#tara writes seventeen

[stayinhellevator]

Shades Of Love

Where you thought love was red but it was golden

Pairing: S.Coups x gn!Reader//Wonwoo x gn!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst//S2L, L2E

Word Count: 1922

Warning: Mentions of seggsy times(not explicit)

Playlist: Red and Daylight ~ Taylor Swift

"Order 895 is ready. Please collect it."

You could hear your own voice booming in the buzzed cafeteria followed which a sturdy familiar young man walked towards the counter, flashing you his infamous gummy dimpled smile.

"Thank you! Now that I've had the best coffee that there is, my day would be better."

You shook your head at his antics and prepared his receipt as you tried to hide the smile that threatened to come out in order to not encourage his tactics. He did this every single day, coming to the cafe you worked at without fail with his regular order of an americano and melon bread and asked you out, also without fail.

However, you weren't quite ready to date and certainly not this handsome overly rich guy. He was so damn charming that nobody could ignore him, no matter how hard they tried to resist him, to you he seemed like a god damn celebrity and you, were just you. A broke final year college student, with big dreams, struggling with multiple part time jobs but that's what happens when your parents couldn't care any less about your existence. You had somehow survived school under their control and now you were almost done with your college all on your own and you were very proud of yourself. You had so much on your plate that you couldn't really prioritise a relationship in your life much less the attention that'd come upon you, with a guy like him.

"So are you free tonight? Tomorrow? Overmorrow?"

But he was also good at breaking your resolve; especially when he looked at you with that adorable puppy face and an even cuter pout on those luscious lips of his. And just like that, after six months of resistance, you had cracked.

"Real smooth Seungcheol, real smooth. I've to give this to you."

And you watched as his eyes glowed with a playfulness and he smirked at you in victory but you couldn't find it in yourself to dismiss his smugness.

Loving Choi Seungcheol was red.

He made you see the world through rose tinted glasses; everything that was so plain and cynical previously, now seemed bright and meaningful. You had something to look forward to every single day you woke up.

You'd think as time gradually passed, you'd come out of the honeymoon phase of your relationship but no Seungcheol made you feel special everyday, as if he was still courting you. He'd flirt with you, compliment you, voice out any and even a slight change in your look.

Bringing you your favourite flowers everyday without fail, taking you out on cute little dates frequently, going on a walk with his adorable fur baby like a happy family every evening and going as far as to pose like a trophy CEO boyfriend who'd pick you up from college every single day. Life with him seemed something straight like a rom-com fiction that you'd enjoy as a guilty pleasure.

He was passionate, if his constant pining of six months wasnt proof enough. He knew what he wanted and how to get it, be it opportunities, things or people. He did everything with all his heart, felt all kinds of emotions to their extreme. If he loved you, he'd travel to the ends of the world for you and God forbid if he hated you, he'd make sure he dragged you to that end and buried you in the deepest pits of hell. That's how passionate Choi Seungcheol is.

Seungcheol was also synonymous to a fiery lust that you'd never even imagined would burn through you. His kisses looked as hot as they felt when he imprinted them on every curve of your body. No matter how many times he took you, it never felt enough to either of you.

Because Seungcheol's emotions were limitless, so was his anger. Such was his anger that you'd rather die than be at the receiving end of his hostility. You first witnessed it when he found you getting uncomfortable with the gossip around your relationship in your campus and you'd swore to never explore that side of his passion.

In theory, it looked hot to see your boyfriend with such a burning determination in his eyes, jaws clenched in fury and knuckles fisted as if ready to get bloody if needed however, his violent rage sent chills down your spine because he really had no control over his actions when he went down that road.

And unfortunately for you, your worst fears had actually come true when the two of you ended up in an argument in your bedroom when you were supposed to be celebrating your fifth anniversary.

"Cheol! How did we end up here? It's not like you hadn't known of my plans for the future?"

You asked exasperatedly trying to make sense of this conversation. You had always wanted to own a cute cafe of your own with a bookshop above it and Cheol had always known about it. So how had he come from admiring your dreams to going against them?

"Because I thought you might change your plans baby. Today when mom asked me about our plans for future I realised we had never even discussed about our future. And now that I'm finally taking over the business I'd really like to settle down with you."

He tried to explain as best as he could but not enough to make sense to you. So was it his parents? You always knew they disapproved of your lifestyle and disinterest in fitting to theirs so did they say something to him?

"Cheol I never said that we can't get married. Of course I want to marry you and grow a family with you. However what I don't understand is, how does me wanting to establish a cafe of my own has anything to do with us getting married?"

You felt cornered the longer you watched his face that didn't soften even a bit with understanding and growing more determined every second.

"I'm more than capable enough to take care of you so what's the need to work?"

Your heart was pounding against your ribs so loud you swear you could hear it when you realised where this conversation was going. This wasn't your Cheol but Choi Seungcheol, the business man that his father was proud of.

"And you can still take care of me. I told you it's more about me fulfilling my dreams and not about survival or money anymore Cheol."

You could recognise the timidness in your wavering voice as you tried for the last time to save your relationship that was dangling by a single strand of thread.

"And how would it look that my wife is working in a cafe, even if you own it. People would think I don't provide well enough for you, there'd be too much gossip-"

He paused abruptly as he realised the look of growing horror on your face.

"So it's about your family's reputation and tabloids and not us anymore."

He shook his head desperately and scampered to his knees in front of you, trying to bring you back to him as you drifted away not just from him but even yourself.

"Baby please I didn't mean it that way."

He continued babbling but you couldn't hear him with the constant ringing in your ears.

You had always known it. So why did it still hurt?

Nearly three years later, as you stood outside your own cafe that you built with blood, sweat and tears literally, with pride all alone, Jeon Wonwoo came in your life with his warmth that thawed even the deepest corners of your heart, that seemed to be numb over the years of loneliness.

Wonwoo's compassion made everything seem easier than it actually was. Individually, you two were extremely reserved people who were neither interested in social interaction nor actively seeked it however together you two were like two perfectly fitting puzzle pieces. You remembered when you first met Wonwoo and were immediately intimidated by his persona however by the end of the day, it felt like you two had known each other since forever. And soon enough, it was to no one's surprise, you two were in a relationship.

Wonwoo was equally wise as he was warm; he knew how to make someone feel welcome but he also knew who actually deserved to be welcomed. He wasn't just your life partner, who knew how to handle you but also your business partner who provided his insights to your now joint venture. He owned the bookstore above your cafeteria that you two now jointly run. He was in every sense your missing brain cell.

Everything was easy with Wonwoo, even your arguments. You both tend to avoid arguing but when you do, he made it a point that you two never go to bed without resolving it and truly, it reassured you because you never want to be lonely, especially now that you've found him.

Wonwoo was thoroughly loyal and caring. He knew what you wanted before you could even acknowledge your emotions. You cherished every part of your life with him. Be it passing each other meaningful or sometimes even suggestive looks amidst the crowd of your cafe or snuggling up with each other with hands absent mindedly wandering on each other's skin with your favourite books in front of you.

Wonwoo was luxurious and not just materialistically. Every kiss that you placed on him felt like you touched the finest silks and likewise every kiss that he placed on you was as intoxicating as an expensive wine. It was sinful, addicting and never enough.

As regal as he was, he was also powerful, capable of making someone question their entire existence with just one look. His domineering aura also extended to a protectiveness over, which weirdly made you feel assured and safe but never suffocated.

As fine of a man as he was, of course he had a bit of a superiority complex but it never oppressed you or scared you. As long as you both were respectful of each other's boundaries and limits, everything was okay and that was an established fact. Besides, if he were a little too perfect, you think you'd be a little paranoid around him. So you guess you can bear a bit of his narcissism that his handsome face and compassionate heart deserved.

"Baby!? What are you thinking?"

A deep baritone that you could swear you felt vibrate deep within you brought you out of your musings as you faced your fiance who had joined you on the couch with two steaming cups of coffee.

"Thinking how lucky I am to have you in my life."

He smiled at you before wrapping an arm around your shoulders as he settled comfortably beside you in a snuggle.

"Hmm lucky you are. What would you have done without me?"

You give him a poker face before hitting him on the chest which made him laugh and hug you a little tighter.

"I love you so much!"

You placed a peck on his lips before smiling at him as you settled his glasses back up his nose.

"I love you more Woo!"

If he is the end result of all your struggles in every universe, then you'd gladly do it all over again.

You once believed love would be burning red but it was a shimmering gold for you and there's nothing you'd change about it.

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©️stayinhellevator23: All Rights Reserved

[diamonddaze01]

baby, darling, light of my entire life

pairing: csc x fem!reader genre: tooth-rotting fluff, established relationship, slice of life | wc: 2.4k au: married au! warning: alcohol consumption (by the reader) | rating: e for everyone

summary: it's laughable how much you forget when you drink.

a/n: one day when i say i’m writing a drabble i will actually write a drabble. one day. that day is not today. // the cheol angst is taking forever so here have some fluff as a precursor // flashbacks in italics!

“WOW,” you shout (very loudly, he thinks) in Seungcheol’s ear. “YOU’RE LIKE, REALLY PRETTY!” 

Seungcheol flinches, rubbing his ear as your voice cuts through the pounding bass of the club. The flashing lights reflect off the crowd around you, turning everything into a blur of motion, but all Seungcheol can focus on is you—his overly drunk wife—looking up at him with wide, dazzled eyes like he’s some stranger you’ve just met.

He had known this would happen. Letting you go out with Jeonghan, Joshua, and their girlfriends without him was practically inviting chaos into the night. He would’ve joined you if work hadn���t held him back, and guilt had gnawed at him all evening for canceling plans yet again (was it guilt, or fear of retribution from Jeonghan? He’d never tell). He’d figured he could catch up with you at the club before things got too crazy.

Clearly, he’d been wrong.

When Seungcheol finally arrives, the table your group has reserved is a mess of empty glasses, and the dance floor is packed with bodies swaying to the beat. It isn’t hard to spot Jeonghan trying to keep you out of trouble—tall and exasperated, attempting to pull you away from a guy you seem hellbent on kicking in the balls.

“I’LL LET YOU KNOW THAT I HAVE A BOYFRIEND,” you screech, words slurring together and voice so loud Seungcheol can hear it on the other side of the dance floor. “AND HE’S THE BESTESTEST - LET GO OF ME!”

Jeonghan, bless his soul, is no match for your drunken ferocity, and lets out a startled yelp as you yank your hands free from his grip and stalk away in a huff. Seungcheol watches with growing amusement as you stumble toward where he stands on the dance floor, eyes lighting up the second you spot him.

“WOW,” you repeat, stopping just inches from him, blinking up at him with childlike awe. “YOU’RE LIKE, REALLY PRETTY.”

Seungcheol can’t help but chuckle under his breath. Your wobbling stance, the way your gaze fixes on him with the same starry-eyed amazement as if you’re seeing him for the first time—it’s all too familiar. He leans in slightly, humoring you.

“Oh really?” he teases, though his lips twitch with amusement. You’re giving him the same starry-eyed look you gave him when you first confessed—though, admittedly, you’re significantly less intoxicated now. Well… maybe not that much less. “You think so?”

You’d had one too many drinks, laughing hysterically with Jeonghan and Joshua about something stupid—something Seungcheol couldn't even remember now. All he could remember was the way your eyes had kept flickering to him, playful but shy, as if you had something on your mind but weren’t quite sure how to say it. He’d leaned in close, pretending to listen to Jeonghan’s nonsense, but really, he was trying to get closer to you.

“Hey, Cheol,” you slurred that night, your voice softer than the buzz of the club, but enough to catch his attention. Your cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, your hair falling messily into your eyes, but there was a different look behind them this time—something more serious.

“Yeah?” Seungcheol had leaned in, smiling softly. You were always cute when you were drunk, but tonight, something felt... different. You weren’t just tipsy; you were nervous.

“I have a secret,” you whispered, as if you were sharing the world’s biggest conspiracy.

Seungcheol blinked, amused. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

You took a deep breath, looking around as if you were checking for eavesdroppers before meeting his gaze again. “I...I think you’re really pretty - like. REALLY PRETTY,” you blurted out, your eyes wide with sincerity. “And I think I really, really like you.”

The words hung in the air between you, and Seungcheol remembered feeling his heart skip a beat. He’d liked you for months at that point—he was pretty sure the whole group knew it—but you’d never given him any real sign that you felt the same way. Until now.

“You like me, huh?” Seungcheol had teased, leaning closer, his lips inches from yours. “Or are you just saying that because you’re drunk?”

You had frowned, swaying slightly, but your hands had reached for him, gripping his shirt tightly as if he might disappear. “No, I mean it. I like you,” you had insisted, your eyes growing glassy, a little too honest for your own good. “I don’t wanna be just friends anymore. I want you to be mine.”

Seungcheol’s chest had swelled with affection. “Well,” he had whispered back, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, “I think I’ve been yours for a long time, baby.”

You had blinked at him, confusion flickering in your eyes before a slow, wide smile spread across your lips. “Wait, really?” you asked, the disbelief clear in your voice.

Seungcheol had chuckled, pulling you into his arms then, your confession making his heart race. “Yeah, really,” he whispered before finally closing the distance, pressing his lips against yours.

Seungcheol’s heart swells as he looks at you, those same glassy, honest eyes reflecting an undeniable truth. In this moment, even if you don’t fully recognize him, he can feel it—the love you hold for him is woven into every glance, every flicker of emotion. It’s a warmth that wraps around him, grounding him despite the chaos.

“Yeah,” you breathe, nodding vigorously as if this is the most important fact you’ve ever shared. “But I can’t talk to you,” you add in a whisper, glancing around as if someone might overhear. “I have a boyfriend.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching at your secrecy. “A boyfriend, huh?”

You nod, taking a wobbly step closer. Your hand lands on his arm, fingers curling around the fabric of his jacket like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling over. “Mhm. He’s got these big, strong arms… like yours,” you muse, eyes drifting over his frame with an approving once-over. “And the cutest smile ever. And—wait, are you his twin?” you ask, your voice suddenly full of suspicion.

Seungcheol barely manages to contain his laughter. “No, baby, I’m not his twin.”

Your face brightens again. “Good, because I’m not allowed to flirt with anyone who’s not him,” you declare, though the way you’re still clutching his arm suggests otherwise. “But you’re really pretty, so don’t get any ideas.”

You turn to walk away and suddenly whip back around, pointing an accusing finger in his face. He almost falls over. “And DON’T call me baby! Only my boyfriend can call me that.”

Seungcheol lets out a long, suffering sigh, rubbing a hand over his face to hide his grin. “Baby…”

“HEY! NO!”

He steals a glance at Jeonghan, who has now joined Joshua and their girlfriends at the edge of the dance floor, clearly done with playing babysitter. Jeonghan gives him a knowing smirk, mouthing good luck before turning away. Seungcheol’s patience wears thin, but he can’t help the fond smile tugging at his lips as he looks at you, swaying slightly under the flashing lights of the club. You’re an adorable mess: cheeks flushed from alcohol, eyes wide and glassy as they struggle to focus on him. Every time the music pulses, your body sways, and Seungcheol instinctively tightens his grip on your waist to keep you steady.

“Baby. Darling. Light of my entire life.” His hands slide from your waist to your shoulders, squeezing gently, trying to ground you in the midst of your drunken haze. He crouches slightly, so he’s at eye level with you, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a tenderness that makes your heart skip. You blink up at him, clearly confused, your brows knitting together as if trying to figure out a puzzle too complicated for your current state.

“I. Am. Your. Husband,” he says, his words slow and deliberate, almost as though speaking to a child.

Your eyes widen dramatically, hands flying to your chest as if struck by some earth-shattering revelation. “No way!” you gasp, your voice filled with pure astonishment. Your gaze roams over him as if you’re seeing him for the very first time. The lights of the club flicker against his face, casting shadows over his sharp features, and for a second, even in your drunken state, you marvel at just how beautiful he is. “Are you serious?!” you whisper, your tone full of awe.

Seungcheol closes his eyes for a brief moment, fighting back the laughter bubbling in his chest. He leans in, closer this time, until his lips brush against your ear. The familiar warmth of his breath sends a shiver down your spine. “Yes, I am very serious,” he murmurs, the teasing lilt in his voice sending butterflies into your already churning stomach.

You blink up at him again, head tilting slightly as if processing this newfound information is a monumental task. The room seems to spin a little, and you reach out instinctively, clutching at his arms to steady yourself. “But…” you start, your voice trailing off as you bite your lip, your brows furrowing in deep confusion. “Why didn’t anyone tell me I’m married?”

Seungcheol groans softly, though a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. He pulls you in by the waist, his strong arms wrapping around you like a protective barrier from the chaos around you. “You were at the wedding, baby,” he says, exasperation dripping from every word, though his tone is laced with affection. “You were the bride.”

Your eyes flutter as you stare up at him, still trying to wrap your mind around this incredible information. The flickering lights above, the faint scent of alcohol and sweat from the club, the warmth of Seungcheol’s arms around you—it all feels dreamlike. “Wait, so… you’re my boyfriend and my husband?” you ask, your voice rising in a mix of disbelief and wonder.

“Yup,” he says with a soft chuckle, his dimpled smile deepening as he looks down at you. That smile, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, sends a rush of warmth through your already tipsy mind. Even in your inebriated state, the sight of it makes your heart race. “You really hit the jackpot, huh?”

“NO. WAY,” you repeat, this time louder, your voice filled with awe as you step back slightly, your eyes scanning him again as if to check if this is all real. The music pounds in your ears, but you can barely hear it now over the sound of your own giddiness. “And… do we live together? Like, in a house?”

Seungcheol lets out another soft laugh, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair out of your face. His fingers linger for a moment, tracing the curve of your cheek before resting gently on your shoulder. “Yes, baby, we do. You even picked out the curtains.”

The memory of your shared home floods your mind—each detail a testament to your love. Sunlight pours through the cheerful curtains you’ve chosen, illuminating the cozy living room where laughter echoes like music. The kitchen, with its warm scents of your culinary experiments and his late-night snacks, feels alive with the essence of you. Every nook and cranny speaks of the warmth you’ve woven into his life, transforming a mere house into a home, brimming with love and memories.

Your eyes widen in recognition, and you gasp, your hands clapping over your mouth. “And they’re so nice!” you exclaim, shaking your head in disbelief. “I have great taste.” You pause, narrowing your eyes at him as another thought pops into your alcohol-clouded brain. “Does my boyfriend—uh, husband,” you correct yourself with a dramatic flair, pointing a finger at him as if delivering an important verdict, “does he know how lucky he is?”

Seungcheol can’t hold back his laughter this time. It’s rich and warm, rumbling from his chest as he pulls you closer, his arms snug around your waist. “Oh, trust me, he knows,” he replies, his voice softening as he presses a tender kiss to your temple.

Even when you can’t remember him, Seungcheol feels a swell of gratitude for your love—for the quiet mornings entangled in the sheets, for spontaneous late-night adventures, for the way your laughter brightens his day.

You sigh in contentment, leaning into his chest, the weight of your body completely sinking into his warmth. The booming bass of the club seems to fade into the background as you melt against him, finding solace in his steady heartbeat and familiar scent. “He’s so lucky,” you mumble, your voice barely audible against the fabric of his shirt, but Seungcheol hears it loud and clear.

He smiles, brushing his lips across the top of your head. “He really is.”

For a moment, the world around you both seems to pause. The chaotic energy of the club, the distant chatter, and the bright lights all fade as you stand wrapped in each other’s arms, content in this little bubble of warmth. But then, just as quickly, you pull back, your brows furrowed in concentration. You blink up at him, still slightly suspicious. “Wait… does this mean I have to go home with you?”

Seungcheol’s deep chuckle reverberates through his chest as he gently brushes a stray hair from your face, his thumb lingering against your cheek. “Yeah, baby, that’s usually how marriage works,” he replies, his voice dripping with amusement.

You frown, trying to piece everything together in your hazy mind. "But I don’t want to leave the club yet… we’re having fun, right?” you ask, your tone almost pleading, as though the thought of leaving this electric energy behind is too much to bear.

At that, Seungcheol’s gaze hardens a little as he leans down, glinting with unspoken promises. He presses a kiss under your ear, relishing in the way you shiver and press against him (he can’t help himself— the dress you’re wearing right now is sin incarnate). His lips linger against your skin for a moment longer, feeling your heart rate speed up at his antics. “We’ll have even more fun at home,” he murmurs, his voice deep and sultry; he smirks when you stumble a little in his grip, knees growing weak.

But of course, he’s not getting lucky tonight—you pull back just as quickly as you melted in his arms. You squint at him, narrowing your eyes as suspicion creeps in, your drunken mind still struggling to grasp the concept. “You’re not just saying that because you’re so pretty, right?”

He raises an eyebrow, leaning in until his face is mere inches from yours, his breath warm against your lips. His dark eyes sparkle with mischief as his voice drops to a low, teasing whisper. “You’ll just have to trust me on this one.”

For a long moment, you stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest, your mind trying to decide whether or not to kiss him right then and there. The world seems to slow around you, the only thing you can focus on is him—the way his lips hover so close to yours, the way his arms wrap securely around you, and the soft, affectionate look in his eyes. Finally, you let out a dramatic sigh, rolling your eyes playfully.

“Fine,” you say, leaning in slightly, your lips brushing his with the faintest touch. “But only because you’re so pretty.”

[diamonddaze01]

send me an ask with a member and a prompt and i'll write smth for u <3

101 Drabble Prompts

I was in a writing mood today, but am still burdened with writer’s block. So, I made some drabble prompts. I wrote most of them, but I took a few from tv and movies as well. Please feel free to use them and go ahead and change any pronouns you want. *Edit: Please reblog this post. Do not take these prompts to compile your own list and then pass it off as your own.*

1 “Will you please just give me a hand?”

2 “Why is there a drunk man sleeping in the bathtub?”

3 “Where did that cat come from?”

4 “How could anyone be that cruel?

5 “Why choose me?”

6 Do you like me? Check yes or no.

7 “I’m sorry, run that by me again.”

8 “It’s not nearly as bad as it looks, Darling.”

9 “Frankly, I couldn’t care less.”

10 “How did you get that to stick to the ceiling?”

11 “I do the best I can.”

12 “I don’t know where she gets it from.”

13 “Honestly, I’m just relieved.”

14 “You broke what?!”

15 “Why don’t you say that to my face?”

16 “Want to know a secret?”

17 “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

18 “Bring your pretty little butt over here.”

19 “Is that what I think it is?”

20 “Is that real?”

