#I’m really happy with the energy in this one

[chilling-seavey]

I looove finding long George fics!!!! Sign me UP!

UGH the intro paragraph 🥺🥺 Already getting me right in the heart

“At 27, he's the same age as you, but while you're a mess of tears and worry, he looks immaculate in his race suit, the top half tied around his waist.” A gorgeous visual

“"Kimi mentioned you seemed upset. He's worried about you too, kept asking if anyone had seen where his 'Team Mom' disappeared to."” CUTE

“You can't help but laugh through your remaining tears. "She'd love that. She's already telling everyone at school that she knows George Russell."” SWEET

I love the little social media breaks! That’s super fun. And these actually feel realistic!!

“"George!" Amelia squeals, pressing her face closer to the camera. "I drew you! You're really tall in my picture!"” IM SQUEALING SHES SO CUTE

“"Now, how about you tell me more about this artwork where I'm apparently a giant? Should I be concerned about how I'm being portrayed to the next generation?"” LOLLL

George playfully saying he’s going to test her maths…would he even be able to keep up with Amelia? LOL

“Should I start calling him team dad” LMFAJENRG dkm

UGH I love how gentle and easy George is with her :’)

“"I've seen how she talks about you, her mummy who makes the silver cars go fast.”” STOP ILL CRYYY :’)

“She says her favorites are the silver arrow boys, but the papaya ones are also cool” Amelia is me on the lowkey

“"Sophie says her dad doesn't even remember to call when he goes on business trips."” OOF sorry sophie </3 get rekked

“Amelia just did a better launch off the couch than any F1 car” HAHAHA

Amelia has my HEART omg shes so excited

“he's nervous too” 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Melia being a little math wizz UGH we love a girlboss

“"She helps me count my pocket money and everything. And she knows exactly how many sleeps until every race."” CRYINGGG

She’s so obsessed with him I love it sm 😭

“"And he makes you smile the pretty smile."” IM GONNA CRYYYY

“She’s just like you - brilliant and beautiful” STOPPPP OH MY GAWD I NEED A SECOND

“"Quali strategy," Kimi mouths behind George's back, making kissy faces. You resist the urge to throw your pen at him.” I snorted out loud

Amelia and Kimi being besties omg their energy is so perf

“"Kimi showed me his room! And all my drawings are on the wall! And he has a special chair that spins around and around and-"” IM OBSESSED WITH HERRR I LOVE HER

The notes in the notebook stopppp 😭😭😭😭

“"The red car is being silly, Mummy make them move!"” HAHAHAJSFBWEHG

“the smile on George's face when he hugged you and Amelia after the race could probably light up London after dark.” :’))))

George’s silverstone post and caption AHHH obsessed. Did I mention I love girl boss amelia?? Because I do

“lando: mate she really wrote "george needs to drive more zoomy" in her notebook i'm crying” LMFAOOO ACTUALLY LAUGHED OUT LOUD

“It's well past Amelia's bedtime when you unlock your front door, cheeks still flushed from the perfect evening, and the goodnight kiss that made you feel like a teenager again.” I SCREAMED OMG WHERE CAN I SIGN UP

“"Because I think we should keep him,"” yess!!!

The little sneak away to the kitchen to kiss eheheheheh im giggling kicking my feet no one look at me

“"Mummy? George? What are you doing?" || "We were just..." you start, face burning. || "Were you kissing?" she asks directly, making you both flush deeper.” LNWGKWJRNW

Stop it right now I’m tearing up over him carrying her to bed and getting her changed and tucking her in and telling her the story of magical Monaco why are you doing this to me 😭😭

Uh oh…

Uh oh x2 her cold text replies…

The grownup conversation oh gosh here we go

“"And I love her," he insists. "More than I ever thought possible. Do you know what I keep in my wallet? That drawing she did of us, where she put all three of us together and wrote 'my family' at the top. I look at it every day. It's not some game to me."” ohhh shivers

The happy birthday post :’))))

Ugh the vibes of the party aftermath…the come down…the putting her to bed after an exciting day and now its just them…so gorgeous 

“”Let me prove to you that some people stay."” UGHERJGH 

HER BIKEEE IM IN FUCKING TEARS

“"The racing car bed better be amazing," you whisper.” 😩😩😩

Oh my GOD what a beautiful read. The depth of everything just made it all feel so REAL. Thank you, op, for sharing this gorgeous masterpiece with us <3

puzzle pieces - gr63

summary: a new strategist who happens to be a single mom of a five-year-old girl joins the mercedes team for the 2025 season, and george fits in their world like puzzle pieces. wc: 13.3k + social media posts

folkie radio: MY FIRST GEORGE LONG FIC !!! im not that confident about it but i really hope you like it ! let me know all of you thoughts

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

📍Melbourne, Australia

You're huddled in the darkest corner of the Mercedes garage in Melbourne, your silver shirt dampened with tears as you try to muffle your sobs. The Australian Grand Prix weekend has barely begun, but your heart is 16,000 kilometers away in London, where your five-year-old daughter Amelia is fighting a nasty fever. Your mother had called an hour ago - Amelia's temperature wasn't going down, and she kept asking for you between fitful naps.

The garage is a flurry of activity, with mechanics and engineers rushing around to prepare for the first practice session of the 2025 season. You know you should be at your station, going through the setup parameters with Kimi, who you'd worked with during his F2 championship run at Prema last year. The transition from F2 to Mercedes F1 had been smooth, largely because Kimi had practically begged the team to bring you along when they signed him. But right now, you feel like the worst mother in the world for being so far away from your baby girl.

"Hey, are you alright?"

The soft, distinctly British voice makes you jump. You quickly wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, mortified to find George Russell, your other driver, standing there with concern etched across his features. At 27, he's the same age as you, but while you're a mess of tears and worry, he looks immaculate in his race suit, the top half tied around his waist.

"I'm so sorry," you stammer, trying to compose yourself. "I'm being completely unprofessional. I should be with Kimi, going through his-"

"No, no, don't apologize," George interrupts, crouching down beside you. His eyes are kind, and there's genuine worry in his voice. "Kimi mentioned you seemed upset. He's worried about you too, kept asking if anyone had seen where his 'Team Mom' disappeared to."

You manage a weak laugh at that. Kimi had started calling you that in F2, and the nickname had stuck. "I should go find him, he'll be nervous about his first F1 weekend-"

"He's fine," George assures you. "What's wrong? Is there anything I can do to help?"

The kindness in his voice makes fresh tears well up in your eyes. "My daughter," you manage to say. "She's sick back home in London. She's only five, and I've never been away from her for so long, and now she has this fever that won't break, and I just-" Your voice cracks.

"I didn't know you had a little girl," George says softly. "What's her name?"

"Amelia," you reply, a small smile breaking through your tears at the thought of your daughter's bright brown eyes and untameable curls. "She was so excited when I got this job. She made me promise to bring home one of those tiny Mercedes model cars they give out during race weekends."

George smiles warmly. "I'm sure you have an amazing support system back home helping you out with her?"

You bite your lip, looking down at your hands. "It's just me and her, really. And well, my parents help when they can. I'm a single mum."

His expression shifts to one of deeper understanding. "Oh, I didn't know that. That must be really challenging, especially with a job like this."

"It is," you admit, wiping away another stray tear. "Most days I can handle it, you know? We have our routine, and Amelia's such a good girl. The team at Prema was amazing with her too, always making sure we could manage. But being so far away when she needs me..." You trail off, the lump in your throat growing bigger.

"Listen," George says, his voice gentle but firm. "Being a single parent in F1 is incredibly tough. I can't even imagine how you manage it all. But you're here, following your dreams, showing your daughter that anything is possible. That makes you an amazing mum."

You look at him, touched by his understanding. "It's just... I feel like I'm failing at both jobs right now. I should be focused on the race weekend, but all I can think about is Amelia."

"You're not failing at anything," he insists, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "And you know what? I bet Amelia is going to be so proud when she tells all her friends that her mum works for Mercedes F1. Speaking of which, we definitely need to get her one of those model cars. And maybe a signed cap too?"

You can't help but laugh through your remaining tears. "She'd love that. She's already telling everyone at school that she knows George Russell."

He grins, his eyes twinkling. "Well, now she actually does. Come on, let's get you some water, and you can tell me more about this little fan of mine. I've got some time before practice, and I'd love to hear about the girl who's apparently been spreading my fame in London playgrounds."

As you follow him toward the team's hospitality area, you feel a little lighter. Your worry about Amelia hasn't disappeared, but somehow, sharing it with someone who seems to genuinely care has made it a bit more bearable. Sometimes comfort comes from the most unexpected places, even from a Formula 1 driver in the corner of a garage in Melbourne.

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liked by georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli and 987,487 others

f1 NEW ADDITION TO THE SILVER ARROWS!

Mercedes F1 Team welcomes YN as their newest Race Strategy Engineer for the 2025 season! The 27-year-old British engineer joins from Prema Racing, where she spent three years working on race strategy and simulation.

Fun facts about YN: First class honors in Mechanical Engineering from Imperial College London Started her motorsport journey as an intern at Sauber in 2020 She was key to Kimi Antonelli's championship last year (he even calls her "Team Mom") She's a mum to 5-year-old Amelia 👶 Youngest strategy engineer on the current Mercedes team

Welcome to the Silver Arrows family, YN! 💫

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username1 love seeing more women in F1! and a mum too, that's incredible!

username2 i already stan her so bad

mercedesmagf1 Welcome to the best team on the grid! 🏁

kimi.antonelli THATS MY TEAM MOM!

username3 impressive cv

username4 One of the minds behind Prema's brilliant season last year! Mercedes making smart moves for 2025

username5 Imperial College London grad 🤓 She's definitely got the brains for this!

username6 THIS DIVA

georgerussell63 Welcome to the team! 🌟

liked by georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli and 54,098 others

yourinstagram First race weekend with @/mercedesamgf1 in the books! ✨

Still pinching myself that this is real. What an incredible start to the season: P3 for @/georgerussell63 and P4 for @/kimi.antonelli! Proud to be part of the team that made this result possible.

Special shoutout to everyone in the garage who made this rookie engineer feel so welcome (especially when I was having a bit of a mum meltdown missing my little one 🥺). The Silver Arrows family is real!

And to my little Amelia back home: Mummy's bringing back some very special presents from George and Kimi (aka Baby Driver) Thank you for being such a brave girl this weekend. You're the reason I push myself to achieve these dreams ❤️

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username1 AWE THIS IS SO CUTE

username2 her little girl must be adorable

georgerussell63 Couldn't have done it without you! See you in China (with presents for a certain little fan )

↳ username1 THE WAY HE SAID LITTLE FAN I'M CRYING

↳ username2 George is so sweet omg

mercedesamgf1 Silver Arrows family forever! 🌟

friend1 So proud of you! Amelia was screaming watching the podium 😂

username3 living the dream! you're such an inspiration!

username4 From one racing mum to another - you're crushing it! 💪🏼

username5 the way the entire F1 community is rooting for you

username6 I BET AMELIA CALLS KIMI BABY DRIVER AHH

kimi.antonelli love you team mom

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📍Shanghai, China

The Shanghai paddock is relatively quiet this early in the morning, and you've found a peaceful corner in the Mercedes hospitality area to have your breakfast while FaceTiming Amelia. She's excitedly showing you her school art project, a rather creative interpretation of a Mercedes F1 car, complete with glitter.

"And look, Mummy! I made George extra tall in the drawing!" she giggles, holding up her artwork where she's drawn a stick figure at least twice the size of the car.

You're in the middle of laughing when a familiar voice comes from behind you. "Did I hear someone say my name?"

Amelia's eyes go wide as George Russell himself appears in the frame, leaning over your shoulder with a warm smile, a coffee in hand.

"George!" Amelia squeals, pressing her face closer to the camera. "I drew you! You're really tall in my picture!"

George laughs, pulling up a chair beside you. "Well, I am quite tall in real life too! How are you feeling now, Amelia? All better?"

"Much better! I got a golden star at school yesterday for my maths!" She beams proudly. "And Sophie believes me now that my mummy knows you because I showed her my signed cap!"

"That's brilliant!" George responds enthusiastically. "You'll have to show me your maths skills sometime."

"Okay, sweetheart," you cut in, noticing the time. "You need to get ready for school now. Be good for Grandma, alright?"

"Okay, Mummy! Bye George! Good luck in the race!"

After you hang up, you can't help but smile at how Amelia has somehow managed to wrap one of Formula 1's top drivers around her little finger without even meeting him in person.

"You know," George says thoughtfully, taking a sip of his coffee, "why don't you bring her to one of the European races?"

You look up from your tea, surprised. "Oh, I... I hadn't really thought about it. I mean, I'd love to, but managing a five-year-old in the paddock while working..."

"Bring her to Silverstone," he suggests. "It's home race, your parents could come too. The team would love to meet her - she's practically our mascot now, the way Toto smiles whenever someone mentions 'George Russell's biggest fan.'"

You laugh, remembering how the team principal had been thoroughly amused by the story of Amelia's reaction to George's message. "She would absolutely lose her mind. She's been begging to see a real race."

"Then it's settled," George says with that characteristic Russell determination. "I'll talk to Toto about getting extra passes for your family. We can set her up in the garage with some headphones, show her the cars up close." He grins. "Plus, I need to see if she's as good at maths as she claims."

"George, you don't have to-"

"I want to," he interrupts gently. "You're part of the team now, and so is Amelia, in her own way. Besides," he adds with a playful smile, "I need to make sure my biggest fan gets the full Mercedes experience, don't I?"

You feel a warm glow in your chest, touched by his thoughtfulness. "Thank you, George. Really."

"Don't mention it," he says, standing up. "Now, how about you tell me more about this artwork where I'm apparently a giant? Should I be concerned about how I'm being portrayed to the next generation?"

As you describe Amelia's creative interpretation of the Mercedes team, complete with glitter and impossibly tall drivers, you find yourself looking forward to Silverstone more than ever. The thought of sharing your new world with your daughter, of seeing her eyes light up at the sight of the cars and meeting the team she's heard so much about... maybe George is right. Maybe it's time to bring your two worlds together.

"Oh, and YN?" George adds as he's about to head to the engineering briefing. "Tell Amelia to practice her maths. I'll be testing her when I see her."

You shake your head, laughing. Who would have thought that your daughter would end up with a Formula 1 driver as her personal maths tutor?

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📍Suzuka, Japan

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liked by username1, username2 and 10,985 others

f1updates Spotted: Mercedes driver George Russell grabbing coffee with the team's new strategy engineer YN outside the Suzuka paddock this morning. Could there be a new F1 couple on the horizon?

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username1 omg they look so cute together!! did you see how he's looking at her? 🥺

username2 okayy let's not be weird about this

username3 please chill out they're coworkers grabbing coffee

username4 she's the one who came from prema with kimi right? love seeing her settling in at mercedes!

username5 wait isn't she the single mom everyone was talking about during the melbourne weekend? when george was so sweet about her daughter being sick?

username6 kimi's team mom and george

username7 george russell 🤝 having excellent taste in both coffee and women

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The Bahrain paddock is eerily quiet at 1 AM, most of the team having retreated to their hotels hours ago. The gentle hum of your laptop and the occasional click of your mouse are the only sounds in the engineering room as you pore over tomorrow's race simulations for the hundredth time.

"You do know quali ended six hours ago, right?"

You jump slightly at George's voice. He's leaning against the doorframe, changed out of his race suit into casual wear, looking at you with concern.

"Just want to make sure we've covered all the scenarios for tomorrow," you mumble, stifling a yawn. "Your start position gives us a real chance at a win, I just need to-"

"YN," he interrupts softly, walking over to your desk. "It's 1 AM. The simulations will still be here in the morning."

You shake your head, forcing your tired eyes to focus on the screen. "I'm fine. I just need to run through these few more scenarios. Can't afford to miss anything."

George pulls up a chair, sitting beside you. "Can't afford to, or won't allow yourself to?"

Something in his gentle tone makes your carefully constructed walls crack a little. You sit back in your chair, running a hand over your face.

"I just... I need to prove I deserve this position," you say quietly. "I need this job, George. It's not just about the racing anymore. I have to put food on Amelia's table, pay for her school, her clothes, her future." Your voice catches slightly. "I'm all she has."

"What about her father?" George asks carefully, then immediately adds, "Sorry, that's none of my business-"

"No, it's okay," you say, surprising yourself. Maybe it's the late hour, or maybe it's just George's caring presence, but you find yourself wanting to talk. "He left when I told him I was pregnant. Said he wasn't ready to be a father, that it would ruin his career plans." You let out a bitter laugh.

George's expression darkens. "What a-" he catches himself, but you can guess the word he's thinking of.

"Yeah," you agree. "Anyway, he signed away his rights before she was born. Hasn't seen her once in five years. Doesn't pay any support." You fidget with your pen. "So it's just me. Every promotion, every extra hour, every bit of overtime, it all goes to giving her the life she deserves."

"YN," George says softly, placing a gentle hand on your arm. "You're already giving her an amazing life. You're showing her what strength looks like, what dedication looks like. But you can't pour from an empty cup."

Tears prick at your eyes. "I'm just so scared of failing her," you whisper. "Every time I see a bill, or she needs new shoes, or I think about university fees in the future... I can't mess this up, George. I can't let her down."

"Hey, look at me," he says firmly. "You're one of the best engineers I've worked with. Toto wouldn't have hired you if he didn't see that. The team trusts you, I trust you. But working yourself to exhaustion isn't going to help anyone - especially not Amelia."

You wipe away a stray tear. "I just want her to be proud of me."

"She already is," George says with certainty. "I've seen how she talks about you, her mummy who makes the silver cars go fast. But I bet she'd be even prouder knowing her mum takes care of herself too."

You manage a weak laugh. "When did you get so wise?"

"Must be all those post-race press conferences," he grins, then stands up, offering his hand. "Come on. I'm calling you a car, and you're going to get some sleep. That's an order from your driver."

"Oh, pulling rank now, are we?" you tease, but you're already saving your files and shutting down your laptop.

"If that's what it takes to get you to rest, absolutely," he says. As you gather your things, he adds softly, "You know, you're not alone anymore, YN. The team... we look after our own. You and Amelia, you're family now."

Something warm unfurls in your chest at his words. As you walk with him through the quiet paddock, you feel a little lighter, like you've shared some of the weight you've been carrying for so long.

"George?" you say as you reach the paddock exit. "Thank you. For listening, for caring... for everything."

He smiles, that genuine Russell smile that makes his eyes crinkle. "Anytime. Now go get some sleep - we've got a race to win tomorrow. Can't have my strategy engineer falling asleep on the pit wall, can we?"

For the first time in weeks, you fall asleep without worrying about simulations or spreadsheets, George's words echoing in your mind: you're not alone anymore.

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liked by georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli and 67,890 others

yourinstagram Great triple header with a bunch of points for the team ! Super proud of George and Kimi and all the team who makes everything possible. Now it's home time where a certain little girl is waiting for me with hugs and drawings for her favorite drivers 🤍

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username1 WE LOVE YOU YNNN

username2 sometimes i forget that team members have families waiting for them at home and they spend so much time away at races

mercedesamgf1 Proud of our favorite engineer ✨

lando the famous amelia! eager to finally meet her

↳ yourinstagram She says her favorites are the silver arrow boys, but the papaya ones are also cool

username3 amazing job now time to resttt

username4 amelia must love kimi and george i'm crying

username5 you're a super mom! your little girl should be really proud

username6 rest queen you deserve it

kimi.antonelli love you team mom, say hi to my little bestie for me

↳ yourinstagram She says she can't wait to see you, baby driver

georgerussell63 Can't wait for more of Amelia's glittery good luck drawings

↳ yourinstagram She made you extra tall in those again

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You're curled up on your couch in your London flat, finally home after three grueling weeks of racing across different countries. The morning sun filters through your curtains, casting glow over Amelia's curls as she snuggles against you. She hasn't left your side since you got back yesterday, following you around the flat like a tiny shadow, even waiting outside the bathroom door. Now she's nestled into your side, her small hand playing with the sleeve of your jumper, a self-soothing habit she's had since she was a baby when she wants to make sure you're really there.

The TV is playing her favorite morning cartoons, but you can tell she's not really watching. She keeps glancing up at you, as if making sure you haven't disappeared in the last thirty seconds.

"Mummy?" she asks during a commercial break, twisting to look at you. "Does George miss us when we're not at the races?"

You smile at her use of 'us', even though she's never been to a race. "I don't know, sweetheart. Why do you ask?"

"Because you said he asked about me in Japan," she says matter-of-factly. "And he always says hi when you call me from the track." She pauses, then adds, "Sophie says her dad doesn't even remember to call when he goes on business trips."

You pull her closer, pressing a kiss to her head. Sometimes it startles you how perceptive five-year-olds can be. "That's because George is special. And you know what? You'll get to meet him at Silverstone."

"That's so far away," she pouts, crossing her arms. "It's ages and ages away. Does he know I got full marks in maths last week? Mrs. Thompson said my adding up was ex-cell-ent."

Before you can answer, your phone buzzes with a text. Speaking of the devil...

Your heart does a little flip as you read the message.

"Melia?" you say, running a hand through her curls. "How would you like to meet George today?"

The speed at which she sits up is almost concerning. "Really? Really really? Not just on FaceTime?"

"Really really," you confirm. "He wants to get coffee near the park."

Amelia launches herself off the couch, practically vibrating with excitement. "Can I wear my special cap? The one he signed? And my Mercedes shirt? And can I bring my drawings to show him? And-"

"Slow down, love!" you laugh. "Yes to the cap and shirt, and yes, you can bring one drawing. Now go get dressed while I text him back."

Two hours later, you're walking through Hyde Park, Amelia's small hand clutching yours tightly. She's wearing her prized Mercedes cap and has been chattering non-stop since you left home.

"Do you think he's as tall in real life as on TV?" she asks for the third time. "Will he remember that I said his car looked like a rocket ship? Can I show him my times tables? Do you think-"

"Breathe, sweetheart," you remind her gently, amused by her enthusiasm.

You spot him before she does, sitting at an outdoor table of the café. He's dressed casually in jeans and a white t-shirt, sunglasses perched on his head, looking nothing like the fierce competitor you see at races. He's doodling something on a napkin, and the sight makes you smile - he's nervous too.

"George!" Amelia calls out before you can stop her, and his face breaks into a bright smile as he stands up. He really is impossibly tall, you think, especially from a five-year-old's perspective.

"Hello there! You must be the famous Amelia," he says, crouching down to her level. "I've heard so much about you."

Amelia, usually so outgoing, suddenly turns shy, pressing against your leg. "Hi," she says softly, then adds with determination, "I got all my sums right at school. Even the hard ones with carrying over."

George's laugh is warm and genuine. "Did you now? Well, I brought something to test that." He reaches into his bag and pulls out a small notebook and some colored pens. "Thought we could do some racing maths while your mum and I have coffee. What do you say?"

Amelia's eyes light up, and just like that, her shyness vanishes. "Can we do sums about how fast you go? Mummy says you drive at three hundred kilometers per hour sometimes!"

"That's right," George grins. "Should we calculate how long it would take me to drive to the moon at that speed?"

"Don't get her started on space," you warn with a laugh. "We'll be here all day."

Soon, the three of you are settled at the table, Amelia perched on a chair between you and George as he draws race cars and creates simple math problems involving lap times and pit stops. You've ordered coffee for yourself and George, and true to his word, he's gotten Amelia a hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.

"Right then," George says, drawing a simple track layout. "If I'm two seconds ahead of Max, and each lap takes one minute and thirty seconds..."

"That's ninety seconds!" Amelia interrupts proudly. "Because sixty plus thirty is ninety!"

"Brilliant!" George exclaims, and Amelia beams. "Now, if we do ten laps..."

You watch them interact, your heart swelling. George is surprisingly good with children, patient and engaging as he turns mathematics into a game about racing. He listens intently to Amelia's stories about school, asks her opinions about different racing tracks ("Abu Dhabi looks like a spaceship!" she declares), and seems genuinely delighted by her quick mind.

"Your daughter is brilliant," George tells you during a moment when Amelia is focused on coloring a particularly detailed Mercedes car. "She's got quite the mind for numbers. Wonder where she gets that from?"

"Like mother, like daughter," you reply, then catch him giving you a soft look that makes your cheeks warm.

"Mummy's really good at numbers," Amelia pipes up, not looking up from her coloring. "She helps me count my pocket money and everything. And she knows exactly how many sleeps until every race."

The afternoon passes quickly, filled with laughter and racing stories. George tells Amelia about his karting days, and she hangs on every word, occasionally interjecting with facts she's learned from watching races with you.

