#Adrenalin Stadium

[strumalong]

Not me now seeing where else but London I could feasibly travel to and easily stay In to see Taylor 🙃

I have family in Dublin and near Amsterdam. Friends of friends in Leon. Family in Portugal but I don't think near Lisbon 🤔

Londons still the easiest since I have my sister or a friend to crash at before and after. But Leon could work...

[avikadostoast]

30 DAYS OF SUMMER - PSH ༘⋆✿

Synopsis. Sunghoon visited the countryside in the hopes of escaping his chaotic idol life, he doesn't expect to find the girl who completely changes his outlook of life and helps him regain the peace he lost in his life. Sunghoon learns to embrace a life beyond fame while Y/N battles her fear of falling for someone whose world feels too big for hers.

Pairing. Idol!Sunghoon x fem!blue collar!reader

Genre/Warnings. idol!au, slow burn, slice of life!au, strangers to lovers, tooth rotting fluff, angst, smut, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, Sunghoon is mentally drained, green flag Sunghoon, extremely bubbly reader, happy ending, reader works as an electrician

Word Count 9.9k

a/n. My first long fic on this account, completely different to what I am usually posting but wanted to dip my toes in the world of fluff, Sunghoon is extremely cute here and I loved my characters in this fic. I hope you guys have fun reading this as much as I had fun writing this. Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated

“Chicago you ready?” Heeseung screamed at his mic, the entire stadium being filled with screams of the die hard fans of the group who had been waiting for the past 4 hours. 

“Ok, so let’s get this party started” he said to the crowd, the boys took their position on stage, the music started and the performance began.

The show went on for almost 4 hours, Enhypen performed like there was no tomorrow the stadium was filled with screams of the thousands of fans who adored and cherished the boys, lights illuminating from the lightsticks forming rays of red light across the audience. 

They barely had a moment to breathe, performing songs after songs without any breaks and also interacting with fans from time to time, every time they looked into the crowd they would see the faces of the happy fans, chanting their names like a gospel-this wasn’t just a concert, it was home.

They finished the concert with the final encore, feeling sad it had ended but also happy they were getting a break from all the hustle and bustle of the idol life. They exited off the stage waving a final goodbye to all their fans and finally heading backstage.

“Wow guys, that was an awesome job!” the manager said to the boys as he gave all the boys towels to wipe off the sweat. 

The boys panted, drenched in sweat, their faces glowing from exertion and leftover adrenaline. Heeseung untangled the cords from around his neck, giving a half-smile to no one in particular. Jake was already chugging a full water bottle, while Jungwon slumped onto a nearby couch, too tired to speak.

Sunghoon just stood in the center for a while in his own thoughts, the chants of the fans still echoing in his ear, he was neither happy nor sad about the tour ending, he just felt numb.

On the tour bus to the airport the boys were occupied with themselves, Heeseung scrolling through his phone, Jake and Jungwon sleeping resting their heads on each others shoulders, Niki and Jay listening to music on their headphones and Sunghoon was gazing at the scenery outside, his head still wondering off to his thoughts.

“Ayy, hoonie you good?” Sunoo slightly nudged his shoulders bringing Sunghoon back to reality, “Yeah I am fine.” giving Sunoo a slight smile but Sunoo knew better and could clearly see something was distressing him.

He laid his hand on Sunghoon’s, “You know you can trust me with anything yeah? You haven’t been looking great these past days either.” sounding clearly worried. 

Sunghoon sighed and finally replied “I don’t feel right these days, it feels time is going too fast and that everything I used to find fun has become boring, even performing” he finally spoke up “performing…I literally became an idol for that, nothing in life gives me happiness the way it used to before becoming famous.” It was the first time he told someone how he felt and it hurt him more than expected. 

Sunoo felt empathetic towards Sunghoon, not knowing how to react it was quiet for a while but after some time he finally replied, “Hoonie…you’re not wrong for feeling that” Sunghoon’s eyes flickered to him “You’re just tired, tired from the chaos of your life” he gave Sunghoon a soft smile. 

“My family owns a hanok in the countryside” Sunoo showed a picture to Sunghoon. “Maybe you could stay there for the upcoming break, the nature there will definitely help you take your mind off.”

Sunghoon smiled at the kind gesture from his friend, “I will think about it,” he replied as he rested his head on Sunoo’s shoulder for the rest of the night.

They finally got to the airport, from the bag drop to security checking-everything went smoothly for them, at last all of them boarded the flight leaving for South Korea. Most of the members were getting ready to sleep while Sunghoon was thinking whether he should reside in the village for a while, not really seeing himself doing anything else he finally made up his mind. Beside him was the manager sitting drinking wine as he watched a movie on the screen. 

Sunghoon gently tapped the manager’s shoulder, the manager took off his headphones looking at Sunghoon, “I am planning on visiting the countryside this break if you don’t mind” slightly anxious on how he would react. 

“Why would I mind?” The manager laughed, as if Sunghoon asked the silliest question ever “Go enjoy your break son, you may never know when you will get one next.” Sunghoon smiled at his manager’s approval, he felt kinda excited now for what the new journey had to offer him. 

The day came when Sunghoon was finally going to go to the village, it had only been a day since he had arrived in Seoul but he didn’t want to waste any more time, the moment he got back to the dorms and booked the latest bus trip to the village, unpacking his suitcase from before to stuff it with more lighter and breathable clothes for the trip, he was warned beforehand that there was no working air conditioning.

The members went along with Sunghoon to drop him off at the bus station, “Hyung! I am going to miss you” Niki said as he pulled Sunghoon in a hug, “Chill Niki… It’s only a matter of 4 weeks” Jungwon said, pulling him back. They all bid him a final goodbye and Sunghoon thanked Sunoo once again for the opportunity. 

Putting his bags in the luggage compartment of the bus he finally got up in the bus, the bus was clearly old from how it looked, seat covers were torn, with some places being stitched back together with random threads, the bus smelled of dust, engine oil and cheap air freshener that tried to mask the scent of time, the windows were scratched and a bit foggy but even with all of this he found a sort of comfort in the old fashion of the bus. Even though it was old, the spirit of the bus was young and wild with all the chatter that was going around, kids singing songs, old couples talking amongst themselves all gave him a sense of peace. 

“Dear passengers, we have finally arrived at Andong,” the driver announced on the speaker. Sunghoon got off and collected his bags from the luggage compartment, thanking the driver on his way. By the time he reached the sun had set, he opened his phone to open maps and turn on his flashlight. 

He navigated his way until he found himself at a gated community filled with Hanoks, he saw that the light was on in front of one of the hanok as he saw an old man cleaning up, the old man looked up and saw Sunghoon, “Ahhh handsome man you finally came, I am Mr. Kwon,” the old man approached Sunghoon, it was clear Sunoo must have informed him about his presence before he had come. “Aigoo, you must be so tired from the journey” he said, patting Sunghoon on the head “come, let me get you to the place” he took Sunghoon to one of the Hanboks located on the right part of the community. 

He opened the door as he turned on the lights of the place. It was beautiful, the place looked more like it belonged in a museum rather than just a place for staying, the furniture was neat and polished, a low wooden table and a silk sofa. The rich grain patterns all over the ceiling told stories from the previous generations. The house was adorned with pictures of a lovely family, he looked closer and saw that it was Sunoo’s childhood photos. 

Mr. Kwon guided him to the bedroom, “here is the fan” he showed Sunghoon the fan, he took out a book from the cupboard and put it in front of Sunghoon “all the emergency dials are in this book, if anything happens please look for the number in the book and contact.” he said and finally bid Sunghoon a goodbye. 

He set up the mattress on the floor and the fan beside it to sleep, ready to get in a good night's sleep. It hadn’t even been 10 minutes since he turned off the lights that he heard the fan go off, he tried sleeping trying to ignore the heat but couldn’t. He immediately opened the book to dial up the electrician. 

“Hello, Y/N speaking.” a sleepy voice responded from the other line “Hello I seem to have a power outage” Sunghoon replied, the person on the other line clearly annoyed asked him for his address so they could come and check the problem, he gave the person the address and cut the call. 

Sunghoon was feeling like he was on fire. He tried fanning himself with loose sheets of paper he found lying but that didn’t work too well.

He heard the sound of the doorbell, rushing to get it he opened the door to be blinded by the biggest torchlight he had ever seen, his reflexes instantly making him cover up. “Ahh you called before about the power shortage?” a female voice spoke up. 

Standing before him was a girl- maybe his age, maybe younger- dressed in a long sleeved t-shirt, sweatpants rolled up her ankles and worn out sneakers that had oil spills on it. Her hair was tied in a loose braid with thick rimmed glasses around her eyes and a fanny pack around her waist that was filled with tools.

“Can you stop directing that light to my face” Sunghoon was shielding himself from the light like it was the sun itself. 

“I am sorry young gentleman, the light is kinda uncomfortable to newcomers” you finally dimmed the light on his command “come let's see what's wrong” you guided him to the circuit box of the house, it was like you had the layout of the house memorized. 

You checked the box for the next 5 minutes trying to find the issue. 

“Ahh it seems like the fuse is broken” you informed Sunghoon, “what are we supposed to do now?” Sunghoon asked, hoping the problem could be solved immediately so he could go back to sleep. 

“Nothing we can do… we have to just wait till tomorrow then we can get a fuse from the shop” you said checking the circuit box one last time in case you missed out anything. 

“B-but how will I sleep then?” He asked nervously, turning your flashlight towards him “like the rest of the folks” you replied simply. 

“You mean going back inside and trying to fall asleep again?” his voice sounded flat, almost like he was offended she even thought that. 

“If you enjoy the hot waves slapping your face then go ahead, you're not from here are you?” Sunghoon nodded 

“Ahh that's why you don't know about the hillside, you got a car?” 

Sunghoon shook his head, “I came here by the bus, don't have any transportation.”

“Then my dude you're in luck, I can drop you there.” You took his hand without asking, leading him somewhere, like she had known him for a long time. Sunghoon didn't even take his hand away like a normal person would, instead he let her lead him to wherever she was taking him. 

He himself didn’t know what he was expecting-maybe a bike or a beat up truck- but he certainly not what stood before him, a bright pink bicycle with two helmets lying on the side, the bicycle had a companion seat at the back with a basket in the front, it looked exactly like the ones he saw on cartoons when he was younger. 

“Get on city boy, You’re riding VIP tonight” She placed her brightly lit torch on the basket as she put one of her helmets on and gave the other one to Sunghoon. 

He stared at you, then the bicycle, then you again. 

“I am not sitting on that.” he told you as he crossed his arms, “You will be grateful when we are riding down a hill and the breeze hits your face.” 

He still didn’t seem to change his mind, rolling your eyes as you continued, “We don’t have the entire night, you make up your mind or not?” 

He didn’t really have a choice, if he died tonight by the bicycle rolling over a hill then be it. Finally he took the helmet from your hands and got on. 

All the time he was on the bike it felt like a podcast he never wished to turn on, “So this is where the arcades are, students from all over the village come here after school to play, this is Yeonsan’s clinic, come here whenever you’re injured and oooh that’s the Andong vocational school, this is where I studied…” You went on and on telling him everything about the village even though he never asked. 

He held on to you tightly, worried if he let go he may seriously injure himself, the bicycle was also not in the best condition, the gears were quite rusty and now and then a squeak would be heard from the bike. 

“We’re finally here,” she announced. Sunghoon got up to overlook the scenery that stood before him, grass extending towards the horizon with trees scattered around the valley, the stars twinkling brightly in the sky, something he didn’t see in the city, owls hooting and the sound of crickets could be heard all around him, breeze hitting him in the face.

Y/N took out a blanket from her basket, “Hold it from the other side” she instructed Sunghoon, they both stretched the blanket and laid it out. She was the first one to lay down as she patted the other side for Sunghoon to join her, he laid down on the opposite side to her and gazed at the stars. 

“What is your name?” You asked the guy sleeping beside you, he replied, “Sunghoon…Park Sunghoon.” he kind off regretted telling you that now, what if you got to know he was a celebrity 

“Hmm” you replied, slightly unfazed it told Sunghoon that you really didn’t know about him.

“How could you tell I was a city boy?” He suddenly asked her. 

“I don’t know…maybe a lucky guess, but you don’t look like you’re from around here otherwise I would’ve known you.” turning her head towards him

“You know everyone around here” still gazing up at the stars, “Yeah, I never left this place and worked at people’s houses fixing their wires so naturally I became acquainted with everyone.”

“You sleep here all the time?” kinda curious why you were still here and had not left to go back home. “Well not all the time, I wish I could but it is too far away from my house so when I do come here I think I might as well just sleep here.” 

He didn’t reply after that, neither did you start a conversation letting the silence engulf you, soon after you both drifted off to sleep after some time. 

Sunghoon woke up to the rays of the sun directly flashing on his face, Y/N’s hands wrapped around his waist, he turned and saw your face dangerously close to him. He wanted to wake up but didn’t want to move your hand risking you waking up. 

Y/N’s phone started ringing after a while completely waking her up from her sleep. Opening the phone she saw that someone from the village had called, “Hello?”

She listened to everything the person was saying, “I will be there soon” she said and hung up. 

She stretched her body, getting all the knots out from her body that formed from sleeping last night. “City boy, wake up” she slightly shook him trying to get him to wake up. 

He got up soon after, “there is an emergency in a restaurant in a village let's go!” She told him as if he was her assistant. 

“But what about getting the power running at my house, at least drop me off.” He requested. 

“Do you have any plans for today?” She asked, Sunghoon shook his head. “Well come with me then…maybe that can be an excuse to meet everyone in the village.” 

He rolled his eyes, it was clear you weren't one of those people who would agree easily, you both tied your shoes, Sunghoon folded the blanket for you and placed it in your basket. 

You both put on your helmet, sat down and went back to the village. Sunghoon was a bit more comfortable with your bicycle than yesterday but still held on to you tight for support. 

It took you 30 minutes to finally reach the place, it was a small restaurant in the busier part of the village. 

“Y/N I am so glad you're here” An old man came and greeted you, he saw Sunghoon standing beside you noticing this you spoke up, “hello Mr. Seo, don't worry about him, he's my assistant” 

Sunghoon raised a brow when he heard of the word assistant, she could've referred to him as many things-a friend, an acquaintance, a boyfriend-but she chose an assistant, he didn’t know whether to feel offended or surprised.

“Ahh, that's good you have an assistant” he said “come we have a problem in the kitchen” he led her to the kitchen of the restaurant, the smell of unbaked bread welcomed them in the kitchen, noodles laying flat on trays laying to be cooked with clearly frustrated workers standing on the side. 

“None of the appliances are working today,” he told her, trying to turn the oven on by repeatedly pressing the switch button as proof. “That’s too bad, can you show the electrical panel?” Y/N asked, Mr. Seo nodded and took them to the back of the restaurant. Sunghoon walked behind them like a shadow, not even knowing why you even thought of dragging him here.

Y/N took a look at the inside of the panel, “ahh your circuit breaker has tripped.” she murmured under her breath, quickly resetting the circuit breaker the power turns on then off. Seeing all the wires individually you found your culprit. 

Sunghoon leaned his head against the wall seeing you get to work, “wow she knows what she is doing” he internally thought to himself.

“Ahh I think this device is drawing in too much current and causing an overload,” Y/N told the manager as she started rerouting the other appliances so those could at least work for the rest of the day.

She moved aback to let the manager check what the wire belonged too, “Ahh it’s the heating fryer” he said, you guys made your way to the kitchen to see the fryer being the only one not working, “Well you could either repair it or replace it, that won’t be working anymore.” she told Mr. Seo

“Ahh” Mr. Seo sighed in annoyance “I have to waste money on another fryer now” 

“Go to Tae’s kitchen appliance store, tell him I sent you, he will give you an extra discount.” taking out a card from your fanny pack, a business card for the shop.

“Your total is 19,000 won” you told the manager “here is the address of the shop” handing over the business card to him. 

Sunghoon just stood there seeing the interaction take place in real time, he was amazed by how you carried yourself, how friendly and social you were. The certainty you had in yourself was inspiring, it was something he wished he had. 

You guys got out of the restaurant, You pushed your bike as you guys walked around for a while, “Ahh I am hungry” putting a hand on your stomach. “Me too” Sunghoon replied, looking around for any places to eat your eyes and see a small quiet restaurant. 

“C’mon let’s go” you instructed him to follow you, it was a small little stall with a window that opened up to a person cooking, it also had outdoor seating. 

“What do you want to eat?” You asked Sunghoon

“I thought you were deciding what we're gonna eat” he told you 

“Ahh I just asked for formalities, I know a dish you will really like”, a smile grazing your lips

You knocked on the window, an old woman probably in forties slid the window open, “Oh Y/N lovely seeing you here today, what can I get for you?” 

“Auntie, can we get two Makguksu, please?” you pulled out your wallet

“Let me pay for it” Sunghoon stopped you as he pulled out some bills from his wallet giving it to aunty before you could argue. 

“Order of two Makguksu”, the auntie yelled to the other side of the stall “why don’t you lovely couple take a seat”

Sunghoon was taken aback at the aunty referring to you two as a couple before he could correct her ,you pulled him to the outdoor dining area. 

“She called us a couple” he whispered to you, “Ahh I don’t think she meant in that way” you replied back. 

“What else could it mean?” he sounded slightly flustered 

“a couple of besties!” you said in a high pitched voice. 

He rolled his eyes when you said that, probably cringing too internally but he couldn’t deny he found it cute. 

The dish was served less than 5 minutes after placing the order, the cold buckwheat noodles were served with a cold broth and kimchi served on the side. 

“Thank you god for this food.” You murmured under your breath digging in. 

Sunghoon slurped the noodles, the coldness from the noodles hitting his throat “Ahh this is so delicious” he shouted, “This tastes better than what I have had in the city,” pointing his chopsticks at the bowl. 

“They do put their magic touch when cooking the food here,” taking a slice of kimchi in your mouth, “You don’t get that in cities.” 

You both finished eating, “Auntie the food was delicious” you shouted, the aunty gave you a thumbs up on your way. 

“Did she forget about the fuse completely” Sunghoon internally thought to himself, he wanted to tell you about it but something was stopping him. 

“Oh look a hardware store!” you pointed on the left, “let’s get your fuse from there” 

The shopkeeper immediately smiled seeing you, “Y/N good morning, what can I get for you?” 

“I want a good quality fuse please” you replied

He pulled out a fuse from one of the cupboards, “that will be 4000 won” he said

“Jaemin I always come to your shop, give a better price” you sounded annoyed

“Y/N it’s fine I can pay-” you stopped Sunghoon from completing his sentence, “3500 won, that is what I am giving”

“3600” Jaemin argued back

“3650 and that is my final offer” you concluded the argument, Jaemin rolled his eyes “fine”, he packed the fuse for you. 

Sunghoon was internally impressed, not because of how you bargained in fact he has seen better bargaining-he was impressed cause he had never seen someone this young bargain in his life. 

“I am so sleepy,” you whined, “but I need to drive to my house to take a shower.”

“I can try bicycling you there” Sunghoon replied, “really” your face going from pouty to happy.

“I don’t know where it is though” he said, “don’t worry I will guide you, why worry when Y/N is there”

He got up on the bicycle this time ready to paddle, Sunghoon hadn’t bicycled in a long time, especially in a village he was kinda anxious but your hands wrapping around his waist let him know it was going to be okay.

“Okay so go straight for the next…5 kilometres?” you instructed Sunghoon and he immediately started paddling. 

Sunghoon felt free for the first time, consuming all the nature his eyes saw-the trees, the lake parallel to the road, the fields, the breeze hitting his face- he didn’t know life could feel this good.

“Take left and then we will reach our destination”, you instructed. 

“That’s my house,” you pointed ahead to a small, single-story building with a slanted roof and a garden overflowing with tomato plants and sunflowers. A bright blue wind chime clinked softly in the breeze.

“You live here alone?” Sunghoon asked, hopping off the bike.

“Nope I live with my mom and my younger sister Mijoo” you grinned unbuckling your helmet, “come I’ll introduce them to you”

You knocked on the door, the front door slid open and a tiny whirlwind in a floral dress bolted down the path. “Unnie, you’re late! Mom said—” The little girl’s eyes landed on Sunghoon, her ears turning red as she adjusted her dress trying to look presentable. 

“Unnie he’s so handsome, is he your boyfriend?” Mijoo asked.

You picked her up from the ground, “No, just a visitor, make him feel welcome” pinching her cute chubby cheeks, you turned around to face Sunghoon, “This is my sister Mijoo” before he could wave at her, she covered her face with her hands “Unnie he is so handsome.” she said in her squeaky voice. 

All you could do was nod, “come, you can wait with her while I shower” 

He took off his shoes, Your mom appeared in the doorway then, wiping her hands on an apron. “Who’s this?” she called out, voice warm but curious.

“He’s visiting the village for a while,” you said. 

“Ahh come in dear, treat this as your home,” Your mom told Sunghoon as he bowed to her. Your mom took you both to the living room, Sunghoon felt your sister’s gaze like a spotlight, he didn’t think much, maybe she was just curious to see a random stranger in her house.

You dropped Mijoo with Sunghoon in the living room, “I will be back” you said and left the room. Without hesitation she crawled up to Sunghoon’s lap hugging him tightly. 

He was taken aback by the gesture, he had never been hugged by a child before but it did feel nice, internally laughing at how similar you and Mijoo were. He adjusted his legs to get more comfortable placing Mijoo on his thighs. “How old are you?” he asked her, she put up 5 fingers “oh you’re five” she nodded “you’re a big girl then”

She looked up at Sunghoon, squinting her eyes in the process “I saw you on TV!” . She loudly spoke up as if she found the answer to a problem she had for days. 

Sunghoon got anxious when she said that he didn't want to be recognized or even anyone finding out he was here, he came solely to be able to enjoy his life outside the idol chaos. 

“Listen Mijoo, you won't tell anyone you know me from TV, if you do that I will give you chocolate.” Her eyes sparkled after hearing the word chocolate she rapidly nodded her head. 

Your mom came with trays of food, he immediately got up lifting Mijoo with him, “Auntie, I am happy to help” he told her. 

“What kind of host would I be if I asked the guest to help with setting up?” she laughed. 

“No it's fine-”

“No, you sit here and occupy Mijoo” your mom interrupted before he could continue.

You came back from the shower, now wearing a v-necked T-shirt with jean shorts. “The food looks delicious” you said as you sat on the floor, patting the place beside you, gesturing to Sunghoon to sit next to you. 

Your mom had cooked grilled fish covered with spicy Gochujang and served it with kimchi, green spinach and pickled radish. 

“This is local fish, I hope you like it” your mom patted Sunghoon on his shoulders. You and Sunghoon started digging in the food sparing no time. 

“Unnie, I saw him on TV,” she pointed at Sunghoon. 

Sunghoon felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach, completely freezing mid-chewing. 

“Oh really?” You continued eating. 

“Yes he was dancing like this-Come here and get some, 남겨줘 on my neck

네 거란 증거, just come over and bite me-she murmured the lyrics constantly tripping trying to dance like how she saw Sunghoon. 

“Aww so cute” you fangirled over your little sister, “maybe after you finish your food uncle Sunghoon can teach you to dance like him” 

She squealed, hearing that Mijoo couldn't believe she was going to be taught dancing by the handsome guy from TV. 

You all continued to eat, he smiled at how unfazed you were about him being famous enough to be on TV, it made him feel more fond of you; how he could be himself in front of you and not hide who he is.

You and your mom cleaned up the plates after you all were done, Mijoo grabbed Sunghoon by his arm trying to drag his huge body. “Uncle, you promised to teach me how to dance,” she whined. 

“Okay” he laughed “let's go” he got up, slightly bending so Mijoo could hold his hand. 

“Sing your song” Mijoo told Sunghoon, “the same one I was singing” 

“It’s you and me in this world-” 

“No, you have to dance too” Mijoo whined to Sunghoon

“As you wish princess” he laughed at her whines

“It's you and me in this world, 내게로 다시 와, tie me

날 구원할 거라면, just come kiss me and bite me” he danced as he sang, the girl looking at him and copying his every movement, Mijoo couldn't believe she was dancing with a celebrity she saw on TV. 

“Oh you two are having fun” you came into the room, a smile grazed your lips seeing Sunghoon having fun with Mijoo. 

You took a seat on the floor facing them to see them dancing. 

“Unnie come dance with us too” Mijoo tried taking your hand 

“You know I don't dance Mijoo” you said “you dance I will watch” giving your sister a little smile. 

They both danced, Sunghoon would sing as your sister would copy his movement, you couldn't deny Sunghoon's voice was heavenly and his movements were clean and swift. You didn't realize how long you had been staring at him. 

Your staring session got interrupted with a call,

You picked up the call “Hello, Y/N speaking” 

“Hello Y/N, are you coming to hang the lights for our place?” the man asked. 

It completely slipped off your mind that you had to do that. 

“Yeah uhh give me��.10 minutes?” You told them

“Yeah that will do” the guy on the call said and hung up. 

“Come Sunghoon we're gonna go set up lights for the festival” you told Sunghoon

“Unnie but I want to dance with him” your little sister pouted.

“He will play with you later… complete your homework while we're out” you told as you picked up the helmets. 

You drove your bicycle to the outskirts of the village, a festival was being planned for next week so the village mayor had asked you to set up the lights. 

“Ohh Y/N is here”, an old man shouted, you stopped your bike as you and Sunghoon got down and unbuckled your helmets. 

The mayor gave you the fairy lights, “so from where to where am I supposed to put them?” You asked. 

“From here to there” he pointed around the pillars that had already been set up. 

“Got it!” You gave the manager a thumbs up, “OK Sunghoon let's get to work!” you told him, “grab the ladder from there” his eyes went towards the ladder, he pulled the ladder up with one arm like it weighed nothing. 

He placed the ladder and you got up as he held the ladder tightly, you placed the lights around one by one. 

You continued your work, the ladder kept squeaking even despite Sunghoon holding it “careful Y/N” he murmured. 

“Oh don't worry about me, I have been doing this since ages.” You turned your body towards him but in the process your foot slipped and you almost fell. 

Luckily Sunghoon acted quick and was able to catch you in time, your hands wrapped around his neck as he held in bridal style. 

You whimpered because of how scared you got, like your life flashing before your eyes. 

“I told you to be careful” he scolded you, even his heart skipped a beat, “I am sorry” your voice quivering. 

“You two are having fun, aren't you guys?” one of the workers teased you from behind. You slightly blushed when he said that, he placed you back on the ground and continued doing the work. 

You both got done with the work after an hour. Stepping back to admire what you both had done, “It looks beautiful Y/N, here is your payment” he handed over a 50,000 won bill to her. 

“Thank you sir” you both bowed down. 

You both were about to get on the bicycle when you suddenly spoke up, “You wanna go swimming in the nearby creek?” 

“I don’t have a swimsuit with me.” he told her “There is a guy selling swimwear there, he will also give us towels don’t worry.” you told him. 

“Ok then let’s go” he agreed. 

It was just a one minute bike ride before you guys arrived, the hue of the sun reflecting the water making it a beautiful orange colour. “Sir, can you give me a pair of swimming tracks?” you asked the guy selling the swimwear. 

“Here you go” he said and you gave him the money.

“Go change” you gave the tracks to Sunghoon, “Girl where?” he said sarcastically, “behind the bushes no one will see you,” 

He went behind the bushes and quickly changed hoping no one would see him, he came out to see you already in your bikini.

“You came prepared” Sunghoon joked, “I am always prepared”, you told him. 

“Just so you know I haven’t ever swimmed anywhere outside a pool,” he said firmly. 

“There are first times for everything” you held his hand as you both got in the creek. The water feeling cool against your skin

The water ripples around Sunghoon’s waist. “It’s cold” he hisses as he grips your hands like a lifeline. 

You snort, “You’re so delicate”, before he could protest you splash water on his chest. 

He gasps but in a flash drags you under the water with him, you shriek as you see him grinning, hair plastered on his forehead. “Not so tough now, huh?”

You two continued playing for a long time almost till the moon came up, Sunghoon couldn’t remember the last time he had done something in Seoul just to have fun. It finally felt like to him he was living life. 

You both got changed into your normal clothes and went back to your house, “C’mon Mijoo is waiting for you.” you told him excitedly, the moment the door creaked open a happy Mijoo came running “Sunghoon oppa I missed you so much” she hugged his legs. “I missed you too” he replied and carried Mijoo in his arms. 

“Welcome home Y/N and Sunghoon” your mom announced from the kitchen, “I cooked some bibimbap, get cleaned”. 

Y/N handed Sunghoon a towel, “Make sure to not take a shower longer than 5 minutes unless you enjoy cold water.”

“Noted ma'am” he said, giving you a salute, you smiled at the cute gesture. 

After the shower Sunghoon and you sat on the table to eat, Sunghoon moaned as the bibimbap hit his tongue, “auntie, your food is delicious” he said to your mom “I am glad to hear that” your mom giggled. It was for sure, everyone in your family was a fan of Sunghoon. 

You plopped two mattresses on the floor of your bedroom, one for you and one for Sunghoon. He had agreed to stay for the night as you and him were pretty tired to bicycle anywhere. 

You laid down with Sunghoon after you had brushed your teeth, “You danced really well with Mijoo today”, you smiled at him. 

“It was an honor to dance with your sister” he laughed

“Do you dance for a living?” you asked him, “Yeah I am a kpop idol” he responded. 

“Oh that’s why, I thought Mijoo confused you with someone else” you were kind off surprised, “You must be happy being an idol, getting to do what you love for a living, having a group of friends and fans who adore you” 

He sighed when you said that, “It isn’t like that always” his voice flat, “You are scrutinized for every little mistake you do, people see you more as their boyfriend then an artist and see you as their money making machine.” he vented “I wish I could be more than the pretty face everyone sees me for”

You got up on top of his body, sitting on his body as your legs rested around his waist, “Sunghoon-ah look at me” you murmured, brushing his hair away from his forehead. 

He did. His eyes shadowed with exhaustion. 

“You’re perfect the way you are,” you said softly. Your thumb traced circles around his cheeks “You’re allowed to be sad, but it doesn’t mean your life ends there” your hands wandering around his hair, “You have to sometimes take good with the bad, you’re a human at the end of the day not a robot” 

A shaky breath escaped him, “I never thought of that but my life doesn’t feel my own anymore” he responded. 

You shifted close, your voice barely above a whisper “Then live your life like you want to, be the Sunghoon that teaches my sister how to dance, who helped me with my work even though he didn’t earn anything” You lifted yourself up a little, “Be the Sunghoon that is kind to everyone” 

For a long moment he just stared at you-like you’d given him something precious that he had forgotten. He pulled you closer till your bodies touched each other. 

“Thank you” he whispered, his body warm against yours. You both fell asleep, your body on top of his and your head laying on his chest. 

The days went on in Andong, Sunghoon would help you in your work around the village, he would play with Mijoo whenever he was at your house, swimming in the creek, laying on the grassy fields and late night bicycle rides. He forgot how life could feel this good. 

One day you two were walking around, arms eloped with one another’s when suddenly you heard the honk of a car 

Turning to the side you saw the window rolling down, “Y/N long time no see,” your classmate Yuri from high school was the one sitting in the car. 

“Yeah how have you been?” You asked, “not much really just visiting family for the holidays, how about you? You clearly haven't moved on have you?” You cringed at the insult, “uhh just living life” you kept your answer short so she would leave quickly. “OK I hope to see you again, goodbye” she pulled up the windows and left. 

“Who was she?” Sunghoon asked, “a classmate of mine,” your eyes focused on the road. “She used to be one of the smartest people in my class, while I was the dumbest person in my class.” You huffed. 

“I sometimes wonder how my life would've turned out if I did study and went to a good university but the letters in the books confused me” your eyes never leaving your feet, “but maybe it was the right call, I enjoy taking care of people, being trusted by everyone and helping them, maybe I wouldn't have gotten the same comfort in the city like I do here.” 

“I am happy how life turned out, I am proud to be able to do what I do.” You confessed, your head turned towards him for a reaction. He smiled as if he was holding in a laughter, “I am proud of you too.” He pulled you by your waist. “But maybe you were just different, not dumb.” You didn’t know how much you needed to hear those words. 

“You know maybe we should go somewhere else now” your hands eloping his, “where should we go then?” he asked you, you didn’t say anything after that just took his hand and started running. He thanked god he had long legs otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to catch up with your speed, you finally stopped in front of a small hike trail. “What is up there?” he asked, “Only one way to find out.”

“Y/N I swear if I get mauled by a bear-” you interrupted him “Well you can always impress it with your killer looks.”

“That’s not how bears work but followed anyway. 

The trail was narrow, lined with wildflowers and buzzing with the sound of cicadas. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, scattering golden patterns on the ground. Every so often, you’d glance back to make sure he was still behind you, and every time you did, he’d pretend he wasn’t struggling to keep up.

After what felt like forever — though you’d insist later it was only ten minutes — the trees parted, revealing a rocky ledge overlooking the entire village. The patchwork of green fields, rooftops, and winding dirt roads stretched out beneath a bright blue sky.

“Wow…” he said, breathless this time for a different reason.

You grinned, leaning on the railing. “Told you it was worth it.”

He glanced at you — your wind-tousled hair, the way your eyes reflected the sun — and thought to himself that maybe the view wasn’t the only thing worth the climb.

