#model!reader

Y/n left Lewis in the hotel with a kiss on his lips before she left to meet up with some other angels and get to the show. It was early and she didn't want to disturb him when he didn't need to be up for another few hours.

Lewis didn't have to attend, he has a lot going on. He just lost Roscoe, he has Ferrari making him look a fool on track. Y/n insisted that she would understand if he couldn't be there.

But there would've had to be an apocalypse to stop Lewis attending. Hell if the show had been cancelled he'd have hired the venue out and had a show just for y/n so she could still have the experience even if he was the only one in the audience.

He woke up sending her a message since he knows she'd have access to her phone and unsurprisingly she replies immediately telling him she is feeling the nerves since unlike a lot of the angels who are returning to the glory of being a Victoria Secret Angel, this is her first time and she feels the pressure.

Lewis is on the red carpet on his entry to the show and obviously everyone wants to talk to him.

"Lewis, you look amazing. How are you feeling? Obviously you're here for y/n. Have you spoken to her?"

"Thank you, y/n actually picked the outfit. So credit to her. But I'm feeling good, I have spoken to y/n she's been so excited for this. Maybe some nerves at the moment, but I just know she's going to have the best time." Lewis nods and the love in his eyes just talking about y/n is visible. "I can't wait to see her on that runway, she's going to be the most beautiful woman there."

"Is there anyone or anything else you're looking forward to seeing?"

"No. Just y/n. She's all I'm here for." Lewis smiles earning a small laugh and nod from the interviewer.

"Have you seen any hint at what she'll be wearing?"

"No. She's done well to keep that to her self, I think she wanted to surprise me. But I mean she'll look stunning no matter what wings or outfit she's wearing. She'd elevate the most beautiful clothes on the planet just because she's wearing them."

Lewis could probably praise and love on y/n for hours if someone let him but the interviewer seems to have decided they've heard Lewis obsess over y/n enough and he moves on getting into the venue and finding his seat, which is a front row.

He sits smiling as he talks to a couple others just to be polite but really Lewis is there for one person and one person only.

The shows on and Lewis wait's patiently, eyes glued to the entry point of the stage. Model after model appear but Lewis doesn't let his gaze stray, waiting for her and when she appears he doesn't even realise he's stood up in his awe.

Y/n is the most angel model there, the large white feather wings behind her as she struts. Lewis is sure he can't breathe and when her purposeful siren eyes flick around, the finally find him and she blows him a double handed kiss and wink.

Lewis' smile can't be wiped from his face as she gets to the end of the run way and shows the presence of her personality as all the best models do. He's applauding and whistling loud enough that it overpowers most of the other audience.

-

When Lewis finally sees y/n, he's got her a bouquet of flowers that are just about too big for him to carry but he was not getting her anything less than the biggest he could carry.

"You are surreal." Lewis states leaning over to kiss her while y/n grins looking at the red roses.

"These are beautiful." Y/n states then biting her lip a little. "I've starving."

"I've got us a reservation ready for when you want to go. I didn't want to push you for anything in case you got invited to anything else."

"I want to celebrate this with you. God knows I never would've been able to get here without you pushing me to do it."

"You just needed reminded of who you are, baby." Lewis assures her then grinning. "I'm so proud of you. You were the most angel, angel on the runway."

"Thank you. You have no idea how much my back is going to hurt tomorrow because they weigh a ton. Keeping balance in the real show was so much harder than practice and rehearsals." Y/n laughs earning while the two head out and the moment they step outside they are dazzled by the flashes of photographers watching to capture the couple and the flowers work as a great deflection to protect their eyes.

He gets into trouble at runway shows because people love filming his confused reactions to more abstract pieces in a collection.

“Who wears this stuff? You can’t even sit down in that!” he would say during the drive home, while you tried (yet again) to explain that there’s a difference between runway fashion and everyday clothes.

When you first started dating you tried to convince him to stop wearing those god-awful skinny jeans but he wouldn’t budge, saying that he doesn’t care what people think and would just rather wear something simple. But over time he gave in and let you pick out some designer looks for him.

So, when he showed up one race weekend dressed in the latest Dior collection, Charles and Lewis came up to him asking if he was okay, because they genuinely could not believe their eyes. His team were staring at him with actual concern because they have never seen Max put that much effort into his appearance. He made sure everyone who asked about the sudden change would hear your name being credited for his new look.

OSCAR PIASTRI

emotional support boyfriend

Always has a smile on his face telling other people what you do. There wasn’t a conversation where he wasn’t able to accidentally sneak in you and your work. it’s actually harder for him to control himself and refrain from mentioning how beautiful and successful you are.

Calms you down during fashion week chaos. When you’re panicking because of a wardrobe malfunction or barely surviving on coffee and a few hours of sleep, he manages to make the chaos go away by just holding your hand and reassuring you that everything’s going to be okay.

He's like your anchor. Helps you stay grounded and not overthink.

Buys Vogue only because you're on the cover, but gets like 5 copies of it just because he loves looking at you.

LANDO NORRIS

your personal assistant

While on summer break he devotes all of his attention to you.

“You need a ride from one venue to another right now? Already outside. Oh, you’re feeling tired? Already have your coffee.”

But when he’s busy he tries to keep up with everything going on in your world. Always makes sure to text and call.

He would never tell you this because he would feel like a loser but when you’re halfway across the world and can’t respond because of the time difference, he looks up your ad campaigns on his phone and just watches them with a soft smile on his face.

He's just very proud of you.

Doesn’t know runway show etiquette so would giddily giggle to himself while you’re walking and other people would just look at him with the most annoyed look. But he doesn’t care because he’s just there for you and only you.

Always takes pictures when he sees you on billboards and ads just to send them to you with the heart eyes emoji.

LEWIS HAMILTON

matches with you

Loves learning from you and just discussing fashion with you.

He's just excited that someone can keep up with his love for it.

He doesn’t like other people telling him what to wear but he trusts your opinion completely and will change his whole outfit if you’re not feeling it.

Starts incorporating little details into his outfits to match with you. Like, for example, wearing an accessory that’s the same color as your dress.

Always takes fit pics with you.

Loves interacting with your fans.

CHARLES LECLERC

just mesmerised

Always smiles to himself when he sees you on billboards in the streets of Monaco.

When he's driving to the gym, he takes the longer route just to drive past your Prada ad. The one time you decide to tag along, you're confused why he's taking the longer way home and notice him sneaking glances out the window out of habit. But when you call him out, he just swears that it's "the faster way".

Pays attention, knows all of the people you hate at work and stays updated with all the drama.

Lights flash and cameras shutter as you walk up the red steps of The Met Gala entrance hall. Celebrities are everywhere, paparazzi calling their names as they walk by, posing for pictures. You have a share of your own attention, hoards of men and women holding cameras up to their faces shout your name, and you turn towards them, smiling and waving as the flashes go off.

You're a mainstream model, definitely well known, but by no means a Kim Kardashian or Taylor Swift. Hell no. You're slightly lower, at like Jennifer Lawrence's level of popularity, and you honestly prefer it that way.

Making your way through the enormous tented hall, various media companies stop and ask you for interviews, but none catch your eye, until her.

Smiling, you recognize her hair before you even see her face, and suddenly you're standing up a little straighter, a smile playing on your lips as Alysa Liu makes her way over, a microphone in hand.

"Oh my gosh, hi- of course," You say, a soft laugh slipping out as she grins up at you, gesturing for you to follow. She's shorter than you thought, but you can't help but notice the way she moves like she's meant to be here. "I'm like obsessed with your Olympics free skate performance," You add, a little more casually than you feel.

She glances back, surprised- really surprised- and it makes something warm fill in your chest. "You watched it?" She asks, almost disbelieving.

"Yes! Are you kidding? I've watched it like an embarrassing amount of times," Just weeks before, you'd been holed up on your couch with your best friends, ice cream in hand, as you watched Alysa both on your TV screen and edits of her on your TikTok, both of you giggling about how you'd totally get with her if you could. Your entire FYP is practically just Alysa's edits. And you definitely aren't mad about it. "You're kind of hard to ignore, you know," You add, teasingly, but you can't help but notice the way her cheeks turn slightly red.

"Honesty, I forget that like half of America watched it," She mumbles, positioning you in front of the camera set up, her hand brushes yours slightly, just enough to send a jolt of electricity through you. "Okay, you ready?" Shifting from her flustered, giggling persona, she's calm and serious now. More masculine yet feminine in a way you'd only seen in her performances. You'd definitely be lying if you said it didn't slightly turn you on.

Nodding at her, Alysa gives the cue to start the cameras up.

“So,” Alysa starts, glancing down at her notes before looking back up at you. “What inspired your look tonight?”

You hum, pretending to think, but your eyes stay on hers. “Honestly? I think I was going for something that would get your attention.”