21 “We have to pretend to be married.”

22 “Excuse me if I don’t believe your psychic friend.”

23 “Why are you dressed like that?”

24 “I’ll sleep under the sheets, you sleep on top of them.”

25 “I thought we talked about this.”

26 “Why are you lying?”

27 “That guy at the bar keeps staring at you.”

28 “I need you to peel five pounds of potatoes!”

29 “It’s been fun. We’ve had a good run, but you parked in my spot. I’m going to have to kill you now.”

30 “It made a difference to me.”

31 “I shouldn’t have even been there!”

32 “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

33 “You were my new dream.”

34 “I had a nightmare about you and just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

35 “At what point did you think that was a good idea?”

36 “Look, I don’t have much time, but I wanted to say I love you.”

37 “You had me at ‘free pizza!’”

38 “I am not losing to you again!”

39 “Why don’t they just kiss already?”

40 “Are you okay?” “Why do you ask?” “You’re wearing two different shoes.”

41 “I think I picked up your coffee by mistake.”

42 “Is that an apology?”

43 “Why do you always do that?”

44 “I can’t get enough of the stuff!”

45 “Oh, why did I eat that? I think I’m dying!”

46 “All I wanted was your honesty.”

47 “You have to make a choice.”

48 “How did you get up there?”

49 “I found it!”

50 “Do you ever stop eating?”

51 “Why are you always pushing me away?”

52 “Just talk to me!”

53 “I can’t get you out of my head.”

54 “Not a day will go by that I won’t think of you.”

55 “I didn’t ask for any of this!”

56 “The sign said not to push the button, so naturally I had to push it!”

57 “Will you just shut up for a moment so I can say something nice to you!”

58 “Where did you find this?”

59 “I’m so sorry! I will never doubt you again!”

60 “I can’t explain right now, but I really need you to trust me.”

61 “Well, this is awkward.”

62 “That came out wrong.”

63 “I never believed in soulmates until I met you.”

64 “You deserve so much better.”

65 “I think you’re just afraid to be happy.”

66 “I’m up to the challenge.”

67 “I didn’t know you were so competitive.”

68 “I didn’t know you could cook.” “Oh, trust me I can’t.”

69 “You know my name?”

70 “I didn’t realize I needed your permission.”

71 “This is so going on Youtube!”

72 “That is not coming in this house!”

73 “Oh, you beautiful weirdo!”

74 He looked at her like she was the moon. She looked at him like he was the sun.

75 “Guess who’s going to be a father?”

76 “The joke’s on them.”

77 “That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard!”

78 “I do not snore, do I?” “Like a chainsaw.”

79 “I never meant for anyone to get hurt!”

80 “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before… and it scares the crap out of me.”

81 “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

82 “I love you more than anything in this world… which is why you have to stay here.”

83 “I trusted you!”

84 “You have to remember!”

85 “Wake up! Please, please wake up.”

86 “Please just leave.”

87 “I don’t want to hurt you.”

88 “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to seduce me.”

89 “Meet me on the roof in ten minutes.”

90 “Meet me on the bridge in an hour.”

91 “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

92 “You are nothing like them.”

93 “You have the most amazing eyes.”

94 “Are you hitting on her for me?”

95 “What other hidden talents do you have?”

96 “I can manage on my own.”

97 “Since when do you drive a motorcycle?”

98 “You look good for your age.”

99 “I can arrange that.”

100 “When I come back, that better be exactly where you found it!”

101 “I love you. I’ve loved you since the moment I first laid eyes on you and – Oh, screw it!” ((This is preferably where they just go for it with a kiss.))

Well, there you go. Hope you enjoyed! Have fun!

(Want more? Here’s Another 101 Drabble Prompts)

[ylangelegy]

LOVE&LETTER REPACKAGE ୨ৎ my favorite SVT work from 2024!

i'm a firm believer that some of the most creative writers on the internet are on svtblr. couldn't let the year end without showing love for the fics that have set the bar impossibly high when it comes to writing for SEVENTEEN. thank you to all writers for making this corner of the internet such a great place to be! ❤︎

footnotes: some of these work may contain explicit content. please heed the warnings when checking them out.

hush by @sailorrhansol

You can’t seem to sleep, but the strange man in the bar that you can’t visiting promises he can help.

hali's entire body of work is awe-inspiring, and i personally believe hush is something of a magnum opus. there's just so much density in all of her verses but hush does something that's never-before-seen when you think of this genre. it's so easy to lose yourself in the liminality of this work— throw in the premise and the dynamics, and you've got a breathtaking example of creative writing at its finest.

achilles’ heel by @pochaccoups

after a knee surgery, your boyfriend feels off about his body. you’re determined to show him just how much you love it.

sometimes, you can just tell when a writer cares about the character/member they're writing about. that's 100% the case with achilles' heel. it's one thing to nail seungcheol's personality; it's another thing to treat him with such well-deserved consideration. the smut is terrific, yes, but so is the love. you know that any version of seungcheol is in good hands when char is writing him.

full throttle (part one & two) by @diamonddaze01

jeonghan's not used to someone who pushes his buttons as easily as you do, and you're not used to someone who challenges you as quickly as he does. maybe it's time to go full throttle, both on and off the track.

i like to think that even if i didn't know tara, i would be absolutely insane over full throttle. there's a mix of everything here— fast-paced races for formula one fans, killer lines that read like poetry, and a full spectrum of human emotion. you're on the edge of your seat the entire ride. journalist!reader may be the best writer in the paddock, but tara is the best writer on this site.

the first snow by @junkissed

you think of joshua every time it snows. but does he think of you, too?

i feel like june has mastered the art of hook, line, and sinker. the first line of this draws you in— come for the opener, stay for the writing. this is a brilliant play on a known trope, and i was particularly endeared by how snow was used both in the literal and figurative/metaphorical sense. in love with how descriptive it was, too.

chemistry read by @chanranghaeys

in which junhui’s casting director gets a little bit too jealous during a chemistry read.

chemistry read is the probably the most recent work in this list. as of posting, i am still thinking of just how well haneul nailed jun's personality. there's something to be said about the relatively unconventional pairing— actor x actor fics are to be expected, so a casting director!reader is a rare treat— but the dynamics of their relationship is the real clincher. haneul has a way of writing things that leaves you wanting more, and this is a prime example.

araneae by @haologram

when you realize your friend (with benefits) actually has feelings for you, a tangled web of lies and avoidance ensues.

altair's treatment of soonyoung in this fic should set a precedent for how to write him across the board. the push and pull in araneae is superb, and the reader has the perfect amount of bite. i'm obsessed with the conflict and how it's eventually resolved, though what gets me the most is just how hoshi-like soonyoung is in this au. 10/10, no notes.

in front of me (part one & two) by @wonustars

jeon wonwoo has spent most of his adolescence and early adulthood unable to understand why he can't seem to stay in a relationship for more than a few months. as his best friend, you allowed him to vent about his worries without judgment. so what if you're in love with him? your friendship with wonwoo meant more to you than having your feelings reciprocated. that is until you hit your breaking point, while wonwoo finally realizes what has been in front of him this whole time.

in front of me is a study into the human condition. not a single word in this 40k+ word fic goes to waste. it's an emotional rollercoaster from start to finish, particularly because there's a rawness to the conflicts and relationships that it presents. anna deserves all the flowers for putting out such a real piece of work; in front of me is her heart on a platter, and it just goes to show that her heart is a good one.

wonwoo + ramen by @fxstpace

“i want ramen,” you say in response to his question. “i’m really hungry.”

i've told aspen this, but this drabble is one of the first things i read when i made this blog! i adore how soft this piece is, and how she managed to encapsulate an entire relationship in a handful of words. the dialogue and rapport is riveting; the image put in your mind is a comfort. we may not always have a jeon wonwoo to cook for us, but at least we have aspen's writing to get us by.

first snow by @cxffecoupx

lee jihoon + sharing a warm kiss during the first snow of the season.

drabble-writing is a monster in its own right, but ris coasts through it with ease. sometimes, a fic can fall under the 'healing' category, and that's what first snow is. four hundred something-words of the kindness that jihoon deserves, wrapped up prettily in a story brimming with affectionate and domesticity. doesn't matter that it's a winter fic; the love here is for all seasons.

dressing as winx—musa for jihoon's birthday & god of the music!woozi x fairy of the music!reader by @hoshifighting

after a moment of lost creativity, the god of music accidentally evokes a beautiful music fairy who is willing to help him.

i've said it once, and i'll say it again, and again, and again: lyla is a cornerstone when it comes to svtblr. her work is astounding and this is one of my favorites from this year. the writing for the ask is terrific in itself, but the au where jihoon is god of the music? cherry on top. i'm always awed by how she can take a prompt and run with it; these two pieces are just proof of why she's an absolute paragon for writing, smut or not.

boyfriend shaped by @seokminfilm

Dinner with your boyfriend was something you looked forward to.

something about kindergarten teacher!seokmin just bowls me over. this is a lovely ode to the absolute sweetheart that is seokmin, and it scratches the itch of his influx of boyfriend material photos. his personality is characterized so well in this; overall, it's the type of fic that has you swooning.

stuff to talk about by @kkaetnipjeon

The sight in front of you is pitiful, honestly. Makes you wish you'd just sent Hansol straight to voicemail, like you usually do. Makes you wish you hadn't responded to that anonymous post on the student forum four years ago. Physical therapy grad student, male, 23, looking for roommate in Yeonnam area, open to all.

i fear that i've spent the past weeks screaming in my tags about how MJ is one of my favorite writers as of late, and this is the fic that started it all. i've sent this out to at least three different people, which should say just how much i adore it. the world-building is intricate. the pacing is exquisite. the dialogue is a living, breathing thing, and the characters are well-rounded from start to finish. MJ's entire masterlist is worth running through; stuff to talk about is the best place to begin.

late night talking by @junkissed

the best and worst conversations always happen at 1am.

a masterclass in writing xu minghao. late night talking is rich in emotion and dialogue, but the heart of it is in how it soothes aches that can be universal to anyone who has loved/lost/tried/failed. there's a certain vulnerability to writing angst that can be terrifying, and june put it best when i first expressed how much i love this fic: "if everybody has the same insecurities, then maybe the world is a kinder place than we all think." how lucky are we to exist in a time where someone like june can put these feelings into words.

an ode to hands and voice by @ddeonghwa-s

a moment of seungkwan fucking you, inspired by his hands and voice.

there's a lot to love in an ode to hands and voice. it's descriptive and evocative, and just overall stellar in how it handles seungkwan. what makes this so special is the intimacy which bleeds through all 1.3k words. there's some parts where you feel like you're intruding, like you're interrupting something, because the entire scene is executed beautifully.

reverb by @gyuhao5

In his clumsy attempts at trying to befriend you, Vernon slowly discovers that the pull he feels toward you might be more than purely friendly.

one of my favorite things is when writers take on vernon and you can hear his voice in the dialogue. reverb nails everything from his mannerisms to his tone, and the eventual smut is also just painfully accurate for what you might expect from him. overall: this is as vernon as vernon will get, if we're talking fanfiction.

untitled drabble by @seungcheorry

dino will be damned if he doesn't spend some time with you.

cherry's drabbles are as good as required readings if we're talking about svtblr greats. this piece in particular is short and sweet, but it packs all the right punches. the narrative choices in this— paired with the imagery and the tenderness— can truly steal the air out of your lungs. dinonaras beware; this one will do a number on you.

MORE & MORE & MORE!

seungcheol with a s/o that enjoys thrifting by cxffecoupx

seventeen as greek demigods (hyung + maknae) by chugging-antiseptic-dye

redemption (mingyu x reader) by gyubakeries

hockey player cheol x reader by thepixelelf

run (minghao x reader) by diamonddaze01

a regular korean citizen (jeonghan x reader) by chanranghaeys

childhoodbestie!chan x reader by gotta-winwin

green eyes and confessions (wonwoo x reader x mingyu) by svtiddiess

inside job (seokmin x reader) by seokgyuu

the alchemy (seungcheol x reader) by babyleostuff

staff!jeonghan x reader by hoshifighting

dove (minghao x reader) by cherryredcheol

[galaxysupreme17]

Scarlet Widow

Okay, so I have been on an Avengers and Criminal Minds binge. I was pacing around my room thinking of writing prompts, and a crossover between the two came to my mind, and I needed to get it out before I forgot. This is Emily Prentiss X Tara Lewis. (I love Temily). This is also the x daughter!Reader!!

Y/n Danvers had lived many lives in her seventeen years. Trained in the Black Widow program from the tender age of five, she had seen more hardship and danger than most people experienced in a lifetime. 

Rescued at fifteen by Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton, she found solace and guidance under Natasha's care until she was legally an adult. Now, Nick Fury, the ever-watchful director of SHIELD, had given her a new mission: infiltrate the BAU and gather intelligence on a rogue agent named James Monroe.

James Monroe had been suspected of targeting various federal bureaus, and SHIELD was next on his list after the BAU. He used his status to collect young kids and send them to train in Hydra or the Black Widow Program. Y/n's mission was clear, but it was complicated by her assignment to live undercover with two foster mothers, Emily Prentiss and Tara Lewis, both prominent members of the BAU.

In the foster system, Y/n had been taken in by Emily and Tara. At first, it was just another mission. But over ten months, Y/n had grown attached to the two women who had become her foster mothers. They had no idea their new daughter was the Scarlet Widow, an Avenger with unparalleled combat skills.

Emily and Tara treated Y/n with kindness and care, giving her a sense of stability she hadn't felt in years. They attended her school events, celebrated her successes, and provided comfort during tough times. Y/n felt like a normal teenager for the first time in a long while despite the weight of her secret.

Late one evening, Y/n sat in her room, scrolling through her phone. The glow of the screen illuminated her face as she messaged Natasha.

Y/n: I don't know how much longer I can keep this secret from them, Nat. They've been so good to me.

Natasha: I know it's tough, kid. But you're doing this to protect them and many others. Stay strong.

Y/n: I know. It's just... they're starting to feel like real family.

Natasha: That's a good thing, Y/n. It means you're healing. Just remember, you can always talk to me. We're in this together.

Y/n: Thanks, Nat. I don't know what I'd do without you.

Natasha: You'd probably be even more of a badass than you already are. 😉

Y/n smiled, feeling a warmth in her chest. Natasha had always been like a big sister to her, guiding her, protecting her, and pushing her to be her best. Their bond was unbreakable, forged in the fires of their shared experiences.

Y/n: How's everything at HQ?

Natasha: Busy as always. Clint's been teaching the new recruits some archery tricks. You'd love to see it.

Y/n: I miss you guys.

Natasha: We miss you too. Just focus on the mission for now. We'll have a big reunion when this is all over.

Y/n: Deal. Stay safe, Nat.

Natasha: You too, Y/n. Remember, if you need anything, I'm just a call away.

The next day, the BAU team was called to a scene that quickly became a nightmare. Held hostage by James Monroe's partner, Jessica Black, the team found themselves in dire straits.

"Everyone stay calm," Aaron Hotchner ordered, trying to maintain control. "We'll find a way out of this."

In a nearby park, Y/n received a call from Agent Coulson. "Y/n, the team is in trouble. Jessica Black has them hostage. You need to reveal yourself and take them down."

Y/n's heart raced. This was the moment she had dreaded and prepared for. She suited up in her combat uniform, the familiar feel of her gear grounding her. She was no longer just Y/n Danvers; she was the Scarlet Widow.

The compound was heavily guarded, but Y/n moved through it with the precision and agility drilled into her during her years of training. She dispatched guards with swift, calculated moves, her senses on high alert.

Inside the building, Jessica noticed the disturbance on the security monitors. "James," she called, "we have company."

James turned his attention to the monitors, a sly smile creeping across his face. "Well, well, well, if it isn't the Scarlet Widow. Or is it Y/n?"

Tara looked at him, confused. "What are you talking about?"

James chuckled. "Your little foster daughter has quite the secret."

Emily and Tara exchanged worried glances. "What secret?" Emily demanded.

"You'll see soon enough," James said, returning to the screen.

Y/n moved through the corridors, her focus unwavering. She reached the door to the room where the BAU team was being held and took a deep breath. This was it.

She burst through the door, gun drawn. "Everyone, stay down!"

James laughed. "Well, well, well, if it isn't the Scarlet Widow. Or is it Y/n?"

"Shut up, James," Y/n snapped, her eyes narrowing.

"What are you going to do? You don't have the rest of your team here."

"I don't need them. I can handle myself pretty well."

"Sure you can. Why don't you remove that mask and show our guests who you truly are?"

"Stop talking," Y/n growled, her patience wearing thin.

She lunged at James, their fight a blur of fists and kicks. Jessica joined in, and Y/n found herself outnumbered but undeterred. She fought with a ferocity that came from years of training and a deep-seated need to protect those she cared about.

James managed to pin Y/n down at one point, ripping her mask off. Emily and Tara gasped as they recognized their foster daughter.

"Y/n?" Tara whispered, her voice trembling.

Y/n didn't let the revelation slow her down. She kicked James off her, using the momentum to flip back onto her feet. She moved with deadly precision, taking down Jessica and James in a series of swift, calculated moves. Within moments, both were on the floor, tied up and subdued.

"Agent Coulson, the room is secure," Y/n spoke into her comms. "You can bring in the rest of the agents."

Coulson and a team of SHIELD agents stormed in, quickly securing the area. Y/n ran over to Emily and Tara, her heart pounding. "Are you both okay?"

Emily and Tara nodded, still in shock. "Y/n, we had no idea," Emily said, her voice breaking.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Y/n replied, her eyes full of emotion. "I had to keep it a secret."

Coulson approached, calling Y/n to the side. "Fury wants you back for a new mission," he said quietly.

Y/n glanced at Emily and Tara, who talked with JJ and Matt. They all took glances at her and Coulson. "Tell Fury no. I need to clean some things up here."

Coulson nodded, understanding. "Take the time you need."

As Coulson walked away, Emily and Tara approached, unsure what to say. They just stood there for a moment, the weight of the situation settling in. Y/n looked at them, tears welling up in her eyes, and immediately fell into their arms, hugging them tightly. Emily started checking Y/n for any severe injuries, her maternal instincts kicking in.

"Are you hurt?" Emily asked, her hands gently inspecting Y/n's face and arms.

"I'm okay, really," Y/n assured her, a small smile on her lips.

Back at the BAU, the team gathered in the conference room. Y/n stood at the front, taking a deep breath. "It's okay to ask questions," she said, her voice steady.

Before anyone could speak, Penelope Garcia burst through the door. "I found out everything about Y/n!" she exclaimed, waving a folder. "Emily and Tara asked me to look into her background."

The team smiled, and Y/n nodded at Penelope to continue. "Go ahead, Penelope."

Penelope explained Y/n's history, from her early years in the Black Widow program to her rescue by Natasha and Clint. Y/n filled in the details, explaining her training and the mission that brought her to the BAU. Emily and Tara listened intently, taking in every word.

As the meeting ended and everyone left, Emily and Tara lingered. "What does this mean for our little family?" Emily asked softly, looking at Y/n with concern.

[homosexualbehaviors]

Welcome to my Blog

This is simply a post to let you know the fandoms I am in/the ships I ship. And to maybe get to know a bit about me.

*NOTE: If you have any questions about me or my fandoms or ships, please do not fear to ask. I will answer literally anything! (Nsft included)*

Fandoms and Ships

(The ships with "(#1)" by them are my top ship of that fandom. I have only marked such in fandoms I have listed multiple ships.)

Wednesday: Wenclair (#1), Yokovina, Yoko Divina and Bianca (I am unsure of the ship name)

Stranger Things: Ronance (#1), Elmax, Steddie, Byler

Pitch Perfect: Bechloe (#1), Staubrey

Arcane: Caitvi

She-Ra: Catradora

Adventure Time: Bubbline

Hawkeye: Bishova

The Owl House: Lumity (#1), Raeda, Huntlow

Heartstopper: Nick and Charlie (#1), Tara and Darcy, Tao and Elle

The Harley Quinn Show: Harlivy

The 100: Clexa

Atypical: Cazzie

Orange is the New Black: Vauseman

Dickinson: Emisue

Glee: Brittana

Euphoria: Rulez

One Day at a Time: Sydlena

Shameless: Gallavich

13 Reasons Why: Hannah and Clay (though I prefer to talk about this show as a whole, more than focusing on a ship)

Other shows/movies I enjoy

Modern Family

The Big Bang Theory

Wentworth

Grey's Anatomy

Everything Sucks

I Am Not Okay With This

Sex Education

The Fear Street movies

Every movie with Jenna Ortega in it

The Edge of Seventeen

(If I have listed a fandom but not a ship and you'd still like to ask something about it, please feel free, I am still open to answering! You may also ask about a fandom not listed, if I know of it, I will try my best to answer!)

About me

Hello, my name is August. You may refer to me as such. I am 18 years of age. I am Trans FTM/Trans Masc, as well as Omni. My pronouns are He/They. And I am autistic. The main Ship/Fandom I am in is Wenclair/Wednesday. My top three ships are Wenclair, Ronance and Bechloe. Most of my ships are Sapphic (This is not meant in a weird way, I just find them to be cute and they hold my interest.). Besides being delusional about my ships, I enjoy Reading (fanfiction and poetry), Writing (fanfiction and poetry as well) and Drawing (mainly 'horror' art) in my free time. As well as listening to music. My favorite musician is Billie Eilish. I have been a fan since the beginning. She means a lot to me. Anyhow, that is all I have about me for now. If you made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read this <3

Agian, if you have any questions about me or my fandoms or ships, please do not fear to ask. I will answer literally anything!

Here's a pretty flower, for you 🥀

Have a nice day, beautiful human 🖤

[globaloppaaa]

ahhh i’d be happy to! thank you for sending in this request anon 😚

again this request was from my old account, im trying to answer as many as i can find!

tarae things ✧˖°🌷📎⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

ft. you hehe

๑ to start, taerae’s the kind of guy that is never late to respond to texts. he’ll leave his notifications AND his ringer on incase of emergency, but it doubles when you message him so he can respond to your thoughts right away.

๑ designated photographer 📸 can and will capture everyone’s best and worst moments. and if there’s a location he deems worthy, you better believe he’ll be stopping for half an hour until his photo storage is full.

๑ he’s such a gentleman URGHH, very joshua of seventeen-esque. he leaves quite the impression to everyone he meets but when he’s with you/meeting you for the first time he acts so suave, holding the door for you, pulling your chair out, or sending you a dapper smiles in between glances.

