran, it seemed to catch up to her.

“How did the filming go for the others?” Mila asked her fellow female member as she entered the trailer. (The two of them shared a similar fate in the trailer as anigbuous side characters, who were neither part of the group, nor apart from them. And so, neither were needed in the group shots with the others.)

Kiara looked at her with a mixture of uncertainty. As if not sure whether to comfort her with lies, or to hurt her with the truth. So, she gave her the choice. “I took a video of the monitor, if you want to watch.”

Mila would later blame curiosity for killing the cat. But really, all she had to blame was herself. She shouldn’t have agreed to watch the video, should have continued to ignore what she knew would only upset her. Yet, she didn’t look away from the screen. Not once.

Not when Jay held another girl to his chest, and not when he was ‘bitten’ by her on the neck. Not when Sunghoon and her had been so close to having their lips meet. Not even when “My love,” was uttered from her lips. 

She sat there and watched it all like a masochist. Only when the video ended did she decide that she had enough.

She regretted it for the rest of the day.

Mila wanted to spend her night peacefully, but of course fate had different plans.

She just pressed play on her shower playlist when Sunghoon wordlessly invited himself inside the bathroom.

Mila blinked. She stepped aside for him to enter, hiding behind the door as Sunghoon walked in, his expression unreadable as worn script carved in eroding rock. She closed the door behind him, still clutching the towel to her body. But as he looked at her over his shoulder, their bodies pressed together in the small space of the bathroom, he could make out the familiar right of her red peony tattoo peeking just above her towel.

Mila turned around slowly after the lock clicked into place. A flush decorated her skin, reddened by the heat of the steam filling the room and the realisation of her exposed state before Sunghoon. (It wasn’t as if they hadn’t seen each other in less — but that didn’t make Mila any less shy now.) After a day of little to no interaction, they were now alone like this? What was she supposed to do?

“There’s no point waiting all night for you to finish using the bathroom. Let’s just shower together,” he said nonchalantly as he hung his towel on the rack.

“I wouldn’t have taken that long,” Mila muttered. But she didn’t refuse his request, earning a small smile from Sunghoon as he pulled the hem of his shirt up, revealing his toned abdomen, lined with muscle that bespoke hours of dedication to his discipline and the gym.

Mila turned her back to him, giving him some privacy as he undressed. (What privacy was there between two lovers in a bathroom, dressing down to their bare skin? Mila didn’t know. She didn’t know a lot of things, really, when she was left alone with Sunghoon — including how to think.) 

She opened the shower door, steam hitting her face as she reached a hand out to feel the temperature of the water. “It’s hot.”

Sunghoon hummed. “That’s fine.”

Mila could hear the sound of a zip coming undone just as she reached up to undo her towel. She took in a shaky breath as she pulled it away from her body, leaving her bare to the heat from the shower and the gaze that landed on her back. She stepped under the scalding water, sighing as it ran down her body.

“Is it nice?” Sunghoon’s voice came from the other side of the glass.

Mila hummed pleasantly, the sound reverberating off the walls of the bathroom along with the sound of running water. It was followed by the sound of the shower door opening as Mila reached for the bottle of shower gel to her right.

Sunghoon didn’t say a word as he walked up behind Mila, his chest to her back. The water that ran down from his head to the floor of the shower was hot against his skin, burning the coldness out of him. He sighed as he braced his arms on either side of her, caging her against the shower wall from behind. 

Mila giggled as she lathered shower gel onto her skin with a scrub, an explosion of bubbles bursting across her arms, shoulders and chest. “Aren’t you going to wash up?”

Sunghoon hummed. “Just let me stay like this for a bit… I barely got to see you today.” 

He closed his eyes as he leaned down, his head hovering over her shoulder, where the fragrance of strawberries and vanilla lingered on her skin. He practically inhaled it — getting high off the addicting scent that he had been missing all day long.

“Oppa,” Mila whined, looking over her shoulder, her cheeks bright as the strawberries she smelled like. “You’re supposed to be washing up, not smelling me.”

Sunghoon chuckled. He reached out to smooth a hand down her bare waist, smiling in content when she shuddered under his touch. “You didn’t miss me today?” he said in her ear, his thumb drawing circles on her hip bone.

Mila bit her lip, suppressing a sigh at his gentle, lingering touches. It took everything inside not to melt against his firm chest like ice cream, to stop her legs from turning into jelly. “You seemed fine on your own… I mean, it’s not like you didn’t have company.”

Sunghoon’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mila huffed as she turned around to face him, a stern look on her face — and yet Sunghoon couldn’t help but think she looked adorable. A wry smirk tugged at his lips when she roughly poked his chest. It was like watching a bunny try to intimidate a snow leopard. But he indulged in her cute attempt at dominance, if only to admire the puff of her cheeks and her pouty lips for a little longer.

“You guys get along really well, don’t you?” Mila asked. Oh right, Sunghoon thought. They were in the middle of discussing why she was so distant today — but why was that, again? He got distracted. (It was Mila’s fault.) “I heard that the director even said you had the best chemistry together.”

Sunghoon let out a sound that sounded like a cross between a scoff and a laugh. He was both in disbelief and in amusement. So that was what had her so bothered that she didn’t spare her boyfriend so much as a smile for the whole day? Really?

“Is that what people are saying?” Sunghoon asked dryly.

Mila blinked, her gaze darting to somewhere behind Sunghoon. “I mean, you and her were pretty cosy together—”

The hand on Mila’s hip suddenly tightened its grip. Mila gasped as Sunghoon took a step forward, pressing her smaller body against the shower wall. Their bodies were flush together and they could feel every curve of each other — warm and wet from the running water.

Sunghoon leant down to rest his forehead against her, his back shielding her from the water running from the shower head. Without warning, he grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her avoidant eyes to meet his. His dark gaze travelled down her face. Pupils widened as they landed on her parted lips — soft and pink, like cherry blossom petals.

“Me and who, princess?”

Mila took in a deep, gasping breath at the dominance in his tone, her chest pressing against his. “You know who…”

Sunghoon clicked his tongue. “Doesn’t matter who.”

Sunghoon nuzzled his nose against her neck, pressing a kiss against the skin of her sweet spot — just behind her neck. Mila practically melted, her hands reaching out to grip his biceps for the support that her legs lacked. Sunghoon wrapped his strong arms around her waist, pulling her up so closely against him that their skin might as well be welded together. It was then that she felt something hot and hard pressing against her, causing her thighs to tremble. 

“She’s not the one who made me like this, is she?” Sunghoon asked roughly, his mouth gliding up her neck to her jaw. A gasp escaped Mila’s lips as heat began to unfurl in the pit of her stomach. Seeing her lack of response, Sunghoon nipped at her supple skin with his fangs — enough to leave a mark in its wake. His mark. “Answer me, princess.”

Mila whimpered. “N-no.”

“That’s right. Because you’re mine, and I’m yours. Isn’t that right?”

Mila gasped when Sunghoon suckled on her smooth flesh. “Ngh— yes!”

“Yes, what?” Sunghoon pressed.

“Yes, I’m yours—” Mila’s voice got quieter with her next words. “…And you’re mine…”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow at the lack of conviction in her words — as if she didn’t believe they were the truth. “Baby doesn’t sound so sure.”

And that just wouldn’t do.

Sunghoon pulled back, looking into Mila’s eyes. She almost gasped at the sight of his eyes — consumed by his pupils. They were brimming with something dark, something primal.

“I think you need some reminding.”

“What’s taking Mila so long?” Riki asked, flopping around on his bed like a fish out of water. “She said we would cuddle…”

Jaeyun’s eyes flickered at the time displayed at the corner of the screen, where he was playing a game. The sound of Mila’s playlist and running water was the only thing the others could hear. Three songs had already finished, but they let her be, having  gotten used to the girls in their group spending far more time in the shower than they did.

“Has it been that long?” Jaeyun asked.

Riki nodded, though Jaeyun didn’t see it because of his hyperfocus on his game.

“You know her,” Sunoo muttered from his bunk bed, his phone centimetres away from his face. The sounds of his keyboard were loud as he typed furiously — most likely to one of his many friends. “She always becomes a turtle when she’s in the bathroom.”

Jaeyun kept his eyes on the television, a blank expression on his face as he aggressively mashed buttons on the controller. Jungwon looked up from his bed, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“I thought Sunghoonie-hyung was the one showering? I saw him go in there before…”

Jaeyun froze. “What—?”

[You died]

MILA HAD NEVER BEEN MORE EMBARRASSED. She could barely contain the guilt and shame she felt when she had to look into her clueless manager’s eyes and tell her that the limp that prevented Mila from attending her schedules yesterday was caused by an unfortunate fall. It only made it worse when she could spot Sunghoon in the background doing his best to stifle a laugh — as if amused by the fact that she was too sore to even walk. (‘Mini-Hoon’ slept on the couch that night, as it deserved.)

Because of that incident, Mila had been more determined than ever to put all her blood, sweat, and tears into perfecting everything for their comeback. She fully expected to do it on her own. But she didn’t think that her partner would be tenacious enough to join her.

The two sat side-by-side together against the wall across from the mirror, taking a much needed break. At this time, the others were enjoying lunch, leaving the both of them alone.

Or so they thought.

In the distance, a pair of dark eyes followed the duo’s interactions with close attention. As if he were a cat slinking about in the shadows of the night, Jungwon found himself lingering at the doorway of the practice room.

He didn’t mean to hover. He had only come back to retrieve his phone that he left behind by accident. But he just couldn’t help but be curious, seeing his girlfriend smile so brightly at the older male. Before he knew it, he was following the two around from a distance — an outside observer absorbing every interaction like a sponge.