She blinks, caught off guard, a small laugh slipping out. “My attention?”

“Did it work?” You ask, tilting your head slightly.

“…Yeah,” she admits, quieter this time, before clearing her throat and turning slightly toward the camera again. “Yeah, I’d say it did.”

“Um, uh," She flits her eyes down at her notes again, clearly distracted. "Who are you wearing tonight?”

"Versace," You nod, leaning in slightly.

She holds eye contact for a second too long before asking the next question. “How are you feeling walking into a room like this tonight?”

"Definitely nervous," You laugh, motioning to all the paparazzi surrounding you. "But honestly, it's the people that make it better. Just being able to have that human connection sort of grounds me in a way."

Nodding, she goes to read the next question off her list, but you're quick to ask your own before you can even think.

“Okay, wait, what about you? You can’t ask me that and not answer.”

Starting to protest, you hold a finger up, shaking your head. "What would you ask me if you weren’t on camera?”

She stops for a second before answering, smirking up at you. "For your number to be honest."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That interview was one of the best and worst things you possibly could have done that night. One, the woman is a fucking smokeshow, and your small crush morphed into a giant one after seeing her in person. Two, you have a giant crush, and you don't have her number.

The cameras cut shortly after Alysa asked for your number, which you stupidly didn't reply to, only brushing it off as if she was joking. She was just joking, right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wrong. You're soooo wrong.

You can't even see her face as she buries her tongue inside your pussy, her tongue working in a smooth rythum, gently circling your clit while her hand pumps in and out.

"Ohmygod yes," You mumble, your chest heaving as she hitches your leg further onto her shoulder. Thank fuck for single-stalled bathrooms at the Met.

The utter sound of her fingers bottoming inside you is fucking insane, filling the bathroom along with little breathy sounds.

"Fuck baby," She moans, the sound guttural and delicious against your sopping center.

Her pace quickens slightly as her hands scissor inside of you as she pulls out, fast to dive right back in again. You feel your core tighten, that familiar feeling rising as you grab her hair, tugging.

The two of you are an absolute mess by now, her dress gone, her nipples swollen and pink from the attention you gave them earlier, both of your hair tousled from the pulling, and your makeup messed up. Her face and neck are covered with lipstick marks, your body is adorned with teeth imprints, and the familiar blooming of hickies.

Cum drips down your legs and onto her face as you cry out, your orgasm falling through you.

You can’t help but notice how perfect Park Sunghoon's hands are as they trace across your waist. Still, calculated, not a sliver of doubt in his movements.

You stood nearly naked in front of him, but he didn’t seem fazed. He’s faced this countless times with countless models, so what makes this time any different? 

The cold measuring tape traces your skin as he wraps it around your waist. He drops down on one knee, holding his pen between his lips. 

“Exhale for me.” His voice cuts through the near silence. 

You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until his words rang through your ears. On command, you let out a shaky breath. Sunghoon pulls the measuring tape tight around your waist before jotting down the number. 

He doesn’t even look at you as he sinks to his knees. Dirt brushing across his dark slacks as his hands pull the measuring tape between your thighs. 

You shift nervously, arms burning as you hold them out at your sides. He pulls the measuring tape tight, jotting down the measurements onto his notepad without a word. 

You don’t look at the number, you can’t. It’ll only hurt you more. 

“Thank you. I’ll have your designs tailored promptly.” Sunghoon says professionally. He stands up without giving you a second glance.

You freeze, feeling overwhelmed and confused in the same. Why is he being so cold? Is he like this with every model? 

You even realize you're staring into nothingness. Not until Sunghoon clears his throat, snapping you out of your spiral.

“You can get dressed-“ he says again, cold, harsh.

“Oh yes! Sorry—“ you stammer out as you nearly trip off the fitting stand. Your bare feet brush across the cold floor as you cross the room, swiftly grabbing you’re robe to cover your exposed skin. 

Sunghoon watches his expression stoic, unchanging as he notices your shaking hands, tying the robe tight in front of you. 

“My assistant Sunoo will be with you shortly to go over the run for Saturday's show. We’ll—see where you fit in.” Sunghoon says as he grips his notebook and pen tightly before leaving out the door. 

It shuts quietly, the sound cutting through the hum of silence as you’re left alone in the fitting room.

You exhale, finally. 

Park Sunghoon was Prada’s youngest designer. His designs caught the attention of the higher ups early, and since then he’s been designing piece after piece, show after show. 

It’s like he never runs out of designs; you can’t figure out how he juggles it all. 

The catch, though? He keeps to himself. 

While the other staff were friendly but professional, Sunghoon was cold, calculated, sharp, and harsh. 

You can’t tell what he’s feeling, can’t sense what he’s thinking. He’s like a blank white canvas with no paint.

He didn’t even look at you. 

You let out a frustrated groan as you hear the door creak open, but this time, a different energy flows through the cracks.

“I’m Sunghoon’s assistant Sunoo, it’s so nice to meet you!” He says, grinning from ear to ear, notebook in hand. 

It feels like whiplash, the stark coldness of Sunghoon being replaced with the warmth of his assistant.

You force a smile back, mind still lingering on Sunghoon’s calculated touch.

You kindly give Sunoo your name as he extends his hand to yours. You take it, and in return, he shakes your hand with enthusiasm. 

“I am so excited to have you as a part of the team! You are going to kill it on Saturday, just look at you!” Sunoo says, giving you a soft look up and down. Nose scrunching with excitement.

You stutter at the generous comment, immediately pushing the words to the back of your mind. It can't be genuine. He's just saying what he's told to say.

“Well, but—“ 

“Those legs? Gorgeous. Let’s figure out where you’ll be in the lineup.” He interrupts with a smile and a compliment? 

You shift nervously, aching to steady your footing as he licks his fingertip, flipping the pages of his notebook.

“How tall are you again?” He asks curiously, his eyes locked on the pages in front of him.

“Uh..I’m…” you stutter, still trying to recover from the emotional whiplash.

“Ahh, it’s written right here! You’ll probably be in the middle, not first but not last. So no pressure this time around.” Sunoo says with a smile. 

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” You say as your arms cross over your chest. Your foot is tapping anxiously against the ground.

“Looks like you’ll be in design 23—SO excited, let me grab it for you. I’ll get you situated before the boss comes back.” Sunoo says, clapping his hands together with excitement. He slips out of the room, leaving you again in silence.

It doesn’t last long, soon Sunoo is rolling in a cart of designs, you’re eyes light up as you see the colors of the dresses hanging on the rack. 

Did Sunghoon design all these beautiful pieces? 

Guess he does live up to his reputation.

Sunoo flips through the designs as the sound of metal hangers clicking together echoes. You watch as the white light of the fitting room shines on the textures of the fabrics. 

You can’t lie to yourself, Sunghoon is talented.

“Number 22—Ah, number 23...” Sunoo mutters under his breath as he takes the garment off the rack and holds it in both hands.

It’s a stunning piece, lots of sheer white fabric draped almost like a Greek sculpture. It’s got a gentle sheen, catching the light in a flattering way. 

Sunoo hands you the piece, and you take it gently, feeling the brush of the smooth, silky fabric beneath your fingertips. 

You step behind the curtain. Slipping off your robe and sliding into the piece. It’s not the best fit. Some places are too tight, others too loose. But that’s what the measurements are for. 

You step out into the open. The white dress, sheer, complimenting the undertone of your skin. It’s a high cut on the hip, showing off your legs. 

“Oh my God…Sunghoon has outdone himself—it’s stunning. You’re stunning.” Sunoo says as you stand back on the platform in front of him. 

You smile nervously at the praise. Your feet are shifting under your weight as the cool air sends shivers across your exposed skin. 

The neckline cuts low, showing off your collarbone and other assets. Your shoulders stand out against the sleeveless nature of the design. 

The dress looks like it’s made of stained glass, the sheen catching the light. The fabric flows like water pooling gracefully at your feet.

Sunoo’s right. 

It’s stunning.

So why do you feel the need for a rebuttal? 

Your spiraling thoughts are interrupted by the click of the door. Your shoulders hunch nervously, your heart rate picking up as you notice who it is. 

Sunghoon adjusts his glasses as he steps back into the sterile room. His steps are swift, quick.

Sunoo steps out of the way as he forcefully marches through the room. Not even giving his assistant a second glance. 

Your hands shake at your sides as he looks at you again. His gaze makes you want to claw at your own burning skin. 

“Turn around.” He asks coldly. 

You shiver again. Exhaling as you hesitate before making a shaky 180 on the platform. 

You were used to being exposed like this, but now you can’t help but tremble. The fabric cascades down your spine, exposing more than enough skin from the nature of the cut.

You flinch as he takes a step closer. His fingertips untying the back of the dress you messily attempted to tie onto yourself.. 

