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raevpng · 24 hours ago

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only you (pt.1)

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

masterlist

summary: everyone tunes in when they share a court — paige bueckers and azzi fudd, former team mates, once golden duo, turned wnba rivals. they were the perfect match on court, and no one could deny it. but no one knows what goes on under the surface of competition and rivalry, not even them.

a/n: holy shit. i’m really stepping out my usual zone here, i hope people still enjoy this 😭 please flood my inbox w your thoughts i will acc combust 😓

lights, camera, action.

“and now, number five from minnesota: paige bueckers!”

she walks out the tunnel like she owns it.

and in a way, she does.

star player, once in a generation talent, a prodigy.

gelled blonde hair gleaming under the lights, pulled slick into a bun, not a single hair astray. her jersey clings to her frame in all the right places — crisp, powerful, unforgiving. her steps are long, her posture regal, eyes laser-sharp and dead ahead. not a flicker of hesitation.

she doesn’t wave. she doesn’t look around. she doesn’t need to. every movement is purposeful, every step is a message: she’s not here to impress. she’s here to dominate.

because paige bueckers was every inch the prodigy the world made her out to be.

there was something about her, something about the way she moved, something about the way she just is.

not arrogance. not some bravado.

it’s fire. the kind you’re either born with or broken by.

the stadium erupts, shaking with the sound with only one name cutting through the noise. number five jerseys can be seen scattered in the stands, phones flashing, people on their feet.

but she doesn’t flinch. doesn’t flash a smile, doesn’t cast a wave.

she gets to work.

–

“and now, number thirty-five from washington: azzi fudd!”

the energy doesn’t die — it shifts.

softer. steadier. like an exhale after a held breath.

azzi walks out like a sigh of wind after a storm. calm, composed, unbothered. her shoulders are relaxed, her posture open. a soft smile curves on her lips, eyes crinkling at the corners as she offers a brief wave to the crowd. no theatrics, no nothing for show.

just azzi. composed. radiant. untouchable in her own way.

she moves like she’s done this millions of times.

like she was born for this.

she doesn’t strut. doesn’t burn. she doesn’t smirk.

she floats.

every step is fluid, unhurried. there’s grace in her movement, a rhythm that feels almost surreal. like she’s not walking toward battle. she walks like she’s already won.

azzi moves like water, unshaken, gentle, graceful yet undeniably strong in her movements. she moves like she’s a dream, textbook perfection. her hair is braided back with precision, cascading in sleek, thick ropes down her shoulders. her jersey is neat, fitted – not a wrinkle in sight. she doesn’t need flash or flair. never has.

yet her essence, captivating as ever, held everyone’s attention effortlessly.

and that was just who azzi fudd was.

she commands attention without a word spoken, she doesn’t force her presence – she lets it simmer and burn.

the crowd roars, not all-consuming, not rabid — but reverent. like they’re watching greatness in motion and they know it.

azzi’s never been the loudest in the room.she never needed to be.

that’s danger. that’s her poison. because people mistake quiet for softness.

she moves in an eerie calmness, a stillness that makes people underestimate. she moves like she has nothing to prove. her game speaks. her presence follows. she smiles when they cheer, and when she steps onto the court, there’s a certain calm that settles over everything.

but not today.

no, never with her.

–

it was only for a second – easy to miss and easy to forget.

brown eyes lock on blue, and the shift in the air was instant. azzi’s shoulders go stiff. the light in her eyes dulls. the smile falters.

and yeah, she may be chronically offline, but she’s seen what they say. she’s seen enough social media posts, podcasts, and even competitors analyze them and their game.

once-in-a-generation rivalry. all that respectful-competition bullshit. best of the best. prodigy vs perfection.

the crowd eats it up, her teammates, the commentators, her coach even, to laugh it off as some recipe for crowd engagement.

she lets them – like the tension doesn’t linger. like it doesn’t follow them across cities, into games, under lights.

azzi was the first to break eye contact, turning away to join her team. the huddle is familiar, robotic. another pep talk she barely hears. another game plan she doesn’t need.

“run the play. get it to fudd. let her shoot.”

don’t fuck up.

the horn sounds and they break, lights brightening as they take their place on the court.

azzi feels the burn of paige’s stare immediately.

she feels it like a flame to skin, feels it like a needle breaking the surface. it burns. it follows. it waits.

and underneath it all, buried deep beneath the applause and camera flashes and crafted quotes lies something heavier. a charge, hatred that runs underneath the surface.

something unspoken and undeniable.

–

the mystics win the tip off, just barely.

and before the ball even gets anywhere near her hands, paige is on her. glued to her side, falling like a shadow that just won’t fucking quit. she’s everywhere all at once, no adjustment or grace period offered. it’s immediate, it’s aggressive.

frankly, it’s fucking annoying.

“of course,” azzi mutters under her breath, catching the ball at the wing, paige already crouched low in front of her. she watches the furrow on the blonde’s brow, the stoic and determined look on her features.

they don’t speak, not even a nod of acknowledgement.

paige dares her to drive. wide stance. locked gaze.

but azzi doesn’t fall for it. she’s seen that bait before. she sees the slight lean, the twitch of her left wrist, the small glace that paige throws at her side.

she stays planted. she doesn’t move.

she holds the ball at her hip, calm, heartbeat steady, watching paige watch her. waiting. azzi entertains it, expects it even, and waits for a second to pull her move: a quick jab, a flawless crossover, step back, pullup.

and fuck her honestly, cause paige reads it perfectly.

she’s there at the release, hand up, elbow contesting. like she knew the moment azzi even thought of taking the shot.

the ball grazes the rim.

rebound. minnesota.

and now, it was paige’s turn – inbounds, a quick cut. she takes the ball in stride and charges down court, calling for a clearout.

azzi slides into her path before anyone could switch.

there were people everywhere, fans screaming so loud it could genuinely rattle a building. so realistically, this feeling should be impossible. yet, in the court, under fluorescent lights and squeaking on floor, they were alone, the space feeling too big and too small all at once.

paige starts her rhythm – bounce, crossover, the same step she’s broken ankles with since high school. and it works, it always does.

not with azzi.

because she’s been guarding that move since she was seventeen.

“try again,” her eyes say, calm, unbothered, almost tauntingly.

“fine.” paige thought.

let's play.

she pivots, muscles tense, tries a spin off the back foot, pulling the ball behind her with elegance and bite. it was the move she used to demo in every skills camp. azzi barely reacts, feet planted, doesn’t even reach. she’s already there. their shoulders collide, clean, but solid. paige absorbs it, jaw clenched, and releases the ball out before the shot clock dies.

another miss.

the crowd roars, half in disappointment and the other in anticipation. they don’t hear the too loud breathing of their star players.

because nothing was landing, nothing was working.

it wasn’t luck, hell it wasn’t even skill.

it was memory.

possession flips, and azzi cuts baseline – sharp and flawless. she loses her defender, one paige’s teammates that towered over her frame.

but not paige. never paige.

she’s there before azzi even plants her feet. like she knew.

and of course, she did.

because paige taught her that footwork.

azzi learned it by watching paige move.

azzi calls for a screen. paige slips it. stays on her hip. breathes down her neck.

“this isn’t college anymore,” paige mutters, voice low.

and fuck, she feels herself almost give in, almost bite at the bait and lashes out in the way paige was clearly fishing for.

drive. shoulder drop. fake step-in.

paige doesn’t flinch.

because she taught her that fake.

azzi spins, tries to shake her off, gets to the elbow, and shoots.

paige’s hand is already up.

swish.

they jog back on defense side by side, shoulders brushing once, just once.

and it burns.

like fire and ice meeting at the edges.

like too much history with no closure.

“and the lynx call for their first time out.”