"I started racing when I was about your age," George tells her. "Maybe a bit older."

"Really?" Amelia's eyes go wide. "Mummy, can I do racing?"

You see George trying to hide his smile at your slightly panicked expression. "Maybe we can start with something a bit less dangerous," you suggest. "Like your school sports day?"

"Oh!" Amelia bounces in her seat. "George, I'm going to run in races at school! We have a special day and everything!"

"Is that so?" George leans forward, genuinely interested. "When is this big race?"

"Next Thursday!" she says excitedly. "We get to wear our own clothes instead of school uniform and everything! And Mummy's taking the morning off work to watch." She pauses, then adds hopefully, "Will you come see me race? I'm going to run really fast, like you drive."

"Amelia," you start to say, not wanting her to put George on the spot, but he interrupts.

"Well, I'll have to check my schedule, but I'd love to come see you race," George says seriously. "What events are you doing?"

"The hundred meter dash," Amelia pronounces carefully, clearly proud of remembering the proper term. "And the egg and spoon race. And maybe the three-legged race if Sarah wants to be my partner."

"Those are very important races," George nods solemnly. "Almost as important as the British Grand Prix."

"More important," Amelia declares. "Because Mummy says taking part is what matters, not winning."

You catch George's eye over her head, and he gives you a warm smile that makes your stomach flutter.

As the afternoon light starts to fade, you reluctantly check your watch. "We should probably head home, love. It's nearly dinner time."

"Five more minutes?" Amelia pleads, in the middle of showing George her detailed drawing of what she thinks the Mercedes factory looks like (complete with a rocket launch pad, because according to her, race cars are basically rockets).

"Tell you what," George says, "why don't I walk back through the park with you both? It's such a nice evening."

The walk back is filled with Amelia's chatter as she skips between you and George, occasionally holding both your hands to swing herself forward. She's completely at ease now, telling George about her friend Sophie's hamster and how she wants a pet too.

"Maybe a racing dog?" George suggests with a wink at you.

"George!" Amelia says suddenly, stopping in her tracks. "Will you come to my birthday party? It's not for ages and ages, but Mummy says we can have it in the garden and there might be a bouncy castle!"

"Amelia," you say gently, "George is very busy with racing-"

"When's your birthday?" George asks, ignoring your attempt to give him an out.

"In the summer!" she says proudly. "I'm going to be six!"

"I think I might be able to make it," George muses thoughtfully. "If your mum says it's okay, of course."

You're about to remind them both that summer is months away when you reach your street. As you're saying goodbye, Amelia surprises both you and George by hugging his legs. "Thank you for helping me with maths," she says. "And for making the silver cars go fast with Mummy."

George's expression softens as he hugs her back. "Thank you for being such a great student. Keep practicing those sums, okay? I'll need to test you again at sports day."

Later that night, as you're tucking Amelia into bed, she asks sleepily, "Mummy? I like George. He's nice."

You smile. "Yeah, baby. He is nice."

"He listens when I talk," she continues, fighting to keep her eyes open. "And he makes you smile the pretty smile."

You brush her curls back from her forehead, your heart full. "Get some sleep, love."

"Can we see him again soon?"

"We'll see," you say, kissing her forehead. "Sweet dreams, love."

As you close her door, your phone buzzes with a text.

You lean against the wall, smiling at your phone like a teenager. Something warm and hopeful blooms in your chest, a feeling you haven't allowed yourself to experience in a very long time. The way George was with Amelia today, so patient and kind, so genuinely interested in her thoughts and ideas...

You fall asleep that night thinking about George's smile, Amelia's laughter, and the way your little family of two suddenly feels like it might have room to grow.

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yourinstagram Someone special showed up to support our champion🥇 Thank you @/georgerussell63 for being such a good sport (literally) and making a little girl's day!

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username1 THIS IS SO CUTE OMFG

username2 IT WAS REALLY GEORGE

kimi.antonelli my team mom and dad being cute again 😎 tell my bestie i'm proud of her medal!!

mercedesamgf1 Our driver taking his coaching duties very seriously!

charles_leclerc this is adorable! congratulations amelia! 🎉

georgerussell63 Best co-pilot ever! Thanks for letting me join sports day, champ!

username3 GEORGE RUSSELL SHOWING UP TO SPORTS DAY AND DOING THE PARENT RACE?? this man is unreal 😭

username4 the way he's just casually becoming dad of the year?? help??

username5 THIS IS NOT REAL

username6 kimi calling them team mom and dad i can't- this family dynamic is everything

username7 the way the entire paddock is just watching these two co-parent at this point

username8 george showing up to support his engineer's daughter at sports day?? this is literally a romance novel

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You're in the Mercedes garage at Monaco, triple-checking the timing screens when Kimi bounces in, still buzzing with energy despite just finishing FP2. At seventeen, he's the youngest driver on the grid, but his talent is undeniable, having him move up to Mercedes feels like watching your second child succeed.

"There's my favorite strategy engineer!" he announces, dropping into the chair next to you. "Where's my bestie? I thought Amelia was coming to Monaco?"

You laugh, ruffling his hair despite his protests. "Silverstone, kid. That's the plan for her first race."

"But that's so far away," he whines, sounding remarkably like Amelia when she's disappointed. "I need her to draw me a good luck picture too. George keeps showing off the ones she makes him."

At the mention of George's name, you feel your cheeks warm slightly. Kimi notices immediately, his face splitting into a mischievous grin.

"Speaking of George..." he starts, wiggling his eyebrows. "I saw you two in the engineering room yesterday. Looking pretty cozy over those strategy plans."

"We were working," you say firmly, though your blush deepens.

"Sure, sure," Kimi nods sagely. "That's why George gets this dopey smile every time someone mentions your name. Because of work."

"Shouldn't you be in your post-practice debrief?" you deflect, trying to hide your smile.

"Oh, I'm gathering important team information right now," he says cheekily. "Like when George is finally going to ask you out properly instead of pretending he needs to discuss strategy at midnight."

You swat at him with your notebook. "Focus on your driving, kid."

"I am!" he protests. "Now let me focus on my other job, getting my two favorite people together." He pauses thoughtfully. "Well, three favorite people. Amelia's my number one, obviously."

"Of course she is," you roll your eyes fondly. "She asked about you this morning, by the way. Wanted to know if her 'baby driver' was being good."

Kimi beams at the nickname. "Tell her I'm being excellent. Unlike some people who keep pining away instead of-"

"Who's pining away?" George's voice cuts in as he enters the garage, and Kimi's grin turns positively wicked.

"Oh, just talking about-"

"Your tire management," you interrupt quickly, shooting Kimi a warning look. "Which needs work, by the way."

Kimi gives you an exaggerated wink before turning to George. "Hey teammate, YN was just telling me about Amelia's new drawing. The one where she drew you holding the trophy in Monaco?"

George's face lights up. "She drew that? Can I see?"

"It's not finished yet," you say, making a mental note to kill Kimi later. "She wants to add glitter."

"Of course she does," George laughs. "Speaking of Amelia, I found this great book about space and racing. Thought she might like it for her school project. I can bring it by later when we go over the quali strategy?"

"Quali strategy," Kimi mouths behind George's back, making kissy faces. You resist the urge to throw your pen at him.

"That would be nice," you say, trying to maintain professionalism despite Kimi's antics. "Thanks, George."

After George leaves, Kimi leans back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. "You know, for someone who's supposed to be good with numbers, you're really bad at calculating how totally in love with you he is."

"Don't you have some sim work to do?" you ask, but there's no bite to it.

"Fine, fine," he sighs dramatically, standing up. "But tell Amelia her baby driver misses her and needs more good luck drawings. And tell her that her future dad is doing great in practice-"

"OUT!" you laugh, pushing him toward the door.

"Love you too, Team Mom!" he calls over his shoulder.

As you turn back to your work, you can't help but smile. Between Amelia's enthusiasm, Kimi's teasing, and George's... everything, your life has become wonderfully complicated.

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liked by georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli and 82,478 others

yourinstagram Couldn't be prouder of these two! P1 for George and first ever podium for our baby driver. Special thank you to a certain 5-year-old whose lucky drawings (and very specific corner-by-corner instructions) clearly did the trick! 💫

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username1 COME ONNNN

kimi.antonelli BESTIE YOUR DAUGHTER IS MAGIC!! her rocket drawings made me faster, i have proof 🚀

georgerussell63 The fairy wings definitely gave us extra downforce today! Thanks chief engineer in training!

mercedesamgf1 Proof that rocket drawings = extra speed

alex_albon Need to know more about these magic drawings tbh 👀

username2 okay but can we talk about how george keeps amelia's drawings in his driver room?? proud dad energy??

username3 MY SON'S FIRST PODIUM 😭 and him immediately showing yn's daughter the trophy i'm deceased

username4 not me crying over kimi calling yn "team mom" and showing off his trophy like a kid who got an A+ 🥺

username5 the cutest f1 family doesn't exi-

username6 LIVING for george and yn trying to pretend they're not basically dating and co-parenting at this point

username7 george russell handsome successful f1 driver who keeps a 5 year old's drawings for good luck?? my heart can't take this

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The Silverstone paddock is buzzing with its usual race day energy, but today feels different. Your parents arrived with Amelia an hour ago, and watching your daughter take in the F1 world for the first time is making you see everything through new eyes.

"And this is where all the computers are," you explain, showing her around the garage. She's wearing her special Mercedes outfit, a miniature team kit that appeared mysteriously in your flat last week (you suspect George), complete with her own headset and passes.

"It's like a spaceship!" she whispers in awe, clutching your hand. "Is this where you make George and Kimi go fast?"

Before you can answer, a familiar voice calls out, "BESTIE!"

Amelia whirls around to see Kimi bounding toward her, already in his race suit. "Baby driver!" she squeals, running to hug him.

Kimi scoops her up, spinning her around. "Finally! I've been waiting forever to see you! Your drawings give me good luck, you know."

"Really?" Amelia beams. "I made you a new one for today! Mummy, can I show him?"

You pull the carefully protected drawing from your bag. Kimi and George's cars racing with what appears to be rockets attached to them. Kimi examines it with exaggerated seriousness.

"This is perfect! The rockets are exactly what we need," he declares. "Should we go put it up in my driver room?"

Amelia looks at you questioningly. "Can I go with Kimi, Mummy?"

"Of course, sweetheart. Grandma and Grandpa can go too." You turn to your parents, who are watching the scene with amused smiles. "I need to check some things before the race."

"Come on, bestie," Kimi says, still holding Amelia. "I'll show you where I keep all your other drawings. They're my lucky charms!"

As they head off, Amelia chattering excitedly about her rocket design theories, you hear your mother say to your father, "Did you ever think our granddaughter would have a Formula 1 driver as her best friend?"

You're reviewing last-minute strategy changes when George arrives, looking sharp in his race suit but slightly nervous.

"Is she here?" he asks, peering around the garage.

"Kimi kidnapped her," you laugh. "Something about lucky charm drawings."

George's face falls slightly. "Oh. I, uh, I got her something. For her first race." He pulls out a small package wrapped in silver paper.

"George..." you start, touched by his thoughtfulness.

"GEORGE!" Amelia's voice echoes through the garage as she runs back in, Kimi following with a grin. She launches herself at George, who catches her easily.

"Hello, trouble," he says warmly. "Ready for your first race?"

"Kimi showed me his room! And all my drawings are on the wall! And he has a special chair that spins around and around and-"

"Breathe, love," you remind her, sharing an amused look with George.

"I have something for you," George tells her, setting her down and handing her the package. "Every proper race engineer needs one of these."

Amelia carefully unwraps it to reveal a personalized notebook with "AMELIA - Race Engineer in Training" embossed on the cover, along with the Mercedes logo.

"It's just like Mummy's!" she gasps, running her fingers over the lettering.

"Look inside," George encourages.

She opens it to find the first page filled with messages - one from George, one from Kimi, and to your surprise, messages from Lewis Hamilton, Toto, and the entire engineering team.

"Now you can take notes during the race," George explains. "Study all our moves so you can tell us what we did wrong later."

Amelia hugs the notebook to her chest, then throws her arms around George's neck. "Thank you! I'm going to write down everything! Even when you make mistakes!"

"Especially when he makes mistakes," Kimi adds with a wink.

The pre-race preparations fly by, and before you know it, it's almost time for the drivers to head to the grid. Your parents have taken Amelia to their seats in the garage, where she's already making serious notes in her new notebook.

"Right," Kimi says, giving Amelia a high five. "I've got my lucky drawing, so P1 is basically guaranteed."

"No way," George argues playfully. "My drawing has more glitter. That's worth at least half a second per lap."

As they head out, you hear Amelia ask your mother, "Grandma, why does George look at Mummy the same way Prince Charming looks at Cinderella?"

You feel your face heat up as Kimi bursts out laughing and George nearly trips over his own feet.

The race itself is intense. Through it all, you can hear Amelia's running commentary behind you:

"Mummy told George to go faster and he did!" "The red car is being silly, Mummy make them move!" "Baby driver is catching up!"

And even though the race itself didn't bring good results for the team, the smile on George's face when he hugged you and Amelia after the race could probably light up London after dark.

Hours later, you're packing up your things in the engineering room after a long day of post-Silverstone analysis when George appears in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically nervous. He's changed out of his team gear into casual clothes, hands stuffed in his pockets.

"Hey," he says, lingering in the doorway. "Good day?"

"Yeah, just finishing up the race report," you nod, trying not to notice how good he looks in that light blue jumper. "You?"

"Same, all done with media." He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "Listen, I was wondering... would you like to get dinner?"

"Oh," you say, checking your watch. "I should probably get home soon. It's Amelia's bedtime and-"

"I meant just you and me," he interrupts softly. "Like... a date."

You freeze in the middle of putting your laptop away, your heart suddenly racing. "Oh," you say again, eloquently.

"I know this great place in Mayfair," he continues quickly, as if afraid you'll say no if he doesn't get all the words out. "And I already talked to your mum, she said she'd love to watch Amelia for the evening. If you want to, that is. No pressure at all, I just thought... well, after everything, and Silverstone was amazing, and you're amazing, and-"

"George," you cut off his rambling with a smile. "Are you asking me on a proper date?"

He runs a hand through his hair, that endearing nervous gesture you've come to love. "Yes. Very badly, apparently."

"You talked to my mum?" you ask, amused and touched.

"Well, yeah," he admits, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. "She cornered me after the race actually. Said something about being tired of watching us dance around each other and that she'd happily babysit any time."

You laugh, remembering your mother's knowing looks throughout the race weekend. "Did my five-year-old and my mother conspire to set us up?"

"Don't forget Kimi," George grins. "He's been sending me links to romantic restaurants for weeks. And threatening to tell Amelia all my embarrassing stories if I didn't, and I quote, 'get my act together.'"

"Sounds like we've been thoroughly outmaneuvered," you say, your heart feeling impossibly full.

"So..." George takes a step closer, hope written all over his face. "Is that a yes?"

You pretend to think about it. "Well, since you've already gotten approval from my entire family, including my self-appointed eighteen-year-old son..."

"YN," he groans, but he's smiling.

"Yes," you say softly. "I'd love to have dinner with just you."

His face breaks into that brilliant smile that never fails to make your stomach flip. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He takes another step closer, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "I've been wanting to ask you for ages," he admits. "Since Barcelona, really. Well, since before that if I'm honest."

"What took you so long?" you ask, even though your heart is hammering so hard you can barely hear your own words.

"I wanted to do it right," he says. "Make sure Amelia was okay with it, that you were ready. That I wasn't misreading things." He pauses. "Also, Kimi told me I had to wait until after Silverstone because he had money on me asking you out this week."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Of course he did."

"So," George says, taking your hand. "Tonight? I can pick you up at eight?"

"Seven sounds perfect."

As if on cue, your phone buzzes with a text from your mother:

Mum: Amelia and I are having a girls' night! Don't worry about bedtime, we've got it covered. Have fun on your date! 😘

George peers at your phone and laughs. "I think we've been set up by the most elaborate matchmaking scheme in F1 history."

"Seems like it," you agree, squeezing his hand. "Better make it worth their effort then."

His eyes soften as he looks at you. "I plan to."

As you walk out of the engineering room hand in hand, you can't help but smile at how perfectly everything has fallen into place. Your daughter adores him, your family approves, and even your teenage driver-turned-matchmaker is thrilled.

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liked by yourintagram, lando and 601,287 others

georgerussell63 Not the Silverstone weekend we wanted on track, but having this little engineer-in-training in our garage made everything better. Thanks for the lucky drawings Amelia - we'll get them right next time! P.S. Your detailed notes about my "silly mistake in turn 3" were very professional 😅

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username1 AHH THIS IS THE CUTEST THING EVER I CANT

username2 GEORGE SOFT ERA

kimi.antonelli she told me your mistakes too 😎 bestie keeps it real

lando mate she really wrote "george needs to drive more zoomy" in her notebook i'm crying

mercedesamgf1 Our newest team member giving very thorough feedback! 📝

yourinstagram She's already planning your strategy for Spa. Apparently it involves fairy dust and "extra zoom buttons"

username4 the way george claimed both yn and amelia is just to cute

username5 WE STAN AMELIA

username6 not to sound weird but you can tell that george ADORES both of them

username7 THIS IS MY FAMILY

liked by username1, username2 and 12,095 other

f1gossip BREAKING: Mercedes driver George Russell and chief race engineer YN spotted having dinner together at exclusive Mayfair restaurant. First time the two have been seen together outside of work events. 👀

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username1 HELLO??? THIS IS NOT A DRILL?? look at the way he's looking at her omg

username2 someone write this romance novel immediately

username3 not me zooming in on every detail 👀 THE HAND ON THE TABLE NEARLY TOUCHING HERS I'M SCREAMING

username4 not to be That Person but the way he's always so sweet with her daughter?? and now this?? im crying in the club rn

username5 don't be weird about this

username6 someone check on kimi, bet he's having a proud son moment watching his team parents finally get together

username7 manifesting the cutest f1 family rn 🕯️🕯️🕯️

username8 GEORGE RUSSELL BOYFRIEND ERA STARTS NOW

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It's well past Amelia's bedtime when you unlock your front door, cheeks still flushed from the perfect evening, and the goodnight kiss that made you feel like a teenager again. You expect to find your mother reading on the couch, but instead, you hear small feet padding down the hallway.

"Mummy!" Amelia appears in her pink princess pajamas, clearly having fought off sleep to wait for you. "You're home!"

"Sweetheart, why aren't you in bed?" you ask, though you can't bring yourself to be stern when she looks so excited.

Your mother appears behind her, looking apologetic. "Someone insisted on staying up until you got back. Said she needed to make sure the date went well."

"Did you have nice dinner?" Amelia asks, taking your hand and pulling you to the couch. "Did George tell you funny stories? Did he make you laugh? Sophie says her mummy went on a date and didn't laugh at all and never saw the man again."

You catch your mother trying to hide her smile as she disappears into the kitchen, clearly giving you space for this conversation.

"Yes, we had a lovely dinner," you say, settling onto the couch. Amelia immediately climbs into your lap, her favorite spot for important conversations. "And yes, George made me laugh a lot."

"Good," she says seriously. "Because you have a pretty laugh, Mummy."

Your heart catches at her observation. Sometimes you forget how perceptive she is.

"Did you wear your sparkly dress?" she continues, playing with your necklace - the delicate silver one George had noticed and complimented over dinner.

"I did."

"George likes sparkly things," she nods sagely. "He always says my glitter drawings are his favorite."

You smile, remembering how George had shown you a whole folder on his phone of photos of Amelia's artwork. "He does love your drawings."

"Mummy?" Amelia looks up at you, her expression suddenly serious. "Are you happy?"

"What do you mean, love?"

"When George is around, you smile different," she explains. "Like when we have ice cream on Sunday or when I learn a new word. It's your happy smile." She pauses, thinking hard.

You pull her closer, pressing a kiss to her curls. "You're right. George does make me very happy."

"Good," she declares. "Because he makes me happy too. And he helps me with maths. And he remembers what I like. And he makes baby driver behave." She counts off these qualities on her small fingers.

"Does he now?" you laugh.

"Mhm. Today when you were getting ready, he called to tell me a bedtime story about racing cars while Grandma did my hair. But then I had to promise not to tell you because it was supposed to be a surprise that he called."

Your heart melts at this revelation. You hadn't known about the bedtime story.

"And Mummy?" she continues, fighting back a yawn. "I think George has a happy smile when he sees you too. Like when you wear your sparkly dress or when you tell him he did good racing."

"Did well racing," you correct automatically, making her giggle.

"Did well racing," she repeats. "So can we see him again soon? Maybe for pancakes? He promised to show me how to make them in funny shapes."

"Did he now?"

She nods enthusiastically. "He said he can make race car pancakes! And he said maybe next time we can both come to dinner with him, and he knows a place that has the best chocolate cake ever."

"We'll see," you say, but you're already smiling at the thought. "But right now, little miss, it's way past your bedtime."

"One more question?" she pleads, giving you her best puppy dog eyes.

"One more."

"If George makes us both happy, and we make him happy, and he makes good pancakes..." she thinks carefully about her words, "does that mean he can stay? Properly stay?"

Your throat tightens with emotion. "Oh, sweetheart..."

"Because I think we should keep him," she says matter-of-factly. "He fits good with us. Like my puzzle pieces when they click together right."

"Fits well," you correct softly, blinking back tears.

"Fits well," she agrees, snuggling closer. "So can we keep him? He remembers everything. That's important, Mummy. Mrs. Thompson says remembering things about people you love is very important."

"When did you get so wise?" you ask, hugging her close.

"I learned it from you," she says simply. "And George says I'm smart like my mummy. I think we should definitely keep him."

Looking at your daughter's hopeful face, thinking about the perfect evening and how naturally he fits into your lives, you find yourself agreeing.

"Yeah," you say softly. "I think we should."

"Good," Amelia yawns, finally letting sleep catch up with her. "Because he makes everything better. Like sprinkles on ice cream."

As you carry your sleepy daughter to bed, she mumbles, "Mummy? I'm happy you're happy."

You tuck her in, your heart so full it might burst. "I'm happy you're happy too, love."

"Tell George I said goodnight," she murmurs, already drifting off. "And that he better not forget about the pancakes..."

Looking at your sleeping daughter, thinking about George's words, you realize that sometimes the best families are the ones you build yourself, piece by perfectly fitting piece.

You fall asleep that night with a smile on your face, dreaming of race car pancakes, perfect puzzle pieces, and the way happiness feels when it finally clicks into place.

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The summer heat has turned your London flat into a lazy afternoon paradise. You're in the kitchen preparing cold lemonade while Amelia sits at the counter, tongue stuck out in concentration as she works on her latest masterpiece - a drawing of what she claims is Kimi's car with rocket boosters.

"Mummy, do you think baby driver will like the purple rockets?" she asks, reaching for another crayon.

"I think he'll love them," you assure her, just as there's a knock at the door.

"I'll get it!" Amelia scrambles off her stool before you can stop her.

"Amelia, wait-" but she's already running to the door.

"Who is it?" she calls out, following your safety rules.

"It's George!" comes the familiar voice, and Amelia beams at you.

"Can I open it, Mummy? Please?"

You nod, and she throws the door open to reveal George standing there in casual clothes, looking unfairly handsome in a simple white t-shirt and jeans.

"George!" Amelia launches herself at him, and he catches her with practiced ease. "Are you here to see my new drawings? I made one for baby driver with rockets!"

"Of course I am," he grins, carrying her inside. His eyes meet yours over her head, soft and warm. "Hi."

"Hi," you reply, trying to control your smile. "This is a surprise."

"Good surprise?" he asks, setting Amelia down.

"Look!" Amelia interrupts, grabbing his hand and pulling him to her artwork. "See? Purple rockets!"

"Very aerodynamic," George nods seriously, examining the drawing. "Though I think the Mercedes might need some rockets too, don't you?"

While Amelia launches into an elaborate explanation of her rocket distribution strategy, George catches your eye again, mouthing 'kitchen?' with a raised eyebrow.

"I'll get you some lemonade," you say, heading to the kitchen. Moments later, you hear him tell Amelia he'll be right back to help her with the Mercedes rockets.

As soon as he enters the kitchen, he's in your space, hands settling on your waist. "Hi," he says again, softer this time.

"You said that already," you tease, even as your heart races.

"Didn't get to say it properly though," he murmurs, leaning down. "Been thinking about doing this all week..."

His lips meet yours in a gentle kiss that makes your knees weak. You wind your arms around his neck, melting into it as he pulls you closer-

"Mummy? George? What are you doing?"