“Come let’s sit somewhere” you pushed the leaves aside to make space for you two to sit, you both sat down basking in the beautiful sunset. 

Sunghoon pulled out his phone to take a picture of the view, he turned his phone’s camera in your direction taking candid pictures of you. 

He was admiring the photos of you that he took, the sunlight catching your eyelashes and your adorable smile. He was scrolling through the pictures when suddenly a notification popped up in his phone, a weverse comment which said this, Why is he even in the group? He is so awkward and stiff, trying so hard to be cool 

It affected him more than he wanted to admit it, you saw the sadness in his eyes “what’s wrong?” sounding concerned, leaning closer

He sounded bitter, “Just idol stuff” he promised himself he would be away from all of this this vacation. 

You studied his face- he was chewing the inside of his cheek without a word. You grabbed his phone to see what he was staring at, you threw the phone in your backpack. 

“Hey-” 

“You know the Sunghoon I see when I look at you?” you asked, “I see the Sunghoon who helps me around the village, the Sunghoon that plays with Mijoo, the kind and hardworking Sunghoon who fixed Mr. Kim’s radio without any prior training.” your thumbs brushing against his cheek, “Not whatever nonsense some internet trolls say” 

You took his perfectly manicured nails into your own hands, “You're so much more than what the world sees you for.” You stared deep into his eyes. “You know what I have an idea” standing up. 

“Stand up” you commanded 

He stood up, you took him to the edge on the hill but still a bit behind to be safe, “I want you to think of every bad thing that has affected you and just shout all of your frustration away.”

Sunghoon looked at you as if you were the craziest person ever, “don't knock it till you try it.” confidence lingering in your voice. 

“Fine just cause you're saying it” he closed his eyes thinking of all the hate he received since his debut, he shouted loudly, it was so intense you closed your ears afraid you might go deaf. He stopped eventually, his screams being echoed through the hills. 

“That felt good didn't it?” You asked, he looked at you and laughed, “You're so crazy.” you laughed back, “don't act like you don’t enjoy my craziness”

You two laughed when suddenly Sunghoon caressed your cheek with his left hand pulling you close by your waist. You put your hand on his chest afraid of what was going to happen next. 

“Let's go, Mom and Mijoo are waiting for us back home.” You blurted. “Okay” Sunghoon replied, internally cringing at his attempt to kiss you. 

The walk to your house was quiet, both of you too occupied with your own thoughts to speak up. Sunghoon was internally beating himself thinking why he even thought it was a good idea, even you were surprised you stopped yourself from kissing him, you liked him more than a friend too. 

But deep down you knew, a guy with a career like him would not stick around for a long time. It hurt you thinking that you didn't have a place in his big and happening life. Worrying about it wouldn't solve anything so you made it your personal mission to enjoy every second with him. 

You spent more time with him than ever before, from mornings to late night talks, you both were practically inseparable. Everyone in the village got used to Sunghoon being there with you. 

It was the day of the festival, Sunghoon was in the living room waiting for you to get ready. He opted for the usual white t-shirt and sweatpants combo. 

“Y/N unnie we're leaving” Mijoo shouted annoyed by how long you were taking. “I am here” you finally got out of your room. 

Sunghoon was starstruck when he saw you, you wore a pretty white dress that reached up your thighs with ruffles at the bottom, your hair open with a butterfly pin on the side. You ditched your thick rimmed glasses for the night instead light makeup accompanied your face. “C’mon let's go” you spoke as you held his hand. 

The fair was fun and exciting, it was filled with games and food. He saw a lot of street food he didn't see in the city. 

You bought fish cakes for yourself, stuffing the fish cakes in your mouth, Sunghoon couldn't help but laugh at how cute you looked, he took out his phone and took a picture of you without you noticing. 

Throughout the night he took multiple candid pictures of you, when he won a teddy bear for Mijoo at one of the stalls you held Mijoo in your arms as she hugged her teddy bear he took a picture of you. It didn’t even matter if you were doing anything, he took at least 20 pictures of you that night. 

Suddenly the lights all focused on the centre of the park, slow romantic music played and all the girls took their significant other’s hand and started dancing. 

Your fingers found no trouble finding his hands, as you pulled him to the dance floor your hand finding his shoulder and his hand holding your waist, swaying your hips to the beat. You giggled at the proximity. He was so breath-taking it was unbelievable. You both danced, he would twirl you around, lift you up, it was everything you imagined when you thought of the perfect dance. 

Suddenly something in you snapped, you pushed Sunghoon abruptly and ran away. 

“What happened to her?” your mom asked Sunghoon, “Nothing drastic” he informed, “I will bring her back, you and Mijoo go home” he instructed, your mom nodded and went away. 

Luckily he found you at a secluded area a bit far away from the fair, you cried into your hands as you sat underneath a tree. “Y/N you worried me.” he sighed as he pulled you up making you stand. 

“I-I am sorry” you sniffled, “I shouldn’t have done that” 

Sunghoon pulled you in his embrace, his hand caressing the back of your head, “You don’t have to apologise” he assured you, “but you have to tell me what is making you cry.” 

 “It’s you” you looked up into his eyes, “I am afraid to let you go.” He knew what you were talking about and he didn’t know how to respond either cause deep down even he was afraid of letting you go. 

“I wish I could be a part of your life,” tears flowing through your eyes, “B-but a person like you isn’t meant to stay in my small w-world” you stuttered. 

He caressed your cheek, “Oh shut up y/n” a tear coming out of his eye, “your world is bigger than mine will ever be, if it wasn’t for you maybe I wouldn’t have learned how to feel happy about my life” he murmured. 

“Even I am scared of letting you go, it is inevitable” he confessed “I want to enjoy what we have right now, I know fate will bring us back one day and we would never have to let go of each other.” 

You smashed your lips against his, pulling him by his shirt. It was slow but intense, something you wished you had done sooner. “I love you” your voice barely above a whisper. 

He smiled hearing those words, “I love you too” he replied back.

You lifted his shirt up, pushed him on the grass as you straddled his lap. Coming closer to his face you kissed him tenderly, your hands tracing the lines of his chiseled abs. 

He tugged on your dress revealing your bra, he unclasped it from behind and laid the bra beside him while his other hand immediately started fondling your breasts. 

He grabbed you by the waist, as he got up with you on his lap. He broke the kiss to nibble and suck on your perfect breasts as he fondled your ass. You moaned from the contact slightly tugging his hair, grinding your hips onto his crotch arching your back. It was electric.

“You don’t know how long I waited for this,” he said as he catched his breath, he kissed every part of your exposed skin, rough enough to leave marks but soft enough to not hurt you. 

He gently laid you down as he got on top, like you were a soft fragile doll. He bunched up your dress in his hand revealing your cotton panties, he pulled them to the side revealing your pussy inserting one of his fingers inside you letting you adjust, he started simultaneously licking your clit. You arched your back at the overwhelming amount of pleasure, slightly tugging on his hair. 

“Ahh Sunghoon I am about to come,” upon hearing that he took his finger out and slowly inserted the head of his penis, letting you adjust to his length. “So tight for me,” he rocked his hips, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body. Sunghoon kissed you roughly as he grabbed your hips. 

You both reached your high, Sunghoon pulled out in time jerking himself off for release. He released the seed in your mouth, you got up and kissed him, letting him taste himself. 

You loved every single moment of this, you collapsed on Sunghoon trying to catch your breath, he caressed your back, “you did so well” he whispered. 

“Let’s go, Mijoo and mom are waiting for us.” you whispered, pecking him on his lips.

The day had come when Sunghoon had to leave Andong and go back to Seoul, the day started like any other day but this time, you woke up next to an empty mattress with a letter placed above the sheets. 

You opened the letter and it read as follows;

“Dear Y/N

I know I am an asshole for not telling you beforehand about me leaving, you can hate me all you want for doing that. 

But the truth is I myself couldn't face the fact I will have to leave soon, leave you behind and the memories we created. 

Thank you for teaching me how to live, teaching me to find happiness in what I do, to see the beauty in everything even in pain. I am who I am today because of you. 

You deserve everything in this world, I don't know how I could ever repay you, I will always wish the best for you and that wherever you are in life you will be happy. 

Yours Sunghoon”

A tear fell from your eyes after reading that, you clutched the piece of paper to your chest, not being able to comprehend that Sunghoon left. But you knew it was for the best, you wanted the best for Sunghoon even if it meant not being in his life. 

The bus ride to Seoul was a slow one, in his mind he kept replaying the moments he had with you, it made him sad that he wasn't going to be able to make anymore memories but he was happy that he learnt a lot from you and couldn't wait to be his new self in front of everyone.

Before he left for the bus ride he went to a printing shop and got all the pictures he took of you on the day of the fair printed. He put the one with you and Mijoo inside the pocket of his wallet, whenever he would feel down he would remember to open his wallet reminding him of the time he spent with you.

The Enhypen members were waiting for him at the bus stop. Jake even made a welcome home post for him, the moment he got down from the bus all the members came up to him and hugged him. 

“Hoonie we missed you so much” Sunoo murmured not letting go of the hug, “I missed you all too” he replied back. He was happy to be back again in Enhypen. 

All the guys were getting ready for their new comeback, all of them were excited to be able to finally release music after the long break, especially Sunghoon, he had written a song Hundred Broken Hearts which was going to be on the tracklist of the new album. It was a song inspired by you.

The comeback came and it was in a long time Sunghoon actually felt happy while performing, he gave it all for this comeback, music videos, promotions and even live performances he gave it all. Their fans were incredibly happy seeing this newfound Sunghoon. 

You and Mijoo saw all their live performances and reality shows on TV, even dancing to it. You were proud of Sunghoon, it was your first comeback with them as their fan and definitely not your last. 

“Hyung…I am going to take 10,000 won from your wallet”, Niki announced to Sunghoon “hmm, make sure you return it.” Sunghoon told Niki. 

He opened the wallet and the first thing he saw was a picture of a girl holding a toddler he didn't know about. He quietly took a photo of the photo on his phone, took the 10,000 won and went away. 

“Look what I found in Sunghoon hyung's wallet” he showed the picture to the rest of the members. It was a picture of you and Mijoo at the village fair.

“He probably met her in Andong,” Jake said. 

“S-Sunghoon is a dad??” Niki shouted slightly flabbergasted.

“Is this the girl who was the inspiration behind Hundred Broken Hearts?” Jungwon asked

Hundreds of questions arose in the members mind about who this girl could be. 

“That's Y/N” Sunoo said, “She's an electrician in Andong, lovely girl. My parents love her.” 

“I have a feeling Sunghoon is in love with her,” Jay said. 

“We should invite her to our next concert, surprise Sunghoon with her presence.” Heeseung suggested. Everyone nodded their heads, they thought it was a really good idea. 

Sunoo called your mom telling her about the concert, she was delighted to hear about it and promised to bring you that day.

“Ahh I can't wait to go to Seoul” Mijoo shouted, this was her first time going to the city, “Me too” you agreed, your mom told you guys were going to Seoul to meet one of your cousins ever since then you and Mijoo have been excited all week. 

It was the first day in Seoul, it was evening when you reached the hotel but your mom had instructed you to get ready, “Mom, why did you bring me to the stadium?” 

You were extremely confused, you had Mijoo in your arms, it was pretty crowded too and didn't know exactly what was going to happen. “Just wait and enjoy the show” your mom patted your shoulder. 

Suddenly all the lights were directed to the stage and there was the entry of the 7 dudes you had been fawning over for the past month. 

“Seoul let's get this show started” Sunghoon shouted on the mic, the show was filled with pure energy, no member was lacking but you were the happiest seeing Sunghoon, he was dancing with the same amount of happiness like he was the first time dancing with Mijoo. The performances gripped everyone's attention from the start to finish.

Then came the encore, they sang Hundred Broken Hearts under the spotlight, the song felt different, maybe cause you could see Sunghoon wasn't just singing the lyrics he was also portraying the emotions he was feeling.

The show had ended but your mom closed your eyes as she took your hand and led you somewhere, the same was with Sunghoon. 

“This better not be a prank y'all” Sunghoon said to his members as they closed his eyes with a blindfold leading him somewhere. 

The moment the blindfolds were removed he found himself standing right in front of you, he believed he was hallucinating maybe from the concert back there but Mijoo yelling “Sunghoon Oppa” from behind made him realise he was in reality. 

“Y/N, you came” his voice slightly shaking, you giggled “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” 

Without wasting a second he pulled you by your waist and hugged you tightly, your hands wrapping around his neck. 

“I thought I lost you forever” his voice was quivering as tears rolled down his face, “you didn’t even say a goodbye” you told him, you didn’t seem angry just fond. 

“I was a coward” he sniffled “but I am not letting go of you ever again,” he kissed the top of your forehead. “Me neither” burying your face in his chest taking in his scent. 

Sunghoon couldn’t have asked for more, even though the idol life kept him busy he made time for you, every break he would visit you in Andong and when you were free you would accompany him and the members to their photoshoots and promotions, even helping the staff with the decorations and all, even the members became fond of you, calling you over to their dorms when they had a problem in their air conditioner, computers and appliances. Sunghoon was happy that he didn’t have to let go of you to go back to his idol life like he thought before. For the first time, he realized-he didn’t have to choose between loving her or the stage. She’d already chosen him.

The End 

[pucksandpower]

Wildest Dreams

Charles Leclerc x pop star!Reader

Summary: you seem to have it all — a successful singing career, complete with a sold out world tour and countless adoring admirers — until an out of control fan sends everything crashing down. With no end to your panic attacks and anxiety in sight, your management team decides to send you to Monaco, where they hope the stringent privacy laws will give you space to recover in peace. What no one can anticipate is that along the way you’ll find love in the form of a piano-playing Formula 1 driver who helps you remember what it means to find joy in your music again

Warnings: descriptions of an aggressive fan interaction and panic attacks

The bass thumps through the stadium, vibrating up through your bones, and the lights are so blinding you can barely make out the sea of fans screaming your name. You’re smiling, though. At least, it feels like you are. Your muscles know how to hit their marks even when your mind isn’t entirely there.

You reach for the microphone stand, letting the chorus carry your voice, a glittering sound that hovers above the crowd. The audience swells, their energy feeding into yours. It’s always like this. As exhausting as it gets, performing feels like standing at the edge of an open window — terrifying, thrilling, and impossible to look away from.

“Sing it with me!” You shout, holding the mic out to the crowd.

They scream back the lyrics. Thousands of voices, cracked and messy, but earnest. For a second, you think you could stay here forever, suspended in this moment.

And then it happens.

The music stutters. Just a second — barely noticeable. You catch the band faltering behind you. Drums off beat. Guitar missing a note. A glitch in a perfect machine.

At first, you think it’s nothing. Someone tripped on a cable. Someone fumbled. It’s a live show. Things happen. But then, the corner of your vision snags on something that shouldn’t be there — movement from the side of the stage.

He comes from nowhere, a shadow slipping past the edge of the lights, fast and jagged like an animal.

You freeze.

He’s on the stage. He’s on the stage.

It takes a second too long for your brain to register it. The security guards stationed by the barrier scramble too late. The man — wild-eyed, his face twisted with something you can’t name — launches himself toward you, a sharp glint of metal flashing in his hand.

A scream catches in your throat, choking on the shock. You’re paralyzed for a second, the space between you and him folding too fast to react.

And then he’s there.

He grabs your arm, fingers like claws, and jerks you forward.

“No-” It comes out as a gasp, not a command, and suddenly the whole world tilts sideways. The microphone drops from your hand, clattering against the stage floor, and you hear the audience roar in confusion. Cheers turn into screams — panicked and raw.

You struggle — instinct kicking in before fear takes over. “Get off me!”

You twist in his grip, adrenaline making your muscles feel like they’re tearing. The man’s breath is hot against your ear as he says something — words tumbling too fast and fractured to understand. His free hand still clutches the knife, too close to your skin.

This is when everything breaks.

There’s a blur of black uniforms, and the weight of him is yanked off you so fast you stumble backward, landing hard on your hands and knees. The crowd’s screams crest into something deafening. Security tackles the man to the ground, and for a second all you can hear is the thud of bodies hitting the stage, fists pounding into flesh.

“Get him out — get him OUT!” Someone shouts.

You press your hands to your ears, everything tilting too sharp, too loud. The lights feel like knives cutting into your skull. Your breath comes in shallow bursts, like you’re breathing through a straw. You try to stand, but your legs give out.

Your heart’s racing so fast it feels like it might punch out of your chest.

“He … he just-” Your voice cracks. You can’t even finish the sentence.

A stage manager rushes toward you, wide-eyed. “Are you okay? Y/N, look at me — are you hurt?”

You shake your head violently, even though you’re not sure if you mean it. Are you okay? What does that even mean right now?

The man is dragged off the stage, kicking and snarling. You see his face for a brief second — twisted into something feral, like he thinks you belong to him. Like he’s owed you. The sight makes your stomach twist, and you have to look away before you throw up.

Someone shoves a water bottle into your hands. You can’t remember who. Your hands shake so badly the water spills down your wrist.

“Should we stop the show?” The stage manager asks, but it’s not really a question. It’s an out. A lifeline dangled in front of you, waiting for you to take it.

But you don’t know what to say. If you stop the show, you’ll have to explain what just happened. If you keep going, you might pass out before you finish the set. There’s no right answer.

The crowd is still buzzing, restless and electric, as if waiting for you to reassure them this was all part of the performance. Like maybe the crazed fan was just another surprise.

“I-” Your voice catches, brittle and weak. “I don’t know.”

Someone touches your shoulder — too light to be comforting, too heavy to ignore. “Y/N, if you need to end it, we can. No one would blame you.”

Wouldn’t they, though? Wouldn’t they pick this apart on social media, frame-by-frame, asking why you couldn’t just handle it?

Your throat feels like it’s closing up. The lights are too hot, the noise too much. It feels like the whole world is leaning in, waiting for you to crumble.

And then it happens.

You break.

It’s not a dramatic collapse. There’s no scream, no cinematic fall to the floor. It’s quieter than that — just a slow unraveling, thread by thread, until all that’s left is the mess underneath.

You drop the water bottle.

Your knees hit the stage again.

And then you cry.

It’s not the pretty kind of crying, either. It’s ugly — snot and hiccuping sobs that make your chest hurt. You bury your face in your hands, trying to hide from the audience, from the cameras, from yourself. But there’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to escape the weight pressing down on your ribs.

You hear someone — maybe the stage manager — swear under their breath. “Shit. We’re cutting it. Get the lights down. Now.”

The stage goes dark in an instant, but the damage is done.

You know what comes next. The headlines. The viral clips. The think pieces dissecting every second of this moment, every tear, every breath you couldn’t catch.

“Y/N?” Someone asks softly, crouching beside you.

You can’t even lift your head. Your chest is heaving, your nails digging into your palms hard enough to hurt. All you can think is I can’t do this. I can’t do this. Not again.

“I’m so sorry,” the voice says, closer now. You feel a hand on your arm — gentle, not prying. “We’ll get you out of here, okay? Just breathe. You’re safe.”

But you’re not safe. Not really.

Because the fan wasn’t the first. And you know he won’t be the last.

The sobs come faster, ripping out of you in jagged bursts. You’re vaguely aware of someone wrapping a blanket around your shoulders, as if that could hold you together.

The crowd is still out there — restless, confused. Waiting.

And all you can do is cry.

***

The blinds are drawn tight, shutting out the morning light, but the world outside is still there. You can feel it pressing against the windows, thick and suffocating, like it’s waiting for you to crack them open and let it all pour in.

You sit on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, wrapped in a throw blanket you barely remember being given. Your body feels like it doesn’t belong to you — like you’re a puppet someone left slumped in a chair.

Voices hum and swell around you, muffled but relentless. They’ve been at it for hours. Your family. Your manager. The people who care about you, supposedly. They’ve all flown in, clutching their opinions like lifeboats.

“She needs professional help,” someone says sharply. It’s your manager, Grace. She paces the length of the penthouse suite, heels clacking against the marble floor with every angry step.

“She doesn’t need rehab!” Your mother snaps from somewhere near the kitchen. You can hear the frustration in her voice, brittle and sharp. “She’s not a drug addict. Why are you acting like she is?”

“She’s traumatized,” your sister chimes in. “Putting her in rehab would only make things worse.”

“And what do you suggest?” Grace fires back, hands on her hips. “She stays here and … what? Pretends everything’s fine?”

The walls feel like they’re closing in, the voices bouncing off every surface, sharp and loud. You press your forehead against your knees, trying to disappear inside yourself. It doesn’t work.

“Look at her,” Grace says, her voice low but pointed. “She hasn’t spoken all morning. This isn’t just about last night. This has been building for months. You all know it.”

You flinch, just slightly, but it’s enough to send a ripple through the room.

“Don’t talk about her like she’s not here,” your sister warns, her voice tight with anger.

“Well, she’s not exactly engaging with us, is she?” Grace retorts, throwing her hands in the air. “I’m doing my job. I care about her. But you can’t expect me to pretend that this-” She gestures toward you, slumped on the couch like a ghost. “-is sustainable. She’s not fine. And none of you want to admit it.”

“Don’t make this about you,” your mother snaps. “We are not sending her to some clinic to be paraded around like she’s broken. That would destroy her.”

“Destroy her?” Grace barks out a bitter laugh. “What do you think this is doing to her right now? She had a public breakdown on stage in front of thousands of people! Do you have any idea what’s waiting for her online?”

“Enough!” Your father’s voice cuts through the noise like a whip. He’s been silent for most of the conversation, standing stiff by the window, arms crossed. Now he steps forward, pinching the bridge of his nose like the argument is physically hurting him. “Stop fighting. This isn’t helping.”

For a moment, there’s blessed quiet. Just the faint hum of the air conditioning and the soft tick of a clock somewhere in the room.

“Rehab isn’t the answer,” your mother says again, this time softer but no less firm. “She’s not some Hollywood cliché who needs detoxing. She’s our daughter. She’s traumatized. That’s not the same thing.”

Grace blows out a breath, frustration curling off her in waves. “Then what? What’s the plan? Because if you think this just goes away with time, you’re fooling yourselves. She can’t even step outside without getting mobbed by cameras. She needs space.”

The word hangs heavy in the air. Space. You cling to it like a lifeline.

Your sister sits down on the armrest of the couch beside you, placing a tentative hand on your shoulder. “Do you want to go somewhere?” She asks gently. “Just to get away for a bit? Somewhere quiet?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. The thought of leaving this room — of facing the outside world — makes your chest tighten like a vise. But staying here feels just as unbearable.

Grace watches you carefully, arms crossed over her chest. “Look,” she says, her tone shifting from sharp to calculated. “If you won’t consider rehab, fine. But you need to go somewhere. Somewhere you can breathe without a camera in your face.”

Your mother gives her a skeptical glance. “And where exactly do you suggest?”

“Monaco,” Grace says without hesitation. “Strictest privacy laws in the world. Paparazzi can’t follow her there — not without getting arrested. No one can film her, no one can take her picture. It’s safe.”

That feels like a promise you’re not sure you can believe in.

Your father raises an eyebrow, skeptical. “And you just happen to know this because …”

Grace gives him a tight smile. “Because this isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with something like this.”

“Monaco?” Your sister echoes, frowning. “What is she supposed to do there? Sit in some fancy hotel and wait to feel better?”

“Exactly,” Grace says, like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. “She rests. She doesn’t have to be on all the time. No performances, no interviews, no one breathing down her neck. Just … time to get her head straight.”

Your mother looks unconvinced. “She needs more than a vacation.”

“She needs a break,” Grace counters, her voice firm but not unkind. “And right now, Monaco is the only place I can guarantee she’ll get one.”

The room falls into another uneasy silence, everyone waiting for someone else to make the next move.

Grace sighs, running a hand through her hair. “Look, I know you all want what’s best for her. I do too. But pretending this is something she can just push through isn’t going to work. If she stays here, the pressure will crush her. We’ve all seen it happen before.”

Your father shifts uncomfortably, like he hates that she’s making sense.

Finally, Grace looks at you, her expression softening for the first time all morning. “What do you think?” She asks quietly. “Do you want to go?”

It feels like everyone in the room is holding their breath, waiting for your answer.

But you don’t have one. You can’t think beyond the next minute, the next breath. The world feels too big, too loud, too sharp. You don’t know what you want. You don’t know if you even care.

Your sister squeezes your shoulder gently. “You don’t have to decide right now,” she murmurs.

But Grace shakes her head. “No. She does. The longer we wait, the harder this gets. This-” she gestures around the room, frustration leaking into her voice again. “-isn’t working. She’s drowning, and none of you seem to see it.”

Your mother bristles. “Don’t you dare-”

“She needs to get out of here,” Grace says, cutting her off. “Before it’s too late.”

The words hang heavy in the air, the finality of them settling over the room like a weight.

And for the first time all morning, you feel something other than numbness. It’s small, barely noticeable — a flicker of something that might be relief. Because maybe, just maybe, getting away — really away — is exactly what you need.

Grace leans forward, her expression soft but determined. “Monaco,” she says again, like she’s offering you a lifeline. “What do you say?”

***

The jet touches down with a soft bump on the runway at Nice Côte d’Azur Airport, and you jolt awake from a sleep so light it barely counted. The low hum of the engines winds down, and the pilot’s voice crackles over the intercom.

“Welcome to Nice. Local time is 11:42 AM. Weather is clear, 22 degrees Celsius. Please remain seated until we’ve come to a full stop.”

You sit up slowly, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on your bones. Your mouth feels dry, and there’s an ache deep in your chest that hasn’t left since the night everything went wrong. The cabin is dim, but even the weak sunlight filtering through the windows feels too bright.

Grace is already on her feet, tugging her bag from the overhead compartment. She glances down at you, scanning your face like she’s trying to gauge how much of you is actually here. “You good?”

You nod, even though the answer is no. It’s always no. But that’s the answer everyone expects, so you give it.

“Let’s move, then,” Grace says, her voice clipped but not unkind. She’s been running on fumes, too, trying to stay two steps ahead of everything — flights, accommodations, press rumors. She’s doing her best. You know that.

But it doesn’t make any of this easier.

You reach for the sunglasses perched on your lap and slide them on. They’re oversized, swallowing half your face, and the tinted lenses turn the world into a duller, slightly safer version of itself. It’s a fragile kind of armor, but it’s all you have.

The plane door hisses open, and the warm Mediterranean air slips inside. It smells like saltwater and jet fuel, a strange combination that makes your stomach flip.

“Okay, let’s go,” Grace says, nodding toward the exit. “Straight to the car. No stopping.”

You stand slowly, clutching the strap of your bag like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. Every movement feels heavy, like you’re swimming through molasses. You follow Grace down the narrow steps of the jet, keeping your head low, as if shrinking into yourself will make you invisible.

The tarmac is bright and blinding, and your skin prickles with the heat. A sleek black car waits just a few feet away, engine humming softly, driver standing at the ready.

But then you see it.

Beyond the airport fence, just far enough away to be contained but close enough to be seen, a cluster of people is gathered. Fans. Some are holding signs with your name scrawled across them in glittering ink. Others have their phones up, cameras trained on the plane like they knew you were coming.

Your heart stops, just for a second.

And then it starts again — too fast, too loud, slamming against your ribcage.

“They’re not supposed to be here,” you whisper, but your voice is barely audible over the pounding in your chest.

Grace follows your gaze and swears under her breath. “Ignore them. They can’t get to you.”

But it doesn’t matter. They’re still there. Their eyes are on you, their phones are on you, and suddenly the ground feels like it’s shifting beneath your feet.

Your breath catches in your throat, sharp and painful.

“It’s okay,” Grace says quickly, stepping closer to you. “They’re behind a fence. You’re fine.”

But you’re not fine. The fence isn’t enough. The sunglasses aren’t enough. Nothing feels like enough.

Your vision blurs at the edges, and your lungs feel like they’ve shrunk, leaving no room for air. The noise in your head gets louder — memories slamming into you all at once: the man’s grip on your arm, the microphone hitting the stage, the screams from the crowd.

You can’t do this. You can’t do this.

“Y/N.” Grace’s voice cuts through the static in your brain, sharp and insistent. “Look at me. You’re safe. I promise, you’re safe.”

You shake your head, gasping for breath that won’t come. The world tilts sideways, and for a second, you think you might pass out right here on the tarmac.

“I can’t — I can’t-” Your voice breaks, and panic claws its way up your throat, sharp and relentless.

“Okay, okay.” Grace moves fast, slipping between you and the fence, blocking your line of sight to the fans. “Breathe. Just focus on me.”

The driver approaches, concern etched into his features, but Grace waves him off. “Give us a minute.”

You clutch the edge of the car door, knuckles white, trying to find something solid to hold onto. Your chest feels like it’s caving in, and tears sting your eyes, hot and unwelcome.

“Listen to me,” Grace says firmly, crouching just enough to be at eye level. “You’re not on stage. You’re not there. You’re here. And nothing bad is going to happen.”

The words are meant to ground you, but they float past like smoke. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to shut out the world. Trying to make yourself smaller.

Grace’s hand lands gently on your arm, not pulling, just there. “In through your nose,” she says softly, like she’s guiding a child. “Come on. You’ve got this.”

You suck in a shaky breath, and it catches halfway, but it’s better than nothing.

“Good. Now out through your mouth. Slow. That’s it.”

The air comes out in a stutter, but you follow her lead. In. Out. The panic is still there, sharp and insistent, but the edges start to blur just enough to make it bearable.

“See? You’re doing it,” Grace murmurs. “Just a little more.”

Another breath. And another. The tarmac stops spinning, and the pounding in your chest eases, just slightly. You’re still shaking, but the panic isn’t quite as sharp anymore.

“There we go,” Grace says, relief softening her voice. “You’re okay.”

You nod, even though you don’t quite believe it.

“Let’s get in the car, yeah?” She says gently, her hand still resting on your arm. “We’ll be at the apartment soon. No one can get to you there.”

The thought of the apartment — a place with walls, with locks — feels like the only lifeline you have.

You let Grace guide you into the car, sliding into the cool leather seat. The door shuts behind you with a reassuring click, and the tinted windows turn the world outside into a blur. The fans are still there, but they’re just shapes now — distant and meaningless.

The driver slips behind the wheel, and the car glides forward smoothly, leaving the airport behind.

You lean your head against the window, the cool glass soothing against your skin. Your hands are still trembling, and your chest still aches, but at least you’re moving. At least you’re away from the fence.

Grace settles into the seat beside you, pulling out her phone and firing off a quick text, probably to your team. “You did good,” she says without looking up.

You don’t answer. You don’t feel like you did good. You feel like you barely survived.

The car glides onto the highway, the Mediterranean stretching out in the distance, sparkling under the sun. It should be beautiful, but all you can think about is how far you are from home.

The apartment in Monaco is supposed to be a refuge — a place where no one can reach you. But you know better than anyone that no place is ever truly safe. The fear follows you, no matter where you go.

“Almost there,” Grace murmurs, glancing at you from the corner of her eye. “You’re going to be okay.”

You rest your head back against the seat and close your eyes, trying to believe her.

But the truth is, you don’t know if okay is something you’ll ever feel again.

***

The silence in the apartment feels suffocating. Days have blurred together, each one stretched thin and lifeless. Grace left three days ago — urgent work stuff, she had said, promising she would be back soon. But her absence hangs heavy in the air, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Too many thoughts.

You sit curled on the couch, scrolling through the same apps again and again, looking for something — anything — to hold your attention. But everything feels distant. Even messages from your family feel like they’re coming from a world you can’t reach. They’re checking in every day, sure, but no amount of emojis or reassurances will change the fact that they’re thousands of miles away.

And you? You’re here. Alone. In this rented apartment with towering walls of glass and not much else.

Your stomach growls, and the noise breaks the heavy quiet in the room. You groan softly and curl deeper into yourself, trying to ignore it. But then a sudden, vivid craving hits you.

It’s not just hunger. It’s that craving — the one you haven’t thought about in years.

Your mom’s pasta. Specifically, that simple tomato-and-garlic spaghetti she used to make on weeknights when you’d come home from school. You can practically smell it — fresh basil, lots of olive oil, that rich comfort of home cooked into every bite.

The craving grips you so hard that for a moment, it’s the only thing you can think about.

The thing is, ordering it wouldn’t be the same. Even if a fancy Monaco restaurant could somehow recreate it, it wouldn’t taste like hers. And you’re desperate for that — something familiar, something safe. Something to anchor you.

You sit up slowly, chewing your lip.

You could go out. Just this once.

Your mind drifts to the last time you were out in public — those fans at the airport fence, the panic that had swallowed you whole. But you remind yourself: this is Monaco. There are laws here. Strict ones. No paparazzi, no public filming.

You’ll be fine. Right?

You slide off the couch and move toward the mirror by the front door, hesitating only a second before putting on your sunglasses. The oversized lenses feel like a flimsy shield, but you pull on a baseball cap anyway, tucking your hair up underneath it.

You glance at yourself in the mirror. It’s not much of a disguise, but it’ll have to do.

“Okay,” you whisper to yourself. “Just in and out. Quick.”

The grocery store isn’t far — just a few blocks from the apartment. You clutch a reusable tote as you step out the door, heart thumping a little too hard in your chest.

