#melbourne prompt
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my only regret about the dad rock quiz is that i didn't put joan baez on it.
#my commie queen#the boys in melbourne who are socialists always went off on my joan baez hinge prompt
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What the fuck is up with music festivals not releasing set times in advance especially when we're talking festivals that go over several days
#i need to know whether i can squeeze in a spontaneous falla festival experience while I'm in Melbourne#seeing lil nas x would be fucking sick and i juat discovered peggy gou. very into it#music#this is also prompted by the fact that they still haven't released set times for good things fest which is literally next weekend#you all fucking infuriate me
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are you warm enough? ꨄ oscar piastri
oscar piastri x reader
warnings: reader has the flu, sad!reader over being sick [945 words]
request: Could I ask for a 💗 with Oscar and "Are you warm enough?" prompt?
note: oscar is def the type to take care of a sick partner?? i dont make the rules but it's true! this is part of my 1.5k celebration! feel free to request away!!
It was inevitable it was going to hit you. It had struck through your entire workplace, through all your study groups. One by one, person by person, they were taken down. By a measly thing like the flu. You knew it was going to take you out, and you were going to hate every second of it.
Selfishly, you were hoping it would strike you the week Oscar was gone, not wanting to waste any of the short time that you did have with him by being confined to bed with a sickness that wouldn’t go away. Unluckily, just hours before his plane was scheduled to touchdown in Melbourne, you felt the tickle begin to climb in the back of your throat.
By the time Oscar’s bags were tossed through the front door of your apartment, you were curled up on the couch, a heated blanket over you while a half-empty cup of tea remained on the coffee table in front of you. Your head was pounding, your nose was stuffed, your stomach was aching. You couldn’t keep any food down, and it felt like the apartment had hit negative temperatures in the few hours between waking up with a scratchy throat, and Oscar coming through the door.
“Honey, I’m home,” he singsonged, walking around the corner and stopping dead in his tracks when he observed your state.
You had told him about all the people who were getting sick at work, at school, about how you had been diligent about making sure you were washing your hands and keeping away from them. How you had told him how you didn’t want to ruin the little time the two of you were finally going to be able to spend together, so you were being extra careful.
Oscar felt the sympathy wash over him as he observed you peak out from underneath the blanket, a look of sadness etched around your face.
“Osc… you shouldn’t come close to me. I don’t want to get you sick, too,” you said.
Ignoring your words, Oscar moved closer to the couch before sitting down beside your sock-covered feet. He gently maneuvered them so they were placed over your lap, rubbing soothing circles on your now-exposed ankle.
“I’ll suffer if I have to. Can’t make you take care of yourself when you look like you might freeze to death if I even move this blanket.”
Just from the blanket simply touching his leg, he could feel the heat emitting off of it, the number ‘6’ displayed on the power screen, indicating it was at the highest level the blanket could reach.
“Do you want me to make you another tea? Maybe go pick up some soup? I can give my mum a call, see if she can make any and drop it off? Does that sound good?”
Your only response was a nod of your head at every question he threw at you, you weren’t one to ask for help when you were sick, always able to simply take care of yourself. But the idea of getting off the couch, moving from the warmth of the blanket to go and make yourself a tea, or dig through the cupboards to find a can of soup… it just didn’t sound worth it, at all.
“I don’t want to bug your mum, if you pass me my phone I’ll just order some soup here. I can get you something too, real food. But you may not want to eat near me, I haven’t really been able to keep anything down either,” the sniffles after every few words had Oscar grimacing.
“Oh hush, mum always has leftover soup. Someone’s always sick around there, she’d be more than happy to drop it off. Let me go make you a cup of tea, and I’ll be right back.”
It didn’t take him long to tinker around the kitchen, throwing your favourite teabag into the mug and heating up the kettle; texting his mum in the process to inquire about any recent soups she may have made. Unsurprisingly, dad had been sick just days before, excess of his favourite soup in a Tupperware container in the freezer. Nicole had promised to get it thawed up and dropped off before sunset, a message of ‘get well soon, honey’ likely to be written in black ink on the lid.
Holding the warm cup of tea in front of your face, he gestured for you to sit up, a groan emitting from your body as you did so. Gently placing the cup into your hands, he sat down next to you, a small frown marring his face.
“Are you warm enough, baby? I can go pull down a few more blankets from the cupboards? Or turn the heating up?”
Shaking your head, you placed the mug down on the coffee table in front of you, before snuggling up into his side.
“Can you just hold me? You’re always so warm, and I just want to be snuggled up with you, right now,” you said.
The arm that was pressed between your two bodies moved out of the grasp, wrapping an arm tightly around your shoulders before pulling you in closer to his body.
“I’ll hold you whenever you want me to, even if you’re going to have to be the one to explain to the team why I have the flu next week.”
The only response you gave him was a shrug of your shoulders. You had already grappled with the fact you were probably going to get him sick, if you had to explain to the team why one of their prized driver’s was now sick… then so be it.
y'all... i didnt realize how popular oscar was until this celebration i have SO many requests for him lol. i hope everyone loves this, and as always, thank you for celebrating with me!!
#oscar piastri#oscar piastri x reader#f1 x reader#f1 x you#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri fanfic#f1 one shot#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 one shot#formula 1 blurb#oscar piastri blurb#blurb#writing#fluff#pierregazly's 1.5k celebration
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The Best Way To Value A House
"I need to value the house!"
my sources hear this time in, day trip as we all need to know what our houses are worth. From the ones that are merely speculating to home movers seeking to sell their property quickly, many people every single day look for learn value of their homes.
So is there a best method to value a residence?
There are three options to consider. The first one, along with the least recommended, is to value the house yourself. A handful of people attempt to take this route, however this often brings about incorrect valuations and their property struggling to build viewings or offers.
The second, and a more common route taken, is the online valuation. You can go into the details of your house and in seconds you can find out a web based estimate of your house. This should supply you with a good initial figure and it is a handy starting place along the way. However, you must remember that the online estimate tool is founded on computer generated information and it is not able to evaluate the specific and unique characteristics of your property.
The third, and quite a few recommended, option is always to arrange full house valuation from an accredited estate agent. These take a few moments to setup as well as an agent will visit your house in just a couple of days to see you its true value. The agent will be an expert in valuing property in the local area and will know exactly what it takes to offer houses. As well as evaluate your home, the agent may also take into consideration local market factors, including recent sold as well as for sale comparable properties.
#property valuation doncaster#industrial property valuation melbourne#residential property valuation melbourne#retail property valuation melbourne#property valuation melbourne#property valuation box hill#property valuers melbourne#property valuers doncaster#property valuation glen waverley#writing prompt#property valuation camberwell#property valuation balwyn#independent property valuation melbourne#commercial property valuation melbourne#property valuations capital gains tax
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Titbits and analysis 🖖
As promised, some more titbits from the Con yesterday in Melbourne as well as my interpretations. Prior to attending yesterday, I told myself to keep an open mind and attempt to leave any biases behind (even after having seen the funeral pics). Clean slate. To try and view Sam, the event, questions, and subsequent behaviours objectively.
I'm the sort of person who feels energy and is affected by it and in some ways governed by it. The energy of people, both individually and collectively. The energy of a group. I tend to couple this with objective analysis, which forms the basis of my conclusions about people and situations.
I applied this method yesterday in attempting to understand and view Sam, the OL money 💰 machine and everything else. I also just wanted to go there and bask in the audience and enjoy myself....and....I did like it Jamie.
So first thing I noticed off the cuff was how experienced Sam was in handling questions, and the women, and tailoring his behaviour to suit their desires. He was charming, charismatic, approachable, a skilled professional. I saw the veneer. I felt the veneer. I also saw and felt that he is a pretty decent bloke under that veneer. A man with a solid work ethic, who is mild mannered and working with purpose in his life.
I observed that his handler or Convention agent or whatever he is, Steve, was in full control. He managed Sam's performance in a sense. He asked the questions and even set the directions for some answers. Sam is controlled. I didn't like Steve. I didn't get the best vibe off him. Infact, I got a bad vibe off him. I observed that everything was a performance. Scripted to a large degree. The Single Sam narrative was pushed by Steve. Hard. It was a performance. That much was clear to me.
So Sam chose to mention that he was in Austria skiing 2 weeks ago....blah blah...something about singing a Ronan Keating song. So the script tells everyone nice and early that he is NOT with Caitriona ✅️
Later on in the panel, he mentioned that he "was at the theatre in London the week earlier" watching a play. Huh? Getting his timeline confused? Interesting titbit, I thought. Who would he go to the theatre with whilst in London? Who else likes to go to the theatre? Who have we seen him go to the theatre with before? Ding ding ding!!
One of the first things he spoke about (umprompted) and imo was part of his speaking program, was that Caitriona is back home in Scotland doing prep work and will be directing this season. He said that he spoke to her recently and that she is cold and miserable back home. No one seemed to give a shit. The women were there for their Jamie. Sam read the crowd. He understood.
Sam tried to bring Cait into the conversation again saying something like "Where's Claire?....Caitriona isn't here". Again crickets from the audience.
He said that he auditioned with a lot of Claire's, but they couldn't find the right fit and that nobody was as brilliant as Caitriona.
It sounded like he genuinely missed her.
He spoke of his audition with Cait, saying they were very physical and were almost wrestling each other. He said he was sweating all over her and that his sweat was on her. The crowd still only wanted to hear about their Jamie. I think Sam relished in being cheeky in saying that she wore his sweat that day.
Someone asked about "how do you kiss and make out with a costar and then just carry-on. Isn't it awkward"? Sam responded generally initially, saying that there's lots of checking in with the person and apologising afterwards (in a joking fashion). Then that prompted him to start talking about Cait saying that he has also "snotted" all over Cait and exchanged many body fluids with her (in an acting context presumably)and that there's nothing really left to do together that they haven't already done. I was like "whoooaa wtf Sam?". Shooketh that he said that really. The silence from the crowd was palpable. They really didn't want to hear about Cait and Sam and their shared bodily fluids whilst 'acting'. He is THEIR fantasy man. Not Caitriona's. Silence from the audience. Sam already knew that the crowd were Sam onlies but he loved telling this story. Relished in it imo. He loved the double entendre. It was an unrehearsed, unscripted conversation as it resulted from an audience question. I concluded it was an act of defiance on his behalf. That's what it felt like to me.
Steve the convention agent guy, was always bringing it back to Single Sam. "I worry how are you going to get a date" said Steve. With Sam understanding the prompt ...."I worry too" says Sam. Bachelor narrative secured ✅️
Steve spruked the Bachelor narrative again to Sam's thirsty and adoring fans....."Sam you remind me of that old show where everyone has to guess which bachelor is going to come out of the mystery door". And that's when I knew with 100 percent certainty that the bachelor talk was a ruse. It was so contrived and performative. I smiled to myself. The women in the crowd were eating it up.
Another thing that stood out to me was when Sam was searching for the right terminology when talking about Cait. "My......co star" huge pause.
"I love you Claire" is the line he randomly chose to say when explaining his acting.
When asked how he has time to foster friendships and spend time with his family he talked around it. Avoided the question and kept it about his friendships saying that they are strong friendships that endure. He diverged and started talking about how he still has his core friendships that he had when he was bunking and sharing an apartment/house with them in London when he was younger. The veneer was up. Inpenetrable.
At another point in the panel Sam asked "How many Sheila's are there here"? LOL. I found that amusing.
Now this next part captured my attention the most. It had a weird feeling (energy) around it . Sam gave off a weird energy. Almost hostile. Again that's just what I felt.
Someome from the audience named Toni with an "I" was selected to ask a question. I can't remember what the question was but Sam made a really big deal about her being named Toni. "There's always a Tony have you noticed"? Why is there always a Tony"? He said. He didn't want to drop it. He placed a little too much emphasis on it. I was laughing silently but Sam's double entendre didn't go unnoticed by me. Everyone else was clueless or at least that's how it appeared to me. Was that an Easter egg dropped by Sammy?
Asked about what does he do for self care, he seemed to struggle answering that too. He talked in circles about his way points hike and how he's learning how to live in the moment. There's that wall again.
There were many other things discussed of course but I thought I'd focus on the things that shed light on his situation and that resonated with me.
So my closing Analysis? Sam is controlled. He peforms. He caters. He's intelligent and in tune with people and aims to please but is private. Sunday just reaffirmed and solidified my beliefs. Caitriona snatched up that hard working gem of a man quick smart!
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hey!! could i request a little fluffy kcc fic where it’s like ‘the 5 times you and kyra almost kissed and the 1 time u did’ or sumth like that :P
the five times you almost kissed kyra, and the one time you did II k.cooney-cross
this is a super cute concept, maybe I’ll make this a lil prompt series for different players 🫶🏻
@celmeme this one’s for you bby
the five times you almost kissed kyra, and the one time you did II k.cooney-cross
one.
you'd befriended kyra since the very first day the two of you had signed for melbourne victory. having played alongside one another a few times before in the young matildas a few years prior you knew of each other, but beyond that you’d really not interacted all that much at all.
you'd grown a lot closer at victory, being the same age you often roomed together for away games and through nights spent filled with breathless laughter, poor dad jokes and card games your friendship deepened.
you hadn't realized you felt much more for her than loving her like your best friend until it was during one of those sleepless sleepovers, the two of you clutching at your stomachs as your guts hurt from the deep belly laughs you desperately tried to stifle into your hands.
you were sprawled out on her bed, your own laying untouched with both your cases on it, clothes flung messily around the room as the two of you came down from a post win high, agreeing to pull an all nighter so you could sleep on the flight home tomorrow.
kyra was determined to teach you a new card game, one she'd grown up playing that must have been a queensland tribute as you'd grown up in victoria and never once heard of it.
your growing frustrations at losing over and over were grating at your patience, but the more annoyed you became the more kyra's grin grew.
"i give up!" you huffed, throwing the cards in her smug face and flopping down onto the bed with a frown. "sore loser! sore loser! sore loser!" the girl chanted beside you, playfully smacking you in the face with the playing cards as she grinned.
she finally ceased her teasing and laid down beside you, the two of you on your sides so you were face to face. kyra challenged you to a staring competition, forever competing with you over anything she could, and you of course accepted.
though as you were practically forced to look at her, properly look at her, you couldn't help but be distracted as you locked in on all the little features which made her, well her.
the freckles which littered her sun kissed skin, arching over her nose and cheeks, the alluringly safe and warm pools of hazel which were her eyes, the dimples in each corner of her mouth as she gave you that signature cheeky grin.
and her lips, her rosy pink lips which sat there staring right at you, you felt a weird pull in your stomach and blinked, the girls cheering at her victory snapping you out of it.
you could have kissed the smug smile right off her face then and there.
two.
you don't know how you ended up here, you hated crowds and you hated the feel of the sweaty bodies all pressed up against you, the sour tang of alcohol soaked clothing filling the air.
but when you glance to your left and see her smile, everything else just melted away and suddenly there isn't anywhere else you'd rather be than here by her side.
you'd lost the rest of your friends hours ago but neither of you minded, wanting to see different bands than they had anyway and you all knew where to meet up later once the festival came to a close and the six of you would begin your long walk back to the caravan park you were spending the weekend at.
you hear her yell in your ear that she wants to get closer, her favourite band are up next and she's been hanging for their set all day, they were the main reason the two of you even ended up at this festival in the first place.
neither of you were drinking, just soaking in the luxury of another blisteringly hot australian summer and having a week break in between the A League season finishing and the international camp starting.
you felt her hand slip into yours, squeezing tightly as she threaded her way through the throng of intoxicated bodies littered around you, glancing over her shoulder with an excited grin to check you were still with her, eventually settling a few rows back from the front of the barricade.
she chattered away happily to you, always having been the talker among the pair of you as you were ever an avid listener. you loved the way she spoke so animatedly, gesturing her hands around and throwing her whole body into a story, switching between personalities and accents to really make you feel as though you'd been there with her.
the sun setting behind the main stage casted a gorgeous orange glow on the eager crowd below, the next band announced as a deafening cheer ripped out the pack of festival goers, kyra screaming in your ear as she shook you happily making you let out a loud laugh.
it was a few songs in when two more of your friends found you, hands resting on your shoulders as kyra's face lit up even more as they started to play her favourite song. you laughed in surprise as she grabbed your hands, sunglasses teetering on the end of her nose as she sang to you, spinning you around and dipping you as your laughter only increased.
though your breath caught in your throat as she suddenly pulled your body into hers, pressing her sweat dampened forehead to yours and screaming the final few lyrics in your face, lips only a mere millimeters from yours
all it would have taken was a slight adjustment, a sudden burst of unwavering confidence and you'd have kissed her, you wished you had.
three.
the first real bump in the road came when both you and kyra finally broke out of the A League and into the international football scene. she signed with hammerby and you with arsenal, and though you'd spent time on different teams when she'd moved briefly to the wanderers, you'd never had this sort of distance between you.
it meant for more sleepless nights but this time alone, the two of you staying up to watch one anothers respective matches when they were on, face timing as much as you could and keeping in as much contact as possible.
and though your feelings for kyra should have dimmed given the way you'd not seen one another properly for so long, it seemed the distance in between you two had made your heart grow fonder.
you found your mind constantly occupied wondering what she was doing in the spare pockets of time you had to yourself.
not that you really had to try to hard to imagine it given kyra texted you at least a hundred times a day with constant updates of her whereabouts, inner monologue and just sometimes the most unhinged random thoughts which popped into her head.
as the months ticked by you found yourself counting down to the next matildas camp, your stomach knotting at the worry that you might not be called up, despite steph and caitlin's constant reassurance you would be.
of course, you were, and not even thirty seconds after hanging up with tony did kyra's contact photo flashed across your screen making you smile.
"looks like i'll be stuck with you again in july." she sighed dramatically as the two of you chattered away and wandered from where a few of the other girls were huddled together for a movie night, sitting out on steph's back deck as calvin came to keep you company.
"oh show me!" kyra begged as you scratched at the furball with his head on your legs, switching to facetime and flipping your screen to show him, kyra cooing her hello's. "well well well and here i was thinking you were out here alone." you jumped slightly hearing steph's voice as she came to join you.
"congratulations on the squad call up, not that any of us doubted you both would be. except maybe this one!" steph playfully shoved your head as you handed her your phone, her and kyra catching up for a moment before your best friend bid you both goodbye, needing to get ready for training.
"god you're both such oblivious idiots." steph chuckled as she handed you back your phone. "and what's that supposed to mean stephanie?" you challenged with narrowed eyes as the two of you stood, the older girl shaking her head with a smile.
"it means you're both clearly obsessed with one another but too in denial the other feels the same way to act on it." she smiled knowingly, slinging an arm over your shoulder and whistling for calvin to follow you both inside.