You jump apart like teenagers caught by their parents. Amelia stands in the doorway, head tilted in confusion, her purple crayon forgotten in her hand.

"We were just..." you start, face burning.

"Were you kissing?" she asks directly, making you both flush deeper.

"Um," George runs a hand through his hair nervously. "Yes?"

Amelia considers this for a moment. "Oh. Like in the princess movies?"

"Something like that," you manage, wondering how to handle this situation.

"Okay," she says simply. Then, "Can I have more lemonade?"

You blink at the sudden change of subject. "Of course, love."

As you pour her drink, she looks between you and George thoughtfully. "Does this mean George is your boyfriend now?"

George makes a choking sound beside you, and you nearly spill the lemonade.

"Well..." you look at George, who seems equally unsure how to answer.

"Because Sophie from school says when people kiss they're boyfriend and girlfriend," Amelia continues matter-of-factly. "And you smile a lot when George is here. And he brings me drawings from baby driver. And he remembers I like the blue cup not the red one."

She says all this while George hands her the correct blue cup, proving her point.

"Would that be okay?" George asks carefully. "If I was your mummy's boyfriend?"

Amelia takes a long sip of lemonade, clearly thinking it over. "Will you still help me with my drawings?"

"Of course."

"And tell me racing stories?"

"Absolutely."

"And you won't make Mummy sad?"

Your heart clenches at that, and you see George swallow hard.

"I promise," he says softly, "I will try my very best to only make your mummy smile."

Amelia nods, apparently satisfied. "Okay then. Can we do the rockets for your car now?"

"Lead the way, boss," George says, shooting you a relieved smile.

As Amelia skips back to her drawings, George quickly squeezes your hand. "That went better than expected?"

"Yeah," you breathe out. "Though we might want to be more careful with the kitchen kisses."

He grins, brushing his thumb across your knuckles. "Noted. Though I can't promise I won't want to kiss you every time I see you."

"George!" Amelia calls. "The rockets won't draw themselves!"

"Coming!" he calls back, then quickly steals one more kiss. "For the road."

You watch him join Amelia at the counter, the way he listens intently to her explanation of rocket physics (mostly gathered from cartoons), and feel your heart swell. It's early days still, but watching them together, you can't help but hope this is just the beginning of something wonderful.

"Mummy!" Amelia waves you over. "George says we need strategy for the rockets. That's your job!"

"Can't argue with that," you laugh, joining them at the counter.

As evening settles in, you find George and Amelia sprawled on the living room floor, surrounded by LEGO pieces. The instructions for her new F1 car set lie forgotten as George helps her create what appears to be a highly modified version.

"See, if we put this piece here," George explains, "it makes the perfect spot for your rocket boosters."

"Can we make the wheels rainbow colored?" Amelia asks through a yawn.

"Of course we- did you just yawn?" George teases, poking her side gently.

"No," she protests, even as another yawn escapes. "M'not tired."

"Really?" you ask from your spot on the couch. "Because it looks like someone's about to fall asleep in her LEGOs."

"But George hasn't finished helping me," she whines softly, rubbing her eyes.

George catches your eye, silently asking permission. At your nod, he says, "How about I help you get ready for bed, and tomorrow you can finish the car?"

Amelia perks up slightly. "Promise you'll come back tomorrow?"

"Actually, sweetheart," he says carefully, "I have to go to Monaco for a few days. But I'll be back for your birthday next week."

Her lower lip trembles slightly. "You won't miss my party?"

"Miss your sixth birthday party? No way," he assures her. "I've already got your present picked out and everything."

"Really?" she asks sleepily.

"Really. Now, bedtime?"

She holds up her arms. "Will you carry me like when I fell asleep at the factory?"

George scoops her up easily, and your heart melts as she immediately snuggles into his shoulder. "Story?" she mumbles.

"One story," you say, following them to her room.

You watch from the doorway as George helps her into her pajamas and tucks her in, making sure her favorite stuffed car is properly positioned.

"Can you tell me about Monaco?" she asks as he sits on the edge of her bed. "Since that's where you're going?"

"Well," he starts, smoothing her hair back, "Monaco is like a magical kingdom by the sea. The buildings are all white and shiny, and the race track goes right through the city..."

You listen as he weaves a story about princesses who race cars and dolphins who watch from the harbor. By the time he's describing the tunnel section, Amelia's eyes are fluttering closed.

"G'night George," she mumbles. "Love you."

George's hand stills in her hair for a moment, and you see the emotion cross his face. "Goodnight, princess," he whispers, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Sweet dreams."

He joins you in the doorway, both of you watching as she snuggles deeper into her blankets.

"You okay?" you ask softly, noting his expression.

He nods, leading you back to the living room. Once you're out of earshot, he pulls you close, burying his face in your hair.

"She said she loves me," he murmurs.

"She does," you confirm, wrapping your arms around him. "You've become very important to her."

He pulls back enough to look at you, his eyes intense. "You know you both are important to me too, right? I know we haven't been dating long, but..."

"I know," you assure him, reaching up to touch his cheek. "We know."

He leans into your touch. "I hate that I have to go to Monaco."

"It's only for a few days," you remind him. "And it's part of the job."

"Yeah," he sighs, pulling you toward the couch. You curl into his side automatically. "I just... I'll miss this. Miss you both."

"We'll miss you too," you admit. "But you'll be back for the party. Speaking of which, what exactly have you got planned? Amelia's been trying to guess all week."

His face lights up. "Ah, that's classified information. But I think she'll love it."

"George..."

"Don't worry," he laughs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Nothing too extravagant. Well, maybe a little extravagant. But she's only turning six once!"

You shake your head fondly. "You're going to spoil her rotten."

"That's my job, isn't it?" he asks, then seems to catch himself. "I mean, not my job, but... you know what I mean."

"I do," you say softly, understanding the weight of what he's not saying. It's early days still, but you both know this is heading somewhere serious.

He pulls you closer, and you sit in comfortable silence for a while, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm.

"When do you leave?" you ask eventually.

"Early tomorrow," he sighs. "Need to be there for some sponsorship events."

"Then we should probably clean up these LEGOs before someone steps on one in the morning."

He groans dramatically but helps you up. As you both kneel to collect the scattered pieces, he keeps stealing glances at you.

"What?" you ask after the third time you catch him looking.

"Nothing," he smiles. "Just... thank you."

"For what?"

"For letting me be part of this," he gestures around the flat, at Amelia's drawings on the fridge, the LEGOs, the life you've built. "For trusting me with her. With both of you."

Your heart swells. "Thank you for wanting to be part of it."

He reaches for you then, LEGOs forgotten as he pulls you into a soft kiss. It's different from the heated kitchen kiss earlier - slower, deeper, full of everything neither of you are quite ready to say out loud.

When you break apart, he rests his forehead against yours. "I should go," he whispers. "Early flight."

"Okay," you murmur, stealing one more kiss.

At the door, he turns back. "Tell Amelia I'll FaceTime her from Monaco? And maybe..." he hesitates, "maybe we could FaceTime too? After she's in bed?"

"I'd like that," you smile.

"And you'll text me if you need anything? Or if she does?"

"George," you laugh softly, "it's three days."

"I know, I know," he runs a hand through his hair. "I just... I got used to seeing you both every day. This is different."

"We'll be fine," you assure him. "Just come back in time for the party. Can't disappoint your biggest fan."

His expression softens. "Never." He kisses you one last time, gentle and sweet. "Sweet dreams, beautiful."

Later, checking on Amelia before bed, you find she's kicked off her blankets as usual. As you tuck her back in, she stirs slightly.

"Mummy?" she mumbles. "Is George gone?"

"Yes, love. But he'll be back soon."

"Good," she sighs, already drifting back to sleep. "He gives good hugs. And he makes you smile the proper way."

Looking at your sleeping daughter, thinking of George's gentle ways with her, his careful consideration of her feelings, the way he's slotted so perfectly into your lives, you can't help but smile "the proper way."

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liked by username1, username2 and 17,984 others

f1gossip George Russell pulled up to a Mercedes event in Monaco… and brought a model with him 👀

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username1 OHHHHH

username2 what about yn...

username3 THEY LOOK SO GOOD

username4 george single era is coming

username5 this is why i told y'all not to be weair about him and he merc strategist

username6 NOOO HE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE WITH YN

username7 yn and amelia are literally right there

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The flat feels quiet without Amelia's laughter echoing through it. Your mother had taken her for a girls afternoon, and you stayed back home doing some chores. A certain British driver's smile coming to your mind as you move through the house.

You're curled up on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through your phone when they appear, photos that make your heart stop. George at some glamorous Monaco event, looking devastatingly handsome in his tailored suit. But it's not his appearance that makes your stomach churn, it's the stunning model on his arm.

They look perfect together - like something out of a magazine spread. The kind of couple that belongs at these events.

Your phone rings, making you snap out of it. Kimi's name appearing on screen. For a moment, you consider letting it go to voicemail, but he'd only keep calling.

"Hey," you answer, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Finally," he grumbles. "Been trying to figure out what to get the little monster for her birthday. Does she still like those unicorn games?"

"Yeah, she does."

"That's enthusiastic," he says sarcastically. "What about- hang on. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong."

"Don't bullshit me, YN. I've known you too long. You're my team mum."

You sink deeper into the couch, pulling a throw pillow to your chest. "I'm fine."

"You sound like when George beat you at Mario Kart and you pretended it didn't bother you for two weeks."

"That was different," you protest weakly. "He cheated."

"Stop deflecting. What happened?"

You're quiet for a long moment, then, "Have you checked social media today?"

There's rustling, then typing. A long pause. "Ah, fuck."

"Yeah."

"YN..."

"Don't," you cut him off, voice thick. "Don't try to explain it away. I get it. She's gorgeous and sophisticated and probably knows all about sponsorship events and doesn't have a complicated life with a six-year-old and-"

"Stop," Kimi interrupts firmly. "First, you're spiraling. Second, you know these events are bullshit. Remember when they tried to set me up with that Instagram model?"

"This is different."

"How?"

"They look..." you swallow hard, "right together. Like they fit. Like they make sense."

"And you and George don't make sense?" Kimi asks skeptically. "Because from where I'm standing, you fit better than most things in this ridiculous sport. Like Amelia says, puzzle pieces."

"I thought..." your voice cracks. "I really thought maybe this time would be different. That maybe..."

"Have you talked to him?"

"No."

"YN..."

"I can't," you whisper, tears finally falling. "I can't hear him say that this was fun but he's found someone more suitable or-"

"Now you're being stupid," Kimi cuts in. "George isn't like that. You know he's not."

"Do I? Because I thought Amelia's father wasn't like that either, and look how that turned out."

There's a long pause. When Kimi speaks again, his voice is gentler. "George isn't him. You know that."

"I can't risk it," you say softly. "I can't risk Amelia getting hurt. I can't have her wait by the window, hoping he'd come back."

"And that's exactly why you should talk to George," Kimi insists. "Because he's not the kind of man who makes little girls wait by windows."

"But what if he is?" Your voice is barely audible. "What if I let her love him and then..."

"Then you'll deal with it. But you can't protect her from everything, YN. And maybe you're protecting her from something beautiful."

You wipe your eyes. "When did you get so wise? Why am I taking advice from my 18-year-old work son."

"I've always been wise. You just never listen." His tone turns serious again. "Have you checked your phone? Has he tried to contact you?"

You glance at your notifications - nothing from George. The realization makes your chest ache. "No."

"Give it time. There's probably an explanation."

"Yeah," you say hollowly. "The explanation is probably five-foot-ten with perfect hair and no emotional baggage."

"YN..."

"I should go," you cut in. "Amelia will be home soon and I can't... I can't let her see me like this."

"You don't have to handle everything alone, you know."

"Yes, I do," you say quietly. "That's what being a single mother means."

Before he can respond, you hear keys in the door. "They're back. I have to go."

"YN, wait-"

You hang up just as Amelia bursts in, already talking excitedly about her day with grandma.

"And then we saw the biggest dog ever and- Mummy?" she stops suddenly, looking at you with those too-perceptive eyes. "Are you sad?"

"No, love," you force a smile, quickly wiping your face. "Just tired."

She climbs onto the couch next to you, her small hand reaching up to touch your cheek where a tear had fallen. "You look sad though."

Your heart clenches. This is exactly what you were afraid of - her picking up on your pain, carrying it. You won't do that to her.

"I'm fine, sweetheart," you say, pulling her close. "Tell me more about your day with grandma."

"Well..." she starts, but then pauses. "When is George coming back? He promised to help me finish my LEGO car."

The innocent question feels like a knife to your heart. "He's very busy with work right now, love."

"But he'll be back for my party, right? He promised."

You hold her tighter, breathing in her familiar sweet scent, trying to find the right words that won't hurt her. "Sometimes... sometimes grown-ups have to change their plans."

"Oh," she says quietly, and you can hear the beginning of disappointment in her voice. It makes you want to cry all over again.

Looking down at Amelia, at her tiny fingers playing with the bracelet George gave her, you think maybe some risks aren't worth taking. You won't let her build hopes around someone only to watch them crumble.

Better to step back now, before she gets even more attached. Before those goodnight calls and LEGO sessions and racing stories become something she can't live without. Before George becomes a person she waits by windows for.

Even if it means breaking your own heart in the process.

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The soft knock at your door comes just after ten. You knew he'd come, George Russell isn't the type to let something go, especially not this. Still, your hands shake as you open the door.

He looks exhausted, still in his travel clothes, hair messy like he's been running his hands through it repeatedly. The moment he sees you, his face crumples with relief.

"YN," he breathes, stepping forward, but you move back.

"You shouldn't be here," your voice is barely a whisper, conscious of Amelia sleeping down the hall.

"Where else would I be?" He stays in the doorway, respecting your space even as his eyes plead with you. "Please, just talk to me. What happened? What changed?"

You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to hold it together. "I saw the photos."

"The- oh god, the event photos?" His eyes widen. "YN, that wasn't- it was just PR. Mercedes arranged it, I should have told you but I didn't think-"

"It's not about the photos," you cut in, though your heart clenches remembering them. "It's about what they made me realize."

"Which is?"

"That this isn't fair. To any of us. But especially not to Amelia."

His face falls. "What are you talking about?"

You glance down the hallway, making sure her door is still closed, then move further into the living room. George follows, closing the front door softly.

"She never met her father," you say quietly. "He left when I told him I was pregnant. Said he wasn't ready for a family, for responsibility. Last I heard he was in Australia somewhere."

"YN..."

"She used to ask about him," you continue, voice thick. "When she was younger. Why didn't she have a daddy like other kids? Was it because she wasn't good enough? Did she do something wrong?"

"She was just a baby," George says softly. "It wasn't her fault."

"No, it wasn't. It was mine. For letting someone into her life who could hurt her." You look at him directly. "I won't make that mistake again."

"I'm not him," George steps closer. "I would never-"

"You can't promise that," you cut in. "You can't promise you won't wake up one day and realize this is all too much. The responsibility, the complications, the fact that you're barely twenty-seven and suddenly playing father figure to a five-year-old."

"I'm not playing at anything," he says fiercely. "I love her. I love you both."

"Now you do. But what about in six months? A year? When the novelty wears off and you realize you could have someone without all this baggage?"

"Is that what you think this is?" He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "That you're some kind of novelty? That Amelia is baggage?"

"I think you're young and successful and have your whole life ahead of you. And I think one day you'll realize that life could be a lot simpler without us in it."

"You don't get to decide that," he says, voice rising slightly before he catches himself, lowering it again. "You don't get to decide what I want or how I feel."

"I get to decide what's best for my daughter."

"And you think pushing away someone who loves her is what's best?"

"I think..." your voice cracks. "I think protecting her from another heartbreak is what's best. You should have seen her face yesterday, when she thought you might miss her party. The way her whole world dimmed, just at the possibility. I can't... I can't watch her go through that for real."

"Then it's a good thing she won't have to," he steps closer again. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

"You can't promise that."

"Yes, I can." He reaches for your hand but you pull back. "YN, please. Look at me."

You shake your head, tears falling now. "I can't risk it. The way she looks at you... she trusts you completely. She loves you so much already."

"And I love her," he insists. "More than I ever thought possible. Do you know what I keep in my wallet? That drawing she did of us, where she put all three of us together and wrote 'my family' at the top. I look at it every day. It's not some game to me."

"George..."

"No, listen to me. I know you're scared. I know you're trying to protect her. But pushing me away isn't the answer. Let me prove to you that I'm not going anywhere."

From down the hall comes a small voice: "Mummy?"

You both freeze as Amelia appears, rubbing her eyes sleepily. The moment she sees George, her whole face lights up.

"George!" she runs to him and he catches her automatically, lifting her up. "You came back!"

The way she clings to him, the natural way he holds her, the absolute trust in her eyes - it makes your heart ache.

"Of course I came back, princess," he says softly, but his eyes are on you. "I'll always come back."

"Promise?" she asks, already drifting back to sleep against his shoulder.

"Promise," he whispers, pressing a kiss to her hair.

You watch them, your chest tight with love and fear and possibility. "I should put her back to bed."

"Let me?" he asks quietly. When you hesitate, he adds, "Please?"

You nod, unable to speak past the lump in your throat.

You follow them to her room, watching as he tucks her in with practiced ease, making sure her favorite stuffed car is properly positioned.

"G'night George," she mumbles. "Love you."

"Love you too, princess," he whispers, smoothing her hair back.

Back in the living room, he turns to you. "That's what you're trying to protect her from? Love?"

"I'm trying to protect her from losing it."

"Then stop trying to make her lose it," he says gently. "Stop trying to make us both lose it."

"I'm scared," you admit, voice breaking.

"I know," he steps closer, and this time you don't move away. "But I'm not going anywhere. Not unless you make me."

"She needs stability."

"I know. Let me be that for her. For both of you."

"George..."

"Look at me," he pleads. "Really look at me. Do I look like someone who's going to walk away from this? From her? From you?"

You do look at him - at the sincerity in his eyes, the way he's still oriented toward Amelia's room like he can't help it, the drawing you know is worn at the edges from being taken out of his wallet so often.

"I can't lose you," you whisper. "Either of us."

"Then don't push me away," he reaches for you again, and this time you let him pull you close. "Let me love you both. Let me prove to you that some promises are worth believing in."

And there in the quiet of your flat, with your daughter sleeping peacefully down the hall and George's heart beating steady under your ear, you think maybe he already has.

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liked by georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli and 90,122 others

yourinstagram Six years ago, you made me a mother. Six years of endless love, racing car stories, messy art projects, and the kind of joy I never knew existed before you. You amaze me every single day with your kindness, your intelligence, and your incredible spirit. The way you see the world, the way you love so fearlessly, the way you make everyone around you smile. You're magic, my darling girl. Happy birthday to my little racer, my best friend, my greatest adventure. Here's to many more years of race car pancakes, LEGO building sessions, and hearing you explain aerodynamics to anyone who'll listen (sorry about that, fellow airplane passengers). I love you more than all the checkered flags in the world. ❤️

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username1 THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL

username2 happy birthday to little amelia !

georgerussell63 Happy birthday to the most amazing co-pilot anyone could ask for ❤️ Can't wait to finish that LEGO car with you today, princess. Love you lots x

kimi.antoneli happy birthday little monster. your present will make your mother cry. you're welcome.

carlossainz55 Feliz cumpleaños pequeña! 🎉 Still waiting for that rematch on the simulator!

lando HAPPY BIRTHDAY MELIA!

username3 the entire paddock loves her i'm crying

mercedesamgf1 Happy birthday to our youngest team member!

username4 yn is the best mama ever, doing it on her own too

username5 GEORGE THIS IS YOUR FAMILY

alex_albon Happy birthday Ames! 🎈 Still using those overtaking tips you gave me

username6 george bonus dad ever

username7 I LOVE THIS FAMILY SM

username8 Happy birthday to F1's favorite little princess

username9 george's comment 🥺 he loves them so much

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The house is finally quiet, scattered remnants of the party everywhere - wrapping paper, balloons, the racing track cake that took you hours to perfect. You're gathering paper plates when you hear George's soft footsteps coming from Amelia's room.

"She's finally asleep," he whispers, leaning against the doorframe. "Had to read the racing manual three times, but she's out."

You can't help but smile. "The manual? Really?"

"Her choice," he grins. "Said she needed to dream about proper racing lines."

"Of course she did." You shake your head fondly, continuing to clean up.

"Hey," he catches your hand gently as you pass. "Leave it. Just... sit with me for a bit?"

You hesitate, but nod, letting him lead you to the couch. You both sit, a careful distance between you that feels wrong after how close you've been these past months.

"She had a good day," you say softly, filling the silence.

"The best," he agrees. "Though I think Kimi might have gone overboard with the simulator."

"Might have? She's going to be impossible to get to school now."

George laughs quietly, then sobers. "YN... can we talk? Really talk?"

Your heart speeds up. "About?"

"Everything. Us. What happened this week. What you're afraid of."

You pull your knees up to your chest, making yourself smaller. "George..."

"Please," he says softly. "I need to understand. I need to know how to fix this."

"It's not about fixing," you say, staring at the birthday banner hanging crooked on the wall. "It's about... reality."

"What reality?"

"The reality that you're 27, successful, with your whole life ahead of you. And I'm..." you gesture vaguely, "complicated."

"You think that's how I see you? As complicated?"

"Isn't it true though? I come with so much... stuff. A child, responsibilities, limitations-"

"Stop," he cuts in, turning to face you fully. "Just... stop. You want to know what I see when I look at you both? I see family. I see home. I see the way Amelia's face lights up when she masters a new racing game. I see the way you scrunch your nose when you're concentrating on work. I see movie nights and pancake mornings and silly dance parties in the kitchen."

"George..."

"No, let me finish. You think you're some burden I'm carrying? You're not. You're the best part of every day. Both of you. Even when Amelia's giving me detailed critiques of my qualifying laps or when you're stress-cleaning at midnight before a deadline."

You feel tears forming. "But your life would be so much simpler without us."

"Simpler?" he laughs incredulously. "My life before you was empty. Sure, I had racing, but I came home to quiet rooms and takeaway for one. Now? Now I come home to crayon drawings on my fridge and LEGO cars in my shoes and two people who make everything better just by existing."

"But what about your career? The traveling, the events..."

"What about them?"

"I saw those photos, George. That world... it's so different from this one."

"You think I care about that world?" he moves closer. "You think I'd choose fancy parties over helping Amelia build racing tracks in the living room? Over watching you fall asleep during movies? Over this?"

"I don't want to hold you back."

"You don't," he says firmly. "You push me forward. Both of you do. Do you know what Amelia said to me tonight? She said we fit together like puzzle pieces. And she's right."

You wipe your eyes. "She's too smart for her own good."

"She gets that from her mum." He reaches for your hand, and this time you let him take it. "I know you're scared. I know you're trying to protect her. But I'm not going anywhere. Not unless you make me."

"I don't want to make you," you whisper. "That's what terrifies me."

"Why?"

"Because..." your voice breaks. "Because I love you. We both do. And if you leave..."

"I won't."

"You can't promise that."

"Yes, I can," he says fiercely. "I can promise that every single day for the rest of our lives if you'll let me. I can promise that I'll always come home to you both. That I'll always be there for school plays and birthdays and random Tuesday mornings. That I'll love you both more each day than the last."

"George..."

"You know what scared me most this week?" he continues. "Not just the thought of losing my girlfriend. The thought of losing my family. Of not hearing Amelia's bedtime stories or your laugh first thing in the morning. Of not being the person she runs to when she masters a new racing game or you turn to when you've had a hard day."

You're fully crying now. "When did you become so important to us?"

"Probably around the same time you became everything to me." He wipes your tears gently. "I love you, YN. Both of you. The busy mornings and quiet nights and everything in between. The complicated parts and the simple ones. All of it."

"Even when Amelia corrects your driving technique?"

He laughs softly. "Especially then. She's usually right anyway."

You lean into him finally, letting yourself feel the familiar comfort of his arms around you. "I'm sorry I pushed you away."

"I know why you did it," he kisses your hair. "But please don't do it again. Talk to me instead. Let me prove to you that some people stay."

"I'm still scared," you admit.

"That's okay," he says. "We can be scared together. Just don't shut me out."

From down the hall comes a small voice: "Mummy? George?"

You both look up to see Amelia standing there, clutching her stuffed race car.

"What's wrong, princess?" George asks.

"I forgot to say thank you," she says seriously. "For the best birthday ever. And..." she looks between you both. "Are you staying? For real this time?"

George looks at you, letting you take the lead.

Looking at them, at the man who loves your daughter like his own and the little girl who's already given him her whole heart - you make your decision.

"Yes, love," you say softly. "He's staying."