๑ on the topic of being a gentlemen, i feel like he’s crazy talented quite naturally (we already know this sof). he naturally adapts to hobbies extremely well.

๑ and if you’re terrible at cooking, don’t worry about it! because taerae can cook too. 😉

๑ he seems like such a momma’s boy, learned nothing but the best from her and it really shows with how gentle and detail-oriented he is around those he’s close with.

๑ remembers every little detail. that necklace you liked in a gift shop window? already packaged for the next upcoming holiday. lost your keys? he’ll specifically remind you that you placed them in one of the grocery bags on the way up to your home.

๑ don’t ask about phone numbers though, he can’t remember those for his life.

๑ the one thing tarae would actually forget is to write in names for peoples numbers. you have to force him to change your contact to “full name” 10 months in because he’d eventually think a scammer hacked his phone. (in conclusion, he’s blocked your number many times)

๑ pet names!! taerae absolutely adores the romantic kinds. baby, sweetheart, honey, but taerae prefers to say them only when he’s with you. Not that he’s embarrassed by it, he simply thinks it’s more meaningful if said in the comfort of your privacy.

๑ besides his glass-shattering pipes (which he has done before) he hums anywhere, at anytime. but not the loud annoying kind. more like the softer, prominent kind where eventually you can’t even hear yourself think.

↑ it’s also always those loveboat-type ballads from like the 70/80’s. he gets updated about current music trends months after they release but still prefers to hum melodies that might very well make you break down in tears.

๑ on the topic of music, you’ll never have to worry about finding new songs ever again, this guy is LOADED with spotify playlists that he’s just urging to send you. you’ll wake up to 8 new artists he followed yesterday… and then he’ll remember to say “oh, good morning sweetheart 😁”

๑ last random thought, i have a feeling he makes cute little animals with paper clips, it’s his go to hobby. and he’ll just leave them all around the house for you to find :)

check out my masterlist!

globaloppaaa© do not copy, modify, or repost my work without consent and permission

[dreamersbcll]

“Ink Blots”

4/5

for @krikeymate

—————————————————————————

June 21st, 2019

Dear Sam,

The summer solstice. The longest day of sunlight in the whole year.

I remember that you used to force me to stay awake, and savor every drop of sunlight. Some years we spent it at the beach, some in the backyard, some on the roof of the twins house. It didn’t matter where we spent it, as long as we were together.

Amber picked up on our plans. She now makes me spend the day with her, holding her hand at the county fair and riding the tilt-a-whirl until I get ill. I hate spinning. But it makes her happy.

How do you spend your summer solstice? Do you stay outside all day? Or do you hide?

I wish I could hide. The sun doesn’t shine quite as bright without you.

Your sunshine, Tara.

—

August 1st, 2019

Dear Sam,

It’s been a muggy, humid summer. I can’t go outside without my hair sticking to my face and my clothes damp. It’s disgusting.

The bad news is, our air conditioner is broken. Has been since early July. Mom never paid the bill, so the city shut it off. I’ve been working non stop at the local Dairy Queen, but surprise surprise. Minimum wage doesn’t pay shit. It’s not like I can do anything with my checks anyways. Most of it goes to house bills.

Luckily Amber lets me sleep over. I’ve been practically living there. It’s been nice, being in a house where mothers act like mothers, and fathers stay. Plus the dinners and A/C. It’s been nice.

I hope wherever you are, you have air conditioning. And popsicles. I know you like Helado de coco. Papi used to pick those up from the taquería on the way home from work. You used to spill it everywhere and get me all sticky when you hugged me.

I’d kill for a coconut-y, sticky hug right about now.

Love, Tara.

—

October 3rd, 2019

Dear Sam,

Junior year is kicking my ass. I can’t remember the last time school challenged me this much.

You were always so good at school. So bright. So good at math and science. Unlike you though, I am a whizz at English. Seriously! I can write like no other.

I’m now the Chief Editor of the newspaper. Ms. Smith put a lot of faith in me to be able to handle a staff. I'm not very good at it. Leading people isn’t very natural for me. It is for you, though.

Chad is the captain of the football team, Mindy the captain of the debate club. Amber was made captain of the forensics team. We’re all growing up, Sam.

The kids you used to spend so much time doting on, feeding, changing; are all grown. Not really. I won’t be eighteen for a bit. But still.

I hope you know we think of you everyday. I do at least. Chad likes to talk about the sleepovers you held for us, and Mindy wishes you were here to help with calculus. Amber gets an odd look when we talk about you, but I don’t care enough to ask.

Sending you love, Tara.

—-

December 14th, 2019

Dear Sam,

I am seventeen. Does anything special happen at seventeen?

Mindy stuffed so many balloons in my locker, that when I opened it, a bunch exploded. That wasn’t a very fun principal office experience.

It wasn’t my first time there, though. I try to keep my nose clean, but I still sniff after danger. I mean, you left me Sam. I know what you did in high school. The teachers know.

I want some danger, too. I want to know what it was like for you to disappear and leave me. I want to know what forced you to leave me.

So I drink. I smoke. I have an ID. I drove drunk once.

It doesn’t matter. I don’t really care. As long as I graduate and leave, that’s all that matters.

Happy Birthday to me. I’ll pretend you said it to me.

Tara.

—

January 1st, 2020

Dear Ssmmy,

i can’t see straight and i miss you so much do you know that

but it’s new year and i’m seventeen and i have all these beliefs that you broke why does it matter

hope it’s nice where you are

i love you tara

—

March 24th, 2020

Dear Sam,

It’s been a minute. I’m sorry. Time has moved so fast, but also, not at all.

Chad won state of the basketball team. A buzzer-beater shot. Whatever that means. He picked me up and spun me around after he won. There’s a photo in the newspaper of it. I don’t like him like that, but he's my brother. I love him like that.

Mindy took the debate team to nationals. They got second place. I watched her on the shitty livestream. She was incredible Sam. You would’ve been so proud. She’s always been a genius argumentalist. Ever since she was young.

Amber won first in her forensics division. Something about stab victims and their criminal family. It creeped me out how much eye contact she made with me. I didn’t love that.

I just write for the newspaper and sling ice cream.

What do you do? Are you happy? Does life still pass you by? Or do you live?

Love, Tara.

—

April 19th, 2020

Dear Sam,

Well, AP season is upon us. I signed up for five.

I’ll ace maybe three. Environmental science, Spanish, and English literature. The other two are math. I’m not good at math, but perhaps it’ll work.

I stumbled upon a photo of us when we were young. Twas the night you taught me how to bake cookies. I had so much flour in my hair. How did that happen? Did I bathe in it? Doesn’t matter. I just love seeing your big smile, always directed at me.

Sometimes if I close my eyes I can still feel your smile on my face. Like the sunlight from the solstice.

Better go back to studying. One of us has to go to college and become master of the universe. I know you aren’t in college. It was never your speed.

Once I make a shit ton of money, I’ll come find you.

I promise.

Love, Tara.

—

May 17th, 2020

Dear Sam,

I passed ⅘ of my tests. Failed the physics one. No surprise there. I skipped that class at least three times a week.

I’m almost done with Junior year. And then I’ll be a senior. One step closer to leaving.

We didn’t have heating or a/c through the past few seasons. I can’t make enough money to keep us afloat. Mom works, but she’s out of the country more often than not. And gas bills are not forgiving, let me tell you that.

I’m moving into Amber’s house for the summer. I can’t survive another couple of months dying from sweating.

Your birthday/leaving anniversary is soon. You’re gonna be twenty-two. That should be fun, yeah?

I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.

Love, Tara.

[ristaticraw]

Fanfiction Prompts

I'm actually WRITING again lately. Insane. Hit me with some prompts - NSFW accepted, though please don't pelt me with them. Current interests:

Gale Weathers/Sidney Prescott (friendship or romance)(Scream franchise)

Samantha Carpenter & Tara Carpenter (sister storylines, or focus on one or the other)(Scream franchise)

Tori Vega/Jade West (Victorious)

Jennifer Harding/Judy Hale (Dead to Me)

Prue Halliwell/Phoebe Halliwell (sisterly or romantic - the incest doesn't bother me)(Charmed)

Emily Charlton/Andy Sachs (The Devil Wears Prada)

Open to different Harry Potter prompts as well. I haven't written in that verse outside of my seventeen years and counting OC, but I'm up for trying it out.

Hit me with just about anything. I'm teaching myself horror technique, so you can hit me with some of that, too! *I'm trying to keep all prompts under 2k words.*

[arwenlalaith]

Between the Blues and the Pinks (Ch. 1)

Ship: Alex Blake/Emily Prentiss

Summary: The Baby Blues: The temporary feelings of sadness following having a baby. Also known as Postpartum Depression. The Baby Pinks: The mild mania experienced following having a baby. Also known as Postpartum Euphoria.

Warnings: Mental health issues, postpartum mood disorders.

Word Count: 574

Author's Note: First of all, I would like to warn anyone who reads this that this will not be a happy fic. It's going to deal with mental health issues and it's going to get kind of dark. It does have a happy ending, no one dies, everyone gets better...but it goes through a pretty grim place to get there. I'd suggest erring on the side of caution if that kind of stuff triggers you.

Tagging: @ssa-tahlia-obsessions bc I promised her a chapter of something today.

Alex fidgeted in her chair. Not because it was uncomfortable...though it was. Not because the baby was pressing against her ribs...though it was.

It was because of her therapist's expectant stare.

It had been exactly eight and a half minutes since either of them had spoken. Alex knew because she'd been watching them tick by and wishing they'd move just a little faster.

In spite of herself, Alex blurted out, "Your clock is two minutes and seventeen seconds slow..."

Her therapist – Dr. Tara Lewis – asked, "Alex, is there a reason you're avoiding the question?" She raised a curious brow, flicking her pen back and forth.

"What was the question again?" Alex asked meekly. She'd been so caught up in timing the slow clock that she'd forgotten.

"I asked why you think it is you're not excited about your twenty week ultrasound..." Tara repeated herself.

A beat.

"Oh..." She heaved a sigh, remembering why she'd been avoiding the question in the first place. Unfortunately for her, though, she'd more or less run out of excuses. "I suppose...it's because I'm afraid of what the doctor will tell me," she confessed.

Tara nodded. "And why is that?"

"Because of Ethan," she said softly.

Tara nodded, wrote a note in her ledger. "Ethan's condition wasn't apparent on ultrasound?" she asked. When Alex nodded, she continued, "What makes you think this baby will have Ethan's condition – or, indeed, any condition?"

Alex began gnawing at her cheek until she tasted blood, reticent to say. But she knew that, ultimately, she needed to be honest... "Because I don't deserve a healthy baby."

Tara began writing furiously. After a moment, without looking up, she said, "What happened to Ethan is not your fault and the universe – or whatever you might believe – doesn't dole out cosmic feedback like that."

"It was my fault, though," Alex insisted, "I carried the defective gene. It's my fault he died."

Nodding, Tara suggested, "My advice is that you discuss this with Emily. And together, you should discuss amniocentesis."

"I'm upstairs!" Emily hollered when she heard the front door open and close. But before Alex could come to her, Emily appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing her painting clothes. At Alex's quizzical look, she teased, "I figured it was faster to come to you..."

Alex smiled softly for the first time that day.

Coming down the stairs, Emily met her in the foyer, stole a kiss. "How was your session?"

She'd kind of been hoping Emily wouldn't ask, even if she knew it was inevitable. "It was good," she said, a half-truth.

Emily smiled encouragingly. "It's helping?"

Alex nodded. Another half-truth. "She, umm... She suggested we talk about doing amnio," she stammered.

"I think we should do it," Emily immediately agreed.

Her brows leapt up her forehead. "Really?"

Emily nodded. "If it will give you some peace of mind, I think it's worth the risk." Alex seemed a little surprised by her sudden agreement. "Al, I know this is a huge part of what's been troubling you about this pregnancy and if this is going to help, I say we do it. I'd do anything to make this easier on you; if I could go back in time and wave a magic wand to undo my uterine scarring, I'd carry the baby for you."

Smiling fondly, Alex kissed her again. "It's things like this that make me fall for you all over again."

[salphia]

MASTER LIST

CRIMINAL MINDS

ONE SHOTS / IMAGINES:

Spencer Reid

Derek Morgan

Aaron Hotch

Jason Gideon

David Rossi

Penelope Garcia

Elle Greenway

Jennifer "JJ" Jareau

Emily Prentiss

Ashley Seaver

Alex Blake

Kate Callahan

Tara Lewis

Luke Alvez

Stephen Walker

Matt Simmons

Y/N x Criminal Minds:

Falsey Accussed (Spencer x Y/N) [ONGOING]

My Own Works:

Interactive Fics:

REQUESTS: open

RISE OF THE / TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES

ONE SHOTS / IMAGINES ( DNI PRO-SHIPPERS & TECST )

Leonardo Splinterson/Hamato

Donatello Splinterson/Hamato

Raphael Splinterson/Hamato

Michelangelo Splinterson/Hamato

April

Casey Jr

Cassandra

Sunita

Kenndra

Splinter

Cody

Baxter Stockman (2003 only)

That worm from rise

Shredder (1987, 2003, 2012 only)

Karai / Miwa

Foot Clan

Hippno

Mona Lisa

Draxum

Big Mama

Venus Splinterson/Hamato

Jennika Splinterson/Hamato

Y/N x ROT/TMNT [PLATONIC ONLY & SOME AGNST. NO SMUT OR SEX]:

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Ino

Hinata

Neji

Rock Lee

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Iruka

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Jiraiya

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K-POP, J-POP, C-POP, OTHERS

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BTS

SEVENTEEN

Vacation Day ( Seungkwan & Vernon ) [ Requested by: @zenyukifanficblogs ]

VIXX

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RIIZE

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VERIVERY

ZEROBASEONE

TXT

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INFINITE

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ATEEZ

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VOLTRON

HEARTSTOPPER

THE VAMPIRE DIARIES

F.R.I.E.N.D.S

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FULL METAL ALCHEMIST

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IS THIS A ZOMBIE?

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DEADMAN WONDERLAND

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LAST DANCE

HELLO, GOODBYE

A YEAR FULL OF GOODBYES

SPOILED

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THE ROMANCE BUNDLE

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TRAPPED IN AN ONLINE GAME [VIDEOGAME SERIES BOOK 1] (INKITT - FREE TO READ) . Action . Sci-fi . Video Games . Adventure . Anime

UPDATED: September 17th 2023-10:00pm

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THE HAUNTED HOUSE (INKITT - FREE TO READ) . Horror . Mystery

UPDATED: July 23rd, 2022-5:31pm

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SQUAD35 - SEASON ONE (INKITT - FREE TO READ) . Sci-fi . Horror . Mystery . Thriller . Action . Adventure . Anime UPDATED: April 25th, 2023-6:58pm

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UNIT 0000 STORY (INKITT - FREE TO READ) . Fantasy . Adventure

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ZODIAC - SEASON ONE (COMING SOON ~ INKITT - FREE TO READ)

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[stayinhellevator]

If Seventeen had a fan account:-

1. Seungcheol:-

Would be a Jeonghan fan account gradually turning into his own.

(But would never admit that)

Posts simp edits and pictures of hannie

Compiles thirsty comments about himself and makes a post on it.

(bc he's like that)

Up to date with all the tea all the time.

Wouldn't hesitate to jump in fan wars.

Prepare to get slandered if you say/post/comment/interact/breathe against sebongs.

Prepare to actually d1e if you tried anything against hannie or Wonwoo.

Has an insane following.

Flirts a lot with his followers. Teaser™

2. Jeonghan:-

Menace™

With his pattern, you'd never know anything about him or the purpose of his account.

Posts so many memes, jokes and sarcasm that you'd never know if he's kidding or genuinely a hater.

You'd also never be able to guess his bias. One moment he's posting a simp edit about Hyungwon, another moment he's threatening fans to not bully Mingyu anymore.

Also likes to post ship edits of himself with his members.

"You wish that was you huh?" is a mandatory post with edits of himself getting princess treatment.

Has a tendency of randomly beefing with a teenager

Has a love hate relationship with his followers.

3. Joshua:-

Bold of you to assume he invests time on his phone when he can't even text for his life.

His account is like a random Street that becomes your favourite hangout spot.

The pretty boy you are sure you know that he is and desparately hope for so and pray that he's yours. All without having even seen his face.

Likes to post audio covers of his favourite songs.

And that alone gains him a lot of followers bc his voice resembles a lot to that of Joshua of Seventeen 👀

Fans are convinced a pretty boy owns this account.

He randomly shares DIY hacks and ideas

One day he shares a beaded bracelet that he made and fans get suspicious.

Conveniently lies that he searched about Joshua and picked up that hobby since he liked diy anyway.

Anyway, he has a friendly relationship with his followers but also teases them a lot.

4. Jun:-

The most random and weird fan account of the century

Cats cats and a lot of cats

Cat memes, cat aesthetics, cat language, cat clothes, cat tips JUST CAT

He breathes, speaks, posts, edits in cats only.

Throws in a bit of dirty jokes, food and Minghao.

A simp for his Chinese friends

Sometimes, seriously shares recipes with his followers. Might also share weird food combinations that taste good (read to him)

Honestly speaking, you're never truly prepared for what his next post could be.

Is it going to be a conspiracy theory of cats being an ancient God or a serious Minghao presidency campaign. Who knows?

5. Soonyoung:-

The biggest Shinee enthusiast that there ever is.

Up to date with all shinee news, schedules, choreography, songs, lyrics even their clothes.

Promotes and posts various dancers and choreographers on his account

Might randomly put a cheat sheet on various dance forms, trends, tips and tricks to easily learn them.

Constantly posts about Seventeen too.

Any news about Seventeen, he'd be the first to post about, only second to Seventeen themselves of course😏

Engages with his followers regularly. He's that random internet stranger that's now best friends with a lot of people.

Thirst traps(pictures and comments) of DK and Woozi

Can't edit for life.

Also not very good with SNS.

His internet friends have to guide him through a lot of the features

The only thing that gives him away? His love for tigers of course

Can't help it.

Tiger prints, aesthetic and tigers themselves

At first, his followers were confused if he's being sarcastic or he is a furry

His followers thinks he might be a Hoshi biased. He doesn't deny

Horanghae is his catchphrase. Also a seal that confirms he's a Hoshi biased.

6. Wonwoo:-

Gamer™

Coolest, grungy dark bad boy vibes

His page is a cyberpunk aesthetic

On trends with the latest games, lores of his favourite games, his own theories of unfinished games or parts.

Posts gameplays as well.

Teaser™

Likes to subtly drop hand pics👀

Flirts a lot through comments

Wanna be editor

Thinks he makes collages and his fan girls eat it up {I'm the fangirl😔}

Beefs with children, teens and adults alike. Bc he takes his games very seriously

Book recs if you like

Cat-lover™

Dino-simp™

His followers think he also biases Mingyu but who knows?

All in all the book boyfriend vibes which is why he's so popular amongst his followers.

7. Jihoon:-

Anime fan account

Anime Recs

Might even host a watch party

Song recs too

Sometimes drops an instrumental cover of his favourite songs or his original music

Either chronically online or disappears off the face of Earth. Nothing in between

His internet friends nicknamed him 'Coconut' bc of his cold but soft persona

Once got into a debate with a teen over diet soda being unhealthy and safe to say that teen deactivated their account

He and his followers look like an emo punk cult group.

8. Seokmin:-

Most aesthetic, delulu and the brightest account on the internet

Jokingly calls Joshua his husband, Mingyu his lover, Hoshi his boyfriend, Minghao his Soulmate and Wonwoo his twin flame

But is it a joke?🤨

Also jokingly flirts with fans bc "if you can't have idols then marry their fans"

But also is it a joke?🤨

Posts a lot of puppies and flowers and sunrise and nature in between too

Promotes covers of Seventeen songs

Makes a lot of friends through his account

Genuinely talks to them and hears them out

Known amongst his followers as a sunshine (if only they knew)

Posts a lot of aesthetic pictures that he clicks himself

Is also good at editing stuff.

All in all he loves his followers and they love him even more

9. Mingyu:-

Either simping or being simped on

Seriously, the way he has no filter as he shares his extreme😏love for Wonwoo, Seokmin, Jeonghan, Jungkook and Minghao

He also has no filter as he teases his followers

Flirt pro max

Swinging his legs and giggling while reading all the thirsty posts about himself

If his fans are delulu then Mingyu is delulu-er.

If he reads a Mingyu thigh appreciation post, you best believe the next time he goes live he's manspreading

And when the caratland is going bonkers, he casually posts in his fan account "Who's the imposter among us?"

The most professional editor and photographer out there

His followers are convinced he's a film major or something when they watch his recent Wonwoo edit that has 1M likes.

Has a decent following bc of his professional edits.

10. Minghao:-

Does he hate his followers?

No one knows

Known as the Anti Delulu Pill of caratland

And makes sure he lives up to the name

Never hesitates to bring fans back to reality when he sees their delusional comments and posts

Even if it means making a teen cry

Only follows Jun and Minghao fan accounts

Posts a lot of thoroughly and professionally edited stuff for Jun

A professional Jun simp if you will

But also blushes and giggles while reading not to innocent stuff about himself

Anti-delulus them while giggling

So why does he even have followers?

Even they don't know bro how will I?

They say it's bc of the quality of his edits. Who knows though 😏

11. Seungkwan:-

The best account out there hands down

There's no winning against him

Has everything you could possibly imagine

Series, songs, movies, gossip, fashion, trends, reviews, recs and edits; you name it, he has it.

Is updated with all the tea, be it celeb gossip, his followers love life or his internet friends confessions

Is entertaining and makes sure he entertains

The biggest Vernon enthusiast that there ever is. Come fight him

His day begins with a Vernon post and ends with a Vernon post. And it's now a part of his layout

Never hesitates to put down a hater

Also never hesitates to judge you and your mama and grand mama

Sometimes, you'd think he's a mean girl™ but he's a sweetheart fr

His internet friends love his no bullshit just straight up advice, his warm and comforting words and his fun aura

The highest amount of followers

As my king and his fan account rightfully deserves.

12. Hansol:-

Random. Weird. The most Gen-Z page

Honestly, what's going on?

He doesn't even know it's a fan account

He just dumps whatever's on his mind

Shitposter™

The most random and funniest memes

But he wasn't even trying to be funny though

Gives songs, movies, anime and games recs

And they're seriously the best type of shit out there

The most Gen-Z lingo you can possibly imagine. Fr fr

But he swears he's just lazy to type out the whole thing. Bfr

Posts the most random thoughts at the most random times

"What if Ronald McDonald is alive and not a statue and is watching us eat" posted at 3:47 a.m.