Jungwon frowned as Minjun nudged Mila, the way close friends would when teasing each other. A palpable tension rolled off him in waves. He crossed his arms over this chest as if to contain it, but the displeasure and discontentment written on his face were plain for everyone to see. He bit the inside of his cheek in annoyance when Minjun’s hand hovered on her lower back, as if debating whether to place it there or not — all while distracting her by showing something on his phone.

Their heads were almost touching as they leant over the screen, and Mila giggled at the sight of whatever it was they were so invested in on the screen. Jungwon simply stared at them. He furrowed his eyebrows, silently willing the pair to move apart.

By some divine intervention, Minjun suddenly stood to his feet, excusing himself to answer a call. Jungwon let out a breath that he wasn’t even aware he was holding in, forcing a smile as the older male noticed him. Minjun nodded his head in acknowledgement before disappearing into the hallway.

Mila still didn’t notice him. She sat unmoving in front of the mirror, oblivious to the cloud of tension that spread from Jungwon all the way throughout the venue like a AOE attack.  

Jungwon pounced. 

“You guys are close.”

Mila almost jumped out of her skin at the sudden sound of Jungwon’s voice at the doorway. She whipped around, mouth parted in a gasp. “Jungwon!” she exclaimed. “You scared me!” 

Jungwon? The said boy frowned at the lack of an affectionate nickname. He understood it was because they were on set, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t sting to hear her call him so distantly. 

Jungwon’s expression didn’t change. Mila had a hand over her heart as she observed him, sensing that something was different in his aura. She looked into his eyes earnestly and stood to her feet to meet his level. “Minjun-oppa and I aren’t really that close. He was just being friendly.”

Jungwon bit the inside of his cheek. “Almost holding your waist is being friendly?”

Mila blinked. “What?”

A sense of exasperation filled Jungwon’s chest. He pursed his lips, a sigh filtering through his nose — one that felt too heavy to belong to someone who was only nineteen years old. “When you weren’t looking, his hand was on your back. It was like this.”

Jungwon suddenly took a step forward, breaching the distance between him and Mila with one stride. Her wide eyes were almost comical, truly resembling her representative Pokémon Jigglypuff as they took up a wide portion of her face in surprise. It was almost enough to make Jungwon smile. But then he remembered the reason he had gotten this close to Mila in the first place, and that warm feeling was immediately snuffed out like a candle. 

Jungwon knew better than to act too boldly in the company building of all places. But in that moment, all he cared about was making his girlfriend aware of what happened when her back was (literally and figuratively) turned.

His hand slid down her spine in one smooth movement, landing on the small of her back. Mila subconsciously arched into the touch, her lips parting in a surprised gasp at Jungwon’s sudden actions. Red rushed to her face like a ripe tomato about to burst.

Later. Jungwon would blame his jealousy for taking control of all his common sense. But rather than stopping there, he took it one step further. With one strong tug, Mila was pulled right into him. They stood chest to chest, their faces just close enough to see every lash framing each other’s eyes.

Mila was stunned. Jungwon was stunned. But he couldn’t deny that the flustered look on her face — how she had gone speechless, unable to utter a single word at his actions — was so satisfying to see, he almost forgot the reason he had pulled such an uncharacteristic stunt in the first place.

“W-what are you…?” Mila tripped on her words. At that moment, Jungwon realised that her hands were clenched tightly against her chest, as if she were a Victorian woman clutching her pearls. “Wonie?”

Her voice came out as a squeak, causing Jungwon to snap out of his daze. He had been so busy taking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and dazed expression that he was distracted. He cleared his throat, loosening his grip on the girl’s waist.

“Anyway,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his burning neck, “he was super close…”

Mila made an ‘oh’ shape with her mouth. A short silence fell over them, causing Jungwon to glance curiously at Mila. Her eyes were still on him, but were shining as if reflecting light. She whispered something, but Jungwon wasn’t able to hear what she had said.

He furrowed his eyebrows. “What was that?” 

Mila hit her lip. She repeated herself softly, but loud enough for Jungwon to hear her words without mistake. “I said, ‘But he doesn’t make me feel like that.’”

“What do you mean by that?”

Mila laughed. “Like this.”

Jungwon jolted in surprise when Mila suddenly seized his hand, before placing it directly over her chest. It was his turn to sport a raging blush — until he realised why she had done it. Beating against his palm was her heart, which beat with all the strength and speed of a racehorse galloping down a track.

“Don’t be jealous, okay?” Mila said gently, her hand squeezing his. “I’m not won over that easily — not when I have you.”

Jungwon couldn’t remember how long he had stood there looking into her eyes. All he could remember was the look of her flustered expression when Minjun suddenly returned to the room, as if she was just caught doing something she shouldn’t have.

Jungwon smiled to himself. 

So that was the effect he had on her?

Suddenly, he didn’t feel so bad anymore.

“Are they still practising?”

Jaeyun looked over his shoulder to see Jongseong staring past him, into the practise room where Mila and her partner were dancing to the chorus of Bite Me with incredible execution. They were the only ones left at the company of the Enhypen, meaning that they were also the only audience to this private performance.

“They’re good,” the older muttered absently.

If they were an ignited match before, then now they were a forest flame. Even a day without practice wasn’t enough to quell the fire they brought with their performance. And this was only during practice. How much more would they give during an actual performance?

Jaeyun felt an uncomfortable weight in his stomach, as if an anchor had been dropped inside it. His mind became a jumble of words — all different meanings but following the same stream of logic: Unfair. 

Everything about this whole idea was unfair.

The outro of Bite Me began to play, signalling the end of the song was here. All Jaeyun could think of at that moment was, Finally. He really didn’t know what he would end up doing if he had to watch them dance together so sensually for any longer than he already did. If it wasn’t torture, he didn’t know what was. And the worst part was, he couldn’t do a thing about it.

“Oh, you guys were here?” 

Jongseong frowned as he took in Mila’s appearance. He could help but notice that she looked particularly worn out — as expected, considering she barely gave herself any breaks. The way she stood, with her hands on her hips and her shoulders dropping forward, showed everything Jongseong needed to know about her condition.

“You’ve practised enough for today,” Jongseong said. “You should get some rest.”

Mila nodded.

“I was planning to…”  A sense of relief filled Jongseong’s chest at the girl’s assurance, only to fade with her next question. “But what did you think? Did we do good? We were planning on staying behind longer—“

“You guys were good!” Jaeyun’s voice cut Mila’s sentence off like a blade, a sharp tension to it that only Jongseong and Mila could sense. Despite his smile, there was no humour in his eyes. “You guys were great. I don’t think you even need to practise anymore.”

Minjun blinked in astonishment. “Really? Wah… Thank you.”

Mila glanced at her partner out of the corner of her eye, as if trying to measure his reaction to the words. She was glad that he didn’t seem to pick up on the urgency on Jaeyun’s voice — or if he did, that he didn’t mention anything about it.

Jongseong nudged the blonde male with an elbow to the side. Jaeyun flinched, looking at the elder with an offended look, as if wondering why he didn’t feel the same.

But of course Jongseong wasn’t immune to the poison known as envy. What man would be fine, after seeing their girlfriend be held by the waist and touched intimately by someone other than him? There was such a strain in the muscles of his jaw that it ached when he chewed on his lunch today — all because of the number of times he had clenched it in response to the things he had observed between Mila and her partner.

He had to remind himself that it was purely physical. That there was nothing else beyond the touches that were worth the seeds of jealousy being planted in his heart. But even he had to admit that what his brain told him, his heart refused to listen to. (And what his heart screamed at him, his mind would always echo.)

“You guys are good,” he assured, looking at the two earnestly. “You got the point choreography down and… your chemistry has improved a lot, too.”

He didn’t know why it was so difficult to admit.

“Really? I’m so glad…” Mila sighed in relief, seeing the sincerity in his words. Her fatigue was washed from her features by the glow of her smile.

At the very least, Jongseong could be proud that he was the one that put that smile on her face — even if it wasn’t much, even if half of it was because of the man standing next to her…

“Thank you for working so hard today,” Mila said to her partner. “I’m grateful.”

Minjun shook his head. “No, it’s okay. It ended up pushing me to give more to my performance. I’m glad we ended up getting what we needed.”

“And in timing, too,” Jaeyun added. He turned to Mila. “Your manager asked us to come and tell you we’re leaving. If you’re not staying behind for extra practice, make sure to tell her.”

Mila nodded. “Okay. I’ll head down with you.”

Jaeyun nodded. He and Jongseong stood patiently as Mila gathered her items. By the time Mila had thrown her bag over her shoulder and said her goodbyes to her partner, her smile had only grown wider. Even before she said it, it was clear that she was the most excited of the three to leave.

“Let’s go!” Mila sang. She jumped between them, linking her arms in theirs. A wistful sigh fell from her lips.“I just want to go home~”

Jaeyun and Jongseong shared a look over her head. They walked out of the room with Mila, and their wide smiles on their faces.

“By the way… were you jealous earlier?” Mila asked as they arrived at the dorms. “You sounded really annoyed. But I didn’t know if it was just you being moody.”

Jaeyun rolled his eyes as Mila giggled at her own jab. “Is this funny?” Jaeyun threw an arm around her shoulder. “I bet you wouldn’t be laughing if it was the other way around. Weren’t you the one who ignored Hoon and Heeseung because you got jealous?”

Mila blushed furiously at the reminder. “You guys already teased me about it enough! Let me have a chance for once.”

It didn’t take long for the other members to find out the truth behind Mila’s avoidant behaviours the past few days. Sunghoon had always been the type to love putting her business on blast, like a neighbourhood gossip who couldn’t keep any news about her to himself. Heeseung — who liked to indulge in a bit of mean-spirited fun — followed his example. And before Mila knew it, she had seven boys teasing her for her jealous antics.

