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minniesfiles · 2 days ago

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ALWAYS YOU

After being stood up and leaving you heartbroken, Hansol spirals with guilt while you shut down into silence. Desperate to fix what he ruined, he confronts the damage he caused and fights to earn back your trust and love.

❧ PAIRING; hansol x reader

❧ GENRE; angst, hurt/comfort

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; established relationship, arguments, tears, reader is kind of stubborn, Hansol in an idiot, swearing, happy ending, lots of tears and kisses, maybe quite dramatic (LOL)

❧ WORDCOUNT; 12.1k

[ part of the Silent Treatment series ]

𐚁₊⊹

▎27 NOVEMBER 2021

You were known to have the patience of a saint. It was an almost uncanny ability you had to stay calm in situations that would push most people past their limits. Some admired you for it, even envied you.

“I could never hold my tongue like that,” or “I’d have snapped ages ago” they’d say.

But others didn’t see it as a strength though. They said you were too lenient, or too soft. They’d say how it allowed people to walk all over you and mistake your tolerance for weakness.

And maybe, sometimes, they were right.

There were moments when you looked back on situations and questioned your silence. You would wonder if your refusal to speak out had cost you something. Respect, peace of mind or justice. You would pride yourself on not reacting impulsively and staying level-headed when emotions ran high. You told yourself that staying silent was strength and not cowardice.

But deep down, there were times you wished you had the confidence to just say what you were thinking. Perhaps not out of anger, but out of self-respect. You weren’t looking to lash out, you just wanted to be heard.

There was never really a middle ground in how people saw you. But the truth is, you lived in that gray area. You tried to be kind without being small, and tolerant without being invisible.

And today was your breaking point.

Angry tears welled in your eyes as you stared at your phone for what felt like the hundredth time. Still nothing from your boyfriend. There were no messages or any missed calls, let alone an excuse as to why he still didn’t show up yet. Just the same empty lock screen that mocked your patience.

Hansol promised to take you out for a fancy dinner at the Lotte Tower, a proper date you were both too busy to have for weeks. You even made the effort of dressing up for it. You did your hair just right, applied light make-up and sprayed the perfume he once said he liked. But now, an hour passed, and you were still sitting alone at the table he claimed to have reserved.

You felt so ridiculous.

The waiters approached your table several times and each gentle interruption only deepened the pit in your stomach. They asked politely if you’d like something to drink, perhaps a small starter while you waited. But you would smile tightly each time and shake your head while repeating the same line, “I’ll wait until my boyfriend arrives.”

That was only if he came.

It felt more like a lie each time you said it. A part of you held on to the hope that he’d walk in, flustered and apologetic. But with every minute that passed by, that hope thinned into bitterness.

The staff tried to hide their sympathy, but you saw it anyway. The last thing you wanted was anyone’s pity.

Not only were you overwhelmed with embarrassment, but the sting hurt deeper knowing it was your own boyfriend who left you hanging. While other couples around you enjoyed their meals together and how happily they laughed amongst themselves, you couldn’t help but feel like a complete fool who still waited for someone that wasn’t even going to come.

And if the night didn’t humiliate you enough, you opened Instagram. Just to distract yourself. And that was when you clicked on Hailey’s story, Hansol’s best friend. It was posted five minutes ago.

It was a photo of your boyfriend who was fast asleep on Hailey’s unmistakable pink sofa, body curled slightly and one arm wrapped around a purple whale plushie. His hair was a mess and his mouth was slightly open, completely at peace.

But what really hit you wasn’t the image itself. It was the caption. “Supposed to be looking after me but I’m looking after him instead,” followed by a deadpan, unamused emoji. Like it was some kind of joke. Like you weren’t sitting in a restaurant across town, checking the door every five minutes, still half-believing he might walk in with an excuse.

Instead, he was passed out at her house. It wasn’t even the lack of decency from him to let you know he couldn’t make it that stung the most. It was how casual it all seemed to them.

To say you were absolutely livid would be a gross understatement.

You weren’t just angry, you were shaking with it. It was a white-hot rage bubbling just beneath your skin that was ready to explode within you.

Your jaw was clenched so tightly it hurt, and your heart pounded against your ribs like it was trying to escape. Every breath you took felt shallow, that made your chest tight with disbelief. You were boiling down to the core, like a volcano seconds from erupting.

It blurred your vision and made your ears ring.

Your hand gripped your phone with so much force, it was a miracle the screen didn’t shatter right there in your palm. You swore you heard a small crack, but perhaps it was the plastic or glass protesting under the pressure of your clenched fingers. But you didn’t loosen your grip. You couldn’t. Because letting go felt too much like surrender, and right now, you were clinging to any scrap of control you had left.

The tears that were brimming in your eyes finally came flooding down. You tried to blink them away, but it was no use. They kept spilling over, trailing down your cheeks in silence. And you didn’t even bother wiping them. You didn’t care at this point. You just let them fall. You just let the whole damn restaurant see. What did it matter now?

Your eyes were still stuck on the photo. And her caption…the smug nonchalance of it was enough to make your blood run colder than the North Pole. She knew. She had to know. And if she didn’t, then maybe that made it worse.

Your body was trembling. Every limb of yours was buzzing with energy that had nowhere to go. You felt like you could scream, throw the table across the room, or smash your phone right into the tiled floor.

But you didn’t. You just sat there, paralysed, like a statue made of nothing but anger and heartbreak.

Everything around you became a blur. It all faded into background noise, meaningless against the storm inside you. You were breaking, right there in public, and yet the world just kept turning.

You were furious. But more than that, you were hurt. Deeply and irreparably hurt.

So what do you do now? Honestly, you had no idea.

Your brain was still catching up to everything your heart had just been dragged through. But your body moved on its own, like it was acting on instinct. There was no plan, no thought. Just motion.

You reached into your purse with shaky fingers, pulled out a few bills, and placed them on the table beside your untouched mocktail.

It wasn’t much, but it felt like the least you could do. It was a silent gesture to thank and apologise to the staff for the time you’d taken up sitting there alone waiting for someone who never came.

Without a word, you pushed the chair back and stood. Your legs felt numb and heavy, but you forced them to move. You didn’t look at anyone. You didn’t owe anyone an explanation. All you could do was storm out, heart thudding in your chest like a war drum.

The atmosphere in the elevator felt suffocating as it descended, and the mirrors reflected the tear-streaked version of you that you didn’t want to see. You simply stared straight ahead, refusing to blink.

Then, as the doors slid open and you stepped into the lobby, your phone buzzed with a notification. The sound shot through you like a jolt. Part of you hoped that it was Hansol, but it wasn’t, it was your older brother Joshua.

[JOSH]:

Are you done with your little date? Mum’s bugging me to get her tangerines but I’m too lazy to go out now😴

The message lit up your screen as you walked through the quiet lobby. You stared at the notification for a few seconds, and the absurdity of it made your lips twitch. Despite the ache sitting heavy in your chest, you broke into a small, crooked smile through the tears still clinging to your lashes.

Your mother and her eternal obsession with tangerines. No matter the season, no matter the day, she somehow always needed more. It was ridiculous. But comforting in her sense.

[YOU]:

Got stood up. But I’ll pick some up on my way👍tell mum to tolerate her cravings for a bit lol.

You hit send before you could think twice about how blunt it sounded. And the reply from your brother came almost instantly.

[Josh]:

???

[Josh]:

What do you mean you got stood up?

You stared at the screen. The question felt like salt in a raw wound. Reading his name again hurt more than you expected. You could practically hear the disbelief in Joshua’s voice, like he couldn’t even begin to process the idea.

And honestly? You couldn’t either.

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard. You thought about explaining. But it all was too much. You didn’t want to relive it, not right now. You didn’t want to see the pity, or the anger, or the judgment — not even from your brother.

So instead, you just turned off your phone and shoved it deep into your coat pocket. Maybe silence felt easier than trying to explain heartbreak.

╴╴╴╴╴

You regretted not bringing your car. Deeply. At the time, it seemed like the better option. You thought you’d have Hansol to drop you home. But now, walking alone in the cold with swollen eyes and a heart that felt like it had been wrung out, it was painfully clear that you miscalculated.

It wasn’t that you didn’t have options. You could’ve taken the bus, hopped on the subway, or even called a taxi. But the idea of crying in a crowded space full of strangers while your eyes burned and your chest ached? You couldn't do it. You didn’t want sympathetic looks or awkward glances. You didn’t want to be seen at all.

You didn’t trust yourself to hold it together. Not when every second of silence from Hansol felt like another shove deeper into the hollow pit growing in your stomach.

There was still not a single message. Not one missed call. Not even a lame excuse.

You stood outside a brightly lit convenience store as you held the weight of a full bag of tangerines which was dragging at your arm. Your fingers were freezing around the plastic handles, but you didn’t care.

With a sigh, you fumbled for your phone again and dialed Joshua’s number. You knew he didn’t want to come out.

He’d said as much earlier, “too lazy” and too comfortable, typical Joshua. But you were going to make him come anyway. He didn’t get a choice. Not tonight.

After a few rings, he finally answered.

“Can you pick me up?” you asked tiredly and almost bluntly, not even giving him a chance to greet you first.

There was a beat of silence on the other end before your brother spoke up.

“Hey, are you okay?”

You could hear the worry in his voice, and it cracked something in you.

You bit down on your lip, hard, before answering. “Yeah, I just…I don’t know Joshua,” you said, your voice starting to waver despite your efforts to stay composed.

There was another pause. You could practically hear the gears turning in his head, and him grabbing his keys already.

“Can you please come and get me?” you whispered, softer this time. Less demand, more desperation.

“I’m coming,” he said firmly. “Where are you right now?” he then asked.

You shared your live location with him and he muttered a hum before ending the call. And for the first time that night, you let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.

You knew he didn’t want to come out, and on normal days you wouldn’t have bothered him. But right now, there was no one else in the world you needed more than your brother.

Growing up, you and Joshua had always been close. Closer than most siblings, even. Even as kids, you stuck to each other like glue. While other siblings grew apart or bickered over everything all the time, the two of you built your own little world. He was your best friend, and above all, he was your safe place.

Joshua always knew how sensitive you were. He knew despite how tolerant you were, you’d easily get hurt and how deeply you felt things. And while some people might have dismissed that as weakness, he never did. If anything, it made him more protective of you. He knew the world wasn’t kind to people with soft hearts. So he became your shield.

He became some sort of your silent, stubborn bodyguard who would take on the world if it meant keeping you from crying.

You used to tease him about it. Told him he was too overbearing, that he needed to chill out and stop treating you like you were five. He’d just smirk and say, “You’ll thank me one day.” And truthfully, you always did.

Even when he annoyed you, when he pushed your buttons just for fun or gave you dumb nicknames you swore you hated, you never once doubted that he’d be there when it mattered. No matter how big or small the problem was, you could always run to him. He never made you feel like a burden.

And in this moment, with your heart aching and your hands full of tangerines, you were more grateful than ever to have a brother like him in your life.

╴╴╴╴╴

You hadn’t even realised Joshua had arrived until he was suddenly in front of you, gently shaking your shoulder. Not only had the cold numbed your senses, but your mind was too fogged to register anything clearly. You jolted slightly at the contact, eyes wide with confusion until they finally focused and landed on your brother.

“Hi,” he said softly, a little breathless. But the small smile he attempted didn’t last as his face fell. He took in the sight of you and his brows knitted together.

Your eyes were red-rimmed and glossy, cheeks streaked with dried tears, but what stood out the most too him was the lack of spark that usually lived in your eyes. They were simply hollow.

Joshua’s chest tightened as panic crept in. Your breathing was shallow and too quick. Your eyes were wide and glassy, brimming with fresh tears that threatened to spill over.

You looked like a balloon stretched too tight and ready to burst.

“Bubba, what’s wrong?” he asked as his hands moved up to cradle your face gently. His thumbs hovered under your eyes like he could stop the tears before they fell, but it was already too late.

Just the sound of that nickname that only he called you hit you like a wrecking ball. And it was just enough to break you completely.

A choked sob tore from your throat as you collapsed into his chest. His arms were open before you even reached him, wrapping around you and catching everything you couldn’t hold together anymore.

Joshua’s heart pounded hard beneath your cheek as he pulled you close, his hand rubbing circles on your back. You gripped his hoodie like your life depended on it as tears soaked into the fabric almost instantly.

“Hey, hey hey,” he murmured, rocking you gently.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you, okay?”

But your cries only grew louder and heavier.

“Is this about Hansol?” he asked. Though his voice was still soft, the way his jaw was tightening ever so slightly spoke another story.

You didn’t answer him. You just cried harder as your sobs violently shook your whole body.

“I just want to go home,” you choked out between sobs.

Joshua pulled you into a tighter hug and held you like he could somehow absorb the pain radiating from your body. He rested his chin lightly on top of your head and gently rocked you side to side.

“Shh, it’s okay. We’re going home now,” he murmured into your hair low and soothingly, almost fatherly. His hand rubbed slow circles on your back, like he used to do when you were a kid waking up from the nightmares you had.

Though he didn’t need the full story, at least not yet, he knew enough.

The past few days didn’t feel right. You hadn’t been yourself. You smiled less and conversations were shorter. Joshua noticed how you started spacing out more often, zoning out during family dinners or giving half-hearted responses when he cracked jokes.

You were still there, but the dimmed version of yourself, like a light on low battery.

He had a gut feeling Hansol had something to do with it, but he didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Now, standing here with you crying your eyes out in his arms, he wished he had trusted that instinct sooner.

He felt guilty. He wished he had asked more questions, pressed you harder when you told him everything was “fine.” He should’ve protected you before you reached this point. Because seeing you like this right now lit something violent inside him.

╴╴╴╴╴

When Joshua finally pulled into the driveway, the sky had long since darkened. He looked to his right and found you fast asleep in the passenger seat with your head tilted awkwardly against the window. The position looked anything but comfortable, yet you didn’t stir.

Joshua’s heart ached as he took in the dried streaks of tears on your cheeks, clear that you cried yourself to sleep in silence.

He didn’t miss the way you’d shut down during the drive home and how you gave no responses, not even small nods or mumbled agreements. He tried to talk, or at least distract you with light conversation with jokes that usually earned at least a small smile. But you gave him nothing this time.

He knew you didn’t mean it. You just wanted to be left alone, and so he did. But not really, because he was still there, watching every tremble in your breath and every clench of your fingers. He was still there as he silently stayed present even when you needed distance.

With a soft sigh, Joshua parked the car and turned off the engine. The sudden quiet that followed was too loud. He sat there for a moment, just looking at you. Then, without a word, he unbuckled his seatbelt before stepping out and walking around to your side.

He opened the door and carefully unbuckled your seatbelt before sliding his arms under your knees and back. Unironically, he felt like his seven-year-old self again holding you in his arms for the first time when you were born. He lifted you and held you gently as if you were made of glass. Your body relaxed into his hold, head resting against his shoulder.

He shut the car door with a soft kick before heading to the house. And as if timed perfectly, the front door opened.

Your mother stood there with her expression instantly shifting to concern at the sight of you in Joshua’s arms. “Is she okay?” she asked, eyes locked on your sleeping face.

Joshua let out another sigh. “I don’t think so. She had a long night” he answered tiredly.

He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t want to dump everything on her, especially when you weren’t awake to speak for yourself. All she needed to know was that you were safe, and he had you.

“I’m just going to let her rest for now,” he added, stepping past her and making his way upstairs.

He brought you into your room and gently lowered you onto the bed, careful not to jostle you. But barely moved regardless. He took off your shoes, then your coat which he folded neatly to the side.

He crouched down beside the bed and reached out, brushing your hair from your face. His thumb lingered at your temple for a moment. Then, with a tenderness that said more than words ever could, he leaned forward and placed a light kiss on your forehead.

As he straightened up, he looked at you for a long moment. You looked peaceful, but the mark that was left by the pain you carried was still there.

“If Hansol did something,” he thought, jaw tightening, “I swear I’m going to rip his head off” he silently promised.

After making sure you were tucked in comfortably, Joshua gently pulled your blanket up to your shoulders. He stood there for a second longer, just watching you sleep.

With a quiet exhale, he turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him with care. As it clicked softly, he sighed, again.

Heading back downstairs, he slipped his shoes back on and stripped outside again. The cold outside nipped at his skin, but he ignored it as he made his way back to the car. He opened the door and grabbed your small shoulder bag, along with the now slightly squashed plastic bag filled with tangerines you got for your mother.

There were a series of vibrations coming from your bag that made Joshua freeze, then frown. One vibration. Then another. And another. The sharp buzzing continued almost nonstop.

He unzipped the bag and pulled the phone out. Joshua cursed under his breath for remembering your phone’s password to unlock it, but he promised himself it wasn’t snooping. He had to make sure nothing was wrong.

The screen lit up with message after message from one name only.

Hansol.

His frown deepened. There were fifteen missed calls and tons of messages, some that were still coming through as he watched.

[Hansol]:

Baby!

[Hansol]:

Please answer me

[Hansol]:

Fuck, I’m so sorry I completely forgot. I know how bad that sounds, but please let me explain

[Hansol]:

Hailey sprained her ankle at work. She called me crying, saying she couldn’t walk or get a ride, and she didn’t know who else to call. So I left to go get her

[Hansol]:

She was in a lot of pain, and I couldn’t just leave her there so I took her to the doctors. I had to get her meds and ice packs and whatnot before helping her get back to her apartment

[Hansol]:

I know I should’ve messaged you. I should’ve called you right away. I just got caught up making sure she was okay and I didn’t check the time until it was already too late

[Hansol]:

Baby, I know what this looks like. I know how it feels. And I know I’ve let you down before, but I didn’t do this on purpose. I didn’t forget about you because I didn’t care. I was just trying to help my best friend in pain

[Hansol]:

But I swear to you, I wasn’t ignoring you

[Hansol]:

I know I told you this time would be different. That I would make more time for. And I wanted to, I swear I did

Joshua saw another incoming call flash across the screen with Hansol’s name lighting up yet again. He stared at it for a moment with his jaw clenched as his thumb hovering over the answer button. He really fought to answer it and curse him out, but he didn’t want to act out of instinct. So, instead, he pressed decline.

But that only led to more messages to flood in. One after another. Clearly Hansol wasn’t letting up. He was frantic at this point.

[Hansol]:

Shit, baby, listen. I know you saw Hailey’s Instagram story, but I promise it’s not what you think

[Hansol]:

It’s nothing like what you’re probably imagining right now. Please don’t overthink it

[Hansol]:

I swear

Joshua’s frown deepened. A low breath escaped his nose. What the hell is he talking about now? He hadn’t seen any story. But the way Hansol rushed to mention it, defend it even, somehow made him rile up even more.

Curious, and now increasingly irritated, Joshua unlocked your phone again and opened your Instagram. And a few taps later, he clicked on Hailey’s story.

Joshua stared at the screen as he tried to process what he was seeing. His lips curled into a slow, humorless scoff. He shook his head in absolute disbelief.

The audacity.

You were sitting in a restaurant, alone, trying not to cry in front of strangers. Meanwhile, your boyfriend was passed out at another woman’s place like he couldn’t be bothered to show up for you.

Before he could even react further, more messages came in.

[Hansol]:

I don’t know when I fell asleep. I didn’t mean to forget, I swear

[Hansol]:

Are you still at the restaurant? Just tell me and I’ll come right now. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Five if I speed. Please

[Hansol]:

Or if you already went home, just text me so I know you’re safe. I’m begging you baby

[Hansol]:

I’m so fucking sorry

[Hansol]:

Please pick up the phone baby. Just talk to me

Joshua watched as the screen lit up again with another incoming call. But he didn’t answer. He just stared at it with a dark expression. His thumb hovered for half a second before he declined it once more, and put the phone back in your bag.

The sheer nerve. The desperation wasn’t what got to him, it was the timing. The panic only came after the damage was done. After you’d already shut down. After your brother had to come find you and carry you home.

Joshua slammed his car door shut and made his way back inside the house. With his jaw locked so tight, he could feel his pulse thumping in his neck.

Joshua knew, deep down, that this was a personal matter between you and your boyfriend. Something that should be handled between the two of you. He didn’t want to cross boundaries or get too involved in something he didn’t fully understand. That simply wasn’t his style, and he certainly wasn’t overbearing. He respected your independence.

But after today, especially after the way you completely broke down in his arms, Joshua couldn’t keep pretending like everything was fine when it wasn’t.

It was damn near impossible to hold himself back. He didn’t want to sit on the sidelines anymore. He needed answers. He needed to know what the hell was happening to you and why the sister he knew was suddenly closing herself up.

╴╴╴╴╴

The moment Hansol blinked awake from what he thought would be a ‘short nap’, his eyes drifted lazily to the clock. Until the time hit him like a punch to the chest. His eyes widened in shock, practically bulging from their sockets as the time sank in.

It was the realisation that it was two hours past the time he was supposed to meet you which made his heart stop.

His body reacted before his brain could even catch up. He bolted upright so fast that the plushie in his arms fell to the floor. His mind scrambled in complete chaos as he reached for his phone, which he nearly dropped in his haste.

The screen lit up with five unread messages and two missed calls, all from you, two hours ago.

“Fuck,” he cursed, as guilt hit him like a truck.

He remembered. Of course he did. He remembered every word of the argument, the conversation afterwards where he promised he wouldn’t mess this one up this time.

But somehow he had.

And now he didn’t know how to fix it this time.

▎25 NOVEMBER 2021 — two days ago

“What could have been so important this time that you had to cancel on me again, Hansol?” you snapped.

You weren’t usually the one to raise your voice or start fights. You were patient and understanding. Maybe a little too understanding.

This was the fifth broken promise in two weeks. The times you got ready for something he planned, you’d sit and wait until your phone lit up with another last-minute excuse.

And this time, you were done pretending it didn’t rile you up.

Hansol blinked, already on the defensive. “Babe, you know I’m not doing this on purpose. It’s just that Hailey—”

You cut him off instantly with a scoff, head shaking like you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. But deep down, you did. You expected it. Of course it was Hailey.

“Hailey this, Hailey that,” you snarled as your eyes narrowed. “It’s always her.”

Hansol flinched a little at your tone, but you kept going. The anger that had been simmering under the surface was breaking through.

“When does she ever not need you? It’s comical how she always seems to need something when you’re with me. Does she not have any other fucking friends besides you? Huh?”

You took a breath, but it didn’t cool the fire.

“Why do you always jump to her side over every little thing? Is she really that helpless? Is she that dumb and incapable of doing anything on her own, Hansol?”

You couldn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. This wasn’t you, because you weren’t the type to talk about people like that.

You didn’t even realise how harsh the words were until they already came out. They sounded bitter and personal. And maybe they were. Because you weren’t just angry at Hailey. You were angry at your own boyfriend for putting her before you. Again.

Hansol didn’t respond right away, but when he did, his voice was just as sharp as yours.

“She’s my best friend, Y/n,” he snapped back. “I’ve known her for years. Of course I’m going to be there for her if she needs me.”

“I know that!” you couldn’t help but raise your voice as the frustration boiled over.

“And I’ve always respected the fact that you guys are close. I know you’ve known her longer than me. I know she’s important to you.”

Hansol opened his mouth to speak, but you kept going.

“And trust me, the last thing I’ve ever wanted to do is come between you and your friendship with her” you said.

“But what about me?” The question itself was small, but held so much weight.

“What about me, Hansol?” you repeated, quieter this time as your voice trembled. The sting behind your eyes was impossible to ignore now as tears threatened to fall.

You hated arguing with him, but it had been weeks since you were being sidelined or brushed off. All over someone who you could guarantee could take care of herself without needing your boyfriend all the time.

“What if I need you just as much as she does?” you asked, your voice cracking as the tears finally escaped.

“Why is it that her needs always come before mine? Why can’t you choose me just once instead of her?”

Hansol stood there, frozen. He looked at you with a mix of confusion and worry, but he didn’t speak. His silence only hurt more.

You took a shaky breath and tried to compose yourself even as everything inside you wanted to scream. He looked at you like he didn’t understand, and that made your heart sink.

“Y/n…” he finally said, hesitantly stepping towards you.

“Where is this coming from?” he asked with a calm but cautious tone, like he was trying not to set you off further.

You broke eye contact and looked down. You didn’t even know where to begin. How do you explain the slow burn of feeling like a second choice? How do you measure all the little moments where you smiled and swallowed your disappointment just to keep the peace?

“I just…” you trailed off.

“I just want to feel like I matter to you the way she does.”

“But you do matter to me baby” he tried to assure you.

You looked back up at him, with a mocking smile. The ache in your chest was too big to hide.

“I know I do. But I’m getting tired Hansol” you whispered. “I’m tired of being treated like I’m always second place.”

“Call me jealous. Call me insecure. I don’t care anymore,” you continued, blinking back the rest of your tears.

“But I’m your girlfriend for god’s sake. I should feel like your girlfriend” your voice broke completely then.

“I get that she’s your best friend. I get it. And I get that you care about her. But there’s a line, Hansol. There has to be a line, right?”

You then let out a shaky breath.

“And when I have to fight for your attention, when I have to constantly wonder if I’m even a priority to you, that’s not a relationship. That’s loneliness with a title.”

Hansol’s heart dropped. It was like the floor beneath him gave way and he was free-falling. Your words replayed in his head on a loop, and the more they sank in, the heavier the guilt became.

He realised that he didn’t just hurt you by accident, he neglected you without even thinking. And that realisation alone made his stomach turn.

He couldn’t believe this was all brewing inside you. That you felt so alone and pushed aside for so long. And he didn’t notice. Or worse, he already noticed little things but brushed them off thinking you’d be fine.

He thought your love was unshakable enough to withstand being constantly sidelined. But how stupidly and utterly wrong he was.

He exhaled a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling too fast as he took a step forward and gently took your hands in his. Your fingers were cold and shaking slightly in his grasp.

He hated that. He hated that he made you feel this way.

He pulled you closer until your chest rested lightly against his. You didn’t resist, but you didn’t lean in either. You just stood there quietly sniffling while your eyes cast to the floor.

His hands moved slowly, almost hesitantly, up to cup your face. His thumbs brushed along your cheeks, catching the fresh tears rolling down your skin. Your lips were quivering and your jaw was tight, like you were still trying to hold back everything that wanted to break free.