Is he being serious or is he being funny? Who knows? Who cares

You could only wish you were as cool as Vernon and his followers.

13. Chan:-

Dance lover™

Dino biased™

He's cool and his followers know he's cool

But he's like an old man from the 80s given the latest technology

Puts up simple posts

Reposts a lot of memes, edits and pictures of himself ofcourse

A lot of those "What it's like having 12 useless hyungs"

But doesn't even take a second to berate a hater

Reposts and lauds a lot of dancers and Seventeen covers

Half of his followers found him through his hilarious comments on posts and stayed for his humour

Has a tendency to abandon his SNS and come back with a random dance cover post and disappear again.

©stayinhellevator2024:- Please don't repost, translate or copy my work.

[diamonddaze01]

Full Throttle (i)

pairing: ferrari driver!yoon jeonghan x journalist!reader chapter wc: 20.6K (dont look at me)genre: humor, fluff, angst, smut (?) au: f1 au (i am sorry i am a nerd abt this) rating: m (MINORS DNI)warnings: SLOOOOOW BURN. mentions of injuries, car crashes // eventual smut.

PREQUELS: would highly recommend reading On the Record and Off the Record to gain some context into the relationship! This fic starts directly after the end of Off the Record 

summary: jeonghan's not used to someone who pushes his buttons as easily as you do, and you're not used to someone who challenges you as quickly as he does. maybe it's time to go full throttle, both on and off the track.

a/n: this one is gonna be long. buckle in. this is dedicated to kae @ylangelegy , who was the one who pushed me to write this in the first place, and also graciously beta read this // this is also dedicated to alta @haologram , who watched me lose my mind over this for so long and gave me so much love and support as i wrote this. // huge thanks to lola @monamipencil and haneul @chanranghaeys for beta-reading and giving me their thoughts, especially about when things were too technical // and finally, an ENORMOUS thank you to jupiter @cheolism for the banner!

read part 2 here! <3

FORMULA 1 ROLEX AUSTRALIAN GRAND PRIX 2024 Track: Melbourne Grand Prix Circuit 

The Australian Grand Prix had come to an end, but the buzz from the race still lingered in the air. The paddock had started to quiet down, though the echo of cheers and the scent of champagne were still fresh. Jeonghan stood at the edge of the pit lane, watching as the last of the mechanics began to clean up, the high of the win beginning to settle into a low hum of satisfaction.

His fingers absentmindedly brushed over his helmet, the familiar weight grounding him after the chaos of the race. But his mind wasn’t on the mechanics or the trophy waiting for him. No, it was on you.

You had walked away with that smug grin of yours, and even now, hours later, the image of you—cool, collected, and far too clever for your own good—lingered in his thoughts. The way you’d turned the tables on him, effortlessly making him feel like the one caught off guard. For once, it hadn’t been about the race or the rumors swirling around his personal life—it had been about you and the way you knew how to press all his buttons without breaking a sweat.

"Dammit," he muttered under his breath, a grin creeping onto his face despite himself. "I should’ve asked her to dinner."

But there was no time for that now. The press was waiting. The fans, too. He needed to play the role of the cool, collected champion for the cameras, the last thing he needed was another round of gossip, another round of teasing from the people who loved to stir the pot. And yet, the thought of you, the way you’d made him feel a mix of frustration and something else entirely, was almost too tempting to ignore.

The crew cheered as he finally made his way back to the motorhome, the world still swirling in a whirlwind of victory and flashing cameras. But inside, it was quieter. More personal.

"Jeonghan!" His manager greeted him with a smile, the kind of smile that signaled the end of a long race and the beginning of yet another whirlwind of interviews, photos, and meetings. But Jeonghan only half-listened as his manager spoke, his mind flickering back to the conversation earlier.

"You sure know how to keep things interesting, don't you?" His manager chuckled, noticing the distraction in his eyes. "The headlines are still buzzing. You planning on setting the record straight anytime soon?"

Jeonghan chuckled under his breath, running a hand through his messy hair. "Let them talk," he muttered, flashing a grin. "It’s part of the game."

But that wasn’t what was on his mind. It was you. The way you’d baited him, just enough to make him feel the heat of the moment. He had never been this distracted by anyone—or anything—before.

"You have a minute?" a voice interrupted his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. It was his publicist, holding a phone in one hand, the other gesturing toward the press conference set up for him in the next room.

Jeonghan looked at her, then glanced over his shoulder as if expecting to see you again. But you were gone, just like that. He gave a small sigh, almost imperceptible to anyone watching.

"Yeah, yeah. Let’s do this," he muttered, before stepping forward. Jeonghan’s footsteps echoed through the motorhome hallway, the thrum of victory still running through his veins, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t shake the way you’d looked at him—those piercing eyes, full of challenge. He'd seen that expression before, but this time felt different. You weren’t just some reporter stirring up a bit of drama—you were someone who knew exactly how to get under his skin.

His publicist was waiting outside the press room, ready to brief him on the upcoming interviews and meetings. "You’ve got a full schedule, Jeonghan," she said, giving him the rundown with practiced precision. But Jeonghan barely heard her, his mind still distracted by the way you’d turned the tables.

"Hey," he cut in, slowing to a stop in front of her. "What do you know about Y/N?" he asked, his tone casual but with an edge of curiosity that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

The publicist blinked in surprise, and beside her, his manager gave a short laugh. "Y/N? You mean the reporter?" the manager asked, voice dripping with amusement. "The one you’ve had run-ins with over the past couple of seasons?"

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of them. "Run-ins?" he repeated, his lips curling into a small, knowing smirk. "What exactly are you implying?"

The publicist shrugged, exchanging a look with the manager. "She’s been covering F1 for a while, pretty sharp with her articles," she said, keeping her voice neutral. "Some of them have definitely gotten attention, especially that one a few weeks ago... the one about you and the whole ‘mysterious love life’ thing." Her eyes flicked to his manager, who made a face at the mention of that piece.

Jeonghan sighed, running a hand through his hair. He’d tried to forget about that article, but your earlier conversation (read as: challenge) had baffled him. "I shouldn’t have said anything," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "But you know she always gets a rise out of me, don’t you?"

The manager snickered. "Oh, we know. It’s not every day we get to watch you struggle to keep your cool. She’s got a way with words, that one." He winked. "But hey, I get it. She’s a great reporter—sharp, clever—and always knows where to find the juiciest stories. You just might want to be a little more careful with what you say around her next time."

Jeonghan smirked. "Careful? Since when have I ever been careful?"

His publicist gave a pointed look, clearly not impressed. "That’s not the problem, Jeonghan. It’s that you tend to forget she knows exactly what buttons to push."

Jeonghan chuckled, his eyes glinting with a new energy. "Oh, she’s good, I’ll give her that. But I’m not so easily rattled." His mind wandered back to the way you’d smirked and walked off, leaving him standing there feeling like he'd just been served a dish of his own medicine.

"Don’t underestimate her," the manager added, half-joking. "You’ve been in this game long enough to know, no one gets a rise out of you like that without knowing exactly what they’re doing."

Jeonghan hummed thoughtfully. "I suppose you’re right. But maybe..." He trailed off, eyes narrowing as a plan started to form in his mind. "...Maybe it’s time I gave her a taste of her own medicine."

The publicist and manager exchanged a glance but didn’t say anything. They knew that look—the one Jeonghan got whenever he was plotting something, usually with a dash of mischief and just the right amount of charm to make it impossible for anyone to say no. The same charm that had gotten him into trouble more times than they cared to count.

"You’ve got your interviews now, Jeonghan," his publicist reminded him gently, pulling him back to reality. "We can revisit this later. Just keep your head in the game for now."

He nodded, though his mind was still fixated on you. "Yeah, yeah. Later."

As he entered the press room, he was immediately hit with a barrage of questions. The usual ones about his win, his performance, and his plans for the rest of the season. But even as he answered, his thoughts lingered on you and that damn article. You were always one step ahead, always stirring the pot just enough to keep things interesting. But now, it seemed you had caught his attention for real.

And maybe—just maybe—he was going to have some fun with this.

FORMULA 1 MSC CRUISES JAPANESE GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Suzuka Ciruit

The neon lights of Tokyo cast a kaleidoscope of colors on the bustling streets, the city alive with energy even late into the night. After a long day of prepping for the upcoming race, you’d decided to wind down with a quiet drink in a tucked-away bar that promised a moment’s reprieve from the chaos of the paddock.

The bar was small and intimate, the kind of place that felt like a secret only locals knew about. Jazz music hummed softly in the background, and you found a seat near the corner, ready to savor your drink in peace.

But of course, peace wasn’t in the cards tonight.

“Y/N?”

The familiar voice made you freeze mid-sip. Turning your head, you found none other than Yoon Jeonghan standing a few feet away, his face lit with mild surprise and unmistakable amusement. He wasn’t in his Ferrari team gear for once—just a sleek black jacket and jeans, looking effortlessly casual in a way that somehow made him even more irritatingly attractive.

“Jeonghan,” you replied evenly, setting your drink down. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, sliding onto the stool beside you without an invitation. “Same as you, I’d imagine. Taking a break from the madness.” His eyes flicked to your glass. “Whiskey? I wouldn’t have pegged you for the type.”

“And what type is that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He leaned back slightly, his lips quirking into that trademark smirk. “The type who drinks whiskey alone in a bar and pretends they’re not thinking about work.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, you’re wrong. I’m not thinking about work. I’m thinking about how nice it is to not deal with questions about lap times and tire strategies for five minutes.”

Jeonghan chuckled, signaling to the bartender for a drink. “Fair enough. Though, if memory serves, you’re usually the one asking those questions.”

“Occupational hazard,” you shot back. “And if memory serves, you’re usually the one avoiding them.”

“Touché.” He raised his glass when it arrived, a silent toast that you reluctantly mirrored with your own.

For a while, the conversation meandered through safer topics—Tokyo’s sights, the food, the insanity of race week—but there was an undercurrent of something sharper, a game of verbal ping-pong that neither of you seemed willing to let go of.

“You know,” Jeonghan said after a particularly clever jab from you about his less-than-stellar start in Australia, “I think I’ve finally figured you out.”

“Oh?” you asked, amusement dancing in your tone. “Do tell.”

“You act all cool and collected, but deep down…” He paused for dramatic effect, leaning in slightly. “…you love the chaos. You thrive on it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, though a grin tugged at your lips. “And what about you, Mr. Reigning Champion? Aren’t you the one who said chaos is just part of the game?”

“True,” he admitted with a lazy shrug. “But I like to think I’m more strategic about it.”

“Strategic?” you echoed, incredulous. “You literally said ‘let them talk’ after crossing the finish line in Australia. That’s not strategy, Jeonghan—that’s reckless arrogance.”

He laughed, the sound low and warm, and you hated how it made your chest tighten just a little. “Maybe. But it keeps things interesting, doesn’t it?”

You didn’t respond, sipping your drink instead, determined not to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

Jeonghan tilted his head, his gaze flicking over you with a knowing glint. “This feels familiar.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference. “What does?”

“Let’s just say you have a knack for leaving me with something to think about,” he said casually, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass.

A flicker of amusement crossed your face. “Still losing sleep over it, Jeonghan?”

He leaned in, his voice dropping low, laced with mischief. “Not quite. But I’ve been wondering if you’re all talk or if you actually mean half the things you say.”

You smirked, leaning back just a little. “And what are you planning to do about it?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Guess you’ll have to find out next time,” he said smoothly, signaling to the bartender and slipping his card onto the counter.

You frowned, catching on quickly. “Jeonghan, you don’t have to—”

“Of course I don’t,” he replied, his smirk growing as he leaned in just enough for his voice to drop, intimate and teasing. “But what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t treat you every now and then?”

“A terrible one,” you deadpanned, crossing your arms.

He chuckled, standing up and adjusting his jacket. “Always so quick with the comebacks.”

You tilted your head, not backing down. “And yet, here you are, still trying to keep up.”

He grinned, leaning down so his face was level with yours. “Oh, I’m not just keeping up, sweetheart. I’m leading.”

With that, he threw on his jacket, turning to leave, but not without one last playful remark. “Enjoy your night, Y/N. And next time…” He flashed a grin over his shoulder, his voice dipping lower. “Try putting that mouth of yours to better use.”

Your mouth dropped open, and you could hear his laugh as you watched him disappear into the neon-lit streets. 

Damn him.

The Suzuka Circuit’s air was heavy with anticipation, the disappointment in Ferrari’s garage palpable. Jeonghan leaned against the barrier in the media pen, his crimson Ferrari suit contrasting with the growing dusk. Despite his relaxed posture, the tension radiating off him was hard to miss.

"Yoon Jeonghan," you began, stepping forward with your mic. "P11 today—your first time not making it to Q3 since your rookie season. What happened out there?"

His smile was thin, masking the fire simmering beneath. "Suzuka’s a tough circuit. I put in a solid lap, but in the end, it just wasn’t enough. A couple milliseconds make all the difference."

"Kim Mingyu of McLaren knocked you out in the dying seconds of the session," you pointed out, your tone as neutral as possible.

"Yeah, Mingyu had a great lap," he said, though his smirk betrayed a hint of frustration. "Kudos to him for that. It’s the nature of the game—sometimes you’re the one knocking others out, and sometimes you’re the one being knocked out."

You tilted your head, pressing just a little. "Ferrari’s upgrades were supposed to shine here at Suzuka. Do you think the car—or the driver—fell short today?"

His eyes met yours, sharp and knowing. "Is that your way of asking if I’m losing my edge?"

You smiled faintly. "Just doing my job, Jeonghan."

"And doing it well," he replied smoothly. "I’ll make sure to give you something better to write about tomorrow."

Yoon Jeonghan’s Q2 Knockout: A Sign of Ferrari’s Struggles or a Driver Underperforming?

Your analysis was live before the sun set over Suzuka, dissecting Jeonghan’s performance lap by lap:

"While Ferrari’s SF-24 showed promise in Q1, Jeonghan’s Q2 lap exposed cracks in execution. Hesitant braking into Spoon Corner cost him vital time, and a wide exit through Degner 2 raised questions about his confidence under high pressure. Kim Mingyu’s decisive lap in the McLaren only highlighted the contrast, leaving Ferrari fans wondering if Jeonghan can rebound from this rare stumble."

It didn’t take long for the article to ripple through the paddock—and reach its subject. The article was sharp, critical, with the same bite that you had become a household name for. And Jeonghan read every word.

He must have been an idiot to assume you would be kinder after the way he’d left you gobsmacked a few nights prior at the bar. 

You had just wrapped up your interview with Mingyu, the day’s pole sitter, when Jeonghan found you.

"Got a minute?" he asked, voice deceptively light.

You glanced up, startled to find him so close, still in his Ferrari suit, his hair slightly damp from the cool-down lap.

"Something on your mind?" you replied, keeping your tone professional.

He didn’t bother with pleasantries. "That article."

You raised an eyebrow. "Specificity helps, you know."

He chuckled darkly. "The one where you ripped apart my Q2 performance like you’re a technical director." He took a step closer, and for the first time, the calm façade cracked - his smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Hesitant braking? Lack of confidence under pressure? You really think I’m losing my touch?"

"I think Suzuka demands perfection," you replied evenly. "And today, perfection wasn’t what we saw."

He let out a low laugh, shaking his head. "You love this, don’t you? Watching me stumble so you can tear me apart in print."

"Jeonghan," you said, straightening, "if you want me to write glowing reviews, give me something to work with."

"You should’ve mentioned how close I was to Mingyu’s time," he shot back.

"Close isn’t enough," you countered, coolly. "Not in this sport."

His eyes narrowed, and he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Careful, sweetheart. Don’t let them think you’re this obsessed with me."

"Careful, Jeonghan," you shot back mockingly. "Sienna Hartley might not like hearing you get so worked up over me."

His hand shot out, catching your wrist before you could walk away. "Here’s an exclusive for you," he said, his voice sharp. "Me and Sienna? Not together."

You blinked, thrown off for just a moment before you schooled your expression. "Good to know. Now let go."

He released you immediately but lingered just long enough to murmur, "Don’t think this is over."

The Suzuka chaos worked in Jeonghan’s favor. 

When the lights went out, Jeonghan’s start was perfect—clean, aggressive, calculated. By the first corner, he had already gained two places, capitalizing on a sluggish Alpine and threading the needle between a Williams and an AlphaTauri. 

The midfield battle was fierce. Suzuka’s notorious esses demanded precision, and Jeonghan attacked them with surgical efficiency, his Ferrari responding like an extension of his own instincts. He overtook the Aston Martin of Lee Seokmin into Turn 11 with a move so bold the crowd audibly gasped. 

Each pass felt like a small victory, but it wasn’t enough. The podium still felt miles away. His fingers tightened on the wheel as he navigated the sweeping Spoon Curve, catching a glimpse of the orange McLaren far ahead—Mingyu.

The memory of your post-quali interview slipped into his mind. Close isn’t enough. Not in this sport.

He exhaled sharply, forcing the thought away. Now wasn’t the time. Jeonghan approached Degner 2, the car planted firmly under him. He could feel the wear on his tires but knew he still had grip to spare. He glanced briefly at the digital display on his steering wheel, calculating the gap to the car ahead—P5, the Red Bull of Choi Seungcheol.

As he accelerated toward the Hairpin, your voice echoed in his head again. Hesitant braking. Confidence issues.

His jaw clenched. It wasn’t anger—it was something more complicated. Why did you always manage to get under his skin? He should’ve been focusing on tire wear, fuel management, or his next target, but instead, his mind betrayed him.

He thought of the way you’d smirked during the interview, how your tone had been sharp, almost daring. The way you’d walked away, leaving him with more to say.

Focus. He snapped himself back, braking perfectly into the Hairpin. The slip of attention hadn’t cost him, but it had been close. Too close.

A well-timed pit stop under a virtual safety car catapulted him to P4. He rejoined the track with fresh mediums, slicing through the field with an aggression that stunned even his team.

By Lap 40, he was staring down the rear wing of Kwon Soonyoung—his own teammate. The team’s radio lit up, the pit wall hesitating.

“Jeonghan, Soonyoung ahead on a different strategy. Keep it clean.”

He didn’t wait for a direct order. Into 130R, the fastest corner on the track, he swung to the outside. His car shuddered with the force of the maneuver, but he held his line, leaving Soonyoung no choice but to yield.

“P3, Jeonghan. You’re on the podium now. Great move.”

With only two laps to go, he was in P2, chasing Mingyu, who had a comfortable lead. Jeonghan knew catching him was impossible, but that wasn’t the point anymore. This was about proving something—to his team, the fans, and maybe even to you.

The Ferrari hummed beneath him, a symphony of power and precision. Every turn, every braking zone, every shift felt like redemption. When he crossed the line in P2, the roar of the crowd was deafening, but all he could hear was his own heartbeat.

The media room was packed, buzzing with questions for the podium finishers. You started with Mingyu, still glowing from his dominant victory.

“Kim Mingyu,” you began, “another win for McLaren. How does it feel to catch up to Jeonghan in the driver’s championship?”

Mingyu smiled, leaning into the mic. “It feels incredible. The car was perfect today, and the team did an amazing job. Credit to everyone back at the factory.”

Before you could move on to the next question, Jeonghan interjected from his spot.

“Must feel nice to start up front and stay there,” he quipped, his tone light but pointed.

Mingyu grinned, unfazed. “You would know, Jeonghan. But you kept me looking over my shoulder the whole time.”

The room chuckled, and you shot Jeonghan a warning glance, which he ignored entirely.

Later, when a question was directed at Jeonghan about his race recovery, his response was pointed. "Oh, you know. I’m pretty good at managing tire degradation. And I had a lot of people doubting me on this track specifically, so I had to prove them wrong too."

His gaze locked on yours as he delivered the last line, and the meaning wasn’t lost on you—or anyone else in the room.

Jeonghan barely made it three steps out of the press conference room before Soonyoung intercepted him, leaning casually against a stack of Pirelli tires like he had all the time in the world. The amusement on his face set Jeonghan’s internal alarms blaring.

“What the hell was that about?” Soonyoung asked, arms crossed in mock authority.

Jeonghan blinked, expertly schooling his expression into one of pure confusion. “What was what about?” he replied, his tone dripping with innocence.

“Oh, don’t even try to play dumb with me, Jeonghan. I know you too well.” Soonyoung’s grin widened as he stepped closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “You were doing something during that press conference. I’ve never seen you look that smug unless you’re—”

“I was answering questions,” Jeonghan interrupted smoothly, plucking a water bottle from the cooler without breaking his stride. He unscrewed the cap with deliberate calm, taking a slow sip. “That’s what press conferences are for, in case you forgot.”

Soonyoung squinted at him, unconvinced. “Right. And here I thought press conferences were for you to pretend you’re unbothered while delivering backhanded digs at Kim Mingyu.”

Jeonghan barely managed to keep a straight face, though he felt the tiniest flicker of pride. He had been particularly good with his barbs today. Still, there was no way he was admitting that. “Don’t project, Soonyoung,” he drawled. “Not everyone uses media day as therapy.”

Before Soonyoung could retort, a new voice joined the conversation.

“I know what it was,” said Kim Sunwoo, strolling up with the unshakable confidence of someone who didn’t yet understand how much trouble he was about to cause. The young mechanic had a smirk plastered on his face, the kind that made Jeonghan instinctively want to flee.

“You know what?” Jeonghan asked warily, his eyes narrowing.

“That look you had during the Q&A,” Sunwoo continued, leaning casually against a tool chest. “You were staring at her, man. Like, full-on laser focus. It’s like you were trying to send her a message.”

Jeonghan’s grip on the water bottle tightened. He felt his ears heat up but refused to let it show. “I was answering her question,” he said evenly. “It’s called eye contact. You should try it sometime—people like that sort of thing.”

But Sunwoo wasn’t done. “And don’t think we didn’t notice you getting all flustered when Mingyu’s name came up,” he added, his smirk widening.

“Flustered?” Jeonghan repeated, letting out a short, incredulous laugh. “Right. That’s definitely the word I’d use to describe me.”

“Come on, dude.” Sunwoo shrugged, undeterred. “Admit it. You’ve got a crush.”

The words hit like a sucker punch. Jeonghan froze mid-sip, choking slightly as the water went down the wrong way. He coughed, spluttering as Sunwoo and Soonyoung erupted into laughter.