"shut up." you grumbled, shoving her off and taking your seat back beside lia and leah. "you didn't deny it." steph teased with a wink, prompting several of the other girls to try and wedge their way into whatever the two of you had been discussing, you waving them all off refusing to continue the conversation.
though as you tucked your knees into your chest your phone vibrated and you glanced down seeing kyra had sent you a series of snapchats. you turned your body a little more for privacy and opened them, smiling as you clicked through the various selfies.
the last one your finger hovered over to click out of, kyra up close to the camera with her lips pursed into a duck faced pout, captioning it 'smooches for pooches' and telling you to give calvin a kiss for her.
but unbeknownst to your best friend, the only person you wished you could give a kiss was her.
four.
the world cup had all but flown by, weeks felt like hours and with every match played your emotions became all the more heightened. you were lucky enough to get your starting debut in the game against canada, having been utilized as a super sub in every other game.
once you were informed the first person you sought out to tell was your best friend, who'd started most games and you knew would understand the electric combination of excitement and nerves wracking your body.
"i'm starting tomorrow!" you burst through the door of your shared room, making kyra jump from where she'd been previously laid in bed doom scrolling. your best friend let out an excited squeal, jumping to her feet and launching herself at you.
"ow! dickhead." you laughed and shoved her as she landed on top of you, sending the two of you tumbling to the ground, a tangled mess of limbs. "see! i told you! i toldddd you!" the brunette sang out with a grin, grabbing your face and kissing your cheek with a loud mwah, and you were aware of the blush you felt creeping up your neck, wishing nothing more than for her to kiss you like that but not on the cheek.
"i'm so proud of you squish." the girl grinned, the two of you standing before she quite literally tackled you onto the bed, beaming down at you as you rolled your eyes at the nickname. "god don't call me that." you groaned, the midfielder only squishing your cheeks together aggressively with her hands making you squirm and push her away.
"hey kid, breathe." caitlin chuckled behind you, squeezing your shoulders as you tapped your foot anxiously in the tunnel, peering out to the thundering screams of the pitch which awaited you.
"you've earned this, go and show the world why!" stephs hand came to rest on your cheek where she stood in front of you, captains armband sitting proudly on her bicep as you nodded, sending her an appreciative smile.
your best friend watched from toward the back of the line up, the pining look after you not lost on her other best friend whom you were also quite close with, the blondes eyes narrowing as a smile curled on her lips.
"i think that if she scores tonight you need to reward her by telling her how you really feel." charlie leant forward and whispered in kyra's ear, causing the girl to turn around and shoot her a glare, mumbling for her to shut up before facing forward again.
unlike the match prior the team kicked off with a flying start, hayley getting you all on the score sheet early on much to the teams collective relief, everyone feeling the pressure of two prior lackluster performances looming over them.
by the time the clock wound down into injury time you were three goals up and absoloutely flying. you hadn't expected to play the entire match, tony had given you the heads up you'd likely be subbed off not long after half time for some fresh legs.
but here you were entering the 100th minute, legs still pounding the pitch as you trailed after hayley, flanked by ellie on your left and kyra on your right as they passed between them as you moved into position on the other side of the box.
kyra's head popped up for a moment and her eyes caught yours, you sent her a grin expecting her to cross it over to charlie who was right by the post, but she sent you a nod and suddenly the ball was sailing toward you as a sea of red uniforms came charging in.
you jumped suddenly realising that if you didn't the ball would be easily clipped out of play by a defender. you went in blind as two canadians pressed into either side of you, then suddenly as your eyes squeezed closed and you felt someone crash into your midsection, something came bouncing off your forehead moments before you slumped down to the ground.
any pain you felt from the harsh tackle was immediately wiped away as the stadium errupted and bodies piled on top of you as the final whistle sounded to end the game.
you were drowned in kisses and hugs and slung over shoulders and passed from team mate to team mate, celebrating your debut goal as you couldn't wipe the shit eating grin off your face.
"look! see! you're a little fucking rocket." steph beamed, grabbing you by the shoulders and turning your body, pointing up to the big screen where your goal was replayed, your captain shaking you with an excited cheer, kissing your cheek before running off.
you watched the goal replay as a sense of pride unlike something you'd ever known began to creep through your body, drowning out the deafening cheers and chants of the crowd as you finally felt like you belonged here.
though the moment was cut short as a body crashed into you, sending you tumbling to the ground as your best friend hovered over you. "you fucking did it! you scored! you played the full game and you pulled out a banger in the last minute!" kyra screamed at the top of her lungs, tilting her head back as she sat on top of you and cheering as loud as she could up toward the open sky making you laugh.
"wouldn't have happened without your assist!" you smacked her chest as you sat up, kyra shuffling off of you as the two of you sat side by side on the pitch, her head falling to your shoulder as you both soaked it all in for a moment.
you felt a warm hand slip into yours, fingers intertwining and gently squeezing as kyra brought your hand up to her mouth, kissing it and sending you a smile so soft you could have melted into the grass beneath you.
and again you both felt the world slip away as your eyes remained locked, the two of you seemingly caught in a trance as without realizing you both began to lean in slightly, kyra's eyes dropping down to your lips before flickering back up, left eyebrow every so slightly raised as if asking permission for something.
however you were both brought swiftly back to reality as charlie suddenly launched herself on top of the two of you with a squeal, arms slung around your necks as both yours and kyras cheeks burnt red, both avoiding one anothers gaze as if it would turn one another to stone.
five.
ever since the almost kiss after the canada game and the crushing semi final elimination, things with you and kyra for the first time ever had felt strained, awkward, different.
decompressing after a whirlwind world cup you threw yourself with pre season and a week away with your arsenal national teammates, you and kyra had hardly spoken bar a few painfully awkward text conversations.
you were both aware of how uncomfortable things had become, and of course you both knew why and wanted to speak about it, but neither of you realised the other was feeling the same. and for fear of rejection or losing your friendship all together, you both suffered through the rough patch silently.
but then, everything changed the day that kyra's signing was announced.
seeing it pop up on your social media's you found yourself overcome with waves of differing emotions. you were angry she'd not told you, sad that she hadn't felt like it was something she could have told you, over the moon that once again you'd finally be playing alongside one another at a club level, and absolutely terrified at the thought of seeing her again in person.
turns out your chance came quite soon, kyra arriving to colney for her first training session with the team meant she'd called you the night before. she'd apologised over and over for not telling you, explaining she was doing her best to keep it as under wraps as she could before it was announced given it was such a last minute buy and transfer.
this had then snowballed into the two of you spending three and a half hours on the phone together, catching up on everything and anything from the past month you'd not actually spoken about, things finally starting to feel a little more normal again.
"you nervous to see your little girlfriend squish?" caitlin teased quietly as she took her seat beside you at breakfast, causing you to send her a firm glare, ignoring her words. "girlfriend?" katie had then chimed in, a lot louder than your australian team mate as your eyes widened and you smacked a hand over her mouth.
"do you have any other volume than fucking loud mccabe?" you scowled, removing your hand and shoveling a mouthful of fruit into your mouth.
"well clearly someone pissed in your cereal this morning." the irishwoman clipped, not taking the teasing any further as steph arrived and sent both women beside you a firm look, having overheard their previous words.
"hey, you okay?" the older girl kicked you softly causing you to look up and send her a nod, gaze dropping back to your tray as you picked at your breakfast.
"girls!" you all glanced up at jonas's voice, your breakfast suddenly caught in your throat at the sight of the tanned midfielder standing beside him with a nervous smile as jonas introduced her properly.
seeing the clearly overwhelmed look twinkle in her eyes, masked to almost everyone but you, you grabbed your tray and quickly stood to your feet. abandoning your breakfast you were quickly by her side, squeezing her hip reassuringly and grabbing her hand, pulling her with you to start introducing her to all of the girls.
“do you think they’ll ever confess that they’re in love with one another?” caitlin quietly murmured to steph who smiled, seeing the obvious glances of longing you and kyra would bathe one another with when you assumed the other wasn’t looking, and the way your gaze’s would quickly flick down to the others lips as you spoke, clearly distracted with the turmoil of your hidden affections for one another.
“yeah you know I do, but when they’re ready.”
one.
things finally felt normal between you and your best friend again, well as normal as it could be.
everyday you’d find you had to catch yourself, getting a little too close with the tanned midfielder.
a hug perhaps lingering a few moments too long, hands grazing skin as the two of you brushed up against one another in training, causing you both to become flustered and overwhelmed and yet somehow you both failed to notice the others obvious pining.
you both felt the tension between you two growing, but determined not to form any cracks in your once again rock solid friendship you refused to acknowledge them, pushing your feelings deep deep down and ignoring them as best as you could.
until one day, everything bubbled over.
it was the window of international break, so with over half your team mates scattered across the globe with national team commitments you and kyra found yourself with a lot more uninterrupted time together.
the two of you had done a lower body workout together earlier in the day under the watchful eyes of kim and jen, steph and caitlin normally your assigned babysitters away on a weekend getaway in spain together for some much needed r+r.
finishing up the two of you were left to your own devices, kim and jen satisfied that with your energy levels seemingly at bay you and kyra could be left alone in the gym for awhile before you’d all link back up later for some drills.
“i bet you i can hang upside down on this for five whole minutes!” kyra challenged as the two of you messed around with the gymnastics ropes, swinging around like monkeys as kyra had control of the gym speakers, your favourite band blasting around you.
“no way. you’ll break your neck if you fall!” you warned as the girl simply sent you a cheeky grin and shifted her position so she could get her legs up and into the hoops she’d been hanging off.
“ky you could seriously hurt yourself.” you warned again as she waved you off and continued on with her task, stubborn nature kicking in as you sighed in defeat and moved in closer, hoping to be able to catch her if she fell.
“okay start timing me!” the girl ordered, pulling herself up as you rolled your eyes but tapped onto the timer of your apple watch as she dropped her body, now hanging upside down with her feet through the hoops.
“see! told you, piece of cake mate.” kyra beamed beckoning you closer as you shook your head at her, the two of you basically eye to eye given how high she was on the ropes. “i feel like spider man this is so cool.” the brunette giggled, face starting to go red as the blood rushed to her head.
“you wish.” you rolled your eyes playfully, moving a stray hair out of her face as a comfortable silence settled between the two of you, eyes roaming one another’s faces silently.
“you could be my gwen stacey.” kyra smiled though much softer this time, her hands reaching out for you as you grabbed them, fingers intertwining, breath hitching as she tugged you closer, the two of you so close that if you even turned your head slightly your nose would bump hers.
and just like all those weeks ago everything seemed to slow, the guitar riff currently booming around the gym ceasing to a quiet hum as you found yourself completely lost in the soft pools of hazel brown which stared at you, a subtle longing drawing you in closer.
kyra’s breath hitched slightly as your hands came to gently clasp her cheeks, your touch warm and comforting and familiar. your eyes flickered up to her lips as she ever so slightly nodded, her body screaming out for the exact same thing yours was.
ever so slowly, agonisingly so for kyra, you leaned in that little bit further until finally, finally, your lips met hers.
her lips felt soft, and warm and your stomach did a backflip as they moved against your own, her mouth slotting perfectly with yours as fireworks punched their way around your insides, the gentle touch of your best friend setting your hairs on end, goosebumps rippling your tanned skin.
“kyra! jesus christ get the hell down from there you’re gonna break your neck!” you jumped away from her as the sound of your captains voice rang sternly through the gym.
caught off guard kyra let out a squeal as her feet unhooked, sending her tumbling down on top of you, the two of you crashing down to the ground with a loud thud and a shared groan.
but as the scottish woman ripped into the two of you angrily your eyes still found kyra’s, lips curling into a soft smile and cheeks glowing bright red as you slipped your hand into hers, squeezing softly as kyra reciprocated your shy smile.
because to the two of you in that moment, nothing else mattered.
#kyra cooney cross x reader#woso x reader#woso imagine#woso blurbs#kyra cooney cross#woso fanfics#woso#awfc#matildas
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For How Long!?!
Chapter 4: A big decision
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Pairings: Logan Sargeant x reader
Oscar Piastri x reader (platonic)
Warnings: Reader mentions anxiety/having it once, briefly. Not really angst but Sad Logan :(. This is hardly a SMAU for this part but I had to sacrifice that for some real relationship content.
Notes: I promised some more Logan × Reader relationship stuff but I'm sorry that it had to come at the cost of the SMAU aspect.
Summary: The Australian GP and its effects...
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Unlike much important news in your life, you didn't catch wind of this through a text message. Instead you find out when your boyfriend of five (nearly 6) years came barrelling into your driver's room.
Now there were a few alarming things you note.
1) What was he doing here. This is a surefire way to have the relationship the two of you have tried so hard to hide, be revealed.
2) How did he get in here. Despite you loving Logan with all of your being and near worshipping the ground he walked on, there was no way that he - a driver from a rival team- should be able to enter the Aton Martin hospitality let alone your drivers room.
3) Was he crying?
You glance at the door and swiftly sit up from the old (and oddly comfortable) chair you were resting in. "Lo? Are you alr-" The words get caught in your throat when you see his wide, glassy eyes. You have only ever seen him sport this expression on a handful of occasions and so this further adds to your worry.
Before you can even attempt to get another word in, he clings to you. It was like being smothered by a warm, sweaty, tall koala. You wouldn't have it any other way. Your hand finds the small of his back and begins to run calming circles up and down his fireproofs. "Honey." You gently coo "What's wrong?"
Instead of getting the desired response, Logan instead started to sob on your shoulder.
This is the last young you expected when you woke up.
You continue to hold him until he eventually builds up the strength to say what he came in your room for. "It's the car." There is a sharp intake of breath from your partner "Well, you saw yesterday how Alex crashed his right?" You hum in acknowledgement and as a prompt for him to keep speaking.
"So they uh..." he looks down almost ashamed. You smile softly at him to help encourage him to continue his story. "Well they told me that his chassis is broken and they don't have a spare... So I'm going to have to sacrifice my seat to Alex can drive on Sunday."
This time it was you that inhales sharply. "What?" Maybe you heard things wrong or maybe you were just misinterpreting- "Yeah I'm not racing on Sunday because Alex is 'more likely to score points." It was at this moment that your heart broke. Do they not trust him? That can't be fair. That's not right!
Despite your inner conflict, you remind yourself that you Logan is the most important thing here and you have to pull yourself together for him. It was the minimum of what he deserved especially now. "Oh honey." You hug him again and lead him to the bed in the corner of your room .
You fall back and he curls into you to lie on top of you as you run your fingers through his hair. When his once deep sobs became only occasional sniffles, you enquire "Is there anything I can do. Can I go and beat up James? Can I give you my chassis?" That makes him laugh and when he looks up you find yourself smiling. "No. Just continue holding me. "
And who are you to leave his wishes unfulfilled?
-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-
Yourusername
Yourusername: There were some lovely sights in Melbourne. And after stealing this wonderful man, we found the most adorable record shop!
Liked by: Logansargeant, Oscarpiastri and 1,034,957 others
View all 5,432 comments
User1: I THOUGHT THIS WAS A RELATIONSHIP ANNOUNCEMENT AND NEARLY HAD A HEART ATTACK!!!
↳ User 2: Girl me 2. I was ready to start praising anything and everything but alas
User 3: OH my gosh this is where Logan went!?!?
↳ Yourusername: Sorry. He deserved a bit of cheering up :/
↳ User 4: I can't tell if this makes me really happy or really sad.
Logansargeant: No better company in the middle of Australia
↳ Oscarpiastri: Oi!
↳ Yourusername: Read it and weep Osc. Read it and weep (also you left us in the middle of a country we know next to nothing about!??!)
↳ Oscarpiastri: My bad (and I'd do it again)
↳ User 5: My theory is that Oscar didn't accompany them because he is the biggest Y/Ngan shipper and just wanted the two of them to spend time 2gther
Liked by Oscarpiastri
User 6: This is so sweet. Is this a relationship announcement?
Liked by Oscarpiastri
↳ User 7: Oscar is one of us #confirmed
☆-☆-☆-☆-☆
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Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and especially feedback is always welcome!
Taglist:
@nikfigueiredo @mysoulispainted @leclercings @d3kstar @hiireadstuff @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @lozzamez3 @stinkyjax @littlesatanicassholebitch @insanedeathwish @ems-alexandra @a-disturbing-self-reflection @marymustdie
#f1#formula 1#f1 x reader#logan sargeant#f1 fanfic#f1 x you#logan sargeant x you#logan sargeant fic#logan sargent x reader#logan sargeant x reader#ldah's writing
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A new landmark study has found that access to gender-affirming healthcare significantly reduces rates of depression, gender dysphoria, and suicidality among transgender people.
While it’s no secret that providing gender-affirming care to transgender individuals who ask for it can greatly benefit their well-being, an increase in transphobic rhetoric and bans on gender-affirming healthcare has prompted thorough medical studies into the impact of such care.
Now, brand new research conducted in Melbourne, Australia, has found that allowing transgender people to access the care they’re after can reduce suicidality by a stunning 55%.
As part of the first-ever randomized controlled trial (RCT) on gender-affirming care, researchers took 64 transgender and gender-diverse adults who had been looking to start testosterone therapy and randomly split them into a treatment group and a control group.
While the treatment group was allowed to begin hormone therapy that week, the control group waited three months for their treatment to begin.
Before the study began, both groups were evaluated on depression, gender dysphoria, and suicidality. Three months later, the two groups were evaluated again.
RCTs for medical care can often be hard to conduct due to practical and ethical concerns. However, researchers of this study found a way to hold an RCT for this study by incorporating a shorter follow-up period. Rather than giving the control group a placebo drug, or no treatment at all, they were simply given a longer wait time.
The results showed a notable decrease in gender dysphoria, depression, and – most significantly – suicidality.
The group that received gender-affirming care right away saw a 55% reduction in suicidality compared to a 5% drop within the control group.
Depression scores in the treatment group decreased by half, while gender dysphoria rates also significantly decreased.
Breaking down their findings, researchers Brendan J. Nolan MBBS, Sav Zwickl, PhD, and Peter Locke wrote: “There was a statistically significant decrease in gender dysphoria in individuals with immediate [access to gender-affirming care] compared with delayed initiation of testosterone therapy.”
“A clinically significant decrease in depression and a decrease in suicidality also occurred with immediate testosterone therapy.”
“The findings of this trial suggest that testosterone therapy significantly decreases gender dysphoria, depression, and suicidality in transgender and gender-diverse individuals desiring testosterone therapy.”
Of course, this isn’t the first time that research has shown significant drops in depression and suicide rates among transgender individuals who receive gender-affirming care.
A 2022 medical study showed that young transgender people who have access to puberty blockers are 73% less at risk of suicide and report improved well-being.
But, as anti-trans activists advocate for further bans on gender-affirming care, one of the key arguments is that the evidence in support of the care isn’t up to scratch with GRADE (Grades of Recommendation, Assessment, Development, and Evaluation) standards.
So research like this landmark RCT is so significant to the transgender community and its allies as the fight for their healthcare rights rumbles on.
#us politics#news#pinknews#2023#gender affirming care#gender affirming healthcare#transgender healthcare#transgender#trans rights#trans healthcare#suicidality#depression#gender dysphoria#Australia#randomized controlled trial#trust the science#Brendan J. Nolan#Sav Zwickl#Peter Locke#testosterone therapy#Grades of Recommendation Assessment Development and Evaluation#lgbtqia+#lgbtqia+ rights
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Lord Have Mercy
Did you hear the one that someone other than me was in the audience?