–

coach’s voice blares somewhere in the background, barking out instructions, arms slicing throughout the air with urgency. he rambles on about defence, warns about thirty-five and her game. but paige doesn’t hear any of it.

she plops down the bench, chest heaving as she struggles to catch her breath. her eyes remained locked across the room. on azzi.

she watched as she walks calmly to her bench, a soft smile on her face as she turned to the crowd and waves.

paige almost lets out a laugh.

what bullshit.

but before she turns away, azzi looks back.

it’s not a glace, not a stare, not even a glare.

it’s a collision.

something sharp, wordless, cold. not hate. not exactly. more like recognition.

“paige.” a sharp elbow to her side kicks her out of her trance, glancing swiftly at kayla who stared at her quizzically. silent questions swimming in her eyes that paige was not willing to at all indulge in.

“you good?” kayla asks, eyeing her warily as she drags a towel across her face. “you look like you saw a ghost.”

accurate.

“just tired,” paige mutters, rubbing a hand over her face, like that’ll erase whatever the hell just passed between her and azzi.

“nah,” kayla says, still watching her. “it’s her.”

paige raised a brow, scoffing like it was an insult.

“azzi,” kayla says, tossing her water bottle from one hand to the other. “she’s calm against everybody. chill. never plays with heat, even cracks a smile. but when it’s you?”

she hesitates, pausing like she knew she needed to watch where she stepped.

“it’s like she turns into someone else.”

paige scoffs, chugging her bottle of water before shrugging.

“guess we bring out the best in each other,” she says, dry. textbook. like she’s said it to reporters a thousand times.

kayla only stares before slowly nodding.

paige stands up.

–

azzi physically hears her heartbeat pounding in her ears. her chest was taut as she breathed in and out slowly, embracing the tightness in her lungs that only came through intense games. she was mid-gulp when aaliyah sat beside her.

“bro.” she says through a laugh, “you and paige, i swear yall are different, that was art!”

azzi doesn’t respond. just sips. just catches her breath.

“seriously.” aaliyah presses, “fucking unreal. your moves don’t work and hers doesn’t either. it’s like you're destined to be perfectly matched or something.”

azzi’s jaw tightens. she stretches her legs out, not looking up.

“maybe it’s ‘cause y’all used to be besties, huh?” aaliyah jokes, nudging her with an elbow.

yeah, that one landed.

azzi sets her bottle down with a practiced calmness, standing up before looking back at her friend.

“i’m beating her tonight.”

aaliyah blinks, clearly caught off guard. “woah. okay. i mean-”

azzi is already on her feet, bouncing on her toes, like the bench is suffocating and the court is the only place she can breathe.

–

the score is tied.

the court is a beautiful blur of motion – sneakers on floor, the ball passed and swished through the net, half-formed plays and forced decisions. adrenaline pulses through every player, every coach yelling from the sidelines, every fan rising to their feet with phones pointed and mouths open.

the clock ticks down, and it feels like the oxygen was very quickly getting sucked out of the room.

6… 5…

paige’s eyes find her across the paint, just outside the arc. azzi’s calm, terrifyingly so. the ball already in her hands, chest rising in steady rhythm.

4…

paige surges forward. she knows azzi’s game like her own. she knows that flick of her wrist, the way her weight shifts ever so slightly before a drive. she taught her that footwork. she built her counters.

but azzi?

she knows paige too.

knows exactly what version paige stopped knowing.

she fakes right. paige bites.

3…

azzi pivots left, quick. too quick. her elbow brushes paige’s ribs on the spin.

2…

the separation is just enough. she pulls up. soft, clean release. picture perfect form.

the buzzer sounds.

the net ripples.

swish.

game over.

–

azzi doesn’t celebrate. doesn’t scream, doesn’t even cheer.

she exhales, deep and slow, like a pressure on her chest was suddenly lifted. like it’s been there, sitting in her lungs since the jump ball.

her teammates erupt behind her. the bench floods the court. someone jumps on her back and nearly knocks her off her feet, but azzi doesn’t break stride as she walks away from the three-point line.

her eyes? already on paige.

–

paige turns away.

because fuck, she refuses to do it.

she refuses to let her see.

let her see what this meant to her.

hands on hips. mouth parted. heart pounding so loud she swears it drowns out the crowd. azzi’s shot replays on the jumbotron above her in slow motion. her own silhouette a step too late, hand raised but not high enough. it burns. worse than any loss she’s had this season. and she hates that she knows why. she knows what bothers her, what annoys the hell out of her.

it wasn’t stats, it wasn’t about the numbers, hell it wasn’t even about the fans.

it’s who made it and how damn calm she looked doing it.

azzi’s expression hasn’t changed. not even as she walks by her, just close enough that their shoulders brush.

they don’t speak.

don’t nod. don’t smile.

and it sears through paige’s chest.

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #paige x azzi #pazzi fic #pazzi fics #i like it but i don’t but i do but i don’t I DONT KNOW #i love u guys thank u for still wanting this <3

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neoheros · 7 hours ago

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to this day, there are only three things in this world that kuroo tetsuro is deathly afraid of: big spiders, losing the winning point in a finals match, and worse of all, his mean and evil older sister (as he likes to call her).

now, normally, his sister doesn’t scare him at all.

normally, she’d just annoy him so much that he’d just rather pretend she doesn’t exist, and normally, seeing her at the family dinner tonight wouldn’t be so nerve wracking and horrific.

but normally, you wouldn’t have your arm in a bright pink cast, your left hand all the way up to your forearm covered in a hardened plaster.

and kuroo just knows — he knows so well — that it’ll take his sister one look at your injured hand and then he’d be a total goner.

talk about a dead man walking.

there’s a sound of a “clink” made as a plate is set in front of you.

your morning laziness as you lay contently on the couch interrupted as kuroo stands in front of the TV, arms at his hip and a wide, proud smile, donned on his face.

you blink, looking up at him and then down at the dish he set on the table.

you look warily at the plate of seemingly black and gray pancakes (?) in front of you. a small stack of the most ominous looking breakfast you’ve ever seen.

you glance up at kuroo again, still smiling proudly in front of you as he gestures to the dish.

“oh… uhm…” you feel the sweat forming on your temples, “thank you?”

were you supposed to eat this?

kuroo gives you a wider smile at your response, and he pushes the plate closer to you, prompting you to take a bite.

you can’t help the way he looks at you, all proud and happy at his accomplishment of making something that mildly resembles food, and you almost feel bad for feeling anything else but gratitude that he took the time to make you breakfast.

still though … are pancakes supposed to be gray? plus, you don’t really remember seeing any flour or baking powder in the kitchen the last time you checked… and would it really be a good idea to risk eating the world’s scariest pastry right now before the family dinner tonight?

… you pick up the fork slowly with your good hand, cursing under your breath as you recall the series of events that got you in this situation in the first place.

see, two days ago, you got into an unfortunate car accident with kuroo — something about a late night drive for ice cream and an unsuspecting duck who wasn’t taught to look both ways crossing the road.

lucky for all of you though, everyone made it out of the accident just fine — duck included — and the only real injuries sustained were a couple bruises and scratches here and there, save for the minor hairline fracture on your left arm, but it still isn’t anything too serious to fret about.

truthfully, it was the best outcome in a horrible situation, and if the worse thing you can get from an accident is a bright pink cast on for three weeks, then you’ll happily take it.

… but kuroo’s cooking?

“ehem.” he coughs, bringing you back to the predicament you find yourself in.

he’s still staring at you with that expectant smile of his, waiting for you to take a bite of his hard work.

hesitantly, you touch the fork to the pancake and you shudder as it bubbles slightly, a wheezing sound coming from it as you let the fork sink in.

no freaking way. you already almost broke your arm for pete’s sake, you’re not getting food poisoning too!