Jongseong laughed. Wrapping one of his arms around Mila’s shoulders, he pressed his lips to her temple in a consoling kiss. “How about we lay off the teasing for now, hm?” he asked. “We were jealous, but we’re working on it. There’s no shame in that.”

Mila hummed as she crossed her arms over chest. “I’ll think about it.”

She then marched into the elevator, which opened just in time to receive them.

The two males exchanged looks over her head before laughing. They knew there was no way — Mila was simply too petty to give up on the chance. They might as well get some more playful teasing in while they could.

“Oh, and next time you shower, don’t let Sunghoon inside with you.”

Mila went cherry-red at Jaeyun’s comment, a gasp parting her lips in shock. The mortification was clear on her face as she rounded on the blond male. Jawyun simply chuckled at her reaction. He leaned towards her so that his lips brushed agaistn her cheek, an arm reaching up to pin her against the elevator wall. 

“Or next time,” he whispered into her ear, “invite me inside with you.”

Mila almost exploded right then and there at the suggestion, her mind filled with images that it shouldn’t be having. Jay clicked his tongue and pushed Jake’s shoulder, though not with any significant force. It was clear that he was simply playing good cop for the sake of having one — but that he was just as bad as Jaeyun.

“Stop teasing her,” he said, though his eyes betrayed his words.

“Hmmm. Why not? She can handle it.” Jaeyun’s lips brushed the corner of her mouth in a teasing kiss. “Can’t you, baby?”

Mila turned to Jay with pleading eyes. “Oppa,” she whined.

The eldest chuckled, with his nose buried into her head. Hearing the tone of her voice, he couldn’t help but wanted to tease her just a little. He brought his lips to her cheek. Brushing her hair to the side, he placed a trail of kisses down her jaw to her neck. “What’s wrong, angel?”

Mila froze.

The elevator door opened, saving her just in time before she exploded. She stormed out of the elevator as soon as it went to their floor, followed by her men and their string of melodic laughter.

She accepted a long time ago that she was fighting a losing battle when it came to love. After all, who could ever win a battle against their own heart?

“I’m home!”

When Mila walked through the doors to her home, the others who had arrived in separate cars were already there, filling it with the usual sound of laughter and playful banter. She smiled. It was a fond smile, following the realisation that no matter who they were with or what they did, in the end, they would always come home to each other.

“Welcome home, cheater.”

Mila rounded on Riki, who was sitting on the couch with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow. “What did you say?”

꒰୨୧◞ 。NOTES⠀.ᐟ this chapter felt different from usual for some reason but i can’t place why that is. but anyway, this was more of a episodic fic than one with a particular plot — it was more so to explore the sides of jealousy as a theme. I don’t know how I feel about the end, but I just rlly wanted o get this done so I could focus on uni, so hopefully you guys enjoyed it 🩷🩷

SJJSJSISJDD WHY IS HE LIKE THAT AND WHY DO I WANT THEM TO BE ENDGAME SO BAD.

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

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

ılı. 𝒩ow Playing . . . OLDER , Isabel larosa

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

♪ — 𝗔𝗥𝗘 𝗪𝗘 𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗟𝗟 𝗙𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗗𝗦? lando norris x best friend! reader ( angst ) fic summary . . . like others before you, like it's a curse, if you start out as friends, you don't finish off as friends (5k words)

( my master list | more of lando norris ) ( requests )

2013

The three of you sat perched on a wooden platform overlooking the track, swinging your legs as the older kids raced below. The sky was a deep orange, the sun slowly dipping behind the trees, casting long shadows across the asphalt.

It smelled like fuel, burnt rubber, and the sweet vanilla ice cream sandwiches melting in your hands.

Lando, as usual, was the one talking the most. “One day, we’re gonna be better than all of them.” He gestured to the racers speeding past. “Like, properly better. F1 better.”

You chuckled, raising an eyebrow at him as you took another bite of your ice cream sandwich. “Bold of you to assume you’ll even fit in an F1 car,” you teased. “They already have you Velcroed to your kart seat because you used to fly out. What’s the plan? Glue?”

Lando scoffed, turning to you with an exaggerated look of offense. “Excuse you, I was small and aerodynamic.”

“You were a human paperclip.”

“At least I didn’t spin every time the wind hit me wrong.”

Before you could fire back, Max, who had been sitting in between you both, sighed dramatically and shoved his half-eaten ice cream sandwich straight into both your faces.

Cold, sticky vanilla smeared across your cheek. You gasped, jerking back as Lando let out a high-pitched noise of protest.

Max, completely unfazed, continued eating what was left of his ice cream. “Shut up, both of you,” he said, as if he hadn’t just committed an act of war.

You and Lando turned to each other, ice cream dripping from your faces, then back to Max.

“Oh, you’re dead,” Lando declared.

Max barely had time to react before the two of you launched at him, sticky hands smearing the rest of your desserts across his hair, his cheeks, anywhere you could reach.

The three of you tumbled onto the platform in a mess of laughter, shoving, and half-hearted kicks.

It was one of those moments you never thought you’d lose.

2018

Lando’s house felt warm, filled with the kind of easy comfort that only years of friendship could build. You were sprawled on his couch, Max sitting cross-legged on the floor, a half-finished bag of crisps between you. It felt just like old times—no pressures, no media, no cutthroat competition. Just the three of you.

And then Lando dropped the bombshell.

“I got the seat.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

Lando grinned, bouncing slightly where he sat. “McLaren. Next year. I’m gonna be a Formula 1 driver.”

For a second, there was silence. Then—chaos.

“NO. WAY!” Max shot up, grabbing Lando in a chokehold-hug, shaking him back and forth. “YOU’RE LYING.”

“Mate, I literally just said it, why would I—”

You barely let Lando finish before launching yourself at him too, arms wrapping tightly around both of them. “HOLY SHIT! LANDO, YOU’RE IN FORMULA 1!”

Lando laughed, his voice almost breathless from the force of your excitement. “I KNOW!”

The three of you clung to each other, giddy and weightless, like kids in a candy store.

When you finally let go, you turned to Max, determination flashing in your eyes. “We have to catch up, Max. We can’t let Lando enjoy the dream alone.”

Max smirked, nudging you. “Yeah, he’ll get a big head otherwise.”

Lando groaned, already regretting letting you two in his house. “Oh, great. Here we go.”

And just like that, the celebration turned into a roast session.

“Do you think they’re giving you a booster seat for the car?” you mused, tapping your chin.

Max snapped his fingers. “What about pedal extenders? Are those FIA-approved?”

“Oh, shut up,” Lando whined, throwing a pillow at both of you.

The night ended with all three of you curled up in sleeping bags on Lando’s living room floor, talking about what the future would look like. You laughed until your stomachs hurt, teasing and reminiscing, the weight of reality kept at bay for just a little longer.

By the time you got home the next morning, the high of the night before had faded into something colder, heavier—anxiety creeping up your back like the Other Mother from Coraline, whispering in your ear that time was ticking.

The metals of your dream clawed at your spine, a warning, a reminder—it’s now or never.

Lando had his McLaren seat. George had Williams. Alex had Red Bull.

And you?

You refused to let it end here. You refused to be left behind.

So you wasted no time. You spent the next few months fighting tooth and nail—getting on every call, talking to every team, pushing harder in every F2 race until your body ached from the effort. You couldn’t let up, couldn’t breathe, not until you had something.

And in the end, it paid off.

Sauber.

A vacant seat after Charles moved up to Ferrari. A chance. A shot.

The first thing you did? You invited Lando and Max to your diner—the same childhood spot where the three of you had spent countless nights in sticky vinyl booths, inhaling burgers and fries, talking about the future like it was already written for you.

They were messy eaters, as always. Lando had ketchup smeared at the corner of his mouth, and Max had a fry halfway to his lips when you slid a piece of paper across the table.

Your contract.

For a second, there was silence. The paper sat between them, your name printed at the bottom in ink that had barely dried.

Then—

“NO. FUCKING. WAY.”

Lando let out a yell so loud the entire diner turned to stare. Max, mouth still full of fries, made a sound between a choke and a cheer.

Then they both launched at you, pulling you into a hug across the table, fries and drinks nearly toppling over as they shouted over each other.

“I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT—”

“OH MY GOD, YOU LEGEND—”

“I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS—”

“We’re actually doing it,” you gasped between laughter, arms still tangled around them. “We’re actually going to be in F1 together.”

And that’s how you got kicked out of the diner.

Well, technically, Lando stood on top of a chair and yelled something about "generational talent," which got you all thrown out, but still. Worth it.

As the three of you walked out into the night air, still giggling and breathless, you and Lando turned to Max.

“Your turn,” you said in unison.

Max hesitated. He looked at the ground, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know, guys… I’m still in Formula Renault. It’s gonna take much longer for me.”

You and Lando deflated.

“But…” you started, searching for the words.

Lando took over. “That doesn’t mean you won’t get there.” He clapped a hand on Max’s shoulder. “You can’t give up. You belong with us.”

Max forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

And maybe, at the time, you really thought it was true.

2019

The three of you stood at the edge of the paddock, the sun hanging low in the morning sky, painting the track in golden light. You and Lando were already in your race suits, helmets tucked under your arms, while Max—still very much retired—rocked a team-neutral hoodie and his signature smirk.

“I have an idea,” Lando said, rubbing his hands together. “Rock, paper, scissors. Best of one. Winner gets Max in their garage for Sunday. Loser has him for quali.”

You snorted. “Like he’s some prize?”