“Alright,” Jeonghan said sharply once he’d recovered, pointing a finger at Sunwoo. “You’ve been spending too much time on TikTok. Get back to work before I have you polishing rims for the rest of the season.”

But Sunwoo only grinned wider, completely unbothered. “Jeonghan’s in loooove,” he teased, drawing out the word in a sing-song voice.

“I said that’s enough,” Jeonghan snapped, the slight pink tinge creeping up his neck completely betraying his forced composure. “Shouldn’t you be tuning an engine or something useful?”

Soonyoung, meanwhile, was doubled over laughing, clearly enjoying himself far too much. When he finally straightened, he clapped Jeonghan on the back. “Hey, don’t worry about it, man. If you need advice, just let me know. I’m great with women.”

Jeonghan groaned, brushing him off. “The day I take advice from you, Soonyoung, is the day I retire. He shoved past them toward his motorhome, muttering under his breath. “Insufferable. Both of you.”

But even as he slammed the door behind him, Jeonghan couldn’t stop the echo of Sunwoo’s words from rattling around in his head. 

You’ve got a crush.

He scoffed aloud, shaking his head. “Ridiculous,” he muttered, tossing the water bottle onto the couch. But as he sank down beside it, arms crossed and jaw tight, he couldn’t quite stop himself from wondering.

Jeonghan didn’t want to be here.

The club pulsed with energy, a humid swirl of bodies pressing too close, the bass reverberating in his chest like a persistent headache. Strobe lights sliced through the haze, and the air smelled faintly of spilled drinks and cheap cologne. Somewhere in the chaos, Soonyoung had disappeared, leaving Jeonghan to fend for himself.

He’d been ready to make his exit the moment they walked in, but Soonyoung had insisted. “You need to loosen up, Jeonghan. Let the adrenaline from the race wear off. Have a drink, maybe dance.”Jeonghan had scoffed at the idea, knowing full well that his reason for not wanting to stay wasn’t exhaustion.

No, it was you.

Even when you weren’t in the room, you lingered in his mind like the ghost of a song he couldn’t stop humming. The podium had been a nice distraction. But now, surrounded by the chatter of strangers and the clinking of glasses, his thoughts drifted back to the press conference and the pointed, teasing look you’d given him when he spoke.

And then there was Mingyu—always Mingyu—whose name you’d said with just a little too much warmth. Jeonghan had pretended not to notice, but it had been impossible to ignore.

Shaking his head, Jeonghan pushed through the crowd, determined to leave. He had almost made it to the exit when someone collided into him, hard enough to send him stumbling forward.

“Whoa—watch it!” a voice slurred, sharp with irritation but unmistakably familiar.

He turned, already scowling, but the expression froze on his face when he saw you.

“Jeonghan?” you said, blinking up at him, your voice teetering between surprise and amusement. Your cheeks were flushed, lips curling into a slow smile as you adjusted your grip on the drink in your hand.

“You?” he blurted, his composure slipping for a fraction of a second.

“What are you—?” you started, only to trail off as a giggle bubbled out of you. Shaking your head like you were trying to clear it, you added, “Wow. Small world, huh?”

“I guess so,” Jeonghan said, his tone carefully even, though his gaze lingered on the way the dim light caught the sheen of your hair, the curve of your smile. His eyes dropped to your drink, then back to your face. “Are you drunk?”

“No,” you said, far too quickly, before adding with a sheepish laugh, “Okay, maybe. Just a little.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, threatening to curve into a smile. “Sure looks like it.”

You waved him off with a dramatic flourish, nearly spilling your drink in the process. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be... I don’t know, brooding on a podium somewhere?”

He tilted his head, pretending to be affronted. “I don’t brood. And besides, this is a celebration.”

“Oh, right,” you said, stepping closer. Your gaze softened, and your voice dropped just enough to make the words feel like they were meant for him alone. “The big comeback.”

“Lots of doubters, huh?” you added, the slight slur in your voice doing nothing to dull the edge of your words.

Jeonghan blinked, caught off guard, before a chuckle escaped him. “Well, your article did the talking for you.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, your eyes a little too bright, your smile a little too slow. “What a way to get my attention, pretty boy.”

His breath caught, his carefully built façade cracking for just a second. “You think I’m pretty?”

Your lips parted, but before you could answer, a hand landed firmly on your shoulder.

“There you are!”

Jeonghan looked up to see one of your friends glaring at him as they steadied you. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and you’re... what? Flirting with Yoon Jeonghan now?”

“Not flirting,” you protested weakly, though your lopsided smile said otherwise.

Your friend wasn’t convinced, nor were they interested in his response. They tugged you into the crowd with an apologetic glance over their shoulder. “Sorry about her—she’s had a night.”

Jeonghan stayed rooted in place, his gaze following your retreating figure. His lips curved into a faint smile as your words replayed in his mind.

“What a way to get my attention,” he murmured to himself, shaking his head.

And yet, as he stood there, the thought struck him that maybe you’d already gotten his.

FORMULA 1 GRAND PRIX DE MONACO 2024Track: Circuit de Monaco

The paddock at Monaco was alive with its usual glitz and glamour, the unmistakable hum of anticipation hanging thick in the air. Cameras flashed, team personnel buzzed around, and the harbor glistened under the sun. Monaco, the crown jewel of the F1 calendar, had a way of amplifying everything—victories felt sweeter, defeats more crushing, and the stakes impossibly higher.

Jeonghan, fresh off securing pole position, had his usual air of nonchalance, but the glow of triumph was undeniable. The fans chanted his name; the cameras adored him. Yet as he stepped off the podium erected for the post-qualifying festivities, his sharp eyes caught sight of something—someone—that brought him up short.

You.

You were standing just beyond the throng of journalists, your press badge gleaming under the midday sun. It had been weeks since he’d last seen you, weeks since your sharp quips and piercing questions had filled the air between you like sparks on dry wood.

Those weeks had been… odd, to say the least. You’d been reassigned to cover Formula E, a shift Jeonghan had learned about only after noticing your absence at the paddock in China. He had played it cool, pretending it didn’t matter, but he had found himself seeking out your byline anyway—reading articles that had nothing to do with him or F1, just to feel the rhythm of your words.

Even the searing critiques you usually aimed at him had been sorely missed. It was maddening, really, how much quieter the world had felt without your fire.

Now, here you were again, back in the fray of Formula 1, as though no time had passed. Jeonghan’s expression remained casual, but his stride toward you was deliberate, cutting through the chaos of the paddock.

When he stopped in front of you, his smirk was already in place, a shield against the strange, unwelcome flutter of relief in his chest. “Where’ve you been?” he asked, tilting his head with practiced ease.

You looked up from your notebook, arching a brow at him. “Missed me, Jeonghan?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

The word landed between you like a drop of rain on hot asphalt, its simplicity taking you aback. Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but notice how the sharpness in your gaze softened for a fraction of a second.

But then, as quickly as the moment arrived, he leaned in, his smirk deepening. “Someone had to keep the paddock interesting.”

You rolled your eyes, recovering your composure. “I see the Monaco air hasn’t done anything for your humility.”

“And I see Formula E hasn’t dulled your wit,” he shot back, stepping closer so the noise of the paddock faded slightly.

You shook your head, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You’ve done not too bad these past few races, huh?”

The comment was offhand, tossed in almost as a formality, but it hit Jeonghan harder than he expected. Compliments—genuine ones—were rare from you, and they stirred something unexpected in him.

Jeonghan blinked, the smirk faltering for just a second before he quickly replaced it with mock arrogance. “Not too bad?” he echoed, feigning offense. “I dominated in China, held my ground in Miami, and destroyed Emilia Romagna. Give me some credit here.”

For all his ego, Jeonghan knew he wasn’t wrong. He’d won China by a jaw-dropping 22.3-second margin, Mingyu so far behind that Jeonghan had time to deliver an entire thank-you speech over the radio before the McLaren driver even crossed the checkered flag. In Miami, even a grueling five-second stop-go penalty hadn’t stopped him; he finished P2 (behind Kim Mingyu, annoyingly) and picked up the extra point for the fastest lap, earning him Driver of the Day. And in Emilia Romagna, he was the clear favorite from the moment the race weekend began. The Tifosi were relentless, their cheers in the grandstands so deafening that Jeonghan could barely hear his engineer’s voice over the radio.

When he crossed the finish line first, the sea of red under the podium roared with such thunderous applause that his ears rang for hours afterward. In just three races, Jeonghan had cemented himself as the best contender for the 2024 World Champion.

And yet, somehow, it wasn’t as sweet without you there to write about it.

“Alright,” you said, meeting his gaze head-on. “You’ve been exceptional.”

The word struck like a sucker punch. For once, Jeonghan didn’t have a clever retort. 

"Congrats on pole, Jeonghan," you said, your voice cool but sincere, offering him a small smile. It made his heart skip a beat.

Jeonghan’s lips twitched, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You called me exceptional."

You glanced up at him, closing your notebook with a flick of your wrist. The corner of your mouth quirked into a smirk. "Yes. Now, thoughts on pole?"

He's silent for so long that you politely clear your throat, hoping to cut through the sudden stillness. "Maybe this should be my headline for the day, Jeonghan. Monaco's Maze Leaves Golden Boy Spinning Out."

It's like someone doused him with ice water. His easy, sun-soaked posture stiffens, and the small smirk he'd been wearing evaporates.

You're still a journalist. He forgets that sometimes.

"Why do you do that?" he mutters, voice edged with something unfamiliar—disappointment, maybe.

You blink, caught off guard by the abrupt change in tone. “Do what?”

“That.” He gestures vaguely between you and the notebook tucked in your hand. The lenses of his sunglasses catch the sunlight, but there’s no mistaking the intensity behind them. His gaze pierces, searching for something in your expression. “Bringing the shitty headlines into every conversation."

You arch a brow, tucking the notebook closer to your chest as if shielding it from his line of sight. “Shitty? You mean accurate, Jeonghan.”

His jaw tightens, a subtle movement, but enough to draw your attention. There’s a faint crease forming between his brows now, and you realize it’s not your usual back-and-forth banter. “You know what I mean,” he mutters, voice low and barely audible over the hum of the paddock—the distant rumble of engines, the echo of voices, the clinking of tools in nearby garages.

For a moment, you’re at a loss. Jeonghan doesn’t let things like this bother him—or, at least, he’s always been good at pretending they don’t. His whole brand is carefree charm, a perpetual smirk, and the confidence of someone who knows he’ll always be the center of attention. This feels different.

“You’re upset about a headline?” you ask, genuinely curious now.

“It’s not about the headline.” His tone sharpens, but he stops himself, jaw clenching like he’s swallowing something bitter. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, his fingers brushing over the brim of his cap. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, tinged with something almost vulnerable. “It’s about how you never let up, even when it’s me.”

The admission lands heavily between you, unexpected and disarming.

You shift uncomfortably under the weight of his words, the way they seem to strip away the professional distance you’ve been clinging to. “Why should I?” you counter, keeping your voice steady despite the flicker of doubt creeping in. “You’re just another driver, Jeonghan.”

His laugh is short and humorless, cutting through the charged air between you. “Right. Just another driver.”

There’s something about the way he says it—low, almost resigned—that catches you off guard. The bitterness in his tone isn’t theatrical; it’s real, raw, and so at odds with the image he projects to the world.

You glance at him, searching for the Jeonghan you’re used to—the one who shrugs off criticism with a knowing grin, who always has a teasing retort ready. But for once, he’s not hiding behind a smirk or a cocky quip. He looks tired, the weight of his words pulling at the edges of his carefully maintained charm.

“Jeonghan,” you begin, unsure of what you’re even trying to say.

But he shakes his head, cutting you off before you can find the right words. “Forget it.”

He takes a step back, and it feels like a gulf opening between you. The mask of indifference slips back into place with practiced ease, but you’ve already seen the cracks. “You’ve got your job to do,” he says, his tone clipped and distant. “Make sure you spell my name right in that next ‘shitty headline.’”

You hate the way your chest tightens at his words, hate the instinctive urge to reach out and stop him as he turns to walk away, his figure retreating into the chaotic swirl of the paddock.

But you don’t.

Instead, you grip your notebook tighter, the edges digging into your palm as if the physical discomfort might drown out the ache building in your chest. The buzz of your phone in your pocket snaps you out of the moment. Grateful for the distraction, you pull it out to see a text from your editor: Post-qualifying article. Deadline: 6 PM.

Just another driver.

The words echo hollowly in your mind, unconvincing and painfully untrue.

Because the truth is, Jeonghan has never been just anything to you.

And that’s exactly why this is so damn complicated.

Jeonghan spends the night refreshing his Twitter feed. 

He’s not sure what he’s waiting for, honestly. 

Maybe it’s the rush of validation that comes from a clever reply, or the sting of criticism that reminds him he’s still human under the helmet. Or maybe it’s something else entirely—something he doesn’t want to name. The applause of the crowd is long gone, and the adrenaline from securing pole position hours earlier has settled into a restless hum. His phone feels heavier in his hand as he scrolls, tapping at random links and skimming comments that veer between praise and criticism.

The article finally pops up, your name bold and unmistakable at the top. His stomach tightens, a sensation he’ll never admit to anyone, least of all you. 

He clicks it immediately. 

The headline strikes first: 

Kim Mingyu’s Risky Qualifying Lap Keeps Rivals on Edge

For a moment, he freezes, his eyes scanning the words again to make sure he didn’t misread.

Mingyu?

Confusion knots his brow as he scrolls down. The opening paragraph is a glowing analysis of Mingyu’s audacious lap—a near miss in the second sector, a masterful recovery in the final corners. The kind of detailed, evocative writing that Jeonghan knows you reserve for stories you care about.

Then, buried halfway through, he finds his name:

“Jeonghan, true to form, delivered a flawless lap to secure pole position. His consistency and precision were unmatched, placing him at the front of the grid for tomorrow’s race.”

That’s it.

No breakdown of his sector times, no mention of the deft control it took to navigate the tight Monaco corners under immense pressure. Just a single, clinical acknowledgment, overshadowed by Mingyu’s second-place drama.

Jeonghan stares at the screen, his thumb hovering over the refresh button. He doesn’t know what he was expecting—a parade in words? A headline with his name front and center?

It’s ridiculous, he tells himself. Pole position speaks for itself. It doesn’t need a poetic article to back it up.

But that doesn’t stop the irritation bubbling under his skin.

He tosses his phone onto the bed with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. His hotel room feels quieter than it should, the distant hum of the city barely seeping through the windows.

He can’t shake the feeling that you’re making a point. That this is your way of reminding him that while he might be the golden boy on the track, he doesn’t get special treatment in your world.

Not in your writing. Not from you.

It’s infuriating.

And yet, a part of him—one he’s unwilling to examine too closely—wants to know why you didn’t write more about him. Wants to know what he’d have to do to make you look at him the way you clearly look at Mingyu.

Not just another driver.

But the one worth writing about.

The morning of the Monaco Grand Prix dawned with the soft hum of engines filling the paddock and the gleaming streets of Monte Carlo radiating under a cloudless sky. Jeonghan arrived early, his customary calm masking the roiling anticipation beneath. Pole position was his—secured with a lap so clinical it had left his rivals chasing shadows. Yet, the sharp sting of your article still lingered, buried beneath layers of pride and annoyance.

By mid-morning, the paddock buzzed with tension. The Monaco circuit—narrow, unforgiving, and relentlessly demanding—left no room for error. Victory here wasn’t just about speed; it was about precision, strategy, and an unwavering mental edge. Jeonghan knew that all too well.

As he suited up, the familiar ritual steadied his thoughts. Helmet, gloves, fireproofs—each piece transformed him into the driver everyone expected him to be. His engineer’s voice crackled over the comms. “Focus on the start, Jeonghan. Turn One is everything.”

He gave a curt nod, stepping into the car. The roar of the crowd was muffled as the cockpit enveloped him. Lights on the dashboard blinked in sequence, a visual metronome syncing with his heartbeat.

The engine roars to life beneath Jeonghan as he settles into the cockpit, the familiar hum of the Monaco Grand Prix vibrating through the seat, up his spine, and into his very bones. His focus sharpens like a blade, the heat of the sun seeping through his visor, but he’s not thinking about the sweat trickling down his neck or the weight of the helmet that obscures his field of vision. He’s thinking of the laps he’s put in, of the sacrifice, the years of work that led him here, to this very moment, pole position in Monaco.

He has no illusions about the challenge ahead. This track has always favored the one at the front, especially when that one is someone as methodical and precise as Jeonghan. It’s not often that the pole sitter falters here. But that’s not what has his stomach in knots. It’s not the track or the other drivers. It’s you. The thought of your words, your perspective, your gaze.

What if this win isn’t enough? What if I’m still just another driver to you?

His grip tightens on the steering wheel, and for a moment, he considers the possibility of failing, of cruising through the race without the sharp, passionate energy that has always pushed him. What if he doesn’t even get the headline he’s chasing? What if all this effort amounts to nothing more than another expected victory, no deeper praise, no recognition?

He blinks, pushing the thought away. He can’t afford distractions. He’s here to win—nothing else matters.

The lights blink, one by one, before finally turning off, and he’s off, the car surging forward into the narrow streets of Monaco, engines screaming in unison. His concentration narrows, the noise of the crowd fading into the background. The first few laps are a blur of tactical moves, maintaining the lead, setting the pace. Behind him, Mingyu is close—too close—but Jeonghan has enough room, enough air to breathe.

The laps tick by, the gaps between drivers stretching and shrinking like the ebb and flow of a tide. In Monaco, you can’t make mistakes. The barriers are close enough to bite, and one slip-up could send everything into chaos. Jeonghan doesn’t think of that, though. He doesn’t think of the press, of his reputation, of the words hanging in the back of his mind.

What he thinks about is the win. The pure, simple joy of crossing that finish line first. He wants to feel the weight of the moment, of the accomplishment, and more than anything, he wants to look up and see you there—see that your words reflect the magnitude of this victory.

He holds the lead through the race, but it’s a quiet victory, one he can feel in his bones but doesn’t fully experience. The lap times are consistent, but nothing spectacular happens. No drama, no surprise overtake, no breathtaking maneuver.

It’s a clean, controlled victory—exactly what everyone expects from the driver in pole position.

By the time the checkered flag waves, Jeonghan crosses the line in first. The crowd erupts in cheers, but Jeonghan doesn’t feel the same rush of emotion. The thrill is absent, replaced instead by a deep, gnawing sense of doubt.

The win is his, but it feels like it’s already slipping away from his grasp.

In the post-race briefing, he sits with his team, nodding as they discuss tire strategies, pit stops, and the things that went right. But his eyes keep drifting to the back of the room, to where you stand, clipboard in hand, scribbling notes with focused intent. Every time he tries to catch your gaze, to make eye contact, you look away, as if determined to keep your distance.

It stings more than it should.

Jeonghan leans back in his seat, the weight of his helmet resting against his neck, the pressure of your indifference pressing down on him. He wants to reach out, wants to tell you that this win—this clean, controlled, expected win—deserves something more. But he stays silent, twisting the words in his mind, unable to voice the insecurity that’s suddenly consuming him.

The press conference follows the briefing, a whirlwind of questions, cameras, and flashing lights. The room is full of journalists, all clamoring for soundbites, all eager to discuss the expected result—Jeonghan, pole position, and now, victory. But Jeonghan doesn’t care about the usual congratulatory remarks. He’s waiting for something more. Something real.

When the article finally drops, hours later, he barely waits before pulling it up on his phone. He knows what it’s going to say, but still, the disappointment claws at his chest as he reads the headline.

Jeonghan Dominates Monaco: Pole Position Translates to Victory

His stomach twists, and he exhales sharply, trying to ignore the hollow feeling that spreads through him. It’s everything he expected—a result that leaves no room for admiration, no room for praise. Just the simple, obvious statement that he did what everyone expected him to do. The race was clean, flawless even, but there’s no depth to the words, no recognition of what it takes to win here, at Monaco, the most challenging track in the world.

The thought gnaws at him.

It’s not enough.

The press conference continues, the cameras flashing, but Jeonghan’s mind is far from the words he’s being asked to repeat. He’s not thinking about the team’s success, about the strategies that worked, or even about the crowd's cheers. His eyes find you across the room once again, but this time, you don't look away. Your gaze is fixed on something—anything—but not on him.

He can’t help but wonder if it’s because you don’t see him as more than just another driver. Just another one of the usual suspects who gets a win when it’s expected. He’s fighting for something more—something beyond the surface. But for now, it seems like that’s something he’ll never get from you.

He’s won Monaco. But in that moment, the victory feels like the hollowest thing in the world.

FORMULA 1 AWS GRAND PRIX DU CANADA 2024Track: Circuit Gilles Villeneuve

The Canadian Grand Prix feels like a blur. The rain starts as a light drizzle, but by the time the race begins, it’s pouring, transforming the circuit into a slippery mess. The slick track glistens under the flood of water, making the circuit treacherous, a spinning wheel of danger. The air is thick with the scent of wet asphalt, and there’s an ominous tension in the paddock, a murmur that hangs in the atmosphere as if everyone knows something bad is about to happen. 

You catch sight of Jeonghan on the grid. He’s staring straight ahead, hands clasped behind his back, his posture perfect, like the picture of composure. But you can see it in his eyes—something flickers there, a mix of tension and determination. His car, finely tuned for dry conditions, isn’t built for this. The engineers have done what they can, adjusting the setup, but there’s only so much they can do when the weather turns so violently. You know this track—the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve—is not forgiving, and for someone like Jeonghan, a precision driver who thrives when everything falls into place, this is the worst-case scenario. He’s trying to keep his focus, but you can see the strain on his face, the pressure mounting with every passing moment.

The starting lights go out, and the cars roar off the grid, their engines screaming in defiance of the rain. Jeonghan’s car is sluggish in the first few laps. You see him fighting with the wheel, struggling to keep the car in line, each turn a reminder that the odds are stacked against him. The rain is only getting heavier, and the car, built for speed in perfect conditions, is no longer responsive, no longer the finely-tuned machine he’s so accustomed to. It’s like he’s driving a different car altogether.

As the laps tick by, the race feels like a slow-motion disaster, unfolding before your eyes. Jeonghan’s always been skilled in the wet, but this is different—this is more than just rain. This is a mechanical mismatch, an impossible task to overcome. You watch him push, trying to find any way to make up time, but it’s clear he’s just not able to. The car slides wide through the corners, the back end kicking out as he struggles to maintain control. His frustration is palpable, his jaw clenched, his hands gripping the wheel with white-knuckled intensity.