The streets of Monaco are bright and clean, the kind of picturesque perfection that should calm you. But every step feels heavier than the last, like you’re wading into unknown waters. You focus on the task ahead — pasta, garlic, tomatoes, basil. Nothing complicated.

You tell yourself it’ll be easy.

But the city feels too open. The sky, too wide. You pull the brim of your cap lower, keeping your head down as you pass luxury boutiques and sunlit cafés.

Finally, you spot the grocery store. Relief trickles through you. Just a little further.

The automatic doors slide open with a soft *hiss*, and the cool air inside wraps around you like a small mercy. You exhale.

You grab a basket and move quickly down the aisles, avoiding eye contact with the handful of people browsing nearby. It feels like you’re being watched, but you know it’s just paranoia clinging to you from the airport incident.

You find the pasta easily enough. Next, olive oil. Then a bundle of fresh basil. You reach for the tomatoes — ripe and bright — and drop them into your basket with care. It’s almost done. Almost over.

Then you hear it.

“Wait … is that-”

Your heart stops.

You keep your head down and turn away, hoping — praying — that they’ll second-guess themselves. But the whispering spreads like wildfire.

“It’s her. I swear it’s her!”

A couple of girls with phones raised approach from the next aisle. You catch their reflection in the shiny packaging of a can of beans, and panic prickles at the base of your spine.

They’re already snapping photos.

Your heart slams against your ribs as you whip around, heading for the checkout.

“Y/N! Oh my God!”

The name cuts through the air, loud and clear, and suddenly it’s like the whole store shifts focus. Shoppers turn. Heads swivel.

Your breath catches, and a wave of dizziness crashes over you.

You make it to the front of the store, but by now, more people have noticed you. Some are pulling out their phones. Others are whispering, excitement buzzing in the air.

They’re not paparazzi, but it doesn’t matter.

You bolt out of the store, leaving the basket behind.

The sun feels blinding as you hit the street, and the sound of footsteps follows you — people moving fast to catch up, phones aimed like weapons.

“Y/N, can we get a selfie?” Someone calls out, too cheerful, too loud.

The walls close in, and you can’t breathe.

You need to get away. Now.

You turn down a narrow street, heart pounding in your ears. But the footsteps are still there. Someone’s still following.

You push forward, scanning the street for an escape, but everything looks too open, too exposed. You spot an alleyway, leafy and shaded, and veer toward it without thinking.

Your feet hit the cobblestones hard, and the cool shadows swallow you whole. But you keep running, legs burning, lungs screaming for air.

The alley twists and turns, and you don’t know where you’re going — you just know you have to get away.

And then-

You slam into something solid.

Or someone.

The impact knocks the air out of you, and you stumble backward, heart racing, sunglasses slipping down your nose.

Strong hands grip your arms, steadying you before you can fall.

“Whoa,” a voice says, low and surprised. “Easy.”

You blink, dazed, trying to make sense of what just happened.

The man’s chest rises and falls under your hands, and for a second, all you can hear is the sound of both your breaths, mingling in the stillness of the alley.

His hands steady you gently, warm through the fabric of your jacket. For a moment, everything blurs — the edges of the alley, the sounds from the street behind you, your own heartbeat thundering in your ears. All you can feel is the solid presence in front of you.

“You okay?” The man asks, voice low and careful, like he’s speaking to a frightened animal.

You shake your head without meaning to. Your breath comes in shallow gasps, and your chest feels like it’s wrapped in iron bands, squeezing tighter and tighter.

“Hey, hey,” the man says quickly, tilting his head to look at you under the brim of your cap. His voice stays calm, soothing. “It’s okay. You’re safe. Just breathe.”

You try, but it’s no use. The air won’t come.

He shifts, crouching slightly so that he’s eye-level with you. “Alright,” he murmurs. “We’re going to sit down, yeah? It’ll be easier.”

You don’t resist as he gently lowers you both to the ground, sitting cross-legged on the cobblestones. His hands stay on your arms, not holding you down, just there — anchoring you.

“You’re alright,” he says, voice quiet but steady. “It’s just your body playing tricks on you. We’ll get through this.”

The kindness in his tone is almost unbearable, and you bite down on your lip, hard, trying to keep from breaking down completely. Your sunglasses slip down your nose, but you’re too shaken to care.

“Okay,” the man says softly, “listen to me. Look at me. In through your nose, real slow.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, desperate to get a grip on yourself, but the panic is relentless, squeezing tighter and tighter.

“Hey, open your eyes,” the man urges gently. “Just focus on me. Can you do that?”

Something about his voice — steady, grounded — makes you listen. You force your eyes open, though it takes everything in you.

“There you go,” he says, smiling slightly, like you’ve already done something right. His eyes are warm and kind, crinkling at the edges. “Now, breathe with me, okay? In through your nose.”

He inhales deeply, showing you how, and you try to mimic him. The breath catches halfway, ragged and shaky, but it’s something.

“Good,” he murmurs, still calm. “Now out through your mouth. Slowly.”

You exhale, and it stutters on the way out, but the pressure in your chest eases just a bit.

“There we go,” the man says. “Again. In through your nose. Nice and slow.”

You follow his lead again, and this time, it feels a little easier. The world isn’t spinning quite as fast, and the ground doesn’t feel like it’s going to drop out from under you.

He keeps breathing with you, slow and steady, until the worst of it passes. The iron bands around your chest loosen, and you can finally get a full breath.

“See?” He says softly, still sitting close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. “You’re doing it.”

A lump rises in your throat, and you swallow hard, trying to keep it down. It’s been so long since someone’s been this gentle with you.

The man leans back a little, giving you space but not leaving. “I know it feels horrible,” he says, his voice low and empathetic. “But it won’t last forever. I promise.”

You nod weakly, swiping at your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket. “Sorry,” you manage, your voice hoarse and barely audible.

“Don’t be.” He shakes his head, brushing it off like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I’ve been there.”

You glance at him, surprised. “You have?”

“Yeah.” He offers a small, knowing smile, though there’s a flicker of something sad in his eyes. “When I was younger. My godfather died in an accident, and I didn’t really know how to deal with it. For a while, I used to get these panic attacks out of nowhere. Thought I was going crazy.”

His admission catches you off guard, and for a moment, the world feels a little quieter. Less threatening.

“I get it,” he continues, his voice soft but sure. “It feels like you’re drowning and there’s no way out. But there is. You just have to breathe through it, even when it feels impossible.”

You blink, still trying to process everything — his story, the way he’s sitting here with you on the dirty cobblestones, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Does it ever … go away?” You ask quietly, not sure if you really want to hear the answer.

He tilts his head, considering. “It gets better,” he says after a moment. “But it takes time. And it helps when you’re not going through it alone.”

Something tightens in your chest again — not panic this time, but something softer. Loneliness, maybe. Or the weight of everything that’s happened, pressing down on you all at once.

The man watches you carefully, as if he can sense the shift in your mood. “What’s your name?” He asks gently.

You hesitate for a second, unsure whether you want to tell him. But there’s something about him — something genuine — that makes you trust him, if only a little.

“Y/N,” you whisper.

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling again. “I’m Charles.”

The name doesn’t ring a bell, and you’re too drained to think about it. All you know is that, for the first time in days, you don’t feel completely lost.

Charles shifts slightly, adjusting his position on the cobblestones. “Mind if I ask what happened? Why were you running?”

The question hangs in the air between you, and something inside you shifts, loosens, like a knot finally starting to untangle. You’ve been holding everything in for so long, clenching your teeth and forcing yourself to get through each moment without falling apart, but now the dam cracks wide open. It’s like the words have been waiting, boiling under the surface, desperate for release.

You inhale sharply, eyes stinging. “I-” Your voice wobbles, but you press on. “I’m a singer. I was on tour …”

The words spill out, halting at first, but Charles stays quiet, his gaze steady, listening without a flicker of impatience.

“It started during one of the shows,” you continue, hands trembling as you clasp them in your lap. “Everything was going fine — until it wasn’t. This … this fan rushed the stage, and I just froze. Completely froze. He was coming straight at me, and I couldn’t even-” Your breath catches, and you press a fist to your mouth, as if you can shove the memory back down.

Charles shifts a little, making sure you’re still steady on the ground, but he doesn’t say anything. He just listens.

“They tackled him before he got too close, but I … I lost it.” Your throat tightens painfully. “I started screaming, couldn’t stop. They had to cut the mic — God, it was all over the internet the next day.” You laugh, but it’s a thin, brittle sound. “Every headline called it a breakdown. Which — yeah, it kind of was, I guess.”

Charles’ face stays calm, focused. There’s no pity in his expression, only quiet understanding. That makes it easier to keep going.

“I thought it’d get better after that, but it didn’t.” You shake your head, feeling like you’re unraveling as you speak. “The panic attacks just kept coming every time I thought about performing again. I felt trapped. And then the airport happened …”

You glance away, biting down on your lip so hard it stings. “I saw all the fans lined up by the fence, taking pictures, and I just — I couldn’t breathe. Everything caved in again.” Your voice is cracking now, raw and exhausted. “It’s been like that every day since. I can’t sleep, I can’t leave my apartment without thinking someone’s going to-” You choke on the words.

Charles doesn’t say anything, just shifts a little closer, his shoulder brushing yours. That quiet presence grounds you, keeps you from spiraling too far.

“And now I’m here,” you murmur, gesturing vaguely around you. “In Monaco. Supposed to be getting better, but … I’m not. I feel like I’m drowning. And today …” You squeeze your eyes shut for a second, voice dropping to a whisper. “I just wanted to make some stupid pasta.”

The tears hit before you can stop them, hot and unstoppable. “I needed it,” you manage between sobs. “My mom used to make it for me — simple tomato and garlic spaghetti — and I just … I really wanted it. I thought if I could make it, maybe I’d feel normal again. Just for a little bit.”

You press your palms to your face, trying to stem the tide of tears, but they keep coming. “But I left everything back at the store. All the ingredients. I ran out, and now I can’t go back, and I just-”

The weight of everything — the panic, the isolation, the craving for something familiar — crashes over you, and all you can do is cry.

Charles stays quiet for a moment, letting you ride out the wave of emotion. Then, softly, he says, “Hey.”

You sniffle, peeking at him from behind your hands.

“I think,” Charles says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I have everything you need for that pasta at my place.”

You blink at him, thrown off by the sudden shift in the conversation. “What?”

He nods, still smiling gently. “Yeah. Tomatoes, garlic, spaghetti, olive oil — pretty sure I’ve got all of it.”

You stare at him, overwhelmed and disoriented by how easily he’s offering exactly what you need. “You don’t have to-”

“Come on,” Charles says, standing and offering you his hand. “We’ll make it together. I’ve been told I’m not too bad in the kitchen.”

The kindness in his voice cracks something open in you again, but this time it’s not panic — it’s something softer. Hope, maybe.

You hesitate for just a second before slipping your hand into his. His grip is warm, solid. Steady.

He pulls you gently to your feet, and for the first time in a long time, you feel a flicker of something like relief.

“Pasta for dinner?” Charles says, still holding your hand as he tilts his head toward the end of the alley. “What do you think?”

You manage a shaky smile. “Yeah. Okay.”

Charles’ smile deepens, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel like maybe — just maybe — you’re not drowning after all.

***

Charles’ apartment is tucked on a quiet street, close to the harbor but far from the chaos of the main city. He leads you up a narrow stairwell, his hand lingering lightly on your back, a reassuring presence. You’re still jittery, the weight of what happened earlier pressing down on you, but Charles seems calm — like nothing fazes him. It’s comforting in a way you didn’t expect.

He unlocks the door and pushes it open with a casual, “Make yourself at home.”

Before you can even take a step inside, a blur of cream-colored fur bolts toward you, yipping excitedly. A small dachshund launches itself at Charles’ legs first, wagging its whole body like his happiness can’t be contained.

“Hey, Leo,” Charles says, crouching down to ruffle the little dog’s ears. Leo’s tail thumps wildly, and he licks Charles’ chin enthusiastically.

Then the dog turns to you, nose twitching as he sniffs curiously before deciding you’re a friend. With a delighted bark, he jumps against your shins, demanding attention.

“Leo,” Charles laughs, scooping him up before the dog can trip over himself. “You’re too excited, baby.” He holds the squirming dachshund in his arms, scratching behind his ears. “This is Y/N. Be nice, okay?”

Leo wriggles in Charles’ grip, tongue darting out toward your face, eager for kisses. Despite everything — despite the panic, the exhaustion — you can’t help but smile. Something about Leo’s pure, boundless joy is infectious.

“Can I?” You ask, holding out your hands, and Charles grins, passing the little dog over.

Leo practically melts into your arms, licking your cheek with enthusiasm. You laugh softly, a sound that surprises even you — it’s been a while since you’ve felt light enough to laugh.

“He likes you,” Charles says, his eyes warm as he watches the interaction.

“I think I like him too,” you admit, pressing your nose to Leo’s soft fur.

Charles steps aside, gesturing for you to come further in. “Come on. I’ll give you the grand tour.”

You follow him inside, cradling Leo as the dog rests his head contentedly against your shoulder. Charles’ apartment is bright and modern, with big windows that let in the soft afternoon light. It’s stylish but not showy — comfortable, lived-in.

As you step deeper into the space, your eyes catch on something: a row of helmets lining one wall, polished and carefully displayed on shelves. Nearby, there’s a stack of racing tires leaning against the wall, and framed photographs of what looks like racecars.

You glance around, taking it all in. “What’s with all the helmets?”

Charles glances over his shoulder, an amused smile playing at his lips. “Ah, that.” He gestures to the shelves. “I’m an F1 driver.”

You blink, trying to process what he just said. “Wait … like Formula 1?”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “I drive for Ferrari.”

You stare at him, your mind spinning as you try to reconcile the man who just helped you through a panic attack with the image of a world-famous racing driver. You don’t follow motorsports — your life has always revolved around music — but even you know Ferrari.

“Wow,” you manage, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “I, um, I had no idea.”

Charles laughs, and the sound is warm, not mocking. “That’s okay,” he says, shrugging it off like it’s no big deal. “You’ve had other things on your mind.”

You feel your cheeks warm with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I probably should’ve known. You must think I live under a rock.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “Honestly? It’s kind of nice. Most people freak out when they find out what I do.” He tilts his head, studying you with a playful glint in his eyes. “But you? You’re just worried about your pasta.”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “I really am.”

Charles grins, clearly pleased to have lightened the mood. “Come on,” he says, nodding toward the kitchen. “Let’s see if I actually have everything we need.”

He leads you through the apartment, Leo trotting happily at your feet. The kitchen is open and modern, with sleek countertops and a large island in the middle. It’s the kind of kitchen that looks like it belongs to someone who knows what they’re doing — though you suspect Charles probably doesn’t get much time to cook.

He moves easily through the space, opening cabinets and pulling out ingredients. “Alright,” he says, setting down a few items on the counter. “We’ve got tomatoes, garlic, olive oil … and spaghetti.” He turns to you, raising a brow. “How’s that sound?”

“Perfect,” you say, feeling a little lighter already.

Charles smiles, his expression softening as he watches you. “Good. Then let’s make some pasta.”

***

After dinner, you help Charles rinse the dishes, working side by side at the sink. It feels strangely domestic, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him in the quiet kitchen, water running over plates, Leo curled up at your feet. Charles hums to himself as he scrubs a pan, and you catch yourself smiling — not because you have to, but because you want to.

When everything is clean and put away, Charles nudges you gently with his elbow. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s relax a bit.”

He leads you into the living room, a cozy space with deep couches and big windows that overlook the marina. The soft hum of the city outside filters through the glass, mingling with the sound of Leo’s paws clicking across the floor.

As you settle onto the couch, something catches your eye: a sleek black piano tucked into the corner of the room, polished to a shine. You sit up a little straighter, curiosity piqued.

“You play?” You ask, nodding toward it.

Charles follows your gaze and smiles. “Yeah, a little. Nothing professional, but I like to mess around when I have time.”

You lean forward, intrigued. “Can you play something for me?”

Charles tilts his head, considering, then shrugs. “Sure. Why not?” He crosses the room, sits down at the bench, and runs his fingers lightly over the keys, warming them up with a few random notes.

You stay on the couch for a moment, watching the way his hands move — deft and confident, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Then he glances back at you, a playful gleam in his eye.

“Do you know Coldplay?” He asks.

You nod, a flicker of excitement rising in your chest. “Yeah, of course.”

He smiles and turns back to the piano, pressing a few familiar chords. The soft, haunting opening of “The Scientist” fills the room, the notes flowing effortlessly from his fingers.

You feel the first swell of emotion as the melody settles around you like a blanket, warm and comforting. Charles plays with quiet intensity, his head tilted slightly to the side, lost in the music.

Then the lyrics drift into your mind unbidden, and before you can second-guess yourself, you open your mouth to sing.

“Come up to meet you, tell you I’m sorry. You don't know how lovely you are …”

Your voice is soft at first, hesitant, but the music pulls you in, makes you forget the tension knotted in your chest. Charles glances at you from the corner of his eye, and something shifts in his expression — like the light inside him just got a little brighter.

You keep singing, your voice growing stronger with each line.

“I had to find you, tell you I need you. Tell you I set you apart …”

Charles grins as you get more comfortable, his fingers dancing across the keys with a little more flair now. He slows the tempo slightly, matching the rise and fall of your voice perfectly.

Without thinking, you slide off the couch and move toward him, sitting down on the bench beside him. The wood creaks under your weight, but neither of you seem to notice.

“Nobody said it was easy …”

Your voice wavers slightly on the word easy, the emotions threading through your tone without you meaning them to. Charles doesn’t say anything — he just keeps playing, like the music is his way of holding space for you.

When you hit the next line together-

“No one ever said it would be this hard …”

-it’s like the air between you thickens, heavy with unspoken things.

You finish the verse in perfect harmony, your voice blending with the soft notes of the piano. And for a moment, everything else — the anxiety, the exhaustion, the noise in your head — fades away.

When the last chord drifts into silence, you realize you’re smiling, a real, unguarded smile.

Charles leans back slightly, his hands resting on the keys as he turns to you. “You have a beautiful voice,” he says quietly.

You feel your cheeks warm under his gaze. “Thanks,” you murmur. “That was … nice.”

“Yeah,” Charles agrees, his eyes sparkling with something you can’t quite place. “It was.”

For a moment, neither of you move. The room feels suspended in time, like the music has cast some kind of spell over everything.

Then Leo trots over, pressing his nose against your leg, and the spell breaks. You laugh softly, reaching down to scratch behind his ears.

Charles watches you for a moment longer, then nudges you lightly with his shoulder. “So,” he says, his voice teasing, “any plans for tomorrow?”

You shake your head, smiling. “Not really.”

“Well,” Charles says, drawing out the word like he’s building up to something. “I was thinking of taking the yacht out for a bit. Maybe you’d want to come?”

You raise an eyebrow, surprised. “You have a yacht?”

He grins, unapologetic. “I do. It’s not as glamorous as it sounds, though. Just something to get away from everything for a few hours.”

The idea of spending a day on the water — away from prying eyes, away from the noise in your head — sounds almost too good to be true.

“Are you sure I won’t be intruding?” You ask, though you already know your answer.

Charles shakes his head, his expression sincere. “Not at all. It’ll be fun. Leo will come too,” he adds with a playful wink.

You laugh, feeling lighter than you have in weeks. “Alright,” you say. “I’m in.”

***

The yacht rocks gently as you step aboard, the crisp breeze off the Mediterranean whipping through your hair. The sun glints off the water, dazzling and endless, and Leo is already scampering ahead, his tiny paws tapping happily on the deck. Charles follows closely behind, carrying a cooler and a bottle of wine under one arm like this is just another day for him.

“Welcome aboard,” Charles says with a grin, setting down the cooler. He gives the yacht's railing a quick pat. “It’s not a superyacht or anything, but she does the job.”

You laugh softly, shielding your eyes against the sun. “It’s more than enough.”

The yacht isn't enormous, but it’s sleek and beautiful, just like everything else Charles seems to surround himself with. A couple of cushioned sunbeds are arranged at the front, and there’s a small dining area shaded under a canopy. Leo wastes no time climbing onto the sunbed, claiming it like a king, tail wagging furiously.

Charles catches your look and shrugs with an easy smile. “He thinks he owns the place.”

“Clearly,” you say, grinning, feeling lighter than you have in days. It’s hard not to, with the sun on your skin and the promise of a peaceful day out at sea.

Charles casts off the ropes with practiced ease and starts the engine. You sit cross-legged near the bow, letting the wind ruffle your hair as the boat glides out into the open water. For a while, neither of you speaks — you just sit in companionable silence, watching Monaco’s coastline grow smaller behind you, the glittering city shrinking into the horizon.

Eventually, Charles kills the engine and drops anchor somewhere far from shore, where the water is crystal clear and the world feels blissfully quiet.

He turns to you, leaning casually against the railing. “So,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Do you swim?”

You raise an eyebrow, already suspicious. “Yeah … why?”

Charles grins, and before you can react, he lunges toward you. “You look hot. I’m doing you a favor.”

“Charles, no!” You shriek, scrambling backward, but it's too late. He hooks an arm around your waist and lifts you effortlessly off the deck.

“Don’t you dare!” You shout, laughing despite yourself.

“Dare?” He echoes, grinning wickedly. “Oh, I dare.”

Then he throws you over the side of the yacht.

You hit the water with a loud splash, the coolness shocking your skin. For a moment, everything is muffled — just the sound of bubbles rushing past your ears and the soft sway of the sea surrounding you. You surface quickly, gasping and sputtering.

“You are so dead!” You shout, treading water and glaring up at him.

Charles leans over the railing, grinning like a kid who just pulled off the perfect prank. “You said you could swim!”

“That’s not the point!”

He laughs — this carefree, delighted sound — and before you can protest further, he vaults over the side of the boat and plunges into the water after you.

He surfaces with a splash, slicking his wet hair back from his forehead, his grin still firmly in place. “Now we’re even,” he says, swimming closer.

You roll your eyes, though you’re laughing too, the tension between you dissolving with the salt water. “You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been told,” he says with a cheeky shrug, floating lazily beside you.

The water is warm and buoyant, cradling you both as you drift together. For a while, you just float there, surrounded by nothing but the sea and sky. There’s a peace to it — a kind of freedom that you didn’t realize you’d been missing.

Then Charles’ grin softens into something quieter, more sincere. He drifts closer, the space between you shrinking until you can feel the warmth of his skin, even through the water.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “You’re not still mad, are you?”

You smirk, giving him a light splash. “Maybe just a little.”

Charles chuckles, then reaches for you — his hand finding your waist under the water, steadying you as the gentle current pulls at your limbs. His touch is light, careful, as if he’s waiting to see if you’ll pull away.

You don’t.

Instead, you let yourself float closer, the air between you humming with something unspoken. His gaze flicks to your mouth for just a second — so quick you might’ve missed it if you weren’t looking for it. But you are.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you close the distance, pressing your lips to his.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as if you’re both testing the waters. But then Charles tilts his head, his hand tightening on your waist, and the kiss deepens — slow and unhurried, like you have all the time in the world.

The water laps gently around you, but it feels like everything else — the sea, the sky, the boat — fades into the background. There’s just the warmth of Charles’ lips against yours, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat where your hand rests lightly on his chest.

When you finally pull back, breathless, Charles’ forehead presses lightly against yours, his grin returning in full force.

“So,” he murmurs, his voice low and playful. “Still mad?”

You laugh, your heart lighter than it’s been in a long time. “Not even a little.”

Charles grins, brushing a strand of wet hair from your face. “Good,” he says, his voice soft. “Because I really didn’t want you to be.”

You smile, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel like maybe you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

Leo barks from the yacht, his tiny form bouncing excitedly along the edge as if to remind you both that he’s still there.

Charles glances up at the dog and laughs. “Looks like Leo’s getting jealous.”

You shake your head, still smiling. “Better get back before he starts plotting revenge.”

“Good idea,” Charles agrees, giving your waist one last squeeze before reluctantly pulling away.

He swims toward the yacht, reaching up to pull himself back onboard with effortless grace. Then he leans over the side, offering you his hand.

You take it, and he hauls you up easily, his arms steady around you as you find your balance on the deck.

“Not bad for a first date,” Charles teases, water dripping from his hair as he gives you a cheeky grin.

You raise an eyebrow, wringing the water from your shirt. “Is that what this is? A date?”

Charles shrugs, grinning. “It could be.”

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, here you are,” he says, his smile widening.

You can’t help but laugh again, the sound carried away on the breeze as the yacht rocks gently beneath your feet. Maybe this is ridiculous. Maybe it’s spontaneous and reckless and exactly what you needed.

Either way, you’re not about to overthink it.

Not today.

***

Charles tilts the bottle of wine, filling your glass with a smooth stream of red before refilling his own. The late afternoon sun filters in through the windows, casting long, golden streaks across the hardwood floors of his apartment. The air feels easy between you two — comfortable in a way that feels new but natural, like you’ve fallen into a rhythm neither of you had to try too hard to find.

You sit cross-legged on the couch, your lyric notebook balanced in your lap, the pen twirling absently between your fingers. It’s the first time in weeks — months, really — that you’ve felt the itch to write. The pages are filled with old scribbles, half-finished ideas, and false starts, but today something feels different. There’s a spark, a sense that maybe this time it will stick.

Charles wanders back toward the couch, a glass of wine in each hand. “What are you working on?” He asks, setting your glass down on the coffee table and sliding onto the couch beside you.

You hesitate for a second, fingers tracing the edge of the notebook. “It’s … a song,” you admit softly. “Or, it’s the start of one. I haven’t written anything in a while, but now I think I’ve got something.” You chew on your bottom lip, a little shy. “I just don’t know where to take it from here.”

He leans in, his shoulder brushing yours as he peers into the open notebook. His eyes skim the lyrics you’ve scratched onto the page.

“He said, ‘Let’s get out of this town, drive out of the city, away from the crowds.’”

Charles reads it aloud, slow and thoughtful. “I like that,” he says, tapping the edge of the notebook with one finger. “It sounds like … an escape.”

You nod. “Yeah, that’s the vibe I was going for. But I don’t know what it sounds like — like, I have no idea what the melody would be.”

Charles takes another sip of his wine, studying the words for a beat longer before setting his glass down. Then, without a word, he stands up and heads over to the piano.

You blink, surprised. “What are you doing?”

He glances back at you with a small, playful smile. “Helping.”

He sits down at the piano, rolling his shoulders like he’s about to play a concert. His fingers hover just above the keys, teasing a few notes to test the sound, adjusting the weight of his hands. Then, slowly, he begins to play. The first few notes are tentative, like he’s searching for something just out of reach.

You watch, mesmerized, as he falls into the melody — soft, dreamlike chords that seem to float through the air. It’s gentle at first, and then it starts to shift, becoming something more steady, more certain. He hums along quietly, head tilted, eyes closed, as if he’s feeling his way through it.

After a few moments, he glances over at you. “What do you think so far?”

Your heart skips a beat, and you scoot closer to the piano. “It’s beautiful.”

He smiles, pleased, and keeps playing. “Come here,” he says, patting the spot on the bench beside him.

You slide onto the bench, your thigh brushing against his as you sit down. The music wraps around you like a cocoon, and for a moment, the rest of the world falls away. Charles’ fingers glide effortlessly over the keys, filling the room with that delicate, hopeful sound.

“Try singing what you’ve got,” he suggests, glancing at you with a look that’s both encouraging and a little mischievous. “I’ll follow your lead.”

You take a breath, feeling the familiar flutter of nerves in your chest. But there’s something about the way Charles looks at you — like he believes in you without a shred of doubt — that makes you want to try.

So you do.

“He said, ‘Let’s get out of this town, drive out of the city, away from the crowds.’”

Your voice is tentative at first, but as the melody begins to take shape beneath you, you feel yourself relax into it. The lyrics come more easily now, flowing out in a way that feels almost effortless.

“I thought heaven can’t help me now … nothing lasts forever, but this is gonna take me down.”

Charles smiles as he plays, nodding slightly to encourage you. His fingers never falter on the keys, steady and sure. The notes swell, lifting the words, giving them wings.

The next lines slip from your lips without hesitation, the music carrying you along.

“Say you’ll remember me, standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, babe …”

Charles hums the harmony under his breath, and it sends a shiver down your spine. There’s something magic in the way the song is coming together, as if the music and the words have been waiting all along for this moment — this exact combination of notes and timing and connection.

You lose yourself in the lyrics, the melody unfurling like a secret finally spoken aloud.

“Even if it’s just in your wildest dreams, ah-ah, ha. Wildest dreams …”

The final chords linger in the air, sweet and melancholic, as your voice trails off into silence. For a moment, neither of you moves. The room feels suspended in time, like the last note of the song is still hanging between you.

Charles turns his head toward you, his gaze soft and unreadable. “That,” he says quietly, “was incredible.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, the adrenaline of the song still buzzing under your skin. “It felt … right,” you whisper, almost in disbelief.

He smiles, and there’s something in his expression — something tender, something knowing — that makes your breath hitch.

Before you can think twice, Charles leans in.

His lips brush against yours, warm and careful, like a question waiting to be answered. And you answer it, leaning into the kiss with a soft sigh, your hand sliding up to cup the back of his neck.

The kiss is slow and unhurried, just like the song — like you have all the time in the world to figure out where this might go. His hand finds your waist, pulling you just a little closer, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you — no fans, no cameras, no expectations. Just you and Charles and the quiet hum of something new unfolding between you.

When you finally pull back, Charles rests his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“Wildest dreams,” he murmurs, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

You smile back, your heart still racing. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Wildest dreams.”

***

The yacht rocks gently on the still water, the evening air warm and soft against your skin. The sky is a canvas of fading oranges and purples, the last light of day slipping into the night. You and Charles are seated across from each other on the yacht’s deck, surrounded by flickering candles, plates of pasta, and a bottle of wine nearly emptied between you.

Charles twirls a forkful of spaghetti, his other hand resting lazily on the table, fingers tracing circles on the wood. There’s an easy silence between you, one that has become familiar in the last few weeks — a silence that speaks more than words sometimes can. The kind where you don't feel the need to fill every gap with conversation because being together is enough.

But tonight, there’s something behind Charles’ quietness — something thoughtful, like he’s working up the courage to say what’s on his mind.

You sip your wine, watching him as he chews on his pasta and glances out at the horizon, his brows slightly furrowed. “What’s up?” You ask, sensing the shift in his mood.

He blinks, almost like you’ve caught him off guard. Then he smiles, a little nervous. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

You set your glass down and lean forward, resting your elbows on the table. “That sounds serious.”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not serious, exactly. Just … something important.”

You tilt your head, waiting.

Charles exhales softly, the kind of breath you take when you’re gearing up to say something that matters. “The summer break is almost over,” he begins. “In a few days, I’ll be flying out to the Netherlands for the next race.”

You nod, trying to keep your expression neutral, even though the thought of him leaving tugs at something inside you. The past few weeks with Charles have felt like a bubble — something delicate and safe, like you’ve both been hiding from the world together. And now the bubble is about to pop.

He taps his fingers lightly against the table. “After the Dutch Grand Prix … we race in Monza. The Italian Grand Prix.”

You raise your eyebrows slightly, waiting for him to get to his point.

“It’s Ferrari’s home race,” he explains, his eyes flicking to yours. “It’s always a really special weekend for me. It’s … a lot of pressure, but also really meaningful.”

You nod slowly. “That makes sense.”

Charles shifts in his seat, leaning closer to you. “I was thinking … I’d really like it if you were there.”

The words hang in the air between you, delicate and tentative.

You blink, caught off guard. “At the race?”

He nods, studying your face carefully. “As my guest.”

There’s a long pause as you try to wrap your head around the idea. Charles at a race is a public Charles — a version of him that exists under a magnifying glass, scrutinized by cameras and fans and reporters. It’s a world that feels miles away from the quiet, private moments you’ve shared with him on his yacht or in his apartment.

Charles seems to sense your hesitation, because he adds quickly, “You wouldn’t have to interact with anyone if you didn’t want to. You’d have a VIP pass — my personal guest pass. It would get you into places the fans can’t go.”

You bite your lip, your mind racing. “Charles, I don’t know …”

“I get it,” he says softly, reaching across the table to take your hand. His thumb strokes the back of your hand, soothing and patient. “It’s a lot to ask, I know. And I don’t want to pressure you. But it would mean a lot to me if you came.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten. This isn’t just about a race — it’s about you being part of something important to him.

“I don’t want to put you in a position where you feel uncomfortable,” he continues. “If it’s too much, we don’t have to do it. But … I think you’d enjoy it. And you wouldn’t be alone. I’d make sure of that.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, weighing your options. The idea of being surrounded by people — fans, photographers, reporters — makes your heart race with anxiety. But then there’s Charles, sitting across from you, his green eyes soft and hopeful, asking you to be there for something that matters to him.

“Would I really have a place to hide if I needed to?” You ask, your voice hesitant.

Charles nods, squeezing your hand gently. “Absolutely. There are private areas for drivers and their guests. No fans, no cameras. And if you want, I’ll introduce you to some of the other drivers — they’re good guys. But only if you want.”

You let out a slow breath, feeling the tension in your chest loosen, if only a little. “Okay,” you say finally. “I’ll come.”