That I paid said person to update me and take photos/ vids 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂
BB™️ - from that great 🇦🇺 movie The Castle an appropriate quote - “Tell em they’re dreaming”
It was real. It was fucking fabulous.
It’s that Mastercard ad - what is priceless - being able to 🥊 all the bullshit away one fact at a time.
Edit The organisers told the audience that due to David Berry🦠 diagnosis there would be no hugging. 🤛🏻 pumps please. Sam put his arm around every fan, without prompting. Extremely generous as they are in front of an audience in Melbourne now and then heading off on planes.
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Could you do fic for Peter 'Bono' Bonnington with wife reader? Where his love language is like he make sure to bring a jacket if it's cold/rain for her, cheek/temple peck. And her love language is picking up his favorite snacks/meals from the store/homemade, holding hands/lean head on his shoulder. Just domestic things. Fully fluff and romantic. Add something else to it if it's not right. Thanks!! :))
haha, between me, this anon and @leosxrealm, we have 3 simps for bono
bono is hot. that is all i will say.
i also have a bit of an angsty part 2 (because angst is kinda what i do :) )
Please keep requesting - y'all have awesome ideas we agree on a lot of stuff :) - my guidelines are here, and if you want some prompts, they are here.
also feel free to come in and start chatting to me in my asks, would love to get to know y'all better
and if you want to be added to my taglist lmk :)
peter 'bono' bonnington x female!race engineer!reader
A jacket
Bono watched as his wife walked towards the ferrari garage, and then back to the pit wall. It was raining hard here, not unsurprising for Melbourne, and it was quite heavy, so the session had been delayed. As all the other engineers were doing, they were talking to the drivers and then working on data and double checking the radar. Bono supposed he was lucky in that way, all the information was in the garage for him. For Ferrari, the data was available on the pitwall, and the radar and the driver were inside, so he was watching his wife walk backwards and forwards in the rain, with no umbrella or even a raincoat, just in her ferrari clothes which were now soaked and with her hair sticking to her face he had no idea how she was even getting straight answers out of Carlos.
He once again saw her walk out again to the pitwall and start typing. He pulled up his own mercedes rain jacket before jogging out towards the ferrari pitwall. Y/N heard the footsteps approaching her pitwall and assumed it was Xavi or another Ferrari team member needing some data. However as she turned around she was not expecting to come face to face with her husband
“What are you doing here? Trying to steal our data?” Y/N grinned as she spun around to face her husband.
“Don’t think we need it, darling” Bono grinned back at his partner.
“Sorry, which team is coming 1st in the constructors, and which is coming 3rd?” She teased.
“Darling, there’s been 2 races.” Bono sighed, this was a regular occurrence in their household.
“Still counts. Anyway, what are you doing here, if not to steal our data?” Y/N’s face slightly fell as she tried to ascertain what her husband was doing here.
“It’s raining…” Bono attempted to explain
“No shit sherlock!” Y/ explained, looking surprised and sarcastic at Bono.
“You're wet…” he tried to continue
“Well thanks darling, I now know I can always rely on my husband to give me a good compliment. Although why’d you come out of the garage if not to also get wet. All your data is inside…” Y/N looked confused and sarcastic.
Bono shook his head, thinking and laughing about his wife’s banter, before holding out the unbranded rain jacket. “For your rushing between the Ferrari garage and the pit wall. You’re gonna catch a cold.”
She looked at him and smiled before taking the jacket and slipping it over her shoulders, nearly punching Bono in the process. She grimaced before looking up with an odd soft smile on her face
“Thanks babe.” She smiled sheepishly and looked won, before dashing once again out in the rain towards the ferrari garage.
All safe and dry. Bono thought as he walked back to the Mercedes garage. Safe. Dry. and warm. That was how he liked to keep his partner.
A good luck kiss
“Hey, hey darling, before you go…” Bono approached her wife, just before the race. Lewis and Carlos were starting P5 and P6, so they were just opposite each other, so Bono worked out a way to sneak away quickly to see his wife.
“Yes, Peter?” Y/N turned away from the mechanic who had been trying to talk to her. Bono loved this about his partner, he’d often always found that he’d been talked over, but Y/N was one of the people who had always made sure that he was listened to and that his ideas were heard.
Yeah sure, Y/N sometimes snubbed other people as the Ferrari mechanic was seething over her shoulder, apparently desperate to continue talking to her, but she would never do it for him.
“Kiss for good luck?” Bono knew his puppy dog eyes were questionable, as a man in his mid 40s.
Bono smiles as he looks down on her, before leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to her lips.
“How can I say no to you?”
“You can’t!”
“I know.”
Picking up snacks
“So Carlos, I just wanted to discuss…”
Bono had been very sad to wake up all alone in the bed, but hearing his wife’s voice echo from the office next door made him realise what had happened.
He went into the kitchen, and pulled out the breakfast that they had been planning on having together today. He paused as he pulled it out, before pulling out the other jar, untouched. Y/N’s breakfast. He knew the meeting that Y/N was in was probably confidential, but he also knew that Y/N had been up for a while. So he shuffled into Y/N’s office and placed the jar of chia seed pudding and the spoon in front of Y/N.
When Y/N looked up to see food and spoon being placed on top of her plans, she was not sure what she was expecting to see, but it was not her partner, half asleep, without his glasses on, hair sticking up everywhere, in just a dressing gown and slippers, squinting at the minimal light that was on in the room.
‘What are you doing?’ Y/N mouthed at Bono
Bono shrugged before shuffling out of the room again.
Y/N grinned to herself, shovelling a mouthful of the chia seed pudding in her mouth before turning back to Carlos and continuing her spiel.
—
“I’m so sorry baby, they just called me at like 7am, and were like ‘we know it’s your day off but we don’t care so you have to come in’ and i’m not happy about it darling. It’s OUR day off and…” she buried her head in his chest “i wanna spend it with you.” she concluded in a small voice.
They stayed like this for 10 minutes. Y/N with her head buried in Bono’s chest, before her phone started ringing again. Her groan was muffled in his chest, but he heard both the phone and the groan that followed.
“Hey, it’s okay, baby. I’ll do some of my work today, so then tomorrow we can still have a bit of a day off, even if it is not ‘officially’ a day off.”
“Mhm,” said Y/N as she began to extract herself from Bono’s hug. Bono, pulling her off as he grabbed a bowl he’d already prepared.
“Some trail mix darling, to get you through til lunch.”
“Thank you baby.”
—
“I know the data looks good, but it’s irrelevant until we get to testing and we can compare it to Red Bull and Mercedes. Yeah the data will…”
Bono had pulled on some earphones, while on a phone call with Toto, partially so he could get work done while he made lunch. He’d also left them on to visit his wife so that if she was talking about stuff that he wasn’t allowed to hear, it wouldn’t violate their NDAS.
Bono nudged the door with his elbow, holding a plate and a drink, in his hands. Y/N looked up from the chaos of her desk, hair frazzled, bin overflowing, data everywhere. Bono cleared a small space on the desk for the glass of water, and the plate with the egg salad lettuce wrap.
She grinned, as she took a bite into the wrap, before turning back to the computer and continuing her babbling, as Bono smiled as he shut the door and returned to his own room.
—
“Darling i love your food, but this truffle pasta is not as good as ferrari’s” - Y/N
“Next time we can go to Ferrari's hospitality then, or you can have my salmon.” - Bono
“I don’t want your salmon, I want Ferrari’s truffle pasta. Wait, there’s gonna be a next time? I think we should go to Red Bull if there’s gonna be a next time.” - Y/N grinned
“Based on their catering budget i reckon their pasta will somehow rival Ferrari’s” - Bono chuckled
“Well I guess next time we shall have to see!” - Y/N flashed her cheeky grin at him, as she dived back into the pasta.
“No, next time we have to go to Ferrari and see how much better pasta we can make.” - Bono insisted
“So we have 2 more dates planned, and then…”
Y/N could feel the eyes on her bright red Ferrari jacket in a sea of black, greys and whites in the Mercedes hospitality.
But the stares and whispered comments all faded as Bono laughed at some funny joke she had mentioned the ferrari screw ups so far this season.
Watching bono talk about the few things that mercedes had ever fucked up, made all the eyes fade away.
At least until Lewis, Toto and James all sat down and started chatting to Bono about various data that Y/N was sure that she wasn’t supposed to be hearing.
Bono cleared his throat “Um, guys? Is this really the time?”
Y/N did not miss the Cheshire cat grins on James and Toto’s faces “why of course now is the time, why wouldn’t now be the time?”
“Because I’m trying to have a nice calm and peaceful lunch with my wife and…”
Y/N preened at being labelled as Bono’s wife, at least until Lewis decided to open his big mouth
“We’re here because we were trying to work out if the rumours were true.”
“What rumours?”
“The rumours that there was a ferrari spy in the open eating out truffle pasta.”
“I mean it’s not very good truffle pasta. You should maybe not make pasta, it’s kinda ferrari’s thing.”
“Right, let’s divert money from the car development into the catering budget, i suppose.” Toto mused
“Yeah, maybe some funding out of the pit crew, because they will be more motivated, if they’re being fed better.”
“Bono, can we borrow your partner for financial advice?”
“Don’t know how she’d feel about that one.”
“Nah, happy at ferrari and yelling at people for stupid strategy.” She grinned, before finishing her drink, and giving Bono a kiss on his head before wandering off
Holding hands
Y/N looked up at Bono as he slipped his hand into hers . Slightly surprised by his demonstration of public affection, she tried to send him a questioning look. But he was looking full ahead trying to belt out the British anthem. He was stuffing up the anthem, he kept singing ‘god save the queen’ instead of ‘god save the king’. Y/N instead made eye contact with Susie, who smiled and then opened her mouth when she saw the hand holding. Y/N sent a look going ‘I KNOW RIGHT?’ and then they grinned at each other before looking forward again. So neither saw the small grin that filled Y/N’s face.
---
taglist: @leosxrealm, @tallrock35, @wolf-knights, @janeholt3
#f1 x reader#miloformula123fan#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#peter bonnington x reader#bono x reader#peter bonnington fic#peter bonnington#peter bonnington x female reader#peter bonnington x you#peter bonnington x y/n#bono fic#bono#bono x female reader#bono x you#bono x y/n
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No Way | LN4
Summary: Lando Norris, an F1 driver for McLaren Racing, faces persistent attention on his single status. In an attempt to appease fans and quell rumours, his management suggests a fake relationship with a popular Portuguese model. However, Lando's PR manager, Natalie, disagrees, believing fans would see through the ploy. As an alternative, Lando's management notices the genuine bond between him and Natalie and proposes they feign a relationship for authenticity. Initially hesitant, they agree, given their existing friendship and professional connection. The fake relationship takes an unexpected turn as Lando and Natalie grapple with burgeoning real feelings, attempting unsuccessfully to conceal their growing emotions.
Pairing: Lando Norris x Original Character (Natalie)
Warnings: Mentions of physical and emotional abuse
Masterlist
CHAPTER 3
“Hey, we have some gorgeous Aussie girls.” The Australian podcast host teases as they end the episode featuring Lando.
The teasing remark hangs in the air, a lighthearted attempt to inject humour into the conversation. Natalie, ever vigilant about maintaining a professional image for Lando, takes note of such comments. The challenges of managing public perception and steering clear of potential controversies in the world of Formula 1 become evident once again. As the podcast episode concludes, Natalie prepares to address any potential fallout or inquiries that may arise from such remarks, emphasising the delicate balance between humour and the need to maintain a respectful and inclusive public image for Lando.
In the quiet moments of transitioning from the podcast studio to the track inspections, Natalie remains attentive to the surroundings, always mindful of the public image they present. As the car manoeuvres through Melbourne traffic, the dynamic between Lando and Natalie shifts into a silent atmosphere, something quite unusual for the pair.
“You’re quiet.” Lando comments as he focuses on the cars ahead of him. Natalie turns the music louder to muffle the silence. “No. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
The gentle persistence in Lando’s voice prompts Natalie to consider opening up. The hum of the engine and the music becomes a backdrop to the unspoken connection between them.
“I’m sorry.” She mumbles as she looks out the window.
“For what? Did you take one of my hoodies again?” Lando responds as he turns to glance at her before reverting his eyes to the road ahead of him.
“No, nothing like that.” She quickly clarifies. “I’m sorry that you have to keep dealing with this silly stuff about being single and everyone trying to play matchmaker.”
“You don’t have to apologise for that. It’s not your fault.” He assures her.
After his phone call with Max, Lando found himself reflecting on the dynamics of his relationship with Natalie. The realisation dawned upon him that he cannot, and should not, expect her to continuously rearrange her life to accommodate the demands of the media or the public's curiosity. The weight of being under constant scrutiny and the pressure to conform to certain expectations has started to wear on him and he wanted to spare her that.
Lando understands that Natalie has her own life, aspirations, and personal journey, independent of their professional partnership, especially after the abrupt ending to her relationship. The awareness that she shouldn't be compelled to play the role of a pretend girlfriend, even for the sake of managing his public image, settles in. It becomes clear that expecting her to endure such a facade could strain their genuine friendship.
This realisation marks a maturation in Lando's perspective, emphasising the importance of respecting Natalie's autonomy and recognizing the boundaries between their personal and professional lives. While the external pressures persist, he understands that imposing additional burdens on Natalie for the sake of appearances is neither fair nor sustainable.
“But, there is a way I can help.” She continues causing him to turn back to her. “I could just pretend to be your girlfriend, after all.”
Natalie's unexpected proposal hangs in the air, creating a momentary pause in the car. Her suggestion, while delivered with a hint of jest, carries a weight of sincerity. Lando looks at her, registering the offer and contemplating the potential implications. The notion of Natalie stepping into the role of a fake girlfriend introduces a complex layer to their relationship, blurring the lines between the personal and the professional. Natalie's willingness to extend herself for Lando's benefit reveals a depth of trust and loyalty. Yet, the proposal also raises questions about the potential consequences for their dynamic, challenging the delicate balance they've maintained so far.
“Please don’t feel pressured to do that.” He quickly responds, shocked by her change of heart.
Lando's swift and sincere response reflects his concern for Natalie and an understanding of the potential challenges that could arise from such a proposal. The unexpected offer has caught him off guard, and he wants to ensure that Natalie doesn't feel compelled to take on a role that might compromise her comfort or well-being. The genuine care between them becomes palpable in this moment, emphasising the importance of preserving their authentic connection amidst the pressures and demands of their high-profile lives
“Let me help you, please.” She urges him. “I’ve given this enough thought and it does make the most sense for me to be your fake girlfriend.”
“Are you sure?” He queries.
“Yeah.” She agrees.
“I’d rather it be you than anyone else, honestly.” He breathes a sigh of relief, and deep down, Natalie is relieved to see him relax for the first time in weeks.
As they embark on this uncharted territory of a fake relationship, Natalie grapples with the myriad of potential complications that could arise. The boundaries between their professional and personal lives blur, introducing a layer of complexity that neither of them could have anticipated. Natalie's concern about the possible consequences of this arrangement lingers beneath the surface, overshadowed by the desire to alleviate the pressure on Lando.
The uncertainty looms large – what if genuine feelings begin to surface in the midst of this charade? The prospect of Lando or herself forming real connections outside of this orchestrated scenario adds another layer of intricacy. However, in the midst of these uncertainties, Lando and Natalie find a shared resolve to face the unknown together, hoping that their genuine connection will guide them through the complexities that lie ahead.
- LATER THAT DAY -
“Alright, it’s happening.” Natalie announces as she hands Lando her phone open on Instagram with a picture of the two of them, his arm around her shoulders as he looks lovingly at her. The post is followed by a second photo, capturing a moment where Lando places a soft kiss on her temple.
The decision to go public with their faux relationship is made, and social media becomes their stage. The carefully crafted images convey a narrative of affection and closeness, tailored to fit the expectations of their audience. As Natalie hands Lando her phone, they take a collective breath, knowing that these carefully curated moments are now part of the public domain.
The comments and reactions begin to pour in, as fans and followers respond to this seemingly intimate portrayal of their relationship. The challenge lies in maintaining the delicate balance between authenticity and performance, ensuring that the staged moments are convincing enough to fulfil their purpose without becoming entangled in the complexities of their real emotions.
“That was quick.” Lando mumbles as he scrolls through the photos. “A fan took this?”
“Looks like someone who had a paddock pass. There’s a video from a different angle as well as we’re walking into the garage.” Natalie confirms. “A couple weeks like this then we can soft launch completely.”
The speed at which the images have circulated takes Lando by surprise, emphasising the intensity of the Formula 1 spotlight. As they assess the initial fan reactions and engagement, Natalie strategically plans the next steps. The decision to gradually transition into a more public display of their fake relationship reflects a careful approach to managing expectations and maintaining an air of authenticity.
The two sit on the couch in his hotel room, huddled close together, scrolling through Instagram. They read through all the comments on the posts, absorbing the range of reactions from fans and followers. The digital realm becomes a realm of both curiosity and scrutiny as they navigate the public's response to their newfound relationship status.
Some comments express excitement and support, while others scrutinise the authenticity of their connection. Lando and Natalie exchange glances, acknowledging the complexities of the game they've chosen to play.
User1: Now we know why she kept stopping him from talking about his relationship status, she was scared he would reveal she’s his girlfriend.
“God, they’re giving us all the prompts to make this the greatest fake relationship ever.” Natalie comments.
“And, you hesitated at first.” Lando teases her.
“The key thing now is to act like we’re keeping it a secret and address any questions.” Natalie continues.
The only people who knew about the arrangement were Zak, Charlotte, and Max. The more people who knew, the bigger the chances of the secret coming out. The trio of confidantes held the delicate balance of information, understanding the consequences of even a minor leak. With each additional person brought into the circle, the risk of the truth surfacing increased, adding an element of suspense to their carefully orchestrated narrative. The trio became the guardians of the fabricated reality, entrusted with preserving the illusion that Lando and Natalie were more than just colleagues in the public eye.
- THE NEXT DAY -
Natalie stands in front of the screens studying the statistics flashing in front of her, not really paying attention to anything specific. Lando joins her and they share a small smile as he presses his arm against her. The subtle yet intimate gestures between Lando and Natalie unfold in the midst of their professional environment. The shared smiles and physical closeness create an unspoken connection, hinting at the depths of their faux relationship. The mechanics, although observant, maintain their focus on the task at hand, acknowledging the unique dynamics between the two without letting it disrupt their work.Lando’s fingers tease Natalie’s before he interlocks his pinky with hers as they continue to watch the screens in front of them. He leans down next to her ear and pulls her headset off her head.
“We’ve got some eyes on us.” He whispers in her ear. A small smile grows on her face as she studies the area and finds a photographer close by snapping photos of the cars and of the crew around the car.