And then, it happens.

The rear end of Jeonghan’s car breaks loose as he enters Turn 6, and for a moment, it’s a dance of power and precision, a flick of the wheel, an attempt to save it. But it’s futile. The car loses traction, and before you can even process it, he’s in the barriers. The sound of impact is like a gut punch, a sickening crunch that sends a wave of dread through you. The crowd's collective gasp is drowned out by the static crackle of his radio.

“Jeonghan, do you copy?” The voice of his engineer is urgent, panicked, but there’s no mistaking the defeat in it when the response comes through. Jeonghan’s voice is clipped, emotion stripped away in favor of the cold reality.

“I’m out. Car’s done.”

The message is simple, the weight of it crashing down on you. The race is over. Lap 30. The dream, the chance to prove himself in a season that’s been anything but easy, has slipped away, drowned by the rain.

You feel like you’ve been punched in the gut. It’s a loss for Jeonghan, but it feels like a loss for you too. Not because of the race itself, but because of the frustration you saw in his face. The disappointment. The feeling of helplessness. It’s all there, and it hits you harder than you expect.

He doesn’t speak to anyone after. He doesn’t go to the media pen, doesn’t stand in front of the cameras for the obligatory interview. There’s no deflection, no distractions. He’s just... gone. You barely see him in the paddock. He doesn’t even go to the Ferrari garage to debrief with his team. He disappears into the background, like he’s trying to erase himself from the scene altogether, retreating into the shadows, avoiding the world that’s waiting to cast its judgment.

And you? You stay away too. The press room feels suffocating, the questions ringing in your ears as you try to focus. You write your piece, a cold, sharp report about the race and Jeonghan’s crash, a clinical dissection of what went wrong. But something feels hollow as you type. The words don’t flow the way they used to. They’re just words, strung together to meet the deadline, to give the readers what they want. It’s not about the story anymore. It’s not about the race. It’s about the loss.

You can’t shake the image of Jeonghan crashing out, of his frustration written in every line of his face, every motion of his hands. You can’t forget the way he looked when he climbed out of the car, shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the world had suddenly fallen onto him. His eyes are distant, like he’s already checked out, retreating into himself. It’s a look you’ve seen before, but it’s sharper now, more pronounced. He’s carrying something, a burden that you don’t understand, a burden you’re not sure you can even help him carry.

But all you can do is write. And even that doesn’t feel like enough.

FORMULA 1 ARAMCO GRAN PREMIO DE ESPAÑA 2024 Track: Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya

The Spanish Grand Prix feels different from the moment you step out of the car, the heat oppressive, the air thick with anticipation and the inevitable tension of the weekend. The usual rhythm of the paddock is off-kilter, heightened by the suffocating summer heat, the burning sun beating down on every exposed surface. The heat is more than just physical; it's palpable in the way the drivers move, in the clipped tones of the engineers, in the quiet buzz of conversation that flickers out like static.

But even through the sticky, heavy air, the tension feels electric—charged, ready to snap. The circuit is a challenge in itself, and the drivers know it. There’s no room for error here—just wide, hot tarmac and the constant pressure of chasing that perfect lap.

You’ve done your best to avoid Jeonghan, kept a comfortable distance as much as possible. But there’s something about the way he carries himself now—an edge that wasn't there before. It’s sharp, biting, and yet there’s an underlying vulnerability that makes everything harder to ignore.

When qualifying results flash up, you’re caught off-guard. Soonyoung is on pole, Mingyu in second, and Jeonghan… Jeonghan is in third. 

Jeonghan strides into the paddock after qualifying, his face carefully composed, but there’s a look in his eyes—something sharp, something that makes you hesitate. You haven’t spoken in days, not since Canada, not since he shut you out. You’ve been avoiding him, and he’s been avoiding you, but you both know the silence can’t last forever.

You’re standing near the media area when he approaches, and for a moment, it feels like the world holds its breath. The slight tilt of his head, the way his gaze flicks over your shoulder, pretending not to care, but you see through it.

"Don't do this," he says, his voice tight, but it's not the playful teasing you’ve grown used to. It’s something darker. Something tired.

"Don’t do what?" you snap, your patience running thin. "Pretend everything’s fine?"

His jaw clenches, eyes narrowing. "You’ve been avoiding me. Why? Because of Canada?"

You blink. The question hits harder than you expect, and you struggle to keep your composure. “You expect me to just forget what happened? You were fine after the crash, Jeonghan. You didn’t even bother with the press. I can’t just pretend that wasn’t... anything.”

The words come out sharper than you intend, and for a split second, you regret it. You see the way his shoulders stiffen, the brief flicker of pain in his eyes before he masks it with that carefully constructed indifference.

"Maybe I didn’t want to deal with your harsh words," he snaps, taking a step closer. “Maybe I’m tired of being the perfect driver for you, the one who’s supposed to be good enough to meet your standards. But I’m not—am I?"

Your chest tightens at the accusation, at the sudden rawness in his voice. "You think I’m too harsh? You think I’m just waiting for you to be perfect all the time?" You laugh, bitter and self-deprecating. "That’s what this is about? You crashing out wasn’t because of me. I write the truth, Jeonghan. And maybe the truth is you didn’t have the car for that race. It was out of your control."

His expression darkens, and you see that familiar flash of anger—one you’ve seen more times than you care to admit. "No," he hisses, taking another step toward you. "The truth is, you're so wrapped up in your narratives, you forget that I’m human. You forget that I have feelings too, and that maybe... maybe I wanted to do this for myself, not for some headline or some article. But you... you don’t see me that way, do you? You see me as another story, another fucking headline to dissect. Just another driver."

His words cut deeper than anything else could, and the final crack in your restraint breaks wide open. You can feel the heat rising in your chest, the tightness in your throat, the way your breath hitches.

“You want me to treat you differently?” you bite back, furious, stepping into his space. “You want me to hold your hand and tell you it’s okay every time you fail? Because you’re so tired of being just another driver? Well, you know what, Jeonghan? I am tired. I’m tired of trying to keep this professional, of pretending that I’m not watching the same guy who couldn’t even handle his own crash. You don’t get to demand better treatment from me when you can’t even handle the heat.”

For a moment, neither of you move, and the silence is thick, charged with the weight of your words.

He stares at you, eyes dark, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. You’re both too close now, caught in this space where words are weapons, and you’re both bleeding out.

Finally, Jeonghan turns away, his expression unreadable, but you can see the tightness in his back, the way his jaw works, like he’s holding something back. "Maybe you should stop writing about me altogether," he mutters, his voice rough, before stalking off, leaving you standing there, heart pounding and chest aching.

For a moment, you stand frozen, caught between regret and relief, between the anger that still simmers beneath your skin and the sudden emptiness that creeps in now that he's gone.

The moment Jeonghan storms off, leaving you standing there with a surge of anger and a pounding heart, you don't realize someone’s been listening. But someone has. The faint click of a camera, barely audible over the sound of your pulse, is enough to make you pause. You turn, instinctively, to see a familiar face from the gossip side of the paddock. It's Soojin, a reporter known for getting the juiciest bits of drama and twisting them into scandalous headlines. She’s got a camera in one hand, her phone in the other, furiously typing something into it with a smirk that sends an uncomfortable ripple through your gut.

Before you can say anything, she’s already gone, blending back into the throng of people milling around the paddock, her steps quick and sure. The damage has been done. You know it, and the prickling sensation in the pit of your stomach tells you that it’s about to get a lot worse.

By the time you’ve made it back to the media center, the storm has already hit. Your Twitter feed is flooded with the words “Trouble in Paradise?”, and the accompanying photos. The images are damning—Jeonghan’s angry face, red with emotion, and your own flushed, furious expression, both of you screaming at each other in the middle of the paddock. There’s no context, no explanation, just the raw emotion, raw enough to sell.

The headline isn’t even what stings. It’s the comments that follow. Speculation, assumptions, and a flood of opinions. Some call it a lover’s quarrel, some assume the worst, but most seem content to paint the picture of two people on the verge of breaking. It’s not just your name that gets dragged through the mud; it’s Jeonghan’s too. Both of you, caught in a perfect storm of emotions and bad timing. The last thing either of you needs.

You try to shut it out, but it’s impossible. The text messages from your editor come through, asking for a statement. Your phone rings with calls from the PR team, from your colleagues, and even from your friends, who all seem to know about the situation before you’ve even had a chance to process it yourself.

And then, just when you think it couldn’t get worse, the email comes. It’s from Ferrari’s PR team, and it’s almost too professional to be true:

Dear Y/N, In light of the recent events surrounding your interactions with Mr. Yoon Jeonghan, we would like to offer you full access to the Ferrari garage for the remainder of the season. This will provide you with the opportunity to write an in-depth feature on the team, showcasing the work and dedication that goes into each race weekend. We believe this move will allow for a clearer perspective on the situation and help ensure that your reporting reflects the true nature of the team and its drivers. We look forward to your continued coverage. Best regards, Ferrari PR Team

It’s a calculated move—a distraction, a chance to smooth things over. And you know it. The message is clear: everything must look fine. Everything must be fixed, packaged neatly for the media and the fans to consume. You’re a pawn in a much bigger game, and they’re making sure you play along.

At first, you think about refusing. You think about how everything feels so wrong right now. About how the image of you and Jeonghan, caught in the heat of an argument, is being used to feed the frenzy. But the PR team doesn’t leave room for argument. You know that declining would only escalate things further, make them harder to fix.

So, you agree.

The access starts almost immediately. They give you a full tour of the Ferrari garage, show you the inner workings of the team, introduce you to the engineers, the strategists, the pit crew. You’re given permission to write about the team’s strategy, their behind-the-scenes preparation, but there’s always a sense that you're being watched—every move, every word.

You can’t help but notice Jeonghan’s absence. Every time you walk through the garage, he’s not there. The driver who once greeted you with a cocky smile and a teasing remark, the one who always found a way to make you laugh, is nowhere to be found. It’s like he’s vanished, swallowed by the thick wall of Ferrari’s PR machine.

It’s as if nothing is real anymore. The false smiles, the calculated interviews, the way the drivers exchange glances with a rehearsed ease. The more you observe, the more you realize how much of this world is a performance, a show put on for the audience, with no room for anything real. It all feels like it’s slipping through your fingers, leaving you with nothing but an empty, fragile façade.

Still, you’re expected to keep writing, to deliver the polished pieces the team expects. You’re supposed to put the headline “TROUBLE IN PARADISE?” behind you and focus on the carefully constructed narrative. So, you do. For now.

But even as you walk the pits, breathing in the scent of burnt rubber and sweat, there’s a quiet ache in the back of your mind. The truth is, you don’t know how much longer you can keep pretending that everything is fine.

Not when you still feel Jeonghan’s words hanging in the air between you, like the remnants of a storm that’s yet to pass. Not when you still want, with everything in you, to be able to fix it.

And maybe that’s the problem.

The crash happens so quickly, so violently, that it almost feels unreal. One moment, the tell-tale red of Jeonghan’s car is cutting through the circuit with his signature precision. The next, it’s a twisted mess of metal and rubber, skidding off the track, his car spinning wildly as Lee Seokmin’s Aston Martin clips him just before the tight corner at Turn 14. You watch it all unfold from the pit wall, your heart stopping for a brief second as the sound of the crash echoes through the air. 

There’s a collective gasp from the crew around you, followed by the frantic chatter of engineers and strategists, trying to process what just happened. You can see the smoke rising from the wreckage, and your breath catches when the marshals begin to swarm the car, signaling that Jeonghan is still inside. 

The radio crackles to life, but Jeonghan’s voice doesn’t come through. For a second, it feels like time slows down. The pit wall is a blur of motion, but you’re frozen, eyes locked on the track, praying for him to be okay. 

Then, finally, the confirmation comes: “Jeonghan is out of the car. He's fine. We'll move him to the medical center.” 

A wave of relief washes over you, but it’s short-lived. The weight of the crash—his crash—still hangs in the air, and it’s clear from the looks of the Ferrari crew that no one knows exactly what went wrong. The tension in the paddock is palpable, and as you’re given full access to the debriefing room afterward, the atmosphere is thick with unspoken frustration. 

Jeonghan walks in with that same seething expression he had after the crash, and the room goes silent. His eyes are red-rimmed, his jaw clenched, the kind of anger that’s so deep it can’t be shaken by anything or anyone. His usual confident swagger is replaced by a taut, barely contained rage that makes it hard for anyone to even breathe in his presence. His voice, when he speaks, is sharp, cutting through the room like a knife. 

“You think this is a joke?” he snaps, looking at his team with a glare so intense it’s almost suffocating. His fists are balled at his sides, his shoulders tense with barely controlled fury. 

The debriefing begins, but it’s clear that no one knows how to handle him. His coach tries to keep things calm, but Jeonghan's sharp words only make the tension worse. The rest of the team sits in silence, unsure of what to say, how to fix the situation. His eyes never leave the table, his posture rigid, as though every part of him is fighting the urge to storm out. 

The meeting goes in circles—strategies discussed, what went wrong, how to move forward—but nothing seems to land. Jeonghan doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to listen to anyone right now. His frustration is palpable, and it’s clear this crash, this failure, has broken something inside of him. 

When he finally stands, his chair scraping harshly against the floor, there’s an air of finality to it. Without another word, he storms out, leaving a tense silence in his wake. No one dares to speak, knowing that anything they say would be pointless. The door slams shut, and the meeting disbands soon after. 

But you don’t leave. You don’t really have anywhere to go. Not yet. 

You make your way to the Ferrari canteen, your footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. It’s one of those rare moments when you’re not chasing a headline, not following the usual routine, and the monotony of it all feels like a relief. You order two beers without thinking. You don’t need two, but for some reason, it feels right. Maybe it’s the adrenaline still coursing through your veins from the crash, or maybe it’s just the weight of everything—the pressure, the disappointment, the simmering frustration with Jeonghan that you haven’t had the chance to process yet. The beers are cold, the glass bottles slick with condensation, and when you walk outside to the grandstands, you find him. 

Jeonghan is sitting alone, his back against the metal railing, the crowd long gone. The air is warm, the kind of summer heat that clings to your skin and makes everything feel a little heavier. His eyes are closed, his head tipped back as he stares at the sky, and for a moment, you wonder if he even notices you approaching. 

Without saying a word, you sit beside him, the soft crunch of your shoes against the gravel the only sound in the stillness. You don’t offer him a drink immediately. Instead, you hold the bottles in your hands, feeling the chill seep into your palms, letting the silence stretch between you. 

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you hand him one of the beers. He doesn’t look at you, but you catch the faintest shift in his posture, a soft hum of acknowledgement as he accepts it, cracking the cap with a quick twist.

“Jeonghan,” you say, breaking the silence, your voice quieter than you expect it to be. He doesn’t respond immediately, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. You take a sip of your own beer, the bitter taste grounding you in the moment. You can feel the tension that’s been building between you both, the weight of the unspoken words, but for now, you can’t bring yourself to make him speak. 

Then he does. “Full access, huh?” His voice is rough, the teasing edge to his words gone, replaced by something heavier. The bitterness is unmistakable. “You must be thrilled, getting to see me crash out in front of the entire team.” 

You almost choke on your beer. You can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or genuinely hurt, but it stings regardless. 

“I’m not,” you say quickly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You wish he would look at you, but he’s staring straight ahead, his jaw still tight, muscles still coiled like a spring. "I don’t want that, Jeonghan. What don’t you get?" 

“No?” He tilts his head slightly, but his gaze stays fixed. “I would think Miss Scathing Articles would relish the chance to tear me down again.” 

A sharp retort sat on your tongue, but you swallowed it. There was no point. Instead, you looked away, focusing on the distant horizon where the racetrack lay, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. "I don’t," you said quietly. "I’m not interested in tearing you down. I never have been." 

Jeonghan’s laugh was hollow, almost like a scoff. "Color me surprised." 

A beat passed between you both, the air thick with unspoken words. You took a sip of your beer, now lukewarm and slightly flat, but it didn’t matter. Neither of you had the luxury of pretending everything was fine anymore. 

He finally turns to you, his eyes meeting yours; there’s something in the way he looks at you—raw, vulnerable, almost like he’s waiting for the punchline of some cruel joke. 

“I’m sorry,” you say after a long silence, your voice softer this time, barely above a whisper. You’re not sure if he hears you, but he looks at you with an expression that makes you feel like you’ve just stepped into a minefield. 

He doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, he exhales a long breath, rubbing his forehead with his fingers as though the weight of it all is finally catching up to him. The tension between you hangs heavy in the warm summer air, the quiet hum of distant cicadas filling the space where words should be. Jeonghan takes another sip of his beer, the bottle pressed lightly against his lips as though it might cool the heat simmering under his skin. He looks tired—no, more than tired. Worn down. The type of exhaustion that no amount of sleep could fix. 

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says finally, the words coming out uneven, almost like they’re foreign on his tongue. His voice is softer now, missing the sharp edges that had cut into you moments before. “You were just doing your job.” 

“Jeonghan,” you start, but he holds up a hand, silencing you. 

“No, really.” He forces a thin smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s the kind of expression you’ve seen him use in press conferences—a shield, practiced and perfect. “You’re here because Ferrari told you to be. Because someone thought it’d be a great PR move. You don’t owe me anything beyond that.” 

The words sting, even though you know they shouldn’t. He’s not wrong. This isn’t your world, not really. But you can’t help the knot tightening in your chest as you watch him retreat into himself, the walls going up before your eyes. 

“I’m not here because they told me to be,” you say quietly, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “I’m here because I wanted to be. Because I saw the crash, Jeonghan, and I—” You stop, swallowing hard as the memory flashes behind your eyes again. The twisted metal, the plume of smoke, the moment you thought— 

“I was scared,” you admit, your voice cracking slightly. “Not as a journalist. Not as someone with a job to do. As someone who—” Jeonghan’s gaze snaps to you, his eyes narrowing slightly, but there’s something vulnerable there, too, something unguarded. 

You don't finish the sentence. 

Jeonghan watches you closely now, his beer suspended mid-air, forgotten. The sharpness in his gaze softens, replaced by something else—curiosity, maybe, or an unease he doesn’t quite know how to address.

The air between you feels heavy, suffocating in its quiet. You can still hear the faint echoes of the crash in your mind, the awful screech of metal against asphalt, the split-second horror of thinking you’d just seen him—

He sets the bottle down with a soft clink against the railing, breaking the spell.

“Scared, huh?” His voice is quieter now, and there’s a touch of disbelief, as though he’s trying to decide whether to accept your words or dismiss them.

You nod, throat tightening as you try to push through the lump that’s settled there. “Terrified,” you admit, the word feeling foreign and vulnerable on your tongue. “Not because of what I’d have to write, but because I thought—” You bite down on the rest of the sentence, unwilling to say it aloud.

Jeonghan exhales, long and slow, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he leans back against the railing. “I’m fine,” he says eventually, the words flat and unconvincing. He glances at you, his lips pressing into a faintly wry smile. “A little bruised. A little pissed. But I’m fine.”

It’s not enough to untangle the knot in your chest, but it’s a start. You nod, not trusting yourself to say anything else.

He finishes his beer in a few swallows, the motion oddly decisive, before standing and brushing off his pants. For a moment, you think he’s about to leave without another word, the tension between you both left unresolved.

But then he turns, holding out a hand toward you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a faint curve to his lips that feels almost... playful.

“Friends?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, his hair falling into his eyes. “If you’re going to be hanging around the garage all season, might as well, y’know?”

You blink at him, taken aback. The man who’d stormed out of the debriefing room in a fit of rage, who’d spat barbs at you moments ago, now stood here offering a truce like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Friends,” you echo, narrowing your eyes as you take his hand. It’s warm, his grip firm but not overbearing, and for a fleeting second, you wonder if this is another performance—an act to keep you at arm’s length.

But when he pulls you to your feet, there’s something genuine in his expression, something almost relieved.

“You better not make me regret this,” he says, letting go of your hand as he shoves his now-empty beer bottle into your other one. “And don’t think this means you’re off the hook for the shit you wrote.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you mutter, rolling your eyes as he smirks.

For the first time all day, the knot in your chest loosens just slightly. You follow him back toward the paddock, your steps lighter than they’ve been in weeks.

And for now, that’s enough.

FORMULA 1 QATAR AIRWAYS AUSTRIAN GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Red Bull Ring

The Red Bull Ring stretches out before you like a postcard of precision. Nestled in the Austrian hills, the track gleams under the soft morning sun, its curves and straights inviting the first roar of engines. The garage is alive with motion—engineers bent over laptops, mechanics tightening bolts, and the hum of anticipation that comes with any race weekend.

You step into the Ferrari garage, an interloper in a sea of red. Jeonghan’s car gleams in its designated spot, pristine and ready, as though it hadn’t been a crumpled wreck just a week ago. The team works around it like a well-oiled machine, barely sparing you a glance. You’re supposed to be here, technically, but that doesn’t stop the slight twinge of unease as you find a quiet corner near the monitors.

“Back again?”

The voice is unmistakable, light and teasing. You turn, and there he is: Yoon Jeonghan in his fireproofs, the sleeves tied around his waist, his white undershirt faintly clinging to his frame. He looks every bit the picture of calm, like he hasn’t spent the past few days fielding press questions about his crash.

“Didn’t think you’d miss the chance to watch me run into someone,” he adds, smirking as he adjusts his gloves.

You raise an eyebrow. “Is this your way of saying you’re aiming for Aston Martin?”

He laughs, a real laugh this time, and it’s startling how much it changes the air around you. “Not today. But I’ll keep you updated if Seokmin starts driving like a rookie again.”

“Careful, Jeonghan,” you shoot back, crossing your arms. “I might put that in my next article.”

He leans casually against the wall, his dark eyes scanning your face with an intensity that’s become familiar in the past few weeks. But there’s no edge to it today, no armor. Just him, relaxed and—for once—almost easygoing.

“You’re not as scary as you think you are,” he says after a beat, his voice low enough that the hum of the garage nearly drowns it out.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the grin that creeps onto your face. “And you’re not as charming as you think you are.”

He tilts his head, considering this like it’s the most interesting thing he’s heard all day. “Fair. But you’re still here, aren’t you?”

“Purely professional,” you quip, ignoring the way his smirk grows.

Before he can reply, the engineer by the monitors calls him over, gesturing to the screen. Jeonghan holds up a finger, signaling for a moment, then turns back to you.