Charles’ eyes light up, and the smile that spreads across his face is so genuine it makes your heart skip a beat. “You will?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Yeah. I’ll come to Monza.”

Charles grins, and before you can say anything else, he’s out of his seat and leaning across the table to kiss you. It’s the kind of kiss that’s filled with gratitude and excitement, a kiss that says thank you without words.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and he’s still smiling, like he can’t help himself. “You’re amazing,” he whispers, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

You laugh softly, your cheeks warm. “I’m just coming to a race.”

“It’s more than that,” he says seriously, his hand cradling the side of your face. “It means more than you know.”

His words linger in the air between you, and you realize that saying yes to Monza wasn’t just about the race — it was about showing up for Charles, being there for him the way he’s been there for you.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for another kiss, and for a moment, everything feels right.

***

The air around Monza buzzes with energy, a whirlwind of cheers, Ferrari red, and Italian pride. The grandstands are a sea of waving flags and chanting fans, their roars echoing through the paddock even after the race is over. Charles has just crossed the finish line first, and the entire circuit feels like it’s vibrating from the weight of it — Ferrari’s golden boy has won at home.

You watch the celebration unfold from the safety of the private viewing suite Charles arranged for you. From here, tucked away from the chaos, you see the team erupt in joy, mechanics and engineers throwing themselves at each other in wild celebration. The commentators’ voices, crackling over the monitors in the room, narrate Charles’ victory lap with giddy enthusiasm.

“Charles Leclerc wins the Italian Grand Prix! What a race! What a moment for Ferrari!”

You smile softly, knowing how much this means to him. Even from the suite, you can see the glint of happiness in his eyes as he climbs on top of his car, throwing his arms in the air. The crowd chants his name, the fans surging against barriers, trying to get closer to their hero. Charles punches the air and lets out a joyous roar before jumping down to embrace his team.

But your smile is tinged with anxiety. You know what comes next: endless interviews, the champagne-soaked podium, media obligations, and swarms of fans. Part of you wonders if he’ll even have a moment to breathe, let alone a moment to sneak away to find you.

You sit back, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, heart fluttering with a mix of emotions — pride, nerves, and that ever-present thread of uncertainty that’s lingered since you first said yes to coming here.

The minutes crawl by, and you try to distract yourself, fiddling with your phone and glancing every few moments at the screen broadcasting the race aftermath. Charles is still out there, getting pulled in every direction. You watch him hug mechanics, shake hands with journalists, and answer rapid-fire questions while grinning through it all.

He’s in his element. Confident, radiant, unstoppable.

But all you can think about is how much you want to see him.

Just when you’ve convinced yourself to give him space, the door to the suite creaks open — quietly, almost suspiciously — and Charles slips inside, still wearing his race suit, damp and sticky from champagne. His hair is a mess, waves clinging to his forehead, and his cheeks are flushed from exertion. He smells faintly of sweat, champagne, and adrenaline, the chaotic mixture of victory.

“Charles?” You whisper, sitting up, startled. “What are you — aren’t you supposed to be-”

“Shhh,” he grins, breathless, holding a finger to his lips. “I escaped.”

He’s like a kid sneaking out of school, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Before you can say anything else, Charles strides across the room and pulls you into his arms without hesitation. You barely have time to react before his lips are on yours — urgent, warm, and full of something that feels dangerously close to gratitude and relief.

The kiss takes the breath out of you. His hands slide up your back, pressing you closer as if he needs to make sure you’re real, like victory only means something if he can share it with you.

When he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, and you can feel his rapid breathing against your skin. He’s still grinning, like the joy of the win hasn’t even begun to wear off.

“You,” he murmurs between breaths, “are officially my good luck charm.”

You laugh, breathless and dizzy from the kiss. “I think your driving might’ve had something to do with it.”

He shakes his head, eyes locked on yours, a gleam of playful determination in them. “Nope. It was you.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth spreading through your chest is undeniable. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know.” He presses a quick kiss to your temple, still grinning like he can’t help himself. “But I’m right.”

Charles takes a step back, still holding your hand as if letting go might cause you to disappear. “I didn’t want to stay out there without seeing you,” he says, softer now. “I just … I wanted you here, with me, for this.”

Your heart flutters, and you don’t know what to say, so you just squeeze his hand in response.

“I don’t care about the interviews or the photos,” he continues, brushing a stray curl from your forehead. “This is what I wanted. Just this.”

You exhale a shaky breath, overwhelmed by how easy it feels with him — how natural, like you belong here despite all the noise and chaos swirling just outside this room.

He glances down at himself and grins sheepishly. “Sorry. I’m probably disgusting.”

“You kind of are,” you tease, brushing a damp curl off his forehead. “But I’ll allow it, just this once.”

He laughs, low and soft, the sound vibrating against your skin as he leans in for another kiss. This one is slower, more deliberate — like he’s savoring the moment, like he knows it’s fleeting and wants to make every second count.

When he pulls back again, there’s a flicker of something more serious in his eyes, something that makes your chest tighten. “Thank you,” he whispers. “For being here. For coming.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and you feel a lump rise in your throat. “Of course,” you manage, your voice barely audible.

Charles takes a step back, exhaling slowly as if trying to gather himself. “Come with me to my driver’s room?” He asks, a hint of that playful glint returning to his eyes. “I need to hide for a bit longer.”

You nod, smiling. “Lead the way.”

He slips his hand into yours and pulls you gently toward the door, glancing down the hallway to make sure no one’s spotted him. The halls are buzzing with activity — team members shouting, media swarming — but Charles weaves through the chaos like it’s second nature, keeping you close behind him.

When you reach his driver’s room, he ushers you inside quickly, closing the door behind you with a soft click.

“Safe,” he whispers, grinning.

You barely have time to process before he’s kissing you again, backing you gently against the wall, his hands on either side of your face. There’s a fervor to the kiss now, a kind of desperation that only comes after holding something in for too long.

When he finally pulls away, both of you are breathless, your foreheads pressed together. “I told you,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your cheek. “Good luck charm.”

You laugh softly, still catching your breath. “You really are ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he admits, his grin widening. “But I won in Monza, so I think I’ve earned it.”

You can’t help but smile, your heart full in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. And for the first time in what feels like forever, the chaos of the world outside doesn’t seem so overwhelming — because right here, in this stolen moment, it’s just you and Charles. And that’s enough.

***

Sunlight filters softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the sheets. The familiar scent of Charles — his cologne, mixed with a hint of sweat from yesterday’s excitement — wraps around you like a cocoon. His arm is slung loosely over your waist, and his chest rises and falls in steady rhythm, his breath warm against the back of your neck. It feels safe. For once, you feel like the chaos of the world can’t reach you here.

And then your phone rings.

The sharp, jarring sound slices through the quiet morning. You groan, disoriented, fumbling blindly on the nightstand until your hand closes around your phone. Charles shifts behind you, murmuring sleepily but not waking.

You squint at the screen. Grace.

Before you can think better of it, you slide your thumb across the screen and lift the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“What the hell, Y/N!” Grace’s voice cuts through the line, sharp and unrelenting. You wince, instinctively sitting up, trying not to disturb Charles as your pulse begins to race.

“What are you-”

“Don’t even start,” Grace interrupts, her tone laced with frustration. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to be out in public? Let alone at a Grand Prix? I thought you were supposed to be laying low, taking time to recover.”

Your stomach drops. “What are you talking about?”

“The pictures, Y/N!” Grace huffs. “They’re everywhere — Twitter, Instagram, even some sports blogs. You were at Monza, weren’t you?”

You blink, heart pounding now. “What pictures?”

“The ones of you in the VIP suite, for starters. And a couple from the paddock exit too — probably some fan with a long lens. They’re blurry, but it’s definitely you.”

Your throat tightens. You and Charles had been so careful — at least, you thought you had. You didn’t talk to anyone, stayed tucked away from crowds, and only left his driver’s room when the paddock had mostly cleared out. But now it’s all unraveling.

Grace’s voice barrels on, not giving you a chance to respond. “Do you realize how this looks? You’re out at public events now, so obviously you’re feeling well enough to get back to work. Your team is already asking me when we can restart your tour dates. They think-”

“Grace-”

“-they think this whole thing was just overblown. Maybe you just needed a break, but now you’re good, right? If you’re ready to attend races, you can-”

“Grace, stop!” You blurt, your voice cracking. Your head spins as the walls start closing in. The pressure, the expectations — everything feels like it’s crashing down on you all at once.

You clutch the blanket tight around you, trying to hold yourself together, but the familiar sensation of your chest tightening makes it hard to breathe. It’s happening again — your mind racing, spiraling into the panic you thought you’d escaped.

Charles stirs beside you, sitting up now, his brows knitting in concern. “What’s wrong?” He asks, his voice rough with sleep, but the moment he sees the look on your face, he’s wide awake.

You barely register him. Your heart pounds violently in your chest, and your breath comes in shallow gasps. Grace’s voice keeps drilling into your ear, relentless, a never-ending stream of words about tours and schedules and deadlines.

You can’t answer. Can’t breathe.

Charles sees it — he sees you unraveling — and in one smooth motion, he plucks the phone from your trembling hand and presses it to his ear.

“Y/N is busy,” he says, his voice low and firm. “She’ll call you back.”

“Wait, who is-”

Charles doesn’t let her finish. He ends the call with a click and tosses your phone onto the nightstand. Then he’s back at your side, cupping your face in his hands, his touch steady and grounding.

“Hey, hey — look at me,” Charles murmurs, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

You try to nod, but the panic is clawing at your throat, making it hard to focus on anything except the tightness in your chest and the overwhelming sense of failure that threatens to swallow you whole.

“Breathe with me,” Charles whispers, his forehead resting against yours. “Come on, just like before. In, slowly … now out.”

His voice is a lifeline, pulling you out of the storm raging inside your head. You grip his wrist like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality and try to follow his lead — inhale, exhale, again and again, until the tightness in your chest begins to ease.

“That’s it,” he soothes, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “You’ve got this.”

After a few more breaths, the world starts to come back into focus. The sharp edges of panic soften, and the spinning in your head slows to a manageable hum. Charles stays close, his presence warm and steady, as if daring the panic to come back and try again.

When your breathing finally evens out, Charles shifts slightly, but he doesn’t let go of you. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asks softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You shake your head, still too raw to explain everything that just happened. But Charles doesn’t push. He just nods, his thumb brushing soothing circles on the back of your hand.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice hoarse.

“Don’t,” he says immediately, his brow furrowing. “You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

You drop your gaze, your fingers twisting nervously in the blanket. “Grace thinks I’m ready to go back to everything. She thinks because I went to the race, I should be able to start working again.”

Charles’ hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together. “And what do you think?”

You swallow hard, guilt prickling at the back of your mind. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’m ready. But what if everyone expects me to be? What if-”

“Hey,” Charles interrupts gently, tilting your chin so you have to meet his gaze. “It doesn’t matter what anyone else expects. You don’t have to do anything until you want to. Not Grace, not your team, not anyone.”

You blink, the weight of his words sinking in. “But what if-”

“No,” he says firmly, his green eyes unwavering. “Listen to me. You are allowed to take your time. You are allowed to say no. And if anyone has a problem with that, they can deal with me.”

You let out a shaky laugh, the sound somewhere between a sob and a chuckle. “You’re going to fight Grace for me?”

“If I have to,” Charles says with a grin. “But I think I’d win.”

The corners of your mouth lift, a small smile breaking through the storm of emotions. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” he says confidently. Then his expression softens, and he squeezes your hand. “You’ve been through a lot, mon cœur. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

You nod slowly, the knot in your chest loosening a little more. For the first time in what feels like forever, you start to believe that maybe, just maybe, it’s okay to put yourself first.

Charles leans closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Whatever you need, I’m here. No pressure, no expectations.”

The words settle over you like a blanket, warm and comforting. And for the first time in a long while, the crushing weight of other people’s expectations lifts — just a little.

Charles shifts, pulling you gently into his arms, and you curl into him without hesitation, resting your head against his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, a quiet reminder that you’re not alone in this.

“We’ll figure it out,” he murmurs into your hair. “One day at a time.”

And somehow, with Charles holding you like this, you believe him.

***

The familiar opening notes of Cars play softly from the TV, the colorful animation flickering across the screen in the dim light of your apartment. You’re curled up comfortably on the couch, Leo nestled between you and Charles, his small, warm body shifting every few minutes as he tries to snuggle deeper into the cushions. He paws insistently at your hand, his tail wagging whenever you stop petting him.

Charles laughs quietly beside you, clearly amused by Leo’s persistence. “I think he likes you better than me now,” he teases, running a hand through his messy hair and leaning back against the couch.

You smile, scratching behind Leo’s floppy ears. “Maybe I just have better petting skills.”

Charles grins, his arm draped casually over the back of the couch, his fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder. “Unfair advantage,” he murmurs, tilting his head toward the screen as Lightning McQueen barrels into Radiator Springs.

It’s peaceful — easy, even. For the first time in a long while, the constant buzz of anxiety in your chest has quieted. Charles is beside you, Leo’s warm little body sprawled between you both, and the world outside feels far away, like it can’t touch you here.

Then there’s a knock at the door.

Your heart skips a beat. You glance at Charles, who raises a brow but doesn’t seem concerned, probably assuming it’s nothing more than a delivery. Leo lets out an excited little yip and hops off the couch, his tail wagging as he scampers toward the door.

You pull your blanket tighter around yourself, feeling the familiar trickle of anxiety starting to creep back. “Did you order something?”

Charles shakes his head, giving you a curious look. “No. Were you expecting anyone?”

You frown. “No.”

Before you can think to stand or tell Charles to wait, the door swings open — without so much as an invitation — and Grace strides inside, her heels clicking sharply against the hardwood floor.

“Y/N, we need to talk,” Grace announces, her tone brisk and no-nonsense. She’s balancing her phone in one hand and a folder in the other, looking like she’s just come from a meeting. “I’ve been trying to call-”

Her voice trails off mid-sentence as she looks up and takes in the scene before her — Leo skittering around the room, the two half-empty wine glasses on the coffee table, and you huddled on the couch in sweatpants and a hoodie.

And then her gaze shifts to Charles.

For a split second, Grace freezes. She stares at him, her mouth opening slightly, confusion flickering across her features. Then she does a sharp double take, and her eyes widen as recognition clicks into place.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, blinking as if she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing. “You’re … you’re Charles Leclerc.”

Charles shifts slightly beside you, offering a polite but slightly awkward smile. “Uh, yes.”

Grace’s eyes flicker between the two of you, as if trying to piece together a puzzle that doesn’t make sense. “You’re … here. In Y/N’s apartment.”

“Yes,” Charles repeats calmly, his tone light but cautious, as if he’s waiting to see where this is going.

You watch the realization spread across Grace’s face, her expression shifting from disbelief to something resembling stunned amusement. “Wait — are you two … together?”

Your cheeks burn under her gaze, and before you can answer — or even figure out what to say — Charles gives a small, easy shrug. “We are,” he says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

Grace blinks, visibly thrown off her game. “Since when?”

Charles glances at you, his eyes warm. “A little while now.”

There’s a beat of silence as Grace processes this new information. Then she lets out a half-laugh, half-exhale, clearly bewildered. “I mean … obviously I knew you were in Monaco, but — Charles Leclerc?” She looks at you with a mixture of shock and something close to admiration. “I guess I can’t say I saw that coming.”

Leo prances back toward the couch, demanding attention from both of you again. Charles leans down to rub the little dachshund’s head, his expression calm and unbothered, like this is the most natural situation in the world.

Grace, however, is not one to be easily distracted. She clears her throat and crosses her arms, focusing on you now. “Okay, so let me get this straight. You’ve been staying under the radar all this time, but now you’re … dating a Formula 1 driver?”

You glance at Charles, who gives you a reassuring look, his hand resting lightly on your knee beneath the blanket. It’s subtle, but the touch steadies you.

“Yes,” you say quietly, meeting Grace’s gaze head-on.

For a moment, she just stares at you, as if trying to decide how to respond. Then she lets out a long breath, shaking her head. “This is … unexpected.”

Charles chuckles softly beside you, clearly amused. “That seems to be the general consensus.”

Grace narrows her eyes at him, though there’s no malice in it — just the cautious protectiveness of someone who cares deeply about you. “And you’re … serious about this?” She asks, her gaze flickering between you and Charles.

“I am,” Charles replies without hesitation. His voice is steady, sincere. “Very.”

The simplicity of his answer makes your heart squeeze in your chest. You glance at him, finding that familiar warmth in his expression — like you’re the only thing that matters to him in this moment.

Grace watches the exchange closely, her sharp gaze softening just a fraction. Then she sighs, pressing a hand to her temple. “Okay,” she mutters, almost to herself. “This is … a lot.”

You shift uncomfortably, the anxiety from earlier threatening to bubble back up. “Grace, I didn’t plan any of this,” you say quietly. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but … I’m happy. For the first time in a long time.”

Grace’s expression softens further at your words, and she lets out a slow breath. “That’s all I care about,” she admits, her voice quieter now. “I just want you to be okay.”

Charles gives her a small, understanding smile. “I want the same thing.”

For the first time since she walked in, Grace seems to relax, her shoulders loosening as she takes in the scene once more — the cozy apartment, the soft lighting, the half-finished movie on the TV, and the way Charles’ hand rests protectively on your knee.

“Well,” Grace says finally, rubbing the back of her neck. “This is … definitely not how I expected this conversation to go.”

Charles chuckles. “Life is full of surprises.”

Grace shoots him a wry look but doesn’t argue. Instead, she gives you a small, tired smile. “I guess if you’re happy … then that’s all that matters.”

You feel a weight lift off your shoulders at her words, the tension easing just a little. “I am,” you say softly, and for the first time in a long time, you truly mean it.

Grace nods, seemingly satisfied — for now, at least. “Okay, well … I guess I’ll leave you two to it, then.” She glances at Leo, who’s now sprawled dramatically across Charles’ lap. “And your dog.”

Charles grins, scratching behind Leo’s ears. “He’s good company.”

Grace rolls her eyes, though there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I’ll let myself out.”

She heads toward the door but pauses just before stepping out. “Y/N?” She calls softly.

You look up, meeting her gaze.

“I’m glad you’re doing better,” she says sincerely. “Really.”

You offer her a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Grace.”

With that, she gives you a nod and slips out the door, leaving you and Charles alone once more.

The room feels lighter now, the tension from earlier dissipating into the warm, easy atmosphere you’d shared before Grace arrived. Charles turns to you, his expression soft and amused.

“Well,” he murmurs, “that went better than I expected.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound light and genuine. “Yeah. Me too.”

Charles leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Told you — we’ll figure this out. One day at a time.”

And somehow, with him beside you, that feels like enough.

***

The Instagram Live notification pings on Nora’s phone as she sprawls across her bed, scrolling aimlessly.

@yourusername is going live now.

Her thumb hovers over the screen for a second. Nora hasn’t seen a post or update from you in months, and the gossip forums have been buzzing with wild theories — everything from burnout to secret rehab stints. It’s been radio silence since your tour abruptly ended, with no official word on what had happened.

But now you’re back? On Live? Nora’s heart races with excitement and curiosity as she taps the notification, the screen loading just in time for your face to appear.

The video is a little shaky at first, as if you’ve just propped your phone up on something last minute. You’re sitting cross-legged on a couch, wearing a cozy hoodie that looks two sizes too big and barely any makeup.

The person Nora sees looks different from the polished pop star she’s used to — more real. Your eyes flicker nervously between the camera and something off-screen, as if you’re not sure whether this is a good idea.

“Hi, everyone,” you start, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The live chat immediately explodes with greetings.

OMG SHE’S ALIVE

We missed you so much!

Are you okay? What happened?

You smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Uh, I’m not really sure how to do this, but I just … I wanted to talk to you guys. To explain everything.”

The chat rolls by so fast that Nora can barely keep up, but she keeps her eyes glued to the screen, her heart thumping. This isn’t the usual PR-filtered message, it feels personal.

“I know a lot of people have been wondering where I’ve been,” you say, shifting slightly on the couch. “The truth is … I had to step away from everything for a bit. Things got really overwhelming. It wasn’t just one thing — it was a lot, all at once.”

Your voice wavers slightly, and Nora finds herself leaning closer to her phone, feeling the vulnerability in your words.

“The last few months of the tour were … hard. I started having panic attacks. At first, I thought I could push through, you know? Just keep going. But I couldn’t.” You pause, taking a deep breath as if the memories are still too close. “One night, a fan ran on stage, and something in me just … broke. I couldn’t pretend I was okay anymore.”

The chat slows slightly, the flurry of emojis replaced by supportive comments.

It’s okay, take your time.

We’re proud of you for talking about this.

We love you no matter what.

Nora can feel the wave of empathy through the screen. She has always admired you for your strength, but this — seeing you raw and open — makes her respect you even more.

“I know I kind of disappeared,” you continue. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone. I just needed time to figure things out … away from the cameras, the shows, everything.” You smile sadly. “And that’s why I didn’t say anything earlier. I wanted to come back when I was ready, not when someone told me I had to.”

The chat fills with heart emojis, and Nora finds herself tapping one as well, caught in the warmth of the moment.

Just then, there’s movement in the background. Someone off-screen calls your name, the sound muffled at first. The camera wobbles slightly as you turn your head.

“Hang on a sec,” you say with a small laugh, glancing toward the doorway.

The viewers — Nora included — watch with curiosity as a figure steps into the frame. A man in gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt, his dark hair slightly tousled as if he’s just woken up from a nap.

Nora’s eyes widen. Wait. No way.

It takes a second for the recognition to sink in, but when it does, the chat explodes.

WAIT IS THAT CHARLES LECLERC?

OMG WTF IT IS HIM

Y/N AND CHARLES?! HOW?!

Charles strolls into the room casually, clearly unaware that you’re on Instagram Live. Leo scampering at his feet, barking happily.

“Do you want pasta or pizza for dinner?” Charles asks, his voice soft with that unmistakable Monaco accent.

You let out a soft, embarrassed laugh. “I’m … I’m on Live right now,” you whisper, as if trying to warn him.

Charles blinks, his gaze shifting to the phone propped up in front of you. His eyes widen slightly, but then he gives a sheepish grin, as if to say, well, the damage is done now.

“Oh,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hi, everyone.”

The chat is in chaos.

CONFIRMED. THEY’RE TOGETHER.

I CAN’T BREATHE WTF

LEO FOR PRESIDENT!

Nora can’t believe what she’s seeing. Charles Leclerc — Ferrari’s golden boy, Monaco’s favorite son — standing casually in your apartment, talking about dinner like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You give him a look that’s equal parts amused and mortified. “You just outed us to the entire internet.”

Charles chuckles, completely unfazed. “Oops.”

Leo, as if sensing the excitement, jumps onto the couch beside you and wiggles his way onto your lap. You scratch behind his ears, looking between the dog, Charles, and the phone as if wondering how this all escalated so quickly.

“Well,” you say with a helpless shrug, “I guess … surprise?”

The chat is relentless now, a mix of fans freaking out, congratulating you both, and demanding answers.

HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN A THING?

THEY’RE SO CUTE TOGETHER I CAN’T 😭

DO YOU NEED A THIRD?

Charles leans over the back of the couch, peeking at the comments on the screen. “They seem happy,” he observes, his lips twitching with amusement.

“Yeah, well, they’re also never going to let us live this down,” you mutter, but there’s no real annoyance in your voice — only fondness.

Charles smiles, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Could be worse.”

Nora can’t help but grin at the interaction. It’s rare to see celebrities in such an unguarded, domestic moment, and the fact that it’s you and Charles Leclerc makes it even more surreal.

“Well,” you say, addressing the camera again, “I guess now you know. This is Charles. Charles, meet … everyone.” You gesture vaguely at the phone, and Charles gives a small, amused wave.

“Ciao,” he says with a playful grin.

The chat is relentless with heart-eye emojis, fire emojis, and messages about how happy everyone is to see you smiling again.

“Okay,” you say, glancing between Charles and the phone, “I think that’s enough excitement for today. Thanks for listening, and … thanks for being patient with me.” Your expression softens. “It means more than you know.”

Charles leans in again. “So … pasta or pizza?” He asks quietly, his voice just for you.

You laugh, the sound light and free, as if the weight on your chest has finally lifted. “Pasta. Definitely pasta.”

With one last smile to the camera, you reach for your phone. “Okay, we’re going to make some dinner. Love you guys. Talk soon.”

And just like that, the screen goes black, leaving Nora — and the rest of the internet — in stunned, delighted disbelief.

***

The energy at the Australian Grand Prix is electric, a swirling mass of noise, speed, and anticipation. The grandstands vibrate with thousands of cheering fans, the scent of burnt rubber and adrenaline thick in the air. It’s the first race of the season, and the world’s eyes are locked onto Melbourne’s Albert Park Circuit. But right now, all you can focus on is Charles.

You stand behind the barrier with the Ferrari team, the red-clad crew surrounding you as they watch the final lap on a sea of screens. Your heart thunders in your chest, each corner of the circuit feeling like a heartbeat skipped. It’s not just nerves — it’s pride, excitement, and a flicker of disbelief. Charles is about to win. The lead he built throughout the race holds steady as he tears through the last straight, the commentators’ voices booming through the loudspeakers, growing more frenzied.

“Charles Leclerc comes through the final corner … and wins the Australian Grand Prix!”

The Ferrari pit wall explodes into wild cheers. Engineers and crew members throw their arms in the air, shouting and hugging each other. Flags whip through the air, and the roar from the grandstands becomes deafening. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your hands clutched together, knuckles white with tension.

“He did it!” Someone from the team shouts beside you, their voice almost drowned out by the collective noise.

You can’t help but laugh, a giddy, breathless sound that surprises even you. There’s something surreal about witnessing it all — seeing Charles cross the finish line and knowing how much this win means to him. It’s the perfect start to his season, and part of you is so proud that you feel like you might burst.

Charles brings his Ferrari to a screeching stop in parc fermé, right beside the boards marked P1. Without missing a beat, he jumps out of the car, tearing off his helmet as the crowd erupts again. His face is flushed with triumph, damp with sweat, and his grin stretches wide, full of unbridled joy. He climbs onto the nose of the car, throwing his arms in the air to soak in the cheers and applause.

You feel your chest swell, warmth blooming from within at the sight of him — your Charles, victorious, on top of the world.

Then it happens.

He jumps down from the car, his eyes searching the crowd. He’s supposed to go be weighed in. The cameras are supposed to be on him for the formal celebrations. But Charles doesn’t care about any of that. As soon as his gaze locks onto you, standing among the throng of Ferrari team members, everything else fades for him.

He takes off running.

“Wait-” someone from the team starts to say, confused by Charles’ sudden sprint.

You freeze as he barrels toward the barrier, helmet still in one hand, the other hand brushing through his tousled hair. Your heart slams against your ribs as you realize what he’s about to do.

“Charles-” you start, but it’s too late.

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t hesitate. In front of everyone — Ferrari, journalists, FIA officials — Charles sprints towards the barrier in a few smooth steps, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat. And before you can even react, he’s cupping your face with both hands and kissing you.

The world falls away.

The crowd’s noise becomes a distant hum as Charles’ lips press against yours, firm and desperate, like he’s been waiting all race to get to you. His hands hold your face as if he never wants to let go, his thumbs brushing along your cheekbones. The kiss is everything — celebratory, intense, and filled with a raw kind of joy that makes your knees weak.

For a moment, you forget where you are. All you know is Charles — his familiar scent, the roughness of his jaw, and the way his lips move against yours, like he’s trying to pour every bit of emotion into this one moment. You kiss him back just as fiercely, your hands gripping the front of his race suit, pulling him closer.

When you finally pull back, breathless, Charles’ forehead rests against yours. His grin is impossibly bright, and the look in his eyes makes your heart flip.

“Hi,” he whispers, his voice low and full of laughter, like he can’t believe he’s standing here with you after all of it.

You laugh, trying to catch your breath. “Hi.”

Around you, the team starts cheering again, even louder this time. Someone whistles, and another engineer yells, “That’s our boy!” as if Charles’ kiss is part of the victory itself.

It’s then that you realize what just happened. You glance over Charles’ shoulder and catch sight of the cameras — the journalists on the other side of the barrier, the fans in the grandstands with their phones raised. The internet is about to explode.

“Charles,” you murmur, half-laughing, half-panicking, “everyone saw that.”

“I know,” he says, his grin widening. He doesn’t look the least bit sorry. “Let them.”

You shake your head, but a laugh escapes you anyway. There’s no point in worrying about it now. The moment has already happened, and — surprisingly — you don’t regret it.

Charles pulls you into another hug, squeezing you tight against him. His suit is thoroughly damp with sweat, but you don’t care. All you care about is the way he holds you, the way he whispers, “Thank you for being here,” against your hair.

“You didn’t make it easy to say no,” you tease, your words muffled against his chest.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You know me. I never play fair.”

You pull back slightly, just enough to look up at him. His green eyes are warm and shining with happiness, and for a second, everything feels perfect. The noise, the cameras, the crowd — it all fades into the background, leaving just the two of you standing together in the aftermath of his victory.

Someone from Ferrari taps Charles on the shoulder, reminding him that he still has obligations to do. He groans, clearly reluctant to leave your side, but you give him a gentle nudge.

“Go,” you whisper. “I’ll be right here.”

He kisses you one more time, quick and soft, before finally turning toward the waiting media. As he jogs back down the pit lane, the crowd cheers even louder, the energy electric with both victory and the revelation of your relationship.

You stand behind the barrier, watching as Charles throws his arms around his team and gets swept into the celebrations. A part of you knows that the media frenzy is only just beginning — that by the time you check your phone, social media will be ablaze with photos and speculation.

But for now, none of that matters. All that matters is the way Charles looked at you, like you were the most important person in the world.

And as the Monegasque anthem plays over the speakers and champagne sprays into the air, you smile, knowing that this — this moment — is exactly where you’re meant to be.

***

The stadium hums with anticipation, a low buzz of excitement rippling through the crowd as thousands of fans fill every seat. The lights are dimmed, leaving only the faint glow of phones peppering the darkness. It’s been well over two years since you last stood on a stage, and tonight marks the beginning of your long-awaited comeback tour.

Your heart thrums in your chest — not from nerves, but from exhilaration. This is the moment you’ve dreamed of, the one you thought might never come.

Backstage, you take a deep breath. The setlist is memorized, the band is ready, and the stage awaits. But there’s one song you’ve kept secret until tonight. One that means more to you than anything you’ve ever written. And Charles — your Charles — is somewhere in the audience, waiting to hear it for the first time.

The stage manager gives you a nod, signaling it’s time. The lights drop completely, plunging the arena into black, and the crowd erupts into cheers. You walk onto the stage, the soles of your boots vibrating against the platform as the energy of thousands of voices surrounds you. You step into the spotlight as the first few notes hum through the speakers.

The crowd’s roar crescendos as they finally see you, and you offer them a soft smile. Then you lean toward the microphone, your voice amplified but intimate, as if speaking to an old friend.

“New York,” you begin, grinning as the crowd cheers even louder at the mention of the city’s name. “Thank you for being here with me tonight. I’ve waited a long time for this moment, and I can’t tell you how much it means to me to be back on this stage.”

The crowd roars, chanting your name, the sound enveloping you like a warm embrace. You pause for a beat, your hand resting lightly on the mic stand. “For those of you who’ve been with me from the beginning … you know it hasn’t been an easy road. But here we are, and I feel more alive than I ever have.”

A wave of cheers crashes over you again, and you feel your heart swell in gratitude.

“Tonight,” you continue, a mischievous glint in your eye, “I want to do something a little special. I’ve got a song — one you’ve never heard before. I wrote it for someone very important to me.” You pause, your gaze sweeping over the crowd, imagining Charles out there somewhere, hidden among the sea of faces. “This one’s called The Alchemy.”

The arena erupts into applause and whistles, the fans feeding off your excitement. The band strikes up the first few chords, a shimmering pulse of sound that builds slowly. You close your eyes for a moment, feeling the rhythm settle in your chest. And then you start to sing.

“This happens once every few lifetimes. These chemicals hit me like white wine …”

Your voice is clear and powerful, carrying through the stadium with ease. The crowd sways along, captivated by the song even though they’ve never heard it before. The verses flow effortlessly, the words spilling from your heart as if they were written only yesterday.

“What if I told you I'm back? The hospital was a drag. Worst sleep that I ever had …”

The memory of those dark months flashes briefly in your mind, but you push it away. That’s not where you live anymore. This song isn’t about what you lost — it’s about what you found.

As the music builds, your thoughts drift toward Charles, and a grin tugs at the corners of your mouth as you reach the next verse.

“So when I touch down, call the amateurs and cut ‘em from the team. Ditch the clowns, get the crown. Baby I’m the one to beat …”

The crowd catches onto the energy, cheering as if they know exactly who you’re singing about. And then, at last, you reach the line that you’ve been holding close to your heart since the day you wrote it — the line meant just for Charles.

“Where's the trophy? He just comes runnin’ over to me …”

The audience erupts, but you barely hear them. You can only picture Charles, the memory of him bounding over the barriers in Melbourne, high off a win and still drenched in sweat, just to kiss you in front of everyone. That moment plays like a movie in your mind, the emotion of it surging through your voice as you sing.