The realisation of being observed adds a layer of intrigue to their staged relationship. As they play their parts, the awareness of being scrutinised by a photographer fuels the need to maintain the illusion. The subtle chemistry between Lando and Natalie becomes a performance, a carefully crafted act that extends beyond their interactions into the public eye.
Natalie peers up at Lando who peers down at her. He plants a loving kiss on her cheek and throws in a cheeky wink before he heads to gear up for qualifying. After a few minutes, Natalie finds herself on Instagram. Her mentions are blowing up with tagged pictures of the two in the garage.
The staged affection between Lando and Natalie becomes fodder for social media as fans eagerly capture and share moments from the garage. The kiss on the cheek and the playful wink are amplified through the lens of social media, creating a buzz around their supposed relationship. Natalie, navigating through the influx of tagged pictures on Instagram, becomes acutely aware of the impact their carefully orchestrated gestures have on their online presence.
User1: Okay. The PDA in the garage is too sweet.
User2: They look so in love.
The newfound closeness between Lando and Natalie brings an unexpected comfort to the charade. Lando's genuine concern for Natalie's well-being, even within the confines of their fake relationship, adds a layer of authenticity to their interactions. As they navigate the complexities of this arrangement, the initial discomfort transforms into a shared understanding that extends beyond the public eye. The fading questions about Lando's relationship status indicate the effectiveness of their strategy in steering the media's attention away from his personal life.
“Hey, you good?” Lando asks as he reappears next to her in his race suit. Her head snaps in his direction.
“Yeah, just zoned out.” She responds.
“Must be your boyfriend getting you all distracted.” Lando jokes.
“Can only be him.” She jokingly adds as the two share a laugh.
The surprising ease with which Lando and Natalie slip into the physical aspects of their fake relationship leaves them both astounded. The seemingly natural fit of their bodies, the intertwining of fingers, and the subtle touches create a facade that, to the outside world, appears unquestionably genuine. Lando finds himself revelling in the comfort of her presence, savouring the moments when her fingers delicately trace his back or when she leans her head against his shoulder. Despite the charade, there's an unspoken connection that goes beyond the script they're following. It's a testament to the strength of their bond, even in the midst of a fabricated romance that, for now, feels remarkably real.
He grabs his phone lying on the desk in front of them and opens his Instagram and spots a picture of the two chatting in the garage.
“Isn’t this from Sakhir?” He asks Natalie and turns the phone to show her the photo.
“Yeah, it is.” She responds and takes the phone from him to study the picture. “They’re going back to find clues as to when our supposed relationship started.”
As Natalie hands Lando his phone, their fingers inadvertently graze each other, sending a subtle shiver down their spines. She purposely avoids making eye contact, choosing instead to focus on her tablet, where she diligently types notes and sends emails. Lando, captivated by the graceful movements of her fingers, remains by her side, stealing glances whenever he can. The softness of her hands and the gentle precision with which she works leave an impression on him.
His attention shifts from her hands to her tanned arms, appreciating the confidence with which she carries herself in the midst of a bustling crowd. Despite her poise, he recalls the endearing moments of her occasional clumsiness. Lando fondly remembers catching her when she tripped over her own feet, marvelling at the way she would blush and offer profuse apologies for her lack of coordination. These instances of vulnerability only deepen his admiration for her.
Feeling the weight of Lando's gaze, Natalie notices his unwavering attention on her hands. She finds it amusing and decides to playfully break his trance. Gently, she runs a finger over his cheek, eliciting a subtle smile as he snaps out of his daze.
“Where were you now?” Natalie, aware of Lando's tendency to dissociate, gently questions his momentary absence.
“Not here, that’s for sure.” He sighs as he gazes at her. Their eyes meet, and in the depths of her dark green eyes, he finds a connection, grounding him back to the reality they are navigating together.
Lando, grappling with unexpected thoughts and sensations, chooses not to disclose the peculiar image that flashed through his mind—a vivid imagination of Natalie's fingers running through his curly hair. Perplexed by this unanticipated mental image, he seeks refuge in the familiar presence of his best friend, hoping to redirect his focus and understand the sudden surge of emotions stirred by the charade they've embarked upon.
“I need to talk to you.” Lando breathes as he shuts the door behind him.
“What’s up? You look stressed.” Max wonders curiously.
“Does she look different to you? Like, has she changed her hair or done her make-up differently?” Lando quickly asks.
“Natalie?” Max queries. “No, mate. She looks like herself. Why?”
“I’m going mad.” Lando responds.
“What are you talking about?” Max counters.
“I was just with her, and then all of a sudden, I’m thinking of her grabbing my hair, man.” Lando admits. “And, like kissing me.”
“Do you want her to kiss you?” Max implores, fueling Lando’s hysterics.
“What?” Lando mutters. “No. Yes. I don’t know.”
“I think you fancy her.” Max concludes.
“I do not.” Lando argues.
“You always have and now that she’s single and pretending to be your fake girlfriend, it’s all adding up in your head.” Max explains. Lando remains silent for a moment, processing Max's words.
“Maybe there's a tiny part of me that finds her attractive. But that's not the point. We're just faking this relationship to get the media off my back. I can’t fancy her. That’s off the table, completely.” Lando he sighs and admits
“So, what are you going to do when you have to hold her hand on a fake date? Or when you actually have to kiss her for a photo?” Max adds. “You’ll still fancy her, regardless.”
Lando slumps into the chair in defeat. The realisation hits Lando that the fake relationship might bring unforeseen challenges, especially considering the growing feelings he's trying to suppress. As he contemplates the upcoming scenarios Max mentioned, he begins to understand the complexities of the situation and the potential for emotions to complicate the arrangement.
---------------------------
Taglist: @noneofyourfbusinessworld
#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#f1 imagine#formula 1#lando norris#lando norris fanfic#lando norris fic#lando norris smut#mclaren#mclaren f1#lando norris x oc
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Thinking about Oscar bringing you to melbourne during the winter break and just all his family being absolutely in love with you. Sometimes Nicole is making jokes about how she would chose you instead of him .
it would be like you’ve known them your whole life. maybe it’s not the first time you’ve met them, but it’s the first time oscar’s brought you home to australia so you’re definitely a little anxious about how you’ll get on in a brand new area with people you don’t know as well as you know him.
but all of those anxieties disappear the second you cross the threshold of the piastri home because they all absolutely adore you. like they will genuinely argue about who gets to do what with you and when. oscar has to practically shout, “she’s my girlfriend!” to get everyone to stop arguing, even for a second.
nicole will always win when it comes to spending time with you because no one is brave enough to try and stop her. she’ll take you shopping, lunch, parks she used to take the kids when they were younger, and you already know she’s breaking out photo albums full of oscar’s baby pictures and telling you every elaborate story she can think of.
of course oscar will be all annoyed because, again, you’re his girlfriend and he wants to be spending time with you so he’s grumpy, which would prompt nicole to quietly joke about how “you should just stay when he leaves and be my eldest child.”
they all want you to be an official part of the family from the moment they meet you, and you will be soon enough 🤩
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a hug from you ꨄ oscar piastri
oscar piastri x afab!reader
warnings: reader dealing with period pain, long-distance relationship, mostly fluff [1022 words]
request: heyyy could you do "you look like you could use a hug" + "it will be better in the morning" from the 💗 list? with oscar piastri please!
The heating pad was pressed against your abdomen, the warmth radiating through your body as you clutched it closer to you. The cramps were heinous, they always were the first two days of your cycle. The headaches and back pain that had started to accompany the cramps just an extra frustration.
The pain had started earlier in the day, after an already-nightmare start to the morning. From the coffee that had slipped off the counter early in the morning, mug shattering across the floor, to the package of paper that had flown off your desk later in the afternoon - it felt like everything was slowly getting worse and piling up as the day progressed.
This agonizing pain radiating from your uterus was simply the icing on the cake. Tears had already been irrationally shed, junk food consumed. All you wanted to do now was curl up on the couch with the heating pad and a blanket, maybe a few snacks, and the television on to whatever sad show you could find.
Physical comfort from your favourite person, would also be a plus. The only thing you actually wanted, too.
Unfortunately, Oscar was still on a plane. He was coming home from London for winter break, the Formula 1 season having finally come to an end.
It was the only thing you were looking forward to now. Even if the pain radiating from your uterus had you clutching the heating pad closer to your abdomen every few moments, a grimace so evident on your features - all you could think about was the fact Oscar would be walking through the apartment door in a few short hours.
Oscar had texted you from his layover in Singapore hours ago, advising he was about to get on the plane and would message you when the plane touched down in Melbourne. Having taken the same flight more times than you can even count, you knew it wouldn’t be much longer til he was back home in his home country.
The ding from your phone minutes later being exactly what you thought, Oscar had landed and was just grabbing his luggage. He’d likely be home in the next hour.
Knowing how late it was, Oscar wasn’t expecting a response from you when he messaged you to let you know he was on his way home. The surprise of receiving a response almost immediately prompted a small smile to curl up on his lips.
He hadn’t seen you in almost a month in a half, both schedules being too hectic to make time for him to fly home, or for you to fly out to a race. He had been dying to see you from the moment he stepped on the plane in London, excited to get the chance to curl up around you and simply sleep after such a long flight. He would be the first one to admit how much he detested sleeping alone.
You were thinking the same thing, except all you wanted was to be wrapped up in his arms, his warm body helping to alleviate the never-ending cramping that felt like it was overtaking your body.
It didn’t take him long to get to your shared apartment once he finally hit the road, the late hour making it a smooth drive; no other cars on the road to impede his heavy foot that was currently pressing down on the gas pedal.
The click of the lock had your head whipping towards the door from your spot on the couch, your face lighting up as the door swung open. Oscar had bags hanging off all his limbs, a backpack on his back, two suitcases beside his legs, a duffle swung up on his arms. But you could still see the smile on his face once your eyes connected with his.
It took him a moment to register you in the dark of the apartment, the only light being from the hallway and the television. He instantly clocked the heating pad pressed to your abdomen overtop of the blanket, the packages of snacks laid out on the coffee table in front of you, and the show you only ever watched during this time of the month replaying on the television - his own grimace overtook his features once he wrapped his head around everything.
Dragging all his belongings into the room, he made his way over to you. Internally groaning as you sat up, Oscar was quick to place a soft peck to your lips, your cheeks, and then your forehead.
“Hi, baby,” he said, a soft smile etched on his cheeks.
“Hi, Osc. Missed you,” you murmured.
“Missed you more. You look like you could use a hug,” the words left his lips, his eyes following your movements as you shrugged, a small nod following.
He knew you like the back of his hand, knew that all you wanted was affection and cuddles from him when your body was hurting like this. Which, after almost an entire day of flying, he was more than happy to grab your hand and drag you towards the bedroom, his bags a problem for another day as he flopped down on the bed, his jacket, shirt, and pants having already found their way to the floor.
Eagerly dragging you into bed with him, he was quick to wrap his arms around you, tugging your body into his as he nestled his face into your neck. The exhale that fell from your lips was one of content. Happy to finally be wrapped in Oscar’s arms again, the warmth radiating from his body soothing the ache in yours.
“Missed you so much, Osc. Hate being away you for so long. Hate being alone when my body is trying to kill me.”
You felt him press a kiss to the exposed skin of your neck.
“Well, I’m home now. Everything will be better in the morning, my love.”
You hoped he was right. Really, you knew he was right. Your cramps wouldn’t be as bad, everything that had happened today would be yesterday’s problem. You got to wake up next to Oscar, had the opportunity to finally spend another day with him.
It was all you could ask for, really.
i don't love this, but i rewrote it so many times i needed to get it out??? all i want is oscar to comfort me when i'm dealing with this tho sooo
#oscar piastri#oscar piastri x you#f1 x reader#oscar piastri x reader#f1 x you#f1 one shot#f1 imagine#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri blurb#oscar piastri fanfic#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 x you#formula 1#f1#formula 1 blurb#blurb#writing#my writing
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Castle (Oscar Piastri X Reader)
Fandom: RPF/Formula 1
Requested: Day 14 of Writing Inktober prompts instead of drawing!
Warnings: language lol.
Pronouns: You/your
W.C. 370
As always, my requests are OPEN
MASTERLIST // HITLIST
Writing Inktober 2023 Materlist
~~(^Google/ABC)
It was, for once, a nice day in Melbourne. In all honesty, it could have been worse for October with it just coming out of winter. It was starting to warm back up, and today was the first sunny day of the season. What better way to spend the day than at the beach while your boyfriend had a gap week before his next race?
“Come on Oscar!” You shouted, taking off to find the ‘perfect spot’ where there weren’t too many people but still close enough to the water.
“We’re gonna be here all day,” He chuckled, grabbing the chairs and cooler from the back of his car. He looked up, trying to find you, but you had already disappeared. “Just leave me to carry everything, why don’t ya.”
“I didn’t leave you,” You said, coming up behind him from the other side of the car to grab a chair and a bucket. You moved them both into one arm, so you could hold Oscar’s hand as you both walked down to the sand. “I’m not that mean.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you,” he teased as he pulled you over to a vacant area. He decided to continue the joke, “Does this meet your impossible standards?”
“I don't know,” you dragged out, inspecting the sand. “I don't think this ratio of water to sand is good enough for my sand castles.”
“If I take the bucket and get you water, will it be sufficient?” He asked, trying not to break but failing miserably as his face broke into a huge smile.
“You will be my honorary water boy?” You perked up, accidentally dropping the chair and bucket in the process.
“Can I be like your knight or something since I’m helping with the castle?” He tried to push as he set the cooler and other chair down, so he could wrap his arms around your waist and pull you into his chest.
“You’ve got a deal, my knight in orange armor,” You patted his chest as you took off toward the water
“Hey, you said you liked these swim trunks!” He retorted, running after you.
“They make you look like a fucking highlighter from the waist down, baby!”
~~~~~
© BAD268 2023. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.
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Untitled | KNJ
Pairing: Namjoon x (f.) Reader
Genre/Tags: idolverse (no explicit mentions of BTS), strangers au; angst, smut
Warnings: foul language, inexplicit smut (making out, non-descriptive penetrative sex) (18+)
Word count: 16k
Summary: For years as a sculptor, you felt detached from your own work - unable to title them, describe them, name the most basic emotions that artists should be in tune with. A chance encounter with a man one winter night finds you in a journey of finding your own meaning. And as you slowly discover what it means to create and to feel, you find out that this might also be what pulls both of you far apart.
A/N1: It’s been tough being on a writing slump and not being able to come up with something new, but then Indigo happened. I’ve been so into Closer and been wanting to write something that would encapsulate the song’s emotions, but the more I listened to NJ talk about his album (especially Yun), the more I got to reflect on so many other things. So here we are. This was a quick write (and an experiment, too!) filled with my own ramblings and questions that only one Kim Namjoon would prompt me to have. Please enjoy.
A/N2: I’m not an artist, but I’m fascinated by them and what they create (Van Gogh’s Digital Art Exhibition in the LUME, Melbourne from last September just blew my away). In another life, I probably would’ve been a collector. But the essence of humanity in my professional work links to my own appreciation of art in that sense. All the things that I wonder about life and the essence of being human are reflected here. I’ve taken from Namjoon’s reflections and insights as well, and once again, I was reminded of his brilliance and his heart.
2020, early winter
A little boy with a bucket painting stars in the sky.
That’s what this season’s artwork on the side of the building is. Just this fall, it was a girl raising a paper airplane on this exact spot; in the summer, it was another kid on a swing, and in spring, it was a child with an opened suitcase, their toys falling out and drifting into a stream.
Lost childhood, perhaps. That’s what happens when the world stands still, Namjoon thinks. He’d written a song about it - the things we lost during the time when time froze, and maybe just like these paintings, life continued to go on. The yearning remains, though, and he can see it on the piece that he’s been looking at for minutes now.
Maybe the artist is young, mourning their own youth that slipped from their fingers. Maybe it’s someone a little older, mourning it for others. Maybe it’s just a person who’s trying to understand the situation through a child’s eyes - with innocence, confusion, trust. Maybe it’s—
The sound of footsteps disrupts Namjoon’s thoughts. It’s 2AM and he’s a little surprised that someone is in the area at this time. It’s a busy street during the day and the crowd falls away early. It’s completely deserted by this hour; it’s why he likes taking this route from the office to his apartment. He’s always liked walking home regardless of the distance, but it’s at night when he feels most free, and it’s become something he looks forward to everyday.
He’s about to turn away when he notices a figure run up to the small building where the painting he was just admiring is. The individual lays their bag on the floor and retrieves a paintbrush and a pail, seemingly about to continue their work that Namjoon didn’t even realize was still unfinished.
“Fuck,” the voice curses out. “Fuck fuck fucking shit. Why do I always forget my hot packs!”
The person removes their mask and blows into their cupped hands, rubbing them after in hopes of sustaining the heat from the friction.
“Just a bit more,” they continue, gloved hand now pointing ripples by the boy’s legs as he stands in a body of water. “Just a bit more.”
As chattering teeth and the blowing of air on hands continue, Namjoon decides to make himself known. The stranger is clearly trying to finish their work - and he’s curious to see this all unfold, finding amusement in watching an artist in action - but the cold air is quite uncomfortable.
“Hey,” he says, as the figure stops their movements. “I’m not a creep, I promise. I was just looking at your work but you’re freezing and I… I’ve got some extra hot packs with me.”
You slowly turn around with furrowed brows. This is the first time you’ve come across another person during the early mornings you paint on this specific building. You’ve gotten used to the emptiness of this street at this time, but somehow, hearing this man’s deep, rough voice is giving you comfort. Especially since he’s offering something you need.
“Sure, that would be great,” you say, blowing into your hands again.
He slowly walks forward - clad in a thick hoodie and beanie, his mask covering half of his face. He looks familiar, but you don’t have much time to place where you know him from. You take the hot packs he offers, squeeze one with your free hand while the other continues on with the piece that you want to finish tonight.
“Will it take much longer?” He asks, his voice kind. “I didn’t know it was unfinished and it’s quite interesting to see an artist complete their work. So, uh, can I watch?”
You turn towards him. On a normal day, you’d turn him away. You’re not too keen on anyone on your ass while you finish something, but he doesn’t seem like a creep and he was kind enough to give you hot packs at a time like this, so you nod.
It doesn’t take long. It’s just some ripples and a few strokes left anyway; you were freezing too much last night so you put off the final details for tonight. And then the last bit. You sign your name on the bottom corner, and a gasp leaves the stranger’s mouth.
“Wait, you’re Blue…” he says, the realization dawning on him. “
“Surprise,” you reply, standing up from your squatting position.
“I mean, I figured since you’ve been painting children and their lost youth this past year but… the man in the rain, the distorted face on the mirror, the hand on the neck… those were you, too.”
Namjoon can’t believe he’s finally face-to-face with the artist whose work has been haunting him since he first came across one on an electric post 3 years ago.
They were in other parts of the city. He remembers seeing them on walls and buildings during his walks home or when he was in the car, and then some weeks later, they were gone, either replaced with a new piece of work or just painted over, as if it never existed. He’d seen the signature a few times, and seeing it again reminded him that it was you, too. The one who’d created those masterpieces that got him thinking, feeling, wondering.