“I am a prize, actually,” Max deadpanned, crossing his arms.

You ignored him and held out your fist. “Alright, Norris. Let’s do this.”

Lando did the same, and Max counted you down. “Three… two… one…”

You threw out scissors.

Lando threw paper.

A slow grin spread across your face. “Oh, this is so satisfying.”

Lando groaned dramatically, shoving his helmet onto his head. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” you sang, already stepping backward toward your garage, wiggling your fingers in a smug wave. “See you on Sunday, boys.”

Max clapped Lando on the back. “Can’t believe you choked that, mate.”

Lando grumbled something under his breath, dragging his feet toward McLaren.

On race day, Max stood in your garage, arms crossed as he watched the screens, tracking your every move on the circuit. Every lap, every turn, every scrap for position. You weren’t in the points yet, but you were fighting.

And then—P11. Just one spot away.

Lando finished P12, right behind you.

It wasn’t a podium. It wasn’t even points.

But it didn’t matter.

When you parked your car in parc fermé, your hands were still shaking from adrenaline. Lando’s McLaren pulled in right beside yours, and the moment he climbed out, he made a beeline for you, shoving your shoulder.

“You beat me.”

You smirked, shoving him back. “I did beat you.”

Lando gasped, feigning betrayal. “You’re not supposed to rub it in!”

“You’d rub it in!”

“Well, yeah, but—”

You both dissolved into laughter, playfully pushing at each other until your arms were tangled together, until it turned into a hug—one filled with giddy relief and the sheer overwhelming feeling of we did it.

Max watched from the sidelines, shaking his head with a small smile. “Bunch of idiots,” he muttered under his breath. But there was pride in his eyes.

The three of you had dreamed about this since you were kids.

And now?

Now it was real.

By the time Abu Dhabi rolled around, you and Lando had both finished your rookie seasons with points under your belts.

Sure, Lando ended up 11th in the standings while you finished just behind in 12th, but neither of you cared. If anything, it made things more fun—an unspoken rivalry that never turned bitter, just fueled your banter.

“You only finished ahead of me ‘cause McLaren’s faster,” you teased as you kicked your feet up on the restaurant booth, stealing a fry from Lando’s plate.

He scoffed, snatching it back before you could pop it in your mouth. “And you only finished one place behind me because I let you.”

Max let out a laugh from across the table, nearly choking on his drink. “Yeah, right,” he said, nudging Lando. “You were sweating every time she was in your mirrors.”

“I was not sweating—”

“Mate, I was in your garage for half the season. You were definitely sweating.”

Lando rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, knowing he was outnumbered. Instead, he grabbed a handful of his fries and chucked them at Max.

That was enough to start an all-out war.

Max launched a piece of his burger at Lando’s face. You flicked a spoonful of ketchup at Max’s hoodie. Lando retaliated by shoving a napkin full of salt in your lap, making you yelp and nearly knock over your drink. The three of you were loud and messy and probably two seconds away from getting kicked out.

It felt exactly like karting days—where there were no points, no contracts, no expectations. Just the three of you, laughing until your stomachs hurt.

Sure, Lando had bonded with Carlos that year, and you had somehow managed to crack Kimi Räikkönen’s icy exterior enough to make him chuckle a few times—a massive badge of honor, in your opinion. But no matter how many new friends you made in the paddock, at the end of the day, the three of you always ended up here.

Together.

2020

You sat at the dinner table, arms crossed on the surface, head resting against them. You hadn’t moved in a while. The glow from the kitchen light made the tear tracks on your face glisten, but you weren’t crying anymore.

Lando sat a few meters away on the couch, silent. He was never silent. But now, he was staring blankly at the floor, elbows on his knees, fingers interlocked, like if he loosened his grip, he might break too.

Max had quit racing. Dropped out of F3.

He had said it so easily, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he hadn’t spent over a decade chasing this dream with you and Lando, pushing through the grind of karting, junior formulas, training, race weekends, victories, and heartbreaks—all of it.

And now he was walking away. Just like that.

“I think I just need a break,” Max had said, voice steady, unreadable. “For my own sake.”

You understood. Of course, you did. You and Lando both did. Racing wasn’t just about driving fast. It was politics and pressure and expectations. It was eating, breathing, living the sport and leaving no room for anything else. And sometimes, it broke you before you even got to where you wanted to be.

Max had burned out before he could even get the chance.

And the worst part was, you felt like it was your fault.

You had been the one pushing him. Encouraging him to move up, hurry up, because you and Lando had made it, and he had to, too. It was supposed to be the three of you, like always. And in trying to keep him from being left behind, you had unknowingly pushed him over the edge.

But you didn’t say that.

Instead, you had hugged him. Tight. Like you could somehow hold everything together just by keeping him close.

“I respect your decision,” you had whispered against his shoulder, voice thick, tears in your eyes.

The crash was hard. Not in the physical sense—sure, the impact rattled you, and climbing out of the car with gravel stuck in every crevice of your suit was a pain, but it wasn’t that bad. You had worse in junior formulas.

What was bad was watching your best-ever result slip through your fingers.

P5. It was right there.

But Carlos had oversteered, lost control, and taken you with him into the gravel trap. The second you felt the hit, you knew it was over.

You had swallowed down the frustration when the engineer came on the radio. Your voice had been clipped, measured. “Yeah. I’m okay.” And then you climbed out, gave a wave to the crowd, and started the long walk back.

But the sting didn’t really settle in until you got back to your driver room. Until you sat on the little couch, helmet off, hands on your knees, staring at the ground as the DNF fully registered.

And it burned even worse when you heard that Lando had gone straight to Carlos.

Comforting him.

Lando—your Lando—was in the McLaren garage, talking to his teammate, making sure he was alright. And you?

You were here. Alone.

Waiting.

For a second, you thought, Maybe he just hasn’t gotten the chance yet. Maybe he’d text. Maybe he’d pop into your garage later, like he always did. Maybe—

Your phone vibrated. You snatched it up, pulse kicking up in anticipation.

It wasn’t Lando.

It was Max. "Shitty luck today. You okay?"

And then your mom. "I saw the crash, sweetheart. Call me when you can."

And then—Lando’s mom.

Your throat tightened.

You responded to Max first. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just pissed."

Three dots. He was typing. "Understandable. Want me to insult Carlos for you?"

A wet laugh bubbled up in your throat, but it didn’t quite make it out. You swallowed hard. "Please."

Max sent back a voice note that was mostly just an annoyed rant about Carlos, and karma coming back to bite him in the ass. It helped a little.

You sat there for a long time, staring at your phone, waiting for a message from Lando. But it never came.

2021

The leaves are starting to rust at the edges. The paddock smells like oil, fresh tire rubber, and something a little sweet—like nostalgia fermenting in the heat.

The announcement had dropped that morning. Yn Ln to Ferrari, 2022. Your face, glowing in red, on every screen. Headlines scream legacy, potential, fire-in-her-veins. You’re still driving for Sauber, for now. But the future is coming in scarlet.

You walk the paddock with practiced calm. Smile. Wave. Say thank you. Cameras flash. People nod. But you’re searching. Just one face.

You find Max first.

He’s leaning on the fence by the media pens, sunglasses too big for his face, grin even bigger. “Ferrari, huh?” he says, pulling you into a hug. “About time, you fast little shit.”

You laugh into his shoulder. “Thought you’d be sick of me by now.”

“Never. I’m retiring, not dead.” He pulls back, his eyes soft behind the joke. “Seriously. I’m proud of you.”

You don’t realize how much you needed that until it lands.

You talk for a bit—he asks about the simulator work, if your uncle cried yet, what kind of pasta Ferrari serves in hospitality. You ask how he is, really. He shrugs like it’s nothing, but you see the tightness in his jaw. Max has always been good at hiding the cracks. You’ve always been better at spotting them.

Eventually, he nods over his shoulder. “Have you seen him?”

Your smile falters.

“No,” you say. “Not yet.”

He just hums. Doesn’t push. That’s Max. He always knows when not to.

It’s later, past sunset, when you find Lando. He’s sitting on the steps behind the McLaren garage, fiddling with a wristband, head low. The air smells like spilled rubber and something burnt. Maybe it’s just your nerves.

You stop a few paces away, sipping slowly from a mug. Steam curls upward—thick with chocolate and memory.

“Hey,” you say softly.

He doesn’t look up. “Hey.”

“I thought you’d come find me.”

“I’m busy,” he mutters. “Media. Strategy meetings. Debrief.”

You nod, even though you walked past McLaren hospitality earlier. It was quiet as a tomb—untouched catering trays, muted highlights looping endlessly on big screens.

“You saw the news?”

“Whole world saw the news.”

You take another sip. Your fingers curl tighter around the ceramic. Red light from the garages catches on the rim, lighting up the faded black scrawl like a bruise.

Eventually, Lando glances up.

His eyes find the mug. Something shifts in him.

“You still have that?” he asks, voice low, barely above the hum of the lights.

You blink. Look down at it like it hasn’t been cradled between your palms for the last three years.

“Of course I do,” you say. Soft. Like it should’ve been obvious.

He looks away again, jaw tightening. “Congrats,” he says, flat. Like a press release. Like a stranger.

“Thanks.”

Silence blooms between you—slow, heavy, awful. The kind that sinks teeth into soft places.

You shift on your feet, suddenly too aware of all the hairline fractures running through this moment. “Are we okay?”

He doesn’t answer.

Just lets the question hang in the air, trembling between you like a fraying rope. Too many missed calls. Too many left-on-reads. Too many almosts.

A gust of wind tugs at your jacket. The paddock hums behind you, oblivious.

“Guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say eventually. Your voice doesn’t shake. Not out loud.