And sitting there, with your daughter asleep between you and George holding you both like he'll never let go, you think maybe it's okay to be scared sometimes. Maybe it's okay to let someone in, to trust that they'll stay, to believe in the kind of love that builds homes in hearts.

Because some puzzles are meant to stay together, even if it takes a six-year-old to show you how the pieces fit.

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liked by yourinstagram, alex_albon and 601,299 others

georgerussell63 The best kind of Sunday 🚲❤️ From "I can't do it!" to "Watch how fast I can go!" in under an hour. Couldn't be prouder of my favorite co-pilot. Even if we had a few crashes into the bushes (sorry about that, YN). Worth every scrape and tear for that victory smile at the end. Now she wants to know when we can upgrade to a motorized version... Think that's a conversation for another day

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username1 THIS IS SUCH A PROUD DAD MOMENT

username2 he's protecting her from falling while letting her be brave

username3 george russell: world class driver, even better bonus dad

username4 "My favorite co-pilot" I'M NOT OKAY

username5 the way he naturally stepped into being her dad though 🥺

lewishamilton Next generation driver in training! 🙌🏾

lando should we be worried about our jobs?

yourinstagram Love you both, you troublemakers

username6 GEORGE REALLY IS THE FATHER WHO STEPPED UP

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The garage is a flurry of activity, screens displaying data streams and weather patterns while mechanics rush around with last-minute adjustments. You're deep in conversation with Bono about tire strategies when your phone buzzes with Amelia's FaceTime call.

"Hi baby," you answer, trying to keep one eye on the radar. "Ready for the race?"

"I've got ALL my lucky charms!" She holds up an assortment of trinkets, including the Mercedes keychain George gave her. "And Grandpa's watching with me! He says hi but he's pretending to be grumpy."

You hear your father's distinct grunt in the background and laugh. "Tell him I said-"

"Is that my favorite co-pilot?" George appears behind you, still in his race suit, hair messy from the helmet.

"GEORGE!" Amelia practically screams. "I miss you! Are you going to win today? I told everyone at school you would!"

His face softens in that way it only does for her. "Well, now I have to, don't I? Can't disappoint my biggest fan."

"I drew you a new good luck picture! Mummy has it!"

You pull the slightly crumpled paper from your pocket - a detailed drawing of a Mercedes car with "GO GEORGE!" written in wobbly letters.

"It's perfect," he beams. "Just what I needed."

"Mummy says it's going to rain," Amelia says seriously. "Remember what we practiced about wet weather racing?"

"Smooth inputs, gentle throttle, stay off the kerbs," George recites dutifully. "Did I pass the test?"

"Mmhmm. You can race now."

You both laugh at her solemn approval.

"Thanks, princess. Better go get ready now, okay? Watch out for me on the podium."

"Love you George! Love you Mummy!"

"Love you too, baby. Be good for Grandpa."

After you hang up, you notice George hasn't moved, still staring at the spot where Amelia's face had been.

"George? You okay?"

He seems to make a decision, turning to face you fully. "Move in with me."

Your heart stops. "What?"

"Both of you. Move in with me." His eyes are intense, certain. "The summer break is coming up. I've already been looking at furniture for Amelia's room, there's this racing car bed I found that she'd love, and the spare room would be perfect for your home office, and-" he stops, running a hand through his hair. "I know it's fast, but it doesn't feel fast, does it? It feels like we should have done this ages ago."

"George..."

"I hate coming home to an empty house," he continues. "I hate not hearing Amelia's morning chatter or your late-night typing. I hate that my fridge doesn't have her drawings on it, that my shelves don't have your books mixed with my racing magazines. I hate that when I buy groceries, I automatically get things for three people but there's only me there to eat them."

You glance around the garage, but everyone is deliberately focusing elsewhere, giving you privacy in the midst of chaos.

"The house is too big," he says softly. "Too quiet. Too... not you. Not us."

"Are you sure?" your voice barely a whisper. "This is a big step."

"I've never been more sure of anything." He takes your hands. "I want to wake up to Amelia jumping on our bed demanding pancakes. I want to fall asleep watching you work on race strategies. I want to build that LEGO city she's been planning in the spare room she already thinks of as hers. I want... I want everything. With both of you."

A mechanic calls out the five-minute warning.

"You need to go," you say, but don't let go of his hands.

"I need an answer more."

You look at him, this man who loves your daughter like his own, who makes you both feel safe, who wants to build a home with you.

"The racing car bed better be amazing," you whisper.

His face breaks into that brilliant smile. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You squeeze his hands. "Now go win this race so we can celebrate properly."

He starts to walk away, then turns back. "YN?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you. Both of you. So much."

You smile, feeling something settle in your chest. "We love you too. Now focus on the race, or Amelia will never let you hear the end of it."

"Yes ma'am," he grins, pulling his helmet on.

You watch him walk to the car, your heart full. Outside, the Belgian sky opens up with rain, but for once, you're not worried about the weather.

And as George's car roars to life, as Amelia undoubtedly bounces with excitement on your couch at home (soon to be your old couch in your new home) you think about puzzle pieces and racing car beds and the way love builds itself into something permanent when you're not looking.

The race is about to start, but really, you think, the best part is just beginning.

[mmatchadd]

DICK ANALYSIS’

a/n: heh, new series. Hi guys I hope you enjoy! Part 1

karasuno ⋆ Aoba Johsai ⋆ shiratorizawa ⋆ Fukurodani + Extras.

KARASUNO

Daichi: one word, GIRTHY. he’s definitely the biggest but not the longest..I know some of y’all expected a horse cock from him..sorry to burst your bubble. It’s a bit tanner than him and the tip is like a peachy pink. He has two veins that come together midsection and make one all the way around his shaft— they aren’t prominent and bulging when he’s hard but they are definitely there and you can see it. I’d say he’s about 5inches soft and a good 6.3inches hard. There’s a slight curve to the left but like before, it’s not prominent at all. Also he has some pretty nice balls, they aren’t too big and they aren’t too small, they are literally JUST right. He has the most painful boners known to men & he’s prone to ball cramps cause he never has time to relive himself. Did I mention he has a slight happy trail? Michimiya goes dumb and crazy when she sees it (me too girl)

Sugawara: He is very average but he knows how to use his dick right, that’s all I gotta say. It’s a pretty cock to and I’d like to think he has moles everywhere on his body, so Suga has a mole on his balls and one on the side of his dick. No veins when he gets hard that you can trace, but you can the bluish color at the rim of his cock when he’s hard. It’s the same color as him and the tip is like a baby pink that you cannot take your eyes off of, you really wanna color code it so when you get your nails done next time, that’ll be your go to color. His balls are very tight, he doesn’t get any cramps and he doesn’t even ejaculate a lot so that’s amazing. No curves, not hooks, just a straight dick. Hes a solid 5.9inches hard and 4inches soft. Oh and he’s VERY clean shaven I mean not a hair follicle in sight, no peach fuzz either.

Asahi: now this guy right here..it’s always the quiet and timid guys with the heaviest of cocks. I mean he’s girthy AND lengthy. Brother is HUNG..by hung I mean 6 inches soft and 6.9 (damn near 7 inches) hard. The uterus can only take about 5 inches before your brutally beating the cervix up guys. His dick isnt straight either, he has a DEFINED curve to his cock, a left curve at that—I mean it hits all the right spots. No veins either?! The heck. His balls aren’t as big though💔 theyre average sized and they hang, low. The color of his shaft is probably a little bit darker than him? But his tip is a pretty light red. The only two flaws I can think of is that he’s not circumcised, have fun using his foreskin as a stress toy! And his pubic hair is all over the place. But he’s so gentle when he uses it on you, AGHHH.

Tanaka: also Average, there is nothing too special about his cock except the fact that his balls are extremely tight, like too tight. Is he clean shaven? Nope, he has some peach fuzz down there and he use to have some hair on his balls but he quickly got that under control when he realized that’s why his gym shorts were FUNKY. He does not have the nicest morning wood either, he so desperately tries to stop it from coming EVERYDAY. And it’s stubborn to so he spends most of his morning trying to keep his hard-on under control. 4inches soft and a good 5.8 hard. He doesn’t not give off big dick energy, he’s too chalant and loud for that.

Nishinoya: hes still average just not big or lengthy. His shaft is extremely tan, you’d think he goes commando at the beach every other day & his tip is an angry red. Whenever he gets hard his dick becomes sore and sensitive ESPECIALLY his tip, oh my god. His balls are cute though, they go well with his cock and they aren’t very loose nor are they very tight. They look like two mini golf balls ready to be juggled <3. He’s a bit hairy but nowhere as near as Asahi’s hairy ahh. 4inches soft and 5.5 inches hard.

Tsukishima: skinny. Skinny and fucking long. I’m not even exaggerating, this is 100% legit bro I’m his polyester Calvin Klein boxers. No one besides yam knows that he’s carrying a weapon of mass destruction in his underwear, literally NO ONE..cause he changes in the shower after a game or practice. It’s soft, calm and looks delicate but it causes an insane amount of orgasms and overstimulation. 5.7inches soft and 7 fucking inches hard. His dick almost goes past his belly button..I need yall to look at that in perspective for a moment. Do not let me around him while he’s wearing grey sweatpants, he manspreads so that swordfish of a cock can get comfortable. His tip is pink and his balls hang a bit low but they are still a blessing in disguise. His shaft is the same color as him, very even and fair. And he is CLEANN shaven. Like if you’re laying down beside him and just slip your hand beneath the waistband of his boxers or pants, that v-line area is so SOFT. And he’s very cocky about it to. The most annoying bastard you know has the longest cock known to man kind..I’m gonna put him on a “who has the best deep stroke” list soon💔

Yamaguchi: idc what anybody says, just like asahi— THAT DICK IS BIG. It’s not long but it’s also not short like nishinoyas. He has the MEANEST right hook..not his punch guys..his dick. It curves to the right like a crescent, but it’s heavy in your palms. I headcanon that tadashi is tan (dare I say southeast Asian or mixed with some type of Hispanic/carribean) so naturally his dick is gonna be a few shades browner than him. Not overly hairy but he does trim every once and awhile..his balls are VERY nice looking..they hang right and sit in your hands like a holy grail. His girth is amazing, dare I say astonishing. His tip isnt pink it’s like the color of skin but wayyy lighter, but it also flushes pink when he’s hard. He doesn’t have a high libido but he’s also someone with VERY stubborn morning wood, but it’s usually every other day. And no one knows how hung he is besides tsukii..and suga😭 for Tsukishima, they literally change in front of each other—there is no TMI or “close your eyes!” In their friendship. They would literally wipe each others asses if the other couldn’t do it. But for Suga?…oooh. He walked by the showers when yams and Tsukishima were changing and got a glimpse of it; he never spoke of it though, and to be frank I don’t think neither Tsukishima or yams noticed either. Oh and he’s not circumcised either..yeah. 4inches soft, 6.5 inches hard. It’s the weight of his cock that makes up for it, but also 6.5 is pushing it a bit if I’m being honest, that’s like 3cms above average.

Kageyama: there isn’t anything special about his dick, it’s VERY average and it’s probably the most “perfect” one among scientists. It’s not abnormally huge or extremely miniature, it’s just right! But I beg to differ because our mean of “perfect” varies. His is almost identical to Sugawaras but minus the moles and you can definitely see the color of the veins rather than feel it— hard or not. his balls are pretty tight but not like nishinoyas and he’s perfectly cut..iykwim. Shaft is the same color as his skin and his tip is a pretty baby pink. VERYY bald, no peach fuzz. His nails and pubic hair is something he maintains extremely well.

Shoyo: his cock is FAT..but it’s 5 inches. Sorry💔 it’s somewhat tan and his tip is a peachy pink. He got circumcised later on in life so, yes—you can see the incision where they cut off the extra skin. Balls are pretty normal though, but he definitely free balls in the comfort of his own him. He cannot stand lounging around in compression shorts or briefs he HAS to wear boxers or some type of lose fabric. His cock is just juicy and he doesn’t even know HOW to work it..like I said; 4inches soft and a perfect 5inches hard. It’s almost as thick as a coke can but I can guarantee you it’s fucking fat. He has one vein that wraps around his shaft like a loose string.

:>

[hamilton-here]

Hey :) I know your requests are closed, but I will forget my ideas 😅

I would love one, where the reader and Lewis are childhood friends and the whole grid sees their love for eachother and make a plan to help them :)

𝐸𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝒦𝓃𝑜𝓌𝓈 𝐵𝓊𝓉 𝒴𝑜𝓊

Authors Note: Hey lovelies! I don’t usually speak out on hate, but the negativity around LH44 lately, especially after Hungary has been really upsetting. The harsh comments toward LH are not okay. It’s painful to see someone so dedicated being torn down and even worse to see how it’s affecting him emotionally. I’m hoping to send some positive energy his way. Praying for a strong race ahead. Lots of love xx

Summary: Childhood besties Lewis and the reader are clearly in love so, the whole F1 grid plots to make it happen.

Warnings: angst, mild cursing, unrequited love

Taglist: @piston-cup @hannibeeblog @nebulastarr @cosmichughes

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You're not sure when it started hurting.

Maybe it was the first time you saw Lewis kissing someone else with his fingers tangled in someone else's hair, his smile pressed against lips that weren’t yours, his eyes crinkled in that way they always did when he was genuinely happy like the world had momentarily stopped spinning just for him.

Or maybe it was something slower, something quieter, that didn’t arrive all at once but instead crept in like dusk, soft and inevitable, seeping into the spaces between your ribs and settling there.

A dull, persistent ache that made a home in your chest, the kind that doesn’t scream but whispers, the kind that grows heavier with every passing year when you love someone who looks at you like you're home, like you're comfort, like you're everything safe and familiar but never like you're the destination, never like you're the dream.

Lewis had always been there. From the moment you met in primary school, when he was the new kid with wide uncertain eyes and a backpack that hung low on his shoulders far too big for his small frame, the straps digging into his narrow shoulders like he was carrying more than just books - you’d been inseparable.

He had a quiet kind of sadness about him, the kind that made you want to sit beside him and ask if he was okay, even before you knew how to put that feeling into words.

You were the one who slid into the seat next to him when no one else did, the one who offered your crayons without hesitation, even the glittery gold one you usually saved for stars and crowns.

You split your sandwich in half, even though it was your favourite the kind your mum made just right and handed it to him like it was nothing, like kindness was the most natural thing in the world. You laughed with him until your stomach hurt and the teacher had to separate you both for talking too much but even then, you’d pass notes across the desks, folded into tiny triangles, filled with doodles and inside jokes that only the two of you understood.

You were the one who stood between him and the kids who sneered at his skin, who mocked his accent, who whispered cruel things behind cupped hands and thought he wouldn’t hear. You remember the way his shoulders curled inward when the taunts got too loud, how he’d blink fast and stare at the floor trying to keep the tears from falling, trying to disappear into himself like he could fold into the seams of his clothes and vanish.

You’d grip his hand under the desk, squeeze once just enough to say, I’m here. I see you. You’re not alone. You never will be. And he’d squeeze back, just once like a secret code between you, like a promise.

You were always introduced as a pair. “This is Lewis,” they’d say, “and this is his best friend.” Best friend. The words used to feel like a badge of honour like something sacred and unbreakable, a title you wore proudly on your chest.

Now they grated like sandpaper against your ribs, raw and unrelenting, a reminder of everything you were and everything you’d never be. Because somewhere along the way, the lines blurred. Somewhere between the sleepovers and the shared secrets, between the laughter and the tears you started to feel something more. And he didn’t.

You grew up together in the quiet corners of classrooms and the chaos of playgrounds, in the hush of sleepovers where you’d whisper until dawn, faces lit by the glow of flashlights under blankets and the roar of school assemblies where you’d nudge each other and giggle at the principal’s long winded speeches.

You grew up in the soft glow of late night phone calls, voices low and sleepy and the golden haze of summer afternoons spent sprawled on the grass, watching clouds drift by and naming them after animals and dreams.

You knew the rhythm of his laugh before you understood your own feelings. You knew the way he’d bite the inside of his cheek when he was nervous, how he’d hum under his breath when he was trying to concentrate, how he’d always tap his pencil three times before starting a test like it was a ritual that kept the anxiety at bay.

You knew the stories behind every scar like the one on his knee from when he fell off his bike trying to impress you, wobbling down the hill with a grin too wide for his face, or the one on his knuckle from punching a locker after someone called him a slur and you had to drag him away before a teacher saw, your hands trembling as you held his.

You were there for all of it. You were the one who patched him up with Band-Aids and whispered reassurances, who held him when he cried, who told him, You’re enough, when the world tried to convince him otherwise.

You were the one who stayed up with him the night before his big presentation, rehearsing his lines over and over until his voice stopped shaking. You were the one who knew when he needed silence and when he needed distraction, when he needed space and when he needed you to stay close.

And he never left your side. Not once. Not when your parents split and you stopped talking for a week because everything felt too loud and too broken and you didn’t know how to ask for help. Not when you failed your math exam and thought your life was over, tears soaking into your pillow as you stared at the red marks on the page.

He was always there curled up in the chair beside your bed, reading aloud from your favourite book, his voice soft and steady like a lullaby like a promise that no matter how dark things got, he’d never let you face it alone.

But he never saw it. Not like that. He saw you as comfort. As safety. As the person who knew him better than anyone else. But not as someone to love. Not as someone to choose.

And that was the cruelest part. Because you would’ve chosen him in every lifetime, in every version of the story. You would’ve chosen him in the quiet moments and the loud ones, in the heartbreak and the joy, in the ordinary and the extraordinary. You would’ve chosen him even when it hurt. Especially when it hurt.

But he didn’t choose you. And maybe he never would. And now, he was talking about someone else. Again.

Some model he’d met at a party one of those glittering rooftop affairs with fairy lights strung like constellations and music thumping through the floor, where everyone smelled like expensive perfume and spoke in half lies and curated charm. She was all legs and laughter and lipstick, he said like she’d stepped out of a magazine and into his orbit, dazzling and untouchable.

Someone who probably didn’t know the way he liked his tea - two sugars, milk, steeped for exactly four minutes or the song he always played when he couldn’t sleep, that soft, melancholy tune that made your chest ache because it sounded like him. Someone who didn’t know how he needed silence when he was overwhelmed, how he’d retreat into himself like a turtle into its shell, how he’d sit with his back against the wall and stare at nothing until the world felt manageable again.

His eyes lit up as he spoke, brighter than you’d seen them in weeks, his voice animated and full of colour, his hands gesturing wildly like he couldn’t contain the excitement like he was trying to paint her into your world with words and brushstrokes and breathless admiration. You sat across from him in your usual booth at the café you’d claimed as your own years ago, the one with the chipped table and the crooked lamp and the barista who always gave you extra whipped cream.

You sat there, your heart fracturing with every syllable each word like a tiny hammer tapping against the glass of your ribs, smiling like you meant it, nodding like you weren’t silently screaming inside like you weren’t slowly unraveling thread by thread, stitch by stitch.

You wanted to ask him if he remembered the night you stayed up until 3 a.m., lying side by side on his bedroom floor, surrounded by pillows and half eaten snacks, talking about your dreams and your fears and the futures you imagined somewhere between the stars and the streetlights.

You wanted to ask if he remembered the way you held him when he broke down after his father told him to “toughen up” instead of saying “I love you,” how his sobs shook his whole body and you just wrapped your arms around him and whispered, You’re allowed to feel. You’re allowed to be soft. You wanted to ask if he ever wondered what it meant that you were always there, always listening, always loving him in ways he never seemed to notice, in ways that felt like breathing like instinct and home.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you laughed at his jokes, even the ones that weren’t funny, even the ones that made your chest tighten. You asked questions about the model her name, her job, her favourite colour as if you were genuinely curious, as if you weren’t quietly comparing every answer to yourself and coming up short.

You told him he deserved happiness, even if it wasn’t with you, even if it felt like swallowing glass to say it out loud. You told him you were happy for him and maybe part of you was, because you wanted him to be loved. You just wished it could’ve been you.

And when he hugged you goodbye, arms wrapping around you in that familiar way that always made you feel safe and seen, you held on a little too long. Just a second more. Just enough to breathe him in like a memory you weren’t ready to let go of, like something you’d never get back.

His scent warm and familiar, like cedar wood and laundry detergent and something uniquely Lewis lingered in your nose long after he pulled away. You watched him walk off, hands in his pockets, humming under his breath and you wondered if he even noticed the way your smile faltered when he turned his back.

Because loving Lewis had always been a quiet kind of devotion. The kind that didn’t ask for anything in return. The kind that stayed, even when it hurt. The kind that lived in the spaces between words, in the glances that lasted a beat too long, in the way your heart always knew his name before your lips did. It was the kind of love that waited. That hoped. That broke.

And maybe, it was the kind of love that would never be enough.

You tried to move on once. You really did. You told yourself it was time, that healing meant letting go, that maybe the universe had finally decided to give you a second chance at something resembling happiness.

So you met someone – he was kind, gentle, someone who laughed easily and listened closely, who remembered the little things you said and brought you coffee just the way you liked it. He was sweet in a way that felt safe, not overwhelming.

He liked books with worn covers and dogs with crooked tails and he made you feel wanted in a way that was unfamiliar, in a way that was soft and steady and almost believable. For the first time in a long time, you wondered if maybe you could be someone’s first choice. Maybe you could be loved without having to bleed for it.

You told yourself you could be happy with him. You whispered it like a mantra every time he smiled at you, every time he reached for your hand, every time he kissed your forehead like you were something fragile and precious.

You told yourself it didn’t matter that his laugh didn’t make your chest ache the way Lewis’s did, didn’t echo in your bones like a song you’d forgotten the words to but still knew by heart. You told yourself it didn’t matter that his eyes didn’t hold the same stormy softness, that they didn’t look at you like you were a mystery he’d spent years trying to solve.

You told yourself it didn’t matter that his touch didn’t feel like home, didn’t feel like safety wrapped in warmth, didn’t feel like Lewis.

You kissed him and smiled and tried to believe it was enough. Tried to believe that maybe love didn’t have to hurt to be real. That maybe comfort could be enough. That maybe you didn’t need the fire, the ache, the quiet devastation that came with loving someone who would never be yours.

But every time he held your hand, you thought about how Lewis’s hand felt in yours warm and familiar and grounding, like a lifeline you hadn’t realised you were clinging to until it was gone. Every time he said your name, you thought about how Lewis said it like it was something sacred, something delicate, something only he had ever truly understood.

And when he told you he loved you, when he looked at you with eyes full of hope and promise, all you could feel was guilt. Crushing, suffocating guilt. Because all you could think was, He’s not Lewis. He’ll never be Lewis.

So you broke up with him.

You told him it wasn’t his fault, that he hadn’t done anything wrong, that he was wonderful and kind and deserving of a love that didn’t come with ghosts. You told him you just needed time, space, clarity.

You didn’t tell him that your heart had already been spoken for, that it had been claimed long ago by someone who didn’t even know he held it. You didn’t tell him that every part of you - every thought, every breath, every quiet longing had belonged to Lewis for as long as you could remember.

Lewis asked about it a few days later. Casually, at first like he wasn’t really asking as if it was just idle conversation. “So…you and that guy. Still a thing?” His voice was light, almost teasing, but his eyes flicked to yours with something unreadable sharp and soft all at once, that made your breath catch and your heart stutter in your chest.

You shook your head. “No. We broke up.”

His expression shifted, just slightly. The tension in his shoulders eased and something flickered across his face relief, maybe or something dangerously close to it. “Oh,” he said, and then, softer like he was afraid of the answer, “You okay?”

You nodded, and for a moment, you thought about telling him the truth. About how you couldn’t love anyone else because your heart had already been his, long before he ever knew it. About how you’d been quietly, hopelessly irrevocably his from the moment he first smiled at you like you were sunlight. About how every part of you had been shaped by the way he laughed, the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel like maybe you were worth loving.

But you didn’t.

You just smiled and said, “Yeah. I’m okay.”

And he smiled back that same smile that had ruined you a thousand times over, the one that made you believe in things you knew you’d never have, the one that made your chest ache with everything unsaid. The one that felt like a promise he’d never make.

Because loving Lewis was a quiet kind of ache. The kind that lingered in the spaces between words. The kind that settled into your bones and made a home there. The kind that never really let go, no matter how hard you tried to forget.

The days after the breakup blurred together in a soft, aching haze of routine and race prep and pretending that nothing had shifted, that nothing had cracked open inside you, that nothing had been lost. You moved through the motions like muscle memory, like habit, like survival. And Lewis was still there, like he always had been, orbiting your world with the same effortless gravity that had pulled you in from the very beginning.