“it looks really good…” you look at him with a forced smile, “but you know the doctor said i can’t have any of … whatever this is…”

you try your best to sound as miserable as you intend to.

kuroo’s hand falls from his hip, “are you serious?”

your smile is more apologetic now, “such a shame…”

“i made this!” he exclaims, scoffing as he points to his mysterious plate of mystery, “with ingredients and shit! … for you!”

you shake your head at him wantonly, like it can’t be helped, and you thank the stars in the sky when he sighs and pushes the plate of doom away from you.

kuroo gives you a pouty look now, shoulders falling dramatically as he crashes on the empty spot on the couch, and with the TV still going on in the background, you happily welcome him in to your lazy posture, making space as he cozies up next to you.

once he settles, he turns to you, a lot less pouty now that you’re so close to him, and he says, “how’s the arm?”

“itchy.” you shrug, “but it doesn’t hurt anymore, so it’s okay.”

for a moment, there’s a flicker in the way kuroo looks that almost bothers you. eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed into a thin line, eyes sunken and worried.

its the exact same look you’ve woken up to in the past two days in the middle of the night. just suddenly jolting awake and seeing kuroo stare at you so intently. you ask him what he’s doing up and he says something about a nightmare and you kiss him goodnight and the two of you fall back asleep together with his hold on you just a little bit tighter than before.

you bump your shoulder with his, nudging him as you shake your head, “don’t look like that, i can’t have you crying on me again.”

and he scoffs, turning away, “i have never cried. i don’t cry at all. i deny all such accusations.”

(you know though that that’s a lie.

kuroo’s probably cried more in the past two days than he has all his life.

he was a teary mess as he rode with you on the ambulance to the hospital, a teary mess when the doctor said you had a fracture in your arm, and a teary mess this morning when he woke up to you in your cast).

to be honest, these past two days are probably the worst in his life. in such a short amount of time, he’s experienced such pits in his stomach that he didn’t know was possible to feel.

he still feels it sometimes when he closes his eyes, the fear and worry setting in his body as he waited in the hospital waiting room.

kuroo looks at you much softer now, gentler, and he puts his hand on your thigh, squeezing it lightly. “you sure you don’t need me to go with you today?”

“i’ll be fine on my own, i just need to grab a couple of things from campus,” you shake your head as you answer him, and you move in deeper to his side to bring you closer.

even the way he touches you now is lighter — like he’s deathly afraid to hurt you even more.

you turn to look at him, “but it might make me late to the dinner with your family later, maybe twenty or thirty minutes?”

“that’s okay,” he nods at you, and then he sighs again, as if suddenly remembering something important.

“well,” and there’s a helpless smile on his face, “it’ll give me more time to work on my “why you’re in a cast” story to my family.”

you grin, “yeah? what have you got so far?”

and he tells you, with a hint of a clipped laugh in his voice, “really big bees.”

…. “oh.”

“yeah.” kuroo grumbles, and he sinks deeper into the couch, “they’re gonna kill me.”

he turns slightly to face you, and he points, quite dramatically, “you’re gonna be a widow.”

you push him off, shaking your head in amusement as you watch his dramatization play out, “you’re such a drama queen.”

kuroo shakes his head incessantly, and he clutches his chest with both his hands, “oh, trust me, the first words my sister is gonna say to me when she sees you later in that cast is “how could you let this happen?!” followed by “waiter, may i please have a bigger knife – this one doesn’t seem to pierce my brother all the way.” and then i die.”

you look at him, incredulous, and you shove him away as you get off the couch to stride away from him.

you scoff, loudly, “has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?”

and kuroo nods his head, following you as he stands up too, “you did — in our vows.”

you laugh, and you push him away again when he tries to get closer to you, “so i got it right then.”

he’s less tense now, less pouty, and seemingly out of things to complain about, and in the morning silence, he pulls you in, the two of you standing in the middle of the living room floor.

kuroo touches your injured arm slightly. the tv forgotten behind him.

all his life, he’s only ever been afraid of three things: big spiders, losing the winning point in a finals match, and his evil, mean older sister yelling at him for allowing you to get hurt after she made him promise that he’d never let anything bad happen to you.

he knows now though that beyond those three, there’s something deeper in his bones that terrifies him deeply. something that scares him so much it wakes him up in the middle of the night in cold sweat. something that ruins his day and something that makes him call you out of nowhere when you’re away from him.

his biggest fear, bigger than spiders or losing matches or his mean sister, is … you.

he’s looking at you that same way again; eyes worried, lips pursed, eyebrows knit together, and you don’t miss the way his mouth trembles slightly as he stares.

“it isn’t your fault, and i dont blame you at all.” you say, and even now as he holds you, you still feel how scared he is to hurt you.

you squeeze his hand. “accidents happen.”

and you can say this all you want, but in his head, at the end of the day, he was still the one driving the car.

but he knows you, and he knows you won’t allow him to think that way, so instead, he just nods, short and clipped and he pulls you in as gentle as he can, embracing you tightly.

kuroo mutters against your neck, “my sister is still gonna kill me.”

you laugh, patting his back with your good arm, “oh, well, some things can’t be helped.”

lord help him for what you’ve done to his poor heart, for you’ve made him deathly afraid of the one thing he can’t control.

something so out of his hands that it sets deep within his bones, ruins his day, and wakes him up in cold sweat in the middle of the night, leaving him desperate and exhausted staring at you helplessly.

his worst fear that terrifies him daily … waking up without you.

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sadgayeddie · 1 day ago

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Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wash your hands. We don't know where they've been.

#been meaning to gif this lil strut for days now lmao #pls bring back s1 post sex strut when he gets together with eddie pls and thank u #911edit #evan buckley #911 abc #911 #sofia.gif #mine #buck*

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cosmoszyn · 2 days ago

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WIEEEEE seven years, eighth year, and a decade mentioned!! thank u so much!! <333

Love and Deepspace Non-Mc Fic Recommendations

Sylus

☆ Angel of Her Own Making - by bwennie (link here)

☆ Mister Dragon, Let Me Love You - by clairewritesfanfics (link here)

☆ Heartbreak Anniversary with Sylus - by mephisto-reporting (link here)

☆ Sylus with non!mc reader - by yukithestar (one, two, three, four)

☆ enough - by captivating-flavors (link here)

☆ away (loosely part 2 of enough) - by captivating-flavors (link here)

☆ wilted promises - by shaiyasstuff (one, two, finale)

☆ delayed beginnings - by shaiyasstuff (one-shot, sequel, epilogue, bonus)

☆ The Great (Unnecessary) Divorce Incident - by mangooes (link here)

☆ The Winner Takes it All - by misshuntereevee (one, two)

☆ one in the head, two in the chest - by comatosebunny09 (link here)

☆ hurst so good - by comatosebunny09 (link here)

☆ The Sin & The Sinner - by saintobio (link here)

☆ Calm and Serenity - by blueivyy99 (masterlist)

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☆ A Blooming Predicament - by subliminalwish (link here)

☆ merry christmas, mr. sylus - by comatosebunny09 (link here)

☆ merry christmas, mr. sylus (aftermath) - by comatosebunny09 (link here)

☆ sylus x non mc reader - by comatosebunny09 (link here)

☆ Lonely Birthday - Sylus - by i-messed-up-big-time (link here)

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☆ OUT OF BOUNDS - by novthirty - (masterlist)

☆ unspoken - by vellihor (link here)

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Zayne

☆ Nocturne of Twilight - by chuluoyi (part one)

☆ Dawn's First Light - by chuluoyi (part two)

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☆ Heart of Glass - by szarina (masterlist)

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☆ Claiming Something That's Not Yours - by authorssmc (link here)

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☆ You Will Never Be Her - by mischivousvoid (link here)