“You have a good memory,” you simply smile at him, realizing at this point that you’ve left your mask off. You put it back on and take in his domineering form. “Those were years ago; I’ve almost forgotten about them.”
“I haven’t. I mean, sort of.”
“Good. That was the point,” you reply. “I mean, sort of.”
“The point being? That I find something that speaks to me and then the next minute, they’re gone?” He says, quite defensive. It bothered him for a time that he never got to see those pieces again.
“What did they make you feel?”
“Desolate? Alone? Confused? Desperate?”
“Then you forgot about them, didn’t you?”
“The paintings, sort of. Not the feeling, though,” he frowns. “I still think about them but… I think I’ve forgotten exactly what they look like. Is that what you wanted?”
“Pretty much,” you hum, starting to pack your things. “The stuff I leave on for a few weeks are mostly sad, and I paint over them because I don’t want people to dwell on them. I want people… to forget, to move on.”
“But they don’t, not really. I’m sure they’ve taken photos if it spoke to them so much. At least I did, but then I deleted them because…”
“Because you got over the sadness,” you smirk, knowing that somehow, he proved your point, and he lets out a chuckle at the realization. “It may be on their phones but it’s not the real thing. The image may be distorted, the colors different, the strokes a lot smoother. It’s not the same.”
“They should be preserved,” he voices out. “It’s art. Those things are meant to be immortalized, no matter how they make people feel.”
“Not always,” you counter. “At least for me, I make those to forget. The feelings fade once the art does. I created them that way.”
“Hmm,” Namjoon hums, taking this time to observe you, as you’d rendered him speechless.
There’s this softness in your eyes that contrasts the words you say. He doesn’t want to imagine what you might’ve gone through to create hauntingly beautiful pieces inspired by feelings you want to forget.
Whatever those are, he truly does wish you’ve let those go. He knows he has. But he still disagrees - he doesn’t think art ever fades. Perhaps feelings do, but he’s come to learn that visual art is eternal.
“So how long will you keep this up?” He asks, wondering when he’d see you again; the allure and intrigue from your words makes him want to know more.
“Until the next season,” you say, picking up your bag now. “It’s been a tough year and I hope the spring brings more hope.”
“But you also don’t want them to dwell on this… the loss of childhood, of youth,” he continues. “You want them to move on from this, focus on what’s to be gained after losing something important.”
“You’re a fast learner,” you wink, and Namjoon surprises himself by the way his heart jumps at the sight. “You must be a genius or something. Or an artist yourself.”
“Neither,” he lies. “I mean, I’m barely anything, really.”
“I doubt it. A guy like you being affected by all this means you’re something, whatever it is.”
There’s something validating about your words, and he smiles behind his mask, something you see, as you smile back.
It’s odd, feeling a sense of connection with a stranger like this, something he’s never really experienced, most times because he’s always wary of who he meets, especially at this time of the night. But you don’t seem to know who he is. And if you do, you don’t seem to mind or want to make a deal out of it, something that he appreciates.
There’s comfort in your smile, and he wants to discover what other things cause it. There’s a dearth of experience in your words, and he wants to know more. There’s a tenderness in your eyes that he wants to mirror; he wishes he can give comfort to someone just by looking at them.
Maybe it’s the cold breeze. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s the end of the year and he’s spending it alone again. Maybe it’s spending an entire day cooped up in his studio only to go home to an empty apartment. Maybe it’s knowing what a year it was and what’s about to come. He didn’t think that a stranger in a yellow puff jacket who cursed so crisply would be the one to make his walk back home not feel so lonely. That the woman who’d casually painted some ripples and splashes on the wall was the one who’d make him feel a little less alone.
“So, uh, do you usually paint at the start or end of the season?” He wonders.
“Are you trying to ask when you’re gonna see me again?” You look at him with an arched brow.
“Maybe,” Namjoon chuckles. He’s also just trying to delay your departure, seeing as you seem to be ready to leave.
He doesn’t want to ask your name, not ready himself to share who he is. But perhaps the next meeting won’t be as serendipitous as this.
“It depends,” you tease. “But maybe I’ll see you again, either here, or elsewhere.”
“I hope it’s soon,” he confesses. He’s being bold, but his eyes light up when you reply.
“I hope so, too.”
Namjoon walks the opposite direction of where you are headed, turning back once to look at you, and catching your eyes when he does.
Winter passes. His busy schedule doesn’t permit him to take this route for a while, and it’s mid-spring when he sees a new painting that’s been completed - a young girl looking through a glass window to a world outside, her fingers holding onto the latch as she readies to open it. A small smile forms on his face; he at least sees something of you, even if it isn’t you.
The next time he’s able to pass by, it’s the end of summer, and all he sees is a gray wall - empty, undisturbed, as if there was nothing there to begin with.
2021, autumn
The bell rings as Namjoon enters the building, an art gallery that he’s been frequenting the past few months. There are new pieces, he’s been told, and one of the curators that he’s become friends with informed him that some of the artists are in town.
He nods in greeting at familiar faces - employees, artists, casual visitors. He walks around, taking in the new paintings and sculptures displayed. As he turns towards one of the smaller rooms, a piece catches his eye.
It’s something he’d seen before, a piece of ceramic sculpted in such a way that it looks like a flower in one angle, a seashell in another. And, dare he say, a vulva from a little farther away.
He reads the label. Untitled 56, Samantha Lee.
Namjoon goes through the photos on his phone, knowing it was a trip to LA over 2 years ago where he’d encountered something similar.
And there it is. Untitled 48, Samantha Lee.
He took the photo from an angle that looked like flowers, thinking about the simplicity and beauty, the choice of colors, and how they hung on the wall as part of the installation. It was one of many pieces he documented, but was the only one he didn’t get much story from. There was no description, no background. He wasn’t quite sure what to feel.
“Find something that interests you?”
Mr. Hong is one of the founders of this gallery, and he spends much of his time getting to know the regular visitors and the artists. He’s definitely someone who knows when something strikes Namjoon, like right now.
“Samantha Lee,” Namjoon responds. “Are they a local artist? I think I saw their work in LA some time ago.”
“Ah, yes Ms., uh, Ms. Lee. She’s a local and has her pieces displayed in several galleries. She’s here, actually,” Mr. Hong excitedly shares, noting how important it is for the Kim Namjoon to meet one of the artists. “She was supposed to come yesterday but decided to drop by today instead. Would you like to meet her?”
“Ah, that would be great,” Namjoon smiles back. “If she is fine with that, of course.”
Mr. Hong is never sure if the said artist is, but Namjoon is a special guest, he thinks, so the older man nods. “I’ll lead you to her.”
Namjoon is led up a small flight of stairs and out to a patio with more installations displayed. He spots several people outside, and he tries to determine which one of them is the artist he wants to meet, perhaps ask why she’d untitled all her pieces, and why there’s nothing of her at all that she chooses to share.
He stops in front of two women as instructed by Mr. Hong.
“He’s a fucking asshole, that’s what he is,” a familiar voice spits out. “The next time he harasses you, I’m going to impale his dick with my heels and—”
“Ehem,” Mr. Hong clears his throat, prompting both women to look at him. “Ms. Lee, one of our patrons would like to meet you.”
He shares a look with the woman before she nods and smiles. She turns to Namjoon where he’s met with familiar tender eyes, eyes he’s been yearning to see since that cold winter night.
“Blue?” He asks, surprised.
“My favorite color, yes. How did you know?”
You look at the man in front of you, tall and broad with caramel skin and a smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts. You’ve seen this smile before. Even behind a mask, you could tell it’s him, the man who’d saved your ass that one cold winter night with his extra hot packs and his calming voice.
You thought you’d see him again, seeing as he seemed to want to, but he never came that spring. You even left a small, ridiculous note at the corner where your signature usually is, asking when he’d come, thinking he’d communicate with you there. But the response never came.
The universe is tricky sometimes. You passed up on coming to the gallery yesterday because you felt dizzy when you woke up. And of all days that your winter night man visits, it’s the one where you’re here.
“I just figured,” Namjoon smiles, picking up your hints. “It’s one of mine, too.”
“Perhaps we should talk about the complexities of the color, then,” you smile back, nodding towards one of the sections in the large patio.
You lead him there, leaving Mr. Hong and his warning gaze and your assistant, whose smirk and teasing laughter makes you glare at her.
“I’m guessing they don’t know about you being Blue?” Namjoon asks, feeling a little jittery standing next to you again and being able to see your face much more clearly, your hair tied loosely in a bun and your clothes a nice fit for the cool weather.
“Minji does. She helps me find materials,” you respond. “Mr. Hong doesn’t. He’s not much of a fan of street art.”
“That’s a bummer, especially since one of the artists creates amazing pieces on buildings and posts and then signs them, then abandons them, and leaves spectators like me to wonder where they’d gone,” Namjoon replies, hoping you don’t find offense with his tiny jab.
Your chuckle tells him you don’t. “You never came.”
“I didn’t know when to,” he defends. “Well, more like, I stopped having the time. That place is so far from where I live and I only walk from my office because I like that time alone and I haven’t had that, but then I came back in the summer but you—”
“You don’t have to explain,” you assure him. “That was a chance meeting and I didn’t really expect I’d see you again in the same spot weeks later.”
“Did you expect to see me this time?”
“Oh, not at all,” you shake your head. “Why are you even here?”
“Why are people ever in art galleries?” He counters. “To check out the art. Maybe chance upon the artists if they’re here.”
“I guess,” you shrug, turning a corner to a small maze of an installation. “You wouldn’t have known it was me, though.”
“I didn’t. I was staring at Untitled 56 and realized I took a photo of Untitled 48,” he reveals, earning him a shocked look from you. “It was in LACMA. I saw it a while back. The name rang a bell because I don’t know anything about you. You leave so much to the imagination, Ms. Lee. There’s nothing about y—”
“It’s Han,” you correct him, feeling comfortable now. “I mean, Han ___. Samantha Lee is another pseudonym. Or like a stage name. You know, like you?”
You bite your lip at the slip-up, not wanting him to be uncomfortable at the thought that you clearly know who he is. But he just nods, affirming that he now knows that you know who he is, but he smiles right after, his eyes turning into the smallest, prettiest crescents and his dimples framing his strong-featured face that makes him even more handsome.
“I suppose you’re right,” he hums. “But why blue? And why Samantha Lee?”
“It’s the simpler version of my favorite color. Aegean blue is too complicated to sign every time,” you chuckle. “And Samantha Lee… Well, she was my roommate back in college and she once told me she wanted to be famous and the only way that could happen is if I used her name as a pseudonym. I had a crush on her so I agreed.”
There’s a long pause before Namjoon realizes that you’re not joking, and he comments that it’s interesting but he doesn’t ask again.
“I’m Kim Namjoon, by the way,” he reaches out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” you say, internally melting at the feel of his warm and large hand. “So why did you take a photo of Untitled 48?”
“It looked like a clam.”
At this, you burst into laughter.
“I don’t mean it in a bad way, just to be clear!” He insists. “It was beautifully made. It was of a neutral color but it somehow stood out the most to me in that section. And it was the 48th; I wondered why they didn't have titles. And your 56th, which looks like—”
“A vulva,” you snort.
“Yes,” he chuckles, “and a flower, yeah - something I’ve been into lately. And well, it was interesting. And seeing your piece here reminded me of that,” he goes on. “And I just wanted to know… why.”
“Why what?” You furrow your brows at him.
“Why those pieces? Why are they untitled? What prompted you to create them that way?”
“We’d probably have to tour the gallery 4 more times if you want to know,” you chuckle.
“I have time.”
“Do you?” You ask, eyeing the phone in his pocket that's been vibrating for the last 5 minutes.
He smiles shyly and excuses himself. When he returns, he has a disappointed look on his face. “Turns out, I don’t have time. But I want to. I… uh, will you be here again anytime this week?”
“I will. I’m just not sure when.”
There’s something alluring with these coincidental meetups. Somehow you want more of those, perhaps to let the universe tell you that you’re meant to constantly meet this man whose time you know you’ll never have enough of, even if he makes it for you.
“Let me see you again?”
“You will.”
You catch his eyes when he turns back as he walks away. There’s a sparkle in them, and you’re afraid to want to see it once more.
**
The walk to the site of the lost youth is a long one, but not knowing when you’d see the tall man with the prettiest smile again, you head there.
Your last piece was of a child at the brink of freedom, about to take the step outside the cage she’d been in for the past year and a half. You painted over it once autumn started; maybe the next time you’d paint over a building, you’re no longer yearning for lost things. Maybe you’d paint something about finding something new.
“I’m gonna start believing in a higher power if we continue meeting like this.”
The raspy voice is familiar, and you turn around to see Namjoon, clad in a hoodie and a baseball cap, leaning against one of the streetlights across the empty wall of the building you’d been staring at. It’s been 2 days since you saw him at the gallery, about 7 months since the first time you’d encountered him here. You’re unsure what this all means.
“Maybe you should,” you head towards him. “I missed the last bus so I decided to walk home. I’m still far away but this is on the way. Why are you here?”
“Stayed up at the studio,” he replies. “I’m incredibly exhausted but I don’t know, I got the energy for the long walk. Then there you were.”
“There I was, appearing so suddenly again, yeah?” You chuckle, leaning on the opposite side of the pole.
Namjoon merely hums before he nods towards the direction of his apartment. “I’m heading there.”
“Me, too.”
With his hands in his hoodie pockets and yours crossed against your chest, you try to match his long strides.
“Painting came first,” you say, as if answering the question that he’s been thinking of asking. “Painting was everything. We had so many pieces in our home, and it’s as if they spoke to me. I mean, in a not creepy way, it felt like all of my parents’ own pieces spoke to me. And they always told me I wasn’t good enough.”
Namjoon turns to look at you with empathy in his eyes. He lets you speak, and he finds out that both your parents are the artists he’d been researching lately. Your father is a classical painter, and your mother does contemporary. He can’t imagine living in gigantic shadows like that.
“When I was 15, my parents pulled strings to get some of my pieces displayed with theirs,” you sigh, recalling the mixed emotions then. “It was exciting at first, but the patrons wouldn’t mention my name unless they mentioned my parents’. And then one of my favorite pieces that I made was sold to a man who wanted it as a decoration in his summer home’s living room.”
Namjoon slows his walk and you match his pace. You meet his comforting eyes, and there’s that warmth you feel from, technically, a stranger that you didn’t expect.
“I made that piece at a time when I was frustrated living in my parents’ shadows,” you continue. “Someone once told me that art is meant to be shared, that there’s humanity in the community we create when it’s shared, that the meaning deepens when others make their own. That piece had so much of me in there; I felt like the meaning of that piece was stripped away from me the moment that stranger took home that canvas for a select few to look at. It wasn’t mine anymore, it was his; it was theirs. I stopped painting after that.”
There’s a certain kind of pain in giving up something that matters deeply to you, in losing meaning in the thing that’s given your life meaning for most of your life. Namjoon knows a bit about that pain. Many times, he’d found himself questioning all that he does, what he stands for, and what the world expects him to be.
He sees that pain in your eyes, of losing a part of you as the art stopped meaning what you wanted it to. But he doesn’t think that all is lost.
“But your street art,” he reminds you. “That’s still you. That still has meaning. And that’s something that you share.”
“That’s Blue, though,” you manage a smile. “She’s just a part of me.”
“She’s still you,” he insists. “Can you tell me about her?”
And so you tell him - how you argued with your parents about quitting painting, how you were going to turn down the scholarship in a prestigious art university to take up sociology instead, so they shipped you to a foreign country to fend for yourself, and that’s when you learned what loneliness felt like. But that’s also when you learned about people in their rawest sense, what it meant to struggle to survive, what it meant to lose something that mattered, because you studied them - you studied how humans grieved and how they persisted. You studied how they lived and how they died.
“Blue wants meaning, and she still struggles in finding it,” you explain.
“Does she?” Namjoon questions. “I’m in my late 20s but your lost youth series resonated with me. All those paintings of the man in the rain, the distorted face… they’ve inspired me in ways I can’t explain. That’s meaning, ___. That matters.”
No one outside of Minji knows all these versions of you. Except Namjoon, the brightest star you never thought you’d ever meet. Hearing him speak about your work this way makes you feel something - a first in a long time.
“Thanks, I guess,” you say shyly.
“It’s a shame they’re not displayed in galleries and museums, though.”
“I don’t want them to,” you say, surprising him. “People intend to go to museums, but they pass these streets out of necessity. I want them to stop and look, to feel, to think for a few seconds before they go back to their routinary walk. And then I remove them, so they can forget what pain and sadness feel like.”
“Looks like you found your meaning, then,” Namjoon smiles, comforted by the fact that someone as talented as you had found purpose again, something he relates with at a deeper level than he imagined.
“The painter in me did,” you reply. “The sculptor, not so much. “
“Untitled,” he hums.
“Yeah. I don’t think I can name something I understand, or at least, feel,” you say.
“That’s a lot of untitled works for you to not understand what you do,” he chuckles.
“I’m prolific because there’s not much of me I lose when I create them,” you explain. “I just sit in my stool, craft something, then call it a day. Not to brag or anything, but it comes easy. They’re shallow pieces, Namjoon. They don’t even deserve to be in galleries but Mr. Hong insists they do for some reason. I wish this version of me, Samantha Lee, understood why it matters, why someone like him would believe in my pieces, why a Kim Namjoon would think that 48 stood out to him enough to keep a photo.”
Namjoon processes your words. As an artist himself, he believes in the meaning of the pieces that he creates, whether it’s a song or a poem or an album or a concert. There’s effort put into them even if it’s something created in 30 minutes. Your pieces are beautiful, and he wants to explore more - you and your meaning, you and your value.
“Then why do you keep making them? What about it makes you keep sculpting?”
“The feel of the clay on my skin, the way my fingers get to mold and create the details,” you explain. “I get to touch it. I don’t get to do that with painting, you know? It’s the paintbrush and the canvas I feel but with sculpting, I get to mix the materials, I get to shape it, hold it.”
“There’s that intimacy,” he offers.
“Yeah. And it’s addictive because it’s closeness I’ve never felt before.” You turn to him before speaking the next words. “It's an intimacy I’ve never experienced before with anyone or anything.”
“Isn’t that your meaning, then?” He questions. “The piece itself might not have a story on its own but all these untitled works, the process of creating, of it being easy because you can’t get enough of the intimacy you get from creating… that’s meaning. That desire for closeness, for meaning… that’s meaning.”
No one’s ever put it that way for you, probably because you’ve never let yourself be this honest with someone about your art. All your friends aren’t artists because you wanted that world separate, you didn’t want to have to talk about it feeling as insecure and lost as you are.
But Namjoon - he’s one of your generation’s greatest artists. He weaves words and sounds so beautifully to create masterpieces that people consume and hold so closely. He understands.