“Baby,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Please look at me.”

You sniffled again, and your eyes flickered up to meet his.

“I didn’t know,” he said softly, barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t know you felt this way. And I hate that I had to hear it like this, for it to reach this point and for me to finally listen.”

He paused and drew in a breath to steady himself, but it didn’t help. “I thought I was being good to you. I thought you knew how much I loved you. But love isn’t just words, is it? It’s what I do. And I haven’t been showing it. Not in the way you deserve.”

You closed your eyes, biting down hard on your lip.

“I kept running to Hailey because I told myself she needed help. Because I thought you’d understand. And every time I did, I told myself you were okay and that you’d wait. That you knew how important you were to me. But I wasn’t showing you. I was showing you the opposite.”

His voice wavered. “I made you feel second. And that’s the last thing you ever should’ve felt.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out. Your throat felt constricted.

“I’m so sorry baby” Hansol whispered as his forehead lowered until it touched yours.

“I’m sorry I made you feel small. I’m sorry I made you feel like your feelings didn’t matter. I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t my priority. Because trust me baby, you are. You always have been, and I was just too blind to prove it.”

A tear rolled down his cheek now, but he didn’t care.

“I’ll do better, I promise” he said, and pulled you just a little closer.

“I love you.”

Hansol stared at his phone and the endless row of his unanswered messages and ignored calls. He stared down at it like it might suddenly light up with your name. The dozen attempts to reach out to you were simply left up in the air.

There was not a single read receipt. Not even the little “typing…” bubble that always gave him a sliver of hope when you both argued in the past.

And that was what scared him the most.

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging it back in frustration before gripping the back of his neck. His skin was clammy and his heartbeat was a deafening thud in his ears. The anxiety gripping his chest was unlike anything he ever felt before. It wasn’t stress. It wasn’t him being overdramatic.

This was fear. Total, haunting fear.

Because this wasn’t like you. You weren’t the type to shut him out. Sure, you’d argue and get upset. But you were never the type to just disappear into silence without at least letting him know you needed time.

You’d always give him some sort of a signal or reassurance that as angry or hurt as you might be, you hadn't walked away completely.

But this time, there was nothing. Not a single word.

And this complete void scared the hell out of him.

What if something had happened? What if you were too hurt to want anything to do with him anymore?

He couldn’t sit still as these thoughts ran wild in his head.

Hansol shot up from the couch and grabbed his jacket off the back of a chair with more force than necessary. His movements were quick and clumsy as he tried to hurry. He barely even noticed Hailey watching him from the living room with confusion written all over her face.

She furrowed her brows. “Hansol? Where are you going? Why are you so— what’s going on?”

“I don’t have time to explain. I have to go,” he said firmly, not even sparing her a glance as he shoved his feet into his shoes.

“Is this about—” she started again, but he cut her off.

“Just— take care, okay?” he said over his shoulder while already halfway to the front door.

He grabbed his car keys off the counter and flung the door open before dashing out.

He didn’t mean to be cold or dismissive, really, but at that moment, there was only one thing, one person, on his mind.

You.

Everything else blurred into background noise. Because if there was even the slightest chance that you were hurting alone, especially because of him, he wasn’t going to waste another second standing still.

He just hoped he wasn’t already too late.

╴╴╴╴╴

Hansol didn’t know if he parked the car straight, if it was even on the driveway, or if he left the engine running. He didn’t care. None of it mattered compared to the mess in his head. What mattered was finding you and fixing things somehow.

He already knew you wouldn’t be at your shared apartment. That would’ve been too easy, because you never stayed there when you were upset, especially not after a blow-up. He knew your patterns too well, when things went south, you always ran to your brother. Joshua was your safe place. Hansol had banked on that instinct.

He slammed the car door shut hard enough to rattle the windows and jogged across the dark, quiet street to your house. All the lights were off, but it didn’t stop him. His fingers hovered over his phone, itching to text you again, but instead, he rang the doorbell.

Once. Nothing.

Twice. Still nothing.

On the third ring, a hallway light turned on. Hansol felt his stomach tighten. The front door swung open with force, revealing Joshua, shirt rumpled, hair a mess and eyes blazing with fury.

“What the fuck do you want Hansol?” he growled. Hansol’s mouth went dry, and swallowed the thick lump in his throat.

“Is Y/n here? I need to see her,” he said quickly, his voice cracking at the end.

Joshua’s expression didn’t change. If anything, it grew colder. His body stiffened like he was preparing for a fight, but instead of throwing a punch out of instinct, he let out a humorless laugh.

“If she is, what makes you think I’ll let you meet her?” he said, every word laced with venom.

Hansol opened his mouth but nothing came out. If Joshua knew even half of what happened, he was screwed. Completely screwed. Seeing you would be next to impossible with your brother standing in the way like a wall of fire.

“Go home Hansol,” Joshua snapped, stepping forward.

“Before I break your fucking nose. After the shit you pulled? You think I’ll let you anywhere near my sister? You’re not even gonna breathe in her direction.”

Hansol stood frozen. His heart was thundering, while guilt ate him alive. He had no plan nor backup. Only one truth, that he needed to see you. But Joshua already made it clear.

He wasn’t getting through that door.

At this point, all Hansol could do was beg. He looked like a mess with his hair disheveled, eyes red and guilt sitting heavy in his chest like bricks. He dropped his head, fists clenched at his sides and jaw tight with frustration. Whatever pride he had shattered the moment he saw Joshua’s face.

He wasn’t here to win a fight, he was here to fight for you.

“I didn’t do it on purpose, okay?” he said almost urgently, finally lifting his eyes to meet Joshua’s glare.

“I’m already beating myself up over this. I know I couldn’t keep my promise to her, and yeah, that wrecks me. But I didn’t flake on her just to hurt her. I was helping my friend out. And I…I lost track of the time. That’s it,” Hansol explained while his voice cracked slightly.

He then paused with his chest heaving.

He took a shaky breath and added, “you know how much I love her—”

Joshua didn’t let him finish. “Yeah, clearly,” he snapped, voice dripping with sarcasm.

The words stung more than they should have, but Hansol bit down his anger and cursed under his breath. Getting defensive wouldn’t help now. Not when he was already on thin ice.

“I just…I just want her to know I didn’t mean to keep her waiting,” he said, his voice growing smaller with every word.

“I want to apologise. She deserves that. She deserves the truth, not this tension and silence between us. I hate that I hurt her, even by accident.”

He looked at Joshua again, but this time there was no fire in his eyes. Just defeat.

“I won’t be able to sleep tonight knowing she probably hates me. I need to explain, even if she doesn’t forgive me,” he whispered. “I need to talk to her. I need her to know she still means everything to me.”

His voice cracked as he finished, barely able to breathe through the tight knot in his throat. “I don’t want to lose her, Joshua. Please. I don’t want to lose her.”

Joshua stood in silence. His anger wasn’t completely gone, but it was slowly simmering down into something else. He stared at Hansol, who looked like he was unraveling at the seams.

Joshua hated how familiar it felt. He hated that he could see the sincerity in Hansol’s misery. The guy looked wrecked. And as much as Joshua wanted to keep holding on to the fury, to slam the door in his face and make him pay, something in him hesitated. Because it was clear now, Hansol wasn’t here to make excuses. He was here to bleed if that’s what it took to make things right.

Joshua let out a long breath. His hand gripped the edge of the door tighter as he stared at the ground. And when he finally looked up again, his eyes met Hansol’s, and for a moment neither of them spoke.

Then Joshua huffed, eyes narrowing. “She’s sleeping right now, come back tomorrow” he said firmly.

Hansol opened his mouth, but Joshua held up his hand. “Don’t push it,” he warned.

He took a step back to leave just enough space to breathe. The tension didn’t disappear, just changed shape.

“But I’m telling you this now. I can’t promise anything, Hansol,” Joshua said. “You showing up, saying sorry, hoping to fix things, that’s not up to me. Whatever happens next, it’s Y/n’s call. Hundred percent. If she tells me she never wants to see you again, then that’s it. You’ll have to live with that.”

He paused as his voice dropped lower.

“And I’ll stand by her no matter what she decides. Because she has every right to be upset. Every right to not forgive you. You hurt her.”

Joshua took one last glance at Hansol, at the guilt and desperation, before gently closing the door between them.

▎28 NOVEMBER 2021

It was nine in the morning, and Hansol barely managed three hours of restless and broken sleep. The rest of the night was a torture as he tossed and turned in his bed that he normally shared with you, mind plagued with guilt.

He tried to come up with something, anything, that might fix the damage he caused. But every option felt futile. He knew words alone weren’t going to cut it this time. There was no perfect apology, and no grand gesture could undo what he did.

Hansol knew he fucked up badly, and there was no right way to fix things other than to fall at your feet and cry for forgiveness. Because losing you would be the end of his world, and didn’t want that.

Reaching over to check his phone again, Hansol stared at the screen for the millionth time, hoping that somehow this time he’d see a new notification, or at least a sign that you read his messages.

But every single text he sent sat unopened.

He let out a sharp breath and tossed the phone onto the mattress beside him, before burying his face in his hands. His palms dragged down over his face, then up into his hair, gripping the roots in frustration. His jaw clenched as he cursed under his breath. He didn’t know what to do. He never felt this lost before.

Suddenly, his phone lit up and began ringing. His heart leapt into his throat as he scrambled to get it thinking you had finally responded.

But to his disappointment, the screen read Hailey’s name instead. And he deflated instantly.

Nevertheless, he swiped to answer as he exhaled a long sigh while dragging a tired hand across his face.

“Hey,” he croaked out, voice rough from the lack of sleep. He pressed two fingers to his temple as he tried to ease the tension building in his skull.

“Hey, are you okay? You didn’t seem alright last night when you left,” Hailey’s worried voice came through the line.

Even though Hailey had been his best friend for years, Hansol wasn’t in the right headspace to talk to her about his relationship issues. Not when his thoughts were consumed by you. Maybe he was embarrassed to tell her that he messed up again. Maybe he didn’t want to tell her that she was part of the reason why this was happening. Or maybe he just didn’t want her to know every detail of his relationship with you.

He knew she meant well, and that she was only calling because she cared. But her voice, her questions, even her concern, it all just felt like noise to him. All he could focus on was the silence from your end. It was too loud. And the longer the silence stretched, the more it chipped away at him.

All Hansol needed was a sign from you. Even a simple “okay” would’ve been enough to give some sort of relief.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Something urgent came up. Sorry I left you like that,” Hansol apologised as he rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t mean to be so abrupt last night, but his heart was pounding too hard, and his thoughts were spiraling too fast to explain anything clearly.

“Is your ankle okay now?” he asked.

“It’s swollen and bruised pretty badly now compared to yesterday. But I’ve been keeping it elevated and putting on an ice pack,” Hailey replied with a subtle tinge of frustration in her voice.

“I see,” he mumbled. His mind was clearly elsewhere with the way his tone sounded so distant. There was a beat of silence before Hailey hummed in response, perhaps she sensed that his attention wasn’t fully with her.

“You think you can come over later on or when you’re free? I still need a bit of help getting around. Plus I’m really bored,” she added.

Hansol paused. Any other time, he might’ve said yes without hesitation. But not right now. He just wasn’t in the mood to meet anyone besides you. “I can’t today Hailey,” he told her, which caught her a little off guard.

“Oh. Do you have plans with Y/n or something?” she asked, sounding curious, but not surprised.

Hansol hesitated.

How could he explain that it wasn’t exactly “plans” he had with you, but rather a desperate and half-formed mission to salvage what was left of your relationship? That he was losing sleep trying to figure out how to fix what he broke? That your silence was driving him insane?

“Well…kind of,” he finally said.

There was another pause. Hailey didn’t press any further because maybe she sensed the shift in his tone, or maybe she understood more than he realised.

“I’m sorry,” Hansol muttered quietly, almost ashamed to say it out loud.

He swallowed hard before continuing. “Your parents are in town, right? I’m sure they can help out if you really need them. I just…” he trailed off.

He clenched his eyes shut as he inhaled deeply. “I messed up really badly, Hailey. And I’m trying to fix it.”

Hansol didn’t offer more. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to lie, but he also didn’t have the strength to dig through the mess he made just to explain it all over again. This was all he could manage, and he hoped it would be enough.

Hailey, thankfully, seemed to understand. “It’s okay,” she said, not pressing further. “I hope it works out.”

“I hope so too” he whispered to himself.

They both exchanged brief goodbyes, and Hansol ended the call before letting out a shaky breath. He tossed the phone onto the bed and sat there in silence.

His eyes lifted towards the mirror across the room, and grimaced at the sight of himself. His hair was disheveled, eyes were sunken from the lack of sleep, and he was still in the same wrinkled clothes from yesterday. He looked as wrecked as he felt.

A bitter laugh escaped him.

And no matter how pathetic he looked, he was going to make it right.

Somehow.

▎2 DECEMBER 2021

The first day or two without hearing from you, Hansol tried to stay calm. He told himself you just needed space and time to breathe. And he wanted to respect that, he truly did, but silence didn’t mean his heart wasn’t screaming in regret. It didn’t mean he wasn’t fighting the urge to show up at your door and fall to his knees.

So, instead, he did what he could from the distance. He texted. He called. Even knowing full well you were likely with your family, he still desperately hoped that you would answer.

But every time he tried to call, his calls would go straight to voicemail. Every time he texted, his messages remained unread. It was killing him. Every time his phone buzzed from notifications that weren't from you, it added another brick to the weight on his chest.

Still, Hansol held onto hope that you were seeing them. Maybe you were reading them from your notification center. Unless, of course, you had muted him. And the thought itself made him nauseous.

By the third day, he was falling apart.

The apartment was a mess. Takeaway boxes were littered on the counter, his clothes were still in a heap from three nights ago, and the lights stayed dim because he couldn’t find the energy to turn them on. He hadn’t left the apartment since. He barely ate and barely slept. His eyes were puffy from crying. It was something he hadn’t done in years, but now did in quiet gasps as he stared blankly at his phone screen, waiting and hoping.

Joshua wasn’t being much of a good help either. He couldn’t even offer him a sliver of peace. Every time Hansol asked about you, whether it was how you were doing or even something as simple as “Did she eat today?”, Joshua would deflect.

“She’s fine.” “She’s resting.” “I don’t know, man.” Every vague excuse was like a slap in the face. Hansol knew Joshua was doing it on purpose and that he was trying to shield you from more hurt. And to be fair, part of him didn’t blame him. But it didn’t make it any less painful.

The longer he went without hearing your voice, seeing your face, or knowing whether or not you were okay, the more it drove him toward the edge. His sanity felt like it was hanging by a single fraying thread. And that thread was you.

He couldn’t keep doing this. Not another day. Not another hour. He was going to see you one way or another.

He didn’t care if he had to wait outside your house for hours, in the rain or during the night. He didn’t care if your brother tried to shut the door in his face or if you refused to say a word. He just needed to see you. He needed to know you were still there and that you hadn’t walked away from him forever.

Because if you had, he didn’t know what he’d do.

All Hansol knew was that he wasn’t going to spend another night pacing around his apartment like a ghost and haunted by what-ifs and regrets. He was going to find you, and he wasn’t leaving until he did.

╴╴╴╴╴

“Y/n, you can’t keep silent and lock yourself away like this forever. It’s getting ridiculous now,” Joshua said with a firm voice as he stormed into your bedroom without knocking. His frustration was evident in the way his footsteps seemed heavy.

“Get your ass up and talk it out with him. I’m getting tired of all this.”

You flinched under the blanket at his tone, not because it was harsh, but because it awakened the very thing you were trying to avoid, and that was facing Hansol. Joshua stood at the foot of your bed with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed. He wasn’t angry at you, he was exhausted from watching his baby sister spiral day after day.

Joshua wasn’t just irritated. He was heartbroken for you. For Hansol, too, though he never said it aloud. He was pissed at Hansol for making you cry, rightfully, but the truth was, the silence stretched on too long. You and Hansol were both barely functioning, and Joshua had enough.

He saw how Hansol had been trying, really trying. He could see the effort he was putting to get a hold of you though he physically kept his distance to give you space. And every time Joshua gave him a vague answer, he could somehow sense Hansol’s anguish from the other. It was almost too much to bear.

Joshua let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair.

“I get that you’re hurt. But you can’t stay like this, Y/n. This zombie version of you? It’s not you. And it’s not helping at all, and you know it” he said.

“I’m not ready to,” you whispered, voice muffled as you tugged your blanket up to your eyes.

Joshua had no patience left for that. He strode over and yanked the blanket clean off you, forcing you to curl up tighter into yourself. You didn’t look at him, you couldn’t. The tears were already pricking the corners of your eyes.

“Then when?” he asked with a voice much sharper this time. “Seriously, when? Next week? Next month? Never?”

You stayed quiet.

His voice softened, but his next words hit you harder. “You know, if you’re this affected by what happened that night, why don’t you just spare yourself and break up with him?”

Your breath hitched as you shot your head up, shocked. The suggestion felt like a smack in the face. “What?”

“I’m serious,” Joshua continued.

“You love him, right? But this silence and shutting down, it’s hurting both of you. You’re not healing. You’re just avoiding it which doesn’t help with anything.”

You stared at him as pain swirled in your chest. “It’s not that simple,” you looked away from him.

“I know,” he said much gentler now. “But neither is loving someone. Neither is fighting for a relationship that clearly means everything to you.”

He sat down on the edge of your bed and looked at you with soft eyes. “I’m not saying forgive him right now, nor to forget what happened. But you need to face it. Talk to him. Scream at him if you need to. Just stop letting this eat you alive.”

Silence settled between you both for a long moment. You inhaled shakily, finally allowing your tears to trail silently down your cheeks.

“I don’t know what to say to him,” you admitted.

“Then start with that,” Joshua said simply. “Start with ‘I don’t know what to say.’ That’s something.”

And maybe it was.

Just then, a series of loud, abrupt knocks pounded against the front door, sharp and jarring enough to make you flinch. You shot up from your bed as your heart began to race, eyes wide as they darted toward your bedroom door. Nobody ever knocked like that, not even your angry mother when you wouldn’t open the door while having your headphones in. Given the door bell, people would’ve pressed it.

But this sounded urgent and desperate. And there was only one person you could think of who’d knock like that.

The thought of alone made your pulse quicken. Your stomach twisted as conflicting emotions battled inside you. No matter how hurt and furious you were, your heart still ached for him. Even now, after everything, it still yearned to hear his voice.

“I’ll see who that is,” Joshua said. You barely nodded as he was already moving toward the hallway.

Joshua hadn’t even fully opened the door when Hansol barged past him without a word. The younger’s breathing was heavy. His eyes were red and swollen, the bags under them were visibly dark with exhaustion. His lips were chapped, and he looked like he didn’t sleep in days. Because he didn’t.

Joshua blinked. He was stunned for half a second, before he sighed and stepped aside. He didn’t ask questions, nor did he try to stop him. It wasn’t his place anymore. He already tried everything, from comforting you to yelling at you. Even playing messenger between two people who were clearly miserable without each other. But this was out of his hands now.

With a quiet grunt, Joshua shut the door and walked away, heading to the living room and flipping on the television. He didn’t even check what channel was playing. He just needed the noise as a distraction.

This was something the two of you needed to deal with alone like grown adults. Face to face with no interruptions, and no more hiding.

And so, Joshua left the hallway silent behind him, leaving Hansol standing just a few steps away from your door with heart in his throat.

When he finally reached your bedroom, the door was wide open, thanks to Joshua who didn’t even bother closing it behind him. But either way, it left nothing between you and the person you’d been avoiding for days.

When he was suddenly in front of you, you froze completely. Your heart slammed hard against your ribs as your eyes landed on him. You didn’t know what to expect when this moment came, but it sure wasn’t this.

He stood there, his breathing ragged, fists clenched by his side and jaw locked in a way that made the muscles ripple beneath his skin. His shoulders were stiff, like he was struggling holding himself together.

Hansol looked absolutely beaten. His clothes were the same ones from that night, wrinkled and worn. His lips were trembling despite how hard he was trying to stay strong.

And you? You could barely breathe.

Seeing him like that shattered something in you. Because this wasn’t the Hansol you knew. The Hansol you knew never shattered, he was the anchor when storms hit. But now, he looked like he was barely hanging on. He looked like he was seconds away from falling apart.

Your throat constricted as the tears welling up in your eyes blurred your vision. You wanted to say something, but your lips parted and nothing came out.

“Hansol” you finally whispered as you slowly rose to your feet.

But you didn’t get to say more. In an instant, Hansol leaped forward, catching you off guard. He cupped your face roughly and before you could process it, his lips crashed into yours.

The kiss was intense that left you breathless. It wasn’t soft like how he’d always kiss you, but rather blunt and frantic. It was like he had been drowning and you were the air he needed to breathe again. He kissed you like he was starving of your touch and love. It was messy and heated, but so full of love.

You stumbled backward, but his arm shot out and wrapped around your waist to steady you. He didn’t let go, not even for a second. You stood frozen for a moment, feeling overwhelmed.

And then, your eyes fluttered shut as you kissed him back. Hard.

Your hands grasped his shirt tightly. You could feel his tears trailing down his cheeks, mixing with your own. His soft whimper against your lips shattered your heart all over again. He was crying.

Choi Hansol was actually crying.

You never saw him like this, not once. And now that you did, you wished you never pushed him to the edge like this. But more than that, you hated that he was suffering alone without you hearing him out.

You felt the way he poured everything into that kiss. The fear, the guilt, the longing, the love. It was all there, right between the quivering of his lips and the way his body pressed desperately against yours.

Without a word, you reached up to cradle his face in your hands and brushed his tear-streaked cheeks with your thumbs. He broke the kiss for a split second, and rested his forehead against yours as he tried to catch his breath.

“I’m sorry,” Hansol whimpered.

“I’m so sorry baby” he kissed you again, but this time it was slower and more fragile. You felt the kiss grow more saltier the more tears streamed down his face, and your heart couldn’t take much more.

“I’m such a fucking idiot, I know,” he mumbled breathlessly against your lips.

“I don’t even know what the hell I was thinking all those times I left you hanging. I don’t know what was going through my head when I chose to be there for someone else, when you were the one who needed me the most.”

He let out a sob that vibrated against your chest as he buried his face against your shoulder. You didn’t speak. All you could do was hold him closer with your fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt as his guilt poured out of him.

Hansol pulled away slightly, just enough to cup your face again. His thumbs gently stroked the apples of your cheeks as his red and glossy eyes locked with yours.

“You’re right,” he said. “You’re my girlfriend, for fuck’s sake. And you should feel like you are. You shouldn’t ever have to fight for my attention, or feel like you’re competing with anyone else.”

You watched the torment ripple through his expression. Every word looked like it cost him to say, but he meant them all. He needed you to know he was owning it.

“You didn’t deserve to feel like you were second,” he continued with his shaky voice. “You didn’t deserve to sit there wondering why I couldn’t show up for you the way I always did for someone else. And I hate that I made you feel that way. I hate that I didn’t see it sooner.”

You slowly brought your hands to his face, brushing your thumbs over the trails of tears on his cheeks. He leaned into your touch like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

“I— I know I try to be a good friend to Hailey,” he admitted, “but I should’ve set boundaries. Because you were right. She does have other people around her, people she can turn to besides me. I just— I guess I kept telling myself I was helping, not realising how much I was hurting you in the process.”

He shook his head. “Maybe that’s a talk I need to have with her too.”

He took another breath, but it got caught in his throat. “I just—” he paused, swallowing hard.

“I’m so sorry I made you feel like this. Even though it was never my intention, I still made you feel like a second choice. And I fucking hate myself for it.”

He dropped his hands from your face, only to wrap them around yours, the ones still resting on his cheeks. He squeezed them tightly.

“You know I love you, right?” he whispered, his voice breaking again. “That I never, ever meant to hurt you? Not on purpose. I love you more than I know how to say. So please, please give me a chance to make it right. I can’t keep going through this silence. It’s killing me baby. I swear it’s fucking killing me.”

And this time, his knees buckled as he sank to the floor, pulling you down with him.

You felt like your heart had been ripped out of your chest and crushed right in front of you. The sight of Hansol sobbing this much into your embrace was something you never thought you would witness.

You instinctively held onto him tightly like a mother cradling a child through a nightmare as the two of you slowly sank to the floor. In all the years you had known Hansol, this raw display of vulnerability was something completely foreign to you. He was always the strong one, and the rock for everyone else. Especially for you.

So to see him fall apart like this scared you.

“H-Hey, shhh,” you whispered, gently rubbing his back in slow and soothing circles. You pressed a kiss to the top of his head, another, then another.

“It’s okay, I forgive you, honey. Please stop crying,” you murmured as you were desperate to calm him down.

You tried to gently pull back to coax him into lifting his head and looking at you, but he only buried himself deeper into your chest. He kept his face hidden like he was ashamed to even be seen by you.

“Can you look at me?” you whispered, your voice cracking. But Hansol shook his head against you.

“Hansol-ie, baby, please look at me,” you said again more tenderly as you pulled out the name only his mother and you ever called him so endearingly.

And that finally did it. His body shifted as he slowly pulled himself up. He looked at you, tiredly yet with so much love and intensity.

Without a word, your hands found their way to his face. You cupped his cheeks as you brushed your thumbs gently over the wet trails. He leaned into your palms, closing his eyes and letting out a long, shaky breath.

“I’m sorry too,” you said.

Hansol opened his eyes slowly, brows furrowing in confusion. “Why are you sorry?” he asked, reaching out to hold your hands in his.

You offered him a small, halfhearted smile. “I guess I was being childish with how I acted. I shut down instead of talking to you. I pushed you away instead of letting you in.”

Hansol immediately shook his head. “No. You had every right to be upset. I was the one who broke my promise,” he said firmly, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand.

“It was all on me, not on you my love.”

He reached up to tuck a few stray strands of hair behind your ear. “Don’t blame yourself for reacting to the pain I caused.”

You swallowed hard, leaning into his touch. “But I should’ve at least told you I needed time. I shouldn’t have left you guessing like that.”

“Maybe,” he replied softly. “But I should’ve never put you in a position where you had to choose between silence or feeling like a second choice. You deserve so much better than that.”