You and Lewis slipped back into your usual rhythm with a kind of ease that felt both comforting and cruel. Like nothing had changed. Like he hadn’t looked at you with that flicker of something soft and impossibly tender when you told him it was over. Like your heart hadn’t fractured a little more when he smiled at you with that familiar warmth, the kind that made you feel seen, known, cherished in ways you couldn’t name.

You were still his person.

Still the one he texted at midnight with half formed thoughts about tire strategy and obscure documentaries he thought you’d find interesting. Still the one he dragged out of bed for breakfast even when you insisted you weren’t hungry, his voice coaxing and teasing, his hand warm on your wrist as he tugged you toward the door. Still the one he reached for in crowded rooms, fingers brushing yours like it was second nature like he didn’t even realise he was doing it.

And maybe that was the problem. Because it was second nature.

The way he slung an arm around your shoulders when you walked through the paddock, fingers curling into the fabric of your jacket like he needed the anchor, like he needed you. The way he leaned into you during briefings, shoulder pressed against yours, head tilted so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath when he laughed at something you whispered low and quiet and meant only for him.

The way his eyes always found yours first, scanning the crowd with unconscious precision until they landed on you, softening instantly, like you were the answer to a question he hadn’t realised he was asking.

He always found you. Always.

You were sitting on the pit wall one afternoon, watching the team run through practice laps, the sun dipping low and casting everything in gold when Lewis dropped down beside you with a sigh and a grin that tugged at something deep in your chest. His thigh bumped yours and he didn’t move away. Just sat there, close and comfortable like he belonged in your space, as if he always belonged there.

“Long day,” he murmured, voice low and tired, the kind of tired that settled in your bones and made you feel heavy.

You nodded wordless handing him your water bottle without hesitation. He took it, drank, handed it back. His fingers brushed yours, lingered for a second too long and neither of you said anything. You didn’t need to. The silence between you was full of things unsaid, full of things felt, full of everything you were too afraid to name.

And that was how it always was. Quiet touches. Lingering glances. Words that hovered just beneath the surface, trembling on the edge of being spoken but never quite crossing the line.

You felt it in the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention soft and searching like he was trying to memorise you, like he was afraid he might forget the shape of you if he didn’t look long enough. You felt it in the way your heart stuttered every time he smiled at you like you were something rare, something precious, he didn’t know how to hold without breaking. You felt it in the way your body leaned toward his without thinking like gravity had chosen him and you’d stopped fighting it a long time ago.

You felt it. And maybe he did too. But neither of you said a word.

Later, you were in his driver room curled up on the couch while he stretched out beside you, legs tangled in a way that felt intimate and familiar, his head resting against your shoulder like it had always belonged there. You were scrolling through your phone, pretending not to notice the way his fingers traced idle patterns on your knee soft, absent minded, like he didn’t even realise he was touching you. Pretending not to notice the way your pulse jumped every time he shifted closer, the way your breath caught when his skin brushed yours.

“You’re quiet today,” he said softly, voice muffled against the fabric of your hoodie like he didn’t want to disturb the fragile peace between you.

You shrugged, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just tired.”

He hummed, low and thoughtful like he didn’t quite believe you but didn’t want to push. His hand found yours, fingers lacing together with a kind of ease that made your chest ache. It was the most natural thing in the world his hand in yours, warm and grounding and familiar. Like home.

Maybe this was what love looked like when it wasn’t spoken. When it lived in the spaces between moments. When it bloomed in silence and lingered in the quiet. When it wrapped itself around you in the form of shared glances and gentle touches and the kind of closeness that made your heart ache with everything you couldn’t say.

You turned your head, looked at him. He was already looking at you.

And for a second just a second you thought about saying it. About telling him that every time he touched you, it felt like coming home. That every time he smiled, it felt like hope. That every part of you had been his for longer than you could remember, long before either of you had the words for it.

But you didn’t. You just squeezed his hand. And he squeezed back.

Because loving Lewis was a quiet kind of ache.

The kind that settled into your bones and made a home there. The kind that lingered in the spaces between words. The kind that never really let go, no matter how hard you tried to forget. The kind that felt like everything and nothing all at once.

And for now, quiet was enough.

You didn’t see the way Charles frowned from the other side of the paddock, his brows knitting together as he watched you laugh at something Lewis said, the sound of it soft and unguarded in a way it never was with anyone else. You didn’t notice the way his gaze lingered, not on Lewis, but on you on the way your eyes sparkled when you looked at him, on the way your body leaned instinctively toward his like gravity had chosen him as your centre.

You didn’t notice Lando watching your face instead of listening to Lewis’ story, his drink forgotten in his hand, his expression unreadable as he tracked every flicker of emotion across your features. He wasn’t listening to the words he was listening to the silence between them, the way your smile faltered just slightly when Lewis looked away, the way your fingers curled tighter around your glass like you were holding onto something invisible.

You didn’t hear George mutter to Oscar, voice low and laced with exasperation, “Why are they still not together?” His tone wasn’t mocking it was tired. Tired of watching two people orbit each other like twin stars, always close enough to burn but never close enough to touch. Oscar just shrugged, but even he looked a little sad about it.

Because it wasn’t just you anymore.

It wasn’t just your secret to carry, your ache to nurse in silence. The whole grid knew. Every mechanic who’d seen you linger in the garage a little too long. Every driver who’d watched Lewis’ eyes track your movements like he couldn’t help it. Every team principal who probably had a betting pool running behind closed doors, odds shifting every time you smiled at him like he was the only person in the world.

Everyone saw it.

They saw the way Lewis lit up around you - how his posture relaxed the moment you entered the room, how his laugh came easier, fuller, like it had been waiting for you to unlock it.

They saw how your hand would linger on his arm just a moment longer than necessary, fingers brushing skin like they were memorising it. They saw the way his eyes softened when he said your name, like it was a prayer he didn’t know he was whispering. They saw how your face always seemed to relax only when he was near, like the tension melted away the moment he looked at you.

Everyone saw it.

Everyone.

Except the two of you.

You were both so good at pretending. So good at hiding behind smiles and inside jokes and late night texts that never crossed the line but always hovered dangerously close. So good at convincing yourselves that friendship was enough, that proximity could replace intimacy, that longing could be buried beneath laughter.

The plan started with Daniel Ricciardo, as most questionable plans did. He cornered you one evening during a post-qualifying gathering, his grin feral and knowing eyes gleaming with mischief and something softer beneath it like concern.

He leaned against the bar beside you, drink in hand, and said, “So. You and Lewis.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What about us?”

He rolled his eyes so hard you thought they might get stuck. “Jesus. We’re doing this, huh? The whole paddock is watching a slow-burn romance play out in real time and you’re still pretending it’s just friendship?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but then Charles appeared, sliding into the conversation with a sigh and a shake of his head. “It’s painful,” he said simply, like it was a fact. “You look at him like he hung the stars.”

Then Lando chimed in, leaning across the table with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And he looks at you like you’re the only person who’s ever really seen him.”

George joined next, arms crossed, voice dry. “It’s like watching a rom-com where the leads refuse to kiss until the last five minutes. Except this one’s been dragging on for years.”

Even Max, who claimed to not care about anything that wasn’t on track, leaned over and muttered, “Just tell him. It’s exhausting to watch.”

You laughed it off. Dodged every hint. Every setup. Every glance. You told yourself they were exaggerating, that they were reading too much into things. That Lewis didn’t feel the same way. That it was safer this way.

But deep down, you knew.

You knew the way your heart stuttered every time he smiled at you like you were something rare. You knew the way your breath caught when his hand brushed yours, casual and fleeting but enough to set your skin alight. You knew the way your chest ached when he looked at you like he wanted to say something but never did.

You knew.

And maybe he did too. But neither of you said a word.

Because loving Lewis was a quiet kind of agony. The kind that bloomed in silence. The kind that lived in stolen glances and almosts. The kind that made you feel full and hollow all at once.

And the worst part? Everyone else could see it but you two.

Until someone told Lewis.

And that’s when everything shifted subtly at first, like the change in wind before a storm, but then all at once like the sky had cracked open and swallowed the sun whole.

He started acting…different.

Not overtly, not in a way anyone else might notice if they weren’t looking closely. But you were always looking closely when it came to Lewis. You knew the cadence of his laugh, the way his eyes crinkled when he was truly happy, the warmth in his voice when he said your name like it was something sacred.

And suddenly, that warmth was gone.

He still smiled at you, but it didn’t reach his eyes anymore it hovered on his lips like a ghost of something that used to be real. He still laughed at your jokes, but the sound was hollow, like he was performing joy instead of feeling it. He missed dinner twice, claiming exhaustion, but you knew better. You knew the difference between tired and avoiding.

He stopped texting first. Stopped lingering after meetings. Stopped looking at you during interviews, even when your answers made the room laugh.

You overheard him snapping at Angela one afternoon, voice sharp and frayed at the edges. “I don’t want to talk about it right now,” he said, and you didn’t know what it was, but you had a sinking feeling it was you.

And it stung. God, it stung like nothing else ever had.

You thought maybe you’d ruined it. That your love quiet and careful and tucked behind every lingering glance and every late-night conversation had finally become too obvious to ignore. That someone had told him, and he didn’t feel the same, and now he was quietly, painfully stepping away.

So you pulled back.

You stopped waiting for him after debriefs. Stopped sending him memes at midnight. Stopped reaching for his hand when the world felt too loud. You smiled less. Laughed less. You let the silence grow between you like a wall, and Lewis felt the gap like a punch to the chest every time he turned and found you already gone.

It was George who finally broke the dam.

Lewis cornered him in the hospitality tent one afternoon, tension radiating off him like heat. His jaw was tight, his eyes stormy, and his voice was low and strained when he asked, “What did you do?”

George looked up from his coffee, not even pretending to be innocent. “We told her.”

Lewis blinked, confusion flickering across his face. “Told her what?”

“That you’re in love.”

Lewis froze.

The words hit him like a slap, like a truth he hadn’t been ready to hear spoken aloud. “I’m not -” he started, but his voice faltered.

“Yes,” George cut in, firm and unrelenting. “You are. Everyone knows. They just don’t.”

Lewis stared at him, heart thudding in his chest like it was trying to break free. And that was the moment.

The click. The shift. The unraveling.

Because maybe he had always loved you. Maybe he’d just been too scared to name it, too afraid that saying it out loud would shatter the fragile, beautiful thing you’d built together. Maybe he’d convinced himself that friendship was safer, that proximity was enough, that he could live in the warmth of your presence without ever stepping into the fire.

But now you were pulling away. Now the warmth was fading. And Lewis felt the cold like a wound.

He remembered the way your fingers used to brush his arm when you laughed, the way your eyes softened when you looked at him like he was something precious. He remembered the way you always seemed to know when he needed quiet, when he needed space, when he needed someone to just be there.

He remembered all of it.

And suddenly, the thought of losing you really losing you was unbearable. Because maybe he hadn’t realised it before. Maybe he’d been too comfortable, too blind, too scared.

But now?

Now he knew. He loved you. And he might have already waited too long to say it.

It started in the motorhome, the night before the race.

The paddock had finally quieted, the buzz of media interviews and the clatter of tools fading into the low hum of generators and the occasional clink of glass from hospitality. The air was thick with anticipation, the kind that settled in your chest and made everything feel just a little more electric. Rain was forecast for race day, and the clouds already hung low and heavy, like the universe was holding its breath.

Inside the motorhome, the drivers had gathered in a rare moment of calm - feet kicked up, snacks stolen from catering, the kind of camaraderie that only came after years of shared podiums, heartbreaks, and inside jokes. Charles sat at the edge of the couch, arms crossed, brows furrowed like he was studying telemetry. But he wasn’t looking at data. He was watching Lewis.

Lewis, who was laughing at something Daniel had said, head thrown back, eyes crinkled in that way that made people fall in love without meaning to. Lewis, who had spent the last hour dissecting tire compounds and race strategy with the kind of intensity that made engineers sweat but whose gaze kept drifting, always, inevitably, toward the monitor on the wall.

It was playing your interview from earlier that day.

You were smiling, answering questions with that soft confidence that made people lean in. And Lewis was leaning in too subtly, unconsciously, like he couldn’t help himself.

Charles had had enough. “I’m going to make him confess,” he said suddenly, voice low and firm, like he was announcing a tactical manoeuvre.

George looked up from his phone, one brow raised, unimpressed. “You say that every week.”

“This time I mean it,” Charles replied, eyes still locked on Lewis like he was calculating the emotional drag coefficient of denial.

Daniel, who had just finished a dramatic retelling of his latest karting mishap walked away from Lewis and leaned in with a grin that could only be described as feral. “I’m listening.”

Lando, curled up in a beanbag with a bowl of popcorn he’d stolen from catering and absolutely no intention of returning, didn’t even look up. “This better be good. I skipped dessert for this.”

Charles leaned forward, elbows on knees, voice dropping into something conspiratorial. “He’s been in love with her for years. And he keeps dating other people to convince himself it’s not real. It’s textbook emotional repression.”

George snorted, nearly dropping his phone. “Yeah, and every time he breaks up with someone, he ends up texting them at 2 a.m. about tire degradation like it’s foreplay.”

Daniel nearly choked on his drink, coughing through laughter. “Okay, okay, I’m in. Operation: Get Lewis to Stop Being a Coward.”

Lando finally looked up, eyes gleaming. “We need a better name. Something dramatic. Something worthy of the slowest slow-burn in F1 history.”

“Operation: Champagne Confession?” George offered, smirking.

“Operation: Finally,” Charles muttered, deadpan.

Daniel clapped his hands together. “Perfect. I’ll make the group chat.”

They spent the next hour plotting like teenagers with a crush and too much time on their hands. The group chat was created complete with emojis, memes and a countdown timer. The plan was simple, in theory: get Lewis alone after the race, get him talking, and push him just far enough that he couldn’t hide behind excuses anymore.

Daniel would orchestrate a fake emergency something vague and dramatic enough to keep Lewis in the hospitality unit long enough for the rest to set the stage. George would time a text to you down to the second, sending it just as Lewis crossed the finish line.

Lando would run interference with the media and cameras, armed with charm and a suspiciously detailed knowledge of every journalist’s coffee order. Charles would do what Charles did best: quietly, ruthlessly, emotionally manipulate.

It was chaos. It was reckless. It was perfect. And it was all for love.

Or, as Daniel put it in the group chat later that night - If this doesn’t end in a kiss and a Netflix special, I’m suing.

Race day arrived with thunderclouds rolling in like a warning low and brooding, the kind that made the air feel thick with anticipation, like the sky itself was holding its breath. The paddock buzzed with tension, the kind that settled in your bones and made everything feel just a little more alive. Rain was forecast, but no one expected it to come down like this.

By the final laps, the sky had opened up completely, casting the circuit in a curtain of silver. It wasn’t just rain it was cinematic, dramatic, the kind of downpour that blurred everything: vision, judgment, emotion. The kind of rain that felt poetic, like the universe had decided to set the stage itself, like it had read the group chat and decided to help.

You were in the garage, surrounded by the hum of machinery and the frantic energy of engineers shouting over radios, but your heart wasn’t in the race anymore. It was somewhere else entirely out there on the track, in car #44, in the voice that crackled through the headset.

Lewis. His voice was calm. Focused. Composed in that way that made your chest ache, because it was the same voice he used when everything was falling apart and he was holding it together for everyone else. He was brilliant in the wet always had been dancing with the car like it was an extension of himself, like the rain was just another rhythm he knew by heart.

And then he won. Against the odds. Against the chaos. Against the storm.

He crossed the finish line, and the garage erupted in cheers mechanics throwing their arms up, radios buzzing with celebration, someone nearly knocking over a stack of tires in excitement. You stood frozen, heart pounding, breath caught somewhere between joy and something deeper - something heavier. Something that had been waiting for this moment.

Lewis stepped from the car, champagne-soaked and grinning, his smile wide and wild and beautiful. The crowd roared. Cameras flashed. Bono shouted something triumphant in his ear. Toto was already making his way toward him, arms outstretched.

But Lewis wasn’t looking for them. He wasn’t looking at the crowd, or the team, or the cameras. He was looking for you.

His eyes scanned the chaos, frantic and searching, and the moment they found yours across the garage, half-hidden behind a monitor you felt something shift. Something snap. Something fall into place like it had always been meant to.

And then Daniel appeared barreling around the corner like a man on a mission, grabbing Lewis by the arm with theatrical urgency, his expression wide-eyed and borderline manic, like he was about to reveal royal gossip or declare the end of the world. His grip was firm but borderline dramatic, enough to make Lewis stumble slightly in surprise.

“Mate,” Daniel said, voice low and intense, the words practically trembling with anticipation, “you need to come with me. It’s important.”

Lewis blinked at him, eyebrows furrowed, adrenaline still lingering in his system after the chaotic qualifying session. Rain clung to his curls like glittering threads, soaking into the collar of his team jacket. “What? What happened?”

“No time to explain,” Daniel replied, already dragging him toward the hospitality unit like a soap opera villain revealing a long-lost twin. His steps were hurried, purposeful, and just a touch mischievous. “Just trust me.”

Behind the scenes, gears were turning.

George had already fired off the coded text short, cryptic and timed to perfection. Lando, ever the chaos enthusiast, had given the signal with a wink and a fistful of popcorn. And Charles stoic, composed, insufferably smug waited inside the hospitality lounge, arms crossed like a sentinel standing guard at the gates of emotional reckoning.

Lewis entered the room, still damp from the downpour, every nerve frayed with uncertainty. The lounge felt different quiet, thick with tension and expectation. His sneakers squeaked softly on the polished floor as he paced, fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve, trying to shake off the adrenaline buzzing through his veins like electric current.

Charles stepped forward, closing the door behind him with a deliberate click, the sound slicing through the silence like a full stop. It was the kind of moment that made Lewis freeze, heart thumping louder now, instinctively sensing something monumental looming.

“You need to tell her,” Charles said, no warning, no warm-up, just straight to the core.

Lewis spun around, brow creased. “Tell who what?”

Charles let out a sigh so theatrical it could’ve been nominated for an Oscar. He rolled his eyes with enough force to summon a storm. “You know who. You know what. Stop pretending like you don’t.”

Lewis’s gaze dropped to the floor, jaw tightening, shoulders rigid with the weight of a thousand unspoken emotions. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is,” Charles replied, stepping closer until his voice was the only sound Lewis could hear. “You love her. You’ve always loved her. You just didn’t know how to say it, so you dated other people and convinced yourself it wasn’t real.”

Lewis flinched slightly, like the words had torn through a barrier he wasn’t ready to admit existed. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s true,” Charles said more softly now, his tone gentling like rain easing to a drizzle. “And you know it.”

Silence stretched between them, dense and heavy like fog clinging to the mountainside. Time felt paused suspended mid-breath.

Finally, Lewis murmured, so quiet it was almost a confession to himself, “She’s my best friend.”

Charles’s face softened, his expression transforming from tough-love interrogator to knowing confidant. “And you think that’s a reason not to love her?” he asked, tilting his head. “Or is it the reason you love her most?”

Lewis didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Because that’s when the door creaked open.

You stepped in heart fluttering, breath catching, eyes wide as they landed on him. There was something different about the air, as if every molecule around you had shifted to hold its breath.

George’s text had been brief - Come to the lounge. It’s important. - but the moment you saw Lewis, drenched in rain and eyes ablaze with emotion, you knew. You didn’t need the rest of the message. You didn’t need an explanation. Somehow, deep down, you’d always known.

The others made their exits swiftly and silently. Daniel winked and tiptoed backward like a cartoon thief. Lando clutched his popcorn, muttering “finally” under his breath. George practically sprinted out, grinning like a man who’d won a very personal bet. Charles, unsurprisingly, moved like a man who had just orchestrated a chess endgame and was now watching the final move unfold.

Lewis turned toward you, and in that instant, every sound outside dulled, every light softened, every thought evaporated. It was just you. Him. The moment.

“I need to tell you something,” he said, voice shaking, raw, wrapped in vulnerability. His gaze didn’t waver it locked onto yours like it was the only thing anchoring him to the moment, like looking away would make it all crumble.

You nodded, unable to speak, heart pounding so violently you were convinced he could hear it echo across the room.

“I’ve loved you,” he said, his voice thick and trembling, each syllable cracking open years of silent longing. “For longer than I’ve known how to say it. I tried to bury it. I dated other people. I told myself it wasn’t real. But it was. It is. You’re my best friend, and you’re everything else too. And I’m sorry it took me this long.”

And then you whispered, voice broken with love and disbelief, “You idiot.”

You barely finished the syllable before he was closing the distance hands framing your face with reverent care, as if afraid the spell would break, as if holding you too tightly would wake him up. His lips found yours in a kiss that wasn’t hurried or dramatic it was slow, lingering, aching with everything he hadn’t known how to say until now.

It was warmth after cold. It was home after wandering.

You leaned into him, into the years of friendship braided with longing, and the kiss deepened his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt, your hands slipping around his waist, both of you tangled in a moment that didn’t need words anymore.

Outside, the paddock erupted in perfect, unscripted chaos.

Daniel whooped as though he’d just clinched a last-lap victory. Lando’s popcorn flew into the air like celebratory confetti. George collected his winnings with the smug glee of a strategist who’d played the long game. And Charles…Charles just stood there, arms crossed, nodding like a proud brother walking his sister down the aisle.

Later, you’d uncover the entire plan. The fake emergency. The group chat labeled Operation: Finally. The memes. The emotional tracking spreadsheet complete with conditional formatting and colour-coded feelings created by George.

You would laugh until your ribs ached. You would tease until Daniel threatened to block you in return. You would swear revenge.

Daniel would just shrug, grinning like a schoolboy. “Worth it.”

But in that moment, nothing else mattered.

Not the scheming. Not the timeline. Not the fact that, apparently, half the grid had been emotionally invested like it was the season finale of a romance drama.

Because you had him.

And he had you.

The morning after the paddock’s euphoric celebration felt less like waking and more like floating like the universe had exhaled, wrapping you in velvet serenity.

You stirred gently beneath the soft, downy covers, limbs intertwined with Lewis’s in a comfortable tangle that spoke of quiet trust and sleepless laughter from the night before. The bed was warm, and so was he the kind of warmth that sunk into your bones and made every breath feel like a benediction.

Your cheek rested against the bare skin of his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath you like sacred music. His scent rain-slick tarmac, aged leather and that mysterious earthy sweetness only he carried was everywhere. It lingered in the sheets, in your hair, in the air between your joined fingers.

Sunlight poured through the slatted blinds in golden stripes, painting his bare torso in heavenly light. Your eyes wandered slowly over the curve of his collarbone and the smooth terrain of his chest, where the inked compass lay nestled between his pecs and over the firm lines of his abs. You reached out, fingertip gliding reverently across the tattoo, tracing the north point as if to ask it, what took us so long to find this direction?

Lewis murmured something soft and unintelligible in his sleep, brows twitching, lips parting slightly. You smiled, hand splayed over his chest now, fingers fanning out as if trying to memorise the map of him. You could feel the faint shift of his breath beneath your palm a living, tangible reminder that this wasn’t some fever dream brought on by champagne and adrenaline.

Moments later, he stirred, lashes fluttering like feathers brushing against sunlight. His sleepy gaze found yours without searching. A slow, crooked smile pulled at his lips, so achingly fond it made something luminous unfurl in your chest.

“Mornin’, trouble,” he murmured, voice dusted in sleep, low and scratchy like velvet dragged across gravel. His fingers warm and callused, wrapped in the stories of a thousand races reached for yours, twining together like muscle memory.

You laughed softly, head tucked beneath his chin now, heart pressed to his side. “I thought I was the idiot,” you teased, voice hushed as if speaking too loud might disturb the sacredness of the moment.

“Only one of us orchestrated a grand confession surrounded by scheming teammates and snack debris,” he chuckled, eyes sparkling now. “But yeah. That idiot loves you.”

You leaned up slowly, letting your lips brush his like you were sipping eternity. The kiss was unhurried, reverent two souls bowing to the holiness they’d found in each other. His arms slid around you, pulling you closer until you were nestled against him, enveloped in warmth, in quiet wonder, in everything you hadn’t dared to dream.

Later, when the two of you finally emerged from your love-warmed sanctuary and wandered into the paddock, fingers still linked, it was like walking into the climax of a rom-com penned by mad geniuses.

Daniel launched into an impromptu awards ceremony, waving a paper crown labeled Grid Royalty in Romance, adorned with glitter and snack wrappers. A confetti cannon exploded somewhere behind him, startling Charles enough to make him drop his espresso.

Lando tossed heart-shaped sunglasses toward your face with precision and flair. “Couple of the year!” he declared. “I said it first! It’s canon now!”