“I’ve made songs that took me 30 minutes,” he shares. “But I’ve also made songs that took me to dark places, that broke me as I wrote them. But once they came out, once I’ve shared them to others who’ve shared what it meant to them… slowly, I started becoming whole again. Isn’t that an artist’s burden? To break to create, to feel whole after that, and then to break all over again?”
“You are truly one of a kind, Kim Namjoon,” you tell him. “I’ve lived with artists my whole life and they never let me understand art in that way.”
“I’m still figuring it all out,” he shrugs. “I still feel lost sometimes, but I think it’s natural to feel that way, to be unsure or confused. I guess what matters is that we’re still walking on some road to somewhere, even if we don’t know where we’re heading.”
“Is that where you are right now?” You wonder. “On a road to somewhere you don’t quite know yet?”
More than you know, he wants to say. He’s in this period of experimentation, of figuring out his signature style, of figuring out who he is and what he means to his teammates, to the industry, to the world.
“Sort of,” he shrugs. “It’s hard sometimes. Walks like this give me a reprieve. Consuming other people’s art lets me understand things a bit more.”
“Yeah, I get it. I mean, conversing with strangers gives me time to breathe, too.”
“Ooh, so I’m still a stranger, huh?” He chuckles, shyly looking at you. “Our third unplanned meeting, an hour of walking home… and I’m still a stranger.”
“What would you want to be, then?” You turn to him, a little teasing smile on your face.
“A friend, for starters.”
“My nighttime friend?”
“Not just,” he shakes his head. “I would like to see you again, actually. And I don’t want to put this up to chance this time. Like, something planned or—”
“And how exactly would that work?”
“I, uh…” he thinks. “I’d invite you to my apartment. And you can invite me to yours?”
“Why?”
“Because I want to get to know you more, if that’s okay.”
“Are you always this bold?” You giggle, not missing the way your cheeks start to feel warm at the mention of visiting each other’s homes and him wanting to get to know you.
He’s obviously handsome - you’ve known of him since his band made it to your TV screens, being young men who were around your age, singing songs that resonate so deeply with you. But he’s more than that, as you’re learning. There’s this passion for creating that's refreshing, something you seem to lack.
“Not always,” he looks away, the dips in his cheeks something you’re sure you won’t get enough of.
“You should be. It makes a girl flustered but it makes it so difficult for her to say no,” you smirk. Sometimes, you also don’t know where your own boldness comes from.
“You? Flustered? That’s quite hard to believe,” he teases.
“That’s true. But it happens, believe it or not, when a gorgeous, brilliant man asks me over.”
Your heart stops for what feels like a minute, but his sweet, child-like laughter melts away your worry.
“Did I make you uncomfortable?” You ask.
“Surprisingly, no,” he replies. “I appreciate your honesty. About everything. I hope we can give that to each other.”
“Okay then, your turn,” you challenge.
“Hearing you curse was kinda hot.”
You try to hold off your laughter, your defense to your true reaction, which is to smile like an idiot and feel like floating.
“That’s interesting. I would’ve thought it’s something to do with my looks or my talent, you know?” You arch an eyebrow teasingly.
“It is. I think you’re beautiful. And I’m usually a forgetful person but I haven’t forgotten your sweet smile since I first saw it last winter,” he says, catching you off guard. “And your talent… there’s a reason why I have 48 saved on my phone, and why I sought out your street art these past years. I want to know what intimacy in art is like for you. I guess I’ve sort of lost that in creating my own.”
“Intimacy,” you repeat. “I think we both lack it in certain ways.”
“Maybe we’ll find it,” he says more confidently now, holding your gaze as your eyes trace his face.
“Maybe we will,” you respond, feeling your whole body warm with embers of fire.
He insists on taking you home, another 20-minute walk away from his. But you claim to enjoy that time on your own, assuring him that you do this all the time and the streets are safe.
“Let me know when you get home safely?” He asks, and you give him your phone for him to input his number.
“I will.”
It’s 30 minutes later when you do. It’s 1AM, but you and Namjoon spend the next 2 hours talking some more - about his songs and your pieces, about his plants and your collection of wind chimes.
You didn’t expect to make him laugh as much as you did, and he said he didn’t expect you to think his ramblings are adorable and amusing. You most definitely didn’t expect your heart to beat as fast as it did when he told you, in his deep, raspy voice, that he’s glad he took that long walk that winter, that he visited the art gallery when he did, that the hopeless romantic in him pushed him to go to the place you first met.
“I think I’m crazy but somehow I feel like I’ve known you for so long,” he muses.
“I feel the same way,” you assure him, as you hug your pillow and slowly surrender to sleep.
“Good,” he hums. “That’s all I wanted to know. Good night, ___. And I’ll see you soon.”
2021, winter
There’s a warmth in Namjoon’s home that’s hard to replicate. Filled with his favorite art pieces of all forms, he said he curated it to reflect his emotions just as much as his tastes. It’s clean and well-organized, with books on shelves and stacks on the floor, and an entire area full of liquor - his new interest, he’d said.
He’s had you over several times already; the first one, barely a week after that long walk home. You both spent hours that day talking about his favorite artists, and it wasn’t enough, as he asked you back the next day.
You often talk about your childhood, one that you weren’t always comfortable sharing, but being with him makes it easy.
It’s easy when he looks into your eyes when you speak, as if he’s telling you that he knows you say more than words. It’s easy when he’s got his own stories to share - stories of vulnerability and honesty, of fear and confusion. It’s easy when he still stutters over words sometimes and then gets lost in his own ramblings, then he chuckles when he realizes he’s talked so much, and you tell him that it’s okay because his voice is calming and his thoughts are a breath of fresh air.
It’s easy when his presence is comforting, when his anecdotes about his friends and family make you laugh until your insides hurt. It’s easy when he makes you feel like you can question everything about your art and your purpose and your abilities but he never makes you feel like a failure. It’s easy when he smiles and laughs nervously, when he’s funny without meaning to, and when he makes sure you’re comfortable by always having your preferred tea and biscuits next to the wine you once said is your favorite.
The only time it gets hard is when he stands a little too close as you look up at a painting or a book on a shelf. You could feel the heat from his body; a slight movement and you’d be touching, mere cloths in between you. It’s hard when his arm brushes the slightest bit against yours. It’s hard when he gazes at you when there’s silence, and it’s like he’s studying your face before you call him out and he apologizes because he “can’t stop looking at pretty things.”
It’s hard when he hugs you goodbye and he wishes you a safe ride home. It’s hard when he sends you a message right after, saying he wishes you both had more time.
Being attracted to Namjoon is hard; being attached to him is torture.
“You’re looking for him again,” Minji states the obvious as you walk around the gallery, your eyes darting to the door every time the bell rings.
“No I’m not,” you deny. “He just got back from his trip abroad and he’s tired. He won’t be coming here.”
“Doesn’t mean you wish he would,” she smirks. “But why rendezvous here? You guys go to each other’s houses. And no one goes to your house… aside from me.”
“We can’t exactly see each other in public, you know?” You glare at her. “But… I don’t know, it’s nice to see him look around and talk about what he sees. I feel like I learn more from him. And that’s weird, isn’t it? This is my field. The arts have been my entire life, but I’m learning more about it from him.”
“What is it about him?” She wonders.
She doesn’t say that she’s noticed more life in your eyes since he came into your life. She doesn’t say that she’s noted that you take more time creating pieces, seemingly savoring the process unlike the way you used to. She doesn’t mention the smile that she hasn’t seen in all the years that she’s known you.
“Passion is sexy, you know?” You giggle. “He has so much of it, it’s inspiring.”
“Is that all?” Minji smirks.
“He’s also fucking gorgeous. I try not to ogle him but I think he’s noticed. Fuck me.”
“Maybe he wants to.”
“Shut up. Don’t make me hope.”
“You do that to yourself,” she laughs. “Keep denying that you don’t want to see him or want anything more with him and let’s see how you do.”
The truth is, you know. You know that you’d fall hard if you let yourself go like that, but it’s human to know danger and then still want it, isn’t it?
The vibration from your phone ringing surprises you.
“Hey,” Namjoon’s voice booms on the other end.
“Hey,” you reply. “How was your trip?”
“Good. I just got home. We had to stop by the office for a bit. My place is a mess and we have something again in the afternoon,” he huffs, sounding incredibly tired. “Can I come over tonight?”
You almost drop the flute of champagne you’re holding. He’s been to your house twice, but this is the first time he’s specifically asked to come over, especially considering that he just arrived from a trip abroad.
“Of course,” you hum. “Any dinner preferences?”
“Your cooking,” he says simply. “But wait for me, okay? I’ll let you know when I’m on the way.”
“Okay,” you say, before dropping the call, unable to hide the wide smile that forms on your face, to your assistant’s amusement.
“Why don’t you try to let go this time?” She advises. “Maybe you’ll find the intimacy you’ve been longing for.”
**
Namjoon overestimates your cooking abilities. Truly, all you know to do is prepare ramyun and fry anything. But, compared to him, he’s said you’re chef level. “The guys” don’t even want him near the kitchen, he tells you all the time.
But instant noodles and pork belly seem enough for him, as he eats with his mouth closed and hums in satisfaction. You take the time to savor the way he looks. A few weeks without him has started to feel like months.
“It was overwhelming,” he finally says.
He knew the moment he landed that he wanted to see you. There’s comfort in your presence that he’s begun to accept, and being with you allows him to be honest, to feel real, to feel human.
“It was great to be able to perform again, to hear the cheers and the sounds and everything. It was also terrifying,” he continues. “I was nervous and excited, I was scared and elated. I felt so fulfilled and satisfied but I also felt like it wasn’t enough.”
“That’s a lot of conflicting emotions,” you hum.
“Are they? Conflicting, I mean.”
“It depends, I guess. They seem up and down to me. Does it bother you?”
“That I felt all that, all at once?”
You nod in response.
“It used to,” he admits. “At the start of all this, I thought, I can’t be scared. Six other guys and an entire company are looking to me to succeed. I have to be strong and confident. And then, an industry is waiting for me to fail. And then, my own country is letting me - us - represent an entire generation, it’s asking me to carry on this cultural wave. It never ends. And I used to think I couldn’t be scared, that not wanting all this anymore means I’m ungrateful.”
“But you aren’t,” you try to assure him. You can’t imagine the burden he feels, leading a group that feels all kinds of pressure. “I’ve heard you talk about your art and your poetry and your brothers and your fans. You’re easily the most passionate, hardworking, and appreciative person I know. I don’t think you’ll ever run out of things to give.”
“It’s tiring,” he sighs.
“I’m sure. But you’re honest about it. You’ve always been. Doesn’t honesty unburden you, even just a little bit? Doesn’t it leave you space to feel more, to be more?”
Namjoon hums. For someone who claims to not know much about feeling, you seem to know what to say to make him stop and think, to remind him of why he does what he does. And why ultimately, he’s always going to love it.
“It does,” he finally says, sitting up straight to take a better look at you in your linen pants and soft sweater. “Do you do that, then? Unburden yourself by being honest?”
“I’m not good at doing that,” you chuckle. “If you don’t know by now, I say a lot of seemingly profound things that I don’t necessarily live by.”
“Why not?”
“Honesty scares me. Being vulnerable scares me. I don’t know how to return it.”
“Has anybody ever been all that to you?” He wonders, feeling the tension build a little.
“Once” you say, standing from the dining table and heading to the large window that overlooks your garden. “And I ran away.”
“Is that why you sculpt, then?” Namjoon asks, walking towards you. “Because you don’t know what to do with intimacy so you do it with your art? You want to hold and touch what you walk away from? You don’t give it a name because you don’t want to define it? Because you’re scared that if you do, you’ll realize that you actually want it - the closeness, the warm body, the rawness that you can only get from being with someone else.”
You look up at him, towering over you. He came from a short filming, donned in a white, buttoned polo with his long sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You can see the darkness of his hazelnut eyes and the stubble on his chin. You spot the beauty mark on his neck and the smoothness of his skin, especially on his chest, as he leaves 2 buttons undone.
“Reading me now, Kim Namjoon?” You cock an eyebrow, trying to break the tension that’s built up in the last few minutes.
“I’m trying, because I want to get to know you more, find out what you’re afraid of and ease it somehow,” he admits. “Because I feel the same way. I’m honest but I’m scared, yet with you, I’m honest but I’m brave. I feel like I’m brave. I don’t know what it is, but ever since I met you, I just wanted…” he glances at your lips then meets your eyes again. “I just wanted to know more, to feel more. To understand what it’s like to be intimate with someone who doesn’t know much about it like me. I want to figure it out. With you.”
“How?”
One word is all you get to verbalize, as you feel him come closer, the heat of his body intensifying with every second. You’re backed up against the window, the distance between you and him decreasing and decreasing.
His eyes are boring into you, and you bravely gaze at him back. You mirror his desire, as you lick your lips when he glances at them again. Your chest is heaving as is his, and your heart races even more when he breathes out your name.
You palm his chest, and for a brief moment of uncertainty in his eyes at the thought of you stopping him, you instead grip the cloth that covers him, and you slowly pull him in.
His lips are soft. And the way he gently presses against you is tender, comforting, like he wants to savor it and go slow. He angles his head the same time his hand reaches for your waist, and you feel the slightest wetness from his tongue.
You grant him entrance, and the second you do, he takes control, tightening his hold on your body as he cages you, his one arm now propped up against the window. You moan into each other as tongues and teeth clash, and you can’t help your hand that travels to pull on the ends of his hair, brushing your fingers against the nape of his neck right after.
It’s a little sloppy, needy, but there’s still gentleness in there. It’s in the way he cups your cheek, caressing it with his large fingers and letting it slide down your chest, back to your waist. It’s in the way he smiles into the kiss when you moan your pleasure; you can almost feel his dimples as he does. It’s in the way that he asks for more, not with dominance but with care, with understanding, with caution.
You both pull away to catch some air, lips swollen and wet, but your smiles say you enjoyed it. The way your bodies haven’t completely detached from each other shows that.
“Would you let me stay the night?” He asks softly, as if it’s a request he’s afraid to ask.
“Yes,” you breathe out. “Be with me tonight.”
Underneath the covers of your bed, you lay in his arm while your fingers trace patterns on his taut chest. You can hear his heartbeat still drumming, and you can feel the care in the way he caresses your cheek, your arm, your waist.
“I don’t know what I can give you, Namjoon,” you admit. “I don’t know how to be as honest and vulnerable as you. I don’t know how to share parts of me that I don’t understand. I don’t know what I can do to ease all your worries and concerns. I—”
“Just give me moments,” he interjects. “Nights like this, days at our homes, afternoons at the galleries, hours on the phone… I just want to feel something that I can actually touch, that I can savor. And I want it to be you, the one I get to hold and taste and kiss.”
He leans forward again, and you capture his mouth in yours. There’s no need to do more - much as you’re wet and he’s definitely hard, but neither one of you is rushing, neither one wants to scare the other.
He’s hot, the kind that burns. That’s how it is with people as passionate as he is - their touch can light a fire on your skin, and you won’t be able to stop it.
“I can give you moments,” you whisper. “Just tell me.”
2022, spring
You can count the moments with 2 hands.
Namjoon stayed with his parents over the holidays but he videocalled you everyday. You both went to a few galleries outside the capital but did so separately, spending hours after that talking about the pieces over the phone.
You’ve come to appreciate your world much more deeply with his commentaries and reflections, and with you, he said he’d gotten to breathe a little longer, laugh a little louder, and feel a little more human.
He stayed over your place 4 more times; you stayed over at his thrice. You debated over movies and recommended each other books. It was common to spend the day wrapped up in each other on the couch while you both read separately. He made you listen to a few songs he’s been working on - some of which were inspired by your many conversations and your own musings, and you’d showed him sketches of your upcoming planned series on sculpted landscapes.
It’s freeing, being able to share about your world with someone else like this, and being part of someone else’s, too. Whatever it is you both have is freeing - kisses included, which never went beyond what you first did. Despite the obvious desire to do more, neither of you ever tried, perhaps knowing what it would entail. There’s distance between you and him but there also isn’t. There’s enough comfort and intimacy that you’ve only scratched the surface of, but this seems to be just enough.
“I have the weekend off,” he pants over the phone. It’s 11PM and they’ve just finished rehearsals for an upcoming series of concerts abroad. “Do you want to do something?”
“A trip to my parents’ summer home?” You wonder out loud. The spring air has come and you love going to the lake at this time. “It’s by the mountains and it’s really private. The estate is like their personal art museum with their works and others’. I visit every year. But if—”
“Yes, a hundred times yes,” he huffs. “That’s fucking amazing.”
“I know I got you at the art museum bit,” you laugh.
“You got me at the really private bit, actually,” he says seriously, causing your heart to race. “And the art of course. And you. Always you.”
“Alright, Casanova,” you tease. “Just make sure I don’t get in trouble for taking you somewhere weeks before you leave.”
“We’re alright,” he responds. “I can’t wait.”
**
It’s a 3-hour drive to the estate by the mountains. In the far future, your parents want to open it up for private viewing, and so you want to make sure that your art lover more-than-but-not-really-friend gets a first peek.
You spend the entire ride talking about a hundred topics, going off tangent when he rambles again, and you’re the one who circles him back to the original discussion. You hum tunes while he sings songs, and when you find private spots, you take the risk and take photos.
You make it to the estate in the late morning, and as you expected, Namjoon’s jaw drops.
The fountain at the front is an art piece itself. The front door was shipped from Indonesia, and the furniture are a beautiful curation of pieces from all over the world that were gifted to or bought by your parents.
You watch him gently trace the carvings and the details. You’re in awe as he absorbs the sculptures and paintings as you tour him around. And you melt every time he turns to you with the biggest smile on his face, like he’s discovering a secret that only both of you know. It’s breathtaking and absolutely precious.
“Keep looking at me like that,” he says, as he catches you marvel at him. “I like it when you look at me like you want me.”
“Don’t fluster me,” you say, turning away.
“You’re not denying it,” he counters, walking closer to you.
“I would be a liar if I did.”
“That’s good to know,” he hums, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I know I only asked for moments but can this weekend be filled with that?”
He looks nervous, like you’d turn him down.
“I… it’s been tough, dealing with a lot of things,” he continues. He’s mentioned some difficulties lately, and you know there’s not much you can do about it. Except, maybe this. “I just want something to hold onto, like being here with you, experiencing all these art pieces, being close…”
He cups your cheek and gives you that look that you’ve become familiar with, his request for intimacy that you both continue to explore.
“Okay,” you respond, taking his hand and kissing it. “Okay.”
You eat lunch, explore the east wing of the property, and at mid-afternoon, you convince him to swim on the lake with you.
“Isn’t it freezing?” He asks worriedly.
“That’s the fun part of it,” you insist. “There’s a hot tub we can stay at after.”
Namjoon gives in. It’s easy to, with a smile like yours that makes his heart race every time. Especially when you come out in your blue swimsuit, shaping your curves and all other parts of your body that makes his own react. He can’t help but marvel at you, even as you tease.