You suck in a sharp breath. Holding your hands over your stomach as Sunghoon’s fingertips untie the dress, only to neatly lace it back up into place. 

He pulls the dress tight. His hands lingered a moment longer than they should. 

He pulls away to look you up and down, his eyes running across the dress as it flows down your body. 

“The pleats aren’t lying straight on your hips..” he mumbles under his breath. You aren’t entirely sure if you were meant to catch it. 

“Sorry..” you mumble, dropping your head to avoid his gaze, not wanting to see him or yourself anymore in the mirror. 

“Don’t apologize, it’s not you. It’s an easy fix. Sunoo?” Sunghoon gestures. Sunoo knows exactly what he needs, bringing him a roll of white thread and a delicate needle. 

He bends back down, situating himself on one knee, pinning the fabric into place as he delicately stitches it onto your form. 

You can’t help but feel nervous, a shiver races up your spine as you feel his fingertips on your body again.

“You’re shaking…” Sunghoon whispers as his fingertips trace across your hip. His eyes stay narrowed on the fabric as he pins and stitches it to lie perfectly across your body. 

“Sorry I—“

“Stop apologizing..” Sunghoon says as he pulls the seam tight. You shut your mouth and eyes wide at his remark. Any comeback getting caught in the tightness of your throat.

“It’s a simple fix, you haven’t done anything wrong—trust me,” Sunghoon whispers weakly. You shudder, the words hitting the warmth of your heart. 

Sunghoon pulls the thread tight, ripping it with his mouth before pinning the needle to his shirt. 

He takes a few steps back, just looking at the dress. 

Looking at you. 

He lets out a shaky breath as his expression changes, enough for you to notice but not enough to read. 

“I want you—in this, on Saturday…” Sunghoon says softly. His voice no longer commanding. 

“You’re exactly the type of woman I had in mind for this design…” Sunghoon confirms. You can’t tell if he’s glancing at you. Or at the fabric cascading down your form. 

His eyes meet yours again. That's when you realize—

He's not staring at the dress.

He opens his mouth to continue, to say something—anything. But the words slide back down the back of his throat.

He awkwardly clears his throat again, suddenly cracking the tightness in his knuckles before tearing his eyes away from your body.

“Let Sunoo know if you need any help undressing. I’ll have the dress tailored for you before this weekend.” Sunghoon concludes.

 And with that, he’s out the door.

Your chest feels tight and you feel like you can’t breathe. But the feeling of Sunoo’s fingertips gently unlacing the back of your dress brings you back into reality. 

You exhale sharply as the fabric loosens around your waist, your skin hot, mind still running calculations on Sunghoon’s unreadable tone.

“He’s right, you know. This dress was made for you.” Sunoo says softly as his fingertips loosen the ties at your back, as you hold up the front of your dress.

“Thanks...” you say as his fingertips leave your skin. The dress is now only being held up by the weight of your hands. 

You step behind the curtain, carefully stepping out of the dress as you let it sink to the floor. You pull your robe back over your body, mind still lingering on the warmth of Sunghoon’s touch.

Your arms carefully tuck under the sparkling garment as you bring the garment back towards the rack.

Sunoo gives you a weak smile, his soft eyes turning up at the sides. You shiver, and he sees through the mask. Like he sees right through you. 

He takes the dress, hanging it back up with the rest of the designs without another word. 

“First fittings are always the hardest. Truly, don’t let it get to you. You’re amazing, I can tell.” Sunoo says with another gentle smile. 

Your heart feels like it’s being tugged in so many directions. You open your mouth to speak, but all you can do is reply with a soft nod. 

And with that, Sunoo rolls the designs out the door, letting it slam shut, leaving you once again alone in the silence. 

It hits you hard. Maybe because Sunghoon didn’t glance back as he left the door. Maybe you wanted him to. 

You can't shake the memory of his fingertips, gentle and steady as he sewed you into that dress.

You don’t know whether to be intimidated or excited for your first walk. 

୨୧

The Saturday show sneaks up on you quickly. Backstage is bustling with activity. Makeup artists, models, hairstylists. The loud backstage chatter only amplifies your racing thoughts. 

You push through the crowd. Gently clasping onto the edge of your robe for support. Until you find exactly who you’re looking for. 

Sunoo lets out a gasp of surprise when he sees you with your hair and makeup perfectly styled. His clipboard rests on his hip as he looks you up and down, jaw dropped, completely stunned. 

“Oh my God—Sunghoon is going to flip when—“

“I’m going to what?” You hear a deep voice slice through the noise. It makes you jump a few inches back. 

Sunghoon steps from behind one of the backstage curtains. Dressed in a sleek black suit—complimenting his dark hair and pale skin as he looks down at you. His expression unchanging. 

You watch as he steps through the heavy curtain, heart fluttering as you notice just how good he looks in this moment.

His deep brows furrow, his eyes taking you up and down like so many times before. 

“You’re cut.” He says bluntly.

You nearly gasp. Your heart sinks deep into your stomach at his words. 

“I’m—I’m cut?” You whisper. Voice trembling underneath all the backstage noise. Sunghoon lets out a sharp huff. His strong arms crossed over his chest as he looked down at you. Again. 

You can’t believe this is happening, never in all these years of modeling have you been cut, especially on the day of the show.

Sunghoon’s gaze stays stoic as he watches you compute, the words making so many emotions race through you at once.

“You’re not walking—You’re not ready,” Sunghoon says harshly. His words carve through your heart like a knife. 

Your legs tremble, but you fight it, holding back the tears as your chest only gets tighter and tighter. 

He’s serious, he's seriously cutting you.

You came here to prove yourself. To make it known that you were something worth seeing. 

Yet you haven't even gotten into the dress yet, and you’re scared. Scared to be anything bigger than small. Scared to break out of a mold you spent years training to fit into. 

You’re not ready.

That fucking hurts more than it should. 

Because you know deep down. He’s right.

You glance up into his dark eyes, silently pleading for him to change his mind.

He hesitates, brows furrowing, maybe in apology?

Sunghoon doesn’t give you another moment to think. He turns on his heel. Not giving you another glance as he disappears into the sea of chaos.

All of a sudden, your skin feels hot, your robe is too tight, the backstage lights too bright. Your mind chest feels like it's on fire, the loud backstage chatter only making things worse.

You have to get out of here.

You immediately push through the chaos in the opposite direction.

“Wait!” Sunoo calls out, but you don’t look back. The only thing on your mind is getting away from the chaos, getting as far away as possible from him.

Sunoo follows behind you, desperately trying to get your attention until he finds you in a dark hallway in the backrooms of the stage.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know—“ Sunoo comforts. He tucks his clipboard under his arm as he steps closer. His expression was concerned as you fight back the tears aching to spill.

“It’s ok..really…” You choke out. A sob gets caught in your throat. You can’t hold back, the tears silently falling. Tearing a path through your professionally done makeup. 

“It’s not ok. He’s harsh, he truly means well—I think? God, he shouldn’t have done that to you. Not now.” Sunoo says with a gentle tone. His soft hands gently wipe the tears from your face as he tries not to smear any more makeup.

“He’s just—“ Sunoo mumbles, words getting caught in his throat as he searches for the words. 

You glance up at him, face tearstained as black makeup runs down your cheeks. There has to be a reason; he can’t just be doing this out of pure disservice.

Sunoo’s heart breaks as he looks down at you, his fingertips starting to tremble as he smears more tear-stained makeup across your face.

 “Never mind.” He whispers, replacing his concern with the usual soft smile in an attempt to make things better.

You cry, and he gently holds your hands as you sit on the dirty floor of one of the dark backstage halls. Tears falling into your lap. Chest aching with each sob.

Tonight was supposed to be your big debut here; you were supposed to wear the show-stopping design “made for a woman like you.”

You thought maybe this time—

You don’t know whether to curse or scream, or cry. 

Before you can do either, Sunoo’s gentle hands soothe your back. His voice was soft in the chaos and ruin.

“Do you want me to call you a car?” He offers. 

“Please…please thank you, Sunoo..” you reply as you wipe your sniffly nose with the back of your hand. Sunoo stands up, resting his clipboard on his hip as he extends his free hand to you. 

You smile through the tears at the kind gesture, gently taking his hand in yours as he helps you stand up from the dirty tile. 

The drive home is devastating. You glance out the window, seeing countless photographers and reporters doing interviews on the red carpet. The ache is inexplicably painful. 

That was supposed to be you out there.

The flashing lights soon disappear into a blur in the distance. 

With your luck, of course, it starts to rain. The city was soon enveloped in a cloud of murky gray. The water hits the car, the pavement, and the roads immediately get congested. 

You feel the tears starting to fall again, the driver rolling his eyes like you're not the only sobbing girl he's had to drive around tonight.