You turn before he can say anything else. You don’t finish your drink.

The mug in your hand feels heavier than ever.

And he doesn’t stop you.

 Doesn’t even say goodbye.

Round five. Miami. Tight corners. Bad timing. Worse luck. And then the world tilts sideways.

You don’t even know who clipped who first. Maybe it was you. Maybe it was him. Maybe the track just didn’t want to play nice that day. But the second it happens—carbon shards, dust clouds, radio static—you know.

You know it’s Lando.

And he’s livid.

He’s out of the car before you even fully process the impact. Helmet half-off, fury full-throttle. You see him stomping across the run-off, shouting over the marshals like you murdered his race on purpose.

“You can’t even follow a damn line!” “Fucking rookie move!” “What were you even looking at?!”

You’re still strapped in. Still staring ahead. Still trying to breathe past the adrenaline choking your throat. Your hands are trembling on the steering wheel. Your visor’s fogged from the heat and the sudden shock and the way his words hit like gravel through glass.

He doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t check if you're okay. Not even a glance. Just pure, unfiltered anger, flung like shrapnel in your direction as they start pulling him back, tugging at his fireproofs like maybe he's the one in danger here.

You're not crying. Not yet. Not really. But something inside you feels loose. Wobbly. Like a tooth that's been knocked but not pulled. You're still in the damn car.

Still hearing the crunch on loop.

 Still feeling the snap of the impact reverberating through your bones.

Still wondering if maybe it was your fault. If you ruined everything. If Ferrari’s going to rethink the whole thing now. If this is what everyone means when they whisper “too young, too fast, not ready.”

Eventually someone helps you out. Gentle hands. Calm voice. A blur. You don’t catch their name.

You don’t even realize your leg’s scraped until you see the blood on your suit.

Lando’s already gone.

2024

It starts in papaya.

Bright, blinding. The colour of summer and stupid hope. Of grins cracked too wide and champagne caught in lashes. Of him. Lando’s first win. Confetti cannons, arms raised, the world roaring his name like they always knew he could do it. Maybe they did.

You watch from the shadows of your garage. Your race suit still half-zipped, sweat cooling sticky on your back, hands curled in your lap like you forgot how to unclench. You watch the replays loop, over and over—Lando crossing the line, Lando screaming on the radio, Lando collapsing into his engineer’s arms like a boy who finally got his dream back after all the nightmares.

Your heart does that stupid thing again. That lurch. That slow roll in your chest like it’s reacting late to something it shouldn't care about.

You tell yourself it’s hunger. Low blood sugar. The kind of headache you get when you haven’t drunk enough water and your teammate’s spraying champagne three podium steps above your finish.

But it’s not that.

It’s the echo. This track. The one where you both crashed two years ago, where everything spilled out in smoke and sharp words and silence that never healed right. You remember the screech, the impact, the things he said—still crusted into the back of your mind like dried blood. Now he’s got a trophy, and you’ve got a lonely P5 and the ghost of something that used to be important.

Charles got P3. Your garage is down in parc fermé, hands in the air, hugging Charles like they’ve waited their whole lives for a glimpse of this kind of red victory. But you’re not there.

You stay back. Sit alone on a garage stool that’s slightly too cold, unzipping your suit just enough to breathe. Your gloves are still on. You haven’t even taken your helmet off yet.

It’s your day.

Ferrari in full blaze. Glory in red, engines singing. You did it.

First win. First star. First everything.

The moment swells, huge and holy. You don’t even feel the weight of it until you're in the cooldown room, back pressed to the wall, legs out, laughing into the still-hot air, Max's voice in your ear, full blast.

“I TOLD YOU! I BLOODY TOLD YOU!” You laugh so hard you drop the cap they gave you, joy curling up your spine like steam from the pavement. You're sticky with triumph, breathless with it.

Then the door swings open.

Lando. P2 hat in his hand, face unreadable.

He sees you, the phone still in your hand. “Is that Max?”

You nod. Smile. Hold it out without thinking, thinking maybe he wants to say join in, maybe the past can stay in the past today. You think he’ll grin and shout something stupid like he used to. That he'll be proud. That he’ll be proud of you.

He takes the phone.

And his voice stays flat.

He talks about his own race. The setup. The tyre deg. The strategy error on lap thirty-nine. Max says something back, cheerful and half-mocking, and Lando hands the phone back without another word. Doesn’t even look you in the eye.

The fizz in your blood dulls. Something inside flickers out. You sit there holding the phone to your chest like it’s a shield. Like it can still protect you from the fact that he didn’t care—not really. That your victory didn’t matter if it wasn’t his.

You stand on the podium together, the three of you. The air is heavy with bubbles and praise and burnt rubber.

He doesn’t spray you with champagne.

Doesn’t even turn your way.

You look up. Try to find the taste of triumph on your tongue. Try to taste what you’ve been chasing your whole damn life.

But all you get is the sharp sting of carbonated bitterness.

And the ache of something that used to be a friendship, now fizzed flat in your throat.

It’s the final race

Lando’s on pole. You’re right beside him. Red to his orange. Ferrari to his McLaren. Fire to his flame. The cameras catch it like it’s poetry—the two of you lined up, side by side, history written in every glare off your visors. You don’t look at him, not before lights out. Not even during the anthem. But your heart is beating like it knows something your brain won’t admit: that this is the one. The big one. The decider. Title fight. Winner takes it all.

The race is war. Brutal. A symphony of tire squeals and tight corners and elbows that don’t ask permission. You fight like hell, like the whole year’s been leading to this exact lap, this exact second, wheel to wheel with the boy who once swore he'd never fight you like this. The same boy who told you you deserved the world, now slicing across your front wing like he’d rather take you out than let you through. Every overtake is a punch to the ribs. Every radio call is static. It’s rage and glory and god, you think you might be crying under the helmet but there's no time to tell.

And in the end, it's him.

McLaren wins. He wins.

You lose.

The moment he crosses the line, the world explodes. Orange smoke, fists in the air, the kind of euphoria you used to dream about when you were kids racing on sims. Zach hoists him like a trophy himself, arms wrapped around Lando like he’s just watched his son conquer the gods. There’s champagne, there’s screaming, there’s the way the cameras chase him as if he is the sun.

You stand behind the barrier. Alone. Helmet still on. Your radio crackles in your ear but you don’t hear it. Your hands are still gripping the wheel in your mind, still tight, still aching. Your whole body is shaking and you don’t know if it’s adrenaline or heartbreak, but your eyes are burning. Everything inside you is burning.

You want to be happy for him. You do. You know what this means to him. You know how long he’s waited for this moment. You know every sacrifice he's made, every time he came second, every time he bit his tongue while others were crowned. You want to scream with him. You want to run and jump into that pile of mechanics, be lifted like you’re weightless. You want to feel like this mattered, even if it wasn’t your win.

But all you feel is the silence that comes after the music stops. All you feel is how no one is looking for you. All you feel is the absence of his eyes finding yours. The way he doesn’t search for you through the chaos. The way he doesn’t even check if you’re okay.

All you feel is alone.

You’re holding a half-finished bottle of water, and the ache in your throat is so real it makes you want to choke on it. It's not the kind of thirst you can quench, no matter how much you drink. It’s heavier than that. You’re still trying to swallow it all down when you hear someone shout from the hallway, “Hold the door!” So you do.

It’s him.

Lando.

He slows when he sees you standing there, frozen, the soft hiss of the elevator’s hum cutting through the silence. He stops short, eyes narrowing, like he wasn’t expecting you, like he thought he could just breeze past without noticing how broken the air is between you two.

“If I’d known it was you…” he murmurs to himself, almost too quiet, stepping in anyway, “…I’d have waited.”

But the words hang like smoke. You don’t breathe them in. You don’t move. There’s a moment of nothingness. No one speaks. The numbers above blink slowly, too slow, their yellow light slicing the quiet.

You can’t take it anymore. Your fingers clutch the water bottle like it might disappear if you don’t hold it tight enough. You don’t look at him. Not right away. But you feel the weight of his gaze pulling on you. Tugging at the jagged edges inside your chest.

"Are we still friends?" you ask, your voice so soft it almost doesn’t sound like it belongs to you. It’s like you’re praying, begging for something you know you can’t have.

Lando doesn’t answer right away. The hum of the elevator becomes too loud. Too big. It rattles your nerves.

Then, quiet as the night. "No."

The word lands between you two, heavy and final. You don’t move. You can’t. You don’t know what hurts more—the way his voice cracked the truth or the way it stung like acid.

You stare at the numbers above. They flicker. The 9th floor. Your floor’s the 13th. You press the button anyway, stopping the elevator dead in its tracks.

The doors slide open. It’s not your floor. But you don’t care. You step out without hesitation, without another word, like the weight of the world was too much for the small, cramped space of the elevator. You’d rather walk twenty flights, climb each one, than let him see you break. Than let him watch as your heart splinters into pieces you can’t put back together.

You don’t look back. Not once. Even though you know he’s standing there, frozen in the open doors.

It’s better this way.

I love this sm, angst with no comfort 🔛🔝

✈︎ our forever is done

sunghoon should’ve known you’d find out eventually, but he was too late.

pairing : figureskater!sunghoon x gn!hockeyplayer!reader

warning : blood. injury from glass. crying. sunghoon is heartbroken. sunghoon is deeply in love with the reader. betrayal. angst. break up fic. angst no comfort. no happy ending. bet au.

wc : 2k

note : js a short one i wrote literally 2 minutes ago

“Please, i’m sorry” Sunghoon sobbed as he kneeled on the ground, his knees bleeding from the broken pieces of glass under them. His hands were wrapped around a shattered picture frame, fingers pressing against the larger shards of glass to keep them from falling, as if it would mend the glass back together.