The song carries on, the lyrics unfolding like pages in a story — your story. The fans are swaying, waving their arms in time with the music, some already singing along despite hearing the song for the first time. You feel weightless, completely immersed in the moment, knowing that Charles is somewhere out there, listening.

As you belt out the final chorus, the band swells around you, lifting the song to its peak.

“Cause the sign on your heart said it’s still reserved for me …”

Your voice soars over the crowd, and when you sing the final line, your heart feels like it might burst.

“Honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?”

The song ends, the last note lingering in the air before the crowd explodes into applause. The stadium feels alive, vibrating with energy, and for a moment, you just stand there, basking in it. This is what you missed — the connection, the joy, the sense of belonging.

You step back from the mic, catching your breath, and glance toward the side of the stage. There, just out of sight from the audience, you spot Charles. His arms are crossed over his chest, a proud grin stretching across his face, and his eyes gleam with something that looks a lot like love.

You give him a small, almost shy smile, and he mouths the words, “I love you.” Your heart swells, and for a second, everything else fades — the lights, the noise, the crowd. It’s just you and Charles, exactly where you’re meant to be.

Turning back to the audience, you grin and raise a hand in the air. “Thank you, New York!” You shout into the mic, and the crowd roars in response.

You can feel it in your bones — this is just the beginning. The tour, the music, the life you’ve rebuilt. And Charles will be with you every step of the way.

As the next song begins and the crowd’s cheers grow louder, you glance toward the wings again. Charles is still standing there, watching you with that same proud, loving smile.

And you know, without a doubt, that the alchemy between you two is something no one could ever fight.

[yumerinns]

what should i watch out for? ⋆˚࿔ gn reader

sae itoshi doesn't do those cringey, nonsensical couple things. he thinks it's stupid and a huge waste of time.

he also keeps your relationship a secret, because if his crazy fans found out he was dating someone, you could get hurt, and no way in hell was he going to let that happen. nobody was going to get their filthy hands on you at any costs. there were so many things that could happen to you, especially in the world he lived in.

but when he's caught one day with the corner of his lips slightly upturned, looking at his phone, his fingers basically flying over the screen by his teammate, he realizes maybe he can't really keep your relationship a secret — at least not when his heart is telling him not to.

so after a fair bit of contemplation, he surprises you on a random morning with a promise ring. it's silver, with a round translucent stone as the highlight and you prayed it wasn't a diamond (it 100% was a diamond). it slips onto your index with ease, and you already know your yearly salary can't pay for even a quarter of the price. he has the same design, and it's looped over his necklace, dangling on his collarbone.

sae seems to notice you staring at the ring on your index.

"i'm saving your ring finger for when i propose."

he says it so casually it makes your cheeks burn with an obnoxious red.

you're at home, sae's match playing on the television as you're curled up on the couch with a bunch of blankets wrapped around you. you had gotten sick and unable to go to the stadium sae was playing in, much to your dismay. of course, he wanted to stay home to make sure you got better but he couldn't miss his match.

the crowd cheers with adrenaline as his team wins, 3-1. roars fill the stadium, people buzzing excitedly about the amazing win. the commentators talk, covering the natural noise of the stadium, but it didn't matter at all.

the camera changes the angle to focus on sae, the commentators now talking about his excellent plays in the game. even when he's covered in sweat, he still looks so fine, with stray strands of his magenta hair sticking to his forehead.

almost as if he knows the world's attention is on him, his hand reaches to hold the necklace, your promise ring in his slender fingers, holding it so carefully like too much pressure will crush it.

the next thing he does? he presses a brief kiss on it, gazing straight at the camera, with that expression in his eyes that tells you he knows what he's doing.

cameras are instantly flashing, his teammates are just as stunned as the crowd.

and you?

absolutely horrified.

[satellite-evans]

his person

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: you are lando’s person <3

Word count: 2.3k+

Warnings: fluff

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

If you asked anyone — anyone who’d known Lando even half as well as the world thought it did — who his best friend was, the answer came easy, automatic, like muscle memory.

Max Fewtrell.

It was almost too obvious. They’d been inseparable since their karting days — the kind of friendship that was stitched together with inside jokes, shared playlists, matching scars from dumb teenage stunts, and years of standing side by side through wins and wipeouts. They were co-founders of Quadrant, partners in crime both on and off the track, the human embodiment of controlled chaos whenever a Twitch stream went live or an Instagram story popped up. If you ever bet on who knew Lando best — who could read him like a page out of his own life — your money was safe on Max.

But if you asked Lando — really asked him — his answer wouldn’t even take a breath.

“It’s her,” he’d say, soft but steady. Certain.

“It’s always her.”

You.

The girl who had known him before the podiums, before the fame, before the world chanted his name like a stadium-wide heartbeat. The one who saw through the swagger and the quick wit, the one who called him out when his ego got a little too comfortable, and who held him up when the weight of expectation became too much for one pair of shoulders to carry alone. His girlfriend, yes. But more than that. His person. His safe place. His best friend in every sense of the word.

And God, Lando could never seem to shut up about you.

It was an unspoken rule among his circle — one that started as eye-rolls and playful jabs but eventually softened into quiet acceptance. Your name had a habit of slipping into conversations without warning, as if his mind couldn't help but orbit around you even when you weren’t there. His engineers learned to expect it, Max would mock him with exaggerated groans, but none of it ever stopped him.

“Mate, we asked about tire strategy, not your girlfriend,” his race engineer would tease over the radio mid-practice, when his focus momentarily drifted.

And Lando, without missing a beat, would just laugh — the kind of laugh that sounded like pure ease, like home.

“Same thing, really,” he’d reply, grinning under the helmet. “She keeps me grounded. Technically part of the setup.”

On race weekends, it didn’t matter how chaotic the paddock got, how many fans called his name, or how tightly his schedule was packed. His eyes would always search the crowd — cutting through the noise, the flashing cameras, the blur of faces — until they landed on you. Like some unspoken radar tuned to a single frequency.

“There you are,” he’d mumble every single time, pulling you into his arms, cameras be damned. “Took me forever to find you.”

“You walked straight toward me, Lando,” you’d laugh against his chest, your voice the one sound that always, always managed to quiet his racing thoughts.

“Still felt too long,” he’d whisper, pressing his lips to your hair like that simple touch could steady the adrenaline still roaring through his veins.

You weren’t just the girl he loved. You were his favorite adventure. His co-op player. His partner in every messy, beautiful, unfiltered part of his life. Nights were spent tangled together on the couch, feet tucked under each other, controllers in hand, or phones abandoned on the table as you scrolled through old memes, trading soft jokes and lazy kisses. But the best part was always the silence. The ease of it. The kind of quiet that didn’t need filling, because being with you — just being — felt like the world had finally clicked into place.

And when the world outside got too loud — when the weight of expectation grew heavier than a leaden race suit, and headlines tried to script his story before he even had a chance to live it — it was always you he turned to.

“Do you think I’m doing enough?” he asked one night, voice quieter than the hum of the television, exhaustion settling deep into his bones after another long, hard-fought weekend. His head rested on your lap, and your fingers moved through his curls with slow, absent strokes — the kind that said I’m here, without needing the words.

“You’ve always been enough,” you answered, not even hesitating. “Wins don’t make you, Lando. You do.”

And something in his chest softened — like your words had reached places even his own self-belief couldn’t always touch. He looked up at you then, eyes warm, like he was trying to memorize the exact way you said it, the exact way it felt to be loved by you.

“See, this is why you’re my best friend.”

You smirked, playful but sincere. “Oh, I thought it was because I make better toast than Max.”

“That too,” he grinned, and it was the kind of grin that reached his eyes — the real one, the one that didn’t need cameras or podiums. “But mostly because you’re the only person who makes this whole crazy life make sense.”

And you always would.

Because even on the days when the world felt like it was spinning too fast, when the pressure of living under a microscope crept too close, you were there. Not with solutions or speeches — just you. Existing. Holding space for him the way only you could.

You brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, your fingers slow and familiar. “You know,” you murmured, “I don’t think anyone will ever understand you the way I do.”

“I don’t want anyone else to,” Lando replied, quiet but sure. “They’d get it all wrong.”

There was a pause, but the comfortable kind — the kind that wrapped around you both like a blanket, no need for more words. His hand found yours, thumb absentmindedly tracing circles against your skin, the rhythm steady, grounding.

“You’re stuck with me, you know,” you teased, squeezing his fingers gently. “For life.”

His lips quirked, soft and lopsided. “Good,” he whispered. “That’s exactly the plan.”

Race weekends always had a way of making that feeling even stronger — like the noise and the speed and the stakes only sharpened the way Lando looked at you, like the world could be spinning at 300 kilometers an hour and still, his attention would only ever settle on you.

You stood by the garage, tucked slightly out of the way, half-hidden behind a stack of equipment cases as the paddock moved around you in its usual, barely controlled frenzy. Journalists darted between interviews, chasing headlines with mics stretched out like fishing rods. Cameras tracked every flicker of expression on every driver’s face, lenses hungry for a story in a single glance. Engineers, crew members, mechanics — they weaved through the maze of people like clockwork, hands full of telemetry sheets and radios, their minds a million miles away, deep in calculations and split-second decisions.

And then, there was Lando.

The second his eyes found you through the blur of it all — the sponsors, the fans, the pre-race nerves knotted beneath his skin — everything else seemed to fall away. His entire posture shifted, tension melting from his shoulders as that unmistakable, boyish grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. The smile that wasn’t for the cameras, or the sponsors, or the sea of people waiting for autographs — the one that was just for you.

Like clockwork, he jogged toward you, cutting through the paddock like gravity had decided to rewrite the rules, yanking him toward the only place he ever really wanted to be.

“There’s my good luck charm,” he greeted, voice bright but edged with exhaustion and adrenaline — the kind that no amount of coffee or sleep could fully shake before a race. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, the contact lingering longer than it probably should have given the dozens of eyes watching, but Lando had never cared much about timing when it came to you.

“You should probably be focusing on the race,” you teased, fingers finding the zipper of his suit, giving it the lightest of tugs, grounding him even as the rest of the world tried to pull him in a hundred different directions.

“I am,” he replied, tilting his head slightly, those warm eyes locking onto yours like they always did. “You’re the best part of it.”

And the way he said it — soft, steady, without even a hint of his usual playful sarcasm — left no room for superstition or charm. Just the truth, plain and simple.

You reached up, brushing your fingers along the edge of his balaclava, adjusting it slightly before your thumb traced the sharp line of his jaw, a familiar and quiet ritual between the two of you — like you were handing him the last piece of calm before the chaos.

“Go win,” you murmured, your voice low but sure. “I’ll be right here.”

“You better be,” he said, stepping backward, reluctant but smiling, his eyes still drinking you in like he could store the moment away for later. His race engineer’s voice crackled over the comms, pulling him back to reality, but even as he turned to go, he glanced back — once, twice — like the distance between you was the only thing that ever felt wrong.

And when he finally climbed into the car, helmet on, gloves tightened, visor down — the world might have narrowed to tire temperatures and corner speeds, but you were still there. A fixed point. The face he’d always find, whether he crossed the finish line first or not.

Later that night, long after the champagne had dried on his race suit and the headlines had already written their version of the day, you and Lando found yourselves right where you always seemed to end up — curled up on the hotel balcony, wrapped up in a blanket you’d stolen from the foot of the bed, legs tangled together like the world didn’t exist beyond that little pocket of quiet.

The city stretched out below you, lights blinking lazily in the distance, but neither of you paid them much attention. His hand rested on your knee, your feet propped comfortably in his lap, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns along your ankle — like his body hadn’t quite figured out how to sit still, even if his mind finally had.

For a while, you both just sat there, letting the silence settle. It wasn’t awkward or heavy — just easy. The kind of quiet that only ever existed between two people who didn’t need words to fill the gaps.

But of course, Lando couldn’t resist breaking it.

“You know,” he said eventually, voice light but thoughtful, “it’s kinda ridiculous, isn’t it?”

You turned your head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “What is?”

He let out a soft, amused huff, like the thought had been bouncing around his head for hours. “I spend all day surrounded by thousands of people — cameras, fans, the whole circus — but the second I step out of the car, the only face I ever want to find is yours. Like some lovesick golden retriever.”

You snorted, nudging him with your elbow. “You? A golden retriever? Please. More like a raccoon hyped up on energy drinks.”

He laughed, head tipping back slightly, the sound warm and genuine. “Fair, but still. You’re basically my human GPS at this point. Doesn’t matter how big the crowd is, somehow I always spot you first.”

You tilted your head, playful but sincere. “Maybe I’ve just trained you well.”

“Oh, definitely. Pavlov would be proud.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Guess that makes two of us, though. I could be anywhere — grandstands, the grid, the middle of a fan mob — and my brain’s only ever tuned into you.”

He grinned at that, the kind of grin that was all soft cheeks and crinkled eyes, and for a second the teasing dropped away, leaving only something honest and quiet between you.

“God, look at us,” he said, nudging your shoulder with his. “Disgustingly sappy.”

“Max would be physically ill if he heard this conversation.”

“Max would disown me,” Lando agreed, lips quirking. “But he already knows I’m screwed when it comes to you. No point in pretending.”

You stretched your legs out, nudging his thigh with your foot. “You’ve been screwed since the moment I stole your fries that one time, haven’t you?”

He chuckled, shaking his head like the memory was still fresh. “That was the moment. I knew I was done for. Anyone who can steal the last fry and not feel guilty? Dangerous.”

You grinned, leaning your head back against his shoulder, your voice soft but full of playful affection. “And you let me do it anyway.”

“Let you?” he scoffed. “I offered. You just didn’t hear me over the sound of your victory.”

You both sat there for a second, wrapped up in that perfect kind of comfort that came from knowing — truly knowing — you belonged exactly where you were.

Then, without looking away from the view, you murmured, “You’re my person, you know.”

He glanced down at you, his hand finding yours under the blanket, fingers lacing through yours with a quiet certainty. “You’re mine too. Always have been.”

You turned your head, catching the soft, lopsided smile on his face — the one that always gave him away no matter how hard he tried to act cool. “I hope you know I’m keeping that in writing. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Good,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple, his voice lower, softer now. “Because I wouldn’t know how to be me without you.”

You leaned into him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your ear, and let the moment stretch. No flashbulbs. No roaring engines. Just the two of you.

And it hit you all over again, the same simple truth that always seemed to sit quietly at the center of everything: You weren’t just his girlfriend. And he wasn’t just your boyfriend.

You were each other’s person. The constant in the chaos. The soft place to land. And the best part of every single day.

Always.

[girlgenius1111]

hard knocks

alexia putellas x reader r gets a concussion, and her girlfriend, alexia, wants to help take care of her. r is incredibly resistant to allowing alexia to help, but she really doesn't have a choice. head injury, blood, etc. soft ale hurt comfort :)

—

You knew it probably wasn’t going to end well for you before you even made the move. The adrenaline was pumping through your veins, and all you could think about was making sure the ball didn’t hit the back of the net. The corner had been taken, and you saw the player you were marking move. She moved with intention, and you just knew the ball was heading towards her. 

So, you did what you had to do, what any defender in your position would have done, and jumped just as the other player did. From there, things got somewhat… blurry. 

You knew your head hit the ball, sending it away from the goal. You knew your body collided with your opponent’s before you were falling towards the ground. And then a sharp stinging pain as your face collided with something hard just before your head slammed into the grass underneath you. 

It wasn’t immediately clear to you what was wrong, just that your head hurt. But when you brought your hands to cradle your face, you could feel the blood. It was all you could do to raise one red stained hand into the air and motion frantically for help. 

The next second, there were hands on your back, voices shouting around you. You didn’t know who was talking, didn't know who was touching you, trying to roll you onto your back. 

It was dark, which was odd, because you remember the stadium lights being bright. Your eyes were closed, you realized, your face pressed into the grass under you. 

Everything began to come back into focus, as if the thoughts that had been smashed out of your head were suddenly allowed back in. 

You recognized Cata’s voice in your ear, her gloved hands on your back. 

“Don’t move, chica, just stay right there,” Cata was saying. She wasn’t trying to roll you over, you realized; she was trying to keep you as still as possible. 

Right. A head wound, you weren’t supposed to move until the medics got there. Forcing your eyes open, you got just a glimpse of the medics in a dead sprint towards you before your eyes slammed shut again, overwhelmed by the light. You groaned, hearing the medics arrive at your side and begin to ask you too many questions as they stabilized your neck and applied pressure to your face. 

Did your neck hurt? Not specifically. 

Did your back hurt? No. 

Could you move your hands? Your toes? Yes and yes. 

Question after question, answer after answer, it felt like an eternity before they cleared you to be rolled onto your back. They made you open your eyes again, and you weren’t even aware of the tears beginning to streak down your face. The neck brace they brought next was entirely precautionary, they assured you. 

“Okay, they’re driving the ambulance on right now. We’ll get you to the hospital soon.” Adriana said, the blonde physio that was currently crouched at your side, closest to your head. You hummed your understanding, allowing your eyes to flutter shut again. 

“Can you open your eyes?” Adriana asked, urgency dripping from her tone. 

You let out a choked sob, one you had no idea was even trying to get out, and cracked one eye just barely open. “Too bright. Hurts.” You managed. 

“Okay, okay. You’ll be off in a second and it’ll be darker.” Alvaro, the physio on your other side, assured you. “We just can’t have you falling asleep. Keep them open for me, just a few more seconds.” 

You forced them back open, just enough to take in the grimly focused faces of those around you. Not just the physios, but the medics they had on standby at the field. At least 6 faces surrounded you, none the one face you were looking for. In fact, you were looking before you even knew you were looking, but some rational part of you must have remained intact in your brain, because you didn’t ask for her. 

Alexia was your girlfriend, yes. But only of a few months. It would have been downright absurd to ask for her to come to you. In the middle of the pitch, surrounded by so many curious eyes. Even if there hadn’t been, Alexia was under no obligation to care for you. 

Even if you wanted her next to you right now, holding your hand as the ambulance began to drive away. leaving her and your teammates behind. They were all beyond horrified.

Cata was getting new gloves on because her first pair had your blood on them. Vicky looked a concerning shade of green. Irene was trying to force the team to focus again, repeating encouragements and patting them on the back as they walked back onto the pitch, even as her own hands shook. 

Alexia, though, was stood rooted to the spot she’d been since Patri had pulled her over to the sidelines, just a minute after you’d gone down. Her eyes were now fixed on where you’d been, terror clear on her face. 

“Ale.” Irene said. Hands gripped her forearms, and Alexia’s eyes snapped up, jolted from the fog of worry clouding her every thought. “She’s alright, she’s conscious. She’s going to be fine, but we need you to focus. Can you do that?”

Irene’s words were spoken gently, even as almost everyone else was back on the pitch. Ingrid was jogging on, coming on in your place. The clock was ticking, the match needed to resume. There were probably less than 10 minutes left even with stoppage time, and the team still had a job to do. Irene was confident, of course, that Alexia would snap out of it. Refocus in, transform into the leader the team needed rather than the worried sick girlfriend she was. 

But it seemed Irene underestimated just how deeply Alexia cared for you. Even Alexia herself had, until you’d been laying on the pitch with a head injury and Alexia was forced to reckon with the overwhelming emotions and feelings trying to choke her. 

“I can’t. I can’t, Irene.” Alexia murmured. There was no untangling all her emotions in that moment. She only knew what she had to do, and that was to get the hell off the pitch and to her car. 

Irene tried to mask the look of shock that washed over her, as if Alexia would even have noticed it in the state she was in. She was surprised, but she also knew that if Alexia was saying she couldn’t go on, she couldn’t go on. With a gentle squeeze of Alexia’s hands, Irene turned to Pere, only to find that Aitana was already standing next to the fourth official, waiting to come on. Pere looked somewhat dumbfounded, not having expected to have to make the change, but Aitana looked sure of herself. Rafel was stood behind her  and Irene knew instantly who was behind this change. Not their head coach, that was for sure. 

When Irene turned back, Alexia was gone. The only trace of her was a mostly brunette ponytail swinging as she sprinted down the tunnel. 

Irene jogged back onto the pitch next to Aitana, both of them focused. There was still a job to be done, and they were both going to make sure the team executed. 

As for Alexia, she was already out of the locker room, barefoot with her white Nikes in her hand, and her bag in the other. Keys, wallet, phone, shoes. That was all she needed. 

That, and to get to you.

—

Alexia had always been such a force, from the moment you’d met her. But confident captain Alexia didn’t arrive at your hospital room. Ale did, hands trembling, brow furrowed adorably with concern. Of course, you didn’t know which version had arrived, only that the door had swung open and you hoped it was a nurse with more painkillers because this hurt. 

“Amor?” Alexia murmured, stuck in the doorway as she took in the scene in front of her. A bright light was shining down on your face, a doctor in dark scrubs working to close the gash on your cheek. 

“You can’t be in here.” A man said, stepping in front of Alexia just as she tried to move to your side. 

“No, no, she is my– I need to see her. She is my girlfriend.” Alexia rushed out, her panic voice only now reaching your ears. She was a mess, face tear streaked from all the crying she’d done in the car. Her ponytail was tangled because it had been raining earlier, and she was still in her kit. It was a miracle her shoes were on the right feet, and she was sure she looked like she’d escaped an involuntary hold or something.

You’d been almost entirely focused on not moving, not flinching or wincing as the plastic surgeon carefully stitched your skin back together. He paused, though, seeing your eyes fly open at the sound of your girlfriend’s voice. 

“Ale?” You murmured, heart clenching in your chest at the thought she was here, here for you. 

“I understand that, but–”

“It’s alright, she can sit on the other side.” The surgeon interrupted. Alexia didn’t want another second, side stepping the nurse to carefully make her way to you. He was well aware that this was a painful process, one even more painful with the very few things he’d been allowed to give you, considering they were still waiting for the results of your head scan. You’d looked scared from the minute he explained that he was going to stitch up the wound on your face, your body so tense he was surprised it wasn’t shaking. 

As he’d hoped, you released a deep breath as Alexia’s hands grabbed yours, your body finally relaxing. Sometimes, the rules needed to be bent for the good of the patient. This was exactly one such case. 

“Oh, amor.” Alexia whispered. You barely registered her words, focused entirely on not crying as her warm hazel eyes bored into yours. When you were by yourself, you could hold it together. Now she was here, and you knew you had to hold it together so she wouldn’t see you fall apart. But her hand was so soft in yours, her thumb gently running back and forth over your skin. 

You hated being hurt. Hated being vulnerable. But being either of those things around Alexia was terrifying. She hadn’t seen you at anything but your best yet, and you hadn’t realized how much fear you carried at the thought of her being disgusted by your weakness. 

So, you grit your teeth, squeezed your eyes shut, and tried to power through. You missed the frown on the surgeon’s face as you tensed back up, missed the furrow of Alexia’s brow as she practically saw your walls come up. You let her keep holding your hand, trying to convince yourself you weren’t lying in the hospital. No, you and Alexia were walking, hand in hand, to the cafe down the street from your apartment. 

The delusion didn’t last very long, if at all, before the surgeon was cutting the excess thread and expecting his handiwork. 

“All done. It was a jagged laceration, but it should heal pretty cleanly. The scar shouldn’t be too noticeable.” 

You nodded your head blankly, ignoring the pulsing pain as you did so, not even thinking to ask any other questions about your injuries. Alexia, on the other hand, appeared to have come with a list. She asked about the concussion severity, when you’d be free to go, wound care. Half of them were questions you were sure she knew the answer to already, and the other half were questions you weren’t quite sure how she’d come up with. You began to tune them all out, allowing yourself to take some deep breaths for what felt like the first time since you’d gone down on the pitch. 

Soon, the doctors and nurses filed out of the room, and you were left with Alexia, who was typing frantically into her phone. Either updating the team or taking notes on what the doctor had to say, you guessed. You cleared your throat, reaching for her hand again. There was dried blood under your nails, you noticed, but before you could retract your hand, Alexia was grabbing it in hers. Alexia’s phone fell into her lap as she abandoned her typing, eyes finding yours almost instantly. She was gazing at you so softly it made your cheeks flush. 

“Thank you for coming. You didn’t have to.” 

“Do not be ridiculous, of course I came.” She murmured, gently brushing a piece of hair off your forehead. “You scared me.” 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” You whispered back, eyes fluttering shut as she leaned down and pressed a kiss to the uninjured side of your face. 

“Do not be sorry, either. I am just glad you are okay.” 

You blinked a few times, reminding yourself there were to be no tears. “How did you get here so fast? You weren’t supposed to be substituted.”

If you’d been more coherent, less distracted by the pounding in your head and the aching sting of your cheek, you would have noticed Alexia’s face get slightly red. 

“I… I asked to come out. I would not have been able to focus. I needed to get to you.” She replied, her eyes still flitting over your face as if to assure herself that you were here, you were okay. 

The pain in your head was suddenly overshadowed by a wave of something you couldn’t describe washing over you at her words. 

You couldn’t put a name to the feeling. All you could think was oh, you didn’t deserve her. Yet here she was. 

A tear escaped, sliding down the side of your face and onto the pillow resting under your head. Alexia moved even closer, her face just a few inches from yours now, absolutely filled with worry and sadness. She cupped your cheek in one hand, resting the other on your chest, needing to feel you and make sure you felt her. 

“It’s alright, cariño. You are going to be okay, everything is okay.” 

Nothing felt okay. It felt too good and too scary at the same time, and you weren’t sure how to reconcile those two emotions. 

“I love you.” You whispered. 

Alexia’s eyes widened, and you froze. Where on earth had that come from? You’d been thinking it, yes. Practically since your first date. But they must have given you more painkillers than you thought, or maybe you were suffering a traumatic brain injury, because there was no other reasonable explanation for you saying those words to her before she said them to you. 

Alexia looked as surprised as you felt, shocked into silence for a minute before she leaned in, her lips barely brushing yours, she was so gentle. She seemed to be gathering herself when she pulled away, and you felt your stomach drop. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

“Shh,” Alexia soothed, stroking your hair once again. “I love you, too, amorcita. So much.”

She said it like it was easy, like she didn’t need to give it a second thought. You were reminded again at how Alexia always seemed to see only the best in you. Here you were, covered in blood and sweat, half your face covered with gauze, eyes half shut because the light hurt too much, making confessions of love at the worst possible time. Yet Alexia seemed to just be content that you were okay, thrilled at what you’d said. She didn’t see the mess, somehow. 

Though you supposed you could understand, at least partially. Alexia was practically a disaster at the moment, too, but you didn’t see the tangled mess her hair was, or the dried tear tracks on her face. You didn’t care that she smelled like outside, a mixture of grass and sweat. You were just so glad she was here, with you. So glad, in fact, you’d told her you’d loved her. 

So, as confounding as her adoration for you felt, you knew it probably just baffled you. Thinking about it made your head hurt, and your head already hurt. 

“You do?” 

Alexia rolled her eyes. “Tonta. Of course I do.” 

You gave a watery laugh, allowing her to tuck her face into your neck, her arms wrapping around you as best they could. 

“I want to go home.” You mumbled. 

“Soon, amor. We just need the head scan back and then we can go.” Alexia promised, pressing a series of kisses to the skin of your neck. 

“Good. You need a shower.” 

She pulled back, looking offended. “Disculpe! You think you do not?” 

You laughed, a real laugh, beyond amused at how easily you could rile her up. You didn’t even think about how the room was spinning slightly, or the way it felt like an elephant had stepped on your head. You were mesmerized by the woman in front of you, how she could make you laugh when no one else could. 

She must have seen your face soften, because hers did too, into a small, almost shy smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll both get a shower. We’ll get you home, and I’ll take care of you. Whatever you need.” 

Your smile faltered only slightly, just barely enough for Alexia to notice. She was struck with the odd feeling you would not be a very willing patient. 

—

“Amor, the doctor said,”

“Alexia, it’s fine. I need to wash my hair. It’ll be quick, it’s not a big deal.”

You shakily pushed past your girlfriend, heading for your bathroom. Alexia was just half a step behind you, though, as she’d been since the two of you arrived home 10 minutes ago. Steps unsteady, you were secretly glad for her hovering, knowing that if you stumbled even slightly, she’d catch you. 

“But your stitches–”

“Alexia.” You huffed, rolling your eyes as her arms came to wrap around your waist and pull you to a stop. Instead of spinning you around to face her, she moved herself until you were face to face. She looked stern, lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed; the face she made when one of your younger teammates misbehaved. 

“The wound cannot get wet. He said you could rinse off in the shower if you made sure not to put your head under.” She studied you, her body still between yours and the shower you so desperately needed. 

You felt disgusting, covered in mud and dirt and blood. The feeling would stick to your skin, you knew, until you took a shower and made sure all of you was clean, including your hair. 

You tried to summon some anger, some frustration that she was being so stubborn, but you couldn’t. Alexia was just trying to help. She’d driven you home, going well under the speed limit and warning you before she turned or braked. She’d let you lean heavily on her as you made your way up to your apartment, pulling you into her arms in the elevator in the most comforting embrace you’d felt in a long time. 

And now you were being difficult, but you knew yourself. You genuinely would not be able to get to sleep tonight if something wasn’t done about your hair. It had spent several minutes on the muddy pitch whilst the medical staff had treated you, and you were sure if you were still enough, birds would come along and take it for a nest. 

“Ale, I really need to be clean.” You pleaded. 

Something in your voice made Alexia falter, her teeth chewing on her bottom lip as she thought. 

“Okay.” She said finally. “Okay. Quick body shower and then I’ll wash your hair in the sink, and that way your face won’t get wet.” 

You blinked, but Alexia was already moving, tugging you gently towards that bathroom. 

“Ale, you don’t have to do that.” 

The midfielder just waved you off, guiding you to sit on the closed lid of the toilet as she got the shower ready. She kept the big overhead light off, only turning the small one over your vanity on.

“Alexia, really, it’s fine I can… I can just go to bed like this.” You attempted, embarrassed and ashamed that you had made her think she had to wash your hair for you. If there was anything that could overcome your desperate need to be clean, it was your desperate need to not inconvenience Alexia any more than you already were. 

Alexia turned the showerhead on, bringing it to a temperature much less hot than you normally liked, but she didn’t want you to get any dizzier than you already seemed to be. She turned to you, then, already pulling her kit over her head and tugging at the ponytail in her own hair. 

“Amor, I said I was going to take care of you. That is what I am doing. Whatever you want, whatever you need. I promise, I don’t mind.” She said softly, crouching down in front of where you sat and placing her hands on your knees. 

“But–”

“No buts.” Alexia interrupted, leaning up to peck your lips. “Come on, baby.” 

She rose to her feet, extending a hand in your direction, and you made yourself take it. 

—

You felt awful. Worse than awful. It hadn’t really hit until after you’d showered and Alexia had shampooed and conditioned your hair in the sink. You’d told her she could just stop after the shampoo but she’d ignored that, insisting she liked the smell of the conditioner and how soft it made your hair. 

You knew she really just didn’t want to disrupt your routine, but you appreciated that she didn’t say that. 

But as she carefully combed through your hair, she noticed your face grow suddenly paler in the mirror. It wasn’t immediately clear, because half of it was swollen, a large bruise blooming across your cheek over the neat line of stitches, but when she noticed the way your body started to sway, the way your eyes began to glaze over, she knew you weren’t doing well. 

Quickly, she put the brush down, steadying you with her hands on your arms. 

“You okay?” 

You hummed, letting your eyes shut as you leaned your head back on her shoulder. Your hair was still wet, and therefore cold, falling directly onto Alexia’s skin as she only had a cropped tank top on, but she resisted the urge to shiver. 

“Talk to me. How are you feeling?” She insisted, wrapping her arms loosely around your waist, still studying your face in the mirror.

“Not… not great.” You replied finally. Your heart fluttered in your chest as she gently kissed your unwounded cheek. “I just need to lie down.” 

Alexia took that sentence as a mission directive, kissing you once again before carefully beginning to guide your body out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. Your bed was practically calling your name, the soft blankets and squishy pillows all you’d been thinking about since leaving the hospital. 

Your girlfriend helped you under the covers, propping up two pillows under your head so your face didn’t swell too much. Once you were all tucked in, she sat on the edge of the bed, tracing over the bruise on your face with her fingers, so lightly you couldn’t even feel it. 

“What else can I get you? Food? Water? An ice pack? Anything, amor.” 

You smiled weakly at her, your face erupting in pain at the motion. The laceration was high up on your cheek, so close to your eye that it was now almost swollen shut. It had its own heartbeat, pulsed so painfully you almost felt sick to your stomach. All you wanted in that moment, all you wanted, was for Alexia to climb into bed with you, and hold you until it didn’t hurt anymore. 

But you couldn’t say that. Couldn’t ask for that. She’d done so much already. Left the match early, sat with you in the hospital, brought you home and helped you bathe. She’d done much more than enough.

The two of you weren’t the type of couple to spend every waking second together. You each still had your own apartments because you really valued your alone time, and post matches were normally nights you spent separately. You’d eat dinner together, discuss the match, before going your separate ways to decompress on your own. It worked for both of you. There had been exceptions, of course. After a loss in the league, when you could tell she didn’t want to be alone, you slept at her place. And after that awful own goal you’d had, though you’d still won the game, she’d ordered your favorite take out, put on your favorite film, and pulled you into her arms, mumbling something about being too tired to drive home. 