☆ Imagine being Zayne's non-mc significant other - by dark-night-hero (link here, part two)

Caleb

☆ Rotten Apples - by rcvcgers (masterlist)

☆ mine - by captivating-flavors (link here)

☆ The Colonel's Keeper - by saintobio (link here)

☆ The Colonel's Saint - by saintobio (part two)

☆ The Terminator's Curse (spinoff of The Colonel Series) - by saintobio (link here)

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☆ Heartbreak Anniversary with Caleb - by mephisto-reporting (link here)

☆ Lonely Birthday - Caleb - by i-messed-up-big-time (link here)

☆ even when there was rain, sunshine came - by yuansie (masterlist)

☆ seven years - by cosmoszyn (link here)

☆ eighth year (part two of seven years) - by cosmoszyn (link here)

☆ a decade (part three of seven years) - by cosmoszyn (link here)

☆ LETTERS UNSENT - by orphicmeliora (link here)

☆ Backburner - by a-casxandra (link here, part two, part three)

☆ Imagine being Caleb's non-mc significant other - by dark-night-hero (link here, part two)

Xavier

☆ glass half full - by shaiyasstuff (drabble)

☆ 3:07 a.m. - by shaiyasstuff (one-shot, sequel)

☆ we can't be friends - by kitimeq (link here)

☆ Duty's Cruel Embrace - rcvcgers (masterlist)

☆ Lonely Birthday - Xavier - by i-messed-up-big-time (link here)

☆ Realizing Something You Shouldn't Have - by authorssmc (link here)

☆ Imagine being Xavier's non-mc significant other - by dark-night-hero (link here, part two)

Rafayel

☆ Heartbreak Anniversary with Rafayel - by mephisto-reporting (link here)

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☆ fate - by shaiyasstuff (one-shot, sequel)

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☆ Lonely Birthday - Rafayel - by i-messed-up-big-time (link here)

☆ You're losing Me - by a-casxandra (link here, part two, part three)

☆ Imagine being Rafayel's non-mc significant other - by dark-night-hero (link here, part two)

Multi

☆ to you - by calebsluvr (link here)

☆ Bitter - by whosashan (part one)

☆ Sour - by whosashan (part two)

◇ There's probably a lot of non-mc fics out there that i haven't seen BUT these are the ones that I'm currently reading/already read!

◇ To the authors mentioned THANK YOU FOR YOUR AMAZING WRITING/WORKS AND I LOVE YA'LL 🙈💗

◇ All links are up to date / will be updated!

◇ This list will be updated as well!

Last Edited June 12, 2025 07:06 pm

♥ dividers used is made by enchanthings ♥

#cosmoszyn yaps #thank u for the loveeee !!

4K notes · View notes

ryllen · 3 days ago

Note

I've been seeing your blog for a while, but I never dared to do this because of shyness and embarrassment… (and I don't know if it makes you angry when people draw your ocs without your consent…) but… hey! I made this drawing of my Kantokusei with your Kantokusei… I love its content so much, especially with Sebek:)🖤🖤🖤

#in what kind of universe would someone be angry if they get their OC drawn #she turned out really cute #her face is just lovely #thank you very much :>#the nose is cute too i have hard time drawing nose #and her eye lashes is just neat & perfect #i love how smol u drew her face #twisted wonderland #phantomvx drxnia #twst yuu #twst #twst mc #fanart #sorry it took me forever i had no idea how should i reply the interaction until today

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cheftsunoda · 2 days ago

Note

hi i really love all ur works, ur so talented🩷 i have a request for a driver that has like a secret family with a wife and kids and one day it leaks and the grid didnt know and reacts:) could be any driver you choose🩷

leaked — aa23

slight smau/blurbs

alex albon x !wife reader

alex and yn have been married for four years and have been together for over 10. they have managed to keep their relationship almost invisible from the public — the fact that they were married and had one kid and another on the way was known to no one. except close family. until one day, everyone suddenly knew.

fc : no official face claim — tumblr ladies and lily:)

(a/n) : love love love you 💕 thank you for all the kind words.

—

yn.private

liked by alexalbon, yourbff, yoursister & 25 others.

yn.private : i like this little life ☀️💐

—

view 10 other comments.

alexalbon : oh my beautiful beautiful wife— how I love you 🤍

liked by yn.private

↳ yn.private : my adorable loving husband. i love you moreeeee

liked by alexalbon

↳ alexalbon : on my way home with your favorite pastry’s!

liked by yn.private

↳ yn.private : get me pregnant again.

liked by alexalbon

↳ alexalbon : I can’t get you pregnant while you already are, my love.

↳ yn.private : I will have a whole army of albon babies if you continue to treat me this well

liked by alexalbon

yourbff : can’t wait for baby albon #2 !! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

liked by yn.private and alexalbon

↳ yn.private : ready to be an auntie from the beginning again??

↳ yourbff : fully prepared to take night shift when alex is away🫡

liked by yn.private and alexalbon

↳ yn.private : love youuuuuu! you da bestttt

yoursister : something about you this pregnancy…you are just so shiny and pretty. I never looked like that pregnant. I was swollen and ugly.

liked by yn.private and alexalbon

↳ yn.private : nooooo you looked gorg but thank u lovie

—

The house is quiet. Miraculously quiet.

Which, as any parent of a three-year-old knows, means one of two things—either a disaster is brewing… or the toddler is asleep. Thankfully, today it’s the latter. Our little hurricane wore herself out playing race cars with her dad in the living room and is now starfished across her bed, one hand still clinging to her favorite stuffed tiger. I sink back against the pillows, hand resting gently over my small bump, which isn’t huge but definitely feels like it should be—especially with how demanding this baby has been when it comes to cravings.

“Banoffee croissants,” I mutter to myself, the words like a whispered prayer to no one. “God, I’d sell my soul for one. Or three.”

I hadn’t mentioned it out loud to Alex. I didn’t need to. After nearly ten years together, he’s attuned to my moods and cravings like some kind of pastry-whisperer. That man could probably sense a food mood swing from a continent away. As if summoned, the bedroom door creaks open and Alex appears, balancing a bakery box in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. He’s barefoot, hair still damp from his shower, wearing a hoodie I’m ninety percent sure I stole from him at one point. His smile is the first thing I see.

“I knew it,” I grin, sitting up straighter. “You read my mind again, didn’t you?”

He crosses the room and leans down to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “I heard you muttering about croissants in your sleep this morning. Banoffee, specifically. You know I can’t ignore a prophetic food dream.”

“You’re a hero,” I tell him seriously.

“A hero who drove twenty minutes to that little bakery that you like,” he says, settling onto the bed beside me and opening the box with a flourish. “And begged the lady behind the counter for the last three.”

My eyes widen. “You got the last three?!”

“I showed her a picture of you and that precious bump,” he says proudly, nodding at my stomach. “Didn’t even charge me for the third one. Said you deserved it.”

“You do realize I love you more every day, right?”

He smirks. “Because of the croissants or in general?”

I lean over, resting my head against his chest as I reach into the box. “Both. But mostly the croissants.”

He wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close, pressing his lips to the top of my head while I take my first bite. It’s perfect. Warm, flaky, banana-y with just the right amount of toffee. A stupid little tear pricks at the corner of my eye because… hormones, probably. And love. Definitely love.

“This is nice,” I whisper after a few minutes of quiet chewing and cuddling.

“Mhm.”

“The baby’s happy.”

“I can tell,” he laughs softly. “Kicking already?”

“Not yet. Just… smug. Like, very pleased with our croissant situation.”

Alex turns slightly so he can rest his hand over my stomach. “Well, little one, just wait until I get my hands on those lemon raspberry tarts next week. You’ll think you were born into royalty.”