“Hey, big guy, eyes up,” you smirk.
He blushes when you giggle, but he does tease back, removing his shirt to reveal his body that he’s been working so hard on. He does flex a little to give you a taste of your own medicine, and it works.
“Hey, eyes up,” he chuckles.
You feel a shiver when his finger tilts your chin up, and you do the childish thing and bite it before you run to the lake and dive in. Namjoon follows, canonballing and then swimming over to chase you.
You haven’t swam here in years. You merely used to watch the sun rise and then gaze at the sky and imagined doing all this with someone else. You didn’t really think you’d end up here with Kim Namjoon, but here you are.
Namjoon pulls you to him as you swim close, and you both float in the water with your arms around his chest and his arms around your waist. You’re obviously both drenched, and that just leaves so little to the imagination, especially with the cold water a little more overwhelming than you expected.
His hair is swept back, with beads of water lining his face and sliding down his neck and his chest. He’s broad and incredibly built. It’s unfair that his body looks as amazing as his face.
“Does Minji know you’re here with me?” He asks.
“Yes, teased me nonstop until I picked you up. What about the guys?”
“They do. They insist we are a couple.”
“And?”
“And I said that we aren’t,” he says cautiously. “We’re friends who spend a lot of time together and cuddle, and uh, sometimes do a little more.”
“What a complicated way to say we’re friends with benefits,” you laugh.
“I don’t see it that way, though,” he furrows his brows. “I don’t want to reduce what we are to each other to just benefits or something sexual or shallow. Do you see it that way?”
“No,” you say. “I… I’ve come to understand art a lot more because of you. I’ve come to appreciate what I do. That’s not just some benefit.”
“And I… can’t even explain all that you do for me,” he says. “We’re more than that. Less than lovers, but more than friends. And our moments shape this, whatever name we call it.”
“Untitled,” you wonder out loud. “Sometimes artists name their pieces as such when they can’t find a better descriptor.”
“So 58 sculptures in, and you still can’t find a better descriptor?” He teases.
“Shut up,” you smack his hard chest. “I titled them that way because I didn’t have a meaning for them. I just created them. But then I met this man, tall and built with a sexy brain, and he made me realize that the meaning is in the creation, too. So 58 works, 58 times I experienced intimacy, the only times I do.”
“Ah, so what about us?” He nudges you with his nose. “Aren’t we intimate?”
“It’s a different kind, I guess,” you say. You’re not my creation and you’re not mine, you choose not to say. “You don’t break. You’re the one that breaks other things.”
You pass it off as a joke, and he buys it. You don’t want to think much about what you and Namjoon aren’t; you just want to think about what you both are - something that may or may not be fleeting, but something beautiful nonetheless.
The sun shines a little too bright, and you take the chance to get out of the water and into the dock to soak up its heat. Namjoon follows and you both lay that way, just next to each other, catching your breaths.
“Are you feeling a little better?” You ask, wondering if he still carried over all his concerns here.
“Yes. It’s exhilarating,” he responds. “It’s nice to feel this way for a change.”
“I’m sure you’ve felt this way before, too.”
“Not this way,” he turns to you. “It’s different, I guess. It makes me think of all the other emotions I have yet to feel, the ones I’ve felt only briefly before, and the ones that I’ll never feel. I think life’s too short for a person to experience all kinds of emotions. I was it wasn’t.”
“Are humans built for that?” You question. “To feel every possible thing out there? To feel every variation of pain and sadness and joy and elation and pleasure and desire?”
Namjoon thinks. Surely, being able to have emotions and to truly feel is what makes us humans and what makes us different from animals. It’s what marks our humanity, regardless of what emotion that may be. But are humans really capable of feeling everything without breaking? Without it being too much?
“Maybe not,” he finally responds.
You think, too. You’ve often wondered why you were so scared to be vulnerable, to take risks, to love. You thought once that feeling things is overwhelming - what do you do with them? How do you handle them when they get too much? When you become too happy or too sad or too scared or too excited?
You think maybe because like all things in this world, you can never have emotions. You feel them, but you can’t own them, they can’t be yours. Like your art. You can create them but they stop being yours once you share them. Like music, as Namjoon has told you, it stops being his the moment he releases it for others to consume. And it’s scary to not have that permanence; it’s scary to not have that assurance that you’ll always have that joy or that excitement or that elation. And in some way, it’s also scary to know that you won’t always have that pain or that sadness.
“Maybe humans are only built to try to feel everything,” Namjoon states, having thought about your question and his years-long quest of figuring himself out. “But we aren’t meant to achieve it. Maybe our life is about just feeling bits and pieces of it, sometimes longer than others, but we can’t feel it all, and definitely not all at once. It’s like truth; we spend our life seeking and trying to live it, but we might never be able to. Still, we have to keep trying.”
“Hmm,” is all you manage to say. “Do couples have deep conversations like this?” You laugh this time, needing his thoughts to linger a little longer.
“They should,” he laughs. “But it’s enough for me that I have someone like you to make me question things. It reminds me that I have more to discover, to feel.”
To feel.
Sometimes Namjoon makes it seem so easy to just do that. He’s able to name what he feels, unlike you. You wish it was easy, like saying that the cold water on your skin is refreshing, like the sun’s heat is comforting, like the clouds in the sky are soft.
You don’t notice your hand reaching up, wanting to just touch them because you want something concrete, something more real than what your imagination says that clouds feel like. But instead, you feel rough, warm fingers interlocking with yours.
“If you want to feel something concrete, I’m here, you know?” Namjoon says, thumbing your hand to let him know he’s right next to you. Somehow he just knew what you were doing, what you were wishing for.
“But this is what couples do,” you tease, yet tightening your hold nonetheless.
“Friends hold hands,” he smirks.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. They kiss, too,” he hums, lifting himself up only to hover over you, catching you by surprise, but your desire trumps that, as the view of him - damp and natural-looking - makes your insides twist in circles.
“Hmm, like this?” You peck his lips, then his nose, teasing him.
“Sometimes. Other times it’s deeper. You know, like this.”
He dives in, and you welcome him immediately, your mouth already slightly open for your tongue to entangle with his. It’s long and deep, as how your kisses always are, and you feel him shift above you, fixing his position with his arms caging your head for support. He angles his mouth so he can have more of you and control how far he goes, how hard, and how fast.
Your fingers, whose spaces were filled by his just minutes ago, ghost over his neck. They trail down to his chest, gingerly passing by his pecs and his abs, the tips now resting on his hips.
“Fuck,” he moans in your mouth, and you immediately know why he does, feeling his length getting harder by the second.
It prompts him to grind on you, and you meet him halfway.
“Fuck, Joon,” you whine once his lips detach from yours, only to meet your neck when he sucks then licks over the sting. “Fuck.”
He hums in satisfaction at the sounds you make, going south now as he teases by giving tender kisses on the exposed part of your breasts before biting your nipple over your suit.The obscene sound you make turns him on, especially when you pull his hips harder against yours.
“Oh fuck, baby, yeah,” he groans in your ear now, and you might as well have just come from the way he said those words.
And then you remember where you are - in the outdoors, in your parents’ summer home. Private as it may be, you’re still exposed, and you remind him of the fact before he slows down and agrees that you can’t be doing this out here.
“I’m sorry I got carried away,” he says shyly now, as if he didn’t just devour you with his skillful mouth.
“Yeah, this is totally your fault,” you tease.
He chases you back to the house where you both spend another hour in the hot tub, just talking like normal friends, as if you didn’t almost just cross a line. But it’s like that with Namjoon, you’ve come to realize. Everything is easy, everything is natural, like you can just forget that he isn’t him and you aren’t you.
You spend the rest of the day looking at all the pieces on the first floor, with you sharing as much about them that you can remember. You both sleep that night with his head on your chest and his arms around you.
He sleeps soundly, snoring even. And as you comb his hair, you think of how close you were to wanting so much more in the lake earlier. You think of how much you wanted his lips on your mouth, all over your body, and you wanted it everyday. With the way he held you close and breathed desperately on your skin, you had a feeling that so did he.
Living in this dream-like state with him feels surreal, several months in. Because that’s what he is - a dream. Here’s a man grounded by his principles despite the fame that seems to shackle him, yet constantly propels him to new heights; a man whose search for truth and humanity shows you that he just wants to be a good person, and a person who does good.
Beyond his unmatched talent and gift with words, beyond his strikingly stunning looks, is a man who cares deeply, who feels deeply, who submits himself to what he commits to, whether it’s his music, his brothers, his plants, or his interest in art and nature and even whiskey. You have a feeling he’d do the same to whoever he plans to be with. You don’t know if it’s you, and the more you find yourself wanting him, the more you wish it isn’t you.
Namjoon is a dream, and you know at one point, you’re going to have to wake up.
**
The gallery is buzzing, as it always is when there’s a new exhibition. You’re excited for this, too, as the featured artist is one you admire.
Namjoon admires her as well, which is why he’s here, dressed in a black long-sleeved buttoned top, looking immaculate as per usual. He has a busy schedule but he made time, knowing how special this event is.
The room holds its breath when he enters; as a well-known lover of art, everyone has come to expect him to be a guest in exhibitions and various art shows. He bows at the other patrons and artists present, and they fawn over him, being the famous man that he is.
You don’t think you’ll ever get used to this side of him. You’re used to him rambling, making jokes he doesn’t realize are funny, and being lost in his own thoughts. You’re used to him in his natural environment - in his home full of books and paintings, and in his studio, which you’ve seen dozens of times through your phone screen. He fits right in here, though - he can easily follow on with the conversations, whether it’s about business or culture or literature. He can charm anyone with his smile and his good looks, and too many times, guests awe at his presence, finding out that he’s much more commanding and handsome off the screen.
You hide a smile as he glances in your direction. You’ve agreed not to talk much today; there are too many people around and any kind of interaction might be grounds for rumors that neither of you are ready to face, at least that’s what you think. You and Namjoon don’t really discuss those things. You always see him in your periphery, though, and perhaps just like you, he just wants to be where you are, even if no pleasantries or conversations are shared.
But Mr. Hong pulls him aside to introduce to Ms. Suh, and you can see from afar how Namjoon is fanboying over the artist whose work he’s very interested in.
It’s nice to see him in his element like this, too. Here, though still a celebrity in the eyes of everyone else, he’s a spectator. He’s told you several times how his trips to these places have made him think about the kind of legacy he wants to leave with his music, with his poetry. And how pieces in museums and galleries are timeless, permanent; they live on regardless, and each person is free to make their own meanings. You know he wanted to comfort you then.
You become involved in your own conversations until someone barrels inside the gallery and makes a scene, of all days. The slightly inebriated man is familiar; perhaps a patron you’ve seen before, but he comes in and starts yelling at the staff, going on about something you can’t understand.
Not wanting to be part of the scene and be involved in something you don’t know how to handle, you slowly step away, that is, until you see him storm towards the room where your art pieces are. He seems to be targeting someone as he looks around, but the security gets to him first and he flails his arms around, eventually knocking over Untitled 56, and the cracking sound rings in the entire building.
“You knocked over a precious piece, you bastard!” You hear Mr. Hong yelling.
You start walking slowly to where you see the shards of ceramic have fallen on the floor, and you’re unsure what you feel. Is it loss? It doesn’t seem like it. Is it anger? Perhaps not.
“It’s just some useless flower anyway,” the raucous man answers.
Shame. You think that’s it, maybe that’s the feeling. Insecurity, sadness. It’s all of that yet nothing at all.
You stand there over your broken piece, the one you created while the rain was pouring and you’d just finished a bottle of wine by yourself because you could. Everyone seems to be as shocked as you, especially with the man finally contained and led out the building. You look up to take your eyes away from the scene, but you see Namjoon’s instead - anger filling his, sympathy, care, all at once.
You shake your head once, instructing him not to say or do anything. And he follows, loosening his clenched fist and stepping away to the back of the crowd. You instruct the staff to sweep the broken piece away, not wanting to see how fragile and temporary your creation is. All that had been reduced to shards and pitiful looks of the crowd.
You don’t really want to be here.
**
You’re filled with emotions you can’t name. You’re afraid to feel them all, so you cower on your couch and cry to yourself.
It’s just a piece of useless flower. It’s the 56th of untitled works that you couldn’t name yourself because you didn’t know what they meant, what they symbolized, yet it hurts you this much that it’s gone. Hurt. Is that it? You’re still not sure.
The banging of your front door startles you. It’s 9PM and it’s been 4 hours since the incident. Minji offered to tell you the whole story but you didn’t really mind. You wonder if it’s her this time, wanting to know how you’re doing.
But it’s Namjoon, panting on your doorway when you open it. And the first thing you think to do is bury yourself in his arms.
It’s immediate, the catharsis of being in his hold. It’s like you’re enveloped in a warm, protective blanket that you don’t want to get out of. He embraces you tightly, letting you cry on his chest as you try to make sense of what you’re feeling.
“I’ve got you,” he says in your ear so that the words don’t get lost in the sound of your sobs. “I’ve got you. Don’t tear yourself. I’m here with you.”
You don’t know for how long you both stand there, but it’s long enough for the tears to stop falling. When you’ve calmed down, Namjoon tilts your chin up to face him.
“Hey,” he greets with a soft smile. “I’m sorry I couldn’t follow you right away. I wanted so badly to punch that man.”
The shift of emotions is immediate, as you see his furrowed brows.
“He didn’t have a right to be there and to ruin what you worked hard for. I asked Mr. Hong to look into him and I’m so sorry, ___. That piece… that piece is–”
“A useless flower,” you shake your head.
“Please don’t listen to him. Listen to me,” Namjoon insists. “You know what I feel about it. That piece led me to you.”
“And now it’s gone.”
The thought hits you hard. That piece led you to each other, and temporary as it is, it’s now broken. Maybe art isn’t timeless, you think. It can burn, it can break, just like all things. Just like emotions. Just like what you and Namjoon have.
“It may be but look what it did for us,” he challenges your thoughts. “A broken piece won’t change us, it won’t erase us.”
Tonight, this is what you want to hear. And with his fingers tracing your cheek, you think that tonight, he is what you want to feel.
You pull him close and crash your mouth onto his. It’s fervent, desperate, wanting. There’s this need in you, this animalistic desire that has you wanting him to prove you wrong again - that some things can be touched and felt and that they’ll stay and won't break, that emotions can be just as real and tangible, that they matter and that it’s worth it. You want him to prove it to you with his mouth, his words, his touch, his body.
He answers back, inhaling you completely, his tongue working on yours right away, doing that dance you’ve both memorized by now. Your moans are loud and needy. You want all of him, all over you, and with the way he groans your name and curses as you grind against him, you think he feels the same.
You’re in a haze, falling into hypnosis as you feel his hands all over you. You guide them to your clothed breasts, down your waist where he sneaks underneath. His touch burns so deliciously, and it’s what prompts you to unbutton his clothes, to feel him bare and naked, his skin against yours - raw, vulnerable, honest.
Things you don’t know how to be.
You pull away, feeling as if you’ve been snapped out of the spell.
And then you’re crying, as you look at Namjoon with his top undone, looking at you curiously before he’s walking towards you in concern.
“No,” you almost scream. “I’m sorry, I– I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t supposed to. We’re not supposed to do this. We’re just… we’re just something that’s temporary and–”
“No,” he replies, surprising you. “Don’t be sorry, please. I wanted it, I still do. I want you. Fuck what we said about being just friends. I want more. I–”
“You don’t mean that,” you insist, not wanting to hear his words.
It should comfort you, shouldn’t it? You’ve known long ago that you’ve fallen for him, but you made yourself believe that all things are temporary, and this one time you wanted something permanent with him, you got scared out of your mind.
“I do,” he counters. “Fuck it, all I wanted to do earlier was hold you in my arms. Fuck the other people around who’d see. I just wanted to be with you. Is that what friends do? Is that what they feel? I have to be honest, right? We said we’d be that to each other. I want you, ___. I want to be with you.”
“I can’t, Joon. I can’t,” you sob.
“Be honest with me this once. Do you want me?”
“Yes, so fucking much.”
“Then why can’t you be with me? Why are you making it so hard for yourself, for us?” He yells.
“I–” you start, but you don’t know how to continue. You cover your face with your hands and fall onto the floor.
You don’t think you’ve ever cried this hard, and you’re unsure exactly what you’re crying over.
“Hey,” Namjoon softens, leaning down next to you as he tries to free your face. “I’m not mad, I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. I can’t even… I can’t even say what I want to say because I don’t know. I don’t–” you sniff. “I don’t know what I feel, what I want. I–”
“It’s okay,” he says, taking you in his arms again. “It’s okay. We can talk about it tomorrow. Just get some rest.”
He calms you down again and leads you to your room. He waits as you wash up and then he tucks you in bed.
“I’ll come over in the morning, okay?”
“Okay,” you whisper. You watch him eye your lips, and then he looks away.
**
Namjoon comes over the next day with a basket of pastries and coffee. He knows enough that you won’t have energy to prepare anything to eat.
You can’t imagine losing all this, but that’s what’s about to happen.
You’d been so close to giving in to him, so close to letting yourself be vulnerable to him, but doing so in flesh isn’t all there is to it. You can make love to him, bare your body to him that way but you wouldn’t be able to do it with your soul or your heart.
What does being raw and honest mean? You don’t know. He deserves someone who knows.
“I still don’t know what I can give you,” you tell him as you both sit across from each other in the seating area in your garden. “Months later, I should know but I don’t. Even just moments, I… can’t. They make me want you more and I can’t. I don’t know exactly what I want - with myself, with my art, with you. I don’t know what to give.”
“You act like you’re the only one unsure,” he says softly. “I don’t know if what I can give you is enough. I mean, with what I do? It’s tough, and I don’t know if it would be fair. But I want you. I don’t know how the arrangements would be but I want you.”
“At least you know what you can give, even as you shine as bright as you do, you know yourself and what you can give me, what you can give us. I don’t.”
“But what if we try?”
“That’s unfair to you, Joon,” you insist. “You put your all into everything, and this - us - won’t be any different. But that just means that falling short would break you, and I can’t have that. And then there’s me who can’t give much of herself to anything - not my craft, not my friends, not myself. And you matter too much to only get the barest parts of me. I don’t want to be with you that way.”
Namjoon sighs. It’s not an easy thing to accept. It’s something he understands - all he’s ever known to do was to give his all to everything he wants to keep. If that’s not something you’re ready to do yourself, he can’t fault you for it.
It hurts so fucking much, though. He’s learned in the course of these months of knowing you that you’re another one of those he wants to keep, that he wants more of, that he wants to learn inside and out - you’re also the first person to ever be that for him. For you to slip away like this is a kind of pain that he doesn’t know how to get over.
“Continue to be raw and honest in everything that you do, okay? Live,” you say, and he nods in reply. “Don’t stop yourself from seeing other people, from finding someone else,” you add.
You can’t even be honest with this. You hope he’ll always want you, but you don’t let yourself be selfish with him, not this time.
“I won't” is what he answers.