You didn't look at him as you were emptying your designated drawers from his dresser into a small suitcase that you had let him borrow for his tour. You were blinded by rage, your eyes swollen with the tears that you've shed for your broken relationship. Sunghoon had promised that he would be different, that he was going to treat you better. “I’m so sorry” He repeated again and again as his drunken mind ran, thoughts spewing with the tears leaving his mouth.

“Am I that unloveable?” You temporarily paused your actions as the words shakingly left your mouth, the pain unmistakingly filling each symbol. At his silence that followed your question you let a scoff leave your mouth, disbelief filling your eyes. You spun around to face the boy kneeling on the ground, his hands now bloodied from the glass puncturing them from his carless hold on them.

Sunghoon was looking at you as if you were the one who broke his heart, as if you were the one who played with his heart for some stupid validation from your friends. “Did you really hate me so much that you had to bet on my love? Sunghoon, you were my everything” He looked down as his eyes burned, his teeth coming out to bite at his bottom lip. “But all I was to you was some stupid game” You turned back around towards his dresser, your eyes finding another framed photo of you two. “God, I was so stupid to think that someone could actually love me”.

Sunghoon’s voice went unnoticed to you, his words carrying the weight of the world but never reaching your obit. “I love you more than anything, more then everything”

You grabbed the photo from the dresser, allowing your eyes to trace over it one last time. In the photo you looked happy but he looked ecstatic. You were standing beside him, your arms tightly wrapped around his waist as you smiled into the camera, unaware of the loving gaze coming from the man beside you. Sunghoon was smiling down at you like you’d won the lottery, his cheeks pink from the words you’d shared moments before. You recognized that photo as the day he had officially asked you to be his girlfriend, a month after he first asked you out- the day he claimed as his “favourite day ever”. God how naive you were to believe him, to believe you'd ever meant anything to him.

And like the tear that fell down your face, the photo fell with it. Then the next photo, then the next. You grew angrier with every photo that fell, your heart causing a physical burn in your body. For somehow who never loved you, he had a weird amount of photos of you. The wall above the desk was filled with polaroids, all either of you or the two of you. His bedside table had two photos, one was a photo of you from a week after he asked you out, it was a photo of you after the first hockey game of the season.

The other was another photo from the same hockey game, but it was the two of you together. He was wearing one of your jersey’s, his face painted in strips of your college team's colours with a huge sign in his right hand reading “Y/N’s biggest fan!”. His other hand was wrapped around your shoulder, pulling you flesh against him, your skates and equipment still on. It was the first game he's ever been to, and it was your first time letting someone wear your personal jersey.

As the last photo hit the ground you heaved, your back rising as short breaths left your tight chest. As your head cleared up a bit more you could faintly make out the sound of Sunghoon’s frantic voice, the sound only growing as you turned to face his bedside table, advancing towards the last two photos- his favourites.

Before you could step any closer Sunghoon grabbed your arm, forcing you to stop. “Please stop, don't touch those, please” he begged as his hold grew firmer. You turned your head to look at him only to see him looking back and forth between the broken frames on the ground and the untouched ones on his table.

You could see the pain he was going through, his face red from crying, his eyes swollen from the tears relentlessly falling from them. His eyes were the worst. The eyes that usually held the utmost love for you were now staring at you in horror. He genuinely looked like he was going to pass out.

“Please, you can do anything but break those. I don't care, trash everything else, but please not those” his voice broke with every other word leaving his mouth, one of his hands leaving your wrist to harshly rub against his eyes, his bottom lip wobbling in an attempt to conceal his cries.

You just shrugged his arms off and turned away, walking back towards the closet not caring for the glass on the ground. You picked your suitcase off the ground and pulled it into the closest, grabbing more of your clothes to throw them in.

Sunghoon moved like he was in a haze, kneeling back onto the ground. His hands rapidly, but gently, grabbing the photos from the ground, carefully trying not to scratch or rip any of them in the process. His hands reached from photo to photo and he shook, pulling them to his racing heart. He gazed down at each of them, his heart breaking with every new photo.

His heart, if possible, dropped even further as he heard your suitcase zip up. He rose to his feet, the photos still against his chest as he watched you walk towards the door, his other hand reached out to grab steady you as you walked over the glass. “Be caref-” the words died on his tongue as you turned around and glared at him.

“You don't get to tell me what to do, act like you care for me” you spit with venom, your voice not coming out as strong as you would've liked, not that you cared right now. “Not after what you did to me, to us. I never want to see you again” Within seconds Sunghoon was in front of you, his head shaking in denial, his long hair falling down in front of his face. “Please, y/n, don't leave me. You promised me forever”

You looked into his eyes as you spoke the next words, leaving daggers in his heart that would cause his heart to bleed for days. “Our forever is done, Sunghoon.”. He once again shook his head in denial, “No it’s not, it's barely started. We haven't traveled to your home town yet, we haven't ate ice cream in the middle of the winter while skating together, we haven't graduated college and got our own place, we haven't adopted the three cats were saw at the shelter, we haven't done anything.” he grabbed your hand, his fingers leaving more blood trails against your wrist, you didn't say anything which prompted him to continue.

“I love you so much, please. It's true our relationship started with the bet” he watched as your head tilted down, your quiet sobbing filling his ears. “But our love didn’t. I've been in love with you since I first saw you in grade school. I have loved you since we first bumped into each other at the seesaw. I loved you while I watched Jake bring you to prom after I spent months planning my proposal. I loved you way before the bet, before it all started.” he stood there waiting for you to respond, his head pounding as he sobered up from the night that ruined his life.

It was true, he asked you out after getting betted on it. He foolishly agreed to let Niki, a freshmans, dare. They told him that he could never make a hockey player fall in love with him, a figure skater. He knew he shouldn't have taken the dare, and broke it off the day before your first date. He spilled his feelings to his friends, telling them about how he's pinned over you for years, that you’re the only person who has ever looked at.

His friends finally understood why Sunghoon never paid attention to anyone else, never dated or kissed anyone within his whole twenty two years of living. It finally all fell into place, until his house of cards fell.

Sunoo, the only sober one, had called you from the bar, telling you that Sunghoon was begging for you. After hearing you agree Sunoo meant to hang up, he really did, and soon he will wish that he had double checked. You also didn't realize you weren't hung up until your phone automatically connected to your car's speaker, the voices coming out all throughout your car.

You allowed yourself to giggle over the mistake and reached over to end the call. But before you could you heard a distinctive voice questioning Sunghoon, his words made you freeze. “Dude, when will you tell y/n about the bet? It's been three years, she deserves to know”. Your world crashed in from around you the longer you listened, hands gripping the steering wheel as you drove to the bar.

The second you reached the bar you disconnected the call and stormed in, your eyes searching for Sunghoon. The second his eyes met yours his face lit up, a bright smiling coming across his face as love filled his body. The boys noticed his wiggling body and automatically knew that you were there, he only ever acted like that for you.

Sunghoon stumbled to his feet as he ran over to you. His arms wrapped around you and his body melted into your hold. He rubbed his cheek against yours as quiet “I love you”’s left his mouth. The boys walked over to meet you, none of them except for Sunoo noticing your odd behaviour due to the alcohol. Sunoo tried to meet your eyes but you avoided it, just looking down at Sunghoon’s back. Your arms that usually wrapped back around the boy now laid limp against your side. His cheesy ‘i love you’s were usually met with your own, but now you were silent.

After helping Sunghoon into the car and buckling him as he stared at you with a lovesick smile on his face, you started your car and began your way home. Sunghoon reached out and grabbed your hand, his fingers clumsily entwined with yours. At one of the stop lights he leaned over to kiss you, and you allowed it because you knew this would be his last time ever kissing you, which was unknown to him.

After you got to his apartment and unlocked the door you finally exploded, accidently knocking into his dresser during your fight causing one of the photos to fall. And the rest led to where you are now, him crying while staring into your eyes waiting for you to respond. Except you didn't.

You just pushed him off of you, uncaring about the way he stumbled back into the wall, the photos crumbling under his hold. A few of them got caught on a sharp edge and cut, matching Sunghoon’s heart. He couldn't breathe, everything around him blurring as the lights flickers in and out between the edges of his eyes. Soon black filled his vision, his head tilting back as he fainted.

The door to the apartment across the hall from him slammed open, the boys running into his open room to see what all the slamming was. They all froze at the door upon seeing the state of not only the room but their best friend. “Oh my god” Sunoo whispered in horror, his head snapping back down the hall, watching as the elevator closed with you in your suitcase standing beside you as you were crouched down in the center of it, crying.

It then clicked for him, it clicked for them all. You'd found out, and left him.

THE MORE IS READ THE MORE SHOCKED IT GOT WHEJKSKSKSKALSSN OMG JAY BABE???? WDYM „ring we picked last time“ ???????