I sigh, the kind of full body, heavy limbed sigh that only comes when you’re well fed, loved, and cradled in your favorite person’s arms. The kind of moment you wish you could bottle up and keep forever.

Alex brushes a crumb off my chin and shifts so he can lie down beside me properly, still keeping one hand on my stomach like it grounds him. His thumb strokes back and forth absently, almost like he’s trying to communicate through touch.

“You’ve been so calm with this one,” he murmurs. “Last time you were googling every strange feeling and crying over that one Pampers ad with the twin babies in slow motion.”

I groan. “Don’t remind me. I still can’t hear that music without tearing up. But yeah… it’s different this time. I know what’s coming. The good, the hard, the sleep deprivation…”

He laughs under his breath. “The explosive diaper at 3 a.m.?”

“Exactly. And yet…” I look down at his hand, resting over where our baby is quietly growing. “I’m not scared this time. I just feel… lucky.”

He kisses the side of my head, lingering there. “We are lucky.”

“We’re also outnumbered now,” I tease. “Two kids to two of us. If we go for a third, we’ll officially be out of our depth.”

He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “You say that like I’m not already out of my depth. I still triple-check the car seat buckles and google toddler coughs at midnight.”

I snort. “And I love that about you.”

He grins, but then his face softens. There’s a flicker of something tender behind his eyes, the kind of emotion that doesn’t always need words, but he gives me some anyway.

“I keep thinking about when I met you,” he says quietly. “How I never imagined we’d have this. A house with tiny shoes by the front door. Crumbs in our bed. Little voice yelling at me when I walk through the door. And now… another one.”

There’s a lump in my throat now. Hormones again. Or maybe just Alex being his gentle, golden-hearted self.

“I still can’t believe we’ve kept it a secret,” I whisper. “Not even the grid knows.”

He chuckles. “That’s the real miracle. We told your mum and somehow it didn’t make it to Twitter.”

“Will we ever tell them?” I ask, smiling softly.

“We’ll tell them soon,” he says, leaning over to kiss my cheek. “But I like this. Just us. Our little secret.”

I nod and nestle closer, both of us wrapped in quiet joy. My fingers drift to the edge of his hoodie sleeve, tracing the seam absently.

“Have you thought of names yet?” I ask after a long pause.

He hums. “One or two.”

“Anything outrageous?”

“Nothing that would embarrass them on the first day of school, I promise.”

“You always say that, and then suggest things like ‘Sebastian’ because of Vettel.”

“Okay, Sebastian is a strong name.”

I roll my eyes affectionately, then close mine, resting fully against his chest.

“Let’s just keep this a little longer,” I whisper. “Before the world knows. Before the noise.”

He squeezes me just a little tighter.

“Always,” he says.

—

It starts with a text.

I’m stealing your child tomorrow. You two are going on a date. No excuses.

At first, I laugh. Out loud, full-bellied, startled laughter that makes Alex peek into the kitchen with a raised brow and a half-peeled orange in his hand.

“My sister,” I say, waving my phone in the air. “She’s planning a kidnapping.”

Alex grins and tosses a segment of orange into his mouth. “Tell her to wear black and bring snacks. Little one only accepts bribery in the form of animal crackers now.”

But then I read it again—You two are going on a date. No excuses.

And something quiet settles in me. Something that sounds like we could use this. Because it’s been a while.

Life with a toddler is love and chaos. It’s syrup-sticky fingers, and toy cars in the laundry, and late-night cuddles with a warm, sleepy body wedged between us. It’s beautiful, messy, loud. But it’s also… full. Full in a way that leaves very little room for us. So I text back—

Deal. But don’t let him convince you to stay up past bedtime again. You’re still recovering from the last sleepover.

I am a stronger woman now. He will not break me.

—

The next evening, after our daughter has been dramatically whisked away with promises of pancakes and cartoons, the house is still. The air feels different. Lighter. Quiet in the way we forgot we used to know.

I step out of the bedroom, smoothing my dress—a soft, silky navy one I haven’t worn in years, paired with a necklace Alex gave me on our first anniversary.

He’s in the living room waiting for me, buttoning the cuffs of his white shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to make my stomach flutter. He looks up—and then he stops.

“Wow,” he breathes. “You… wow.”

I laugh, but it’s a soft one. “I was going for ‘my husband falls hopelessly in love with me all over again.’”

He crosses the room in two strides and pulls me close, fingers grazing my jaw as he smiles that smile—the one that still makes my heart flip, ten years later.

“Mission accomplished,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against mine.

We don’t go anywhere fancy. Just a cozy little Italian restaurant we used to love before the world got busy. We sit in the corner, hands tangled across the table, laughing about things we forgot we missed. We order pasta we can’t pronounce and drink sparkling water because neither of us wants to drink wine if the other can’t.

At one point, someone passes with a baby in a carrier strapped to his chest, and I see Alex glance at it with a quiet little smile.

“You miss her already, don’t you?” I ask, grinning.

“I do,” he admits. “But I also really missed this.”

He reaches for my hand and rubs small circles into my palm.

“You and me. Talking without background noise. You looking like this,” he nods to my dress. “You glowing.”

“I think that’s the pregnancy hormones.”

“No,” he says softly. “It’s love. It’s us.”

—

The door closes behind us with a soft click, the echo of the outside world fading away as we step into the familiar stillness of our home. Alex doesn’t speak right away. He shrugs off his coat, eyes on me the whole time, like he’s not quite ready to let the night end. Neither am I.

“You want tea?” he asks quietly, his voice low and warm.

I shake my head, slipping my hand into his. “No. Just you.”

His smile is small but deep, the kind that crinkles at the corners and makes something inside me melt. We don’t even bother turning on the main lights—just the little lamp by the stairs, the one that glows golden and soft, like the house knows it’s supposed to feel sacred tonight.

We move together upstairs, slow and easy, like muscle memory. My heels are long abandoned, his hand steady on the small of my back as we climb. Our bedroom is just as we left it this morning: cozy, a little messy, with one of our daughter’s tiny stuffed bunnies curled into the corner of our bed, its ear half hanging off the side.

Alex picks it up and grins. “She really snuck this in here again.”

“She said BunBun gets lonely without us,” I murmur, pulling my dress over my head and swapping it for one of his worn t-shirts. “Apparently, he likes to sleep in our bed on Fridays.”

“She’s a menace,” he chuckles, tugging on his own t-shirt and sweatpants before joining me on the bed. “A tiny, brilliant menace.”

I crawl into bed beside him and immediately find my place—curled into his side, head on his chest, his arm draped around me. His hand slips under the hem of my shirt and rests gently on the slight swell of my belly. It’s not much yet, but enough that he always finds it. Like it’s a lighthouse.

“She’s going to be a good big sister,” he says softly, rubbing his thumb in slow circles. “I can already picture it.”

“She’s going to want to hold the baby every second of the day,” I murmur sleepily. “And throw a tea party five minutes after we get home from the hospital.”

“She’s going to try to feed the baby imaginary cake,” he says with a grin. “And name it after a Disney princess.”

“We could do worse than a Princess Albon.”

He snorts, kisses the top of my head, and whispers, “She’s going to love this baby so much.”

“So are we.”

There’s a long, quiet pause—his heart steady under my cheek, our breathing slow and synced. The kind of stillness that only comes after years of chaos and noise and unconditional love.

He presses a kiss into my hair. “I still fall in love with you every day.”

I lift my head just enough to look at him. “Even when I cry over pasta commercials and ask you to drive across the city for strawberry shortcake?”

“Especially then.”

—

It’s barely 8 a.m. when I hear the car pull into the driveway. A second later, the front door bangs open and a familiar voice shrieks with glee—

“Mummy! Daddy! I’m hoooome!”

Alex groans beside me, half-asleep, face mashed into the pillow. “Did she say that like she just returned from war?”