Your eyes welled again, but this time from the overwhelming tenderness between you both.

But then you giggled softly. “I guess we’re both childish in our own ways,” you said, brushing a tear from your cheek with the back of your hand.

“Me, a stubborn and sensitive girl who shuts down instead of talking. And you, a loser, lovesick boy who’ll chase his girl no matter what.”

Hansol let out a soft laugh and he tilted his head. “And I love that beautiful, stubborn, and sensitive girl so much,” he whispered, “that I promised myself I’d chase her for her in every lifetime. No matter where, no matter when.”

Then, leaning in, he placed a gentle peck on your lips. Your smile paused, lips quivering as you tried to fight off another wave of tears. You stared into his eyes, “God, I really don’t deserve you” you whispered.

The words tumbled out of your mouth from the guilt and ache that still lingered in your chest. You pressed your lips against his again, hoping he could feel everything you didn’t know how to say.

But Hansol shook his head gently, pulling back just far enough to look you in the eyes. “No,” he said with conviction.

“It’s me who doesn’t deserve you.”

He reached up to cradle your face in both hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that slipped free. “If it were anyone else, they would’ve kicked my ass to the curb already and never looked back. But you?” he paused, his voice cracking, “You still gave me a chance. Even after everything. And I swear, I’m never taking that for granted again.”

“I promise, and I truly mean it this time,” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours, “I will never make you feel like that again.”

You let out a shaky breath. You’d never been so vulnerable like this with each other. It was so messy and so emotional.

“I hate that we hurt each other,” you whispered.

“I do too,” he said. “But if we’re going to hurt, I’d rather hurt with you than be without you.”

You rested your forehead against his, eyes closed and hands tangled in the fabric of his shirt. “We’re such a mess, aren’t we?” you chuckled through your tears.

“Yeah,” Hansol breathed, “but we’re our mess.”

You smiled softly and slowly wrapped your arms around his neck. The moment your body met his, a deep sigh left your lips as you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

Your voice came out muffled, “I love you,” you whispered against his hot skin, your lips brushing his collarbone.

Hansol let out a shaky exhale. He immediately snaked his arms around your waist and pulled you closer. He closed his eyes as you breathed you in.

“I love you too baby. More than I can ever express,” he murmured into your ear, before tenderly kissing the top of your head.

“I’ll never hurt you again,” he whispered as he pressed his forehead against yours. “God, I’d rather die before I ever do.”

“I don’t care what it takes. I’ll spend every day proving to you.”

a/n; it’s finally here!! please reblog if you like it🫶🏽

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m3mento-m0rii · 2 days ago

Note

HIYA!!! First of all I am absolutely INLOVE with your writing!!! LIKE HOW IS IT SO GOOD?????? ❤️❤️❤️❤️ IVE SORTA JUST BEEN GOING THROUGH AND READING ALL OF YOUR HEADCANONS, WHAT IFS,ETC.

This is my first time asking for a request, so apologies if it sounds kind of awkward? Basically what if the saja boys S/O had a plushie of them but they gave the plushie more attention then them, how would they act??? (I have a very big bias to mystery and baby ❤️)

THANK YOU FOR LISTENING ❤️ LOVE YOUR WRITING AGAINN ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Plush Problems—

2.6k words; Saja Boys x Reader Masterlist | Requests paused!

You can't just replace them with the doll. That's simply incorrect.

A/N: Hi anon!! Thank you so much for your kind words, and I'm sorry it took me so long. It's been a busy week for me, but . . . yeah I'm back. Anyways I love to hear that you've been reading everything!! And your request isn't awkward, it's fine. Also, I interpreted your request initially as them gifting the doll to reader as well, but . . . I think it's still okay? I hope you enjoy!!

Jinu—

You had asked him to go to the store before he came over to get snacks! It was time for another one of your movie nights with him—a tradition that started when you tried to teach Jinu about pop culture. And as any good boyfriend would do, he ended up walking between aisles, hunting down all the snacks you had listed in your last text.

It had taken him a little longer, though, because in wandering around, he managed to get a little lost in the process.

Well, ‘lost' is a strong word. Perhaps better is ‘side-tracked’.

In his defense, stores are a lot different than how he remembered them!

Eventually, though, he was walking back to checkout, trying to remember how you said it worked. Passing displays meant to tempt you into last minute buys that you didn’t need—food, toys, plushes.

That’s when his eyes settled on a particularly special display. Small,stuffed, familiar faces that he’d come to see every day, outfits that meant costumes for most and average wear for him. Among them, the only one with dark hair—a plush. Of him.

And who likes plushes?

Jinu easily plucked it off the shelf, placing it carefully in the basket next to the other snacks. He offered a playful grin to the cashier, who looked between the mimicry and him almost gobsmacked.

» ⊱◈⊰

Your apartment was almost more familiar to him than his own. More homey, too—how could it not be, when you had filled it with things that proved a life lived.

Cute, too, with all the stuffies lying around, and whatnot. His favorite was the lopsided bear one on the couch.

“Did you find everything alright?” You asked, and Jinu rustled through the bags he carried—he flashed you something proud and knowing, pulling the little doll out from its plastic confines.

“Better.”

Gasp. Sparkles. The world lit up, and you pulled the little plush from his hands. “What? I didn’t know they were making this kind of merch for you guys already!”

“I just didn’t think they’d be in the stores so soon,” Jinu tried to say casually, secretly preening as you cooed over him. Just tiny. You beamed, taking him by the hand and pulling him quickly towards the couch. “It reminded me of you when I saw it, silly-!”

“Sit!” You laughed, sitting in the middle of the couch as you reached for the remote. Some classic slasher was on the TV, as it had been for the rest of the month, too. Jinu didn’t really mind—really, there was something fun in complaining about the dumb decisions characters made.

Except, there was one problem, starting easily about fifteen minutes in.

Why are you cuddling with the plush instead of him? It’s YOUR movie night, not the stuffy.

When someone’s being brutally murdered on screen, you pretended to cover the DOLL’s eyes instead of his. It can’t see. It lacks anything to perceive everything with! And you hold it close to your chest at the tense parts—even if you’ve seen this a hundred times—instead of nestling into his side for the experience.

He’s right there?

Hello??

Jinu doesn’t think anything of it. You know what? It’s okay. Little him can have you today, because he gets you every other day AND twice on Tuesdays.

Until you start intentionally messing with him about it taking his place.

“Your hand is free?”

“He’s already holding it!”

You couldn’t be serious.

Finally, though, Jinu had enough. A few days of enduring this blasphemous treatment resulted in him taking your hands, a grim expression on his face. He could feel your pulse jump under his fingertips. “We need to talk.”

Talk? What was there to even talk about?? Jinu watched you practically freeze under his gaze. Instant fear.

“About the doll.”

Instant laughter.

“Why are you laughing?? It can’t take my place, (Y/N)!”

“HE, Jinu, HE!”

He glared at you, gently shaking your shoulders. You couldn’t help but laugh at him, holding on to his arms. “What about your very real Jinu . . .”

“Are you jealous of—”

“No.” He quickly cut off. But your smile softened into something more affectionate, and his own expression shifted, too.

“I only love him because it’s you . . . but I guess the real thing is much better.”

Now? The stuffed copy of him lies waiting patiently on your bed, and Jinu did, too; but only one of them got to be in your arms. This time, it wasn’t the doll.

Take that . . .

Abby—

You were having a rough week.

It was just . . . one of those periods that everything seemed to test you. People stressing you out, too many dumb, little things that went wrong, swarming and spiraling into problems that felt impossible.

Lucky for you, you had . . . Abby!

. . .

Is what you would say, if he wasn’t finishing up a tour. Being an idol made him busy. Not because he wanted to be; he was always only a call away, but sometimes that also meant another city. Another country.

Nothing made Abby feel worse than not being there for you physically. What was possibly the point of his size if he couldn’t give you the best hug after the worst day? How could he fix this? What could he do?

Lightbulb.

You crashed into him the moment he stepped into your place, arms tying around his torso as you pressed your face into his chest. Abby laughed at you, pulling you tight, enough to remind you that yes, he was there, and you had him again. “Missed me, huh?”

Even though it was a tease, even though he smirked, he still felt a little guilty. Hopefully, this would solve that. You only hummed, sighing. Your body melted more into his, and Abby’s arms loosened. Just to reach for something.

“Okay, I know you had a rough week. I think I have a solution,” he lifted your head, presenting you with . . .

Little Abby!!

IMMEDIATE game changer.

Abby fell for the way your expression changed into something sweeter, the tired look on your face thawing into something more tender. “When did—where did you get him?”

He carefully dropped the plush into your hands, noting the way you handled it carefully, observing the floral print of his shirt, the small details meant to mimic him.

“A fan was selling them at our last show! Spitting image of me, right?”

You smiled, genuinely, the kind that you can see in your eyes, and he knew that he had done his job properly. “How was your trip, Abby?” And everything was fine again.

At least, up till the point you stopped talking about your day when he couldn’t see you??

He’d wait. Maybe you just forgot. Then, on the next call, you wouldn’t mention it again. You sounded okay . . . but, that didn’t mean he didn’t want to hear from you.

When he got back and you didn’t say anything about it in person, continuing past his slight pout without a thought, Abby gave in.

“Aren’t you gonna tell me about your day?” He raised a brow, watching expectantly.

“Oh, I already told lil’ Abby.”

“Okay, but what about me?” He felt like he shouldn’t even have to ask that question! Right?

But you seemed hesitant. Unsure. Your eyes flitted away from him, and he knew that it was more than just ‘forgetting’ to tell him. “. . . Did you still want me to tell you?”

What?

“Of course I do. It’s not to stop you from talking to me,” he gently pushed your head back towards his, but he couldn’t force you to meet his eyes.

“I don’t know . . . sometimes I feel like I complain too much. Or I’m too sensitive.”

How could you be? Abby didn’t think about those things at all. All he really thought was that you’d need some extra love the next time he saw you (which he was always happy to give, even if he teased you about it). Because life could be tough. Gently, he tapped your cheek, your eyes slowly meeting his brown ones.

“Look at me . . . I’m your boyfriend. You’re supposed to complain to me and I’m supposed to make you feel better. Just like you do for me.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

Abby huffed quietly, shaking his head. “It bothers me that you don’t think I wanna be there for you.” And he meant it. You were never a burden. He liked hearing about everything, even your problems, because it made him feel like he could be there. And if he helped you solve them, well, that was one weight of your shoulders and his. “You can talk to me about anything, alright? Even when I’m gone. Especially when I’m gone.”

Just like always, you found yourself in his arms again. And at the same point, the weight of them settled carefully around you. Real hugs were better than plush hugs, anyway (but don’t let lil’ Abby hear you say that).

Mystery—

Honestly, you didn’t know when the little copy of your boyfriend had become a part of your collection. You were just admiring all the plushes and . . . Oh, look. It’s there.

It felt kind of alive sometimes. You swore you didn’t move it around, but . . .

Though, it quickly became your favorite thing. And Mystery enjoyed seeing you with it, in those subtle ways of his. It might have been a slight source of pride, it made him smile, because . . . it made you happy. Seeing him made you happy.

The only problem? It was with you. ALWAYS.

Oh, Mystery’s come to flop into your lap? Little Mystery. Trying to wrap his arms around you? Little Mystery. He’s lying on your bed, trying to get comfortable against you amongst your sea of stuffies? Take one wild guess who sits atop them, king of them all.

Did you guess? Well, if you said, ‘Little Mystery,’ you’d be correct!

One day, Mystery is just watching you. Staring. His lips quirked into the tiniest frown, but it seemed more sulky than anything.

“. . . It’s in the way?”

“Huh?”

Mystery pushed the plush out of your reach, pulling you closer to him instead. “That.”

Your gaze flicked to the plush, once sitting harmlessly at your side. Now hunched over in a way actual Mystery could never be. “He’s just vibing.”

“He wants your attention. It’s my attention.”

“It’s still YOU.”

“Not if I can’t feel it,” Mystery insisted. “Put him up. Please.”

You nearly protested. Mystery had long since found a way to bypass that, though. All he had to do was shove those bangs of his out of the way, let you see his eyes, and look at that, little Mystery wasn’t a thought in your head.

Because little Mystery couldn’t compete with his soft, golden puppy eyes. And he couldn’t help but feel triumphant at that.

Romance—

It was a nice day. Just . . . the kind where the sky felt more blue than it usually did, and the sun more present, and the people more happy.

Romance noticed these things. He lived for these types of days. The world didn’t feel so terrible when people smiled and kids laughed, when the air was warm and the wind gentle. A good day!

For you, though . . . he hadn’t talked to you today, honestly. Not yet, he was supposed to see you anyway. But how could he guarantee you would have just as good of a day without having seen you yet?

Something caught his eye. He had to get it. All it took was a little pose, a picture, a simple, cute caption and you were blowing up his phone.

“DIBK YOU BIY IT??”

“WHAT STORE IS THQT?” “IT’S MY BOYFRIEND AOINGSOIN”

He grinned, taking the plush to the checkout.

Romance saw you about an hour later, holding the little (boy)friend up for you to see. And then you were running to him!

Oh, it was like a scene out of a romance movie. Somehow, the lighting seemed to enhance just at the sight of you, had he ever told you that? He playfully opened his arms, prepared to catch you . . . “Hi, love!”

Nothing. And an empty hand. A squeal, but not next to his ear, no gentle weight around his waist, nada.

You were cooing at the PLUSH instead.

Maybe it was more of a comedy.

“WHAT ABOUT YOUR VERY REAL BOYFRIEND??”

“What do you mean, he’s right here?”

Romance glared at you, walking away. Scorned. “. . . I’ll remember this.”

“WAIT it was just a joke. Romance, come back—!”

Baby—

Baby didn’t keep too many things fans gave him. He just . . . didn’t. There wasn’t that much value in some things, and he was gifted too much to keep it all.

There was an art piece, dusty and untouched in the corner by his desk. He kept a few necklaces and bracelets just so no one could say he didn’t wear their stuff. A little clay figure someone had made that Romance and Abby insisted he kept because everyone had got one.

This time, someone had gifted him a plush of himself. Perfect shade of candy blue locks. His little hat, puffy and perfect, overly sweet expression on his features. It was well made. It didn’t look like him, in his opinion (he wasn’t that soft looking, was he?), but it was well done. It would be a shame to just . . . throw it away.

But he didn’t want more things cluttering his shelves . . .

Who WOULD appreciate it?

“A fan gave it to me,” Baby offered up. “I thought maybe you’d want it instead. I mean, I don’t really . . .”

“I’ll take it!!”

You and baby Baby? BEST FRIENDS. He came everywhere with you! He was amazing! But most of all . . .

You could use him to get on Baby’s nerves.

Baby would reach for a brand new, open chip bag. You smacked his hand away. “That’s Baby’s??”

Baby gave you an incredulous look. “I’m Baby.”

“Baby Baby needs to eat, too!” You huffed, trying to hide the way your lips quirked up.

“HIS MOUTH IS SEWN SHUT.”

That wasn’t even the end of it. He tries to sit next to you on the couch? “That’s Baby’s spot.”

You couldn’t be serious. He stared, you stared back. His eyes flickered to the doll, then back to you.

“He can sit in the cracks.”

“RUDE.” So you put the plush in your lap. And you refused to let him touch you. Okay. Okay, fine.

The final straw, though?

How were you going to avoid one of his kisses!

You pushed his face away, ignoring the indignant twitch of his eyes as you stopped him from chasing. “What now?” He already knew you were going to say something dumb.

“Not in front of the baby.”

He only watched. You laughed, keeling over. He had something for you.

The next day, Baby was strangely pleased with himself. Not an annoyance (doll) in sight, nothing to get in the way of him and you; and you seemed to have realized that from the way you had stormed in.

Arms crossed. Expectant brow raised. No Baby in hand. “Why, pray tell, is Baby locked in a glass case screwed to my shelf??”

Baby only shrugged, continuing to scroll through some social app on his phone. “He got tired, but he still wanted to see.”

“You made him a little cellphone and a sign that said ‘positively do not open!’”

He only masked a mischievous grin, staring at you from over his screen. “What? He needed to be able to talk to Annabelle, duh.”

“BABY—!” » ⊱◈⊰

A/N: Okay, trying to get back into the requests! I hope you enjoyed, and see you soon!

—Captain Morii 🌤️

Morii's Business Class: @kpopmultistans @momentomoribitch @queensnowlake-wof

#saja boys x reader #kpdh fanfic #abby saja #baby saja #baby saja x reader #mystery saja #mystery saja x reader #abby saja x reader #romance saja x reader #romance saja #kdh jinu #jinu x reader #kpop demon hunters x reader

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l0vesreceipt · 3 days ago

Text

Misunderstandings - oblivious!Clark Kent x oblivious!reader

summary; clark kent with the nice guy who only hates you trope.. but he doesn't hate you. he's just a fool with a crush so big he cant look at you without blushing. maybe all you two need is a push in the right direction.

Warnings; Lots of misunderstandings, so light angst? you think clark hates you. Fools who don't communicate. Eventual relationship. oblivious!reader. Completely lame clark kent. Jimmy and Lois team up to get you together. No description features. not proof read

@uzmacchiato for dividers.

You've been working for The Daily Planet for a few months now, enough time to establish your place as a serious journalist, and get to know your co-workers.

You lean back in your chair, stretching your arms over your head and looking around the room. Saving your latest draft, you scan the room. Lois, Jimmy and Clark watch the latest news about Superman, and whatever he saved metropolis from this time.

Standing from your chair, you walk over, only catching the end of the conversation before Clark sees you and bolts up from his chair. Adjusting his tie, looking anywhere but at you as he stutters out something you can't hear.

"what did you say" you ask, glancing at him

Clark nervously rambles out an excuse, face getting pink, waving his hands as he keeps mumbling, before sharply turning and half walking half jogging away.

Your face falls as you watch him try to get away from you as fast as he can, you look at Jimmy, who can barely hold in his laugh. and Lois who just looks disappointed

"What did i do? he keep running away from me"

Jimmy chuckles at your oblivious words, Lois sighing and slightly shaking her head.

"Clark just wishes he was a natural ladies man like me" Jimmy jokes.

"What do you mean" you ask, confused. because surely he's not implying Clark is trying to flirt..

If anyone asked the newsroom about you and Clark, they would start by saying your both oblivious idiots. Then, how they're amazed by your ability to see past anyones lies, and get the truth for your stories. but you can't see how Clark is very obviously crushing on you.

Over the next few weeks, more and more people see Clarks behaviour with you. and they understand he has a major crush on you. You see Clarks behaviour, and wonder why the absurdly tall and muscular reporter gets flushed and starts sweating when your near. You try to talk to him for weeks, going as far to corner him at his desk while he writes up his latest interview with superman, you try to innocently ask him about what hes writing, but as you lean in to see his writing, he pushes away from you, breathing faster. a hand rising to cover his face, as he looks anywhere but you. You straightened, taking in his flushed face as he avoids eye contact and stutters out some excuse before walking away, without even saving his drafts. and finally, it clicks.

In reality, Clark is obsessed with you, he wishes he could talk to you. he wants to compliment your newest edition to the paper, but he only ever fumbles over his words. the embarrassment and assumption that you think he's weird consumes him, and he cant get a single sentence out without failing and running away in embarrassment.

It's hard to believe superman, of all people, this famous guy whos one true goal is so save people, and bring hope to everyone, cant even talk to one girl he likes.

Clark is absorbed in his monitor, typing away about his latest superman interview when you, in the cutest outfit by far, lean over his shoulder and start asking him about something he cant hear, because hes to busy inhaling your intoxicating perfume, and staring at your fluttering eyelashes as you read over his paragraph to hear you. Its not until you look at him, that he snaps out of his trance, realizing he didnt hear a word you said,

"..what" he breathes out, feeling his face heat up, as he trys to look anywhere but your beautiful face, cause he really does want to talk to you. he can feel himself start sweating as he trys so hard to focus on the words, but instead stares at your lips as you talk.

Clark suddenly stands, breathing in deeply before muttering some excuse before walking away, hes not even sure what he just said, to distracted by your beautiful eyes as you stare at him in confusion. Truth is, Clark has accepted he will never be able talk to you like a normal person. despite the endless teasing he gets, and the encouragement to stop running away, he just becomes a blushing, stuttering mess and he cant stand the embarrassment as he fumbles over, and over.

"I've figured out why Clark always runs from me!" you slam your hands down on Jimmys desk where he, Lois and Cat inspect his latest photos. Jimmy spins in his chair to face you, already grinning while Cat and Lois look pleasantly surprised.

"Its because he really hates me" lips turning into a frown as you look of towards Clark, who is talking to someone completely normally, a full 180 from how he had just interacted with you. despite your months of efforts to speak to him, "he always looks sick, and he makes excuses to be away from me" frowning even more as you look back at the three disappointed faces

All their faces fall as they realize you have in fact, not, figured anything out.

Lois, Cat and Jimmy have decided enough is enough, they cant stand to watch misunderstanding after misunderstanding anymore. they know you and Clark would be the perfect pair, if he would only talk to you. weeks of miscommunication and misunderstood interactions have worn the three down, and they devise their masterplan to force you and Clark to speak.

Under the disguise of dinner with a bunch of friends, Lois tells you a place and time. and Jimmy tells Clark the same. Some fancy restaurant that is far to formal for a friendly dinner. but you agree regardless, excited for the chance to dress up and

So that night, as you wait outside the fancy restaurant, 10 minutes early. on the edge of the sidewalk, staring up at the moonlit sky, the sounds of laughter and music floating out the restaurant into the street. You break out of your daydreaming at the call of your name, looking down the street you see Clark slowly walking towards you.

He looks handsome, dressed up in a white collared shirt, and black pants. Hair messy as usual with his cute black framed glasses hanging off his nose. He smiling shyly as he comes up to you.

You realize your staring when he stops in front of you, wiping his hands on his pants, and shoving them in his pocket. "Lois and Jimmy aren't here yet," you start quietly, nervous for how he will react "do you.. want to keep waiting here-"

Your cut off by the notifications, texts from Lois and Jimmy, each coming up with unbelievable excuses about why they can no longer make it. despite their begging you both to leave your work for the next day. Leaving you and clark staring at each other waiting for the next move.

"You can go home if you want.." you offer quietly, embarrassment twisting in your gut, avoiding Clarks gaze. you hope he wont say yes, but you dont want to force a guy who cant stand you to have dinner with you.

"NO" his voice is loud, and rushed. his arm reaches out to you, pulling your attention towards him. He breathes in deeply,

"no, i would really.. love to have dinner with you.. if you'll stay with me" his words are quiet and obviously nervous, and he pauses in between words, like hes finding the strength get his confession out.

Clark watches as your face morphs from surprised to confused, "I really thought you hated me"

"Hate you?? no i love you" Clark blurts out to fast, face immediately heating as he realized he's just confessed the same feelings he's been holding on to since he first saw you

"Not love, well kind of, i mean i like you, really like you, I have since i first saw you, thats why i cant talk to you, i just all nervous and i cant stop talking, or i dont talk at all, and then i run away" he waves his hands around exaggerating every word as he rambles on, his face getting brighter and hands getting clammier.

You grab his hands, holding them in yours, stepping closer as you stare up at him with a bright smile. different then anything he had seen before. "Clark, Im so happy. I really thought you hated me, and I was so bummed because i really like you too"

You and Clark just stare at each other, holding hands and smiling like idiots.

"So Jimmy and Lois totally set us up, right?"

"Oh without a doubt" Clark confirmed, still grinning as he loops his arm around your waist, leading you into the restaurant as if you had done it a million times before. any sign of the nervous people you had been for the last months long gone.

Oh and Jimmy and Lois are probably at another table is awful disguises high fiving because they'll never have to watch your painfully oblivious interactions.

except now its 10x worse, because clingy!clark kent is my fav. i just know once the relationship is out there, its a insufferably cute for everyone around.

#clark kent x reader #clark kent #superman x reader #clark kent x you #clark kent fluff #superman 2025 #lois lane #jimmy olsen #dc universe #superman x you #cat grant #clark kent superman #dc superman #superman movie #clark kent my beloved #clark kent being oblivious #clark kent x female reader

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hatsbuckets · 2 days ago

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Some more Monster Hunter 141 AU (bc I can't stop thinking about it and finally wrote something else) context: Soap is a seer! And the team knows. He can sense and see supernatural things, but is not one himself. cw warning for a child ghost/spirit but not horror.

Soap doesn’t talk about it much. Why would he? It’s not exactly mission-critical to tell your CO you’ve seen the same ghost dog guarding the safehouse three nights in a row. Or that the base in Kuwait had a woman in a 1940s uniform who stood in the showers and sobbed when no one else was around.

Might be mission critical though if the ghost is actually interfering with gear though. Or if the slime is seeping through the walls and you're the first one to sense it. Or— you get the point.

He figures it started when he was twelve. Or maybe younger. When his gran passed and he still saw her standing in the hallway for three days after the funeral, humming as she folded nonexistent linens.

And then it just... never stopped, for anything.

He knows what vampires feel like. They're off, like looking at a predator through murky water. Werewolves are worse, heavy in the lungs. Slime is just annoying. Demons are hot and all teeth.

But whatever Ghost is? That’s not a feeling he can name. It sits in the back of his teeth like static. Too old. Too hot. Not alive, but not dead, either. Ghost is human. At least that's what Price told him.

When Soap brought it up to his Captain, Price said, simply "trauma can do a lot to a person, Soap, best to let it rest." But Soap knows what trauma feels. For each person it's different. Cold. Sharp. Maybe humid, if he had to describe it. Whatever's coming off Ghost isn't.

And then there’s the boy.

Johnny sees him maybe a few days after their second op together. A kid, no older than ten. He clings to Ghost’s shadow like it’s safe there. He doesn’t speak or try to get Ghost's attention. He just watches. Sometimes points. Sometimes laughs.

The first time, Johnny thinks he’s hallucinating from sleep deprivation. The second time, he watches the kid try to hold lightly at Ghost’s sleeve, hands passing straight through. Ghost doesn't flinch. Ghost's not a seer like Soap either.

Johnny asks once. Like he does sometimes when he sees friends with ghosts hovering. That won't let go.