Still, you were sure that Alexia wanted to go back to her own apartment, get in her own bed and not be kept up by your tossing and turning [you were sure you weren’t going to be sleeping well that night, either].

“No, no, I’m all good, Ale. Thank you for everything. You can go home now, I know you probably–”

“Go home?” Alexia interrupted. She looked borderline offended at the suggestion, her hand gripping yours as if someone was going to come and try to make her go home. 

“Well, yeah. Like always after–”

“Mi amor, you have a concussion. You cannot be by yourself overnight. I have to wake you up every few hours, make sure everything is still okay.” Alexia explained, her face firm again as if daring you to push back. 

And, well. You’d forgotten about that part. Maybe you were more affected by this concussion than you thought. Your brain felt unbelievably foggy, all of a sudden, like you couldn’t string all your thoughts together without a few of them getting lost.

“Oh. That’s right.” You replied. “Still, I could set alarms…” 

Alexia frowned, something flickering in her eye that you couldn't quite decipher. “Do you really think I’d leave you when you were hurt?” 

Alexia looked disgusted at the mere notion, and your lips twitched with amusement. 

“Well. No.”

“No.” Alexia echoed. “I’m staying right here, with you. Okay?”

“Okay.” You replied, yet your bottom lip began to tremble and Alexia could see tears pooling in your eyes. 

“Cariño, what is it?” Alexia asked, voice dripping with concern that made your stomach twist. 

How did you even begin to explain why you were crying? Why this was so hard for you, why you were pushing her away when you needed her desperately to stay? 

“I j-just feel bad.” You whispered, averting your eyes from her hazel ones gazing at you. Less than a second later, though, a hand was finding your chin, carefully guiding your face back up to look at her. 

She had that look she got when there was a problem to be solved, the face she made when she stood over a free kick and tried to figure out exactly where to place it. 

“Why do you feel bad?” She wondered.

You inhaled deeply, and Alexia brought your joined hands up, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. She waited so patiently, absentmindedly raking her fingers back through her hair to get it out of her face. You wondered if she knew how distracting she could be without even trying. 

“I just… I’m not good at this. I feel terrible for making you take care of me. It’s stupid, but I feel like…” 

“Do not even say it. You are not a burden to me.” Alexia interrupted, forehead wrinkling, eyebrows pulling together as she regarded you unhappily. Her hand tightened around yours. “You are not making me do anything. I am here because I care about you, and I want to take care of you.” 

You sniffled, shutting your eyes and leaning your head back. It was too much to look at her and have this conversation. Your head ached too much for that. 

“I know that, reasonably. But I can’t turn my brain off, I can’t make it stop overthinking and doubting and worrying and–” You broke off into a sob that you weren’t expecting. 

“Oh, mi amor.” Alexia murmured. She nudged you until you opened your eyes, wincing at the light. She opened her arms for you, drawing you in close to her chest. She was so warm, her hands sliding up the back of your shirt, pressing you even tighter against her. Your good cheek rested against her chest, and you inhaled the scent of her, somehow so much better even though you’d used the same body wash. “I wish I could make your brain be quiet.”

She seemed to pause for a moment, still gently rubbing your back as she thought. She wasn’t sure quite what to say, how to make you feel better. After a few seconds she leaned back slightly, her eyes meeting your teary ones. 

“Listen, amor. I love you. I would not be here if I did not want to be. There is no place in the whole world I would rather be right now than here with you, making sure you are okay. I know words can only do so much but please, baby. Try to believe me. I love you, I want to take care of you.” 

“I love you.” You whimpered, leaning back into her chest. She caught you easily, snuggly tucking you into her yet again. “I’m sorry, I’m trying, and it’s not that I don’t trust you,” 

“Shh, I know that mi amor. I am not offended.” Alexia reassured you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “It’s all alright, hmm? Everything is okay.” 

You forced yourself to hear it, to internalize it and believe it. Everything was okay. Alexia was here, that was all that mattered. Not the pounding in your head, or the dizziness you felt when you moved even the smallest amount. Not the gash on your cheek, and not the fact that sometimes it felt like your brain was working against you. It was just you and her, and you let that knowledge wash over you like a calming wave. 

Once your body stopped trembling and the tears stopped falling, Alexia made you lay back down. She pulled the covers up to your chin, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. 

“Now. Tell me what you need before we get some rest.” 

Hesitantly, you patted the bed next to you. The tension in the room fell away as Alexia beamed, bounding around to the other side so she could crawl in next to you. 

Everything had felt so jumbled and messed up since you’d gone down on the pitch earlier that evening. But as Alexia wrapped herself around you, pulling you back into her, the world seemed to put itself back on its axis. Your girlfriend flicked the light off, the two of you laying there in content silence for a minute. 

“I cannot believe you said I love you for the first time in the hospital.” Alexia whispered, breaking the quiet that had settled over the room. “Very cliche.” 

You burst out laughing, a laugh that made your cheek sting and your head pound, but you found you didn’t really care. 

“I can’t believe you got subbed off when I got hurt. Did you run off the pitch really dramatically?”

Alexia huffed, lightly pinching your side. “Cállate.” 

She wasn’t about to admit that it had been probably very dramatic. 

Alexia snuggled even closer into you, leaving a few kisses on the skin of your neck. “Goodnight, baby. I love you.” 

Tomorrow, you’d think about how good it felt to hear her say that to you. For now, you just placed your hand over hers where it rested on you, and squeezed. 

“I love you, too.” 

Alexia let the words wash over her, enjoying the feeling of you laying so happily in her arms, even if she hated that you were hurt. She loved when you were snuggly like this, and knew to savor the moment. 

Especially knowing that when she had to wake you up in a few hours, you would not be so pleased with her. She didn’t really care though. Not if it meant you were okay and safe and happy. 

—

it feels like its been FOREVER since ive written and i'm slightly self conscious of this but im very happy to be getting something done and posted 🙂❤️‍🩹

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° you outshine the morning sun

( sae itoshi x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — just a short drabble bc domestic sae has invaded my brain

♡ word count — 705

♡ content — sae itoshi x reader, sae x fem! reader, made sae abt 25 in this, marriage mentioned, pregnancy mentioned. AN: i'd give this man as many babies as he wants.

♡ synopsis — sae itoshi didn't need to be a soccer god, not as long as he had you

The roar of the crowd still buzzed in Sae Itoshi’s ears as he exited the stadium, the post-game adrenaline barely settled in his veins. The night air was thick with the voices of fans calling his name, their desperation and admiration mixing into a cacophony he had long since learned to ignore.

"Sae! Just one autograph!"

"Marry me, Sae! Please! Just one chance!"

"I’d give you as many babies as you want!"

The shrill voices of young girls, the deep admiration from older men, the wistful sighs of women both young and old—none of it meant anything to him. He kept his gaze forward, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides as he pushed through the chaos. The only thing on his mind was getting home.

A sleek black car idled by the curb, the driver standing by the door, already well aware of the arrangement. No talking. No questions. Just drive and get him home as quickly as possible, and the tip would be hefty. An even bigger one if the trip was fast.

Sae slid into the back seat without a word, the door shutting out the noise of the world outside. He exhaled sharply, leaning back against the seat as the car pulled away from the stadium and into the quiet of the night. The streetlights blurred past, but he barely noticed them. Instead, his hands moved instinctively to his duffel bag, fingers searching through the smallest inside pocket until they curled around something cool and familiar.

A simple silver ring, discreet and unassuming, warmed quickly in his palm. His thumb brushed over the carved initials—his and yours—etched into the metal. He slipped it onto his ring finger, feeling a sense of calm wash over him.

Yeah. He just needed to get home.

The drive was mercifully quick, and before long, he was stepping out of the car and up the pathway to the house—the one place in the world where he wasn’t Sae Itoshi, soccer legend. He barely had time to set his duffel bag down when something small and fast crashed into his leg.

"Daddy!"

A grin tugged at Sae’s lips as he looked down, teal eyes meeting an identical pair staring up at him with pure joy. His daughter, barely three years old, clung to his leg with all her might. Her soft pink hair was pulled up into two messy pigtails, bouncing as she giggled.

"Hey, sweetheart," he murmured, crouching down to scoop her into his arms. She fit so perfectly against him, her tiny hands grabbing onto his jersey as if she never wanted to let go. And he? He didn’t mind one bit.

"Oh! I didn’t know you’d be home so soon," your voice rang out from the kitchen, warm and full of love. Sae glanced up just as you turned the corner, a wooden spoon in your hand, eyes crinkling at the sight of him. "The game just ended."

"Took a shortcut," he said simply, stepping closer to you.

His gaze flickered down to the soft curve of your stomach, where a second life—one he helped create—was steadily growing. Without hesitation, he reached out, resting a gentle hand there, feeling the warmth of your body beneath his fingertips.

A soft smile played on your lips as he leaned in, pressing a quick but meaningful kiss against them. Before you could deepen it, a tiny voice piped up between you.

"Yuck!" your daughter squealed, squirming in his arms.

You laughed, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of pink hair behind her ear. "You say that now, but one day, you’ll think it’s sweet."

"Nuh-uh!" she insisted, her little nose scrunching up in defiance.

Sae chuckled, finally feeling the weight of the world ease off his shoulders. Here, there were no screaming fans, no demanding coaches, no suffocating expectations. Just you, your daughter, and the quiet hum of home.

Sae Itoshi didn’t need fangirls, fanboys, or old women begging for his attention. He didn’t need adoration from the world, validation from the media, or the empty promises of strangers who only saw him as a soccer god.

Sae Itoshi just needed this.

Sae Itoshi just needed to be home.

Sae Itoshi just needed you.

posting this as an apology for going MIA for a bit :)

likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated!

[whatdoyouwanttocallmefor]

Their reaction when their s/o suprise them at their concert (Hyung Line)

This is the Hyung Line version. The Maknae Line will be in the next post so stay tuned!!

WARNING: NONE!

---

🐺 Bang Chan

The energy in the stadium was electrifying, the deafening cheers of thousands of fans blending with the music. Bang Chan was in his element, commanding the stage with ease. Sweat dripped down his temples, but the exhaustion was pushed aside by the sheer adrenaline rushing through his veins.

Then, as he glanced over the crowd, his breath hitched.

Right there, standing amongst the sea of Stays, was you.

His lips parted slightly in shock, and for a moment, he forgot what he was doing. The music continued, the members carried on, but his focus was locked onto you. His fingers curled around the mic tighter as if grounding himself, trying to process that you were really there.

A slow smile spread across his face, not just any smile, but the kind that reached his eyes, the kind he saved only for you.

Throughout the concert, he kept sneaking glances at you, throwing in little gestures just for you. A playful wink, a small wave, even a teasing eyebrow raise when he knew you were watching him closely. Fans caught on quickly, their screams growing louder every time he looked your way.

As soon as the final song ended, Chan was the first to rush backstage. His heart was hammering against his ribs, but the second he spotted you waiting for him, all the exhaustion melted away.

“You… you really came,” he breathed out, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before you could even reply, he pulled you into a crushing hug, his strong arms wrapping securely around your waist. His face found the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

“I missed you so much,” he murmured, holding you tighter, as if afraid you’d disappear.

You smiled, stroking his back. “Surprise.”

Chan chuckled against your shoulder, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “Best surprise ever.” Then, with a cheeky grin, he added, “But you owe me cuddles for making me almost forget my lyrics.”

---

🐇 Lee Know

Minho was focused, his every move precise as he danced flawlessly in sync with the beat. His gaze remained sharp, professional, until it landed on you.

For a split second, his smirk faltered, his steps almost stuttering. His body caught up quickly, but his mind struggled.

You were here.

A slow, knowing smirk stretched across his lips as he continued dancing, pretending like he wasn’t affected, but you knew him better than that. His eyes held something softer, something warmer.

He made sure to keep looking your way throughout the concert, as if silently saying I see you. At one point, when he passed by your side of the stage, he subtly mouthed, “Took you long enough.”

Fans screamed at the interaction, catching the way his usually serious stage persona had shifted just a little, revealing a more playful, lovestruck side of him.

When the concert ended, you barely had time to react before Minho was pulling you into a secluded corner backstage. His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable.

“So, you thought you could just show up and not tell me?” His voice was calm, but you could hear the teasing edge.

You grinned. “I wanted to surprise you.”

Minho scoffed, shaking his head. “Well, congratulations. You succeeded.”

Before you could respond, he stepped closer, his hands gently cupping your face. His eyes searched yours, his usual teasing demeanor melting into something more tender.

“I missed you,” he admitted in a rare moment of vulnerability.

Your heart swelled as you wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him closer. “I missed you too.”

Minho smirked, his lips brushing against your forehead. “Good. Now, don’t think you’re getting away without giving me all your attention for the rest of the night.”

---

🐷🐰 Changbin

Changbin was already in his zone, feeding off the energy of the crowd, his raps powerful and full of intensity. The bass vibrated through the stadium, fueling his adrenaline.

Then, in the middle of hyping up the audience, his eyes landed on you.

His brain short-circuited.

For a split second, he forgot what he was supposed to do. His breath hitched, his heart skipping a beat as he tried to process the fact that you were actually there.

A wide grin broke across his face, his smiles deepening as he pointed directly at you during his verse. Fans went wild at the sudden interaction, screaming even louder when he threw a playful wink your way.

Throughout the concert, his energy was even more intense, his jumps higher, his gestures more animated, his smiles brighter. Every now and then, he’d sneak another glance at you, shaking his head in disbelief but looking absolutely smitten.

The moment the concert ended, he wasted no time sprinting off stage. He barely had time to catch his breath before he found you.

“Y/N!” His voice was breathless, but full of excitement. He didn’t hesitate, his arms wrapped around you instantly, lifting you clean off the ground as he spun you around.

“You have no idea how happy I am right now,” he said, setting you down but keeping his arms firmly around you.

You laughed, cupping his face. “I take it you liked the surprise?”

He grinned. “Like it? I love it.” Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he added, “Now, get ready for the best post-concert date ever. You owe me for making my heart race like that.”

---

🦦 Hyunjin

Hyunjin was lost in the music, his movements fluid as he poured every ounce of emotion into his performance. But then, he saw you.

He froze.

It was only for a fraction of a second, but it was enough. His lips parted, his breath caught in his throat, and his usually sharp choreography faltered just slightly before he quickly recovered.

His hand flew to his mouth as if trying to stifle a reaction, but the redness creeping up his neck betrayed him. He turned away for a moment, his hand resting on his chest as he tried to regain his composure.

Fans noticed immediately. The camera caught his stunned expression, and the crowd erupted into screams. Hyunjin, still visibly flustered, peeked back at you, his eyes wide with disbelief.

As the concert continued, he couldn’t stop stealing glances at you. Every time he danced past your side, he’d bite his lip, shake his head, or flash a shy but affectionate smile. At one point, he even mouthed “You’re unbelievable.”

When the show finally ended, Hyunjin practically sprinted backstage. The moment he found you, he didn’t hesitate, he pulled you into a tight embrace, his hands clutching the fabric of your clothes like he was afraid you’d disappear.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” he whispered, his voice shaking slightly.

You smiled against his shoulder. “I wanted to see your reaction.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes still filled with disbelief. “I could cry right now.”

You chuckled, brushing his damp hair away from his face. “Don’t cry. You were amazing.”

Hyunjin sniffed dramatically before breaking into a soft laugh. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” His lips brushed against your temple. “But I love you for it.”

---

How's the reaction? I hope it's not that awkward. Please do go to my list if you intersted in reading my humble creations ✨️ Niweys, to the maknae line!

[myauditionfordrphil]

SHAMI ON FIREEEEE 🔥🔥🔥🔥

[linoxpudding]

Love That Remained- Bang Chan

summary: while your husband is on tour, something life shattering happens which leaves you both feeling shattered

pairing: bang chan x fem!reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, married with kids

word count: 2116 words

warnings: miscarriage, hospital setting, accident

a/n: based on this request

Masterlist

-

The Kids: Eldest Daughter (Juliana - 7 years old) and Youngest Daughter (Aera - 4 years old)

~°~

You were exhausted. No, exhaustion wasn’t a strong enough word—you were completely drained, body and soul.

Between caring for Juliana, your seven-year-old, and Aera, your four-year-old, while being heavily pregnant, you could barely function. The constant need to be everything—mother, caretaker, wife—while Chan was away on tour was wearing you thin.

You missed him desperately. The weight of his absence was suffocating, even though you knew he was doing what he loved. Every night, the ache of missing him settled in your chest, only dulled slightly when you saw his face on FaceTime.

His mother noticed your fatigue immediately. She always did. You were visiting your in-laws' place for dinner when she brought it up.

“Sweetheart,” she said gently after dinner, “why don’t I take the kids for the night? You look like you need some rest.”

You hesitated, glancing at your daughters. Juliana was animatedly telling her grandfather a story, and Aera was already curling up against her auntie Hannah’s side, half-asleep.

A night alone. A full night of sleep. The thought was almost too tempting.

“…Are you sure?” you asked, voice filled with guilt.

His mother smiled warmly, touching your hand. “You need to take care of yourself too, honey. The baby needs you strong.”

Your resolve crumbled. You kissed your daughters goodnight, whispering reassurances that you’d be back in the morning. Then you set off for home. It was only a short drive. You didn’t even think about it—just another routine part of life.

Then, everything shattered.

Headlights. A sharp turn. Tires screeching. A deafening impact.

Pain exploded in your body. A scream made it past your lips before darkness swallowed you whole.

*********

On the other side of the world your husband, Chan, was grinning as he wiped sweat from his forehead, heart still racing from the concert. The stadium had been packed, the energy electric. Fans screamed his name, sang every word of every song, and for two and a half hours, he had been on top of the world.

But now, all he wanted was to see his girls. 

His adrenaline hadn’t settled, but there was only one thing on his mind—his nightly FaceTime with you and the kids. This was his favorite part of the night—seeing his daughters’ sleepy faces, hearing you whisper, I miss you before falling asleep with your phone still connected.

Pulling out his phone, he checked the time. Time zones were tricky. He knew you would fall asleep by the time he got back at his hotel, so immediately after the concert, he waited for your call.

But the call didn’t come. He frowned, glancing at the time. Maybe you were tired. Maybe you had put the girls to bed early.

Still, something gnawed at his chest.

He was about to text you when the dressing room door opened and Changbin and Felix entered.

Chan barely looked up. “One sec, just waiting for Y/N and the girls.”

Neither of them said anything.

The silence made Chan glance up.

Changbin looked pale. Felix’s lips were pressed together tightly, like he was holding back something.

Chan’s stomach dropped.

“What?”

Neither of them spoke. The room felt colder.

“Guys?” His voice wavered slightly. “What is it?”

Felix swallowed. Changbin shifted uncomfortably.

Chan laughed, though it was shaky. “What’s going on?”

Changbin and Felix looked at each other nervously. Changbin took a step closer, “Chan, sit down.”

Chan became worried, “Is something wrong with my parents? My siblings?” He didn’t even take your name or his daughters' names because his mind refuses to go there, there cannot be anything wrong with you or the kids, nope. He scoffed lightly. “Come on, why do you guys look like that?”

Nobody laughed. His heart dropped.

Changbin took a deep breath. “Chan, it’s Y/N.”

The world tilted. Chan sat frozen, breath caught in his throat.

“There was an accident.”

His stomach churned, nausea rising to his throat. “No.” His voice cracked.

Felix reached for him, but Chan jerked back.

“No.” Chan shook his head violently. “No, she—she was just with the kids. She was on her way home—”

Felix squeezed his shoulder. “Hyung—”

No, that wasn’t right. You had just texted him hours ago. You had dinner at his parents’ house. You were fine.

“Where are the kids?” Chan demanded, voice rising. “Were they—were they with her?”

“No. They’re with your parents.”

Chan exhaled sharply, his body sagging for a moment.

Then, his expression turned ice-cold, “Where is she now?”

A suffocating silence.

“Changbin.” His voice trembled.

Changbin looked down. “She’s in surgery.”

Chan’s hands curled into fists and his breathing was ragged now, his chest rising and falling unevenly, “Book me a flight. Now.”

Chan barely heard anything else. He was already moving.

*********

The flight felt endless. Chan sat in his seat, fists clenched, his foot bouncing violently against the floor. His mind refused to shut off.

You. The baby.

You. The baby.

His brain kept repeating the same words, the same images. You, lying in a hospital bed. You, unconscious. You, hurt. He should’ve been there. He should’ve been driving you home. He should’ve told you to wait until morning. He was supposed to protect you. He wasn’t supposed to be thousands of miles away while you were fighting for your life.

Tears burned at his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Not here. Not yet.

He was praying silently. Please. Let them be okay. Please, God.

*********

The hospital was eerily quiet at this hour. Chan ran through the corridors, barely stopping to listen to the nurses directing him. His parents were standing near your room, eyes red and swollen.

His mother turned first. When she saw him, her face crumbled, and she reached for him, “Chris—”

“Where is she?” His voice barely worked, throat dry from the flight, from the panic that had been clawing at him for hours.

His father placed a steady hand on his shoulder. “She’s inside.” His voice cracked.

Chan didn’t wait. He pushed the door open. Then he saw you and the sight nearly broke him.

You were lying on the hospital bed, wires and tubes surrounding you, your face unnaturally pale against the stark white sheets. The rhythmic beep of the monitors was the only indication that you were still there.

His stomach twisted violently.

“Baby?” His voice cracked as he took a shaky step forward.

You didn’t move. The hospital room felt suffocating.

“No,” he whispered, rushing to your bedside. “No, baby, please don’t do this.”

His hands shook as he reached for yours, wrapping his fingers around your smaller, colder ones.

“Wake up,” he pleaded, his breath hitching. “Please, baby. Please. You’re my world, you hear me? I don’t know how to be me without you.”

His vision blurred, hot tears slipping down his cheeks.

“It’s us against the world, right?” His voice cracked as he cupped your face with one hand while his other was intertwined with yours. “Juliana and Aera need you… I need you.”

Silence. His shoulders trembled as he pressed his forehead against your hand, his body shaking with the force of his grief.

“Please. Please, wake up. Please, come back to me,” he sobbed.

Minutes turned into hours then he heard a soft sound. A quiet inhale.

“…Chan?”

His head snapped up so fast his neck ached. His breath caught in his throat as he watched your eyes flutter open, unfocused and heavy with exhaustion.

“Sweetheart?” His voice was hoarse, broken.

You blinked slowly, dazed, confused. Your lips parted, dry and cracked.

“The baby?” you whispered.

The world stopped. Chan felt his chest tighten painfully, his heart screaming at him, warning him. He already heard the bad news that shattered his world, hours ago from your doctor. The words slammed into Chan’s chest like a freight train.

Before he could answer, the door opened.

Your doctor entered, clipboard in hand.

Chan’s stomach plummeted.

The doctor’s expression was calm, but his eyes held sympathy. “Mrs. Bang, how are you feeling?”

You swallowed, glancing down at your hand still held tightly in Chan’s. “Weak,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “But… my baby?”

The doctor sighed softly, stepping closer.

Chan’s grip on your hand tightened.

“I’m so sorry,” the doctor said gently. “Due to the severity of the accident, you suffered a placental abruption. The trauma was too much for the baby to survive.”

Your breath hitched. Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

The doctor continued, his voice soft. “We did everything we could.”

Chan felt your entire body begin to tremble.

“No,” you whispered, your free hand pressing against your stomach as if you could somehow feel what had been lost.

“I’m so sorry,” the doctor repeated, his voice laced with sorrow.

Your breath hitched. A choked, heartbroken sob ripped from your throat, and Chan broke. Tears blurred his vision as he pulled you into his arms, holding you as tightly as he could. You sobbed against his chest, your fingers clutching at his shirt, your body wracked with grief.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out between sobs. “I’m so sorry—”

Chan cupped the back of your head, pressing his lips against your temple. His own tears fell freely, his body shaking as he held onto you.

“Don’t,” he whispered, his voice shattered. “Don’t do that. This isn’t your fault.”

You let out another sob, curling into him. “I should’ve been more careful—”

“No,” he said firmly, pulling back just enough to look into your tear-streaked face. His hands framed your cheeks, thumbs brushing away the tears that kept falling. “No, baby. This wasn’t your fault. Don’t carry this.”

Your lip trembled. “Chan—”

He shook his head, his own voice breaking. “We lost our baby. Together. You didn’t fail. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You pressed your forehead against his, sobs still wracking your body. His hands shook as he held you tighter, as if he could somehow shield you from this pain.

“I should’ve been there,” he whispered.

You pulled back, eyes red, swollen.

“Chan—” your voice cracked. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He let out a choked sound. “It wasn’t yours either.”

You broke again, burying your face in his chest. He held you as you sobbed, as your grief tore through you both.

“We were supposed to meet them,” you whispered, voice raw. “We were supposed to hold them.”

Chan let out a choked sound, his hands tightening around you,“I know,” he whispered. “I know, baby.”

Your arms wrapped around his neck, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. He pressed desperate kisses against your forehead, your hair, anywhere he could reach.

“I love you,” he whispered. “We’ll get through this.”

Your breath was shaky. “How?”

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. “I don’t know yet, but we would.”

Because he would never let go. Because you needed each other. Because even though the weight of grief was suffocating, crushing, unbearable—

You had to be brave. For Juliana. For Aera. For the family that still needed you. Chan held you even tighter, pressing his lips to your forehead, his tears mixing with yours.

“We have to be strong,” he whispered. “For them.”

Your breath hitched, your body trembling against him.

“They don’t know yet,” you whispered, voice raw.

Chan closed his eyes. The thought of his children, so innocent, so full of love and joy—waiting for you both. Not knowing the storm that had just shattered your world. His heart ached.

“We’ll tell them together,” he murmured. “When you’re ready.”

You let out a small, broken sob, gripping his shirt like a lifeline. “I don’t know how to do this, Chan.”

His hands ran up and down your back, soothing, steady, even when he felt anything but steady.

“We’ll figure it out,” he promised. “One day at a time.”

You nodded against his chest, but he could still feel the way your body trembled, the way grief clung to every breath. He exhaled shakily, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “You’re not alone in this, baby. You’ll never be alone.”

Your arms tightened around him, your fingers digging into his back. “I love you,” you whispered, voice so fragile it nearly broke him all over again.

“I love you more,” he choked out.

For a while, you just held each other.

The hospital room was quiet except for the sound of your breathing, the occasional sniffle, the weight of everything you had lost.

But outside, beyond these walls—two little children were waiting.

And no matter how shattered you both felt, no matter how much the loss threatened to pull you under, you had to keep going. For them. For your family. For the love that still remained.

-------------

Taglist:

@kaiyaba

[formulafanfics13]

please do fic on the coldplay-ceo scandal with driver reader x rival. theyre in a championship fight , hates each other on public but a random concert exposed them on 4k!!!

Burn It All for the Camera - MV1

Masterlist

Summary They hate each other. That’s the version the world believes. Two rival drivers, locked in a brutal championship battle, barely able to look at each other without starting a fight. But one kiss-cam at a Coldplay concert blows it all apart. Captured in 4K. On the jumbotron. With the entire world watching. And now, the secret they’ve been hiding can’t be buried anymore. What begins as a slip turns into scandal. What was once private becomes a media storm. And underneath the chaos, two people who swore they weren’t in love are forced to admit that maybe they always were.

Warnings enemies to lovers, rival drivers, kiss-cam scandal, public exposure, concert setting, explicit language, sexual tension, emotional repression, hotel room confrontation, explicit content, emotional whiplash, reader is also a driver, angsty slow burn, championship fight, media chaos, grid reactions, emotional confusion, rivals x reader..

The last time you touched Max Verstappen was three weeks ago. Singapore. Hotel room. A single overhead lamp and the words “this never happened” whispered into your shoulder.

You’d walked away barefoot. Bruised. Quiet. He didn’t stop you. And that was supposed to be the end of it.

Because on track, you’re enemies. Championship rivals. Front page tension. F1’s golden prodigy versus its savage disruptor. Your name. His. One of you will win the title. The other will burn for it.

The media loves it. So do the sponsors. So does every desperate little TikTok editor cropping your interviews side-by-side like it’s war. You can’t stand him. And tonight, you’ve got tequila in your system and a Coldplay wristband on your arm and not a single fucking thought of him in your head.

Until you see him. Three rows away. Head turned. Cap low. Blue light flickering over that stupid, sharp jawline. You freeze. And he doesn’t.

He looks at you. Slow. Deliberate. Like he knew you’d be here. Like he’s been waiting. Your jaw tightens. He doesn’t break eye contact.

Your friend nudges you, tipsy. “Holy shit, is that Max Verstappen?”

You don’t reply. You just throw your head back and finish your drink.

The concert is already halfway in. Everyone’s sweaty. Euphoric. Screaming lyrics into the air like they mean something. Chris Martin’s voice soars across the stadium like a confession. You're mid-laugh when the screen flickers.

You glance up. The jumbotron is scanning the crowd. Couples. Friends. Kisses. The camera pans. One by one. A soft filter over everything. That romantic Coldplay sheen. A soundtrack of Yellow humming in the background.

Then? You. The crowd cheers. And then the camera pann... To Max.

You don’t react at first. Neither does he. The stadium is SCREAMING. The screens split you both, side by side, like some kind of cosmic joke. And it keeps going. Holding. Expectant.

You feel your chest tighten. He’s still looking at you. You could laugh. You could shake your head and mouth no fucking way. You could kill the moment with one eye-roll.

Instead you walk. Straight toward him. There are arms reaching, phones recording, your friend shrieking behind you. But you don’t stop.

He doesn’t move. You reach him. He’s standing there in that smug, silent way of his. Hoodie unzipped. Hair pushed back. Face unreadable.

You say nothing. Just lean in, grab the back of his neck and kiss him.

It’s hot. Too hot. Not sweet. Not polite. Not a crowd-pleasing little peck. It’s your mouth against his with months of rage and frustration and adrenaline baked into it. His hand comes to your waist like a reflex.

You bite his bottom lip just enough to make him flinch. The crowd loses it. You pull back. Breathe. And walk away.

It takes six minutes for the footage to hit Twitter. Twenty for it to be reposted by ESPN F1. An hour for the slow-motion edit to go viral on TikTok. By midnight, the BBC has an article titled "Coldplay Kiss-Cam Explodes F1 Rivalry Open."

You’re tagged in every thread. So is he. Your team rep calls. Twice. Your PR manager texts “what the FUCK”. Toto sends a voice note that’s just him breathing like he’s about to combust. Lando texts omg did you tongue him Charles sends a laughing emoji. Then deletes it. Then calls.

You don’t answer. Because you’re pacing the hotel hallway, barefoot again, wearing the same hoodie you swore you’d never touch. The one Max left three weeks ago. He never asked for it back.

Max texts at 2:03 a.m.

MAX: You couldn’t help yourself, huh?

YOU: Go fuck yourself.

MAX: You already did that, remember?

You don’t reply.

He calls. You answer. “Is this funny to you?” you snap.

“I didn’t plan it.”

“You didn’t stop it either.”

“You kissed me.”

“You didn’t pull away.”

Silence. You exhale, shaking. “This is going to blow up everything.”

“I know.”

A pause. His voice drops, low and quiet: “So come here.”

You freeze.

“You already kissed me in front of 60,000 people,” he says. “What’s one more mistake?”

You hang up. Then grab your key. Then walk out the door.

You don’t knock. Max opens the door before your fist can land. He’s shirtless. Of course he is. Hair messy, eyes tired, like he hasn’t slept either. He leans on the doorframe and stares at you like you’re the problem. Like you didn’t just break the internet together.

“You wore the hoodie,” he says.

You shove past him. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

The door clicks shut behind you. The room is quiet. Dim. Heavy. Neither of you speak for a moment. You sit on the edge of his bed, legs bouncing, nerves crackling through your chest. Max stands with his arms folded, watching you like you might break something. Or cry. Or kiss him again.

“You want to talk about it?” he asks.

You laugh. Sharp. Dry. “What’s there to talk about?”

“We kissed. In front of half the fucking world.”

You meet his eyes. “No. I kissed you. And you let me.”

His jaw flexes. “Same thing.”

“Not to your PR team.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “They’ll get over it.”

You stand. “No, they won’t.” You start pacing. “My team won’t either. Everyone’s freaking out. I’ve had four calls from my race engineer, two from my manager, and one from my mother.”

“I got a meme sent to me by Christian Horner,” Max says flatly. “It was a photo of us kissing, edited to say ‘enemy of the state.’”

You blink. “You win.”

He smirks. “Always do.”

You glare. “You’re not funny.”

“You’re not subtle.”

“Don’t.”

“I’m just saying,” he murmurs, stepping closer, “for someone who hates me, you’ve kissed me more than once.”

You don’t move. “You done?” you ask.

His voice dips. “No.”

Your breath catches. “You want me to apologise for it?”

“I want you to stop pretending it didn’t mean anything.”

You freeze. His eyes burn into you. “You said it was a mistake. Singapore. But you came back. And you kissed me again. And you’re wearing my hoodie.”

You shake your head. “This was supposed to be about winning.”

“Then why are you here?”

Silence. Your heart pounds. Max steps into your space. His voice is low, rough, but not cruel. “You can lie to everyone else. You can do the whole enemies thing. The fake smiles, the cold stares, the press conference shade. But not to me.”

You stare at him. “We don’t work. We fight.”