You try to be patient, try to wait. 10 minutes go by, then 20.

You’re itching to get out of the car, the rain already making the city feel more crowded than any other weekend night.

“You can just let me out here, I’ll walk the rest.” You inform the driver. 

He nods, unlocking the back door for you to step out of the car without another word. 

You step into the rain. Bare feet hitting the wet sidewalk as you hold your heels in your hand. The rain soaks your hair, ruining the perfect styling. You start to walk down the bustling city streets. 

Soaked, makeup running, no shoes. 

And you can’t even bring yourself to care. 

“You’re not walking—“

“You’re not ready—“ 

You squint. Tears mingling with the falling raindrops as you round the corner to your apartment building. 

You step into the lobby completely soaked. The receptionist yells something about you being soaked.

Maybe someone called out, maybe not. You couldn’t hear a single thing besides Sunghoon's words in your head. 

And that night, you cried yourself to sleep. 

Because you want to hate him.

But you know in your heart he’s right. 

୨୧

The weekend passes by in a blur. Missed calls, missed meals. You’re devastated and can’t bring yourself to do more. 

You sit lazily on the couch, scrolling mindlessly through the channels. One brain-dead show after another. 

It helps numb the pain, helps keep the thought of failure after failure out of your mind. 

At least one 45-minute episode at a time.

You feel your phone buzz under the blankets. Out of habit, you pick it up to check. 

Sunoo(7:49pm) The boss wanted me to send you this. He wants to see you.  291 Mildrige  Ln,   10007, Manhattan, NY APT 108 Come after hours.  -p.sh

Sunoo(7:50pm) You don’t have to go, but I think you might want to. Not sure if he’s trying to fix this. But he might be. 

You stare at the screen. Shooting back a thank you text out of courtesy.

After hours? Seriously? He’s got to be joking. 

You let out a deep sigh before unpausing your show. Trying to get your mind off of Sunghoon. Despite his brutal words, you linger on the gentleness in his touch. 

But your heart is tugging at you. The way his fingertips brushed against your waist. The way he said that dress was made for you.

So why would he cut you? Why sew you into a dress like you were the only woman in the world he could touch? 

Your curiosity gets the best of you. You throw on a coat over your dress. Grab your keys before making your way out the door. 

You’re already having second thoughts as you take the elevator up. Your hands clammy at your sides.

You hold your arms over your chest as you strut down the hall. Looking at the apartment numbers nailed to the outside of the doors.

You stop right in front of the door that says 108. You raise your hand to knock, but you pause. Mind racing with thoughts. Your brain is telling you to turn around and head back.

Before you can make that choice yourself, the door pulls open. Sunghoon's eyes widen in surprise as he sees you standing in front of him. 

A plain, casual minidress, paired with a long leather coat. 

He glances you up and down, eyes lingering on your exposed skin, the sheer elegance you exude even at his hour.

“You—you came?” He asks softly, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses as he studies you. Like he’s making sure you’re the right girl. 

“Make this quick before I change my mind.” You snap back. He doesn’t deserve sympathy. Not after the stunt he pulled at the last show. 

“Of course—Come in. This is my studio, I wanted to show you…” He says softly, stepping aside to let you inside the dimly lit room. 

You let your coat fall off your shoulders as you slip past him. Immediately, you’re hit with the faint scent of cinnamon and sage.

The large window immediately grabs your attention. The bustling city beneath you earns its name. Still dark—yet vibrant with life even at this hour.

You look around the studio as Sunghoon shuts the door behind you. Your eyes scan the large table by the window, the walls taped with countless designs of clothing and bags. Some are just sketches, others are fully fleshed out designs.

There are pastels and sketching pencils underneath the desk, Paints and other mediums scattered across the surface. And on the table, even more designs.

There's a small couch, the living area minimally decorated with a variety of greenery. Music softly playing on the television was nestled in the corner of the room. 

The last thing to catch your eye is a clothing rack packed full of dresses and designs. Your brows furrow with confusion. What designer keeps couture designs in their own apartment space?

“Sorry, this place is kind of a mess—” Sunghoon chuckles as he nervously bends down to pick up a rogue paintbrush and pencil off the floor.

“Why did you call me here?” You ask as you watch him messily try to stack up scattered designs and art supplies.

Your eyes linger on his arms as he rolls his white sleeves up to his elbows. Watching as he rakes his fingertips through his messy, unstyled hair.

“Because I need you to see what I see—” Sunghoon replies softly. He turns over his shoulder to see you stalking behind him, angry, exhausted.

You want to roll your eyes, how can he change his mind so fast, especially after the stunt he pulled cutting you last minute at the show?

He lets out a shaky breath like this is just as hard for him as it is for you. He drags his feet against the hard floor, stopping just a few inches in front of you.

He hesitates before gently offering his hand for you to take. Your gaze shifts from the palm of his hand to his eyes, no longer cold and harsh. There's a softness you didn’t notice before, maybe you were too caught up to notice it all along.

You let out a shaky breath, untying your arms from across your chest to offer him your hand.

He takes it, gently pulling you in closer. Your body brushes against his as he looks down at you.

“I know how I sounded on Saturday. I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t have done that to you.” Sunghoon whispers, his voice cracking in the silence as he gently brushes your hair out of your face, his fingertips lingering on the side of your face.

“I’m sorry. I can only imagine how badly that hurt you—all to prove a point.” He chokes out, his voice unstable as his chest tightens under his words.

You feel your eyes water at his apology, the shame and hurt flooding back through your system as he brings up the cut.

“It’s okay, Sunghoon…” You choke out, tears threatening to spill at any moment.

Sunghoon’s expression grew pained as he heard the hurt in your voice. He pulls you closer into his arms, his fingertips gently wiping the stray tears from your cheeks.

“No, don’t say that. What I did was not okay.” He states, his voice steady as he gently wipes the silent tears from your face.

“Please, give me one chance, let me show you what I see in you…” Sunghoon whispers, his voice barely audible over the soft background music.

You smile softly, warmth pooling in your chest as he pulls you into a gentle hug. His cheek resting on the top of your head as he holds you through the last few sobs of tears.

He smiles down at you, his heart racing as you nod. He gently intertwined your fingertips with his as he guided you towards the large window, taking you to the clothing rack placed right next to it.

“These are my own designs. Not for Prada, not for my team, or Sunoo or anyone.” Sunghoon whispers.

“Anything catch your eye?” Sunghoon says as his hand slides to rest on your lower back, gently guiding you towards the small rack of designs.

You glance over the shimmering metallics and velvet jewels, a sultry red catching your eye as you glance over the designs.

It’s bold, sexy, fiery against the other colors on the rack. 

“This one…” You say softly as you pull the design from the rack, letting it rest in your arms. The fabric is a delicate shimmering red, catching all the dim light from the room. 

“That one’s dangerous…” Sunghoon whispers into your ear, his fingertips lingering on your waist like before. 

“Want to try it?” He suggests deeply, gesturing to a small folded divider tucked into the corner of his room. 

You try to bite back your excitement as you nod. Swiftly stepping behind the divider to change. 

You slip your coat off your shoulders and lay it across the top of the barrier, the cold air of the room hitting your bare skin as you slip into the dress. Pull it up over your hips and chest. 

The dress is breathtaking, tailored exactly to your body. The sleeves fall off the shoulders, and the necking plunges just deep enough to shape your figure. 

The fabric bathes at your waist, framing your curves before it pools at your bare feet. 

The back is corset-like, needing to be laced up tight against your spine. You pull at the strings, arms cramping as you try to do it yourself. 

“I think I need help with the laces.” You call out from behind the barrier. 

You hear Sunghoon step against the hard floor as he strides across the room, pushing the divider out of the way to find you holding your dress up. 

You swear you noticed a soft slush across his cheeks as he stood behind you. Fingertips gently grabbing the strings, pulling you tight into the dress.

You can hardly breathe, partly from the top design of the dress, partly because of the way Sunghoon's fingertips feel on your body. 

Once he’s got you laced in, he grabs you by the shoulders, spinning you around to face him. 

His eyes scan up in the design. Noticing the perfect flow and cut of the fabric, but this time you know. 

He’s not looking at the dress. 

He’s looking at you, every part of you. 

He bites his lip as he pulls you closer, guiding you to the open space of his apartment. 

“You look so stunning…I—I don’t have words,” Sunghoon whispers intimately as his hands slide up your waist, brushing across the glittering brick red of the dress.

Your heart races at his words, not because he’s talking about your dress or your body. 

Deep down, you know he’s talking about you. 

“These dresses…you made them for me?” You ask as his hands trace the perfect stitching of the garment. Somehow hugging every curve perfectly. 

“After that first fitting, I hardly even slept. You just inspired me so much, you made me forget how to breathe. You were all I could think about.” Sunghoon confesses as he pulls you into his body. The heat is undeniable as he softly lets his hands trace over your curves. 