“You got any family?” It's casual, during kit check.

Ghost doesn’t even look up. “No.”

And that’s that. So Johnny stops asking. But when Ghost’s not looking, he’ll smile at the boy. A quick glance. A soft wave. The ghost kid smiles back, every time.

Ghost doesn’t see the boy. But he feels him sometimes, he can't not. It's a weight in the air. A coolness behind the ribs. Familiar and comforting in a way he’ll never admit.

And such is the rhythm Soap falls into with Ghost and the boy. Sure he's shy when there's lots of people. Hides in that weird ghost space that Soap doesn't understand during loud and chaotic mission. But he always comes back. Soap starts looking forward to sneaking glances and smiles.

It's politeness he's not technically supposed to give those who haven't moved on. Don't want to "encourage their attachments." Unfortunately, Johnny MacTavish is many things. Brash. Loud. Quick to anger and quicker to a trigger. But rude is not one of them.

...

The recon shack was barely a building, a half-collapsed roof, peeling rusted siding, and a wind that kept whispering through the cracks. But it was a shelter.

Soap leaned against the far wall, rifle across his lap, watching through a slit in the tin paneling. The moon was low. Mission still hours away. Ghost had curled up in the corner with his back to the wall, gear on, mask up, sleeping or close enough to fake it.

And beside him, like always, the boy.

He was sitting cross-legged now, little hands folded neatly in his lap. Watching Ghost like he might disappear. His pale face calm and a little sad.

Johnny kept his voice low.

“You follow him everywhere, huh?”

The boy didn’t react at first. Then, slowly nodded.

Soap tilted his head, careful of the conversation he's never actually gotten to have. “What’s your name, wee man?”

The boy looked thoughtful. Like the question didn’t make sense. Then he shrugged. “Dunno.”

“No? That’s alright,” Soap said gently. “And who's this big guy to ya?”

The boy smiled, small and bashful. “Uncle Simon.”

Soap’s throat closed a little.

“Well,” he murmured, “he’s a good one to follow, if you’re choosin’. Tough as hell. Keeps us safe. Even if he growls like a junkyard dog.”

That earned a quiet laugh from the boy.

Johnny hesitated, then reached into a pouch on his vest and pulled out a wrapped biscuit, standard ration junk. He unwrapped it carefully, held it out.

“Not sure you can eat this, mate.”

The boy reached for it, fingers passing through the foil and chocolate like mist. He frowned, a little disappointed. Soap just smiled.

“Worth a shot.”

The boy shifted, glancing at Ghost, then back at Johnny. “He can’t see me.”

“I know.”

“But I like being near him.”

Soap nodded. “Me too.”

The boy, slow and cautious, lay down beside Ghost, curling in like a cat in the curve of his side. Curling in like he could make Ghost's arm fit around him

Ghost stirred.

Johnny turned his gaze back to the slit in the wall just as Ghost’s voice rasped low and sleep-slow, “Talkin’ to yourself again, Johnny?”

Soap smiled, taking a small bit of the biscuit. “Aye. Somethin’ like that.”

Ghost grunted, already half out again. The wind whistled low.

And Johnny watched the kid’s little ghost face relax into something almost peaceful. His eyes drifted shut. If it could be called sleep, it looked like it.

Johnny stayed awake, watching the wind stir the dust. And if his chest ached a little, well he didn’t mind.

Thanks for reading

#yes simon is something supernatural. no im not revealing what just yet. his reveal is epic and cool and terrifying and angsty. mhmhmhm #n e way. yes the boy is Joseph if that didnt click yes i love angst moving on.#monsterhunter!141 AU #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghoap #ghoap adjacent ig #cod angst #angst adjacent ig lol #tf 141

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rustcoloredraccoon · 1 day ago

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I actually just had conversations with a mutual about this exact topic a few days ago and how it seemed entirely random which story ended up popular. In our case, the two stories were similarly tagged and had similar summaries, posted just a few days apart.

I'm sharing part of the rant I went on in our DMs because I feel like it's important to add this, even if it is just rehashing what has been said a million times before

The other things I talked about but will not share due to other topics and information present in the texts:

- more about tropes, as soulmates will always outperform a less popular trope, even if it is shorter and you put less time and effort into it;

- timing, especially during event weeks when a lot of really popular writers are also sharing their works, so yours might get lost in the sea of the other works if you're not one of the big ones. This should not discourage you, because eventually people will come back around and read yours as well. Maybe sometimes you just need to be patient because eventually the readers will find you and realise they have overlooked a diamond in the rough.

- not everyone will write the next fandom epic. The words I specifically said about this were: "some people are just looking to spend the afternoon reading an accidental baby acquisition or omegaverse fic, and I'm here to cater to them."

Sure, we all hope that one of our fics will be the Next Big Thing, but it's okay if it's not. What you think is just a mid work might be someone else's favourite fic they constantly return to when they had a bad day.

I hope this whole message doesn't come off as arrogant or full of myself. I'm not one of the biggest writers in my fandom, nor have I been in it the longest. But I have been fortunate enough to have several people who I know like to read my fics and will leave comments as well more often than not. And even if it was just one person (other than me) who enjoyed it, then posting it was already worth it. If it made their day just a little bit better by offering a distraction, then my time and effort had not been in vain.

And for those who never gathered the courage to comment, but still reread the story 50 times and could only leave 1 kudos, I see you and thank you and I love you.

My friend said this about AO3 and it’s honestly so true

#Raccoon rants #ao3 #Fanfiction

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farfromharry · 2 days ago

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Baby fever | Oscar Piastri

Summary: Lando’s new baby gives Oscar and his girlfriend a horrible case of baby fever

w/c 1385

a/n once again ignoring so much that just happened cause i dont want to talk about it

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Oscar wasn’t brilliant with people. At first glance he was monotone and unapproachable. Even to those he would consider acquaintances, they would insist they didn’t really understand him. He wasn’t chatty or outgoing, he could be a little hard to make conversation with at times. Some people took it the wrong way, assuming he was rude or stuck up, but in reality he was just shy.

When it came to children, he was even more clueless.

Sure he was the eldest of 4, he’d been around babies since he was a toddler, but that was different in his mind. His sisters were just… his sisters and that was years ago. But fans, other people’s kids, he didn’t know what to do with them, what did he say? What did children even like?

So when he was introduced to his teammate’s new baby for the first time, it was safe to say he panicked. The whole experience was terrifying.

The Norris’ were extremely popular when they entered the garage that day, everyone dying to see the newborn currently in her dad’s arms. It was surreal for some of them. They had met Lando when he was still practically a child himself, an apprentice who they saw around the garage. They had watched him grow into this. A man, a fantastic driver, a winner, and now a dad. If he thought about it too long he got emotional himself.

Once the swarm around him and baby Norris had died down, he noticed that his teammate had been one of the only people not to approach. Oscar had seen the little girl on facetime when she was first born, but he hadn’t met her yet. Lando had thought he would have been more eager.

Admittedly, he was a little upset by it. His wife noticed quickly, she was good at reading him like that. “Go up to him. He probably just didn’t want to get in the way, you know how he is.” She rubbed his arm, cooing at the small baby who couldn’t stop staring at her.

He knew she was right.

“Osc!”

Oscar had been trying to avoid his gaze. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to meet baby Norris, he was just trying to put it off as long as possible. He didn’t want anything bad to happen. Like what if he dropped her? Or made her cry?

He couldn’t avoid it forever.

He smiled at the approaching dad. The baby was cute, he had to admit that. “Hey.”

Lando’s grin was huge. Understandably, he was so proud of his daughter. “I’ve got someone for you to officially meet.”

The Aussie thought he might be able to make it brief. Smile, say something about how cute she was, keep a respectable distance. Everything would be fine.

He looked over his friend’s shoulder at the tiny baby, smiling fondly. “She’s lovely. You did good.” His eyes trailed over to Lando’s wife, not wanting to accidentally discredit the work she put in; it was certainly a lot more than what Lando did. “You too. You especially actually,” he corrected himself.

Obviously Lando couldn’t just let that one slide. “Hey, I helped.”

She huffed. “Yeah for like 5 seconds.”

That definitely wasn’t going to go down well. The Brit gasped, like she had said something truly horrifyingly horrible. “How dare you. We both know that it lasted–”

“Okay, little ears listening.” Really it was him that didn’t want to listen to his friends talking about their sex life, but thankfully he had a pretty good excuse to use against them. They both rolled their eyes. That argument could be saved for later. As long as he didn’t have to listen to it, he didn’t really care.

Lando’s attention turned back to him, the moment once again centered around the nameless Norris in her dad’s arms. “Do you want to hold her?” he asked.

His heart dropped. This was the one thing he had hoped to avoid. “No, it’s okay. She looks pretty happy with you.”

Apparently his friend knew him a little too well. He grumbled, practically forcing the baby into his unwilling arms. He had to adjust his stance very quickly to make sure that she was secure, even though Lando would have never let her go unless he was certain Oscar had her. He wasn’t reckless like that.

Oscar’s heart was racing. Every one of his senses was heightened, scared of the tiniest thing that might disturb the tiny babe he was carrying. She could probably sense his fear. Well, that might be slightly dramatic. He didn’t know if babies could actually do that.

His eyes darted to Lando in his panic, something he couldn’t say he did often. “What do I do?” he asked.

Lando chuckled. His teammate was usually calm and collected in 98% of circumstances, he had never seen him so rattled. It was refreshing to know he got scared just like everyone else. However his downfall wasn’t their frequent 180mph speeds, it was a tiny little month old baby instead. “You just talk to her, Osc. She had no idea what you’re saying so it doesn’t really matter what you say.”

He nodded, but his eyes were still wide and frantic. This was one challenge he didn’t know how to face. “Okay. I can do this.” She was staring right at him, a tiny smile on her face. His heart clenched. “Hi. I’m Oscar.”

His teammate snorted in the background, but was silenced by a quick swat to the chest by his wife. She mouthed something about not being mean, but he just missed it. Oscar looked at them both, mainly her for reassurance because he knew too well he wouldn’t get it from Lando. She was happy to provide.

“You’re doing great, keep going.”

He looked back down at her, letting out a breath that relaxed his body a little bit. “You really are cute, aren’t you?” She made a little gurgling noise that positively melted his heart. It showed on his face too, in the way his eyes softened and his eyebrows relaxed. Lando caught it, nudging the woman beside him so she could see it too. Who knew all it would take was a little baby to break down his stoic walls.

The mother awed silently, resting her head on her husband’s shoulder as they watched the pair get familiar. Her postpartum hormones were still wild, so the chances of bursting into tears over a cute sight were very high.

“You’re a natural,” Lando said.

Oscar grinned. It looked like that comment meant a lot more to him than the Brit had thought it would. He was lost in a daze as he gazed down at the small baby. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. He was so focused that he didn’t notice the approaching figure, or the smiles on his friend’s faces. How could one little baby make his heart feel like this?

“We might’ve pulled your man over to the dark side.”

That snapped him out of his trance. His head turned and his eyes met yours. A smile broke out on his face, similar to the one on yours that came from seeing him with the baby. There was a silent understanding in the way you looked at one another. Such a simple act had just changed so much for you.

You practically glued yourself to his side, resting your head on his shoulder, looking down at the bundle of pure joy. “Oh yeah? Is that true, Osc?” Your eyes flickered up to his face.

He was already grinning when he looked down at you. “‘Fraid so. Think I suddenly have a horrible touch of baby fever.” You couldn’t say you blamed him when she looked like that. The thoughts of a mini you and Oscar were all that were running through your mind now. And you didn’t think it was such a bad idea after all.

He knew you too well. He could see it in your eyes that you were just as excited as he was about this. It wasn’t that he’d never wanted kids. They just hadn’t been a priority to him. Now though? He was rethinking that. You both were.

Lando Norris had just created something dangerous within his friends.

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#formula one #formula 1 x reader #mclaren #mclaren x reader #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #f1 x reader

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vxnillabxn · 2 days ago

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hey! can i request an x reader with all of the li’s (or just caleb if all 5 are too much ;;) abt an mc who is a bit embarrassed abt having ‘nerdy’ or ‘weird’ hobbies (anime, figures, otome games, etc.)? i’m into lots of those things like many other people in the fandom, but i’ve only recently become more embarrassed abt them TT

love your writing as always 💕💕

𐙚˙⋆.˚ mainfive! x nerdy gn!reader ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ fluff! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sfw! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ do not translate/copy/repost! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚embrace whatever makes you happy! (as long as it doesn't hurt others ofc) ᵎᵎ also, i'm not sure if the word "nerdy" is considered bad... at least i use it all the time to describe myself, so uh, if it is, i'm deeply sorry! ꒰˵ˊᯅˋ˵꒱ i added some cute ideas of how they would share those hobbies, too! hope you like it, and thanks for the fun request, pumpkin~ ♡

𐙚˙⋆.˚ caleb! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚he's a nerd. you can't look at him and tell me he isn't. he is obsessed with planes, he will rant about them nonstop, he even has a collection of plane models, okay?

﹙♡﹚so, if you collect figurines, or have posters, dolls or even plushies of your favorite shows, animes or games, he won't mind at all. in fact, he won't get why you feel embarrassed about your favorite stuff!

﹙♡﹚he will ask what you're currently watching, and he will catch up just so you have someone to talk about it with, because he wants to understand why you like something so much, and he loves seeing your eyes lighting up.

﹙♡﹚and yes… even if you're 700+ episodes in, he'll binge-watch them and then talk to you, but don't you dare show him any spoilers, or he'll likely do the same with shows he knows you haven't watched yet.

﹙♡﹚he would actually love to have lazy days with you, just watching or rewatching animes or series with you, because seeing you so entertained and happy makes him happy too.

﹙♡﹚if you are into cosplaying, you can bet he'll ask for a couple cosplay. he gets to be the big, tough character, though, only to show off his biceps.

﹙♡﹚if you feel shy about admitting your favorite shows, games or comics to other people, he'll chime in and talk about his nerdy likes first, so you too feel reassured to share.

﹙♡﹚do be careful around otome games, though… he'll find out about them, and he won't be thrilled, especially since you literally have him? right there? not on your screen? pipsqueak please—

﹙♡﹚if you do play them, however, expect him to be looking and clenching his jaw, talking about how corny the characters are, and how he's sooooo much better.

﹙♡﹚—he'll celebrate with you if you get SSR+ cards, though, especially if he sees you spending lots for it… but act blind. you didn't see anything.—

𐙚˙⋆.˚ rafayel! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚oh man. even if you try to hide your hobbies or favorite things from him, he'll find out. he'll want to know what makes you smile so much, what makes you squeal, cry, scream… let him in!

﹙♡﹚i feel he wouldn't understand the hype at first… unless he sees the artwork or if you accidentally show him the art forums. if he understands the vision, the colors, the animation/drawing style… then he's in.

﹙♡﹚he's very likely to become famous on patreon for his fanarts, too. make sure to manage his earnings well, hehe. (exploit him if you must)

﹙♡﹚he'll also draw you in different styles, whether you want him to do so with one of your favorite games or one of your favorite animes, he's got you.

﹙♡﹚he'll find himself putting on your favorite shows as he paints as background noise, or have you spoil him about what happens; he loves when you feel reassured and ramble about the things you feel passionate about.

﹙♡﹚and no, he can't wait two seasons to find out the ending, nor will he wait for the manga/spoilers to be leaked online. tell him now, or make up something.

﹙♡﹚also, i know he would adore dressing you up and helping you with your makeup and wigs if you cosplay. he'll go with you to different conventions to help you touch up, and also to help you feel confident. he's such a sweetheart.

﹙♡﹚buuuut, he'd love for you to ask him to cosplay with you! the pictures he would take of the two of you? endless, majestic, museum-worthy.

﹙♡﹚if someone dares shame you for your hobbies, he'll give the shadiest side-eye ever, because what do you mean people are still shaming others to this day…? get a life.

﹙♡﹚do not let him play the same games as you, especially if they are competitive. this fishy boy will not let you rest, and if you win against him or surpass him? you'll face his tantrums for days.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sylus! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚his attention is piqued when you start hiding your figurines, posters or favorite comics whenever he's around.

﹙♡﹚is there something you don't want him to see? trust me, no genre, game, show or comic you're into will scare him away, nor make him feel like you're ridiculous.

﹙♡﹚he wants to know everything, he wants you to share things with him, even if you feel like he won't like them. —he'll end up being a shoujo fan, i know he would.

﹙♡﹚if you play games until late… he also plays video games, and he doesn't sleep at night, so you quite literally have the perfect partner, and he is very good at playing, too.

﹙♡﹚also, you'll soon become one of those gaming accounts you hate. yeah, those that have all the skins, all the guns, all the cards, all the collectibles… those that are leveled up to the max, and that you just know spent thousands to get there.

﹙♡﹚or even worse; one of those fans that has all the books, all the plushies, all the figurines, posters and even the VA's personalized signatures.

﹙♡﹚because his credit card is yours, and he'll encourage you to spend on games and hobbies with no shame. indulge yourself a little, kitten.

﹙♡﹚he'll also let you have a room for all of your collectibles or mangas/books. display your most precious treasures, sweetie. he'll be proud.

﹙♡﹚if you feel embarrassed about being seen at anime conventions, or any events regarding your favorite things, he'll definitely organize something private for you and your friends to still enjoy without the unnecessary attention.

﹙♡﹚but truly, you don't need to feel embarrassed, not when your boyfriend will happily indulge in what you like, and will always make you accept what makes you happy, unapologetically so.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ xavier! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚baby's an avid reader, just slide a manga or comic into his hands and he'll start reading and looking at the pictures, too.

﹙♡﹚or, print the lore and theories from one of your favorite games and hand them to him. he'll link everything up and, without noticing it, point out the flaws or debunk some fan theories in no time.

﹙♡﹚that is probably the best way to get him into the things you like, without him saying he's too tired to binge-watch or to understand what's going on.

﹙♡﹚he's probably the most calm about your hobbies. he won't understand why you feel embarrassed about them, if they make you feel so happy and distract you from those stressful days.

﹙♡﹚he will, however, throw a fuss about otome games. yes, he's jealous. no, don't laugh at him. what do you mean they can “call” you? and why are characters saying lovey-dovey things through your screen? not on his watch—

﹙♡﹚if you play your cards right, you can get him to play video games with you. especially if they are rpg or medieval-coded.

﹙♡﹚yes, give him those knights, dragons, kings, queens, elves, castles… he'll be in a trance, making sure to skill up aggressively —if he remembers to log in.

﹙♡﹚although, he'll also just enjoy being by your side whenever you are watching, reading or playing something. he'll curl up against you, even if you shift too much, scream, yell or squeal in joy.

﹙♡﹚seeing you being so carefree and happy whenever you do something you genuinely enjoy makes him incredibly happy.

﹙♡﹚so, even when he doesn't necessarily participate as actively as you do in your hobbies, just know you have someone to rant with, and who will always consider them just as valid and important as you do.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ zayne! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚give him some time, okay? he's trying his best to keep up with your hobbies and all the things you like.

﹙♡﹚obviously, he'll smile like a fool whenever he sees you enjoying a show, a game, or if you are actively reading something with so much passion. why are you so cute?

﹙♡﹚but slow down when talking about characters. he is still getting the hang of it, and he is also mentally relating them to their corresponding fandoms.

﹙♡﹚he's totally the type of man to add an “s” to things, like… “is he one of the kaikyuus?” or “is that one your shingekis?” an old man at heart, truly.

﹙♡﹚he remembers every single thing you mention, though, and he'll surprise you by buying some things for you here and there, just so you feel further validated about your likes.

﹙♡﹚during his free time, if you're not there with him, he'll watch a show you like, so he can talk about it when he comes home to you. also, it reminds him of you, and doing something that makes you so happy fills his heart with warmth, sugar, flowers, and everything in between.

﹙♡﹚if you collect figurines or plushies, the man will look up how to keep them clean. he'll use some tools to dust them off, and leave them shiny or good as new.

﹙♡﹚he'll make space for your comics, mangas or books in his bookshelves, and you can definitely fill them up if you must. after all, he only displays important and meaningful books for him, and yours are exactly that.

﹙♡﹚and feel free to decorate his office, too. put posters up, cardboard figures, keychains, drawings, anything.

﹙♡﹚he'll never feel embarrassed to explain that's what his love likes, and therefore, he enjoys it too. no, it's not childish nor embarrassing; it's part of you, and there's nothing about you that he doesn't like.

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piastrri · 2 days ago

Text

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐭 charles leclerc x f!reader / 1.6k

summary: after a tough race in hungary, you and charles escape for summer break.

warnings: like, none. lots of fluff. some arthur leclerc. no leo because i forgot, but definitely imagine him there.

a/n: tough day to be a cl16 girl, right? i wrote this to feel better about it.

Nine on the dot, the door swings open.

You’re dozing, sprawled across the bed. Rolling between awake and asleep since you got in four hours ago, scrolling on your phone, flicking through channels on TV. Watching the sunset stretch golden across the walls before the motorhome faded into a dull dusk.

That golden is replaced by artificial floodlight from outside, before a sharp slam snuffs it completely. You’re plunged back into darkness.

“Bébé?”

You respond with a grunt. It sounds too depressing – shit, you feel depressed, but you can’t let him hear that – so you correct it with something more pleasant, bending the sound upward.

He takes up the entire doorway, the narrow passage close around his red clothes. Red like blood; sweat and tears still damp on his cheeks.

You wait for him to say something. Wait for him to turn the light on, let you get a good look at him. His eyes are too dark like this, unreadable. He’s just a shadow in the shape of someone you love.

Instead, he hurries by, careful hands reaching for your jaw. He dips and presses a swift, sweet kiss to your lips. As quickly as you taste him, he’s gone, reaching into the closet for a duffel bag emblazoned with the prancing horse. He flings it on the mattress at your side.

You stare from the yellow crest up to the man cramming in shirt after shirt, jeans and boxer briefs. He barely blinks, barely breathes, just folds another pair of socks in on themselves and stuffs them in a zip compartment.

When he hoists the bag and disappears through to the living room, you follow after him.

He drops it atop the tiny case you brought. “Is this all you had?” he asks. “The rest is at the hotel?”

You nod.

So does he. He runs a hand through his hair, drags his fingers down his flushed face.

“Charles.”

“Hm.” He paces over to a recliner and grabs your hoodie, folding it over his arm.

“Charles.”

He looks up.

Your mouth moves around a few voiceless words, trying each out for size. Is he okay? No, clearly not. What is he doing? Packing. What happened? Did you see the race?

He wanders over, slower now, gentler in his approach. He cups your cheek and presses a kiss to the other. His eyelashes flutter against yours, foreheads together like he’s trying to push the words from his mind into yours.

He doesn’t have to. You know him well enough by now.

“What a shit day,” you whisper.

The corner of his mouth twitches. He breathes something of a laugh, more a sigh over your lips. “I just want to forget about it. For now.”

You nod again, this time more surely. “Let’s not talk about it. We’re leaving in a couple days, and then we can –”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I changed the flights.”

“You what?”

He shrugs. “We fly out tonight. The car will be here any minute.”

“Tonight?”

“Yep.” He’s already off again, unplugging your phone charger and wrapping it around his fist. He slips by to the bedroom again, dipping into the bathroom to scan the counter. “They picked up our luggage from the hotel already. Flight is at ten thirty.”

“Is the yacht ready?”

He scoffs. Answer enough. Sometimes even you underestimate the social status of the man you’re dating.

“Can you just…” you halt him in the hallway, standing in the wash of light from the bathroom, “…wait? Just one second.”

“Bébé,” Charles laughs, “we’re going to be late.”

“We’re not, I swear.” Your hands find his chest, seek out the beat of his heart. They surf across the sponsorship logos, around the collar and over his warm skin. You breathe him in, that fresh, rich scent. All citrus and spice.

He melts into you, tucking his lips behind your ear. His weight presses you against the wall of the motorhome. He wraps his arms around your waist and nuzzles even closer.

“Just tell me you’re okay,” you mutter into his skin. “You know how much I worry about you.”

He chuckles, dragging his lips along your jawline. When he straightens, his hair is tousled, eyes glossy with sleep and love. Softer, edges blurred, the shape you’ve always known him as.

“I’m okay,” he promises. He kisses you again, rolling his tongue against yours. His teeth graze your bottom lip, pull it into his mouth, then release it with a sweet, slick pop.

He smirks. “Car’s here.”

You groan as he tugs on your wrist. “Five more minutes,” you whine.

Charles hooks his bag over one shoulder, yours over the other. He wheels your case over to the door and nudges it open.

“Soon. Promise.”

Mallorca’s coast shines in the morning.

Jagged-tooth mountains and luscious beds of green pines, the speckled terracotta town lined by a twinkling blue sea. Boats dot the shoreline like tictacs floating on the surface of the water, so small and insignificant from this far out.

Everything feels insignificant from this far out. The boats, the shore, the race.

You run your hand along the railing as you wander to the back of the yacht. The steel is sunbaked, warm. It’s set to be another scorcher, so say the crew. Nothing to do but melt.

You collapse on the sofa and stretch out. Your bikini is still damp from yesterday. The pages of your book are crisp and curled. You’re thumbing through them when Arthur pads upstairs.

Sea water glistens on his skin and drips from his shorts. He strides over, leaving a wet trail of footprints, and stands between the sun and you.

You shield your eyes and squint up at him. “Do you mind?”

He beams back. “Not at all,” he says, and shakes his head like a dog. He sprays water all over you and flops down in a sodden heap against your shoulder.

“Thanks, dick,” you hiss.

“Good morning to you, too.”

You fan your book and toss it across the sofa. “Water nice?”

“Mhm,” he murmurs, picking at a handful of grapes. He doesn’t protest when you pinch one and toss it in your mouth. “Charles still in bed?”

“Mhm,” you echo. “I let him off with it the first couple days. Tomorrow, he’s up when I’m up.”

“He sleeps like a log.”

“Guess he needs it.”

Arthur pouts. He shakes his head. “He is just lazy.”

“Who is?”

Your attention is snapped to the walkway.

He walks over, breakfast bowl in hand, swim shorts low on his hips. Dapple of chest hair, more trailing from his naval below his waistband. The sight of him jumpstarts the blood in your veins, sends a flurry of butterflies through your stomach.