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 – 𝟓𝟖

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐘𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓: 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧

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← 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 →

(A/N: we literally only have two chaps and the epilogue left this is CRAZY 🤕 thank you guys so, so much for all the love and support, am sending everyone kisses pls accept them as a form of gratitude 🥺 i love you all sm💞 feedback is always appreciated!!!💞🧸)

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CASUAL — lando norris (smut, angst, nsfw)

pairing; fem!reader x lando norris summary: whatever you and lando have, it's anything but 'casual'. warnings: smut 18+, a LOT of angst, mdni, fingering, oral (f receiving), (situationship?) a/n: i lowkey want chappell roan's casual to be inserted into my brain and OMG this one is too sad

"nah, nah. the two of us... it's complicated, y'know? just a casual thing, honestly."

the words echoed in your mind on the flight from london, replaying as the seatbelt sign dinged off.

casual.

the word had always carried a negative connotation, but hearing him say it made you feel so much worse. it made you feel insignificant, as if the months that had passed meant nothing to him, while it had meant so much more to you.

you were anything but casual.

all those nights, the mornings after, the kisses, the rendezvouses. they meant something, didn't they? you thought they did, at least.

the way he'd look at you when the lights dimmed and his voice would turn soft. the way he'd kiss you as if it was what he was made to do.

he knew every inch of you. every freckle, every curve. he knew you better than he knew the tracks he raced on.

but, then again, lando norris was never known for being reliable.

he was young and wild and carefree, a bachelor to be envied by all. a party boy, a flirt, a ladies' man. he was charming and he knew it.

he was good at making people believe that they were special.

everyone loved him. the oh-so charming lando norris. the young driver who had a bright future ahead of him. he was bound to get whatever he wanted, right?

the first night he touched you, the two of you had come to an agreement—no attachment. he made it clear that he didn't have time for anything serious, but that he would love to have fun with you.

you, of course, had agreed to that.

in the beginning it was nothing. 'accidentally' crashing into each other at parties, accompanying the other into hotel rooms, and then disappearing as soon as the sun rose.

but do these 'no attachments' things ever work? it wasn't even a complete month before the two of you became more and more involved and realised you weren't just having fun.

as you exited the airplane, your heart clenched at the thought. the two of you had never actually said anything, but it was there, hanging in the air, almost suffocating you.

the first time you realised it wasn't just fun, you were in the passenger seat of his mclaren. he was on his knees, big blue eyes staring into yours as he flicked his tongue in you. you were so close, you had been for a while. he could tell. his eyes were locked onto yours, a glint of smugness in them. and then, with the tip of his finger, he brought you over the edge.

after you both came, he had crawled into the driver's seat and smiled at you. his lips glistened, his chin damp, and his hair sticking up in places.

"you look beautiful." he said, a hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"i think i like you." his voice was barely a whisper, and if you hadn't been staring right into his eyes you might've missed what he said.

"yeah, me too." your voice was breathless.

and that was the only time either of you'd ever said anything about it.

was it casual?

then, that one time when you had flown to his family home in the uk and met his parents. they'd welcomed you with open arms and treated you like one of their own, and lando's face had glowed with joy the whole time.

"i still can't believe that lando has such a pretty girlfriend." his mom had said to you, giggling as the two of you shared a bottle of wine.

"mom!" lando had whined from the other room. "can't you just shut up for once?"

"oh, hush! i'm just saying it as it is." she shrugged.

you had blushed furiously at her words, looking down at your feet as you took another sip of the expensive italian wine.

you had thought he would deny the 'girlfriend' title, or at least laugh it off, but he didn't. instead, he grinned like an idiot and you wondered if the wine had gone to his head.

"yeah, guess i got lucky." he'd muttered, and his mom had smiled, nodding knowingly.

when the day ended, you had fallen asleep curled up next to him, his body warmth enveloping you like a blanket.

now, your eyes stung as you walked through the airport, a million thoughts running through your mind.

you'd spent the rest of the week there and it was the best time you'd had in a while. he'd taken you on a day-trip to oxford, but the two of you ended up staying the night at some cottage. he'd held you closer, kissed you harder. you slept together as many times as you could.

fuck, you weren't just casual.

and the time the you woke up in each other's arms, his face buried in your hair, hands wrapped around your waist. he had asked you what your plans for the future were.

"get an apartment in monaco right next to yours so that i can stalk you everyday. binoculars and everything." you had joked.

"really? not gonna say you're going to marry me and have a billion kids and we're gonna grow old together?"

you'd looked up at him, eyebrows raised. and then the two of you had burst out laughing.

"what the fuck, lando. i'm not having a billion kids with you."

he just smirked in response.

or the time when the two of you vacationed in italy with his friends, and at the pier he had introduced you as his 'hotshot pr girl'.

"he's paying me a million dollars to pretend to be his girlfriend because he doesn't like being called a virgin."

"hey!" he'd laughed, nudging you.

"shut up, loser."

and then you'd pushed him into the water.

"i'm never talking to you again." he'd pouted.

"oh yeah, find someone else to have your billion kids with. my uterus will be happy."

or the countless times he would call you in the middle of the night and tell you about his new merch drop, and you'd whine about how it was 2 in the morning and you couldn't give a flying fuck.

and when you had just gotten off the phone with his sister, "flo is such a sweetheart, i love her."

"my sister talks to you more than she talks to me. you know she likes you better, right?" he'd mumbled, looking offended.

"what can i say, i'm such a charmer." you'd said in the most british accent you could muster, and he'd rolled his eyes and shoved your face away.

december came, and cisca invited you to celebrate christmas with them.

"if he doesn't ask you to be his girlfriend, promise me you'll tell him it's over." your best friend has said, looking at you sternly.

you had just sighed in response, shaking your head.

"i'm serious. you don't deserve someone like that. not if he doesn't think you're worth the commitment."

"you're right. i know. i'm just... i'm just scared. i like him so much. i don't know what to do."

the morning of christmas, you'd landed in london and gone straight to his place. he was all dressed up, and you'd almost cried at how gorgeous he looked.

"merry christmas, darling." he'd murmured, and you'd melted at his words. he welcomed you with a kiss, the way he always did.

the day was spent exchanging gifts with his family, watching christmas movies and cuddling under blankets.

his family adored you.

"i'm glad you're here." he said.

"where else would i be?"

"anywhere else."

you smiled at him, and he returned it with a cheshire cat one.

that night, the two of you had been invited to dinner with his parents, and halfway through the meal you'd excused yourself to go to the bathroom.

as you stood there washing your hands, you'd heard the door swing open, and the familiar figure appeared next to you, locking the door behind him.

"lando."

"yeah?"

"what are you doing?"

"i need to wash my hands." he'd shrugged.

you raised a brow at him, looking at him pointedly.

he shrugged again, taking a step towards you.

"you look too good in this dress, can't help it."

you rolled your eyes as he stepped closer to you, fingers about to grasp your waist before you told him to back off.

"what?"

"wash your hands first. didn't you come here to wash your hands? there's no way in hell i'm letting greasy salmon fingers touch me."

and then the two of you had laughed before his lips found yours lips. it felt so natural, the way your body reacted to his touch or the way your lips melted into his.

"lando, we shouldn't." you protested, neck arching as he pressed kisses everwhere.

"shut up." he grabbed your waist before pushing you against the counter, his lips crashing back into yours.

"what happened to your hands? i told you to wash them."

"fuck the hands."

"technically-"

"shut the fuck up." he groaned, dipping a finger between your thighs. "you're dripping. fucking hell."

pulling his fingers out, his knee pushed your thighs apart, spreading your legs apart.

you gasped, shifting your hands as you balanced yourself against the counter. his eyes locked in yours as his finger dragged across your core.

"fuck, baby, you're so pretty." he whispered, eyes digging into yours.

"lando, please."

"please what?" he asked as he slipped two fingers inside you.

your eyes squeezed shut, head leaning against the mirror behind you. "oh, fuck."

"i asked a question."

you were quick to answer, fisting his shirt as his fingers moved inside you. "please fuck me, oh my god."

he smirked before dropping to his knees, spreading your thighs and pressing his tongue onto your clit. you yelped at the sudden feeling of his mouth sucking at your clit; eyes rolling back.

his hands grabbed your legs, swinging them over his shoulder. hand sprawled over your stomach, pushing you back against the counter.

when his tongue curled into you, brushing that spot he never failed to miss, you couldn't help but let a loud moan escape you.

lando hushed you; tapping your thigh. “gotta be quiet baby,” lando said through heavy breaths before pushing his face back into you.

biting into your lip, your fingers ran through his curls, admiring the sight of his head moving between your thighs.

your moans filled the small bathroom, the sound like music to his ears.

"lando," your voice was shaky, breath hitching as he picked up the pace, his hands pushing your hips down.

he hummed in response, the vibration sending waves throughout your body.

"oh, god, lando. right there, right there. oh fuck."

and then your body was trembling, and you were gripping his hair, his tongue still moving.

you were seeing stars, vision going white as your legs quivered around his face.

"oh, god." you sighed, chest rising and falling as he pulled his fingers out, smirking up at you.

"c'mon baby, give me one more."

it wasn't casual.

now, walking through the terminal, dragging your suitcase behind you, the tears threatened to spill from your eyes.

maybe he said 'casual' just to tell his friends he was still a player. or maybe, he was referring to the fact that the two of you were just friends who hooked up sometimes.

but whatever he meant, it wasn't the truth.

both of you knew it.

casual wasn't the way he held you close during thunderstorms, wasn't the way he'd make sure coffee was the perfect temperature, wasn't the way he'd look at you as if the world stopped turning.

the way he'd stare into your eyes as the lights turned off, the way he'd press a kiss onto your temple, the way he'd say your name.

it wasn't casual.

OH MY, LOVE IS A LIE!

summary: it's all over now, but he's still thinking of you. featuring alhaitham, diluc, kamisato ayato, and zhongli. part 2 to you're losing me.

w/c: 2.1k in total a/n: i am really churning out angst for yall. inspired by hits different by taylor swift

I find the artifacts, cried over a hat. Curse the space that I needed.

“There’s no way you still have that.” Kaveh comments as he walks past Alhaitham in their little library of the home. Kaveh looks at the small crystal in the scholar's hands, cringing.