“Because even though you were trembling, I saw something in you, you have no idea how long I’ve been designing, waiting for a woman like you.” Sunghoon completes, his breath hot against your skin as he leans in, breath fanning across your cheeks and lips. 

He’s close, so close. It feels like your heart is going to thump out of your chest. 

“You have so much potential to be great…when they aren’t pressuring you. The woman in front of me right now? That’s not the same woman behind that stage. That’s why I cut you.” Sunghoon confesses, his breath heavy and unchecked. 

“When you wear these designs, I want you to look, to feel like you. Not like the version of you the magazines want.” Sunghoon finishes, his lips charting dangerously close to yours. 

“You have no idea how badly I’m falling for you,” Sunghoon confesses with an intimate whisper. 

The words cut through all the noise. It’s all you can hear as it echoes back. The way his hands hold your body, his lips, so close.

You close the distance, gently capturing his lips with your own. 

Sunghoon's breath hitches as his hand cups the side of your face. Lips soft and gentle against your own. 

You pull away, briefly, just enough to whisper against his lips.

“Why’d you say that like you mean it?” You whisper, voice cracking softly with emotion. 

“Because I do mean it, every word…” Sunghoon completes before he crashes his lips back into yours, hands steadying you as he gently sucks your lips into his own.

Sunghoon pulls your body into his, the warmth exploding between you as your lips melt perfectly against his mouth. Your heart races, heat rushing to the back of your neck. 

Sunghoon pulls away, breathless, lips swollen and flushed from tasting your own. 

“I don’t want to ruin this, not again,” Sunghoon whispers. His voice was shaky and hoarse.

“Is this too soon? To ask…” Sunghoon chokes out, his voice heavy like everything he’s ever wanted as laid out on the line in front of him. 

Your heart warms, and you know exactly what he means. 

And you realize you want it just as much. 

A smile spreads across your lips that you can’t hide you nod softly in reply. 

“It’s not too soon, Sunghoon, I want you too.” You confess with a shy smile. 

Sunghoon lets out a shaky breath of disbelief. He leans in, kissing you again, this time hotter, heavier. 

He smiles against your lips as he tugs at the shimmering fabric of the dress. His hands gently guiding you to the small couch in the corner.

Faint cinnamon and sage still linger, as well as the soft music. Sunghoon sits on the couch, gently guiding you into his lap.

As soon as you’re situated, his lips as back on yours, breathless as he drags them beneath your jawline. 

You throw your head back, letting him explore and trace your lines like one of his most intricate sketches.

You let out a soft breath, not of frustration but of immense relief. Relief at how gentle his touch is, how reverent it is as he glides his lips across the skin of your neck. 

His hands gently hold your waist as he kisses you lower. Over the sharp lines of your collarbone to the top of your exposed breasts. 

“Every inch of you…God, I could get lost in this body.” Sunghoon moans as he gently drags his lips over the soft skin of your chest, right above the hem of your dress.

Your breath catches as his hands slide to your back, shamelessly pulling at the ties to loosen your dress. 

The deep red slides down your body as it loosens, revealing more of your skin to his gaze. 

Sunghoon pulls you in, bringing his face to your chest as he favors the sweet scent of you. His lips dragging across the fullness of your breasts. 

“You have no idea how many times I sketched this neckline, imagining you sitting in it.” Sunghoon coaxes, his lips dragging from the underside of your breast to your nipple.

 He takes the sensitive bud in his mouth, warm and wet, caressing it with his tongue. 

Your hips tremble as the sensations rush through you. You’re breath is labored as he drags his lips under your chest, molding your warm flesh in his mouth. 

You arch into him. Moaning softly as the warmth spreads from your core. Sunghoon smirks against your skin, his lips hot and wet as they pull away.

He lets out a deep groan as he drags his lips across the other side, wet and messy, his hands pulling you down further into his lap.

You can feel how much he's straining against the zipper of his dress pants already. You grind down on his lap, just enough to catch yourself on his hardness, letting the pleasure build.

Sunghoon pulls his swollen lips away completely breathless, soft marks of blue and purple left on the fullness of your breasts in his wake.

You glance down, hands still gently resting on his shoulders as you take in the bruises left by his mouth. You feel yourself getting hotter at the sight of Sunghoon marking you as his.

Sunghoon's brows furrow as he notices you staring, your dress still loosely falling off your body, fabric crooked and pooling anywhere it can.

“Sorry, I should’ve asked—” Sunghoon whispers as his fingertips graze across the hickeys left on your skin. The blues, mixing with hues of green and purple as they darken.

Your breath catches at his words, you lean in, gently kissing the tension away as your mouth warmly melts into his.

“I love it… It's nothing the makeup team can't cover up.” You say with a cheeky smile.

Sunghoon chuckles against your lips as he leans in to taste more of you, his large hands sliding across the bare skin of your arms before resting on your thighs.

You straddle him in the dress, core loosely grinding against his clothed cock as hands trace you, memorizing every freckle and line.

“Every inch of you is just perfection. I want you to see that.” Sunghoon mumbles as he drags his lips down your throat.

You gasp, hands trembling as you hold onto him for support, sweat already forming a thin layer across your skin. The red dress feels hot, too hot, as you pant on top of him.

“I want to hear you, you’re not just my muse right now. I want this to be about us, no brand deals or labels. Just me and you.” Sunghoon mumbles into the skin of your neck. His hands gently slipping into the fallen straps of your dress, asking for permission before gently pulling it down.

You whimper as you feel his lips on your sensitive skin. It bruises more easily than you remember. Sunghoon pulls away, placing a chaste kiss to the darkening spot before looking back into your eyes. 

You don’t even know when the tears started to fall. Your chest pounds, maybe from embarrassment, you can’t truly tell. 

Sunghoon silently wipes your tears. This time, he doesn’t have flashy words or lavish compliments. 

And that’s exactly what you need to realize—this thing is real. 

And for the first time in a long time, you’re actually being seen.

Not through a camera lens, not through a magazine. 

Just you and a man who’s willing to change and give you everything he has because it’s true he’s been waiting. 

“Thank you…Sunghoon—“You choke out a quiet sob. Your hands are shaking as you try to wipe the tears. 

“I’m the one who should be thanking you,” Sunghoon mumbles as he gently wipes your tears with his sleeve. A soft smile tugged at his lips even after everything. His heart still swells for you. 

“I want you to undress me…” You whisper, your voice finally stabilizing as you ground it. This time there’s no more trembling, no more hiding. 

Sunghoon's expression melts at your words as you finally take control, finally own the version of you he knew was buried down inside. 

He looks up at you, grinning, his hands gently raking through your hair with affection. 

“There she is…” Sunghoon whispers before pulling you back down into another messy kiss. 

You match his enthusiasm, letting your tongue melt against his as he tears moans from your throat, moans you never imagined he would hear.

He slides his hands down your arms, pulling the straps of the dress down with them as more of your skin catches in the dim light. 

His lips stay melted on yours as his chest rises and falls with anticipation’s his fingers trembling for the first time as he forcefully removes the rest of the laces from your back. 

The dress immediately falls, you shuffle awkwardly to slip out of it, letting the dark crimson pool long forgotten on the ground. 

“Come here..” Sunghoon mumbles as he lies back down on the couch, pulling you back on top of him. You let yourself laugh softly as he pulls you back into his warmth. 

Sunghoon smiles into another kiss, your laughter making his heart race as his hands roam across your body in exploration. 

“I want you here if that’s okay?” Sunghoon pulls away to whisper, his hands gently rubbing your hips, pulling you up his torso to lie across his chest. 

You immediately feel hot as you catch on, the cool fabric of his shirt contrasting with the heat of your skin and core. 

“I want you to ride my face…” he confesses, his voice heavy, shaking as his eyes stay locked on you and only you. 

“You sure?” you question, biting back a smirk as you raise an eyebrow at him. 

“More than…” Sunghoon replies as his hands slide to your thighs, helping to guide you into position. 

Your thighs burn as they dig into the cushions of the couch, holding yourself up as you start to drip over his face. 

You let out a shaky breath as you sink down, his warm, hot mouth enveloping you, sending a shock of heat throughout your body. 

You let out a deep moan, unfiltered, unashamed, as his tongue drags through your folds. You grip the soft leather of the couch, trying to keep yourself from putting too much pressure on his face.

Sunghoon lets his eyes flutter shut as he memorizes you with his mouth. His tongue takes its time to glide through every fold, hitting every nerve to make you shiver. 

He moans deep with satisfaction as he feasts on you. Your essence dripping down his lips and chin as his nose buries further into your heat. 

He doesn’t come up for air; he doesn’t speak. He just devours you, getting off at your newfound sounds of pleasure. 