He stops by your knees and motions for Arthur to move.

“I got here first,” his little brother argues.

Charles’s eyes narrow. “Who is just lazy?”

Arthur blinks. He clears his throat and pushes up from the sofa. “I’m going for another swim.”

“Thought so,” Charles mutters, and sits back in his place. He lifts his arm for you to curl into him, kissing the crown of your head when you rest it on his chest. “Morning,” he says into your hair.

“Hi,” you reply. You sit up and kiss the corner of his lips. He smells like toothpaste and suncream.

He passes you a spoon and uses his own to mix the bowl – fruit and yoghurt with a sprinkling of oats.

“You didn’t feel like pancakes? Bacon?” you quip.

Charles smiles. “Meal plan.”

“I know,” you sigh, and flump back on his chest. His heart beats steadily in your ear, skin warm under your cheek. He runs his hand over your hair while you pick at his breakfast, leaving most of it for him.

He feels more peaceful. Calm. The waves of his loss at Hungary rocked him, that’s for sure – gave him one hell of a storm to sail through – but they’ve stilled now.

You know that in a couple weeks’ time, you’ll start gearing up to face that storm again. Those dark clouds can roll in out of nowhere.

For now, though, it’s clear skies all the way to the horizon. It’s sweet wines that dizzy your head, sweet nothings from a man who does much the same. It’s spending all day in a swimsuit, all night in lavish dresses. It’s waking up still tangled in his body, forgetting where he ends and you begin.

It’s card games that end in a brotherly argument. It’s waiting for Charles’s tap on your shoulder before you can turn the page of your book. It’s throwing yourself off the deck of the yacht and into his arms, floating in the Mediterranean until the sun melts across the surface.

It’s no wonder he moved the flights at all.

Once he’s finished eating, Charles slides the bowl across the coffee table. He leans back, pulling you against his body again, and props his legs up. “What are we doing today?”

“Hmm. I vote nothing.”

“Ah, parfait,” he whispers.

You look up at him.

Stubble along his jawline, freckles across his cheeks. Eyes the color of the sea with glimmers of gold like the sun. He sinks deeper into the sofa and tilts his head skyward, humming to himself.

“Yeah,” you smile, “Parfait.”

#ferrari may not love this man but I DO #charles leclerc x reader #cl16 x reader #charles leclerc #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc fanfic #my writing #fic: parfait

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sainztropez · 3 days ago

Text

the orange (papaya) theory - ln4

kpop idol!reader x lando norris.

summary: kpop idol yn just happens to have the fattest crush on f1 driver and mclaren's treasure, lando norris —and she’s ready to risk it all for a podium in his heart.

face claim: ningning from aespa.

warnings: fluff, some swear words and some very sugestive content around the end of the fic!

author's notes: some infos -> the word "unnie" is used in the korean language to designate the way a woman/girl should call an older woman, and it is used in this fic once or twice. -> aespa is a k-pop group with four members, one of them i used as face claim (ningning) and the others members are described here as yn's teammates, they're: karina, winter and giselle.

-> not proof-read, please excuse my grammatical mistakes.

-> planning on doing a sequel to this one, but i won't promise anything.

liked by katarinabluu, pinkpanthress, tatemcrae and 1,455,669 users

yn Dirty Work single out now, please check it out and give lots of love! (ps.: papaya themed!! 🧡)

ynfanpage tell me whos doing better than you? anyways, everyone please listen to Dirty Work. Absolute stunning, yn🧡 ❤️ liked by author

katarinabluu You killed 💗💗!! ❤️ liked by author yn ty unnie ❤️

user yn's never ending obsession with mclaren needs to be studied yn i've been with them all the time... almost think i'm a part of the team now 🥲 user mclaren please notice our Yn!!! mclaren user mclaren

winterss The real dirty work is how beautiful you look, aegi!!!! ❤️ liked by author yn let's date!

aerichandesu sexy mamaaaa! ❤️ liked by author yn learned from you bb

user our yn looks so beautiful!

user love you yn

user yn date me please

yn shared a story "p1 and p2 for mclaren, things couldn't get any better in my life!!!!!!! 🧡"

replies

katarinabluu let's sleeeep, we have a fansign event tomorrow baby yn pleaaaaase i needed to see them winning yn unnie we need to go to a race. actually, we must go katarinabluu sure bb

liked by mclaren, f1, katarinabluu and 522,523 users

f1news At a recent fansign event, the K-pop star Yn, shares a interesting fact about herself: "I used to do karting when I was little, that's why I'm such a F1 fan. I could not make to any race yet, but I'm planning on doing it once our schedules get a little less hetic." When asked about her favorite team, Yn says that she's a "Papaya" for life, even when McLaren wasn't doing good, the singer claimed them as her heart team. Did you know about it? Share with us your favorite Yn x Mclaren moment!

user when lando had his first win she went live on insta screaming for a whole eleven minutes. i fw the commitment lol

user she's so sweet ☺️!! i hope mclaren invites her (and her group) to a race some day!

user when she said she couldn't choose between piastri and norris, but everyone knows she used to have him as a wallpaper back in the day. she's so funny istg user kinda weird... user you're the weird one! leave yn alone

formula1 We gotta have Yn with us one way or another! Please contact us yourcompany yourgroup.❤️ liked by author

mclaren Biggest papaya supporter out there!! ❤️ liked by author

texts between yn and her teammate karina

liked by yourcompany, yn, mclaren, katarinabluu and 8,996,223 users

tagged: f1themovie yourgroup

formula1 🎬 We are proud to announce the release of "Just Keep Watching", the official soundtrack from F1: The Movie, performed by yourgroup.

In celebration of this exciting collaboration, we are honored to welcome Karina, Yn, Giselle, and Winter as official ambassadors for Formula 1. Their passion and energy perfectly embody the spirit of the sport.

The film premieres worldwide on June 13th, and we are thrilled to have these remarkable artists leading the event. Until then, we invite you to enjoy "Just Keep Watching"—available now on all streaming platforms.

#F1TheMovie #yourgroup #JustKeepWatching #F1Ambassadors #Formula1 #MusicMeetsSpeed

mclaren Excited for the biggest movie of the year! 🧡

redbullracing It girls on top! #MusicMeetsSpeed

user Honestly? gagged by them! I wasn't familiar with the Kpop girls game. 😮

user the best part of this shitty movie will probably be the soundtrack lmao

user Our Yn must be so excited omggggggg my girl finally interacting with the sport she loves for dear life user really? what's about this yn and f1, i really dunno her user LET ME TELL she's the biggest mclaren fan out there, used to do karting when young, but pursuited music bc it was something way easier than this racing stuff (her words not mine). also i'm pretty sure she's has the fattest crush on LN4 but i cant prove it.. user lando wouldnt know what to do wit allat

lando Cool! 🧡 user OMG YN IS GOING TO COLLAPSE user yn pls look at this yn yn yn yn yn yn yn user she's meditating guys

katarinabluu Excited to be a part of this project! ❤️

scuderiaferrari Coolest girls in F1!. ❤️

lando started following katarinabluu, yn, aerichandesu and winterss

♪ Sexx Dreams - Lady Gaga

liked by lando, katarinabluu, f1gossip and 4,444,444 users

yn Photoshoot for Vogue

user lando what are doin here lmao user my boy heard she had a crush on him and came to attack user i think he's just supporting them... since the girls are f1 ambassadors now. also, he liked some of Karina old posts and even commented on the last one. user my guy shoot his shot at the wrong direction

katarinabluu You're not slick Miss Yn. 😭😭 yn a girl needs to do her job sorry

aerichandesu love you, pretty girl! ❤️ liked by author

winterss You're stunning, absolutely. ❤️ liked by author

user where's the papaya themed feed?? started missin it 😭

user song choice? my girl is really an alpha lmao

user i wanna be her so bad.

♪ Thirsty - yourgroup

liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren, yn, carlossainz55 and 2,336,445 users

lando Season starts shortly, but first let's have a gig in cinema. #F1TheMovieEvent #Ad

user THE SONG CHOICE? OMG NORRIS

user just do your thing my guy... ask her out lmao 🥲

user boy thought them girls would be at the event hahahaha user and how Would you know dat user I was there, went to see some drivers yk get some autographs (i'm bored...). Jus happned to hear him ask his agent if yourgroup would be there lmao. He actually frowned when they said the girls would be there just for the premiere..

mclaren Looking real good this afternoon, Mr. Norris! 🧡

oscarpiastri Mate try to be a little bit more subtly lando oh fuck off 🥲 (jk

carlossainz55 Didn't know you were that into music. lando shut ut mate 🧡

user miss yn in the likes... mmmmh user dw she has been liking his posts ever since she opened her insta acc... idk how she do tho, since she only follows her teammates. does she search his @ everyday? user lol i love the commitment

Interviewer: Congratulations, Lando! This marks your second P1 finish of the season. How are you feeling about it? Would you consider Monaco something of a home race?

Lando Norris: Thank you! Well, Monaco is where I live, so technically it feels like a home race — but can I really call it that? [laughs] Jokes aside, I feel fantastic about this win. And having a double podium for McLaren makes it even more special.

Interviewer: Were you aware we had some special guests today? The members of yourgroup came out to support McLaren this weekend. Miss Yn, in particular, seemed quite enthusiastic when you crossed the finish line.

Lando Norris: Oh, really? That’s amazing! It’s always a pleasure to have passionate fans of Formula 1 with us. I’ve heard Miss Yn is a devoted McLaren supporter... I’m glad I could deliver a podium for her today. [smiles]

Interviewer: You certainly can’t let down fans like that! Once again, congratulations, Lando — and thank you for your time.

⚲ Monaco

liked by mclaren, formula1, winterss, oscarpiastri and 5,223,444 users

yn Thank you so much, mclaren, for the incredible invitation. It was truly one of the most thrilling and unforgettable days of my life. Witnessing a double podium for McLaren made the experience even more magical, an absolute dream come true for a lifelong fan like me. 🧡

mclaren It was our pleasure to have you and the girls with us! 🧡 ❤️ liked by author

katarinabluu So happy to see you living the dream! Monaco night life, wait for us, we have to comemorate! ❤️ liked by author

oscarpiastri Thanks for coming, Yn! It was such a pleasure. My sister hattiepiastri is such a big fan of yourgroup, can you please give me some autographs? ❤️ liked by author hattiepiastri dont embarass me.. omg (but can you please, yn?) yn omg! yes yes, ofc. let's meet so we can talk a little!!

formula1 Our ambassador! #F1MeetsMusic ❤️ liked by author

user She's stunning!

ynfanpage When we started this fanpage, we were inspired by how deeply committed you are to your dreams and passions, Yn. From the very beginning, we believed in everything you would accomplish simply by being yourself. It brings us so much joy to see you turning those dreams into reality. Thank you for existing, for us, and for everyone who finds strength in you. With love, yourgroupfandom. ❤️ liked by author

user oscar in the likes? omg lando come here... user guys.. he has a gf.

user lando didn't like this one.. :( user but he liked karina's post. maybe that's why yn didn't reply to her here? user guys lets be normal about it, rina and yn are friends, they go way back than this. also, she just posted it, can yall see the future where he doesn't like this post anyway? besides, what does a like prove? user gagged them, diva!

liked by user, user, user and 55,336 users

f1gossip The girls from yourgroup — Karina (on the left) and Yn (on the right) — looked absolutely stunning at the F1: The Movie premiere in New York City. But come on... would we really post this without a little spice? 🌶️

Rumor has it McLaren’s treasure, Lando Norris, made sure Miss Yn stayed by his side throughout the entire premiere. What does that mean? We’re not sure, but you know who else might be clueless? The radiant Karina.

Sources say a certain Spanish driver (yes, the one fresh out of a year-long relationship 👀) tried to shoot his shot with her. Her response? Iconic. "I'm sorry... are you in the movie?" followed by a laugh that could melt carbon fiber. Did he lose his words? Probably. Did it make him even more interested? We’d bet our paddock — that y'all will never know how do we get them — passes on it.

Stay tuned, because this grid is getting way more entertaining off-track. 🏁💅 #F1TheMovie #yourgroup #Karina #Yn #LandoNorris #Blinditems #F1Gossip

user confirmed or blind item? not sure if i believe user i think yn x lando is confirmed to be true, had a friend working there and they said he begged his team to change seats so he could sit just by her side. user so now we believe anything a rando said ? like yeah i can say he didnt do it, would yall believe? user stop being bitter... he wont go out wit u babes

user Karina is kinda iconic for that... user i mean, he's kinda old for her user girl its just 5 years, she's 25, not fresh 18. bffr rn

user This parasocialism you guys have with them drivers needs to be studied.

user Rooting for yn x lando, finally a wag whose life is relatable user How's her life any relatable lmao she's a worldwide famous singer... user I think op just wanna say that she doesnt look like the standard wag...

lando posted a story "F1: The movie premiere #F1Themovie"

replies

randomgirl What are you up to tonight?

yn So? lando Yes, Miss? yn so we’re really out here in the big year of 2025, and girls gotta make the first move? wild. yn i meaaaaan lando pretty bold for someone who couldn't handle a convo w me for longer than 2 minutes lando don't worry princess, gonna take you out in a date soon or later. yn dont threat me with a good time.

⚲ Silverstone - England

liked by pierregasly, lilymhe, user, user and 256,444 users

f1gossip Spotted: Lando Norris at Silverstone — a whole week before the GP. But wait… why was he there so early? 👀

Turns out, Mr. Norris was seen vibing at a yourgroup concert. And of course, he wasn’t flying solo. He was joined by none other than Carlos Sainz (yes, Europe’s most eligible bachelor who’s allegedly been eyeing a certain K-pop singer and said K-pop singer might or might not be Miss Yn's teammate👀), Alex Albon, Pierre Gasly and their girlfriends, and even George Russell with his girlfriend.

Now here’s the kicker: they were all seated in the VIP reserved section. That’s right — invited guests only. 💅

And because we don’t do rumors without receipts… here’s the tea: Lando Norris was caught filming Miss Yn during the concert. Shoutout to the brave soul who leaked this gem from Gasly’s Close Friends story. 📸

So… how are we feeling about this? New couple alert in the paddock? Or just really good friends? #F1Gossip #Yn #CS55 #Karina #LN44

user Sooner or later we gonna see some statement from Yn's company about this whole thing. I'm betting on them saying "Really good friends" user can't she speak for herself? she's a grown woman user i know you might not be into kpop, so that's why yo dont know, but it's usually their agencies who release if the idol is dating or not.

user not pierre and lily in the likes lmao

user Totally rooting for them! Yn has had the fattest crush on him ever since he was added to mclaren. She's the one guys.

user I don't see why would he date her... she looks average. Quite ugly, actually. user you're not being for real, right?

user GUYS IT'S REAL I SWEAR TO GOD I SWEAR UNDER THE NAME OF MY DEAD MOTHER. When she started singning her solo gig Borded, he couldn't stop looking at her likeeeee get a room guys. Also, she was clearly purposely not giving him any attention and would giggle everytime he pouted at her user ARE YOU FOR REAL user A 100% user good i believe you

user as a yn fan, which f1 team should i start rooting for? gonna get into my girl's hobby. alpineracingteam Alpine obv user stop being messy admmmm

yn posted a stoy "Thank you, Silverstone! We are going to see each other again soon! ❤️❤️ yourgroup #SYNKTour"

replies

lilymhe Loved to meet you, Yn!! yn Me too!!!!! Let's see each other sooooooon. ❤️

lando what are you wearing under that skirt. tooooo short lando could say it leave nothing to the imagination but actually it makes me imagine even more. yn you should come to my hotel room and see it for yourself lando let me take you out propely, princess yn is it like this then? yn sent a one-time view image

caption "now you can imagine for a little while more" lando why are you doing this to me, princess lando don't be like this... let me see you again, ok? lando i promise i'll be good. i'll go wherever you want... yn don't play with me... you know you wont win. lando you look so cute in that dress lando tell me baby do you always sleep like that? yn sometimes yeah.. lando slutty yn i bet you're hard thinking about me, so who's the slut? lando foul baby lando i really wanna meet you baby, wanna go to your hotel room and take my time with you. wanna take you out to dinner too... god i have to many things in mind lando but i'm already flying back to monaco yn well, don't worry. i'll see me again in a few days. i'm going to be at silverstone's gp. yn i'll make sure to wear something slutty to piss you off lando you're going to be the death of me, princess. looking so innocent, yet you're a demon inside. yn you want me soooo bad.

liked by lando, mclaren, winterss, lilymhe and 6,223,444 users

yn Thank you for inviting me again mclaren! I think I'm already acting like I'm a part of the team. Also, congrats Lando on your first winning home race! ❤️

lando whoa, i made it through your meticulously curated insta post? yn i can delete it if you want to... lando don't be difficult miss yn just saying... user gOD theyre already acting like a married couple. user i need to be a part of this couple

user So yn was invited by mclaren, winter and giselle stayed with redbull and god knows why Karina stayed with Williams (errrhm carlos sainz) user arent they sponsored by f1? maybe that's why...

lilymhe You're the prettiest! Loved to have you around ❤️liked by author

winterss Having so much fun these days, thanks for being a f1 fan to the point we get invited to every race weeknd haaahhaaaha yn i wonder why you're so happy unnniiiiiiie

mclaren Always a pleasure to have papaya's number on fan with us! ❤️ liked by author.

user omg just date already.

♪ Girls need love - Summer Walker

yn posted a stories "Having fun."

replies

katarinabluu you look so cutieee yn where are you, unniiiie? katarinabluu let's say i'm having a delicious spanish meal right now. yn HE FINALLY DID IT? katarinabluu stop it... is it wrong to want a man to work for my love? yn do your thing baby

lando always so skimpy baby lando come here to me princess, i planned a date for us. yn what about your party? :( lando i'll have plenty of that in the future yn arrogant lando you like it that way

liked by oscarpiastri, katarinabluu, carlossainz55 and 3,223,444 users

lando past months with a little devil in my shoulder

user guys... it's been a month since yn last liked an insta post by him... user and now when she goes to a gp she stays in the general area... and she has always been a mclaren fan. user i think you guys might be overthinking... they were confirmed to be dating? no. cope with it.

user i know this isnt yn... yn is super pale and this girl is tan user yn has been going over and over again to monaco, sometimes maranello and sometimes ibiza... tell me how someone wouldn't get tanned like this

oscarpiastri I was your cupid! lando you were not?

mclaren Paddock princess and prince! ❤️liked by author

lilymhe My girllllll lando hi lilie. missing you so much - your girl lando please stop stealing her away from me, lily. lilymhe never

user karina liked, praying it's ynxlando forever❤️

carlossainz55 Double date when bro lando we can't deal with them together carlossainz55 I mean, they're always bringing company user PLEASE LET ME KNOW

deffonotyn 🔒 cutie pies ❤️liked by author user LANDO LIKED THIS COMMENT AND UNLIKED. OMG. user yn please get out we see you girl.

277 notes · View notes

erikawrites13 · 1 day ago

Note

charles getting caught by the paparazzi innapropiately touching her partner and his reaction to the photos/ his friends making fun of him or maybe someone mentions it in an interview 😉

Cl 16- "Too Public for Comfort"

It was supposed to be just a quiet evening. A rare night off, a few drinks, and a bit of privacy—something Charles Leclerc cherished in the chaos of his public life. You and Charles had decided to sneak away to a secluded bar, far enough from the usual crowds but still close enough to the city to feel like a normal night out. No paparazzi, no fans. Just the two of you.

Or so you thought.

You had just finished a light-hearted conversation about the upcoming race weekend when Charles playfully slid his hand to your thigh. The two of you laughed, exchanged teasing remarks, and then, with the gentle hum of the bar in the background, his hand had stayed there, drifting a little higher as you leaned in to kiss him.

The moment was intimate, passionate spontaneous, even. It felt natural. Until a flash of light interrupted the moment, followed by several more.

You both froze, and Charles quickly pulled his hand away, looking around the room with a frown. You couldn’t help but giggle at the absurdity of it.

"Seriously?" you muttered, looking toward the exit where you saw a photographer darting away, likely just as surprised as you were.

Charles cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair. "Great. Just great…"

The next morning, the media storm hit. The photos of Charles and you in a rather compromising position his hand not-so-subtly placed on your thigh had spread like wildfire. The headlines were ruthless.

“Leclerc caught in intimate moment with mystery woman!” “Formula 1 star Charles Leclerc gets too comfortable in public!” “Charles Leclerc in the spotlight for PDA - Fans react!”

The pictures weren’t just the kind of playful PDA fans could shrug off they were intimate, and the world had gotten a glimpse of something personal. Of course, social media had exploded. There were memes, endless commentary, and a lot of speculation about who you were, what the relationship meant, and whether it was something more than a casual fling. Fans were divided some loved it, others were less than thrilled with the "too public" display.

But what really caught Charles off guard was the reaction from his friends and teammates.

In the Paddock

As he walked through the paddock ahead of the weekend's race, his phone buzzed nonstop with notifications. The last thing he wanted to deal with was the barrage of questions and comments about the photos. He made a beeline for his garage, hoping to avoid any teasing from the guys, but no such luck. His best friend, Pierre Gasly, was one of the first to call him out.

"Well, well, well," Pierre said, grinning ear to ear as he approached Charles. "Didn’t know you were that hands-on, Charles."

Charles rolled his eyes, trying to act nonchalant, though he could feel his cheeks burn slightly. "Can you just pretend you didn’t see those?"

Pierre laughed, clearly enjoying the moment. "I mean, I was going to, but then the entire internet started talking about it, and well… that’s not something you just ignore."

As Charles groaned in frustration, Lando Norris, ever the mischievous one, walked over, adding to the teasing. "Mate, how’s it feel to be so popular?"

Charles shot him a mock glare. "You’re all so funny," he muttered, clearly not in the mood for any more comments.

Lando leaned in with a grin. "I was thinking, maybe next time, you could show a little more restraint in public. You know, for the sake of your image. I’m just looking out for you." He winked playfully.

"Yeah, Charles," Pierre chimed in, "maybe keep it a little more PG next time. We don’t need the world to see your private life… well, not all of it."

Charles let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing his temples. "I swear to God, you guys are worse than the paparazzi."

Later, during a press conference ahead of the race, the topic came up once again. Charles was hoping to dodge the question, but when a reporter called on him, he knew it was coming.

"Charles, the photos from last night… I have to ask," the reporter began with a sly grin, "What do you make of the reaction online? Some people were saying the PDA was too much, others seemed to think it was cute. Any thoughts?"

Charles shot a quick glance at his teammate, who was clearly trying to hide a smirk. The last thing he wanted was to talk about his personal life in front of cameras, but he had to answer. He took a deep breath, trying to remain calm.

"Look," he said, leaning into the microphone, "I'm a human being. I’m not just a driver. I’ve got a life outside of racing. Sometimes things get a little… spontaneous. People are going to talk, and that's just part of the job. But, uh, I’m not going to apologize for it. I like my privacy, but I can’t control everything."

The reporter pressed on, sensing the discomfort in his response. "So, are you saying the photos were taken out of context?"

Charles shifted in his seat. "I mean, yeah, sure, there’s a context to everything, but if you’re asking if I regret the moment—no. I don’t. So let’s move on to something else.

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 smut #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x reader #cl16 x you #cl16 #cl16 x reader #cl16 imagine #cl16 smut

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pr0cyon-lotor · 2 days ago

Text

AU where SY is ZZL's uncle from his father's side, so he's a snake demon. Transmigration or not, doesn't matter, he's here and delightfully clueless.

He took up raising ZZL after his brother and sister in law skedaddled. He doesn't force ZZL into anything and is proud of him when he becomes a general.

He is close enough with TLJ and SXY that when she dies, she entrusts her baby to him. Baby LBH has no sealed off demon powers because SXY trusts SY to give him a good life. He takes the baby, but has no idea what to care for the little squishy thing that cries a lot.

He somehow wings it (the fact LBH is half demon was coming in clutch real hard). He's doing well enough. Eventually, he encounters a demonic cultivator that tries to kill him for his venom or something and for baby LBH since he's a heavenly demon. That's when a cultivator saves him.

YQY was around by coincidence, attending some diplomatic meeting nearby when he sensed a lot of demonic energy in the distance. When he was done, he tracked down the energy. He dispatches the demonic cultivator, but completely hesitates to kill the snake demon because it has a baby.

He can tell the demon has the same protective love he had for his Xiao-Jiu, and he contemplates just turning his back on the incident. He really does think about it until the snake demon stops him and begs to know what a human baby should be fed.

YQY again hesitates and turns back to the demon. He rattles off baby safe foods like it's second nature and eventually asks to see the baby to see how old it was.

The snake demon hesitantly does, and YQY freezes when he realizes the baby is a heavenly demon. But he logics it out that the baby is probably half human and has a chance to be a spiritual cultivator (he can't bring himself to kill a baby).

He offers the snake demon to stay with him and allow the baby to become his disciple. The demon agrees wholeheartedly.

Yada, yada, yada. They bond during the trip back to the mountain and SY shares his name and what happened. YQY has an oh shit moment. SY says something surprisingly insightful about how no matter what as long as Old Palace Master was around, TLJ and SXY were going to end in tragedy.

They get to YQY's home and SY gets a whole wing of the house to himself (I hc that the sect leader leisure house was meant to originally be the headquarters of the sect before it became the 12 peaks so the home is really big). SY and YQY take care of baby LBH, SY taking care of feeding and most things because well that's his baby >:[ and YQY takes care of teaching him cultivation.

Okay so now that I tricked you into following me into this dark alley, I think it's a good time to mention this with be a freak4freak thing... Also that in my head SY's demon form is something like this

This is a DND Yuan-ti. Kinda fitting lmao. And like SY would be like a REALLY pretty snake. Because it's SY.

Anyway back to our irregularly scheduled programming.

SY also teaches LBH demonic cultivation (to balance LBH and make sure he can't get corrupted yk) , but they make sure that he knows it's a last resort sort of thing. When LBH gets older, YQY starts taking him to spar with him, but SY was to get to a tiny snake form and hide in YQY's robes when he goes out with them.