I’m already sitting up, heart full and wide awake. “Apparently the sleepover at my sister’s was a battlefield.”

We barely make it to the hallway before a blur of pink pajamas and tangled curls comes flying toward us. I squat down just in time to catch her as she hurls herself into my arms, her little hands clutching at my neck like she hadn’t seen me in months instead of just one night.

“I missed you soooooo much,” she breathes, dramatic as ever.

Alex crouches down beside us, gently brushing her curls back. “What about me? You didn’t miss Daddy?”

She turns to him with an incredulous expression. “Daddy. I cried for you when I brushed my teeth. Auntie said I was overreacting.”

Alex pretends to wipe a tear. “My brave little soldier.”

She shifts between us, arms flung around both our necks like she never wants to let go. “I brought you something,” she whispers suddenly, pulling away and digging into her backpack.

She proudly presents us with a slightly soggy drawing, made with markers and questionable glitter glue. “It’s you, and me, and the baby.”

She continues cheerfully, “I told BunBun about the baby but no one else, because you said it’s a secret secret.”

I feel my heart swell and laugh at the same time. “That’s right, baby. You’re a very good secret keeper.”

“But can I tell George? He’s so nice. He gave me a biscuit that one time.”

Alex lifts her into his arms with a grin. “Maybe not just yet. Not even for biscuits.”

We head into the kitchen—Alex with her balanced on one hip, me trailing behind as she chatters away about pancakes, her dream last night, and how she definitely wants the baby to be a girl “because I already have a brother and it’s BunBun.”

I’m pouring juice when she wraps her arms around my waist and nuzzles into my bump like she does when she’s feeling cuddly.

“Hi baby,” she whispers. “I’m back. Don’t grow up without me, okay?”

I glance over at Alex, who’s watching with a look on his face I’ll never get tired of—the kind of love that makes your knees go weak, even after ten years. He catches my eye and mouths, “We really made her.”

I mouth back, “We really did.”

And in that tiny kitchen, with glitter glue drying on the table and a bunny plush dropped by the fridge, our daughter launches into a song she’s half-making up about “mummy and the belly and pancakes for all,” and Alex starts flipping chocolate chip pancakes like it’s the most normal morning in the world. And honestly? It kind of is.

—

f1gossipgirls

5,007,231 likes.

f1gossipgirls : F1’S BEST-KEPT SECRET: ALEX ALBON IS MARRIED… WITH A CHILD AND ANOTHER ON THE WAY?! In a shocking twist no one saw coming, it looks like one of Formula 1’s most beloved drivers, Alex Albon, has been living a very private double life—and doing a stellar job keeping it hidden. Sources close to the paddock have confirmed that Albon has been secretly married for four years to longtime partner YN, and the couple share a three-year-old daughter. Oh—and she’s currently pregnant with their second child.

—

view 977,051 other comments.

username00 : WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT. MARRIED??? WITH A WHOLE TODDLER??? AND ANOTHER BABY ON THE WAY??? I NEED TO LAY DOWN.

username0 : someone said he had “girl dad energy” and I GUESS THEY WERE RIGHT ALL ALONG

username1 : so you’re telling me… the entire grid has been hanging out with alex like “haha you single bro?” while he’s got a toddler asking for fruit snacks at home???

username5 : I want the drive to survive footage of the moment lando finds out pls i am BEGGING

username7 : me rereading the article for the 6th time like it’ll suddenly make sense 😭

username10 : wait so you are telling me that GEORGE didn't even know????? wild.

username11 : im in tears. they are so cute. im so happy for him.

—

I find him in the kitchen. Not like making breakfast or getting coffee in the kitchen. I mean pacing. Wildly. Shirtless, in yesterday’s sweatpants, hair sticking up like he fought a wind tunnel, phone in hand, and muttering a very intense monologue that includes the words “breach of privacy,” “defamation,” and “I’ll sue them into the earth.”

I lean against the doorway, arms crossed over my bump, and raise an eyebrow.

“Good morning to you too.”

Alex whirls around like I’ve just caught him committing treason. “They know. YN—they know. Someone leaked it. Everything. The marriage. Our daughter. You being pregnant. It’s all online.”

“I saw,” I say casually, walking past him to the sink and pouring a glass of water.

He stares at me, dumbfounded. “You’re calm?”

I take a sip of water and nod. “Yeah.”

He looks like I just told him I joined a cult. “How are you calm? Our entire life just got blasted across the internet! People are reposting pictures of our daughter. Someone screenshotted her drawing of the baby, YN. They found my Spotify family plan name. They’re making fan edits of our wedding and we didn’t even post about our wedding!”

I walk over, place my hands on his chest, and push gently until he finally sits down at the kitchen table. “Breathe.”

He exhales shakily, bracing his elbows on his knees, running both hands through his hair like he’s trying to scrub the stress away.

“I wanted to protect you,” he says quietly. “You and her. Both of them. I liked that no one could touch this… this little world we built. I liked that it was just ours.”

I kneel beside his chair, resting my chin on his thigh, looking up at him. “You did protect us, Alex. For ten years, you kept all of this sacred. You gave us the kind of peace most people in your position would kill for.”

He looks down at me, eyes glassy now. “But it’s not sacred anymore.”

I reach up, placing his hand on my bump, right where the baby always kicks around this time of morning.

“Maybe not in the same way,” I say. “But it’s still ours. They might know about us now, but they’ll never have us. Not the way we do. Not the way she does.”

His hand spreads over my stomach, thumb moving absently. “She’s gonna see stuff. People are already making assumptions. About you. About us.”

“I know.” I nod. “And we’ll explain it to her when she’s older. We’ll remind her that love isn’t something you owe the public. That just because the world thinks it has a right to your life, doesn’t mean it gets to take it.”

Alex closes his eyes. “I should’ve done more. Locked it down tighter. I should’ve seen this coming.”

I stand slowly, cupping his face between my palms. “Alex, listen to me. You’ve done everything right. You’re the most devoted dad. The kindest husband. You’ve protected us so well, sometimes too well.”

He gives a weak laugh at that. “Guilty.”

I press my forehead to his. “You didn’t fail us. You love us. That’s never been a secret—not really. Anyone who’s ever seen you hold her hand or kiss my head when you think no one’s looking could’ve figured it out. We were just waiting for the world to catch up.”

There’s silence for a long moment. Then, a small voice echoes from the hallway.

“Daddy?” she calls sleepily. “Why are you yelling about the earth?”

Alex laughs then. Really laughs. Pulls me into his arms and hides his face in my shoulder, like I’m the only steady thing in the universe.

“I’m okay now,” he whispers. “You’re right. You always are.”

I smile and kiss his temple. “That’s on being married for four years.”

We walk down the hall together to scoop her up, her curls tangled and her stuffed bunny dragging behind her like a sleepy soldier. She’s still half-asleep when she cuddles into Alex’s chest, eyes blinking slowly.

“Did the internet find out about the baby?” she mumbles.

Alex and I look at each other over her head and burst into quiet, stunned laughter.

“Yes,” I say. “Yes, baby. They did.”

She sighs dramatically. “Ugh. I told BunBun to be discreet.”

And with that, our little family shuffles back into the kitchen. Chaos looming outside our doors, sure. But inside? Still sacred. Still ours.

—

The paddock is buzzing. Phones are out. Eyes are glued to screens and then not-so-subtly glued to us. Someone definitely elbowed their friend and mouthed “that’s her.” I think one engineer actually dropped a coffee.

Alex squeezes my hand, the only sign that he’s mildly freaking out. Otherwise, we’re strolling through the paddock like we didn’t just break the internet 36 hours ago. We are the eye of the storm. Or, at least we were—until George Russell appears out of nowhere like a man possessed.

“Are you—” he starts, gesturing wildly. “Did you—? That’s you?!”