His tongue slides through your folds to gently circle your clit. You whimper, hips buckling against his face as his tongue slides down to your hole, gently fucking into you with reverence.

It feels good, too good. You start to grind your hips down on his tongue, chasing that same spark of pleasure.

You let go of the couch, your hands gently fisting handfuls of his dark hair as you let yourself shamelessly drop fully onto his face.

You let out a sharp exhale of relief, your thighs burning from the intensity as you slowly roll your hips against him, wetness dripping onto his lips, down his chin and neck.

Sunghoon groans into your pussy, his tongue picking up intensity as he feels you drop onto his face. His breath comes in short pants as he struggles to lap up all your dripping arousal.

“Fuck Sunghoon—” You moan, finding your voice as his tongue circles your clit again, giving the sensitive nub extra attention.

Sunghoon chuckles into your heat as you grind against him, letting his tongue circle your wet, glistening hole as his nose rubs against your clit.

Your grip on his hair tightens as you grind down on his face, rougher, harder. Sunghoon's hands slide to your ass, fingertips digging into the skin as he helps you fuck yourself on his tounge and nose.

You feel a knot pulling at your lower stomach, your pussy aching, clenching around his tongue as he struggles to lap up the dripping mess you're shamelessly making.

Sunghoon moans deeper, rougher as his hands help you ride his face harder and harder. He feels you clenching around his tongue, signaling you're close.

You’re hair starts to stick to the back of your neck, thighs still straining as you chase release. Your legs tremble next to his ears, leather from the couch sticking to your skin as you slide yourself up and down.

“Shit—Sunghoon gonna come, can I?” You ask, trebling on top of him, gripping him tight as your orgasm teeters on the edge.

“Fucking soak me—” He groans into your pussy, the sound barely audible as he pulls you down into him more.

You rub your clit against his nose one time, then two—it breaks you. You cry out his name, shamelessly letting every curse and moan spill from the back of your throat. Your hands pulling at his dark hair as you fuck yourself through your orgasm.

Sunghoon lets out a sigh of relief, his tongue spreading your slick all through your folds as you soak his lips and chin, arousal dripping down his neck, pooling on the leather of the couch.

“Fucking perfect—God.” Sunghoon moans as his hands help to guide you off his face to straddle his torso again.

His lips and chin are still glistening with your come, the collar of his shirt dampened from your mess. 

You feel that tinge in your stomach again as you look at him. So perfect, so wrecked. Cheeks flushed, slips swollen and glistening, hair tossled from your grip. 

“Mr. Park. If your goal was to make me feel confident, well—you’ve done a good job.” You say, teeth tugging at your bottom lip as you pick up the red dress from the ground. 

A shaky breath falls from your lips as you clean off his face with the hem. Your come catching on the fabric as you wipe Sunghoon's lips, chin and neck clean. 

 You toss the dress aside, letting your hips straddle his own as your hands get to work on his dress shirt. 

You remove one button at a time, his pale skin catching off the light one inch at a time. 

Sunghoon lies back, his hands resting on your hips, a smug grin on his face as he lets you take control

The soft fabric of his shirt is cool against your skin as you push it over his shoulders. Letting his bare back stick to the leather of the couch. 

A warmth hits your skin as his hands find their way back to your waist, on instinct Sunghoon tries to flip you over. 

“No..” you mumble. Your hands grabbing his wrists, your knee pushing his chest back down toward the couch. 

Sunghoon's eyes widen as you sharply pin his wrists above his head. This is new, this is exiting. Never in his life has he been with a woman like this. 

And that just makes him fall for you even more. 

“No touching, no guiding. Please Sunghoon—“ you whisper, voice cracking loud in the near silence. 

“Let me lead this.” You whisper, leaning down to capture his lips with your own, your grip tightening around his wrists. 

Sunghoon gasps into the kiss, his eyes fluttering shut as his mouth moves against yours.

One of your hands slips between your bodies, the other holding his wrists tight above his head. You fumble with the buckle of his belt, fingers brushing against his hard cock as you slide the zipper down. 

Sunghoon lifts his hips, letting you pull the fabric down just as much as you need. 

You straddle him, letting your hand guide his thick, aching cock towards your slick entrance.

“I want to see you wrecked a little more—“ you say as you bite back a smile. Your wetness teasing the sensitive tip of his cock. 

Sunghoon nods. 

And you don’t waste another second before you let your hips drop. 

The stretch is satisfying, and you let out a sharp moan as his thick cock drags against the ridges of your warm walls. 

Sunghoon moans your name, sharp and broken as he feels your tight channel enveloping him in his entirety. His head falls back, chest heaving as he struggles for breath. 

His wrists twitch under your grip, like he wants to reach out, like he’s aching to touch you. 

But you’re determined to draw this out.

Your thighs clench as you pull yourself up, only to sink back down with that same delicious sensation. 

“Holy…I’ve never—“Sunghoon chokes out, his wrists still trembling beneath your harsh grip. 

You lean down, letting your lips find his in another messy, wet kiss. You pull away, gasping as you let your hips rock against his own. His cock is dragging across all the spots that make you shiver. 

“Yeah? Feels good, doesn’t it?” You reply, placing a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. 

Sunghoon nods, a weak chuckle falls from his lips, his chest still aching at the fill. 

“You feel like a perfect fucking fit—“ Sunghoon gasps as he crashes his mouth back into yours. Greedy, hot, and claiming. 

You match his enthusiasm, letting your tongue tangle with his between breathless moans. Your hips are still slamming down on his cock. 

You release your grip, pulling Sunghoon up with you. His back leaves the couch as his hands finally trace your sides and waist. His hands cupping your breasts, aching to savor every inch of skin they can. 

You ride him faster, panting against his mouth as you take charge of the rhythm. His hips thrust up in time with yours. The friction maddening as you slip in and out with ease. 

Sunghoon's head falls to your shoulder, his hands aimlessly roaming your hot skin. His jaw locked tight, and his brows furrowed as he struggles to hold back. 

You catch on, keeping that same fast, wet pace. He lazily thrusts up into you as you clench around him. 

You feel him twitching inside, and you know he’s close. 

“You’re so fucking perfect like this, so wrecked, made for a body like mine.” You coax. The words spilling from your tongue with no filter. It surprises even yourself; you didn’t know you had this side in you until Sunghoon brought it out. 

“Yeah..fuck yeah you were.” Sunghoon pants as his lips drag softly against your shoulder. 

You feel your core growing tight. The familiar tingling and warmth from earlier starts to take over. Your ankles feel numb, your thighs are burning and aching.

You know you’re close. 

Your sweat mixes with his as you lie him back, forehead resting on his, as you ride him faster and harder. Dragging out your own orgasm. 

“Yes…Sunghoon God—“You pant into his mouth as you feel the warmth rushing through your body, a wave of wetness flowing suit as you shamelessly come all over his cock. 

A shaky laugh falls from your lips as you grind yourself through the waves. Your body clenches around his, pulling him over the edge with you. 

Sunghoon moans deep as he comes, his cock twitching inside your heat as he spills into your wet walls. His hips jerking as his eyes roll back, his come spilling into your open channel.

Your name falls from his lips as he comes down from his high. His hips still jerking as you milk him for every drop. 

The moment between you is quietly charged. The sound of your panting fills the air. The smell of sex mingling with cinnamon and sage. 

You glance down at Sunghoon, panting, sweaty, and flushed.

He looks completely wrecked. 

And you couldn’t be happier that it was because of you. 

You pull yourself off of him, trying to keep the mess to a minimum. Sunghoon gently cups your face, his lips finding yours again. 

“I’d love for you to stay…” Sunghoon mumbles breathlessly against your lips. His eyes flicking up to glance into yours. 

This time, he glances at you like you’re more than just his muse. 

୨୧

Today is the big day, Your chance at finally getting redemption. 

You can’t hide your smile as the makeup artist bakes your face for the stage. Your hair perfectly styled to compliment your natural beauty. 

You feel a warmth in your chest, not entirely from the simmering stage lights. 

“May I?” You hear a familiar voice call out from behind the curtain. 

Sunoo steps through the curtain. Clipboard still rested at his side. His face still bearing same sweet smile and kind eyes as before. 

“You look like an angel in that dress—“ Sunoo compliments truthfully. 

This time? You smile back, the compliment warming your heart. This time there’s no tug for rebuttal, no pointing out the obvious puffiness under your eyes, or the shape of your hips. 

The stylists finish their work, leaving you camera-ready to walk. The same white dress from before is now perfectly tailored to your measurements, with your decolletage and spine as the highlights of the cuts. 

“Thank you Sunoo.” You reply kindly. Sunoo notices his smile beaming brighter. He offers you his hand with a soft laugh. The chatter of the backstage chaos swiftly fades into the background. 