George approached holding a laminated dossier titled Operation: Finally, filled with final scores, emotional timestamps, and a colourful line graph labeled Lewis’ Emotional Arc. He looked smug. “I’ve already pitched the idea to Netflix. I expect royalties.”

Charles ever composed offered a dry, knowing “Took you long enough,” but the faint upward curve of his lips betrayed every emotion he wouldn’t say aloud.

And yet, even among the chaos and teasing and photos taken at obnoxious angles, it was the quieter moments that remained with you.

Soon enough , Lewis found you again in the quiet space between the noise. His hands slid around your waist, drawing you gently in until your foreheads met and your breath mingled in a hush that felt suspended in time.

“They were right,” he whispered, voice trembling like the last leaf in autumn. “Everyone knew. Except us.”

You reached up, fingers tracing the familiar lines of his face - the face you’d memorised long before you ever dared to dream of kissing it. Your smile bloomed slowly, tender and certain. “Not anymore,” you said, your voice thick with love, with relief, with the kind of peace that only comes when you stop running from the truth.

And then, beneath a sky that had waited patiently for this moment, Lewis kissed you, not like a beginning but like a homecoming. Slow. Sure. Holy.

There was no crowd. No cameras. No chase.

Just you, wrapped in the quiet gravity of his arms. Just him, finally letting himself fall not into risk, but into you.

Because the fear that kept you apart had never been stronger than the love that kept you close. You’d spent years protecting the friendship, guarding it like glass, terrified that one wrong move would shatter everything. But love, real love, doesn’t break what’s true. It reveals it.

And in that eternal moment when two best friends stopped pretending and started believing, your story found its name.

Everyone Knows But You. Except now, you both do. And you’re not afraid anymore.

[mingiatz]

Y/N is a shy transfer student navigating her first year at a university in Seoul, where everything feels too loud, too fast, and too unfamiliar. Assigned to tutor the campus heartthrob — Mingi, a wildly popular frat boy with a reputation as reckless as his laugh — she expects a headache, not heart flutters. But between chaotic study sessions, frat parties, anime confessions, and quiet snowstorms, something starts to shift. He’s more than just the loud guy in black. And she might be more than just his tutor.

Pairing: Song Mingi (ATEEZ) × Female Reader (Y/N)

Trope(s): College AU, Tutor x Student, Friends-to-Lovers, Opposites Attract, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, First Love Energy™, Plus-Size!Reader, Soft!Fratboy!Mingi supremacy

Genre: Romantic Comedy | Coming-of-Age | Slow Burn with Payoff | Soft Angst with a Happy Ending

Featuring: All ATEEZ members as part of Mingi’s chaotic frat house, Tender male friendships, Low-key commentary on body image, culture shock, and finding belonging

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

Y/N had never paid much attention to how Mingi moved through campus.

Until now.

Once she started noticing him, it became impossible not to. The way his laugh carried across the courtyard. The way he always wore his hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, exposing forearms she had no business staring at. The way he greeted everyone like they were his favorite person in the world.

Mingi didn’t walk — he strolled, like the world was his to exist in, and people just happened to orbit him.

And they did.

Especially girls.

She’d watched them — from a distance, at first. Swarming him like moths to a flame. Flipping their hair, leaning too close, looping arms through his. Sometimes Mingi laughed it off, sometimes he didn’t notice. But most of the time, he smiled. Friendly. Effortless. Familiar.

Like he was used to being wanted.

And why wouldn’t he be?

He was tall, beautiful in that devastatingly boyish way, funny without trying, and — as if that weren’t enough — sweet. He held doors. Walked girls home. Offered you banana milk without asking if you liked it, like he just knew you did.

And Y/N?

She was just the tutor.

The quiet foreign girl with chubby thighs and a nervous laugh and a brain that sometimes got in the way of her feelings.

She wasn’t one of them.

She probably never would be.

She felt stupid for even feeling a certain way about it.

Because he wasn’t hers.

He was her tutor partner. Her friend. Her occasional ride to campus when it snowed. Nothing more.

Except she’d started to wish it was more.

Which was exactly why it hurt when she heard what she did.

The café was crowded, and her drink was taking forever, so she loitered near the pick-up counter, pretending to scroll on her phone. That’s when two girls sat at the table behind her, voices high and sugar-sweet.

“Did you hear about Mingi and Nari?”

“You mean that night? Yeah. She said he was unreal in bed.”

“God, I bet. He’s huge. Like… everywhere.”

“I swear, if I ever get a chance with him—”

Y/N felt her stomach twist.

She didn’t want to care.

She really didn’t.

But something cold and sour settled deep in her chest and refused to leave.

Their next tutoring session started as usual. Mingi greeted her at the door with a grin and a snack bag already opened.

“Okay, I actually studied this time,” he announced proudly, waving his notebook like a flag.

She gave a small nod and sat down.

He blinked. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure? You look like someone told you ramen got banned.”

“I’m fine, Mingi.”

She opened her notebook and pulled out the textbook, avoiding his gaze.

He tilted his head, obviously trying to read her mood. “Okay, uh… let’s do conditional probability then?”

Ten minutes passed. Mingi tried to keep it light—making stupid jokes about dice and hypothetical vampire attacks—but Y/N didn’t bite. She barely responded, just kept writing, eyes never quite meeting his.

He fidgeted in his seat. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No, Mingi.”

“Then what—”

“Can you please just take this seriously for once?”

That made him blink.

She snapped her book shut. “I came here to help, not to babysit. If you don’t want to study, just say so.”

He looked completely thrown. “Wait—what? I am trying.”

“Really?” she said, standing up and grabbing her bag. “Because it doesn’t feel like it.”

Mingi stood too, eyes wide. “Y/N, where is this coming from?”

“I don’t know,” she lied, heart pounding. “Maybe I’m just tired.”

She wasn’t even sure if she meant physically or emotionally.

Before he could stop her, she was halfway to the door.

“Wait,” he said, softer now. “Did something happen?”

She paused, hand on the doorknob.

Her back stayed turned. “I just need to go.”

Then she left—too quickly, too embarrassed, too confused to stay and explain the real reason she was unraveling.

Because deep down, she knew it had nothing to do with probability.

She knew she overreacted.

The moment she slammed the door behind her and felt the cold air sting her cheeks, she knew. But it wasn’t until she was curled up on her bed, hoodie still zipped up and backpack half-unpacked on the floor, that the guilt really settled.

It wasn’t his fault.

Mingi hadn’t done anything wrong.

He hadn’t asked to be the center of her emotional chaos. He hadn’t promised anything. He didn’t even know how twisted her thoughts had become.

All she wanted to do was cry into her pillow and forget how completely idiotic she’d been.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

She hesitated before grabbing it.

Mingi [7:18 PM]: Hey. If i did something wrong, i’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just don’t want you to be mad at me.

Her throat tightened.

He was apologizing.

For what? For being himself? For existing in the exact way that had made her fall for him without permission?

She typed slowly, fingers trembling.

You [7:21 PM]: You didn’t do anything. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. I just… had a bad day. Please don’t feel bad.

She hit send and then immediately curled up tighter, dragging her blanket up over her face.

“I didn’t come to Korea to fall in love,” she mumbled into her pillow.

Not with a giant, ridiculous, soft-hearted idiot who bought her snacks and waited for her after class and wore hoodies that made her heart race.

“Stupid. So stupid.”

A tear slipped down her cheek. Then another.

“I don’t know what to do with this,” she whispered.

And for the first time since she arrived in Seoul, the loneliness didn’t feel like a foreign ache.

It felt like heartbreak waiting to happen.

Mingi sat on the couch, phone in his lap, eyes glued to the three grey dots that had been blinking on and off for the past two minutes

When the reply finally came in, he read it twice.

She wasn’t mad at him.

But she’d left like she was.

And now he didn’t know what to do with the ache sitting behind his ribs.

“You look like someone kicked your puppy,” Jongho said from across the room.

“I don’t have a puppy.”

“You are the puppy,” Wooyoung added, dropping onto the armrest beside him. “And that pout is tragic.”

San peeked around the doorway. “Did your tutor finally snap and throw a book at you?”

“No,” Mingi mumbled. “She just… left.”

The room went quiet.

Hongjoong looked up from his laptop. “You fought?”

“I don’t think so?” Mingi sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “She just got mad. I mean, not mad-mad, but… upset. I think.”

“Over what?” Seonghwa asked gently.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not like her,” Yeosang said, frowning.

“Exactly.” Mingi slumped down into the cushions. “I tried to joke like usual. She just looked… done. Like I wasn’t taking her seriously.”

“Were you?” San asked.

“I thought I was!” Mingi groaned. “I don’t get it. Everything was fine until suddenly it wasn’t.”

The others exchanged looks but said nothing.

Mingi stared up at the ceiling.

“I don’t want her to be upset because of me.”

Wooyoung gave him a look. “You like her, huh?”

Mingi didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

They all saw it.

What he didn’t know—what he couldn’t figure out—was if she felt the same.

Mingi wasn’t nervous.

He was just… highly alert. Aware. Emotionally caffeinated.

And okay, maybe a little nervous.

He’d cleaned the living room. Twice. Rearranged the snack tray she always reached for. Worn a hoodie he was 80% sure she once said made him look “weirdly soft.”

Not that he cared.

He definitely didn’t care.

Until the door knocked.

And suddenly he cared a lot.

She stood there with her backpack slung over one shoulder, oversized scarf half-eaten by the wind, and her fingers fidgeting with the zipper on her sleeve.

“Hi,” she said, not quite looking at him.

He smiled. “Hey.”

She stepped inside, pulled her shoes off, and stood awkwardly in the entryway.

Mingi shut the door gently.

Then she turned to face him, cheeks already pink.

“I wanted to say sorry. Again. For… the last time.”

He tilted his head. “You already did.”

“I know, but I wasn’t really being honest. I just… I was having a weird week. And I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair.”

She looked up finally, and the second their eyes met, he forgot how to breathe for a second.

Because she looked so flustered. And so sincere.

And entirely too cute for his brain to handle.

He scratched the back of his neck. “It’s okay. Really.”

She gave a tiny smile. “Still. I’m sorry.”

Mingi smiled back. “You’re forgiven. But only if you help me understand how the hell standard deviation works because I swear it’s made up.”

Her laughter broke the tension like a window opening.

And for the first time in days, things felt okay again.

The session started like usual. Her voice soft but steady as she explained concepts. His handwriting messy as ever. But there was something different in the air this time.

A pause that lingered too long.

A brush of fingers when they reached for the same pen.

A glance that held a beat too much meaning.

And Mingi noticed.

Every bit of it.

It happened during a pause. She leaned over to point something out in his notes, one hand braced beside his on the table. Their shoulders touched. Just lightly.

But it sent a shiver down his spine.

He turned toward her without thinking.

And she turned at the same time.

Their faces were close. Too close.

Y/N froze, eyes wide, her breath brushing his lips.

Mingi’s heart thudded loud in his chest.

He could kiss her. Right now.

He wanted to.

But—

He pulled back.

Too fast. Too sharp.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to—uh—yeah.”

She blinked. “It’s okay.”

“Right. Cool. Okay.”

He cleared his throat, stood up, and walked to the other side of the room like he needed air even though he was indoors.

Think, idiot. Say something normal.

“Oh!” he said, turning back. “We’re having another party this weekend. You should come.”

She looked surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, you don’t have to, obviously. But you’re invited. Officially. Like, capital ‘I’ Invited.”

Her lips twitched like she was trying not to smile. “Okay. Maybe.”

“Cool. Yeah. Cool.”

Silence.

Then she returned to the notes, flipping to the next page.

And Mingi sat back down, heart still hammering, trying to figure out if he was relieved or disappointed.

Mingi wasn’t sure when her leaving started to feel like a deadline.

Maybe it was the way she’d said it — offhand, like a reminder while packing her notes after one of their study sessions.

“Next week’s our last official meeting, huh?”

“What?”

“The program ends next Friday.”

She’d said it so casually.

Like it wasn’t about to knock the wind out of him.

He saw her three more times that week.

Each time, she showed up with her laptop, her scribbled notes, and that same scarf she always tugged tighter when she got nervous. Each time, they sat closer. Laughed more. And every time she leaned over to explain something, Mingi’s brain short-circuited a little more.

He tried to play it cool.

He really did.

But it was like… everything about her had become his favorite detail.

The way she hummed softly when reading. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when concentrating. How she always called him “Mingi” in this specific tone when he made a bad joke, like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to scold him or laugh.

She hadn’t brought up the “end of the program” again.

But Mingi couldn’t stop thinking about it.

By the time the night of the party rolled around, he was a mess of nerves disguised in cologne and a slightly-too-tight black shirt.

The music was already pounding. The main room was full. Someone had brought a fog machine again, which was a terrible idea but now a tradition. Hongjoong was DJing. San was dancing like he had no bones. Jongho was judging everyone with a drink in hand.

And Mingi?

Mingi was staring at the door.

Waiting.

“She’s not here yet?” Seonghwa asked, appearing at his side.

“No.”

Seonghwa handed him a drink. “You’ve been staring at the door for twenty minutes.”

Mingi took the cup but didn’t sip. “I invited her.”

“I figured.”

“I don’t know if she’ll come.”

Seonghwa gave him a look. “You know this isn’t just about the party.”

Mingi sighed, rubbing his thumb over the rim of the cup. “She said the program ends next week.”

“It does.”

“She hasn’t said anything about seeing each other after that.”

“Have you?”

“No.”

“Maybe you should.”

Mingi looked at him. “I think I like her.”

Seonghwa smirked. “You think?”

“I—” Mingi huffed. “Okay. I do. I like her. A lot.”

“And?”

“I don’t know. I want to tell her. But I don���t want to ruin it. What if I tell her, and she ghosts me? Or feels weird? Or—”

“Or,” Seonghwa said gently, “what if she’s just waiting for you to say something first?”

Mingi didn’t answer.

He just looked back at the door.

And hoped.

She’d told herself it was nothing.

That it would pass.

That once the tutoring program ended, everything would go back to normal.

Except… she didn’t want it to.

Mingi had become something like gravity in her life. Constant, pulling her in no matter how much she tried to resist it. His smile, his ridiculous jokes, the way he always noticed when she was off — it had all tangled around her so gently she hadn’t even realized she was caught.

And now?

She couldn’t untangle herself if she tried.

But he would never like her like that.

Not when he could have anyone. And most days, it looked like he already did. Girls were always around him, laughing a little too loud, leaning in a little too close. She’d seen him smile at them, chat like it was easy. He was warm, magnetic, and just so much—and she was…

Just her.

Too quiet. Too foreign. Too soft in places Korea didn’t like.

And still, she’d fallen for him.

Hard.

So she made herself a deal.

She would go to the party.

Tell him how she felt.

And then walk away.

It would be over soon anyway.

One more study session. One last goodbye.

Better to just say it now — before she chickened out.

Getting ready took too long.

She tried on four outfits. All of them ended up in a pile on her bed. She settled on a soft sweater that hugged her figure and a flowy skirt that hit mid-thigh. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t flashy. But it was her. And it felt cute.

That was enough.

She fixed her hair. Put on lip gloss. Took a deep breath in the mirror and muttered, “Don’t be a coward.”

Then she left.

The frat house was buzzing when she arrived. Lights glowing through the windows. Music pulsing underfoot. She almost turned around twice before reaching the steps.

But she didn’t.

And the second she stepped inside, the warmth of the party hit her — noise, chatter, movement.

And then—

“Mingi.”

He saw her immediately.

His face lit up like someone flipped a switch.

She couldn’t help the way her breath caught.

Because he didn’t just smile — he beamed.

And then he started walking toward her, weaving through the crowd like she was the only person in the room.

Her heart flipped.

It did a full somersault when she realized his eyes were locked on hers the entire way. Like he hadn’t seen anyone else.

And God—his shirt.

Tight black cotton that clung to his chest and arms like it was barely holding on. His hair slightly messy, like he’d run his hands through it too many times.

She felt butterflies explode in her stomach, fluttering so violently it made her want to bolt.

But she stayed.

He stopped in front of her, grinning like she’d just made his whole night.

“You came.”

“You invited me.”

“Yeah,” he said, eyes softening. “But I wasn’t sure you would.”

“I almost didn’t,” she admitted.

“I’m glad you did.”

She bit her lip.

His eyes flicked there, just for a second.

And suddenly the music was too loud. The lights too dim. And her confession — the one she’d been practicing in her head for days — felt like it was caught in her throat.

But this was it.

She just had to say it.

One time.

And then she’d let it go.

She’d meant to tell him.

She really had.

But then she saw his smile — that brilliant, boyish smile that lit up the whole damn room — and her brain completely short-circuited.

Just like that, every practiced line, every late-night drafted version of her confession vanished.

And all she could do was smile back.

Because it hit her, in that moment — something so terrifyingly soft:

If this is the last time, I just want to enjoy it.

So she didn’t say anything.

Didn’t confess.

Didn’t ruin it.

Instead, she let herself stand there, soaking in the way he looked at her like she belonged in the crowd. Like she was worth noticing in a room full of prettier, louder, thinner girls. Like she was the only one who mattered.

And for now… that was enough.

God, she looked good.

Cute, obviously. She was always cute.

But tonight? There was something else. Something different. The skirt, the soft sweater, the way her hair curled around her cheeks, slightly flushed from the cold — it short-circuited his brain, too.

He wanted to stare forever.

But instead, he tried to act normal. Which, apparently, meant becoming a one-man comfort committee.

“Are you warm enough?”

“You want a drink? I’ll get it.”

“Don’t stand here. Come sit. You want to sit? C’mon, you’ll like the couch.”

She laughed and let herself be guided to the corner sofa, nestled safely between two armchairs. San gave Mingi a knowing look. Mingi ignored him.

“I’ll be right back,” he said to her, and she nodded with a soft smile that absolutely murdered him on the spot.

He weaved through the crowd toward the drink table, heart thudding, brain trying to remember how to mix anything at all. He was still deciding between soda and something stronger when a girl stepped up beside him.

“Hey, Mingi.”

He glanced over. Short skirt. Long lashes. Familiar face from his sociology class, maybe.

“Oh. Hey.”

“You’re looking good tonight.”

He offered a polite smile. “Thanks. You too.”

She twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “I heard you’re single.”

Mingi blinked. “Um. I guess?”

“You guess?”

He laughed awkwardly. “I’m not really… dating right now.”

“Right,” she said, smile widening. “Just hanging out.”

Before he could reply, she picked up two cups and followed him back toward the sofa.

He sat down next to Y/N and handed her the drink he’d made. The other girl dropped onto the other side of him, way too close, practically draping herself across the cushions.

“So who’s this?” she asked, looking at Y/N with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Y/N stiffened.

Mingi opened his mouth to introduce her, but Y/N beat him to it.

“Just a friend,” she said quickly, taking a small sip of her drink.

“Oh,” the girl replied, voice syrupy. “That’s cute.”

Mingi frowned.

Something about her tone rubbed him the wrong way.

But then he heard San yell something about spilled wine and napkins.

“I’ll be right back,” Mingi said, getting up from the couch. “Someone spilled something on the table—I’ll grab some napkins before it spreads.”

Y/N gave him a small nod, wrapping both hands around her drink as she watched him disappear into the kitchen.

The girl beside her shifted, angling her body toward Y/N.

“You’re cute,” she said, smiling. “Really brave, coming here.”

Y/N blinked. “…Thanks?”

The girl sipped her drink and leaned in a little closer, voice soft but sharp.

“I mean, it’s kind of sweet. You must really believe in fairytales or something.”

Y/N’s stomach turned.

The girl tilted her head, feigning innocence. “But let’s be real. Guys like Mingi don’t usually go for girls like you.”

Before Y/N could respond—or crumble—another voice cut through.

“Excuse me?” Yeosang.

He’d walked past just in time to catch it. His tone was deceptively calm, but his eyes were cold.

“I didn’t mean it like—” the girl began.

“You meant it exactly like that,” he snapped.

Seonghwa appeared a moment later, his gaze sweeping over the scene with quiet understanding.

“I think you should go,” he said to the girl, voice even but laced with finality.

The girl faltered, then rolled her eyes and walked off, heels clicking against the floor.

Yeosang turned to Y/N. “You okay?”

Y/N stared at her drink.

“She’s right,” she said quietly. “It’s fine.”

“Y/N—” Seonghwa started.

“She’s right,” Y/N repeated, standing slowly. “Mingi would never look at someone like me like that. It’s not a big deal. I should go.”

Yeosang reached out, but she was already pulling away.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “But I’m fine.”

Neither of them believed her.

And neither of them tried to stop her as she walked out the front door and into the cold, her chest heavier than the night air.

Mingi returned to the sofa with a handful of napkins, ready to wipe up the spill and settle back into whatever this was becoming between him and Y/N.

But she wasn’t there.

Instead, the flirty girl from earlier was sprawled in her spot, twirling her hair and smirking up at him.

He blinked. “Where’d Y/N go?”

The girl shrugged, her smile too smug. “No idea. Guess she didn’t feel like competing.”

Mingi’s stomach dropped. “What?”

“You know,” she said, inching closer. “It’s kinda cute that you let her hang around. Makes you look nice.”

He stepped back slightly. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Mingi.” She laughed, like it was all some joke. “Are you really into chubby little gremlins like that? Or is this some weird frat charity thing?”

Everything in him went quiet.

Dead quiet.

And then something in his chest snapped.

“Get the fuck away from me.”

The girl blinked, startled. “Excuse me?”

He didn’t repeat it. Just glared, jaw tight, eyes hard.

Her smirk wavered. “Wow. Over her?”

Mingi’s gaze cut to the corner of the couch — and his heart dropped lower.

Y/N’s coat was still there.

She left without it.

Without him.

Shit.

He shoved the napkins into the girl’s hands without another word, snatched the coat, and turned on his heel.

Yeosang spotted him in the hall. “You okay?”

“Did she say anything to Y/N?”

Yeosang hesitated. “…Yeah.”

“What did she say?”

Yeosang’s jaw clenched. “Enough.”

Mingi didn’t wait for more.

He was already out the door.

The night air hit him like a slap — sharp and biting. He scanned the street, heart racing, eyes flicking between shadowed corners and passing figures.

Nothing.

He turned the corner.

Still nothing.

Another street. Then another.

And then—

There.

A block ahead, just past the intersection.

Her shoulders were hunched. Her steps slow. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself, clearly freezing.

And coatless.

Mingi took off running.

“Y/N!”

She didn’t turn.

“Y/N!”

This time she paused — just enough for him to catch up.

Panting, breath misting in the air, he reached out and gently caught her arm.

“You forgot your coat,” he said, holding it out like a peace offering.

She stared at him, wide-eyed, cheeks red from wind and something else.

“Mingi—”

“You left without saying anything.”

Her expression crumpled.

He held out the coat again. “You’re freezing.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

She didn’t take it, so he carefully stepped closer and wrapped it around her shoulders himself.

“Why did you leave?” he asked softly.

She looked away. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.“

He told her it mattered.

Those words echoed in her chest like a heartbeat she didn’t know was hers.

“It matters to me.”

It shouldn't have meant so much. But it did.

Because for a second—just one, stupid second—it made her think there was a chance. That maybe all the moments she thought she imagined between them were real.

That maybe she wasn’t crazy.

That maybe Mingi… liked her.

But reality was faster than hope.

And sharper.

She looked away before he could see too much. Before her face betrayed the small, desperate flicker in her chest that was already trying to grow.

“Thanks,” she mumbled. “For bringing me my coat.”

He didn’t say anything.

She pulled the fabric tighter around herself and took a step back. “You should probably get back to your party. Your… friend is probably waiting.”

“Friend?”

“The girl. The one who said—” She cut herself off, biting the inside of her cheek. “Never mind.”

She turned to go.

But his voice caught her mid-step.

“I don’t want to go back if you’re not there.”

She froze.

Wind tugged at the hem of her coat. Her fingers clenched the fabric tighter.

“Y/N.”

She turned her head slightly, just enough to see him. His breath was misting in the air. His brows were pulled together, his lips slightly parted like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

“I like spending time with you,” he said. “It’s not fun if you’re not there.”

And that—

That broke her.

Because he didn’t sound like he was just trying to make her feel better.

He sounded like he meant it.

Her shoulders dropped.

She turned fully, tears stinging at her eyes, throat closing before she could stop it.

“Mingi,” she said quietly, voice cracking. “Don’t say things like that.”

He blinked. “Why not?”

“Because…” She swallowed. “Because it makes me hopeful.”

He stepped closer.

She took a small step back.