Alex tries. He really tries. “Good morning, George.”

But George is on a different wavelength entirely. “Good morning?!” he hisses, grabbing Alex’s arm and yanking him and, by extension, me off to the side behind a hospitality truck. “You’ve had a wife for four years? A child? A whole damn family tree and didn’t tell us?!”

I blink. “Hi, George. Nice to see you too.”

He just looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “You were pregnant when we went karting two months ago?!”

I shrug. “Just a little.”

“You didn’t even flinch when I offered you a beer!”

“I lied and said I was detoxing from kombucha. You nodded like you understood.”

George looks like he might pass out.

“You were at my housewarming, Alex!” he says, jabbing a finger toward my husband like it’s a crime. “And you brought a bottle of wine and a plant and not once mentioned the whole toddler waiting at home situation?! You left early and said it was because you were ‘tired’!”

Alex winces. “Well. I was. She had croup that week. I hadn’t slept in four days.”

George throws his hands in the air. “Unbelievable. And the pregnancy?! Again?! You just—snuck in another child while the rest of us were arguing over dumb shit?!”

He turns to me. “And you! You're the internet’s favorite mystery woman now, you know that? I saw a TikTok this morning with compilation footage of you in the background of races like it was some kind of conspiracy theory."

I snort. “Honestly, that’s flattering.”

Alex leans against the wall, rubbing the back of his neck. “George. I didn’t mean to lie. We just… wanted something that was only ours for a while. And then it turned into years, and then we had her, and we just… never found the right time.”

George goes quiet. Finally, he says, “You didn’t even tell me. I’m your friend, Alex.”

I put a hand on George’s arm. “You are. And it was never about not trusting anyone. It was about keeping something sacred, just for us.”

His mouth twists. “So that’s why you disappeared after qualifying in Hungary last year.”

Alex nods. “Yeah. I was rushing to FaceTime her before bedtime.”

George’s expression softens like he didn’t want it to. “That’s… okay, that’s actually kind of cute.”

“It was her birthday,” Alex adds. “She turned three and made a crown out of toilet paper. Demanded I wear one too.”

“I’m gonna cry,” George mutters. “I’m so mad at you, but also that’s adorable.”

Then, with a deep breath, he throws his arms out. “Bring it in. Both of you. I need a hug from this secret little Hallmark movie marriage of yours.”

Alex and I laugh, stepping into the very dramatic, very George Russell group hug. It’s tight and awkward and somehow perfect.

“I’m still mad, by the way,” George says into Alex’s shoulder. “But also… I can’t wait to meet her.”

“You will,” I promise.

“And the baby?” he asks, eyes wide.

Alex sighs. “Eventually.”

George blinks. “Do I get to be an uncle?”

Alex smirks. “You just might.”

And for the first time all weekend, it feels okay. It feels like the beginning of something new—still ours, but shared now, with the people who matter. And as George walks away mumbling about “plot twists” and “how he’s never trusting anyone quiet ever again,” I thread my fingers through Alex’s and smile.

“Not bad for our first day as the grid’s new power couple.”

He groans. “Don’t say that.”

I just grin. “Too late. You married a woman of chaos.”

—

third person pov

“Okay,” Lando says, dropping into the seat next to Alex with the force of someone who’s about to cause problems on purpose. “You know what? No. No. What the actual—”

Alex sighs. “Hi, Lando.”

“Don’t ‘hi, Lando’ me like I didn’t just find out through a fan cam that you are MARRIED,” Lando exclaims, voice already way too loud for the small briefing room. “MARRIED, Alexander! To YN. A whole wife. For FOUR YEARS.”

Alex looks straight ahead like maybe if he ignores it, it’ll stop. It does not.

“And then,” Lando continues, now counting off on his fingers, “you’ve got a toddler? A human child? A three-year-old who, by the way, has your ears, I saw the picture, don’t deny it—AND! You’re about to have another?! YOU HAVE A WHOLE NEW BABY ON THE WAY?!”

George leans forward, clearly enjoying this too much. “You should’ve seen him when he found the Reddit thread. Looked like he got hit by a truck.”

“I thought we were friends!” Lando yells. “You’ve heard me cry over situationships and you were out here picking names for your second baby?!”

Alex finally turns to him. “It’s not like that—”

“Then what is it like, huh?” Lando cuts in, pointing a dramatic finger at him. “Because to me, it feels like betrayal."

George snorts into his water bottle.

Alex lets out a long sigh and rubs his temples. “We just… kept it private. It was never about lying. It was about having something just ours.”

Lando opens his mouth, probably to yell some more — but then stops. Tilts his head. And suddenly gets very quiet.

“I get it,” he says softly.

Alex blinks. “You do?”

Lando nods, voice less chaotic now. “Yeah. I mean, if I had what you two have? I wouldn’t want to share it either.”

There’s a long beat of silence.

“…Still mad though,” Lando adds, crossing his arms. “Because now I have so many questions and no one will tell me anything.”

Alex looks over warily. “Like what?”

Lando leans forward immediately, like a kid at story time. “What’s her name? What does she call you? How did you propose? Does she have your laugh? Do you do the voice when you read bedtime stories? Did you cry when she was born? What does YN crave when she’s pregnant? Do you own a minivan?!”

Alex just stares at him.

“Tell me,” Lando whispers urgently. “Tell me everything.”

And that’s how Alex ends up sitting in the corner of the briefing room, surrounded by the other drivers, answering rapid-fire questions while Lando wipes his eyes every ten minutes and mutters “I’m not crying, I’m just emotionally invested.”

Eventually, Lando stands, looks Alex dead in the eye, and says-

“If you don’t let me meet your daughter before the next race, I will stage a coup.”

—

Carlos corners Alex at the coffee machine like a man on a mission.

“Hermano,” he says, low and intense. “I need you to look me in the eye and tell me there is not a literal baby registry under your government name.”

Alex, holding his coffee cup like a shield, sighs. “Hi, Carlos.”

“No. No ‘hi.’ You have a child. A daughter. A small human who has your eyes and your smile and a Williams onesie, and you said nothing to me. Your teammate.”

“It wasn’t personal—”

Carlos raises a hand. “You were on FaceTime with your wife during our debrief in Canada and told me it was your cousin’s cat’s birthday.”

“…I panicked.”

“AND THE SECOND BABY?”

“I panicked again!”

Before Alex can defend himself further, Charles appears at his side, arms crossed, jaw clenched. “I thought we were brothers.”

Alex groans. “Oh no.”

Charles shakes his head. “We shared a massage room in Monaco. You let me cry about my breakup. You handed me tissues. You patted my hair. And you said nothing about having a wife and child at home?!”

Carlos leans in, whispering conspiratorially, “I checked his hand this morning. No tan line. The man took off his ring during race weekends.”

Alex throws up his hands. “It’s silicone! I take it off for comfort!”

At that moment, Oscar slides in like a silent assassin. “So, when you left early in Abu Dhabi last year… that was for swimming lessons?”

“Yes.”

“And in Miami, when you skipped dinner?”

“Parent-teacher conference.”

Oscar blinks. “You’re terrifying.”

Then comes Lewis, smooth and quiet but with a knowing grin, already holding his second coffee of the morning.

“I’m honestly impressed,” he says, smiling as Alex looks like he’s about to combust. “A decade together, a whole daughter, and not even a whisper got out? That’s commitment. I respect it.”

Alex exhales in relief. “Thank you.”

“But also,” Lewis continues, sipping his drink, “I’m offended. Because you knew I’d be the best godfather option and you robbed me of my chance.”

Alex almost chokes. “We haven’t picked—”

“I’m already ordering custom baby Nikes. This isn’t a conversation.”