Sunoo playfully spins you around, the dress fluttering as it catches in the air. You can’t help but exhale as he holds your soft hand with his. 

You feel ready, you know it. And Sunghoon knows it too. 

You pull away to glance at yourself in the mirror, smoothing out the small wrinkles around your waistline. Eyes lingering on the faded marks covered up professionally by your makeup team. 

Your heart beats faster as the memories flash, Sunghoon's warm mouth on your skin and cleavage. Marking you as his.

You feel a flush creeping up your neck. Sunoo raises an eyebrow. 

His thought process is interrupted when Sunghoon himself steps back into the room. A large garment bag in his arms. 

“Boss, what are you—“ Sunoo questions softly. 

Sunghoon's breath catches as he watches you twirl in front of the mirror. The fabric moves like a waterfall down your curves, the white bringing out the vivid undertones of your skin. 

“I want you to wear this—“ Sunghoon says, his voice soft, barely above a whisper. 

Your heart races as you turn around. Eyes are raking up and down his professionally dressed figure. His sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hair perfectly styled out of his dark eyes. 

“And I want you to close the show.” 

Your lungs widen, and you can hardly breathe. 

Close the show? Sunghoon wants you to close his show. 

A flicker of dread and fear flickers in your expression, but it’s quickly changed out with something else. 

“You want me to close?” You ask softly, shaking your head to make sure you heard him right. 

Sunghoon smiles warmly, taking another step towards you as he peels the garment bag away from the dress. 

You recognize that familiar crimson red. The same from that night. 

The night he helped you see the version of yourself that has been hidden all along. You swear you hear Sunoo gasp in the background as the red catches the backstage light. 

His own design, not made for cameras or clients. 

The dress he made was only for you. 

Sunoo's eyes widen as you pull Sunghoon by the collar. Your lips shamelessly crashing into his. 

“I want you to close, in this…” Sunghoon mumbles into your mouth before he pulls away, cheeks flushed from the nearly public display of affection. 

“I will.” You say confidently. Tilting your head to look into his dark eyes. 

Sunghoon pulls you in for another chaste kiss before quickly dipping out the other side of the curtain, leaving Sunoo appalled.

“Did I miss something?!” Sunoo exclaims as he crosses the room to help you unlace the white dress in preparation for the red. 

“Yeah, I guess you did miss a chapter—“ you say playfully with a soft chuckle. 

“Listen, I knew something was different, but—wait. You’re not hooking up with him, are you?!” Sunoo gasps, like he just received the juiciest gossip of his life. 

“That’s…confidential," You reply, but you can’t hide the truth behind your expression. 

“Knew it,” Sunoo replies as he pulls the last of the back laces free. 

You change into the same red dress as before. It gently hugs your hips, frames your shoulders, and pools at your heels. 

It truly was made just for you. A perfect fit. 

You wince as you step onto the runway. Cameras flashing, faces hidden behind phones. 

You suck in a deep breath, exhaling as you put one foot in front of the other. Taking up space as you own the runway. 

Once you reach the edge of the stage, you’re hit with camera flash after camera flash. Your vision goes white as you get lost in the moment. Lost in the feeling of finally being seen. 

Your confidence follows you as you turn back. Smiling and waving at the front row guests without a care in the world. 

Then the lights go out, and applause erupts. 

For Sunghoon, and for you. 

You’re panting as you stand in the wings of the runway. Eyes darting through the crowd in search of Sunoo. 

But your attention shifts as you feel Sunghoon’s hand against your wrist. 

He pulls you from the crowd, ignoring all the chants and calls for photos and interviews. 

He pulls you into your dressing room. And without another word his mouth is on yours. 

You exhale as your hands slide up his chest to his face. Gently pulling him in for more as your lipstick smudges all over his face and yours. 

You pull away, gasping. Forehead resting against his as the sounds of the press grow louder and louder outside the door. 

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” Sunghoon whispers.

You kiss him again. His lips too sweet to resist, you chuckle against his lips as the adrenaline fades. 

And you realize you wouldn’t want to be in anyone else’s arms. 

“Me too…I’m proud of me too.” You break apart to reply. 

You never thought you were worthy of finding your perfect fit. 

But you found it. In Sunghoon—

And in yourself.

© brokenengene

kate's note: I hope you guys enjoyed this story! It was challenging to write, but I hope it's satisfying for you all. I just want to say thank you guys for all the support I've received, im so so grateful for all of it. And like always, take care.

written with love,

xoxo kate<3

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And they definitely didn’t know she subscribed to F1TechWeekly and spent her weekends watching race replays at 0.5x speed to study floorboard designs.

Race Day - Argentina GP - Franco's Home Race

"Y/N! Over here, look this way!"

"Who's your dress by today? Balmain again?"

"Rumors are you're in talks to walk for Chanel next season, can you confirm?!"

She smiled politely, oversized sunglasses hiding the fact that her eyes were darting around for the Aston garage.

"No comment," she replied sweetly, offering a wave and a subtle duck behind one of the security barriers.

As she moved deeper into the paddock, her heels clicked against the smooth concrete—but she wasn’t looking for a photo op. She was looking for DRS talk. Aero package updates. Someone who could show her the undertray modifications for the weekend.

She pulled off her shades and swapped them for a pair of paddock-issued safety glasses she tucked in her purse, adjusting the laminated pass around her neck.

Time to disappear from the spotlight and become just another nerdy girl in love with cars.

Mercedes Garage

"Is that... wait, isn't that Franco's sister?"

"The model? The Vogue girl?"

Ollie Bearman blinked as Y/N leaned casually over one of the pit lane dividers, staring intently at a mechanic fitting on the rear wing.

"You changed the beam wing this race, didn’t you? I saw you ran a different profile in Monaco," she said, pointing with two perfectly-manicured fingers.

The engineer did a double take.

"Uh—yeah. You're right. Slightly higher angle this time to balance the grip loss."

Kimi Antonelli stifled a grin.

"Wait, you know about beam wings?"

She smirked. "I follow the FIA technical directives like bedtime stories."

Kimi let out a laugh. "That's metal."

Ferrari Hospitality

Charles Leclerc sat with a cappuccino, scrolling through his phone.

"Bro, you're going viral again," Isack Hadjar said, sliding into the seat beside him and flipping his iPad around.

A clip was circulating of Y/N Colapinto in the paddock, crouched beside a mechanic with grease on her Dior sleeves, pointing at the brake ducts and asking questions.

The caption? "Supermodel or Supernerd? Either way, she eats."

The comments were a riot:

"How does she look THAT good asking about tire blankets???"

"She’s giving… F1 Princess Diaries reveal."

"YES QUEEN. Get that downforce."

Charles chuckled. "She’s cooler than Franco."

Isack agreed. "Don't tell him I said that."

McLaren Garage

"Hey, you're Y/N, right?" Lando called out as she peeked into the McLaren garage.

She turned around, beaming. "Hi! Yes, sorry, just wanted to look at the new front wing. It looked different in FP2."

Oscar Piastri blinked. "You noticed that?"

"Slight change in the endplate curvature. I think you're playing with airflow over the tires, no?"

Lando whistled. "I thought you were here for fashion week."

She rolled her eyes. "I am the fashion week. But this is more fun."

Oscar handed her a headset. "Stick around. You're more qualified than some of the journalists."

Online Reaction

The internet did what the internet does best: freaked out.

"Y/N Colapinto, twin to F1 rookie Franco, is not just a model but apparently a full-on motorsport savant."

"Are we about to witness a runway girl become the next female technical director in motorsport?"

"Why does she know more about diffusers than half the grid?"

"This is what women in STEM look like."

"Her Dior got brake dust on it and she didn’t even flinch. ICON."

But Y/N didn't care about the headlines.

When she was in the paddock, all that mattered was the smell of the tires, the hum of the garage, and the sweet symphony of torque and telemetry.

A Moment with Franco

Franco found her sitting on a stack of unused tires behind the Williams garage, eating an empanada with brake dust on her sleeve.

"You know," he said, dropping down beside her, "you're more famous than me right now."

"That’s because I look better in carbon fiber."

He laughed.

"People are talking. Like, 'how can a runway queen also be into motorsport?'"

She wiped her mouth with a napkin.

"They can keep talking. I’ll keep learning."

He bumped his shoulder into hers. "You know, I wouldn’t mind if you did this for real one day. You’re kind of brilliant."

She smirked. "Maybe I will. After I walk for Gucci in Milan."

Epilogue

Later that weekend, she posted a picture.

Caption: Face full of grease. Heart full of horsepower.

Hashtags: #NotJustAPrettyFace #LetHerCook #ModelInThePaddock #GirlsWhoLoveCars

The F1 world never looked at Y/N Colapinto the same again.