It breaks your heart all over again and you let it. You deserve it. Who walks away from someone they want, especially when they want you back? Someone afraid like you, someone who doesn’t trust herself enough like you, someone who wants permanence so bad that she lets slip away the one person who’s made her feel it.
You give a half smile and he smiles back.
Namjoon gets up from his seat. “I’ll see you around, okay?”
“Okay.”
It’s a month later when one of the museums you frequent launches a new installation. A tall man catches your attention. He looks at you and smiles, his hazelnut eyes gazing at you the way they used to.
He nods in acknowledgement and so do you.
And that’s the last time you see him in a long time.
2022, winter
You stare at the package in your hands - white, with words of comfort. He’s finally completed it, you think. A piece of himself he’s been working the last 4 years on, and it looks just like how he described it to you all those months ago.
You don’t know if you’ll listen to it. You haven’t heard his voice in so long. You’re afraid you’ll break if you do.
Perhaps just one time, to get it off your system. That might be enough.
You open it, unsure when you’ll unpack this obviously beautifully curated work of art. But the note at the top leaves you no room to ignore it.
Nothing’s changed for me. Let’s find ourselves. And then let’s find each other. I’ll just be here. But please, stay where you are.
Namjoon
You let one tear fall and then leave the package on the top shelf of your closet.
Your bedroom door opens.
“Are you all packed?” Minji asks.
“Yes, I’m all good,” you smile.
She helps you with your luggage, down the stairs and into the van waiting for you.
“That’s a lot of stuff,” she hums, holding back her tears. “How long will you be away for?”
“Until I find myself.”
“That might be a long time.”
“It will.”
**
**
**
2025, winter
Namjoon has been to several galleries in New York, but this particular one is a place he’s never been to. It overlooks Central Park, towering at the 30th floor like the other buildings in the city. But it’s 3 floors and he thinks it’s stunning. It’s not overly grand, but it’s also not as simple and natural like the others he’s been to.
He may say it’s not entirely his vibe, but there’s a reason why he’s here.
Some patrons recognize him and greet him. He bows in response, engaging in small talk when he needs to, but stepping away to get to the exhibition he flew here to see.
It’s nothing like what he expected, although years later, he doesn’t know what to expect anymore.
The first thing is, well, it’s titled. There’s a year and a description, too.
2023, swing in the summer home
The piece is beautiful, made in clay and metal. It’s familiar, too. He’s seen this on a lake house by the mountains, over 3 years ago.
2023, the piece that lost its meaning
It’s a painting, but one placed atop a sculpted frame hanging on a wall in what seems like a living room. This scene feels familiar as well.
2024, lost youth
A group of children look up at a plane, with opened suitcases and toys on the floor. The nostalgia hits him.
The rest of the sculptures are new to him. There’s one about a lady in red, one of a neighbor, one of a woman with an umbrella and clouds, aptly titled, what am i hiding from? Further down the room, the emotions become more pointed, straightforward, and a lot more focused.
2023, coward
2024, i truly was sorry
2025, is this what regret feels like?
2025, i hope you knew i lied
2025, maybe someday
Someone from the outside who knows nothing about the artist might think that the pieces are a little over the place, although one can tell from the titles that they tell a story. The sculptures are made from the same materials - clay and metal, all free standing and in similar sizes. Each caption holds a narration, and all Namjoon can read are words describing emotions, of states of being - innocence, anger, confusion, fear, loss, regret, loneliness, pain, hope, and few more.
There’s not much about joy or intimacy, though, and the thought saddens him. He had hoped that by this time, you already knew how those felt.
“So, what do you think?”
Namjoon didn’t think he’d ever hear that voice again. He’d cry if he could, especially as he turns to his side and finds you, dressed in a classy, aegean blue satin dress. Your smile is one he’s missed so much, and he wishes he could frame this moment, just so he doesn’t forget. He almost did, and he hated himself when he took so long to remember how you sounded like, how you looked like.
“Nothing like I imagined,” Namjoon replies. “In a good way.”
“I scrapped previous works and experimented with these ones. It took me years to complete,” you explain. “I almost stopped at one point, wondering if anybody would ever get it but then I figured, it didn’t matter. It’s a good thing that lifestyle magazine reached out for a feature. I think that was Mr. Hong pulling some strings. At least I got to say that for years, I didn’t know what I was doing, who I was, but now I do.”
“That’s how I knew about it, actually,” Namjoon hums. “It was in the art gallery because he was giving it away for free. It said your exhibition was here, so I flew in.”
“Oh,” you say, surprised. “I thought you had a show or filming.”
“Nah,” Namjoon sighs. “I came here for you. Otherwise I wouldn’t know where to find you, or how else to see you. You stopped… you stopped showing up. You just disappeared.”
“I know. And I’m sorry.”
It’s all you can say, really. You didn’t expect to see him here, but when you saw a familiar face enter through the doors, your heart stopped. You had a feeling Mr. Hong had told Namjoon about your exhibition - your first in 4 years. But nothing would have prepared you for this - seeing him again after you walked away from the one good thing you found in your life. You watched him from afar as he went through each of your pieces, perhaps savoring them, remembering them.
“Have you been well?” He asks, the concern still overpowering everything.
“I have.”
“You seem to have lost someone,” he says, nodding towards one of the pieces. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“She was my neighbor when I spent 8 months in Sweden,” you share. “She took care of me but then she passed away due to an accident. It was hard for a while.”
“I–” Namjoon reaches out his hand - for comfort, perhaps - but he brings it down. “I wish I knew.”
“It’s okay. And I’m okay. It’s been a year, but I wouldn’t have finished all this without her.”
You’d forgotten how silence sounded like with Namjoon, and you want to remember what it was like. You remember a lot of things, actually, like his laughter, his voice, his smile, the feel of his lips on yours, and many others.
“How long are you here for?” You finally ask, as you both walk side-by-side past the rest of the artworks inside, with a bit of distance between you.
“I’m here for 3 more days.”
“I stay at the hotel next to the building,” you say, being bold. “I leave here in 2 hours.”
You fumble for your room key and discreetly hand it over to him. “3802, if you want to. I have more to say, and I– uh, shit. If you’re seeing someone, forget what I said.”
“I’m not,” he answers. “I’ll be there.”
**
Namjoon watches the city from your full-wall window, wondering when you’d decide to finally speak beyond a greeting. It’s been 10 minutes since he arrived at your suite with the key you gave him, and you haven’t said anything since then.
“The buildings aren’t the same here,” you finally say. “I’ve been here for 3 months and the sounds of the cars are too loud, there’s too much smoke, people don’t smile… I don’t have anyone here.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I decided to finish some of my pieces in the city. I’ve been staying at one of my parents’ apartments not far from here.”
“And where were you before that?”
“Puerto Rico, Greece, Sweden,” you answer.
“When I said to find ourselves, I didn’t think you’d actually leave, and then not tell me about it,” he laments. “I knew it was stupid to wish you’d stay close. You weren’t in any of the places where I used to see you, where we used to go. I… I asked around but they said you haven’t visited in so long.”
“I couldn’t stay,” you try to explain. “I couldn’t because it just meant waiting for you to come even if I was the one who walked away. And I knew I wouldn’t be able to find myself in a place where I’d always be looking for you, and so I had to go. I’m so sorry, Joon. I–”
You drop the hand that reaches out to him, unsure if your touch would still be welcome. You clench your fist to stop yourself from doing it again, but he notices. He notices and takes your hand, uncurls it so he can hold it properly.
“How was it being away?”
“It was good. Hard. Terrifying,” you share. “I experienced a lot of new, fun things. I learned a lot. Made a lot of mistakes, too. I met so many people. I–”
“Were you with anyone?” he asks, turning away briefly.
“No, I… I couldn’t bring myself to,” you answer nervously. “And you?”
“No one since you. There was a reason why I asked you to stay right there, so that I knew where to find you.”
“You still found me, 3 years later, on the other side of the world.”
“I had to know if anything’s changed for you. I had to know if you made it, if you found what you were looking for. I had to know if you were happy. But you didn’t create it. There was no piece for it.”
“I found what I was looking for,” you say, looking into his eyes, glancing at his fingers that are softly exploring yours. “I realized that I could only gain whatever permanence I was looking for if I learned to let them go. Because if they come back, they stay. I walked away from you then, and I had to lose myself to all the emotions that I was so scared to feel. And I felt a lot of them, Joon. I felt a lot of things. I was going to go back home after this. But you came to me first. You’re the one always finding me. That hasn’t changed.”
“I suppose it hasn’t,” he cracks a smile. “Did I take too long?”
“You were right on time,” you say. “I would’ve come for you in a few days though. But I’m glad you’re here so that I can tell you that I can finally have this. I can finally give you everything without being scared, without it breaking me, without it ruining the ones I love.”
“Is that what you feel for me?”
“Yes. I guess I did then. I still do now.”’
There’s uncertainty in your voice, perhaps due to the fear of him no longer returning what you feel.
“I found myself, too,” he says. “I figured out what I wanted to do for myself, what more I can give, what more I desired. And I guess you’re right. That permanence can come from losing something and then having them back. And then having them stay. So many times then I regretted that I wasn’t more honest. That I was denying what I felt for you because I was scared of losing what little of a normal life I was afforded. I wished I told you much earlier, but I guess things happen when they do, right?”
“Right, but you can also say them again now.”
“That I want you close, holding my hand, tracing my skin, kissing me? That I want all that everyday?” He smiles, as he pulls you towards him and places your hand on his chest. “That I want everything from you? That I haven’t stopped thinking of you, wishing for you?”
“Yes,” you say, sighing into the kiss you’ve missed too much.
There’s that tenderness you expected, but the desire is unlike the times before. There’s more confidence now, more security in the way his mouth moves against yours. It’s as if he knows that he’ll always have this. That this time, he’s loving you in more than words, and that you’ve come back, and that you’ll stay.
Namjoon presses you against the wall, lets his lips trace down your neck and your chest. He undresses you, remarks that he’s starting to believe in a higher being who created a body like yours, and then proceeds to mouth more praises down your thighs and in between them.
He takes you slowly, amorously. He watches your face contort in pure pleasure, and you mention needing to add a piece for this, too. The way he goes in and out of you is out of this world, and you never want it to end.
You’d think it’s the intimacy you didn’t know how to feel. But it’s more than that. In fact, you find that in being with Namjoon, the intimacy is in everything - the way he holds your hand, the way he wraps his arm around you, the way he lets you bite his arm and tickle him just for fun. It’s in the way he kisses your forehead before he kisses your lips.
It’s in your bike rides together and watching the river whenever you catch a glimpse of it. It’s in your moments of calm - reading books, writing songs, sketching.
It’s in the deep, tender way that he says he loves you.
You don’t have a piece for this yet. Perhaps it’s another series altogether. Perhaps it’ll require an installation.
Or maybe, this is the one emotion you don’t need to put into art, the one that you’ll keep for yourself to hold onto because no clay and metal mixture, no tangible piece, could ever describe what this love and intimacy feels like.
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once again with an italian song, this time for charlos
"occhi diversi tutte le sere ma sempre il solito vecchio sorriso" >>> different eyes every single night but always the same old smile
i'm imagining something romantic and cheesy and charles' eyes changing with the light :)
once again, im so sorry how late this is. i had an idea for this ever since you sent me the ask but only now found the energy to write. i hope you like it <3 I tried making it cheesy and romantic. what's for sure, charles' eyes are definitely changing hehe. your prompts have been amazing and I had so much fun writing them
this is a companion piece to my charlos demon au. read it here
tw: mention of the lv incident, and charles is angry about it, but nothing too graphic.
This year was supposed to be different. This year was supposed to be their year. Prayers on his lips, the devil by his side, Carlos was supposed to win this year. Instead, he's barely scrapping in the top 5 as it is. To say he is frustrated is an understatement.
"I thought a deal with the devil meant glory," Carlos says the night after the race in Melbourne. "I thought the car would be strong. I thought--" the voice catches in his throat "--I thought I'd be strong."
Charles is motionless next to him, eyes a blue so dark and deep, no shadow disturbs them. Carlos is a little afraid to look at him.
"It will come." Charles presses his mouth against Carlos' shoulder, heat sipping through the shirt. He inhales, long and deep. He's just like a dog sometimes, Carlos thinks, a little amused, a little fond. Protective and possessive.
"Easy for you to talk." Carlos shakes Charles off. The artificial light of the hotel room slants in his eyes, and for a second, Charles' irises are not deep blue, but milky white. Carlos' heart seizes in his chest. He blinks. Charles' eyes are back to normal. "You were Senna in the past life."
Charles rolls his eyes. "I made a deal with you, not with Ferrari. I can't help them if they're not ready to pay the price."
"And I am? Paying the price?"
Charles smiles, crooked, lopsided, dimples popping, and kisses him into quietness.
*
It gets better until it doesn't and Carlos has to retire his car in Spa halfway in. It's Charles' turn to be on the podium, and Carlos is so angry he can barely stand to look at him.
"It's just a third place, Carlos. Nothing to stress over."
They go back to the hotel right after Charles finished his media duties, and Carlos wants nothing more than to be alone. He thinks slamming the door would have gotten the message across, but when he turns around, Charles is already there, by the bed, waiting, hands in his pockets, eyes a dull grey.
"A third place and three championships," Carlos sneers now, looking over Charles' shoulder. He can't stand the look in his eyes. "Nothing to stress over."
Charles sighs, exasperated. "I existed before you, Carlos. I will exist after you. My life now is nothing but a moment, painted in a different color. I don't choose my lives, the same way you didn't choose to be bound to me. If I could, I'd always be a king, a winner, but my life is defined by the contracts I make the same way yours is defined by things outside of your control." Charles stops, an angry breath hissing through his clenched teeth. He doesn't talk about his life, his existence as a being outside of the human realm, if he can help it. "You know what you got to do if you wish to never see me again."
Carlos finally looks at Charles. His eyes shine like marble in sunlight. Outside is dark, a starless night.
"And if I do? Will the old Charles be back?" Carlos still remembers the days before he made his pact. The sweet Charles, the shy Charles. The one that blushed around Sebastian Vettel.
"You drivers always think you're so different from one another, but you're all the same." The Charles in front of him gives him a sad smile. "There is no old Charles. It's always been me."
Carlos suddenly feels nauseous. He stares at Charles, at his eyes, at the grey melting into blue. "I think…I think I need to be alone." A pause. "Please."
Charles tilts his head to the side, watching Carlos. Carlos blinks. Charles is gone.
Later, they will be fine, as fine as a demon and human can be. They will fall into bed again, and Charles will let Carlos touch him, slide into him raw, make love to him. Charles will let Carlos wrap his hands around his throat, kiss him breathless, mark him. Charles will let Carlos believe he has power, and Carlos will let it happen, accept it. He will accept anything, everything as long as he gets to enjoy this for a little while longer.
*
The win in Singapore comes with a bang, and Carlos doesn't have time to think if Charles gave him this only to appease him. He is yelling over the coms, yelling as he gets out of the car, as he embraces the team. He sings every word of Fratelli d’Italia up on the podium. Fred pours champagne over his head, down his overalls. Carlos accepts everything with the biggest smile on his face. He won. He won for Ferrari. With Ferrari.
A tiny voice in his head tells him, you won before Charles this year, before Il Predestinato. It's delightfully mean. Carlos shoves it back where it came from.
He doesn't spot Charles anywhere until after his press conference, when Carlos is pulled into a desolate room, a hand on his mouth to silence him and a cheeky smile greeting him in the dark.
"Hi, champion."
Carlos grins against the fingers. "Hi back," he mumbles, pulling Charles into him by the waist.
Charles' eyes are a kaleidoscope of red-pink-purple, a sunset trapped in his irises. "My beautiful champion," he says and then he kisses Carlos hard on the mouth. Carlos parts his knees, Charles steps closer, pushes his hands underneath Carlos's shirt, fingers on his stomach, skin against skin. Carlos shudders.
"Bebe," Carlos mutters as Charles kisses down his neck. "Not here. Hgmm." Charles bites at a particular sensitive spot on Carlos' neck. "We don't have time."
Charles' eyes glimmer as he looks up at Carlos. "Is that a challenge?" He asks and drops to his knees before Carlos can get a word in.
Ten minutes later they're sliding into their chairs as the debrief starts, and if Carlos fixes his pants and Charles wipes the corner of his mouth, no one bats an eyelash. After all, they were only a few minutes late. No one scolds a Ferrari champion.
*
The manhole blows up underneath Carlos' car in Las Vegas. It brings the first practice to an end and rules him out of the second one. Because of the damage, he will most likely get a penalty on Sunday. It’s a mess. Charles is fuming.
Carlos watches as Charles paces the length of his hotel room, threat dripping from his tongue like a thunderstorm, and he speaks in French and sometimes in Spanish. Other times in languages that are not familiar at all. Carlos would laugh about it, would pull Charles into his arms, tell him not to worry, kiss the frown off his face. He’d do that and more if it weren’t for the shackles shining bloody red around Charles’ neck, around his wrists, eyes matching as they flare up with every new word.
Charles’ threats are not something to laugh at. They’re real, and if Carlos doesn’t do anything about it, Charles will level the city.
“It’s what they deserve,” Charles spits. “If there is something the humans have been constant about- it's money. It’s always about money. They’d risk everything for it. I should cut their fingers off, one by one. Make them choke on money. Teach them the consequence of greed.”
Carlos sighs. He doesn’t think too much about it and grabs Charles by the arm, pulling him into his lap.
“Cariño,” Carlos soothes, pressing a kiss underneath Charles’ right eye. He puts his fingers on Charles’ neck and doesn’t think about how it burns. “You’re older than mankind. Why are you still surprised?”
Charles growls low in his throat. “They messed with what’s mine.”
Surprise and pleasure zip up Carlos’ spine. He drops his hands around Charles’ shoulders, pushes and pulls until Charles gives in and melts against his chest. “I am fine, really. I am here, aren’t I?”
Charles huffs. He grips the hem of Carlos’ shirt and presses his cold nose against Carlos’ neck.
“You could’ve lost your legs,” he mumbles.
“Not for long,” Carlos says as he draws lines on Charles’ back. Up and down, left to right, as soothing as he can make them. “I have you.”
“Yes,” Charles relents, finally, fight going out of him all at once, shackles fading until they leave only unmarred skin behind. “Yes, you do.”
He presses a kiss under Carlos’ ear. If Carlos senses a hit of teeth, too sharp to be human, he doesn’t mention it.
“Will you leave the city and its people alone?”
Charles smiles against his neck. “For now. For you. They owe you a life debt.”
“Yes, yes, my fearless demon,” Carlos says and then tightens his hold and flips them on the bed, Carlos on top, Charles splayed underneath him. For the next several hours Carlos makes sure Charles doesn’t have time to think about decimating the world. Charles lets him.
A pact with the devil is not so bad after all.
#luna.writes#charlos#charlos demon au#charles leclerc#carlos sainz#f1 rpf#f1 fanfic#my stories#part 2 is here and it's not edited and im not sure it makes sense but I had fun writing this#i hope you like
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