The rest of the drivers nod like this is fair and legally binding. Then Charles suddenly pauses and squints. “Wait. That one time at the track—YN was wearing a Williams cap. Was that your daughter she was holding?”

Alex winces. “Yes.”

Carlos gasps. “I said she looked like you and you said, and I quote, ‘we all look the same in hats.’”

Alex rubs his face. “I can’t keep doing this.”

Lando yells from across the room, “I TOLD YOU ALL. I KNEW.”

Everyone turns toward him.

“No you didn’t,” Oscar says.

“I DID. I FELT THE VIBES.”

George walks in holding his iPad like he’s delivering breaking news. “Group chat name has officially been changed to Albon’s Secret Family Club. I’m also starting a spreadsheet of baby shower gift ideas. She’s three, but I have so much to make up for.”

Alex puts his head down on the table. Charles pats him on the back. “You did this to yourself.”

Carlos grins. “But I forgive you. Because now I get to meet your daughter.”

Oscar nods. “Same. And the next time you disappear after quali, I expect a full report on how bedtime went.”

Lewis smiles. “And tell YN we said congratulations.”

Alex looks around, red-faced and overwhelmed… but smiling now too.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Okay. You can all meet her.”

Cheers erupt. And just like that, the secret’s out. But somehow, it feels less like a loss of privacy… and more like an expansion of family.

—

your pov

The second we step out of the car and into the paddock, our daughter tight in my arms and clinging to her stuffed bunny, I feel it. Not the stares — those are expected. Not the whispers or the way every camera in the vicinity subtly pans our way. But the warmth. Like the whole place exhaled one giant breath and made space for us. For her.

Alex is walking beside me, one hand steady on my back, his other adjusting the oversized paddock pass around our daughter’s neck. It practically reaches her knees.

She tugs her headphones down for a second and whispers, “Is Uncle Lando really gonna give me stickers?”

I laugh softly. “I think he bought a book of them, sweet pea.”

“Oh,” she says thoughtfully, “then I’m ready.”

We round the corner near the garage just as the drivers begin filtering in from media. The second Lando sees us, he lets out a loud, “OH MY GOD, IT’S HER!” and bolts across the concrete.

She ducks shyly into my shoulder, giggling, and Alex just smiles like he’s never loved anything more in his life.

Lando drops to his knees in front of her like he’s proposing. “Hi. Hello. I’m your uncle. I have stickers, a juice box, and very mixed feelings about your father’s deception.”

She blinks. “What’s ‘deception’?”

Alex chimes in dryly. “It’s when Uncle Lando doesn’t let Daddy win at video games.”

“Ohhh,” she says, nodding solemnly, as if she understands the betrayal.

Lando beams, already peeling sparkly stickers off a roll. “You’re my favorite person.”

Just behind him, Carlos, Charles, and George appear, all equally stunned and quietly emotional.

Carlos puts a hand over his heart. “She’s real.”

“She’s so small,” George whispers, tearing up immediately. “I don’t know what I expected but it wasn’t this much cuteness in one unit.”

Charles crouches down gently, holding out a hand. “Bonjour, petite princesse. Je suis Charles.”

Our daughter glances at me and I nod, so she reaches out and high-fives him — very serious, very precise.

Charles makes the most dramatic gasp. “Elle m’aime. I’m done. I’m finished. She can have my car. Take it. It’s hers.”

“She can’t drive,” Alex points out, laughing.

“She can learn,” Charles says, wiping fake tears.

Carlos leans in closer. “Does she like fruit snacks?”

“She likes grape fruit snacks,” I say.

He pulls a pack from his jacket like he’s been preparing for this day his entire life. “I’m your favorite now, sí?”

She takes the snack and gives him a small, approving nod. “Sí.”

Carlos clutches his chest.

By the time Oscar and Lewis arrive, she’s sitting on a stack of spare tires, swinging her legs and sharing stickers with George, who is lying on the ground letting her decorate his face.

Oscar’s jaw drops. “She’s already more popular than me.”

Lewis just smiles warmly. “It’s because she has her mother’s presence.”

Alex glances at me, hand sliding into mine. “She has your everything.”

Lewis kneels in front of her. “You must be very brave coming into the paddock. Would you like to see the garage?”

Her eyes widen, then she looks up at me for confirmation.

I nod. “Go with Daddy and Uncle Lewis, baby. I’ll be right here.”

She clutches her bunny and hops off the tire stack, sliding her hand into Alex’s. “Can Bunny wear the headphones too?”

“We’ll get him his own pair,” Alex promises.

As they walk off, the little pack of drivers falling into step around them like a security detail, I feel something soft settle in my chest. She’s not a secret anymore. She’s here. Loved. Seen. Safe. And as Lewis leans down to adjust her little headphones, and George keeps proudly wearing a glitter sticker heart on his forehead, and Charles dramatically fans her with his Ferrari cap, I realize— She doesn’t just have this world now. She owns it. And we do, too.

—

I never thought I’d be here. Not just here in the paddock, not just here with Alex — but here, in an open-top classic car, crawling down the track in front of thousands of fans… with our three-year-old daughter sitting between us, waving like she’s the president of the FIA. She’s in a tiny Williams race suit they gifted her this morning — complete with her name stitched in pink thread over the heart. Her headphones are practically swallowing her whole head, and her bunny, as usual, is in her lap. She has no idea she’s the reason the internet is losing its collective mind. She’s just thrilled to have a flag to wave.

“She’s loving this,” I say quietly to Alex, watching her wave with both arms like she’s done this a thousand times before.

Alex chuckles under his breath, eyes on her like he still can’t believe she’s real. “She’s a natural. She belongs here.”

“You mean with you?” I tease.

“I mean with us,” he says simply. “You belong here too.”

I lean into him just a little, letting myself enjoy it. The sun’s warm. The crowd’s louder than usual — but I know now that a lot of that noise is for her. For us. And for once, it doesn’t scare me.

Alex reaches across her to squeeze my hand. “You okay?”

I nod. “More than okay.”

Behind us, I hear someone yell.

“LOOK AT HER!” George is standing in the next car over, clutching his chest like he’s having a religious experience. “She’s waving like she’s running for office. I’d vote for her.”

“She’s got my vote,” Lando shouts.

“She can have my car,” Charles adds, jogging up beside us, offering her a fresh can of juice like it's tribute to a princess. “Tell your papa to retire. We’ve got this handled.”

“She can’t reach the pedals,” I laugh.

“She’ll grow,” Charles insists. “I’ll wait.”

Carlos pulls up in his own car just ahead, twisting around so he’s facing us backwards. “Does she want another flag? I’ve got three.”

Our daughter gasps and takes it immediately. “Thank you, Mr. Carlos!”

“Mr. Carlos.” he clutches his chest dramatically, like he’s been knighted.

“Do I even exist anymore?” Alex jokes.

I just laugh and shake my head. “You had your moment. She’s the main character now.”

She leans her cheek against Alex’s shoulder, smiling up at both of us like this is all perfectly normal — like she’s meant to be on a Formula 1 parade route with twenty world-class drivers treating her like royalty.

“Wave one more time, baby,” I say gently.

She pops up to her knees between us, raises her flag in one hand and her bunny in the other, and gives the biggest wave yet. The crowd erupts.

“Someone threw glitter,” Alex murmurs, completely stunned.

“I think she’s bigger than you now,” I say.

He glances at me. “She always was.”

And maybe she’ll never understand this moment — the cameras, the noise, the drivers who love her like their own — but I will. We will. Because this isn’t just her first driver parade. It’s the first time we stopped hiding and started living. Together. Out loud. As a family.

—

alexalbon

liked by yn_albon, lando, georgerussell63 & 14,090,002 others.

alexalbon : well...secret is out. i have the most gorgeous wife in the world and the sweetest little girl who is about to have a baby sister:)

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