Alhaitham glares at the blonde. “Shut it.” He grumbles, twirling the gem in between his fingers. He intended to give it to you over dinner, as an apology for the stunt he pulled two weeks ago. The guilt took over his body like a fever. He was sleepless for a few nights, and you slept in the guest bedroom. Eventually, he drew to a conclusion. The two of you had been dating for quite a while; maybe it’s time to take it to the next step.

He invited you to a proper dinner that night, and you accepted despite the growing tension between the two of you. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t realize the two of you had very different plans for that night. He was there to take it further. You were there to end it.

Kaveh’s scoff takes Alhaitham out of the depths of his memory. “Don’t you have better things to do than nag me?” Alhaitham spit out. “Pay your rent, perhaps?” 

Kaveh rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. “It’s crazy how you’re talking to me how you talked to them.” A glare made its way into his amber eyes. “Thought you would’ve learned to watch your choice of words after what happened.”

Alhaitham had no rebuttal. He knew Kaveh was right. He didn’t think his words or actions carried much weight until you were crushed under them. His words and actions chipped away at what he loved until eventually, nothing was there at all. How did he not notice? How did he not see the storms in your eyes? How did he not hear the tiredness in your voice? How could he let you fight for the relationship alone, while he stood on the sidelines as it withered to nothingness? His eyes redirect from Kaveh to the gem in his hands. It’s like he can still see your face in the reflection. Like the love was still there, shimmering and sparkling the same way the gem did in the afternoon sun.

“And yes, I do have better things to do.” Kaveh says, walking towards the entrance of the house. “I’m heading to lunch with a friend of mine.” A knock pierces their conversation, effectively saving Alhaitham from having to face the harsh truth from Kaveh of all people. “Ah, they’re here!” Kaveh leaves the library entirely, leaving Alhaitham in the room alone. He hears the front door open. “Y/N!” Kaveh greets. Alhaitham freezes.

What the fuck?

“Just one second, I forgot something in the study.” He hears Kaveh say, and footsteps are fast approaching. Kaveh retrieves his left behind item, but not before Alhaitham stops him. The grip he has on Kaveh’s forearm is almost painful.

“What the hell?” Alhaitham’s voice is bitter. Jealous, even.

Kaveh yanks his arm away. “Just because you lost the love of your life Y/N doesn’t mean I have to lose my friend Y/N.” Kaveh’s voice is firm. Soon enough, he’s walking away and out the door.

Alhaitham feels the sorrow truly kick in. All the times he asked for space from you. All the time he could’ve spent with you. Now, the space between the two of you was farther than ever before. And he can’t do anything but look at the gem in his hand, wishing he could run to you more than ever.

I trace the evidence, make it make some sense, why the wound is still bleeding?

He won’t admit it, but Diluc’s hands were beginning to ache from the endless action of polishing the glasses. He insisted on working the bar tonight, letting the usual bar staff have some well deserved rest. Peering down, Diluc takes the time to examine the many scars on his hands. They were dotted on his skin, and they all held a story. A burn. A scab he kept picking at. An accidental cut. Either way, they all had an experience leading up to each wound.

He realizes how much of a hypocrite he is. Scolding you for wanting the adventure, for getting a minor injury as if he doesn’t do ten times more fighting than you did. Worried endlessly for your safety, as if he doesn’t risk his life on the daily. Diluc has faced many wounds over his life, but the worst one he’s experienced was losing you.

The breakup wasn’t dramatic. The two of you sat across from each other next to the fire, and you told him of how you lost the love. Of how the flame burned so slowly than it burned out. The two of you agreed to end things together; at least, that’s what you think. He didn’t lose anything. His flame still burns as brightly as it did in the beginning. Perhaps his flame burned so bright that it overtook yours. You packed your things and left Dawn Winery. He saw you off with a polite wave, but the moment the door shut, the dam burst and the tears flowed.

Now here he was, without you, repeating a stupid polishing action until the door opened. There you were, with the Traveler and Venti of all people. It’s awkward for a moment, both of your eyes darting around to avoid the other’s. Eventually, the three of you get a table to sit at. As your group passes by, he hears the Traveler quietly say something to you. “Sorry, Y/N. I didn’t think he’d be working today.” He hears you laugh. Oh, how he wishes he was the source. 

“Don’t worry about it,” You say. “I’m basically over him.”

Diluc feels a sting in his chest, and he has to stop himself from dropping the glass in his hand. That hurt. He certainly wasn’t over you. The night passes, and you are engaged in conversation. Diluc takes the chance to steal fleeting glances in your direction.

The weapon on your back has more wear and tear. Your bag looks heavier, more used. He sees minor scars on your skin. A few on your arm, one on your cheek, some on your calves. It takes everything in him to not fret over you, but he knows he can’t. You’re not his to lose anymore. But most of all, Diluc sees the way you exude light. Cheer radiates from you, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen you more beautiful than you were right now.

You may bear more scars than when you were with him, but he’s never seen you happier.

You were the one that I loved! Don’t need another metaphor, it’s simple enough.

Ayato runs a hand through his hair while walking the streets of Inazuma City. He was on the way to a wedding attire fitting, for his wedding to another Inazuman noblewoman. The wedding isn’t for another month, so it’s crucial to ensure that all clothing is prepared and ready to allow ample time for unforeseen circumstances. On the way to his appointment, Ayato passes by a familiar restaurant. He softly smiles, remembering how he used to visit often. Then, his smile is replaced with a frown when he realizes he hasn’t been in two months. There was no reason for him to eat there anymore- he used to eat there with you.

He’ll never forget how puffy your eyes were when you broke things off with him. It was obvious you were crying, and with how the conversation was going, Ayato was about to cry too. “I can’t do this anymore, Ayato.” Your voice sounded exhausted. Ayato hated knowing he was the reason for your sleepless nights. He didn’t understand why he snapped at your skepticism over the arranged marriage. He couldn't, and wouldn’t ever imagine you marrying someone else. He understood. The problem is, he understood too late. Now, it’s been two months and he still doesn’t go a single day without thinking of you. 

Finally, Ayato arrived at his destination. The tailors was a quaint little shop in a less busy corner of Inazuma, but many of the locals purchased ceremonial clothing from the owners. They’re said to have a very keen eye, even when it comes to choosing employees. Ayato slides the door open, and he is greeted by a worker.

“Welcome! Are you here for a fitting or-”

He could recognize that voice. There’s no way. His eyes widened at the realization, and you did too, seeing how your words trailed off. 

“Y/N.” He breathed out your name as if he had been suffocating prior. You take a second to compose yourself before putting your professional facade back on. He is a customer. He is no more than that.

“Are you here for an appointment?” You ask.

Your formal tone throws him off. He remembers your cheery usual tone from back then, and he wishes nothing more than to go back to those times.

“Yeah.” He nods. “It’s…wedding attire.”

You feel your breath hitch in your throat. Of course, he’s still going forward with the marriage. After all, he made it clear that you have nothing to offer for the Kamisatos.You nod curtly before gesturing him to a fitting station. “Please allow me to grab my tools.” You give a small bow, ignoring eye contact. You turn away to head towards the shop’s tool drawer with measuring tapes and such. When you’re certain he cannot see your face, you allow your bottom lip to tremble slightly. 

Meanwhile, Ayato’s eyes stay trained on your figure. For the two of you to break up, then have you be the person attending to him during the wedding fitting? The Seven must be laughing at him as he experiences this cruel twist of fate. Suddenly, it hits him. The two of you are part of each other’s past. It’s over. You aren’t in each other’s present lives, and you most likely won’t be part of each other’s futures.

You might be a stranger now, but he will forever recognize your voice in a sea of people.

A wrinkle in time, like the crease by your eyes. This is why they shouldn’t kill off the main guy.

“Who do you think the lucky one is?” The women of Liyue gossip. Their eyes are fixed on Zhongli, following him like a hawk. The man in question is shopping for flowers. However, he seems to be interested in the large bouquets of flowers, the ones far too large to be classified as “just felt like it” flowers. He takes his time to examine each flower thoroughly. He checks the stems, petals, if they’re fully bloomed. Uncommon than most men nowadays, Zhongli was truly looking at every factor while shopping for these flowers, which is why the women were so interested to know who they were for.

On Zhongli’s end, his senses were being absolutely bombarded with the signature floral scent. Zhongli’s taste in flowers only gets incredibly picky around this time of year. After all, the anniversary of your death is upcoming. He only wants the best flowers for you, since he couldn’t give you the best when you were still alive. If there’s one memory he’ll never forget, it’ll be how you still told him that you loved him, even in your final moments.

“Excuse me, are you looking for anything in particular?” A worker asks him.

Normally, he’d politely decline and continue about his day. But he can’t. Not when said worker looks identical to you. His eyes are wide, scanning the person up and down. Same hair, eyes, facial structure. If he didn’t know better, he’d think you were right in front of him. Unfortunately, Zhongli does know better. He knows that you are no longer alive. And he knows that he is the reason for your death.

He regains his composure. “I’m alright, thank you.” His smile is polite, but not sincere.

"Ah, alright. I’m sorry if this sounds weird but…” The worker started. “Are you doing alright? I’m sorry, I just felt like I had to ask you. Gut feeling, I guess.”

For a second time, Zhongli was taken aback, but he answered nonetheless. “Yes, just trying to find some nice flowers.” The worker smiled. It amazes Zhongli how much they look like you.

“Are you buying flowers for someone?” They ask.

“Yes,” Zhongli pauses. “They’re for someone who is very dear to me.” 

The worker points to a bouquet. “How about this one, then? It’s one of my favorites.”

Zhongli smiles. They were your favorite too. He lets out a chuckle at the situation. He had always hoped to see you again, but he didn’t think you’d visit him like this. “That one looks great.” He responds.

He looks up at the sky, and he hopes you know that in every other universe, he would’ve chosen you.