“Sometimes,” he says, “fighting is just foreplay.”

You let out a sound. A half-laugh, half-scoff. “You’re so-”

“What?”

“Infuriating.”

He leans in. “You’re still standing here.”

You’re so close your noses brush.

“Tell me to stop,” he says.

You don’t.

“Tell me this means nothing.”

You can’t. So you kiss him. Again. And this time, it’s worse. Because it’s not adrenaline. Not the rush of a stadium. Not the thrill of being watched.

It’s need. It’s hands on his chest. His fingers fisting your shirt. Your mouth opening like you’re starving. His breath stuttering when you tug his hair.

He walks you backwards, stumbling, until the backs of your knees hit the bed.

You fall. He follows. The hoodie is gone. So are your shorts. He kisses like a man on the edge. Slow, then messy. Careful, then cruel. Like he wants to ruin you just to piece you back together.

And somewhere in the middle of it, after the first gasp, before the second bite, you whisper, “We can’t keep doing this.”

Max pauses. His hand tightens on your thigh. His forehead rests against yours. “I know.” But neither of you stop.

Later, you’re tangled in sheets that smell like him. Skin flushed. Mouth sore. He’s on his side, arm draped over your waist. You should leave. You don’t. Instead, you whisper, “What now?”

He exhales slowly. “I don’t know.”

You nod. “The grid’s gonna eat us alive.”

Max grins against your neck. “Let them choke.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re in my bed.”

You shove him lightly. “You’re impossible.”

He pulls you closer. “You’re impossible.”

Silence. Soft. Warm. Dangerous. “You gonna kiss me on the podium too?” you murmur.

“If you win.”

You smile. “If?”

He hums, cocky. “It’ll be close.”

And you know he’s right. Because on track, you’ll still fight. Still claw for every point. Still glare across parc fermé like you don’t know the taste of his skin.

But off-track? You’ve already lost. And neither of you care.

[ceesimz]

only ones who know

post-game interviews with her have become your favourite type. - just something short :)

Watching Barcelona win from the sidelines never got old. Not when they played like football is an art style as they dominated a domestic treble winning team like it was nothing, and left them with no chance of a comeback in the second leg.

4-1 versus Chelsea. Ewa Pajor to open the scoring, Claudia Pina with two goals, and a rocket of a header from Irene Paredes to tie off the near-flawless victory. But the two assists from her couldn't be forgotten either. Especially that back heel.

The sound of the crowd had died down by the time the sponsors backdrop was being wheeled onto the side of the pitch, and the players in blaugrana still decorated the field as they celebrated. Some were rather animated, ecstatic at having won a Champion’s League semi-final, whilst others immediately had their eyes set on the reverse fixture. The Chelsea players, unsurprisingly, had already left for the changing rooms– tails between their legs and all.

A microphone was handed to you and you took your place in front of the camera, only temporarily, as your team got everything set up and ready for your interviewee of the day. They focused the camera, and you adjusted your jacket, an uncharacteristic nervous habit. Though you weren’t sure what you felt could be classed as nerves, really. But you also weren’t exactly in the appropriate circumstances – at work, surrounded by thousands of people none the wiser – to give a label to the feeling simmering in the lower part of your stomach. 

There was a reason for that feeling, but you had to get through one final task of the day before you could address it. So you tried to distract yourself, by glancing around at the stadium where the lights above left the players glowing in their sweat and triumph, arms around each other and beaming smiles on all their faces. You loved this club, always had, there was something about it that couldn’t be found anywhere else. And that had nothing to do with the personal factors that came into play, honestly.

It wasn’t long until your eyes drifted. Microphone still in hand, tossing it from palm to palm as you waited with desperate anticipation, your team talking amongst themselves as they checked everything over. You went from glancing to searching without even meaning to, until your gaze landed on one person and one person only. 

Her standard high ponytail, headband in place, armband still tightly on, socks still pulled high, shirt clinging to her back. Shorts slightly rolled up one thigh. The suppress of a smile as she noticed you looking.

She didn’t leave you waiting long, never does, and finally started heading over with that ridiculous, lazy walk. Cuff of her shorts unravelling back to their actual length as she went.

“Hola.” She greeted, breathless yet making it unfairly appealing.

You moved out her way reluctantly, letting her take her rightful place in front of the camera. You didn’t move too far away though, under the guise of having to hold the mic for her.

“Good game.” You complimented with a tight nod, and the ludicrousness of the situation paired with the post-game, post-win, rush, made her laugh. Far too loudly and sharply than she needed. 

It was always worse after games like this. When she was filled with adrenaline, beaming and grounded and everything in between. The second her gaze found yours it never left. And every time, it was up to you to keep it together like you weren’t addicted to how she watched you and the way her determination to keep certain things hidden always gracelessly crumbled after a huge win like today.

“Thank you.” Her grin was soft and crooked, not at all meant for the camera. 

There was the usual glint in her eye she got whenever she was near you, and in a situation like that it could be catastrophic for the both of you. Her eyes dragged over you, darting quick from your mouth to your hand on the mic, then back up to meet yours. They were wide and wired, it was clear she hadn’t fully come down from the game, and likely wouldn’t for a while.

The moment was only very brief, almost imperceptible, and it had to be given that you got the ten second warning at the end of it. Still, that was ten extra seconds to be stood beside her, pretending you weren’t caught up in the way her gaze had lingered on you and how her teeth tugged at her bottom lip when she looked away afterward. That stare she’d given you had more charge in it than the whole stadium ever could.

“Alexia, congratulations. A statement win tonight– how would you sum up that performance from the team?” 

You started the interview after getting the go ahead, and it almost put you off-balance with the way Alexia stood in front of you. You saw how she had to stop herself from reaching out for the microphone, and leaned into it slightly when you held it out to her with the tiniest of smirks on her face, only noticeable to you.

“Apart from the goal, it was controlled. We were aggressive from the start and didn’t let them settle, which is what we wanted. We were smart, and everybody did what they were supposed to. These games can go either way and we made sure it went ours.”

Being behind the camera was always the better place to be, because you didn’t have to explain why your attention kept drifting from the words she was saying as she answered. Each time her fingers twitched against her hips where they rested, your gaze fell to them, and she noticed. You knew you were staring at her lips once or twice, and the way the sweat above them shined under the floodlights. Nobody was watching you though, only her. Not that you blamed them.

Still, it always made your breath catch just a little when she looked back at you after she finished talking. Her expression was slightly unreadable, where you weren’t sure if she was waiting for the next question or for the entire thing to be over, so she could finally have what she wanted.

“Two assists from you, one of which was a backheel pass to Pina. The chemistry between you both gets better every season, wouldn’t you say?” You adjusted your grip on the mic again, just to give your hands something to do.

How her eyes narrowed then as she fought off a laugh and went for a smirk instead, it was a wonder how you got through these things.

“It does, and she makes it easy, honestly. I saw the space and trusted she would be there, because she always is. I’m really proud of the player she is becoming, she is key for us in attack, whether that be in the starting lineup or off the bench. The game is different when she is on the field.” She pulled up her captain’s armband as she answered, right arm bending to reach it and accentuating the tone of the muscles there.

She cleared her throat.

“And Irene go– Irene Paredes got her goal too, you looked happier than her celebrating.” Wasn’t even a question that time, it’d be a wonder if you still had a job afterwards.

“Well, she is too shy and humble to celebrate, I have to do it for her. She’s great in set pieces like that and we take advantage when we can.”

Fortunately for you, she was well adjusted to you and your habits, and could bounce off of anything you said in interviews with ease. Even if you did nearly address one of the senior players of Barcelona by her first name live on camera as if she was a close friend… which wasn’t exactly a lie.

“Lastly, you have one game between you and a fifth straight final, what will be the mindset going into that?” 

“It’s only half time.” The brunette stated with a subtle cockiness to her face you knew all too well. “The job is not finished and we know what’s at stake. We will go again like it is nil-nil, that’s the only way to treat a semi-final. We know what we have to do.”

“Thanks for your time. Well done, again.” You nodded, too fast, as you spoke. She was still staring. Still smirking. You hoped nobody noticed the heat rising up your neck. 

Her arms fell to her side again and she smiled at you brightly, eyes dropped a little too far down to be meeting yours. “Thank you.”

There was more emphasis than necessary on the second word, but luckily by then the camera was off. And to the right of you both, her team was finally heading back down the tunnel as a staff member or two called her name as they went. With a final up and down of her gaze, she stepped past you with a tap on your back far lower than could be considered friendly.

That left you alone on the side of the pitch as people started packing things away around you. But it wouldn’t be for long. 

Just under half an hour later were you making your own way through the stadium, bag slung over your shoulder and media lanyard still around your neck as you walked beside a few of the other reporters and caught up with them. They had plans for the night, which you’d been invited to, though had turned down with an apologetic purse of your lips that was entirely fabricated. Your plans for the night were much more interesting than going to a bar with people that would throw you under the bus the second your job was up for grabs.

Even as you walked, your mind was elsewhere from their chatter. You nodded along to whatever was being said, something about what hotel they were staying at in Switzerland over the summer, and thankfully the corridor you were to part at came along much quicker than you feared. Probably because you were stuck in your daydreams about a moment that was no more than a few minutes away.

They bid their goodbyes and left you to round the corner leading to your exit for the night. For most nights recently, to be honest. The excited smile on your face couldn’t be stopped from making itself known as you headed towards the security guard already giving you a wary look. But you were used to it by now, and after he stood in the doorway to block you getting through like you were some kind of delinquent fan, he stepped aside with an apologetic nod as soon as you gave your name. 

Considering it was hardly a long walk to the same corner she always parked in, the speed your heart picked up was quite unnecessary. Yet, as you found the car and leaned against the driver’s side door like it was yours, it was racing like you were the one who’d just played 90 minutes of a high pressure semi-final. Whether it was the muted thrill you got at the prospect of being seen together, hence why she parked in the corner, or the exhilaration getting to your head that you were finally seeing her again after a week apart. Whatever it was, you genuinely couldn’t care less if you tried.

Because then the door to the parking garage swung open to reveal Alexia in her black Nike tracksuit, jacket zipped to her chin and hood up with the wet ends of her hair dampening the collar of it. She had her shoelaces untied, as always, even though you told her a hundred times to just grow up and sort them out, and her LV bag in her hand with a smug smirk tugging at one corner of her lips. Like she knew you would be there waiting, every time, no matter what. 

“You waited.” She commented in a cocky tone that definitely wasn’t the cause of the goosebumps down your arms then.

“You’re lucky I did, you took a while.” You shot back, knowing it would only feed into her current mood.

Though, you didn’t help your case of trying to come across as unbothered when your cheeks flushed on cue to the raise of her eyebrows at your response, and when your hand reached out on autopilot just to touch her as soon as you could. She took it immediately, her arm reaching out too, only for your hands to fall in between you literally a second later as she finally came to stand in front of you.

“Of course. Not everyday you win a semi-final.” The midfielder shrugged teasingly, taking your bag and stepping round to put everything in the back. 

It would only be so long before you softened. “Well, you deserve it.”

She closed the trunk and rounded the car again with a hum, invading your space as she stood in front of you again, her shoes planted outside either of yours. Her hands landed on your cheeks with an ease that had been there from the first time she kissed you, yours wrapping around her waist. Whereas before her eyes were wide and full of energy, now they were half-lidded yet still wired. 

“‘Good game’ hm?” She teased quietly, earning a frustrated groan from you as well as a light punch to her shoulder.

“Shut up, I panicked.” You grumbled, fighting off another smile at the way her thumbs softly brushed over your cheekbones like muscle memory. “You talk so much about how you love that I interview you after games sometimes but I won’t be able to any longer if you keep looking at me like that.” 

“You know why I look at you like that?” She tilted her head and, without realising, you did the exact same thing. Disgustingly in sync with her. 

You rolled your eyes though, because you already knew what her answer was going to be.

“Because all I can think about when you stand in front of me there is this-”

Didn’t stop you from blushing when she leaned in and planted her lips against yours firmly. Even though you were technically in public, Alexia had no qualms with deepening it either. Half-hidden by her hood, her mouth moved against yours with an urgency that was hungry, telling you it was exactly what she was thinking about earlier when she was staring at you like she was. 

None of the endorphins had run out, that much was clear with how much energy she put into it. She moved with intention, revelling in how you reacted to her, how you always met her halfway yet let her lead it. Her hands tightened just slightly against your jaw, and yours slid up so that your palms on her back could pull her impossibly closer. And the only reason it broke was not because of the sound of someone’s car unlocking a few rows away, but because she couldn’t control her grin at the huff you gave into her mouth when her teeth tugged momentarily at your lower lip.

With one final wet smack, she pulled back and gave that god forsaken breathless grin.

“You’re gonna get me fired.” You warned futilely, one fist absentmindedly grasping at her hoodie as if she was going somewhere. There wasn't anywhere she would rather be than in your arms like she was.

“There are worse things to worry about, amor.” She stated lowly, voice hoarse and raspy as the day started to get to her. The teasing from her stopped for a second, and she leaned her forehead against yours with a gentle sigh, the tension suddenly draining from her body. One of her hands moved to rest on the back of your neck, while the other hung loosely around your hips. “Thank you for coming.”

“It is my job, Alexia.” That was met with a light pinch to your side. 

“Not your job to wait here for me.” She murmured, her gratitude slipping through her heavy accent like it usually did when she was a little tired.

“No, it’s not.” You confirmed with a smile, and when she leaned back to confirm it was there, like it always was, it made her eyes gleam. Your arms linked around her neck and you fixed her with a gaze that even made her sturdy confidence around you falter. “It is my favourite work benefit though.”

“Hm.” She agreed, a crooked smile of her own to match too. 

You leaned in first that time, just a soft kiss to stamp the moment, though the echo of the earlier kiss lingered in the background like a promise for the rest of the night that followed.

“You have anywhere to be tonight?” She wondered, hoping for one answer and one answer only.

“Nowhere but your bed, I hope.” You preened, to which she exhaled a barely there laugh through her nose.

“I like that answer.”

After that, she unzipped her jacket and took it off before handing it to you. You knew the drill by now and slipped it on, hood up just like she had, then clambered into her passenger seat after she opened the door for you. The pair of you put your belts on, she reversed the car out of the space, and drove out of the garage whilst you ducked your head just slightly out of view.

When the parking garage was in the rearview mirror, you pulled the hood down and turned to her with a grin that she chuckled at. You got your phone out, ordered her favourite healthy takeaway to arrive in a couple hours’ time, and settled beside her with the comforting weight of her hand high on your thigh.

—

can be understood as a follow up to this, because that's where i got the idea from🙃 i'm not sure i'm any good at writing stories like these and get weirdly nervous posting them because i feel like they serve zero purpose lol but regardless i hope you enjoyed <3

[si3rren]

hihihii if you’re not busy could I request a sub idol!park sunghoon x reader, where reader punishes him behind cams for being too slutty(flexing biceps etc) 🙂‍↕️

you ask, I deliver 😌 slutty sunghoon? say less. coming right up 😤😤 IM SO SORRY FOR BEING LATE 😭😭😭

- Stage Slut -

enhypen masterlist

my wattpad

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sub!idol!park sunghoon x dom!fem reader | backstage setting | makeup artist x idol | possessive!reader & needy!Sunghoon |punishment | smut | sub/dom dynamics

summary: Sunghoon acts like a tease on stage, but backstage, he’s yours to ruin — and tonight, you’re going to remind him who he belongs to.

warning: warnings: exhibitionistic teasing, possessive behavior, oral (m!receiving), choking, hair-pulling, overstimulation, cock kissing (through trousers), biting, filthy language, dom/sub dynamics, public-to-private tension

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

The roar of the crowd was deafening.

Bright white beams cut through the dark stadium like blades, casting flickering halos across the stage. Smoke curled at Sunghoon’s feet as he stood center, drenched in sweat and starlight, his jaw set sharp as glass and eyes dripping with hunger. The music pulsed under your skin, vibrating through the floor of the greenroom where you stood, arms crossed tight over your chest, watching him through the monitor.

“Fucking hell,” you muttered.

Because there he was — your Sunghoon — strutting around like he didn’t have a goddamn leash tucked under that loose white shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled just high enough to flex that vein along his bicep. The one you’d traced with your tongue before. The one he knew made you weak. And now he was showing it off like it belonged to them. To anyone in the crowd.

Not to you.

“Make some noise!” he shouted into the mic, voice silky, chest heaving with the beat, his grin all fangs.

And they did. Thousands of them. Screaming, feral, clawing at air just for a glance. Just for a smile. Just for the way he swept that damp fringe off his forehead and licked at the corner of his mouth like he was tasting praise.

Your jaw clenched.

Slut.

You’d done his makeup before soundcheck — curled his lashes, brushed highlighter into his cupid’s bow, rubbed a bit of pink into the apples of his cheeks with your bare fingers. He always closed his eyes when you touched him, breathing a little heavier than necessary, thighs tightening under your hand when you tilted his chin just so. He’d moaned once — softly, just under his breath — when you pressed a pad of translucent powder beneath his eye.

You pretended not to notice.

But you always noticed.

And now he was on stage, gleaming like a fucking idol, panting under blue lights, lifting his shirt just slightly to show off his stomach during the bridge of Fever. The kind of stomach you’d kissed down a dozen times. The kind of body that trembled when you whispered his name into his mouth.

He was doing this on purpose. Of course he was.

Sunghoon was a lot of things — sweet, clingy, needy — but above all, he was a brat. A brat who only felt safe to be shameless when he knew you were watching. A brat who liked being punished.

And you knew he saw the camera backstage. He knew you were there.

“Fucking slut,” you whispered, and grabbed the towel he’d left on your chair.

The final beat of the song hit with a blast of fire at the back of the stage, golden sparks raining down across the cheering crowd as Sunghoon raised both arms above his head, chest glistening. His voice cracked just slightly on the final note — it always did when he got too into it. It used to worry you. Now you knew better.

He liked getting messy when he knew he’d be cleaned up.

You moved before the lights faded.

—

The hallway backstage reeked of sweat, hairspray, and adrenaline. Staff buzzed past you, headsets pressed to ears, clipboards swinging. You ignored all of it. You only had one destination.

When you pushed open the door to the dressing room, he was already there.

Bent over the sink. Catching his breath. Forehead resting on the mirror as sweat trickled down the curve of his jaw. His mic had already been unclipped. He hadn’t even wiped his neck.

“Water’s on the table,” you said flatly.

He didn’t answer — but you saw the way his spine straightened, like a thread had been pulled tight. His eyes flicked up to meet yours in the mirror. They were glassy, still blown wide from the stage. His lips were slightly parted, red and swollen. From singing. From breathing. From wanting.

You walked behind him and pressed the towel to his neck.

He flinched.

“You want to tell me what the fuck that was?” you murmured, voice low, close to his ear.

“I was just performing,” he whispered.

You met his eyes in the mirror. “You were showing off.”

A beat passed.

Then—

“…Did you like it?”

His voice cracked — not from exhaustion, but from something else. That same trembling that lived in his throat when you slid your hand into his pants. That flutter that came right before he broke.

You didn’t speak.

Just moved your hand from the towel — still pressed to the back of his neck — and curled your fingers around the fine hairs at the nape of it. You didn’t yank. Not yet. But the pressure was there. Possessive. Inevitable.

“Every fucking time,” you said, your breath grazing his skin. “You go out there and act like your body doesn’t already belong to someone.”

Sunghoon whimpered.

His eyes dropped.

You stepped closer — until your chest pressed lightly to his back, until your other hand came to rest low on his stomach, until your fingers trailed just beneath the waistband of his pants.

“Say it,” you said.

“…I belong to you.”

You hummed. “Again.”

“I—I belong to you,” he stammered.

You smiled against his neck.

“Then you better act like it.”

You turned him around.

He didn’t resist.

You grabbed his face with one hand, thumb dragging down his lower lip. His pupils dilated the moment you touched him — lips trembling, eyes glazed, knees already loose. Your other hand slid slowly down his chest, pressing into the place where his heart practically rattled beneath the skin.

“So fucking needy,” you murmured, voice sweet, cruel.

He looked like he wanted to speak — but didn’t.

You leaned in.

Your lips hovered at the shell of his ear.

“You think they’re the ones who get to make you this hard?”

He gasped. Because your hand was right there, cupping him through his trousers — and fuck, he was already thick, warm, twitching.

You applied just enough pressure for him to choke on air.

“Y-You—” he whined, voice breaking.

“That’s right,” you cooed. “Me.”

Your palm moved — slow, firm, up the length of his cock through his pants. You felt him shake.

He looked up at you — and you watched it in real time: the exact moment he dropped.

Eyes blown wide. Lashes fluttering. Mouth open, wet. His cock straining against the fabric as you continued to stroke, teasing. Cruel. Yours.

“I’m gonna ruin you tonight,” you whispered, pressing a single kiss just below his jaw.

And then, slow… you dropped to your knees.

You kissed the base of his cock — through the fabric.

He nearly sobbed.

“Please,” he whispered. “Please, I need—”

You looked up at him with a wicked grin.

“Oh, baby,” you said, voice like silk, “we’re just getting started.”

________

“You’re going to take what I give you,” you whispered against the outline of his cock. “And not a fucking sound, understood?”

Sunghoon nodded frantically — but you didn’t move.

Instead, you pressed a firmer kiss to the head of his cock through his slacks. It twitched beneath your lips. You could feel the weight of it, how stiff and desperate he already was. The warmth seeping through the fabric made your mouth water.

You gave him a long, slow lick. Right over the tip. Through the trousers.

“F—fuck,” he breathed, already breathless.

You shot up. Grabbed a fistful of his hair. Yanked his head back until his throat was bare and trembling and vulnerable under the dressing room lights.

“I said no fucking sounds.”

He whimpered. Bit his lip hard enough to leave a mark.

Good.

You let his hair go and dragged your fingers down the buttons of his stage shirt. He hadn’t changed yet — hadn’t even toweled off properly — and the cotton stuck to his skin in all the right places, clinging to the sharp slope of his abs, the curve of his ribs. Sweat shimmered along his collarbone, pooling where his pulse was fluttering like mad.

You popped the first button open. Then the next. One by one. Until the shirt hung open enough to expose his chest — flushed, heaving.

“You looked like a fucking whore out there,” you murmured, dragging your nails lightly across his pec. “You know what that does to me.”

“I—” he started, and stopped.

You tilted your head. “Say it.”

“I did it for you.”

You scoffed. “You did it for attention.”

A whimper. “Yours.”

Oh, fuck.

You shoved him back against the vanity table. The thud made a few makeup brushes rattle in their canisters.

He leaned against it, wide-eyed, flushed, trembling. His hands twitched at his sides like he didn’t know where to put them. Like he wanted to grab you, but knew better.

“Shirt off,” you ordered.

He obeyed instantly — arms lifting shakily, tugging it off and tossing it somewhere behind him. He stood bare-chested under the lights, flushed and panting, his perfect muscles slick and twitching.

And then you knelt again.

But this time?

You didn’t kiss him through the fabric.

This time, you mouthed along the side of his clothed cock — slow, heavy licks, just enough pressure to make him twitch. You palmed him once, and he gasped like he was drowning. His whole body arched.

“I barely touched you,” you whispered.

“I know,” he cried. “I know, I’m sorry, I’m—”

You tugged his waistband down. Not all the way — just enough to let his cock spring free, flushed red and already leaking.

“Fuck,” you said, softly. Not because he was big — though he was — but because he looked so pathetic like this. Swollen and desperate and trembling for you.

“Look at you,” you purred, fisting him once — slow. “So hard from just a few kisses through your pants.”

“I can’t help it,” he moaned.

“You shouldn’t be able to help it.”

You leaned in — and licked a fat stripe up the underside of his cock, tongue flat, slow, deliberate.

He made a noise — choked and high and so fucking needy.

You pulled off.

And slapped the head of his cock with your tongue.

“Ah—!”

You stood again. Grabbed his jaw.

“Do you want this?” you asked.

“Yes. Yes, please—”

“Then earn it.”

You spat into your hand, wrapped it around his cock, and started jerking him slow. Cruel. Base to tip, squeezing just enough to make his knees buckle.

He clung to the table behind him, hips stuttering, body quivering.

“You don’t get to act like a slut on stage,” you whispered, leaning in, “and then get rewarded for it.”

He whimpered, biting his lip again.

You leaned down — licked just the tip. Let your tongue swirl around the head. Then you opened your mouth and sucked once — deep and fast, all the way to the back of your throat.

Sunghoon screamed.

You pulled off immediately. Stood up. Slapped his cock lightly, just to watch it twitch.

“No,” you said.

His eyes were wild. Pleading. He looked like he might cry.

“Please,” he whispered. “Please, I’ll be good—”

“Will you?” you mocked, wrapping your hand around him again. “You’ll behave?”

“Yes. I swear—fuck—I’ll be so good—”

“Then stay still.”

You dropped to your knees again, this time slower.

Pressed a wet kiss to the head. Then lower. Then took him into your mouth properly — slow, deep, lips dragging down the length of his cock until your nose pressed to his pelvis.

Sunghoon choked on air.

His hands flew to your hair.

But the moment he tugged—

You slapped his thigh. Hard.

“Did I say you could touch me?”

“N-No, I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

You sucked. Hard. Once.

He nearly came.

You felt it — the twitch in his cock, the gasp in his throat, the way his whole body shuddered. So close. One more stroke and he’d fall apart—

You pulled off. Completely.

“No,” you said.

“Please—!” His voice cracked.

“No.”

You stood. Grabbed his throat. Not hard. Just enough for him to feel it. His head tilted back, lips parted, eyes blown wide with desperation.

“You’re going to stand there,” you whispered against his lips, “and not come until I say.”

“But—”

Your hand slid between his legs again — and this time, you jerked him fast. Tight. Ruthless.

He screamed.

You kissed him hard — filthy, tongue and teeth, biting his bottom lip until he whined into your mouth. His knees buckled. You caught him, shoved him back upright, hand still working his cock in tight, brutal strokes.

“You’ll take every second of this,” you growled. “And you’ll say thank you.”

“I—thank you—fuck, thank you—”

“Louder.”

“Thank you,” he sobbed. “Thank you, thank you—please let me come, please—”

You stopped.

His whole body froze.

You grinned.

“You’re going to cry for it first.”

And you knelt again.

Licked a long stripe up his cock.

And waited for the first tear to fall.

_______

Your fingers moved in merciless strokes, wrist flicking perfectly each time you twisted your grip near the head. His cock was flushed angry-red, slick with spit and precum, twitching against your palm like it wanted to explode from the pressure. Sunghoon’s hips had given up entirely — he was trembling from the knees up, barely holding himself up by the strength of your voice.

“Breathe,” you said.

His mouth opened like he was going to beg again, but nothing came out.

His eyes were already glassy, his cheeks blotched pink from the tears starting to fall. You had him pinned to the edge of the vanity, one hand wrapped around his cock, the other wrapped around the back of his neck — just enough pressure to remind him he was yours. That he’d always be yours.

His jaw trembled.

His eyes rolled up for a second, and you gave his cock one deep, slow stroke, thumb pressing into the slit at the top. He jerked, choked, and sobbed out your name — a broken, wet sound that cracked at the middle.

“Look at me,” you ordered.

His eyes fluttered open.

And when you saw him — really saw him — your own breath caught.

He was wrecked.

Tears falling openly now, glistening on the curve of his cheekbones. Mouth swollen and damp, chin shiny with drool, lips parted like he didn’t know what to do with all the need boiling in his chest. His pupils were blown wide, and he looked like he was clinging to consciousness by a thread. He didn’t look pretty anymore.

He looked ruined.

Exactly the way you wanted him.

“Please,” he gasped. “I c-can’t—please let me—”

You leaned forward.

Pressed your mouth right to his ear.

“Come for me, baby,” you whispered. “Be my good boy and let go.”

And God—the way his face broke.

It was like watching a storm collapse inside him. His head fell back, lips trembling around a moan so guttural it punched from his throat without grace. He choked on it, body convulsing as the first pulse hit. His cock jumped in your hand, twitching violently as hot ropes of cum spilled across your fingers, your wrist, his own abs, his thighs, the floor.

And the sound he made—

A shattered, aching wail, pitched up and ruined — half your name, half an apology.

His legs gave out.

You caught him with your free hand, steadying him against the edge of the table as his orgasm tore through him in thick, heaving waves. He was shaking, whole body seized up, back arching with each desperate pulse. His eyes fluttered, jaw slack, lips twitching around nothing.

“Shhh,” you cooed. “There you go. Look at that. You needed that, didn’t you?”

He couldn’t speak. Only nodded — once, twice — as tears dripped from his lashes and his cock twitched again, already oversensitive.

You kissed his hipbone. Then the top of his thigh. Then up, up, slow and soft, until you were standing again.

He was still panting, eyes glazed.

You reached up. Cupped his face in both hands.

And kissed him.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t filthy either.

It was deep. Anchoring. Like pouring yourself into him all over again — tongue slow and dragging, lips warm, tasting his gasps and his surrender and his shame and his love, because God, he loved you like this. Loved you when you broke him. Loved you when you picked him back up.

When you pulled away, he whimpered.

Eyes still wet.

Mouth still trembling.

And you smiled.

Softly.

Then slapped his cheek. Light. Just enough to sting. Not punishment — reminder.

He whimpered again. Like your name lived under his skin and you’d just dragged it out with a fingernail.

You rubbed your thumb gently across the spot you’d slapped.

“Still here?” you asked.

He nodded, eyes wide.

“Still mine?”

“Yes,” he whispered, like it was the only word he knew.

You leaned in again — brushed your lips over his jaw, his throat, the corner of his mouth.

“You’re such a pretty thing when you cry,” you whispered, fingers trailing down his chest. “You always look the most honest when you’re falling apart for me.”

He shuddered.

Still twitching.

Still hard.

And so, so fucking grateful.

“You’re gonna sit down,” you said. “I’m gonna clean you up. And then I’m gonna let you thank me the proper way.”

His lips parted again.

“How—” he croaked. “How do I—”

You smiled.

And sat on the vanity table, pulling him between your legs.

Your skirt rode up just a little. Enough for him to see.

You dragged your cum-slick fingers up his chest and tapped them gently against his lips.

He opened them without hesitation.

Sucked.

“Good boy,” you whispered.

And watched his knees buckle all over again.

_________

THANK YOU FOR READING!!!

i dont really like sub fics so idk if this is good 😔😔😔

perm taglist - @yourislandgirl @luvr4gyu @staarflowerr @whattlulu @chae-rries @mariegibeau @wonuziex @iris65 @toastmenace

© si3rren 2025. all rights reserved.

[yuvany]

꒰ 🥊 ꒱ ENHYPEN IN THE RING

// ENHYPEN as boxers and you're their number one prize.

─── ( on point ) OT7 x female reader contains : fluff + violence mentioned + pet names + est relationship + cameras + boxing!au + non!idol enha + not proofread 887 wc

reblogs + feedback always appreciated !!

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

Being in the boxing ring felt natural to him, but to you, it just felt as if you were praying for Heeseung to be alright every time he fought someone bigger than him. You didn't worry too much as you knew how talented he was and how he managed to beat people who mocked him for him size. Seeing someone fall to the ground never felt this relieving. You rushed up and enveloped his face in between your palms as you pressed a kiss to his lips for his victory. "Worried? For me?" He asks when you both are on your way home. "Yeah, what if you got really hurt?" You said, fidgeting with your thumbs, avoiding his gaze. "I'll be alright, yeah? I wouldn't want to worry you." Heeseung takes your hand in his.

(rest of the memebers below the cut)

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

always worried what you thought of him doing this sport. He knew the dangers of this sport, and he knew that he could get injured really badly, but something always pushed him to continue. Maybe it was the adrenaline rush. During matches, he'd always contemplate if he should quit or not after seeing other boxers bleed from their noses while being knocked out. That anxiousness quickly disperse as he sees you in the crowd, jumping and cheering his name. He puts on a smile for you. Some time later, Jay asked, "what do you think of me doing boxing?" You take a moment to think before answering, "I'm really happy that you're doing something you like, and I'll always support you." You reassure with a kiss to his cheek.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡

He adores the comforting speeches you give him before each match. How they always manage to calm him down when his nerves were playing a trick on him. "baby, I'm nervous." Jake says, his hands clutching to your side, not wanting to part from your closeness while his coach is urging him to hurry up. "Why are you so stressed, Jakey? We both know how awsome you'll be. Just go and do what you love." You say, slowly walking towards the ring so that he can jump in. Jake sighs and hums at your words. "You'll be watching, right?" He asks, his puppy eyes gleaming under the bright stadium lights. "Of course." You say, patting his back before you shoo him inside.

𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙆 𝙎𝙐𝙉𝙂𝙃𝙊𝙊𝙉

Sunghoon loves showing you off to everyone just as much as you love cheering him on. Post-match, you'd be the first person he'd run over to as the cameras pan over to the couple. He doesn't care about what anyone says or sees, and instead he presses his lips to your face over and over again making sure that the camera and audience does not miss his love for you. Sunghoon is a firm believer that your love is worth more than any prize he'll ever win in his boxing career. After each match he'd win, the internet would be flooded by news making headlines of you and him, which always managed to put a smile on your face.