For some reason SY starts like hardcore crushing on YQY (it's not hard to just look at him 🥴), so he starts trying to get to know YQY and starts stalking him because like no one around TLJ is normal about affection. It works a little, SY starts giving YQY gifts he likes, which gets him attention in return.

But during one of his stalking moments he finds YQY having tea with SQQ. SY immediately gets jealous because YQY acts so much softer with this man that glares and insults him than him and their child. He starts overanalyzing to see what possibly could this man have that he doesn't?

SY concludes that the thing this man has over him is that he's a peerless beauty. So what does he do? Lock in on cultivation so hard until he can force himself to have a human form. Obviously.

So because he's busy with that, he starts letting LBH and YQY alone with their training. YQY thinks it's because SY feels weak and wants to be strong enough to protect LBH, which he's like "why? does he think I can't protect him? I need to try harder then :(" And LBH somehow reverse logics his way into the right conclusion and he's all for being able to walk around with his baba in the open.

Eventually during one of the training sessions, someone sees LBH and YQY. And that's like obviously his secret kid or something because that kid is a noisy disciple that loves starting shit.

It soon gets to SJ's ears and he's pissed. How DARE someone knock up his gege without his knowledge! He goes to MQF (always assume I'll somehow sneak in mujiu if the ship is yueyuan) and demands to know WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!

And MQF is like "I haven't delivered any mpreg babies in a while" and SJ concludes his Qi-ge knocked up a woman, which is strange because he headcanoned his gege as gay and his headcanon CAN'T be wrong.

Around the same time SY unlocks the human babe skin on his avatar and shows YQY. YQY is going through it, and his erectile isn't dysfunctioning now. SY is all proud of himself thinking that YQY will like him better now, and YQY is panicking because Helen of Troy is in his house.

LBH is happy because he can go on walks with his father AND his baba. So he's basically winning. Especially because he's finally old enough to join the sect.

LBH's dads (he has so many fathers his greed sickens me) are going through it in the background as he's having his first day at school. Something happens that I'm too out of to figure out and now he's crushing on MF.

MF feels like he's being hunted but every time he looks he just finds the sect leader's son looking at him like this

So obviously he thinks he's going crazy and moves on.

SQQ eventually sees LBH and thinks "FUCK he has my gege's eyes! The rumors are true!" He then becomes determined to make MF beat LBH at everything else. MF is confused, but he's not going to disappoint his father figure.

Around now YQY is still freaking out about Helen of Troy being in his home and also a demon. And with a little Airplane logic he's like "Well, fuck me I guess. I have to eventually introduce him because he's LBH's dad, and I'm also like LBH's dad. Co-parenting would leave too much room for questions. I guess we're getting married."

YQY uses a seal to hide SY's demonic energy and forges marriage papers and hides them in the records to make it seem like his master had allowed them to elope in secret.

Anyway my point is stupid slice of life romance anime shenanigans that might become serious as it continues but then returns to stupid slice of life romance anime shenanigans

#you can tell when my medicine kicked in I think #I did originally share this in a discord server #but I realized I never shared it here so here we are #svsss #yueyuan #mujiu #bingfan #yue qingyuan #shen yuan #luo binghe #shen qingqiu #shen jiu #mu qingfang #ming fan #ignore me im insane #and taking medicine for allergies Benadryl is kicking my ass king :3

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chronic-conjuring · 1 day ago

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So, for context, I’m one of those weird xenogender freaks and finally finding this label made SO MUCH fall into place for me and I’m convinced that The Binaries™️ simply cannot understand it. It’s just simply so outside of their lived experience and cultural mind frame to fully grasp without a lot of work.

TL;DR for those who don’t want to read my whole rant here: People need to become more comfortable with just not fully understanding other people’s genders and learn to mind their damn business about it. Xenogenders and other Freaky™️ genders that fall (even partially) outside the simple framework of a binary are relatively very new, even as a concept, and thus many choose to be ignorant of them and push their oversimplified definitions onto others. Often leading to the policing of other people’s identities and inter-community violence that also extends to those of us who have multiple genders, even if all their genders all fall within said binary.

A much longer, in depth analysis of this issue below for those who want to engage in more nuanced and Advanced™️ gender talks⬇️

Personally I think it’s fine that The Binaries™️ don’t get us. I don’t think I could ever really understand what it’s like to be a binary-gendered person so it’s kind of a two way street there. I’ve never experienced actually having a binary gender despite playing around with it while figuring out my whole deal. I’ve never understood the “boundaries” between genders and what it really meant to be one or the other or somewhere in between. Even at a very young age I only ever understood the cultural and societal expectations put on people based on their physical appearance and sex characteristics. It was always very confusing to me and still kinda is tbh.

Fundamentally, I think people who exist within the binary still have this intense need to place everyone into neat categories and labels as a way to understand the world around them better (even many who identify as nonbinary because their brain still operates within that framework). Many don’t even know how to conceptualize what being xenogender might entail, let alone less conventional gender that exist within and around the “male-female” binary. It’s honestly a very bad habit we see in many areas of life and not just within gender identity, like with how some people still can’t seem to understand bisexuality and how someone could be attracted to both men and women. And it manifests like this, with people insisting they understand other people’s gender better than them and essentially that people can’t embody more than one gender. Even within “nonbinary” spaces because a lot of nonbinary people, I’ve found, still exist in this sliding scale of gender where they feel like both or neither and never think much more of it. So you get so many people just fundamentally misunderstanding how some of us Freaks™️ experience gender altogether, and then insist that we’re the ones doing it wrong simply because they can’t understand it.

Like, as a xenogender person I find it incredibly difficult to properly describe my gender to people who don’t fall outside of this binary in the same ways I do. I oftentimes have to dumb it way down to “imagine having every gender but then none at all, all at the same time and you’re kind of halfway there” and even that is often too complicated for the “regular” people to wrap their heads around. I often can’t even get to the heart of it with a simple “imagine if your gender was an aesthetic, independent of any physical sex characteristics you could ever have” just because it’s so far outside people’s framework of understanding and talking about gender.

Again, I don’t think this is a fault of theirs by any means. I can’t wrap my head around what it’d be like to have a “regular” gender just as much as they can’t understand having mine. It’s an experience thing, and if you don’t experience gender within the same category as someone else we simply do not have the language to convey the vast differences in experience or bridge that gap yet. Or at least I haven’t found a way to nor have I seen anyone else find it either. It’s this massive disconnect and unfortunately it others a very small percentage between the two: people with multiple genders and genders very outside any binary thinking. Which is even a minority within the existing minority group that is the queer community.

The whole issue has a very cyclical nature about it, if you haven’t noticed. And culturally we have little historical and cultural context for these genders too, or at least I’ve never seen anyone else find/have a culture that has something like xenogender within their roots and traditions. All the variations of gender I’ve ever seen have all been iterations of “man in a woman’s body”, “woman in a man’s body”, “someone who’s both a man and a woman in the same body” and variations of those to describe people who lie on either more feminine or masculine within that scale of those categories, if that makes sense. If I’m wrong and there’s cultures out there that do have their own versions of what could be summed up as “my gender is an aesthetic” or “my gender lies within the unknown and completely outside the binary” then please do add them. I’m by no means an expert on any culture and definitely haven’t heard of all of them and their traditions around trans and enby people.

My point here is that, on a large scale culturally, there’s no real framework to even acknowledge that someone’s gender identity could fall outside of anything even remotely related to gender, and people already struggle to understand and acknowledge that people can have more than one gender as is. And it makes understanding and discovering yourself as a xenogender person very difficult. It’s a relatively new term, and any other underneath this umbrella term are even more niche than the original term itself. It’s an obscure experience that many don’t even realize is an option at all. If you look at censuses taken you’ll often see the numbers in any given xenogender identity in the single digits. Most people have never even heard of the term, much less known or knowingly interacted with any xenogender people to begin with.

My point here is we, culturally and ideologically, as a demographic are very new when it comes to visibility and existence of language to aptly define our experiences. I believe xenogender people have always existed and always will, just that before very recently we’ve never really had the language to properly define our existences and how that culminates into this weird, seemingly unground concept. One that’s completely independent from experiences with physical sex and the genders and identities tied to those. I do also believe, and hope, that as language continues to expand to encompass us better and more fully we might start to find a more common ground between those who experience gender tied to physical sex characteristics, and those of us who have less, if any of that. It’s a very complex identity with lots of moving parts, and in my experience no two xenogender people have the exact same experience with gender.

This is not to say that all Xenogendered people don’t experience some connection to physical sex characteristics and the binaries that come with it. Just that all of them expand beyond those boundaries in a way many simply don’t understand. As one myself I do have preferences in which sex related characteristics I prefer to have, but for me it has more to do with my preferences for aesthetics than it does with my comfortability within any given body configuration. I would feel just as out of place and uncomfortable if I transitioned and took on “the opposite” characteristics than the ones I have now. I know some xenogender people fall staunchly on one side or the other, masculine or feminine, and identify in part with being transfemme or transmasc. Like I said, they’re extremely complex and varied experiences with gender and many, many people just cannot understand this.

I’d apologize for the excessive ranting here, but in all honesty I don’t see a way to have this conversation without being extensively detailed and long-winded. Dumbing it down and simplifying it, at least to me, doesn’t do the incredible complexity of it all any justice. And until we have more succinct language and broader understanding/knowledge of this kind of gender fuckery I don’t think we can simplify this and have an in depth conversation on it all.

why have us queer people as a community normalized terms like "boygirl" or "girlboy" or other things like that but not like. the actual experience of being multigender. i swear some people will be like "ahaha its so cool and swag to be a #girlboy #boygirl" then turn around and be like "MEN DNI THIS POST IS ABOUT WOMEN" "MEN CANT BE LESBIANS (because no man is ever a woman too)" etc etc like come on guys

EDIT: i added an entire rant about this here

#and no I will not be taking any criticism or policing of others identities here #we are way beyond thinking people can only have one gender or can only fall within the binary here #anyone who wants to say otherwise can make their own braindead post about it #xenogender #queer #lgbtq+#multigender #bigender #trans #transgender #nonbinary #non-binary #gender theory

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mrsfancyferrari · 20 hours ago

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You're Cute

Summary: Being George's twin sister, you get a lot of advantages: VIP paddock passes, meeting celebrities on the daily but there is one rule: don't date any of the drivers and you took that as a challenge.

Song: Reed Wonder, Aurora Olivas · The Machine

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 14.2k

MASTERLIST - F1

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yourusername your favourite doctor 💙

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georgerussell63 please come watch me race 💙

yourusername nope 💙

mercedesamgf1 Hello Dr Russell, please come support us in the British GP (George made us write this) 💙

yourusername Hello mercedes, unless you can offer me a job there I will not be going (Tell George to leave me alone) 💙

user1 I didn't know George had a beautiful, successful and better twin sister 😍

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your_bestie Can't wait to see you at work! 💙

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Thursday

The rumble of a go-karting engine was a sound you’d grown up with, as familiar as your own heartbeat. It was the soundtrack to your childhood, the background to family dinners, and the persistent hum of your twin brother, George Russell’s, entire existence.

And thanks to him, it was also the gateway to a world of VIP access, celebrity encounters, and an unspoken, iron-clad rule: no dating the drivers.

You, Dr. Y/N Russell, had always taken that rule as less of a prohibition and more of a personal challenge.

Life as George’s twin sister in the world of Formula 1 brought a unique set of advantages. Paddock passes materialized in your inbox like magic.

Celebrities, from pop stars to Hollywood actors, were just ‘people’ you might bump into at a hospitality suite, often introduced with George’s signature, slightly awkward charm.

You’d mastered the art of polite small talk with anyone from supermodels to team principals, your comfort level with fame remarkably high, perhaps because, in a way, you were adjacent to it.

For the past few years, however, the F1 circus had been a distant echo. Your world had shrunk to the sterile gleam of operating theatres, the hushed intensity of consultations, and the demanding schedule of a newly qualified doctor.

Your education and burgeoning career had become your singular focus, pushing childhood crushes and the thrill of the racetrack to the farthest corners of your mind.

But some things, like persistent twin brothers, were impossible to shake off.

“Please, Y/N! It’s Silverstone! Our home race! You have to be there!” George’s voice had been a constant barrage of pleas, texts, and increasingly dramatic voicemails for weeks.

He’d even resorted to guilt-tripping you about how long it had been since you’d truly experienced a race weekend, not just watched it on your tiny hospital breakroom TV.

Eventually, you caved. The allure of the British Grand Prix, a rare break from your demanding schedule, and the genuine desire to see your brother in his element, won out.

Besides, you missed the roar of the crowd, the smell of burnt rubber, and the electric tension that only F1 could deliver.

Stepping into the Silverstone paddock was like stepping back in time, yet everything felt new. The vibrant colours, the buzz of activity, the mingling of high-octane sport and high-society glamour.

George met you at the entrance, a wide grin splitting his face, his arm immediately slung around your shoulders.

“Look everyone, my favourite twin is here!” he announced, louder than necessary, as he navigated you through the throng.

And so began the ‘Y/N Russell, Trophy Introduction Tour.’

“Lewis, this is my twin sister, Y/N! She’s a doctor, you know. Proper smart.”

“Toto, meet Y/N! She literally saves lives on a daily basis. My twin sister, a doctor!”

“Marcus, this is Y/N. My twin. She performs surgeries. For a living!”

You’d roll your eyes good-naturedly, offering a polite smile and a firm handshake, often adding, “It’s lovely to meet you, George’s sister who is also a doctor.”

You were proud of your profession, of course, but George’s exaggerated pride often bordered on presenting you as a scientific marvel rather than a human being.

Yet, you were comfortable. You exchanged pleasantries with celebrities and team principals, discussed the weather with sports commentators, and even briefly chatted about the latest medical breakthroughs with a surprisingly knowledgeable film director.

This was your comfort zone, the bizarre circus you’d been born into.

You were currently settled in the Mercedes hospitality suite, a sanctuary of cool air and gourmet food amidst the paddock heat, catching up with George.

He was detailing the nuances of tyre wear and DRS zones, his eyes alight with passion, as you listened with a half-attentive ear, sipping your sparkling water.

You loved seeing him like this, raw and unfiltered, away from the media glare.

“...and then I had to explain to Marcus that the rear end was just –”

“Hey George!”

The voice cut through George’s impassioned monologue, light, familiar, and carrying a warmth that sent a jolt down your spine. Your head snapped up, turning almost before George could respond.

And there he was.

Alex Albon.

Your heart, which had been beating steadily just moments before, performed an immediate, dramatic lurch, then seemed to stop altogether.

It wasn’t a poetic metaphor; it felt genuinely like your entire circulatory system had slammed on the brakes.

He was taller, broader in the shoulders than you remembered, his race suit accentuating a physique honed by years of intense training.

His dark hair was just a little longer, falling boyishly across his forehead, and his smile… his smile was still the same, genuine and infectious, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

Those eyes. They still held that mischievous spark you remembered from muddy go-kart tracks and shared bags of chips.

Oh, hell. The crush hadn't just been put on hold; it had been simmering, dormant, waiting for this exact moment to reignite with the force of a super nova.

George, oblivious to the internal earthquake you were experiencing, stood up, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Alex! Mate! How’s it going?”

They slapped hands, pulled each other into a quick, solid bro-hug, their camaraderie palpable, a testament to years of shared childhood dreams and competitive rivalry.

You remained seated, frozen, a silent observer in your own body, waiting.

You waited for George to turn, to make the introduction – “Alex, this is my twin sister, Y/N,” probably followed by the inevitable, “She’s a doctor, you know.”

You braced yourself for the polite nod, the brief handshake, the re-learning of each other’s names, the awkward small talk that came with meeting someone you hadn’t seen in over a decade.

But it didn't happen like that.

Alex pulled back from George, his gaze sweeping over George’s shoulder, and landed directly on you. His smile softened, a knowing glint entering his eyes. He didn’t need an introduction. He didn’t hesitate.

“No way,” he breathed, a genuine, joyful surprise in his tone. He took a single step closer, his eyes twinkling. “Y/N Russell! Is that really you? Look at you! Last time I saw you, you were… well, you were still trying to beat George at Mario Kart.”

A nervous laugh bubbled up from your throat. “Well, some things never change,” you managed, your voice a little shaky, a flush creeping up your neck.

The fact that he remembered, instantly, without a prompt, without a beat, bypassed all your careful professional composure. You suddenly felt like that awkward, gangly thirteen-year-old with a hopeless crush again.

George, meanwhile, just blinked. “Wait, you guys remember each other? Really remember?”

He sounded genuinely surprised, as if he’d simply assumed your childhood tagging along to karting events had been a blur of faces.

Alex chuckled, his eyes still locked on yours. “Remember her? George, how could I forget? She was always the smart one, the one who actually figured out the strategy for the team when you two just wanted to crash into each other.”

He winked at you, and your heart did a clumsy flip-flop. “And she was the one who stitched up your scraped knees more times than I can count, remember? The original doctor, long before the fancy degree.”

You felt a warmth spread through you, a feeling of being truly seen, truly remembered, not just as George’s doctor sister, but as you.

“Someone had to keep you two out of trouble,” you countered, a playful note returning to your voice. “And George was always the one who needed the most band-aids.”

George scoffed good-naturedly. “Hey! I was just… committed to the bit!” He then clapped Alex on the shoulder. “Alright, alright, enough reminiscing. Alex, it’s good to see you, mate. I’ve got debrief in ten, actually. You got a minute?”

Alex glanced at the time, then back at you, a hint of reluctance in his eyes. “Yeah, just about. George, you mind if I just… properly say hi to Y/N? It’s been ages.”

George, ever the somewhat oblivious brother, just shrugged. “Sure, sure. Don’t get lost. I’ll see you later.”

And with that, he was off, heading towards the inner sanctum of the Mercedes garage, leaving you alone with Alex.

The sudden silence, save for the ambient paddock noise, was charged with an unspoken tension. Alex turned fully towards you, his hands in his pockets, a relaxed yet intense air about him.

“Seriously though,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, “it’s really good to see you, (Y/N). You look… incredible. Dr. Russell, huh? I always knew you’d be something amazing.”

Your cheeks felt hot. “And you’re a Formula 1 driver. Never doubted that either, Albon. Though I hear you still can’t beat George at Mario Kart.”

He laughed, a rich, genuine sound that sent shivers down your arm. “Ouch. Some things never change, as you said. But I’m working on it. So, how’s life outside the F1 bubble? I bet it’s a lot less… high-speed.”

You found yourself relaxing, the familiar easy banter flowing between you as if no time had passed. You talked about your work, the long hours, the rewarding moments.

He listened intently, asking surprisingly insightful questions, his gaze rarely leaving your face. He shared glimpses of his life on the road, the challenges of a new team, the relentless pressure.

“So, George finally dragged you back, then?” he asked, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “I saw he was practically begging you on Instagram.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s persistent. And it is Silverstone. Besides, I needed a break. My brain was starting to fuse with my textbooks.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” Alex said, and the way he said it, quiet and sincere, made your stomach clench.

He paused, then tilted his head slightly. “Are you around all weekend? I was thinking, if you’re free after the qualifying on Saturday, maybe we could grab a proper drink? Catch up properly? Away from all this madness.” He gestured vaguely at the bustling paddock around you.

Your heart leaped. The rule. The unspoken, iron-clad rule. No dating drivers.

Especially not one of George’s best friends. This was George’s Paddock Rule #1. And here was Alex Albon, challenging it immediately, unintentionally.

But looking into his warm, hopeful eyes, the crushing nostalgia of a childhood crush meeting the undeniable spark of an adult connection, you found yourself smiling. “I think I could make time for that, Alex. It’s been way too long.”

He grinned, a flash of pure delight. “Great. I’ll text you. George usually has my number, so…”

“He’s got mine too,” you said, feeling bold. “Just… tell him it’s for a medical consultation, maybe.”

Alex chuckled, shaking his head. “A medical consultation, right. Something tells me George would be a little suspicious about that kind of consultation.”

His eyes held yours for another beat, a silent conversation passing between you. The challenge was accepted. The game was on.

And for the first time in years, the hum of the F1 engine sounded less like a distant echo and more like a prelude to something wonderfully, deliciously forbidden. . . .

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °

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Friday

The following morning, the Silverstone paddock thrummed with a different kind of energy. The initial buzz of arrivals and reunions had settled into the focused hum of a race weekend.

Today was about Free Practice – the raw, unpolished testing of limits, the fine-tuning before qualifying.

But for you, the morning brought with it a different kind of hum, a persistent, joyful vibration beneath your ribs that had little to do with horsepower.

You’d woken up with Alex Albon’s laugh echoing in your mind, the memory of his eyes locking with yours, the casual ease of his invitation for Saturday.

It was a sensation you hadn’t felt in years, not since your early teens when the mere sight of him leaning against a go-kart, helmet in hand, had been enough to send you into a silent, internal meltdown.

You’d spent the last decade diligently building a career, meticulously acquiring knowledge, and carefully constructing a life that was stable, predictable, and distinctly free of heart-stopping romantic complications. And now, here he was, dismantling it all with a single, knowing smile.

George, bless his oblivious heart, was already in his usual pre-session mode, a whirlwind of focused energy, meticulously reviewing data on a tablet as you both walked through the garage.

The air was thick with the scent of high-octane fuel and hot tyres, overlaid with the sharp tang of ambition. Mechanics moved with purpose, engineers spoke in hushed, urgent tones, and the collective anticipation of the track coming alive was almost a tangible thing.

“Alright, Dr. Russell,” George said, without looking up from his screen, “you ready for a day of me complaining about understeer and then miraculously pulling a lap out of nowhere?”

You nudged him playfully. “I’m ready for a day of you forgetting to hydrate and then needing me to tell Toto you’re just ‘focused’.”

He finally looked up, a smirk playing on his lips. “It’s a valid medical diagnosis, isn’t it? Extreme focus leading to temporary dehydration?”

“I’ll write you a note,” you promised, but your mind was already drifting.

You scanned the faces in the crowded paddock, a nervous energy building as you wondered when, or if, you’d see him again. It felt both impossibly soon and agonizingly long since yesterday.

The first Free Practice session officially kicked off, and the roar of the engines became a constant, exhilarating presence. You found a spot in the garage, observing George’s telemetry, occasionally offering a quiet comment or simply absorbing the atmosphere.

It was a world you knew well, one that felt like home in its own chaotic way.

The familiar faces of team personnel, the shared language of lap times and sector analysis – it was comforting. Yet, something new had entered the equation, something that made every passing driver, every glimpse of a different team’s colours, a potential trigger for your pounding heart.

And then you saw him.

He was walking back from the pit lane, helmet under his arm, his race suit still smudged with track dust. His gait was easy, confident, and every muscle seemed to move with a coiled grace.

You noticed the way his team members greeted him, the respect in their voices, the innate leadership in his posture.

He was no longer just the scrawny go-kart kid you remembered; he was a formidable F1 driver, commanding his space, demanding attention.

Your breath hitched. He was still a few yards away, deep in conversation with his engineer, but something in your core recognized him, felt the pull.

You were trying to look casual, to pretend you weren’t subtly tracking his progress, when he suddenly lifted his head.

His eyes, as if drawn by an invisible thread, found yours across the bustling garage.

A flash of that genuine, infectious smile. A quick, almost imperceptible nod. A silent acknowledgement that sent a warm rush through you, bypassing all the noise and chaos of the paddock.

It was brief, merely a second or two, but it was enough. Enough to confirm that yesterday hadn't been a dream, that the spark was real, and that he remembered.

George, who had been engrossed in a discussion with his race engineer, suddenly paused, glancing in the direction Alex had just walked.

“What are you looking at?” he asked, a hint of brotherly suspicion in his voice.

You quickly diverted your gaze, focusing intently on a random screen. “Oh, nothing! Just… admiring the aerodynamic precision of Daniel’s rear wing.”

George scoffed. “Right. ‘Aerodynamic precision’. You and your doctor’s eye for detail, eh?”

He still looked mildly unconvinced, but thankfully, his attention was quickly pulled back to his own car’s setup. You let out a silent breath you hadn't realized you were holding.

The rest of the morning session passed in a blur of near-misses. You’d find yourself just a few metres from Alex in the canteen, or passing him in the narrow corridors between garages.

Each time, your eyes would meet, and a small, private smile would be exchanged – a secret handshake in the very public world of Formula 1.

It was thrilling, nerve-wracking, and utterly addictive.

During the lunch break, you found yourself needing a moment of quiet, slipping away from the usual Mercedes team huddle.

You leaned against a barrier, watching a group of fans pressed against the fence, their excitement palpable.

Just then, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out, heart giving a hopeful thump. It was an unknown number.

Hey, is this Y/N? It’s Alex. Hope George gave you the right number and hasn’t swapped phones with Lewis again.

A genuine smile bloomed on your face. He remembered the old trick. You quickly typed a reply.

It is! And thankfully, he usually keeps Lewis’s phone after the pranks, not before. You survived FP1?

The reply was almost immediate.

Barely. Car’s a bit of a handful. But hey, at least I got to see a friendly face. Still on for Saturday after the qualifying? I was thinking a quiet restaurant outside the track? Away from the madhouse.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. George’s rule. Your career. The very public nature of his life. Everything screamed caution. But the pull was undeniable. The memory of his eyes, the warmth of his smile, the sheer comfort of his presence.

Definitely on, Alex. Sounds perfect. Just don’t tell George it’s for anything other than a ‘medical consultation’ about your chronic Mario Kart addiction.

You sent the text, feeling a delicious mix of rebellion and anticipation. A moment later, his reply came, accompanied by a laughing emoji.

It’s severe. I’ll need extensive treatment. See you. And good luck to George today.

You chuckled, tucking your phone away. The world suddenly felt brighter, more vibrant.

The afternoon rolled into FP2, and the intensity ramped up. George was flying, pushing the Mercedes to its limits, and you found yourself genuinely absorbed in his performance, the doctor in you analyzing his every move, the sister in you cheering him on.

But even as you celebrated a strong lap from George, a part of you was still aware of Alex, his name occasionally flashing on the timing screens, his car a distinctive blur on the television monitors in the garage.

As the session drew to a close, George was debriefing with his engineers, looking exhausted but satisfied.

You were gathering your things, preparing to head back to the hospitality unit, when you heard a familiar voice.