“It makes me think you might like me too,” she whispered. “And I know that’s stupid, okay? I know you don’t. But when you say stuff like that…”

She pressed a hand over her heart like it could hold it together.

“…it hurts.”

And for the first time since they met, she let herself look at him with everything she was feeling written all over her face.

Raw. Vulnerable. Exposed.

If he didn’t feel the same, she’d survive.

But she couldn’t keep pretending it didn’t hurt when he said things that made her feel like maybe—just maybe—he did.

He hadn’t expected her to say it.

Not like that. Not with that soft, breaking voice. Not with those wide, watery eyes that looked like she was bracing for pain.

“Because it makes me hopeful… it makes me think you might like me too…”

She looked like she was waiting for a rejection.

Like she was already trying to swallow it.

And Mingi—

Mingi could barely breathe.

Because all this time, he’d been the one holding it in. Hiding it in jokes. Burying it under study notes and casual texts. Letting himself believe she couldn’t possibly feel the same.

But she did.

She liked him.

And she thought it was stupid.

His heart stuttered.

He opened his mouth—tried to form words—but nothing came out fast enough.

And then—

“It’s okay,” she said, voice quieter now, as she turned away. “I’ll see you next Friday. For the last session.”

She started walking.

Like nothing had happened.

Like she hadn’t just cracked her chest open in front of him and offered her heart on trembling hands.

Mingi blinked once—twice—

Then lunged after her.

“Y/N, wait!”

She stopped, but didn’t turn around.

He caught up to her, stepping in front of her this time. Blocking her path, heart pounding so loud he could barely hear his own voice.

“I like you,” he said.

She froze.

Mingi took a breath. Then another.

“I like you,” he repeated, more solidly this time. “I’ve liked you for months.”

Her eyes lifted, lips parted, stunned.

“I just…” He laughed once, breathless. “I didn’t think you felt the same. I thought I was just… the guy you had to tutor. Or maybe just a friend.”

“You’re not just anything,” she whispered.

Mingi stepped closer, gently brushing her hair back from her face.

“I thought you were too good for me,” he said. “Like, way out of my league.”

She let out a disbelieving breath. “You’re Mingi.”

“Exactly,” he grinned. “I’m a disaster.”

She laughed, half a sob caught in the sound, and Mingi felt the whole world shift around them.

He reached for her hand—slowly, carefully—and she let him.

And for a moment, they just stood there.

Breathing in the same cold air. Hearts exposed. Futures uncertain.

But hands finally held.

Together.

He didn’t let go of her hand.

Not when she looked at him like he was someone she’d only just started to see.

Not when the air between them buzzed with something fragile and new.

And especially not when she gave his fingers the slightest squeeze back.

Mingi smiled, cheeks flushed, heart so full it felt like it could lift him off the ground.

“Let me walk you home,” he said, still holding her hand. “It’s freezing.”

She nodded silently, still a little dazed, like she was walking in a dream.

They started moving slowly through the quiet street, her hand tucked warm in his, and Mingi felt like everything had shifted — like he wasn’t just some guy anymore. Like she wasn’t just some girl he thought about more than he should’ve.

Like this was real now.

A few minutes passed in silence — peaceful, but full of unspoken things. He could tell she was still sorting through what just happened.

Then, suddenly, she spoke.

“Why?”

Mingi glanced at her. “Hm?”

She didn’t look at him when she asked, “Why would you fall for someone like me?”

He stopped walking.

“Wait—what?”

She finally turned, expression soft but uncertain, like she wasn’t trying to fish for compliments — like she truly didn’t get it.

And that broke him a little.

“What do you mean?” he asked gently.

“I just…” she trailed off, shrugging a little. “I don’t look like the girls you usually talk to. I’m not confident like them, or cool, or… I don’t know. I’m not really—”

“Stop.”

Mingi’s voice was quiet but firm. His thumb brushed gently along her knuckles.

“I don’t think you get it,” he said, looking straight at her. “I didn’t fall for you despite who you are. I fell for you because of it.”

She blinked.

“I like that you’re honest,” he said. “That you’re thoughtful. That you actually listen when people talk.”

He took a step closer, still holding her hand.

“I like that you’re funny — not loud funny, but the kind of funny that sneaks up on people and catches them off guard. Like that time you roasted me in statistics and didn’t even realize it.”

She smiled a little at that.

“I like how you get all focused when you’re explaining something — your eyebrows scrunch, and you wave your hands around like you’re conducting a damn orchestra.”

She laughed, surprised, and that sound wrecked him in the best way.

“I like your laugh,” he said. “And the way you look when you’re trying not to.”

Her smile started to fade — not in a bad way, but like it was melting into something softer. Something vulnerable.

“And I like your hair,” he added, quieter now. “It always looks soft. I think about touching it more than I should.”

Her breath caught.

“I like how smart you are. I like how you make me want to be smarter.”

He swallowed, heart thudding.

“And I like how you make me feel.”

She was staring at him now. Eyes wide, lips parted, barely breathing.

“You make me feel like…” He let out a small, almost helpless laugh. “Like I’m not just some guy in a frat house.”

Y/N looked at him like he was a sunrise.

Like she didn’t know what to do with any of this.

So Mingi did the only thing his heart could manage.

He leaned in.

And kissed her.

Soft. Careful. Gentle.

Her lips were warm. She tasted like the lingering hint of cherry soda. She didn’t move for a second — frozen in shock.

Then she kissed him back.

Just once.

And it was perfect.

Their lips parted, but Mingi didn’t move far.

He kept her close — so close their foreheads touched, warm breath mingling in the winter air.

His hand gently brushed her cheek, thumb tracing the edge like it was the most precious thing he’d ever touched.

She looked at him like she still couldn’t believe this was real.

So he told her again.

Softly. Honestly. Everything that mattered.

“I like the way you see the world,” he whispered, eyes half-lidded. “You notice things other people don’t. Like how you always remember when one of the guys says they’ve got a test coming up… or how you bring snacks without being asked.”

His fingers moved gently, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

“I like how you treat people. Even when they don’t deserve it.”

Her breath hitched.

“I like the way you talk about home. You always sound like you miss it, but like you’re proud too.”

She blinked quickly, and he saw it — the shimmer in her eyes. The way her chest rose like she was holding something in.

“And I like your voice,” he said. “Especially when you’re sleepy. You don’t even know how soft it gets.”

She let out a tiny laugh, barely there.

Mingi smiled.

“I could keep going,” he murmured. “I will, if you let me.”

She nodded.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Keep going.”

And he did.

Right there under the streetlight, hand on her cheek, forehead resting against hers — he gave her every reason he’d fallen, one after another.

Because she deserved to know.

Because he’d been holding it in for too long.

And because finally — finally — she believed him.

They didn’t say much on the walk back.

Mingi kept her hand in his the whole time, humming a little under his breath, smiling like a fool.

Y/N couldn’t stop glancing at him from the corner of her eye. He was tall and broad and so completely there, walking beside her like they’d done this a thousand times.

When they reached her building, she hesitated outside the door, thumb brushing over her keys.

“You wanna come up?” she asked softly, peeking up at him through her lashes.

Mingi’s head shot up like a puppy hearing a treat bag crinkle. “Really?”

She nodded.

His grin grew impossibly wide. “Only if I get to cuddle you to death.”

Y/N laughed — loud and unfiltered — and that only made Mingi look more pleased with himself.

“Come on, dork,” she said, unlocking the door.

Her place was small but warm — a mix of old posters, fairy lights, and a faint vanilla scent she hoped he liked.

“Here,” she said, tugging a drawer open. “These should fit you.”

She handed him a black oversized tee and a pair of grey joggers that used to belong to her cousin.

Without hesitation, Mingi peeled his hoodie off, then his shirt.

Right there. In her room.

Y/N blinked.

And blinked again.

Oh.

He was built.

Muscles under soft skin, broad shoulders, that dip where his waist narrowed — and absolutely zero shame.

He noticed her staring and smirked a little. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she squeaked, turning around way too fast. “Totally fine. Not combusting at all.”

Mingi chuckled behind her, clearly enjoying himself.

“Okay,” he said after pulling the shirt on. “Now come here.”

They curled up on her bed, under the fluffiest blanket she owned. Mingi clicked through his phone and pulled up a K-drama.

“This one’s kind of ridiculous,” he said. “But I love it.”

Y/N didn’t really care what they watched.

All she could think about was how warm his arms felt around her, how steady his breathing was behind her ear, how his hand lazily traced circles against her side.

“You’re so soft,” he murmured.

She made a sound — half laugh, half flustered whimper — and tried to hide her face in the blanket.

“No hiding,” Mingi said, nuzzling into her hair. “You’re mine now.”

Her heart stuttered.

He kissed her temple.

Then her cheek.

Then the tip of her nose.

And then — slowly, sweetly — her lips again.

He kept kissing her between sentences like he couldn’t help himself.

“I like you so much.”

Kiss

“I still can’t believe you like me back.”

Kiss

“You have no idea what you’ve done to me.”

Kiss

“Mingi,” she whispered, smiling too much to stop it.

He tucked her closer to his chest, resting his chin on top of her head.

They stayed like that, tangled and quiet, the drama flickering in the background and neither of them really paying attention.

Then, just as her eyes started to drift shut, she heard his voice again — softer, sleepier now.

“Hey…”

“Mm?”

“…Does this mean you’re my girlfriend now?”

Y/N opened her eyes slowly, turning her head enough to look at him.

His lashes were fluttering, cheeks pink, expression hopeful and half-asleep.

She smiled.

“I’d love that,” she whispered.

Mingi let out a long, content sigh, tightened his hold around her, and buried his nose into her hair.

And just like that—

They fell asleep.

Wrapped in each other.

Warm.

Happy.

Home.

Mingi didn’t want to move.

Sunlight was starting to peek through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room, and Y/N was still curled into him, one arm tucked under her cheek, the other slung across his waist. Her breathing was slow and steady, lashes fluttering just slightly like she was deep in a dream.

And Mingi just… watched.

Not in a creepy way. In a can’t-believe-this-is-real way.

Her bed smelled like vanilla and shampoo and something sweet that made him never want to leave.

But his phone buzzed.

He groaned and reached over carefully without waking her, squinting at the screen.

Joongie 💢 “Frat cleanup at 10. If you don’t show, it’s toilet duty for a week.”

Mingi scowled and tossed the phone gently onto the nightstand.

No way was he leaving without saying goodbye.

Instead, he settled back down next to her, wrapping his arm more tightly around her middle. She shifted slightly, nestling even closer, her nose brushing his collarbone.

And then — softly — she stirred.

“Mingi?” she mumbled.

He smiled and brushed her hair back from her face. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

She blinked at him, bleary-eyed and adorable. “You’re still here.”

“Of course I’m still here.” He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “You think I’d sneak out on my girlfriend the morning after our first cuddle marathon?”

She let out a little laugh. “Fair point.”

“I have to head back soon,” he said reluctantly. “The guys are doing a cleaning thing, and apparently my presence is mandatory if I want to avoid toilet duty.”

“Ew,” she said, scrunching her nose. “Okay, yeah, go.”

He laughed, then cupped her cheek gently, kissing her once — and then again, slower the second time.

“I had a really good night,” he said.

Y/N smiled sleepily. “Me too.”

“Like… stupidly good.”

“You’re just saying that because I let you pick the drama.”

“Okay, that too,” he admitted, grinning. “But mostly because of you.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she tucked her face against his chest to hide it.

“I’ll text you when I’m back?” he asked.

She nodded into his shirt. “You better.”

He gave her one last kiss — soft, lingering, pressed against the corner of her mouth — then gently slid out of bed and got dressed.

She stayed curled under the blanket, watching him with a fond smile, and when he looked back at her one last time from the door, she whispered, “Bye, boyfriend.”

Mingi’s heart nearly exploded.

“Bye, girlfriend.”

The frat house smelled like cleaning spray and regret by the time he got back. Mingi floated through the front door with the kind of dopey grin that made Yeosang pause mid-window-wipe.

“Why do you look like you just won the lottery and got kissed by Santa?” he asked flatly.

San turned off the vacuum. “Wait, what did I miss?”

Jongho squinted at him. “You didn’t come home last night.”

Mingi dropped his bag near the stairs and stretched, still glowing. “Yeah.”

Seonghwa emerged from the kitchen, towel over his shoulder. “So? You staying at Y/N’s or something?”

Mingi ran a hand through his hair and bit back a grin.

“She’s my girlfriend now.”

Dead silence.

Then—

“WHAT?!”

Busan was loud, bright, and full of salt-scented air.

Wooyoung had somehow convinced everyone to rent a beach house just outside the city, and it had turned into a mini vacation: full of sand, grilled meat, sunscreen wars, and too much iced coffee.

Y/N sat under a wide umbrella on the beach, her feet buried in the warm sand and a book open in her lap. She hadn’t read a single word.

Because Mingi was currently ten feet away, tossing a frisbee with San and Yeosang, shirtless and laughing in the sunshine.

And it was ridiculous how he still made her heart flip.

“Hey.”

She looked up and saw Mingi jogging toward her, cheeks flushed and hair damp with sweat.

He dropped beside her on the towel, breathless and smiling. “You’re not even watching me.”

“I was absolutely watching you,” she said, closing the book. “I just… also like pretending I’m being productive.”

He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I passed.”

Y/N blinked. “Wait, what?”

He grinned. “I just checked my final grades. I passed statistics.”

She squealed and threw her arms around him. “Mingi! That’s amazing!”

“Right?!”

“You were so sure you bombed the final!”

“I was sure I bombed the final.”

She laughed and kissed his temple. “I’m so proud of you.”

He pulled back, eyes sparkling. “You’re the reason I passed, you know.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please. I helped. You’re the one who learned it.”

“I would’ve dropped out crying if not for you,” he insisted, tugging her closer until she was practically in his lap.

They stayed like that — wrapped in each other, sun and breeze wrapping around them — until Mingi spoke again.

“I’m glad we came here,” he said, voice softer now. “I feel like I can actually breathe.”

She looked at him, surprised by the shift in tone.

“You okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Just… this past semester sucked, and now it doesn’t. Because you’re here. And I passed. And now I get to kiss my girlfriend in Busan under an umbrella while Wooyoung yells at Jongho for cheating at beach volleyball.”

As if on cue, a loud “You LIED, you absolute menace!” echoed from the court.

Y/N snorted.

Mingi laughed and rested his forehead against hers. “Thanks for believing in me.”

“Always.”

He kissed her then — sweet and warm, tasting like sunblock and soda, full of everything summer was supposed to feel like.

And for a few moments, the world was just them.

The beach house was quiet at night.

The others had trickled off to bed after hours of laughter, s’mores over the grill, and Yeosang’s surprisingly intense card game tournament.

Y/N stepped outside onto the back porch, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, the ocean breeze brushing against her skin. The sound of the waves was soft now — not loud or crashing, just steady.

A door creaked open behind her.

She smiled before even turning around.

“You always find the quiet spots,” Mingi said, padding toward her in his sweats and hoodie.

She held the blanket open wordlessly, and he stepped right into it, curling around her like he’d always belonged there.

They stood in silence for a moment, his chin resting on her shoulder, his arms warm around her waist.

“I was thinking about our first tutoring session,” she said eventually. “You kept asking if you could nap between chapters.”

He huffed a laugh. “You called me a statistical lost cause.”

“You were.”

“I still passed though.”

She leaned back into him. “You did.”

Mingi’s voice lowered, gentler now. “Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if we hadn’t met?”

She was quiet for a second.

“I think I still would’ve learned to love Seoul,” she said, honestly. “But I don’t think I would’ve laughed as much. Or felt this safe.”

He kissed the top of her head.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done,” he admitted. “You slowed me down. In the best way.”

She turned in his arms so they were face to face.

Mingi looked at her like she was the best thing he’d ever been given.

“You made me believe I could actually finish something,” he whispered. “And not just a class.”

She smiled, heart full.

“Next semester’s gonna be insane,” she said.

“Tell me about it.”

“But I’m not as scared anymore.”

He took her hands, lacing their fingers together. “You shouldn’t be. You’re amazing.”

“So are you,” she replied.

Mingi leaned in, pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that was less about fireworks and more about anchoring — grounding. Familiar. Home.

When they pulled back, he didn’t let go.

“I don’t know what’s gonna happen next year, or the one after that,” he said, voice low. “But if you’re in it, I already know it’s gonna be good.”

Y/N blinked fast.

“Don’t make me cry on a porch like a romcom extra,” she said, laughing softly.

Mingi smiled. “Too late.”

They stood there for a while longer, wrapped in the blanket, listening to the ocean — to the quiet beating of something that felt a lot like forever.

Not flashy.

Not perfect.

But real.

And that was more than enough.

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

[headdinthewall]

I CHOOSE YOU #2 ── g.clarke ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

summary : you and george spend all day getting to know each other on a personal level, and then things change around the fire pit a/n : for this li ‘series’ it wont be a full thing, it’ll probably just be major parts of the show and then things i wanna write too // this one is long & full of drama lmfao content : non-established relationship ,, verbal fighting ,, fluff

─────── THE NEXT MORNING was lovely and leisurely. No one was outright upset about your night with George (except Harry, who seemed to have the face of a smacked arse constantly) and all the girls has expressed their support for you.

Even Emma had apologised, which she really didn’t need to do, so it was safe to say you were in a good mood.

George had made you an iced coffee and some toast, even going as far as to spread the jam in a heart shape. You told him it was cute and he kissed the top of your head.

The sun was blazing again today, burning rays snaking their ways across your skin and every other islander there. Sweat dripped down the back of your neck and some of it gathered at your hairline, cursing you with the grimy feeling of greasy hair. The wooden flooring planks were scorching to walk across, the cushioning on the seats felt like hot stones, so the only safe space was in the pool.

The water rolled comfortably over itself as you swayed leisurely, letting the cooling liquid lather over your body. You shivered at the initial contact, the drastic temperature change being a shock to your body, but you quickly adjusted, and the cold became a relief.

You and Chloe ‘swam’ around each other, gossiping idly. She was talking about how happy she was in her couple with Luca, saying that he was such a gentleman and gave a lot of golden retriever energy. You nodded in agreement.

Then she asked, “What are you gonna do about Harry and George?”

“I dunno, to be honest. I haven’t really thought about it.” You answered honestly, “I’m still attracted to Harry somewhat, I don’t know why— like, a lot of the attraction has gone because of how he did me yesterday, but … there’s still something.”

“Maybe it’s just because you were coupled up from day one so you feel some sort of loyalty towards him.” Chloe suggested, “But what about George?”

“I really like him.” You muttered, “Last night, he came in to sleep with me so I wasn’t alone, and it was … it was really nice. He spoke nonsense for about an hour, but it wasn’t annoying and obnoxious, it was funny and I actually listened. And, obviously, yesterday he came to check on me and he said …” You looked around to make sure no one was in ear shot, “Said his door will always be open for me and he has a lot of feelings for me.”

“No way!” Chloe exclaimed, a large grin on her face.

“Shh! Shh!” You hushed her with a giggle.

“If there’s a recoupling, who would you like to be picked by?”

“Mmm, I don’t know, cuz— like, I wouldn’t— How do I word this? I don’t know if my feelings for George are genuine, or just because last night everything was so raw and he was there for me, do you know what I mean? So, I wouldn’t wanna get in a couple with him and then be, basically, leading him on or giving him false hope.”

“Babe, babe, I’m not trying to tell you how you feel or anything, but everything you just said about George was positive. When you were talking about last night, there wasn’t a single bit of ‘hmm, I don’t know’. I think you like him, and you just have to go for it. Test connections, and if it doesn’t work out then,” Chloe shrugged, “So be it.”

“Sorry to interrupt but, reader do you wanna go for a chat?” George asked.

“Yeah, sure.” You nodded with a smile.

You lifted yourself out of the pool and reattached your mic pack around your waist. Chloe winked sneakily at you as you walked off.

“You alright?” George asked, looking at you as you walked to the daybeds.

“Yeah, I’m great. It’s hot today.” You hummed, sitting beside him. “This is like, our little spot.”

“I know, right?” George laughed softly, putting his arm around the pillows smoothly. “I just wanted to get to know you a bit more. I feel like I only really know stuff about you from challenges.”

“Yeah, definitely.” You agreed, “Fire away, hon.”

“Favourite colour?”

“Oh, no, George, that’s far too personal.” You joked, making him snort. “Pink is really pretty. I’ve been liking yellow a bit recently too.”

“I think you’d look nice in yellow.”

“Yeah? You want me to wear yellow later?”

“I’d love that.” He smirked, fingers dancing along your arm. “You got any pets?”

“I have a cat but I want another.”

“No dogs?”

“No, are you a dog person?”

“I am.” He sucked his teeth. “I really want a dog, but I currently live with my mates, so it would be a bit tight.”

“You live with your friends?” You raised your eyebrows in shock.

“Yeah … is that a red flag?”

“No, I quite like that. I live with my best friend and it’s really convenient.”

“Do you think you could have a dog?”

You gave him a guilty look as if to say ‘no, not at all’ and he sighed dramatically, shaking his head.

“Just when I thought you were my dream girl.” He said, tutting.

You threw your head back in laughter, “Okay, what about kids?”

“I want them, definitely, but … it’s just a case of when and how many?” He told you.

“I want two. Maybe three, but two is perfect.” You explained, “I have two older brothers, but they’re twins and six years older than me, so I always felt a bit lonely. If I ever have kids, I want them to have a sibling close in age so they don’t feel lonely.”

George’s eyes widened, “Two older brothers? Fuck me, I’m gonna die, aren’t I? Gotta make sure to treat you like a princess.”

“Queen.” You corrected him.

“Right, queen.”

─────── WHEN THE EVENING rolled around, you had indeed put on a yellow dress. It was either that or a red one, simply because you knew it was Harry’s favourite colour on you and you wanted to show him what he was missing out on. But no, you decided on the yellow. Instead of trying to get revenge on a man who simply didn’t deserve any of your attention, you would flaunt your body to a man who did deserve it.

You saw the utter glee on George’s face when he saw the yellow fabric and the dainty sequins and jewels making up the butterfly design on the side. He leaned down close to your ear, muttering words of desire and attraction before kissing your jawline.

“Guys! I’ve got a text!” Sofija exclaimed loudly, “‘Islanders, tonight there will be a recoupling in which the boys will pick their girl! #switchingitup #girlslayback’!”

Your head shot towards Chloe immediately, “You fucking jinxed it!”

“I’m sorry!” She cackled, grabbing your arm.

“Wait is anyone going home? Or is there an even amount of people in the villa?”

“It’s even, it just means things might change.” George said, as if he was plotting.

“Reader, can I talk to you?” Harry approached.

“Oh, here we fuckin’ go.” Chloe huffed, rolling her eyes, “Come to apologise now so you can secure your spot?”

“It’s okay, Chlo. I’ll be back in a sec.” You soothed her, patting her shoulder.

You and Harry walked off and you could feel George’s eyes burning into the back of your skull.

“You look nice.” Harry complimented as you sat down across from each other at the mini fire pit.

“Thank you.” You replied.

“I just, I did want to apologise for yesterday. And this isn’t just me saying this now ‘cause there’s a recoupling, I wanted to do this earlier but you were with George all day.”

The way he said his name didn’t sit right with you, it was like he was bitter about it.

“I shouldn’t have kissed Emma like that, and I shouldn’t have joked about you not being good enough.” Harry said.

You shifted your lips to the side, running your tongue over your teeth before replying, “Thank you, for apologising, but, Harry, you … you made me cry. We sat there, on those beds,” You pointed, “And I cried, you heard me crying, and you just walked off. Why didn’t it click for you to apologise then? Or give me a hug? Or comfort me? You said ‘good chat’ and then walked off.”

“Because it was an awkward situation! I felt really awkward and I didn’t want to make it worse for you!”

“It was awkward because of you, Harry! Because you promised me I was the only girl for you and then contradicted it within a couple of hours! That’s why it was awkward! And before you say it, I know I kissed George. But what would you rather me do in that challenge? Kiss someone else and say ‘Oh, I thought there might be a connection’?”

“But now you do have a connection with George, so what does that matter, like— You— You say your happy to be exclusive with me and no you’re all cuddly and giggly-me-giggly with him.”

“Yeah, and I was happy to be exclusive with you, but then you treated me like shit yesterday and made me look like a mug in front of everyone.”

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, your phone dinged.

“I’ve got a text!” You shouted, catching everyone’s attention. “‘Will all Islanders please gather around the fire pit immediately’!”

When you stood, he did too.

“Is that it, then? You don’t wanna try again?” Harry muttered.

“I … I don’t know. Right now? No, I don’t. It’s all still very fresh for me, so if you could just leave me alone tonight, that would be really appreciated.” You said firmly.