“Stay out of trouble, yeah?” His voice is lighter now, teasing but not in the way that cuts. It feels natural, like banter between...well, maybe not quite friends. Not yet. But something close.

You shrug, watching as he walks toward his team, the confidence in his stride unmistakable. The tension that had lingered after the crash feels like it’s finally begun to dissolve, replaced by something steadier. Not quite trust, but something adjacent.

As you settle into the corner, notebook in hand, you can’t help but glance at him every so often. On the surface, it’s just another practice session, another day at the track. But for the first time in weeks, it feels like something close to normal. 

FORMULA 1 QATAR AIRWAYS BRITISH GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Silverstone Circuit

Silverstone roars to life under a blazing sun, the grandstands filled to capacity with fans waving flags and wearing team colors. The overcast sky has burned off, leaving the track shimmering under the summer sun. It’s one of the biggest stages of the season, and Jeonghan delivers a masterclass in qualifying, the finely tuned Ferrari underneath him responding to every input like an extension of himself. The sharp smell of rubber and fuel lingers in the air, mingling with the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

He’s back.

The final lap times on the leaderboard tell the story: pole position. Ferrari’s garage is electric with celebration, engineers clapping each other on the back, a cheer rising when Jeonghan steps into the swarm of red. His team surrounds him, hands gripping his shoulders, voices shouting praise over the din.

He grins, wide and unguarded, the weight of the last few weeks lifting ever so slightly. Spain and Canada had shaken him, but this—this feels like a reckoning. Proof that the mistakes and setbacks weren’t the whole story.

“Perfect lap, Jeonghan,” his engineer says, beaming as he hands him a water bottle.

He nods in acknowledgment, taking a swig, his heart still racing as he glances around the paddock. The sun is high now, glinting off the sleek curves of the cars lined up in parc fermé. Jeonghan’s gaze sweeps over the crowd, soaking in the energy—until he sees you.

You’re standing just outside the McLaren garage, the vibrant orange of their branding a stark contrast to the reds and blacks of his world. You’re leaning against a barrier, the breeze tugging at your hair as you laugh at something Mingyu says. Your face is so open, so full of light, that it’s almost magnetic.

Mingyu gestures animatedly, clearly in the middle of some ridiculous story, his grin as wide as the Cheshire Cat’s. You throw your head back with a laugh, and Jeonghan feels a tightness in his chest he can’t quite place.

The joy that had filled him moments ago flickers.

Why does it bother him?

The thought lingers as he watches you, his water bottle dangling forgotten in his hand. Jeonghan isn’t used to this kind of gnawing discomfort. He’s competitive, sure, but this is something else entirely.

Jealousy.

The sun is lower in the sky when he finds you, his long strides purposeful as he weaves through the paddock. The golden hour light makes everything seem softer, but Jeonghan’s mood is anything but. His thoughts from earlier have been simmering, the warmth of victory eclipsed by a frustration he can’t shake.

You’re leaning against a railing, scrolling on your phone when he approaches.

“Shouldn’t you be in the Ferrari garage?” he says, his tone sharper than he intends.

You blink up at him, startled. “I was just catching up with Mingyu.”

Jeonghan crosses his arms, his brow furrowing. “Funny. I thought you were doing a full-access piece on Ferrari, not McLaren.”

There’s something in his voice—an edge that sets your teeth on edge. “I am,” you reply slowly, standing up straighter. “What’s this about?”

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing. “Is that why your articles about Mingyu are always glowing? What, are you sleeping with him?”

The accusation is like a slap, cutting through the air with a harshness that leaves you stunned.

Your expression shifts, disbelief giving way to anger. “Are you serious right now?”

Jeonghan doesn’t respond immediately, his jaw tight. The regret in his eyes is fleeting, buried under the weight of his own misplaced frustration.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” you snap, your voice trembling with fury. “It’s always one step forward, two steps back with you, Jeonghan.”

His lips part as if to reply, but you don’t wait for him to dig himself deeper. You storm off, your footsteps echoing against the paddock floor. The sting of his words lingers, but so does the look on his face as you walk away.

Jeonghan stands there, watching you go, the tension in his shoulders giving way to a sinking feeling in his stomach. He knows he’s crossed a line, and the weight of his own stupidity settles heavily over him.

The knock on your hotel room door comes before sunrise, soft but insistent. You groan, burying your face in your pillow before dragging yourself to the door.

When you open it, the hallway is empty. But at your feet sits a bouquet wrapped in crisp white paper, tied with a simple satin ribbon.

Roses. Soft blush pink, their petals perfectly unfurled, paired with delicate sprigs of baby’s breath.

The arrangement is beautiful, almost heartbreakingly so, the kind of bouquet that feels like a story in itself. You crouch to pick it up, your fingers brushing over the velvety petals. The faint, sweet scent of roses fills the air, mixing with the crisp morning chill that seeps into the hallway.

Nestled among the flowers is a small envelope.

You pull it out, your thumb brushing over the edge of the paper as you open it. Inside, scrawled in a slightly messy hand that’s unmistakably Jeonghan’s, are two simple words:

I’m sorry.

You glance down the hallway instinctively, half-expecting to see him lingering in the shadows. But it’s empty, as silent as it was before you opened the door.

You stand there for a moment longer, the bouquet in your arms and the note trembling slightly in your fingers. The apology feels heavier than the flowers, weighted by the memory of his words from yesterday.

He didn’t need to apologize like this, you think. He could have texted, could have mumbled something in passing when you inevitably crossed paths today. But instead, he’d gone to the trouble of figuring out your favorite flowers—roses and baby’s breath, a detail you don’t even remember telling him.

The realization stirs something in you, softening the edges of your anger.

The roses sit on the desk as you get ready for the day, the baby’s breath adding a delicate touch to the arrangement. The card leans against the vase, its two-word apology a quiet presence in the room.

Somewhere in the city, Silverstone is waking up, the air already buzzing with anticipation for the race. But here, in the stillness of your hotel room, you take a moment to breathe, to let the gesture sink in.

Jeonghan’s voice echoes faintly in your mind, the memory of yesterday’s confrontation still fresh. And yet, as you glance at the roses again, the sting of his words begins to dull, replaced by something softer, something not yet ready to be named.

The pre-race buzz was electric. The roar of engines echoed faintly in the distance, a constant backdrop to the paddock’s chaotic rhythm. Mechanics zipped between garages, reporters hustled to get last-minute quotes, and fans outside the barricades chanted their favorite drivers’ names. Amid all this, your footsteps fell heavy against the asphalt, your target in sight: Yoon Jeonghan.

There he was, leaning against the nose of his red Ferrari, his race suit a striking flash of scarlet that caught the sunlight and made him look annoyingly pristine for someone who had caused you so much grief. He was chatting with an engineer, that easy, charming smile plastered on his face like he hadn’t thrown baseless accusations your way less than 24 hours ago.

You marched toward him, purpose sharpening your steps. The bouquet from this morning was still vivid in your mind—blush pink roses, soft and elegant, their delicate petals almost glowing against the green of the baby’s breath, a stark contrast to the seething frustration you still carried. And the note—just two infuriatingly simple words—burned in your pocket, a reminder of the apology you hadn’t quite accepted yet.

“Jeonghan,” you called, your voice cutting through the low hum of conversation around you.

He glanced up, his casual demeanor faltering for a split second when he saw you. Then, like a switch had flipped, his smile returned. “Oh, hey.”

You stopped a foot away, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “How did you know my favorite flowers?”

His lips quirked into a faint smirk, and he leaned ever so slightly against the car, as if the conversation were a game he’d already won. “Oh good, they got delivered to the right room.”

“Jeonghan,” you said, your tone sharper now, “don’t deflect.”

“Deflect what?” He tilted his head, his eyes sparkling with that infuriating glint of mischief that made you want to throttle him and laugh in equal measure.

“JEONGHAN.” The snap in your voice turned a few heads nearby, but you didn’t care.

He sighed dramatically, dragging a hand through his hair. “Fine. A certain papaya-colored birdie told me.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Papaya-colored birdie... Mingyu?”

Jeonghan hesitated, his grin faltering for just a moment. You saw the gears turning in his head, calculating whether to deflect again or come clean.

“Spit it out, Yoon Jeonghan,” you said, stepping closer, “or I’ll never write a single kind thing about you for the rest of your life.”

His mouth twitched, caught between amusement and resignation. Finally, he shrugged, his voice almost too casual. “Childhood friends, eh? You and Mingyu? That explains yesterday.”

You blinked, thrown by the abrupt shift in topic. “Don’t change the subject,” you snapped, though his words tugged at something in the back of your mind. “You really went to Kim Mingyu for help? After accusing me of—”

“I might have... aggressively encouraged Mingyu to spill everything he knew about you,” Jeonghan admitted, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You raised a brow. “Aggressively encouraged?”

“Fine,” he said with a huff. “I threatened to steal his steering wheel from the McLaren garage if he didn’t talk.”

Despite your irritation, a snort escaped you. “And he just handed over my life story, huh?”

Jeonghan crossed his arms, mirroring your stance. “What can I say? He’s surprisingly chatty when he thinks you’re in trouble. Very protective, that one.”

You clenched your jaw, the pieces clicking into place. “So, that’s why you jumped to conclusions yesterday. You thought—”

He cut you off, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “I know. I was out of line. That’s what the flowers were for.”

For a moment, the noise of the paddock seemed to fade. The wind carried the faint scent of burning rubber, and the distant cheers of fans reached your ears like a muted hum. Jeonghan’s expression softened, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by something quieter, almost vulnerable.

“For what it’s worth,” he added, his tone lower now, “I really am sorry.”

You exhaled slowly, the weight of the last day lifting slightly from your chest. “You’re lucky I like roses.”

“I know,” he replied, his grin returning, lighter this time, almost boyish. “Good taste, huh?”

“Good recovery, at least,” you muttered, your lips twitching despite yourself.

Jeonghan’s laughter followed you as you turned and walked away, the sound less grating than it had been the day before. It wasn’t forgiveness—not yet—but it felt like a start.

FORMULA 1 HUNGARIAN GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Hungaroring

The Hungarian Grand Prix paddock was buzzing, but you could tell something was off. The sound of chatter and engines felt like distant echoes as you stood by the garage, watching Jeonghan’s Ferrari pull back into its stall after a less-than-stellar FP1. The car’s engine quieted as the mechanics immediately went to work, inspecting it. But it wasn’t the car that caught your attention—it was Jeonghan himself.

He was unusually quiet, his usual cocky confidence buried beneath the furrow of his brow as he stripped off his helmet and gloves. His gaze was focused on the car, but it was clear his mind wasn’t in the garage. He seemed... distant, almost frustrated. The others in the team were busy talking strategy, discussing the data, but Jeonghan barely spoke up during the debriefing. It was strange.

The team finished up, but you noticed Jeonghan lingered near the back, hands on his hips, staring at his car like it had personally betrayed him. It wasn’t like him to be this quiet, especially not after a session where he was so used to being in control. You could practically feel the weight of his thoughts from where you stood.

You didn’t want to be intrusive, but you couldn’t ignore it—something was wrong.

You walked over, careful not to disturb the mechanics who were still busy at work. "Jeonghan," you called softly, stepping beside him. He turned to you, but his eyes didn’t quite meet yours. They were focused on something distant, like he was seeing the track or the car but not really seeing them.

“Everything okay?” you asked, trying to keep the concern out of your voice, but it slipped through anyway. “You’ve been quiet since the debriefing.”

He gave a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m fine.”

You weren’t buying it. You had known Jeonghan long enough to recognize the way he carried his frustration. It wasn’t the kind of thing that could be hidden behind a casual smile, no matter how practiced.

“You sure? You know you don’t have to be okay all the time, right?” you pressed, stepping a little closer. The air around you felt heavy, charged with unspoken words.

Jeonghan exhaled sharply, his fingers digging into his gloves before he slowly pulled them off. He seemed to be gathering himself before speaking. “I hate it,” he muttered, and his voice had a rawness to it that caught you off guard. “Not being perfect. I... I can’t stand it.”

“Not being perfect?” you echoed, surprised. Jeonghan, the ever-cocky, confident driver, admitting that?

He looked up at you then, his eyes intense, as though he was searching for something in your gaze. “Yeah. I know it sounds stupid,” he said with a wry laugh that lacked its usual humor. “But it’s who I am. I’m a perfectionist, always have been. Every little mistake... it sticks with me. I can’t just move on. I think about it. Constantly.”

You watched him, absorbing his words, the vulnerability in his tone feeling like a crack in his otherwise polished exterior. Jeonghan, always so composed on the surface, always teasing and joking, was admitting something deeper now—something more personal.

“Is that why you were so quiet during the debriefing?” you asked, keeping your voice soft.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his gaze flicking to the car again. “I know I didn’t have the best session, but it feels like... like I failed. Like I’m not doing my job right. I could’ve done better.” His jaw clenched as if he were angry at himself.

The silence that fell between you was thick, almost suffocating, and you could feel the tension radiating off him. You hadn’t seen him like this before—not with this level of self-doubt.

“You’re not failing,” you said, your voice firm. “You’re allowed to have bad sessions. Hell, everyone has bad days. But that doesn’t mean you’re failing. It’s just a part of it.”

Jeonghan glanced over at you, his lips curving into a small, grateful smile. “You really believe that?”

“Yeah, I do,” you said, nodding. “I mean... it’s not all about being perfect. Sometimes it’s the mistakes that push you to be better.”

Jeonghan looked down at his hands, still clutching the gloves, and you could see the gears turning in his mind. “I know. But it doesn’t make it any easier.”

“I get it,” you said, crossing your arms and leaning against the side of the garage. “But you’ve got a whole team behind you. And we all know what you’re capable of. You’ll get there. It’s just one session.”

He finally met your gaze, his eyes softening. “Thanks.”

There was a long pause, the sound of distant chatter and the hum of the paddock filling the silence. You were so used to Jeonghan’s teasing and cocky attitude that this quieter, more introspective side of him felt like a different person altogether. And maybe it was—it was the side that wasn’t the driver who fought for every fraction of a second on the track, the side that just wanted to be good enough.

“It’s not stupid, you know,” you added quietly. “Caring about being good at what you do isn’t stupid. It’s just... exhausting sometimes.”

Jeonghan laughed lightly, the sound a bit more genuine this time. “You have no idea. But I’m getting better at... handling it. I think.”

You smiled at him, feeling a strange sense of relief wash over you. There was still that hint of unease in his posture, the tightness in his shoulders, but for the first time all day, he seemed a little more at ease with himself.

As you turned to leave, you shot him one last look. “Just don’t be so hard on yourself next time, okay?”

“I’ll try,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. And for a moment, you almost believed him.

The stands were eerily quiet now, a stark contrast to the roar of the crowd just hours earlier. You wandered through the empty paddock, your steps unhurried as the hum of the night settled around you. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the faint clatter of the Ferrari team packing up, but Jeonghan wasn’t with them.

You’d seen him after the race, his jaw tight as he climbed out of the car. Finishing P5 wasn’t bad by any measure, but it wasn’t what he wanted. And with Mingyu overtaking him in the Driver’s Championship by just twenty points, it was clear Jeonghan had taken it as a personal blow. His disappointment hung around him like a shadow.

It wasn’t hard to guess where he’d gone.

Sure enough, when you climbed up into the grandstands, there he was. Sitting alone in the middle row, still in his Ferrari race suit, unzipped to the waist to reveal his black base layer. His hair was tousled from the helmet, his posture slouched, shoulders hunched as though the weight of the day hadn’t yet left him. Beside him were two bottles of beer, one already open and resting loosely in his hand.

You approached quietly, but Jeonghan didn’t flinch. He didn’t even turn around when you reached him, your feet crunching softly against the debris of the crowd—discarded programs, empty wrappers, and forgotten flags. He must’ve known it was you, though. He always seemed to know.

“Mind if I join you?” you asked, your voice breaking the stillness.

He finally glanced up, his expression unreadable. “It’s a free grandstand,” he muttered, gesturing to the empty seats around him.

You slid into the seat next to him, the cool metal chilling through your clothes. Jeonghan’s gaze returned to the track ahead, where the floodlights illuminated the ghost of the race. He took a sip of his beer, silent.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The quiet stretched, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable—just heavy. You could feel the frustration radiating off him, the bitterness that came with being so close but not close enough.

“You should drink this before it gets warm,” he said suddenly, pushing the unopened beer toward you.

You picked it up, twisting off the cap with a small smile. “Thanks. Not exactly the post-race celebration you were hoping for, huh?”

He huffed a humorless laugh. “Not exactly.”

The silence fell again, but this time you weren’t willing to let it linger. You turned to him, watching the way his fingers tapped restlessly against the neck of the bottle. “You’re still in the fight, you know,” you said gently.

Jeonghan’s lips quirked, but it wasn’t a smile. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

“Well, you are,” you insisted. “Three points. That’s nothing. You’ve come back from worse.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he tilted his head back, looking up at the dark sky above the track. “You don’t get it,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “It’s not just about the points. It’s about everything. The mistakes, the pressure... the expectations. It’s like... like I have to prove that I deserve to be here. Every single time.”

“You do deserve to be here,” you said firmly, the conviction in your voice enough to make him turn to you. “You wouldn’t be in that seat if you didn’t. You’re one of the best drivers on the grid, Jeonghan. Everyone knows it. Even Mingyu. Especially Mingyu.”

Jeonghan scoffed, a flicker of a smile breaking through his stormy expression. “Bet he’s loving this right now.”

“Maybe,” you said, leaning back against the seat. “But knowing Mingyu, he’s probably already plotting ways to rub it in at the next race.”

That earned a laugh, small but real, and the sound was enough to make you smile too.

“You’re good at this,” he said after a moment, his tone softer now. “Talking me off the ledge.”

“Someone has to,” you replied with a shrug. “And honestly? I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. One race doesn’t define you, Jeonghan. You’re not just a number on the leaderboard.”

He looked at you then, his gaze lingering. There was something in his expression—gratitude, maybe, or something deeper, something you couldn’t quite name. “Thanks,” he said simply, the word weighted with more than just appreciation.

You clinked your bottle against his. “Anytime.”

The two of you sat there for a while longer, the weight of the day slowly lifting as the quiet of the night wrapped around you. It wasn’t much, but it was enough—for now. And as Jeonghan leaned back in his seat, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles, you knew he’d be okay. Eventually.

You took another sip of your beer, the chill of the bottle grounding you as Jeonghan’s earlier tension began to melt away. The ghost of a smile still lingered on his lips, and for the first time since you’d climbed up to find him, his shoulders seemed lighter.

“So,” he said, breaking the quiet, his voice tinged with a familiar mischievousness, “what’s your headline going to be this week?”

You raised an eyebrow, scoffing softly as you bumped his shoulder with your own. “You’ll see it when you see it, Yoon Jeonghan. No spoilers.”

His chuckle was low and warm, a sound that felt like the first crack of sunlight after a storm. “Should I be worried?”

“Always,” you replied, the corners of your lips quirking upward. “But maybe not too much this time.”

He gave you a curious look, his expression halfway between wary and amused, but he didn’t press. Instead, he leaned back, his gaze drifting back to the track. The night was calm now, the weight of the day’s disappointment tucked into the folds of shared silence.

The headline hit Monday morning, and Jeonghan had to admit, you’d delivered once again.

Ferrari Falters in Hungary: Yoon Jeonghan's Fight for the Title Tightens

The article was incisive, as sharp as he’d expected. You broke down his struggles in FP1, critiqued his race strategy, and even called out the overtaking move that cost him crucial points. It was the kind of detailed, no-nonsense analysis you were known for, and Jeonghan read every word with a mix of frustration and admiration.

But at the bottom, tucked beneath the last paragraph, there was a footnote—barely noticeable unless you were looking for it.

“Despite Hungary’s setback, Yoon Jeonghan remains one of the most popular and formidable contenders for the championship. With only twenty points separating him from the lead, Belgium offers a more than fair chance for the Ferrari star to close the gap and reclaim his momentum.”

Jeonghan blinked, then read it again, a slow smile tugging at his lips. He leaned back in his chair, the paper still in hand, and shook his head.

“Subtle,” he muttered, though his tone was anything but annoyed. It was gratitude, warmth, and a flicker of hope all wrapped together in a single word.

He might have faltered in Hungary, but you’d reminded him—the season wasn’t even half over. And maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t fighting alone.

FORMULA 1 ROLEX BELGIAN GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps

The weekend at Spa began like a dream.

The legendary Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps was a driver’s haven and a monster in equal measure. The longest track on the calendar, its 7 kilometers of asphalt wound through the lush forests of the Ardennes, combining high-speed straights, sweeping corners, and the unpredictable challenges of its microclimate. The iconic Eau Rouge and Raidillon dared drivers to go flat out, while the downhill plunge into Pouhon tested their courage and precision. It was a place where skill separated the good from the great.

Jeonghan thrived on its challenge.

FP1 and FP2 were his playgrounds, his Ferrari gliding through corners like it was made for this circuit alone. The car was responsive and balanced, every adjustment in setup shaving precious milliseconds off his laps. Jeonghan pushed it to its limits, feeling every bump and curve beneath him as if Spa’s asphalt were an extension of himself.

By the time he returned to the garage, his name was at the top of the timesheets, and his team wore expressions of pride and relief. Engineers crowded around him during the debrief, their excitement palpable. Even Mingyu wandered over to toss a mockingly impressed, “Don’t get used to it, Yoon,” in his direction.

Jeonghan, basking in the buzz of dominance, had only winked.

But then came the penalty.

A breach in power unit regulations—an unavoidable technicality that slapped him with a grid penalty. It was frustratingly bureaucratic, a punishment that felt out of his control and yet deeply personal. His pole position was stripped away, and he was relegated to P10.

In the Ferrari garage, Jeonghan leaned against the back wall, arms crossed, the weight of his helmet heavy in his hand. The rhythmic hum of power tools and bursts of chatter around him did little to soothe his simmering frustration.

It wasn’t just the penalty—it was the sting of perfection slipping through his fingers, a weekend that had started flawlessly now teetering on the edge of disappointment.

He glanced up, ready to bury himself in the chaos of the paddock, and froze.

You were there, leaning casually against the pit wall, chatting with one of the mechanics. The glow of the overhead lights caught in your hair, and despite the whirlwind of activity, you were a picture of calm. Your hands moved as you spoke, animated yet confident, the faintest flicker of a smirk playing on your lips.

His gaze lingered.

It hit him—a memory of your words from Hungary, your unwavering belief cloaked in sharp wit: “A more than fair chance to close the gap.”