“George, mate! Great pace out there today, seriously.”

You turned and there he was, Alex, leaning against the doorway of the Mercedes garage, a casual grin on his face. He seemed to have materialized out of nowhere, but you suspected he’d been waiting for an opportune moment.

George turned, beaming. “Alex! You too, mate, looking quick. Bit of a handful for you, though, I heard?”

“Yeah, still wrestling with it,” Alex admitted, then his gaze flickered to you, a conspiratorial glint in his eyes. “Anyway, just wanted to say hi before I head off. And thanks again for the… medical advice, Y/N.”

He said "medical advice" with just enough emphasis to make it sound perfectly innocent to George, but like a shared inside joke to you. You felt a blush rise, but you met his gaze evenly.

“Anytime, Alex,” you replied, a slight smile playing on your lips. “Always happy to provide professional counsel.”

George, surprisingly, just nodded, preoccupied with his thoughts. “Right. Well, good luck tomorrow, mate. We’ll see you out there.”

“You too, George,” Alex said, then his eyes lingered on you for a fraction of a second longer, a silent message passing between you. Saturday.

As he turned to leave, George finally looked at you, a half-frown on his face. “Medical advice? What was that about?”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Oh, you know, just driver wellness. He was asking about… sports nutrition. Very important for peak performance.” You gave him an overly earnest nod.

George narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced but too tired to fully probe. “Right. Sports nutrition. You sure you’re not prescribing him some new Mario Kart strategy?”

You laughed, a little too loud, then quickly sobered. “No, no, absolutely not. Purely professional.”

George just grunted, turning back to his engineers. You knew he wasn’t buying it entirely, but he was also too focused on the weekend’s performance to connect the dots. Not yet, anyway.

As you walked away, a lightness in your step, the thrill of the chase, the excitement of something new and deliciously forbidden, filled you.

The Silverstone weekend was just beginning, and already, it was clear that your return to the F1 paddock was going to be anything but a quiet break.

Free Practice might be over, but for you and Alex, the real race had just begun. . . .

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Saturday

The cool, crisp air of a British summer morning greeted you as you stepped out of your Silverstone accommodation on Saturday, qualifying day.

Unlike yesterday’s gentle hum, today the paddock thrummed with a palpable current of electric anticipation.

Every team member, every driver, every fan seemed to be holding their breath, waiting for the moment the cars would roar to life, not for practice, but for the ultimate test of speed and nerve.

You dressed differently from how you usually would – a casual, yet professional dress, definitely not to impress Alex on your 'date' later on.

George was already up, a focused intensity in his eyes that only appeared on qualifying and race days. He was in the zone, and you respected that, offering a silent nod of encouragement as you grabbed a quick breakfast.

Making your way through the rapidly filling paddock, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of high-octane fuel, burnt rubber, and the distant, muffled roar of engines being fired up.

You exchanged greetings with familiar faces – mechanics, engineers, other team personnel – but your gaze, almost unconsciously, swept towards the Williams garage as you passed.

There was a brief glimpse of Alex, head down, talking to an engineer, his posture radiating a quiet, determined focus.

You felt a familiar flutter in your stomach, a small internal cheer for him, before you redirected your attention to your own team's preparations.

The Mercedes garage was a hive of controlled chaos. Data screens glowed. Tools clinked with precision. George, already kitted out in his race suit, was deep in conversation with his race engineer, Marcus.

Qualifying began, and the tension was a physical entity in the air. Q1 was a blur of early laps, the gradual elimination of the slower cars. Your eyes darted between the live timing screens and the car on the circuit, even as the commentary whispered through your earpiece.

You saw Alex's name pop up, confidently clearing Q1, then Q2. He was truly performing, extracting every ounce of potential from the Williams.

You felt a surge of pride for him, a quiet, personal cheer that no one else could hear or see.

Then came Q3, the pinnacle. George, ever the perfectionist, pushed the Mercedes to its absolute limit. The car danced on the edge, a symphony of power and control.

You held your breath as his final lap flashed across the screen – green, green, green. The garage erupted. Cheers, fist bumps, a collective exhale of relief and triumph.

George Russell, P1. Pole position at his home race. You clapped, a genuine, joyful smile on your face, your brother’s success a shared victory.

As the dust settled and the final grid order solidified, you scanned the results board. George, P1. And there it was: Alex, P7. A fantastic result for Williams, a testament to his talent and the team's hard work.

You felt a quiet thrill for him, a thrill that was entirely separate from the Mercedes celebration around you. You knew what that meant for his race, for his morale. And for your evening.

Later, as George was being swarmed by media, still buzzing with the adrenaline of pole, you made your excuses, citing the need to check on some of the junior drivers after their strenuous sessions.

He waved a hand dismissively, caught up in the high of the moment. “Yeah, yeah, go on. Catch you later, Y/N. Long night of celebrations ahead!”

You offered a supportive smile, but your mind was already elsewhere. Slipping away, you found a quiet corner near the hospitality unit bathrooms to reapply your makeup.

You tucked your hair behind your ears, applying a touch of lip gloss.

Your phone buzzed. It was Alex.

Meet you by the parking lot in 15? My car’s outside the back gate.

Your heart gave a little flutter. On my way. you replied, a smile playing on your lips.

The walk was quick, your steps light with anticipation. You saw his car, a discreet black SUV, waiting patiently. He was already inside, a cap pulled low, his phone in his hand.

As you approached, he looked up, and the smile that spread across his face was genuine, warm, and entirely for you.

“Hey,” he said, leaning over to unlock the passenger door. “Perfect timing.”

You slid into the comfortable leather seat, the interior a quiet sanctuary from the noise of the track. “Hey yourself. Congrats on P7, Alex. Seriously impressive out there.”

He chuckled, pulling away smoothly. “Thanks. P1 for George, though, eh? He’s flying. Must be the home crowd energy.”

“Or maybe,” you teased, leaning your head back, “he just listens to his sister's professional medical advice.”

He laughed, a genuine, easy sound that filled the car. “Ah, yes, the legendary advice. Will it help me tomorrow?”

“Only if you consume the right amount of performance-enhancing nutrients,” you replied playfully.

The conversation flowed effortlessly as he navigated the winding country roads away from Silverstone. You talked about the nuances of the track, the struggles of the Williams car, the sheer intensity of qualifying.

But then, almost imperceptibly, the conversation shifted. You found yourselves discussing life outside F1. His love for his animals, your passion for indie films, the ridiculousness of social media trends, the quiet satisfaction of a perfectly cooked meal.

He’d chosen a small, charming gastropub nestled in a tiny village about twenty minutes from the track. It was exactly as he’d described: quiet, intimate, a world away from the bright lights and roaring engines.

The lighting was soft, the clinking of cutlery and murmured conversations providing a gentle backdrop.

You sat opposite him, bathed in the warm glow of a nearby lamp, and for the first time all weekend, you felt truly relaxed.

“So,” Alex said, swirling the wine in his glass, his eyes twinkling. “This ‘medical consultation’ is going rather well, wouldn’t you say? I feel my chronic Mario Kart addiction symptoms… lessening.”

You laughed, a genuine, full sound that surprised even yourself. “Excellent. The treatment protocol seems to be effective. Though, I might need to prescribe a follow-up session.”

“I’d be happy to comply,” he said, his gaze lingering on yours, a warmth in his eyes that sent a shiver down your spine.

As the evening progressed, the food was delicious, but it was secondary to the company. You learned about his childhood in Thailand, his early racing dreams, the struggles and triumphs that had led him to Formula 1.

He listened intently as you spoke about your life as a doctor, the challenges and rewards of your profession, the occasional craziness of being George’s twin.

He asked thoughtful questions, genuinely interested, not just politely waiting for his turn to speak.

You found yourself captivated by him. His self-deprecating humour, his quiet intensity, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he truly smiled.

He wasn’t loud or flashy, but there was an undeniable magnetism about him, a genuine kindness that shone through.

You noticed the small things: the way he offered you the last bite of bread, the respectful way he spoke about his competitors, the subtle shift in his posture when he was truly engaged in a topic.

At one point, as you were discussing a particularly dramatic hospital case, you gestured animatedly, and your hand brushed against his on the table.

It was a fleeting, accidental touch, but a jolt went through you. His fingers subtly shifted, just enough to graze yours for a fraction longer, a silent acknowledgment that sent a blush creeping up your neck.

You quickly pulled your hand back, trying to appear nonchalant, but your heart was doing a frantic little dance.

The easy conversation continued, punctuated by comfortable silences, shared glances, and genuine smiles. You found yourself leaning in a little, drawn to his easy charm, his thoughtful responses.

The fact that he was a Formula 1 driver, a colleague of your brother, faded into the background. Here, he was just Alex, and you were just you, two people discovering an unexpected, delightful connection.

As the evening wound down, and he drove you to your apartment, the air in the car felt different, charged with unspoken feelings. The comfortable ease of the drive earlier had deepened into something more profound.

“Thank you for tonight, Alex,” you said, turning to him as he parked. “It was… perfect. Exactly what I needed.”

He turned off the engine, plunging the car into a soft, quiet darkness, save for the distant glow of the paddock lights. “I’m glad,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

He reached out, his hand gently touching your arm, his thumb stroking softly. “I really enjoyed it, Y/N. More than I thought I would.”

Your breath hitched slightly. The touch was light, yet sent shivers down your arm. You looked into his eyes, and saw a depth there that confirmed everything you had been feeling.

It wasn’t just a pleasant evening. It was a connection, undeniable and strong.

“Me too,” you whispered, the words barely audible.

He leaned in, just slightly, and for a heart-stopping moment, you thought he might kiss you. Your eyes fluttered closed, anticipation coiling in your stomach.

But then he pulled back, just enough to hold your gaze, a small, knowing smile on his lips.

“I should let you get some rest. Big day tomorrow, for both of us.” His voice was laced with an undeniable regret, but also respect.

You nodded, a little breathless, your heart still hammering. “Right. Big day.” You opened the door, stepping out into the cool night air. “Good luck tomorrow, Alex.”

“You too, Y/N. And tell George I said good luck as well.”

You closed the door softly, watching as his car slowly pulled away. As the tail lights disappeared into the darkness, you let out a long, shaky breath.

Climbing into your bed, the scent of the evening still lingering on your clothes, you replayed every moment of the date. His laugh, the way he looked at you, the warmth of his hand on your arm.

George’s rules. Your career. The complexities of the F1 world. All of it was there, a looming shadow. But tonight, none of it mattered.

Tonight, there was only one undeniable truth: you liked Alex Albon.

More than you dared to admit, even to yourself. You liked him a lot.

And the thought of Sunday, of seeing him again, of the quiet, hopeful promise of what might be, filled you with a thrill that dwarfed even the drama of the race ahead. The real race, you knew, had only just begun. . . .

Sunday

The distant rumble of engines was your morning alarm on Sunday. You woke with a nervous flutter in your stomach, a mix of race day jitters for George and a quiet hum of anticipation for seeing Alex again.

The air in the Silverstone paddock, even at this early hour, crackled with an electric energy.

You chose a sleek, navy blue dress that morning, a colour that subtly nodded to your brother’s team while still feeling distinctly you. It was practical yet elegant, fitting the dual role you played – supportive sister and discreet specialist, always ready for the unexpected.

Your parents, older sister, and younger brother were already gathered in the Mercedes hospitality suite, the usual pre-race buzz filling the air.

There were shared anecdotes from Saturday’s pole position, good-natured teasing of George, and predictions for the race. You offered a quiet smile, participating in the family banter, but your gaze kept drifting towards the Williams garage.

A few minutes before the drivers’ parade, you saw him, walking with his engineer, a casual intensity in his posture. Your eyes met across the bustling paddock for a fleeting moment.

He offered a small, almost imperceptible nod, a private acknowledgment that sent a warmth through you. You returned it, a secret smile playing on your lips, before George clapped you heartily on the back, pulling you into a conversation about tire strategy that instantly grounded you back into the reality of the day.

The grid was a kaleidoscope of colour and noise. You stood with your family in the garage, the tension palpable. The roar of the engines as they completed the formation lap vibrated through your chest.

George, alone at the front. Alex, a respectable P7 – a fantastic starting position for him. You clutched your hands, a prayer on your lips for both of them.

And then, the lights went out.

The world erupted into a frenzy of motion. The cars bolted away, a blur of speed and precision. George's MP4-36 shot off the line, its engine screaming in protest as he coaxed every ounce of power from it.

You watched, heart in your throat, as he held off Max Verstappen's charging Red Bull into the first corner.

The crowd around you roared as the two titans of the track battled for supremacy. You felt the heat from their cars, the thunder of their engines resonating in your very soul.

For the first few laps, it was a dance of steel and rubber. Max, relentless, tried every trick in the book to unsettle George. But George was on fire, holding his line with a confidence that was awe-inspiring.

You could feel the energy of the team behind you, the collective will to win pulsing through the garage. The adrenaline was intoxicating, a symphony of passion and power.

Alex, meanwhile, was a force in the midfield. Every time his car flashed across the screen, you felt a burst of pride.

He was fighting, clawing his way through the pack with a tenacity that defied his youth. Each pass met with a cheer from you and the others in the Mercedes suite.

As the race unfolded, George's dominance grew. The gap between him and Max widened, and the tension in the garage began to ease.

You allowed yourself to breathe again, the smile on your face growing genuine. The sun glinted off the sweat on your skin as you leaned against the wall, the coolness of the concrete a stark contrast to the heat of the moment.

The sweet scent of burning rubber and hot asphalt filled the air, a heady cocktail that heightened every sensation.

In the midst of the chaos, you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder. You turned to find your mother, her eyes shimmering with excitement.

"This is his day," she shouted over the cacophony, and you nodded, the words resonating deep within you. The bond between you and George was unspoken but palpable, a silent pact of support and understanding.

Then, the collective gasp.

It happened in a fraction of a second, a sickening crunch of carbon fibre and a plume of dust. Into Maggotts and Becketts, Max had gone for an audacious move, clipping George’s rear tyre.

George’s car, the pristine Mercedes W14, was sent spinning, airborne, flipping twice before slamming into the barrier with a devastating impact.

“Russell! Can you move? George! Are you okay?” Marcus, George’s race engineer, practically screamed into the radio, his voice cracking with desperation.

Silence. Only the faint crackle of static.

Your mother’s hand found your shoulder, squeezing so hard it almost bruised. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with terror. Your father stood rigid, his jaw clenched.

Your siblings were frozen, their faces reflecting the same horror you felt.

You saw the marshals reach the car, the cameras zoomed in just enough to show George’s helmeted head lolling against the headrest, his body almost limp as they tried to extract him.

The professional detachment you usually maintained as a doctor, even when watching racing incidents, shattered into a million pieces. This wasn’t just a driver. This was George. Your twin.

But you knew you had to keep it together. You couldn’t sprint out there, not without compromising his care. Instead, you bolted for the med center, already calling ahead to prep for his arrival.

Your legs felt like jelly, your heart racing faster than the cars on the track. The pitlane was a blur as you sprinted, the cacophony of the race a distant echo.

By the time the medical car screeched to a halt outside the medical center, you were already there, scrubbed up and ready.

The doors flew open, and George was lifted out on a stretcher, his eyes glassy with pain. You stepped forward, voice firm. “I’ve got this.”

The paramedics looked surprised but nodded, recognizing the authority in your tone. You were a doctor first and foremost, and even in the high-pressure world of Formula One, your expertise was unquestionable.

They swiftly transferred him to the exam table, and you began to assess his injuries. His right arm was bent at an unnatural angle, and you could see the swelling around his knee.

But it was his head that concerned you most, the slight tilt telling a story of potential trauma beneath the confines of the helmet.

You worked methodically, each touch of your hands on his body sending a tremor of concern through you. The scent of burnt rubber clung to his overalls, mixing with the coppery tang of blood and the faint smell of fear.

His breaths were shallow and rapid, but his pulse was strong beneath your fingertips. You ordered a series of tests and scans, ensuring that no stone was left unturned.

The medical staff moved with silent efficiency, reading the urgency in your eyes, the unspoken promise that you would do everything in your power to ensure George's well-being.

Even as the adrenaline coursed through your veins, you knew that the race was still on. The screens around the med center flashed with the chaos unfolding on the track, the commentators' voices a distant murmur in the background.

But here, in this sterile bubble, the only race that mattered was the one for George's recovery. The cacophony of the circuit faded away as you focused on the soft whirr of the MRI machine, the beep of the monitors, and the steady rhythm of George's pulse.

You were so thankful they had made you in charge of this operation. The trust the team had placed in you was a balm to your frayed nerves. You knew George better than anyone – his pain thresholds, his medical history, his quirks and tendencies.

This knowledge made you an invaluable asset, and you were determined not to let anyone down, especially not your brother. You had seen his eyes as they wheeled him in, the silent plea for you to fix him, to make him whole again.

As you worked, you could feel the weight of the team's collective gaze on you. The air in the med center was thick with their unspoken prayers.

You had to be the rock, the one who could navigate this medical storm with precision and calm. Every tap of the keyboard, every beep of the machines, was a symphony conducted by your steady hand. The adrenaline was a drug, pushing you to be sharper, to move faster.

The scans revealed what you had feared most - a fractured collarbone and a severe concussion. You took a deep breath, the taste of antiseptic lingering on your tongue.

he surgery to fix the collarbone would be straightforward enough, but the brain was a delicate dance. You conferred with the neurosurgeon, a man you had worked alongside countless times, but today his usual confidence was tinged with a hint of doubt.

You knew George's career was in your hands, and you had to be the one to make the call.

The anesthesia was administered, and George's eyes fluttered shut, his breathing slowing to a gentle rhythm.

You took a moment, just one, to lay your hand on his forehead, whispering a silent promise that you'd do everything to get him back on the track.

Then, you donned your scrubs and stepped into the operating theater. The coolness of the room washed over you, a stark contrast to the heat of the race outside.

The smell of alcohol and antiseptic washed away the last traces of the paddock, leaving only the sanctity of your work.

The surgery to repair George's collarbone was a symphony of scalpels and sutures, your hands moving with the grace of a pianist playing a favorite sonnet. The bone was set, the incision closed with meticulous care.

Each stitch was a note in a melody that would soon have him back behind the wheel. The surgery was successful, but it was the concussion that lingered like an unwelcome guest.

You ordered an overnight stay for observation, knowing that George would be fighting you every step of the way.

When the race ended, the air was filled with the sweet victory of another driver, but for you, the most critical race was still ongoing.

You stepped out of the theater into the waiting area, the stark lights jolting you out of the tension-filled bubble of the operating room. Marcus, Toto, and Lewis were there, their expressions a tumult of relief and anxiety.

They had come to check on George, their own race now a distant memory as the fate of their friend and rival weighed heavily on their minds.

Marcus looked up as you emerged, his eyes searching yours for any sign of news.

"How is he?" Marcus asked, his voice taut with concern.

You took a moment to compose yourself, the gravity of the situation still pressing down on you like a leaden cloak. "He's stable. The surgery went well, but he's got a concussion. We're keeping him overnight for observation."

Toto nodded solemnly, his usual jovial demeanor replaced by a steely resolve. "We're here for whatever he needs."

Lewis' gaze was distant, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his features. He was the calm in the storm, his presence a reassuring constant in a world of chaos and speed.

"We've got to keep him safe," he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.

Lewis stepped closer, his eyes searching your face. "How bad is the concussion?" His voice was low, his British accent thick with concern.

You took a deep breath, the cool air of the hospital a stark contrast to the sterile air of the operating room. "It's serious, but he's strong. He'll pull through," you assured them, trying to infuse your voice with a confidence you didn't quite feel.

Toto's eyes searched yours, his jaw tight. You knew he was holding back a flood of questions, a torrent of worry for his driver.

"I'm glad you did the operation," Lewis said, his voice a low rumble. His words hung in the air, a quiet affirmation of your skills. The way George talked about you had clearly painted a picture of a doctor who could handle the most daunting of challenges with a steady hand and a cool head.

The weight of their trust settled over you, a warm blanket of reassurance that you'd do everything to ensure George's recovery.

Marcus and Toto nodded in agreement, their expressions a mirror of the relief that had washed over you when George's pulse remained strong despite the chaos.

"He's lucky to have you, Dr. Russell," Toto said, his German accent clipped with stress. "Your work today was nothing short of remarkable."

Lewis, however, remained silent, his eyes never leaving George's still form. "He talked about you a lot," he murmured, his eyes finally meeting yours. "He said you had the touch of an angel. That you could fix anything."

You felt a blush creep up your neck, heat rising in your cheeks. The compliment, especially coming from Lewis, was unexpected.

You had heard the rumors, the whispers of the deep bond between George and Lewis, and the idea that George had spoken of you so highly to his closest rival was both flattering and unsettling. "I just did what was necessary," you replied, trying to downplay your role.

"Nonsense," Toto interjected, his voice gruff with emotion. "You did what none of us could. You kept him safe." His words were a balm to your soul, the validation you needed in that moment.

You had always been in the shadow of George's racing career, the quiet sibling who supported from the sidelines. But today, you had taken center stage, your medical prowess shining through the gloom of his accident.

"Thank you, George is still unconscious but you can come tomorrow to check on him," you said to the trio, your voice steady despite the tumult of emotions raging within. They nodded, their expressions a blend of relief and determination.

The three men looked at you with a newfound respect, their eyes speaking volumes of their gratitude. Marcus nodded solemnly, his hand squeezing yours for a brief second.

"Thank you, Dr. Russell. We'll leave you to it, but we'll be here tomorrow, bright and early."

As the door to the hospital room clicked shut, you allowed yourself to lean against the wall, feeling the tremor of exhaustion run through your body.

The room was a cocoon of soft beeps and hums, the monitors keeping vigil over George's slumbering form. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, the hiss of the oxygen mask a stark reminder of the battle he had faced.

Max, his rival, had sent a bouquet of flowers and a heartfelt note, filled with genuine apologies for the accident. You felt a pang of something - pity, perhaps - for the young man.

The weight of guilt had to be heavy, especially for someone like Max, whose career was built on a foundation of aggressive driving. The camaraderie between drivers was a complex tapestry of respect, rivalry, and mutual understanding of the risks they took.

Lando had visited earlier, his eyes red-rimmed and his usually cheery disposition subdued. He had whispered his regret, his voice thick with unshed tears. You had patted his hand, offering gentle words of comfort.

"It's not your fault, Lando," you assured him. "These things happen in racing. George knows that better than anyone."

Lando's eyes searched yours, desperate for absolution. "But I saw his car… I knew it was bad." His voice cracked, the reality of the situation sinking in.

"Lando, focus," you said firmly, squeezing his hand. "We need to be strong for him."

He nodded, wiping at his eyes. "I'll do my best."

As the door closed behind Lando, you were left with your thoughts, the silence of the hospital room a stark contrast to the chaos of the track. You took a moment to let the gravity of the situation settle in, the weight of George's condition a heavy burden on your shoulders.

What if he didn't wake up? What if the surgery hadn't gone well? What if you had missed something? The what-ifs danced like shadows in your mind, taunting you with the possibility of failure.

You had seen the accident unfold in slow motion, the crunch of carbon fiber on metal, the sickening flip of the car, the way it had come to rest against the barriers.

Your stomach lurched at the memory, the smell of burnt rubber and the metallic tang of fear still lingering in your nose.

You felt your heart race, the thud of it echoing in your ears as you approached George's bedside. The guilt was a living creature inside you, clawing at your insides, whispering that maybe, just maybe, you had made a mistake.

But no, you had done everything by the book, you had been thorough, you had been careful. You had to trust in your abilities.

But then, you heard it. The softest of knocks, almost imperceptible in the cocoon of the hospital room.

You turned, expecting a nurse or perhaps another concerned team member. But there, in the doorway, stood Alex. His eyes searched the room, taking in the scene before settling on you, a silent question in his gaze.

You could see the exhaustion etched into his features, the remnants of the race still clinging to his skin, the scent of adrenaline and fear.

Your heart skipped a beat. He had come, even after the race.

Alex pushed the door open gently, his eyes never leaving yours. He looked like a man who had just survived a war, his race suit still bearing the scars of the day's battle.

The sight of him filled you with an inexplicable warmth, a feeling that was both comforting and unsettling. You had always kept your distance from the drivers, maintaining a professional detachment that was crucial in your line of work.

But there was something about Alex that made you want to throw caution to the wind.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice a caress that sent shivers down your spine. The tension between you was palpable, a silent question hanging in the air.

You nodded, unable to find the words to articulate the turmoil of emotions that churned within you. The race had ended, but the adrenaline still hummed in his veins, a potent cocktail that seemed to amplify his presence.

"Are you okay?" he asked again, the concern in his eyes genuine.

You nodded, the words sticking in your throat like a dry mouthful of sand. "Yeah, George is stable. The surgery went well, but he's got a concussion. We're keeping him overnight for observation," you repeated, the words becoming a comforting mantra in the face of the uncertainty.

Alex took a tentative step forward, the weight of his concern etched into the lines of his face. His eyes searched yours, looking for the truth beyond the medical jargon.

"Y/n?" he asked, the question hanging in the air.

You nodded, the gesture feeling more like a reflex than a deliberate response.

Your eyes remained locked on George, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that was the only sound in the otherwise silent room. You were acutely aware of Alex's presence, his proximity sending a rush of warmth through your body.

"Are you okay?" Alex repeated, placing the bouquet of flowers on the small table beside George's bed. His gaze was gentle as it met yours, the question in his eyes more than just a formality.

He walked slowly towards you, his movements deliberate and cautious, as if you were a wild creature that might bolt at any sudden noise.

You looked down at your hands, clutched together so tightly that the knuckles had gone white. "I'm fine," you lied, your voice a thin thread of sound that barely made it past your trembling lips.

You hadn't thought about yourself, not once since the accident. Your entire being was consumed with George's condition, the fear of what might happen, the dread of what could have been.

Alex took another step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "You don't look fine," he said softly, the concern in his voice cutting through the fog of your own terror. "You look like you're about to break."

The words hit you like a sledgehammer, and suddenly, you realized that he was right.

You weren't okay. You were terrified. The tremor in your hands spread to your entire body, and you felt the first hot tears spill over your lashes, tracing a path down your cheeks.