And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Reblog if you believe girls can love fashion and floor diffusers. ❤️🏎

The crowd outside erupted into a frenzy the moment they spotted you, shouting your name in a symphony of accents, the occasional “over here!” cutting through the noise. You didn’t flinch, didn’t falter; you were used to this. It was your stage, and you owned it.

But tonight wasn’t just about you.

You turned, holding out a hand, and watched as he stepped out of the car.

Aaron Hotchner.

Even in the middle of the whirlwind, he exuded a calm authority that made heads turn. The black suit he wore was impeccably tailored, the kind of understated elegance that spoke volumes without trying too hard. You had insisted on having the designer of your attire make something for him too—for the occasion you'd shrugged.

His dark eyes scanned the crowd, not with the excitement of someone dazzled by the spectacle, but with the sharp awareness of a man—an agent—who didn’t miss a thing.

For a moment, you wondered what he was thinking. If he felt out of place or if he was regretting saying yes to your impulsive invitation. But when his gaze shifted to you, the faintest trace of a smile curved his lips, and any doubt disappeared.

You reached for his hand, and when his fingers closed around yours, the crowd’s focus shifted instantly.

“Who is that?”

“Is that her date?”

“Oh my God, he’s hot!”

“Someone get a name!”

The whispers grew louder as the two of you began walking toward the beginning of the carpet. Hotch’s presence next to you was a contrast to your usual presence at these events. Normally you would've given the cameras a little pre-show, before heading inside to get dressed in the collection of the evening.

And where most people—even celebrities—might have preened for the cameras in the slowest way possible, he simply carried himself with confidence, his free hand brushing against the edge of his jacket.

When another wave of flashes erupted, he leaned in closer. “This is... different,” he murmured, his voice so low you could feel it more than hear it.

You glanced up at him, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “Different good or different bad?”

He gave you a look—half exasperated, half amused. “Let’s just say I’m starting to understand why you always come home exhausted after these things.”

Your laugh turned brighter, drawing even more attention from the photographers. “Welcome to my world, Agent Hotchner.”

The questions from the crowd grew more pointed. Someone yelled, “Are you two together?” while another voice called out, “Is this your boyfriend?”

Aaron’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over yours as if to steady you both. You could feel his discomfort at the attention, but he didn’t let it show outwardly.

As you approached the gilded double doors of the venue, you slowed, tilting your head toward him. “They’ll figure out who you are by tomorrow,” you said softly with a teasing tone.

He raised a brow. “Is that a warning?”

“More like a promise.” You smiled, squeezing his hand before leading him inside.

Once the heavy doors shut behind you, the noise from outside faded into a muffled hum. Aaron exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he looked around the space.

“Now that,” he said, meeting your gaze, “was intense.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, stepping closer to fix his tie, which had shifted slightly during the commotion. “And it’s only the beginning.”

The sun had barely begun to stream through the blinds of Garcia’s apartment, casting a soft, golden hue across her kitchen. She hummed quietly to herself, a melody she’d picked up from the latest show she had managed to binge between cases, as she went about her morning ritual.

Her bright pink robe swished around her as she moved. Everything in her kitchen had just as much personality as her; from the gleaming chrome appliances to the rainbow of coffee pods stacked neatly by her machine.

She hit the button for her usual shot of espresso, the familiar whirring sound filling the room as she reached for her favorite mug—a ceramic cat face with ears that doubled as handles and then turned to her fridge to gather all the fixings.

Her TV, mounted in the corner of her living room and perpetually tuned to a morning show, prattled on in the background. It was her morning white noise, the kind of chatter she half-listened to while focusing on more important things, like perfecting her froth-to-espresso ratio.

“...Paris Fashion Week turned heads last night with more than just couture,” the announcer’s voice chimed, accompanied by upbeat music. “A surprise appearance by a supermodel and her mysterious companion has everyone talking this morning.”

Garcia paused mid-pour, her interest piqued. Her gaze flicked to the screen, where a paparazzi photo filled the frame.

She squinted.

The image showed a stunning figure draped in a flowing gown, her hand firmly clasped in a man’s. His face wasn’t entirely visible, but his strong profile and familiar suit cut made Garcia gasp.

“No. Freaking. Way,” she whispered, her coffee momentarily forgotten.

The announcer continued, the screen now displaying the bold headline:

Supermodel Spotted With Mystery Man at Paris Fashion Week!

The next photo zoomed in on the man’s face, his stoic expression unmistakable.

“Oh my God,” Garcia said louder, her hand flying to her mouth. “That’s Hotch!”

The caption beneath the image confirmed it, sending her brain into overdrive: Mystery Man Identified as Aaron Hotchner, FBI Unit Chief.

Her half-made latte was abandoned on the counter as she scrambled for her phone. “This is not happening. This is not happening,” she muttered, her fingers flying over the screen until she found the contact she needed.

The phone barely rang before Derek Morgan’s voice came through, groggy and unamused. “Garcia, it’s not even eight, Hotch is away there's no need to wake up this ear—”

“Did you see it?” she blurted, cutting him off.

“See what?”

“Our boss!” she shrieked, pacing the length of her kitchen. “Hotch! He was at Paris Fashion Week! Holding hands with a supermodel! It’s on every channel!”

There was a pause, followed by Morgan’s skeptical laugh. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. Hotch? Our Hotch?”

“Yes, our Hotch! The Aaron Hotchner! He’s on TV right now looking like James Bond at a runway show!”

Another pause, and then Morgan’s full-throated laugh rumbled through the line. “This I gotta see. Send me the link.”

Garcia was already snapping a picture of the TV screen, muttering under her breath. “I can’t believe this. He’s going to walk into work on Monday like nothing happened. Nothing happened!”

Morgan’s voice was rich with amusement. “Think he’ll bring her to the office?”

“Oh, don’t even joke,” Garcia groaned, dramatically flopping onto her couch. “This is going to be the topic of gossip for weeks. Months. Years! I need answers, Derek. Answers!”

Morgan’s chuckle softened. “Good luck getting any. You know how tight-lipped he is.”

Garcia sighed, already plotting her strategy. If anyone could get the inside scoop, it was her.

The streets of Paris were alive with the afternoon bustle as busy Parisians were heading home after a day's work. The sunlight streamed through the wrought-iron balconies and cast warm patterns on the cobblestone streets as the sun started to set. You sat at a small café table nestled in the corner of a quiet terrace, the scent of freshly baked croissants and strong espresso mingling in the air. Across from you, Aaron was the picture of peace, a man who seemed utterly unbothered by the flurry of attention he’d unwittingly garnered in just one night.

On the small table between you sat a glossy gossip magazine, its cover adorned with a candid shot of the two of you from the night before. The headline practically screamed: Supermodel’s Mystery Man: Who Is He? FBI Unit Chief Turns Heads at Paris Fashion Week!

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and bubbling as you traced a finger over the grainy image of Hotch, his sharp profile and protective grip on your hand immortalized in print. “They’ve already printed it,” you said, your tone a mix of amusement and disbelief.

Aaron leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other. His phone buzzed incessantly on the table, the notifications relentless, but he didn’t so much as glance at it. Instead, his focus remained entirely on you, his lips curving into a faint smirk.

“They’re calling you a ‘mystery man,’” you teased, flipping the magazine open to the full-page spread inside. The photos captured every angle of the two of you from last night—the hand-holding, the shared smiles, the way he had leaned in to speak to you amidst the chaos of flashing cameras.

“And here’s my personal favorite,” you added, pointing to a particularly flattering shot of him looking utterly smitten as you had walked down the runway in a set of silver lingerie.

Hotch’s dark eyes flicked to the image before returning to yours. “I think I prefer to keep them guessing,” he said, his voice was warm, he knew that wouldn't be the case. He reached for his coffee, the faintest trace of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Hmm,” you mused, tilting your head as you studied him. “Not sure your team agrees.” You nodded toward his phone, which buzzed again with what had to be its twentieth alert in the last ten minutes.

He sighed, a sound more affectionate than exasperated, and finally picked up the device. “Garcia,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing slightly as he read a series of increasingly unbelieving messages. “And Morgan,” he added, his smirk deepening.

You rested your chin in your hand, grinning at him. “I told you they’d find out.”

Hotch set the phone back on the table without responding to the messages, his gaze softening as it met yours. “Let them talk,” he said simply, his voice carrying the conviction you adored. “Right now, I’m exactly where I want to be.”

Your chest warmed at his words, and you leaned forward, reaching across the table to take his hand. “Good,” you murmured, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Because I wouldn’t want you anywhere else.”

For a moment, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you, the noise and chaos of the city fading into the background below.

“Though,” you added, breaking the moment with a mischievous smile and a wink, “I wouldn’t mind seeing you on next year’s cover of GQ. You know, for the sake of balance.”

Hotch chuckled, the sound so utterly endearing, as he shook his head. “Let’s not get too carried away.”