For the first time since the penalty, the gap didn’t feel insurmountable.

He didn’t realize he’d been staring until you caught his eye. Your brows rose, and you tilted your head in mock curiosity before excusing yourself from the mechanic and walking toward him.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice laced with a note of amusement and something softer underneath.

Jeonghan shrugged, plastering on his signature cocky grin. “Since when are you worried about me?”

Your lips twitched in a barely concealed smile. “Oh, I’m not worried. Just curious. I wanted to see how Ferrari’s golden boy handles a little adversity.”

His grin faltered for the briefest moment before sharpening again. “Keep watching,” he said, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “I might surprise you.”

You tilted your chin, your expression a blend of challenge and intrigue. “Don’t disappoint me then.”

The way you said it—like you meant it—sparked something fierce in him.

As you turned to leave, the faint scent of your perfume lingered in the air, anchoring him to the moment. Jeonghan watched you disappear into the paddock, your confident stride a sharp contrast to his brooding, and for the first time that day, a smirk tugged at his lips.

It wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.

P10 to P1. 

It was the kind of race drivers dreamed of—the kind that earned its place in highlight reels for years to come.

The chaos began even before the lights went out. Rain had threatened all morning, dark clouds heavy over the Ardennes, but it held off just long enough to keep everyone guessing. Jeonghan sat in his Ferrari on the grid, surrounded by cars that had no business being ahead of him. He’d spent every second since the penalty recalibrating his mindset, shifting his frustration into fuel.

As the lights went out, his singular focus kicked in.

Turn 1, La Source: Jeonghan dived inside, threading through a gap that barely existed. The radio crackled with his engineer’s voice, commending his clean move, but he barely registered it. Eau Rouge and Raidillon loomed ahead, their uphill sweep demanding precision, bravery, and trust in his car.

He took the corners flat out.

By Lap 5, Jeonghan was in P7. His mind churned as he studied the cars ahead, each one a problem to solve. Every braking point, every shift in weight through the curves—it all required perfect execution.

But then came the rain.

It began as a drizzle at Pouhon, the light sheen on the track turning treacherous by the next sector. Jeonghan’s grip on the wheel tightened as he adjusted his lines, feeling for every ounce of traction.

“Box this lap for inters,” his engineer instructed.

“No,” Jeonghan replied, his voice steady. He could feel it—the balance of risk and reward. He stayed out one lap longer, the gamble paying off as he overtook two cars struggling on the wrong tires. When he finally pitted, the stop was flawless.

By Lap 20, the red flag came out, the rain too heavy for safety. Jeonghan sat in the pit lane during the suspension, helmet off, sweat beading his brow. His thoughts wandered for the first time since the race began.

Your words came back to him.

"Jeonghan’s perfectionism is both his weapon and his curse. When he is at his best, he’s untouchable. But the question remains: can he handle the pressure when the odds aren’t in his favor?"

His jaw tightened. You were right—about the pressure, about the way he held himself to standards so high they sometimes crushed him. But you’d also written something else.

"A more than fair chance to close the gap."

He wasn’t sure why, but that sentence anchored him.

When the race restarted, Jeonghan was a man possessed.

Sector by sector, he clawed his way through the field, each overtake cleaner and bolder than the last. At Blanchimont, he overtook Soonyoung in a move that was half instinct, half calculated risk. His engineer’s voice came over the radio in a disbelieving laugh: “Mate, you’re insane!”

By the final lap, he was leading. The roar of the crowd blended with the steady beat of his heart as he crossed the finish line, victory his once more.

The pit lane was a blur of celebration. His team engulfed him in a sea of red, their cheers drowning out even the din of Spa’s loyal fans. Soonyoung appeared out of nowhere, throwing an arm around Jeonghan’s shoulders.

“Winning in Spa from P10? You better believe I’m buying the first round,” Soonyoung declared, grinning despite his P2 finish.

Jeonghan laughed, the sound ragged and raw from effort, but his mind wasn’t entirely in the moment.

Later, in the quiet of the motorhome, when the adrenaline had settled and exhaustion was creeping in, Jeonghan pulled out his phone. His thumb hovered over the search bar before typing your name.

The article was already live.

His breath caught as he read your headline:

From P10 to Perfection: Yoon Jeonghan’s Masterclass at Spa

It was glowing, but in your unmistakable style—balanced, sharp, and honest. You praised his overtakes, his strategy, and his ability to rise under pressure. Your writing was like poetry, an ode to his resilience, his precision in the rain, his ability to claw victory from the jaws of defeat.  But what caught him off guard was the final line.

"With the championship fight closer than ever, it’s not a question of if Jeonghan will close the gap. It’s a question of when."

Jeonghan read it three times, his chest tight with something that felt almost like pride.

For the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to believe them.

The bass thrummed low and heavy, a pulse that seemed to reverberate straight through the packed room. 

Jeonghan leaned against the bar, his drink in hand, his racing suit long since replaced by a fitted black shirt with the top buttons undone. The sleeves were rolled just enough to expose his forearms, the dark fabric clinging to his frame in a way that effortlessly commanded attention. Around him, the club buzzed with post-race energy—drivers, engineers, and team members alike reveling in the victory and chaos of the day.

Soonyoung was next to him, buzzing with his usual infectious energy. Jeonghan caught snippets of his teammate’s banter, but his mind was elsewhere.

“God, Jeonghan, if you stare any harder, she’s going to spontaneously combust,” Soonyoung teased, sipping his drink with a knowing smirk.

Jeonghan blinked, startled. “What?”

Soonyoung rolled his eyes, nodding toward the dance floor. “Her. You’ve been staring at her like she’s a particularly tricky apex all night.”

Jeonghan followed his gaze.

There you were, dancing with a group of Ferrari engineers, the colored lights spilling across your frame, making your skin glow. You laughed at something one of them said, your head tilting back, your hair swaying with every movement. Jeonghan’s grip on his glass tightened.

“You’re hopeless,” Soonyoung said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Just go talk to her. Or better yet, dance with her. God knows you’ll make everyone else jealous.”

Jeonghan scoffed, setting his empty glass down on the bar with a sharp clink. “You’re imagining things.”

“Sure, and you just happened to spend the past ten minutes glaring at the poor guy she’s dancing with.”

Jeonghan shot him a warning glance, but Soonyoung only grinned wider.

“Look, you’ve already won at Spa,” he added, leaning closer. “Might as well take another victory tonight.”

Jeonghan shook his head, but the heat in his chest betrayed him. He cast one last glance at you before downing the rest of his drink and pushing off the bar.

The crowd was a blur of movement, bodies packed tightly together under the pulsing lights, but Jeonghan moved with purpose. He found you easily, your energy magnetic even in the chaos.

The beat shifted as he approached, slowing to something deeper, sultrier. He stepped in behind you, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from your skin.

“Enjoying yourself?” he murmured, his voice low and warm against your ear.

You turned slightly, glancing at him over your shoulder. Your lips curved into a teasing smile, your eyes dancing in the dim light. “Jeonghan. Didn’t think you were the clubbing type.”

He smirked, his hand brushing lightly against your waist. “I make exceptions for special occasions.”

You arched a brow, leaning back into him just enough to blur the line between teasing and inviting. “Special occasions, huh? Like winning at Spa?”

“Something like that,” he said, his voice a touch quieter now. His fingers rested lightly on your waist, the heat of his touch sending a shiver up your spine.

You turned to face him fully, your hands drifting up to rest on his shoulders, playful and almost casual. “So? What’s it like being untouchable?”

He chuckled softly, his gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips and back again. “You’d know,” he said smoothly, “if you were paying attention during my races instead of writing snarky articles.”

You laughed, a soft, melodious sound that made his chest tighten. “I did pay attention,” you countered, leaning in slightly, your lips barely a breath away from his ear. “You were alright, I guess.”

“Alright?” he repeated, feigning offense. “You called it a masterclass. Don’t think I didn’t read your article.”

Your grin widened, the fire in your eyes matching the teasing edge in your tone. “Oh, that? Don’t let it go to your head, Yoon. I still expect a proper interview.”

His hands shifted to your hips, grounding you against him as he swayed slightly to the beat, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. “Careful. Keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

“And if I did?” you teased back, your voice soft but no less challenging.

For a moment, the world around you fell away. The music, the lights, the press of the crowd—it all faded as the space between you closed. Jeonghan’s eyes lingered on your lips, his heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the adrenaline of racing.

Then, just as you tilted your head, leaning closer—

“JEONGHAN!”

The moment shattered.

Sunwoo’s voice boomed over the music as he appeared out of nowhere, the mechanic’s grin wide and oblivious. “Bro, come on! You can flirt later! Dance with me!”

Jeonghan groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder as your laughter spilled over him like warm sunlight.

“This isn’t over,” he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear.

You pulled back, still laughing, and met his gaze with a wink. “I’ll hold you to that.”

FORMULA 1 HEINEKEN DUTCH GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Zandvoort

The paddock at Zandvoort was always one of Jeonghan’s favorites. The smell of fresh sea air mixed with the unmistakable tang of fuel and rubber, while the orange-clad crowd painted the stands in a fiery glow. Jeonghan didn’t even mind the noise—something about the Netherlands had a way of energizing him.

He was walking back from the driver’s parade when he spotted you outside the Ferrari hospitality tent, a coffee in hand, your eyes scanning the throng of people with practiced ease. The crisp breeze tugged at your hair, and Jeonghan slowed his pace, his lips curling into a familiar smirk.

You glanced up just in time to catch him staring. “Don’t you have a race to focus on?”

“Don’t you have an article to write?” he shot back, his voice smooth as ever.

“I’m multitasking,” you replied, raising your coffee in a mock toast.

Jeonghan stepped closer, close enough that the conversation felt private despite the bustling paddock around you. “Let me guess,” he said, crossing his arms, “today’s headline is, ‘Ferrari Driver Jeonghan Looks Extra Handsome Under Dutch Sunlight.’”

You snorted, barely suppressing a laugh. “Oh, please. I was thinking more along the lines of, ‘Can Ferrari’s Yoon Jeonghan Deliver After Spa Masterclass?’”

“Flattering,” he mused, tilting his head. “I thought you’d save the sarcasm for the post-race write-up.”

“I aim to keep you humble,” you said with a shrug, though the playful glint in your eyes gave you away.

Jeonghan leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to send a thrill down your spine. “Careful. You’re starting to sound like a fan.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could get a word in—

“Jeonghan!”

A voice cut through the tension like a knife. You both turned to see Soonyoung jogging up, waving enthusiastically. “There you are! We’re late for the strategy briefing!”

Jeonghan sighed, the corners of his mouth twitching as he glanced back at you. “Guess we’ll have to finish this later.”

You grinned, your eyes dancing with amusement. “Don’t let me keep you from your briefing, Ferrari’s golden boy.”

Jeonghan’s smirk deepened. “I’ll see you after I win.”

He walked off, Soonyoung talking his ear off as you watched him go, the heat in your chest lingering far longer than it should have.

The race came and went, and though Jeonghan didn’t win—Mingyu’s dominance at Zandvoort was almost an inevitability—he still managed to bring home a solid podium finish.

Later, back at the hospitality suite, you found yourself standing near the balcony, staring out at the ocean waves in the distance.

“Not bad for a day’s work,” came a familiar voice behind you.

You turned to find Jeonghan leaning casually against the doorway, his hair still damp from the post-race shower. He’d swapped his racing suit for a simple white shirt and jeans, but somehow, he still looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine.

“Not bad,” you admitted. “Though I was expecting a win. Should I change the headline to ‘Close, but Not Quite’?”

Jeonghan’s laugh was low and smooth as he closed the distance between you. “I think you’re just trying to rile me up.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Is it working?”

He stepped closer, close enough that you could see the faint freckle on his cheekbone, the way his lashes caught the light. “You tell me.”

The air between you crackled, your banter giving way to something heavier, something unspoken. For a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

“Jeonghan!”

The door slammed open, and Mingyu’s booming voice shattered the moment.

Both of you jumped, turning to see the taller driver grinning sheepishly. “Uh, sorry. Team dinner’s starting soon, and they’re waiting for you.”

Jeonghan’s jaw tightened, but he plastered on an easy smile. “Of course they are.”

Mingyu left as quickly as he’d come, leaving you and Jeonghan alone again.

“Do people just have radar for this?” Jeonghan muttered, raking a hand through his hair.

You laughed, the tension easing slightly. “Maybe it’s the universe telling you to focus on racing.”

He stepped closer again, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Or maybe it’s telling me I’ll just have to try harder.”

Your pulse quickened, but before you could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway.

Jeonghan sighed dramatically, stepping back with a rueful smile. “Guess I’ll have to settle for third interruptions.”

You smirked, folding your arms. “You’re consistent, at least.”

“Don’t forget it,” he said with a wink, his voice smooth as ever as he walked away.

And just like that, you were left alone, the waves crashing in the distance as you wondered how long this game of cat and mouse could last.

another lil a/n: full throttle is probably one of my favorite things i've EVER written and i am so proud of myself for getting this out of my head and onto the page.

[experimentkc]

Lilo, Jumba, Captain Gantu, and Angel are racing to Disney Speedstorm!

Lilo & Stitch is going to burn rubber onto Gameloft's Disney Speedstorm soon!

This past week, beginning from July 17, 2023, the game's official social media accounts on Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube have been sharing concept art for the new Lilo & Stitch track environment that will be added in the game's third season (and the last season for its early access period).

But Gameloft also took the opportunity to tease the four other Lilo & Stitch racers who will be joining Stitch in the new season by hiding the syllables of those racers' names in the concept art. (Zoom in on the images above!) These were followed by a full reveal of their character and kart renders the very next day.

With Lilo Pelekai, Jumba Jookiba, Captain Gantu, and Experiment 624/Angel ready to tear up some Hawaiian roads, plus two more mystery racers from other Disney franchises joining them, this looks to be Disney Speedstorm's biggest season yet before its full free-to-play release on September 28!

Plus, considering that Speedstorm features voice acting, with many of the various Disney and Pixar characters' original voice actors reprising their roles, this will be the first time in years that Lilo & Stitch and Disney fans will get to hear the beloved little Hawaiian girl Lilo talk again and possibly hear Kevin Michael Richardson, who last voiced Gantu in Kingdom Hearts Birth by Sleep (2010), bringing his deep and authoritative voice back to the massive whale-like alien that put him on the map. Moreso, Angel's original voice Tara Strong could finally be voicing Stitch's pink alien siren girlfriend for the first time since Leroy & Stitch seventeen years ago (unless Gameloft decides to go with her Stitch! anime voice Kate Higgins or another actor). Jumba, meanwhile, will be getting a different voice from his original Western appearance, as David Ogden Stiers died back in March 2018. There is a chance that his anime and Stitch & Ai voice Jess Winfield could be voicing the evil genius again though since the latter's English release; if that's the case, then this will be the first time Winfield voiced Jumba in a Western-produced work.

Season 3 of Disney Speedstorm will be released next month during August, following the conclusion of the Toy Story-focused Season 2: To Infinity and Beyond. As of this writing, the game is currently available in paid early access for Nintendo Switch, PlayStation 4, PlayStation 5, Xbox One, Xbox Series X|S, and Windows PCs (via Steam, the Microsoft Store, and the Epic Games Store).

For those who missed Stitch's reveal on Stitch Day (June 26) 2023, here's his render.

[viduanata]

(very long post beneath the cut. This will only go up to 2018 because her current timeline as of writing is a mess. The details are a combination of events from previous runs and the current timeline being used as of 2015)

1928: Natalia Romanova is born in the winter in Stalingrad to an impoverished mother. During a raid by imperialists, their house is set on fire and her mother hands her baby over to Ivan Petrovich Bezukhov, before her mother is killed.

1938: Natalia has been taken in by Ivan as his foster daughter. One winter afternoon in a park, Ivan and Natalia meet Taras Romanov. Ivan gives her custody to Taras so Ivan can go on military leave. She is taken to a training facility in Moscow and is now his "daughter".

1940: Natalia, now age twelve, meets Logan Howlett, a soldier from Canada. As they train in martial arts, they develop a friendly, familial relationship. She even calls him "little uncle" in Russian (маленький дядя). Logan kills Taras and Natalia escapes, living in the forest alone. Ivan finds her three months later and takes her back into his care.

1943: Natalia signs up to join the military to aid with the war effort, despite being only fifteen years old. She meets a fellow soldier in her unit named Nikolai, who's sixteen, and they fall in love.

1944: Natalia and Nikolai are now "married", and are secretly expecting a baby that's due soon. One evening, their unit is ambushed by Germans and they take cover in the woods. Nikolai is soon shot dead, and Natalia is forced to leave him to get to safety. Natalia eventually goes into labor while in Slovakia with Ivan, but manages to get to a midwife's house in the Doborčský Forest. She eventually gives birth that night to a baby girl with the assistance of the midwife and her daughter, but the baby is stillborn. Natalia names her Rose.

1945: The war is won and a seventeen year old Natalia goes back to civilian life. She soon graduates high school. Natalia enters the Bolshoi Theater as a professional ballerina, having been dancing ballet there her entire childhood.

1956: Natalia, now twenty eight, finds a severely injured Ivan, who has been shot by gang members. A brainwashed James Buchanan Barnes (who had been kidnapped by the Soviets in 1945) gives them the option to take a limited "chemical" that heals his wounds and grants eternal youth. Despite Ivan's protest, Natalia consents for the both of them. She soon starts her training in the Red Room, along with 27 other women. Natalia is trained by James in hand to hand combat and they start a secret sexual relationship.

1957: Natalia is given medals for her time in the war and meets Alexei Shostakov, a Soviet Air Force pilot. They get to talking and he is told she's in training to be a secret agent. Due to Natalia's popularity for being a famous ballerina, and Alexei's status as a Hero of the Soviet Union, they are encouraged to marry.

1962: Natalia joins the Russian special forces while going through her Red Room training. She is given a job to kill the defecting Comienzas in Cuba, as well as a fellow Red Room trainee named Marina. Natalia completes the mission. She soon earns the title of the Black Widow, and the Red Room is disbanded. She and her husband Alexei then work as KGB operatives.

1963: Alexei, due to him being offered the super soldier serum and the title of the Red Guardian (the Soviet's answer to the patriotic hero Captain America), has his death faked and his wife Natalia is lied to by the KGB. Instead of immediately grieving, she declares to get revenge on the West, deciding to put her country before her own well being.

1991: The Soviet Union falls on December 25th, Gorbachev resigns as President and Russia becomes one of the fifteen independent states. Natalia still sides with Russia, but is now an independent mercenary. She and Ivan travel to different countries to perform "job offers", earning money from them at the same time.

2005: On an assignment to spy on Tony Stark in America, Natalia flirts with him and they routinely meet up with each other at her mansion by the water. He's well aware of what she's doing.

2006: Natalia starts a relationship with Clint Barton, and later defects from Russia. This new life in America annoys Ivan.

2007: She begins to live as a vigilante after being inspired by Peter Parker, and sews herself her own suit.

2008: The Avengers are formed and Natalia joins SHIELD.

2009: Natalia eventually joins the Avengers, along with Clint Barton, and twins Wanda and Pietro Maximoff. Much to her shock, she learns that Alexei is alive and well on a mission. They soon divorce.

2010: Natalia moves to San Francisco, starts dating Matt Murdock, and tries to get into fashion design. Ivan gets fed up with life in America and they go separate ways, with him cruelly telling her he never wanted to be her father in the first place.

2013: Wanda Maximoff has a breakdown following the deaths of her sons and the Avengers split up. Natalia moves to Arizona. She's told by a former SHIELD agent that the remaining 26 Red Room trainees from her generation have been murdered by the Northern Institute.

2014: James Buchanan Barnes is freed from his Winter Soldier brainwashing and eventually gets together with Natalia officially, living life as Bucky Barnes. Natalia later encounters Yelena Belova, a woman who has become the next Black Widow after going through the training from a recreated Red Room Academy.

2016: Natalia is on the pro-registration side of the Superhuman Registration Act.

2018: Ivan is killed during a phone call with Natalia. She goes to Russia to identify his body. She learns of the Icepick Protocol and takes care of it. She is now living her life as a freelance spy and assassin.

[kkooongie]

Suggestion, use it if you liked it

SEVENTEEN AS BOLLYWOOD SONGS:

Seunghcheol: pee loon by mohit chauhan / kabhi jo badal barse

Yoon jeonghan: ye tune kiya kiya from once upon a time in Mumbai / rabba mai to marr gaya oye by shahid mallya

Hong jisoo : love mai thoda by arijit singh / oh my love by sonu nigam

Moon junhui : deewana kar raha hai by javed ali / Tu har lamha by arijit singh

Kwon soonyoung: my dil goes hmmm / girl | need you from baaghi

Lee jihoon : guzarish by javed ali / tose naina by arijit singh/jab tak by armaan malik

Jeon wonwoo : tum mile by javed ali/ dil ibaadat by kk / teri jhuki nazar by pritam

Kim mingyu : tujhe sochta hu by javed ali/ mujhko barsaat bana lo by armaan malik (I hit my head in the pillow 🤸‍♀��) mann mera by gajendra verma / mere bina from crook / darasal by atif aslam

(THIS MAN SUITS ON SO MANY SHJJFDGJKH)

Lee seokmin : samjhawa from badrinath ki dulhaniya/ tere naam doon by atif aslam / pehla pyaar by armaan malik / haan tu hai by kk / mera mann kehne laga by falak shabbir

Xu minghao : ishq risk by sohail sen / bol do na zara by armaan malik / subhanallah from by pritam / te amo (duet) by ash king / saware by arijit singh

Boo seunghkwan : pani da rang / ishq bulava / tum tak / chup chup ke by ash king / bawara mann by jubin nautiyal / hey shona from tara rampum / tere mere beech mai from shudh desi romance

Chwe hansol : mai rahoon ya na rahoon by armaan malik / itni si baat hai / labon ko / hale dil by harshit saxena / awara shaam by piyush / tera bann jaunga

Lee chan : tere hoke rahenge by arijit singh / tum ho by mohit chauhan/ aaj zid by arijit singh / tum jo aiye by tulsi kumar / afeemi by sachin jigar

There are more but my hands hurt from typing and hit it on the wall with each delusional thought 😭💗🫀

*SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP*

WHERES THE PLAYLIST BESTIE WE NEED TO MAKE ONE EACH CURATED TO A SVT MEMBER AT THIS RATE ILL ONLY BE WRITING DESI AUS