You hadn't allowed yourself to feel, not since the moment you had seen George's car spin out of control. You had been a doctor, a sister, a rock for everyone else to lean on.

But now, in the quiet of this hospital room, with the man who had shared your most intimate secrets, you felt the dam of your emotions threaten to crumble.

Alex gently pulled your arm into a hug, his touch a warm embrace that seemed to envelop you in a cocoon of safety.

His arms were strong, his grip firm yet tender, as if he knew that you were teetering on the edge of a precipice and he alone could hold you back from the abyss.

The scent of him – a mix of sweat, engine oil, and a faint hint of the cologne he favored – was a grounding force, bringing you back to the present.

You were shaking, uncontrollably, your body releasing the pent-up tension in a series of tremors. Your heart felt like it was racing to escape the confines of your chest, and your breath came in shallow gasps that seemed to echo the erratic rhythm of George's monitors.

The tears fell in silent rivers, staining the collar of your surgical gown, the fabric sticking to your skin as you leaned into Alex's embrace.

His arms tightened around you, his heartbeat steady and reassuring against your cheek. It was a stark contrast to the chaos that had been the last few hours, a beacon of calm in the storm.

You felt his warm breath against your ear as he whispered words of comfort, his voice a soothing balm to the rawness of your nerves.

"He'll be okay," Alex said, his voice filled with a certainty that you desperately needed. "You're the best, Y/N. You're going to get him through this."

You nodded, the words a prayer that you hoped would come true. You knew that George's recovery was uncertain, the concussion a shadowy specter that could claim his career, his very essence.

The thought was unbearable, a weight that threatened to crush you.

But as Alex held you, something inside you began to unravel. The tightly wound ball of fear and anxiety that had been coiled in your stomach since the accident started to loosen, the threads unspooling as he whispered sweet nothings that didn't mean anything and everything all at once.

You felt the tension in your muscles begin to ease, the trembling subsiding as his warmth seeped into your bones.

His hand found the nape of your neck, his touch sending a shiver down your spine, a reminder of the electric connection that had always been between you.

The air was thick with it, a silent current that seemed to hum in the quiet hospital room.

"You shouldn't touch me," you murmured into his arms. "I'm sweaty and you probably came from a shower."

Alex chuckled, the vibration of his chest rumbling through your cheek. "You think I can't handle a little sweat?" His voice was a warm caress that seemed to melt the tension in the air around you.

His thumb brushed against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the air conditioning.

You pulled back slightly, wiping the tears from your cheeks with the back of your hand. The look in his eyes was a mix of concern and something else, something that made your heart race in a way that had nothing to do with the fear of George's condition.

You felt a blush creep up your neck, despite the coolness of the hospital room. “It’s… it’s been a long day,” you mumbled, pulling your arm free from his gentle grasp, a sudden wave of self-consciousness washing over you.

You were a mess, truly. Your scrub top was damp with tears and sweat, your hair was probably plastered to your forehead, and your face felt blotchy and swollen.

This wasn’t how you wanted him to see you, not when you constantly strove to project an image of unwavering professionalism.

Alex watched you, his gaze unwavering. There was no judgment in his eyes, only a profound, almost aching tenderness. He didn’t push, didn’t try to embrace you again.

Instead, he simply reached out, his calloused thumb brushing against the tear track on your cheek, a ghost of a touch that sent shivers further down your spine.

“I know,” he said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “It’s been a long day for all of us. But especially for you. You were the first one there.”

“I just… I just hope I did everything right,” you whispered, the fear tightening its grip around your throat again. “Every step, every decision… what if I missed something, Alex? What if there was a better way, a faster way, a way to prevent… this?” You gestured vaguely towards George, lying pale and still in the bed.

Alex stepped closer again, his proximity a tangible warmth in the cool room. “You’re the best, Y/N,” he reiterated, his voice firm, leaving no room for doubt. “Everyone in the paddock knows that. If anyone could have done it, it was you. You saved his life, didn’t you?”

You swallowed hard, the compliment a small balm to your frayed nerves. “I did my job,” you corrected, the familiar mantra of professionalism.

“More than your job,” he countered, his eyes holding yours. “You’re more than a doctor, Y/N. You’re… family. To George, to Lando, to me.”

The word hung between you, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken bond that had grown stronger with each shared secret, each shared victory, each shared heartbreak.

The paddock was a family in its own right, a dysfunctional one, perhaps, but a family nonetheless. You had watched George and Alex rise through the ranks together, their friendship a testament to the resilience of those who dared to dream.

Now, in the sterile quiet of George’s hospital room, the rules seemed to dissipate like mist. The raw fear of the accident had stripped away the polite veneers, leaving only the truth of your emotions.

Alex reached out again, this time taking your hands. His fingers were long and strong, lightly calloused from gripping a steering wheel for hours on end, yet his touch was incredibly gentle.

He turned your hands over, tracing the lines on your palm with his thumb. “You’re allowed to break, Y/N,” he murmured, his gaze still fixed on your hands. “You’re allowed to feel this. We all are.”

You pulled your hand from his, the warmth of his skin lingering even as the chill of the hospital air seeped through your thin scrubs. “We’re different, Alex… I’ll be outside.”

Your voice was a strained whisper, barely audible above the quiet hum of the life support machines and the frantic beat of your own heart.

You didn’t wait for a response, didn’t dare to look back, just turned on your heel and practically bolted from George’s room.

The antiseptic scent of the corridor seemed to choke you, a stark contrast to the familiar smell of burnt rubber and high-octane fuel that usually defined your world.

You walked quickly, blindly, until you found yourself in the small, sterile waiting area.

Collapsing onto a hard plastic chair, you buried your face in your hands, the tremor in your fingers betraying the composure you prided yourself on maintaining.

No dating drivers. The rule. George’s rule. Not just for him, but for you. It wasn't an official team policy, no HR memo, but it was an unspoken boundary, a line drawn in the sand by the very people you called family.

You remembered the day George had first laid it out, half-joking, half-deadly serious, over lukewarm coffee in a sterile hospitality unit. You were then a fresh-faced junior doctor, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, utterly thrilled to be working with one of the most prestigious motorsport teams.

George, a rising star, had already established himself as the witty, charming, fiercely loyal pillar of your small group of friends.

“Look, Y/N,” he’d said, stirring his sugar packet with meticulous precision, “this paddock… it’s a bubble. And we’re all stuck in it. We have each other, right? Lando, Alex, me. We’re family. And family doesn’t… complicate things.”

He’d winked at you, but his eyes were serious. “Especially not with one of us. It’s too messy. Too high stakes. We need you sharp, rational. No distractions.”

You’d laughed then, dismissing it as George being George, ever the big brother. But over the years, the wisdom in his words had seeped into your bones.

You’d seen the casual flings, the intense, short-lived romances that bloomed and died within a race weekend, leaving jagged edges and awkward paddock encounters in their wake. You’d seen the toll it took on performance, on mental health.

Your role was to keep your patients at peak condition, both physically and mentally. Emotions were a liability you couldn't afford. You’d seen it play out for other medical staff; a few had left the sport entirely after messy heartbreaks with personnel, or worse, drivers.

George’s rule was a shield, protecting not just your life dynamic, but you.

And yet, here you were. George, your friend, almost certainly still unconscious, hooked up to a life support system.

And Alex… Alex, who had looked at you with such raw, undisguised concern, who had held your hand and offered you permission to break.

The very man who, despite your best efforts to maintain professional distance, had somehow burrowed his way beneath your carefully constructed defenses.

You closed your eyes, picturing the way his strong fingers had traced the lines of your palm. The callouses, a testament to his life’s passion, yet the touch so feather-light, almost reverent.

It had sent a shudder through you, a warmth that had nothing to do with fever and everything to do with a burgeoning feeling you’d tried desperately to ignore.

In the sterile quiet of the hospital, the rules had dissipated. The raw fear of George’s accident had stripped away the polite veneers, leaving only the truth. And the truth was, you were terrifyingly, undeniably attached.

You spent the rest of the night alternating between George’s bedside, monitoring his vitals with a hawk-like intensity that bordered on obsessive, and the waiting area.

Alex was a constant, unsettling presence. He didn’t push, didn’t speak of what had happened between you just hours ago, but his eyes followed you, a silent question in their depths.

He brought you terrible hospital coffee, a stale sandwich, and for a fleeting moment, as he placed the cup in your hand, his fingers brushed yours. A spark, a jolt, that made you jerk back as if burned.

Two days later, and George woke up. The moment was a blur of beeping machines and the rustle of starched sheets. His eyes fluttered open, the green of his irises a stark contrast to the stark whiteness of the hospital room.

The first thing he saw was you, and his face broke into a lopsided smile, a flash of teeth and relief.

When George finally opened his eyes, a hoarse groan escaping his lips, you were the first face he saw.

A wave of relief, so profound it almost buckled your knees, washed over you. “Y/N,” he mumbled, his voice raspy. “What…?”

You patiently explained, your voice calm and steady, outlining the extent of his injuries – significant, but thankfully not life-threatening – and the long road to recovery ahead.

As you spoke, you were acutely aware of Alex, standing silently in the doorway, his own relief palpable.

He caught your eye, a small, weary smile playing on his lips. You gave him a curt nod, a professional acknowledgment, and turned back to George.

The days that followed were a blur of medical jargon, pain management, and physical therapy. Thankfully, it was summer break, and George had the luxury of time to heal.

The Mercedes team rallied around him, offering support and privacy, and you were granted a rare leave from your duties to oversee his recovery in Monaco.

The moment you wheeled George into his luxurious apartment, with its sweeping views of the Mediterranean and the twinkling lights of the Principality below, you felt the weight of his vulnerability.

The apartment was a stark contrast to the high-octane world of Formula One, a sanctuary of quiet opulence that was as much a part of George as the racetrack.

The air smelled faintly of leather and sandalwood, the scent of his favorite candles, a soothing balm to the sterility of the hospital.

You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself. "How do you feel?" you asked, your voice a gentle whisper in the quiet room.

George's eyes searched yours, the pain and confusion in them a stark reminder of the ordeal he had just been through. "Sore," he replied, his voice a gruff rasp. "But alive."

The smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth was a reflection of the relief that flooded through you. "That's what matters," you said, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

The warmth of his skin, the solidity of his grip, was reassurance that he was still here, still fighting.

As you settled into the rhythm of George's recovery, the days grew into a dance of pain and progress. Each day was a battle, a marathon of rehabilitation exercises and medical checks that left you both exhausted yet hopeful.

The first time he managed to sit up without wincing was a victory, a tiny step towards the podium of health. You watched him, the fierce determination etched into his face, and felt a swell of pride.

This was George – your brother, your patient, your hero.

Alex visited daily, bringing with him a tapestry of emotions that was both comforting and confusing. His eyes searched yours with a hunger that went beyond friendship, a question that made your heart race.

You tried to keep the boundaries firm, but the accident had shattered the illusion of control. You felt the electricity in the air when he was near, a charge that made your skin tingle, your pulse quicken.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over Monaco, George’s voice was stronger than it had been in days.

He sat propped up in bed, the soft light of the lamps playing on the planes of his face, highlighting the shadows of his beard. "What's going on with you and Alex?" he asked, his eyes searching your own.

You stilled, the question hitting you like a surprise pit stop. "What do you mean?" you asked, your voice too high, too bright, a poorly concealed shield.

George's gaze was knowing, a hint of amusement in his eyes despite his pain. "You know exactly what I mean, sis. The way you two look at each other when you think no one's watching. It's like watching a Formula One race where only you two know the real prize."

Heat flooded your cheeks, and you swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. "It's… complicated, George."

He leaned back into his pillows with a sigh, his eyes never leaving yours. "You know the rule, Y/N. No dating drivers."

You nodded, the words like a knife twisting in your gut. "I know. But it's not just about that."

The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken emotions. "It's about keeping my head in the game, making sure I'm always there for you."

George's smile was soft, understanding. "You don't have to explain it to me. I know you better than anyone. But maybe it's time to consider that sometimes, the rules are there to be broken."

Your heart stuttered at his words, hope and fear mingling in a dizzying cocktail. Could it be possible?

You'd spent so long pushing away the very idea of a relationship with Alex, convincing yourself it was for the greater good. But now, with the world outside the hospital walls feeling so distant, the lines blurred.

Alex's visits grew more frequent, and the tension between you grew more palpable with each passing day. The air in the apartment was charged with unspoken words, every glance a silent conversation.

You felt the weight of his gaze on you as you moved around the room, the brush of his hand against yours as you passed a water bottle or adjusted George's pillows.

One evening, after George had finally fallen into a deep, pain-free sleep, Alex found you on the balcony, staring out over the twinkling cityscape.

The night was warm and still, the scent of the sea mingling with the faint echo of distant laughter from the marina. He approached slowly, his footsteps silent on the cool stone.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice a soft rumble in the quiet.

You turned to face him, the breeze playing with the loose strands of your hair. "I'm just… processing," you replied, your eyes not quite meeting his.

The air between you was thick with unspoken feelings, a current that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

Alex stepped closer, the warmth of his body a stark contrast to the cool marble beneath your bare feet. "We all are," he said, his voice low and soothing. "But George is going to be fine. You know that."

You nodded, the tightness in your chest loosening just a fraction at his words. "I know." But it was more than George's recovery that had you on edge.

It was the undeniable pull between you and Alex, a force that had grown stronger with every shared look, every whispered conversation, every heart-wrenching moment of fear and hope.

Alex stepped closer, the scent of his cologne wrapping around you like a warm embrace. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, a comforting presence in the still night.

He reached out, brushing a stray hair from your face. His touch sent a shiver down your spine, a jolt of sensation that made you acutely aware of every inch of space between you.

Your breath hitched, caught in your throat. You wanted to lean into his touch, to surrender to the comfort he offered, but years of disciplined self-control fought against the impulse.

Your role, your duty, your brother – they were the anchors that had always kept you grounded, kept your focus laser-sharp on the track, on George, on the meticulous dance of performance and recovery.

Now, those anchors felt like chains, holding you back from something you instinctively craved.

“Y/N,” Alex’s voice was barely a whisper, a low vibration that seemed to resonate through your very bones.

His thumb gently stroked just below your temple, a feather-light touch that promised both solace and a simmering intensity. “You don’t have to carry all of this on your own.”

Your eyes finally met his, and in their depths, you saw a reflection of your own vulnerability, a depth of understanding that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

There was no judgment, only a raw, open concern that pulled at something deep inside you. The cool night air seemed to thicken, charged with an electricity that hummed between you.

“I… I’m supposed to,” you confessed, the words barely audible. “It’s my job. To be strong. For him. For everyone.”

You gestured vaguely towards the apartment, towards the sleeping figure of your brother, the silent testament to the life-altering event that had brought you to this precipice.

Alex’s hand moved from your face to cup your cheek, his touch firm but tender. “And who is strong for you, Y/N?” he asked, his gaze unwavering. “Who looks after the person who looks after everyone else?”

Tears pricked at your eyes, unwanted and unexpected. The sheer exhaustion of the past weeks, the constant vigilance, the fear, the relentless push of rehabilitation – it all threatened to spill over.

For so long, you had been the rock, the unshakeable force. To have someone see past that facade, to see you, felt like a dam cracking under immense pressure.

“I… I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice trembling. The admission was a profound relief, a burden lifted that you hadn’t realized you were carrying.

Alex’s gaze softened further, a warmth spreading through you from where his hand rested on your skin. “Let me,” he simply said. It wasn’t a question, but a quiet offering, a promise. “Let me be that person.”

The air crackled, the unspoken heavy between you. You could feel your heart hammering against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the stillness of the night.

Every fiber of your being screamed at you to pull away, to maintain the professional distance, the carefully constructed walls that had protected you.

But another part, a deeper, more primal part, yearned to collapse into him, to finally release the tension that had been building for what felt like an eternity.

You thought of George’s words: “Maybe it’s time to consider that sometimes, the rules are there to be broken.”

The irony wasn’t lost on you.

Your brother, the very reason for the rule, was now giving you permission to consider breaking it. And in this moment, looking into Alex’s eyes, the rules seemed impossibly distant, irrelevant.

“Alex…” You started, your voice barely a whisper, unsure what you were going to say.

To confess the truth of your feelings, the way your stomach did flip-flops whenever he entered the room, the way your thoughts drifted to him even in the most intense moments of George’s therapy, felt like stepping off a cliff.

He didn't wait for you to finish. As if reading the tumultuous storm within you, he leaned in, his eyes dropping to your lips. "I can't pretend anymore, Y/N," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "Being here, seeing you every day, seeing what you do for George… it's just amplified everything. I've tried to deny it, to push it down, but I can't. I'm completely, hopelessly in love with you."

The words hung in the air, potent and raw. In love. The sheer audacity of it, the overwhelming truth of it, stunned you into silence.

Your breath hitched, your vision blurring slightly as your own emotions, long suppressed, surged to the surface.

It wasn't just physical attraction, not just a fleeting spark. It was something deep, something that had been quietly growing beneath the surface of your professional interactions, nourished by shared anxieties and unspoken understanding.

"Alex," you breathed, the name a shaky confession on your lips. Your hand instinctively reached up, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the slight stubble beneath your touch. The vulnerability in his eyes mirrored your own.

"I know the rules," he continued, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "I know your dedication to George, to your career. But what if… what if it doesn't have to be a choice? What if we could have both?"

Your heart pounded a frantic rhythm against your ribs, echoing the urgency in his voice. The rational part of your brain screamed warnings, reminding you of the complexities, the potential pitfalls, the wrath of the team principal and the media.

But the other part, the one that had been starved of personal connection for so long, yearned for the solace Alex offered. It yearned for him.

"I…" You trailed off, unable to form a coherent sentence. His words had unravelled the tight knot of your self-control.

The truth, long buried beneath layers of professionalism and familial duty, demanded to be acknowledged. "I think… I think I'm in love with you too, Alex." The admission was a floodgate, releasing a torrent of emotion.

A soft gasp escaped his lips, a look of profound relief washing over his face. The tension that had held him taut for weeks seemed to melt away.

His eyes, dark and intense, searched yours for confirmation, for any sign of hesitation. When he found none, a slow, tender smile spread across his face, eclipsing the worry that had resided there for so long.

"Y/N," he whispered, your name a prayer. And then, slowly, deliberately, he lowered his head.

You met him halfway, your eyes fluttering closed as his lips finally, blessedly, met yours. It was a kiss born of shared fear and newfound hope, of unspoken longing and raw tenderness.

It wasn't fiery or passionate at first, but soft, hesitant, like two weary souls finding an unexpected haven. His lips were warm and gentle against yours, a soft exploration that spoke volumes of respect and reverence.

As the kiss deepened, a wave of profound relief washed over you, a feeling akin to finally breathing after being underwater for too long. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies.

Your hands found their way to his hair, clutching at the soft strands at the nape of his neck as the kiss grew more urgent, more consuming.

The scent of his cologne, the taste of his lips, the warmth of his body pressed against yours – it was overwhelming, all-encompassing.

For a moment, the world outside the balcony, the sleeping city, the still-recovering George, even the very rules that had governed your life, faded into the background. There was only Alex, and you, and the intoxicating reality of this moment.

When he finally pulled back, breathless, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes still closed. You could feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat against your chest, mirroring your own.

You opened your eyes slowly, blinking in the soft glow of the city lights. His eyes, when they opened, were dark and full of wonder, a raw emotion that stole your breath.

"Wow," he breathed, the single word a profound understatement. A small, shaky laugh escaped you. You felt lighter, yet intensely grounded, as if a missing piece of your soul had finally clicked into place.

"Yeah," you whispered back, your voice still thick with emotion. You reached up, tracing the line of his jaw, still disbelieving that this was real, that you had finally allowed yourself to step into this terrifying, beautiful unknown.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. "So… what now, Y/N?" he asked, his voice laced with a playful apprehension. "Rules broken and all."

You couldn't help but smile back, a genuine, unburdened smile that felt foreign yet exhilarating. "Now," you said, glancing back towards the quiet apartment, towards George. "Now we navigate life one at a time."

The phrase, so familiar from your world, took on a new, deeply personal meaning. You had both just taken an unimaginable risk, a dive into the unknown.

The road ahead was undoubtedly fraught with challenges, with the complexities of your shared professional lives and the inevitable scrutiny that would come.

But as you looked at Alex, at the hope and tenderness in his eyes, you felt a surge of courage. For the first time in a long time, the prospect of the future, with all its unpredictability, didn't feel daunting. It felt like an adventure, and you were ready to face it, hand in hand.

The days that followed the quiet, stolen kiss on the balcony were a delicate dance of newfound intimacy and the continuing, demanding rhythm of George’s recovery.

George, ever the astute observer, seemed to notice a subtle shift in the atmosphere. He caught you and Alex exchanging knowing glances, lingering touches that lasted a fraction of a second too long, and conversations that hummed with an unspoken energy.

He would simply smile, a knowing twinkle in his eyes, and occasionally offer a cryptic, “Looks like you’re finally considering that rule-breaking, sis.”

You and Alex became experts at discretion. Your stolen moments were brief: a shared glance across George’s bed, a hand brushing yours as you passed in the kitchen, a quick, hushed conversation in the hallway while George was napping.

The balcony, once a place of confession, became your sanctuary for whispered words and fleeting kisses under the vast Monaco sky.

Each touch, each glance, was charged with the thrill of a secret, strengthening the bond that had so suddenly, so dramatically, blossomed between you.

George’s progress was steady, a testament to his formidable will and your unwavering dedication. The frustration of his limited mobility slowly gave way to the satisfaction of incremental gains.

The first time he managed a short walk around the apartment with only minimal assistance, you and Alex exchanged a look of profound relief and shared pride.

Later that evening, after George had fallen into an exhausted sleep, Alex found you weeping silently in the kitchen, not from sadness, but from the sheer, overwhelming relief and joy of seeing your brother reclaim his body, step by arduous step.

He simply held you, letting you cry into his shoulder, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm of your emotions.

“You did good, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice soft against your hair. “You always do.”

His unwavering support, the quiet strength he offered, solidified your feelings for him. It wasn’t just the thrill of a forbidden romance; it was the deep, resonant connection with someone who understood the pressures of your world, the sacrifices, and the unique challenges you faced.

Alex, himself a racer, knew the relentless pursuit of perfection, the gnawing anxiety, and the profound love for the sport that defined your lives.

He saw you, not just as George’s sister or his physiotherapist, but as a woman with her own desires, fears, and strengths.

As summer waned and the distant hum of the F1 season slowly began to pick up again, George’s recovery reached a critical point. He was cleared for light training, his strength returning with impressive speed.

The initial shock of the accident had given way to a quiet determination. One afternoon, as you were helping him with a new set of exercises, he paused, looking at you with a serious expression.

“You and Alex,” he began, his voice firm but gentle. “I’ve seen it. Don’t think I haven’t.”

Your heart hammered, and you braced yourself. “George…”

He held up a hand. “No, let me finish. I meant what I said on the balcony. I know my rule, and it’s there for a reason. But I also know you, Y/N. And I know Alex. He’s a good man. And you deserve to be happy.”

He looked from you to the doorway, where Alex was just entering with a fresh batch of protein shakes. Their eyes met, a brief, silent exchange passing between the two drivers.

Alex stepped forward, placing the shakes on the table. “We know it’s complicated, George,” he said quietly, his gaze resting on you for a moment. “We’re being careful.”

George scoffed playfully, a ghost of his usual cheeky grin returning. “Careful, huh? You two look like you’re starring in a rom-com, all stolen glances and secret smiles.”

He sighed, a more serious look returning. “Look, I love you both. More than anything. But this life, it’s… intense. If you’re going to do this, you have to be ready for what it means. For us.” His gaze swept between you, a silent plea for understanding.

You walked over to George, taking his hand. “We know, Geo. We’re not stupid. And nothing, nothing, will ever come before your well-being or my commitment to you. That’s a promise.”

Alex nodded, stepping closer to stand beside you. “She’s right. This isn’t about being reckless. It’s about… finding something real, something worth fighting for, even within the craziness of our world.” He squeezed your shoulder, a reassuring gesture that spoke volumes.

George looked at the two of you, a long, searching gaze that seemed to weigh the sincerity of your words. Finally, a small smile touched his lips.

“Good,” he said, a hint of his old authority returning. “Because if I see either of you jeopardizing my racing career with some sort of dramatic relationship meltdown, I’ll personally make sure Toto puts you both on simulator duty for the rest of your lives.”

You laughed, a genuine, joyful sound. “Duly noted, boss.”

As George slowly but surely transitioned from the apartment to the gym, and then to the hallowed grounds of the F1 team’s factory, your world began to shift.

The intense, insular bubble of Monaco began to expand. You resumed some of your other duties, albeit with a new perspective, a lightness in your step.

Alex’s visits to the apartment became less frequent, replaced by rendezvous at private cafes or quiet corners of the team’s hospitality suites at pre-season testing.

The ‘rules’ were still there, unspoken but hanging in the air. Yet, after the terror of the accident and the raw honesty that followed, they seemed less like rigid constraints and more like guidelines to navigate.

You and Alex were treading carefully, respecting the boundaries necessary for your professional lives, but also nurturing the burgeoning love that had blossomed in the most unexpected of circumstances.

One crisp autumn evening, with George back in top form and focused on the upcoming season, you found yourself on the balcony of George's apartment once more, the city lights twinkling below like scattered diamonds.

Alex joined you, wrapping an arm around your waist. The air was cooler now, a promise of winter, but the warmth between you was undeniable.

“Remember that night?” Alex murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

You leaned into his embrace, a contented sigh escaping your lips. “Every detail.”

“We broke all the rules that night, didn’t we?” he chuckled softly.

You turned in his arms, looking up at him, your hands resting on his chest. “Maybe,” you admitted, a smile playing on your lips. “Or maybe, we just redefined them.”

He smiled back, a deep, knowing look in his eyes. “To us, then. To new rules.”

He leaned down, and under the vast, star-dusted sky of Monaco, he kissed you again. It was a kiss of quiet promise, of shared courage, and of a love that, against all odds, had found its starting line.

The journey ahead was long, but for the first time, you felt ready to face the race, knowing you weren't running it alone. . . .

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