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗢

Sunoo didn't brag about his wins, even though he had a swelling ego, he was humble. Before each match, he'd wrap his arms around you, his head snuggled against your shoulder as you pat his back, urging him to let go and get ready for the fight, "Sunsun, it's time to go now." He doesn't let go and you just sigh. "Promise me that we'll go on a date later." He compromises, and you easily agree to it, because it's a date? While in the ring, you cheer the loudest, and he hears you since you're standing in the first row, but when the match is over and he is the clear winner, he doesn't hesitate to shoot you a quick wink.

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡

You loved watching him combat his friends during practice, but when it was time for the competition, you were starting to feel a bit anxious - your heart beating like a drum against your chest. You whisper a soft "good luck," before he gives you a bright smile and climed into the fighting arena. You watched with dread filling you up, and all you cared for was his safety. Seeing him get hit, you jump out of your seat with your palms hovering over your agape mouth that opened due to shock. You try to reassure yourself that he'd be okay, and luckily he was. "You really gave me a scare!" You lightly hit his shoulder, and he just pulled you against his chest.

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜

You honestly didn't worry too much about him when he fought. Riki is a strong person, both physically and mentally. While he speaks to his coach during break time, Riki wraps one arm around your shoulders lazily as he leans his body against yours. You can hear his short breaths due to exhaustion, but you don't pull away, even though he is sweating. With a nod, there is little time left to spend and he presses a kiss to your head before he rushes back inside. When he wins, he runs over to you with a bright smile as cameras are aimed at him. One interviewer shouts, "What do you think of the prize you're winning." "What do you mean? I've got her right here!" He shouts back as he motions to you.

TAGLIST : @dollyhoon @itjengirl @saeivra @orimuraa @pshwrldd

[persianduchess]

football player!eren celebrating his win with you.

thick!black!reader. reader has braids & glasses (lowkey self-indulgent sorry)

the game ends in a blur of flashing lights, roaring crowds, the stadium trembling with every chant of his name.

eren fucking jaeger.

golden boy quarterback. the reason they even sold out tonight. and yet—through all the chaos, all the fans, all the noise—his eyes still find yours.

front row. thighs thick under his number #66 jersey, braids down your back, big glasses slipping down your nose. you scream his name like you belong to him. because you do.

he tears off his helmet, hair sticking to his temples, messy bun nearly undone.

he’s drenched in sweat, tanned skin glistening under the floodlights, chest heaving through his jersey.

but when he lifts his hand, pointing at you in the crowd with that stupid cocky smirk—you almost melt right there. you don’t even care about the stares, the whispers.

you stand up and scream, hands cupped around your mouth, “THAT’S MY MANNN!” and he grins, tongue peeking out between his teeth.

minutes later, the locker room is chaos.

reporters crowding, teammates hollering, cameras flashing. but eren’s only thought is you.

he rushes his shower, barely drying off, just tugging sweats over his lean frame and throwing his jersey back on. hair still damp, chain glinting at his throat. when he spots you waiting by the tunnel, jersey riding up your soft stomach, those thick thighs pressed tight together—he’s done.

one hand on your lower back, he steers you out quick, ignoring everyone else.

“hotel. now.” his voice low, raw from screaming on the field, but his eyes desperate.

the door barely shuts behind you before he’s on you.

your back hits the wall, his mouth crashing into yours, tasting of gatorade and adrenaline. his hands are huge, greedy—palming your ass, sliding up under your jersey, dragging over your soft tummy and full breasts.

“been starin’ at you all game, baby,” he breathes against your mouth, grinding his hard-on into your hips. “fuck the plays, fuck the cameras—just wanted this. wanted you.”

you whimper, clutching his damp jersey. “re-really?”

he nods slowly as he lifts you like nothing, carrying you to the bed. tosses you down so your braids are plastered like a painting.

you’re so soft against the hotel sheets, brown thighs parting as he climbs over you, lean muscles tense under his jersey. his hair falls loose around his face now, damp strands sticking to his cheeks.

his lips trail down your neck, sucking until you’re whimpering. “cheer f’me again,” he murmurs, voice breaking, “like you did out there. tell me ‘m yours.”

“y-you are,” you choke out, glasses fogging. “aaalll mine, ren.”

that’s all it takes.

he drags your shorts off, pushes your jersey up to your chest, and folds you in half.

knees to your chest, ankles practically brushing your ears. his arms hook under your thighs, locking you wide open, his body heavy over yours. you whine at the stretch before he even fucks into you.

when he shoves in—slow, deep—you scream. his dick is so big, long and thick, stretching you till you’re stuffed full. the wet slap of his hips against your ass echoes off the walls. your tits bounce under your jersey, heavy and slick with sweat. your stomach bulges with every thrust, the outline of him visible and obscene.

“o-oh fuuuck, ‘ren!” you moan pathetically, glasses already fogging up.

“mmm,” he groans, biting his lip hard. “look at that—f-fuck, look at how deep i am. you feel that, ma? you feel me all in your s-stomach?”

“y-yeaaah, ohmygoddd—” your voice cracks, tears pricking your eyes.

you’re pathetic, whining and drooling, glasses sliding down your nose. your braids whip against the sheets every time he slams into you.

he moans—head dropping to your shoulder, breath hot and shaky. “pussy’s too good… can’t hold it, ma, f-fuck—” he tries to hide it, biting down, but the whines keep spilling out.

“squeeze me like that again and ‘m done.”

your ass bounces with each rough stroke, the bedframe rattling. his chain smacks against your chest. sweat drips from his temples onto your skin. you’re crying now, glasses fogged, legs shaking in his grip.

“talk t’me, mama,” he pants, hips slapping, “tell me how bad you need it.”

“i—fu-fuuck, need it—n-need all of you—!” you babble, tongue out, eyes rolling. “d-don’t stop, ‘ren—haah! d’nt stop,”

he fucks you meaner, deeper, sloppier.

every thrust louder, wetter, filthier. until you’re sobbing into the sheets, thighs trembling, cunt spasming around him. you cum hard, back arching, body clenching, squirting against his dick.

“mfh—ffuuck, ‘m gonna—” he moans pathetically, unrestrained, slamming into you until he bursts.

hot cum spilling deep inside, filling you up, dripping out around his dick as he keeps thrusting, desperate to drag it out.

he collapses onto you, still buried deep, chest pressed to your heavy tits, panting against your neck. your braids tangle around his fingers as he holds you close, whispering against your damp skin.

“love you, ma. swear on my l-life. nobody else—just you.”

you’re still trembling, glassy-eyed, whining softly as he kisses your braids, your cheek, your fogged-up glasses. his jersey sticks to both of you, sweat and cum and love soaking the sheets.

“lo-love you too, ‘rennie.”

and he doesn’t pull out. not yet. not when you’re his reward.

hi 😅😅😅😅

[purplereina11]

Apart of Perfect Shot Series

Baby's first final/family life update

Wordcount: 5k

Having a sort through my drafts and found this I wrote two weeks ago and didn't post enjoy

The hum of the plane engine was the only thing keeping you tethered as your mind raced ahead to what was waiting in Lisbon. Sofia was curled into your side, fast asleep with her thumb tucked in her mouth, her little noise-cancelling headphones askew on her head. You smoothed her hair back gently, heart thudding with nerves not about the flight, but about the moment that was coming.

Alexia had no clue.

You hadn't breathed a word to her. Not when she called you last night sounding nervous but trying to mask it with her usual bravado. Not when Eli had checked in that morning, assuming you were home, asking you to keep Alexia calm from afar. You hadn't even told her, because if anyone was going to accidentally let it slip it would be Eli.

You wanted this to be perfect.

Alexia had spent weeks saying she didn’t want you to travel, not with your growing bump, not with Sofia to juggle, not with how exhausted you’d been lately. You knew her well enough to know that wasn’t the real reason. She didn’t want you to come because if they lost, she didn’t want you to see her heart break in real time. She didn’t want to put that on you.

But you knew Alexia, Win or lose, she needed her people and you and Sofia were her people.

You had Carla in on the secret she was meeting you at the hotel with a spare accreditation pass. She’d practically squealed when you told her your plan, already imagining Alexia’s face when she saw you.

The landing was smooth, Sofia stirring only when the tires hit the tarmac, mumbling a sleepy, “Mami?” You smiled, lifting her onto your lap, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Mami’s going to be very surprised when she sees us, princesa.”

+

The hotel lobby was quiet, a stark contrast to the adrenaline fuelled stadium that awaited them later. Carla had arranged everything right down to slipping you a key card for access and sending you the exact time Alexia and the team would be down for breakfast. You were grateful. The nerves sitting in your chest were growing unbearable.

Sofia was perched on your hip, her little hand clutching the collar of your shirt, eyes wide as she took in the new surroundings. She was groggy but curious, as always. You whispered in her ear, “Are you ready to surprise Mami?”

She nodded with an enthusiastic, if slightly sleepy, “Sí.”

Carla was the first to spot you from where she lingered near the breakfast buffet, filling a plate with fruit she had no intention of eating. She grinned, trying to stifle her excitement as she waved you over.

“They’re all seated already,” she whispered as you approached. “She’s sitting with Mapi, Ingrid, and Patri. Completely unaware.”

You peeked into the dining area, heart lurching at the sight of Alexia. She was leaned back in her chair, coffee in hand, listening as Patri animatedly talked with her hands. Alexia looked calm, but you could see the tension in her jaw, the way her leg bounced beneath the table.

Carla gave you a nudge. “Go on, mama bear. Go give her the shock of her life.”

You took a breath, steadied Sofia on your hip, and started walking.

It took a second, but Ingrid was the first to notice you her eyes widening as she elbowed Mapi, whispering something under her breath. Mapi’s head snapped up, a slow grin spreading across her face as her gaze flicked from you to Alexia. Patri spotted you next, her face lighting up, but Alexia was still oblivious, reading a text on her phone, completely unaware of the wave of reactions crashing around her.

You cleared your throat. “Excuse me, is this seat taken?” Her head snapped up immediately, brow furrowed at first, but when her eyes landed on you and Sofia, everything around her seemed to stop.

She froze.

“Mierda,” she whispered, eyes blinking as if she thought you were a mirage. “What? How?”

You couldn’t help the smile as you gently placed Sofia down. The toddler, recognising her cue, toddled straight over, arms raised high. “Mami!”

Alexia was out of her chair in an instant, crouching down as Sofia crashed into her arms. You watched her gather Sofia up, holding her so tight it was like she was anchoring herself.

“You’re here,” Alexia murmured, voice already cracking, her hand cupping Sofia’s tiny head. “I—You’re actually here.”

You stepped closer, cupping Alexia’s cheek with your free hand. “I couldn’t let you face today without us.”

Her eyes filled with tears, but she smiled through them, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. “You’re insane,” she whispered against you.

Around you, the girls gave the two of you a respectful bubble of space, but the emotion in the air was palpable. Patri sniffled and muttered something about hormones, Mapi just leaned back, grinning like the cat that got the cream, and Ingrid was tearing up as she watched Alexia hold Sofia close, her hand resting protectively over your bump as if to make sure her entire world was right there in her arms.

“I thought you didn’t want me to come,” you said softly.

Alexia exhaled, pressing her forehead to yours. “Of course I wanted you to come. I always do, but I didn't want you to feel you had to come, its a lot to fly with Sofia alone”

“Mami!” Sofia’s little voice interrupted, squirming in her grip. “Pan, please.”

That made Alexia laugh, a wet, choked sound that melted every bit of tension from her shoulders. She sat back, adjusting Sofia on her lap as she reached for a piece of bread, tearing it into tiny pieces for her. “This is the best surprise you’ve ever pulled,” she said, glancing up at you with a lopsided smile.

“I still have one more for you later,” you teased, heart fluttering as her curiosity peaked.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” she said with mock exasperation.

“But you love it.”

“I do.”

And as she looked around the table, her team mates all doting over Sofia, the weight of the day seemed a little less heavy on her shoulders.

You and Alexia were sat side by side, as you both watched Sofia toddling around the open space, her little feet pattering across the floor with surprising confidence.

“She’s getting brave, eh?” Alexia murmured, her hand resting lazily on your knee, thumb tracing gentle circles.

“She’s a menace,” you replied with a grin, though your heart swelled with pride. “A very cute, clever little menace.”

Sofia was in her element, with the whole squad sat around for breakfast, relaxed and chatting in groups, she had no shortage of willing victims to charm. Every time she stumbled, someone was there to scoop her back up, someone new to flash that winning smile at.

You watched as she tottered her way up to Patri, who was mid-conversation with Mapi, and immediately reached up, grabbing at the necklace Patri wore. Patri didn’t even flinch, only smiled indulgently and let Sofia play with it for a moment before gently distracting her with a soft toy Mapi had sneakily pulled from behind her back.

“She’s got them all wrapped around her finger,” you said, feeling Alexia’s laughter rumble against your side as she leaned into you.

“She gets that from you,” Alexia teased, pressing a kiss to your temple.

But Sofia wasn’t done yet, her next target was Vicky, who was sat at the far table with a small plate of banana slices she was lazily picking at. You could see Sofia’s little eyes zero in on them, her path determined and focused. She waddled over, pulling herself up onto the edge of Vicky’s knee, her tiny hand resting on Vicky’s leg as she peered up at her with the most innocent, hopeful expression.

“Oh, no. Here we go,” Alexia muttered with a grin.

Vicky looked down and immediately crumbled, unable to resist the silent request. “Ay, Sofi… you want some, pequeña?”

Sofia responded with a firm nod, lips already smacking in anticipation. Vicky laughed and picked up a slice, holding it out to her. Sofia didn’t waste a second, taking the banana and popping it straight into her mouth with a satisfied hum.

“She’s unreal,” you said, shaking your head in disbelief. “She’s going to be trouble when she’s older.”

Alexia’s hand found yours, fingers lacing together. “She already is, but look how loved she is.”

You looked around the room, every single one of the girls had made Sofia feel like she belonged like she was part of this family. The ones who weren’t already fussing over her kept sneaking fond glances in her direction and Sofia thrived in it, surrounded by laughter, attention, and warmth.

“She adores them,” you said softly. “I didn’t think she’d be this confident in a room full of people. She’s fearless.”

“She gets that from me,” Alexia joked, giving your hand a playful squeeze. “But… she’s her own little person, too. Seeing her here its all I ever wanted.”

You turned to Alexia, your heart aching in the best way as you took in the soft, proud smile that curved her lips, her eyes glossy as she watched Sofia with so much love it nearly bowled you over.

“She’s perfect,” Alexia whispered, more to herself than to you.

“She’s ours,” you murmured back, leaning into her shoulder.

You both sat there for a while longer, soaking in the moment, no pressures, no upcoming final weighing on Alexia’s shoulders. Just your daughter charming an entire Champions League squad one banana slice at a time.

“She’s gonna milk that cuteness until there’s nothing left on anyone’s plates,” Alexia sighed, amused.

You smirked, placing a hand on your bump. “Let’s be honest, she’s just warming them up for the next one.”

Alexia turned, eyes twinkling as she kissed you again. “Good. We’ll need all the help we can get.”

Soon as you called out, “Sofia,” all eyes flicked toward your little girl, still sat on the floor surrounded by a handful of Alexia’s teammates.

“Si, Mama,” came her sweet, high-pitched response, her little head turning to find you. The room collectively melted.

“Oh my god,” Patri whispered dramatically, pressing a hand over her heart as if Sofia’s tiny voice had physically hit her.

“She’s too much,” Mapi added, grinning as Sofia gave you her full, undivided attention, blinking up at you with those soft brown eyes, Alexia’s eyes.

“Shall we show mami what you learned with Uncle Ricard?” you prompted, your voice lilting in that coaxing tone she loved.

Sofia’s face lit up, cheeks dimpling as she nodded enthusiastically. “Si!” she chirped.

Alexia's Uncle Ricard had been a constant male figure in Sofia’s life, often spoiling her with his famous paella anytime she so much as uttered the word dinner. The bond they’d formed was pure, and you’d found it endlessly sweet how Sofia clung to his every word when he showed her anything.

“How does mami celebrate when one of the girls scores?” you asked, casting a playful glance at Alexia, whose brow quirked with amused curiosity.

Sofia stood up, finding her balance with a little wobble before confidently marching over to where Claudia and Ingrid were sitting on the floor. Without hesitation, she reached out and gave Ingrid’s head a pat, her tiny hand bouncing off the top of Ingrid’s head.

A chorus of soft laughs and adoring awws rippled through the team as Sofia continued her little mission, walking from player to player, patting their heads in turn, some even leaning down so she could reach.

“She’s going down the line!” Ona snorted, as Sofia made her way to Patri, who ducked her head just to meet her at eye level.

“She’s really been watching you, Ale,” Vicky teased, nudging Alexia with a grin, but you weren’t done yet.

“Okay, princesa,” you cooed, patting Alexia’s thigh to make sure she was paying attention. “Then what does mami do, baby?”

Sofia spun on her heel and glanced back at you for approval before standing up straighter. With a deliberate little flourish, she tipped her imaginary hat, bowing her body and flinging her arm in front of herself, in that exact signature gesture Alexia always did after a goal.

The room erupted.

Patri fell backward dramatically onto the carpet, clutching her chest. “No, no, I’m dead. I’m actually dead.”

Mapi was up on her feet, clapping her hands. “She’s iconic, Ale!”

Even Ingrid was giggling, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “It’s like a tiny you, Ale, but cuter.”

Alexia, who hadn’t taken her eyes off Sofia for even a second, was biting her bottom lip, clearly trying and failing to fight the proudest grin and of course the tears. She looked over at you, shaking her head in disbelief, her eyes shimmering. “You two are trouble,” she murmured, leaning in to press a kiss against your temple.

But her gaze snapped back to Sofia, who was already toddling back toward her mami, beaming at the laughter she’d caused.

“Mami proud?” Sofia asked innocently, those big eyes staring up at Alexia.

Alexia didn’t hesitate, scooping her up onto her lap and showering her face in kisses. “Mami’s so proud, mi amor. You’re perfect.”

You leaned into Alexia’s side, resting your hand over her arm that was wrapped securely around Sofia. “You ready to cheer for mami and her team today Sofia?"

"BARCA!" Sofia unexpectedly yelled, making many in the room jump, then giggled at the reaction, "I do good mami?"

Alexia grinned, "You did amazing baby, you shout like that and I'll definitely hear you whilst I play"

+

The final whistle pierced the stadium air, and in that moment, you felt your heart sink. Barcelona had lost.

The players stood scattered across the pitch, hands on hips, heads down, some with their shirts tugged up to wipe away tears. Alexia was stood still, her gaze locked onto the ground, as if she couldn’t bear to look up and face the enormity of it all. You could feel her heartbreak, even from the stands.

Sofia was nestled against your chest, her tiny hands playing with the zipper of your jacket, oblivious to the result, but sensitive to the shift in atmosphere. The roaring crowd had quietened, the excitement dimmed, and she looked up at you with big, curious eyes.

“Mami sad?” she asked softly.

You swallowed back the lump in your throat. “Yeah, baby. Mami’s sad.”

You could see Alba and Eli further along the row, both subdued, hearts breaking not just for Alexia, but for the whole team. You exchanged a look with Alba, who gave you a small nod. It was time to go down.

Making your way through the narrow stairways with Sofia in your arms, you couldn’t shake the nerves that gripped your stomach. You knew Alexia, she’d blame herself, she always did and you weren’t sure she’d want to face anyone right now, not even you, but you also knew Alexia. When her world was crumbling, she needed you to walk straight through the debris and hold her together.

By the time you reached the tunnel, some of the players had started to drift in, heads low, eyes red. No one stopped you, they just offered tired smiles as you passed, your presence and Sofia’s a small beacon of softness in a harsh moment.

You spotted her before she saw you.

Alexia was slumped against the wall near the entrance to the locker room, her kit stained with sweat and grass, her hair clinging to her neck. She was staring blankly ahead, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“Mami!” Sofia’s voice, pure and bright, echoed down the corridor.

Alexia’s head snapped up immediately, her eyes locked onto you, in an instant, all the steeliness, all the defences she’d built up during that final half hour crumbled. Her shoulders slumped, her jaw tightened, and those shimmering, unshed tears finally broke free. She stood frozen for a second, as if unsure she deserved you being here, but you didn’t give her a choice.

You walked straight up to her, one hand gently cupping her cheek as you pressed Sofia into her arms. Alexia’s hands trembled as she took her daughter, holding her close, breathing in her scent like it was the only thing keeping her afloat.

Sofia’s little hand patted her mami’s damp cheek. “Mami no sad,” she whispered, her brow furrowed.

That was it, Alexia broke, her forehead pressed against Sofia’s, her shoulders shaking as the tears finally came, freely, unapologetically. You wrapped your arms around both of them, holding your little family together as Alexia cried silently, only the soft hiccups betraying her heartbreak.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against Sofia’s temple, though you weren’t sure who she was apologising to, her daughter, you, or herself.

“Don’t,” you murmured firmly, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. “You don’t apologise for loving something this much, Alexia. You gave it everything. That’s all you ever do.”

Sofia nestled closer into Alexia’s chest, fingers curling into her kit. “Mami’s best.”

Alexia gave a wet, broken laugh, kissing the crown of Sofia’s head. “You’re too good to me, princesa.”

You wiped the streaks of mascara from under her eyes, your thumb gentle. “Let’s go, Ale. You don’t have to be strong right now. You’ve got us and your team.”

She nodded, still cradling Sofia like the most precious thing in the world.

As you walked her back towards the locker room, a few of the girls caught sight of you. Mapi was one of the first, her face softening at the sight of Alexia holding her daughter, her walls visibly lowering. One by one, the team surrounded Alexia not with noise, not with forced positivity but with presence. Quiet, steady, unwavering.

The silver medal wasn’t what they wanted, but right now, none of them would trade this moment, with their captain being reminded of the things that mattered most.

“Come on, mami,” you whispered against Alexia’s ear. “Let’s take our girl home.”

Alexia exhaled, nodding. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”

+

The suite was quiet when you got back to the hotel, a stark contrast to the chaos of the stadium. Eli had taken Sofia for a walk around the hotel gardens to give you and Alexia some space. Alba had gone to the room she had with her mami, understanding that Alexia needed this moment to breathe.

You unlocked the door, letting Alexia step in first. She paused in the middle of the room, her eyes scanning the space like she wasn’t sure what to do now. The tension in her shoulders hadn’t eased, her jaw was still tight, lips pressed into a thin line, as if she were holding herself together by sheer force of will.

You closed the door softly behind you, walking over to her, wrapping your arms gently around her waist from behind, resting your cheek against her back. She sighed a long, shaky exhale. “I failed,” she whispered, her voice raw.

“No, you didn’t,” you said into her shoulder blade. “You didn’t fail, Alexia.”

Her hands came up to cover yours where they rested on her stomach, squeezing them tightly. “I’m their captain. I’m supposed to lead them. I couldn’t even” Her voice cracked. “I couldn’t even lift them when it mattered most.”

You stepped around her, gently cupping her face, forcing her to meet your eyes. “You don’t get to carry this all on your own, Ale. You never did. You think those girls don’t know how much you gave them this season? They’d follow you into hell, and they would again tomorrow if you asked.”

Her lips trembled, and she tried to look away, but you wouldn’t let her.

“And do you know why?” you continued, your thumbs brushing away fresh tears. “Because you’re not just their captain. You’re their heart. Their soul. Even when you feel empty, you give them everything. You always have, but you don’t have to be strong right now. You’re allowed to fall apart.”

Her forehead rested against yours, her breathing shallow. “It just hurts. More than I thought it would. I thought after loosing in 2022 it wouldn't hurt this much again”

“I know,” you whispered. “But you don’t have to hurt alone.”

For a long moment, she didn’t say anything. Then she slowly sank onto the edge of the bed, pulling you down with her, her arms wrapping around your waist as she buried her face into your growing bump. You ran your fingers through her hair, soothing, as her silent tears soaked into your shirt.

There was a soft knock at the door. It creaked open, and Eli’s head poked through, Sofia perched on her hip. “Can we come in?” she asked gently.

Alexia sat up, wiping her face, and nodded.

Eli placed Sofia down, and the little girl wasted no time toddling straight over to Alexia, climbing onto her lap like she belonged there, which she did. Alexia wrapped her arms around her daughter, breathing her in like she was oxygen.

Sofia’s small hands framed her mami’s face, squishing her cheeks slightly. “Mami no sad,” she said, so earnestly that it pulled a laugh straight from Alexia’s chest.

“I’m okay, princesa,” Alexia whispered, kissing Sofia’s hands. “Because you’re here.”

Eli smiled softly, retreating to give you the space you needed. Alba appeared in the doorway with a quiet, “You good?” and Alexia gave a small, grateful nod.

As Sofia snuggled into her mami’s chest, you curled up beside them, hand resting over Alexia’s.

Tonight wasn’t the night Alexia had dreamt of, but it was still a night where she was reminded of what she’d built. What she had. What she was and that was more powerful than any trophy.

+

The hum of the plane engine was soft and steady, a low vibration through the cabin as the lights dimmed to a calm glow. Most of the team had fallen into an exhausted silence some dozing, others listening to music, the rest simply staring out into the inky darkness. It had been an emotionally draining night for everyone.

Alexia sat nestled into the window seat, legs stretched out slightly for balance, her arm wrapped securely around your shoulders where you leaned into her side. Sofia lay sprawled across both your laps, her small body cocooned in a fluffy blanket, thumb tucked lazily into her mouth, the other hand loosely clutching Alexia’s shirt. You, too, had drifted off, cheek resting against her shoulder, breathing soft and even.

Alexia didn’t move, she was afraid if she even so much as shifted, this perfect, quiet moment would shatter.

Her eyes flickered down to Sofia’s sleeping face, those chubby cheeks squished into her lap, a tiny furrow in her brow even in sleep. She couldn’t believe how much love could fit into something so small. Her free hand brushed softly down Sofia’s back, feeling the rise and fall of her daughter’s breathing, her heart syncing to its rhythm.

Then her gaze turned to you, your bump gently rising beneath Sofia’s blanket. The knowledge that soon, there would be another tiny human to love this fiercely it overwhelmed her, in the best possible way.

Alexia’s eyes prickled again, but this time, not with sadness. It was peace.

All season, she’d been carrying this weight on her shoulders the expectation, the pressure, the burden of leadership, but sitting here, with her entire world asleep against her, she realised none of that mattered. Trophies were beautiful, yes. Wins were euphoric. But this was joy.

Sofia stirred slightly, her head turning into Alexia’s stomach. A small smile curved Alexia’s lips as she hushed her instinctively, rocking her knees ever so slightly. She caught a glance from Mapi across the aisle who was trying to look unaffected but smiled at the sight of Alexia swaying gently with her sleeping family.

It wasn’t the season ending Alexia had envisioned, but looking down at the two of you, feeling the steady thump of your heartbeat against her side and the warmth of Sofia’s breath against her skin, she couldn’t imagine needing anything else to get through it.

She lowered her head, pressing a soft kiss to Sofia’s hair, then leaned to press another to your temple, murmuring so softly only you could hear, “I’m the luckiest woman in the world.”

You stirred, mumbling sleepily, “Hmm?”

“Nothing,” she whispered, her lips curling against your skin. “Go back to sleep, mi vida.” And as the plane hummed steadily beneath them, Alexia held her world together with both arms, perfectly content in the silence.

+

The sun poured gently through the sheer curtains of your living room, casting a golden glow across the soft chaos of your home. Sofia’s toys were scattered in their usual trail from the sofa to the playmat, the faint hum of a washing machine coming from down the hall.

You padded into the kitchen barefoot, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, expecting the familiar hustle of Alexia gathering her training gear or mumbling about errands, but she wasn’t there.

Instead, you found a sticky note on the coffee machine, written in her neat handwriting.

No plans today. No people. Just us. Get comfy, breakfast’s on the way. —A

You blinked, heart swelling already. It wasn’t often that Alexia could halt the world from spinning around her, but when she did it always felt like the air got easier to breathe.

Not five minutes later, the front door clicked open. Sofia, still in her pyjamas, squealed from the living room as Alexia appeared with a brown paper bag in one hand and a takeaway coffee carrier in the other.

“Mami!” Sofia rushed over, clinging to Alexia’s leg, her wild bedhead bouncing with every excited step.

“Hola, princesa.” Alexia crouched down, kissing Sofia’s cheek before looking up at you with that soft smile she reserved for moments like these. “You didn’t think I was letting today be a normal day, did you?”

You shook your head, biting back a grin as you took the coffee from her. “You’re up to something.”

“Maybe.” She wiggled her brows dramatically as she stood, brushing Sofia’s hair back. “But first, you’re going to sit. We’re going to eat. And then…” She glanced at the growing bump beneath your shirt with a soft smirk. “We’re going to spend the whole day not thinking about football or anything except this family.”

You knew better than to argue.

Breakfast was simple pastries from your favourite bakery, fresh fruit Sofia kept sneaking off your plate, and the richest, silkiest coffee you’d had in weeks. Alexia didn’t rush you once, not when you lingered at the table long after Sofia had abandoned her banana for blocks, not when you leaned into her, enjoying the quiet.

The rest of the morning was exactly as Alexia had promised.

Pajamas stayed on. Phones were tossed into a drawer. The television remained off. You built pillow forts with Sofia in the living room, Alexia crawling in behind her like a big kid, her laughter echoing in the soft afternoon light. You both giggled as Sofia declared it “Mami’s castle” before crawling into your lap, content as you braided her messy curls.

By midday, Alexia had pulled you onto the balcony with a soft blanket, Sofia napping soundly inside, her head resting on her stuffed football. The two of you sat in comfortable silence, your head resting against Alexia’s shoulder as her hand drew lazy circles over your bump.

“She’s getting big,” you murmured, glancing down.

“She’s perfect,” Alexia whispered, pressing her lips to your temple. “Both of you are.”

There was no need for grand plans today, no fancy gestures, this just existing, just being together without the pressure of performing for anyone else was enough.

As the afternoon bled into a warm, golden evening, Sofia woke, toddled straight into Alexia’s arms, and the three of you curled onto the sofa, tangled in blankets. The world outside could spin as fast and as loud as it wanted. Today, it couldn’t touch you.

“Best day ever,” you murmured sleepily.

Alexia smiled, kissing the top of your head. “We’re just getting started.”

+

Eli and Alba arrived in their usual whirlwind arms full of takeaway bags, Alba loudly announcing that she’d brought enough food to feed a small army. You couldn’t help but smile at the familiar chaos as they breezed through the door, Eli tutting at Alba’s dramatics while she set the food down on the kitchen counter.

“You are spoiled, you know that, right?” Alba teased, ruffling Sofia’s hair as the toddler clung to your leg.

“You’re the one who brought enough for a football team,” you quipped back, taking the bags from Eli with a grateful smile.

Dinner was loud, as it always was when the four of you were together Alba telling stories, Eli fussing over Sofia’s eating habits, Alexia’s hand never leaving your thigh beneath the table. The conversation was light and easy until Eli, in true mother-in-law fashion, dropped the inevitable question.

“So… have you two decided on a name for baby number two yet?” Her eyes twinkled, though you could see the genuine curiosity behind her smile.

You and Alexia exchanged a look one you’d shared a dozen times over the past few weeks whenever this question came up, a silent agreement, a mutual shrug.

“No,” Alexia sighed, leaning back in her chair. “We keep circling names but nothing feels right.”

Eli’s brow arched. “You’re running out of time, hija.”

Alba, never one to miss an opportunity for dramatics, leaned in over the table. “Maybe Sofia should decide. She’s the big sister, after all.”

Sofia, busy smushing a piece of bread into her juice, perked up at the sound of her name. Eli turned to her with a gentle smile, “Sofia, cariño, what do you think your baby sister should be called?”

Sofia beamed, clearly loving the attention. “Ummm… Chocolate!” she declared proudly, as if she’d cracked the code.

Alba howled with laughter while Eli smiled patiently. “That’s a good one, princesa, but maybe something else?”

Sofia nodded once with enthusiasm. “Pepa Pig.”

You buried your face in your hands, laughing, as Alexia’s head dropped, her body shaking with silent giggles. “She’s definitely your daughter,” Alexia murmured.

Alba was already snickering, “I mean, it has a ring to it. Pepa Pig Putellas”

You leaned over to Sofia’s level, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Princesa, what would you call your baby sister if mama and mami, let you name her, not being silly?”

Sofia’s brow furrowed in that same determined way Alexia’s did when she was focused. She looked up at you with those big, earnest eyes and said softly, “Isabella.”

Time stopped.

You felt Alexia’s hand still on your leg, her grip tightening as your heads snapped to look at each other. It was the first name in months that didn’t feel like a maybe, or a placeholder, or something you’d grow into. It just felt right, like it had been waiting for Sofia to give it life.

“Isabella,” Alexia repeated, her lips curving into a soft smile, her voice like a breath. "Sofia and Isabella"

You reached for her hand, your eyes locking in silent agreement. “I love it,” you whispered.

Eli’s hand came to her chest, clearly emotional, while Alba blinked, clearly surprised, before grinning. “Sofia, you little genius,” she teased, ruffling her curls again.

Sofia beamed, proud of her important contribution, having no clue she’d just named her baby sister.

“Isabella it is,” Alexia said, pressing a kiss to Sofia’s head and just like that baby number two, she had a name.