“Right, okay. I am sorry, though.”

You shrugged and then walked to the fire pit, standing at the front with all the girls.

“You okay?” Chloe asked.

“Yeah, I’ll talk to you after.” You whispered.

Luca was first, and he stood with a big grin on his face. Throughout his whole speech, he didn’t take his eyes off or Chloe, who was blushing like a rose bush, and had a matching smile on her face. He gushed about how perfect this girl was, and how she looked beautiful no matter what and always managed to make him laugh. Then, he finally declared that his chosen girl was Chloe (to absolutely no one’s surprise) and she joined his side, giving him a kiss.

The next boy was Jamie, who picked Sofija.

When Kai stood up, he spoke from the heart, choosing Becky, which meant George was currently single.

It was finally his turn.

He stood before everyone, biting his lip with his hands clasped in front of his crotch. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“I’ve picked this girl because … well, where do I even start? She’s downright gorgeous, makeup or not. She’s incredibly interesting and unique, and I’ve managed to come to that conclusion without even knowing her inside and out. I cant wait to really get to know her on levels that aren’t just the surface. Her smile lights up every room she walks into, she’s constantly got a happy energy about her, even though she’s been done incredibly wrong these past 24 hours, she hasn’t let that change her, and I find that really admirable.”

Some of the boys’ eyes widened at his last detail, while the girls nodded and Chloe stifled a laugh.

“So, the girl I have chosen to couple up with is … Reader.”

Everyone started clapping and you grinned, shuffling over to him and hugging him. He kissed your cheek softly and you sat beside him. You and Chloe shared a giddy look as his arm laid across your shoulder.

“That was a good speech.” You whispered to him.

“Glad you liked it. Didn’t lie.” He whispered back, kissing your head.

─────── THE REST OF the night, you were all giggles and laughter. You were absolutely elated that you were in a couple with George, you couldn’t express it in words. Just as you were enjoying a nice chat with him, Harry stalked over, his jaw clenched tightly.

“George, mate, wanna talk?”

“Sure, yeah.”

You gave an awkward, tight-lipped smile as they walked away together. Harry’s body seemed really tense and uncomfortable, and part of you was worried.

You made your way over to Chloe, your wedged heels clicking along the floor, “Harry’s just pulled George.”

“What?” Luca sat up immediately.

You took a seat between them and told them both what had happened with your talk with Harry earlier, all the while George and Harry were having a somewhat heated conversation.

“I’m just, not happy, mate.” Harry rubbed his jaw, “You could’ve come to me beforehand and said ‘I’m thinking of picking reader’ but you didn’t. Instead, you just took her right off of me. I wanted to stay coupled with her so I can make it up to her.”

“What’s stopping you from still making it up to her? Like, just because people are in couples doesn’t mean you can’t explore. You showed that yesterday in the challenge, perfectly well. So— Also, I have no loyalties towards you. None at all. Especially not after how you made reader feel yesterday—“

“You’re not her knight in fucking shining armour, George.” Harry chuckled, “You’re acting like you did her some kind of favour, like you rescued her from me. I’m not a bad guy, I just made a mistake, and I want to make it up to her. I would’ve appreciated if you came to me and told me you wanted her. Because that,” He pointed to the fire pit, “Was disrespectful and muggy.”

“Well, now you know how reader felt.” George shrugged nonchalantly.

“Oh, give me a fucking break, lad, honestly. Seriously, you can’t make a valid point without bringing her up, this isn’t about her, it’s about being respectful.”

“It is about her though, isn’t it? Because, you’re pissed I coupled up with her, I did that because you treated her like shit and I really like her.” George scoffed, “Why should I be respectful to you, when you don’t deserve it? You haven’t done anything respectful and it’s been three weeks.”

“You’re really pissing me off now.” Harry rubbed the back of his head. “Listen to what I’m saying— The words coming out my mouth— I don’t care that you picked her, I just wanted you to tell me that you were going to do it.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you.” George kissed his teeth, standing up. “Your own words are contradicting. You do care that I picked her. You’re pissed off because someone who actually likes her is showing interest and now you want what you can’t have.” He started walking off.

“You’re a fucking knobhead, mate.” Harry exclaimed, storming off in the opposite direction.

All heads perked up, everyone’s eyes on the pair who both shared expressions of anger and agitation.

“Maybe to you, but at least I know how to treat a girl right.” George shrugged, making his way back over to you.

Harry turned around, “Say that again! I dare you!”

“Leave it, Harry! Leave it!” Luca shouted, standing up.

“Fucking twat.” George muttered, sitting beside you.

You wrapped your arms around his bicep and rested your cheek on his shoulder. You dragged your nails up and down his arm in a soothing manner, trying to rid him of his rage.

When bedtime rolled around, there was still some unsettled tension in the villa. Your makeup was off and you were sat in bed, tucked under George’s arm with your head on his chest. You drew little patterns on his stomach. You could tell he was still annoyed from the earlier conflict, but you were trying to calm him.

“Hey.” You hummed, grabbing his chin so he would look at you, “You handled that very well.”

“You think?” He hummed.

“I know.” You smiled, kissing his chin.

“You missed.” George smirked.

“You … You want a proper kiss?” You bit back a smile, your heart pounding in your chest.

That was the one thing you could never wrap your head around while watching love island. They kissed everyone so freely and on a whim. For you, it took a lot of courage to kiss someone outside of a challenge. For you, there had to be a genuine connection. You weren’t the type to just kiss somebody after knowing them for a couple of days.

With George, you’d known him since the beginning, but you’d only just recently gotten to know him on a romantic level. Your heart thundered at the thought of kissing him outside of a challenge, unprompted and raw.

“Only if you want to as well.” George admitted. “If you want to wait, we can wait.”

“I-I’m okay with a kiss.” You smiled nervously.

He grinned, leaning down and kissing you. You giggled into it, reciprocating the soft, gentle energy.

After a while, the lights went out. You had your back to him and his arm was around your waist. You took notice of the thick meat of his bicep and chewed the inside your cheek. You glided your feet backwards, entwining your legs with his.

“You alright?” He whispered, breath dancing along the skin of your neck and ear.

“I like these.” You smirked, squeezing his bicep.

“Yeah?” He snorted, bringing it up to rest under your chin. He flexed it, squishing your face between his forearm and bicep.

You squealed with a cackle, making everyone’s heads turn.

“Reader, shush!” Luca scolded you.

“Sorry!” You got out through laughing.

[ddingdd0ngz]

— TXT when you say 'i love you' on accident ✩

673 words • fluff & new relationship. feedback + reblogs are highly appreciated.

Yeonjun (최연준)

You were cooking ramen together, or… trying to. Yeonjun kept dancing while opening the flavor packets, moving his hips to the beat of «GGUM» blasting from the speaker, dramatically mouthing the lyrics with too much energy for such a simple task. You watched him with a warm grin, heart fluttering at how domestic it felt — like a scene from a drama you never thought you'd live. Then, with one dramatic spin, he knocked over the empty bowl meant for the noodles. It shattered on the floor with a loud crack. He froze, hand over his mouth. «I’m so sorry,» he said quickly, eyes wide with guilt. But you just laughed, kneeling down to pick up the pieces. «Even if you broke my favorite bowl, you’re lucky I love you—» You stopped, mid-reach, porcelain still in hand. He knelt beside you with a playful smirk. «Yeah… I guess I’m really lucky.»

⋆°｡⋆

Soobin (최수빈)

It was your third date, and spending weekends together had quietly become a habit. The way he reached for your hand without thinking, or how you always ended up laughing in the car — it felt right. Just as you were about to get in, you paused, uneasy. «What’s wrong?» he asked, already picking up on your hesitation. You sighed. «I don’t know, I just... don’t love this outfit. But it’s okay, let’s go.» Soobin stepped in front of the car door, arms crossed gently, gaze calm. «Go change. It’s not a big deal if we’re late.» — «No, it’s not fair—» you began, but he just smiled, unwavering. «Go. I’ll wait.» You kissed his cheek without thinking, mumbling, «Thanks, I love you, be right back!» and sprinted off. When you came back, breathless, he was visibly flustered, muttering how beautiful you looked. His hand slid over your knee while he drove. You didn’t ask. You just felt lucky.

⋆°｡⋆

Beomgyu (최범규)

Four months in, your schedules still fought against each other. You hadn’t seen him as often as you wanted, but on your birthday, he made sure to be there for every minute. Movies. Your favorite restaurant. And now, curled up together at home. He handed you a small package, wrapped clumsily but with love. Inside: a custom CD, labeled in his handwriting. Songs just for you. The kind that made your heart ache in the best way. «This is so sweet… I’m gonna listen to it right away. I love you,» you said, voice cracking slightly. Then you froze. The words had escaped. You glanced up in panic, biting your lip. But Beomgyu only smiled and leaned closer. «Happy birthday, Y/N,» he whispered. «I love you too.» And it felt like music in itself.

⋆°｡⋆

Taehyun (강태현)

You had been pleading with Taehyun all afternoon to go in the haunted house. He tried brushing it off with sarcastic comments: that the actors were awful, the props fake, the screams predictable. But you could see through it. «Pleaseee,» you begged, hitting him with wide eyes and a soft pout. He groaned dramatically. «Okay, fine. Let’s go.» Without missing a beat, you grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the entrance. «Finally! I love you!» The words left your mouth too fast. He blinked, stunned for a second. Then he adjusted his pace, slid his arm around your shoulders and pulled you in close. Maybe ghosts were fake. But that confession? That was real. And it made him a little braver.

⋆°｡⋆

Huening Kai (휴닝카이)

The newest couple in the group, and definitely the nerdiest — that was you and Huening Kai. You were sitting cross-legged on the couch, battling side by side on your phones, deep into a Pokémon match. «Can I trade for that one?» you asked, nudging his shoulder. «Mmh… it's kinda rare,» he muttered, clearly torn. But after a few seconds, he gave in with a grin. Trade accepted. «Yay, I love you!» you cheered, clapping. Then you froze, eyes wide. «Wait—I meant thank you! I swear!» Kai burst into laughter, tossing his head back. «You’re unbelievable,» he said. It wasn't the perfect moment, but somehow… it was perfect for you two.

© ddingdd0ngz

[sundance201]

I have so many little ficlets of the ghouls being sad and dealing with change while cuddling on hotel beds. This is one of my favorites. Decided to post while I’m editing (and mostly fretting about) longer fics for this fandom. So please enjoy Cirrus getting some comfort from her boys.

~~~~

The knock on the door managed to startle both Dew and Mountain. They’d been cuddling in the bed and mindlessly watching House Hunters, as was their usual routine while in a hotel in the middle of the American Midwest. Mountain quickly glamored himself and went to go peek through the peephole, before unlocking the door and letting in their fellow pack mate.

Cirrus held up a six pack that she’d picked up from the corner store near the hotel. “I brought booze.”

“You’re interrupting House Hunters,” Dew said dryly, pouting until Mountain returned to the bed.

Cirrus rolled her eyes and kicked off her shoes and laid her jacket on the nearby cuck chair. She flipped the lock on the room too while she was up. “That’s why I brought the booze, Dew. Now scoot over.”

Dew huffed but still made room for her. She grabbed three beers and put the rest on the desk and brought them with her over to the bed. She slid in next to Dew and then handed over the beers. They drank in silence as the episode came to a close, the couple on screen choosing the over budget 3 bedroom that was close to the city instead of the fixer-upper or the one with land.

Mountain scoffed. “They always go over budget. Dumb.”

Dewdrop looked over at Cirrus. “Thought you’d be with the girls tonight. Usually Thursday is Grey’s Anatomy night.”

Cirrus shrugged and took a swig of her beer. “They’re happy and giggly and painting each other’s nails and I’m just…not in the mood. I didn’t want to bring down the vibe of the room.”

“So what’re you saying about the vibe of our room?” Mountain asked innocently.

Cirrus shrugged. “I mean, Dewey’s still broken so you guys can’t be having too much fun here.” Dew shoved at her shoulder and Cirrus stuck out her tongue at him.

But then she sighed and shook her head. “I just…I miss Cumulus. And I miss Swiss. I’ve really gotten to love Tempest and her energy is great, but I’m used to looking at her spot and seeing Swiss’s smile. And I look over to Storm and…sometimes I just wish he was Lulu. And that’s not fair to either of them.” She sniffled and took another sip of her beer.

Dewdrop tugged on her arm as he awkwardly tried to switch their positions, swinging his booted foot and leg over Cirrus’s legs. “You deserve middle of the cuddle pile. Get over here.”

They fully swapped places and Cirrus sighed, handing her beer off to Mountain as she slung an arm around Dew’s waist and buried her nose in his neck, breathing him in deeply. Mountain set both his beer and hers down on the nightstand, and then laid down and curled around her back.

Dew finished his beer before placing it on the night stand and readjusting his position so he was laying down as well, all three of them now relaxed on the bed.

“Gets easier, Cir. I promise it does,” he whispered to her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“I know you guys have been through a lot more change but this has just…seemed like a lot. And then coming home from tour, but home was the new abbey….I just didn’t feel refreshed from our break. And now we’re back out and things still feel weird….I’m just tired.”

“Then rest, sweetheart,” Mountain mumbled behind her. “We’ve got you. Get some rest.”

Cirrus scrunched her nose. “That’s not quite what I meant, Mount.”

He kissed the back of her head. “I know. But it won’t hurt. Rest with us, Cirrus. Lean on us.”

She looked up at Dew and he nodded, his face much softer than it usually was. She smiled lightly and pressed a kiss to his chest, before reaching back and squeezing Mountain’s thigh in a silent show of appreciation. “Love you, boys. Good night.”

Both of her boys mumbled their own “good nights” and waited until her breathing evened out before they dared to shut their own eyes.

[metalarmmusee]

Executive affairs

Vol. 1

Meet cute.

———————

Pairing- CEOgrumpybucky x sunshineintern

You’re just the sunshine-filled intern trying to survive your summer in the corporate world.

Your boss? James “Bucky” Barnes—the grumpiest, most intimidating CEO in New York.

He’s all sharp suits, colder stares, and zero patience for your bubbly personality.

But somehow, you’re the only one who doesn’t back down when he scowls.

And maybe… you’re the only one who can make him smile.

ꕥ Warnings- slight swearing, NSWF, eventual smut, some themes are not suitable for all parties. Minors, do not interact. ꕥ

ꕥ A/N ꕥ I am writing this on my phone, so sorry if there is grammatical errors. I love you so much and enjoy the story. -Addi

꒰ ✎ Reader’s POV ✎ ꒱

(𝙉𝙚𝙬 𝙔𝙤𝙧𝙠, 𝘼𝙘𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙖 𝙖𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙭, 8:23 𝙖𝙢)

BEEP BEEP BEEP!

I scramble awake to the sound of my alarm clock beeping, I hit it off with a sleepy scowl. As I turn my head to look at the time I just about yelp out of my bed,

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” I yell as I grab my white crispy blouse and grey slacks and rush in to the bathroom looking my ratted hair and mascara smears.

I start scrubbing my mascara off with face wash and rushed schedule. I brush my teeth and start throwing on my boring office clothes. I brush my hair out and throw it in a mid ponytail, it’s still curled from the partying me and Kasie did last night- very much to my dismay. I coat my lashes in a small layer of mascara, slip on my small black kitten heels and I grab my backpack and my subway card and open my apartment door, stepping out locking it behind me. I start my small trek to the subway station to get to 3rd avenue, where Barnes and co was waiting for me to conquer, obviously.

The subway ride was a blur of passing stations and city sounds, but my mind was laser-focused on what awaited me. Stepping out into the busy streets, I spotted the towering glass facade of Barnes & Co. gleaming in the morning sun. I navigated through the crowd with purpose, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement building with every step. Inside, the lobby was pristine and cold, a sharp contrast to the bustling chaos outside. As I swiped my card and headed toward the elevator, my heart skipped—this was it, the start of something new.

The elevator doors slid open on the 36th floor and God there he was—James “Bucky” Barnes, the infamous CEO whose reputation for being cold enough to freeze over the entire office preceded him. His sharp suit was impeccable, but his expression? A permanent scowl that could scare anyone straight. I caught his eye and flashed my brightest, most disarming smile—the kind of sunshine no amount of grumpiness could dim. Okay, don’t let the scary CEO stare shake you. You got this. He glanced up briefly, eyebrow twitching, before returning to the mountain of papers on his desk. “You must be the new assistant,” he said gruffly. “Don’t slow me down.” Challenge accepted.

heels clicking against the pristine floor, and held my head high despite the weight of his stare. Okay, so he’s intimidating—like, really intimidating. But this is fine. People love warm energy, right? Sunshine melts ice… or, uh, something like that. I set my bag down carefully and offered him a cheerful, “I’m excited to be here, Mr. Barnes.”

He barely looked up, just hummed in acknowledgment while signing something with quick, sharp strokes of his pen. “Excitement wears off fast around here,” he muttered. His tone was flat, dismissive, like I was just another task on his endless list. But instead of wilting under it, I smiled brighter. Fine, Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Perpetually-Angry. You’ll see—I’m not that easy to freeze out.

END CHAPTER! Vol. 2 ⬇️

[8r14r-r0s3]

Thoughts on day one now that I’m fully compartmentalized it all!!

- The bathroom sharing is 110% important. Like doesn’t even need to have to be for a murder it’s just gonna be super important somehow.

- Ouno Nanae my beloved is ready to kill a man. She is so silly /affectionate. She has abs a crowbar and a will to live do not fuck with her

- Yaitabashi & Nishiguchi have a really nice dynamic I like them a lot I hope they are good friends. She immediately wanted for form a truce, she immediately wanted to make sure he didn’t hurt himself, Nishiguchi Mutsuki has older sister energy and I love her.

- Yokoi and Ninomiya should also be besties they are so very silly together. Yokoi is a lot goofier than I anticipated she is so very cute and silly, same with Ninomiya. I think it’s cute that Yokoi immediately gives her first name out to strangers like “hello we’re friends now :3”

- the calm room and the amnesia room scare me. There is no context in which a room with no lights that locks from the outside is not concerning in a death game. There is no context in which a room called THE AMNESIA ROOM with a shit ton of unlabeled pills in KAN TORANOSUKE’S workplace is not concerning. Some fuck shit is going down in this lab and it concerns me. I miss fujioka it was chill there the lab terrifies me outright.

- Ogura Noriko is Ogura Noriko and this makes me happy. She and Tsukigata are an unexpected but very fun dynamic. I call them authentic Japanese transfem.

- Denden Misao existed and it made me very happy :3

- JESUS CHRIST GUYS ITS DAY ONE. Two separate students have been punished on day fucking one the blue cast is not playing around. Akitei being idiots together. At least we learned our lesson without getting sent to the backrooms, although it does make me just a little sad that monomoko had to not only hurt one student but two students like I know you didn’t wanna do that girl :<

- Akitei. He said “I like you” to him twice now. They are now officially boyfriends.

- Blue has a very different vibe over all and it’s making me feel fear. I don’t know why but I am scared. Horrified for when the first motive drops, my current bet is that we’re getting the starvation motive.

[forterp]

“I wanted to make you something a bit lavish. I apologize for it not being your style. Nonetheless it will protect you from the elements and shield you from most holy energies…” Tomoyo could see more in Risho than he probably thought she did.

The glint in his eye and the grimace he made were slight but noticeable. With her smile turning more apologetic she continued.

“I know it is more than just a little strange for me to appear and bestow you with an enchanted outfit…. So I suppose I should get to the point.”

At that moment Tomoyo put one of her hands out between the two of them, a strange yet powerful magic surrounding the both of them. With her obsidian hair blowing around her she closed her eyes, a crescent moon appearing, glowing on her forehead…. And then it appeared.

Beneath their feet a magic circle appeared under their feet, its magic strong, fragments of her magic lifted from the lines of the circle. Soon the fragments float to hover just above her hand… and project an image before them both.

It was a projection of the demon barrier at the current moment.. and it was see through. Like a glass window it shown into the human world directly.

That wasn’t good.

“As I stated my name is Tomoyo… I am a priestess and have been alive for over 500 years.” Opening her eyes she looks to Risho, her smile gone and a more serious expression gracing her gentle features.

“My job entails the care and monitoring of the barriers that keep the dimensions separated. For the past 100 years I have been in spirit world repairing damage done to the barrier there. If it had been let go spirit world would’ve broken through and flooded into the human world…” she paused closing her eyes and taking a breath before continuing.

“Demon worlds barrier is going now, however it’s in far worse shape than the others… since I have been gone the elemental spirits who were in charge of its upkeep have been scattered… and now if something is not done the barrier will flood all the worlds….” Tomoyo averted her gaze then, a sadness in her eyes.

“The result will be a catastrophic implosion of the three worlds…..”

The sadness in her tone and expression didn’t fit having seen her true warmth just moments before, yet it showed how serious she was about the situation.

“I am a dream seer…. As such I have prophetic dreams. 99% of the time… what I see comes to pass.” Finally Tomoyo looked to Risho, her expression grave.

“I am here to ask for your assistance. Jin is gathering the wind and air spirits, Touya is gathering the Ice and snow spirits…. I am also in contact with Master Gama… and now you.” Her voice was soft and as she lowered her hand the projection dissapeared, her magic circle and the crescent on her forehead following suit as she walked to him.

“I know it may not exactly be your style to be the hero… but Touya, Jin, and I could really use your help. Though….”

That warm smile returned as she stopped infront of him, close enough for him to reach for her if he wanted to. She was asking a lot of him.

“No matter what your choice is Risho…. I’m very happy that I’ve met you.”

Her smile graced him once again, it warm and even admiring of him. “Whatever choice you make I shall respect it, I promise.”

“Hello Risho!” A young woman with a cheerful voice speaks up from a bit behind him.

“Sorry to sneak up on you but Jim and Touya told me where I could find you.” Bowing politely towards him she continued. “My name is Tomoyo Daidouji. I am a priestess who is entrusted with the care of the barriers between our worlds. It truely is very nice to meet you!”

Putting a hand to the side of her face, sparkles came to her eyes.

“Your fight in the dark tournament was stunning! The control you have over your abilities is amazing!” She gushed, happily swaying from side to side.

“You, Jin and Touya are so cool ✨✨✨!”

“Hm?”, Risho hummed at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. He wasn't used to others sneaking up on him, unless they were shinobi sent as spies or assassins. Judging by this girl’s enthusiastic demeanor and obvious humanity, she was neither, so he turned around to face her.

“Tomoyo, is it? Happy to make your acquaintance, though I don’t know why my teammates are giving my whereabouts away so easily. So the barriers are also maintained by the human side, that’s very interesting.” Risho thought Tomoyo had found quite possibly one of the worst people to admire, given his… activities during the most recent years. She seemed naive, but it would be helpful to find out more about how the barriers functioned. The human was even carrying a camera. What was she going to do, ask for a photo together next?

Risho almost sweatdropped as he watched Tomoyo begin to sway in glee, the greater surprise being that it was in… praise of his abilities. He had never had someone, especially a human, approach him with this kind of demeanor. For a brief moment, a light pink dusted his cheeks at the unexpected praise, despite how ridiculous the whole thing was.

“Of course, we are masters of our elements for a reason”, he bragged, tilting his head to the side. “We’ve all earned the mastery over our arts, but when it comes to control, my technique is truly the most refined. I’m glad even a human has the ability to notice that.” The praise had been collective, though Risho always enjoyed claiming the team’s achievements as his own. He looked back down at the woman with a self-satisfied smirk, fixing her with his gaze, curious to see if this was all there was to it.

“So I suppose you could say we are indeed “cool.” Did you sneak up to me just to congratulate me?”

[doctorsiren]

Are you doing requests? And if so do they cost money? If you are and they're free can you do a drawing of Apollo and Trucy? I just love them sm <3

They’re so Dipper and Mabel 😭💖

[greykolla-art]

Charlie: “I’m so glad my most villain-coded friend is at full power again! 🥰💕”

*throws this to you angst goblins like raw steak* ❤️

(No I will not do a part 2!❤️)

[seagull-scribbles]

Be who you are 🏳️‍🌈

[hplonesomeart]

I did it chat I made another artist I appreciate feel happy by the power of me spamming complements & regurgitating words from my brain yipeee. My goal in life has been fulfilled :)

[daffi-990]

I haven’t posted a fic since September but just know that I have two waiting in the wings .. one that is done and awaiting to be beta read and the other that I just need to reread and edit a bit before sending it off to my beta.

Soooo stay tuned I guess 🤷🏻‍♀️

[glitchinginthegarden]

We’re cooking today 🔧

(spicy version in the works)